Interaction(s): Lucas Bray @Nemaisare, and Immanuel Blaylock @FestivePreviously: The Twilight Hours of Team Eclipse
Her eyes fluttered open.
Blue, almond-shaped eyes - now adorned with a smokey shadow. Highlighted right in the centre of the lid with a shimmering touch of purple glitter. Her lashes curled upward, framing her eyes that held a thoughtful storm. Almost ready. Almost.
Behind her, a dress hung holding the memory of a promise. Draped over the door. It had been a reluctant choice made some time ago with her Eclipse teammates when laughter was still shared easily among them. They had each sifted through the fabrics and colours together, and the moment of shared joy had agreed, collectively. This dress was for Cleo.
Daisy had picked a butter-yellow gown. Light and breezy like a summer morning. Like her. Darla had picked a colourful pantsuit. Gladys had opted for a sage green dress with tulle. Violet, true to her name, selected a regal floor-length gown in the deepest purple. Whitney, the most daring of the girls, chose a vibrantly hot pink dress that clung to her curves with cutaways that teased a glimpse of her sun-kissed skin. But Cleo—Cleo had been the one who wavered, lost in the endless racks of choice: bright orange, blue, yellow, pink, green... The idea of a dance, a prom, was foreign to her; but it was Whitney who gently guided her toward simplicity. “Let the accessories do the talking,” she’d advised in her voice that had always been laced with certainty.
A cream, form-fitting silk gown that grazed the floor. Spaghetti strapped with an elegantly draping neckline. It was simple, and yet - even Cleo, when she tried it on, felt something inside herself that was much like excitement. In that fleeting moment, her psionic aura shimmered with joy, casting a thousand colors over the fabric—a living canvas.
Now, Cleo looked at it and just felt.... Strange. She took it from the hanger and let it fall over her form. The lighting was harsher here, stripping away the magic that had once clung to the fabric. Without the presence of her friends, their laughter and their own vibrant choices, the thrill seemed to dissipate. She slid the dress over her form, as the joy of picking the dress dissolved, it left behind only the emptiness and absence of the women who had empowered her to wear it in the first place.
She lifted an arm to the back and managed to pull the zipper to half way, frowning in the mirror as she cut several unladylike shapes trying to contort herself to get the rest. "Whatever," she muttered, giving up. Pulling from the dresser an amethyst necklace that sat at the centre of a line of other jewels.
Something that Whitney had neglected to help her with, and had left her alone with since her departure, was the choice of shoes. And she frowned again as she looked into her closet at several options there. "What would Whit choose?" she said with a sigh, eyes tracing back and forth over her options. She expected that Immanuel and Lucas would perhaps offer indifference. "Urgh, why do I care?" she huffed, rolling her eyes at herself. "I don't even want to go."
But... She did want to go. If only to be there for her friends who wouldn't be, and to be there with the friends who would.
And for Immanuel? The latter only held a semblance of truth in his mind. Parties were loud, too loud. The music alone was enough to be its own filter in Immanuel’s mind, its makeshift barrier wherein he pushed not even an ounce of focus into hold up. However behind that music ever so loud chattering and corner discussions of party goers stands stark in the all encompassing mess of music. Immanuel could but imagine how it would fill his mind in only a second the closer the group approached the A.R.C., and the encroaching nervousness that sat on his brain waiting to pounce down on him as the moment neared with each tick of his watch.
With that very same hand that ticked the ever present reminder, Immanuel softly knocked on the door to Cleo’s dorm with the optimistic thought she would hear his feeble attempt and he would not have to knock louder so close to himself. And for the dance Immanuel still stood on the fence with his reluctant acceptance, he donned the suit his father aided him in choosing months prior. For the most part, in the design suit simplicity was key. Draped in the green color of the olives of the mediterranean, he bore a double-breasted suit jacket unworn upon one of his shoulders, his undershirt a fresh white button-up adorned with the brown tie he wore tied around his neck. The slacks he wore as well in sync with the jacket he held, the outfit laid on his form exactly as he had ordered it be fitted by the tailor. On Immanuel’s wrist, slightly below the watch he wore daily was a handmade bracelet, one with the central item being seaglass; it was a memento. Two plastered green seaglass smooth to a finish surround another orange piece laid in the middle held together by a piece of twine that has survived the test of time with flying colors, a remembrance of the past. Everyone on Team 18 had one, and everyone left with theirs as well. It was Lucas’s idea for them to all wear their own, each uniquely crafted in its own perfect way, as a way to hold on to what is left, and to keep everyone near. As he stood outside the door waiting for Cleo to answer, his head looked down the hall to see if he could catch sight of Lucas arriving as well.
From the lightness of the knock, Cleo could discern who was on the other side. With one last glance at herself in the mirror, she raised her hand to her lips, and gave the motion of pulling a zipper closed, locking it with a firm twist at the end, and flicking away a key with a swift, decisive motion. On the other side of the door, as expected, was Immanuel, only - despite her best efforts and that promise in the mirror to be careful with her volume.
“Manny,” she began, her voice teetering on the edge of being too loud. Her eyes quickly widened before she reflexively and apologetically brought a hand to her mouth. “Sorry!” she whispered out. “Look at you though! You look great!” Not wanting to let the faux pas linger, she opened the door and gave a wave of her hand to invite him in.
His head snapped towards Cleo with the advent of her voice, ”Thank you, Cleo!” Immanuel was never one to shy away from compliments, although infrequently received it was a pleasant utterance to experience anytime. However thankful for her words Immanuel felt his body tense up for a split second, his face slightly contorting into a small grimace in which he quickly replaced with a smile, it was obvious to all that her voice toed the line, her sharp exclamation cut into his ears like a razor upon flesh, with her standing right before him her voice sounded like a shouting cry right into the inside of his ear. ”You don't need to apologize, for as long as we've been here I think I got used to it from all of y'all. And look at me? Look at you, absolutely stunning! For as much as me Whitney struck the wrong nerve most days she damn knew how to choose a dress.”
With the invitation to come inside given, Immanuel took a step past Cleo into the dorm room. Taking a solitary seat on her side of her bed, laying the suit jacket to his side. At the very least he didn't have to undergo this party alone, ”You almost set for the party too, hm? Definitely a bit nerve wracking to say the least…” Immanuel trailed off, his hand twirling and flipping the limiter he held in his hand, pushing the band into his pocket after a second.
She gave a smile at the returned compliment, “thanks,” she said - in an appropriate inside voice, ending with a slight girlish giggle. She let the door stay open, knowing Lucas wouldn’t be long. “Mhmmm,” she responded to him with a nod. “Gotta pick me shoes, but, I’d say I’m almost there.”
She felt the apprehension in him, it still sat within her, too. “Yeah… Packed out A.R.C with students, loud music, and all manner of romantic angst. Sounds thrilling.” She feigned a smile, her fingers fidgeting and twisting at a ring that was on her finger. “Certainly not going to need a few business days to get over it.” She glanced downwards, letting her hand drop to her side, where she then began tapping her fingers against herself. “Could be worth it for a chance to dance it out though? Could be..”
“Could be worth a fortune! Hi! Sorry, hello, I’m late.” Though Lucas announced both himself and this fact with blithe unconcern as he walked through the open door, only grimacing halfway through as he tried to talk quieter, and managed… somewhat, he did not actually know if he was late. He’d gotten distracted on the way from his dorm to Cleo’s. There were a lot of well-dressed, smiling people gathering in small groups and excitedly exclaiming over each other outside. “You look so good!” He wasn’t looking at either of them… Though he retroactively meant it when he finally focused on his friends. Absentminded finding his place in the walls twisting as his lips curled sideways and he nodded, firmly. “You do. Sorry, I can’t hold onto the quiet time to go tonight.”
There were too many excited gatherings of sharing opinions and trying on clothes and make-up and hair up or hair down with nervous pumping each other up and predrinking dates for all the years people had prepared for their dances in these dorms to not be feeling some of it himself. Secondhand enthusiasm had carried him through fiddling with buttons and pleats and layered fashion until he’d decided against the coat and could show up with all the formality he usually managed in his—by now—familiar dress uniform of white jacket over a white shirt and plaid kilt and knee-high socks. The red bowtie and gold trim added a splash of colour. It was formal, if not particularly exciting, but he hadn’t wanted anything new. And now, as he held out his arms and turned full circle for their appraisal, which he trusted more than his own in the mirror, Lucas laughed, his own enthusiasm growing on the foundation of everyone else’s.
“Nice zipper dance. Want help?”
What grew with Lucas, also grew as a beaming smile on Cleo's lips. She approved of his kilt. “Lucas,” she said, eyes sparkling, pleased to see him. “You look fantastic,” she brought her hands together only briefly in a single mindfully quiet clap. “You both do.” Her mind wandered, as it often did, to fill in the spaces of her dorm room with her imagined visions of the rest of Eclipse in suits and dresses, a wish that they could have all been together.
“Oh,” she murmured. Realisation pulling her away from the thought, spinning, glancing over her shoulder to try to see the zipper, turning almost in a full circle herself. “Yes… Please. Next option was to wrestle a hanger hook back there.”
“Wrestle a bear with it? Oh! It’s hooked on a… Here.” Thankfully muttering more to himself than trying to be heard over the voices in his head as he listened to far too many animal options for wrestling and tried to figure out what Cleo meant, having never had to wrangle a zipper he couldn’t reach without someone else to zip it for him, Lucas managed to keep his volume low as he stepped up to follow through. The slider brought everything together perfect, the cream silk closing up behind it and Cleo’s warmth filling everything out. She did look good in the dress, different compared to her usual style, but not bad at all. Though her feet were still bare. “No shirt, no shoes?”
“Shoes? Shoes? shooooooes!” Cleo muttered melodically, reminded by Lucas of her last getting-ready conundrum. She reached for her closet again, not before giving Lucas a smile of thanks. She plucked out a pair of towering block heels, patterned in scarlet tartan. A style that was not complimentary to her dress. “You know….” she mused, holding them out by the ankle strap to Manny and Lucas with a soft laugh. “Whitney hated these… So…. It seems only right. Right?”
Damn right. I can picture that smug fuckin’ look getting wiped off her face.” A small smile planted itself firmly upon his lips at the advent of Cleo’s suggestion. As much as Immanuel’s distaste for Whitney stood unwavering in the face of change, he still savoured the time they’d spent together, and much to his chagrin her incessantly loud voice still vexed his mind. “Certainly a nice contrast between what she would love and despise, but if you send her any pictures, make sure to crop out the shoes.”
Head tilting as the shoes swayed with Cleo’s laugh at Manny’s vehement agreement, Lucas didn’t lose his smile, but he did rescue them from their own weight, taking them from her with a bemused expression that turned into a snort. “Please tell me you got these for a laugh.” He managed to match the tone almost exactly, though he still looked more confused than Whitney ever did, and when he continued, it was all him. “How do you walk out th–uhh, how?”
She’d show him after putting them on, probably… Manny looked different, too. Like he actually knew what he was doing… Made him wonder, briefly, if he should have asked him for help before he remembered it had already been offered. He’d said no. He didn’t need more clothes. He had a kilt. And a bracelet of tight knots and twisting threads and steady fingers wrapped around the numbing daze of pounding waves; she’d been humming while she made it. Lucas grinned, holding up his wrist where dark green glass was sandwiched by round beads of brown and pointing to Manny’s. Gladys had been listening to Pratchett while she made his, Thief of Time. It was A Hat Full of Sky for Cleo.
“Only slightly for a laugh,” Cleo answered with a playful smirk. As the boys continued passing glances of reminiscing back and forth, Cleo began slipping herself into them. After she'd fastened the straps and stood back up, she'd grown several more inches. Not quite taller than Lucas, certainly not as tall as Manny. “And,” she began to say, nudging a playful elbow against Lucas. “The same way I walk anywhere, just one step at a time.”
Immanuel’s attention shifted from the heels to Lucas, watching as Lucas held his wrist up. ”Ayy, at least we will all be matching with one thing.” Pushing his wrist outward from his lap, Immanuel rolled up the cuff of his button up slightly and pushed his watch down in one motion to reveal the bracelet hidden within. “She was by far the most crafty of our bunch, I don’t think I would even be able to recreate this, and definitely not Lucas’s. And by the way, way to rock a kilt, brother!”
“Ha. You know it.” He was, at the very least, far less out of sorts in the outfit than he’d been the first time he’d worn it, but five years of formal affairs, even if only occasional, had done wonders. He’d nudged Cleo back when she poked him with her elbow, but as he glanced over now, he couldn’t help remarking on her new level. “Oh, hello, hi, you’re up here now. But not goin’ that high.” His gaze drifted towards the man sitting on her bed. Platform shoes or stilts might be needed for that.
As Lucas spoke, Cleo swiveled on her heel to her desk, picking up one last accessory - a pair of black velvet cocktail gloves. She shimmied them onto her hands, removing her rings, tugging the left hand glove under the seaglass bracelet before pulling them both back over her elbows. A classy touch, but practical, a further small barrier between her and any unwanted feelings.
“Okay. All right. All good to go? We can breathe outside and watch the birds.” If they took too long, they’d be the last to arrive with no one to watch while they hyped themselves up for an evening of social interaction. Besides which, Lucas offered Immanuel a quick, crooked smile as he registered how loudly he’d been talking… “And you don’t like my inside voice.”
”I don’t think you’ve ever had an inside voice. Maybe when you are signing, though then again that doesn’t really require a voice.” Immanuel cracked a fleeting laugh to his friends as he parted the side of the blinds on Cleo’s window to peer out onto the ground below. In his ears hushed whispers of excited students whose voices sounds like underwater static permeated through the gaps in his focus and ran amok across his mind. Dancing and twirling among his thoughts as he watched the people filter out of their respective dorms and boisterously travel down the path that led to the dance, he doubted they’d be able to match the energy of the more packed groups among them but none the less, it was time.
”But yeah, Lucas is right, I think it is about time we get going. Long night ahead y’all, so lets start it out nicely.” With the olive green suit jacket hold firmly in his hand, Immanuel stood, sliding his arms into their designated spots, and buttoning it to a close in a fluid motion. His eyes glancing between the final two remnants of his friend group as he stood in front of the door. ”Now lets get out of here.” His calloused hands opening the gate of their sanctuary to the winding path of one of their final, while not official, missions together.
As the three embark from the Lutra dorms and out onto the street the energy the group exuded was dull, a halfhearted walk down the path saddled with an almost solemn silence amongst their ranks. Immanuel kept his hands safely within the bounds of his pockets as they continued along, a sigh seeping out of his formerly held tight lips. There were limits to everything in this world, his focus while strong could still not withstand the ripping force upon the grip it held to his surrounding as they neared ever so closer to the A.R.C. The sound increased with each step, what was now a soft rhythmic drumming of indistinguishable noise would soon ascend. ”I still find it a bit funny of how the three easiest to overwhelm were the last ones left, I doubt the rest would’ve guessed that… But anyway, I was thinking we could have a word, or a signal, or something to show if one of us reached that point during the party.”
“A safeword for the boot scoot and oot?” Cleo asked, casting her eyes to Manny. “Not a bad idea…” She felt her own nervousness flutter in her chest. It was the cruelest irony. That she loved people, parties, and music so much - yet they were often painful reminders of her sensitivities. Their leader was right about that, for each of them in their own ways. ”Play that bat signal, either of you, and maybe we just high tail it to the kitchens. Steal a steak dinner... Bet it’s quiet there… Have our own party.” Cleo’s words trailed off, before she turned her gaze to Lucas. “A sign sounds good, right? Subtle. Inconspicuous… What’d you think?”
“Huh?” A team photoshoot had caught his attention, both for the idea of it, and for counting the numbers. Nine left… Or was it only the graduating year taking part? Oh, there, the guy taking the picture was being gestured into the fold as the rest petitioned another passerby to take another picture. So, when he glanced over to see both his own teammates looking at him with obvious expectation, he froze for a second, head tilting as his gaze slipped towards the sidewalk. Had to take a moment to catch up to the present.
“Oh, right, yeah, I’m not hiding if it’s bad, but I like signing sorry. Then I can feel it if the lights are bright. All right?” As one of the first signs he’d learned from Immanuel, and possibly the one he’d used the most since, it was his go-to when he got to choose any signal. Team coordination or safe word or otherwise, it came easy to him when he needed it, and it was easier for him to pick up on, too, since they were all wearing something over their chests. Bonus that it wasn’t that conspicuous, either. As long as you had a hand free.
”I could get around with that one.” A solitary hand balled firmly into a fist hovered in the center of Immanuel’s chest after it’s removal from his pocket. The sign itself was a simple one, his hand formed into a sign for the letter “A” moving in a counter clockwise circle on his chest. “Sorry,” a silent apology projected to another through the form of actions rather through the use of ones words. Back yonder, when their team’s sun shown down brighter than ever, it’s blessing light which shown the group’s former vigor, the two boys used this in place of English, sign language, as sole communication. ”Yeah, I love it, man. If this party goes to shit, hit the sign and we’ll leave. As a team, one unit.”
Following Manny's hand with a keen eye, Cleo performed the motion along with him, the feeling that it elicited formed a calming blue aura to envelope her fist. The sensation brought a small nod of agreement. “I like it, Manny, this works.”
She drew in a breath, turning her eyes to the A.R.C that was in full view of them now and at the scene that grew more lively with each minute. She bit her lip, a flicker of apprehension crossing her features. “Well alright then,” she sighed out, looking to Manny and Lucas, trying to find determination. Instead, she once again found the absence of nine others.
Darla. Gladys. Amir. Ezra. Whitney. Violet. Daisy. Chaney. Steve.
The weight felt heavy, the wish now distant and unreachable. Plans that wouldn't come to fruition. Things unsaid… Good memories began to win over though. Recollection of laughter again, the small moments, a wall in her mind's eye of a noticeboard peppered in polaroids. Coffee dates. Books and good reads, sidewalk dogs, funny faces, questionable fashion choices… And, she had Manny and Lucas. They had her, and each other too– this was their team now. “To our hardest mission yet,” she spoke, playing in her mind to chase a thread of a joke, to sew it through the night, her smile formed again.
“Surviving the senior dance.” 
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