Can't wait for the boy's night arc.
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Live, Laugh, Love
STATUS: Some of y'all are either too old to act the way you act, or too young to be taken seriously. Hard to tell some days. 8 mos ago
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Some of y'all are either too old to act the way you act, or too young to be taken seriously. Hard to tell some days.
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Location: Canis Dormitory - Dundas Island
Human #5.030: Scary Love
Interaction(s): Haven, Girlfriend @Skai
Previously: Birds in Their Little Nests Agree & Nobody Likes You
All her tears had dried by the time Haven entered Rory’s room for the final time. As she slowly shut the door behind her she took the time to look over the room. It was littered with things neither could carry, and missing most of what they both cherished. All of his pictures had been taken down and packed away. The clothes he couldn’t make room for still sat in his hamper or on the floor of his open closet. Some of her own were mixed in with it. His father’s suitcase, of course, sat on his desk ready for transport.
She stood holding her favorite Jansport by the strap. A newer pair of sneakers were stuffed deep inside, surrounded by the clothes she considered practical for their journey ahead. Bathroom essentials, two pairs of pants, a few basic tops, layers for warmth, and her favorite tee’s she’d taken from the abandoned cabins she once called home. She held a coat in her other hand, with a pair of boots dangling by their strings. The worn sneakers on her feet would be left behind with the rest.
The backpack was stuffed full, and yet she’d still made space for her father’s sketchbook. Any photos she had of her time on the island had been carefully tucked between the first sketch and the cover. It had been hard to look at the team photos when she packed them. Rory had told her of his suspicions by that time, and while she believed him she still found it hard to comprehend.
Each photo with Katja made the ache in her chest worsen, and yet she still kept each one of them.
“Do you need help packing anything else?” She asked softly, although she knew he didn’t need it. The words were empty, more like a verbal olive branch before she said what was really on her mind.
Rory had planted himself near the window, which had remained locked since the incident with Haven. The scattered mess was a reminder of his years spent on the island. Equipment he had never returned, borrowed and purchased clothing that he had worn ragged over the years. On his desk rested his old high school letterman jacket, which he had managed to snag out from beneath a pile of old hoodies in the little closet space he had. But what he needed remained secured in his suitcase and in a duffel stuffed underneath the bed. He turned his tired gaze towards his partner and shook his head.
”Can’t use most of this stuff anymore. It made packing easier.” His voice shook, as if it were hollowed out and reverberated an exhaustion that had been building. There was something about the air between them that he could tell was wrong, and he could hazard a guess as to what it was. But putting a name to it and ushering it out was too much for him. If a storm was coming, it would come.
Haven could only nod in response. While she’d never needed anything to take flight but her sneakers, she could only imagine what it felt like for Rory to even look at his Hyperball equipment now. Although she wasn’t sure if she understood exactly how he was feeling after his outburst on the beach.
She walked over to the bed to rest her Jansport and boots at the foot of it, in the place she’d placed it’s empty form not too long ago. Her coat was laid over the end of the bed. She slipped off her worn sneakers and tucked them close together, before turning to face him.
“Rory,” she began, hesitant about what she would say to him for the first time in their short relationship. “What happened earlier… Are you alright?”
Rory’s expression darkened for a moment. He moved his hands into his lap from their positions on the armrests. ”They needed to know.” He refused to look Haven in the eyes as he continued to stare out the window, wringing his hands. His voice was more firm this time. ”I’m fine.”
“I know you’re not fine.” She rebutted, her back muscles tensing with a mixture of frustration and worry. Maybe she didn’t have the energy to argue with Harper, but she wasn’t about to let Rory lie to her. Not when she could see how much he was hurting.
“I know it hurts you more than the rest of us. Of course it does. You were best friends.”
”Were we?” There was a sudden and almost desperate fervor In that question. He finally turned his head towards Haven, his eyes still red and puffy from earlier. ”Or was I just a mission for her?” He shook his head, the remnants of the rage he felt earlier that day beginning to boil in his chest. ”She was never one of us.”
“She was in the beginning, Rory.” Haven kept her tone soft. Her sympathy for his heartache was keeping her own anger at bay, for now. “She was broken when she came here, like most of us were. If her life before was anything like what you told me she went through in the trial… I don’t think she had any reason to doubt the sweet lies Hyperion whispered to us.”
She thought of the way Katja’s anger had dissipated the moment those blue eyes met her own. How her heart had cracked just a little more as she recognized sympathy in her expression. It hurt that Katja had lied to them for so long, and yet it was worse that Katja still cared for them after all this time.
“I’m not trying to justify what she’s done. I don’t want to forgive her for it.” Her tone was bitter and heartbroken as she spoke, but her eyes soon fell to the floor as she gathered the courage to speak her mind.
When she finally lifted her eyes to meet his sky blues, her tone was firm despite the concern in her eyes. “I don’t think she deserved what you said to her, though. It was cruel. You weren’t acting like yourself, Rory.”
“Please tell me you didn’t mean it.”
”What if I did?” It was less of a question and more of a statement as his tone and expression hardened. His eyes lacked the usual light and spark, instead dull orbs that seemed to look past Haven.
”I don't care if she was lied to, Haven. She betrayed us. She trusted terrorists who attacked us, and she would have never come clean about it. You and Harper can defend her all you want, but she is not your friend.” Rory’s hands gripped each other tightly in his lap, a pained sneer forming on his lips. ”She was the monster, not Amma.”
“I’m not defending her.” The words came out a bit faster than she intended. She didn’t know if they were right, but she at least didn’t mean to be defending someone who had betrayed them this way.
“Amma was never a monster, either. Tiamat was the monster underneath. The Foundation created that part of her. Dae-... he made her that.”
Her stress was returning in the way her hands began to shake at her sides. Again, this was a side to Rory that she had never seen before. A side that she knew came from the pain he held within himself. A pain that she wasn’t sure she could comfort.
“Katja meant it, when she said that she never intended to hurt us. When she said that she didn’t know about the trial.” She continued as the frustration of it began to simmer in her stomach. “It’s all so fucked up.”
”Kruger's friends nearly killed you, Haven.” His tone seemed desperate and pleading, underneath the pure disdain with which he spoke Katja's name. ”She should have known. After what Hyperion did, after everything… she's not an idiot. She just didn't care.” Rory turned his gaze away from Haven, looking out the window as if he would catch a glimpse of the person they talked about.
”If she was sorry, she would have confessed after the Trial. But no… she continued to lie to us and pretend like she had nothing to do with them. And now she says exactly what you wanted to hear, and you're willing to believe her?” Rory looked back towards Haven, an anger in his eyes that dissipated the second he saw her shaking hands. His brow stitched together in a mixture of confusion and concern. His tone grew limp. ”I… don't believe her, Haven. And even if I did, I will never trust her again.”
Haven exhaled as she saw the anger leave his eyes. Relief and heartache consumed her as he seemed to become less hostile about it all, just because of her. She tucked her hands into the pocket of his hoodie to hide them.
“I just… I can’t believe she lied for so long. She did care for us, in some twisted way.”
”She had a funny way of showing it.” There was no smile or jest in Rory’s words, and it stung with the faintest remnant of anger. But he took a moment to breathe, letting out his anger. His voice was calm and resolute. ”I stand by what I said to her, Haven. She needed to hear it.”
“I think what you were feeling at that moment was right, Rory. I really do. I’m angry, and I’m also just heartbroken.” She wrung her hands together where they were hidden from view now and watched him through her lashes. It was hard to say it directly to his face, and yet she gathered the courage to tilt her chin up and meet his gaze. “But I can’t stand by how you said it.”
“I hope that’s okay with you.”
Rory's face screwed in temporary discomfort. He opened his mouth to respond, before biting his lip to stop himself. He turned his gaze away, taking the moment to recenter his thoughts. This only amplified his disappointment. ”I would have stood by you punching the shoulders kid. Or going after Torres.” He looked back towards Haven, confusion knitting his brows. ”But Katja… she lied to us for years. Stood by an actual terrorist that actually hurt people like us. Said nothing and didn't help find the others who nearly killed you, and you can't stand calling her out?”
The fire was lit behind his eyes as he lifted a hand to roll his wheels, slowly spinning himself to fully face Haven. ”Was I supposed to say please and thank you when she stabbed us in the back, or ask her to do it again? Or should I just stay quiet and see which one of us she helps kill next?” Rory's nostrils flared in indignation, and his cheeks burned with a rage that refused to continue eating away inside. His eyes refused to get the memo, still bearing the sad pain he had since the dance.
Haven’s cheeks turned pink to match his, in the way that they always did, but this time it was a result of her frustration. Her own brows had furrowed in response to his accusations, and his last words had sent a shiver up her spine that made the muscles on her back ache. Another muscle in her neck ticked as she quickly rebutted.
“That’s not what I mean, Rory.” Her voice was louder this time, laced with hurt that he’d even assumed that she didn’t want Katja to know how much pain she had caused. “I was ready to back you up if nobody believed you, and if Katja denied it, I was going to be the one to call her out next.”
“But you said that no one loved her, and then you used Amma against her like she hadn’t just been dragged into hell with that thing. Katja was clearly torn up about Amma, and you twisted the knife. You cut deeper than you needed to, Rory. I don’t know if it’s because of how you’re hurting, or if you’re still hung up about how you used to feel about her, but I know you didn’t get any pleasure out of it. Even if you smiled when you said it.”
She shook her head as she took a breath.
“It wasn’t you, Rory.”
Rory nodded, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he took in Haven’s words. Her frustration was finally clicking into place in his head. His eyes shifted down towards the ground for a moment, before he simply shook his head. ”Being me hasn’t done us much good, has it?” He let the words settle for a moment before he looked up again. Tears formed in the corner of his eyes, as his voice grew borderline desperate. ”Didn’t help you, didn’t help the team, and it didn’t help Amma either. Being me got me in this fucking chair!” His eyes shifted to his seat, and he slammed a fist onto his arm rest, wincing slightly from the pain of it.
But that only wound Rory up more.
”I didn’t enjoy it, but at least I hurt her, Haven. Not because I liked her, not because she was our friend, but because she hurt us! I couldn’t hurt Hyperion, I couldn’t hurt the monster, but I knew how to hurt her.” The tears flowed freely at this point, his fists clenched so tightly blood laced his fingernails. ”We’ve lost everything without even a chance to fight back. So I hit her where I could, where it would hurt, where she would feel for even a second what I do because we can’t even touch the others. And we never will.” His voice had crescendoed into a booming shriek, that was almost immediately snuffed out by a sudden exhale of tension as Rory was hunched forward, almost doubled over.
His voice grew quiet, as if he had used up what little energy he had left on the tirade. He still refused to look at Haven, barely able to see the ground as what few tears he had left clouded his sight. ”I needed to do something. Anything.”
He heard a few soft steps, and then suddenly Haven was kneeling before him. Through his blurred vision he could see her hands reaching for his. They carefully peeled back his fingers where his nails had dug into his palm, and slid themselves into his open gestures to press against the self-inflicted wounds.
“Being you brought us together.” She began, her voice shaking with sorrow. “Being you got me through all of this. I don’t know how I could have survived it alone.”
“You’re all I have left, Rory. You’re all I want.” She squeezed his hands as she looked over his defeated expression. “It was all out of our hands from the start, and I’m just… I’m so glad you’re still here.”
A few of her own tears slid down her cheeks.
“Tell me what I can do to help you through this. You’re not alone. We’ll get through this together.”
Rory squeezed Haven's hands back, and his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. What little anger had seeped out of him, leaving just the shell. He shook his head. ”I don't know, Dove. I don't know.” He lifted his head to look about the room and the assorted mess.
”For now, I just need help getting to bed. We've got a long day ahead of us.”
Haven took a breath as if she had more to say, but her eyes fell to their intertwined hands and she just nodded in response. Slowly, she rose to stand and wiped off her face with the back of her sleeve. Her hands then tucked her stray hairs behind her ears as she moved around to the back of his wheelchair.
She pushed him over to the side of the bed, beginning their nighttime routine they’d only had a few nights to act out. Except this time there were no little jokes to make light of their situation. Haven knelt down to remove his shoes, placing them in front of where his duffel was tucked under the bed. She stood again and moved to his side, placing a single kiss against his temple as she waited for his arm to sling across her shoulders. Her own arm slid around his back, and then the other under his knees.
She lifted him out of the chair with ease. The center of her back ached with the movement, but it had become a normal pain over the last week. A bearable pain. She didn’t mention it as she rested him on the bed. As she released her hold on him, her arms moved then to carefully position his legs with a pillow underneath his knees.
“Is that comfortable? Do you want your shirt off?” She asked, moving up to his torso where she adjusted his pillow under his head although she knew he could do it himself.
He always felt so useless at this part. The tenderness with which Haven always helped him was the only thing that kept him from losing his mind. But he still needed to do what he could. He sat himself upright in bed. ”Can you please shove this in my bag?” He lifted his arms to his back and yanked his shirt up over his head, before holding it out towards Haven. His exhausted face tried to contort itself into the facsimile of a pleading smile.
Haven nodded as she took his shirt from him, eyes lingering on his for a second before she knelt down to fold his shirt into his duffel. She took a breath as she stood, preparing herself for her own display of what she’d been left with following the dance. Slowly, she pulled his hoodie off of her back to reveal the tank top she’d been wearing underneath. She faced him for as long as she could as she folded it over her arm, and only turned her back to him to take it and her coat to a chair nearby.
What remained of her wings twitched as she moved, while normally her wings would have shifted behind her. The pin feathers that covered the healed skin were growing faster than she expected. The openings at the top of the pins already revealed soft, downy feathers that made the nubs look like freshly hatched chicks. They were still itchy, but as her arm bent behind her back to scratch at them she just couldn’t find the right angle. She huffed and swallowed down the frustration of it before turning back to the bed.
Soon she had crawled over Rory to take her place next to him. She sat upright for a moment to tie her hair back, and then toss her dirty socks into the hamper across the room. As she laid down, she still found it strange how large the bed felt now. She no longer needed to cling to Rory’s side to give her wings space. After their argument, their first fight, she left a bit of that extra space between them as she turned to lay on her stomach to give them some breathing room. With her head on the pillow, she finally looked across at Rory’s head where it laid on his pillow.
“Do you think you’ll sleep soon?” She wasn’t sure when she’d fall asleep, herself.
Rory had watched Haven undress, watching her movements carefully. As she revealed her back, he felt another wave of pain and regret. She was healing better than expected… but the grim reminder of what she lost made his tirade feel immature. He watched her try to stretch near her wings, before she gave up. He instinctively reached down below himself to lift himself up, before a small shot of pain in his right leg reminded him of his own situation.
He scooted himself over slightly as Haven went to lie down, staring up at the ceiling with a hand over his stomach. The distance between them felt deeply uncomfortable. Her question cut through the air between them. Rory shook his head, turning over to look at Haven. ”I doubt it.” He paused for a moment, before he took a breath. The movement was quick, and punctuated with a small grunt of discomfort, as he lifted himself up onto his side. ”Do you need help with those?” He motioned towards the nubs on Haven's back with his free hand, as one arm kept him propped up on his side.
Haven’s brows rose with hesitation, unsure how she would feel about another’s touch on such a sensitive spot, before she thought of the relief it would bring and nodded. With a sigh, she shifted herself closer to him. The kind gesture closing the distance that their fight had created.
“Can you just… scratch between the feathers? Gently, please.” Her voice was soft, carrying a tone of apprehension that came with letting anyone near her back like this. She hoped he wouldn’t be hurt by it.
Rory gave a small nod, lifting a hand up and placing it on Haven’s back. He slowly rubbed the area near her joints first, his fingers massaging her skin in an effort to help her relax. He then hesitantly moved his hand to the closest one, hesitating the moment his finger glanced feather. His brow was knit together as he focused on being slow and gentle, his fingers softly scratching at her direction. ”Like this?”
She’d melted like butter the moment he massaged her aching muscles. Her eyes fluttered before they closed, and she allowed herself to relax under his care. Even as his fingers neared the center, the only thought she had was that she wished she’d asked for this sooner. A bitter pang of regret made her breath catch in her throat before his fingers began to move between her pins. It was bittersweet relief.
This moment should have been the first time he touched her wings.
“That’s perfect.” She murmured, a hint of her sorrow in her tone. “It might even put me to sleep.”
Rory nodded, moving his hand to the farther set. ”Then get some rest, Dove.” He continued with the small, gentle movements, doing what he could to soothe his partner. He lost the hesitation in his touch, growing more comfortable the more Haven relaxed.
His confident ministrations soothed her discomfort far faster than either expected. Her breathing soon became slow, deep pulls of air into her lungs. Her mind went quiet, focused solely on the feeling of his fingers.
“Thank you.” She managed to slur out as her exhaustion began to settle into her bones. She gave him one last, sleepy blink his way as a smile crept onto her lips, before her eyes closed again and she was lost to sleep.
Rory continued to gently massage Haven's back until he was certain she had drifted to sleep. He looked at her face for a moment, his own exhaustion wearing on his face. But he leaned forward, brushing his lips against Haven's cheek as he extended himself as over. As his head was near hers, and the swarm of feelings that bloomed inside his chest ceased their fighting, he whispered softly to her. His words were tender, clear, and deliberate. They felt natural as she rested near him.
”I love you, Haven.”
Rory turned away, repositioning himself onto his back to stare at the ceiling. His cheeks burned, and his head swam with the day's events.
Sleep would not come for him that night.
She stood holding her favorite Jansport by the strap. A newer pair of sneakers were stuffed deep inside, surrounded by the clothes she considered practical for their journey ahead. Bathroom essentials, two pairs of pants, a few basic tops, layers for warmth, and her favorite tee’s she’d taken from the abandoned cabins she once called home. She held a coat in her other hand, with a pair of boots dangling by their strings. The worn sneakers on her feet would be left behind with the rest.
The backpack was stuffed full, and yet she’d still made space for her father’s sketchbook. Any photos she had of her time on the island had been carefully tucked between the first sketch and the cover. It had been hard to look at the team photos when she packed them. Rory had told her of his suspicions by that time, and while she believed him she still found it hard to comprehend.
Each photo with Katja made the ache in her chest worsen, and yet she still kept each one of them.
“Do you need help packing anything else?” She asked softly, although she knew he didn’t need it. The words were empty, more like a verbal olive branch before she said what was really on her mind.
Rory had planted himself near the window, which had remained locked since the incident with Haven. The scattered mess was a reminder of his years spent on the island. Equipment he had never returned, borrowed and purchased clothing that he had worn ragged over the years. On his desk rested his old high school letterman jacket, which he had managed to snag out from beneath a pile of old hoodies in the little closet space he had. But what he needed remained secured in his suitcase and in a duffel stuffed underneath the bed. He turned his tired gaze towards his partner and shook his head.
”Can’t use most of this stuff anymore. It made packing easier.” His voice shook, as if it were hollowed out and reverberated an exhaustion that had been building. There was something about the air between them that he could tell was wrong, and he could hazard a guess as to what it was. But putting a name to it and ushering it out was too much for him. If a storm was coming, it would come.
Haven could only nod in response. While she’d never needed anything to take flight but her sneakers, she could only imagine what it felt like for Rory to even look at his Hyperball equipment now. Although she wasn’t sure if she understood exactly how he was feeling after his outburst on the beach.
She walked over to the bed to rest her Jansport and boots at the foot of it, in the place she’d placed it’s empty form not too long ago. Her coat was laid over the end of the bed. She slipped off her worn sneakers and tucked them close together, before turning to face him.
“Rory,” she began, hesitant about what she would say to him for the first time in their short relationship. “What happened earlier… Are you alright?”
Rory’s expression darkened for a moment. He moved his hands into his lap from their positions on the armrests. ”They needed to know.” He refused to look Haven in the eyes as he continued to stare out the window, wringing his hands. His voice was more firm this time. ”I’m fine.”
“I know you’re not fine.” She rebutted, her back muscles tensing with a mixture of frustration and worry. Maybe she didn’t have the energy to argue with Harper, but she wasn’t about to let Rory lie to her. Not when she could see how much he was hurting.
“I know it hurts you more than the rest of us. Of course it does. You were best friends.”
”Were we?” There was a sudden and almost desperate fervor In that question. He finally turned his head towards Haven, his eyes still red and puffy from earlier. ”Or was I just a mission for her?” He shook his head, the remnants of the rage he felt earlier that day beginning to boil in his chest. ”She was never one of us.”
“She was in the beginning, Rory.” Haven kept her tone soft. Her sympathy for his heartache was keeping her own anger at bay, for now. “She was broken when she came here, like most of us were. If her life before was anything like what you told me she went through in the trial… I don’t think she had any reason to doubt the sweet lies Hyperion whispered to us.”
She thought of the way Katja’s anger had dissipated the moment those blue eyes met her own. How her heart had cracked just a little more as she recognized sympathy in her expression. It hurt that Katja had lied to them for so long, and yet it was worse that Katja still cared for them after all this time.
“I’m not trying to justify what she’s done. I don’t want to forgive her for it.” Her tone was bitter and heartbroken as she spoke, but her eyes soon fell to the floor as she gathered the courage to speak her mind.
When she finally lifted her eyes to meet his sky blues, her tone was firm despite the concern in her eyes. “I don’t think she deserved what you said to her, though. It was cruel. You weren’t acting like yourself, Rory.”
“Please tell me you didn’t mean it.”
”What if I did?” It was less of a question and more of a statement as his tone and expression hardened. His eyes lacked the usual light and spark, instead dull orbs that seemed to look past Haven.
”I don't care if she was lied to, Haven. She betrayed us. She trusted terrorists who attacked us, and she would have never come clean about it. You and Harper can defend her all you want, but she is not your friend.” Rory’s hands gripped each other tightly in his lap, a pained sneer forming on his lips. ”She was the monster, not Amma.”
“I’m not defending her.” The words came out a bit faster than she intended. She didn’t know if they were right, but she at least didn’t mean to be defending someone who had betrayed them this way.
“Amma was never a monster, either. Tiamat was the monster underneath. The Foundation created that part of her. Dae-... he made her that.”
Her stress was returning in the way her hands began to shake at her sides. Again, this was a side to Rory that she had never seen before. A side that she knew came from the pain he held within himself. A pain that she wasn’t sure she could comfort.
“Katja meant it, when she said that she never intended to hurt us. When she said that she didn’t know about the trial.” She continued as the frustration of it began to simmer in her stomach. “It’s all so fucked up.”
”Kruger's friends nearly killed you, Haven.” His tone seemed desperate and pleading, underneath the pure disdain with which he spoke Katja's name. ”She should have known. After what Hyperion did, after everything… she's not an idiot. She just didn't care.” Rory turned his gaze away from Haven, looking out the window as if he would catch a glimpse of the person they talked about.
”If she was sorry, she would have confessed after the Trial. But no… she continued to lie to us and pretend like she had nothing to do with them. And now she says exactly what you wanted to hear, and you're willing to believe her?” Rory looked back towards Haven, an anger in his eyes that dissipated the second he saw her shaking hands. His brow stitched together in a mixture of confusion and concern. His tone grew limp. ”I… don't believe her, Haven. And even if I did, I will never trust her again.”
Haven exhaled as she saw the anger leave his eyes. Relief and heartache consumed her as he seemed to become less hostile about it all, just because of her. She tucked her hands into the pocket of his hoodie to hide them.
“I just… I can’t believe she lied for so long. She did care for us, in some twisted way.”
”She had a funny way of showing it.” There was no smile or jest in Rory’s words, and it stung with the faintest remnant of anger. But he took a moment to breathe, letting out his anger. His voice was calm and resolute. ”I stand by what I said to her, Haven. She needed to hear it.”
“I think what you were feeling at that moment was right, Rory. I really do. I’m angry, and I’m also just heartbroken.” She wrung her hands together where they were hidden from view now and watched him through her lashes. It was hard to say it directly to his face, and yet she gathered the courage to tilt her chin up and meet his gaze. “But I can’t stand by how you said it.”
“I hope that’s okay with you.”
Rory's face screwed in temporary discomfort. He opened his mouth to respond, before biting his lip to stop himself. He turned his gaze away, taking the moment to recenter his thoughts. This only amplified his disappointment. ”I would have stood by you punching the shoulders kid. Or going after Torres.” He looked back towards Haven, confusion knitting his brows. ”But Katja… she lied to us for years. Stood by an actual terrorist that actually hurt people like us. Said nothing and didn't help find the others who nearly killed you, and you can't stand calling her out?”
The fire was lit behind his eyes as he lifted a hand to roll his wheels, slowly spinning himself to fully face Haven. ”Was I supposed to say please and thank you when she stabbed us in the back, or ask her to do it again? Or should I just stay quiet and see which one of us she helps kill next?” Rory's nostrils flared in indignation, and his cheeks burned with a rage that refused to continue eating away inside. His eyes refused to get the memo, still bearing the sad pain he had since the dance.
Haven’s cheeks turned pink to match his, in the way that they always did, but this time it was a result of her frustration. Her own brows had furrowed in response to his accusations, and his last words had sent a shiver up her spine that made the muscles on her back ache. Another muscle in her neck ticked as she quickly rebutted.
“That’s not what I mean, Rory.” Her voice was louder this time, laced with hurt that he’d even assumed that she didn’t want Katja to know how much pain she had caused. “I was ready to back you up if nobody believed you, and if Katja denied it, I was going to be the one to call her out next.”
“But you said that no one loved her, and then you used Amma against her like she hadn’t just been dragged into hell with that thing. Katja was clearly torn up about Amma, and you twisted the knife. You cut deeper than you needed to, Rory. I don’t know if it’s because of how you’re hurting, or if you’re still hung up about how you used to feel about her, but I know you didn’t get any pleasure out of it. Even if you smiled when you said it.”
She shook her head as she took a breath.
“It wasn’t you, Rory.”
Rory nodded, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he took in Haven’s words. Her frustration was finally clicking into place in his head. His eyes shifted down towards the ground for a moment, before he simply shook his head. ”Being me hasn’t done us much good, has it?” He let the words settle for a moment before he looked up again. Tears formed in the corner of his eyes, as his voice grew borderline desperate. ”Didn’t help you, didn’t help the team, and it didn’t help Amma either. Being me got me in this fucking chair!” His eyes shifted to his seat, and he slammed a fist onto his arm rest, wincing slightly from the pain of it.
But that only wound Rory up more.
”I didn’t enjoy it, but at least I hurt her, Haven. Not because I liked her, not because she was our friend, but because she hurt us! I couldn’t hurt Hyperion, I couldn’t hurt the monster, but I knew how to hurt her.” The tears flowed freely at this point, his fists clenched so tightly blood laced his fingernails. ”We’ve lost everything without even a chance to fight back. So I hit her where I could, where it would hurt, where she would feel for even a second what I do because we can’t even touch the others. And we never will.” His voice had crescendoed into a booming shriek, that was almost immediately snuffed out by a sudden exhale of tension as Rory was hunched forward, almost doubled over.
His voice grew quiet, as if he had used up what little energy he had left on the tirade. He still refused to look at Haven, barely able to see the ground as what few tears he had left clouded his sight. ”I needed to do something. Anything.”
He heard a few soft steps, and then suddenly Haven was kneeling before him. Through his blurred vision he could see her hands reaching for his. They carefully peeled back his fingers where his nails had dug into his palm, and slid themselves into his open gestures to press against the self-inflicted wounds.
“Being you brought us together.” She began, her voice shaking with sorrow. “Being you got me through all of this. I don’t know how I could have survived it alone.”
“You’re all I have left, Rory. You’re all I want.” She squeezed his hands as she looked over his defeated expression. “It was all out of our hands from the start, and I’m just… I’m so glad you’re still here.”
A few of her own tears slid down her cheeks.
“Tell me what I can do to help you through this. You’re not alone. We’ll get through this together.”
Rory squeezed Haven's hands back, and his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. What little anger had seeped out of him, leaving just the shell. He shook his head. ”I don't know, Dove. I don't know.” He lifted his head to look about the room and the assorted mess.
”For now, I just need help getting to bed. We've got a long day ahead of us.”
Haven took a breath as if she had more to say, but her eyes fell to their intertwined hands and she just nodded in response. Slowly, she rose to stand and wiped off her face with the back of her sleeve. Her hands then tucked her stray hairs behind her ears as she moved around to the back of his wheelchair.
She pushed him over to the side of the bed, beginning their nighttime routine they’d only had a few nights to act out. Except this time there were no little jokes to make light of their situation. Haven knelt down to remove his shoes, placing them in front of where his duffel was tucked under the bed. She stood again and moved to his side, placing a single kiss against his temple as she waited for his arm to sling across her shoulders. Her own arm slid around his back, and then the other under his knees.
She lifted him out of the chair with ease. The center of her back ached with the movement, but it had become a normal pain over the last week. A bearable pain. She didn’t mention it as she rested him on the bed. As she released her hold on him, her arms moved then to carefully position his legs with a pillow underneath his knees.
“Is that comfortable? Do you want your shirt off?” She asked, moving up to his torso where she adjusted his pillow under his head although she knew he could do it himself.
He always felt so useless at this part. The tenderness with which Haven always helped him was the only thing that kept him from losing his mind. But he still needed to do what he could. He sat himself upright in bed. ”Can you please shove this in my bag?” He lifted his arms to his back and yanked his shirt up over his head, before holding it out towards Haven. His exhausted face tried to contort itself into the facsimile of a pleading smile.
Haven nodded as she took his shirt from him, eyes lingering on his for a second before she knelt down to fold his shirt into his duffel. She took a breath as she stood, preparing herself for her own display of what she’d been left with following the dance. Slowly, she pulled his hoodie off of her back to reveal the tank top she’d been wearing underneath. She faced him for as long as she could as she folded it over her arm, and only turned her back to him to take it and her coat to a chair nearby.
What remained of her wings twitched as she moved, while normally her wings would have shifted behind her. The pin feathers that covered the healed skin were growing faster than she expected. The openings at the top of the pins already revealed soft, downy feathers that made the nubs look like freshly hatched chicks. They were still itchy, but as her arm bent behind her back to scratch at them she just couldn’t find the right angle. She huffed and swallowed down the frustration of it before turning back to the bed.
Soon she had crawled over Rory to take her place next to him. She sat upright for a moment to tie her hair back, and then toss her dirty socks into the hamper across the room. As she laid down, she still found it strange how large the bed felt now. She no longer needed to cling to Rory’s side to give her wings space. After their argument, their first fight, she left a bit of that extra space between them as she turned to lay on her stomach to give them some breathing room. With her head on the pillow, she finally looked across at Rory’s head where it laid on his pillow.
“Do you think you’ll sleep soon?” She wasn’t sure when she’d fall asleep, herself.
Rory had watched Haven undress, watching her movements carefully. As she revealed her back, he felt another wave of pain and regret. She was healing better than expected… but the grim reminder of what she lost made his tirade feel immature. He watched her try to stretch near her wings, before she gave up. He instinctively reached down below himself to lift himself up, before a small shot of pain in his right leg reminded him of his own situation.
He scooted himself over slightly as Haven went to lie down, staring up at the ceiling with a hand over his stomach. The distance between them felt deeply uncomfortable. Her question cut through the air between them. Rory shook his head, turning over to look at Haven. ”I doubt it.” He paused for a moment, before he took a breath. The movement was quick, and punctuated with a small grunt of discomfort, as he lifted himself up onto his side. ”Do you need help with those?” He motioned towards the nubs on Haven's back with his free hand, as one arm kept him propped up on his side.
Haven’s brows rose with hesitation, unsure how she would feel about another’s touch on such a sensitive spot, before she thought of the relief it would bring and nodded. With a sigh, she shifted herself closer to him. The kind gesture closing the distance that their fight had created.
“Can you just… scratch between the feathers? Gently, please.” Her voice was soft, carrying a tone of apprehension that came with letting anyone near her back like this. She hoped he wouldn’t be hurt by it.
Rory gave a small nod, lifting a hand up and placing it on Haven’s back. He slowly rubbed the area near her joints first, his fingers massaging her skin in an effort to help her relax. He then hesitantly moved his hand to the closest one, hesitating the moment his finger glanced feather. His brow was knit together as he focused on being slow and gentle, his fingers softly scratching at her direction. ”Like this?”
She’d melted like butter the moment he massaged her aching muscles. Her eyes fluttered before they closed, and she allowed herself to relax under his care. Even as his fingers neared the center, the only thought she had was that she wished she’d asked for this sooner. A bitter pang of regret made her breath catch in her throat before his fingers began to move between her pins. It was bittersweet relief.
This moment should have been the first time he touched her wings.
“That’s perfect.” She murmured, a hint of her sorrow in her tone. “It might even put me to sleep.”
Rory nodded, moving his hand to the farther set. ”Then get some rest, Dove.” He continued with the small, gentle movements, doing what he could to soothe his partner. He lost the hesitation in his touch, growing more comfortable the more Haven relaxed.
His confident ministrations soothed her discomfort far faster than either expected. Her breathing soon became slow, deep pulls of air into her lungs. Her mind went quiet, focused solely on the feeling of his fingers.
“Thank you.” She managed to slur out as her exhaustion began to settle into her bones. She gave him one last, sleepy blink his way as a smile crept onto her lips, before her eyes closed again and she was lost to sleep.
Rory continued to gently massage Haven's back until he was certain she had drifted to sleep. He looked at her face for a moment, his own exhaustion wearing on his face. But he leaned forward, brushing his lips against Haven's cheek as he extended himself as over. As his head was near hers, and the swarm of feelings that bloomed inside his chest ceased their fighting, he whispered softly to her. His words were tender, clear, and deliberate. They felt natural as she rested near him.
”I love you, Haven.”
Rory turned away, repositioning himself onto his back to stare at the ceiling. His cheeks burned, and his head swam with the day's events.
Sleep would not come for him that night.
| A Few Days Earlier |
Rory had never felt his bones before. Now he had, and he was worse for it.
The casts felt deeply uncomfortable, and a dull thrum constantly pulsed through his body. The morphine helped, but kept him nearly catatonic to the point he didn't know what day it was. It was hard to tell what was a dream and what wasn't. It always felt like something was standing behind him, just out of view. News has been passed on that the school was closing. The government was stripping the place for parts, and HELP was on life support. For once, he felt free. He couldn't follow in his parent's footsteps if he tried: within a few years, his entire future had been torn asunder. He could do anything.
But could he?
No diploma, minimal life skills, and two broken legs. He finally had the chance to slip away into obscurity, and even that was barred from him. Through no fault of his own, he got to choose which new shiny cage he could lock himself into. What a treat.
But it was all he could do to distract what little there was left of him from the screams he had heard and the things he saw. That faint copper smell that permeated the room and was so rich he could taste it. Or maybe it was his own blood that wet his lips then. Was he still bleeding? Was he dead? Part of him wondered if the sterile white room he had trouble leaving was his own personal hell.
He barely remembered his discussion with Mary and Will. What he did remember was the look they both had on their face. Mary's eyeliner ran down her cheeks. Will couldn't even look at him. Rory wondered if he looked like his brother at their father's wake. He hated that this was the closest he had felt to him in years. He hated how cold and absent he was. It felt like they were at his funeral.
Then again, maybe part of him died at that dance.
He didn't know what time it was when he seemed to come out of his stupor. Mary was squeezing his shoulder, and he could feel the vibration of contained sobs. They were both staring out the window, watching students lug bags across campus. Rory raised a hand up to Mary's, squeezing it gently. He wanted to tell her it would all be ok, but he knew he couldn't promise anything.
He couldn't keep anyone safe.
So Rory just watched out the window. Mary lingered a little, before muttering something about packing, and that she would be back. Rory continued staring out the window for a while, becoming more and more aware of the fact the morphine was fading. His bones throbbed, and Rory desperately wished to return back to that dream-like state. At least then, he could pretend the nightmare wasn’t real.
The sounds of the hospital had blended together over the past few days. Doctors and nurses had their usual rhythms. He had made a game of guessing who was approaching by the sound of their footsteps echoing in the hallway. He even grew to recognize Mary’s footsteps. So he was confused when he heard a set of footsteps he couldn’t recognize approaching his door. That intense feeling of not being alone creeped up his neck, but he couldn’t bring himself to look. His shoulders were hunched forward, and his hands gripped the arm-rests of his wheelchair tightly. But he continued to watch the world outside.
The steps slowed to a stop as they reached his doorway. Their hesitation was clear in the sound they made as they shifted in place. Worn rubber soles whispering against the vinyl tiles where Haven stood like a ghost.
Until her relief broke the silence in a quick, but soft set of feet making their way to him.
“Rory.” She breathed, tears already welling in her eyes at the sight of him alive. Her arms were slow and gentle as they wrapped around his chest from behind, her body leaning over the back of the chair to get closer to him. She rested her head against his, and only then did she squeeze him in her embrace. Her tears gently dropped onto his gray henley as she breathed in the smell of him. “Rory, I-” She began, but the lump in her throat kept her from saying anymore.
There was so much to say, and she had no idea how to begin.
Rory felt the tension in him melt away the second the footsteps had quickened. He lifted his hands up to Haven's arms as she embraced him, gently squeezing her to offer some semblance of reassurance. His heart dropped at the sound of Haven's tears. He was getting very tired of tears. He didn't have any left to shed, opting instead to softly brush her arms.
“How are you holding up?” His voice croaked, hoarse from a lack of training the past few days. He wasn't sure if he had spoken since the dance. His voice shook more with uncertainty, though. He couldn't get the image he saw from the dance out of his head. He knew there were bigger, far more important questions to answer. But none mattered more to him than the one he asked.
Haven bit her lip as she tried to reel in the tears that kept silently falling from her eyes. She looked down at his legs, glad to see that they were back in one piece but unable to forget how she’d seen them look on that night. A subtle shake of her head and a sniffle was her only response for a moment as she found the words.
“Miserably… but it already feels better being here with you.”
Rory gave a solemn nod before brushing his lips against her arms. The soft kiss felt more like a reflex than a decision he made. His hands continued to hold her in the embrace. His eyes remained fixed forward, focusing on the scene outside. His stomach churned at the thought of leaving this place, but he didn't feel safe either. Part of him still expected to see a winged shadow pass over the campus. One monster was already made: how many more were waiting for them?
How many more monsters were waiting for Haven?
“I- I couldn't… I can’t protect you, Haven.” It turned out he still did have some tears in reserve. His breath caught in his throat, his choking gasps interrupting his thought as droplets fell upon Haven's sleeve.“I… I'm tired of losing the people that I lo-” His sobbing overwhelmed his ability to speak. The lifting of the haze had only sharpened his recollection of the dance. He had done everything right, and yet it didn't matter.
Haven only held him tighter as her tears doubled to match his. She had no energy for sobs left, and yet she still felt the crushing weight of his pain intermingled with her own. Holding him didn’t feel like enough to comfort his grief.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She choked out, guilt settling onto her shoulders although she knew none of it had truly been her fault. She was only to blame for putting herself in harm's way, in her failed attempt at a resolution to the suffering. “I’m so sorry.”
He’d been through so much because of her. Because of the trials, and because of him. Would it have hurt Rory this much if she hadn’t made a move in the tent a month ago? If they’d stayed apart, remaining as friends and not as lovers?
“I don’t want to lose you, either.” She whispered.
Rory continued to hold on as they both cried into one another. When his own crying died down, he lifted his sleeve to wipe his tears and nose.“What do we do now?” His voice was soft and quiet, barely more than a whisper under his breath. “Is anywhere safe? Do we run?” He paused, catching himself on his words. He didn’t want to even ask the question, but felt it tumble out of his lips before he could stop himself. “Is there a we?”
“I don’t know where to go… I don’t know if anywhere is safe.” She murmured softly where she still clung to him.
Her arms slowly drew away from him as she stood upright. Her back aching now from being leant over for so long. She wiped her eyes with the edges of her sweatshirt, trying to compose herself before she pulled a chair over to the wheelchair’s side. When she finally stepped into view, she hardly looked any different than she usually did. The only difference being her red and puffy eyes, rimmed with dark circles from both a lack of sleep and entirely too much of it, and the empty space behind her where her wings used to rest.
She took a seat in the chair, still subconsciously leaving space for her wings, and greeted him with a miserable smile. “But I’ll go where you go, Rory. You’re my home.”
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: The Beach - Dundas Island, Pacific Ocean
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Human #5.013: Nobody Likes You
Interaction(s): Haven - @Skai, Katja - @Zoldyck, The Gang at Large
Previously: Anything but Blood
Rory sat like a log for most of the conversation amongst his gathered comrades. He gave Haven a single look at her words, before his eyes returned to the fire before them all. He was stuck here in this position, unable to freely move to follow Gil and Lorcán as they broke off to have a heated discussion of their own. So instead, he just simmered. He tried, desperately, to push down the boiling contempt and frustration that rose like bile in his throat. All the talk of safety, home, and justice felt like wasted breath to his ears. It was less substantial than the sand beneath their feet.
He finally began to understand Jim's frustrations.
After everything, they hadn't learned a thing.
Rory's heart broke.
"I won't attend your funeral, Olly." Rory's eyes didn't move from the flame... or perhaps more accurately, they never moved from that spot behind the fire his glazed eyes were fixed upon. But the nickname, one he had not used for the Aussie in ages, was more than enough of an indication of the man he was speaking to. His words dripped with a certainty that made his voice seem like someone else's entirely. "If you want justice you can get..."
He didn't need to look to feel the slight bump that reverberated up his spine with Katja's approach. The anger continued to seep out of his mouth, his voice growing ever so slightly in volume. "Why not start with her?" Rory's eyes finally moved, his head turning in Katja's direction as he clenched on to the arms of his wheelchair tight. His voice carried across the beach, crashing like the waves that lapped the shore. "Come to finish the job, Kruger?"
He didn't wait for the confused expressions or questions. The second Rory had laid eyes on the person he had pined for since they first met, he lost any semblance of self-control left. "Been out high fiving your Orcinus pals? Or were you busy leaving flowers for Hyperion?" He let the accusation hang in the air, shifting slightly in his seat as he hunched forward. The torrent of anger couldn't be contained. Neither could the tears that began streaming down his face.
"A few days ago, I just wanted answers. I wanted to know what they could have promised you that would have made it so easy to turn on us. How you could have possibly chosen the janitor over your own team. Or if you thought leading us to where Haven was kidnapped would make up for nearly getting her killed the first time. If you thought playing the hero then would make up for what Harper, Gil, and Calliope went through. Or if you even fucking cared."
Rory shook with rage, his knuckles white against the arm rests. His voice quivered with a manic energy as his eyes shifted down to those two useless appendages connected to his waist. "But you know what... I don't care about answers anymore, Kat. Or excuses. I can't stop you or hurt you. I can't do anything!" His words rose to a shriek, shoving off any attempt of comfort or care Haven could possibly extend as he panted and frothed.
"The only justice, Kruger, is that you're alone. Hyperion and his children are dead and gone. There's no more Pacific Royal, no more Blackjack. You've burned everything to the ground. No one loves you."
He leaned back in his chair, a small sadistic smirk rising to the corner of his lips. Piecing together what little details he had picked up from the dance and the morning before the Trials, he had one final thorn to lash out with.
After all, subtlety wasn't his strong suit.
"Not even Amma."
He finally began to understand Jim's frustrations.
After everything, they hadn't learned a thing.
Rory's heart broke.
"I won't attend your funeral, Olly." Rory's eyes didn't move from the flame... or perhaps more accurately, they never moved from that spot behind the fire his glazed eyes were fixed upon. But the nickname, one he had not used for the Aussie in ages, was more than enough of an indication of the man he was speaking to. His words dripped with a certainty that made his voice seem like someone else's entirely. "If you want justice you can get..."
He didn't need to look to feel the slight bump that reverberated up his spine with Katja's approach. The anger continued to seep out of his mouth, his voice growing ever so slightly in volume. "Why not start with her?" Rory's eyes finally moved, his head turning in Katja's direction as he clenched on to the arms of his wheelchair tight. His voice carried across the beach, crashing like the waves that lapped the shore. "Come to finish the job, Kruger?"
He didn't wait for the confused expressions or questions. The second Rory had laid eyes on the person he had pined for since they first met, he lost any semblance of self-control left. "Been out high fiving your Orcinus pals? Or were you busy leaving flowers for Hyperion?" He let the accusation hang in the air, shifting slightly in his seat as he hunched forward. The torrent of anger couldn't be contained. Neither could the tears that began streaming down his face.
"A few days ago, I just wanted answers. I wanted to know what they could have promised you that would have made it so easy to turn on us. How you could have possibly chosen the janitor over your own team. Or if you thought leading us to where Haven was kidnapped would make up for nearly getting her killed the first time. If you thought playing the hero then would make up for what Harper, Gil, and Calliope went through. Or if you even fucking cared."
Rory shook with rage, his knuckles white against the arm rests. His voice quivered with a manic energy as his eyes shifted down to those two useless appendages connected to his waist. "But you know what... I don't care about answers anymore, Kat. Or excuses. I can't stop you or hurt you. I can't do anything!" His words rose to a shriek, shoving off any attempt of comfort or care Haven could possibly extend as he panted and frothed.
"The only justice, Kruger, is that you're alone. Hyperion and his children are dead and gone. There's no more Pacific Royal, no more Blackjack. You've burned everything to the ground. No one loves you."
He leaned back in his chair, a small sadistic smirk rising to the corner of his lips. Piecing together what little details he had picked up from the dance and the morning before the Trials, he had one final thorn to lash out with.
After all, subtlety wasn't his strong suit.
"Not even Amma."
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: The Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Campus
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Dance Monkey #4.090: Anything but Blood
Interaction(s): Haven @Skai
Previously: Aren't You Supposed to Burn if You're a Star?
Rory didn't remember falling. He didnt quite remember anything that was happening. Dancing, music... a date. Then a monster. Right. Monster. Plan. Amma. But it was so hard to think with all the screaming. Someone was screaming. Someone was hurt. The roof was torn up. He was cold. Everything was cold. No, something was hot. His leg. Who the hell was screaming?
Rory shifted his arms and back, trying to prop himself up to survey his surroundings. As he looked down at the warmth, it was hard to register what he was looking at. Those couldn't be his legs. Legs didn't bend like that.
He tried to move his legs. He watched his muscles attempt to contract. Pain shot through him like a freight train, so much that his chest seized and he couldn't make a sound.
The screaming stopped.
He was the one screaming.
Rory's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he fell onto his back, more pain shooting up his spine. He had difficulty processing the complex signals running through his nervous system. He didn't notice the red tendrils licking the ground around him. He didn't notice the steam and dust coming from the melted ice and rotted debris around him.
Blood pumped through his ears, dulling most of the noise. Rory rolled his head to the side, his tear-filled eyes only able to make out faint impressions of shapes. Red hair, a sword. Monster. Fighting. Purple. Wings. Gunshots. Dragon. Red. Reaper. Frost. Wings. Wings. Wings.
Breath caught in his throat as a small shift in weight sent streaks of pain through him. When his breath returned, a shrill cry of pain erupted from his lips.
Haven was standing. What was she doing? She was speaking. What was she saying? Why was she... there was so much blood. The assortment of body parts were nearly unrecognizable. Nearly. As Rory blinked away tears, he had an idea of who it was. He only hoped it was a copy, but it seemed too real for that.
He didn't have time to dwell on much, as his eyes clocked quick movement. Haven. She was moving towards the monster. He couldn't quite hear her words, but he knew what she was saying. Rory reached an arm out in her direction.
"No.... Haven..."
Rory tried to shift his weight around, only to yelp before involuntarily stopping. He could feel his mind growing fuzzy, his vision seeming to grow dimmer. He didn't have much left in the tank. He raised his voice. It was the most he could manage. He could only hope those beautiful ears caught them.
"I need you." Tears continued streaming down his cheeks, snot bubbling out of his nose. "I can't lose you. Not again."
And then, in an instant, he broke. Gripped wings. Blood. Her blood. Haven crumpled to the ground. The wings were still in its hands. Rory reached a hand out, only to feel more pain and for the world to swim around him. His hands scrambled along the ground, searching for purchase to pull himself in Haven's direction.
But he didn't even stay conscious long enough to see the monster and the dragon disappear.
Rory shifted his arms and back, trying to prop himself up to survey his surroundings. As he looked down at the warmth, it was hard to register what he was looking at. Those couldn't be his legs. Legs didn't bend like that.
He tried to move his legs. He watched his muscles attempt to contract. Pain shot through him like a freight train, so much that his chest seized and he couldn't make a sound.
The screaming stopped.
He was the one screaming.
Rory's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he fell onto his back, more pain shooting up his spine. He had difficulty processing the complex signals running through his nervous system. He didn't notice the red tendrils licking the ground around him. He didn't notice the steam and dust coming from the melted ice and rotted debris around him.
Blood pumped through his ears, dulling most of the noise. Rory rolled his head to the side, his tear-filled eyes only able to make out faint impressions of shapes. Red hair, a sword. Monster. Fighting. Purple. Wings. Gunshots. Dragon. Red. Reaper. Frost. Wings. Wings. Wings.
Breath caught in his throat as a small shift in weight sent streaks of pain through him. When his breath returned, a shrill cry of pain erupted from his lips.
Haven was standing. What was she doing? She was speaking. What was she saying? Why was she... there was so much blood. The assortment of body parts were nearly unrecognizable. Nearly. As Rory blinked away tears, he had an idea of who it was. He only hoped it was a copy, but it seemed too real for that.
He didn't have time to dwell on much, as his eyes clocked quick movement. Haven. She was moving towards the monster. He couldn't quite hear her words, but he knew what she was saying. Rory reached an arm out in her direction.
"No.... Haven..."
Rory tried to shift his weight around, only to yelp before involuntarily stopping. He could feel his mind growing fuzzy, his vision seeming to grow dimmer. He didn't have much left in the tank. He raised his voice. It was the most he could manage. He could only hope those beautiful ears caught them.
"I need you." Tears continued streaming down his cheeks, snot bubbling out of his nose. "I can't lose you. Not again."
And then, in an instant, he broke. Gripped wings. Blood. Her blood. Haven crumpled to the ground. The wings were still in its hands. Rory reached a hand out, only to feel more pain and for the world to swim around him. His hands scrambled along the ground, searching for purchase to pull himself in Haven's direction.
But he didn't even stay conscious long enough to see the monster and the dragon disappear.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: The Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Campus
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Dance Monkey #4.077: Aren't you supposed to burn if you're a star?
Interaction(s): Haven @Skai, Lorcán @Lord Wraith, Amma @Rockette, Gil @Roman
Previously: I Care What You Think
The second there was a loud thud on the ceiling of the ARC, every ounce of anxiety in Rory’s chest came flushing out of his awkward form. It was replaced by a sheer, animalistic urge to survive. He ripped off his suit jacket, tossing it to the side as the large stone beast cut through the roof. His eyes turned to Haven, whom he quickly stood in front of and tried to shield from loose debris raining down. He felt small cuts and tears form through his shirt, and that familiar sting of pain that came from small wounds. When he turned his gaze back to the beast, the words sent him reeling in confusion. The last he knew, Haven didn’t have a kid. And if she did… he did not want to know who the father of that monstrosity could be.
Cass’s short lived attempt at heroics sent Rory’s mind spinning. That took out his first choice of power. His eyes turned up towards the hole in the ceiling. He looked back to Haven, ready to bark an order, before his eyes settled on her wings. She was still recovering. Flight wasn’t an option for her.
Shit.
Rory scanned his friends in the crowd, able to piece them from the scared students with ease. Blackjack had been through enough in the past few weeks, he couldn’t be the only one to expect something like this. If it were daytime, Banjo’s skill set would be ideal. Sight probably wasn’t going to do much for him. Density probably wouldn’t do much for him here. Teleportation could get Haven out, but fire probably wouldn’t-
Wait, where the fuck did they go?
Rory reached into his pocket, quickly opening his phone and hitting the phone app, managing to quickly call Lorcan and putting him on speaker before tossing the phone on the ground at Haven's feet. With any luck, he’d answer the phone. If not, it was a good thing improvising was Rory’s specialty. It only took a moment longer for Rory’s eyes to lock on to a certain force of destruction. He let out a small exhale, an inkling of a plan beginning to form in his head.
Rory turned his head back to Haven, his expression grave. “When you’ve got an opening, I need you to run.” He held himself back from embracing her: he had to act. This wasn't goodbye.
He turned towards Amma and Gil, and strode through the chaos towards them, giving the Tolkien-esque monster a wide berth. He was used to running through knotted paths in the forest paths on the island, and years of running and tripping made this a breeze. A rather cold breeze. The second he was within earshot of the former actor and resident enigma, Rory lowered his tone. “Alright… got any pointers, Addams family?” He lifted his hands, placing one onto each of their shoulders. “It’s not quite a dragon, but I think this is as close as we'll get.”
Beneath his touch, Amma immediately flinched, eyes panned wide and wild and feral, pain smeared through her expression with minor lacerations donned over her bare shoulders and dotted over one of her arms. She nearly snagged her fingers around his wrist, a warning curling against the ridge of teeth bared in an alarming grimace; for Rory to approach her only addressed the severity of the situation. He, who perhaps above all, did not trust her in the least, bore her marks, faint scars that even now she acknowledged with only a smidgen of guilt to prevent her gestures from prying his palm away from her skin.
“Yeah, get Haven out of here.” She stressed, taking a step back. Her eyes fled over and into the distance where Torres lay, a shattering of loss compounded by the trembling wrought through her fingers, burdened by small wreaths of red that sputtered and fell, likened to drops of blood. Amma searched through Gil’s gaze, held there, words unspoken woven between, an unknown flicker that plummeted through her eyes, something she had never known before, something that could not be placed.
Worry and fear. Concern dotted her lashes and the crease of her brow before she touched her forehead to his briefly and offered her attention back to Rory; a conviction blossomed there and wound through her annunciation with only a slight quiver in her voice to be found.
“That thing can’t take her, you know that, I know that. I’ll be fine. Get her out, get them out.” She flung out her arm, gesturing abroad, breath fogging white past her lips from the frigid cold that suddenly enveloped them.
A flicker of understanding flashed over Rory's face as he observed Amma and Gil, only to give way to a slight frown. He looked about the A.R.C., shaking his head. “I'd love to just grab Dove and duck out, but that didn't work for everyone else, did it?” Rory held on to Gil's shoulder tighter, turning his direction to the former star. His eyes were pleading, but his voice was steady. “No offense, Gil, but most of our heavy hitters are off-island, MIA, or can't be trusted.” He paused for only a moment, realizing the slip up in his words too late to retract them. But he just gripped Gil’s shoulder tighter and refocused, trying desperately to ignore the shake in his hands from the cold. “We don’t have time to wait for Jim and HELP. We need heat, and we need Haven out… with or without Lor and Ror. I’m sure the others are thinking the same thing.”
Rory turned his attention back to Amma, his voice betraying his strong words. “We don't do sacrifice plays here, Am, and I wasn't asking for advice on getting everyone out.” Rory took a breath, the creeping dread of the scene sinking in. The injured forms of Torres and Cass sent a shock down his spine. He glanced towards Haven, and his expression hardened with determination. When his eyes shifted back, any lingering doubts he had were gone. “I was asking for tips on being the dragon.” Even he had gotten the hint that Amma wasn’t the type for a reassuring hug or pat on the back. At this distance, he was close enough to get what he needed. It didn’t stop him from lifting a fist up and gently tapping her on the shoulder.
This time, she did lash out, hand turned in and manacled around his wrist, held tight with a tremor that shook up her entire arm.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Amma warned, voice turned low and writhing, a warning, a curse, a spell of the damned as she shook her head and tried to keep him from those energy particles that constantly fell to her influence and scoured through the world on the conceptual ties of the unknown. She knew the nature of his powers, and she felt the pull that seized her shoulder; the shuddering HZEs felt within and without suddenly rose as tides of crimson particles that amalgamated through her body, down the slender lines of her frame and sluiced betwixt flesh and bone. Silver and red wove as an intricate pattern, a coil of ebony that threaded through the center and poised there as a serpent ready to maim. The creature, monster, a manifestation akin to what lurked within the void – something Made. Something of the in-between. A growl of impatience sundered, a deeply seeded warning, a predator before prey that threatened to strike, and Amma regarded the Chernobog, those claws, and the hand proffered and said:
“It’s not a sacrifice. It won’t kill me.” She shook with adrenaline or fear; she knew naught which. “It’s here for me – for her – and –” Amma wavered, lashes lifted high and wide and eyes bright and shining where coils of red slid and snapped, a ring of hellfire within that burned. She looked at Haven, Harper, and even Banjo. She met Gil’s eyes for a long second. She looked unto Blackjack, noted those there and those not, and met Rory’s glare once again.
He had already made up his mind.
“It’ll hurt. It’ll be a pain you’ve never known: rage, hate, everything that is and could be and ever was. It’s death and destruction, to make something into nothing, to tear apart from within or to decay and rot.” From her palm, crackling energy sputtered and groaned, an esoteric resonation that cleaved through the world and surrounded the two of them in swathes of crimson tendrils, ribbons of black and silver that came up and over as the reaper stood there, a smile of bone and blood, blackened smiles shorn over a heart that wept– wrapped in chains.
“And whatever you do, don’t look into the void.”
Cass’s short lived attempt at heroics sent Rory’s mind spinning. That took out his first choice of power. His eyes turned up towards the hole in the ceiling. He looked back to Haven, ready to bark an order, before his eyes settled on her wings. She was still recovering. Flight wasn’t an option for her.
Shit.
Rory scanned his friends in the crowd, able to piece them from the scared students with ease. Blackjack had been through enough in the past few weeks, he couldn’t be the only one to expect something like this. If it were daytime, Banjo’s skill set would be ideal. Sight probably wasn’t going to do much for him. Density probably wouldn’t do much for him here. Teleportation could get Haven out, but fire probably wouldn’t-
Wait, where the fuck did they go?
Rory reached into his pocket, quickly opening his phone and hitting the phone app, managing to quickly call Lorcan and putting him on speaker before tossing the phone on the ground at Haven's feet. With any luck, he’d answer the phone. If not, it was a good thing improvising was Rory’s specialty. It only took a moment longer for Rory’s eyes to lock on to a certain force of destruction. He let out a small exhale, an inkling of a plan beginning to form in his head.
Rory turned his head back to Haven, his expression grave. “When you’ve got an opening, I need you to run.” He held himself back from embracing her: he had to act. This wasn't goodbye.
He turned towards Amma and Gil, and strode through the chaos towards them, giving the Tolkien-esque monster a wide berth. He was used to running through knotted paths in the forest paths on the island, and years of running and tripping made this a breeze. A rather cold breeze. The second he was within earshot of the former actor and resident enigma, Rory lowered his tone. “Alright… got any pointers, Addams family?” He lifted his hands, placing one onto each of their shoulders. “It’s not quite a dragon, but I think this is as close as we'll get.”
Beneath his touch, Amma immediately flinched, eyes panned wide and wild and feral, pain smeared through her expression with minor lacerations donned over her bare shoulders and dotted over one of her arms. She nearly snagged her fingers around his wrist, a warning curling against the ridge of teeth bared in an alarming grimace; for Rory to approach her only addressed the severity of the situation. He, who perhaps above all, did not trust her in the least, bore her marks, faint scars that even now she acknowledged with only a smidgen of guilt to prevent her gestures from prying his palm away from her skin.
“Yeah, get Haven out of here.” She stressed, taking a step back. Her eyes fled over and into the distance where Torres lay, a shattering of loss compounded by the trembling wrought through her fingers, burdened by small wreaths of red that sputtered and fell, likened to drops of blood. Amma searched through Gil’s gaze, held there, words unspoken woven between, an unknown flicker that plummeted through her eyes, something she had never known before, something that could not be placed.
Worry and fear. Concern dotted her lashes and the crease of her brow before she touched her forehead to his briefly and offered her attention back to Rory; a conviction blossomed there and wound through her annunciation with only a slight quiver in her voice to be found.
“That thing can’t take her, you know that, I know that. I’ll be fine. Get her out, get them out.” She flung out her arm, gesturing abroad, breath fogging white past her lips from the frigid cold that suddenly enveloped them.
A flicker of understanding flashed over Rory's face as he observed Amma and Gil, only to give way to a slight frown. He looked about the A.R.C., shaking his head. “I'd love to just grab Dove and duck out, but that didn't work for everyone else, did it?” Rory held on to Gil's shoulder tighter, turning his direction to the former star. His eyes were pleading, but his voice was steady. “No offense, Gil, but most of our heavy hitters are off-island, MIA, or can't be trusted.” He paused for only a moment, realizing the slip up in his words too late to retract them. But he just gripped Gil’s shoulder tighter and refocused, trying desperately to ignore the shake in his hands from the cold. “We don’t have time to wait for Jim and HELP. We need heat, and we need Haven out… with or without Lor and Ror. I’m sure the others are thinking the same thing.”
Rory turned his attention back to Amma, his voice betraying his strong words. “We don't do sacrifice plays here, Am, and I wasn't asking for advice on getting everyone out.” Rory took a breath, the creeping dread of the scene sinking in. The injured forms of Torres and Cass sent a shock down his spine. He glanced towards Haven, and his expression hardened with determination. When his eyes shifted back, any lingering doubts he had were gone. “I was asking for tips on being the dragon.” Even he had gotten the hint that Amma wasn’t the type for a reassuring hug or pat on the back. At this distance, he was close enough to get what he needed. It didn’t stop him from lifting a fist up and gently tapping her on the shoulder.
This time, she did lash out, hand turned in and manacled around his wrist, held tight with a tremor that shook up her entire arm.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Amma warned, voice turned low and writhing, a warning, a curse, a spell of the damned as she shook her head and tried to keep him from those energy particles that constantly fell to her influence and scoured through the world on the conceptual ties of the unknown. She knew the nature of his powers, and she felt the pull that seized her shoulder; the shuddering HZEs felt within and without suddenly rose as tides of crimson particles that amalgamated through her body, down the slender lines of her frame and sluiced betwixt flesh and bone. Silver and red wove as an intricate pattern, a coil of ebony that threaded through the center and poised there as a serpent ready to maim. The creature, monster, a manifestation akin to what lurked within the void – something Made. Something of the in-between. A growl of impatience sundered, a deeply seeded warning, a predator before prey that threatened to strike, and Amma regarded the Chernobog, those claws, and the hand proffered and said:
“It’s not a sacrifice. It won’t kill me.” She shook with adrenaline or fear; she knew naught which. “It’s here for me – for her – and –” Amma wavered, lashes lifted high and wide and eyes bright and shining where coils of red slid and snapped, a ring of hellfire within that burned. She looked at Haven, Harper, and even Banjo. She met Gil’s eyes for a long second. She looked unto Blackjack, noted those there and those not, and met Rory’s glare once again.
He had already made up his mind.
“It’ll hurt. It’ll be a pain you’ve never known: rage, hate, everything that is and could be and ever was. It’s death and destruction, to make something into nothing, to tear apart from within or to decay and rot.” From her palm, crackling energy sputtered and groaned, an esoteric resonation that cleaved through the world and surrounded the two of them in swathes of crimson tendrils, ribbons of black and silver that came up and over as the reaper stood there, a smile of bone and blood, blackened smiles shorn over a heart that wept– wrapped in chains.
“And whatever you do, don’t look into the void.”
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: The Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Campus
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Dance Monkey #4.069: I Care What You Think
Interaction(s): Haven @Skai, Mary Tyler,
Previously: Hawkward Memory
The night air cut into his lungs in a way he didn’t anticipate. He only now realized just how hot it had been at the dance, surrounded by other people the entire night. He moved away from the entrance, giving a small nod to some congregated cliques of seniors either leaving or taking a break from the festivities. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt, welcoming the cooling relief. His thoughts were a little muddled and hazy. He should have eaten more, but he was more than used to the sensation.
Rory rubbed his hand, feeling a deep discomfort at his actions. He didn’t understand the strange man, and still didn’t quite understand how he could hear clothes. A disorder usually wouldn’t manifest that vivid, and he was dating someone who was part bird: the hype-gene manifested in mysterious ways, it seemed. Rory lifted a hand to rub the bridge of his nose, silently mouthing off a few numbers. He did not want to spiral that night, and opted to keep himself grounded as best he could.
He slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone and immediately swiping through his contacts. Within seconds, he lifted the phone to his ear. After several agonizing rings, she picked up.
“Rory… aren’t you supposed to be at the dance? What’s wrong?”
Rory hesitated, desperately looking for any words to explain his situation or what he needed. Instead, all he could muster was a single word. “Date.”
Silence followed on the other line, before loud scratching and some static. He had gotten Mary’s attention. “Date? Hold on… you’re on a date at the dance?”
Rory shook his head. This wasn’t what he needed. “Yes, but-”
“Oh my god… wait, did you finally ask out Ka-”
“NO!” His response was a bit louder and more forceful than he expected. He couldn't bear to hear that name, especially not now. He immediately recoiled from his own voice, letting loose a flustered clarification. “No, no, it’s Haven. I’m on a date with Haven.”
The silence that followed was easily deciphered by Rory. He knew that Mary had put him on speaker, and was quickly scrolling through the photos he would often send of himself and Blackjack. She was trying to remember which one Haven was. “Is she… no, not the pilot… the girls with wings, right?”
“Yes, and-”
“She’s gorgeous.” This response elicited a small blush from the elder Tyler.
“I know, but that’s not-”
“How’d you guys-”
“I fucked up, Mare!” This outburst was not as loud and defensive as the last, but was filled with the same manic urgency.
“Already?” Her voice didn’t carry the same smugness that her twin would have given, and instead seemed more incredulous. “It’s been, what, an hour or so? What happened?”
Rory paused, taking a breath. “I… was a bit rude to someone she punched.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
“Hello?”
“I’m here. I’m just trying to figure out why that’s a problem.”
Rory shook his head, combing through the negative thoughts swirling in his head. But every time he opened his mouth, they felt ridiculous to say. It took him a few moments to gape out something intelligible. “He’s an awkward guy who talks to clothes. And it seemed like Haven put that behind her.”
“And what did you do that was rude?”
“I squeezed his hand.”
He could hear the deep breath on the other end of the phone before Mary spoke again. “Rory… you didn’t fuck up by squeezing that guy’s hand.”
“But-”
“You did fuck up by running away, not apologizing, and leaving your date alone so you could tattle on yourself to your sister.”
Rory was used to getting knocked on his ass. He had been steamrolled over by some of the strongest students at P.R.C.U. in a variety of sports. But Mary’s words always found a way to rip the wind from his lungs in a way no one else could. Before he could even try to muster up a defense, he heard the call end. She had hung up on him, and left him floundering for some form of external validation. Instead, he was left alone outside of the ARC. He slid his phone into his pocket, ran his hand through his hair, and walked back into the fray. He cut his way through whatever crowd remained near the entrance, where the sound wasn't quite as blaring as the dance floor. As he entered into the main hall, he turned his head around to try and find Haven. His heart sank a little as he didn't see her where he had left her. Maybe she had left-
“There you are, handsome. Sorry if I scared you, being gone so long.”
Rory's head whipped back to see Haven had slipped next to him. The smile on his face was immediate, but fell slightly as he observed her face. He felt that tightness form in his chest. He paused for a moment before he spoke, taking a deep breath. "No, no... I was just getting some fresh air... had a talk with my sister, and she really let me have it." His face contorted as he physically cringed at how dumb that had sounded, before shaking his head. He needed to focus, and the discomfort on Haven's face was a more pressing concern. "Sorry, did I miss something?"
Rory rubbed his hand, feeling a deep discomfort at his actions. He didn’t understand the strange man, and still didn’t quite understand how he could hear clothes. A disorder usually wouldn’t manifest that vivid, and he was dating someone who was part bird: the hype-gene manifested in mysterious ways, it seemed. Rory lifted a hand to rub the bridge of his nose, silently mouthing off a few numbers. He did not want to spiral that night, and opted to keep himself grounded as best he could.
He slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone and immediately swiping through his contacts. Within seconds, he lifted the phone to his ear. After several agonizing rings, she picked up.
“Rory… aren’t you supposed to be at the dance? What’s wrong?”
Rory hesitated, desperately looking for any words to explain his situation or what he needed. Instead, all he could muster was a single word. “Date.”
Silence followed on the other line, before loud scratching and some static. He had gotten Mary’s attention. “Date? Hold on… you’re on a date at the dance?”
Rory shook his head. This wasn’t what he needed. “Yes, but-”
“Oh my god… wait, did you finally ask out Ka-”
“NO!” His response was a bit louder and more forceful than he expected. He couldn't bear to hear that name, especially not now. He immediately recoiled from his own voice, letting loose a flustered clarification. “No, no, it’s Haven. I’m on a date with Haven.”
The silence that followed was easily deciphered by Rory. He knew that Mary had put him on speaker, and was quickly scrolling through the photos he would often send of himself and Blackjack. She was trying to remember which one Haven was. “Is she… no, not the pilot… the girls with wings, right?”
“Yes, and-”
“She’s gorgeous.” This response elicited a small blush from the elder Tyler.
“I know, but that’s not-”
“How’d you guys-”
“I fucked up, Mare!” This outburst was not as loud and defensive as the last, but was filled with the same manic urgency.
“Already?” Her voice didn’t carry the same smugness that her twin would have given, and instead seemed more incredulous. “It’s been, what, an hour or so? What happened?”
Rory paused, taking a breath. “I… was a bit rude to someone she punched.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
“Hello?”
“I’m here. I’m just trying to figure out why that’s a problem.”
Rory shook his head, combing through the negative thoughts swirling in his head. But every time he opened his mouth, they felt ridiculous to say. It took him a few moments to gape out something intelligible. “He’s an awkward guy who talks to clothes. And it seemed like Haven put that behind her.”
“And what did you do that was rude?”
“I squeezed his hand.”
He could hear the deep breath on the other end of the phone before Mary spoke again. “Rory… you didn’t fuck up by squeezing that guy’s hand.”
“But-”
“You did fuck up by running away, not apologizing, and leaving your date alone so you could tattle on yourself to your sister.”
Rory was used to getting knocked on his ass. He had been steamrolled over by some of the strongest students at P.R.C.U. in a variety of sports. But Mary’s words always found a way to rip the wind from his lungs in a way no one else could. Before he could even try to muster up a defense, he heard the call end. She had hung up on him, and left him floundering for some form of external validation. Instead, he was left alone outside of the ARC. He slid his phone into his pocket, ran his hand through his hair, and walked back into the fray. He cut his way through whatever crowd remained near the entrance, where the sound wasn't quite as blaring as the dance floor. As he entered into the main hall, he turned his head around to try and find Haven. His heart sank a little as he didn't see her where he had left her. Maybe she had left-
“There you are, handsome. Sorry if I scared you, being gone so long.”
Rory's head whipped back to see Haven had slipped next to him. The smile on his face was immediate, but fell slightly as he observed her face. He felt that tightness form in his chest. He paused for a moment before he spoke, taking a deep breath. "No, no... I was just getting some fresh air... had a talk with my sister, and she really let me have it." His face contorted as he physically cringed at how dumb that had sounded, before shaking his head. He needed to focus, and the discomfort on Haven's face was a more pressing concern. "Sorry, did I miss something?"
The big thing that has eaten so much of my time last month was finishing out a 4 year long DnD campaign with over a hundred sessions. Invited everyone out to my place to finish things out and run a final encounter in person with a constantly shifting map. Took way more time doing the prep work and getting the house ready than I was expecting.
So the good news is I have way too much free time now to get back to Daredevil posts.
So the good news is I have way too much free time now to get back to Daredevil posts.
I am alive and working on a post in the background. It is just a very busy month for me, so it's taking longer than I would like. Should have the next post out within the next few days, and be back to a more regular posting schedule once October rolls around.
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