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 Posted: Sun Nov 02, 2014 9:15 pm
For the glittering elite, Destiny City's nightlife was a sophisticated culture, even on holidays as silly as Halloween. Dressed in couture gowns and suave accessories, they tittered to themselves and clinked their glasses, celebrating another day of their privileged lives. They floated about the Mockingbird, discussing trust funds and private yachts, and in the midst of it all Suri lingered sourly, sipping on an unnamed drink with a floating gummy eyeball extra kick to it.
She'd been invited to the soiree as an office party, and she watched as several members of the Crystal Academy staff chatted idly at their reserved table, while others still twirled around on the dance floor. But the only member of Crystal's staff that Suri would have cared to see never received an invite. Would never receive an invite of any sort again, Suri supposed. But that's what happened to martyrs, they died for their cause and left everyone who cared for them without so much as a goodbye. It didn't matter if Avalon died a hero in the eyes of the Negaverse, that she'd been sacrificed as part of a greater good: it just wasn't fair.
Suri scowled, then downed the rest of her drink, scrunching her nose at the liquor's bite.
"Miss El-lllis!" came the sing-song call of one of the history teachers, making Suri wish she still had half of her drink left to drown in. Cheryl Livingston had some sort of cat-like ensemble on, whiskers and all, the fluffy tail trailing all the way down to her four-inch heels. It was atrocious, even by her usual kitschy standards. "You should come join us at the table, we are discussing budget plans for this year's Winter Wonderland and I know you'd have some great ideas to inpuuuut!"
Suri curled up into her barstool, her expression a mix of boredom and a hint of disgust. "I was already on the fall committee, whatever you do with winter is none of my business."
"But..." The cat-woman sighed emphatically, pulling her tail up to her hands. "Listen, Suri, the girls and I have been talking, and we think maybe you need someone to talk to, after Ms. Morgenstern left and everything..."
Suri's eyes narrowed, and she stood from her seat. "I should go," she replied curtly, shouldering her way past the protesting teacher. Somewhere along the way to the door, she deposited her martini glass, her steps calm and calculated until she closed the gilded doors behind her, letting her out into the muffled hallway. Once there, she bit her lip, clutching at her arms for reassurance as she physically winced. Whoever Cheryl thought she was (and she was nothing, Suri was certain of it), she would never understand the struggles Suri had, the sacrifices she'd made for the greater good. Cheryl was less than a pawn in the game that Suri had been playing for years, and when it came time for judgement she would die like the cattle she was.
No, but seriously. ******** Cheryl and her cat-suit.
There was no point in staying at this farce of a party, not when Suri had already left in such a huff. Let them have their champagne and their hors d'ouevres and their plastic saccharine smiles; Suri had had enough. It would have been so easy to slip into Zircon's skin and teleport to her apartment, but for the sake of maintaining appearances the science teacher trudged to her car in her little black wedges, making the drive across town in utter silence. When she scratched her key across the lock of her front door, Maverick yowled from somewhere deep in her apartment, and her expression softened, ultimately too tired to be annoyed by the screechings of her cat.
The Russian Blue slammed against her legs as she crossed the threshold into the cozy living room of her one-bedroom apartment, clicking on the lights one by one. Kicking off her heels one by one, she shrugged out of her jacket and sloughed it against the rough leather of her couch, padding slowly to the kitchen with her sheer-covered feet. In silence, she gathered her supplies; a kettle, a jar, a pot, a cup, and like performing a ritual she began her work. Fill the kettle, turn the dial, pour the water, boil. Drain the pot, ready the tea, boil again, pour. Steep the leaves, cover the pot, wait.The motions were automatic, and it eased the tension in Suri's neck, her back, and her arms, slowly drifting down through the rest of her body. There was something soothing in repetition, in competence, in flawless execution, down to the spill-free pour into her Sanrio coffee cup.
She nursed the tea to her bedroom, where she shed the trappings of the Halloween party for long flannels and soft cotton, one by one plucking the pins from her hair. She found Maverick waiting for her on the couch, chuffing as he kneaded the fabric of her nice winter jacket. Suri's brow furrowed, but for once she chose not to fight it. Everything else had been weighing her down, but it was all of her own volition. Why, then, could she not simply choose to let things go? Let the cat ruin her jacket. Let the party be horrible. Let Vanya be gone. Allow these things to pass, and then, Suri supposed, she could move forward with her future.
It was a good thought to end the day with, she mused, and before she even took her first sip of tea, her head began to lull, eyes falling slowly as she curled into her cup.
((938 words))
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Posted: Sun Nov 02, 2014 9:17 pm
Mercury was cold for a planet so close to the sun. But she was in good company, and once she was absolved of her sins, she would have the chance to be warm.
She recalled smiling, even as it felt like her chest would tear in two. "You don't seem bad for someone who glows. Take care of my cat, won't you?"
It would be the last thing Suri Ellis said.
Scorching, blinding, scintillating light that banished the darkness. Feeling light, fresh, new. Roughspun fabrics and smooth silks. A kite with a familiar sigil, when all else was forgotten. It felt like home in her shaking hands.
She took a new name, and for the first time she went home. Sand, so much sand, and a breeze that whipped her scarf behind her like the lashings of a flail. The bright sun, the hot ground. Laughter. Racing. "Kairatos, catch up!"
There was so much to learn, and so many to meet.
She met a princess with flowers on her skin, steady hands, and tired eyes. She tried so hard to ease the suffering of the wounded, but every day her flock of supplicants grew.
She met a woman in white carrying a spindle, with a voice like honeyed wine. She spoke of her fountain and her oath and the stars, the beautiful stars, until she spoke no more.
She met a scientist, a keeper of a labyrinth and of dark secrets. They pleated braids together under dark starlight and confessed their nightmares and their truths and the scars they bore. They wept for their sufferings in fields of glowing blooms. She'd liked the feeling of snow under her toes.
She met so many at first. But, one by one, they never came back.
She met an old friend, a lioness who had taken her in from the perils of an angry garden. She'd been groomed, pampered, and loved there, but it had never been enough, and so hidden under cloak of night she'd left her General for a chance at a crumbling home. Nevertheless, her General was kind, was gentle, so understanding. Her General couldn't offer power, she had ruined that for herself, but she could offer safety, and so she forgot her name and her home and her purpose and gave herself back to the darkness.
Zircon was a humble servant of Chaos, an obedient pet. Dutiful and thorough, they gave her to her General for safekeeping, and to a pink-haired woman in case she should fall from grace again. They gave her a pretty little collar for her compliance, and a simple enough task. By day, she would prepare their test subjects for culling. By night, she climbed into the chair herself. And when they tugged at her starseed or drained her to exhaustion, her bones ached for the desert. She had nothing else to miss.
So she made plans and blueprints and maps of the stars with nefarious purpose, and she was given the resources she needed in good faith. She practiced on eggs and on bulls alike, until her coordinates were precisely calibrated. They had to be, after all--she would only get one chance. She fed her calculations to her machine and brought her assistant to bear witness as the heavy crystals began to hum with energy, forming a swirling vortex. The image was blurry, but nevertheless she could smell the spiced air of her oasis.
She was going to take her home back to Chaos where it belonged.
But she was too slow, too sluggish to respond when she felt winter come into bloom behind her. Something punched her back, causing her to stumble forward, taking the breath from her lungs. The White Moon had infiltrated her sanctum, but how? How could she have been so careless? Why was it so hard to breathe?
She glanced down at her hands, covered in blood--but that wasn't right, she hadn't done those trials today--grasping at the strange feeling in her chest. The warmth spread over her torso like a sickness, and it made her weak, made her fall to her knees. Someone with braids in their hair was crying, but why? Was it because she was only a few steps away from the sands? She tried to speak, to ask, to beg but she only sputtered red.
And as she slumped to the floor, the warmth overtook her entirely.
All at once, Suri jolted awake.
She screamed and she flailed, toppling to the floor below. There was blood, blood everywhere, she could feel it on her chest and hands and face and it was hers and she was dying because she'd been betrayed once again by the White Moon. With a shriek, she tore off her shirt and threw it to the ground, grasping at her pale skin in the darkness. Where was the knife? She had just felt it between her ribs, but there was nothing to mark its presence now except where she'd scratched herself seeking to remove it.
Breathe in, breathe out. There is a reasonable explanation for this.
Shaking, Suri snatched her night shirt off of the carpet, inspecting the soft cotton for holes. She found none, but her fingers traced over the patterns of a wet tea stain blotting her chest, close to where the knife had been. Upon further searching, she spied her discarded coffee mug, broken and empty. So she had...spilled her tea? And caused such a vivid dream to compensate?
But that woman's pleading face had seemed so real...
It was after the initial shock had settled that the tears came, streaming down Suri's face in ugly wet droplets as she began to shake and sob. It was too exhausting, to feel the years speed by and collectively drain her all at once, only to end up face down in a pool of blood. All that, for what...? Some spilled tea?
Suri didn't even bother trying to piece the cup back together. She could fix it once she got a good night's sleep, and she had the feeling that wouldn't be happening for a long time.
((1025 words))
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