#Sun is based loosely on a lion fish and Moon is based even more loosely on a ribbon eel

[thatmooncake]

My Secret Santa gift is finally readyyyy!

This is for @ajaywithcrowfeathers - I really hope you like it and I hope you’re having a lovely holiday season! :> 💕

[5hfanfiction]

Parting Shot: Episode 2 - A Mighty Harmonist

Camila

She was all I had. Every weekend morning without fail, she would wake up long before I did and cast some sort of magic spell that made eggs appear in the kitchen. The house would start to warm up, sun rising and the scent of breakfast crawling along the ceiling before wafting down the hall. Disoriented and still tired, I managed to fumble down the hallway and find her tending to the stove in the attire she slept in every night. Pant-free and in an oversized white tank-top, Lauren never seemed as laid back as she did on weekend mornings.

The scent of fresh coffee hit me, already dappled with the half-and-half that always seemed to be stocked in the fridge and Lauren’s homemade vanilla flavoured sugar. “It’s Saturday.” I managed to whine, leaning on the side of the fridge. “This is one out of the only two days of the week where you can sleep in purposefully rather than because you hate first period. Why do you have to get up so early?”

Without responding, she turned around with a spatula in one hand and the handle of a burning pan in the other. Whatever was inside moved to a plate on the counter, a long string of steam rising with it. “You complain without fail every single weekend.” She held the plate to me in one hand, the other running idly through her deep black hair. Sitting in the middle of the plate were two aesthetically pleasing fried eggs. “Then you turn around and eat like you’ve been starving for days.” 


“You’re the best Lauren Jauregui.” I grinned, taking the plate and stalking past her to the kitchen table. Food had always tasted a million times better when someone else was behind it, and I made the fact known to her with a chorus of approving noises followed by the wolfing down of both eggs in a matter of seconds. She joined me in the seat opposite, not before setting an unpeeled banana and fresh cup of coffee next to my plate.

I knew only what I needed to about Lauren. I knew she had the bravery to pull over to the side of the road on a fatefully dark night and roll her window down to grab my attention. She had the bravery to unlock her passenger seat door, get out herself and haul the two bags I was dragging through the rain into the backseat of her car. Most important to me - she had the bravery to withhold any questions, hold back all judgement and simply drive with a soaking wet, deeply bruised stranger curled in the front seat.

Lauren hadn’t touched her own coffee, seemingly content with sitting at the other side of the table with her chin balanced on her folded arms. There was a small sliding glass window embedded above the kitchen table, and as every morning, when the sun rose it’s light streamed directly through it and pooled around her. Lauren’s eyes had always been brighter during the day, my own darker at night.

“Record time.” She mumbled, nodding at the empty plate with her lips pursed in a knowing smirk. “Can I make some more?” 


“Let me do it.” I stood, setting the empty plate down on the vacant counter-space and fishing through the fridge for the carton of raw eggs. Lauren hadn’t replied, leading me to glance over my shoulder and see she had turned her head to the side and was watching me with amusement flickering in her eyes. “What?” I straightened, the fridge door slowly suctioning closed. “What’s so funny?”

“No nothing, it’s just that I know you’re going to find a way to screw this up.” She laughed, tone light and teasing. “The eggs are on the inside of the fridge door, not on the shelves.“

The carton was unbalanced, six eggs sitting on the far left, and none on the right. After clumsily setting them down, I upturned the lid and carefully cracked two more into the warm pan. "So what’s happening today?” I asked, re-igniting the gas stove and watching as the artificial blue flame folded to life. “Are we doing anything exciting?”

Lauren had her eyes fixated on the pan. In a world of stark abnormalities and constant chaos, she was a wave of relief for me. A breath of fresh air thousands of feet below the ocean’s surface for a creature who just didn’t belong there. I waited for a response, using a plastic spatula to gently nudge the eggs around the heat and watching the clear, colourless centre slowly turn an opaque white.

“I don’t know.” Her reply was monotonous. “Judging by the number of eggs in the carton I’d say we need to take a trip to the grocery store. Then I’ve got a paper to write for third period psychology, so I’m going to have to drop by the library and do some old fashioned book research.”

“Why?” I gave the eggs a moment more before transferring them both to my plate. “Book research was only a thing back when women wore hoop skirts and could’t vote. Society invented the internet for a reason you know.” 


Lauren’s eyes followed the food until it landed in front of her, a fork and napkin at it’s side. “She wants a print based bibliography.“ She clarified, licking her lips eagerly. "No web sources allowed.”

“And does she know that society invented internet for a reason?”

“Apparently not as well as you do.” Lauren had a bad habit of talking and chewing at the same time, which to most would be worthy of scolding. To me it had always come off as charming, her stone cold facade sometimes adapting a childish sparkle that so many else lacked. I sat down on the other side of the table, resting my chin in my palm to watch her eat. “You’ll come with me right?”

“I love going to the library.” I nodded, leaning forward to drag my chair further towards the table. “I wish Cecily would let me go into the back room and poke around the new arrivals, but I guess that’s just me hoping against hope.”

Lauren looked up briefly. “Maybe she’s just frustrated that you’ve exhausted their resources Belle.” She teased, the light in her eyes flickering. “You can’t wholeheartedly believe a woman named Cecily Gunnderman has even a single patient bone in her body when it comes to the yearning members of Gen Y.” I folded my self against the table, looking stoically at her half-empty plate. Lauren had a good point. I had been fostering a reputation of being a particularly pesky member of the technologically heightened generation.

“Maybe if she got herself a Mr. Gunnderman, she can untwist her lace-lined granny panties and cut loose for once.” I stood up, taking Lauren’s plate from her and setting it in the sink. A steady stream of cold water did good to wash the sticky egg yolk off the centre of the plate. “Then maybe I could get back there and soak up all the Ernest Hemmingway and Edgar Allan Poe I can before she turns into a widow again.”

Lauren was on her feet, her hand resting lightly on my hip as she moved to linger just behind me. “You know, sometimes you’re my charming princess who skips through a french village with a book in her hand, and other times you turn into the pure evil concentrate that comes out of those green vents from the Lion King.” She patted me gently, then turned back to the fridge.

I rolled my eyes, keeping my back to her. “I’m just saying Lauren, love does wonders. At least it would for the three quarters of this town who spend their evenings sulking by the Harry Potter themed coffee shop downtown.”

“Hey don’t say that, you love Expresso Patronum. You even bought one of their mugs the last time we went.” She paused. “Besides, how would you know the wonders love does? You’ve never been in it.”

The gentle scrape of my plastic spatula on the used frying pan filled the silence while I put together a reply. Lauren seemed taken aback by my hesitation, and migrated to lean against the counter again. “You’ve never been in it… right Camz?” She asked, looking up with nudge to my side with her elbow. I couldn’t help but curl up, emanating an unintentional giggle from the contact.

“Right.” I nodded, meeting her glance for a moment with a soft smile. It was the truth, plain and without any veils. Lauren seemed satisfied, straightening up and leaving a quick kiss on the side of my head before returning to the bedroom. I abandoned the dishes a few seconds later and opted instead to peel my banana at the kitchen table and take a happy bite. Our relationship was one of platonic intimacy. Most nights, there was nothing I wanted more than to curl up with her, have a deep conversation or simply snuggle in silence.

Polishing off my banana, I left the peel on the table before starting down the hallway. When Lauren and I had met, we were both lying deep against the bottom of the ocean. We were trapped, encircled by the grape-sized amoebas and fragile coral that needed no sustenance. It was the darkness that made our relationship so seamless, the only place on the earth where the sun was unable to nourish and the moon unable to guide. We no longer had either in our lives, and were forced to become them for each other.

“Here.” Lauren was standing in the centre of the room, her arm extended and laptop balanced on her palm. She had changed from her lazy morning attire into a pair of black jeans and grey long sleeve shirt with a low v-neck. The neutral colours looked perfect on her, jet black hair visibly silky and parted elegantly to the side. “You’ll need this so you don’t spend the entire day annoying the hell out of Lauren when she’s trying to read.”

Taking the machine with a nod, I tucked it into my bag and coiled up the white charger at it’s side. I felt a nudge to the small of my back, angling my body to see her blinking at me with the most curious expression on her face. “That’s the first time you haven’t laughed at my joke Camz, no matter how many times I make it.” She reached out, placing a hand on my shoulder to turn me around. “Are you okay?”

“Brain fog from the weed last night.” I shrugged, doing my best to grant her a smile. It wasn’t complete lie. Most of my high-hangovers consisted of heavy fatigue and serious dehydration, neither of which were aided by the early rising to eggs and her delicious coffee. While Lauren sat and watched from the bed, I quickly swapped my pyjamas for a tank top and jean shorts before lifting my laptop bag’s canvas strap over my shoulder. “Okay, I’m ready.” 


“That’s what you’re going to wear?” Lauren sat forward, smiling sweetly. “It’s the middle of the fall Camz, you don’t think you’re going to end up getting cold?”

“I might.” I turned in the mirror to get a proper look at my butt. “But it’s not like we’re going to be outside for very long, right?”

Lauren sighed playfully, hauling herself up and vanishing down the hall. The jingling of keys followed, then the sound of the garbage can’s lid being opened and shut. I smiled in the mirror at the realization that she had found my banana peel.

The town library was a few minutes by bike from our house. It had been a year or two since we’d committed to keeping Lauren’s 2005 Ford Taurus tucked away in our locked garage for as long as we could. Gas wasn’t cheap, and becoming less so by the day, whereas two bikes that I had flirt my way into getting from the local cycle shop did the job with flying colours.

“Keep up!” Lauren called over her shoulder, white earbuds flying in the wind as she flashed a wide grin at me. The roads in the early morning were virtually empty, the residents of a dying town typically tucked away in their beds until mid-morning and then again only hours after an early dinner. I wedged my hand into the pocket of my shorts to crank up the volume on the music in my own ears, letting the underlying beat propel me forward.

The building itself wasn’t particularly special. A stone structure, towering four floors up and beveled with concrete ledges and cutouts to give it a very old-fashioned, high class feel. Foxcastle didn’t pride itself on architecture, the weather often dreary and grey to the point where most standing establishments looked the same. It was because of this that the library was a hot-spot for visiting relatives and curious by-passers, boasting an impressive stash of literary genius. I screeched to a halt by the racks, swiftly hopping off my bike and shooting Lauren an apologetic smile for the tangle of limbs we easily could have become if not for my brakes.

“Ah, hello ladies. I figured I would see you two pass through here this weekend.” Cecily Gunnderman, the town’s resident crazy lady was seated at her post behind the front desk. I couldn’t help the shiver that crawled up the back of my neck when I laid eyes on her, for not only was the woman withered with age, but it was well known that she had outlived a number of husbands. There was even rumour she retained her maiden name from the beginning for anticipation of just that. In front of me, Lauren was unfazed as ever.

“A research paper a day keeps the doctor away, right?” Lauren had the front half of her body leaned across the desk as she plucked a string-attached pen from it’s base and wrote our names down on the wrinkled sheet of chart paper. “How are you this morning Mrs. Gunnderman?”

“Very well dear, thank you.” The woman’s back was pin straight, hair tied back into a tight bun. Her glassy blue eyes shifted to me, and she dipped her chin down politely. “And Camila. I see the two of you are just as attached by the hip as ever.”

“A Cabello a day keeps the doctor away, right?” I rhymed, granting the elderly woman a sweet smile and stepping forward to wrap my arm around Lauren’s waist. “She loves me.”

Cecily lifted a light eyebrow. “I’m sure she does.” The woman nodded to Lauren, who finished marking our names down. “Simply because of how loveable you are, Ms. Cabello.”

I decided to ignore the deep sarcastic undertone to the woman’s voice and lean against my friend’s shoulder with a giant grin. Lauren’s head turned to me, the kind smile on her face suddenly making any kind of criticism okay, even if it came from a cynical old woman. “I’ll make sure she behaves.” The black haired girl then nodded across the desk. “No shelf climbing, no ordering pizza to the front door.” She looked at me once more, dipping her chin down. “And no prank calls to the manager’s office.”

“You’re a good kid Lauren.” Cecily nodded again, withered lips turning up just a hint. I had concluded that Lauren Jauregui was Foxcastle’s only citizen who managed to make the old bat smile. She took me by the hand, and the two of us ventured up to the fourth floor common area.

Like the roads, the populous of the library was loose and sparse at the very best. The two of us found a comfortable space near the corner of the room, blocked in by a series of shelves and sitting beneath a perfectly circular patch of sunlight. While Lauren set her belongings down and dipped off to scan the alphabetical shelves, I pulled out my own silver laptop and powered it up.

Days at the library was admittedly some of my favourite. There didn’t need to be any kind of conversation between us, no sort of words exchanged to pick up on small subtleties and shifts in mood. When Lauren was frustrated, her shoulders would tense up and the muscles in her upper arms would flex inadvertently. When she was bored, her bottom lip would become trapped within her top teeth as a means of remaining awake. My very favourite was when the green eyed goddess would prove satisfied in her progress, and one eyebrow became lifted in a pseudo-sultry gaze that was meant only for the screen before her.

A few minutes later, Lauren had returned with a armful of books. Most were hardcover journals, stuffed full of articles and studies based on psychology in the literature, while one or two were smaller, soft poetry pieces. One in particular landed at my side, the cover featuring a spectrum of pale blue mountains fronted by a white serif font. William Wordsworth The letters read. A Complete Book of Poems: Volume 1.

“What’s this?” I questioned, peeling back the front cover to reveal a long list of contents. The pages were worn, smelling strongly of the antique, dusty aura that most of the library’s old works retained. Lauren moved her chair over to me, the shift in air cloaking us both in the scent of her flowery vanilla perfume.

“Are you going to work on your demon story from last night?” She asked, leaning forward upon the desk to stare down at the table of contents with me. “If you wanted something new, I have an idea.” 


I pondered the question for a few beats. Lauren’s ideas were often gold, whether she was the one creating the realities, or giving the prompts it never seemed to matter. Letting her proceed, I angled myself back to let her find the poem she wanted down the list and flip to the page. Lauren gestured for me to lean forward, and I did so just in time to see the title of the page pop out in stark black lettering. ”On the Power of Sound”  I read softly, not wanting to disturb the few people around us. “Lauren, you know I’m no good at analyzing poetry.”

“I’m not asking you to analyze anything.” A playful amusement was evident in her voice. “I’m not an English teacher Camz, not yet at least.”

“Oh— okay.” Looking back at the page, I gave her a shy nod to continue.

“Take one of the stanzas from the poem, any stanza. Write based on one line in that stanza, but don’t go any further than that.” Lauren pressed her weight against my arm. “Take the line and bring it to life independent of the poem’s message.”

“What’s the poem’s message?” I scanned the title a few times. “On the Power of Sound.”

“Just that.” She didn’t need to consider her answer; Lauren’s speed with literature continued to astound me. “Wordsworth was known best during the era of the romantics. He believed that poetry in itself should be simple and sincere, easy to understand like the language that everyday people use. The man was one of the first to insist poetry should be freed from all the “conceits” and “inane phraseology”. The message of the poem is exactly what the title says. And whispers for the heart, their slave; and shrieks, that revel in abuse. Of shivering flesh and warbled air.

I could see the images as she spoke, the round and mature tone to her voice painted an active photo that my own could never manage to. Lauren backed away from me, sliding her chair and herself back to the adjacent side of the table where her laptop was blinking with inactivity.

That Ocean is a mighty harmonist. The line sat on the eleventh line of the twelfth stanza. After reading the six letters over again a few times, I pushed my chair back and ventured into the forest of bookshelves. I didn’t need to turn back to know Lauren’s eyes were on me, and took her curiosity as a compliment. “Wordsworth capitalized a noun.” I murmured to myself, peering up and down the spines until I found what I was looking for. “He wanted to make it seem like the ocean was something worth emphasizing. Something worth saving. A harmonist is one who brings together worlds of nature, science and spirituality… who unites two notes together in song.”

Oceanography. I brought the large, blue-spined encyclopedia back to the table and set it down with a dull thump. Lauren didn’t look up at the sound, but her eyes flitted up mid-type. The book was aged, featuring a orange-white clownfish on the cover slinking through off-white coral. It wasn’t the information I was seeking, but the glossy photographs that dappled nearly every page.

The idea in my head began to take form. Crion 81J, a planet distant from our own is composed of nothing but sparse islands and surrounding water. It’s an ocean planet, the physiology of which forces creatures to adapt, birds learning how to swim for miles and fish developing wings to escape surface predators. I flipped to a photograph of a turtle, taking my pencil and copying an image of it down to the yellow legal pad before me.

In a world where we cannot find a way to unite those who tip the balance, the ocean is the mightiest harmonist. I wrote. The humans who live on this planet do so only on the islands, harmonizing with the finite resources that Crion 81J gives them while needing no more and no less.

There was a story locked away in Wordsworth’s line, it was only a matter of finding the key. The last thing I wanted was for Lauren to turn and uncover it for me, yet she proceeded to anyway.

“I like it.” The girl smiled. “Even on our planet, something as precious as the ocean is worth saving. Maybe the strongest force on the earth has the power to bring humans together, just as it does to connect one nation to another.”

Before I could open my mouth to agree, Lauren arched over my arm and took her black pen to the yellow paper. A story about an environmentalist that takes place on a small island amidst an ocean planet. The future of peacemaking is a major part of the plot, and it ends with a victorious celebration.

I scanned the lines, the last in particular sparking my amusement. “You always like a happy ending, don’t you Lauren?” I whispered, tilting my head against her upper arm. A gentle vibration against my cheek followed as she wrote.

“Always.” Lauren acknowledged, her tone of voice equally as soft as not to disturb those around us. I was left with the fragmented idea once again, and leaned over to fill out the prompt.

Paul Abbey Lowell I wrote, letting the words flow as they did. A drowning incident orphans him at the age of six, and he spends his mid-pubescent years loathing the water. Love flips his views upside-down, turning a young adult Lowell into a socialist, anarchist and atheist who advocates not only for the preservation of the ocean, but all it’s life. When a sea-faring war breaks out among islands, the future of the ocean world is threatened, and Lowell fights to preserve not only his home, but peace for the taker of his parents.

I sat back, looking at the handwritten passage with a small smile. A story was about forgiveness and retribution, and a statement on how important it is to preserve the things that give us life. I slid the legal yellow pad over to Lauren, who had a pen trapped between her teeth and was studying a book that boasted ridiculously small font. “The victorious celebration.” She whispered, sliding it back to me. Brow furrowing, I swiped up my pen again and started to scribble down some more notes.

The relationship Lowell grew over this time alone is put at stake, his love taken away just as his parents were. I scratched down, sitting up straight and rolling my shoulders back. Lauren didn’t seem to take notice of my hesitation, and in one fell swoop and grabbed the pad of paper and started through the library.

Behind the front desk, Cecily Gunnderman hadn’t moved from her post. People were feeding in and out of the building, most of which were parents and young children taking advantage of the day off. Approaching the desk, I planted my paper down before her with a bold smile.

“Can I help you Ms. Cabello?” The woman’s icy blue gaze shifted to me.




“How do you cope with losing people you love?” I asked, sitting down in the stool opposite her and tapping the end of my pen against the paper.

“Excuse me?” 


“You’ve lost multiple men whom you clearly cared about, at least enough to marry.” I continued without hesitation. The woman had two wedding bands on her ring finger, and that didn’t include the ones that likely sat tucked away in a velvet jewelry box. There was quite literally nothing to lose from partaking in the conversation on my end. “How did you cope that with? Did it change who you were?”

Cecily exhaled, her gaze narrowing to slits. “There is one thing that changes us more than losing those we love.” She replied, looking down at my paper and scanning the paragraph I had previously written. “And that’s gaining them.”

I sat up a little straighter.

“Love is the strongest force.” She continued. “Gaining and losing it is only the course of life. Every man who has lived and died in my arms has contributed to the person I shall die as. Have the losses saddened me? Yes. Have they changed me? Yes. But did I have to cope with them? No. The loss of love and loss of life went hand in hand, so only coping with one followed through to coping with the other.”

“So you believe something as powerful as love sits at the centre of everyone?” I watched her elderly features shift as I spoke.

“I believe the centre of everyone depends only on who you are.” Cecily replied, un-moving and seemingly unable to smile. “Not who I am, not who this protagonist of your story is, but who you are Camila Cabello.”

I swallowed, nervously taking the pad of paper back with a soft expression of gratitude. Back at the table, I was able to finish the beginning of Lauren’s prompt with little struggle.

Lowell discovers that the love he gains and loses matters little, the peace he fights for becomes the victory he is able to celebrate.” I continued. “For some, peace and love go hand in hand, for others, the sacrifice of one means the prevalence of the other.”

Lauren had looked up from her work, cloaking me in the realization that I had been openly speaking as I wrote. She inevitably slid herself out of the sunlight patch and over to me again, sidling up to read what I had progressed with.

“What would you call the book?” She asked, the light in her eyes settling a warm comfort over my shoulders.

“A Mighty Harmonist.” I replied, holding my breath and awaiting her approval. She gave it a moment later, signifying her satisfaction with a sweet nod.

Love was an emotion that I thought about often, yet remained just that. An emotion. It wasn’t a yearning, nor a desire to experience something as profound as romantic feelings towards any one person. Looking at Lauren however, that desire found a way to change. I thought often about the person who would end up loving her. I had no idea who they were, yet pondered constantly at what kind of person they would turn out to be, how they were going to slot into our lives, and whether I would end up back where I began. I had no desire to be lost and alone again.

“Camz.” Lauren’s voice startled me.

“Sorry?”

“I said I liked that title.” She repeated, the corner of her mouth turned up in a small smile. “I like that you took the line straight from the poem, most authors would try to beat around the bush and make their readers think.”

I nodded slowly. “You said that Wordsworth was a man who enjoyed writing words for what they were. Breaking the barriers of inane phraseology so men intelligent and unintelligent alike can understand great literature.”

Lauren laughed softly. “Camz, I think any man who took the time to study great literature can be marked as intelligent.”

“Why’s that?”

The yellow pad of paper angled towards her shifted back to me. “Intelligence is a mark of what you aspire to achieve, not your achievements in the past.” She clarified. “This is a wonderful idea, you definitely have potential to master the science fiction genre, genius.”

I dipped my chin down, fighting the blush that would inadvertently rise in my cheeks each time she complimented me. Lauren didn’t seem to acknowledge it, setting the pen back against my page before returning to her own laptop. Taking the prompt from the pad of paper to the screen of my laptop, I spent the rest of the afternoon bringing it to life.

“You’ve been writing about love a lot recently Camz.” Lauren commented as we bid farewell to Cecily at the front desk and returned to our bikes. “Any reason why?”

“Because love gives you answers.” I replied, pulling these strap of my canvas bag up higher on my shoulder. “Love is everything. It consumes us, and consumes literature. It makes money, it stimulates emotion, it makes us laugh and cry—“

“Camz.” Lauren placed her hand on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I shrugged back. “Why?”

“Why?” Lauren lifted her eyebrows. “Because after you complete a prompt, you always seem so satisfied. Right now it seems like you’ve lost your life savings over one night in Vegas.”

The ocean in which we hovered had always been dark, and it was that darkness which led me to fear what would end up changing everything. Who would change everything.

“Would love ever change your mind Lauren?” I asked, the words etched onto my legal pad burning a hole through the shoulder-bag. “About me?”

Her green eyes held my gaze for a moment longer, grip on my shoulder tightening.

“About you Camila?” She shook her head, lips turning into a smile that could one day make millions. “Never. I’ve made my choice.”

***

A/N: Hi, so I’m going to put in a little bit of story background here, which I really should have done in the first chapter but better late than never I guess. Typically this is something I would let the readers discover on their own, but I think it would be beneficial for people to be aware of this as they get to know these two very interesting protagonists. 

I’m giving Lauren’s character two distinct traits: Mirror-touch synesthesia, which is the ability of an individual to feel the same sensation of touch as someone else. For Lauren, it’s going to be linked heavily with the sensations of trust and empathy. She’s also got a condition called hyperalgesia, which is the higher than normal sensitivity to pain, typically in undamaged tissue. 

Camila is going to have Dissociative Identity Disorder, and one confirmed alter who will play a significant role in the future. We don’t know a terribly large amount about the disorder itself, and by no means is her character going to be 100% accurate based on what we do know, but it should be interesting. You see a lot of writing about themes like depression, anxiety, self-harm, drug addictions and eating disorders, and less about the more "B-list” psychological abnormalities.

I’m basically going at this blind. I have no pre-written chapters, no overarching message, no outlines or writing prompts. All I have is two dynamic characters and a gloomy little town that just screams Netflix drama. What I do know for sure is that every chapter is going to feature a made up story idea and a skeleton concept for a book to go with it. The “chapter” titles will double as the title to that theoretical piece of writing. 

Thank you for reading. :) 

~rory (wattpad/tumblr)