August Writing Challenge: Late in the Evening

[Sean *]

It's writing challenge time! To enter, just post a ficlet (300-4000 words suggested) in this thread. When the voting for this month's OTM winners comes around, a voting poll will go up for this as well.

The Challenge: This hasn't been touched in four years, so let's revive it. All stories must be set between the hours of one and five in the morning.

The rules:

• Characters must be in Hammel canon, but the ficlets are not site canon unless expressly stated, and anything setting-breaking will not be site canon regardless.
  
• Entries must be more than 300 words.
  
• You can enter no more than three ficlets. Any ficlets posted after the original 3 will not be considered for voting. If you want to post more, however, have fun.
  
• Ficlets must be titled.

[Caelum Mitchellson]

(Trigger Warning: Depression, Verbal Abuse, Harsh Language)


Jealous Is The Night When The Morning Comes

There he was, standing in the doorway in his old bedroom at Mitchellson Manor. Something was going on downstairs, harsh language between his parents. Not that this was an uncommon thing for young Caelum to hear, what was strange though; they were talking about him. His shadow on the wall made him jump, it was larger than normal and his 12 year old mind thought someone was sneaking up behind him. This was not the case, it was just those new bright green appendages of his. Taking very careful steps, he made his way to the bottom of the staircase and eventually to his dad's office. 

"Harold! Keep your voice down, you'll wake the children." Ingrid pleaded in a hushed yell. Caelum thought maybe she had heard him outside the door and he held his breath. "Oh, what's wrong Ingrid! Don't want the little bastard to know what he is!" Harold was definitely not keeping his voice down at all, and the bottle sloshing around in his hand let the young boy know why. Another typical thing for Caelum. "For the last time Harold, I did NOT cheat on you!" Ingrid tried to maintain her composure, but it didn't work. "Caelum is your son!" The man spun and got right in his wife's face. "That fucking freak is no son of mine!"

Caelum was crying, the tears in his eyes stung, but he did his best to keep quiet. His father's other words in his ears, "Boys don't cry, you take everything like a man, understand?" That was years ago, but the kids had all learned to cry in private and to do it quietly. "For all I know, that could have been caused by some disease you picked up from that whore secretary of yours!" Ingrid shouted at Harold, who began to raise his hand. Caelum panicked and pushed the doors open, sobbing openly and loudly. Harold turned on him and moved in close, very quickly. He grabbed Caelum by the shoulders and...


Caelum shot up in bed, dripping with sweat. It wasn't the first dream like that he'd ever had, but luckily it had been awhile. Rubbing his face he looked over at the clock, it was only ten passed 2 in the morning. "Great, a little over an hour of sleep, that's just freaking wonderful." Pushing himself up and out of the bed, he groaned. In the dark, he fumbled for his pills in their hiding place and realized the bottle was empty. "Welp, that's not good." He chuckled softly. Then slapped himself in the forehead when he realized that he forgot to pick up his prescription earlier that day and the pharmacy was closed. Thinking calmly, he checked his phone to see what time they opened. "6 o'clock. That's not bad, little over three and half hours from now." 

It was the longest he would ever have to go without the pills, but he knew he could do it. Standing up, he made his way to a little minifridge in his room and pulled out a soda. Then he flopped down in front of the tv and put on some old cartoons. It was his normal routine when he was feeling down. A creak on the stairs made him jump, he did not want any of his roommates finding him likes this. Sniffing at his door let him know it was only Adonis, who quickly moved away. Rocking a little in his beanbag, Caelum started to chew on his nails, it felt like it had to be close to at least 4:30, but no. When he glanced at the clock it was barely passed 3. 

Now he stood and started to pace, in his head all these thoughts started to jumble. Old ones, new ones, some that had just been made up on the spot. He heard his father's words, starting from when he was young to now. Never a single word of praise, and yet Caelum would still bend over backwards to have the man care. He felt his eyes burning and he took a deep breath and swallowed. Fighting back that fear and pain was hard, very hard. It took him almost 45 minutes to calm and keep himself from having a crying fit. "4:22." Caelum spoke out loud. "Little over 30 minutes and I can start walking to the drug store." 

Any other time he would have flown, but the walk there would wrangle his brain and the walk back would give the meds time to kick in. Pacing again he stopped and looked at himself in the mirror, for a moment he could have sworn he saw his father staring back, with his soulless eyes and messy hair. The trickster's heart skipped a beat when he realized it was him. "Come on Caelum, keep it together man." His little pep talk never really worked that well, but he'd still try it. Some old familiar thoughts and urges started to creep their ugly little heads into his brain, as much as he was fighting it too.

The fighting only stopped when Caelum's eyes caught the first hints of the morning sun and he managed a weak smile. As quickly and quietly as he could, he got dressed and made his way outside. His wings spread wider as the sunlight started to dance along the edges of them, and everything around his seemed to sparkle in the misty morning air. Now, he started almost marching, his head held high. Oh the thoughts were still there. All that doubt and pain, all of it, but it was morning. A new day. It reminded him of how he had to keep fighting, no matter water what. As he walked he spoke a few lyrics from a song. "Jealous is the night when the morning comes.."

Caelum glanced up to see the sun shining down the road, like a bright beacon of hope and the next line of the song popped out of his mouth. "But it always comes!" With that, he picked up his pace a little.  

[Thomas "Monroe" Montgomery]

Dream Catcher 
featuring Adaryn Breslin, Tak Ominotago and Eloise Eaton
(note: I do not own the creative rights to these characters, they belong to Lux, Apollo and Emily, but I did my best to accurately represent them the way their players do so well)
Word Count: 1817

Inspired by: A post by the wonderful Lux, who I know as Myndi, playing Adaryn Breslin
---

"I just... I wish there was something I could do. Because of your power, well, you -- you basically saved me. And yet here I am, not being able to do anything but watch as the same power that helped me is practically ruining you." (credit to Lux)

---

Monroe wasn’t entirely sure the last time he had a night off. He’d been working night after night, ten p.m. to five a.m. and he actually liked it that way. It gave him something to do during the night instead of staring at the wall, frustrated that he couldn’t sleep when everyone else was. The crossword puzzle book Sebastian bought him for graduation was practically all filled and there weren’t any new witty coffee mugs on Amazon to look at, and so now that he was sitting in his bedroom at one-thirty in the morning, he found himself restless. He wasn’t sure what to think of the fact that he’d rather be at work, as it wasn’t something one normally wished for. The night shifts were perfect because they made him feel productive when he couldn’t sleep, but as of lately, it didn’t seem to matter. He couldn’t even catch up on sleep during the day, which had been his original plan when he’d moved in with Eloise. He’d work nights at the diner and then come home and crash when Eloise woke up for the day, even despite the loud hair dryer, not so much muffled by her closed door, but his insomnia had hit a point where he couldn’t catch any sleep at all. It was a constant battle. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t shut down to actually sleep and somehow feeling exhausted yet awake was slowly becoming worse than feeling like a zombie all the time and trying not to fall asleep.

He found that his mind kept going back to something Adaryn had said a few days ago when she’d made him lay down just for a bit, that his power had helped her, but was destroying him. He remembered drifting into that vivid nightmare of hers that one day. She’d hadn’t provided him with a violent or angry reaction, but rather a curious one, a confused one. It had been refreshing at the time. He’d helped her realize that it was just a dream, that it didn’t have to be so terrifying. For once someone actually appreciated him intervening in their dreams. A small smile made its way onto his tired face as he reached for his cell phone on his nightstand where it sat charging. He unplugged it and opened a conversation with Adaryn, wondering if there was any way she would be awake this late.

[[ Hey, I don’t know if you’re awake, but I am. No surprise really. If you aren’t, I hope you’re having sweet dreams.]]
Sent at 1:42 a.m.

He stared at the screen, watching as the text sent and then still gazed at it until the screen faded to black. Discarding it back onto his nightstand, he laid back on his bed with a sigh, arms behind his head.

His phone vibrated and he rolled over quickly, picking it up without a thought.

One new message from Tak Ominotago:
[[Miss you at the diner, sweetie!]]
Sent at 1:45 a.m.

It wasn’t Adaryn, but it was a text that made him smile. Attached was a photo of a piece of one of Angie’s delicious pies.

[[Save me a slice! Wish I was there. Can’t sleep.]]
Sent at 1:47 a.m.

And a moment later…

[[Did you make the dream catcher yet?]]
Sent at 1:49 a.m.

He’d nearly forgotten. He quickly moved off of his bed, knocking his phone onto the carpet to walk over to his desk in the corner that he’d added, moving around sketchbooks and a few random t-shirts to find a small cardboard box with some materials in it.

The night before at work, he and Tak had been working another graveyard shift together and the last two people in the diner had left, leaving a few dollar bills on the counter, one which Tak had forced him to have, shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans when he’d refused. The two of them had gotten rather bored and had ended up sitting in a booth, Monroe with a cup of coffee, Tak with a glass of water.

The conversation had gone in many directions before it headed in the direction of Tak’s tattoo. He’d seemed rather distracted after getting a text from Adaryn that said she kept waking up from nightmares. It made him want to rush to Hammel, even if it wasn’t allowed. She’d asked him what was up and he’d told her, worry lines creasing his forehead.

“Sounds like she needs a dream catcher,” she’d said and when Monroe gave her a rather confused look, she nearly burst into laughter, looking at him incredulously. “You don’t know what a dream catcher is?” He’d shook his head. Maybe he’d heard of them at one point… “I have a tattoo of one on my back. I’d show you, but a customer could walk in and that could get awkward.” She grinned. “I’m really proud of my heritage and I wanted something to symbolize it. They began with the Ojibwe. It’s like a magic web that only lets good dreams pass and traps the bad ones,” she explained simply.

He’d gone all over town that day, looking around for the materials, some of which Tak had to point him in the direction of until he’d collected them all in a small box…and then apparently forgot about them. Maybe it was because he’d second guessed himself, somehow thinking the idea was lame, but at nearly two a.m., it seemed like a great idea. He’d brought up a link on his laptop, closing out of all of the tabs he had up of mugs on Amazon that he’d wanted, to look at how to make a dream catcher.

---

It was nearly four a.m. when he’d finished, still fighting with the feathers he was trying to add last. It had taken a lot of trial, error and reworking to make the damn thing, but it looked like a lot of the pictures he’d seen online and most of all, it looked like it was for Adaryn. He’d used blue string, and white beads and the feathers were even of the same colors.

And then it was hours later and he was clicking away on the tv remote, glad that it wasn’t just strange infomercials anymore when he heard the shower start and then fifteen minutes later, Eloise’s hair dryer turn on. It meant it was morning, a normal time for the rest of the world to be awake. For Eloise that was nine-thirty a.m. For Monroe, it meant that Adaryn would probably be awake soon if she wasn’t already.

He threw on a different shirt and pulled on his combat boots one by one, lacing them up before grabbing the dream catcher, where he’d left it hanging on his headboard and fumbling around his bedroom for his keys, which he was sure he’d misplaced the other day. After finding them on the floor in a pair of worn jeans, he left his room and made his way down the hallway, passing the bathroom door which was slightly ajar.

“Monroe?” a voice said, too awake for this time in the morning. His blonde roommate opened the door, appearing in the doorframe with her tube of mascara in hand. She looked at him a little too long, as if scrutinizing his face and the bags under his eyes. She looked as if she was about to say something more, but instead, her gaze moved to the dream catcher in his hand. “Why do you have a dream catcher?” she asked.

“Why do you have mascara?” It wasn’t a very witty response and even as he raised his eyebrow, he knew that. When Eloise didn’t look amused, he continued. “I didn’t think you’d know what one of these was.” Not like he’d known at first.

“I’m not uncultured,” was Eloise’s response, to which he rolled his eyes and continued down the hall. “I’ll be back later, I’m going to see Addie.”

He swore he’d heard her say ‘You could at least change first,’ but he wasn’t positive.

---

His training session wasn’t until later that day, but he couldn’t wait any longer to go see Adaryn. He was walking down the familiar hallways of the dormitories towards her room now, dream catcher in hand. A small knock on the door and a minute later, Adaryn answered the door with tired blue eyes and a gray cardigan on. “Morning,” he told her, to which she mustered a weak smile.

“Sorry I didn’t text you back. I overslept and then I was late for class. It was rough getting to sleep and I’ve been trying to avoid my phone because it distracts me, but then I have nightmares…” she rambled slightly, stopping to take a breath and to really look at him, hand absentmindedly going up to touch his face. “Although you still don’t look like you’re getting rest. You should be laying down.”

“It’s alright, how long until your next class?” he asked, wondering if she had a moment.

“About an hour,” she replied, pulling open the door further.

“Good. Then you can lay down with me.” He moved past her into the room and grabbed her hand with his free one. “I got you something, err, made you something.” He let go of her hand for a moment to cross her dorm room, hanging it up on the window rod that held the curtains over the glass. “There,” he declared, stepping back and looking to his girlfriend for her reaction.

“A dream catcher?” she asked. Her tone was not judging, but rather curious.

“Yeah,” Monroe said with a shrug. “I was thinking about how you said my ability helped you, saved you even and how it sucks for me, but I want to still help you. And I can’t be here all the time. And I know you said you don’t feel comfortable staying with me because you don’t want to get in trouble here. And that’s okay, but I mean, a dream catcher is supposed to filter your dreams, catch the bad ones in the web and let the good ones pass.” The Ojibwe had some cool ideas and even if it was possible it was a myth, did it really hurt to believe in something? He felt lame even as he said it, waiting for Adaryn to say something.

But she didn’t. She walked over to the window where he’d put the dream catcher. “Well, it’s not you,” she mused, stepping up on her tip-toes to gently run her fingers over the feathers. “But you’re somewhat like a dream catcher.” She smiled softly. “Thank you.”

She moved back over to him to lace her fingers through his and they fell back onto her bed, wrapped up in each other and watched the dream catcher sway, feathers blowing in the light breeze coming in through the half-open window.

[Gabriel James]

Grief
(TRIGGER WARNING: dealing with death, dark themes)

He’d gotten the call at 2:17am, January 23rd, 2015. He would never forget that time. He would never forget that date. The neon green bars of his digital clock at that time were etched into his memory. The sound of his brother’s distraught voice – a sound he wasn’t aware his brother was capable of producing –rang in his ears like it was still happening. It was maddening, really. Nauseating even.
Tears stung his eyes and silent sobs tore through his body. He did everything in his power to keep quiet, as his roommate still slept soundly in the next room over. His pillows were destroyed – fluff and feathers everywhere – from outburst of anger in the form of punches and throws. The room seemed to be getting smaller and smaller, and he swore he could feel the earth spinning. He looked at the clock – 3:32 – and willed it to turn back; to turn back far enough so he could have been there; so he could have done something.
3:33 – no such luck.
He ran into the bathroom for the third time that night. He’d memorized the bath from bed to bath, and he didn’t even need to turn the lights on to find his way to the toilet again. He heaved, and choked, but nothing came up this time. There wasn’t anything left in him to get rid of. He stood once his gagging fit was over, wishing he could calm himself so the nausea inducing sobs would stop.
He splashed his face with cold water at, and stared at himself in the mirror. He had never seen his eyes so red, his cheeks so flushed, even in just the dim night light they kept by the sink. His vision blurred behind tears, he felt the walls of the bathroom constricting around him. He felt another wave of nausea hit him like a truck. He held back though, realizing he needed to get out. He could not bear the silence or the darkness of his apartment any longer. He wiped his face on a towel, and made his way back across the hallway to his room – still dark and littered with fragments of his pillows. He put on jeans and a hoodie, 2 pairs of socks and his snow boots – knowing well that tonight’s storm was dropping a few inches of snow on Pilot Ridge. He slipped on gloves, a hat, a scarf, and his winter coat.
He cursed the snow as he struggled to zip up the coat. He couldn’t get dressed faster than the next panic attack was coming on. He couldn’t drive to Delaware in the storm, even though he wanted to make it in record time. It wasn’t like it would help anyway.
His face was flooded again by the time he stepped outside. His scarf, now damp with snot and tears, froze on contact with the bitterly cold Vermont winter. This only upset him more – but he kept the scarf on, fearing that otherwise his tears would freeze directly to his face. The cold numbed him more than he already felt, and he didn’t think he could handle becoming a human icicle. Even though the cold stung, he decided to just start walking. It would warm him up. And the falling snow was much more soothing than the spinning walls of his bedroom.
He wasn’t sure where he was going. His feet were simply taking him there; his mind was too consumed in other thoughts to worry about directions, or time, or the ever-dropping temperature, or the accumulating snow. He kept his head down, and his face tucked into his scarf, looking up occasionally only to make sure he wasn’t about to walk into a wall. He wasn’t worried about cars or trucks. It was late. And it was snowing. He was the only person crazy enough to be out in the storm. It was better than being inside, though.
He looked at his watch sometime later – 4:12. He couldn’t feel anything anymore, and he was starting to wonder if any of it was even real. He swore he must just be going insane, and everything he was experiencing was some crazy, convincingly cold dream. He didn’t know where he was anymore, having blacked out about two blocks away from his apartment – his mind swirling around thoughts of his niece instead of realizing and remembering where he was going. His fingers were much too cold to try and retrieve his phone from his pocket to find out. He didn’t want to look at his phone anyway – her face was still his home screen.
He could still hear his sister-in-law and his mother crying behind his brother’s voice. It echoed through his head in the place where music usually played. Music was what calmed him, what made him feel better, and what reminded him about good things in this world. Suddenly that music was gone, and replaced with distraught cries and horrible news. It made him angry.
And in that moment it felt good to feel angry, because it was a break from feeling debilitating sadness. He should be angry! It wasn’t air! She was five. In what way is it ok for a five year old to have to go her whole life battling a disease to lose in the end? Overcome by grief and anger, he yelled out into the night, and turned to throw a punch at the wall next to him. Luckily, the wall was old, crumbling concrete, and gave way under the force of his punch. His glove ripped open, and the stone tore at his skin, but the crumbling old concrete giving way was all that kept him from breaking his hands.
Still, the stone stung his knuckles, tearing into his skin where he made contact with the wall. A searing pain flashed through his body, but was quickly numbed by the cold. The pain felt good too – like somehow his pain would have taken away from hers. He yelled out again. He threw three more hard punches, each one a bit harder than the last, each punch breaking away more of the wall, and tearing away more of his skin. Blood streaked the grey stone wall, and soaked the remainder of the fabric hugging his hands. It dripped into the snow below.
Seeing red on such stark white finally snapped him out of his uncontrollable rage.
He began to cry again, or was at least aware of it once more. He was fairly sure he had never stopped. Hands covered his face in despair, wishing for somewhere to sit where he would become soaked from snow. The cold was beginning to get to him. 4:17. 2 hours.
He walked another block, hoping to get an idea where he was. He believed he needed to get home and clean himself up before he froze or bled to death. That last block he walked did lead him somewhere familiar. He knew how to get home from there too – but suddenly he was faced with a decision he was pretty sure he wasn’t in the right mindset to make.
He remembered to code to get into her building. He remembered which apartment was hers. None of that was a concern. He wondered, however, if she would even want to see him, if she’d slam the door in his face, if his knocking would even wake her up at this late hour.
Their fight over a month back had been brutal, and he knew better to try and fix things when his issues would only get in the way again. She had clearly had some ties she struggled to cut in the form of an ex-boyfriend and his baby. His response to the stress of that situation (and every stressful situation) was always the same – a bottle and a bar fight. He had given up for her sake. She deserved a better man. A more stable man. He still swore the right man wasn’t her ex, but it apparently wasn’t him either. She was still angry that he refused to let her help him. But he promised himself he’d let her go – let her live life without having to worry about him and his stupid choices. To accidently end up in front of her apartment building, tonight of all nights – it made his promise very difficult to keep.
A cold wind blew, chilling him to his bones. If not anything else, the promise of a heated building drove him inside. He punched in the code on the building’s keypad with shaky, numb, blood soaked fingers – 4.6.2.7. The lock clicked open, and he pushed himself inside. The warmth of the building stung his skin which had been facing cold wind and snow for much too long. It wasn’t until he was in the warm environment when he truly realized how cold he had been. He made his way up the stairs slowly, finding himself in front of her door just moments later – 4:21.
He raised his hands to knock, wincing as he made a fist, remembering just then the wounds he’d inflicted on himself. He pulled off his scarf quickly, and wrapped his hands in them, realizing his blood was dripping onto the floor. Shivering, and tears still running down his face, he kicked the base of the door a couple times. The sound of a cat’s meow answered, and he hoped her pet’s cries would wake her if his knocks wouldn’t. He kicked the door a couple times again.
4:22 – the door opens. She looked tired, and a bit annoyed that she had been woken up this late. He couldn’t blame her. Who the hell knocks on another’s door at nearly 4:30 in the morning? Her hair stuck out in 1000 directions, and her eyes were barely open; A bit of dried up drool was visible at the corner of her mouth, but she still looked better than him. Fury flashed in her blue eyes if only for a moment, when she realized who had woke her. Her features softened from anger to confusion quickly when she noticed his tear streaked face. “Gabe?” she asked with sleepy disorientation. She rubbed her tired eyes, as if when her hands retreated his form would be gone.
Gabe quickly wiped his reddened face with his sleeve- ignoring the burning sensation brought on by the sudden warmth of his surroundings. He gently unwrapped one of his hands from the scarf, giving her a glimpse at the damage he’d done. Her eyes widened – the sight of his torn up knuckles waking her up quicker than any alarm clock ever could. “I punched a wall,” he said in a soft, pathetic whimper that he’d normally be embarrassed to admit escaped his vocal chords.
Her eyes, muddled with anger and concern, glanced between his knuckles and his cheeks before she stepped aside and ushered him into her apartment. He followed, head down, into the kitchen, where she sat him down in one of the wooden chairs she had pulled over to the sink after flicking on the oven light. It was a warm yellow glow that emitted just enough light so they could see each other and their surroundings without irritating sleepy eyes. She disappeared for a moment, leaving him rocking in the seat, still shivering. The oven clock read 4:24.
She returned – 4:26 – with a first aid kit, a blanket, and a hoodie of his he didn’t even realize she still had. He couldn’t tell whether he was shaking from the crying or the cold anymore, but the notion of dry, warm clothes was a welcome one. It would have to wait though. She knelt down in front of him, and unwrapped his hands, tossing the scarf directly into the trash, recognizing there was no hope of salvaging it. The gloves he’d torn up followed closely behind. The fabric stung his knuckles as it was pulled over his torn skin. She stood him up, moving his hands over the sink where she washed them off, and poured hydrogen peroxide directly onto the wounds. He yelled out in pain – emotions only amplifying the sting.
She wiped his hands clean with gauze and sanitary wipes, though the bleeding continued. She wrapped his knuckles tight with gauze, and secured it in place with medical tape. It took most of what she had to cover all of the deep cuts and scrapes. When all was said and done, he could barely move his fingers, but he didn’t really care.
She took off his hat and winter coat, followed by the sweatshirt he wore underneath – cold and damp from snow and tears. She helped him into the dry hoodie, careful not to pull the makeshift bandages away from his hands. As she helped pull his left arm through the sleeve of the hoodie, she finally asked in a soft voice, “Gabe, why are you here bloody, cold, and hysterical at…” she paused to glance at the oven clock, “4:34 in the morning?” she asked, opening up the blanket and draping it over his still shivering form. The way she asked her question stung. He knew she assumed he’d been out drinking again. He knew she assumed this was another stupid bar fight.
“She’s gone…” he whispered through gritted teeth, squeezing his eyes shut, hating the feeling pulling at his gut as he said the words out loud at the first time since receiving the news at 2:17 am. He sniffled and choked on the words as he went to say them again, louder this time as if she would not have heard him in the silence of her apartment. “She’s g-g-gone, Kiara.” He clenched his fists, anger bubbling up inside him again, wounds splitting and gauze collecting blood. He threw his face into his hands, shaking as the tears came harder. A new sadness had sprouted within him when he said the words aloud.
Her breath hitched for a moment – thinking she should have known. Her hand migrated to her mouth in shock, and her own eyes began to water in sad realization. She couldn’t believe it. Just a month ago the little girl was doing so well. Having not talked to him, though, left her ignorant to the sudden and rapid decline of his niece’s health.
After a long moment, against her better judgment, she found herself sliding onto his lap, allowing him to wrap his arms around her waist and bury his face in her shoulder as he sobbed uncontrollably. She leaned her chin on the top of his head, her own tears falling more gracefully than his ugly sobs. She couldn’t possibly cry any harder, in fear it may make him feel even worse. She rubbed his back and stroked his hair in a vain attempt to calm him – a difficult task when she was crying herself. “Gabe it’s going to be alright,” she offered an optimistic yet saddened whisper. He answered only with heavy, staggered breathing.
A few moments of silence passed, save the sounds of his fragmented breaths – 4:40.
“It’s not fair,” he finally uttered, his voice muffled in the soft fleece fabric she wore, now damp with his tears.
“I know,” she whispered back, squeezing him a little tighter. In her bones she still wanted to be mad. He had completely cut her out, and refused her attempts at re-connecting. But it was hard to be mad when it was abundantly clear how much he needed her in that moment. She decided she could be mad at him again later. In a week or so, maybe, when all was said and done and there wasn’t a funeral to attend. But right now he needed her – and maybe she needed him a little bit, too. 4:45. “Come on, sweetie,” she whispered to him, slipping of his lap and taking his hand gently, afraid to cause any kind of extra physical pain on top of the emotional. She’d take him to a doctor in the morning.
She led him to her bedroom, and sat him on the edge of her bed which was already pulled apart from her previous sleep. She took off his boots and his first layer of socks. She helped him out of his cold, wet jeans – a normally intimate act turned necessity by the winter storm he’d walked through. She lay him down, and crawled into bed, laying closer to him than she could ever remember really. She rubbed soothing circles on his heaving chest. Her own tears fell on his shoulder where she rested her head.
His breathing eventually slowed and steadied, with just an occasional hitch or hiccup as he fell asleep. His arms still wrapped tight around her like if he let go she’d disappear. She glanced at the clock again with sleepy, watery eyes as she placed his glasses on her nightstand. 4:59. Yes, there would still be plenty of time to be mad later. She’d made the right choice. She was asleep before the clock read 5:00.

[Dryope *]

Post Possession Crisis

Joshua bolted upright, covers falling about his waist. The room was undisturbed: the furniture remained upright and intact. The only items on the walls were the pictures of still life placed there by hotel staff. The only sounds were the hum of the airconditioning, and the unending purr of traffic floors and floors below.

Despite the seeming calm sweat soaked his pillow and plastered dark hair to his face. He could hear his heart thudding loudly in the quiet night air.

He glanced at the digital alarm clock on the nightstand. Three in the morning.

He raked trembling fingers through his hair, then flipped his pillow over so that he could settle into it without the discomfort of wet fabric. He closed his eyes, breath shaky as he willed sleep to return.

Moments passed.

He turned onto his side.

Flashes of red-eyed dogs and booming, commanding voices echoed in his mind.

He turned onto his front, pressing his nose into the pillow.

His body wasn’t his own, he could feel the movement of his limbs but no amount of frantic mental wailing could force his body to obey his own commands….

He turned to the other side, drawing one knee to his chest and clutching the pillow tight.

Memories of that night played over and over, the fear as the creature from the other dimension had captured him, the desperation as it had taken over his body, the uncertain relief when he’d been rescued.

Although he’d been promised that it was over he’d been unable to sleep well in the aftermath. He’d abandoned the apartment under the justification that it required numerous repairs. All his furniture had been damaged during the possession, as had the walls with the...what had Dr. Neville called it? Ectoplasmic residue.

The landlord hadn’t really understood, despite two tenants having suffered the same circumstances in one night. He’d instead been sure that they were trying to cover up some wild party.

Josh was sure he wouldn’t be welcome back, although he’d agreed to pay for the repairs out of pocket.

He hadn’t felt like arguing that point.

Dr. Neville had used his psychic abilities to help Mr. Manne forget the incident entirely, but Josh had felt that this was somehow wrong. He wanted to remember, not because he wanted to remember, but because he couldn’t forget that he was grateful to the ghost eradicator.

However, remembering brought with it pain and fear. No amount of reassurances of his safety had been able to relieve him of this. He didn’t want to be alone, but there was nobody he felt comfortable asking to stay with him. He’d not spoken with any of his family about the incident; the only people who knew were those involved in the ghost hunting business that had rescued him.

A gentle knock on his hotel door caused him to jump, his heart nearly in his throat. He half-expected to see the giant paw prints embedded in the door, and a light shining brightly from the edges of the door. But instead the room remained dark and the door remained firm.

“Who is it?” He whispered, unwilling to move from his bed, as if that might save him. Or as if his visitor would be able to hear him from across the room.

The smell of Chinese food wafted from the hallway, and then an image popped into his mind of Dr. Neville standing outside the door.

I heard you from across town. I know it’s late, but would you like some company?

Josh hastily scrambled out of bed, digging a shirt out of his luggage and pulling it on over his head before running to the door and pulling it open. There, indeed, was his rescuer come to rescue him once again.

“I would love company.” He agreed in a low voice. “Thank you for coming.”

[Lani Hunter]

Supervillains

Lani cooled his heels, relaxed with his toes over the ledge of the corporate high rise. When his boss said that he had to work with Chris and Stephen, he’d given the man a skeptical look. Both Chris and Stephen were around Lani’s age, but they were not nearly as good as he was, which he was reminded was only his opinion. Either way, he hoped that this was going to go according to plan.

It had been a natural instinct for Lani to want to take point but he and Chris had butted heads and in the interest of peace Lani had made the plan and once it was agreed upon Chris was to be their center. Chris also had the correct skills to work for their lookout man. Chris’s position as the DJ for the large party going on downstairs created music that made the building beneath Lani’s feet quiver ever so slightly. Lani was waiting and listening carefully for his signal, adjusting his gloves again and again.

Stephen had gotten in as a waiter and well Lani? Lani was tucked away inside the trunk as their fake identifications were checked and their jobs allowed them access. Being in the trunk didn’t make the thief very happy but they had a job and this would be one of their biggest jobs. Now Lani didn’t like to share this glory, but Chris was their best lookout and best conman, Stephen was their best technician and he could hack just about any security system. Lani? Well, Lani was, in his opinion, doing the hard part. He was the best retriever, never having met a security detail he couldn’t master nor a lock he couldn’t coax open.

For now everything was quiet, relatively speaking. Down below a window opened and the flow of the music drifted into the air. Lani gave a smile and didn’t look down to see where it was. The next thing that happened set everything into motion. A pleasant cord started through the window and Lani crouched. The DJ Got us Fallin’ in Love made Lani crouch and he caught the lip of the building and let his body drop soundlessly over the edge. He reached out with his toes and dug into the brick before letting his fingers go. He descended as easily as a squirrel on a tree and when he found the open window he swung himself in and landed soundlessly on the floor.

He silently slid the window closed behind himself and slipped out of the silent room. Looking in the direction of the party down the hall Lani turned and headed down the silent hall. Lani stuck to the walls and his eyes watched the red blinking lights of the cameras and he moved with expert precision casting only shadows into the camera’s view. It only mattered for alerting security but at the moment, with the music playing Stephen should at this point be sitting in the laps of slumbering guards.

Lani needed to get from the thirty second floor to the fourth before the song after this one, yes there it was, a remix of Renegade. Lani checked for eyes and without cameras he reached into his power and the elevator doors slid open to the dark shaft.

Lani slipped through the small gap letting it close and leave him in blackness. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a flashlight and lit it before holding it between his teeth. He teetered on the edge of nothingness on a small ledge. Without so much as a second of hesitation Lani sprang forward and grabbed the wires. He couldn’t slip too fast of he couldn’t be able to stop. In here there was no need for Lani to hide his power. He loosened his grip on the wire and the next thing he was falling. It was a controlled but quick fall. He watched the numbers change in the light of the flashlight and when he reached eight he started to slow, picking up the force against his body and tightening his hold on the wire. Effortlessly, Lani stopped just inside the fourth floor door. Out of his pocket he drew an earpiece.

Through it he heard music. He doused the light and pocketed the flashlight as the last song drew to a close. With a smile he opened the door and launched himself from the ropes to the floor. He took a moment to take in his surroundings and now he waited. This was the point where he was on his own. Stephen would have the cameras disabled for the rest of the night, having implanted a virus that wiped the tapes every ten seconds. Not that Lani would get caught on camera at all. They needed their target out of the way as well. If the target was not in view of Chris then he may pop in on Lani at any moment.

Sooner than he imagined the opening for Superheroes started in his ear. Lani smiled and paced forward tossing a smoke grenade through the hall ahead. He bounced on his feet getting the rhythm of the song into his head and a second later he flew forward. He dove and twirled, snaking his body and twisting himself past laser beams. He flipped himself with sharp accuracy landing and twisting on his hands and feet equally. He dove through the lasts mesh of woven lights and rolled to his feet, already moving when he got up. He ducked into a corner as the guard passed by, good. Now he knew exactly how much time he had.

Lani didn’t bother with the keypad when he got to it. He didn’t trust his power with these details so he pulled out his lock picks and made quick work of the panel that covered the wires. With nimble hands he tested the lock, all the while his power secured a hold on the lock. Sometimes this telekinesis thing had its benefits. He could trick the lock and it would never think it was opened at all. Lani triggered the right points in the wires and the wall slid open. The great iron doors slid open on well oiled hinges. After taking the time to reattach the panel, Lani slipped inside and let the doors close after him.

The safe was dark and Lani switched on the flashlight again. As tempted as he was with the jewels and the money that lined the walls, Lani’s job was to get whatever was it lockbox 384. His lock picks made quick work of the extra security door. The locks they had past the great door were child’s play and soon Lani had a bundle from lockbox 384 in his hands. This single thing, Lani knew was supposed to be worth a good half a million.

Looking up he smiled, and there was at least that much in cash and jewels down here too. He took his time, in no rush as he heard the songs cycle in his ear, none of which were showing the warning song. He filled his bags with jewels, bypassing cash. The valuables were now safely tucked into Lani’s bag. He couldn’t fit all of it, there was no way, not with everything in it, they would have needed six or seven bags for that. No Lani selected a trinket and cash that would be split between himself, Chris and Stephen. Honestly, with whatever it was in lockbox 384 gone, this could all be sold before anyone even realized it was missing.

Lani’s head cocked as the song changed and the mix of Encore and Numb flashed briefly in his ear. His heart rate exploded in his chest. He back tracked, locking the lockbox and the gate. Pressing his ear to the iron door he couldn’t hear a thing, but there was no way to know if there was someone out there. He hesitantly extended his power and there, right on time a guard paced past, almost exactly five minutes since the last guard passed. He opened the safe from the inside letting his power go through the security code. He slipped out and dashed through the shadows finding the stairs and racing down them.

With a cocky smile, Lani emerged into open air. He removed his gloves and hood and started down the dark street, looking no more shady than the rest of the characters lurking in the alleys at this time for night.

An hour or so passed and Lani was getting weary of walking. He tensed as headlights sprayed the world ahead of him with light. Lani didn’t slacken his pace or look at the car as it slowed to pull level with him. He glanced over as motion caught his eye.

“Hey, need a ride?” Chris asked a sly smirk on his face.

Lani returned the expression and shrugged, getting into the backseat and sighing with relief that it was all finally over. Stephen drove on and Lani leaned his head back and smiled at his partners. “So… how was the party?”

[Gryphon Matsuoka]

Galaxies
(Word Count: 1945)

Gryphon sat on the window seat he had in his room. It was his favourite spot to sit in, for doing work or just contemplating. And for an eleven-year-old, he contemplated rather a lot.

His eyes grazed over the crashing waves of the ocean outside his window, with his knees pulled up to his chest, and his left arm going around them. His right arm was in a sling that held his cast against his body. Four breaks to the same bone - who knew a simple fall could do so much damage?

It wasn't often that he didn't or couldn't sleep, but for whatever reason today, he was still up at three o'clock in the morning. He didn't mind it so much now, but he didn't want to be tired in the morning, seeing as he had to get up early anyway. It wasn't something he could do much about, because even though his body physically protested with sore eyes and constant yawns, he just couldn’t really get his brain to shut down. So instead of worrying about it, he enjoyed the view outside his window.

The sky was pretty clear, which was nice. It was cool to be able to see the crescent moon so bright, and all the stars. Gryph was really fascinated by bright, shiny things - as simple-minded as that may have sounded - so to be so entranced by the night's sky when it was in such a glorious state wasn't exactly unexpected of him.

He didn't know what it was, really. He just... liked the look of shiny things. Like how some people liked the feel of silk, or the taste of chocolate, Gryph liked the way the moonlight reflected off of the rolling Seattle waves.

Dorothée didn't like the ocean. She wasn't a big fan of Seattle in general - Gryphon hadn't been told this directly, but she just spoke so loudly that you would have to be deaf not to hear almost every word she said; she did not hide her opinions at all. The little boy didn't understand why she held such distaste towards Seattle - it wasn't the best place in the world, but it definitely wasn't the worst either. She was so adamant on moving to France, where there was more 'sophistication' and 'classe', supposedly. Gryph didn't want to go anywhere. He was perfectly happy here, in America. Also, he didn't know French, even if Dorothée had attempted to teach him the language in the past. He knew Korean and English - he didn't want to learn French because it sounded stupid, and he didn't want to go to France because Dorothée was stupid.

The only reason he would learn French is so that he could tell her to shut up without hearing her say 'Pardon?' a million times over first.

After another few moments of just sitting there, Gryph stood up carefully. His room probably would have been more untidy if Fi hadn’t helped him clean it before he went to bed today. And by helped him, that meant putting things away whilst he walked around slowly and fiddled with an object for about ten minutes before doing anything useful with it – such as putting it back in its original spot and walking on. He was an absent-minded soul.

But he was trying more. He just couldn’t see the point. He didn’t want his room to be tidy, so why did he have to make it spotless when he would just muck it up again later? He preferred it to be a little out of sorts; the chaos was comfortable. It did get to a ridiculous standard sometimes, but he couldn’t help that. Plus, now he didn’t know where half of his things were. He would go to get something off of the floor, where he remembered throwing putting it, and the carpet would be spotless.

It felt uncomfortable.

He glanced around silently, pointing his toes almost instinctively and closing his eyes, thinking through his ballet practise. He had been told – don’t do anything dangerously athletic or possible to cause himself any further injury until he was fixed. But that meant no dancing, and he didn’t want that. So, he danced. He even took his arm out of its sling – a stupid move, but he didn’t care. Even if it hurt.

He could worry about that later.

The little boy stepped around his room gently, so he didn’t wake anyone. It wasn’t that he was afraid of being told off – he just didn’t want to disturb anyone, because that would be unfair.

Unless it was Dorothée. Dorothée could wake up and get angry, he wouldn’t care about her. She didn’t deserve to be cared about by him, even if she was his mother. She didn’t do her job right – she had to get someone else to do it for her.

Fiona was really nice. Bossy, annoying, overbearing, hassling, nagging, but nice. She wasn’t stupid, like Dorothée, or ignorant like Gryph’s dad. She was caring, and understanding, and tidied his room for him. Gryphon liked her. And she always knew how he was feeling – she was special. She was a meta. The little boy wondered what that was like – being different like that. Fi said it was fun, but difficult. She said she would feel other people’s emotions by accident, and they would accuse her of being disrespectful when she tried to help. She said it was hard to help people who didn’t want to be helped.

That made sense. Like, teachers wanted to help him at school, but Gryphon didn’t want to listen to them. So he didn’t – simple as.

He spun and landed a little clumsily, making a loud thud. He wondered – what if someone thought he was being kidnapped? He imagined Fi breaking into his room with a frying pan and a torch, and giggled to himself. It was hard to imagine her being violent, even if that would be extremely awesome.

No one seemed to come, but Gryph stopped himself shortly after his little misstep, because he swung round and caught his casted arm on a dresser, yelping out in pain and frowning, trying not to cry. Instead, he just sighed and rubbed his arm through the cast, doing nothing much of use, before returning to the window seat again. This house was a big one – he wasn’t all too surprised that no one had come to check in on him. He crossed his legs and slid his arm back in its sling, looking at the outside world again.

The world was a weird place. Space was huge and weird and no one really knew what it was like up there. Gryphon wondered if there was someone else, somewhere else, looking up at the stars too. Or looking at Earth as if it were a star, and wondering the exact same thing as Gryph. What if.

The eleven-year-old cleared his mind of this. The unknown had always been something he didn’t like. Something he might even have been scared of. He didn’t like not knowing, not being sure. That was why, even though his thoughts would and could wander quite a bit, he tried not to let them. He was scared of venturing too far into nothing and getting stuck in the suffocating mystery of it all. If he didn’t think about it, it would remain unknown, but it wouldn’t scare him.

The little dancer glanced over his shoulder at his digital clock, one of the only sources of light in the room:

3:54 am

It was really late. He began fiddling with the fingers on his right arm, some of the only parts of his arm which weren't covered in plaster, wiggling them about with his other hand like they were the fingers of a toy. He really didn't know what to do. The boy yawned and turned around to get up when the door opened.

"Gryphon?" Fiona regarded him with a frown on her face, opening the door wider, "What are you doing awake at this time?"

Gryph shrugged his shoulders, "I dunno. What are you doing?" He had made a bit of noise, but surely she would have been up here earlier if that was her reason for checking on him?

The guardian tilted her head and sighed, "Can't sleep."

"Neither can I."

They looked at each other for a moment, Gryphon still perched by the window. Fi came closer and placed herself down on his bed, "Do you mind if I ask?"

The Korean boy shuffled back and crossed his legs again, "Ask what?"

She frowned, "Why you're sad."

"I'm not..." He looked at his hands. Was he sad? Maybe he was. He was generally a little down at the moment, due to being injured, but he was upset for something else as well. "...I-I just don't know why you have to do this." 

Fiona looked at him in confusion, "Pardon?"

Gryphon wasn't sure how to say it without offending Fi, "...if Dorothée's my mum, why doesn't she do all this? I mean, I like you, I like you more than her..." He trailed off, not able to meet her eyes, "...I shouldn't. I should like my mum more than my guardian." He hated that word. Guardian. It wasn't as bad as nanny, which was a horrible word, but it was still bad. It was like, this person is here because you need to be looked after, because no one else will do it. No one else is capable of doing it.

And it wasn't like his parents weren't alive. They were under the same roof as him, but they were probably as close to him as a couple of next-door neighbours. He didn't like that, but it wasn't like he could force them to do anything at all. 

Fi was at a loss. It was a hard question to answer. It was hard especially because Dorothée wasn't actually Gryphon's mother, but he didn't know that, and it was decided that he wouldn't need to know that. She didn't know why his parents didn't want him to know, but she couldn't tell him now. After living for so long believing that one woman was his mother, suddenly being told that that was a lie... that was unfair. And he didn't need that kind of emotional strain. But what was better - having a terrible mother or having no mother at all?

"Your parents love you," She began, but Gryph scoffed, "Sure they do. I can see how much they care and love me right now, while they sleep and you look after me. Perfect family, right here." He was allowed to be bitter. He was allowed to be upset. He made eye contact with her, but looked down again shortly after, "Sorry... it's just..."

"It's hard to cope with - I know." Fiona assured. She could feel his anger, and his sadness. And those weren't emotions she wanted to be feeling from him, but it couldn't be avoided or brushed under the rug. "I'm sorry that you have to go through this. It's unfair."

"It is unfair." He replied. "I don't want it."

"Well," She replied, "I wish I could wave a magic wand and make it all better, but-"

"But you can't, I know." He had heard that line from her before. He tried to use it to ground his thoughts and make them a bit more reasonable, but he couldn't. He sighed before looking at Fiona with an awkward half-smile, "Thank you. For existing." That was bad. "For making things not as bad as they could have been."

Fiona smiled, "I love you, Gryph. It's nothing to thank me for."

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Drive My Soul
Word Count: 338

Three-twelve AM. The time barely entered her consciousness as her dark eyes glanced down to the right hand corner of the monitor. A hand rested lazily on the mouse, but each click was made with definitive purpose. The other hand pressed to the keyboard, fingertips laying naturally on the A, W, and D keys. Thumb sprawled over the oversized space bar. She pressed a key. A click of the mouse. Head-shot.

It had been like this for days. Weeks. The repercussions of insomnia drawing Lucy out of her bed night after night.

It only became worse when she was back in Hammel. Because although Lucy was back, she wasn’t. New York wasn’t nearly as far as Australia, but it was still far enough.

No alarm would go off in three hours; the morning routine Lucy knew just as well as the psychometrist herself wouldn’t begin. Or rather, it would. But not here.

Another click, and another Militia pilot taken down.

It was already unconsciously decided that Lucy wasn’t going to class in the morning. She had no desire to. And just as she fell back on the thought, others began to flow. It was the same problem as the night before. And the surely the one before that.

But the message tone of her phone cut through the air, through the headset that covered Lucy’s ears. She glanced to it. Rowan, likely. Or Sawyer. The ink manipulator considered ignoring it, but as the campaign ended in her game, she drew a hand from the keyboard and picked it up, unlocking it with a quick swipe of her thumb.

I miss you.

From the redcoat herself.

Lucy leaned back in her chair, using a foot pressed to her desk to pivot it back and forth lightly. Three-fourteen. And she was awake. Awake enough to text Lucy. The Australian was already halfway through a reply when another message came in. As she read it, Lucy felt the corner of her mouth pull up into a smile.

Like woah.

[Zebadiah Hayes]

Night Routine
(I do not own Connor, Safia, Marnie, Rachel, or Kane)

1 A.M.
Zeb had just kicked off his shoes and flopped down on the couch when he heard a knock on his door. “It’s open,” he called out, pulling himself up off the couch and rubbing the stubble on his face.

Connor Anderson walked in and he sat up, wearing an expression somewhere between concern and embarrassment on his face. “You…uh…busy?” the boy asked, hovering near the door.

“Not at all, come on in.” Zeb gestured for the boy to help himself to a seat and got up off the couch. He walked over to the kitchen area and started a pot of coffee. “What’s up Mr Anderson?”

“I was…just…I couldn’t sleep.” The boy started to explain. Zeb nodded along and listened to the young boy let out his homesick feelings. They chatted for a while until Zeb had Connor smiling again before sending the boy back to his room to try to get some sleep.

2 A.M.
He was on his third pot of coffee now and decided to go out for a walk. The fresh night air would do him some good. He filled up his mug and slipped his pipe into his pocket on his way out the door.

He didn’t make it out the door of the building though. As he was passing the student lounge, he heard voices coming from the student lounge.

“Do we even have time to watch them all before the son comes up?”

“Don’t worry about it. And I keep tell you, they aren’t scary at all. Fantasy. Not horror.”

Zeb stepped into the room to find Safia Chatterjee and Marnie Sullivan. Marnie was on the couch surrounded by at least ten pillows. Safia was in front of the DVD player with the complete collection of the Lord of the Rings and the two latest Hobbit movies. Zeb cracked a smile. They were certainly going to run out of time to watch all of those tonight.

“Do you girls think this is a good idea for a Tuesday night?” Zeb asked from the doorway of the lounge. The girls whipped around and Zeb felt bad that he had startled them. “Not that there’s any rules against pulling an all night Tolkein binge, but are you going to be able to stay away for classes?”

“But she’s never seen them,” Safia protested, as if this explained everything. Marnie nodded along.

Zeb sighed, smiled, and shook his head. Kids. “Well then,” he said slowly. “You’re going to need some popcorn.” He walked back to his room and pulled down a few packets of microwave popcorn and return to the lounge with them and a large bowl.
“Just keep the volume down, some students are trying to get a full nights rest.” He said, still smiling before he laughed and left the girls to their movies.

3 A.M.
Zeb had finally fallen asleep a few minutes ago. But he soon found himself walking down a long hallway. It looked vaguely familiar. Like one of the hallways at school, but darker and stretched out lounger. He was trying to figure out if this was his dream or someone else’s when a small girl ran by him. He followed her and found her hiding around the corner.

Rachel Kells’s eyes were wide with fear and wet with tears. Zeb leaned down carefully and held out his hand. “Miss Kells,” he said softly. “What’s wrong?”

He hardly had time to finish his sentence before he heard a loud booming voice coming from the hall. “Get back here you monster!” the voice yelled, echoing off the walls.

Zeb looked up to see a large looming shadow coming down the hall as well. Rachel was sobbing. He managed to catch one word between he hiccupped breaths. Daddy.

This would not do. Again Zeb reached out to touch Rachel on the arm. Focusing, he used his ability to change the dream. The walls melted away. And the figure poofed out of existence in a burst of confetti. He and Rachel now stood in the middle of a field. The air was thick with colorful butterflies. Zeb smiled and stepped back into them leaving Rachel to enjoy her new dream. With luck, she wouldn’t remember the nightmare when she awoke. Or that Zeb had altered her dream. Not that he thought she would mind, but he worried that some kids would think it was creepy if they found out he messed with their dreams sometimes.

Rachel slept on and Zeb woke up with a pounding headache. He got up to make another pot of coffee.

4 A.M.
Zeb still hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. Realizing he had never gotten the chance to take his walk, he pulled on his shoes and made his way out the door. When he passed the lounge, Marnie and Safia were passed out on the couch while on screen Frodo and Sam ran for their lives. Zeb crossed the room as silently as he could and turned off the movie. Before heading outside, he threw a blanket over the girls.

5 A.M.
Zeb was walking back into the building when he saw Kane Woonren in the hallway. Zeb made sure to give the other man plenty of room while trying not to seem like he was doing so. “Good morning Mr. Woonren,” Zeb said with a smile. “You’re in early.”

Kane looked a little uncomfortable at the question, but Zeb just assumed it was because he was still weird about the last time the two had met. When Zeb had mistook Kane for a hallucination. “Yes…early,” the teacher said, returning a forced smile as he walked away towards the classroom.

Zeb made a note to think of some sort of small gift he could give the older man. After all it would be weird if Kane acted like that every time the two came into contact. Not that Zeb could really hold it against the man. It had to be hard to live with an ability like his.

Speaking of the downfalls of abilities, Zeb had decided it was too late to try and get any decent sleep tonight. Maybe he could sneak in a nap after most of the students were starting their classes.

[Remle Boyd]

Dream-Weaver 

She was sooooooo drunk right now.



Remle giggled as she staggered down the street with everyone else as the bar closed at 3, the street lamps still glowing merrily and casting shadows everywhere. Delighted with the all the shadows milling about it wasn’t long before Remle had turned the street around her into a living canvas of her art work. Her arms flowed gracefully despite her inebriated state as she created entire stories with the shadows. Animals frolicking together before becoming a scene from an old western, a caped villain cackling madly as an oncoming train barreled towards the trapped heroine tied to the tracks. Before the scene could finish it changed to a rampaging dinosaur pillaging through what appeared to be a futuristic city.



As she walked the scenes walked with her, this late at night with this much alcohol her inner romantic couldn’t help but appear as suddenly her own shadow returned to her and changed to look as if Remle was wearing a classically cut ball gown before it was joined by a man-shaped shadow. Together her shadow and several others danced across the street as she loudly (and still somehow in tune) belted out Josh Groban’s “When You Say You Love Me” with a slightly more upbeat and modern tempo as the shadows continued to dance around her. She was creating a fairy story with the shadows and was enjoying every moment of it. As she ended her Broadway-worthy singing performance (confidence and volume fueled by the alcohol she had consumed) she realized that she had made it back to her apartment. She waved her hand dismissively and the shadows trickled back to their places, locking into place once more as she moved out of range.



Just before she entered the door to her building she turned once last time to see two shadows still dancing in the halo of the nearest street lamp before they broke away, bowed to each other and fell still again. Satisfied, Remle entered her building, looking forward to a good night’s sleep.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Satin Summer Nights

But they’ll last for a long summer night.
I can feel the fire in her eyes.
Tonight, tonight,
Under satin summer skies.

Soft cries caused Sean to wake in the middle of the night. The alarm clock flashed a three.

Beside him, Josh began to stir, and the telepath gently placed one hand on his partner’s shoulder. “It’s my turn,” he reminded the younger man.

With that, he slipped from their bed and shrugged on his robe. He tied his sash en route to the nursery. Pushing open the door, he found his daughter flailing in her crib, fussing and crying.

“What’s the matter, Sweetheart?” He asked, although Eleanor was not yet verbal, and Sean already knew the answer to his question.

She was teething. His poor, little baby.

He lifted her into his arms and began to rock her. Although that helped with her flailing, she continued to whimper in pain.

He kissed her forehead. “Let’s get your teething ring.”

The trip downstairs took almost no time with the telepath’s long stride. They reached the kitchen, and Sean opened the freezer door, pulling out one of the brightly-colored teething rings. Eleanor recognized it immediately and grabbed it to shove in her mouth. Immediately, she began to gnaw at it, stifling her cries as the activity distracted her and the ice served to numb her gums.

“Nobody told you that teething would be such hard work, did they?”

She gurgled around the teething ring.

“I know it hurts and it doesn’t seem fair, but I promise it’ll be worthwhile.” He smiled down at her. “Think about all of the exciting foods you’ll get to eat when you have teeth and your Papa isn’t worried about choking anymore.”

She continued to gum her ring, seemingly oblivious to the fact that this was an invitation to a conversation.

Sean took no offense. She was a baby, and he would talk to her regardless of whether she acknowledged him. He knew that she heard and learned, even when she gave no outward indication.

“You’ll be able to eat spaghetti,” he told her with a smile. She always watched – enchanted – when her parents had any type of pasta dish for supper. Long, thin noodles so differed from formula and strained baby food that surely she thought they were magical.

“And pizza.”

Eleanor looked up at him with big, blue eyes. Her parents only ate pizza occasionally, as Sean focused on the importance of complete meals, he enjoyed cooking, and when they ordered takeout they had so many options beyond pizza. They ate it primarily when they hosted parties or a friend came over to watching a sports game. Still, pizza was a perennial favorite for children, and the telepath had no doubt that, once his daughter had the means to eat solid food, she would join the ranks of countless other children before her.

He continued to hold her tightly in his arms as she gummed her teething ring. In an attempt to lull her back to sleep, he began to walk with her, as the sensation tended to soothe her. Back and forth through the kitchen and the living room and the den, careful not to step too heavily, as the entire point of taking shifts was to let his partner sleep.

“Let’s think of everything else that you’ll be able to eat. What about cookies and brownies, just like Daddy?” She had already shown an interest in baked goods, prompting both Sean and Josh to remark that she had inherited the telepath’s sweet tooth. Time would tell. “And pie. There are so many different flavors of pie that I want to share with you: blueberry, apple, pumpkin, peach, strawberry rhubarb, key lime, chocolate cream...”

He named every variety that came to mind. When he finished with pies, he moved on to different flavors of cakes. “I can’t wait to share chocolate cake with you,” he admitted, and he knew that his partner felt the same. While Josh’s sweet tooth wasn’t quite as notorious as the telepath’s, the attorney still enjoyed baked goods and other sweets, with an emphasis on chocolate. “And cheesecake, although you’ll have to wait a bit longer for that one. And every type of strawberry shortcake known to mankind; there are so many different ways to make it. Some people use sponge cake, and some use warm biscuits, and some use puff pastry...”

Eventually, he exhausted all of the baked goods in his repertoire.

Eleanor had stopped shifting in discomfort, but she was wide awake now.

His goal had been half-achieved. Now to lull his daughter back to sleep so that he could salvage what few hours remained in the night.

“You’re too young to appreciate this, but food is so important to humans as a whole. All of our cultures care about it.” The telepath kissed the top of his daughter’s head again. “Your Papa and I want to share our cultures with you; they’re yours too, you know.”

She was far too young to have any grasp of that notion. Sean was aware of this fact, but he was also tired, and he wanted to coax her back to sleep. Talking to her often did the trick, particularly in the middle of the night.

“Your Papa wants to make latkes and eat jelly doughnuts with you.” Despite the fact that this was the wrong season, the telepath knew that his partner wanted to share all of the traditional foods with her. “Also apples and honey, and matzo ball soup, and gefilte fish.” The last of which would, undoubtedly, be an acquired taste. He was sure that Josh would want to feed her pimento cheese as soon as she was old enough as well.

“I’m going to make you corned beef, cabbage, and potatoes,” he promised her. When she was old enough, she could partake of his traditional mid-March meal. “We can eat stuffed peppers. And we’ll order Chinese food from my favorite restaurant, so you can have dumplings and spring rolls.”

His stomach began to rumble from the thought, and he shifted his grip on his daughter to free up his hand. Given the late hour of the night, he wanted nothing heavy, and so he opted for a banana.

“Daddy is going to eat his banana,” he announced, smiling down into Eleanor’s face. “After that, we’ll look at some of my cookbooks to see how many different foods we can name.”

He hoped that would tire her out, so that they could salvage a few hours of sleep. If not, then at least it would be a bonding experience.