Tall Tales, Young Hearts: Alex's Stories

[Tanner Larson]

((This was written for the March Writing Challenge, Prompt 65: Revenge. It inspired a thread I'm hoping will be pretty epic! Totally AU, except in my head.))

The Meta Resistance: Origins

When Tanner Larson opened the door into Academic Building 307, he had no idea what to expect.

As it was, the ‘invitation’ he had received in his apartment building mailbox had comprised only of the room number scrawled in black pen onto a crumbled piece of paper. It had also included a date and time, but no other information. The blonde had planned on ignoring it – how did he even know it was meant for him? – but when the time came, he couldn’t resist.

Curiosity had, as it so often does, gotten the best of him.

The grounds of the Hammel Institute were fairly empty, as they had been for several months: after a State of Emergency was declared following a series of attacks by meta humans on regular humans, nobody wanted to be associated with the institution. As it were, any meta found using his or her powers at night, or in large crowds, was briskly hauled off.

They knew not to where.

Tanner had graduated from Hammel the year before, but had until recently still been living in Pilot Ridge as one of La Maison Magnifique’s star attractions. The entire city was starting to empty out, but there had still been a sizable enough population to keep the theatre full on most weekend nights. The House was gone now, though: just one week prior, the building had been raided, most of the girls had been captured or killed, and Madame Cynthia was now nowhere to be found. Tanner was out of a job, and without reason for lingering, but with nowhere else to go, he was staying for the foreseeable future.

Still, walking across a deserted campus had made the boy uneasy, and it didn’t exactly fill him with confidence when he found the Academic Building to be largely devoid of life, as well. He pressed onward though, his own curiosity and nothing more driving him forward.

On the other side of the door were four other people sitting at a large table in the center of the room. Students, Tanner determined, but not students he recognized. This wasn’t terribly surprising, as the boy had mostly kept to himself during his younger years, but he couldn’t help but wish he had a better idea as to what was going on. Who had invited them there, and for what reason?

Tanner stood somewhat uncomfortably in the doorway, allowing it to shut just behind him. It was at this that one of the others – another blonde who was somewhat taller than Tanner and perhaps a bit more fit – slammed his fist down on the table.

“Alright, that’s it,” he growled, anger evident in his voice. “Which one of you asked me here, and why? I want answers, and I want ‘em now.”

A young women shrugged her shoulders. “Hey, don’t look at me,” she replied, lifting her hands innocently. “I’m as in the dark as you are.”

Tanner decided that, between the two of these strangers, he felt less ill-at-ease around the girl, and so he walked over and sat down beside her. He noticed, as he did so, that it was the only empty seat at the table.

A dark-haired male, who until that point hadn’t spoken a word, stood in his place. “I don’t have time for this,” he stated simply. It sounded to Tanner like the young man had some sort of accent, though he couldn’t quite place it. He was turning towards the door when a voice called out from an unknown source.

“Please be seated, Mr. Ivaskov,” said the voice. “It looks like everyone has arrived.”

The blonde from earlier stood now, looking this way and that. “Who’s there?” He asked in an anxious, suspicious voice. “Come out!”

It was then that a man – clearly older by several years than the rest of the assembled group – made his presence known, stepping out from seemingly nowhere to stand before the conference table. “As you wish, Robert.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “How do you know my name? What’s going on?”

The man raised a hand, gesturing for the boy to be silenced. “There are no secrets, Mr. Wilkes. I do not wish to frighten anyone. I have brought you all here… regarding President Kells.”

A young blonde woman – the only one who hadn’t yet spoken – appeared visibly moved by this, as though repulsed by the very name. It was the other female in the room, though, who spoke up.

“You’re wasting your time, then,” she said, lifting her booted feet to rest on the table. “I have nothing good to say about him.” She nearly spat the words, though her demeanor was otherwise calm.

The man nodded. “And it is for that reason, Miranda, that I have asked you here today.”

The woman’s eyes widened, but it was Robbie who spoke first. “Is this some kind of trap?” He asked, again slamming his fist down onto the table. Tanner jumped at the sudden noise, and Lucah appeared bemused.

Again, this man lifted his hand. “We are friends here,” he replied to calm their nerves. “You are all aware of Executive Order 15056, are you not?”

“That all metas are to be arrested for using their powers?” Tanner asked. He was all too familiar. “Yeah. But… what about it?”

The grey-haired man leaned forward, placing both hands as fists onto the table. “What if I were to tell you that this order was declared through false pretenses?”

Tanner developed a quizzical look, not immediately understanding the question. Sensing the confusion in the room, the man continued.

“The plain and simple truth, is that the attacks leading to the State of Emergency were entirely staged.”

The room was dreadfully silent as the five former students absorbed this information.

“But… who would have done that?”

“None other than the President himself.”

“That’s impossible!” Robbie was again on his feet. “Why would he do that?”

The man remained calm. “You are familiar, Mr. Wilkes, with the administration’s policy regarding the use of powers. The curfew? The restrictions?” He stood upright again, moving around the table to come face to face with the young blonde. “You haven’t seen Danicca in a while, have you?” His voice was much lower than before.

Robbie looked down at the floor suddenly, refusing to respond to the question.

“And you, Tanner,” the man continued, moving across the room to the other boy. “Your job, your very living, is gone now, is it not?”

Tanner nodded, somewhat reluctantly.

“Gone from one of the Humanist Army’s raids. And you,” the man said, turning towards Miranda. “They got your brother. Told you it was a medical condition. But ever since they saw you at that protest, you’ve feared for your family; don’t deny it.”

Miranda nodded. “I haven’t gone home in months,” she admitted, voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Didn’t want to… put them in danger.”

The man nodded. “Lucah,” he said, turning towards the brunette. “They’ve come for you too, haven’t they? Chased your family back to Romania.”

The boy was frowning – he’d been since he’d arrived there – and now his brow furrowed. “They left because of me,” he corrected. “I sent them back.”

“Very well. And Angel,” he said, turning towards the fifth and final student. “You want to protect your little sister. More than anything.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she did not respond.

“All of you hold a grudge, for one reason or another, against the Kells Administration,” he explained, pacing back towards the front of the room. “All of you have lost something, or someone, or are desperately trying not to. So the question is…”

He stopped in front of the five young men and women, all of whom were by now standing in place.

“What are you going to do about it?”

It was on this cue that another man – a tall male of Asian descent dressed all in black – appeared in the room, moving to stand beside, and just behind, him.

“Allow me to introduce you to Vincent Meian,” the man went on. “Former staff at the Hammel Institute. One of our most excellent trainers – and one of the most dangerous. You see, the Administration has been tracking him for several weeks now.”

Vincent brought his hands together, and all around the students, it seemed like the room began to melt. The walls, furniture, and ceiling were all slowly collapsing, like a water balloon pierced in slow motion.

“What’s going on?” Robbie said, turning this way and that.

“It is merely an illusion. Vincent has the power to alter one’s perception of reality.”

Miranda crinkled her nose. “Well, make it stop,” she replied, “I’m starting to get nauseous.”

Within moments the room seemed to snap back to its true form.

“Vincent will be responsible for training you – for helping you to master your powers and harness them as expertly as he can.”

“Why, though?” Angel asked, looking skeptically at the two older men.

“Because,” the man replied, “you’ll need to be at your greatest potential to take on Kells and his army.”

Robbie looked shocked. “Go up against the Administration? You’re nuts: do it yourself!” The remark was directed more at Vincent than anyone else.

The man shook his head. “They’re watching him. It would be akin to walking into an ambush.”

It was Miranda’s turn to shake her head now. “We’ll never be able to pull it off, though. Kells probably has a thousand guys protecting him.”

“By yourself, no, you could not,” the man agreed. “But together, we harness the elements,” he said, gesturing towards Tanner and Lucah, “control the weather itself,” he added, looking at Robbie, “we have the ultimate defense,” he said, looking at Miranda, “and we have the power to become the enemy himself.” At this last line, he looked knowingly at Angel. “And if any of you remain unconvinced, consider what life may be like if Kells is not stopped. Is that a chance you’re willing to take?”

Lucah’s fists clenched tightly at his sides. “It sounds like we don’t have much of a choice, then.”

“I’m glad you agree.”

Tanner took a step towards this man. “I’m not so sure about this. I like my life. I don’t wanna get killed.”

“Won’t you?”

To this, Tanner didn’t have a response.

“Who are you, anyway?” All eyes turned towards Angel as she spoke up. “I mean, you know so much about us.”

“You can call me…” The man stated, taking a few more steps towards the group, “Doctor Neville.”

Sean looked from one student to the next, watching them all as they considered this information, all that had been explained over the past several minutes, and what their next steps would be.

“The future of the meta race may very well depend on the five of you,” he said, crossing his arms tightly in front of his chest. “Now, let’s get started.”

[Tanner Larson]

((Written for the March Writing Challenge, Prompt 13: Twisted. This was borne from a very short conversation I had with Kalli about the need for a Mortal Kombat AU. Spawned a really awesome, multi-part AU fic I'm now writing. Note there is violence and swearing.))

Meta Kombat: Confrontation

“Fatality!”

Cheers rose up from the coliseum as the announcement was made, marking the completion of that morning’s battle. Tanner Larson stood over the charred remains of his competitor, who lay lifeless on the dirt ground below him. His eyes were wide, but he stood motionless for a moment as the applause rang around him. At his side, his hands were balled into fists; his face was darkened with ash, and his blonde hair stood on end. Dark red shirt was torn in several places, and form-fitting jeans were stained with dirt leftover from the struggle.

The woman’s body was, at this point, nearly unrecognizable. In life, she had been tall, slender, athletic. Blonde and beautiful. Super flexibility was her meta ability, and she had been a worthy adversary: Tanner’s neck would remain bruised for a while, from when the girl had throttled him with her strong, toned legs. Tanner had won, though, mostly due to his physical endurance: Calliope Gallo had grown tired, and Tanner had seized the opportunity. The girl had gone up in flames like so many others before her. Now, the body was still, and Tanner’s blue eyes were fixated on it.

This wasn’t the first time Tanner had killed a person, but it never got easier.

Turning away from the body, the blonde faced the assembled audience, who sat high above them in stadium seating. Lifting his fists into the air, they ignited into flames – his signature victory stance. The audience was still cheering as he shouted, in a hoarse, labored voice, his standard line:

“The fires of Hell have claimed another soul!”

The cheers grew ever louder. Eventually, a smile formed on the young man’s lips.

--

Not long after, Tanner was being ushered off the battleground and down into the underground chambers where competitors prepared. Having won the Round of Sixteen, he now had a few more days to prepare for the Round of Eight. Were he to survive that, then he would be in the Final Four. His preparations would mostly consist of recovering from that day’s battle: with only 48 or so hours between that time and his next fight, he would need to rest as much as possible to ensure he was at the top of his game. The arrogant pyrokinetic did not believe he needed any further training: he was ready to win, and win, and win.

He was ready to be the Ultimate Meta Fighter. The Champion of Meta Kombat. He just knew it.

The Meta Kombat was a yearly competition. Over one hundred meta humans entered, and battles were fought bracket-style until ultimately, two fighters engaged in the final round: the Meta Kombat Championship. Fighters were matched up at random, and once the battle started, it wasn’t over until one of them was dead.

It had been an annual tradition in the City of Pilot Ridge for a decade now. Emperor Kells had established it upon ascending to power, and the competition was now a big draw: metas and normals alike made the yearly pilgrimage to bear witness to this perverse display of strength, power, and showmanship.

Until that year, Tanner had never planned on entering what he had always thought of as an awful tradition, a stain on American history as much as the Emperor himself. But after La Maison Magnifique was shut down following a particularly terrible raid, the blonde had found himself without an income – or, for that matter, purpose. And with competitors standing to win a cool million dollars – not to mention the bragging rights and whatever other opportunities that might arise from such a feat – Tanner decided he had nothing much to lose for such a potential gain.

At Madame Cynthia’s behest, Tanner had trained under famed fighter Vincent Meian. It had been an extremely difficult few months, during which the meta warrior had pushed Tanner to, and past, his limits, but there was no denying that he was stronger now than he had ever been before. When Meta Kombat began, he was ready.

Things had, quite clearly, gone well up until that point. He had fought five battles in two weeks. The first was with a telekinetic who’d put up much more of a fight than Tanner had expected: his battle with Lani Hunter had certainly been a wake-up call. His second fight had been easier, against a probability manipulator whose luck ran out that day. The third was a kid who could fly; he had been tough to catch, but once he had, the battle was soon finished. The fourth, a few days before today’s battle, was against a shapeshifter whose lizard form was intimidating, but fortunately not as strong as Tanner’s fireballs. And then there was today’s battle, against the flexible chick, who was good at hand-to-hand combat but who simply couldn’t deflect his flamethrowing prowess.

He knew things would only get harder, but he knew he was ready. Tanner Larson would be the Meta Kombat Champion.

--

Two days later, Tanner was again at the arena. It was the Round of Eight, and chatter amongst the spectators was that the young blonde was destined to make the Final Four. Tanner wasn’t taking anything for granted, though: he came prepared, and he was ready for the fight of his life.

It was particularly warm that day, which wasn’t good for Tanner, as his body temperature was already abnormally high for a human. He would be sweating before the battle even started.

“On the northern end of the arena,” came the booming voice of the announcer. “Hailing from New Jersey, Pilot Ridge’s Golden Boy, the all-star pyrokinetic... Tanner Larson!”

The cheers rose up again as Tanner lifted his flaming fists into the air.

“And on the southern end, hailing from Wisconsin, a fellow Hammel graduate, and the only weather manipulator remaining in the competition… Robert Wilkes!”

Tanner’s jaw dropped. Had he misheard?

But no, coming through the gate was the young blonde Tanner had known from his years at the Institute.

“No…”

Tanner’s head was shaking. This couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. He would be fighting his own friend.

One of them would kill the other.

It was sick; it was wrong. It was against everything Tanner believed in, was entirely indicative of exactly why the boy had hated Meta Kombat from the day it was established.

He hadn’t known any of his previous competitors, had been able to detach himself from their stories and just do his job. But this was different. He knew Robbie. He cared about Robbie.

He thought Robbie had moved away years ago.

From several yards away, Tanner saw Robie lift his hands up to chest level, a powerful gust of wind rising up around him to the cheers of the crowd. It was after finishing this gesture, as the announcer was reminding competitors and spectators alike of the rules, that Robbie finally looked over at Tanner, their eyes meeting for the first time in more than three years.

Tanner looked concerned, anxious. Robbie looked determined, driven.

“Fight!”

The announcement came so suddenly that Tanner wasn’t prepared. Without thinking, he began running towards Robbie. This was for two reasons: the first, from a strategic perspective, was that closing the distance between them would provide the other blonde with less time to draw upon enough atmospheric energy to produce his more powerful moves. The second was that he needed to talk to him. He wanted to be detached, to make the kill without feeling something. But he knew it would be impossible this time.

“Robbie!”

The word left his mouth as he was drawing near to the other boy.

“Don’t talk to me!”

The reply was shakier than Tanner, and perhaps even Robbie himself, would have expected. It sounded to Tanner like Robbie was thinking the same thing he was.

“Robbie,” he repeated, much closer to the other boy now. “Robbie, I thought you left-“

“We can’t talk now!” Robbie replied stubbornly. “It’s too late to do anything about this. We just have to fight. Tanner, I’m sorry.”

Tanner didn’t appreciate the apology: if Robbie was so certain he was going to win, then he was in for a surprise.

“No, we can stop this,” Tanner persisted. “I can concede!”

Robbie shook his head. “You can’t do that, Tanner. You know the rules.”

Tanner looked down. “Why didn’t you tell me you were doing this? I could’ve… I dunno, I could’ve bribed someone.”

“How was I supposed to know you were?” He sighed. “Tanner, we would’ve had to face each other eventually.” He looked up; the crowd was eerily silent, though impatient jeers were starting to make themselves known. “Look, Tanner, we can’t delay this any longer. It’s time.”

Tanner looked back up. “Yeah. Okay.” He started taking a few steps back. “But I want you to make the first move.”

Robbie nodded. Closing his eyes, he waved his hands in front of his face, drawing in as much moisture from the air as he could muster, which began to condense and form a wall of water around him. Fortunately for Tanner, it was not only hot that day, but also dry. So when Robbie’s flash flood was sent his way, it wasn’t too difficult for him to deal with.

“Flash Flood!”

Tanner – who by now was several meters from Robbie – closed his own eyes now, bringing his hands together. His brow furrowed, and his body began shaking. With a loud scream – “Flamethrower!” – he sent a beam of raging fire back in Robbie’s direction. The flames converted most of the water into steam, so by the time it reached Tanner, it was little more than a thin stream trickling over the dirt.

For a moment, both boys just stood there. Robbie was looking at Tanner expectantly.

“Well?!” He called out to him after a while.

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to fight me?”

Tanner sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shit, Robbie.” That was all he could say for a moment. “Shit!” He repeated, more loudly, stamping the ground. “Just… GOD!”

Robbie looked down at the ground, and when he looked back up a moment later, his appearance was darker. “There’s no use in delaying the inevitable any longer,” he stated. “If you won’t fight me, then I will just have to finish this more quickly.” He could already hear the announcer screaming ‘Flawless Victory!’ in his mind.

Closing his eyes once more, he lifted his hands to chest level, the wind rushing towards him. Within seconds, a small tornado had formed in the arena.

“TWISTER!”

With this cry, Robbie sent the tornado in Tanner’s direction, growing by the second.

Tanner’s eyes widened, but only slightly.

He looked around, deciding that he wouldn’t be able to outrun it. Thinking through all of his moves, he determined there was no way to disperse the tornado before it arrived - there was only so much that fire could do. In the final moment, as the tornado was bearing down on him, he decided that any evasive measure was simply futile.

So he let go.

The tornado grabbed him, twisting his body this way and that before lifting him up off the ground. Around and around he went, shirt flapping about his chest in the strong winds. His eyes were shut tightly, teeth gritted as he attempted to brace himself. Both of his sneakers went flying off, leaving him barefoot. Higher and higher he went, until he was pulled up above the highest seats in the coliseum. He looked down: the crowd looked like so many ants. He was getting to the top of the twister: in just a few moments, the time for action would arrive.

When that time came, Tanner synthesized a small fireball and threw it out of the tornado; it wasn’t much, but it was enough to push his own momentum in the opposite direction just outside of the tornado’s grasp. Years of studying physics had, evidently, been put to good use.

Down he went, gravity quickly pulling him closer and closer to Earth.

“Smokescreen!”

Smoke began pouring out of his body like he was a tea kettle. It filled the area immediately around him, the dense, dark fog creating an opaque wall that concealed him from all eyes. Robbie watched this bemusedly; smoke or not, Tanner was about to hit the ground from several hundred feet in the air. There was no way he’d be able to survive that.

When he heard the THUD!, Robbie looked down at the ground somberly. Though he couldn’t see the body due to all the smoke, it was safe to assume the end had come. At least it was over. He hoped Tanner had died quickly, and that he hadn’t felt too much pain, or fear. It was better that way. He raised his hands into the air, bringing the winds towards him as part of his victory stance.

“FLAMETHROWER!”

When Robbie opened his eyes to find a blast of fire hurtling towards him, it was already too late to do anything about it.

Tanner emerged from the smoke, his right leg dragging his left behind him. One of his arms hung lower than the other; his shoulder was pretty messed up, and he had bruises forming on his arms and neck. His face was covered in dirt and smoke.

The blonde watched briefly as the fire consumed Robbie. It would have been easy for him to just stand there and wait for it to be over, but he knew he couldn’t do that. It was simply beyond his own emotional capacity. No, he could change this, he could make it better for both of them, and he would.

Everyone knew Tanner could create fire, but what few knew is that he could extinguish it just as easily, by absorbing it back into his body.

And that was exactly what he did.

Robbie collapsed to his knees, his face hitting the floor soon after. Moments later, Tanner was upon him, kneeling beside him with great pain.

“Robbie…”

The blonde struggled to get up but found himself unable to do so. He was breathing quickly, but every breath caused him more pain. “Oh God, Tanner, it hurts…”

Tears were forming in Tanner’s eyes. He wasn’t expecting that. “I know, Robbie, it hurts me too.” The fall had been much more painful than he had anticipated. He moved to sit on the ground cross-legged, pulling Robbie into his lap. “But you’re alive. You’re alive, I swear it.”

Robbie squirmed uncomfortably. “I know. But… I don’t…”

Tanner shook his head. “Shut up. Don’t say that. You’re gonna be okay.” He looked around, wondering how long they had until the crowd started demanding a Finishing Move.

“Tanner, we knew it had to end somehow. We couldn’t both… We couldn’t…” He winced; though he’d only been engulfed by the fire for five or ten seconds, it had felt like an eternity.

The pyrokinetic shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be like this. Hey.” He felt Robbie weakening in his grasp. “Hey, stay with me, now.” He nudged the other’s face, which felt incredibly hot, sniffling pathetically as he did so.

“Tanner, you’re gonna have to... Finish me.” He looked up at Tanner hopefully; frankly, with as much pain as he was in, part of him wanted it to come soon.

Tanner shook his head again. “I refuse. I don’t care what they do to me.”

Robbie chuckled darkly. “It’s not worth it.”

“Yes it is!” He moved away from the other boy, standing and looking around. “I can… I can make you look dead. I can burn your clothes and stain your skin with ash. Nobody will be the wiser. It’ll work, Robbie!”

The older blonde was too weak to shake his head. “It won’t, Tanner, they’ll find out.”

Tanner responded frantically. “No, they won’t. I know the guards. They’ll carry you out. They won’t tell a soul!” He kneeled down again, ignoring the pain that shot up his left leg as he did so. “Do you trust me, Robbie?”

For a moment, Robbie was silent. But then, with great effort, he nodded.

“Good.” His voice grew lower now, quieter: he had to be sure nobody else would hear his next words. “When the fight is over, let them carry you out. Don’t make a sound or a move. Don't! I’ll follow behind you. I’ll… find a way for us both to be brought out together. When the coast is clear, I’ll get you out of here. I have friends here. They can heal you. Do you understand me?”

He waited for another nod of confirmation. “Okay. This will work, Robbie. You just have to do as I say. Now go limp.” As he said this, the immediate area began filling with smoke. The last thing the crowd could see was Tanner standing over Robbie menacingly, a fireball hovering just above his left hand.

When the smoke cleared, Robbie was completely still. Tanner turned towards the audience, gathering up all of his remaining strength as he lifted his fists into the air. As he did this, the pain in his shoulder became nearly unbearable. Well, that would make his own theatrics a bit more realistic. He began swaying from side to side, as though he had grown lightheaded. He looked off into the distance like his vision was blurring.

“The fires of… Hell…” Before he could finish his line, he was on the ground.

Both fighters had to be carried out of the arena that day.

[Tanner Larson]

((This is Part III of my Fly series (click here for Part I and Part II. I wrote the first scene like a Disney narrator. I’m not sure why. Enjoy!))

Masquerade

Up in a tower within the Hammel Institute, surrounded by stone and cement, there was a room. It was simple enough in nature: the floors were a dark wood, the walls the same stone façade as the exterior. It was a tall room, greater upwards than around, the main focal point of which was a large bed of soft pink, canopied in the same bright shade. The large columns of the bed’s canopy stretched upwards, reaching towards the vaulted ceiling. A dresser stood by the door, and on the other side, a window provided a view of the school grounds, beyond which could be seen the faint outline of the front gate. It was often cold at night, and the candelabras attached to the walls provided little light.

Housed in this room which sat so high above Hammel was one Kiara Lilien. She had been living in these quarters since arriving at Hammel, soon after which she had been assigned to the care of Helga Janisson, one of the maids at the Institute. As a child, Helga had helped the girl get ready for school and clean her living space. Now, ten years later, Aunty Helga still attended to Kiara, though in a different manner. Theirs was a bond few could understand, and even fewer replicate.

At that moment, Kiara was preparing for the evening’s festivities. The young woman was dressed in a long, pink and green dress that stretched from just under her shoulders down to the floor. She was seated on the edge of her bed, the pink portions of the dress blending in with the sheets. In her hands was a purple sequined mask which would, when adorned, cover much of her face, save for the blue pupils of her eyes and her thin, red-painted lips.

Behind her, Aunty Helga ran a long-handled brush through her hair, which spilled in curls over her charge’s shoulders. As they sat, one woman combing the other’s golden hair, they chattered – that is to say, Aunty chattered and Kiara listened – about this and that. Time and again, the conversation fell to what awaited Kiara downstairs that evening.

For while the occurrence of Aunty Helga combing Kiara’s hair was quite common, the reason for this preening was quite rare indeed.

The Hammel Institute Co-Educational Masquerade Ball was a once-yearly occurrence. On any other day of the year, dalliance – or any sort of amorous interaction – between the genders was not only discouraged, but strictly forbidden at the school. The masquerade, then, was a rare opportunity for students of the opposite gender to come together for a night of music, dancing, and revelry – all behind the careful protection of a mask.

As she continued grooming her ward, Aunty Helga recalled with joyful vision the balls she had attended as a child. Having been of the working class, she hadn’t gotten such a glimpse of elegant high life until attending Hammel herself. She had loved every aspect of it – dressing up, picking out a mask, dancing to the music with the mysterious gentlemen… she sighed, lost in a patchwork of lovely memories.

Kiara, for her own part, was listening with only half an ear as Aunty finished up her work. Her mind, too, was elsewhere: on a boy, the one into whom she had stumbled a week or two earlier in the courtyard.

She and Aunty had been walking down the cobblestone path, hurrying in one direction or another; the courtyard was usually a busy place, one of the only outdoor areas students were allowed. Lingering was frowned upon, though, so Aunty usually prodded the girl along.

Kiara had been distracted that day, as well. The sun was shining, bright and warm, and the girl was looking up at the sky, remarking to herself on the wonderful shapes of the clouds. The starry-eyed girl – whom, coincidentally, Aunty often joked had her head in the clouds – was not watching where she was going, and she paid the price for this aloofness when she suddenly ran right into another student.

“Oh!” Kiara called out, taking a hurried step back, head snapping down to eye-level and fixing the bonnet that sat atop her head. “My goodness.”

Before her stood a young man dressed in a dark collared shirt and khaki slacks. His blonde hair – a similar color to Kiara’s own – was spiked up neatly, and a backpack was slung over one shoulder. He was looking back at her, and their eyes locked for a moment.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he uttered, his right hand seeming to quake by his side. “I didn’t see you there.”

“The fault is mine,” Kiara replied lightly, providing this stranger with a slight curtsey.

The boy smiled. Kiara fell in love almost instantly.

That was when he extended a hand towards her, palm open, inviting.

“I’m Tanner.”

Kiara moved to take this boy’s hand, when she felt herself being tugged sharply in the opposite direction. It was all she could do to look back over her shoulder, to find this Tanner fellow watching anxiously as she left him.

“Come along now, dearie,” Aunty Helga murmured as she pulled the girl in close, the two women rushing off towards one of the buildings. “None of that today. We don’t need trouble.”

Everywhere they went, the woman was convinced they were being watched.

That was two weeks ago, and Kiara hadn’t seen Tanner since. She had thought of him, though – thought of his cool, blue eyes, his neat blonde hair, his charming, handsome smile. Tanner. Did he think of her? Did he long for another such meeting, a chance encounter, perhaps longer in duration?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden removal of the comb from her hair. Helga was placing it down on the bed, fluffing the curls with her fingers once or twice. “There, now that’s perfect.” She said, taking up the hand mirror that had been sitting beside her on the bed and bringing it up to Kiara’s face.

Kiara looked into the mirror, seeing not only her own glowing reflection, but that of Aunty Helga peering into it behind her. She looked worn, tired, but proud.

“Now, aren’t you beautiful?” Helga whispered, a small smile growing on her face. “You’ll be the belle of the ball, I’m sure.”

Kiara tried to emulate this happiness but found it impossible – not when she longed for a boy she didn’t think she would ever see again. A soft sigh escaped her lips, shoulders sagging slightly – a motion that was not lost on Helga Janisson.

“It’s okay to be nervous, dearie,” Helga cooed, patting the girl on the shoulder comfortingly as she misinterpreted the girl’s somber behavior. “Just try to have fun. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get to dance with some nice boys.”

Kiara huffed, fumbling with the mask in her hands as she stood up from the bed.

“I shall dance with a dozen men this evening,” she said, pulling her mask down over her face, “but scarcely heed the lot of them.”

When Kiara walked through the open double doors and into the hallway that led to the ballroom, she could already hear the music. It seemed to sing to her, to beckon her join them, and she obeyed, lifting up the front of her long dress and walking briskly towards the interior doors, her heels click-clacking on the wooden planks under her feet. She froze, though, when she finally reached the ballroom.

There were hundreds of people there. Many were dancing, but others were standing off to the side, talking or enjoying the refreshments. All of them wore masks, making the sea of strangers almost frightful. But she pressed onward, taking a deep breath before slowly making her way down the stairs and into the ballroom.

On the other side of this gigantic room, Tanner Larson stood with one of his friends, a bright red mask shrouding his appearance.

“I know she’s here, Michael,” he stated, eyes darting this way and that behind the mask. “I just have to find her.”

“It’s no use,” the other boy replied, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “There are half a million girls here, all wearing masks. What are the chances-“

The boy was hushed by Tanner’s hand lifting into the air to silence him. For there, on the stairs, was the girl Tanner had been searching for for half a month.

“That’s her, Michael,” Tanner breathed. “I know it. I would recognize her anywhere, mask or no.” A wide grin stretched across his face. “My God, isn’t she beautiful?”

Michael looked up as well; he couldn’t disagree. “You’re sure that’s her?”

“Positive.”

The brunette smirked, slapping Tanner on the back. “Then what are you waiting for?” He asked jovially. “Go to her!”

Tanner did just that, making his way through the masses towards Kiara, who was getting lower and lower on the stairs. Just before he reached her, though, a strong hand came down on his shoulder.

Turning, he came face to face with a young woman. Though he could not see her face, her long brown hair, slender figure, and smooth, fair skin were most enticing.

But as gorgeous as she may have been, she was not the one Tanner was looking for, and that disqualified her.

“May I help you?” He asked, trying to be polite without inviting further conversation: he felt he had no time to lose.

“A dance,” purred this strange woman, pulling the young man into her grasp. Her voice was deep, sultry, seductive. Tanner could not rightly say no, and so he merely consented, determining he would give her one dance, keep his eyes on Kiara, and slip away as soon as he was able.

On the staircase, Kiara was looking around, largely in vain, for the boy from the courtyard. She knew she would never be able to find him amidst such a large crowd, but she refused to give up.

“My lady.”

Kiara turned, finding a few steps below her a man peering up at her.

His hair was short, but brown. It wasn’t him.

“My lord,” she replied, giving a pleasant, though shallow, curtsey.

“Have you come alone?”

Kiara hesitated for a moment, not wishing to lie, but equally reluctant to divulge the truth. “I have,” she replied in a moment.

“Then I take it you are free for a dance? Please, allow me,” he said, taking her hand and leading her onto a crowded dance floor.

Kiara looked desperately out at the crowd before resigning herself to her fate. She allowed this strange man to take her out to the center of the floor. He seemed nice enough, she mused to herself, but he wasn’t the man she wanted.

“You dance beautifully,” he remarked after a few measures of waltzing.

“Thank you,” she responded, trying to muster up a smile.

“If my memory serves me correctly,” he continued, as they danced away, “I believe I have seen you around before. You walk about with a servant woman, do you not?”

Kiara would have frozen if not for the fact she was being pulled this way and that by the gentleman. “Why, yes… Yes, I do,” she said through a forcibly cheerful smile. “I am flattered that you have remembered me.”

“Jackson. Jackson Haynes.”

Kiara thought for a moment. “Lily,” she said eventually. “My name is Lily.” It wasn’t too far from the truth, her last name sounding quite similar.

“Lily,” the man repeated huskily, lifting one of her hands to his face to leave a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Kiara nodded. “And yours as well, sir.”

“I hope I shall be so lucky as to have your company all evening,” he ventured to say.

Kiara thought for a moment, before shaking her head. “With apologies to my lord… there is only one man here for me. I am afraid you are not him.”

Jackson looked visibly upset. “Aren’t I? So there is someone?”

Kiara nodded.

“And how do you plan to find him?”

“I’ll know him when I see him.”

The male brunette looked at her quizzically. “I sincerely hope you are not saying you have been communing with a member of the opposite gender...”

This challenge only made Kiara more stubborn. “And if I am?”

Jackson shook his head. “Such behavior is not allowed at this institution-“

“I am not long for this institution.”

This statement – a profession of Kiara’s deepest, most latent convictions – confused Jackson as much as it surprised her.

“My apologies,” he said, with a slight nod of his head. “I seem to have upset you.”

Kiara recovered quickly, forcing a girlish giggle and shaking her head. “Not at all,” she replied. “Let us finish our dance.”

And so they did, dancing their way from one end of the room to the other, making polite conversation and generally enjoying one another’s company as they did so. When the song was coming to a close, Jackson raised one of his hands towards the woman’s face.

“Since I have seen you before,” he stated, fingers brushing up her cheek to grab at her mask, “I suppose there would be no harm-“

“Why, sir,” Kiara replied, moving his hand away. “That’s against the rules.” Masks were to stay on at all times. It was then Kiara noticed just how tightly this man was holding onto her.

“I long for you.”

“I said no.”

“Lily-“

Kiara wrestled herself out of Jackson’s arms, moving as quickly as she could away from the man and his unpleasant advances.

And, as though the Fates themselves had conspired to create this very moment, it was then that the young woman, as she moved to readjust her mask, found herself again facing the young man from the courtyard.

Time stood still for a moment, before Tanner's voice broke through.

“May I have this dance?”

Again, he extended a hand towards her. But this time, with nobody to stop her, she took it, gently, stepping into his arms.

They were silent for a moment, their eyes locked, arms around one another’s bodies as they danced. Eventually, Tanner spoke first.

“You… are in the courtyard quite frequently, yes?”

Kiara hid a smile, all too familiar with this game.

“Yes, frequently.” She paused. “Though I must admit, I do not always watch where I’m going.”

Tanner smiled. “So you… are her.”

Kiara smiled back. “I am as I always have been.”

And they danced, all other present bodies melting away as though the music played only for them. They were alone – yes, were they not? – and the music swelled as Tanner twirled Kiara around under his arm, before bringing her back in close, arms more tightly around her than before.

Now that he had found her, he was not about to let go.

“I hope you will not think it improper,” he said directly into her ear, “for me to say you look positively ravishing.”

Kiara blushed. “And I hope you will not think it forward,” she returned, “for me to admit I have been waiting for this moment, for-“

“For two weeks,” Tanner finished quickly. “Yes, I know, for I have been waiting too, thinking about you day in and day out. I’ve been seemingly unable to think of anything else. But please, I beg of you – help me fill in the blanks. Tell me, angel… what is your name?”

“Kiara.”

The boy exhaled, as though releasing a breath of air he had been holding in for as many days. “Kiara,” he repeated, allowing his eyes to flutter shut as he breathed the word. “You have made these sleepless nights worth every waking minute.”

Kiara was swooning. “Oh, Tanner, had I only known… had I only been able to find-“

“No,” he uttered quickly. “Think not of the past. What we have is here and now.” He brought the girl’s hands up to kiss; she felt guilty, knowing he was not the first boy to have done so that evening. “All that matters to me is that I have found you. Promise me you’ll never leave my sight again.”

“Oh, yes!” Kiara asserted. “A thousand times yes!”

Tanner grinned. “I do have one last request to ask of you, Kiara.”

“Anything, sir.”

“Allow me…” Losing the words in his mind, he leaned in towards her, their lips mere inches apart. “To feel…”

Kiara grew impatient. “Enough words!” She whispered excitedly. “Make not another sound, but do the deed!”

And so they kissed, there in the middle of the ballroom, countless other bodies dancing and twirling around them, as the music rang in their ears: their first kiss, in such a magical moment, with the promise of so many more to follow.

But while they stood intertwined in this fated embrace, over in the corner another partygoer watched this kiss with malice on the mind.

“So, this is what’s going on, is it?” Jackson asked himself, hands balling into fists as he watched the two lovers meet mouth to mouth. “So this is why she spurned my advances.” He turned inward, away from the two other students, suppressing a low growl. “I’ll not be made a mockery of. That girl is mine… and I will have her.”

“I will do what I must.”

[Tanner Larson]

((Written for the March Writing Challenge, Prompt 48: Shine. This is super depressing and I sort of hate myself for writing it, but the idea had been floating around in my mind for months and I had to get it out there. Enjoy!))

Three Years Hence

When Cynthia DeMato lifted her head off the desk, she noticed something strange.

She had fallen asleep there, in her office, head coming to rest on a pile of paperwork she hadn’t been focusing on. There was a lot on her mind recently, as there had been for a while. Things weren’t going so well – not at the club, but in general. It was difficult to think about, but her mind rarely paid heed to anything else.

Some troubles were hard to ignore.

But when she lifted up her head, she found that her paperwork was gone. In their place was a small patch of flowers sprouting out of her bright purple desk. Purple… she didn’t recall that being the color of her desk. She looked over to the photo frame that sat in one of its corners. Inside of the gleaming silver frame, an angel could be seen smiling up at the heavens, golden halo framing his beautiful face. On the desk, the flowers began to dance, as though moved to and fro by some unseen, unfelt wind. They danced this way and that, defying the stillness of the air.

Now why should that be?

She looked up when she heard the door open. A bright light shone in from beyond the doorway. Cynthia lifted up her hand to shield her squinting eyes.

“You wanted to see me?”

When Cynthia removed her hand from in front of her face, the light was gone. Tanner Larson stood in front of her, looking at her nervously.

“Yes,” she found herself saying. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” She gestured towards the chair on the other side of her desk. “Please, sit down.”

The boy looked at the chair apprehensively, ultimately nodding his head and moving to sit down. Cynthia watched this, noting his hesitation. It didn’t seem he wanted to be there.

“So…” She searched for words as her eyes fell back down to the dancing flowers, which continued to move all on their own. “How have you been?” She looked back up at him as she asked the question, concern evident in her voice.

The boy shrugged his shoulders sadly, placing his hands in his lap. “Not so good,” he replied before chuckling softly. “I guess that’s obvious now.”

The middle-aged brunette nodded her head slowly. “I… I wish I had known.” She gulped. “I wish you had told me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Cynthia shook her head. “I don’t want your apology.” Her voice was soft, but there was a firmness there. She had wanted to have this conversation for a long time, and now that they were finally face to face, she found herself feeling more anger than anything else.

“Why?”

She asked the question so suddenly, that she almost didn’t believe it had come from her own mouth.

“I mean…” She squeezed her eyes shut, as though actively working through the difficulty of the words. “How could you do something so… selfish?”

“I know,” Tanner replied quickly, hand reaching to the back of his neck as it so often did. “I know! I don’t know why I did it. I just didn’t know where else to go.”

Cynthia leaned into the desk, hands pressing down into the dancing flowers. “You could have come to me.”

Tanner looked frustrated; he was starting to get upset. “I wish I could take it back, okay? I do…” But he couldn’t; she knew he couldn’t.

Suicide wasn’t something that could be taken back.

Cynthia shook her head. “I just don’t understand. I have so many questions. How could you be so stupid? How could you do that to yourself?” How? How, how, how…

Tanner broke then. “I know it was stupid, okay?” He asked, getting choked up as he did so. “I did one stupid thing, and now I’m stuck!”

Cynthia quirked an eyebrow. Stuck? How could he be…

“Oh, no…”

Purgatory.

Tanner clawed at his face, as though trying to physically push the tears back into his eyes. “I’m afraid I won’t get into heaven because I took my own life.”

Cynthia stood from the desk. “No,” she declared, “that’s not true.” She moved away from the desk, moving towards Tanner. The walk seemed interminably long, as though with each step she took, Tanner’s chair moved away from her.

When she reached him, they were situated in the middle of a field. Flowers danced all around them, a light breeze carrying petals through the air. The sun shone down upon them. Cynthia knelt down, long skirt pooling around her feet. Her arms wrapped themselves around the boy’s waist. Tanner buried his face in her shoulder. She spoke softly in his ear.

“You are with God.”

Cynthia DeMato didn’t belive that He would ever leave one of his children behind.

They staid like this for a while until their surroundings began to dim: the dream was starting to fade. Cynthia would wake up soon. It was then that Tanner looked up once more, sniffling softly as though finally recovering.

“I have to go now,” he said, moving to rise from his seat.

“I know,” she agreed, allowing him to do so. She took his hand into hers, gripping it tightly. “Thank you. For visiting me. I needed it.”

The boy nodded. “I’m with you, you know.”

It was Cynthia’s turn to nod now. “Yes, I know.” She sighed softly, pulling the boy into a second hug. “You’re gonna be okay, kid.” She willed herself to smile. “And hey, put in a good word for me, will ya? I don’t think I’m too far behind.”

Tanner giggled. “Deal.”

She held him as the dream continued to leave her. The scene unraveled like a scarf at its fringes, curling away like the pages of an ancient tomb. The sun still shone, but the yellow began to whiten. The breeze died down, the chair melted away, and the flowers kept dancing and dancing.

--

When Cynthia woke up in her office, she was acutely aware she was crying. She lifted her head off the desk, finding the familiar paperwork still strewn about the desk. There were no flowers. The desk was brown, just as she remembered it. On the corner of the desk stood a picture frame. Tanner Larson smiled in the photo, a permanent memorial of that special boy. Her Golden Boy; her shining star.

It had been three years to the day. Three years since Cynthia had found Tanner hanging in the closet. Three years since she had watched the coroner declare his time and the EMT’s zip him up into one of those bags from which no one ever emerged. Three years since she had chosen a song to sing at his funeral.

It felt like three minutes. It always did.

The door opened, the fluorescent light leaking in from the hallway.

“You ready?”

Valerie Danner stood in the doorway. She was wearing a bright red, sequined dress that hung from her shoulders to the floor. Her brown hair was teased up into curls. She looked stunning.

Cynthia looked at her for a moment, as though it wasn’t her she had been expecting. “Yeah,” she replied at length. “I’m ready.”

It was the Second Annual Tanner Larson Memorial Show. They had done this every year since Tanner had passed. The proceeds went to the Trevor Project suicide hotline for LGBT youth.

“I’ll, uh… meet you out there,” Cynthia requested, and Valerie nodded, leaving the room.

The woman sighed, knocking her fists lightly against the desk. One hand reached for the photo, lifting the silver frame to her face. Her lips touched the glass, leaving a soft print of light pink lipstick.

“This one’s for you, baby,” she said, smiling sadly. She placed the frame back down, took a moment to look around the office one more time, and headed out for the stage.

She would give it her all that night, for him.

For him, she would shine.

[Roger Vandelay]

((This one's mostly for Dio & Evan Thanos, but I hope anyone who reads it will enjoy! Special thanks to Abi, though I can't say why or that ruins the fun. Warning: slightly suggestive...))

Immodest Proposal

“Thank you for coming.”

Roger Vandelay was sitting across a large desk from Dionysus and Evander Thanos. This was not the usual classroom in which the student met with his trainers; rather, it was a small office with not much room for anything beyond the desk and three chairs. The trainers were on one side of the desk, and Roger was on the other, looking up as these words were spoken.

“Yeah,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders meekly. “Well… you insisted.”

The two men leaned forward at the same time, knitting their hands together into two balls and placing them down onto the desk.

Dionysus inhaled, holding his breath for a moment before letting it out as he spoke. “We wanted to talk to you…”

“…about what happened,” Evander finished, the two men eyeing Roger carefully.

Roger smiled innocently. “What happened with what?”

“Roger, this is serious.”

The boy sighed, looking down into his lap before looking back up. He didn’t say anything further, though, knowing the trainers likely had plenty to say for the three of them.

“We want you to understand,” Evander said, “that we don’t normally do those sorts of things… particularly with students.”

“Ever,” Dionysus added.

Roger nodded his head with understanding, though he still didn’t speak.

“But when you approached us with your… proposal,” Dionysus continued, clearly taking his time to choose his words carefully, “we had to admit we were…”

“…curious.” Evander finished. “Interested, even.”

Roger’s ears perked up, as though that was something he had been hoping to hear.

“We must admit,” the two men concluded in tandem, “that we did enjoy what the three of us did together.”

Roger finally broke his silence. “I know,” he stated confidently – almost stubbornly. “I know what fun looks like.”

“Yes, well, that said…” Evander replied, “we wanted you to know that… this isn’t something that can happen again.”

The shapeshifter looked down again, shoulders falling as though the wind had been let out of his sails, though he nodded his head once more. “Yeah, I figured,” he said, somewhat sadly. He looked up yet again. “You two aren’t in trouble, are you?”

The two men simultaneously raised a hand, as though to alleviate the boy’s concerns. “We spoke of the matter with Doctor Neville, who agreed that as this was a first-time offense, a stern reprimand would suffice.”

Roger frowned. He didn’t like the idea of them getting in trouble for something that had been his idea. “Well, that’s good, I guess,” he said. “I mean, I figured, since we were all okay with it…”

The two men nodded. “Yes, this was something that we agreed to do together.”

“Yeah… shame we got caught doing it, though,” the younger male replied.

“Yes… I suppose that’s what security cameras are for,” Evander replied evenly. “Catching people doing things they… aren’t meant to be doing. Particularly involving a student in the faculty lounge.”

“Do you regret it?” The question surprised the boy even as he voiced it.

The Thanos twins turned towards one another, unspoken words passing between them before they moved their gaze back towards the student.

“No.” The smallest hint of a smile appeared on their faces which only someone who knew the twins fairly well and knew what signs to look for would have ascertained. But Roger knew them well – very well – and this miniscule gesture was not lost on him.

Roger returned their faint smile with his own, much wider one. “Good,” he replied. “I don’t, either.” He scooted forward in his seat, leaning slightly over the desk. “To be honest, well… it was kind of nice getting to know you guys a bit more… casually. I had a good time doing it.”

The two men nodded. “Well, be that as it may, we appreciate you understanding that this was a… one-time arrangement.” The two men spoke in tandem as they so frequently did, but as often as they did, it still made Roger a bit uneasy. He wagered he would never get used to it.

Roger shrugged, deciding this was getting too serious. “It was just a harmless prank, though. I mean, putting food coloring in Ms. Rivers’ drink to stain her teeth? Child’s play.” He paused. “I can’t believe how quickly she noticed, though.”

The twins smiled. “And I can’t believe you convinced us to distract her while you slipped the dye into her tea.”

Roger grinned, giving a playful wink. “I have my methods of persuasion.”

Another small smile from the twins. “Well, as we said before, this will remain a one-time thing. We don’t need any more of your little pranks on our record.”

The boy nodded, standing from his chair. “Fine. Well, anyway, thanks for the talk. I’m glad Melody didn’t get too mad.” Working at the House sure had its perks, as it meant the boy knew Ms. Rivers outside of class and could get away with what another student perhaps couldn’t.

“As are we,” the men agreed, sitting back in their chairs as their meeting concluded. “You are, of course, welcome to stop in anytime.”

Roger smiled. “I know.” Practical jokes notwithstanding, he still knew he was their favorite student. He moved towards the door, opening it before pausing in the doorway.

“We’re still on for tonight, right?” Roger asked, looking back over his shoulder. “I mean, I bought that frilly thong you wanted me in, so you’d better not flake.”

The Thanos twins grinned. “Of course.” What kind of trainers would they be if they didn’t provide their favorite student with the fullest extent of their teachings?

A practical joke, though… that was simply unbecoming a member of the Hammel Institute faculty.

[Roger Vandelay]

Names

She saw them sitting under the old oak tree. The tangled branches cast twisted shadows over the two gentlemen, who were seated on a bench just off the cobblestone pathway that cut across the courtyard at the Hammel Institute. She approached them, one hand placed lightly on her hip, the other clutching a large book nestled into the crook of her elbow.

“Mr. Thanos,” the woman greeted one man as her shadow moved to join those of the tree obscuring the two seated men. “Mr. Thanos,” she repeated, turning towards the other.

“Miss Rivers,” the two men said in unison, sitting up courteously. “Good to see you.”

The young woman smiled down at the two men. “Have you been enjoying the yearbook signing?” Around them and across the courtyard, students sat in groups exchanging books and sharing memories of the year gone by.

“Yes,” said Evander Thanos, giving a nod.

“It’s a beautiful day for it,” added Dionysus, nodding as well. Indeed, the sun was shining brilliantly on that lovely May afternoon, an occasional light breeze accenting the warmth of the day.

“Well then, I was wondering,” Melody Rivers began as she took a seat between the twins; there was precious room between them, but it was space enough for her small frame. “If you two might do me the honor of signing mine.”

“Certainly,” said Dionysus, as he took the book out of her hands.

“That is,” continued Evander, as he produced a book of his own, “if you will sign ours.”

Melody accepted the large book into her recently vacated hands, placing it upon her lap and opening it up towards the back, where the blank signature pages waited to be filled. “I see you’ve already got one,” she noted; it was an exceptionally long message scrawled across the upper half of the first blank page.

“Roger Vandelay,” Dionysus noted as he opened Melody’s book. “One of our… brightest trainees.” The boy had insisted on being the first to sign.

Melody recognized the name instantly, as he was also a student of her acting class. What was more, they worked together at La Maison Magnifique, and in doing so had gotten to know one another quite well outside of the school’s walls.

“Ah,” she replied at length, as her eyes ran discreetly over the words. “One of mine, as well.” She finished reading the message quickly, before pulling a bright red pen out of her pocket to write her own.

---

To say La Maison Magnifique was busy on a Thursday morning was to state the profoundly obvious. It was to say the rain was falling in April, or the flowers were blooming in May, or a similar observation so common as to have become cliché. Yet the hustle and bustle of the affectionately-titled House could perhaps not be overstated on this busiest of days, for there were costumes to be sewn, sets to be completed, and acts to be rehearsed one last time before the first performance of the week that evening. The floor had to be swept, the dishes cleaned, the tables and chairs wiped down, everything made just so for the weekend crowds.

As the choreographer for the House dancers, Melody’s job for the week was nearly finished; she had taught her dancers what they needed to know over the course of the past week, and was now at the House to make sure everyone was ready for that night’s show. Besides that, she liked being at the House surrounded by all this activity, and on a Thursday morning would be found nowhere else.

A large, floppy red hat was pulled off her head, blonde hair tied back into a tight bun behind her head. The hat found a place on the rack by the door, and Melody was heading down the hallway and into the main room. Workers were everywhere, setting places at the tables, scrubbing down the bar, and running brooms across the wooden floor of the stage. One could hear the churning noises of power drills and buzz saws as the set crew put together the backdrops that would frame Melody’s beautiful dancers. The young woman wove her way through the tables, easing gingerly around the set construction and ultimately heading backstage to find the costume room.

“Are my costumes ready?” She called into the room as she poked her head inside. The small space was virtually overflowing with outfits: hats were strewn about, feather boas hanging off the walls like Christmas lights, skirts and corsets and dark suits laid out for alterations. But there was a method to this seeming madness, and the master of this method was Roger Vandelay.

The young man looked up from his work at the sewing table, giving a small smile to Melody as she drifted into the room. “Just about,” he said, pulling a purple dress off the table to find a place to hang it. Cynthia DeMato, the Madame of the House, would wear this stunning number when she opened the show that evening, accompanied by a polished pair of black heels and her sultry vibrato.

“Wonderful,” Melody replied, lingering in the middle of the room. She hadn’t come to discuss the costumes, though, but rather what she had found in the Thanos twins’ yearbook. Roger’s rambling message had been telling: Melody had been around the block more than once, and she knew what a crush looked like. There was simply no mistaking it, though whether the two trainers would catch on as swiftly was beyond her knowledge. She had a fondness for Roger, though, and could not pass up an opportunity to offer some support.

She could only imagine what it was like for a student to long for his teacher.

She found her way to the sewing table just as Roger was returning to it, and she leaned lightly back against the solid wood table with a light sigh. “So, things are going well?” She asked, turning her head over her shoulder towards the boy.

“Yeah,” he replied, continuing his work. “School year’s over, so…”

Melody nodded, taking a moment to determine how she might broach this most sensitive of subjects. “And outside of school, though,” she continued, turning more fully towards him and bending over to place both elbows on the table, hands supporting her chin. “Things are going well?”

Roger nodded again, eyes on his work. “Yeah, going well,” he repeated.

“I see,” she said; he was busy, which meant he was less gossipy than usual. She determined she would have to be a bit more assertive if she wanted this conversation to become more substantive. “Anyone you like?”

Roger looked up, finally, hands ceasing their business. “Why?” He asked slowly.

Melody shrugged casually, the bright smile that defined her features never leaving her face. “Just asking,” she reasoned. “It seems like everyone around here likes someone. We can talk, right?”

“Well…” Roger seemed unsure not of their friendship – they were closer than most students and teachers were due to their work outside of school – but of whether he wanted to talk about this specifically. “There is someone, I guess.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

Roger frowned, though Melody was astute enough to notice the slight pink blush coming to his pale cheeks. “I’d rather not say.”

That was confirmation enough for Melody. “Ah, well then, I won’t pry any further,” she said lightly, standing up straight again. “But if you ever want to talk, you know I’m here. It’s good to talk.”

Roger considered these words. Yes, it was good to talk. And perhaps, as he thought about it, it might be best that he finally did so. But if he was going to talk to someone about this, it wasn’t going to be Melody. He knew who it would be.

---

Roger waited until he was certain the last rehearsal of the week was over before emerging from the costume room. Walking out into the main room, he found that most of the dancers were still around, as well as the instrumentalists, packing up their things and chatting about this and that, though the choreographer had left. That was just what he had wanted. He moved down the stairs from the stage to the floor below, finding his way towards Calliope Gallo, who was packing her water bottle and dance shoes into her bag. Seeing him out of the corner of her eye, she looked up, greeting him with a smile.

“Hey, Roger,” she said, tossing her bag over her shoulder.

“Hey,” Roger replied. “Um, can we, like, talk?” The boy sounded unsure of himself, which was something Callie rarely saw.

“Yeah, of course,” replied the blonde, leading the boy a bit further away from the rest of the dancers. “What’s up?” she asked, once they were more isolated.

Roger thought for a moment before speaking. “Okay, you remember how back when you were dating Lucah for a while, you came to me because you were unsure of stuff, and I helped you realize who you really liked?”

Calliope blinked; now there was the blunt Roger she knew. “Yeah?”

“Well, now it’s my turn.”

Callie adjusted the bag, shifting her weight from one hip to the other. “I’m all ears.”

“But I wanna be vague,” Roger clarified quickly. “Like, no names.”

Calliope gave a light laugh. “Okay, that’s fine,” she agreed with a shrug. “So, what’s going on?”

The shapeshifter sighed. “So, there’s someone I like. But, like, I don’t know how to tell him. But I really like him. He’s kind of all I think about.” He grimaced at his own words. He hated having crushes; they made him feel… un-Roger.

Callie nodded with understanding. “Well, do you know if he likes you back?”

Roger frowned. “No. I don’t think so. Well, I don’t know. Maybe?”

Callie nodded a second time, thinking for a moment before asking her next question. “Have you tried making a move?”

“Sort of,” Roger replied with a shrug. “Like… kind of. It’s hard to explain. I feel like such a nervous dweeb around him.”

“Yeah, that’ll happen,” Callie interjected; she certainly knew all about that from her own experiences in the romance department.

“I mean, I tried,” Roger continued. “Or… maybe I didn’t try. I tried to try. It’s hard though, when you don’t know… how people might feel.”

That was an interesting way to have phrased it, which made Callie a bit curious, though she had promised not to ask for any names. “Well, sometimes you can’t worry too much about how people will feel. Heck, you can’t even worry about how you feel, you just need to go with what feels right.” She was aware of the fact that, just a few months ago, Roger had been saying similar things to her, and this advice had been very helpful in her own trials.

“Love is…” She turned away from Roger, spotting Valerie Danner over by the stage talking to a few of the other dancers. “…Unexpected sometimes.” She gave her girlfriend a smile that went unseen.

“Yeah…” Roger rubbed the back of his neck with one of his hands, looking around the room. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen, right?”

Callie turned back towards Roger, sending another smile his way. “Right.” She leaned in. “In fact, I think you should go find him and tell him right now. Just do it. Don’t even think about it. It’s the only way to know for sure, isn’t it?”

A smile grew across Roger’s features. “Yeah… yeah I think I will.” He chuckled to himself, nodding his head in resolution. “Thanks, Callie.”

“You bet.”

Callie watched as Roger moved past her, making his way up the stairs and towards the piano in the middle of the stage, where Lucah Ivaskov was packing away his sheet music.

“Lucah,” Roger announced quite loudly as he approached the piano, unfazed by the boy’s emotionless gaze as he looked up from what he was doing. “I’m in love with you. And I’m sorry that Callie turned out to be a lesbian, but that’s not my fault and I want you for me and I will make myself a woman if I must.”

The Romanian pianist’s mouth opened just slightly, and though his eyes never left Roger, he was acutely aware of the fact that every single dancer and worker currently at the House was now looking at them. The room was entirely silent. “Oh dear God.”

Having been among the dozens of bystanders to have witnessed this most ostentatious of confessions, Calliope now strode rather leisurely through the silence that had fallen on the room, leaning against the stage and looking up at her ex-boyfriend and best friend. “You know, Roger,” she said, elbows hitting the wood floor and chin coming to rest in one of her palms. “This is why we name names.”

And Melody, who had just moments before reentered the House to fetch the hat she had left hanging on the rack, backed very slowly out again.

[Roger Vandelay]

Weakest Link

Cynthia DeMato loved the stage. It was where she performed, where she dazzled audiences with her ability and her physicality, and where she felt most at-home. It was both her livelihood and her way of life. But on this Sunday morning, the stage was not her friend. For as she stood on the stage at La Maison Magnifique, she looked out at a group of twenty-five workers who had just voted on which among them would be removed from the payroll.

It was unfortunate that it had gotten to this, but the House’s boom was over, and Cynthia had to consolidate. She’d over-hired, and someone needed to go for the House to stay afloat. But who should go was a decision she wasn’t capable of making: she loved each and every one of her workers, considered them like family, and knew that each of them brought something unique and special to the team. So, absent any obvious choice to make herself, she decided to leave it to everyone else. Whoever wasn’t fitting in, was out.

She held in her hands as she stood on the stage, her choreographer standing beside her, a large black hat, once used for a performance, now acting as the ballot box. Twenty-five pieces of paper, each one with a name scrawled upon it, had been folded and stuffed into the hat, and she was now here to read the votes aloud; she decided to do this publicly in front of all them so that everyone could know exactly how the vote had gone. Transparency was warranted in this most extenuating of circumstances.

“Alright,” she said, shaking the hat a bit to mix the votes up. “I’m going to read the votes now. I want to thank everyone for treating this with professionalism. This wasn’t what any of us wanted, but it’s come to this, so here it goes. Good luck.” She reached into the hat before pausing and looking back up. “And as a reminder, Melody and I are exempt, so I hope nobody here tried anything funny.”

Pulling out the first vote, she unfolded the paper in her hand, reading it silently before reading it aloud. “Lucah.”

Lucah Ivaskov was standing towards the back of the room by the bar along with his girlfriend, Calliope Gallo, and a few others. He didn’t react outwardly to his name being read: he knew there were those at the House who disliked him, and it only made sense he would get a vote.

Cynthia pulled out the second ballot. “Lucah.”

Callie placed a comforting hand on the Romanian’s shoulder, though he didn’t need it: he had known what to expect, and two votes was fine. There couldn’t possibly be many more than that, though: he knew some people didn’t like him, but it wasn’t like nobody did.

“…Lucah.”

Okay… The pianist’s eyes started darting around the room, wondering exactly who it was who had voted for him. Three was a bit much. Two, fine, but three? This was not going as expected. He retained his stoic expression.

“Okay, fourth vote,” Cynthia said from her perch on the stage, reaching in for another ballot. “Roger.”

Good. Lucah had voted for Roger – the kid gave him the creeps, and he secretly had a feeling the boy was polluting Callie’s mind – so they were definitely past the Lucah votes and onto the rest of the staff. This could still be salvaged.

“Lucah.”

“ALRIGHT, EVERYBODY...” The declaration surprised Lucah more than anyone else, but this was getting ridiculous. “I get it, I’m dating Callie and you all don’t like it. Let’s move on.”

Cynthia, somewhat wide-eyed, let this moment slip away before reaching in for the next vote. “Tanner.”

Everyone simultaneously looked over to where Tanner was standing near the edge of the stage: who could possibly have voted for Tanner?

The blonde gave a soft shrug and a meek smile. “I felt bad voting for someone else.” A few murmurs arose in response to this, which were silenced by the shushing of others.

Valerie Danner, meanwhile, was smiling on the other side of the room. The vote was going exactly as she’d planned it: if she couldn’t have Callie, then that obnoxious boy Lucah wasn’t going to get to spend every waking minute with her here at the House. He could sit at home while his beautiful girlfriend danced with her.

Cynthia pulled out another vote. “Calliope.”

The group, equally stunned, turned in unison now towards the blonde standing next to a red-faced Lucah. “Same deal,” she explained. Her eyebrows furrowed at the exasperated sighs and calls of ‘Really?!’ that rose up from the group. “Well, gee, it seemed so selfless when he did it,” she replied to nobody in particular, gesturing towards Tanner before folding her arms in front of her.

Cynthia closed her eyes tightly; this was what she got for hiring from the local high school. “Okay, you know what, this is taking too long,” she decided, passing the hat to Melody standing beside her. She pulled out the votes one by one now, reading off each one quickly before letting it drop unceremoniously to the ground.

“Lucah, Lucah, Lucah, Oriel, Lucah, Takchawee – really?, Lucah, Lucah, Lucah.” She stopped. “Wait, that’s… I think that’s sixteen votes,” she said, looking around the stage floor to count the read ballots. “And Lucah got eleven. Nobody else can get that many; we’re done.”

She turned towards Lucah, giving an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Lucah,” she said, wringing her hands. “I’m afraid you’ve been voted out of the House.” It almost sounded like a game show the way she’d said it, though this was very real. “I’m not entirely sure what we’re going to do without a pianist, but clearly I did not think this through. Thanks for everything.”

“Yeah, fine,” Lucah nodded, taking a step forward, eyes cast downward. “I’m going. But just remember…” He looked around at the room, aware of the fact that many of these people were all too happy to see him go. He pointed towards Callie, who was still leaning against the bar. “I may not be here anymore, but she’s still mine, and nothing any of you say will change that.” And with that, he was walking out the door.

The group was, understandably, somewhat stunned by this demonstration, Callie first among them. One part of her certainly didn’t appreciate the boy speaking for her… but the other part of her was extremely turned on by this display of male dominance. Evidently she had a lot of thinking to do. Hell, she had a lot of Romanian to do, and she’d be doing it with or without him at the House.

“Yes, well,” Cynthia said, breaking the silence, “this was an experiment gone awry. Why don’t we get started on this week’s rehearsals, and I’ll go buy us a CD player.”

[Roger Vandelay]

(Below is my secret santa fic for Kalli, which I'm reposting here so everything is in one place.)

Another Day

Author’s Note: This story is part of my long-running A/U and takes place after The Boy Who Swallowed Fire but before Meta Kombat: Confrontations. Note that certain prose towards the beginning of the story is ‘recycled’ here in order to maintain the interconnectivity of the three pieces. Click here to listen to the theme song for this fic.

The Pilot Ridge arena was filled to the brim with spectators who had come from far and wide to witness the day’s events. Some were meta, others were not. The stadium was loud with chatter and gossip over which competitors would make it to the final round, and which would be left dead on the battle field. Concessions workers roamed the stands, calling out their wares to satiate the hunger of the raucous spectators. Up in an enclosed balcony, the President of the United States himself presided over these grim and boisterous proceedings.

It was difficult to believe that this scene, which seemed like that of an Ancient Roman gladiator match, was actually from 2014. Indeed, the annual Meta Kombat Ultimate Fighting Competition was a fairly new tradition, this being only its second year in existence, but already it had become a mainstay in American sporting culture. Its premise was simple: to find the ultimate fighter among the ranks of the meta humans. Its rules, even simpler: each round, two meta humans would enter the arena, and only one would exit. Over one hundred meta humans joined the competition, and battles were fought bracket-style until ultimately, two fighters engaged in the final round: the Meta Kombat Championship.

It was the harshest, most severe of sporting events in American history, so it was perhaps unsurprising that the event had been started by the harshest, most severe of leaders: President Nicholas Kells, who had two years ago implemented an Executive Order essentially incriminating meta abilities. The Hammel Institute was shut down, children forced to find their way home or go into hiding, and teachers – those who couldn’t escape – rounded up like cattle. All of Pilot Ridge was now under military rule, with Governor Elizabeth Greene, appointed by Kells himself, keeping a close watch over her charges. Not long after the school walls had gone down, stadium walls had gone up in their place. Two years in, the competition was a major draw to the city, with metas and normals alike making the yearly pilgrimage to bear witness to this perverse display of strength, power, and showmanship.

Among the attendants on this, the fifth and final day of the first round of the competition, were Cynthia DeMato and Vincent Meian. They sat in the middle of the crowd, stoic expressions an unsettling contrast from the rowdy atmosphere that surrounded them. But each had more on their minds than mere entertainment. Each had something at stake that day which most attendants could not possibly fathom – for this was the day that Tanner Larson fought his first match of the Meta Kombat Ultimate Fighting Competition.

'META KOMBAT: THE ULTIMATE CHALLENGE'

The words were typed in large, bold print on the piece of paper that clung to the telephone poll. How long the flyer had been hanging there, Tanner Larson couldn't say: he had been down this road every day for several months, and this was the first time he'd noticed it. As it was, the competition was still a few months away, so he couldn't imagine it had been there all that long.

This was the route Tanner took every day from his apartment building to La Maison Magnifique, the burlesque house at which he had performed for three years. The club had shuttered a few weeks ago: he hadn't been there that night - Cynthia had called him at the last minute and told him not to come - and he found out the next day that there had been a particularly terrible raid that very evening. Several of his friends had died in the attack, and the rest were missing, Cynthia among them. That hurt the most. Madame DeMato had meant everything to Tanner, had seen his diamond in the rough that was Pilot Ridge, had nourished his creative spirit and recognized his potential when nobody else did. It was difficult for him to imagine life without her, or without the House, but he was making his way.

He still took this route to the House every day. Just... to check on things.

Deep down inside, he knew why he went. Was it not obvious?

He would walk among the rubble, the ruins of Pilot Ridge's premiere nightlife destination, and look for signs of change. He never found them, but wouldn't one indicate that someone else had been there, perhaps someone who had survived the raid? He had been hopeful at first, but said hope was leaving him.

And now, without an income - or, for that matter, a real purpose in life - the blonde found himself at a dead end. So when he stumbled into this flyer for Meta Kombat, he looked at it differently than most might. Tanner had nowhere to go, nothing to do, and so very little to lose. And with competitors standing to win a million dollars – not to mention the bragging rights and whatever other opportunities that might arise from such a feat – Tanner decided that perhaps it was worth checking out.

And so he took the flyer, folding it in quarters and stuffing it into his jean pocket. Soon after, he was back at the House - as had been his intended destination - and he allowed the door to creak eerily open as he stepped inside. He made his way gingerly down the hallway and into the main hall. It was a wreck; columns had collapsed, as had some of the roof, and the stage was splintered, the wood rotting.

It made Tanner sick.

"Tanner?"

Hearing a familiar voice, the blonde whipped around, coming face to face with Madame Cynthia DeMato herself.

“Cynthia…” He breathed; it was as though he had seen a ghost, or had stepped into some kind of dream. Was his boss, lost and presumed dead, truly standing before her?

The woman could scarcely believe her eyes either; in front of her stood a young man she thought she would never see again. Frankly, she was still surprised she was alive to see anyone at all. Kells' army had been stronger than she had anticipated. She had, before the fight, accused the pigs of being cocky, saying their arrogance would be their downfall. The same folly could have been applied to Cynthia, though: it was her fatal flaw that she believed so strongly in herself. So when Kells' army picked off her girls one by one, she considered it not cowardly, but wise to flee the scene. She would have an opportunity to bide her time, rise up again, and fight back - for her girls, and for all metas - but it would be a while before she could reemerge.

"Tanner, I can't believe you're here!" The woman cried, running to embrace the young pyrokinetic in her arms. "I told you not to come..." She took a step back, wondering how much he knew.

“I didn’t,” Tanner replied earnestly. “At least, not that night. What happened, though? I was so worried-“

"I know, Tanner, I know," she said, putting a comforting hand onto his shoulder. "But it's over now, we're okay, aren't we? Hey, we can get outta any scrape." It was in times like this, particularly in front of Tanner, that she dropped her faux-French facade and slipped back into her Italian American, Brooklyn-born roots. It broke her heart to know how deeply in the dark he was, and that she couldn't explain what had happened. But the less he knew, the safer he would be.

Looking down for a moment, Cynthia caught sight of the flyer in the younger man’s hands. "What is this?" She asked, though she knew what it was, as she took the flyer into her hands. "Meta Kombat? You can't mean... You want to do this??"

She read the flyer carefully. A million dollars. Her eyes widened. A million dollars could do a lot of good.

"Follow me," she said, quickly pulling Tanner by the sleeve down the hallway leading to the backstage area. "And don't say a word!" They left through the side door, ducking into the alleyway and taking a series of backstreets into the heart of the city. Eventually, they came upon an old oak door, which Cynthia knocked on exactly four times.

"We are friends here."

After she spoke these words, the doors opened, allowing Cynthia and a very wide-eyed Tanner inside. It was down a dark staircase that they eventually found themselves in a large underground room, where there were several people standing about. It was obvious that this was not everyone.

"Is Vincent here?" She asked someone, anyone who might know. "I need Vincent."

The crackling of a loudspeaker brought both Cynthia and Vincent to attention.

“On the northern end of the arena,” came the booming voice of the announcer. “Hailing from New Jersey, Pilot Ridge’s Golden Boy, the all-star pyrokinetic... Tanner Larson!”

The pair turned to see Tanner walking out of the northern gate, the crowd erupting around them as the young man made his way towards the center of the arena. He looked confident; Cynthia would admit internally that this surprised her. Tanner had grown up while she wasn’t looking.

“And on the southern end, hailing from Nova Scotia, a probability manipulator… Sherry Terwiliger!”

More cheers from a crowd who cared not for the lives of these two young individuals. It made Cynthia want to wretch with displeasure, though she maintained her even composure.

“Both competitors know the rules. When the battle is called, it will be a fight to the death. No holds or powers are barred, but there is no leaving the arena. The winner of this match will move on to face a new competitor in Round Two.”

Oh God. Cynthia wasn’t expecting it, but her heart was suddenly racing. Was this really happening? Had it really come to this? Had Pilot Ridge fallen so far, so fast? Might Tanner die because she had failed to dissuade him – nay, had encouraged him to do this? She had lost too many of her girls; she wasn’t sure she could deal with another life on her hands.

Yet still, she maintained her composure.

Vincent, beside her, was equally calm. She turned to him, attempting to gauge some kind of emotion, though unsurprised when she couldn’t find any.

“How are you feeling?”

Vincent didn’t answer until the deafening call of “FIGHT!” had finished ringing in his ears.

“I feel nothing.”

Tanner collapsed onto the bench, exhaling sharply as his shoulders slumped back, his head coming into contact with the wall behind him as his chest rose and fell rapidly. His bare torso was coated in sweat, his skin flush with exertion and his hair mussed up in all directions. The dark room was choked by a heavy cloud of smoke which hung thick in the air; Tanner was used to this, though most would find it uninhabitable.

Soon after he had sat down, there was a figure standing before him. Tanner’s eyes had initially been closed tightly, as though intent on using every ounce of his remaining strength to focus on resting, but he opened them when he felt the other’s presence. He looked up to see Vincent standing before him.

“That was good,” the older man said with a nod. “Not good enough. But good.”

Tanner had long since accepted the fact that his trainer was conservative with praise and liberal with criticism, but he knew it was warranted. One month in, they were only another month away from the start of the Meta Kombat competition. Tanner had increased in ability at an impressive rate, but he was still severely underprepared for next month’s competition.

And quite a month it had been: since Cynthia had taken him to see Vincent, the two men had been training every waking minute. It was difficult, to put it almost absurdly lightly: it often took Tanner to the brink of his own physical and emotional breaking point, but there had been no letting up since the fateful day he’d miraculously run into Cynthia at what used to be La Maison Magnifique.

The blonde had closed his eyes again, pained expression forming on his features as he let his body come down to temperature. As a pyrokinetic, he easily overheated, especially when using his powers so frequently and so vigorously as Vincent demanded.

He felt Vincent sit down beside him, though he didn’t move down the bench to accommodate him. As it was, he could barely move a muscle.

“I don’t think I’m gonna be ready.”

He was almost surprised the words didn’t come out in some unintelligible slur for all the energy it had taken him to utter them.

“With that attitude, you will not.”

Tanner, in all his exhaustion, was not in the mood for platitudes. “I’m trying.”

“I know,” Vincent replied evenly. “You have progressed quite nicely. But every single meta you will be facing will no doubt have gone through similar training. So I train you ever harder.”

The blonde managed to nod. He had come to respect Vincent, the first meta in history to win Meta Kombat. He trusted the older man’s judgment and had learned not to question him. Similarly, Vincent had come to respect Tanner’s willingness as a student. Though he had been somewhat resistant at first, he had come a long way.

The two had grown quite close indeed. Spending fifteen hours a day together would tend to do that. Vincent saw great potential in his student, and Tanner looked up to his trainer for his wisdom and skill. Still, even though he had arguably the best meta fighter in the world overseeing his training, Tanner still had his doubts. Vincent knew of these doubts, even though they were rarely vocalized.

The truth of the matter was that Vincent had grown quite fond of Tanner, and that had been unexpected.

“You will do well,” Vincent offered, looking out into the dark underground room that comprised their training space. “If you do as I have taught.” He didn’t want to say he would win – it was unfair and unrealistic at this point to say such a thing – but he would surely go far at the rate things were going.

“I will,” the young man responded, sitting up a bit now that he had caught his breath. He thought for a minute, before turning towards the dark-haired man. “Thank you,” he said. “For… everything.” Vincent could just as easily have said no when Cynthia asked him to train Tanner.

Vincent returned the boy’s gaze, smiling warmly. “It is with great pleasure that I have taken you under my wing,” he said. And it was true: watching Tanner grow as a fighter had been impressive by most students’ standards. “You are a very special young man.”

Tanner smiled at this, and if his cheeks weren’t already bright red from the heat and exhaustion, then they would surely have turned that color now. “Thank you,” he said.

Were this a love story, perhaps this relationship between student and trainer might have taken a turn at this moment. As it was, the story of President Kells’ rise to power, and the ensuing mayhem in Pilot Ridge, was another kind of story. One of triumph in the face of evil, one of overcoming one’s own darkest fears and deepest insecurities, and one of rising to the occasion when no other man was left to stand for you. A love story, it was not. This tender moment no doubt left a mark on the hearts of both men to be revisited at a later time and place, on some other day when time was on their side. But with a most momentous deadline hanging over them, both student and teacher were too occupied to let any kind of frivolous emotion get in their way.

“Vincent?”

The man turned towards Cynthia, unaware until that moment that he had become lost in some kind of memory.

“It’s over,” Cynthia stated, a small smile on her face. She had felt the need to say so, even though it had played out right in front of them just then.

Vincent turned back towards the battlefield, watching his student being escorted out of the arena, leaving behind the charred remains of his former opponent.

“So it is.”

Cynthia was determined that something was preoccupying Vincent, though she couldn’t fathom what it might be and had no intention of asking. He was an enigma to her, and she was content to leave him to his mysteries.

Vincent watched as Tanner exited into the underbelly of the arena, saying nothing as the boy disappeared into the stadium. He had watched the battle, though he had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t really seen it. No matter, though: he was confident in Tanner’s abilities and was certain he had done well. He had won, after all. His student lived to see another day, to fight another round, and to continue the mission of the meta resistance in rising through the ranks to become the Ultimate Fighting Champion. Tomorrow, Round Two would begin, and their story would continue.

Anything else would simply have to wait.

[Melody Rivers]

((For Apollo!))



I Feel Good

Cynthia DeMato sat in her office, brown eyes running across a spreadsheet of financial transactions through a pair of frameless reading glasses. Going over her expenses to ensure her club, La Maison Magnifique, was staying in the black was a tedious but important chore. As glamorous as her club was, it would be nothing if she couldn’t keep revenue up and costs down.

The woman sighed, shifting in her seat to bring one leg up over the other. Things were not looking very good this month. Not very good at all. The House had fallen into a rut, and she didn’t know how they would dig their way out of it.

“I’m back.”

Cynthia looked up from her papers to see Takchawee Ominotago standing in the doorway. The Native American beauty had struck a pose, leaning against the doorway with one arm above her head. She was grinning.

“Stop it,” Cynthia said to herself, as though refusing to believe her eyes. Standing there before her was one of her best dancers, who had left several months ago following an accidental pregnancy.

She was up off her chair before Tak could take a step into the room.

“How have you been?” the older woman asked as she embraced her employee, who had been on leave since earlier that year.

“I’ve been good,” Tak said lightly, perhaps unsure of these words.

“And how’s the baby?”

Tak’s face fell somewhat, drifting into the room to lean against the chair opposite Cynthia’s large desk. “Well, she’s with a foster family now,” she explained. “It’s… embarrassing.”

Cynthia didn’t understand. “What’s embarrassing about that?” She asked, hands coming to rest on her hips.

Tak shrugged. “Well, maybe not that part of it specifically. But the whole thing. I can only imagine what everyone has been saying about me…”

“Hey,” Cynthia replied, leaning towards the younger woman. “Strong females don’t need anybody’s permission for anything.”

This made Tak smile. “So…” She wasn’t sure how to ask this next question.

“So you’re coming back, right?” Cynthia asked, as though reading the girl’s mind.

Tak’s smile widened. “If you’ll have me.”

Now it was Cynthia’s turn to smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She stepped up off the floor, floating gracefully to the other side of her desk and pushing her paperwork out of the way to reveal a large calendar taped to her desk. “We’ll make an event out of it,” she proclaimed, already getting excited. “Takchawee Ominotago, back on stage,” she added, as though reading a newspaper headline. “We’ll do it the first weekend in January, it’ll be spectacular. We’ll fill the house.”

Tak was excited as well, but somewhat less confident. “You think people’ll show?” She asked. She had no doubt about her abilities, but she was still young.

Cynthia waved the question away. “Nonsense, of course they’ll show. They’ll show if I tell them to show. You just leave that to me.” She crossed the room again, back near where Tak was standing. “In the meantime, I have the perfect idea. It’ll be just you, some of your best moves and then some, live band, the audience will never know what hit them.”

Now Tak was even less confident. “I don’t know,” she said, not having expected an entire solo number the weekend she got back. “I mean, it’s my first weekend back, I’m not…” She didn’t know how to say this, but she wasn’t entirely happy with her body post-pregnancy. She would be soon, but not just yet. “What if I don’t live up to the hype?”

Cynthia didn’t have an answer to this question; instead, the question gave her an idea. “Don’t you worry about that,” she said with a reassuring smile. “Because I just got an idea that they’ll never see coming.”

---

David Kerrigan was walking through downtown Pilot Ridge on his way to meet his friend and fellow Hammel teacher, Faye LaBeau, at Velvet-Tone Coffeehouse. Walking hurriedly down the sidewalk, he almost missed the poster hanging up on the brick façade of a building on the corner of the street.

But he didn’t.

Stepping closer to get a better look, his eyes took in the appearance of a beautiful woman. She was young, for sure, but that was okay – she was just for looking. She was wearing some sort of interesting red outfit that showed off her body quite well. David liked what he saw. Then he noticed the text:

‘SHE’S BACK
1.5.14’

The young man quirked an eyebrow, wondering what exactly this was for. But if it was this enigmatic, then it must be important.

Seeing the logo for the local burlesque house at the bottom of the poster, the man nodded to himself before continuing on his way. He’d have to check that out.

---

The House was filled to the brim that night, as David squeezed tightly past people to find his way to a table.

“Hey,” he said, sitting down beside Faye, who had saved a seat for him. “Thanks for saving my seat.”

“Yeah, no problem,” the woman replied. “You find the place okay?”

David nodded. “Place looked kinda… ghetto from the outside,” he said regarding the nondescript exterior of the building, as he looked around at the rather impressive interior.

Faye had been here before; this wasn’t exactly her scene, but she was good friends with the choreographer and their fellow teacher, Melody Rivers. “Yeah, it’s a fun time though,” she said with a nod. It was already ten o’clock, and several performers had come and gone.

Now the lights, already dim, darkened even further, and a spotlight came up on a brilliant blue seashell standing in the middle of the stage. Music started as the audience started clapping for the coming performance, and a large panel in the shell opened to reveal a beautiful blonde woman donning a bright white outfit.

David’s eyes widened. “Is that…”

“Melody? Yeah,” Faye replied with a grin. This was going to be good.

Melody looked out into the audience as the introduction continued, smiling inwardly at the large crowd; evidently Cynthia’s advertisement strategy had worked. There didn’t seem to be an empty seat in the house.

“I,” she sang, stepping down out of the seashell, the panel closing behind her, “feel good,
I walk along,
But then I trip upon myself and I fall!”

She walked majestically towards the left edge of the stage.

“I stand up,
And then I’m okay,
But then you print some shit that makes me wanna scream!”

She began running her hands up over her body, dancing her fingers across every inch as she took small steps from the left side of the stage towards the center.

“So do what you want, what you want with my body,
Do what you want, don’t stop, let’s party,
Do what you want, what you want with my body,
Do what you want, what you want with my body,
Write what you want, say what you want about me,
If you’re wondering, I’m not, I’m not sorry,
Do what you want, what you want with my body.”

She turned towards the audience now, removing the white sequin jacket to reveal only a bright white bra.

“What you want with my body!”

She danced now, every which way, the moves inspired by both 70’s pop disco and 90’s R&B to fit the song.

“You can’t have my heart and you won’t use my mind,
But do what you want with my body, do what you want with my body,
You can’t stop my voice cuz you don’t own my life,
But do what you want with my body.”

The large seashell opened up again, this time revealing the star of the show: Takchawee Ominotago, wearing a black sequin dress to contrast with Melody’s white outfit. The audience cheered, aware of who this was and that the solo performance was now a stunning duet.

“My bones hurt,” she sang, stepping down from the shell, “From all the shows,
But I don’t feel the pain cuz I’m a pro!
I sink in
And then I’m okay
Cuz my body belongs to you when I’m onstage!”

She stepped up onto the piano bench still sitting on the right side of the stage before hopping up onto the piano itself, dancing on it like it was its own miniature stage as Melody danced below.

“So do what you want, what you want with my body,
Do what you want, don’t stop, let’s party,
Do what you want, what you want with my body,
Do what you want, what you want with my body,
Write what you want, say what you want about me,
If you’re wondering, I’m not, I’m not sorry,
Do what you want, what you want with my body…”

She jumped gracefully off the piano, landing on the stage beside Melody.

“What you want with my body!”

And now the two women sang and danced together, sometimes in unison, sometimes with different moves that complemented one another’s.

“You can’t have my heart and you won’t use my mind,
But do what you want with my body, do what you want with my body,
You can’t stop my voice cuz you don’t own my life,
But do what you want with my body, do what you want with my body.”

The music fell, and a white bench was pushed by an unseen crew member onto the left side of the stage. Melody led Tak over to the cushioned seat, and they both sat down, Tak placing her head in Melody’s breast.

“Sometimes I’m scared I suppose,” she sang, “If you ever let me go,
I would fall apart, if you break my heart
So just take my body, and don’t stop the party!”

The two women stood now, holding hands as they walked to center stage together.

“You can’t have my heart,” Tak sang.

“Help me now,” Melody chimed in,

“And you won’t use my mind,” Tak continued.

The two sang together now, “But do what you want with my body, do what you want with my body,
You can’t stop my voice cuz you don’t own my life,
But do what you want with my body, do what you want with my body!”

“Do what you want with me,” they both sang.

Tak turned towards Melody. “What you want with me , Melody!”

Melody smiled. “What you want with me, Takchawee!”

Then both, “What you want with my body.
Do what you want with me,
What you want with my body,
Do what you want with me,
What you want with my body, world.”

Melody moved behind Tak, embracing her from behind and resting her head on the girl’s shoulder, as Tak lifted a hand to brush Melody’s face.

“Help me now,
Do what you want with my body, do what you want with my body…”

The music faded, and they remained like this as the audience began to clap for them. Finally, they moved apart, taking one another by the hand and giving a big bow as the applause grew. Standing up once more, they decided to take a second bow, and moved offstage together as the cheering continued.

---

Cynthia was standing just offstage and greeted the two women as they came back.

"Marvelous!" She cried, a bright smile on her face. "Simply marvelous!"

“How do you feel?” Melody asked Tak after taking a moment to catch her breath, placing a hand on Cynthia's shoulder.

Tak smiled at the two women - her two role models. It had been a perfect performance. Both of them had sounded great, had looked great, and had danced like they’d never danced before. The crowd had loved it, and they’d made a lot of money for the House. All of the pain of childbirth and having to give up her child was behind her now, and she had only this happy experience and the gigantic crowd that had come to support her. What people had said about her behind her back was no longer hers to concern herself with.

“I feel good,” she said, repeating the first line of the song with a wink. And together, the three women headed happily backstage.