The night air approached autumn, leading to cooler temperatures and more of a need for a jacket. Isaiah never retained heat well, even after getting clean and putting on body weight. Fingers traced prominent ribs when his hands folded under his armpits. The cold chased his thoughts around but never caught them - it wasn’t enough, even though he wanted it to be.
Isaiah started his night ventures four months ago with the best of intentions, but wandering streets for hours provided him more time to think than to forget. Breaking and entering ensued, petty theft ensued. Danger ensued, and her name was forgotten in the midst of trying to remain undetected.
He never thought of the way she’d wake him up with her fingers tracing over his.
He never thought of how her voice always sounded hoarse over the phone.
He never thought of how he used to lie awake with his hand twined in her hair.
It grew easier to forget, or distance himself, or reroute his thoughts in the way that it got easier to amputate someone’s arm. He never got used to it, but he grew to tolerate it. But sometimes, on nights like these when he could distinctly remember discussing final summer plans, sharing shitty smores over a sterno fire because they were too blasted out of their minds to camp properly, he needed to clear his head. He needed something more than tracing his way through the new paths of Destiny City, listening to the night life fade to a whisper.
So Isaiah became Scholomance, and Scholomance started down a rocky track of parkour attempts to match the ‘allies’ he supposedly had. He chased memories across buildings, honed his focus on the steep drop from the parapet, and ran astride the river on an old bridge that lapsed into disrepair. Every moment that auric energy struck him, his mind was delivered from its burdens to a different thought - to memories of Juno, which stood less painful. To Aegir. To Methone. To Scholomance.
To fear.
A sickening ping of something against her senses alerted Cinnabar, like ache in the teeth from too-sweet caramel, to the approach of prey. Her horned head lifted as she crouched over the crumpled body of a young woman and she withdrew her hand from between the swells of her chest with a glowing crystalline shape resting in the curved cage of her fingers. The girl had been beautiful and friendly, but that sweet smile had hid a secret identity… when energy draining had been detected past the hot press of lips and stuttered breathing, she’d transformed into red and gold with laurels in her hair and a flower wreath that was a laughable weapon to bring against a General.
Cinnabar gave a last, disappointed glance down at the body before she rose. She would have rather taken the mars page to a General-Queen and brought her into the fold… it was a shame to reduce that potential to a single soul stone, but it couldn’t be helped. Join us or die… The page had chosen the latter.
Tucking the starseed into her pocket, the half-youma rose to her feet and turned her attention to the new-comer, her senses opened. It felt like a knight… like the one at her feet, actually, which set level at Page. Cinnabar never ceased to marvel at them, running around unescorted like there weren’t monsters in the dark. Hunters always focused on the loners, or cut the weak out and away from the herd. Being alone made you vulnerable, but they never seemed to grasp that concept. It made her job easier, which she should be grateful for, but mostly she just missed the challenge.
A flicker of her form and Cinnabar disappeared from the cramped back alley and reappeared on the lip of the roof beside it, her heels grating against cement. Hands in pockets, she lifted her nose as though scenting the wind and zeroed in on the signature she felt. Her mind felt clear, sharpening as she settled into the rhythm of the hunt. Pushing off, she jumped to the next building and took off running, approaching her target at a fast clip. One block, two… the spaces between buildings were hardly obstacles and soon enough the glow in her head resolved into a thin figure below, drawing her to a stop to lurk in the shadows of the steeple she had landed on. It was an old church, closed down some years before. The owner didn’t seem inclined to keep up maintenance… there were loose and missing shingles, and boards missing from the screens around the single bell inside. Thighs tensing, Cinnabar lowered herself into a crouch to study the knight below her, eyes sweeping over the dark hair, indigo coat and grey pants. Saturn, maybe? They tended towards the dapper look.
Her grin was toothy as she tensed and moved, but not through physical means. One moment the roof, the next, a few paces behind the Page, hands again in pockets and pose speaking of bored interest even if her eyes were sharp.
“Are you lost, Pet?” She said, her tail giving a lazy flick.
Stars did not exist in the city,so when Scholomance looked skyward, he faced only the unmitigated sweep of darkness. Only the moon stared down as its unblinking eye, watching the inhabitants that scrabbled through the streets in a last effort to get home. There would be more like him around here, he knew. They fought while others slept - covert sentinels that fought their silent stories and passed in the night. Supposedly, he would do the same.
And the more he thought of it, the more it proved a potent distraction from his business, his dwindling social life, his relationship graveyard. He could escape without drugs, unless the power was the drug.
And some days, he knew it was.
So when Scholomance about-faced to find the general before him, the potent magic in him warned that this being stood so iniquitous, so abhorrent that her very presence affronted his senses. The man in him recognized her as Cinnabar, as the uncannily legitimate demon that he considered exporting to Chicago. He remembered the way she tasted, her scent of clove and cigarettes, and how her hair curled around her horned protrusions. He remembered how her sclera looked so wholly black that they blotted out the shine of lamps. And he remembered her teeth
Oh, her teeth
against his neck.
“Cinnabar,” he started unthinkingly. Still surprised to see her, he cleared his throat of the stammering responses. “Lost is the goal. Were you coming with me?” Instinctively he drew back a pair of steps, as if her overwhelming aura clouded his throat and nose. He found it hard to keep his eyes open, to avoid blinking away the darkness that swelled from her form.
And somewhere beyond the stars, Scholomance watched.
It watched, and it commanded silently.
Her dark eyebrows lifted and new interest lit up red eyes to banish the feigned boredom she'd put on.
"It seems my reputation precedes me!" She laughed as she turned and began to pace. Her path arced around him, the page firmly in the center even as he backed away. He has some sense, then, but maybe that was only instinct. A smarter man would have run, arguably. "But then, you have me at a disadvantage... What is your name, Pretty?"
She hummed the question as she dropped her hands from her pockets and pushed her coat back off her hips so she could settle her hands on them, right above her spiked belt. Her eyes never left him as she walked, her tail swaying behind her. At least it was quiet here on the street... No one venturing out to interrupt their conversation or offer him the aide he needed to escape.
Had her name really begun to reach past the few she had direct contact with, enough that they could recognize her on sight from a description? Well... Maybe that wasn't so hard. Her features were unique, as far as she was able to discern. But still.
"How do you know my name, hmm? Been talking to your little friends?"
If he had, she figured, then he might know enough about her preferences in fighting and be prepared for her. It would add another layer to the challenge he presented and she was actually sort of pleased by that.
“It must,” he concurred quietly. She doesn’t know. Scholomance paced backward a pair of steps to place some distance between them. It didn’t help; her iniquitous miasma still overwhelmed his senses. Had she always felt like this? He would’ve remembered, right? “Anyone who can make horns on her head look more like handles than objects of fear should have a reputation.” He wouldn’t mind tapping that as he is now, but wondered if doing so was a terrible idea. Aegir reminded him that they stole souls, and it demanded no great feat to do so.
Drawing her coat back and highlighting her hips just so drew his attention almost unconsciously. Eyes settled on scales as he gave his name. “Scholomance,” he offered without pomp. No Page, no of Saturn necessary. Anyone with a lukewarm understanding of planetary symbols recognized it immediately. Most on his side did so, at least.
Her last question, though, demanded a certain finesse in answering. Scholomance stalled, as if searching within himself for whether he should betray the trust of an ally, and his gaze left her form to settle on a flickering street lamp in the distance. If they were closer, he imagined that they’d hear the rattling buzz of the bulb that struggled to stay vigilant in the darkness. It fought so tirelessly, and yet the night proved overwhelming.
When he returned his attention to her to answer, his hands found difficulty in a proper pace to remain. Crossed over chest proved mistrustful and projected a certain dearth of honesty, but he found no pockets to tuck his hands into, so they remained interlaced at navel level while he hoped Cinnabar found nothing particularly suspicious about it. As a pawn shop owner, he liked to think that he knew all the tricks to lying that garnered believability. “Or my little friends have been talking to me. ‘Who should I avoid’ was such a useful question to ask, though. But why should I give you my source, Cinnabar? I imagine she’d turn quite brackish if she found out I sold her to the Negaverse so quickly.”
He hoped beyond hope that she took his question as no invitation to murder him.
As he backed away, she adjusted her course to follow and she smiled at his comment about her horns. It was an amusing thing… ironic, that they had been used as handles before, but not a far stretch of the imagination.
“I suppose it doesn’t really matter who told you about me. It could have been any number of people.” She lifted a hand to wave away the question, her tail flicking behind her. “All that really matters is that you’re out here alone and vulnerable. That wasn’t terribly clever of you. It’s just… asking for trouble.”
If he didn’t turn, she’d circle around behind him and start back, her steps lazy and swinging. She considered him, eyes sliding down and up his form again. He wasn’t bad looking, what she could see with his face mask and full coverage clothing, but may not particularly… fighting fit? Still… there was potential for other uses for him. Her hips swung with every step and she dropped her eyes away from him finally, glancing outwards and away to check the area. It was always a gamble, how long she had before nosey senshi or knights came poking around. Hard to say how long she had for this.
“I’m not usually of a mind to make nice with your side, but… you look reasonable. How long have you been a knight? Long enough to see how much bullshit this ‘war’ is? A bunch of people with power, fighting over one rock in the vast universe...“ She shook her head, feigning regret. “Your side is losing, that much is fairly obvious to someone paying attention. You have a chance, though… You could switch sides.”
She angled her gaze back towards him, red in the corner of her eye.
“You’d be very welcome with us. We have a very large organization. You’d have power, allies… you could have status, if you wanted that. And you’d be on the winning side.”
”It’s always been a common misconception that ‘trouble’ is inherently terrible. Maybe trouble isn’t such a bad thing here.” He smiled behind the mask, though he put forth no effort to show the expression to Cinnabar. The mask stayed in place, even if his eyes betrayed the gesture. “Trouble might just make me an offer.”
Scholomance remained in place while Cinnabar executed her prowls, and as she strayed back into his field of vision, his gaze lighted on the tuft of her tail. It was, as he knew, one of two places with hair. “I’ve been a knight for some months, to answer your question. And I’ve also been a knight long enough to know that this planet is only the superficial focal point of the war. The rest of it…” He shrugged and offered his hands to the stars. “I suppose it’s a balancing act. But, I don’t think that this entire juxtaposition of chaos and order falls into something so neat as a stoichiometric equation. Equilibrium has its place, but some things are meant to be slanted. And some information is… Dispersed under ulterior motives. So, really, or practically, I know nothing at all.”
The turncoat proposition posed a surfeit of problems, primarily in interpersonal relationships and secondarily in personal inconveniences. However, Scholomance was fairly certain he knew only a glimpse of the effects of committing to another faction. The thought of it brought to mind Mont Blonc’s own pleadings and severe concerns that Scholomance remain a part of the knights. Additionally, he expressed great worry for the unorthodox knight.
If nothing else, speaking with Cinnabar over potentially changing colors proved a learning experience.
“To be honest with you, I’ve never fully disregarded the Negaverse as an option.” Bony fingers folded into a lattice at his fore. “I haven’t known a lot about them, beyond that they can teleport and steal someone’s soul from their chest. Energy draining, too, but nothing beyond that. So what specifics can you give me on the Negaverse, Cinnabar? And what would the Negaverse expect of me? Do they intend to have me looking like you eventually? I can’t say that red looks terribly attractive with my complexion.” Scholomance spared a healthy gaze to her body, which appeared prominently on display in that uniform.
“And what can you tell me of the corruption process?”
Her eyebrows lifted and she smiled, the expression more genuine than before. 'Trouble' was not the worst of the names she had been called. She could almost take pride in that title. Her tail flicked behind her as she finished her circuit of him, finally coming to a relaxed halt back where she had started.
Oddly enough, this one seemed actually inclined to talk with her. It was a very strange feeling. The offer she made, she made more out of habit than anything. Out of a belief that even if the choice wasn't really a choice, the offer should still be made. She had never liked being forced into things... That extended to the people she dealt with, more often than not, but she would have her way regardless. Because Cinnabar believed firmly in the natural law that the strong led and the weak followed, or died. It was hypocritical most likely, she could admit to that, but it didn't change the need to make the offer and be refused before she forced the issue.
He wasn't outright refusing though... Red black eyed narrowed on him with rapt, unblinking attention for long minutes.
"It's as simple or complicated as you want to make it. How deep you want to dig into it and what politics you want to play. At the basic level, we are the soldiers of our Queen, Metallia. The power we wield comes from her, making us stronger, faster and more durable than a normal human. We are organized by ranks, each looking to the one above for guidance. The General-sovereigns stand at the top, below them Generals like me, then the Captains and finally the Lieutenants. Each rank opens us to a greater flow of Chaos energy from our queen and stronger abilities and weapons." The structure wasn't too terribly complicated to explain. More so was the sense of rightness it all gave her. It was hard to put into words why. She smirked, her head tilting to the side till light caught on her horns. "I'm not a typical soldier... My merging with a youma was accidental and not forced on me. Rather, I made a mistake and nearly paid for it with my life... But the General-Queen saw worth in me and saved me, leaving me changed. It's unlikely you'd follow in my footsteps... There are benefits to being how I am, from increased abilities to new ones entirely... But at the price of my former life and a portion of my humanity. I can't power down from this state any more, so I assume you can imagine the consequences yourself. It's not something the Negaverse would seek from someone, save as a last resort."
Her gaze turned inward as she lifted a hand. A flex of her fingers pushed razor black claws out of the pads at the tips like a cat and she studied the action for a moment before she shrugged and offered him a crooked smile.
"All that is expected of our soldiers is to follow Metallia's will. Usually this means gathering the energy that supports her, and in turn, feeds ourselves. It also means defending her from her enemies, the senshi and Knights. Without them she would rule unchallenged. It's not as villainous as it sounds... She is no more evil than any governing body, but her rule would be far more fair than the corruption humans are prone to. The energy draining isn't even as bad as Order makes it out to be. Some rest replenishes what was lost easily enough. It's like protesting giving blood... But like that donation, there is so much to be gained from what's given."
"As for corruption..." Cinnabar moved then, closing the distance between them with long, easy steps. Her hand lifted, hovering in front of his chest with fingers splayed. "A General-sovereign must reach into the housing for your starseed and make contact with the gem. Then they push a portion of their chaotic energy into it, transforming and bringing it under Metallia's influence. It hurts, of course... But the pain is only temporary. Change is naturally painful. I've undergone the process three times to reach this level of power..."
Her hand closed into a fist and she dropped it to her side. "The process isn't an easy one. There is a measure of memory loss that comes with it as the brain deals with the changes its undergone."
So you ******** up, and now you’re a monster. I wonder if it’s a better choice to live as one or die a human. Perhaps there’s nothing quite so terrible about living as a monster; Cinnabar doesn’t appear to mind it. Granted, I met her but twice now. Even with the Negaverse lauded as this heinous, unstoppable force, I cannot imagine much benefit to mistreating one’s demihuman soldiers. Maybe she lives quite decently.
“There are a few concerns with your proposition,” Scholomance began, as he laced fingers together in front of himself. “I’m not terribly fond of pain except for certain settings, and while I cannot say that my life is entirely satisfactory right now, I’m not interested in aborting my memories so readily. There is also the concern that key allies of mine will catch on to my corruption as I would have to consistently turn them down on patrolling together - if I remembered them. If I didn’t, well… That’d be significantly more suspicious, wouldn’t it?” Scholomance paused to withdraw a vape from one graciously provided pocket and drew from it easily.
The tool remained perched between two fingers while he continued. “Now, assuming I am not immediately killed by my allies…” He paused, then, and considered the rest of the Saturn-affiliated troupe. Aegir, Methone, Mont Blonc and Thyrmr would not skate impact in the matter. He imagined that finding out amounted to swallowing mouthfuls of blood and teeth. They would not raise arms against him, not as others might (he thought of Juno then), but the damage was permanent. Their stomachs would rot at every sighting, and he may not even remember their names.
Shaking the thought, Scholomance persisted and amended his earlier statement. “Assuming I’m not killed, your faction does have perks that interest me. Weapons, actual weapons, and magic that has great utility to it. I imagine energy gathering is much like eating as a self-sustaining process, and that’s passable. However, I’m not keen on jumping into someone’s politics bandwagon without knowing their policies. What can you tell me of Metallia and her aims? What does she plan to do with the world? How will she govern mankind? What are her stances on healthcare and foreign affairs?”
Perhaps that last question proved too tongue-in-cheek for the moment, but he proceeded beyond it regardless. “I need to know about wonders, too. Will I be expected to continue visiting mine, or does Metallia have plans for it?” He waited for her answers as her hand lingered over his chest, and he offered no overt reaction that hinted toward his experience of the gesture’s meaning.
Her head tilted as she watched him mull over her answers, tucking both hands into her pockets. Lovely pockets… the pleasure of them still hadn’t worn off.
His concerns were valid, but the bald truth wasn’t not exactly… flattering. She hadn’t been planning on a sales pitch, so there would have to be some spinning on the fly.
“Joining the Negaverse would gain you a new identity. Its for your safety, for just that reason… so former allies don’t know you and can’t use your old identity to harm you. Whether or not you remember them. Its a fresh start for you too, with the support of the whole of the Negaverse behind you. We have a lot of resources… whatever you wanted to be, dreamed about being… you’d have a chance at that with your new life.” She shrugged as she smiled crookedly. “That might seem like empty promises, but… it would benefit us more to have you stable, in a position that benefits us, and loyal to our cause.”
Her eyes flicked to the vape he pulled out, watching as he drew from it. She had never really cared for vapes… she prefered the taste of the real thing. Especially since Schörl had spoiled her on Cavendish.
“As for Metallia and her goals…” Cinnabar shrugged. “The General-Sovereigns are privy to more details than I am, but the official word is that she is the rightful ruler of this world. This is her world and her soldiers’ world. Senshi, the ones on your side, they aren’t from this world. They’ve come here because their worlds are dead and they’re trying to take what isn’t theirs. Her main goal is the protection of this world and to drive off the invaders.”
The half-youma’s eyes narrow in thought. “As for your Wonder… I’m sorry to say you won’t have access to it any more. No on in the Negaverse has a Wonder or a Planet. Earth is our home, we don’t hail to some off-world place.”
”I don’t take sides,” Scholomance corrected mildly.
“Useful, that is.” Arms crossed over his chest to chase the cold in absent rubbing. His fingertips never banished the biting chill of autumn. “The identity change, I mean. I imagine it’s not all that different from Witness Protection. It might carry the same type of threat, too.” His knowledge of the few senshi he met promised kindness and acceptance toward him - he couldn’t deny that. But to defect to the Negaverse may read as spitting in their faces and place him in a precarious position. He could see how Aegir, Methone, and the rest would seek his return to their side, but did he want to invoke such a pain in recently acquired friends?
Another voice argued, what did he owe them?
Another voice argued, friendship is an investment.
“The most promising part of your deal is that I wouldn’t have the burden of dealing with Scholomance anymore. It’s not a terribly welcoming wonder, you see. I once invited one of yours to see it - a captain named Ashanite - and he was quick to confirm that Scholomance is a desolate, looming nightmare. And if Metallia can rid me of its constant watch, that’s a point in your favor.
“However… Losing friends is quite the downfall. Losing neutrality puts me at risk. I like not dying when you go out at night.” He raised a hand from his ineffectual attempts at friction warmth to study the vape. “And while I heard that near-death experiences are a popular way to keep your coffee tasting fresh and flavorful in the morning, I don’t like the connotations of slipping up in those situations. What if, say, corruption is a little far beyond my tolerance? Or human error causes problems?
“I don’t believe Metallia is out to drive off any invaders, though. At least, if the White Moon are invaders, then they’re complete s**t at it. Mostly they’re boys and girls looking to use their power to prevent people from dying to youma, or to try and preserve some order in their lives. They’re serious about it, too. Never once have I heard talk of taking over the world.
“But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, Cinnabar.”
Whimsical Blue
ready to continue!
