As you sit on the Graydew Mountains, watching the sun rise from the comfort of a fallen log, Linda plops herself down half a foot away. You murmur, “How’d you find me?”
She offers you her battered Peter Pan travel mug full of chai. “Meteor has a good nose.” The horse in question grazes quite a bit down the mountain; Linda had to climb to reach you. Your own horse is elsewhere; they know when to return.
You scoff, but fail to hold back a smile as the cardamom steam billows. “He’s a bloodhound now, is he?” You take a long sip as she stares out, losing herself in the nature of daybreak. Nudging her, you pass the tea back. “Linda.”
She accepts the mug and releases a deep breath. “I’m working on a tracking spell. Don’t tell Alex, please? She’ll freak out and ban me from using it.”
You pause, thinking that over, but your eyes are focused on the soft breeze over Linda’s hair, which is loose around her shoulders. The weak sunlight catches the strands, weaving caramel with mahogany. When she woke, she didn’t bother to put her hair into its typical, functional bun; she simply pulled on a shirt and left Jarlaheim in search of you.
It’s her turn to nudge you as she hides her blush. “Yeah, okay,” you say. “Why’d you come find me now, though?”
She winces. “I’ve . . . well, I’ve been using the tracking spell for a while.”
You watch her expression. “That’s messed up.”
She nods emphatically, but continues in a neutral tone. “I looked over its history last night, and you always come here Sunday mornings. I wanted to join you.”
“That’s nice of you,” you manage, and Linda frowns.
“I’m sorry. Do you want to be alone?”
“No, no. I just want you to be aware of what you’re participating in, to be fair.”
She inspects the surroundings: rocks, sticks, and a single bird chirping nearby. “Participating?”
You sigh. “What’s the one reason to get up early on a Sunday?” Linda watches you, going through an encyclopedia in her head as the silence lengthens. After a full minute, you raise an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
She smiles, slightly flustered. “Well, I’d say ‘pancakes,’ but they’re absent, unless you ate them already.”
You look down and draw abstract curves in the dirt with your finger, equally embarrassed at having to spell it out for her. “There aren’t any churches here on Jorvik. I figured this spot’s as good as any.”
“Church? Like . . . capital-G-God?” Linda tips her head.
“Yeah,” you confess, eyes still fixed to the soil. “Used to go to Mass, pray the rosary, the whole nine yards. Not sure I would’ve ever stopped if I hadn’t come to this island.” If I hadn’t met you.
“Seems like a hard religious system to maintain, under the circumstances,” she hedges gently, and you snort.
“Yeah. I used to be really careful with my faithful acts, and examine my conscience and all that, but now I’m . . .” You draw your hand back and launch a ball of lightning directly over the nearest mountain peak, letting the energy dissipate before it nears the ground. “The Church kind of opposes witchcraft, but it’s not like I’d be let into Heaven by letting Garnok swallow this island and all the people on it, either. I just . . . have a hard time letting go of what I believed all this time. I wish I didn’t,” you add, glancing back at Linda and noticing the perturbed squint of her eyes. “It doesn’t make sense. I get it.” You fidget, feeling the sun’s early rays as if they were burning your skin.
She sets her tea aside and leans into you, resting her temple lightly against your shoulder. “My turn.” She lifts a finger and the sky plummets into darkness; you tip your head back and see stars stretching out above.
“Aquarius is an autumn constellation,” you comment.
She laughs, letting her hand fall, and the dawn is restored. “That’s the point of illusions. We get to experience whatever we want, not just what makes sense.” You consider what she has used her Moon Circle magic for lately: apparitions of monsters chasing the Dark Riders away, of shadows hiding furtive and hurried Soul Rider missions, and of worst-case scenarios Fripp demands to plan for, where everyone can see what awaits them should Garnok win. You wish she could make stars more often.
“I like it when you do that,” you whisper, lips against her hair, and she giggles.
“I like it when you tell me things,” she counters, and you know this about her. You know that she compiles knowledge about you like she collects scrunchies and bookmarks and embroidered pillows; like everything she loves.
“I didn’t really have a sermon planned, or anything,” you deflect. “It’s mostly just sitting here and, uh,” begging, you want to say, “thinking.”
“About what God wants?”
You blink. “I guess. I don’t exactly treat it like prayer anymore. It’s a convenient time to consider if I’m on the right path, or if the Soul Riders are.”
“Isn’t that more of a question for Aideen?”
“She doesn’t really answer me like that.”
“Does God?”
You get up, dust your riding pants off, and hold your hand out to her. “No, nobody does. Come on; I’ll buy you coffee.”
“I have to get out of here.” Samantha Powell’s voice was shaky with unshed tears. She could only hope that her date didn’t hear it over the tremor of the music and the rowdiness of the kids around them. Lennon Shephard squinted, leaning close to her as if he hadn’t heard what she said, waiting for her to repeat herself while the bass of some rap song thumped in the background.
Sam’s mouth filled with bile. She felt like she was going to be sick on everyone and everything. Desperate, she leaned closer and yelled louder. “I have to get out of here.”
But if Lenny heard her that time his response was interrupted by someone else grabbing her arm and spinning her around. The lights, the noise, the people, the dancing… All of it was too much. Samantha squinted at the interrupter, trying to catch her bearings.
“Sam!” DK Stewart. The absolute last person that she wanted to see—the one she was trying to avoid, and of course he’d sniffed her out. He looked entirely too pleased with himself, and whatever he was going to say to her was something that she did not want to hear.
This was a nightmare. It was a living, breathing, monster of a nightmare.
Senior Prom. She should have known that the night would be a piece of shit, every single media outlet in the world seemed to agree that proms were for disasters. How many bad teen movies had she seen warning her of exactly that? And now she was living one. A bad teen movie.
“Dance with me,” DK commanded, without so much as glancing at Lenny before pulling Sam closer. He wrapped his arms around her waist and draped his shadow over her. Domino Krew was more than a head taller than Samantha, so she had to rest her cheek against his chest. It was a comfortable fit, she couldn’t deny that, even in her current state of panic.
It wasn’t a slow song but DK moved her with an unhurried sway, as if time were at his personal command. He smelled like beer, soap, and his cologne, which left a warm feeling building in the pit of Sam’s stomach as she danced with him. She hadn’t wanted this; she couldn’t stand the thought of losing it, either. Sam lifted her hands between them, resting them uneasily on DK’s shoulders, creating a slight barrier between them as they moved.
“DK,” she warned, her voice loud enough over the music but still sounding breathless somehow. “Don’t.” Sam glanced uneasily over her shoulder to gauge Lenny’s reaction, but he’d diverted his attention back to his group of friends. A fact which actually annoyed her; he was her date, after all. Her boyfriend. Shouldn’t he be at least a little jealous?
Clearly he knew there was no reason to be. Like Sam stood a chance with someone who was totally and completely spoken for, anyway. And totally and completely oblivious, too, of everything she’d ever felt for him. Lenny knew it better than anyone.
“You owe me,” DK reminded her. It was true. Sam had promised him a dance and she hadn’t forgotten. She hadn’t thought he would snatch her away from Lenny, though.
Or that he would hold her this close.
She tried not to think about it. But then he said, “Sam,” while tilting his head down, so that his breath ghosted across her jaw as he spoke into her ear. She tensed while her heart began to seize.
Samantha swallowed, twisting her hazel eyes to meet with his gaze. His brown eyes were soft, gleaming with happiness that broke her heart.
“This is the best night of my life.” He whispered it like a secret. Then he kissed her cheek so she pushed away from him, breaking his hold of her, and stepped back. Shaking, Sam lifted a hand to run through the red strands of her hair, undoing the knots with her fingers.
DK wouldn’t stop smiling. He shook his head at her, taking in her reaction, and rolled his soft-brown eyes. “Go ahead then,” he nodded over her shoulder to where she’d left Lennon standing. The way he said it was like she was being ridiculous; like she couldn’t tear herself away from her date long enough to talk to him. Sam frowned, but didn’t fight it because she had to get away from DK.
“Tiff and I are heading out anyway.” The music had changed so it was easier for her to hear him, though Sam wished that it hadn’t been. The last person she wanted to think about right now was Tiffany Jones.
She and Tiffany were not friends any more. Not after tonight. Sam felt like maybe they hadn’t been for a long time now. She swallowed, feeling the bile rise up in her throat. Without responding, she spun away from him and made a hasty retreat.
She didn’t even bother to look for Lenny. Her head was pounding even faster than her heart, and she knew that if she didn’t get out of there right then—at that very second—she was going to explode. The mental visual of her in pieces all over the dance floor of the Senior Prom was not something that Sam relished the idea of realizing.
It was finally about to start. It was finally about to be unveiled. H.I.V.E's little project. I sneaked a peek at it of course. Being a blob does have its uses. It was a machine deep in the sewers. It's structure similar to the vents. A filter? Something to clean the waters? That would be nice.. Mom and dad would love it! Sump water wasn't always sanitary. Weird stuff is always in there. Dead rats. Weird chemicals. Heck I was born from the things found in there..
A small group of people came to sit in front of a stage with a large projector at the front. Mainly financiers and reporters and the like with their fancy augmentations and notepads. I sit in the crack behind them, witnessing what could be an important change to the structure of Zaun. The atmosphere is filled with chatter and anticipation. Curiosity with a hint of pessimism.
"What could it be?" they asked.
"Probably some failed experiment."
"Maybe they'll surprise us. Who knows."
Suddenly the small crowd gather in silence as the person finally comes out of the stage, smiling at the joy of finally releasing his new plans.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" he shouts enthusiastically. "Welcome to H.I.V.E. Where we always try to enforce progress for all in the city of Zaun. Where we try to better the world we live in one innovation at a time! And today will be no different! Observe!" He presses the button as he waves his hand dramatically at the screen, revealing what seems to be a large gray machine in the shape of a tube. Above it was its name. "I present to you.. the Bioengineered Sump Filter! We here at H.I.V.E. have found ways to create organisms that would clean our water through eating the chemicals that contaminate it. Through it, we can provide the poor and the poverty stricken the water they need and so much more."
As the man continues to speak, I hear nothing from the audience. Just silence. No hint of fanfare. As if the new machine that was heard was only a fad. How could it be? The speaker is right! This could help everyone. I should know. I've seen it myself. I try to scan the audience for instances of my enthusiasm, but all I hear was small whispers of disappointment or suspicions about what really is going on. The whole convention is filled with doubt. Doubt for a simple sewage filtering machine.
As I focus all of my attention to the reaction of the audience, doubtful mumbles turn to screams and running. CRACK! The sound of glass shattering as a dreadful fog begins to encompass the area. People run for what seems like the door in the mist. And then arrows fire. One by one, the thumping of bodies begin to occur. Thump. Thump. Thump. Their fear and desire to live begging me to help. Their screams of anguish crying out loud. I can't let those go unnoticed.
" Time to go big," I mumble. I leap out of the crack and into the fog, making out lost shadows lying on the floor. "No.. No.. I can't be too late!" I kneel down before a one. A black haired man with an augmented arm and lungs. I checked his pulse. Still breathing. Slow breathing, but alive. I check the man next to him. A reporter creeping his hand to a gun. I immediately pin him down. A gunshot would give us away.
"Hey. I'm not the bad guy here. I'm just here to get you out," I said calmly and quietly to the shivering man. More arrow shots occur. More screaming. "Let's get out of here!" I grab both bodies and leap out the door. A whizzing comes by at me. I duck. A volley of arrows piercing through the door. A scream masks my identity of being alive. I look upon the victims. Their gasping for air, coughing up blood. Sensitive to my touch. "Wait here," I said to the 2 as I made my way back in. Time to put an end to all of this. I'm not letting them get away.. No one's murdering on my watch..
I open the door quickly , the noise apparent, but no reaction. I went in the mist, scanning for the shadow that caused it all. I look and look, but no one was there. Everyone was crouching, playing dead if they weren't already. But no killer. "Where is he? Where is he? Where is he?" I mumble angrily as I witness yet another corpse. "Can't let him get away.. I can't.. No.. No.." I run up the stage, and I see the speaker, his eyes replaced with arrows and his body giving out a tingling sense. The blood that spews from his mouth and eyes mix disgustingly with the ooze below him, creating a red-black pool below him. Parts of his arm and leg began to melt in contact with the chemical. I was too late. Not just for him, but for all of them.
Suddenly sirens are heard from outside. It's time for me to leave this wasteland. I quickly grab a stray arrow sticking on the ground and made my way back to my parent's house through the pipe. If this continues... it won't. I know it won't.
You reach out, softly touching at the fabric of his shirt. A gentle, ghosting touch, fingertips brushing over the texture of the cloth. You watch as he glances down to see what’s touching him, giving him a soft smile when his eyes meet yours. He’s been busy all afternoon, and you’re bored. You know he’s working, and that this is important, but you’re growing impatient. You’re done sitting and waiting; you want his attention on you, not all this. He turns back to his work and you let your smile fade. You should leave it at that; he’ll be done soon enough, and then he’ll be all yours.
You shift in your chair, fingers trailing down to rest at the top of his thigh. A new fabric, a new texture, and you run your fingers over it in small, lazy, swirling circles. He smirks without turning from his work, and you know it’s meant for you. You shift, leaning close to whisper in his ear, hand trailing down over the inside of his thigh to press between his legs. The two of you are behind a table, no one will see what you’re doing, no one knows what you’re saying. You rub your palm against him, whisper that you want him. One look at him tells you that you’ve won; this is something he won’t be able to ignore.
His hands are on you even as the bedroom door clicks shut, pulling you close to kiss you. You hum against his mouth, wrapping your arms around him as you kiss him back. This is what you’ve wanted, what you’ve waited for. His fingertips slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, rough hands against your waist. Him pressing you back against the wall. His lips on yours, the taste of him on your tongue. He’s yours, and behind these doors, no one can bother the two of you. Your hands smooth over his chest, down his body, around to his back. You hum against his mouth again, pull back to tell him to fuck you. He groans and the sound of his voice leaves you only wanting him more.
When he lays you in the bed, telling you what he intends to do to you, you reach for him, welcoming him. You want his hands back on you. You never want them off of you again. His mouth works over you, down your neck, over your chest. You arch for him, hum for him. You spread your legs for him. Every inch of you belongs to him, let him use you as he pleases. Your body is electric as he presses into you. You moan, he presses deeper. You raise your leg for him, and he grabs at the back of your thigh as he starts to fuck you properly. The position only lets him sink deeper into you, and you arch for him, put on a good show for him. He moans and hums as you squeeze around him, and you only do it more, eager to hear him.
The two of you shift. You end up in his lap, your hands on him again. Your hips roll, fucking yourself on his cock. You moan for him, let him know how good he makes you feel. His hands are on your hips, grabbing there, helping to pull you down against him. Once again his mouth is on your throat, your head tipping to let him. His lips work over your skin, your moans encouraging him. He kisses and mouths down to your shoulder, your clavicle, your chest. Your fingers are in his hair as he presses his mouth to your nipple. You moan his name, back arching. Panting, you rock against him harder, grinding down on him. You want this forever.
His hands shift to your ass, pulling you against him, sifting you down and onto his cock. He pants, groans, says your name. You moan his name back. You lean close to him, pressing your bodies together, kissing at his jaw. He’s so incredibly handsome. You grind down against him, hips rolling. He’s so deep in you. You want him deeper. You want the two of you intertwined. His fingers dig into your skin and you hope they bruise. He’s close, and you want him. You want to feel him coming inside you. You want him to claim you, to mark up your insides. To claw his way in and to live inside you.
He tells you to be loud for him, to let him hear you, and you cry out his name, hips rocking against his. You moan and pant for him, lean back and touch your own chest. You run your hand down your body, reach down to touch yourself. He moans at the sight, and you can feel him twitching inside you. You’re anything but quiet, letting him know how he makes you feel. He asks you if you’re going to come, tells you he wants to see you. Tells you to come for him. You squeeze around him, moaning his name as you orgasm, his large hands holding you close, his cock grinding up into you. The sight of you sends him over the edge and he groans, pulling you down close against him, grinding his cum deep into you. You’re his, all his, always his.
I’m putting the final touches on another Pride sketch (no spoilers) and I hope to post it tomorrow. This has been a more eventful month than I anticipated, so I’m a little behind on Pride Character Sketches.
