Almost Drabbles

Roleplaying and Games
402

Even flames here were a different color. Blistering blue. Reflecting eerily off the purple stone walls, a stone that the creature guide told them was created from the regrets of humans, the flame burned chilly like an icy shower.
Their shoes were being being worn down by the floor, but the creature guiding them had no problem, talons slapping against stone with a touch too much ringing to be normal.
Normal seemed so far away, here. Going deeper into the earth of another planet that was made of something not earth, Canelope fell into dreams of their past life, as the regret began eating up their feet.
What if they had walked further. What if they had loosened their ankles before that game, so they hadn’t had the bad sprain that held them back. What if they hadn’t bent their knee to that person-
“Is that it, then? You’re stopping here?” The creature guide asked.
No, it couldn’t be here, there was still too much to be said.
Canelope opened their mouth to speak, but was swarmed by regret and the realization that they were too far in the floor, the room was above them-
The creature guide reached in and pulled them out.
“You should have noticed the shoe store on your way in. You won’t get far. Hop on my back,” they said, crouching down.

Next: eating air

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403

I was eating air.
Wind rushed into my lungs, celebrating the freedom from the oppressive openness which gave it too many options for what career path to take in life.
A soft, heavy cloud was eating my head, slipping rain into my chest as it sighed with delight at the feast of my lungs, yet it was only a cloud so its meal was only a gentle pressure on my soul. The cloud wanted to consume me but I was only a human and not food for the glorious gods of the sky, so it held me instead, unable to lift me up into relevance on the immortal plane it sang of as its home.
Tears freed themselves from the prison of my iradescent orbs and danced on my face as little fairies hosting a musical welcome party for the air of the world.
I was eating air, vorociously swallowing that which could never fill me up, it was trapped inside me begging me to free it into the celestial stardust of cold crystal openness, so I graciously allowed it to be a procession of gemstone encrusted words escorting a warm king into a freezing kingdom.
I was talking hot air.

Next: hot air

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404

All he did was puff hot air, out of his mouth, and pollute the atmosphere with his needless words. He didn’t care that he was killing the turtles, or contributing to the slow death of the earth around us. Everything around him meant nothing. He thought he was the king of everything when he was a fool who owned nothing. His false words of wisdom and “prophetic” visions were more hollow than the wood he slapped his hands against when he gave his “sermons”.

He begged for money, more than attention; to “fly around the world” and spread "the message, " leading millions of people away from the truth. From what they should have been seeking. In the end, it was all a money laundering scheme, and a front to keep them hidden from his many scandals. Of abuse. Of torment that scarred a nation.

When he died, he was no longer a hero. He was a villain, burning up and waiting to be judged. For what he didn’t do. What he did do ended up creating more harm than if he had just kept his mouth shut, gotten a ‘real job’, and kept himself humble. In the end, his empire was more worthless than his death, and his family suffered for it.

Ironically, they’ve had to sell copies of their misfortunate demise in order to stay afloat and whore themselves out to the media, which their father preached against, and reveal crushing secrets that no one should have known.

Ones they wouldn’t have had to reveal if he have just stayed

SILENT

like most of his victims did…

…Until they couldn’t take it anymore.

Next prompt: Dirty cash.

1 Like
405

((a little heavy on the sappiness this one XD

Theo had no idea what a terrible thing it could be to be forgotten until they saw the way Janus looked at them.
Rain pattered against their umbrella, droplets crawled down the coffee shop window, kicked up the scent of the sidewalk’s wet cement. Theo was a figure of bright orange standing in the grey blur that was the overcast sidewalks of the city, the only thing painted as bright as the lights of traffic at their back. Cars purred as they came to a stop and all the lights burned crimson at once, bleeding into the falling rain, bleeding over the cars, bleeding into the colors of the puddles on dark tarmac. The night was bleeding red.
Janus’s eyes were a familiar brown. Light as chocolate. Theo remembered drawing a bright yellow sun cresting on his dark brow. They were supposed to have been painting on canvases, but Theo had gotten distracted. He’d cracked a grin when they finally told him what they were doing, and peppered their face with kisses. The still-wet acrylic had smudged across their skin by accident, and he’d called them sun-kissed to make up for it.
His sun-kissed sunflower.
Cheesy.
Incredibly out of character.
Adorable.
Did it matter anymore?
Precious memories for one. Had they even been real? Or had it all been a fever dream?
Janus’s gaze on them was irritated now, no recognition at all flickering in his expression. He looked over his shoulder, as if Theo must’ve been staring at somebody else even though Theo stood right in front of him. Theo wondered what they looked like through his eyes. The lights from inside the coffeeshop were bright, cheery, spilling across their cheeks, their lashes, painting their no-doubt lost, abandoned-puppy dog expression. Theo felt irritated by the imagery.
He was dressed in a fashionable tan coat, a gold watch on his wrist. A dark mug sat by his hand, steam rising from it gently, a laptop was open in front of him. Probably work. When Janus looked at them again, Theo snorted. Of course it was work, that absolute workaholic maniac. Theo wanted to scream, to cry. ‘I exist. How could you forget I exist?’ Like he’d erased some part of their existence by forgetting.
A faint chill seeped in through their raincoat and through the threads of their jeans, stung their cheeks and nose and made cold snot threaten to spill down to their lip.
Admittedly, Theo had taken advantage of his situation. They had taken advantage of him, and Janus had only made it only far too easy. He’d given them too much, and Theo had become accustomed to taking. They’d blurred too many lines not meant to be blurred, and now Theo stood on the other side of the line yet again, frustratingly, agonizingly.
Janus had apparently had enough of their creepy staring.
He stood abruptly, began collecting his things as Theo watched.
Don’t go.
Don’t leave me again.
Theo was irritated at their own emotions, at the pathetic wreck he’d turned them into. They tore their gaze away, drawing in breaths as if each one took physical effort.
There was a dollar lying soaked under their boot, crumpled. Theo shifted their foot to look at it.
Once worth something to somebody, now lost.
Are you happier without me?
Are you fine without me?
Do you ever think about me?
Pathetic.
Desperate.
What had Janus said, once? ‘I can’t get upset over you for staying hung up on something the both of us shared.’
Well, now it was taking on a whole different meaning.
Theo hoped he was happy.
Theo hoped Janus was so happy that they would die of jealousy, bleed in their emotions, and wake up one day just as fine without him as he was without them.
They left before Janus could, boots splashing down the sidewalk.

next!

hollow victory

1 Like
406

I sat down and smiled at my hollow victory.
My hands were cupped to my chest, the dusk turned searing red outside the window of the classroom. The vacant desks and chairs cast sharp shadows, deep softness against unforgivingly harsh light.
I won.
I won, didn’t I?
Then why were my hands shaking? Why did every breath draw pain and weight as well, why did my attempt at a simple exclamation of victory come out a whisper broken in three place?
It would never be okay again.
Things were still the same after all that time. No matter the revenge, no matter the goals met, the damage to my soul would never be undone.
Slowly, something camoflogued crept from the corners of the room. It became searing white where it merged with the light and a freezing bite of blue where it became one with the shadows.
The demon was back again. Still, after what I had done, the adrenaline of a moment, the pain I knew it felt, the blow to its supporters…
inevitable…

Inevitable. It was inevitable.
I accepted it, finally, because there was nothing else I could do. Even as the light lost the color of the sun and the shadows lost the peace of the dark, there were no more options left for me.
The victory had been momentary, at best.

Next: Equal

407

Nobody and nothing is his equal. Now that Moira is gone somewhere, Theo is the most powerful thing around. He likes that. He likes that quite a lot. In his tower far above everything he can see and hear anyone coming, footsteps echoing on the stone stairs.
However, he’s taken by surprise when he wakes up one night to a figure in his window. The outside walls- someone was stupid enough-
They’re coming at him with a blade. He doesn’t have time to throw off his sheets, so he calls the Darkness and becomes formless just as the blade would have hit him.
All that he asks of the Darkness is that it take the would-be-assassin into that formlessness with him.

Next: weight

408
this might be disturbing

The weight dragged him down, purple liquid swirling deep, murky green and red with a viscous weight like condensed oil. He tried to open his eyes, but it was the same in and out. He tried to speak her name, but his lungs were filled with the same immovable pressure and the sound he tried to make didn’t reach his ears.
He was sorry. He shouldn’t have come here. He should have listened to her words, but now he couldn’t even call her name, and there was no way she would find him down here.
How many pounds of this stuff were sitting on his head? Would a regular person’s skull have caved by now?
He was weightless, he was weighed down. He could be a thousand miles down in the bottomless pit. He would never be found here, he would keep sinking endlessly.
The last of his air left, becoming bubbles that rose as if seeking something, and he struggled, trying to follow them even as they quickly became faint.
The fluid around him began to heat up and he wondered if it was reacting with his powers, if this eternity could be even worse-
He screamed and screamed and finally found himself screaming into thin, awful smelling air clouded with smoke. He was falling at a proper speed now, deeper into the endless pit, until a great wind rose beneath him and flung him upward for a minute. The flight ended when he was thrown, hard, into the stone floor of the pit’s rim.
Her familiar wide wings carried her to him, ignoring all the other people blearily blinking on the floor.
“I told you not to come here. Good thing you have me, huh?” She carelessly left the wind rising through the pit, the unimaginable force rising through the massive space nearly effortless for her.
Even now, people kept coming out of the pit, blinking and trying to remember how to move without the thick fluid dragging them down.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” he said, voice small.

next: square

409
okay this doesn't have ANYTHING to do with 'square' but I started writing and I couldn't stop XD. trigger warnings for blood and gore.

It’d been an accident when his arrow went through the satyr’s gut. Truly, it was. Quean had been going for his heart. He supposed both achieved the same purpose if he waited long enough.
His breaths rattled through his chest as Quean stared down at where the satyr had fallen, after prancing through the past two meadows at Quean’s chase. The elf sat crouched in the giant sycamores, covered in sweat, wearing crimsons. He didn’t blend into the trees, but he didn’t need to. The forest whispered at him, urging him on, supporting him.
“Get up,” Quean called, grinning. “If you’re playing dead, you best believe you won’t want to be down there when I reach you.”
He slipped through the branches quickly, Maeral’s howling laughter in his ears, Fyrrah’s cheering.
Quean dropped into the grass and stalked forward towards the satyr, who sat up, eyes wide and panicked as he attempted scrabbling back, hooves kicking.
“So this is how you elves are, in the end? You’ll hunt me down for sport—”
Quean swung his foot into the side of the satyr’s head, knocking him back down, before crouching on top of him in the grass, knee to his gut.
“You wanted my attention.” Quean sneered, leaning forward, grabbing Elias by the hair. “And now you’ve got it. Tell me, was it worth it? Did you think I’d just let you walk?”
He got spit in his face for the trouble, and he slammed Elias down, slipping an arrow from his quiver to skewer into the grass, scraping the satyr’s ear.
“I thought you wanted me,” Quean taunted, leaning over him. “Now you’ve got me. Where’s my thanks?”
Elias, dear, dear, sweet Elias, with his pretty dimpled smile who laughed with him under the last full moon, who laid tangled up with him in the sands with the bite of saltwater in the air, taught him how to dance, who’d often looked at him with the kind of softness that had agitated Quean to no end for reasons he could never fathom. The way fae loved, with an obsession, until the obsession ran out. Quean was aware of the eyes on them, Maeral and Fyrrah and Solette, a few of their other friends having trailed behind scenting blood. There was the buzz of cicadas in the air, the pounding in Quean’s head.
Elias’s breaths rose and fell with his chest as he glared evenly up at Quean, strands of his dark hair strewn back. Elias, who’d been going around mouthing off about him, cooking up all sorts of tall tales from Quean secretly having a devil’s tail hidden in his pants to petty ones about a long list of names he’d been sleeping with.
Why?
Quean found he couldn’t particularly bring himself to care. It was another reason for drama, entertainment, another outlet for the rage that nipped at his heart every time there was too much quiet, too much happiness he didn’t deserve, another distraction from the siren’s cursed song that grew fainter and fainter in his head.
“You’re never going to learn, are you?” Elias’s voice was low. “You’re incorrigible.” The usually-spineless satyr smirked up at him. “Go on, then. Your friends are watching. Do your worst. It was my bad I ever got involved with you.”
“Is that right?” Quean had zero sympathies when he slid Fyrrah’s sword from her scabbard and separated the satyr’s head clean off from his neck.

Elalee, of course, was furious. Why?
Who cared?
“You had one job. Just the one!” Elalee snapped, about having lost it, it seemed like. “Stay out of trouble. Or did you want to go out of your way just to piss off dad?”
“Alright, alright. I get you’re mad,” Quean said, watching the tense set of her shoulders as she trudged on ahead. The summer air was sweet tonight, mixed with the scent of fresh iron from dripping crimson arrows clutched in Quean’s fist. “I beg you to consider— I was drunk.”
“Drunk!”
Fyrrah was giggling, jostling his shoulder, arm looped through the crook of Quean’s, and Quean glanced at her, amused. Speaking of fervent gender envy. Fyrrah was stunning even in forest-green armor, cheeks flushed a pretty pink as stray hairs escaped her silver braids. She was breathing hard from the recent run. Harmless. Adorable. She carried the dismembered head of the satyr in her other hand, holding it by the hair. Perfect. Quean only wished he pulled off ‘beautiful and deadly,’ quite like she did. “Quean, darling, ignore her. She’s just in a tizzy she wasn’t invited.” Her voice came out sharp and slurred, more than a little drunk herself.
“If you simply felt left out, El, all you had to do was say so.” Quean grinned, raising his brows at Elalee’s back. “We’ll invite you along with us the next time.”
Solette was laughing from behind them, his steps falling loudly through the forest. “I’ll have imps hand-deliver the invitation. I’ll even pen it myself. ‘You are hereby cordially invited to: the next time Quean loses his shit.’”
They all found that hilarious except for Elalee, apparently, who came to a sudden stop.
She spun around to face them, and Quean’s humor drained in its entirety as she stalked up to him.
“You. Killed. Somebody.” Elalee poked her finger at Quean’s chest for emphasis with every word, and Quean’s brow twitched.
“Fyrrah, Solette. Can you give us a minute?” Quean asked, looking down into furious greens.
“Oh don’t bother,” Elalee hissed. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt. What’ll you do the next time you’re bored? Go hunting down centaur for fun? You’d probably be betting on how many families you’ll leave mourning in the meanwhile, too.”
“Don’t be such a BORE,” Fyrrah groaned, straightening from Quean’s side only to drape her arms around Elalee’s shoulders now. “You’re being so seriousss. Come on! Lighten up.” She held up the satyr head to shake it in Elalee’s face. “He’s in a better place now.”
Quean wanted to laugh at his sister’s expression, but she raised her disgusted gaze from Fyrrah and met his eyes with a look that spoke volumes.
“Fyrrah,” Quean said placatingly, trying to pull her off of Elalee, though Fyrrah protested, resisting. “Come on.” Quean said. “Let her go. She’s not in the mood.”
“Ugh, you too?” She stumbled into him.
“Why don’t you go save us seats with Solette?” Quean suggested, though Fyrrah simply pouted at him. Quean leaned his chin on her shoulder and turned her face up to kiss her. Skies, how she managed to smell like honeysuckle was beyond him, the rest of them were drenched in sweat. Fyrrah shook with a giggle, suddenly biting down on his lip until they tasted iron and Quean shoved her off, with a laugh.
“Is that going to be your way of telling me to fuck off gently?” Fyrrah seemed to find it hilarious. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’m not wanted here.” She turned to make a motion to Elalee Quean couldn’t fully see, “Don’t keep him long, mmkay? I expect him back before the dancing starts.” She turned to walk backwards a moment, pointing at Quean. “You best not run, sunshine. I better see you there.”
“Wouldn’t dream of keeping the lovely lady waiting,” Quean blew her a kiss, to which she let out an amused laugh and tossed at him the satyr’s head. Quean caught it automatically, finding Elias’s upside down face looking back at him. The satyr’s locks were still soft, fluffy to the touch, his mouth hanging open as blood dripped from his neck into his face in rivulets. Quean tucked it under his arm when he heard a squeal.
“Be careful,” Quean called after Fyrrah and Solette, exasperated, and Solette flipped him off in response.
“Skies, why must you mistreat the dead like that? Haven’t you done enough?” Elalee breathed, coming forward to take the head, but Quean stepped back, holding it tighter.
“Did you know…” Quean trailed off, staring after his friends. The words fumbled through his muddled mind, the scent of alcohol on his clothes heady. “Elias didn’t spread those rumors after all.” His grin was wry. “It was one of those two. Maybe both. Solette lost a bet to how I’d react when I found out.”
It wasn’t what he wanted to say to Elalee, of all people. She would hate him all the more for it. But she was the only one with something resembling a conscience around him. She was the only one who could tell him if what he was doing was right anymore.
But all of it— Quean found all of it, ridiculous. The satyr had always been kind to him. Treasured him, even. Ridiculous.
The slap stung his cheek, and he looked down at Elalee, who glared up at him.
“I don’t recognize you half the time,” She said, and Quean was shocked to see the tears. “Or is this what you’ve always been? Was I a fool, Quean? How long before everyone you love end up like that satyr in your hands?” She shoved him back a step. “What about me? Do you ever, ever think about me? For a single second? What I’ve been going through, keeping— keeping—” Elalee screamed.
Quean’s expression shuttered closed, and he tilted his head, withholding a smile. He moved towards his little sister by a certain gravity, holding out his hand, “Come now, Ela—”
“Don’t touch me.”
It stopped him in his tracks. He raised his brows. “And who asked you to?” Quean’s voice was sharp, now. “Did I ask you, Elalee, to take care of me? Did I ask you to take responsibility for me?”
Elalee pounded her fist into his chest, “I do it because I care! You dumb moron! You don’t need to ask—”
“—Who told you to care?” Quean snapped. “Certainly, I never did. Live your life, El. Go play with your friends. Get obsessed over revelries. Act your age.”
“I can’t!” Her voice was nigh a scream. “You think I want to play your keeper? You think I chose this? Skies, I can’t. I can’t with you. You’re impossible.”
‘You’re incorrigible.’
Elalee paced the ground, running her fingers through her hair.
Quean let out a long breath, flexing his fists in agitation, Elias’s head still warm, tucked under his arm.
“You were different from Maeral. You were supposed to be. Why can’t you just— listen to Chaenath, instead of competing with him—”
“Chaenath?” Quean scoffed. “That damn work-obsessed buffoon has nothing on me. He thinks he knows things, but he’s just holed up in his library half the time—”
“We’re all still grieving, Quean. We all are. Did you have to— don’t walk away from me. Hey.”
He’d had enough. Why he subjected himself to Elalee’s judgement still was beyond him. Started treating a little girl like… like Alayrie, just because she wanted to be. I
“What are you going to do with the satyr?”
“I wasn’t aware you were my nanny,” Quean mocked. “Should I report to you every little thing I get up to now? Go home, Elalee.”

next!
I think it’s still “square”

1 Like
410
Summary

Nobody inspired fear and awe like the Dark Shadow.
He was an accomplished knight with a thousand miracle victories under his belt, sure to make a tavern go quiet anytime he boosted their business with his presence.
He was some kind of demi-human, nobody was sure what exactly, and rumor was his cat paws were what allowed him to enter a room so soundlessly.
His nonhuman lineage didn’t explain his ability to loom or the force his presence had. It didn’t explain why he had never been seen smiling and why he was never seen traveling with anyone, besides occasionally a small black cat.
On the other hand, Perry was an adventurer with more ambition than skill. Although he got better with every expedition he set on, he relied on his merry band of teammates to keep him alive.
They were the sort of low level adventuring group that went absolutely silent when the Dark Shadow entered the tavern with a small jingle of the front bells that he halted by pinching them between two clawed fingers. The bells began ringing again when the cat on his shoulder gave them a parting bat.
He had to duck to get in, since he was a bit too tall for the room. Perry’s ears burned as his companions gaped wordlessly at the Dark Shadow’s path across the room, right to Perry. Without saying anything the Dark Shadow put a hand on Perry’s head, ruffled his hair, then moved to the counter to order a drink.
“Dude? Did the Dark Shadow just pat you on the head?” Kenny moved his unhinged jaw toward Perry as if his eyes might have been deceiving him.
“Please don’t do that,” Perry pushed upward on the snake demi-human’s jaw.
It might just be an expression of shock for Kenny when he unhinged his jaw like that, but it always made Perry feel like the snake-man was about to eat him.
“No, I saw that too,” Lola shook her head.
Kenny put his jaw back so he could say,
“Right?” Then unhinged it again right away, ignoring Perry.
“Look, so he’s my adopted father now,” Perry blurted, figuring he’d have to tell them eventually.
“What? He’s your what? Aren’t you 19? Don’t you have a father?” Lola asked.
“Yeah but in his defense I told him some stories about my father and he felt sorry for me,” Perry lifted his mug and chugged the contents as though they would give him courage, even though it was just his favorite tea, “I normally wouldn’t share that much but we were passing through a field of those flowers they use to make truth serum and neither of us recognized them until too late.”
“How does this lead to the Dark Shadow adopting you? What does that even mean at your age??” Lola said.
“Well, like I said one thing led to another. And-”
“I got this for you,” the Dark Shadow randomly handed Perry a sword, making everyone at the table flinch because they hadn’t heard him move.
“Thanks,” Perry said, somewhat uncertainly, “we just got back from slaying a lesser green dragon,” he looked at the Dark Shadow expectantly.
“I’m proud of you,” the Dark Shadow said, and Perry beamed as the Dark Shadow returned to his seat.
His cat stayed behind and headbutted Perry until he gave it pets.
“I think I get it now,” Kenny said, quietly so he didn’t scare the cat.

Next: still square lol

411

“Be there or be square.”
They didn’t think it would be literal, but the mirror seemed to warp as the party started without them.

Next: new moon

1 Like
412

“I know what you mean,” Callum stretched, settled comfortably back on the grass, a glass bottle by his head. His caramel hair was pushed back from the sweat on his brow, still catching his breath from all the dancing. Now dressed in just his white collared shirt, his coat balled up to be used as a pillow beneath his head. The night painted his features a ghostly blue.
“Do you, now?” Remirus asked, leaned against the rock at his back. The view stretched out around them. A black velvet of a starry night sky, rolling plains of grass, as a slow breeze swept over the hilltop celebrations. The pair had found themselves by accident on the same spot, set just away from the dancing and the drinking. Remirus’s eyes were glued to the sky above their heads, savoring the night view. “I don’t think you quite do.”
“No, no, I get it,” Callum nodded his head, with a yawn. “You want to be free. Who doesn’t? You’re not as alone as you think, on that sentiment.”
This earned him a scoff. “Callum.”
“Please, call me Cal. All my friends do.”
“Callum—”
Callum barked a laugh, which Remirus ignored.
“— I haven’t seen you carry a shred of responsibility in all your life.”
“Amen,” Callum groped for his bottle through the grass, eventually wrapping his fingers along its neck and raised a toast to the sky.
“And yet you want to speak to me about freedom,” Remirus sighed, regretting his choice to stay. It was a moonless night tonight. A celebration of light to ward off back luck and evil in the wake of a new moon.
“I mean freedom in the general sense,” Callum gestured grandly, at the canvas over their heads. Remirus studied him skeptically, ready to hear the man go on about some flowery nonsense now, knowing his reputation. Callum closed his eyes, clutching his shirt dramatically, true to form, “Isn’t it a sin, being trapped to a thumping heart, skin, muscle, sinew, and bone? Such a small, whirring machine of a body, so self-limiting, so neatly defined. Do you never dream to be free of such mortal confines, sweep over this world as light as a summer breeze? Unattached, unable to be caught, wild, untamed, free?”
This had Remirus rolling his eyes. “You should start seriously considering a life in theater.”
Callum mimicked a bow from where he lay in the grass, tipping his head with a hand to his heart, a little flourish of his fingers. “Thank you, thank you. If you’re ever looking for other deep, profound revelations from a drunk man…”
“I’m not,” Remirus said, leaned back in the grass. A slow wind swept his dark hair.
Callum nudged his knee with his foot. “Then you’re in the wrong company, friend.”
Remirus kicked Callum’s foot away. “Indeed. I’d count myself lucky if I was allowed even a few seconds of silence around you.”
Callum chuckled, holding up a conceding finger to his lips, nodding. He closed his eyes to the sky, fully intending on letting Remirus have his peace.
Not even a second later, Callum began to hum, and Remimus sighed, beginning to stand. “I knew it.”
“Hey— what? Humming counted? I didn’t know,” Callum protested, though the way he was grinning, he looked anything but apologetic. He sat up to catch Remirus’s arm, which got him a scathing look. “Sit down, man. If you want to have your peace, I’ll let you have this slice of space all to yourself. I’m going back to get something to eat anyhow.”
“No, thank you,” Remirus pulled his arm, heading over back towards the light and music. “It was nice meeting you, Callum. I’ll admit, your company was marginally less insufferable than usual.”
Callum snorted, falling back into the grass. “So I’ve made progress!”
“Don’t count on it. It was the night view, if anything.”
Callum made a shooting motion at Remirus’s retreating back. “So you mean to tell me I have to hunt you down on another moonless night with a gorgeous view next time.”
He got no response, and Callum chuckled to himself. He picked at a few grass strands between his fingers, taking in the scent of fresh earth as he turned his gaze skyward again, humming happily at having made a new friend.

next!
ghostly blue

1 Like
413

Sun-warmed water felt different. It seeped into Neil’s skin, lapping languidly against his collarbone as the water washed over and rocked his body back and forth, back and forth in a rocking motion. Wet earth and roots twisted through his toes, and he took in the sight of Arrossa perched on the grasses above. She looked bored, light blue dress pooling around her where she sat. Her dark hair fluttered in the breeze, her gaze fixated on him almost curiously.
“Are you done yet?” She asked.
Neil had forgotten why he was here, where in the world he was standing. Arrossa, though, the sight of Arrossa acts as an anchor. He’d memorized the girl’s features by now, the arch of her brows, the turn of her nose, how her skin tanned in the summer and held a bit of pale in the winters, the way her face had changed shape over the years from pretty round cheeks and easy blushes, to one of a young woman with defined cheekbones and angles.
“What am I doing here?” He asked her, and his voice sounded as young as Arrossa looked. Fifteen, couldn’t be more than seventeen.
Her brows, which had furrowed, smoothened out in another moment. “Neil,” she clucked, with a sympathetic shake of her head, as she stood. She held out her hand to him. “Let’s go, Neil. Let’s get out of here.”
“I asked you what I’m doing here,” he reminded her. Neil looked around with a sigh, running his fingers trough his hair. He tried to wade through his memories, tried to pinpoint where he was. A moment ago, he’d been curled in front of a flickering fire, a hot mug of eggnog in hand, Arrossa sitting on the arm of his chair and their friends around them. Winter break at university.
“It wasn’t anything important,” Arrossa says dismissively, wading into the waters a step, now. “Come on, Neil. Your skin is pruning.”
Her voice is impatient, annoyed. Nothing like the Arrossa he’d gotten used to, the woman she’d become, years from now.
Neil spared her a fond smile. “Rose. I mean it.”
She paused now, frowning petulantly, an edge of her frock pinched between two fingers to hold it above the water. “You were looking for the green thing hanging around Nidhii all the time.”
“Raju?”
“We don’t give the Mai names.”
Don’t yet. Though the memory drifted back to him slowly, along with the accompanying surge panic. The last time around, they’d never found that Mai. The glowing emerald cat had disappeared for weeks on end, and so had Nidhii. By the time the two showed up again, Nidhii had been a broken thing, being carried in his dad’s arms.
“Raju!” He cupped his hand at his mouth to call. “Show yourself! I know you’re watching, creep! Nidhii— Nidhii needs your help! You’ve got to go after her!”
But he didn’t have Nidhii’s gift. He wouldn’t be able to see the Mai unless they revealed themselves to the human plane. The cat could be curled up around his shoulders, and he’d be none the wiser.
“She’s going to get hurt!” Neil swung his eyes around, taking in the riverbank. “Are you just going to let that happen?”
“Neil, you’re getting too worked up—”
“Raju!”
“Hey!”
There was a hand on his shoulder— Arrossa’s, and he pushed her away, but it was too late.

He jolted as the vision snapped away from him, and he found Arrossa’s breath on his face, her forehead pressed to his as she rubbed a thumb over his wrist. A sweet, spicy taste lingered on his tongue, a warmth down his throat. Eggnog.
“Where did you go this time?” Arrossa smiled.
Neil sighed, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer, burying his face in her neck and grounding himself back in the present.
His friends were curiously looking over, blurry faces until he shut his eyes.
“Nowhere,” he responded.
“You okay?” She asked, and he felt her carding her fingers through his hair. He didn’t respond, wondering what had come of that wretched cat and the girl it followed around, wondering if he’d changed something for once, or if fate had followed its course.

next!
black

414

She felt like a tiny, invisible island, floating in the middle of her classroom. Unmoored from her surroundings, unseen. The world went on around her.
Thrish and Gabbie were excitably discussing after-school plans, giggling over their assessment of last night’s outing. Arrossa leaned forward at her desk to play with Neil’s hair absently as she went over her notes, Neil leaning back to the touch as he snarked at Mags, who was sitting on his desk.
Nidhii, now… Nidhii was there. She was there physically. She existed every time she raised her hand to answer their tutor’s questions, every time her work in-class was displayed to be pieced apart, dissected, critiqued, admired. Eyes would turn to look at her, and Nidhii would faintly feel, at the back of her mind, ‘Huh. So you can see me,’ as she felt her voice vibrate through her, strong and loud and true.
But mostly, she existed in a separate plane of existence, one where her voice was forever stuck somewhere else without her. Where she kept her head down, and focused on work, got to class and left class as quickly as possible. Trying to exist, trying to engage with the people around her otherwise, often got her curious stares, as if she might as well be speaking another language. Until eventually, their eyes would glaze over her again and Nidhii would disappear from sight again, erased.
Where Nidhii existed was on her own. On her own, she could feel the humming vibrate through her chest, let her voice echo loud through their estate grounds, tired of being so caged in some hollow space between her ribs. She could kick up dirt, dance through the trees, throw herself into the stream loudly laughing, and nobody’s eyes were on her, but she’d exist.
That’s how the Mai found her one day. And then they’d stuck. Like week-old gum she’d accidentally stepped into on the sidewalk, and she could no longer peel the blackened, hardened thing off the bottom of her shoe no matter how earnestly she scraped away.
The creatures of amorphous colors stuck to her, latched onto her, gravitating towards her once they realized she could see them. And once one of them realized, the rest of them realized soon after, and soon, even in the classroom, she was never alone.
It came to the point where even people without her gift could sense them, see the faint of ghostly lights in the air around her.
“Nidhiii.”
Her eyes were fixated on a blue-green blob of a thing nibbling into the side of Arrossa’s neck with thousands of sharp little fangs. Another Mai bounced on Arrossa’s lap gleefully, singing with incoherent sounds of joy.
“Nidhii.”
She lowered her gaze, shut her eyes, rubbed at her forehead.
“Nidhii!”
“Yeah!” She jolted in her seat, looking up at her tutor. A portly older gentleman with a greying goatee, an orange Mai wriggling its way into his left nostril, glowing organic shapes. The whole class was staring at her, a few snickering. “Sorry,” Nidhii rubbed at her temples again, with a forced laugh. “I didn’t hear you. What was your question again?”
Her tutor said something incoherent, until Nidhii couldn’t take it anymore.
“Sir, is your breathing alright?”
“Pardon?”
“It’s just… asthma season, I hear. Can never be too careful with all these spores around.”
Her tutor sighed, pushing his black heavy-set spectacles up his nose. “My breathing is quite fine, thank you for asking.”
“Oh.”
“Now can you please stop fidgeting? Honestly, girl, are you alright today?”
“Sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
The irony wasn’t lost on her. She’d longed so long to be seen, to not be invisible anymore. And here she was, fixated upon by millions of invisible eyes, a few of them even real ones, of her classmates. Thrish snickered at her, elbowing his deskmate.
Nidhii heaved a sigh as class went on, attempting to hear her tutor over the loud, rackety Mai who were having what sounded like a brawl at the back of the classroom she dared not turn her head to witness.

next!
balloon

1 Like
415
balloon wooo

“It’s not safe,” Samir was grouching, smoke flaring from his nostrils, even as his voice drowned out in the midst of the noises around them. The ignis man sat holding steady the reigns of the coach’s horses, as they clobbered down the street. It was a pretty summer day out, the sun beating down on the busy bustle of the wide road. Coaches of every part of the empire were here today, bearing the crests of different cities, different nobilities. All summoned for the queen’s contest for the throne. Samir’s eyes flicked distrustingly to the coaches surrounding them, his long, thin tail flicking in the air. He had a round, boyish face, skin a dark brown, black scales inching over its contours and the back of his neck to his shoulders. Raven hair flopped unhappily on his head, his pointed ears flicking in barely-contained annoyance.
“You know what these kinds of crowds attract?” Samir started, loud enough for his voice to carry. Khaazei glanced over, waited with unabated breath to be bestowed a fraction of Samir’s infinite wisdom. “Trouble.”
Khaazei rode beside the coach on another horse, hearing Samir with a shake of his head, “Are you going to be grouching the whole way there? If you’re so worried about trouble brewing, maybe work harder on keeping your mouth closed and keeping your eyes open.”
Samir’s brows furrowed, lips turning up in a teasing sneer as he leaned towards Khaazei, “Sometimes I forget you’re one of those snotty nobles, and then you open your mouth and remind me all over again.”
Khaazei’s stormy blue irises slid to the younger man beside him, “You seem to need the constant reminding that we’re both under the employment of one of those said ‘snotty noble’ families.”
“Ha! Don’t need any more reminders from you.”
Both men wore the dark blue uniforms of the Maeda house, yellow and golden embellishments of flourishing embers glinting throughout. While Khaazei wore the black-collared coat that went with it even under the sweltering summer heat, Samir’s was slung carelessly over one shoulder, shirt buttons half-way undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing more darkened scales along his forearms. The ignis man always ran a little too hot, and hot temperatures simply made him run that much hotter.
They escorted Faeya Maeda, eldest daughter of the Maeda family, through the loud celebrations on the street. Today marked the welcoming feast for candidates all across the empire who flocked to the capital, hoping to prove themselves worthy of Limna’s throne.
They cantered on along the busy street, under the soaring archways of the city square, towards the glinting spires of the castle in the distance.
The heat of the day and the jostling crowd, their inching progress and the long ride, had Khaazei reaching for his waterskin. He uncorked the cap and poured a good amount of it over his head, the water splattering against his brown hair and trickling down his long braid in rivulets, to splash over tanned skin and soak into his collar. Khaazei had gentle features, a pretty smile. It almost fooled people who didn’t know him so well. Samir cast Khaazei a sidelong glance. He’d seen Khaazei covered in blood before, a sword in hand. A pacifist Khaazei may be, but he was still a knight from the Vuero household, come to protect the Maedas with his life.
“Can’t handle the heat?” Samir asked, with a grin.
Khaazei heaved a sigh, “maybe spend less time looking for ways to snark at me, and more time watching the road.”
Samir was talkative, and had been talkative the whole ride here. Khaazei hoped his little hints of wanting some quiet would be taken heed of, but alas. His hopes fell on deaf ears every time.
It was a relief to make it to the castle gates. They presented their house seal, and were sent along on their way.
Down grand pathways towards the balconies of the current queen, at the foot of which other crowds of individuals had gathered around. Everyone milled about impatiently, waiting for the Queen to come make a grand welcoming speech, signaling the beginning of the feast and festivities for the night. Little kids ran, tripping over themselves, holding colorful balloons.
“She’s a child, they said?” Samir asked, leaning back with a yawn as he scratched his neck. “Barely ten. Are we waiting for her nanny to go wake her up from naptime, or what?”
Khaazei found himself scanning the crowd instead, taking in their competition, memorizing their faces. He recognized a few crests of noble houses— the Amlas, a house with long-standing good relations with the old queen. The Laegers, whose daughter had brought home the head of a demon king after a long-fought war down south.

next!
scream

1 Like
416
Summary

He screamed into the darkness. There was nothing, a forced lack of memory, and on the other side was the truth. This couldn’t be a lie. He would wake up and…

“Where did that come from,” James wondered, rubbing his eyes. He was indoors for the first time he could remember, since he had passed his month long test of not turning into a dragon while sleeping and had accepted that it was fine to take the room Gardenia offered.
He didn’t want to break Gardenia’s house even if they were rich. It just wouldn’t be nice.
James went down to the kitchen on heavy feet, remembering the desperate dread of his dream. He didn’t have any memories of before his rebirth. He had been shocked to find out who he was before, not that that person didn’t look perfectly normal and fine, but…
It swam in his gut, the false memory of waking up to find this life, his magic, and most of all just him, to have been a lie. He knew he wasn’t insane and hallucinating or anything. But… he knew some villains had great illusion magic. They would give you your greatest desire and you wouldn’t even know you were dreaming.
“Enough of that,” he told himself out loud.
He was fine, he knew that. He wouldn’t trade his life for any, especially now that he didn’t have to sleep in a tent.
That face had looked so unbothered. Smiled wryly from photographs, pen poised over the page with intricate art James didn’t think he knew how to do anymore. He didn’t want to try, in case it would make him feel more connected to that person.
That person had had friends. A good relationship with a mother and a father that he didn’t know now.
The point was, James had seen all the files and skimmed the social media accounts of them. That odd person seemed unbothered and he was dandy now too. Were it not for the posters on those walls that bore his face, he would have thought it was a mistake to think that the missing person was him, but it wasn’t like there was anything to have nightmares about.
James rubbed his face and sighed, forcefully and cheerfully misattributing the swirling in his stomach to hunger.
“Hey Allie, do you think I owe it to my… past self’s parents, to tell them I’m alive?” he asked his fellow superhero.
They were preparing a sickeningly nutritious meal with a speed he didn’t think he even regularly achieved in battle.
“Do you think they wouldn’t accept you?” Allie’s tone was completely flat, as it usually was when they weren’t using superpowers on rooftops against villains.
“I’m literally not the same person! Like at all! I don’t know, I just think they’ll be disappointed,” he threw his hands up and shrugged.
Allie got out the blender, to James’ surprise since nothing in the meal looked like it belonged in a blender.
“Calculate whether the psychological damage will be greater than them thinking you are dead based on the information Gardenia showed you. Or do whatever you feel like. It is your problem,” Allie began eating, visibly struggling to stop themself from draining their smoothie in a minute.
“That was an appetizing meal before it was a smoothie,” James said.
Allie gave him a flat stare as the decidedly savory smoothie disappeared at an alarming rate.
He knew what Gardenia would say if he asked them about his little dilemma. They were the one who showed him the information after that mission. The name they’d found in the file, the missing person it was attached to. They’d asked if he was going to take back his old life. When he waffled about a vaguely related topic for a minute to avoid the conversation they’d looked sad and said they understood. But they didn’t, really. James knew how Gardenia felt about family, and about him not knowing anyone but him and the rest of the superhero team. Him and Gardenia would just have to agree to disagree while he- while he… huh, he didn’t really want to let it lie but it was also way too much for him to just go in their claiming to be someone he clearly wasn’t.
James sighed and wondered if it would be weird to ‘accidently’ meet them and pretend to be a stranger. Everyone would mistake him for the famous actor he’d apparently copied ninety percent of his features from, but he could use his usual ‘I get that all the time’ excuse and they would probably believe them.
“Yeah… this isn’t a bad idea,” he mumbled to himself.
Allie gave him an unimpressed glance, drained their smoothie, washed the dishes with annoying efficiency, and walked professionally out of the kitchen as though their ridiculously early breakfast was a business meeting.

Next: darkness

417
Summary

Someone smiled in the darkness. Grey scrambled back, his claws screeching on the rock floor of the cave.
If he could ask who was smiling, he would. But as a wolf he just growled, fur raising at the huge yellow slitted eyes in the darkness.
The eyes vanished and a small, human voice replaced them. It rang with confidence, bouncing off the rocks in an echo that hurt Grey’s ears.
“What brings you to my humble abode, little wolf?”
Whatever the creature was, it showed no fear of him, even in human form. He needed to get out of the cave and try to find another place to shelter, only the creature was between him and the door.
How hadn’t he noticed that the smell in here wasn’t of natural chemicals? It was sharp, and stung his nose, but he’d thought he could ignore it. He thought the way it blanketed his senses would cease when he left.
“Stupid thing. Just get out,” the voice dismissed, after a moment.
The owner of the voice stepped aside and Grey bolted past them, only to crash into a hard wall where he’d thought the entrance was.
He whimpered in pain, gasping for air as he tried to stand on all four paws again, not sure what was going on but hyperaware of the threat behind him.
“Huh? That’s… odd. Oh, then you’re-” the voice sounded taken aback, confused, but Grey knew better than to trust that.
Grey’s eyes flared into a lesser pain as multicolored light came into being behind him. He spun around, low to the ground, to see the owner of the voice.
So, not a human after all. Huge horns, clawed hands, eyes that shone a faint yellow compared to the glow of before they transformed. Elaborate robes in a style Grey hadn’t seen before, their presence telling him that their transformation magic was more intentional, refined than his own instinct-guided transformations. Holding their green-purple-yellow twisting flames in both hands.
He just wanted to get out of here. This person with their odd magic and huge threatening larger form, he knew they must have caused the entrance to vanish into the hard wall it was now.
“So who are you to me? An animal companion, perhaps?”
Grey wasn’t a pet to be someone’s companion. He was wild, even now that he lived in Noviergn he ran so far that he’d ended up lost and in this strange cave with this-
“They say the first werewolf came from a demon and a wolf who were such good friends that they merged. Of course, I don’t think you’ll think be that important to me,” the person laughed, but it sounded annoyed as their judgemental eyes took in the wolf.
Grey debated transforming just to argue with them. He knew the stories weren’t true, or at least that they weren’t the whole story, because he’d met demons and his appearance in person form and his magic resembled a human far more.
He stayed as a wolf, because he didn’t know what this person wanted or why he was stuck here. The way they talked to him made him think that they didn’t know he could understand them. Information was the only thing he had that could give him an edge up over the seemingly much more powerful creature. Information like the fact he had a human form and intelligence.
“You’re going to wake up soon. Will you come find me? I suppose not, seeing how you look at me. How troublesome. I shall have to hunt you down. Your role in my life had better be worth the trouble,” but from their annoyance they didn’t believe it would be.
The creature walked up to him and put a hand on his head, which he bit in a flare of rage. Their loud curse was cut off by him abruptly waking up.

He was in a cave, different from that one, just a little hollow in a rock that he’d curled up in to escape the rain. He’d come here and fallen asleep. Not a good place, if it’d caused him to have that dream. He was eager to move on.
All traces of that sharp smell were gone as he set out, but later in the day, as he searched for a river that he could follow back toward Noviergn, he began to catch whiffs of it. Sourceless, confusing, becoming more intense each time even as he picked up his pace.

Next: Glory

1 Like
418
Glory

It was with pleasure that Maeral listened to the argument going on now, as he kept his face turned away and his smile small, keeping guard against their surroundings. The spruces here didn’t love their presence in the sparse forest, but which tree in the world could resist an elf’s wiles? They chattered on idly about the winds, about the small animals nestled in their branches, about the glory of the morning sun peeking through grey clouds.
“—has always had it out for me, I know it, I know it. The way he waved at me, just—” The dwarf paused here, and Maeral could picture what it must look like, the dwarf red in the face, the thick braids of his tawny beard heaving up and down with the aggravated rise and fall of his chest, as the dwarf paused to wriggle his fingers at their medic with a tilt of his head and a spiteful smile. “—you can’t tell me a dryad made him do that. It was too intentional, he met my eyes, he smiled—”
“Sergeant Orym,” came Kayla’s calm tone. “The cuts along your arms are mostly shallow wounds. They’ve bled a lot, but I’ve cleaned them up and had them wrapped for now. Your mind, by Bodos’s mercy, seems to be intact. Can you stand up for me, or do you need help walking? It’s best we get back to camp at once. I’m not sure how long the both of you were trapped with the—”
“You don’t believe me,” came Orym’s accusation. “You elves are all the same. I should’ve known it— don’t touch me! I can stand.”
Maeral glanced over in time to see the dwarf shove off Kayla as he refused her hand. Kayla, in the metals of her dull armor, met his eyes when she looked up after her stumble.
It’d been a surprise, running into her out here again. Apparently, Kayla had been serious about becoming a jeyishri knight. And so, she put herself through all these pointless endeavors along Ghalyra’s border. Still, it’d thrown him into a shock when he and Orym had shot up a smoke signal for help, and not many moments later, Maeral had spotted the all-too-familiar face in the team of three that’d answered them.
“Don’t think you’re getting away with this. You pushed me into the dryad-circle on purpose, I know it. I’m going to personally make sure Urira is hearing of you.” Orym poked at his chest, inches from him, breathing hard. The dwarf was half the elf’s height, which’d made it tremendously difficult for Maeral to take him seriously at first. But soon enough, over the weeks, Orym had made sure he had Maeral’s attention.
The show Orym was putting on was thankfully enough to remind Maeral not to stare too long or look too relieved. It was embarrassing, how he’d softened up so immediately at the sight of someone from home. Aching for Alata’s tall genjayas and glinting glass towers. He was so sick of being covered in grime, of his body aching from daily training.
Kayla was someone he’d grown up with, sure, but they’d historically never gotten along. Their personalities, their values, their everything had clashed from the moment they’d met, and neither took much pleasure in the other’s company. Though that never seemed to stop Maeral’s heart from catching sometimes, under the appraisal of cloudy grey irises, all his thoughts screeching to an abrupt halt. He would often stare back at her blankly, until Kayla took it upon herself to turn her gaze away and release him from his trance.
Skies.
Out of all the faces he could’ve run into out here again.
“You were under the dryad’s spell as much as I was, sir,” Maeral said to Orym now, as he backed up a step from the dwarf and looked away. A prickling warmth crept up his neck. It was humiliating, having Kayla watching this side of him. Back in Alata, Maeral would’ve never backed down from any direct confrontation. Never groveled. “I couldn’t have known what I was doing. I don’t even remember most of the night. She looked like my little sister, and she asked me to follow her to the border, so I did.”
A dryad had caught him, for a brief second. Shown up under the moonlight, wearing Elalee’s face, as Maeral had been making his escape. It’d gouged up the grief and loss all over again in a moment, before Maeral had turned and run. Maeral’d known to bolt as soon as the trees had told him to. Dryad-circles, especially during early spring seasons, were the height of dryads’ desperation for love. They’d trick and weasel every morsel of it, of the attention, of the company, from anyone who stumbled into them. Keep them trapped with them through pretty illusions, for as long as they pleased.
“Your little sister!” Orym harrumphed, as Maeral shrugged.
“I’m just lucky I was able to come back for you in the end, sir,” Maeral chose to point out. “We should report back to camp, tell them to avoid the area for the time being.”
Whatever response Orym had— one geared up to be unpleasant, by the looks of it— was abruptly cut off.
“What’s all this fuss about?” Came an irate voice. The centaur who’d been watching it all unfold, arms crossed across her leather vest. “We didn’t come out here on a field trip to hear how shitty your day’s been going. You joined the army to fight bloodythirsty monsters, not call medics after a couple of dryads spooked you.” Surveying them, “Did nobody teach you to run from dryads?”
This had Orym reddening, “There were five of them—”
“So what? You had an elf with you, the man can literally talk to trees, and you walked right into their circle?”
At this, Orym and Maeral exchanged a glance.
“We were investigating reports of a boat-sighting,” Orym said, tone carrying much more authority, now. “I had the elf go on up ahead. I got caught up in the rear.”
“And was there a boat sighted?”
Attention turned to Maeral, who attempted not to smile.
“I checked all along the coast. Not a thing. Unless somebody mistook some driftwood and a stray kraken for a vessel.”
“False alarm, then.”
Ha.
When Orym had dragged Maeral out of the camp early that morning, Maeral’d figured as much. Vague, self-important ramblings of a mysterious vessel possibly carrying väsen under the cover of last night’s fog.
If the dryads hadn’t gotten them, Maeral suspected Orym would’ve had something else planned for him, instead. Much-deserved. Orym suspected Maeral had been the one to sneak in a scorpion into his mattress last week. He was entirely correct. Not that he could prove it.
Either way, Maeral had braced himself for a beating once they’d been far enough from camp. One he hadn’t planned on taking quietly, this time around. All in all, perhaps the dryads had saved them both.
“Let’s go,” the centaur jerked her head. “Unless one of you has something else to say?”
“No ma’am,” Maeral murmured, with a smile, as Orym shot him a dirty look.

next!
joy

2 Likes
419
Summary

Nori was walking in the forest minding his own business. He wasn’t exactly full of joy at the moment, but he wasn’t panicking until something knocked him to the ground and landed heavily on his back. He lashed out instinctively with his magic, only for it to be countered with the same kind. Nori relaxed as much as he could while trying to spit out dirt, feeling no animosity in the magic.
“Red, what are you doing?” He grumbled, debating between fighting to get up and trying to convince the other demon with words.
"“What are you doing?” Red asked.
He meant in the forest, Nori knew. Nori wasn’t exactly one of the regulars.
“I asked you first. Have you seen Grey?” Nori let himself snark, but stayed on task.
This could be important, if something had gone wrong.
“So you’re looking for the dog. What, did he eat something he wasn’t supposed to?”
Nori rolled his eyes.
“He’s a person and you’d better treat him like one. Nobody’s seen him for a week, which is long even for him. Now if you don’t let me up, Red, I’m going to have to make you.”
Despite the threat Nori wasn’t sure he could win if it came to it. Fortunately he didn’t have to try, as Red let him up without further trouble.
“I’ll try to find the other forest guys and ask them,” Red said easily, examining Nori’s expression.
Nori didn’t know what expression he was making, but he was pretty sure it was stressed. Why did they let several members of their town spend as much time as they wanted in the forest without checking in with anyone? It wouldn’t end well, he was thinking now.
“Thanks, Red,” he said, wondering what they could do if their other forest-loving town members didn’t have any information.

Next: Hide

1 Like
420

Safa dragged the trails of her heavy dress through the checkered tiles of the dusty treasury, winding up the layers of her skirt in two fists. The Hatim family treasury was less so a trove of unimaginable wonder and interest, and more so… well, vaguely disappointing.
“Dilna,” she ventured, voice hushed. The sound immediately eaten up by the well-lit white walls, swallowed into beige-painted steel shelves and rows and rows of neatly-labeled drawers. Fed up, she raised her voice. “Dilna. If my dad finds us here, we’re dead. Dead, do you hear me?”
Safa strained to listen, over the sound of her heels clacking against the floor and the scrape of the intricate bead sequins on her dress’s hem against the granite floor. Nothing but the faint whirr of air conditioner sweeping goosebumps up her exposed shoulders. If she concentrated, she could hear the traffic and the rumble of cars somewhere far above her head, the busy hubbub of a city.
“Dilna!” She screamed, in a moment of frustration.
Nothing.
That girl.
Safa dropped the skirts of her dress and stalked down the shelves, deciding that she’d quite like to sing here, thank you. It was protest against the oppressive quiet and inactivity down here. Liven up the place some, since it could clearly use some love.
They were miles away from anybody who could hear, and if the cameras down here were working at all, it was too late to worry about getting caught.
“Are you the winds through my fingers, or my own song from a long-forgotten dream?”
It smelled like concrete down here. Sound travelled nowhere, and try as she might, she couldn’t get the satisfying click of heels against stone she wanted. As if all sound was forbidden in this treasury. So she sung louder.
“Every direction melted into thunder and lightening, the little monsoon bird was lost. DILNA!”
She read a few labels in passing, but they made no sense to her. Scribbled in a careful hand with blue ink, every drawer here was marked with a white label sticker.
A.HOIU-13
A.HOIO-27
A.HFOIL-104
Whatever.
If the Hatims were trying to hide something down here, Safa had no interest in finding out what it was. If anybody questioned her about her time down here later, she could truthfully tell them that all she’d learned from the experience was how suffocating an underground space could feel, constricting all the space around her and over her head.

next!
candy

1 Like
421

Fleon didn’t mind the feeling anymore. The overly sour buzz as he bit into the gummy worm and it dissolved into the roof of his mouth before there was anything to swallow. The extra saliva, suddenly devoid of flavour, that he had to swallow anyway. He no longer had to swallow one extra thing, his disbelief, as the formerly locked door handle turned beneath his buzzing fingers.
He no longer waited the full five minutes before popping another green hard candy into his mouth, feeling it pop into nonexistence, though the ghostly feeling in his limbs didn’t change since he was already invisible.
He followed that up with what he thought was a fruit roll from his other pocket, since he needed his footsteps to stay silent, but realized the flavor and texture was wrong, no, it was a chocolate-
Oh no.
Fleon extended his left hand so at least he wouldn’t blow himself up, feeling the hand warming up as he stepped back out through the door. Okay, okay, maybe he could salvage this!
His left hand warmed and warmed and then suddenly became light and mostly gloveless, an explosion making his ears ring. Damn, that hurt. He would normally have eaten a cupcake before every chocolate.
Fleon was still invisible, so he ran back into the house as the guards came flocking to the site of the explosion. They probably knew he was here by now but hopefully he could make it to the valuables before anyone realized-
There was a buzz of activity in front of the big golden doors. Drat. Fleon popped another hard candy and fruit roll into his mouth and tried to make his escape, careful to avoid bumping into anyone. He got to the front doors again, but a puff of powder rained down from the ceiling and before he could take another hard candy to make the powder coating him invisible, the guards were coming for him.
“We’ve figured out your tricks, Fleon. You’re not making it out of here this time,” said an imposing voice.

Next: Void