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 Posted: Wed Feb 01, 2017 8:26 am
 Abuse
They broke into the empty apartment.
Cesc couldn’t find it within himself to care as he put his shoulder to the door and forced it open, his crutch serving as a counterbalance to his strength. His back screamed in pain, but he didn’t much care, not faced with another night with his head pillowed in dirt—and again, this time, most likely a curb, shared with garbage and sludge and who cared what else.
The apartment within was simply furnished. The quarters were small, but clean, with a kitchenette overlooking a studio bedroom.
It was someone else’s, someone else who was not at home and hopefully did not mean to be tonight.
Cesc still couldn’t find it within himself to care.
The old him would have been mortified, would have preferred the curb to the shame of breaking into another’s home and taking what was not his, but Cesc pushed that pink-haired naïve idiot aside on his way to the bathroom. He could get ********, that Boy Scout.
Hart said the apartment would be empty. It was empty. He didn’t need more than that to convince him.
He stripped off his shirt on the way to the bathroom and let it fall behind him on the floor. If he could have burned it, he would have burned it. For now, it could wait until he showered and would take it out to the first dumpster he saw. He never wanted to see that ******** shirt again.
Cesc turned on the water in this stranger’s home and didn’t wait for it to heat. Hot, cold—what did it matter? Nothing. It was water, precious and beautiful water, and it was the first time he would feel it over himself in weeks. He put his head under the showerhead and squeezed his eyes shut and wept for the feel of it across him, tracing his back, his face, his stomach, the first lines of his hips. He watched the drain, the black mud that splashed against it from him. He took a stranger’s soap and poured it on himself and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until his skin hurt. He washed his face and scratched soap into his beard and then did it again until his skin felt tight and dry.
Dirt was so deep in every line of his hands that he could not move it. His nails, ragged and short and torn and bloody, would not be cleaned of brown. No matter how many times he tried to clean his ears, his fingers still came away from them with sand. Adonis had hollowed him out, yes, but the desert had done its best to put sand in every broken crevice.
He watched blood, red and diluted, circle the drain with the dirt. The tears of gratitude for the feeling of water were slowly turning into something else. In the shower, in this moment of privacy and shame and despair, he realized he could not stop the tears from coming, the sobs from shaking his lungs. Cesc wept into the water, and wept and wept until his body said, that’s all. That’s enough.
He felt small. Small and beaten and tired.
Not for the first time, he longed for home, for quiet voices and order and kindness. What day was it, even? He had no idea how long he’d been from home. They must have stopped searching for him by now. For him, and perhaps for Azu—
A sudden sound startled him into reality—into the shower he was floating in, the cool water, the distant place. He looked up with a start and from beyond the glass door of the shower, he saw Hart’s figure, leaning against the doorjamb, watching him.
“I thought you drowned,” she said, and in her low and pleased voice there was a playful lilt.
She took a step forward, her hands at the bindings of her dress.
“Geezus—“ Cesc gasped, putting a hand out to the shower door. He wiped his face instinctively, but he knew there was nothing truly there to betray him, if she had not already seen. “Wh—what are you doing in here?”
“I felt the need to thank you,” she purred. She pulled the bindings of her dress back and let it fall to the ground in a pool of black silk.
She was naked. Cesc half-gasped and drew back, and while could not see her clearly through the translucent door, but he could tell that she was, brazen and unafraid, her hair tumbling down her shoulders.
“No, no—“ he started, gulping, blood starting to rise to his face. “No, that’s not—“
She opened the door and looked at him with a half-smile, at the way the water traced him, splashed along his clavicle and down his stomach, and he felt suddenly and unbearably embarrassed in a way he could not quite explain.
She slid into the shower, her hands on his back. He stiffened, his eyes open wide, and did not turn around to her, trying to squeeze himself into the corner. She put her face on the expanse of his back, and for a moment there was silence: relaxed on her end, stunned on his. His chest rose and fell in quick shallow breaths, his mouth was open under the waterfall and did not close in his shock.
“Get—no, I’m not—“ he managed out a garbled jumple of words in a gasp, his hands high and palms-down on the wall.
“You protected me,” she murmured, her cheek against his shoulder. “Let me thank you.”
“I—you have to—“ he stammered, trying to pull away from her.
“Shh,” she whispered, her full lips against him. “You need someone to wash your hair, don’t you, Sertorius? You have scabs where your antlers were. Let me help you, my love, my only.”
“No, no, no—“ managed Cesc, squeezing himself closer to the wall, still not turning. The water streamed his hair over his eyes like a blindfold.“No, I’m fine. Please. Please.”
Cesc felt her posture stiffen as he spoke, and she took a half-step back. She said nothing, filling the room with a frosty silence, until she unleashed a cry of rage and frustration.
“Are you trying to reject me?” Her tone was heightened in her growing fury.
“I don’t want—“ Cesc started, but her anger exploded before his sentence. She pulled her arm back and punched him in the back, on his stab wound, and kicked open the shower door as he crumbled to the shower floor.
“You are revolting,” she spat as she yanked a towel from the wall and wound it around herself. “What even makes you a man?! You—useless—disgusting—horrible thing, I don’t even know what you are! What use do you have for me? What will you do when you see Adonis again? You have nothing, you miserable worm. Why not just die now, Lighbreaker? I could have killed you in the desert. I could have waited for your reincarnation. Instead I am stuck with this—filth!”
She turned and slammed the door, leaving him on the shower floor, gasping for breath through the agony of her strike.
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Posted: Wed Feb 01, 2017 7:17 pm
Crush
He lay on the shower floor for a long time.
Long enough for shock to fade into a grim anger. Long enough that he’d gone from forming plans of escape to furiously reconciling himself to his powerless position. Long enough that he realized the only way away from her was to get up and off the goddamn floor.
When Cesc finally left the shower, drying himself with great discomfort, there were folded clothes outside the door. Sore and bruised, he leaned on his crutch and gingerly swooped to unravel them: a long black shirt that hung far below his ribbon in cascades, hiding as much of his form as possible. Cesc did not bother to ask where it was from. He did not bother to look if Hart was in the room, or the apartment. He struggled to pull the shirt on and looked at himself in the single, plain mirror tacked to the wall with a nail.
Huh.
For all the blistering anger in his head, he still managed to partition some off for himself. He really was revolting, he acknowledged. His beard was unkempt, but his hair was worse. He hardly recognized himself, even after the shower. He looked haggard and ruined, his eyes dark and sunken.
The sight of his reflection filled him with anger. He wanted to punch in the mirror, to throw it off the wall. He wanted to yell and snarl and bite and spread the misery he felt so deeply, to have it in an aura the way warmth and calmness once served him. He wanted to be alone and desperately not to be—to be alone in a place that was soft and easy and clean and warm, or to destroy this reality where everything was rough-edged and he was raw and bruised and friendless.
He loathed Hart. But he found it in himself to loathe that face in the goddamn mirror just as much.
Cesc plucked his shirt and sighed. He ran his fingers through his wet hair, his fingertips lingering over the rough scabs of where his antlers should have been. He traced the line, over and over.
He could still, if he allowed himself, remember the feel of Adonis’ breath on his face as he locked antlers with him. The bright gold of his eyes that only brightened further at his triumph. The placidity of Azucar’s eyes in the background as he watched.
Cesc dropped his hands. They shook, and he flexed and relaxed his fingers until they steadied.
What was the point of going back, truly? Hart was right—he could kill Adonis; that would be one way out of it. But could he? Adonis couldn’t be found if he didn’t want to be, and Cesc didn’t have those powers anymore, anyhow. He could just go home and try to plead his case: he was no lightbreaker now, anyway, whatever the ******** that even was. There would be no call to go after Vivi or Shepard if he was not a threat. Right?
And Azucar?
What of Azucar?
It didn’t make any sense. Cesc’s jaw tightened. He had not allowed himself to linger on thoughts of Azucar, or even say the man’s name aloud, for days now.
What was Azucar doing? Was he back at work, smiling his slow smile, working through his projects, pretending nothing had gone wrong? Was he pleased to have the stag out of his life, out of the stags’ lives?
It was impossible, Cesc thought. Impossible that Azucar would have sought him out, would have offered him advice, would have been his friend.
He had been, hadn’t he?
“Lightbreaker?”
Hart’s voice broke into his thoughts. Cesc frowned darkly, chewing on words, and did not turn to her.
“I’m sorry, Lightbreaker,” she said, her tone full of remorse. “Forgive me. I—I was made upset. I did not mean to cause you pain.”
“That’s bullshit,” muttered Cesc.
“Come now,” she said, seating herself at the edge of the bed. “You—you can’t think I meant that. I have helped you thus far, haven’t I? I was lost in a memory, that’s all. Lost in something I badly desired. I will keep myself in check now, I swear it.”
Cesc said nothing, inclining his head toward her in a glare.
“I got you proper crutches,” she tried, nodding toward the corner, where a set of two crutches reposed against the doorway. Cesc craned his neck to see them and snorted in response. He wanted to throttle her.
“Please—let me know you forgive me, and I will… break my earlier reservation and tell you some things I know,” she said at last, twisting her fingers between her hands.
Cesc drew in a breath, ready to tell her off, but she smiled encouragingly.
“It is about your friend, the one you call Azucar,” she said, her voice filled with honey.
The blood rose in the stag’s face. He swallowed hard as he looked at Hart, her innocent face, her gold eyes wide and contrite.
He wanted to yell at her, to burn in fury, to send her away.
Instead, he chewed on words that felt like gravel in his teeth. She watched him with expectation in her face, and there was a small sharpness that curved her smile as she could see her victory.
He hated himself as he managed the words: “I forgive you.”
Her smile brightened with relief. “Oh, good. Yes, good. Thank you, Lighbreaker. I really am so sorry.”
She patted the seat beside her on the bed. Obediently, Cesc lurched toward her and sat, fuming inside, his curiosity begging him to be silent.
Hart wound her hair nervously around one finger, leaning forward.
“Do you remember when I said I was not like my sister? After you said that the blood of a golden hind can kill a god?”
“I do,” said Cesc shortly.
“We are cursed beings, the hinds,” said Hart slowly, looking earnestly at Cesc’s profile. “You have seen one such way tonight. Human men hunt us, yes, no matter the age, no matter the place. They desire the power that we have in our blood—the power to kill a god, as one of my sisters, the power to hypnotize and convince, as another. My own power is strange. I have the power to extinguish light.”
She drew in a breath and smiled a shaky smile that had pride in its corners. “My blood, it can turn a white stag into a normal deer if he is exposed to it. It can force a god to their knees. It can take away the spark of light and good in anyone. Any human, no matter whom. For… for many years, I had a protector who kept others from me. He was good and true and kind and powerful.”
Hart looked away, and her eyes began to redden, shining in the low light. “… Well. I was not always safe, even then. In those days, I was careless. I armed myself with a knife I had dipped in my own blood when I was left alone, as precaution. I thought—can you believe it?—I thought I could protect myself with it. But Adonis overpowered me. I escaped with my life, but he took that knife. He knew that he could keep the herd in check with it.”
Hart looked down at her hands. “Adonis didn’t want to be seen as the despot he is. He would put the knife in the hands of others—of hunters—and let them do his dirty work. He sent mighty stags, beautiful and wise and humble stags, to nothingness with my knife and blamed it on others. Each time, he would be the savior, adopting a herd left behind, sometimes goring a hunter. He feared nothing but you, Lightbreaker. He has always seen himself as beloved of the light. But if light can be broken, it can also be taken away.”
Cesc stayed silent, watching her, turning her words over in her head. A thought dawned on him, a painful possibility.
“There was more than one hunter?” he began, his heart in his throat.
“Your friend,” she said after a pause. “Your friend was just the latest hunter. Adonis had another in place, but he saw your connection to this man. He knew you would not kill him. And when he took your friend’s light, he found in his mind that you feared a hunter long ago—that you would be overthrown in fear as well as in care for your friend.”
Ashley.
It would have been Ashley if it hadn’t been Azucar.
Cesc put his hand over his mouth, pressing into his lips, his eyes clouding. He held it there, his jaw clenching, as though he were trying to keep a scream in his lungs. His breath hitched and his brows knitted, his face beginning to redden.
A hunter was always going to come after him. Adonis was always going to set a hunter after him.
But he, he had made it Azucar. His attachment, his friendship, had made that selection.
Cesc hated himself for the relief that spilled over him, the relief in knowing that he had not been so deeply betrayed by his friend. His friend! Azucar, his friend, his goddamn friend…
A strangled noise left his throat and Cesc buried both his hands in his hair and then pulled his palms over his eyes. Relief was extinguished as horror descended on it, like water on the warmth of a flame.
“Does that mean—“ he croaked. “Is he—did Adonis--?”
Hart’s face was drawn as she lifted her shoulders. She shook her head.
“I know it gives you no comfort to know this,” she said. “I truly am sorry, Lightbreaker. I know of no cure to being cursed with my blood.”
“No—no. When I found Ashley,” said Cesc, desperate, “she seemed normal. She seemed okay. She had a wound, yes, but there didn’t seem to be any lingering darkness in her. She was cured, wasn’t she?”
Hart opened her mouth and then closed it firmly. She sighed and shook her head. “I do not believe that Adonis poisoned her—not yet. She was truly lost in those woods, and Adonis kept her so, leading her from the path. I saw him toy with her. He was waiting, keeping her on a hook, until he could be sure of you. And then your detective showed up in the woods…”
She paused. “I am sorry, Lightbreaker. Truly. I do not know even if Adonis has seen fit to keep him alive after he has served his purpose. And even if he had, it is a very long time to be in the dark.” She wet her lips, looking earnestly at him. She reached out a hand and touched his shoulder, rubbing him gently. Her voice was hopeful when she spoke: “I thought, if anyone had such a cure, it would be you.”
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Posted: Thu Feb 02, 2017 4:48 pm
 Fever Dream: III
There was the sound of clanging. Grunting. Metal thudding against a padded floor. The thick smell of sweat. A distant noise of top-40s hits.
Cesc looked around himself irritably. He was starting to tire of dreams, of being transported to places he couldn't reach. Why was his brain bothering? He knew it wasn't real, knew that his brain was just firing uselessly in hopes of finding more stored goodwill to feed from, his hungry body using up all its reserves.
The floor was bright blue and the lights up above were bright and shining. There were exercise machines everywhere. The walls were mirrored, reflecting back the images of so many figures lifting weights, using the machines, some in ponytails and earbuds and sports bras and others in athletic shorts and muscle-tees.
Cesc sighed.
It looked like a regular old gym. The smell of sweat and anti-bacterial chemicals hung in the air like anywhere else. If the patron’s figures stopped shifting now and then between athletic and chubby this place would have been straight out of reality.
But as Cesc had experienced before, things tended to warp in whatever realm of conscious these worlds existed in.
And like clockwork the Hot-80s ‘Buns on Fire’ song playing on the radio started to skip and the chorus of grunting and panting swelled into a grand crescendo of cardio agony.
“Dude! What are you doing?” A familiar voice cut through the assaulting gym junkie babble. Suddenly the song was playing as it normally would and all the patrons were once again keeping their exhaustion to themselves.
Iorek had arrived onto the scene and not without some pizzazz in the form of a big glorious puff of smoke. He stood before Cesc with his everyday gym bag in hand and one of his actual workout shirts on that read ‘The Swoleman’.
“We gonna lift or what?”
Cesc turned toward Iorek with his jaw loosened, his brows drawn. The plastic feel of the place, over-manufactured and surreal, felt as bizarre as the reality outside the dream. He could see himself in one of the mirrors, his loose black shirt torn at the edges, his dark brown hair mussed and dirty. His beard was becoming thicker, and his eyes had dark hollows beneath them.
But Iorek was not reacting to his appearance. He may as well have been good ol' pink-haired Cesc for all Iorek seemed to care, his face eager to get their workout done.
"...sure," agreed Cesc without comprehension. He blinked, looking around. "What do you, uh..."
One moment Cesc was standing and the next he was on his back at the bench with a humongous weight pushing down on his chest. He was like a little bug compared to the size of this thing. Thank goodness this was dreamland or else he would have been squished.
“Push!! Cesc! What are you doing, man? You’re weaker than a kitten without his mother’s milk…and that is like a really, really sad kind of weak.” Iorek’s voiced concern could be heard from above but the gym’s bright fluorescent lights blurred any vision he had.
“You can’t just lie here, bro. This is hard stuff but you gotta keep going.” And yet the weight pressing him against the bench just got heavier the more Iorek spoke.
In a flash and on his back, Cesc cried out, trying instinctively to reach his back to protect his wound. But in this dream, there was no pain that rippled from it. He was lying on his back and all the agony was on his chest, on the weight that Iorek had magicked there. Cesc gasped as the air refused to inflate his lungs, and tried to push on the bar. He clenched his teeth, trying his best, but the bar wasn't moving.
Goddamn it, he thought. Can't I at least have some damn strength in my own ******** dream?
"I'm trying," he told Iorek through his gritted teeth. He flexed his fingers, trying to get a better grip on the bar. "It's--it's just--it feels ******** impossible..."
’Impossible? Nothing is impossible!’ A french accent sang to Cesc just after he uttered the word-of-the-day. It was now apparent that the hot hits of the 80’s had transformed into a song from ‘Thumbelina’.
“Duuuuuude!! Impossible is like, the WORST word you could use right now.” At least Reks was still there, scolding him from wherever in the blurry white light he might be at.
As Cesc pushed and heaved to get the weight off him his vision started to fade in and out, all sorts of colors and forms bursting into his sight like fireworks.
Even if the world was losing it’s ground in his dream, the song was not going to quit its bouncy tune, ’You’re sure to do impossible things, if you follow your heart…’
“Your dreams will fly on magical wings, when you follow your heart!” Iorek sang along with Jacquimo the bird as he came back into Cesc’s focus. The vision tricks and topsy-turviness would not cease as the stag raevan was now hanging from a larger-than-life dumbbell as Iorek bench-pressed it into the sky.
“See dude, you just gotta believe.” Reks barked over the music as he lifted the weight and Cesc high above his head like it was nothing. Even if this wasn’t real the gargoyle still had a tendency to show off his strength.
“We had this talk like…one thousand and a gajillion times.” A whirl of motion and they were out on the beach they always trained at. Iorek floated at his side looking far off into the distance. But instead of a beautiful glistening ocean, it was a sea of runners on millions of treadmills.
“You’re the strongest raevan I know. You’re a ******** powerhouse, body and mind, and I wish I was as badass as you.” Even if this was a bizarre dream the sincerity in his voice felt real. Reks turned to him and grinned.
“You mean a lot to me, bro. I can’t lose you.” It looked like Iorek was going to pull him into a brotherly hug but it turned into a harsh shove into the sand.
“SO GET OFF YOUR a** AND GIVE ME A PUSH UP WITH ALL YOU GOT!” The raevan shouted as the sound of bombs going off echoed around them.
There was... music. Music and confusion and color and Cesc for a moment wondered if he was, perhaps, missing a meteor shower or, alternately, suffering a stroke.
It would not be, he thought darkly, still struggling with the dumbbell, the most ridiculous thing that had happened to him in the past few weeks.
With the animated Disney character, Iorek had begun to sing, then swung him above his head like he were a feather attached to a string. Cesc felt the weightlessness for a moment, the memory of wings--and then he hung with a cry, still trying to hold onto the weight bar.
He let go and fell, and suddenly he was at the beach. A bizarre, transformed gym-beach.
"I--" Cesc started, but Iorek turned to him, speaking earnestly. Cesc's confusion remained, but it was difficult to remain unmoved in the face of Iorek's claims.
Why would he be thinking this about himself? Iorek wasn't here to speak for himself...
The sound of bombs jumped the stag from his reverie, and before he knew it, he was on his stomach, doing push-ups in the sand.
"I don't understand," he yelled above him. "I don't understand why I keep having these—ridiculous—"
“Don’t understand? Don’t understand?!” It felt like a boot was pressing against Cesc’s back as he moved through the motions of doing a round of push-ups.
The ground had begun to shake as what sounded like actual bombs began to hit the beach. Sand sprayed against Cesc’s face as a strong hand dragged him up by the scruff of his neck.
“Look at yourself, soldier! You really want to die like this!?” It was Iorek. He was holding him up and proceeding to shake him. Or at least, it looked like Reks if he had joined the army and reached the rank of General. The gargoyle wore the uniform, the big hat, aviator shades, and had an obscene amount of medals stuck on his chest. There was even a comically large cigar hanging from his lips.
Now that he was above the sand Cesc could see, between the flashes of artillery exploding, that the beach had been transformed into a battlefield. The entire landscape was washed in tones of red with bodies of gym-rats littering the field.
Iorek pulled Cesc so close that the heat from his lit cigar warmed the confused sigel’s cheek, “I want you to listen, private. And I want you to listen good…” Iorek growled as that song from ‘Thumbelina’ song played over the chaos of war.
“SUNLIGHT ISN'T HELPING YOU ANYMORE, BRO...” General Iorek shouted over the noise as he pulled them away from a cannon ball as it smashed into the sand nearby, “BUT THE GOODWILL YOUR FRIENDS HAVE FOR YOU IS.”
It felt like they were running as wind billowed all around Cesc. The world began to flicker and shake aggressively as General Iorek shifted between the regular Reks. One too harsh of a flicker between faces and the two were toppling down into a trench. It was dark, smelled horrible, and the normally damp dirt they were now covered in felt like as hot as desert sand.
Loud screams and shouts battled to be heard over the tune, ‘You’re sure to do impossible things, if you know where to start…’
Iorek scrambled to cover Cesc from the bombs as they continued to fall all around them. No place seemed to be safe. And yet with all the noise and chaos around them, Iorek’s words could be heard clear as day, “Don't depend on sunlight! It won’t help you now!! Be strong! We got your back. Friends, goodwill, and all that stuff!! Use it!! SURVIVE!!!!”
As bombs went off, Cesc and General Iorek scrambled for shelter that didn't seem to exist. It was an explosion of sensory input, bombs mixing with Disney music, the sea and the sand spraying into their faces as they took cover. Cesc coughed at the smoke from Iorek's cigar.
"Friendship and goodwill is going to ******** save me?" he yelled over the noise, covering his head. "Is this a ******** anime? I don't have you with me, Iorek! This is a bizarre-a** dream! You're not going to appear when I need you the most, you're not going to do anything! I'm not going to remember the power of friendship and suddenly get better! The real journey I am having is not the goddamn friends I made along the way!"
The dream was beginning to fade as Cesc ranted angrily. The song was beginning to take on a strange doppler effect, far away and getting farther. His hands balled into fists and he tried to yell over the distance quickly forming between them.
"You aren't here!" he yelled. "You aren't, and I don't know how to get back to my old life! s**t! It doesn't even seem like my brain can ******** remember it!"
Iorek, his giant aviator sunglasses, and the beach were all drifting. 80s music was slowly drowning it out.
"Iorek!" he yelled into the encroaching darkness. His voice pitched with frustration. "Iorek!"
His eyes split open into an unfeeling dawn.
The neighbor's music was on too loud, blasting 80s music and a morning cartoon show. Cesc rubbed his eyes, frustration knotting his throat. He punched the mattress beneath him with an irritated snort.
Friendship and goodwill.
Geezus.
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Posted: Thu Feb 02, 2017 9:28 pm
Friends in Need
Claire and Lorin reach out to see if there's anything they can do for Vermillion and join the temping crew. *
Shep exhaled as he hung up the receiver. Rhede really did have good friends.
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Posted: Thu Feb 02, 2017 9:30 pm
Luck
Rhedefre felt like the Raevan equivalent of the sweltering garbage in his view outside the apartment. He and Hart cleaned up the signs of their squatting and quitted the space.
The shirt he wore was long and hooded, covering his ears. Hart again tied the bolt of fabric that made for a makeshift skirt to hide his lack of a lower body, keeping them as incognito as possible as they began to walk the streets.
As they left the area, they walked across the café that was the scene to yesterday’s brawl. The door was open and the server was inside, sweeping glass, her face as dark and upset as Cesc’s. He watched her work and there was a pang, a twist, in his heart that he ignored. He walked past without making eye contact, without calling attention to himself.
He had made life harder for her, yes. Inconvenienced and bothered her, yes. But it was nothing compared to what he’d brought upon Azucar’s head.
She should consider herself lucky, Cesc thought scornfully as he went.
Friendship and goodwill, Iorek’s dream-self had said.
Yeah. That had really gotten him super far.
Hart held onto his elbow, her fingertips just hovering over the fabric of his shirt, as they went. Cesc wasn’t certain if it was a misguided attempt to continue apologizing for the night before or her desire for closeness, but the sourness of his mood extended to her. She’d invaded his space, struck him, forced him to forgive her, and in return, given him news that did nothing but crush his spirit.
For all he knew, Azucar was gone.
He had no evidence of it, but he did have plenty of evidence for this: whatever befell Azucar, it would be his fault. Nobody else’s. Cesc was at fault for putting Azucar into a danger he could not have hoped to guard against. He had put him at the mercy of a herd that wanted nothing else but to exact some bullshit revenge on him. On him. For trying to force them to do what they were made to do.
Cesc curled his nose.
“Lightbreaker,” Hart interrupted, her eyes flashing toward him. They took side-streets and alleyways, and he hobbled along the ground at a faster clip than he had in prior days, thanks to the other crutch. She nodded to the fact that he had taken only one of the crutches she’d provided, opting to use the other he’d made from his feather instead of leaving it behind. “Why did you not take the other crutch?”
“Mm?” Cesc looked down momentarily. “Oh—I… I don’t know. Just couldn’t.”
“Sentimental value?”
He shrugged. “Last thing I made out of my light.” Cesc tapped the crutch against the ground gently. “I can’t even change it now.”
“Your light…” she repeated, looking forward. The path twisted and became uneven, and Cesc, his back throbbing with pain as he navigated it, focused on the placement of his crutches in silence.
“Do you know that you have… scars, or something, on your back?” Hart said.
“Yes, I got stabbed,” said Cesc distractedly. Bitterness clouded his voice. “You know that. You’ve hit me there twice now.”
“You said you had forgiven me,” Hart pointed out petulantly, her fingers tightening suddenly over his forearm. Behind her veil, her lips drew down into a pout. “I meant, where once your wings were. There are cuts in your skin.”
“That’s probably where the wings go,” murmured Cesc with asperity.
“No, it’s—“ Hart sighed, shaking her head. “Yes, that is where the wings go. It also seems like it’s… I’m not sure how to describe it. Unfinished? Like that part of you.” She nodded down at his ribbon. “I don’t know what I mean. Just thinking aloud.”
Cesc shrugged off her words, too absorbed in his task and in the poorness of his mood to listen to her with any depth. He stumbled in the alley and his crutch hit a trash can, sending a small glass bottle rolling down to the end of the street, where it hit a wall and stopped.
The sound called his mind to the day before, that brawl…
“You know,” he said suddenly. “Those guys yesterday who were after you? They spoke English.”
“Many people here speak English,” she said with the same dismissiveness he’d used on her. He rolled his eyes in annoyance.
“Yes, but Gaian English. English with a Gaian accent. I think they were tourists or something,” he added, nudging her gently with his elbow. She opened her mouth to discount him once more, but her eyes opened and he could see her lips part as the sun made the film of her veil translucent.
“They were sailors,” she said slowly. “I heard them when we walked by before, now that I think it—something about cargo.” Hart turned toward him, her expression thoughtful. “We should go to port and see what ship they were aboard. Perhaps we may be lucky. After your run of poor luck, I’d say we were due some.”
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Posted: Fri Feb 03, 2017 7:43 am
Luck II
They had luck of both kinds: bad and good.
The good: There was a ship. It left the next day, and would be in port at Gambino’s corporate marina in three weeks.
The bad: It was a cargo ship, carrying giant metal pods of manufacturing equipment, with cramped and perfunctory quarters for its captain and very small crew.
There were no passengers. No promise of comfort or even shelter from the elements. But Cesc had no room for hesitation in his plan. If he wanted to get home, with no money, no prospect for gaining any, and no way of keeping Hart consistently safe without bludgeoning people with his crutches, it was the ship they were going to need to take.
“It could be worse,” said Hart doubtfully. They sat on a hillside that overlooked the port, watching the last of the pods slowly load onto the deck, like multicolored building blocks, stacked cleanly one atop the other. “We could make some kind of shelter between those.”
“Yeah…” replied Cesc, sitting with his thumb resting against the side of his nose, exhaling slowly. “I guess. How do we get on?”
She suppressed a smile. “We stow away.”
“Yeah, no, I got that part,” said Cesc. “If we had money for room and board, I’d have liked to just take a flight home. Or why not just call Vivi and Shepard, hey, get them to set us up with a cruise?”
“Yes. With no passport, no explanation of how you got here, a stranger’s clothing, and the rest?” Hart smiled. “Then you would have to escape prison, which would not be any greater joy to you. And you would return home to no caretaker, I am certain.”
Cesc’s eyes narrowed. “Got those parts, too. I’m saying, how do we stow away? I can’t exactly fly right now.”
“Lightbreaker…” Hart’s voice became exasperated. She raised her eyebrows at him. “You may be injured, but you are still a stag, you know. We are creatures of stealth, remember?”
“My crutches are not super stealthy,” he replied. “And I’m a pretty shitty stag, if you recall.”
“Well,” said Hart. “You’re going to have to reconnect with that part of yourself, I suppose. Quickly, if you can.”
“Great. Excellent.”
Cesc took in a breath, staring forward, watching the cranes move. His eyes were clear and, for the first time, Hart saw something in his face that resembled comeliness. The sun did not beat down on his brow, but seemed to caress him. It colored his eyes a deep amber, which shone against the darkness of his curls.
“There’s another thing,” said Cesc. “When we reach Gambino, what do we do? You said yesterday I’m going to be useless against Adonis, so, well, what do we do about that? What’s our strategy there?”
A glumness settled into Hart’s eyes. She drew up her shoulders.
“All I can say is that we use must try to use my blood against him,” she said. “The good news is, of course, you’d only have to stab him once. I don’t know how it will fare, Lightbreaker, truth be told. But it is our final, our only, option.”
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Posted: Fri Feb 03, 2017 8:47 pm
Reconnecting
It was three in the morning and the docks were quiet. Hart, transformed into her doe form, went first. Cesc watched her as she darted down the hill, his own sharp eyes losing her between the piers and nets and cranes and pods. She’d told him to count to a hundred and so he’d counted after he lost her, his breath shivering in his lungs with anticipation.
It would soon be his turn.
Okay, he thought. Reconnect with the stags. Reconnect.
He stood and stretched and flexed his fingers, curling them around his crutches. He hobbled down the hill as fast as he could, trying to emulate Hart’s unfathomable speed, trying to imagine the grace of her slender legs and soundless hooves as she sprinted—
--there was nothing for it. Cesc tangled himself in his crutches and the fabric around his ribbon, tripped, and went headlong into a pile of buckets, nets, and ropes by the pier.
Reconnect. Because his last attempt to reconnect with his soul-brothers had been so ******** successful.
“Who’s there?” The voice of the night guard rang through the air as Cesc groaned, turning on his back. He repeated the question in another language, his flashlight shining through the darkness. It landed on Cesc’s face, making the stag squint.
“A drunk?” said the guard, approaching. He laughed, then pointed the light toward one of the tangled crutches. “A crippled drunk!” he amended.
Cesc pulled the hood back over his face, struggling to right himself. He reached for the crutch, but the guard kicked it a little further away.
“A friend of mine said he got proper ******** by a guy with crutches yesterday,” said the guard. “Said he watched the guy take down a few others, too. That you?”
Cesc floundered, opening and closing his mouth. The guard leaned forward, shining the light into Cesc’s eyes, studying him carefully.
“You a ******** retard or just drunk?” he said, his breath against Cesc’s face. The stag winced, the memory of Adonis ringing in his ears. His blood began to pound through his veins, his hair standing on end.
But at the same time, a calculating part of him saw an opportunity. Not one that he liked, but one he could take. He continued to pretend to flounder, mute. The guard, losing patience, repeated his words in the other language, rough and angry.
Then he reared up and hit Cesc across the jaw with the flashlight.
Pain exploded across Cesc’s face, but he kept his mouth shut and did not cry out, his face contorting into rage and pain. More than anything, he wanted to reach for his crutch and swing it back, show the ******** he wasn’t s**t.
Yeah, he wanted to say. I did ******** your buddy up, and I’ll ******** you up, too.
But he stayed silent, and he slumped across the ropes.
“Guess it wasn’t you,” said the guard. He had a bully’s laugh, loud and short and memorable. “Get your s**t up. Get the ******** out of here.”
Cesc scrambled up in a show he hoped looked fearful and contrite, grabbing his crutches and trying to hobble away with as much speed as he could muster. The guard flicked the beam of his light at him one last time before taking a few steps back and returning to his patrol.
People didn't fear, didn't suspect, what they found pathetic.
Cesc waited, waited, waited until the beam of light and the anthropomorphic d**k cheese was far enough away before he slunk against the side of the ship, looking up. He dropped one of his crutches, keeping the one he’d carved by tucking it through the back of his shirt, and grabbed hold of one of the thick chains at the ship’s stern. He eased himself onto it and began to climb, slow and steady.
Cesc went, hand over hand, his weight hanging onto him as he’d never felt it before. Was this what humans had to deal with? He let anger push him, the energy and adrenaline he wanted to use to thrash the guard fuel him, the pain in his jaw make sure he arrived at the deck of the cargo ship.
But there was a sick sort of triumph that went with him. It'd taken a punch, but he'd gotten dismissed, cast off--just like he'd wanted.
He was through being pushed around. Through being beaten. Through feeling revolting and trapped and unable to help himself. He didn’t care what the old him would have done, what he would have felt. He was going to get on this ******** ship, he was going to stow away, and he was going home.
And then, he was going to ******** kill Adonis and get his life back.
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Posted: Sat Feb 04, 2017 6:24 am
Set Sail
“Elegant,” Hart said as Cesc deposited himself over the rail and onto the ship’s deck. She appeared from the shadow, her figure molded into the darkness. But he, clumsy and incapable, had somehow managed to make it just the same—minus a bruise nobody would see on his jawline. <******** got me here,” replied Cesc with a shrug, pulling out his crutch. He did not rest against it, instead preferring to keep on the ground, his back against one of the many metal pods that lined the corridor. They were stacked high, like windowless buildings, all around them.
His arms were sore from the climb, and he rubbed his bicep with his opposite hand, trying to relax the muscle. “Now we hide and wait, right?”
“Yes,” said Hart. “This area is out of the bridge’s sightline—we will be safe here if we are careful. That will be the plan for the coming weeks, unfortunately.”
She sat down beside him, her legs curled beneath her. She smiled gently at him in the dark. “We will have to do our best to enjoy each other’s company, I am afraid.”
Cesc said nothing, but shook his head.
“You cannot still be upset with me,” she moaned.
He glared daggers into her, resting back.
“You are going to make this a very long few weeks if you will be petulant the whole time, Lightbreaker,” she whispered sharply, scooting closer to him. There was a sort of amusement in her face that Cesc wanted to strangle out of her.
“Shall I tell you more?” she asked. “I can, if you wish. More stories.”
“I don’t want to listen to anything else tonight,” returned Cesc. The pounding of his blood was making his aching jaw feel searing hot, uncomfortable. “How about, instead, you just leave me alone?”
“If I had left you alone,” she countered, her tone dropping its playfulness, “you would by now have been long dead. I can wait for your soul to resurrect itself once more.”
He snorted, turning on his back, and spitefully closed his eyes to her.
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Posted: Sat Feb 04, 2017 6:09 pm
Fever Dream: IV
It was hot.
It was hot and he’d forgotten how to sweat.
No, wasn’t he sweating? Cesc squinted in the sunlight and held up a hand to shield his eyes. What time was it? Or day… or night? Where was he?
He turned in place, and everything seemed to be made of fog. He couldn’t quite make anything out, couldn’t quite understand where he was or what was around him.
Another dream, he thought to himself with a deep sigh. He was dreaming again.
Even in his dream, it was too ******** hot. He fanned himself and wished for water.
Almost immediately, he realized he was already in it. He was in a stream, or a river--yes, a river--surrounded by cool water and floating kelp and french fries.
Wait, no--yeah, yep. There were french fries. Damn, how he wanted french fries. He would kill a man for french fries, wouldn’t he? No, he wouldn’t. But he would steal some. No, he probably wouldn’t do that either. ********, though. French fries.
He reached out in his dream and grabbed a handful. Blinking blearily in the sunlight, he dipped one into the river and then ate it. It was cool and sweet and hot and salty. The river tasted like a chocolate malt milkshake.
Cesc dipped another one, squinting, chewing thoughtfully. Why was he doing that? He didn’t like dipping his fries into a milkshake. That wasn’t him. That was someone else, wasn’t it? Someone else who liked that… pigtails. A person in pigtails. A crocodile with pigtails? No--that wasn’t right…
He was forgetting people. Names and faces that used to be second-nature.
“It’s good, right?”
The voice came from nowhere. Or did it? There was no one else around, a vast and open nothingness of French fries and a milkshake flavored river. Maybe someone in the foggy horizon?
A few bubbles surfaced from the water, which had become just as thick as a malt shake and rightfully colored as chocolate. When they popped, the sound of a giggle was released into the air. Another bubble rose from the thick mess.
“Down here, silly!” it said.
Cesc turned in place, a slow-motion movement. His ribbon was tangling in the river, deliciously cool and strangely delicious. His basket of French fries remained beside him despite the toil of the current, and he looked down to where he’d heard the voice.
That voice. Why was it so hard to place everything? His brain was addled and confused and nothing made sense. It was as if someone had padded all his neuro-pathways with cotton, trying to keep them safe but also slowing them considerably.
He saw the bubbles rise.
“Who is that?” He said, looking down, frowning gently. The water was too thick and colored to see through.
Cesc needed to know. He needed to know who else was going to try to impart some kind of wisdom to him.
There was another bubble, and another giggle.
From the solidus depths of the milkshake river, something rose. It was formless, at first, as if one large bubble were threatening to emerge -- but rather than pop, the dessert slid away from the strange shape and settled back into the flow without leaving any sticky residue upon the dark and scaly shape. A reptile floated upon the river’s surface, still half submerged, and looked up at Cesc with bright, expectant green eyes.
It seemed like it should have been a lot bigger, from all of the milkshake that displaced.
“It’s me,” the crocodile spoke with a voice that did not fit, neither its animal nor its proportions. It almost looked like a stuffed animal from its size but the exterior was clearly real… and so were those teeth.
Cesc stared, and then he stared some more. His mouth half opened and he looked at the small toy crocodile without comprehension. The dreams were getting stranger and stranger, and he wasn’t sure if his brain was ever going to right the ship. Was it lack of food? Water? What was causing him to dream about such… strange… things? He hadn’t thought it would get any weirder than the not-quite-right, human-angel Ethiriel, but then there had been Iorek and his bizarre dream, and now there was this.
Who… Crisp? Crop? Cruise…
s**t. That wasn’t right.
“Oh… wait--what?” Cesc lifted a hand out of the milkshake river and put it to his brow. Milkshake slowly dripped down the bridge of his nose. “No, that isn’t right. You’re not--” He made a motion with his hands, indicating the small size of the toy.
The strange crocodile let out another peal of giggles. It tilted its head haphazardly to glance at itself as Cesc attempted to explain its incorrect dimensions, then swam in a lazy circle to try and get a better look.
“Oh!” Sudden understanding spread across its face.
The toy crocodile opened its jaws and took in a large, eager breath -- its maw snapped shut and with it there was a sound almost like a sneeze. In a motion too quick to really comprehend, every part of the thing’s body seemed to suddenly burst in length all at the same time. It was now closer in size to a standard apex predator, but there was something still clearly off about it.
Eyes clenched tight still, the croc’s tail began a leisurely rise toward the sky… and its rear followed. As the rest of its body began to hover out of the river like a balloon that was a little low on helium, it gave an oddly perky smile to Cesc for something with such large pointy teeth.
“Is that better?”
Cesc watched the baffling turn of events with half-lidded eyes, his mouth a line. He opened his mouth and then closed it, and then, with a lift of his shoulders, said: “Yeah, sure. That was definitely what I was talking about.”
He paused then, looking at the giant, cheerful croc and his giant, cheerful teeth, and exhaled slowly through his teeth. “Okay. I’ll bite. Iorek said I needed friendship and goodwill. I’m not some kind of TV hero here, but I get you’re--I’m--trying to tell me something, alright? Do I get another piece of the puzzle or is this just…” He motioned around them, to the milkshake river, to the fog beyond. “...what I get to go on?”
“Uh-huh!” the croc chimed, its voice still child-like with the innocence in its eyes to match. Its mouth hung open, that gaping smile, and there was a slight wag to its tail as it hovered above the river with its legs dangling limp.
As Cesc spoke, small shapes began to gently coast down through the surrounding fog. They spun slightly in place as they drifted, and eventually sank into the chocolatey goodness below -- all but one. Instead, a familiar little cupcake settled atop the crocodile’s head on the space between its eyes, like a crown. It was a dark cake, drizzled with caramel, and sported a cute little sign marked with the letter “A”, clear as day.
“You don’t look too happy,” the floating reptile baby-talked him. It drifted to a slightly different vantage, to observe Cesc at a different angle, “Do you wanna talk about it? It’s good to talk about it.”
Cesc half-ducked as he saw the first object through his periphery, but another moment revealed to him what it was. He recognized the cupcake almost immediately; the ones he’d made specially for… s**t. Amy? Ashley? Goddamn it. It was right on the tip of his tongue. He knew he knew the name and knew it well. Why was his brain withholding it? Another floated down and he caught it in his hands, looking at it as though it were a foreign object, a relic from some ancient time, too delicate to be held.
An...i...
He could see himself, in those days when he would sit at the long steel table and tinker with flavors, hunkered over a piping bag. Testing flavors, thinking of his friends, deciding what flavors suited them--not just their tastes, but their temperaments, personalities. When he’d been pink-haired and something, something else, something he felt like was so terribly distant now… <********, wasn’t that a million years ago?
“I’m not happy,” he murmured to the cupcake.
Anita. That was her name.
Cesc looked up at the reptile, half-smiling, the expression holding no joy. He bit, taking the offer to talk, although he knew he was talking to himself, talking within the space of his own skull. What was the point of hiding here? They already knew everything, didn’t they? He and himself, the himself that decided to channel a friend by making him a floating crocodile. “Everything feels wrong. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to do… anything. I’m unprepared. And I’m scared.”
“Aww. That’s okay. Everybody gets scared, sometimes.”
Something about the croc’s tone kept it from sounding patronizing; rather than someone grown talking down to him like he were a child, it was like a child talking up -- despite the obvious difference in their current trajectories.
If nothing else, it spoke genuinely. “What do you wanna do, even if you don’t know how?”
“Get home? Get my life back?” Cesc ventured, frowning. The river continued to flow, carrying cupcakes to a downstream that Cesc could not see, little ‘A’s bobbling along as they went. He drew in a slow breath. “I don’t know if I can. If it’s worth it. If A...Az…”
No. He couldn’t forget that name.
Even if it was technically a name he never knew in the first place.
“If Azucar is even still alive.”
“Ohh,” the croc’s voice softened. It twirled slowly in the air until it floated upside down and held its legs like a puppy lying on its back. The cupcake remained upon its brow. “That is scary… But, isn’t it scarier not knowing? What if Azu’s out there and scared, too? Looking for you? Not knowing where you are or how to find you or how to get home?”
It was an eventually that Cesc had not considered. He had not considered very much from Azucar’s perspective in the slim amount of time he’d even allowed himself to think of the man beyond passing, painful, thought. What if Azucar was alive, was well, was looking for him?
It didn’t seem probable, or even possible, that that would be the case. Adonis would not allow for someone to be out there acting on Cesc’s behalf.
Forcibly, Cesc pushed the thought of his guardians away. He couldn’t dwell on those fears. They would paralyze him. He frowned, looking at the movement of the waves beneath him.
“I’m tired,” he whispered. “I feel like I’ve been swimming against the tide and my body hurts and I’m tired. And I don’t know if I’m swimming to shore or farther out to sea. I don’t know if it’s worth it.”
A thoughtful murmur came from the reptile. It lowered itself a bit closer to the river but remained airborne. “So you don’t know if it’s worth it to do something ‘cause you can’t see how to get there?”
Around them, the fog seemed to thicken and darken. It enclosed around them until even the milkshake river was obscured and the both of them blurred against the horizon. The crocodile dipped its nose into the river below, then gave a quick lap of its tongue to clean it off. “But you could be right there. Just ‘cause it’s hard to see doesn’t mean you’re not movin’.”
“Yeah…” Cesc nodded. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth and thought on the reptile’s words, even as the fog swirled around them, blurring the edges of the world. He didn’t try to hold onto the features of the strange dream-world, the river, the crocodile--even the cupcake in his hands. He let it slip away from him as the real world started to encroach on the dream, stirring him from his sleep. He looked up into the mist and found the figure of the crocodile.
“Thanks,” he said to the invading nothingness. “Cruz.”
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Posted: Sun Feb 05, 2017 8:20 pm
The Lightbreaker
The ship left the harbor, and soon the harbor, and the desert, and all its miseries, were behind them.
Well, thought Cesc, most of its miseries.
Apart from hiding from the patrolling guards twice a day, there was nothing much to do. The people on the ship generally stayed below decks, as the temperature quickly dropped on the ocean, and the swell of the waves was enough to make anyone who would watch them dizzy. The metal pods themselves had little interest about them, and the sailors simply made sure that they were secure on their daily shifts.
It was, Cesc thought, another unrelenting sort of landscape.
The stars stretched out above them in the nighttime and the sky and the ocean met in a black horizon, the moon’s glitter on the waves and the spotted diamond in the velvet of the sky mirroring one another. There was a solitude, a loneliness, a beauty to it. The sea air and the waves beckoned one another without victory.
Cesc only spoke when it was dark, afraid of his own voice in the light. He was starting to learn to loathe the morning, the dawn that had so callously abandoned him to his fate.
It was so terribly easy to feel abandoned as a stowaway. It was so terribly easy to understand exile on a ship when land was gone in all directions. The night sky and the waves left you to your thoughts and your loneliness and your contemplation of self. It was the last place Cesc wanted to be, but it was the only place that would take him.
He was going toward something, and his dream had told him that was enough. But he was concerned for how his brain was fogging names and faces, although he struggled to remember them in his dreams so mightily.
Was he meant to remember his friends? To strive for them? Or was there another goal those familiar faces were pushing him toward?
All he'd wanted was to go back home. But home seemed so strange as a concept after weeks away from it, with threats hanging over the lives of anyone he cared for.
And he knew, he could feel, that there was more. There was complexity he was, for some reason or another, failing or refusing to grasp.
Cesc spoke, late in the evening, his voice cracked and unused, on the third night. It sounded like the crack of dry twigs in a fire, a snapping and sudden sound in the white noise that the waves and the ship became for them.
“When Adonis exiled me,” he murmured to the sky, “he said I failed to make Sertorius’ curse come true. But you keep calling me Sertorius, so I get that Sertorius’ is the stag that died so I could be born.”
Hart said nothing beside him, but she rolled onto her side, closer to him. He did not rebuff her, even as he felt her breath against his neck.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, that is you, Sertorius.”
“And what is my curse?”
“There has long been a story of a lightbreaker,” murmured Hart. “In the poems of the elders. A fairy tale. The story of a stag who could do more than carry light—he could bend it to his will. Take it for himself. The poem says the lightbreaker will come to destroy the will of the stags. He will drive them from their path.”
“Why would I want that?” asked Cesc, craning his neck to look at her. Her hand floated toward him, resting on the crook of his elbow, warm and gentle.
“You long thought that you might one day be the Lightbreaker,” said Hart. “That you could wield that power to bend the will of the stags in the other direction—back toward the light. That perhaps you could make yourself something more than a prophecy. You tried for a century. All the while, your obsession left the door open for Adonis to continue taking control and power away from you.”
“I couldn’t stop him as a stag?”
“No,” she hummed. “You had strength and power and wisdom, but no herd. And he continued to woo does away from you.”
“Why was I alone?”
“You weren’t alone,” said Hart softly, and there was heartbreak in her voice. “But you could have no fawns of your own.”
There was a heavy silence in the air, and for the first time, Cesc turned toward Hart and allowed himself to see her sorrow, so plain and so obvious even in a half-moon’s light, her eyes half-lidded and shining. Her hand moved from Cesc’s elbow to his chest, her fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt. She could feel the beating of his heart beneath the press of her palm, its quickening.
“Can’t you see how much I have missed you?” she whispered into the darkness. “I know I make you crazy. Your soul has not forgotten me. It—it is bound to me, Sertorius, no matter the state. That is my own soul you have borrowed. That is mine. You are mine, every part of you. Can you not see it? Can you not feel it? Do you not yearn for me, to come back to me? To rest with me?”
There was pain that hung in every syllable, a pining that Cesc could not understand—could only remember the feeling of from years ago, when the powers he’d lately lost had garnered such emotion from strangers, from those bereft, and from Melisande. He had no such power now, but it mattered little. He could still feel her pain and the warmth of a wealth of emotion still waiting.
She crept forward once more, their foreheads touching.
“Why did I leave you?” breathed Cesc into their shared air.
“You knew you were not the lightbreaker at last,” she mourned. Tears drowned her eyes, spilled past the gate of her lashes. “But you had heard of a place where the sunlight broke and shattered. But a man collected the remains of that magnificent sunrise and gave it away to a woman—a woman who looked for a soul. You knew that soul was meant to be yours. That those shards of sunlight were your pathway to becoming who you thought you needed to be. You left me for that. You left me to become another.”
She stopped and closed her eyes and allowed the tears to fall, one after another, onto the hard metal deck beneath them.
“That was my purpose,” he said quietly into the stars, his eyelids sinking. Realization slowly crept through him, making a home behind his ribs. He held onto it, held onto the fear and the crushing disappointment and the truth of every word of it.
Because it felt true. It felt right, deep in his soul. A truth. An exit of old responsibility. A path where the answers were already laid out for him.
He wanted to accept that, strange as it was.
“All the rest of it—everything else, everything in my life—that was just a distraction? My memory being faulty. That was it?”
“Your voice is the same,” she pleaded. “I hear you in every letter. Would that have been your human face? I don’t know. It must be, mustn’t it? I know the curve of your ears and those are they, the very same, the way they flick and turn. I know that. You are in there, Sertorius, I know you to be in there.”
She turned her face up toward Cesc, their noses brushing against each other, her lips the shortest distance away—just the turn of his head. She looked at him with watery hope, her lips parted.
But he did not move toward her. He felt then, with finality, very far away.
“I’m sorry, Hart,” he whispered. “I’m only the Lightbreaker now.”
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Posted: Mon Feb 06, 2017 5:19 am
Show of Force
The night was not easy. There was a stretch of silence that felt like the eye of a hurricane, the beat of shock before a crash. The ocean hissed warning in its foam and the Lightbreaker slept a fitful, dreamless sleep.
Hart watched him, her legs curled, her chin on her knees. She watched him with her golden eyes that seemed to catch flame in the moonlight, and that reflected at him when he awoke with a jolt, as though she had summoned his consciousness.
“I don’t believe you,” she told him as he sat up. Her determined chin was tucked. Her eyes bore holes into the Lightbreaker. She moved with all the force of her strange and otherworldly grace, slithering toward him. His eyes were wide as he watched her, too entranced to move.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last. There was, perhaps, regret in his voice. “I can’t access any of those memories. I don’t know you. I’ve told you that the whole time, Hart. I didn’t lie to you.”
Her shoulders dipped like a panther’s as she crept close to him.
“No—I cannot accept that. I cannot accept that I have wasted these years watching you, watching the boy you were,” she said with mounting anger. There was a tension to her words that was electricity on livewire, bright and dangerous. “I was so patient, Sertorius. I let you misbehave. I even let you have other women—when I could have killed you for it. I could have put my knee to your throat and watched you die, you unfaithful swine. But what did I do instead? I saved this hideous carcass from death instead. I loved you. I cared for you and tended to you. I waited for you to awaken, and now you tell me there is nothing of Sertorius in this reincarnation? I cannot accept that.”
The Lightbreaker snorted, but his dark eyes would not leave her. He tried to turn his head from her to break the spell, but she grabbed his face with both hands and turned him forcibly to her. Her face contorted, the corners of her lips dragging down as though they were attached to anchors.
“Sertorius.” Her grip was tight against his jaw. Her voice burned him. Deep inside himself, did it stir something? He held his breath as he watched her gruesome, angry, beautiful lips moving. There was a part of him that wanted to succumb to her. That wanted to stop fighting her desperation and the strength of her conviction.
“Can’t you hear me? I am your soul—you are mine. I can feel my own soul still burning in you. Why don’t you answer? Are you punishing me?”
He could let go, he thought. He could let this go, give himself to her prior claim. His heart quickened in his chest, and something struggled in him, begging him: stop, stop, please, but the strength to resist was fast fading. There was a part of him that wanted her. He could admit that. There was a part of him that wanted to close the distance and crumble under the weight of her madness and let her do what she wanted with him. To ravish her for all she’d put him through. To make her yell and curl and pant.
Her eyes were sharp. She could smell victory. Her lips were close to his, close enough that he could feel the movement of her forming the word: “Sertorius,” she said, her voice beckoning.
Stop— a voice deep in his brain called. The Lightbreaker tried to pull away, to break the spell, but her nails clutched him, keeping him close. It was as though she exuded poison, beautiful, heady, terrible poison.
“I have looked at this vile face,” she bit into the words with sharp teeth, “until I have found what lines are yours. You are mine. I will not give you up.”
He gripped her wrists, trying to pry her away. “Stop—“ he gasped, his chest heaving.
“No,” she said. “You have always been weak to seduction, haven’t you? Even in this form. You cannot bear to do anything but succumb to it. It has always been your weakness.”
She crushed her mouth against his, kissing him deeply, her scent thick in his nostrils.
That luscious, dizzying, poisonous scent…
The Lighbreaker’s eyes began to roll back as she bit into him, her tongue in his mouth, the heat of her seeping into him. His grip on her wrists weakened and she pushed further, biting into his bottom lip until she tasted metal. She kissed him and kissed him and kissed him until she bruised him, and with every motion she felt his mind weaken, relent.
But he did not quite succumb. He was pliant, but not obedient.
She drew back from him, one hand on his open throat, her thumb in the hollow of his neck. He gasped and struggled against her hold, his mouth red.
“Tell me you love me,” she commanded.
He shook his head weakly. “No—“
“Tell me you love me,” she said again, her thumb pressing down. “Or I will leave you on this ship and go to Gambino. I will tell the dark-haired witch that handled you that you are dead.”
“You won’t—“ he gasped, shaking his head roughly, trying to rid himself of her scent.
“Beg.”
“Please,” he moaned. “Please.”
“Say it. Say you love me. Or I will visit all the women you have left me for and I will—I will take my blood to each of them. They will suffer. I will,” she seethed.
He said nothing, staring at her, his eyelids heavy.
"Did you hear me?"
"...you won’t.”
The space between them, the salt air, was clearing her scent from him. The Lightbreaker leaned against her hand, pushing his neck into her hand, his eyes sparking with anger. His shoulders tightened but he did not raise a hand against her, even as reason was starting to filter back into his muddled eyes. “You need me to kill Adonis. You won’t do a goddamn thing that will keep that from happening.”
She bit back a retort, watching the anger in his face. Her eyes began to shine. “I could kill us both.”
“Do it,” he snarled. “Go ahead and do it.”
She pressed her thumb into his throat, the taste of his blood still on her tongue.
Shivering, she snapped away from him, releasing him. He fell away from her, bracing himself against the wall.
“You used to be someone I could count on,” she cried. “Someone who would have died for me. But I suppose you’re just not that kind of man any more.”
He coughed dryly, his fingers sliding down the metal wall, and said nothing to her. But his eyes, glinting in the darkness, held nothing but a quiet, living fury.
Hart turned away from him, a strangled sob caught in her throat.
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Posted: Mon Feb 06, 2017 8:38 pm
Report
January 30, 2017
Progress Report
Rhedefre LaCelle-Ryan
Dear Dr. Kyou,
It has come to my attention that a progress report was meant to be delivered to you at some point in Rhedefre’s recent life. I fear that both Vivette and Shepard have let this assignment go astray, and at our present state, it is not possible for them to exert themselves on such a task. I hope you have been informed of our current situation, but if not, it is perhaps better that you call me directly.
As such, I am happy to type a report to you. I am only sorry to tell you that it may be my only opportunity to do so. I cannot tell you how sorry.
I may, however, tell you something of the Raevan you helped create.
Rhedefre is a bright, amiable young man. He has many friends and is generally well received for his good manners and pleasant disposition. I have not known him to act out or to fall into poor habits. He works hard and honestly at his position in the bakery, and has not missed a day, outside of illness, to my knowledge.
He has had one spell of poor health, after the excursion at the jungle. Since then, he has been physically, mentally and socially active.
He appears to have gone through a period of teenage rebellion, if it may be called that. I am not certain what exactly Rhedefre got up to during that time, but his deportment suffered this spring and summer. As youthful angst does tend to come in waves, he lately settled down admirably. I can hope that he will not relapse any time soon when he returns.
He and his friend Xiu got into some unpleasantness this summer. Of that matter, I am sure you are aware. Dreadful to have the police involved, but as you know, Rhedefre was cleared of any wrongdoing. He is curious and, as many youth do, believes that his own intervention will be more helpful than that of trained professionals.
It is unfortunate. This has been his greatest failing. It has led him to our present misery.
This brings me to Rhedefre’s powers. He is capable, he says, of feeling loss or turmoil in others, whatever form that may take. The ‘others’ in question are both animate and inanimate. I have known him to pause in his goings-on to rescue a wayward earring from beside a storm grate. As he has grown, this power seems to have ripened. He does not speak of it as often, but when he does, he speaks with greater clarity than he did at Frei.
Rhedefre is also able to create shapes and figures out of light. He can manipulate the size, density, hardness, brightness and heat of these figures. During the unpleasant interlude this summer, he tells me that he made a sword out of light. I have instructed him to refrain from creating further weaponry.
I do not know if my advice has helped or hindered him.
I believe that, barring youthful indiscretion, Rhedefre is a healthy young man with good instincts and great capability. I have been his tutor since he was quite fresh, and I may tell you he learns quickly and retains information well. I do so have great hopes he will continue to turn out properly. I shall do my best to see that he does, if and when he returns.
If this is my only chance to say so, Dr. Kyou, I must tell you that Rhedefre is such a tremendously good child.
I have loved him very much.
I hope to write you further on another, happier occasion.
Yours,
Gertrude Maplethorpe
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Posted: Tue Feb 07, 2017 10:03 am
Plan
The next morning, they began to form a plan.
It was all they could do.
He seemed to hate her, and she could see the split in his lip, the small cuts on his jaw half-hidden by his beard, where she had clasped him. He spoke to her in clipped words and the darkness in his eyes seemed embedded there in a way she could not reach.
But there was still triumph for her. He could not leave her. He was still under her thumb on this boat—his spirit fought against her, but he could not win when he was so totally friendless. She still had some days where she could crawl under his skin and make him love her. She still had hope he would choose her, even after they docked, even over the carcass of Adonis.
She had been the one to help him, after all. Where had that frozen bird-child been? Where had his raven-haired temptress woman been? Or that horrific, dread-boring tea-beggar, the blind one? None of them had helped him. Only she.
The Lightbreaker would surely see that.
They would part at the port. The Lightbreaker would show himself on the shores of Gambino. Adonis would know soon enough of his arrival, and would certainly go forward to face him. They would not let him know that the Lightbreaker had met with Hart. For all Adonis would know, he had come alone.
All he needed was to get close enough to stab him with something, anything, that had Hart’s blood on it. Her curse would do the rest. They would make a weapon on the ship, he would conceal it, and that would be that.
Their own shared curses would extinguish Adonis.
They thought no further than that. The conclusion of that plan was all they worked towards.
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Posted: Tue Feb 07, 2017 7:57 pm
Revenge
It was later in the evening, as they prepared to close the bakery, that Vivi approached Iorek. For weeks now, she was a shadow of her usual self, her mouth quiet, her eyes alive with a barely-contained rage that sometimes made fire of her tongue and a snapping temper that never used to be hers. She worked only in the bakery and refused the front of the house, and she worked perfunctorily and without making conversation with hardly anyone. When her work was done, she would leave, and Shepard would gracefully slide into what was her responsibilities to force oil into the gears. Luckily, Lorin and Claire and Ivy and Iorek and Zurine took up the slack. The bakery clunked on.
But this evening, she remained, and she helped Iorek stack chairs and wipe tables and even said a few things to him with kindness and ease. She wore a dress of red and her smile was very nearly Vivi's smile.
"I never thanked you," she said, "for that charming calendar you made of me. A very pretty likeness. You have a finer hand than you think."
Having a job made Iorek’s day fly by. There was never a dull moment at the bakery. No wonder Cesc was so agile and full of patience. The first week had been rough with some flubs right out of the gate. He had a few drops ranging from plates to desserts and one fatal knock over that was strictly never spoken of. And when Reks started serving he moved so timidly about the bakery it would take ages for a plate to be delivered to guests.
Now with weeks of experience under his ribbon Reks confidently glided across the floor with dozens of plates balanced on his arms. So hurray for him! Zero accidents! It was such an accomplishment Iorek had to give himself a pat on the back.
Since he started, Reks was honored he could lend a hand to Shep and Vivi. It felt good knowing he was taking a load off their shoulders. Plus, the busy work was a godsend. With Cesc missing he wasn’t training as much. Every time he went down to the beach to lift he pictured the stag in some awful predicament and immediately went back into the house. Sometimes he’d pump out a few quick sets but with no one but himself to push for perfection he wasn’t excelling like he used to. Training had become such a bonding activity he struggled to see it as just a workout anymore.
The poor regimen and immense worry weighed him down. Bit-by-bit Reks was growing anxious and far more temperamental. For all their safety he needed to stay preoccupied and busy. Iorek feared what could happen if he stopped altogether.
“Heh, thank you, Vivi. I’m so happy to hear that.” Reks stacked the final chair and hauled them over to the side so he could mop. It had been so long he’d forgotten all about those calendars.
It was always nice to see her out and about the bakery. But without her usual joy and love Vivi was a ghost haunting the shop. All Iorek could hope for was that Cesc would reappear soon before it was too late. He feared that Vivi and Shep would collapse under the strain of worry and doubt.
"Yes, I only noticed this morning we already had to switch the month! February has already begun. I had not realized," she hummed, her eyes dropping.
Vivi stood aside and let him work for a long moment, wiping the counter down with long strokes of her hand, a practiced ease. She wrung out the washcloth into the sink and laid it into a bucket to be washed with the rest of the laundry, then washed her hands. She seemed to be considering something, her gaze vacant.
Finally, she turned toward Iorek and pulled up a stool to the counter.
"Come," she said, patting the stool, as she remained standing beside it. She leaned down, cupping her chin into both of her palms, resting against the countertop. "I want to speak to you a little moment, my friend."
“You’re right! Wow. I can’t believe it. I wish we could slow down time just a tad.” Maybe then it wouldn’t feel like forever since he last saw Cesc. The further it was since he disappeared, the smaller his hope became that he’d come back.
Vivi hadn’t been very talkative so Iorek thought that was it. So he began to mop up the floors until they glistened and shined with cleaner. “Hm?” He perked up when she called him over to sit.
“Oh! Of course.” Vivi could chat with him forever and he’d be happy. Besides his moping was nearly done but could finish the last bit after their chat.
Reks set the mop aside in its cart and plopped down onto the stool. He smiled gently at Vivi as he evened out his rolled up sleeves. “Yes?
"You miss him, yes?" she began, her tone quiet, friendly--almost motherly in a way that she had never before been. There was a warmth to her gaze and a sweetness to her that was inviting. She put one of her hands down on Iorek's arm, gentle. "I miss him, as well. Desperately some days. It is all terribly confusing and unfair, is it not? But we endure."
She sighed a small and quiet sigh, her slim shoulders dropping. She shook her head, and tendrils of her dark hair fell from the nape of her neck forward.
"May…I confide something to you?" she continued, flicking her eyes upward to Iorek's.
“Everyday, ya know?” Iorek chuckled as he looked around the bakery. “Hard to work here without thinking about him.” But that meant it must have been pure torture for Vivi and Shep. Reks got to go home afterwards and recharge. But this was their home and it was filled to the brim with memories of Cesc.
Iorek placed his other hand on top of hers and nodded along. They did endure but it was an absolute battle.
He sat still as a stone while watching Vivi. She was so kind and such a wonderful person. Iorek had seen her and Shepard in the worst of times these last few weeks but they continued on. The pair dove into the unknown and kept fighting even as the days zipped by without any word.
“You most certainly can.” And he would take it to his grave if that was what she needed.
Vivi's expression remained soft as she listened to him, her thumb stroking his arm idly in a gesture of comfort. She nodded and her smile slowly faded, like a wilted flower. But her eyes remained dry.
"You know," she mused. "The night he disappeared, a stag approached me. He threatened me. He said to me that this is my fault. I can only assume they bear a grudge on me for having raised Rhedefre. For having given him a soul that was once theirs."
She paused, and her fingers pressed a little more firmly against Iorek's arm. "You are a sweet child," she said. "But I know that you have great strength in you. And a great love, also, and friendship for Rhedefre. I have given the stags well over a month now, you know, to return him. To find their conscience and to return him to us. But they have not done so. And I think, perhaps..."
Her eyes sparked with an angry fire. It poisoned her face, her bold lips, the curve of her dark brows. "I think perhaps it will soon be time to let them know that we do not mean to be punished. That if they have killed Rhedefre, we are not so powerless as to mourn alone."
“W-What?” Reks didn’t mean to stutter but he just watched Vivi go from a sullen zero to a blazing hundred all too quickly. She was a phoenix that died and turned to ashes before his very eyes when Cesc went missing. He had watched her crumble. But now fire burned bright in her eyes as Vivi erupted back to life with a thirst for blood.
Reks didn’t know whether to look at Vivi, her hands, or maybe the odd blotch on the countertop. The conversation had taken an took an uncomfortable turn as new information poured willingly into his lap. All his questions were being answered but he hadn’t buckled in before this ride lurched off the rails.
Iorek worked to stay calm as he struggled to swallow down the grimmest idea, “You think…they killed him? Cesc might be dead?”
He had never uttered that before and cold dread sent shivers down his spine. No. Whoever these stags were they just wanted to bully and scare Vivi off. Cesc would never go down to a bunch of target-practice deer.
She watched his discomfort with a placid expression, her hand still on his forearm, her anger simmering behind her gaze. Vivi drew in a breath in flared nostrils and then calmly exhaled, as though she, too, were trying her hardest to extinguish the flames threatening to consume her.
Sweet Iorek, she thought. He was a tender child. A gentle, sensitive boy.
"If he is dead," she said evenly, "then they have killed him. They may have killed him that very night. There was a hunter shooting arrows at him--a hunter I know that you have seen, Iorek. The one that chased you both in that jungle, do you not remember? The one with the red mask. He has tormented your own nightmares, has he not? That hunter. He came for Rhedefre in those woods. He may have killed him."
“Vivi…I don’t know if…” He started when he guessed she was calming down. But his voice trailed off as she continued on this time knowing the right button to push.
Iorek quietly gasped as an old foe remerged from their prison. It had been so long ago Reks thought he had locked those memories away for good. He shouldn’t dwell on them anymore. The hunter was the reason for all his pain. That creature was the reason he was constantly battling against himself. That night, being stalked and hunted by an unknown force, had unleashed something monstrous inside of him. It had taken years to get to this level where he felt secure.
“The hunter…”
Now those awful memories were playing across his vision all over again. It didn’t feel like he was in the bakery anymore. Darkness had set upon him. He could see the old trees and smell the earth of a twisted jungle. The fear, the hurt, and the unbelievable anger he felt that night clutched at his heart.
“..is….”
Vivi could feel the gargoyle tremble under her fingers as Iorek sat in a trance. His eyes were wide with fear as he relived the memories. The stones that dappled his skin crackled and clicked as they looked to grow and recede against his rocky form.
They had just assumed it was all a trick of the woods. A vision by the creature to torment them.
“…real?” His whimper was barely audible as he finally said what he truly feared. Iorek looked to Vivi with tears welling in his eyes as he gasped and wheezed for air. What did this mean then? And if it had hunted Cesc down and did him in? The hunter had not only tormented Reks that night. He went after Anya and Cesc. Iorek had hunted his friend that night as a beast…That creature haunted all of them and now it truly existed?
There was a cold finality in Vivi's words: "He is real."
She could see the way the news gripped Iorek, the way it stripped his innocence from him. It was right to tell him, she told herself firmly, her voice quiet in the anger of her mind. He deserved to know the truth. The hunter--he would probably come for Iorek next, would he not? Rhedefre told her that the hunter had all but drowned Iorek in the jungle. It was not only Rhedefre that had been in danger that night.
Now they may have traded Rhedefre for the hunter. They sacrificed him for the proof of the hunter's existence. The stags had done it--it was their hooves that had set the machinations into motion. Whatever they had done, whatever magic they had conjured, brought the hunter back into their lives.
"I do not know how," said Vivi mournfully, spitefully. "I have no idea how they magicked him here! If I did, I would have destroyed them all. But I saw him, and Rhedefre told me of him. That is where he went that night, Iorek. His purpose was to find and end that hunter. But the stags, they saw to it that the hunter--he may have ended Rhedefre, instead. I cannot let this stand, Iorek. I cannot let anyone be next. And I cannot let them have succeeded in taking him, alone, in a forest, with no one to have helped him."
No amount of deep breathing and calm thoughts could prevent the tears from streaming down Iorek’s face. It was an ugly cry but as his world crashed and burned those sobs kept him afloat. He hung his head, detaching a hand from Vivi’s to reach up and cover his face. It was back. The sinking heavy weight that once rested on his shoulders after the jungle had returned to take root and grow. He could feel it drilling against his back aching to squeeze his heart to pulp.
If the hunter was real and if it had come for Cesc then the stag could very well be dead. And Reks was left feeling truly helpless and hopeless.
Until now he believed that Cesc would return. There had been doubt and fear but hope burned the brightest. The sigel may have been missing but it was only for a matter of time. But the hunter was a whole other beast. Iorek knew there was no escaping that shadow creature. The only thing you could do was run and even then they nearly died doing that. The hunter was a demonic force no one could reckon with. It only brought destruction and now maybe even Cesc’s death.
Cesc. Iorek sought out all the little memory snapshots he stored in his mind. No matter the problem Cesc was always there to lend an ear and a shoulder to cry on. He’d never see him smile again. They’d never joke about stupid shirts or see who could lift the most weight. Whenever there was a problem he wouldn’t be able to look to him anymore. His happy memories were tainted and felt dismal in the face of this uncertainty.
How could Cesc fall to that thing? They had trained for so long to fight. Cesc was the one who pushed him to do his best. If he had fallen Iorek knew he would have fought like Hell. Cesc would never have given up even if he was on his last leg. But even if he died valiantly he still died.
Reks shook as fresh hot tears rolled down his cheeks.
How could this happen?
“Why didn’t he say anything?!” Iorek shouted. He slammed his fist against the table with enough force there was sure to be an indent when he lifted his hand. But he didn’t apologize for it. Reks was too distraught. “I could have helped! I could have been there for him. We’re stronger now. What’s the point of training if I can’t protect those I care about?!”
But Iorek wasn’t there and now Cesc may truly be gone. He would have died alone in a dingy forest with no one around. Iorek choked on his anger and tears as fear, anger, and sadness throttled him from all sides. He wouldn’t stand for this.
“I won’t let them get away with this. We can’t let them.” He managed to say through a snarl as anger took the highest seat of his emotions. If the hunter was back it was time to fight. Cesc would be avenged.
Vivi started as Iorek's fist collided with the table, but like a bird whose feathers had been ruffled, she soon calmed herself once more. Iorek's anger was her own, and part of her rejoiced in seeing it unleashed. They had all been too placid, too easily swayed by circumstance. They believed that there was justice. That a Rhedefre would always triumph against a hunter, no questions asked.
But that had not been the world. And she and Iorek, they would see to it that others did not suffer as they had.
"They will not get away with it, cheri," said Vivi soothingly, quietly. She rose, gathering a soft tea towel, and pressed it gently to Iorek's cheeks. "Do not worry yourself. You and I, we will make sure that none else suffer. I will find them. And when I do, I only need to know that you will be ready to aid me. Can I count on you, my friend?"
Iorek wiped the tears away as best he could but the water stains still streaked his face. He was an absolute mess. One moment he wanted to sob, the next he longed to scream, and finally he just felt numb. It was a cycle that circling to the point he felt exhausted. Only when the softness of Vivi’s towel pressed against his skin that the frei felt released from his panic and fear stricken self.
Sniffling and tired, the raevan leaned into Vivi’s touch. He closed his swollen eyes and just listened to the timing of every breath she took. Inhale…exhale… The more he focused on her breathing the less his feelings bubbled and seared at his insides. Cesc would have given up his life to protect Vivi and Shep. And if his life had truly ended then Iorek would take up his guard. It was the only way Iorek felt he could thank him for his unwavering friendship.
Cesc may be gone and that alone called for swift action. If blood was to spill so be it. The stags brought the violence upon themselves. Iorek would be the unyielding hand and rain justice upon them for unleashing the Hunter on their world. Cesc’s death would not be in vain. Iorek would wipe the Hunter and his cretins from existence.
In the eye of the hurricane Iorek at last felt calm. He looked up at Vivi and gently set the towel aside. Slowly he rose up until his bulky form loomed over the woman. He would not lay down and wait to be found by the Hunter. He had a duty to protect and it was time to respond with ferocity. Cold green eyes met hers.
“Yes. I’m with you.” Iorek offered her his monstrous hand, “I will do what must be done. Find them and I will take care of the rest.”
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Posted: Wed Feb 08, 2017 9:38 am
Collateral Damage
Conversation became scarce.
The Lightbreaker began to do physical therapy on the ship, trying to allow his back to heal and to regain some mobility. More than once, he wished for wings, for a connection to light that would make floating easier, but he was beginning to be handy with his crutches as the pain in his back subsided.
Hart, too, was tired of conversation. She spoke perfunctorily to him and kept partly to herself, only coming to him in the evenings. But she would not sleep alone, even in her disappointment. The Lightbreaker woke, unfailingly, with her cheek on his shoulder.
There was nothing for it.
“This is love,” she informed him one day, as annoyance swelled in his chest. “Only love has this true of misery.”
The Lightbreaker snorted. “If you say so.”
Days passed. He made laps around the ship, used his crutch to help him leap onto higher pods. He became stronger. He no longer feared his thirst, wished for water, dreamt of food. He worked himself until exhaustion, trying his hardest in the tedium of the days to make sure no dreams could come to him. He was tired of the dreams. He wanted to be free of them and their saccharine nonsense.
“Alright, watch it out there, alright? Just check number 3224. There’s a storm supposed to be on the horizon and that one looked a little shaky last time Nathan checked it.”
The sound of a voice pulled the Lightbreaker and Hart into hiding. The door to the holds opened and a man exited. He was not one of the sailors the pair was used to seeing—a young man with dark hair and a bandage over his nose and bruises under his eyes, who looked, completely absorbed, at a clipboard in his hands.
“Yeah, yeah,” he called behind him in accented English, shutting the door as he stepped onto the deck.
There was, the Lightbreaker thought, something terribly familiar about him. He pressed up against the pod, hidden from view, as the man passed. The man continued down the corridor, looking down at the numbers printed on each block, took a left, and disappeared from view.
Unable to keep still, the Lightbreaker followed, slow and silent.
Where had he seen that face before? He frowned, trying to remember, until the memory came to him in a sudden rush: he was the bystander in the café, the one holding his nose and cursing after the fight. He’d been caught in the debris when the table had crashed, when the fight had exploded over.
The Lightbreaker stopped, lingering on the vision in his mind. He’d merely looked at the man, hadn’t he? He hadn’t offered him any assistance. Hadn’t tried to get him help. The wounds had healed, but the bandage—plus both black eyes—meant the man’s nose had been broken.
He’d done that. To a man that hadn’t threatened him or Hart.
A pinprick of guilt bloomed in his chest, but he pushed it down. No—no, no. It had been collateral damage. Nothing to be done. It wasn’t like the man had died.
“3224…” the man was saying to himself. “3224… there it is. Geez.” He wiggled the door of the pod, which rattled in return. “Not great shape… the locks look pretty old…” He wrote something on the page of the clipboard, then put his hand up to his nose and checked his fingers for blood. He sniffed, putting his finger beneath his nose, and cursed quietly, running back for the door.
The Lightbreaker watched him go.
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