[IC] Commencement: A Pacific Royal Collegiate & University RP

[Qia]

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_{Location: Strigidae Dorm - Pacific Royal Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.021: A Heart's Fine Print

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_{Interaction(s): Sierra (Supporting Cast), Aurora-@Melissa}

Previously: Crossroads

Harper fluffed the pillows on her bed meticulously, her fingers sinking into the soft fabric as she arranged them just right. She smoothed out the blanket, ensuring it was perfectly draped over the bed, creating a nest of comfort. The room was bathed in a warm, inviting glow from the string lights she had artfully, or so she thought, hung around the room. Each tiny bulb twinkled like a star, casting gentle shadows that danced on the walls, making the space feel like a cozy haven. Believing she was finished, she took a step back, admiring her handiwork and feeling a sense of satisfaction wash over her.

That sense of satisfaction lasted all of five seconds as she saw a blur of red practically dash beside her, leaping and landing on the bed with a bounce.

“Ugh, finally!” Sierra exclaimed, her voice filled with relief as she tore open a bag of chips from the bowl on Harper’s desk with casual abandon. The crinkle of the bag and the crunch of each bite filled the room, each sound grating on Harper’s nerves. She had worked so hard to create a peaceful, inviting atmosphere, and now it was being shattered by the noisy, boisterous presence of her sister. The sister that she had, admittedly, called upon. But still.

Harper’s usual scowl appeared on her face as she watched Sierra munch away, crumbs scattering on the freshly smoothed blanket. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard to the brunette’s ears, frustration building up within in seeing all her efforts being undone in an instant.

“Seriously?” she said, folding her arms across her chest, her voice tinged with exasperation. She glared at the other woman, who seemed completely oblivious to the disruption she was causing. Or perhaps she was simply ignoring her. Either way, she needed to go.

“You know,” Sierra said between bites then, her mouth half-full, “you’re seriously overdoing it. It’s just a movie night, not a royal ball.” She took another chip, chewing thoughtfully. “I mean, look at this spread,” she waved a chip around dramatically, “it’s like you’re hosting a five-star feast. I’d almost think you were trying to impress someone.”

Harper’s scowl deepened. “It is not! And do you mind not messing up everything I just set up, please?”

Sierra shrugged, still munching away. “Oh, come on, Harps. It’s just a bed. I’m sure Aurora won’t care if there’s a crumb or two.”

Harper sighed, her shoulders slumping.“Well, I do. I wanted it to be nice for her.”

Sierra took a final, exaggerated bite and crumpled up the chip bag, tossing it casually aside with a flick of her wrist. The bag landed with a soft thud, adding to the mess that Harper had been so desperate to avoid. All the while, the redhead’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she gave Harper a teasing smile, clearly enjoying the reaction she was provoking.

“You know, my life does not, in fact, revolve around you, baby sister,” she said, her tone dripping with playful sarcasm. Harper’s eyes narrowed as she watched her sister stretch her arms above her head, each movement languid and unhurried, as if she had all the time in the world. The casualness of it all irritated her, her fingers twitching with the urge to straighten the blanket once more. But what could she do, really? Her big sister was always going to be herself, through and through, a trait that Harper found somewhat admirable at times—even envied a little.

This was not one of those times.

“I’m going to go do something less… extravagant now,” Sierra continued.And with that and a mock salute, she got up and sauntered out of the room before Harper could retort, leaving the brunette to deal with the mess and her own simmering frustration.

A girl’s night was exactly what Aurora needed after her rollercoaster of a day.

She was looking forward to having the chance to sit back, relax and not have to put up a front or a smiling facade around her best friend. To simply just live in the moment and be present instead of mulling over things she couldn’t control. Her mind had been riddled by an endless inner monologue since the morning, she’d been hemming and hawing over the decisions she’d made that had brought her to this point, so it was an understatement that she was looking forward to something else to fill the void.

Although the redhead had attempted to get her mind off what had occurred at the infirmary, she’d still instinctively been checking her phone all afternoon, silently hoping that Lorcán’s name would miraculously pop up on the screen, but it didn’t. It seemed he’d made his choice, and that was something she’d be forced to live with. As much as it hurt, she couldn’t be mad at him, and she’d need to learn to be supportive of… whatever was going on with him and Amma.

As Aurora approached the front door of the Strigidae Dorm, she reached to pull the handle in order to enter, but it escaped her grasp as someone exited, nearly plowing into her unintentionally. Quickly side-stepping to avoid a collision, she apologized to the girl who was headed out, her hair a similar shade of crimson to her own. Walking into the dorm, she made the familiar trek up to Harper’s room and knocked on the door, rocking back and forth on her heels as she waited to be let in.

Harper stood in the middle of her room, staring at the remnants of Sierra’s casual mess—the chip crumbs scattered across the blanket and the crumpled chip bag tossed aside. The sight of the disarray gnawed at her, each crumb a tiny reminder of her sister’s carefree intrusion into her life. The warm glow of the string lights, which had once felt inviting and cozy, now seemed almost taunting against the backdrop of her aggravation.

Taking a deep breath, Harper’s hands moved almost automatically as she began to gather the debris, her fingers deftly picking up each crumb. All the while, she muttered to herself, her exasperation bubbling to the surface. “I just wanted to make it nice. I really did,” she whispered, shaking her head. The crumpled chip bag was next, and she tossed it into the trash with a bit more force than necessary. She quickly moved to straighten the blanket, smoothing out the wrinkles with precise, deliberate movements.

“I’m not trying to impress anyone. I’m just-” Harper faltered, her hands freezing in their position on the blanket as her mind became overloaded with all sorts of emotions. Frustration, disappointment, and a touch of sadness swirled within her, each vying for attention. She felt a lump forming in her throat, her carefully constructed composure threatening to crumble.

None of which she could properly process as there came a knock at the door. The sound jolted her out of her spiralling thoughts, her heart skipping a beat. Harper’s hands dropped to her sides, her fingers still tingling from the tension. She stood there for a moment, frozen, before her feet moved forward almost on their own. Reaching for the doorknob, she fixed her facial expression, smoothing out the worry lines and forcing a small, composed smile. Only when she was sure she could maintain this facade did she turn the doorknob and open the door.

“Hey, beautiful,” Harper greeted, her voice carefully light. She stepped aside, allowing her friend to step into the room.

The redhead’s lips tugged up into a soft, sad smile.

“Hey, Harps.” She didn’t hesitate to step forward and wrap her friend in a hug, squeezing tightly. So much had happened since they had last seen each other, and exhaling a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding, Aurora relaxed almost instantly in her presence. Releasing her hold, she moved into the room and set down her tote bag on a chair, gazing at the string lights and comforting atmosphere that Harper had created. Allowing herself another moment to decompress, the ambiance inviting, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“You’re amazing, you didn’t have to do all this,” She sat down on the bed, running her hands over the soft blankets, “But I can’t even begin to tell you how needed this was,” The redhead flopped back, letting her locks fan out behind her before lifting her arm and pointing to her tote, not bothering to move, “I brought dark chocolate almonds for you, they’re in my bag,”

Harper’s smile warmed at Aurora’s reaction, a genuine sense of relief enveloping her like a comforting blanket. The way Aurora’s eyes lit up at the sight of the comfortable setup made all the effort feel worthwhile, Sierra’s earlier criticism dissipating from her mind. She moved over to the tote bag, her fingers brushing against the fabric as she retrieved her favourite snack, a delighted squeal escaping her lips. The familiar crinkle of the packaging brought a sense of comfort, a small but significant piece of her perfect evening.

“Thanks, Bestie,” Harper said, setting it on the desk with the other snacks, arranging everything just so. “It’s nice to know that some people know how to appreciate another person’s hard work.” Her eyes then lit up with excitement as she turned to grab her laptop from her bedside table, flipping it open with a flourish. She plopped down on the bed beside Aurora, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight. Clicking her tongue, she allowed her fingers to dance over the keyboard, ready to pull up the list of movie options she had carefully curated. The glow from the laptop screen illuminated her face, highlighting the eagerness in her eyes.

“Ok, so I narrowed our options earlier for movies but….what are you in the mood for?”

Aurora grumbled. It wasn’t that Harper hadn’t picked good movies, because she had. A lot of them were classics that she loved. But what they all had in common was that they were romance movies, and she wasn’t in a lovey-dovey mood in the slightest. In fact, the last thing she wanted to watch was a chick flick. It might have been girl’s night, but the lingering feeling of hearing Lorcán say Amma’s name remained in her gut.

“Don’t hate me, but can you find, like, a comedy or something? Or an action movie?” She pleaded, moving her hands to cover her eyes. “Normally I’d be down for Pride and Prejudice but today I’d prefer to slap Mr. Darcy instead of drool over him.”

Harper’s smile wobbled slightly as she processed Aurora’s request, the unexpected mood shift catching her off guard. She had been so focused on creating the perfect cozy atmosphere that the change in tone felt like a jolt. But she quickly decided to roll with it, determined to keep the evening light and enjoyable. She turned to her laptop, her fingers dancing over the keys with practiced ease, pulling up the list of other movie options.

“Got it, comedies and action movies it is,” Harper said. She glanced back at Aurora with a playful grin, hoping to see a spark of amusement in her friend’s eyes. “I mean, who needs to watch a romance when your life is practically one, right?” Her tone was teasing, and her words were meant to draw Aurora's smile. She was fishing, but couldn’t help herself. The curiosity was too strong, and she needed to know how things had gone between her two friends.

“Yeah…” Aurora trailed off, trying her best to maintain her composure. She didn’t want to get upset again, not now, not when tonight was supposed to be a chance to get her mind off everything. But Lorcán was interwoven in every facet of her life and she was slowly coming to realize how obvious her feelings for him must have been over the years. The redhead couldn’t go one conversation without mentioning him in some capacity, at every table she saved him a seat, and even the most mundane things would bring her thoughts back to him.

With a defeated sigh, she sat up, propping her elbows on the bed, her lips settling into a thin line.

“He said her name when he woke up. She was the first person he asked for.”

The room seemed to shrink as Harper slowly processed Aurora’s words, the warm atmosphere suddenly feeling stifling. Her playful grin faltered, replaced by a look of concern and confusion that she couldn’t quite hide. The warmth of the string lights now seemed distant, their glow unable to chase away the sudden chill that settled over her. She had been so sure that everything would go well, that Aurora’s conversation with Lorcán would be a success. So, what in the world was her friend alluding to?

“Oh, Rora…” Harper said softly, trying to find the right words.She placed the laptop to the side, the screen dimming as it was set aside, no longer the focus of the evening. She then shifted from her sitting position, laying down on her back next to her friend.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize things were so complicated. I thought—well, I just thought you were going to tell him how you felt,” Harper continued. She could see the pain in Aurora’s eyes now and wished nothing more than to take it away. But what could she really say here?

Harper shifted, her concern evident as she continued to look at Aurora. “I know it’s hard, but… who is this person he asked for?” She kept her tone gentle, trying to navigate the conversation without adding to Aurora’s distress. On the inside, however, there was only one thought running through her mind on who it might be: Please don’t say Amma.

Aurora took a steadying breath, relaxing her arms and returning to lying back on the mattress. “I was going to tell him, especially because yesterday we were convinced he wasn’t going to make it through the night.” She shuddered, the memory of crying in Lorcán’s room with Cass forever engrained now into her mind. “But I didn’t get the chance, because as soon as he woke up he took my hand,” She lifted her left hand where the ring that Tori had given her sat perfectly on her ring finger, the warm string lights glinting on the etched licks of flame, “And he called me Amma.”

“I teleported right out of there, I couldn’t bring myself to stay.” She let her hand flop back down onto the bed, turning her head to look at her friend. “I feel so fucking stupid, Harps.”

Harper took a moment to compose herself before responding. She was here to help Aurora and, if they were both lucky, to have some level of fun as well. She was not trying to impress anyone. She wasn’t.

“Look,” Harper began, her voice carrying an edge that she didn’t bother to soften. Not this time. She’d decided before her conversation with Haven that she was done playing nice, but now she felt truly done with tiptoeing around the truth. “I get that this is tough, but—” She paused, the words catching in her throat as she thought of Lorcán. The image of him, pale and fragile, smelling of death while lying in that hospital bed haunted her. Cass’s description was all she could rely on, really, given that they hadn’t been allowed to see him. Still, the thought of him lying there, fighting for his life and clinging to any semblance of hope, while those who cared for him could only watch and hope in turn, deeply bothered her.

It was a scene she had imagined countless times, been in countless times.

“—Lorcán just woke up from something life-threatening. He might have been confused or disoriented. If you’d stuck around, you could’ve cleared things up instead of bolting at the first sign of trouble.”

Aurora instantly clocked the shift in her tone of voice, a grit now present that wasn’t previously there, her friend’s words grating against her conscience and the inner turmoil that she had felt all day. Harper hadn’t been there, it had been 4 days of torment watching Lorcán deteriorate, and him waking up this morning and asking for Amma had been the straw to break the camel’s back. Sticking around was easier said than done.

“Cass standing right there and seeing the whole thing as it happened was embarrassing enough, staying would have meant Tori and Aiden feeling sorry for me, and Ripley too,” Aurora explained, her cheeks heating up just thinking about the way that Cass had looked at her with such pity. “Lorcán promised me that night in the tent after our powers mingled and he told me about what happened with Amma, that they were just friends and nothing more. I can’t believe I got my hopes up that he could possibly feel the same way about me that I do about him.”

Harper gritted her teeth, feeling the tension radiate through her jaw. She had seen Aurora struggle with uncertainty for too long, and it pained her to watch her flounder in the dark. She knew that words alone wouldn’t be enough to convey the depth of her conviction.

But she had to try.

“But none of that stuff changes what you mean to him, Rora!” she exclaimed, her voice firm but laced with a hint of desperation. Harper could see the doubt in her eyes, the way her friend hesitated to believe in her own worth. It infuriated her that she couldn’t see what was so obvious to everyone else. “If you really want to know what’s going on, you’ll have to talk to him directly. It’s the only way to figure out where you stand with him, instead of always guessing from the sidelines like this.” She wanted to shake the redhead, to make her understand that she couldn’t keep living in this limbo. The cost of her continued inaction was too high, and Harper doubted her ability to pull the other out of the pit of despair it would likely lead to.

Aurora rubbed at her eyes, hoping the motion would soothe the pressure she felt building behind them. “Of course, I still need to talk to him at some point, I just-” She swallowed the lump that was growing in her throat, her anxiety over the situation rising. Her hand moved to run over Harper’s blanket, hoping the sensation of the plush fabric would relax her woes and worries. “I don’t feel sure of anything anymore. All it took was one word and now I’m doubting every interaction we’ve ever had where I thought there was something more.”

“He hasn’t even texted me at all since he was discharged. Kelcey told me she saw him out of the infirmary, and he’s said nothing to me. How do you think that is supposed to make me feel?”

Harper sighed, reaching out and placing a comforting hand on Aurora’s shoulder. “Sometimes, people don’t reach out right away because they’re overwhelmed or unsure of themselves. It doesn’t necessarily reflect how they feel about you or what you mean to them.” She squeezed Aurora’s shoulder gently, trying to offer the reassurance she could.

“It’s frustrating, I get that,” Harper continued, her tone softening but carrying the edge of bluntness she was known for now. “But if you’re waiting for him to come to you, you might be waiting a long time. Sometimes, you have to take the initiative yourself, even if it’s uncomfortable or seems unfair.”

She paused, glancing away as if the words were harder to say than she’d anticipated. “It’s like I told you before…you deserve to be heard, Rora. So, if you care about him and want to know where you stand, you need to tell him. Don’t let your doubts or fears stop you from finding out.”

The wheels in Aurora’s head turned as Harper’s words forced her to reevaluate. She wasn’t wrong, Lorcán was likely overwhelmed with everything that had happened. After all, he had practically been on his deathbed, the boy had enough to process as it was, let alone think to reach out to her. Viewing it from that lens, she knew she definitely wasn’t a priority at the current moment and she was okay with that, it was understandable. But the uneasiness in her gut remained. A few days ago, she had been adamant that she would talk to him upon his recovery, and voice her feelings regardless of whether or not he shared them. But now? Things just seemed so complicated.

But her brunette best friend seemed to know exactly where her mind was going, and she agreed that her woes shouldn’t preclude her from speaking her truth, telling Lorcán just how much she cared about him. She loved him, and that wasn’t changing anytime soon, no matter how anxious the thought of telling him made her. Wordlessly, she looked at Harper and simply nodded, taking everything she said to heart, and agreeing, even if it was difficult to hear.

As she started to plot her next move, she knew there was something key that might put a wrinkle in her plans.

“This is a terrible time to tell you, but if I’m still going to tell Lorcán how I feel, it’s going to need to be after the dance.”

“Because as of this afternoon, I have a date… and it’s not him. Chadwick Patterson asked me.”

Harper’s eyes widened as Aurora’s revelation sank in, her mind racing to catch up with the unexpected twist. For a moment, she simply stared, her mouth slightly agape, as if trying to process the shock that had just been dropped into her lap. Shaking her head in disbelief, the brunette felt a surge of incredulity bubble up inside her. She pushed herself up from her reclining position on the bed, her movements sharp and decisive, as if trying to shake off the surreal feeling.

With a dramatic flair that belied the moment's seriousness, she snatched a pillow from beside her, the soft fabric cool against her fingers. Then, without further ado, she gave Aurora a light, playful whack across the face with it, the pillow making a satisfying thump.

“Seriously, Rora? A date? Now? What on earth are you thinking?” Harper asked, unable to contain a small, disbelieving laugh. Without waiting for a response, her patience being already worn thin by her conversation with Sierra and now this, she dramatically flopped back onto the bed, shoving the same pillow over her face and screaming into it.

Aurora knew what was going to happen next as soon as she saw Harper reach for the pillow, but she couldn’t move fast enough before the plush fabric met her face. A muffled noise escaped her lips upon impact, but she simply resigned to her fate. When the pillow was removed she spoke with an understanding sigh.

“Okay, I deserved that, but what was I supposed to do? Chad overheard me saying to Kelcey that I didn’t have a date, so it’s not like I could lie to his face. No one else asked me, there was no reason for me to say no.” She began to explain but was interrupted by the brunette releasing her own frustration into said pillow, a muted scream audible. The redhead winced at her animated display and her face heated up, instantly feeling self-conscious as a result of her reaction.

When she finally pulled the pillow away, Harper’s face was flushed, and her expression was one of exasperation. “Maybe if you let Chadwick down gently, he might be understanding,” she suggested, though her voice lacked conviction. Even as she said it, Harper knew it was not only a ridiculous suggestion at this point but also a hurtful one. For wasn’t she in a similar situation with Cass? She highly doubted that, in Aurora’s place, he would have taken kindly to something like that if she went through with it.

Besides, Harper was looking forward to going with him. Despite their meeting under weird circumstances, she had enjoyed talking to him, finding an unexpected comfort in his presence. It had been surprisingly…easy, their conversation flowing naturally as if they had known each other for years. Though mainly about a foreboding subject that made her shudder now, there was an undeniable connection there that she couldn’t ignore. Sighing deeply, Harper propped herself up on her elbows, her gaze softened with sympathy.

“I’m not going back on my word, Harps, what’s done is done. Besides, it’s not like Lorcán didn’t have the opportunity.” Aurora reached up and fiddled with her necklace.

“Tori even agreed with me, she said I deserve to have fun and go with a guy who’s willing to ask me. So sure, it might be terrible timing, but this actually might be what I need right now. After everything that’s happened- the Trial, Lorcán’s health scare - I want tomorrow night to be fun, don’t you?”

“Just don’t…settle for him, okay? Have a good time, or try to at least,” Harper replied. Then, hesitating for a moment, she allowed a small, sheepish smile to tug at her lips. “Speaking of dates, I guess I should mention that I’ll be going to the dance with Cass. So…I guess I kinda get it.”

It was now the redhead’s turn to be shocked, her jaw unhinging slightly. She took the pillow, and whacked Harper across the arm, payback.

“Cass as in, Sassy Cassy? Pain in my Cass? That Cass?” Aurora’s eyes bugged out and her brow raised. “Since when?”

But her expression eased as she thought about the side of the blonde boy she’d seen over the past four days. As abrasive and smart-mouthed as he may have been, she’d learned more about him and his emotional capacity throughout their whole ordeal. He’d been charismatic and considerate; made sure she was taking care of herself, had ensured she was getting sleep, shared the burden they all carried. He’d comforted her when she cried, and supported her when things seemed bleak. There were certainly worse people that Harper could be going with…

Aurora dissolved into a small smile, reaching out and taking her friend’s hand in hers.

“That’s exciting, Harps. I’m happy for you.”

“Sassy Cassy? Pain in my Cass?” Harper repeated, shaking her head with a grin that lit up her face.“You’ve got quite the way with nicknames, you know that?” Her laughter was light and infectious, a brief respite from the heaviness that had settled over them. As the words left her lips, her amusement faded into a more genuine, warm smile, one that reached her eyes this time around.

Aurora smirked, a glow returning to her features as they discussed a much less stressful topic, “I came up with the nicknames because I know they annoy him, but as much as I enjoy giving him a hard time, I don’t think I would’ve gotten through this week without him.” She’d known Cass for nearly five years at this point, they’d had their disagreements and she’d always suspected he’d been a bit jealous about how much time Lorcán spent with her instead of him, but recently there was a mutual understanding there. An olive branch, in a way, with senior year looming over their heads. And now, they had their own traumatic experience to further bond over.

“Yeah, that sounds like the Cass I’m going with. The one and only,” Harper said, looking down at their joined hands. “I guess you could say we hit it off. He’s not just a pain though. I’ve actually found him pretty…decent, in his own way.” The words felt like an understatement somehow, despite not knowing the blond very well. There was something about him that intrigued her, something that made her want to dig deeper. Maybe it was because they seemed to share certain similarities, like blunt honesty. Or maybe it was him offering to go to the dance with her despite their abrasive meeting.

Or maybe it was the unpredictability he brought, the challenge he represented. A wildcard.

“He’s right in my comfort zone, at least.”

“Cass is rougher around the edges, but he has a good heart. You guys are going to have a great time together.” Aurora reassured, squeezing Harper’s hand prior to releasing it. “Seems as though we both will need to get all dolled up for the dance tomorrow then. I was going to see if all the girls wanted to come and get ready at my place, if that’d be of interest?”

“That sounds like fun. It’ll be nice to have them around and have things be about…well, everything else for a change.” Harper’s voice faltered here, her head tilting to the side in curiosity. “You do mean…everyone right?” she asked.Regardless of Aurora’s feelings about Amma, the last thing she wanted was to isolate her. It seemed…cruel, and Harper couldn’t bear the thought of anyone feeling left out.

It was evident who Harper was referring to without speaking a name, not just from her body language and facial expression but also from the intonation of her voice. Aurora swallowed, brow furrowed. She had yet to think about Amma’s role in all of this. Lorcán may have said her name upon awakening, but did that mean she should be angry with her? Possibly. After all, the redhead bore her soul to the girl in that infirmary room, disclosing her love and defending it with a passion she didn’t even believe she possessed. But on second thought, she knew she couldn’t be too upset with her. She didn’t owe her anything, she barely knew her.

After all, they wanted the same thing.

So she stood by the words she uttered back in the infirmary: Amma wasn’t a monster.

“Yes, everyone.”

Shaking off her unease, she abandoned the topic, grabbing Harper’s laptop and looking through the curated list of movies with a lighter view.

“On second thought, I wouldn’t mind a rom-com…”

---

[Lord Wraith]

Lorcán sat outside the infirmary, his hands between his knees while his head hung low. Lance had been rushed inside, his injuries deemed life-threatening. On either side of Lorcán sat his parents, his father, Aiden was completely stoic, his expression grim while his mother gave Lorcán a reassuring squeeze before reapplying the ice pack to the back of his head.

The Pattersons had been notified the minute Lance’s injuries had been discovered. Third-degree burns covered his body, inflicting mass trauma that left him incohesive and desperately clinging to life. He was found nearly naked, any residual clothing burned and tattered, melded with the melted skin that barely covered the sinew and tissue beneath.

“I came as fast as I could,” The grandfatherly voice of Dr. Jonas Lehrer broke the tense silence as Lorcán lifted his reddened eyes towards the bald man.

“It’s not good, Jonas,” Aiden replied, “It’s worse than last time,”

“And our boy has no recollection of what happened?”

“No,” Lorcán managed to croak out before his mother leaned over to put a hand on his back reassuringly.

“He took a nasty blow to the head, Lorcán stated he blacked out and woke up to find Lance in the condition he was in. The doctors have already looked at le petit prince and found that he has a minor concussion.”

“Talk me through the events that led to this moment,” Jonas replied as Aiden stood and put an arm on his mentor’s back, leading the older man away from his wife and child.

“Why don’t we take a walk?”

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_{Location: The Office of Dr. Miranda Rivers - Pacific Royal Collegiate & University, Dundas Island, Pacific Ocean}

Dance Monkey #4.022: Viva Las Vengeance

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_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: House of Memories

Miranda’s mental projection sized up the Apparition. Whatever it was, it had grown powerful, feeding on Lorcán’s guilt and self-pity, indulging those emotions to the boy and then siphoning those feelings back into itself and taking further root within the younger Roth’s mind.

But any guilt that Lorcán felt for how he looked at Amma was trite compared to that which leached out from behind the mental barriers. The Apparition leaned on the projected walls of Lorcán’s mind, the emulated tendrils of red and silver coming from its hands injecting themselves into every crack and fracture before shattering the artificial blockage and freeing the guilt inside.

Miranda watched it grow, feeding as Lorcán further retreated into his own mind. Everytime it became stronger, Miranda could feel herself having to fight harder to stay within the boy’s mind, let alone preventing Lorcán from losing himself to whatever entity had claimed him as its own.

“What are you?” She asked. It looked like Amma, but it wasn’t her, more like a version of the girl viewed through a mirror darkly. The eyes were uncanny, almost inhuman, and there was an insatiable hunger radiating from the visitant.

“So many repressed memories,” The Apparition spoke, “Each filled with more guilt than the last, who knew the golden boy, the prince of P.R.C.U. could hold so many secrets.” It smiled wickedly.

“Could have such a pronounced darkside!” It suddenly shouted as the Apparition disappeared, Miranda finding herself falling through glimpses of memories before landing on a hard surface. Fractures spread beneath her before suddenly it gave way and she found herself back at a moment she already knew.

“Yeah,” Lance interrupted, “I’m her boyfriend you little punk.” He winced while opening and closing his hands. “C’mon, Ryan, let's get out of here, the twerp is putting me off.”

“I didn’t think we put a label on it yet,” Ryan muttered, her eyes shooting daggers at Lance. It was in that moment that Lorcán saw his opportunity, ducking under Ryan’s arm and kicking Lance straight in the groan.

The older boy dropped to his knees, his face twisting into a snarl before lunging forward. Lorcán suddenly found himself gripped by the shirt before his feet left the ground and he was tossed into another corner of the woodshed. A small whimper came out of Lorcán's mouth before his fingers touched the back of his skull. Something warm and moist stained his fingertips but before Lorcán had a chance to react, he felt the wind go out of his lungs courtesy of a boot to his gut.

“Lance! Enough!” Ryan yelled, trying to restrain the older boy before he stretched his hand out and pushed her back with a pulse of his abilities.

“He started this fight, I’m finishing it.” He warned before approaching Lorcán further. “You’re a persistent pintsized punk, but you’re out of your league, and Ryan is out of yours,” Lance cracked his knuckles before balling his hand into a fist.

“And I’ll make sure you remember it-” His words were interrupted by an agonized yowl. His wide eyes looked down to his foot where Lorcán had stomped on it before superheating the air around himself and pushing the older teen back.

“Lance!” Ryan shouted, moving forward to stop him before Lance simply turned and sent Ryan flying out of the shed.

“No!” Lorcán cried, frantically flicking his hands open trying to ignite a plasma blade just like Ryan had shown him.

“Heh,” Lance sneered, “Watch how a real man uses his abilities.”

A pulse of vibrations erupted in all directions, spreading outwards from Lance as the woodshed was reduced to splinters. Debris was scattered in every direction before Lorcán was tossed alongside it. Tools impaled the grass on all sides, narrowly missing the small boy while Lance stood triumphantly among the wreckage.

“Did you really think you could win?” He boasted. Taking a step forward, Lance rolled up his sleeves before reaching towards the fallen boy. Suddenly a blazing beam of red burned a line across the ground, halting Lance in his tracks.

“Ryan, Lorcán, inside the house now,” The voice of none other than Aiden Roth bellowed before the papa wolf turned on Lance with a guttural snarl, “You! Get out of here, I don’t want to see you around my son or Ryan again,”

“Your son’s a real piece of work,” Lance shot back, spitting on the ground. Aiden’s eyes glowed red as he reared himself up, his gaze unwavering as he watched Lance suddenly back and slink backwards.

“I’m going, I’m going,” He raised his hands, motioning towards Ryan, “C’mon, babe, let’s let the baby go wth his daddy.”

“No,” Ryan replied shrilly, barely masking the horror in her voice. “One, I’m not your babe, two I’m not going anywhere with you, and three, I, most importantly,” She stopped, helping Lorcán to his feet before putting an arm protectively around the young boy.

“I decide what league I play in,” She retorted, “And it certainly isn’t whatever that display was.”

“House, now.” Aiden interjected, his tone made it clear he wouldn’t repeat himself again as Ryan quickly obliged.

“This isn’t over, babe!” Lance yelled before disappearing into the distance. Aiden watched the older student, his eyes continuing to glow red while Tori helped Ryan and Lorcán into the house.

He had no doubt about one thing, that boy was the worst kind of trouble.

[Qia]

Harper wandered through the hallway, her footsteps soft against the hardwood, each step a gentle tap in the quiet. The house was still, the kind of stillness that made her feel like she was the only one awake in the world, though the sun hadn’t yet dipped to put itself to sleep. The shadows in the corners seemed to stretch and yawn as if they too were waiting for the coolness of night. It was a sweltering summer evening, and the idea of a cool, sweet dessert made her mouth water, a small joy that seemed just within reach. So, she’d gone in search of something simple, an innocent treat—ice cream, a delightful thought that made her smile.

She could almost taste the creamy sweetness, feel the coldness on her tongue, a sensation that promised a brief escape from the heat. The air was thick and stifling, clinging to her skin like a damp cloth, making each step feel like a small victory. Her mind was filled with the anticipation of that first bite, the way the ice cream would melt slowly, leaving a trail of sweetness. The kitchen seemed like a world away, however, a distant land where her simple wish could come true.

But all the 13-year-old girl needed to do to get what she wanted was reach the kitchen.

As Harper reached the end of the hallway, the sound of muffled voices pulled her out of her daydream. She paused, her hand hovering over the door frame, the voices tugging at her curiosity like an invisible thread. They were coming from the living room, low and urgent, and she recognized them immediately—her father and Sierra. It wasn’t often that they argued, but when they did, it was usually over something serious, something that made the air feel heavy.

She hesitated, torn between continuing her innocent quest for ice cream and the instinct to eavesdrop. The tension in their voices was palpable, even through the slightly ajar door, and Harper’s heart began to beat faster, each thump echoing in her ears. She inched closer, careful not to make a sound, as if the quiet of the hallway would protect her from whatever was happening on the other side. The cool promise of ice cream seemed to fade, replaced by the urgent need to understand what was causing the discord. Her breath caught in her throat as she strained to hear, the hallway suddenly feeling like a fragile bridge between her world and theirs.

Suddenly, the argument escalated, the tension in the air snapping like a taut wire. Sierra’s voice, sharp with frustration, cut through the air, each word a dagger that seemed to pierce the stillness. Harper’s breath caught as she heard Sierra’s biting words, each one laced with a venom that made her shiver. “You’re not fooling anyone, old man! What, did you think you could just replace us with a new freak family? You’re just a big fucking liar and—”

Their father’s deep, authoritative rumble interrupted, his tone carrying the weight of absoluteness. “Now you watch your tone with me, young lady. This ain’t your concern. What’s done is done, and we don’t talk about it again.” His voice was like a wall, firm and unyielding, a command that brooked no argument. It made Harper grip the doorframe tighter, for she knew exactly what it was like to be on the receiving end of that commanding voice.

Yet somehow…somehow this time was different.

Sierra’s voice cracked with anger, a raw edge that made Harper’s stomach twist. “Does Harper know about any of this? Maybe I should tell her. Just so she knows what a lying piece of shit you are!” The words were like a slap, each one hitting Harper with a force that left her reeling. What did she mean by that? What did she not know?

As if in answer to her question, the sound of something shattering on the floor reached her ears, a sharp, jarring noise that made Harper’s heart race. It sent a shockwave of fear through her, and she flinched, her small hands clutching the doorframe, the wood cool and solid under her trembling fingers. Her curiosity battled with a growing sense of dread, each emotion pulling her in opposite directions. She peeked around the corner, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to make sense of the scene unfolding before her.

In the next moment, Harper saw her father’s hand connect with Sierra’s cheek, the slap echoing with a harsh finality. Sierra stumbled back, her hand flying to her face as tears welled up in her eyes, the shock and pain evident in her expression. Harper’s heart lurched, disbelief flooding her senses. She felt frozen, her small frame pressed against the doorframe, unable to tear her eyes away.

Her father had never struck them before, the very sight of it bringing up memories of that night. Her terrifying nightmare.

Sierra’s eyes were wide with hurt, her cheek already reddening from the impact. The tears that welled up in her eyes seemed to shimmer in the dim light, a silent testament to the pain she felt. Still, Harper could see the defiance in her sister’s gaze, a fire that refused to be extinguished despite the harsh blow. The room seemed to hold its breath, the silence weighty and oppressive, as if the very walls were absorbing the intensity of the moment, waiting for the next blow to come. Harper’s own eyes stung with unshed tears, the need to stop whatever this was clamped down. Something told her it would be a terrible idea.

Their father’s controlled voice, cold and unyielding, cut through the air like a blade. “Now, don’t y’all ever use that tone or language with me again. I’m still your daddy, and none of what you think you know changes that.”

And with that, Harper found herself huddling in the nearest corner, her haven, as her sister rushed out of the room, her cheeks now streaked with dampness. She tried to appear as inconspicuous as possible with her small frame, but with no success as Sierra’s eyes met hers for a brief, aching moment, a silent exchange of pain and understanding. But she said nothing and continued down the hall, Harper’s small hands clutching at her knees while her body curled into itself even further.

Eventually, when she could, Harper moved, peeking around the corner once again. She saw her father now bending down to pick up the picture frame that had shattered earlier. She watched as he carefully collected each jagged piece of glass from the floor, his movements slow and deliberate, his expression one of deep weariness. In that quiet moment, he seemed just as broken as the item he attempted to fix.

His paragon of strength painfully human.

^{_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Strigidae Dorm - Pacific Royal Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.023: Infallible

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Sierra (Supporting Cast), Haven-@Skai}

Previously: A Heart's Fine Print

Harper sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers gripping the compact mirror tightly as she watched Sierra’s steady hand approach her eye. The room was softly lit, the warm glow from the nearby lamp on her desk casting gentle shadows on their faces, creating an intimate cocoon of light. Harper’s heart raced slightly, nervousness bubbling within her as the eyeliner brush neared her eyelid. The scent of Sierra’s floral perfume wafted through the air, but it did nothing to quell the brunette’s anxiety.

A brush was no scalpel. Yet still her body shook from the memory. The sterile smell of the hospital and the sharp, sterile light all came rushing back.

Harper’s breath hitched, her mind momentarily trapped in the past. She blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the haunting images, focusing instead on the warmth of the room and the comforting presence of her sister. Not the clone she’d killed to survive, to live.

“Hold still, Harper. You keep blinking,” Sierra chided gently, her tone more teasing than annoyed. Harper’s lips twitched into a small smile, trying to focus on a spot on the wall, willing her eyes to remain open. The sensation of the eyeliner brush gliding across her skin sent a delicate tickle through her, one she fought to ignore. All the while, Sierra’s brow remained furrowed in concentration as she perfected the line, and Harper couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude for her sister’s patience and skill. Especially the latter, which she lacked.

“Just a little more,” Sierra murmured, oblivious to the storm raging inside her. “You’re doing great.”

Harper could feel the sweat forming on her palms, making the compact mirror slippery in her grasp. She nodded nonetheless, swallowing hard as she fought to keep her eyes still, her lashes fluttering involuntarily with each brushstroke. The effort to remain calm was immense, her muscles tensing with the strain of holding back her fear. She wanted to tell Sierra, to confide in her, to let her know how much this seemingly simple act was costing her. The words hovered on the edge of her lips, but they refused to come out, trapped by the fear of seeming weak, or worse, of reliving the past.

You know, perhaps it’s time those lovely eyes of yours served a better purpose.

A beat.

And then.

The final stroke was made, and Sierra stepped back, examining her work with a critical eye. Harper watched her sister’s face, searching for any hint of doubt or dissatisfaction. And maybe a shade of something else.

“There,” Sierra said with a small, satisfied smile, her eyes lighting up with pride. “All done.”

Harper blinked a few times, feeling the slight weight of the makeup on her eyelids. The sensation was foreign, almost like wearing a mask, a thin veneer that both concealed and revealed parts of herself. She glanced at her reflection in the compact mirror, noting how the delicate lines of eyeliner accentuated her features, giving her eyes a depth that felt both empowering and unsettling. The transformation was striking, yet it couldn’t hide the remnants of fear still lingering in her eyes, a shadow that hadn’t quite left.

“Thanks,” Harper whispered, her voice thick with emotion, each word a struggle to push past the lump in her throat. She wasn’t sure if Sierra noticed the tremor in her tone, but her sister’s smile widened, a beacon of warmth and reassurance. Sierra playfully ruffled Harper’s hair, then stepped away to put the makeup back in its case.

“Don’t mention it. You look great, by the way. You’ll knock ‘em dead at the dance,” Sierra said, a teasing lilt in her voice. Harper tried to absorb her sister’s confidence, but the words felt like they were bouncing off a shield of anxiety. She forced a smile, the muscles in her face feeling stiff and uncooperative.

“I hope so.”

Sierra paused, catching something in Harper’s tone, her brow furrowing slightly. The concern in her sister’s eyes was unmistakable, a silent question that Harper wasn’t ready to answer. But instead of pressing, the redhead offered a reassuring pat on Harper’s shoulder, the warmth of her touch a small comfort. “Just have fun tonight, okay? Embrace your…inner pretty woman.”

Harper blinked.

“You want me to embrace my…inner hooker?”

Sierra burst out laughing, the sound filling the small room. “Okay, maybe not that part. But the confidence, the charm—think of the makeover scene!” She grinned, nudging Harper playfully. “You know, the part where she walks into those stores like she owns the damn place.”

Harper couldn’t help but smile, the tension easing slightly. “I guess that was a pretty good scene,” she admitted, her mind flickering back to the movie night with Aurora. The two had ended up watching not just one but two of her favourite rom coms: Pretty Woman and 13 Going on 30 (mainly for Mark Ruffalo). “She really does nail that whole transformation thing, doesn’t she?”

“Exactly! You don’t have to be a hooker, Harps. Just…own it,” Sierra replied, her tone brimming with encouragement. “ We Baxter women are anything but mediocre. You’ve got more going for you than you think.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Harper said, her voice softening, the confidence from moments before slipping away somewhat. “But not everyone who looks strong on the outside really is.” Which was a fragile truth that she had been grappling with since her conversation with Calliopé. Her eyes flickered to the mirror, seeing not just the reflection there but the person she truly was under all the makeup still. The girl the trials had resurfaced.

Sierra caught the shift in Harper’s tone, her playful demeanor fading as concern took its place. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice gentle, probing but not pushing. The question was simple, yet it carried the weight of their shared history, the unspoken understanding that had always existed between them.

“It’s just… I mean, people change, right? Or maybe they were always different than we thought,” Harper began, glancing at Sierra. “Like in the movies—sometimes the person who seems perfect is really hiding something. Better yet, they may not even be the way others see them.”

Sierra’s expression grew more serious, the lighthearted banter from earlier now replaced by a quiet intensity. “We’re not…talking about the movies anymore, are we?”

Harper looked down, her thumb tracing the edge of the compact mirror, the cool metal a grounding presence in her hand. She hesitated, the words thick in her throat, each one a struggle to voice. “I’ve been thinking about them a lot. Well, actually, mainly just Dad.” The admission immediately felt like both a release and a burden. “About how we saw him. How I saw him.” Sierra stayed silent, Harper too afraid to look up to meet her eyes to see why but forcing herself to.

“Maybe we just couldn’t see the cracks…because there was a part of us that didn’t want to.”

Sierra’s hand tightened slightly on Harper’s shoulder, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes. “No, Harper,” she said, her voice low and edged with frustration.“You couldn’t see the cracks. But I did. I saw everything, and I protected you from it...like I always have.” Her gaze hardened, her tone more insistent now. “I knew about his secrets. About the things he tried to hide. You were too young, too… sheltered to see it, and I made sure it stayed that way. I didn’t want you to lose that image of him. But I’ve always known who he really was.” She paused, her gaze shifting to Harper’s laptop on the desk then back to her. Her eyes bore into Harper’s, the intensity of her gaze a mirror of the pain she had carried for so long.

“And now you do too.”

Here, her voice dropped to a sad, almost resigned whisper that Harper almost missed, the words barely audible but heavy with meaning.

“You’re already so much like him.”

Another beat. The silence stretched.

And then.

Nothing.

Harper wanted to counter that point, to argue that she was different, that she wasn’t destined to repeat their father’s mistakes. But try as she might, the lie wouldn’t come to lips. Even she had thought the same, had seen the similarities in herself that she wished she could deny.

Even now, she’d eagerly accepted betrayal’s hand.

Even now, she embraced it like an old friend she hadn’t seen in some time.

Desperate to escape the suffocating truth, she shifted the subject. The words tumbled out in a rush, a frantic attempt to find solace in the mundane.

“So, will you be there too? The dance?”

Sierra’s expression shifted, momentarily taken aback by Harper’s sudden change of topic. She looked over at Harper’s desk, where her laptop sat plugged in, the screen dark but the power light glowing softly. Then her gaze returned to Harper, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips.

“No, probably not. I’ve got quite a bit of reading to do,” she said. “But you already know that.”

Harper watched as Sierra walked over to the desk and unplugged the charger from the wall, then picked up the laptop. Her sister’s movements were methodical and almost detached, each action precise and devoid of emotion. The room seemed to grow colder with these motions, the warmth of their earlier conversation evaporating into a heavy silence that chilled Harper to her core.

As Sierra turned toward the door, she paused, her eyes lingering on Harper with an intensity that was unsettling. It was as if she was searching for something unsaid, a silent plea for understanding that Harper knew she couldn’t give—at least, not now.

Sierra shook her head slightly, dismissing whatever thoughts had crossed her mind. She opened the door and stood there, her gaze fixed on something outside that Harper couldn’t see from where she was.

“What is it?” Harper asked, rising from her seat and making her way toward the door. The air seemed to thicken around her, the silence pressing in with each step she took. As she reached the doorway, she noticed the gritting of Sierra’s teeth and the frown that deepened on her brow, her expression tight with restrained emotion.

Harper followed her sister’s line of sight and felt her heart plummet into her stomach.

“Oh…hey…Haven.”

[spicykvnt]

---

_{Location: Cleo's Dorm - Lutra Dorms, Pacific Royal Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.024: Don't Stare Into The Sun

---

_{Interaction(s): Lucas Bray @Nemaisare, and Immanuel Blaylock @Festive}

Previously: The Twilight Hours of Team Eclipse

Her eyes fluttered open.

Blue, almond-shaped eyes - now adorned with a smokey shadow. Highlighted right in the centre of the lid with a shimmering touch of purple glitter. Her lashes curled upward, framing her eyes that held a thoughtful storm. Almost ready. Almost.

Behind her, a dress hung holding the memory of a promise. Draped over the door. It had been a reluctant choice made some time ago with her Eclipse teammates when laughter was still shared easily among them. They had each sifted through the fabrics and colours together, and the moment of shared joy had agreed, collectively. This dress was for Cleo.

Daisy had picked a butter-yellow gown. Light and breezy like a summer morning. Like her. Darla had picked a colourful pantsuit. Gladys had opted for a sage green dress with tulle. Violet, true to her name, selected a regal floor-length gown in the deepest purple. Whitney, the most daring of the girls, chose a vibrantly hot pink dress that clung to her curves with cutaways that teased a glimpse of her sun-kissed skin. But Cleo—Cleo had been the one who wavered, lost in the endless racks of choice: bright orange, blue, yellow, pink, green... The idea of a dance, a prom, was foreign to her; but it was Whitney who gently guided her toward simplicity. “Let the accessories do the talking,” she’d advised in her voice that had always been laced with certainty.

A cream, form-fitting silk gown that grazed the floor. Spaghetti strapped with an elegantly draping neckline. It was simple, and yet - even Cleo, when she tried it on, felt something inside herself that was much like excitement. In that fleeting moment, her psionic aura shimmered with joy, casting a thousand colors over the fabric—a living canvas.

Now, Cleo looked at it and just felt.... Strange. She took it from the hanger and let it fall over her form. The lighting was harsher here, stripping away the magic that had once clung to the fabric. Without the presence of her friends, their laughter and their own vibrant choices, the thrill seemed to dissipate. She slid the dress over her form, as the joy of picking the dress dissolved, it left behind only the emptiness and absence of the women who had empowered her to wear it in the first place.

She lifted an arm to the back and managed to pull the zipper to half way, frowning in the mirror as she cut several unladylike shapes trying to contort herself to get the rest. "Whatever," she muttered, giving up. Pulling from the dresser an amethyst necklace that sat at the centre of a line of other jewels.

Something that Whitney had neglected to help her with, and had left her alone with since her departure, was the choice of shoes. And she frowned again as she looked into her closet at several options there. "What would Whit choose?" she said with a sigh, eyes tracing back and forth over her options. She expected that Immanuel and Lucas would perhaps offer indifference. "Urgh, why do I care?" she huffed, rolling her eyes at herself. "I don't even want to go."

But... She did want to go. If only to be there for her friends who wouldn't be, and to be there with the friends who would.

And for Immanuel? The latter only held a semblance of truth in his mind. Parties were loud, too loud. The music alone was enough to be its own filter in Immanuel’s mind, its makeshift barrier wherein he pushed not even an ounce of focus into hold up. However behind that music ever so loud chattering and corner discussions of party goers stands stark in the all encompassing mess of music. Immanuel could but imagine how it would fill his mind in only a second the closer the group approached the A.R.C., and the encroaching nervousness that sat on his brain waiting to pounce down on him as the moment neared with each tick of his watch.

With that very same hand that ticked the ever present reminder, Immanuel softly knocked on the door to Cleo’s dorm with the optimistic thought she would hear his feeble attempt and he would not have to knock louder so close to himself. And for the dance Immanuel still stood on the fence with his reluctant acceptance, he donned the suit his father aided him in choosing months prior. For the most part, in the design suit simplicity was key. Draped in the green color of the olives of the mediterranean, he bore a double-breasted suit jacket unworn upon one of his shoulders, his undershirt a fresh white button-up adorned with the brown tie he wore tied around his neck. The slacks he wore as well in sync with the jacket he held, the outfit laid on his form exactly as he had ordered it be fitted by the tailor. On Immanuel’s wrist, slightly below the watch he wore daily was a handmade bracelet, one with the central item being seaglass; it was a memento. Two plastered green seaglass smooth to a finish surround another orange piece laid in the middle held together by a piece of twine that has survived the test of time with flying colors, a remembrance of the past. Everyone on Team 18 had one, and everyone left with theirs as well. It was Lucas’s idea for them to all wear their own, each uniquely crafted in its own perfect way, as a way to hold on to what is left, and to keep everyone near. As he stood outside the door waiting for Cleo to answer, his head looked down the hall to see if he could catch sight of Lucas arriving as well.

From the lightness of the knock, Cleo could discern who was on the other side. With one last glance at herself in the mirror, she raised her hand to her lips, and gave the motion of pulling a zipper closed, locking it with a firm twist at the end, and flicking away a key with a swift, decisive motion. On the other side of the door, as expected, was Immanuel, only - despite her best efforts and that promise in the mirror to be careful with her volume.

“Manny,” she began, her voice teetering on the edge of being too loud. Her eyes quickly widened before she reflexively and apologetically brought a hand to her mouth. “Sorry!” she whispered out. “Look at you though! You look great!” Not wanting to let the faux pas linger, she opened the door and gave a wave of her hand to invite him in.

His head snapped towards Cleo with the advent of her voice, ”Thank you, Cleo!” Immanuel was never one to shy away from compliments, although infrequently received it was a pleasant utterance to experience anytime. However thankful for her words Immanuel felt his body tense up for a split second, his face slightly contorting into a small grimace in which he quickly replaced with a smile, it was obvious to all that her voice toed the line, her sharp exclamation cut into his ears like a razor upon flesh, with her standing right before him her voice sounded like a shouting cry right into the inside of his ear. ”You don't need to apologize, for as long as we've been here I think I got used to it from all of y'all. And look at me? Look at you, absolutely stunning! For as much as me Whitney struck the wrong nerve most days she damn knew how to choose a dress.”

With the invitation to come inside given, Immanuel took a step past Cleo into the dorm room. Taking a solitary seat on her side of her bed, laying the suit jacket to his side. At the very least he didn't have to undergo this party alone, ”You almost set for the party too, hm? Definitely a bit nerve wracking to say the least…” Immanuel trailed off, his hand twirling and flipping the limiter he held in his hand, pushing the band into his pocket after a second.

She gave a smile at the returned compliment, “thanks,” she said - in an appropriate inside voice, ending with a slight girlish giggle. She let the door stay open, knowing Lucas wouldn’t be long. “Mhmmm,” she responded to him with a nod. “Gotta pick me shoes, but, I’d say I’m almost there.”

She felt the apprehension in him, it still sat within her, too. “Yeah… Packed out A.R.C with students, loud music, and all manner of romantic angst. Sounds thrilling.” She feigned a smile, her fingers fidgeting and twisting at a ring that was on her finger. “Certainly not going to need a few business days to get over it.” She glanced downwards, letting her hand drop to her side, where she then began tapping her fingers against herself. “Could be worth it for a chance to dance it out though? Could be..”

“Could be worth a fortune! Hi! Sorry, hello, I’m late.” Though Lucas announced both himself and this fact with blithe unconcern as he walked through the open door, only grimacing halfway through as he tried to talk quieter, and managed… somewhat, he did not actually know if he was late. He’d gotten distracted on the way from his dorm to Cleo’s. There were a lot of well-dressed, smiling people gathering in small groups and excitedly exclaiming over each other outside. “You look so good!” He wasn’t looking at either of them… Though he retroactively meant it when he finally focused on his friends. Absentminded finding his place in the walls twisting as his lips curled sideways and he nodded, firmly. “You do. Sorry, I can’t hold onto the quiet time to go tonight.”

There were too many excited gatherings of sharing opinions and trying on clothes and make-up and hair up or hair down with nervous pumping each other up and predrinking dates for all the years people had prepared for their dances in these dorms to not be feeling some of it himself. Secondhand enthusiasm had carried him through fiddling with buttons and pleats and layered fashion until he’d decided against the coat and could show up with all the formality he usually managed in his—by now—familiar dress uniform of white jacket over a white shirt and plaid kilt and knee-high socks. The red bowtie and gold trim added a splash of colour. It was formal, if not particularly exciting, but he hadn’t wanted anything new. And now, as he held out his arms and turned full circle for their appraisal, which he trusted more than his own in the mirror, Lucas laughed, his own enthusiasm growing on the foundation of everyone else’s.

“Nice zipper dance. Want help?”

What grew with Lucas, also grew as a beaming smile on Cleo's lips. She approved of his kilt. “Lucas,” she said, eyes sparkling, pleased to see him. “You look fantastic,” she brought her hands together only briefly in a single mindfully quiet clap. “You both do.” Her mind wandered, as it often did, to fill in the spaces of her dorm room with her imagined visions of the rest of Eclipse in suits and dresses, a wish that they could have all been together.

“Oh,” she murmured. Realisation pulling her away from the thought, spinning, glancing over her shoulder to try to see the zipper, turning almost in a full circle herself. “Yes… Please. Next option was to wrestle a hanger hook back there.”

“Wrestle a bear with it? Oh! It’s hooked on a… Here.” Thankfully muttering more to himself than trying to be heard over the voices in his head as he listened to far too many animal options for wrestling and tried to figure out what Cleo meant, having never had to wrangle a zipper he couldn’t reach without someone else to zip it for him, Lucas managed to keep his volume low as he stepped up to follow through. The slider brought everything together perfect, the cream silk closing up behind it and Cleo’s warmth filling everything out. She did look good in the dress, different compared to her usual style, but not bad at all. Though her feet were still bare. “No shirt, no shoes?”

“Shoes? Shoes? shooooooes!” Cleo muttered melodically, reminded by Lucas of her last getting-ready conundrum. She reached for her closet again, not before giving Lucas a smile of thanks. She plucked out a pair of towering block heels, patterned in scarlet tartan. A style that was not complimentary to her dress. “You know….” she mused, holding them out by the ankle strap to Manny and Lucas with a soft laugh. “Whitney hated these… So…. It seems only right. Right?”

Damn right. I can picture that smug fuckin’ look getting wiped off her face.” A small smile planted itself firmly upon his lips at the advent of Cleo’s suggestion. As much as Immanuel’s distaste for Whitney stood unwavering in the face of change, he still savoured the time they’d spent together, and much to his chagrin her incessantly loud voice still vexed his mind. “Certainly a nice contrast between what she would love and despise, but if you send her any pictures, make sure to crop out the shoes.”

Head tilting as the shoes swayed with Cleo’s laugh at Manny’s vehement agreement, Lucas didn’t lose his smile, but he did rescue them from their own weight, taking them from her with a bemused expression that turned into a snort. “Please tell me you got these for a laugh.” He managed to match the tone almost exactly, though he still looked more confused than Whitney ever did, and when he continued, it was all him. “How do you walk out th–uhh, how?”

She’d show him after putting them on, probably… Manny looked different, too. Like he actually knew what he was doing… Made him wonder, briefly, if he should have asked him for help before he remembered it had already been offered. He’d said no. He didn’t need more clothes. He had a kilt. And a bracelet of tight knots and twisting threads and steady fingers wrapped around the numbing daze of pounding waves; she’d been humming while she made it. Lucas grinned, holding up his wrist where dark green glass was sandwiched by round beads of brown and pointing to Manny’s. Gladys had been listening to Pratchett while she made his, Thief of Time. It was A Hat Full of Sky for Cleo.

“Only slightly for a laugh,” Cleo answered with a playful smirk. As the boys continued passing glances of reminiscing back and forth, Cleo began slipping herself into them. After she'd fastened the straps and stood back up, she'd grown several more inches. Not quite taller than Lucas, certainly not as tall as Manny. “And,” she began to say, nudging a playful elbow against Lucas. “The same way I walk anywhere, just one step at a time.”

Immanuel’s attention shifted from the heels to Lucas, watching as Lucas held his wrist up. ”Ayy, at least we will all be matching with one thing.” Pushing his wrist outward from his lap, Immanuel rolled up the cuff of his button up slightly and pushed his watch down in one motion to reveal the bracelet hidden within. “She was by far the most crafty of our bunch, I don’t think I would even be able to recreate this, and definitely not Lucas’s. And by the way, way to rock a kilt, brother!”

“Ha. You know it.” He was, at the very least, far less out of sorts in the outfit than he’d been the first time he’d worn it, but five years of formal affairs, even if only occasional, had done wonders. He’d nudged Cleo back when she poked him with her elbow, but as he glanced over now, he couldn’t help remarking on her new level. “Oh, hello, hi, you’re up here now. But not goin’ that high.” His gaze drifted towards the man sitting on her bed. Platform shoes or stilts might be needed for that.

As Lucas spoke, Cleo swiveled on her heel to her desk, picking up one last accessory - a pair of black velvet cocktail gloves. She shimmied them onto her hands, removing her rings, tugging the left hand glove under the seaglass bracelet before pulling them both back over her elbows. A classy touch, but practical, a further small barrier between her and any unwanted feelings.

“Okay. All right. All good to go? We can breathe outside and watch the birds.” If they took too long, they’d be the last to arrive with no one to watch while they hyped themselves up for an evening of social interaction. Besides which, Lucas offered Immanuel a quick, crooked smile as he registered how loudly he’d been talking… “And you don’t like my inside voice.”

”I don’t think you’ve ever had an inside voice. Maybe when you are signing, though then again that doesn’t really require a voice.” Immanuel cracked a fleeting laugh to his friends as he parted the side of the blinds on Cleo’s window to peer out onto the ground below. In his ears hushed whispers of excited students whose voices sounds like underwater static permeated through the gaps in his focus and ran amok across his mind. Dancing and twirling among his thoughts as he watched the people filter out of their respective dorms and boisterously travel down the path that led to the dance, he doubted they’d be able to match the energy of the more packed groups among them but none the less, it was time.

”But yeah, Lucas is right, I think it is about time we get going. Long night ahead y’all, so lets start it out nicely.” With the olive green suit jacket hold firmly in his hand, Immanuel stood, sliding his arms into their designated spots, and buttoning it to a close in a fluid motion. His eyes glancing between the final two remnants of his friend group as he stood in front of the door. ”Now lets get out of here.” His calloused hands opening the gate of their sanctuary to the winding path of one of their final, while not official, missions together.

---

As the three embark from the Lutra dorms and out onto the street the energy the group exuded was dull, a halfhearted walk down the path saddled with an almost solemn silence amongst their ranks. Immanuel kept his hands safely within the bounds of his pockets as they continued along, a sigh seeping out of his formerly held tight lips. There were limits to everything in this world, his focus while strong could still not withstand the ripping force upon the grip it held to his surrounding as they neared ever so closer to the A.R.C. The sound increased with each step, what was now a soft rhythmic drumming of indistinguishable noise would soon ascend. ”I still find it a bit funny of how the three easiest to overwhelm were the last ones left, I doubt the rest would’ve guessed that… But anyway, I was thinking we could have a word, or a signal, or something to show if one of us reached that point during the party.”

“A safeword for the boot scoot and oot?” Cleo asked, casting her eyes to Manny. “Not a bad idea…” She felt her own nervousness flutter in her chest. It was the cruelest irony. That she loved people, parties, and music so much - yet they were often painful reminders of her sensitivities. Their leader was right about that, for each of them in their own ways. ”Play that bat signal, either of you, and maybe we just high tail it to the kitchens. Steal a steak dinner... Bet it’s quiet there… Have our own party.” Cleo’s words trailed off, before she turned her gaze to Lucas. “A sign sounds good, right? Subtle. Inconspicuous… What’d you think?”

“Huh?” A team photoshoot had caught his attention, both for the idea of it, and for counting the numbers. Nine left… Or was it only the graduating year taking part? Oh, there, the guy taking the picture was being gestured into the fold as the rest petitioned another passerby to take another picture. So, when he glanced over to see both his own teammates looking at him with obvious expectation, he froze for a second, head tilting as his gaze slipped towards the sidewalk. Had to take a moment to catch up to the present.

“Oh, right, yeah, I’m not hiding if it’s bad, but I like signing sorry. Then I can feel it if the lights are bright. All right?” As one of the first signs he’d learned from Immanuel, and possibly the one he’d used the most since, it was his go-to when he got to choose any signal. Team coordination or safe word or otherwise, it came easy to him when he needed it, and it was easier for him to pick up on, too, since they were all wearing something over their chests. Bonus that it wasn’t that conspicuous, either. As long as you had a hand free.

”I could get around with that one.” A solitary hand balled firmly into a fist hovered in the center of Immanuel’s chest after it’s removal from his pocket. The sign itself was a simple one, his hand formed into a sign for the letter “A” moving in a counter clockwise circle on his chest. “Sorry,” a silent apology projected to another through the form of actions rather through the use of ones words. Back yonder, when their team’s sun shown down brighter than ever, it’s blessing light which shown the group’s former vigor, the two boys used this in place of English, sign language, as sole communication. ”Yeah, I love it, man. If this party goes to shit, hit the sign and we’ll leave. As a team, one unit.”

Following Manny's hand with a keen eye, Cleo performed the motion along with him, the feeling that it elicited formed a calming blue aura to envelope her fist. The sensation brought a small nod of agreement. “I like it, Manny, this works.”

She drew in a breath, turning her eyes to the A.R.C that was in full view of them now and at the scene that grew more lively with each minute. She bit her lip, a flicker of apprehension crossing her features. “Well alright then,” she sighed out, looking to Manny and Lucas, trying to find determination. Instead, she once again found the absence of nine others.

Darla. Gladys. Amir. Ezra. Whitney. Violet. Daisy. Chaney. Steve.

The weight felt heavy, the wish now distant and unreachable. Plans that wouldn't come to fruition. Things unsaid… Good memories began to win over though. Recollection of laughter again, the small moments, a wall in her mind's eye of a noticeboard peppered in polaroids. Coffee dates. Books and good reads, sidewalk dogs, funny faces, questionable fashion choices… And, she had Manny and Lucas. They had her, and each other too– this was their team now. “To our hardest mission yet,” she spoke, playing in her mind to chase a thread of a joke, to sew it through the night, her smile formed again.

“Surviving the senior dance.”

[Lord Wraith]

“Mr. Patterson,”

Lance's eyes strained to open, the steady beep of the infirmary equipment was like a defeating drum on his skull. He felt cold everywhere and simultaneously numb.

“I’ve asked your family to wait outside in the hallway. The nurse is administering something that will make you more lucid.” Jonas stated, taking a seat on the edge of the bed before motioning towards another woman beside him. Outside the soundproof window, Lance’s mother and father look inside, along with his younger brother. Jonas locked eyes with the boy, roughly the same age as Lorcán and much like the young Roth, Chadwick was slated to be starting at Pacific Royal the following fall.

“I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me?”

Lance only groaned as his eyes rolled between the bandages from Jonas to Summer. Jonas nodded before reaching into his jacket and producing a couple images of different young men.

“Is one of these the boy who attacked you?”

Lance grunted, tears streaming out of his eyes and staining the bandages as he tried to nod. A finger slowly lifted before tapping directly on the image of Lorcán Roth. Jonas nodded solemnly, putting the images away before gesturing towards the blonde woman at his side.

“I need you to tell Miss Carlyle everything you remember about the night you were attacked.”

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: The Office of Dr. Miranda Rivers - Pacific Royal Collegiate & University, Dundas Island, Pacific Ocean}

Dance Monkey #4.025: But It's Better If You Do

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Viva Las Vengeance

“Aiden, this isn’t the first time this has happened,” Jonas pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging it before replacing his glasses. “There was the boy two years ago, even with some of our healers, he still bears the scars of the incident with Lorcán. And now the young Mr. Patterson will be lucky to survive.”

“This wasn’t Lorcán,” Aiden argued, “The first incident was the manifestation of his Hyperhuman abilities, we’ve had him doing practical ability training since the age of eleven, no other Hyperhuman has had the privilege of having their abilities that closely trained from such a young age. Lorcán hasn’t lost control again.”

“He’s a boy of intense emotions, how can you be so sure his infatuation with Ryan didn’t emotionally compromise him?”

Aiden’s head hung slightly at Jonas’ challenge, a reluctant sigh escaped his chest, hanging in the open air before he replied.

“I don’t,” He admitted, “I didn’t expect Lorcán to grow so attached to Ryan, not in that way. I figured the age gap would be enough of a deterrent.”

Jonas suddenly laughed, a long hearty laugh that started in his belly before bellowing out into the air.

“Do you not have eyes, my son?” Jonas asked, wiping mirthful tears from the corner of his own eyes while Aiden looked at him with confusion. “Miss Clarke is a young, attractive woman while your son is a boy going through puberty. She has been nothing but kind to him, friendly and goes out of her way to ensure he feels like he belongs. Of course our boy wasn’t deterred by the age gap.”

Jonas smiled sadly, patting Aiden on the shoulder.

“And the boy does love a redhead.”

^{_{__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

Lorcán’s mind was like a maze as Miranda chased after the Apparition. Walls were erected around so many memories, that it was almost terrifying to think of the consequences breaking them down would have. Whoever had placed these here had engineered a nostalgia fueled childhood within the boy, one free of most hardships, only ignoring defining moments from his youth.

The Apparition continued to feed, breaking down the artificial barriers and unlocking more memories while simultaneously changing some of those Miranda had already ventured through. She watched as memory after memory played out before her, only to disappear and reveal a meek boy who would then scurry away to hide again as the Apparition continued to devour.

If Miranda couldn’t get Lorcán’s psyche to stand up and fight back, she was on the receiving end of a losing battle. There was no way of knowing what could happen if she lost, could the Apparition truly take Lorcán’s mind and body for its own? And where did the creature come from?

The fate of Lance Patterson weighed heavily on Lorcán and now the illusion was shattering. What had originally been simply guilt derived from his affections for two young women, was multiplying rapidly to the boy taking the rap for a murder Miranda couldn’t be sure he had committed.

Without answers, there was no way to make the boy fight back. There was no one who could make the boy fight back. It had become so dark inside Lorcán’s mind, it was no wonder the boy’s psyche had been lost and forced to hide in the shadows. In his despair, he had lost sight of his guiding light.

Miranda was falling through the memories again, they were a jumbled mess of non-linear events, each taken out of context to scramble his perception. But if the Apparition fed on guilt and angst, then hope and love would be its undoing.

Planting herself on firm ground, Miranda thrust a hand into a memory, forcing herself through the barrier before tapping the smaller figure on the shoulder.

“Come with me,” Miranda smiled, watching the flash of recognition from the figure’s blue eyes before they turned to Miranda.

“Lorcán needs you.” The older woman stated, extending a hand. It was immediately accepted before the pair were plunged back into the dark labyrinth of Lorcán’s fractured mind.

“Where is he?”

^{_{__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

“Hey!” Ryan froze as she walked the path back towards the campus. She immediately recognized that voice as he stepped out from behind the tree.

“Dad, I don’t have your money,” Ryan replied, a scruffy, graying man stepped out of the shadowy treeline and onto the path. “It’s just not like that here,”

“There has to be something of worth here, I know you’re holding out on me.”

Ryan let out an exasperated sigh.

“No, Dad, no I’m not.” Ryan responded, “Look, these are genuinely good people, they aren’t after money or wealth, just a place where we can be,” She pleaded, “There are people here who can help you, just please stop asking me to steal from them. I’m not going to do it.”

“What about your tutor gig, aren’t they paying you?”

“No, Dad, they’re not.”

“She’s lying.” Another voice interjected and Ryan turned to see Lance smugly approaching. “In fact, Mr. Clarke, ” He smiled, “I know she’s getting paid and she’s working for the richest family on the island. And I happen to know where they live and exactly how to get anything you want out of them.”

“And just who is this charming young man?” Ryan’s father asked while putting an arm around his daughter and squeezing her tightly.

“I’m her boy-”

“He’s not,” Ryan interrupted, “He was just leaving.”

“No, babe,” Lance smiled, extending a hand to the older man, “I don’t think I am.”

“Sullivan,” Ryan’s father smiled.

“Lance Patterson.”

[Lord Wraith]

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Pacific Royal Campus - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean}

Dance Monkey #4.026: Dancing On My Own

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: A Change Is Gonna Come

The helicopter kicked up quite the stir of wind as Jim kept a firm hand on his hat. From within, Teresa Torres emerged, stepping down onto the platform and walking away before the chopper lifted off again and disappeared over the horizon.

“How was y’alls trip out to San Fransciso?” Jim asked, walking beside the Foundation representative as the pair made their way towards campus proper.

“Exhausting and ultimately unproductive.” Torres replied, “I was hoping you could escort me to the H.E.L.P. base at a later time, I’d like to requisition some of their agents to aid the Foundation. Even we can admit when we’ve hit a dead end and some fresh eyes on Triton’s murder may go a long way.”

“I mean, it’s in the name, I’m sure they’d be willing to lend a hand if it goes towards a better coexistence.” Jim replied, “You’re back just in time to see the A.R.C. set up for the senior’s formal dance tonight.”

“Ah, so you managed to pull one together after all, I’m glad,” Torres responded, “Some of my fondest memories were at similar events while attending school, I’m glad you’re willing to provide an opportunity for the students to have the same.” She continued, “Though I understand there has been some security issues on campus as of late.”

“Yes, we had a visit from one of yours, which led to several abductions, thankfully the last of which we were able to end without bloodshed. Beyond that, we found an exploit in our student identification system that may have allowed several persons to travel to the island without proper permissions.” Jim explained, “We’ve begun reparations, the exploit has been isolated, now we’re just working to ensure our systems can’t be so easily fooled again.”

“As for your other issue, I’d like to offer the Foundation’s Foot soldiers to better defend the campus grounds. I can have them installed before this evening. They’re very discreet, you won’t even notice them, and they won’t put a damper on the mood.”

“I’d appreciate that after everything that’s happened in the last couple of weeks, it’d be nice for the kids to go through an evening and the worst thing that happens is a bad hangover the next day.”

“Agreed, now then, let’s see this A.R.C.,” Torres insisted, “I would like to congratulate the students who went through such an effort to put this together.”

*Baxter and Galahad are here, unfortunately Miss de Léon won't be able to see her work. She was recently called home on account of an attempt on her father's life. Her brother was caught in the crossfire and is currently clinging to his life.” Jim replied, explaining Calliope’s absence.

“Reminds me of why it's so important that we do succeed with these students, we’re trying to make the world a better place.” Torres replied as Jim enthusiastically nodded.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

[Roman]

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

_{Location: House Lynx Dorms - P.R.C.U. Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.027: HIGH ON THE WIRE

---

_{Interaction(s): N/A}

Gil shivered beneath the cascading cool water that bounced off his chest and shoulders, beading down his ribs and stomach. His skin was still jaundice-splotched, bruises at the end of their life cycles lingering with ugly yellow-browns; looking at himself in the mirror on the back of his bathroom door, he was a far cry from the well-maintained figure he'd cut a couple short weeks ago. The 'just-enough' tan was fading in the perpetually-overcast weather of the autumnal Canadian coast, and while he'd previously maintained carefully-crafted definition in his arms and abdominals, he felt the loss of progress where he'd been laid up in the infirmary. He ached, his body remained tender in places, and his ankle was still sore and reluctant to take his full weight.

He put his head to the wall and twisted the temperature gauge, shivering again as the water sputtered and the cold water was replaced with hot. He stood there, eyes closed with steam pooling around his feet and beginning to rise up his slick-wet calves and thighs, just enjoying the stillness of it. The water played white noise in his ears and he could feel himself almost lulled back to sleep, his mind wandering lazily around everything and nothing. He took deep breaths, centring himself and allowing the steam to fill his lungs and clear his head.

A harsh buzzing interrupted Gil in what would otherwise have been a meditative descent into a re-infused perspective. Instead, he furrowed his brow, irritable for the intrusion, and lifted his head from the wall as he turned off the water and stood dripping, clinging to the last vestiges of vapour and heat as the buzzing continued and he groped for a towel beyond the shower curtain. He found it and dragged into back into the cubicle, drying himself off quick-and-rough before wrapping and tucking it around his waist and stepping out into the still-steamy bathroom.

His phone buzzed again, the vibrations loud against the tile sill it rested on above the sink. He thought about dashing the damnable thing against the floor or the wall and letting it shatter into fragments quite unable to bother him again; instead, he picked it up, inspecting the incoming call.

Artie was trying to reach him, again. How many days had it been? Gil supposed the persistence was warranted, perhaps even necessary in his line of work. He sighed. There was no avoiding it forever; at the very least, Gil owed Artie a professional obligation. He opened the bathroom door, goosebumps spreading across his bare torso as the warm air rushed out, and moved to sit on the bed, still slightly damp and wet hair dripping onto his shoulders.

He answered the call.

"Hi Arthu-" "Gil! Where in the damn hell have you been?"

Artie's voice came through thick and fast, laden with ire and exasperated. Gil pinched the bridge of his nose, immediately filled with regret for picking up the phone.
"Infirmary. I was laid up after the tri-" "The trials, yeah, I know, why do you think I've been trying to call? You missed that weekend shoot. I had to play nice, reschedule. Are you at least on your feet now?"

Gil felt the good mood he'd woken up in drain away. Amma and the calm she brought felt so far away in this moment.
"Yes, Arthur, I'm on my feet, but I don't thi-" "Well that's good news, at least. Bouncing back like always, eh! Look, I'm glad I finally got through, because the re-shoot is this weekend, and it's looking like we've got some more scripts coming through. Some of these are hot, Gil! Hot!"

He just kept talking like nothing had happened, like Gil hadn't nearly died, like he'd just had a bad hangover from a networking party and was ready to dive straight back in. Gil felt angry, an emotion he'd been previously unfamiliar with but was growing quickly accustomed to.
"It's all great stuff, I'll send it through the usual way once I've gone over everything. Anyway, the car can pick you up from the ferry dock like normal, you just need to get away sharp Saturday morning, we'll fly you out and have you back Sunday night. You know the routine. You still got the lines?"

Gil didn't answer; he just sat there, drip-drying, wishing he was talking to anyone else right now.
"Gil? Bud? You still there?"

"I quit."

This time Artie didn't answer, and Gil let the silence stretch out.
"What? No you don't, come on kid. Look, we can push the ad back again or chuck it out if you don't like it, it's just licorice mints, you're right, it's not on-brand. Just check out these new scripts I'll send you, there's some great stuff. You just need something exciting again! You took a blow but you got right back up, and I'm proud of you kid, I really am, but I can guess you're still a bit screwy from the hit. Take a week off, get some bed-rest - we'll have you right as rain in no time. Quit! You sure you're not making a move to comedy?"
Artie laughed, unconvincingly, and that just annoyed Gil more.
"I mean it, Arthur. I'm done. I can't deal with it anymore. I quit, or retire, or whatever you want to call it. I'll finish out my year here, and then I'm going back to England to do something else. My dad's firm, maybe. But I'm done with Hollywood. I'm grateful for all the work we've done together, but this is it for me. I'm out."

"Look, just- I'll scrap the ad. You just take some time."
"I'll have the same answer the next time you call me."
"You're not thinking straight. Get your head on right, and we'll get back to norma-"
"I said I fucking quit!"

Gil yelled down the phone and hung up, tossing it across the room. It bounced against the door and thudded onto the carpet; he could feel his face flush with anger, and he took a few long, measured breaths to cool down. He got up, pacing around the room, angry at Arthur, angry at himself, angry at his bruised and aching body, angry at his ankle that throbbed with a dull ache every second step. Gil scooped up his bottle of painkillers and chucked two pills dry down his throat, pocketing the rest; in the closet hung the suit he'd picked out for the dance, and after pulling on a pair of jeans and a tee, the bag was slung over his shoulder.

He stooped to scoop his phone on his way out, taking a spiteful second to block Arthur's number, and then shot a text out to the boys:

I'm picking up booze on the way over. Little bit of everything.

We're letting loose tonight.

[Lord Wraith]

“I know things can be confusing, but you can’t ever assume a girl feels the same as you do. And you’re never entitled to her feeling such.” Aiden explained, “There’s this myth about being ‘friend-zoned’ that’s built entirely on the idea of being owed a relationship. You’re never owed anything and so you need to learn to either take the initiative to move to the next step or be content in being friends.” He put a reassuring hand on Lorcán’s shoulder.

“You’re getting to an age now where you’re going to start having new feelings about people, and those feelings come with some powerful urges, urges you need to keep in check because they’re tied to your powers.”

“So, if I like a girl,” Lorcán asked, “The best thing I can do is be friends with her?”

“The best thing you can do to anyone in life is be their friend.” Aiden replied, “And when it’s time for you to be something else, you’ll know, life has a funny way of telling you.”

“How’d you know with Mom?”

“I learned to be honest,” Aiden replied,

“And by that, he learned that he honestly wanted to kiss me,” Came Tori’s voice as she interjected, “He just got lucky that I kissed him back.”

“This is all still very confusing,”

“How about next time you like a girl,” Tori started, taking a seat on the other side of Lorcán, “You get to know her first like your dad said, be a friend and most importantly, be intentional about it. Girls like that.”

“But I thought Ryan was my friend,” Lorcán replied.

“She may very well be, but you’re thirteen and she’s seventeen. Plus, did you ever ask Ryan if she had a boyfriend or was interested in dating at all? These are things a friend would have known.”

“Huh, I guess I didn’t,”

“Your time will come, Lion Lungs, you don’t always have to rush into everything. Learn to ride the waves and wait until the right swell comes along.” Aiden interjected, reassuring the boy before speaking again.

“Now then, I think you owe Ryan an apology.”

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: The Office of Dr. Miranda Rivers - Pacific Royal Collegiate & University, Dundas Island, Pacific Ocean}

Dance Monkey #4.028: Far Too Young to Die

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: But It's Better If You Do

“We’ll have to find him, but I think you’re the answer,” Miranda started to explain as Aurora’s memory followed behind her. The pair moved through a corridor of memories, before bursting into an open space of discombobulated thoughts and feelings circling around an orb encased in red tendrils and silver crackles. Suddenly from above, the Apparition pounced, intent on absorbing the orb only to be deflected by its powers. Genuine power, not a shadowy imitation, a figment of someone much stronger, left behind for Lorcán.

“It belongs to me!” The Apparition shrieked before lunging for Miranda and Aurora. Taking hold of Miranda, Aurora teleported the pair across the void at the last minute, dodging the attack by the Apparition. Its twisted imitation of Amma shrieked again, giving chase as the pair ran.

Ducking into another memory, waves of hope and love washed over the pair deflecting the Apparition from its mission before Aurora took Miranda by the hand and teleported her projected form back to the figment.

“I don’t like it, but we need this.” Aurora yelled, placing her hands on it. The raw energy resisted her touch, fighting against her as Miranda too joined her hands while voicing her agreement.

“If that thing wants it, yeah I think we need it.” She stated, “Where is he?”

“Where he always is.” Aurora smiled, teleporting the pair again before they landed on a sandy beach. A lone figure sat on the water atop a surfboard, staring up at the stars. Taking a step forward, Miranda found the water supported her and Aurora as they carried the figment towards him. It resisted them every step of the way like someone or something was calling it back.

The closer they got to Lorcán the darker it got, until suddenly they were plugged into the blackness as Lorcán sat before them, no older than seven, knees gripped to his chest as he rocked back and forth.

“She’s coming for me,”

“Not if you fight back, this is your mind,” Miranda explained kneeling beside Lorcán, “You can’t give up, you have to fight. Roths are fighters.”

“Please, do it for me,” Aurora urged, “Do it for the redhead,” She added playfully.

A shriek alerted the trio that they had been discovered as Lorcán’s eyes went wide.

“She’s coming for me!”

“Then take this,” Miranda motioned towards the figment that crackled with the same energy the Apparition sought to imitate.

“That’s from her, I can’t, people will get hurt. She hurts people, I hurt people.”

“You need to,” Miranda urged, followed by Aurora.

“No one will get hurt,” She smiled,

“Please Lorcán, you have to take it.”

^{_{__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

The path towards campus was long and Lorcán did not doubt that Ryan probably had a fairly sizable head start. His Dad had no doubt been disappointed in the events of the afternoon but had remained surprisingly calm. Not that Aiden Roth was a man quick to anger, but his abilities, much like Lorcán’s own, didn’t allow either of the Roth men that luxury. A flash of the setting sun reflecting off a head of scarlet hair gave him hope he had caught up as Lorcán pushed himself over the next hill coming face to face with Ryan along with Lance and a stranger.

“What?” Lorcán started but the words were barely out of his mouth before Lance struck him. The blow caused Lorcán to tumble backwards, his wound from early striking against a large stone protruding from the path. The impact rendered him immediately unconscious.

“Lance!”[color=#ead1dc] [/color]Ryan screamed before the young man suddenly retaliated and slapped her across the face.

“Shut up, don’t tell me you actually care for that punk-” Lance’s own words were interrupted by a blow to the jaw as Sullivan staggered the younger man backwards.

“Don’t you dare touch my daughter,”

“Oh,” Lance smiled with reddened teeth as a trail of blood dripped from his bottom lip. “I’ve done so much more than touch her.”

“Shut your mouth, or I’ll shut it for you,” Sullivan replied, moving towards Lorcán, “I didn’t sign up to be hurting kids.” He muttered, turning his back to Lance who suddenly jumped forward and wrapped an arm around Ryan’s throat, quickly squeezing.

“That kid is our meal ticket, and trust me, he’s better like that.”

“Dad-” Ryan choked out, “I can’t breathe…”

“Aw, she calls me ‘Daddy’ too.”

“You take your hands on my little girl, now!” Sullivan bellowed.

“Oh no,” Lance chided maliciously, “The minute I let the girl go, you have everything you want, no, grab the boy and let’s go old man.”

“I’m warning you, boy, you’re messing with the wrong man.”

“Give me a break old timer, you’re nothing but a washed-up con,” Lance sneered, tightening his grip on Ryan.

“Daddy!”

“Ahhhh!” Sullivan roared as he extended his hands and Lance’s clothes burst into flame. The young man screamed as he flailed to no avail, Ryan falling from his grasp before she was caught by her father. She rubbed a hand to her neck, tears filling her eyes as she looked from Lance back to her Dad.

“You need to run,” She sobbed, “You need to get out of here now, you were never here”

“But princess,”

“I’ll be fine, but they’ll arrest you, go!” Ryan pleaded. Sullivan looked at the unconscious boy, to Lance, and back to his daughter again before standing and running for the tree line. Ryan was right, if he stayed he’d end up in H.E.L.P.’s custody, or worse. He couldn’t be found on the island, and he couldn’t go back to prison.

Standing while rubbing her neck, Ryan removed her jacket and ran to Lance, smothering the lingering flames before the sight and smell of the boy caused her to gag and throw up.

“Help!” She screamed, “I need help over here!”

“Help!”

^{_{__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

Miranda and Aurora extended the crackling figment to the boy. Timidly taking hold, Lorcán suddenly grew before their eyes from the meek boy into the man he was today. Long locks of caramel and gold spilling over his shoulders as deep pools of ocean blue became molten and flame. A scar parting his right eyebrow and extending down his face like a lightning strike. Bulging biceps and a toned abdomen stretched his t-shirt to its limits as he took hold of the swirling essence.

His feet spread, steadying his balance as Lorcán stood, his hands holding the powerful figment between them while crackles of red and silver pulsed around his arms. The raw power, the essence of someone else but given freely to him to have and to hold. He could feel her turmoil, he could feel her trauma but most importantly, in that moment he felt her affection.

Amma Cahors cared for Lorcán Roth.

He held it to his chest, tendrils of red and silver bursting forth and covering Lorcán as they moved to shape jagged plates along his spine and wings that erupted from either shoulder blade. Horns curled around his head before smoke billowed from both nostrils as Lorcán threw his head back and breathed fire into the darkness surrounding him.

Lorcán Roth cared for Amma Cahors.

The dragon raged and thrashed. Miranda moved Aurora to a safe distance before the mighty beast crashed against the Apparition. The shade wearing Amma’s face clawed at the dragon while Lorcán roared and bore forth flame from his snarling maw. At first, it seemed like the molten-eyed boy was winning but then, for the briefest of moments his hair turned jet black while his eyes glowed a pale, icy blue. The raw power rippled through him, threatening to blind him as he began to feel lost to the abyss.

The Apparition laughed, pushing its advantage while Lorcán thrashed about wildly, its tail nearly striking Aurora and Miranda. The latter nodded to the young woman and Aurora knew what she had to do. Moving into action, Aurora teleported across the room, blinking in and out of view. She struck the Apparition, creating a gap only to watch as Lorcán was engulfed by the darkness he sought to destroy.

But then the light illuminated the darkness and Lorcán felt her hand pulling him back from the edge. Draped in white, and crimson hair flowing around her marble-like skin, Aurora was illuminated in his mind’s eye, radiant and glowing as she pulled him upwards. She smiled before she began to pour more and more of herself into Lorcán, the feeling of the two of them becoming one.

“It was always supposed to be you and me.”

A silhouette in a tent, a tumble on the beach, a hand gripping his own while he laid in bed.

“I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I’m sorry it took me until now to realize it.”

Aurora Mitchell loved Lorcán Roth

The scales fell away from his body, the red tendrils about him glowing violet at first before pulsing blue and then a vibrant orange as the daunting silver turned to a brilliant gold. His raven hair and icy eyes suddenly reverted as his mane turned gold again and eyes like molten.

Lorcán Roth loved Aurora Mitchell.

A roar came from his mouth before he looked to Aurora, his heart pounding in his chest. Lorcán threw back his arms again, the Apparition laughing defiantly before flame erupted in the form of the king of the pride lands from with the young man. The lion bursting forth before flames devoured the Apparition, mauling it with both fire and fury.

Jolting with start, Lorcán found himself back in Dr. Rivers’ office as he looked around wide-eyed while his heart raced inside his chest.

“Quite the mind you have,” Miranda commented, holding a hand to her own head. “Thankfully, I think you’ll be free now.”

“Rad,” Lorcán responded with a smile and a small shaka, “Already feelin’ way more myself,”

“I’m glad, Lorcán, I really am,” Miranda replied, “But I think you should come back again next week. There’s probably some more you could talk through.”

“Uh sure, yeah I can do that,” Lorcán answered before standing, “But I need to go and change, my shorts are waterlogged and I need some fresh air before something goes bogus.”

“I understand,” Miranda nodded with a forced smile, “Enjoy yourself tonight and I’ll see you next week.”

She watched the young boy go before allowing her brow to furrow in frustration. She was glad the presence had been purged by Lorcán’s own strength from his mind, but something still was bothering Miranda.

Who put the mental blocks in the boy’s mind, and why?

^{_{__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

“Lorcán, this is Summer Carlyle, she’s here to help with your memory of the event.”

Jonas sat down beside the young boy while gesturing for Summer to take a seat opposite his grandson.

“I didn’t ask your parents here today, because I think this is something better taken care of without their knowledge.” Jonas added, “When we’re done here today, I think you’re going to feel a whole lot better.” He paused, removing his glasses before massaging the bridge of his nose.

“I know your father doesn’t believe it was possible, but I can’t deny the testimonies of both Mr. Patterson and Miss Clarke. However, I’ve already taken care of Mr. Patterson and his family, they won’t remember a thing.”

“What do you mean?” Lorcán asked, uncertain eyes looking at Jonas.

“Summer specializes in the management of memories, what happened to Lance, while unfortunate, can’t be your defining memory. Miss Clarke had no interest in your getting in trouble and even tried to blame her own abilities. As for your folks, I’ll have to visit them next but otherwise, I think this incident will be contained. I built this island to bring about a better future for our people and I don’t want you going through life carrying this guilt and letting it hold you back.” Jonas explained.

“Jonas, I don’t understand.”

“Shh, shh relax,” Jonas gently soothed, “Everything is going to be just fine.” He motioned for Summer to take a seat beside him before speaking again.

“Now I need to know everything about what happened with Lance Patterson.”

[Skai]

^{_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Strigidae Dorms - Pacific Royal Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.029: Pecking Order

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Harper & Sierra @Qia}

Previously: Passarine the Time & Infallible

Haven’s feet shifted as she heard the door’s handle turn, her body betraying the subtle awkwardness that she felt as she overheard the end of what seemed like an intense conversation. The stranger within seemed familiar with Harper beyond the normal visitor. Those whispered words before knocking had a depth and mystery to them. The exchange left Haven uncomfortable for a reason she couldn’t grasp.

She retreated a half of a step further into the hallway, still unsure of how to greet this stranger as the door whisked open to reveal dark red hair and piercing eyes. She’d been torn between stepping up to the woman for speaking that way to Harper, or merely allowing the woman to pass by with the hopes that it would be explained to her at a different time. Yet as her eyes met the woman’s, Haven was caught in an all too familiar game within her mind. An instinctual need to defend herself against someone who might judge her for her differences.

The stranger’s gaze hardly registered Haven’s face, passing right over her shoulders and towards her most precious and defended parts of herself. She’d seen that expression on so many faces before. The clenched jaw, the subconscious disgust and hate in the eyes, and the way their bodies seemed to tense was a telltale sign that they believed Haven was something unnatural. Her bent mind could almost see the word forming on the dark haired woman’s lips.

Freak. Hypie.

Her shoulders squared themselves in response as her chin lifted higher into the air. Her eyes met the woman’s gaze with an intensity to them that she had carefully constructed since she was young. Her wings, even though her joints ached with the movement, lifted higher above her shoulders as she proudly displayed them. She stood there as the definition of strength, completely unashamed of the features that made most balk at her.

“Hey, Harper.” She began cooly, her eyes lingering on the redhead for a moment longer, sizing the shorter woman up, before they flitted over to the brunette. Her eyes were cautious, all of her questions about the stranger that stood in front of her evident within her gaze. They softened as she looked over the makeup that accentuated Harper’s features and reminded her of why she’d come to her door in the first place. Her tone warmed as she spoke to her friend directly. “You look beautiful.”

Harper’s eyes flicked between the two, feeling the tension ripple through the air like a static charge. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, each second stretching into an eternity. She could see the way Haven squared her shoulders, her wings lifting slightly in a display of quiet strength, a silent declaration of readiness. The sight was both awe-inspiring and intimidating, though Sierra’s gaze remained sharp and scrutinizing. Her eyes seemed to narrow as she assessed the situation, every muscle in her body coiled in apprehension.

Neither of them were likely to back down easily, that was for certain. She had to do something. Say something.

“Hey Haven,” Harper greeted again, hesitating as she searched for the right words. “This is Sierra. She’s… an old friend from back home. Just visiting for the weekend.” Her voice wavered slightly, the words feeling clumsy and inadequate. She added a small, awkward smile, hoping it would lighten the mood, but the effort felt forced. The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the weight of unspoken questions and the palpable pressure between the three of them. The brunette could feel the different currents of emotion swirling around them, each person caught in their own web of thoughts and feelings.

Remembering that she’d been complimented, Harper quickly tacked on, “You look great too. I, uh, didn’t expect to see you here so soon.”

The smile that Haven presented was anything but awkward, yet it lacked the usual warmth that it had in Harper’s presence. It didn’t reach her eyes; her cheeks were devoid of her usual dimples that appeared when she felt comfortable. It was just another defense mechanism among the many that reared themselves in the face of adversity. She glanced down at herself, feeling undressed and unmade compared to the glow that Harper radiated with her makeup on.

“Thanks,” she began, her eyes lifting to meet Harper’s anxious gaze, “but I haven’t done anything with myself yet. I was hoping someone would help me with it at Rora’s.” Her eyes shifted to meet Sierra’s harsh examination. Her own green and golds seemed to dare the visitor to speak her mind as she spoke again. “Your friend has done a great job so far, though.”

Harper blinked, only now fully taking in her winged friend’s regular appearance. The realization of her mistake hit her like a wave, a nervous blush creeping up her neck and spreading across her cheeks.

“Oh right, I meant that…you always look nice,” the brunette finished somewhat lamely, her voice trailing off as she struggled to recover. In the moment, she’d completely forgotten about the plan to go to Rora’s to meet the rest of the girls. And to make matters worse, it seemed Sierra’s silence was officially over, Harper spotting a sly smile beginning to form on her lips.

Please, Si, don’t make this worse.

Without a hint of malice but with an edge of judgment, the redhead said, “You do have quite the look to you. Your wings are…pretty. Though,” she held up her fingers, making exaggerated airquotes, “I confess I’m still getting used to this whole hyperhuman thing.” She threw a glance at Harper before returning her gaze to Haven.

“I’m not one of your kind, you see.”

Haven’s heart beat faster with each word Sierra spoke. Her attempt at flattery, or was it outright mockery, brought forth the words of the last person to compliment them. His voice chilled the adrenaline that had begun to pump into her veins, yet the burning anger she felt in her gut battled the feeling. Tension coiled in the muscles of her back as she strained her recent injury with the effort to continue to display her pride.

Yet when she spoke again her tone was casual, as if the intensity in her eyes did not reach her voice. Part of her understood that Harper would never allow someone with such hate onto the island unless they had some sort of redeeming quality to them, and so she was putting further effort into remaining composed only because the redhead was her friend’s visitor. Her friend’s increasing worry was visible in her peripherals. Haven couldn’t bring herself to look directly at Harper because she knew she would soften further with one glance. Her own instincts were telling her to keep her eyes on the potential threat, to continue to put forth the act of strength it was to even deign to give the woman a response.

“Well, I’m Haven, one of Harper’s teammates. Usually I would have flown over myself, but I thought I’d walk with Harper tonight. She’s been a great friend since she came to the island. . I’m sure you know that already.” Of course, she couldn’t resist a subtle push against the visitor’s buttons. Even if she hid the fact that, currently, she was a flightless bird. Her wings tethered to the ground by an invisible chain of misfortune. It wasn’t something Harper was aware of either, and it certainly wasn’t something she’d share with her now. Not with the brunette’s old friend looking at her in that painfully familiar way.

Harper’s gaze darted between the two, her heart racing as she felt the air in the room grow warmer.

“Well, I’m glad you both had a chance to meet, but I’m afraid Sierra was just on her way out. Isn’t that right, Si?” Harper’s voice was light, almost too casual, as she stepped forward, trying to once again lighten the mood. The effort felt strained, the words a desperate attempt to diffuse the situation.

Her sister’s sly smile widened as she glanced at her, causing Harper’s skin to crawl. Why was she making this so hard for her?

“Actually, I was thinking…” Sierra paused, her voice lilting with playful mischief.

Harper’s pulse quickened, her palms growing clammy.

“Why don’t I tag along instead? If the rest of your friends are as…interesting as Haven here, I would love to meet them.”

Harper’s stomach dropped, a heavy, sinking feeling that made her feel as if the ground had vanished beneath her feet. “No, you can’t!” The words burst from her lips, sharper and more forceful than she had intended. The intensity of her own voice startled her, and she saw a flicker of what looked like surprise in Sierra’s eyes. The brunette’s heart raced as she quickly tried to soften her tone, her expression shifting from shock to a desperate apology. “I mean… it’s just, I don’t think it’s really your scene. The girls… they’re not…”

Sierra’s eyes narrowed, her playful demeanor hardening into something far more menacing.

“Not what, Harper? Not my kind?” The words were laced with an edge that cut through Harper like a knife, each syllable a clear challenge. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, her mind scrambling for a response that wouldn’t make things worse.

Haven wanted to wipe that smirk off of Sierra’s face. Perhaps if she’d met this woman in a different place, and Harper hadn’t been around to see her friend act so rudely, she might have indulged her aggressive impulses. Her hand remained loose at her side to avoid giving her in her rage away. It was obvious that the visitor wanted to get a rise out of Haven, and even more obvious that she was intending to harm Harper with her words even more so.

She noticed how this seemed to break Harper’s usual cool demeanor. Her eyes risked a glance at her friend as she blurted out. What she saw there was panic, and a trace of fear. It awoke something inside her, her defensive mind yearning now to defend someone she cared for.

“Oh, I’m the only one with physical signs of the hype gene.” She began casually, even shifting her wings behind her to emphasize, her shoulders rolling with the movement. She shifted her weight onto one hip, feigning a relaxed posture. “Yet I’m still just as human as you are. As Harper is, too.” Her lips curled downwards into a small frown as her head canted to the side. “It’s disappointing that you talk to a friend like this. Harper is too good for that.”

Sierra’s eyes flickered with something dark, her smirk fading as Haven’s words struck a nerve. Harper could feel a shift in the room, the clash of wills that was about to unfold, her lip coming to rest on her teeth in response. The challenge in Haven’s tone, coupled with the protective stance she took towards Harper, clearly didn’t sit well with her older sister.

“Disappointing, huh?” Sierra’s voice was low, the playful lilt completely gone now. “Funny, coming from someone who just met me.” The words were a direct challenge, each one dripping with disdain. She took a step closer, her gaze locked on Haven. “But you know what’s really disappointing? How easily you think you can understand someone with just a few words.” Sierra’s gaze shifted to Harper then, the hardness of her stare making her feel exposed and vulnerable.“Or maybe you think Harper needs protecting from me?” The redhead shook her head in denial of the idea.

“She’s never needed any protection from me. Only from people like you.”

Harper’s breath caught as she realized how close this was to spiraling out of control. The tension in the room was almost tangible, a thick fog of unease that threatened to suffocate her. She stepped forward, placing herself between the two of them, her hands slightly raised as if to physically keep them apart.

“Sierra, stop it,” she pleaded, her voice almost breaking under the stress of her emotions. Sierra’s eyes, however, didn’t waver from Haven, even as she stepped between them.

Haven met Sierra’s piercing eyes with her own, although her eyes were now narrowed with incredulity. She had to admit that there was a blurred line between truth and lie in Sierra’s words, but to say that all hyperhumans were a threat to Harper was a far-fetched statement that made her blood boil once more.

Yet when Harper stepped between them with her pleading words and raised hands, Haven relented. She took a step backwards, forcing her shoulders to release the tension as her wings rested behind her once more. She couldn’t believe that Harper was friends with someone who thought this way, but she couldn’t deny that it was obvious Sierra also cared for the brunette.

”Stop what?” Sierra shot back still, causing Harper to flinch at the power behind her voice. “Stop pointing out what’s right in front of you? Harper, open your eyes. Look at what happened to you before! This place is changing you, and not for the better.” Each word was a hammer blow, striking at Harper’s already fragile resolve. Sierra’s eyes finally turned to hers, locking on with a fierce intensity, daring her to challenge her words.

“It almost killed you.”

“Where do you expect her to go?” Haven asked from behind Harper. Her quiet voice still held its intensity. It was soft only for Harper’s benefit. “Surely there are people off of this island that would also wish to harm her just for being born different. At least here she is accepted for all of who she is. She doesn’t have to hide anything from us.”

Her gaze moved between Harper and the redhead as she wondered just how close the women really were. “I have to admit that this school has never been as safe as we hoped, but it is the only place that truly accepts us as people. What will you do to make sure that Harper is safe out there, where most hold so much judgment over people who are different than they are? When you look at our kind that way yourself.”

Sierra’s eyes returned to Haven, then flicked to her wings, a look of disdain crossing her features. “No…not your kind,” Sierra replied, her voice cold and dismissive. “Just one.”

Haven felt her lesser coverts stand tall as Sierra’s sharp look of contempt ignited her anger once more. A muscle in her neck ticked as her jawline went rigid. An inner battle waged within her heart as she mulled over the woman’s short answer. She couldn’t begin to understand what Sierra meant by just one, and yet it confused her that this one hyperhuman, or one type of hyperhuman, was the reason she had that look on her face. It brought forth too many memories of being sneered at by the girls at the home. The ranger’s look of disgust in the forest. Sierra’s gaze reminded her of all the times when she was traveling that she was denied service by people who held that very look in their eyes. It made her recall the hatred in Daedalus's eyes as he told her she was lesser because of them. Her instincts were telling her to defend, but with Harper standing there between them she knew better than to act impulsively.

Though she still couldn’t hold her tongue.

“Why do you look at my wings like that, then?” Haven snapped, her question nearly a demand, as her usual curiosity took control of her lips. She knew that she’d owe Harper an apology for it later, but it was too much to simply brush it off her shoulders like she should.

“Because they’re a reminder,” Sierra replied, her voice cool and measured, each word now dripping with contempt. “A reminder of what happens when people think they can play God. Of the heavy price that a person might end up paying for that.”

Harper, still caught between the two, gaped at her sister, her mind reeling from the revelation. Is that what she really thought? That their father had been playing God all along? And if their father’s actions had truly been a misguided attempt to play God, then what did that make their efforts to uncover the truth? Were they chasing ghosts or trying to make sense of something that was fundamentally flawed?

“You think it was all just about playing God?” She took a step closer to Sierra, her back to Haven now, her eyes searching for some semblance of understanding in her own. “Why did you involve me in any of this, then?” The words were a plea, a cry for answers that Harper wasn’t sure she really wanted to hear.

Sierra flinched, her eyes narrowing as she apparently struggled to find a response for once. Harper watched her sister’s face, the flicker of uncertainty that crossed it. The silence stretched on, dense and oppressive, as Sierra opened her mouth but no words came out at first.

“Because I needed you,” the redhead finally said in a much lower tone than before, though Harper knew Haven could hear everything they were saying, regardless. She could see the flicker of something softer in her sister’s eyes, a glimpse of the person she used to know. Before death and her true nature rearing its head had separated them, turning their relationship into something different. Something less.

And now….

Harper turned around, hazel eyes looking into ones like her own. Like theirs.

This, what she knew, could completely break it.

Furrowed brows and frustrated eyes met Harper’s. Feathers stood tall over the peaks of her shoulders, her emotions evident in the barbs. The mention of that name, of God, had sent a shiver down her spine. Hazy memories had flooded her, of her time spent hearing that name, and of the time she spent hating that word after. It wasn’t something she wanted to keep in her thoughts for the rest of the evening either.

She didn’t know what the two women were discussing at all, but it was obvious that it affected them both deeply. That their connection to each other ran on a deeper level than just friendship. She wanted to know more about what they discussed; about why Sierra held so much hatred for her just because of the part of her that she cherished so much. What kind of relationship did they truly have? Why hadn’t Harper mentioned Sierra before?

There were too many questions, and too many secrets, and not enough time to discuss them.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed her anger down into her stomach. Feathers relaxed an inch as she took a measured breath. “We should get to Aurora’s soon.” She said to the brunette. Her eyes flitted to the dress draped over her arm. While she was still excited to be with Rory at the dance, she yearned to be beside him again for that familiar comfort and safety that she felt near him. This encounter had only left her frustrated with the cards she’d been dealt, and while she still adored who she was and remained prideful of her wings, she could still feel that weight of being different, of being a freak, a hypie, a sub-class, on her chest.

“I’ll wait inside while you see your friend off.” The word was emphasized solely for Sierra’s sake, though Haven worried that Harper would take the brunt of it where she stood between the intensity of their conversation as she brushed past the two. Her steps swift as she made her way into Harper’s room. Wings tucking in tightly so that they wouldn’t come near the redhead that despised them so.

Harper watched as Haven slipped into the room, her wings brushing against the doorway in a hurried retreat. Turning back to Sierra, who stood defensively as if bracing for the next blow, Harper took a tentative step closer. Without giving Sierra a chance to react, she wrapped her arms around her, the laptop between them a solid barrier that softened the intensity of the embrace. The fragile attempt at reconciliation was hesitant but clear.

“We’ll…talk later,” Harper murmured, her voice soft but resolute. It was a promise that the conversation they needed to have wouldn’t be avoided, that there was still space for understanding and maybe healing between them.

A beat passed before she responded.

“Sure,” Sierra said, a small frown crossing her lips before she turned and began to walk away. Some distance away, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder. “Enjoy the dance,” she added before continuing on. The words were casual, almost dismissive, but Harper could sense the underlying emotion. She watched her sister’s retreating figure, the familiar form shrinking with each step until it was lost to the distance.

Harper took a deep breath as she reentered her room. The door closed softly behind her, muffling the distant sounds of the evening and creating a cocoon of quiet. She glanced at Haven, who was already inside, clearly waiting for her. Harper’s heart still pounded from the earlier confrontation, the adrenaline making her feel jittery, but she forced herself to focus. Clearing her throat, she offered a tight smile.

“Sierra… she’s practically family,” Harper began, her voice steady but tinged with an edge of defensiveness. “We’ve had our share of problems, but we’ve always looked out for each other.” Both a truth and a lie, because it was easier to tell a lie with a bit of the truth sprinkled in.

Haven tore her eyes away from the unlit string lights that lined the ceiling to meet Harper’s gaze only when she began speaking. Her hands hovered around her waist, a cap carefully clutched in one hand while the liquor bottle it belonged to in the other. Not a drop was missing from within, but it was clear that Haven had been about to partake in some pre-pre-gaming where she’d taken a seat on the edge of the bed. Her bag and dress rested beside her as a reminder why she’d come to Harper’s in the first place.

Her emotions were waging a war within her chest as she listened to Harper speak. Her eyes cast themselves downwards to her feet when the brunette had finished. She didn’t like Sierra one bit, and she couldn’t understand why Harper sounded so defensive as she tried to explain the odd friendship they shared. Haven knew perfectly well how easily a friend could become family. Her friends were the only family she’d ever had, really.

What Haven did understand was that Anabel would have never looked at Harper that way. Her old friend wouldn’t have allowed any prejudice to guide her actions. Even if she had become someone resentful and quick to judge during the years the two of them spent apart, Haven wouldn’t have allowed her to brazenly display those feelings.

It was painfully obvious that Harper and Sierra’s bond went farther back than she thought. Since it clearly overruled anything Harper may have shared with a teammate, Haven decided to let it pass by unquestioned.

Slowly, Haven held the liquor bottle out in Harper’s direction. The emotions in her eyes softened, becoming something troubled and yet relaxed. She just wanted to continue the night unbothered. “I think we both need a drink after that.”

---

[webboysurf]

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Canis Dorms, P.R.C.U. Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.030: I Don't Think I Can Fight This

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): The Bros}

Previously: I Confess, I Messed Up

Rory slammed his laptop lid closed, rubbing his temples. He had specifically scheduled his classes so he wouldn't have to work on Fridays. Unfortunately, "my friend's keep nearly dying" wasn't a good enough excuse to delay essays more than a day and the last thing he needed was another reason for Jim and the faculty to be disappointed in him. He glanced about the room, sighing as he felt small whirlwinds circle his stomach. The room felt empty when he was the only one in it, in a way it never did before. He picked at the dirty clothes strewn around the hamper, tossing back in the accumulated laundry of two people. He lifted up the hamper, hoisting it out to the laundry machine.

While the clothes washed, Rory plopped onto the couch in the living room. His eyes darted towards Lorcán's door, that empty feeling weighing even heavier over him. Rory had never visited him in the hospital. He had went to visit Gil, but couldn't bring himself to walk in. From what the others said, odds were Gil would have just told him to fuck off if he had. It didn't make Rory feel like any less of a bad friend, though.

Rory felt his phone buzz on the couch next to him, and he picked it up while sprawled himself out. The smile formed on his lips before he even fully processed who it was from or what it was. A very cropped picture of a bit of green fabric, a sneak peek at what Haven was wearing to the dance. He reacted to the image with a heart, before locking his phone and tossing it on the ground next to him. The warmth he felt from her text barely quelled the rising currents in his chest. If anything, the storm raged harder.

Why was he able to step up for Haven, but not his best friends?

There was an easy answer to that.

Rory curled up on the couch, his skin feeling too tight and restricting on his body. Some deeper, animal part of him wanted to rip apart the flesh to let the emotions and spirit of him fly free. His breathing was shallow and quick, and he had to clench his hands into fists to maintain some grounded physical sensation.

He should have visited Gil, even if he was going to be an ass about it. He should have seen Lorcán before he was discharged, and made sure Aurora was ok. He should have closed and locked the window the night Haven was kidnapped. He should have pieced together that something was wrong with Katja sooner. He should have felt more sympathy for Amma. He should have tried to find Harper before the Trials scarred her. He should have checked in on Harper to make sure she was ok. He should have checked in on Banjo and Calliope. He should have been the one that was taken. He should have been the one who was attacked in the Trials. He was the one who should have been nearly killed. Why hadn't it killed him? Why did they want him? He was a bad friend. He was a bad teammate. He was a bad leader. He was nothing. He was nothing. _{He was nothing nothing nothing nothing}

Rory shook in a heap on the living room floor for what felt like hours. A soft buzzing from the phone a few feet from him roused him from the spiral. He clenched his hands into tight fists, digging his nails into his palms and counting down from ten to slowly bring him back to Earth. He wiped the tears from his eyes before reaching for his phone, checking the notification on his lock screen. He hated that his heart sank when he saw it wasn't from Haven.

I'm picking up booze on the way over. Little bit of everything.

We're letting loose tonight.

Gil

It took him a minute to process the message, before just closing his phone and setting it back down. He lifted himself up into a sitting position, back leaned against the couch. Gil knew that he didn't drink, and neither did Lorcán. But as Rory felt the colossal weight of his failures bear down on him, the purpose of his sobriety felt meaningless. Everyone knew he was an idiot, everyone knew he made bad decisions and said the wrong thing. At this point, who was he trying to fool?

Rory slowly picked up his phone, sighing as he lifted it up and sent a message to the guys.

“Gotta celebrate you two being back and recovered!!!”

Rory

A soft, sad smile formed on his lips. It wouldn't make up for much, but it was a start. In the meantime... he was going to need to get back into therapy. He shot off a quick email to his aunt, checking her schedule to see when they could next meet. Once that was settled, he leaned his head back against the couch. He took a deep breath. If they were mad at him, they would say something that night. Until then, he had to get ready. Clothes first, then he'd find the party hats and streamers that were somewhere in the shared storage.

Rory slowly pushied himself up to his feet. He swiped back into his text conversation with Haven, getting a good look at the shade of green. He shuffled back into his room, laying down on the ground and pushing around a bunch of balls, sporting equipment, dirty socks, and power bar wrappers until he felt his hand rest against a handle. He pulled out the old, small briefcase and hoisted it onto his bed. He stared at it a moment, not caring to look at the engraving on the side before unlatching and opening it. Inside was some old H.E.L.P. stationary, an old thermos, and a small assortment of neatly rolled up neckties. They were of varying shades and designs, though none were outlandish or novelty. The briefcase was one of the few things Rory kept of his father, unable to bring himself to toss it.

Rory pulled out his phone, checking the two green ties to Haven's choice of dress. He finally settled on the closest match, a simple green tie with gold diagonal stripes. He removed it from the briefcase, setting it down on the bed, before a small reflective glint caught the corner of his eye. Nestled in the briefcase, among the varying ties and assorted office supplies, was a gold tie clip. He lifted it up, running his hand along the engraving. It wasn't anything much, just four engraved letters. He set it on the bed next to the selected tie.

After all, he could use all the H.E.L.P. he could get.

[Rockette]

_{Location: Campus Grounds - Pacific Royal Collegiate & University.}

Dance Monkey #4.031: The Price of Mercy.

^{_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Interaction(s): sierra. - @Qia}

Previously: rosemary & pecking order.

Leaving the Lnyx House was different from when she had arrived. She had been greeted in much the same silence, impenetrable beyond the intensity of her glare, but there was a faint whisper, a name she knew and a name she had spun in a similar whisper deepened by passion and desire. Speculation was found there in the utterances, the gazes that flicked up and down, those that fell upon her and her mussed hair before she quickly wove it into a plait over her shoulder upon her exit. The way they stared and spoke, Amma is quickly reminded of a night not unlike the circumstances found here, with her chin held high and her gaze unwavering in the coming day. When she returned from the forest clearing: met with hate, distrust, and figures ready to stand against the display of power she had given when her name had been traded through the night; the challenges marked then and there. There was none to stand in her way now, but the hushed speculations followed her still, and she could not help but compare Lorcán to Gil in that instance. The former was so deeply disturbed by the trailing gossip, and the latter possibly accustomed to such conjectures, but would he be bothered by such mindless musings with her name attached? Infamy cantered eagerly after her likeness, bisected by the reputation she adhered to on her first year here, the shedding of the defiler liken to a snake amid a sacred garden. She was aware of Gil’s star-born history, but the depth and wealth of such was lost upon her. Amma had never seen any of his films and knew nothing of his past just as he was unaware of most of hers.

Well, some of it, perhaps. The Trials had exposed fragments that she had kept hidden, but not all had been revealed. For that, she is glad, grateful even, because if they found out – if Blackjack knew of all that she had done. She wonders if Haven would try so hard to understand her. She wonders if Katja would have agreed to be her friend. She wonders if Aurora would still deny that she was a monster. She wonders if Lorcán would still claim that there was nothing ugly about her.

She wonders if Gil would ever touch her again.

Amma stills, close to the Gulo dorms, gaze cast upon the path before her as eyes follow after her figure donned in the touches of daylight. It does not take much to put two and two together and the resulting additions leave her contemplative until her phone suddenly demands her attention with a vibrating call. She carefully studies the number, the one she knows but never had saved, the same one that had rang her the night before Gil had needed her (she still marvels at that, to be needed) the same number that called her every so often over a time she cannot place. Amma hovers over the notion to accept it before it rolls over to her inbox, a sigh feathered from her tender pout before a familiar presence washes over her. The world reigned to her ebb and flow, the first churning whorls of scarlet looping thrice around her wrists as she turned, regarding the shade of red hair not unlike the crimson manifest that feathers at her lashes and hums away betwixt flesh and bone.

She doesn’t say anything, not for a while until Amma regards Sierra Baxter fully, and with phone in hand, she almost laughs:

“How’d you get here?”

Sierra’s smile is faint, more of a flicker that vanishes before it has a chance to form fully. She feels the corners of her lips twitch, a brief rebellion against the stoic mask she usually wears. The daylight filters through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the path near the Gulo dorms, and she steps lightly, almost as if she’s part of the shadows they provide. “You left the door open,” she says, her voice soft but carrying a hint of amusement, as if she’s teasing Amma for not noticing her approach.

Sierra steps closer, each step bringing her into the soft glow of the sun, her shadow stretching long behind her. Her gaze flicks to Amma’s phone, the screen still lit with the missed call, a silent indication of the unanswered connection. She meets Amma’s eyes again, the spark of frustration in her chest flaring briefly, a familiar feeling that she masks with the same teasing tone from before. “Maybe if you answered your damn phone once in a while, you’d know when someone’s coming,” she says, her voice carrying a blend of exasperation and light….affection. Trust that she rarely gives, a fragile bond garnered over time, now woven into the fabric of their interactions.

“Yes, well,” Amma’s voice lapses off into a wistful sort of reproach done in the finest touches of camaraderie, a delicate grin that slid through her lips, edged into a bite of something feral and more true to the nature of the insatiable woman lain within. “I’ve been busy.”

It was an understatement to the true severity of what they had all endured, to what she had been subjected to herself, a shadow of the pain each member of Blackjack had been forced unto with little consent afforded. So much had happened in so little time, and here stood the epicenter of her latest demise, the one she had spared, the one she was punished for in the final leagues of Hell before H.E.L.P had finally gotten her out. A reason, a purpose, she still did not know; a role she still had to play, a role she still adhered to even in the spun discoveries of her doubt. Amma could proffer many excuses as to why she had been ignoring her calls, but Sierra would likely see through them all, a trait given to all Baxter women that could glean the nature of everyone around them, even if they could not look into themselves in the same light.

“Not so much as how you got here, but maybe I should be asking why. Have you seen Harper yet? Does she know you’re here?”

“Yeah, I actually just left her,”Sierra says, her voice carrying a casual nonchalance. She waves her hands about, the gesture dismissive, as if brushing away the significance of the situation. The slightly cool air whispers against the skin not covered by her jacket, and she feels a slight chill, but it doesn’t deter her. “She had some kind of movie night with Aurora yesterday,” she adds, her tone light, almost playful, as if the mention of such an event is the most mundane thing in the world. Which, given the setting and recent occurrences within it, it is.

“She’s always had this weird way of coping with things so…kinda had to be here for more than just you, I’m afraid,” Sierra continues, her voice dropping slightly, the casual tone giving way to something more serious. It’s a confession, a frustration, she dare not voice to her sister but feels comfortable saying aloud here. She figures Amma would understand, a part of their prior agreement being to look out for the little rat, to begin with.

“Which is such a shame. I do enjoy our little tête-à-têtes.”

“How quaint,” Amma muses, kinship easily found there, a sort of luxury she realizes cannot be afforded to many of them. Perhaps though it was just the same, despite all that had been undone, the two found time to entertain the normalcies of life and friendship, the simplicity of it carries through her eyes, a similar glint discovered as she rolled her weight away from one leg and onto the other. Arms crossed and head canted down, Amma’s eyes spun away from the casualness carried through their exchange, the looming reveal of their intertwined past carefully coming to light.

“Harper is…” Her admissions feather off into nothing, the past year has not proffered much to her, their exchanges little to none, her observations carefully done through the fringes of conversation and interactions kept at a distance. Amma does not bring up what had nearly occurred to her after the trials, where she had attempted to lay blame at her feet, to spin the connection between the two sisters that loosely bound her to them. “She’s trying.”

“As anyone can, as everyone is.” It’s not so much defending her, or Blackjack, as she is unaware of what Harper had undergone, as she is unsure of what many saw during the trials and all that it had exposed. She knows partially of what it had revealed for Haven, Gil, and Aurora too. Amma doesn’t want to think of what it had left vulnerable within herself, the humanity shattered that slowly formed into a shell of a girl thought lost and forsaken.

“It has been maybe a year though. Things are happening here now that have happened once before. Do you know anything of the name Dae– “ She almost can’t say it, it chokes through her chest, punctures through her lungs, shatters through the rungs of her ribs, and rings suddenly through her ears where darkness threatens to descend. Amma clutches at her head, nails against her temple and lashes fluttering against the onslaught of unbidden terror that catches her breath.

“I don’t know. I just –” She lances her scarred fingers through her hair, tugs back through the chaotically compiled braid, and sighs. “I can’t remember. Someone was kidnapped, we saved her, but I don’t know if it’s connected to anything. I know people went missing once before, and it’s likely happening again.”

As Amma speaks about Harper, Sierra senses the hidden meaning of the other woman’s struggle and hesitation, each word carrying a burden that’s almost palpable. She reads the unspoken pain and fatigue in her words, the way her voice falters slightly, betraying the brave front she tries to maintain. It’s clear she’s been through a lot, more than she’s willing to admit out loud. That much Sierra had figured out when they’d first met and along the way, piecing together the fragments that make up the guarded person called Amma. The raven-haired woman is trying to put on a brave face, but there’s something more there, something she’s not saying.

But does Sierra care enough to try and find out? She hasn’t even asked Harper about her experience, after all. Or about any of the events that may have led to hazel eyes turning to white, grasping at the air around her in ugly desperation to find her way. The guilt sits heavy in her chest, a weight she’s not sure how to lift, and it makes her wonder if she’s been too detached, too wrapped up in her own world to notice the pain of those around her.

Or, at least, the pain of the only person that truly matters to her anymore.

The redhead tilts her head to the side, brown eyes regarding the equally pained figure before her. She studies Amma’s face, searching for any sign of what she’s feeling, any clue to the turmoil beneath the surface. “Dae?” she questions aloud, the word slipping from her lips almost unconsciously but in a softness that’s foreign to her voice. Her offering of a fragile olive branch comes in the form of an outstretched hand, one that pauses in its motion with the other’s last couple of words.

“Kidnapped? Here?” Sierra says, shaking her head. Her disbelief lingers in the air, her hand still hesitantly outstretched, caught between offering comfort and pulling back. She eventually drops it slowly, the guilt—her stray companion in the moment—tightening its grip on her chest. She can see the raw emotion in Amma’s face, the kind of pain that’s all too familiar. What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into this time, Harper? Because the redhead is certain that her trouble magnet is involved somehow.

“There is - was maybe, I don’t know now - someone here.” Amma carefully shakes out the remnants of her powers bound through her wrists, linking into pale scars aligned there, the sluggish crawl of scarlet threads cresting over each shoulder before it plummets down her spine and bids to the earth below. “Someone, who I think is responsible for the things I can’t remember. Responsible for…” She carries off into a whisper before all goes silent, the world stills and a breeze carries through the black tresses spilled over her shoulder, lifts them as if gestures dancing through her mane of hair before her eyes snap and pin Sierra to where she stood. There, it happens again, that single line of crimson that shimmers through her gaze ringed around her pupil as a sliver of hellfire unbound, unnamed, and unchecked.

“You found something. That’s why you’re here. Harper may have called you, but…” Amma takes a step forward, it had not gone unnoticed that she had reached out to her, another hand to mark in her waking world, within and without, to the many faces that strayed through her life undone. “What did you find, Sierra?”

Sierra’s gaze shifts to the pocket of her jean jacket, feeling the weight of the letters pressing against her like a physical burden. She pulls them out with deliberate slowness, each movement measured and careful, as if the letters might shatter if handled too roughly. The letters are still sealed, their edges crisp and untouched. The only certainty Sierra has about them is their author and who it is meant for. They represent a key to understanding the past—a bridge to the secrets buried deep within their intertwined histories. As she holds them, the gravity of what they might reveal presses on her, a potential to unravel the mysteries that have haunted both her and, she imagines, Amma for so long.

“These,” Sierra begins, her voice steadier now, “might be the answers you’ve been looking for.” She extends the letters towards Amma, her hand shaking slightly as she does so. “They were sent to your mother before...well, you know what,” she continues, her gaze dropping briefly in reflection, the memories of that time flooding back before she forces herself to look up again. “And could be connected to what’s happening now.”

She doesn’t want them. Her body refuses. Every delicacy of calm and grace she had obtained that morning suddenly spooled away on a phantom gale of unforeseen fate and circumstance, the weighted reality of those letters so carefully proffered to her as sacred relics of a past heralded within and without. Amma doesn’t want them.

No, but she needs them.

“She was right then.” The Beloved that was her, the could-have-been had she not been given to The Foundation, though, she had to wonder if it even mattered; for they had come for her still. The arm revealed that was lain with scars much like her own –

Maybe you should ask our father.

“I remember her sometimes, though it’s all unclear. I remember her often just sitting there, staring off into space.” Amma whispers, reaching forward, the trembling in her hands through every splayed finger as she reaches for the letters, the weight of their delicate bindings profoundly felt as she takes them from Sierra and holds each in her hands. The scars on her palms suddenly burn and it takes everything she is, and every ounce of control she can spare, to not destroy them and the contents within. She wants to ask how she obtained them, she wants to ask if she had any other leads, she almost doesn’t want to know, for she cannot help but wonder if it would matter in the end. If Charlotte was ever found…

“The Foundation is here, on the island, if they find out that you’re here too, I don’t think I can spin it again to get you out alive.”

Staring off into space, huh? Is that where you came in…mom? The image Amma’s words depict is a painful one—a reminder of the way she once watched her own mother, Anna, stare off into the void. It was as if Anna had been trying to decipher the mysteries of the world or, perhaps, the secrets from her research she could never share. Sierra remembers the countless nights spent in silent observation, wanting to pry into that very intelligent mind, to understand the thoughts that kept her mother so in her own head at times. The memory stirs a deep ache within her, a longing for answers that never came, and she wonders if Amma feels the same way now, caught in the web of unspoken questions and elusive truths.

Sierra’s shrug is meant to be dismissive, a casual gesture to mask the emotion welling up inside her. She tries to play it off, to make it seem like she’s unaffected, but the tightness in her throat betrays her. The way her heart clenches at the thought of what could have been different—if only she’d known more at the time, if only she’d been able to bridge that gap before it was too late—makes it hard to maintain the facade. Her mind races with the possibilities, the what-ifs that haunt her every thought. She swallows hard, forcing herself to push the emotions down, to keep them from spilling over, but the effort leaves her feeling raw and exposed.

It is a good thing for the both of them that facades have never been her thing, anyway. At least when not in a practical sense.

“I knew the risk in coming here and wouldn’t have if it wasn’t worth it. A deal’s a deal, right?” Sierra says then. As she watches Amma carefully holding the letters in those scarred hands of hers, a contemplative expression crosses her face.

“You know…it’s almost like it’s all come full circle. It’s like everything that’s happened has led us to this point.” Her tone is earnest here, each word chosen with care, as she pauses and then continues after a beat.
“I know we’ve reached the end of this particular arrangement, but if I come across anything more, which something tells me I will, I’ll make sure you get it. That’s my promise to you.”

“Perhaps,” Amma rejoins in a whisper, careful in her admissions, not wanting to burden Sierra with the truth: for the life she spared in her, and the punishment she endured for. The price she had to pay, the promises woven through her life; each formed into a chain link wed to her heart. They were two women bound and woven unto the falsehood of their mothers, unable to shake the fragments of half-truths and endless lies; never knowing where they began, never knowing where it would end. “Another test I failed: in being sent to kill you.” She glances down at the letters within her grasp. “I don’t know if what you’re looking for is related to what’s happening here but know that if I find your answers within my own, I will ensure it gets to you.”

“And our arrangement still stands, Sierra. She may not need it,” the girl who stood and looked upon her and the monster within, and refused to allow her friend to become just like her. “But I’ll keep an eye on Harper. That’s my promise to you.”

There’s a pause, a shared understanding passing between them, as Sierra absorbs Amma’s words, her demeanor shifting back to the determined, relentless woman she’s become over the years. The role she has played for some time now knowingly and without regret. She turns to leave, but before she does, she glances back at Amma, her voice softened by an undercurrent of genuine care.

“Whatever’s in there…don’t lose whatever you have of yourself to it. You’ve been through too much to turn into what the world wants you to be.”

And with that, Sierra walks away, her mind already spinning with the next steps demanded by her roles, both given and taken up.

She remains silent at that, watching as Sierra leaves, unable to still the quaking in her shoulders, the dappling of sunlight over her shoulders and hair suddenly a weight she struggles to bear, liken to the question that coils through her mind, beholden to her words: if only Amma she knew who - what - she was.

[Rockette]

Two letters; two strings of fate, each in scarlet twine, each sobbed through with ebony malice, each woven delicately through the fringes of destiny unknown and eternally bound. Each failed promise spun from penmanship done thoroughly and scripted so elegantly that she could decipher the intentions lain through every scrawl of ink and illustrated signature that summoned her daughter’s name. The name she had given, the name whispered through time, the name that spun sorrow through the eyes of the almighty and everything that Charlotte Cahors could see. The galaxies that collided and churned away through bidden lashes, the eyes of All, the eyes of many that fell upon her likeness undone. Ebony hair and bright gaze stricken with the fate of a creature both born of life and death and the delicate touches of her father– a name she muttered into the night, forsaken and without, a name that loomed before her and summoned their child of love promised and yet lost.

But–

She had never told him that she was with child, she never uttered of the conception, never gave word to even when she was born in the first touches of winter. Though little surprise colored her facade as she received the letter, only a few days after the one she had received from Jonas, each so carefully crafted; the promises of a better life, a means to see the power within contained, controlled, conformed to the betterment of a child that would know nothing but pain for the terrifying manifest within. Charlotte would look upon these letters for days on end, as red bloomed and sparked and suspended over the innocence curled next to her time and time again, as she held her breath and allowed the name of the man she loved to sway her final decision in the end. When she gave Amma over to those waiting embraces of life undone, knowing not what loomed beyond those doors, unaware of the cruelties calculated and placed and already decided for the child that heralded the eyes of the world’s end.

Life for Charlotte Cahors would be a journey through the underworld and back, her eyes fated to weep blood for All she had seen and could not stop. To the family she had once reached out to, the name Baxter so carefully ruined by the machinations of man and the eternal vexation to be as mortals struggling to obtain the ultimate mantle known as God. Immortality was spent through leagues of dread, suspended through the sunken chasm of the unknown that accompanied the life of Cahors as a shroud of death.

She would only know, maybe some months later, what true hell was decided for her there; the artful words Jonas had spun, to speak of the future and then not, to be forever damned as a man so many steps ahead and detached from reality; unable to save even himself. Charlotte would spend years trying to get her daughter back, the things she would do, to try and save her.

Only for it to have never meant anything at all.

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_{Location: Campus Grounds - Pacific Royal Collegiate & University.}

Dance Monkey #4.032: atlantic.

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_{Interaction(s): -}

Previously: The Price of Mercy.

The ferry ride had been easy, anticlimatic at best, Haven stayed by her side and though apprehension feathered through her and she looked over her shoulder at every turn, Amma remained close by, similar tension that coiled through her entire frame even as she browsed through a myriad of colors and fabrics and palmed through the racks with little care to the final selection. Her earlier encounter with Sierra played over in her mind, her eyes drifting towards Harper every so often. She didn’t spare much thought to the dance before, as Amma had been determined to not attend, every moment of its mention having been met with a careless shrug and a lackadaisical commitment. Memory served it being brought up at the beach, where Harper had approached her with Katja and Gil, and here she stilled, fingers delicate and threaded through chiffon and silk, she could’ve sworn someone had asked her, a hazed affair through her thoughts and the shadow of memories betwixt her ears as she then caressed through sleeves of nylon and ventured further into the store.

Gil hadn't asked her, and she did not return the favor in kind. To inquire such, with the promise spoken of seeing him later, prompted answers to things that they were not prepared to acknowledge. Amma found that it was enough but the heated breath and the flush that sired through her bones rekindled the perplexities she discovered in his kiss; the calm she had found, the disassembly of the projected creature that was she - forever intertwined with the meaning of ruin and despair. The advocate for pain and rage traded under the moonlight for a girl who just wanted to love and be loved in return.

Just like her mother, perhaps, her memory gone thick and hazed and donned in a veil as if a maiden. The haunted figure of her dreams, laden through silver glass shattered at the corners that bled through with oozing black, her likeness cast upon a shell of a woman that clutched two letters betwixt her trembling hands drenched and stained in dried blood the color of rust.
Amma’s expression descends onto melancholy, tinged in retreating delicacies of wistfulness and confusion as she traces the ebony lines of a dress tucked somewhere in the back, an obsidian color adorned in silks, a daring and dramatic number assembled carefully from what she observed as she pulled it down and allowed the fabric to pool over her scarred arms; it would push boundaries. It would sire madness. It would compel caressing gazes.

It seemed almost normal, perhaps a bit mundane, to purchase a dress for a dance, something so simple and yet an accomplishment as she gathered her selection and walked up to Haven, letting it drape against her form.

“What do you think?”

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Do you ever wonder, what could have been?
Had Charlotte not given you to them?
Do you ever wonder, what you could be capable of?
If you had gone, stayed, if you had just been.

She did.
And now she knew.

She had come back to her dorm to shower after shopping, only to find the letters and her old uniform laid out on her bed, mere objects to some, but sacred artifacts of her past left undone through the shackles of broken memories. She was sure she had put them away, but now they remained there, calling to her, tempting, and with trembling hands she set her things aside and studied the bindings of lace and chains, the gossamer fabric that used to glide across her skin, the mesh and fortified lining that clung to every cleft and curve of her body. She glanced from it to her dress, and finally to her closet where an assortment of muted yellow danced across the eternal black of her wardrobe; the damned wolverine poised in a shield, a branding she had always mocked. Never knowing what it meant, but still, she wore it, and why? She doesn’t have the answer, not as the letters beckon to her, their own inquires poised to maim and rend her asunder. Her humanity balanced there, on a precipice of no return, where the beast lay and a little girl beside it, both wrapped in fated strings of red.

She tore those seals open with little thought or reflection, seals she realized had been opened countless times and then sealed anew, as if in an attempt to conceal the sins of those responsible. The contents of each letter spin a delicate tale, a lie, the forgeries in each that promise her a better life, a better world, a world maybe that did not hold breath on the chaotic whims of her powerful nature. P.R.C.U and The Foundation both beckoned and clamored for the power, the potential, that was Amma Cahors.

Jonas. He knew of her. Saw her. He knew of her fate. Did that mean he tried to save her? Did that mean somewhere, deep within, her mother knew?

And then she sees it: the next letter, where a name has been scratched out, ran through so many times she cannot make ends meet of the intended embossed there under swatches of black. It’s all redacted information; answers to things she has longed for, now bitterly denied.

Dear, Charlotte, my love –

“No.” She seethes.

It takes a mere thought, only a single spooling of it, that single thread of red that forges from her shattering heart, her breath that punches out in a sobbing gasp. The line of scarlet attaches to the letters, shaking, she was shaking, her entire body shook as hated power threaded through delicate sheets of paper and forged her anger and her rage down the middle of each.

I know it has been some years, and I’ve been trying to get back to you –

“NO!”

The letters she cannot destroy, but she could mark them. Yes, she could defile them, just as someone had already done. Amma drops them at her feet and allows them to lay as they are, lines of red spin through the words that had sealed her fate so many years ago. Black ink bleeding into fragments of her power marked to the scrawling of empty words she could never unsee.

I know about her, our daughter, I know they will try to convince you that she is better off with them.

To think, she really could have been saved. To think, she didn’t have to suffer. To think she didn’t have to pay the price. She could’ve lived.

The campus is not safe. It is compromised. I know I could only tell you so much, about The Alexandria Foundation –

She turns, and there her dress lays, wrapped, pristine, a pool of ink and soft silks that she is undeserving of; to think, she really could have just been as she was: a girl.

But you cannot trust Jonas, I implore you to send her to me. I’ll help her with her powers, I know you are afraid. However, she will be safe with me because I'm her father, and I can help her.

If only her mother had chosen differently.

I promise, I will allow nothing bad to happen to her.

All the power in the world, to find her mother, to find her father, only for it to turn to ash in her hands.

[Lord Wraith]

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_{Location: The Alexandria Foundation - Atlantic Ocean}

Dance Monkey #4.033: Welcome to the Masquerade

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_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Dancing On My Own

The steady sound of the pressurization maintaining the walls and glass from imploding beneath the Atlantic provided a constant hum that felt like a railway spike driven into the frontal lobe of Summer Carlyle. The sterile white cell was a far cry from the accommodations that H.E.L.P. had afforded one of their own. Here she was treated as no better than the common power abuser, situated in cells alongside those who actually had blood on their hands.

The graying blonde took a drink from the tea in front of her, while feigning closed eyes, as her ocean-like blues followed the Foot Trooper patrolling the exterior of her cell. Soon he would appear and once again they would go to his ‘playroom’ where Summer would be subjected to his games. A shiver travelled her spine, stopping to send a pulse through every scab where the needles entered her back.

Once he had his fun, she would be placed in the chair before being shown the face of a student, and then another, and then another. Eventually one would be chosen and he would leave again.

The part of her that craved revenge against those who allowed her to be caged like a rat would have willingly carried out his mission. It wouldn’t have been the first man that Summer allowed herself to follow. Yakob’s mission had been noble, his methods extreme. His on the other hand was far more intimate, far more personal but yet, could benefit them all.

The serum, she had gathered, was made from his first. Lover, child, it didn’t matter to Summer. What did matter was the universal applications of her powers, the effect it had on every Hyperhuman. Were Yakob here, he would have made her his right hand and left Miracle aside. For the true miracle was in the girl’s blood.

The key was in the blood.

She had already broken so many for him, former agents, students, even the odd faculty member who had gotten too close to the truth. Memories were fickle and easily manipulated, he was hardly the first to use Summer for her abilities. Yakob had made extensive use of her talents during his time, Jonas before him.

Men with missions needed the perspective controlled. Summer could control that perspective, make the people see what they needed to see, believe what they needed to believe and most importantly, only remember what they needed to.

Of course, he, like Hyperion, was untouchable. If Summer so much as thought about entering his mind, he entered her. It was an indescribably horrific experience that stripped her of her own will, as he dominated her and she became more and more detached from her own body and sense of self.

Her hand absently wandered toward the nape of her neck, a finger loosely tracing along her hairline, over scar tissue that covered a phase painstakingly etched into her skin. Hidden from everyone, except the one who put it there. A script she didn’t read in a language she didn’t understand.

Σου δίνω φτερά

But she knew it marked her as his. Yakob had done the same, her forearm still bore the mark of Hyperion’s Children, a tattoo only visible by power melding with another Hyperhuman. The symbolism of a bond, a union, a brotherhood.

But his mark was possessive. Ownership, dominion and submission.

Summer opened her eyes, staring beyond the walls of her cell into the endless black of the ocean floor. The deafening nose of the ocean straining against the walls, threatening to swallow them whole was suffocating. She was frozen in time, her mind completely separated from her body, praying for the release the sea could bring.

Soon he would come.

And another would play into his hands.

[Rockette]

_{Location: Gulo Dorms - Pacific Royal Collegiate & University.}

Dance Monkey #4.034: hostage.

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_{Interaction(s): -}

Previously: atlantic.

Dear Ms. Cahors,

You don’t know me, but I know you, and I know of your daughter. I have seen what the world has done to her and I have seen the countless lives she will touch.

There is a tale Amma often thought of, not just of the forsaken soul cast away from on high that sought the love of life lost and forsaken, but rather a unique telling that artfully depicted the herald of a crown, sword, scales, and a bow. A chalice too that tipped over and spilled forth torrents of blood and from the depths of conspired life, the manifest of many heads and serpentine necks writhing through the flames of both crimson and silver, edged out into the void as blue eyes attached to the many faces of a beast gazed upon her from yonder the obsidian that rose on the foundations of her bones. There are cracks through the forsaken gloom, wed to the discrepancies gorged upon her heart, her soul of souls malformed and misshapen. Pieces of herself suddenly lost, given to others, tendrils of scarlet thread that looped through her trembling fingers as lines that fled off into the distance unknown and bound Amma to obligated miseries and connections she would’ve rather seen burned once upon a time.

Ashes to ashes.

The terrible power she will come to bear is the likeness that no child should ever have to endure. Though not her fault, it will slowly destroy her.

She feels as if she is missing something. Something, or someone, that had taken away a fragment of self from things she cannot begin to understand: the chalice now tipped over, the remnants of a person lost within and without. The coils of her powers then sputter and crackle, lightning fragments summoned and a face like her own looming forth and wrought with terrible laughter. It is her face, but then not; it is a shadow - an Apparition - that leeches upon the display of scarlet miasma that feathers from her parted lips on a shaky exhale. Fogging through the shower's steam, Amma slowly succumbs to her knees as water pelts and pounds over her supple shoulders. Heat sluices through her entire body; it runs rampant through her veins in fiendish lines of hate and despair, the laughter slowly spinning and pinpointing to a ringing cruelty that shatters betwixt her ears and cradles her head within her palms.

We can help her. I can help her. There are ways to curb and mentor her abilities, ways that we can take what I know it is you fear and guide her to peace.
For I know what happened at the church.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown, heavy is the heart that beholds the scepter, or would she better yet dub it the sword, and heavy is the hand that reaps, pillages, and destroys. The scales are tipped all to one side, plummeted to the edge of her heart, and the bow is pulled taut, like her spine, curving inward until it sings and snaps, and there it unleashes spindles of black in the form of her memories that pulse in tandem with her erratic heart. Eclipses of a child screaming to the stars above and lost at sea, a girl barely in her teen years who smiles with others gathered around her –

She had friends once, she thinks. Their faces blurred into monochromatic discrepancies, shadowed profiles of those who had gone missing over the years, people she knew once but whose names she could not remember.

“What is happening to me?” Amma whispers to the tiles of her shower, only for the rising steam to answer; the hissing water drenches over her scars, the deepest ones on her back emblazoned anew, parts of her skin and body that she cannot feel sometimes, parts of her that twitch and ache and pulse every time she uses her powers. The world is quiet, silent.

They will come for her, but you mustn’t allow them to take her. There are many things at work that they cannot stop; they don’t know what is coming.

The world is afraid.
Afraid of her - terrified for her.

“Why can’t I remember?” She blames the shower, she blames the heat, and she blames everything else as Amma struggles to contain the rage within. She wants to wail for a life lost and a love she could have had; she wants to scream for the lives she has taken and only the few she has spared; she gasps and wheezes for the role she has to play.

But I do. There’s only so much I can say, and even then, I should not be writing this letter, but I cannot bear the truths and lies I have seen lain bare in your daughter’s life.

She cries now because she is positively incensed and can do nothing about it.

The morning and the calm and peace she had found there suddenly seemed so far away.
And it is his face she sees as she closes her eyes on the last of her tears.

Mend. Instead of sunder.

Amma tips her face up to the shower and allows the heated water to spell away her sorrows, a baptism of fire as she cranks up the heat and steam blooms and rises like smoke where fragmented lines of black rise with whipping tendrils of red, each line snaked across the tiles as vengeful serpents as everything around her splinters, cracks, and shatters. Ashen remains dotted upon her fanning lashes, a glowing haze of red that descended upon her cheeks from the shimmering depths of hellfire captured within her gaze. Her power writhes down her body, through her scar over the betrayal of her devastated heart, wisps of posturing crimson malice that fall over her breasts, down her torso, slide throughout her curves, and highlight every single scar that Amma has ever suffered in life — too many to count, too many to place.

I implore you to allow her to attend Pacific Royal Collegiate & University, a safe place for her and even for you, if you wish. I promise I will not allow anything bad to happen to her.

With aching slowness, she braces her palms against the broken tile and stands to her full height. The weight of her hair dripped over her bunched shoulders, and the ringing betwixt her ears challenged the noise of the sputtering shower head as she carefully turned the water off and breaths around the sensitivity of her skin flushed pink. Amma moves with a sluggishness that betrays her usual grace, slumberous gestures that fumble through the heated air and snag against a towel before she drags it over her figure, down over her thighs, and back up her curves whilst her mind spirals with the disparity of answers being cruelly denied to her. If anything, she now only had more questions that reaffirmed the eternal inquiry she had for her mother: why?

A question that she also had for her father.

If the second letter was indeed from him, she had to wonder if he too was aware of what she had endured in the darkest recesses of The Foundation. If he and her mother had willingly subjected her to those tortures, Amma was uncertain of what she would do if she had found them, for the sense of betrayal that twisted her features into a reflection of anguish was a weight almost too great to bear. Above all, though, it made her angry; it took her pain and spun it into a likeness of war, rage, a tumultuous fury that shook through her arms as she regarded the harbinger reflected with nearly blood-shot eyes. And why strike out his name? Another secret, another unknown to pile on top of all the things she could not remember, like a pile of bleached bones picked clean and surrounded by great winged creatures of malformed vipers and vultures beset with eyes of blue and red and wreathed in silver.

Would any of it matter, though? Did any of it matter for the role she had to play, the script she adhered to, the tune she succumbed to, and the voices in her head as lines fed to her? Was allowing the past unknown really how she wanted to live her life? Is it irony coated on her tongue as Gil’s words and admissions attach themselves to her circumstances? Did he see something that she could not? Did Haven and Rory? Katja? Lorcán? Aurora and perhaps Sierra too? What did Harper see, with those eyes of hers? Or was that wishful thinking, to assume another could look yonder their own twisted demons and burdens of life, a similar reproach to herself as there was little beyond the obsidian wall that shored itself around her heart with looming chasms and bridges that others stood across from; seeking, yearning, hoping to breach that stalwart conviction that wavered with the dissipating heat of her shower.

Amma stepped back, palms caressing over her abdomen, a long mirror situated off the side that allowed her to study her profile and every stark, raised line of ink she commissioned to reclaim ownership of her body. Every piece was a story inlaid with sorrows, the peculiar and intricate knots over her shoulders where hands had gripped, shoved, and bit. Further down the planes of her slender back, where abstract coils splintered off from her spine and dipped into the horrid scars courtesy of the many times she had been flayed open, her powers erratic and screeching for the abysmal agony that had stolen time and reason from her. She could scarcely remember some of them, along with the peculiar and elongated scars that donned her thighs that she carefully traced over with similarly scarred fingers. Circular ones too that dotted her arms, her hips, and slender, jagged edges over her ribs; she had implored various artists to mark her body, and had seethed at the idea of more needles in her skin, but there was a resurrection found within the deeply seeded ink. Finally, she stilled, fingers curled over her chest, studying the latest scar that bisected the moth usually spread aloft there, horridly marked and split, the curvature of the wound slanted up over her heart; a perfect line, courtesy of abilities that mirrored her own, a figment of pure chaos that pulsated with the truth unknown.

There was only one place on her body that had never been marked: the back of her neck to where, even now, she ghosted fingers towards her nape and stilled. A spear of dread sheered through her limb, and she immediately dropped her hand, palming it over the shudder that flitted away through her other arm. There she stood, studying the paleness of her complexion and the stark netherworld of black lines she proudly displayed, scars and all. The dress she had chosen would reveal these haunts, and that revelation bid Amma to study herself with more critical attention than before. The world would tremble in her wake of rage and anger for the answers denied to her; she would scour the world as a beast bitterly owed the destruction and revenge indebted to her. For she was struck with vanity, hubris, and a glutton for the insatiable wants of life, she knows all this and does not care; the sins of humanity sparing little to her revere. Amma took what she wanted in retribution for the brutality of fate and destiny that took everything from her. Seductive coils of red rose through the barriers of the world, HZEs pulsating in flashes of silver through her entire room, thirty-three feet of pure power that undulated as wraiths with little inhibition as she worked through her hair, brushing eagerly through the mass in preparations to dry it. She would later don her face with blacks and golds, feathered out edges of cosmetics and smokey shadows, a halo of gold on the center, dramatic black lines sharpened with efficiency, and those fanning lashes spiked and curled and lifted upon the blue of her eyes. She highlighted gold upon the apex of her brow, cheeks, and later on delicate collar bones. She aggressively palmed her body to shimmer and glow, and when she turned to regard herself once more, she stood naked as a babe, but through the gloom of her aching heart, she shined.

She knew not what was happening to her; she knew not what this life held for her nor the truth from all the lies. The letters lay as they were, at her feet, wrought through with shimmering lines of hated crimson, and carefully, she stepped over them and regarded the silk lain across her bed, the uniform still left beside it, and the chains that glimmered through the sunset that poured into her room, bathing her in vermillion leagues of fire. Her phone vibrated across her desk, a subtle glow under the rays of light that reminded her to head toward the Myotis dorms, where she had agreed to get ready with the others.

And so she would gild herself as if for battle, for Amma Cahors would be nothing short of devastating.

[Hound55]

Banjo released her hand and waved goodbye as the lean blonde boarded the ferry for her shopping day amongst the other Blackjack girls.

"I told you. Don't worry about it. I got the clothes all taken care of already."

She murmured something. It hadn't helped things when he'd shown her the tuxedo t-shirt as a joke.

"What's the matter? You don't trust me?"

The scrutiny never left her eye, but she gave an okay. If she didn't have complete faith, she seemed to trust him at least until she saw he'd gotten it wrong.

"You just have yourself a great day out with the girls, and don't worry about things. It's all under control. I got it."

Too far. If the repeated reassurances hadn't already had the wrong effect, they certainly had now.

She walked up the gangplank and the pair waved each other off.

---

_{Six Years Ago}

"It's baggy. I thought this stuff was s'posed to be fitted."

"Yer still growin', mate. And I don't know when yer gunna be wearin' it. Or even which school you'll be wearin' it for, tabefair. Make it a bit big and you'll grow into it. Make it a fancy one, and you'll never be underdressed." The Butler said, watching on with no small amount of amusement from his chair as the teen turned and surveyed the suit in the mirror, for once looking the more underdressed of the pair due to the nature of his own dishevelled dress.

Banjo wasn't wrong. The suit was big on him. It looked a little ridiculous, in fact, given it was a full tuxedo.

"Besides. It's a tux and you're seventeen."

"Sixteen."

"About to turn seventeen. It'll play off as 'cute' at this age. You'll win over the mother. It'll trickle down. Trust me, it'll work for you, kiddo."

"You reckon my appeal to girls is in my ability to win over the mothers..?" A leer crossed his face.

"I... really don't want to think about it. I regret sayin' anything. Honestly, please don't say anymore. And for God's sake don't go knockin' up some poor girl. The last thing I need to think about is you leavin' a string of bastards behind us in our wake."

Banjo turned and looked at himself in the mirror again, frown on his face.

"Don't care what you say, mate. This looks ridiculous. And the bow tie--"

"It's a tux. It's gunna come with a bow tie."

"Do I look like I know how to tie a bloody bow tie..? if I did, somebody'd be flushin' my head down a toilet. And tabefair, its a strong stance they'd have on the issue, but I'd support it."

"Alright. C'mere..." He put his glass down and got up from his seat. And beckoned him with a finger, despite covering the entire distance between the pair himself.

Banjo did up the top button and popped the collar, waiting for the older man.

"Alright, so this crosses with this, ya flip this like so..."

The Butler flipped a loose end of the bow tie across his nose with a cheeky grin, making the younger boy flinch as the silk pinged off of his nose, and scowl at the treatment.

"...then you put a fold here, you take this through here, you start foldin' here... then when you pass it through here-- Bob's ya bloody uncle, and you just pull here and here to make the two sides match and slide it to centre. Ya got that?"

"No..."

"Well then find me, or better still, find someone else who does on the day. It's easy enough. You know how to tie a regular tie. Hell! You know how to tie a double windsor!"

"Yeah! Cos I've gone to bloody private schools for years! We don't wear bloody bow ties! Frankly I'm curious how you know how to tie a bloody bow tie!"

"Because, I'm cultured, mate." The older man replied calmly, returning to his seat and swirling his glass with a sniff of the contents.

"And quite frankly it wouldn't hurt you to get a bit of culture up you, either."

He looked at himself again in the mirror. He pulled at the baggy sleeves and trouser legs.

"Cultured, eh? Bloody ridiculous..." He shook his head in disbelief.

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Myriad locations - PRCU}

Dance Monkey #4.035: Angry And Alone - Be Good Johnny

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): NPCs}

Previously: By My Side

Banjo looked at himself in the mirror.

Silver linings. Somehow, despite everything, the tuxedo fit perfectly.

It had been six years, he'd grown a lot. But the weightloss he'd experienced from his peripheral neuropathy diet had left it fitting so well it was almost as if there was a divine hand at play.

His limp was still there, his recently discovered rage was still there, his girl wasn't, but the tuxedo fit like a glove. Cruelly comedic.

There was an assassination attempt on her scumbag father, her brother got caught in the middle, and now a fractured family was coming together, seemingly.

He wanted to go, he didn't like the thought of her being left alone with him. But she said his presence would be antagonistic.

He didn't have a counter for that. Because he almost certainly would be. With very little provocation required, even on his best behaviour...

She had the Butler's phone number and would check in to announce she'd get there safely. Saved as just that as well.

Because there's trust, and then there's stupidity.

He got changed again, safe in the knowledge that the suit fitted. A little frustrated that he couldn't send her a picture, but he was pretty sure he'd probably show up in the group chat for her anyway.

A hand on the door, he stepped out of his room and--

"Getting excited for the--"

"No." He flatly replied before the question was completed. Too much. Waaaaaay too much.

"You still goin'?"

"Said I could use the laugh."

"Prob'ly the right call. Fuckin' dog's breakfast in waitin', eh? My bird'd have a handle, but I wouldn't trust these other two to handle a piss up in a brewery."

Big Steve nodded blankly, oblivious to what was just said. Smiling and nodding was a regular response to some of his more regional colloquialisms. Particularly when he double-stacked them.

"Don't wait up. Shit to do."

"Oh, what time are you coming back, we could--"

SLAM!

"Or not..."

"I don't know why you keep trying. He's just an asshole."

"He's not an asshole. He's just sad. And he's going through some stuff."

"He is an asshole. And assholes also go through stuff. The two things aren't mutually exclusive."

"So what are you doing today?"

"Just have CC stuff, then I'm free all day. You?"

"Same. Finally got on Destiny 2, do you want to call some of the others and--"

"I think we both know the answer is 'Yes'."

"Well, alright then."

---

Banjo made his way to the gym, by way of the Mess Hall, his Community Contribution once again finished. The fleece was coming in on the sheep, and there weren't that many, but he was supposed to leave them for the 'Ag group' who had classes. Fences needed mending. He supposed that was typical of all things in his life. Wouldn't be happening any time soon though.

That was also typical of all things in his life.

He'd have to fire down some diet friendly grains and tasteless boiled chicken thing (and even then only after he lost his shit over the constant tuna and salmon he was getting inundated with), and go off to the gym for mind-numbing exercises. Other people had devices and headphones to break the tedium. The no-phone rule worked against him here, yet again.

It took him a half an hour to realise that Katja wasn't anywhere to be seen in or around the gym.

This was out of the ordinary for them both.

It fell outside of her Community Contribution hours. She wasn't obligated to be there. But she was generally an omni-present sunny vision in the place... well, Banjo assumed she was. Of late that had seemed to start to wane, since the Trials her demeanour had been noticeably shifted. And for the first time he'd really been struck by some kind of deep low feelings from her. Loneliness. Which... she'd sort of always been alone, but he'd never really viewed her as lonely.

'How long had that been the case?' He thought to himself, over regular reps on the adductor.

Had he been so absorbed in his own bullshit, or was this something new? Just how long had he been failing to notice? He tended to leave people to their own devices and trust they'd come to him if they needed anything. Was that the wrong way to handle this?

She'd said something about trying to hit things off with the French bird on their team.

He'd always given her a wide berth as well.

So that didn't help with his blind sport on this one either.

The night before the Trials something had almost certainly happened. He'd seen other people getting in her business and she certainly hadn't cared for that shit at all. Probably whatever happened was still fresh at the time.

He tried to rack his brains over what he'd seen from her here in the gym over the past few days, but it was like his head was in a fog. A steadily increasing haze.

His anger and loathing just bleeding into everything? The leg infecting more of his life? Seemed stupid, but everything in his life had kind of sucked across the board since then. Even at the school. He was actually finding some of the classes difficult, a challenge, and half of the team seemed to skip out altogether. And the frustrating thing... the fact that it was now becoming somewhat challenging, it made him actually kind of care. Which only made things more irritating that he was struggling to keep up.

The Trial itself had done nothing to him... but this leg. It was like he had been poisoned in it ever since. Everything just--

He stopped.

"Thirty fucking reps? The fuck are you doing? You're supposed to stop at six. More sets of lesser reps. How's this throw your sets now?"

"Fuckin' God damnit!"

He got up and got a drink, trying to figure out how he was supposed to adjust for his rehabilitative routine after losing count, or if he was even supposed to.

"The Doctor said more is less... Maybe this isn't the worst thing. It's the adductor anyway, that's the inner thigh, to counter-balance the actual work you're supposed to be doing." He justified to himself.

He drank more water and he sat back down in the next machine in his rotation.

[Melissa]

^{__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Myotis Dorm - Pacific Royal Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.036: Fine Line

^{_{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): N/A}

Previously: A Heart's Fine Print

“Leah, stop moving, I’m not nice enough to redo these a third time.”

Aurora laughed to herself as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror, freshly showered and wrapped in a plush bathrobe, finishing up her skincare. With the door open, she could hear Maddy and Leah at the kitchen table, the former attempting to paint the latter’s nails, which was proving to be quite the challenging task. The blonde had difficulty sitting still normally, let alone remaining stationary long enough to avoid getting polish all over her fingers. The redhead was certain that by now Maddy’s patience was wearing thin, but nevertheless, she persisted. Kelcey was avoiding the chaos, sprawled out on the couch, a sheet mask on her face and scrolling through her phone.

Everyone was busy getting ready for this evening’s festivities - the senior dance was one of the main highlights of the Fall semester. Aurora was excited to enjoy a night off from the shitty hand that she had been dealt over the last week and a half, even if she was a little nervous about having an actual date to the function. She’d be lying though if she didn’t admit she was having second thoughts about her decision, but Chad had texted her not too long ago to confirm, so there was no getting out of the commitment now.

Leaving the bathroom, Aurora walked towards Kelcey and perched herself on the arm of the sofa, letting her lips settle into a weak half smirk.

“You know, I think you should go to the dance just like that. It’s a great look.” She stated sarcastically, even if the joke felt a tad forced. She had been keeping to herself for most of the morning, and her poking fun was a sorry attempt at a somewhat normal interaction. The brunette looked up from her phone slowly, raising a quizzical eyebrow at her. They had been roommates since Freshman year and by now the girl could easily tell when things were not completely right. Aurora didn’t have to say anything, Kelcey could read her like a book.

“Okay,” She spoke with a labored tone as she sat upright and peeled off her face mask, carelessly discarding it on their coffee table. “What’s wrong?”

Aurora held strong for another moment before letting her mouth drop and revealing a sad expression, eyelids drooping ever so slightly. With a deep exhale, she spoke of what was weighing heavily on her shoulders.

“About tonight, even if he might be interested in someone else, I don’t want to hurt Lorcán’s feelings or for him to be mad at me. I don’t know how he’s going to react when I tell him that I have a date and-”

“He already knows, Rora.” Kelcey interrupted matter-of-factly, lying back down on the sofa unceremoniously, as if she just didn’t drop an absolute bomb on her friend.

“Wait,” Aurora’s eyebrows were now raised, confusion etched onto her features. “He does?” The brunette sighed, setting her phone down and looking back at Aurora.

“Yeah, I told him. When I saw him yesterday after you ‘ported to the Alumni Village to get the dress from Tori.”

“You- what?” She was in disbelief of what she was hearing, which prompted Kelcey to elaborate.

“Well someone had to, and better for me to be the bad guy who upset him than you. You don’t owe him an explanation.”

“I mean… I guess.” Aurora gnawed on the inside of her cheek, instantly anxious. Maybe that’s why Lorcán hadn’t texted her at all. It was possible he was too mad to even speak to her, let alone hear her out. The wheels were turning in her head, the train flying off the rails, until Kelcey rested a hand on hers.

“Look, it’s better that Lorcán has had time to process this so you can have a conversation that isn’t emotionally charged. At the end of the day, he doesn’t have a right to be angry. He should have asked you if he didn’t want to see you going with someone else and these are the consequences of his own actions. Period, full stop.” The brunette reasoned, trying to instill the logic into the redhead’s brain. She was always blunt, which was both a positive and a negative, but she always spoke the truth and it was something that Aurora appreciated about her.

But before she could reply, a knock at the door interrupted their conversation, both girls' faces contorting into ones of surprise, as they weren’t expecting anyone this early in the day. The brunette quickly got up, the redhead not far behind her, and approached the front door, opening it to reveal a younger boy shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Which one of you is Kelcey?” The underclassman asked, nervous energy radiating off of him, his voice shaky finding himself face to face with the older women.

“Who’s asking?” Kelcey questioned, defensively. The boy relaxed a touch, slightly relieved that he was in the right place, before revealing a bouquet of flowers that he had been hiding behind his back. He handed them to her, a note tucked in between the stems.

“Special delivery from House Lutra.” He stated, his mission accomplished, offering Aurora a small smile and nod before scurrying off.

The brunette’s brow raised as she stepped away from the entryway and into their kitchen area, examining the arrangement - deep purple chrysanthemums, red spray roses, along with some other jewel toned flowers amongst eucalyptus and greenery. Plucking out the card, she read it aloud.

“Just a little something for my date to the dance. Can’t wait to see you tonight, I love you. Oliver.” Kelcey bit her lip, attempting to hide the smile that crept up on her otherwise serious features. Oliver was her teammate and boyfriend of three years. He was her true opposite, friendly and warm where she was reserved and aloof. Extroverted and outgoing where she was introverted and distant. And yet, Aurora always thought that they were the perfect match. Opposites attract and all that.

“Is that… are you blushing, Kelce?” Leah’s eyes went wide as she teased, spying the light rosy hue across the bridge of the brunette’s nose and the apples of her cheeks. As quickly as she let her softer romantic side show, Kelcey reverted to her sarcastic and icy exterior.

“I will ruin your manicure, Leah.” She taunted, to which the blonde quickly dropped her playful demeanor and turned back to Maddy who tried to hide her amusement.

Aurora shook her head at the exchange, there was never a dull moment between her roommates. But her joy dissolved into discontent, Oliver’s display of affection tugging at her aching heart. She imagined what it would be like if Lorcán had sent her a bouquet, how that would make her feel if it was something even remotely possible. But it was unlikely he’d do that, after all, he’d send flowers to Amma before he would send them to her.

Harper’s words from the evening prior rang in her ears, imploring her to take action and not stand idly by. And with Kelcey’s confirmation that he indeed knew about her date, even if he was in fact ignoring her, at this point there was no use in waiting for him to reach out. If she was going to tell him how she felt, she needed to be brave and take that first step. Pulling out her phone, she let her fingers fly across the screen, typing out a message and not hesitating to hit send.

SENT TO LORCÁN ROTH Hey, I’m so relieved you’re okay. Sorry I ducked out before you woke up 😔 Want to talk to you about something… come find me tonight, I’ll save you a dance.

[Lord Wraith]

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Pacific Royal Campus Beach - Dundas Island, Pacific Ocean}

Dance Monkey #4.037: Dancing's Not a Crime

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Gil Galahad - @Roman, Aurora Mitchell - @Melissa^Indirectly}

Previously: Far Too Young to Die

The campus seemed a little brighter as Lorcán merrily made his way across, feeling lighter and more free than he had only hours ago. The crisp September wind only further accented the heat of the late summer sun as it held its own against the changing of the season. He jumped up on a nearby curve, quickly balancing along the beam before leaping into a spin and landing on the nearby path again.

His erratic movements drew a few stray eyes, but Lorcán heeded them no regard, whistling a tune as he went. He spun around a nearby lamp post, clicking his heels together, no longer worried about the damp clothing he was in or the mess of hair atop his head. Miranda had unlocked his memories, helped him realize what he had only dared hope before.

Aurora Mitchell loved him.

Despite all the troubles of late, despite the obstacles that kept them apart, the miscommunication, the poor timing, despite it all.

Aurora Mitchell loved Lorcán Roth.

The words rang out in his mind clear as day, the fog and otherworldly oppression cleared, gone and obliterated thanks to Miranda’s assistance. The weight of guilt and shame lifted, his soul light as a feather and all he wanted to do was soar through skies as Haven was so enviably capable of.

He needed to see Aurora right now, he needed to climb the Administration building, he needed to shout from the rooftops.

Lorcán Roth loved Aurora Mitchell.

Except.

Except that she would hate that. Even Lorcán knew that Aurora, his Lady Dude, did not like public display of affection, let alone mass spectacles. Even if his chest was fit to burst at any second, even if he wanted to run laps around campus in sheer joy, he knew he needed to wait until they had a moment together, something private and intimate.

Something that was just the two of them.

A dumb grin set across his face, as Lorcán suddenly sprung onto his hands, cartwheeling before using his abilities to boost himself into a handspring and backflip. His display was followed by more gawking, but Lorcán didn’t have a care in the world as his wavy mane was lifted by the cool breeze. His molten-coloured eyes stared into the distance, focusing on the Myotis dorms, locking onto the balcony in front of Aurora’s dorm.

He could have jetted the distance, scaled the balcony and burst through. But Aurora had a date tonight, and it wasn’t his place to ruin it for her. It wasn’t his place to intervene but perhaps, perhaps she could save him the last dance of the night. He had waited this long, what was a few hours more? Lorcán owed Aurora at least that, it wasn’t about him or his epiphanies, it was about both of them and Aurora had accepted another young man’s invitation.

Lorcán wasn’t about to meddle, no matter who that mystery man was.

Letting out a small ‘whoop’ Lorcán sprung forward, front flipping into a slight jog before jumping off another lamp post and nearly colliding with a familiar face. His fiery eyes came into focus, before he tumbled on top of Gil, the pair colliding with the pavement beneath them as Lorcán came to rest atop the other boy, cans sent rolling in all directions as some nearby bystanders let out a couple catcalls while Lorcán was laid out atop Gil’s chest.

“S’pose I should at least offer to buy you dinner first, bro,” Lorcán mumbled, dusting himself up before extending a hand to Gil, “Where are you headed loaded up with the brewskis?”

“...to come and meet you. And Rory. And Banjo, I suppose, though I'm not sure how to reach him with Calliope off-island...” Gil replied, taking Lorcán’s hand before the pair picked up the scattered drinks together. “It's the dance tonight. Did you forget we were supposed to get ready and pre-game? I messaged you to let you know I was on the way over.”

“Dude, I haven’t had my phone for like the last twelve hours, it was dead when I got home and I totally forgot to grab it.” Lorcán replied with a laugh, “It’s totally going to blow up when I finally turn it back on.” The laid back young man looked Gil over, his jaw was clenched, he was clearly agitated but even Lorcán suspected that it was more than just being carelessly knocked to the ground.

“You choka, dude?” The younger man asked, “You look about as tight as a sail in the wind, ready to tear at any second.”

“I'm fine." Gil said, reflexively evading the probe. He paused, then sighed. No point in trying to hide it - the news would get out eventually. Besides, where was that new-found honesty? "I...I quit acting. Artie didn't take it well when I told him. It's unpleasant to effectively fire an old friend." Gil’s honest response caught Lorcán off guard before he offered some sympathy to his friend.

“Dude, that blows chunks, man, I’m sorry it went down that way,” Lorcán replied before putting an arm around Gil and leading him towards the Canis dorms. “No wonder you want to get lit tonight, I’m really looking forward to it.” He nodded enthusiastically.

“Provided they play some good music anyways, need something I can move to,” Lorcán smiled before pulling away from Gil and swaying to an imaginary beat only to immediately trip on his own feet.

“I think you'd better stick to some standstill bob'n'sway.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lorcán replied dismissively, “Look, I get the last few days have sucked, but I really do think that tonight will be a good night.” He continued, swiping his student card in the door before opening the Canis dorms and holding it open for Gil.
Gil lifted a beer in salute before opening the can and taking an impressive pull.

"One way or another." He replied, letting Lorcán lead him inside. A mischievous smile crossed the latter’s face, as sparks appeared in his molten-coloured eyes.

“‘Cause I’ve got a feelin’!” He suddenly sang. “That tonight’s gonna be a good night, that tonight’s gonna be a-” He suddenly cartwheeled again, nearly wiping out as the mat slipped under his hands.

“Good, good night!” Lorcán called back off-key, steadying himself again before he ran a couple steps ahead of Gil. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Gil shake his head at his antics, a small smile cracking on the other young man’s face before they eventually approached the door to Rory and Lorcán’s shared dorm.

“Honey!” Lorcán bellowed upon entering the dorm, “We’re home!” He called out, initially waiting for Rory’s reply before excusing himself to Gil and dipping into his bedroom. It was still in a state of disarray from the turbulent sleep, or lack there of the night before. But Lorcán was able to quickly locate his cellphone on the floor beside his nightstand, the charging cable thankfully still attached.

Booting the device up, Lorcán impatiently waited as the device took what felt like forever to boot up. He had a missed call and a voicemail from Cass, a message from Gil and Rory each in the Wolfpack group chat, Gil of course being an honorary member due to his misfortune of being in House Lynx.

He paused, his heart skipping a beat as Lorcán saw an unread message from Aurora.

AURORA MITCHELL SAID: Hey, I’m so relieved you’re okay. Sorry I ducked out before you woke up 😔 AURORA MITCHELL SAID SAID: Want to talk to you about something… come find me tonight, I’ll save you a dance.

Aurora Mitchell loved Lorcán Roth.

Lorcán’s thumb hovered over the call button. He wanted to meet now, he wanted to explain everything to her. He wanted to tell Aurora how he’d been in love with her from the first time their eyes met, how he wanted to kiss her that night on the beach, how he was trying to tell her that Amma saved him, how it had always been Aurora. No one else even came close.

But,

Aurora had a date tonight.

YOU SAID: I def want to talk to you too, I missed you the last couple of days. :Save me that dance, I’ll def be cashing in, Lady Dude!

Taking a deep breath, he pressed send before changing his clothes and pocketing his phone again. Turning to rejoin Rory and Gil, something caught Lorcán’s eye that caused him to stop. The object that Jonas had gifted him had rolled out of his pocket from yesterday’s clothing.

Picking it up, Lorcán gave it a reassuring squeeze before feeling the familiar warm pulse. With a small shrug, he tucked it into his pocket and turned to leave his room.

Couldn’t hurt to keep it on him after all.

[Qia]

^{_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Myotis Dorm - Pacific Royal Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.038: Gulls Just Wanna Have Fun

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

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

Previously: Infallible

This was the most awkward they had ever been.

Harper kept her eyes forward, her steps measured as she and Haven walked side by side toward Aurora’s dorm. The silence between them felt thicker than usual, with each footstep punctuating the tension. Occasionally, the brunette glanced at Haven from the corner of her eye, wondering if she felt the same heavy cloud hanging over them. The air seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment. Despite the quiet, their unspoken thoughts seemed to echo loudly in the space between them.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. They had shared countless sweet moments, filled with easy chatter and comfortable silences. But now, after what had happened with Sierra earlier, Harper felt the weight of everything she didn’t say—everything she couldn’t say—like a boulder pressing down on her chest. The liquid courage in her hand wasn’t helping much either. Each sip of the drink only served to magnify the silence, making the unstated words in her head feel leaden.

As they neared Aurora’s door, Harper’s eyes drifted downward, settling on the red dress draped over her other arm, protected by a layer of plastic. The vibrant fabric was smooth and elegant, its striking red colour a sharp contrast to her current feelings. Each step brought her closer to the moment she dreaded—the moment she would have to put on this dress and face everyone. It was meant to make her stand out, to command attention at the dance, a role she’d never felt comfortable in. It felt like an unwanted spotlight she was about to step into, one that would reveal a side of her even she wasn’t familiar with.

Knocking on the door, Harper cleared her throat, forcing a casual tone. “So… I’m guessing Rory’s going to pick you up here after we’re done?” The words felt strange on her tongue, almost foreign, as if she were speaking someone else’s thoughts. It was funny how her mind had grasped that as the necessary topic of conversation, her nosiness a safe harbour to which she always returned. Yet, a part of her was genuinely curious about who Haven was going with, especially given the winged girl’s little escapade with their teammate before the trials. Harper, of course, had not forgotten about it; the memory lingered like a stubborn shadow that would always be a part of her.

“I’m meeting him downstairs,” Haven began with a tone just as casual as her companion’s as she moved into the space beside the door, her shoulder resting against the wall. Her right arm was tucked into her ribs, resting her hand under her left as it adjusted the bag’s strap on her shoulder. She could feel the liquor’s warmth resting in her stomach where her anger had burned earlier, its presence in her bloodstream already working to relax the muscles in her shoulders and back. Her thoughts, once a storm of unspoken questions and fleeting confrontational urges as the pair walked between the dorms, had already quieted into distant thunder in her mind.

There was no sign of tension in her words or body language as she looked into the hazel eyes across from her, yet to the brunette’s keen eyes it was obvious that the usual warmth that radiated from the winged woman was lukewarm at best. A shadow of her usual affection towards someone she once thought to be like a sister to her, even if that familial connection had only been present since they’d carried each other out of the trials.

She smiled, yet the dimples that graced her cheeks hardly left a depression on her skin. “It’s our first date together, but we talked about taking things seriously yesterday before I met with you all.” Before she was discharged from the hospital, even. “So I guess I can say that I’m going with my boyfriend now.” Her smile grew with the words, dimples deepening, her inhibitions melting away as she talked about the dark-haired man who made her heart flutter. “It’s strange saying it out loud, but it feels right.”

As Haven responded, her attempt at normalcy was met with Harper’s mixed emotions. The casual mention of Rory being Haven’s boyfriend felt like a double-edged sword. On one hand, it was a small relief to hear Haven talk about Rory with such genuine affection. On the other hand, it underscored the awkwardness that had settled between them, a chasm that seemed to widen with every passing moment. She couldn’t shake the feeling that their friendship was shifting, and not necessarily for the better.

Harper offered a small, tentative smile, her lips curving up just enough to show she was trying. “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling good about it. It’s nice to hear you’re happy.” Her voice was soft, more sincere than it had been moments before, the words carrying genuine emotion. She wanted Haven to know that despite everything, she truly cared about her happiness. “I guess we’ll both have quite the night ahead of us.” There was more she wished to say about this, the only question was how.

Haven’s ears picked up on the shift in Harper’s voice. It was a relief that her own admission had eased some of the other’s worries, enough for Harper to be earnest about one topic this evening at least. Maybe there was hope that they could get over the tension left in Sierra’s wake, with or without the liquor bottle, with conversation that could distract them from it. Plus the phrasing of her words sparked a curiosity within Haven that could easily be quenched. The question being something light and, dare she say it, normal to ask.

“Are you… going with anyone?”

Harper paused for a moment, the question hanging in the air between them. She opened her mouth to respond, but just as the name was about to leave her lips, the door to Aurora’s dorm swung open. The sudden movement startled her, breaking the delicate suspense that had built up with her hesitation.

Bright blue eyes and a warm smile greeted them as Blackjack’s resident redhead finally answered the door, most of her head curled while a few final strands were still in their natural state.

“Sorry, I was just finishing up my hair, come on in,” Aurora greeted, stepping back to allow enough berth for the two girls to enter and closing the door behind them. She opened the hall closet, shifting around the jackets and coats already there to make ample space. “You guys can hang your dresses here until you’re ready to put them on, I also have a steamer if either of you need it,” She instructed before walking into the kitchen area and motioning to the refrigerator, “Help yourself to whatever, there are some drinks on the upper shelf, and you can put your things on the table.” She nodded to the kitchen table where her roommate’s makeup mirrors had been set up for them to use.

“I just need to finish up these last couple of pieces, but make yourselves comfortable,” The redhead quickly walked back to the bathroom, not wanting to leave her curling iron unattended for too long, but left the door open so she could still converse with Haven and Harper. “So girls, are we excited?”

Harper forced a smile as she pondered her reply, her lips curving up in an attempt to mask her disquietude. She didn't dislike the idea of the dance—it was just that everything around it felt overwhelming, like layers of expectation she wasn’t sure she could meet.

“Excited? Yeah, I guess you could say that,” she said, her voice light but lacking genuine enthusiasm. The words felt like they were sliding through her fingers, insubstantial and hollow. “It’s a chance to just relax and enjoy the night, at least,” Harper added regardless, shifting the bottle to the same hand with her dress and moving to hang it in the closet. She turned to glance at Haven, who was still holding onto her dress, and gestured for her to hand it over. “I’ll hang that up for you,” she offered.

“Oh- thanks,” Haven murmured as she turned herself from where she lingered by the doorway. She lifted the satin from her arm as she held it in Harper’s direction, offering a brief, yet grateful smile her way. “I’ll trade you for the bottle.”

Her head turned towards the living space again as she pulled the strap of her duffle off her shoulder, the traded liquor clutched carefully in her free hand. She didn’t waste time moving further into the cozy space, her eyes glancing over each cutesy decoration that Aurora and her roommates had placed to make the dorm feel like a home. It was a stark contrast to the sparse living area that she and her roommates shared, and certainly more feminine than Rory and Lorcán’s dorm.

Her duffle was unceremoniously dumped on a chair at the table, and then the booze was placed next to the mirror as she continued to make herself as comfortable as she could get. “I’m ready to let loose and have some fun tonight, for sure.” She was already opening the door to the fridge as she answered Aurora’s earlier question, inspecting the various drinks set on the top shelf inside. “Is anyone interested in a cocktail, or should we just choose a chaser for ourselves?” Her head ducked below the door for a moment, wings tucking in so that they wouldn’t graze the appliance, before she stood upright with a bottle of juice in her hand. She called out over her wing where it rested itself behind her shoulder once more. “We should at least have one shot together before we go, right? It’s not often we get together like this.”

She stood outside the door, head canted down and to one side, lashes panned low as the murmur of voices fled through the door and fell muffled over her ears. It is such a temporal thing to be a young woman donned on daring golds and blacks, a shimmering vanity in the highlighting of dramatic poise and intention, garbed in the simplicity of wide-legged pants in gray and a cropped blouse of a similar hue that draped to her shoulders. The erratic temper of her emotions flitted to and fro as plumes of scarlet pulsated through the flutter of her lashes, and a storm banked to the fringes of the sea lost within her eyes. Amma held her dress and shoes in one hand, carefully situated over her forearm, and in her opposite gesture, she hoisted a black case, matte black and clasped in brass. Was it even more of a mundane occurrence to be compelled to bring her cosmetics with her and styling tools carefully tucked within? A creature of vanity she was, and never without embellishment of some sort to accentuate her sensual debut, the power of dark lips eternal that bent the knees of men. Amma carefully knocked, knuckles sharp against the wood before it opened upon silence, her gaze quick and pointing, intentional in the pass she made over the girls with an intensity befitting her usual candor.

Haven may have invited her, but did that make her welcome as one of Blackjack's fairer members?

She caught the ending of the former's suggestion, and a slow tremor wound through her limbs as she stepped further into the room, hung her dress where she noticed others had been placed and her heels beneath it, and broke the subtle tension that wound around each of them and said:

"Make it a double. It has already been a long day, and the night is just starting."

Amma’s entrance was simply greeted with a nod from the winged woman as Haven moved from the fridge to search for cups in the cabinets.

“Come on over, then.”

After carefully hanging up Haven’s dress alongside hers, Harper turned her attention to Amma. The gold and black makeup was the first thing she noted. It seemed to transform the other woman, giving her an air of sophistication and mystery, different from before. Harper marvelled at the precision and artistry, each stroke of colour enhancing Amma’s features boldly and beautifully. She felt a pang of envy, wishing she could embody even a fraction of that confidence.

Whether in the shadows or out in the open, Amma’s presence was undeniably captivating.

“I like your eyes,” Harper commented easily, only realizing the awkwardness of her words after they slipped past her lips. As soon as she spoke, a flush of embarrassment crept up her neck. “Your makeup…it looks…nice,” she added, trying to recover. Her voice trailed off as she searched for the right words to convey her admiration. Yet, despite her efforts, she couldn’t quite shake her old bashfulness.

Amma didn’t hesitate, more so to make herself perhaps a little less threatening and to convince herself to be more at ease, her earlier struggles and sorrows writhing just under her facade, a subtle quake within her fingers as she set her cosmetic case aside and moved closer to Haven. Harper’s voice carefully slid through her ears, fading into the backdrop before Amma turned, a smile easily punctuating her features that was both darling and appreciative. But there was an edge there, a bite to her unspooling words that carried a feral edge.

“Have to make some kind of impression out there on the dance floor,” she gestured vaguely to her eyes, noting the delicate sweeps of black on Harper’s expression, the striking depths of her all-knowing gaze accentuated by the flutter flashes and subtle edges of colors smoked out onto her eyelids. “I like yours too, I brought some of my things just in case.”

“Thanks,”Harper replied, her voice tinged with a hint of appreciation. A blush dotted her cheeks, emphasizing her freckles for a moment. The warmth of the compliment lingered, making her feel a bit more at ease. She cleared her throat to center herself. Then, she headed towards the bathroom where Aurora was finishing up her hair.

Haven had moved with a casual air between the kitchen counter and table as she grabbed the bottle of booze, keeping her focus on the idea of being the bartender as she listened to Harper and Amma speak to each other. The rustling of feathers and soft steps she took was the only sound she made as she allowed the girls to have a moment together.

“What are we shooting, anyways?” Being a known wine drinker, liquor was lost upon her preference, but Amma made herself comfortable, as much as she could to dispel the unease that still bunched her shoulders.

Gold and green peered through brown lashes, looking over the dark-haired woman’s body language as Amma joined her at the kitchen counter. The tension that coiled in the muscles beneath the other’s pale skin was something Haven recognized easily. A reflex that seemed as natural to Amma as it was to Haven herself. Still, her hand stayed busy pouring a generous amount into each cup. She was doing her best to count out the difference between one shot and two, but currently, she figured a little extra wouldn’t hurt. As she finished the second pour she found herself taking a measured breath as she thought of her response.

“I grabbed the first bottle I recognized, really. Something cheap, but not entirely disgusting.” Her hands took each glass into the air, one stretching out in Amma’s direction as she finally turned to peer into those troubled deep blues. The smile that graced her features was empathetic as she held her own glass at eye level in a small toast.

“It might burn going down, but after a few, we won’t even feel it. So cheers.”

The bathroom was filled with the faint scent of hairspray and the gentle hum of the curling iron, creating a soothing backdrop to the evening’s preparations. Harper watched as Aurora expertly twisted the last few sections of her hair around the hot barrel, each curl forming perfectly. The rhythmic motion was almost hypnotic. It provided a small slice of normalcy in an otherwise strange evening thus far.

“Hey, just checking in,” Harper said, knocking on the door’s frame to announce her presence.

Aurora let the final curl drop from the iron, holding it delicately in her hand for a few moments to allow it to set before letting it fall against her back. Examining her hair in the mirror and satisfied with the results, she reached and unplugged the tool, resting it on the granite countertop to cool down. Her sapphire eyes met Harper’s before she motioned to her head.

“Does it look okay?” She asked, before turning back and gazing at her own reflection, inspecting her handiwork. “I can brush them out if we think they’re a bit too tight, but I tried to do something in between.”

Harper studied Aurora’s reflection, admiring the carefully styled curls. Each curl fell perfectly into place, framing Aurora’s face with a soft elegance. There was a wistful quality in the way Aurora examined her own work, as if seeking reassurance from the mirror. Harper understood that feeling all too well-the need for everything to be just right. It often meant second-guessing yourself at every turn, a sentiment Harper knew intimately.

“They look great, Aurora,” Harper assured her with a small, sincere smile. Her words were meant to be a balm, easing the uncertainty she saw in Aurora’s eyes. “The curls are perfect—not too tight, just enough to give you that soft, effortless look.” Harper paused, noticing the way Aurora’s fingers hovered near her hair, ready to make adjustments. “Besides, I think they suit you. It’s… you, but with a little extra something.”

“Okay good, I think I’m going to pin a few pieces back like Tori did yesterday, but I’ll do that before I leave,” She exhaled a sigh of relief and looking back at Harper, she smiled widely, “Thanks, Harps. Now that’s taken care of, time to get myself a drink. God knows I’ll need it,” The redhead expressed candidly, ushering her brunette friend back into the living area and finding herself face-to-face with…

“Amma,” She stated, swallowing, struggling not to be awkward. The raven-haired girl looked devastatingly beautiful, her locks styled effortlessly and her makeup near perfect. Just taking in her appearance made Aurora’s heart sink. No wonder Lorcán wasn’t interested in her when he could have someone like the vixen that currently stood in front of her. It made complete sense.

Amma dragged her fingers against the pout of her lip, a slight twitch to her features with the first shot down, burning away through her throat and lashes fluttering at the taste before her gaze focused and landed on Aurora. They doubled in intensity, an unspoken tremor that flitted through the abyss betwixt them; the last time they had spoken, each had revealed pieces of their hearts that lay pulsating as burdened organs of simplistic wants: to love and be loved in return.

She carefully handed her glass back to Haven, motioning for another because Hell below knew she needed it to smother her emotions under a blanket of blissful, alcohol-induced fog.

The glass was taken quickly, set down on the counter beside Haven’s own empty vessel as her feathers settled. The double shot had packed more of a punch to it than the swigs she’d taken earlier, ruffling the feathers on her wings as she had grimaced with the burning in her throat. She busied herself with finding two more for the others as their generous host rejoined them in the living area, yet her ears listened to the potentially tense moment behind her with subtle interest.

“Aurora,” Amma answered swiftly, her piercing blue eyes flickering down and then back up. “I like what you did with your hair; it suits you.” It was some sort of olive branch extended to dispel that unease as warmth spread down through her limbs.

The tension in the air seemed palpable, but an unspoken understanding also hung between the two girls as a result of their previous interaction. No matter what was, or was not, going on between Amma and Lorcán, Aurora knew that she couldn’t hold it against her. After all, she continued to remind herself, they just wanted the same thing.

“Thank you,” She replied, a small smile gracing her lips, appreciative of the compliment. The girl walked towards the refrigerator, grabbing a seltzer from the top shelf before returning to the center of the common area. “Your eye makeup looks amazing, I don’t think I could ever get mine to look that good.” Aurora had applied light makeup, cosmetics not her strong suit as her learnings were gathered from videos and her roommates. By the time she was old enough to use them, she didn’t have anyone to guide her through the process.

Amma hummed a soft “Thank you,” having turned to face Haven, but not before she mirrored her delicate smile.

“Alright, gorgeous ladies of Blackjack,” Haven gently interrupted the moment as she turned away from her drink station. Her lips curved into a smile that promised mischief as she presented what she carried in front of her. In her hands she cradled shots for each of them, with a double in the glass meant for Amma as requested a second time. She kept her gaze on what she carried to ensure they wouldn’t tip over as she delicately began to move around them.

“It’s been a long week for all of us, and we’re down Calli and Katja, but let’s get the night started right.”

With the ice between Amma and Aurora already thawing with their sweet moment, and despite the words unspoken that still lingered between herself and her brunette friend, Haven was determined to move past any residual uneasiness with a communal drink. She approached each of her friends with a glint in her eyes, placing each shot into their hand whether they wanted it or not. Although she was pretty sure they wanted the social lubrication.

Happy dimples appeared on her cheeks as she returned to her spot at the counter and picked up her own single like Harper and Aurora. It was mindful of her to slow herself down after the double, otherwise she’d be drunk before they left the dorm. “Each of you is going to be stunning in your dress.” She said as she turned to face them all again. The shot remained in her hand as she waited for the others to share in it with her. “Blackjack is going to be the best dressed of the night.”

As Harper accepted the shot from Haven with a small nod, her eyes scanned the room, taking in the intricate dynamics at play. She noticed the thawing awkwardness between Aurora and Amma, the playful determination in Haven’s eyes, and the undercurrent of excitement that buzzed just beneath the surface. The weight of the night ahead was palpable, filled with unsaid expectations that each of them carried. It all gave her the sense that the dance wasn’t just going to be a social event; it was a stage where each of them would have to navigate their own insecurities, desires, and fears.

Or perhaps that was just the alcohol fooling her into believing that this was all a prelude to something significant.

Harper raised her glass, her voice steady and clear as she joined the toast. “To Blackjack,” she declared, her tone carrying both pride and quiet resolve. “No matter what happens tonight, we’ve got each other’s backs. Always.” It might have sounded a little cheesy, but it was no less true given everything they’d been through.

Aurora reluctantly took the glass, cautiously peering at the clear liquor. She hadn’t been planning on taking any shots that evening, after all, she didn’t want to get too drunk and make a fool of herself. But one wouldn’t hurt, right? In fact, it was probably better for her to loosen up and get a little buzz going before she faced what was awaiting her at the dance. So, she raised the glass alongside her friends.

“To Blackjack,” The redhead repeated, “Here’s to us having a fun night, we definitely need it.” Clinking her glass against the others, she tipped her head back, letting the liquid burn down her throat. She coughed out of instinct, quickly chasing the strong taste with the juice, but grimacing nonetheless. Her face contorted, instantly regretting taking the shot, but after a few moments the pain subsided and all was well. Aurora exhaled deeply, setting the empty glass down on the table. “Okay, one and done. I definitely don’t need another.”

Amma’s thoughts are an uncoiling mass with threaded emotions of uncertainty; she almost feels out of place, the liquor burning and sliding down her throat, more manageable than the first, only this time, her facial expressions do not budge. She’s almost inevitable for another with the pleasant flush that sweeps betwixt her ribs and plummets low into her belly; a darling smile—the finest touches of melancholy there—blooms across her face as she mutters, almost as an afterthought.

“To… Blackjack.”

While Harper’s words may have carried on Haven’s plucky spirit in the others, the winged woman herself found them bittersweet. Her eyes cast themselves down onto her glass where she now wished she’d poured that double. The indication that Harper had their backs was made in good spirit, and yet she couldn’t help but remember the way that Harper had defended her visiting friend despite her insulting mannerisms. The glass lifted to her lips quickly before her faltering joy could be noticed, tossing it back to allow the warmth of it to settle her mind once more. She wasn’t going to let one moment get the better of their evening. Especially now that they all seemed to be getting along better than they ever had.

“To our team,” Haven spoke as she wiped at the loose droplet on the corner of her mouth with her sleeve. She took a breath, her mind buzzing enough from the drinks to quiet any further discouraging thoughts, and when she looked at the women gathered around her once more she bore a sheepish grin.

“So…do any of you want to help me with my hair? And maybe my makeup too? I really want to see Rory’s jaw drop tonight.”

[Lord Wraith]

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: The Alexandria Foundation - Atlantic Ocean}

Dance Monkey #4.039: Bleed Into Me

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Welcome to the Masquerade

The needle was cold as it went into the back of her neck.

But Summer had learned not to flinch.

The restraints around her wrist chafed against her skin, irritating existing abrasions. She could feel her mind beginning to expand, seeking out those beyond this compound. A mother in New York, plagued by guilt for leaving her child to go to work. A teenager in Wyoming, weighed down by the constant cravings for another hit of methamphetamines. An officer in San Francisco still burdened by the murder that cost Makaio Tawhiri his life.

And then, there was the campus. The island to the North West filled with many young persons of mass destruction.

But today Daedalus’ obsession bore on one. The winged one who was currently drowning any memories of him beneath a steady diet of alcohol. Daedalus smiled wickedly at the read out of Summer’s brain, blood beginning to drip from her nostril from the strain. A momentary scold was followed by another frigid prick as he released a new drop of her into Summer.

Her pupils dilated with the surge and soon she was viewing those who remained of their other experiment. They were content for the time being, the burden of truth lifted from their minds. And then there was the one who had come to her for help all those years ago, now frustrated and pent up, abandoned and alone.

She could have sealed his pain, made him forget the ones who left. But that was not Daedalus’ plan, and Summer’s will was of little power.

And then she sensed her, the one who got away.

Daedalus began to practically foam at the mouth as Summer’s mind touched the fractured one, web of memories disjointed and separated from one another. Her abilities were redundant in a mind so fragmented.

“I want them both back.” Daedalus finally fumed, breaking the silence. Summer felt pain travel through her skull, like a blast of lightning before it sent her spine rigid. Another prick in her neck and her eyes snapped open again. More blood spilling from her nose as some many different sensations shot through her body.

She felt her power in places she never expected, it wasn’t hard to understand why Daedalus was obsessed with her. The rawness, it far exceeded even what she had felt as a teenager standing beside Vanessa Bordeaux.

Summer missed her friend.

A rare, raw, human thought managed to bubble through. A thought from before Summer had become a plaything for megalomaniacs and psychopaths. Delirium was setting in now and Summer could barely hold a connection. Daedalus knew better than to waste a dose at this point and Summer was allowed to sleep.

But not before she saw Daedalus approach another.

A horrific screech filled the room and then, everything went black.

[Skai]

^{_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Myotis Dorm - Pacific Royal Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.040: Dancing on Eggshells

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Harper @Qia, Aurora @Melissa, Amma @Rockette}

Previously: Gulls Just Wanna Have Fun

“Leave the hair to me, I’ll go plug back in my curling iron,” Aurora assured, quickly rushing to the bathroom so the tool could have ample time to heat up.

“Better yet, we'll make his heart stop when he sees you,” Amma claimed, setting her glass aside and reaching for the black case she had thought to bring. Brass clasps snapped open before she carefully began procuring an assortment of cosmetics: glittering hues of bronze, green, and gold, expertly sealed pots of color that she hummed over, eyes flitting back towards Haven and Harper.

“What color is your dress again? Green? I can go entirely bold if you want,” she made a vague gesture towards her eyes donned in dramatic black. It was quaint, almost, to be amongst them. If anyone had inquired about these delicate circumstances a couple of weeks ago, Amma would've scoffed and laughed, and she would've mocked and lanced back with waspish words and biting tongues. The comparison is daunting, almost sudden, to think so much had happened in such a short time.

Haven’s brows lifted as the pair immediately offered their help. Her eyes darted after Aurora and then turned to Amma where she now opened her toolbox of cosmetics. For a moment she processed their words, surprised to find them so willing to help, even debating the thought of holding so much of the group’s attention at once just for her own needs. Then her shyness melted into amusement, a soft laugh bursting from her lips as her eyes crinkled around the edges.

“Please don’t stop my boyfriend's heart.” She mused, the new title slipping from her with ease now that she’d said it before. She moved over to the table as she thought about what she would want done with her eyes. Her duffle was moved from the chair she’d left it on and placed at the center of the mirrors. “Uhhm, how about something in between? Earthy, but a little more natural like Aurora’s.” She thought aloud as she turned the chair sideways to accommodate her extra appendages. Her inhibitions weren’t only relaxed, but she could also feel the sore muscles in her back loosening as well. Her wings splayed out behind her for a moment as she sat, tawny primaries- bar one stolen feather- grazing the floor momentarily before they lifted and rested behind her in the open space she’d created for them. “I have some browns in my bag if you need anything. Feel free to dig around, or I can pull them out too.”

Aurora emerged, having completed the aforementioned task, meandering back into the living area with her arms crossed over her body. She watched as Amma began to work on Haven, the ease in which she carried herself evident, gaze still lingering on her stunning makeup and hair. The redhead sighed, her confidence wavering and her inner monologue instilling doubt in her mind. She was psyching herself out, not only for her date but also for the conversation she was preparing to have at the end of the night with Lorcán.

She’d practiced in the mirror this afternoon and had attempted to find the right words to convey her feelings and emotions. But she gave up after realizing how silly she sounded trying to plan things out. Now, seeing the girl that the boy that she loved was interested in, it was just making the effort all the more futile. There was no way that he felt the same. Aurora stood next to Harper, a slight distance away from the table, nudging her gently with her elbow.

“Do you think I’m wearing enough makeup?” She asked in a hushed tone, “I’m second-guessing myself.”

“Rora, you look gorgeous!” Haven’s tone was almost scolding.

Harper’s attention flicked from Amma’s work on Haven to Aurora, who had quietly crept back into the room. As Aurora voiced her insecurities, she felt a familiar pang of empathy settle deep in her chest. She knew all too well the poisonous effect of self-doubt and how it could gnaw at you from the inside. Before she could respond, however, Haven’s reassuring words filled the space, seemingly echoing the sentiments she had wished to express.

Harper listened to Haven’s uplifting tone, but it left her with a vague, unsettled feeling she couldn’t quite identify. It was a fleeting sense of being out of step, something she couldn’t easily pinpoint. Although the words were meant to soothe, she felt that something was missing—a nuance that Haven’s reassurances didn’t quite capture. She glanced at Aurora and noticed her friend’s shoulders remained tense, with a flicker of doubt still visible in her eyes. Was there more she could say to Aurora that hadn’t already been said, though?

She was starting to feel somewhat…frustrated. With herself and with her best friend.

The urge to say something comforting and specific to the situation tugged at Harper either way, but the words felt stuck, tangled up with her own uncertainty about it. She opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated, the moment slipping past as quickly as it had come. Instead, she forced a small smile, trying to mask the remaining unease. Her mind raced, searching for the right words, but they eluded her. She wished she could find the perfect thing to say, something that would truly help.

“You know what....fuck 'em,” Harper said quietly, finally voicing her thoughts as she glanced over at the redhead. “Just focus on yourself tonight, okay? Because you look frickin fantastic.” The soft glow of the evening light highlighted the Aurora’s features, making her look even more radiant. Harper’s eyes softened as she added, “Seriously, you deserve to enjoy this night without concerning yourself with anything else.”

“It’s going to be a little challenging to-” She started to say, was about to explain that between Chad and Lorcán she wasn’t sure how she was going to have the opportunity to focus on herself, but she stopped in her tracks. Haven didn’t know she had accepted a different date, and neither did Amma for that matter. The last thing she wanted to do at that moment was open another can of worms and be subject to both of their opinions on the matter. Her winged friend would definitely have things to say, negative she was certain. Plus, she’d just defended her love for Lorcán to Amma the other day, it was hypocritical if anything that she flippantly chose to go with someone else. So the redhead simply swallowed and nodded, looking between the group of them, forcing a smile. “Yeah, yeah you’re right.” Aurora chose to agree, nipping the conversation in the bud.

Well, at least until Chad came and picked her up at 8.

The smile didn’t reach Aurora’s eyes, and Harper could see the strain etched into every line of her face. Aurora’s lips curved upward, but her eyes remained shadowed with doubt, a stark contrast that Harper couldn’t ignore. She recognized the forced nature of the smile, but she held back, knowing the fragile balance of offering support without overstepping—a lesson learned from past mistakes.

Instead, Harper opted for a different approach. She offered a playful wink and a small, reassuring smile. “Of course I am. When am I never?” she teased, her words light and airy, designed to lift Aurora’s spirits. Yet, deep down, Harper couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that her reassurances were falling short this time.

Unfortunately, things were about to get worse.

Amma tucked her index finger under Haven’s chin, tilting her canvas back to her with a muttered, “Quit moving.” The restless subject blinked and obeyed, her tan hands coming together in her lap to fidget as she poured her energy into her digits. Amma had delicately smoked out a dark olive green on her lash line and the crease of her fluttering gaze, mindful of the delicate look she requested but still emphasizing the hue of her bi-colored stare with touches of bronze all over the lid and a highlight of gold upon her brow. Striking but otherwise natural, she then took a small pointed brush and added the lightest lines of a dark brown color onto the outer corner, just simplistic flicks to elongate her look.

She’s listening to all their doubts, reservations, and constant reassurances proffered to one another so readily; it’s almost natural, the immediate need to soothe each other with placating words.

“What’s stopping either of you from going all out?” Amma offers, stepping back to assess her work before she leans back in. She curls Haven’s lashes with ease, mindful of the mascara brush next as she instructs her to look up, expertly working the bristles through her lashes every time she blinks.

“They always say less is more,” a laugh falls from her lips, a near-mocking trill accentuating the smirk across her face. “That doesn’t work for me.”

“But, it works for you.” She takes more touches of bronze to the high points of Haven’s face. “We can try to focus on ourselves and the fun we will have. But I know I’m going with full intention to distract a certain someone.”

A certain someone.

Aurora swallowed, her left eye twitching ever so slightly and her heartbeat escalating as her anxiety grew. There was only one person that Amma could be referring to, and that someone was her someone. Well, not hers, he was far from hers, that she already knew. But still, hearing it out in the open was definitely not getting any easier. With a curt nod, she let her gaze search around the room.

“Now where did I put my drink,” The redhead queried aloud, a bit louder and more hurried than she intended, before remembering that she had brought it to the bathroom with her when she plugged in the iron. Taking the moment to excuse herself, she walked back in that direction, her facial expression falling once her back was turned.

Harper’s eyes followed Aurora as she disappeared into the bathroom, her concern growing with each passing second that the redhead remained inside. The knot in her stomach tightened, a physical manifestation of her worry. She knew all too well about Aurora’s feelings for Lorcán and could easily assume that the comment had struck a nerve. Yet, for now, all she could do was wait.

Meanwhile, Haven couldn’t help herself, her eyes flicking in Aurora’s general direction. All she saw was a flash of copper from the corner of her vision. She quickly recovered, remembering Amma’s instructions, and looked over the expression on her artist’s face as she continued to be the perfect subject. Well, about as perfectly still as she could make herself be.

The awkward interaction with Lorcán blazed through her thoughts, as much as she wished it hadn’t as her lips twitched downwards for a moment with the unpleasant memory. There had to be something she was missing. Something her sleep-deprived brain must have looked over while she spoke with the upset brah. It also just didn’t make sense that she hadn’t heard Amma come into the dorm last night. It had been eating at her all day. Certainly Amma wouldn’t speak of Lorcán like that in front of Aurora, either. She drew air through her nose, her fingers twitching again, and the boldness of her next words were definitely the double shots doing as she popped the question.

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

None of your business.

The words were on the tip of Harper’s tongue as Haven posed the inquiry. A wave of irritation surged through her, hot and prickly, but she swallowed it down, knowing that snapping would only pour fuel on the fire. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to remain composed. Instead of lashing out, she shifted her focus to Amma, watching intently for any sign of how she was handling the intrusive inquiry. All the while, Harper’s face remained a carefully crafted mask of neutrality, even as her mind churned with the effort of restraint.

“You really ask too many questions, Haven.” Amma lanced back quickly, tapping a brush against the tip of Haven’s nose before she leaned back, finger poised against Haven’s chin, tilting her head to one side to capture the glimmering highlight upon her cheek with a satisfied nod.

“But if you really must know, you’ll just have to wait and see. He has the most interesting eyes.”

Haven’s nose crinkled in a playful scowl after the brush had tapped it. Yet she didn’t push any further with Amma’s delicate touch on her chin, tilting her head to be positioned as wished. It was a strange feeling to be this close to the raven-haired teammate. While she was oddly comfortable with it, no doubt because of their moment that morning, she did wonder for a moment what Rory would think about it. How he had warned her to be careful around Amma.

Harper cringed inwardly, every fibre of her being recoiling from the emotional shrapnel unintentionally fired by their enigmatic teammate. It felt as if a bullet had been aimed straight at Aurora’s heart, and she was powerless to intercept it. No matter how desperately she wished she could shield her friend from the pain, she knew she couldn’t. As always.

Yet, that wasn’t even the worst part of all of this for her.

A small part of her wondered if this might be a good thing. If Amma really did have feelings for Lorcán, perhaps this was a turning point. Maybe, because of him, the raven-haired woman was starting to open up in ways she never had before. This possibility brought a glimmer of hope for deeper connections within their team. Still…

“How about we change the subject?” Harper suggested, her voice carrying a subtle edge of finality. “I don’t think Amma needs to be interrogated like this.”

Something about the way Harper spoke burned a hole in Haven’s stomach. That hint of irritation her words had carried with them didn’t go unnoticed. What right did Harper have to be getting upset? When did the brunette start to feel defensive of Amma? And why couldn’t she have been that way earlier, when her friend had acted much worse?

“It was just one question,” Haven spoke softly as she rebutted, and yet she avoided looking Amma in the eye. It might have been obvious she was prying, but she was doing it for the sake of her own mind. It was none of her business to know what they might have done in the room, but it was her business to know if anyone entering the dorm had gone unnoticed. She found herself turning her head out of Amma’s reach, desperate to find something else to focus her attention on as her eyes caught sight of the mirror beside her.

All of her uncertainty blew away with the wind as she saw her reflection within it. She leaned in to get a full view of what she saw before her. She looked like a truly grown woman. While she thought her natural state was beautiful on its own, the cosmetics had enhanced that nature and turned it into something breathtaking. The colors chosen reflected the lush forests she adored so well, the golds brightening her eyes like the sun had kissed her.

“Amma, this is… wow.” She breathed, her eyes darting about the mirror to take in each place the makeup had been set. “Thank you. I think his heart might actually skip a beat.”

“Of course it will.” She carefully began putting away her things, the shots from earlier sending spindling leagues of warmth through her, a sort of ease dispelled through her movements.

Aurora awkwardly cleared her throat as she exited the bathroom and stepped closer to the pair, her heart having sunk even further at the mention of Lorcán’s sunset eyes.

“Haven, I uh,” She found her voice to be softer than prior, more hesitant, “The curling iron is heated up, I can start your hair if you’re ready.” The redhead took in the makeup job that Amma did, of course, it was perfect, why wouldn’t it have been anything but? Putting her pride aside, she met the matching pair of blue eyes a few feet away, “You did a really nice job,” She complimented before walking back to the bathroom without another word.

This was going to be a lot harder than she thought.

Haven turned to face Aurora with a smile when she first heard the redhead’s approach. Her recovered excitement was visible in her eyes as she remembered that she hadn’t even finished getting ready. The excitement quickly dulled into soft concern as she heard Rora’s tone. Her lips parted, almost tempted to ask if her friend was feeling alright, but Harper’s scolding had her holding her tongue. She let Aurora make her retreat from the room before she turned back to Amma.

“I owe you some help for this. Know you don’t want it, but someday you might.” Her smile was quick, falling from her face before it could be squashed by Amma’s rejection. She was up from her chair a moment later as she reached for her duffle. Her movements were equally swift as she moved to the bathroom, the duffle hanging from her grip.

Harper watched as Haven left the room, trailing after Aurora into the bathroom. Though the door remained ajar, an unexpected wave of discomfort washed over her, prickling her skin like a thousand tiny needles. The open door felt like an invisible barrier she couldn’t cross, amplifying her sense of unease and making the room feel even more suffocating. Her gaze flicked to Amma, who was meticulously packing away her makeup supplies. Each movement was calm and methodical, almost graceful, as if she were performing a delicate dance. How she managed to make such a simple act so…mystifying was beyond Harper. The brunette found herself mesmerized, momentarily distracted from her own discomfort by the serene precision of Amma’s actions.

For a moment, Harper was tempted to shatter the silence, to confront Amma directly about what was going on between her and Lorcán. The question burned on the tip of her tongue, but something held her back—the gnawing uncertainty of whether she truly wanted to hear the answer, or, like Haven, if it was even her place to ask.

Instead, she opted for a different approach. “You really have a way with makeup,” Harper said, though her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. She wasn’t just referring to Amma’s deft skill with brushes and colours—there was an intangible quality to the way Amma carried herself, an aura of quiet confidence and insight that Harper couldn’t quite pin down. “It’s like you see more than the rest of us do.”

Harper knew it was a vague statement, almost cryptic, but she couldn’t bring herself to be more direct. She wanted to understand Amma, to uncover the layers behind this change in her demeanour, but she also didn’t want to push too hard. The desire to connect and the fear of overstepping waged a silent battle within her. She hoped her words would open a door, even just a crack, to the deeper truths she sensed were hidden beneath Amma’s composed exterior.

She tensed; it was subtle, barely noticed through the mindful placement of her gestures as she put her things away. Everything was in place until she snapped it closed with a whistling sigh over the pout of her lip. The brass clasps were almost too loud and severe, and her breath punctuated the space between them as Amma turned to regard Harper carefully.

“Call it experience, I guess.” She rejoined, a subdued bite to her usual whispers, the husk that carried through her annunciation with her accent tapered off just at the end. She was a perceptive creature, and it did not go unnoticed–the immediate threads of uncertainty– with the vague suggestions of her words to whom she intended at the dance, but did she owe it to them to clarify?

“I see many things, but no more than you, I imagine, mm?”

“Maybe,” Harper replied, her tone contemplative, almost as if she was speaking more to herself than to Amma. “But it feels like you’re always a step ahead. Like you see what’s coming before the rest of us even realize there’s something to see.” She shifted her weight slightly, her fingers idly playing with the hem of her well-worn black hoodie. “Back when we talked about what comes after graduation, you warned us about the world outside-the darkness and fear it holds. It’s almost like…you’ve been preparing for it your whole life. I just wonder…if that’s why you always seem to see things before the rest of us do.”

“Because that is what my life was,” Amma leaned back, arms crossed, almost defensively, before she dropped them, allowing her gaze to track every idle motion Harper made, allowing the intensity of her eyes to peer yonder the usual reserve the girl kept; that faithful and unwavering stance she was known for, bidden under a haze of unease that was unlike her. Amma always assumed her rigidity, but something had shifted there, and unspoken through her words was a question she knew was not so easily proposed.

“For the world outside is dark, and it is afraid, as it always will be. And I have seen what it offers me, and I have found it lacking. You live in the darkness long enough that you see what comes through and becomes of it, always hiding in the shadows.” She delicately holds out her hand; fingers splayed, the scars worn into her palms and through her gestures suddenly aglow in a series of crimson coils that spin away from her flesh, attaching onto the fringes of the world she so easily dismantled. “Even so, I have chosen to live, and I will do so without forgiveness until I take everything back that was taken from me.”

Harper’s gaze locked onto the crimson coils, mesmerized as they twisted and danced around Amma’s hand. The light they cast flickered across Amma’s features, painting her in an otherworldly glow. Each movement of the coils seemed to pulse with a life of its own, a silent symphony of power and grace. Amma’s voice, her words, carried a quiet power that resonated deep within Harper’s core. It was as if the very essence of strength and certainty was woven into them, stirring something primal inside her. A sharp, almost painful twist of emotion.

Was it envy that Amma could wield such power with ease? Admiration for her unwavering resolve? Or perhaps a glimmer of fear at the sheer magnitude of what she was witnessing?

Meanwhile, Aurora motioned for Haven to take a seat, having pulled one of the barstools from the kitchen area into the bathroom to make the process more comfortable for both girls. After all, Aurora was a few inches shorter than her winged friend, not to mention the shortest member of Blackjack. It’d be easier to get the job done this way.

“I have some hair ties and clips in my bag if you think we need them, Rora.” Haven began as she entered the threshold. “I don’t mind what we do with it, I just want it out of my face.” Her eyes moved over her friend's expression as she set the bag down on the sink, and she found herself wondering if this was something Aurora was still up for. “I can do it myself if you show me. I don’t want to keep you from anything else you need to do.”

The redhead quickly shook her head, forcing a smile and trying to mask any air of discomfort that she may have been feeling in the moment. It didn’t matter that she was uneasy about everything going on between Amma and Lorcán, didn’t matter that any confessions she would make later were going to fall on deaf ears, she couldn’t let that ruin her night or put a damper on this much needed normalcy in a sea of hardship.

“I’m thinking a braid would be nice,” Aurora mused, examining Haven’s head and seeing what she had to work with. She went to move around her hair, but hesitated. Knowing that she was probably still shaken up from the experiences she’d been subject to, she chose to air on the side of caution. “Can I touch your hair?” She asked, looking at her friend through the reflection of the mirror in front of them.

Haven took her place on the stool slowly as she watched Aurora for any sign of doubt. Her body didn’t relax in the chair until it seemed to her that the redhead wasn’t looking to speak on what was bothering her. Tawny wings lowered themselves to make her hair accessible, the extra length that would have been grazing the floor behind moving to nearly wrap around the stool at her feet. She slid her feet out of her slides as the conversation in the living area caught her attention, briefly wondering what Harper had started with her theory as the pads of her feet pressed against the stool’s footrest. It almost distracted her from Aurora’s question.

Her eyes lifted from the counter where she’d been eyeing the curling iron to meet the sapphires that reflected in the mirror. Rora’s question hit home, right in the center of her chest. She found herself blinking once as her mind processed it. The liquor was doing its job well. Any memories when she hadn’t been asked such a question, that would have easily overwhelmed her, remained at the back of her mind like a dark and distant cloud.

Instead she felt a warmth blossom in her chest, and a wide, grateful smile spread across her lips as she nodded. “Of course, Rora.” Her tone was soft, tinged with a wistful lilt that underlined the gravity of what the question meant to her. The love she felt for Rora in this moment still shined in her eyes despite it.

The redhead nodded, a small, shy smile pulling her lip upwards. She let her fingers run through Haven’s tresses, sectioning off three portions towards the crown of her head, the beginnings of a dutch braid. It didn’t take long for her to weave the strands together, adding in pieces as she went. While Aurora may not have been strong when it came to her makeup skills, she excelled at all things hair. She was fortunate that during one of her brief foster placements, one of her ‘sisters’ taught her how to braid, having been captivated by her auburn locks. It was a skill that she carried with her since then, one that although seemed useless in practice in comparison to others, definitely came in handy during moments like this.

As she worked her grip downwards, reaching the nape of Haven’s neck, she couldn’t help but notice etched letters that graced her fair skin. It was a language she didn’t recognize, something foreign that she couldn’t quite place, reminiscent of something in one of her textbooks. Knowing better than to pry, Aurora simply assumed that the tattoo was something personal and left it at that. After all, the winged girl had never mentioned having any permanent art on her body.

Grabbing an elastic from the countertop, the redhead tied off the braid with ease, placing it over Haven’s right shoulder. With deft fingers, she pulled out a few pieces from around her temples, wispies that would frame her face. Taking the curling iron, she wrapped the strands in the direction opposite her face, holding them on the barrel for only a few seconds before releasing.

“There,” She stated, setting the iron back down before spraying some hairspray to hold the style, “What do you think?”

Haven had been surprisingly still throughout the process. Her posture, while almost always perfect thanks to years of supporting the limbs on her back, was at ease as she let Aurora’s nimble fingers run through her hair. The moment they shared before had given her a peace of mind she hadn’t felt around anyone but Rory in a long while. Her eyes fluttered to a close, thoughts drifting between the feeling of having her hair played with by someone she’d lost long ago, the conversation between two unsuspecting friends past the doorway, and the gentle breathing of her friend behind her. She would have been lulled to sleep if the redhead took any longer, but eventually she felt the end of her braid tied off. Her soft locks tucked over her shoulder to reveal Rora’s work as Haven’s eyes opened once more.

They followed Aurora’s fingers as the baby hairs were pulled out around her face and styled. There was no doubt they would have naturally fallen out anyways. She admired the look of peace on Aurora’s face as the other worked, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she wished that this moment could last a little longer.

Then the curling iron was set aside, and Haven scrunched her nose in playful discomfort as the hairspray was set upon her. When Aurora stepped away, she finally got a full view of the masterful braid that she now wore. It was much prettier than she expected; the rushed style that Haven might have done on her own would have never come close to it. Her smile spread, dimples appearing easily, and she nodded before looking into Aurora’s eyes. “It’s perfect. Thanks so much, Rora, really.”

“Feel free to style my hair anytime. Seriously. That felt so nice.”

The redhead beamed, happy to have been able to help, thrilled to have contributed positively to Haven’s night. It also didn’t hurt that this was a great distraction from whatever had been going on before between her and Amma, her words still echoing in the back of her mind. Her sapphire eyes seemed to sparkle, a light brought back to them that wasn’t there prior.

“Of course, I’m so glad you like it.”