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Bean Queen

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5 yrs ago
Wraith smells like beans
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6 yrs ago
Conspiracy Theory: Mahz will never return from vacation.
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Bio

13 years and going strong.

I'm waiting for the moment someone in my city mentions roleplayerguild as their hobby.

Most Recent Posts

In Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP → 2 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
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Location: An Empty School - Dundas Island
Human #5.028: Birds in Their Little Nests Agree
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Interaction(s): Harper @Qia
Previously: In No Man’s Land & A Rotten Egg


Final Night on Dundas Island

The two women bound by unfortunate fate slowly made their way from the beach to what once had been their shared house’s dorm. The silence that fell between them was heavy with the weight of the final words passed between the Blackjack team. Burdened even more by the continued string of unspoken words that tethered them together.

The only sound that carried them through the abandoned campus was the wind blown in from the Pacific. It ruffled their hair, and would have ruffled feathers if the wings were still attached.

Sisters.

The only similarity between them was their eyes, the shapes of their cheeks, nose, and jaw. The genetics given to them by their father.

Haven was a spirited thing, led by her heart and not her mind. She’d worn it on her sleeve despite its flaws and vulnerabilities. Years ago she’d learned how to keep it hidden, protected, and reticent. It had been necessary to keep her heart in one piece; to keep her strong and resilient. She’d hidden it away until she found solitude in abandoned cabins, in the mountains, and eventually she found a place that accepted her for the wings and heart she carried. She bore it proudly, then. Unafraid of showing the passions and heartaches that laid within. Vowing to never hide her heart again.

Now… her heart felt fractured and fragile. Much like a baby bird’s egg that had fallen out of the nest right before it hatched. Vulnerable to the world that waited just across the water behind them. It had been torn asunder the night of the dance.

Her tired eyes drifted over to her sister as she worried for the state of Harper’s heart. The brunette had always kept it so expertly hidden, but surely it hurt too? She was sure that it was still vulnerable despite the walls Harper had erected around it. Would the path that Harper had chosen for tomorrow take her somewhere it would be safe?

“Harps,” she spoke, her voice almost a whisper against the quiet of the night. “Where… are you going, tomorrow?”

Why don’t I know? Why hasn’t she seen me since I woke up? She wondered, although she didn’t dare ask the questions aloud. Her arms wrapped around her chest as if to soothe the heartache of it.

Harper didn’t flinch at Haven’s question, though her pace slowed almost imperceptibly, each step suddenly feeling heavier than the last. She could feel Haven’s gaze on her, searching for something Harper wasn’t sure she could give. Her sister—her little sister—didn’t need to speak again for Harper to understand the meaning behind her words.

It was concern, worry, and something deeper, maybe even hurt, as palpable as the salt clinging to her skin from the ocean breeze.

She swallowed hard, her throat tightening as the response she knew Haven wanted sat at the back of her mouth, stubbornly refusing to come out.

Why can’t I tell her?


Maybe it was because she hadn’t fully faced it herself, hadn’t let the reality of her decision settle into her bones. How could she explain it to Haven when she hadn’t even come to terms with it herself? The future loomed large, an indefinite shadow that stretched endlessly ahead of them, and Harper didn’t have the answers. Not for herself, and certainly not for Haven.

Her hands curled into tight fists at her sides, the tension creeping up her arms and landing on her shoulders, making her movements feel stiff and unnatural. The act of gathering her thoughts seemed impossible, like trying to catch smoke with bare hands. I’m not good at this, Harper thought bitterly. Expressing what she felt had never come easily to her. It was easier to build walls, to keep everything locked behind layers of stoic composure. But Haven had already lost so much—her wings, her sense of safety, her confidence in the world they once thought they understood. Could Harper really add to that burden by laying her own uncertainty at her sister’s feet?

No. No, she couldn’t.

The brunette cleared her throat, still avoiding the question for a moment longer, feeling the pressure building. And then finally….

“The Foundation,” Harper said, the words feeling clinical, detached. “Decided on it just then, actually.” She had made up her mind. Right there, on the beach, amidst the chaos and bitterness of everything that had transpired with the team. It wasn’t a decision she’d made lightly, but it was one she’d made nonetheless.

The soft sound of Haven’s sneakers against the ground halted for a brief moment, but continued nonetheless. It wasn’t a surprise that most of Blackjack had chosen the same thing. There was nowhere for them to go that would take them in so willingly. Nowhere in the world that guaranteed any semblance of safety.

Haven, on the other hand, wasn’t sure if she could follow her sister and friends there even if she wanted to. What little she’d heard about the school from Alyssa made it obvious that she wouldn’t be truly welcomed within those sterile, white halls. What horrible things she’d heard of Amma’s history there, and her own terrifying experience with the man who had inflicted such cruelty onto the raven-haired woman, made the very mention of attending the school set the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck straight.

She was afraid of how she would live once she left Dundas Island, but she was even more afraid of what might become of her if she chose The Foundation over the uncertainties of the human world.

How could they accept a sub-class that didn’t even possess the trait that made them one? What would they think of the nubs on her back that had once been beautiful, graceful wings?

Did Daedalus still haunt the deepest levels within the ocean?


She bit her lip as another coastal breeze filled the silence between them. If she wasn’t so worn down, so tired and lost to grief, she would have started an argument. She would have mentioned the reasons why she hadn’t chosen to go. She would have argued that it was just as safe as the mainland, no matter what the recruiters had told them throughout the last week. She would have asked Harper to come with her and Rory, instead.

The tone of Harper’s voice suggested that it wasn’t something to argue, anyways. The words were final. They were objective. Harper was going to The Foundation whether Haven liked it or not.

“Do you think we’ll be able to keep in touch?” The question was hesitant. An implication lingering in the wake of her words that Haven wondered if Harper even wanted to keep her close despite the distance that would be between them.

The idea of keeping in touch seemed fairly simple on the surface—like something they should want, something sisters would want. It was something Harper might have genuinely liked. But the reality felt different, messier. She had always been good at compartmentalizing, at tucking away the parts of her life that didn’t fit the narrative she wanted to keep safe. Everything had its place: her memories, her ambitions, even her regrets. But Haven? Haven didn’t fit into one of those neat, labelled boxes. There was no tidy corner where she could be stored, safely out of reach, yet always close enough to remember.

The truth was, Harper didn’t know if they’d stay in touch. She wanted to say yes, that they’d talk regularly, that the distance wouldn’t matter, but that wasn’t entirely up to her. The Foundation might have its own rules—its own ways of severing connections with the outside world. She imagined faceless administrators cutting off all outside communication, forcing her into isolation once she stepped foot inside. For all she knew, they might not let her communicate with Haven at all. That doubt hung over her like a dark cloud, making the thought of saying anything more than “I’ll try” feel like a lie. What if her words became another empty promise, something she couldn’t keep?

I don't want to be alone.

And as before Harper didn’t voice this thought. Couldn’t.


“I’d like that.” She couldn’t give Haven anything more solid. Still, it had to be enough for now.

The answer was indeed enough for Haven. It eased the ache of uncertainty in her chest, just enough that she felt a touch of warmth blossom in her chest. She felt wanted. Even if they didn’t truly feel like sisters, they would still remain friends.

They walked in quiet for a few minutes, Haven only speaking up again to notify Harper that they were nearing the dorm. Harper nodded in turn then let out a small, awkward laugh.

“I haven’t forgotten about it, by the way,” she said, “The sketch.” She scratched the bottom of her chin, feeling a pang of embarrassment creep in. “Although…” She hesitated, a sheepish smile forming on her lips as she felt the irony of the situation hit her. “I hadn’t taken into account the whole not seeing thing.”

Haven had been caught off guard by the sudden outburst, but as she saw the small smile creep onto Harper’s features she felt herself relax. She was relieved to see Harper express some kind of positive emotion after what they’d been through. After what they’d both lost.

“I can look for it, if you remember where the sketchbook is.” She offered, although she didn’t want to just take it from Harper so easily. “I didn’t forget it, but… I know his drawings must mean a lot to you. I’d understand if you wanted to keep it.”

Haven hadn’t known him, after all. What good would it do for her to hold onto a piece of a ghost? Would it ease any of the sorrow that surfaced with the thought of him?

Harper felt a twinge of reluctance. The plan had always been simple—give Haven one drawing, just a singular piece of their shared history. Something small but meaningful. A moment captured in their father’s careful lines, a memory preserved in ink. The image of Haven, her laughter frozen in time, had seemed like the perfect gift when they were in the infirmary. Back then, it had felt right. It had made sense.

But now, walking side by side with Haven in the quiet stillness, Harper wasn’t so sure anymore. The one drawing felt too small, too insignificant for everything they had endured. After all they had lost and all the questions yet to be answered, Haven deserved more than a single memory—more than a brief snapshot of what once was. She deserved something real, something that carried the weight of their father, of their connection, of the past they had both been trying to make sense of in their own ways.

Harper’s fingers twitched slightly, the hesitation creeping up her spine. The sketchpad had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember, a physical tether to her father and everything he represented. It was more than just a collection of drawings; it was her connection to the man she had lost, a reminder of the life that had slipped through her fingers the day he was gone. The lines, the smudges of graphite, the detailed care in every stroke—it was like holding a piece of him. Yet, as she walked beside Haven now, Harper sincerely wondered if she needed it anymore.

Maybe it was time to let go.

“I think…the last time I looked at it, I’d tossed it into my closet,” Harper admitted. It felt strange, saying it out loud, as though her words were cementing the decision before she was fully ready. Her hand slipped into her pocket, fingers brushing against the cool metal of her keys. There was an unexpected sense of finality in the motion as she pulled them out, letting them dangle from her hand before extending them toward Haven.

“It…wasn’t helping anymore.”

Haven’s gaze lingered on the keys for a moment before she took them from Harper’s grasp. She fiddled with them between her fingers, beginning to understand what Harper was implying but afraid to fully accept it until it was spoken.

“Let me help you inside.” She murmured, and the two began to ascend the stairs to the Strigidae dorms for the last time. She kept a wary eye on her sister. Always standing within reach should Harper need help finding her footing. Yet she knew Harper could do it on her own. She knew the determination and strength that Harper possessed would get her over any obstacle.

It was something she had grown to envy over the last month.

The two reached Harper’s room and Haven slipped the key into the lock. She held the door open just long enough for Harper to find her way inside before shutting it behind her. As she turned to the room, she allowed herself a moment to take a breath before moving over to Harper’s closet.

“It’s strange how quiet the dorms are tonight.” She said absentmindedly as she opened the closet door. She glanced over the inside before beginning her search. “What color was the cover of the sketchbook?”

Harper’s lips curved into a faint smile at Haven’s question, though the ache in her chest made it bittersweet. She could picture the sketchbook perfectly in her mind, every worn edge and faded spot on the leather cover that had softened and grayed over the years. Each time her fingers had traced its frayed edges, she’d felt a little closer to her father, as if his hands had left a mark on the pages that only she could sense. That book was more than paper and ink; it was history, memories pressed between its worn covers like flowers kept for their beauty long after their time had passed.

“Black,” she murmured, her voice carrying a note of nostalgia she hadn’t intended. “Well, black-ish now, I guess.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “More gray, with all the wear.”

Sorting through the various possessions Harper had not chosen to pack, Haven fell silent as she felt a mix of eagerness and apprehension about finding their father’s keepsake. An internal storm thundering suddenly as she skimmed the worn edges of a leather sketchbook. Her fingers withdrew, gnawing on her bottom lip as she came face to face with something he’d left behind. What laid inside would make it real. It would justify the pain within, as much as it would make it worse.

Slowly, her fingers wrapped around the spine. She drew it out of the closet, holding it like something precious as she turned to walk over to Harper’s bed. “I think I found it.” She murmured as she laid the leather onto Harper’s comforter. Her eyes traced the fraying edges of it, noting the most worn places where it had been held countless times.

She ran her hand over the texture of the cover, took a deep breath, and opened to the first page.

The sketches were beautiful. Little moments in time that their father had decided to capture in his point of view. Each sketch was a little different than the last, with little details that expressed how he must have felt drawing them. It was just like how Harper had described him, really. A family man, kind, caring, loving, but some of the images showed how he felt at his core. How he was also complicated. Sometimes his art was rigid and textured, and other times his art flowed so smoothly that it was hard to tell when one stroke of his pencil ended and the other began. Each sketch was marked by his signature in various scribbles and flicks of the wrist.

“You know… I found myself wondering what it could have been like if he took me in.” Her voice was gentle, almost lost to her thoughts as she shared this piece of her with Harper. She hadn’t told Rory yet, how she’d laid awake at night thinking of the home that the two sisters could have shared. She turned to the next page, and found herself looking at a view of a perfect country house. Two little girls playing in the grass before their home.

The thought of her father taking Haven in had always hovered at the edges of Harper’s mind since she’d learned the truth about her family. It was one of those silent, wistful dreams she’d carried without really admitting it to herself, let alone saying it out loud. Now, hearing Haven voice that same wish stirred something raw and unguarded within her, as though a carefully hidden part of herself was suddenly laid bare. A life where they’d grown up together under her father’s care, both safe, both basking in his warmth and guidance—it was a fantasy she’d held close, never quite willing to confront it fully until now.

“I used to think about that too,” she confessed, a faint smile finding its way to her lips. She glanced at Haven, genuine affection softening her expression. “You know, if you’d been with us, you might’ve gotten roped into our little weekend ‘missions.’” An easy laugh escaped her as the memory surfaced, more vivid than she’d expected. “Dad had this idea that we should always have an adventure planned—something ridiculous and barely thought out. One time, he decided we’d build a treehouse in a single afternoon to go with the swing already there. No plan, no blueprint. Just us, a few planks of wood, and way too much optimism.”

She shook her head, finding comfort in the absurdity of the memory. “We spent hours hammering and balancing wood, arguing over who got to design which part. I insisted on painting it, of course,” she added, her smile widening, “and somehow managed to get more paint on myself than on the boards.” Her voice softened as she looked back on it all, her expression distant but affectionate. “We never actually finished it. I think there’s still a lopsided mess of wood somewhere out there if the wind hasn’t blown it down by now.”

Harper looked at Haven, the tenderness in her expression no longer hidden. “You would’ve fit right in,” she said softly. The story was just one among countless others her father had immortalized in his sketchbook, but it captured so much more—a piece of a life that could have been, a glimpse of the family they both might have known if circumstances had allowed it. At that moment, Harper realized that Haven truly deserved more than just one isolated memory. She deserved the whole story, with all its messy, beautiful details, and its jagged fragments of a life shaped by their father’s steady hand and kind heart.

Harper took a breath.

“Which is why…” She hesitated, feeling the gravity of her next words. “I think you should have the whole thing. To find your place in those memories when you’re ready to.”

The smile that grew on Haven’s face as she listened was wistful, but it was a smile nonetheless. Silent tears framed her cheeks as she looked in Harper’s direction. “That sounds nice.” She began, trying her best not to let her sister know that she was crying. Until the ache in her chest became unbearable. “I’m gonna miss you, Harps… You’ve always been just a set of stairs away.”

She wiped at her tears with the sleeve of Rory’s hoodie, one quiet sniffle giving them away. Harper would be an entire country away by tomorrow. She wasn’t even sure when she’d be able to call her, if she could even reach her beneath the ocean. There were so many uncertainties ahead of them both. Ahead of everyone in their little-found family.

As Haven’s muffled sniffle drifted into the silence, Harper felt a strange warmth stir—a softness, almost like the glow of remembered light. It wasn’t something she saw exactly, but rather something she felt echoing in her mind, like the memory of sunlight through closed eyes. It was there and gone in a heartbeat, dissolving into the stillness between them.

She tucked the feeling away without much thought, telling herself it was just the sense of her sister close by, the familiar comfort of a moment she wished could stretch on forever.

“Yeah…I’ll miss you too.” Harper paused, her hand pressing gently against her own heart.

“But you’ll always be right here, no matter where I end up, Little Dove.”


In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 2 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Elysium Island


Liz hadn’t been in St. Portwell more than a day before getting swept up by the madness of the factions within it.

She hadn’t even met up with Drake Blackmore yet. Had not met the famed Sycamore Tree Coven that her cousin had been a part of. She wasn’t even sure what their current goal was, besides Drake’s mentioning of a meeting to discuss notes that had been stolen from them. Important notes. Notes that held a secret that might get justice for Alyssa Burns.

Yet from where she sat now, gleaning information from an undead mouse as it moved between parties, she was starting to get the gist of it all.

She’d channeled her magic into its carcass where it had died within the basement room she found herself in. An unfortunate thing for the mouse, but very fortunate for Liz. It was a small, unnoticeable thing, thankfully requiring little effort, and she managed to get it all the way to the upper levels just in time to see some of the island’s inhabitants in action.

She’d seen a bald man exiting the mansion as he carried a staff through its eyes. Who knows what trouble the artifact would cause.

She sent the mouse outside first, where she was surprised to see a militia of undead standing guard. It wasn’t a surprise that a Black Lux user was on the island, given the grandeur of it, but it definitely meant trouble for herself and the Coven. Considering the amount of undead, it had to be a powerful necromancer to summon them all for as long as they would be needed. But who was it that summoned them?

Near the entrance to the house, the mouse let her see multiple machine guns, but what she saw once the creature scurried under the massive front doors to the estate made her frown. A machine gun aimed right for the front door. Men from one of the gangs of St. Portwell, armed to the teeth in many different weapons and bulletproof vests, stood around a woman with white hair as she laid out their plans for the evening. She willed the mouse to quickly scurry beneath a large vase by the door as she listened to the woman’s commands.

A guy named Jin and his goons on the roof. A black haired hottie and another set up outside with the rest. A lab… with more hot guys outside it.

What did Sycamore take from them? What’s so special about this Lancy chick?

The group began to move on to their specified positions before any more information could be revealed. Liz’s mouse carefully followed the white haired woman, Lancy, and the deliciously hot men with white hair towards where she now figured the infamous notes would be kept under lock and key.

The sound of a storm erupting outside of the mansion nearly made her lose her focus, but who the mafia group met next caught her attention again.

Liz’s hands clenched into fists as the group was joined by a tall, butch man with a cane, and none other than Blake Schmidt, king of the shithole she was stuck in. The mouse followed them down, down, and even past the room where she was locked inside. Down, down, until Blake opened his mouth and announced that they had arrived.

Her mouse hid in a doorway nearby, and it watched as Blake tapped magical runes with a curious orange light, and allowed her a glimpse of what was inside. Magically enhanced equipment cast in a blue hue by the overhead lights. No notes in sight as the door shut behind them and left the hotties outside with their colleagues.

Liz sighed, and allowed the mouse to crawl under the door it hid by. She released her spell, and the carcass soon became an empty shell on the floor once more. Returned to rest.

She opened her stormy blue eyes, and now she looked upon the room before her with a determined gaze. It seemed like the Coven were on their way. She’d found herself at the perfect place to meet up with them, too. But with the way things were going up top, she wasn’t sure if all the manpower and undead above were overkill or if the Coven and their friends truly posed that much of a threat to Blake and his cronies.

So, what could she do to help them? How could she prove to Drake Blackmore that she was worth his trust? He’d reached out to her in the hopes that she was anything like her cousin, and she needed to show him that she was.

Well… she could do that once she found a way out of her predicament.

Her predicament, of course, was obvious with the way her wrists and ankles bound tight against her pale skin. Whoever Blake had working under him snatched her from outside of Lyss’s apartment that morning. She’d already been disappointed that she left it empty handed, but to immediately run into trouble after that just left her frustrated.

Not even a full day in St. Portwell and her cover was blown. She wasn’t even sure how it had happened.

What made it even worse was the fact that they’d dragged her to this place and stuck her in one of their freaky island rooms. They said she was supposed to wait here for the after party. Something about the “main attraction” of the night once they succeeded in their plans. She wasn’t going to stick around long enough to find out what that meant.

Her nose wrinkled as she realized how she could get out of her bind. Sure, she could have had the undead mouse chew through the rope before, but of course her mind was too busy wondering where the hell she was to think of it. So, she was left with one option now. One gross, but possible way to free herself.

She frowned as she scooted herself over to a shelving unit, where bottles of Johnson’s baby oil sat on the shelves by the dozens. The other half of the room had shelves of lube, too. She definitely didn’t need to find out first hand why he needed this much of either.

“Schmidty’s a real freak.” She muttered.

A moment of struggle with her bound feet and soon she had pushed off her mary janes. Even without her shoes she couldn’t wiggle her ankles free. She’d have to go all in, if she wanted to free herself. So, with a huff, Liz turned to the shelf and grabbed onto it with both hands. She pushed her rear end off the floor, while her hands slowly pulled her up until she stood at her meager height.

“Please don’t go all over me.”

She took one of the bottles off of the shelf, popped the lid, aaaand proceeded to get it all over herself as she aimed for her arms. She gasped, dropping the bottle onto the floor where it splashed onto her feet and ankles and soaked her socks.

“Fuck. Great. It got in my hair.” She frowned as she looked down at her oiled up clothes. She wiped her face off with her hands and shook them out in front of her to let any excess oil drip off of them. “This better work.” Because if it didn’t she was going to be pissed.

“Thank the Hound,” she soon said as her wrists slipped out of the rope with ease. She grabbed onto the shelving unit, starting to wriggle her ankles free without a thought for the slippery floor. One popped loose, and in her success she forgot to watch where she put her feet.

She slipped, and it sent her careening into the shelf. Which proceeded to topple over, knocking over nearby shelves until half of the room was an oiled up mess of busted bottles and fallen shelves. Liz, now sitting in a pool of baby oil, cursed as she rubbed her sore rear end.

I gotta get out of here.

Carefully she crawled over to her mary janes, leaving a trail of oil in her wake as she made it onto a dry bit of flooring. She’d at least been smart enough to make sure her shoes would be clean of the oil. So she popped them on, adjusted the tightness around her slippery socks, and gingerly made her way around the pools of oil until she made it to the door.

The lock was easy work for her once she pulled the bobby pins out of her slick hair. Her black and white tresses fell limply around her face as she stuck the pins in and twisted them around until the lock clicked. She dropped the pins onto the ground, pushed her sticky hair back, and took a deep breath.

“Time to cause some chaos from the inside.” She muttered, before she pushed open the door and turned for the upper levels.
In Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP → 2 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Location: PRCU? - Dundas Island
Human: #5.020 A Rotten Egg
Interaction(s): Blackjack
Previously: Mourning Dove


Something about the way Rory looked back at the fire told Haven that her apprehension was valid. While she was scared to face the truth of Katja’s betrayal, and what that would do to her already fractured resolve, she was more worried about how this reunion would go if Rory chose to confront her. The team wouldn’t take it well. They were already standing on thin ice as it was, and she was sure this was the final crack in the foundation that would send the Blackjack name under.

All she could do was turn her gaze back to the flames and wait. Her anxiety manifested in the way her muscles began to tense with each heavy footstep taken behind her. One step closer to the pain that the truth would inflict upon the already broken souls around her.

As Harper spoke up, Haven turned empathetic eyes onto her blindfolded sister where she sat nearby. It hurt her to hear Harper’s pain so freely expressed after all the times the brunette had kept her feelings under lock and key. The blindfold was a painful reminder that Harper had also lost something at the dance. It hurt even more that Harper said she didn’t want to be alone, especially after the way her sister had left her a few days ago and hadn’t visited her since.

Another thud against the sand behind her.

Cleo’s voice saved her from dwelling on her fragile relationship with Harper. Instead she worried what the Foundation might do with someone who had her gifts. Her mind wanted to assume the worst, but she had to remind herself that Cleo wasn’t like her. Cleo wasn’t a sub-class, so she would be safe there… right?

At least Lorcán liked to believe the Scot would be.

She could hardly look at the island boy where he sat across the fire from her. His molten eyes seemed to glow above the flames. This school, this piece of the world, was all Lor had known his entire life. Compared to the rest of the team, this place truly was his home and now he was being forced to leave it. The Roths lost their jobs and their land in one fell swoop. She was aware that there were many reasons that led to the end of Pacific Royal. It probably began a long time before Hyperion came to power. Yet for the attack at the dance to be the final strike upon its name, all because he had come for her again, it made the guilt on her shoulders feel even heavier.

Thud.

The strangers that approached them then; what they had to say… It only made Haven shrink into herself. How they had found Amma’s ring, how there were rumors about the attack spreading throughout the lingering student body, how the man’s eyes looked at the injuries among them– looked at the empty space on her back, and how the woman with hair like moonlight wanted to make sure one piece of their lost friend remained with those that had known her best. She tucked her knees into her chest and hugged them to her, her eyes avoiding the glint of the ring as it sat in Gil’s remaining hand.

She felt an ember of anger burn within her at the same time Gil’s fury drove him to leave them.

It was snuffed out the moment Banjo spoke his name. A spike of fear drove itself into the center of her back and what was left of her wings ached with the memory of being strapped to Daedalus’s operating table. She saw his twisted grin, and she heard the horrible way he cooed her name as if he was standing behind her. She held her breath to keep her heart from racing, and yet her hands still trembled where they clutched her sweatpants.

She’d noticed how Banjo hadn’t looked her way since he arrived. She’d noticed how he was drowning himself in beer. She wasn’t sure what he was grieving, no one had told her of what Banjo went through at the dance, but she heard the anger in his voice as he made the horrific vow to hunt the mad scientist down and bring him to justice. She could hear Gil making plans of his own in the distance. While she couldn’t say the same for Olyphant’s plans, she hoped that Gil would find what he was looking for. He seemed to have been the only one to truly know Amma. To know Ammaranthe.

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she simply stared into the fire and let the brightness of it burn her retinas.

Thud.

She braced herself as Katja finally made it to them. Prepared herself for what Rory might say to her, what he might ask her, and how the truth might break her own heart as it was laid bare. She swallowed as Rory spoke for the first time that evening. Her own head turned to anxiously look up for the tall blonde’s reaction, but what came pouring out of her lover’s mouth was not the truth but a cruel and twisted version of it.

Her jaw dropped, and disbelief was clearly written on her face as she turned her head towards Rory. She no longer cared about how Katja might react to the truth. Not while the kind man she knew so well had suddenly become someone entirely different before her eyes. She gasped as he used what she’d been through against the blonde, her trembling hands reaching for Rory’s where it was white-knuckled on his wheelchair as a silent plea to stop.

Yet all she could think about was the way that Katja had held her hand as they made their way forwards in the trial. The strength behind the grip, as if holding onto her for dear life. How she’d looked at Haven and told her things were going to be alright after the room had burst into flames.

She couldn’t have known, right? She wouldn’t have led them into it knowing what horrors awaited them like that. Haven didn’t want to believe it.

Rory was relentless, though. She’d just barely pressed her hands against his when she felt him push her away. She pulled them back to her like she’d been struck, unable to console him in his anger as he viciously tore into their teammate.

She knew that Rory had cared for Katja just as much as he cared for her before the trial. She understood that the pain of this betrayal was worse for him than it would be for the rest of them. What she didn’t understand was the way the corner of his lips formed a smirk as he prepared his final blow.

What he said left her stunned.

Chaos immediately erupted following his confrontation, but Haven’s wide eyes remained fixed on Rory. This was a side to him she’d never seen before. A cruelness that she hadn’t thought him capable of until now. Her lips parted as she tried to find the words. Something to scold him with. Something to ease his pain. Something to say to Harper, or Aurora, to calm them down as they defended or confronted Katja themselves.

Even Banjo had something to say, while Haven remained speechless.

She could only feel her breath quickening, a thrum of grief and anger filling her ears the more everyone spoke, and the devastation left in the wake of their words. She finally turned her eyes away from Rory, then, looking towards their former teammate as one question finally clawed its way to her tongue.

“Did you know?” Her voice was breathless as she filled the silence left by Lorcán’s declaration. She stared at Katja with jaded green and golds, her hands still shaking at her sides as her stress manifested physically.

“Did you know that they messed with the trials before you walked with us inside?”
In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 2 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 3 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
In Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP → 3 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
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.”
In Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP → 3 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


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.
In Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP → 3 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Location: Senior Dance, ARC Center - PRCU
Dance Monkey: #4.080 A Cuckoo in the Nest
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.”
In Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP → 3 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
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.”

In Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP → 3 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
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.”

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