Kallisti's Golden Apples

[Kallisti*]

Okay, since everyone else seems to be doing it, I may as well, too. :3 People want to read my stories, I guess.

This thread is for various stories that I will write or have written. Some are Hammel related, others are not. Any with sensitive content will have trigger warnings. All Challenge Entries will also be put here for posterity's sake as well, mostly because I hate hunting them down to show folks. xD

All right, soooo.... yeah, I think that's about it.

Hope you all enjoy my writing!


~Kalli



P.S. Sorry in advance for any character rage/depression that comes about from these. I swear it's not my fault.

[Kallisti*]

Time Warp: Cold Hands, Warm Heart


Tokyo always snowed this time of year. The drifting shards of white ice had a sort of dampening effect on the sounds of the city, making things seem further away than they really were and giving an air of tranquility to the bustling metropolis. After the holidays, especially, things quieted down and people tended to hide away inside their homes and office buildings from the cold, giving an even more distant feeling to the winter days.

Vincent had always liked the snow. He wasn't exactly sure why, but he thought for some reason it suited him; something frozen and soft to cool the hard, fiery anger he felt so often. Maybe it reminded him that everything would eventually pass and the cycle would continue on... or maybe he was just nervous. The soldier's booted heel tapped the ground as he sat on the park bench, his breath puffing out in a cloud of fog as he huddled inside his snow-camouflage jacket for warmth, the fingers of his right hand toying with the object hidden within the pocket. He'd never been this nervous in his life, and for what? It was just one more day.

"Meian-kun?"

One more day with her.

The woman before him was as pale as the snow falling around them and twice as beautiful. Her fair hair drifted around her face beneath a knitted cap, and her deep blue eyes always seemed to shine when she looked at him. It was enough to send his heart pounding in his chest, and he stood abruptly, his height overtaking hers in a flash. She chuckled - a throaty sound that had always suited her for some reason - and gazed up at him, undeterred by the ten-inch difference in their statures. Warmth spread over his cheeks, and the young man turned his golden eyes away for a moment to collect himself. The young doctor always seemed to have this effect on him when he was surprised.

"Ken-san, I..." He swallowed, having trouble finding the right words. "I'm glad you came."

The woman before him crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a daring yet cool look. "Are you implying that I'm so busy that I can't have a date every once in a while?" she chided, amusement dancing over her features plainly. He shook his head and sighed, giving her a slight smile. She could always cheer him up, even if she was making fun of him. Once again, he fingered the box in his pocket. Now or never.

"Ken-san, I... I'm sorry it's so late, but..." He pulled the box from his pocket, the small object cradled entirely in one long-fingered and scarred hand. He unfolded his fingers to reveal it; a nondescript white container, wrapped with a red thread. "Happy birthday."

Her eyes looked from his to the gift before her, and Vincent's heart pounded so loudly he swore that she could hear it with how close she was. Her delicate, pale fingers took the box from his hand and toyed with it for a moment before tugging the crimson thread loose. It took an agonizingly long moment for her to open the hinged box, and her gasp of surprise nearly punched the wind out of him. He hesitated, afraid of what she might say, then stammered with his face warming once again, "I... I had it made for you. It... well, it just seemed... like something you'd like."

Her hand hovered over the box for a moment, then dipped in and pulled out the necklace; a delicate glass bubble the size of a small marble encasing a teardrop-shaped topaz of the clearest blue, guarded by a serpentine silver dragon as it held the orb in its claws. A fine silver chain twined between her fingers as she held it, eyes wide in amazement.

"Meian-kun... it's beautiful," she breathed, looking up at him with such affection it really did knock the wind out of him, releasing a breath he didn't even know he had held. She put the box away in her pocket absently, and struggled with the clasp for a moment before she gave up on her numb fingers with a laugh. "The moment when I really need dexterity," she joked, shaking her head. Her smile made the blinding white of the snow seem dim in comparison. "Thank you. I love it."

"Would you like me to help?" He'd blurted out the words without thinking and the color in his tan cheeks deepened as he did. She chuckled like she did, and stepped towards him to give him the pendant back. It came as quite the shock to both of them when she slipped on the icy sidewalk, and the act of him catching her sent both of them to the frozen concrete. Luckily (he supposed), Vincent had landed beneath her, his long legs sparing her from the cold of the ground. He held her tightly in his arms, heart racing with the adrenaline, and he could feel her hands clutching at his jacket as her startled breathing slowed to normal.

"Are you all right, Nakia?" he asked, pulling away enough to check on her and forgetting his formality in his worry for her safety. When she looked up to him, her infinitely blue eyes seemed to fill his vision entirely and he could swear later that his heart stopped its frantic staccato simply to hear what she had to say. The silence seemed to stretch forever before she finally nodded. Relieved, he hugged her close, breathing in the scent of winter on her hair and clothes. It was then he realized that he couldn't bear to hurt her, even if it was only an accident.

But the moment would have to wait. For now, he was just content with holding her in his arms, safe and warm as the snow fell silent and soft around them.

"Kenjutsushi-san... would you... do me the honor-"

"Vincent, I'd marry you if I had a thousand suitors at my door."

"...Oh."

Winter truly was a beautiful time of year.



Fin~




Written for the Dec 2012 Challenge, "Winter Wonderland"

[Kallisti*]

#5 - Loved (I Will Always Love You) ((Warning - Character Death))



He sat at her bedside, listening to the machines intone their harsh notes as he woke from a fitful sleep. His back ached from the way he'd been resting, and he was pretty sure his arms were both asleep from laying on them, but he didn't want to get up. He didn't want to be awake and face this. He didn't want to remove himself from the last warm embrace he'd ever receive from her, even if he was only this close.

After a few moments, a cool hand brushed his hair from his face, tracing weakly down his jaw. His eyes opened, reddened from sleep and tears but still the bright honey color they'd always been, and he met her deep blue stare meaningfully. Even so sick, she was as radiant as the day he met her; still so pale, still so pure, and so very full of life.

Even though that life slipped away with each passing breath.

Saying not a word, he took her hand in his, her pale and unmarked flesh so small and delicate when encompassed by his scarred and tan fingers. He could barely feel it, but the chill of her side-effects bit through even the numbness of returning feeling. It was comforting, and it grieved him further.

"Were you here all night?" Her voice was soft and gentle, barely a whisper and slightly slurred from the pain medication. Not trusting his own voice, he only nodded. She breathed a soft sigh, then after a moment asked again. "What about the girls?"

"Hatsu." His one word answer made her understand, and the pale woman nodded, closing her blue eyes to lay against the pillow fully. There was a long moment of silence, and he feared that she'd fallen into sleep again, but she spoke. "Shouldn't they be here?"

He didn't know what to say. On the one hand, he believed that yes they should - they should have the chance to say goodbye. On the other, no - no child should have to watch their parent die so slowly, wasting away as their own powers consumed them.

And, of course, he didn't want to believe himself that she was dying. That his wife, his beautiful bride of thirty years, was passing on so young. Ceasing her existence in this mortal coil to go somewhere he couldn't follow, no matter how hard he trained nor how long he searched. He'd only be able to follow her once his own time came... and even then, would he find the way? Or was it simply nothingness, as when he vanished?

He didn't know. And it was the not knowing that was killing him.

She spoke his name, and his eyes returned to hers, his heart aching at the sight of her so peaceful and yet in so much pain. Her fingers gripped his lightly, as if they were doves perching only for a moment before flying away. Her breathing was becoming softer, and tears formed in her eyes, rolling down her face the moment she blinked. "I love you," she whispered. "Will you hold me? Just for a moment?"

He gripped her hand tightly in his own, standing enough to move to the bed, one leg keeping him steady on the unstable seat. He moved the machines a bit closer, slacking the wires and tubes enough that he could lay back with her without disconnecting them, then pulled her gently into his arms. She was so cold - had it always been this way? Had she always been this thin, this delicate? Had it always been that he worried to hold her too tight, lest she shatter like so much ice?

She sighed as she lay against him, her pale eyelashes fluttering closed to rest against her damp cheeks. They lay there, silent for a few moments more, just experiencing the comfort they could give one another without speaking. When she finally spoke again, he closed his eyes to fight the tears and the pain. He couldn't do what she asked, yet he had no choice. How could he let her suffer anymore? How could he make her stay, even when she would only languish in misery?

So, with a silent nod, he hugged her close and kissed the top of her head, tears falling into her hair and onto his shirt as they both wept. For life, and love; for grief, and pride; for goodbyes, and forever.

"Promise me?"

His hands tightened on her arms, and after a shaky breath, he did. She nodded, then looked up to him and smiled. He returned it, the expression painful and unfamiliar even as he tried. She laughed. "You're still terrible at that."

He laughed too, the sound breathy and full of grief. "I always will be."

"Work on it."

"I will."

"Vincent?"

"Yes?"

"Stay with me?"

"Always."

And so it was that Dr. Nakia Meian-Kenjutsushi departed from this world; succumbing to the effects of all that which she had taken from those she helped, releasing her final breath in the arms of her husband and truest love. And so it was that Vincent Meian was found by the doctors and nurses attending, holding her close to him and weeping as if the world had ended.

Because for him, it had. Even after they pulled him away and covered the body with that thin sheet, he moved back to her and kissed her shrouded forehead, tears staining the white as he whispered to her.

"I have always loved you. And I always will. Wait for me."




Time-Warp/AU




Written for the Mar 2013 Challenge, "100 Stories, 1 Month"

[Kallisti*]

#8 - Shackles (AU)


The ground was cold beneath his skin. It probably would have been even if his abilities weren't being dampened, but the slick layer of grime over the worn cobblestones didn't really help the process either. Still, before he moved, the demon listened to the room - there was breathing (slightly erratic) to his right, the intermittent sound of water hitting stone in drops a ways away (a leak, possibly, or condensation), and the crackle of fire. He knew that sound more than well enough - torchwood being burned.

Determining that it was at least likely to be safe, he opened his eyes and looked about. He'd been left bound to the floor, his long legs stretched beneath him and pressed under ancient bands of iron. If he were able to use his abilities, those would be no issue; at the moment, however, they were keeping him from going anywhere, even more than the manacles that forced his arms behind his back. The crackle of fire was coming from the door, and though he longed to reach for it and regain his warmth, the demon resisted the urge to test his luck. Besides, it would have been a stretch even if his powers had been at full - the door was over thirty feet from him, and the torch small.

Turning his crimson eyes from the dancing flames, he stared about the rest of the room for a moment, memorizing the layout as quickly as possible. It was a prison cell, obviously, but it had been tailored specifically for people like him. Those with power over elements had no hold here, for the script written into the ceiling prevented such uses here. The laws of nature would not be broken by his will alone so long as he remained under its spell.

Turning his crimson eyes from the dizzying swirls of magic above him, he looked to his right. As expected, it was his companion; apparently his nose had been bloodied in whatever conflict had led them here, but otherwise the Detective was relatively unharmed. Disheveled, yes; but unharmed. This was good - he hated to drag useless people around in dangerous places, even if he cared for them as much as he did The Fox.

Apparently having eyes on him was enough for the equally bound Detective to wake, his forest green eyes dazed before he blinked them clear. "Finally," the demon mused, smirking as his companion's gaze snapped to him. "Here I thought I would have to figure this out all by myself."

The other man snorted in derision, but a grim smirk settled on his face. "Oh but Vin, I thought you were the mastermind behind all this," he quipped, flicking long black hair over his shoulder in annoyance. "After all, you do so seem to like tying me up."

"This coming from the man who has been chasing me all these years for legitimate Contracts, Minamori?"

"Legit or not, Assassin, you know the laws of my country."

"So I do." The demon looked around once more and fidgeted with his bonds, wincing slightly as the raw iron scraped his flesh. While he'd at least been left with the dignity of the cloth around his legs, the assassin's tunic had been taken in search for weapons, leaving his tattooed arms and scarred torso exposed to the open air. Or, in this case, metal and stone. At least they hadn't taken anything else - having hair as long as his in his face would have been terribly unhelpful, even in the best of circumstances.

"What can you See, Fox?"

The other man looked up, his eyes flickering over the scrawling language quickly. Though he wasn't a demon like Vincent, Minamori had more than enough uses to qualify being an assassin's companion. Deciphering magical script being one of them, plant manipulation being another. And then, there were other things...

"It's an old magic," he answered simply. "Powerful, too. Though, it looks like water may be wearing at the seal; a few spots aren't as bright as they should be. If we can push the seal into burning out, we may have a chance to get out of here."

"How much would that take?"

The effeminate man tilted his head back and forth is a display of noncommittal. "I can't say; like I said, it's old and strong. It's written in the High Language of Malakai, probably Second or Third Age if I were to place it. It may take just a good spell if it's been here that long."

"Or it could sap us both dry."

"That, too."

A growl of indignation started deep in the demon's chest as he pondered that dilemma. He knew a number of spells that used enough power to overcharge most seals, but they left him feeling drained even if they didn't work. Use enough of them, and eventually even his extended lifespan would suffer. The fact that he couldn't be sure of how much it would take also made him worry - he could spend his power into oblivion, and his friend would be left stranded here with a corpse.

"I would rather something that didn't end up with one or both of use dead."

"I would, too - unlike you, I only have about another forty or fifty years left in me."

Vincent shrugged, glowering at the ceiling. Why in the Hells were they here, anyway? Who had a place like this anymore? Regardless, if there was no other option, there was only one thing he could do.

"I've only got one thing that's likely to work," he answered after a long moment. "And she's going to be arriving if I do."

Minamori made a face. "I thought you didn't like her."

"I don't. But she's on Terra, and she has power. The sheer volume of magic should overpower this, if I can get her to acknowledge the connection."

Another snort, this time in disbelief. "And the likelihood of that is?"

Vincent grinned. "Little, considering that she's done with that book and has never liked me."

"Comforting."

"Do you have any other ideas?"

"Do we have to make it out of here alive?"

"I'll take that as a no." Closing his eyes, the demon calmed his mind and slowed his breath, muttering an ancient form of his language rapid-fire. Above, the seal flickered to life, glowing brighter with each word as the spells fought for dominion. Pushing through the strain, he reached out with his thoughts for the girl, listening for the tell-tale thrum of the thread that would lead him to her. He spoke faster as the pressure on his spirit grew, enunciating each word clearly in the hopes that it would help the process.

"It's breaking! Vincent, it's-"

There was a snapping sound, the twang of a string too low to be heard, and the demon grabbed the strand he sought before it flew away from him. Iron ripped at his skin for a moment, but then there was nothing. Just an empty black and the cacophony of the World Between Worlds.




Written for the Mar 2013 Challenge, "100 Stories, 1 Month"

[Kallisti*]

#9 - Broken (Breaking Dishes)



He knew the minute she walked through the door that she was upset. He'd figured out how to read people a while ago thanks to Suekeichi - her shoulders were tense, her hands gripped her bag tightly, her coat was tossed over the sack of groceries instead of being tucked into the sack, and she didn't return his greeting when she walked in. The question was, was she upset with him or was she upset with work? That was always a tricky one to figure out, considering that Nik tended to bottle up her feelings and rarely let them out.

Considering his experiences with such people, Vincent found that rather unhealthy. But, if that's how his girlfriend wanted to deal with it, that was fine with him. Different people do different things an all that.

Still, he gave her a slight smile as she handed him the bag of groceries and kissed her hand before she could pull it away. The doctor gave him a rueful glance before pulling her hand away, so he shrugged and thanked her regardless. She didn't say a word.

That was odd, certainly. However, even a man as clueless as he was knew to stay out of people's way when they were upset. So, he simply finished making dinner, served it up for the two of them, and let her eat in peace. No small talk, no questions; if Nik wanted to talk, she would talk. He wasn't going to force her.

Still, the silence was somewhat unnerving.

Dinner ended without much in the way of words, though when the tall man began cleaning up, she'd stopped him and started washing the dishes on her own. Though the chore was appreciated, the older of the two was still a little concerned and brought the dishes in regardless. He even made an attempt at the conversation.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes."

"......." Something was definitely not right, but if she didn't want to talk about it, that wasn't his business. Going back to the heated table, Vincent began wiping down the surface with a towel to clear it of whatever remained of dinner. "Did anything interesting happen at the hospital today?" he tried again.

There was a pause, then, "We had an administrative inspection today. Nothing very important for the interns or residents."

Well, that was an answer, at least. Not a very good one, and the albino woman sounded angry about it. Shifting the comforter around the kotatsu, the soldier then asked, "Really? It sounds important."

"It wasn't." Ouch - that had some bite to it.

"All right... How are your patients?"

"Could you not try and make small talk with me tonight?" the white-haired woman snapped, her motions becoming jerky as she scrubbed at something a little too hard. "I don't want to talk about work, or family, or us, or anything else. I just want to do the last of my paperwork and get some sleep."

Vincent cocked an eyebrow, annoyed as his own temper flared a bit. He was just trying to help - wasn't that what he was supposed to do? He never understood women that broke down over the littlest thing and cried at the drop of a hat; hence, Nik was the only woman he'd ever seriously dated. But this was a little strange even for her. If she'd been upset, normally she would have simply not come over, or she would have at least jumped into banter with him, or she would have allowed him to distract her from her annoyances. This passive-aggressive conversation was... well, it was weird.

"If that's what you want, that's fine," he replied sullenly. "I'm only trying to help. Do you want me to walk you home, or do you want to stay here?"

"I can go home myself, Vincent. I don't need an escort."

Red flag. "I wasn't asking to escort you, Nakia - it's late, and I just-"

"I really don't want to have this argument now."

"When did this become an argument?"

"You're making it into a fight."

"I'm...?" Vincent sighed, cupping his face in one hand. This was definitely going less well than he had hoped. "Nik, I'm not trying to fight with you. I just-"

"Well, I don't feel like talking about it," she stated tersely. "Can we please change the subject?"

That didn't sound like a request. Even with his commanding officers, Vincent didn't like taking orders. Especially when he was on leave.

"No," he stated, walking closer and reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. "I won't change the subject, and you're being-"

He didn't get to finish the sentence because the moment his bare hand touched her shoulder, Vincent was on the floor.

Well, actually, that's not entirely accurate. He wasn't instantaneously on the floor; he'd been knocked there by something that addled his head enough to make time flow strangely. His face also hurt like hell, and he could taste copper in his mouth, feel his cheek flame up, and see red all over the linoleum of the kitchen. Not a whitewash of red, like when he was well and truly angry; this was just a splatter of red, with more dripping every few fractions of a second. Blinking the dots from his eyes, the tall man shook his head in an attempt to clear it, vaguely hearing the sound of steel hitting the floor some distance away from him.

Had she just hit him? With a skillet? "...I think you broke my nose." Wow, it really hurt to talk.

"Oh no, oh Vincent I'm so sorry! I- I panicked, I'm so sorry!" Cold hands gripped his arms and fluttered about his face as the soldier pushed himself into a sitting position, still slightly dazed even as he batted her hands away gently. "Stop," she said, his voice sounding thick to his own ears. "Nik, stop, it's all right. I'll be fine."

Holy hell did his jaw hurt.

"No no, Vincent, I need to fix this," she stammered, tears welling up in her blue eyes as she tried to touch the broken skin. Grabbing her arms and forcing her hands away, the Japanese man looked her in the eye and shook his head slowly.

"Don't. I don't know what I did, but I'm sure I deserved that," he stated firmly. He cracked a weak smile, then asked, "So, would you mind telling me what I did?"

Apparently, that broke the dam.

For almost two hours, the two of them talked. Well, mostly Nik talked. Vincent listened, accepted an ice pack and allowed his girlfriend to make sure no bones were broken (thankfully, none were) as she talked. There was a changing of administrators at the hospital; metahumans were becoming more and more unacceptable under the new regime; she lost a couple patients because she'd been banned from using her powers without written consent on hospital grounds; her latest test had come back with less than stellar grades... The stack of straw had grown so high, that the resident had finally come by to see if Vincent would just let her have a moment of peace from the ruckus of the world.

And they had an argument.

"I didn't mean to hit you," she muttered finally, keeping her blue gaze averted from his golden one as she spoke. "I just... I had a rough time as a child. I was worried... I was worried you were going to hit me."

The idea shocked him. "Nik, I'd never intentionally hurt you," the soldier replied, giving her a concerned look. "If I did hurt you, it'd only be to defend myself, you know that. And even then, I'd rather take a frying pan to the face than hurt you in a disarm."

That seemed to make her laugh for some reason. "You're not very good at soothing people's fears, are you?"

He chuckled when he realized what she meant. "No, not really," Vincent admitted. "Sorry."

"It's okay; I understand."

"Oh good. I mean it, though; I won't hit you. No matter how angry I get."

She looked up at him, tears in her eyes, and wiped them away hurriedly before responding. "I... I know that now. I'm sorry. It must hurt something fierce."

The soldier shrugged. "It hurts, but at least you didn't knock me unconscious," he reasoned. "Then we'd be in the hospital, and they don't have beds my size."

She laughed, then gave him a rueful smile. "We should be in the hospital, you moron. If you won't let me treat you, you should at least have someone look at it."

"Eh, I'll get a medic to look at me on Monday."

"That doesn't make me any less concerned."

"I'll be fine, Nik."

Still, he let her take another look, winced when she touched his nose and jaw, and settled back with another ice pack when she replenished it. Honestly, if she hadn't been his girlfriend, Vincent would have let her fix him - however, a soldier coming back to work with these bruises was one thing; a female doctor doing the same was like to get his backside thrown into jail. Not to mention he didn't like the idea of someone else taking responsibility for his mistakes.

"So, next time, how about you just yell at me."

"What?"

"Yell at me. Scream, shout, throw things, break dishes - you know, that sort of thing."

Nik looked incredulous. "What about your neighbors?"

"Have you heard the family above me? No one will notice or care, and you'll feel better."

"And you know this because...?"

"Because it helps me sometimes."

"...Maybe. I'll think about it."

At least she stayed that night. And next time, she could break dishes instead of busting his face. Vincent didn't hear the end of that from his squadmates for years.




Once again, relatively canon story - Japan, 1991





Written for the Mar 2013 Challenge, "100 Stories, 1 Month"

[Kallisti*]

#30 - Grace (AU: Fall From Grace)



Fall!


The object just barely caught her field of vision, and immediately the slight girl reacted. Spinning about, whatever it was had missed her entirely. However, the reaction caused her to slip off the beam and grasping hands could not reach in time to catch herself. She hit the ground hard, the mats barely absorbing the impact as she struck them. She bounced once, then lay still on the floor, her body aching and her near-deaf ears ringing. Aside from that small sound, she couldn't hear much of anything - the ground shook a little, or maybe that was her limbs? She hurt everywhere, though something felt odd in her mind.


Now the dark begins to rise.


Pushing herself up, she blinked the black dots from her vision, a field of textured blue coming into sight as her eyes refocused. Her arms shook, probably from the jarring impact, but something else made her feel like shaking as well. Anger. Sheer, indomitable will being brought into being by a single act and a decision. That was it.

"No more."


Save your breath; it's far from over.


The words where whispered, inaudible to all the people crowding about though they rang so clearly in her mind. Hands grabbed at her, pulled her up, forced her to look at faces she recognized but barely knew. Their lips moved, but they did not speak; their eyes were wide but held no souls. Not one of them truly cared, and nor were any of them truly alive because of it.


Leave the lost and dead behind.


There was no helping it, she supposed. People simply didn't care. She'd have to take care of this herself, eventually. Normally, she would have hid behind the black hair being brushed from her face by frantic hands - cried, perhaps - in the face of such hurt and attention. Now, somehow, her resolve had steeled. No one cared, so neither should she.


Now's your chance to run for cover.


By now, she could move more easily, and her first act was to push the hands away, speaking thickly that she was all right. Not hearing yourself talk made such an act difficult, but she endured and made herself clear. The people backed away, and shakily the small girl returned to her feet, wincing slightly at the pain in her back and shoulder. She locked eyes with her teacher (something she had not done before today) before looking away to scan the crowd of other students like her. She found the faces she was looking for almost instantly, and knew them by their noticeably straight expressions. They were the cause of this, of course. This would have to be remedied. Immediately.


I don't want to change the world.


This would solve nothing, of course. She'd get in trouble, and her family would probably be called. She may even have to transfer schools. But as she took one shaking, tiny step after another... she found she didn't much care.


I just want to leave it colder.


Stopping after a few steps, a spot of flesh-coloring appeared in her vision - a small speck against the blue. Bending slowly, she picked up the device, then replaced it in her ear without comment. Though it took a moment for her to adjust to the sounds coming from its speakers, she could finally hear again; the teacher calling everyone back to their practices, his assistant asking if she would be all right. She looked to him, staring at him in a way she never had before, then nodded without breaking the eye contact.

Apparently, it unnerved him because he left to attend to someone else. For some reason, this made her pleased. She'd just made someone go away, made someone leave her alone. Was that what it felt like to intimidate someone?

Somehow, it felt right. And it felt cold.


Light the fuse and burn it up.


However, as her gaze settled on the three of them, those who caused this, the cold turned to heat in a flash. For once in her life, she was angry. More angry than she could have thought possible. It was as if that simple action of distraction had lit a fire within her, and it was burning her inside out. Conversely hot and cold, consuming and rebuilding. Was it only a matter of time before she exploded?

Still, she stepped forward, watching as expressions of cruel delight danced in their dark eyes and symmetrical expressions. ["Oh my, are you all right, Meian-chan?"] one of them asked, her voice a parody of sympathy even as her friends snickered. ["You shouldn't be so clumsy - you'll never make the team at this rate."]

["Oh well,"] another one sighed. ["At least all the excitement is over."]


Take the path that leads to nowhere.


This wouldn't do her any good. This action wouldn't lead her anywhere but in detention. Maybe even a different school. And what good would that do? Leave one set of bullies for another? How was that justice?

Still... it felt right.

["Maybe you should just stay on the mat,"] the eldest of the three stated, a slight smirk on her features. ["After all, we wouldn't want another accident like that. You could lose more than just your footing."]


All is lost again.


And just like that, they were turning away, expecting her to hide meekly as she always did. Maybe they would punish her later for daring to come up to them like that, as if they had done something wrong. Who would believe her, anyway? Why was she even thinking about this? Briefly, her courage flickered and a doubt crossed her mind.


But I'm not giving in.


Snapping her eyes back to the three of them, a glower formed over her face and the young girl called out to their eldest by name. The girl turned, clearly shocked but enjoying the attention. ["Oh, the wallflower deigns to speak!"] she exclaimed, obviously amused even as the hurt girl began moving towards them again. ["What is it? Do you want to thank me for my advice? My concern? Well, out with it!"]


I will not bow!


["-to one such as you!"] Her voice cracked like a whip through the air, and in a mere moment she had launched herself at the older girl, her fist connecting with soft flesh and hard bones. The impact sent the girl sprawling, red spreading across one cheek even as she stared dazed at the tiny individual. She sputtered, utterly confused, and her friends stood stock still, unable to comprehend what happened.

Glowering down at the bully, the girl's eyes blazed with barely constrained anger, both blue and brown and completely cold in their fire. She stood tall, refusing to hunch over, and her clenched left fist dripped blood from where it had been cut on a tooth.


I will not break!


["You cannot break me, Sai-chan,"] she stated softly. ["This will not happen again, or you will be in worse pain that you have ever known. Do you understand me?"]


I will shut the world away.


Though the sounds of other people shouting had surrounded them, she pushed the intrusions from her mind. She did not look away, she did not move. She simply waited, motionless as the other girl teared up before her and abruptly launched herself back at her assailant.

But this time, she was ready.


I will not fall!


Moving with some unknown fluidity, she ducked her opponent's flailing strike, slipping out of the way in a serpentine motion as the other girl stumbled on the mat. No smile crossed her face; she simply stared, blank and cold, into the face of her enemy. Who then attacked again. This one was no better than the others, as the hand was deflected and the smaller of the two slipped away with a twirl and elbowed the bully in the back of the head.

Staggering away, the older girl clutched her aching skull before glaring at the Meian girl. ["What the hell! Stand still!"]


I will not fade!


Already people were crowding, keeping the teachers away from the girls as much as they could. A fight like this would keep going until one of them fell, and it would not be forgotten for years to come.

Without another word, the "wallflower" pushed forward, using the training her father had given her to duck a hasty strike and slam her hands into her attacker's ribs. The girl staggered back, but before she righted herself-


I will take your breath away.


-another palm strike landed hard in her solar plexus, releasing her lungs of all oxygen and forcing her to double over. With no change in expression, the victor closed the distance slowly, maintaining her unnerving eye contact. She leaned forward, and whispered only one word into the ear of her former bully before sending her to the floor with a combination leg sweep and push.


["Fall."]


.....



Over an hour later, her father had come to pick her up, taking leave of his last few sessions to speak with the school's headmaster and her uncle. They talked about the fight, then about the possibility that she may have powers; may be a metahuman. It would mean a transfer to the school where her father taught, at any rate, and she wouldn't be here anymore.

As they walked, her father walked her home in silence, the small girl refrained from looking up at him until he spoke. ["Do you feel better?"]

As she turned her gaze up at him, he met her eyes and did not flinch. It was only then that she smiled; a cool, unhappy smile. ["Yes. She deserved it."]

["You know that we'll have to move you to my school, right?"]

["I know. I don't mind. I can take care of myself now."]

A chuckle escaped the man, and he scooped his daughter up into his arms to carry her the rest of the way home. ["I am very proud of you, Appoline."]

They were quiet for a moment, but she spoke again with a soft surety after a few more steps. ["Father? I think I want a new name."]

["Oh? And what should I call this new you?"]

["...Lin."]

["Then so you shall be, my little shadow. So you shall be."]




AU in which Appoline has a visible backbone fights back.





Written for the Mar 2013 Challenge, "100 Stories, 1 Month"

[Kallisti*]

#32 - Choke



It felt like she was drowning. Out to sea with no life boat, nothing to see for miles except a sinking ship in the distance. Desperately, she clung to the only piece of security she had a held it tight, refusing to let go and be washed away by the uncaring waves.

The white-haired youth stared up at her father, her still babyish four year old face filled with sadness and broken hope as the older man and his wife played with their perfect son. But when the baby looked to her, the toddler's eyes grew wide and he giggled so beautifully that she couldn't help but smile and laugh as well, even when it only got her dismissive looks from her parents. In those moments, her parents would be forgotten, and all that mattered was the giggling little one that she could make smile.

Even when she was drowning, there was a bit of reprieve in the neglect, and Hatsuharu was that respite.

So it was that Nakia grew up - isolated, ignored, and largely clinging to her younger brother for comfort.


---


It felt like she'd been abandoned, coming home to that empty house so young and only seeing -only registering- that her mother's purse wasn't there on the counter.

There was no note.

There was no trace.

She was just gone.

When their father came home, the feeling of abandonment intensified as he withdrew into his work; fleeing the lives of his children and trying to find where his wife (misguided as she was) had run away to. He never found her because she hadn't wanted to be found.

The three of them had been left to drift away on the empty plane of the world, because she simply couldn't take it anymore.

So it was that Nakia and the remainder of her family were left in that tiny apartment, never to see Anya Eristov again.


---


It felt like she was choking, unable to breathe for the hands about her throat. Drifting at the edge of black and never tipping over, falling to the ground but never into the depths of sleep. This doesn't hurt, she kept trying to believe, keeping the tears from her eyes by force of will alone. This doesn't hurt.

Pain punctuated the dark, and she gasped, her delicate fingers still attempting the useless fight at removing the vice from her throat. She could barely breathe, and even when her blue eyes were open she could only barely see her attacker through the haze of pain. He tightened his grip, and even the minor amount of air was cut off with a squeak of discomfort. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see - not wanting to face the fact the she knew the man hurting her so badly. Not wanting to see the face of her father as he looked at her with cold rage.

It was enough, though - she was drowning, but there was a star in her mind, bright enough to outshine the shame. She was protecting that star with all of her might. And try as he may, the monster would never find it again, for she'd hidden it too well.

So it was that Nakia entered her teen years; abused by a man for his own failings, defending the one person she cared for more than anything in the world.


---


It felt like she was isolated, being banished to the far corners of the world without leaving the confines of the world of man. It was as if she wandered the Siberian tundra with only one soul for company, though the wind often sounded like voices and picked up snow to create the illusion of human shapes.

Attending Eisai Gakkō seemed like it would be no different from the high school she'd attended before, regardless of what the recruiter had told her. It was still filled with people who had been culturally ingrained with the need to feel superior in the perfection, those people who looked down on her because she was so pale and different and rose up her brother because he was so perfect and normal. Those people who always spoke so pleasantly when they absolutely had to talk to her, and who largely ignored her because she was a white blot on society. Those people who thought that she would never amount to anything because she was different, that she would never marry because no man would lower himself so drastically.

So it was that Nakia fought for her place in the world, struggling against the barren waste of her social world to emerge victorious on the other side with a degree in her hand and the knowledge and control to change the world.


---


She felt cold, like time had stopped and with it all the warmth had been leeched from the world. Her breath drew slow as her hands fluttered like doves over the body, a man barely her own age with a name she did not know and a history she couldn't guess. People moved at the edges of her vision, but slowly and with the consistency of a van Gogh painting. Colors swirled, lights flickered slowly, and her view was only on the man laying on the cold steel of the operating table.

He was the one that she had been assigned, this late Monday night while she covered for a nurse. Mondays were supposed to be quiet, calm, relatively relaxed; this man and four others had upset the balance, and she was desperately trying to correct it. Her cool hands touched his heated flesh with delicacy and softness, taking his life under her purview and handling it with the utmost care. Machines whirred and beeped, and instruments were handed to her and the surgeon as they searched for everything that was broken and mended the hurts. All the while, the man under her hands wept, even in his drug-induced sleep.

Don't choke, she reminded herself firmly. Just remember and let it flow. Don't choke. Her fingers danced at the edges of his face, calcifying breaks in the sharp foxish lines as aches blossomed in her own cheek. Light brushes found the clots and the tears, her voice clearly alerted the trained doctor before her of what she felt and knew, and her eyes scanned the ravaged mess for the next line as they struggled to save his life.

Her hand brushed the leg closest to her and time crashing back as she staggered - her similar limb had exploded with pain despite the fact that the man before her did not seem to be wounded there. The industrial tile tilted under her, but the ghostly woman retained her balance the minute her flesh left his and she righted herself to find the world at full speed once more. Steel flashed by and people chattered rapidly in a language that she understood but did not register. They hadn't noticed her stumble, nor his pain.

"His leg is shattered," she stated thickly, shaking her head as she pushed herself back into the fray. "That's where the bleeding is - that's why we're not getting pressure. We need to reset it, now!"

"Yes doctor!"

Glancing up to the surgeon, blue eyes flickered past to the window where they met gold. The gaze she found was worried and stricken, but strong and thankful. She gave the man a nod, and returned to her duties. She would need all of her focus and strength if the man under her hands were to survive.

So it was that Nakia saved one life and changed three forever.


---


She felt breathless, as if the sheer amount of emotion was enough to suck the oxygen from her lungs and make her head spin. Her face flushed, her eyes teared up, and her heart beat a rapid staccato in her chest. The adrenaline rush was almost more than she could take, and the minute her brother walked into the room she couldn't help but smile.

"Are you ready?"

"It's not my day, sis. It's yours." She laughed, shaking her head to hide the expression as she smoothed her pale hand over her custom kimono. It was the most beautiful thing she had every seen, and it was draped over her body for this special day, courtesy of her younger brother and oldest friend.

"He's waiting, you know."

"I know. I think... I think I might be dreaming."

He laughed. "If this is a dream, where's my actress girlfriend?"

So it was that Nakia laughed on her wedding day, made happy by the man who knew her best and happier still by the one who fell so far and so hard for her.


---


She felt like she was suffocating, so deep was the panic coursing through her body. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe - her fear was too great and her grief too overwhelming. The voice on the end of the phone was distant by now, and the device dropped to the end of the cord with a plastic crash as she plummeted to the linoleum with a harder, more muffled thud.

He was gone. Vanished off into the nothingness, with the implication that he couldn't come back. The second man in her life that she had truly loved, the one she had married against all odds. The one that gave her the strength to be a woman again. And he was gone.

So it was that Nakia learned of her husband's tragedy, and wept in the silence of her home for the unknown.


---


She felt like she was dying, the pain in her lower body and spine more than she could take. Even though they had given her a heavy dose of medication, everything still hurt beyond measure and the noise wasn't helping anything. She knew that she was crying and screaming even if she couldn't hear it, her cold hand grasped tightly to the bed frame.

"Just a little more, you're almost there."

She couldn't do this, but she had to. There was no other choice; this was happening, and it was happening now. Straining her body to its very limits, she leaned back against the pillow and forced herself to believe with all her might that she would not give up.

All at once, a weight was lifted completely, and soft, sharp cries reached her ears. Sweat poured down her face from the hours of pain and concentrated effort, but she blinked it away as the fire soothed to an ache. She turned her head, and smiled when she saw the doctor hand a small bundle to her brother, who cradled it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

"Congratulations, Doctor," he whispered with a smile, his dark eyes bright with emotion. "It's a girl."

So it was that Nakia brought life into the world, and both light and darkness further into her life.


---


She felt like she was buried alive, smothered beneath the cloud of despair that threatened to engulf her life. Her life support cut off, her ability to care for herself or anyone else stripped away in the black depression that subsumed everything around her.

It couldn't end like this.

It's wouldn't end like this.

She needed help.

So it was that Nakia picked up the phone and called the one man she hated more than anything... the one man who could save her life.



Canon story - Dr. Nik Kenjutsushi, age 4-22




Written for the Mar 2013 Challenge, "100 Stories, 1 Month"

[Kallisti*]

#54: Nowhere - "Nothing/Nowhere/Nowhen"


Wherever he had gone, it was someplace very strange. There was not blackness, and there was not light. There was no grey or color or shade, no land to stand on nor air to breathe. Despite all of this, he was calm and not uncomfortable aside from a confused fascination (which was a mild curiosity, really). This space held nothing and yet seemed to have everything just at the edges of his vision, though somehow he could see everything surrounding him in all directions.

Well, as much of the "everything" there was in a place of Nothing.

How had he come to this place, anyway? His thoughts distantly reflected on something; a faded memory of pain and fire, of blood and anger. But everything was muted and soft, as if covered by a mist made of cotton, he couldn't really remember any details. It took an extraordinary effort to even remember that he was he.

Speaking of that, who was "he"?

The consciousness' thoughts drifted into a more uniform stream, and slowly the idea began coalescing. His name; his history; his loves and his journey; his memories and ideals. Each piece fell into place as the memories returned, and as they did both he and this Nothing/Nowhere/Nowhen took form. The nothing shifted into muted shades and colors, and he took the shape of a man. Bright bands of light as thin as string and thick as an arm crossing the space in haphazard lines, stretching from unseen point to unseen point as his view focused into a small cone of perspective. A sound permeated the area now, rising from nothingness to become a background hum that he only now noticed; the sound of strings at rest after a furious playing.

As he returned from the Nothing, so too did the Nothing reshape and reform. It was still Nowhere and Nowhen, but now it had some sense of direction. Of purpose. Of being.

Why was he here?

A scarred hand cupped his face, feeling the weathered skin and angled planes alike as soft, thick hair tangled in long fingers. Something tugged at his wrist as he did so, and the view shifted to it, pulling the hand from the warmth of flesh to gaze upon it. One of the infinite bands of light had encircled his wrist, no thicker than one of the hairs on his head. There was something familiar about it, as if he should know it. Maybe he did. Maybe it led him away from this Nowhere - this place beyond time and space.

Maybe it led him back home?

Taking hold of the thread gently, he looped it about his fingers, pondering its existence. Could light really thread this way? Was this all reality was? Could he make the choice to simply stay - to never know what that life he'd had before was? Would he do it? Could he? Should he?

The running of his fingers over the thread made it resonate - a high sound as clear as crystal bells and soft as a whisper. If it were not for his knowledge/intuition of this place, he doubted he could hear it. It seemed to both pulse in his hands and lie cold, asking to be taken and rejecting his presence both. The thread brought back more memories, and this time he made a choice.

The same choice he always made and never remembered.

Pulling the string taut, the consciousness flung itself back to its home reality, where upon it became a solid and real human being. A real human being in agony and wracked with fear, possessing a physical body that turned against him as he pushed himself up from the concrete. A real human being, with real memories and real emotions; with real thoughts and a real name.

Vincent Meian once more continued to exist, and he hurt.




This story is a theoretical canon based on what happens to Vincent when his powers activate.




Written for the Mar 2013 Challenge, "100 Stories, 1 Month"

[Kallisti*]

77. Phone Call


It's been years since he'd heard from that woman. Not that either of them ever really tried to keep in contact considering they really didn't like each other, but suddenly having her message him out of the blue was something fairly strange in of itself. How'd she even get his number, anyway? Talk about stalkerish, considering that one of the first things he'd done on reaching Oxford was change his phone number and get a new pager.

Suekeichi stared mutely at the pager that lay vibrating on his desk, hand paused midway in the process of writing an answer to an English literature question as the sombre melody of a Beethoven piece filled the silent space. It was 1996, chilly as the year began to turn from fall towards winter again, and a thick fog had rolled in from the water to blanket London once more in a drearily dangerous cloud of grey. Inside his apartment, the biology major was dressed for the cold in a pale cream sweater and dark slacks, a scarf wrapped around his neck and keeping his shaggy black locks from brushing his shoulders as he hunched over the writing desk. It was depressing in London, yes... but it was better than what awaited him back in Japan.

A few long moments after the message had been received, a slender hand picked up the device and read the quick blurb of text alongside the number it hand been sent from. "We need to talk - Nik" was all it said, the English letters seeming more surreal considering that he knew where the sender had been located.

Talk? Why did she of all people need to talk to him? Nakia Kenjutsushi had always hated his guts, ever since the first day they met. She'd barely even tried being friendly towards him, despite the fact that she was dating his best friend. Well, former best friend at this point, but who was keeping score? Writing down the number on the pager, the metahuman then erased the message and put the device down, focusing back on his work.

He had better things to do than talk to her.


-------


Months went by, and every week there was the same page from the Japanese doctor who despised him so. Each time, he looked at the message, and each time he erased it without abiding by its request. There was no point to it, really; aside from his mother (and ex-best friend, up until about a year ago), Suekeichi had broken ties with everyone from his past in Japan. Why would he want to open up those old wounds again? Especially when the person who wanted to talk to him would just make everything that much worse - Nik wasn't sympathetic and tactful like his mother was, and she tended to speak her mind whenever she saw fit. Noble, in some respects, but annoying for a grieving widow.

Finally, the messages stopped. It'd been about three weeks since the last one, and the new year had passed uneventfully, leaving the Japanese botanist to vaguely wonder if something else happened without really caring either way. Thus, it caught him completely by surprise when his roommate told him there was a phone call for him. Stunned, Suekeichi had wandered into the main room and answered the device, wondering who it could possibly be.

It really shouldn't have surprised him that much.

"What part of 'we need to talk' do you not understand, Minamori?"

"I'm sorry; you must have me confused with someone who cares, Doctor. You have finally finished your residency, haven't you?" Already this wasn't off to a good start.

"I wouldn't be calling unless it was important."

"Oh, I'm sure. Not like little old me; the feckless boy your boyfriend seems to like so much who calls on a whim simply to chat. No, heavens forbid that people don't communicate when there isn't something wrong."

"Minamori-"

"Just get to the point already," he snapped. "I have semester finals in a week, and I don't have time to waste on someone who hates me."

There was a pause on the line, and when the woman's voice came back it seemed softer, more pleading... and infinitely sorrowful. "I don't hate you. I just need to talk to you. It's-"

He didn't listen to the sadness, didn't care that he could hear it from thousands of miles away. "It's always important with you, isn't it? Well, you can find someone else to whine to because I don't-"

"Damn it, Suekeichi!" The curse was a shout and a sob, and for a long moment he was silent, simply listening to the soft sounds of weeping as his conversation partner tried to compose herself. Honestly, the level of emotion was startling - Nik never cried. Finally, her voice found its way into words again. "It's Vincent, you damn fool. I'm calling because he's hurting and I don't know what to do. I can't do all of this by myself."

"...What do you mean 'it's Vincent'?" he asked dubiously. "Is he in trouble or something?" Is he dead?

"He... was hurt. He was injured, and my specialty isn't psychology, and I don't know how to help him. Gods Suekeichi, please... I... I just need someone to help me."

"What do you expect me to do about it?"

"I don't know!" came the shouted response, followed quickly by a few more muffled sobs and deep breaths. "He... I just... I don't know. I just thought that maybe you could help. You know him as well as I do, probably better. Maybe if he can see he's not alone, he won't... he won't vanish on me again."

Vanish? As a group, the three of them only used that particular word for one reason - a reference to his friend's unstable and unpredictable power. "He used his powers recently? Why should that matter?"

"It... he used them under stress. It was an accident - he didn't mean to."

"...What did the military do about it?"

"Kept him for a year. Watched him, retrained him, then sent him back to me broken. He... he's not the man I married, Suekeichi."

"Married?" He hadn't heard anything about that. Then again, the college student had a stack of unopened letters somewhere in his room from his old friend. Maybe it was mentioned in there. He shook off the shock. "People change," he stated coolly. "You can't expect him to be the same forever."

There was a groan from the other end, the sound almost like an anguished mewl. "You don't understand," she sighed. "You have to see him to know. Please, Minamori - I can't handle this by myself."

"Well, you're going to have to. I'm not coming back to Japan."

"But-"

"Don't call this number again." More firmly than he should have, the plant manipulator hung up the phone, the bells inside chiming from the force of impact. He was angry, yes, but a sliver of concern had begun worming its way through the veil of anger and misery in his own mind. Snorting in derision, the Japanese man turned about and went back to his studying. Thoughts of his old friend plagued him however, even without the doctor's incessant nagging via page, and with a week he could not focus on his work. What could have spooked a woman like her so badly that she had come to him for help?

That, my friends, is why they say curiosity killed the cat.




This ficlet is canon (or close enough to for government work).





Written for the Mar 2013 Challenge, "100 Stories, 1 Month"

[Kallisti*]

#78 - Music



"I don't think you've ever played for me."

Vincent looked over his shoulder from the small kitchen, frowning slightly at his boyfriend. The plant manipulator sat on the floor in front of a low table (a kotatsu, as it's called), his back to the cook and his (currently) green hair tied up in a messy bun as he pruned a potted ivy plant, completely ignoring the other man as if he'd never spoken. The pan in the older youth's hand sizzled from the heated oil, and without a word he turned back to the fish he was searing. Once the food in question was finished, he shifted it to a plate and checked on the rice, replying with a question. "What brought this about?"

"Just thinking, that's all. You've got a concert with the orchestra in a few days, don't you?"

"Yes..." His answer was hesitant, and considering that the remainder of the dinner had a few more moments to cook, he turned his back on it and leaned against the counter, crossing his long arms over his chest. He watched the back facing him intently for a moment, keeping up the pause for a long moment. "Is there something you want to ask, Minamori?"

The use of his surname made the green-haired teen turn, blinking innocently from the table of the communal kitchen. Vincent normally called his younger roommate "fox" or by his given name; when he called him Minamori in private, well... it meant he was skeptical or concerned. Probably both. Still, the effeminate male just gave him a shrug. "I just don't think I've ever heard you play," he answered. "You don't practice in the dorms."

"It disturbs the other residents."

"You also don't seem to practice much in the practice rooms."

"I can't hear properly in there - the acoustics are terrible."

"...So... you only practice when exactly? In class?"

Vincent's eyes narrowed, annoyed at this line of questioning. Where was he going with this? "Mostly, yes. Sometimes I play after clubs let out, so I don't bother them. What's this about?"

"Oh... umm..." Suekeichi looked distracted and tilted his head back and forth in a display of either/or. "Well... hey, it's nothing, really. I was just talking to myself before anyway. Don't worry about it." He laughed, waved the pruning shears in the seventeen year old's general direction, and then turned back to his work. He did not turn back around, even though the dimensionalist stared at his back until the timer by the stove nagged at him to turn it off again. He did, and wordlessly he returned to his task of making dinner and tomorrow's lunch for the two of them.

Still, this was very strange. He could see the lie and the cover-up from miles away, but why would the other boy lie? They'd been dating now for a few months, had been friends for a couple years... why did he feel the need to lie about something so trivial? If he wanted to go to the concert, he should have simply asked.

Maybe he'd just give him a ticket tomorrow - he was allowed to invite a guest.


.....


"Why didn't you go?"

"I-I told you! I had a project due!"

"Since when has that ever stopped you?"

"Look, maybe I just don't want to fail Konishi-sensei's class, all right?"

"English Language classes are your best subject."

"S-so! You can't just learn a language overnight, you know!" Vincent sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he held the payphone to his ear, his forehead resting against the glass side of the booth. This was very strange - his boyfriend had wanted to come to the concert, wanted to hear his music; why didn't he show up? And why did he feel the need to lie? Right now, he was starting not to care; the formal wear wasn't exactly warm, and he was standing outside in January in Sapporo. Not exactly the place he wanted to be right at this very moment, and certainly not the conversation he wanted to be having.

"Fine, Suekeichi," he sighed, shaking his head. "We're heading back to Tokyo tomorrow. I'll see you when I get back."

"S-sure. I can meet you at the train, if you like." Now the other boy was starting to sound normal again, but he didn't much care. He was too tired.

"Yeah, that's fine. Would you mind if we ordered out?"

"Not at all. See you tomorrow."


.....


"You seriously don't get it?"

Vincent looked to his team captain, frowning slightly in confusion. "Obviously not or I wouldn't have asked you," he replied dryly, turning his gaze back forward to continue his sword practice. Iaido was hard enough with a wooden sword and no distractions; with a sharpened katana and a conversation, a mistake could be hazardous.

"Okay, look," his captain explained, running a hand over his face. "He's your boyfriend, right? All you have to-"

The sword stopped in motion halfway as the taller man whirled about on the older student, startled. "Wh-what? No, we're just roommates!" he protested, backing away slightly. If people found out about that, he could be expelled and have a black mark on his record. Not that he would give up his fox for it, but it was still something he'd rather not have happen.

Fortunately, the shorter man waved a hand off. "Don't worry about it; everyone on the team knows and no one says anything because it doesn't matter," he answered, his tone bored. "Besides, I swear that the two of you have a bigger fanclub as a couple than Hoshi-o has on his own."

That really didn't make him feel any better. "So... the whole school knows?"

A shrug. "It doesn't matter. No one cares, so stop worrying about it. Who's going to pick a fight with you over it? Or him with you around, for that matter? Left-handed or not, you're a better fighter than most of us in the club; even with your off-hand you're more than a match in tournaments, so relax."

He had a point. With a sigh, the vice-captain returned the blade to the sheath and took up his stance again, keeping his right hand on the blade. He needed to practice lest he grow complacent. "So what's so obvious?" he asked grudgingly. "What do you see that I don't?"

"He likes music, right?"

"...Yes." Shift stance, focus on target.

"You play music, right?"

"Yes, but-"

"And you've never played for him before?"

"I've invited him to half a dozen concerts." Lower hand to hover above the hilt, waiting for the right moment.

"Has he shown up?"

"No." Grab hilt and pull blade, swinging in one fluid motion. The straw doll cut in a clean diagonal, with a very slight curve at the very end. With a huff of annoyance, Vincent returned the blade to the sheath. "He's made excuses," he continued, picking up the scattered straw and setting it aside. "He keeps saying he's busy, then asks me about it again later. I just don't understand."

"Isn't he claustrophobic?"

The younger boy waved his hand slightly. "He can sit through classes, can't he?"

"But he doesn't like large crowds."

"So... you're saying he doesn't go not because he's mad at me, but because he doesn't like crowds.

"Pretty much."

"So, what do I do, then?"


.....


"Sooo.... where are we going?"

Vincent sighed at the question. "You'll see," he answered, probably for the fiftieth time since they left the dorm. He'd set everything up already, and even though it was a little late, he was sure Suekeichi would like it. Well, mostly sure. Okay, he was pretty nervous - but what was he supposed to be? He'd missed his friend's birthday because of a tournament, and he wasn't even sure that this was what the fox would want.

The trip had been a long one, and the sun was setting as they reached the atrium from the train station. Showing their student badges from Eisai as well as their tickets, Vincent grinned at his friend. "Happy birthday, Suekeichi," he said, motioning inside. "We have the run of it to ourselves."

The look on the younger boy's face was ecstatic, and with a flicker of (now) red hair he was gone, running off into the enormous greenhouse. Settling the grin into a smirk, the older student thanked the woman that had let them in and walked on after his friend, taking a leisurely stroll as the basket on his arm bounced against his leg rhythmically. The open-air room was filled with greenery, and it wasn't hard to spot the plant manipulator gaping in awe at the whole of it.

"Vincent, I haven't been here since before I came to Eisai!" he breathed, giving his roommate a bright grin and then a hug. "This is amazing! Thank you so much!"

Giving a short glance over his shoulder, the taller boy returned the embrace for a moment before holding up the basket. "Dinner?"

"Please!"

The small picnic outlasted the rest of the sunshine, and still no guards came to kick them out. That was just fine with him; he'd rather Suekeichi have as much fun as he wanted. After all, it was his birthday present. Nibbling on a bit of mochi, golden eyes watched the other boy intently as he coaxed a brown section of a plant into green again. When he was sure that he was distracted, Vincent reached out nearby and procured a small, battered case, flipping the latches silently so not to spoil the surprise.

Inside lay a violin; old and well-worn, but well-taken care of, too. Its strings were taut and tuned still from earlier in the day, the bow already pre-rosined and waiting. With great care, the Meian boy plucked both from the case, and with a deep breath he began to play.

At the first sound of music, the other boy whipped around, confusion and shock on his face. Vincent couldn't see them; he'd closed his eyes to hear the notes better, and played by feel as his long, scarred fingers danced across the strings. The piece was from Vivaldi's Spring - one of Suekeichi's favorite pieces, both in musical integrity and in emotive imagery. He played the entire piece through, then as the notes died away into echoes opened his eyes to meet the astonished gaze of his closest friend.

"Happy birthday, Fox."

Without a word, the younger man came close and kissed him, pushing him back onto the grass with surprisingly little force.

They didn't leave the atrium for another hour.




Relatively canon story from 1987 - Japan.




Written for the Mar 2013 Challenge, "100 Stories, 1 Month"

[Kallisti*]

#100 - Immortality

One has to pay dearly for immortality; one has to die several times while one is still alive.

Friedrich Nietzsche

The man in black walked a lonely road, and the ghosts of the past followed him.

The world had turned into a colder and more bitter place in his absence; the wars had all but destroyed it, making every city a graveyard of twisted iron and crumbling concrete. The days had needed to come, and now that they had... there was nothing left. Nothing but memories deep as ancient wounds.

The road ended in a deserted town; a small place deep in the mountains where only a few wild animals now dared to tread. Despite the relatively small size of this place in the middle of nowhere, signs of the war marred this land as bad as any major city with one exception. All of that damage was made by darker forces than weaponry. The streets had been torn asunder by roiling earth and vicious plants (which now grew without restraint), buildings had crumpled under the force of unseen pressures and infernos generated by thought, and underneath everything there rested the eternal stain of bloodshed.

"What has become of you?" the man whispered, his lips and voice dry as paper as shaded eyes scanned the forgotten horrors. His tone held neither surprise nor anger - just a deep regret that he had missed the chance to change... something.

The man in black continued to walk, stepping over debris and around craters as he made his way further through the town. He did not stray too far from the main road - to many memories resided that way, and this was not the time to revisit them. There were more important matters to attend to.

The time that passed went unnoticed by the traveler, though it was nearly an hour before he reached his intended destination. Wrought iron gates that had been twisted to scrap lay discarded beside pockmarked marble, and beyond that... the last refuge he'd had before his journey. The dark man turned his eyes to a dented and faded plaque, covered in dust and grime from the years, and ran his hand over it softly. The dirt stuck to his scarred fingers, leaving trails of brass in the wake of their disturbed rest. He brushed his hand over the surface again, and weathered letters appeared in a fanciful scrawl on the metal.

The Hammel Institute for Meta-Human Students
Founded 1920 Pilot Ridge, Vermont

He sensed them before they had even made a move. He'd trained too hard to let himself be caught in a moment of reminiscence, so when the first poorly constructed air blade attacked his turned back, the man in black had already moved. His fingers felt the thrum of ancient strings beneath them as he dodged blow after blow, both those from visible attackers and those using superhuman abilities. All together, he counted four, though he knew there would be at least one more on the way or in the shadows. They were very good; likely because they had to be in order to survive.

He was better.

A close call struck the tinted lenses from his face, and the man in black looked into the eyes of his female opponent, catching her dual-colored eyes in his golden gaze as his fingers plucked that invisible string. Immediately, he saw the vision take effect; she stopped short and looked around sharply, seeing her adversary disappear without a moment's warning. Fortunately for her, he was in a forgiving mood. He knocked her unconscious with a swift blow to the back of her head.

Others would not have been so lenient.

The second fighter fell as easily as the first, though at a meager cost of the man in black's tattered coat. The windshaper's blades had torn it from his frame and shredded any defense it may have given as he had forced the armored man the ground and locked him in a vision of being underwater. (He would be fine, but the panic had paralyzed him for the time being.) Seeing that he would have to give up the fight for time being, the man stood and looked to the now visible aerokinetic. Though she had grown much older in the passing years, he still recognized her once-innocent face.

"I request that you do not destroy my clothing, Miss Birdsong," he stated, his voice calling like distant thunder.

Her expression quickly changed to shock, but before he could act on it, the man in black was distracted by a fiery man who held an orb of pure combustion in his hand. The blonde glowered at the man, and the intent was clear. With a cursory nod, he removed the shredded outerwear and the once-white scarf from around his face. He had barely taken off the hat covering his decidedly long hair when both elementalists started further.

"M... Mr. Meian?" the aeromancer gasped, her eyes wide and doe-like, as they had been in her youth. The man in black looked to her and nodded once, confirming her suspicions.

"But that's impossible," the other stated, anger touching at his words. "You vanished off the face of the earth almost twenty years ago! Where've you been all this time?"

"Mr. Larson, if I told you that, you would not believe me."

There was a groan from the crumpled figure on the ground, and the armored man let out a gasp as the vision faded from his sights. Honey-colored eyes gave him a brief glance before the tallest of them kneeled before the waking female. Her eyes fluttered open, and an eye matching in shade to his own looked up at him in dazed wonder.

"I am sorry for hurting you, Appoline. I did not intend to fight you of all people."

"F-Father?"

He nodded once, then looked up sharply as he detected a brush of psychic energy across his mental shields. The touch, however, seemed to intentionally catch his attention, and after a moment of focus, the grim man smiled. It was a strange expression on his face after so long.

"I see that he is still alive." Helping the Asian woman to her feet as the other two aided their additional fighter, the man in black looked to them all. "I assume you all now know why I am here and who I am."

The lot of them looked to each other and nodded. "Good. Then let us hold audience with the headmaster. I have news to tell him."

"This place isn't a school anymore," stated the armored man, now free of his silvery form and glowering at the intruder. "We don't have a headmaster."

"I would imagine not, Mr. Buckland," answered the traveler coldly. "But what other title does such a man deserve in a place once reserved for learning?"

There was no answer, and the five walked the road unto the courtyard and entered the decrepit building. Much had been patched with scraps from the town, though whole areas still looked to be in the wake of devastation. The psychic beacon was easy enough to follow, even for a non-psychic like himself; this man wanted to be found, and he would likely not take "no" for an answer. Not this time.

The door they arrived at was not the headmaster's office, but instead the library, and the door opened under the pyromancer's hand, his eyes giving the man in black a look of deep suspicion before letting him into the room. Inside, it was apparent that a number of people lived and studied in this hall, though only one person sat reading at a table. He was a man well into his eighties, his short hair white all the way through and his face lined with every memory. A wedding band of simple gold rested on his old finger, and startlingly blue eyes looked up to the tall man as he smiled.

"I was wondering when you'd finally come back."

"My apologies, Dr. Neville. I meant to return much sooner."

"I know. Time simply slips by so fast, doesn't it?"

"More than you could guess."

The elderly man chuckled and closed the book, taking the pair of reading glasses he'd been using off his nose to polish them. "A lot has happened, you know."

"I do. Though I do not know it all."

"Then sit, and we will talk. Tanner, Romeo, Juniper; you three return to your rounds. Appoline, please see to your sister before you do. She was quite anxious." The four of them nodded and left the room quietly, each of them glancing back with a different emotion etched into their middle-aged features. The man in black watched them go, then moved closer and knelt beside the older man.

"How did it end?"

"Poorly. But so end all such wars." By the tone of the psychiatrist, there was no victor; only casualties. Still, he smiled again as he looked closer at the traveler. "Well, I never thought it would happen, Vincent, but you don't look a day older than the day you vanished."

"Another side-effect, it seems," the man in black explained. "I do not age while chasing the threads, nor in the worlds in which I travel to. Only my home has the honor of leading me to death."

The elderly man chuckled, shaking his head. "Now I'm glad you left when you did; I'd hate to imagine what would have happened iof they'd gotten you, too."

"Is the world not already enough of a terrible place?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. There is still some good in this life. You've seen it with your own eyes, haven't you?"

It wasn't a question, and therefore did not need an answer. Instead, an offering was made. "Do you wish to finally know where I come from, Sean?"

"Is it peaceful?"

"As peaceful as a world populated by fools such as we can be."

"Then I confess I am tempted. Do they miss you there?"

"No. When I am gone, it is for mere hours if at all. And you are still many years younger."

"Ahh, I forget that your thread moves more slowly than ours. Speaking of that, I am afraid we may have to cut our conversations short. Your time is almost up."

"Yes, this is true."

"Perhaps you should not have used your abilities on Romeo or your daughter?"

"Perhaps."

"Well, then I shall not hinder you. To keep you longer would be cruel to your true family."

"I thank you, my friend."

"Until next time."


-----


Vincent Meian opened his eyes to a summer's day in an apple orchard, staring around as the wind whipped through the trees and tugged at the damaged cloth in his grip. He stood from his kneeling position, breathed deeply of the clean summer air, then turned his golden eyes on the man he had known would be there.

"I hope you did not wait long."

Sean Neville shook his head, smiling at his friend and coworker. "Not at all. You were only of by a matter of minutes. If I had been on time, you would have arrived unseen." His eyes dropped to the tattered cloth, then back to the steady gaze. "There was trouble?"

"There is often trouble."

"What did you see?"

"Something that will not come to pass here. Not with your adversary dead and his students under my watch."

"I see. Well, there is some good news, then." Vincent chuckled slightly and shifted the remains of the jacket over his shoulder. The day was barely half over, and yet he longed to be home cooking dinner for his still-living family. The family that he would not lose in this reality.

"Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?"

Sean nodded. "That was the plan, after all."

"Good. I believe I will need to speak with someone about this false immortality concept. It is very strange and I am not sure I understand it."

"I'm not sure anyone really does," came the amused answer. "But, I can certainly talk with you about it, if it bothers you so much."

"...No. Today is the time for the present."

"Wise words."




Written for the Mar 2013 Challenge, "100 Stories, 1 Month"

[Kallisti*]

Whiskey Lullaby ((Warning - Alcohol Abuse/Character Death))



It was too much. There was too much here that reminded him of her, too much that he couldn’t leave behind, too much he couldn’t forget. Her scent was everywhere; the smell of clean soft skin with a hint of winter despite the season. Her clothes were still in the closet. Her books were still in the study. And, in his dreams and memories, her hands still stroked his face as she smiled up from his embrace. He’d always smiled then, kissed her pale hands and hugged her close.

Now… he slept with her still, haunting his dreams in the moonlight and vanishing at the break of day.

She’d asked him to let her go that day in the hospital. To let her die in peace so that she wouldn’t suffer anymore. He hadn’t wanted to, knew he wouldn’t survive it no matter what he told her, but he’d done it anyway. As she slipped away, he held her close for the last time and was only dragged away from her body when he finally couldn’t fight anymore. When his tears and grief had weighed him down to the point that they could lead him from the room.

The next days were dark, and nothing he did could fix it. His daughters had moved elsewhere, the house now empty aside from his demons and memories. People stopped by at first, before the wake and during, but they too had drifted, seeing the strong man they’d come to respect falling in on himself and being consumed by his pain. Some still tried, as often as they were able; he’d taken a leave of absence from the school just to be away from them. Away from the people who poked their noses into his business, genuinely trying to help or otherwise. Away from the empaths that could feel his agonized numbness every time he walked by. Away from people that were his friends because they only looked at him with that sympathy and he just couldn’t take it anymore.

He’d never drank when he’d been hurt. He never had to because she had been there to walk him back. Now he did, trying anything to keep himself relaxed and able to move on.

Because she couldn’t bring him back from this edge.

Because she was gone.

The tears flowed up again as Vincent put the glass to his forehead, covering his face with his other hand. It hurt; oh gods it hurt so much and it wouldn’t stop. No matter what he did, what he read, what he did to forget or remember… the pain just never went away. And he was so tired. So willing to just let everything fall away, despite his beliefs and her last wishes.

“I’ll always love you.” He’d told her that, not realizing how long always was when you were alone. How each day passed without end, and the nights were too short to be filled with nightmares and dreams of things that once were.

Swallowing the last of the glass’ contents, the Japanese man set it aside, weeping silently into his hands as the pain came back through his foggy mind. The memories were so strong, and he was so weak. He couldn’t do this; he couldn’t stay like this. He couldn’t keep doing this. But he couldn’t move on, either; this was a pain that couldn’t heal, no matter how much time passed. He simply wasn’t…

Scarred fingers tangled in long black hair, pulling tight to wrench the pain from his chest to anywhere else. It hurt; it hurt so much, and there was nothing he could do. So he wept, and he drank, and he drowned himself in his misery because it was the only way he could remember anything and he didn’t want to forget and oh gods why couldn’t he just let her go?

By the time someone had realized that something had gone horribly wrong, he’d drunk himself into unconsciousness. His home, once so neat and organized, had been left by the wayside. The kitchen, his place to be calm and relax and be useful, had been terrorized; dishes were shattered on the tile floor, only one glass seemed to remain intact on the counter, still smelling of the sharp beverage that’d been inside before being drained.

They found him unconscious in the bedroom, the pain that had become so common to see smoothed into something approaching relief, hands within reach of a photo album that’d scattered pictures when the both of them hit the floor. His skin was cold, and he was barely breathing; the culprit, of course, was sitting on the nightstand. The glass glinted dully in the light with an innocence that belied the amber liquid still housed within, that waited in silence for the verdict on its latest victim.

He survived the event – those that cared for him despite protests and his actions had been quick and decisive, taking him to the hospital without delay. However… he never woke up. They’d gotten there too late to save the last shred of defiance he’d carried with him, too late to save the last shred of will that kept him bound. They could not move him to wake, no matter who spoke or what was done.

Six months, eight days, and eleven hours after the passing of Dr. Nakia Kenjutsushi, her husband followed her into the dark. Even if his heart didn’t stop until five days later, he’d already given up that day.

And so, Vincent Meian slipped into death’s dreams, having put a bottle to his head and pulled the trigger.




Time Warp/AU - Sequel to "I Will Always Love You"

[Kallisti*]

Fright Night




Sometimes, being a teacher at Hammel was like teaching anywhere else. Kids got into fights sometimes, there were pranks and tests and a mountain of homework, but for the most part, everything was just as normal as anywhere else in the country.

“FORZARE!”

And sometimes, things were just a little weird.

Diving behind an upturned speaker, I readied the staff in my hands, gripping the warped and carved wood so tight the scars on my knuckles blended in with the whitening skin. Beside me, Kateri gripped a table leg, looking more frazzled than usual due to her curls going frizzy and being hauled bodily over the large electronic device. Fortunately, I was used to dragging people from here to Hell, and back again, so at least she wasn’t hurt aside from some ice dangling from her sleeve. Which wasn’t my fault, really. That was the other problem.

“And just WOT is gon’ on ‘ere?!” she yelled over the din. I didn’t blame her; I remembered Kateri being short, but not prepubescent. She looked fourteen all of a sudden, and her accent had gone from Irish to a Scottish over the course of the night. Not that that was the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen, but the sudden backaging was kind of up there.

“No idea,” I replied, taking a second to look over the edge of the speaker at the mayhem going on. Sure enough, it was a madhouse – the dance had gone from a party to a nightmarish war straight from a comic book over the course of an hour. People who had been friends were suddenly at each others’ throats. Teachers who came out of costume tried to use their abilities to calm students and other staff to pretty much no effect. Zombies, assassins, pirates, cartoon characters, and… was that a cat made from a Pop Tart?

What the hell was this?

I may have seen some sorcery in my day, but… this was just ridiculous.

Ducking as a blast of icy magic was launched in my direction (knocking a dark haired kid dressed in white robes behind the speaker with me), I tried to think of something. There was magic here, no doubt; it tingled through my senses and I didn’t dare use my wizard’s sight to pinpoint the cause. Everyone in costume had suddenly turned into whatever they dressed as. I guess I should be glad that everyone who would have had guns didn’t. But it would have been nice to have the back-up.

But damn, it was hard to fight your wife when she’d suddenly turned into the White Witch.

I shook the strange thought from my head and shouted for Kateri to wait here, ignoring her as she screamed something else back and I ducked and ran for cover in the orchestral pit of the auditorium, pointing my blasting rod at a pretty young-looking Poison Ivy and sending her flying back from strangling a girl (my daughter) with vines. Without even checking on either scantily clad girl, I slid for home and dropped right into the pit, my hat being knocked off by a blast that narrowly missed. Damn, and I’d just bought that damn thing!

“Vincent!”

It wasn’t my name, but for some reason I turned anyway and found Sean Neville standing down there, looking up from a number of injured staff and unconscious students. I recognized a few: Keiron from the Infirmary, holding a bleeding head and looking somewhat dazed; Oriel Vanguard, one of many resident troublemakers, panicking and crying because suddenly… apparently he was a she; Junpei Hirai, a transfer student I knew (somehow) very well, looking more cartoony and Middle Eastern than I remembered; Evangeline and Cee, both of whom had started gaining British accents in the middle of the dance, now unconscious and stretched out on the floor. There were others, of course, but apparently this is where all the injured were being dragged if they could be.

Looking back up at the stern face of the psychiatrist, I noticed he looked me dead in the eye, then down at the pentagram on my neck. “Vincent, where did you get that?” he asked, his quite voice very insistent over the loud of the room.

“Huh?” I picked it up and held it for a minute. My mother gave this to me; left it to me when she died--

“No, that’s not right,” Sean suddenly snapped. “You bought that recently, didn’t you? Where?”

Shaking my head to try and clear the cobwebs, I vaguely remembered the odd little costume shop, and the owner with the wicked smile, but… I couldn’t quite remember anything else. “Sorry, Doc,” I answered shortly. “Maybe we can play Twenty Questions later. I don’t know if you noticed, but the situation’s gotten a bit--“

Ducking as someone dressed in purple and fur dropped into the pit, I grinned as the pun in my head was made tangible by the fuzzy objects rolling from his fingers. “Dicey.”

The irritable look was almost worth it. “Each person acting strangely has obtained some sort of cursed item,” Sean explained, picking up the dice and throwing them into a garbage can filled with other random things; a scarf, a fez, a pair of boots (which I now noticed were missing off Kieron’s feet), a patchwork dress, a skeleton head with a deep set smile… Looking back at the psychiatrist, things clicked into place again, making more sense this time.

“They’re turning into whatever they’ve dressed up as.”

Nodding confirmation, the shrink added, “We need to get all of these items off the affected. Since you seem to be one of the few people with non-lethal ability right now, I’m willing to resist taking yours away until the situation can be contained.”

“Gee, thanks Doc. Good to know I’m not fighting blind.”

“Don’t push me, Vincent.”

Again with that name. “Right, right. Stay here – I’ll see if I can’t knock some heads and send ‘em to you first-class.”

With that, I crept up the stairs and had another look around. Poison Ivy was right there, still breathing but not moving, so I dragged her down to waiting arms. “There’s a freebie – next one’s air mail, so be on your toes.”

Ignoring everyone on the ground who was already stunned or out cold, I ran for a table and vaulted, catching a guy swinging on some sort of grappling hook in mid-air and crashing with him to the ground, leaving the rope swinging through the air and feeling the pressure of another person landing with me on the ground in a crumpled heap. Fortunately, I didn’t hear anything break over the noise, so as I scrambled to my feet and started running again, I almost missed the inquisitive “What happened?” behind me.

Still, no time to chat – fae nasty straight from the Nevernever still causing havoc.

The White Witch wasn’t always Lewis’ main baddie for his best-selling children’s book. Like every other fae and magic critter out there, Jadis was a true blue fae straight out of the Winter Court, home of Mab herself. She’d tried taking over sometime back during Lewis’ time, but had been banished before her power could be fueled by the publication of the book, and her character stripped of power by being killed in the end. Apparently, she wasn’t too happy with it and had gone mad with power. Again.

Clocking some kid trying to dodge spells like they were bullets in the head (Koty?) to get him out of the fight, I brought up my shield bracelet and blocked the ice spells crystallizing over the surface while pushing forward. Good thing I’ve fought tougher fae before. Not fairly, and not quite as head-on, but I’d still managed it. Pulling back the shield into just a wall of power rather than a dome, I looked up at the lights, amazed that they hadn’t gone out yet. Maybe because they need just a little something else.

“HEXUS!”

And suddenly, the room was dark, punctuated by cries of terror and shrieks of pain as people fell from various heights or stumbled in the dark. “Sean, now!” I called out, blasting back another kid with a force of will as he tried to do the same to another student, this one sliding straight for the pit (or, at least, where I could see it in the brief flashes of magic and pyrotechnics).

“Come on, you crazy fae bitch,” I muttered, dropping the shield so I wouldn’t be a glowing sitting target and scooting as quietly as possible in another direction. “Show me that egotistical side.”

Sure enough, a glow of icy blue-white light suddenly shone from an upraised wand in the center of the fighting. Swathed in a robe of pure white and a crown of silver icicles, the Pale Lady stood untouched, her blue eyes glaring into me as her silver wand brought light back to the room. She was frighteningly beautiful, like all the highest fae in their glamour, but for some reason my breath caught anyway. (Nik…) Now was not the time for sentiment, though, so bringing my staff and blasting rod to bear, I started to shout the words of my wind spell again.

Apparently, she was faster on the draw than I was, and she noticed the uncostumed man running around ripping pieces of people’s costumes from them where he could as those he’d helped already dragged the injured back to the orchestra pit. With a flick of her wand, she froze the man in place, starting at the hand he’d brought up to protect himself and spreading fast. I caught myself looking at him with a cry of surprise, then looked back in time to have her wand pointing me straight in the face, a smirk over her snowy features.

“Well played, Harry Dresden,” she purred. “But I believe you have caused enough trouble for me tonight.”

Hells Bells, this would be a tragic place for a commercial break.




Written for the Oct 2013 Challenge, "Boo!"