Ahhhh, I apologize for this being so short, but honestly it's been so busy I'm just amazing I finished anything at all. Please ignore the "to be continued" style ending 😖 NGL, southern sirens should be a thing
(ALSO this isn't late, I shared it with y'all yesterday, I'm just posing it here now)
Sometimes, Alveyn missed the days he was just a fisherman.
The late October night was chilly, the sea breeze nostalgic. He sat reclined against a rocky outcropping, with a sharp edge digging into his shoulder blade, but he doesn’t dare move and disrupt anything. His life had turned upside down after his narrow escape from the Lusca off the coast of Curacao. He’d washed up on Playa Jerami, a changed man. Since Sally had vanished from his life, he’d been aimless. Hunting monsters that stalked the night seemed as good a task as any.
When there was suddenly a number of young men disappearing in Willemstad, rumors of haunting singing in the night, and increased incidents involving sudden mania? That was a recipe for a siren, far away from Greece or not. Maybe sirens were migratory? He was hardly an expert.
He’d been staking out the beach for the last few nights, waiting to hear some sort of music starting in the distance, but so far he’d seen or heard nothing. He knew it was a risk, of course, but he didn’t exactly know how to find a siren with his ears plugged. He took another long swig from his flask, absently rolling a piece of pale green sea glass across his palm.
“Howdy.” A sudden chill ran down Alveyn’s spine, turning his blood to ice. He turned in the direction of the voice, seeing a figure standing where the waves were breaking along the beach, not ten feet away. Their eyes were the color of sea glass, unnaturally bright in the dim moonlight. They had certainly not been there even a few seconds before, and yet Alveyn had not heard them approach or seen them move, nor did they show any signs of having moved quickly. There were no footprints on the beach, only the ebb and flow of the tide. “Are you planning on making a habit of drinking alone on my beach? It’s rather irritating.”
“Since when do sirens sound like they should be wearing a cowboy hat?” The figure laughs, and Alveyn feels his chest tighten against his will, weak human heart reacting to the sound.
“Meet a lot of sirens, do you? I’m surprised you even know what I am. Most humans don’t.” The figure took a few steps forward, away from the water’s edge and towards Alveyn.
“Unfortunately mate, what you are is what I came here for.” Alveyn stands up, pulling the buried rope with him, and triggering the weighted net to drop, knocking the siren to the ground. It had taken the better part of an afternoon to get the weight distribution for the mechanism just right, but it had worked even better than he had planned. “It’s nothing personal, I just got a bit tired of you eating my community members. It’s bad for morale and all that.” He approaches the flailing creature, drawing the silver dagger from his boot.
The siren flips over, piercing green eyes looking up at him. Now that the creature isn’t entirely in the shadows, Alveyn gets a good look at their face. The face is covered in jagged fading scars, their shoulders broad and muscular, webbed fingers, sharp nails. They were handsome. Unsurprising, considering what they were. Alveyn crouched to push his knee against the creature's chest, preparing to slit their throat.
“I got tired of hearing women screaming for help and no one answering them. Those men deserved to lose their hearts.” The siren’s voice had taken on a desperate edge, but it was truthful. “If I was truly going to hurt you, I could have done so last night, or the night before. You wear no protection, it would have been easy.” Alveyn hesitates. A siren with morals wasn’t the most unreasonable thing in the world. Some myths featured sirens as young people drowned or betrayed at sea, seeking a misplaced vengeance.
“What’s your name?”
“I call myself Jem.”
“Why are you here?”
“Curacao is protected water, and has been for over a century. The Throne of Neptune keeps the big creatures at bay. It protects us.” Alveyn knew the throne. Had seen it, sat on it. It was a popular dive location off fisherman’s wharf, not even 60 feet down. Not exactly a likely candidate for a great talisman of oceanic power, but he was the first to admit he was no expert. That being said, if it really had that much power, it could be usable.
“We need to talk.” Zerea doesn’t even blink when her office door slams against the wall hard enough to chip the paint. She was as perfectly put together as always in her classic pinstripe and gold rings, fountain pen in hand as she works her way through the neat stack of paperwork on her desk.
“Welcome back Chai. I was starting to think you were actually going to keep your word. I suppose I gave you too much credit.” Chai slams her hands down on the desk with enough force to disrupt part of the stack.
“Do you realize you nearly had your wife killed tonight?” That stopped Zerea’s pen dead in its tracks. An excess of ink spilled from the pen leaving an ugly black splotch on the page. “She was in the car your goons shot up.”
“The Kingsley’s sent my beloved to collect a shipment like a common criminal?” Zerea’s voice had gone ice cold. “And you allowed it?”
“Don’t even think about trying to pin the blame on them. The Kingsley’s are all heart. They would never ask Ani to do something like this. She insisted. If you’re looking for someone to blame, it was you who left your shipment documents laying around for her to see.” Chai’s nails dig into the oak desk, a horrible sinking feeling growing in her gut. “You planned this? You let her see the documents on purpose, didn’t change the shipments so she would follow the trail.”
“And why would I do that?” Zerea lays the pen down in its black leather case, interlacing her fingers and resting her chin on them.
“Because you’re a sadistic bitch, and you want her to be scared? Or maybe you were trying to kidnap her to force her back here. Or you wanted an excuse to go after the Kingsley’s properly.” Zerea laughs without any joy.
“A few flaws in your theories, my dear second.” Chai’s lip curls at the reminder of her position in Zerea’s business. “First, I have never once taken any pleasure from Ani’s fear. I like to keep my work and home life very separate. Second, kidnapping her is useless, as she will simply try to run again and grow resentful when she fails. When Ani returns to me, it will be of her own accord. Third, the Kingsley’s are currently… off limits.”
“Off limits?”
“Off limits.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I’m afraid that’s none of your business. In terms of my motivations regarding the evening's events… Frankly, I believe I underestimated Ani’s ability to put pieces together. I was quite happy to see her as a sweet little housewife, you see. A darling little thing to care for and keep my bed warm. It is possible her pretty face distracted me from her true intelligence.” Chai’s jaw tightens in fury. Ani was much more than Zerea would ever know. “As for the gentlemen that shot at you tonight, they will be dealt with accordingly.” They wouldn’t last the night then.
Chai felt no sympathy for them. Honestly, if Zerea wasn’t going to take care of it, Chai had every intention of hunting them down herself. They had shot at Chai’s people. That was a death sentence in her eyes.
“I’m going to leave. You’re going to let me.” Zerea smiled.
“Of course I am. I'm sure you’ll be in touch, unless you’re going to make another impassioned speech about leaving my side for good, your newfound morality, and your unwillingness to cooperate with evil? The first one was quite cute, I’d be happy to hear it again.” It wasn’t worth arguing with her, and Chai knew it, but she hated letting Zerea have the final word.
“May all your lightbulbs be mysteriously unscrewed in the night.” Chai turned on her heel and left the door open on her way out. She was definitely not coming back here again. In her anger, she didn’t notice the other individual in the hallway until she bumped into them. “Sorry.”
“No trouble at all, it was my fault.” Chai knew that voice. Rashai. The man who kept coming to visit Staziya. He tips his hat at her, “Have a nice evening.” What the hell was he doing in the administration offices of StarDrop? Rashai continues down the hall to Zerea’s office, closing the door with a quiet click.
It was already late when Chai had left the King’s Club, and later still when she left StarDrop. She makes her way to the river, shelling out a few coins in exchange for some greasy food from a late night street vendor. She sits on the bridge, legs dangling over the edge, a 50 foot freefall to the water below her. She wasn’t sure how it had gone so wrong so quickly. Maybe she should have stayed in that dead-end office job. She had been good at it, even as her soul died a bit more with every stolen lunch. Instead she had been seduced by her own anger, diving headfirst into a world of bullets and stolen alcohol. A stray breeze sweeps up her used napkin, the small square of cheap paper drifting out over the river before falling to float on the surface.
Chai sighs deeply.
Ani’s evil wife was her boss, which she couldn’t tell Ani. The gentleman Staziya was so enamored with was somehow involved in the criminal underworld, which she couldn’t tell Staiya or Ani. Folceli and Sel somehow had decided they were gonna follow her around, and she wanted to be a good role model for them, so she couldn’t let her mask slip for a second because they were always watching. She couldn’t tell Lawrynce anything, because he would probably react the same way she would if someone put her friends in danger. Unfortunately she was the danger. She wouldn’t even blame him.
She should probably walk away, but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to go back to a job where she was no one, just a cog in a bureaucratic system so large she couldn’t even comprehend the scope of it. She didn’t want to go back to being Zerea’s right hand, a killer for hire, a slave to her own rage. She wanted to stay with her friends. She wanted to take care of the people she loved.
She would keep her secrets a little longer to keep them happy and safe, even if it killed her.
Same AU, but a pair of bonus scenes, 1 for Ani, 1 for Chai (who I made some WILD character guesses about, so I apologize in advance😖)
I'm posting Chai's right away's too! I just want them each to have their own post
ANIMOZOPINO
It hardly seemed fair that Ani should have to wait in this crazy-long line up. Just how busy could the notary be at 2:30 on a Tuesday? Besides, Ani simply wasn’t accustomed to waiting in line.
She missed the allure of being powerful. She missed walking in covered in shiny gold and glittering gems, a sparkling diamond on her finger worth more than most people make in a year, and watching people scramble to earn her favor. She missed the warm weight of a hand on her hip, a gentle touch guiding her through life like she was a treasure to be displayed and admired from afar by all who were not Zerea.
“Number 34?” The shrill voice cut through the dim hubbub of the stuffy waiting room. Ani grabbed her clutch bag and hurried to the small window. A bored looking woman waited on the other side. The neatly printed name tag on her blouse read ‘Sherry’.
“Whatcha need, dearie?” Pop! went the bright pink of Sherry’s bubblegum. The sound grated on Ani’s nerves after an hour of waiting impatiently.
“I have some papers to submit.”
“Alright. Hand em’ over then.” Pop! Ani grits her teeth, drawing the neatly folded stack from her clutch setting them on the counter. They were pristine, filled out perfectly. Every letter was crisp, every signature perfectly on the line, initial spots initialed, date spots dated. “Oh, filin’ for divorce, huh? The missus not been treatin’ you right? Happened to a friend of mine, and let me tell you the process ain’t so bad, we just….”
Sherry continues to chatter on, but Ani can’t help but notice the pearl earrings the woman wore, just luminescent enough to catch the light streaming in through the window. She absently reaches up to touch the earrings in her own ears, a pair remarkably similar.
“Happy birthday, Love.” A small purple velvet box wrapped with a thin black silk ribbon pressed into her hands.
“Oh Zerea, they’re beautiful!”
“Do you know what’s special about pearls, Darling? They form when oysters are in pain, when something they cannot expel gouges its way into their flesh. Eventually, instead of resisting, the little oyster makes the pain part of itself. It allows the pain to engulf it until all that remains is a perfect pearl. No two are the same, as no two pains are the same. They’re unique, precious.” Just like you, the words are unspoken, but implied. If she was the pearl, then what was her pain?
Pop! Sticky bubblegum brought Ani back to the dingy notary building. Zerea was dangerous, and the last year had done nothing but affirm that. Empty bed until late hours of the night, secrets, lies, and that mysterious impossible-to-read man. She hadn’t liked any of it, but watching Zerea kill a man cold-blood had been too much. She didn’t regret leaving. She just hates how much she misses their penthouse apartment, and the simplicity of being cared for. The Kingsley’s were more than kind, providing her with a room for free, sponsoring her for whatever she needs, but it wasn’t the same. Being a guest in someone’s home is not the same as being cherished in your own.
Sherry reaches for her stamp, the last stamp standing between Ani and her divorce. Her hand shoots out to grab the paperwork, pulling it away just in time, only a small smudge of ink making it onto the page. The desk however, now has the majority of an official notary stamp on the vinyl.
“Sorry, I think I filled something out wrong.” Ani shoves the papers back into her bag, not even taking the time to fold them properly. Sherry tries to protest as Ani walks away quickly, her heels clicking against the marble.
“But Honey, they were all perfect?!” Ani sighs as she makes it out onto the street.
Malakai, you were the first person I ever loved. My brother, my twin, the other half of my soul, my anchor. Our childhood living arrangements were so absent of affection that I swear only the burning warmth in my heart that came with your unconditional love kept me from freezing to death in that house. On the worst of days, the ones where I faced the iron of Alexsandra’s wrath, you were always there beside me. We would pick up the pieces together, in the cramped space beneath my bed. We would dream of the day we could run away from there together. Away from our absent father, abusive mother and elder siblings. Our pinky promise upheld to the bitter end.
The day we turned 16 we packed our bags and slipped away in the night. Even with all my expensive tastes, I still sometimes miss that wreck of an apartment we spent the first few years in, with its rat infestation and broken heater that left us clinging together for warmth. How could I be cold, knowing that I would never be alone? That you loved me? You took some awful work (we both did) to make us enough money to have real stability. It wasn’t easy, but I was never scared, because for the first time in our life we had a home to always return to. I may not believe in any gods, but I am forever grateful to whatever force in the universe decided that you and I would be together in this life, and every other one too.
Love, the light to your shadow, Faye
Quinn Feratra
Quinn, meeting you was a workplace hazard. I was freshly 18, with a full face of makeup and more skin exposed than covered. The casino floor was some god awful patterned carpet that would have been tasteless when it was new in the 80’s. The place reeked of spilled spirits and arrogance. Rich men with wedding rings tucked away in their back pockets let wandering eyes crawl across me. It felt like punishment, and I could admit in quiet midnights that part of me was desperate just to feel something. It was laughably easy to link my arm though one of theirs, to smile with fluttered eyelashes and cheer at their victories.
“Come home with me,” they would whisper.
“Handsome, my time isn’t cheap,” a flirtatious wink, “am I worth it?”
They always said I was. At the time I was sure it wasn’t true.
Excusing myself to “freshen up for you, baby,” I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, manicured nails pressing sharply against the dull marble. Rent was due soon. If I had played that man well enough, maybe I could have gotten ahead of the payments, let Malakai rest for even a few days. It would have broken his heart if he knew what ‘working night shift at a casino’ really meant. I squeezed my eyes shut to stop the frustrated tears from welling up in my eyes.
“Bad night?” You were standing at the sink next to mine, washing your hands. I felt my heart skip a beat. I had thought I was alone.
“It’s fine.” I snapped at you.
“...bullshit.”
“Excuse me?” You rested your hip against the counter, turning to look at me with quietly observant eyes.
“I said bullshit. It’s clearly not fine.”
“And what gives you, a complete stranger, the right?” Indignation burned in my chest, furious at my own transparency. You offered me your hand.
“Quinn Feratra. And I don’t think you should go home with that creep you were all over out there.” Somehow I found myself going home with you instead, the guilt of unpaid bills hanging over my heart.
Back then, time with you was always stolen. Every moment I spent with you was a moment I was afraid Mal and I would be evicted, or that we wouldn’t have enough money for the month. I was tearing myself in half trying to balance the happiness I felt spending time with you and the things I did to ensure stability for Mal and I. Money was always an issue, and I constantly had to lie or hide things from both you and my brother. I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and horribly insecure. The more exhausted I got, the less energy I could afford to spend convincing myself I was important, not when I would rather spend that energy on you. I recognize in retrospect how flawed that mindset was. When you finally managed to pin me down for a conversation, I turned it into an argument, which then turned into bitter frustrations. I was the one to run.
“You knew what I was when we met, so don’t blame me.”
“Faye, I’m not–”
“Don’t bother. I’m done with this.” The door to your apartment slammed with finality, and I felt hollow. Only when that door was closed did I recognize I was in love with you, but it was too late. I couldn’t go back, and I felt I couldn’t be enough for someone as wholly good as you. I cried myself to sleep in Malakai’s arms, refusing to answer his unspoken questions. I did not allow myself to cry again.
With love and a heavy heart, Faye
Jemon Morale
Jem, you were warm enough to melt the frost I’d built up. A few years later Mal and I had saved enough for a decent apartment, and I was even able to go back to school, working towards an accounting certification. I was meticulous with money, and Mal had suggested I turn it into a career. It wasn’t exciting, but it was stable, and I enjoyed the routine. I crunched pennies to feel less guilty about rewarding myself with cheap coffees at a little coffee shop near our home. Headphones in, I would crunch out a week's worth of homework in the hours between class and closing time.
A small plate set down onto the table softly, drawing my attention upwards to your lovely green eyes.
“Sorry to disturb you, you just work so hard every time I see you in here, I thought you deserved something for it?” A perfect croissant drizzled in decadent chocolate and powdered sugar rested on the pale blue plate.
“Oh, I couldn’t take this, I haven’t paid for it.” You smiled.
“Consider it a favor then, you’re taste testing for me.” Your name tag read ‘Jim’. “I’m apprenticing as a baker here, and I have permission to experiment with recipes. It would be great to know what customers think of my creations.” Your crooked grin and earnest eyes convinced me to take the croissant, and the myriad of treats you brought to me each week after that.
You would sit with me on your break, endlessly warm, with no expectations whatsoever. When you asked if I would consider going for dinner with you, I said yes without hesitation. When you asked if you could kiss me, I said yes without hesitation. When you were offered an apprenticeship with a patisserie in France, I told you to say yes without hesitation. I loved you, and wanted nothing more than for you to follow your dreams, and it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. I loved you enough to let you go. I drove you to the airport, and didn’t hide my tears when you made me promise not to wait for you. A part of my heart went with you to France, but I felt more whole than before I met you. You eventually moved home with a man you met abroad who looks like an honest to god pirate, and I’m still blessed to have you in my life, as a dear, dear friend. I don’t regret losing you Jem, because loving you was the first chance I had at a healthy romance. You convinced me that there was still goodness in the world, that love was more than pain and promises. You convinced me I was worth loving, and I’ll be forever grateful.
Love from your biggest fan, Faye
Lövi Lævateinn
Lovi, meeting you was like being swept up in a windstorm. Until I learned to move the way you move, smile the way you smile, I would just be swept off my feet and helpless. We clicked instantly. Something about 8:00AM classes will do that to people. It took me a while to figure out what you were doing in an 8:00AM biology class (fuck having to take a lab science in any degree, honestly), when as far as I could tell your degree was in philosophy. Then I realized any time not spent gossiping with me about what professors we thought were hot, was spent staring at the back of Laufi Illphelkiir’s head.
I helped you practice your ‘dramatic love confession’, holding a hairbrush like a microphone and a pile of laundry in your dorm room as a ‘token of your most sincere affections’. I hate that the background music you chose to set the scene to was Careless Whisper. I swore I was going to burst a lung, I laughed so hard that night. You have made me laugh more than anyone else in my life.
After Laufi told you about his condition, how his illness prevented him from feeling any affection towards you as he simply didn’t have the energy for a relationship, you came to me for comfort. I would have never turned you away. When that comfort turned physical, I was still happy to be there with you through it. After all, what are friends for? I hope you never worried it was transactional, like those men at the casino that I quietly told you about one night while stargazing. I don’t love you the way I’d loved Quinn or Jem. It wasn’t romantic. It isn't how I love Mal either. It’s the kind of love that is so pure and platonic and unconditional that I can’t possibly explain. I know I don’t have to though. You understand.
Love, your dumbass, Faye
Kumo Hipeitseilg
Kumo, you were a joy. I’d never dated someone younger than me, and to say that I was taken by surprise when a complete stranger asked me out to dinner would be an understatement. You approached me in the hall of the university math wing, and asked without shame, pressing a sketch into my hands. It was me, drawn with burning angel wings, powerful and beautiful. How could I have said no?
Dinner was a strange affair, and I could feel how out of practice I was at this. It had been years since my last real date, but it wasn’t awkward. We people watched, and tried to imagine what the people at other tables were doing. You do a shockingly good impression of someone with a lisp. It makes you sound so much younger and unassuming, it’s crazy.
Dating you was fun. Each time we met we did something interesting, and playful. Spending time with you made me feel young again, like I could play at being the child I never got to be. Falling in love with you was fun.
You always shied away from intimacy. I worried I might be being too pushy, but the longer time went on, the more strange it felt. I was content to wait, but then you started to feel different, like the energy you were pushing out into the universe had changed. When you finally sat me down and explained that you thought that maybe you weren’t attracted to women in a physical way at all, it made sense. Our relationship wasn’t a romantic one for you, it was a friendship. I thought I would be mad, but you looked so terrified in that moment that all I felt was affection and a desire to protect you.
So we ended our relationship, and began a friendship instead. It took some time for my feelings to change, but I wasn’t willing to lose you entirely. We make a pretty good duo either way, Kumo. I hope you find someone who is everything you’re looking for. As for me, the drawing you gave me the day we met is still displayed on my wall.
Love, your friend, Faye
Lewellyn V’lain
Lewellyn, I never told you how I felt. Even as I write this letter, I know you’ll never read it, and that's good. You lived in the apartment across from Mal and I. Honestly, we’d been living there for 6 months without running into you. You were quiet as a mouse, and kept odd work hours as an assistant in your mother’s lab. Honestly, it was surprising that we hadn’t met earlier, considering you were an old friend of Lovi’s. I had heard lots about you, but it was a coincidence that we met.
I had forgotten my key, and Mal had his phone turned off at work, and you happened to be coming home just then. You let me stay in your apartment until he got home. Somehow, your place felt stagnant. It was decorated nicely, and it was tidy, but something about it felt stuck. I couldn’t put my finger on it. What I could see however, was the bone deep exhaustion you carried with you, and the debilitating insecurity that I was so familiar with in myself. I’d had love and support around me for the better part of a decade before we met, and the way you rejected kindness made me sure that you’d never had any at all. You never talked about your family. Never talked about your attempts. You were all sharp edges and biting words, and yet, you had a way of getting under people’s skin. People liked you, even if they hated it. I fell for you hard, and I wanted so badly to help you, but I knew you would only bite the hand I offered you.
You might not have been willing to try for yourself, but damn if you don’t look after my brother. Somehow you saw right through his facade to the real him. I watched him fall in love with you, and I’m watching as you try to be worthy of him. It’s like looking in a mirror at myself 10 years ago.
I’m making a vow to let you love my brother instead, to never breathe a word of my own feelings, and to be your friend instead.
I’m getting tired of having friends instead. I so desperately want that intimacy that everyone else seems to have, but I want it to be real. To feel real.
With unrequited love, Faye
Faye Feratra
My wife, my love, my past, my future. I’ve never been very good with words, or the written word, but I found your collection of letters in a box under your side of the bed, and I wanted to answer you in kind somehow.
Watching you walk away that day was one of the worst of my life. I started gambling again. I was a mess by the time Varm stepped in and made me clean myself up. I couldn’t figure out what I had done wrong. I had no idea what your circumstances were back then, and I’m still furious at myself that I didn’t ask. I could have found a way to make your life a little easier. But I just let you walk away, and I didn’t follow.
I dated a few people after you, but nothing stuck. When I ran into you six years after you walked out, you could have knocked me over with a feather. You looked so different. You walked with purpose, with your head held high. Your eyes had a lightness to them that they never had before, even when you were happy. You caught sight of me, and froze. I thought you would run again. But instead you steadied yourself and sat down at my table.
“I hope it isn’t too late to give you an explanation.” I remember numbly shaking my head, and listening to you tell the long obscured truth of back then. The prostitution, the rent payments of a shit apartment, the abusive family, and the crippling need for stability. You didn’t ask me to forgive you, but I did anyway.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.” you said, “It hurt me too, but I wouldn’t change meeting you anyways. I hope things have been going well for you.” You got halfway down the street before I managed to catch up with you.
We dated for a year before I finally convinced you to move in with me. Two years after that I proposed, and you were furious that I had beat you to it. Our poor wedding planner nearly quit from the stress you put her through, but it turned out perfect. We saved enough to buy a house on the outskirts of the city, one with enough room to expand. Room we needed, as we began to adopt. Nine kids was enough to keep us busy. They’ve all grown up into their own people so quickly. I can see you in them, you know. In the way they talk, the way they smile, the way they love. 47 years of marriage is an accomplishment you know, even if I would have liked it to be longer. When you left us, it was surrounded by our family, and with my hand in yours.
All the people you loved before were all still in your life, they were all here today for your funeral. I had no idea how deeply you loved each of them. I’m so proud to know that the woman I love was capable of giving so much of her heart away again and again, and that somehow I was the one who got to keep you. I don’t know how I’m going to stand waking up tomorrow to find your side of the bed cold and empty, but I will. I’m going to stay until the end of my time, spoil our kids, love our family. I’m going to survive losing you, because I’m so absolutely certain I’m going to see you again on the other side. I love you so much Faye.
Notes: Hello! A combination Chai and Ani piece for your consideration! This was very inspired by the Lackadaisy pilot episode! The vibes are very fun!
_______
“Are you sure this is the place?” The shovel drives another few inches into the loose gravedirt.
“Of course I’m sure! Shut up and dig!”
“You could help!” Animozapino turns to look at Chaimoiw from where she is standing on a mausoleum rooftop, scandalized.
“I’m the look out! And I’m wearing a skirt!” Chai makes an irritated noise in the back of her throat and strikes down again. It makes a dull metallic thud as it collides with something solid. Ani and Chai both look towards the sound, their bickering instantly forgotten. Ani jumps off the mausoleum and grabs a shovel.
_______
It doesn’t take long to uncover the rest of the coffin. The pair of them stare down at the six foot long box, hesitating at the prospect of cracking it open.
“Do you want to….”
“No, no. You do the honors.” Ani steps back, as Chai nods and jumps into the hole. With a creaking groan of splintering wood, the lid of the coffin springs free to reveal cobwebs and amber glass bottles. Chai breathes a sigh of relief.
“You were right.” Ani scoffs, twirling a face-framing ringlet curl around her finger.
“Of course I was.” Ani had in fact, not been sure, but she would sooner die than admit that. “It is my wife we’re stealing from after all.” Chai glanced up.
“I thought you were getting a divorce?”
“Paperwork hasn’t gone through yet.” It hadn’t gone through yet because Ani hadn’t submitted it yet. She had stopped by the notary office with every intention of doing so, but couldn’t do it. Apparently, Zerea hadn’t submitted hers either. Ani wasn’t sure what that meant, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. “We should get out of here quick though. Zerea would never leave an asset uncollected for long, especially not with how expensive Canadian whiskey is these days. Practically liquid gold!” Chai nods, and starts passing up bottles.
The tell-tale rumble of a motor starts to hum in the vicinity, and not from their own vehicle. Ani and Chai look at each other in alarm, all too aware of what that means this far out of town.
“Uh, Ani? I think your wife is coming to collect.” Ani shakes her head.
“She’s got goons for this kind of thing, which is much worse for us. Hurry!” The precious glass cargo clattered together as they made a mad dash for the car. Ani threw open the door to come face to face with the startled eyes of Folceli causing them both to shriek in surprise. “What are you doing here?!”
“Chai said I could come?” Ani’s head whips around so quickly she feels her neck crack. Chai is already looking at Folceli with a look of utter betrayal.
“No, I said you could come someday, not necessarily today! How did you even get here?” Chai hauls Folceli out of the vehicle to start piling the bottles of whiskey in the backseat.
“I was in the back seat!” Folceli’s defense was cut short by the bright beams of headlights illuminating the car, and the three figures. “Oh shit.”
“Language, kid!” Chai chides as she shoves Folceli back into the backseat with the rest of the bottles that clink together worryingly, rolling about freely.
“I’ll drive.” Ani gathers her skirt in her hands to swing up into the driver’s seat, turning the crank to fire the engine as the first spray of bullets pepper the back of the vehicle. Ani steps on the gas, wheels digging into the grass for a terrifying moment before gaining traction and taking off. The sudden movement causes the bottles to shift, and for one of them to roll out of the not-quite-yet closed door. It bounces off the floor and out into the air, inevitably going to shatter.
Folceli dives for it, catching it firmly in their grasp and flopping the majority of their body out of the vehicle in the process. Ani can do nothing but watch in the rearview mirror, cursing loudly. Only Chai’s quick reaction time allows her to reach out and grab their ankles, and haul them back into the backseat. She slams the door closed firmly, looking at Folceli who cradles the bottle they rescued.
“That was scary.” Chai laughs despite herself, spinning the wheel to start heading towards the entrance of the cemetery. Chai pats Folceli on the head and takes the bottle from them.
“Help me move these.” The pair in the backseat shove the whiskey bottles onto the floor, trying to keep their balance as Ani erratically swerves the vehicle to avoid as much of the gunfire from behind as possible.
“Chai, do something about these people trying to kill us already, will you?! My hands are a bit tied!” Ani was a hell of a shot herself, she was proud to say, but there was no chance in hell she would let Chai drive at this speed (or any speed at all), and Folceli was still a child.
“I’m fucking trying to!” The back windshield explodes into a thousand shards of glass as Chai tries to pull up the back seat to access the storage compartment as Folceli mouths the word ‘language’ with an irked expression. The car tilts dangerously to the side as Ani turns sharply, careening around a mausoleum and heading for the graveyard entrance. The black car follows their path, gaining ground quicker than Ani would like.
“Bingo.” Chai holds up two slim cases, one containing a rifle, the other a gatling gun with a clip of bullets. Chai tosses the slim case to Folceli and unclips the larger for herself. The mechanical sound of the clip sliding into position is followed by a heartbeat of silence and Chai’s maniac grin as she looks out through the gaping hole that used to contain their back windshield. “Hello there!”
The glow of exploding gunfire lights up the backseat as bullets pepper across the hood of the enemy car. It swerves to try to avoid some of the fire, narrowly avoiding crashing into the gatepost on the way out of the cemetery.
The rough grass and mud beneath the tires turns to the packed dirt of a proper road. Ani cranks the gear shift and pins the gas pedal to the floor. It only takes a few seconds for the other car to recover and regain their pursuit, still well within gunfire range.
Click. The backseat goes quiet as the gatling gun’s clip runs out of bullets.
“Oh that’s not good.” Chai tosses the now useless gun to the floor.
“Did you even hit them?!”
“Of course I did, Ani! But it’s an armored car! What do you want from me?!”
BANG. A single shot rings out, and gunsmoke fills the car. The pursuing spins out of control and flips onto its side in the ditch.
“The wheels weren’t armored.” Folceli pulls their face away from the scope of the rifle, the empty shell shot falling to the ground.
“Oh shit… Good shot kid.” Ani grinned at them through the rearview mirror. She lets Chai fuss over Folceli in the backseat and focuses on getting them as far away as possible before the goons have time to recover. She breathes a sigh of relief as they hit the city outskirts, and are able to hide in the multitude of narrow side streets on their way back to the King’s Club.
_______
Underneath the lavish Kingsley Hotel, was a little known secret of the city: the King’s Club. Rich red and gold decor mixed with natural dark woods, all accented with semi-functional mechanical elements made quite a sight. A stage stood empty, only a few patrons sitting at the plethora of tables. Once upon a time, this had been a lively jazz club, with music, dancing, and plenty of alcohol, though Ani had never seen it in its prime. Since prohibition had rolled in, it had become risky to keep the King’s Club operational, and the price of acquiring alcohol only continued to rise. Many patrons weren’t willing to risk the hard hand of the law for good music and mediocre whiskey. The resource competition with Zerea’s own speakeasy, “StarDrop'', didn’t help either. One of these days, someone was going to end up dead, if tonight's car chase had been any indication.
The mood in the club is downright gloomy when Ani, Folceli and Chai return. This place had just started to feel like home for Ani, after the Kingsley family had so graciously taken her in after…. Well. Just after.
A pair of figures sit at the bar, and Ani moves towards them with her armful of bottles (fewer than they had started with, the dangerous road home had claimed four of the 18 bottles, leaving dark stains across the carpet of the car. Although, honestly, the car had bigger issues after tonight). Folceli and Chai follow, setting the bottles down on the bar.
“Looks like you three had a successful evening.” Leander turns to look at the three of them, pinstriped suit jacket undone, the sleeves pushed up casually. “Any issues?” Of the four Kingsley children, Leander was by far the easiest to deal with, and the least prone to worrying or overreacting.
“Yes.” Chai answered immediately, and Ani shot her a look that said ‘zip it’.
“Nothing we couldn’t handle, of course.” Not her smoothest cover, but Ani would take it. “Where’s Daisy? I need her to look at the car.” Leander’s hand freezes halfway to his mouth, and he stares at his watered down whiskey for a second before answering,
“Out.” and slamming back the rest. Chai made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat, muttering.
“I don’t know what she sees in him.” She jumps over the bar and waves the bartender away. “Anyways… shall we taste test what we nearly got shot for?” Leander’s eyebrows raise, but he says nothing.
With practiced ease, Chai sets up a neat row of crystal glasses and cracks the seal on one of the whiskey bottles. She pours a perfect two fingers in three of the glasses, sliding one to Leander, one to Ani. The fourth glass is filled with milk and cocoa powder, which is slid across to Folceli. They know better than to complain, and take their chocolate milk without complaint. Chai grabs her own glass.
“Cheers!” the crystal clinks together as they all take a sip. “You know… that’s actually pretty good.”
“Best I’ve had in a long time, that's for sure. Might be worth the risk, eh ladies?” Leander says while swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Still not sure where you got the tip on the shipment from.”
“Course it’s worth the risk, and if you want it to keep coming, you shouldn’t ask where we’re getting it from.” Chai stares down Leander with a dark grin, and the conversation divulges into pleasantries, only briefly interrupted by Chai practically chasing Folceli out of the Club at bedtime. It was all familiar, and comfortable. Ani leans back against the bar. Maybe her luck was going to turn around after all.
The planet of Maliv was a shining beacon of light and technology across the vast galaxies, a crowning achievement of human advancement. A billion lights glowed across its surface, rivaling a small sun. Home to the Empire’s monarchy, and its central seat of power in the universe, Maliv was a utopia, casting its shadow long and far.
The beating heart of the planet was undoubtedly Stellaris Academy, home to only the top 0.01% of candidates. Cadets move with precision, each step and breath calculated and practice-perfect. Neat black cut uniforms adorn their forms, boots and gold buttons polished to a shine. Three colors of arm bands were visible amongst the students. The carmine of sentinels, the azure of nulls, and the vastly outnumbered ivory of guides. The academy produced generals, politicians, cutting edge engineers, diplomats, pilots… Any alumni of the Academy was most assuredly worth something.
Students of the Academy were hand picked at age 18 to spend the next four years preparing for the rest of their lives. Half of those students would not graduate from the program, the intensive demands of the curriculum leaving them husks of their former selves, dropping out in shame.
Vellin was a special case.
“We’re pleased to have you join our ranks Cadet Lawrynce. Please let me know anything I can do to help you adjust.” Dean Astin smiled. “I will do my best to see you succeed here.” Vellin only nodded in response. Dean Astin seemed like a nice woman, but he was not keen to trust her. Trust didn’t seem to go well for him. The freshly upgraded cybernetics in his arm ached on cue.
The non-lethal blaster pistol on his hip felt like a ridiculous toy after the reality of his previous few years. He hadn’t expected the engineer who did the preliminary work on his arm to send a video of his rehabilitation training to the Academy, and certainly hadn’t expected them to come to collect. He wouldn’t care at all, if the Academy couldn’t offer him what he wanted.
A guide.
Vellin’s battalion had one. A handsome, but chronically twitchy thing with deep set circles under his eyes. He had been a tall, muscular thing, good structure for a guide. It hadn’t saved him. Auxiliary guides were ineffective things, they died easily. Vellin wanted something more than that. He was going to need more than that. He had things he needed to do, and he couldn’t afford to lose himself to a powerful zone. He needed a bonded guide - a good match. Only the academys could provide that.
Vellin was at a disadvantage already. He was 23, the last year of eligibility for Stellaris Academy. He lacked the educational basis that the rest of the students had, though he had not been recruited for his intellect. His schedule was full of specialized courses, ready to prime him for a military position on the front lines. His evenings were to be filled with one-on-one meetings with guides. He was going to need them all. He had no pre-existing connection to a guide, so any match would have to be strong without any chance of conditioning.
He could feel eyes on him as they passed through the halls, the dean herself escorting him to his first class. He could hear every whisper.
Who’s that?
A new student at this time of year?
He’s a sentinel.
He looks strong.
Vellin only cared about the ivory armbands. He would get what he came for. He squared his shoulders and followed Dean Astin.
After the seventh guide broke down sobbing, or became catatonic after trying to guide him out of a shallow zone, Vellin was beginning to become a bit disillusioned with the whole process.
“The bombs… why are there bombs? It’s so loud…”
“It’s a mindscape, how can it be that dangerous?”
“I can’t, I’m sorry, I can’t.”
Vellin was not the typical sentinel. For one, his mindscape reflected the things he’d seen, and it wasn’t pretty. Second, he had absolutely no faith in guides.
Vellin threw himself into guilt, and hauled himself out the the zone. Dean Astin raised an eyebrow, and he avoided her gaze. He knew sentinels couldn’t typically end a zone on their own, but he dismissed her curiosity with an excuse of the zone being shallow enough it ended on it’s own.
In reality, it was a skill learned under fire, and one he didn’t care to discuss.
Vellin sat with his back against one of the massive birch trees in the courtyard. His arm was aching, a throbbing pain lancing through artificial veins. At least it numbed him to the noise of the academy. It was easier to ignore the hundreds of footsteps and conversations filling the air. He closed his eyes, and allowed himself to actually focus on the pain. He could feel where the oil and blood were mixing at his elbow joint, kept apart by only a thin carbon fiber sheet. He could feel the electric currents running through each individual copper wire, and where the wire was fraying and diffusing the current into his muscles to cause a twitch in his arm.
A gentle warmth pressed unexpectedly against his shoulder, and it was warm, it was gentle, it was warm, it was gentle, it was warm, and Vellin descended into his own mind, spiraling into a true zone for the first time in over a year.
This room was too familiar. Sterile. Only the small window at the top of the room, too tall to see out of, gave him any indication of the passage of time. Light came and went, day and night, again and again. The glow of bomb-light was brighter at night, turning the darkness to a red glow, as the foundations shook. Vellin stayed in the corner, knees pulled to his chest, the warmth on his shoulder burningly gentle. That couldn’t be right, he couldn’t be warm and safe here. He couldn’t be in anything but agony here. He didn’t know where this feeling went, where could it go?
Quiet steps echo from the hallway, somehow audible through the gray steel door. It was not the steps of the warden, not the steps of his brother, he did not know these steps. Soft but sure. The door swung open without a key, inviting the unknown guest in.
He’d never seen this woman before. She wore the academy’s uniform, with an ivory armband around her bicep. Half her hair was dyed in a bright kaleidoscope of colors to create a purple holographic effect, and caring caramel eyes looked at him from the doorway. Her features were delicate and etched with concern.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause a zone. Honestly, I was checking to see if you were still alive. Your breathing was so slow, I was worried you’d fully died in the courtyard.”
Vellin blinks as a bomb goes off in the distance. The girl does not flinch, or take her eyes off him.
“What are you doing here?” His voice is hoarse.
“I was planning on helping you out of your zone, if that's alright? My name is Staziya.” Vellin blinks again, nodding slowly.
“You aren’t supposed to be here.”
“No, I’m not. Where am I supposed to be?”
“Somewhere safe. Away from the war. Away from the compound.”
“Take me there then.” Staiya reaches out her hand, and he takes it. He follows her down the hallway. “Look back for a moment?” He does, and the warmth on his shoulder becomes bearable. He blinks again and she slips out of his mind, dragging him to the surface with her.
Her hand was still on his shoulder when he opened his eyes. She was crouched down in front of him with that same look of concern he’d seen in his mind.
“Seriously, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s fine.” Her hand left his shoulder, and she stood up, preventing the sun from shining right in his eyes, creating a halo effect around her.
“I guess I know you aren’t dead or dying then. What’s your name?”
“Vellin Lawrynce.”
“Oh, you’re the new student right? The mysterious fourth year?”
“Yeah. Who are you?”
“Anastaziya Kingsley.”
“You’re a guide.” The corner of her lip curved up as she tried to prevent a smile from taking over.
“How did you know?!” Vellin stared at her. He couldn’t be mad, it had been an obvious answer. “I’m more than just a guide though, for the record. I was extraordinary before I ever came to the academy.” Somehow her tone sounded more like she was rattling off a statistic than bragging of her abilities. “Not that it matters much now.” She shrugged. “Anyways, seeing as you aren’t dead, I should get back to the lab. Have a good rest of your afternoon, Vellin.” Vellin blinked.
“I will?” Staziya smiled, warm enough to take his breath from him, and turned on a polished heel to head towards the labs.
She was a guide. A guide who did not cry, or go catatonic, or flinch at his mindscape. He hadn’t even felt her moving about, and the door to his cell had opened for her. The defenses that pushed out other guides had not only allowed her in. They had escorted her. She had pulled him from a true zone without any side effects, or trace of exertion on her part.
Vellin didn’t know much about auras, or about guides in general, but he knew what a touch that light could mean. They were a match. A perfect match.
Perhaps this will get expanded on later, but for now, here it is! Only a week late…. Anyways… Someone talk to me about this Ancient Greek/Gladiator AU perhaps????
___________________________________________
Blood and sweat and sand: these were the realities that made up Umbra’s life. He wore no chains, but he had met slaves who enjoyed much more freedom than he did. No matter.
There was only the fight. There was only blood.
A voice boomed over the raucous crowd, amplified by some strange ungodly magic.
“Let the fight begin!”
The young girl across the arena from Umbra began to charge towards him. It would be so easy. Shift left and break the attack against his shield, a single swing of his sword to decapitate her while her body still moved believing itself to be whole and alive.
But his master hated when he ended things too quickly. There was not nearly as much money to be made on a fight that was over immediately. There is no entertainment value in a clean kill.
Umbra caught the tip of the oncoming spear against the flat of his shield easily deflecting it upwards towards the sky. He shoved the palm of his hand against the girl’s breastplate, pushing her backwards. The girl looked young, green. Certainly not someone who should have any place in a fight against the reigning champion of the colosseum.
The girl hissed as she staggered backwards, a pitiful look of determination in her eyes. He readied his sword, parrying her next spear thrust with ease, rolling forward to swipe at the backs of her knees with the flat of his sword. The girl stumbled forwards away from it just in time to avoid being knocked to the ground. She spun her spear around with surprising dexterity, thrusting it towards the weak point where his pauldrons met the breast plate. He dropped his sword and raised his arm, twisting to catch the shaft of the spear in his palm. He brought his shield forward to smash against her face causing her to lose her grip on the spear and stagger backwards.
Umbra slammed the point of the spear into the sandy ground, crouching to retrieve his sword as the girl shook her head to clear it. Umbra could feel his heartbeat. It thrummed in his ears like a war drum, the rhythmic pulse keeping time as it seemed to slow around him. His breathing was steady. There was nothing but this: the fight. The crowd’s cheering was distant and silent. There was only blood in the pit.
The girl drew a long handled dagger from her boot, her arm moving into a throwing position. He dropped his shield, moving towards her assiduously with his sword low at his side. Her arm drew back, wrist flexing as the blade flew towards his chest in a perfect arc. He raised his sword to knock the dagger of course, its steel blade landing harmlessly in the sand.
He advanced to the girl, his gloved hand grabbing her around the throat and lifting her off the ground just enough that her toes struggled to reach solid ground. Her hands came up instinctively to pry at his fingers but she was unable to do so.
“What’s your name?” The girl looked startled at Umbra’s words.
“Aerilyn.” the girl gasped out. Umbra nodded.
“I’ll remember it.” the blade of his sword sunk deep into Aerilyn’s heart. The sound of the crowd cheering was still not enough to drown out the gurgling sound of blood escaping her chest cavity. It soaked the sands beneath her limp form, staining them a deep crimson that would soon darken to a muted brown. There was no room for empathy, or kindness here. A quick death is the best Umbra could do for her.
~
Once bathed, he was draped in black linens and painted lines of gold adorned his skin. There was never a shortage of people willing to celebrate the most recent victory with the master, and had no choice but to attend.
The servants positioned him on a pedestal, as if he were a living statue. All through the evening he held his position even as the guests' eyes bore into him, their food-greased fingers smearing the precise golden lines of paint.
It was nearing the end of the night when he spotted the woman. She had burning red hair, and was dressed in white, with coils of braided gold encircling her upper arms. A golden crown of laurels sat in her hair. Her name was Lewellyn V’lain, and she was his master’s new wife.
She was half the master’s age, a beautiful young thing to bring the master joy as his life stretched out before him. The crowd seemed to part for her as she moved to the master’s side, linking her arm through his and smiling up at him. It made Umbra sick to think of that poor girl’s naivety. His master would tear her to shreds, and she would be helpless to stop it. She would simply have to endure the endless pain that you never grow numb to.
The master looked down at her with his usual wide grin, pulling her into his side before returning to his conversation. Lewellyn’s gaze swept across the room, falling and lingering on Umbra.
Umbra dropped his gaze to the floor when she looked at him. It was impolite to stare at a lady, particularly this one. A few moments later a white linen and polished leather sandals entered his field of view.
“Good evening champion. Would you do me the honor of raising your gaze? I wish to see your eyes.” Umbra did as she bade, in no position to refuse her request. She hummed knowingly, as if confirming what she knew to be true. Her voice dropped to a murmur, meant just for the two of them. “Those are not the eyes of a monster, Umbra, servant of Thanatos, champion of the bloodied sands, and bringer of death.”
“I am whatever my master requires, my Lady. If that be a monster, then a monster I shall be.” His soul was already doomed for Decideratus either way.
“So if Malice begged you to fetch him olives from the finest merchant in the Capital?”
“I would do so with haste.”
“If you were asked to protect him?”
“I would do so with my life.”
“If he asked you to kill?”
“I have done so many times.”
“Outside of the colosseum, I mean.” The lady’s face had not changed, a gentle expression in her eyes, an innocence to her face.
“I would do so. If I was asked.” Her lips curled into a soft smile.
“I am relieved to hear that my husband has such a devoted servant. He is very lucky to have you in his service, Umbra of the Crimson Sands. Any nobleman would be blessed by the gods to be so fortunate as to have you.” Her fingers drifted out towards him, running across one of the lines of gold decorating his bicep. The paint stained the tips of her fingers metallic, and the near line across his skin became merely a blur of color. Umbra felt a surge of worry as she looked down at her fingers with an unreadable expression. Servant or not, his master’s lady had just touched another man. Such an act could be punishable by beating, or death if the husband so chose. She really was naive. She would get herself killed.
“My lady, you should not have done that.” She simply hummed in response.
“Perhaps not. But I did.” with that, she moved behind him, out of view. He did not see her for the rest of the night, though he saw his master leave mere moments after the lady, and Umbra forced his heart to harden so as not to pity her.
~
Umbra gained three more victories in the sands following that night, and endured three more parties painted in gold, dressed in black. This evening, he stood at the doorway of his master’s private study, a silent guard stationed at the doorway as the master scratched incomprehensible lines on neat sheets of parchment. He would have preferred the sands.
The oikos was carved from out of the side of Mount Ethos, overlooking the city of Strathem, the Coliseum visible even from this height. Beautifully carved pillars with open gaps between them were draped with delicate sheer white fabrics that blew gently in the warm breeze.
“Malice, are you in here?” The lady’s voice drifted down a hallway, and Umbra had to fight to keep his face as neutral as ever. She still lived then. When she had not appeared at the victory celebrations he had assumed the worst. She breezed into the room, her gown one of deep emerald this time, offsetting the gold wrapped around her arms. She did not acknowledge Umbra’s presence in the room. She looked unharmed, though there were any number of ways that the master could have punished her unfaithful behavior. “I should have known. You are always here if you are not at the Coliseum.”Malice simply hummed in response.
The lady drifted about the room, taking in the lavish decor and the view of the city below before her gaze fell upon a Petteia game board.
“What is this?” Malice glanced up at her question.
“Petteia. It's a game I played often when I served in the Phalanx.”
“I like games.” The lady retrieved two cups and a pitcher of wine from a nearby table. “Come, play a round with me.” She arranged herself on a chaise as Malice joined her at the small table.
“I think perhaps you will find it rather unlike games typically played by ladies. Slower pace, but faster thought.” Malice seated himself across from her. “Traditionally, this game is bet upon in the phalanx. Used for trade, for influence, extra food or warmth. Whatever is considered a luxury at the time. Lewellyn smiled, delighted.
“We must not break from tradition then. If I win… I want a gift.”
“Of course, my dear.”
“You swear it?”
“I swear it.” The lady’s lips became a pout.
“Swear it to the gods, for them all to hear. You’ll give me what I want.” Malice’s grin grew, and he took another long sip of wine.
“I swear it to the gods. If you should win our little game, I shall grant you one thing that you desire, so long as it is mine to give or in my power to do so. And if it is I who wins, I would ask the same of you.” Malice’s grin grew, and Lewellyn poured his glass full. The look on the master’s face showed no worry, as was to be expected. Petteia was a game of military strategy, cleverly hidden behind simple pebbles on a board. The master did not lose at games of strategy. Lady Lewellyn smiled mischievously, pouring and taking a sip of her own wine.
“I find your terms to be acceptable. Now, explain to me the pieces and movements.” She gestured to the board between them. Umbra could do nothing but watch as his master explained the movements of the game, the rules and conditions. Lewellyn’s body language was relaxed, perhaps aided too much by the wine. Her expression was hazy, sleepy, as if she were only half listening to Malice’s words, and instead just listening to his voice.
The game began quite simply, but drew out over the next hour. The master appeared calm and amused as always, though the hesitation before his moves were indicative of his investment. Lewellyn seemed to be moving pieces at random in her drunkenness, and Malice was struggling to manage his own pieces in response to hers. The final piece was Lewellyn’s to claim, and her smile filled with childlike wonder.
“Does this mean that I won?” Malice’s smile grew tight.
“Indeed, my dear. Quite impressive. The prize is yours to claim. Make your request.” Lewellyn sat forward in her chaise, her shoulders squaring, the sleepy-sweet drunkenness disappearing in an instant. The look in her eyes sharpened and Umbra realized that her bet had been a calculated maneuver in the same way each move of the Petteia board had been.
“I request a servant, a protector for myself.”
“Is that all? I could have granted you such without such a bargain, dear wife. I shall choose someone suitable–” Lewellyn cut Malice off.
“I wish for a specific one. One that any nobleman would be blessed by the gods to possess.” Her eyes drifted to Umbra, who thought he had been forgotten where he stood vigil beside the door, before returning to look at Malice. “I want your champion.”
~
It had been sworn upon to the gods, and so Umbra fell into the care of Lady Lewellyn. It would be much later that Umbra realized that Lewellyn was no saint, and he had simply traded one monster for another. At least in the sands, the blood he had drawn had been honorable.
Ferns. Sio was coughing up ferns. He couldn’t explain it, but he was woken up in the night frequently by the need to pull the fluid and blood soaked leaves from his throat before they choked him to death.
Sio woke up slowly. It was today. He glanced over at the clock on his nightstand. It read 8:32 AM. Rowen would be here in an hour to drive him to the hospital. His stomach grumbled, but he wasn’t allowed to eat as part of the surgery preparation. Just a few more hours and he would be able to breath without feeling like he was going to suffocate. His lungs would be free of the roots and ferns that had been plaguing his life for over a year now.
He remembered when he first met Thruun, by happenstance while traveling in Norway. They had spent the rest of their trip together, and had been shocked to realize they actually both lived in the same city. They had maintained a casual relationship that could only really be described as “something with benefits”. Sio isn’t entirely sure what it was that made him fall in love, but he knew enough about Thruun to know that it wouldn’t be received well, let alone reciprocated. So he shoved his feelings down. He answered the 2:00 AM phone calls and took what he could get, even if it left him feeling hollow inside. He started coughing up ferns not long after.
For a long time, Sio refused to tell anyone about it, and when it was just the occasional leaf, it wasn’t so bad. He knew what Hanahaki Disease was of course, his mother was an herbalist after all. When he coughed up an entire frond while at lunch with Rowen he couldn’t exactly keep it a secret from her anymore.
He so desperately didn’t want surgery, but when the condition worsened, and he could barely breathe anymore, and the ferns were coming up soaked with blood he had to start considering it as an option. Scans of his lungs showed that the roots were leaving scars that would do permanent, irreversible damage if not dealt with quickly. Sio thought of his moms, of his dad, of his siblings, and the new little one on the way that he would never meet if he died. He couldn’t leave them yet. He booked a surgery date.
He had been dreading today. The surgery would remove the threat of the disease, yes. But it would also remove any trace of the love he felt for Thruun, now and forever. He would simply feel nothing about the other man at all. It sounded so lonely.
The sound of his phone ringing disturbed his thoughts. The called ID read “Thruun, Lord of the Wilds,” (an inside joke between the two of them, with Sio’s contact name in Thruun’s phone being “Sio, King of Nothing.”). God, he couldn’t do this today. He answered the call anyway.
“Hey.”
“Hello little bird. How are you this morning?”
“Fine. How are you?”
“Just fine? Maybe I can fix that, unless you’ve got other plans this afternoon?”
“Sorry Thruun, I actually am busy today. And I probably will be for the next little bit. I’ve just got a lot of stuff going on right now, I’m sorry.” The line went silent for a few moments that seemed to stretch out forever.
“No need to apologize for a busy schedule. No worries at all. I won’t keep you then.”
“Ok, I’m sorry. Goodbye, I’m sorry.” Sio hung up before Thruun could even say anything in response.
Rowen showed up right on time. It was painfully easy to check in to the hospital, to change into the faded green surgery gown, to meet the surgeon. The man, Doctor Dreali North, smiled at him gently.
“Don’t worry Mr. Elkhardt. When you wake up, they won’t be able to hurt you any more. You won’t feel a thing throughout the surgery, it’s just like taking a little nap.”
True to his word, the next thing Sio knew, his vision was going dark and he was drifting through nothingness. He woke to a sensation of warmth in both his hands, and opened his eyes to see one being held by Rowen, the other by Enjo. They stopped their quiet conversation when they noticed he was awake.
“Sio! Welcome back!”
“How do you feel?” Sio looked down at his chest and inhaled deeply.
“It hurts less. I thought it would ache, or feel hollow, but there’s just…. Nothing.” He glanced out the window. It was just starting to turn from Autumn to Winter, and a few stray snowflakes were drifting past the window on a breeze. “It feels like nothing.” He didn’t see the worried glance that Enjo and Rowen shared.
There was a quiet knock at the door and Dr. North entered the room with a small sterile trolly.
“How do you feel? Any pain? The painkillers should still be working fairly well, but I always like to check in and see how my patients are doing.” Sio shook his head.
“I feel fine, no pain. It’s all good.”
“That’s great, I’m glad to hear it Mr. Elkhardt.” Dreali glanced over at the screen monitoring Sio’s vitals, taking a few notes. “Now, this surgery is relatively unobtrusive so you should be good to go home in a few hours so long as you’ll have some support, which it looks like you do. There is just one other matter to decide upon before I sign your release paperwork.” He stepped back towards the trolly, removing the lid of a tray on it. There, roots and all, were a collection of beautiful, but dying, ferns. “What would you like to do with these?”
Sio’s heart ached just looking at them. He swore for a moment that they curled towards him as if longing to return home. He couldn’t bear to look at them for any longer so he squeezed his eyes shut tightly.
“Just throw them out, I don’t care.” After a moment's pause he heard the tray lid be replaced.
“Very well, I’ll make sure that’s what gets done if that’s your choice. I’m glad the surgery went well, and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry Mr. Elkhardt. I know none of this could have been easy.”
Sio just stared out the window again.
The weeks following the surgery were a little painful as the scar healed, but otherwise uneventful. He received a great deal of calls and messages from Thruun, but honestly, he just couldn’t be bothered to answer half the time. There was a void where there had once been feelings so intense they had choked him. It was a shock to Sio when, after two months of nothing, he began to feel the ache in his heart. And a few days later, he coughed up a green leaf.
He immediately contacted Dr. North, who was shocked to see that his condition had returned.
“I’ve never seen this before in a patient who chose to throw away the plant. It’s very odd. Sometimes, if the plant we remove is cared for enough, it will reroot itself, even from a distance, but I’m certain that I threw your ferns out. I’d like to run some more tests if that’s alright with you?”
“Whatever it takes.” Sio was exhausted.
Thruun was having him over for dinner. Just dinner, he had explained, though Sio doubted it was really just dinner. Thruun’s apartment was overgrown as usual, with plants overflowing from every corner of the room, vines crawling across the support beams in the ceiling, collections of pots on every shelf. Sio watched from the couch as Thruun added some finishing touches to the meal, some fancy ethnic dish he couldn’t hope to pronounce. He had been here a hundred times, but there were always new things to look at. The small terracotta pot in the window ledge caught his attention though.
It was full of ferns. Familiar ones that were stretching towards Sio as if in longing. He immediately began to cough violently, his mouth filling full of green. Thruun crossed the room and knelt in front of him. His thumb pressed against Sio’s chin.
“Open up.” Sio didn’t really have a choice if he wanted to breathe in enough air to not pass out. Thruun’s fingers slid into Sio’s mouth and drew out the frond, seemingly uncaring that it was covered in blood. “You know, I had to find out for myself about your condition.” He stood, and brought the frond over to the kitchen sink, rinsing it off carefully. “You never removed me as a contact for FindMyPhone, and it pinged when you got to the hospital. The nurse at the front desk was very helpful. She told me why you were there. You could have knocked me over with a feather. I was so shocked then.” He cut the end off the frond and placed it in a vial of water to propagate it, adding it to a rack of other plants in the same state that hung on the wall. Sio began to protest, babbling a string of nonsense, but Thruun shushed him. “I couldn’t understand why you didn’t tell me about it, but then I realized it must have been me. I was the one you were in love with. Am I wrong about that?”
Sio’s face immediately grew warm. This was not how he had pictured the evening going. It wasn’t like he could lie about it. He was a terrible liar, and Thruun always seemed to have a sixth sense for it anyways.
“You're not wrong. But I didn’t want to bother you with it, you were very clear about your expectations from the start and it’s my fault for catching feelings in the first place, trust me it was a whole experience really and it was kind of a mess, but I didn’t want to–” Sio was cut off by Thruun rolling his eyes and kissing him firmly. Sio’s eyes flew open wide in shock, as Thruun’s fingers found their way to his jaw again. He pulled away slowly.
“I was furious at myself because I was too late, and I had no idea how you really felt about me. I found the ferns in a back alley, and I just couldn’t let them die. I wanted to hold on to the little piece of your affection there was left.”
“Why would you care about that? I don’t understand.” Thruun raised an eyebrow.
“You’re a little slow on the uptake today, aren’t you. This is me, trying to tell you that I care about you a great deal, little bird.” It wasn’t quite ‘I love you’, but Sio couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face anyways.
“Really?”
“Really.” The smile turned into an outright grin, and Sio felt the ache in his chest fade completely.
Hours later, when the pair were curled up on the couch, Sio would come to a realization half way through an episode of Yuri on Ice.
“Wait, if I had just told you how I felt in the first place I wouldn’t have had to have surgery at all?! I ate nothing but soup for two whole weeks!”
I can’t remember the last time I loved being alive or that a feeling burned through me, all consuming and I just wanted to stay in the moment forever. Don’t get me wrong, the thought of dying fills me with fear and every time I try to scar myself my stomach churns, but if I were to not wake up tomorrow, it wouldn’t feel any less numb than I do today.
“I think I need a councillor.”
“You’re not getting enough sunlight. Sleep, sunlight and exercise. That’s all you need.”
“I’m crying because I’m sad”.
“Well, that’s not my fault”.
I never said that it was. I don’t want to feel nothing again, but the words “don’t have a pity party” are still enough to send me into simultaneous panic and numbness. My existence feels fake, like a sharp creation of paper and ceramics that a child moves as an elaborate dollhouse. I pretend that I didn’t find the sharp etching tool I threw into the back of my closet, and that it isn’t very accessibly sitting in the pen holder on my desk. I pretend that I’m not myself. I’m terrified I’ll be the same kind of narcissistic that the people who shaped me were. I wish this wasn’t a cry for help, because I don’t really want help. There is something almost beautiful about the way my heart aches, and very beautiful about the way that twisting the new stainless steel decorations in my ear burns. A greyscale child’s teeter-totter in a colourful playground, balancing exactly in the middle. My pride will keep me there until the school bell rings.
