Skai

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Elizabeth Burns

"I’m here to finish what my cousin started."

_______________________________________________ Elizabeth Marcy Burns Sher/Her | 24 | European Descent | 5’2” | 113lbs _______________________________________________ Hellbent _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "I have the usual tricks up my sleeve." ___________________________________ [+] [Lock-Picking] ⫻ Nothing keeps me out. [Hot-Wire] ⫻ No keys needed.

Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Yeah, the hair is natural." Fair skin, unblemished besides the scar that crosses her left eyebrow in a slash and the beauty mark that graces her left cheekbone. She sports a few tattoos along her arms and legs. Her face is the shape of a heart, with a slender nose, and her bow shaped lips beneath it are usually twisted in a smirk. Stormy blue eyes sit beneath her black brows that always hold a hint of mischief within them. She was born with raven black hair, but as she's learned the ways of her family her hair has lost it's color entirely. Leaving her with white streaks interspersed throughout it. She's seen it as a mark of her power and not as a loss of beauty. Her relaxed posture makes her appear shorter than she is. At 5'2", she has a small frame that holds all of her weight around her hips and thighs in what people would call a pear shape. She doesn't have much muscle, preferring to use her magic to get any heavy lifting done. Liz absolutely adores mixing white, cream, greys, darker shades of reds, and even purples with her black ensembles. She usually wears sweaters or long sleeves, or layers cardigans or jackets on top of t-shirts. She prefers loose pants or skirts over tight jeans, and will occasionally pair a dress with tall socks and black tights underneath. For shoes, she prefers mary janes, platform heels, or boots over sneakers.

_{Psychology
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"What's the fun of living in a grey world without taking advantage of both the good and bad?"

MAIN GOAL ⫻ Liz is in St. Portwell to earn the Burns legacy. She’s a powerful necromancer, but she is nothing like her cousin was. She is in St. Portwell because she wants to get payback for her cousin, and to earn the family’s respect in her own way.

PHILOSOPHY ⫻ At her core, Liz is determined, mischievous, and courageous. She'll stop at nothing to achieve her goals, and she'll make sure she has fun doing it. She will never back down from a challenge, no matter how big or small it is.

SECRETS ⫻ Liz is searching for the missing Burns family spellbook that Lyss had in her possession in an attempt to grow her power.

SEXUALITY ⫻ Any attractive man that looks her way.

FEARS ⫻ Most Black Lux adepts do not fear death, but Liz sure does. She holds love for The Hound, but she wishes to live her life to its fullest and die with a head full of grey hairs. Things such as ghosts creep her out because she knows that they didn’t get to fulfill their life’s dream.

REPUTATION IN OLD COVEN ⫻ N/A

ROLE IN THE BATTLE AGAINST THE STYGIAN SNAKE ⫻ N/A

FLAWS ⫻ Other than being creeped out by death in general, Liz is certainly not as powerful or as mature as her cousin was. There are times when her immaturity comes back to bite her in the ass.

_{Backstory
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"Burns family legacy this, Burns family that."

Growing up under the shadow of her successful aunts, uncles, and grandparents, Liz always worked hard to learn the ways of the Burns family. She just happened to play harder, too. She got into a bit of trouble in school but her grades were high enough to keep her academic record from getting bad marks on it.

Her father was a one-eye open. She learned the ways of the living from her dad, and the ways of the dead from her mother. Her adept grandparents were in St. Portwell with Alyssa's family, but her father's side lived with them in their mid-sized town. Lyss's mother came to stay with them when she was just a toddler, actually, but left soon after a fight with her own mother. Liz never really understood what happened there.

She grew up hearing about Alyssa, and she visited St. Portwell a few times, but the distance was too great for them to make a real connection with each other. She just remembers the fun they would have while her mom and grandmother had their chats.

When the Stygian Snake began to attack St. Portwell, Liz's mother banned them from returning until it was resolved. Something about being too young and inexperienced. Liz was furious the day she found out that her grandmother had died in one of the attacks. Especially when she heard that Alyssa had eventually joined a coven and successfully put an end to the Snake.

She never heard Alyssa's name again, until she was made aware of her cousin's passing.

_{Abstraction
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"I'm a Burns, of course I can do that."

TYPE ⫻ Adept

ABSTRACTION ⫻ Black Lux, with a necklace of black obsidian as her channeler.

ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻

Reanimation ⫻ Liz is able to summon the dead to do her bidding by projecting her emotional-field into the area below her. Her emotional-field then fills the body with energy, enabling it to be controlled. This acts as an extension of her body, with the ability to see through their eyes and hear through their ears. She is unable to feel or smell through them, fortunately enough, and if one perishes, she can only feel the loss of her connection to them.

In addition to summoning human bodies, Liz is able to summon the bodies of dead animals. These animals can be small enough to act as surveillance or large enough to take down enemies.

The Hound's Blessing ⫻ With reluctant permission from The Hound himself, Liz has the ability to summon hellhounds and golems.

Golems are constructed using the flesh of the dead. They are usually humanoid, resembling giants, or monstrous if the flesh of an animal has been used. These creatures are bound together into a macabre horror standing up to eight feet tall and weighing about 500 pounds.

Hellhounds are ferocious, terrifying entities that serve The Hound himself. To those able to see magic, they manifest as large, demonic pitbull-like canines, with red eyes and a black-aura around them, making hellhounds appear to be made of shadows. They cannot be killed by conventional methods, yet they will sustain damage from these attacks. The only way to truly kill them is with magic. Along with the invulnerability to human weapons, hellhounds can track any human or apparition once they have the scent of their emotional-field and possess the strength and speed of twenty live canines.

Spirit Summoning ⫻ Liz can summon the spirit of a person if she is feeling up to facing a ghost. She does this by using her emotional-field to seek out the traces of soul left in the body, and search for it in the afterlife. Once they have been summoned, the hardest part is facing their death itself.

LIMITS ⫻

Reanimation ⫻ Liz is only able to summon up to 89 undead at one time without weakening herself. This includes humanoids and animals. If she pushes past this limit she is at risk of a very long nap.

The Hound's Blessing ⫻ Creatures like golems and hellhounds require more energy and focus to summon. If she chooses to summon only golems, she can only summon eight at a time. If she chooses only hellhounds, she is only able to summon four. When she summons hellhounds, she must remain in complete control of them or else they will run rampant. They answer to her commands alone, and she must remain confident in her commands or she risks losing control of them. This makes them an extreme risk, and Liz only summons all four if she is in a desperate situation.

Spirit Summoning ⫻ Liz is only able to summon spirits if she is close to the original body or close to someone who had a connection with them. She is only able to communicate with one at a time, and the longer she keeps their spirit above ground the weaker she becomes. Plus, the longer she has to spend around something that creeps her out the less focus she is able to have in keeping them there. Additionally, if the soul has become an adjoined apparition, Liz is unable to summon them due to their attachment to a living soul.

WEAKNESSES ⫻ For Liz to cast either of her spells, she requires time to concentrate, and that requires her to be stationary. During this time, Liz can be vulnerable to attack, and her spellcasting can be interrupted. The undead minions are usually slow, shambling, weak against fire, or easily destroyed with magic. Liz must always be mindful of her minions; otherwise, they will rampage out of control and attack friend and foe (and herself) alike.

The Golems are, while durable, large targets and very slow. The Hellhounds are extra susceptible to magical attacks.

Liz has to be careful with using her spells, as over time, she will gradually erode her humanity psychologically. She will lose her ability to feel joy and other positive emotions and find it harder and harder to understand people. Eventually, she'll be a hollow shell that can only obey the Hound.

^{Other
_{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"So what makes St. Portwell so great?"

Liz is hoping to get her hands on her cousin's favorite baseball bat, if anyone's seen it around.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Elizabeth Burns

"I’m here to finish what my cousin started."

_______________________________________________ Elizabeth Marcy Burns She/Her | 24 | European Descent | 5’2” | 113lbs _______________________________________________ Hellbent _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "I have the usual tricks up my sleeve." ___________________________________ [+] [Lock-Picking] ⫻ Nothing keeps me out. [Hot-Wire] ⫻ No keys needed.

Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Yeah, the hair is natural." Fair skin, unblemished besides the scar that crosses her left eyebrow in a slash and the beauty mark that graces her left cheekbone. She sports a few tattoos along her arms and legs. Her face is the shape of a heart, with a slender nose, and her bow shaped lips beneath it are usually twisted in a smirk. Stormy blue eyes sit beneath her black brows that always hold a hint of mischief within them. She was born with raven black hair, but as she's learned the ways of her family her hair has lost it's color entirely. Leaving her with white streaks interspersed throughout it. She's seen it as a mark of her power and not as a loss of beauty. Her relaxed posture makes her appear shorter than she is. At 5'2", she has a small frame that holds all of her weight around her hips and thighs in what people would call a pear shape. She doesn't have much muscle, preferring to use her magic to get any heavy lifting done. Liz absolutely adores mixing white, cream, greys, darker shades of reds, and even purples with her black ensembles. She usually wears sweaters or long sleeves, or layers cardigans or jackets on top of t-shirts. She prefers loose pants or skirts over tight jeans, and will occasionally pair a dress with tall socks and black tights underneath. For shoes, she prefers mary janes, platform heels, or boots over sneakers.

_{Psychology
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"What's the fun of living in a grey world without taking advantage of both the good and bad?"

MAIN GOAL ⫻ Liz is in St. Portwell to earn the Burns legacy. She’s a powerful necromancer, but she is nothing like her cousin was. She is in St. Portwell because she wants to get payback for her cousin, and to earn the family’s respect in her own way.

PHILOSOPHY ⫻ At her core, Liz is determined, mischievous, and courageous. She'll stop at nothing to achieve her goals, and she'll make sure she has fun doing it. She will never back down from a challenge, no matter how big or small it is.

SECRETS ⫻ Liz is searching for the missing Burns family spellbook that Lyss had in her possession in an attempt to grow her power.

SEXUALITY ⫻ Any attractive man that looks her way.

FEARS ⫻ Most Black Lux adepts do not fear death, but Liz sure does. She holds love for The Hound, but she wishes to live her life to its fullest and die with a head full of grey hairs. Things such as ghosts creep her out because she knows that they didn’t get to fulfill their life’s dream.

REPUTATION IN OLD COVEN ⫻ N/A

ROLE IN THE BATTLE AGAINST THE STYGIAN SNAKE ⫻ N/A

FLAWS ⫻ Other than being creeped out by death in general, Liz is certainly not as powerful or as mature as her cousin was. There are times when her immaturity comes back to bite her in the ass.

_{Backstory
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"Burns family legacy this, Burns family that."

Growing up under the shadow of her successful aunts, uncles, and grandparents, Liz always worked hard to learn the ways of the Burns family. She just happened to play harder, too. She got into a bit of trouble in school but her grades were high enough to keep her academic record from getting bad marks on it.

Her father was a one-eye open. She learned the ways of the living from her dad, and the ways of the dead from her mother. Her adept grandparents were in St. Portwell with Alyssa's family, but her father's side lived with them in their mid-sized town. Lyss's mother came to stay with them when she was just a toddler, actually, but left soon after a fight with her own mother. Liz never really understood what happened there.

She grew up hearing about Alyssa, and she visited St. Portwell a few times, but the distance was too great for them to make a real connection with each other. She just remembers the fun they would have while her mom and grandmother had their chats.

When the Stygian Snake began to attack St. Portwell, Liz's mother banned them from returning until it was resolved. Something about being too young and inexperienced. Liz was furious the day she found out that her grandmother had died in one of the attacks. Especially when she heard that Alyssa had eventually joined a coven and successfully put an end to the Snake.

She never heard Alyssa's name again, until she was made aware of her cousin's passing.

_{Abstraction
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"I'm a Burns, of course I can do that."

TYPE ⫻ Adept

ABSTRACTION ⫻ Black Lux, with a necklace of black obsidian as her channeler.

ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻

Reanimation ⫻ Liz is able to summon the dead to do her bidding by projecting her emotional-field into the area below her. Her emotional-field then fills the body with energy, enabling it to be controlled. This acts as an extension of her body, with the ability to see through their eyes and hear through their ears. She is unable to feel or smell through them, fortunately enough, and if one perishes, she can only feel the loss of her connection to them.

In addition to summoning human bodies, Liz is able to summon the bodies of dead animals. These animals can be small enough to act as surveillance or large enough to take down enemies.

The Hound's Blessing ⫻ With reluctant permission from The Hound himself, Liz has the ability to summon hellhounds and golems.

Golems are constructed using the flesh of the dead. They are usually humanoid, resembling giants, or monstrous if the flesh of an animal has been used. These creatures are bound together into a macabre horror standing up to eight feet tall and weighing about 500 pounds.

Hellhounds are ferocious, terrifying entities that serve The Hound himself. To those able to see magic, they manifest as large, demonic pitbull-like canines, with red eyes and a black-aura around them, making hellhounds appear to be made of shadows. They cannot be killed by conventional methods, yet they will sustain damage from these attacks. The only way to truly kill them is with magic. Along with the invulnerability to human weapons, hellhounds can track any human or apparition once they have the scent of their emotional-field and possess the strength and speed of twenty live canines.

Spirit Summoning ⫻ Liz can summon the spirit of a person if she is feeling up to facing a ghost. She does this by using her emotional-field to seek out the traces of soul left in the body, and search for it in the afterlife. Once they have been summoned, the hardest part is facing their death itself.

LIMITS ⫻

Reanimation ⫻ Liz is only able to summon up to 89 undead at one time without weakening herself. This includes humanoids and animals. If she pushes past this limit she is at risk of a very long nap.

The Hound's Blessing ⫻ Creatures like golems and hellhounds require more energy and focus to summon. If she chooses to summon only golems, she can only summon eight at a time. If she chooses only hellhounds, she is only able to summon four. When she summons hellhounds, she must remain in complete control of them or else they will run rampant. They answer to her commands alone, and she must remain confident in her commands or she risks losing control of them. This makes them an extreme risk, and Liz only summons all four if she is in a desperate situation.

Spirit Summoning ⫻ Liz is only able to summon spirits if she is close to the original body or close to someone who had a connection with them. She is only able to communicate with one at a time, and the longer she keeps their spirit above ground the weaker she becomes. Plus, the longer she has to spend around something that creeps her out the less focus she is able to have in keeping them there. Additionally, if the soul has become an adjoined apparition, Liz is unable to summon them due to their attachment to a living soul.

WEAKNESSES ⫻ (DO NOT FILL THIS OUT, I WILL PROVIDE IT FOR YOU)

^{Other
_{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"So what makes St. Portwell so great?"

Liz is hoping to get her hands on her cousin's favorite baseball bat, if anyone's seen it around.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

_{Two days after the Senior Dance... Infirmary, PRCU}

---

Something was missing, and Haven couldn’t remember what it was.

A steady beeping greeted her as the blanket of a deep slumber began to slip off of her. She felt the scratchy pillow beneath her face, the stiff gown against her skin, and the blanket that covered her back. No warm, firm body next to her. No scent of cucumber and cologne. She heard the gentle breathing of someone nearby, but it wasn’t Rory’s deep draws and soft snores. She didn’t recognize it.

Her throat was dry, almost raw against the stale air she inhaled. Her muscles felt burdened by exhaustion where she laid on her stomach. The pressure at the middle of her back had her brows furrowing together. She’d used her wings too much last night. The liquor had been a self-prescribed painkiller for her healing joints.

Shifting her body onto her side was an effort itself. She winced at the pain in her wing as she tucked it into her back to avoid crushing it beneath her. It felt like the joints had been dislocated all over again.

It was a slow and steady climb for her hands to slip out from under the pillow and rub her heavy eyelids. She sighed as she managed to peel them open, finding the figure at the chair beside the bed blurry and unfocused until she managed a single, slow blink. The sight of the figure before her cleared, revealing Harper with full lashes panned low where she sat slumped in the chair.

Sister.

What was she doing by Haven’s bedside? What had happened at the dance to put her in the infirmary again? Where was Rory?

The confusion in Haven’s expression slowly became more evident as her eyes scanned the dozing brunette. She noticed the dark bruises peeking out of a sweater on Harper’s neck. She saw the subtle sign of worry etched into the dark brows. It was strange that Harper was sitting where Rory should have been.

She listened to their shared heartbeats as she tried to remember. Distracted only for a moment as she realized how the rhythm of their hearts beat in sync.

Sister…

_{“L-Little Dove.”}

Her memories began crashing into her like birds into a glass pane.

"I need you."

The beeping of the monitor began to increase in tempo. She felt a weight settle onto her chest, pressing inwards, crushing her heart and lungs until she couldn’t breathe anymore.

“Mother.”

She heard the crack of Rory’s legs as they shattered and bent the wrong direction. She heard Amma’s shrieking fill the space with sizzling arcs of scarlet and black and silver. She remembered the sound of a body being torn apart above her. The horror she felt when she couldn’t determine if it was a clone or the real Gil.

Her heart rate reached a crescendo. Alarms blared from behind her that made her flinch and cover her ringing ears.

Only then did she feel the pressure of the blanket against her bare back. The place where feathers would have kissed her skin and kept it warm. The space where her wings should have been. Where they had graced her form ever since she was young. She still felt them, but they weren’t really there, were they?

A wave of misery and loss then consumed her as she relived the agony of her last conscious moment. The terror she felt as the monster held her in its arms. As it cradled her face like something precious before it inflicted the worst cruelty she had ever known upon her. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over.

It took her wings.

Clamped down on them with enough strength to fracture her bones, pulled them in opposite directions, luxated her joints, ripped flesh and cartilage and sinew, and took a piece of her soul with them. She had felt all of it all at once.

It took her wings. It took herwings.Ittookherwings. Her wings. Her wings. Her wings.

Broken. Destroyed.

She sat up in the bed hyperventilating. Disbelief crossed her features as she tore the wires and IV from her arms and chest in a frenzy and twisted her arms behind her back to feel them. They were still there in her heart and mind, and yet her fingertips brushed against smooth skin until they met the nubs that remained and the patch of feathers between them. The place where a gaping wound should have been was now covered in new, healed flesh. Tiny pin feathers already dotted them like new growth in a forest that had burned to the ground.

Gone.

A sorrowful wail filled the room then, leaking into the halls and scaring the other residents. Haven pulled her knees to her chest, her arms wrapping around them tightly. Anything to comfort her grief. She buried her face into the stiff blanket over them to block out the world, and began to mourn her beautiful wings for all that they meant to her...

...and for what little she was without them.

…

She stood in a long, narrow hallway, the walls suffocating her with dense, choking smoke that stung her eyes. Every blink sent wet, slick tears burning down her cheeks, relentless and hot. She tried to wipe them away, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, but it was useless. The more she tried, the more they poured, like a faucet that couldn’t be turned off. They carved down her neck, soaking into her collar, and she could feel the wetness pooling around her bare feet, like she was sinking into it.

Drip.

The sound was too loud in the thick silence, the only noise in a world that felt like it had shrunk to just this hallway. It stretched on forever, its oppressive quiet broken only by the squeak of her feet against the slick floorboards. Ahead, there was nothing but smoke and that faint glow of orange light spilling from beneath a door at the far end. It danced through the fog, beckoning her forward like a promise of escape, but something about it felt wrong—too bright, too unreachable. Still, she moved toward it, each step slow, dragging, her legs heavy as though the air itself resisted her.

Her breaths came in shallow, laboured gasps, the smoke filling her lungs like fire. Each inhale burned, her chest tightening with every second as the air thinned, constricting her throat, making it harder to breathe. She squinted through the blur, straining to make out the walls that lined the hallway, but all she saw were vague shapes lost in the murky gray. Picture frames hung along the walls—she knew they were important, memories maybe—but the details were lost, swallowed by the smoke. They were just dark patches now, filled with expressionless faces she couldn’t recognize.

The heat grew more intense the closer she got to the door. It wasn’t just hot—it was suffocating. The air thickened, pressing down on her from all sides. The liquid streaming from her eyes also slowed, becoming heavier, dragging down her cheeks with sluggish finality as it dripped off her chin and onto her chest.

Drop.

She reached out, her hand shaking somewhat as she brushed against the wall for support, but it was slick—wet with something that sent a shudder through her. She jerked her hand back, nausea twisting in her stomach, bile rising in her throat. She didn’t need to look. She knew what it was. She didn’t want to confirm it.

Just get to the door. Just get to the door.

Her steps faltered as the air became too clotted to pull into her lungs. Each movement felt like dragging herself through quicksand, her legs weak and trembling. The hallway seemed to stretch with every stride, the door at the end always just out of reach. By the time she got to it, her throat burned, her breath shallow and ragged, and the tears were unstoppable now, her vision little more than blurry shapes and flickering shadows. Desperate, she reached out, her fingers fumbling for the doorknob.

The instant her palm touched it, pain shot through her like lightning.

She gasped, yanking her hand back as if it had been scalded. The doorknob radiated heat, the door itself searing like an oven left on for too long. Her skin throbbed, but she pressed her hand against it again, forcing herself to turn the knob. It wouldn’t move. It was locked.

No, that’s what she told herself. Locked. Or maybe… maybe she wasn’t trying hard enough. What if the door wasn’t locked at all? What if she just didn’t have the strength to open it? Panic welled in her chest, icy fear flooding her veins. What if it wasn’t the door? What if it wasn’t the door?

Her throat constricted. She clawed at it, hands tearing at her own skin as invisible fingers wrapped around her windpipe. Her nails scraped at the hot wood of the door, then back to her neck, trying desperately to free herself. Her lungs screamed, each breath a painful gasp that never quite filled her, the smoke pressing in on all sides, swallowing her whole.

She couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t breathe.

The world collapsed around her, swirling into a whirlpool of heat and suffocating smoke, and Harper screamed—a raw, desperate sound torn from the deepest part of her soul.

And then she woke with a start.

The scream echoed around her, closer, more distinct. A wailing so harsh, so painful to her ears that her hands instinctively reached out until her fingers brushed against something warm. She wrapped her arms around its form, feeling the tremors in her sister’s body as she sobbed. She pressed her cheek against Haven’s hair, her world still a blur with the dream fading into nothing.

Haven didn’t even flinch. She hardly felt the touch of another through the overwhelming loss that wracked her body and soul. Not until she felt the weight of her sister’s head against hers. That small gesture of comfort, like a silent way of telling her that she wasn’t alone, kept her from falling apart. It wasn’t Rory; it wasn’t home. Yet it felt like a place where Haven could seek shelter when she was far from him.

Any doubts Haven may have had about Harper’s feelings towards her blew away with the wind. She felt wanted. She felt loved. It was the family she could have had, what she deserved all along, and now that family was here to help her with her pain.

So the floodgates opened wide, and Haven leaned into the embrace. Her head turned to bury itself in Harper’s shoulder. Her hands clutched the arm across her chest and pulled it closer to her. She felt the other wrap tighter against her back, and her sobs grew louder as she thought about how it would have felt to be held like this with her wings still attached.

“My wings.” The pitiful words spilled out of her in a whine. “My wings.”

Harper couldn’t find the words to respond to Haven’s lament, no matter how hard she tried. It felt like the guilt had lodged itself in her throat, a burden she hadn’t been able to shake since the moment the Chernobog tore Haven’s wings away. She swallowed, her throat burning with the effort, and winced as the pain flared up, a searing ache spreading down into her chest. Amma’s hands had left their mark on her during the dance, the bruises still fresh and tender. But she’d waved off any offers of help, as if by ignoring the injury, she could pretend the pain didn’t exist.

There had been worse wounds, anyway—ones that had demanded more attention than a bruised throat or the blindness that came and went with her fractured emotions. She’d grown used to the unpredictability of the latter over time, accepting it as another part of her that was broken and in need of fixing. But Haven’s loss… that was different. It wasn’t something time could heal, at least not in a short amount of it, nor was it something Harper could simply adapt to.

_{“I’m sorry,”} she whispered, her voice barely audible as it scraped against the rawness in her throat. The words felt pitiful, as fragile as they sounded, but what else could she offer? She couldn’t bring Haven’s wings back, couldn’t rewind time and stop the Chernobog from taking what was treasured. All Harper had was the empty comfort of her presence, her arms wrapped around Haven like she could somehow protect her from any more pain.

It wasn’t enough. And she hated herself for that.

The apology was heard clearly, yet it didn't ease Haven's sorrow. She could only cry, and cry, and think about the last time she'd been able to fly over the island. The last time she'd touched a cloud. The view of Glacier National Park from above, and how colorful and serene it had been to soar over it's mountains during her summer break. She'd never see the world from her own unique point of view ever again.

Regret sat in her stomach like an anvil for things she hadn't done while she had them. Like how she'd never feel another's touch against her feathers again--

“Where’s Rory?” Haven suddenly gasped out as a moment of panic made her body tense in Harper’s arms. She would have thrown herself out of the bed, if she didn't feel so weak. “Is he-? Is he okay?”

_{“He’s... stable. Recovering, from what I’ve heard,”} Harper replied tenderly, trying to ease Haven’s fears without feeding her panic with a reassuring tone.

The tension melted out of Haven's body with the words. Stable... recovering... at least she didn't lose him too. She wanted to know what happened with the monster, if she needed to mourn any other losses-- Gil, Luce, Alyssa, Torres, Amma, or any of the students that had been crushed by debris or frozen in ice-- but it was too much. There were too many questions, and she didn't think her heart could hold any more space for the grief that would come with the answers. It sent her into a fresh fit of weeping. A miserable feeling spreading through her body and taking hold of her just like the Chernobog had.

For a long moment, silence settled between them, broken only by the sound of Haven’s sobs. The cries that had once been loud and heart-wrenching softened, dwindling into quiet sniffles against Harper’s shoulder. Harper could feel the dampness of Haven’s tears soaking through her shirt, the warmth of her sister’s body pressed so closely against her own. It was then, in the quiet aftermath of Haven’s grief, that she let herself speak the words she’d been choking down since she’d taken up temporary residence beside her sister’s bed.

_{”I... should’ve done more. And before you say there was nothing I could’ve done…don’t.”} It didn’t matter that the Chernobog had been near unstoppable. It wasn’t enough for her. Because, once again, she’d survived while those she cared for had suffered...or worse.

Harper’s words only made the aching in Haven’s chest worsen. She swallowed against her own sore throat, and drew a shaky breath before her soft words filled the silence.

“I’m glad you didn’t... It would have hurt you, too.” It was an oversimplification of everything Haven wanted to admit. Like how she knew the monster would have shattered or shredded Harper’s body and made her watch as it happened. How she’d seen Harper trying to separate the Amma they knew apart from her other selves. The image of Amma’s pale, inked hand wrapped around Harper’s throat was burned into Haven’s mind amidst the chaos of the dance. Even how much more miserable she would feel if she didn’t have Harper here to comfort her in her grief.

“Harps,” she whispered, “I know you’re my sister.”

---

_{Location: PRCU? - Dundas Island}

Human: #5.005 Mourning Dove

---

_{Interaction(s): Blackjack & Eclipse}

Previously: Dive For You

There was so much Haven could say to her teammates, her friends, her found family, and those of Eclipse that had been fated to join them had the school not been shut down.

She could tell them that she was grateful they’d gathered on the beach one last time. One more night to spend together until their flock would part ways in the morning. She could tell Gil how relieved she was to see him here, breathing through the misery, and how much it hurt that Amma wasn’t. She could let them know the plans that had been made for herself and Rory; how the couple agreed to take the leap of faith into the unknown together.

She should ask the others about their plans, how they’d come to that decision, or why they chose to go that way. She should let them know that she would try to stay in contact as much as possible, despite the fact that neither herself nor Rory had a working phone. She didn’t know when she’d find the money or time to get another for herself.

She had many questions, as always, but she also had so many apologies to say to them for the risk to their lives that the words formed into a lump in her throat.

So, she didn’t say anything at all.

She sat there by the fire with her eyes on the flames, on the waves lapping at the shore, or on the colors on the horizon as the sun dipped below it. She watched the seagull enjoying its hunt, how it maneuvered around the drone with grace, until its gift of flight made her sick to her stomach with envy and grief.

Her eyes moved back to the fire, blinking back the tears that she no longer had the energy to shed. She rested her head on Rory’s arm where it sat on the armrest of his wheelchair. It had been so strange to walk down to the beach with the others while Aurora ported him there. Strange that he hadn’t been walking beside her. Strange and awful that she’d been walking instead of flying.

One would think that her feet would hurt by now, for all of the walking that she’d done in the last week.

The nubs that remained on her back hurt, though. She wasn’t sure if it was an aftershock of what she’d been through, or just a symptom of her trauma. She could still feel her wings, as if they were still shifting behind her and tucking themselves in to avoid dragging in the sand. Yet she couldn’t feel the warmth of the fire on her feathers. She couldn’t feel the breeze coming off of the Pacific ruffling them. Her wings were ghosts upon her back, still heavy with the weight of the blood that had been shed at the dance.

One of Eclipse was the first to speak up, but something along the beach behind her caught her attention before his words had any effect on the group. She felt fear crawling up her spine with each heavy footstep taken on the sand, until they paused and the voice that followed calmed her racing heart.

Katja?

She was glad to know that their missing teammate was okay, but an uneasy feeling still spread over her. Rory had told her about his suspicions… and Haven had reason to believe he was right. She’d remembered how Hyperion had hit a soft spot within Katja all those years ago. Hyperion had hit a soft spot within herself, even, but she’d been wise to ignore the call of a world in which hyperhuman’s played dirty to get what they wanted.

She just didn’t know how she would feel if Katja had known about what awaited them in the trials. She wanted to believe that Katja didn’t have a clue. That it had been as much a betrayal to the blonde as it was for the rest of them. So many questions, and yet the weight of her grief had kept her from seeking Katja out herself in the past week.

Her head lifted from Rory’s arm as the footsteps drew nearer. She turned it to look up at him, a hint of apprehension shining in her hazel eyes as she whispered to him.

“Katja’s coming this way.”

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

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_{Location: Senior Dance, ARC Center - PRCU}

Dance Monkey: #4.087 Dive For You

---

_{Interaction(s): Jim O’Neil, Chernobog @Lord Wraith}

Previously: A Cuckoo in the Nest

Haven trembled where she knelt on the blood soaked floor of the ARC center, staring at the pool of blood and entrails before her. Her baby hairs, once delicately curled, were now sticky and flattened against her brows and cheekbones. The tawny feathers adorning her back and wings weighed heavier than they had ever felt, soaked in scarlet blood.

Her heart felt even heavier. Heavy with the blood of Gil, heavy with the snapped bones of her lover, the bruised necks of Cassander and her sister, the soul torn asunder across the room now waging war with her many selves, Lucille Calder’s heart which continued to beat– She knew it was still beating, she saw it pumping the blood into her former teammate’s body. Even the shredded form of the woman who had plagued her nightmares since the trial added to the load.

Jim O’Neil knelt next to her now promising a path of escape. His vibrant power shielded her from the monster’s blood soaked talons, from a future of suffering, from being re-made into Daedalus’s creation. The Chancellor promised that Rory was safe now. That if she could only will her body to follow him, she would allow Luce and Alyssa Townsend to hold the beast back until she was out of his grasp.

Was it worth the risk to their lives, too?

Was her life worth more pain and suffering?

The anger that fueled her ceaseless will to defy the cruel and twisted fate that was placed upon Haven burnt bright for one moment…

…until it too was weighed down and snuffed out by the despair in her heart.

She turned her head to look at O’Neil, imagining the ways the monster would tear him apart in front of her as she looked between his steady eyes.

“Get the others out.” She began, her voice strong but shaking with the weight of her decision. “Rory’s going to die if he doesn’t get somewhere safe.”

She was already slipping her feet out of her heels, her hands pressing into the blood of a friend as she pushed herself to her feet and looked through the purple shield at the fight happening for her sake. Her voice was softer now as she spoke again. “Tell him I’m sorry. I have to stop this before someone else gets hurt.”

Before her trembling legs could fail her, Haven slipped out of Jim’s reach and past his shield into the fray. She held her wings and chin high despite the utter defeat she felt in her soul.

“Take me and end this.” The tear running a line through the blood on her cheek betrayed her fear. “Please, no more suffering.”

Because she wasn’t sure if her heart could take anymore. She wasn’t sure if she could continue living, knowing that she could have prevented this if she’d just given in when the monster first extended its hand towards her. If she hadn’t let her closest friends act for her.

Somewhere within her fractured resolve, a smoking ember still hoped that this would provide an opening for someone to end the monster while it was distracted.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

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_{Location: Senior Dance, ARC Center - PRCU}

Dance Monkey: #4.080 A Cuckoo in the Nest

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_{Interaction(s): Rory, @webboysurf, That Thing is Not My Son, @Lord Wraith}

Previously: The Catbird Seat

"No, no... I was just getting some fresh air... had a talk with my sister, and she really let me have it."

Sister.

Her smile faltered, corners of her lips twitching as she forced it back onto her face before he could see it had happened.

"Sorry, did I miss something?"

She couldn't answer him as her mind whirled.

Harper’s my sister-
Her dad had an affair with my mom. He didn’t want me.
_{I was a mistake.}

He knew I was in the system. Knew I was in the home, didn’t want me, left me there, I was so _alone.

^{Harper’s my sister-}
Her parents died. My father is dead, and
_{I don’t even know where my mom is-}

^{Did she ever want me back?}
Would she want me now? She loved me, right?

Harper's my sister.
_{Does she want me?}

All of it threatened to pour out of her throat like vomit.

Her lips parted, taking a breath before she would attempt to gloss over the last twenty minutes, but the sound of something heavy hitting the roof of the ARC Centre drew her attention up.

”Rory-”

She was interrupted by the roar that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand tall. An instinct within her triggered, telling her that whatever made that kind of sound was a predator.

Screeching metal filled her ears a moment later, it’s whine causing instant discomfort to her sensitive drums. She cringed and pressed her hands to her ears as her wings twitched behind her. Desperate to reach for him, to run, to hide, but helpless until the last tear in the metal was made and silence fell over the dance.

Her heart beat in her chest like the thumping of a ruffed grouse’s wings. Building in pace as the roof fell into the centre and she caught a brief glimpse of the monster that crouched above until Rory blocked her view. Her body tucked into his embrace, grateful that he sacrificed his own protection for hers, every muscle of their bodies tense as they expected to be crushed beneath the debris. She buried her face into his suit jacket until the sound of falling metal stopped.

When the chaos ended, her head turned to peek out of Rory’s embrace, desperate to see what threat had come to their little island. The monster was huge. She’d never seen anything like it. Her eyes tracked it’s movements as it dropped itself down, down, until its large wings- they were so strong, they made her feathery limbs appear weak- caught the weight of its body and allowed it to land on the dance floor with little damage considering how far it had fallen inside. She couldn’t stop staring at it as it towered above them, growling at them in warning, its red eyes searching the crowd.

Until those eyes locked with hers and she felt her heart stop. Her hands dug into Rory’s dress shirt, eyes wide like a doe caught in headlights, and her breath hitching in her throat. Her wings tucked in tighter to her back as fear crawled up her spine. She wanted to shrink away from those eyes and hope they never looked her away again. Why was it looking at her like that? What did it want?

Her pulse returned, fast and intense, when it dragged its gaze away and she found herself taking a shaky breath as she tried to fight against the panic. She followed its gaze, and when it stopped once more she felt her stomach turn as the creature looked upon the pale skin adorned in ink and scars and raven hair that belonged to none other than Amma Cahors.

There was only one reason the two were connected. Only one person that could have made a monster like this, with its imposing figure and icy breath.

“Hello, mothers.”

No.

”The father is expecting you both.”

She felt like her heart was going to burst from her chest.

Her fear only grew as she watched Cassander Charon fail to land a blow to it. Her mind reeling as Torres stepped in to save him, body flinching with the name the Foundation rep uttered.

Daedalus.

They are dead. They aredead. Theyaredeadtheyaredeadthey’redead.

Her body began to tremble as she stared in blank terror at the gashes left along Torres’s abdomen.

He was back for her. She could see the twisted smile on his face now. Daedalus had sent his newest creation to steal them back. And it was addressing her again, the monster's threat curdling her blood as its eyes rested on the man she clung to. The man that was looking at her now, at her aching wings, her only option of escape hindered by the damage done to them.

As if she could fly faster than the monster could...

She could see the cogs turning behind those sky blue eyes, but all she could do was stare back at him with nothing but panic behind her own. Staring at him as he searched the crowd for someone, as he pulled his phone from his pocket and dropped it on the ground by her feet. He slipped from her touch easily, and before she knew it he was walking away from her. Her feet wouldn’t move no matter how desperately she wanted to follow him.

There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. All of the exits were blocked, frozen in a wall of ice. Students suspended within it, and she wasn’t even sure if they were alive. Could they breathe? Was she breathing?

She wasn’t. She couldn’t take a breath. The weight on her chest was crushing her lungs. She choked as the monster froze Rory’s legs in place, flinching as the monster threatened her wings. Finally she found the will to take a step forwards, to get to Rory, only to be pushed backwards by the wind those powerful wings created.

Her own wings spread open to beat against the wind, managing to stay on her feet while many others were knocked onto the ground. She needed to get to Rory before –

“Like this.”

Her heart leapt into her throat, panic bubbling its way out into a horrified scream as the monster lunged for him.

“NO!”

The crack shattered her heart, left her knees weak so that when she lurched forwards all she managed was to collapse onto them. Her wings flared behind her as she caught herself, her plumage standing tall for the second time that night but she didn’t even feel it. The arm that didn’t catch her fall reached for her chest, clawing at the place where her broken heart felt suffering and despair consuming it whole. Tears blurred her vision, building on her gold and green irises until they spilled over onto her cheeks and down to her chin. Her wails joined his pained screaming as she saw Rory then. The bloodied white bone jutted out of his thighs like a fallen tree. Her wings went limp behind her as she began to sob as he succumbed to shock and laid limp on the glitching floor.

“Ror-y?” Her voice cracked as she called for him. “Rory!”

The monster’s grey tail smashed the phone in front of her, but she hardly registered it. Her entire being was focused on the broken body of her best friend. Her ears listened for his shallow breath, eyes tracking the movements of his chest to make sure she was hearing it right. A shuddered breath escaped her when she confirmed that he was still alive. Her relief was felt only momentarily, lasting one precious second before she heard the gargoyle call her by her favorite name.

The name Rory had given her out of love.

Her face twisted into an anguished grimace before she looked up at the monster once more. Puffy and red-rimmed eyes beheld the terror she felt looking into his eyes, but within the gold and green there blazed a hatred for it. A hatred for the man that made it and sent it here to cause this pain. Who had stolen her from beside her lover and took her blood. The blood that likely gave this creature its wings.

Though that hate was not enough to keep her from uttering her next, defeated words...

"No one is coming with you."

The words left her lips in a whoosh of air instead.

Her eyes flitted to the Gils now where they stood between the monster and Amma. Her best friend still broken and unconscious behind them. She wanted to feel brave with him, to gather the courage to also stand against the monster, to fight for their freedom, but… All she felt was fear for what the monster might do to him for speaking up.

There was still one other who had a chance against it. Another whose partner had also put himself in harm's way to keep her safe.

“Amma… Ammaranthe!”

She pleaded, hoping that the French woman’s true name would wake her from the strange state she was in.

“Please.”

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

^{_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: The Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.068: The Catbird Seat

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Sierra @Qia}

Previously: A Cat and Bird Game

Her lesser coverts began to ruffle as Sierra continued to invade her space, but she wasn’t the type to back down. That sickly sweet Southern drawl made her ears burn with irritation, and yet she maintained a flat expression. She looked over Sierra’s own expression and she didn’t like what she saw, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. What frustrated her more than her feathers revealing her true feelings was the fact that nothing Sierra said was making sense. This was no longer the taunts and insults Haven had expected from the redhead, but a game in which she felt trapped.

Almost like she was back in the home again. The older girls always found it funny to confuse the little ones. She used to unknowingly play into their games too, and she never won until she found her backbone.

She shouldn’t be playing into this anyways. How could what was between Harper and this friend have anything to do with herself? What would Harper possibly have to lie to Haven for? Why did this friend think it would be fun sport to spill the secret herself?

She didn’t like word games, anyways.

“What are you getting at, Sierra?” She snapped suddenly. It was better to cut straight to the point. “You’re wasting my time.”

Sierra’s lips curled into a knowing smirk, the gleam in her eyes betraying how much she had expected Haven’s reaction. Everything was playing out exactly how she wanted, like an intricate game where she was always several steps ahead. Haven, feathers metaphorically—and perhaps soon literally—ruffled, was inching closer to the trap Sierra had so delicately set.

“Am I?” the redhead tilted her head, feigning innocence, though her voice carried an undercurrent of smug satisfaction. “Wasting your time, huh? Funny, that's what people usually say before they find out the truth. You’ll care, Haven. Probably more than you’d like to admit.”

“But I’m not here for a public spectacle,” Sierra added, her gaze sweeping the room as if to remind Haven of their audience. The wings, twitching ever so slightly, were like a beacon, drawing more attention than either of them needed right now. Folding her arms across her chest, Sierra leaned back to finally give the other some breathing room. “Tell you what—let’s take this somewhere private. You’ve got questions, I’m sure. I’ve got answers. No games. Just you and me.”

Haven huffed an incredulous breath through her nose in response and turned her head to look into the crowd below. She couldn’t give a single feather what the students nearby would think of their tense conversation. She also couldn’t stand the thought of being alone in a room with this woman. How tempting it would be to wipe that smug look off of her face with no one there to misunderstand her intentions behind it. Sierra, on the other hand, would probably call it a reason for her kind to stay away from her. No, she shouldn’t hit the redhead, no matter how much she wanted to.

Her eyes moved over the crowd, searching for Rory among them but finding no sign of him. If he’d been asking for her down below, she hadn’t heard his voice among the music and chatter with her attention so focused on Sierra. She should look for him. Maybe ask Harper what Sierra was up to instead…

Would Harper really tell her, or would she lie again? She had to admit that Sierra’s words were getting to her. That her absolute trust in Harper’s decisions had started to crack the moment she let her friend act so cruelly. Was it worth breaking Harper’s trust by going along with this? If she learned the truth, whatever it could be, would their friendship recover?

The edges of her lips curved into a small frown as she made her decision. She looked over the centre one more time, once more to find her boyfriend, and when she didn’t see him she thought of the perfect place for Sierra to make her final move. Her gaze was firm as she looked back at those waiting eyes, her shoulders tense as she straightened them. “I’ll move somewhere private with you, but we aren’t leaving the ARC. I’m on a date, after all.”

A date she wanted to get back to as soon as possible.

With that said, Haven drew her wings in closely to her back and moved past Sierra. She strode with purpose, half a mind to leave the redhead behind and fade into the crowd below. If Sierra didn’t keep up, she wouldn’t care. Her gaze continued to search for Rory among the crowd below as she began to descend the stairs. She could only hope that he would forgive her for being gone from him for so long.

So predictable, Sierra thought, trailing behind at a measured pace. She was content to let Haven lead, her eyes following the brunette’s every movement. Sierra wasn’t in a rush, savouring the anticipation like a cat toying with its prey. She’d already set the stage. Now, all that was left was to see how far Haven was willing to go before the inevitable truth dropped.

As they wove through the crowd, the redhead’s gaze flicked briefly over the faceless bodies surrounding them, dismissing each one in turn. None of these people mattered, and Sierra wouldn’t waste energy committing their features to memory. They were just background noise to her, a forgettable blur of irrelevant distractions. Haven, though—Haven had her full attention. She was the only person in this room worth Sierra’s time, as far as she was concerned.

The adjacent lounge they walked to was dimly lit, cozy but deserted. Sierra followed Haven through the doorway and let the door click shut behind them. The faint hum of the event outside still trickled in, but it was muffled, distant—almost irrelevant now. Her gaze swept over the room before landing squarely back on Haven.

“See? No one to interrupt now.” Sierra’s voice was velvet-smooth as she sauntered a few steps deeper into the room, her tone laced with a subtle challenge. “We can talk, just the two of us.” She stopped, leaning back against a sleek table in the corner, her arms folding across her chest once more as she gave Haven the space to speak first, but not before adding, “Of course, what I have to say might change a few things.”

The winged woman wasn’t sure if privacy was a great idea, really. There was no one here to keep Haven from losing her composure. No one would hold her back if she saw red flash across her vision, a red as bright as Sierra’s hair. She’d been reminded of that wild rage too many times over the last few weeks. The kind that truly surpassed logic and followed only what her heart desired.

She stood rigid in the room, across from a social predator, wary of how she was going to start this talk. Her remiges had already relaxed, yet she was sure it wouldn’t last long. Not with the way those piercing brown eyes held all of their focus on her. It dawned on her then, standing alone with this stranger, that it seemed like she was the only reason Sierra had come to the dance in the first place.

“Whatever involves me in your history must really be ruffling your feathers.” She began slowly, regarding Sierra with a curious expression now. “I can’t say I recognize you, if we’ve met before today. Though your hair isn’t natural, so maybe that’s what is throwing me off.”

“Have we met before?”

Sierra let out a low, humourless chuckle at Haven's words, the sound filling the quiet space between them. “Met before?” she repeated, her voice lilting with mock surprise. She watched Haven closely without saying more, the silence between them thickening like a dense fog. She didn’t rush, didn’t feel the need to. Instead, she let the quiet stretch, her eyes never leaving the winged woman’s face. There was something almost intoxicating about this kind of power, this level of command over a situation. She knew exactly where this conversation was going, but Haven was still in the dark, and that made it all the more satisfying.

Slowly, purposefully, Sierra pushed herself away from the table and began to take a leisurely stroll around the room, her boots clicking against the floor. She let her fingers graze the back of a nearby chair, her movements fluid, almost lazy, as though she had all the time in the world. There was no hurry here. “You know,” she said, her tone almost conversational, “I could see why you might be confused. After all, you wouldn’t have any reason to connect the dots, would you?”

She shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that was as much for her own amusement as it was for Haven’s growing unease. “I mean, Harper’s been good at keeping things close to the chest, hasn’t she?” she continued, her voice softening just a touch, like a slow flame licking at the edges of paper before it catches fire. “She’s always been the type to bury things when they get too messy. And family… well, family can get very messy.” Sierra came to a stop, her stance relaxed, though her expression shifted into that same mock concern she’d worn before, a carefully constructed mask of empathy.

“Oh, but wait…you never really had that, did you? Being stuck in that sad, sad orphanage of yours….”

She’d been watching Sierra with a stare that was both irritated and cautious, but now it transformed entirely. Her face fell, brows lowering as her eyes glinted with the burning anger she felt in her stomach. Her normally bright disposition now something else entirely.

“Now you’ve really killed my mood.” She uttered in a low tone. Her wings shifted behind her back, not yet ruffled, but certainly growing tense. She could feel the effects of the alcohol wearing off, the dull ache returning to her healing joints. She’d definitely need another drink after this. She couldn’t piece the puzzle together, and it was obvious that Sierra knew the completed picture already. It was frustrating to realize that Sierra also knew Haven wasn’t even close to figuring it out. This was all in good fun for her, this power she held above Haven’s head like a toy that the younger woman couldn’t reach. It pissed Haven off.

“Who are you, really, to think you have the privilege of mocking my life? What’s made you so cruel?”

For a moment, Sierra just allowed the question to hang, enjoying the sight of Haven’s growing irritation, the way her wings tensed behind her like the manifestation of her fraying composure. It was like watching a bird trapped in a cage it didn’t even know existed. She kept her expression neutral, letting silence do its work before speaking again.

“You want to know what makes me cruel?” Sierra mused as she began to pace slowly around the room again. “Cruelty isn’t hard, you know- it comes naturally when you’ve seen how easily people fall apart under pressure. You push the right buttons, watch them crumble, and then you remind them of their place.” She tilted her head, as if contemplating something deeper. “It’s not personal. It’s just…fun.”

There was a beat of stillness before Sierra continued, her voice taking on a more serious tone now. “But this?” Her eyes locked onto Haven’s hazel ones, the playfulness completely evaporating from her face like a mask being pulled off. “Oh, Haven dear, this is personal.” She stopped pacing, turning to face the other fully now, her expression darker, devoid of the light banter she had used to toy with before. “I’m not mocking your life because really… what’s there to mock when it had no purpose to begin with?”

She took another step forward, this time closing the space between them, her boots reminiscent of death drums as they tapped on the floor. “For someone so bright, you’ve missed the most glaring truth of all.” She paused just before reaching Haven, her voice dropping with venom. “There’s a reason you were left behind. A reason why, despite everything- despite the affair- you were never part of the picture.” When the other’s lips parted, as if to protest, Sierra cut her off with a short laugh.

“Oh come on, Haven. Don’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind.” She leaned in just enough, the next word slow, each one punctuated with an intended beat. “If our dad-she paused for emphasis, letting that word sink in, watching as it hit Haven with a slap, “-really wanted you, don’t you think he would’ve taken you when he had the chance? Don’t you think he would have done more instead of leaving you to rot in that place?” Sierra sighed then, a long, drawn-out exhale, as if she’d been genuinely disappointed by her own child who would never quite live up to expectations.

“You weren’t wanted,” she said, barely above a whisper, her voice distant, as though she was speaking to some long-forgotten memory rather than the person standing in front of her. “Not then, and not now. Harper may have tried to keep you close, but even she couldn’t bring herself to tell you the truth. Because deep down, she knows what I do- you were a mistake.”

Every barb, vane, and pin feather adorned upon Haven’s back and wings bristled, the appendages stretching out beside her to appear larger and imposing. Her hands were curled into fists at her side, shaking with the effort of keeping still while her nails dug into the small marks left behind from the day before last. Each toned muscle in her arms was tense, poised and ready to act on her wildest impulses. She was hot with rage, aching with the hurt in her heart, and utterly speechless for the first time in her life.

The movement was swift. Her arm swung behind her head before those brown eyes could blink. Each fibre in her body willing her to let it loose, like an arrow knocked against a bow, and to find its target. She almost allowed the impulse to guide her fist, her face twisting into something hurt and angry.

But there was a spark in Sierra’s brown eyes that made her hesitate. The first genuine and human emotion that the redhead displayed all evening. It satiated something within her, that wild temperament finding the display of fear equivalent to drawing blood.

Her arm lowered slowly, letting the threat linger a moment longer, before it went slack at her side. Her fist remained, if only to provide a distraction from the utter defeat Haven felt in the moment. It felt like her heart had a tiny crack in it. She didn’t want to believe what Sierra told her, and yet the puzzle pieces finally connected. The completed piece laid as bare as the emotions on her face and feathers.

“Get. Out.” She bit out, her voice maintaining strength despite its quiet volume. Her eyes cast themselves to the side, the threat of tears pricking at her eyes. She never imagined that she’d cry over someone she’d never met. Of a man that was absent for all of her life, even in the womb. Perhaps it was the way Sierra broke the news to her. How it felt like Harper’s father, Sierra’s dad, their dad, her father… He’d known she existed, and he left her to be lost within the system when her mother couldn’t care for her.

She didn’t want to cry over a man like that. He didn’t deserve her tears.

Sierra flinched.

It wasn’t the raised fist or the looming threat of physical harm that rattled her, but rather the force of a memory so vivid that it shattered her self-control in an instant. The sight of Haven’s wings flaring, her clenched fist trembling with fury, dragged Sierra back to that day. The day her father had struck her. The slap hadn’t been just an act of anger; it was a jarring realization, a moment that split open her world and forced her to see a side of him she hadn't wanted to face.

Haven’s raised fist hovered between them, shaking slightly as the fire in her eyes blazed with hurt and disbelief. It mirrored the rage Sierra had once seen in herself, the raw fury she felt in the aftermath of her father’s betrayal.

But this time, Sierra wasn’t angry.

She wasn’t defiant.

She was afraid—afraid of the past she had so desperately buried and the storm of emotions coming back to the surface now. It was like staring into a mirror, but instead of her reflection, she saw a girl still burning with the same unanswered questions she’d once asked.

For a fleeting moment, Sierra’s hardened exterior cracked, and something vulnerable passed behind her eyes. She hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected to feel so exposed, so shaken by the memory of her father’s hand striking her face. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she quickly stifled that weakness, steeling herself once more. She couldn’t allow herself to go back to that girl—the one who was powerless, broken, and desperate for answers. She had to be stronger, for Harper’s sake, for her own. There was no room for uncertainty anymore.

When Haven’s fist finally lowered, the air between them still hummed with tension, thick enough to choke on. Sierra exhaled softly, the small release of breath the only sign of her relief. Haven’s cold command to “Get. Out.” rang through the space like a final strike, but the redhead didn’t flinch this time. She had done what she came to do, planted the seeds of doubt, and shattered the fragile peace. As the weight of what she’d revealed settled into Haven’s mind, Sierra could see the cracks forming in the girl’s armour, mirroring her own years ago.

It was because of this understanding alone that she allowed herself one final moment of hesitation, her back turned to Haven now by the doorway. She almost said something—something to soften the blow or offer some kind of understanding—but no words came. She knew all too well that there was no comfort for this kind of wound.

The truth was out, and once exposed, it had to fester and heal on its own.

So, saying nothing, she walked out, leaving Haven with the shattered pieces of a truth neither of them had honestly been prepared for.

Haven didn’t breathe until the door clicked shut. She gasped for air, and swallowed against the lump in her throat. Her eyes searched the room, vision blurry at the edges by tears that had not yet fully formed. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Some reason why she’d allowed herself to be spoken to like that, maybe. Something that would settle the storm raging within her. Answers to the million questions that thundered in her mind.

Something to release her frustration into.

She brought her right fist to her chest and began to rub circles above her heart. A trick she’d been taught in therapy freshman year, but had forgotten until now. It was meant to calm her racing pulse, to soothe her soul, but she could only feel her breathing becoming heavy. The weight on her chest was not lifting. The action merely left a red bloom where she dug her knuckles in deeper.

Her frustration boiled over and she flung the closest table to her across the room. It knocked into the tables in its path, loud thuds filling the room where they fell to the ground. Discarded drinks shattered around them. Her palms stung as she flexed them at her sides. With furrowed brows she looked down at them and saw pinpricks of blood where her nails had reopened the crescent shaped wounds.

Fuck. Fuck this.

Life had never been fair for Haven Barnes. So why did this hurt so much?

Her hands rose to her face, pressing the heels of her palms to her temples as she closed her eyes and tried to take deep breaths. Her fingers carefully bent backwards to keep her palms from getting even the smallest amount of blood in her hair.

Her heart had been settled regarding her father a long time ago. She’d come to terms with the fact that he had never been there for her. That he didn’t want her in his life. She was okay with that.

But this… knowing he was aware of her situation. He’d known she was in that orphanage, and he never once thought to save her from it. It hurt knowing that the pain she endured there could have been prevented. That first year alone, the hunger, the fear, resorting to crime just for something to eat or a place to sleep and stay dry– it would have been completely different.

It all hurt so… fucking… much.

She didn’t want to feel this, right now. The night had been going so well. She deserved a night without feeling the weight of the world on her heart. She was wearing such a beautiful dress, and Amma and Aurora had done so well on her makeup and hair. Rory was out there waiting for her, probably worried sick by now, and he looked so handsome and charming. This was their first date, and here she was alone in a room having a crisis.

She should find Rory and explain. She should shove all of this down into her stomach, and try to forget she’d even heard it.

She couldn’t go out there like this, with her plumage the tallest it had been in years. Her fractured resolve on display for everyone to see. No, she needed them to rest before she left the room.

With nothing to clean the blood from her palms, she resorted to licking them before she got to work. A method she had used plenty of times before, when she lived as a rogue. She put her frustration into her wings. Slowing her breath to calm her heart and soothe her still tense muscles as she began to preen and force her feathers down.

While her emotions still fluttered wildly within her chest, she eventually managed to calm her body down. Her joints protested as she stretched her wings out behind her once more. Her expression turned sour for a moment. If she could fly later tonight, or even tomorrow morning, she could leave this weight behind for just a few, precious moments. She already would have been feeling better knowing that the freedom of flight was just hours away.

Yet she knew it would still be days before she could unburden herself from the ground again.
Carefully surveying her palms once more, all she could hope was that Rory wouldn’t notice them until later. She had decided that once she left this room, she wouldn’t speak of the painful truth revealed that night until they were alone together. Somewhere she’d be safe to pour her hurting heart out of her chest and let it lay open and raw between them. Rory would know what to do with it. He’d know how to help her handle it, and if he didn’t he would know just how to hold her to make her feel a little lighter.

She turned towards the door, towards the dance that continued on beyond it, and took a deep breath. The night could still go on. She could still have a great time, despite the crack in her heart. It had never held her back before.

She left the room as casually as she’d entered it, swiping a tall glass of champagne from a waiter as they passed. It was down her throat and bubbling in her stomach before she found her date in the crowd. Her heart had already begun to feel lighter as she found herself beside him.

“There you are, handsome.” She said with a smile that hardly reached her eyes. “Sorry if I scared you, being gone so long.”

---

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

Haven had been surrounded by people like her for nearly a week, and yet she still felt like an outsider among them. She’d barely spoken a word to her peers since she moved into the intake house, carrying only a well worn Jansport and a flat expression. To the others she appeared distant and mousey. She kept to herself, with her wings drawn close to her back so that no one would bump into them in passing. Little did they know that her hazel eyes watched their every move. That her silence was an excuse not to speak about who she was or where she came from. Her shyness and timid gestures were all a ruse. Underneath her careful construction of her composure, there lay an untamed and wild mind. Looking for any sign of ill will, danger, or false pretenses within those around her. If they looked close enough they could see her true nature in her sharp eyes.

She stood among them, supposedly awaiting transport to what this school called a Homecoming Trial, with her arms crossed and her wings drawn. Her brand new attire, the physical training uniform they’d given her, had to be the least worn items in her small assortment of clothes, yet she still wore the same dirty sneakers she arrived in. The only sign that she did not belong in such clean clothing.

She’d been assigned to Group 21, Team Blackjack, only recently. Today it seemed like the students gathered around were others within her team. None of them had the same physical markings of the hype gene, she noticed. The team standing nearby didn’t either. Her eyes moved over each one, wondering briefly if any of them had the seed of evil within them that would think her a freak, or call her weak for not possessing an ability like controlling the elements or something of the mind. While a few glanced her way, she was glad to see that none sneered at her or stared at her wings. In her world, it only took one small gesture to unleash that wildness within her and show them her true nature.

Got sidetracked falling off the backend of everything squished loose into bags swinging against legs and hanging off shoulders and hitting the dirt. Nothing bounced, just gave into gravity with everything unsettled when he set his own bag down. He’d found a pencil. Ordinary orange scraped clean and leftover wood pressed into green. It didn’t give the way clothes did, just sank deeper beneath the weight of so many soles ignoring it after losing its point. The eraser was gone, too, metal end pressed thin between worrying teeth. Lost? Or left behind? All used up and waiting for the rain to rot it away… Lucas picked up his bag and stood, brushing the pencil as clean as he could.

Found the wrong group first following new clothes without looking up. Wrong faces looked back at him when he finally did. Nothing familiar but voices he couldn’t put to faces and names he couldn’t place. Turned full circle searching for the direction he hadn’t paid attention to and finally grinned when their team representative pointed the way. Passed her his thanks and the pencil stub before he kept going. The right way this time, but in no hurry. Everyone was waiting for something that hadn’t happened yet. Rolling wheels on an empty road couldn’t carry anyone until they turned into cars and he didn’t see any yet. Didn’t know if he wanted to.

Cars meant wind and bugs and pinging stones and moving pieces with spinning wheels. Radio on or off the sound carried, locked into the coils of seat belts and the rattling chassis. Didn’t want to carry that load, but he didn’t know how else to get where they were going and if everyone else was riding then he was, too. But at least they’d be camping at the other end, right? That’s what he said, alongside fun trick trials for home. He’d wanted to ask about that, but didn’t want to keep trying when he kept making everyone confused and one guy wince every time he opened his mouth. So… He’d just wait and see and count the cracks, try to find the voices he knew from the walls as he passed the other teams by until one blink into the next pulled him into shoes used so long their backs were split weave and cracked plastic and worn-flat soles in his head. And when he glanced up again, and over, he stalled out mid-step into stopping, staring, wide-eyed and wondering.

Wings.

He’d seen that hunched-back shadow shape in the windows, hadn’t lived there long enough to see who it was or understand the silhouette, but she had wings and it couldn’t be a trick of the light. Could it? Lucas glanced between her and the Intake House they’d all walked out of, too close to trust but not close enough for the details of wind-ruffled feathers and scruffy shoes. She wasn’t the first visible Hyperhuman Lucas had ever encountered, but she was the first one standing so close and obvious and real. She was the first one not just in his head. Couldn’t find the straps or wire to make them fake, but he thought they were pretty and bright and if he put his hand out it’d just pass through like light off the window, like the glass bubbles on the playground.

But the feathers were soft… and her wings were warm…

…and it all happened so fast.

She’d been cautious of the steps being taken behind her, those students making their way to their meeting point. There were so many that Haven had been neglectful of who was behind her and if any feet stopped she assumed that it was another one of her teammates finally finding their place. So wary of those within eyesight that she didn’t notice one of them halted so close to her, until she felt what she could only consider a direct attack against her person.

A palm against her wing. Fingers interloping with feathers, digits against her integument, and a sudden rush of adrenaline. The world around her blurred as her mind traveled back to the last memory of another’s touch against her vanes. Large hands. Rough hands. A shock of fear and rage bristled the feathers on her wings and set the muscles in her body rigid. She acted out of instinct, a flash of red in her vision, each fibre in her body read to defend.

Her right arm and fist rose beside her head just as she jerked her wing out of reach, and as her body turned towards her assaulter she caught the briefest glimpse of who would dare to touch her. A scrappy young boy, his hair as wild as her heart, and a look of awe on his face where his hand now grasped at air.

Defend.

Her blow landed at the center, cracking bone, bursting capillaries, enough force to knock him on his ass and leave him hurting. The blood would stop, but the broken nose would be a reminder for him. It would be a warning for the others. And if that didn’t get the point across, the words she uttered in his direction would.

“Don’t ever touch my wings again.”

They were real.

Even more than things shaped and glued together into stiff parody, they were wings. Real wings. And they moved. Away, where he didn’t try to follow, thoughts still stalled on sensation he couldn’t deny until his head flew back and he flailed, off balance, blinking tears from his eyes and seeing a blurry, tall figure standing over him as surprise turned into shock. Swallowed blood. “Wha—” What happened?

Grass bent under his hand as he pushed himself up, the other hovered tentatively behind lights flaring in his eyes, over the sharp sting he couldn’t breathe through as he processed his own weight on his chest and the warmth curling beneath fast breaths as he took in that raised fist. “Okay. Ow…” She’d hit him. His face hurt. An ache already blooming through bone. She’d hit him hard. He’d fallen onto his bag… So that’s how she got so tall.

For a long moment, boy stared up at girl, frozen in the realisation of the source of his pain, half-sprawled beside an odd array of paper clips and pennies and one little stegosaurus plush fallen from his pocket, the whole world mysteriously quiet but for a vague ringing in his ears. Then it all came rolling back like the rain, heavy, thick, and warm spreading through the weave of his shirt with the words everything echoed. Don’t you ever think—Never—Don’t ever—again—don’t touch me—my wings—don’t. ever. never. you better—touch my wings—again.

“Wings… Okay…” His dazed expression drifted slowly down as the blood dripped from his chin, and he stared at the darker patches on the already dark shirt, taking his time to understand that he was bleeding as hands suddenly thrust into view with a wadded-up scarf.

“Oh fuck, you got him good, huh? Hey, Lucas, buddy, still with us, yeah? All right… Shit. What happened? Are you okay?” A small girl with a round face and a messy bun peered up at Haven from where she crouched beside Lucas, frowning at the blood but addressing her concern just as much towards the stranger with wings. She hadn’t had a clear view of anything, but she was pretty sure the answer was no.

Feathers were still ruffled and shaken, still twitching with energy as Haven looked down upon the bloodied face of who had touched her. She was still too angry to have sympathy for the muddy brown eyes that stared up at her in shock. Her eyes darted towards the belongings that had been scattered in his fall. The small dino plush caught her eye, causing the first drop of guilt to fall from the storm within her. Yet it seemed like he got the point behind his pain.

Good.

Another joined them, a girl she didn’t recognize, and she then searched those around her for their reactions to the scene. All surprised, some amused, and some appalled. They’d gotten the message too, surely.

But they were all staring at her. Her composure had completely shattered in front of them. She was no longer underestimated. Now she was that wild thing at her core, a force to be reckoned with. They were watching her as she stood there flexing her hands at her sides, trying to push the horrible memory from her mind. She needed privacy. She needed a breather to calm her nerves and raised remiges. There was only one thing that could provide that for her.

So, without a word or even another glance, Haven turned on her heel with a huff. She drew her wings close to her, in case anyone else had any thought to touch them as well, and pushed through the group of students until she reached a clearing. There she jumped into the air with a mighty push of her legs. Her wings beat powerful strokes against the air around her, whipping up loose ground beneath her, and she rose into the sky until the students were the size of ants. Small, grounded beings that couldn’t watch her as she trembled with the adrenaline still coursing through her.

---

_{Location: ARC Center - PRCU}

Dance Monkey #4.065: Hawkward Memory

---

_{Interaction(s): Rory @Webboysurf, Lucas @Nemaisare}

Previously: Those Eyes & With The Lights Down Low

The first sip of rich spice hit her taste buds and burned her throat, and Haven felt her shoulders truly loosen for the first time since the school year began. The sweetness of the sugar cube muddled within could be compared to the relief that she felt as her mind turned its focus from the taste of bitters and worry towards a blissfully unaware state of mind.

The citrus note on the rim lingered for only a moment, like a fleeting reminder that this feeling would also pass. Just as easily as her tongue passed over her lips and cleaned the orange taste from them.

Her eyes lifted from the dark contents of her glass to watch as her date also tasted the garnish on his lips. His steel blue eyes scanned the crowd below them as they stood against the railing. Searching for anything amiss, anything that could derail their perfect night. She was grateful for his watchful eyes, even if a small part of her still mourned his peace of mind and wished he could also enjoy this peaceful ignorance that tonight’s drinks had afforded her.

Her hand reached for his bicep and she squeezed the firm muscle beneath the soft fabric of his blazer. Calling him back to her, away from his observant pass over the people down below who had not revealed any ill intention so far, if they had any. The worst had been seen with Chad Patterson, but she did wonder if he had been watching the scarlet lines that danced within the crowd. It was a side of Amma that none had expected, but Haven admired and felt inspired to follow.

They really only had a few sips left before the thrum of the music would call them to join their raven haired teammate.

“Wanna make one more pass at the buffet table?” She asked as he turned those watchful eyes onto hers.

She hadn’t forgotten the half-eaten plate of food they’d left behind. While she had no regrets for taking Rory’s hand earlier, she knew that it wasn’t wise to continue on an empty stomach. The calories from the drinks and earlier plate would be enough to return to the dance floor, but she wanted all of the energy she could get for what was to come afterwards, too.

The pair held hands once more as they turned from their perch on the lofted bar space. They took their time moving towards the buffet tables, sharing their opinion on the cocktail Haven had chosen for them. It was certainly an upgrade from the straight bourbon O’Neil had poured for Rory a few days earlier, and to Haven it was a simple yet tasty order for the nights she wasn’t craving something sweet.

They forgoed the plate this time as they joined the line for finger foods. Like earlier, the pair compared their taste in foods as they looked over the options on the table. Sipping on their smooth, twin drinks between bites. The warmth of the liquor and conversation grew as they filled their bellies.

Her drink was almost empty by the time they reached an equally full tray of quiches. The music from the dance floor seemed to beat in time with their pulses, a call to join the bodies and red scarlet arcs among them. She picked up the two remaining bites, one to Rory and one for herself, and claimed that the small entree was the-

“Last bite, and then I’ll show you my favorite way to dance.”

…

Stomach grumbling like plumbing older than he was, Lucas waded between islands of settled weight supporting hands and elbows and vases so much heavier than their decorations, plates and glasses set down, picked up and swept along in the bubbling rush of colours and skin that swirled around the tables where he and the others had been sitting, enjoying their view of the dance floor. It was only now that he was reminded how many people wore heels with their pressure point support when dressing up meant standing tall and he marvelled at all the pairs of two by two and wondered how many shoulders and hands must be brushing past each other tonight. A night for letting loose…

Having fun…

He grinned down at the sheet of pictures in his hand as he walked, soaking up the atmosphere and enjoying again the subtle squint of Manny’s eyes getting tighter until he was looking away in the last picture, smirking though, at the sequence of events that they all should have predicted as it went from stupid grins to silly faces and antics bursting beyond the confined space of the booth until he and Cleo were tracing angles that couldn’t be called sitting and each had a hand over their mouth stifling the sounds if not the enthusiasm. After the hum and press of transport from within the machine to without, that was the first sound he heard, the first touch he felt. Immanuel calmly gathering the evidence to hand it back to him while Cleo muffled her giggles.

It had been lying on the table so it wouldn’t just be pictures when he hung it on the wall, but their own voices came piecemeal and quiet as they’d signed more than talked. Still, he knew the song Cleo’d liked best so far, with her finger lightly tapping the beat before she’d whirled off to the dance floor, knew Manny had enjoyed his drink. He’d taken the sheet with him so he could remember what they’d asked for on his food run but wasn’t in any rush to hurry back as he tucked it away in his sporran and glanced up. Didn’t need to look for the plates when feet stalled at both ends, just picked the nearest side and started circling.

Everything smelled good and looked even better. Finger food was his favourite, and Lucas took his time perusing his options, both sweet and savoury. As he walked, he tapped his finger on the table’s edge, counting the number of times the plates had been emptied and replaced. A second finger joining in when he saw something particularly tantalising. Second go round and he picked up a plate, not really paying any mind to the people who’d already done their browsing as they swooped past, in and out, plates already in hand, choices made like it was just that easy.
What’re you wanting an eclairs aren’t all that much isn’t even devilled eggs! “Ha, yeah.” He’d been surprised about those, too. Too much effort for one bite… But he’d take them if they were being offered. Do those even go t— “Everything goes with chocolate, just save room for later, huh?” He’d take them, but he preferred the quiche tarts, with their bacon and cheese and vivid green garnish. There’d only been two when he’d gone around, so he’d meant to hurry back to them after grabbing a plate and the nearest of Cleo and Manny’s requests but the chocolate cigars had distracted him, again, and when he turned back towards the quiche with an amused smirk for the fancy chocolate rolls now carefully balancing on his plate, he had to stop too fast and almost lost one.

“Ah, no! Sorry, wings.” Eyes widening as he registered feathers inches away from his plate—pretty brown feathers gilded on their edges—and finally took in the world around the food. Of course, Wings! are like that. And they were very close.

Lucas stepped back, surprised recoiling bringing his hands close before it turned into a frown. Too close, too fast, too surprised to think, but… She was in front of the quiche.

His disappointment only grew as the winged woman turned herself around to see who was speaking to her.

Haven hadn’t recognized the voice, but the nickname, or rather the word he used to describe her when he apologized, caught her attention the most. Her feathers rustled as she adjusted them at her back, recalling the many who also called her wings in her freshman year as she turned to face him. Albeit a bit sluggish, her mind recognized the mop of brown hair on his head before she saw the even richer brown eyes that sat below it.

“Lucas,” She began as his name was called to her tongue, “It’s alright.” She cleared her throat in an attempt to overcome the awkwardness that came with facing someone she’d had such a terrible first impression with. He certainly hadn’t forgotten it. She could tell by the way he moved away from her. She wondered if their last encounter with each other was why those muddy eyes looked so disappointed, as she lowered the half-eaten, last quiche from her lips.

Then, those eyes followed her hand and his shoulders drooped. “Yeah, Lucas, alright, but…” He leaned exaggeratedly farther than was necessary to discover he couldn’t see around her to the plate on the table. “Last bite isn’t really alright, is it?” Still frowning as he straightened, it took him a moment more before he blinked, surprise raising his eyebrows as he realised she’d remembered him. “Wait, Lucas, yeah? That’s me, but you’re not wings… Sorry, I lost my chance to pick a favourite about you Dove—Dove?” His hand bounced, finger raised as he found a name to call her, not wanting to be that guy who forgot, but… he had… “Is it Dove?”

Her eyes had tracked Lucas’s expressions like a hawk over the last minute. First assuming he was leaning around to see her wings again, then guessing he was trying to fill the last hole on his near-capacity plate, and finally watching as surprise lit his features and replaced the upset frown he displayed in her presence. While his emotions were clearly expressed through every facial muscle and timbre in his voice, the way he spoke to them seemed distracted and disorganized to her. As if his mind was elsewhere and not at the same time. He didn’t get a chance to pick a favorite?

“I'd recommend sticking with Haven, man.” Rory felt his cheeks grow a little hot as he moved a free hand up around Haven’s waist. His eyes locked on to one of the few faces he wasn't particularly familiar with in their class. He gave Haven’s side a slight squeeze of comfort as he remained locked in. “And you can call me Rory. Not Ro, that's someone else.” His tone was flat, neither inviting nor openly aggressive. He didn't offer a hand for a more formal greeting, rooting himself to Haven’s side. His eyes darted to his partner, sensing some tension.

“Rory?” Lucas’ gaze had jerked from the girl and her wings to the guy he’d… barely noticed until then, the faint start it gave him clearly visible when he first heard him talking, but he grinned back, unruffled by the stare as he took in a few of the details he’d missed before. How close they were standing and the prolonged warmth of no space between. “Right. Rory. Rory, Rora and Ro. Huh?” His nodding along to the cadence of similar sounds paused as he caught the difference and counted on his fingers. Was that two people or three? Did it matter right now? He shook the confusion away and grinned again, coming back strong. “And Haven! Cool, okay, sorry. I forgot.” Her name, admittedly, hadn’t been as memorable as the rest of her introduction… He wasn’t even sure if he’d known it, just that if she knew his, he ought to know hers, right?

Rory’s words immediately drew her attention over her wing. She felt his touch on her waist just as she noticed the redness in his cheeks. His tone… she hadn’t heard him act this way in a long time. Was it jealousy, because of the name Lucas had chosen for her, or was it his protective side that suddenly made him aloof? His comforting gesture wasn’t lost in her confusion, and she offered her boyfriend a reassuring smile before she turned her head back around as Lucas finished his continuous rambling.

“Dove is what Rory calls me, and sometimes a friend does too.” She explained, suddenly not so uncomfortable now that she knew Lucas had forgotten her name. It was a sign that their first encounter may not have been as memorable for him as it was for her. Although, she wasn’t sure how Lucas would have known the sweet nickname Rory had given her in the first place. Maybe that was why her dark haired date had reacted like that? Her question came blurting out before she could even finish the thought. “How did you know that?”

“I know that, yeah. He does it a lot.” Now that he’d heard Rory’s voice, Lucas didn’t need to be told the source of the nickname he’d mistakenly pulled from the weave they were wearing. Though in extricating his own wandering thoughts now he’d learned both their names, he’d missed the question and continued, for a moment, on his own happy tangent before he noticed. “It’s kinda cute, right? Oh, wait, how—? Uhhh… I know that cuz he does. Say it… a lot…… I caught it off your shoul…. His shoulders.”

Her blink was the only sign she’d heard him as Haven began to question if one more drink had been one too many. She looked between those brown eyes once, turned her head to look up at Rory for an answer, and then shoved the rest of the quiche into her mouth as she decided that she should finish it. Hopefully it would soak up the liquor for her, and then help her understand what the taller brunette was saying. She looked back to Lucas as she chewed, a subtle line forming between her brows as she replayed his rambling in her mind and tried to decipher what it meant.

Rory's own brow was knit together as he looked Lucas over. He didn't seem particularly dangerous, though neither did the Janitor responsible for nearly killing his closest friends. As Rory took in Lucas’ words, his first immediate thought was that this man had been watching them. He had only chosen Dove recently, and even then didn't use it incredibly often. But there was something about the way he spoke that dug up old memories. It recalled a childhood where privacy was nearly non-existent. It didn't make it any less frustrating as an adult, but he knew full well control wasn't always entirely possible for some. “You can speak to shoulders?” He gave Haven's side a slight squeeze of reassurance again, but let the tension seep out of his traps.

“What? Shoulders? No.” Lucas looked back at them with something of the same confusion, seeing eyebrows drawing down and expressions carefully closed, now distracted enough he didn’t even feel the least bit disappointed seeing Haven finishing off her quiche. He did feel his thoughts unravelling as he gathered them out of the woodwork and the floor and too many passing fancies though, face screwing up as he tried to fix the disconnect. “Shoulders aren’t… uhhh… Hold that thought. Okay, it’s not… off the shoulder like that’ll spill everything. It’s the shirt. Your shirt. Okay?” It always felt like he made less sense when he tried, instead of more… “I can’t hear you in here. And here. And here.” He pointed at Rory’s shirt and Haven’s dress and plucked at his own jacket briefly before another voice gave him exactly the wording he wanted and was back to grinning, picking up one of those chocolate cigars and brandishing it proudly. “It’s like—ha! It’s my thing. Yeah?”

Finally a question she hadn’t asked herself, and it made sense to ask it. Haven found further relief in Rory’s second palming of her side. Her body drifted subconsciously closer to him until she was nearly leaning into him. She swallowed the last bit of quiche as Rory’s question, paired with the disordered answer Lucas was giving, began to slowly piece itself together. Speak to shoulders… but not the shoulders… the shirt? Rory’s shirt, my dress, his jacket… it’s his thing? Oh!

“You can hear what we’ve said to each other by our clothes?” Her tone still suggested she didn’t fully understand it, but then again she’d met so many people on the island whose abilities were difficult to describe in one sentence. She did finally understand why the brunette seemed so scattered. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to be in a room full of clothes and words. Her mind ran over the things that she and Rory had said throughout their date, what Lucas might hear from their glamorous wardrobe, and her cheeks suddenly turned pink. The warmth of her date’s hand on her side suddenly felt even warmer. “You-” She cut herself off before she drew attention to it. Better to distract him from what their clothes may or may not have whispered to him. “Do you hear your own?”

Satisfied with his answer, Lucas took a bite of the chocolate cigar and raised his brows, pleasantly surprised as he nodded at Haven’s clarification. He’d thought they were just a gimmick. He’d thought wrong. “Yeah… That’s good. Want one?” He offered his plate despite their position right next to the buffet table, not really thinking about it. “Everything’s on repeat it aalllllll the time. I say some stupid stuff. It’s a full plate… but mine’s not.” Not nearly full enough, and there really wasn’t any quiche left… “What’s your favourite?” His eye twitched as he received several answers without either of them moving their mouths and a reminder that that wasn’t a good question around food.

Haven’s brows rose a fraction as she watched Lucas take a bite from what looked like a cigar. They then fell immediately after as she realized it was something edible. She’d never had a snack that looked like that before, so as the plate was offered to her she was tempted to take one of them from it. Considering who she was taking it from she chose to take the last, long sip of her drink instead. Now that his words finally made sense to her, or at least she understood most of them, she found her mind occupied with her first interaction with the strange man in front of her. Her wings shifted behind her thanks to the memory, drawing her feathers closer to her back. She’d probably be up late wondering how his ability may have contributed to what she would call an unfortunate first impression. At the very least she found comfort in how friendly Lucas was being towards her, despite it.

Rory raised an eyebrow as he looked between the two, finally taking the time to finish his quiche. He clocked the shift in Haven's wings, a somewhat familiar sign. But given the atmosphere, it seemed she wasn't bristling with anger or fear for the present moment. As he finished chewing, Rory removed his hand from Haven's waist to brush any excess crumbs off his suit jacket. “Well… I don't really know what we just ate. It was good, though. Don't know if it's a favorite…” He looked towards Lucas, still a little weary of him as he cleared his throat. “Sorry, I don't think I caught your name.”

“Yeah…” They had looked good… Pity there weren’t any more. He’d try again later, if he remembered. Or maybe the other table had some… Glancing that way, unable to see any of what he was looking for from so far away but intent on the distance, all the same, he was taking another, more ponderous, bite of the chocolate stick when the cleared throat drew him back to the moment, and the word “name”. His gaze wandered back before the rest of his head turned, slow and steady, though he answered without thinking it through. “Lucas. It’s Lucas, okay?” And paused to make sure that actually was the question before setting the rest of the chocolate cigar down and held out his hand to Rory. “Right? Yeah. I’m Lucas.”

His enthusiasm for introductions never failing, he carried on blithely, rather pleased with the last few minutes, even if he might have lost his chance at quiche tarts. “No punch for me, thanks. Ha! I like this one better.” Rubbing at his nose briefly as he considered what he remembered of their last meeting and this one, Lucas couldn’t help the crooked twist to his lips as he offered a smaller smile for his wrongs. “Sorry. I said hi wrong. I like your wings… And your tie.” Pretty browns and gold-striped green. Both were easy on the eyes, though it hadn’t escaped his notice entirely that the bowtie and the dress were a close match in shade. Cleo would have liked that, Gladys, too, probably… The wings, of course, were also that extra bit more noticeable, hard to miss, even if he had. “Can you fly?” He couldn’t remember if he’d already asked.

Her attention had been called back to reality the moment the brunette made a joke at his own expense. Her eyes flared, muscles going taut and poised as she prepared to defend herself again, and then it clicked for her that he didn’t remember her “handshake” as something aggressive and untamed. In fact, it seemed like he remembered it fondly. It didn’t make any sense to her, like most of this interaction, and yet the relief was instant. Her extra feathery limbs relaxed once more, stiff muscles melting as his apologetic smile brought a sheepish grin to her cheeks. Even a dimple joined the party.

“Yes, I can…. And I’m glad that shiner didn’t stick.”

Rory had taken the hand as an invitation, giving the stranger a firm handshake. He didn't catch on to the initial joke, giving a small exhale that nearly resembled a laugh. But he felt a small shift in tension from his right, and was somehow left more baffled on how this now was a point of contention. For a moment, he wondered if Haven was really jealous from just a handshake. But as she softened and spoke, he still was left even more confused. Was a shiner something different from where Haven came from? He had always thought it was-

“Wait, have you two fought before?” Rory's eyes focused in on Haven, but he had not let up the handshake. In fact, his grip tightened slightly as he searched for understanding in his partner’s face.

He’d taken his hand, that was good. Though as new confusion turned into a firmer grip and a conclusion he hadn’t expected—though perhaps he should have—Lucas’ eyes widened and he glanced down at their hands. It didn’t seem so friendly anymore. “Fought? Fight?! No! Not, just… Uhh… It just hurt my face.”

Haven should have been dizzy from the back and forth of turning her head. She looked to Rory with the explanation ready on her lips first, wondering how he’d take knowing the reason why she’d hit Lucas in the first place. Then as Lucas beat her to speaking she turned to see the worried expression on his face. His pointed look downwards drew her own gaze to the men’s uncomfortably long handshake. As she finally turned her head back to her date she felt his scrutinizing gaze on herself instead. It was both alarming and incredibly flattering to see him acting this way for her. The mixed feelings brought an instant flush to her cheeks as she looked between his blue eyes for the words that would calm her protector down.

“He, uh… felt my feathers. Kinda learned the hard way that he should look and not touch.” She cringed as she remembered Lucas’s shocked expression that day. Her hand slowly came to rest on Rory’s forearm, hoping he would get the hint to let go of the poor brunette. “It’s been forgiven.”

Seeing Haven and Lucas look down to his hand, Rory’s gaze followed. It took a moment for him to process the words, the gestures, and the feeling in his hand. When he finally registered everything, he released Lucas from his grip. “Right, sorry.” He opened his mouth as if to speak further, but closed it when no more words came. He lowered his hand into his pocket, returning Haven's slightly worried gaze. He didn't like that he didn't fall far from the tree, and he did not like the looks coming his way.

“I'm going to hit the head.” The statement was quick, and Rory figured that was enough of an excuse to slip away for a moment. He gave Haven's hand a slight squeeze, motioning towards Lucas and the table of food. He needed a moment to himself.

Forgiven?

Lucas blinked at this news. He blinked again when his hand was freed and his new friend decided to—hit your head? It’s her head. Give him head. Let’s head. Who’s dead? Hit the head. “Oh… Uhhh…” Head tilting as he looked between Rory, Haven, his plate—which remained exactly as full as the last time he’d looked—and the table, he wasn’t immediately sure if anything was actually wrong. The music was still loud, the crowd still moved around them, and he couldn’t find anything over the last few minutes that sounded worse than usual when he heard it again. But he’d been wrong about that before… Still, he wasn’t going to stop someone who needed to use the bathroom. So, he just watched him walk away, expression bemused, frowning faintly when he finally glanced back at Haven. She seemed as uncertain as he did…

“I called it wrong about you…” Looking rather sheepish as he rubbed at the back of his neck, Lucas grimaced before continuing, slow and careful. “Stay back off the fence, uhh, stayed back so you wouldn’t be mad… And then I forgot. Sorry. Did I say sorry? Thanks. Okay? Uhh, it alright if he’s stretched tight?” He didn’t bother trying for long, the effort too troublesome to keep up when he could look for her later and explain more easily outside, now he’d remembered and knew she wasn’t still upset about it. Apologies, however, shouldn’t be delayed, and he really couldn’t remember if he already had, but once he’d managed that, Lucas looked back the way Rory had left, frowning again as he asked his question. His shoulders had definitely been tense, his muscles stiff as he moved, but he didn’t know if it was discomfort or something else.

It was an effort for her to shift her focus back to Lucas. Her concerned gaze still lingered on the spot where Rory had blended into the other attendees. Yet as Haven’s eyes returned to Lucas’s grimace, his second apology of the night brought a small smile that lit her expression once more. The phrase he used was confusing, of course, but she figured out the meaning behind it quickly. It was sweet of the brunette to make sure his apology was clear. Even though she wasn’t sure how to feel about how he’d stayed clear of her all these years. It gave her the chance to grow into the woman she was today on her own time, but she did wonder if hearing his apology sooner would have sped the process up just a bit. The thought was fleeting. She dismissed it on the notion that the past was the past and there was no way of knowing, and decided to focus on the last words he said.

His last phrase didn’t make any sense at all to her, so she made a guess that the “he” was Rory, and being stretched tight must mean something about how awkwardly her boyfriend departed. There wasn’t really another way that made sense. “He’s a bit hard on himself, so he might feel bad for scaring you like that.” She admitted freely. “I’ll cheer him up in a little, so don’t worry.” Her smile grew as she thought about cheering him up, and then she cleared her throat as she realized where her mind was going.

“I’m… sorry that you had to avoid me for so long.” She began softly, her eyes glancing at the empty place on his plate for a moment. “I’m still touchy about my wings, especially recently, but I hope you feel like you don’t have to do that anymore.” Her hand extended forwards without much thought behind it, like a tan dove of peace, as she smiled at him once more. “Friends?”

“Happy’s good. All right.” He wouldn’t worry about Rory then. Wouldn’t worry about any of this moment anymore now he’d had his say. Forgive and forget was easy enough when everything slipped through the cracks and he shook his head quickly as she offered an apology of her own, catching just enough to deny the necessity. “S’okay, all right, it was off the top of my head for a while. I’m good.” And they both had better things to think about then past mistakes, he was just happy to know she wasn’t still mad or bothered by it, having had enough time to figure out where he’d gone wrong, and when she offered her hand next with a one-word question, it took him a breath, then a blink, but his smile grew fast and eager.

Wasn’t any more hesitation in him when he took her hand, just a ready enthusiasm. “I like friends.”

---

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

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_{Location: ARC Center - PRCU}

Dance Monkey #4.058: Those Eyes

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_{Interaction(s): Rory, Boyfriend @Webboysurf}

Previously: When Disco Plays Our Loon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She laughed softly at the loudness of his voice. He’d forgotten that she could still hear him over the music. “Have a drink with me, Rory. I have a feeling the song won’t matter the next time we come to the dance floor.” She winked at him, her mind already thinking about that next dance, before she gently tugged his hand along.

She led the way until they made it out of the dancing crowd and slowed to walk beside him. Her eyes were on their path ahead, trailing up the stairs and to the bar. She looked towards him for a moment as she considered his tolerance levels. “Are you comfortable having another? I don’t want to accidentally get you drunk.”

Rory simply nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd and decorations again. “This is the one instance my powers actually help. I'm used to the feeling, and alcohol is nothing compared to what I usually feel." He gave Haven's hand a soft squeeze as he followed.

“Oh.” Haven began, smiling as they started to climb the stairs together. “I should have thought about that.”

“I think one more will be the perfect amount for me.”

Rory smiled, desperately trying his best to not focus on Haven's swaying hips as they trudged up the stairs. “I'll let you pick my drink tonight, Dove.” He didn't feel like elaborating that he didn't really know what to order or what was good. No need to make the moment feel less special.

“Hmmm, what shall we have, then?” Haven hummed softly. Her eyes looked over the assortment of bottles behind the bar as she snuck into an open spot, her hand letting go of his as she leaned forwards to rest her elbows on the bartop. She sucked on her bottom lip for a moment as her mind focused on what type of drink she wanted to get them. She wanted something simple, something that would keep her happy buzz going but wouldn’t put her over the edge.

“Should we get something sweet or something classic?”

Rory saddled up next to Haven, resting his back against the bar so he could maintain a view over the dance itself. He gave a nod to some of the other seniors ordering drinks of their own. “Classic feels like the vibe.” He looked back to Haven, making a show of scanning her from head to toe. “Sweet comes later.”

The way his blue eyes lazily traveled over her body made her head go fuzzy and her dress feel tighter than before. She could still feel the phantom sensation of his finger tracing her spine, a sensitive spot on her body that he was definitely aware of now. She wondered if he would remember that later.

His charm was so distracting that by the time the barkeep stopped in front of her she had already forgotten what she wanted to order.

“What can I get for you?”

Haven turned her head and stared at the blonde for a second or two as her brain registered why she was at the bar to begin with. She blinked as she regained her composure. “Oh, uh… two old fashioneds, please. Extra cherries.”

The barkeep couldn’t help but grin. “Coming right up, angel.”

Rory raised an eyebrow at that, looking surprised for a moment. He glanced at Haven, before simply shaking his head while smiling. He couldn't blame the guy. Though Rory did scoot a little closer to Haven, his eyes fixed on a commotion on the dance floor.

Haven had raised her own eyebrows, squinting her eyes at the barkeeps back as she wished he hadn’t called her that. Yet the moment didn’t last long, because the sound of skin smacking skin reached her ears over the music playing down below and the familiar voice that followed it alerted her to the situation.

“Ooh, Rora just smacked her date.” She said as her body straightened, turning itself so that her ears could listen into the conflict down below. “If you know Chad you’ll understand why.” She moved to take a step away from the bar, fully intending to jump over the railing if her copper haired friend needed the help, but her steps faltered as Cassander Charon’s voice joined the fray. She grinned as she settled up beside Rory once again.

“And now Lorcán’s cousin has given him a reason to leave her alone.” Her tone was cheery as she began to explain what she was hearing to her boyfriend. She adjusted her wings behind her so that she could lean against the bar like Rory. Her body fully relaxed now that it seemed she no longer had anything to worry about tonight.

Rory raised an eyebrow, his face clearly washed in utter confusion. “Wait… Rora had a date? And it was Chad?” He shook his head, trying to shoo away the frustration boiling in his stomach. “She told Lorcán she didn't want to go with anyone and rejected me when she thought I was asking her… but she said yes to fucking Chad?” He looked to Haven for some semblance of an explanation with furrowed brows.

The winged woman pressed her lips together, nodding her head in agreement. “I know. It took me by surprise when he picked her up earlier.” Her eyes moved back to the railing, where she could hear the tense words being spoken between the Gulo prick and Lorcán, who she heard arrive shortly after the first fist was thrown.

“I mean, she had every right to say yes to someone else since Lorcán didn’t ask her. It’s a shame it had to be someone like Chad instead of a decent guy, and I wasn’t about to tell her about his history with him standing at the doorway.”

She gently bumped her elbow against his arm, offering him a small smile. “Lorcán is with her now though. I think it’s all okay.”

Rory sighed, shaking his head again. “He didn't ask her because she said she didn't want to go with anyone.” He took a breath, trying to let out the growing tension in his shoulders. He leaned over and bumped Haven with his arm. “But as long as they've got each other now, they'll be ok.” He let himself smile a little as he looked back to his own date.

Haven smiled and tilted her head to the side as she remembered that day on the beach. She played with the end of her braid for a second as words formed on her lips, before the sound of glass being set against wood caught her attention. She turned around, in time for the barkeep to clear his throat and slide their drinks forward.

“For the angel-”

“Don’t call me that.” Haven gently snapped as she picked up their drinks. She forgot to thank the blonde, somehow. She turned to Rory and took a breath as she smiled at him instead. “Come on, my handsome boyfriend. It’s time to really let loose now.”

Rory couldn't help but let a cocky grin grow. Any lingering doubts his anxiety could have cooked up about their relationship were dispelled. Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't show off. He looped his arm around Haven's waist, plucking one of the drinks with his free hand. While his arm guided Haven away from the bar, Rory lingered a moment longer as he made eye contact with the bartender. “Can't wait, Dove.”

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

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_{Location: Outside Myotis Dormitory to ARC Center - PRCU}

Dance Monkey #4.052: If You Wanna Be My Plover

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_{Interaction(s): Rory, Boyfriend @Webboysurf}

Previously: Wing Life Away

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You really ask too many questions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shall we?”

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

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_{Location: Myotis Dorm - Pacific Royal Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.041: Between Shadows and Light

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

Previously: Dancing on Egghsells

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just slay your own dragons already.

Harper swallowed, only choosing then to look up again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think you're right.”

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

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

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

“Definitely going to need another drink.”

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

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

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

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

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

“We shall see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’d tell him. Tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A knock on the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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