(no subject)
Prequel of sorts to Not (That) Distressed. Written as an example for my students, so prose is a shading delicately into lilac, but I beg your forbearance.
Thunderstorm
“For those of you just with us this morning, the sun rose on a different Qahira than there was last night. Sometime in the early hours of the morning, the former scientist Laurence Haney, called often in the press Sutekh, overtook Town Hall. No word has come from the Costume League, but-”
I glanced around. Downtown was shrouded in grey, smoke and dust awhirl in the air like the fruit in the smoothie Liza had made this morning. I wondered if the blender, the news, and that last, silent, strawberry-flavored goodbye was the final image I would have of her, she would have of me.
The steps of Town Hall were painted with red paprika, colored in a spray from the crumpled guard’s throat. I edged along the wall, a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature seeping through me.
Machina, the League’s current Chairperson, coated in the metal scales that were her power like some knight errant of a bygone age, stood alone in the street. Like in mine, there was a tremble in her hands that was a mix of adrenaline, fear, and a desperate sort of hope.
GreyFox and Scarlette were in position at opposite ends of the block, twin walls of superpowered flesh, and Dagr was opposite me, trying to slide closer to the Hall. Rush was nowhere to be seen, but at the speed he moved, that was not surprising.
“Once more unto the breach,” I murmured, voice rough and grating with tense emotion, steel over gravel. It seemed that living with a writer had given me more of an appreciation for Shakespeare than I realized.
GreyFox’s wry chuckle carried over the communicators, warming me a little, like the flame in the fireplace on a winter’s afternoon. Or close up the wall with our dead? He finished the quote as a question, then drawled, Cheerful Kyle. Real cheerful.
Sutekh stepped out of Town Hall with an ominous sort of smirk. His specious eyes were blue agate; his smile was chipped flint. Then whirling winds of his weather powers increased, the eye of the storm narrowing to where Machina stood. Rain pelted us, turning swiftly to hail even in the summer’s heat. The vicious wind grabbed at our clothes, pulling and tearing at us.
Across our communicators and through the thick air, Scarlette’s scream echoed and rent our ears. In the space between heartbeats, I lost sight of Dagr, icy slivers of rain grabbing at my eyes and blinding me.
Noctourne! Down! Rush yelled, the caveat sounding distinctly panicked. There was no way to know what was happening behind the hall.
Rush! Machina cried.
Surrounded, Rush said, voice tense. Then there was nothing else.
Lightning split the sky. GreyFox yelled over the communicators, the sound ending in a burst of squealing static.
Kyle? Machina called for me.
Sutekh looked me directly in the eye. Even through the driving sleet, I could see him clearly and hatred crawled in my gut.
Before I could answer Machina, she yelled in rage and pain, a wordless sound of helplessness that stabbed directly through my heart.
I moved toward Sutekh. There was no point to secrecy; he knew I was there. He also knew I was alone.
The wind picked up, gusting drafts that I had to plant my feet against or lose my balance. The rain fell in torrents, blinding me. Lightning split the air again, but it did not strike near me.
Plasma jumped from my hands, rippling in the wind and sparking in the rain, a purple ribbon winding through, a last beacon of hope for my city.
The elements extinguished it, my plasma and my hope.
I felt more than heard motion behind me. Turning, one last purple plasma burst leapt from my hands before something heavy hit the side of my head and the cold, heavy click of a power-dampener closed around my throat.
“The smoke finally cleared this afternoon, hours after the battle between Qahira’s new Prince and the Costume League ended this morning. Reports from the epicenter of this morning’s storm report that before the rain grew too thick to see through, the League did not appear to be doing well. Sutekh-Prince Set, as he now wishes to be called, emerged victorious, and there has been no word of any surviving Costumes.”
Thunderstorm
“For those of you just with us this morning, the sun rose on a different Qahira than there was last night. Sometime in the early hours of the morning, the former scientist Laurence Haney, called often in the press Sutekh, overtook Town Hall. No word has come from the Costume League, but-”
I glanced around. Downtown was shrouded in grey, smoke and dust awhirl in the air like the fruit in the smoothie Liza had made this morning. I wondered if the blender, the news, and that last, silent, strawberry-flavored goodbye was the final image I would have of her, she would have of me.
The steps of Town Hall were painted with red paprika, colored in a spray from the crumpled guard’s throat. I edged along the wall, a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature seeping through me.
Machina, the League’s current Chairperson, coated in the metal scales that were her power like some knight errant of a bygone age, stood alone in the street. Like in mine, there was a tremble in her hands that was a mix of adrenaline, fear, and a desperate sort of hope.
GreyFox and Scarlette were in position at opposite ends of the block, twin walls of superpowered flesh, and Dagr was opposite me, trying to slide closer to the Hall. Rush was nowhere to be seen, but at the speed he moved, that was not surprising.
“Once more unto the breach,” I murmured, voice rough and grating with tense emotion, steel over gravel. It seemed that living with a writer had given me more of an appreciation for Shakespeare than I realized.
GreyFox’s wry chuckle carried over the communicators, warming me a little, like the flame in the fireplace on a winter’s afternoon. Or close up the wall with our dead? He finished the quote as a question, then drawled, Cheerful Kyle. Real cheerful.
Sutekh stepped out of Town Hall with an ominous sort of smirk. His specious eyes were blue agate; his smile was chipped flint. Then whirling winds of his weather powers increased, the eye of the storm narrowing to where Machina stood. Rain pelted us, turning swiftly to hail even in the summer’s heat. The vicious wind grabbed at our clothes, pulling and tearing at us.
Across our communicators and through the thick air, Scarlette’s scream echoed and rent our ears. In the space between heartbeats, I lost sight of Dagr, icy slivers of rain grabbing at my eyes and blinding me.
Noctourne! Down! Rush yelled, the caveat sounding distinctly panicked. There was no way to know what was happening behind the hall.
Rush! Machina cried.
Surrounded, Rush said, voice tense. Then there was nothing else.
Lightning split the sky. GreyFox yelled over the communicators, the sound ending in a burst of squealing static.
Kyle? Machina called for me.
Sutekh looked me directly in the eye. Even through the driving sleet, I could see him clearly and hatred crawled in my gut.
Before I could answer Machina, she yelled in rage and pain, a wordless sound of helplessness that stabbed directly through my heart.
I moved toward Sutekh. There was no point to secrecy; he knew I was there. He also knew I was alone.
The wind picked up, gusting drafts that I had to plant my feet against or lose my balance. The rain fell in torrents, blinding me. Lightning split the air again, but it did not strike near me.
Plasma jumped from my hands, rippling in the wind and sparking in the rain, a purple ribbon winding through, a last beacon of hope for my city.
The elements extinguished it, my plasma and my hope.
I felt more than heard motion behind me. Turning, one last purple plasma burst leapt from my hands before something heavy hit the side of my head and the cold, heavy click of a power-dampener closed around my throat.
“The smoke finally cleared this afternoon, hours after the battle between Qahira’s new Prince and the Costume League ended this morning. Reports from the epicenter of this morning’s storm report that before the rain grew too thick to see through, the League did not appear to be doing well. Sutekh-Prince Set, as he now wishes to be called, emerged victorious, and there has been no word of any surviving Costumes.”