The Hollow Tap thumped with a deep, insistent beat, loud enough to smother quieter thoughts, yet Elena’s focus wasn’t on her ears tonight. Her eyes scanned the shifting crowd, sharp and wary. They needed to be. Since the Cataclysm, loud noise no longer meant safety. She remembered streets bursting with the loud noise of markets and cars one minute, then torn apart by terrified screams the next. Danger, she’d learned painfully, rarely shouted a clear warning. Instead, it hid in the sudden stiffening of someone’s back, a stranger’s quick, nervous glance toward an exit, or the subtle, frightening change in how a group of people moved together. Tonight, with the Hollow more packed than it had been in months, that old, hard-learned watchfulness kept every nerve alert, tracking the people around her like unseen currents.
From where she stood outside, the walls inside were still the same riot of graffiti and framed odds-and-ends, each marking a hundred conversations she’d never heard but could almost imagine. She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder, the glass jars inside knocking together with a soft sound. Her mother had insisted she bring the special tea mixes for the kitchen workers, claiming the herbs would “cut the grease” from their heavy fried food. Certain plants really could help settle your stomach after rich meals, making you feel lighter and think clearer. Watching the noisy crowd spill onto the street, Elena suspected her mother meant it in another way, too: in a place thick with beer fumes and old anger, a little clear-headedness was like a necessary spice.
Delivering tea wasn’t her only reason for coming, though. For the past week, Elena couldn’t look at her phone without seeing some cruel video or nasty message tearing into Freya Collins, the woman who owned the Cozy Bakery. Elena had been right there during the bakery attack. She’d seen Freya stumble out from the back room after the worst was over – confused, half-asleep, her eyes locking onto Elena and the others huddled nearby with a look that felt more like suspicion than shared fear.
Later, a nagging curiosity, or maybe just the habit of digging into things, made Elena search for more details. This was especially true after she’d gone back to the bakery that same afternoon and found it dark and locked. Her search uncovered Freya’s wealthy father, Wei Wang, and his big plans to change the Lower District – plans that sounded like polite ways to kick people out. She learned how Freya’s whole life, the bakery, her fancy education, even the bright apartment that starred in all her social media posts, were all paid for by him. Knowing this background explained why Freya’s recent online comments had felt like harsh slaps to everyone living in the South Bank. With that knowledge, the public fury made perfect, ugly sense.
And yet… Elena still couldn’t quite fit that research, or those first bewildered, accusing words of hers, together with the image burned in her memory: Freya's face pale with fear and confusion despite the bit of suspicion mixed in. That gap in perception was why she kept searching the crowded street as she edged closer to the Hollow’s entrance. This bar had a way of stripping away people’s polite masks, revealing who they really were underneath. She desperately wanted to see which version of Freya Collins walked in tonight.
Thankfully, she spotted her almost immediately.
A voice cut through the din, and Elena’s eyes found him instantly: tall, broad-shouldered, his suit cut close enough to hint at the muscle underneath, beard and hair meticulously kept. Even standing still, he commanded the space, his presence pushing into others’ without seeming to move. Trapped halfway in the doorway, directly in front of this imposing man, stood Freya Collins. Her expensive coat looked flawless, her makeup untouched, but a tight strain pulled at the corners of her mouth, betraying her calm appearance.
“Oh. Oh ho ha, my. My, my, my,” the man drawled, his voice dripping with false amusement. “Ms. Freya fucking Collins.”
Standing near the front of the shuffling line, Elena sensed the atmosphere change immediately as the man’s voice dropped its fake, dramatic tone. She’d witnessed plenty of people try to dodge a public shaming, but Freya’s attempt at a calm reply barely managed. That tiny shake told Elena Freya understood this wasn’t going to be a fast, clean escape. This confrontation was settling in for the long haul.
And slow and torturous the confrontation was.
Dirty fucking leeches.
The harshness of his words made Elena tense involuntarily, a bit of discomfort she quickly suppressed. She couldn’t tell how much of this attack stemmed from genuine anger and how much was just a cruel act for the watching crowd. However, the man’s absolute confidence, the way he spat the words with such certainty, screamed that he’d researched Freya Collins as thoroughly as she had. When Freya weakly offered, “I want to help,” Elena almost scoffed.. It sounded like a desperate, empty line, a last resort when someone had no real plan. The man clearly recognized it too, instantly shifting from sneering mockery to a cold fury that was far more dangerous.
By the time he was laying out his conditions, each threat wrapped in the guise of a holiday courtesy, Elena could tell this wasn’t about making a point anymore. It was about making sure Freya left here diminished, whatever the official reason for her visit.
Freya’s ‘yes’ was quick, clipped, and not submission so much as self-preservation. Elena’s grip on her bag strap relaxed, knuckles no longer white. She’d come hoping to see which version of Freya Collins would appear tonight – the privileged influencer, the wounded victim, or something else. Watching the woman shrink before the suited man, Elena wondered grimly if this wasn’t Freya at all. Maybe it was just the stripped-bare version of someone who’d walked blindly into a trap, a victim caught entirely off guard.
There was only one way to truly find out. She would have to talk to the young woman herself. But before that…
The line shuffled forward, and suddenly, there was no one between Elena and the man in the suit. Up close, he was taller than she’d realized, the kind of height that made you unconsciously straighten your spine. She hitched her bag a little higher and let it swing forward just enough for the glass inside to clink.
“Herbal blends,” she said, holding it up in both hands so he could see the contents through the jar lids. “For the kitchen. My mom sent me with them. She runs La Botica Verde over on Calle Flores. Says they’ll cut right through the grease.”
She saw no need to elaborate on the blends’ other potential benefits; how specific herbs could clear a muddled mind or gently cool overheated tempers. If he allowed her inside, she’d personally ensure the jars reached their intended table. Elena’s real mission, however, waited just beyond him.
The air is thick, heavy, and it smells like rot. The ground isn’t solid—it shifts like mud, and sometimes she thinks it’s made of bones. Faces push out of the walls, mouths opening and closing like fish, but no sound comes out.
Something crawls behind her. She runs, but her legs feel slow, like she’s moving through water. The whispers follow anyway. You don’t belong. You’re nothing. You’re not you.
She sees a faint light ahead, the only thing that seems safe in the dark. She reaches for it, but it turns into a hand, grabbing her wrist and pulling her under. She can’t breathe. She can’t scream. The Pit swallows her whole.
As it always does.
Destiny jolted awake, heart hammering, locket clutched so tight the edges dug into her palm. The room was quiet except for the soft snoring of the other kids in their bunks. The air smelled like laundry soap and dust, but she still swore she could taste the Pit in the back of her throat. She sat up and listened. No whispers. Not out loud, anyway. Just her head echoing too much. The beds creaked when someone rolled over. She watched them—kids her age, younger ones, and older ones. All asleep, all safe, or at least they looked like it. She didn’t feel safe. She never did. Sometimes they tried to talk to her during the day. Asked her to play, tried to share food, and asked about the locket. She never knew what to say. She wasn’t like them. She felt like an animal shoved in the wrong cage.
Even here, surrounded by people, she felt alone. Worse than alone—like she wasn’t even supposed to exist in the same room as them.
She lay back down, clutching the locket to her chest. Sleep wouldn’t come again, not after that dream.The morning after the nightmare, Destiny slipped out of the crowded dormitory before the other children had finished waking. Her feet carried her to the orphanage bathroom, where the cracked mirror and dim light offered her a quiet corner away from the chatter and shuffling. She stood at the sink, hands resting on the porcelain, staring at her reflection without really seeing it.
Destiny sighed. Closing her eyes. She repeated the mantra her mother told her,
Anyone else would be losing their mind on the Mother Will's abrupt arrival. Destiny, on the other hand, didn't so much as flinch. If anything, Destiny would be rolling her eyes if she knew what that meant. The little girl simply stared at the reflection in the mirror. The Mother Will unnaturally lean forward until her lips are level with Destiny's ear,
"... You feel it too, don’t you?" The Mother Will softly said, "You belong here. These children - they don’t understand you. But the Pit does. I do.”
Destiny’s jaw tightened. She didn’t answer. She had learned long ago that speaking back only dragged things out. Her real mother’s voice echoed in her head: Ignore her. She can’t touch you if you don’t let her.
The Mother Will didn’t mind the silence. She never did. “Every night, it pulls at you. Every morning, you wake with its breath still clinging to your skin. You are not like them, Destiny. You never will be.”
Destiny sighed. Closing her eyes, trying to steady her breath, trying to push the voice into the background like tv static. She pressed her palms flat against the sink, willing herself to think about anything else—the orphanage bell, the smell of toast still clinging to the halls, the kids arguing over who got the bigger slice or whatever videogame they were playing.
But the Mother’s voice slid through anyway. “You’re wasting yourself here. Playing at being one of them. You could be so much more if you stopped fighting it.”
Destiny sighed.
”... I'm not going back.”
"You say that, yet you dream of it every night," The Mother Will whispered. “All that power, all that control... It’s waiting for you. The Pit would bend to your will, Destiny. You could shape it, master it, command it. You could be everything you were meant to be.”
Destiny forced herself to breathe evenly, to let her eyes trace the cracked tiles instead of the reflection behind her. I’m not going back. I won’t.
“But there’s more,” the Mother pressed, leaning closer, so close that Destiny could feel the cold pull of it in her thoughts. “Your mother... Darlene. You want to see her again, don’t you? She’s waiting for you. I can show you where. You have to take the step.”
Destiny’s heart thudded, and for a moment she froze. The Pit had taught her to be cautious, to distrust every word, every shadow—but the thought of Darlene, the faint hope of finding her again... it tugged at something raw inside her.
The Mother Will’s smile widened. “You’ve survived the Pit once. You can survive it again. But this time… you won’t be alone. You’ll have me. You’ll have your strength. And her.”
Destiny blinked. She could almost feel the pull of the Pit, the seductive promise of power and reunion, but she swallowed the panic rising in her chest. No. No. No. Don't listen. Don't listen. No. No. No. The thoughts raced through her head. Her vision blurred slightly as The Mother Will’s words echoed in her mind. She couldn’t stay here - couldn’t sit in a room that smelled faintly of disinfectant and stale bread while that voice tugged at her from the mirror.
She stepped back, grabbed her coat from the hook by the door, and slipped quietly into the hall. The orphanage was already stirring - voices calling from the dining hall, the distant scrape of chairs on the floor—but she ignored it all. Her feet carried her to the door, past the rows of other children, past the tired adults trying to hold the place together, and out into the streets of Cloverfield.A year had passed since the Cataclysm, and the roads of Cloverfield had slowly begun to reclaim themselves. Most of the collapsed buildings were cordoned off or cleared, and the larger debris had been removed, although the work on the South Bank was patchy at best. Destiny could still step over broken pavement, dodge leaning lampposts, and skirt around piles of rotting trash. Rusted cars sat abandoned in alleys, their windows shattered, tires long since stolen or flattened. The air smelled faintly of smoke, damp concrete, and the kind of rot that clings to alleyways where the city’s forgotten live. Graffiti stretched across crumbling brick walls, marking territory, telling stories, or warning off passersby.
Destiny kept to the edges, letting her telekinesis lift small obstacles silently out of the way: a tipped trash can, a loose plank, a low-hanging cable. Her eyes flicked constantly, trained to notice everything. She wasn’t afraid here in the same way she had been in the Pit, but she couldn’t shake the sense that this neighborhood had its kind of cruelty, one that waited for the careless or the distracted. Her boots clicked on broken pavement, the sound swallowed by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a stray dog. She didn’t need to worry about anyone noticing her - not really - but she kept her head down anyway.
Her thoughts drifted, as they always did, to Darlene. The memory of her mother’s hands, steady and warm, guiding her through the chaos of the Pit, flashed through her mind. The way Darlene had bent time just enough to save them, the way she had spoken of hope even when everything around them screamed despair. Destiny’s chest tightened at the thought—at the same time fragile and comforting, like a spark barely clinging to life.
And then, like a shadow at the edge of her mind, the Mother Will whispered. She always whispered. Even here, far from the Pit, she could feel that presence brushing against her thoughts, leaning in, speaking in the tone Destiny had learned to ignore.
“You remember her, don’t you?” The voice was soft, insidious, curling around her fears and desires. “You feel the pull. The Pit remembers you. And she... she waits. Don’t you want to see her again?”
Destiny pressed her jaw tight and tried to shove the voice aside. The Mother Will walked just behind her, keeping pace. Ahead, a figure moved with an effortless grace, her blonde hair catching the weak morning light. Destiny didn’t recognize her—but the Mother Will’s voice slipped into her mind like ice.
“See her?” it whispered. “That girl... Princess Nadine. Reckless. Impulsive. Dangerous. You’ve never met her, but she’s an imposter.”
Destiny’s eyes narrowed, scanning the figure but saying nothing as they walked past.
"You wouldn’t know it yet, but she’s left destruction in her wake. Lives ruined. Innocents hurt. All because she wanted to be a hero. Write the story. All to sate her ego." The Mother Will monologue, "And worst of all... she doesn’t realize how much damage she's caused!”
Destiny pressed her hands into the pockets of her jacket, forcing herself to focus on the cracked sidewalks, the occasional flutter of trash in the wind. She wanted to ignore the voice, but it slithered closer, insidious and patient.
“You could fix this,” the Mother Will murmured, almost tenderly, “End her reign of terror before it reignites! All it would take is one choice... You wouldn’t let her continue to hurt people, would you?”
Destiny’s stomach twisted, a strange mix of revulsion and curiosity. She didn’t know this girl, didn’t feel any loyalty—but the certainty in the Mother Will’s words pressed at the corners of her mind. Destiny paused. With a quick usage of her telepathy, the girl was long gone. Or at least she couldn't detect her anymore.
“She’s reckless,” The Mother will whisper, “And she deserves death. Not for yourself... but for the people she’s already hurt. For the chaos she left behind. You could stop it. You could stop her.”
Destiny stood there.
Before she kept walking, she didn’t turn. She didn’t answer.
Destiny let the noise of the South Bank swallow her thoughts. The smell of something warm and cheesy caught her attention—an unfamiliar aroma amidst the concrete and smoke. A pizza shop had opened for the day, a small neon sign flickering above the door: “Sal’s Slice.”
The Mother Will softly begin to coax her. “See that, Destiny? A simple little pleasure. One slice... and it could be yours. You know the spell. You’ve done it before. Just a nudge in their minds. A thought here, a word there...”
Destiny hesitated at the door, the ordinary desire for food colliding with the unnatural pull of the Mother Will's voice. “It’s just pizza,” the Mother Will whispered. “Just a single slice. You could take it without asking. They’d smile, nod, and obey. And you... You’d feel that power again. Isn’t that what you crave?”
Her jaw tightened. She knew what the spell did—Domination. She could bend a person’s mind, erase hesitation, and force them to obey a single command. Usually, she resisted. Normally, she ignored the urge... But today, the day felt heavy and dull; the streets were empty enough that the pull seemed harmless. Destiny stepped inside.
The bell over the door chimed. A young clerk looked up, smiling politely. “Welcome! First time here?”
Destiny didn’t answer. Her eyes locked on the counter, on the perfect slice waiting in the display. The Mother Will’s voice whispered, patient, teasing. “Just a thought... and it’s yours.”
Destiny let the Domination spell slip out. It was subtle at first—just a tendril of suggestion curling around the clerk’s mind. She felt the power, warm and intoxicating, threading through her thoughts and into his. The clerk’s eyes glazed ever so slightly, his posture relaxing, his smile widening almost unnaturally.
“Give her the largest slice,” He said.
The clerk nodded as if compelled by some invisible force, then grabbed a slice and handed it over. Destiny took it without a word, and quickly left the store without a once of subtlety. As she left, the Mother Will stood by the door. Watching her as Destiny got further and further away.
As Destiny walked back into the streets of Cloverfield, the warm slice in her hands suddenly felt heavier than it should have. The city buzzed faintly around her, but she felt oddly isolated. A flicker of guilt pricked at her chest. The clerk... he hadn’t wanted to give it up. He had smiled, yes, but it had been a smile manufactured by her own mind. She had taken what wasn’t hers. She knew it.
But the weight of the day, of the lingering emptiness that followed her nightmares and the Pit’s pull, dulled the guilt almost immediately. It was easy to overlook it. It didn’t matter.
No one else mattered. Not today.
And...
Interactions: Some monsters. Maybe with their dongs out.
The Mother Will was gone at least for a short period. Destiny should have felt relief, yet without the Mother Will, the streets of Cloverfield felt… lonely. Any company, even a dangerous one, might be better than none at all. She slipped into the narrow alley between rusted warehouses, the shadows swallowing her tiny figure. The warm weight of the stolen pizza slice pressed against her chest, a small comfort amid the city’s harsh chill. She didn’t dare slow down — the world had taught her that.
Pressing herself flat against the cold brick wall behind a dumpster, she took a quick, cautious bite. A flicker of motion caught the corner of her eye.
Her head snapped up.
She reached out, her eyes closing briefly to tap into her telepathy, and she reached for the thoughts and emotions lingering nearby.
There.
A presence, subtle but unmistakable — something watching, waiting.
Not human.
Her breath hitched, but she forced herself to remain still—no sudden movements. No sounds. The pulse of emotions flooded her mind — tension, anticipation, a shadow of hunger. Destiny’s heart beat louder in her ears, but her body stayed still, blending into the darkness. She narrowed her eyes, extending her Emotional Prism carefully, trying to dissect the feelings from the watcher without revealing herself.
From the alley's grimy depths, a figure unnaturally pulled itself up from its hiding space as if pulled from an unseen puppeteer by invisible strings. Even at this distance, Destiny could spot nothing reassuringly human about it. It appeared vaguely masculine, unnervingly tall, and carried a disturbing soft around the belly. Its eyes were pitted, locked on the dumpster Destiny hid behind, as if drawn by her panicked breath.
“Hello! Are you lost?” The sound of the creature wetly sucking in a deep breath filled the air, followed by a rasping, guttural giggle. A bone cracked sharply. “Ohhh, oh you smell,” another sickening snap echoed, this time from its neck, “perfect.” The creature jerked completely upright and began to writhe, stretching in all directions as muscles ripped wetly, tendons shredded sharply, and bones crunched and splintered under the weight of an unatural warping. The human face and neck slumped grotesquely to the side as the shoulders sank unnaturally downwards. Its arms stretched, and stretched with a leathery tearing sound, until they dragged like boneless ropes on the ground behind the monster, each finger curling and hardening into an individual jagged spike. Its legs snapped violently backwards into distorted hindlimbs, and more cruel, knife-like spikes burst forth from the creature's toes.
The perfect vessel.
That was what was going through the creature’s head from a glance using her abstraction. Destiny was brought back to her time in the Pit: Hide. Run. Fight. She clenched the pizza slice in one hand as she raised the other and tuned in on the creature’s position… She activated Deception. She created an illusory version of herself and sent it hauling ass in one direction, as she quietly walked away in the other.
“Run, run, run, run as fast as you can.” the creature paused as its arms pulled themselves back into the shoulder socket, before both were aimed up. One towards each form, aiming to wrap around their ankles. While the illusion was enough for the creature to not know which one was which, it was smart enough to know it could figure it out with just once simple strike. Both arms launched as if they were a rocket, with the pointed tips reaching out with malicious intent.
Destiny screamed as the tendril wrapped around her ankle and fell to the ground. Her poor pillaged pizza also hit the ground, yet she was not going to stop here. She dropped the illusion before focusing on the dumpster that she previously hid behind - channeling Force of Will to grasp onto it with nothing but her mind and swung it at the monster like it was a mace.
The dumpster impacted the monster and threw it into the nearby wall, granting Destiny a moment of reprieve as the grip around her ankle loosened and the monster lost its grip on its prize. Yet it would not be for long. The dumpster that crushed the monster was suddenly and violently flung off it, crashing through the wall of the building on the opposite side of the alley, and continuing through the building until it went out the other side, impacting a car on the other side and coming to a halt from there. A third arm had formed out of the sunken shoulder socket, and the dangling human face had its face locked onto Destiny. “Oh yes. OH YES. Yes, you are strong! You ARE perfect.” It pulled back both elongated arms, coiling them back up onto its shoulders and aimed towards Destiny once more. It launched them at a blinding speed once more.
Destiny gasped. It was persistent as the other beasts. Usually she had the backup of the other Adepts in the Pit, but now she was alone. She panicked. Disregarding any of the other options she had at her disposal.
She screamed yet.
It was over.
”... STATIONARY BARRIER!”
The creature's arms slammed into the barrier and instantly any remaining bones left in them crunched, and became dust as they failed to break through. Cracks would farm in a spiderweb pattern outward from the impact point, speaking to the power behind the strike, yet the barrier would stand. The dagger like hands would simply fall to the ground defeated, before they were reeled back into the shoulders. A smirk crossed the creature's face as its eyes began to dart across the alley. “I did not sense you before…. Why did you run if you had such an ally at your side, vessel?”
Destiny groaned, ”... I’m not your vessel!”
In the blink of an eye, a translucent barrier appeared before her and the creature’s arm. The source of the voice stood on one of the rooftops, holding a well-worn book at her side while a comforting, confident smile appeared on her face.
”My, my,” She called out, ”You sure are an ugly one! Please return back to whatever hole you spawned out of!” Elodie raised the book to chest level, opening it as floating pink runes and moats of light appeared. She raised her other hand and began reciting a chant as she charged up for a moment.
”... Acidic bubbles!” Elodie shouted as several large green bubbles floated towards the monsters that would spray him with acid upon popping.
“Exsanguinate,” the creature responded before tendrils of its own blood shot out from all over its body, with each one aimed towards the bubbles in turn. While these launched outward it pulled its arms back and prepped them to fire again..As they impacted, the acid would spray out, disabling the tendril from further snaking. Thus, even though most of the bubbles were popped well before they reached the creature a few would still impact it. The acid sizzled on the creature's skin, and sections of flesh would dissolve and fall off its frame onto the ground below. As the last bubble popped, the creature's skin began to pull downward, pulling skin from the creature back towards the chest area. “Clever insect,” the creature paused as it crouched down to the ground, leaned back, and launched itself at a blinding speed towards the woman on the rooftop while also launching both arms at the girl on the ground, aiming above the barrier from before.
Thinking on her feet, Destiny cast Deception again - except on a far larger scale than before. She completely vanished, and in her place, about a dozen identical copies that scattered in random directions as Destiny ran off.
”... Predator!” Elodie shouted as Red runes floated around her as she placed a hand over the book. ”I will ensure there is nothing left of you!” She chanted… before an explosion appeared near the creature.
”DETONATION!” Elodie shouted, but without even giving it another second, she charged up another spell.
The explosion enveloped the creature in an instant, burning its skin and throwing its trajectory downward into the upper wall of the building. It’s arms were forced dowards and missed their targets. It crashed through the wall as a charred, smoldering amalgamation of flesh and contoured limbs, and the impact sent a cloud of debris into the air. A moment after impact, two voices screamed out in horror before their voices were cut off by the sound of the creature slashing, and stabbing. After a few seconds the two corpses were flung out of the hole impacting the ground below with a sickeningly wet crunch.
“Tell me,” the creature spoke from inside the building. Instantly something would feel off to Elodie. The hues of color that defined a world of life instantly began to blend and fade together, sound would lose definition and clarity, and her skin would no longer recognize the sensation of clothes against it. All of these sensory inputs would be suddenly, and violently replaced with an overwhelming sense of dread and despair. “Have you ever experienced the true feeling of Nothingness, adept,” the creature mocked.
The building between the creature and Elodie would explode outward for one moment before the bricks, wood, and other material simply blinked out of existence as if it never existed in the first place. As Elodie had her emotional field present she’d be able to see a thin, but precise, purple beam aimed towards her, fired from a crystal that was hidden inside the chest cavity of the creature. It exposed the crystal by having its rib cage open wide like a hungry maw. Elodie would also see that the beam seemed to utterly destroy everything in a ten foot radius around it. While it was small, its power was absolutely devastating to objects that did not have an emotional field. The Maw closed as the creature shot out of the ruined building, searching for its prey once more.
When the creature changed priorities from her to Elodie, Destiny immediately dropped the spell as she ducked behind a wall in a separate alleyway. Something was telling her to run, but there was that vague curiosity about what she gleamed from the creature’s mind. Whatever there was… so she used her telepathy spell to reach out yet again - the exertion from all this magic was starting to get to her, but she couldn’t stop. She watched as the beam hit Elodie and from her thoughts - she wasn’t hurt, but there was something horribly wrong about the beam of energy. Then her mind glanced towards the creature… Some mental complaints about “emotional fields”.
Then…
… Orders.
It was sending out commands to others like it to converse on the area to capture the vessel.
Her.
Destiny’s heart began pounding. There were more, and she could barely handle one. Her help could barely handle one. While she wanted to help the cotton-candy-haired woman, she had to prioritize her own survival above all else. While it was distracted, the monster took off running.
The beam hit Elodie, and she was instantly washed over with a sense of dread unlike anything she had ever felt before. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t injure her. But it was… nothing. Pure nothing. Out of reflex, Elodie dove out of the way as the area was being disintegrated. Elodie choked as she forced herself to her feet and shouted, as Red Lux runes floated around her,
”... For the good of mankind!” Elodie shouted before she chanted, ”Vine Lash!” Vines then burst from the ground and wrapped around the doppleganger.
The doppelganger was stopped in its tracks. Any attempt for it to move was quickly resisted by the vine lash and soon the creature stopped entirely from freeing itself. It’s dangling, burnt head suddenly perked up and twisted around with a grinding crunch, deep set eyes lining up with Elodie. A wide grin cut through the cheeks, pouring a steady torrent of blood down towards the ground.
“You’ve stopped me from pursuing my vessel,” It paused as it sensed its fellow remnants closing in at speed. It didn’t need to fight for now, it just needed to delay, “who are you?”
Elodie’s lip curled into a wry grin as she hopped from the rooftop onto a dumpster, then jumped onto the ground level. She slowly walked towards the creature, grabbing onto the Rose Petal that rested at her hip and slowly (and dramatically) unsheathing it. ”... Elodie Baptiste,”
The Rose Petal erupted into flames as she charged the creature, aiming for its core.
”... The last woman you will ever see!”
The creature's grin exploded out the sides of its mouth as all across its body bony protrusions erupted through the skin. The protrusions were human bone but they were shaped like the talons of a hawk. With a quick motion, they sliced through vines and its own flesh alike, freeing itself from its restricted prison but sending even more blood across the street. It did not have enough time to deflect, or escape the strike, but it did have enough time to change the location of its core. As the blade cut deep into where the core was, Elodie would watch as it practically slithered under its skin. First across the chest, through the shoulder, down the arm, until it ultimately forced the pointer finger apart, revealing the tip of the impossible crystal.
It fired its beam again. Yet Elodie preserved and struck the core of the beast with the tip of the Rose Petal. It shattered into dozens of pieces on the ground as Elodie wiped Rose Petal clean with her fingertips. She looked to the left and the right as she sheathed Rose Petal and was surrounded by green Lux runes as she chanted her Corvid Shift spell and transformed into a crow. With a few firm flaps, she was airborne and took to the sky looking for the girl.
She couldn’t have gotten far...
As Destiny ran through the alleyways, she tried to remember her way back to St. Eleanora's. Her best bet would be to mind control another cop to take her back - her mind constantly scanning for the creature’s “reinforcements”-
Before she came to a sudden halt.
She detected them.
Or more accurately.
They detected her.
Up ahead the brick wall of a building exploded outwards as another Doppleganger entered the area. Destiny would be able to sense that this one was much weaker than the one who assaulted her earlier, but she would know it was a threat all the same. It was taller, and thicker than the first one and proportional. Its right hand was like a hammer made out of all the bones in the body, with muscle sinew still keeping a finger or two strapped onto the sides. The rest of the body seemed to be coated in a boney armor with various spikes protruding from its collar bone and kneecaps. Its second arm was as limp as a noodle fresh from the boiling water of a pop and flowed in the wind, sending drops of blood to the ground below. Its face was that of a man, tears flowed from his eyes as soft whispers of pain emanated from his mouth. The neck suddenly spun around, twisted like one would a bottle cap, and winding upwards like a spring. The action revealed a second face, feminine, but smiling with eyes as black as a star less night. It’s head spun again up the spring as it began to charge towards Destiny.
Out of sheer reflex, Destiny grabbed all the bricks that she could with her telekinesis, which began a very severe headache, and chucked it at the creature as she turned and ran the other direction as fast as she could.
The bricks did little to slow down the hulking brute who simply raised the hammer in front of its face. The bricks still did damage to its exposed legs, and it began to leave a bloody trail in its wake. As the last brick impacted, it lowered its hammer and launched two spikes from its shoulders, connected in the middle by a web of muscle sinew and other rope-like bloody structures. The spikes were aimed on both sides of Destiny and were meant to get her caught in the web of the monster.
Ahead of Destiny she would see three men and two women walking towards her, calmly, with impossibly wide grins.
Destiny’s breath came in sharp, ragged bursts. The pounding of her heart echoed in her ears, drowning out the distant city noise. Her hands trembled as she tried to steady her focus, willing the headache behind her eyes to fade. Panic flared. She dove sideways, dodging the spikes - yet not far enough to get free of the spike web. Her telepathy raced, desperately seeking a mind to control, a body to commandeer, anything to get her back to St. Eleanora’s.
She couldn’t give up.
Not yet.
Not here.
“... Ah, child,” The Mother Will walked past the three, seemingly phasing through them with the cheshire grin on her face. “There’s an easy way out of this, you know…”
Destiny ignored her and continue thrashing.
“... Return to the Pit. Return home.”
All the creatures stopped suddenly as they felt the crystal core of their fellow creature shatter. While they knew it would not be down forever, this town had already broken their physical forms more times than any other place since they were created on this planet all those millennia ago. Their heads all remained turned in that direction before they slowly turned back towards Destiny. None of the creatures had a smile on their face. Instead, there was an almost cruel twist downward to the corners of their mouths.
Destiny’s eyes flicked up at the Mother Will, cold and steady despite the pain clawing at her temples. Her voice sharp as a knife…
”... I’m not going back,” Destiny said to the Mother Will. ”That’s no longer my home.”
Seemingly on cue, something strange happened. The air and space around Destiny and the Dopplegangers began to distort. Flux. Shatter. Into dozens of razor-sharp fragments. They floated carelessly in the air… before they stopped, as if they primed themselves. They quickly became a rabid storm of blades that sliced the creatures to pieces. Destiny was confused as she used the last of her strength to try to find a source - there was something but it was quite frankly, nothing like she had ever encountered.
The creatures all raised their hands and arms, twisted their form to enlarge and elongate their limbs to try and block the incoming strikes but it was for not. Their bodies ripped under the assault, sending blood gushing and spraying outward. While they were not killed by the strikes, their annoyance at it hung in the air as they looked around the area for the source. Eventually a singular thought crossed each one’s mind. They had found another vessel, and this one was also perfect for their goals. They began to back away from Destiny and the assault from the unknown assailant.
With one swipe of Destiny’s hand, the net was off of her. Between hurried breaths, she looked around, scanning for any signs of those creatures - more importantly, if they decide to come back. Her head was pounding, this was the first time she’s used her abilities to this extent since she’s left the Pit. Destiny’s little mind was racing, blood dripping down her nose. She paused for a moment, wondering if she had fallen into some sens-
Footsteps approached from behind.
It was that abnormality.
Destiny slowly turned around, activating her Domination spell as a last-ditch effort, but to no avail. By the time her pivot was complete, a tall African-American woman with hair styled into a high puff approached. She was wearing a fitted leather jacket over a white, sleeveless top, black cargo pants, and scuffed combat boots.. Destiny froze. Her mouth opened, then closed. Nothing came out. Every muscle tensed, her mind screaming for a plan, for anything. The woman’s eyes were locked on her, unblinking, unafraid. Destiny’s powers felt heavy in her arms, her fingers trembling on the edge of control. She wanted to run, but her body wouldn't let her. She was seen. Fully. And it terrified her.
The woman calmly walked over to Destiny - whose body was frozen in shock, her mind struggling to process the presence before her. There was something… layered about it, as if one thought, one motion, one glance couldn’t contain all of her at once. When the woman’s hand reached forward, Destiny’s instincts screamed to bite, to recoil - but the touch came, gentle, and wiped the blood from her cheek.
Destiny's eyes darted around, looking the woman up and down.
”I got you,” The woman said with a confident smile. ”We gotta-”
”... Who are you?” Destiny asked, taking a step back, raising her hands.
The woman put a hand on her hip, ”Latoya Strange. I was just… passing though…” Latoya laughed.
Destiny swallowed hard, trying to push the fear down, but it clawed its way back up just as quickly. Her head throbbed as if it might split. Every instinct screamed to run, to vanish, but her legs refused to move. Desperately scanning Latoya despite the act making her headache far worse. There was something… strange.
”I… I don’t understand,” Destiny began.
Latoya’s smile didn’t falter. She leaned just slightly closer, eyes locked onto Destiny like a predator gauging the hesitation of its prey. Destiny’s head spun as if she were catching glimpses of something behind Latoya’s eyes that wasn’t her.
“Stay… away,” Destiny managed, her voice shaking.
Latoya tilted her head, amused, almost curious. Yet she respected Destiny’s space was taking a few steps back. However, the woman raised her hands as she said,
“Hey,” Latoya said softly, keeping her hands raised and open. “I’m not here to hurt you. You’re safe with me - I promise.”
Destiny remained on guard. Destiny’s chest tightened, and she blinked rapidly, trying to process the words—and the warmth behind them. For the first time in what felt like forever, the presence pressing on her mind wasn’t threatening. It was… real. Solid. Human.
“…You really mean that?” Destiny whispered.
Latoya responded with a nod.
“I… I don’t know if I can trust you,” Destiny said, defensive. Her telepathy scanned Latoya for hidden intentions - but her mind was extraordinary and alien, refusing to settle.
Latoya crouched down slightly, lowering herself to Destiny’s eye level without breaking the careful distance.
“I know it’s hard,” she said. “People scare you, situations get messy… I get it. But I’m not here to hurt you. No tricks, no games. Just me.”
Destiny’s hands twitched, her mind still screaming caution = but a small part of her, the part that remembered what safety felt like, relaxed just a fraction.
“Take a breath,” Latoya added, “No rush. No pressure. Just… for a second.”
Destiny’s chest heaved, and for the first time in what felt like hours, her frantic pulse slowed just a fraction. Her fingers, still trembling, hovered near the edge of her magic. The urge to dominate, to control, to protect herself - every instinct - throbbed through her. And yet, Latoya’s presence didn’t feel like a threat. It felt… patient. Almost human.
“... Okay,” Destiny whispered, voice barely audible, more to herself than to Latoya. “...Just... okay, I’ll try.”
Latoya’s smile softened, “That’s all I ask,”
“…Why are you helping me?” Destiny finally asked.
Latoya just shrugged, smile going flat. “... Because I can. Because I’ve been where you are. Because sometimes… someone just needs to know they’re not alone.”
Destiny’s breath hitched. That last part—it resonated.
“You don’t have to trust me all at once,” Latoya said. “Just… let me walk with you a little bit so we can leave this behind.”
Destiny looked down the alley where the creatures had left, scanning one last time - only to pick up a crow perched on the rooftop. It appeared to be a simple bird… but from its thoughts, it was that cotton-candy-haired woman who saved her before. Destiny didn’t know how to say thank you - not that it mattered in the end, as the bird flapped off. For the first time since she’d left the Pit, she allowed herself to lower her hands, if only fractionally. The decision wasn’t full trust - far from it - but it was a start.
Destiny hesitated for a heartbeat. No words came. No promises were made. Then, slowly, deliberately, she took a step forward. Another. And another. Latoya matched her pace without a word, giving her space, letting her set the rhythm.
The alley stretched behind them, dark and empty, but for the first time, Destiny didn’t feel completely alone. Side by side, they walked - Destiny wordless, cautious, but moving.
Red emergency lights illuminated the dark corridor. The faint squeaking of cart wheels interrupted the steady chirp of a heart monitor. The air smelled strongly of chemicals covering up something sweet. Paloma paused outside of a room door, hesitant to knock as her hand hovered just beneath the numbers of 513. She cast a glance towards the nurse’s station, steeled herself, and opened the door with a click. A small figure sat up in the bed, backlit by a cascade of golden light that blossomed like a supernova, swept over the frail shadow, and threatened to swallow up Paloma as she shielded her eyes.
As her vision returned the white, sterile walls of the hospital had been swapped with the polished stainless steel of a professional kitchen. Paloma adjusted her frilly apron as she analyzed herself in the reflective glass of an industrial oven. An all too familiar beep drew her attention as she turned and found herself staring at a heart monitor hooked up to an occupied hospital bed tucked between the stand mixers. Its sudden appearance wasn’t as startling as it should have been, nor was Paloma shocked when she looked down in the bed and saw the battered figure of Freya Collins.
Golden light began to creep at Paloma’s peripherals as she began to hear voices bounce off of the bakery’s walls. Hushed whispers saying that Freya deserved worse with defeated responses saying how they were sure nothing would come of it. Other voices were adamant she’d never recover from this. Angry shouting about how they should bulldoze her bakery or her home cut through the murmur. Paloma swore she could even hear somebody in the chaotic mix of voices start to throw out comparisons to Hitler. The voices were getting painfully loud as Paloma felt a sudden weight in her hand. She looked down to see that she was now holding a rolling pin, and the mob had finally harmonized into a chorus chanting do it, do it, do it.
She raised the rolling pin but froze when Freya wordlessly opened her eyes. Paloma tried to offer up some kind of explanation but found that her tongue refused to cooperate. She began moving to set down the improvised weapon when something fuzzy with orange and black stripes grabbed her wrist. The voices blared in shrill support. Paloma wriggled as the creature jerked her hand up, screaming out for it to stop as it brought the rolling pin down with a sickening–
–thud!
Paloma’s hand hit her alarm clock so hard that it drew out a soft whimper. She shifted in her bed and groaned, her brain full of fog and throbbing with a dull pain, as she tried to untangle herself from the web of blankets. The bottle of melatonin responsible for the weird dream stared at her from the nightstand like the killer returning to the scene of the crime. Paloma hated taking the stuff, but having spent the past day and a half that had felt more like a trimester in a sleep deprived fugue state there really had been no other option.
With her hand finally free from her blankets, Paloma was able to push herself into a sitting position. She immediately grabbed her phone, the lock screen painfully showing through its lack of missed messages that she was actually awake. She opened the phone and refreshed the comment page on the story Paloma had been reading before the melatonin had fully kicked in. A whole new wall of hate dedicated to Freya Collins glowed on the screen before her. It woke her up better than any cup of coffee ever could. It even made that dull little headache fade into the background and drowned out that annoying, nagging little voice that had been pestering her to maybe call her therapist ever since she’d helped out Vin .
It even made her forget, briefly, that she had more important shit to do before her second alarm rudely went off and informed her that she was going to run late.
Paloma had considered it a bit odd that Vin, Marco, or any of the others had not invited her to the Hollow Tap’s Thanksgiving dinner, but they had also not not invited her. Did it look a bit sad and desperate that she had nowhere else to be on Thanksgiving Day? Sure, but it was late enough in the afternoon to pretend that she had actually attended her family dinner. Had she put in extra effort on her hair and makeup because Marco might be attending? Perhaps, she figured she had better chances if he could see her actually looking cute. Did she have an ulterior motive? Why, her? Never!
Okay, perhaps she was cooking up a bit of a scheme.
Nothing devious, really. She just didn’t want to put all her eggs in the “having Vin go around and beating up dudes named David Smith” basket. It wasn’t that she didn’t like carrying that basket, it was more like she didn’t like how she kinda sorta liked carrying that basket.
Speaking of baskets, she was growing sick of carrying the actual one she had with her now. It was loaded down with half-used icing jars, glitter that she was pretty sure was edible or at the very least non-toxic, and a jumbo size bag of candy corn that was well past its expiration date and yet somehow didn’t taste any worse than it did when she’d gotten it. Stacked on top of the basket, tied down with some fall-colored scarves, were two tupperwares full of pumpkin cookies cut in the shape of hand turkeys.
All of this shit was essential to the plan. Originally, Paloma’s plan had been to just show up to Thanksgiving with beautifully decorated cookies for the children to show how sweet and thoughtful she was, but the plan had changed. Now the plan was to show how spontaneous and creative she was by showing up and outsourcing all the work involved in decorating a turkey cookie on those stupid little bastards because she had run out of time to do it herself. It would be fun, surely the Hollow wouldn’t have icing smeared beneath tables or be finding bits of edible(?) glitter scattered around for weeks to come. Either way, once the children were occupied, Paloma would strike.
There was just one problem with the plan. Or rather there were many problems, it seemed, as Paloma turned the corner to the Hollow Tap and was bombarded by bursting threads of the Samaritan’s golden light dancing around the crowd that’d just gotten off of one of the shuttle buses. She made a face and turned her head, acting as if the light had blinded her.
“Stop it, Sam. It’s a holiday. Everybody here is getting helped anyway,” said Paloma.
The last part was a bit of a lie. These people wouldn’t go to bed hungry tonight, but they’d still be struggling tomorrow. The light faded, but she didn’t move closer to the bar. Paloma was starting to get cold feet. Things typically got weird with the Samaritan when she was around a large group of people. But, as long as she didn’t put herself out there too much and nobody caused a scene everything would probably just be okay. Besides, she had to get inside. There was no fucking way she was going to track down Marco at one of his lame LARP things, and Children’s Hospitals were just such a major bummer.
Paloma settled in the back of the line, content to wait her turn and almost immediately feeling the weight of her cookie basket. She craned her neck to see what the hold up was, getting hit pretty quickly once again by the feeling of apprehension when she saw that Gideon was working the door. Why’d he have to stop and chat up everyone? It was cold outside. A little, tiny, almost imperceptible groan squeaked out of her as she adjusted the basket, immediately prompting the person in front of her to turn his head. He gave her a little smile and asked, “Want a hand with that?”
“Oh, no, I got it,” said Paloma, instinctually believing that he’d immediately cut and run with her basket like a cartoon bear the moment she handed it over.
“Well, you wanna jump in front of us so you can set it all down sooner?” he asked, indicating to the cold, hungry looking family in front of him.
Paloma hummed briefly, thinking about it. Her shoulder was starting to hurt.
“Sure. Thanks for that,” she said chipperly, cutting in front of the family without giving it another thought. She cocked an annoyed eyebrow as the father spoke up behind her, seemingly invested in carrying on a conversation now. He said something about it being so cold he’d just keep his leftovers outside. Paloma realized it had been an attempt at a joke. She gave a polite exhale of air that could maybe be interpreted as a laugh. “Right!”
“Oh, are you cold? You can go ahead of us, sweetie,” said an old lady in front of her.
And so it went until Paloma was slingshotted to the front of the line through a bizarre barrage of pleasantries, with everyone in the line seemingly thankful that they would have to wait just a teensy bit longer to get inside. Paloma, perhaps emboldened by the mob’s initiative to get her inside ASAP (although more likely concerned that Gideon would take notice if the young woman delivering herbal blends that cut through grease just happened to turn and tell Paloma that she could go ahead and just cut on past her), seized the moment and brazenly blew right by Gideon. She held up her basket as she dipped by the delivery girl.
“Oh nice to see you again, Mr. Cross. Incredibly important cookie delivery, life or death, no time to chat, you know how it is. You look great by the way. Very debonair,” said Paloma, her rapidfire words doing jackshit when it came to making her seem less anxious by him as she buzzed on by like an uncatchable gnat. She even hit him with a little spin maneuver to avoid any grabs to halt her entry. Of course, even if he wanted to stop her he really couldn’t. Then again, why would he want to?
However, as soon as she was gone she had circled back again, swooping in on a conversation that wasn’t meant for her. Paloma gave Elena a soft, sympathetic smile, knowing full well she was about to entirely blow up her entire spot. She didn’t blame the girl for trying to shill her products to win some of Gideon Cross’s money, but she couldn’t possibly allow someone to commit a cleaning crime in her vicinity. It was a matter of public safety.
“Y’know, most grease can just be cleaned up with either some baking soda and water or spraying a little white vinegar on it and letting it sit before scrubbing it if you wanna go the natural route. Y’know, just saying. But frankly, your best bet is just to stick with a simple chemical cleaner like dish soap. It’s better at killing germs.”
Paloma chuckled to herself, the ribbon in her hair bouncy to and fro as her whole head got involved in an eye roll, “I mean obviously you’d be stupid if you didn’t also use a disinfectant anyway, hah, could you imagine? But still it’s better to be over cautious, I mean you wouldn’t want to kill someone–oh, there’s Vin.”
Again, Paloma suddenly abandoned the two in a hurry, leaving them to figure out the mystery of why this fucking person thought they could just butt in, and moved towards Vin with a bounce in her step. Her pace slowed down glacially as she saw the group of kids surrounding Vin to get coached by them. Paloma’s face brightened as the little stupid dorks rang out in a chorus of acknowledgment at something Vin had said, certain she had witnessed something she was not meant to have seen.
“Oooooo, tiger. I knew you were a softieeeeee,” cooed Paloma in a singsong voice as she moved to pester Vin, shifting the basket to her other hand. How soon was too soon to mention that she had a dream about them? “Teach me next, coach, teach me next. I want a private less–” A look of confusion crossed her face. “–on.”
The confusion became a look of sudden alarm as she snatched at Vin’s wrist and attempted to drag them away from their rapt, juvenile audience, concerned about introducing the youths to what Paloma would consider to be “salty language”.
”Ohmigosh, dude, what the heck. This is so awful,” hissed Paloma, sharply turning her back away from what had caught her attention. She shot Vin an annoyed look. “Why didn’t you tell me that Freya Frickin’ Collins was gonna be here?”
Freya slipped away from Gideon and into the crowd. Her hand shot to her chest, gripping it tightly, as she began to take shallow and uneven breaths. It was not everyday one was threatened by the most powerful person in the lower wards, and Freya suddenly realized how bad an idea this whole ordeal was.
And she knew she was now stuck with it.
Freya could not leave, she could only focus on not being killed. Gideon made the rules of the night very clear after all. Thus, she simply sunk into the long line for food and kept her head down. She assumed that several people had already recognized her, and several more knew she was here. Thus, Freya decided to keep her head down low and keep quiet to avoid any further problems.
“So, you’re Freya Collins.”
Freya gasped as her back straightened and her eyes went wide. They slowly drifted until they spotted a woman standing next to her. She had a sports jacket of some kind. She exhaled and looked around, spotting several angry eyes looking straight into hers. Shit. Freya returned her gaze towards the woman with malice. “Thanks for that.”
“Oh you’re welcome! It’s not everyday you meet a celebrity like you,” Seren grinned as they cut in front of Freya and moved down the line towards the food. The bar top was serving as the makeshift food line, with volunteers and gang members alike helping to pass out the food. There were various devices used to hold, and heat the food sitting behind the bar that were constantly replaced with fresh food from the kitchen that was hidden behind the back wall. “Dude, you’re an idiot. The fuck your think would happen by coming here?”
“I don’t need lectured by a-,”
“A what? Dude I’m not even from around here,” they paused as they grabbed an empty plate and held it up, out soon found a helping of potatoes plopped onto it, “and you don’t know me, you don’t have any friends, and I’d be surprised if you made any here.”
A scowl crossed Freya’s face. Was she so predictable? Still, she just needed to blend in long enough to find a way out. She grabbed a plate and held it up like Seren. While Freya was annoyed by this person they were at least thankful that someone was showing her how these low class functions functioned. “That’s not what I meant,” Freya tried to deflect.
Seren turned back to face Freya and narrowed their eyes. They used their eyes to direct Freya’s behind the counter. The helper simply stared at Freya, with a scoop of potatoes hanging just out of reach. “That’s what they heard,” Seren grinned as the worker slowly released the food onto the edge of the plate, causing half the food to fall off.
“I guess I’m just a dumb southerner who doesn't know how to work tools well,” the man spoke slowly and deliberately as he pointed towards the wooden scoop. The line pushed into Freya and moved her down.
“So fucking dumb coming here,” Seren repeated.
Freya looked back with a hint of malice in their eyes but it quickly left as she saw the tall muscular man with a scarred face. She quickly moved closer to Seren. “I had to do something,” she whispered. Ahead Seren held up their plate and got a healthy helping of stuffing and a few slices of turkey, both dark and white meat. Freya followed suit and held up their plate. The large woman behind the counter crossed her arms as she shook her head. She quickly pulled a hand free and used a scoop to grab some stuffing and practically threw the food onto the plate, combining with the potatoes and sending some onto Freya’s clothes. She grabbed a couple slices of turkey, splashing the juices into Freya’s face.
“If it wasn’t Thanksgiving I’d tell you what I think, but it is and there’s children around,” the woman growled.
“Sorr-,” Freya was cut off by the line moving forward. She pulled the plate down and kept her eyes down as she felt tears welling. She kept shuffling, holding back tears as she did, until a plastic wrapped utensil package entered her vision from ahead. She looked up and saw that Seren was holding it out for her.
“Just eat your food without causing a scene. I doubt you’re in any actual danger, they’re just trying to teach you a lesson I reckon,” Seren said honestly. If this crew was going to do something they wouldn’t have let her mingle, she’d just be taken away.
Freya nodded her head and took the plastic cutlery, mouthed a thank you, and walked over to an empty table and sat down.
Why did she even come here?
Gideon watched Freya slink off into the crowd. A grin spread across his face as he enjoyed the pain he caused as the knife he twisted stung deep. Freya had long since been one of his targets, both because of what she believed and what her father had planned so it was only natural that he’d enjoy the fruit from his labor. This would prove to be the first of many such strikes across the river, each one targeting a different, powerful, and influential leader. Gideon had paid good money for access to a lot of filth, and it was all going to start coming out. The corruption, the experimentation, the Freak World files, and even the plans that many had to pave over the lower wards. A lot of compromising material, a lot of targets on his back.
He needed to be smart.
If anyone got word of his trove he’d feel a wrath fall down on him unlike any struggle before. There wouldn’t be enough money to bribe the police, the PRA, FBI, and beyond. He didn’t have enough soldiers to withstand the eventual assault. There was nothing good that would come from him overpaying his hand, so he needed to be careful and slow roll his reveal. Gideon turned his head back to the door and spotted the face of a stranger ready to come inside for dinner. Gideon flashed his trademarked smile, and the young woman would feel the warmth of his personality radiating off it.
As the line moved forward he eventually came face to face with a woman who straightened her spine and revealed the presence of two jars filled with some form of herbs. Gideon raised an eyebrow.
“Herbal blends. For the kitchen. My mom sent me with them. She runs La Botica Verde over on Calle Flores. Says they’ll cut right through the grease.”
Gideon chuckled.
“You’re not the, uhhhh, give me a second,” Gideon paused as he clicked his fingers together, trying to work through the decades of memories on this side of the river, eventually a last name flashed across his mind, “the Castellano kid,” Gideon smiled as he placed a hand on her shoulder. An image of her mother flashed across his mind, the resemblance confirming it enough. “Yes you are! I wondered why you looked so familiar,” Gideon had made it a point to build up at least some semblance of a rapport with many businesses, he only had passing knowledge of La Botica Verde. Still, the memories he had spoke to the quality of woman that owned the business, and granted that same grace to who he thought stood before him.
“I’m right, arn’t I,” Gideon paused as he caught the sight of a man that he knew all too well. Varnan. Gideon fought alongside him during the cataclysm, and if he was making a trip out here then business would need to take priority. “Please, come inside. Enjoy the food, and I trust you’ll find a good spot for those herbs,” Gideon used the hand he had on her shoulder to usher her inside.
“I do want to continue this conversation,” Gideon grinned a little wider, “I’ll come find you after some business is dealt with.” Gideon didn’t need to say more. He knew that the woman would assume a command was present in his word even if there was none present.
Suddenly, trouble moved through the line. Gideon could feel her presence before he saw her and he knew that a chaos named Palmoa was heading his way. The woman who came face to face with a monster and survived, and who made everyone around her more than happy to help. Gideon groaned and was about to hold up a hand to stop her but felt unable. He couldn’t even mouth a “stop” as she hit the spin move to avoid any attempt to stop her. Gideon simply followed her with his eyes as she entered.
“What is the matter with that one,” Gideon whispered to himself as he shook his head. This celebration just got more chaotic. Still, Gideon flashed a smile as he turned to the next man in line. Some business would do well in this moment so he could get away Deion that fucking goody-two-shoes aura and the weird girl it came from.
Thanksgiving dinners were not Varnan’s scene.
He had no family to spend them with, so there was never a reason to sit down for a big dinner. In his old life, the Guild didn’t do holidays. And he wasn’t close enough to anyone in this life that they considered him family, so Varnan’s holidays typically looked like a quiet day at home, a glass of something in his hand, and an eye on the neighborhood that had less Blind humans around.
He didn’t usually make a trip across the bridge for it, but things weren’t usual right now. He felt something strange, lately. Something that wasn’t quite the same as the imposter he encountered, so he rode into the outer parts of Cloverfield and to the Hollow to meet with a man who always had an ear to the streets. One Gideon Cross, a gentleman scoundrel. One part Robin Hood, one part crime lord, but he was the sort of man who could catch wind of disturbances.
Stepping off his motorcycle, he adjusted the pistol he had under his jacket. There wasn’t much chance of a fight breaking out in these conditions, but for all he knew, it wasn’t Gideon he was walking up to.
”Gideon Cross,” he greeted the man. ”Things are going great, I see.”
“Oh they could always be better,” Gideon said with a bellowing voice, followed soon by a chuckle. His eyes suddenly darted to his left ear, which contained a Bluetooth device, before they returned to Varnan. “you’re more than welcome to join us here today but I’m going to ask that you stow the weapon before you come in. If you’d like, we have a makeshift ‘coat rack’ for them right here,” Gideon pointed towards where a man stood in front of one of the side rooms. Inside, there were already a few weapons hung up on the walls.
Without skipping a beat, Varnan unzipped his jacket and unhooked a holster from his belt, keeping it close so no one saw a gun.
”Normally, I wouldn’t consider carrying in a place like this. But after what happened recently, I’m wondering if people really are who they claim to be.” He was, of course, referring to the thing pretending to be Bill.
”I’m afraid this isn’t a social call, though. I noticed something strange happening, other than the imposter. I was hoping you’d know more about it.”
A singular eyebrow raised as Gideon examined the man in front of him in more detail. How widespread were the disappearances? “Would you like to join me in my office? I’d rather not ruin the nice atmosphere we’ve built up tonight,” Gideon asked in a way Varnan would understand to mean ‘you don’t have a choice’.
”Neither would I. I’d hope someone else was trying to keep people from being afraid,” He commented, knowing exactly what Gideon was on about. But Varnan didn’t care that much. He knew most of the south side of Cloverfield was less Blind, it didn’t mean they had to be scared on this day.
Gideon whistled and Marco appeared soon thereafter. Gideon twirled a singular finger in the air before his eyes pointed towards Varnan.
“My associate Marco will show you the way. I’ll be up in a minute gotta shake some hands, kiss some babies, you know how it is,” Gideon paused as his eyes lingered on Varnan for a second longer, almost as if they were seeing through him, before they returned to the door. His warm smile returned as he moved to greet the next guest.
Marco maneuvered through the crowd with a grace that seemed almost foreign to a man his size. As he approached Varnan he shot out a hand. “You can call me Marco.”
”Varnan.” He returned the hand quickly. [color=f9461]”I don’t plan to intrude for long.”[/color]
“It’s Thanksgiving, Varnan, stay as little or as long as you’d like.”. Marco motioned for Varnan to follow as he led them to the staircase and up the first few steps. “Where you from if you don’t mind me asking?”
”Up north, across the bridge,” He answered, walking with Marco. He kept his eyes moving from one thing to another while they did.
“A generic answer,” Marco responded, “in that case I’m from somewhere as well.”
Marco led the two up the two flights of stairs until at last they were outside the office of Gideon. Marco paused before they reached the door and crossed his arms. “Because of your work during the cataclysm you are on a short list being read into a particular situation that we think will happen soon. Everything you see, hear, and experience in this office should stay there. Am I understood?”
”Of course. I can keep a secret.”
“Good,” Marco paused as he opened the door to the office. In the center there was a body on top of a table. The body was twisted, contoured, burned, and covered in acid marks. The arms were extremely long and thin, stretching outwards as of this creature was Mr. Fantastic himself. There was no aura to this creature, no sense of dread that emanated from it, nor any sign that the magic was active. It was dead. “Seren can’t keep a secret, for the most part, and she said that you and those Keepers in the mountains fought one of these before. This is the second one we’ve seen, but we have no idea who took it out. Gideon wants to talk to you about your experience, and see if we can help each other out with this threat.”
Oh yeah, Varnan saw one of those, alright.
His face went from professionally stoic to grim awfully. He waited for the doors to be firmly shut first. Then he got into it.
”The vampires and werewolves in the mountains had been migrating down here,” He started. ”They stay in their own territories and never make trouble, so it was unusual. I noticed they had been mainly coming from the south, so I went to Raven’s Rest to talk to a man who’d been there for the Cataclysm.”
Varnan stares at the corpse of that thing. ”One of those got to him first.”
Marco listened intently. He seemed to listen to every word as if the world resided on it. He finally breathed as soon as Varnan finished his sentence.
“Witness testimony says this thing spoke of something called ‘Nothingness’. Any idea what that means?,”
”Not a damned clue. They’re imposters, they can mimic people and their Abstractions, and they can shrug others off. I shunted one out of time for a moment with a spell whose limitations I’m very familiar with, and it quickly became resistant to that as if it were an easy thing. It took a group to handle just one.”
Marco rubbed his temple. “Was worth a shot,” Marco paused as he pulled out his phone. He pulled up the most recent weather report, sighing as he saw the special weather situation was extended once again. He’d need to call in the crews soon to ensure everyone over on this side of the river could move freely like those in the north could. There was just so much work this crew had to take on in order to ensure that these people could still thrive despite all the setbacks they endured. Still, something did not feel quite right about this weather. Marco paid very close attention to the weather reports, and to the best of his knowledge there wasn’t supposed to be any fronts moving through the area until Sunday at the earliest, and even then as it stood that was supposed to bring warm, moist air up from the Gulf of Mexico. Where did this snow come from?
“Any chance you follow the weather,” Marco asked, curious if this outsider would have an outside perspective.
”Regularly. I ride a motorcycle, so I tend to keep it in mind. Weather stations aren’t always accurate, but I would not rule out weather magic, right now.”
Neither would Marco. He turned as he heard the door open and saw Gideon walking through with a giant grin on his face. As he walked in he motioned for Marco to come close.
“Vin is teaching the young ones how to throw a punch, make sure the kids don’t cause a scene. Maybe remind them of what we’re doing ,” Gideon paused, tapping Marco on the shoulder and moving into his office.
“A pleasure to see you,” Marco said as he placed his hands in his pocket and walked out of the office.
“Varnan! Thank you so much for waiting,” Gideon paused as he threw his arms out wide, “I hope you don’t mind but I invited a friend to join this talk,” Gideon paused as he looked down the dead creature, his knuckles cracking and the color drained as he formed a fist, “judging by Marco leaving without telling me anything I think I know you don’t know more than I do when it comes to these fuckers. That being said,” Gideon paused as his eyes slowly slid over and lined up with Varnan, “and don’t fuck with me on this,” Gideon paused again as he turned his whole body towards Varnan, “have you noticed that ever since these things started showing up there’s been something wrong with time,” Gideon took a step forward. “I ain’t a betting man because I own the house, but if I was I’d put money on it being connected. What does the time wizard think?”
”Something wrong, yes. Not necessarily something wrong with time, but that’s certainly possible,” Varnan admitted. ”I didn’t want to assume I knew the problem. I felt something unusual, things have been strange lately. But if something is wrong with time, there are ways to confirm what and how. I hoped you’d know more, really.”
“We’ll excuse me, sorry I am not out there with scientific instruments measuring the subtle changes in everything, and what not,” Gideon paused as he pointed at Varnan as electricity danced across his hands, “and it ain’t like we can do any interrogation on these things. This is the third one killed down here, and believe me they all like to die before you get that chance.”
”Of course they do. Did-“ Varnan cut himself off and glanced at the thing on the table. ”What magics were used to kill this one?”
Gideon raised an eyebrow and looked to the corpse. “From what we’ve been able to gather this one was different. Fire and acid worked well to wound it but witness say this one,” Gideon paused as he pointed to the corpse, “had some fucking core like a golem from some shitty cartoon. Some broad stabbed it and once it exploded it was dead,” Gideon paused as he rubbed his temper, “wish it stuck around. Turned to dust within seconds. The first one Vin ripped and tore through then faster than it could heal and the second one,” Gideon paused as he formed a fist, causing electricity to dance across it, “ran into me.”
“What about the one you killed?”
”Chronomancy. And time is apparently wrong, somehow. The one I killed was also using Bill’s magic, who it replaced. And his magic was lightning. Which happens to relate to weather…” He trailed off. It was his only guess, but he wondered if it was possible.
”They can copy magic, it wouldn’t be out of the question.”
“You think they’re controlling the weather,” he paused as he looked outside. Marco was very confused this morning about the snow, this much Gideon knew. What if there was some merit to that suggestion. “The ones we’ve faced couldn’t do that. Unless we killed them too fast to show off their stolen magic. But,” Gideon paused as he looked back, “each one was unique. What if they’re like us? Each one has different abilities.”
”They could be. I didn’t recognize the one I fought until it gave up the act. It was using lightning just like the man he was impersonating.” The idea didn’t bode well. How could they tell someone apart if magic didn’t guarantee an individual was who they said they were?
”One thing that I suspect they can’t mimic, though, is memory.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Gideon paused as he walked next to Varnan, turned around and grabbed him around the shoulder like a friend would. “Picture this. I was out two nights ago, cleaning my head with a walk. You know how that is, Yeah? Anyway I was on this walk, and I happen across this young woman named Tina. See, I knew Tina from a young age so I’ve seen her walk, talk, smile, and know things about her. She’s been down here her whole life so she knows things about me. When I see her, I notice that her smile is all wrong. Crossing from ear to ear in a way a mouth ain’t supposed to stretch. Yet, she looked at me with that smile and started up with the same conversation we left off on like a day hadn’t passed.”. Gideon looked at Varnan, his eyes suddenly glowing a vibrant yellow. In the blink of an eye, his free arm was fully extended with a fist sticking out. Air would blast through the office sending loose dust and paints alike footin flying into the air. The cackle and crack of electricity filled the air in an instant. The punch was far too fast to track with the eye, and the electric energy pushed off the hand and into the nearby air.
“I hit her without a second thought. My electricity fried something in her and she started transforming all over the place. Skin ripped, sending these long thin appendages shooting out from her body like she was done kind of spider,” he paused as his eyes color grew in intensity again, “It died soon after, but not before she told me she’d be seeing me soon.”. Gideon was not one to show off his power but he had a theory of his own he wanted to check off. “Did yours taunt you, and do you think I could’ve killed the one you fought with a single punch? Cause I know I couldn’t kill that one over there in a single punch.”
Varnan was weirdly unflappable in the face of something so fast. He slowly looked down at the fist, then looked around at the clamour it kicked up. He didn’t even move. He didn’t look happy, either.
”I would certainly like to say that a singular, potent attack would subvert their adaptive tricks. But…” Varnan crossed his arms. ”The others who fought it with me, one conjured a longbow, and the other, burning ash. Someone eventually joined us with an actual firearm. It was still a chore.”
Gideon's eyes narrowed at the reaction Varnan displayed. Normally when someone was in the lions den, they would be on edge by nature. When the lion roared, they’d get scared. Not this man. Gideon liked that. A sly grin crossed his face as he removed his hand from Varnans shoulders and walked forward. A mental note was made to figure out exactly who this time wizard was. “So you met Brynn and Elara again. How are the good mountain folk doing these days? If the three of you struggled I know I would have at least broke a sweat.”
”They were territorial, untrusting and vindictive in dealing with the imposter. That was my first meeting with the Keepers outside the Cataclysm, so I assume that means they were doing well. No one was hurt, at least.”
Gideon knew that he would need to go visit them before long. While he did not have a close relationship, they were a major part of why the city is still standing. He didn’t know what this new threat was but he wasn’t going to sit around and wait for death and destruction to waltz into his city again. And he knew he had a free ticket to whatever event that they had going on tonight sitting down stairs grabbing some food. “I am going to get everyone together, if you participated in the defense of the city during the Cata I will get them to the table.”. Gideon paused as he motioned towards the door. “Got a keeper downstairs, that is my ticket through the door of whatever event they’ll have at their little church. We leave in an hour,” Gideon paused as he walked towards the door, turning back towards Varnan, “You should come with.”
It would be clear that Gideon was not offering, but commanding. He did not want to mince words when the city was in danger.
”I won’t waste that opportunity.” Varnan liked keeping to himself for a lot of reasons. But he had to admit that he hadn’t been quite so capable doing so as when he worked in squads and teams of Adepts. This would be a good way to figure some things out.
Interactions: Paloma @Atrophy Thursday November 24th, The Hollow Tap
Vin looked up from their adoring minions with a groan as the most annoying person that could've showed up did. Marco wasn't even in the area to distract her with his pecs- what was the point of the fucking guy if he couldn't at least take one for the team and keep Paloma distracted?! Vin had better things to do, like training the next generation of South Sider resistance fighters.
”Hah?” Vin stared at hand on their wrist desperately trying to drag them away to now avail. Their eyes moved up to Paloma and narrowed, confusion wriggling through annoyance. ”The fuck am I meant to do, send you a guest list? There ain't one, by the way. She just fuckin' turned up so take it up with the Boss- I ain't happy 'bout it either. I can't even punch that bitch here, cause the Boss'd had my head.”
They carefully pried Paloma's fingers from around their wrist, making sure to use just enough strength to dislodge her but not enough to hurt. Not because they cared, but because they didn't want to deal with how annoying she'd be if they hurt her. There was no care about their language around the kids. This was the south side, after all. They heard worst outside their windows at night.
”Bitch probably thought she could crawl in and us poor folk'd beg at her feet. That shit ain't happenin'... I dunno why the fuck Gideon even let her in, but I ain't lettin' her get off. These kids're gonna punch her for me, ain'tcha?”
"Right in the tummy!" One of the kids shouted. They were all enraptured by Paloma now too, staring at her with big, shining eyes as Samaritan worked their magic.
”That's right, kiddo.” Vin's lips pulled back into a wicked grin, turning it to Paloma. ”I'll teach you, right now. Then y'can go slap that upper class prick for me, specially if you're so pissy about seein' her. I assumin' you saw that shit she said? I ain't till I got in for the mornin'... How far's it gone?"
They hoped it hadn't reached Loni, but they weren't online enough to have any idea how far it went.
The orphanage is quieter than usual, though maybe that’s only how it feels to Destiny.
The corridors are full of the usual noise — children laughing, sisters calling out instructions, the shuffle of feet as coats are pulled on and scarves tied tight — but the sounds reach her like they’re underwater, distant and muted. She lay on her cot, staring up at the cracks in the plaster ceiling, replaying the last few nights in her head. Not the thing’s face (she’s seen uglier) but the words. Vessel.
It wanted her. Out of anyone, her. Not to kill, not even to feed—something worse. That word still sticks to her skin like oil. She remembers the weight of the net pinning her, her body refusing to obey, and the sick certainty that she was about to be claimed—then, Latoya(?) tearing her free. A hand yanking her back, the fight tipping, the creatures fleeing. She rolled onto her side, jaw tight. If Latoya hadn’t been there, she wouldn’t be lying here now. She hates the thought—no, she despises it. In the Pit, survival was hers alone. Here, she let herself stumble.
Complacent. That’s what it would be called if she let herself believe Cloverfield was different.
It wasn’t.
The horror had only learned to dress nicer.
Every time a door bangs or a floorboard creaks, her shoulders twitched. The orphanage should feel safe, but the walls feel too close today, the crucifixes and candlelight-like decorations over a silence she can’t trust. A few of the younger children glance at her in the halls - some curious, others uneasy - and their thoughts slip toward her whether they mean them to or not.
Destiny saw something.
Destiny's cursed.
They don’t ask, but their minds already have. She stood abruptly, pulled her jacket from its hook, before the walls pressed in further. The sisters are herding the children out for the Thanksgiving festival, and she falls into step behind them without a word. She tells herself she’s going to hear the music, maybe get something to eat, and play at normal for a while. But she knows that’s a lie. The festival isn’t what she wants - it’s just an excuse, a direction to walk in, a place that isn’t here. What she really needs is space, air that doesn’t taste of plaster dust and memory, somewhere the word vessel can’t echo so loudly.
The Spanksgiving Festival.
The festival sprawled through the streets like a living, breathing creature - lights blinking, music drifting, the smell of fried dough and roasted nuts thick in the air. Children darted past her, laughing, bumping shoulders. Vendors shouted over one another, tossing candies and small trinkets into open palms. The chaos should have been comforting, a reminder that life continued to move forward. Instead, it pressed against her chest like a hand she couldn’t shake.
Destiny let herself drift with the crowd, scanning more than just the physical space. Thoughts flickered across her mind: a boy fretting about losing his pumpkin pie, a woman laughing at something in her phone, the occasional fragment of irritation or gossip. None of it rooted her. All of it felt distant, like echoes in a cavern, except one.
And then she saw her. Latoya. Across the crowd, a flash of familiarity - her tall frame, high puff, that quiet confidence that seemed to anchor the chaos of the festival around her. Destiny’s telepathy reached for her, brushing against the edges of her mind. But Latoya’s thoughts... they didn’t flow like normal thoughts. For a heartbeat, Destiny’s chest seized. The world slowed, narrowed, and she felt the pull, the expectation of words she didn’t want to speak.
Destiny’s feet shifted. Her eyes flicked to the left, scanning for an escape, a path that would weave her away from Latoya without anyone noticing. Her telepathy whispered the thoughts of those around her, snippets of mundane curiosity: Who’s that girl? Something about her... odd. She looks scared. Even strangers could sense it, and it pressed down on her like a physical weight. The festival became a blur, the music and laughter fading behind her as she pivoted, ducking behind a row of booths. She didn’t stop to look back. She couldn’t.
Every step she took carried the weight of that choice: to move, to survive, to keep the memory of the night in the alley at arm’s length. Latoya would be here, somewhere, and she would be waiting - Destiny didn’t need her eyes following her. Not today.
She told herself she was just exploring, that she might circle back eventually. The lie tasted bitter, but it was better than the truth: she was running, not from the crowd, not even from the noise, but from the hand that had yanked her back from death, from being claimed. She needed space. She needed air. And most of all, she needed to be alone with her fear, not wrapped up in the presence of someone who could see every jagged edge of it.
I’m running from her. From her and everything she makes me feel.
“You’re not the, uhhhh, give me a second.” The man paused as he clicked his fingers together. “The Castellano kid? Yes, you are! I wondered why you looked so familiar.”
Elena blinked, momentarily arrested by the sound of her last name spoken so effortlessly. It was a rare occurrence, even on this side of the river, for someone to pronounce it correctly on the first attempt. Then again, her mother had never been one for looking at the greener grass on the other side, unlike Elena herself. Her mother was a fixed point here, her knowledge of these southern streets as intimate and detailed as the lines on her own palm. Elena, by contrast, was a periodic visitor despite residing here as well, someone who only stepped out from behind the door of their family’s shop when errands or a restless curiosity compelled her.
When the man’s hand settled on her shoulder—warm, heavy, and assured—she straightened her posture.
“Yeah,” Elena said. “My mom doesn’t get out much, so I guess I’m the delivery service when she wants to help out.” She allowed her own gaze to remain on him, her curiosity piqued. If he knew the shop, if he knew her mother’s name, then this loud, aging bar suddenly felt less like unfamiliar territory and more like a place with hidden connections.
A flash of ribbon and a basket cut into Elena’s peripheral vision, and before she could fully process the movement, a young woman breezed past them while employing a kind of social boldness that only really worked when you deny anyone the opportunity to object. Which, initially, she certainly did. But then, before Elena could steer the conversation back to its original point, the woman circled back, orbiting their exchange like a restless comet drawn by an unseen gravity.
“Y’know, most grease can just be cleaned up with either some baking soda and water or spraying a little white vinegar on it and letting it sit before scrubbing it if you wanna go the natural route,” she interjected, barely pausing for breath. “Y’know, just saying. But frankly, your best bet is just to stick with a simple chemical cleaner like dish soap. It’s better at killing germs.”
The woman chuckled to herself, the ribbon in her hair bouncing as her entire head engaged in a dramatic eye roll. “I mean, obviously, you’d be stupid if you didn’t also use a disinfectant anyway, hah, could you imagine? But still it’s better to be over cautious, I mean you wouldn’t want to kill someone–oh, there’s Vin.”
“It’s actually a different…kind of grease….” Elena’s response trailed off as the other woman bounced off again. It was too bad, really, that she wasn’t able to correct the misunderstanding. When her mother had said grease, it was the kind that sat heavy after plate two, not the kind one scrubbed off a pan. Oh well…it was what it was.
“Please, come inside. Enjoy the food, and I trust you’ll find a good spot for those herbs,” the man said then, using the hand he had on her shoulder to usher her inside. “I do want to continue this conversation. I’ll come find you after some business is dealt with.”
“Gracias,” Elena said with a slight nod, stepping past him. She immediately cut toward the kitchen, skillfully navigating the river of coats and elbows, seeking a path of less resistance. She found an empty burner on the large stove, set the kettle down, and turned the flame on. Only once this task was initiated did she allow herself to glance up, her eyes scanning the room until they located Freya, who had steered herself to a small, lone table. Brewing the tea was her immediate task, but the real objective, a conversation with the girl, was still very much in the works for tonight. She was determined, after all.
Right after she was finished with this tea, of course.
Elena measured the dried leaves by feel alone; mint and anís didn’t require a scale when you’d essentially been raised breathing their aromas. She tore a generous strip of lemon peel, twisting it to release its oils before dropping it into the pot, adding the lemon balm last. She set the lid gently in place. As the water boiled, steam billowed up, curling the fine hairs at her temples. Methodically, she rinsed two chipped mugs with hot water from the tap before pouring the steeped tea. She capped one mug with a saucer to avoid spilling on her journey through the crowd.
She chose the long way around the perimeter of the room, approaching Freya from the side rather than head-on so as not to make her wonder. Setting the capped mug down on the table with a soft clink, she announced her presence only then.
“It’s a digestivo,” Elena said. “Mint, anís, lemon balm.” She touched the saucer, then pulled her hand back.
“We were in the bakery the same day. Do you remember?”
Interactions: Vin @Fernstone Thursday November 24th, The Hollow Tap
Vin was able to easily free themself from Paloma’s weak grasp, a task that might’ve proven to be more difficult than it should’ve been if the Samaritan hadn’t misread Paloma’s lunge for Vin’s wrist as an attempt on the poor thug’s life. The momentary disabling of the Samaritan’s protective aura didn’t fully register to Paloma. She did feel the waving surge of panic that had accompanied it, brought forth by the Samaritan whinging inside of her, but mistook the feeling for simple nerves caused by being in the same place as Freya Collins. Paloma continued to steal glances at the star baker through the crowded bar, ducking behind Vin whenever the woman even slightly turned her head towards their general direction.
“...These kids're gonna punch her for me, ain'tcha?”
"Right in the tummy!"
The threat snapped Paloma’s attention away from Freya and towards the child soldiers that Vin was recruiting as the Samaritan reactivated its aura. While any Paranormals might feel a faint, barely noticeable tickle in the air, the heads of the children snapped towards Paloma as she gave them a soft, pitiful smile. While the mental image of a bunch of Southside brats lining up to gutpunch a Northsider tickled her funny bone, as an adult Paloma felt like she had some sort of responsibility to dissuade the kids from a stint in juvie–even if it didn’t take a clairvoyant to realize that was going to be an inevitably for a couple of them, especially the punk who’d spoken out. However, before Paloma could hope to steer the kids away from violence, Vin caught her completely off guard.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You got it completely wrong, tiger. It’s not like that,” said Paloma, frantically waving off the idea that she was either pissy or interested in slapping Freya. Her voice dropped to a loud whisper as she strung together her version of the events. “I mean, this isn’t the first time though, and she said some really rotten stuff. Allegedly. But the response towards her has been really brutal. Some people are saying they should bulldoze her bakery–with her inside of it. I heard that there was a violent altercation there earlier this week. Supposedly someone got shot, but what I heard was that they were actually trying to shoot her. That’s why they closed her bakery. So it’s crazy that she’s out in public.”
“But!” Paloma came just short of booping Vin on the nose as she pointed a shaming finger at them. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear online. We don’t know if she actually said those things.”
It was easy to believe that every Northsider out there was some malicious, uppity asshole who viewed every Southsider with the same disdain and disgust as someone views a piece of dogshit that they’d accidentally squashed beneath the heel of their shoe. Paloma herself had witnessed firsthand how the demeanor of people from the North had dramatically shifted towards being more polite to her ever since she and the Samaritan had Adjoined. However, it was crazy to just assume that because somebody was from the North that they were automatically a bigot. For all they knew, this was some fake bullshit spread to defame Freya Collins because somebody was jealous that she was popular online.
Now, was Paloma a fan of Freya Collins? Well, yes, obviously, she had great recipes and offered fantastic baking tips. Had Paloma ever heard her say something disparaging towards poor people? Well, sure, there had been a few live feeds that never got a proper upload because something insensitive might’ve been said, but Freya had been practically a teenager. What teenager wasn’t a total asshole? Plus she was a sheltered little rich girl, how could she know any better? Was calling Paloma just a fan of Freya a bit of an understatement? Was there a chance that her relationship to the baker, whose cute little baking videos were really the only thing that had gotten her through her stint in the hospital and the depressive wave that had accompanied it, truly was so utterly parasocial that Paloma had avoided ever going to the Cozy Bakery despite it being like a ten minute walk from her work out of fear of how much she’d gush over Freya if she’d ever seen her in person?
Maybe.
Was it easier to make excuses for Freya then accept that someone who’d brought Paloma joy fucking sucked, had always sucked, and that by continuing to support it made Paloma herself, in some stupid way, also kind of suck?
Maybe.
“It’s just that if I had known she was going to be here I would’ve gotten up earlier to properly finish this batch of cookies,” said Paloma with a pout as she pulled back the lining on her basket to reveal the batch of pumpkin-flavored, hand-shaped cookies to Vin.
“Without their proper accoutrements they just look weird, poorly-shaped blehs. When I’d dreamed of–er, I mean, since she’s here, it would be cool to see what she thought of my cookies. Just because, ha, just because she is a professional and it would be nice to have professional feedback or whatever.” Paloma gave the least casual shrug ever as her cheeks started to flush. “Really no biggie whatsoever. Actually, I got an idea…”
As she rambled, the young boy in hand-me-down clothes who’d spoken up–Vin’s protege–grew bored, his attention breaking from the light lure of Everyone’s Sweetheart and returning to what truly had interested him: punching Freya right in the tummy. He pushed up the sleeve of his patchy, oversized sweater and rolled his shoulder a few times to loosen up his punching arm, making his fist in the way Vin had taught him. He turned his back from the nice lady who sounded like a cartoon chipmunk and took a few steps away from the group.
“It’s rude to walk away when an adult is talking,” said Paloma, snapping a piece of gum as she hit the child with a bit of Good Influence, stopping the kid suddenly as her voice cracked into the back of his skull with an icepick and gave him a light lobotomy. The tingle of her aura rippled through the bar, more noticeable to Paranormals than before although not by much, like the temporary irritation one might feel when dust gets knocked free from a ceiling fan and scattered about the room.
The boy turned towards her, looking at her with those same big, shining eyes full of wonder as before, seemingly undisturbed by what was happening to him. Although the implication was that he should rejoin the group, the boy did not move closer. If Paloma had thought about it more before she spoke she would’ve realized that the room was full of adults talking. Thus, unless the entire bar had a mouthful of turkey at the same time, the boy would be unable to move from where he stood. She made a conscious effort to not look at Vin, who quite possibly would pick up on the boy’s weird behavior, as she squatted down to be eye level with the rest of the children.
“As I was saying, I have an idea,” said Paloma, her lip curling into a devilish smile.
Originally the plan had been to get closer to Marco (ugh, where was he!?), but if she was able to become buddy-buddy with Freya Collins as well then wasn’t that just a little bit sweeter? As she readied herself to blast the kids with a wave of Good Influence, that annoying little tingle radiating throughout the bar, a sudden pinch in her stomach made her shut off the secondary aura.
Her smile flickered but did not falter. If only it were a century ago. She never thought she would be one to curse Upton Sinclair and his fellow muckrakers, but it would’ve been nice to not have to consider the moral conundrum (or lack thereof) when it came to forced child labor. Stupid little bastards with their dumb shrimp fingers perfectly designed to get between all the dangerous bits of machinery that would otherwise easily get jammed up by and rip off the hand of a full-sized adult. What an absolute waste of resources. Paloma balked at the intrusive thought. Hopefully they would just play along anyway.
“Instead of assaulting Ms. Collins, we try impressing her instead. Make it so that she’d never say anything nasty about our side of Cloverfield ever,’ said Paloma, seemingly forgetting to add the word ‘again’. She jiggled her basket at the loosely enthralled children. “I have here all the ingredients needed to make cute, festive hand turkey cookies. Now, I was told by Mr. Cross that absolutely no desserts are to be had until after dinner and that Vin is here specifically to make sure that you eat every last one of your vegetables and, oh, there are so many peas.”
Paloma made an overexaggerated look of disgust and glanced at Vin, giving them a pleading bat of the eyelashes and hoping that they’d take the bait, make that usual annoyed look they made at her, and sell the lie. The children glanced at Vin, even the kid stuck a few feet away from the rest of the group.
“But if you help me decorate these cookies you’ll get to have one before dinner. And, whoever makes the prettiest turkey will get theirs presented to Ms. Collins to judge. Whaddya say? You in? Sounds like fun, right? ” asked Paloma, who realized she wasn’t even buying into it herself. It sounded like work, and even with the Samaritan’s aura going only a couple of the youngest, likely slowest cookie slaves were nodding their heads. She needed something else to spice it up. Her eyes lit up. “Oh! And the best decorated cookie also gets the super secret special prize! A…uhhhh…”
Paloma’s face dimmed as she felt the chilly breeze from the front door run through one ear and out the other, not a single damn thing in the way of its path.
“Vin!” She gestured towards Vin like she was hosting a gameshow and Vin was the model hired to show off the brand new car. “Tell them about the super secret special prize!”
All those stupid big, shining eyes were on Vin now, none bigger nor shiner than Paloma’s that now batted furiously at Vin as she tried to pass along a coded message: a plea for help. I-N-E-E-D-Something. Or could she have just mixed up some of the short bats with what should’ve been a long one and the message was something else, something sinister. I-K-N-O-W-W-H-A-T-Y-O-U-D-Another sharp blow of the early winter wind cutting through the crowd sent Paloma’s eyelids all aflutter, cutting off the message if there even was one.
Loni’s Thanksgiving hadn’t ended up the relatively relaxing day she’d expected.
She’d planned to wake up in the early afternoon, before chilling with Luciana and slowly getting ready for the day. Then they’d go down to Sin Sisters’ and make the most of the big Thanksgiving dinner provided from opening. She didn’t work until ten, taking the latest shift she could so she could properly spend dinner time with her daughter!
But said daughter had woken up incredibly grumpy. It was rare for the normally cheerful child, but she was a toddler. Tantrums were expected. Just not… hour long ones! Today she was upset that Vin wasn’t around when they woke up just past midday, after being there the night before. But nothing was distracting her. Toys didn’t work! Attempted play wrestling just received a tired look from the little girl. Not even a visit to her favourite Auntie Momo, who she refused to even let hold her while grumpily shouting ’Tio, Tio! everytime Loni tried to hand her over, helped.
No matter how much Loni reassured Luci that her Tio would be back in time for dinner- even if it was the end of dinner, and a late one- she wasn’t budging.
Which meant going to see Vin. It was an idea Momo agreed with, though Loni knew her well enough to read a hint of hurt underneath it all. Probably! After all, she loved Luci- and the plan had been they’d be there all day. But Loni had to be back to work anyway, and she promised she’d be back by eight at latest. After all, she needed time to eat and get ready herself.
So she found herself standing in the queue- there was a queue!- to get inside the Hollow, with a huffy bundle in her arms. At least Luci wasn’t acting so grumpy at her. Just clingy and not so excited and talkative as usual… Something Loni didn’t like. Her daughter being upset made her upset. So she was going to do anything to make her feel better.
Even standing in a queue to a Thanksgiving meal neither of them needed to be at.
They’d never been to the Hollow Thanksgiving growing up, even though it had been going on long before Vin started working there. Their Mama didn’t trust the Hollow, and she wasn’t American anyway, so it wasn’t exactly a holiday she bothered celebrating. Vin had stolen some food from it before… When they were twelve, and hadn’t eaten anything in a couple years. Those turkey scraps had been some of the best Loni had ever had.
Not that she was here to eat! There was always a celebration at Sin Sisters, so she couldn’t take food away from people who needed it far more than she did. People who were probably like she was back then, except their Mama’s were American and weren’t quite so paranoid about things. Though, Loni didn’t think her Mama was all that paranoid. Sure, some things she said hadn’t turned out entirely so bad, like Covens as a whole, but mostly she was right!
What was worse, was that Gideon Cross himself was at the door. Sure, Vin worked for him! Said he only hurt those that deserved it! But Loni had grown up hearing all the rumours. Mama’s used Gideon Cross to get their kids to go to bed! She was terrified of him and had managed to avoid him until now!
She kept her nerves as suppressed as possible by babbling away in Spanish to Luci, getting the occasional muted and nonsensical response. The babbling became a bit more spirited as Gideon left his terrifying guard post (why was a criminal boss doing that?!), someone else taking his place to welcome everyone in. Great! She wouldn’t have to talk to him! She could avoid that-
Noooooo, why!
Just two people before her, he reappeared, wide smile like a shark preparing for a filling meal. She might be that meal if she made a wrong step! No way would Vin save her, considering they were just bar staff! Sure, Vin said technically all staff were part of the Coven even if they weren’t part of the actual Hollow Gang, which made sense… And also meant Vin probably didn’t have the sway to stop Gideon Cross from killing her if she upset him! So she had to make a good impression! Or at least, not piss him off.
"M-M-Mr Cross, hello!" Loni stammered out, doing her best to make eye contact and smile at him. "I’m Loni Rodriguez! Uh, Vin’s twin- which I’m sure you guessed!"
She did look exactly like a slightly softer version of Vin, with her face almost the exact replica of theirs. But the anxious smile on her glossy lips wasn’t an expression they’d ever show. There were no immediately visible scars, with makeup lightly coating her face. It was soft until the eyes, with dramatic, dark pink flicking out into a smokey black that mismatched the softer pinks of her outfit. She just hadn’t planned to come out today! She did her work eye makeup early, so she could enjoy the Thanksgiving meal with Sin Sisters’ before she had to go on!
Even any visible skin seemed smoother, until she shoved out a hand towards him. Calluses marked the hands of someone who worked hard no matter how gentle she looked on the outside. While with her Green Lux she could get rid of them, they were a mark of all her sweat and tears working a pole… And it’d be a lot more painful without them!
As her hand shot out she had to shift what appeared to be a bundle of clothing to just one arm. A white, puffy down jacket with a thick pink wool hat bundled on top, and the edges of some darker pink skirts underneath.
"Say hello to the, uh, nice boss man, Mijita." Loni softly urged the bundle.
“No!” Came the grumpy reply, a leg kicking out and hitting Loni in the stomach. She didn’t even flinch, just rocking her daughter slightly with a nervous laugh. Oh no! Now Gideon Cross would definitely take offence. And she knew what happened to people that offended him! He cut of their hands! Or their tongues, if they did it again, so they couldn't anymore! Since Luci was just a kid, he'd probably take Loni's hand instead... But she needed her hands!
"You gotta say hello to see your Tio, Luciana. C’mon, Baby, for Mama." Loni urged, bouncing the little girl in her arms.
With a light huff, the pink hat turned to reveal a scrunched up little face. A few errant curls fell across Luciana’s dark eyes as she stared up at Gideon. “O-ah!”
Immediately after the requested greeting was given she turned back around to bury her face against Loni’s chest.
"Good girl, see, ain’t so bad, huh?" Loni praised softly, pressing a kiss against Luciana’s head before turning her head back to the intimidating man in front of them. She took a deep breath, trying not to shake. She didn’t want to upset her daughter.
"I’m sorry, she normally ain’t like this, she just ain’t been happy since she got up and Vin wasn’t there! I ain’t sure if she knows it’s meant to be a family day or somethin’, but she ain’t mean any offence by it, Mr Cross! P-Please don’t take my hand for it! I swear if we ever come round again she’ll be all smiles and giggles, ‘specially if it’s with Vin- uh, we ain’t gonna take anythin’ either, promise, we gotta dinner at my work we’re gonna get fed at! So ain’t takin’ anythin’ outta other people’s mouths… And I know Vin’s workin’, it’ll only be a few minutes, just enough time for her to see ‘em then she’ll be back to herself and we can get outta here. We ain’t gonna keep ‘em long! And- And if you gotta dock that from their pay then I’ll pay it! I ain’t got the money right now but… I bet my boss would cause she loves Luci, she’ll be the most upset if we get back and Luci still ain’t talkin’ to her. O-Or if it’s limbs you cut off for stuff like that, you can have mine! They’re basically the same. B-but it’ll just be a few minutes! Then they'll be back to work! So if you point me to ‘em, I’ll be outta here soon as! Promise!"
Destiny’s lungs drew in the crisp air, each breath a reminder that she was still here, still moving, still unclaimed. She slipped through the maze of stalls and winding streets, letting her telepathy skim the edges of the crowd like a careful tide, sensing minds without letting any anchor to herself form. Latoya’s presence still lingered at the edges of her awareness, a distant pull she refused to answer.
A sharp twist down an alley offered momentary cover. Destiny pressed herself against the shadowed brick, letting the chaos of the festival roll past like a river she didn’t belong to. Destiny’s eyes flicked across the crowd, noting who might glance her way. She wove the illusion in the gaps between thoughts, tugging at their expectations, pressing her mental fingerprints into the edges of perception. When someone looked directly at where she had been, their eyes caught only a flicker of movement—a shadow offset by a heartbeat, a shimmer that made them think she’d stepped aside, bent light around her, or simply vanished for an instant.
To the crowd, it was as if Destiny had teleported from one space to the next. A vendor turned, swearing she’d been standing right there a second ago. A child spun in place, eyes wide, convinced she had passed through the other side of a stall. But in reality, Destiny had barely shifted, letting their minds fill in the motion. Every corner she passed, every neon reflection, every flicker of her aura amplified the effect—she didn’t move so much as displace their certainty. Her heart still hammered, but a small, private thrill ran through her. This was control, hers alone. Latoya couldn’t reach her here, not through the crowd, not through the illusions. The world itself obeyed her enough to make her invisible without leaving a trace.
Her mind replayed the alley, the net, the weight of being claimed. Latoya had been there, yanking her free, tipping the balance of the night. She clenched her jaw. She owed her life to that hand, but she didn’t owe Latoya herself. Not here. Not now. A clatter echoed from a stack of crates ahead, and she flinched. She allowed a flicker of illusion to ripple across her silhouette—her form splitting briefly into three faint afterimages, each wavering, each slightly offset—before snapping back into one. If someone looked for her, they’d see motion, but not the real movement; the real Destiny was already two alleyways over, unseen and untouchable.
Her steps were quiet, deliberate. Every shadow became an ally, every neon reflection on the wet cobblestone a smokescreen. She wasn’t running blindly—she was threading herself through the festival like a needle through cloth, invisible to both eyes and minds that might track her. By the time she dared to glance back, the crowd had swallowed the faint shimmer of Latoya’s aura. Destiny allowed herself a small, bitter exhale. She was free—for the moment.
And yet, the echo of the word vessel lingered, oil on her skin, a reminder that escape was only temporary. She turned a corner, letting the festival fade behind her, and for the first time in hours, she allowed her pace to ease, letting herself breathe without the press of expectation at her back.
Space. Air. Distance. For now, that was enough.
Destiny’s fingers flexed, and the faint shimmer of her aura bent perception around her, making her presence blur. One heartbeat later, she was there—perched just beyond the circle of Paloma and Vin, a shadow among shadows that had somehow coalesced into form. The shift wasn’t violent, but it carried weight. Her eyes swept over them, sharp and calculating, as her mental reach extended. She didn’t pry indiscriminately, but she allowed her telepathy to skim their surface thoughts, brushing against intentions, strategies, and habits like a hand moving over braille.
Destiny’s lips curved slightly. This was worth her time. Not just their words, but the way they thought, the automatic reflexes of mind and body intertwined. She cataloged it, prioritizing what could be absorbed, what she could test on herself, and what might keep her alive if she trained under them.
Destiny appeared fully beside them, the shimmer of her aura fading into the mundane, yet carrying the faint hum of otherness that made the hairs on the back of the neck of anyone sensitive to it stand on end. She tilted her head slightly, letting her gaze sweep once more over Vin, Paloma, and the children, taking in the subtle movements, the tics, the unspoken language that marked years of experience.
“... Hi,” She said, her voice quiet but deliberate, threading through the room like a whisper that carried a weight far beyond its volume. Not a greeting, exactly, but a declaration: I am here. I am aware. I am watching.
Her eyes flicked from Vin to Paloma, tracing the flow of their thoughts again—strategies, assessments, the way they measured risk and reaction. She noted the tension, the control, the instinctive readiness. Every surface thought was a map; every fragment of attention a guide.
“I... want to learn,” She added, carefully, letting the words settle. There was no pleading, no flourish—just a statement, clean and sharp. She didn’t elaborate, didn’t explain her presence or the shimmer of displacement she carried. That was unnecessary.
If they were worth their salt, they would understand why someone like her might step in like this.
Princess let out the blood-curdling scream... into seemingly an empty apartment as the dim glow of the bathroom light barely cast enough light overhead. Here was the smell of metal and cleaning solutions as Princess desperately tried to wrap up the mutated appendage with some cheap bandages she had gotten from the Dollar Store—or Walmart, or maybe Elodie had gifted them to her; sometimes the days blended together, unfortunately. It was a sloppy job, but at the very least, it didn't look like she was half lizard.
Then she remembered that the Aware cannot see mutations.
Damn it.
Princess dragged her feet over to the couch and slumped down before taking a deep breath. In and out. In and out. In and out. She took one final deep breath and then rolled onto her side. Her hair is a mess; well, her whole life is a mess. Princess clutched a pillow to her chest and buried her face into it, muffling the sound of her breathing. She hated how shallow it was, each inhale ragged, each exhale trembling.
The apartment groaned around her. Pipes knocked. A car passed outside, bass rattling the glass. Somewhere, a neighbor’s baby cried. All of it was real, all of it was normal. She tried to hold onto that, to anchor herself in the small, ordinary noises.
But her arm itched beneath the bandages. Worse than itch—it pulsed, a crawling heat, like something alive was writhing under her skin, waiting.
"̸̣͗.̸̘̈.̷̨͂.̷̼̉ ̷̫̿Y̷̿͜o̷̤͗ụ̸̂ ̶͖̐c̷̫̎ā̵̲n̶͖͂’̸͚͐t̵̨͆ ̵͓̈́ĥ̷̟i̵̜̐d̷̦͒e̸͉̋ ̸̻̈m̴̘̆ȇ̵͜ ̷͙̓w̵͈̿i̴͔̐t̴̹͊h̶̙̏ ̵̌͜f̵͖̓a̵͛͜b̷̤̒r̶̤̃i̴͕͘c̸̥͊,̵̰̈"̷͈̀ Nyrah whispered, the words brushing her mind like smoke through a crack. "̷̺͆Y̶̢̆o̶̜͐ù̷̩ ̴̧̔c̵̢̏ą̵̛ṋ̸̔’̵̻̀t̵̳̑ ̵̞̿ḏ̵͒i̵̝͑s̶̱͆g̵̺̓ü̸̫ì̴̦s̶̲͗e̵̗͒ ̸̢̓i̵̺̾n̷͖͒ē̶̢v̵̳̍ị̵́t̷̥͑a̶̟͛b̴̹͒ḭ̵̿l̶̩̂î̷͉t̶̢̒y̴̜͗.̷̪͠"̶̳͊
Princess pressed the pillow harder into her face until she was almost smothering herself. Just for a second, she thought about letting it happen—just one long exhale, then nothing. Peace. Quiet. No more whispers, no more stares, no more Elodie’s gentle lectures about “containment.” (... That bitch.)
Her hand slipped, and the pillow tumbled to the floor. She let it lie there.
”Pathetic,” she muttered, though it wasn’t clear if she meant herself or the thing inside her.
The itch crawled up her arm again, and she sat up sharply, pressing her palm against the wall as though she could push the mutation back down by force. She could almost feel the scales pressing against the inside of her skin, begging to surface.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. The sound made her flinch.
A message. Elodie.
Checking in. Are you stable? Do you need me to come over?
Stable. What a word. Like she was a nuclear reactor instead of a person.
Princess typed out a reply—deleted it. Tried again. Deleted it. In the end, she just shut the phone off and tossed it face down.
Princess sat there for a long while, staring at the black mirror of her phone screen. She could almost see Nyrah’s reflection in it—slitted eyes, scales curling around the edges of her own face. She blinked, and it was only her. Just her. Just a girl who needed to keep it together for one more day. And then the day after that.
Her stomach growled. Loud, pitiful.
Of course. It was Thanksgiving. Cloverfield’s streets would already be flooding with people, lanterns strung up across storefronts, food stalls crowding the square. The annual Thanksgiving Festival—loud, garish, nostalgic. Something that everyday folks looked forward to every year, a piece of tradition that made them feel safe and whole.
She groaned and pressed her face into her hands. The last place she wanted to be was out there, weaving between smiling families, pretending she wasn’t a walking curse wrapped in bandages. But... it was either that, or stay here alone in the dark with Nyrah.
"̸̻͌C̶̨̀h̶̪̄o̴̘͐ȯ̵͕s̸̯̈e̴̙͂ ̴̹̍y̸̜͝ò̸̰u̵͇̓r̶̨͊ ̵͉̈́p̶̘̓ŕ̴͎i̷͎͛s̸̩͌o̶͍͛n̵̝̅,̸̥̔"̴͕̅ The voice purred. "̶̰̿C̵͈̊r̸̘̅ö̶̯́w̸̱͒d̷͎̑s̴̟͘… ̶̫͆o̷̞͑r̸͎̀ ̵̝̉m̴̠̔e̸̞͒.̸͍̎"̷̫̇
Princess shoved herself upright. ”Shut up, will ya'?” She said, punctuated with a roll of her eyes. Jacket. Keys. Wallet. Facemask. She grabbed them with mechanical precision—the rituals of pretending to be human.
When she opened the apartment door, the cold air hit her, sharp enough to make her eyes sting. From down the street, she could already hear it—the hum of music, the chatter of dozens of voices, the faint smell of roasted meat carried on the wind.
SpanksgivingThanksgiving Festival.
Cloverfield pulsed with life. Strings of warm lights stretched overhead, paper lanterns bobbing in the night breeze. Food stalls spilled their smoke and spice into the air—turkey legs, roasted chestnuts, steaming cider. Children ran past in clumps, their laughter a chaotic chorus against the backdrop of fiddles and tambourines.
Princess wove through it all like a ghost. Hood up, facemask on, hands stuffed in her jacket pockets, she kept her head down, hoping the crowd would swallow her whole. The bandages under her sleeve itched, burned. Every brush of fabric against her arm made her teeth clench.
"̸̈́͋ͅÝ̶̻ō̶͕͆ù̸̗ ̸̢̇l̵̩̚ō̸͖o̷̝̍k̸̘͐ ̷̛͜r̶̎ͅi̴̫͘ḏ̵̽i̴͖̕c̴̡̓u̵͙̍l̴͔̂ơ̵͙u̸̙̇s̴̻̚.̵̡̎"̴̰̀ Nyrah’s voice purred in her skull. "̶͉͝Ả̸̟ ̵͇͐p̶͓̔r̸̡̎e̸͖̿t̶͇̄e̶̤͊n̵̡̑d̵͖͛e̷̞̍r̸̖̓,̵̯̍ ̴̪͊h̶̻̽i̷̱̅d̵̛͍ï̷̦n̴̜̓g̸̼͘ ̵̱͝ä̶̫́m̴̤͛o̷͔͛n̷͚̋g̶͇͊ ̴̝͘ś̴̨ḧ̴̝́e̴̖͐e̵͎̐ṕ̴̟.̷͈͐ ̷̞̎L̶̠̀è̴̠t̶͖̚ ̴͍̈́m̸̰̓ë̶̩́ ̷̂ͅo̶̯̐u̵̲͆t̴̡̅.̵͙̓"̵̻̃
Princess grabbed a paper cup of cider from a stall, more to occupy her shaking hands than out of thirst. She forced herself to take a sip. Sweet. Too sweet. She swallowed hard, willing it to anchor her.
“Not here,” she muttered under her breath. “Not ever.”
The crowd surged around her, faces blurring together. Someone bumped her shoulder and apologized, but the words barely landed. The world was too loud—colors too bright, voices too sharp.
Nyrah pressed harder, her whispers curling like smoke between Princess’s thoughts. "̷͓̈́T̵̪̽h̶̰̋e̴̛͖ ̵͖͂s̴̡͋ḿ̴̫e̶̦͐l̶̠̔l̶̫͗ ̶͍̕ô̵̩f̷͚̐ ̴̤̀t̷̞͊h̴̦̎ḛ̵̓i̵̡͑r̶̞̅ ̸̪̓b̷͍̅ĺ̷̡o̷͚̍ò̷̝d̴͎͠ ̶̡̈́i̷͔͆s̸̞͝ ̸͓͗s̸̯̄o̵̜͝ ̷͔̏c̶̛͖l̸͕͝o̷̦̍s̷̼̅ė̸̱.̵̤͆ ̴͖̓Ÿ̴̟́o̵͇͊u̷̘͊ ̵͉̓c̴̞̕ȃ̵͇n̶̫͛ ̸̙̅h̵̳̀è̷̮ā̸̡r̵̨͌ ̷͕̏i̴̞̇t̶̡́,̷̦̈́ ̸̝̑c̴̎ͅa̴̰̕n̵͉͊’̴̩͗t̶̀ͅ ̶͓̽y̷̨͊o̵̡̓ǘ̴̦?̶͈͝"̸̖͂
Her grip tightened on the cup until the paper buckled and hot cider sloshed onto her fingers. She hissed and nearly dropped it. People glanced her way—too many eyes, too much notice.
“Leave me alone,” She whispered, teeth clenched, but she knew it was useless.
The music swelled in the square. A group of children began a choreographed dance, their families cheering. Princess watched, rigid, her breath shallow. She wanted to believe in the normalcy of it, to lose herself in the noise and the warmth of the crowd.
But Nyrah was still there, a shadow coiled in her veins.
Princess looked down at her hand—the scales were threatening to push through again, prickling under her skin. She shoved both fists deep into her pockets and forced herself to keep walking, deeper into the Festival lights, deeper into the noise.
Like if she kept moving fast enough, maybe no one would notice she was unraveling.
The Brotherhood Outpost.
Interactions: None, but Varnan better warm up his bootyhole.
The chamber glowed faintly under the frost-kissed light of the magical sigils carved along the walls. Holographic Councilors shimmered into existence, translucent robes swaying as though caught in an unseen wind. Élodie stepped forward, shoulders squared, Rose Petal sheathed at her hip, boots crunching softly against the frost-dusted floor.
“... Élodie Baptiste,” intoned the lead holographic Councilor, “Report on the situation in Cloverfield. Speak.”
Elodie sighed, ”Councilors, I have to report on a new threat I've identified. I... don't know what to call them, but they appear to be mimicking us in a vague manner. That's not all, but last night, they attacked an adolescent girl, marking her as a 'vessel'. She only survived because I was passing through on my patrols, but those creatures are a threat to the city itself.”
The Councilors were quiet. The lead Councilor’s gaze flickered—thinly veiled disinterest. “The Council’s concern is with the Hunters. Their recovery is our primary objective. These beings are... incidental.”
Élodie’s jaw tightened. ”'Incidental'? These creatures could be the sign of something far worse! If you refuse to act...”
A shadowed Councilor’s eyes glimmered in frost-blue light. “The artifacts are irreplaceable. Their power defines the Brotherhood’s operations. Your concern is irrelevant unless it affects their recovery. That is your priority.”
A third Councilor leaned forward, voice dry and precise. “Élodie Baptiste, you lost the Undead Hunter previously. If you do not recover them...”
There was a pregnant pause as the Councilors looked at each other. "... Then we will have to decide if you truly have a place within the Brotherhood."
Elodie’s fingers curled into fists at her sides; she had to fight back teares, but her voice remained steady. ”I understand the stakes, Councilors. I do. But I will not ignore threats that endanger the innocent just to chase artifacts. That is not the Brotherhood I swore to serve.”
The lead Councilor’s holographic form flickered, robes rippling as if stirred by an impatient wind. “Your sentiment is noted, Élodie Baptiste. Emotion will not recover the Hunters. Facts and results will. You were entrusted with these artifacts. Their retrieval is non-negotiable.”
”I have made no claim otherwise,” Elodie said, ”But these creatures... what use will the Hunters be if the city falls to them?!”
A murmur rippled through the Council’s holographic forms, voices overlapping like wind through shattered glass. The shadowed Councilor’s frost-blue gaze pierced her. “... Élodie, the Council will not divert resources to chase shadows. Focus on the artifacts. That is your only mandate. Everything else—collateral.”
”'Collateral'? That girl only survived because I was there!”
The lead Councilor’s hand raised slightly, cutting her off. “Enough. Your objections are recorded. They will not alter the Council’s decision. You are dismissed.”
Elodie sighed.
”Understood.”
As the holograms flickered and dissolved, leaving the chamber bathed in quiet frost-light once more, Elodie’s mind raced. The Council would not act. They would prioritize the artifacts above the people, above the danger. She straightened, sliding Rose Petal back into its sheath, and turned toward the door. The sound of distant laughter and celebration drifted faintly through the corridors. Elodie stepped into the night, the cold biting at her skin, and her gaze settled on the festive streets below. Somewhere among the crowds, the girl—the vessel—had survived. She did not know her name, but she would find her. The Council’s priorities would not dictate her actions.
”Tonight,” Elodie whispered to herself, voice lost among the wind, “I find her. I find out what they are, and I make sure she survives.”
Those were the last words she said before she shifted into a crow and soared the night skies.
Vin folded their arms, staring down Paloma the moment she started going on a weird Freya defence rant, shifting round to stop her from playing hide and seek behind them. Allegadely? Brutal response? It hadn’t been as brutal as Vin would’ve liked it to be. If they had their way, her shop would be burnt down and her legs broken. Then she came out with some absolutely ridiculous made up version of what happened at the shop. People trying to shoot Freya Collins? Oh right, yeah, because she was hurt by anyone but her own clumsiness.
”Listen here, I ain’t gettin’ my shit from online. She ain’t the one that-”
Before Vin could really get started on their rant, Paloma had already moved on to her cookies and accoutrements- whatever the fuck those were. Vin just threw one hand up in annoyance and let her talk. On and on with some terrible idea about impressing a rich bitch Vin would rather just go up and punch themselves at this point.
Their expression got more annoyed the more she talked, playing perfectly into whatever Paloma was going for when it came to scaring the children into labour. They all let out little gasps of shock at their glare and the horrific thought of no dessert until they’d eaten all their peas.
”Ain’t nobody gonna buy that whole impressing her shit-”
“Vin! Tell them about the super secret special prize!”
”Huhh?” Vin once again barely got a word in edgewise. Paloma was like a bullet train with no stops, anything in the way getting completely barreled over. They folded their arms, narrowed glare given in return to Paloma’s stupidly large eyes blinking like there was a fly stuck in them.
Unluckily for Paloma, Vin had never learned morse code, and had no idea what she was trying to do. But luckily for her, they were learning that it was sometimes easier to go along with what she said rather than fight against it and deal with her being more annoying.
They took a deep breath, pushing down the irritation that always flared when dealing with someone like this. They’d been given too many lectures about how they had to be more patient with people outside of the tiny circle they tolerated. It wasn’t that they particularly cared, but they didn’t want Marco being sent over to stop them from going off on Paloma. Because that would just lead to even more headaches.
”It’s not very secret if- Y’know what, fine… Help the annoyin’ lady with her cookies, and you’ll get an extra helpin’ of dinner and somethin’ else from me which super secret. Even better than punchin’ lessons.” They reached out for their little punching protege, ruffling his hair before nudging him towards the nearest table to join the cookie decoration sweatshop. It was enough to snap him out of the rapture of Good Influence, and they were all round more enthusiastic now. After all, another portion was a lot for kids who went hungry often.
And it gave Vin a moment to turn to Paloma. ”You’re fuckin’ welcome, now you ain’t gotta do any work. But I ain’t supportin’ showin’ ‘em to that rich bitch. Y’know, it wasn’t a shootin’. It was one of those things.”
Before Vin could get any further, a light shudder went through them. A trained danger sense, followed by a quiet but calm hi from a child. As Vin’s gaze turned to Destiny, darkness flooded across their eyes until they were pitch black. Paloma would recognise it from before Vin fought the Doppelganger, and Destiny would feel the lightest scratch against her sensitive emotional field.
Paloma and the Apparition with her lit up in Vin’s vision, as did a few other people across the room. But not the child in front of them.
She wasn’t an Apparition. It was enough for Vin to relax from their immediate fight response, hands curling to hide the claws pulling back into their fingers. An… Adept, then? There was a strangeness about her that told someone with honed senses like theirs that she wasn’t just normal. There was a certain look beyond it that Vin recognised too. Someone who’d dealt with shit beyond her years… Violence, maybe. Plenty of kids in the Southside were like that. Vin had been. This one was a little odder than most, though.
”I’m assumin’ you mean you wanna learn how to fight, not decorate turkey cookies?” Vin asked, lips pulling back into a wry grin. Their canines were extra sharp, like a predators, slowly shifting back to normal. Their eyes were back to normal now, but they watched Destiny like they were sizing her up. Trying to get a sense of how dangerous she was, and where her magic lay. Obviously, they couldn’t sniff that out. Green seemed unlikely, though… But that didn’t particularly matter. They could teach anyone with a bit of magic how to fight well enough to survive with enough time.
”Sure. I ain’t stingy ‘bout helpin’ people out ‘round here… Other southsiders that is. Since I’m teachin’ her anyway,” they jerked their head towards Paloma. “Another ain’t so bad. Save me from all the annoyin’ chattin’. What’s your name, kid?”
They turned their grin- more vicious than it was joyful- towards Paloma. “You don’t mind if those lessons ain’t private, d’ya? Assumin’ you really wanna learn… I ain’t gonna force you to punch the rich prick for me or anythin'. But knowin’ how to punch shit’s real useful for situations like the other day.”
Not that they particularly cared if Paloma could defend herself or not. Her Apparition probably did a good enough job there. It would just be enteraining watching her try to do any kinda fighting.
”You’re fuckin’ welcome, now you ain’t gotta do any work. But I ain’t supportin’ showin’ ‘em to that rich bitch. Y’know, it wasn’t a shootin’. It was one of those things.”
Paloma looked up from the table she had commandeered and transformed into her cookie sweatshop, lined with bottles of icing and edible glitter that was guaranteed to be found sprinkled about the Hollow Tap for years to come. One of those…? Her eyes widened in recognition as she shoved the stale bag of candy corn into the arms of one of the children. A doppelganger had attacked Freya’s shop? She glanced hopefully at the baker. Perhaps it had been a doppelganger that had said all of those hateful things, too.
She shivered. Gideon’s dumb insistence to greet everyone at the door was letting the cold in. She shot a glance towards the entrance only to see that it was closed.
”Hi. I…want to learn,” said a small voice.
She turned towards the child with a smile on her face, happy to recruit another laborer. At the same time the Samaritan could no longer resist its nature thanks to the overwhelming presence of needy people in such a tight capacity and flicked back on its Messiah Complex. Paloma winced as the bar lit up like Christmas, the small figure in front of her beaming brighter than the star on top of the tree. Sam, enough! Nearly blinded, Paloma felt her heart stop as the golden strings of light faded and revealed to her the shade of a ghost. She blinked rapidly and her blood resumed pumping as her vision cleared, the imagined manifestation of Room 513 shifting before her as it became a different girl.
Paloma couldn’t tell if the Samaritan had just gotten confused or if it was trying to tell her that this young lady desperately needed help. She wasn’t as aptly attuned as Vin was, with her knowledge of magic still muddied by rules regarding spellslots and material components, and still mistook the occasional knock on her Emotional Field for something else–a need for a cup of coffee that was more sugar than coffee, a reminder that she should really stretch more often than she does, or in this case, the wind. So when Paloma saw the blackness of Vin’s eyes she tensed, worried that perhaps the child was a doppelganger or, worse, that Vin was about to whoop some kid’s ass.
The revelation that Vin merely wanted to teach the kid how to fight was a relief until Paloma realized that Vin wanted to teach the kid how to fight.
“Hoooooooold on, tiger. The private lesson thing was only a bit,” said Paloma with a wave of her hand, conscientious of all the children around them. She shifted her attention to Destiny, half-squatting to lower herself down to eye level. “Hi, I’m Paloma. Vin’s just joking around: they like my company. You want to make cookies with the other kids, right? It’s really easy. I can give you some design pointers if you…”
She trailed off as she felt something inside of her squeeze as the Samaritan tried to grab her attention. Talk about actually annoying. Paloma grumbled something under her breath as if she was having an argument with herself, her head rocking side to side as she mulled something over. The kid had glowed brighter than a supernova. She needed help more than anyone else in the bar. Hell, the kid needed it more than anyone else that Paloma had seen in her relatively short time spent with the Samaritan. Her mind started to fabricate the potential horrible scenarios that the kid could be involved in, each worse than the other and none landing even close to what was really going on with the child.
God-fucking-damn kids! So much for scoring some information from Marco, let alone scoring with him. So much for becoming Freya’s new best friend, apprentice, and inheritor of her fortune. Paloma had to figure out what was troubling this girl to make Sammy jump around so much. If not out of the goodness of her heart–a thing she liked to believe that she had, despite some evidence or more so her willingness to destroy said evidence–then at the very least to satisfy her morbid curiosity with the added bonus of shutting the Samaritan up.
A squeal escaped from Paloma’s throat like steam out of a tea kettle.
“Ohmigosh! I just can’t stand it. Like. At. All. You’re just too cute!” She snapped her head towards Vin, slashing a finger at them like a knife as she jumped up to her feet. “We’re adopting her. No arguments. We’ll figure out who’s daddy later.”
“What is it you’d like to learn, sweetie?” asked Paloma, dropping back into a half-squat as she lowered her voice to a hush. “There isn’t someone you’d actually want to punch, is there? Because you don’t really need to learn how to fight someone just to fight back.” Paloma guided Destiny's eyes towards Vin with a glance. “You just need to know someone who’d do it for you.”
For a moment, she thought she’d misread it—both the tone and the intent. The woman’s voice was too bright, too soft around the edges. “You’re just too cute.” “We’re adopting her.” “What is it you’d like to learn, sweetie?”
Her brain snagged on the cadence of it, like a record skip. Cute? Adopting? Sweetie? The words didn’t fit. Not here. Not with the heaviness that usually clung to grown-ups. It wasn’t pity - pity was cold, predictable - but this... this was warm in a way that didn’t make sense. Her first instinct was defense. She’s lying. Nobody just offers warmth. Nobody wraps it in a smile without wanting something back. Maybe Paloma was trying to make herself look good in front of Vin. Perhaps this was part of some bizarre public display of virtue. Maybe she wanted the crowd to see her being generous.
That tracked. That made sense.
Except—no.
The thought flickered against Destiny’s telepathy, faint and erratic like static. Paloma’s mind was a storm of sugar and noise—genuine, unfiltered, chaotic sincerity. It wasn’t manipulation. It wasn’t pretense. It was just there, flooding out like light through a cracked window. Destiny’s brows furrowed, unease tightening at her ribs. She didn’t know what to do with that. Genuine kindness didn’t fit anywhere in the map of her world. It had nowhere to land.
”I-” Destiny hesitated, the words getting caught in her throat before she forced them out. ”... I don't want to make cookies.” Her voice was sharp. Firm. Strong. As if the question was a demand that Destiny vehemently denied.
Her eyes flicked to Vin next, searching for something steadier, something familiar in the other woman’s eyes. Vin’s gaze was watchful, not unkind, but grounded—real. That, Destiny understood. The way predators recognized each other across the dark.
”I said I wanted to learn how to fight,” Destiny continued, far quieter now, ”To defend myself. I'm not-” Her lips pressed together, the thought finishing in her mind instead: I’m not yours to fix.
The silence that followed stretched thin, like it might break if anyone breathed too loudly. Destiny’s telepathy brushed the edges of their minds again—reflex, not intrusion. Vin’s focus burned hot and practical, like a knife’s edge. Paloma’s concern hummed with a wild, genuine quality.
Both confused her.
Both terrified her.
“... If you’re teaching,” she said to Vin, “I’ll learn.”
A simple statement. A truce. Nothing more.
But under it, beneath the practiced calm, her mind was already working—trying to predict the cost. Because there was always a cost.
”I can hear you, y’know.” Vin rolled their eyes at Paloma as she lowered her voice, as if Vin was far enough to miss anything she said. Nevermind their slightly enhanced hearing.
Not that they really cared about being pointed towards people to fight. They needed little convincing to do that… Only exceptions being Hollow members, and family. It was the other irritatingly high pitched squeals that came out of Paloma’s mouth that they felt they actually had to address. Because like hell were they letting her take their silence as agreement.
”We ain’t gonna figure out who’s daddy cause we ain’t adoptin’ her. You can’t just pick up any kid off the street, fuckin’ hell! Ain’t like you earn enough on your-” Vin cut themselves off, throwing a hand in the air in frustration. They were talking as if it was a possibility if Paloma earned enough to support a child- which it absolutely was not! They weren’t in the market for adopting whatever orphan looked the saddest, especially not with the annoying woman they’d met a few days ago.
”Not happening.” They folded their arms, glowering at Paloma before slowly turning their gaze back to the child. It was calculating, but softer- in that they weren’t glaring anymore. There was something strange about the girl. Not just because she acted mature for her age- that kind of kid was dime a dozen in this city. Most of ‘em had to grow up fast.
Vin had to. If they hadn’t, Loni would’ve ended up in a much worse place than a North Side strip club… And Vin themselves would probably be dead in the streets. Innocent children didn’t survive the streets. Most didn’t have a chance to keep that innocence anyway. Vin had witnessed violence themselves from a young age- from the way their ‘Father’ treated their Mom, to gang members breaking people’s kneecaps and the police brutalising criminals and innocents alike. They’d been on the receiving end plenty. Seen plenty of friends arrested, or killed. They’d had to fight and kill just to survive, and to get rid of anyone that’d harm their softer twin and her adorable daughter.
Maybe the ‘softness’ they showed towards children (that Paloma had annoyingly pointed out) came because they wanted to be what they’d never had. Nothing noble like a protector or some shit, but a mentor at least. Help kids survive all the shit this world throws at them. They hadn’t found anything like that until they joined the Hollow, and by then it was far too late.
But this kid was different. Magic, as they’d already guessed. But it was more than that. Their senses were heightened, and they could feel a tingling wrongness, but had no idea why. That was what made them suspicious. Most kids this age either hadn’t kindled, or barely had. They didn’t have control. But they could sense she was casting something- so used to battling other Paranormals- just not what.
They’d find out.
”I’m teachin’. Let’s-” They paused, turning their head back towards the door. Fuck. Gideon had made his way back to the door, so he’d see if Vin tried to slip off into a back room to teach a kid how to fight. It also meant Marco must be lurking somewhere, though Vin couldn’t see him. But they knew the moment they did something ‘wrong’ the bastard would pop up and start berating them.
”Start properly tomorrow. I ain’t free to just fuck off, technically I’m part’ve security- and I ain’t gonna be in much shape to teach if the boss catches me skippin’ and gives me a beatin’.” They grinned, almost seeming excited by the prospect. It was fun when they got to spar with Gideon. Less so when they were getting taught a lesson. Gideon was a good boss who treated them all like family, so while he was ruthless with his enemies he didn’t tend to use violence within the ranks for anything less than betrayal. It was just that Vin didn’t respond to any talking tos when they first joined. Stern words meant nothing. Only fists got through in their world of violence, to ironically make them curb back their own violent impulses.
”You’re small, so you’re gonna have to learn where to target. Probably so y’can run, but it ain’t like small means weak. And luckily for you, I was takin’ out assholes double my size at your age. I ain’t forgot what it’s like to not have the strength I got now. But-” They looked Destiny up and down. ”You ain’t gonna be survivin’ the training when you look like a breeze’d knock you over. You ate yet? Shit’s pretty good, and it’s actually hot.”
Whether the kid ate or not didn’t particularly matter to them. They just knew that most around these parts didn’t get all the meals they needed- and that was a fainting risk. They’d probably already get Marco nagging them for agreeing to teach a kid, nevermind if she fainted.
”Oh, right. Loudmouth over here already said my name-” Vin jerked their head towards Paloma. ”But I’m Vin. What’s your name, kid?”
Destiny tilted her head slightly, the faint crease between her brows deepening. She can hear me. Not the words, not the tone, not the meaning behind them—just the awareness. Vin’s mind had locked onto her presence before she’d even spoken a syllable. That... shouldn’t happen. Not this fast. Not with someone new.
Her mental fingers hesitated, brushing against the flow of Vin’s thoughts. She felt the raw edges of calculation, the undercurrent of patience tempered with violence, the instinctive sorting of threats. Vin has seen everything. Everything like this before. She knows the streets. She knows survival. She knows what to expect from children who’ve grown too fast. She is.
Destiny’s pulse quickened. She ran through the possibilities, looping them over and over in her mind. No. They can’t know this much. Not about me. They shouldn’t be able to trace me this easily. Is this magic? Reflex? Just instinct?
And yet, it wasn’t just instinct. She could feel it—the protective mechanisms honed over years of trauma, of being forced to watch people die, of fighting to keep someone else alive before herself. Vin’s mind was a map of experience, of violence and survival, of grudges and cautious tenderness. She paused over the last part. Tenderness. Towards children. She froze. That shouldn’t be there.
Destiny tilted her head the other way, trying to rationalize it. Kindness? That’s not... real. That’s a trap. That’s an opening. People don’t just... care without wanting something. Her mind twisted through all the angles, scanning Vin’s memories and instincts like a prism, testing every reflection for deception, every gap for intent. But the kindness—the soft edge beneath the hardness—was real. It didn’t fit. And that made her nervous.
She swallowed, keeping her expression carefully neutral, though the tension coiled in her stomach. I can work with this. I can test this. But trust? Ha. Not yet. Not a chance.
She took a measured breath, letting the surface of her telepathy brush Vin’s calculations, her habitual readiness, without intruding. Every instinct, every unspoken rule, every hesitation—she cataloged it. Everything she absorbed would be a tool if she trained under Vin. She wouldn’t let sentiment or kindness cloud her judgment. That was a luxury she didn’t have.
Destiny’s gaze lifted, faintly narrowing as Vin’s words hit her ears. “... Start properly tomorrow-” She nodded slightly to herself, already running scenarios in her mind. Timing, patience, observation, this wasn’t just about learning to fight. It was about learning to survive someone who could see you before you moved, someone who could predict your actions before you acted.
Good. This is worth her time.
She folded her hands in front of herself, voice low, deliberate, almost quiet enough to be a thought, but sharp enough to pierce:
“I’ll be ready.”
”You’re small, so you’re gonna have to learn where to target. Probably so y’can run, but it ain’t like small means weak. And luckily for you, I was takin’ out assholes double my size at your age. I ain’t forgot what it’s like to not have the strength I got now. But you ain’t gonna be survivin’ the training when you look like a breeze’d knock you over. You ate yet? Shit’s pretty good, and it’s actually hot. Oh, right. Loudmouth over here already said my name-” Vin jerked their head towards Paloma. ”But I’m Vin. What’s your name, kid?”
Destiny didn’t flinch at the assessment, but she felt it—Vin’s mind flickering through memories of streets and fists and survival, sizing her up not to dismiss her... but to figure out how to keep her alive.
That alone threw her off-balance.
People didn’t think like that. Not about her. Not without wanting something. What’s the angle here? What’s the leverage? What do they get out of this? Vin’s concern - practical, rough, not sentimental - didn’t fit anywhere in her mental categories. She kept circling it, trying to decode the motive. Worried I’ll faint? Why? They don’t know me. They don’t need me. So why—
Her brows tightened.
This is stupid. Stop thinking about it. It doesn’t matter.
Destiny straightened a little, chin lifting with a stubbornness that was more instinct than confidence.
“I’m not fragile,” she said quietly, matter-of-factly.
Her voice wasn’t defensive—just stating a truth she lived by. She hesitated a beat, then added because Vin seemed to expect an answer:
“... I ate yesterday.”
A pause.
“That’s enough.”
Not a lie. Not the whole truth. Just enough to shut down the softness she didn’t know how to handle.
When Vin asked her name, Destiny blinked once—slow, assessing again. She skimmed Vin’s surface thoughts one more time just to be sure: no traps, no pity, no manipulation, Just a fighter talking to someone smaller.
“... Destiny,” she said finally. “My name is Destiny.”
Paloma flashed Vin a guilty grin after they called her out for trying to teach their new ward to get others to do the dirty work for her. She stood back up to feign innocence, pointing out with a “now listen here” finger that drooped and wilted as Vin hard rejected the idea of co-parenting. Paloma put on a playful performance in which she was hurt by Vin’s chastistation. She slackened her jaw and dramatically swooned backwards in a mock shock that became real as the little girl interjected that she wanted to make war, not cookies. Paloma pressed her hand to her heart, covering up the imagined wound from where the kid had buried her blade. Ouch!
She felt a tug on her sleeve come from one of her little Keebler elves. She turned to see a ratty little punk with missing front teeth hold up their absolute abomination of a cookie with the kind of pride that only a child could hold for something that would only ever be defined, and this is put as politely as possible, as utter shit trash. How they’d manage to make the icing that color and consistency was baffling before Paloma realized it wasn’t icing but mashed potatoes. She was also pretty certain that turkeys didn’t have a beak between their legs.
“Wow. That’s pretty…” Dumb. Deviant. Dogshit. “...unique! Let me help you with the next one.”
Paloma squeezed herself onto the bench amongst the kids, grabbed a cookie, and began to show the kids step-by-step how to not ruin all of the work she had already put into the treats before bumming them off on a bunch of untrained, unpaid, and underage laborers. Yet even the slight pull of the Samaritan was not enough to keep the attention of the youths whose heads kept drifting towards Vin as they set a training date with Destiny, not wanting to miss out on any drops of wisdom when it came to dropping some bully trying to steal their bikes.
Truth be told, Paloma couldn’t help but listen in as well, her instructions becoming mumbled as she tried to scoop up the Vin lore. She’d seen enough–things she would never unsee, despite pretending as if she had seen nothing–to no longer warrant everything up to just tough talk. Hell, she’d seen enough that a good part of her wanted to pull the kid aside once Vin was out of earshot and tell them to buzz off for her own safety. But Paloma also saw something as Vin shifted the talk from beating up people bigger than yourself to making sure that the kid was eating right. It was enough “proof” to allow Paloma to carry on with her wishful thinking when it came to Vin and their more, ahem, concerning qualities.
She smiled softly at her secretly sweet stooge with a look that bordered on admiration that was soon backhanded off of her face by an unflattering, unaffectionate nickname.
“Loudmouth!?” echoed Paloma, who had merely intended to mouth the words but was seemingly incapable of even doing that quietly. A wave of giggles passed around the cookie circle and brought productivity to a halt as the gaggle of kids began a chorus of Loudmouth, Loudmouth. It broke Paloma, who was no longer able to pretend that she was peeved, as she chuckled at herself.
“ I ate yesterday. That’s enough,” said Destiny.
Paloma stopped laughing. She didn’t need the Samaritan inside of her to feel a swell of indignation. Eating yesterday most certainly was not enough given how late in the day it was now, especially for a growing kid. She jumped out of her bench seat and rushed towards Destiney, leaving the children caught with a case of the sillies to stir themselves back to work. Along the way, Paloma threw a dirty, accusatory look around the Hollow Tap, a spray-and-pray method in an attempt to shame non-present caretakers. She swooped down to Destiny’s height, looking as if she was going to smother the girl with an inescapable hug, but pulled short and reached out to give the girl a reassuring squeeze on her bony shoulder instead.
“Oh, sweetie, that’s not nearly enough,” said Paloma, trying to hide her anger by drowning it in sugar. “Besides, it’s Thanksgiving. Even if you aren’t hungry, the whole point of the holiday is to eat until you feel sick and then you eat some more. Vin’s gotta pretend to work, but I can go through the line with you, Destiny. The only thing I’ve eaten today was icing. In fact, I’m starting to feel a little weak. I might need you to help me through the line. Oooh, my head. Sooo hungry…”
Paloma covered her face as she pretended to massage a migraine, using her other hand to shoo away a random lady who had overheard Paloma’s bellyaching and had started to fish around in her purse for some ibuprofen. Still shielding her face from Destiny and groaning in hunger, she flashed another coded message at Vin through a series of blinks that she was certain would be interpreted fully and clearly until she realized a flaw in her plan. She dropped her hand and raised an eyebrow at Destiny.
“Destiny, where are your parents?” asked Paloma, who suddenly seemed to have recovered from her hunger-based agony. Even still, her stomach tightened. “It’s just that Vin should probably meet them before training you. Just so that there wouldn’t be any problems, y’know? I'm sure they'd appreciate a preview of the lesson plan.”
Couldn’t sic her minion on those abusive fucks who starved their own kid without knowing where they were.
The night had already started well, and Gideon was proud.
The crowd was alive with excitement, the food was hot, and everyone seemed to be having a good time. The conversations were important, and he was learning about new and better ways to be involved in the local communities. The previous two guests had mentioned that the local gas company was offering predatory payment plans that were making it hard to afford heating in their home. Gideon cracked his knuckles. Nothing could break his mood tonight.
"M-M-Mr Cross, hello!" Gideon turned his head ever… so… slightly towards the newcomer. He raised a single eyebrow. "I’m Loni Rodriguez! Uh, Vin’s twin- which I’m sure you guessed!"
His mouth dropped ever so slightly at the sight. It was one thing to know a friend had a twin, yet it was another thing altogether to see it for the first time. This woman in front of him was the spitting image of Vin if Vin had a stroke and dressed femininely for once in their life. It would be wrong to look at Gideon if he didn’t know ahead of time that this twin existed. Gideon looked away from the woman and into the crowd, spotting Marco, and whistled to get his attention. When Marco looked towards Gideon, he simply pointed towards Loni with a ‘you–seeing this’ look across his face. Marco took a second to find what Gideon was pointing towards but when he did, a surprised look crossed his face. Gideon turned back to Loni in a slow, deliberate turn, as a large smile crossed his face. As he was about to welcome Loni to the celebration, she revealed a little bundle of joy, causing the smile on Gideon's face to grow even larger.
"Say hello to the, uh, nice boss man, Mijita."
“No!”
Gideon gasped humerously at the defiance. It seemed stubbornness was a family trait, and this baby was displaying it already. As the baby kicked Loni, Gideon turned his attention back up to Loni and raised an eyebrow. What a cute family! He would need to have Vin bring them around more often. "You gotta say hello to see your Tio, Luciana. C’mon, Baby, for Mama." Gideon shot his head back down to the child and wited wth bated breath. “O-ah!” The baby responded, before retreating from the conversation altogether and hiding amongst her mother's warmth.
"Good girl, see, ain’t so bad, huh?"
“She is ador-.”
"I’m sorry, she normally ain’t like this, she just ain’t been happy since she got up and Vin wasn’t there! I ain’t sure if she knows it’s meant to be a family day or somethin’, but she ain’t mean any offence by it, Mr Cross! P-Please don’t take my hand for it! I swear if we ever come round again she’ll be all smiles and giggles, ‘specially if it’s with Vin- uh, we ain’t gonna take anythin’ either, promise, we gotta dinner at my work we’re gonna get fed at! So ain’t takin’ anythin’ outta other people’s mouths… And I know Vin’s workin’, it’ll only be a few minutes, just enough time for her to see ‘em then she’ll be back to herself and we can get outta here. We ain’t gonna keep ‘em long! And- And if you gotta dock that from their pay then I’ll pay it! I ain’t got the money right now but… I bet my boss would cause she loves Luci, she’ll be the most upset if we get back and Luci still ain’t talkin’ to her. O-Or if it’s limbs you cut off for stuff like that, you can have mine! They’re basically the same. B-but it’ll just be a few minutes! Then they'll be back to work! So if you point me to ‘em, I’ll be outta here soon as! Promise!"
As Loni spoke Gideon was blown back by the speed of her words. His eyes squinted, his head leaned back, and he was briefly stunned by the relentless auditory assault. Inside, he could not help but like this woman just a bit. While his status as a crime boss was indeed known, it was good that it still stirred some fear in people. Yet he could not have this. Loni was family by extension, and that meant that Gideon would need to make her feel more welcome than any other.
“Loni!” Gideon interrupted with a chuckle. “Loni, who do you think I am, some kinda thin-skinned knucklehead who can’t handle a child being a child? You do not need to apologize to me because you, nor your adorable kid, have done anything to be sorry about,” he paused as he closed the gap between the two, “and everything I do is to ensure that people like you,” he pointed towards Loni, “and children like yours,” he paused as he pointed towards the kid, “are safe, fed, taken care of, and given the same chance that you would had you been born a mile north of here. Spend as much time as you’d like here, and come find me when you need to leave. I will have one of my best boys, Marco, help you get where you’re going. This weather is terrible, and I will not send you back out unless you are safe. Ya feel me,” Gideon paused for a brief second, not long enough to allow for a response but long enough to let the words hit home. Loni was always going to be taken care of, as was her child. “Marco will also be asking you some questions. Tell him what you need, what’s a struggle, and we will see what we can do to give you two a good holiday season. Capiche?” Gideon paused once again, and again it was not long enough for Loni to respond. “Now, go find Vin and tell them that they did me a disservice by not introducing us themself. Why I had to meet you as a stranger in line like this, I will never understand. It seems you got all the manners, and they got an attitude.” Gideon gave a playful wink as he used his massive hands to guide Loni into the building.
The line was still long, and he was happy to be leading it. Nothing could ruin this night, not even a scared mother who had heard all the stories of what Gideon had done to earn his spot at the front of the line.
Marco shook his head at the sight of Loni in the flesh. While he had known since the start that Vin had a twin sister, their styles clashed so much that it often made it hard for him to accept that reality. Still, from what he was able to gather from Vin, her twin sister was different in more ways than just style. Loni seemed genuine, kind, and maybe a little over her head at times. Marco sighed. Why couldn’t they have that come out of Vin every once in a while? For what job they did, Vin’s personality was perfect, yet they could never turn that off. Everything is always so serious to them, or an affront to their honor, or a disrespectful, expletive-filled statement that always seems to drag on far longer than it had any right to. Marco leaned back his head and sighed. He knew he needed to talk with Vin, and he knew it had it happen now before a kid stabbed another kid, but he did not want to. Still, it’s not like his night could get any worse from there. Marco sighed as he looked towards Vin, and his stomach dropped.
“Fuck.” Palmoa was here. A person who saw him powered up who was not in the crew.
Marco shook his head clear of negative energy and bad thoughts. He needed to be the calm, yet firm, rock that the crew could build off of. And right now, the crew needed him to keep Vin in check so some rich prick out of her depth doesn’t get a scratch on her. Marco navigated the crowd, blending in as much as a man of his size and stature could, until he was close enough to hear the conversation but far enough away that he wasn’t in their orbit. Eventually, the conversation drifted towards a kid who wanted help training to fight better. Marco spotted her from his location and raised an eyebrow. The kid did not look a day over ten, maybe eleven tops, and was already facing so much that they are looking for training on thanksgiving of all days. This would not be something he could overlook.
“Vin,” Marco spoke as he walked up to the troupe, hands in his pocket. He looked from Palmoa to Destiny, to Vin, and then down to Destiny once more. “What’s the situation?”
Destiny went still the moment Paloma said parents.
Not a flinch. Not a blink.
Just. Still.
It wasn’t even a choice. The word hit like a hammer tapping a bruise she’d spent months pretending didn’t exist, and the memory surged up before she could shove it back down.
The whistle first. That thin, cutting sound she didn’t understand until it was too late.
Then the crack. Loud enough to vibrate inside her ribs.
Her mother’s body folding-
The dark bloom spreading across her shirt-
The portal shrinking-
Her own voice screaming-
Her hand reaching-
Her mother’s slipping away-
The flash was over in less than a second.
But Destiny’s breath was gone. Her stomach dropped. Her fingers curled into her palms as if she could anchor herself to this moment and not that one.
She didn’t let it show on her face.
She never let it show on her face.
But her telepathy misfired-just a flicker-her shield slipping for half a heartbeat. Vin would feel it the most: a sharp spike of grief, brief and blinding as a camera flash, before Destiny slammed it shut again. She swallowed hard, eyes narrowing-not at Paloma, but at the world for daring to touch that wound.
And that was the crack the Mother Will slid through.
Not appearing and not arriving, just coalescing in the space created by Destiny’s pain. Reflexive. Automatic. A parasite smelling blood. Her voice brushed the back of Destiny’s mind like cold fingers:
“... She knows. More than she says.”
No reaction.
Because Destiny was used to the weight of Mother Will at her shoulder, like a shadow she couldn’t shed.
“She prods at you,” the Mother Will whispered, voice dipped in amusement. “She tastes your trauma. She wants you rattled.”
Destiny’s jaw tightened, the only betrayal she allowed.
Mother Will leaned in—never seen, never touching, but somehow too close.
“She isn’t even subtle,” she murmured. “She wants you to be aware that you are prey. She wants you to feel her circling.”
A soft laugh, low and delighted.
“Before she goes in for the kill.”
Destiny had been silent for too long now. Staring and breathing steady and trying to keep her pulse from climbing.
And in that quiet, something moved on the table.
A fork.
It scraped once against the wood, then lifted—smooth, weightless—drawn by Destiny’s telekinesis.
But Destiny wasn’t controlling it.
Not really.
Her magic had always been easiest for Mother Will to hijack in moments like this—when Destiny’s shields were cracked, when the old hurt was bleeding through.
The fork floated neatly into Destiny’s hand.
To the Blind observing, it would look like Destiny simply reached for it.
To Destiny, she could feel Mother Will guiding the motion and using her hands and her power.
A suggestion disguised as instinct.
“... Kill her,” The Mother Will whispered.
Almost gentle.
Almost motherly.
She didn't even notice the new party approaching. She was on a one-track mind, eyes fixed on Paloma like she was the only person left in the room. Every sound dulled. Every face blurred. Only the target stayed sharp. Mother Will’s whisper coiling through her skull, drowning out everything that wasn’t Paloma-
”... Hey, I was hoping to run into you,”. Breaking her out of her reverie was a hand touching her other shoulder. She recognized the voice. She didn't even have to look up to see who it was.
Latoya.
Despite that, she looked up and saw that smile on her face. One hand was on Destiny's shoulder, the other one was on a plate of food. The woman looked around, ”I see you're making friends! But, what are you doing with that fork and no food?!” She laughed, before looking up.
”I'm Latoya, this lil' girl is my friend,”
Destiny froze.
Not the way she had with Paloma’s question—quiet and internal.
This was a jolt, like someone had reached into the machinery of her brain and yanked a wire loose.
Latoya’s voice cut straight through Mother Will’s whisper, slicing the kill-command clean in half. The fork twitched in Destiny’s grip. Her pupils snapped toward the woman with something too sharp, too alert, too caught.
Powerlessness.
The feeling she’d been running from since last night slammed into her chest like a breaking wave.
She tried to pull back—mentally, emotionally, physically—but Latoya’s hand on her shoulder burned like contact with a spotlight. Too warm. Too close. Too kind.
She didn’t understand kindness without motive.
Not from anyone. Her voice, when it finally found its way out, came out brittle and small—more a crack than a sound.
“I... dropped it.”
She hadn’t. But it was the first excuse her scrambled brain could grab.
Destiny’s throat worked once, twice, like she was trying to swallow a stone. Her gaze jittered, Paloma, Vin, Latoya, the fork in her hand, too many inputs, too many eyes, too many hands on her shoulders, both real and imagined. Her breathing hitched. Not enough to look scared.
Just enough to betray that she was calculating escape routes.
Mother Will’s presence pressed against the inside of her skull, displeased, but even she had gone quiet—watching Destiny come apart at the seams. Destiny flinched at her own voice when it came out, thin and strained:
“Why are you all... being soooo nice to me?”
Not accusatory.
Not grateful.
Lost. Confused. Cornered.
Like she genuinely didn’t understand the rules of whatever game she’d just walked into.
Vin frowned at Destiny, folding their arms across their chest. They got it. They would've been suspicious of an offer of food too at that age. Anyone saying they'd feed you tended to want something... But events like this were the one place people really could eat freely. Like a soup kitchen put on by mobsters.
It made them a bit suspicious. Had she not heard about the Hollow? About the event that had been going on for years? Or was she just stubborn about not taking good from people she didn't know? Good safety instincts, but it wouldn't save her when she passed out from starvation.
They opened their mouth to say something, but were cut off by Paloma.
What the fuck is she on?
The dramatic show was almost entertaining, but Vin could tell it wasn’t going to work on this kid. She was wary, and some strange, annoying woman pretending to be dying of starvation wasn’t going to drag her over to the line. It’d be easier to wave one of the guys under them over and get them to bring over a plate. It wouldn’t be favouritism if they were trying to feed a hungry kid. Gideon certainly didn’t mind.
Their eyes narrowed as Paloma went from dramatic moaning to asking about parents. Here, in this part of the city? Even kids who had loving parents normally had to deal with long periods not seeing them, cause they were busy working to feed them. Vin knew that too well. And far too many didn’t have them at all anymore…
And why the fuck was she blinking at them again? Was she having a stroke?!
"Huh? It ain’t-”
“Vin, what’s the situation?”
Vin was interrupted before they could tell Paloma it was stupid to expect Destiny’s parents to care. They groaned, twisting their head to look at Marco. How long had he been listening? Had Gideon sent him to check on Vin? Annoying bastard-
”Kid don’t want any of our food, so Miss Dramatic’s tryna convince her to eat.” Vin jerked a finger towards Marco. As they did, they felt a cold, crawling sensation at the back of their neck. Like something was wrong. Destiny hadn’t said anything since Paloma asked about her parents. Did she fucking upset the kid. Well there wasn’t much they could do about it. ”Unless y’mean the trai-”
Pain. Deep sorrow, a heavy grief they hadn’t felt since their Mother died. There one moment, gone like a flash. It wasn’t their grief. Their eyes narrowed subtly, slowly moving over to look at Destiny. The feeling that something was wrong increased. Not wrong. Dangerous. It was their honed danger sense that was going on.
A scrape of a fork, telekinetically controlled by the young girl, told them they were right to be worried. That wasn’t the gaze of someone just upset. That was the eyes of someone ready to attack.
As the fork reached Destiny’s hand, Vin moved forward. They grabbed Paloma’s shoulder to pull her back, not caring about how rough the motion was. They placed themselves in front of her. Between Paloma and the fork before it could go for the throat, ready to block the blow.
It never came. Instead, there was another woman.
A friend of the kid? Why was she emphasising that? Did she think Vin was gonna rip Destiny’s throat out for a bad reaction? They weren’t that fucking callous.
”Vin.” They said curtly in response to Latoya, still standing between Paloma and Destiny. They’d acted on instinct, and almost groaned when they realised what it looked like. It looked like they fucking cared for Paloma! That wasn’t the case. Just there couldn’t be spilled blood in the Hollow. That’d be even more of a pain to deal with, and they’d be the one getting in trouble with Gideon for not fixing it.
It did confirm their hunch. Destiny had magic. Magic without control, it seemed, if getting emotional was enough for that to happen. They got it. They’d been there.
If she’d been older, they wouldn’t have held back. But this was a kid. One who’d clearly been through some shit… And they couldn’t get aggressive with a kid. It was kids like this that Vin wanted to tear down the North Side for, much as Marco nagged them like they didn’t know that.
“Why are you all... being soooo nice to me?”
Vin wasn’t empathic enough to feel true sympathy, or sad when Destiny asked that. Just understanding. She was like them at that age. Worse, probably… Clearly no parents left to look after her.
”Hard to believe, ain’t it?” Vin grunted. It was their turn to crouch down now, squatting in front of Destiny so they were closer to her level.
”Most people ain’t nice without wantin’ somethin’. Look, I ain’t a good person. You pulled that shit as an adult, I woulda beaten you for it. But you ain’t that. You’re a hurt kid. I was you once, and all I got for it were beatings. But this place-” They gestured to the place they were in. The Hollow Tap. ”Is full’ve people who wanna make a better life for kids like you. I do the bad shit I do now cause the people here deserve a better life. ’Specially the kids.”
Their gaze wasn’t filled with any soft sympathy. It was hard, almost burning. At the end of the day, this girl they’d just met wasn’t important to them. No more than the other kids sitting decorating cookies at the table. But they meant what they said. They wanted to destroy the systems that trapped people down here in a horrible cycle of poverty. The same one they’d experienced.
Their lips pulled back into a smile, teeth slightly sharp. ”I ain’t nice cause I’ma carin’ person. I’m nice cause I’m a killer who's been taught I gotta protect the people I’m killin’ for.”
Loni listened to Gideon with wide eyes, nodding at certain points. He paused as if giving her a chance to respond a couple of times, before continuing before she could actually say anything. It meant she didn't have a chance to say there was no need for this Marco guy to escort her when she left, because she should be leaving with Vin! And they'd be more than enough.
It reminded her a bit of Momo. Though Momo always left enough of a pause for Loni to agree, she did expect agreement. Must be a leader thing!
But the more he talked, the less scared she felt. By the end she was smiling brightly at him, though she was still clearly nervous. Maybe that was how she always was. A bit jumpy. She was just too used to people treating her badly, or having to be cautious.
But he wasn’t going to cut off any hands or tongues, which was good! She’d survived the encounter, and let her inside.
"Thanks, Mr Cross! You ain't as bad as the rumours say." She waved to him, shifting Luciana at her hip. "I’ll make sure to give Vin a hard time for not introducin’ me- I ain’t sure why they were so against me comin’ here!"
With that she was off, inside to the warmth.
It was busy inside. Too busy for her to immediately see Vin. And it really was warm, from the heating and the crowded bodies. Loni let out a huff and Luciana started to squirm in her arms.
“Tio! Tio!”
"I know, Mijita, but lemme take your coat off first." Loni crouched and put Luci down to take off her coat and hat, revealing the cute, dark pink dress underneath. She let go of her daughter for just a moment to take off her own coat.
But that moment was enough. Luciana’s Tio senses were tingling, and somehow she spotted them. Her attention was easily caught by the big group, and it let her spot Vin within that.
Before Loni could stop her, she was off, running towards Vin. She was on a mission, running as fast as her little legs would carry her. There wasn’t much in her path, her precious Tio in sight- Until suddenly they vanished! They were gone, nowhere in sight! Luci was running too fast, her momentum taking her headfirst into the man who’d be right next to Vin before they ‘disappeared’.
“Ah-bah!” Luci grabbed onto the man’s legs, tilting her head back to glare up at him.
"Luciana! You can’t just run-" The words caught in Loni’s throat as she reached her daughter.
The world slowed down as the man turned around. The slow motion movement revealed each delectable detail to Loni. A well defined jawline lined with a dark beard that perfectly framed it. His hair was perfectly tousled, and he oozed charm as a strong backlight cast him in a dreamy shadow. Wow, they even have sexiness backlights in this place.
Her gaze strayed downwards, breath catching in her throat at the glorious sight. Perfectly chiselled pecks were on full display through a wide open shirt. They bounced alluring at Loni. She slowly looked back up towards his face to catch the uninterested look in his eyes. Like nobody in that room mattered to him… He had bad boy written all over him. And he was incredibly hot.
Just her type.
Luciana stared up at him too, eyes wide at the sight of such a pretty man. Most of her life had been spent surrounded by pretty women, so seeing a handsome man like this had her little head spinning. She blushed, starting to babble excitedly.
“Ah ooh ah, ooh-ee. Bah Tio goh buh oo eye.” She grabbed his pants leg and tugged it. “Papa?”
Loni threw a hand over her mouth, the dramatic backlight disappearing from her vision.
"Oh, no, Mijita, that ain’t your Papa." She corrected gently, stepping forward so she was right behind her daughter. It gave her an excuse to get closer to Marco. She was internally cheering for her daughter. The best wingwoman!. "Well, he ain’t yet."
She smiled playfully up at Marco as she made the joke, eyes narrowing flirtatiously. The sultry dark pink eyeshadow only enhanced her attempted seduction, the crop top she was wearing far too revealing for the weather outside. She was used to her appearance getting her partners, easily leaning forward in a way that made her look extra attractive.
"I’m Loni. This is my daughter, Luci… She don’t normally mistake people for her Papa." Mostly because the little girl had no idea what her father looked like. Loni was surprised she even knew that she had one, considering she was surrounded by women- including one that could make children without a man’s input.
"She must’ve seen someone as-" incredibly hot- "handsome as you and thought that gotta be the Papa of the cutest girl in the world. Ain’t that right, Baby?"
“Yeah!” Luciana agreed, nodding her head. She hadn’t actually understood what Loni asked, just that it had seemed positive and been directed at her.
Loni smiled, reaching down to gently ruffle her daughter’s hair. "She knows my type too… You ain’t here with anyone, are you? An attractive man like you shouldn't be alone, and I ain't got anyone but my baby girl till my sibling's off work. Why don't we talk?"
Unknown to Loni, Vin wasn't that far away at all- only not realising their precious family was so close because they were distracted by the near fork murderer child.
Paloma cocked her head as Vin glowered at her for some strange, cryptic reason. They were so weird sometimes, always trying to beam some secret message into her head instead of just saying things outright. Paloma wrinkled her nose back at Vin. It wasn’t like she had asked anything uncouth. Oh, sure, perhaps she had implied some less-than-savory things, but all she had done was ask a young, alone, hungry child at a free community dinner for the underprivileged about–ooooh. Paloma's eyes filled with a mix of panic and sympathy as she looked down at Destiny, the poor girl silenced by the question.
“Or your grandmother?” asked Paloma, her voice breaking with diminished hope. “An older sister…or brother…or…”
Shit. Paloma's childhood as a Southie hadn’t necessarily been all sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows, but in reflection she had been a luckier kid than most.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
A different kind of panic rippled through Paloma’s being. Of course now would be the time that Marco finally showed his stupid, sexy face. She needed him–his help, anyway, although she wasn’t going to pretend like the other thing wouldn’t be nice–but now was the worst moment for him to approach. She just couldn’t allow herself to suddenly ignore this girl, she thought whilst ignoring Destiny, missing the fork fly into the kid’s hand entirely as she stared at the fabric on Marco’s shirt straining to keep itself in one piece.
She raised a hand to give him a little flirty wave with her fingers, dropped all but one finger to indicate to Marco to wait for her, and felt herself pulled back as Vin stepped in front of her. A third wave of panic crashed over her, this one heavy with confusion. Paloma had no clue why this was happening, having missed the little girl readying herself with the fork to attack Paloma like she was a succulent Thanksgiving turkey. Some stuck gears broke free of their lust built rust and began to spin again, trying to unravel why Vin had stepped between Marco and–Paloma gave an audible gasp.
Ohmigod, jealousy! she thought, wishing that Gideon would open the goddamn door back up. She was starting to feel flush by the time Latoya had jumped in, introducing herself as Destiny’s friend.
“Paloma. Pleased to meetcha,” she said, reaching past Vin to offer Latoya a handshake, her face blanching in horror as she finally noticed a smear of mashed potatoes on her sleeve from when a cookiemaker had tugged on it and trying to recall if she had waved at Marco with this hand or the other.
She stuffed the concern down as Destiny lied about dropping her plate of food, her worry turning back towards the girl. Initially feeling a bit uncertain about Latoya’s claim to friendship, the suspicion was soon swept away as Destiny broke her heart.
“Why are you all... being soooo nice to me? People don’t just…do that…”
A genuine, unironic awww escaped from Paloma’s lips as her eyes welled up. She would’ve moved to scoop Destiny with her gross, potato soiled arms, but was beaten to the punch by Vin squatting down in front of the girl for a lil pep talk. Softie. Paloma put her hands behind her back and stepped around Vin so she could converse with Latoya, unaware that she would be creating a bit of a smokescreen that would hopefully prevent Destiny’s “friend” from overhearing what was starting to sound like a bit of a worrisome confessional that shouldn’t be dumped on a child just because they’d grabbed a fork before a plate.
“She didn’t drop her plate, actually. She still needs to eat. We were about to go through the line to get some food. I’d ask you to join us, but…,” Paloma gestured to Latoya’s plate. “Maybe you could just save us a seat?”
She glanced sideways at a blinding blur of speed that bumped into Marco.
“Unless you're feeling generous and wanna pass your plate onto Destiny. Poor thing was so hungry she already grabbed a fork. For a moment there it looked like she might eat me,” said Paloma with a laugh, the joy from her face faltering as she saw presumably the mother of the blur talking to Marco, her face obscured by his bulging biceps.
”Vin’s great with kids. She can watch Destiny if you want?” asked Paloma.
Her attempt to charm Latoya into giving herself an opportunity to grill the woman through politeness and sweetness began to unravel as a full Shakespearean tragedy began to play out on Paloma’s face as she watched what she had assumed to have been an apology for being such a SHITTY mother morph into a full on flirtation that begged the question if the cute toddler had merely been used as bait.
“Oh, come on!” groaned Paloma, her annoyance at the competition easily being mistranslated as a sudden and unwarranted pushiness towards Latoya for failure to immediately comply.
