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.:: [ . EVENT FOR ELI . ] ::.

Just as she reached for the tear, Lyra's body convulsed. With unusual swiftness, she slipped from Eli's hold, releasing her golden thread as she fell towards the ground. The spindle flew into the sky, spinning several times as the thread unraveled. Strange markings, glowing gold, appeared across Lyra's body, multiplying and growing into a blinding light. She began to stand on her legs as the light reached its full intensity, flashed once, then died down. As Eli's vision returned, the girl who stood before him now was several years older.

Grondax sat at his desk eating a small cupcake. Such a treat was rare in the city these days; however, it was a special day. It marked Grondax's 49th birthday. It marked another year that his city cried out under the oppression of Sehket. What his goals were for the city Grondax still had no way of knowing.

By this point he had the resources stashed away to fund and equip a private army; however, that was not something you did under the complete rule of Sehket. Grondax was smart enough to realize that very little could be accomplished without drawing Sehket's attention as he had tested on multiple occasions. Eyes were everywhere, and while his stockpile was sound people could not be trusted, least of all the hollow husks of people that now inhabited the town.

Still there was business to be done for the day an opportunity arose to take advantage of.

He had diverted some medicinal supplies to a small herbal store in Kensington from the mornings convoy, and would have to head there to collect his due of several bars of a rare and sturdy metal. His saber was in need of some reforging work and they would do quite nicely.

He also had scheduled a meeting with the local theater to attempt to setup a masquerade ball. He had heard solid things about Raither Theater, and was looking forward to yet another business venture to dip into.

Such events as this ball promoted the wealth and status of the De'Vall family on one hand, and gave him a chance to make under the table deals on the other by allowing people to meet who would otherwise have a difficult time meeting under the watchful eyes of Sekhet.



Grondax slowly finished his cupcake, cleaned up his notes, and sealed his private room before making his way towards Kensington. It was approaching his evening meeting with this man Feyd he had heard so much about.

The house was small, more of a shack really, and barely furnished. There was a shabby chest of drawers containing surprisingly well-made clothing, a nightstand, and a bed. The bed was the biggest thing in the room, and quite comfortable. Understandable, since sleep- or more accurately, lack thereof- was what the house's proprietor had created it for.

While the owner had left some time ago, there were still people inside. Kismet sat on the bed, one of the sheer shawls she used in her dances draped over her head. She really didn't want to leave, not until she was sure the fighting was over. She didn't even want to see it, but every so often curiosity outweighed fear, and she would peek out of the dusty window. It happened more than once, and each time she regretted her decision.

"I think they're stopping," she murmured to the fabric in her arms. At night, she had disguised it as a bundle of clothing and prayed for it to stay quiet. Now, however, she had pushed the top layer away, revealing the head and shoulders of a small child. "We should be able to leave soon," she told him softly.

Karma looked up at Kismet impassively. While this was definitely a vast improvement from being disguised as laundry, he felt he should stay quiet. Something in the air was wrong.

Kismet still didn't know what to make of the boy. He didn't seem to be a normal child, but even if he was, that wouldn't have made things much easier. It wasn't as if he was her son. She couldn't bring herself to call him that, not now. But she couldn't abandon him either. So she took care of him, brought him to work with her, let the other girls watch him when she danced, and sometimes when she took gentlemen. Some nights they were busy too, so she had to bring him along. Karma never cried, never even fussed. It just wasn't normal.

Bracing herself, Kismet took another look outside, and relaxed slightly. It seemed that the violence was being carried elsewhere. It still wasn't a pretty sight; blood and the bodies of those whose only crime was being hungry were strewn carelessly about the streets like garish party decorations, but that was a sight she had become accustomed to. One did not live in Wynander without seeing the dead. But the fighting was gone, and it might be safe- or as safe as it ever got- for her to emerge.

"Let us go," she whispered, slipping on a long overshirt. While Karma didn't like her taking his mask off- about the only time he was ever disagreeable- she wasn't comfortable with it being seen in the streets. The laundry disguise was ever useful; she put cloth up over the mask and held him close as she slipped out of the house and onto the streets.

As soon as Feyd offered the theater as possible shelter for the pair, Elliot dropped onto a nearby box, visibly more relaxed. He swerved his head in different directions, getting a good look at the room they were in.

"Looks like there could be some fun here," he said. "What does this place do again?"

Adalei began scanning the area with her eyes as well, saying, "It's been years since I've been in a theater. My parents would take me, but I was too young then to really get it. I think I slept through most of the plays." She gave Feyd an apologetic smile before addressing Elliot. "Well, a theater is like...um...it's a place where people tell stories. They...pretend to be people from the stories; they enact stories...?"

She furrowed her brow, struggling for a proper definition, then turned to Feyd. "Maybe you have a better description. I don't think there are theaters or plays in the place Elliot's from. You'll find that might be a problem with Syrin as well. I guess the, uh, 'culture'--" Adalei made a face, obviously a little disgusted, "--the 'culture' of Wynander has certainly changed in the last few years. I never bothered to teach Elliot about some of the things that have disappeared since Sehket took over."

The sun, it seemed, was hellbent on making the most of this ghoulish experience. Without a cloud to speak of, it continued its endless treck across the sky, shinning it’s beams down on those below--heating the Earth. If it wasn’t for the mass amount of bodies, all fighting, all striving, all pushing, and wiggling, and rubbing against one another, it would have been a comfortable heat. But as it was, sweat dripped from her temple down her chin, the body heat from hundreds of other bodies oppressing her, dragging her down.

The blood pumping through her veins, her heart hammering against her ribs-- it all served to augment
her own heat. Washing over her, with the anticipation, adrenaline, and terror. She was going to die. She, and Miaka, were being brought closer, with each passing second, to the citizens who surged forward; towards the guards with their heavy, sharpened swords. It was almost despairing enough for her to cease her struggles--meet her doom face on.

Her limbs were tired from shoving, and being shoved. They legs felt like jello, wobbling beneath her as she stood. Any moment now and she felt she’d collapse. She was bruised and battered, she knew. The other citizens not stopping in their struggles to elt a simple girl go, but rather elblow her and hit her out of the way. Mob mentality had set in, and the mob wanted food and blood. It didn’t matter where either source came from; friend or foe.

Miaka had since stopped trying to cheer her Master up, her large emerald orbs wide with a terror of her own. The woman’s Other, despite being whomever she was on the other side, in this realm was nothing but a child. A child who had just realized that people in front of her were being slaughtered. Mercilessly, like animals. Without thought, without care, the guards before them were rippign through the bodies of those around them. And when looking over her Master’s shoulder, to face said guards, she could take in their actions at their fullest, rather than turn her back on it, like her Master was attempting to do.

Another cart and another guard fell, simultaneously, and the child felt a pang at the loss of life; a conflicting motion in and of itself. The man was dead, now. There was no changing that. No bringing him back. His family, his friends, they’d mourn for him. …but was it not better that he was gone? For his death meant he could not bring death onto the citizens around them. …The ones who killed him. …so was it better for them to die?

No, Life was precious, a thing to be cherished, and these people were throwing each others away as if ti were nothing. Her heart wrenched in her cehst as her eyes pulled away from the vision of another yung man who was effortlessly run through. Her tiny fists clutched at Hikari’s neck wrap, burrying her head in the croak of her neck. No more, she didn’t want to see anymore.

But the hammering of her Master’s heart against her own reminded her of the obvious distress that was going through the dancers mind- through her soul. As though one-- for they were, in some way-- she could feel the woman’s emotional pain like her own and she loosed one hand from her hold on her Master’s garmets and brought it to her chest. Squeezing the material she found there, she willed both of their pain away. Willed the situation to be over, to be back at the home she’d woken up in earlier this morning.

Hair, dampened with sweat, clung to Hikari’s cheeks and lips like dark, wet string, her dress constricting her already restricted movements. As she shoved past another woman, she could swear that she was getting closer to the exit. Slowly but surly. The masses seemed to have finally realized the quest they were set on was little more than an unplanned suicide and had died down enough for her to make leeway.

She felt the excitement building, excruciatingly slowly, as the gates to the university came into sight. It was almost touching distance! If she could just get there, if she could just slip back into Kensington, she could meet up with her sister in safety. And wouldn’t she be proud? The older of the two Chou’s had stood her ground, was going to make it out of a dangerous situation-- alive! And where was her sister? No where to be spoken of, that’s where.

Yami was probably looking for her out of the crowds. After all, Hikari had never been the type to join in such situations and it was absurd to think that she’d suddenly start now. The safer assumption was that she had never joined the mob, and with Yami making such an assumption- she could make her own, and that meant Yami would be searching in the safer portions for her. With both of them relatively out of harms way, ti would be easy to slip out.

All she had to do was make it to the university.

With her eyes locked so intently on the prize, it was hard to miss the turning of the locks, even from where she stood. …It was impossible to miss the unit rushing into the streets, bloodlust in their eyes.

The moment they joined in the fray, the air became heavy, filled with cold expectation. Despite the heat of the afternoon, a shiver of terror ran down her spine. The Peace Enforcement soldiers expected death. The citizens expected the death would be there’s. The weight of the hour fell upon the girl as the riot became worse.

A woman beside her fell to the ground with a shriek, yet no one stopped to help her up. Mere seconds later there was a crunching noise where the woman had once stood and the screaming had ceased, immediately. Even a woman being crushed to death by her own citizens wasn’t enough to have anyone pause in their terror. The guards surged forward, weapons drawn and penetrating the crowds without effort. Where there was reluctance, it was quickly dealt with, through death.

Where there was movement and allowance for their entrance, the same fate was met.

Another man rushed past her, as she fought more desperately than ever to leave. She had to avoid the guards, had to avoid the caravan, had to get out. A guard followed the man, and she could feel his fear; it was as palpable as hers, but the guard hid it well--better than she. There was no comfort to be found in the fact that all feared for their life in this situation.

The blood bath continued, and the crowds diminished. Yami was still no where in sight.

A selfish desire, born from nothing but fear, filled her. She wanted her sister beside her, in this mess. She wanted her to perform her duty as her sister, and pull her out of this situation-- like she always had before. Never before had she needed her sister more than she did now, and the other was no where to be found. Shouldn’t the love between them, as siblings, been strong enough of a pull for them to find each other? Wasn’t how that how this was supposed to work?

Hikari didn’t look at anyone. She didn’t want too. They surrounded her, but meant nothing more to her than a sea of living corpses. Nothing more than bodies about to die, and for what? For Sehket to be appeased from his high thrown in the visual tower? Were their death’s something to amuse him? Entertain him? These thoughts had her eyes skirting away from those around her, she couldn’t bare to witness her fellow members in death, in their last moments, knowing they were deaths were nothing more than a play put on by a sadistic man.

At least, she thought bitterly, she wouldn’t die alone.

Biting her lower lip, she tried to quell the tears in her eyes. Her thumb caressing the smooth threads of Miaka’s clothes. The garbs and abundant jewelry on her fascinated her, from the moment they met, and now she couldn’t stop touching it. It was a source of comfort, in a sense, to hold this little one who had promised to protect her.

An unkind hand pushed her forward, and she tilted, falling into another person. The trip had caused them both to drop under the radar of a guard that was moving by them. A sense of relief washed through her as she righted herself and moved on. Only to see the woman who’d shoved her before hand and shoved just shoved another in front of her- using the other person as a meat shield.

She couldn’t help but feel resentment; couldn’t help but feel disgust. She had once thought her people were strong, but now she knew they were cowards. Her people, the ones who stood up- defiant and strong- against the government were nothing but cowards, who feared death more than anything. And in that fear, they offered other lives as sacrifices. Was this the true face of fear? Was this human kind, in it’s most true form?

The thought was quickly tossed away as Miaka whimpered in her arms, having caught the same sight as she. Of course not. The child in her arms-- that was a human’s true form in a physical example. That odd box, with the spirits dancing around them-- the red child Miaka exclaimed was like her. Those were human’s in true form.

…Or were they only that particular human’s true form? Not a general idea of the population as a whole-- but a glimpse at a singular person?

Her thoughts were shattered as she stumbled over something. Her free arm flailing, uselessly, while she attempted to catch her balance. Only once she’d rightened herself, did she realize it wasn’t a day to day clumsiness that had caused her to lose her balance, but a body.

A terrified shriek escaped her lips as she quickly backed away. Unadulterated horror widened her eyes as she moved backwards, her eyes still taking in the bloodied, body filled ground before her. Her heel kicked something, and with another shriek, she turned around only to find bodies behind her as well.

How had she been so caught up as to not realize she was walking through a sea of corpses!? She quickly scrambled away from the body she’d kicked with the back of her foot, a frightened sob wracking her body as she looked here and there for a safe place to step without walking into a lifeless shell.

Something wrapped around her ankle and a blood curdling scream escaped her lips as she looked down. An old woman, half buried under another body, was grasping at her ankle. Her gnarled fingers, bloody and clasped tightly. Fear, not a lack of compassion, had she shaking her foot, attempting to lose the woman’s hold.

It worked, but in the processes she lost her balance and landed with a thus next to another corpse. Another scream, and her arm clutched tighter to Miaka, as she fought to find the strength to stand and run away from this. Run away from it all. Her legs failed her, though, and she found herself crawling backwards, desperate and hysterical, pushing herself with one arm.

When her hand landed on another corpse, she couldn’t help but turn around and look. …right into a pair of eyes that mirrored her own.

There was a resounding emptiness that filled Hikari in that instant, pulsing and waiting-- and the only sound she could hear was her’s and Miaka’s wild breathing. All she could feel were there life less eyes staring upon her, disappointed, angry, accusing--dead.

“No,” She whispered, in shock, in denial, backing away from the body that looked so similar to her own, excluding the longer locks. “No, no, no,” Her breathing picked up speed, entering her body shaking, leaving it broken, and hysterical.

Her chest burned, in a funny kind of way. With searing nerves and anticipation. Anticipation for what? The tears that were burning in her eye ducts, but had yet to fall? She felt as if she should be crying, but it had yet to hit her. This wasn’t her sister’s body. It was impossible. Just someone who looked a bit like her.

She backed away from the body, her head shaking fast, a scream bubbling on her lips. A few more inches away from the corpse, and a sparkle caught her eye. Dragging her vision away from the face, they locked on the glimmering heart shaped locket sitting on the body's neck.

A high pitched keening sound filled the area. A scream, from someone near by, echoing in her ears. It continued it’s grating sound as tears finally spilled from her eyes and down onto her cheek. Her head shook, over and over, and over, and over again. No, no, no. She wasn’t dead, she couldn’t be dead!

How could she leave her?!

This wasn’t fair! Didn’t she know she was supposed to be immortal? Didn’t she know she was supposed to take care of her, and Miaka? Didn’t she even care what would happen to her if she left?! Sobs escaped from her, breathily. It seemed hard to get air into her lungs long enough to sob, for some reason.

So, she thinks, this is what it means to suffer. This is what it means to have lost everything.

This is what it means to die alone.

Her grip on Miaka losened and the child slipped away from her. No longer having anything to hold- nothing to anchor her, the world beneath her spins like a top. The child noticed her swaying and reached a hand out to her Master, but the dancer flinched away from it. She felt nauseas, dizzy, the tears kept coming, and the screaming was pounding on in her head.

No, no, no. She wasn’t dead, she couldn’t be dead. There was no way. It was impossible. Pathetic, raspy sobs continued to mingle in with the screaming, and no matter what she did, she couldn’t get in enough air to cry.

Miaka moved behind her, but Hikari never took notice, focusing on the body in front of her, waiting for it to move. Waiting for it to breathe. To pop up and exclaim it all a joke. She waits as Miaka stands directly behind her, saying something she can’t really understand. Finally the talking stops, but still she waits, watching for dark hair to move- not according to the wind, for dark eyes to blink at her, for an oval face with the pales skin to break into a soft smile. She paid no attention to the hands on her shoulders, nor the arms moving to wrap around her neck with tender care. She didn’t recoil as the arms tightened, and didn’t blink as she felt Miaka’s chin drop onto her shoulder, tightening the embrace as much as she could without chocking her Master. The dancer only watched, waited, hoped, prayed, that Yami would move one last time.

“Master, I’m sorry,” The child speaks, the rasp in her voice now strong with grief. “I’m sorry,” She repeated, not sounding sure of what to say. If Hikari had favored her with even the smallest glance, she might have seen th tears rolling down her cheek, her green eyes clenched tight in empathetic pain. In a desire to will away all of the hurt. But she did not.

She only stared ahead, rivers streaming down her cheeks, waiting and waiting…

Yami, wake up. Come on, Yami. Don’t do this to me…god, don’t do this to me…

“Master, I’m so sorry…”

The arms tighten around her neck and Hikari’s heart slams against her ribs like an angry thing, and yet still, she stared at corpse with the desperate hope that she would wake up. Remember that she had to protect her.

Yami…

Miaka’s arms slid away from her neck and tiny hands clutched at one of her arms, trying to pull her up, but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t breath, and her vision of the body was failing. The sight growing hazy and black at the corners. All she could hear was the distant sound of a battle going on not far behind her, a mournful humming, and that infernal screaming that refused to stop. And as Hikari slid bonelessly to the floor, a body amongst the corpses, she realized that the sound wasn’t coming from some other woman, but her own mouth.

Trau seemed to be one of the few living people remaining in the area the riot had taken place. He averted his eyes and grimaced at each little twitch he saw, wanting desperately to help but knowing that there was no saving someone once they've lost an arm or leg, or if they had an arrow lodged in their skull. He was forced to roll his cart over the dead and grew more and more nauseous with every little thump as it once again hit the pavement. What in God's name was this world coming to?

He lifted a hand to wipe the blood weeping from a gash on his cheek, but stopped mid-stroke when he heard heart-wrenching screaming. At first he figured it must be someone doomed and dying, but instead was forced to watch in horror as a young woman screamed, sobbed, collapsed. A small child was trying very hard to move her, to comfort her.

He frowned deeply, trying to reason through the situation.

In the end, his heart won out over logic and he approached the sad pair, bending over the woman and child and seeing the matching necklaces, the young faces. His serious expression flickered for only a moment.

Kaley looked at the entire event, for once in her life, she encountered something that could shock her. It had ended so quickly and there was a little red headed girl staring at her. Kaley closed her eyes and her expression was erased.

With quick steps she picked up the child, turned and made her way towards the door before opening it and stepping on out and back into the Marsalle Estate region. It had been long enough she decided that she would slip on home towards the Bone yard.

On the way however she glanced down at the child and shook her head, "Hmm...If you have no other name to go by, for now I'll call you Alyson." she nodded her head in affirmation of the name to the child.

For all intents and purposes, Alyson just nodded back, seemingly content with the given name, at least for now. She then watched about, no smile, no sense of amusement on her face. She was curious though, and that was to learn about her surroundings and quickly so.