[center][color=2e3192]Eight Months Earlier[/color][/center]

[hider=Sayuri & Slate Collab]Sayuri looked up at the sky. The white clouds covered the blue expanse a mile in every direction. As she watched, the sky started to darken as the clouds began to turn gray. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly. 

The clouds were a puffy white again when she opened her eyes. An image of her mother flashed before her eyes and thunder rumbled in the far distance. She mentally chided herself and looked towards the sound. She could feel the boom echo inside her. It wanted her to set it free - it always wanted her to set it free. She wondered what the people near that lonely sound of thunder might have thought. 

Part of her wanted to make it rain. She didn't want to think about it, but the thoughts came anyway. Since she couldn't cry, the sky would sometimes do it for her. 

"Dead she's dead dead she's dead no bad thoughts no bad thought only good thoughts only good no bad thoughts make it stop make it stop rain don't rain I want it to rain- don't let it rain control bad thoughts no bad thoughts I'm going to die I'm going to-"

She mentally slapped herself. Her body twitched with the effort to keep the thoughts away. Sometimes she had days or weeks of perfect clarity. Then it would come back even stronger than before. Fitting that the thoughts would haunt her on her birthday. 

Her head twitched as she blocked another thought. At first she didn't notice she was doing it, but she made it stop. 

A cool breeze swept past her and she closed her eyes. The wind was speaking to her. It was telling her that things would be ok no bad thoughts no bad thoughts no-

She felt herself pull on the breeze and it picked up. Cool air ran through her long hair and caressed her face. She felt herself lift from the ground slightly, only the tips of her bare toes touching the ground. 

Image of her father. Thunder boomed in the distance and she fell to the ground. 

"Shut up!" She screamed in the direction of the sound. "Shut up!" 

She paused, but the thunder didn't respond. 

"I hope I'm finally going crazy," she said out loud. She'd probably have to hear lectures about the thunder. She sighed. 

She looked up at the clouds and decided she would try to make shapes in the clouds. The shapes weren't very good. 

She rose and dangled in the air, his legs limp and toes barely touching the blades of emerald grass that lied flat against the violent winds. When the girl with porcelain skin screamed the wind screamed with her, his raven black hair whipped by the wind that so harshly swept across the inconspicuously located field that was oh so conspicuously square shaped. The wind was culled as the girl returned to the calmed grass and though the sound carried well along the rolling field, her lips moved and her secret admirer of sorts heard no words.

He never needed words to know what she was feeling. She had an expressive face when she thought no one was watching. The kind that spills her soul out for the world to see. The kind that swallowed her soul back up the moment the world looked. He admired her for that. One of these days he planned to let her know that she could open up the flood gates and let it all out, but she wasn't ready for that yet. No one knew that more than the man watching her from the shadows cast by the nearest line of trees. Her watcher smiled softly, the type an old friend would have after seeing a long lost friend in the distance. He leaned against the nearest tree, shrouded in the heavy shade. Then he was gone.

The girl's shadow twisted and pulled, stretching long and flattening out before it twisted along the ground and separated from her altogether, forming a puddle black as tar by her side. It rose like a souffle and, like an amateur chef's first souffle, parted and sadly sunk back down leaving a young gaunt man sitting where the living shadow was. The only noise from him was the gentle puffs of air from between his lips as he leaned back and laid out on the grass, watching he clouds that shifted and pulled as if god himself were pulling at them. The man's blue pastel mohawk hung limply to the left side of his head, making the vibrant tattoo of a dream-catcher along the right side of his neck all the more prominent. He wore a worn grey hoodie over a thin white button up shirt that showed the outline of the tattoos under the thin fabric. In polite society he would have been asked fasten at least two more of his buttons, though the tattoo of Gir from Invader Zim riding a flying pig that was ever so slightly visible on his right wrist and his various piercings spoke volumes about his relationship with polite society. His pants were neither tight nor loose and hung freely on his hips, no belt in sight. His shoes were casual black dress shoes beaten to high heaven and dragged back kicking and screaming.

He wagged a finger in the girl's general direction and up rose a slithering serpent of shadow that ran along her body and coiled around her eyes, blindfolding the porcelain girl. "If you keep distracting yourself with how they are now, you'll never see them the way you want to. Imagine what you want to see most and push your will out," he spoke softly, nearly made mute by the now calming winds. "It's been three months, Sayuri. I know you can move clouds. Now do it."

A part of her knew he was there. When he wasn't shadow, she could feel him moving through the wind. It was purely incidental, of course. Sayuri knew that she wouldn't be able to know he was there if he really didn't want her to. 

She didn't flinch when she "felt" the shadow climb. She didn't even flinch when the world suddenly went dark. She smiled a little before she realized she was and clamped her lips. 

Sayuri tried to ignore what he was saying. Her head twitched slightly and she hoped he hadn't noticed. 

"Pushing my will out is hard, Slate." She whispered. "What if I can't pull it back?" 

Dead dead she's dead he's dead he'll die no he won't die-

She breathed out slowly. The wind that left her becoming part of the breeze that picked up again. The could feel them all, the Easterlies, the calm Westerly winds, the strong Northerlies, and the Southerlies. She could feel them going about their day. She could feel the clouds waiting for her. The clouds always seemed to want to please her. They were the nicest. Thunder always seemed to be accusing her of something and she was sure that the lightning hated her. Or maybe it was just her hate personified. 

The rain. If lightning was her hatred and anger, then the rain was her sorrow and sadness. 

Rain rain let it rain no don't rain-

A few drops fell from the sky. She almost giggled when she thought of a few drops of water falling on Slate's face. That made her smile, despite herself. The clouds had started to darken, but they got bright again. She couldn't see it happening, but she knew how they were feeling. 

Slate believed in her. He probably knew her more than anyone else had ever known her, including herself. 

His words echoed again in her mind - "It's been three months, Sayuri. I know you can move clouds. Now do it."

She braced herself and let her will, at least a part of it, flow freely. The imagined the clouds smiling inwardly at her, praising her. She wanted to see a face in the clouds. She thought that when she might look, it would be her mother's. But the clouds wouldn't take her mother's shape. They would show Slate. 

He sighed and placed a hand on her back, his hand molding to the contours of it. He could feel her every breath through his hand and continued to watch the sky, letting his hand tell him everything he would have needed to know about her by watching her back. He offered her no more advice, in part because he had no more advice to give, and in part because it was sink or swim. He couldn't coddle her forever. He had done enough of that when she first arrived, but she couldn't mourn the loss of her mother forever. Slate never had the luxury of mourning, but he understood its importance. There was very little closure to be had with the sort of end her mother had and the poor girl was now in his care. She was like her mother in at least one way. She was dead to the world.

The cool dribbling of water nearly dragged a groan out of Slate until he felt her spine straighten, her shoulders tighten, and her body stiffen ever so slightly. She was trying to hide a smile. She wanted to get a grouchy complaint out of Slate and he'd sooner die than gratify her.

She tensed up again, this time it felt as if her entire body was tightening up into a ball. The muscles on her back clenched and pressed tightly against her spine and held there tightly under his touch. He rose the palm from her back and pressed his fingers into her back and whistled the guitar to The Sonic's Cinderalla. The tension in her back slowly faded away, which Slate assumed came from her letting her will go free. She hadn't quiet grasped the concept of the will. With a power that required one to make operate something beyond their body as if it were an extension of their own, required the projection of will. The secret wasn't to force the will onto your subject, but to offer it. Few things in this world lack the social tact to turn down a gift.

The clouds begin to part and press against each other, melding and shifting, becoming one, and then many, and then one again. Like temperate waves under the full moon, the clouds pressed against and pulled away from one another. Every collision brought more form to the shape. The clouds were Sayuri's clay.

As the image began to form, Slate's eyebrow slowly cocked, as did his one sided smirk that served to flaunt his lip ring. The blindfold of living shade melted away in the gentle light, allowing Sayuri to see her creation. The somewhat crudely drawn, but admirable attempt at creating a mohawked man with aquiline features with a litany of piercings attached to his face hung in the sky, like something straight out of the Lion King. If the Lion King had a significantly lower budget and was forced to be drawn with crayons. "Care to explain," He asked, holding back any signs of laughter or amusement in his voice as best as he could, "what it is that you decided to hide among the clouds?"

Sayuri frowned and then glared at Slate as if it was his fault. She realized that she probably looked like she was pouting, but she couldn't help it. 

"The clouds have a strange sense of humor," she said, fighting back a smile. "I think it needs a little something." Her hand rose to the sky as she gave a few "brush" strokes. The face in the clouds now had a very distinct mustache. She looked back at Slate, her own eyebrow raised. 

"I think it's an improvement," she said, trying to keep a straight face. She actually felt a little happy. The face in the sky hadn't been what she'd intended, but it was progress. 

"Ok," she said, looking back at the clouds, "now my mother's face." She pushed at the clouds. They began to shift, stretching and contracting. The face seemed to be swollowed up as she tried to mold them into a new face. It wasn't going very well. She clenched her jaw and made the clouds begin the formation of a face. It was like pushing against a wall. 

"Why isn't it working," she muttered, "it was working a second ago." When she had painted on the mustache it had been easy. All she had to do was see it and it was there. She barely even had to think about it. But now the clouds were fighting her. They started to darken as she pushed and pulled. The wind picked up. She could feel herself being taken by it. She knew she should stop, but she wasn't sure how. She wanted to tell Slate to help her stop, but she couldn't move. 

She had shifted her efforts from trying to make a face to keeping the clouds and the wind from getting out of control. She cursed herself for letting this happen. She was no better than a child. She'd been training for months and this was all she had to show for it. Sayuri was afraid that Slate would be disappointed with her. And Delta too. She was a failure. 

"Trying to convince me to grow out a mustache now, are we?" Slate patted her back and let out a terse chuckle as he brought his hands back under his head, the slightly damp ground making him regret laying down. At least he'd have less grime to wash out of his hair this way. 

Slate offered her no reassurance or encouragement as she announced her effort to recreate her mother's face in the clouds. There was a lot of trauma associated with that image and no matter how badly she wanted to remember her mother without flashes of the woman's end, she wasn't far enough along to be free of those thoughts. The poor thing, Slate thought as the clouds bucked like raging bulls against her control.

The wind roared and Sayuri's form began to lower when the great weight of self-doubt bared down on her. With the winds came a fast approaching darkness, the clouds ash gray and on the verge of pouring all of her frustration out onto the world below. Slate remained on the ground beside her, hands behind his head, eyes half open, his left foot wiggling in a mixture of anticipation and worry. If she lost control, they could be blown away by a rogue lightning bolt and as fast as Slate was, he wasn't that fast. He reached out and wrapped the calloused hand around her shoulder before giving her a sharp tug to lay down on the grass beside him. "Lightning hit the tallest object around and we're still in a field," he reminded her, glancing momentarily from her to the sky once more. The glance away had been a bit quicker than intended, but he hadn't meant to pull her as close to him as he did.

"We're making a bet right now," he paused, sinking his teeth into the inside of his cheek as he thought of something to throw at her to get her to focus. "I bet you can't recreate your mother blowing you a kiss. Winner of the bet sets gets to give one demand any one thing from the loser."

Slate dug a hand into his pocket and jerked out a rusted pocketwatch that still ticked away as if it were made yesterday. He snapped it open and checked the time. "You have five minutes. Time starts now."

Being so close to slate seemed to break through whatever haze had overtaken her. It wasn't a slow return to awareness, but rather a sharp snap back to reality. She could see into his eyes and she thought about getting lost in them. 

He has nice eyes, she thought. She was very aware of his grip on her shoulder and she didn't want him to ever let go. There was something she wanted to ask him that she hadn't ever been able to before. As she stared at the pocket watch she realized that this was her chance. She was never, and this she knew for a fact, she was never going to have an opportunity like this again. 

"I don't think it's a good idea to bet against me," she said, actually smiling - she hadn't yet realized that she was embarrassed to be so close to him. Slate's words about the lightning came back to her. He was right, she was putting both of them in danger. What was it that she needed to do? The answer was inside her somewhere. Her power was to dominate the atmosphere. To control it and bend it to her will. She'd tried to do that. She had extended her will and commanded the clouds to make the shapes she wanted and it hadn't worked out well so far.

Looking into his eyes, Sayuri though about how Slate's shadows seemed to have a mind of their own. They would listen to him. Except, that wasn't exactly right. There was something about the shadows that she had to understand. Something that also related to her and the clouds and the wind and everything in the sky. The image of the mustache came back to her. She had imposed her will successfully upon the clouds - except, she hadn't. She had merely seen the mustache and extended her arms. But she wasn't extending her arms, it was her will. 

It almost clicked with an audible "pop" in her head as she realized that the clouds and the sky and the wind wasn't subject to her will, it was an extension of her very being. Just like Slate and his shadows. She could feel it now, she could sense the clouds and their movements. The wind around her seemed to be made of her. The wind slowed down as she became aware of its speed. She hadn't "told" it to do that - it simply happened. Just like how she never "told" her arms to move or her feet to take her places. It simply happened. 

She let out a laugh, "you're so going to regret this Epsilon!" She let the awareness of the clouds come into focus, like she might her hands when she was about to do something delicate. An image of her mother blowing her a kiss came into her thoughts. She didn't fight it. She let it move through her. The clouds brightened and she could feel them moving, shaping themselves into the image she wanted. She still didn't quite understand how this worked, but she knew that she now at least understand that it wasn't about sending out her will, it was about her will itself encompassing the atmosphere around her. 

As she stared at the image of her mother, she felt peaceful. Not the lasting kind, but it was like a glass of cold water on a hot day. Even as she smiled at the face she felt her connection lose its clarity. She wasn't losing control of the them, this time it was like leaving a yoga pose. The clouds slowly returned to their normal state of being. The wind became normal wind and the day returned to normal. Whatever normal was. 

Her influence on the clouds was still there, but she'd grown so accustomed to keeping the clouds constantly over their hideout that she didn't have to think about it at all. 

"Well that was nice while it lasted," Sayuri sighed, not unhappy. She was trying to not look so happy. She liked having a cold aura about her. She'd gotten so used to wearing it that it was hard to take it off. "I hope you enjoyed that work of art because I'll probably never be able to do that again."

She saw the pocket watch again and smiled, "So I bet your wondering what I'm going to demand from you now." 

Sayuri decided that she would let herself be happy for a short while. She had earned it. Seeing her mother in the sky as she remembered her when her father was still alive - it gave her hope. Hope that there was a reason to live. 

Then she remembered how close she was to him and tried to fight to keep herself from blushing. She probably should move away, but part of her didn't want to. [/hider]