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The tavern is to the left of the fighting ring entrance, a more dimly-lit area than others, bustling with activity and speaking. The sounds of drinks being made, glasses clinking and sliding across the counter, it all comes together to make the Neowrath Tavern. Whether to get drunk before or after matches or to drink in celebration of watching them, this is a sociable spot where all are welcome.

      𝗖𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗥𝗘𝗜 𝗗𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗛      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Go long!” Ceonrei shouted, laughing as she jogged backwards, her eyes bright with amusement. She had been walking down the lively, bright streets of Asterath when one of the little rascals playing ball flung one at her. He hadn’t expected her to catch it, but she did, laughing as he sprinted away in fear of being pelted with it. He finally turned around a good distance away, a smile visible on his face as he realized she was only going to throw it back.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀With a fluid movement, she threw it on a perfect arch, but the poor little guy lacked the coordination necessary for catching it and it bounced harmlessly next to him as he reached his hands out a good three seconds too late. Ceonrei shook her head affectionately, turning to continue walking as she shoved her hands in her pockets. The street kids knew she always came through this area on the fifth day of the week to check on things, and even knowing she was a Councilor, still terrorized her when they could. She loved it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀No further disruptions came, so she was left to her own thoughts. Three days had passed since she’d gone to the absolute hell that was Voxthain and not enough time had passed since she had to deal with that she-devil of a woman. Ceonrei was no longer angry, but confused and annoyed with Caledonia’s ridiculous attitude and worldview. But, as promised, she did bring the folder to her own Council. Unsurprisingly, they were split—four wanted to help, so they would, but three of them were against involving their people in something that didn’t affect their city. Ceonrei did vote to help, but she clearly voiced her distaste for her Sister Councilor and Voxthain as a whole. The other three who’d agreed with her felt the exact same, but they were moral, good people who refused to let a whole city die if they could help. Ceonrei wished she hadn’t had to vote, because she’d be okay with her people helping if they chose to, but she truly wanted nothing to do with it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Had Caledonia been more receptive to proper social etiquette and respectful like Ceonrei had tried to be after she slipped up with her feet on the table, maybe Ceonrei would have cared enough to want to help. Unfortunately, she didn’t care and couldn’t make herself, so she told her fellow Councilors to work out the finer details of assisting Voxthain and she’d pick up their Asterath duties. She’d spent the last three hours traveling across the city on foot, which she enjoyed very much, taking extra routes to check on areas that the other Councilors had usually assigned themselves to. Her main path was the one she chose to complete last—her favorite place in Asterath.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Down the streets on the eastern side of the city and its tall buildings and neon-lit saloons, there was the fighting ring. Nestled in a dark corner of the city within a secluded cave, lit with dimmed neons of red and blue, it was certainly a place of violence and relief both. Ceonrei would’ve had it shut down already were it inhumane and truly harmful to her people, but they loved the place. She’d even heard rumors of Voxthain citizens making appearances, which was insane but she knew how appealing the ring was. They chose to take their frustrations out in organized aggression—not like the gangs who did what they pleased even if it hurt others. They chose to allow themselves to be hurt and even reveled in it. It was not an evil place, it was a place to healthily focus anger and pent-up frustrations and aggression.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Ceonrei!” someone called immediately as she walked through the cave entrance. Music blasted from speakers, lights flashing wildly. Everyone who came here was so accustomed to the overall vibe and chaos, so they’d developed a third ear for recognizing speech and picking out voices in the loud atmosphere. A tall brunette—Fiehra—ran towards Ceonrei, arms outstretched. She was one of the many bartenders who ran the tavern area of the whole fighting ring cave, and they were best friends. They’d attempted to be more than that a year before Ceonrei became a Councilor, but their time together only proved the attraction to be purely platonic. Ceonrei got busy anyways, so it was good that their friendship stayed intact after fucking around and finding out rather than crumbling because she got too busy.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀They collided in a hug, the tall woman already running her mouth. Ceonrei stroked her hair affectionately, a soft smile on her lips. “ . . . so, they, like, ran right into each other and one of them busted their head open. It was fucking gnarly,” Fiehra was saying, deep brown eyes glowing with excitement and the thrill of watching others fight. Ceonrei cringed at the visual—even more intense for her as she could picture things in her mind so well that sometimes she confused it for reality—but nodded along, chuckling.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Sounds very typical of the area, Fie,” Ceonrei responded sarcastically, rolling her eyes as she continued further in, heading straight for the Neowrath Tavern to the right of the entrance. Announcers were yelling over the music, screams ensuing from the ring and the onlookers cheering on those they betted for. She’d known many who promised their favorite jewelry their dead grandma gave them or a week’s worth of servitude, only to lose and have to fulfill those bets. Ceonrei would watch, but she refused to participate in that part of the fighting ring. Downing three or four beers was not beyond her, though, and she planned to do just that. All of the walking had begun to make her tired, but some beer would kick her back into gear. Fiehra linked their arms and dragged Ceonrei over, even if she were already heading that way, pushing her into a chair as she expertly leaped across the counter, fist-bumped another bartender who winked playfully at Ceonrei, and grabbed a glass.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“I’ll start you with two so you don’t drink the whole time and then leave without talking to me. You never talk to me anymore,” Fiehra whined, but her eyes sparkled with teasing mischief. Ceonrei rolled her eyes again, grinning.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“If I must,” Ceonrei grumbled teasingly, already smiling into the glass Fiehra poured while she complained. She’d certainly be there for a while.

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒂 𝑯𝒂𝒚𝒅𝒆𝒏

Shouts, screams, and neon lights fled to the back of Caledonia's brain, a muted roar like distant waves crashing to a shore. She had long learned to acclimate, and fast, whenever she fought, and noises and lights were nothing to her now: easier to block out than most people when she wasn't fighting. Maybe it was ironic, really, that the words and jeers of nobles were more easily dug under skin, but the noise of a fight, or the onlookers, were nothing. But then again, maybe not. She'd been fighting since before she was fully talking, her body moving its own language, and one she often felt safer with than her voice as a child.

The hum of adrenaline surged, pumping alongside her blood just beneath her skin, spiking energy dancing through her as she focused, her opponent at her feet in the ring. On the floor. His left arm sat at an awkward angle, one that would have made most uppity-ass people in Voxthain cringe. And while excessive amounts of blood made Cal's stomach turn, limbs out of place did not. Especially when she had been the one to make him clutch the arm with his eyes squeezed shut, to hear the snap when she moved the arm out of place.

Maybe the hardest part for her was ending these fights after she won, because that energy and adrenaline burned through her, still buzzing, and she wanted to fight someone else. And she could have, she was still up for it, but she had just finished her third fight, and after her third victory, she was entitled to get a drink and step back for a bit.

But winning? It felt good. For seven years, this place had been a refuge. Was that concerning? Yes, because she had found the fighting ring at a mere sixteen years old. But what else was she expected to do? Anger had long been a problem for her. She felt it deep in her bones, and then not so deep because it was constant, right there waiting to be lathed onto and used. As a child, she had let it, she had wound up in detention on Cogsworks numerous times, because even if she didn't start fights, per say, she ended them. Even one sneery comment from some noble kid would end up with them on the floor with a bloody nose, or worse.

And while over the years Caledonia had gotten better about not physically not lashing out, and trying to heal from events in healthier ways, sometimes she needed this: a legal way to bash someone's head in. It was an outlet, a relief, and sadly, something else to her growing up--a cover up. But she'd gotten more violent the past five years here, and better and better, too, her militia training a large help. Sure, it threatened to expose her, but she was careful. Down here, in the throngs of people who didn't know who she was, who weren't judgmental, she was simply Rosalind Farley. She had stolen her birth name and revamped it an alias, taking illusion potions or finding someone to disguise her as a woman with neon-dyed purple hair, brown eyes, and no tattoos, which would be a big give-away if anyone ever saw her in Voxthain without sleeves.

Now, finally, she allowed herself to look up at the crowds of people as the announcer called it, as medics came in to rush her fallen opponent off the ring. Cal lifted one hand and smirked at her audience, the cheers, the support, washing over her in a validating way that maybe she shouldn't crave but did anyway. She knew combat was a skill of hers, thank you very much. Better than being a person a voice in her head taunted, but she shoved it away.

Still, it had been coming to her a lot the past three days. Ceonrei. That horrible meeting with that immature overgrown child. And yet, that sharp knife of guilt between her ribs had dug itself deeper after she had calmed down a little and beaten up some of her subordinates, and had a nice, long, focused duel with her mother. Because, fine, Ceonrei had shaped up after Cal had pointed it out to her, right? And she had been willing to help, had acted professionally after getting her feet off the table (which still pissed Cal off, alright?) but then Cal had snapped. And was that professional? No, her mother had told her, in that calm voice that sometimes grated on her nerves. But Caledonia could be professional, really, she could, but years and years of pent up anger and frustration had come through, not helped by the nobles heading into the meeting in the first place, nor by believing Ceonrei would let Voxthain die.

And the shadowfog, it terrified Cal. It had been something she had tried to block out--okay, a lot of her life she had tried to block out--and largely succeeded on, but talking about it left her shaking, and breathing hard, and she cared about keeping people safe, because while Voxthain was a shithole, the innocent people deserved to live. Let the Delacroixs and Calicos die, yes, but everyone else? No.

But point was, she knew she had somewhat-screwed-up when it came to Ceonrei. Yet, she was still furious, that anger churning inside her, so coming here today had been a way to hopefully shave that sharpened, dark edge off. She'd sent three opponents to the medic stations, and now, as she sauntered somewhat-arrogantly out of the ring to collect her winnings--which she didn't need, she gave all of it to the people on Voxthain who struggled, to trade for what they needed--she finally felt her own body again, the adrenaline dying.

Bruises, sore muscles, stinging cuts. Damn, that bruise across her right cheek was going to hurt, but hey, she chose the fighting ring, she knew what she was getting into, and she'd had worse. Caledonia wiped her hand across her bleeding lip as she gathered up what she had won, but as she scanned the crowds, she exhaled a breath when her eyes fell on the tavern. Okay, fine, between all the bruising was a sense of exhaustion pulling at her limbs. She had hardly slept the past few nights between anger and kickstarted nightmares after her anxiety had set in during the meeting with Ceonrei.

"Another go?" One of the woman manning the event and fighters questioned.

"No." Caledonia adjusted her winnings. "Not today. Put me down for another match in two days, though, yeah?" Without waiting for a response, she pushed her way past people, hardly stopping to talk, and shoved the door of the tavern open, craving something refreshing, cold. An icy beer or two, no more.

Cal slid into a seat at the bar and leaned over the counter, heartbeat still calming down from the fight. "Beer, please," she called to one of the bartenders, who raised a brow. The woman, a dark-skinned lady around Cal's age, huffed.

"Not even a 'hello' this time?"

With a sigh, Cal widened her eyes. "So sorry. Hi, Hannah. Don't mind that I'm bloody?"

"'Course not. Rooted for you the whole time, Ro." She winked at her, and despite herself, Caledonia flushed, before she leaned in, and across the bar, they kissed, once, deeply, before both women pulled back. Caledonia would not go further--not dating, not an affair--with anyone, even Hannah, but she liked to find women to kiss on occasion, for her own reasons, and she found that many liked her, too, down here. Even though they had no idea who they were really making out with.

"Beer now?" She asked with a smirk, and the winced when a drop of blood dripped from her stained wrappings. "Sorry." She quickly unravelled her wraps around her hands, dropping the bloody things into her black gym bag. Some dried blood coated her pale knuckles, and she sighed before reaching for a medical kit in the bag, the movement aggravating the bruises now littering her ribs. But she knew from experience nothing had broken, and Cal knew better than most how to move through pain.

"Course." Hannah set an icy bottle before her, just the way she liked it--no glass--and Cal thanked her with a nod and a wink before she downed a third of it in one go, the alcohol burning and refreshingly cold at the same time. She settled her green gaze through the window, watching as the next fight took place, aware of the two girls behind her but not really processing who they were. Why would she? She didn't care.

But what she did care about was that her illusion potion would be wearing off soon. She didn't know exactly when, but already, Cal could see some of her own tattoos flickering back into existence every few seconds, so she knew it was going to be very soon. Still, she needed this beer, craved it almost, really, so she simply had her leather jacket on the back of her chair, ready to throw on over her arms when she had to.

      𝗖𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗥𝗘𝗜 𝗗𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗛      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Well, what have you been up to?” Fiehra asked over the noise, leaned over the counter smiling softly at Ceonrei, some obvious concern in her eyes. It made Ceonrei incredibly happy to have people who cared about her, not just her position as a Councilor. Her father, grandfather, and Fiehra. Her people, and they endlessly worried for her and the stress she allowed herself to endure. She didn’t think further into that line of thought, holding up a finger as she downed both glasses. She turned her finger from a wait gesture to a beckoning one, eyes flicking towards her two glasses expectantly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“I promise I’ll talk to you, great Luminos, Fiehra,” she said as Fie crossed her arms, laughing, leaning back in the stool chair as she raised her legs to rest them on the counter. A nasty habit, one that reminded her of Caledonia every time she did it now. Pushing that thought away, she tapped her nails on the counter as she thought up a response. Fiehra raised an eyebrow, smiling along with Ceonrei, but her eyes shone with worry.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“You can tell me anything, you know,” she said lightly, turning to grab the bottle slowly, pouring the contents into the glasses even slower, pushing them closer to Ceonrei. She nodded, her smile growing less joyful and more sad. She couldn’t always tell people what she went through or about her stress—the Councilors swore confidentiality when it came to their matters. That didn’t matter for some, as they of course still tell their families everything, but Ceonrei cared a little too much for that. Caledonia could say whatever she wanted, but Ceonrei would continue on the way she had been for these past long months. She’d been fighting to prove herself to her people—and she had, time and time again. One Voxthain Councilor’s opinion would not undo her progress and struggles. She wouldn’t allow it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Anger flashed in her chest as she snatched up one newly-filled glass and downed it too. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about Caledonia, of all people? After what the woman said to her, the ways she made her feel? It made Ceonrei angry and confused both. As usual, she began to get lost in her mind. It was a constant battlefield of back-and-forth thoughts until she settled them with some silly grounding technique. “Sorry,” she said quickly, jerking her head up as she heard Fiehra clear her throat. “I know I can. It’s just hard to, Fie, it’s . . . a lot,” she said, offering that uncertain half-smile again, nervously reaching up to flatten her already-flattened hair, running her fingers through the long waves, chewing on her lip. If she spoke about Caledonia to someone, would the thoughts go away? The doubts the woman had instilled in her, the overwhelming sense of inadequacy even as she fought to convince herself of her own worth.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Probably not, but she was losing the will to care about what might “help”. Getting tipsy was not going to help her any—and yet she downed her third glass, sighing heavily. “Meeting with a topsider,” she said at a normal volume, the atmosphere too loud to care about whispering. Nobody was paying any bit of attention. “A Councilor, if that tells you anything. That showfog issue reaching the edges of their city is becoming a much bigger concern as the days go by, so I was sent to have a meeting with my Sister Councilor. Why me? Because I’m the newest Councilor in Asterath, probably,” she complained, eyes resting on her shoes as she let loose, nails tapping even more wildly on the counter as she grew more pent-up with anger and frustration.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Up until a few days ago, I think we mostly got along fine. I put my feet on their posh, ugly table and she got so bloody angry! I removed them, promised to help, and maybe I said something about not caring if some of those Voxthain assholes died. With that, I also said that I would never allow it as a Councilor even if I personally wouldn’t care. Nope, though, ruined the whole meeting. That woman is so insufferable!” Ceonrei finished speaking with a flourish of her right arm, panting with the strain of saying so many words without pause.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra was silent for a solid ten seconds, eyebrows knitted together as she processed the information. With a shrug, she took Ceonrei’s glasses and traded them out for two much bigger ones. She filled them up, leaning back over the counter, allowing the other bartenders to fulfill orders. She worked harder than half of them anyways, she could take a five minute break to talk down her friend from the edge of insanity. “Ceon, my love,” she started, pressing her lips together to keep from laughing. Ceonrei was immediately offended and prepared to scold Fiehra, but her friend kept speaking. “We know how Voxthain citizens are. You have to know their Councilors are twice as bad, so don’t say antagonistic things. We’ll absolutely help, I know how scary it must be. We won’t let you guys die!” Fiehra’s voice heightened a few octaves on the last sentence, clearly telling Ceonrei what she should’ve said. With a huff, she started gulping down the contents of one of the bigger glasses, cringing at the potence as usual but not quite caring. “I know you and can firmly say it was your fault,” she finished, still looking as if she were fighting back laughter.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“I can have you imprisoned, you best remember,” Ceonrei muttered, sticking her tongue out at Fie and crossing her arms after putting the half-empty glass down. Her stomach was already beginning to hurt, but she ignored it. “I feel like no matter what I might have said, it’d have offended this particular woman. She’s . . . certainly something,” Ceonrei said lightly, unsure of what adjectives to assign to Caledonia’s character. Fie gave Ceonrei some sort of knowing glance before turning away, leaving Ceonrei to bristle and seethe in her seat, trying to decipher what that look meant.

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"No more fights for today? Or do you think you'll go again after a beer or two?" Hannah asked, leaning against the counter so she was almost shoulder-to-shoulder with Cal. Some of her dark hair slipped over, the strands tangled, and Cal swallowed down the urge to gently maneuver them off her shoulder and back with the rest of her hair. She bit her tongue, hating her desire to kiss Hannah again. Sure, they always greeted each other and flirted from time to time, but Cal refused to do it more than once a visit or so.

"No more," she replied gruffly, almost snapping, irritation welling like goosebumps. Except, the irritation was with herself, not Hannah, never Hannah, who was really pretty, with dark lashes and shimmering brown eyes, a crinkle to the corner of those eyes when she smiled. But all that made it so much worse, because grief was strange that way, and half the time, all Cal saw when she looked at Hanh was her ex. She ground her teeth together when Hannah flinched slightly at the grating in Caledonia's voice, and Cal pushed aside the pinprick of guilt it caused her.

Pushing people away was easy, it was safe, and when Hannah left her to go pour some other customer a drink, Caledonia breathed out a sigh and leaned back in her chair. It was better this way. She tapped her thumb against the rim of her glass, watching as the current fighters pummeled one another, hearing the screams and swells of laughter and shouts from in here. Raising the glass to her lips, she took another long gulp.

It was only when she set it down did she hear it. "I'm the newest Councilor in Asterath", in a voice that was...familiar. Shouts outside the tavern, the songs blaring inside, Hannah's voice saying something to her, it all fogged, blurring together as her attention wavered, narrowing down to that voice, those words.

No. No, no, no, this couldn't be happening. Her hand tightened around the glass, the beer inside warming as her skin melted away the condensation, and Cal found her breath catching, blood pounding in her ears as the woman's voice kept going. The feet, the table, the Voxthain assholes dying, the insufferable woman--fuck. Oh, bloody hell. Bloody fucking hell! Caledonia's hands shook, blood rushing into her head, her ears beginning to ring.

The blurred world around her seemed to tilt. Ceonrei. Possible mocking laughter from whoever Ceonrei was talking to. She stared down at the beer, the foam bubbling up against the side of the glass, the amber liquid winking up at her like gold in the overhead lights. How? How was she here, in the barrels of the fighting ring? Was this just the world mocking Cal, once again, making everything harder?

Insufferable? Defenses rose, her muscles tightened, jaw clenched so had it hurt. Ceonrei was the insufferable one, pretending she owned the place, acting like power was something just handed to her on a platter dripped in molten gold. Cal had believed she may have made some errors with Ceonrei, but now that she was overhearing the asshat, what mistakes? This woman clearly thought she was so entitled, and Caledonia had been right--innocent Voxthain citizens were cannon fodder to her.

Fingers shaking, the neon lights in this awful tavern almost blazing a crimson to Cal, the brunette barely processed she finished the rest of her beer in one long go. The room swayed, but she didn't really understand it was her head and the alcohol, not the room, until she slammed the glass down so loudly it shattered her pinpoint focus.

"Fuck you," she snarled, turning around and staring dead at Ceonrei. Her chest tightened, her gaze going red, and she turned back to Hannah. "You know what? I think I will go have another--round--no, fight. Another fight." Bash someone else's head in before she bashed Ceonrei's. "I thought maybe--" She cut herself off before she could say anything else, her last bit of sober-ness keeping her from releasing more information that gave away who she really was. She held her alcohol enough not to be that tipsy that easily. Instead, she just shook her head, hoping to all get out that the illusion stayed long enough for one more arena fight.

"Rosa," Hannah called as Cal slipped off the chair and snatched her bag and jacket.

"Put it on my tab," she snapped back. She couldn't look at Ceonrei. It was sickening. Ceonrei was sickening. Once again saying she wouldn't care if they died. And yes, Cal could agree, feed some of the nobles to the shadowfog, fine, but not all of them. Not everyone on Voxthain was an arrogant stuck-up prick, but apparently not everyone in Asterath was good, either. But what was more--in her slightly-tipsy mindset, she hated admitting something she hadn't even considered before. Ceonrei was very pretty.

Oh, screw this. She tightened her grip on her bag and prepared to leave the tavern. So much for her beer. For Hannah. This fighting ring had long been her outlet, and now Ceonrei was here to ruin everything.

      𝗖𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗥𝗘𝗜 𝗗𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗛      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei had just opened her mouth to shoot some scathing remark at Fiehra in a playful manner, leaning forward slightly to push her empty glasses towards Fiehra, waving off her eyebrow-raised question of more. She could feel her mind slowly drifting off to somewhere far away, which was certainly a feeling she enjoyed, but not one good for making her daily rounds. That was an enjoyment best saved for her free time.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The snarled “Fuck you,” cut Ceonrei off as her smile grew and her words bubbled up, stopping her movement entirely. She was all but frozen as familiarity struck through her at that tone, that all-too-noticeable anger. No fucking way, she thought, her momentary freeze ending as she jerked her feet down from the bar, spinning around in the stool, eyes on the woman the voice came from. Had Ceonrei not been from Asterath—had she not made herself well-versed in the wild magic found throughout her city—she might have been confused, immediately writing off her shock as hallucination. The knowledge of her city’s magic and ways paired with her current clarity brought her to a sheer stunned confusion, but she knew what was going on. It was the confusion of what the hell was Caledonia doing here?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei had broken free of one frozen reaction and entered another, silently staring at this stranger-in-appearance as she all but snarled at—what was her name? Sarah?—about another fight. That voice, every undertone of sharpness, cold, and fury resonating within Ceonrei’s mind, it was Caledonia. There was no shot that she’d gotten too drunk to realize that. She was still very clear, even as that clarity faded quickly. She forced herself from the shock, standing from the stool and glancing over at Fiehra with an almost-smirk. “Did I just speak of the devil herself?” she asked, not clarifying or requiring an answer as it was rhetorical more than anything. Fiehra shook her head, staring at Ceonrei like she was utterly insane as she picked up the glasses and tossed them in the sink carelessly. A shock they hadn’t shattered yet, the amount of times she’d done that.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Caledonia all but leaped from her seat, picking up her bag and jacket smoothly as she clearly ignored the woman she had just spat foul language at. It was seemingly out of nowhere—how would Sarah understand the sudden outburst? Although, Ceonrei supposed, she was likely used to it if Caledonia was anything like her normal self here. Ceonrei quickly stepped in Caledonia’s path before she began heading away, amber eyes seeking to meet the other woman’s.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“You really don’t look like you’re in the mood to fuck me, but I’m free tonight if you are,” Ceonrei said, voice heavy with uncharacteristic sarcasm and anger as she growled the foul words. “The fuck are you doing here, Caledonia?”

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Oh? Confrontational now, are we? The little baby grew up! She thought sarcastically, her thoughts running way too fast for her to keep up. All she knew was that Ceonrei had decided to--stupidly--step in front of her, and that her blood was burning against her skin, her heartbeat hammering much too fast within her ears, against her ribs. Acting as if she didn't have a right to be here, which--

Her own thought sucker-punched her, and Cal froze briefly, her hand tightening on the handles of her gym bag. From the partially-unzipped top, a few bloody bandages and hand wraps from her fights peered out, but she couldn't worry about that now. Okay, so Cal had a right to be here, but she had spent seven long years hiding down here, making a name for herself as a skilled fighter under, well, a different name, a different look. And nobody had been any wiser. Until now. And if they knew, they'd--what? They couldn't very well push her from Council, but the nobles? She was already nobody's favorite--the brute common-born--and didn't need this added to the list to confirm everything they already believed of her. She had put up with mocking jeers for years. This would just add more.

Caledonia gritted her teeth, a spark of pain shooting through her jaw, and she took a heaving breath. She couldn't now even have her drink, unwind, because of Ceonrei, who, apparently, was not as kind of a person as she liked to pretend she was. Gossip-ass.

"I don't know who that is," she replied evenly, though her chest rose and fell as she spoke, anger still ringing in her head and pounding in a tightened chest. Years and years, both here and with the military, and growing up with an abusive father, had taught her a few things, and one of which was to lie well. Her voice didn't shake. "Name's Rosa. Came in here to have a nice glass of cold beer but overheard one of our esteemed Councilors shit-talking someone else. Dunno. I voted for you, Councilor Ceonrei, but your behavior now is making me wish I hadn't. But you're new, so you've got time to learn. Apologies. Don't let me interrupt you..." She waved a bruised, bloody hand towards the blonde Ceonrei had been conversing with. "Doing whatever you were in the middle of. Trying to fuck people, apparently?"

Caledonia knew about Fiehra, of course. She didn't know she was friends with Ceonrei the Worm, but she knew she bartended here because she had been at this bar since she was too young to be drinking. But blondes weren't exactly her type, not even for casual conversation after her own childhood nemesis had been a blonde, so she'd never bothered trying to flirt with her. Speaking of flirting, though, she could feel Hannah's eyes on her, burning like coals, and Cal allowed herself a small glance up to find her watching.

"Rosa, what--"

"Maybe I will have another fight tonight," she replied flatly, and then smiled at Hannah with a one-shouldered shrug, a feral smile, all glistening teeth, because like hell would Caledonia allow an Asterath fighter to take out one of her teeth. Nobody else down here in this sorry excuse of a city was militia trained, thank you. Rather, if they were, they'd probably been discharged. Dishonorably. She had only had half a drink, so it wasn't enough to make her head spin, her consciousness feel separated from her surroundings, but dammit, if it wasn't enough to make Hannah look like an angel right now.

Sometimes, Cal did wish she could kiss her more. But that was only inviting disaster, wasn't it?

Just like Ceonrei. A little devil in disguise of a sweet, innocent face who apparently badmouthed people when they weren't here. All the regret she had, treating Ceonrei a bit overboard-pissy during their meeting had evaporated like morning mist on a tree back in Voxthain, and between the red swimming across her vision and the sick feeling wedged into the pit of her stomach, all she could once again understand was that Ceonrei didn't care about innocent people, innocent lives. And, as Caledonia literally spent all she had working to improve the lives of women and orphans in Voxthain, meeting someone on the apparent opposite end of that spectrum was, well, sickening.

It was how she felt around nobility, how she felt around other Council members who had their heads up their butts, their rose-colored glasses on and refused to ever remove them. Bile in her throat, a boiling in her belly.

But for the sake of her reputation--which, let's face it, was shit anyway among the nobles--she had to keep pretending she was someone else. "Anyway. Don't let me stop you Councilor," she stated, and then slid neatly into a mock bow, something she had perfected over the years of growing up in a viper's pit. Straightening, Caledonia leaned over the counter. "Really sorry, Hannah." Her green eyes dropped to her lips again, and she swallowed hard. Froze. The world seemed to halt for a moment as her brain betrayed her, but before she could process anything, Hannah's lips were on hers, and Caledonia had no idea why, but she pressed back.

Shocked, she blinked, a hand to her lips upon separating, before she stared. Oh no. No, no, no, no, no, she had thought it was all a game. Flirty, funny for both of them, but now...panic seized her, and Cal stared at Hannah.

"Was--Rosa, what--I--"

"Stop, Hannah. Just--shut up."

Fuck. No. I did't mean that. She closed her eyes, mentally smacking herself when Hannah blinked and looked taken aback, almost crushed. Her hand, shaking, slung her bag over her shoulder, something rushing, pounding in her ears like a waterfall. She stared at Hannah once more, taking in the startled expression in her lovely eyes, and then back at Ceonrei. "I love this city," she forced out, injecting wistfulness into her voice, praying the illusion would hold for a simple two more minutes before she high-tailed it out of here, "but it disheartens me to see our Councilors hating on other Councilors and other cities. I get it. Voxthain is a piece of shit, okay?" That, at least, was Caledonia being honest. "But not all the people are. And just a piece of advice from a lowly mechanic?" Mechanic? Really, Hayden? With what skills? "Their nobles aside, why don't you try being a little more open minded? Not that I'd know anything." Her eyes still blazed, her nose still wrinkled with a bit of disgust as she looked at Ceonrei.

But she couldn't stay, she had to get out of here. Anxiety was starting to claw again, up at her throat like a vice, tightening, and her next swallow was hard, her mouth dry. This fighting ring had been her safe space. And now, it was cracked, all because of one immature Councilor who Caledonia wanted to smack. And Hannah--nope. Cal couldn't even think about whatever the hell had happened there. All she knew was that she needed air. Or to hurt someone.

Another fight maybe after all, her head spinning. Ah, well. She'd fought with worse. May as well get the fights in before Voxthain all died via shadowfog and Ceonrei, right?

      𝗖𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗥𝗘𝗜 𝗗𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗛      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The self-restraint it took for Ceonrei not to scoff and slap that disguise off of Caledonia’s not-face was immense. Being that she had control over herself unlike a certain someone, it proved easy once she took a simple deep breath and looked towards the fighting ring for a good five seconds before turning back to reassess. She knew Caledonia didn’t want to be outed, and if she thought Ceonrei horrible enough to do that, she’d be sorely disappointed. The preliminary shock brought the Councilor’s name from her lips mindlessly, but surely everyone around them would chalk it up to some good old drunk conversation.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei was preparing to fire back, words heavy and hateful on her tongue, but everything faded away as she watched in even more shock than before as Caledonia leaned over the counter, Hannah also leaning forward to press their lips together. With no exaggeration, Ceonrei felt twenty different emotions fire through her very soul. The most powerful won out, the ones she would forever be avoidant of fizzling away by force. Caledonia pulled back, spat rudely at Hannah, and proceeded to speak to Ceonrei again.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Well, fuck that. Ceonrei wasted no time thinking of more words, actions, reactions—she needed to talk to Caledonia right then and there. Alone. Away from her people who Caledonia obviously considered to be her entertainment. “Well, as a mechanic, I actually have something I need you to fix,” Ceonrei said, voice a pit of concealed anger and disgust, appearing cheery and upbeat. “Or maybe a quick fuck, y’know, since that’s apparently what we’re both looking for.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She reached and took Caledonia’s hand in hers, eyes blazing fire and hatred at Caledonia. She dug her nails into the woman’s palm, enough for her to feel the sting but not enough to hurt. She had no idea how the woman would react, so she stared straight at Caledonia and shook her head very faintly—enough for Caledonia to realize that she needed to walk away before that disguise disappeared, but not without Ceonrei in tow.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Don’t,” she said softly, only loud enough for Caledonia to hear. She ignored the rest of what the repulsive woman spat out of her pretty little mouth—she’d take care of that particular matter privately. She was not about to let a Voxthain citizen, a Councilor no less, continue this ridiculous behavior. How was Ceonrei the unfit one? Absolute bullshit. Leading on one of the sweetest people Ceonrei knew—one who obviously really did have feelings for “Rosa.” Even disguised, Ceonrei was dumbstruck trying to figure out how anyone developed feelings for this woman if she acted the same as she did as just Caledonia.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀With that, she sent Fiehra an apologetic glance. Her magic always came in handy for situations like these—or situations heavily adjacent, as she didn’t tend to spend her time calming down stubborn, arrogant, and hot-headed Councilors—so she could transmit a message to onlookers she couldn’t directly speak to. It was quick magic, too, so all she needed to do was summon it to her mind, think the words, and send it off. Her amber eyes glowed a piercing yellow akin as the rays of Luminos, the one drawback to her ability as she couldn’t really do it subtly, as she quickly sent the message. This is Caledonia in disguise, so I did indeed speak of the fucking devil herself. I’ll be back when I’m done with her. Please talk to Hannah and make sure she’s okay, I’m sure you can see what Caledonia is trying to do with this “Rosa” disguise.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra’s eyes lit with both confusion and understanding as she gave a terse nod anyways, heading towards Hannah behind the bar as she picked up empty glasses along the way for washing. Ceonrei was satisfied, so she turned, that death-grip on Caledonia’s hand unyielding as she hurried for a darker, more isolated area of the fighting ring cavern.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒂 𝑯𝒂𝒚𝒅𝒆𝒏

"I don't fuck people," Caledonia responded immediately, her entire body tensing a little. It wasn't a huge shift, more subtle, but she still found the muscles between her shoulder blades tightening. But before she could say anything else, or even escape out the front door, Hannah's soulful eyes boring into her and making that sharpening blade of guilt dig deeper between her ribs, she felt a hand encase around her own.

Then sharpness, and she jerked her head back from the fighting ring to Ceonrei, then down to their hands. Don't. Quiet, that one word, nails burying themselves under her skin. Don't. Don't. Don't. A threat, subtle but there, under the guise of a kind gesture, a sweet hand-hold, a parental gesture--Cal's mind went blank, a deep black, before it swam red, blocking Ceonrei's face from her mind, her stomach kicking.

The rest of her body reacted, her muscles tightening, the hand stuck in Ceonrei's grasp beginning to shake. Something cold shuddered up against her spine, and her breaths became more forced. Don't and the over-tight pressure in her hand were all she could sense now, ringing between her ears like a ping-pong ball, bared teeth, snappish hazel eyes, the sticky smile at everyone as he passed, practically dragging her behind him, except nobody knew or cared because--the hand, the hand, don't. If she did, she knew it'd be worse, if she fought--her skin prickled, Cal could hardly think, the room swam as her feet staggered when he tried to pull her towards--wherever they were going, his office, his--

"Rosa? Rosa!"

The word cut through her mind like whip--dammit, no, no whips--a knife, a simple blade, and Caledonia gaped, staring behind her to where the voice had come from, high-pitched and as if she had said it one too many times. Someone, behind a bar, worry in her tearful eyes--Hannah. Hannah?

Cal froze, her heart thudding against her ribs and between her ears at an almost too-loud volume. The bar. Gods-forsaken-Ceonrei--rage burned hot, a wildfire, the shadowfog, hitting all at once. Darkness and hate and the flickering of sparks that turned into that wildfire--she didn't think. She couldn't breathe, her chest having constricted, her entire body trembling from head to toe, she had to hide, to get out, to run, to--to--finally do what she had always wanted to, get the pain out of her hand, her back was tingling, she--

"Get the fuck away from me," she ground out, her green eyes wild, dark, and she stomped the heel of her booted foot right onto Ceonrei's arch before she tightened the grip on their hands and let her magic loose, focusing on the vibrations each living thing naturally had. In this case, the bones in the constricting, abusive hand. Se found them. And shattered them, vibrating the inside of her hand faster and faster, an unnatural speed, until the bones splintered, shattering all the way through his--her--palm and into her fingers. She slipped her hand away--no, tore it away--turned, and blasted loose a spray of vibrations, slamming them into Ceonrei in full force.

"Touch me again and it's your neck next time!" She shouted at her, heaving, the world spinning, her mind blurred, and then turned and ran. Anywhere but in here, the music too loud, the neon colors too bright, still shaking. Cal almost tripped over her feet, did actually slam into a table, shattering an empty drinking glass when it fell to the floor, pushed Hannah away from her when, in all her goodness, the woman still tried to--to what, make sure she was okay?--and then, finally, escaped out the front door, just as her tattoos winked to life in her view. Well, fuck.

      𝗖𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗥𝗘𝗜 𝗗𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗛      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The pain struck first, as of course it would, before any thoughts could. It was like having a million sharp needles stabbed viciously into her hand. Like having them twisted and turned until her hand was unrecognizable and nothing more than a useless dangling body part. Ceonrei had felt pain on this level many times before—magic was dangerous and incredibly volatile—but it was unexpected and she was not immune to pain even having experienced it many times before. She collapsed to her knees without any sound, the fighting ring’s atmosphere far too loud for her choked gasp to make its way to anyone’s ears.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra immediately sprinted over, a glass still in her hand, but with the ears-ringing, eyes-blurred pain firing through Ceonrei’s hand and up her arm, she didn’t know what was going on. She couldn’t even bring herself to anger, instead allowing herself to lean forward, legs bent beneath her, forehead to the ground as she clutched her hand to her chest. She fought tears with all she had, panting heavily and releasing small sounds of agony, the smallest wails she could manage. She couldn’t resist her body’s natural response to the pain, but she could refuse herself the right to display other signs of pain. She wouldn’t give Caledonia the satisfaction. That was her only clear thought throughout the experience. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, Fiehra’s voice and hands on her shoulders in the distance, the needles slowly residing one by one as she clenched her teeth together and struggled to breathe.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra likely had the most convenient powers for the situation aside from healing—teleportation. She used to mess around with Ceonrei when they were younger, bouncing back and forth small distances as she taunted Ceonrei, whose powers were not great for playing. That thought struck Ceonrei as she felt the air swirling around her and Fiehra. She knew what that meant, having experienced the sensation many times. Fiehra was able to teleport across half of the city with someone in tow—she’d done it with Ceonrei in many situations. Her drawback was the power-up time it took. Emergency teleportation was not how Fiehra’s magic worked. She was able to power it up over the course of thirty seconds to a minute.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Which gave Ceonrei time to recalibrate the best she could what with the unwinding pain. She managed to raise her head slightly, a tear that had finally escaped racing down her cheek, but she didn’t care. Her eyes burned yellow as she summoned her own magic to fling one parting message at Caledonia, wherever she had gone. Ceonrei still couldn’t see with the pain, rising fury, and tears that clouded her vision, but she had never needed to. She could transmit a message to who and where she wanted to. Even through the pain, that magic she’d used so many times was like instinct, welling at the surface, ready to be used.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I was trying to help you. It seems like you’ve answered the question of why I don’t care, Caledonia. Assholes like you who only hurt everyone around them. Good fucking riddance. Ceonrei didn’t have it in her to cast a long-winded speech of fury and insults—hell, it wasn’t worth her time. Caledonia was a stubborn, thick-headed bitch who truly didn’t deserve her position. Ceonrei could be as unfit as the woman wanted to think, but she was undeserving. Caledonia didn’t deserve the power she held, magic and within her city’s government both, if she only used it to hurt everyone around her. To Ceonrei, that was worse than being unfit.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra noticed Ceonrei’s transmission, both familiar with one another’s magic, her palm cupping Ceonrei’s cheek as she continued speaking words Ceonrei couldn’t comprehend in the haze. Vaguely, she was aware of Fiehra pausing for a moment to readjust something in her hand before her voice raised—something Ceonrei had hardly ever witnessed—before making a quick, harsh movement in someone’s direction with whatever she’d held in her hands. Ceonrei could only assume she’d spat something awful at Caledonia and chucked the glass at her head, but even that certainty was uncertain. Ceonrei needed healing before she passed out.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀With the quite perfect timing of clarity, Ceonrei acknowledging that her hand needed healing, Fiehra’s magic bubbled up and they were whisked away. The comforting embrace of the wind and magic essence around them lasted but a moment before the sudden movement jerked Ceonrei’s hand from its place at her chest.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Before they were fully gone, Ceonrei’s parting scream of pain she couldn’t restrain echoed throughout the tavern. Frustration, physical pain, and seething rage—all packed into one screech that echoed off the cavern walls.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒂 𝑯𝒂𝒚𝒅𝒆𝒏

Raucous laughter, too-bright lights, the occasional howl, and a mass of voices ebbing and flowing--it all swam in Caledonia's mind, behind a thin, distant veneer as she staggered her way towards the door. Rather, she thought it was the door, but her head was pounding, ears ringing, and really, she didn't know where she was. People warmed before her, shadows and obstacles, and her hands shook as she pushed aside anyone stupid enough to drunkenly step into her path.

"Hey, sweetie, need a little pick-me-up?" Someone saucily leered, a man somehow in her path like an annoying fly. Disgust bubbled up inside her, alongside the boiling rage, red and hot.

Whatever must have been on her face had the man's own face turning twitchy, and he backed up. "Well, no, it doesn't--" He started, but Cal didn't give a shit. The damn audacity of a man to step before her and flirt like he was everyone's type--she raised a hand, and blasted him with the same vibrations as she did her father--no. Ceonrei. No. Wait--whatever, same difference. She watched with satisfaction as he flew through the air, a scream echoing in her ears. A smirk tugged at her lips before it dissolved into a scowl again, and the satisfying sound of breaking glass met her ears. Around her, people seemed to split off, leaving a clear path for the door.

"Good fucking choice," she snarled, shrugging her jacket on over the tattoos that had appeared on her arms. Hopefully, these people were too drunk to recognize her as one of Voxthain's Councilors--or worse, "nobles"--so she ducked her head and continued to the door. The sounds still swam around her, murky, and she had no real idea what was being said and who was standing where. The lights were almost too bright, a neon red mixed with a hideous purple, and she even liked purple!--but who thought bright neons were ever a good idea?

All she could feel around her now were the vibrations of every single asshat she passed by, their muscles and tendons, bones and skin, buzzing and just waiting for her to latch onto them, and good Lux, but she wanted to, just to show her father, show Ceonrei, that she wasn't someone to be stepped on and controlled. Don't. Don't, they had said, grabbing her hand, which stung from their nails, don't, in that calm voice with an undertone of threat, because she knew, she knew what he-she--they--had meant, smile, Caledonia, he had hissed, venom like a snake, but a bright smile for all they passed. Then when he hid in his shadows--that was when--I was trying to help you. It seems like you’ve answered the question of why I don’t care, Caledonia. Assholes like you who only hurt everyone around them. Good fucking riddance.

The message flared before her like a honing beacon, bright, sudden, and thankfully snapping her mind from the dark spiral she was going down, even as she staggered, still shaking, and slammed her hip into a nearby table, sending someone's beer glass to the floor. Shattering, a spray of wet on her boots. Someone's shout, but nobody dared to come near her, and that was good, because she could kill without a touch.

The message flashed before her, and her head spun as her brain struggled to process who was sending this and why. But--slowly, as the cold beer sunk through the legs of her pants, she found herself returinng to her mind, her body, the present moment, found herself trembling, her hand smarting, blood hot.

Ceonrei. Who had--Cal's cheeks heated, and she swallowed hard, eyes dark. The door stood now not five feet from here, beckoning, a bright escape. Behind her, most patrons had frozen, and she could feel the many pairs of eyes boring into her. Her cheat heaved, each breath trembling her lungs and making her ribs ache from her fights, but--fresh waves of hate and rage, mixed with something else she couldn't quite put her finger on (or recognized as guilt, hurt, and horror but would rather not unpack just now), swam through her like a writhing mess of eels in a lake.

Assholes like you only hurt everyone around them. No. No, she didn't. You're just like him, a voice taunted, close to her ear, a gentle whisper like taloned claws gently running down her arm. No I'm not. No I'm not!--Yes you are. Look at the mess you made. Breaking someone's hand. Throwing people against a wall. Like father like daughter.

Something sharp cut into the side of her face, and startled, Cal let out a scream, jumping back and processing, as a glass smashed on the floor a mere two feet from her, that someone had just...she pressed shaking fingers against her cheek and gaped. Jagged glass was embedded into the side of her face, in her skin, and when she pulled her hand away, crimson blood stood out against the pale of her skin. Her stomach lurched, and her eyes burned, before any remorse she had felt for what she had just done to Ceonrei the Bitch melted. "You're no better!" She screamed before that blonde girl whisked Ceonrei away--like a coward, respondiong to Ceonrei's petty hate-note, "You're a brute! You're a closed-minded fucking animal!" She shouted, unaware she was crying until salt sting, burning the cuts on her busted lip from the fights she'd just won.

Because throwing a glass at her head? That reeked of her him, just like Ceonrei being a controlling abusive monster, don't, as her hand caught hers in its vice, threatening, darkness settling across her chest as panic honed inside her to a point of anxiety.

"Fuck you!" She screamed in response again, bile stinging the back of her throat. She turned, whirled away, and stormed for the exit, Ceonreis' final scream, the sound shrill, eerily familiar, and curdling Cal's stomach, echoing in her ears. Ordinarily, Cal would have actually felt bad, the remorse coming back again to stab her in the ribs, but after she had had someone throw a glass at her head? Or not stop it? That could have been deadly. And that, in her opinion, was far damn worse than simply shattering someone's hand.

As soon as she crossed the threshold of the tavern, she ran. Cal hated Voxthain, and the fighting ring had forever been her solace. But now, she craved her mother's estate, her heart crushed that her safe space had been demolished. She'd save her people on her own.

     ──────────────────      END OF ROLEPLAY      ──────────────────

      𝗦𝗘𝗬𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗔      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The art of being a spy is the art of not being noticed. That was something this particular Snake had learned years ago, and although it should be rather obvious, she seemed to be one of the only ones to really realize that. You’re not meant to stand out, to be glaringly obvious so people think, “Surely there’s nothing off about that person!” You’re supposed to be one of the background characters, the Snake’s mother had told her when she first went into training with Club Serpentine. Show them that you’re not important, don’t slink about. Exist. Be cunning. Watch.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀So she did. Her task had been assigned that morning, quick and easy instructions from Zyx the Head Snake himself. The Asterath rumor mill was quite abuzz with tales of a Voxthain Councilor in disguise at the fighting ring, and while the Snake doubted the truth behind that, she would never deny an order from Zyx. She sat at the bar to the far left, laughing and joking with a group of drunk fighters, sly eyes taking in every movement around her, listening to every conversation within earshot. She’d been training for this for many years, as well as how to lure someone away and incapacitate even the most powerful, quick fighter.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She wouldn’t be able to take a single one of these people in a fight, but her lightning fast hands could have a needle with a sedative in their necks before they could move. Some had been more resistant in the past and had landed many blows before they passed out, but she’d survived. A hazard of the job, and one she didn’t mind too much. A few punches were worth Zyx’s satisfaction with her.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She frequented the fighting ring to bet, to spy, to do many things—that’s how she’d know who she was looking for. A new face or the one that had been described to her after whatever confrontation had happened a few nights prior with one of Asterath’s own Councilors. She would watch and watch until she spotted the woman. The subject of leading her away was different. Maybe she’d wait and follow the woman out. Seduction? The Snake almost purred with excitement. She lived for these moments of pure thrill in anticipation of catching her prey.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Patience was her virtue, so she waited. Eyes scanning the crowd, head angled so she could hear every conversation around her. Oh, the life of a Snake.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒂 𝑯𝒂𝒚𝒅𝒆𝒏

Heart pounding against her ribs, mouth dry, Caledonia almost turned away as she pushed through the crowd of drunk, loud, smelly fighters. Under the hood of her sweatshirt, her nose wrinkled, disgust churning the contents of her stomach. One would assume she would have been used to it, both with the militia being full of people liked to drink on their off time, as well as fight for a living, and having spent eight whole years posing as Rosa Farley down here. But in fact, drunk people never failed to make her lose respect for them, and the smell of burning alcohol mixed with sweat and hints of tangy blood would never fail to be, frankly, unappealing.

Though tonight, she'd take that over what she was here to do. Apologies had never been Cal's strong suit, both giving or receiving, and she made a habit of avoiding them over the years, and usually, that worked out well for her. She distrusted most people, and so she didn't feel particularly bad when she hurt someone's feelings, especially when that someone was another head-up-their ass noble, or quite rude-and-abusive Asterath Councillor who would remain nameless. But every so often, those few people who she did, indeed, feel a burning stab of guilt about being a jerk to popped up, and Hannah was one of them. Truly, Hannah had been a sweetheart, and Cal had--gag--liked talking with her, when she hated talking to most people. Something about her, her warm brown eyes or sunny smile that made her whole face glow, the way she was always so sweet, and genuine, had Caledonia very much always wanting to be near her, kiss her. No, it never would have gone anywhere else. But hurting her the way she had had never been her intention.

So now, desperate Asterath had forgotten--or just not seen--her down here as herself, she had come back. It was a fighting ring tavern. Cal had been attending this tavern when she was much too young to be drinking, and even fighting, but she had done it anyway, and thus, she knew fights broke out among drunk, adrenaline-fueled patrons often enough where she hoped her situation with...her...had simply been counted as another barfight and forgotten. She had high-tailed it out anyway, the illusion potion wearing off at the very end, so Caledonia hoped to all Luminos nobody had gotten a good look. The last thing she needed was rumors spread to Voxthain, was more of the nobility looking at her like vermin.

Already it was bad enough. Them finding out the common-blood fought in a ring was practically a confirmation to them that she was, indeed, a street urchin to her core. And the Council...well. Pit fighting wasn't exactly respectable. Best nobody figured her out, and for eight years she had managed that. If it had crashed down because of her, well, Cal was fully prepared to challenge her to a pit fight and stand over her unconscious body with a smile. But she hoped it wouldn't come to that, that she could just apologize to Hannah, feeling ready to craw out of her own skin until it was done, and then go back to the ring.

Then again. Ceonrei--ugh, even thinking her name made Cal want to spit in a corner--had not exactly been quiet when she started screaming at her, and that left anxiety sitting like a stone in the pit of her stomach. Even if people hadn't seen her tattoos appear, her lavender hair darken to her natural brown, they would have heard their argument. And that was more the danger at this point, because eight years among a fighting ring did, in fact, also tell her this place was almost as rife with rumors as a damn Voxthain noble gala was.

Her whole setup was screwed. She couldn't go back as Rosa Farley because some people would have heard that argument and known Rosa was Caledonia Hayden, but she didn't want to go as a newbie either because then everyone would treat her like prey to be caught. Oh well. She'd beat their asses in and they'd stop doing that. She was one of the ring's strongest martial fighters, had built up a reputation for it. But that in itself was just another reason this whole situation was a tangled, messy web. Rosa Farley vanishing, having been an eight-year-staple, was questionable. Cal didn't have the details all worked out on what she was going to do yet, so for now, she planned to talk to Hannah, then lock herself in a bathroom to figure it out.

Option A: just go back as Rosa Farley and pretend nothing happened. Make everyone who questioned her just think they were delusional.

Option B: pretend to be a newbie, show everyone she could kill them with her bare hands, but then they'd find out she fought like Farley had and boom, cover gone.

So maybe there was only really the option of pretending nothing had happened. Because she wasn't leaving without punching someone's teeth out, thank you. There were lines in the militia you couldn't cross, and fighting until your opponent needed serious medical care was one of them. Damn you, Mama.

Nevertheless, to read the room and scope things out first to at least know what she was walking into, Caledonia had changed her appearance again via illusion potion, a stronger one that lasted an extra hour. Instead of lavender hair--which had been her favorite, so she was salty--it was a darker green, still short. Her eyes were blue, and she had no tattoos visible, just to be safe. It covered up her piercings as well, and as a whole, she looked a lot less threatening. Usually, she had her leather jacket on, but that was in the bag over her shoulder, and instead she was in her black fighting pants, a plain dark green sweatshirt, a black tank underneath that, boots, and wraps around her hands, though those were hidden by an illusion as well.

As for what she was walking into, well, it was...bad. She heard snippets of conversation, and...well. "Voxthain Councillor" came up a little more than she liked, leaving a followed-out sensation in her gut. But later. She had to deal with that after this.

Elbowing her way through the crowd, stepping over spilled liquid she prayed was just beer, Caledonia beelined for the bar, keeping an eye out and ears open as she did. She largely kept her head down, a hood of a dark green sweatshirt tossed up and over her head, but her eyes scanned the room. Ah. There.

Hannah, at the bar. The knot of dread inside her tightened, a weight pressing against her shoulders. I could turn around, I could-- But guilt burned hotter at that thought, and damn, but Hannah was beautiful. Even from here, the overhead lights danced on her dark hair, making it shine, while her perfect lashes and lips--no. Nope. That was most definitely over, and not good thoughts to be having. Cal tried to dash those against a rock as she got closer.

Deep breaths. Just apologize. Say it, then leave. Come on, Hayden. But it was like walking to an execution. Each step was slow, her breathing labored, Hannah on the end of her eyesight, smiling and chatting but with a more dead look in her eye that punched Cal in the stomach like a fist.

Did I do that? Somehow, that made it worse, her guilt and hatred for herself tangling inside her. She was an ass, telling Hannah to shut up and ignoring her the way she had. Cal never hurt the women she had an affair with. It was disgusting when people did that, but unintentionally, her temper had come out and she had done it, even if her real rage had been towards Ceonrei. But the realization had her walking faster, and she reached the bar and slipped onto a stool.

Hannah turned. "What can I get you...?" She asked, trailing off at the end until Cal looked up slowly, locking eyes with her. She could feel it, the second recognition dawned in Hannah's warm eyes. You could change your eye color, but you couldn't quit change whatever it was that made someone's eyes...them. When you looked into someone's eyes enough you could almost see parts of them--which she hated--and she and Hannah had kissed enough where she was certain Hannah would recognize her. To confirm, though, Cal reached into her pocket and removed one of her rings she usually wore outside fighting. She stuffed it away as soon as Hannah pursed her lips.

She leaned over. "What the hell are you doing here?" She demanded hotly, her eyes flashing, and Cal closed her eyes to steel herself and recenter before she looked up and took a breath.

"Hey. Um. I-I know. I know you're angry at me, and you have every right to be," she whispered, wishing everyone in the tavern could just shut up for five minutes so she could hear Hannah better. Her left hand strayed to her right, and she pinched the back of it, the pain grounding and familiar. The intensity of Hannah's gaze had her skin prickling, and Cal fought to not avert her eyes to the bar or her shoes. "But I'm here to apologize. I never meant to hurt you or to tell you to shut up. It was--I was overwhelmed and it's not an excuse. I'm sorry, Hannah. I-I value you. Us. Whatever we--were."

Hannah seemed to draw back, lips parting. "Oh," she stated after a moment. "I--I never expected to see you again," she admitted. "And it--it did hurt."

Cal swallowed hard. "I know. As soon as it left my mouth I...regretted it." Shame, an unusual emotion for her on this level, flushed within, turning her pale cheeks scarlet. "I wanted you to know that."

Hannah was quiet for a second, drumming one hand on the bar, before she spoke again. "And is it true?"

Cal's heart sunk. "What?" She asked flatly, though she knew what.

"That you're--from Voxthain? A Councilor? A noble?" She kept her voice low, but her eyes probed.

A lump grew in Cal's throat, and her muscles tensed. Luminos, she wanted a drink right now. Fresh dread settled onto her shoulders, pressing against her, and she forced one nod. "More or less. I-I didn't lie because I don't respect you. I lied because--my reputation is shit there. And it would be worse if they--knew about this."

"So you're ashamed of Asterath and of us."

"No!" Cal jerked back, then took a breath. "No, Hannah. It's complicated. I'm already--can we please go somewhere else and discuss this? Just--somewhere private?" She wouldn't blame her if she had said no. But the hair on the back of her neck stood on end, she couldn't stop fidgeting. If someone recognized her, or saw her as a new face, or questioned anything--Cal couldn't handle it right now. She needed this conversation over, and soon, but not here.

Hannah paused, and then sighed with a shake of her head. "Fine. But I have to serve a few more drinks, I have ten minutes left. Can you wait?"

Ten minutes? No, she did not want to sit here exposed and possibly hit on by disgusting guys for ten minutes, not that she was noticeable, she hoped, in dark colors, or dressed to attract men--the opposite, in fact--and each second she felt as if someone would recognize her, given the damn gossip flying, but she had to respect Hannah's wishes. Ten, that was it. "Okay."

"Thank you." Hannah turned back to her customers, but paused. "Here." She slid an ice-cold beer over, and Cal took it without complaint. It would help her blend in for now.

She nodded her thanks at Hannah before the woman turned away from her and back to the others at the bar, and took a sip, tapping her boot against the ground, eyes and ears still peeled, and desperate to get out of here before someone saw her. She wanted to fight, let them know Rosa was here, but in the ring. Not a tavern of drunks that left her wary and on edge.

      𝗦𝗘𝗬𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗔      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It took the Snake longer than she’d have liked to notice the newcomer, even as she had been staring at the entrance for so long—longer than she was trained to take in noticing things. Usually her targets were idiots, but she knew better than to expect that of this target. A Councilor, but it was not even that in which the Snake considered when pre-gauging this task’s level of difficulty. Unlike most of Asterath, she had been taught to respect Voxthain. Club Serpentine were disingenuous and untrustworthy, often lacking every bit of honor necessary to give respect to anyone, but there were exceptions. The Head and Rattler didn’t need to possess their own honor when they could teach those who did the side jobs to have it instead.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀This Snake’s mother had been like the leaders, but even without leading by example, some things can be taught. She knew Voxthain appeared to be such elegant, refined people—but they weren’t. Nearly all of the most underhanded dealings in Serpentine were with Voxthain nobles. Too many of them were as cunning as they were privileged, and the Snake knew that all too well. So, naturally, she applied this to some of the Councilors. Some were sickeningly, genuinely good—but not everyone received power because of their true character. Deception was quite useful for most of the Councilors in Voxthain, the Snake reflected, because they could come across to the citizens as whatever they needed to in order to win.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀With the fact that this Councilor frequented Asterath of all places and Zyx’s level of interest in acquiring her, she assumed the latter of her line of thought applied to this one. She couldn’t be entirely sure this was even the Councilor, but as the hooded figure headed for the bar—for a specific person—the Snake grinned to herself. Her magic only made itself useful when her targets were speaking and associating with others.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀As the conversation started, the Snake’s spine tingled. The tattoos marked there pulsed with energy, the tingle turning into a furious burn. The Snake had once writhed and begged for it to stop, for the pain to go away, but now her eyes merely flashed with discomfort. This was a power that had been honed—risky to use, very useful. Wasting no time, she sent her magic across the bar, visible only to her as a thin tendril of clear fog warping the air around it. She needed to see this Councilor, so she aimed it at the woman opposite of her—but then, hesitation. She kept the magic going, but slower, as she recognized Hannah, one of the bartenders. The Snake only allowed herself a moment of hesitation, not because she was second-guessing the act, because it was good. Her charm magic was strong, as she’d had twenty years of strict training to hone it, but it was exponentially easier when she knew the person she was using it on.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Her targets tended to be strangers, so she had to rely on skill alone, but having spoken to Hannah many times before to at least gauge what kind of person she was, that would make this easy. The tendril kept going until it reached the end of the bar where the two women were, quickly reaching over to wrap around Hannah’s wrist, snaking up her arm until it reached her head. There, it dissipated from even the Snake’s view, securing the tether between herself and Hannah.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The Snake casted her concentration straight to the tether, which slammed her into Hannah’s mind immediately. She’d done it many times before, easily regaining her bearings and refocusing. She could charm individuals into doing what she wanted them to, most of the time with great difficulty, but this was not that. Hannah would continue to exercise her own free will—the Snake just needed to hear what was being said. She couldn’t read minds, but she could see and hear through someone else for a brief period of time if they were close. Hannah was about twenty feet away, so it was perfect.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“ . . . wanted you to know that,” the Councilor was whispering, cheeks turning a scarlet color as she spoke. The Snake observed the woman through Hannah’s eyes, concentration more difficult than usual with all of the noise and chaos of the tavern. This was obviously a potion, the green hair and blue eyes, but the Snake still thought it necessary to know her current appearance just in case.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The interaction continued, the Snake silently thanking the delay in listening in on the conversation. She didn’t want to hear their love story and how sorry someone was for whatever reason—she wanted answers. A way in, a way out. Which, surprisingly, came a lot quicker and easier than the Snake had anticipated.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“More or less,” the Councilor was saying, hesitantly responding to the exact question the Snake wanted to ask. Hannah was asking on her own, though, without any outside influence. The Snake knew she liked that bartender. “I-I didn't lie because I don't respect you. I lied because—my reputation is shit there. And it would be worse if they—knew about this.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Confirmation. Perfect. The Snake decided she’d keep the tether for a bit longer, assuming they’d be making plans to make out behind the ring or something soon—which would be fantastic. She didn’t focus on the emotions resonating from the two women as they spoke, but instead on the content of their words. She’d never been good with emotions, loathed them in fact. Almost as much as this Councilor seemed to.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Somewhere private. Ten minutes. The Snake’s concentration on the tether was faltering anyways, but everything was going spectacularly. It was solid information and confirmed information, as Hannah was turning away from the interaction. The Snake snapped back to herself, withdrawing the tether as her spine burned ferociously. She clenched her teeth, biting her lower lip hard enough to draw blood, grounding herself. Her eyes watered, but she turned and wiped them quickly, now focused on her own situation.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The syringe with sedation fluid was tucked safely in her left jacket pocket, but she needed a drink. This Councilor, or Rosa, was an absolute beast of a fighter. The Snake was ready to take a beating before being able to bring the woman back to Zyx and Cadmus. Hannah was easy—she’d require another brief tether before the Snake could persuade her to walk away and forget the interaction. Otherwise, her plan was faultless.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She hoped so, anyways, as she leaned over the counter and tapped twice, requesting another drink.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒂 𝑯𝒂𝒚𝒅𝒆𝒏

Cal tossed a good mouthful of the beer back, careful to not take too large a swig. The haziness when one drank too much meant losing your senses, and she was not about to do that here, or at all. The last time she had lost her senses had not been of her own free will, and she had an intent never to get poisoned or gassed or anything of the like ever again. That included beer twisting her mind into a knot.

Nevertheless, the cold drink felt like a splash of refreshing ice in the face, and despite the anxiety and frustration still churning inside her, it had her breathing a little easier. Cal rubbed one now-cold hand over her face, the chill chasing away the start of a throbbing headache in her temples. Ten minutes. I can wait ten minutes. But every time someone raised their voice, every time a drunken peel of laughter broke through the smelly tavern, Cal flinched a little, drawing her hood tighter around her face. Too much, too soon, too loud, especially with knowledge of her presence as a Voxthain Councillor down here being known.

Most of the time, loud people in crowds like this didn't entirely have her this uneasy. But Ceonrei had successfully triggered her, and Cal found herself wanting nothing more than to sink into a small, dark hole, curl up, and press her hands to her ears, just to get the drunken shouts to stop, the jeers echoing through the air, especially when the voices were male. If she was small, nobody could see her, and if nobody could see her, nobody could hurt her. He couldn't hurt her, and if she--

Two taps and the sound of Hannah's answering murmur and response to the tap broke her from her spiraling thoughts, and Caledonia gaping, staring as the tavern came back info focus. She blankly stared as Hannah as she served drinks, including to someone two seats down who she had not seen before. She must have tapped on the bar.

Cal's nose wrinkled. Too close, and something about the person had her spine tingling. Cal eased herself more firmly into her own seat, biting her lip, thinking through her options. No that was just anxiety, right? She was paranoid, she was--

Someone slammed into her from behind, sending a sharp elbow into spine and her beer glass flying from her hand. It hit the bar and shattered, amber liquid spilling and bubbling as it dripped over the lacquered wood and down the other side. Only a few people stared, given she had seen countless drinks spill before, but her rage kicked into gear, turning from a simmering in her chest into a full-on boil, and she kicked back from bar, processing the cold seeping into her pants and down the front of her sweatshirt. Great. Fucking great.

As red simmered across her vision, fingers itching, she tried to breathe. Steady, Cala. Inhale. Exhale. Count to ten. She had to. She knew she had to, because now was not a good time for her to lose her temper and her identity to go spilling out, just like that beer, especially when she had just told Hannah she needed somewhere private, but Luminos help her, who the fuck cared? People were new here all the time, slinking in and out. She had changed her appearance, no tattoos decorated her collarbone and neck like they naturally did under this illusion potion, so screw it, but that had been her personal space.

When she was still on edge, triggered, uneasy. Her whole back seemed to burn from his accidental touch, and she felt a tremor begin to take hold in her body. Before she could think, that fear gave way to the only thing that helped her feel in control, feel bigger than him and every other pathetic man on Valoran.

She slid back the chair, turned, and grabbed a drunken man by the back of his neck. "Hey asshat," she ground out, and around him his three friends stilled. "Watch where you're going next time." Her voice clid out, dark and dangerous, while the man's hazel eyes went from goofy and glassy to enraged and glassy.

"Oh, sorry, didn't realize the chair had your name on it, bitch," he replied, earning a chuckle from some of his friends. "Now unhand me or I'll beat your ass into the dirt."

She laughed once, her rage like a razor, cutting against her chest to escape, pointed and sharp. "I'd like to see you try, bastard boy." Caledonia squeezed, sending her short nails biting into the back of his neck, before she spun in around and pushed him towards him friends, sending a blast of vibrations, similar to the ones she had used to shatter Ceonrei's hand, against his back. He slammed into his friends, and the four of them knocked over a table, spilling their drinks everywhere.

When she looked back, grabbing her bag, she saw Hannah watching her, lips pursed. "Really?" She demanded flatly, a sigh following soon after. "You had to know blasting whatever the hell you're blasting is. a bad idea in here."

"His fucking elbow was in my back," she ground out, keeping the shaking from her voice. "And besides. That was my personal space. Look, Hannah." Cal bit her lip, her nerves still buzzing like the vibrations within her, and she shifted her weight from one booted foot to the other. "Can I wait for you outside?" Out, out, out. Fresh air. Now.

Hannah walked over. "Six minutes left, and I'll be off. Here." She dug a hand into her pocket and withdrew it a moment later, pressing something cold into Cal's hand. She inhaled sharply, electricity seeming to pulse between them when their hands touched, and she felt her cheeks go hot. No. The beer. It was the beer. But, it was also soothing, and fuck it, that was bad. "Out back, small pathetic courtyard where we toss garbage. People pick it up every other day."

"You want this conversation by a dump?"

"You said private, Rosa, not me." Hannah paused, and a small flare of hurt danced in her dark eyes. Before she even spoke, Cal's stomach pinched, and she found herself staring at the mess the beer had made, glistening under the abundance of neon lights on the bar. She had been too triggered and too angry to process it mere minutes ago. Now, though, guilt twisted, and Cal shrugged one of her cloths out of her bag, one she used to wipe her sweat and blood off after ring fights, and she began to mop the mess up. The sting of broken glass stapped into her skin, but that was nothing compared to other horrific injuries she had sustained over the years, and in fact, it was sickeningly grounding, so she kept going as Hannah protested, grabbing a small brush and shooing Cal's hands away with it.

"Stop that," she stated. "Let me deal with this. Now you should go before those asses you knocked over get up. You do realize you blew Ceonrei across a room with your magic, right? Won't take two and two to put together what just happened and that, so move. But, wait, really quick. What--" Hannah paused. "What is your name, then? Really?"

Cal swallowed, the answer stuck in her throat as she mentally kicked herself for blasting the drunken morons backwards, much as they deserved it. She glanced back once to find them tripping over themselves trying to get up, while the shadowy person two seats down still sat there. Goosebumps raised along her arms, and Cal turned back to Hannah. "Rosa's my middle name. And, well, my birth name. Just--tell you later. Thank you. Sorry. Um. Just--see you in four."

Quickly, Cal grabbed her bag again, slinging it over her shoulder, and slipped through the crowd of people towards one of the tavern's back doors, down a small hallway Hannah had nodded to. Already, when she turned a corner, she found herself able to breathe a bit more, the shouts of drunken idiots fading with every step she took. To be safe, she glanced behind her ever few seconds. Nobody. Thank goodness. At the end of the hall, she came to a door leading to that small courtyyard, and Cal slipped the key into the lock, turned it, and heard the satisfying click. She pushed the door open and slipped outside, shutting it behind her.

While the quiet was nice, it was still relative. She could faintly make out loud, trashy tavern music and shouts from the ring a bit further away, but at least she had found a small space--even if it did reek of stale alcohol and rotten food--that was alone. Cal slipped onto a small stone bench to wait for Hannah, heart pounding, a sensation of fingers still crawling up her back, and she--she shuddered, dark fury taking hold inside her, and Cal dropped her head back to stare up at the sky, only to remember, with a jolt--there was no sky here.

Her lips curled, and with a hiss, she slammed a foot against the leg of the bench. No fresh air, no birds, no trees, so grass, no stars. She sighed and drew her head back to the door. Apologize to Hannah, talk to her, get some fights in, go home to meet with Mama and Aunt Selene the next day. And then go hide in the woods by the estate for a long-ass time, just to feel nature around her before attending another Council meeting where she would inevitably get another headache from witholding her urge to give Lucien Wyver and Lorelei Delacroix a pinpoint earthquake in their hearts that exploded and killed them.

Leaning back against the wall, something hard and cold pressed against her, and she grunted, adjusting once. Reaching back, Cal moved the pistol tucked to a holster beneath her sweatshirt to her side, only to realize she left streaks of blood against the stone. She lifted her hands to the dim lighting; sure enough, loose, sharp sharps of glass--albeit small--stuck to her skin, while rivulets of blood dripped from cuts. Leaning down, Cal gripped the glass between her teeth, and one by one, ripped the shards out. Hot, tangy blood seeped into her lips and tongue, some of it rolling down her lips, but she simply wiped her mouth on the arm of her sweatshirt when she finished, reaching into her back for another cloth, a fresh one, to wrap around her bloody hands.

Where's Hannah? As she wrapped her hands, Cal eyed the door. Shouldn't she have been here by now? Give her time. It's bartending. She probably can't get off right away. Or she ran and wants nothing to do with you. Self-loathing rose inside her, and Cal ran one freshly-wrapped hand through her hair. Did she go back in? She did stay here? She had made a mess of things, and the only way to try and fix any of it was apologizing. Talking, as much as she hated it. And private was better than where others could hear, so, for now, she stayed, slowly working to steady her breathing, running one hand over the handle of her gun. The cold metal, the familiar grooves. It was soothing, like a child holding their favorite stuffy. Maybe that was concerning, but Cal was beyond giving a shit. If it helped her not to descend into the darkness of her mind, then it helped.

      𝗦𝗘𝗬𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗔      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It was uncanny just how accurate the Snake’s affiliation was, a pleased hiss escaping her throat as she eyed the chaos that had ensued. She’d just received her drink when movement in the corner of her eye had her glancing over, sharp eyes roaming over the crowd. She located the hostile situation quickly, taking in the scene as she analyzed every movement. The crowd parted to allow the fight—it always did, that was the entertainment at the tavern as the fighting ring was a bit too far away for a good view at this distance—revealing what appeared to be the Councilor the Snake was watching blasting some unfortunate fellow backwards into a group of other men, which soon became a group of men rolling in the broken remnants of what used to be a table and drinks.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀This was absolutely the Councilor everyone had been speaking of—although the Snake was already positive—as she remembered the whispers of the vibrations the woman used to attack one of Asterath’s own Councilors. Beautiful display, but the Snake couldn’t help rolling her eyes at how dull this woman had to be to let her anger present itself so carelessly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀That pleased hiss turned into a rattle as the Snake rose from her seat, downing the beer as she slowly weaved through the slowly-dispersing crowd. The bells on her ankles had been first a test her mother put her through at a young age, a test to train her to walk silently or be punished for causing noise. Her mother had used live snakes that were groomed to be sensitive to the rattling sound, to feel threatened. She’d been bitten by snakes too many times in her life, but she learned faster how to walk silently than anyone else her age. She now kept the bells on when she went out on missions as a reminder of her journey and how far she’d come.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Within a few feet of the Councilor and Hannah, who had immediately taken to dryly chastising the other woman, the Snake slowly eased behind a tall man who was rumbling with laughter and yelling about the fight that had just occurred. He didn’t notice her and neither would the two women as she slowly stayed behind him, even as he turned and flourished. It was like a dance, and one she was good at. Courtyard out back, she picked up from the conversation as she slowly eased around the man’s swinging arm, narrowly avoiding being smacked in the head with the beer he held, noticing the swift exchange between the women. A key?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It happened within ten seconds, the Snake hiding behind the man like she was, but someone was bound to grow suspicious soon. Silently, she stepped away from him and headed straight in the Councilor’s direction, passing within two feet of her as she set her sights on something else. She needed no interference or further issues than she’d surely already have with this woman.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Without missing a beat, she casted her magic towards the men who were slowly getting up, vulgar curses and disgusting language shooting from their mouths. Stop. Get up and start a fight elsewhere. That man over there? She paused, conjuring the image of a burly guy in the far-off corner of the tavern with a few ladies, away from her and the direction the Councilor would be heading. He kicked your ass and walked away. Now, isn’t that just rude? Go beat his ass into the dirt and make sure he doesn’t get back up. Throughout her commands, she’d kneeled and helped a few of them up, trying to avoid notice as they all stood there like hypnotised corpses instead of chasing the Councilor.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She released her grip, the thought planted as she backed away into the crowd again. In no more than five seconds, there were shouts and hollers echoing from that corner of the tavern. The Snake purred in delight, slowly heading back for the bar after glancing around, realizing that the Councilor had gone. Whatever other words the two women had shared, the Snake didn’t hear. She could only hope she had enough information from the brief snippet she caught to finish her task. She’d used her magic too much in such a short span—the piercing ringing in her ears was beginning to grow louder, a terrible headache forming.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀This needed to be over with, quickly. She settled at the bar for a second, head bent over as she took a few deep breaths, steeling herself. One more use of her magic and she’d be able to just stab the syringe into that scheming Councilor’s neck, watching her fall to the ground as she realized she couldn’t do anything. That even her magic was useless when she was unconscious. That even she wasn’t better than anyone else when she was outsmarted. The Snake hated her as she hated all of the Councilors, her resolve restoring itself as she pictured the scenario. Yes, that would be quite nice to see.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She raised her head and slowly glanced around for Hannah. She was still finishing up a few drinks as she wrapped up her shift, two other bartenders heading behind the bar with smiles and laughter, ready for their own shifts. The plan formed in her mind, but she needed to scope out the area Hannah had mentioned before making any concrete decisions. She rose from the seat again, weaving through the crowd as she did before, a preying snake in a field of dithering mice. She slunk past the gates, relying on her physical stealth as she had no way and no magic to prevent notice if someone were to spot her. She could try to convince them to forget she was there, but that was much harder than convincing already-furious men to attack someone.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She paused every few steps as the dumpsters came into view, realizing that the Councilor had likely taken a more direct path than this if she had a key. That would make things easier if she could find a way past the fence that surrounded the dumpsters. She saw the courtyard a little bit behind the dumpsters, but no sign of the Councilor. No matter—she needed Hannah to head back to the courtyard before she could execute her plan anyw—

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀There. The Snake felt Hannah’s presence as she casted her magic one more time, magic that was screaming at her to stop. The tattoos on her spine began to glow furiously again, the burn turning into pure hell. She gritted her teeth so hard she heard a crack, her head feeling ready to split. But she was almost there, almost done. Too close to stop here, too close to fall apart as she was at the verge of completing one of her most important tasks yet. Her mind surged forward as her body stayed still, back pressing against the concrete wall where the fence ended, and then—Hannah.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The Snake whispered furiously the moment the tether reached, struggling to keep hold. Powerful magic came with devastating energy loss, but she was trained for this, perhaps too violently. Hannah’s body froze halfway down the hall as the Snake took over, getting a feel for the mind she had entered and the body she was now occupying. Hannah began walking, the Snake urging the woman to be normal, to keep that wounded expression she’d started with on, to soften her eyes to show this Councilor that she was here to talk. To work things out or whatever. The Snake didn’t care, but the Councilor would. She reached for the door, opening it and heading into the courtyard.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Through Hannah’s eyes, she saw Cal on a bench immediately, one hand moving over some object. But the Snake felt her own head pounding harder and harder as the moments went by, ignoring that and focusing on getting the Councilor closer. Perhaps that was messy work, but the pain was too urgent for her to be as cautious as she should be. “Rosa,” Snake-Hannah said, voice the same tone as it had been every time the Snake had heard it that night. “I’m here and good to talk. Not here, though, closer to the dumpsters. We’ve had too many Asterath kids sneaking into this area to vandalize the area,” she said by way of explanation, the Snake making sure to focus on hand movements and facial expressions so Hannah wasn’t just saying words and acting odd. Snake-Hannah motioned towards where the Snake waited, then looked back to Cal.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The Snake needed to prepare. She needed to get the syringe out and perhaps her small one-handed bow to attach it to if she couldn’t reach the Councilor through the fence herself. Her aim was great, but she would have preferred to do it herself. Shame.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Rosa was Hannah’s weak spot—even the apathetic Snake could tell. So she quickly warped the voice that echoed in Hannah’s mind into that of Rosa’s, a pleading, pained tone to it. By the dumpsters, where we won’t be overheard. I’ll tell you everything, I promise! Please?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The Snake allowed the please to echo before she snapped back to her own body, dropping to her knees by the wall as she leaned over, mouth open in a silent scream. She couldn’t make noise, but great Luminos, the pain. That final command would have to be enough. Even if Hannah pulled herself from the command long enough to warn the Councilor that something was off, they’d both hopefully already be close enough for the Snake to fire the syringe.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Hands shaking and eyes blurring with tears, the Snake reached into her front jacket pocket and pulled the small bow from it. She always kept a long-distance weapon on her even if she preferred the hands-on approach because, as in this case, that was not always possible. It took her too long to attach the syringe to the small arrow, strapping it securely on, but the two women hadn’t reached the dumpsters yet.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The Snake looked up, standing on wobbling legs, bow positioned to fire any second.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒂 𝑯𝒂𝒚𝒅𝒆𝒏

The door opened, and Cal exhaled when the lights in the hallway illuminated Hannah. She hated admitting the relief sweeping through her--the way her muscles unwound, shoulders stooping. "Hannah, I was worried," she called, also hating to admit that. But it was true; Hannah had been running a few minutes behind, and there had been so many unsavory people in that tavern that Cal had been about to go and try and find her. Not that Cal herself was the epitome of savory, the gracious, kind Voxthain noble she was, but there was a difference between the men who had been about to start a fight back there and her, and she had seen too many men at this tavern get handsy. If one of them dared to try that with Hannah, that was not going to end well for him.

But now, seeing her...friend?...Cal pushed to her feet, releasing the handle of her gun. Her stomach twisted, and she briefly closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to try and steady herself, mind still reeling with what she had to do. But she owed it to Hannah after telling her to shut up. Two simple words--and ones Cal told a lot of people, at that, on a daily basis--should not have had her in knots like this, but Hannah, with her soft brown eyes and dazzling smile, had done something to Cal she was not liking one fucking bit. She had told herself, after Avaliyah, no more getting attached to women. Especially when she was scared shitless of intimacy. Hannah was supposed to be another easy flirt, like Solaea. She was not supposed to evolve dangerously into territory that had Cal feeling...emotions. Afraid she'd have to rehash her trauma. No. But then, somehow, Hannah had crossed a line, and worst of all, Cal had let her, because here she fucking was, about to apologize.

Luminos, why can't this place have a sky? A fresh breeze would have been so nice right about now. Instead she had to suffice for what Cal's magic told her was a skinny, fake tree, dumpsters that smelled like vomit and alcohol burning her throat with every inhale, and her own pain. Asterath, and the courtyard, had Cal feeling almost like a caged tiger right now, and with her apology looming like the shadowfog, sweat dripping in a line down her back, the place seemed smaller than ever, closing in until she couldn't breathe.

Cal pinched the skin on the back of her hand, the sharp jolt of her nails mixing with the resounding throbs from the wounds left by the broken glass. Like usual, it was able to ground her, keep her mind from running off, or, worse, inwards. She licked her lips, the few sips of beer she had had minutes ago succeeding in having dried her mouth out a little. It certainly wasn't nerves, right? Right. "Hey," she started, taking a step closer as Hannah closed the door behind her. "Thanks. For meeting me here, I know you wanted nothing to do with me. Um. It's--appreciated. The chance to, ah, explain. I don't expect--"Just say it, Hayden. Say it. Deep breaths. In. Out. But before she could say anything more, Hannah spoke.

"I’m here and good to talk. Not here, though, closer to the dumpsters. We’ve had too many Asterath kids sneaking into this area to vandalize the area,” she said, and Cal arched a brow and turned to scrutinize the space.

"Oh. Really? What do they do, hop the fence?" And what vandalism? The thought probably would not have crossed many peoples' minds, but Cal was a trained soldier, and that meant observation skills were one of her other assets. That, and she had grown up observing her father's moods, the nuances of his small actions and the way he spoke or walked, always trying to avoid him when he was in the worst of it. So when Hannah spoke, before stumbling half a second later, Cal froze, a jolt of something like hesitancy, a red blaring alarm, arching through her spine, and she frowned. "Hannah, you good? Did you chug a beer or two just now?" She asked, before taking a glance towards the dumpsters again.

There was no vandalism. The place smelled like shit, though, and her stomach lurched at the mere thought of getting closer to the cause of said smells. Putting up with them in the fighting ring or the tavern already had her choking down her own gag reflex, and while Cal was not inherently squeamish, sometimes the scents of blood and vomit in particular were triggering.

Forcing herself to relax her grip on the back of one her hands, she took a breath and pushed her fingers through her short, now dark-green, hair. A few drops of blood from her wounds streaked through the locks, turning almost a dark brown against the green. "I'd prefer to stay here."

Hannah opened her mouth, but before she good, she seemed to stumble again and tilted her head. Her lips parted. "But you just said--dumpsters--where we wouldn't be overheard."

"What?" Cal took a step closer, the alarm ringing louder in her head, alongside a lance of concern lacing up into her chest as it squeezed. "I said no to the dumpsters. What did you imbibe after your shift?" Had someone snuck some sort of potion in Hannah's drink? Something scrambling her brain? "I didn't say anything about being overheard just now, we're fine here. I don't hear anyone else." It was true. Also thanks to the militia, and her upbringing, Cal was able to hear footsteps, to hear the sound of someone crashing things around, or smashing glass. There was no disturbance in the dumpster, and if the local kids tried getting over the walls, well...there was no vandalism. No kids came here. Why would they? The place reeked like a sewer, while it was by a tavern. Not the smartest place to go, even if you were a child growing up in the Night Riders. Turning back to Hannah, brows pinched, Cal frowned.

"But--you--" Hannah's eyes widened, and she took a few steps towards Cal, leaving the two only about three feet apart now, before she froze, and her hands flew to her head. Her lips parted, and she gaped, a look of pure panic flooding into her expression. "In--get out! Of my--head--but that's you, you said the dumpsters, Rosa!" The scream tore from her throat, so unexpected and loud that she succeeded in getting Caledonia jumping where she stood, her heart picking up speed as it battered against her ribcage.

"Hannah--what--"

"Run."

The singular word burst from her acquaintance's mouth, and Cal jerked back as if she had been hit. Hannah's hands trembled as she seemed to begin to tug at her hair, seconds before her legs began moving, running over to Cal. "Run!" She screamed again. "Rosa, what--move!"

What the hell? Cal had absolutely no idea what was happening, but run, and Hannah's wild, panicked expression, reminding her of a spooked horse she had seen in Mama's stables before, had her bolting. She knew danger intimately, and as her spine tingled, hair on the back of her neck standing on end, she knew with a sudden lurch that someone had their eyes on her. Someone was watching her, someone who had screwed with Hannah, whose behavior had Cal's blood chilled to ice.

The shadowy figure in the tavern? The thought drifted in and out of her mind like a quick snap of air, because it truly didn't matter, not right now. What mattered was getting out of here, was getting them both out of here. She sidestepped Hannah, not trusting why she was coming right at her--but knowing whatever was going on, Hannah seemed to fighting it--and grabbing her bag off the ground where she had dropped it, slinging it over her shoulder.

Turning, Caledonia now ran for Hannah, sliding her gun out of her holster with her right hand and flicking the safety off, the motion smooth and practiced, adrenaline kicking in as it so often did when she was on the job for the militia, mind slipping into the calculated ease she knew so well: one thing at a time, keep the citizens safe, get out, assess problem.

She grabbed Hannah's arm with her left hand and squeezed, not enough to hurt her, but enough to get her to, she hoped, stumble behind her when she yanked. "With me, in front of me, go, go--"

"I--can't--" The manic energy seemed to slowly seep from Hannah's eyes, replaced with a desperation. In the magic lights shimmering dully from the wall, Cal could just make out tears glistening in Hannah's eyes.

"What?" She needed to move, her muscles screamed, her blood screamed, her whole body was on fire to move and move now, and she had to grasp Hannah's arm tighter. "What the hell do you mean, you can't, we have to--"

It came out of nowhere. Cal would later find out it had been an enchantment, made to last in Hannah's brain: you don't want to move. Shove her. But for now, it had been so unexpected. Both Hannah's hands reached out and forcefully pushed Cal's shoulders, followed by a sudden, harsh push of Hannah's own shoulders and all her body weight into her, throwing Cal off balance.

Hannah, compared to Cal, was a slip of a girl. Shorter, not nearly as muscular. But the shove had been unexpected, and Cal had already been half on-the-go anyway, about to rear off and drag Hannah if she had to. Her body moved on it's own accord; she tripped over a loose stone after staggering, her bag over one shoulder throwing her further off-balance as she tried to keep a grip on the gun and not accidentally let loose a stream of bullets. Cal's stomach lurched. "Fuck!" She hissed, managing to right herself before she hit the ground. Right near the fence, feet away from the dumpster, she was right where Hannah--no, whoever was controlling Hannah--wanted her.

"Rosa, move!" Hannah's tear-choked voice tore through the roar that had swelled in her head, through the adrenaline, and Cal jerked towards her.

"You run!" She screamed, but before she could take another step, something sharp pricked the side of her neck, and Cal froze, a stomach sinking. No. No, no, please no. Her hand automatically grasped at her neck, fingers brushing across what was undoubtedly a syringe.

With an animalistic growl, Cal yanked it from her skin, throwing it to the ground before bringing her boot down on it, crushing the glass into the stains of alcohol and grease. Rage and terror mixed, a lethal combination, as red blazed across her vision.

Nobody did this to her, nor did they hurt people she cared about. Hannah, in this case, and someone wanted Cal either dead in an alley or unconscious, and the last time she had been drugged--no. No, no, never again. Her heart began to pound like a drum, her insides vibrating. The murders. Was she next? Was Hannah?

Cal stepped away from the fence, knowing whoever had attacked her had been to her right. She lifted her gun without thinking, aimed, and shot at the fence three times, praying she hit her mark. Simultaneously, she lifted her left hand towards Hannah and released a slew of vibrations, the earth shaking beneath her. They hit Hannah, sending her through the door and crashing to the ground in the hallway, but not as hard as she could have hit. It was the only way Hannah could get out of this alive.

She was well and truly pissed off now. Pissed and scared.

Whoever this was had never learned. You didn't attack a caged animal. You also didn't attack pissed-off militia members with a history of violence. Maybe she had killed the attacker. But her hair was still on end. There were more. "Last warning," she yelled, her voice dark. She fought to keep the shaking out. But being cornered would have triggered her if not for her adrenaline. "Leave if you value your lives."

      𝗦𝗘𝗬𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗔      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Never attack a caged animal, Seymora. If you’re too weak to finish your task before they realize that they are caged at all, lie down and die.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Lie down and die.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀No! No, no, no, mama! I have to do this. Have to, have, must do, must! Lie down and die, Seymora, die, die, die!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“No!”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The shrill wail rang out from the Snake’s throat—a shattered, piercing sound. She’d curled in on herself as her mother’s words flooded her every sense, fighting to regain control of her mind. Of her body. Of this mission. She’d been poised to shoot before realizing that the suggestion she’d fought to place in Hannah’s mind wasn’t enough. Why was she never enough? Fight, fight, fight! Fail, fail, fail! Lie down . . . and die.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The Snake growled as she forced herself back to the moment, on her hands and knees nearly retching in the corner between the concrete wall and the fence by the dumpster. The bow was on the ground, useless unless she could make this work. She heard the sounds of warning from Hannah, the confusion as she fought the mind suggestion, the Councilor desperately trying to figure out what was happening.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀No. The Snake could only catch glimpses of the two women, growling like a caged animal herself. And perhaps she was also caged, but it had always been her on top. Winning. Always failing in her mother’s eyes, never good enough, but succeeding her missions over and over. She’d never been caged, and she wouldn’t let it persist now. One deep breath, two, three. She moved like lightning, snatching the bow up and darting forward, still crouched in a sneaking stance at the base of the fence. The dumpster hid the two from view. She needed to move down the fence, exposing herself in the process, but the shadows of Asterath were everywhere. but that was the last thing on her mind as she saw the Councilor preparing to drag both herself and Hannah away to safety.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sheer will and the Snake’s own pride brought the last magic surge from her soul that she could manage. Stop. Stop right now. You don’t want to go that way! Rosa, in danger. Rosa, hurt! No! Stop! The Snake savored the burns of the tattoos tracing her spine now, adrenaline pumping through her veins acting like an overlay to all of the pain and discomfort from minutes prior.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀That’s not your Rosa. Stranger, liar, Councilor—she used you. Over and over, lies and more lies.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Shove her. The Snake projected the moment the Councilor had angled herself properly, confused and speaking to Hannah, trying to snap her out of it. And she would, but not before . . .

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Hannah didn’t need to be strong, not at all, not when the Councilor was caught off guard and already in motion. Perfect, perfect, perfect! Hannah-Snake’s arms, the last time the two would ever be tethered together, reached out and shoved the Councilor towards the dumpsters. It wouldn’t have been enough to get the Councilor as close as the Snake wanted, but the woman did it for herself. Stunned, her momentum brought her a few steps closer before a stone brought her to the ground. She caught herself but nobody was fast enough to move out of the way of a precisely-aimed projectile after falling.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Hannah screamed again, but the Snake brought the bow up, aimed, and released the string in one fluid movement. Beautiful. The Snake pulled out another vial to attach to the bow one more time, aiming for the sky and releasing. It was like a firework, a small neon green and red snake appearing in the sky briefly before dissipating. Four Snakes had been tasked with picking up the Councilor once the Snake’s mission was complete and that was summoning them to her exact position.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The Snake prepared to stand, but gunshots went off. Fuck! She’d stopped paying much attention to the woman, assuming that the tranquilizing liquid would work swiftly. She didn’t account for the Councilor’s own personal strength, her own adrenaline—and that would be a fatal mistake, she’d soon realize. Or she wouldn’t—death would come swiftly for her.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Three shots, one of which nicked her forearm as she jerked and tried to roll away. The arm with the bow was sluggish, slow, and the bullet grazed that arm, just short of hitting straight-on. Adrenaline also helped to mask that pain, tears springing into the Snake’s eyes as she bit her lip so hard that she drew blood. No sound, no scream, shut up!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She rolled back behind the fence where the dumpster concealed her, left hand cradling her right forearm as she breathed. Waited. Hurry up. Hurry. Hurry. She was done, she did her job. Now the other Snakes needed to get there, fast. Fast, fast, fast.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Not even thirty seconds after, the Snake vaguely feeling the ground shudder beneath her but obviously a distant tremor, she heard the telling footsteps of the four Snakes. She estimated another ten seconds before she saw them clear the fence and neutralize the Councilor. She ignored the threatening words the women spewed, cackling as she looked up in anticipation. In almost slow-motion, she watched eight pairs of legs leap over the concrete wall behind the dumpsters, clearing the fence. She pressed her hand harder into her forearm, grinning. She stood shakily, revealing herself as well as she stayed on her side of the fence. Light illuminated her as she stepped out further than she had when shooting the syringe. The four Snakes were closing in, seemingly confused as to why the woman wasn’t passed out yet. But she would be.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The Snake had done her job. She had. Mama would be proud. One day. One day you’ll be proud. Proud, proud, proud. The Snake almost maniacally released the hand applying pressure to her forearm, gripping the chain fence as her eyes glowed and her blood dripped down the fence. She shook it once, twice, cackling still. “And here I was, thinking you’d put up more of a fight, Madam Councilor. You’re as weak as the rest of your kind! Weak! Weak! Weak!” Her voice was a shriek, but the fighting ring was so loud that it would only be heard by the current company. “Oh! Little Hannah too! Weakest mind I’ve ever encountered, such a pitiful woman. What did she do to deserve you?”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The Snake grinned again, shaking the fence more. She was absolutely going insane—or was she already, just better at hiding it? She would never know, would she? Would she, would she, would she?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒂 𝑯𝒂𝒚𝒅𝒆𝒏

Sporadic, panicked, Cal's breath hitched, once when four people--Snakes, she knew now--seemed to materialize over the concrete wall, and once when her attacker from the fence stepped forward, light washing over her face--and revealing, to Cal's horror, that she was still alive.

She barely had time to process she had managed to hurt her before she spun to face the newcomers, assessing that these four were the larger threats at the moment. Her first attacker was losing whatever sanity she had had in the first place, as well as bleeding, while she didn't look good, either. Signs she had overextended herself: sweat beading the brow, skin a paler shade than it should have been. Magic use did that, and Cal had been there. Training sessions, working her abilities to the furthest point, had left her shaking and unable to stand before, and on some occasions, accidentally redirecting her own tremors inwards, causing her once to fracture her own arm.

But she had trained, and trained well. Sergeant Hayden's strengths were three things: physical capabilities: hand-to-hand combat, use of a sword, and precision in firearms; evocation and one unique vein of enchantment magic use; and observation skills. All required by the militia as well as honed as coping mechanisms for the sorry excuse of a childhood she had had. She was okay with politics and history, as subjects, but lacked the grace and poise with which some of her fellow Councillors excelled at--namely, Cal sucked when it came to trying to be a tactful politician, and her skills in other forms of academia and any magic that was not evocation and her one vein of enchantment, manipulating vibrations in people's bodies, was sorely lacking. But thankfully, all she needed for this unfolding situation was her skills.

And one of those first: observation. It told her the deranged Snake behind the fence was no longer her primary threat. Maybe the woman would have had another syringe--because please, how much liquid did that one actually inject? (Was she desperately wishful thinking? yes)--but she would have used it already. Instead, the four Snakes in front of her were.

Millions of questions and thoughts darted through Cal's mind as her muscles tensed, chest heaving as she focused on her opponents, attention narrowing to the way they walked, the weapons they had, the way they fanned out among her. Syringe, attackers, backup. These people did not want her dead, at least not yet. Why, then, did they want her at all? Had they found the investigator she sent down here? Had they been long planning to nab her for what she had done to the little cell of Snakes Serpentine had planted among Voxthain nobility? As in, murder her asshole of a father and his accomplices and send the others running? Or were they behind the grotesque murders and planning to make her their next shriveled-up victim?

But the Snake's increasingly-insane screaming, the metal clanging as she shook the fence like she was trying to dislodge apples from a tree, answered at least part of her questions. Madam Councillor. No, this Snake at least didn't know her true identity as a militia member, as Caledonia Hayden. They wanted her for her Council position, at least, this Snake did. Who knew what the head and rattler knew or wanted? No. Focus. Spreadsheet later.

“And here I was, thinking you’d put up more of a fight, Madam Councilor. You’re as weak as the rest of your kind! Weak! Weak! Weak!”

The high-pitched scream, broken by spine-chilling cackling, broke through her thoughts as she had her eyes on the four Snakes coming into the dim lighting of the courtyard. Four was a smart number, really, they could surround her on all sides. But Cal had fought this many people and won. She may not be the most tactful, or the most book-smart person in Voxthain, but she was one of the strongest. This was the Snakes' funeral, because she was not getting captured tonight. Not by Serpentine. Not by the people who had churned out an abusive man who had made her life hell.

But even as kept her gaze on them, the Snake's words turned into a screech in her ears, a haunting melody taunting her with every breath. Weak. Weak. More of a fight-- Her ears began to ring, breaths faster as she started to hyperventilate. The hand clenched around her gun began to shake, lips parting.

Six years. It had been six years since he had been out of her life, and she had done all she could to heal, to move on, to put him and his endless decade of horror behind her, though Cal knew she was a fool to believe she was successful at that. But now, she found herself slipping, the world seeming to tilt, as the voice echoing in her head went from the Snake's to his. Always weak, he had said, always taunting after he'd hurt her, practically begging her to fight back, and when she did, though, on the instances she had snapped, he would just come at her harder, or find a way to hurt her brother for it. And now he was in her head again, weakweakandhereiwasthinkingyou'dputmoreofafight-- An animalistic scream tore from her at the same time as she threw out her hand, gun aimed right at the Snake's twisted face. Except it wasn't the snake, was it? It was him. And her. She didn't know, her mind was glitching, twisting, darkness was closing in around her, and everything was happening so fast, too fast.

"Get the fuck out of my life, you bastard," she hissed. And she didn't think. She shot twice, and warm blood splattered across her face. His blood? No, hers--what the hell did it matter? The body fell back, and Cal almost dropped the gun, heaving, the shots echoing in her ears, except when the body fell, hair splayed out across the ground, and her green eyes widened, some of the sound and the sight jolting a bit of grounding sense back into her. She stood there, frozen, reality crashing, gun aimed and smoking.

Snake. Attack. Hannah. What was that about Hannah? Her head roared. Deserve her? She could have laughed. "She deserves better," Cal replied suddenly, into the empty air--no. No, it wasn't empty, it was--

Four Snakes. She turned, blood ice, adrenaline kicking back in, to face the Snakes, who had just now managed to get out of the twist of dumpsters and were coming at her. Cal lifted her chin, and the gun, before bringing her left hand up. The woman's blood coated her face in dark rivulets, dotted as if a child had exploded some sort of red juice across her face. It itched, burned, and she wanted to wipe it off, but she couldn't afford another distraction that tore her gaze away from the attackers. No, screw it, it was driving her mad, so she took the sleeve of her jacket, on now, and wiped it off best she could. Some probably smeared, but at least it didn't burn as much now.

Already, why the Snakes hadn't tried to jump her when she shot the Snake was beyond her. Wait.

The syringe. That was why, they must have expected her to collapse, because surely that was what was in it, right? And judging by the lethal and pissed-off expressions on their faces, the dim light bouncing off their bared teeth...they had no expected her to kill the Snake. To put up a fight.

Well, Caledonia Hayden didn't cow. Not anymore.

She didn't hesitate, either, as they worked to fan out. Are they idiots? Clearly, their syringe hadn't worked, and they were still relying on that, treading as if they expected her, even after killing the Snake, to just back down and collapse. Wow. Cal held in a smirk. She also knew, in the back of her mind, that killing senselessly was wrong. Never before had she enjoyed it, except one time when she had murdered six people for what they had done to her, and even now, a bit of horror at what she had done to the Snake clung to her like the shadowfog, thick and ever-present. These four were waiting for her to drop, not physically attacking yet, so maybe she shouldn't kill them outright. But then again.

Serpentine. Serpentine could all die for all she cared half the time, and what if they were behind the murders lately? And they were behind James. She tensed, focusing. Okay. Fine. Tension build inside her, heart hammering. No capture today. She focused, allowing her own natural vibrations build and build in her body as she tried to ground herself, to sharpen her mind to her attackers, to shrug off the heavy visages of her father's face and the snake's face and their words lingering in her brain.

And then, when she could practically feel her vibrations at a breaking point, before she could harm herself, she pushed her hands out, straightened her spine, tilted her head back, and allowed the magic loose. The build-up tremors exploded from her torso, her arms, hands, and feet and head, a heavy burst that rolled the ground beneath her again, slamming in to all four snakes at once, sending them yelling and crashing to the ground.

And deep down, she knew well that Serpentine was not letting her get out of this alive. She gaped, her head spinning from the magic use and buildup, and Cal's knees shook briefly. Sweat began to bead at her hairline, and she briefly collapsed to the ground, panting. Movement. Movement, though, from one of the Snakes, a shine glinting in her vision--

Cal turned, seeing they had pulled a gun out. Oh, fuck you. She raised her own until they were facing one another. She scanned the area with her eyes.

Another snake appeared dead, slumped at an unnatural angle, head cocked, blood coming from his nose where he had been blasted against the building. She was having a standoff with another. The third was groaning, alive. And the fourth she couldn't see, but she could hear grunts behind her, she could--

A bright, hot burst of pain lodged into her upper back, between her shoulders, and a cry of rage and pain split from Cal's throat. She staggered, weakened from that burst of magic, gun slipping from her hands as she grasped behind her. Knife. Knife, in her back, warm blood dripping...no. Leave it, leave it so you don't bleed out. Field medic 101.

Now they were actively trying to kill her. Now, they died.

Breathing harder, she ducked and rolled before the person behind or in front of her could get another knife in her back or a gun between her ribs, snatching her own as she did, barely missing a knife flying by her ear.

Footsteps came at her, just visible in her line of sight, and Cal, woozier now, sprung to her feet and lunged, decking the person following her in the throat, sending them gurgling, staggering back. She grabbed her own knife from where it sat in her pocket and stabbed it through their hand and into their throat.

They went down just as the first Snake shot at her. "Go down, would you?" the Snake screamed, and Cal hissed, ducking just in time. Fuck. Fuck.

Blood loss from the knife, her magic use, it was not a good combination, but adrenaline and experience kept her standing. "Get better aim then," she spat, and, her hand shaking, she shot the Snake in the chest.

One left. One--left--why was her vision blurring? Blood loss. No. No, dammit, the syringe, the--her knees wavered, chest tightened. Fear spiked through her as her knees collapsed, hands grasping her chest. Last time she'd been drugged, the men, her father, they had--had--no. No. Tears beaded her eyes.

"Help!" The rare cry slipped from her lips as her vision gave out, head spinning. Couldn't--breathe--think--see--her eyes rolled as blackness consumed her.

      𝗟𝗬𝗡𝗡𝗜𝗫      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Well, better dead than have killed the target we were expressly told to keep alive.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The last-standing Snake watched as those three idiots he had taken with him went down one by one. He admired the woman’s form, how effortlessly she took them out even as he could see her movements faltering. Seymora didn’t fail, he trusted that of her even if not the state of her mind. She’d always been unhinged, but effective. Too bad she was now also dead on the ground.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Cadmus had vouched for this particular Snake to lead the pick-up team, the cunning man mentioning that anything could happen or the plan could fail and of course they’d need a competent leader instead of just four grunt Snakes to do grunt work. Smart of the Rattler, because those grunts were all dead. The surviving Snake heaved a great sigh, leaning down to all but snatch the limp body of the Councilor off the ground. He flung her over his shoulder like she was a ragdoll, kicking the dead body of one of the Snakes aside. He’d stood back from the fight, curiosity getting the better of him. Voxthain didn’t raise everyone to be materialistic, stuck-up pricks, then. Genuine surprise to him, one he filed away in the back of his mind as he shrugged and continued on with his life.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He teleported himself and the Councilor away immediately, not bothering with clean-up efforts or anything he hadn’t been told to do. Pick up the Councilor once she passed out, that was the order. So he did. Zyx would not be happy about the murder of his most prized stealth Snake being killed, but he’d just take it out on the Councilor tenfold. The Snake could only be grateful that those idiots had died and that he would get to watch as the Serpentine leaders tortured the Councilor who had taken a valuable asset from their gang.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The Snake’s teleportation was spot on, as he’d visualized the room he had seen many, many times before. The Rattling Chambers, a beautiful spot to annihilate a person’s soul and body until they begged for death. He waited while he and the Councilor shimmered into a solid form once more, dropping the woman on the floor in the middle of the room unceremoniously. It was a pristine room of grays and whites, the blood that had painted the walls and floors many times before nowhere to be seen. Zyx and Cadmus preferred to watch as the blood they spilled lined the room before having it cleaned up for a repeat with their next victim.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The Snake felt a warm liquid on his shoulder, peering over and pulling his shirt forward to observe. Well, great. The bleeding Councilor had dripped blood all over his relatively new jacket. He heaved a sigh, pulling it off slowly and bundling it up. He refused to be the fool who bloodied a room himself and earned Zyx and Cadmus’s discontent. The Councilor could bleed as much as she’d like all over the floor—not his problem. He threw the jacket into the corner onto a cart, heaving another sigh. He was bored and growing more annoyed by the seconds.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx and Cadmus had not yet made it, but he knew what needed to be done. He was a close inner member of the two leaders and had stood guard as they tortured many, many people—many, many times. He headed for a side cabinet, opening it to reveal rows and rows of disgustingly agonizing potions that did an array of horrific things to a person. He took the one at the very top—magic suppressant. They absolutely could not have her vibrating their skulls into mush among the many other things she could do.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The Snake pulled a syringe from the marble cabinet, sticking it into the top of the potion bottle and extracting a good dosage of the stuff. He put the bottle away, closed the cabinet, and kneeled down beside the Councilor, injecting it into her neck. He placed the syringe on a cart for someone to sterilize or whatever later—he didn’t quite care—and chained the woman’s ankle to the pole right in the middle of the room. Zyx and Cadmus did seem to rather enjoy it when their targets tried to escape, or had a way to try.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The Snake kneeled again and roughly flipped the woman over onto her front side with no kindness, eyes dull with the task he’d done many times before. Noticing quickly where the blood was coming from, he jerked the knife he’d watched a now-dead Snake stab into her back out mercilessly. Blood splattered across the floor, but the Snake wasn’t concerned. It was the Councilor who would have to pay for inviting herself into Asterath—and even more than that, thinking she could choose where and when to bleed out on their clean white floors. The Snake patted down her sides quickly, having no desire to prolong touching a woman, specifically this one. He pulled her boots and socks off along with her jacket, dumping two knives from each of her boots with a heavy eye roll. Served you well, didn’t they?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He removed the gun from her holster, along with the holster itself, revealing another knife. He continued patting down her legs, stopping as he felt a gun. He felt as if he were running out of sighs as he snatched up one of her knives, cutting a hole in the pant leg to extract the gun and—surprise, surprise—another knife. After that, the Snake was firmly sure that the woman was relieved of her many weapons.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀With that, the Snake picked up the guns and knives, throwing them onto the cart with his own discarded jacket. He moved into the shadows against the far wall where the doors were, waiting for his two leaders to enter and find what could be their best, most important target yet. He pictured what they might do to the woman, what information they might ask of her, how unrecognizable the body would be afterwards. Oh, the violence and blood. Beautiful.

   
   
       ❝   hannah abiola   ❞    
   
          

Hannah had not expected this. She lived a quieter life, at least as much as anyone working at Neowrath Tavern did, given it was right next to the fighting ring. Every night she saw fights break out inside the tavern, she saw people get so drunk they forgot their own name, vomiting up the alcohol before knocking themselves out on an overturned table. And she coped simply by flirting with every nice-looking woman to walk through that door, because it was fun, it was a thrill, and because what else was she supposed to do? Having her boundaries in a place like this was needed, but she could let the walls down for a few hot women, as far as Hannah was concerned.

But she had never expected this and by this, she meant the whole mess. From seeing Rosa for the first time years ago to suddenly being into her only a few months before this. And admittedly, Hannah didn't want it to really go anywhere, not when she had long told herself entangling long-term with ring fighters was a disaster waiting to happen, but Rosa enchanted her nevertheless, and Hannah had found herself eagerly awaiting the woman's entry into the tavern. Her kisses, her muscular arms, watching her fight from the window and show off those arms because dammit, Hannah couldn't help it.

But she had felt a hell of a lot more betrayed when Rosa was revealed to be a Councillor. A Voxthain Councillor. Hannah had been unreasonably wounded, and she knew it was clear now Rosa felt bad for blowing up in her face. Had Hannah been overcomplicating the whole thing? Maybe. But certainly now, upon coming-to in a hallway with a broken wooden door under her, cracked in so many places she was amazed it was still largely in one piece, there was definitely something bigger going on.

And she was petrified out of her mind. Because she had not been in her mind, something--someone--else had, crawling in her thoughts and her emotions, whispering instructions to her brain and thus the rest of her body, holding her in place, controlling her actions. It had been like a scalpel, digging in deeper and deeper as a curved claw held its grip on her. Shivers down her spine, the world tilting when she had been mentally attacked. The urge to vomit, to bang her head on a wall, claw her own mind out, her ears, her--everything. It had been a disease inside her, really.

And she had hurt her. Someone had made her hurt Rosa--and while Hannah had been furious with the woman, and blamed herself, she had warned herself not to let Rosa get to her, but alas, she had, and more than just a simple fling or two--she was panicking. Her head pounded from where she had landed on this door, the world tilting and blurring as she had gotten to her feet, limbs heavy and ears left ringing from the presence inside her mind. They were gone now, yes, but she had never felt so exposed and vulnerable before. Someone had used her to attack Rosa, and Hannah, in her panic, and good heart, and ran out into the courtyard holding a broken piece of door as the only weapon she had with her.

Please be here, alive, she had thought, but she was not. Instead, what Hannah had seen had her fingers opening, the board dropping, and her stomach roiling until she threw up on the ground, in the midst of a scene of death. Four dead bodies scattered across the courtyard: one with his neck snapped, slumped against a wall; one with so much blood pouring from a knife lodged in their throat that Hannah thought she'd pass out, the tangy smell thick and gagging; and one with blood running from a wound in their chest. The fourth was behind the fence, and oh Luminos, she had never seen someone's face shot clean off, twice, by the looks of it, with brains behind her--blood--

Hannah had gone weak, knees kneeling on the cold, bloodied ground, and had very well thrown up again, only forcing herself to stand when she realized she had yet to find Rosa. But she had found her bag--it had been on its side, as if abandoned in the heat of what had clearly been a desperate fight. Deep down, she knew who had done this, she knew why she had done this, but it didn't leave her feeling any more at ease. Who the hell was Rosa, to have skills to take down four Snakes? Cornered? Because that was what they were, she realized, upon examining the body of the Snake with the snapped neck. A tattoo of the Serpentine symbol on the man's wrist.

She had numbly grabbed Rosa's bag, her head still spinning, ears ringing, a roar in her head from the utter shock. Hannah had only processed her nose was bleeding when some of the stuff dripped onto her collarbone, startling her. Rosa had pushed her back, violently, but she had probably saved her life. A concussion was a small price to pay for that, but it hurt like hell now, atop of having her mind broken into her and controlled. Someone with powerful enchantment magic, no doubt. That had always been Hannah's least favorite.

Regardless on how hurt she had been by Rosa, how scared she was of her right now, the fear for her was worse, and Hannah found herself tip-running back up the hallway, mind frozen with that image of blood, dropped guns, and bodies in the courtyard. Rosa had not been among them, a blessing and a curse, because with her bag left behind, Hannah knew what that meant: someone had lived long enough to somehow incapacitate her. Well, not somehow: Hannah had found the remains of a shattered syringe by the fence.

She needed help. She couldn't let Rosa, even as angry as she was with her, linger with Serpentine. (And why did they want her anyway? It scared the crap out of Hannah, but--she had seen dangerous people. Rosa had come to apologize. She wanted to help her). Nevertheless, Hannah was useless in fights, useless to do anything, and she was in tears as she burst through the door into the tavern, staggering as she walked from a spinning head.

"F-Fiehra!" Her friend's name tore from her throat as she reached the bar, desperate, unusually manic. The noise, laughter and shouts, were almost too much, and Hannah squeezed her eyes shut against them, trying to breathe. But the ringing in her head wouldn't go away, and the ache was like a pounding brick against her skull. "Fiehra!"

       

      𝗙𝗜𝗘𝗛𝗥𝗔 𝗜𝗩𝗬      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Two more shots here,” a gruff voice sounded to Fiehra’s right as she stumbled towards the counter, having just delivered a massive tray of gross-smelling beer to a table of loud ass men. Bartending was an odd job for someone like her who detested the sharp, rancid liquid. She raised a hand, pointer finger extended, shaking her head as she leaped over the counter, ignoring the open gate a few feet down. She leaned against the back bar for a moment, recollecting herself before rising again and giving the man a quick wink before starting on his order. Most fighting ring goers were regulars, so she’d memorized countless orders over the year she had been working at the Neowrath Tavern.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra had been working all night, requests for drinks becoming overwhelming when usually she’d manage to take them in stride. Hannah had gone for a break about five minutes prior when another bartender came in—to Fiehra’s disappointment, as Hannah was one truly of the best at this job—but the four of them were hardly enough to keep a steady pace going. Since those damn rumors started, it seemed as if the nightly population of the fighting ring had skyrocketed the past two nights. Fiehra silently cursed under her breath as she poured the man a gross yellowy blue liquid, dumping some ice in before sliding it down the counter smoothly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She had just the person to blame her misfortune on—the same person who she was expecting to show up soon to discuss the exact issues that had been weighing on her mind for days now. Fiehra had been excited to see her friend two nights prior, Ceonrei, who also happened to be an Asterath Councilor. She didn’t even know why or how, but her friend began complaining about a Voxthain Councilor who was apparently sitting right next to her? Their argument turned into said Councilor shattering Ceonrei’s hand to pieces with whatever magic she possessed, which Fiehra responded to quickly by teleporting herself and her friend to the nearest medical building Fiehra could visualize. She had also left a strongly-worded note, but Ceonrei responded to that as underwhelmingly as Fiehra expected her friend to. Ceonrei was one of the most warm, genuinely kind people she knew, but she didn’t think sometimes. Why the hell did Ceonrei grab the Councilor’s hand knowing she was riled up and clearly a ring fighter as well? The astounding idiocy of Ceonrei shook Fiehra every time she interacted with the woman—but that was a story for another time.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra sighed heavily as she returned herself to the present, pushing her thick black hair away from her face and readjusting her off-the-shoulder jacket. Asterath was always more chilly than aboveground, hidden from the sun’s light as it had always been, but Fiehra had always been naturally cold in her own skin anyways. She steeled herself, taking a breather before reaching for a glass to fill for another raised hand at the bar.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ “F-Fiehra! Fiehra!” a voice called, piercing through the fog of constant noise from voices and music, sending a shiver up her spine. Her head shot up and snapped in the direction of the panicked voice, hands withdrawing from reaching for a glass. Who the hell . . . ? She scanned the area behind the bar, the voice coming from the far side where a hall led to a door to the outside courtyard out back. Bartenders were darting back and forth, so it took her a moment to find the source of the voice, but she did.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra moved fast, weaving past the other bartenders, eyes wide and confused. “Hannah,” she said breathlessly when she reached the woman, hands outstretched to grip her forearms. “Hey, baby,” she said, voice low and similar to the tone she’d use with a child, but purposeful. “What happened?” she asked, eyes locked on Hannah’s as she steadied the other woman the best she could, eyebrows pinched together. Fiehra didn’t wait for a response before she raised her head and looked around for danger, nobody else taking any notice of the two even though Hannah had yelled her name. Wait.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Hannah had seemed stressed earlier, too, Fiehra had noticed in the haze of the busy night. Stressed, angry, upset? Fiehra didn’t know Hannah enough to be able to tell, but it had happened after she interacted with a newcomer that she didn’t recognize. She didn’t have enough information to piece together anything, not yet, but she knew that Hannah had some connection with the persona the Voxthain Councilor had put on. They both interfered and tried to take care of their friends who were at one another’s throats, Ceonrei and the Councilor. Obviously the Councilor wouldn’t be dumb enough to show up as—what was it? Rose? Rosa?—but under another disguise? Oh, she would. Especially after the tone Fiehra heard her take with Hannah, who hadn’t done anything wrong. Shit.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀There was no immediate danger, but Fiehra was already moving to action. Something was very, very wrong. She released one of Hannah’s arms in a split second, hand flying to her red jewel necklace. She didn’t have much magical ability aside from some pretty powerful teleporting and a few tricks she used when she did her tricks for the street kids, but the jewel allowed her to channel her magic in a direction she needed quite often—long-distance messaging. With Ceonrei and anyone Fiehra was close with, messaging was easy. Her connection with them allowed for quicker and easier access to their minds, wherever they were in the two cities.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei, she called as she gripped the necklace in her left hand and closed her eyes, her right hand remaining on Hannah’s forearm. Ceonrei, get the fuck over here right now.

      𝗖𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗥𝗘𝗜 𝗗𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗛      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀As evening fell on the third day after the confrontation, Ceonrei felt like she was heading to her death. Dread settled over her and she assumed it was because she’d have to explain the whole thing to Fiehra who would no doubt be completely unserious and skeptical about it all anyways. Or maybe the prospect of seeing Caledonia again terrified her. She wasn’t scared of Caledonia, but of what would happen between them if they saw one another again.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She shook the thoughts away, as they were all that occupied her mind, her own voice becoming infuriating on loop in her mind. She showered late into the night, ate a quick bowl of potato soup from her fridge, and stood at her door for a moment before she left. It was dark, but her overhead lights reflected on the door. Her reflection was visible, her black sleeveless shirt that hugged her figure nicely, black jeans that did the same, the gauze on her hand. Deep olive skin, black hair in a messy bun. She looked like a normal Asterath citizen. She hoped that this appearance would set Caledonia off less—as if the woman would care, as if she would even be there—but Ceonrei could only hope.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei, a familiar voice pierced Ceonrei’s fog of thoughts, halting her smooth stride down a street a few blocks from the fighting ring. Ceonrei, get the fuck over here right now. Urgent, serious, but not panicked and in any sort of terror. Ceonrei immediately tapped into her magic and sent a message back, not wasting time asking what was wrong. She was also already sure where she needed to go—exactly where she was already heading.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Five minutes. Ceonrei immediately took off, feeling a sliver of gratitude towards herself for choosing good clothing and shoes for this specific situation. What the hell had happened? Fiehra never sent her messages like that, not genuinely on edge like she did. Ceonrei sprinted around a few buildings, the sounds of the loud, lively fighting ring growing closer and closer. A few eyes shot her way, but stranger things happened in Asterath than a woman sprinting down streets like her life depended on it. She was panting a few minutes into her sprint, suddenly also grateful that she did morning runs. The moments of gratitude for foresight she had would surely be trampled soon, as whatever Fiehra was urgently summoning her for was more than likely, well, Ceonrei’s fault.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei wasted no time as she slowed before the gates, nodding at a pair of guards. Had something happened inside that they were unaware of? Probably. Ceonrei pushed past crowds of people, eyes on the tavern in the corner. A table was crushed and a small skirmish not out of the ordinary was occurring in the corner opposite to the tavern between a bunch of gross-looking men, but other than that, nothing was happening. So why was Fiehra so pressed? Her eyes scanned the crowd, and more than a few fists raised as she shoved through crowds of people.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei reached the bar quickly, tapping aggressively to get the attention of a bartender. They were so incredibly busy, Ceonrei noticed, feeling a moment of regret before having it overtaken by panic. Fiehra was not there, she didn’t see the woman anywhere. The bartender that she tapped to summon gave her an impatient look, washing a glass furiously as he looked at her expectantly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Fiehra. Where’s she at?” she inquired with no preamble, deciding before the man could even say a word that he was too slow and didn’t even know. She clenched her fists and slid over the counter, peering over the man’s shoulders and pushing past him. He put the glass down and, though he surely knew she was a Councilor, he raised his hands and shouted a few words at her. Ceonrei ignored him, pressing past two other bartenders until she reached the end of the counter, relief swamping her as she caught sight of Fiehra’s shiny black hair cascading down her back.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Hey! Fiehra, hey,” Ceonrei shouted, reaching the woman and taking her hand to signify her arrival. “What the hell is happening? Is anyone hurt? Are you?”

   
   
       ❝   hannah abiola   ❞    
   
          

Hannah's hands were shaking so badly as she tried to focus. A small pool of tension unravelled when Fiehra was suddenly in her blurry line of sight, right before her, her hands a steadying, solid grip on her arms. Barely thinking, her mind still almost crawling with the horrible sensation of someone--a Snake--controlling her actions and words, Hannah grasped shakily at Fiehra's hands. Distantly, she registered surprise Fiehra had come over to her so fast, and she was so grateful, but--someone had controlled her, and her head throbbed, she had seen--that blood on the cobblestones, the bodies, the--the--

A wheezing gasp, half a choked sob, burst from Hannah's throat, lips parting as tears rolled down her cheeks, dancing beneath the tavern's lights. Her lips trembled as she tried to make herself speak, but good Lantas she could hardly get a word out. When Fiehra pressed one hand to that necklace Hannah had always thought was beautiful (and quite fitting for the energetic person Fiehra was), she brought her now-free hand to her face and clumsily wiped at her tears.

Mascara sprayed across her cheeks, smearing, while Hannah's gold eye shadow came off on the back of her hand, a metallic sheen glancing off her dark skin. She fought for deep breaths, taking in the gentle tone of Fiehra's voice. In and out, in and out. But it was her fault, wasn't it? No. No, it wasn't, the whole situation was not her fault, but--Hannah was skilled with certain elements of enchantment magic, she should have fought harder, if she had just given Rosa that run warning five seconds earlier, maybe she wouldn't be--wouldn't be--Hannah's throat almost closed as she burst into a fresh wave of tears, her chest constricted.

"S-S-erpentine-" She managed to get out, breaths fluttering. Grasping her rose-gold necklaces, Hannah began twisting them between her fingers and around her wrist, then untwisting them and pinching at the pearls at the end of them. "They--they--they got her--the, um, Rosa. I--she was going to--talk with me about--" Good grief. Heat flushed up Hannah's cheeks, starting at her neck and spreading to the tips of her ears. Fiehra had always been so cool. So confident, demanding respect and so true to herself, and Hannah had always felt like a child compared to her and her burst of bright, fiery personality. And now she had to see Hannah stumbling through her words, pitiful, and Fiehra had to treat her like a child made of glass, with spidered cracks scattered about.

But that was exactly what Hannah was, wasn't she? Her mind certainly felt that way, buzzing and raw and hollowed out, used and--she only processed she had dug her hand into her hair when her fingers scraped painfully against her scalp.

"Ambushed," she whispered, mouth dry. The words, each shaking, broken word, came out raw. Around her, the hallway spun a little as the noise of Neowrath's patrons--their harsh laughs, their cheering--swelled, crescendoing one second before crashing down the next. Yep, she definitely had a concussion. "Um--courtyard--she killed--attacked her, they're--they're dead, Fiehra, oh, Lantas, the blood, the--the--" She swayed where she stood, her other hand finally moving as her fingers twitched. Numbly, Rosa's bag fell to the floor with a thud, and Hannah winced, jerking back as if it had stung her. She gaped at the bag for a second, a pistol resting atop it.

"They took her. I--I was used to--to hurt her, they took my--mind--and I couldn't stop it in time--I tried, Fiehra, I tried--" She stared down at her feet, at the bag, sitting abandoned and full by her feet. Will she live to get it back? Will they kill her? Why do they want her, this is my fault, my faultmyfaultmyfault-- She grasped at Fiehra's arm again, staring into her friend's dark eyes, the center of the raging storm both around them and within Hannah's own head and heart. Somehow, as fiery and Fiehra had always been, somehow to Hannah, she had been a rock, even if they were not as close as Fiehra and Ceonrei. Hannah respected Fiehra, trusted her.

"Come, we--look at the--scene--help--me," she forced out, though the very, very last thing Hannah wanted to do was see that courtyard again, lump in her throat, heart in the pit of her stomach. The smashed syringe, the blood scattered on the cobblestones, probably more black than red now with the dim lighting, and the bodies, the one with the brains blown out, the face blown off, in particular.

Bile stung the back of Hannah's throat, her belly lurching. A prickle of unease scattered, hundreds of small fingers, up her spine. Rosa had done that. The bodies had been self-defense, she knew it, it did not take a genius to piece that together, but shooting someone's face in? It had Hannah on edge, tilting off the precipice of a cliff. The hands that had wrapped so surely around the weapon that had done that damage had cupped her face, stroked her cheek, her lips kissing hers after every single match for the past few months.

Who the hell was Rosa, besides a Councillor, apparently? And do I even want to know anymore? She shook the thought away best she could, a ringing clanging between her ears. Right now, it didn't matter. What mattered was Hannah had been stuck, enchanted to harm her, and she had not in a million years wanted that, and she had been useless, had not been strong enough to get out of the enchantment in time. And now, Rosa may be dead because of her.

Her knees were weak as she began to aimlessly tug Fiehra towards the courtyard, each step wobbling as she did, but she didn't get far before she heard the shouts. Heard her--Councillor Dirith. Ceonrei. Through her tears, and the tilting, spinning way her brain seemed to be working, Hannah saw Ceonrei appear, almost materialize, next to Fiehra. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head once, but it just made it worse, and the urge to throw up lanced through her stomach, the nausea swelling.

"C-Councillor," she choked. This was good. Right? Maybe not. Ceonrei--and Rosa--had been what had started this whole thing anyway, and while Hannah had not approved of all Ceonrei had done, the woman was kind of the only hope right now. Even if she had played a role in the Snakes having to know Rosa was here in the first place. But now was not the time to fling accusations at anyone except herself, not when Rosa could be dead and Hannah felt iller and more terrified and confused by the second. Hannah stared at her, mouth gaping like a fish, before she forced herself to speak. But her head was getting worse, her own words riding like a wave, up and down. "Snakes. Took--Rosa--there." She pointed a trembling finger towards where she knew the door to the courtyard to be. "Please," she begged. "Help."

      𝗙𝗜𝗘𝗛𝗥𝗔 𝗜𝗩𝗬      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra stared at Hannah, her mind almost stuck in place like a spider in a web. What? Her hands, still gripping the other woman’s arms, tightened just slightly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Are you sure?” A bad question, and one Hannah should ignore, Fiehra thought. But she had very little to say at that exact moment, mind whirling around and around. Hannah’s words were slowly unraveling and becoming incoherent and impossible to piece together, but Fiehra got the point. She could see the way Hannah was trying to keep it together—but barely. And that was what scared her most. Fiehra was used to panic, to people flailing or screaming. But this kind of quiet unraveling was never good. She was shaken, crying, and panicking, but she’d witnessed something horrible towards herself as well as towards someone else. Those wounds were always quiet—too quiet.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀For the moment, Fiehra focused on the present issue. Hannah wasn’t bleeding. Wasn’t injured. Fiehra’s mind moved fast, too fast, jumping from word to word as her mind slowly found a way to comprehend the information. Rosa had been abducted by Snakes who had manipulated Hannah’s mind. Simply put, but she was more worried about Hannah at that moment than she was about the situation itself. The poor girl didn’t know how to process things like this. And knowing Ceonrei, who handled awful things daily and would expect others to be as desensitized as herself, she certainly wouldn’t be tactf—

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Before Fiehra could finish her thought process quick enough to say anything else to Hannah, Ceonrei voice sounded and moments later, a hand slipped into Fiehra’s free one.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra turned slightly, one hand still steadying Hannah as she took in her friend’s arrival. Black hair down, yellow eyes piercing and worried, Ceonrei. Which would hopefully be a good thing, her being there. Fiehra’s worried, thoughtful expression shifted only slightly, but the tightness in her jaw made it clear that something was in fact wrong and someone was indeed hurt.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra didn’t respond for a few seconds, trying to formulate a useful, well-worded explanation, but was further delayed by Hannah’s panicked words. She almost sighed—Hannah’s method of delivering the information—scared, panicked, and tearful—would certainly cause Ceonrei to panic and overreact. So much for tact, although how would Hannah know how to deal with Ceonrei? Fiehra hardly did herself most days.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Whelp.

      𝗖𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗥𝗘𝗜 𝗗𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗛      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Something had been broken. That was all she could think. Something had been broken. Hannah’s eyes were red, her breath too shallow. Her body held together by tension and trembling, like glass just before the final crack split it down the middle. Ceonrei’s oncoming words died in her throat as nobody responded to her inquiry at first.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Then Hannah spoke.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The words crashed into Ceonrei. Not all at once—there was stuttering, sniffling, messy breathless fear—but the pieces came together too fast and too sharp. Snakes. Caledonia. Taken. Mind . . . what? Ceonrei’s stomach dropped. She didn’t realize she’d let go of Fiehra until she was already reaching for Hannah, but she stopped herself. Her hand hovered mid-air, helpless. She looked at Fiehra instead. Hannah was an emotional mess that she wasn’t prepared for or able to deal with. She hardly knew the young woman, anyways. “What—what the hell did she just say?” Her voice was hoarse, raw with disbelief.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“The Snakes?” she repeated. “Now? But they haven’t—” She cut herself off. Her eyes darted back to Hannah. “What do you mean they got Caled—Rosa? How would they even—”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Then it hit her. Not a slow realization—a punch. A memory. Her own voice, days ago. Her own mouth running.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She had drawn attention to Caledonia. In front of people. In front of gang members who were certainly at the fighting ring. Who were always there, watching. It hadn’t even occurred to her that that moment could cause anything like this.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Her knees nearly buckled. “I didn’t—” she murmured, but not to them. To herself. I didn’t touch her. I didn’t do anything. I just said her name. But wasn’t that condemning her to death in itself?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀And that was all it took.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She gripped the edge of the bar, eyes flitting wildly between the two women, like they might offer her some version of this that made sense. But there wasn’t one. “What the fuck do we do now?” she asked. “Where did they take her? How many? Did they—was she bleeding? Is she—”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She was spiraling. The world was too loud, her breath coming short. “Tell me everything. Right now. Every word she said, Hannah, now—”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Ceonrei,” Fiehra’s voice came sharp, low, calm in a way that wasn’t soothing but firm. The kind of voice that could cut through a panic spiral like a knife through silk. Ceonrei knew that Fiehra had always been the more sensitive, emotional one of them both. Ceonrei, for all of her brightness and positivity and sociability, was not endlessly patient or gentle with anyone, especially when the someone in question was crying or overly-emotional.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei dropped her head for a moment, cursing quietly before she breathed in a deep breath, her hands falling and back straightening. She looked back to the two women who were watching her, waiting for her to do something. They wouldn’t like what she had immediately thought of doing, but she was a Councilor and the leading reason why any of this was happening. They would listen, they didn’t need to understand. Her guilt was her own and the problem was hers to confront.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Snakes took Caledonia,” she began, as if trying to comprehend it herself. “Hannah, I need you to quickly tell me what happened in full. Every detail you can think of, you understand? How bad were any injuries, what direction anyone went when they left, all of it,” she finished, eyes burning straight into Hannah. She exuded authority and power, something she didn’t usually manage very well, even as a Councilor. But she had it in her when she needed to utilize it. “Fiehra, you will take her to a medic directly after this and stay there. Same one you took me to. I’ll handle this myself.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei didn’t even bother using Rosa. It was Caledonia, a Voxthain Councilor and a militia sergeant, who had been abducted. That was what mattered, not the petty arguments and personas.

   
   
❝   𝓗𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓪𝓱 𝓐𝓫𝓲𝓸𝓵𝓪   ❞    
   

Hannah tried to breathe. Her emotions, while the edges had been shaven off them as she sat here, trying to sift through her raw panic and the ache pounding in the back of her head, still roared, a hurricane inside her. Having Fiehra and then Ceonrei here, however, helped, and Hannah found a measure of relief easing some of the tightness inside her. Some, but not all. She flinched, too much happening at once with the wild shouts and laughter from the bar, the patrons as rowdy as ever, riled up from the fight Hannah had watched Rosa---no, Caledonia, apparently--instigate for a man getting too close to her. With her own roaring thoughts, the flashes of blood so dark in the dim lighting as to seem almost black, Fiehra's uncertainty towards her, followed by Ceonrei's almost harsh demands, Hannah found herself slipping even further as she tried so hard to focus.

Her lips parted as she tried to answer Fiehra, but the noise had been too much, too loud. Fiehra hadn't believed her, and it hurt, it cut, though distantly Hannah could understand why, because immediate reactions to a huge problem were always that shred of hope, that denial was all they had. But good grief, she shouldn't think, nausea spiraling and lurching whenever she moved, even a bit. Panic bit, sharpened teeth, wildly shaking her from the inside out, and she couldn't fling it nor get a solid grasp on it, to calm herself.

"Yes," she finally gasped. "I'm sure, I'm--I don't know!" The answer to everyone's overwhelming questions burst at once. "I don't know how or what or why, just--" Squeezing her eyes shut against the onslaught of noise and increased pounding in her head, feeling as if her skull were about to split open, Hannah placed one hand on her head and fought for breath, fingers shaking.

"I need you to tell me quickly what happened in full." That was what Ceonrei had said, right? The rest of her words got lost in the recess of the noise and Hannah's own definite-concussion, Ceonrei's volume seeming to go up and then pitch back down again, a sickening undulation, as well as the bloody horror she had seen out in the courtyard. The four dead snakes, one with her face shot off, twice--bile stung Hannah's dry mouth, swimming up in a jolt from her gut, and she almost threw up, halfway to heaving before she leaned back against the bar counter and grabbed a cup of cold water from some poor tavern-goer and downed it.

Think. Think. She can help she can help-- She was helping, Ceonrei. As a Councillor, she had the ability to, at least, Hannah had to cling to that. She took a deep breath, trying to push aside the pounding in her head--she was the one who had caused this mess, and so Hannah had to stay calm enough to get it fixed.

Tears dancing in her dark eyes, she had to enunciate everything twice as clearly, speaking slow. Concussions, damn them! Rosa--Caledonia--had saved her life, but Hannah had paid the price for that, and seeing so much death and gore had had her almost hysterical for a moment as the noise got too much for her injured head.

"Just--okay. Okay. She came in here, disgu--disguised." Oh, that word was hard. "To--talk to me. About--" Hannah made a gesture with her hand, trying and failing to come up with the words her brain seemed to half-know right now. "Um. Um. Nights--few nights past. I said I'd talk to her out in the--the--" Now, she snapped her fingers, words elusive, like dandelion fluff dancing on the wind over a meadow, and slammed her other hand on the bar in frustration. "Back. Dumpsters. That area. Then I-I go out there. And someone placed an--an enchantment on me. Use me to...lure her closer to the--the fence. I broke enough to tell her to run, and--and someone attacked her, she--she used her--magic thing to blast me backwards. I hit my head. Knocked out, came to moments--ago." She gasped, breaths a little ragged, and shivered, the next part almost too horrifying to say.

Guilt and Hannah's gentler disposition when it came to that type of violence twisted, a writhing mass inside her, dark and unsettling. While she worked at Neowrath, seeing fights break out and bloodied, bruised ring fighters come in on the daily, she enjoyed meeting them, flirting with some of the hot women who came in, and just hearing peoples' stories. But deliberate violence, death, all of that left her unsteady, uneasy, and you never recovered from seeing someone's face shot off, even if it was by the woman who liked. In fact, it was worse when it was by the woman you liked, even if she knew it had self-defense.

Hadn't it?

Hannah fought for a breath, almost dizzy, and pressed on. "Okay. Um. Go out there, see the--the mess. I woke up and--and four bodies of Snakes were there. Various causes of death--bullets, um, broken bones, snapped neck, I--shot off face." She flinched. "Smashed syringe on the ground, and Rosa's, um, her bag. In the middle of it all, a pistol on the ground. She--they were after her, I don't--I don't know why, and--and I think one of them must have--must have been in here and followed her when she went back to the--the dumpsters and it's my fault--Ceonrei, I'm sorry."

Hannah's tears began to slip from her burning eyes, and she choked back a sob, her head swimming. The bright lights of Neowrath were suddenly too bright, the concussion getting almost worse the longer she stood here, practically swaying on her feet now. But she had to do something, she couldn't just get taken to a hospital knowing Rosa--whatever her real name was--had been taken by the worst gang in all Asterath. Why the hell did they want her, anyway?

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "Please, please, help," she choked. "Go--go see the mess, it's--bad. Um. Bag. Bag's here." Almost numbly, Hannah kicked at Rosa's bag, dropped still by her ankles.

  

      𝗙𝗜𝗘𝗛𝗥𝗔 𝗜𝗩𝗬      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra leaned slightly toward Hannah as the young woman kicked the bag on the ground, one hand hovering as naturally as possible near Hannah’s arm in case she collapsed or lost her balance. Her own throat ached with the effort of staying composed, words drying up even as she wanted to speak. She listened carefully instead, turning to Ceonrei slowly while also forcing her breathing mind to refocus.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She didn’t interrupt, allowing Hannah to finish what she was saying, as stilted and jumbled as the words all were. That was what she needed. Not more panic layered onto what was already there. Fiehra’s heart cracked a little as Hannah finished speaking, eyes glazed over and breaths coming in short bursts. The pleas and apologies—it all made Fiehra want to wrap her fellow bartender in a hug.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“You did everything right,” she said softly, gently moving one hand to take one of Hannah’s own. Her voice was as grounded and kind as before, hopefully to combat Ceonrei who would likely be much less tactful. “You got out. You’re standing here. You fought through that mess and you’ve told us everything you can. Look at me. Breathe,” Fiehra said, words clipped and to-the-point, unsure if Hannah’s mental state could handle a whole monologue right then.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She kept her eyes on Hannah for a few long moments, then they flitted to the bag Hannah vaguely kicked at. What must she have seen and experienced back there to cause this reaction? The corners of Fiehra’s mouth tightened slightly, and her free hand clenched into a fist against her thigh.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The lights in the tavern swirled too brightly in her peripheral vision. Voices and shouts becoming all too much. Fiehra shifted her weight to her right side, jaw tight. She loved this place, but it was too much for what was happening. Without daring to look at Ceonrei, who was absolutely about to dash off to the back, she turned her eyes back to Hannah and assessed her. She was in shock and clearly horrified, but she appeared to also be struggling more physically than that. Fiehra was no doctor, but months and months of being a bartender at the Neowrath Tavern and witnessing brawls and teleporting heavily-wounded idiots to the nearest medic had taught her a few of the signs related to different medical emergencies. Hannah had just said that she hit her head and got knocked out, but Fiehra was also having trouble focusing on the many spiraling events at once. She was likely concussed or had some sort of head trauma, which they needed to address.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“We need to get you seen by a medic, Ceonrei’s right,” she said softly before pausing and finally looking back to Ceonrei, eyes sharp with concern that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. Ceonrei had kneeled to pick up the bag, her mind clearly not with them, though—Fiehra could tell. She was somewhere else, and she was also about to dash off to be somewhere else. Without them. Into danger.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Ceonrei,” Fiehra said, tone lacking all of the warmth and tact used with Hannah. It was sharp and serious. “I absolutely know you’re going after them, rushing off to valiantly fix what you clearly think you caused. But you need to not go in half-cocked and emotional. Go see what happened in the back and reassess. If you die, I’ll kill whoever it was in revenge,” she stated severely, voice dropping lower. “Then find a necromancer somewhere in the furthest reaches of this moon and have them revive you so I can kill you myself.”

      𝗖𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗥𝗘𝗜 𝗗𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗛      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei had stayed unnervingly still through Hannah’s explanation—like a statue carved of fury and guilt. Only her eyes moved, and they moved constantly, scanning Hannah’s face, her hands, the bloodied bag on the floor, the bar, the cups littering the counters—each image burning into her mind like red-hot brands.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Hannah claiming fault aloud, apologizing to Ceonrei, it only made her angry. Her jaw all but cracked from how tightly she clenched her teeth. An almost-painful rush of emotion surged through her chest—guilt, yes, but also an overwhelming urge to fix.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She didn’t speak for a long time after Hannah finished, Fiehra’s words joining the endless loop of voices all around. She just stared at Caledonia’s bag. Then the pistol on top. Then the smears of blood. She couldn’t bring herself to address Hannah and reclaim the guilt and place it with herself, where it was clearly meant to be, but she knew being awful wasn’t going to help, either.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She turned slightly, purposeful but almost mechanical. Like if she moved too fast, she’d shatter the air between the three of them. Ceonrei kneeled to pick up the bag, fingers lingering on it for a second too long before she slung it over her shoulder. She picked up the pistol first, gripping the weapon with unsteady hands. Finger on the trigger. Off, before she accidentally did something catastrophic with it. She’d never held a gun before, and she didn’t plan on using it. Leaving it lying around wasn’t a good idea, either, so she quickly shoved it into one of the bag’s side pockets. Out of sight, out of mind.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Then she looked up—at Fiehra this time, her mind finally bringing itself back to their small bubble in the world. The way Fiehra said her name slashed through the fog forming in her mind like a weapon made specifically to combat Ceonrei specifically. She listened to Fiehra for a moment, humming low, mindlessly, in agreement. Her best friend clocked her immediately—but who wouldn’t? She stood, the look in her golden eyes almost bruning now—focused. Controlled. Dangerous.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra’s voice hit her again before she could dismiss the warning as was her instinct to do. She stared back at her friend, the person who had known her long enough to know exactly where her silence was leading. The warning landed like a stone. And worse—Ceonrei knew Fiehra was right.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She straightened her spine and nodded—just once. “I’ll be careful,” she said, words that she meant but would not make a conscious effort to abide by. Fiehra gave a single shake of her head, too intelligent to believe that but unable to say much else to get through to her friend.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei turned to Hannah, ready to get this over with. “You told me what I needed to know, so I’ll take it from here. Please go to the medic and let them help you. I’ll bring her back. I will,” Ceonrei stated, as if convincing herself, before stepping around Hannah and heading for the hall to the door. She paused before getting too far, swallowing with some effort as she breathed in deeply, mind pricking with something left unfinished.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Hannah,” she said lightly, voice neutral but clearly less matter-of-fact than before. “Blaming yourself? That won’t help. Caledonia will be fine when I find her and you’ll get to continue your conversation when there’s a safer opportunity to do so.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Without waiting for a response, she continued onward, opening the door with no hesitation and closing it behind her once more. The weight of the guilt writhing in her was heavier than it had any right to be, but purpose and fury burned beneath it like fire. She quickly breathed out a small breath, like an incantation but without any words, brightening the lights in the courtyard. A small bit of magic, but a useful one all the same. She would rather see any lingering dangers than slink around in what was described as a bloodba—

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Great fucking Luminos.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Four bodies of various Snakes mutilated and still bleeding on the ground, as Hannah said. Smashed syringe, as Hannah said. Bag and pistol brought in. Ceonrei had seen many dead bodies and more gore than she’d have liked in her time as an Asterath Councilor, but to have the knowledge that this was caused by one woman? She blinked quickly, averting her gaze from the bloodied stone ground. It was as if someone had designed the stone path to carry rivers of blood through the cracks. A morbid thought, but Ceonrei was going mad with the stench of iron and something almost rotted, but metallic.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She needed to leave. There were no clues here other than mild reassurance that Caledonia could hold her own wherever she was taken, but that did not lessen any urgency burning in Ceonrei’s soul. She sprinted forward, towards the dumpsters, quickly climbing up and clearing the fence with ease. She was quite the streetrunner, agile and swift by nature, even if she didn’t do much parkour with what little free time she had. She headed back towards the main path that she took to get to the Fighting Ring, pausing as she considered her next steps.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She had leads and trails over the months about the whereabouts of Club Serpentine’s home base, but no solid location. It was Asterath’s best-kept secret, and quite the unfortunate one right then. She cursed silently, mind flitting in many different directions until she settled on an idea she discarded almost immediately. Europa, the conniving, drama-oriented woman—her fathers were the Club Serpentine leaders. The descriptors Ceonrei had come to pair with her name, though, made that idea useless. She would never tell anyone where they were. Ceonrei wouldn’t be surprised if she knew about this, either.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei slowed her pace as she entered the fringes of the city proper, her steps blending into the dark, neon-lit streets. Caledonia hadn’t shared a single thing about her past. They had been tolerant of one another and entirely formal before that fateful falling out upon Ceonrei visiting Voxthain a week prior, so Ceonrei knew nothing about the woman aside from what she herself had asked around about or figured out for herself. Caledonia’s mother was the commander of the Voxthain militia, Katarina Hayden, and Caledonia herself one of the two sergeants. That was the extent of Ceonrei’s knowledge relating to her Sister Councilor, which she cursed herself for at that moment.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀But it worked. Caledonia’s mother, a powerful person, and Ceonrei had a name. She could send a message. She would get it there. It was much harder having never met the target of a message, but Ceonrei was nothing if not astoundingly good at reaching people through a message. If anyone had the means to uncover where Caledonia had been taken, it would be her mother and whatever resources she had hidden up her sleeves. Ceonrei knew little about the militia, but she had heard that they were a proficient group of people. Smart, genuinely caring. Odd for Voxthain, but she had to trust it. Especially right then.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀As Ceonrei passed under a crooked archway into the northeast alleys of Asterath leading away from the Fighting Ring, she felt the pulse of power laced with desperation running under her skin like a second heartbeat. She raised one hand, palm facing outwards. Her eyes glowed with an eerie ring of yellow, magic stirring as she prepped it for traveling a long distance. A faint shimmer swam across her vision like water, the words forming themselves as her vision blurred. She kept walking, sparing no time. She couldn’t.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei’s mind took her through Asterath, through the Pass, towards the elevator. A pause as she adjusted to the strain on her mind as it found its way to Voxthain, traveling through the dark streets with gentle yellow lighting, browns and beiges, towards her target. A dull ache pounded at the back of her head, but she kept going. “Katarina Hayden,” she whispered aloud, each word rippling through the surface of her blurred vision like stone cast into a still pond. And then it snapped, the sounds of Asterath fading away as her ears filled with what could be compared as to the sound of rushing water. Calm. Ready to transfer the message.

This is Ceonrei Dirith, an Asterath Councilor. Caledonia has been taken somewhere within Asterath. I don’t know where, but it is for certain Club Serpentine’s doing. I am on my way to search, but by what I know is a failing of the Asterath Council itself, their location is obscure even to me. I need you to come to Asterath if you are not already on the way. Bring whatever force necessary. Once you’re here, please message me with a meet-up location.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei left it at that, her mind straining as she attempted to even send that long of a message. Once finished, she released the tether, the shimmering waves in her eyes and the rushing water in her ears all retreating back as the message found its way across the cities and out of her mind. She didn’t bother adding every minute detail or asking if Katarina could send a message back—she knew the woman would be well-prepared. Hell, she probably already knew that Caledonia was missing by now, but Ceonrei wasn’t sure how close that family was nor did she have time to consider it. Things would work out. They had to.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀They would work out. Partially because releasing herself from this stabbing guilt demanded it, partially because Ceonrei was coming to take Caledonia back and made promises to herself and others. Asterath would move, bend, and burn around her until she found a way to keep the promises she made. Until she found a way to fix the problems that she undoubtedly started.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀   ⠀ EUROPA ⠀

The Fighting Ring had never been Europa’s favorite part of town. It was dirty and loud, brimming with people who would rather throw a bunch than exchange barbed words. Europa had just gotten her nails done, and she wasn’t about to waste a manicure that expensive on any of the bottom-dwellers in that part of town. Not that she ever threw a punch any other time, but still, her nails mattered. Not to mention that the drinks served at the Neowrath Tavern didn’t hold a light to the Neon Cogs or any of the bars in Voxthain.

So why would she ever be sitting alone in a booth in the back of the Neowrath Tavern, away from the bar and entrances, concealed by the burly patrons and a conveniently placed column? To follow the Voxthain Councilor that was slinking around her city under a false name and appearance for Lantas knows how long.

Imagine the sheer gall to sneak into Asterath under a false guise. And not just once–repeatedly. As if they were too good to be seen as themselves in Asterath. As if Voxthain Councilors were too high and mighty to mix with the scum living beneath the ground. It was an offense to them all, and Europa knew just how much her Papas and the whole of Club Serpentine wanted to make them pay.

When a Snake had overheard an argument between CiCi and the mysterious other woman, Europa’s interest had been piqued. Of course, she hadn’t known that Councilor would be Cal. She would have been happy to nab any of them, but she had been secretly hoping it was either Cal or her own sister Councilor, Lorelei Delacroix. Either one of them could have matched the description of a loud, annoying, argumentative woman, and both would have been the juiciest prize for her Papas. But Caledonia? She was the sweetest prize of them all.

Lala was conniving and vicious, but in a way Europa could understand her, and their sparring was often pretty fun. She wouldn’t mind having the chance to watch her dad pry into the woman’s mind so that she could finally learn some of those juicy Delacroix secrets, but she felt fairly confident in her ability to weasel that information out of Lala herself. Once she figured out what made her tick, she would be flying high.

And then there was Councilor Caledonia Hayden, Sergeant in the Voxthain Militia, heir to the Hayden noble family, and royal pain in Europa’s ass. Europa wasn’t a big fan of any of the Voxthain Councilors, and she was sure they despised her too, but she felt a particular ire for Councilor Hayden. She was so pushy with her agenda, trying to force the Asterath Council to assist with the murders or shadowy fog or whatever and Europa was so sick of it. She was on the Council to worm her way into the tangled web of drama that was the Voxthain nobility, not to actually do any work. Not to mention that Caledonia seemed entirely disinterested in her own nobility. What a snore. It was high time someone took her out of the equation so that Europa’s talons could sink into the nobility with less resistance.

That evening, Europa arrived at the bar not long after Seymora. Even she couldn’t spot her Snake in the crowd, but she knew she was there, waiting and watching for the moment to strike. Europa cozied into her booth with a drink to sip while she waited. There was no guarantee that the mystery woman would show up that evening, but she was bored and didn’t have anything better to do. If she got too bored, she would play around with the fighters, urging them to get into wild and disruptive fights with each other. She could make a game out of it. Just as she was reaching her boredom limit, she noticed one of the bartenders speaking with hushed familiarity to an unfamiliar hooded figure. A likely illusioned figure, female, not someone Europa recognized. It was her.

The rest of the plan went off without too much of a hitch. Lynnix, one of the more vile men in her Papas’ employ, had reported back with the successful capture and death of poor Seymora. It was going to be hard to find someone with her skill set. A shame, but what could you do. Europa still didn’t know who exactly had been captured, but the night was still young. The bartender–Hilary? Hailey? No, wait, Helen–stumbled back in, looking utterly traumatized with a bag in hand. The other bartender on shift was more of a familiar face to Europa. Fiehra was a friend of CiCi’s, and Europa liked to stay in the know about the loved ones of her fellow Councilors, just in case. All Europa needed to do was act before Fiehra had a chance to notify CiCi. She pushed up from her booth to saunter over, and–.

Oops.

Too late. Fiehra had already grabbed her necklace and closed her eyes to send a message of some sort, one Europa could only assume was heading to her fellow Councilor. That was certainly a wrinkle in her evening, but whatever, she could roll with it. She and CiCi had gone out for drinks a few times, and they had a rapport of sorts. She was sure she could grab her attention for at least a few hours after she left the bar. Europa wasn’t left waiting for Ceonrei’s arrival for too long, and her time spent in the Tavern itself was even shorter. Annoyingly enough, Helen gave CiCi the mystery woman’s bag. Lynnix was going to have hell to pay for leaving that there. Europa didn’t know how she was going to get that bag back, but actually did it even matter? Eh, probably not. They had the woman, and that’s what really mattered.

The conversation between CiCi, Fiehra, and Helen was too hushed for Europa to make out, to her chagrin. That was the downside of hiding so far from the action. Sure, CiCi and the mystery woman had no way of spotting her, but she couldn’t get any new information on them either. If only she had some way to enhance her hearing or peer into one of their minds like Seymora. The limitations of her magic were so frustrating sometimes. Enchantment was all good fun, but she wanted to have the capacity to experiment with the other styles of magic, to have more strengths than manipulation.

Just as Europa grew bored of waiting around, CiCi left through the same back exit as the captured Voxthain Councilor. Europa would have to do something about her once she was done with the bartenders. Ceonrei knew her too well, making her enchantment less effective, but she was sure she could think of something to stall her for at least a few hours. Just enough time for her Papas to do what they did best and get out of there. She stood from her booth and made her way through the crowd with practiced ease, hips swaying, power surging through her body. Eyes turned her way as she passed, fabricated lust clouding their vision. Europa dialed it up to eleven, releasing an aura of you want me, you need me to everyone she passed. She reached the bar and a little balding man vacated her seat with a glance. Sliding into her seat, Europa tossed her hair over her shoulder and leaned forward, pressing her cleavage to the bar top. A practiced smile graced her lips, smooth like glass.

Europa saw her magic as having two modes. There was an aura she could send out in waves around her, pulling people in or pushing them away with one singular desire. There was no specificity to it, just a general emotion targeting the weakness in the minds of every person lucky enough to be in her proximity. The other mode was more targeted and potent, a sickly sweet smoke that filled the mind of one or two people, rewriting their thoughts and desires to match her own purposes. The two modes of enchantment were entirely separate from each other, and while she was a powerful enchantress, she could only focus on one at a time. Narrowing her eyes slightly at the two bartenders, the aura of lust switched off.

“I need another drink over here.” She didn’t raise her voice, but it still cut through the noise, landing straight in both bartenders’ minds. Her voice carried power, worming into their heads through their ears, allowing her to weave tendrils of magic through their minds. It was all still general, the opening to a much larger and lasting spell. First, she needed their attention on her and her alone, all other thoughts pushed away. “Can one or both of you lovely ladies help me with that?”

Enchantment was an art form. It took time and more patience than Europa often had. She wanted the bartenders complacent, out of her way, but magic that long lasting would take time to cast. Time that CiCi could use to find Club Serpentine. Just from her cursory feel, Helen’s mind was weaker and more pliable than Fiehra’s. Good. Europa honed in on Helen, pushing and pulling at her very being, weaving together a new story for her evening.

   
   
❝   𝓗𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓪𝓱 𝓐𝓫𝓲𝓸𝓵𝓪   ❞    
   

Fiehra's words were like a calming wind, soothing and gentle, and Hannah tried to focus on them among the disaster in her mind, the ringing in her hears, the ache in the back of her head, and the guilt and horror twisting in her most recent memory. All she could do was stand rooted to the spot, swaying ever so slightly. But when Fiehra spoke, taking her hand, Hannah exhaled, trying to focus on that hand, her voice, use them to try and ground herself.

Even if she disagreed that she had done well. After all, yes, she got out, but she had only gotten out because she had been knocked backwards, head smacked against a wooden beam on the floor. But...'you did everything right'. Had she? Worrying at her lip, Hannah fought for breaths, her fingers tightening on Fiehra's as her feet took a step closer to her on instinct, towards the one person who was soothing, calm. Hannah liked to be that person when she could for people, for her loves ones, but she was unable to even think clearly right now, spots of blood and dead bodies swimming tauntingly through her mind whenever she tried to think of something else. Even in her time as a bartender at Neowrath, albeit shorter, she had not seen so much blood.

She was not a fighter, she had tried to tell Rosa--Caledonia--whatever, to run, she had tried to fight the enchantment, but if she had just gotten out of it seconds sooner, maybe her friend (?) could have gotten back inside. For someone who focused on enchantment magic, Hannah certainly needed work keeping others from her mind. Not that everyone would be able to break from one like she had, but...still. Guilt was a shadow, casting everything one said or did into a darkness, cutting off all reasoning and positive thoughts. It sunk it's deep claws into her, and Hannah couldn't find a full way through.

"I-I-" She started to Fiehra as a response, but her voice wasn't steady, her head was starting to pound as the too-many sounds and lights in a fighting ring bar seemed to pounce at once, and she squeezed her eyes shut, clapping her free hand over her ear. When Fiehra spoke again, however, she tried, tried so hard, to focus on what she was saying, and Hannah fought to breathe as her stomach rolled.

What had her friend said? Get her hectic--oh. Oh. A medic. Probably. She opened her mouth, trying to get the words ready, o her tongue, because that was less painful than nodding at this point, but they really did not ant to come out. Hannah had to force them. Sweat beaded on her hairline as she licked dry lips and finally forced out a, "yes. probably,' though even to her ears the two words seemed almost blurred together, slurred. More reason to get a hospital, and she knew it. Oh, Luminos help her, her mother was going to have a fit. Already she was so worried about Hannah's father, and now--she grimaced, the guilt twisting, a sharpened knife between her ribcage.

Only in the back of her mind did the words--lilting, up and down--between Fiehra and Ceonrei process. She had absolutely o idea what they were saying, because it truly was so much easier to fade into the pain in her head, because at least that was easier to understand that the bile in the back of her throat, the shaking of her body after what the hell she had just witnessed and seen out in that courtyard. Their voices were swelling, up and down, as if Hannah was underwater barely listening to the conversation of two people standing above her.

She was barely aware when Ceonrei turned to face her, but she struggled to hone in on what she was saying. She owed her this much, even if she had mixed feelings about Ceonrei and Caledonia and this entire shitshow of a week. Rather, she knew she was angry Ceonrei had blown Caledonia's cover, but she was angrier still the woman had had a cover in the first place. Falling for Rosa had been a disaster, and one she had warned herself against. She had not listened to her own rules, and now, because of that, they were in this mess. Right?

"Okay," she whispered, one word easier than many. Something about bringing Cal back, and despite her frustration with the fighter, Hannah did not want her killed at Serpentine's hands, though it still served to make her spine tingle, the implications of why the gang wanted her in the first place. Just how much had she not shared with Hannah? A lot, she reasoned, stomach like a brick. And, if anyone could, it was Ceonrei, with her power in Council and her passionate, headstrong personality--bolder, braver, than Hannah ever could be. But--were her ears ringing too badly for had Ceonrei said not to blame herself? But how could she not? If she had just been more patient, if she had just broken out of that enchantment sooner....no. Once again, while Ceonrei blurred before her until she was out the door, Hannah felt that pinch of blame, of guilt, but this time, it was directed at Ceonrei. But who knew what that even meant, Hannah didn't know how to process her own emotions or anything right now. Not with how messed-up her mind was.

Hospital, though. That was what Hannah needed, she had to--

'I need another drink over here. Can one or both of you lovey ladies help me with that?' The voice came into Hannah's head, a beautiful, lilting, melodic harmony that had her breath catching, her dazed attention narrowing to just that one voice. And oh, it was sweet, it was haunting, and Hannah's lips parted at how clear it was in the cacophony of noises blurred around her. How had someone managed to make herself heard so easily when she could hardly even comprehend her own thoughts?

Her finger twitched towards the sound, and when her head lifted, she could just make out someone at the bar, her head vaguely turned in Hannah and Fiehra's directions. Or, so she thought, anyway. Taking a step towards her, she almost stumbled from her weak knees, the world still swimming even as this one woman's voice was an oasis in the desert of Hannah's concussed brain. So enchanting, so--enchanting. No. Her feet stopped, and Hannah almost choked, panic sharpening through her brainfog, even as she dizzily stared out at the woman. Enchantment. Another one.

No, no, no, please no-- She tried to speak, to break from it like she had earlier--was that earlier, or was that yesterday?--but Hannah could barely think, she could hardly even knew what day it was. Everything ached, sharp and pounding in her mind, while the events that had just happened were blurring together. "Stop," she tried to garble, and Hannah clenched her jaw and her fist, trying to pull up her own enchantments, trying to break away, but her magic seemed to slip between her fingers like sand. Her head spun, the room felt as if it tipped under her, while the woman's enchantment had in her a chokehold, and her feet began moving again because despite the mess of her head, she wanted to get this woman a drink, almost as much as she wanted to get away from her, to get out of that enchantment.

Hannah found herself stepping up to her, and her eyes went wide, body jolting, when she was in range enough for Hannah's blurred vision vaguely make out the woman. Snake! Her brain screamed, and as her muscles tightened, fight-or-flight sprung up, adrenaline coursing hot through Hannah's body. Snake, this meant something, this was a part of--the kidnaping of--who? Between the pain her head, nausea in the pit of her stomach, and the enchantment drawing her to this woman like a magnet, Hannah couldn't quite think anymore.

"You--kidnapped--" She rasped out, but the enchantment and her mind didn't let much else slip out. Her dark eyes blinked, lashes brushing as she exhaled shakily. "Drink. You needed a drink?" No, no, run, break away-- But she couldn't; this Snake was a bright, glowing beacon, and Hannah was snared in her trap, even as her blood was cold with fear she couldn't get away.

  

      𝗙𝗜𝗘𝗛𝗥𝗔 𝗜𝗩𝗬      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra’s hand never left Hannah’s, even as the storm of words and motion from all sides swirled around them. She could feel the tremor in Hannah’s palm, her knuckles paling where she clutched back like she might float off otherwise. The sound of the new woman’s sharp question didn’t bother Fiehra at first, didn’t raise alarms—Hannah needed help. Fiehra’s jaw set, and she leaned slightly closer to Hannah, grounding her with a squeeze of her hand.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She turned briefly to speak with the other bartenders, her body tingling with the anticipation of using her teleportation magic. Hannah, though—wait, why was she speaking? Fiehra didn’t quite catch the first part, but the hair on her arms rose and a flash of alarm wound through her body. Why was Hannah offering the woman a drink at a time like this? She didn’t sound upset, even as her words faltered like strings being cut, her gaze glassy, unfocused. Her hand twitched oddly against Fiehra’s wrist, and for a split second it wasn’t grief Fiehra saw in her—it was something hollow, something that didn’t belong. Fuck!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra’s head snapped up toward the beckoning woman, eyes narrowing to slits. The air around the tavern seemed to tighten, heavy with static. “What the hell are you doing?” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp, a blade cutting straight through the room. She shifted closer to Hannah, protective, ready to drag her away if she had to. She’d felt this before—the wrongness of minds being twisted, bent against their will.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Hannah was changing right under her hands. Her words had cut off mid-thought, something Fiehra didn’t catch in her brief moment of distraction, her body stiffening as though some invisible thread was pulling her taut. Fiehra’s stomach turned to stone. “No,” she hissed under her breath, arm wrapping around Hannah’s shoulders as if that physical anchor could keep her here, keep her herself. Why was it happening again? How many Snakes were there at the tavern? No!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Don’t you dare,” Fiehra snapped, every muscle coiled as she fully moved her body to eclipse Hannah’s smaller frame. She released her grip on Hannah reluctantly, alarm flashing in her chest and fear clear on her face. She had no powers that could stop this! Teleportation, but she’d have to be touching the oth—

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Yeah.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀With no other ideas, Fiehra lunged for the woman.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀   ⠀ EUROPA ⠀

Helen came to Europa as anticipated, the woman’s mind putty under her control. What a weakling, only putting up a fight for three short words. It seemed she had already connected her to the kidnapping of her friend, but that was no matter now that she was under Europa’s control. She would implant much more pleasant thoughts and feelings into her dumb little head so she didn’t have to worry about such unpleasant things. Europa’s eyes glowed with power, her vibrant blue eyeliner tinged with the pink of her magic. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word, Fiehra was on top of her, grabbing her arm.

Instinctively, Europa switched her full attention onto the second bartender. Whatever it was the woman wanted to do to her could not happen. The glow of her eyes grew more intense, filling Fiehra’s vision but not the room itself. She had already broken through to the bartender’s mind, so it took minimal effort to enact her will.

Halt.

She spoke, her lips moving, but the sound only echoing in Fiehra’s mind. The rest of the room faded away to just the three of them, a dusty pink smoke covering everything but their corner of the bar. WIth each passing moment, the smoke pushed closer, and a sickly sweet smell entered the nose of her victims.

Release me.

The commands were short but powerful. Over her years as an enchantress, Europa had found that the shorter the command, the harder it was to break. At the same time, she dug deeper into their heads, pressing further and further until she reached their deepest and most primal impulses. Her will was iron, pushing and pulling at the minds of the bartenders, reshaping them into a form that suited her interests. Everything is fun. You’re having a fun and lively day at work. The thought was implanted deep in their minds, overwriting their panic and desire to run away. There was nothing to be afraid of. There was no reason to get help. Nobody was attacked. It was just a fight between drunkards. Carry on like any other day. She had found the memories of the attack and the need to tell others, replacing it with a standard bar fight. The memories were flimsy and impermanent, but they would hold up for the next 10-12 hours. That would have to be long enough.

By that time, Fiehra’s hand was off of her arm. The verbal commands had taken effect while she was prancing around in her mind. It was a shame that Europa didn’t have her Papa’s ability to peer into memories. The capturing of Caledonia Hayden must have been a sight to behold—not that Europa wanted to see the blood and gore of it all that much. For the daughter of the leaders of Club Serpentine, she had a particularly weak stomach, which she was sure Zyx found dishonorable. Whatever. It kept her away from the icky grunt tasks the other Snakes were stuck doing, and that was fine by her.

The smoke began to recede, the lights and sounds slowly returning to the bar. Before she cleared it in its entirety, Europa had one final command to issue to the women. She looked back and forth between the two of them, ensuring that they were still entranced, their eyes locked on hers.

Be cheerful.

The final command was more challenging to cast—it required an emotional response instead of just a simple movement. Power flowed from Europa, lacing her words with bubblegum venom. It traced into their ears, scraping over their minds and burrowing into their emotions. The command blocked the fear, anger, distrust, despair that the two women were feeling, instead urging out joy, trust, whimsy. Like the implanted memories, the command would only last a number of hours. It took time and many days of repeated commands to make an enchantment long-lasting or even permanent, and Europa had no desire to have these two random Fight Ring bartenders under her control indefinitely.

The magic faded, and the three of them were back in the room. A man beside Europa jostled her slightly as he leaned in, slurred speech begging for another round. A bell tolled from beyond the bar’s walls, signifying the end of a match, and screams erupted from the stands. People danced under strobed lights, grinding against each other like they were the only people in the world. Nobody was the wiser to the magic that had been cast in that room, just as Europa had planned.

“Yeah, I’ll take Cosmopolitan. Now, if you will.” Europa gave Helen her drink order, following the flow of conversation from before her intrusion, ignoring the kidnapping comment entirely. She flickered her eyes to the man next to her, a flicker of pink filling her gaze for just a moment. “Step back.”

The man moved on autopilot, his steps jerky and doll-like, and he moved a good five feet from Europa. That was much better. He had smelled like piss and sweat, disgusting. She could barely believe such scum had the gall to touch her. It was too bad she had one more person to deceive before she could go home and shower.

Wait. CiCi. When she had ordered that drink, she had forgotten she had somewhere else to be. Ugh, what a waste. A Cosmopolitan would not be a good drink to go, and Europa was too dignified to walk and drink on the street like that.

“Never mind on the drink. This place is beneath me. I’m going to the Neon Cogs where I can be away from the sweat and blood of the fights.”

Not waiting for a response, Europa turned away from the bar and weaved through the crowd to the exit. It had only been a few minutes since CiCi had made her exit, but the cave beyond the bar was already empty, or at the very least devoid of her frenemy. She hoped finding Ceonrei wouldn’t require too much walking. She was in a particularly high set of fur-lined heels, and she didn’t feel like dealing with blisters. It was more likely that CiCi went in the direction of town instead of deeper in the Fight Ring, so Europa headed in that direction, hips swaying with each step, and she sent a message out to her fellow Councilor.

Heyyyyy Ceonrei!! My gurllllllll–

The message cut short and disappeared into the ether as Europa caught a flash of familiar brown hair down in the Fairylite Market towards the center of town. There would be no need for some hastily fabricated story for why Europa was searching for Ceonrei, and there would be no need to share that she had been in the Neowrath Tavern. Europa walked forward with more purpose, ready to take on the next stage of her plan.

   
   
❝   𝓗𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓪𝓱 𝓐𝓫𝓲𝓸𝓵𝓪   ❞    
   

Hannah paused, hands halfway through making the Cosmopolitan. Her mind seemed to shudder, curving out and open for the gorgeous woman before her, so glitzy and sparkling, even as some dulled part of her brain tried in vain to get her to stop what she was doing. But no, Hannah knew only to stop when this woman ordered her to. Her dark eyes had gone wide, brows furrowed in confusion, when Fiehra had tried to attack this woman. Why would she have done something like that when she only wanted a drink?

“Fiehra–” Hannah had started, only to stop that, too, when her co-worker finally seemed to see sense and release the woman’s arm. But when the woman commanded to stop making the drink, that she would go elsewhere…Hannah’s stomach sunk, even as something red and bright flashed in the recesses of her mind, an overwhelming sense of wrongness dancing up her spine, cloying fingers ticking each vertebrae and into her shoulders. Her lips opened as she jerked towards the customer, fingers itching to grasp her arm, keep her here, but no, no, she was leaving, stepping into the swirling crowd and–

Yes! It was better this way, she knew. Hannah gasped, an overwhelming sense of excitement, joy, a golden warmth humming, burst forth within her chest, and a small bout of laughter escaped her lips. Blinking hard, she shook her head, a sliver of information, that sense of something being off, still clinging like morning mist, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember why in the world she felt like that and what that information was to begin with. Maybe the headache, the way her vision swam, everyone almost doubling around her, the tightness and nausea gripping her guts, but really, that was life in the Tavern, right?

Wouldn’t be the first time she’d mistaken a drunk order, and some drunk fighter had swung for her head, or the first time she’d accidentally been hit in a brawl breaking out between people when she was only trying to slip through the crowd, water between two rocks. Slipping. Slippery, like snakes, like…snakes? An itch clung to Hannah’s brain, and she grimaced, that one word piercing into her mind, but why? No, what did it matter, Snakes were Snakes and they were underfoot, stepped on, why the hell was she thinking about such a creature? Shaking it off, she tugged her fingers through her hair and pulled it behind her shoulders.

So what was wrong? Every passing second had that feeling dissipating, and Hannah took a breath, her eyes brightening to reflect the neon lights pulsing and humming above the bar, outside by the ring, lips curving into a smile. Nothing was wrong, no one was–taken–taken…taken…oh! Hannah wanted to be taken, swept off her feat like in some romance novels she sometimes took a peek at, but that wasn’t happening unless she flirted her way through these customers. Right. Fight between drunkards. Hannah rolled her eyes. That was what had to have been wrong. Every single night people liked to throw fists, sending blood and saliva flying. Why in the world had she chosen to work here, and not Neon Cogs?

Perhaps Hannah should have followed that hot lady out of here, but…no, work was fun, she liked her job. She turned to Fiehra, offering her a dazzling smile, and set aside the half-made Cosmopolitan. “Finish these rounds of drink orders and maybe we can mingle a little, huh? Just…gotta finish this and find a way to dispel the headache.”

With a grin, she nudged her friend’s shoulder with her own before turning to the next customer, tapping their fingers on the bartop. “Hey,” she greeted, leaning over just enough to show the woman her cleavage. “What can I get you? Got a half-made Cosmopolitan over there, lady just up and left…” Hannah paused, gaping at her words, the way they seemed to tumble over themselves, spilling like excitable puppies. Why couldn’t she get a sentence out, why was she tripping over every word she spoke, tongue heavy in her mouth? Damn headache, right? Still, Hannah had no reason to leave. Love for her job, for her current shift, swelled within her breast, leaving her breathless. She’d be fine.

  

      𝗙𝗜𝗘𝗛𝗥𝗔 𝗜𝗩𝗬      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra’s hand froze mid-air as the woman’s command slammed into her mind, the dusty pink smoke curling through her senses like molasses. Her instinct to teleport, to yank herself and the threat away from Hannah and out of the bar before things got worse, faltered under the overwhelming will pressing against her thoughts. Panic rose, sharp and immediate, but before it could fully take root, Fiehra reached for the threads of her own magic—useless, so useless. No. Not yet, she thought, pushing with all her strength against the intrusion. She could feel the edges of woman’s power pressing in, smooth and relentless, and for a moment, she thought she might hold it back, protect herself, protect Hannah.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Her dark eyes flicked toward Hannah, who was wobbling and laughing, utterly undone by the enchantress. Frustration, fury, and fear mixed in Fiehra’s chest, but no matter how hard she pushed, the woman's command flowed around her defenses, slipping into every corner of her mind. Too powerful.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A flash of recognition pierced her mind before she fully turned to resume her bartending duties. She knew the shape of her power, the glint of her eyes, something familiar beneath the glimmering show of makeup and magic. Someone had told her about it, hadn’t they? Who . . . ? she struggled to grasp it, a name or memory brushing the edges of her awareness, just out of reach. But before she could call it, before she could anchor herself fully, the woman’s magic surged through her a final time.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The bubble of warmth, the useless shield of her own weaving, collapsed like mist in sunlight. She had never shielded against such magic, didn’t know how. Commands slithered into her skull: Everything is fun. You’re having a fun and lively day. No one is in danger. Carry on as normal. The sweetness of the enchantment scraped through her mind, displacing panic, displacing awareness, displacing thought. Her body obeyed, her hands releasing whatever she had been about to do, her lips moving as if in conversation though her mind no longer belonged to her.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She moved with the fluid, vacant motions of someone utterly entranced. Her lips curved into a smile, eyes bright with a false cheer, laughter bubbling up though it tasted like ash in her mouth. Every instinct to fight, to pull Hannah away, to teleport, had been erased. She was a marionette, a mirror of the woman’s will, and there was nothing she could do but follow the commands whispered into her skull.

     ──────────────────      END OF ROLEPLAY      ──────────────────