When he had begun his journey back into his own dorm, the sight that met him was unnerving to say the least. The 430 door (and he knew it was 430 because he'd looked to the number three times desperately hoping it wasn't his) had apparently exploded. The door that he was pretty sure was strong enough to keep the young subnaturals inside. He approached cautiously, peeking his head in to see what the situation was like.
"Hey cuff guy...we've got a little bit of a situation at Suite 430." Marcus said quietly. "The door's in like, a million pieces right now, but I don't know if anybody's inside."
He bent down to the rubble, picking up one of the larger splinters and standing with his back flat against the wall. He strained his ears to see if he could hear anything but the blood that was thumping in his ears. He tried to ignore the cold, empty feeling of fear as he looked back into the room, holding the splinter of wood in one hand, and flicking on the flashlight on his phone with the other.
The shadows that he cast across the floor were silent, twisting and turning as Marcus nervously stepped into the room, looking around and illuminating the corners and crevices first. He stopped, flipping the light switch next to the empty door frame, eyes darting around as the rest of the room lit up. The living room seemed to be fine - which made Marcus relax a little bit. Maybe Callan had just sleep-walked out the door or something, or maybe Siena took a strong name and underestimated herself when she was leaving.
His calm immediately shot back to hesitation as he walked into the rest of the suite. His gaze immediately focused on the deep claw marks in the carpet. Those were a little harder for his brain to rationalize, and he wracked his mind trying to figure out what could have possibly made them. Not either of his roommates...and as furious as he thought Siena's dog was, there was no way it could have done this.
A quick look over the rest of the room showed that everything was still in its proper place - at least, all of his stuff was. None of Callan or Siena's things looked like it had been moved, it even looked like one of them had got some new things, but he didn't memorize the layout of the room well enough to know for sure. The only other thing of note were the shattered bits on the floor near Callan's bed. They looked electronic, whatever they used to be.
What he didn't see was signs of a struggle. Besides the door, the claw marks, and the shattered thing, there was nothing to suggest anything bad had happened here. He wasn't quite sure how to take the bit of logical deduction - it was either a good thing, or a very bad thing. He sat down on his own bed for a moment, trying to gather himself as he involuntarily began to panic slightly. He pulled out his phone, quickly selecting both Callan and Siena.
Hey...quick question: where are you right now?
Hopefully, if they both responded, there was nothing really to worry about. Apart from the clawed intruder, of course.
His phone buzzed, and he let out a sigh of relief.
Heading back now. Did you need something?
That was at least one accounted for.
"Hey there, Mr. Howell!" Fredric's familiar voice chimed from Marcus's cuff, prefaced by a loud beep, "Sorry for the late response. Pretty busy today! Uhh, don't worry about the door there! We'll have it fixed in a jiffy!" Beep.
His good buddy Freddy. The guy who he could count on to always irritate him when that cuff beeped. As far as Marcus recollected, Freddy had not been helpful once during all their lovely conversations. Even now, it seemed like he was missing the point by a mile.
"While I appreciate that Fred, there was definitely an intruder in here. Something tore up the carpet, and I've only been able to get a hold of Siena so far."
Saying it outloud certainly didn't help him to calm down. Some big monster was roaming around somewhere on campus, and he couldn't get ahold of one of his roommates. By this time, he was starting to slowly pace around the room, his brain already coming up with worst case scenarios that he had to actively try and ignore.
Several more seconds passed before Fredric answered again. "Nope! No reports of any intruders in Suite 430, Mr. Howell. Which is remarkable considering how long your door's been like that, huh? Really gotta fix that. Anyway, I can assure you that both your roommates are perfectly fine."
Both his roommates were fine. That much was enough to alleviate his worry. Normally, he'd be kind of creeped out that Fredric could tell him that so quickly, but right now he was more converned about other matters.
"You're positive? And what do you mean, 'no intruders'? There's huge claw marks in the carpet, Fred...did the dog do that? Does he have super powers too?" Marcus said, a hint of bitterness surfacing to replace the anxiety. Something here wasn't adding up, and the gears in his mind hadn't even skipped a step between worry and trying to solve this enigma.
When the cuff beeped again, Fredric could be heard sighing into the reciever, "Mr. Howell, forgive me if I sound discourteous, but I am quite busy. I don't have time to entertain your weird questions or repeat myself."
"You're right. My bad. Didn't mean to take up so much of your time. It's obvious, isn't it? Should have figured out that the huge beast marks came from one of my roommates." Marcus said, rolling his eyes despite the fact that he doubted Fred could see it. "Thanks for your help, Freddie." While delivered in a sarcastic tone, the statement was half-genuine at least; Fred had answered fifty percent of his worries, but now he had more questions than answers.
It was cold and bizarrely lonely outside the hospital-- in spite of the hope promised by Sander's progress during the fight or the advice from Lawrence about strength and control. Without anything to distract herself, the thoughts from earlier crept back into the forefront of her mind. Her parents were out of the picture. That much was clear. Fond memories of family outings, celebrations, and holidays, now tainted by Dom's news, were suddenly a lot less fond and a lot more confusing. She couldn't understand why they would cut her off like this, but... for now, she'd just have to cope.
Callan didn't want to cause any more trouble for her folks, so calling her other family members and friends was off the table as far as ideas went. The anger that consumed her earlier had subsided, leaving a dull sort of ache in its place.
Trying to move her mind elsewhere, she pulled at the front of her blood soaked shirt, which had stuck to her skin again for the umpteenth time. Gross. Pherhaps the blood would wash out. She really liked this top. Feeling the back, she ran her hand along the tear in the fabric. "Damn it, she muttered. At least it wasn't as bad as the first day-- fighting that massive two-headed thing with acidic blood. She paused for a moment, in front of what remained of the tree she'd punched yesterday. The streetlamps around the courtyard buzzed noisily in the surrounding silence, each hosting its own little soiree for the surrounding moths and mosquitos.
What would her parents say if she told them about everything she'd done so far?
Maybe they'd be dissappointed since she'd managed to kill exactly none of the several monsters they were up against. Or dissappointed that she hadn't helped her team win the Flag and Seek game. "A waste of talent!" her father used to say after a bad game diluted by more hesitation than action. He'd been a real hardass sometimes, but it'd made her a better player. They'd always been supportive. And she'd always done her best.
But circumstances change. She could adapt. She had to.
No longer assaulted by the cold outdoor wind, Callan let her air down as she entered the lobby of Building A. Making her way up the stairs, she lost herself in thought as she tousled her hair. Exhaustion nipping at her heals, she found it harder to focus on any single thought the closer she got to her suite and therefore bed. Approaching her door on the fourth floor, which had been repaired since her departure earlier that afternoon, she forgot all about the demolition work her roommates may have seen. It took several lazy swipes with her I.D. card before the door finally unlocked. Turning the doorknob, she pushed the door open with her shoulder. Blinking as her eyes adjusted to the drastic change in lighting, she first noticed the blue glow from the television set adjacent to the door. It illuminated the couch, whereupon her amethyst eyes noticed the dimly lit figure of a person sitting there.
It had been a long night for Marcus, despite the assurances that Callan was fine, he still wanted to go out and check on her. Curfew had rolled around though, and a veiled threat of being electrocuted had been exchanged before he agreed to stay in the room. Now, he lay on the couch in front of the TV. Some news station, no doubt talking about some more DC activity, or the lastest defenses, or something like that. Marcus wouldn't know, as he stared at the TV, but lost in his own thoughts.
The familiar click of the door alerted him, however. He sat up quickly, squinting as his TV-strained eyes adjusted enough to see the figure standing there. He let go a breath he didn't realize he was holding, before scooting over on the couch to make room. Her ragged appearance, the blood that covered her shirt and hands. Something had certainly gone down with Callan, and he had a pretty good idea of what...or rather, who was to blame here. Right now was not the time for it though; he just wanted to make sure she was okay.
"Are you alright?" No joking, no silly tone, just a straight question.
Marcus. What was he doing up so late? Callan glanced at the spot on the couch, noting with clarity that he seemed to expect her to sit down. It was tempting, but dirt and blood were hardly attractive. She was grateful for the dim lighting as she quickly shut the door behind her. Maybe she could pretend she didn't see him move over.
"Uh, yeah. I'm fine," she replied, turning back to face him. She did her best to keep the exhaustion out of her voice, but the words came out as more of a sigh. Relatively speaking, she didn't feel very fine. "You're up late," she noted, hoping to steer the conversation away from herself as she headed towards her bed; she was in dire need of a shower.
"The place was in a bit of a mess, and Freddy said you will still okay; but I wanted to make sure for myself." He stretched as he said this, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Now that Callan was back, he could certainly rest easy. He had questions though, questions that he didn't exactly want to press, however.
She remembered now. The broken phone, the claw marks, the door.... But her brain didn't want to focus on any of that. "You were waiting for me?" she asked, stopping. She stared at him, concerned but also kind of... happy?
"Well yeah." Marcus said, as if Callan's question was obvious. "I'm not just going to sleep tight if there's a chance one of you guys is in trouble. I honestly doubt I could have if I wanted to. he said, a tired grin illuminated by the television.
Of course. Callan paused. 'One of you guys'. He would've done it for either of his roommates. But it was so much nicer to think otherwise, she decided to let that happy feeling linger just a little longer. "Thanks," she smiled, glancing down at his shoes, "But... I'm fine. You should get some sleep."
"I should, but it can wait if needed." Marcus said, standing up and stretching again. As far as he knew, there were only a few people who walked around at midnight; most of them were usually people who were lost in thought, or just troubled and needing the fresh air. People who needed someone to talk to, or at least a reassuring hug or something.
"Are you sure everything's alright in Callan World?" he ventured, probably being a little more nosey than he needed to be.
She knew she probably shouldn't bother him with it. He was obviously tired and she'd imposed enough by worrying him. She'd already vented. But when it came time to respond, the defenses didn't come up like they should. Maybe she was too tired. Maybe because it was Marcus. For whatever reason, she sighed, tightly hugging herself as her posture tensed.
"Things have been better in Callan World," she admitted with a half hearted chuckle.
"Do you want to talk about it? he asked.
Looking between Marcus and the floor she finally shook her head. "It wouldn't change anything," she answered, "I'll be alright, though."
"Alright." Marcus said, after a short pause. "Do you need like, a reassuring hug or something? Shoulder to cry on? I can go make a suit out of your pillows and have you throw me across the room if that'd make you feel better!" he added, trying to at least bring the mood up a little.
Callan laughed nervously. "Tempting. I'm a mess though. Really just need to shower and go to bed, I think."
"Before you do that..." Marcus interrupted, his tone nearly apologetic. He was at least determined to try and answer one of these mysteries tonight, and even if Callan wasn't willing to talk about whatever it was that was going on with her, something big had been in the room - a circumstance that he felt warranted questioning.
"...when I walked in, there were these giant claw marks in the ground. I was worried that one of DC's boys had been in...do you...do you know anything about those?"
She froze, fingers digging into her arms as her mind raced for an answer. For a moment she'd almost thought Marcus wouldn't ask or had somehow managed not to see the claw marks. Wishful thinking. Lawrence and Sander knew-- and what was stopping them from spreading the news? Why not just tell him? Lawrence and Sander... niether of them had made her feel bad about it. They hadn't made it seem like they were going to avoid her or mark her as a monster... not like....
The sudden image of her parents scared the truth out of her mouth. She couldn't tell anyone else-- least of all Marcus. Not yet.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she answered unconvincingly. Callan quickly turned away, walking towards her bed and gathering up a set of clean clothes from the floor. Noticing Siena asleep at her desk, she lowered her voice, "Maybe it was the dog."
Well, that was his answer then. Callan's lie hadn't gone unnoticed by Marcus, especially since she pulled the 'blame it on the dog' card. His eyes searched her expression, thinking for a moment about pushing to get a real explanation, before he sighed quietly to himself. It was pretty obvious that he wasn't conviced, but there was no reason to pursue the issue, especially if she wasn't willing to talk about it. His roommates were safe, and he'd figured out where the claw marks had come from - that was all had wanted to find out, and he still felt unsatisfied with his answers.
"Alright/ he repeated. "Get yourself cleaned up; I'll probably be asleep when you get out." He walked towards his own bed, pulling back the covers, but stopping and looking over his shoulder before he crawled in. "Get a good night's sleep, Cal, and..."
don't forget that there are people here who care about you.
Words he'd heard before, that hung heavy on the tip of his tongue. Good advice, but the burning taste of hypocricy that accompanied the thought.
"...Siena and I are here if you need us." he decided on.
She couldn't delude herself into thinking Marcus would believe what she'd said. He was suspicious, but that's how it had to be. She'd tell everyone eventually. Hopefully sooner than later, but still. Lingering in the bathroom doorway, she watched Marcus settle into bed, still convincing herself that keeping Misery a secret was the better idea. It felt wrong, worsening that evergrowing feeling of unpleasant solitude as she silently surveyed her roomates. Honesty had always come so easily-- so why was this so hard?
She closed the bathroom door before flipping the light on. The answer stared back at her in the mirror with blood caked knuckles and a blood soaked shirt. She still felt awful about what happened with Sander-- and what almost happened with Lawrence. Back at the hospital, Sander hadn't brought it up. but he probably had just as many questions as Marcus. From what she'd seen of him, he didn't seem to talk to very many people, so perhaps she didn't have to worry about him telling anyone. Of course, she'd still have to bring it up sometime soon-- as much as she wasn't looking forward to that discussion.
There was a good chance he'd already told Christmas, but he seemed like a kinda quiet guy. Kusari had obviously been suspiscious of the marks on Sander, but as long as she avoided her, she wouldn't have to worry about answering too many questions. Beneath a steady stream of hot water, Callan covered her face and groaned into her palm. This was turning into a bigger headache than she'd expected. She couldn't keep it up forever. If she didn't learn how to control Misery soon, someone was going to find out.
By the time Callan emerged from the bathroom, dawning a fresh pair of shorts and a clean shirt while still toweling off her hair, she felt even worse than before. Grabbing her iPad, she used the dim light of the screen to look over the floor. Grabbing the largely unused wastebin from beside her desk, she quickly scooped up the broken pieces of plastic that were once her phone. With that done, she turned her attention to the scars in the floor. Running her hands over them, it was obvious there would be no quick fix. She covered it with the aquamarine beanbag and two pillows. Perhaps she'd pick up a rug in town for a more permanent solution later, but this would have to do for now.
Quietly setting her tablet back on her desk, she stopped to look at the pictures she'd pinned up earlier that day. They were barely visible in the dark room, but she could make out the one of her parents. Reaching out to catch the corner of the photograph, she stayed like that for a good minute, lost in thought. She couldn't make out their faces now, but she remembered what they looked like. Their smiles, the way they held each other, and the lights. The scent of funnel cake and chilly Christmas air.
It was a good memory and she wanted it to stay that way. She didn't understand now... but perhaps one day she would. Maybe they'd understand, too. With a heavy sigh, she left the picture alone. Crawling into bed, she tried her best to linger on the positives of the day. Crying wouldn't do her any good-- she couldn't afford to get worked up again. Her body seemed to agree. With sleep came relief from all the new worries, making the solitude feel welcome as her world faded to black.
ID card and pants in hand, Callan left. She caught Siena shooting her a curious look as she shot off the bed and pulled her shoes on, but offered no explanation beyond a quick "I'll be right back." Her legs carried her up the stairs and to the room number on the boy's ID. Suite 3-something. Her knuckles hovered over the door and she took a deep breath. It was late, but she didn't care. She had to ask now-- get it out of her system.
She knocked three times, trying to keep it at a reasonable volume so as not to catch the attention of anyone other than Sander and whoever his roommates happened to be. She took a step back and waited.
Kusari heard a knock on her dorm's door. She wondered who it could be this late. The guards knocked far louder than that, so it couldn't be them. She looked over to her roommate, Sander didn't look like he was going to answer it anytime soon. "Fine, I'll get it." She sighed and stood from her bed. Her right foot snagged on the carpet, nearly causing her to trip. She wondered if they'd make special shoes for her, something to stop her from slicing into things she stepped on. She scoffed and walked to the door.
Opening the door, she saw that their visitor was Callan. She raised her right hand to wave hello, but quickly dropped it as she remembered what it currently looked like. "Oh, Callan. Why are you here so late?" She asked.
Callan blinked up at her in surprise. "Kusari? This is your room?" she asked needlessly.
"That didn't answer my question, but whatever." Kusari hid her right hand behind her back, trying to make it look natural. "Yeah, this is my room. Since you aren't here for me, I'm guessing you're here to see Sander? I doubt you have any reason to see Christmas."
"Uh," Kusari's abruptness caught her off guard. Callan was still perturbed by her behavior during the game, but she apologized anyway. "Sorry," she said, averting her eyes, "Yeah... I want to talk to Sander." She considered asking about Kusari's arm-- about whether or not she was okay-- but decided against it.
Sander sat at his desk, scrolling through some random retail websites. His slightly slouched posture might suggest exhaustion, but his mind was still far too alert. Not to mention the fact that he had snagged a few hours of sleep earlier, so he imagined rest wouldnโt come anytime soon. He wished it would though. Another few hours of not thinking about anything sounded like heaven. It was just delaying the inevitable, he knew, but there were just so much to process right now, and he felt his nerves fraying.
The sound of knocking did reach him, but he paid it no mind. It was probably just another guard. Sometime later, the door was opened, and he heard soft voices behind him. He didnโt feel like socializing at the moment, but at the mention of his name, he half-turned, looking over his shoulder. It was the aquamarine-haired girl. Callan.
The replay of the fight came back on the front of his mind, and for a brief moment, Sander looked almost similar to a deer in the headlight. He quickly schooled his face back into neutrality though, but didnโt make any move toward the door.
Kusari noticed Callan break eye contact. She was being a bit pricklier than she needed to be, but her mood dictated that she not give a shit at the moment. Kusari left the door open and walked further into the room. "Hey Sander, a girl's here to see you. This is probably rare for you so I'll understand if you don't want to see her." She said, pointing her left thumb towards the door.
Perhaps her mood was worse than she thought.
Callan flinched as she was referred to as 'a girl'. She wasn't mad enough at Kusari for that not to sting. Where was this coming from? She looked past Kusari at Sander. She hadn't even considered the idea of Sander not wanting to see her.
Sander held back a sigh as he rose from his seat. In a few quick steps, he was already at the door, standing before Callan. It wasnโt that he didnโt want to see Callan; he didnโt really want to see anyone at this time. It had been a long day, he was tired, and his nerves were chafing from the earlier events. Still, she had come all this wayโฆIt would be bad form to just turn her away.
โGood evening, Callanโ -He smiled, though the gesture didnโt quite reach his eyes โโCan I help you?โ
Her gaze flickered between his eyes and the mark on his throat as he spoke-- being right in her line of sight, it was hard to miss. She quickly held the pants out for him to take, looking back up at his face. "You forgot these," she said, tentatively returning his smile.
โAh, those.โ -Sanderโs eyes widened momentarily as he accepted the item. He didnโt miss the way she eyed the Aberration mark, though it was a given. She had been at the receiving end of its power, after all โโThank you.โ
"Heh," she exhaled with relief, glad to finally be rid of them and that Sander didn't seem to be the gloating type. A moment passed as she began to question herself one final time. She didn't leave any room for the doubt to take root. The question spilled from her mouth clumsily.
"Can I talk to you for a sec? O-outside?"
Sander spent a few moments watching Callan carefully, gauging her intention. Was he due for another round of questionings and accusations? Or something worse? Why did she wait until now? And yet, Callan didnโt seem to have the right attitude for that sort of thing. At least, he didnโt think so. Still, her purpose didnโt matter. He felt like he owed her as much, after all that happened.
โSure.โ -He inhaled sharply, fighting the exhaustion โโLet me just get my coat.โ
"Yeah," she nodded simply, sticking her hands into her pockets with a stiff shrug.
Leading the way down the hall and staircase once he'd grabbed his coat, she glanced up at Sander over her shoulder. She really wanted him to agree to what she was about to ask, so maybe she should try breaking the ice? Unfortunately, in order to do so she said the first thing that popped into her head. "Are you okay?" she asked, "You look kinda...." Her voice trailed off.
It's late, idiot. What's wrong with you??
"I mean-- sorry it's so late. You're probably tired," she added quickly.
Sander followed quietly, hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie. He kept his gaze on some random point at his feet, waiting for Callan to speak up first. And eventually, she did.
โYeah, itโs late. Almost curfew.โ -Sander accepted Callanโs explanation easily with a shrug โโWe shouldnโt take too long.โ
"Right," she nodded, feeling even worse. She didn't expect their conversation to take long, but she'd completely forgotten about curfew. Was he worried about getting in trouble with the guards? She fell silent as they passed through the lobby, spotting Marcus with his phone in hand. Could he be talking to Emma? Not important. Focus.
She led him outside into the courtyard, a good several meters away from the door towards a bench and a few trees. She stopped, but didn't sit down. "I think this is good" she commented. She turned to face him, eyes sweeping the area to make sure they were alone before falling back to him.
Sander remained standing as well, though he did move to lean slightly against the bench โโAlright.โ-He nodded simply, eyes on Callan, waiting.
She took her hands out of her pockets and bit down on her lip as she took a deep breath. She didn't want to spend anymore time trying to figure out how to best phrase the question, so she simply said it-- eyes locked on Sander and fists clenched anxiously.
"I want a rematch."
"What the fuck!?" Kusari yelled involuntarily. She'd followed Sander and Callan, concerned that something stupid might happen. She didn't know what, but frankly she didn't have much else to do and she didn't trust Sander at all. With that in mind, color her surprised when she heard Callan's reason for wanting to speak to Sander. "Absolutely not!" She said, moving from behind a tree and storming over towards the two of them. "Why would you want to fight him again? you know how dangerous that can be! He can barely control his power as is, he doesn't need another excuse to go berserk."
Sander coughed lightly into a closed fist to hide his shivering, before wrapping arms around himself once more. He was only mildly surprised when Kusari appeared; he thought he caught her scent somewhere when they rounded a corner. He didnโt call her out then, seeing as how it wasnโt his place to do so, but now it seemed he wouldnโt have to. He merely stared as she spoke.
Callan stiffened as Kusari suddenly appeared. Listening to what she had to say, her bold expression quickly became tinged with irritation directed at the white-haired girl. For the second time that night, she ignored Kusari's question-- this time on purpose. "Can you leave?" she retorted coldly, "I kinda want to talk to Sander alone about this."
"I... I can't" Kusari said through clenched teeth. She was doing it again. She was interested in Callan, so of course she didn't want her to be hurt, but it wasn't just that. She didn't want any of her fellow classmates to fight again. "You can... be as pissed of at me as you want, but I know this is a bad idea." She glanced at Sander, remembering the moment he drained her of nearly all her blood. "You shouldn't want to do this either, Sander. Fighting isn't pleasant to you, is it?
Callan stared hard at Kusari, her expression unreadable. She looked to Sander, waiting for his response.
There was just something sickeningly familiar about being talked over like he were not even there, and Sander wasnโt sure he appreciated the reminder. It was quite clear to him, for a while now, that Kusari looked at him and saw the monster. Not the boy who was doing the best that he could with what he had. And he couldnโt really fault her for that. Just like how he couldnโt fault them for what they did. Still, a flash of hot rage coiled at the pit of his stomach, just as tension nestled itself in a spot between his shoulder blades. He diverted his gaze, suddenly found the nearby tree especially fascinating.
When Kusari finally turned to address him, he returned the eye contact, but his neutral mask had hardened into cold impassiveness. Even as she asked him the questions, his blank gaze remained steady, though the answers never left his lips. Kusari seemed like she already had that question figured out for him. He let her keep her assumptions. Less effort on his end.
When it seemed obvious Sander wasn't going to say anything, Callan exhaled through her nose and looked between the two. This wasn't going at all like she'd hoped. Why? Why was Kusari of all people trying to interfere? Kusari, who couldn't make it through a flag football game without breaking someone's arm? The same girl who asked Callan to punch her with all her strength just to see if she could survive it?
"Kusari," she said finally. Her voice softened, though not without some difficulty, "Please. Go."
Sander ignored her, and Callan insisted she leave. Kusari opened her mouth to protest, but stopped. Words weren't going to convince her, and it wasn't as if she would physically stop her. She grinded her teeth and looked down to the ground in frustration. "Fine... Just be careful. Enough of us have died already." Kusari didn't want to give up here, but all she was accomplishing was further hurting her standing with Callan. She turned around and began to walk back to her dorm room.
Sander watched his roommateโs retreating back, waiting for her scent to fade into cold night air. Eventually, he exhaled, pushing a fogged breath through the stinging cold before taking a seat on the bench. He leaned back, hands stuffed back in the pockets of his hoodie as tension bled out of his posture. However, he kept the blank expression.
โโฆSorry about that.โ -He said, eyes focusing on Callan now, a stiff smile on his lips โโLetโs start again.โ
โYou want a rematch?โ
Relief washed over her as Kusari consented to leave. She was sure that conversation wasn't over, but Kusari was something she could deal with later. Her shoulders relaxed, but she didn't sit down.
"Right," she said carefully, "But... without the flags this time. Just you and me."
Sander held Callanโs gaze for a moment, something that seemed like resignation flashed through his features โโYou want it here? Now?โ -He asked, suddenly began to unzip the front of his hoodie.
Callan's serious expression suddenly shattered. Flustered, she threw her hands up, palms facing him and glanced away. "Oh! N-no!" she'd seen him without his hoodie on just minutes ago, but watching him unzip it like that... she didn't want a repeat of what happened during Flag and Seek. Her cheeks burned at the thought as she continued, "You're not... ready, are you?"
She noted the stormy blue shade of his eyes-- not red like before. Confused, she searched his expression for some hint that he was. He didn't actually agree to fight her without his powers just now, did he?
โOh.โ -Sander raised his eyebrows, seemingly befuddled by Callanโs strange reactions โโUh, now is actually a good time. I donโt have class this week, soโฆโ
โIโm quite ready. Donโt worry.โ
She furrowed her brow and stared, bringing her hands together so she could anxiously twist her fingers into knots while she thought for a moment. He was ready? She didn't want to fight right now regardless, but... she needed to put this suspicion to rest. She dropped her hands to her side and stepped closer.
"Prove it," she said, clenching her jaw as she pointed to her cheek. She was... basically calling him a liar. But she needed proof. "Punch me. Hard as you can." She had to will her voice not to shake as she clarified her request. While not being nearly as bad as having a giant bird-monster beak rip through her thigh, Sander's punches hadn't exactly been pleasant. She could feel the slightest pricklings of adrenaline as her body tensed in protest, but she didn't move.
Now Sander just stared at Calllan like she had just grown a third head. Her actions utterly confused him. She wanted to fight, yet wanted him to punch her? Shouldn't it be the other way around? โโW-Why?โ- He balked โโI canโt do that.โ
โI thought you want to fight because ofโฆwhat happened in the game?โ -He asked again, tentatively.
"You... what?" she lowered her hand and blinked back at him stupidly. "Well... yeah, I mean... you're the only person I can really train with."
โTrainโฆโ -Sander furrowed his brow, repeating the word dumbly, as if he was having trouble with the rudimentary rules of the English language โโSo you want me toโฆfight back?โ -He asked, eyes wide, the calm mask broke into something between fear and disbelief.
"Of course! That's how training works!" she could feel herself getting slightly frustrated as her previous suspicions crept back in, "You... you didn't think I just brought you out here to beat you up, did you?" This revelation made her all the more aware of his eyes and their color. Was that why...?
"You're not even powered up, are you?" she said, bewildered.
โYou didnโt?โ -Sander asked again, his tone softened significantly, suggesting both relief and disappointment in equal measure. He was ready for pain. Sure, there was fear and apprehension, but he knew he could take it.
However, what Callan really wanted from him was far more terrifying. His gaze shifted to the ground as he answered her question โโNo. Not really.โ
Did he just not know or understand? Or... "Do you have a death wish?" she half growled, clenching her fist. She turned her attention towards a thick cypress tree nearby. She glanced back at Sander as she strode towards it, readying her fist. He and Kusari must not talk very much.
Thrusting her fist into the bark, there was a deafening CRACK! as the tree snapped from its rooted base. It crashed and tumbled across the courtyard, leaving a trail of broken branches in its wake. She turned back to Sander, brushing off her knuckles with a perplexed sigh. "You weren't gonna let me do that to your face, were you?"
Sander watched quietly from his spot in the bench, hands once again shove in his pockets. The display didnโt shock him. In fact, he found it quiteโฆ satisfying. He, of all people, knew what it was like to be in possession of such strength. He knew the freedom it offered. He knew the power it promised. To be able to use his power casually, without restraint like thatโฆ well, he didnโt dare to imagine. After all, there was no way he could. There was no point in dreaming the impossible.
โThey wonโt let me die.โ -Sander simply shrugged, finally tearing his gaze away from where the thrown tree had landed.
His reaction was far more presumptuous than she'd been expecting-- she'd almost forgot about Sander's brazen behavior at the beginning of Flag and Seek game. He'd goaded her to come at him, but he was powered up then. She crossed her arms tightly and shifted her weight to one leg, "What's that supposed to mean?"
โIt means that you donโt have to worry about me.โ-Sander said, eyeing her expectantly.
"I'm... I'm not gonna just hit you," she frowned, looking somewhat hurt. "I want a rematch-- a fair fight."
โOh.โ -Sander narrowed his eyes then, his mind slowly backtracked to what Callan had spoken before โโRight. Thatโsโumโthatโs what you want. Training.โ
He lowered his gaze, staring off into a random point at his feet for a few moments. Again, he was asked to use his power outside of combat. Well, this was combat, in a way, but it wasnโt real combat. This wasnโt how he expected his power would be used for. And he was not sure how he felt about that. He could lose control. He would.
But he didnโt, last time. Was that enough to at least hope?
โDid it hurt?โ -Sander suddenly asked, breaking the silence.
Callan tilted her head, "Did what hurt?"
"Your...face."-Sander looked up at her then, his eyes searching for something in her expression that could confirm his thoughts -"After the game."
She smiled uncomfortably, loosening her arms. "Yeah-- a bit," she chuckled sheepishly.
"It could have been much worse." -Sander kept his voice light, but the serious undertone was there.
"Could've been a lot worse for you, too," she replied, narrowing her eyes at him. Maybe she was getting ahead of herself, but she didn't like being underestimated.
Sander wouldn't have minded, if that was the case. But that was not really relevant to the topic, and he didn't think Callan would appreciate it if he tried to sidetrack her.
"Then you are aware of the risks."-He said instead.
Unfolding her arms, she couldn't help but smile again. "I'm well aware," she said, moving her hands to her hips, "So you'll do it?"
Sander took the time to stare long and hard, his brows furrowed. Like he was trying to find out if she was serious or not. But so far, there was nothing to suggest the latter. Callan really wanted this โrematchโ. She wanted to fight him. And to say he didnโt want to fightโฆ well, that would be wrong. And pointless, because he needed to, regardless of what he thought was wise.
He could just say no. He could just refuse outright then run back to his room. But he couldnโt. He didnโt want to.
โWhy?โ- Eventually, he forced himself to ask, just so he could have something else to focus on.
Her smiled widened. To test their limits? To have better control? Camaraderie? She had several reasons, but simply responded, "So we can get stronger."
"You're trying to learn how to control your ability, too, right?" she added, remembering what Kusari had said, "We can help each other."
Control. A word he had been hearing a lot, lately. He had been trying for years, and it was still so far out of his grasp. Until recently, though, but he was trying not to think about that. Instead, he considered why would Callan need more control? She was an Arbiter. Everything she did suggest perfect control of her power.
โDo you really think training can make us stronger?โ -His tone was even as he asked, just simple questions with no hidden note of mockery โโHelp us gain better control?โ
"Yeah... why else would they put us in this special group and go through all the extra effort to train us? Practice makes perfect, right?" She shrugged.
โRight.โ- Sander mumbled, seemingly distracted. Then what had he been doing for those 5 years? Did any of that help? He couldnโt tell, but he didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to consider the possibility that those 5 years were for naught. Once again, he let the conversation fall into silence as he mulled things over.
Her smile faded at Sander's expression. The silence didn't bode well. Was it something she said? Hesitantly, she stepped forward and sat down on the bench, leaving a good deal of room between them as she leaned forward and looked up into his face. Was it the control thing? Instinctively, she rose her hand towards where he'd bit her before, but caught herself at the last moment. Instead she rested her cheek in her hand, propping her head up as she looked at him.
"How long have you been a mage?" she asked, having to stop herself from saying 'subnatural'.
Sander turned abruptly at the question, apparently just noticed that Callan had sat down beside him. He blinked at her question a few times, before returning his gaze to a spot on the ground.
He should tell her. He knew the answer. Why hadn't he said anything yet?
Between the fire and the pain, he counted the days. It was always the first thing he asked when he woke up, and the last thing he thought about before he slept. Without the rhythm at his feet, he needed something to measure his worth. To know how far he had gone.
Not very far, if he was being honest with himself.
Too long, and not very far.
โA while.โ- He said instead, with a light jerk of his shoulders. The half-truth left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he found no better answer. He needed to get off this topic โโHow about you?โ
It wasn't much of an answer, but she'd take it. "One week today" she replied quickly. Callan took a moment to think before asking her next question. She'd read about how dreams and nightmares among mages were supposed to be private, but she hadn't seen anything mentioning an ocean. She'd most likely skimmed over it on accident. Oh, well. She could always chalk it up to her being a newbie if he decided to take offense.
"How many times have you seen the ocean?" she asked, as commonly as one might ask about the weather.
Sander glanced at her, blue eyes suddenly guarded โโWell, only a handful of times in person. I didnโt get to go to the beach that often.โ-He knew perfectly that it wasnโt the answer she wanted, but it was the only one he would give.
Whoops. Callan averted her eyes. Either he didn't know what she was talking about or he didn't want to say.... She picked up her head and sandwiched her hands between her knees. So either she sounded crazy or super rude-- great. Suddenly her 'newbie' excuse seemed foolish. She shouldn't have asked. Finding her own place on the ground to stare at, she tensed her shoulders and took a breath. "S-sorry," she muttered, "Nevermind."
The silence stretched on for a few moments, but Sander knew he shouldnโt stall it any longer. Still, he couldnโt bring himself to give Callan the answer she wanted. At least, not yet โโAlright. Callan.โ -He figured he might as well get into a topic she would like to talk about โโHow would you like to do this? The rematch, I mean.โ
Hearing her name, she perked up. She looked back at him, grateful to be off the ocean topic she'd so tactlessly tried to bring up. "Well... I think having some supervision would be a good idea. Just in case either of us go too far. You, uh-- you know Lawrence, right?"
Sander almost looked alarmed at the mention of Lawrence. Of course he remembered that name. Along with the white glow and the borrowed calm and the bitter reminder of his dependency on the twisted blood high โโThereโs always supervision.โ -He moved his leg, drawing attention to the ankle cuff.
โI donโt think it's necessary to bother him, but if that is what you wantโฆโ-He trailed off, eyes on her, waiting.
Extending her leg, Callan glanced down at her own cuff. She kept forgetting it was there. Looking back at Sander, she seemed surprised and slightly disappointed. "You think we'd be bothering him if we asked?" He'd seemed perfectly willing to help her out the day before. Hell, he'd even waited all that time for her to wake up. She didn't think Lawrence would mind, but the seeds of doubt were planted now. She nervously chewed her lip-- maybe Sander knew him better... and he was probably going to have his hands full with gun training or whatever....
"I didn't think he'd mind, but... it's fine. I don't... I mean, I don't need him. I think I'll be fine." She felt bad saying it. Now that she knew how to unsummon her shadow, there wasn't much else she was worried about. Maybe she didn't need him, but she'd liked the thought of him being there....
โUh, sorry. Thatโs just my assumption.โ -Sander shook his head, though he couldnโt hide the tingle of relief in his tone. He would gladly do without Lawrenceโs power. His power did a good enough job messing with his head on its own โโI imagine watching two people going at it is hardly exciting, so yeahโฆโ
He let the conversation lapsed into silence, guilt gnawing at his guts. It was selfish of him. He could have been putting Callan in even more danger. What if a taze couldnโt stop him? What if it couldnโt stop him long enough? He should just stand up, and do the right thing. Leave.
But he was weak. And he was greedy. He couldnโt let go of that faint glimmer of hope.
โI still think this is a bad idea.โ
She narrowed her eyes as he repeated Kusari's words. "Really?" she retorted, unconvinced, "I don't think so." She leaned back and stared up at the stars.
โYou might get hurtโฆIt might scarโฆโ-Sander began, grasping at whatever reason he could find. Maybe if he didnโt have it in him to say no, he could at least dissuade her โโโฆand I doubt you will learn much from training with me. I donโt know how to fight.โ
What a dumb thing to be concerned about. He was just as likely to get hurt as she was. "You're the only person who's just as strong as me. I don't know how to fight either, so it'll be a fair match all around." She crossed her arms again and shot him a side-glance, still resting her head against the back of the bench. "If you're worried about scarring, why not talk to our healer? You're friends with Christmas, aren't you?"
The mention of Christmas brought a grimace to Sanderโs features when it reminded him of the events earlier. โYeah, but his power isโฆtricky. I donโt want to bother him. I can heal on my own. Can you?โ
Didn't wanna bother Christmas either, huh? She pursed her lips. "Yeah, I'll be fine," she sighed. Not too long ago, she'd been willing to let her leg injury heal without Christmas's help (up until she'd remembered blood loss was a thing). A split lip and a few bruises weren't a big deal at all. She was starting to feel tired. It was probably getting late. "So..." she sat up slightly, staring at Sander with a deadpan expression, "Are we doin' this, or...?"
โUhโฆโ -Once again faced with the decisive question, Sander floundered โโI wonโtโI canโt stay powered up for long. Itโs only around 5 minutes or so. Not long enough to matter, if you want a proper training session.โ
"No, no-- that's great," she smiled at him, "That means you've gotta beat me in five minutes. Or try-- since I'm totally gonna win long before that happens." She scoffed at him with a playfully arrogant expression. Arms still crossed, she nudged him lightly with her elbow, "C'mon."
Sander just stared at her for almost a full minute, his mind working through the information as fast as it could. It took a while for him to finally quiet his doubts enough to make the decision. โAlright.โ -He said, holding back a sigh. He caved, as he knew he would โโWhen is a good time for you?โ
Oh, God. He didn't laugh. He was just staring. She'd hoped her attempt at a joke would make him feel better about agreeing to fight her, but... oh man. Still staring. She was tempted to look away, but couldn't. He hadn't immediately said no, so... that was a good sign? Holding his gaze, her smile faltered. Relieved when he finally spoke, her eyes flashed with excitement, though she tried not to let it leak into her reply.
"Uhh," she pretended like she hadn't already decided on exactly when she wanted to do it. "How about Thursday? Around... let's say... 6:30ish? Will that give you enough time to get the blood you need?"
Sanderโs fingers twitched at the mention of blood, so he curled them into fists, digging dull nails into his palms โโโฆI donโt need that long.โ -He mulled over his choice for a brief moment โโI can do it tomorrow, if you want.โ
"That soon?" her smiled faded, trying to decipher his reasoning. The corner of her mouth twitched up into a half grin. Maybe he was just as anxious to fight as she was? "Alright, sure. Same time? 6:30?"
โSounds good.โ -Sander returned the smile with one of his own, but he knew he didnโt look half as genuine. Slowly, he rose to his feet, the stiff bench did his back no favour โโSo, I will see you then...at Ground Zero?โ
"Yeah-- same place as our Flag and Seek game," Callan nodded, standing up as he did. There was a slight giddiness to her movements. She tried to keep her smile in check. It probably wasn't a good thing for her to be this excited about a fight-- this wasn't a basketball game, Cal. Someone could very well get hurt... But someone could always get hurt. She wasn't about to pass up sparing with the only person strong enough to give her a challenge.
When she put it that way, it sounded so elfish. She reasoned further that if it helped her ability improve, it could save lives. Lives like Padma....
"Thanks for agreeing to do this with me," she said with a reserved smile and a sigh.
โDonโt worry about it.โ -Sander hid his expression with a hasty turn of his head. He looked at the distant light emanating from the dorms, picturing the way back to his dorm. They shared a short walk โโItโs the least I can do.โ
โYou are going back?โ
"Aren't you? It's almost curfew," she said, raising an eyebrow at him as she motioned her head towards the dorms.
โYeah.โ-Sander looked like he might have something else to say, but he changed his mind at the last minute โโLetโs go.โ
With that said, he turned, heading back to his dorm with brisk steps.
Callan kept her eyes on him as they moved. She'd caught that look.
"What?" she half chuckled.
"Nothing." -Came Sander's quick reply as his steps hastened.
She held her gaze for a few more seconds before relenting-- in no small part due to the fact that Sander was quickly speed-walking out of her scrutinizing line of sight. She wasn't one to pry.
Looking quite pleased with herself, Callan made her way back to Suite 430 with the faintest traces of a smile playing at her expression. Back at her bed, which despite her best efforts to tame was still almost completely hidden by pillows, carved out a place to lay down. With Marcus nowhere to be seen, she quickly switched out her hoodie for a plain white T-shirt before grabbing her tablet and hopping into the mattress, not bothering with the covers. She was too excited to sleep.
Marcus, meanwhile, had finished arranging plans with Emma, making himself feel like an absolute idiot in doing so.
Yeah, sure. We could always go in town and shop around for a place? I saw some neat looking cafe last time I was there, so there's always that.
Works for me! What time and where do you want to meet up?
How about you just come by my dorm and we can walk down there? At like four?
Sounds like a plan, Stan! Your dorm, Four o' clock!
All right, see you then.
Oh wait! Which one's your room? Might be a useful piece of info to have!
Oh? Don't want to get up and down the hallway knocking on doors until you get it? 318, Building A
'Sounds like a plan, Stan'? What was he, an idiot? Even now, he was mentally beating himself up for the stupidity of the comment. As he walked into the courtyard, he stopped his self loathing long enough to admire the shattered stump and thrown upper half of a tree. Or at least, what used to be a tree. Now it was just timber and splinters, and a testament to whatever had happened here between Callan and Sander. An event, he mused, that had apparently not been as violent as he expected, if the lack of bloodstains was evidence enough. Of course, she might have just hurled him into the sun or something.
He pondered over this as he entered his room, immediately spying the aquamarine hair nestled in among the numerous pillows that lined her bed.
"So...you doing a little impromptu landscaping? he said, pausing a moment as he got no response from her. He stood for a moment, wondering what he'd done to deserve the cold shoulder, before spying the headphones. Not a cold shoulder after all - just a lack of awareness. One that he hoped to remedy by throwing a discarded pillow at her, aiming carefully to see if he could get her right in the head.
Mean? Yes. Hilarious? Also yes.
"Agh-- HEY!" Callan protested as the pillow shattered her concentration. Sitting up and pulling the pillow away from her face, she took out one earbud and looked away from the card game on her screen to see that it was Marcus-- though it wasn't much of a surprise. "I know you're not tryna' start a pillow fight with me," she smirked, looking back down and tapping away at the screen as she made her next move.
"Not trying, but if that's a consequence...oh well!" he said, shrugging and giving her a mischievous smile. She probably wouldn't be able to take his head off with just a pillow, would she? He thought about this for a moment, before repeating himself now that Callan was actually listening to him.
"I saw your impromptu landscaping out there! Seems interesting, but the juxtaposition's all off, and I doubt the groundskeeper is going to be super pleased with you!"
"Landscaping?" she repeated, forgetting all about the tree she'd destroyed for a moment. "Oh! That." she chuckled, unconcerned, "I mean-- I haven't gotten busted for any of the other stuff I've broken. Not yet anyway."
She opened her mouth to continue speaking, but quickly closed it. Sander hadn't thought it was a good idea to invite Lawrence or Christmas, so he probably didn't want anyone else there but them. It was probably best she not tell Marcus, just in case he insisted on coming to watch. She kept her eyes on the screen, trying to come up with a decent excuse for why she decided to punch a tree across the courtyard. With any luck, he wouldn't ask.
"Property damage is unbecoming of you, missy." Marcus said. The silence in the room was a bit of an indication of Callan's unwillingness to elaborate on the events, but Marcus was nothing if not super oblivious at times. "Any particular reason you decided to make the gardeners cry...?" he ventured.
"Uh... I, uh... There was a spider on it." Needless to say, lying was not one of Callan's strong suits.
Marcus looked skeptically at Callan, almost daring to laugh out loud at her statement. "Yeah, that tends to happen outside. Where the spiders live." He took this moment to pause, wondering exactly how far he wanted to take this discussion. The answer, as he surmised to himself, was 'as far as it would go'.
"Did you manage to at least get it before it could harm you? Or Sander? Or Kusari?"
"Uhhh," Callan fell silent, chewing the inside of her cheek as she tried to think up another great lie. Dropping the tablet into her lap and hanging her head in defeat, she mentally apologized to Sander. But it was more to put her conscience at ease. Admittedly, she was eager to tell at least one person. Even if they might not be on board with her enthusiasm.
She smiled and shook her head. "I was asking Sander for a rematch." She laughed to herself, cathartically pushing her bangs back.
"What!? Why?" Marcus said in disbelief. He'd expected to hear a tale of how she'd kicked his ass inside out for the little stunt he pulled, not a tale of how she asked him to fight her again.
"Uh, because he's the only person I can spar with without displacing their spine," she answered, as if it was obvious.
Marcus immediately diffused back to his normal state, considering Callan's statement with a humbled "Oh...". He'd spent his time trying to figure out the limits of his own power, and it made sense that Callan would want to do the same - his was just easier to test without breaking things. Still though...Sander had straight-up lost control back in the game; using him to test strength seemed like an idea that could quickly spiral. But it certainly wasn't his place to tell Callan to choose her sparring partners better.
"You sure? He seemed a little...wild." he asked after a moment, his mouth echoing the concern that he felt for the situation.
Pulling out her other earbud and turning to face him, Callan smiled. "I think it'll be fine," she shrugged, "I know what to expect this time. Besides, I think I'm a bit stronger than him over all."
"Do you want someone to come along? Just in case?" he followed. He was of course referring to himself, despite the fact that there was zero he could do if things went wrong. Maybe throw a rock and run away, but that was about the extent of his capabilities, if the video ffeds had accurately shown off Sander's capabilities. He needed to offer though - even if Callan could protect herself perfectly fine without any help. Some inherent desire to keep the people around him safe, probably.
"Nah," she replied, tapping at the screen again, "But, uh," she looked up, "Could you do me a favor and not tell anyone? I don't want people bothering Sander about it, y'know?" The last thing Sander probably wanted was a huge audience of people. He already seemed skeptical about the rematch-- a fact that made her think she probably should have put more effort into not telling Marcus. But he seemed trustworthy enough-- she wanted to believe he was, anyway.
"I suppose your secret's safe with me. Yadda yadda cross my eye hope to perish, stuff like that." Marcus said. "What day is this anyway? Just so I know when to stock up on Precursor bandaids?" he added, sitting down at his desk and swiveling around in his chair to look at Cal.
She thought for a moment, deciding if she should tell. "Tomorrow," Callan answered finally.
"Well that doesn't give me very much time at all! All I've got left is Kadabra, and you don't want his eyes staring at you while you go about your daily life!" came Marcus's exasperated tone.
"Heh," she returned her attention to the game, leaning up against the wall by her bed. Or, she would've if there hadn't been dozens of pillows in the way. "Keep your bandaids. If it's not Sparrow or Newton, I'm not touching it."
"Alright, if you say so; I just don't want to hear it when you get a boo-boo! Marcus said, grinning and swiveling back around in his chair. "Girl gets super-durability; suddenly she's too good for Kadabra band-aids." he jokingly muttered, deliberately loud enough for Callan to hear.
Callan laughed, drawing in her legs to start kicking back the generically lame blanket on her bed. She missed her old bedding. Maybe going into town tomorrow wouldn't be a bad idea. "I can't tell if you're joking or not. Kadabra bandaids?" she mused, reaching for her phone before settling in under the covers, hugging her hamburger plush to her chest.
"Actually!" Marcus said, turning back around to give her his full attention. "I used to know a place that sold little band-aids like that. Cartoon characters, sports guys or something, and Precursors were right on the end. I never got any myself, but they exist somewhere!"
"Heh... my parents used to buy them all the time... before...," her voice trailed off. That probably wasn't a great topic. She smiled uncomfortably, "Well. It's cool they still exist, anyway...."
"Good to have some constants in the world, even if it's just novelty band-aids!" Marcus said, raising an imaginary glass. Right now, he wasn't super keen on talking about 'before' either. He'd gotten his fill of 'before' from Max, and he was content to stick with the present. "Should I leave you to deal with your Flaming Army, or whatever that game of yours is?" he said, thinking back to their conversation in the lobby a while ago.
"Yeah," she nodded, reminded of her parents. The screen of her phone lit up as she hit the home key, revealing that she still had no new notifications. With a reserved sigh, Callan glanced back down at the tablet-- "Defeat!" scrawled across the screen. She turned it over and shook her head. "Probably just gonna crash for the night, actually."
"Alright. I'm going to take a minute to get all my new goodies set up, and I'll probably be crashing myself." Marcus said, reaching over for the laptop box.
"Have fun," she smiled with a diffident laugh. She didn't move for several seconds, glancing between the back of his head and some distant corner of the room as she toyed with the idea of asking whether or not it had been Emma he was talking to downstairs. She couldn't come up with a way to find out without coming across as nosy, so she ultimately decided against it. It really wasn't any of her business anyway.
"Goodnight!" she chimed before reaching across her bed to set her electronics on the desk, plugging them in to charge as she slept. Pulling the covers up to her chin, she laid down and faced the wall along with an ocean of thoughts. Doing everything she could to quiet the gnawing curiosity about Emma and Marcus, she mulled over the events of the day until she finally drifted off to sleep.
Walking into the school cafeteria, Kusari swallowed a lump in her throat. She wanted to speak with Callan, but she couldn't think of any way it wouldn't be awkward after what happened last night. She decided not to think about it too much and simply go for it. After getting a plate filled with pancakes and bacon she looked around. Sure enough she found Callan sitting at a table, a stack of trays piled up in front of her. If she hadn't seen her eat so much on their date she'd have assumed a few other people had eaten here. Kusari sat the tray on the table and took a seat parallel to her. She cut a piece of pancake and chomped down on it. She twirled her fork around in her right hand, a stern, deathly serious expression on her face. Again, this was the face she made when she was embarrassed.
"I'm sorry." She said suddenly, laying the fork down and looking Callan in the eyes. "I shouldn't have followed you and Sander. I was so worried about what he might do that I didn't think about how you'd feel about it." Apologizing clearly wasn't something Kusari enjoyed doing, as evidenced by the fact that she looked as if someone were jabbing her in the back with a toothpick.
"If you're going to do this can I be there? If things get out of hand..."
Looking up from her phone as Kusari sat down, Callan waited quietly for her to speak. The apology didn't surprise her. Kusari had been bizarrely curt and nosy the other day. She did, however, raise her eyebrows at the notion of her being worried-- and then proceeding to ask if she could be present for the fight. And for what? Protection??
Callan opened her mouth to speak but sighed instead, glancing away and back again. "I... appreciate the concern and all, but I can handle this myself." If things got out of hand, her shadow would make short work of Sander. She inwardly shuddered at the thought. No-- she could control her shadow better now and Sander had enough control to stop when she'd told him to last time. They'd both be fine.
Kusari had expected Callan to reject her offer, but it still stung a little. She let out a sigh and fiddled with her braid. "Why are you doing this? If this is about us losing we'll have another chance to do something right." She was genuinely confused as to why she was so insistent on fighting Sander. They needed to be avoiding any unnecessary dangers. "If anything it was Grant that cost you the match. You were outnumbered and the rules of the game favored them."
Callan pursed her lips and leaned back in her seat, tightly crossing her arms. "Why did you ask me to punch you as hard as I can?" she countered quickly. The question had been on her mind since Kusari mentioned her qualms with the rematch the other night. "I need to know my limits-- and I need to train so I can push them. It's likely I'll live through another fight. I get to make mistakes and not die-- same as you. But not everyone is so lucky."
Her steady gaze had become a resolute glare, which she turned towards the window beside them. "I'm responsible... someone has to hold the line for them," she added. Observing the people outside, her eyes softened. "They can't afford for me to lose."
Kusari followed the gaze of Callan, she was looking outside, watching the students. The look in Callan's eyes changed, and Kusari instantly understood why she wanted to do this. "You've... got it figured out, huh?" She muttered, just barely audible to Callan. However, Callan was wrong about one thing. While the both of them put their body on the line in order to test their limits, Kusari's purpose was still unclear. Callan knew exactly why she was fighting, it was spelled as clear as crystal in her eyes. But herself? She had no idea.
Protecting her friends? No. She hardly knew them, and she was never one to be so selfless. Getting stronger to protect herself? No. She was immortal as far as she knew, dying wasn't something she had to worry about. So why was she pushing herself to keep going? She had no right to dictate what Callan did when she was simply on auto-pilot.
Kusari moved her eyes back to her food. What was the girl in front of her to her anyway? They'd gone on one date, which was more of an outing. A piece of bacon was munched. She wanted Callan, as shameful as it was she'd had lustful thoughts about her. It was extremely irritating. She didn't own her, she wasn't an object to be locked in a safe like a precious jewel. But that was how infatuation worked, it didn't care about common sense.
"Alright. I won't... I'm not going to get in your way." Kusari muttered again, her hair blocking her eyes as she looked down.
Callan looked back to Kusari as she spoke. A tentative smile broke across her face. "Thanks, Kusari," she said. Unfolding her arms and leaning forward to grab her phone. She paused, sliding her phone off the table and into her lap instead of standing up. She noted Kusari's pensive tone and her eyes shifted from the exposed lower portion of Kusari's face to her newest monster limb.
"The game yesterday...," Callan started cautiously, looking away as she rubbed at an imaginary itch on her temple, "Things got pretty intense, huh? ...are you okay?" She almost didn't want to ask. A voice inside her argued that "What's wrong with you?" might've been a more effective choice of words, but she didn't want to go there.
"The game yesterday...," Kusari flinched slightly as she realized where this conversation was going. She didn't want to talk about it, she didn't know how to answer for what she'd done to herself. But Callan was a good person, of course she would be worried about a fellow student that had willingly cut their own arms off. Kusari moved her clawed fingers around.
"It's not exactly something you can ignore, is it?" She said, partly in jest, but there was a clear hint of self-derision in her voice. She didn't want to keep talking, but this was the same thing she'd chastised Callan for on their date. "No... Her face tensed. Her left hand gripped her right forearm, squeezing it tightly. "I don't know. I don't feel anything when I think about it. This body doesn't let me feel pain for long, and I hardly need to take care of myself in battle. Just... Just what am I even becoming?" Kusari let out a breath, loosing the hold on her arm. "I doubt I'm making much sense, sorry."
Callan was silent for several moments, looking between Kusari's face and her claws. Mulling over what Kusari had just said, she exhaled slowly. Kusari's situation was a frightening concept for Callan to try and empathize with. She didn't rightly know how she would handle such a drastic appearance in exchange for the power to make a difference.
But then, it didn't seem like Kusari rightly knew how to handle it either. She didn't know what to say. She felt she should say something-- especially since she'd brought it up and Kusari was clearly entrusting her with the knowledge that she was indeed NOT 'okay'.
She almost didn't notice that she'd fixed her eyes on Kusari's arm and sucked in a breath of air when she finally did. Biting down on her lower lip, she turned her eyes back to Kusari's face. The question that escaped her then had been one she'd explicitly told herself not to ask. But with no idea of what else to say and the sudden discomfort Kusari was likely feeling as a result of Callan's unscheduled staring contest with her monster arm... it was perhaps better than saying nothing at all... maybe.
"Can I see it?" As an afterthought, Callan held out her hand, palm facing upward.
Things were silent again after Kusari spoke. She busied herself eating, trying not to scream in embarrassment for speaking so candidly. It would be foolish to expect anyone to know what to say to her. She was midway to stuffing half a pancake in her mouth when Callan held out her hand. "See wh-" She didn't know what she meant for a moment, then it was rather obvious. "Why?" She felt uncomfortable, she didn't want the oddities of her body to matter to her fellow students, especially not Callan. That was naive, she supposed.
"Nevermind, sure. But can you answer something for me?" Kusari's ruby eyes pierced into Callan. "Could you ever see the two of us... Actually going out? Somehow saying it aloud was harder than she thought, her piercing gaze faltered as she looked back down at the table. She toyed with her braid again. "I mean... I don't even know if you're.... you know?"
The question of why had almost been enough for Callan to withdraw her hand, along with her request. She was just curious. Did she need a better reason? Thankfully Kusari seemed keen on letting the question go unanswered in favor of another. Unfortunately, it was in favor of a question she was even less prepared for.
Her fingers had just barely brushed against the smooth, steely texture of Kusari's claws before she completely froze.
"Ah-- I... I--" Callan stammered, her burning cheeks accompanied by a cold sweat, "N-not really? I-- I mean... uh...."
She slowly withdrew her hand, eyes darting between the ground and Kusari. "I d-don't know."
All semblance of composure had completely melted away beneath the intense flames of Kusari's question. She didn't know Kusari well enough to give her a solid answer. And she didn't know enough about these kinds of things to know that that was okay.
"S-sorry-- I gotta--" Callan shot up from her seat so quickly her chair toppled backwards onto the floor. The clattering sound echoed loudly in the cafeteria, further fueling her embarrassment as it drew a few stares. "I gotta go!" She promptly turned and began to speed walk towards the nearest exit.
Kusari watched as Callan touched her hand. She didn't know why the girl wanted to see it so badly, perhaps morbid curiosity? Whatever the case, it didn't last long as her words caused Callan to become visibly flustered. Her hand was let go, and she quickly got up from the table.
Ah, I just ruined something there, didn't I? She thought. Kusari watched with a blank expression as Callan rushed out of the cafeteria. Kusari ate the rest of her food, ignoring the sting in her chest. She'd been too direct, and it seemed Callan wasn't accustomed to being treated this way at all. It seemed she was only pushing herself farther and farther away from Callan. A more subtle approach would be needed.
Why would the government delete all that stuff? How pointless and stupid. Callan had tried to reason with herself when she found out. She never really used any of her social media accounts anyway-- though it was a pain to lose all the contact information. Setting up the cloud had been too much of a chore-- a simple three minute chore that would've saved her the current headache. Creating a new facebook hadn't been hard. If USARILN East wanted to delete it again, that was fine. She just needed it up long enough for her mom to answer her message.
Opening the app, Callan adjusted her position in the half-moon pillow crater she had formed around her mattress. Her iPad continued cycling through her playlist of songs beside her. Since Monday's classes, Callan spent a good chunk of her remaining stipend on various supplies for her corner of the dorm. It turned out to be a very long, arduous endeavor, but it helped keep her mind off the fact that her mother had yet to respond. The results were phenomenal. She'd never been the artsy sort, but grabbing whatever random things caught her eye in town hadn't turned out as horribly as she'd originally anticipated. She'd taken a few pictures of her handiwork and could hardly wait to send them to her mother.
A dark blue galaxy comforter engulfed the mattress while the pillows, now donning cases of similar design and varying colors, engulfed the outer edges of the bed itself. She'd managed to barely win the fight against the mountain of pillow, pawning some off on her roommates while strategically organizing the others (some of which she had to cram into empty kitchen cupboards). She'd managed to scavenge her mother's facebook account for some pictures and order prints that morning as well-- a frustrating task she could hardly believe she'd taken the time to do, but she needed to try and get out of this 'I'll be home soon' mindset. She missed her family and friends and thinking that way wasn't going to help remind her to keep in touch.
She pinned the photos above her desk, above which she'd loosely hung a small string of lights. A photograph of her parents in front of the Skyview Ferris Wheel two Christmas' ago, one of her and Dom at a Hawk's game, another of her and her teammates at some restaurant she couldn't remember the name of, and, finally, a photograph of her and her grandmother on her 68th birthday. Huddled around a big, poorly decorated green birthday cake packed with candles, she couldn't help but smile whenever she saw it. That green cake had looked so horribly unappetizing, but it was Gram's favorite color. It was damn good, too-- on account of her insisting she make it herself. Unfortunately she'd also insisted Callan do the decorating.
A plain white mug reading "World's Best Boss" housed a few brand new pens and mechanical pencils, the casings of which she had brushed off the desk and kicked under the bed for her photoshoot. She'd forgotten to go back and pick them up. Of course, the first thing her mother would likely comment on is the deceiving cleanliness.
"That's great, Cal. Now lift up that comforter and let's see its true form." She smiled at the thought, fondly remembering the days when a scolding for a messy room was an actual concern. 'The days'... heh... had that really only been a week ago? Callan hugged her hamburger plush tighter as the glow of her phone lit up her amethyst eyes, illuminating her face. It was getting late and the lightswitch was too far away. The room was cast in slowly fading golden glow. Alone on her bed, She felt Marcus and Siena's absence in that moment more than ever as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Maybe one of them could've told her what it meant-- confirmed her feelings of foreboding before she allowed herself to think of happier alternatives.
'This person isn't available right now.'
She tapped the screen a few more times, trying to select the response box so she could say something. Anything. The message to her mother had gone without a response and now it seemed she was... blocked? That couldn't be right. She tapped her father's name into the search bar: Travon Webb. No results. Had someone deleted their accounts?
Next she tried her brother: Dominique Webb. With a small sigh of relief, she scrolled through and found his picture. It was a selfy he'd taken in front of some chain link fence on a cloudy day at school. Hood up, hat backwards, and with a serious, brooding expression-- she'd totally teased him for looking like a shrimpy thug.
Send.
She buried her face in the plush as her mind started to wander towards the topic of food. Almost immediately, her phone pinged and vibrated, signaling a new message from Dom. It was just a phone number and the words 'call me'.
She sat up in alarm, swinging her legs over the bed and gripping the corner of her mattress through the comforter as she stared at the screen. Was everyone okay? Were her parents in trouble? Were they hurt? She tried to brush the thoughts aside as she hurriedly started the call. No need to worry when it might be nothing....
She turned off the music and dialed the number. He answered halfway through the first ring. Not a good sign, right?
"Cal?"
She blinked, surprised by the urgency in his voice, "H-hey Dom. Everything okay? What's up?"
"What... what's up?"
"Yeah... uh." Why did he sound so confused? Wasn't something wrong? "You guys stayin' with grandpa?"
The line was quiet. She could hear the television blaring in the background. She opened her mouth to speak, but Dom finally spoke first, "Yeah... we're with grandpa... how are you?"
"Uh... good. I'm doin' good."
"Really? You're okay?"
"Yeah, sure," she nodded. More okay than most... Padma, Alexis, and Aaron came to mind, but she didn't want to freak him out with that sort of talk.
"How's... uh... how's school?"
"Heh... well this place isn't as awful as I thought it might be. The food here is decent and they got wifi at least, y'know?" She chuckled and laid back on the bed, trying to force herself to feel less uncomfortable. She'd never spoken to her brother like this. It felt weirdly formal-- questions like 'how are you' and 'how's school?' It made her feel suspicious, but did little to prepare her.
Hesitant silence. "Nobody's contacted you... have they?" he said quietly. She tried to ignore the solemness of his tone.
"Nah, I lost my phone and all my contacts. They deleted all my accounts on everything, too. Didn't realize they could do that so quickly."
"They...?"
"The government, the school, the Director-- I dunno."
More unnerving silence.
"Cal--"
She distantly heard the familiar creak of her grandfather's front door. Everything in his house creaked, she remembered.
"Dom!" Her father's voice.
"Hey, lemme talk to--"
"Hang on," he cut her off in a hushed whisper. She sat up again, pulling her hamburger plush into her lap. Her free arm held it firmly against her gut. Something wasn't right....
As she listened to her brother rush up the creaky old stairs of the house, a heavy feeling of nostalgia cut through her uneasy premonitions. Dom was probably heading for the upstairs guest bedroom. She remembered sharing it with her brother every Christmas up until her grandmother passed away. They'd spent a lot of holidays there up until then. The house had always smelled like fresh baked cookies when she was alive... the sweet, vanilla scent managed to fade more and more with every visit after that. She vaguely wondered what it smelled like now.
She heard the door bedroom slam shut on Dom's end and the creaking of the guest bed as he sat down.
"Dom, what the h--"
"Mom and Dad deleted everything," Dom blurted out quickly, his voice only slightly louder than his previous volume.
Callan was silent as she tried to make sense of that.
"They found your laptop in the debris and deleted all of it," he clarified slowly, anxious for a response.
"Wha..." She couldn't figure it out. "Why?"
"Callan... everybody thinks you're dead."
It felt like a heavy stone had suddenly been dropped into her stomach-- latched onto her breath, which hitched in her throat.
"Why?" she asked again, suspecting the answer. She felt like she was drowning. The floor beneath her feet felt unsteady and warped. She stared at Siena's side of the room, searching without seeing. As Dom proceeded to explain everything, his voice slowly faded into oblivion. Steadily, it felt like water was flooding through her ears and into her skull-- submerging every thought and sound.
"I don't know! Mom and Dad told everyone you were dead after you left. They said a monster destroyed the house and that you were inside of it and it almost killed that one officer. They had a vigil and everything at the school. I don't know what the fuck's gotten into them, sis. Dad won't fuckin' talk to me about it. They just... called everyone and told them. They sent a fake letter to the school and everything. Even talked to some shady lawyer to get it finalized. They told the whole family. Even grandpa thinks you're dead. He's so torn up about it... everyone is. This is so fucked up. It isn't right. I'm sorry, Cal-- I don't know what to do. I tried to tell them the truth, but Dad just told them I'm 'taking the loss really hard'.... They all think I'm nuts, but you're family. You're still my sister, right? They shouldn't be pulling this shit. They're being such assholes, I hate them. I hate them so much I can't stand it. I'd rather come stay with you-- I don't care if it's a military school for subnaturals. You're not a monster, you're my sister!"
Internally suspended in the sudden spate of information, she didn't physically move beyond the occasionally shallow breath until her father's voice pierced her trance like a knife in a life boat.
"Dom? DOM! I told you not to eat chips on the couch!"
"I'll call you back, sis. I love you. B--"
The phone exploded in her palm, sending shards of glass and plastic all over her bed and the floor. She opened her hand and allowed the busted device to fall out of her grasp.
They wouldn't... would they? The buzzing of the air conditioner, the humming of the fridge in the other room, the faraway chirping of birds outside... all of the sounds suddenly had weight to them. Everything was suddenly so loud-- amalgamating into a dense throbbing in her head, filling her so full it pushed the the tears out of her eyes at an alarming rate.
No... she looked over her shoulder at the small grouping of pictures she'd pinned up. No.... The sudden swelling in her head and chest, rising and blooming into a jagged and ugly bouquet of thoughts, threatened to make her sick all over the floor. No... no... no... She scrambled to her feet, looking down at her shadow on the ground as it stretched across the floor. Her brain barely processed what was happening-- stuck in a loop. She felt like she was drowning.
They told... everyone... a monster destroyed the house.... and she... she was inside it...? They told everyone she was dead? Her eyes moved to the photograph of her grandmother. The faces smiling back at her grew fuzzy as another wave of tears gathered and tumbled over her cheeks. Dead?
She inhaled sharply, the sound coming out as a high pitched sob as her lips curled back over her teeth. Callan looked back down at her shadow. It bubbled angrily on the ground like something scalding hot. Suddenly it went still and she saw a the razor sharp claws snake their way out, finding purchase in the carpet by her bed.
NO.
She swallowed hard and the claws carved deep grooves into the floor as they were sucked back in. Once there, the shadow continued bubbling. Her tears stung her eyes like hornets and she tried to blink them away as she moved forward at break neck speed. Not here. She had to leave. She reached for the doorknob, but never finished the motion. The door was smashed to splinters against her shoulder as she barreled through it, sprinting down the hall towards the stairs. Her steps faltered as she bound across the campus. The shadow, a roulette wheel of consistencies, continued trying to break free. Every so often tearing the strength away from her legs before she could complete a stride, she tripped and fell several times on her way.
Please-- I have to make it. I can't... I can't do this... I can't control it.
Like a beacon, she fixed her eyes on where she knew the Ground Zero Ghost to be-- watching until she could make out her figure in the day's fading light. She didn't have time to think about anyone else being there. She needed to just get there-- now.
The ghost blurred and bounced in her sight with every step and swelling tear. In the intersection of a dilapidated street, shell-shocked people stopped and stared as Callan fell to her hands and knees, breathing so heavily she thought she might vomit. Terrified screams contributed to the incessant buzzing in her head as the shadow clawed its way out and bounded towards the nearest crowd of people. From there is went after the cars, and then the buildings.
Callan wrapped her arms around her legs and buried her face in her knees. Racked with sobs, her grief felt immeasurable. She wasn't sure how long she stayed in that position, but one thought compelled her in her decision to do so.
Let go.
In that moment, nothing mattered anymore. She was a dangerous monster-- something to be used and feared and, ultimately, discarded. She wasn't some sort of 'chosen one'. She wasn't a 'hero'. She wasn't 'special'... just a byproduct of this fucked up world she called home. It was the same world she wanted to save, but also a world that didn't want to be saved. At least not by her. Her thoughts only grew darker as the screams and crashing persisted. She felt like she was drowning. As if the hands of God held her there in place-- cold and uncaring. Hatefully, she remembered the ocean of stars she'd seen. The droplet of power-- that unwanted 'gift'.
As the shadow dug its claws through the street, several small chunks of asphalt and cement rolled across the ground in front of her. Slamming her hands onto the concrete, her fingertips tingled from the force as she grabbed a large piece and stood up.
Throwing it with all her natural strength, it landed several feet short of the shadow monstrosity. She screamed in frustration, grasping another rock and running closer. The creature ignored her as it rummaged through a small outlet store. Another scream, another throw. The third and fourth pieces of debris she threw were met with the same level of indifference, even as they rolled off of its back.
Why? Why did this thing exist? What was its purpose? Wasn't everything supposed to have purpose? All part of the fucking plan, right??
This thing... it was a thing for a villain. Not a hero. Not an arbiter. Not her. Not hers. This thing was in her way. It was a wall for her to break down, wasn't it? She needed to destroy it, but she couldn't.... Misery. That's all it was. It was an evil, ugly thing. Exhaustion quickly settled in as she kept throwing rock after rock with the feeble strength of a 17-year-old girl, once again falling to her hands and knees.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!" she cried angrily-- accusingly. A broken whine in her voice as despair shook her shoulders. It didn't make sense.
For Lawrence, it had been his favorite kind of day. Uneventful, relaxing, and entirely uninteresting. The kind of day that had become increasingly rare since he began his stay at USARILN East, and he was intent on cherishing it while it lasted. Cradled in his arm was the shotgun that had seen so much use these past few months, ready to be cleaned and packed away once more. He had spent the better part of the day at the shooting range, taking his time to refresh his skills with the gun. It was nearly impossible practice while trying to teach others- a position he was still a bit miffed at being saddled with out of the blue- so he had made his way out to the range alone today. To his complete lack of surprise- nobody else had been there when he arrived either.
Now, with a wave to the ghost who was hardly visible, he was making his way back to his dorm. Perhaps there would be some time left after his gun maintenance to pop by the library for awhile. He had been lucky thusfar today, and if that held he might even get to read without interruption until night hit. In high spirits for the first time in awhile, it was all the more devastating when the sound of screaming reached his ears and he realized his day was about to get a lot worse.
Cautiously, he tried to avoid the sound- and whatever raging Aberration was the source of it. With any luck- although he was beginning to doubt his for the day- Lawrence would be able to slip by without the temporary psychopath being any wiser as to his presence. However, as he began creeping around the side of a building whose purpose had long since been obscured by destruction a burst of panicked pedestrians suddenly crowded the street in front of him.
And right behind them, murdering pieces of the crowd with every step, was a creature he wished he wasn't familiar with.
"Oh, horseshit."
Luckily for him, the creature seemed to be more focused on the prey in front of it than the man with an unloaded shotgun behind it. Not that it made the Arbiter feel any more at ease at all to be ignored and ten feet away from the monster. There were three options he was about to work out in his head. One: Try to run and probably be noticed, and killed. Two: Stay where he was until he was noticed and killed. Three: Hunt down the girl from before and hope he can reach her before that creature could reach him.
None of them were promising.
Still though, with a quick peak around the corner- and more death throes behind him, he saw her not too far away- on her hands and knees. She looked to be having a bad day to say the least, although not nearly as bad as him at that moment. None of that particularly mattered at that moment though. Resisting the urge to look behind him- knowing it wouldn't do him any good to know if the creature was focused on him yet- he took off towards the girl as if his life depended on it.
The fact that it actually did probably helped.
Behind him, he felt the bus-sized beast change direction- clearly having taken notice of his flight. Did it recognize him from the day before? Or was it simply bored of its current prey? Regardless of the reason it was now intent on adding him to its list of victims for the day, a plan that the Arbiter intended very much to foil. However, contrary to every life or death story ever told, it was all over in a blink for Lawrence. With a shake of the earth directly behind him, and the girl in front of him, he slid forward- scraping his leg across the pavement with a terrible burning sensation and grabbing her by the shoulder to stop and steady himself.
Then he was looking into the same eyes as the other day- just as intent on his death as before. Perhaps moreso this time. Lawrence, for his part, felt exactly the same.
"Hello."
He finally managed after a moment of catching his breath, although which of the two he was addressing was anyone's guess.
Despaired feelings still loomed overhead like an inescapable sea. The sound of nearing footsteps came through like a distant splash-- muffled as the screams and crashing had been since she collapsed. Callan blinked away some residual tears, still staring down at the ground between her hands before a hand on her shoulder jolted her attention to the young man connected to it. She was still out of breath from all the rock throwing, but managed to gasp out something other than a startled shout as she turned to face him, arm recoiling at his touch.
"Lawrence!" Her eyes widened and her free arm twisted and fumbled around in the air behind her before finding an unseen something to grasp on to. She turned the rest of the way into a seated posture and gripped the unseen reigns with both hands, weakly giving them a yank. The motion was so half-hearted, it barely had any affect on the staring contest. Misery's head jerked out of position for only a moment, eyes still trained on its target.
Callan followed Misery's line of sight back to Lawrence, looking him up and down with concern. "I--" she inhaled sharply, the implications of his presence there finally setting in, "I didn't know you were h-here. Y-your leg...."
"Don't worry about things that don't matter."
He didn't bother to look down at his leg for confirmation: But he could imagine it looked like it was in pretty rough shape. Still, in spite of the pain there wasn't any way that the scrape could have done permanent damage to it- certainly not in comparison to what the beast in front of him would have done. Still- He'd need to wash it later before it got an infection. And buy another less torn up and bloody pair of pants.
As for not knowing he was there- that much was clearly obvious. Enough that he almost laughed in response, but settled for a grim smile. These were the risks one took when walking through Ground Zero, and forgetting that meant he had gotten too complacent in the last week. For now, the important thing is that she hadn't managed to get him killed, and by the look of it as long as he didn't move he'd be safe from her shadow. Same as the other day.
"If you can't force it to leave then gather your strength for a bit. I don't think anyone else is here right now."
Of course, "Anyone else" meant people from USARILN East, Ground Zero was still full of "People" for this thing to get its rocks off murdering, and with any luck it would eventually get bored of staring the Arbiter down in favor of chasing some meat it going get to.
"But...," she started, in protest to both his statements. She sniffled and frowned, turning her attention back to Misery. She didn't like it staring at him like that-- or even being that close. To either of them. Tearing her eyes away, she released the reigns and tucked her hands behind her knees. "Ok...," she trailed off again, swallowing hard.
She opened her mouth to say something more, but clamped it shut. Staring holes into her shoes, her shoulders rolled forward sheepishly. She was embarrassed to have been caught out like this. Careless. Self-absorbed. Susceptible. These weren't things she wanted to be associated with. She'd made such great progress on Sunday. Now here she was, letting it run loose and do whatever the hell it wanted.
Monster, she inwardly berated herself. It was lucky Lawrence had been the one to get caught up in her mess and not someone else. He at least knew what to do. She could've easily gotten someone killed. But then... maybe she already had. If Lawrence had been slashed to pieces, who's to say she would've even seen him among all the Ground Zero corpses. She pulled her legs close and leaned forward.
The waterworks threatened to start up again at the thought and she didn't want to continue her gross sobbing in front of Lawrence. She took a breath to steady herself.
"Tch."
With that Lawrence tore his eyes away from the creature and tried to focus his attention elsewhere. If it was Elizabeth here instead of him, he had no doubt either she or that thing would already be dead- as dead as she was already, anyway. Lawrence though never had the luxury of choice when it came to when he could act. It irritated him. Perhaps his extremely recent brush of death was leaving him more susceptible to these thoughts than usual- but he didn't like it.
With a sigh of resignation to signal his acceptance of the current situation, he turned his back to the creature and set it against Callan's, laying his legs out in front of him to survey the damage. From what he could tell at a glance: Ugly as hell, but not something he would need to stop by the hospital for. Blood was beginning to soak through his pants around the limb, but not nearly enough to be worrying. Overall: He'd live, even if the sharp throbbing that was running through it was beginning to become a bitch.
Sure, today's a great day.
Trying to ignore his petty bitterness and worsening mood, he pulled his new copy of Meditations out of his jacket and stared at the cover- unsure of how to proceed with the current situation. He couldn't exactly ignore the mood of the girl he was leaning against, and he doubted one needed to be as perceptive as he was in order to pick up on that. Still, he also wasn't used to dealing with actual personal problems instead of stigmas, and he was far from what one would call socially acclimated.
God only knew had he and Elizabeth had even-
No.
With a snarl he opened the book and tried to push that train of thought out of his mind. He didn't trust himself to make small talk at the moment, and if Callan had problems she wanted his help to sort through then she had a mouth she could speak up with- No different than if she had met him in the library like most of his other "clients". Besides.
It's not like Lawrence Ellison didn't have his own problems.
The sudden fluttering in her chest when she felt Lawrence's weight against her back felt horribly out of place.
She'd sat like this with friends before-- friends who now thought she was dead. But Lawrence was a touch different. He was older, nice looking, and mature. Pretty smart, too. Teammates laying all over each other was a common occurrence back home. Especially in cramped buses. Buses she'd never get to ride in again. Because everyone thought she was dead. But then, if she always had a book in her hand and a fake desk plaque in the library, she'd probably seem pretty smart, too.
She inwardly sighed, smoothing out her mess of fragmented thoughts as that particular notion crossed her mind. That wasn't fair. Lawrence wasn't the one she was upset with.
Misery stared on, tail flicking in anticipation. Almost like a cat, poised to strike at the first sign of movement. Callan knew better. It wouldn't risk hitting her. But it was still unnerving. And Lawrence was being awfully quiet. She set her jaw and readied herself for words.
"Sorry," she said, turning her head just enough to see the shoulder of his sleeve. "I don't-- usually have days this bad." She moved her hands up to the collar of her shirt, facing forward again as she pulled the fabric up over her nose and covered her eyes with her hands.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice slightly muffled. She couldn't keep the question from leaking out as her mind became more aware of her surroundings. Guilt and chagrin permeated her thoughts. She needed to make sure he was alright first. Then she could more fully focus on the latter.
"Mmm."
Came the initial response from him. She didn't usually have days this bad? Even if he cared about her day to day mental state it's not like he had a way to prove or disprove her point, so he let it slip by.
Besides, she's still brand new.
He had to remind himself, not everybody could adjust right away to life at USARILN East- he sure as hell couldn't without help. With a class of students as powerful as this new one- the adjustment phase was an unfortunately dangerous reality for their first few months here. One that his minor injury served as an excellent reminder for.
When she spoke a second time he almost responded with the exact same thing he had told the girl earlier: Don't worry about things that don't matter. If he wasn't alright then it would have mattered. Plain and simple: He was fine. However, talk of the present would serve as a good distraction from thoughts of the past- at least until he was able to push them aside on his own.
"Yeah- just a scrape. Not much worse than falling off a bike would do- how about you?"
She almost laughed. "I've been better." But she didn't really want to bother him with that-- no more than she already had, anyway. Letting her shirt fall off her nose, she sniffled one final time before seeing to her face. Trying to rub any bits of runaway mascara off her cheeks, she let the less favorable thoughts recede for now. He was okay-- mostly. Good. Now for some composure.
"H-how've you been?" Her forced smile was audible in the form of a half hearted laugh, but some semblance of normalcy was better than nothing, right?
"Alive- so far at least."
While Lawrence didn't sound angry, it was quite clearly a barb at the current situation. Normally he would welcome the chance at smalltalk when he was trying to sort through his own problems- but right now he had no intention of letting the conversation get so casual. He had almost died a few moments ago. Making sure he didn't have to worry about that again when he was around this girl was a bigger priority, even if it meant thoughts of the dead had to linger awhile longer in his mind.
"Look, normally I wouldn't pry, but on account of me just almost dying: Why are you here at Ground Zero letting that thing run loose? You're not an Aberration, you don't have to put up with the same mental bullshit they do, so what's going on?"
With a pause punctuated by him closing his book, he added:
"We may have to fight together- I'd rather not find out too late if this is an issue that's going to pop up again."
Callan tensed at his reply. She should've known Lawrence might ask. After all, he knew all about how her ability worked.
"N-no. It's not like that--" she stopped herself. Wasn't it, though? She'd thought she was stable enough to handle this problem of hers, but everything about the current situation screamed that she wasn't. No doubt Lawrence had caught on to this, having almost just died as a result.
Fumbling for an explanation, however, her issue suddenly seemed so small and inconsequential. Her friends and family thought she'd died, but at least nobody was actually dead. She'd only been here about a week and had already been present for the death of several people. Lawrence had presumably been here much longer than a week. She couldn't even begin to imagine what he'd seen.
Faced with the triviality of her problem, she stared down at her knees. Honesty was typically her policy and she hadn't felt misguided by confiding in Lawrence so far. She wished that truth made her feel less like an idiot as she started to speak.
"I just... found out my folks told everyone I'm dead. Won't talk to me anymore. I... thought I could come here and... vent." She fell silent.
"I understand."
It was a simple statement, and perhaps only half true. Lawrence had been raised in a family that greatly feared subnaturals and magic- not altogether an unwarranted fear from what Lawrence had witnessed over the last year. Particularly punctuated by the recent "Friendly Game" they had been involved with. As such, when his powers first manifested he had no desire to contact them for what he could do, and they had no desire to contact him for the same reasons. He couldn't say that he hadn't missed them at first- but by the time his anti-mage biases had begun to erode Lawrence had begun hardening himself to loss- and his family had since become one more footnote among a sea of other casualties over the past year.
So indeed he understood perfectly being dead to one's family- in fact he wouldn't be surprised to find that is exactly what his own family had said about him- but he couldn't relate to her emotional state over the issue. Lawrence had no urge to ever even try to contact his family again- and had no desire wasting time wondering what could have been. He couldn't change that part of his life now if he wanted to.
Did he want to?
"Sometimes we get to choose who to keep in our life- and sometimes that choice is made for us. There's... been times I've wanted to vent over some choices made for me. There's a bit of different in scale what 'Vent' means with your powers and mine though."
She blinked away a second wave of tears that threatened to recommence her ugly crying, validated in the sympathy she was leaning way too heavily on. Callan nodded in spite of Lawrence not being able to see her.
"It's not the end of the world," she shakily formed the words, speaking more to herself, "Actually... I probably should've seen this coming." She wasn't entirely sure she believed that-- most likely because she didn't want to. Her parents were never crazy about subnaturals, but they'd always spoken highly of the Precursors. No matter her good intentions, however, she wasn't a Precursor. She needed to remember that. Having their subnatural daughter demolish their home probably didn't help in changing their opinion either. She'd felt like they were a little standoffish when they came to say goodbye, but....
She pushed the thoughts aside. "Sorry," she muttered, her voice evening out, "I should be more careful."
โYou have power over your mind - not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.โ
With a sigh, Lawrence continued.
"Someone a lot smarter than me wrote that two thousand years ago. There comes a point at this place when you realize that happiness is a far off goal- unless you're the type who enjoys being thrown into a prison and forced to be used as a weapon to kill monsters. But, you can't control what you can't control. What you can do is survive and become stronger from the circumstances that you're in- and maybe one day that strength will turn events you can't change into events you can."
Survive and become stronger.
It was good advice. She wanted to get stronger, use her powers for goodness and merit, and prove her parents wrong. Maybe she could become strong enough to change things for the better? Not only for herself, but others, too. To really change things....
Thinking of her friends and family was still... upsetting. But she needed to hang on to that glimmer of hope-- no matter how small. Her thoughts turned to the upcoming fight with Sander. He stood to benefit from training just as much as she did. She'd considered skipping it, given her current mental state. But now she was eager to begin. Callan smiled, weak but sincere. Glancing at Misery, it flickered out of existent.
"Okay, she exhaled before getting to her feet. The creature's ear twitched, but its eyes remained on Lawrence. Extending her arms, she gripped the reigns and sent it melting back into her shadow with a shake of her arms. She turned back to Lawrence, extenging a hand. "That's... really good advice," she said, her feeble grin restored, "I'll keep it in mind. Thanks."
She couldn't keep that hint of sadness from sneaking into her eyes as she spoke, but she was sincerely grateful. Of course, committing to this goal and knowing it was a long term thing meant she would have to accept what had happened to some extent. Hopefully she'd be able to things up with her parents one day, but not now. Lawrence was right. You can't control what you can't control.
Shoving the closed book back into the pocket of his jacket, Lawrence took the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet- preferring not to give the lady with super strength time to tug his arm out of its socket. He winced as the wounds on his leg reopened with the movement, having barely begun to scab over, but being skin deep meant they wouldn't impede his ability to walk any. Through the tears in his pantleg more ink could be seen etched into his skin- but not enough to remotely make out what it looked like. Running a hand through his hair, he responded to her final comment with:
"At least someone takes my advice."
His mind of course was on the recent game that had taken place. Particularly Allison deciding to ignore his idea to hole up and protect their fallen teammate in favor of a suicide attack against the other team. He hadn't felt bad at all about what had happened to her face in the aftermath as gruesome as it was. He had seen far worse happen to people in the field. Injuries that couldn't be recovered from.
Still, he didn't want the topic to shift to the other day if he could help it, so he turned back towards USARILN East and picked his shotgun off the ground. Beginning to walk with a small wave for the younger girl to follow behind him.
"We should probably get back before we run into an Aberration in the middle of a bad day. It'd be nice to not have to escape death twice in one afternoon."
With a hesitant nod, Callan followed.
His expression as she helped him to his feet hadn't gone unnoticed. Neither had the markings on his leg. She'd noticed the tattoos peaking out of his sleeves before, but hadn't given them much thought at the time. He didn't strike her as the sort to get tattoos for no reason. But as much as she trusted Lawrence, she was all too aware that feeling likely wasn't mutual and opted not to mention it.
"You wouldn't happen to have the time, would you?" she asked. It probably wasn't too long now. She needed to meet up with Sander, but making sure Lawrence made it safely out of Ground Zero was the least she could do.
Lawrence shook his head in response, breaking the action on his shotgun as he walked and chambering a new shell. He didn't expect to be almost murdered twice that day- but it never hurt to prepare.
"I don't really keep the time unless I have somewhere to be. No real sense in it when it doesn't matter."
"Right," Callan chuckled half-heartedly. Perhaps that explained why he hadn't seemed too concerned about waiting on her Sunday night. Words she could live by. But unfortunately she did have somewhere to be. Sander's words still echoed in her head and she really didn't want to bother Lawrence further. "Thanks anyways."
When silence was all that followed, Callan's eyes fell on the shotgun in his hands. Her own knowledge of guns was shoddy at best-- ending at how to turn the safety off on the gun her father used to keep in a heavy case under his bed. A handgun with a name she never cared enough to remember. Supposedly her father had always meant to teach her and Dom how to properly use it, but it simply never happened in between sudden deadlines at work, basketball tournaments, and the general aura of lethargy that seemed to sabotage most weekend plans that didn't involve staying at home in the Webb house.
"How long have you been here, again?" Callan asked.
"Mmm."
He responded at first, not quite sure if this was a conversation he wanted to get into. He'd spent enough time convincing himself that the past wasn't important that he was wary of bringing it up altogether. Reminiscence served no point if you already learned the lessons that you could from it. At the end of the day memory did more good buried than brought to the surface.
Still, he was honest if nothing else- perhaps too much so, and he'd rather answer than redirect for the time being.
"A little over a year now- give or take."
"Wow," she said without much thought. A year didn't seem like a very long time when she thought about how quickly her junior year seemed to fly by. But trying to think about the future and where she might be in a year's time made it seem like an eternity. She didn't want to think too hard about either at the moment. It was much easier to keep the focus on Lawrence.
"Uh. You must know a lot about guns, huh? Since they made you special instructor and all."
He shook his head in response, idly shifting the safety between its on and of positions as he walked.
"Maybe out of all the students here I know the most- but that's because I don't exactly have magic that I can defend myself with. I'm sure the guards and actual military personelle around here know more than I ever can, but they probably jumped at the opportunity to use a student. Forging bonds and all that jazz."
"Yeah," she half laughed, "So... I guess you learned most of it while you were here, huh?"
"If by most you mean all- then yeah. At least during the last six months. I was even less inclined towards getting myself killed at the beginning of my time here and wasn't really sent out much. I had the advantage of being too useless to deploy though unlike you guys this year."
Callan smiled at that, remarkably managing to ignore the less positive connotations of what he'd just said. It was nice to be considered useful... even if that was a term more appropriately used for tools and tank engines. Even if people who weren't necessarily any less useful than herself had died just a few days prior. It didn't take long for her expression to correct itself.
"Did one of the guards teach you?" she asked, wanting to steer away from the topic of usefulness.
"No, someone I knew."
Dead names, dead faces, neither of which he wanted to think about. That was what the majority of the past, present, and future held at USARILN East. However, it's not like they were less lucky than anybody else since dreamcatcher vanished. Even for those not being forced to fight monsters there was always a chance of a category 3 showing up and destroying everything you knew.
That was the reality of the modern world, even if people tried to forget it.
"Mostly though I've taught myself, once the basics were underway. Research and practice- it's what I was doing before I stumbled into you just now."
Someone he knew. Past tense. She'd hoped to find some safety in this topic, but maybe that was a foolish venture. After all, he'd been here a year. There was no telling what sort of things he'd seen. But if he was upset by her question, he was hiding it masterfully. A different thought crossed her mind then. A memory of something important that was said that she'd chosen to ignore in the moment in favor of more positive news.
"Were you in Unit A?" she asked suddenly. Maybe this was a question for another time-- or even another person. If her gun teaching question was bad, this might be even worse. "Mr. Francisco said it... 'fell through'?"
"Shane's unit?"
This conversation was starting to go exactly where he wanted to avoid, and his tone grew harder, with a clear undercurrent of hostility. He could forgive the curiosity, but she would need to learn eventually that some subject were best approached with caution amongst the 'Veterans' at USARILN East. Probably once her own memories were filled with corpses.
"That was reserved for the best of the best, and I wouldn't have been considered in a hundred years- I'm not even sure why I'm on this one. I knew someone who wanted to be on that team though, and threw their life away because of it. Let's drop the subject."
The vitriol churning behind his response wasn't entirely unexpected, but Callan recoiled nonetheless. Her eyes immediately focused on her shoes, dirty from her time spent on the ground. Tiny flecks of rock stuck to the laces and mesh-- something to stare to at while she apologized, heat rushing to her face.
"I'm sorry," she replied, her voice just above a whisper. She furrowed her brow and chewed her lip with rising anxiety fueled by a sudden feeling of frustration. He'd shut her down so quickly. Didn't she deserve to know what happened to Unit A? From what she'd seen, Shane could level an entire battlefield. How could his team have been anything but a huge success? What could possibly be that strong?
Twisting her fingers into knots, she inwardly scolded herself for being so forward. It was inconsiderate to think she deserved anything from Lawrence-- he'd helped her so much already. She knew how strong Dreamcatcher's monsters could be-- perhaps not any better than someone who'd been fighting them for several months, but she'd seen the news. Knew people who knew people.
"Coach Walsh is such a fuckin' ass. Callan, don' you think Coach Walsh is an ass? Be real."
Callan's fingers slipped from the ankle brace she'd been unwrapping as her shoulder was nudged. The sound of the velcro was almost a good enough excuse to ignore her teammate, but Gaby wasn't the type to change the subject so easily. Hoping against hope, Callan glanced at her and shrugged.
"C'mon, what? You afraid? Cal, you've had double-doubles three games in a row. He's not about to bench our best power forward. Jus' tell me. He's an ass, right?"
Callan rolled her eyes and continued with the brace. "You think everyone's an ass," she chuckled, shaking her head.
The others laughed, loud and boisterous despite the joke not being all that funny-- typical behavior right after a win. "Tell me, bitch!" Gaby chuckled, nudging her again.
Yes, Callan thought her coach was an unbearable douchebag, but it was January and she'd just set resolutions to be more positive.
"I'd be an ass, too, if I was old and ugly!" she joked, mentally kicking herself. Eh... close enough. The laughs continued.
It was an old and pointless memory from two years ago. Why was she remembering it? The game preceeding that conversation had been a great one, sure, but no more noteworthy than any of the other several games she'd go on to play that year. She and all her teammates had gone out for dinner at some diner to celebrate their victory. While they were there, the restaurant became unusually quiet... it looked like they were airing a big DC monster attack on the news. Claiming some tables, she, her teammates, and everyone else momentarily forgot about their hunger and jobs long enough to watch before the video feed eventually stopped. Garrote vs the Precursors. 2018. Finally aired to the public several months after the operation.
"Shit, you see how strong that bitch was?!" Gaby exclaimed after the report ended, "Thought they were fightin' some DC monster!"
Ah, yes. That's why she was remembering that evening right now. Her mind lingered on the idea that Gaby had never been wrong. Rabid squirrel people, massive two-headed quadrupeds, magical eyeball scorpions, subnaturals... who could say there was really all that much of a line between them? A monster was a monster-- that's what Dreamcatcher had wanted all along, wasn't it? By God's design, monsters now walked the earth. To teach us a lesson? To signify the end of the world? Or a bit of both?
Callan wasn't sure she cared enough to figure it out, but the unknown was frightening. She wanted to take Lawrence's advice. To become strong enough to make a difference. To be useful. But if she wasn't useful enough... who would pay the price? Her teammates? People like Padma?
Lawrence didn't say anything after that. Callan felt she'd done enough damage and stayed quiet until they finally reached the exit.
"I've got to go meet someone," she said, stopping, "Uh... thanks for your help. I'll see you around."
Lawrence nodded in response, giving no indication that he was offended by the previous exchange as he walked away. With a backwards wave he added:
"Yeah, I'm sure we'll meet up someplace, ciao."
She waved back, trying not to think so much about how relieved she was that he didn't still seem upset at her for bringing up Unit A. His advice was what she needed to remember right now. She still had time before Sander arrived. While there wasn't much she could do to physically prepare, she could try to simmer down-- find something to do to keep her mind off of the phone call with Dom.
Power over your own mind. Not outside events... right.
She exhaled sharply before turning around, heading back into the mysterious Ground Zero.
I think just about anyone would think it's cool that you're going to animate an RP they're all in-- no matter what it's about. But yeah, I kinda have to withhold my interest until I know what the story's going to be like.
I gotta say-- I wouldn't want to be mentioned for simply viewing an interest check either. Not at all.
I think it's a bad habit. Also a bad way to gauge how successful your interest check is, as I know some GMs say stuff like "If 3 more people say they're interested, I'll start working on the OOC!" Of course, there's nothing wrong with that, but you should never count lurkers towards that number. That's like counting people who walk by your food truck and stop long enough to read the menu as customers. Unless they actually buy something-- don't count them. And definitely don't sign them up for your weekly newsletter just because you happen to have the ability to know everyone's email address.
There are a number of reasons why someone might decide to lurk without saying anything-- but I think the main reason is probably that they're either not interested or unsure of whether or not they're interested. If they are, they have all the means available to let it be known and keep track of what's going on. The thread isn't going anywhere. The subscription button is always an option. You might have to go to page two of the Interest Check section if you forgot to subscribe, but that's not a big deal at all. Probably easier than the GM sitting on their toppic and jotting down the name of every person that peeks their head in the window.
I would much rather gauge how passionate a GM is about their RP by observing the effort they put into the story itself than mentioning people who could possibly be uninterested. That just wreaks of desperation to me. Have faith in your story and GMing ability. If both are super great, you shouldn't be having to sneak in the extra numbers so people think your RP is more popular than it is. Overall, it just comes across as a bit scummy-- but maybe that's just me.
Felicia's terrified screams formed a shoddy duet with Archer before she managed to clamp her mouth shut. Archer broke the skeleton's grip on her sword. She scrambled backwards and to her feet, suddenly realizing that the monster's forearm was still soundly latched onto her blade.
"Eugh!" she frantically shook it off, looking up just as she heard the sudden FWOOSH of flames. The dismembered forearm clattered across the room, picked up by the skeleton who'd lost it. With body language that seemed to suggest annoyance in spite of its perpetuating smile, it reattached the arm and inched closer with the others, teeth chattering.
Instinctively, her free arm shot out across Archer's chest, urging him to back up and get behind her. Obviously his fire magic wasn't going to work... er... hadn't worked. In fact, it'd made these ten times worse. Not his fault. He didn't know. She herself didn't know exactly why she was motioning for Archer to get behind her either. She had no idea what she was going to do, but... well, she had to do something.
Hardly thinking, Felicia grabbed her water skin. She hastily unscrewed the top and thrust it towards the flaming skeletons. It pitifully splashed across the nearest sack of bones, but the amount of water was little more than a mouthful. She forgot she'd used up most of it cleaning the wounds from the bats. Suddenly something came hurtling out of the wall Felicia and Archer had come from, plopping onto the ground between them and the skeletons before hissing and scrambling up the bars of the cell.
It was Jillian! Felicia had always been good with names and Jillian was one she wouldn't soon forget. She was a Skullkid. Felicia knew very little of the creatures other than they came from the Lost Woods. As such, you weren't really supposed to see them-- since people were generally encouraged not to go anywhere near there. Nonetheless, something about Jillian awoke something inside of her in that moment. As the skeletons briefly turned their attention towards the Skullkid clinging to the bars, Felicia took a deep breath and adjusted the grip on her sword, tossing her empty water skin aside.
Get it together, Felicia. You know how to use this thing. Now stop being useless and USE IT!
"HYAGH!" Felicia swung her sword across the nearest skeleton with as much strength as she could muster, successfully cleaving the creature in half at the spine. She repeatedly stomped her boot down on the skull as it angrily clattered at her from the floor, putting out the flames while causing the head to cave in on itself.
A second skeleton took a swing at her then. Its flaming fist narrowly missed her cap as she ducked, swinging her sword at the creature's knees and stabbing it through the skull as it made a grab for her ankles. Now infuriated as well as inflamed, the remaining two skeletons collapsed in on her before she could raise her weapon for another blow.
It started off as a day unlike any other. To sate her hunger, Callan was in the process of pulling a bag of beef jerky out of the cupboard when, all of a sudden--
Salad.
Salad? No... not just salad. Grass. Shrubs. Leaves. Bark. Flowers. Hell, a whole tree.
Callan tore through the cupboards with significantly less grace. Boxes of cereal, bags of jerky, and various other snacks fell to the floor before she finally noticed the tiny... paws? Claws? What the hell were these? And why were they green? She blinked and her ear twitched. Twitched?
She needed to go look in the mirror. Now. Spinning around (or, rather, hopping around), something heavy crashed through the kitchen cupboards near her... feet-like things. The wood splintered loudly. As she jumped around to see what had happened, Callan successfully leveled the rest of the lower cabinets. Among the chunks of wood, snacks and several of her hidden pillows littered the floor.
She barely paid any attention to the damage as her eyes fell on what was unmistakably a tail.
What the hell's going on?
Chief Tater Tot was barking like mad in the other room, which didn't help the chaos. She took a deep breath to try and calm her racing mind, but the air felt off as it traveled through her nose. Everything about it felt off. Her nose, the way her chest expanded, and, finally, the way her mouth moved as she attempted to call out for Marcus and Siena in the other room. The sound that she made was akin to one of those anti-smoking commercials where some poor lady with no larynx tells you about cancer-- only Callan couldn't seem to form any words. To top it all off-- staring down at her stomach, her breath hitched in her throat-- there was a hole in her gut.
Her shadow began to solidify. Oh no, Callan thought in a panic. A small black mount started to rise from the inky black. She took another breath, already feeling more accustomed to the way her body moved. Just before she let the shadow disappear, however, she stopped. Its shape wasn't quite right. What was that?
Out of curiosity and poor judgement, she allowed her shadow to finish summoning.
There among the rubble sat a very tiny, very adorable, black bunny with glowing eyes. It looked so soft. The curious green marsupial slowly reached out her paw. Before she could touch it, the tiny creature let out a blood curdling squeak and launched itself across the room. It tore viciously at the couch, smashed the TV, and kicked the coffee table at the window.
Shit! Callan de-summoned the tiny monster as quickly as possible. Thankfully, all of this happened before the guards came crashing through the door.
Whisked away, Callan watched as Siena and Marcus were also extracted from their suite. Somehow she was able to tell them apart and something about Marcus filled her with the desire to kick his lights out, but she managed to brush it aside. Once in the same vicinity as everyone else, she found that to be a common urge. Every time one of the dogs wandered a little too close, the muscles in her legs tensed. Even more than delivering a swift kick to the ribs, she wanted to run-- but that was just silly. She was strong enough to kick any one of these animals in half. Probably.
She resigned to hopping around and eating whatever shrubbery she could find. While maybe not the most natural thing to do, it seemed to be the least likely to get her in trouble. But then again, she had no idea what could be classified as natural anymore. She was a fucking kangaroo and for whatever reason this grass tasted a m a z i n g.
Dervish
