#that phonograph really sticks out huh

[smimon]

Day three of OC-tober, today with Anka, main hero journalist.

[a-ratt]

Building Bridges

Day 1: Kindness

Marinette March 2019

Marinette tapped her knees impatiently as she sat on the floor of Master Fu’s massage parlor. Nearby, Master Fu, himself, was opening the phonograph hiding the Miraculous, placing the returned Bee Comb back inside. She’d only just arrived several minutes ago, and he’d given a relieved sigh when she held the briefly lost Miraculous up.

However, she didn’t watch as he set it back where it belonged. Instead, she stared off into the distance, her mind muddled and messy. Thoughts ran rampant at a thousand miles per hour, crossing and clashing and crashing as she tried making sense of the scene that’d played out in front of her.

“According to me, Chloé just clearly demonstrated that there’s nothing exceptional about her.”

How could anyone say that? About their own daughter, no less.

“Marinette.”

She blinked. “Huh?” She looked up and found Master Fu sitting in front of her.

“I said, thank you for returning the Bee Miraculous, Marinette.” He smiled and bowed, hands pressed together. “I knew I chose you for a reason.”

She blushed and rubbed the back of her neck. “Of course, Master Fu. I’m still really sorry about losing it in the first place.”

He shrugged. “We all make mistakes. Is there something the matter?”

“No, master….” She looked down and tapped her knees, but then looked back up. “Well, actually, yes. I need to be somewhere soon.”

“I see, well, you are free to leave.”

“Thank you, Master Fu.” She bowed briefly and stood up. Then, turning to Tikki, she asked, “Do you have enough energy for another transformation, Tikki?”

Her kwami nodded. “Mmhm. Just say the magic words.”

Marinette smiled and brushed the hair over her earrings away. “Spots on!”

-

She landed on the roof of Le Grand Paris and glanced around before de-transforming.

“Um, Marinette, this isn’t your house.”

“I know, Tikki,” she said, stepping over to the roof access door.

“But you need to pack to go to New York City with Mme. Bourgeois! She won’t be happy if you’re late!”

“I’m not going with her,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Tikki. “I’ve got something more important to do.”

She opened the door and walked down the steps until she reached the top floor of the hotel. After getting her bearings, she moved towards the only room in the hall. She could already hear Chloé sniffling on the other side.

She raised her fist to knock but faltered. There was a tug on her purse strap, and she looked down at Tikki.

“Marinette,” she whispered, “what are you doing?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but a crash cut her off. She gasped and stepped back, but then heard a furious cry, followed by a choked sob. “Why won’t you love me!”

Marinette faltered, but tightened her fist and swallowed down her fear. She looked at Tikki, who retreated into her purse, giving a small, reassuring smile as she went.

“Okay,” she breathed, “here goes nothing.”

She knocked. There was a sniffle, followed by another, then Chloé shouted, “Go away!”

She waited a moment before knocking again.

“I said go away!” Chloé screamed. “Leave me alone, Jean! Daddy! Whoever you are!”

There was a moment of silence before she went back to sobbing. Guilt and pity twisted her gut painfully as she stood there, listening to the girl who’d bullied her for years in the most vulnerable state she’d ever been.

Whatever hatred or rivalry they’d had, she didn’t care. This was about more than past judgements and retribution. Someone pettier might’ve chalked it all down to poetic justice, but Marinette put it at a tragic childhood that no one should’ve ever endured.

She checked the door and found it unlocked. Opening it, she stepped inside Chloé’s room and found her curled up on the ground, back facing her. A vase was shattered nearby, shards, dirt, and roses scattered across the carpet and marble tiles. Beneath her shoe was the sunglasses she always wore, some of the glass sticking to her soles.

Marinette took in the sight with a grimace, but then found her resolve and took a step forward.

A hand wiped over Chloé’s face as a sob wracked her body. Marinette reached out a hand and touched her shoulder gently. “Chloé-”

The blonde girl jumped and swung an arm. She instinctively jumped away, dodging it by an inch. Her arch-nemesis scowled at her, running mascara turning her tears black and making the red of her bloodshot eyes pop out. “What part of leave me alone don’t you understand… Oh, it’s you.” Venom dripped from her voice. “What do you want, Dupain-Cheng? You’ve already won.

Her heart dropped and she opened her mouth to speak but closed it. Chloé glared at her for a second longer before she turned back around to burn holes into space. The tension was thick between them and she didn’t know what to say without setting her off.

There was a buzzing nearby and Marinette looked over to find Chloé’s phone on the ground. She glanced at the blonde girl before stepping over and picking it up. The screen was cracked, but not distorted enough for her to mistake the image of André Bourgeois.

She offered the phone to her. “Um, your dad’s-”

Chloé slapped it out of her hand before she could finish. The phone sailed into the next room over, hitting the ground with a crack. She cringed and backed away but couldn’t help the pitying look that crossed her face. “Chloé.”

Chloé, in turn, bared her teeth in a snarl, but halfway through expressing her fury, she let it go and slumped her shoulders. A few tears hit the floor before she wiped her face and sniffled. “Just… go away. Go to New York, at least you’ll be gone too.”

She looked down at the daughter of the mayor who’d always seemed invincible on her pedestal. Pity coiled in her stomach and her heart bled. Swallowing down her hesitation, she balled her hands into fists and took a deep breath. “I’m not going to New York.”

She waited. A second passed. Then, Chloé lifted her head up.

A weak “What?” was her response, followed by a confounded face. Marinette crossed her arms and looked away, wearing a frown the entire time.

“I… I’m not going,” she repeated. “I can’t-... I can’t do that to you.”

Chloé furrowed her brow and tilted her head, utter bewilderment all over her features. She could see her mind trying to wrap itself around the concept of her moral choice, but just not getting it.

“What game are you playing?”

Marinette frowned. “I’m not playing any game. I just… I can’t….” She shook her head and gave an exasperated sigh. “She’s your mother, Chloé, I can’t just go with her. That should be you.”

She expected an outburst. A confirmation. Some kind of Chloé-trademarked, snide remark. But all she got were falling eyes and drooping shoulders.

She shifted uncomfortably in front of the unusually quiet bully. “Chloé… why do you even look up to her?”

The blonde girl didn’t give an answer. She sat silently and Marinette watched her.

“Because she’s exceptional….” She curled up, drawing her knees to her chest. “She’s everything I’m not and… and I….” Her face scrunched up, something between anger and misery crossing her features. “I wanted to be her… ever since I was a little girl.”

She stepped over tentatively before sitting down next to her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Daddy used to want me to grow up like him. He wanted me to sit in a dusty, old office and sign papers all day, but mother… she wanted me to be like her. She wanted me to be her legacy, to be everything that was perfect about her and more.”

“But you didn’t live up to her expectations.”

Chloé glared at her. “Who’s telling this story? Me or you?”

“Sorry… but, I still don’t get it,” she rubbed the back of her neck. “Why her? Why not… anything else?”

“Why? because she has it all,” she snapped, rising up to stand over her. “Fame. Fortune. The love and adoration of her fans.”

“But?”

“But what? She’s got everything, she’s perfect.”

Marinette frowned. “But you’re not.”

It was less of a claim and more a prodding, a soft suggesting that Chloé confirmed with a brief glare before she flicked her eyes away. “All I’ve ever wanted was to be her.”

“Well, you don’t have to be.”

“What! Of course, I do!” She put her hands on her hips. “Weren’t you listening! She has everything! She is everything!”

“But she’s not you.” She stood up and looked her in the eye. “And you’re not her.”

Chloé pursed her lips before she bowed her head. “How could I ever be anything else?”

She reached over to put a hand on her shoulder, but the blonde snapped up and grabbed her ponytail. “I’ve modeled my look after her when she was my age, ponytail and everything!” She picked at her jacket. “Even my entire wardrobe has the same color scheme! There’s nothing that’s not her!”

What hatred or sadness had plagued her before was replaced with desperation and fear. She was forced to grab her wrists before she started drawing blood with her nails.

“Hey, calm down! It’s alright!”

“Nothing is alright!” She struggled in her grasp, tears streaking her mascara further. “I’m nothing if I’m not her! I’m- I’m-”

“Chloé Bourgeois!” she shouted. “Your name is Chloé Bourgeois and you are exceptional!”

Chloé stared at her, eyes wide and mouth agape. She swallowed and let go of her wrists.

“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks of you, especially your mother. No one can make you be something or someone you’re not.” She shrugged her shoulders and gestured over at the Ladybug themed carpet in the next room over. “Ladybug wasn’t always a superhero. She wasn’t always supposed to save the day. I wasn’t always going to be a fashion designer… I used to just want to play video games professionally.”

The blonde girl in front of her searched her face with lost eyes while she laughed awkwardly. “Look, the point is… you are exceptional, Chloé, no matter what anyone tells you. The only one who can tell you what you can or can’t be is yourself.”

They stood quietly for a few moments, studying each other. She wasn’t sure what Chloé was looking for, but she was searching for any hint that the blonde girl would be alright. She didn’t find it, at first, but slowly, the pain and anguish that’d stayed in her eyes waned away, leaving the blue a little brighter.

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but she resisted the urge to break out into a grin. “I’m going to, um, leave now.” She pointed at the door and stepped around her. She stopped just past her and turned around, patting her on the shoulder. “You’re going to be alright, Chloé. If you ever need anybody to talk to… I’m always open.”

With that, she opened the door and walked out into the hall, daring one last glance into the room at her arch-nemesis.

-

“Nino?”

Nino raised his hand up front. “Here!”

Mlle. Bustier scribbled on her clipboard. “Rose?”

“Present!”

“Kim?”

Marinette glanced back at Kim, who was in the middle of a conversation with Max. She rolled her eyes and looked back at Mlle. Bustier, who was looking over her clipboard.

“Kim?”

The Vietnamese boy turned his attention down to the front of the classroom and flushed red. “Uh, here!”

Their homeroom teacher shook her head and laughed under her breath. Then, she frowned. “Has anyone seen Chloé?”

Everyone glanced over at her seat, their eyes lingering on the empty spot next to Sabrina. The redhead, herself, seemed crestfallen, almost depressed.

There was a nudge from her left and she glanced over at Alya.

“Bet she’s busy crying about mommy,” she teased.

She responded with a frown. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Adrien tensing up. Nino, beside him, looked over then back and up at them.

“Talking about Mlle. Unexceptional?”

“Guys.” She narrowed her eyes. “Come-”

The classroom door opened before she could finish and in came a tanned girl dressed in white. Her blonde hair tumbled down her head, freed from its usual ponytail and a new pair of sunglasses sat on her head. A simple, white designer purse sat at her side.

Marinette sat up and locked eyes with Chloé. There was fear in those blue orbs, of judgement and jokes, but she sent her a smile and an encouraging nod of her head.

Chloé swallowed and looked at Mlle. Bustier. “Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t decide on what to wear.”

Their teacher, who was usually on top of things, blinked and stared at the mayor’s daughter for a second longer before she regained her senses. “That’s… alright, Chloé. Just don’t let it happen again, okay?”

“Of course, Mlle. Bustier.” She nodded. “Thank you.”

With that, she strode to her seat, walking up the steps. While Sabrina stood up to let her in, she leaned over to Chloé and whispered, “I like your new look. It’s very… exceptional.”

Chloé almost grinned, but then glanced around her and reduced it to a small smile. “Of course, it is. It’s me.”

She sat down then but gave her a final look of gratitude before turning to pay attention. She would’ve done the same if Alya hadn’t nudged her again.

“Girl, what was that?” she whispered.

She shrugged. “Just me doing what I do best.”

[crypticbeliever123]

Chapter 6 of my fanfic on AO3. Please let me know what you think.

After her father’s passing Sara spent a lot of her time organizing the hunt for more fugitives. So far, they’d hunted down an ogre, a harpy, two gremlins, a basilisk that was nothing like the Harry Potter books described, a vampire that Mick was more than thrilled about killing and bragged about endlessly, and quite a few demons. Len hadn’t joined them on any missions since his return, not wanting to make a scene in his current form, which always happened as soon as someone saw a monster in their midst.

Despite knowing this, however, Gideon kept insisting that he go to join the others on the Bridge. So he did and when he got there he found Sara tossing him some sort of watch.

“What’s this?”

“A little something I had Ray whip up. Seeing as how you can’t really leave the ship looking like you do without drawing attention we figured you could use this to disguise yourself,” Sara answered.

“I call it a personal image inducer. It basically uses advanced holographic technology to cover your form with your human image instead of this. Not that there’s anything wrong with this look or anything. I mean it’s a decent look and-”

“Haircut, shut up.”

“I see,” Leonard nodded.

“Personally I think the gadget is a bit unnecessary. I mean it’d only take me a couple of minutes to whip up a good old-fashioned glamour charm-” Constantine began.

“Thanks, but considering what a huge failure you’ve proven yourself to be the past few weeks I think I’ll stick with the tech. It’s more reliable and Ray actually knows what he’s doing,” Leonard interrupted, slipping the watch on and activating the disguise.

“Aw, thanks,” Ray smiled at the compliment.

“I’ll have you know that I do know what I’m doing when it comes to magic. I just haven’t seen anything like this nor has anyone else that I can think of. You wouldn’t expect Edison to invent a time machine if all he’s ever known is light bulbs and phonographs, would you?”

“No, because time travel has nothing to do with light or sound, it has to do with time and quantum physics or whatever the hell it is. Meanwhile, what you do is just a bunch of spells and all spells have to do with is magic which you claim to be an expert on.”

“Alright, that’s it. You know I have had enough of you whining about how much of a screw-up I am just because I need more time to solve your petty little problems!”

“You wouldn’t think it was so petty if you were stuck in a twenty-four seven adrenaline rush with heightened everything driving you crazy, day in and day out. You think it’s so easy for me to be like this? Huh? Do you?” Leonard screamed as he shoved the demonologist.

“Alright that tears it!” Constantine shouted, balling his fists, ready to strike before Sara intervened.

“Would both of you knock it off?! I’m tired of the two of you fighting over this. Leonard, John will find a cure for you when he can. You have to be patient. No one in all of magical history has ever come across a changeling who couldn’t change forms anymore, so it might be a while before a solution can be found. And John, I get that Leonard can be a bit abrasive at times but he’s just as frustrated as you are, especially since he feels like he’s going out of his goddamn mind all the time from being stuck in changeling form for this long. So just both of you give each other some space and let’s get on with the mission, shall we?”

“Fine. What’s the mission?” Leonard asked.

“According to records famed monster hunter Van Helsing was spotted hunting an unidentified creature in 1848 Victorian England, which is odd considering that at the time he would have been about half the age he’s reported of being in these accounts,” Gideon answered.

“Shit,” Len muttered under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” Zari asked.

“I know Van Helsing. He tried to kill me countless times when I was in monster land. He’s a relentless, sadistic maniac who enjoys hearing his victims scream and watching them writhe in pain. Personally I think the only reason he became a monster hunter is so that he could kill something and not go to jail for it.”

“How’d a human end up in the monster realm?” Nate wondered aloud.

“According to the rumors back in that hellhole, he was trying to kill a witch but her magic versus his backfired and sent them both into monster world. The fact that he’s survived what might as well have been centuries as the only human in a land of monsters has made him a very, very feared individual amongst supernatural creatures.”

“Hold up. Centuries?” Wally asked.

“Yeah. Time doesn’t really exist in monster world. No aging just a lot of endless misery. Most of us just kept track of the days passing by tracking our sleep patterns.”

“Well however long he was there he’s out now and hunting something that we should probably also get to. Not to mention the fact that Helsing being a number of years in his own past could almost certainly screw up the timeline. So, everybody strap in and let’s go hunt us a hunter,” Sara said in her usually snazzy way.

“I love her send-offs,” Wally said with a big grin.

The team arrived in 1848 England and because of cholera outbreaks in the area were forced by Gideon to go to the Medbay to receive pre-emptive shots to prevent getting sick. After exiting the ship the team split up to search for Van Helsing and whatever creature he may have been hunting.

“Ugh, I hate shots. My arm feels all itchy now,” Mick groaned as they searched the area.

“No one likes getting shots, Mick, but would you rather your arm itch or would you rather start puking your guts and have severe diarrhea before ultimately coming to a painful and gross death?” Leonard asked.

“Fair enough. How’s the watch working out for ya?”

“Works well for a disguise but I’d really rather actually be able to change back into my old self. Seriously, Mick, I know people think you’re the hotheaded one between the two of us but when I’m like this I-” Leonard said before being bumped into by a pedestrian.

“WATCH IT!” Leonard snarled, grabbing the man’s arm roughly.

“Sorry. Sorry,” the man whimpered before running off.

Leonard sighed, shaking his head before turning back to his partner.

“See what I mean?”

“Yeah. That was even worse than when Red Jr. tried to take a photo of you to send to the Flash and you pinned him to the wall. By the way, the kid don’t accept stolen phones as replacements.”

“Yeah well he shouldn’t have tried to snap a picture of me in monster mode. Why he had to blab to Team Flash that I was even alive I’ll never know.”

“Could be worse. He could’ve-” Mick started to say before someone in the distance caught his eye.

“Mick?”

“Amaya?” Mick said, ignoring his partner completely as he ran into the crowd to chase after his former teammate who for whatever reason was in 1848 England.

“Amaya!”

“Mick!” Leonard shouted, trying to catch up to him before getting shot by a blow dart in the neck.

He turned his head to where the dart came from to see an unfortunately familiar face.

“Didn’t think you could get away from me that easy did ya?” Van Helsing said with an evil grin as Leonard passed out to the sound of sinister laughter.

[thysparrowsdrew]

full draft of chapter 3! (albeit in need of major line edits)

In a room at the nearest Motel Six, freshly-painted warding sigils drying on the walls, Margarita sits on one of the two beds and bows her head in prayer. “Holy Ishim the Angel, Holy Kadmiel the Angel, Holy Jehoel the Angel, hear this prayer. Benjamin and Castiel need to speak with you about a danger to the flight. Starting frequency is 428.934KHz; hopping algorithm is Roadhouse three-point-one; seed is five-nine-gimel-zayin. Amen.”

Even for practiced angels, frequency hopping requires concentration: In the back of her mind, Benjamin goes quiet with focus, and Castiel, seated at the room’s table with Sam and Dean, stares unblinking into the middle distance. (The table’s fourth chair sits empty.)

“Did she say Roadhouse?” Dean asks Castiel, his voice suddenly hoarse.

Castiel doesn’t acknowledge the question.

“He can’t really hear you right now,” says Margarita. “Neither can Benjamin. We humans are alone for a little while.” She remembers the twenty-first book of the Winchester Gospels, and she offers a gentle, sympathetic smile. “Yes, I did say Roadhouse. Angel radio, as you call it, wasn’t built for privacy. Your friend Ash Miles invented the first frequency hopping algorithms-- a way for Raphael’s enemies to speak without him listening.” Of course, Raphael’s army adopted use of their own algorithms not long after his opponents-- but it was a war of unequal strength, and secrecy advantaged the weak more than the strong.

Sam blinks in surprise. “I never knew he was involved in that.”

“Oh, he was more than involved. He was a key part of the war effort. Without his help, we’d have lost in the first month.”

“So you were one of Cas’s soldiers?”

Margarita’s expression shutters. “Vessels aren’t soldiers. We’re wielded by them.”

“Now that’s some bullcrap,” says Dean. “It’s your body on the line, ain’t it? If you’re in the war, you’re in the war.”

Margarita’s breath catches. She reminds herself that this is Dean Winchester she’s speaking to; she can’t be surprised he blindly stumbled into a minefield and detonated half the charges. “Dean, I know you mean well, but you really don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I was the freaking Michael Sword; I think I--”

“You don’t understand what you’re saying,” Margarita repeats, in a tone that brooks no argument. Castiel was Benjamin’s general, not hers. Benjamin’s friend, not hers. Benjamin’s betrayer, not hers. Soldiers bled and died under Castiel’s banner of free will, and in victory, he spat on all of them: I thought the answer was free will, but I understand now. You need a firm hand.

After Castiel proclaimed a new day on Earth and in Heaven, Benjamin returned to Margarita in a panic, his thoughts nothing but bone-deep terror and a clamor of need to hide need to hide. For three days, he was unable to speak. All he could do was show fragments of memories: the killing fields, the blackened grass, the speech. Benjamin remembers the speech as it happened, but Margarita remembers it like a broken phonograph, jumbled and skipping and repeating. Every word is seared into her.

She wasn’t Castiel’s soldier. She can’t have been.

And the part she hates most of all: She’s right. Vessels bled alongside soldiers, died alongside soldiers, but soldiers were soldiers, and vessels were vessels. She went into every battle knowing a simple fact: If she died at the hands of the enemy, only one name would be spoken of, and the name would not be hers.

After a minute of no one speaking, Dean tries to crack the tension. “You do a great scary nun voice,” he says. “You ever teach at a Catholic school?”

Sam smacks his brother’s arm.

Another minute, and Benjamin and Castiel break from the trance. /Ishim is alive,/ Benjamin tells her, while Castiel relays the same information out loud to the Winchesters. /He’ll meet us here in four hours. Jehoel was killed this April, Kadmiel last September./

Two years ago, unable to stomach any more news of his siblings using their vessels to murder each other, Benjamin started blocking every frequency except Heaven’s emergency frequency and the flight’s distress signal frequency. It doesn’t surprise Margarita that this is the first they’ve heard about the deaths, but-- /April was six months ago. Why didn’t Castiel already know?/

/He asked Ishim that same question. Ishim said he thought Castiel wouldn’t care./

/Wouldn’t care? That’s what Ishim came up with?/

/I know. Ishim managed to find the one thing in the universe Castiel is innocent of./

/It’s a miracle. You could write crimes on a dartboard and throw with your eyes closed, and nine times out of ten, you’d hit a true accusation. But Ishim went with wouldn’t care./

Margarita tunes back into the Winchesters’ conversation. “--Jehoel,” Sam is saying. “Do we give their vessels a call?”

“Benjamin and I don’t know their names,” says Margarita. “All we know is that they both took new vessels after the Fall. Castiel?”

“I don’t either.”

“Did Ishim say where they were killed?” asks Sam. “The police reports might have the vessels’ names.”

“Kadmiel was in Porto Alegre,” answers Castiel. “Jehoel was in London.”

Sam pulls a laptop from his bag. “We’ll start with Jehoel.” He sets the laptop on the table -- at an angle where Margarita can see the screen, if she leans to the left -- and gets to work. In just a handful of minutes, he has full access to Scotland Yard’s databases. Margarita wonders if this is a new skill, or if the prophet Chuck Shurley neglected to mention it. Sam types, pauses, types again, and announces, “I got three homicide cases from April where the police report mentions wings.”

“How do we know which one is Jehoel?” asks Dean.

“You won’t,” says Castiel, “but I can identify her from her wings.”

“Like fingerprints?” asks Sam.

“Like a nametag.” 

Sam pulls up a picture from the crime scene. “Is this her?”

Margarita leans to the left. She doesn’t recognize the vessel -- a stocky white man, middle-aged, light-haired -- but Benjamin can read the wings. /Gamliel,/ he says. 

“No,” says Castiel. “That’s-- This doesn't make sense. Those are Gamliel’s wings, but he died in Sirjan eight years ago, trying to save the forty-sixth seal.”

“He survived,” says Margarita. “We saw him three years ago.”

Gamliel was a widely-respected commander known for his exceptional dedication to his troops. For a moment, Castiel looks like he might argue against the idea that Gamliel could be a deserter, but then he turns to Sam and says, in a rougher voice than before, “The next one.”

“Wait,” says Margarita. “What was his name? The vessel.”

“Do you think he’s part of this?” asks Sam.

“No, but his name should be spoken. He’s owed that.”

“This says it was, uh, Blake Harris.”

“Thank you.”

In the year after the Fall, Margarita and Benjamin spent hours every day searching the Internet for new vessel killings. Benjamin said that he needed to see them, needed to know that at least one angel would remember the human toll. He says the same thing now that he used to say after each news article: /I will remember him./

Sam loads a picture of the next case’s crime scene. “Jehoel,” Castiel says, at the same time Benjamin says, /That’s her./

“Says her name was Abigail Dupont,” Sam reads.

“Here’s hoping she has some answers,” says Dean.

Again, they prepare the spell; again, Castiel gives his blood before Benjamin can offer; again, Castiel speaks the incantation. “Hello, Abigail,” he says to the bubbling bowl. 

“Hey, Mysterious Voice From The Ceiling. I don’t think you’ve been in this dream before. This was a fucking awesome concert, and they’re gonna do Misery Business soon, so if this is about to turn into a nightmare, can you just wait a little? Like ten minutes? I really love that song.”

“You aren’t dreaming.”

“No offense, but I’m pretty sure I am.”

“Do you remember what happened on the night of April third?”

“What are you, a cop?”

“I’m an angel.”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry, dude, but I already said the big Y-E-S to somebody else, and I don’t wanna kick off some game of angelic musical chairs by switching. You’re gonna have to keep looking. Uh, I guess you can stick around for the rest of the concert, though, if you want? I bet listening to hymns all the time gets pretty boring.”

“I’m not interested in taking you as a vessel. Even if I were, you wouldn’t be able to serve as one in your current state.”

“Jesus Christ. Whoever taught you guys reverse psychology needs to be shot. My current state? Is that supposed to make me want to prove you wrong? Oh no, Mr. Random Holy Jackass says I’m not good enough, how will I--”

“Your current state is dead, Abigail.”

A long silence, and then, “Fuck.”

“My condolences.”

“Yeah, well, eternal Paramore concert. Can’t complain too much, I guess. What’s your name, Mystery Angel?”

“Castiel.”

“Double fuck. Is this an end-of-the-world thing?”

“No.”

“It’s just, from what I’ve heard, when you’re involved, it’s usually an end-of-the-world thing. Or it turns into an end-of-the-world thing.”

“It isn’t an ‘end-of-the-world thing’. I’m trying to find the angel who killed you and Jehoel.”

“You mean psycho eyepatch lady? Jehoel said she wasn’t an angel.”

“She wasn’t? What was she?”

“A human. That’s what Jehoel said, anyway.”

Castiel draws a sharp breath. “How did a human kill Jehoel?”

“Oh, it was super freaky. It was like eyepatch lady was carrying angel kryptonite. Jehoel tried to throw eyepatch lady back with her mind -- it’s super cool that angels can do that, by the way? -- but anyway, this time, it did jack shit. Eyepatch lady didn’t budge. She was all, ‘Your little angel tricks won’t work on me, Jehoel.’ And then we got stabbed. Y’know, I always thought if I got stabbed, it’d be from mouthing off to the wrong person? That’s what my brother used to say. But it was just ‘cause somebody wanted to murder the angel living in my head.

“Hurt like a bitch when it happened. It was funny, some dude tried to stop her, and eyepatch lady was all, ‘I don’t want to hurt humans.’ Guess I didn’t count, huh?”

“You did count,” says Benjamin, firmly. “You were still human. What was done to you was wrong.”

“Oh, hey, Mystery Angel Number Two. I like the way you think. What’s your name? Any other angels on the line, or is it just you two?”

“My name is Benjamin. Castiel and I are the only angels here.”

“Cool. Anything else you wanna know?”

“Can you describe her?” asks Castiel.

“White, thin, long red hair. Uh... Five foot six. Early forties, maybe? The eyepatch was black. Over her right eye. Right when you’re looking at her, not her right.”

“When she attacked you, did she use any incantations?”

“Nope. Not one. I asked Jehoel if she was a witch, and Jehoel said she wasn’t.”

“Did she have any inhuman abilities other than immunity to Enochian magic?”

“If she did, she didn’t use ‘em on us. Oh, wait! Shit. I remember now. She has a husband. I guess he’s a demon or something? Jehoel called eyepatch lady ‘Akobel’s human wife.’”

Castiel and Benjamin both straighten in alarm. “You’re certain Jehoel said Akobel?” asks Castiel.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.”

“And the woman,” says Benjamin. “You’re certain she had red hair?”

“I mean, not red red. Not like a firetruck. Natural red, like, uh, what’s her-- Amy Adams. Is that helpful?”

Akobel’s red-haired human wife. Margarita saw Lily Sunder only once: standing with Akobel on the porch of their home in Orono, Maine, looking down with fear at the flight of angels on her doorstep. Go back inside, Akobel had told her, as though human-built walls could delay Heaven’s justice. /Ishim’s report of her death seems to have been greatly exaggerated,/ says Benjamin, with little humor. Out loud, he says, “Very much so.”

“Thank you for your help, Abigail,” says Castiel.

“No problem. Hey, when you find the psycho, kick her ass for me, okay?”

The blood stops bubbling.

“Who’s Akobel?” asks Sam. “The way you two reacted, it seemed like you know him.”

Castiel doesn’t answer. Inside Margarita’s head, Benjamin is similarly silent.

“Uh, guys?”

“They’re talking to Ishim,” says Margarita. “They want to know how Lily Sunder is alive when Ishim killed her over a century ago.”

“That’s the woman’s name? Lily Sunder?”

Margarita nods, mentally thumbing through the metaphorical pages of the mission briefing. To most angels, especially before the Fall, vessels were simply weapons to be wielded. Sharing mission details with one was like talking to your blade: not forbidden, exactly, but odd and likely indicative of a deeper problem. Benjamin was different. Before each mission, he always shared the briefing in full, and he always offered a choice.

“Lily Sunder was a professor of apocalyptic literature who learned how to summon angels,” says Margarita. “She summoned Akobel, married him, and knowingly birthed a nephilim. Akobel successfully concealed his crime for five years. After Heaven became aware, the flight was sent to kill the nephilim and render justice unto its parents. Mirabel executed Akobel, with--” she falters, remembering her hand’s inhumanly strong grip on Ephram Sunder’s arm, only letting go when his body went limp “-- with Benjamin and Castiel’s assistance. Ishim executed, or claimed to execute, Lily and the nephilim.”

“He took mercy on Lily,” says Castiel, rejoining the conversation. “Only Lily.”

/Mercy on a human?/ asks Margarita. /That doesn’t sound like the Ishim we knew./

/He believed Akobel corrupted her into mothering the nephilim. After recent events, he now believes the opposite./

“Cas,” says Sam, “you guys, uh...”

Dean’s eyes are hard. “You killed a five-year-old, and now the mom’s gunning for revenge. Can’t say I blame her.”

“We completed a mission,” says Castiel.

“Some mission.”

“When nephilim come into their power, entire worlds die. It was horrific, but it was necessary. It was right.”

“Well, if you say so.”

“Wait,” says Sam. “Sister Margarita, you said a century ago? Even if Ishim let her live back then, how is she alive now?”

“Rowena’s older than that,” says Dean.

“Rowena’s a witch. Lily’s human.”

“Ishim believes she made a pact with a demon,” says Castiel. “A deal to grant her youth and immunity from our powers.”

/Castiel would know about working with demons, wouldn’t he,/ says Benjamin, unable not to.

“What, like a crossroads deal?” asks Dean. “That’s a hell of a long time for a demon to wait to collect.”

“Yeah,” says Sam. “And Lily’s waited a long time, too. This all happened a century ago, right? But the first death was in 2015. Why not sooner?”

The answer is obvious. Benjamin tries not to make it sound like an accusation: he keeps his tone neutral and his eyes on Sam as he says, “Our wings.” Before Castiel can respond, he continues briskly, “Akobel’s vessel, Ephram Sunder, might know something about this demon pact. We should speak to him.”

Dean looks skeptical. “You think he’ll want to help us stop his wife from getting revenge for their kid?”

“The spawn was Akobel’s, not Ephram’s. To knowingly sire a nephilim is one of the few crimes against Heaven that outweighs serving as a vessel. Ephram’s soul ascended after Akobel’s execution. Had he consented to the union, his soul would have gone elsewhere.”

Dean and Sam blanch at the implications. “Shit,” says Dean. “So for six years, this guy was...”

“And Lily was aware of her husband’s true nature throughout their marriage. Do you still doubt Ephram will want to help us?”

Sam shakes his head.

For the third time, they prepare the spell: glyphs, blood, holy oil, sage, myrrh. Benjamin speaks the incantation.

Nothing happens.

They wait.

Nothing continues to happen.

“Maybe you got the wrong name?” asks Sam.

Castiel shakes his head. “That was the name we received in our briefing.”

“Well, maybe they got the wrong name.”

“I doubt it,” says Benjamin. “The ancien régime made many mistakes, but not this type of mistake.”

Knowing what he needs to do next, Margarita says, /It’s okay. I’ll be fine./

/I hate it, but it’s our best option here. If we were closer to the portal--/

/You would take me with you. I know. But you’re right; with the cards we have, this is the best play we can make. You’ll be safe from Lily there, and I’ll be safer here./

“You think someone’s trying to keep Ephram from talking?” asks Sam.

“I think something is very wrong here,” says Benjamin. “Ishim and I will investigate in Heaven. We’ll leave the Earthly investigation to you.”

“Hold on,” says Dean. “You’re just gonna run off to Heaven and leave Cas here?”

“My presence on this plane makes Margarita a target, and until we know how to counteract Lily’s powers, I’m unable to defend her. I will not allow her to come to harm because of me.”

“I understand,” says Castiel, with a glance at Dean.

“Maybe she doesn’t want you to leave,” says Dean, not really speaking to Benjamin. “Maybe she wants you to stick around even though it’s dangerous. Did you think about that?”

/Oh, for God’s sake,/ says Margarita.

/Oh, for Father’s sake,/ says Benjamin. “Margarita agrees with me that this is our best course of action. We discussed it using these fascinating little things called ‘words.’ They’re a new invention; you might not have heard of them.”

Dean opens his mouth, then closes it with an audible click. Castiel shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Sam’s expression is a long-suffering plea: See what I have to deal with?

Warmth floods Margarita’s veins as Benjamin fills them with enough extra grace to heal nearly any injury. /One Phoenix Down./

/I’ll try not to get impaled by any one-winged angels while you’re gone./

The joke falls flatter than the Tower of Babel. /Please. Please, stay safe. If anything happened to you because of this, I... I couldn’t.../

/I’ll be safe. Go. Te esperaré./

/Volveré a ti./ Benjamin tilts back her head, pours out of her open mouth in a radiant cloud of shimmering blue-white, and disappears into a vent.

[wingsy-keeper-of-songs]

Can’t Help Lovin’ That Man

I got a request from a friend who was feeling pretty low. She wanted something comforting, and while August isn’t the comforting type, I just couldn’t get him out of my head. So, this story is for my girl @movieexpert1978. I am in no way affiliated with Water for Elephants or the OC in this story. Elisa belongs to @movieexpert1978

Hope ya’ll enjoy!

Links to the songs on the record player: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5lpfIeC-NU

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CzGVYyu9gsE

Her head was killing her. All hyperbole aside, it really was. She hadn’t the faintest idea how it had started, but it did and that was what brought her into a dark, dingy little bar downtown. Fuck, but she needed a drink. It probably wouldn’t do much for her head, but it could numb the pain some. She sat at the bar, head in hands as the bartender placed a whiskey and Coke in front of her.

“Rough day, honey?” He asked her, making conversation.

“You don’t know what rough is, sister.” She answered, not in the mood to socialize. “Don’t suppose you’ve got an aspirin back there along with the booze, do you?” He shook his head.

“Afraid not, got yourself a headache, have you?”

“Sent straight from the depths of Hell itself,” she replied. “And it’s only getting worse.”

“Well, here’s hoping the alcohol will counter the pain, yeah?” The bartender said with pity, patting her hand.

“Cheers to that,” she deadpanned and knocked back her drink. Should have asked for it straight up, she thought to herself. Coke fizzed on the way down and it tickled her sinuses which made her headache worsen. She winced when the door opened, letting light into the place and a man took a seat not too far away from her. Despite her eyes aching from the burst of light, he looked very familiar to her. He wasn’t very tall and was dressed simply in a rather grimy-looking white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and tan riding breeches. He looked almost as bad as she felt. He ordered a whiskey straight up and chugged it down like he was dying of thirst.

“Wondered when your ass would wander back in here,” the bartender said to the stranger. “Things not looking so hot on the job front there, August?” The gentleman shrugged and winced.

“Does anything ever look good during economic depression?” He snarked and Elisa had to hide a snicker. He had a fair point. He glanced her way and raised an eyebrow. “It isn’t very polite to stare, you know.” He said.

“Who says I was looking at you?” Elisa retorted, now embarrassed that she’d been caught looking at him. It couldn’t be helped, really. He looked so familiar to her, and it made her head pound as she mulled it over.

“What else would you be staring at, the record player?” He asked, arms now folded over his chest.

“Forgive me for gawking, Carey Grant.” She remarked sarcastically. The corner of his mouth twitched a little, but he smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes, but it was a relatively nice smile. For the Devil, that is. He turned back to his drink, elbows on the bar and chin on his hands. His eyes hooded and he sighed deeply through his nose. Again, she wondered where she’d seen him before. A voice in her aching head recalled something.

“Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the most spectacular show on earth!” Her head snapped up as her eyes brightened with recognition.

“Mr. Rosenbluth, right?” She said to him. He tensed and pushed away from the counter.

“Who wants to know?” He asked, eyes narrowing at her.

“No one in particular,” she shrugged. “Just recognized you, I guess. I went to your show a few months back.”

“Did you now?” He said, eyes downcast.

“Sure did, I remember that red frock you were wearing. It was quite the spectacular show.” Elisa said, attempting a smile at him. She’d heard something about the circus going belly-up, but she wasn’t clear on the details.

“It isn’t shit now,” August muttered bitterly. “The damn thing went under after that stampede.”

“So, that’s what happened.” Elisa said. “A stampede? Did the animals get loose or something?”

“They were let out by the workers,” August said, sipping his drink. “Ungrateful, that’s what they were. I work hard to provide for them, to feed them and give them a place to belong. What do I get in return? They try to fucking kill me.”

“You were a ruthless son of a bitch, August.” The bartender said as he cleaned a glass. “I’ve heard nothing but horror stories regarding what went on behind that show. You just count your lucky stars that you survived that disaster.”

“What do you know about it?” August snarled back. “You weren’t there! Have you any idea the kind of stress running that business causes?!”

“It wouldn’t stress me out enough to throw a kid from a train,” the bartender replied coolly. August winced at the reminder and he looked away, glowering at the phonograph in the corner of the bar.

“You threw people from a train?” Elisa asked, eyes wide. “What the hell for?”

“For not listening to him, or for disobeying him.” The bartender answered for the irate August. “See, our friend here has a temper on him the like of which a toddler would call absurd. It drove his wife away and nearly cost him his life. Now, ‘stead of doing something about it, the man does nothing but mope all day here with me. He’s a mean bastard, but he’s my best customer.”

“Sitting right here,” August grumbled. “Hearing everything you say.”

“I can say what I want, I give you alcohol.” The bartender said. “And the lady ought to know what she’s getting herself into if she thinks about dragging your drunken ass home.”

“You’re married?” Elisa felt something churn in her stomach. Probably the Coke.

“Was,” August replied with an annoyed glance at the bartender. “She left me for our resident veterinarian.”

“Last I heard, they joined the Ringling Circus,” the bartender interjected. “And old August here is too damn poor to go after them.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Elisa said to him sincerely. “Losing someone you love can be hard on a person.” August snorted as if he quite doubted that.

“She was terrified of me, and for damn good reason.” He glanced up at her and his eyes were flat, dead almost. It was a bit unnerving to say the least. “I used to hurt her, apparently. I have no recollection of it, but I remember the bruises.” He clenched his fist and brought it down hard on the counter. “Fuck!” He swore loudly.

“Hey, take it easy. You break any of my shit, you pay for it.” The bartender said. “And I doubt you have enough on you to do that.” August’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he slumped forward.

“I hate this,” he muttered. “I fucking hate this.” Elisa sat a bit closer to him. A stupid move on her part, sure, but this guy was in need of some TLC and badly. He looked like he walked through all nine circles of hell barefoot.

“Hey, join the club.” She said with a little shrug. “But would you mind not making such a huge racket about it? My head’s killing me.”

“Sorry,” he muttered and not sounding sorry at all.

“Bullshit,” she called him on it. He snorted.

“Don’t suppose you have a name to go with the face, do you?” He asked as he looked up at her.

“Elisa,” she answered, sticking out her hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” August deadpanned, shaking her hand and returning to his slump against the counter. “You mentioned something about your head killing you?”

“I get migraines sometimes, and they happen at the most inopportune moments, shit you not.” Elisa explained. “Thought I’d drop in here for a drink or something, but then you come along. Of all the gin joints, am I right?”

“I’m in something of the same boat,” August said. “I got my head split open by an elephant with a bullhook and a grudge.”

“From what I’ve heard, you deserved that.” The bartender said to him. “You treated that poor animal like garbage. And an elephant has a long memory. She probably could sense what a piece of work you were.”

“Yeah well, lucky me I lived.” August spat. “All I’ve got left is that goddamn train and my brandy, but that’s almost all gone now. Thank God for opiates.”

“Those will kill you if you get too addicted to ‘em,” Elisa pointed out. “Mixing medicine with alcohol will mess you up.”

“Kid, he’s already messed up.” The bartender said. “He’s been messed up since day fucking one.”

“Still sitting here,” August muttered venomously.

“I have to get my kicks somewhere.”

“Maybe you could lay off the guy a little, huh?” Elisa stuck up for him. “Sure he’s a real piece of work, but harping on him isn’t gonna help matters any.”

“The girl has a point,” August said, looking over towards her. She shrugged.

“Sure I do, but then again so does he.” She jabbed a thumb at the bartender who just blinked innocently. “You can’t go around asserting authority over everyone. You’re just as broke and as hopeless as the rest of us. And abusing an animal?” She shook her head. “That’s definitely not the way towards redemption, but you know something…” she looked him right in the eyes then. “I got a good feeling about you. I think you know this. I think deep down inside, and I mean really deep down, you know we’re right. You know what you did was wrong otherwise you’d show no remorse for it.” August hadn’t had anyone speak to him like this before. It was interesting, but at the same time it sort of pissed him off. But she was right, something inside him nagged. She was right and that was what bothered him. He could go right ahead being the bastard he knew he was, but it wouldn’t change anything. He wondered what could happen if he stopped. What if he changed? Would anything else?

“Girl’s got some wisdom on her,” the bartender said with a smile at her. “You ought to take her advice, August.” August managed a nod in reply. Elisa managed a smile in return, and her headache seemed to fade. The pounding was stopping and was actually fairly tolerable at the moment.

“I don’t suppose I could interest you in dinner, could I?” August asked, looking at Elisa. “I seem to have a lot to make up for.” Elisa raised her eyebrows.

“Think you could manage to keep your hands to yourself?” She asked, arms folded in front of her chest. August looked taken aback, but he bit down the caustic reply.

“I could do that.”

“Then sure,” Elisa smiled at him. “That sounds like a good time.” August could feel an answering smile tugging at his own lips and he looked down at the counter again.

“I’m pretty certain I could scrounge something up to give you a decent time,” he remarked. “Not exactly all the way to good, but it’s a start, isn’t it?” ``` Dinner turned out to be harder than he thought. Like the rest of the masses, he was flat-ass broke, and scrounging up something turned out to be for naught. But August was nothing if not stubborn. He wanted to show the girl a good time, and make up for something at least once in his life. If he couldn’t prove it to Marlene, he’d prove it to Elisa. There was something about that girl that August found himself admiring, whether it was her spirit or the blue of her eyes, he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that he needed to start making up for the things he’d done and he had a long way to go. He figured dinner was a good start. Since he couldn’t afford to take her anywhere, he settled on making her dinner. He thumbed through a collection of his mother’s old recipes, humming along to Billie Holiday on the radio. He’d settled on a traditional German dish (it had been so long since he’d had anything from his home) and he got straight to work. When it came time for Elisa to show up, he was just in the middle of setting the table when she knocked.

“It’s open!” He called over his shoulder and she walked right in. He really tried not to stare at her because it was rude, but holy hell she looked stunning. She favored simplicity over anything too fancy, and the style of the Depression really seemed to suit her. The dark blue of the dress brought out the paleness of her skin and dark brown of her unfashionably long hair. She was wearing fire engine red lipstick and gave him a nervous smile.

“I clean up pretty good, don’t I?” She said in a higher pitched voice than usual. God yes, she did. August shook himself out of his reverie and he offered a smile in return.

“You could say that. You look really nice.” You look nice, excellent choice in compliments, you idiot he thought to himself. She actually blushed and he considered that a small victory.

“Well, thanks. You look...nice as well.” She’d hesitated and August wondered why. He’d cleaned himself up since he saw her last, or at least he tried to.

“I try,” he shrugged. “Well, I had thought about taking you out someplace, but that was harder than it sounded.” He shrugged. “You’ll have to settle with my cooking instead.”

“You can cook?” She sounded surprised and he tried not to be offended because of fucking course he could cook.

“I survived on my own somehow, yeah?” He said instead. Elisa looked impressed and he chalked another victory. Maybe this wasn’t going to be too hard afterall. ``` Dinner was actually pleasant. Not only had he succeeded in not poisoning his guest, she actually seemed to like the food and the company was pleasant. August forgot just how lonely he was without Marlene with him until Elisa came stumbling into his life.

“I think this is the first time a man has ever done something like this for me,” she said with a smile that he was getting fond of. Careful now, a voice warned him.

“No one’s ever cooked for you?” He asked, lamenting and celebrating the fall of manners in young American men. She shook her head.

“Just my mother, but I don’t count her. The other dates I’ve been on were just dancing or it was a paid for dinner. Nothing like this.” She gestured around his home. “It feels nicer somehow.”

“You dance, hm?” He asked curiously and smiling at her. Elisa wasn’t sure if that made her nervous or excited.

“I used to. I’m a bit of a klutz. Got two left feet.” She said, tucking her hair behind her ear. August wondered if he would ever be allowed to do that and then stopped himself because this was moving awfully fast. Good Lord, he must have been lonelier than he thought.

“I could teach you,” he offered and wondered where that thought came from. Her eyes lit up and it was ridiculously attractive.

“I think I’d like that,” she smiled at him. He stood up and her eyes widened.

“Wait, we’re doing this now?”

“No time like the present,” he replied and turned on the phonograph. Billie Holiday’s voice came crooning out and Elisa found herself pulled to her feet. “I like this song,” she said to him as he put an arm around her waist and took her hand.

“Billie’s songs are best to dance to,” he remarked with a grin. Elisa found herself liking that crooked smile of his more and more. Still, a voice warned her. You need to be careful around him. He was trying, though. She had to give him credit for that.

“I like Ella,” she said as they swayed a little. “She’s just so smooth and pretty.” “I have one of hers too if you like,” August offered. Elisa nodded and he went off to switch the record and Ella’s smooth voice filled the little train car. As they danced, Elisa looked up at August and thought she saw something there. His expression may have seemed flat to anyone else who knew him, but there was a spark there. It was something not a lot of people got to see from him. The hardships of his life seemed to vanish and the only thing that remained was the August that Marlene had fallen in love with. Elisa could see why. He was a poisonous kind of charming, that kind of forbidden fruit women would read about. Handsome as the Devil, and twice as sly from what the bartender had told her. But here he was something different. It was as if every cruelty had melted away when he looked at her like this.

“August,” she said softly.

“Hm?”

“The music’s stopped.”

“Mm,” he didn’t seem to notice. Or care, really. He just continued to sway with her, like the way he’d dance with Marlene. Elisa wondered what brought this change upon him from the caustic man she’d met in the bar.

“We should stop,” she whispered.

“We have stopped,” he whispered back. She just continued to look at him and he looked right back at her. His expression was still flat, but there was a softness in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. He sighed for a moment before reluctantly letting her go. “You should go,” he said finally. “Don’t want to keep you too long.” Elisa nodded.

“You know,” she said as she turned to leave. “I wouldn’t mind doing this again sometime.” He looked back at her.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” she smiled at him. “Maybe I’ll make you dinner next time?” He smiled back at her.

“I think I’d like that.”

“Good night, August.” She said as she opened the door. He raised a hand in farewell, hoping beyond hope that he’d see her again.

[ecotone99]

[SP] The Masquerade

Note: This is a stand-alone vignette set in the same universe as a long-form story I'm working on, The Heplion Contingency, which is in a cyberpunk/space opera setting where psychic powers take the place of technology. This story (and others) can also be found in Wattpad and in my writing blog.

Three Towers Inn. The Abyri-style pub’s name was as generic as they came, but Maya didn’t mind. There was something comforting about its lazy stereotyping. You know what to expect from this place, it seemed to suggest, and that familiarity was precious when settling into a new town. Especially when one has something to hide… which Maya did. Being constantly on guard was stressful, so any occasion to under-analyze was welcome.

She opened the door, stepped inside, and sighed deeply. The muggy air inside, lined with the smell of wood paneling, filled her lungs as the buzz of idle conversation washed over her, interspersed with the lull of some folk-pop on the phonograph. Welp, time to start it all over again, she thought as she briefly scanned the place – phony-vintage décor all around, furnishing that leaned more toward cozy than chic, and a remarkably diverse-looking crowd, a lot of it non-human. Since there’s nobody I know who can show me the ropes around here, this looks like as good a place as any to start from scratch.

She slowly walked toward the bar, eyeing a couple ladies who seemed more or less promising. No rush, she thought. Better take it slow, not blow it on my first day here. She rapped the counter thrice for luck – once for the Father, once for the Mother, once for the Elder – and hailed the bartender. “Beer,” she called out.

“New in the area?” the Halachian bartender, a hulking figure with a slanting forehead and large teeth, asked as he brought her drink.

“Yeah, just moved in.” Maya took a sip. “Aaah. Good stuff.”

The bartender smiled. “Huxtaber. Not many people know it, but if you ask me, nothing beats it.”

“You know how to make a girl happy.” She raised the glass in a toast and took a swig.

“You looking to make friends? ‘Cause you’ve got a candidate,” he said, pointing with his chin.

Maya sighed. Here come the creeps, she thought, and slowly turned around to see who he was indicating. To her glad surprise, it was a young, light-skinned woman, leaned against the wall by the pool table, who was intently eyeing her with a smirk.

Am I really this lucky? Maya thought. It was just a random bar, not the local scene; she expected a lot of fruitless nights before she found someone like her. Well, she wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth. She smiled at the girl for a second and turned back toward the bar, with trained discretion.

“Hello there,” the lady said a short while later, sitting beside Maya. Her playful tone indicated she really was in the right track. “Love seeing a new face around here.”

Maya smirked. “Yeah, I’m new in town. Fresh off the portal today, in fact. Say, you having anything?”

“Same as yours sounds good.” She kept her intense eyes fixed on Maya’s. “So, where are you from?”

“One of these for her,” Maya said to the bartender. “Oh, and Abyron. Lived there my whole life, in fact.”

“Wow, really? This place must look so corny for you! I actually feel bad for you, seeing your culture butchered like this.”

Maya laughed. “Nah, it’s fine. I like it, really. Abyri pubs are the same all around the galaxy, y’know? So even the phoniness feels really familiar.”

The girl picked up her beer. “I see. And I guess we’re pretty used to phoniness in our daily lives, huh?” She stared deeply into Maya as she took a swig.

“You know it, girl. Can’t put the mask down.” She held the other woman’s gaze for a while, drinking in the moment. “Oh. I’m Maya.”

“Anji.” They exchanged two brief kisses in the cheek. “My pleasure.”

“Why, hello there, Anji.” She laid her head on her hand, elbow on the counter. “Gotta say, I’m really glad to have found you. Thought it’d take me forever to run across someone like us in here.”

Anji laughed. “Yeah, I know what that’s like. Took me a couple months to find the local scene when I rolled into town, myself. Can you imagine, all that time alone?”

“Wow, months? And I thought Abyron was hard… Aren’t there a lot of us here?”

“There are, but you know how it is. It’s not like we advertise ourselves. It’s a big city, and without anyone to introduce you, takes a while to find the others.”

Maya held Anji’s hand, smiling. “Seems I was really lucky to find you, then.”

Anji smiled back. “You were. And yeah, I decided to take a chance. Maybe it’s because of how it was for me, but when I saw you giving off signs, I thought I wouldn’t wait around for confirmation.”

“Really glad you did, girl. Sticking your neck out like that, coming on to someone you’re not sure is up for it. Thanks… really.”

“So…” Anji took another pull of her beer. “You ready to meet the rest?”

“Really?” Maya was fine with just enjoying Anji… but, on the other hand, she could really use the feeling of community right then. “You’re introducing me to the local scene? I’ve heard it’s wild!”

“You have no idea.” She had a wicked look. “Hey, there’s a club where we can be ourselves.” She leaned in and whispered. “I mean, really be ourselves… or whoever we want. No masks… unless you want them, that is.”

“Wow… I mean, I’ve heard about places like that, but never thought I’d go to one!” She laughed. “You must be thinking it’s really backward where I’m coming from, and I’d say you’re about right…”

“I’m talking total freedom,” Anji whispered. “Let your imagination run wild, y’know?”

“I don’t know…” Maya’s smile betrayed her excitement. “I mean, I’d love to meet our local fellows, but I’ve never let myself just… go like that, y’know?”

“Come on… wouldn’t you like to just be yourself? I know it can be scary, but I promise you, once you’ve tried it, you’ll be glad you did.”

“Ah, what the hell!” She got her wallet out to pay for their beers. “You only live once, right?”

“That’s the spirit! Come on, let’s ditch this place.”

A couple minutes later, they were in a cab, rolling toward the harbor district. Maya didn’t quite catch the address – not that it would’ve done her a whole lot of good if she had, with how unfamiliar she was with the city. The recklessness of what she was doing made her heart race… and she liked it. Well, being in the back of a cab with a hot girl was appealing, too – but Maya realized the uncertainty, the whole danger of going to a seedy part of town in the middle of the night with someone she just knew, thrilled her as well.

Anji remained silent throughout the trip. She stole glances at Maya once in a while, a mischievous smile on her face, as if she could barely contain an exciting secret. Maya, for her part, would rather throw herself at Anji right then and there, the cab’s conductor be damned – however, feeling in uncertain footing, she thought it best to leave the initiative to the other girl. I’ve gotten this far, she pondered. Don’t have an opportunity like this every day… better not blow it by being too thirsty.

At last, after what seemed like an interminable ride, they arrived at a small alley tucked between warehouses, entirely too quiet at this hour of the night for comfort. “Don’t worry,” Anji said, apparently sensing Maya’s apprehension. “The area’s safer than it looks. We make sure of that.”

“O…kay.” Maya wasn’t sure if that last part made her feel more or less secure, but she was in too deep to start wondering now. “Lead the way, then!”

The pair left the cab and made their way to a discreet iron door at the edge of one of the warehouses. A large man, wearing a cheap suit and a grim face, stood beside it with crossed arms. As they approached, he followed them with a distrustful gaze, in silence.

“Hey there, Ashkon!” Anji said, with a chipper smile. “It’s me, Anji!”

The man’s face opened up. “Oh, hi, Anji! Looking good today, huh?”

“Thanks! I’ve found this lost sheep that I’m bringing back to our herd.” She tugged at Maya’s arm.

“Uh, hi there!” Maya waved. “I’m Maya.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Ashkon said. He produced a set of keys, unlocked the door with a loud clang, and opened it for them. “Please, come in.”

“I’ve never seen a nightclub this… discreet,” Maya said, as she followed her partner into a narrow corridor and down a couple flights of stairs.

“What can I say?” Anji shrugged. “It’s exclusive. Just us. Gotta make sure of that, right?”

“I suppose so…” This has better be really good, Maya thought.

At the bottom of the stairs, another burly man guarded a heavy door. “Anji”, the mysterious girl said. “And this is Maya. She’s one of us.”

The man nodded, and then unlocked and opened the door without saying a word. “Jambie’s quiet, but he’s really sweet,” Anji whispered.

Some light piano music wafted out of the door, together with a quiet, subdued buzz of conversation. As the pair stepped inside, Maya was struck by an astonishing scene, whose visual extravagance poorly matched the tinny sounds that preceded it.

A wild menagerie of creatures, vaguely humanoid in shape but highly varied in every other aspect, was scattered across the tables of a finely appointed dining hall. A purple-skinned, green-haired woman was talking to a large, upright-walking cat and a shifting blob of oozing orange flesh nearby. At a buffet counter to the side, a being with a serpent’s head and bright, multicolored feathers all over their body patiently waited for their turn, while what looked like a short, wide man made of moss-covered rock availed himself of hors d’oeuvres. A wild bout of laughter came from a table, where a hyena-headed woman wildly gesticulated, cocktail cup in hand, while telling some story to a group of friends, one of them consisting of a collection of simple, blocky shapes in primary colors. A young woman who appeared to be made of ice sat silently across a large man, whose bulbous, bulging flesh constantly changed colors and textures. And, interspersed among the crowd, there were several creatures with the same appearance – humanoids with metallic, shimmering skin, broad arms and legs ending in three thick digits each, and completely smooth, featureless heads that jutted out from their torsos at a forward angle.

A rasping laughter came from Maya’s side. “C’mon, don’t just stand there gawking! Let’s mingle a bit.” She turned and saw the voice came from what looked like a rainbow-colored wolf person.

“W-what’s going on here?” Maya asked, nervous. “Who are you?”

“What? You don’t like it?” The wolf-person laughed again. “Oh, I see. That’s not how you met me. I’ll change back, if it makes you more comfortable.” The creature’s form shifted, its snout pulling back into its face, hair growing out on top of its head and being reabsorbed into the skin on the rest of the body, its size, proportions and color changing, until it settled in the form Maya had known as Anji. “I’ll still go back to that one tonight, though,” she said, wagging her finger. “Been meaning to try it out for a while.”

“Wha… aaaaahhhh!” Maya had so many questions at once that she couldn’t manage to formulate anything other than a primal scream.

“Lady?” One of the metallic-skinned creatures approached, gently touching Maya’s shoulder with its three knobby fingers. “Are you alright?” it said, with a voice like a coil being scraped across a lead pipe.

“Aaaah!” Maya recoiled from the creature. “NO! I am not alright!”

“Maya?” Anji said softly. “Calm down. It’s okay. We’re among friends here.”

“Get away from me!” Maya pushed her back. “Whatever you are, you all are not friends!”

“Is it because of all these true-forms in public? Hey, I know our conditioning runs deep, but you can relax now. Look, I’m going first.” She changed shape again, this time assuming the form of one of those metallic-skinned beings. “See?” it asked, with that strange metallic voice. “Why don’t you try it yourself?”

“Anji!” the other creature said sternly. “That’s not one of us. Why did you bring her here?”

“W-what are you people?” Maya asked.

“That can’t be right, I…” Anji paused for a moment, focusing intensely on Maya. “Shit, you’re right. Look at the mess in her head!”

“You’re in my head?!” Maya exclaimed.

“How the hell do you bring someone around without scanning them first?” the feathered snake yelled. Several creatures were approaching, forming a circle around Maya and Anji.

“I… I was so sure, it seemed so obvious…” Anji said, changing back into her familiar human form. Some of the beings closest to them shifted into large, intimidating forms. “What was all that business about ‘masks’ and ‘people like us’ you were going on about at the bar?”

Maya’s eyes welled up. “I… thought you were like me.”

“Like what?” Anji asked. “What is it you were trying to hide so carefully?”

Maya sobbed. “You know…” she strained out her words. “Homosexual.”

“What?!” the creature that had approached them earlier exclaimed. “Why the hell would anyone need to hide that?”

“Yeah, Maya, c’mon,” Anji said, a quizzical look on her face. “That doesn’t make any sense. You’re a lesbian, you go to a lesbian bar. Just look one up, there’s a bunch of them.”

“No…” Maya struggled among her tears. “You don’t know what it’s like back home… I couldn’t just announce that to anyone!”

“Tsk,” the hyena-headed woman clicked. “Those Union humans. So barbaric.”

“Wait…” Anji touched Maya’s arm, concerned. “You really went through all that trouble because you were afraid of the repercussions, if the wrong people found out you’re gay? Wow… that’s messed up.”

“Who gives a shit?” one of the creatures that had transformed into a large, hulking figure bellowed. “She’s not one of us, and she knows. You know what that means.” Other creatures started yelling in agreement.

“Wait, what?” Maya asked, suddenly snapped out of her anguish. “What does that mean?”

“Calm down, folks,” Anji pleaded. “She’s lost. She… was just trying to live out a lie. You all know damn well what that’s like, don’t you?”

“Of course we do,” the metallic creature said. “Still, she knows about our secret.”

“I won’t tell!” Maya blurted out. “I promise, I won’t! I wouldn’t even know what to tell in the first place!”

“Shh.” Anji hugged Maya. “Hush. Don’t worry.”

“I’m serious,” the strange being insisted. “You know how it is. I get that she’s like us on some level, but what difference does it make?”

“The difference,” Anji said, producing a knife from under her coat, “is that we make it painless.” She thrusted the weapon into Maya’s heart through her back, before the woman could realize what she meant.

submitted by /u/SirKazum [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2YS9Bvp