Content: flashback to child abuse, fear of abuse, trying to make friends with abuser, carewhumper, favorite child
Kit
Kit was back to being stuck in bed. Every time he closed his eyes for more than a few seconds, his brain would take him back where he didn’t want to go. Stupid brain. Somewhere in his mind, he thought he was safe.
I’m not safe. I’m not safe. He kept telling himself. But weeks of kind treatment, medical care, and every need met, even academic mental stimulation, had left him with a rising feeling of panic when he was forced to rest.
Every time he closed his eyes–
Slam. That feeling of a fist ramming into his gut, the intense pain and ache, gasping out his air, and then of course Glen wasn’t done; another punch that hammered him into the wall, and another that sent him doubled over onto his knees, and another, and another, and another.
Have mercy on me.
He thought it so many times, and the thought enraged him. Glen would have beaten him so much worse for showing weakness like that. Thankfully he was rarely lucid enough to say it when he thought it.
Instead the blows kept raining down.
Trying to breathe on his knees, instead convulsing as he tried not to gag like the pathetic piece of shit Glen said he was.
“Blazing get your feet under you!” Glen would actually look around like he was embarrassed and drag Kit back to his feet by the collar.
If he did have to help Kit up, he’d pay him back for his weakness in full with another set of heavy blows to the stomach. It hurt.
It hurt that his father wanted to beat him instead of just hug him or talk to him.
He groaned on the bed, clutching a hand over the wound in his side without daring to actually press down on it. Horizons, it hurt.
And then Glen would usually douse him under the faucet, or at least smack his head into a corner, something that made him bleed down the side of his face. Something to show everyone that he’d been a bad kid again.
Kit brushed his hair back from his forehead, fingers tracing over the scars on his temple, a couple on his cheekbone. No matter how well he covered the injuries, he’d always have the scars, the marks of how much his father hated him sometimes.
At that moment, he felt his stomach clench and his heartbeat increase as his father’s step came down the hall toward his room.
His father knocked on the door and then came in, followed timidly by a slave. He pulled a chair closer from Kit’s desk. He sat down by Kit’s bed, the sunlight from the window bending around and making a gentle glow over his face.
The slave set down a folding table and put a bowl of steaming food on it for Kit, with a bow at both of them.
Kit’s father dismissed the slave with a wave, and he left. He uncorked his flask of tea and waved invitingly at Kit’s food. Kit took a breath to prepare himself for the pain of sitting up, and Glen muttered a quick “oh” and set his tea down, hurrying over to give him an arm and help him sit up against the wall. He pulled the table over closer to Kit.
“Hey, Dad,” Kit said, reaching for the food. His father preferred to be addressed very casually.
“How are you feeling?” Glen picked his tea back up.
“I’m okay, just… thinking… I hate being stuck in bed.”
Kit tried the squash. It was all normal, but everything tasted too intense. He side-eyed his father, waiting for a snide comment about “I told you not to mess around with the Souls” but he didn’t say anything like that. He just sipped his tea, smiled, and then reached across to Kit, who flinched. But his dad just tousled his hair.
Then he leaned back, took a long drink of tea, and his eyes took on a faraway look as he nodded.
“You’ve got so much blazing energy, kid," he shook his head. “I never had that much energy.”
Kit nodded, taking another bite.
“Caboodle blazing.. Takes right after me…” Dad’s gaze had fallen to the floor, now looking dejected. “I ha–I swear,” He tried and failed to smile. “That kid… Do you know what he’s been doing every night after he’s done studying?”
Kit swallowed nervously. Yeah, he knew, but he didn’t dare tell his father.
“He’s trying to learn how to do magic. On his own.”
Kit slowly released his breath, keeping his eyes on his plate. So he didn’t know it was life magic.
“Are you interested in–”
Glen cut him off with a bitter laugh.
“I was interested in plenty," he said. “And then I get drafted. And the whole, war… Spend the rest of my life trying to stabilize this city, make a life for my family here. And here we are.” He made a that’s-that face, raising his hands helplessly at the surroundings, as if he wasn’t the lord of the entire estate.
Kit wiped his fingers on the napkin slowly, almost wishing he could take longer to make his father stay, and be nice for longer.
“Point is, stop encouraging him.” Glen tousled his hair again, and this time Kit leaned away, frowning back at his dad.
“What?”
“He’s growing up to be a little asshole," Glen said, patting Kit’s arm since his head was out of reach. He glanced down into his empty flask, sighed, and stood up.
“I’ll send someone in for that.” He gestured at the stuff on the folding table.
He never did.
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When the others went down to the lunch truck on the street to buy meals with their pittance, Warren accepted the horrifying excuse for food called a “wrap” that looked like a piece of poop, but–surprise, there was puke inside. These “wraps” were offered to the slaves in case they wanted to “save” their “money” for “clothes”.
Warren sighed, moving into a stairwell to eat alone, leaning his head against the wall and chewing, rolling the side of his horn against the wall mindlessly. The door opened rather loudly and he jolted upright, halfway to his feet and back lit up on fire from the sudden movement before he saw it was Coal. He froze there in a half crouch, saw Coal’s pacifying hands and shushing finger, and thumped back down onto the stairs, putting his forehead in his clean hand.
“Hell, man, I knew you got nightsight issues, but you couldn’t even see me through the door?” Coal said softly.
Warren shook his head and took another bite.
“I can’t see for shit," he said through his mouthful.
Coal looked slightly surprised, then ruffled Warren’s hair roughly, hand catching in Warren’s cured-back horns.
“Catching on, dumbass.”
Warren shook his head, forcing down the last gulp of “food” and patting his pockets for a handkerchief before remembering he didn’t have one anymore.
“He fuck you up or something?” Coal asked, probably referring to Benjamin.
Warren shook his head again, shrugging away from Coal’s touch so he could rest his elbow on his knee and cover more of his face.
“They don’t like me," he said, and the words came out at a guttural level.
“Who don’t?”
“You know who I mean. The only ones that matter. The other Druids here.”
It was everything he could do to keep from digging his nails into his eyes. Aside from how embarrassing it was to be this upset over not being popular, it was miserable to be trying so hard to help them and still not see any results. He’d managed to get himself up to tenth level three different times, only to have to abandon the mission because he was about to get caught. He nearly had five different heart attacks, all for nothing.
“You’re just a new, big mouthed big bastard to them. Give em time.”
Warren rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“...You haven’t seen the looks they’ve been giving me.”
Coal sighed.
“Like I said, they hate pissy lordlings. Drop the vocab, for starters.”
Warren sighed. He didn’t know where to even start on that one. People acted like it was intentional. It wasn’t.
Coal patted his thigh.
“I know. You can’t," he shrugged. “Same’s you can’t stop bein tall. Ain’t your fault. Just worry bout getting on Benji’s good side–he’s the one with a whip.”
Warren’s head ached at the thought. Coal was right though.
“Am–am I… is this something they normally do to new slaves?”
“The whole… ‘this is how you break a slave’ routine?” Coal said with a tentative glance at him. “Yeah, no, just the tall big-mouthed ones.”
Warren groaned softly.
“Okay.”
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Nife stumbled into a horribly creaky stairs-hovel with a whole apartment full of vampires; there were currently over fifty crammed into the room on couches, creaky chairs, tables, and legs curled in on the floor, all in slightly inhuman poses.
“Yarrow,” Beauty said in a nastily irritated tone.
“Beauty,” The vampire said with a smooth bow. His mannerisms were surprisingly Bane-feeling, but his eyes were a deep, thirsty red. The only human in the room besides Beauty was a chubby young man behind the counters. Nife tried to see from where she was standing, unwilling to damage her pride by fruitlessly pulling at Beauty’s arm, even though the fact that she was being pulled along like that was kind of obvious.
“Don’t let ‘er eat ‘im.” Beauty shoved Nife in and slammed the door. It bounced back off the frame as Beauty left.
Nife heard a shuffling behind the counters as the human tried to squirm into a position where he could look at her without being seen by her. She smiled.
“Let me guess.” Yarrow tilted his head politely. “Nife of the Souls.”
“Yeah.” Nife let out a little scoff, hurrying forward and dropping to her knees beside Greeviss.
He sat up, and she looked more closely at the warmth on his body. Old bruises, nothing new. She let out a breath of relief, and before she realized it she’d wrapped her arms around him, pressing his head to her chest. “Oh, you’re all right, bless the sun…”
He smiled, but he didn’t push her away. She couldn’t tell if it was because he didn’t dare to, or because he liked it.
“Greeviss? You are alright, right?” She said, letting him go and scanning his face in the darkness.
“I have never been more alright.” He said.
“Greeviss,” She slowed down in case he had a head injury, enunciating. “Do you know where you are.”
He laughed, pushing her away.
Wow, he had a nice laugh.
“I’ve–I’ve never heard you laugh before.” She realized out loud.
“I’ve never had this many pillows.” He said.
“And the cockroaches?” She asked, more shocked than anything.
“Also record-breaking.” He said. “I can’t–I can’t believe I stand to die from comfort and salmonella. The future isn’t as bleak as the bleakest it was and that’s–hard for me to think.”
Nife almost hugged him again, but the sound of optimism in his voice made her feel like if she touched him, he might break into pieces. She heard a smooth chuckle behind her–too close, and jumped slightly, turning around to see the vampire with the thirsty eyes behind her.
“What, you think I’m a bad host?” He said. “You think I’d hurt this boy? How could anyone possibly lay a hand on this sweetheart?”
Nife sighed, turning back toward Greeviss, who could probably only see their hats and silhouettes.
“Don’t ask me. I’ve been asking the same thing for blazing years.” Her Bane dialect had perked back up around him.
“I can give you plenty of reasons.” Greeviss said.
“Ehhh…” Nife tried to be more gentle about her rejection than she used to be.
“I heard what happened yesterday.” Yarrow said, holding his hand out to her. “Thank you for ending that monster.”
Nife’s mouth opened in surprise, then she took the hand and shook it.
“Felt like I was the only one that saw what a damn piece of shit he was.”
“What are you talking about?” Greeviss said.
Yarrow’s eyes darted over to him, then lowered genteely to the ground, leaving it up to Nife.
“Uh,” Nife licked her fangs.
I’m not a damn Bane. She realized it before she ever wanted to. I don’t act like a Bane. I’m a Druid through and through.
“Something’s about to happen, Greeviss.” She said. “And you can either take my side or you can sit in a complacent heap and let them bruise you to death.”
She found herself saying this in the matter-of-fact way she had intended, contrasting with the way the words hit much harder than she expected.
He actually flinched and looked up at her, face turning up to her, eyes wide and scared as if he was ten, rather than sixteen.
“Because I’m going.” Nife stood up quickly, getting out of range of Yarrow and keeping her head down, eyes darting left and right to monitor her periphery. “And you should come with me.”
“I–I–I don’t want to get hurt.” His voice quivered.
“Don’t worry.” Yarrow smiled.
Nife had three knives in her right hand and two in her left, her foot drawing back behind her for stability.
Yarrow had a hand out pacifyingly.
“I think I’ve had just about enough of letting them hurt you, Greeviss.” He stepped toward the boy with a hand out, and Nife jumped forward and stabbed a dagger toward Yarrow’s neck.
He flinched back like a cat that sniffed something and didn’t like it, taking a step away from her with a chuckle. She followed, uneasily picking up on his graceful movements. He clearly had training, and wasn’t using it, for some reason.
“Don’t lay a fucking hand on my friend.” She snarled.
Nife realized Greeviss had stood up kind of shakily behind her, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off this Yarrow guy.
“Nife, it’s okay–” Greeviss started.
“Don’t fall for it.” Nife said. “He’s a DJ–they’re a bunch of damn liars.”
Yarrow scoffed.
“Fucking hypocrite,” He chuckled, sounding slightly impressed.
“Yeah, well...” Nife said. Then she realized she didn’t have a follow-up, so there was an awkward silence.
“You can put the knife down, …Nife.” Greeviss said. “He’s not gonna hurt me. He protected me.”
Nife breathed a little.
“He protected you?”
“Yeah.” Greeviss said. “That Dick guy. Came in and said they were going to take me somewhere and Yarrow’s group wouldn’t let them.”
Nife hesitated, eyes flicking over the various members of the group. Some of them looked familiar, but she couldn’t make out their faces in this low light–there was only one lantern on the counter, and the light was pretty dusky outside.
“Like I said, I’m about fed up with letting the DJ’s fuck around with my homie.” He pronounced the words eloquently and carefully, and a couple of the vampires snorted.
“Don’t make choices we’re gonna regret, Yarrow.” A deep voice rumbled across the living room.
Many sets of eyes blinked out as heads lowered.
“I’m not, I’m not, I promise.” Yarrow said. “Come now, don’t look like that–Nife, put that thing down. Please, if you would.”
Nife lowered it reluctantly. To be fair, no one had been that polite to her in months.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft, almost inaudible sob from Greeviss. He was huddling against the cupboards, one hand over his eyes and another clamped tightly over his mouth, like he was trying not to be heard, as if they couldn’t clearly see his heat, poor guy.
Nife and Yarrow looked at each other with shared compassion, and in that moment, Nife knew Yarrow was telling the truth.
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