The final glorious note of the performance resonated through the packed auditorium and Sullivan, along with everyone else in the audience, launched from their seats into a standing ovation. Many had tears in their eyes from the emotional ending scene as the applause grew deafening, but Sullivan’s sentiment was much deeper than the casual theater-enthusiast. As if on cue, the gorgeous raven-haired man taking his much-deserved bows centerstage, straightened up and looked directly at him. Sullivan’s heart leapt, thankfully kept firmly in place by the considerable knot in his throat. And, being the dramatic that he is, Sunny then raised his hand to his lips, placing a kiss there before theatrically blowing it in his direction.
Heart on the verge of imploding and any and all inner thoughts reduced to keyboard smash literacy, Sullivan stopped clapping only because he needed to verify that his cheeks weren’t actually on fire. It certainly felt like they were. He couldn’t hide his beaming smile though or the adoration that made his dark eyes sparkle. He felt so special in that moment. Adored and cherished and...loved, as Sunny took a moment to appreciate him when they were literally in a room packed with a vast range of Kadeu’s ranked, who were all applauding in appreciation of Sunny.
A strange but familiar buzzing started and gradually began to rival the cacophonous applause echoing in the room. Sullivan’s euphoria began to wear off as the feeling of hundreds of eyes penetrated his happiness. Suddenly, he remembered it was not just he and Sunny in the room. He reluctantly tore his eyes away from Yongsun and instantly regretted it. He’d never seen or felt so many people looking at him. The room felt like it was beginning to spin and from the corner of his eye, Sullivan’s horror increased when he realized Sunny was gesturing for him to come down...and join him on stage.
Sullivan couldn’t even shake his head in protest before he felt himself LEVITATING out of Sunny’s box. He gasped in horror, flailing helplessly before remembering that hundreds of people were now staring at him if they weren’t already before. He went absolutely rigid, silently cursing Ara for taking it upon herself to include him in this involuntary game of ‘light as a feather, stiff as a board.’
Descending helplessly toward the stage and into Sunny’s beckoning arms, Sullivan did his best to hide behind him as soon as he was placed on his feet. He smiled widely and laughed, seeming to misinterpret Sullivan’s discomfort as his usual coyness and dislike of overwhelming attention. The stage was Sunny’s home. A place where he felt comfortable, but it was certainly not the same for Sullivan. There were so many people looking at him. Too many people. He felt exposed, almost violated now that he was trapped centerstage under the scrutinizing gaze of the audience.
Barred by Yongsun’s impossibly strong arms, Sullivan began to look around at the audience members, both incredibly curious as to who was watching him and afraid to see what they thought. He recognized certain faces immediately, his trepidation mounting as he analyzed their expressions and somehow missed glaringly obvious clues that this scenario was the working of his inner fears.
The first person he noticed was Ara in the wings, smiling beautifully and giving him two enthusiastic thumbs up with unmistakable ‘you’re doing amazing, sweetie’ energy. Gaze traveling toward the front of the crowd, he spied Prospero and more notably, Eva, who was repeatedly yanking on the poor man’s arm and shouting ‘What’s happening?! WHAT IS HAPPENING?!’ He realized belatedly that she was much younger than she should be. Eyes moving directly upwards, Sayge catching his attention.
She stood in her box, arms crossed over her chest and looked incredibly disinterested in the situation that was bordering on traumatic for Sullivan. She was unmoving except for her top hand, which was busily rolling a poker chip over and across her knuckles impressively. The lights on the stage brightened, making it increasingly harder to see, but there was no mistaking the figure beside her. Zuihuo Joui...the bloody Ace of Hearts...completely buck-ass nude, long luxurious black hair draped over his body with strategic Lady Godiva style.
Sullivan’s eyes narrowed as he continued to stare against the intensifying lights. Joui smirked impishly, clutching the journal he’d given him for his birthday as he furiously scribbled down onto paper whatever Sullivan might’ve gleaned from a more expressive expression. The deception left Sullivan distinctly annoyed but sensing from the Ace’s movement that a hair flip of scandalous proportion was underway, Sullivan rightfully averted his precious eyes.
Only to have them land in the box below, where Max was sitting on Bestram Beryl’s lap, his cheek bouncing repeatedly against her bosom as she enthusiastically clapped with her arm around his neck. At this point, the lights intensified to a blinding level. Sullivan let go of Sunny’s arm with one hand to try and block the light but it was no use. He was blind.
The light enveloped him completely, warming him from the inside out. The comfortable sensation starkly contrasted the confusing dream nightmare he’d escaped, so he tried not to question the timely rescue.
“Darling boy, you are ill-prepared for the dark times that await you.”
Sullivan can’t hear the sudden voice as much as he immediately understands the light’s intended message. The words and the light are warm, almost like this entity is smiling at him, but there is something else there too, underneath. Something jagged...wild...dangerous.
“I’ve seen your past. Though they were meddling where they had no right, it seems someone has tried to help you once already.”
Sullivan’s trepidation slowly begins to force its way into the sugar-coated scenario at the revelation that this being has ‘seen his past.’ At the mention of meddling and help he’d been given, Sullivan had an immediate influx of candidates as many, many people have offered him help, but there was only two who had aided him on a ‘magical’ level and only one had been unbidden.
“This is the last of the assistance you’ll get. Never say Shukra didn’t help you.”
Sullivan jolted awake, sitting upright in one fluid movement that pulled a mountain of blankets with him. Gradually he regained his bearings, realizing that despite waking up drenched in sweat and with a massive headache, he was in familiar surroundings. Cold morning light painted hazy squares on the floor of his study. The remnants of a fire smoldered in the hearth to his right, a sleeping Adonis at his left.
Relieved that he hadn’t woken him, Sullivan pulled off his saturated pajama top before returning to his rightful place in the crook of Sunny’s arm. He turned toward him this time, laying his cheek on Sunny’s bare chest, comforted by the warmth and the slow rise and fall of his breaths. The headache, nor the dream would leave him as he absently stared at the opposite wall. He spent much of his free time here, especially in the evenings. The room itself was a canvas for Sullivan’s studies. The walls were painted a deep charcoal gray and covered, at most times from floor to ceiling, with Sullivan’s sketches and scribbles. (I shouldn’t say that. Sullivan has never scribbled a day in his life.)
His eyes focus on one particular section of writing, one that he’d painstakingly transcribed from the grimoire the River Witch had given him. One that he was having a particularly difficult time deciphering to the point that he could translate it. One that now looked unequivocally clear from his vantage point.
Sullivan sat up abruptly, this time bumping Sunny in the process and stirring him from sleep. It was only a moment later when he clumsily scrambled over the chiseled torso in between him and the now legible wall. Sullivan put his palms alongside the text, kneeling as he stared in amazement. His eyes were wide as saucers as he looked around wildly, gasping in astonishment as one by one, the mysteries revealed themselves.
Finally, when the realization had sunken in good and well, Sullivan turned to his confused and concerned partner with all the uncontainable excitement and elation welling inside of him.
“I CAN READ!” he exclaimed, almost overcome with gratitude from this unforeseen ‘divine’ intervention.
Wednesday 11 November 2020; Midnight.
You are sleeping. The dream you’re having halts abruptly and you become aware you’re dreaming. A light appears at the edge of your vision, an impossibly bright, golden light. Even as you turn to look at it you see nothing but a light that feels both like it’s searing your eyes as well as gently warming your very soul.
It speaks to you without words, though you understand it all. “Darling boy, you are ill-prepared for the dark times that await you.” You are still blinded by the light, but you feel as though you’re being smiled at. Yet, you can’t shake the feeling the expression is somehow feral. “I’ve seen your past. Though they were meddling where they had no right, it seems someone has tried to help you once already.” The light reaches towards you until all you see, eyes closed or open, is searing golden light that penetrates your brain. As your consciousness fades you hear these departing words, “This is the last of the assistance you’ll get. Never say Shukra didn’t help you.”
You awaken abruptly, drenched in sweat with a blinding headache. Eventually, you realize something’s changed. Acting on instinct, you fetch the tome the River Witch gifted you. You can now read the ancient demonic language.
You have been blessed by Shukra, Guru of the demons, bestower of knowledge.