#and exciting feeling that unleashed every bad instincts there is inside your souls

[venusxxlangdon]

Dance With the Devil. Part Three — Glory and Gore

summary: Michael fulfills his promise and finally gets the Devil’s recognition. warnings: dark!outpost Michael, humiliation, physical and mental abuse, language, blood, mentions of rape, darkfic words: 5.4k A/N: This is the last part of the series, and I have to admit that I’m gonna miss mean Michael. I hope he’s happy in hell (at least, in this fic yes, he is)

Suddenly a loud knock on the door interrupted the silence. Michael frowned and, leaving the girl in her embarrassing position, jumped off the bed to pick up his robe from the armchair and open the door.

The intruder turned out to be Furfur. Michael was about to shout at him, but the look on the demon’s face was dreadful.

“My Lord”, he murmured worryingly, “Our Highness”, he cleared his throat, “Your Father is here”

Michael’s eyes scanned Furfur’s face, searching for any signs of lies, but the fear mixed with awe in his eyes told him that the demon was telling the truth. He turned his head, looking at the lifeless body of the girl on his bed.

Stupid bitch.

“Wait for me,” he ordered and slammed the door in front of the demon. Michael stormed his way to the wardrobe, feeling anxiety wash over him. He had been hoping for his Father to honor him with his arrival, but imagining it in his head was different from actually facing Satan in reality.

Numerous thoughts were racing through his mind; what he was going to say to him? Michael had prepared a goddamn speech, but what if his Farther would not listen to him? Purson could have been lying all the time, and there was no way to find out the truth.

Everything was happening too fast.

He was not ready, was he?

His anxiety always hit him unexpectedly, and even his demonic nature was unable to ease it.

Michael took a deep breath and leaned against the wardrobe, pressing his sweaty forehead against the wood. He felt his heart rate accelerate, making the tips of his fingers tremble with apprehension. His mind replayed the horrible scenes of the Demonic Quorum and the look of disgust on his Father’s face. Michael shut his eyes tightly, and a low growl escaped through his gritted teeth. There were hundreds of demons in the Great Hall, and all of them were going to watch him stand before Satan.

Michael ran his fingers through his hair and reached for a black ribbon. His long fingers cautiously made a loose ponytail and tied it with the piece of silk fabric. He felt his power rise inside him, crawling its way out, and making his head spin. There was a tangling sensation in his fingers, and he hugged himself, digging his nails into his clothed shoulders, as if he wanted to rip his skin off. He heard his blood pumping in his ears, and he let out a fitful sigh.

“Okay. Just breathe,” he told himself.

Right when he was about to make his way towards the door, he heard her quite whimpers. He froze and turned his head in the direction of the unmade bed in the center of the room. The girl slightly moved, bending her bruised legs against her bare chest. He almost forgot about her. Her hair was all over her swollen face, thin fingers were still gripping onto the sheets. Her dry lips parted, when she let out a deep sigh.

“Hey, vermin,” Michael roared, calling for his servants. They crawled out and kneeled before him, their heads banged against the floor. “Bath her and make sure she looks decent,” he ordered, and turned his look away from the girl.

Before opening the door, he closed his eyes and concentrated. He could not let anyone see that he was nervous.

Furfur was waiting for him as he had been ordered, leaning against the wall and playing with the feathers of his wings. He immediately straightened up when he saw Michael and gave him a quick nod. Even though Langdon had been treating him and Naberius like shit, he was loyal to him and knew that Michael was nervous.

“Master, are you ready?” worry was imprinted on his scared face. Michael was silent, but by the way his fists clenched, it was obvious that he was anxious. Without saying a single word, he put his hands behind his back and followed the demon to the Great Hall.

He knew exactly how many steps it would take them to make it to the wooden door. One hundred and five. He had been counting them all that time he wandered around his castle late at night. Every step echoed in his head.

It was so quiet, although the majority of the demons were in the Hall. The dreadful silence was the indicator of the highest power that was present at that moment. Something powerful, intimidating, tempting. The Devil himself. Even the snakes on the door were not moving. Michael froze a couple feet away from the entrance. He looked at Furfur, and the demon’s brows frowned at the desperation spilled in his Master’s blue eyes.

“He hates me,” Michael could not recognize his voice. He nervously licked his bottom lip; his eyes glistened as if he was about to start crying. He cleared his throat, and blinked the tears away,

Furfur stepped closer and put his bony hand with gnarled, clawed fingers on his shoulder, squeezing it slightly. It felt natural at that moment.

“My Lord,” he said, the tone of his voice stern and serious, “it’s your time to shine. Finally, after all these years you are going to receive your Father’s recognition and your name will be praised from the rising sun to the end of the day. Glory to You!”

Michael’s lips twitched. To be honest, demon’s words went straight to his icy heart, and it flattered at all the glory and gore awaited for him. Butterflies in his stomach were nearly ripping him apart with excitement. He was truly thankful to Furfur for his loyalty, but it was not in his style to express gratitude.

“Get your claws off my jacket,” he barked and pushed the door open.

His eyes wandered around the Great Hall. It looked bigger than usual; the decorations were gone; the only source of light was the numerous candles flowing in the air. All his guests were lined up in rows, kneeling before Michael’s throne that was occupied by a tall figure wrapped in a long black cape. His limbs were long and large; his bulk was as huge as that of a Greek god who was the most powerful of all. The elongated ears, snake-like locks of what used to be beautiful long hair of an angle, and curling horns were the signs of his greater betrayal he had been punished for.

Michael made his way forward and hurriedly dropped to his knees.

“Hail Satan,” he said; his voice ranged in the silence like a gong. He bowed his head, and his ponytail brushed against the marble floor. “Father, it’s an honor to have you here.”

Michael looked down at his hands that were placed firmly together against his chest. His nostrils flared at the overwhelming feeling of his Father’s power. It was filling up every crack in the walls, washing over Michael like a tide, making him realize how weak he was.

The Devil stood up, and everyone altered his movements.

“Father, she is here,” Michael said after taking a deep breath, “the ritual will be performed in the morning, and she will pay the debt.”

Satan’s baleful eyes that had witnessed affliction and dismay never left Michael’s face.

“It seems like you’ve been trying to win my condescension with all your might, my Son,” Michael’s heart skipped a beat at those words. He nodded, trying to hold all his emotions back. “I’ve been watching you all this time.”

Michael gulped. It seemed like there were only two of them in that huge Hall, talking to each other.

“All I ever wanted was to be good enough,” he whispered, but he knew the Devil heard him. “Every day of my existence I’ve been dedicating to finding a way to win back your trust....”

“You want to reign by my side,” Satan stated it as an axiom, and Michael fell silent in the middle of the sentence. “I can sense it, Michael, and I’m glad that my discipline methods have perfectly worked out.”

Michael did not understand anything, looking at the Devil in awe. No matter how bad he had hurt him, he was still his Father, and Michael would have done anything for him.

“You were a whining mess when you first came to me,” Satan continued, “but now look at you. Strong, powerful, full of hatred,” he grinned proudly.

“Father,” Michael felt his frozen heart swell with pride and admiration for the Devil’s wisdom.

“Now you are worthy of the responsibility that comes with governance.”

Michael had been waiting his whole life for those words. Everything he ever wanted was to be recognized, loved, and respected. The burden of being a misfit at home had been unbearable.

“Forgive me, your Highness,” Michael’s head turned at Purson who suddenly interrupted the Devil. “But it’s the Demonic Quorum that gets to decide whether the boy is worthy or not.”

Satan paused and slowly turned around to face the demon who decided that he could interrupt him and doubt his words. The sparks in his red eyes twinkled dangerously, and Purson instinctively recoiled backward.

“Ah, my lovely Purson,” he purred, “how considerate of you to remind me about the rules as if I am not the one who created them.”

“Your Highness,” the demon mumbled, “I-I-I just wanted...”

“Get out of my sight,” the Devil hissed. “Or I’ll demolish you to ashes faster than you’ll say “Quorum”.”

Michael had to admit that it was probably the best thing he had ever witnessed. Purson was kicked out of the Great Hall like a beaten dog. A smug spread across his lips as he watched the demon snap his fingers and disappear with an angry look on his face.

“He is right though,” Satan’s voice brought Michael’s attention back to him, “but we will take care of it after the ritual.”

xxx

When Michael was back in his suite, the first thing he heard was a loud scream from the bathroom that made his blood run cold. It was a sound from deep within that forced its way from the girl’s mouth as if her terrified soul had unleashed a demon. He pushed the door open, and froze in his place, watching the following scene: she was curled up in the corner; bloodstained footprints were all over the floor and the walls. His subjects were trying to reach up to the girl, but she kept hitting them with her hands while trying to cover her head at the same time. One of them bit her bruised ankle, and she cried out again; there were numerous scratches on her arms, breasts, and stomach — the evidence of her long fight.

 “Stop screaming, will you?” Michael barked, shutting the door behind him. The tiny demons backed off, growling quietly. Once they crawled towards him, one of them tucked on his black slacks with his slender fingers and pointed at the girl.

“Master,” the monster’s lipless mouth quivered in a grimace, “she doesn’t obey, Master...she’s bad.”

Michael snarled in response and twisted his wrist, ordering them to leave. Useless scum. They never managed to do their work properly. He wondered how they had brought the girl to him without killing her. It was definitely a miracle. He watched her trembling violently, as she hid her face in her palms, smearing the blood all over it. At least they ran her a bath. Michael put the tips of his fingers into the water to check the temperature.

“You are such a pain in my ass, y/n,” he spat out. With his hands behind the back, he took a step closer, towering over her with a pretentious look on his face.

She sobbed and looked at him through her fingers.

“The feeling is mutual,” she hissed.

He chuckled and raised his right hand in the air. The girl gasped at a sudden feeling of a strong invisible hand around her neck. With her eyes widened, she tried to get rid of it, but ended up only scratching the delicate flesh of her skin. She looked like a fish gasping for some air, kicking her feet in a pathetic attempt to get free. Michael tilted his head, and she stopped moving as if her entire body was paralyzed. He could hear her thinking “Just kill me. Please, let me die. Stop torturing me...”

“Bold of you to assume that you’d die peacefully.” Once their faces were inches away from each other, he looked down at her naked body and dragged his ring-clad hand over her abused stomach, enjoying the way she squirmed under his touch.

“I could rip your skin off,” he told her, pressing on one of her bruises with his index finger. He squeezed her side, digging his nails into her skin. “I could leave tiny cuts all over your useless body and watch the blood drain out from you,” he whispered, scorching her ear with his breath. His smooth silky voice made the threats sound even more dangerous. She could not believe that he was able to talk about all those things so nonchalantly. What a psychopath.

“However, I’d let you choose,” he was feeding off her terror, absorbing her fear. Their bodies were pressed against each other, and if it had not been for the intimidation, Michael would have found it erotic.

She looked away and shut her eyes, trying to resist a new tantrum that was about to burst out from her chest. Silly girl. She was still thinking she could hold it in. After what he had done to her.

“I despise you,” she whispered, and her voice cracked in the middle of the sentence. Before she could regret saying it, Michael’s hand slapped her across her left cheek, leaving a burning print of his palm. He hit her so hard, her head snapped back.

“You are so stupid,” he said, grabbing her by the hair and forcing to look up at him. She ran her tongue along her bottom lip to lick the blood off, wincing at the copper taste of it. “If you think that you have nothing to lose now, you are wrong, sweetheart.”

He let go of her hair, and it felt over her face like curtains, sticking to her wet cheeks. She turned her gaze away from Michael’s face not being able to handle looking at him anymore. He took a deep breath, collecting the remains of his self-control. Clenching his fists, he made a step backward and let go of his invisible grip. The girl’s body suddenly relaxed, and she had to put her hands out, holing into the edge of the bathtub.

“Get into the water,” he commanded. Her cheeks burned scarlet red when she realized that he was going to bath her. She had spent so much time naked in front of him that it was embarrassing. Crossing her arms against her breasts, she stepped into the bathtub, hissing at the stinging pain in her ankles. The water looked strange: it had a milky consistency, but it was too thick for the actual milk. She barely managed to sit down, since her muscles were stiff and sore from all the beating she had had to handle. She hated to admit that, but she still felt the presence of his cock deep inside her, and it was sickening.

“It hurts so much,” she whispered under her breath, mostly to herself. Closing her eyes tiredly, she hugged herself, running the tips of her fingers along her bare shoulders. The bath was nice indeed, but it made her feel even filthier and more vulnerable, especially under Michael’s heavy gaze.

“If you hadn’t tried to resist, you would have been better,” he said, undoing the silver buttons on the sleeves of his shirt.

The bags under her eyes were more visible when she looked up at him. She looked exhausted.

“Oh really?” she snarled in response. “You would’ve been gentler while raping me?”

Michael graciously set down on the edge of a bathtub, crossing his legs.

“You’ve suddenly become way too brave for the person who’s about to be sacrificed,” He rested his chin on his hand, staring at her.

“I’m going to die anyway,” she said quietly, strengthening her legs out. She ran her fingers through her hair coating it with warm liquid. Maybe it was the matter of herbs, Michael’s demons had added into the bath, which made her braver.

“You won’t die,” he said rolling his eyes at her, “I have a taste, darling. Of course, I’ve come up with something creative for you.”

He grinned, showing his perfect white teeth. The girl shivered at his worlds.

“You sound like a psychopath,” she said aloud what she had been thinking about him since her arrival to hell.

“Oh, do I?” he arched his brow and rolled up his sleeves, “I’d rather be a psychopath than the woman who screwed up her granddaughter’s life.”

“Stop humiliating my grandma,” she pleaded.

“Why? I’m saying the truth,” he took a washcloth and dipped it into the water. Her eyes widened when she realized that he was going to touch her again.

Michael shifted closer to her, and right when he was about to bring his hand to her neck, her body jolted as if she touched something disgusting.

“Don’t you dare,” she looked like a trapped animal, “I’ll scream if you touch me.”

He scoffed at her throat and squeezed the washcloth above her head, so her hair and face got covered in foam. She gasped and started wiping off the foam out of her eyes, ignoring Michael’s laughter.

“You can scream all you want,” he told her.

“Why are doing this?” she sobbed, her chin started trembling again. Michael thought that it was an extremely annoying habit of hers. Was she a neurotic?

“I can’t stand next to you before my subjects when you look this bad.”

She fell silent for a moment, letting him grab her by the hand to wash off the blood off her knuckles. He hummed approvingly and brushed off the strands off her wet hair to expose her neck.

“You have real self-esteem issues,” she noted quietly, looking down at her naked thighs that were pressed tightly in case Michael wanted to touch her there.

“What are you, my therapist?” He countered. His hand traveled down her neck to the valley of the breasts; he had to rub the washcloth rather intensely against her skin to scrape the dried blood off.

“You seem to know a lot about earthly life,” she said, understanding that there was no way Michael had learned about psychotherapists in hell.

He pressed his lips in a tight line when he lifted his gaze and looked at her through his hooded eyes.

“I do, unfortunately,” he murmured, moving his hands to her back, “the worst experience of my existence.”

Suddenly a tiny glimpse of hope sparked in her mind. What if she managed to talk Michael into sparing her? What if he had a weak spot? The thought got her so excited that it took her all her self-control to sustain an unbothered look.

“What happened? Did someone hurt you?” She asked, trying to sound not too interested. He was so close to her, she could feel his breath ghosting across her cheek.

As soon as the question slipped off her tongue, he wrapped his fingers around the nape of her neck. His grey eyes turned jet black with fury, and she clang to the edges of the bathtub trying to remain steady.

“That’s why I hate humans with all my guts.” His free hand got a strong grip of her ribcage, and for a moment, she thought he was going to break her bones. “Manipulative. Sneaky. Disingenuous. You think you can outsmart me, hmm?”

Suddenly his hand on her neck pushed her down, drowning her in the warm, milky liquid. She managed to take a breath and hold her it for as long as she could until red and black splotches started dancing in front of her. A desperate hot wave of animalistic fear came over her; her heart was beating rapidly in panic. He brought her back to the surface, and she gasped, feeling a burning scratch in her throat.

“I can hear all your thoughts,” he growled, while she was coughing and trying to calm down. “You aren’t getting sentimental on me, because I don’t have a heart,” and with those words, he pushed her down once again. The urgency for air was more apparent than ever. The water mixed with her blood and dirt looked revolting. He held her like that a bit longer than he had intended. There were not red blotches in her vision anymore; it was all black. Her head was pounding.

“Let’s consider this your training for your future swim in the lake,” he grinned, letting go of her neck.

The girl was choking, trying to spit out all the water in her lungs. Her eyes were red, and she could not stop panting. Michael was watching her with a satisfied smirk.

“What lake are you talking about?” she asked, her voice raspy and sore from coughing. “What’s gonna happen to me?”

“Now you have finally decided to wonder?” he mocked her and looked down at his shirt that got wet from splashing. “How considered of you.”

She shook he head. He was unbearable. Every question was turned into a mockery; she suddenly felt drained from the constant, pointless confrontation. She wanted to give up.

“This is unendurable,” she sighed heavily. “Do you ever answer a question without humiliation?”

The corners of his mouth twitched.

“Why miss the opportunity?” he chuckled. His mood-swings were intolerable. It seemed like he went from one radical mental state to another in mere seconds. “As for your question, tomorrow we will perform the ritual, and you’ll pay for your grandmother’s debt by becoming one of the prisoners of the lake Cocytus.”

“Is it going to hurt?” she whispered.

Michael reached up for a towel and beckoned her to come closer.

“Why does it matter?” he asked giving her the towel. She was thankful that he finally gave her something she could cover up her body with. “You have a chance to sacrifice your soul for someone who screwed up big time. I thought that you, humans, love dramas like that. Take Jesus, for example,”

She awkwardly stepped out from the bathtub; the water from her hair was dripping down on the marble floor.

“Does my grandmother know that I’m here?”

“Of course she does.”

She was nervously playing with the corner of the towel. A very dark thought crossed her mind, and it did not go unnoticed. Michael’s laughter roared through the room.

“You got to be fucking kidding me,” he had to wipe off the tears in the corners of her eyes, “did you really think that she wanted to take your place? That a miracle would happen, and she’d come to save you wearing a shining armor?”

She felt the heat spreading across her cheeks.

“Alright,” he took a deep breath. “If it’s so important to you, yes, she really wanted to help you out, but it was too late.”

Pure yarning and desperation hit her like a bullet.

“What about my family? My friends?”

“You’ll be erased from their memory.”

She did not ask any questions for the rest of the night. Once she left the bathroom she refused to get back to his bed, being too scared he would fuck her again. Instead, she curled up in a big leather armchair by the fireplace, sobbing quietly. Michael was watching her like a hawk in case she decided the commit suicide. It would have caused more trouble and he would have had to send her to the Seventh circle instead.

He was also concerned with the Demonic Quorum. Purson had known that Michael could not be by his Father’s side without everyone’s agreement, and there was no guarantee that the majority would vote in his favor. He signed, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly.

“Venite ad me,” he called for his snake, and it made its way to him, resting in his lap. He petted its silvery head with the tips of his fingers, considering if he could bribe some of the demons.

The only sounds disturbing the heavy silence were the crackling of the fire and the girl’s snoring. She finally surrendered to her fatigue and drifted off into the first real sleep.

xxx

Her brain did not understand the passage of time; the panic grew stronger as her mental facilities gave way to her emotions, but she could not cry anymore. In the grip of terror, with wild eyes and dilated pupils, she was on her knees before Michael, dressed in cadet blue slacks paired with a polka dot dress shirt, and his Farther. The Devil was much taller than Michael, and she found herself unable to even look up at him. Her eyes were piercing through a thick layer of ice she was standing on. A lily-white nightgown clanged to her body like the second skin. Fear was building like an unstoppable snowball in the pit of her stomach, and she could not concentrate on anything else. If Michael had seemed intimidating, the vibe radiating from Satan was insufferable. Agonizing darkness weighed heavily on her shoulders; it felt as if it was rotating around her, bringing all the negative emotions, a human being could ever feel, out to the surface. Loneliness and sheer depth of her abandonment took her anxiety to a level she never knew.

She heard muffled voices spilling out from behind. A ripple of mocking laughter at her defeat. Waves of rejection swept through her like a heavy stream, but she could not even cover her ears; her hands were tied behind her back with two silver snakes.

“Drink up,” a hoarse voice of a man with a lion head she had seen at the ball drew her attention. She looked up at him, and he grinned devilishly, bringing a cup filled with some liquid, to her lips. She took the first sip and immediately started coughing at the bitter taste.

Michael was going in circles around her like a predator, chanting in Latin; his blond hair was flowing in the wind.

Her body tensed when she felt Purson’s hands in her hair, braiding the strands. When Michael pronounced the last words of the spell, he took her hands in his palm and guided her to a wooden boat, which was waiting for them by the bank of the lake.

He turned around to face his subjects.

“Fiat justitia ruat caelum!” He roared, raising his hands up in the air, “Let justice be done through the heavens may fall.”

Michael saw the Devil nod approvingly, and it gave him a solid boost of confidence. He clapped his hands and turned his head back at the girl.

“Get in the boat,” he commended, but she could not move a muscle. She stood there completely frozen.

Two demons stepped forward and pushed her towards the boat with their shoulders, making her nearly stumble.

“Please, don’t do this to me,” she pleaded. “Please, I’m begging you, Sir...”

 The boat was gliding along the ice as if the water was not frozen at all. The girl was crying the entire time, terrified by the whisperings she could hear under the surface. Michael did not pay any attention to her, being too caught up in his own thoughts. His brows frowned when he started speaking Latin again. He stretched his hand out, guiding the boat to the center of the lake. They were almost there. At the heart of Cocytus. He could hear it vibrating and calling for him, longing for the girl’s innocent soul. He stood up, and took a deep breath, concentrating all his powers. With every word that slipped off his tongue, his voice got louder and louder until everyone on the opposite side of the bank could hear him. He threw his head back and closed his eyes.

The boat started rocking violently, and she had to cling to the edges with all her might in order to keep still. Michael flicked his wrists, and the ice started to crack.

“Stand up,” he ordered the girl without looking at her. She felt an invisible force bringing her up, and she could not resist it, awkwardly standing up on her feet.

If someone ever asked her what happened next, she would not have been able to answer. The last thing she remembered was pain that pierced through her body like a sword and the sight of Michael’s blond hair. Her eyesight blurred, but not only because of tears that welled up in her eyes. The insufferable pain made everything look fuzzy, and then she saw nothing at all. Her consciousness was floating through an empty space filled with a thick static. She was able to hear her heartbeat, pumping loudly and echoing in her ears, for a while, but then all the feeling in her body drained away. The darkness completely consumed her.

xxx

Every step that he made was dripping with confidence. He had a posture of the king that he was, strong, erect, graceful. He liked to think of himself as a phoenix who had suffered from the rejection on Earth and his Father’s dismay in hell, but who managed to reborn in the flames of the innocent soul.

The heavy weight of the eccentric crown inlaid with blood red rubies on top of his head was one of the best feelings and the proof that the Quorum had voted in his favor despite Purson’s attempts to bring him down.

Michael had all the nine circles under control and millions of demons in his service. He became the second most powerful creature in hell after his Farther, of course. He spent his days enjoying his privileges, going to the darkest corners of hell and watching every dead and living demon bow down to him.

He never forgot whom he owned it all to. Occasionally he went back to the Ninth circle and took a walk to the lake just like he had used to do it back in the day when he was an unknown misfit. It felt empowering to be back, being a different person.

He stopped in the center of Cocytus and looked around, inhaling the cold air.

Magnificent.

Michael slowly got down on his knees and placed his hands on the frozen surface. The wind was singing through the trees, as Michael started whispering in Latin. He concentrated on the bright spot of the light that was trapped deep at the bottom of the lake and called for it with all his power. She had a tendency to be really stubborn and ignore him most of the times.

 BOOM!

A tiny fist knocked from the other side of the surface in an attempt to get out, and he saw her face mutilated in agony. Michael’s lips twitched in a mocking smile.

“Hi, baby. Did you miss me?”

Tags: @langdons-rep @babypinkstyles94 @sammythankyou @sojournmichael @ritualmichael @kaigitana @ms-mead @sebastianshoe @langdonsdemon @iloveziggystardust @chaoticevillangdon @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @kahhlo @coloursunlimited @nightsblackroses @omgsuperstarg @deanfinite @storminmytwistedmind @ccodyfern @divinelangdon @bbyduncan @wroteclassicaly @starwlkers @drunk–confused @theghostoflangdon @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @langdvnshepherd @ticklish-leafy-plant @ccodyferns @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul

[cooljovialjupiter]

THE CONFESSION

Guinevere could hardly sleep that night. Her mind is full of unwanted thoughts for the morrow. A sudden pang of dread and excitement twisted inside her at the mere vision of it: she, finally confiding her feelings to Lance. She could only think of his reaction. Will he be happy hearing it? Will she accept her? What if he rejects her? What if he shuns her off? The overwhelming possibilities of either success or failure have made her restless above her bed. One moment, she was staring blankly at her ceiling, the next, she was facing her coffee table beside her bed thoughtlessly, a dimly-lit lamp laying above it. Neither positions had helped her ebb away what she was feeling, if anything the mobility made her more uneasy.

Who wouldn’t? A woman professing her love to a man has been a taboo topic and is still being regarded as such especially among conservative families. Men are ought to be the ones making the first move.

‘Nonsense’, her mind retaliated. ‘It’s 21st century now’, it reasoned. ‘Women can almost do anything what a man can do’, it went on. ‘And didn’t you reckon Lance feel something for you?’ her mind asked.

That’s true, she considered. Her instinct told her so. There have been circumstances where her hunches were confirmed, of course, at least for her. More often than not did she catch Lance glancing her way and stammered every time he speaks. And hardly in those times can he maintain eye contact with her. Lance has quite an expressive face for a man that anything he is uncomfortable of saying shows in his face. And although trying to appear oblivious about it, deep inside Guinevere, she knows her emotions are one tickle away to being unleashed and she’ll be all over him.

And to top all that, Lance has quite the temper when Derek, her suitor, visits her in their classroom. One time at it, his brows furrowed and his lips were pressed in a thin line as Derek gave her sandwich and a bottled water for snack. It was such a delight watching Lance in such a bad mood that she intentionally purred her voice as he mouthed thank you to Derek. This has earned her a chuckle from Derek’s. Derek is a muscly guy with a very chiseled and fine-looking face, but even then, he seems very goofy for a quarterback player. Lance, however, did not think it was necessary purring like that, said it was uncalled for and un-ladylike. But this, he said, after Derek was out of earshot. It excited her mind that Lance’s been behaving that way because he somehow felt something about her. And the thought roused her more than the idea that she’s got a suitor for the first time.

At the back of her mind, another voice had swarmed in, ‘You still got time to back out,’ it said in utmost contradiction. ‘He just doesn’t see you that way but a friend. You’re only like a sister she’s never had, that’s why he’s overprotective over you considering Derek’s reputation,’ it said shrilly, putting an end to the stretch of smile she just wore. The more she thinks of it, the more intense whatever building inside her makes her feel that she feels as though wetting in her nightgown.

She shook her head for the nth time now, hoping she could get a better grip of herself as to what to do. She is torn. Both choices are heaving terrible prices. If she really does confess and Lance rejects her, their friendship will crumble for sure and it will never be the same way again. If she stays zipped about her feelings, she will drown in the possibility that Lance will get a girl one of these days and she could only fake a smile because she will be stripped off of her right completely to have a say on anything about him as she’s only his ‘friend’. And she couldn’t point out which way is more terrible.

‘You’ll never know if you won’t try,’ urged the former voice inside her.

‘You can wallow in regret after he rejects you’, said the latter sardonically.

‘If only I could get a sign’, she sighed to herself. ‘Any sign’, she closed her eyes, draped her blankets over her shoulders until such time that her head is the only thing that lay visible on the bed in the view overhead. Her body under the wooly blanket.

The wall clock that stayed hung on the wall across her room above her vanity table says it’s already 10pm. This is one of the nights she stayed up late thinking. With a heavy sigh, she made up her mind, it’s tomorrow or never.

After what seemed a minute that she dozed off, a vibrating noise awoke her. Eyes closed, she tried reaching for her phone which lay pounding above her bedside table and mistakenly slid her thumb across the screen like she usually does when she snoozes her alarm. Not until he heard a voice.

“Gin, you up?”

“Gin?”

She thinks she heard the voice wrong. It sounded a lot like Lance’s. ‘I must be dreaming,’ she thought.

“Guinevere, pick up your phone!” Of course, it is Lance. What other voice can make her heart go ecstatic other than him.

Her eyes opened abruptly as it dawned on her. What the hell?!

“Did I awake you?” Lance said after she held her phone upward that her ceiling is the only thing visible on Lance’s end.

Why videocall at this hour? She thought. Is this the sign she has been waiting?

Did the universe finally concede defeat and conspired with her plan to confess? Or was it merely coincidence?

No, no… Lance wasn’t the type to do such calling, video-calling on top of that. He rarely even texts. This must be a pressing matter, she thought inwardly.

“I’m sorry. I’ll just drop this,” the other line said after hearing not a single syllable from her.

“No…no,” she snapped and hastily spit the words. “I’m just groggy from sleep. What’s up? Is something the matter?” she uttered hardly; excitement barely concealed. She finally faced her screen and got awed how dashing Lance looked even in his pyjamas. His hair unkempt. Eyes looking very troubled as it wandered in places as though looking at her is sin in itself, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

Only then did she notice why he can’t seem to focus his eyes on her and a tinge of pink crawled over her cheeks. How embarrassing, she mentally chided in. She quickly hid her soul under her blanket and pretended to look at him unabashed.

“Nothing… it’s just that…” he paused. The next words almost inaudible. “I’ve done a lot of thinking these days.”

You do? Well, I coincidentally do too.

“O…kay?” She feigned surprise as she clutched her hands on her bed sheet.

She felt frivolous because she sensed as though a confession is waiting to happen. Such anticipation is killing her. “And?”

“Will you be free tomorrow?” Right after these words were spitten did the stretch of her lips break unknowingly into a smile.

“I have something to tell you,” he said after so much contemplation. His expression looked as though a load has been lifted off his shoulder.

“Can’t you tell me here instead?” she tried nonchalantly. This guy, she thought, is he seriously adamant in keeping me awake all night? I can’t possibly sleep after the prelude of his confession, can I? she smiled giddily.

‘This is way much better than the sign I asked for, I really thank the heavens!’ she shouted in her head and imagined as though kowtowing in her altar for a hundred times and even then, it won’t be enough. She’s just so happy.

“I can’t say it over the phone,” he said determined.

“Shame,” she smiled.

She opted to keep her mum about what she has to say tomorrow either. It won’t be of use anymore if Lance himself confesses to her first.

“Quadrangle, 11am. I’ll wait for you.” Lance said in farewell.

Her smile stretched wider when Lance got up from his bed and dropped his phone on his carpet. She figured the phone fell because the screen completely went from still to unfathomable before it got picked and the screen went completely dark as though a palm has covered the camera.

A startled voice rang on the end of the line before she heard him whisper, “Did it get disconnected?”

“Obviously not! I’m still here, aren’t I?” Guinevere wittily said as though it was meant for her.

“Oh… Okay. I’ll drop it now. You better get sleep.”

As if, she thought. Silly Lance!

She barely got decent sleep that night. Her mind has zoned out to what would happen the next day. How she would willingly say yes when the most anticipated question is asked. And how she would jump in pure ecstasy to embrace him while he spun her round and round with not either of them getting dizzy. How he would brag to the whole campus how lucky he was to be with someone like her and how she would then respond with a demure yet pretty laugh. How he would swoon for her seeing her laugh… and the endless versions of this story she has quite formulated in her head. None of it seeming impossible which made her even more excited.

The minutes in that particular gloomy morning went by in a blur. She barely even noticed how Derek seemed to have forgotten to bring her snacks when the recess came which she had grown accustomed to already.

Well, in no time… it would be Lance bringing her the snacks she desired and she smiled inwardly again at the thought.

At exactly 10:45, their class ended. The pelting rain started to downpour outside as well. The weather was crazy… so was she. But it didn’t make her back down one bit.

She fumbled at her umbrella in her bag, opened it, picked and swung her jacket overhead and proceeded to go to the quadrangle. Five minutes before eleven and her knees started to wobble like Jell-O against the pitter-pattering rain. Not because of the cold whatsoever but because of the build-up anticipation from that night and the events that will happen onwards. Her heart started hammering like crazy against her ribcage and proceeded to hit it gently with her fist as though calming it.

When she reached the side of the quadrangle where a shed has been made available for students to sit and watch the vast soccer field, she immediately felt nervous. This was where she and Lance had agreed to meet and coincidentally so, someone had already taken a seat. This person’s back is facing hers. Even with the jacket, she could tell who it was. This person has a sporty build and the more she gets closer, the more it gets clearer to her.

She perfunctorily coughed the anxiety aside before blurting, “What are you doing here?”

The person was startled but quickly recomposed himself and when he faced her, Derek’s awkward smile was replaced with a goofy grin.

He motioned her to sit beside him, but she was flabbergasted. What if Lance arrives? Her expression was complicated. He hates Derek. What if he gets the wrong idea? I cannot let that happen, she mentally scolded herself.

“Scram, Derek… I’m waiting for someone,” she rudely said.

As if struck weird, he just stared at her and smiled. Eyes calculatingly calm, he said.

“I’m waiting for someone too—”

“I didn’t tell you to wait here for me—”

“He’s here.”

“What?” She asked incredulously.

Guinevere was speechless. Lance has just arrived; his locks sodden and his uniform drenched wet.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, Lance. I didn’t tell him to come here.”

“I know.” His eyes were guarded as though afraid he was treading on someone’s toes. “I told him to come.”

“W-what? I don’t understand.” Her head is in complete shambles. “It’s not him that I like, why are you pushing me to him? I thought you hate it,” she hardly spat, teary-eyed.

Guinevere was panicking. None of which that had happened now was in her bubbles of imagination earlier. Someone has messed with the order of the events and it’s making her utterly frustrated.

“I do hate it. Because… I like him.” Lance’s hands then find its way into Derek’s. Then there was deafening silence.

Guinevere’s jaw dropped from the confession. Her umbrella fell from her hold. Then, there were expressions of shouting before her. One she was all too familiar since she was a toddler.

The beam supporting the roof collapsed and for some reason, a gush of water seeped through her jacket drenching her cold before falling into the abyss… of her bed. She landed with a thud. Her mother was standing at the foot of her bed, in her hand a glass of cold water emptied into her face.

Before she even had the time to snap, she caught sight of the clock hung above her vanity table and it reads 12pm.

All events are fictitious and are used fictitiously.

This was supposed to be posted March last year. Halfway through the construction, I lost the will to continue writing and thought it would remain in my pc and will soon be put in the bin. But hey, I made it through. While browsing which documents to delete, I came across this 2-page draft and straight up finished while awaiting sleep. Thank you for reading!

[orionthayer-blog]

Every atom of their body screams in rebellion as they take their seat, breath quickening in panic as they spot the machine they assume is a lie detector. What the fuck? Then, they remember that in this world, the truth means nothing to people like the Benefactor - the false idols choking on power, living on borrowed time. They should know, they might have very nearly been one. So what they say doesn’t truly matter. Because it’s fucking subjective. Made a little calmer by their reasoning, Orion tucks their arms and folds them across their chest, projecting an attitude of nonchalance. Fake it til you make it. Or just trash the god damn machine. 

That doesn’t mean that they’re pleased to be here. 

“Shall we get this over with then?”

Despite the calm facade, their heart rate spikes as the machine begins to whir to life, its voice a monotone.  Hello, ORION. Let’s start with something easy, just to find our balance. Please state your name, age, height and place of birth for the record.

Orion doesn’t waste any time. The sooner they answer these god-damn, out-of-nowhere, what-the-hell questions, the sooner they can be out of here and back in a place where they can finally breathe. And doesn’t resemble a place where they could be killed with no one asking any questions. “Orion, thirty-two, 5′4″ - “ What was always a disadvantage proved to be an asset in their chosen life “- and here, Wrotham.” Not that my parents would be willing to confirm the validity of that statement. Raising their eyes, they stare at the two-way mirror blankly, almost as if they’re issuing a challenge. On the ship, they may be bidden to obey - but here, they can still cling onto some of their liberties.

Is that your true name and age?

Fire to rival Thane’s sparks inside of their eyes, threatening to destroy the cool persona they’re trying to project. And it’s only the second fucking question. Orion can’t help but wonder if they’ve begun to make it personal already - or if they’re not the only crew member with a past to hide. Either way, somewhere, there’s a fucked up person - if they can lay claim to that term - smirking, excited to see how they respond. “Yes.” They speak before thinking - and if the red flash of light is anything to go by, they’ve spoken incorrectly. Underneath the table, they clench their first. “Fine. No - not legally. But the law isn’t something that bothers me too much. Not the way its currently written.” Some truths, however, go beyond whatever was written down on a slip of paper thirty-two years ago. “Don’t think for a moment I’m telling you what my birth certificate says it is. That wasn’t the question.” Their words are spiteful - and they feel like a temporary victory, hallowed by a creeping fear. What if, deep in their heart, they are Orion Voix still after all? What if they never do enough to change that? Sighing, they unclench their fists - don’t let it get the better of you. “I’m sure you can look it up if you really want. It’ll be next to a death certificate that doesn’t exist.”

 After six months on a mission, do you regret accepting being part of this crew?

At this question, they’re almost tempted to smirk. As if we had a choice. Technically, they suppose, they could have turned down the mysterious benefactor. They could have decided that returning to their parents, or rotting in prison, was a better fate than the unknown. But they didn’t. And they haven’t changed their mind since then. “No.” A person of little words, they resent the blinking light - and how it coaxes more words from their lips. “It's not been as bad as I thought it would be.” Their words are softer, a guilty admission that they’re afraid someone will over hear. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not committed to the rebellion. Or that I don’t wish I was with them.” Those words are more forcefully executed, accompanied with an upwards tilt of their chin. 

Do you believe in what this mission is trying to accomplish or are you here for different reasons? If so, what are they?

“Sometimes I’m not quite sure what the purpose of this mission is.” But boy am I trying to find out. On the face of it, the truth appears uncomplex, laid out simply like the instructions Marrow barks in their direction. But without knowing the Benefactor, how can any of them truly know anything? Until then, they can’t answer the question to the fullest of their ability - which no doubt irritates the Benefactor to a fault. “I didn’t come here because of the mission’s purpose though - if that’s what your asking.” It feels like a complete answer, but a dim light implies an answer worth explaining further. “I’m here because this was the best option out of the ones I was given. I didn’t want to be handed back to...back to my family. And prison didn’t sound so great either.” They exhale heavily. "And the benefactor promised a clean slate - so I guess you could say I’m here to get it. It’s pretty straightforward.” Or it was, until the past decided to re-emerge. “And although I didn’t come here for my family-” Let the Benefactor work out whether they mean the one forged by blood or by choice “- I’m partly staying for them too.”

Do you have any friends on board? Any enemies?

Orion shoots both the machine and person lurking behind the mirror a quizzical look. Going into their social life seemed like an odd turn in questioning. At least it was an easy one. Seeing no reason to hide their social fabric, they plunge into a reply without any hesitation. One down, however many more to go. “Sure. Cosima and Fox are my closest friends.” Even if Fox seems to sometimes hate me. They push that thought out of their head - determined not to pour doubt into their relationship. It was difficult enough as it was - and besides, it was temporary. “And I know Raven from when I was a kid.” They never would have seen that one coming. Never. “And I suppose that Thane, Pyre and Eretreia aren’t bad.” Not sure if they were friends. At the request for enemies, only one name sprung to mind - along with an accompanying face that made their nose wrinkle. “I guess you could say I’m not that keen on Alyx...she’s sort of...uptight. It’s a mutual thing.” Not my fault, they added, albeit silently.

Are you loyal to this crew?

They know their answer instantly, without having to think about it. Momentarily a little guilty, they push it away - you don’t owe them anything. “I’m not disloyal. Like, I probably wouldn’t slit their throats in their sleep.” Probably - what a fickle word, they’ve done worse on a probably. “But no - not as a whole. Cosima? Yes. Absolutely. The rebellion she founded? Without a doubt.” They take pride in their words - and make no attempt to hide the truth. They’re sure the Benefactor knows all about that already.

Interesting. Very interesting. Now, if you don’t mind, let’s skip ahead to some more personal questions. What do you consider “family” to be?

They would have liked to have said they reacted with ire - a roll of the eyes and a spitting very original. But they didn’t. Instead, a hallowed, haunted look pierced their eyes - and they swallowed uncomfortably, their throat suddenly dry. It’s the one thing they don’t talk about - not to anyone. Both a sore and a weak spot, their first instinct is to lie. “I don’t think that much about family.” The light buzzes red. Yeah, Orion thinks, I’d see through my bullshit too. Sighing, they muster the truth, knowing each word, each trawl down memory lane, will be a dagger to their heart. “I don’t consider family within a nuclear sense - you know, biologically related people - two parents, two kids, family pet.” That structure shattered the fateful day they reached for the truth for the first time, removing their rose-tinted glasses, crushing them under their feet. “I’m dead to that family - so they’re dead to me.” The light flashes red. “Fine. Most of them are dead to me.” The lone soul remaining to them flashes before their eyes - a girl with a cascade of blonde curls, laughing at the beauty in the world. “So I found a family of my own. It’s worked out pretty well.” Orion glances at the light - waiting for the verdict. It flickers red. “It could be better. But nothing is ever perfect. And no family is either.” Like the sibling who accidentally helped their sister - the one who accepted them when no one else would - get locked away.

How do you feel following the orders of those who may not share your beliefs?

Three faces come to mind - Marrow’s melancholy, Kallia’s anger and the Benefactors...well, theirs is grey, anonymous. Each differs from them in a different way - from their perspective on the world to who should be calling the shots within it. “It’s not the easiest thing in the world. Not after - well, not after following a cause I believed in, heart and soul.” There have been times when they haven’t wanted to bite their tongue - when they have wanted nothing more than to let their temper fly free and unleash a torrent of hell. But untempered fury was always Fox’s expertise. And they inherited their father’s calculated anger - a creeping icy manipulation. “If I think someone is wrong I’m not afraid to call them out on it - even if I don’t do it directly.” Sometimes, however, their words fall on deaf ears. “But I’m managing.” 

Are you loyal to your beliefs or to the rebellion only? Do you think their methods are the best ones?

Orion crinkles their forehead, genuinely perplexed at the insinuation lying behind the line of questioning - and no doubt the turmoil it intends to stir. “I’ve never seen my beliefs and the rebellion as being two separate entities.” Logically, they suppose, they are. After all, one predates the other - and beliefs are something tangible, existing within a person. The rebellion is a living breathing entity - capable of action, blessed with the potential to change the world. “So I’m loyal to both. They’re not mutually exclusive.” The light flickers green - but doubt begins to take root inside of them. Just because you believe something, it doesn’t make it true. No sooner than the thought appears is it dismissed and waved away. This is just stressing you out - don’t let them get to you. They want you to stress, they want you to crack - and begin doubting everything in your life. Exhaling heavily, they regain their composure. “I don’t question Cosima. I trust her judgement completely.” For Orion, the two are interchangeable - one and the same. Briefly, they think of the devastation that lies behind them - particularly the synthetic blood splattered across their hands. It’s brutal. But it’s justified. That’s what war looks like.  It will be worth it in the end. “She knows what she’s doing. She’s been there from the start. So, to answer your question, yes. I don’t think there’s another alternative.” The green light tells them that their words are true. "I mean, Rome wasn’t built in a day. So I guess this Empire can’t fall in one either.” 

Finally, you have placed your beliefs over your sibling, Seneca, in the past, are you likely to do so again? 

Sharply, they snap their head up, a sobering melancholy hardening into steel, a cold anger seeping from Orion across the room. It isn’t even a question they can waft away or dismiss. No one is playing mind games with them. It’s the truth - and it’s always been a hard one to swallow. For all their guilt about the privilege they were born into, it’s easy to forget that they’ve always regretted this too. The two merge together inside of them, an uncomfortable mixture. One will always win out. Usually, it’s the former. “I’m not a soothsayer. I can’t see the future.” They try to keep their voice level, but they know they’re buying time. And the person across the room, hidden from view, knows it too. Above them, the heat of the light beams down. Their palms are thick with sweat. Orion wipes it on their trousers. This isn’t a confession they ever intended to make. But the truth crawls to the light of day - no matter the personal cost. “If it came down to between the two...if I had to choose...” They pause, carefully considering their words. Inside of their mind, two memories float to the forefront. The first is of Seneca in her first year of life, back when she was as pure as she appeared. The baby in Orion’s head clings on desperately to their fingers, the same way she always did. She never wanted to let go. She never did. That was me, I’m the one who severed us for good. “I know what my first priority is.” The second memory is the night of the massacre - remembering how they crept in first, strategically planning the weakest penetration points, the locations where the fighting would be most chaotic. So many people died that night - some at my hands. What would I have done if Seneca was there? Could I have killed them? It’s a question with a very clear answer. No. Even after all this time, they couldn’t have spilled a drop of their blood. Somehow, their sister continues to lay a claim to their heart. And most of the time, they hate that. “I would choose my beliefs. Every time.”

Orion closes their eyes. They don’t want to see what colour the light flashes.

ARMOUR