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 Posted: Sun May 10, 2015 8:49 am
Solo a desperate confidence that things won't lastWord Count: 1136'Nice place' felt like the most awkward comment he made since arriving in Porsha's apartment. 'Nice place' dodged the questions that begged answering, pertaining to their months spent apart. 'Nice place' felt like an excuse to refrain from starting the conversation.
But he meant it, in earnest.
While small, the apartment looked clean and housed many amenities one expected for city living. A dishwasher proved quite an upgrade from handwashing dishes until the end of time, and the TV was a nice touch. It looked fairly decorated, too: while Shale's usual paraphernalia housed little presence here, Porsha augmented the decorum with her own personal touch, and a dash of the bizarre. The snake fetish looked like something sold at their market, and the stuffed mouse just looked cute. Whoever stuffed it looked like an amateur, though - or they just hated mice.
Slate sidled up to the island and hoisted himself atop the cold formica surface. His fingers curled just beneath the edge where they tapped against the particle board restlessly. "So have you been staying here the whole time? Doesn't look like there's two bedrooms here. Did she kick you to the couch? Or does she let you stay in her bed and cuddle up to her? I mean, she's pretty hot, and she's into you, so..."
His brother's mouth thinned to a line. He took a seat in one of the fold-up card table chairs that he often used for working on archery essentials. "You don't want to talk about it, do you." The statement came as declaration, given the long years spent with one another. Shale knew well the inner clockwork forming his brother's actions, his choices, his tendency to approach open flame until the fear of being burnt urged him to withdraw. He knew the same applied in reverse - that his motives were never far from discernible to the younger of the pair. He knew the ever-present restlessness of Slate's fingers that suggested an anxiety that never fully faded.
"Not really." He set his jaw, looked toward the ceiling. Drummed his fingers again. Tried to index a tune. Couldn't index a tune. Kicked himself. "Look, I was doing just fine thinking you were dead. It was weird not knowing where your body was, though, because you know how stuck our dad is on the whole 'soul-in-skull' business. But overall, it was just... It was a conflict we could digest. It was part of your choice for your life. Everyone knew it could happen. And, I mean, Mom already had her flip-out from when you almost got mauled by a bear, so it sunk in for her, too, you know? Shale is dead. Rifle hunters rejoice. Everyone else can be glad that you get to float on up and rejoin the trees.
"And let me tell you, that's a whole lot easier to swallow than 'you got separated from your brother during an attack by one of those... things. Oh, by the way, he just up and vanished and decided to never come home'."
The silence hung heavy while Shale waited for second thoughts or further objections. Inwardly he wondered how he could spin his story to omit the Negaverse - to explain how a stranger offered him her home to share, without added explanation of officer ranks. It burned through him, these myriad lies, these tales he could share to whisk away all problems and set his brother's working mind to ease. Even if he insisted on his distaste for discussion, he would ask. He would ask and expect an answer to suit his every question.
But Slate so seldom let go. "Then I won't mention it." He watched the way his brother looked about the room, as if searching it for any answers that lay on the surface of picture frames, of worn seat cushions, of dust layers. He wondered what Slate found in these small gestures of life. "I want to know what happened to you afterward."
Slate snorted. "It wasn't a lot. It scratched me, whatever it was." He hooked fingers beneath his shirt collar, pulling it aside to expose three deep scars along his left shoulder. "They go pretty far down, across my chest. I don't really remember much of what happened - they thought there was some kind of poison in the cuts. I know I was in bed for like, a week. Maybe longer." Two weeks? Three? Delirium left him so crippled that he couldn't place dates. "After I kinda came around, I guess they gave up the search mostly. Then it was just letting go of the parts of your soul. Life went on, and we started paying a helluva lot more for food. I don't really know what kind of story you're looking for."
"I wasn't looking for anything concerning myself."
Slate frowned in his lopsided manner, one corner stretching father than the other. "Well, you better cough up the story so I have something to take home to Mom. She'll want to know why I up and disappeared when the day just got started."
"You don't have to go back." Shale reclined, one elbow propped on the armrest, and rested chin on knuckles.
"Bullshit I don't."
"You always preferred the city. You picked up their mannerisms, their colloquialisms, and most other -isms native to the people here. You're drawn to their way of life, and how their jobs last only a certain amount of hours each day and then you're required to do no more. Conversely, you hold a lot of contempt for the way we were raised You readily shun the concepts and beliefs that I take as law. I can talk to Porsha, and see if she will allow you to stay with us for a while. It will be cramped, but the couch is free." Why do you try to deny yourself an opportunity that stands right in front of you? Tell me you haven't adopted the self-limitation and self-deprecation that so plagues this city. I don't want to lose you to that mire.
"And what about our parents? Or my friends?"
"They will find strength in loss. We always have."
Slate fell silent, searching for some convenient means to object. Nothing came to mind - no oddity in their culture that demanded that he reconsider. "Tell me what happened to you and I'll think about coming back to stay here. But I've gotta take home something about this."
Do you search for conflict? Can you imagine a happiness absent pain, or does it startle you? "It was more deliberate than you'd think." He spoke with his knuckles pinned to cheekbone, his posture slightly slouched in the chair. "I left you to die, Slate."
The redhead left hardly a pause. "I know."
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Posted: Sun May 10, 2015 9:40 am
Solo the question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop meWord Count: 601Youma, she called them. She didn't seem to know much about them, or express a great deal of interest in knowing why they suddenly cropped up around the city.
But she claimed him unlucky. That was a start.
Slate lay with his eyes closed, sprawled on the couch. He curled bare toes to feel the blanket coalesce into folds around his foot. Birds chirped outside, signaling the morning. Shale and Porsha meandered around the apartment in their usual early-morning routines. I wonder if they ever think about the weird monsters that pop up here or there. Shale should. He's always been meticulous about the things he hunts. I wonder if he knows anything about them. He has to, for the time he decided to take one down.
What had Camelot said? He and others awakened when needed, to fight these strange creatures. Everyone had the potential for the kind of power he exhibited. Was that really true? Having been in contact with three of those creatures this far, these youma, left him wondering how greatly endangered he should become before he obtains his 'awakening'. Should he actively seek these beasts until one nearly kills him? No, that sounded more like fairytale material than realism. He'd likely get mauled to death going down that path. Then what awakened people to this 'potential'? If being in danger had nothing to do with it, then what led them to perform these entirely crazy and impossible stunts? Camelot landed on a youma's back from who knows how many feet in the air. The other girl slammed some kind of crazy-colored baseball into a youma's back when she engaged in the whole wrestling match fiasco. These weren't normal happenings, and Slate refused to think that his prior delirium somehow influenced his perception of reality.
And what else had that girl mentioned? Something about people in black not helping him? What was that about? Were they some kind of color-coded brigade that ran about doing something different? Like how people of his hometown segregated into different jobs, but with the added bonus of color coordination? It sounded like something out of a cheap fantasy novel targeted at children. He should've asked more questions.
As Slate reviewed the facts gathered on youma and their appearances around town, he caught the hushed whispers of his roommates over their breakfast. Most words remained obscured to him - the clatter of silverware drowned out most of the quieter tones. Something sizzled in the pan immediately, with the loud crackling cutting out whole portions of the conversation entirely. However, Slate still arrested rare mention of 'youma', and some means to control them? No - command. One said command. Why bother to order them around? What good would that do, unless they were trained animals?
Listening on, he caught mention of ranks, which suggested some kind of hierarchy. 'Captains' came out too. Most of the rest sounded like suggestions of places to go later, which left Slate tuning it out. It left him with a surfeit of questions concerning their discussion, these Captains, their relation to youma, and how in hell either of them obtained any kind of information about youma without dying. All of it begged for further investigation. Did they know of the people like Camelot, who destroyed these things? Were they 'awakened' like him?
Slate rolled to one side, and the pair hushed immediately.
Well. There's certainly something going on worth investigating. Those two obviously know about these things. Maybe I should find out exactly how much they know.
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Posted: Sat May 23, 2015 11:16 am
Solo mother died today. or maybe yesterday; i can't be sure.Word Count: 566Why is it so easy to mistreat people now? The thought came without incident, without prying to the forefront of his mind while he looked out over the city. Plumes billowed out from the distant smokestacks, framing their grey-black against the unrelenting blue sky. His gaze followed from the thick base of the plume to the varying rooftops, shaped and sloped and sculpted while they layered over the top of each other. At once he spotted a business type sipping coffee over what he assumed was a book. Maybe a tablet. I could cross all these rooftops with a strength I never had before. I could travel in places that only the best athletes managed. It becomes a measure of effort, doesn't it? When I ask myself if I could drain that guy, I start thinking about what it takes to cross all these rooftops.
To drop to the ground, navigate the streets, and pick the right building.
It should disturb me that the change came so quickly, that it just... Slipped under the radar. If I asked myself the same thing a month ago, impossibilities aside, I'd be evaluating the damage to potential interpersonal relationships. 'What would happen if I did? What if I know this guy's kid, his younger brother? If I need his services later down the line?' But now...
The corrupted senshi breathed a sigh from where he sat, his breath whisked out on the chasing breeze. It toyed with his braid, teased his coat, and chilled his knees from where he sat crosslegged on the parapet. Now it doesn't seem to matter who he is, what he does. How it affects me later. How it affects me now. He could be a senshi, or a knight, and sure that scares me, but it doesn't stop me. Not like it should. No, I could still drain him. It's all a matter of distance. How long I can jump between buildings, cross rooftops without him noticing. Without him leaving. How long I could remain a stranger to him, his life, and all the degrees of separation between us.
His gaze darted to a jogger below, earbuds prepared, and persevering course set through the stretch of upward-bound streets. I could drain her, too. That one's a matter of a catch-up game. How well would my body last against hers? It's still a question of if I can keep pace, even after this power.
I used to enjoy chatting with anyone. I could make conversation until my lungs gave out and still have fun with it. But that hasn't changed, has it? I can still meet strangers and walk home with friends. I can spark up interest in a coffee shop, or play to someone's heartstrings near the fountain. There were never any barriers built up between myself and another person. So why didn't I notice it happening? At what point did that careful inhibition from human kindness finally come crumbling down? When did I first reach the point where I could laugh with a man, yet only wipe the blood from my face if he were shot next to me?
And most importantly, should I care that it's gone?
Ochre smiled, even if the indifferent sun remained its only witness. "Not at all, Meursault. Ennui was the best thing to happen to you."
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Posted: Fri Jun 05, 2015 8:37 am
Solo some things are more precious because they don’t last longWord Count: 639”So that was an operation, huh? Who the hell was even in charge of that? The blonde girl? I doubt it.” Ochre voiced his thoughts to the tulip in hand, already bloomed vivaciously and poised atop its delicate stem. It looked fake, with its vibrant fuchsia display. He smelled it regardless. “I dunno if that was the case either. Didn’t seem like it. She sounded like she was just trying to start taking over, since no one else got their s**t together. Maybe that’s what happened.”
He reached into the center of the plant and pressed his thumbs across the most delicate anthers inside. They flattened and crushed beneath the pressure. “Not that I understand the point of the whole thing. Xenotime dragged us both down there but didn’t give much of an explanation. Something about capturing one of the Dark Mirror senshi. Seemed like an awful lot of effort for one person - especially since we already had a Dark Mirror. She didn’t look like she was doing too good, either.” He grimaced and reclined against the bark, rolling shoulders slightly to distribute the abrasiveness of the bark. His coat, however thick, hadn’t helped much.
“It’s got me wondering why I’m still with the Negaverse, though. They’re not organized, and I can’t fall into the mindset that I was somehow fated for it. I can’t say where I lie on the whole free will versus determinism thing, but... That seems so much less an issue right now.” He sighed, stray hairs curling on his breath while he looked toward the branches. Leaves patterned across the sky to blot out swaths of clarion blue. “But something changed when I joined the Negaverse, beyond the power they give. It’s definitely a lack of empathy. Sure does make things easy.”
His gaze returned to the tulip, and one careful thumbnail began carving into the base of one of the petals. I imagine life will get pretty damn boring if I continue to live like this. Sure, I could do without the flinching when I see someone get plowed by a bus, but what does that mean for relationships? They wind up empty, hollow, only good for whatever use I find in them.
Huh, Shale would ask me why I hesitate about that. Why I think it’s bad. Where I got ‘bad’ when we weren’t raised along that duality. And maybe he’s right. I never thought the world was live-or-die when we were back at home. It was all just ‘live as a community’ back then, and somewhere along the line I got the idea in my head to characterize that as ‘good’. Morally right. Morals.
All those fables and literature. They couldn’t all be wrong.
The corrupted senshi ripped away the rest of the petals, scattering them to the day’s whimsy. They carried on for a distance before they came crashing down against the blades of grass. There they struggled and fluttered some distance, always trembling for the sky, but their wings were old and brittle and the heavy velvet of their petals never caught the wind quite the same.
When you’re seventeen, you know everything. I’m not seventeen anymore, he realized suddenly. It alarmed him at first, filling him with a fear so gripping and basic that he caught his breath and caged it behind teeth. In that moment, beneath the tree, on a warm spring day in an undisturbed walking trail, he realized that he lacked omnipotence and immortality. It reminded him of the day when a stranger garbed in purple leaned over him with menace and malice as his companions. But a second passed, the breeze stirred briskly and the tree behind him bowed in acknowledgement. The horror was stolen from him by a flippant gust.
There, then gone.
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Posted: Fri Jun 05, 2015 11:00 am
Solo because without you, i am only revolutions of ruinWord Count: 1200”Look, you like your friend, right? She wouldn’t be your friend if you thought she was just some numbnut that happened to invite you along for exploring multiple times.” The thread of conversation worried Slate from the start. He picked and plucked at his violin nervously, dredging up nameless tunes at heightened speeds that demanded years of careful finesse. The implications were there already - that this war and all of its bizarre magics were not so easily parsed out from the life he came to enjoy. He only counted himself lucky that Shale encountered it first - for his heart had become stone long before moving to Destiny City.
“And the Negaverse… It’s not exactly out to do you a bunch of personal favors. You might get a pat on the back for turning her in, sure, but could you live with the consequences? I mean, what if they kill her? Or turn her into one of those creepy youma things? Or what if they corrupt her and, like you said, she forgets all about you and the things you two did together? ******** sake, you’re playing with someone’s life here. Just leave it alone. If you like Jack, and you want to keep her around for a while, then just pretend you never saw anything. It’s that easy. Not like they’ve got cameras mounted into our retinas or anything.” The thought alone left him wondering what chaos energy did, and what it sussed out for whoever was in charge of the Negaverse. His tune increased in tempo.
“Ever heard the phrase ‘I am one of those who are made for exceptions, not for laws’? Probably not, I mean, it’s from a book and all. The point is, maybe she’s made for exceptions. Maybe she’s not supposed to be thrown to the wolves like that. Maybe it’s time for you to step outside the laws for a bit and just let her be.” He frowned while he reached a crescendo. His right hand itched for the familiar balanced weight of a carbon fiber bow, but his case was on the counter behind his brother.
Shale remained silent for nearly a minute. He understood Slate’s point, and he yearned for the same whimsical pathos response to compromising situations that the redhead mobilized so well. He wanted to tuck his regrets away into pretty melodies made to sell for a pretty penny. But instead he sat quietly, hands clasped together between legs, and eyes mostly lidded while they studied the minuscule etchings in the tile floor. He drew a breath, held it, and banished it before he spoke.
“I’ve considered that. There are no witnesses to hold me to action, it’s true. Jack asked me to keep it to myself. It would be easy, and loyal, to forget that it happened and let her live as a senshi while maintaining her friendship. I knew that you would suggest I forget it.”
“But you came and asked me for my opinion anyway.”
“I know.”
Another long pause.
It stretched
and churned
with all the thoughts that stood a thousand miles apart.
“Do you remember when you were first corrupted?”
Slate scoffed an interruption. “How could I forget?”
“Porsha texted me before any of it happened. She told me you knew. That her hands were tied and there was nothing she could do.”
The sun felt too bright, like it bleached the floors with the way that it barged through the windows and sprawled out across the too-shiny floor. It reflected in every scuffed bump and gleamed off the metal fastenings adorning his brother’s leather jewelry. It seared Slate’s retinas from its reflection in his gold rings. It gleamed off each string, warming them to the touch where they hadn’t already heated from use.
“... And?” Slate leaned forward with his question, pressing for some explanation that his brother constantly dragged out. You never bring this s**t up without reason. What’s your angle.
Shale swallowed. His gaze met Slate’s, and held it while he explained in that same plodding way. “She knew you were important to me, so she warned me before she committed to anything. When I got her message… I told her to kill you. That you would not be a good fit for the Negaverse, and you would find only misery there. You’d already gotten involved in the war by your own volition. You would either turn out a casualty, an enemy, or a piss poor ally. I chose the least damaging of these options, and Porsha overrode me. That is why you still stand.”
Slate froze, plucked an off-key note, nearly dropped his violin entirely. A foot came down from its cross-legged perch and touched the hot tile. He hardly registered it. Soon anger blossomed in its wake, freeing him from the spell just as easily as a gust of wind. “The hell you did. You’re always out to get me, for as much as you say you love me. No one else has to put up with it, you know, because it’s not ******** right. People don’t just volunteer their siblings to get bumped off because they love them.”
The redhead stood abruptly. His feet were cold, despite the burning heat from the tile. “The ******** was the point for sitting me down for any of this, then?”
Shale made no motion to stop his brother. He remained stone still, watching while Slate burned through his cold bluster. “Two reasons. I knew you were a poor fit for the Negaverse, so the choice you’d pick would follow that path. And secondly, I wanted to see if you changed. If, by some chance, being in the Negaverse meant that you’re slowly becoming a better soldier.”
“And you were wrong.”
“No. I wasn’t wrong. I never made a prediction.” He drew in a breath, his gaze still centered on his brother. His attention flickered between the pi symbol adorning his cheek and the pinpoint pupils that turned on him so readily. “I made a decision.”
Slate stood in silence. He offered no gesture to encourage his brother to continue - he would no longer surrender that luxury.
But Shale proceeded despite him. “Jack’s fate, as one of our enemy, will be left to the Negaverse. Friends or not, my personal ties became a lesser consideration when I joined this organization. What becomes of her is not for me to decide. I will welcome whatever comes of her if they decide to corrupt her into our cause, and I will subsume the conflict that might come of her death. As for you,” he started, then paused for interruption.
None came from his brother’s stony fury.
Shale abandoned the thought for now.
Enough damage had been wrought. Slate turned from him after sensing the lack of closure, and left for the door just as readily. He steeled teeth together to keep his jaw from trembling.
Little solace comes
to those who grieve
when thoughts keep drifting
as walls keep shifting
and this great blue world of ours
seems a house of leaves
moments before the wind.
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Posted: Sun Jun 07, 2015 12:22 pm
Solo lousy with pureWord Count: 709The word alone suggested fire, peeling away a part of himself, coming clean.
Purification.
The way Thraen explained it, the act of purification was broken down into a fairly straightforward choice, carrying a lot of heavy baggage. It made no room for exceptions, no matter the person stepping into the role. All of his life’s choices, the joys and sorrows, the great swaths of drama fell neatly onto scales arranged in his own mind. He considered these the stranger’s verdict - a measuring of the positive and negative life choices that worked in consideration of purification. One scale held the bad, which he considered as strictly immoral decisions. While he mapped out the sum total to memory, he drew a crude approximation of the scales at work. They sat at an angle, with one side higher than the other. On a separate piece of paper, he listed out each instance he could remember that fit neatly into three categories: moral, immoral, and morally ambiguous.
Another set of papers sat off to the right, each sporting a capitalized header of NEGAVERSE. One of the pages sported the same crude scale, tipped at the same angle as the one he worked on currently. That one he intended for the pros and cons of being a member of the Negaverse, which he considered a lost cause. Much of the perks granted to their ranks did not apply to him - teleportation, command of youma, and more power were all abilities either sealed to him now or indefinitely barred to his kind. He could not deny the allure of instantaneous travel, or becoming hardened of constitution, or the naked power behind the ability to rip the soul from someone’s chest.
Yet, the yearning for those abilities disturbed him.
But those three potentials faced great opposition: remaining in the Negaverse entailed an eternal tether to this Metallia, and to an organization built on immovable hierarchy. There were duties placed on the head of every member, and those duties often led to disrupting the lives of strangers. It provoked consequences he could not easily predict, much like the car crash he witnessed prior. And perhaps most disturbingly, he would slowly lose himself to the warping that chaos caused to his system. Thraen insisted that, over time, natural growth would be rerouted on a path more suitable to chaos’ purposes.
No, the scales had long forsaken the Negaverse as a conclusion.
The last set of scales remained for purification, its mechanics, and the outcomes of that decision. He expected that to be the most difficult of each determination, due in part to the number of factors involved. Much of it seemed to balance out - the loss of his current life as a boon and the need to rebuild life as its counterpart. Leaving the Negaverse and gaining freedom as a victory, with losing its perks as the tradeoff. The list grew and remained in perfect balance, which left the decision to the other pair of scales.
The other pair, with one already set against the Negaverse. And as he toiled on the list of morals, he soon found that the purification scales were not quite as hard as the morals. Continuing work left him questioning whether morals were the value systems he wanted to adopt in his adult life. They had their downfalls, of course - not every decision could be filed away into right and wrong - but as he continued his writing, he found himself more and more averse to committing to it. A sense of dread began to form in the pit of his stomach. It clawed and wrenched at his thoughts, guiding them along rails he was loathe to traverse. And in those moments, he asked himself if this sudden screeching halt was due to the chaos twisting his thoughts.
In truth, there was no way to tell.
Finally Slate gathered the papers in shaken hands, and relinquished their half-finished thoughts to the gas fire burning beneath the stove. They caught readily and he dumped the sheets into the oven itself to burn down into ash.
There wasn’t a question of it anymore. For as long as he couldn’t think as himself, wholly as himself, then purification became necessary.
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Posted: Sun Jun 07, 2015 12:23 pm
Solo reeking with starkWord Count: 735Shale isn’t going to give Jack a chance. It doesn’t surprise me at all. If he’s willing to bump me off for the sake of some stupid ******** religion, then what’s to stop him from selling out his friend to the Negaverse.
I can’t protect people from him, though. Orah confirmed that one pretty damn fast. She decided he was some kind of great friend, that he’s thoughtful and all that other s**t. And she’s right - he is. That’s the scary part. And that’s what makes it impossible to convince people to see otherwise. So what the ******** do I do here? I can’t exactly call Jack out of the blue, introduce myself as Shale’s brother, and tell her that her life is about to get ******** into itself if she doesn’t get out of the city. She might blow me off as some crazy, or think I’m the problem. And even if she believed me, what’s to convince her to save herself and leave her family behind?
This whole thing’s a shitshow.
With the apartment to himself, Slate stewed sideways in the oversized recliner. It sat opposite a folding chair that Shale often used when assembling his bow tools, or when he felt like cutting arrows. Slowly Slate’s palms crept over his face until the chair was no longer visible and the heels of his hand embedded into his eye sockets. Darkness came, followed by the warbling ripples of color wrought by pressure against the optic nerves. “This is all kinds of ******** up. Okay. Okay, I’ve got to think of something, and actually think it through. What can I do to help her. Wait, back up. I can’t help her if I don’t know how to contact her or where to find her. Let’s see, Shale said she was a student at DCU. That’s a pretty easy location to get to, but the campus is huge. And I don’t know what she looks like. And it’s gonna seem really weird if I go to Shale asking for a missing-persons-level description of Jack.”
And if I just sit around? Her life isn’t my responsibility. She chose to befriend Shale. She took the risk when she transformed to fight that youma. A pervasive glee precipitated at the thought of leaving her to her fate, which Slate’s own conscience answered with a cold lump forming in his stomach. It’s easy. And no one would know that you could’ve stopped it.
“No way, I’m not gonna live like that.”
Slate sat up abruptly and clasped palms atop the glass coffee table. The surfeit of nail polishes rattled on their vanity tray. “Okay. Back on track. DCU. Okay, Shale’s gonna have an idea of how to haul her out. I can play along and find out what it is. He’ll fill me in, and I’ll ask what she looks like. Done.”
You could play along, or you could leave it be. Think of the consequences.
“Then I just need to find her and get her out of trouble before they get to her. But I can’t just show up as Ochre. She’ll probably see me and split. But if I don’t use that power, can I catch her in time?”
You could play her the fool. Get her to think you’re helping her. Take the credit for her capture.
“Or, I could call her and tip her off. But she might be one of those people who don’t answer numbers she doesn’t know. And if she does answer, she might just think I’m a whackjob. And if I explain how I know, would that put her at more risk? Switchboards had operators who could listen in on the calls - how do I know there aren’t recordings being made of every call ever? I can’t risk outing her just to prove that I know what I’m talking about. s**t.”
Think of the rewards.
“Or I could kill him.”
You wouldn’t.
A fist came down on the table and the glass bottles rattled sheepishly. One fell into another, causing a short cascade that left one bottle of deep purple polish clattering toward the edge of the table. He didn’t move to pick it up.
Whichever I decide, it’ll be the last thing I remember of this life.
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Posted: Sun Jun 07, 2015 12:24 pm
Solo and fearlessly obsceneWord Count: 634With the decision made, all he needed to do was execute it.
His hands clammed up each day in passing. Over time, it grew worse. Each palm to door left a slippery stain that would wear away the brushed nickel knob over the count of years, but he knew he wouldn’t remember it. Wouldn’t care.
What did it matter to him if the door was never there to open?
His heart pounded in his chest each day. It left him lightheaded, dizzy. It left the lights too bright and the darks mottled with rippling lines that disturbed his equilibrium. Panic meant that his mind could never slow down. Each question, however small, entailed a thousand different answers, each fit with their own consequences. And all those consequences played out in his mind, across the matter of half a second, before his mouth opened to answer. And the words that came felt so purposeless, so tiny, against his palate and his tongue and his dull, dull teeth.
He wanted to say that, all of this was due to his brother.
He wanted to say that, all of this was Xenotime’s fault.
He wanted to say that, all of this was because of morals.
It was easy to say as much.
Convenient.
In truth, he lied to himself if he thought that purification and Jack’s predicament amounted to all of his stresses. If he thought that hiding his decisions from his brother and Porsha accounted for each spike of blood pressure he suffered. Eating became a scarcity, which fed the worries until they grew fat off of self-neglect.
But there, among all the conscious decisions and repeated repercussions, lay another abject worry that urged him against fully committing to purification.
For a number of nights now, feverdreams plagued him. They grew of such vivid nature that he half-expected to wake in a tent, dilapidated, and look out to thickened forestry. He expected to see a larger tent in the distance, this one marked with the universal sign for medical assistance. There would be other tents, surely. Perhaps a campfire lit some distance away. Sometimes he glimpsed people in the trees - people he knew with names and pasts and terrible tragedies draped over their shoulders, but he didn’t recognize them in waking. He knew them as Scouts and Knights, and he knew they allied against the Negaverse.
Sometimes he dreamt of thick, black columns that tore their way through the sky. Standing around it were sets of horrified faces as placid as stone - as empty as dolls.
Other times he dreamt of corpses as companions. Sacks of battered meat that he treated as companions, that he hauled about by wrists and ankles while he told stories of a past that hadn’t happened yet. He knew he had purified, then. He knew the joys of having a fiancée, of contributing against the Negaverse menace. Freedom wasn’t the word he would’ve used, but it was the best word he could think of.
He knew, lastly, a destination among the stars that held a count of corpses. He called it a charnel house. His charnel house. He called it Sheikh, and he himself wore that same name. He stood as the avatar for a home of the dead.
His home. His planet.
And there was no particular kinship to it, this dream-world he never saw before. This planet named ‘Sheikh’. He felt no urge to visit its stark cliffs or its strange pools of heavy water. But there lay something in those feverdreams that harrowed him more than this strange life of trafficking the dead. Whether these dreams came as a projection of his fears or some form of clairvoyance, he didn’t know.
But it seemed to him that purification was a commitment to loss.
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Posted: Sun Nov 22, 2015 2:44 am
i should be loyal to the nightmare of my choiceWord Count: 1029The heat and steam felt warm, relaxing, necessary.
The nights of late had been long. Targets sought after, combat training enforced, protocols and allegiance tested and retested and retested again for any signs of faltering. He didn’t understand. He obeyed the Negaverse. He did whatever they asked. He remembered quite well how he used to feel, how he thought the Negaverse a festering pa͝ra͘s̢it̕e that fed off amorality. He remembered how others frowned upon him, how Amphitrite looked at him in disgust, how Schorl struck him for disobedience. Yes, he knew well why the Negaverse disliked him.
And, sometimes, he could understand why they still refused to allow him such free reign. Trust required years of careful priming. He had committed a treacherous act that would have killed him if Laurelite were less lenient. As a corrupted senshi, there stood a tentative and far less malleable respect for their kind, and any folly he produced reflected poorly on his kind as a whole. Slate acknowledged all of this.
And yet he felt frustrated. Irritated. Exasperated.
The redhead worked his fingers through his braid until three tousled strips came of it, and soon they dampened to vein’s blood with the shower spray. As he stared dully at the warped reflection in the faucet, he reflected on how he almost forgot how blissfully forgiving short hair was, and that his time when powered up yielded many a head jerk from his braids catching on corners or protrusions.
The steam rose, fogged the frosted glass. He felt it warm his otherwise chilled bones.
Old blood rinsed off his fingers and he watched the darkened flecks spread their ruddy smoke before slipping into darkness. He thought of the dreams then, when he turned up the heat. Closing his eyes, the shower blasted him with a hot humidity. Rivers that flowed upward and craggy peaks were the first to surface in the series of scattered images. Water he could stand upon, a great disc imprinted with a pentagram. A girl, dark-skinned, who wore exhaustion in an attractive way. She seemed sad, and he knew he was sad, but those feelings struck a depth so far beyond human comprehension that he only felt the shallow impacts of it - the way it painted their such desperation.
Were they desperate? He couldn’t remember. His head started to ache in thinking about it, and absently, his little finger corkscrewed in his ear. The itch felt far deeper, however, deep enough to equal the depression, he thought, but he still tried to reach it sometimes.
For long minutes, he wondered where that place was. He knew it as his planet, as Sheikh, and he called it so in the dreams. Ochre couldn’t remember how they reached it. And yet, he wanted to reach it - he wanted to witness the expansive peaks and the vast canyons on his own, or with the girl in his dreams, or with anyone at all. With Sandrine before h͢e͠r̵ coŕ̴r̸u̢̧p̡͏x̀͢x͜x͏̧̡̨̕x҉͡҉_______________͟____//
Slate covered his eyes heavily, but the splitting, conquering pain struck through any meager defenses. He groaned, pained, his voice stressed to cracking, while each throb thundered through his brain in a whipcrack. He crouched under the torture, huddled to the wall, and prayed obedience to Metallia if she could but mitigate its loftiest agonies. Nausea followed in its insidious ways and laced his tongue with an acrid taste that left him spitting into the draining water.
s**t… Something has to stop it. Think. Breathe.
In: one, two, three, four.
Hold: one, two, three, four.
Out: one, two, three, four.
Hold: one, two, three, four.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Rep̴ea̕t̴.
R̀̕͘ȩ̨̀͜͡p̵̨#̸̵̢̨̢#́͘͜#̶̛́͝
Slate struck the bathroom floor hard, but he didn’t feel it. He knew no longer the water’s heat beyond the pain that wormed its imperious fingers through his very skull. Arms curled tightly around his head as he curled in on himself, fetal, with nothing but dire hope to weather its cruel lashings. Counting breaths no longer mattered. Staying silent so Porsha wouldn’t think of it no longer mattered. He could not. think. beyond the pain.
Could.
Not.
Knot. There was. He felt it. Some kind of knot? Slate felt his fingers pressing deeper involuntarily. No - it moved. The knot moved. It shifted. It shifted out of his perceptions. His vision swelled with stars.
Stars and blood. Hair. Pooling all about his face. Streaking down his nose.
But the hair unwound in smoke when it touched the water. It wasn’t hair.
Slate - Ochre - he couldn’t tell anymore - he touched his nose. It felt wet, always wet, he was in the shower. But he looked, and saw a bright red. He remembered the maroon girl asking if it was blood on his fingers. Yes. Blood like this. Was it his? It had to bl̡̀̀͡ȩ͘͢͡͞e̴̶̢͝͡d̢̀͞.
Cupping his weak, shaken hand to his nose, he blew into the palm. He blew as hard as he could and listened to the way the snort stuttered with mucous. But when he looked at his hand, he saw no telltale muculent strands. He looked to the blood spatter, quickly rinsing away in the shower, and thin, clinging sheets of tissue no bigger than his smallest fingernail. These fought desperately for purchase on his hand before they, too, descended to the drain in ribboning spirals. They looked dark, fleshy, and ominous.
But what could he do? He was no doctor. He had no medical insurance. Most of those he knew from the Negaverse looked upon him with contempt, so soliciting them for advice or care sounded out of the question. His own brother articulated that he had to die before - on multiple occasions. Porsha remained distantly friendly. He couldn’t turn to his parents. He had no friends here.
What was left?
His eyes blurred in a well of tears, spurred by the agony coursing through his brain. Biting his tongue until he tasted metal, he fought for refusal of those tears. He would find a solution, he knew.
There would always be a solution.
Even in death, it chittered.
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Posted: Tue May 03, 2016 8:08 am
in a breath of weakness
Word Count: 1555
Occurs just after the Negaspace Invasion
"I can't believe that just happened," Slate started with a deep, breathless sigh. He collapsed into the couch soon afterward, and a hand strayed lazily to pet his only listener - Lenore, the one-eyed cat. "You know all kinds of secrets, right? You won't mind one more."
The cat offered no response. She looked to him with her single eye, curious and gold, as she studied his face. If she said anything at all, Slate didn't know, but he felt more wisdom in that eye than he had in ages - since he left his old household, in fact. "So, you probably know that Porsha and I are Negaverse agents. Well, I guess I'm a little different. I'm a Negaverse senshi, she's an agent. There's a difference. Oh, and Shale's an agent too. But I won't bother explaining to you what all that means cuz it's not important right now. I dunno, maybe you already know what it means. You're a smart kitty." He continued to pet the cat as he spoke, even if his body ached from the long trials of the night. General exhaustion settled in not long after he returned home, and he attributed it in large part to the expenditure of his magics over the fight.
"So, the Negaverse has a home base. It's like... Somewhere. I don't know where, but I've been there before. For a long time. I guess that's pretty hard to explain too, but it's like once I see a place, I can go to it whenever, but I can just go there instantaneously? Does that make sense?" He looked to the cat for clarification, who only gave him the slow wink to keep petting. He did so without objection. "Well. Anyway. So we have this big citadel thing, and it's got some rooms in it and stuff. And then there's this space full of other stuff. And it's totally confusing. But, the important thing is, no one can get to these areas but us. So it's been our home base for, I guess, a long time. And it's been great. I mean, there's no one there but us and our youma, which are kind of like weird gnarly animals but that's a whole other thing. But, it's like... Our major enemies somehow found out a way to break in? And they were there earlier, like trying to wreck the place. I was pissed when I found out. And scared. But mostly pissed. Porsha was there too, and I think she was just all pissed.
"I think they must've underestimated us though, because they didn't bring very many people to attack us there. There was a lot, I mean they didn't go in totally unprepared, but we've got so many youma and agents on our side that it's like... It shouldn't have been a challenge. But it was." His petting slowed to a more somber state, and in response, Lenore clambered into Slate's lap. She twirled a total of four times before she found a proper sitting position, then parked into the typical c-shape that any cat knows from ages of evolution. The petting resumed unabated, even as Slate's eyes wandered. "I got summoned to the castle. One of the General Queens was there, they're the big chiefs of the Negaverse, and she was fighting on the front lines. She was good at it, too, like... She was taking people down left and right. Sometimes they were people on our own side. I think... I think the enemy's invasion did something to her. Like something bad. I don't know why anyone on our side would start killing her own agents and taking their starseeds. And she was laughing the entire time, but it didn't sound like she was having fun. It sounded cold, somehow. Like, acerbic. She sounded hateful.
"She kept eating starseeds, too, like she needed to keep herself going. It's like the senshi were focusing her down, and she just had to keep consuming just to stay up and fighting. And then she started getting scales. They went down her arms and legs where you could see them, and they just looked wrong. They looked like the kind of scales that the half-youma get sometimes. She almost took my starseed, too. And then, all of a sudden, they killed her. Just like that. One of our General Queens, one of our leaders, gone. I don't think I met that one before, I heard her name was Apatite, but like... That's major. That's serious. We can't lose any of them, they're the best that we got.
"But she wasn't the only one. We managed to force them outside, but it was a total shitshow. I had this lieutenant with me, he was a pretty cool guy, but by the time we went outside it was like... Where do you even start? There were people fighting everywhere, people dying, and youma as far as you could see. And one of our other General Queens was there, Laurelite, who I actually knew. She was the one who put me in jail, but she was also the one who promoted me when I finally turned my s**t around. And it was like she was at the very center of everything, like she was almost causing everything, and a bunch of the senshi from inside the castle were now out there trying to get rid of her, too. I had to meet Porsha out there, though. She's kinda in charge of me. And when I met her, we started fighting, and everything just got so convoluted that it got hard to tell who was fighting who and what was going on then.
"Eventually we felt this huge wave of energy, chaos energy, and then I saw my first greater youma. It was enormous. This thing was a giant dragon, and just coated the battlefield in fire like it was nothing. No one stood a chance against that. It just spewed fire without really caring who got in the way, either, because some agents got burned up by it too. Laurelite, in particular. And then, at the end, when the senshi somehow took it down, it fell on her, and I thought she was gone for good. Like, we can feel people, we can feel our own kind and all that, but I felt her aura flicker like it was a flame ready to go out. Then, suddenly, all the senshi just... Disappeared. Gone. Poof. Like they were never even there. That's when I tried to get Laurelite out from under the dragon, and some others helped out, but...
"She looked bad, Lenore. She looked like she was a goner. Cinnabar took her somewhere, but I don't know where. I'm worried, though. She's the only General Queen that I knew of. I don't know how many are left, if any. I don't even know if she's alive. That scares me, Lenore. What are we gonna do without someone as a leader? Who am I supposed to look to now? I respected her, and now she's like... An overcooked potato chip. I don't like this. I don't like any of this. What am I supposed to do now? How am I supposed to help? Everything seems like it's falling apart and I just don't know enough to stand up and help on my own. It's just like when I used to live with my brother, and he would have to take charge because I didn't know how to stake a tent or nock an arrow or start a fire. I thought that... By being in the Negaverse, that would've changed. Like I would know how to do things and when to do them, and that I could take charge if I had to. But all it's done for me so far is just made me stronger.
"I don't get sick as much, true. I feel stronger, like I can do more. But for most of my career in the Negaverse, like my brother would say, I pissed it all away. I tried to fight it instead of helping it, and now I feel like I'm the worst senshi ever. I'm pretty sure most of them hate me, anyway." He forced a halfhearted laugh. "But, this is a start, right? I mean, acknowledging that there is a problem is supposed to be the first step toward getting better, right? I know I'm not doing enough, I can feel it. I just need to take the steps to figure out what I can do and how to get better at knowing what to do in the future. I need like, leadership lessons. Especially if I'm supposed to be helping out. And, I think, it might be best if I take these lessons from someone who doesn't know much about me. We lost a lot of agents, though... I don't know if we'll have the manpower to devote to training me up for a while now."
He sighed, then, and sat in silence for some time. Lenore started to wash herself in his lap. She hadn't meowed once during his spiel. Inwardly he thanked her for it, though he didn't know why.
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Posted: Tue May 03, 2016 8:09 am
in a breath of strength
Word Count: 1064
"She's alive, Lenore!" Slate hardly burst through the door before he announced the pleasant news. The cat looked indifferent as ever, though she greeted him with a soprano meow before she resumed washing her face. Slate paid little heed to her aloof response and settled in beside her as quickly as his body would allow. Reaching out, he pet a still-damp swath of fur and quickly regretted his choices. Slate rubbed his palm on his pant leg while Lenore returned to washing that very spot. "It's good news though. Really good news. Laurelite's alive. She's alive, and she looks good. Like really good. Like, you know, almost as good as Porsha.
"Remember how I said I didn't think she would make it? I was wrong, totally wrong. She looked like she was doing okay when I saw her earlier - I mean, as good as anybody can look when they just got charred nearly to death by a giant dragon - but then the coolest thing happened. She came out looking even better than she did before she got all messed up. But uh, let me back up and explain.
"So first we were summoned by Metallia, who was asking us to do some stuff. And Metallia's like, the head of the Negaverse. Everyone knows that they have to obey her, and like... When you see her, you feel like you can't not obey. Or I do. She's just... Awesome. Like, old awesome. Not awesome as in cool, but I mean, she's cool too, I guess, but you just can't help but be in awe of her and her power. Anyway uh, she split us all up and sent us out to go grab stuff. It was kind of a shitshow because there was traps everywhere, and I really suck at dealing with traps and things like that so I mean... I kinda got torn up." He hoped his disheveled appearance and liberal bruisings spoke for themselves, but the cat looked unconcerned with his physical state. Mostly she spent the time ignoring him entirely, as her eyes followed the shadows cast on the walls by birds outside.
Slate proceeded, unperturbed. "I like to think I was there for moral support, cuz like, there was no way in hell I could keep up with anybody. But at the end, we found what we were sent for, and I guess everyone else did too, because when Metallia called us back, everybody had what she was looking for. Then she called for the stuff, and it just looked like a bunch of random garbage to me, but then she was like 'wait. There's one thing missing'.
"At first I started freaking out because I thought we left something behind, you know? Like, whoops, forgot this one extra thing we were looking for, but then she summoned Laurelite back. And that's when I knew she was still alive, and like, actually going to make it. Not like, lying in a hospital bed waiting to die like some people do, you know? Anyway, she appeared, and then she stepped forward, and there was this huge column of black energy that she just stepped inside without really hesitating. She did it totally boss-like, as if she didn't give a damn what it did to her. Or she just really trusted Metallia. I think it was kinda both, cuz I mean, if I was all burned everywhere and in pain, I don't think I'd care what happened to me either.
"But then the energy just like exploded outward, and I couldn't see anything for a second, but when I could, she looked different. A good different. And she felt more powerful. It was like... I dunno, she became a Super General Queen. Or, I guess, just a queen. But you should've seen her, Lenore, you would've liked her. She looked commanding, and beautiful, and like... I can't even describe it. Just perfect. But, like, perfect in an untouchable way I guess? It's not like I'm in love with her or anything, but there's just something about her that you have to respect and adore, kinda like Metallia.
"Then she started giving out medals to all of us who were there. First she gave out one for going through the hell of that battle, and I kinda agree that everyone deserved a medal for that. A lot of people died, but you can't really hand off medals to the dead, you know? I guess that was the best she could do there. But then after that, she gave out another medal. There weren't a lot of people who got it, but I did, and so did Dia, and Cinnabar. It was this mint rose for pulling Laurelite out from under that youma. She actually took the time to make a medal for saving her, and recognized us with it. In front of everybody. I was completely shocked. I thought it was just something that any officer would do if they were close enough, and that my helping out would just be credit against all the stupid stuff I did when I first joined, but no. She actually thanked me for helping her.
"I think it's a sign, Lenore. I think I'm finally crawling out of the hole I dug myself into. I don't think Porsha thinks I've been in a deep rut for as long as I have, but... This really means something. I know it. I have to do better from now on, you know? I've gotta put my all into this, because it's not just making up for my stupid mistakes anymore. I think this is the beginning of me actually being a figure in the Negaverse. Like, not a warning, but an example. I've never been an example before, you know? My brother's older, so he was always the one being an example. And I guess he still is one, since he's a general and I'm not, but... As a senshi, I'm not the same thing as him.
"And, finally, it's my time to shine. Laurelite's alive, and I'm getting my second chance. Lenore, things are finally looking up." Carefully he leaned in and gave the cat a squeeze, to which she protested with a huff. Slate didn't care; nothing could dampen his good spirits.
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Posted: Thu Nov 03, 2016 2:37 pm
Solo where the wild things areWord Count: 1065Months passed since Slate last saw his brother. Normally he found this occasion sat well with him - his brother often hunted in the woods for extended periods when he felt the need to hone his skills, though it never demanded this much time. The last recollection Slate had of his brother was a distant blip in the fight against invading forces in Negaspace, and nothing more afterward. Hardly had he caught his brother beforehand, as Shale moved in with one of the newer recruits to the Negaverse, but Slate expected fair and frequent visitation.
He received no such thing.
Instead, Slate new only silence on his brother’s end. Was it the inevitable distance between siblings? Slate doubted it - even as they grew older, there was no need for them to part company. Communication grew unnecessary between them, but they still enjoyed each other’s presence. Slate liked to imagine that his brother still cared, still looked out for him even on nights when he patrolled alone. Was it folly to think so? Was he now abandoned?
Or had his brother finally met his match? The thought felt fantastical for its improbability. Shale was an effective hunter and officer, and commanded enough pragmatism to know when to retreat. Why would he place himself in any kind of situation where he could not? Or, perhaps, someone shot him while out in the forest, or on the rooftops? Slate didn’t know, but his mind ran rampant with the possibilities. Shootings, stabbings, accomplishments of the senshi each passed through his mind before he worried himself into action over it.
He couldn’t simply remain idle while his brother lengthened his AWOL streak. The Negaverse kept track of its officers religiously, going so far as to take their address and civilian information in case they needed to call upon the agent. They knew where they were deployed in various missions, and logged disappearances in case one of them turned traitor. Briefly he felt the blood leave his veins when he considered Umber as a knight, but soon banished the thought. There was no sense in it. Shale would find no reason to join an enemy that stood high chance of losing the war. Unless…
What if Umber saw their push into Negaspace as a shift in advantages? What if he thought that breach meant the Negaverse was finally losing its grip?
Slate left Porsha’s apartment in a rush, and ascended the long flights of stairs to reach the rooftop access. The locking mechanism remained long broken with no plans to fix it; the janitors used the exit enough to smoke up between menial labor tasks. Besides, the agents in the area used this exit all the time to return home - and Slate would use it now for powering up.
Before his braids struck the floor, Ochre held his crystal communicator in hand. It carried significant weight, and looked rather dull without energy coursing beneath its surface. Only days ago had he used it to send a message to all officers he could reach. He knew there wasn’t an option to radio one agent in particular - they weren’t meant for that - but was his missing brother enough of an issue that he could pester all other agents with it? Maybe - Umber was a general, after all, and their disappearances proved notable at minimum. Umber told him once about an eternal corrupted senshi leaving their ranks once, and the aftermath of officers trying to track her down. Why would a general be less of an issue?
So he held the crystal to his lips, composed himself, and started his message into the radio silence.
„Uh, is there anyone out there tonight? This is Super Sailor Ochre, looking for one General Umber. I last saw him at the Breach some months back. He’s got black hair, a lot of tattoos, and his uniform is mostly brown.“ He paused then, and released the ability to talk momentarily. Silence flooded back to him in the form of static. The stars peered down in their unblinking interest. He tried again. „I think he might’ve gone into the forest on the southern border of town. I don’t know for sure. But uh, if anyone out there has seen him or knows anything about him, can you let me know? He’s not in trouble or anything.“
Again he released the call, and again he faced a deafening lack of answer. November air threatened to sweep his braids around with the strength of the coming storm. Twilight slowly knelt for the coming of night. What if no one answered? What if no one was out tonight to hear him? What if the worst of his suspicions proved true, and he would one day face down a knight that wore his brother’s face?
For the last time, Ochre spoke into the crystal. „I’m just… Worried.“ He let the communicator fall silent again. Exhaustion started to creep in; he hadn’t slept well for months, and the toll often caught up to him when trying to expend energy as an agent. He dismissed his communicator and spent long minutes on the rooftop afterward, looking into the blaring lights of the city for some sign that his questions were heard. He felt for any suggestion of one of his fellow officers, or even the enemy, and found nothing touched that extra sense. Only the light-flecked city looked back at him, with its occasional headlights blaring about in search of clever sanctuary. Nothing answered him now.
Another hour would pass before he powered down and returned to the indoors. Brilliant red hair shored up to its manageable length when he left his fuku behind. Power faded from his thoughts, and again he returned to his familiar civilian attire of Nyan Cat printed pajamas. Arms folded about his bare chest to guard from the coming chill while he stepped barefoot back down to Porsha’s apartment.
What was he supposed to do now? Normally waiting sufficed, but the lack of answers for so damnably long left him desperate for some other mode of action. Could he go looking for his brother? He knew last time he nearly got shot, but wasn’t that a payable price for knowing that Shale was alright? If he didn’t do something, he knew the worry would only fester.
As he climbed into bed, he decided that he would look in the morning.
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Posted: Thu Nov 03, 2016 2:56 pm
Solo a call answeredWord Count: 558Morning arrived with its usual fierceness. Porsha rose at the crack of dawn while Slate wanted to sleep past nine, and he rolled over into the spot of warmth marked by her leaving. The pillow smelled good on this side of the bed, he decided, and had no qualms taking it up now that Porsha left on her daily routine. As he buried his face into the pillowcase, however, he remembered through the haze of sleep that he wanted to look for his brother today. Shale would be awake by now, and Slate knew that he’d be out looking for breakfast among the dense forests south of town.
With a sigh, Slate slid out of bed. He dressed in the nearest shirt and pair of pants he could find, caring little for how they looked. The long-sleeved orange top would provide little cover agaisnt the wind, however, so he adopted a navy blue peacoat to go over the top of it. It helped, he decided, for when he had to power down.
Slate didn’t plan on skulking about in his civilian attire, however; he knew he could cover far more ground as an officer, even if it proved risky to do so. Senshi or knights may frequent the woods for god-knows-why, perhaps to catch a break or pretend to guard hunters against the nefarious deeds of the youma, and trouble brewed when his signature was noticeable. For this, he wished Lenore could become one of their Mauvians, for she would dampen his signature and render these attempts to find Umber far easier. No doubt Porsha would want to come with him on this, and he knew it proved safer if she accompanied him. Should he wait? The question ate at him while he pilfered a bagel for a quick breakfast.
The familial nature of the task won out, however, and Slate elected to leave early with his half-eaten bagel and start the search. He flung open the door, descended through the elevator, and passed the reception area where packages were often stored. Through the long hallway, Slate finally reached the double doors to the outside and stepped out onto the concrete. As taught routine, Ochre rounded to the seldom-used alley where powering up proved easiest -
And nearly tripped over a sizable deer carcass lying atop a tarp. He caught himself with a slight curse, and mentally berated the moron who thought to leave an entire deer here for someone else to dispose of. His gaze lighted on the long arrow shaft protruding from the creature’s breast, where the fletching of robust turkey feathers stood out to him as a gesture. He knew the specific curve of the feathers up the shaft, and the brilliant warmth of their color that faded to dark. Slate knew it as one of Shale’s arrows, which was enough to end the mystery concerning his disappearance. Wherever he was, Shale must’ve heard his call from the other night and answered it with what he considered ‚real food‘. Excited, a broad smile spread across Slate’s features.
Without hesitation, he pulled the cell phone from the inner pocket of his peacoat and dialed Porsha’s number. „Hey, guess what? My brother left us dinner for like, a week. But, uh, I’m gonna need help getting it up the stairs…“
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