canaryrose

Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

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Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

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Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

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《 H. E. R. O. 》

Slowly coming to, Patricia squeezed her eyes open. But then immediately shut them, because it was way too bright in her room. Fuck, her mom must have turned on the light or something… and why was it so cold? And hard, too. She didn’t have the best mattress on Earth, but it usually wasn’t hard as rock, and it definitely was not a sitting up mattress. Had she fallen asleep in a chair? Reluctantly, she opened her eyes again, this time stretching and sitting up off the wall. But she wasn’t in her room. Glancing around, her eyes widened with confusion. Why were… what? Most of her friends (except Eliza and Grace, she noted with some concern) were laying on the floor in some kind of Greek temple thing. Or Roman. She had never been able to tell the difference. In their party clothes, no less. But… but last night, they had just been at Blake’s house. For some strange reason, though, Patricia couldn’t remember going to sleep. Or leaving the house.

Did I take LSD? Why the fuck would I do that?

Out of the corner of her eye, a television crackled to life. She flicked her eyes to it, glaring. Either there was a good fucking reason why she woke up in a Roman temple, or someone was getting mindcontrolled. Her eyes widened as he spoke, and she jumped to her feet. Fuck. They had been kidnapped by villains again?! How did this keep happening- were villains just out for their blood or something? Ugh! At least Eliza and Grace seemed to have escaped. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she glared at the television, gaze smoldering. Whatever. They’d get out of here and throw this guy into Coldwater, easy peasy.

But Patricia’s hopes were dashed upon seeing Eliza and Grace chained to the wall behind Nero. she gasped, her face going from red to pale white. Her jaw slackened, and her eyes went wide. “No, no no no no…” She shut her eyes, shaking her head back and forth. Eliza… Oh God, Eliza. This was a nightmare, this had to be a nightmare. She pinched her arm, hoping that she’d wake up from whatever drug-induced, surreal nightmare this was. Of course, she didn’t, and her anxiety only grew tenfold. As well as her rage, of course. Who the fuck did this villain think he was?! Taking her- taking her girlfriend and saying he’d stab her- she’d stab him right fucking back, thank you very much! Yeah, yeah!

“Ellie, I’m coming and I’m gonna fucking KILL THIS BASTARD!” Patricia managed to scream at the TV before it shut off, and she stomped her foot on the ground in anger. She slung her head back and yelled again, frustrated, before marching off to where Blake was standing.

Meanwhile, Jamie was still on the floor, arm cast over her eyes and curled up into a ball. Ugh. Why why why did she have to be up this early? It was way too bright, and her head was pounding something fierce. Hearing rising voices and the yelling of a familiar teen (Patricia?) Jamie reluctantly opened her eyes and sat up, immediately going green at the sudden change in position. She moaned and glanced around. “Where are we?” She had half-listened to Nero’s speech, but wasn’t quite sure. This wasn’t Blake’s house. Had she gotten blackout drunk again? That was no fun.

Seeing everybody else standing at the entrance, Jamie dragged herself to her feet and went over there. She stuck her head over Blake’s shoulder, staring at the map, bleary-eyed.

“Our priority needs to be finding Nero beating him, and getting Grace and Eliza- hey! Listen! I’m talking!” Patricia was saying. She snapped with her fingers loudly, trying to get everybody’s attention. “I know that all of you are hungover as shit, but you need to focus.” She seemed pretty irate- to Jamie, at least.

“I have an idea!” Jamie piped up, raising her hand. She was still squinting at the sunlight. Then, she pointed at the map with her right pointer finger. “Eeny meeny miney moe, catch a tiger by its toe, if he hollers let him go…” she sang, concentrated, while slinging her finger about. “Let’s go to the… basilica? First!”

Patricia aimed a death glare at Jamie. “We need to- let’s not decide this with childish- UGH! We need to split up. Go in groups. We’re no use all together.”

Jamie moaned. “But I totally just picked it and everything!”

Patricia facepalmed.

@KaijuBaragon@DarkRecon@Scarifar@Hitman@Danvers

Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

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Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

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Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

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《 H. E. R. O. 》

The Fourth of July had always been one of Jamie’s favorite holidays. Even as a kid, when she hadn’t been old enough to drink, she adored burgers and fireworks and chatting with her parents’ friends. Independence Day was tinged with old, warm memories. Sitting on the roof to watch fireworks. Waving around sparklers without a care in the world. Trading illicit beers at high school parties. Setting off (not quite legal) fireworks in the park and scaring the shit out of all the little kids. That was what Fourth of July was all about- vaguely patriotic organized chaos. And barbecue. So much barbecue.

This Fourth of July, however, Jamie was doing none of the above. Blake had invited her to a party at his house, and she could never say no to a party at Blake’s house. Brie and her (her roommate!) had driven there together, and Jamie had promptly lost her among the crowd of drunken heroes. Which was okay! No harm done, because there were so many other heroes here to talk to. So many. She was on… what, maybe her sixth beer? And she hadn’t even spoken to half the people there! Currently, she was sitting on the couch and chatting it up with Spitfire and Lord Raccoon over a red solo cup filled with pineapple-flavored beer. Man, Soda Boy was the best! He always had the best beer flavors. Even if it came out of his fingers.

“Dude, dude, dudeeeee. I bet you… 10 bucks I could do three cartwheels in a row!” Jamie held up two fingers at first, but then realized her mistake and put up the third. She burped loudly and then giggled at herself.

“Five… no, six and you’re on!” Lord Raccoon, a man who (unfortunately) did not look like a raccoon, slurred his words and held up six fingers. Jamie was pretty sure his power was something dumb like talking to raccoons. Or maybe transforming into one? She wasn’t sure, but he was a C-Tier at best.

Despite her clear drunkenness, Jamie nodded and stood, putting her beer down on the table. It sloshed over a little and onto the floor. “I’ll do it!” she agreed, and backed up to where she might have a clear way. She might be way too drunk, but she was a cheerleader at some point, goddamnit! Six cartwheels was child’s play- Lord Raccoon was gonna lose ten dollars tonight.

Jamie stumbled to the pool doors to get a running start and enough space as to where she probably wouldn’t run into anything. She waved to Rumi, Grace, Joseph and Tom, who she saw standing there and talking to each other rather intensely. “WATCH THIS!” she screamed to the entire party, before taking off running out of the doors and outside. Quickly, she dived down into a cartwheel. They weren’t perfect (far from it, actually- she had had six beers) but she did six of them in quick succession, unbound blonde hair flying everywhere.

That was, until she went flying in the pool. With a loud splash and a tiny scream from her, Jamie fell into the blue water headfirst. Well, not fell. She had accidentally cartwheeled directly into the pool. It created a fairly large splash, wetting most of everyone around the pool. After a moment, she bobbed up again, gasping for air. Damnit! Her favorite sundress had gotten wet… she glanced down at the blue floral dress disappointedly, before her face lit up. She had done all six cartwheels!

“SUCK IT!” she screamed with a grin on her face, putting her first up in the air and cheering. “I DID ALL SIX! GO AMERICA! WOOOOO!”

@Hitman@Scarifar@KaijuBaragon@Rabidporcupine

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As the party raged on, Patricia was tucked away Blake's childhood bedroom, watching a documentary on the Revolutionary War. The bass pounded downstairs, shaking the foundation of the house. Even from upstairs, Patricia could hear people yelling and cheering. Ugh. In her mind, she had imagined this party to be more like a friendly barbecue- but no. It had quickly turned into a hotbed of wild drinking, partying, and loud, tasteless music. This is why she hated coming to these things. If you weren’t drinking, there was no way to have fun. And Patrica had tried the drinking thing before at one of these parties- it had not ended well, and she had no plans of losing control like that ever again. Fortunately, she now had someone to hide out and be sober with.

Patricia idly rubbed her thumb along the heel of Eliza’s hand, gazing at her with a silly sweet smile. She hadn’t just come up here because of her hate of being the only sober person in the room. Ellie (her girlfriend- the word still made her tingle with secret glee) had been having some… issues with the loud music and the crowd and the drinking. After a lot of frantically Googling ‘how to help autistic girlfriend having sensory issues’ on Patrica’s part, they had found a bedroom, kicked the couple doing things out (aided by mind control), and had set up a little blanket nest. It was nice. They had stripped the comforter and all the blankets off of Blake’s bed and wrapped themselves in them. Now, after about 30 minutes of being in there, they were all set up. The lights were dimmed, and the TV turned to a comfortably boring documentary about the Revolutionary War. It wasn’t exactly Patricia’s usual Fourth of July, but she liked it. After all, Eliza was with her. Nothing was bad with Eliza.

Patricia was rather angry that the party had devolved into such debauchery so quickly. Although she would never admit it and had now lost the nerve, she had been planning on coming out tonight. It was, in theory, a perfect night for it. Everybody was there. There wouldn’t be any repeated awkward situations- she could knock it all out at once. But now everyone was so drunk that they wouldn’t even remember what she said. Or, worse, they would be mean about it. Not accept her. Reject it. Even though she knew that her friends were generally accepting, there was still that fear in the back of her mind. But tonight, apparently, wouldn’t be the night to get over that fear.

Eh, maybe she’d come out at Jamie and Brie’s birthday party. For now, she was content to lay there with Eliza. Feeling a sudden swell of love for the other girl, Patricia pressed her lips to her forehead in a gentle, sweet kiss. “Are you feeling better? Is the movie and all the blankets helping? Do you want me to change it to something better?” she asked, fretting.

@Amethyst

The Sisters of the Dying Branch

As the initiates chatted, insulted, and brooded, something was happening on the southern edge of the field. Several witches clad in the black-and-gold robes of the coven wheeled a small podium out of the house and onto the grass. They fiddled with a microphone and a speaker for a bit, not actually utilizing the speaker but ensuring that the microphone was at a comfortable height and that the speaker would actually work. This happened progressively over an hour or so- they seemed to be taking their time in getting the equipment out.

Finally, just as the sun was beginning to set in the sky, a woman stepped up to the podium. Any member of the Sisters of the Dying Branch coven worth their salt would immediately recognize her as Sister Deborah Ledoux- the head of the coven. Most know her as a charismatic, loving, and motherly leader, yet also a scary woman with a real temper. Today, she stood in the light of the setting sun confidently, straight-backed. She was a rather middle-aged looking woman. Her lightly curled brown hair had chunky streaks of gray running through it and hung down to her back. For all intents and purposes, she appeared to be in her late 40s, although her eyes betrayed something entirely different. They were ageless, infinite. Anyone would be hard-pressed to guess her true age.

She tapped the microphone, creating a feedback that reverberated through the field. Almost immediately, every witch at the party shut their mouths and turned their eyes to the podium, watching attentively. Sister Deborah surveyed the field for a few moments, letting the silence simmer before she spoke.

“Good evening my fellow witches,” she began, voice silky and confident.

“Good evening, Sister Deborah,” the crowd echoed back.

She smiled, pleased. “Today we gather to celebrate the summer solstice- the longest day of the year. It’s also when spring turns to summer. But enough about astronomy.” This elicited a chuckle from the audience. “Today is a holy day for us witches. We spend most of the year fending back the night; defending humans, magic, and our own livelihoods from the creatures that lurk in the dark. But today is our day to celebrate! To gather amongst ourselves, to have a bit of fun, and to eat good!” Several people cheered.

“But this gathering also has another purpose,” continued Sister Deborah once the cheering had ended. “Every three years, we welcome new witches into our ranks! Witchlings turn to full-fledged witches. They take on the blessings of our wellspring and join the ranks of the hundreds of witches in our coven defending the world from ever-encroaching evil.” Sister Deborah gestured to the initiate table. “Tonight is meant to welcome our children into full-fledged witchery and into adulthood. Please, everyone, give a worthwhile welcome to our witchlings. They are truly brave and dedicated to embark upon this path.”

At this, all the witches in the field (including Sister Deborah) turned to the initiates’ table and began clapping and whooping. Some particularly proud parents wiped tears from their eyes, and other, younger witchlings looked at them with envy.

Once the applause died down, Sister Deborah began speaking again. “I call our witchlings brave and dedicated for a reason. As we all know, this path has its dangers and downfalls. So many of our fellows lose their lives each year. That’s why I would like to take a moment to honor our fallen.” The crowd went silent again, a sad feeling seeping into the air. With a somber expression, she unfolded a piece of paper and began to read off names. “Phoebe Graves. Xiu Rossingeau. Marc Norwood. Helen Whitmore. Dylan Blackman. Elias Cross. Piper Blankley.” Once she finished, she folded the piece of paper back up and tucked it into the pockets of her robes. There were a few audible sniffles from the crowd. “By keeping up our fight, we honor those who died for it.”

She was silent for about 15 seconds, surveying the mood of the crowd again. Then, she clapped her hands together and smiled. “Well, on a happier note! Sunset is approaching. I think in about 10 minutes or so, actually. At sunset, the other elders and I will take the initiates down through the forest to the wellspring for the bonding ritual. The witchlings going through their rite of passage this year are…” She pulled out another, larger piece of paper. “Summer Abernathy. Iris Aderast. Calypso Barnes. Cassandra Black. Alayna Castellano. Uaithne Cináed Fearghal Orvar. Rebecca Delacroix. Dante Erie. Charles Hamlyn. Alex Holcroft. James Kelce. Juniper Krauss. Seren Gallagher. Reagan Graves. Dakota Lawson. Jeremy Lindall. Soren Lockhart. Erin McKay. Rowan Moore. Regina Norwood. Aaron Thornton. Kate Shuang. Hana Song. Arken Stone. Maggie Wilson. Chloe Wright.” Once she finished with the obscenely long list of names, she tucked the piece of paper back into her pocket. “If your name was just called, I’ll see you by the house in 10 minutes. Otherwise, please continue having a good time! I’ll see you all again in an hour or so with our new witches.” With that, she stepped down from the podium to furious applause and headed back into the house, evidently to prepare for the initiation.

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Calypso’s lips twitched into a challenging smirk as Dakota spoke. “Oh, really?” she challenged, hands on hips. “Screw going back to the table. I’m way better at climbing trees than you. I’ll bet you ten bucks that I can get to the top before you.” She put her plate of food down on the grass and then held out her right hand as if to shake on it. But, before they could shake on it, a microphone feedback sounded from the southern edge of the field. Calypso turned her head and, seeing that Sister Deborah was speaking, shook her head subtly at Dakota. Tree climbing would have to wait for another day, it seemed.

She listened attentively to the speech. She clapped when she was supposed to, spoke when she was supposed to… she even blushed when the other witches started to applaud the initiates. Calypso felt a bubble of trepidation rise in her chest at the deadline- she hadn’t even eaten yet! And in 10 minutes… well, in 10 minutes, she’d be a witch. A real witch. As Sister Deborah finished, she had to balance herself on the oak tree for a moment, resting her hand on it and leaning against it.

“Well,” she said to Dakota, breathlessly, “I guess we should go and guzzle down some food?” She chuckled and removed her hand from the tree. “C’mon. We have, like, ten minutes.” Squatting down to pick up her plate and cup, Calypso walked back to the initiates’ table.

But, when she got there, there was… someone in her seat? A boy she had never seen before. Which was odd, considering she had seen nearly every person there before except for him. There weren’t usually many newcomers to the coven, especially initiates. She bit her lip. Oh boy. She didn’t want to be mean, but she also wanted to sit in her seat and eat. Even if it was across from Summer. So, she tapped him on the shoulder. Once he turned around, she said, “Uh, hi! I’m Calypso Barnes. It’s great to meet you and all, but you’re kind of sitting in my seat… so if you could find your own seat, that’d be great. You see, all of the seats have these name tags on them, and mine is right there.” She pointed to her name tag, spelling out her name in fancy cursive lettering. “I promise I’m not mad, but if you could, like,find your own name tag, that’d be great.” She ended with a kind yet confused smile.

@Rabidporcupine@Hitman

Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

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