Riven Wight

Schooled in Magic

It took Jazelle a short second to register what was happening. One moment, she had raised her fork, and the next it was frozen in her hand half way to its destination, her arm refusing to obey the last subconscious order she gave it. Her breathing and heart rate increased in a panic as she tried to move—to drop the fork, stand up, anything—but only her chest rose and fell with each heavy, anxious breath.
When Sunder, the undoubted culprit behind her immobility, turned to her, she could only see him out of the corner of her eye. Her breath caught in her lungs.
Move, move, MOVE! she mentally screamed at herself when Sunder paused. She could have sworn her pinky twitched, but that might have just been an illusion from the firelight. Whatever Sundering had done, was doing, she had no idea how to counter it, or if it was even possible to do so. She tried to swallow to offset the pit in her stomach as Sunder took his time with his food, the reality of what he could do to her sinking in.
Jazelle’s concentration split between her fruitless attempt at trying to move, and Sunder’s next words to her.
Unexpectedly and rather suddenly, she regained control of her body. Her hand pulled down toward the table, the fork flying from her fingers, and her legs only partially got the memo she had changed her mind about trying to stand, making her weight distribute oddly. The chair scraped against the floor as both she and it toppled over. She managed to grab the edge of the table, but it did her little good as she still landed on the floor, her heart pounding madly and breaths heaving. The chair clattered next to her on its side, and her butterfly knife knocked from her pocket and skidded a couple feet away under the table.
Jazelle gritted her teeth and glared at Sunder with a mix of malice and fear. With no little effort, she bit back a retort about respect being earned, sure plenty of eyes had turned their way at the ruckus she caused.
“As you wish, Mr. High-and-mighty,” she muttered under her breath, her voice a bit tremulous and careful to keep low enough that she thought Sunder wouldn’t hear.
With a shaking hand, she swallowed hard and collected her knife, looking away from Sunder only long enough to retrieve it. Using the table to help her up, she got to her feet and shoved both hands, and the knife, back in her hoodie’s muff. She cast the still mostly full plate of food a quick glance, her appetite lost.
Though in no hurry to be “outfitted,” which she feared meant she would have to give up her hoodie, she searched for Priscilla among the faces of the older girl’s fellow servants, ignoring any who may have decided to allow their gaze to linger in her and Sunder’s direction. Spotting her, Jazelle propped the chair back up, making a bit more noise with it than necessary, then made her way toward Priscilla instead of waving, her shoulders tight and head bent as she looked back toward Sunder a couple times from behind the vail of her hair.

Mystic Orphanage (Aristocles and Siaya Dragalorn)

Remember, they're in the kitchen (which I believe isn't that close to the front doors, but that was never really established), Seaella hasn't given out her or Valera's name yet, and Thayva is in the kitchen with them.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Sorry, yeah. I've been doing better, yeah. Thanks! Hope things have been well on your end. :-)

By the way, happy New Year (don't think I've said that to you yet... and if I have, may it be double happy, then)!

Awesome. >:-D

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

“Don’t worry,” Elayra began with a soft snort, “I won’t change my mind.”
She looked at Ghent sideways when he asked about ‘procure,’ wondering if he was mocking her own questions, or if it was genuine.
“It’s not a thing,” Drust answered gruffly, but not entirely unkindly, deciding Elayra’s debate for her. “It means to obtain something. With effort.”
“Are you actually suggesting that I’d eat William?”
“If William’s the cat,” Elayra looked to him with an annoyed expression, “then I’m suggesting you’d do what’s needed to survive. And if not for food, what’s their purpose here? Spies? Helpers? You seemed rather determined to catch that one.”
Her head cocked slightly at the explanation of Walmart, and blinked in surprise at people wearing ‘crocs.’
“Crocs? People here wear crocodiles?” She tried to imagine the gnarly, scaly creatures in Wonderland by the same name being worn to a marketplace. Her brows rose as he continued, looking both her and Drust over. “‘Middle Earth garb?’”
She sighed as he finished, ‘dollars’ and ‘bail’ going over her head, but she understood enough of it, and was growing quickly tired of asking about the things of this world, a world she would likely never see again, anyway. So, instead of inquiring further, she only gave a quick nod.
“Poaching was once outlawed in the bounds of Wonderland cities as well,” Drust muttered almost absently as they traversed yet another alleyway. He paused at the opening of it, his head tilting toward the distant sound of the unfamiliar siren before he continued after Ghent and Elayra.

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Izzy returned Riley’s smile halfheartedly, though she had to debate whether it was supposed to be a friendly gesture or not as he took his time choosing his sugary poison.
“It doesn’t get much more old fashioned than donuts.” When he turned to sit, she returned the box to the desk, then picked up the part of her scarf still hanging over the edge. “Oh, I don’t know what you do all day, but I also brought a box of playing cards if you’d like them.” She sat on another of the desks shoved together beside her pack, and reached over to pull out a pack of playing cards from a side pocket. She tossed them beside the donut box.
She looked to the child, who had since returned to his corner, and sighed. Noticing Riley’s gaze shifting between him and her, Izzy cocked her head.
“What’s up?” she asked slowly, leaning her hands back on the desk.
“Uh huh,” she said to his apology. “Wait, what?” Her brows furrowed at him as she tried to think of what there was to ‘clean up after’ that would take longer than two months. “What is there to do for that after all this time?”

They Live Among Us (Vampiricchild x Siaya)

“Well, that’s not unnerving or anything,” Victoria said as Alex opened the door, her gaze partially on the floor from years of habit. “That like his ‘Spidey sense’ or something?”
“Hey, there’s a first time for everything.” She glanced to him, his sweep of the hallway not going unnoticed. She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows at him, her weight leaning back on one foot. “That’s what I thought.” She gave a long, slow exhale, wondering if there could have been any traps laid for them if they left by conventional means.
Victoria tentatively stepped out into the hall, a foot tapping once against the carpet as if it might jump up and eat her the moment she put her full weight on it. “I don’t suppose there’s a back door somewhere, is there?”

Melodramatic Deities and an Ageless Taste for Pizza

Anora took pause at the tinge of regret in Pahn’s voice.
“He’s… where we got the term from,” she said slowly, her gaze still shifting uncertainly between Pahn and the woman as his dance came to an end. She wondered what Greed had done to him to deserve this first show of sorrow she had seen from Pahn. If the name had stuck and turned into the concept she knew, she could only imagine it was something extraordinarily bad.
When Pahn waved the newcomer off, Anora returned the action with a look that silently asked, “Are you crazy?”
Her eyes narrowed at the mocking tone he used, but the words that came out of his mouth were enough for her to otherwise ignore it. She ran her tongue over her teeth, her lips closed.
“You made them,” she echoed, returning his stare incredulously, the woman temporary placed on the back burner. She could forget her friend’s Greek mythology book; it probably knew even fewer truths than she did, by the sounds of it. She took a deep breath.
“Okay,” she drew out the word as she exhaled, Pahn’s posture shifting from casual to one that felt far more fitting for him. Though the woman in red held a regal air about her, it paled in comparison to the aura surrounding Pahn. The woman was only posing as a cold, callous queen, while Pahn possessed the true kingship with a wisdom both Anora and the woman could scarcely begin to fathom.
She cast the woman a sideways glance as a comforting presence encompassed her, the woman’s seat blocking an easy escape from the corner booth. A bold action, Anora thought, where Pahn was concerned. Either she was extremely confident, or blindly foolish.
“... you'll know if this is real if you wake up tomorrow and I'm still here.”
Anora sighed, and made an exasperated gesture with a hand. “Well, that’s reassuring.” After a short moment, she followed Pahn’s gaze toward the woman.
Gorgon? We’re surrounded by gorgons? She looked uneasily to the four people still remaining in the restaurant, only their eyes setting them apart from most of humanity.
She listened as the woman and Pahn exchanged words, their meaning beyond her, and arousing yet more questions. She inhaled and looked toward the restroom at the mention of a “destructive incantation.” She placed both palms flat on the table as if to stand. If he considered it destructive, she feared the worst.
Anora’s attention snapped toward the nearest window, droplets of rain sliding down it with increasing rapidity. She startled at the clatter of the woman’s chair falling backward onto the floor. As the woman venomously reprimanded the others, in a swift motion, Anora pulled her legs onto the cushioned seat to kneel on it, angled her body to hold both fists in front of her, and her eyes began to glow as electrified energy burst to life around her knuckles and licked at her wrists.
Before she could do much else, the woman ran toward the door. Whether to flee or attack first, Anora could not say. Either way, once the massive, boulder-like figure of a blue-skinned man with rather impressive burnsides and an alarming amount of muscles miraculously managed to squeeze through the doorway, she only hoped that what bode ill for the gorgons brought nothing but good will for her and Pahn. The room felt a bit warmer with his presence, the air growing thick and mist rising from his bare skin where droplets sizzled away.
As he confirmed the woman's bumbling address of Odin, Anora could only gawk at the newest arrival. She cast an anxious glance to Pahn, hoping for some sort of confirmation that this guy was on their side—or, at least, wouldn't try to flatten them—the violet mist surging uncertainty over her skin.
In the instant it took for the four gorgons and their apparent leader to go on the offensive, one man even bursting into his reptilian form, and Odin to ready to strike, Anora looked to Pahn again and gestured toward the impending fight with her panicked eyes, wondering if he planned on doing anything about this. After all, between the two of them, there was no doubt he was the one with the strong powers.
But all it took to stop the massive man were five simple words. She watched in a mix of confusion and surprise when Odin’s fierce stance grew sheepish.
“Uh…” she glanced between Odin and Pahn as the latter motioned Odin over. “What about…?” She pointed toward the gorgons with an open hand, the mist receding from her fingers. Before her brain could fully communicate the question to her mouth, the woman-in-red’s eyes, once more close to their table, settled on Anora for a moment longer than the others.
She inhaled through her nose, and her hand reformed into a fist, sparks of golden electricity dancing threateningly about the mist as her own gaze darkened, almost daring the woman to try anything. But the woman turned and sprinted for the door, her companions quick to retreat behind her. All, that is, save for the one who had gone into the bathroom.
Once they were gone, and Odin made his way to the table, Anora’s mist fizzled out and she sat back, hard, her back leaning against the wall and feet up on the faux leather booth. She watched Odin approach, and ran a hand through her hair. They had gone from Greek to Norse gods in the matter of minutes.
“Odin’s a giant blue guy,” she muttered to herself, her voice on the verge of hysteria as Pahn offered him a slice of pizza, her hand snagging in her hair. “Of course he’s a giant blue guy. I’m sitting across from the maker of Greek gods, and am connected to a titan. Why wouldn’t,” she thrust a hand toward Odin in emphasis, her elbow bent, “he be a giant blue guy?” She ran a hand down her face, watching Odin take the pizza, his hands comically too large for the slice.
Anora’s head cocked toward Pahn when he spoke to her through a mouthful of food. Her eyes widened when Oden stood so fast it sent a brush of warm air her way, and she braced one hand on the table and the other on the top of the seat’s backing when he sat back down, half expecting the building to shake.
“Uh… hey,” she responded dumbly, then cleared her throat. She watched him reach for another slice of quickly dwindling pizza, her lasagna and now soggy bread stick sitting sadly neglected.
A destroyed then rebuilt city. A man powerful enough to create the beings Greeks declared their gods and titans, but none of them, she assumed, quite what she had thought. Mr. Gray and gorgons out to get Pahn and, thinking back to the reptilian woman in the alleyway, her. And now the Norse god of war was flirting—albeit horribly—with her over pizza in an Italian eatery. It was all a little too much for little more than half an hour.
She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it, before trying again.
“I—I think I need some air.” She pushed herself to a half standing, half crouched position on the booth, then carefully moved around Odin, his head rising well above the table even without a chair to sit on.
She hopped to the tiled floor, the chains on her shirt jingling gently, then walked toward the door, her gaze lingering on Odin. She paused for a moment with the overwhelming desire to poke him to make sure he was real, but thought better of it; if rain boiled into mist on his skin, she would rather not find out what it might do to her finger.
“I’ll… be back.” With that, she hurried toward the exit. Pulling the door open, she paused and looked back once more, then ducked outside, hoping the temporary rain would have brought at least a bit of a cooler temperature with it.
Outside, she moved to the side of the door and leaned against the rough wall. She took a slow, deep breath, relishing the petrichor lingering in the air. Though it was still warm out, the fresh, earthy aroma of rain made up for it. Dark splotches on the concrete showed where some of the rain had landed, the moisture quickly sucked up by the greedy summer air and sunshine slicing through the dwindling clouds.
For a couple minutes, she watched and listened to the drone of cars rushing by on the main road. A few people walked the sidewalk. A woman in a business suit and high heels exited a coffee shop a couple storefronts down from Anora, then started pacing, engaged in a heated argument over a cell phone about statistics and sales.
“Fine!” the woman exclaimed in an enraged defeat. “But if the numbers aren’t fixed by the time I get back to the office, someone’s getting fired!” She shoved her phone in her pocket with a huff, and Anora quickly averted her gaze, pretending to not have heard any of the conversation. A completely normal conversation. A mundane, boring conversation not deserving of a lingering though.
As the woman walked away, her heels snapping moodily against the concrete, Anora took another deep breath and put her hands in the pockets of her black jeans, one sharing space with her cell phone.
She glanced toward it, the woman’s chat making something nag at the back of her mind.
Crap! Work! She pulled her phone out of her pocket to check the time, the thought of having to go in and pretend to be a normal waitress making her shoulders sag. The display informed her it was 1:32 p.m. Even if she wanted to go in now, after everything, and had thought to bring her uniform, she would be cutting it close.
Yeah, not gonna happen. She unlocked her phone, and went through her contacts until she got to Mrs. Wheaton’s work number, one of the owners the small diner she worked at.
Clearing her throat in preparation to put on her best “I’m sick, and feel like I’m dying” voice, she hit the call button.
The phone rang a few times before the familiar voice of her best friend, Anna, who always seemed to get in no less than half an hour early, answered it with the customary, “The Golden Spoon. How might I serve you this glittering afternoon?”
After a minute of explaining to Anna she wouldn’t be making it in, and a few well-placed coughs she was sure did not have her friend convinced, Mrs. Wheaton took over the phone. With a couple apologies, the arrangement to make up for the missed day over the weekend on one of her usual days off, and the order from Mrs. Wheaton to get well soon and drink lots of orange juice, she ended the call and pocketed the phone.
She took one last breath, then turned back toward the door. Inside, the impossible awaited her. Everything she had ever searched for and more sat at a table, eating pizza, while her spinning head tried to settle down. Without a second thought, she reached for the door handle to peek inside, part of her expecting to find Odin and Pahn gone, and replaced with ordinary customers.

Deleted

Izzy watched the child hurry off, once more very much like an animal. But that did little to dampen the sense of alleviation that had settled lightly over her.
She shouted in surprise when a laugh sounded from the doorway, and she turned and jumped away from it. Realizing it was only Riley, she tilted her head back with an exasperated moan, and placed a hand over her heart.
“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” She exhaled heavily.
Izzy shifted her weight awkwardly at being accused of bullying the child, but still rolled her eyes at his pun. “I wasn’t bullying him. Just pointing out that it didn’t do any harm.” She took a deep breath, and glanced toward the child, her voice slightly softer as she continued. “And I had to know, Riley. It’s been two months, and he hasn’t so much as acknowledged a word I’ve said.” She sighed, and looked to the box of remaining donuts. She picked it up, and held it out toward Riley. “Donut?”

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Elayra’s brows rose when Ghent’s focus returned to the conversation at hand, the first words out of his mouth still weighed by his distraction.
[b]“Follow me.”[b]
Elayra nodded, then obeyed, walking beside and slightly behind him as he headed for the main road. She continued to use the bow as a short walking stick, trying to use it to ease some of her weight from her feet while making the action look as normal as possible.
With Drust taking up the rear, she paused at the pool of light on the sidewalk and scanned the opposite side of the street as if the shadowmire may have chosen to stay after all, then hurried to catch up with Ghent.
The two Wonderlanders cast frequent glances about them, Drust’s head twitching toward any sudden sound or movement. As they passed the front of the bookstore, Elayra’s gaze lingered on the familiar storefront and "Hava Java” in the building beside it. Her brows furrowed slightly, and she glanced back toward where the shadowmire had disappeared; if the portal they had dropped through had been so close, which one had the beasts come through?
“Hey, um…”
“Hmm?” Elayra asked absently, turning her gaze toward Ghent, strands of her platinum hair brushing against her face. When he finished, she gave a light exhale through her nose and shook her head. “The point is to pull our own weight. You’ll be carrying one of your own soon enough, I trust. But… thanks,” she added more as an awkward afterthought.
With how wishy-washy he seemed to be on the matter, the last thing she wanted was to risk pushing him once more to choose to stay here once they returned to Wonderland. But, if he had a family here, she supposed she could not blame him for having divided loyalties. Her expression hardened, and she turned her head, busying herself once more with scanning the opposite side of the street.
"If you don't hunt," she cast him a glance, "how do you procure your food here? Have you some sort of functional market?" She had heard stories about such things once occurring within the bounds of Wonderland. Perhaps Earth still had such a practice. "Or was that what you wanted the cat for?" Her demeanor perked up slightly at the thought.

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Izzy inhaled in anticipation when the child stopped trying to get the donut, not daring to hope it was more than a reaction to the tone of her voice. But then, he complied to her demand. When he held out his hand in a wordless request, she felt like she could have laughed in relief despite the malice in his gaze. Instead, the emotion manifested in an exhale and quirk of her lips.
Though he did not speak, something, at least, still remained of him. He may have been filled with hatred and anger, but at least he apparently retained part of himself, and a sense of comprehension.
Realizing she still held the donut, she placed it in his waiting hand. “Well, what do you know. Interaction didn’t kill you, now, did it?”