Words: 582



Since the debacle that was her joint caroling and energy gathering back in December at Ilmenite’s Fair, Schörl had seen fit to spend as many of her Mondays as possible trying to multitask in much the same way. Practice was what made perfect. It also meant a lot of lumps. The press of bodies at concerts, the attention divided between drunken revelry and a band on the big stage, the thrumming drowning their breath and ears, all served as distractions away from her draining and TO her draining concentration.

As it was, the screamo group on stage had Schörl’s ears ringing. It didn’t help that blending in required the extra layer of a leather trench coat, which caught on the spiked jewelry and flailing limbs of headbangers and mosh ridiculousness. She didn’t actually mind any of it for its own merits- but neither the crowd, the venue, nor the band were good examples to be held up of their genre. They were not art. Destiny City was not much of a Metal City. Well...if screamo really qualified as metal. Was it its own genre or a subgenre?

Details unimportant.

The level of intoxication on that brunette over there, thinking that no one will notice how much she and her ‘hookup’ are practically melding into the wall and shadow by the pillar. There’s a set of important details. She had a pocket full of smaller orbs- a drag of a hand along shoulders, a press of fingers to a writhing back, from the hours before, but here was a good set of targets for something a little more. They had a good position for public privacy. Schörl shifted from her own place across the room. Past arms raised to rhythms, past jostling breasts and jutting hips, past tattoos, muscles and lank, sweaty hair. The captain’s boots squeaked once over what couldn’t be discerned in the dark- blood, bear or piss smeared across a part of floor. Just more detritus to ignore.

There was no more visible separation of the two silhouettes. One body, two souls as it were. The captain closed in the dim and thrumming beat, wrapped her arms around the man on the outside, caging him as he caged his lover. Only he had his hands on the girl’s chest, not in it. He fell to the floor like a rag, the girl too confused for the moment to scream and Schörl swallowed it when it came, lips to lips and followed where the man had let off. There was struggling, hand flailing against her leather jacket and the cravat. It was so ineffectual against her strength as a captain. Not even worth blinking. Then the struggles quieted more. And more.

The girl fell asleep, drained down.
Not exactly incognito for them not to notice. Going to lie to ourselves and say you were trying on that one? No. No I wasn’t. I’ve got a pocket full of tiny orbs from trying all night. This was for fun. I wonder when it became specifically fun, as opposed to just ******** up stuff that we could do with our powers.

It was something worth considering. Schörl led the girl down to slump next to the starseed-less guy, then turned on her heel to make for the door. Better not to be anywhere even around when they find this pair. And I want to get this load of energy cached anyway. About time for a pipe.