Tales of Terror '09
Tales of Terror '09
This year, again, they're mostly original. I think one is fanfiction, and it's fusion with... well, you'll see. There would've been more, but college happened.
(For those confused: for two years now, smokexscribbles and I have generated a list of fifty prompts as a means of prepping for NaNo by fleshing out characters and getting things out of our systems that won't make it into NaNo. You can read hers here and here. I really advise it.)
2. prickles at the back of your neck
"This won't hurt," Cory breathes into the back of your neck. Your hair is standing straight up and your skin prickles, though whether it's from anticipation of pain or something else entirely, you're not certain. But then there's a prickle at the place where your back curves up into your neck, and it doesn't hurt at all. You exhale slow and steady, and then there is another prickle, and another. "See?" Cory says. His voice is soft, a whisper, and it's both warming you and sending chills straight down your spine. There's an urge to press back against him, strong enough to worry you, but then he keeps pressing the needle into your skin in a series of small dots. "I can't do big stuff," Cory continues, and you dig your fingers into the leather give of the stool you're sitting on. "But I can keep it from hurting."
"I can deal with pain," you say -- not because you want him to stop dulling the pain, but because it's something you have to say. You can deal with pain. You have, all your life. Maybe pale skin and a powerful father don't guarantee a soft life, but a lack thereof is a handicap you'll never really overcome. You wish it didn't matter, because life would be so much easier if it only involved the moments like this, when Cory could use his scant ability and keener eyes, and you could sit on a black leather stool and hold back shivers.
He brushes your overgrown hair off your neck; maybe it's subconscious, maybe it's purely utilitarian. You hate this, too, as much as you love it. Because when you think too much about it (and you think too much about everything) you know that there's something else going on here, some big elephant in the room you refuse to acknowledge. There's always something tugging at the seams of your friendship with Cory, a bit of resentment, a twinge of inferiority, an aftertaste of something you wouldn't try to name if you could.
Needle bites down, needle pulls up again. "Almost done," breathes Cory, and you bite your tongue.
3. the rat returns
It's actually fairly easy to down the second shot. It burns less terribly than the first. "Dae, there's something I need to talk to you about," he says, reaching for the third glass, and his hand swipes at air. He finds it the second try, and drinks more slowly this time, savouring the feel of fire down his throat. There was something he needed to say.
"Don't," says Dae, who's making a good attempt at merging into the wall. "I don't want to hear it. I trust you enough to be here, Sheena loves you, so don't ruin it."
Tai can't remember. The world is sort of swimming around him, pulling connections apart in his brain. Dae has some ridiculous alcohol stashed away. "Good kid," he says, and sets down another empty glass. This is nice. This is easy. The darkness of the room and the harsh white of the eco-friendly lightbulbs don't feel so stark under the veil of tipsiness. "Y'know, Dae, you're a pretty cool guy."
Someone has to die. That's right. He's here because someone has to die. Who? Someone. Tai smiles down at the counter. It doesn't matter who; they can wait until tomorrow. Tai can keep drinking tonight.
4. when you look backwards
It comes quick, like choking. He gasps once and then can't breathe. His lungs are full of dust. He swipes at the air, coughs, tries vainly to clear his airway even as he knows he's promised this. Above him, the sun reflects off of a window and into the street, bright in his eyes, leaving spots on his vision. The sky, blue, and the tops of buildings, pale and bright, spin slowly around him. Evan is floating now, feet lifting off the ground though he can still feel the cobblestones, irrational beneath his shoes. Sharp pain drowns beneath euphoria. It's quiet here, and calm, and nothing like the battlefield. It's a good morning to die.
Julian will worry. Julian will wonder where he's gone, seek him out, but never find him. Maybe Julian will find the journal left mostly empty in the workshop; maybe he'll never go there again. Maybe Jakt will find it instead, if he's still around. Evan smiles because it doesn't matter anymore. Evan smiles and his legs waver and his mind grows foggy and slow.
It's like that day after the war when Evan woke up and saw the sun through his window, the day he started out thinking about nothing at all. He didn't hear gunshots outside, didn't smell powder and dust and blood, and Julian showed up with a cup of tea and smiled at him. He stopped smiled when Evan slowly mirrored the expression. And Evan had laughed when the cup of tea slipped from surprised fingers to shatter on the floor. Sunlight. Julian. The two are intertwined in his head, he can't separate them, and he can see Julian's smile in the brilliant blue of the sky and the sunspots in his eyes.
It was good while it lasted.
Evan smiles up at the sun, so bright he can't see anything at all, and dimly he feels his legs finally give out.
5. back to school day (incomplete)
There's a secret about Ms Lohdston, the history teacher at Cherry Tree Junior High. Lara's brother told her in hushed tones on the first day of school when he dropped her off in his new car. As she opened the red refinished door he leaned over, smirking, and said, "Be careful of Lohdston. Do you know what she is?" Lara didn't. Jason told her, and then pushed her all the way out and zoomed off to his job.
Lara checks her schedule now, and sure enough, she has Lohdston third period for world history. She doesn't recognise the other names, but then again, she's only lived here for about a month, and Jason doesn't really talk about the junior high much. He didn't even go to school here. He just knows everyone because he works a bunch of jobs and flirts with all the girls and plays in a band. Lara doesn't know anyone, but maybe some people here know Jason. She's wearing his band t-shirt. He said she had to or he wouldn't give her a ride to school.
First period is pre-algebra with a really excited guy with big hair and a soul patch. His name's Mr Trypp, but apparently everyone calls him Headtrip because that's what the boy next to Lara refers to him as when the bell rings and they all pack up. "My brother says he's nuts," the boy says. "Awesome, though."
"How old's your brother?" Lara asks. Maybe she knows him.
The boy looks at her funny. "Why do you care?"
"I'm new in town," Lara says. "I only know my older brother's friends. Maybe I know your brother."
"My brother's only a year older," the boy says. "Derek Allen. Know him?"
"Nah." Lara shrugs. "He's already graduated. I'm Lara, by the way. Who're you?"
"Vince," says the boy. "I gotta get to PE."
"Hey, me too," says Lara, and just like that she's already made a friend.
Vince introduces her to Zach and Aaron and Rachael in PE. They run in a bunch around the track, and Lara tells them about Ms Lohdston. Aaron hear the story from his cousin, but none of the others knew, so Lara makes up a story to go along with the facts.
6. sidestep
"So why are you fighting me?" one said to the other, somewhere down the line.They were lined up against a wall, swords locked, and waves crashing far below. They appeared to be at something of an impasse.
"I have been instructed to, by my boss, who may or may not be evil," said the other, who name happened to be Michael. He shrugged as he spoke, somehow managing not to drop his sword or allow the first man to free his own sword. "It pays the bills, though. He's not doing anything too bad. Why are you fighting me? If you gave up, you could go home fine."
The first man allowed himself a moment to stare dramatically off into the distance. "True love," he said after a while.
Michael shrugged again. That was a pretty good reason.
They stayed stuck for a moment, and then nodded at each other, freed their swords, and stepped down from their [recarious position to begin fighting anew on safer ground. Michael even put aside his blade to allow the man in dark blue the first shot. They fought valiantly and chivalrously for long minutes, neither gaining an advantage. Then Michael tripped over a rock, and just as suddenly as the fight began, it was over.
"I suppose I have to kill you now," said the man in dark blue, sighing. This was his least favourite part of dueling.
"You could knock me out instead," Michael suggested. He smiled very beseechingly from his sprawl on the ground. There were many things Michael wanted to be, but dead was not any of them. "It would say, um, that you were a man of great mercy. Women like that, you know."
"I think you'd like that more than women would," the man in dark blue observed, but he did as requested, only knocking Michael out with a decisive blow to the back of the head. Then he stuck Michael's sword in the ground next to him, sheathed his own, and went along on his way.
Climbing out of the rocks by the sea, he came to a grassy area, where more rocks dotted the hill. He could tell that the man he pursued had come this way because there were fresh tracks in the mud, precisely the shoe size of the ones that had been in the sand. Most of good tracking isn't great skill, but common sense and good observation skills.
But as he suspected, an ambush lay in wait. The man in blue sidestepped a great blast of fire, and came face to face with the woman who'd launched it at him. Her green hair sparked with static and she grinned a vicious (or possibly vivacious) grin. "I don't know who the hell you are," she said, "but no one hunts us down and lives to talk about it!"
"I don't know who the hell you are either," said the man in dark blue. "I didn't plan to hurt any of you if I don't have to."
"That's what they all say," said the green woman, leveling another blast at him.
The man in blue didn't get hit by any of her blasts. He didn't seem very surprised about this, either, though the green woman certainly did. Eventually she paused for breath, and he very quickly and efficiently ran up and knocked her out. "Sorry," he added regretfully, and continued on his way.
When he crested the hill he found a table, a man bound and gagged in front of it, and a large black-haired woman lounging in a chair behind it. "It took you long enough," the woman said irritably. "I was almost worried I was going to have to come rescue you." She stood up and pushed the table out of the way, stepped over the bound man, and swept the man in dark blue up in her arms and proceeded to kiss him thoroughly. "Come on, you've got to take me to your ship," she said, when they broke apart.
"As you wish," said the man in dark blue.
7. how we dance
He's not listening to the music; he can hear it and feel it pounding through his bones, but it's the overexerted breathing next to him that has Johnny captivated, and he can't even pass it off as the heat of the moment because he knows this feeling, knows it like he knows the words to this song. It's one thing throwing fire back and forth, one thing when it's adrenaline rushing through his veins, but now when it's just the music, when there's a hundred girls to choose from around them, he can't explain it away. It's like it's just Cory here with him because that's all he's hearing. He can't look away. It's a good thing that Cory's looking away, lost in the dance, because he'd notice this. It's not supposed to happen. Oh, it happens, Johnny's grown up eyes open, but he was never -- he didn't --
It was always him and Cory. There were never girls because they traveled, because they were busy, and if Cory managed to slip in a little action anyway, well, he was always more easily distracted. Anyway, girls like a skinny pale boy better. Cory's got that old blood glamour, he's always been the gorgeous one while Johnny had to make up for it with fancy tricks and danger. That's how it is. Johnny doesn't resent it much. They live like this, gig to gig, and they both benefit from his status when he uses it, and Johnny might be the dimmy darkie but Cory never calls him that or treats him any different.
It's bad enough being the dimmy darkie. Fairy's a whole other place and it's not him, he swore it. Johnny's not the guy who hides out in seedy bars looking for a moment of sick pleasure, and he's not the guy who sighs over his best friend like a girl. And if he's fated to a life of masturbating in the shower and thinking of nothing at all, well, that's not so bad compared to the alternative. He's being smart. He looks away.
And then Cory brushes against him and grins. "I'm for a drink, what about you?"
"I," says Johnny, and he's not looking, he's not, he's just replying. "Yeah." And it's not an intelligent reply but he never promised that when he agreed to go dancing.
Cory slaps him once across the chest, companionable and friendly and absolutely nothing to get worked up about, and disappears into the crowd. Johnny sags where he's standing, swearing up and down inside his head. This isn't supposed to be him. He doesn't dance like this.
8. at the count of three
Evan's not really sure what he's doing here, dressed like someone who goes around in high society. Well, that's not necessarily true. He knows why he's here - Julian -- and he knows what he's doing here. What he's doing is making an absolute fool of himself. So the real mystery is why he ever agreed to go along with Julian's crazy plans.
He's never really sure why he goes along Julian's crazy plans.
But it's too late to turn back now, without someone noticing something afoot, so he counts to three, takes a breath, and steps out into the bright room.
Last time they did this, he was at least dressed like a server, so no one really noticed him. This time he's got a fake invitation and a false identity and people are staring at him like he's something special and new. His cheeks grow warm. This isn't his kind of place, and they'll know he's a fake as soon as they stop seeing him as a novelty. And then -- who knows? They operate differently here.
It's not even as if they're here for any purpose. Julian just wanted to go to a party. And therefore that meant bringing Evan along in borrowed costume and subjecting him to all the insanity of high society, with only dim memories of the last caper to get him by.
This always happens to him. And it always goes from crazy to crazier. So why does he keep doing it?
"You must be new in town," says a voice to his left. The speaker is a woman, fairly short, face partially concealed behind an elaborate mask which is probably supposed to be a swan. It looks like a swan, anyway. The woman behind it is smiling, though with the mask she looks less friendly and more sinister. "University student?"
"Um," says Evan. He very carefully doesn't flinch or back away. "Yes. Just transferred in."
"How wonderful!" the swan lady exclaims, and takes his hand. "I don't suppose you dance at all?"
"No, not at all," says Evan, but apparently it's a common trait of the higher classes not to take no for an answer, because she's dragging him out onto the dance floor anyway. "I really don't, uh, dance at all," he tries again, but the swan lady only smiles kindly at him. It's still just as sinister as before.
"Don't worry, I know all the steps. Just follow my lead," she says, whispering like it's a big secret. Evan doesn't see why -- in a few moments, everyone in the room is going to see that he has absolutely no grace or knowledge of dance steps. Julian's never going to let him live this one down. "You need to -- wait, first, what's your name?"
Evan looks away, in any direction, for anything that can possibly save him. "Evan," he says, when his search turns nothing up.
The swan lady raises one perfect eyebrow so that it disappears into her mask. "Well, then, Evan," she says archly, "you need to relax. Otherwise you're really never going to learn to dance."
Evan swallows. Breathes in. Breathes out. Drops his shoulders.
"Better," says the swan lady. She positions his hands, one at her waist, one out to his side, and then takes that hand and places the other on his shoulder. "Just follow my steps," she instructs. "This is a slow song. It won't be too difficult to follow along."
46. nice knowing you
(Smoke and I decided it would be a great idea to write a universe in which all of our characters go to/ work at the same college. This takes place in that 'verse.)
Julian, it seems, has the unfortunate habit of falling asleep on his textbooks. At his desk. He's drooling on the Industrial Revolution. Evan chuckles, paused at the door where he's just walked in from astronomy class, and after a moment of consideration walks over behind his roommate. "That must have been some party," he murmurs, shaking Julian's shoulder just enough to wake him up.
"Whuh?" says Julian intelligently.
"You fell asleep," Evan tells him. "At the desk. You're going to wake up sore tomorrow, if you stay there."
"Oh." Julian blinks for a few seconds, and then beams at him like Evan's just given him the best present in the world. "Thanks, uh --"
"Evan," Evan reminds him. It's to be expected; they've only been rooming together for a few days yet, and Julian already has a flourishing social life. Can't expect him to remember everyone's name.
"Yeah," Julian says, and keeps smiling. It occurs to Evan that he had a different destination at one point. He takes his hand off of Julian's shoulder and smiles back, though it's probably nothing as enthusiastic or blinding as Julian at full brightness.
"I'm going to go shower," Evan says, and turns toward his side of the room and away.
50. too late to turn back
(I'm in the process of renaming these characters; some older readers may recall Ilfiid and Ravix. This is them. I decided I wanted to ditch the bad fantasy names and give them real names. It's a work in progress. Also, this too belongs in the college crossover AU.)
Sunlight on his face means that Dae is gone. Ilfiid wouldn't even bother opening his eyes to see for himself, except that he's got his first class today and he can't miss it. Even if all he really wants to do is go back to sleep and pretend it's still last night. He can, if he thinks about it hard enough, still feel Dae's calloused fingertips on his neck, down his back, at his hips. Dae's breath had even been clean last night, his words lucid -- at first, anyway. But still. Silly to think that just because something was different, everything would be.
Sacrifice says it's bad-boy syndrome, that it happens "to the best of us, Ilfiid, it's really all right". Ilfiid doesn't bother trying to explain that it's not like that. He didn't fall for a man on the run from himself, hooked on a million different ways to die. That's just where they found themselves, down the line, and no matter how much he's wanted to, he's never been able to tell Dae no. Never been able to end it. Even if it means he's alone most of the time, or that he risks his job every time Dae's around. That's just the price he pays. He swallows hard, takes a deep breath. He opens his eyes.
The other side of the bed is empty, like he expected. Ilfiid breathes out, slow and ragged, and pushes himself up from the mattress.
He's five minutes late to class, out of breath and miserable, and when he smiles at his students he swears he hears his jaw creaking. But hopefully no one notices.
(It's just the price he pays.)
This year, again, they're mostly original. I think one is fanfiction, and it's fusion with... well, you'll see. There would've been more, but college happened.
(For those confused: for two years now, smokexscribbles and I have generated a list of fifty prompts as a means of prepping for NaNo by fleshing out characters and getting things out of our systems that won't make it into NaNo. You can read hers here and here. I really advise it.)
2. prickles at the back of your neck
"This won't hurt," Cory breathes into the back of your neck. Your hair is standing straight up and your skin prickles, though whether it's from anticipation of pain or something else entirely, you're not certain. But then there's a prickle at the place where your back curves up into your neck, and it doesn't hurt at all. You exhale slow and steady, and then there is another prickle, and another. "See?" Cory says. His voice is soft, a whisper, and it's both warming you and sending chills straight down your spine. There's an urge to press back against him, strong enough to worry you, but then he keeps pressing the needle into your skin in a series of small dots. "I can't do big stuff," Cory continues, and you dig your fingers into the leather give of the stool you're sitting on. "But I can keep it from hurting."
"I can deal with pain," you say -- not because you want him to stop dulling the pain, but because it's something you have to say. You can deal with pain. You have, all your life. Maybe pale skin and a powerful father don't guarantee a soft life, but a lack thereof is a handicap you'll never really overcome. You wish it didn't matter, because life would be so much easier if it only involved the moments like this, when Cory could use his scant ability and keener eyes, and you could sit on a black leather stool and hold back shivers.
He brushes your overgrown hair off your neck; maybe it's subconscious, maybe it's purely utilitarian. You hate this, too, as much as you love it. Because when you think too much about it (and you think too much about everything) you know that there's something else going on here, some big elephant in the room you refuse to acknowledge. There's always something tugging at the seams of your friendship with Cory, a bit of resentment, a twinge of inferiority, an aftertaste of something you wouldn't try to name if you could.
Needle bites down, needle pulls up again. "Almost done," breathes Cory, and you bite your tongue.
3. the rat returns
It's actually fairly easy to down the second shot. It burns less terribly than the first. "Dae, there's something I need to talk to you about," he says, reaching for the third glass, and his hand swipes at air. He finds it the second try, and drinks more slowly this time, savouring the feel of fire down his throat. There was something he needed to say.
"Don't," says Dae, who's making a good attempt at merging into the wall. "I don't want to hear it. I trust you enough to be here, Sheena loves you, so don't ruin it."
Tai can't remember. The world is sort of swimming around him, pulling connections apart in his brain. Dae has some ridiculous alcohol stashed away. "Good kid," he says, and sets down another empty glass. This is nice. This is easy. The darkness of the room and the harsh white of the eco-friendly lightbulbs don't feel so stark under the veil of tipsiness. "Y'know, Dae, you're a pretty cool guy."
Someone has to die. That's right. He's here because someone has to die. Who? Someone. Tai smiles down at the counter. It doesn't matter who; they can wait until tomorrow. Tai can keep drinking tonight.
4. when you look backwards
It comes quick, like choking. He gasps once and then can't breathe. His lungs are full of dust. He swipes at the air, coughs, tries vainly to clear his airway even as he knows he's promised this. Above him, the sun reflects off of a window and into the street, bright in his eyes, leaving spots on his vision. The sky, blue, and the tops of buildings, pale and bright, spin slowly around him. Evan is floating now, feet lifting off the ground though he can still feel the cobblestones, irrational beneath his shoes. Sharp pain drowns beneath euphoria. It's quiet here, and calm, and nothing like the battlefield. It's a good morning to die.
Julian will worry. Julian will wonder where he's gone, seek him out, but never find him. Maybe Julian will find the journal left mostly empty in the workshop; maybe he'll never go there again. Maybe Jakt will find it instead, if he's still around. Evan smiles because it doesn't matter anymore. Evan smiles and his legs waver and his mind grows foggy and slow.
It's like that day after the war when Evan woke up and saw the sun through his window, the day he started out thinking about nothing at all. He didn't hear gunshots outside, didn't smell powder and dust and blood, and Julian showed up with a cup of tea and smiled at him. He stopped smiled when Evan slowly mirrored the expression. And Evan had laughed when the cup of tea slipped from surprised fingers to shatter on the floor. Sunlight. Julian. The two are intertwined in his head, he can't separate them, and he can see Julian's smile in the brilliant blue of the sky and the sunspots in his eyes.
It was good while it lasted.
Evan smiles up at the sun, so bright he can't see anything at all, and dimly he feels his legs finally give out.
5. back to school day (incomplete)
There's a secret about Ms Lohdston, the history teacher at Cherry Tree Junior High. Lara's brother told her in hushed tones on the first day of school when he dropped her off in his new car. As she opened the red refinished door he leaned over, smirking, and said, "Be careful of Lohdston. Do you know what she is?" Lara didn't. Jason told her, and then pushed her all the way out and zoomed off to his job.
Lara checks her schedule now, and sure enough, she has Lohdston third period for world history. She doesn't recognise the other names, but then again, she's only lived here for about a month, and Jason doesn't really talk about the junior high much. He didn't even go to school here. He just knows everyone because he works a bunch of jobs and flirts with all the girls and plays in a band. Lara doesn't know anyone, but maybe some people here know Jason. She's wearing his band t-shirt. He said she had to or he wouldn't give her a ride to school.
First period is pre-algebra with a really excited guy with big hair and a soul patch. His name's Mr Trypp, but apparently everyone calls him Headtrip because that's what the boy next to Lara refers to him as when the bell rings and they all pack up. "My brother says he's nuts," the boy says. "Awesome, though."
"How old's your brother?" Lara asks. Maybe she knows him.
The boy looks at her funny. "Why do you care?"
"I'm new in town," Lara says. "I only know my older brother's friends. Maybe I know your brother."
"My brother's only a year older," the boy says. "Derek Allen. Know him?"
"Nah." Lara shrugs. "He's already graduated. I'm Lara, by the way. Who're you?"
"Vince," says the boy. "I gotta get to PE."
"Hey, me too," says Lara, and just like that she's already made a friend.
Vince introduces her to Zach and Aaron and Rachael in PE. They run in a bunch around the track, and Lara tells them about Ms Lohdston. Aaron hear the story from his cousin, but none of the others knew, so Lara makes up a story to go along with the facts.
6. sidestep
"So why are you fighting me?" one said to the other, somewhere down the line.They were lined up against a wall, swords locked, and waves crashing far below. They appeared to be at something of an impasse.
"I have been instructed to, by my boss, who may or may not be evil," said the other, who name happened to be Michael. He shrugged as he spoke, somehow managing not to drop his sword or allow the first man to free his own sword. "It pays the bills, though. He's not doing anything too bad. Why are you fighting me? If you gave up, you could go home fine."
The first man allowed himself a moment to stare dramatically off into the distance. "True love," he said after a while.
Michael shrugged again. That was a pretty good reason.
They stayed stuck for a moment, and then nodded at each other, freed their swords, and stepped down from their [recarious position to begin fighting anew on safer ground. Michael even put aside his blade to allow the man in dark blue the first shot. They fought valiantly and chivalrously for long minutes, neither gaining an advantage. Then Michael tripped over a rock, and just as suddenly as the fight began, it was over.
"I suppose I have to kill you now," said the man in dark blue, sighing. This was his least favourite part of dueling.
"You could knock me out instead," Michael suggested. He smiled very beseechingly from his sprawl on the ground. There were many things Michael wanted to be, but dead was not any of them. "It would say, um, that you were a man of great mercy. Women like that, you know."
"I think you'd like that more than women would," the man in dark blue observed, but he did as requested, only knocking Michael out with a decisive blow to the back of the head. Then he stuck Michael's sword in the ground next to him, sheathed his own, and went along on his way.
Climbing out of the rocks by the sea, he came to a grassy area, where more rocks dotted the hill. He could tell that the man he pursued had come this way because there were fresh tracks in the mud, precisely the shoe size of the ones that had been in the sand. Most of good tracking isn't great skill, but common sense and good observation skills.
But as he suspected, an ambush lay in wait. The man in blue sidestepped a great blast of fire, and came face to face with the woman who'd launched it at him. Her green hair sparked with static and she grinned a vicious (or possibly vivacious) grin. "I don't know who the hell you are," she said, "but no one hunts us down and lives to talk about it!"
"I don't know who the hell you are either," said the man in dark blue. "I didn't plan to hurt any of you if I don't have to."
"That's what they all say," said the green woman, leveling another blast at him.
The man in blue didn't get hit by any of her blasts. He didn't seem very surprised about this, either, though the green woman certainly did. Eventually she paused for breath, and he very quickly and efficiently ran up and knocked her out. "Sorry," he added regretfully, and continued on his way.
When he crested the hill he found a table, a man bound and gagged in front of it, and a large black-haired woman lounging in a chair behind it. "It took you long enough," the woman said irritably. "I was almost worried I was going to have to come rescue you." She stood up and pushed the table out of the way, stepped over the bound man, and swept the man in dark blue up in her arms and proceeded to kiss him thoroughly. "Come on, you've got to take me to your ship," she said, when they broke apart.
"As you wish," said the man in dark blue.
7. how we dance
He's not listening to the music; he can hear it and feel it pounding through his bones, but it's the overexerted breathing next to him that has Johnny captivated, and he can't even pass it off as the heat of the moment because he knows this feeling, knows it like he knows the words to this song. It's one thing throwing fire back and forth, one thing when it's adrenaline rushing through his veins, but now when it's just the music, when there's a hundred girls to choose from around them, he can't explain it away. It's like it's just Cory here with him because that's all he's hearing. He can't look away. It's a good thing that Cory's looking away, lost in the dance, because he'd notice this. It's not supposed to happen. Oh, it happens, Johnny's grown up eyes open, but he was never -- he didn't --
It was always him and Cory. There were never girls because they traveled, because they were busy, and if Cory managed to slip in a little action anyway, well, he was always more easily distracted. Anyway, girls like a skinny pale boy better. Cory's got that old blood glamour, he's always been the gorgeous one while Johnny had to make up for it with fancy tricks and danger. That's how it is. Johnny doesn't resent it much. They live like this, gig to gig, and they both benefit from his status when he uses it, and Johnny might be the dimmy darkie but Cory never calls him that or treats him any different.
It's bad enough being the dimmy darkie. Fairy's a whole other place and it's not him, he swore it. Johnny's not the guy who hides out in seedy bars looking for a moment of sick pleasure, and he's not the guy who sighs over his best friend like a girl. And if he's fated to a life of masturbating in the shower and thinking of nothing at all, well, that's not so bad compared to the alternative. He's being smart. He looks away.
And then Cory brushes against him and grins. "I'm for a drink, what about you?"
"I," says Johnny, and he's not looking, he's not, he's just replying. "Yeah." And it's not an intelligent reply but he never promised that when he agreed to go dancing.
Cory slaps him once across the chest, companionable and friendly and absolutely nothing to get worked up about, and disappears into the crowd. Johnny sags where he's standing, swearing up and down inside his head. This isn't supposed to be him. He doesn't dance like this.
8. at the count of three
Evan's not really sure what he's doing here, dressed like someone who goes around in high society. Well, that's not necessarily true. He knows why he's here - Julian -- and he knows what he's doing here. What he's doing is making an absolute fool of himself. So the real mystery is why he ever agreed to go along with Julian's crazy plans.
He's never really sure why he goes along Julian's crazy plans.
But it's too late to turn back now, without someone noticing something afoot, so he counts to three, takes a breath, and steps out into the bright room.
Last time they did this, he was at least dressed like a server, so no one really noticed him. This time he's got a fake invitation and a false identity and people are staring at him like he's something special and new. His cheeks grow warm. This isn't his kind of place, and they'll know he's a fake as soon as they stop seeing him as a novelty. And then -- who knows? They operate differently here.
It's not even as if they're here for any purpose. Julian just wanted to go to a party. And therefore that meant bringing Evan along in borrowed costume and subjecting him to all the insanity of high society, with only dim memories of the last caper to get him by.
This always happens to him. And it always goes from crazy to crazier. So why does he keep doing it?
"You must be new in town," says a voice to his left. The speaker is a woman, fairly short, face partially concealed behind an elaborate mask which is probably supposed to be a swan. It looks like a swan, anyway. The woman behind it is smiling, though with the mask she looks less friendly and more sinister. "University student?"
"Um," says Evan. He very carefully doesn't flinch or back away. "Yes. Just transferred in."
"How wonderful!" the swan lady exclaims, and takes his hand. "I don't suppose you dance at all?"
"No, not at all," says Evan, but apparently it's a common trait of the higher classes not to take no for an answer, because she's dragging him out onto the dance floor anyway. "I really don't, uh, dance at all," he tries again, but the swan lady only smiles kindly at him. It's still just as sinister as before.
"Don't worry, I know all the steps. Just follow my lead," she says, whispering like it's a big secret. Evan doesn't see why -- in a few moments, everyone in the room is going to see that he has absolutely no grace or knowledge of dance steps. Julian's never going to let him live this one down. "You need to -- wait, first, what's your name?"
Evan looks away, in any direction, for anything that can possibly save him. "Evan," he says, when his search turns nothing up.
The swan lady raises one perfect eyebrow so that it disappears into her mask. "Well, then, Evan," she says archly, "you need to relax. Otherwise you're really never going to learn to dance."
Evan swallows. Breathes in. Breathes out. Drops his shoulders.
"Better," says the swan lady. She positions his hands, one at her waist, one out to his side, and then takes that hand and places the other on his shoulder. "Just follow my steps," she instructs. "This is a slow song. It won't be too difficult to follow along."
46. nice knowing you
(Smoke and I decided it would be a great idea to write a universe in which all of our characters go to/ work at the same college. This takes place in that 'verse.)
Julian, it seems, has the unfortunate habit of falling asleep on his textbooks. At his desk. He's drooling on the Industrial Revolution. Evan chuckles, paused at the door where he's just walked in from astronomy class, and after a moment of consideration walks over behind his roommate. "That must have been some party," he murmurs, shaking Julian's shoulder just enough to wake him up.
"Whuh?" says Julian intelligently.
"You fell asleep," Evan tells him. "At the desk. You're going to wake up sore tomorrow, if you stay there."
"Oh." Julian blinks for a few seconds, and then beams at him like Evan's just given him the best present in the world. "Thanks, uh --"
"Evan," Evan reminds him. It's to be expected; they've only been rooming together for a few days yet, and Julian already has a flourishing social life. Can't expect him to remember everyone's name.
"Yeah," Julian says, and keeps smiling. It occurs to Evan that he had a different destination at one point. He takes his hand off of Julian's shoulder and smiles back, though it's probably nothing as enthusiastic or blinding as Julian at full brightness.
"I'm going to go shower," Evan says, and turns toward his side of the room and away.
50. too late to turn back
(I'm in the process of renaming these characters; some older readers may recall Ilfiid and Ravix. This is them. I decided I wanted to ditch the bad fantasy names and give them real names. It's a work in progress. Also, this too belongs in the college crossover AU.)
Sunlight on his face means that Dae is gone. Ilfiid wouldn't even bother opening his eyes to see for himself, except that he's got his first class today and he can't miss it. Even if all he really wants to do is go back to sleep and pretend it's still last night. He can, if he thinks about it hard enough, still feel Dae's calloused fingertips on his neck, down his back, at his hips. Dae's breath had even been clean last night, his words lucid -- at first, anyway. But still. Silly to think that just because something was different, everything would be.
Sacrifice says it's bad-boy syndrome, that it happens "to the best of us, Ilfiid, it's really all right". Ilfiid doesn't bother trying to explain that it's not like that. He didn't fall for a man on the run from himself, hooked on a million different ways to die. That's just where they found themselves, down the line, and no matter how much he's wanted to, he's never been able to tell Dae no. Never been able to end it. Even if it means he's alone most of the time, or that he risks his job every time Dae's around. That's just the price he pays. He swallows hard, takes a deep breath. He opens his eyes.
The other side of the bed is empty, like he expected. Ilfiid breathes out, slow and ragged, and pushes himself up from the mattress.
He's five minutes late to class, out of breath and miserable, and when he smiles at his students he swears he hears his jaw creaking. But hopefully no one notices.
(It's just the price he pays.)