[IC] Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

[Lord Wraith]

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

Welcome Home #1.101: Chasing Cars

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_{Interaction(s): @Melissa - Aurora Mitchell}

Previously: After Hours

It was no secret that Aurora had strong opinions about Amma. In fact, out of all of Team Blackjack, the redhead was by far the most vocal of the bunch about her apprehension surrounding the new girl. She knew trouble when she saw it, understood what followed in its wake, and had no interest getting tangled in whatever she had up her sleeve. She knew that Lorcán was the opposite though, he saw the good in everyone; he never had a reason not to. Aurora wasn’t oblivious to the way he looked at the transfer student, she’d seen how he admired her tattoos and always made the effort to coax her out of her shell.

The redhead put two and two together as the boy explained, and once she realized what had actually occurred when he and Amma had disappeared this afternoon, her heart dropped. She had been suspicious earlier, had heard the whispering, but hoped it wasn’t the case. He apologized but all she could hear was ringing in her ears. She had no right to be upset, react so strongly, and yet she was. Why was she taking this so harshly? They were just friends… nothing more than friends.

Right?

And then Lorcán continued, describing what he felt mere moments ago between the two of them.

It felt like I was whole.

The six small words took the breath from her lungs. His candidness captured everything she felt and echoed her innermost thoughts, ones that she’d never shared aloud or even realized until now. It was almost as if he had taken them straight from her mind since that was the way she had always felt about being around him, being near him. So many things about her past made Aurora feel like pieces of her were missing, but it never mattered when she was with him. Lorcán filled those gaps. He always had, long before their powers, their beings, intertwined.

But as close as they were, as close as they had always been, these were still uncharted waters. It scared her, terrified her even. He knew her better than anyone, but at the same time, fully opening up to someone, letting them in, was something she was still not sure she was capable of.

Even for him.

Her eyes drifted from his molten gaze down to his lips and back up again, her nose mere inches from brushing against his. The girl willed herself not to close the distance between the two of them, as tempting as it was in that moment, vaguely sensing her HZE’s reaching outward towards him and consciously reigning them back in.

“Lorcán, I-” Aurora swallowed, taking a deep breath and trying to calm her racing heart, “It’s been an eventful day, and emotions are running a little bit high with everything going on.” She deflected, squeezing his hands before bringing her left palm up to his face, cupping his cheek tenderly, her thumb brushing across his warm skin. “I know there’s a lot happening in that head of yours right now but,” The girl sighed, looking deeply into his eyes and choosing her next words carefully.

“...I think your mind will be a bit clearer once you get some rest.” Aurora paused, the tension between them palpable. “I promise you though, I’m not going anywhere.” She assured him, “Not now, not ever. Okay?”

He pressed his mouth against the base of her palm, Lorcán held it there for only a moment before releasing her.

“I’m not either.” He replied, moving his mouth back. Tracing her arm, he locked eyes with her. It wasn’t quite a rejection, but it wasn’t exactly the reciprocation he had thought he would hear.

“And if I ever do, I want it to be because you’re coming with me.”

Despite her words, Lorcán felt like he was thinking clearly for the first time in a while. At the very least he felt better getting the stuff about Amma off of his chest. Being honest with himself, the experiences had left him feeling guilty and while he knew he didn’t actually owe Aurora an explanation, he had always been honest with her.

“My name’s Lorcán, Lorcán Kendall Roth.” The young boy said, sticking out a lanky arm he had yet to grow into. The small freckled girl in front of him shyly smiled back.

“I like you,” The boy stated without hesitation. “I think you’re totally rad. Want to be my best friend forever?” A wide toothy smile followed the question as the boy led the girl by the hand.

“C’mon, I’ll show you my castle, it’s just an old garage but it’s where I keep all the secrets and if you’re going to be my best friend forever, then you need to know all the secrets.”

His hand moved to his pocket, only to find the smooth, silky material of his crimson boxer briefs, remembering once again that he had been having this heavy talk all while sitting in bright red boxer briefs. It would only have been more comical if they were heart-printed.
His eyes widened as he suddenly scrambled, looking for his shorts.

Fishing them off of the floor, Lorcán dug around in the pocket before producing the small, smooth object that Jonas had gifted him earlier.

“For a second I totally thought I had lost it,” He explained to Aurora before relaxing a bit. “I still have no idea what it is.” He muttered, the object pulsing in his hand again. It brought his thoughts back to earlier in the day, before he met with Jonas.

“Y’know earlier,” Lorcán started, leaning back onto his cot, “Y’know how I said things will never change between us?” He stared at the canvas suspended above them, tossing the black object into the air with one hand before catching it with the other.

“I meant that as in you’ll always be a part of my life, Lady Dude, and you’ll always be my closest friend.” He explained. “But I totally don’t see us as static either, we’re still evolving” He fished a bit.

“Do you like, know what happens when a motorcycle stops moving?” He asked, not waiting for an answer to the rhetorical question. “It falls over, even at slow speeds they sometimes become unsteady. But movement makes the bike balance.”

He tossed the object again.

“I think relationships are similar.” He continued while stifling a yawn, “The journey keeps the relationship growing, even without like, knowing the ultimate destination.” Lorcán rambled before smiling towards Aurora with a wink.

“Even for best friends forever.”

His hand missed the falling object as it caught him square in the face.

“Ow.”

The air around Aurora quickly turned cold as Lorcán moved to his side of the tent, the hairs on her arms standing up at the sudden change in temperature, but also because of what he had implied about them being together. Not dwelling on it, she swung her legs up onto the cot and laid back, her red locks fanning out behind her, hands clasped resting on her stomach. The girl turned her head to look at Lorcán as he spoke, holding the object that Jonas had gifted him in his palm. “Maybe you’re not meant to know right now,” She pondered, “Could be important for later, or something.”

This morning had felt like a lifetime ago, but she remembered the boy’s words as he recounted them. A lot was changing right now, and she had thought at the time Lorcán had only meant it that nothing would come between them. But, ever full of surprises tonight, he took a turn she wasn’t expecting. For someone she thought she knew well, this was a side of the sandy haired boy that she hadn’t seen before. Sure, they had practically grown up together on the Island, the both of them having matured significantly since their youth, but what he was implying wasn’t about them individually.

He winked, and Aurora felt a flush grace her fair skin. Things were evolving, alright.

And as Lorcán clumsily inflicted more harm to himself, she tried to stifle her delicate laugh but failed. Sure, things may have been shifting, but there would still be some things that never changed. “You really need to work on your coordination, hot shot.” The redhead teased, turning her head and letting her gaze rest on the canopy of the tent above them. She reflected on his previous words and a small smile appeared at the memory the phrase triggered.

“Do you ever wonder what life would be like if we never met?” The girl asked before continuing her thought, “Like if one thing was different, we wouldn’t be here together. Do you think about that at all?” Aurora took a breath. “I do. I think about it all the time.” She admitted, bringing her hand up to her necklace, and twirling it.

“So sure, we might not know what’s coming next and how the journey may change things, how we may evolve, but what won’t change is how lucky I feel to have met you when I did.”

The tent’s temperature rose again as Aurora’s words reached Lorcán’s flushed ears. It wasn’t quite a mutual admission of affection, but he’d take the words as a win for now. A smile spread across his face before giving way to a tired yawn. The day had been exhausting both emotionally and physically.

It had been a long day.

From the announcement at the ceremony about the loss of degrees and the displayed animosity of the Foundation to his encounter with Jonas and the mysterious object. From there, the day had only been more complicated after he chose to shirk his duties and go off with Amma into the woods. His best friend took that personally and was now unusually upset at him. Dinner had been eventful with the campfire between both teams and the prying into the conspiracies of the Foundation and then his rollercoaster of a heart-to-heart with Aurora.

It had been a very long day indeed.

“I try not to think about my life without you in it,” Lorcán finally replied, “I definitely don’t want any future that you’re not part of.” He smiled softly, rolling the smooth object around in his palm.

“My life kind of sucked before you, and yeah I realize it could have been a lot worse, in many ways I’m spoiled, but it was lonely. It was the lowest low I’ve known and then you came along.” Lorcán sighed wistfully, “And then things got better, and they keep getting better each day you’re still here. No matter what kind of day I have, I know you’re always there, excited to listen,” He stifled another yawn.

“Rory and Gil are both cool, they’re great friends, but they’ll never trump you.”

Aurora shook her head, “I don’t think you’re spoiled. Sure, you had a very different upbringing than most of us, and you’re lucky for that, but that doesn’t mean you’re completely immune to any kind of hardship.” And she meant that. A lot of people looked at Lorcán’s life, herself included, and were envious of the way the boy grew up. Two loving parents and a community who accepted him for exactly who he was seemed like something out of a storybook. But the grass was always greener, and that didn’t mean the boy didn’t have troubles of his own. “I was lonely too, for a long time. And then I had you and I wasn’t lonely anymore.”

The redhead smiled softly, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell them. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Lorcan smiled fondly back, before placing his head on his pillow, his eyes closed as the gentle lull of Aurora’s voice comforted him. His thoughts raced back to earlier, the near kiss, the hands on her hips.

It hadn’t been real, but in that moment, it had been everything.

“‘Rora,” Lorcán mumbled half asleep as he reluctantly laid back on the cot. Rolling onto his shoulder, he turned to look at Aurora. A smitten smile crossed his face as wandering thoughts pictured waking up beside her.

“I really-” He spoke again, his words slurring slightly as sleep began to take hold of the exhausted young man. His eyelids fluttered, as he struggled to maintain consciousness.

“-really want to take...” Lorcán’s eyes were closed at this point, sleep taking a firm grasp over the young man only for one last act of rebellion allowed him to spit out another sentence fragment.

“...to the dance.”

Aurora had been drifting off as well, but was snapped back awake at Lorcán’s words. Her eyes widened, and she sat up quickly, looking over at his now sleeping form. She watched the steady rise and fall of his chest as he peacefully rested as if he didn’t just say something confusing and leave it up to interpretation before dozing off to dreamland.

Take who to the dance? Her?

Based on the evening's events, she assumed he’d meant wanting to bring her, which opened up a can of metaphorical worms. In fact, the entire night had put them in a bit of a predicament if she was being honest. But then again, he had said many things that evening, he could very well have meant someone else…

Lying back on the cot, Aurora tried to quiet the swirling thoughts that had now overtaken her mind. She didn’t sleep that night.

Not a wink.

[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: The Southern Plateau - Dundas Island}

Welcome Home #1.102: The Ship I Seek Is Passing, Passing

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_{Interaction(s): @Rockette//Amma}

Gil returned to the campfire feast alone, Calliope having quietly diverted herself to her tent; he took up his empty plate, and fetched another couple tacos, the supply dwindling but not without firmly sating everyone present. Gils 2 and 3 were long gone, no longer required once the work was complete, but with the Homecoming Trials looming across the horizon of tomorrow, he wanted to be prepped and ready to pop out clones at short-notice. To that end, he pulled a long mouthful from a bottle of Hyper-Aid, and pocketed another with the intention of an early boost the next morning. He'd rather wake up over a mug of tea - even out here, it wasn't impossible, between Lorcán's fire, Zebulun's water, and ample supply-packs from campus for teabags - but he suspected he might not be afforded proper time to sip and contemplate before being thrust into action.

Speaking of thrust, he watched Banjo carefully depart the gathering at a controlled pace before breaking into near-sprint towards his tent. Calliope had yet to reappear, and Gil didn't expect to see either of them again until the morning.

He was luckily distracted from his own spooling-out imagery by Amma sidling up, cigarette caught between inviting lips, her gaze as simultaneously inscrutable and alluring as ever. Was there a single member of the team - of the entire student body - who wasn't at once both fearful and seduced by Amma's measured, mysterious glances and careful, delicate words?

"Hey there. Got a light?"

Gil kept his mouth shut, nothing suitably suave and tantalizing coming to mind. Instead, he carefully set his plate aside, putting a hand to his pocket and coming back up with a box of matches; he slid the box open and removed a single match, and then put a single finger to the end of Amma's cigarette. With a simple, quick movement, he swished his hand elegantly, and once stilled again it now held its own cigarette, a perfect replica down to the dark lipstick stains around the filter from where it hung from Amma's mouth.

Gil struck the match, lighting Amma first before his own.

"Aren't you just the name on everybody's lips this evening?" He said after a few drags, pale smoke drifting skyward in twin trails from their shared cigarette. "But rumour aside, I think you might have the most insight on today's events of all of us."

A helpless trill of laughter pulled from her lips, punctuated by sweet smoke and the sweep of her tongue against the ridges of bone tucked against her lip. Her delicate, intentional gestures brought her opposite hand up to smooth the nail of her index finger against the pout of her lip, something akin to amusement lighting up the blue of her eyes, bidden to a unique hue by the reflection of fire alighted there.

"Yes," Amma pauses, two pulls of clove later, and says: "And I doubt it'll be the last time."

"As the rumors say: Lorcán and I left together." She flicks her thumb against the filter of her cigarette, dropping ash at her feet. "Nothing more. Nothing less." Her gaze pierces through the gloom and haze of smoke. "But you'd think I stole him away, the way they carry on. The way they look at me." Amma's lashes drop, cutting through her glare as she slides those eyes towards Gil, observing him with his copied cigarette nestled betwixt his fingers.

"Maybe I should have."

Gil takes a couple more quiet drags of his own cigarette. He's not sure how to approach this, pulled in different directions. Lorcán and Aurora felt like the guarantee, the inevitable, the pair of them slowly figuring it out in a delicate dance that dragged all of Blackjack into its event horizon. But the pair were by no means official, and certainly not exclusive. If Lorcán found himself drifting in a different direction...there might be a few hurt feelings left in the wake, but ultimately neither had made a move, and they'd both had plenty time and opportunity, and even encouragement from the rest of the team. At this point, after the events and conversations of the last couple days, Gil could only conclude they were either willfully ignorant of their feelings, or truly didn't have them at all. In either case - if you spooled it out, Gil reckoned there really wasn't anything wrong with it. If Aurora found herself upset, maybe she ought to consider quite why.

"Well, that's your prerogative. There's certainly nothing stopping you, it seems." He finished his cigarette, holding the stub up between two fingers as he let the construct fade. It paled, seeming to lose its colour, and then crumbled away in flakes, drifting away into nothing in the breeze. "If you know what you want, reach out and take it. Why not?"

She is quiet; contemplative, the incense of their shared smoke hazed before her eyes, the prick of her stare lowered, fixated to the construct of his fingers where the duplicated cigarette drops away. Figments on a breeze, remnants of her own, it is poetic in the disintegration, a more delicate surrender than her powers that thrum away around her. Amma turns her palm up, drops her smoke into the crisscross of scars laden there, puckered lines stark and thick, woven against the lines of fate that she snuffs the flamed cherry against as something wistful blooms across her face there.

Did she know what she wanted?
...What did she want?
Something whispers back, a soft scream that echos in her head--

Everything.

“No, there really isn’t anything to stop me.”

“And if only it were that easy,” she utters, almost as an afterthought, coiling lines of red whisking away at her wrist and crawling up and over the structure of her hand, the ashes within her palm cradled against the silver accents of her power. “But there are roles to play here, right?”

“The sinner, the sin. The damned.” Amma’s usual tone of voice drops, a husked whisper that feathers away into almost nothing. “The beauty and the beast.”

Gil watches Amma carefully, seeing for the first time the tumult beneath her affected veneer. She seems unsure, unsteady; her eyes, usually ferocious and deliberate, are now downcast, avoidant. She pushes smoke into her hand, and Gil notices a map of tangled scars he'd not seen before. Amma's face softened, melancholy tinging her features. She looked alien compared to her usual façade, no hint of the stern, predatory Amma he was used to. Gil stopped to consider whether Amma's distance from the majority of Blackjack was by her design or theirs.

"And which do you suppose you are?" He asked in return, his own voice dropping to match Amma's whisper-soft words.

"I wouldn't have thought you would be happy dancing to someone else's tune." He said, aware he was treading into uncharted territory, and not certain how Amma might react. "It's been a year since you arrived from the Foundation - but it sounds like you're still playing the part they cast for you."

Red and silver whispers crawled across Amma's skin, and the interplay of colours against her snow-pale skin and the intense, dark tattooed artwork wove an irregular, entrancing beauty. Gil steeled his jaw and took the plunge.
"From someone used to micro-managing his every move - if you have an opportunity to redefine yourself, it's yours to seize."

"I am All," Amma rejoins, arched and splayed fingers twitching and caressing over the display of power woven through her palm, her gestures usually smooth and deliberate, burdened by something lain within. Something that swells, something that kindles away at the crystalline hue of her eyes as she snaps her gaze back to Gil, the rigid blue of his stare investigating pieces of herself thought lost and forgotten. Segments of brutality shattered concepts and pieces of self refined in jagged edges and cruel intentions, she almost laughs then, unable to deny the bare truth his words reveal.

"In some ways, I will always be what they made me. A year is not long enough to wash away all that red," her lips curl around her spoken admission, an acknowledgment of what she has always known. "The chains not so easily sundered. They'll pay for that though. They all will."

"What about you, Gil, you've been here for as long as I have. Yet, you've managed to blend in well enough. Or is that all a part of the micro-managing? Like defining yourself to a role in a film."

Amma leans in close, head tilted down, curiosity suspended on her words, and says: "What is your part to play?"

Gil took lungfuls of Amma's aroma as she leaned in, perfume mixed with earth from the woods she'd escaped to earlier that day, and an acrid, metallic hint from the swirling red about her person.
"The every-man. The deuteragonist. Carefully scripted, so as not to upset anybody. Artie feeds me lines when I need them, and otherwise I fly under the radar."

He watched a small group of students in the distance who were chattering amongst themselves, and caught one of them pointing at him. They caught him catching them, and blushes erupted before they quickly shuffled further away.
"As much as I can, anyway." He said, shaking his head. "If I'm to return to my life after all of this, I need to navigate back to it meticulously. I suppose those are some hard-to-break chains as well."

Blackjack began to shrink across the campsite, members retreating to tents to turn in for the night. Calliope and Banjo were already gone; Rory had turned in previously; and now Gil could see Haven, Lorcán, and Aurora all making their own ways to their respective bunks. Firebird were trickling away as well, though a few hung around as the sun dipped below the horizon and the campfires burned through the last of their fuel.

"It's late." He said, with a reluctant finality. He wasn't sure what they were dancing around, but he felt tense, each step assessed and delicately placed. "Thanks for the smoke," he said, holding his hand up palm-out, before turning it and another cigarette appearing in the movement. He turned it in his fingers, eyes lingering on the lipstick lingering on the filter, before letting it drop to the floor, disintegrating before it reached the ground. "Don't be a stranger. I'll see you in the morning?"

"Always stuck playing the part they cast for you, mm?"

A soft hum coils away in her throat, eyes gone distant, pin-pointing figures in the distance that turn to retire for the evening, shadowing after a certain pair before she stands with a flourish, eternal scarlet threads blooming like slick grins across her flesh.

"Yeah. Maybe."

Amma spares Gil one final glance, watching another duplicate of her cigarette fall away into nothing, distracted by the simplicity of his power, piece by piece fragmented so easily. Her lips part as if to say more, to expand upon her clipped words and peculiar inquiries, instead she merely turns and walks away with another trill of laughter to punctuate her departure.

Gil, for his part, merely watched her leave, simultaneously relieved and disappointed. He'd cut the conversation off deliberately before it'd become too close to worming its way beneath his carefully-constructed veneer; but at the same, an uncomfortable, foreign part of him wanted desperately to shed the shell and expose the raw self beneath it.

Couldn't risk it. It would be a short year, and then he'd be flying back to Los Angeles. All he had to do was stay the course.

[Qia]

Harper sat cross-legged on the soft, cream-coloured rug that covered the floor of their cozy living room. The gentle hum of the ceiling fan provided a soothing background noise, lulling her into a false sense of calm. Her mother's slender fingers moved through her hair with a graceful and practiced rhythm, deftly weaving the strands into intricate braids. The sweet, familiar scent of her mother's hair oil filled the air, creating a comforting atmosphere that Harper tried not to fall for.

As she gazed down at the intricate patterns of the rug, her mind buzzed with a whirlwind of thoughts, each one vying for her attention and refusing to settle. She knew. Some way, somehow, her mother knew. The burden of her mother's unspoken disapproval bore down on her, adding to the weight of guilt she already felt. Harper had skipped her classes not just once, but at least five times. However, the thrill of rebellion had long since faded, replaced by anxiety over the heavy consequences of her actions.

The young girl wished she could say that was the worst of it, too.

The guilt consumed her, and she couldn't help but wonder if her parents, especially her father, were furious with her. Her mother would have confided in him. How could she not?

Finally, her mother broke the silence, her tone gentle yet unwavering. “Harper, is there somethin’ you wanna tell me?”

Harper's stomach tightened with a mix of anxiety and guilt, and she felt a flush of heat rise to her cheeks as she prepared to confront her mother. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she made the difficult decision to come clean. "I... I skipped school today," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her mother's hands, which had been deftly working on Harper's hair, paused for a fraction of a second before continuing the braid. The room fell into a heavy silence as she seemed to process the revelation. "Now, we both know I ain’t got no patience for fibbin’, ‘specially not under my own roof,” her mom finally said, her voice steady but with a shadow of sorrow in it.

Harper swallowed hard, feeling the shame settle in. “Ok… it may have happened a couple of times.” As she uttered the words, she could feel the weight of her mother's disappointment settling upon her like a physical force, making her breath catch in her throat. She avoided her gaze, staring instead at the intricate braid unfolding in her hands, feeling the warmth of her touch and the gentle tug of her fingers as she worked.

Caught red-handed, Harper couldn't shake the familiar sting of her mother's disapproval. Regret tugged at her heart, swiftly followed by a slow, simmering anger. How had she found out? The question echoed in her mind, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable until it dawned on her.

Sierra. It had to be her! Her sister had wanted revenge and this is how she’d decided to get it.

“Did that big mouth blab about it?” Harper said, turning a fraction but stopping cold once she saw the expression on her mother’s face. She could see the anger simmering beneath, but it was the deep disappointment etched on her face that cut the deepest.

“I reckon it don’t matter none who spilled the beans,” her mother snapped back, sharp as a whip. Harper flinched, her hand flying to her cheek as if to ward off the pain of a slap. “My own flesh and blood, tellin’ tales to my face, day in and day out.” Her mother shook her head, looking into her eyes. “Harper, you know how crucial your learnin’ is. I ain’t mad ‘bout you spendin’ time with… with some young man, though your daddy might not see it the same. What gets to me is you choosin’ to be dishonest and shirkin’ your duties. That ain’t the young woman I brought you up to be.”

Harper's eyes welled up with tears as she looked away, her voice shaking with emotion. "I didn't mean to hurt you…" she whispered. She took a deep breath and looked back up at her mother, her voice trembling as she spoke. "I know it was wrong, but I just really like him, Mom. He's been makin' me feel like nobody else ever has. And I know I shouldn't have lied, but it just felt like no one understood me, and I thought he did... and then you found out..."Harper's voice trailed off as she broke down, tears streaming down her face.

Her mother's expression softened slightly, and she reached out to gently brush a tear from Harper's cheek. "Oh, my darlin’, my heart aches for you, it really does," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "I know it’s hard, bein’ fourteen and all, not quite a child and not yet a woman. But that’s alright, sugar, 'cause we’re gonna get through this together. We’ll sit down and have us a long talk ‘bout handlin’ these new feelings, ‘bout bein’ open and honest with each other. But we gotta lay down one rule straight as an arrow: you ain’t grown yet. You’re still my baby girl, and it’s my job to keep you safe. That means I need you to be honest with me, no matter what.”

Harper looked up at her mother, her eyes still welling up with tears, but a small glimmer of hope flickered in them. She sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve. "M-mom... I promise I'll try to be honest from now on," she said, her voice shaky. "I just didn't know what to do, and I felt like you wouldn't understand... but I promise I'll tell you everything from now on. Can... can we still have that talk about feelings and stuff?" Harper's voice trailed off, and she looked up at her mother with big, pleading eyes. "And can I still see him? Just a little bit? I promise I'll be careful and won't do anything wrong."

Harper’s father entered the room just then, his presence like a quiet storm brewing on the horizon. His gaze, steady and discerning, settled on Harper’s tear-streaked visage. He cleared his throat, a subtle prelude to the firmness that was to come—a firmness Harper knew all too well. One that had always commanded her respect, even as it made her heart quail.

“Harper, darlin’, seems to me you’re overlookin’ a key point here,” he began, his voice carrying the undercurrent of authority yet devoid of harshness. “Your mama and I have had ourselves a discussion, and we’re of one mind that there ought to be some consequences for skippin’ school. And now, here you are, wonderin’ if you can keep seein’ this boy?” He shook his head, a silent punctuation to his disapproval. “You’re just 14, and your studies ought to be your bread and butter. Chasin’ after boys when you ought to be hittin’ the books just ain’t the way.”

He glanced toward Harper’s mother, who stood with a word of comfort at the ready, but he pressed on. “I get that you’re tryin’ to be the understandin’ one, darlin’, but it falls to me to make sure we don’t lose sight of what’s important. And that’s keepin’ this family on the straight and narrow.”

Harper's eyes dropped to the floor, her face burning with shame and disappointment. She felt like she'd been punched in the gut. She had been so sure that her mom would be on her side, that she would understand her feelings.

But now, her dad was ruining everything.

The young girl bit her lip, trying to hold back another round of tears, but they were already welling up in her eyes. She looked up at her dad, her voice trembling with anger and frustration. "You're so unfair!" she spat, her words- her half-truths- laced with a childish venom. "You always do this. You always make me feel like I'm wrong. Like I'm stupid, and don’t know any better," She took a step forward, her fists clenched at her sides. "I didn't skip school because I wanted to, okay? I did it because I had to. And then...and then he came along and he was nice to me. And for once in my life, I felt like someone understood me."

Her voice cracked as she spoke, and tears began to spill down her face. She felt as though her dad's disapproving stare was crushing her spirit. She looked at her mom, hoping to see some kind of understanding or compassion, but even her mom's face seemed distant and unyielding.

Of course, she was taking his side.

"You don't get it, Dad," Harper said then, her words dripping with resentment. "You never get it. You're always so busy being the boss and being right, that you never stop to think about how we feel." She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving her parents in stunned silence. As she ascended the stairs, the last strains of conversation reached her, a muffled exchange between the two people who stood as pillars in her life.

"Well, I'll be…."

“Now, James, hold your tongue. That’s your own stubborn pride talkin’, and you know it.”

---

Harper slammed her bedroom door behind her, the echo reverberating through the quiet house. She threw herself onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow as tears of frustration and shame flowed freely. Her father's words had cut deep, and she couldn't shake the feeling of being misunderstood and unfairly judged.

Minutes passed, and the raw edge of her anger began to dull, leaving behind a weary sadness. She barely noticed the soft knock on her door before it creaked open. Her mother’s footsteps were light as she crossed the room, sitting gently on the edge of Harper’s bed. Harper didn’t move, keeping her back to her mom and her face buried in the pillow.

"Harper, honey," her mom began softly, gently stroking her hair. "I know you're hurtin', but we need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about," Harper muttered into the pillow, her voice muffled and sullen.

“Harper, darlin’,” her mom sighed, her fingers tenderly working through Harper’s hair. “Sometimes it might feel like the whole world’s lined up against ya and it seems like your daddy’s bein’ too tough. But he loves ya somethin’ fierce. We both do.”

"It doesn’t feel that way. It feels like he’s always angry with me and Si." Especially her sister. Despite whatever petty arguments they’d had over the years, she knew she could always count on her sister and always tried to be there for her during the harder moments. Lately, however, her father and she had been fighting more and more. What about, Harper wasn’t sure.

“We get all worked up ‘cause we’re concerned. We want ya to make the right decisions, to be honest, and to trust us enough to share what’s goin’ on. Skippin’ school and sneakin’ around… it ain’t the right path, baby.”

Harper stayed silent, though her breathing began to steady. All the while, her mom continued to stroke her hair gently, letting the quiet moment between them stretch just a bit longer. Then, she took a deep breath, as if gathering her thoughts.

"There's something else I want to talk to you about," she said softly. "When it comes to boys, I want you to remember something very important. A boy who encourages you to go against your values, to do things you know aren't right, isn’t looking out for you. You gotta find the right one for you."

"You mean someone like Dad?"

Her mom paused, just for a heartbeat, her eyes shadowed with a hint of something Harper couldn’t decipher before she offered up a tender smile. “No, darlin’, not quite. Your daddy wants the very best for ya, but that don’t mean you gotta go lookin’ for someone just like him.”

"Then what do you mean?"

Her mom took a deep breath, her words slow and deliberate. “What I’m sayin’ is, you oughta be lookin’ for someone who respects you and what you stand for. Someone who makes it easy to be yourself, and no one else. Someone who lifts you up to be the best you can be, not someone who’s pushin’ you towards things that don’t sit right with you.”

That list seemed to be getting longer and longer the more her mother went on, but Harper nodded her head, regardless."So, if a boy makes me feel like I gotta change who I am, he ain’t the right one for me?"

“That’s right,” her mom confirmed, her tone soft yet unwavering. “A true-blue relationship’s built on mutual respect and understandin’. If he really cares ‘bout you, he’ll back you up in doin’ what’s right, even when it’s tough.” Her mom’s lips drew into a thin line, a hint of humour in her eyes. “Now, let’s be real here, you ain’t gonna be datin’ till you’re at least half my age, so all this talk is for down the road.”

Harper snorted. Sure.

“And,” her mother began again, her tone a bit more serious this time, “you need to apologize to your father for raising your voice the way you did. Not right this minute, but soon. Don’t dilly-dally on it, alright? Showing respect is important, even when we’re nursing a hurt.”

"But-"

“He’s tryin', Harper. He’s tryin’ very hard for you and your sister,” her mom interrupted, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Fine…"

Her mom leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you, darlin’. And remember, we’re always here for you. Trust in that, and trust your instincts.”

As her mom left the room, Harper lay back, her mind a little clearer, her heart a little lighter. She still had a lot to figure out, but for now, she knew she wasn’t alone.

And, hopefully, she never would be.

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_{Location: Southern Plateau - Pacific Royal Campus}

Welcome Home #1.103: The Path of Least Resistance

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_{Interaction(s):N/A- just a transition post people keep it pushin'}

Previously: Veiled Horizons

Harper sat cross-legged on her sleeping bag, the cool night air seeping through the thin fabric of the tent. Outside, the soft hum of nocturnal insects orchestrated a symphony, contrasting sharply with the whirlwind of thoughts racing through her mind. She mulled over the day’s revelations, the secrets she and Haven had unearthed, and the lingering questions that danced at the edges of her consciousness.

Clad in a well-loved t-shirt and soft, faded shorts that hugged her skin with familiar ease, Harper fought the relentless pull of sleep. Her eyelids, heavy as lead, waged a silent war against her will to stay awake, making the hurried scrawl in the notebook before her blur into indecipherable glyphs. With each passing moment, the sounds of the wilderness outside merged into a lullaby, luring her gaze towards the inky void just beyond the tent flap, and then to the vacant sleeping bag nearby—a silent reminder of his absence. For now.

She wanted to talk to him. Despite everything with Cass and the sudden resurgence of a memory she had long believed lost to the depths of her mind, she wanted to clear the air of any misunderstanding she’d caused because of her thoughtless remarks.

Simple.

Yet, it was never that simple with Gil.

And unfortunately for her, she'd never gotten the chance to have that conversation with her mother.

Being around Gil had always made Harper feel like she was walking a tightrope, balancing precariously between wanting to open up and fearing the pain that might come with it. But his presence demanded honesty and authenticity, and that terrified her more than she cared to admit. To make matters worse, today was probably the first time she’d actually managed to say something substantial to the guy in that direction. And of course, she had to insinuate sleeping with him, all 3 of him, while she was at it.

Harper let out a deep, fatigued sigh, her fingers flipping through the notebook’s pages without intent, as her thoughts meandered back to the exchange with Haven. The name ‘Tiamat’ lingered in her mind—a name chosen or bestowed, it carried the weight of ancient myth. Could Amma truly embody the peril of the primordial goddess she was named for? With a soft click of her tongue, Harper’s pen danced across the paper, adding a new name beneath the two etched there: Katja. Reluctance gnawed at her, yet the events at the beach whispered of Katja’s closeness to Amma, perhaps close enough to hold answers.

As for anyone else, the Trials were tomorrow and she highly doubted she would have time to even talk to Katja then. And if there was anything else she was taking from her conversation with Cass, it was his advice to be careful. One foot in front of the other.

The burden of her ruminations coaxed the notebook from her grasp, compelling her to seek refuge in the embrace of her sleeping bag. She lay back, her eyes ascending to the tent’s canvas sky, beseeching the universe for a revelation, for an answer to the tangled web of problems that she was now stuck in.

And, most of all, for Gil to get here before sleep claimed her unwillingly.

[Roman]

G I L G A L A H A D // H A R P E R B A X T E R
G I L G A L A H A D // H A R P E R B A X T E R

_{Location: Southern Plateau - Dundas Island}

Welcome Home #1.104: Fresh

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_{Interaction(s): @Qia//Harper}

Amma faded into the encroaching darkness as the sun set completely, and looking around Gil realised he was practically the last member of Blackjack remaining. It really was late, and with the Trials tomorrow in mind, there was nothing left to do except retire to the tent and sleep.

He stood up, subtly returning a new copy of Amma's cigarette to his hands and twirling it between his fingers as he walked. Absent-mindedly, he ran a finger over the filter, and held his hand up to inspect where the lipstick had rubbed off onto his finger, catching a glimpse of the dark stain before it crumbled away into nano-fragments. He ran the cigarette beneath his nose, inhaling the spicy, slightly-sweet aroma that was so distinctive of clove. He could get used to that smell, mingled with perfume and warm earth and metal, leaned in close to drift up on body-heat currents.

He pushed through the flap of the tent, halfway-in when he spotted Harper tucked up in her sleeping bag, and it was in this frozen moment that he remembered he'd agreed to share a tent with Harper at all.

He artfully flicked the cigarette out into the night with the hand that was still outside the tent, and pushed a broad smile onto his face.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" He teased, surveying the interior of the tent and spotting where his copy had tossed his bag earlier that afternoon.

Harper’s eyes lifted, a ghost of a smile gracing her lips, betraying the gravity of her contemplations. “No, you’re not interrupting,” she murmured, her voice a mere whisper in the canvas-clad expanse. “Just… pondering the unfathomable.”

As her gaze locked with Gil’s, a surge of emotions welled within her—a tumultuous blend of solace and trepidation. His presence, marked by a warm smile and the playful sparkle of blue eyes, kindled a yearning in Harper to divulge her deepest secrets. Yet, she found herself teetering on the edge of confession and silence, uncertain how to weave her tangled thoughts into coherent strands of speech. Instead, Harper’s eyes trailed his, her lips parting in silent astonishment.

“I can leave if you need to…?”

"The unfathomable!" Gil replied, faux-dramatics filling his voice as he stepped fully into the tent. "Sounds important. I'd hate to be a distraction."

They locked eyes for a long moment, and for the second time in the last half-hour Gil felt the spark of tension, uneasy but at the same time not unwelcome. He may have cut his time with Amma unduly short, but he was starting to realise he'd stepped out from the proverbial frying pan and straight into the fire.
"Oh - no, no you're fine." He replied, crossing the tent in a couple short strides and bending over to unzip the bag. He wasn't a pyjama kind of guy, and had he bunked with one of the boys he'd have likely bunked down in boxer briefs and nothing else, but for the sake of modesty and Harper's comfort, he fished out a t-shirt and clean pair of shorts. "It's getting chilly out there and you're already tucked in. Just give me a second."

He stepped outside again, changing his top and pulling off the PRCU-issue athletic trousers, replacing them with the shorts. Underwear would have to change tomorrow - a few scattered students still milled around the campsite, and he wasn't about to go tackle-out in easy view of cellphone cameras. God, imagine those tabloid spreads.

He returned to the tent and chucked his laundry into the corner by his bunk. "Good as new." He said, smiling again, before lying down. He faltered, not sure what to say, how to proceed, or even if he should. He fiddled with his phone, pulling up apps and closing them just as quickly.
"Calliope said you girls came up with some kind of combined rebel theme for the Trials tomorrow? Surely that idea wasn't prompted by anything in particular...?"

Thoughtful. As always.

Harper watched him until he disappeared beyond the tent’s threshold, and only then did she allow herself to roll onto her side. She feigned a casual tinker with her sleeping bag, a guise for her attempt to settle into comfort. A breath she hadn’t known she was holding escaped into the night, mingling with the cool air that caressed her skin, a soothing balm for the unexpected warmth flooding her neck.

The power at her fingertips beckoned—a gift, a curse, an ability that could breach the veil of privacy with ease. Yet, the moral compass within her recoiled at the thought, deeming it a transgression too grave to entertain. However, even if obscured from view, the mere whisper of temptation was a siren’s call she struggled to ignore. Eyes clenched shut, she sought refuge in the void, a respite from the lure of her own powers.

It was only his return that coaxed her eyes open, a small, heartfelt smile her silent greeting as he found his place once more. “Yeah,” she replied, her voice now a gentle murmur. “You look good.” The words slipped out, unbidden, and with them, a familiar rush of embarrassment. Her cheeks flamed, a telltale sign of her social faux pas, as she averted her gaze, once again feigning adjustment to her sleeping bag.

Why did her filters always fail her so spectacularly in his presence? It was as if his proximity sent her thoughts into disarray, leaving her tongue to navigate the chaos alone. An inward sigh marked her frustration, her mind scrambling for a semblance of recovery in the midst of a silence laden with an indefinable charge.

Relief, subtle yet potent, washed over her as Gil broke the silence. Harper found the courage to face him anew, her words flowing with a newfound resolve. “I think we were all feeling the pressure at the time, given the mess of the ceremony and our futures sort of being…in a questionable and scary spot. We felt that with everything going on, we needed to stick together more than ever. And if we could do that while having a little fun, all the better, right?” Her inquiry was genuine, her eyes searching his for a glimpse into his thoughts.

“Besides,” she continued, a playful edge to her voice, “who doesn’t love a good rebellion?”

Gil smiled, allowing Harper's slip-of-the-tongue compliment to pass without comment, though he noted the blush erupting across her face. He'd met a lot of different Harpers over the last two days - the usual authoritative disciplined Harper, the loose, flirty Harper, and now the bashful, flustered Harper. Each facet seemed as endearing as the last.

He rolled onto his side, propping his head up with an arm to look at Harper fully.
"It certainly seems opinion on the Foundation is at an early low..." he mused, thinking about his brief conversation with Amma, and her short inferences into what life under Alexandria might truly have been like. She wasn't the only transfer, of course, but she definitely came across...vitriolic about her time there. "I think everyone will appreciate a reminder that we all stand together here. And I doubt the 'rebel' theme will be lost on the Foundation, for that matter."

Conversation lulled for a moment, and in lieu of a better idea, Gil defaulted to self-aggrandizement.
"I'll admit, I was surprised you wanted to bunk with me, of everyone in the team. You're not worried about the paparazzi in the morning?" He grinned, trying to sell the joke. "Or maybe you're just looking to sell your story to the tabloids..." He rolled onto his back, spreading his hands out to simulate a magazine spread. " 'My exclusive night with Gil Galahad at PRCU!' "

Harper's initial reaction was to brush off her discomfort, laughing along with Gil's attempt to lighten the mood. However, as she gazed at his face, a sense of unease crept in, as if his playful remark carried an undertone she couldn't ignore. The joke felt a bit cringeworthy, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was implying something more. A tiny seed of self-reflection began to take root within her.

Had she ever given that kind of impression?

Her mind flicked through the moments they’d shared, searching for any hint of behaviour that might have led him to think she saw him as merely a star, an object of fascination rather than a real person. She recalled their first meeting, the small banter during training sessions, the times she'd marvelled at his charm and good looks when he wasn’t looking—a frown she didn’t quite notice formed on her lips as she delved deeper into these memories.

As another silence stretched, Harper’s gaze softened, her earlier laughter fading into a more contemplative expression. She needed to address this, to clear the air and ensure he understood her true intentions.

“Gil,” she began, her voice more earnest now, “I didn’t ask to bunk with you for any reason other than wanting to talk to you.” She paused, gathering her thoughts, an uncomfortable expression contorting her features. “I’m sorry if…I may have given the wrong impression before. I’m not a no-strings-attached person.” Her voice grew softer, more reflective. “Been there, tried that, never again.”

She glanced down, fiddling with the edge of her sleeping bag, trying to muster the courage to continue. “I wanted to spend time with you because I genuinely like being around you, not because of your fame or any tabloid story.”

The wisecrack didn't land, the joke's failure plain across her face as an awkward smile spread and faded at equal speed, before being replaced by a slight frown. She looked deeply introspective, and Gil steeled himself as the silence spooled out further and further. He'd finally overstepped, made one cheesy joke too many. Gil had just been enjoying the flirtation and looseness of it, but it was clear now from Harper's voice he'd been playing the fool with something more genuine than he'd realised, for the sake of coquettish thrills and stroking his own ego.

"Sorry, I didn't mean- I didn't want to imply..." He cleared his throat, sitting up and looking uncharacteristically solemn. "I didn't mean to insinuate this was a fling or a quickie or anything like that.. Truth is, it wouldn't be what I'm looking for either, and I'd hate to exploit a good friend in that way."

He set his phone down, removing the distraction and the degree of disconnection it afforded him, focusing solely on Harper. It was dark, but the shine of a full, clear moon filtered through, and the pale light spilled across both their features, making the pair look ethereal, gossamer-painted. "I'd love to talk. I appreciate I might have been a bit of a jackass lately...start fresh?"

He stretched his arm across the darkness, proffering a hand for Harper to shake, hoping she wouldn't notice the goosebumps running across his skin from what he told himself was the cool night air.

Harper's gaze lingered on Gil's outstretched hand, her thoughts swirling with uncertainty. His apology was unexpected, and it honestly caught her off guard. She had always been drawn to Gil's confidence, thoughtfulness, and charm, but this new side of him—the apology, the consideration of her feelings—revealed a depth she hadn't anticipated.

It was captivating to see him lower his walls and expose a vulnerability that mirrored her own, one that she only showed to a select few. And yet, it was also unsettling, forcing her to confront the possibility that the version of Gil she'd held onto might not be the full picture. Now laid bare, the complexity of his character forced her to replay the moments they'd shared again, each memory, each nuance of their interactions, painting a richer, more intricate portrait of the man before her. This was someone who could be more than just a charming face or a fleeting crush—someone who could truly understand and support her.

If she let him.

As she reached out to take his hand, Harper felt the weight of the moment pressing down on her. The warmth of his hand, the gentle pressure of his fingers, was like a gentle rain that soothed her soul, calming the doubts that had been plaguing her. He didn't see her as just a fan. She was his good friend. His friend.

Something within her stirred—a quiet voice that Harper did her best to ignore as she forced a small smile to lift her lips. She kept it contained, like a captured caterpillar, not letting it escape to become the storm of butterflies it was meant to be within her. Instead, she allowed it to form a shackle around her heart, its gentle movements a constant reminder of the potential transformation their relationship could undergo. If only she would speak.

The moon above served as a reflective mirror, casting a light that seemed to understand the quiet turmoil within her. It illuminated the contours of her face, the soft glow revealing the hope that lingered in her eyes, while the shadows hid her doubts, tucking them away into the night.

“Let’s start… fresh,” Harper finally echoed, her voice barely above a whisper, as she allowed her hands to be slowly enveloped by his own.

[Melissa]

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_{Location: Southern Plateau - Pacific Royal Campus}

Welcome Home #1.105: Smoke Signals

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_{Interaction(s): It's a collab folks! @Hound55}

Previously: Chasing Cars

Banjo snapped awake. His head dripped with perspiration, which hadn't just confined itself to his brow.

He looked over at Calliope who had managed to keep sleeping peacefully, despite his dramatic awakening. Banjo ran his hands through his hair, and over his ears, before pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefingers and letting out a deep sigh.

Again. Tonight of all nights. Another bloody nightmare.

Banjo pushed his frustration and rising angst down, and decided the best place to let it go was outside of the tent. No need to ruin her sleep as well.

Carefully he slid around her, planting one foot on the floor and lifting himself over her, watching her whilst holding his breath until his other foot safely found the floor.

Banjo rustled through his belongings on the floor, making sure his cigarettes and lighter were in his shorts pocket, before pulling them on and quietly unzipping the tent’s flap, unveiling the night’s sky. Outside it was spitting and threatening to turn worse, but he needed the open air so he walked out into the brisk open air.

A few strides away, he popped a single durry from his packet of Winfield Blues, and holding it in his leeward side, lit up, with a hand sheltering it from the weather. Taking a first deep drag, his mouth twitched, and he sniffed in agitation.

That’d be bloody right. A night away from one of those daft big beds, a night where I can curl up with Calli, and the bloody nightmares come back so I still can’t get a proper sleep.

It was infuriating. Just when all was right with everything else. Things couldn’t just go smoothly.

He sat on the grass and hugged his legs whilst the dart hung from his lip.

And the worst thing was, there wasn’t anything he could do about them, or properly explain it to anybody else.

Aurora had let herself toss and turn for a while, hoping sleep would wash over her like the waves on the shoreline, but it wasn’t looking like rest would come to her easily tonight. Her mind was restless, a jumble of thoughts that she had attempted to unravel to no avail.

She sat up and looked over to the other side of the dimly lit tent, watching as Lorcán slept soundly. The redhead admired him quietly, studying each slope and curve of his upper body, memorizing the lines of his tattoos, his scars. She imagined what it would be like to fall asleep in his warm embrace, tucked underneath one of his strong arms.

Sure, it was a little bit creepy to stare at him like this. But in her defense, it was the only opportunity she had to do so without anyone questioning her. But as she looked at him, her thoughts drifted back to the moment they shared earlier. The things he said, the way he made her feel, the fire in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. It was confusing, she was confused. She was also scared. Oh, so scared.

Maybe some fresh air would do her some good.

Silently, Aurora slipped on her shoes before ducking out of the tent. There was a noticeable chill outside in comparison to the warmth inside, and she shivered as she felt the temperature shift, along with the small drops of rain that had started to fall. It might have been late Summer, but the nights on the island ran cold. Well, at least by her standards - she was an Arizona girl, after all.

Popping back inside, she spotted her bag on the far end of the space, but it’d be far too loud to rummage through her things to find her sweatshirt; she couldn’t risk waking Lorcán up. She glanced to his side of the tent and noticed his hoodie was within grasp, laying on top of his backpack. The redhead picked it up, attempting to not make any noise and headed back outside. She’d apologize later for stealing it but something told her he wasn’t going to mind that much.

She pulled the sweatshirt on, inhaling citrus and smoke as she covered her head with the hood. She was practically swimming in the oversized garment, but something about it made her feel secure, safe. Aurora began to walk away from the tent and towards the cliff’s edge, but movement out of the corner of her eye made her stop in her tracks. She turned, spotting Banjo crouched down on the grass, taking a drag from his cigarette.

Seems she wasn’t the only one who evaded sleep.

The redhead didn’t hesitate to make her way over and sat down next to him, wrapping her arms around her bent knees. “Just one of those nights, huh.”

“Mmm. Another one.” He replied. He looked over at her and caught sight of the red of Lorcán’s hoodie and smiled to himself as he turned away and took another drag.

Good. Looks like those two cleaned up whatever was on his plate. He thought to himself. Curling and uncurling his hands to hopefully stop the shaking and jitters.

He turned back once he was satisfied he’d straightened himself out enough.

“I’d offer ya one, but you can’t out-jump the big ‘C’.” He showed her, before pocketing the pack.

Aurora shook her head, “You know I don’t smoke, Banjo,” She noticed the way he had moved his fingers a moment prior, seemingly trying to lessen the physical reaction of whatever had gone on inside his head whilst he slept. Although he tried to hide it, the motion didn’t get past the redhead; she knew how bad thoughts could manifest physically. “Calli still sleeping?”

“I know… but it’s that weird thing where it’s rude to not offer ya one, but at the same time I know you wouldn’t want one, and nor should ya. I’ve got a lot of things where it’s just going through the motions.” His hands gestured from side to side, as if directed by the path of social niceties.

“You know me… Always on the frontline battlin’ rudeness, fightin’ for social decorum.” He chuckled to himself at the absurdity of his own statement.

“And yeah. That she is. I take it Matchstick is too?” He took another puff.

The redhead couldn’t help but laugh softly at the nickname he had given Lorcán. “Like a rock.” She answered, holding her palm out facing upwards, feeling the droplets of rain hit her skin one after the other. “I’ve been up all night, never even fell asleep in the first place.” She glanced back at the blonde, a small smile gracing her lips. “And here I was all worried I’d wake him up.”

“Ahh… so not the dreams y’self this time?”

He thought for a moment. So something had wound her up then. Or maybe he was too quick to assume they’d ironed everything out.

“I noticed he took it pretty bad at the Assembly thing earlier today. But that all got straightened out earlier, didn’t it? So what’s on your mind, because you seemed pretty down earlier on over grub? Wasn’t going to say anything, because you looked like you didn’t want attention drawn to it at the time.” He asked, deconstructing what he’d seen throughout the day.

Aurora sighed, letting the sides of her mouth fall downwards, her grin turning into a more neutral expression. “You saw that, did you?” Just as she was observant, so was he. Out of all of her friendships, the one that she and Banjo had felt more familial than anything. They supported each other like siblings, leaned on each other as few others understood their common denominators. “We had an… interesting day.” To boil down the events of the day to one adjective was a vast understatement, but she couldn’t bring herself to elaborate at that moment. Instead she raised an eyebrow curiously.

“Can I ask you something?” She didn’t give him the chance to answer, plowing forward with her question before she lost the nerve, “Were you… scared to let Calli in? How did you know you were ready for that after everything?” There weren’t many others she could be candid with when it came to the subject.

“Ahhh.” He said in recognition, rocking back and drawing a second dart from the pack, before stubbing the first into a blackened palm.

“Doesn’t apply, I’m afraid. She was everythin’ I already wanted, I was just too afraid to ask. Fortunately for me, I didn’t have to.” He reminisced back to this same plain five years earlier.

“But yeah… because I probably wouldn’t have. Between you and me, I thought there wasn’t much point and I’d never have a shot, til it just happened.” He lit up the second, before snapping the zippo shut, pocketing it.

“Everywhere I bounced around, all the foster places, boarding schools, and such. Well, boarding schools tend to be single sex, or at least segregated in some way, so I didn’t exactly have a whole lot of experience with the fairer sex before I got here, and I never really stayed put in any one place long in the few places which were co-ed. And I was new, weird and wild. Didn’t exactly draw a lot of attention in that way, not that I’m aware of.”

“So here, with Calli? That was pretty new. I’ve never really been afraid to be myself, but.” He said, taking a draw. “I mean… I can’t hide me forever, so what’s the point in tryin’? So no. I didn’t have much fear in lettin’ her in once it came to that. All of my fear was gone the second the door was open. If you catch my drift. And she did that for me.” He shrugged.

“I got incredibly lucky.” He said, adding another puff to accentuate.

The redhead watched as the smoke from Banjo’s cigarette curled, only slightly visible in the air as the raindrops fell. She nodded slowly as she made an effort to internalize everything he had just spoken. It wasn’t the answer she was anticipating, she hadn’t expected the boy to feel that way about it all. Kids like them didn’t plant roots, it was too challenging to see them be ripped up over and over again. But hearing the blonde’s sentiments seemed like a small sliver of hope, should she choose to go down that path. Still, the voice in the back of her head piped up, “And now? Are you afraid that you’ll lose her just like you did the others?”

Banjo stuck his tongue in his cheek considering the question. Thought about who was asking it and why.

“I think sometimes I’m helped by the fact I’ve got no memory of them at all. Abandonment issues and all.” He said.

“Harder to miss what I don’t remember ever havin’.”

“Doesn’t help with these fuckin’ nightmares though.” He said, poking at his own head with a few hard taps. “I’m damn near certain it’s from something back then, but the memories… that time’s swiss cheese.”

“It’s frustrating, I can get everythin’ bloody right in my life. Everything going perfect, and I mean PERFECT right now. And then this bullshit happens again. And I can’t do anything about it, because I don’t know what the Hell it’s about.” Anger had rushed back to the surface, and his hands trembled slightly with agitation.

“And they don’t even make any sense to anyone to be frightened about, when I try to explain ‘em! But I’m terrified in them. I think it’s because I was there, and knew what it meant– but now it’s all just… Space. Empty space and residual terror. Faaaarked.”

He stopped and realised he’d deviated too far from the question.

“Shit… sorry for the self pity party. Nah, short of bein’ worried she could do much better and ditching me, I’m not too scared of losin’ her. And with the way she’s been talkin’ lately, even that’s been seeming unlikely.” He smiled, at the thought of the woman in the tent.

“I put in the effort. She puts in the effort. That’s the magic to it. Simple trick. And always think of it as effort and not work. Work’s a begrudgin’ thing. Effort though… Effort’s just give-a-shit. Effort’s just energy, at least to me. And I can get that whenever I care enough.”

“I catch m'self lookin’ at, or listening to her sometimes and–”

He pulled the smoke from his mouth and turned and looked at it for a while. His mind a thousand miles away. Before he caught himself and took another drag, before continuing.

“Well, I just can't see ‘give-a-shit’ ever bein’ an issue.”

Aurora knew that was where their stories deviated. Where Banjo had no memories, she had plenty, too many, of her past. She was in agreement with him that it was easier when you couldn’t remember and didn't have to think about what you never knew. Clearly, it was an issue the redhead needed to tackle on her own. She empathized with his nightmares, however. She knew how debilitating they could be, how helpless they could make you feel, especially when everything else felt in your control.

“Don’t apologize,” She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “I get it, truly. Just because someone else might not find it terrifying doesn’t invalidate your fear. It’s not the situation itself, but how the situation makes you feel. Anything is scary if you believe it to be.” Aurora explained, “Doesn’t matter if it doesn’t make sense in the traditional way.”

A small smile returned to her face as he talked about Calli. He was so in love, and it was obvious. The redhead was happy for him, for them, and glad that they had found each other. But the same envy from earlier crept up, now accompanied by the weight of what had happened in the tent with Lorcán. She could be as happy as them, if she tried. But the questions she had asked didn’t seem to have clear answers. Turning the subject back to him instead of continuing on with her inquiries, she nudged him playfully with her arm. “Sounds like you’ll be buying a ring soon, Banj.”

He smiled to himself, internalising the question. His mind raced through a half dozen ‘Get Rich Quick’ schemes he could run to pull some cash for a ring together. The smile turned to a smirk, and he took another drag before answering.

“Quite possibly.”

The line of questions. She’d been beating around the bush looking for advice to hopefully be of some help with Lorcán, of which he’d been able to provide all too little. Maybe summary statements?

“I don’t really remember my parents at all, but everything else since then is still solid. A lot of pain, sure. But while I didn’t feel hurt by being dragged around, yanked away from every place I’d been very soon after we’d just got there. It’s mostly because I just got numb to it. For the most part, I didn’t get too close to the other kids, figuring I wouldn’t be around long. Found my own ways to entertain myself along the way.”

“Bein’ numb isn’t a good or permanent solution, ‘Raw. And even if it were, I suspect it’s too late for that anyway, in this case. Let me ask you something. Hypothetical: Say the Foundation up and decided to segregate the entire school by sex tomorrow. Picked all us blokes up and whisked us away, made us form new class teams, and oh… you’re in Myotis and he’s Canis. The New team lunchtimes are set at different times, and they brought in a strict curfew at close of school every day.”

“How would you feel?” He’d smoked the second durry down to the filter, and so stubbed it out once again in a black palm.

“Because unless I’m very much mistaken… that’s your answer right there.” He reached into his pocket and shook the remnants of his carton. Only three to go. He thought better of saving them and pocketed the pack.

Aurora’s face fell as Banjo presented the scenario, the “what ifs” of it all popping in her head. But, her eyebrows raised back up in a panic as he mentioned teams, not having indicated otherwise that the questions had any relation to a specific person. It seemed like everyone around her today was picking up clues that she was not intentionally putting down - first Harper, now Banjo. Not to mention, the words that Lorcán spoke continued to bounce around her mind, which wasn’t helping her train of thought.

How would she feel? Like a piece of her was missing.

The redhead exhaled audibly, shaking her head. So much doubt clouded her judgment, even though the answer seemed simple and straightforward. “Hypothetically,” She looked back towards her tent, where Lorcán lay sleeping, the only indication she was willing to provide without uttering the words out loud, “It would be… difficult.” The rain began to fall slightly heavier, more noticeable in the evening air. “I don’t want to be alone again, Banjo.”

“So, if you’re scared of bein’ hurt… and you’re already at a stage where it’d hurt…” The rain had picked up, matted his hair some, and was running down his shoulders and back.

“Seems to me, you’re already takin’ the risk without reapin’ all of the rewards.” He rocked back and forth with his arms around his knees.

“Like I said, there’s your answer.”

“But that’s just the lawyer in me. ‘Never make a point you’re not willin’ to belabour.’” He offered a warmer grin, getting to his feet.

“Now hold back, I’ve got to get this crap out me lungs.”

His breath quickened and halted, and his body turned blacker than the night’s sky around them. A much smaller corona surrounded him, due to the lack of available light, and his flesh re-knitted. His lungs and system cleaned itself out, and his synapses flared and sparked out all of the effects of the nicotine. He held a few seconds before reverting back to his usual appearance.

Rain droplets had supercooled from the effort and turned to frost on his shoulders. He smiled, as his thoughts once again returned to the woman in his tent.

Aurora sat with Banjo’s words, letting them reverberate while he used his abilities to effectively undo the damage of the cigarettes he had smoked. He had a point, she had already taken the risk by forming the connection in the first place, which only added to her conundrum. But how was she supposed to know that their innocent friendship would turn into something more? It was too late now to save herself apparently. She was going to get hurt either way.

The rain continued, thunder looming in the distance. The redhead looked to Banjo, inclining her head towards his tent. “You should try and go back to sleep. There may not be hope for me getting some rest, but that doesn’t mean you can’t.”

“I reckon I might.” He said, looking back at the tent. If nothing else, it had been good to puzzle himself over someone else’s business, rather than dwelling on what was between his own ears. He’d originally planned to come out and analyze what he’d heard from Alyssa on the Foundation, but this had worked too. Probably saved him some smokes too.

“You should probably head on in as well. Seems this is pickin’ up, but I’m betting it’s a damn sight warmer in your tent, than here. Yours comes with a space heater.” He stuck his tongue out.

“I’d feel bloody terrible if you wound up comin’ down with pneumonia or somethin’ as well, on my account.” He reached a hand out to help her to her feet. “So head in and see ya tomoz?”

The corners of Aurora’s lips curved upwards ever so slightly. “That's why I keep him around.” She joked as she stood, sticking her hands in her front pocket and looking up at the sky, “Hopefully this storm clears through before the morning.” The girl took a few steps towards her tent before hesitating and turning back to the blonde. “Hey, Banjo?” She called back to him, “Thank you.”

Banjo unzipped his tent, and hearing ‘Raw's thanks, raised his brow. He hadn't anticipated there being any more to say. Deciding he'd rather not risk waking Calliope so close to his own tent he settled for a simple thumbs up, before stepping back inside out of the elements.

Aurora watched as the boy disappeared, walking a few strides in the direction she was supposed to be headed. But before she pulled the zipper of her tent, she stopped, taking a moment to simply breathe in the fresh air as the rain continued to fall around her. Just like the beach, there was something about the sound of water that soothed her mind. Letting her intrusive thoughts win, she tipped her chin upwards, the hood of Lorcán’s sweatshirt falling to her back as the droplets began to dampen her copper locks, curling the ends. With another deep inhale, she removed her hands from the hoodie and ran her fingers through her scalp. It was calming, refreshing, freeing.

With a slightly clearer head on her shoulders, she re-entered the tent, immediately greeted by the heat that seemed to radiate off of the boy as he slept. She peeled off his hoodie, draping it off the end of her cot to dry over the next few hours, and returned to tossing and turning once more.

[Rockette]

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

Welcome Home #1.106: vore.

^{_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

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

Previously: in-between.

She had almost forgotten that she had agreed to share a tent for the night, the day's events replaying over and over, a jumbled mess of words, actions, power coiling betwixt her ears and siring a wealth of sensation that pricked her skin and inflated her ribs with every draw of breath — lost in the swath of fire that still sluiced through her body and writhed against the red that floated endlessly along her limbs. Amma noted the towels outside and allowed the symphony of the cliffs to still her thoughts before she found Katja already there, lost to music just as she had been, and oblivious to everything else around her. She said nothing to announce her arrival, rather she noted the belongings she had dropped off earlier that day -- it seemed so far away now -- and shed the outer layers of her clothing carefully, jacket discarded first, and worked her inked fingers through her mass of hair, disentangling the ebony pieces bit by bit, refusing to the break the silence that cast over them both. Soft hums slid through her throat, a similar melody she had conjured earlier, a haunting lyric heightened by the winds yonder that spiraled over water and rock.

Katja looked like she was in an oasis of peace and quiet. The only noise coming from her were her fingers, softly tapping in sync with the drum against her shins. Focussing on the high energy music that was blasting from her earphones helped her forget - or at least ignore - those tumultuous thoughts which had been brought up earlier by her peers. As the song built towards its crescendo, her head bobbing grew more vigorous, culminating in a satisfied smirk that graced her lips as the final notes of her favorite segment played out. But where there should’ve been silence, there was instead noise. There had been the cliffs in the background of course, only able to pierce through her earpieces on rare occasions. But this noise was different. Softer, yet in tune with the howling winds.

Curiosity of this strange new sound got Katja to finally open her eyes. When she did, she was greeted by the sight of someone she honestly should have expected, and the presence of Amma still surprised her. Taken aback by the sight of the tattooed girl, Katja let out a soft curse in Afrikaans under her breath as she tore out her earphones. “God se Jesus, Am! The least you could’ve done is tap me on the shoulder to let me know you were here!”

With the initial shock quickly wearing off, Katja realized how she must’ve looked, prompting her to release her legs before shifting into a more conventional seating position. Casting her eyes down on the ground, she let out a soft sigh before addressing the other girl. “Afterall, now I missed out on most of your performance.” Katja said with playful disappointment, that familiar grin spreading across her face.

Amma stilled in her ministrations after working a particular knot free from those chaotic strands of hair, her eyes sliding over her shoulder capped in mostly black ink of an abstract series of lines that formed an intricate knot. Those lilting notes tapered off quietly, followed by a wealth of silence as she gazed on, a series of flickering hues shimmering within her stare and a weighted depth igniting the impact to a singular thing: detachment. It sloped along every limb and cumbersome lift as she seemed lost within the toils of her mind, a previous conversation, a previous occurrence, another time looming yonder into the night.

"Performance..." She whispers, "Right." A panning glance down to her palms then, fingers arched and flexed, tremors coursing through flesh and bone, her rings painful against the scars lined through her gestures as she slowly plucked them off - one by one. Coils of red slid and sluggishly warped around her, muted flashes of silver through the strands of hair and lash.

"Performance," Amma mutters once more, a vicious smile reigning over her lax features. “If one could call it that.”

Katja directed her eyes up at the black haired woman as she silently took her rings off. She saw how the tiny red arcs seemed to project from her hand towards the rings, as if her body did not want to part with the metallic bands. But while she saw Amma, she did not truly register her. Not the details that should’ve been obvious to an observer. Instead, as the silence seemed deafening, Katja’s mind was racing. She could've sworn that Amma was ignoring her, if not for the richly decorated girl's soft echoing the last word Katja uttered. To the South African this implied that it wasn't out of malice or even annoyance that the former Foundation scion hadn't addressed her initially. Still hadn't directly addressed her, in fact. No, it seemed worse to her.

It signified indifference.

The tall blonde's smile faltered slightly as that stinging realization hit. Her mind immediately flashed back to the beach the day before and how she thought she had finally made a breakthrough with the French girl. To earlier in the day, when she accepted her offer to share a tent for the night. What had changed since then? Had she messed up somehow, like with Rory earlier?

With doubt creeping into her thoughts, Katja looked up at a pale face and beheld a wicked smirk. Any other time, any other day, she’d chalk that grin up to Amma being Amma. But somehow, it felt different this time.

Katja next spoke uncharacteristically softly to Amma, almost meekly so. Her icy blue eyes staring up in confusion at that flickering gaze. “Did I say something wrong?”

"What?" Amma snaps back suddenly, a vibrating timbre annunciated with her usual measure, eyes slicing through the cape of her lashes bidden down low, a slow, churning coil of scarlet rising up and up, flush and pulsating till it corded tight around her throat.

"Wrong? Hah, is that what it is? Wrong?" A laugh snakes like a whip snapped forth, short and quick. The sort of bite and breadth of sound that hissed over the pout of her lip as she turned, gave her back to her and began digging through her belongings. Black and yellow accents, mocking ochre tones that seemed hideous against the pallor of her skin, her ink-emblazoned canvas of scars entirely too loud and too much. "No, Katja." Amma finally acknowledges her, arms crossed, nails scraping over her ribs as she lifts her blouse up and over, scars aligned on the lower half of her spine rippling silver. Liken to skeletal figments sired over her flesh, digging ivory claws into every link of bone and nerve.

"Though, if you do have something to say, then speak. Everyone else has. What's one more speculated whisper for the night."

Amma fits a loose tee-shirt over her body and finally feels those dregs of exhaustion pulling away at her limbs, peculiar still the low resonation of HZEs compounded through her entire being. Almost as if banked, scalding coals lie just there, wreathed in red and silver. She turns, arms crossed, and settles down onto her cot, gaze cutting and finally landing on Katja completely.

Katja blinked at Amma’s unexpected snap. Her mind instantly came back to focus on the here and now. Her eyes slowly widened as she endured a sudden tirade against her. It wasn’t due to fear, mind you. No, it was a genuine case of disorientation on Katja’s part as to why Amma suddenly exploded at her like this.

And if that wasn’t enough to send Katja’s mind into a state of turmoil, then Amma exposing her back to her most certainly would. The blonde’s eyes slowly gazed up the spine of the other girl. Where she had initially expected to be greeted by more tattoos she was instead met by a plethora of scars and mutilations. So many that she didn’t even begin to count the marks on her back. And even if she wanted to, she didn’t get the chance as Amma put a shirt over her body before – finally – turning to face her, clearly expecting a reply from her.

“Speculated whisper…?” She repeated in an incredulous muttering. The meekness from mere moments ago had completely faded away. Instead, there was legitimate confusion spread on her features, with a slight hint of indignation starting to burn in those icy eyes of hers.

“What are you even talking about, Am?” There was a genuine look of bewilderment on her face as she spoke, her speech regaining more strength with every syllable she uttered. “I have no idea what you are talking about!”

Her nostrils flared as the implications and accusations finally started to register to her. She had genuinely no idea what Amma was going on about, but she could not tolerate being treated like this. Especially not from someone she considered a friend.

“I would never, ever, talk behind your back, Am. The volume of her voice increased as she became more aggravated by the implications laid out against her. “I swear, if I ever had a problem with you, I’d tell it straight to your face.”

“Only cowards whisper about someone when they think they’re outside of earshot.” Katja’s pupils narrowed as she looked directly into Amma’s eyes, a look of ferocity within them that only genuine outrage could produce. With her fists balled on her lap, she exhaled sharply through her nose before she spoke again in a low rumbling growl of barely concealed anger. “Tell me, Amma,” tilting her head slightly, Katja uttered the girl’s full name, something she had not done since after the first week they had met, “do I strike you as a coward?”

“Do you really think so little of me?”

"Does it matter? You're in Blackjack, they're all in Blackjack. Even Firebird whispers about it. Everyone spoke about it like a great sin, even he looked so distraught about it." Black nails spindle webs of hated carmine and silver, coiling betwixt the air rife with her words, her name -- it's not her name though, it never was -- brandished like a weapon to strike against her, poised to maim. Fury and rage simultaneously reach deep, it punctures and bleeds through; it is sopping wet pleas against a frigid wall of obsidian; it is the christening of a long, forsaken entity that dons a crown laden with ash. A burden of the monarch both wretched and cruel.

"Was it so wrong that Lorcán and I went into the forest together, is it so wrong that even for one second, I was a normal woman? I know they want the monster, the beast, this creature."

Amma Cahors pitched open that gate of her soul once more, the quake of her power bidden on high, a wave of tumultuous crimson cresting over each shoulder like a great offender of old. She is a symphony of nihilism that accompanies the pitched cries that roll away from the Howling Cliffs, her waking world defiled by nightmares that galloped through her embodiment, the flames she had entwined with prior caressing over the mane of black hair and down her splayed arms, hands clenched and bleeding slick smiles of malice.

"It's funny, he spoke like we were friends too. But we are not friends."

That admission reigns in the vortex of power slowly, carefully, sluggish gestures carving one hand through her hair to fasten her leagues of control. Amma draws in a shuddering breath, sparks and fissures lancing down her body and up across her expression, puncturing through her skin like rabid vipers.

[Rockette]

^{_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

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

Welcome Home #1.107: vore.

^{_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

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

Previously: in-between.

Katja beheld Amma’s awesome display of her powers with both a sense of trepidation and genuine awe. To her the dancing coils of raw power were a mesmerizingly terrifying thing to behold. The thought of going toe-to-toe with Amma crossed her mind for a fraction of a second, and while the tall blonde was confident in her fighting skills, she was uncertain what the outcome would be if she tried to face this foe.

As Amma’s powers ebbed back, the arcs diminishing slowly in their intensity, Katja locked her gaze back on those special eyes brimming with power. She took a deep breath to regain some form of composure, though there was still a trace amount of anger that could be heard, lessened though it was.

“This is the first time I’m even hearing of this, but why should I care what you do with Lorcán? Or with whoever else you feel like?” In her impassioned state Katja didn’t think before she spoke. In fact, she might not have even fully realized what she was saying. She was just spilling her heart out at this point, unleashing the emotions that had been clawing at her mind for the entire day. “Would I have liked it to be me instead of him? Yes, of course I would! But that choice isn’t up to me, and whatever choice you make is the only thing that should matter to you!”

Katja stood up from her cot, rising to as much as her full height as she could without damaging the tent. Even in this hunched state she still towered over Amma. But it was not meant to intimidate. Her eyes had lost the sharpness from mere moments before. The dominant emotion within them wasn’t fury or indignation, but sadness. A sadness that could also be heard in her voice, as it cracked when she first continued speaking.

“From the moment we first met I desperately, desperately wanted to be your friend. It’s why I’ve never treated you any differently from any of the others of Blackjack.” She paused for a moment, clicking her tongue as a thought crossed her mind. “And no, I don’t mean that in the sense that I intentionally didn’t treat you differently despite you being some sort of monster. Yes, you have a power that inspires both dread and awe at the sight of it. That doesn't make you a monster, not here, not to me!” A dry, humorless chuckle escaped her lips. “I can rip a man in two by just jabbing my fingers in their chest and pulling them apart. If anything, that would make me more of a monster than you.

Katja slowly shook her head. “You are not a monster, Am. Mysterious? yes! Powerful? Certainly! And can you be a little creepy sometimes? Absolutely! But you are not an evil, soulless creature." For the first time since the start of their argument a soft smile tugged at the big South African’s lips. “You are Am, and you are my friend. Whether you like it or not, that’s how I will always see you.”

Katja leaned forward, bringing her face so close to Amma’s that their noses practically touched. She then attempted to lock her gaze with that of the raven-haired girl before she spoke next, her voice much softer than before, making her next phrase sound more like a plea than a demand.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m lying.”

"Yes," Amma seethed, "We are monsters. Need I remind you," her pitch wavers, her penetrating gaze unflinching and without reserve as she locks onto the frigid determination drawn so close to her. Every sliver of color lain before her, like chips of a fragile heart desperately yearning and reaching out to her, a beseeching and pleading chasm that yawned before them. Whatever bridge had been seeded within the depths of her soul earlier in the forest slowly crumbled away to naught but fractured remains, instead an odious figure loomed, situated deep within and pierced talons deep and true, refusing to budge. A cage there was, one of bone and blood with weighted cracks and splinters, and there it churned and wrought -- biding its time.

"The world outside is dark and it is afraid." Amma reached out, fingers splayed, the red coils of her power sinking into the scarred flesh at her palm. "Afraid of you." She leaned forth, lashes fanned low on her cheeks and breathed. "Afraid of me."

And then she struck.

Her hands lanced against Katja's shoulders, crimson arcs lancing through the tent, scouring over the interior walls before sinking deep into the ground at her feet. She aimed to push her back wherein Amma stood from her cot, fingers arched and cracking, bones struggling against the confines of her skin as the ambient HZEs that toiled within and without bid themselves to her in shimmering capes of crimson lamplight. They wreathed through her hair, eclipsing the black strands as she hissed:

"You're not only lying, you're wrong."

Katja’s instincts rang all the alarm bells as the inevitable became obvious. Her hairs on the back of her neck rose as she saw Amma raise her hands towards her, coiled in that otherwise so mesmerizing scarlet energy. She only had a split second to react, which was all the time she needed to trigger her own HZEs reserve and fortify herself against the coming onslaught.

The shoulders of her shirt instantly disintegrated, exposing her hardened skin to the arcs of red energy conjured by the girl she loved so dearly. The pain was excruciating, as if she was being flayed and burned at the same time. Her skin slowly blackened as it began to form small splits. Yet she did not budge, she did not even make a sound. For the physical pain paled in comparison to the emotional torment Katja felt. It was as though Amma had not targeted her shoulders with her attack, but her heart. That was the thing that truly disintegrated at the moment of impact. And it was that feeling, that agony which left Katja stunned.

And thus, she did not budge.

She could feel Amma up the intensity of her attack. The splits became cracks, blood spilling forth from them, which itself was almost immediately consumed by the destructive power of the raven-haired one. She wanted to say something. Her instincts screamed at her to defend herself. But she couldn’t. Her spirit, so high mere seconds ago as she thought she’d finally break through Amma’s layers, was utterly broken. And to signify this, something happened to Katja that had not occurred since that fateful day in Bloemfontein.

Katja had kept staring into the eyes of Amma. Eyes filled with anger and hatred. Hatred towards her. Slowly the blonde girl’s vision became blurry. At first she thought it was the pain that caused it. That her brain had finally caught on to what her nerves were screaming at it. It had been so long ago that she had actually forgotten the sensation of what was truly happening.

For the first time in twelve years, tears welled up in the blue eyes of Katja Kruger.

A voice in the back of her mind told her to stand defiant. To not give in. But that voice grew ever softer the more she weathered Amma’s assault. Her heart had been crushed, and so had her will to fight. So she bowed her head in front of the girl to whom she had offered her unconditional love.

You are Am, and you are my friend. Whether you like it or not, that’s how I will always see you.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered meekly before finally stepping aside.

With the cruel red lightning no longer targeting her shoulders, the damage became evident for both to see. The hardened skin had completely disintegrated, exposing the muscle fibers to the open air for a mere second before blood started flowing through the nasty black wounds.

Katja stumbled backwards, disorientated by the whole ordeal. Bumping against her cot, she immediately proceeded to sit down on it. The poor camp bed didn’t stand a chance against the large girl’s increased weight and so it immediately snapped under the pressure. Though the fall was less than two feet, Katja’s impact still quaked the very ground they had been standing on.

But Katja didn’t notice. Head cast down, she ran her fingers deep through her long blonde locks of hair before gripping them tightly. Her flexing muscles showed that she was pulling at the strands of hair with incredible force. She sat like that for a few seconds before finally her muscles relaxed. And with that relaxation came a soft sob.

Letting go of her hair, she lowered her hands on her lap. Delicate streams of crimson ichor trickled down the contours of her powerful arms. But Katja did not heed them at all. It did not matter. None of it mattered.

Finally she looked up at Amma, the one who had hurt her so much.

The one she had wanted to love so much.

Tears flowed down Katja’s cheeks as she beheld the face of the girl who had been in her mind all day. The girl she had enjoyed spending time with. The girl she had wanted to love with all her heart.

The girl who had crushed her soul.

There was only one thought that crossed her mind. One that she spoke out in a soft, quivering voice.

“All I wanted was to be your friend.”

That meek voice imbedded itself betwixt her ribs where that harbinger of destruction reigned, where the ashen crown and the ivory manacles weighted themselves increasingly so. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, heavy is the heart that beholds the scepter, and heavy is the hand that reaps, pillages, and destroys.

Fissures liken to the voids in the sea quaked and peeled wide, pupils dilating to a sliver of recognition that is beholden to what she has done.

Again.

"I --"

But you did.
Just like you did then, just as you do now. Just like before and always will be. You did it. You did it.

You --

Cords of hate snap and pull and drag, posturing over her arms and slithering against the mural of skulls and painted moths, the gaping eyes that turned accusatory, the mouths cleaved wide in pleading wails and droning cries. Exoteric resonation splints through her entire being, whips of silver down the planes of her back and thighs that impaled deep to the cluster of scars that suddenly burn.

Destroy --

Nails slid against her palms in tandem to a tempo of renunciation pounding down to her core, a mutilated affair to the maelstrom that slid against her veins and pores, oozing forth as an obsidian wraith that spiraled over lithesome shoulders.

Everything.

She laughs.

It's a manic squeal that resonates with the encroaching storm, the Howling Cliffs wailing as a demented conductor to the siren heralding the reins of chaos. Who knew the formidable Katja would be so stricken! Who knew she would weep? Who knew that such power sluiced down into the thrumming underbelly of her fury and pain? The advocate for the deranged and the depraved. Those lost within and without. That harbinger that bore the mantle of she, the scion of death, the one they all feared.

Just as they had feared too, the name that she had inked into her neck, the letters unique, almost disfigured. The name that bespoke of irony and the cruelty of fate. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'msorryI'msorrysorry.

Amma snaps her lips shut, jaw flexed, grinding bone against bone, and says: "I don't need friends, Katja. That is not a part of my role to play here."

Even a few stolen moments in a forest, a sensation she had mourned the loss over, the warmth had faded away to naught. Though she longed for it, Amma knew she did not deserve it. Even if there was nothing that could stop her, even if there wasn't anything that could stand in her way. She was cold, lanced through with darkness, and tunneled into the frigid void.

And it was okay. She told herself, kneeling before Katja, something not quite there in her eyes, something that tilted her head and grinned.

"'Am' is not my name. My name is - " She pauses, words clipped in finality, she stirs, gaze fixated onto the damage she wrought.

And just as soon as she was there, she was then gone. Grabbing her jacket and fitting it over her shoulders, her sneakers next and laced tight. Simplistic and unhurried were her gestures as she fitted her ebony hair into a twist, looping it through her trembling fingers and sparing Katja one final glance. With a flicked wrist she gestured towards her cot, a silent offering as she stood within the entrance of their now-marred tent.

"Sleep. There's a storm coming."

And then she left.

[Lord Wraith]

Observing the completed Trial structure from a small hill amidst the plateau, Robert allowed himself a small smile of pride before turning towards the five-kilometre walk back to the main campus. The large man made a good pace as he left the blowing grass behind and entered the forest that separated the campus and the rolling plains.

His nostrils suddenly flared at a smell foreign to the forest. Subtle through the smell of fir, hemlock and pine but there, beneath the natural aromas of the forest was the distinct pollutant odour of leather and neoprene.

“The winds are blowing.” Robert spoke loudly, listening through the trees. The hoot of a great horned owl in the distance replied before it too was swept away by the whistling winds singing their haunting song along the cliffs of the Southern Plateau.

His keen green eyes danced between the trees. He was likely just being paranoid, perhaps something that Thaddeuas had mentioned about Banjo’s penchant for retaliation had gotten to him. The source of the smells were more than likely a pair of students seeking some privacy from their campsite.

He chuckled to himself while resuming his walk. It wasn’t so long ago that he too had snuck off into these words with a pair of fellow students during his Homecoming Trials. After all, as the kids say, the Eiffel Tower is beautiful this time of year.

A groan suddenly found its ways from between his lips as a sharp prick tickled the back of his neck. Another pierced the thick skin as the dark forest began to spin. The third downed the elephant of a man, his hands barely able to react in time before he hit the forest floor.

His eyes were rapidly closing but not before he saw a pair of heels amidst several pairs of boots. An authoritative voice cut through the haze.

“Get him out of site and prep the table for the procedure. This sub-class will make an excellent test subject.”

And then Robert lost consciousness.

^{_{__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

Thunder loomed over the Southern Plateau as rain began to pelt the tents and sheets of lightning illuminated the night sky. All had quieted across the camp sites and fires had long been extinguished as midnight had come and gone bringing about the witching hour that it was now.

A lone zipper was lost in the din of pouring rain as the sole figure stole away in the shadows of the wee hours, hiding between the rows of tents before making a dash for the Trial build site.

There, disguised as a simple hedge maze stood the Homecoming Trial in all its biotechnological glory. A combination of mundane construction and Hyperhuman wizardry enabled the ‘hedge’ to rival even the A.R.C. in simulated environments.

But it was not impervious to tampering.

Like every year prior, Robert and his cohorts had already performed their inspection of the students workmanship and rejiggered any required programming. From both theirs and the faculty’s standpoint, the Trial had been deemed safe to run. A redundant check would be performed in the morning, and another before the trial went live. All the more reason why sabotage needed to be intelligent.

Every student carried their student card, it’s what allowed them to check into training facilities and check out equipment. Creating a sequence triggered by the swipe of a specific student’s card would allow it to remain indistinguishable in the morning checks but activate in time for Blackjack to experience a modified version of the Trial.

One void of safeties.

The shrouded figure smiled as they produced said student card, swiped during Blackjack’s shared campfire with Firebird. Even if they had noticed it missing, the card’s owner would have assumed it was lost within the central processing area of the Trial. They did after all help program this year’s theme.

What no one would anticipate though was the projected power-dampening field that would prevent anyone from getting in and those inside from getting out. The Harbinger had planned out every detail.

Though some had to be left in the dark lest they be compromised, but it was a sacrifice that had to be made and every member of House Orcinus was ready to be towards the glory of Hyperion's inevitable return.

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: The Southern Plateau - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean}

Welcome Home #1.108: Sabotage

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: S'moregasboard

Morning came faster than most of Blackjack appreciated.

The melodic sounds of songbirds and seabirds alike had started at approximately five in the morning and continued well past the time the campus wide trumpet had blown. As each stumbled out of their tents, some better for wear than others, they found Tad waiting for a breakfast consisting of bagels, muffins, fruit, juice, water and coffee or tea as per their preference.

From the neighboring campsite approached Jess waving a student ID card in hand before handing it to Tad who was sitting beside the breakfast spread.

“Hey, Lover, Noah found this in the fire circle, it’s still a little damp from last night’s storm but looks like it’s good otherwise. Might want to ensure Harper has it back. You'll definitely need her to beat Firebird today.”

Tad smiled as he took the student card from Jess’ hand. It was true, for a student's trial run to be counted, they had to swipe their card upon entry.

“I’ll be sure she gets it back, even if I know we could beat you even with a man down.” He retorted only for his wife-to-be to roll her eyes.

“Sure you can, Finch. Try not to make the target time too easy for us.”

As the various members of Blackjack gathered around for breakfast, Tad turned to address the group proper. In his hands he held another piece of paper while the Team’s eyes were drawn to a collapsed tent beside him.

"I, uh, found this note, looks like Mei left in the middle of the night. Something about in the air force you can’t hear Haven scream?."

"Yeah,” Jess interjected with a playful smirk, turning around to tease both Tad and the pair of lovebirds.

”According to my guys, all anyone could hear last night over the rain was Barnes and Tyler.”

“Ahem,” Tad cleared his throat while his ears turned red. Moving his head, he indicated for Jess to leave before turning back to the group.

“Since our girls programmed the Trial, Blackjack has been elected first to run the course. Hopefully, with our insider knowledge, you don’t set too good of a time.” He gave a taunting smirk towards Jess who rolled her eyes at her fiancé before walking away.

“I’ve brought some A.R. Suits over for you all to change into, no need to explain them as you’re all surely used to the suits by now. Don’t forget your neural links.” Tad added tapping his temple to indicate the proper placement of the device.

“For those who have never done this, get some food into you, then suit up. We’ll regroup in front of the Trial before officially entering.” He explained before grabbing an apple along with his bagel and coffee.

“Don’t overeat and I’ll see you over there.”

^{_{__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

Tad counted the heads of the ten remaining Blackjack members. He couldn't blame Mei or Pallyx for leaving with the shake up caused by the Foundation, but he was grateful for the remaining members. Most of them he had been mentoring since they came to P.R.C.U.

“Alright, you guys put this together, I know you can set a great time, but also try to have fun. For some of you it’s a first run, but for all of you, it’s the last time you’ll get to do this. Savour it, work together and I know you’ll do great.”

The various members of Blackjack filed into the towering hedge one by one, each swiping their student card as they entered which brought their A.R. suit to life, establishing a connection with the neural link that brought the maze in front of them to life.

Suddenly pulling Harper out of line, Tad moved her to the back of the group before holding out his arm.

“Sorry, I just remembered Jess gave this to me this morning. You must have dropped this yesterday.” He explained handing her student card back to her

“Give ‘em hell, Baxter,” Tad encouraged sending the girl through last.

As the Trial came alive, the programming glimmered to life as the doors shut behind Blackjack with a sharp sibilation. As soon as the doors locked, the visual constructs began to flicker. The entire simulation began to shut down in a flash of scrolling, corrupted red code. The area went black, submerging Blackjack in darkness before flaring back to life in a blinding flash of white. Winding, sterile halls replaced the stone maze and jungle of the previously programmed simulation.

Tiamat
Tiamat
Tiamat

A chorus of hushed whispers echoed around the collective team. A cold fog hung to the room's walls and floor while an indiscernible hissing echoed through the spotless maze of corridors. The exterior walls of the Trial hummed, the familiar nausea of an EBI field washing over those standing too close to the doors.

Empty classrooms lined the corridors, each occupied with abandoned desks. Within several of the rooms were a buzzing, damaged smart board, its screen covered in static beneath the cracked glass. The other rooms were filled with gurneys lined with busted restraints. Vials filled with vibrantly coloured liquids were scattered through the hospital-like rooms, while half-empty syringes lay around the abandoned gurney, their points stained with the familiar rust-tinged vermillion of dried blood.

The chorus of voices returned, words echoing again through the winding labyrinth.

“Tiamat.”

“Welcome home.”

[Lord Wraith]

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: The Southern Plateau - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean}

Hope In Hell #2.001: Into the Fire

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Sabotage

“What the hell just happened?”

Jim pushed his way through the throng of graduate students frantically tapping at the non-responsive controls in the operations room while outside the rest of the student body watched in horror as the Homecoming Trial warped from a stone maze in a jungle backdrop to a twisted version of the Foundation’s Institute.

“Something is in the system, we’re locked out.”

“Then y’all best get control back!” Jim roared, “And who ordered the damn dampening field installed.”

“That wasn’t in Robert’s blueprints, Sir.”

“Where the hell is Arkwright?”

“No one has seen him since the inspection last night, none of this code was in the system then. It’s like there was a trigger.” One of the techs stuttered back.

“Can’t y’all ‘un-trigger’ it?”

“Unfortunately, Sir, it seems it needs to run the course. Unless objectives are met inside the Trial, the tampered code won’t release.”

Jim furiously furrowed his eyebrows, locking eyes with the student before realizing he was angry at the wrong person.

“Y’all keep working on this, I’m going to try skinning this pig from another side.”

[Lord Wraith]

“I put an extra scoop in after how well you did on that last test,” The woman's voice called as she rounded the corner from the kitchen into the dining room only to discover an abandoned math textbook laying as open on the table as the window beside it.

“Lorcán!” Victoria Roth yelled, peering out the window just in time to catch sight of the young boy tearing across the pavement towards the campus grounds.

“Young man, get back here right now!”

But the words fell on deaf ears as the young boy continued to put distance between his mom and himself.

It was the first week of September and students would soon be arriving on the island. Lorcán was still too young to attend Pacific Royal’s collegiate program and was instead resigned to homeschooling under his parents.

That would have been fine if he had a sibling or a classmate of some kind. More than anything in life, Lorcán desired a friend.

“Hi!”
“Hey!”

“Sup?”

The eleven-year-old boy greeted every prospective student he crossed paths with, smiling and waving while ducking between the taller teenagers. Suddenly he was roughly pushed to the ground, tumbling into the dirt only to look up into the face of a sneering older boy.

“Watch where you’re going runt,”

“Sorry, dude.” Lorcán apologized, dusting himself up before extending a hand, “I’m Lorcán, what’s your name?”

“Whatever,” The older boy retorted, brushing Lorcán off before pushing him down again with a chuckle. “Stay down Lora.”

“It’s Lorcán.” The younger boy repeated, moving to stand again only for the older boy to attempt to push him down for a third time. Lorcán stumbled backwards but managed to defiantly stand. Sweat began to pool on his forehead, his hands shaking as his cheeks flushed.

“You think you’re tough, pipsqueak?” The teen extended spikes from his cheekbones, making a biting motion towards Lorcán. “I told you to stay down.” He raised a fist only for the air around him to suddenly rise and ignite.

The teen screamed in pain as flame engulfed him, sending the older boy to the ground as he tried frantically to extinguish himself. Cries of anguish and fear echoed around the pair as tears welled up in Lorcán’s eyes.

“I just wanted a friend…”

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

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

Hope In Hell #2.002: Buddy System

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): @Rockette - Amma Cahors, @Melissa - Aurora Mitchell}

Previously: Chasing Cars

“Little on the nose, dudes,”

Lorcán muttered aloud, accusation sitting heavy in his voice as the simulation started up, the rumoured sterile hallways of the Foundation appearing before his molton-coloured eyes. The familiar wave of nausea washed over as he touched a hand to the door, he could feel his HZEs being extinguished the second his hand made contact. Pushing on the door, it failed to budge before Lorcán nearly dry-heaved from the prolonged contact. Pulling back, he took a couple of deep breaths while looking into the maze in front of Blackjack.

Based on the facial expression of both Harper and Calliope, it was becoming blatantly obvious this was not by their design. Lorcán's eyes immediately moved from the alleged designers to Amma, who to his surprise seemed just as caught off guard, if not more disturbed than the rest of the team.

Perhaps this was a trap meant for her?

Lorcán suddenly spun around again, cupping his hands together and forcibly launching a fireball from his palms. It fizzled out against the door, not even leaving so much as a scorch mark as the EBI field rendered his HZEs inert.

“I slaggin’ don’t care for being a rat in a cage.” He growled. “Looks like the only way out is through.” He stated to the team, before doing a quick head count to ensure everyone was accounted for. Reaching into his back pocket, Lorcán pulled out his father's old black ballcap, blowing a few wavy strands of sun-bleached hair out of his eyes before putting the cap on backwards.

“Dudes, we need to buddy up, everyone pair off and stay with your person.” His fiery eyes looked towards the fog laden corridor. Lorcán stood up straight, rolling the sleeves of his athletic shirt up before taking charge of the situation. It was the same time most of the team had heard Aiden Roth issue instructions to them during Practical Ability Training.

“Place could change at a moment's notice, we don't know the game we’re playing so we’re just treading water trying not to get dunked by the next swell. Got to get on the board somehow.” Lorcán continued before grabbing Aurora's hand without any hesitation. He gave it a quick squeeze before looking at her.

“Lady Dude, you’re with me.” He left no room for argument before looking back at the other eight students.

“Don’t let go of your buddy in any circumstance and let's try to keep the group together as much as possible.” Lorcán turned his gaze back to Amma.

“Brah, you got any insight here?” He asked, his eyes locked with Amma’s, but what looked back was feral and uncaged.

Amma's eyes were unwavering, rigid, deep, and laden with unbridled fury that lined her gaze in silver. Waves of a storm-ridden sea clashed with molten cores and there, a slow tremor in her hand that barely shimmered with her power slowly being leeched away near the walls infused by the dampening field. Her red sparks struggled to dominate her flesh as was often their want.

"It's a test. This is what they do. I don't -- " Her stare lances down, quick and deliberate as she studies his hand laced with Aurora's. "They make you weak, defenseless." Amma slowly stepped closer, her full mouth rising into that often hellacious smirk she was known for.

"They'll attack you at your lowest when you think you've gotten away far enough. When you think you're safe."

She makes to move around the pair, gazing off into the fog.

"They want to see how long you can last on their terms. In their domain."

Without hesitation, Amma set off down the corridor with a deliberate pace, sparing neither a secondary glance.

“Brah!” Lorcán protested as he watched Amma run off.

“That's not the buddy system!”

[webboysurf]

"I got called in to work early. Hyperpsycho downtown... teleporter. Probably going to be gone a few days. I need you to take the bus this morning... or ee if your mom can drive you."

Cole Tyler finished straightening his tie in the downstairs bathroom, right across from the kitchen. Rory sat at the kitchen counter, finishing his protein shake and trying to parse together the last few questions of his homework. Cole didn't even look at him as he slid back into the kitchen, tossed Rory's half-finished glass into the sink, and plucked a briefcase and a thermos of coffee to head out the door.

"Ok dad... I love you." His words were weak and soft. Cole didn't even grunt in acknowledgement as he took a moment to walk towards the stairs. He called up them. "Honey, twins... Going to be a late night. I'll keep you updated. I love you!" He walked past Rory, briefcase slapping against the latter's back incidentally as Cole Tyler rushed out the garage door. It hurt.

As soon as he heard his father's car peel out of the driveway, a thundering roar of footsteps came rushing down the stairs. Will and Mary were young... middle school, maybe? They had already eaten and gotten dressed into their uniforms for some rich Catholic school downtown. Somewhere prestigious, and where he couldn't get in. Will gave him a smug look as he looked briefly towards Rory's homework, picking up a pencil and writing out a couple numbers and a letter. Rory shook his head. Letters didn't belong in math, just another prank from his little brother. Mary was engrossed in her phone, texting god knows who while posing for a brief selfie on her way out the door. Lastly, Julia Tyler entered into the kitchen. Her phone was nestled between her ear and shoulder as she grabbed her purse from the kitchen island. She flashed a dirty look at the dirty glass in the sink, before snapping at Rory and pointing to it wordlessly. Her face quickly shifted to a soft smile as her voice grew bubbly for the person on the phone. "Of course... yes, sir, I've just got to drop the kids off and I'll be right there... I read the file last night..."

"Hey, mom, uh... dad's already-" His voice was soft, defeated, awkward. It felt wrong.

Julia snapped her fingers again, placing a single finger up to her lips. She was on the phone, it was about work. She knew he knew not to interrupt her. "Uh, huh... Alright, see you soon." Will and Mary were already in the car, buckled, and Julie was opening the garage door. She hung up the phone, sliding it into her pocket, and placed one hand on the door. "Whatever it is, Rory, ask your father. I'm going to be late to work." Her shift in tone, and the exhaustion in her voice sunk the boy's shoulders. She quickly shut the door behind her, leaving Rory alone in the house. He looked down at his homework, trying to make sense of Will's writing for what only felt like a second. He shoved his notebook into his bag, and walked over to rinse out the glass before shoving it onto the top rack of the dishwasher. His chest felt heavy as he turned the corner and opened the front door. Outside, he saw the bus going down the street in the opposite direction. The weight in his chest grew heavier.

---

"What the fuck, Rory, are you kidding me?" Rory's mother's face was contorted with barely concealed rage as he sat frozen at the kitchen table. She was not a tall woman, but in this moment towered over him. He felt his cheeks grow hot, his chest heavy, his breathing painful and labored. Julia slammed a hand against the kitchen table. "Look at me! What in the Hell were you thinking?"

Rory paused, eyes glancing up towards her, but only for a moment. Even the glance was enough to nearly send him over the edge. He swallowed hard, teeth clenched to keep his emotions from seeping out of his pores. _{"I tried to ask you-"}

"Oh, it's my fault you missed the bus, Rory!? You're in high school! Was I supposed to hold your hand and walk you to the bus stop?!" She paused for a moment, staring at him expectantly. Rory stared at the table. Julia took a few steps away, taking a deep breath as she held back more insults. She turned back. "Even if you missed the bus... you couldn't text Tom and see if his mom could drive you? Or Kareem? Or did you just not care?" Her question was rhetorical. Rory didn't bother answering, or justifying. He hadn't spoken to Tom since he found out he was a Hype. And Kareem had moved the last summer to Vancouver. But he knew if he said that, she would just ask why he didn't ask any of his other friends. And he didn't have the heart to tell her he didn't have anyone else.

Julia sighed, sitting down across from Rory at the table. Her voice softened slightly, the anger subsiding to a cold disappointment. "You're getting too old for this, Rory. Your father and I are very busy. We're trying so hard to give you and your brother and your sister the best life we can. And it hurts us when you can't even do the bare minimum, Rory..." She paused, her gaze seeming to stare almost through him. He almost instinctively looked up to meet that gaze. "Let's put it this way... do you know what happens when you don't play your position?"

"The team suffers." The response was automatic. She didn't watch enough of his games to ever be specific with her analogies.

"Your team is your family, Rory... and you're making them suffer."

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

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

Hope in Hell #2.003: I Want to Run and Hide

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Haven - @Skai}

Previously: Feathers on the Court

Rory blinked himself awake, taking a moment to decipher dream from reality. Was it a dream? Or felt more coherent... more like a memory. But he couldn't place the specifics. That almost made it worse.

The second sensation Rory noticed as he stretched his arms were the soft fingertips of Haven interlocked in his own, gently slipping out of his grasp before he fully processed they were there. His brow furrowed, as he parsed through the memories he had. She was more clothed now, and lying in her own sleeping bag next to him. He felt a small wave of embarrassment as he looked over his naked form. Was it all just a dream? No... no, he had the same thought the night before. What they shared was real, quite real. A small smile crept on his face. She had held on to him as they slept. His heart surged at the thought.

Of course, it lasted only a moment. He didn't place much stock in his dreams... but the one the night before felt foreboding. He didn't even notice the irony as he quietly slipped from his sleeping bag, sliding on a fresh pair of boxers and shorts. He picked up his shoes, draped a t-shirt over his shoulder and walked towards the tent flap, his finger hovering near the zipper. But he stopped himself from opening it, looking over his shoulder to Haven's slumbering form. She looked borderline angelic, the way her ruffled wings were tucked in tight next to her and her hair was out of sorts.

No... no. Not this time.

Rory sighed, setting his shoes down and tossing his shirt on top of his duffel bag. He laid out on top of his sleeping bag, curling up next to Haven as he draped a hand over her side, being as careful as possible to avoid touching her wings. He nestled himself up next to her as close as possible, resting his head into her outstretched arm. He closed his eyes, and focused on the sound of their breath and the sensation of being so close. A smile spread across his lips as he let himself relax.

The sound of Rory's movements had begun to wake Haven from her sleep long before Rory laid down. Her wings shifted behind her, gathering closer to her body. They grazed his arm, unaware that it was that close to them. Her eyes fluttered open, greeted by the sight of Rory's smile and his face so close to hers. She felt the weight of his arm on her waist and the feeling of his skin against her feathers. To her surprise, she didn't immediately flinch at the touch. Yet her wings still slowly recoiled, keeping inches away from human contact as they'd grown used to doing. Maybe one day she'd learn to trust another's touch in such a sensitive spot. If there was one person she could think of that she'd allow to get close enough, it would be Rory.

Being careful not to move a muscle in the arm Rory laid against, Haven leaned her head forward to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. She smiled at him as she returned her head to it's spot on the sleeping bag. She could tell he was awake by his breathing, but she worried that speaking too soon would mess with the peaceful silence they remained in. Plus, that blissful look on his face was everything to her. She'd never seen him look so carefree.

A jolt shot up Rory's arm and into his spine the second he felt feathers graze his skin. He knew how big of a deal even such a small gesture was, coming from her. His eyes lazily opened, and he nodded as he saw Haven's wings recoil from his hand. The warmth of her kiss caused him to lean forward longingly, planting his own kiss on her cheek as he nestled himself even closer. He moved his hand off her waist and lifted it to her other cheek, guiding her head so he could look into her eyes. His voice was soft, borderline dreamlike still as it was clear he was still in the process of waking up. "Good Morning... sleep well?" There was a soft cheekiness as he wiggled his eyebrows to accentuate his question.

There was a silent thank you in her eyes as she looked into his, but her wide grin was answer enough to his question. "I haven't slept so comfortably next to someone in a long time." She began as her hand lifted to take his into hers. She intertwined their fingers between them. "How did you sleep?"

He paused, his smile fading slightly. He wouldn't be technically lying if he just said he slept well. Hell, it was a wonderful night of rest. And the only issue with his slumber was outside of her control. There was no need to ruin a good thing. He looked over her face, the smile naturally widening as he just nodded. "I slept... I really like falling asleep like this and waking up next to you." It was blunt dodge, but not at all untrue.

Rory looked up towards the top of the tent. It wasn't too bright outside yet... it was clearly early. Conditioning barred him from sleeping in even after a night like that. He turned his gaze back to Haven, his happy grin slowly replaced with a smirk. "It's still early... we've got a while before breakfast or the Trials..."

Haven noticed the smirk on his face, the double meaning behind his words sending a pink hue to her cheeks. "We should warm up with a run, before we warm up that way." Plus, she had picked up on the subtle way his smile dropped. It seemed like he had something else on his mind that troubled him. There was also something she wanted to ask him when they weren't tangled up together. "The run will clear our minds and get the endorphins running."

Rory playfully sighed at Haven's suggestion. He didn't want to leave this spot by her side, even if he knew they would have to move eventually. His smile widened a little, though. He didn't usually have company on his morning runs. He had always thought he caught a glimpse of Haven in the sky some mornings, and the thought of being able to share in a morning routine felt reassuring. This would be different. "Fine... a little less hot, but it's probably for the best." He let go of Haven's hand and quickly lifted himself up. He offered a hand to his partner to help her up.

Haven grinned as she looked up at him. She slid her hand into his and squeezed before letting his strength pull her to her feet. "Thanks."

"You should turn around while I change, or we won't make it out of the tent." She teased him as she turned towards her duffle bag. She knelt down in front of it to pull out a running set from inside. As she stood, she glanced over her wings to raise her eyebrows at him. "I mean it, Rory. You can see it again later tonight."

He hated that she was right. The slight blush in his cheeks from staring at hers as she dug through her bag was a dead enough give away. "I'll be outside. Trying not to think about you chang-" He didn't finish the thought, cutting himself off abruptly as he shook his head. He reached down to grab his shoes, fresh socks already stuffed inside. He opened up the tent flap and stepped outside. He took a moment to stretch out his arms, which were still sore from the day before. He was going to need a rest day when this was all said and done. Maybe he could-

She said tonight.

Rory's blush grew brighter, and he cleared his throat softly. He snapped his fingers , clapped his hands... anything to get the energy out. He felt suddenly restless. This was a thing, now. They were really a thing. He grinned like an idiot as he sat on the ground and pulled on his socks, followed by his shoes.

Haven's laughter followed Rory out of the tent. She decided to change quickly, in case he changed his mind. There was a broad smile on her face as she pulled on the fresh shorts and sports bra. She could hear him outside. His movements had her feeling quite restless, too. Until something dawned on her that made her whole body flush.

"Rory... Can you hear me from out there?" She asked as she tugged on a loose tank. Her wings carefully slipped through the opening on the sides.

"Yeah... what's up?" Rory called out over his shoulder, choosing to remain a little softer in tone. He knew about her hearing, and didn't feel like disturbing the rest of the team's beauty rest as he basked in the dawn's glow.

There was a moment of silence from within the tent as Haven quickly pulled on her socks and shoes. Then the slow sound of a zipper being undone behind him. Haven emerged from within the tent, her feathers ruffled behind her and a flush on her cheeks as she gave him a look that was as amused as it was embarrassed. "We, uh..." She stepped up to him, her voice low as she got on her tip toes to speak into his ear. "We didn't sound-proof the tent last night."

Rory's brows raised in confusion for a moment. They weren't really required to sound proof the tents, it was usually just a little easier to help people fall asleep. After their night together, he didn't really care about noise-

The realization hit him like a brick wall. His cheeks grew hot as he turned to face Haven. But after a moment, he felt a small laugh boil up in his throat. He covered his mouth with his hand, giggling softly for a second. When he regained his composure, he placed a hand on Haven's shoulder, smiling down at her. "Well... on the bright side, I don't think we have to tell anyone about us." His smile was warm and sincere. In this moment, he didn't particularly care. The embarrassment would come with a certain loud-mouthed Aussie later, that was guaranteed. "We'll just have to be careful about noise next time, yeah? Don't want to make anyone too jealous this early in the game." He was confident, and remained unaware of the double meaning in his words.

The two shared red cheeks for a moment, until Rory began to giggle. The sound of it was worth the embarrassment. Haven beamed up at him as he mentioned telling people about "us". She shook her head, her eyes darting around the camp. "Next time we won't be surrounded by tents, thank the heavens."

She took his hand from her shoulder and began to tug him along. "Let's get going before the others come out. I don't know if I can face them right now." Rory should be the only one to see her blush like this, anyways. As much as she urged him to continue, the glint in her eyes revealed that she wasn't ashamed of their noise. She was proud of it in fact. That wasn't something the others also needed to overhear, though.

Rory smiled a goofy grin as he let Haven drag him towards the edge of the camp. He noticed that glint in her eye... or more notably, the lack of shame or embarrassment he might expect. Once they broke the tent line, nearing the closest forest path, Rory broke from Haven's grasp and started jogging past her, turning around briefly to wink at her as he did so. He kept a reasonable pace, not pushing himself as hard as he might usually. He enjoyed the stark morning air as he ran, making sure to slow or speed up to keep up with Haven. It felt... odd, to no longer be alone during his usual time of solitude. But it was a welcome change. He couldn't help but smile as the two jogged through the forest trails of the Southern Plateau. Rory slowed to a stop after a half hour of jogging, keeping his breath slow and steady as he took the stop as an opportunity to stretch his arms. He kept his gaze on Haven, soft smile on his lips. "How ya feeling, Wings?"

Haven took the opportunity to stretch out her wings. She'd been running with them tight against her back to avoid any drag they'd cause open. Once she'd furled them again, she began to stretch her legs against a nearby log. She smirked in Rory's direction at the nickname. Her voice and breathing was as even as when they had begun their routine. "Great, but I'm not sure why you're holding back for me. The view was awesome when you were in front of me, though." She teased before her smirk softened. "It's nice to run with someone for a change."

She finished her stretches, moving to approach him. her head felt much clearer now, so hopefully he felt the same. "Can I... ask you a question? About last night?" Her hand reached for his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "We both want this to be more than what we're used to, but I want to know how you feel about something before we continue." There was a small pause before she managed the words. Her tone was even, not a hint of anger or jealousy held in it. Yet it was obvious that she was nervous to say them.

"I know that Mei had asked you to the dance on the beach. So, I'm not upset that you've agreed to go with her. I'm glad you made up, actually." She tilted her head to the side, her lips thinning for a moment before asking the question. "Do you think any feelings you may have for her will affect... us?"

Rory's heart sank as Haven mentioned the dance. She must have heard, somehow, that he was supposed to go to the dance with Mei. He wasn't sure who could have possibly told her. But, more than anything, her final question stung the most. He instinctively pulled his hand away from Haven's, eyes narrowing as he looked her over. The question was a fair one, and it hurt more as he hesitated. His feelings for Mei were mostly physical... but she was less the concern, in his mind. There was someone else who came to mind.

"I don't think you have to worry, Haven." His tone was somber as he turned away, arms folded up over his bare chest. "I don't have the same connection with Mei. I don't feel the way I feel with you with anyone else. Some things are similar, a lot are different. But this is something else." He paused. He felt that same crushing anxiety from earlier build in his chest. Haven didn't ask about Katja... but it felt wrong to not say anything.

But if he did say something, would she want to stick around?

"The feelings I have for Mei aren't going to get in the way of us, Barnes. I know I'm an-" Something caught in his throat. A word. The same word his brother used often for him. The same word his father used. Rory grit his teeth, closing his eyes for a moment. He released the tension just enough to continue. "You don't have to worry about anyone else." He squeezed his arms tighter, as if desperately trying to hold himself together. He couldn't look at her. He was already keeping secrets, and it was day one.

Like father, like son.

Haven felt her muscles bunching up as Rory looked her over with narrowed eyes. It was like she'd hit him. And after all of her experiences, her instincts were telling her that he might hit her back. She knew he wouldn't. So as he turned from her, her body relaxed. Then his words found their mark in her chest.

First guilt ran its course. She felt like she shouldn't have asked. But that was ridiculous. She needed to know. Aurora had told her to be careful with her heart, and this was what she was doing to keep it safe. Then he cut himself off, and the soft part of Haven's heart yearned to reach out for him again. It soon became obvious that he was holding something back. Did it have to do with the invisible weight on his shoulders, or was there more that he didn't want to say to her? Was she okay only knowing half of the truth?

Haven slowly approached him, her arms wrapping around his waist as she pressed her cheek against his back. His heart was thunderous in his chest and she could feel the tension in his own muscles. She clasped her hands together in front of him to make sure he wouldn't pull away again. "It's okay, Rory... I trust you." She said softly, her eyes fixated on the sky above them. "I know you'll tell me what's eating at you when you're ready."

The second Haven held him, the weight in his chest grew tighter. She knew he was holding something back. She trusted him, when he was the one keeping secrets. He let out a long sigh, his shoulders hunching forward as he deflated. He didn't care if this was going to ruin things anymore. "I confessed to Katja yesterday." His words felt like poison, but his tone remained somber. "It was more like she found out, when I asked for advice about you. She doesn't feel the same about me..." He paused. Haven's arms wrapped around him... it wasn't as overwhelming as Katja's hug. But the latter did the same thing when he pulled away the previous night.

He didn't want to know what that meant.

"I don't want to fuck things up with you, Haven. I'm in, I'm on your team and I'm not looking to get traded. But things between me and Kat are... complicated, now. I think. But she's important to me, and we're both Chimeras and compete often. But I don't want to wake up next to her." The words came flooding out. He didn't have time to think or parse them. He lifted his hands up to Haven's wrapped around his waist, gripping her hands in his but not daring to move them. "I want things to work with us. I don't intend on letting anyone get between us, but I know this is a lot. And I wouldn't blame you for walking away, Feathers." He let go of Haven's hands, his arms falling back to his sides.

Haven had never thought that Katja and Rory could be an item. If anything she'd seen them as siblings. Always teasing, talking game, and wrestling. Well... the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. And he had confessed to her, and she didn't feel the same. There was solace in that, although it still made her heart hurt to think that he had confessed to another girl hours before they confessed to each other.

He didn't want to wake up next to Katja. He was on her team, all in. Those words were the only thing that kept her close to him. The only reason she didn't turn around to take off into the sky. He wouldn't blame her for walking away? She'd blame herself, if she left the man she was falling for behind.

"I'm not going anywhere, Rory." She turned to press her forehead into his back. "Things are complicated now, but I think we can work through it."

She squeezed his waist before moving away to step in front of him. "We have to be honest with each other if we want this to work, yeah? Just, don't call me Barnes again unless you're upset with me." She attempted a humorous smile to lighten the situation.

Rory nodded solemnly as he listened. He knew this wasn't what either of them wanted for their first day together. He didn't expect any of this to get so deep. Haven's joke helped a little, fishing out a small grin from his lips and a nod. He had plenty of names to call her... and her first name was a beautiful enough sound for when he needed to be serious. But, he also knew an invitation to ease the tension. "I suppose I can do that. Just don't get upset with me for being a bird-brain, ok?" His smile was weak, but still warm.

He really needed to get his shit together, for her sake.

Haven playfully smacked his arm. "Of course not. I should know you have trouble with words by now, anyways." She teased back with a grin.

"Ready to get going again, then? I won't take it easy on you this time."

Rory smiled, taking one final chance to lift up his knees and stretch his legs. He took one final breath. Stop overthinking. You mess up when you get in your head. He let the thoughts slip from his head, focusing on Haven. He flashed a grin. "Ok, ok... enjoy the view."

With that, he immediately took off, breaking into a brisk jog. He flashed a cocky grin over his shoulder, a playful challenge.

The gloves were off.

Haven marveled at the muscles in his back as they glistened in the early sunlight. The earlier confusion wore off quickly. With a grin, Haven jolted into action. Her legs made catching up to him a quick and easy effort. She tapped his shoulder with her hand as she overtook him. Her expression as amused as it was flirtatious. She slowed up just as she made it five feet ahead of him. Soon she was running next to him as they continued back to the campsite.

---

^{| Later, at the Trials}

Rory was silent, closing his eyes as he finished adjusting his A.R. suit. Ritual was important before a big match... and he needed to show off for Will and Mary. Even if only one of them would even potentially appreciate it. He gave two slaps to his chest, a ritual he had picked up in high school while wrestling. It helped him to stimulate some blood flow and get things pumping... or at least, that's what he told himself. A placebo was only good if you never bothered to check it's accuracy. As the doors closed behind them, Rory couldn't help but let a smirk cross his face. He was ready.

Then... black screen. Red text. Sterile halls, empty classrooms, psych-ward-aesthetic with half-empty syringes. He felt his brow knit together as he stared at it all in confusion. The chanting voices were a creepy touch... and really sold the vibe. Rory's face lost some of its tension as he looked things over. Lorc and Amma were taking things a bit seriously... he didn't take either of them for the scared type. But, he knew enough about the Trials to know that a maze was always a given. His hand instinctively reached behind him, towards Haven. Was Haven the type to be scared by haunted houses? He raised an eyebrow as he inspected some of the finer elements of the simulation. Amma ran off, like an amateur. They would have to find her later. In the meantime, Rory spoke up.

"Hey, uh... I'm always down for a themed haunted house, but this seems like a bit much. I would have went with something more, like, action movie... less horror movie, you know?" He almost instinctively felt a look or two draw his way, and he held his free hand up in defense. "Hey, just trying to give notes, ok?"

As per usual... Rory was not on the same page.

[Rockette]

^{_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Southern Plateau - Pacific Royal Campus}

Hope In Hell #2.004: void.

^{_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Interaction(s):&&}

Previously: vore.

The first injections come when she is ten years old— too many to count, too many to place. On the third night, Amma Cahors realized she wasn't going home, she wasn't going anywhere but spiraling into a sterile hell, her trappings came in silver and steel and polished linoleum. Suspended in a place over open waters, calm surfaces, and salt-tinged winds that banked over the underbelly of her waking nightmares - down within the confines of the ocean, no one can hear you scream. The Alexandria Foundation possesses their new weapon, their beast, and their creation and they gild her in black and silver and red, don her in darling phrases and whispers and promises of redemption. They collar her betwixt the void of heart and soul, the reasonings of self utterly stripped bare from her very bones. The creature contained within the frame of a child, the eyes of her mother, the subtle structures of her father, and the pale skin of pearlescent innocence soon bathed in blood and hate and taint. They had the prize, and it was time to make it theirs.

They even took her name.

The second injections come when she is ten years old- too many to count, too many to place.

But she remembers them all.

^{_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

It was a scene sundered straight from her nightmares; the blood, the fog, the banked darkness edging into the distance; the buzzing drone of static, down to the very color of the straps she could feel pulled taught over her flesh. The liquid pooled into a hated glass, the empty syringes that she had felt many times over, again and again and again, the bright lights awash over her prone figure as she screamed and begged and pleaded. As she bartered for an end, as she dugs nails into her bleeding palms and reached for the heavens whose gates were closed to even she. If there was a God, He had long forsaken Amma, and instead, the Devil whispered in her ear and held her close to the pits of Hell. But there were no rumored flames or shambling dead, there had been naught but emptiness that welcomed her in coils of dread. In her waking world, he showed her the too-white halls and the sterile embellishments, the cold steel that bit in her skin many times over, the darkness that loomed and whispered and screamed.

She wished for someone, anyone, but above all, she wished for her mother.

Slow tremors still worked down her arms as she walked, her pace deliberate, seeking, and searching eyes peeled wide in manic sweeps as she looked left and right. Each classroom was much the same, desks aligned perfectly and facing forward, walls bare, the broken screens flashing every few seconds to an image she thought lost in memorium. It was her in various stages of her youth, from the child she had been, to the ascending monster that they longed for, the glowing reflection that stood before her one drenched in black and blood that was not her own. The voices still pinged away at her lobe, her heart hammering away betwixt her ribs aching with every harsh pull of breath that shakily swept from her lips. From the images, others flickered across the static, their faces smudged and blackened, disappearing as soon as they came and flickering back to her likeness, her eyes hollowed and cheeks flayed open wide in smiles lined with scarlet-drenched bone.

She walked past one room where a gurney lay in the middle, surrounded by four walls, a singular bulb shone over the pristine condition of the stretcher, wherein the floor beneath was riddled with black and red; the edges still pooling outward and spreading far and wide. Amma entered with glassy eyes lost to the torments of her past, not seeing or hearing if others followed her, not caring if they did. This was her home, where she belonged, yes. This was her reality, her meant-to-be beginning and her soon-to-be end, she reached forward, palmed over the manacles lax and open, fitted her grasp to the thick restraints, and tacked her nails against the cold steel.

Whispers of her name enveloped her, shrouding and eclipsing her, her entire self suspended upon the threads of this very room taken from her fears and regret.

^{_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

The third injections come when she is ten years old- too many to count, too many to place.
They uttered of temperance, they uttered things of blocking and shaping and enhancing. They uttered of potential and intention and held palms over her trembling arms as they flayed apart the skin at her back, along the ridges of her spine, and witnessed those coils of red that rose and struck like vipers, the black that oozed and billowed forth and ate away at masks and coats of white and metal. The screams --

^{_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Amma suddenly screeched, she pitched the gurney forward, nails against the bars meant to cage and withhold, she wailed her fury and hate and pain and launched herself upon the walls, clawing at the suppression containing her power in minuscule sparks of red that flew away at her arched and bleeding fists.

You wanted to be powerful. You wanted the power to find your mother. You wanted the power to find your father. You wanted the power to destroy them all.

And they gave it to you.

Her name blooms and roars over the symphony of rage in her head, over and over -- Tiamat, Tiamat, Tiamat.

"SHUT UP!"

Amma claws away at the name on her neck, hands bloodied, hands that still bore Katja's blood too. She was sure it was there still, she was sure her power continued to thrum and pulse with the essence of her pain and anguish and the broken heart that fed her malice.

She had left the tent last night without looking back at all, not hearing the words uttered there after, caring naught for it but felt the tremors of what was said all the same. She had walked to the edges of the cliffs, looked yonder to the storm that was approaching the campsite, picked her way down the rock, clung to the sediment, and worked her way down and down and down, piece by piece Amma climbed and descended to the frothing waves below that called and sung and tempted her to their darkness.

That morning was a haze of sleeplessness, she ate little, said nothing, dressed quickly and efficiently, and fitted the neural uplink to her temple as instructed. The Trials were new to her, but she cared little for them, cared for nothing as the dregs of her thoughts bled into incoherency.

Now she felt confined and trapped, her name still whispered over and over, welcoming her home, welcoming her back to this hell.

"I wanted it," Amma whispered, knelt before a wall marked by her pain, marked by the fury that still flitted away down to her mutilated core. "I wanted the power. I wanted it all." The soft breaths of her admission slip away into nothing, the creature that was she slowly rising up and up, hands on the wall with her head bowed.

"But I didn't know," she gasps. "I didn't know the price. I still don't know. I don't know what -- why --" She carves her fingers back, sliding through her mass of hair, black taint smudged over her temples and blood ran through the curls of her dark hair.

"They experimented on us, all of us. Some never came back. Those like," she paused, the name on her tongue. "Haven, Robert. Maybe they took Mei and Pallyx too."

"They take whatever they want, make you what you fear the most. All the power in the world and they use you for it until it turns to ash and death in your hands."

Amma moves back out into the hall, words lost upon herself, uncaring if they hear her, uncaring if she was the only one there. Eyes wild and lost, she continues down the corridor, penetrating gaze aglow in the haze of fog that reaches out to her, coiling over her arms and legs, spiraling away at where her scars lay and burn.

"There are many things I cannot remember, things I probably forced to be forgotten. Maybe they forced me to forget it. Or maybe... I don't know. I'm the monster they made, the dragon, the beast of Hell. Of the End. That's what they said."

She stops, left and right, the corridor splitting off into the unknown in either direction. The sterile wall at this juncture though is different than the rest, a line of black marring the otherwise pristine surface. She pauses, studies it, and reaches forward, but a lance of pain down her spine stops her, a wet gasp splintering from her mouth and coiling into a wince. Her name continues to sound in a chorus of whispers and wails, soft sounds that are barely there and then not, a droning resonation slowly working its way up her spine in ticking increments of pain liken to needles in her flesh.

Amma can feel them and coils her arms around herself, turns right, and continues forward.

She'll do it alone if she has to, she got away once before -

- right?

[Skai]

---

_{Location: Southern Plateau - PRCU}

Hope in Hell #2.005: Fowl Play

---

_{Interaction(s): Rory @Webboysurf, Katja @Zoldyck, Blackjack}

Previously: Feathers on the Court

The water running over Haven's face felt like heaven to her. She stood still under it for a moment, letting it wash away any remaining nerves or doubts that had gathered in her chest since her talk with Rory. He'd been honest with her; that was really all that mattered to her now. She figured that couples had to go through things like this when they first started out, anyways.

She turned around, water droplets bouncing and rolling off of her feathers as her back entered the water. Her hands reached for the soap as she wondered if her and Rory should go on a proper date. Maybe after the dance. The thought was bittersweet.

She made quick work to wash the little sweat that had gathered on her skin. Since her body regulated it's temperature at a higher rate, Haven hardly had to worry about body odor. Her hair on the other hand, was a tangled mess. She washed it with a generous amount of shampoo and conditioner, using her fingers as a brush to tame the golden brown locks.

As much as she wanted to stay in the quiet space, she knew that she needed to get moving. Last nights activities were catching up to her stomach. It grumbled within her as she shut the water off. She pulled on her spare PTU and sneakers quickly. Thinking about the trial had her walking the line between stuffing food down her throat like a hungry fledgling or hardly eating anything at all. A mix of excitement and nerves, bundled up between her shoulder blades where her wings touched and feathers blossomed.

She stepped out of the shower tent with her dirty clothes in hand. Her wings began to stretch out behind her, rousing the feathers to expel any remaining water droplets from within. She headed for the tent, quickly opening it to toss her dirty clothes towards her duffel. The sight of the two sleeping bags so close together on the ground had her smiling as she zipped the it closed.

Haven scanned her gathered teammates as she approached Blackjack's breakfast assortment. Casually searching for any odd looks sent her way as she pulled her hair up into a ponytail. They'd heard her and Rory's intimate moment last night. There was no doubt about it. So would the comments start now or later?

Haven's eyes halted on one particular teammate that captured her attention. Katja, normally their sunshine on a day like this, seemed like a wisp of a cloud instead. A selfish part of Haven wondered if it was because she regretted turning Rory away yesterday. Better yet, would things be awkward between them now?

If Haven had to worry about things being awkward between anyone, she really should consider Mei's feelings. The dark haired firecracker wasn't gathered with the team yet. She had to admit that it was as much of a relief as it was a worry. Then again, Haven had to remind herself that Mei's awkwardness should be directed Rory's way instead. Haven hadn't known that Rory was taking her to the dance. If things were weird between them, she'd tell her just that.

As if in answer to Haven's thoughts, Tad announced Mei's departure just as she took her spot by Rory's side. She looked over at him, her eyes flaring for a moment as Mei's final words hit her in the gut. She knew he would feel responsible for it. Yet it was also out of his control in a way. Who would have known that Mei would have such a dramatic reaction? She had to have been debating the air force for a while to just up and leave like that.

Haven glanced towards the rest of Blackjack with a sheepish smile forced onto her features. Jess just had to tease them about it. "Sorry, guys." She murmured to them all, if only to save face. Her eyes were on Rory again soon after. She quickly decided that the best thing she could do for him was to stay by his side. So just as casually as she had approached him, Haven slipped her hand into his and gave it a gentle squeeze. Her smile was reassuring, yet underneath her concern for him laid irritation towards Mei's final words.

"I can't believe she had to call us out like that." Haven quietly said to him, her head turning back as Tad continued his Tad Talk. "She took it a little too far in my opinion."

Rory didn't bother to apologize in reaction to the news. His face remained surprisingly stoic, for someone who so often wore his heart on his sleeve. But he bit the inside of his cheek as he stood next to Haven, squeezing her hand harder than she squeezed his. She had always wanted to join the air force... but to be the catalyst for such a sudden move tore at his chest. He looked down, avoiding eye contact with the errant stares. But he still stood tall, back straight, like his father had taught him. He looked over to Haven, giving her a short nod and a lighter squeeze of the hand. He flashes a weak smile for a moment, before his eyes rose up to look towards another imposing figure. Well-less imposing now. Everything about Katja seemed... wrong. Come to think of it, Katja never wore her jacket this early in the year. Short sleeves or sleeveless was always her M.O. so she could show off the guns. But it wasn't just the jacket... where was the smile? The hi-fives, the pep talks, the school spirit? She out-Roried him in everything... but to be so cold and dead like this was wrong. He whispered to Haven. "I know this is bad timing... does Kat seem off to you?" He couldn't help the concern and hesitation creep into his voice.

Haven glanced over Katja's way again. "Definitely." She read the expression on his face. It was clear that he was worried. Whether it was because of his feelings for her or just concern for a friend, Haven knew that she had to trust him in order for things to work. "You should talk to her. She's always cheered us up, so maybe she needs someone to do that for her now." She offered him a small, yet reassuring smile.

Rory gave Haven a concerned look as he took in her words. The concern was mixed, as were two feelings in his chest. Katja was somewhere dark, and needed help. But given their conversation that morning, it felt wrong to leave Haven's side for Katja of all people. But Haven's words and her meaning were clear. Like the Amazon had told him to trust his heart the night before, Wings was telling him to do what he thought was right. But he looked her in the eyes carefully, studying her expression. "Are you sure?"

Haven nodded, stepping onto her tip toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. "You're still friends, right?" She gave his hand a light squeeze. "I trust you, Rory. Go help our friend get her spark back."

Rory shot Haven a soft smile, squeezing her hand back. "You're the best." He let go of Haven's hand, starting to head off to grab some breakfast items. Over his shoulder, without a thought in his head, he said softly, "I'll meet you at the Trials. I love you." He went ahead and grabbed a few breakfast items and filled up on some coffee, before breaking off to go check in on Katja.

Haven had been smiling as Rory turned away from her, just happy to be having moments like this with him. Then as those three words slipped from his mouth, Haven's heart was fluttering in her chest. Her mouth parted in shock as her wings went slack behind her. She blinked, her eyes refocusing on Rory as he grabbed some food. Did he just...? She cleared her throat, a sudden flush coming to her face. It doesn't happen that fast, does it?

Haven chuckled to herself as she headed for the breakfast table, a goofy smile on her face. He didn't wait for me to say it back... but did I need to? Do I...? She looked over the spread of breakfast items, that same nauseous yet starving feeling taking hold of her the more she thought about it. She grabbed a waffle and stuffed it into her mouth, then piled a few on her plate with some fruit and syrup. It seemed like the hunger would win this time.

---

Haven tugged on the sides of her suit to adjust the fit of it against her wings. They flexed out beside her, testing her range of motion within the fabric like she had done since the first day wearing an A.R. Suit. Happy with the feeling, Haven gave a bright smile to her teammates nearby as she took a spot behind Rory in the line to enter the simulation.

"Let's show the other teams what we're made of." She quipped. Her fingers tapped the neural uplink on each side of her temples as she also tested their position. She reached out in front of her to give Rory a light tap on his lower cheek.

Gotta love these uniforms.

Haven felt the same mix of excitement and nervousness as she stepped towards the entrance. She could already feel adrenaline pumping through her veins, preparing her for what was to come. She had no doubt that Harper, Calli, and Mei had outdone themselves. The only worry she had would be the simulated pain that would come her way if things were violent. Then again, there wouldn't be any pain if she was fast enough.

Rory swiped his card, and then she swiped her own. She blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted to the A.R. visual. Her head turned, scanning their surroundings in an attempt to gauge what could come their way. The door shut behind them, and Haven flexed her hands beside her.

The flickering visuals didn't raise any alarms. But when the lines of red numbers and letters assaulted her eyes, Haven knew something had gone wrong. She was soon plunged into a darkness even her own eyes could not see into. "Harp-" She cut herself short as a bright white overtook everything. Her eyes shut tightly, and they didn't open until she heard a name being whispered to them. One name in particular, the name that had been given to one of Blackjack's very own.

When Haven opened her eyes, her heart plummeted off a cliff. She recognized the layout instantly, although yesterday she hadn't pictured it this... clean. The fog grazed her shoes, the hissing echoing off of the white walls and floors. She could hear the static in the room nearby, her eyes drawn to the inside of it to see the damaged screen. She turned her head to the right only to find an unsettling scene that made her wings tuck in tightly to her back. This can't be how it actually looks, can it?

Haven could feel anxiety pooling in her chest. Lorcán had tried the door and nearly puked. They were surrounded by a HZE blocking field, and there was no sky above them. She probably couldn't fly in here, or she'd risk getting zapped herself. She was a bird in a cage...

A hand brushed against hers. Rory. His familiar touch grounded her. She gratefully took his hand, holding onto it for dear life. Her head turned away from the rooms to look Calli and Harper's way, her eyes intense as she ran over possibilities. She heard Tad return Harper's card to her as Haven entered the simulation. When could Harper have lost it? She never lost important things easily.

Haven's attention was drawn from Harper as she heard Amma speak. Her eyes locked onto the Foundation-transfer and it was obvious that Amma hadn't been a part of this. That rage that laid beneath the silver eyes and pale skin was one that Haven had felt before. She found herself empathizing with Amma for the first time. Amma was just as trapped as they were.

Her words echoed in Haven's mind as she watched Amma's whorls of scarlet dissipate into the fog in front of them. They want to see how we last in their domain, huh? Haven felt her thundering heart begin to settle as her determination regained control of her mind.

"Someone's messing with us, and it isn't Amma." She glanced over Harper's way. Harper had probably figured it out by now. She was always a step ahead of them all. Her head turned to look into Rory's eyes. Her gaze was tense, holding the gravity of the situation in her gold and green eyes. "As much as I wish this was a haunted house, we could be in real danger here, Rory."

Her hand still held his tightly. She felt like if she let go she would get swallowed up by this place. Her eyes searched his for the eventual understanding, and then she looked around at the group. With Amma gone, they were at an uneven number. Lorcán had taken Aurora's hand, Rory hers, Calli with Banjo, and she assumed that Harper would take Katja's. Maybe Gil's instead?

She held out her free hand Katja's way as a thought popped into her head. "I can probably handle your strength better than the others." She said with a small smile. "Sound good?"

---

[Qia]

As the first tendrils of dawn stretched across the sky, Harper emerged from her sleeping bag, a gentle yawn parting her lips. The air was alive with the morning’s symphony of songbirds and seabirds, their melodies a natural celebration of the day’s awakening. She paused, allowing herself a moment to bask in the tranquillity, a stark contrast to the impending Trials that she, Calliope, and Mei had meticulously planned for them all. With a cautious glance at the backpack by her side and the still figure of her teammate, she knew she had to tread lightly. The peace was too precious to shatter, especially when she stood on the cusp of capturing the raw emotion of the previous night.

Her fingers wrapped around the sketchpad, grateful for her foresight in packing it. She eased out of the tent, her movements a mere whisper against the canvas. The memory of her intertwined hands with Gil under the moonlight was as clear and poignant as if it had just occurred. The exact moment sleep had overtaken her was a blur, but the resonance of their shared connection was as palpable as the sketchpad she now held. It was a moment that cried out to be eternalized in art, and she was resolute in her mission to do so. The slight chill in the air be damned.

Seeking solitude, Harper nestled into a nook near the campsite, where the ocean’s rhythmic cadence against the shore offered a meditative soundtrack to her creative pursuit. The location wasn't the idyllic sandy beach often depicted in paintings, but it had a raw beauty that spoke to her. Settling down, she felt a wave of calm wash over her, a creative energy that had been simmering within her since the previous night now ready to burst forth. She paused to leaf through her sketchpad, stopping at an old drawing of Gil. His eyes, rendered with such clarity, seemed to gaze back at her, bridging the gap between past impressions and the present moment.



Inhaling deeply, Harper turned a new leaf and commenced her sketch. Her charcoal pencil moved with confidence, each line a whisper of the story unfolding in her mind. She captured the essence of their hands touching, a symbol of shared honesty and a moment that marked the beginning of something new. The moonlight she drew seemed to dance across their fingers, casting a soft glow that spoke of trust and the possibility of deeper understanding. It was a one-sided narrative, true, but it was hers to tell.

As the camp stirred to life, Harper remained ensconced in her drawing, the world’s reawakening a muted backdrop to her concentrated artistry. The clarion call heralding the day’s commencement was but a subdued echo to the concerto of her creativity. She persisted until the sketch reached fruition, a transient moment now eternally captured in monochrome.



With a contented sigh, Harper closed her sketchpad, her secret smile a testament to the personal victory of the morning. She returned to her tent, the sketch tucked safely away, her heart a little lighter. It was time to face the day, armed with the knowledge that she had preserved a piece of the night that had changed her.

Even if it was only a little.

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Southern Plateau - Pacific Royal Campus}

Hope in Hell #2.006: From Dawn to Dystopia

^{_{_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s):Interactions: Rory- @webboysurf; Katja- @Zoldyck}

Previously:The Path of Least Resistance

Harper melded into the group just as Jess materialized from the neighbouring campsite, her presence a sudden ripple in the morning routine. Yet, Harper’s gaze was anchored to Katja, the friend she had been eager to connect with since last night. Katja’s dishevelled appearance struck a stark contrast against the backdrop of the bustling camp: her hair was a wild cascade of knots, her face etched with lines of fatigue, and her dark circles stood as a clear testament to a night devoid of rest. This jarring visual of weariness nearly eclipsed the news of Mei’s unexpected departure and the rumours of Haven’s nocturnal escapades with Rory.

Almost. Harper filed away the tidbit about Haven, a mental note for a potentially intriguing dialogue with the winged girl at a later time.

With Tad’s announcements dissolving into the morning air, Harper drifted toward the breakfast queue, her attention flickering back to Katja with the regularity of a lighthouse beam. Her hands moved on autopilot, snagging a muffin and a buttered bagel, her motions as mechanical as her thoughts were organic. She poured herself a cup of tea, the steam rising like the questions in her mind. With her tray laden, she sought out Katja once more, navigating the sea of campers with a navigator’s precision.

“Hey…” Harper’s voice was a soft overture, her smile a practiced sunbeam meant to coax out a mirrored response from Katja as she took the seat opposite hers. “You okay?”

Katja had been amongst the first to join that morning’s breakfast congregation. After all, she had nothing better to do. Sleep wasn’t an option, it hadn’t been for the entire night. Even if it weren’t for the fact that her tent had been ruined by those vicious red sparks, then she still wouldn’t have been able to rest due to the inner turmoil that even now held a spell on her.

She had sat outside for a large part of the night, letting the midnight rain soak her completely as it washed away the blood from earlier in the evening. She had patched herself up with the first aid kit that had luckily survived Amma’s indifferent onslaught and she managed to hide her wounds under a shirt and her jacket. One she almost never wore, but the current situation necessitated such a measure. As night grew into day the stinging in her shoulders became more pronounced, or perhaps it was that she had grown accustomed to her internal torment.

The tray in front of her was only sparsely filled with randomly selected items, all of which remained untouched. The tea had grown cold, the bagel still plain as a slice of cheese sat next to it. She didn’t even like cheese.

Katja initially didn’t react when Harper sat down in front of her. Not even a blink. There only was a blank stare, straight through the brunette. It was only when she spoke that Katja registered her. She met those hazel eyes of hers. And yet she didn’t. For her stare was empty, as if there wasn’t any sentience behind those blue eyes. Just an ice cold vacancy as her mind was clearly somewhere else.

She blinked once. Twice. Thrice. Her subconsciousness was clearly trying to bring her back to the present. It was at the fourth attempt that light came back to her eyes. She inhaled sharply as if she had suddenly been resurrected from an ageless slumber. Her eyes darted around, from Harper, to her plate, to the table and back to Harper again. She realized she had to play it well if she wanted to hide the truth from the brunette, as surely she’d ask questions about what had happened. There was a tiny voice in the back of her mind that told her to come clean. To just tell the truth. After all, what had Amma done to deserve this level of discretion?

But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not now.

One corner of Katja’s lip hesitantly rose into a half-smile before she addressed the girl sitting in front of her. “I’m fine.” She lied. “Just had a rough night, is all. Amma had a nightmare and apparently she loses control of her powers when she does. The entire tent’s been reduced to shreds.”

Mention of those damnable powers brought up the memory of those wicked coils of energy flaying her skin, causing an involuntary roll of her shoulders before she continued. “Anyways, how was your night?” She said with as much interest as she could force from herself. She quickly took a bite out of her bagel, not realizing that it was still plain until it was too late.

Harper’s eyes narrowed with concern as she watched Katja mechanically take a bite of her plain bagel, the dry bread clearly lacking any spread to moisten it. Something was obviously on the other’s mind but perhaps a delicate approach was required here. She recalled how Aurora had recoiled under pressure, and intuition told her that the blonde might respond similarly to a heavy hand.

“You uh, didn’t put anything on your bagel,” Harper pointed out gently. “I can get you some cream cheese or jam if you like. I think I saw some packets on the breakfast table.” She offered a small, reassuring smile, hoping to provide not just condiments but a touch of comfort as well.

Rory’s entrance was quiet, and met with stares from passers-by. The red in his cheeks was finally dimming as he approached Harper and Katja, tray full of every bit of protein he could scrounge up and a thermos full of coffee. His face was washed with dire concern, sporting the athletics t-shirt and shorts. His eyes were narrowed as he studied Katja, and then her tray. He had her words on the way over. He set his tray down as he sat next to Harper, across from Katja. He wasn’t good at subtext, unless it was slapping him in the face obvious. And this was a punch to the gut. He weighed his options. Harper was going good cop.

Rory could do bad cop. He kept his voice hushed, but his words were sharp. ”This isn’t a rough night kind of look, Kruger. You look like Hell. I mean-” Rory emphatically motioned towards her jacket and her tray. ”What’s with the jacket, huh? Or the lack of food? I’ve seen you eat more at half-time of a Hyperball match than this.” Rory reached over, and picked up the cheese, waving the floppy slice to solidify his point. ”You don’t even eat cheese, man!” He took a breath, tossing the slice of cheese onto his plate and scooping up his cup of oatmeal to set on her tray. ”You don’t have to say what’s wrong… but don’t give Legolas here the run-around.”

Katja’s eyes nervously darted from Harper to Rory and back again. They knew she was lying, or at the very least omitting most of the story. But she couldn’t back down either. Too much was at risk. So instead of yielding, she doubled down as she took another bite of that dry bagel before replying to Rory in an irritated tone. “You try sleeping through a storm like that without a roof over your head, Rory! See how well your night goes then!” She tugged at the front of her jacket, careful so as to not accidentally expose any of the bandages wrapped around her shoulders. “I’m wearing this because I’ve been freezing all night!”

“As for my food…” She looked down at the measly scraps that she normally wouldn’t even spare a glance at. “I’ve been here for far longer than the rest of you. It’s obviously my second serving!” She lied again, the volume of her voice gradually increasing as others were now noticeably perking up to listen in. She then noticed her cold tea, which was obvious evidence to the contrary of what she claimed. She reached for the cup after another quick dart of the eyes to both of her team members before chugging it in its entirety. She wasn’t, however, going to contest the cheese. She knew it’d make her retch.

Katja kept staring at the cup as she set it down. Her eyes glazed over momentarily as the cold liquid flowing through her reminded her of the frigid rain mere hours ago. And about what had transpired to take her out there in the open to begin with. She let out a deep sigh before looking back up at her fellow Blackjacks. “Look, I know it looks weird. But with the Foundation knocking on our doors, is it really so hard to believe that Amma could have a nightmare? I mean, it’s not like they have a good reputation.” She knew she was talking rubbish, but hopefully it was plausible enough that they wouldn’t dismiss it out of hand.

Harper's gaze remained fixed on Katja, watching as Katja's fingers clutched her cup, her vacant stare suggesting she was miles away, lost in the tempest of the previous night's events. Whatever it may be, Harper's intuition told her there was a hidden narrative there, a secret pain that Katja was guarding fiercely. The sight of her friend's forced composure, the subtle tension in her shoulders, resonated with the brunette, stirring memories of her own past struggle. She remembered Katja had been her rock then, her steadfast friend in a moment of doubt.

Now, it was Harper's turn to be her anchor in the storm.

As Katja's half-hearted attempt at an explanation dissipated into the morning air, Harper's features softened. “Katja,” she said, her voice a gentle yet firm anchor, “it's completely natural to feel overwhelmed, especially with the Foundation looming over us. But remember, we're more than just a team…we're a family, and we take care of our own, no matter what.” Harper's words were steady and sincere, a verbal embrace meant for one of her dearest friends. She gestured between her and Rory as she continued, “Lean on us, share the burden. Please….”

Rory gave a nod towards Harper, backing her up. He didn't want to believe Katja was lying… but her story wasn't adding up. He took a sip from his thermos, Harper's words resonated a little too close to home. ”If all that happened was your tent got wrecked, you could have woken any of us up for shelter. Same is true if your dorm caught fire, y'know? He paused, lifting up the slice of cheese to take a nibble. He shot Harper a brief glance. There was another elephant to address, given Katja’s state. ”If you're feeling under the weather, Kat, there's no shame in sitting out the Trials this year.”

Katja avoided the pair’s gaze. She knew she couldn’t fool them and anything she’d say to the contrary would only serve to deepen the hole she was digging herself into. At that moment she was tempted to come clean. To tell them everything. Not just of last night, but truly everything. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words would follow. Not immediately anyway.

Recalling the night before, it took her a moment before she spoke up. The level barely being that of a whisper. “All I wanted was to be your…”

Her jaw clenched shut, almost by instinct. She could feel it crawling up the back of her spine. That sensation she’d felt earlier. Her entire body tensed, as if on edge, like an animal driven into a corner. Her hand slowly closed into a fist, the stainless steel cup crumpling up as if it were made out of paper. It would not let her speak, not let her cry out for help even if she wanted it so desperately.

Katja finally looked up at her friends, her own expression noticeably hardened from mere seconds ago. She could see it in their eyes. That sickening emotion she hated so much. Pity. They felt pity for her. Pity was for those who could not bear their own cross. Pity was to be reserved for the weak. And she was not weak.

She narrowed her eyes as she met those of her teammates. “If you’ve got something to say,” Katja spoke through gritted teeth, with more of a growl than actual speech, “then say it!”

Harper’s heart clenched as she watched Katja’s struggle, the scene unfolding before her as if stuck in time. The same resistance. The same refusal to be seen as weak.

A familiar ache of guilt and helplessness swirled in her chest, like a weight she couldn't shake. The weight of her memories threatened to suffocate her, leaving Harper feeling stuck and unsure of how to react.

“I’m just… trying to help you,” the brunette finally managed through gritted teeth, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion. She clenched her fists in her lap, fighting the tremor that threatened to betray her own feelings. Her eyes, once locked on Katja’s, now fell away, retreating from the potential storm brewing in her friend’s gaze. She feared what she might find reflected there—anger, rejection, or the haunting echo of disdain.

Rory bit his tongue at Katja’s demand. He knew escalating this was only going to make things worse, as more looks were levied their way. He turned to Harper, hoping she would have the answer to this one. But he recognized the pain she felt. He looked back towards Katja, his own emotions rising. She wanted to know what he really wanted to say? He didn’t understand… he had been clear. Katja was the one who wasn’t making any sense. She was deflecting, like Lorcán had the previous day. She was keeping secrets. Everyone was keeping secrets. At least he came clean, they were already hard enough to read as is. Lashing out at Harper to keep a secret was uncalled for. More uncalled for than Lorc, but at least Rory could take the heat. He hadn’t seen Harper like this before, not in public. Hell, he’d never felt the need to defend her. If anything, he always expected her to be defending him.

Is this why he was so… angry?

It wasn’t just anger… it was determination. He hadn’t busted his ass the day before for Lorc and Kat to fuck things up at the finish line. Kat fumbling the ball in the end zone… the thought of that alone boiled his blood. Whoever was sitting across from him wasn’t the Kat who stood opposite him on the field the past few years. This Kat was lashing out like a hurt animal. The sight of her dug something up deep inside of him. Rory leaned forward, his tone serious. ”Fine, you want my thoughts, Kruger… if you’re sick or injured, you should be riding the bench. If you can’t play your position, the team suffers. It isn’t my fault or Harper’s , it isn’t the team’s. Blame Amma, blame the Foundation, blame yourself for not finding shelter.” Rory’s nostrils flared, his body tense as he met every ounce of Katja’s challenge. His next words matched her growl. ”Don’t make the team suffer, Kruger. Apologize.”

For a brief moment the darkness that clouded Katja’s vision parted as she looked upon Harper. And how she had hurt her. That look in her eyes, she recognized it. For it was her, mere hours ago, who had looked exactly like that at a friend who had wounded her. Why was she like this? Why did she lash out against those who tried to help her? They only meant well.

Just like she had meant well.

But then Rory spoke. She knew he meant well. She knew he was right. But that didn’t matter. Not to that which now held a grip on her mind, on her very soul. Her eyes hardened again as she turned her gaze to the boy she had secretly loved for years. Her blue eyes cold like ice, a slight twitch betraying the tempest of emotions that were raging in her head. He didn’t deserve her fury, none of them did. She knew it, she knew it was unfair to them. Yet she could not stop it. It had its cage broken the night before, and now there was no putting it back in. And the insinuation of her needing to be benched only added fuel to the fire of her rage.

“I…” Katja snarled at him, clenching her jaw like an iron grip. She rose from her seat. She knew she had to stop herself, halt it from escalating even further.

“Am not…” Katja leaned over the table, eyes wide as they fixed on Rory as the corner of her mouth gave off slight twitches at the barely contained anger that she unjustly doled out to her good friend. She had to find a way to cease this. But before she could even act, the final word rolled out in a low, rumbling growl.

“Weak!”

Enough!

In one swift motion, Katja planted her head against the table desk, the plastic breaking apart under the sudden blow. She could feel a sharp piece cut her cheek. It wasn’t a blow that would normally hurt her, but she didn’t use her powers for this act. She couldn’t risk it, not in her current state.

She closed her eyes as she exhaled a slow, shaky breath before finally raising her head back up to face her two friends. The harsh darkness in her eyes was gone, replaced by regret and sorrow. Her gaze slowly shifted from Rory to Harper and back to Rory again. Her vision gradually grew blurry as she could feel that odd sensation of yesterday's return.

With a trembling lip, she looked at the pair before her, uttering only a soft whisper. “I…”

She swallowed before she tried again. “I…”

“I’m sorry.”

As Rory's words yanked her from the depths of her swirling thoughts, Harper’s eyes, now brimming with compassion, focused on Katja. She watched, her mind still moving in slow motion, as her friend's defences finally crumbled. The anger that had once blazed in Katja's eyes had extinguished, replaced by a dawning regret that etched lines of sorrow across her face. Harper had never seen her like this before—it was like witnessing a fragment of Katja’s soul being laid bare, torn apart and exposed to the harsh light of reality.

The sight struck Harper to her core. The familiar ache of guilt and helplessness continued to swirl in her chest, her past refusing to release its hold on her.

But this was not her sister; this was Katja. And Katja needed her. She needed her friends.

Harper wasn’t sure she could honestly handle the responsibility of piecing her friend’s shattered soul back together, her trembling hand over Katja’s betraying this worry. Yet the warmth of the touch was her silent promise of support, regardless.

“We don’t think you’re weak,” she said softly, “In fact…I’ve always thought you were the strongest of us all.”

She could feel the intensity of the moment, the charged air around them as other campers stole glances. But Harper remained focused on Katja, pushing back the tears her eyes wished to shed. Now was not the time nor the place.

“I’m sorry.”

Rory remained motionless, his face frozen in a mixture of rage and pain. He looked down at what remained of the table they were eating at, the food and coffee now strewn about. His mind played catchup, replaying the moments before Katja’s outburst in his head like he was watching tapes after a big game. But it didn’t feel real. It felt like he was watching someone else making the plays. That couldn’t have been him, could it? Katja was hurting… why would he egg her on? Why would he insult her, put her down? Why would he tell her to blame herself? Is that what he thought? Every new thought and question left him feeling more empty and confused… and more frustrated. While Harper and Katja shared a moment, Rory got up and turned away. The stares got to him. His eyes scanned everyone gathered, searching desperately for Haven. But he gave up after only a second. Haven had asked him to help Katja… to cheer her up.

If you can’t play the position…

They weren’t his words, but he had said them. He looked back, briefly, towards Harper and Katja. The sorrow and regret on their faces shot daggers into his chest, though the pain was duller than he expected. It almost felt like he wasn’t… well, Rory. He looked away, down at the mess. His words were soft, but firm. It didn’t even feel like his voice. "I’ll clear this up, It’s my fault. Strings… get her cleaned and patched up. She’s bleeding. We’ve got to get suited up soon.” He knelt down among the broken pieces of table and scattered food and trays, doing what he could to scoop up food onto one of the dented trays so he could throw it away. He paused after a moment, looking up towards Harper. He couldn’t bear to look at Kat, not after what he said. If he did, this would become real. "Swing by my tent… I’ve got some energy drinks and sports drinks in my bag. She’s going to need something in her system.” With his orders set, Rory knelt and continued cleaning up the mess.

Katja turned her hand around in order to give Harper’s own a gentle squeeze. A silent show of appreciation for the calming gesture. She needed it. She took a deep breath after wiping away her tears with her sleeve, collecting herself before finally looking down at the one who had been the undeserving target of her ire.

She gingerly reached down for the back of Rory’s neck, slowly pulling him back to his feet. The exertion caused a painful sting in her shoulder but Katja didn’t show any outwards sign of that, except for a small twitch in the corner of her mouth. Then she leaned in for an embrace with both of her friends, gently squeezing them together in her arms as gently tapped both their foreheads with her own. “Thank you.” She said tenderly. “Thank you, for being there for me.”

“I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

And with that, the trio slowly disentangled, Harper parting ways with them for now. She felt the gravity of their shared experience settle in her chest, a poignant mix of sorrow and solace. It wasn’t until she had taken a few steps towards the first aid kit that the girl realized she had omitted something crucial from the conversation—the matter of Amma. Yet, as Harper glanced back at Katja and Rory, witnessing the fragile peace that had descended upon them, her lips curved into a small, involuntary smile.

Perhaps it was all for the best. She would just have to talk to the raven-haired girl herself.

---

“Alright, you guys put this together, I know you can set a great time, but also try to have fun. For some of you it’s a first run, but for all of you, it’s the last time you’ll get to do this. Savour it, work together and I know you’ll do great.”

Harper nodded firmly at Tad’s words, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon her shoulders. Her eyes swept over her teammates, a sense of pride swelling within her as they all pumped themselves up for what was to come.

Yet, as Harper prepared to join the fray, an unexpected tug pulled her from formation, her expression morphing into one of surprise.

“Sorry, I just remembered Jess gave this to me this morning. You must have dropped this yesterday.” Tad explained handing her student card back to her.

The card had always felt like a tangible piece of her existence at P.R.C.U., typically a constant presence on her. Confusion clouded Harper's thoughts—when had it slipped away? The prospect of almost being sidelined due to a lapse in attention was practically unthinkable.

“Thank you, Tad. I hadn’t noticed it missing,” the brunette expressed sincerely, her brow furrowing slightly as she secured the card more carefully this time. Lingering on the mishap served no purpose either way.

With her card back in place, Harper reclaimed her spot at the queue’s end. She observed her peers vanish into the labyrinth, the verdant walls engulfing them. Before her own entry, she swiped her card, the A.R. suit’s hum enveloping her, igniting a familiar excitement.

“Give ‘em hell, Baxter,”Tad encouraged her, with Harper responding with an assertive thumbs-up and a confident smirk as she finally stepped through.

However, as Harper plunged into the simulation, the scene morphed alarmingly, the once-familiar maze dissolving into a sterile, clinical nightmare. The whispers of “Tiamat” seemed to seep from the very walls, sending a shiver down her spine.

This was nothing like they’d planned.

Harper watched Lorcán’s frustration with a calm, analytical gaze, shaking her head slowly when he glanced over at Calliope and then at her. No, they had not planned this. This would have been poking the proverbial bear that was her raven-haired teammate, who clearly had nothing to do with it either given her reaction. So what then? How could they have-

Harper’s eyes widened, the realization dawning on her. Her card! Whoever was responsible had used her card! The card that she had, somehow, carelessly lost. That’s why they were in any of this mess, to begin with.

Because of her stupid carelessness.

Engulfed in self-reproach, Harper couldn’t even appreciate Lorcán’s emergent command or meet the anticipatory gaze of Haven, whose voice she had heard just as darkness ensued.

Everything that was happening here, that will happen, was her fault.

[PatientBean]

They sat in front of the teacher, him with clenched fist hidden from view and her with her hands folded delicately over one another to hide scars, invisible and not. The teacher smiled warmly though her smile didn't meet her eyes. Miss Fletcher, 2nd grade teacher, absolutely loved her job. She enjoyed getting to shape young minds and see how they grew. She loved talking to them and hearing their wild and wacky opinions on stuff. This part though, this was the worst part of her job. She loved the children but she found, more often than not, she hated the parents.

Mr. and Mrs. De León were no strangers to the school. When she got hired for this job she was told about them (warned more likely). She was also told about Calliope. She knew Mr. De León was a prominent politician in the state and Mrs. De León focused efforts on her work but also participated in school functions, but this was not the reason she was told about them. Other faculty warned her to tread carefully and to not make waves, but she couldn't help it. Not when she noticed the children acting a certain way. And the young girl with the long, blonde pigtails was holding something in.

"First, let me say, thank you both for taking the time to come here and talk. I love working with Calliope. She is such a smart, creat-."

"Just tell us what she did."[ Mr. De León spoke up, interrupting her. Miss Fletcher glanced briefly towards Mrs. De León for some comfort but received ice in return. Miss Fletcher took a deep breath before continuing. "She didn't do anything wrong. She is doing excellent in all her subjects. It's more so what I am noticing."

Mr. De León stared at her and made her somewhat uncomfortable. "What exactly are you "noticing"?" He didn't need to do the actual air quotes, his tone signified them. In all her years of teaching, she had never had a parent so....confrontational. She had angry parents, sure. Parents who assumed their child could do no wrong and went to great lengths to ensure she treated their little goblin-like he was the second coming of Jesus, but never hostility, outright or not.

Still, she wasn't a pushover. Despite his political power, she still was in charge of ensuring his child received the best care. "With all due respect, sir, I am not insinuating anything untoward. I just noticed Calliope tends to...not interact with the other children. Sure she's kind and cordial when working on a group project, but she doesn't seem to have any friends. At least none I see in the classroom. And there was a drawing she did recently that is the reason I asked for this meeting." Miss. Flethcer opened a drawer on her left and pulled out a paper. She laid it in front of them for them to be able to see clearly.

On the paper was, arguably, fantastic art work for a 2nd grader. It showed what could easily be assumed as Calliope surrounded by some....blue aura. It was spiky and jutted out. On the left was two figures, one with black hair and the other blonde, much like Calliope's. Miss Fletcher could only describe them as...demonic. Instead of a smile, both wore frowns, but that wasn't what was immediately noticeable. In general, the figures looked angry. And the little girl was clearly crying in her, she assumed, ice shield. The imagery spoke volumes. Miss. Fletcher was no artist but she felt...malice. Could a 2nd grader show this emotion so clearly?

She waited a beat as both the parents looked at the picture. She noticed Mrs. De León put a hand to her mouth and hold back...was that a sob? Mr. De León just stared. Nothing about his body language shifted.

Once it was clear both parents were not going to speak first, Miss Fletcher continued. "This was during our creating period. I noticed Calliope opted to draw this time when she usually reads or plays games. When I saw it she initially tried to hide it. I assumed it was because she was embarrassed over her skills, though I am sure you can tell she is quite good at drawing. My concern is the......imagery."

"What I see is the creative mind of an impressionable young girl. She probably read something in your....collection over there that scared her. I wasn't aware the children in your class were given material to read at their leisure. It wasn't in the school plan from what I remember. She probably also interacted with one of the other students who put this idea in her head. I can assure you it will not happen again." Mr. De León spoke with authority. Every word was punctuated with determination.

"I am not worried about it happening again Mr. De León, I am mor-,"

"It's Senator De León."

"Senetor De León. I am more worried about your daughter's emotional state."

"She is a happy young girl. To suggest otherwise makes me question your teaching style. I wonder if the principal is aware of this meeting."

"Of course he is."

"Then I assume he told you not to follow through and you went ahead anyway. Do you make a habit of questioning parent's abilities to love their children?"

"I was not suggesting-,"

"I hope not. To suggest we are nothing but loving parents would surely be grounds for a lawsuit and I am sure at your pay level we want to avoid that at all costs. I assume we are done?"

He stood up and made a grab at the paper. Miss. Fletcher put a hand on it. "I'd like to keep that for Calliope."

Mr. De León kept his hand on it. "Let. It. Go."

Miss. Fletcher couldn't tell from tone, but she saw in his eyes. A fire. She removed her hand and he grabbed the paper and rolled it up. He turned to leave as Mrs. De León stood up and walked with him. Miss Fletcher could almost tell the woman wanted to remain and speak, but left anyway.

She wished teachers could drink on the job.

---

Calliope sat in her room waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sure enough she heard the door slam. She would have run to hide in the closet or under her bed but hat only made things worse. She knew she should be still and accept whatever was about to happen. She had her arms folded in front of her and dug her nails in her skin deeper and deeper with every pound of footsteps she heard on the stairs.

Eventually her door was pushed open and he stepped in. He stood there, silently, waiting for her to acknowledge him. She did so with a glance. He held up the paper she recognized from school. "What is this?" he asked. He had a calm tone, but a darkness underneath it. "A picture," she started.

She heard the glass shatter before she saw it. She turned to see what remained of her glass fairy she was given by her grandmother. Now it was jagged pieces on the ground. She closed her eyes, willing herself to not cry in response. That would be bad.

"No! What it is is lies! You have a roof over your head, food in your belly, and the best education money can buy and you remain ungrateful! I should not be getting calls from your teachers and being dragged away from important work! These lies are not what is expected of you and you know this. If I so much as hear that you are anything other than a perfect student there will be consequences. Do I make myself clear?"

Calliope nodded, hoping it would be enough for him to turn and leave. He stood there a moment longer. She could feel the heat from him. She wished she could freeze him out, but that would make him angrier. He turned finally and slammed the door shut. She released the chokehold she had on her arms, seeing the indents where her fingernails pierced flesh. She felt a weight inside her chest. She took some deep breaths, but couldn't control it. The room spun. She fell back on the bed, waiting for it to pass.

Was this what death felt like?

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

Welcome Home #2.007: Perfectionist

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_{Interaction(s): Banjo (@Hound55), Haven (@Skai), Rory (@webboysurf), Katja (@Zoldyck)}

Previously: Making A Memory

Calli woke up feeling warmth. It wasn't the weather necessarily, but the feeling of comfort and safety. After last night's events, she was starting to feel in control again. She sat up, noticing Banjo had moved. Normally, when together, she was nestled into him, but that wasn't so much the case. He had moved around last night.

He sat up and met her eyes, a warm smile on his lips. "Good morning love. I noticed you moved around a bit last night. Everything okay?"

Banjo looked at where they slept, seeing maybe what she saw, before answering. "Had another nightmare... Not anything that could be helped. In fact... I have a theory that when the present gets less 'noisy' you can hear the past a bit clearer. And... well, we knocked every thought, worry, and concern I might have for the present out last night."

She felt giddy again, happy to hear she could alleviate some worry for him. However, it still upset her that he continued to have nightmares. She knew his past was a fog with occasional glimpses, but those nightmares were ever-present. "Want to talk about it?"

"There's not much that can be done about it. And they don't make much sense to explain. I think it ties back into somethin' from back when I was small though. That stuff I told you about. So yeah, I don't remember anything about then either. Thanks, but."

Calli understood. She sometimes wished she could forget her past, but it was a part of her and always would be.

She stood up and got dressed, tentatively ready for the upcoming trials. She had to admit she was a bit excited to see her's, Harper's, and Mei's vision come to life.

Once dressed she waited for Banjo and grabbed his hand as they walked out of the tent and towards nourishment.

---

Their arrival at breakfast was met without much fanfare. Last night's events must not have been noticeable for one reason or another. Calli chuckled inwardly at the thought of the other people in their respective tents and what could have happened.

After grabbing some food for herself she sat and waited for Banjo to grab his before she began. She was hungrier than normal.

Something nagged at her though. It was like a sense in the back of her mind. Something was not right. She looked around, not immediately noticing anything. Was she worrying for nothing? Things were going well so it was only a matter of time for the other shoe to drop. But nothing caught her eye.

Until her gaze passed over three people altogether. Haven, Rory, and Katja. Not an unlikely trio by any means, though Katja joining the other two who had such awkward encounters recently was a bit surprising. But that wasn't it. No there was something deeper happening.

"What's up with those three do you think? I'm picking up weird vibes."

"No idea." Banjo said, as he drank his coffee nonplussed. "It'll all come out in the wash, anyway. Early morning, bad sleep. Probably just doesn't want people up in her business." He thought back to how much she glowed when telling him about how she was going to be bunking with Amma.

"She'll probably talk when she's good and ready."

Calli looked over. No there was something else. Calli took a good look at everyone.

Haven was trying her best to hide her feelings, but Calli couldn't help noticing there was...concern. Fear maybe? Or worry. Hard to pinpoint.

Rory on the other hand was worried. His bro showed concern at whatever was being discussed. This quickly diminished and turn to anger. That much was obvious to anyone with eyes. She wished she could hear what they were saying.

She didn't have to wait long as Katja stood up. Calli thought she might turn and leave, there was an intense anger emanating from her, but before she could voice this to Banjo Katja slammed her head on the table, breaking the plastic. Calli gasped and quickly put her hand on Banjo's arm. It was intuitive, the motion. What the hell happened? What did Haven and Rory say to her?

Though that thought left quickly too. It was clear by Haven's body language what happened was unintentional and triggered something. Rory looked....it was weird. He looked vacant. Empty. What happened seemed to make Rory...not Rory anymore. It was like he checked out.

Calli wanted to do something but was unsure how at this point. Katja was processing something, cleary, and she didn't want to make it worse. She didn't need to as the others got back into themselves and started helping. Calli sat back down, noticing she was halfway up out of her seat.

"What the hell..."

The first crack.

---

At the Trials things were...she wouldn't say great but at least this should be easy. After all, they built this. That gave them an inherent advantage. Calli stretched as others congregated. She was saddened to hear Mei and Pallyx had decided to leave, though she could hardly blame them. Especially Mei as it seemed Haven and Rory had some fun in the tent last night. "Good for them" she thought. Despite the awkwardness from before, a tender moment came from it.

They entered the Trials and waited for things to boot up. That nagging feeling came back. Calli looked around as the simulation started. Instead of the young adult novel adaptation, they put work into it looked....dreary. Sterile. It was like someone sapped the color and emotion from the walls.

Calli looked at the others who, in turn, looked at her, expecting her to own up to it or admit that she didn't do this. Her face fell. This wasn't what they wanted. It might have been a subtle middle finger to the Foundation but they ensured it wouldn't look like anything other than what the Trials should be.

“I slaggin’ don’t care for being a rat in a cage. Looks like the only way out is through." Leave it to Lorcán to step up when needed. She would have said so but she was finding words hard to get out.

Second crack.

Amma spoke but it sounded like gibberish to her. Amma walked off, determined in her gait. Didn't Lorcán say something about buddies? Why was it getting so hot?

"Perfect. It was all going perfectly...."

Last night, the announcement of their degrees, Haven and Rory, all seemed to warp into a dark mass in her brain. She fell to her knees. She could feel her pulse in her neck, every beat reverberating in her mind. She closed her eyes. She felt her check restrict. Her breathing quickening.

No, not here. Not now.

"Perfect. It was going to be perfect."

Of course it wasn't. Like everything she had a hand in, it went to shit. It always went to shit.

"I can't...Banjo..."

Fucking Foundation, she heard in her head, though not in her own voice. Did someone say it? She couldn't tell.

She only saw chaos.

[Lord Wraith]

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: The Southern Plateau - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean}

Hope In Hell #2.008: Why You Gotta Kick Me When I'm Down?

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Into the Fire

“I can’t believe I was ever that weak.” A voice echoed from a nearby hallway, the temperature in the room dropping rapidly as two long shadows were cast through the dim room. A pair of blonde women entered the room, one standing at par with even Katja, her heavy footsteps shaking the room while the shorter blonde woman turned her lips upwards in a cruel sneer. Any residual heat in the room seemed to evaporate.

“Really? A panic attack right now? Couldn't handle not being the center of attention could you, Princess.” The woman stepped forward into the light, a mist of ice crystals hovered around her open hands as the light illuminated her face.

It was Calliope.

Or at least it was someone’s approximation of her, like a living doll. The features were too smooth, the makeup too heavy, the hair had its blonde tips obnoxiously coloured an icy blue. But on first look, it was Calliope’s face; or at least close enough to be unnerving.

The suit that she wore didn’t look anything like the ones issued by P.R.C.U. This one accented her form more, clearly tailored and supported in areas that the generic A.R. suits simply didn’t have the luxury to be. Primarily white, it was accented with silver and baby blue lines and details. An ‘F’ decorated her belt buckle and was emblazoned on the upper right quadrant of her chest.

The hulking woman beside her was clearly the uncanny version of Katja, her rippling muscles clear as day even through the reinforced suit covering her body. Grease paint covered her eyes and nose giving her the look of a jungle commando while various scars shaped like claws were visible where her skin was still exposed.

“They were trained to be weak,” The Uncanny Katja spat, clearly disgusted by the students before the doppelgängers.

“More pathetic products of Pacific Royal.” She cracked her knuckles before rolling her head from side to side.

“I shall very much enjoy hearing your last breath struggle to escape from your crushed windpipe.”

The behemoth of a woman lunged forward only for ‘Anti-Calliope’ to raise a hand, nearly instantly crafting a thick barrier or ice between ‘Feral Katja’ and the rest of Blackjack.

“Not yet.” She giggled wickedly, “They still need to suffer more.”

Suddenly, Blackjack was plunged into total darkness. An awful scraping noise echoed all around them as each member was pulled in a different direction. The ominous buzzing returned as the lights flickered back to life revealing that Blackjack had been scattered throughout the maze.

Harper found herself with Lorcán and Aurora, now located in a classroom with a locked blast door. On either side of a room was a wall of glass, beyond the thick pane was the blackness of the ocean, schools of fish swimming ignorant of the three observers.

A sickening crack suddenly echoed through the room as a line shot through the middle of the glass. A red beacon flashed in the corner of the room.

Elsewhere, Rory, Haven and Katja had been transported together. The floor beneath their feet was sticky, covered in a tar-like substance as the smell of engine oil overwhelmed their senses. Above their heads was a grated floor situated on evenly spaced I-beams. Mechanical equipment sat supported by the steel, fluids dripping into the pit the three had found themselves in.

“Hey, bro.” A familiar voice called from above them, a pair of boots resting on the grates.

“Run.” It added before a spark flew from the figure’s fingertips and ignited against the floor behind the three Blackjack students. Immediately roaring to life, the fire began to advance rapidly.

Banjo’s eyes adjusted to the light, finding himself along with Calliope and Gil. A glass dome circled above them, and all manner of aquatic life was swimming outside the facility while the three found themselves in some athletic arena. The floor of the arena was scattered with broken robots, their parts lying strewn in every direction.

The echo of a servo motor broke the deafening silence as a head turned to look at the trio. Across the field, the robots suddenly came to life, reassembling as their red eyes all turned to look at the three targets.

[Lord Wraith]

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: The Southern Plateau - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean}

Hope In Hell #2.009: Dark Necessities

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Why You Gotta Kick Me When I'm Down?

“Finch, Friend!” Jim roared as he exited the control room, motioning with two mechanical fingers for the pair to follow him. Waiting until the three faculty members were out of the student body’s earshot, he began talking.

“Baxter’s card triggered the event, that’s about the only thing those eggheads in there can give me.”

“Are you saying that Harper di-”

“No, Friend, that dog don’t hunt.” Jim interrupted Jess before she could finish accusing Harper. “Anything out of the ordinary happen last night with y’all’s teams?”

“Other than everyone’s pheromones ramped up, nothing really odd. Looked like Harper and Haven went out of their way to speak to some of yours.” Tad stated, gesturing towards Jessica.

“Yeah, but they’re just anxious about the Foundation's presence, wanted to pick Alyssa’s brain but I think all of us know how well that went.”

“Didn’t you find her student card on the ground, Jess?” Tad asked, Jim’s eyes swivelling towards Jess as he awaited an answer.

“Right, it was on the grass, wet from the rain. I just assumed she just dropped it, I guess. Didn’t really give it much thought”

“Y’all assumed the most organized, type-A, Valedictorian candidate dropped her student card?”

“Well, when you put it like…” Jess’ voice trailed off while Tad rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

“Katja also put her head through a table this morning, tent was obliterated by Amma last night.” Tad interjected, “Uh not sure if it’s relevant though.”

“The pair of you might want to stop playing house during work hours, and get y’alls in order.” Jim cautioned, “Doubt either had much to do with the hijacking, they’re both trapped now, Arkwright’s in the wind.”

“Jess, why didn’t you mention that three of the girls knocked Harper to the ground yesterday?” Miranda’s voice surprised Jess as the Associate Chancellor appeared behind her. She had been the first person that Jim called the second the Trial was hijacked. A former negotiator for H.E.L.P., Miranda was one of the best intelligence agents before she retired herself. Still, she was a powerful Psionic, and if anyone was going to find the truth surrounding Blackjack’s misfortune, it would be here.

In front of Miranda, the young woman’s cheeks turned red as Jessica realized that her former mentor had just read her mind.

“Hey, hey! Boundaries!” Jess protested, turning to face both Jim and Miranda. “Is this how you run the school?”

“If students are in danger, a little invasion of privacy is a cost I’m willing to pay, especially when them being trapped in that Trial could impact everyone if the Foundation uses it against us” Jim growled.

“You used your powers last night, you wanted them distracted.” Miranda continued stepping forward while Jess closed her eyes tightly as if trying to push the telepath out of her mind.

“I’ll have you reported for this!” She protested.

“Chancellor!” Tad chimed in, “C’mon, don’t do it like this.” He pleaded.

“He’s right, James,” Miranda conceded, “We shouldn’t be doing it like this.”

“Damnit!” The Chancellor snapped, “Why are y’all withholding information, Friend?”

"The winds are blowing."

Jim looked at Jessica and then back to Miranda, he exchanged a brief look of surprise with Miranda before his brow hardened and the fire in his eyes returned. Beside them both, Tad squirmed uncomfortably, ignorant of the true meaning behind the words his wife just said.

“He doesn’t know Jim,” Miranda intervened, stopping Jim before he could reply to Jessica.

“I’m sorry, Thaddeus, I truly am.”

“Wha-” Tad looked from Miranda to Jim and back several times, “What don’t I know? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Ms. Rivers, please escort Mr. Finch to my office.” Jim ordered.

“Jessica and I need to have a little chat.”

[Melissa]

A late summer wind whipped through Aurora's copper hair as she beheld the situation that lay before her. The young girl didn’t understand exactly how the trial worked; she was still attempting to comprehend how she had even gotten here in the first place. When she was brought to this boarding school for “special kids like her” she wasn’t expecting to be thrown essentially into a gauntlet on only her third day.

The 13-year-old shifted from foot to foot nervously while waiting for the group to go inside the structure. She was both small for her age and incredibly thin, making her look younger than she actually was. She was unassuming, you’d likely miss her if you didn’t look carefully. But Aurora was there, scared and skittish, and would try her best to tackle this challenge like she did the rest she encountered in her life.

Her baby blue eyes darted from face to face around her, sizing up the other kids her year who were running the trial. Some seemed excited at the premise and chatter flowed easily for them. But there were also many others like her who remained quiet, cautious.

“It’s okay to be clucked,” The voice of a young boy said from behind her, his long wavy hair spilled down to his shoulders while brilliant orange eyes smiled at her, an iris colour she had never seen before. A puka shell necklace peeked out from his athletic shirt's collar, a sweatband wrapped around his right wrist, and a guitar pick tucked into the band.

“My Dad says that the Trial is supposed to be fun, it’s not like the Thunderdome or anything. Everything you see in there is just for fun.” The boy repeated the word fun, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself than he was Aurora.

“You got this, Lady Dude,” He added, extending a fist for a bump, “Just breathe, stand up on your board and ride the wave.” The boy winked while flashing a toothy grin.

“It’ll be all choka, brah.”

He was the same boy from the other day, the one who had smiled and waved at her near the Administration building.

At this moment, however, the redhead looked at him like he had three heads. He was saying things, it was obvious he was talking, but she did not understand him in the slightest. Who even talked like that? Clucked…Lady Dude…Choka… What did those words even mean? So, she just smiled politely at him and nodded, too timid to try and even plot a reply. She didn’t bother to return his fist bump either.

The students ahead of them started moving towards the hedge, thankfully cutting the conversation short, taking out their student cards to scan. Aurora followed suit, clutching her ID with a trembling hand as the machine beeped upon her movement. She slipped the card back into her pocket as she entered the maze, the neural link on her temple warming slightly.

Some kind of idea of fun these people had.

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

Towering spires and soaring pillars of stone surrounded Aurora as she raced through the kingdom, heart pounding in her ears. She navigated the unfamiliar landscape as best she could, dodging visible obstacles by teleporting around them and bobbing and weaving past the other students in her path. The girl had overheard one of them explain how the seniors designed the trial every year and so the theme was up to their discretion. Guess someone had been on a fantasy kick recently.

The redhead moved with agile grace, but inside, all she felt was panic. She was doing well, but it was because she had to, not because she wanted to. Last thing she needed was to be kicked out before she could even begin and subject herself to the vicious cycle of change she had been victim to for the last few years. Her strategy was simple: fend for herself and get out as fast as she could. She’d do it alone.

The clocktower chimed, the bells tolling loudly, and Aurora braced herself for what followed. It was a pattern she had picked up on quickly once they had gotten inside the trial - her keen eye and ear for detail recognized it after only the second instance. Every time the clocktower went, so did one of the pillars around them, crumbling to the ground. The girl’s eyes searched, trying to determine if it would be one near her, which is what allowed her to see him.

The boy from before with eyes like wildfire.

He had stopped momentarily and he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings. The pillar directly to his left had started to shake… he didn’t see it. The girl felt fear, pure fear, as she screamed out to him, hoping he’d hear her in time.

“Hey! Watch out!”

It happened so fast that Aurora didn’t even realize what she was doing until it had already been done. She appeared at his side and grabbed his hand before he could even blink, teleporting the both of them a safe distance away. The pillar fell, crumbling to the ground, but they were nowhere in harm's way.

“Whoa,” The boy blushed looking down at his hand while regaining his bearings.

“That was rad, you’re rad, Lady Dude.”

The redhead glanced to where her fingers intertwined with his, and once she recognized the contact, quickly let go. The speed in which she dropped his hand was noticeable, as if she had even surprised herself. Because she had.

It had been the first time she had teleported someone else.

Aurora didn’t even know she could do that; it had never been something she had thought to try. Sure, she’d teleported objects before, but never a person. And why him? She didn’t even know him. The girl took a step away from the boy, creating more distance between them.

“A pillar falls every time the bells ring.” The redhead paused, before blurting, "Watch where you’re going next time.”

The boy nodded solemnly.

“Appreciate the tip, brah. You know you don’t have to go it alone right?”

She didn’t even reply before teleporting away.

Aurora sped through the remainder of the trial, utilizing her abilities to bypass the rest of the obstacles and challenges throughout the kingdom. As she came to the castle’s moat, she teleported across the wide expanse with ease. She looked back from the other side, watching as a couple of students evaluated the unstable bridge that was their only ticket out. She didn’t spare them a second glance before turning back around and making a break for the exit.

You don’t have to go it alone.

The boy's words replayed in her mind as the simulation ended. But what he did not understand is that she did have to go it alone. She always had, and likely always would. There was no one she could trust in this world other than herself, she was certain. She’d been let down too many times, forced to fend for herself without the assistance of others. She had accepted that a long time ago. And yet, she had still helped him, shocking herself by doing so. Maybe it was because he had been kind to her. Or maybe it was because she didn’t want to see anyone get hurt.

Aurora pushed open the door, returning to the Plateau. The small girl’s baby blue eyes took in the faces around her who simply stared as she emerged, in awe.

She had been the first to complete the trial.

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

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

Hope in Hell #2.010: Trial by Fire

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Lorcán @Lord Wraith Harper @Qia}

Previously: Chasing Cars

“Savour it, work together and I know you’ll do great.”

Aurora snapped out of her daydream as Tad wrapped up his pep talk. She widened her eyes and raised her eyebrows, blinking rapidly to bring herself back to the present day. Exhaustion tugged at her limbs but she still followed her teammates and walked towards the maze, swiping her card to gain entry to the Trial. She’d managed to get a few hours of rest after her late night chat with Banjo, her mind put a bit more at ease, but she still felt sluggish this morning. However, if this was anything like her first time running, it should be a breeze. After all, she could teleport through if she was particularly having trouble.

Lorcán stood behind her, she could feel the heat radiating off of him, but he seemed to be standing closer to her than usual… or maybe she was simply more aware of his presence this morning. Neither of them had brought up last night’s conversation. In fact, they had barely spoken during breakfast. She did catch him looking at her though when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. He had the same fire in his eyes that she noticed the evening prior, there was intention behind his gaze.

They walked into the Trial, Harper following behind them, and as the simulation was booting up Aurora looked back into the boy’s sunset colored eyes and smiled. But that grin quickly disappeared as she beheld his confused and troubled expression.

Something was very wrong.

The redhead whipped around to see what he was staring at and her face paled almost instantly as she took in their surroundings. It was clear that this was not the Trial that had been planned. The callous hallways of the Foundation, cold and sterile, went as far as the eye could see. Fog collected at her ankles and static buzzed in her ears accompanied by the dissonance of whispers and hissing. From her vantage point she could peer into two of the classrooms and winced as she saw the gurneys with their restraints, the colorful vials and syringes with the dried blood. Goosebumps peppered her arms underneath her AR suit.

This wasn’t a school. It was an asylum.

Lorcán’s voice was strong and assertive as he took charge, rolling up his sleeves and rallying their teammates. He was a natural leader and commanded attention with his unwavering confidence, a quality that was not lost on Aurora. She felt his touch and looked down to see his hand enveloping hers. He squeezed gently, and she immediately squeezed back, every stray thought evaporating from her mind. The tone of his statement indicated that she didn’t have a say in the matter, but even if she did, the redhead had no desire to leave his side.

She glanced back up at him, a hint of fear noticeable in her eyes, and nodded.

Together. This time they’d stick together.

As Amma spoke and stepped closer, the redhead clutched the boy’s hand tighter, a shiver running down her spine as the raven haired girl smirked. She knew something they didn’t, after all, the transfer had the advantage since she was familiar with these hallways. Bile rose up in the back of the redhead’s throat, whether it was the danger they were now certainly in or the EBI field messing with her body, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she was instantly nauseous.

And then Amma was gone, running down one of the eerie corridors. Aurora took a few steps in the direction the girl headed in but stopped as she felt the pull of the person she was grasping. She looked back at Lorcán, “We have to follow her. I have no clue how this happened, but Amma is the only one who knows this place and is our best chance of getting out of-”

Calli crumpled to the ground, her breathing quick and shallow as she spiraled, icy exterior melting right before the redhead’s eyes. She recognized the signs of the panic attack, just as she had with Lorcán yesterday, and her heart broke for the blonde. But her focus wavered as she noticed movement out of the corner of her periphery.

They weren’t alone.

Who emerged, however, was not anticipated in the slightest. At first Aurora thought she was seeing double, but realization hit that the figures were only Calliope and Katja in appearance, not in mind. They may have looked like them but they spoke of weakness and suffering, an air of disgust laced with chaotic unrestrained energy. If these ‘anti’ versions of two of their teammates existed, who else was lurking inside the Trial? An even better question was how many people were they possibly up against here.

The last thing she saw was Anti-Calliope’s smirk, which rivaled that of Amma’s. Darkness consumed the group and the redhead vaguely felt the sensation of being pulled elsewhere, a version of teleporting, but not of her own accord.

Light returned, and as her eyes adjusted she saw that they were now in a worse situation than before. Separated from the rest of Blackjack, her, Lorcán, and Harper found themselves in a classroom. They were underwater, how deep she didn’t know, but by the looks of it, they were far from the surface. She attempted to examine her surroundings, noting the locked blast door, but jumped as the unmistakable crack of glass reverberated off the walls. Color disappeared from the redhead’s cheeks as she saw the window, a clear line running down the middle. The crack continued to radiate outwards, spidering slowly, but surely. Her mind immediately went to the worst case scenario; the glass could shatter completely and let all of the water in. And with no way out…

She wasn’t a strong swimmer, she’d be pulled under before she could even cry for help.

They’d drown.

“That glass isn’t going to hold forever… we have to find a way out of here.” She declared, although it seemed obvious, her eyes immediately finding the door and the small window that showed the hallway. “There has to be a set of controls on the other side, a way to deactivate the fail-safe.” She turned to Harper and to Lorcán, who’s hand she was still somehow holding, “I’ll teleport and unlock the door.”

"Okay, that sounds like a good idea. Just...be careful.”

Lorcán gave Aurora a look, his eyes darting between the glass windows and the single door.

"It'd be a grom move to just try without at least testing for an EBI field." He reluctantly admitted, taking a few steps forward before raising his hand. Taking a deep breath, he placed it on the blast door and exhaled a small sigh of relief. "I still am not stoked about this."

“We don’t have a ton of options here, Lorcán. I’ve got to try.” Aurora asserted, squeezing his hand before letting go and not giving him another opportunity to detest. She vanished into thin air.

The redhead materialized outside of the room after a few long moments, completely unharmed. She was relieved. How that door bypassed the EBI field, she wasn’t sure, but she was simply thankful that she hadn’t been rearranged along the way. Teleporting had been a massive risk, she could have been seriously injured if her abilities had been nullified, but it had paid off. Only a few steps away she found the controls embedded into the wall.

“I found the panel!” She exclaimed, hoping Lorcán and Harper could hear her through the thick walls. Her blue eyes quickly scanned all of the buttons and levers, attempting to find the mechanism that would disarm the safety and open the door. The labels were non-descriptive, some marked by symbols and others with acronyms. “Give me a minute, I-”

A cold and calculating laugh echoed through the hallway.

Aurora didn’t have time to react before he struck.

[Zoldyck]

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

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

Hope In Hell #2.011: Despite All My Rage

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Amma @Rockette(flashback), Haven @Skai, Rory @webboysurf}

Previously: vore

Katja had sat here alone for hours. It honestly felt like an eternity. The cold midnight rain had felt nice as it landed on her skin and rid her of the tears she’d shed and of that crimson reminder of pain and torment. The storm that had raged around her was a perfect echo of the one that raged within. Sometimes a crack of lightning would make her sharply inhale, reminding her of those wicked arcs of cruel energy that had injured her so.

Her feet were dangling off the cliff’s edge. Normally the thrill of it would excite her, but now she felt practically nothing. She looked like a wreck. She had managed to patch up her wounds over the course of the night, but that was only the surface damage. Mentally she was a shell of her former self, which translated on her physical appearance as well. Her hair was a tangled mess, her eyes had dark circles around them and she just expressed extreme despair in her body language. She just gazed off into the unending ocean as the sun slowly rose in the east. It cast her left side in its comfortingly warm rays of light, while her right side remained cold and dark.

Those were the only thoughts she really had. Cold and dark.

She kept replaying last night’s events in her mind, over and over again. Thinking if there was something she could’ve done differently. Yet there was one moment in particular that she kept coming back to. It circled around her, like a predator stalking its prey. One moment which inspired dread into her deepest core. She wished there could have been something that would’ve changed that fateful outcome. Something that could have spared her from the catastrophe that was currently unfolding within her.

The red arcs of energy, callous and unyielding, finally withdrew back to that soulless pit that had spawned them. Katja had beheld her tormentor with tears streaming down her cheeks. She had been overwhelmed with emotions she didn’t even know were there. The pain in her shoulders were like gnat bites compared to the devastation of the storm raging within her.

It felt like she was lost at sea, her ship wrecked in the open ocean during a hurricane of biblical proportions. She had no idea what to do, no idea where to go. And her pleas for help, those tears of heartbreak, remained unanswered. She was being sucked deeper and deeper into the maelstrom that were her dark emotions. And as she was overcome by them, she could only feel one sensation.

She was drowning.

A dark shadow appeared below her, a great beast that would consume her in all her grief. And it felt like there was nothing she could do to stop it.

But then, for the briefest of moments, there came a sliver of hope. Katja could’ve sworn that she saw something change in Amma’s eyes. Was it hesitation? Was it regret? Whatever it was, to Katja it seemed like hope. Like a helping hand reaching out into the water to save the drowning woman that was she.

But just as quickly as that arm was extended, just so fast would it be withdrawn. As cruel laughter filled the air in the tent. The storm took an even greater hold of her as she was weighed down more with each mocking cackle exclaimed by that ruthless mistress of destruction.

Katja’s head fell, her blood-drenched hands covering her eyes as the tears would continue to stream ceaselessly. The metallic scent of her own blood filled her nostrils. It served as the climax to her woes as she felt the shadow below lurch up to finally strike. Its great gaping maw enclosed around her as the creature that lurked in the dark devoured her whole.

Her ruin was complete. And in doing so, her mask slipped.

She remained quiet when Amma spoke next. Not even a sob escaped the blonde girl’s lips. She sat there motionless, as if not entirely there. And yet, she was. For she was waiting to make her move. One which would be sudden and unexpected. For when Amma tried to make her exit Katja reached out to the hem of her jacket, grasping it firmly with a hand soaked in her own blood.

“Wait.”

---

Katja entered the Hedge with some form of renewed vigor. While not entirely the same, the support she received from Harper and Rory had given her mental state a small boost. Despite that, she still didn’t look quite like her usual self. She still had a disheveled and morose look to her. At least, she thought, her injuries weren’t at risk of being exposed anymore.

Getting into her AR suit had always been a great struggle for her. Somehow it always seemed too small to her, even if it fit like a glove when she finally got into the damned thing. Now though, without any help and with her wounds, it had been a painful ordeal. But at least the compression helped with her injuries.

She had been one of the first to enter. Even with all that had happened, this was one of the few habits that she’d never be able to let go. Katja couldn’t help but feel amped up as the rest of Blackjack filed in. There were doubts and questions floating in her mind, of course. But now that she was finally in the thick of it, she could feel that competitive spark finally come alive again within her. She even dared to put on a confident little smirk.

And then it all went to hell.

The red code, the sterile walls, the whispers... It made no sense at all. Some of her teammates seemed puzzled at the sudden change. Those who were responsible for the theming seemed horrified. The despondent expression on Harper’s face, Calliope on the brink of a panic attack. It made the color leave Katja’s face.

Suddenly darkness surrounded her again, like it did before. Was it despair that took a hold of her again? She could feel her right hand shaking involuntarily. The tempest inside her had started to pick up again. Had this brief moment of respite only been her traversing the eye of the storm? She could feel that odd presence claw its way up her back. Was she going to be lost again to her sorrow and pain?

Then the shaking stopped. Not by her own will, but by the grace of an angel.

Haven had grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. That small, comforting gesture calmed the troubled waters of Katja’s mind almost in an instant. She looked down, first at her hand and then at Haven. She smiled softly at the winged girl, returning a soft squeeze and giving a slight nod of appreciation to her. “Thanks Valkie, I really needed that.” Katja said softly before giving another gentle squeeze.

Her eyes then fell on a sight she wished she could have ignored.

Amma had isolated herself from their group, entering one of dozens of the side rooms. The voices chanting that name – Tiamat – had clearly affected her deeply. Hell, this entire area seemingly affected her to her very core.

It was only then that Katja realized what all of this was meant to be. She had heard the rumors of course, but never could she have imagined the dreariness of it all. Such a bleak place, devoid of all life and joy. The sterile innards of the Alexandria Foundation.

Slowly the cogs were turning in her head. If Amma had been part of an organization such as this, then it made sense that she would think of the world the way she does.

Katja observed the raven-haired girl as she spoke, more so to herself than to any one of them in particular. And for a moment she was dumbstruck by what she saw. It was so brief that you’d miss it if you blinked, but for that fleeting second that dreaded mistress of destruction was gone. Replaced by a seemingly fragile young girl.

Katja squeezed harder into Haven’s hand as she beheld Amma in that state. Ordinarily she’d rush to her, or any of her team who was in that state. To comfort them and shield them from prying eyes.

Katja was about to make her way over to Amma when she felt it lash up, like a coiled serpent striking with its venomous fangs.

Serves her right!

There it was again. Just like in the tent. Just like at breakfast. It lurched forward from the darkest pits of her soul, like a circling animal that finally struck out to hit its prey. Katja tensed in an instant, as if on command. Her jaw clenched shut, not allowing her to even speak. Her free hand balled up in a fist as her other hand squeezed even tighter around Haven’s hand, painfully so but she didn’t feel anything crumble in her hands. She realized just in time, letting go of the smaller hand in an instant.

She didn’t have time to process as to why she suddenly tensed, as while Amma rounded a corner a door opened on the other side. Two figures emerged from it, heralded by a frigid cold and ominous, thunderous footsteps.

Her footsteps.

The new pair looked eerily similar and yet noticeably different to Calliope and herself. Like cheap knock-offs. Or improvements if you were to ask the Foundation, Katja thought. The anti-Calliope jeered at her real world counterpart. It would usually raise her ire, but she wasn’t so much focused on that. No, her attention was aimed solely at her alternate self.

While the anti-Calliope seemed callous and cruel, she still seemed reserved. For the moment anyway. Her anti version on the other hand looked to be raring for a fight. One Katja would gladly give her as long as it served to protect her friends. She rolled her shoulders, the pain in them pretty much numbed by the sudden shot of adrenaline that was coursing through her veins, before mirroring the uncanny copy, cracking her knuckles in unison. But where the fake would issue forth taunts, Katja only gave a short reply.

“You talk too much.”

The two giants then charged at one another. The ground trembled at their earth shattering thread as dust shook from the ceiling and the windows of the surrounding class rooms rattled in their frames. Both raised their right fist, their dominant hand, at the same time, preparing to land a knock-out blow at the first strike.

A strike that never came.

Suddenly her path was blocked by a wall of translucent ice. Katja skidded across the floor as she tried to arrest her momentum, leaving a trail of broken white tiles in her wake. She only missed the wall by mere inches. And while she could probably get through it without too much effort, she didn’t know if it would inspire retaliation of the anti-Calliope.

Instead, she gazed through it at her initial target. It was like looking through a twisted mirror. It was her, Katja, but different. There was a cruel inflection within this version of her that seemed alien. And yet, familiar. She seemed more savage, more deranged rather than a hothead such as Katja considered herself. But while the uncanny sight of this warped image of herself was unsettling in many aspects, Katja couldn’t help but smile at one tiny detail. The scars, deep claw marks, would be proof that she’d had many close bouts in fights, were she real and not some simulation. It elicited a single word to escape from the real girl’s lips, one the fake probably couldn’t even hear.

“Amateur.”

All of the sudden she was cast in absolute darkness. The lights had gone out and Katja could feel the floor moving beneath her. Eventually her nose became overwhelmed by the smell of machine oil. Then shortly afterwards she could feel a liquid licking at her boots before the lights sprang back on.

They were dim, only providing the barest of illumination. But it was enough to get a bearing on her surroundings. It felt like an old industrial site, with machines suspended high above them and a grated overpass in between. The liquid was sticky and black, like tar or crude oil. Looking around, she saw that both Rory and Haven had also been transported into this pit with her.

Then there was a familiar voice, Lorcán’s, that called out to them. Was he with them too?

But as she looked up and saw a pair of boots on the overpass above, she felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. And sure enough, only a heartbeat later the anti-Lorcán released a spark that set the tar pit the trio stood in on fire. It would spread quickly their way, Katja knew that for certain. She could possibly weather it for a while, Rory too if he borrowed her powers. But Haven would be absolutely screwed.

Katja looked around her in desperation as to find a way out of this mess. She could probably scale the walls and take the girder down, but that’d take too long. No, she had to find another way of getting out of here.

There had to be another way she didn’t see to get up there!

And that was when it hit her. It was so obvious in hindsight.

She let out a cackle before she turned to look over at Rory, a wide grin on her face.

“Just like on the Field, bru!”

[Lord Wraith]

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

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

Hope In Hell #2012: My Demons, They Know How to Swim

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): @Melissa - Aurora Mitchell, @Qia - Harper Baxter}

Previously: Buddy System

Everything was rapidly unravelling.

Lorcán looked around the narrow corridor at his gathered team. Harper was frozen, Calliope was succumbing to a panic attack, Rory had somehow slipped into either denial or obliviousness, Katja was apparently hurt and Amma had gone rogue.

Before Lorcán could even begin to process the fact he was now living in a reality with not one, but two of both Calliope and Katja, the room began to change. His eyes were plunged into total darkness, the scraping of stone and metal drowning out the screams and protests of his team members.

Just as suddenly as the darkness came, the dim light returned. Stopping himself from creating a torch, Lorcán took a look around the new room he found himself in alongside Aurora and Harper.

Something was awe-inspiring about being this far underwater. Lorcán was used to riding the surface of the ocean, he had never truly thought about taking up diving. However, after this experience, he couldn’t see himself going all-in on the hobby.

“That glass isn’t going to hold forever… we have to find a way out of here.” Aurora declared breaking the silence between the three as Lorcán’s molton gaze fixated on the slowly spreading crack.

“There has to be a set of controls on the other side, a way to deactivate the fail-safe.”

As Aurora turned to Harper, Lorcán realized that Aurora was still firmly holding his hand. His cheeks flushed before he reminded himself they weren’t exactly on a romantic picnic. Plus Harper was kind of involuntarily chaperoning, not exactly Lorcán’s idea of a first date.

“I’ll teleport and unlock the door.”

"Okay, that sounds like a good idea. Just...be careful.” Harper replied, clearly still trapped in her head. Her voice was hesitant, her eyes distant as they rolled from the door, back to the ominous wall of glass slowly succumbing to the pressure of the ocean.

Lorcán’s eyes followed Harper’s gaze before he gave Aurora a look, his eyes continuing to dart between the glass windows and the single sealed blast door.

"It'd be a grom move to just try without at least testing for an EBI field." He reluctantly admitted, taking a few steps forward before raising his hand. Taking a deep breath, Lorcán placed it on the blast door and exhaled a small sigh of relief. There was no overwhelming sense of nausea this time, the wall that stood between them and their escape was part of the trial.

There was still no telling what else it was about to throw at them.

"I still am not stoked about this."

“We don’t have a ton of options here, Lorcán. I’ve got to try.” Aurora asserted, squeezing his hand before letting go and not giving him another opportunity to detest. Lorcán felt his cheeks redden again, hoping that Harper was still too lost in her head to notice. A familiar sense of envy clawed at his chest while Lorcán watched the ease at which Aurora moved from one place to another.

“I found the panel! Give me a minute, I-”

Aurora’s excitement was cut short by a dark laugh. Before she had time to react, her face was slammed against the viewport in the door. Lorcán was forced to watch helplessly as her body crumbled and slid out of view.

“NO!” His anguish cry echoed through the room before Lorcán jetted forward, pounding his fists against the blast door. Igniting his hands with plasma, he pummeled them against the door, the heavy metal showing little more than minor scorch marks from his onslaught.

Slamming his hands against the door once more in frustration, Lorcán tried to compose himself. Feelings he had kept suppressed for years were clawing at his throat, rage, fury, and fear all trying to get out and consume him.

“Baxter.”

“Baxter!” Lorcán called trying to get Harper in the moment. “Baxter, brah, whatever is going through your mind, ignore it, let the sea have it. We need you, and we need that big brain of yours.”

“Boo!” The voice belonging to the laugh suddenly appeared in the viewport, smiling eyes and dark hair accentuating the familiar face.

“Bro, take a chill pull, Borealis is fine,” It sounded like Rory, it mostly looked like Rory but Lorcán knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was not Rory on the other side of that door.

“Well, mostly fine.” He cackled, looking down at the redheaded woman crumbled at his feet. The ambient temperature of the room rapidly began rise while Lorcán paced back and forth in front of the blast door. His molten eyes were unblinking as they watched the man on the other side.

“I’ll be with you in one second, Hothead.” Rory smiled before kneeling out of sight. “Since you’re not using these, baby cakes” He stated, touching Aurora’s unconscious form, “I think I’ll borrow them,” He added before teleporting into the room with Harper and Lorcán.

Hurling a blast of lightning towards the doppelgänger, Lorcán gritted his teeth in frustration as the Not-Quite-Rory easily teleported out of harm’s way before reappearing on the other side of the room.

“Damn, bro, I still can’t believe you haven’t hit that.” Rory taunted, teleporting again before Lorcán could strike. “If I spent a night in a tent with Red I’d have been all up in her,”

He dodged another attack.

“Multiple times.” Laughed echoed around the small room as Rory vanished again, drowning out another crack as a second fracture appeared in the window.

“Though, I guess I kind of already did,” Rory smiled before imitating striking himself in the back of the head with a dark chuckle. Lorcán hesitated before throwing another strike, he was wasting strength and HZEs at this point. If they were going to beat Rory, he needed to be smarter.

The only question was; what was going to go first, Rory’s duplicated powers, or the structural integrity of the window?

“Is it because of your little thing for Amma? ‘Cause, bro, you can totally just have both. Just like don’t be stupid about it, hell, I bet if you play your cards right you and Harper here can scratch each other’s itch. Y’know before you die virgins.”

Rory’s eyes darted between the trapped pair and the window.

“‘Cause you are gonna totally die in here.”

Lorcán watched the clone carefully, slowly taking a couple steps towards Harper, before whispering as Rory continued to play mind games with the pair

“Oh, Harps, don’t look at me like that, we both know you’re not a virgin, just trying to make Rothy feel better about being the only one in the room.” Rory mocked while hanging upside down from the ceiling.

“That blast door,” Lorcán muttered out of the side of his mouth, trying to subtlety communicate with Harper, “Should have a manual override. The access port likely isn’t obvious to the average pair of eyes, but to you…”

The incessant chatter of the doppelgänger increased in volume, drowning out Lorcán’s whispers.

“Don’t worry, I won’t ruin the surprise for Gil, I’m evil, not a monster, Si told me it was kind of a secret for you.”

“Heya, Sis,” Sierra’s voice suddenly called from the other side of the door as she held Aurora up by her neck. “Your friend isn’t looking so good, I was hoping she’d be awake to watch her loverboy, well you know-” She taunted before miming drowning noises.

The sound of water suddenly coming through the crack felt deafening to Lorcán as he watched the two fractures suddenly meet.

“Go!” He ordered Harper, flaring up again as he superheated the air in front of his fist and launched a barrage at Rory.

“I’ll cover you!”