The rematch we all been waiting for! Matches begin tonight at Midnight, CST, and last for two weeks.
May the best lady win!
The rematch we all been waiting for! Matches begin tonight at Midnight, CST, and last for two weeks.
May the best lady win!
Astarelle lay in the soft Concordian grass watching the shadows of leafy boughs dance over her closed eyelids. The same cool breeze that bid the branches to dance also toyed with a few loose strands of hair, making them tickle her nose. Unwilling to move her hands, she just huffed and shook her head, then sucked in a long breath of fragrant forest air. It smelled almost as pleasant as Fallien – sweet to the desert's crisp clarity, flowers fragrant and strong where cacti blooms would only give off a subtle tartness. The air was alive with far-off bird song, rodent chitters, and the omnipresent whisper of billowing leaves.
And screams.
Not pained screams, of course, but rather the joyous, careening wails of little boys at play. One set of feet, followed quickly by another and another, stampeded near her head. She opened her eyes and shrank away, but the hooligans were already lost in the underbrush when she looked.
She chuckled softly, then stood and blinked against the noonday sun. After her near-nap, it was overpoweringly bright even with the boughs stretching determinedly over the small clearing. At its widest, the patch of soft green was seven paces long, and there was not a child to be seen within its borders. She wasn't surprised. Why would they stick to the clearing when there was a whole forest of pointy sticks and nettling plants to discover?
Their screeching laughter still carried to her in a way that might have been terrifying if it was night and the children weren't, for lack of a proper guardian, her kin. With a few careful steps -lest she spook them away- she moved to peek down the narrow cart trail that cut through the forest just at the clearing's edge.
A ways to her left, she saw three of them playing a fierce game of 'stick'; one part sword fight, one part interpretive dance, ten parts pure destruction. When one knocked a stick from the other's hand, they just ran off the trail and ripped a fresh one from low on the nearest trunk. The trees weren't taking such abuse without a fight, though. All of the boys had twigs in their hair and rips in their shirts. Astarelle had instructed the Ixian Castle staff to dress them in expendable clothes. The baggy shirts, already marked with impenetrable stains or missing buttons, were well on their way to being expended, and the pants looked as if they were constructed of a half fabric, half dirt mix.
“Ferals,” Astarelle whispered affectionately. It was a name that denizens of the castle normally used with disdain, if not outright terror. There were certainly a few who had reason to fear, as they had experienced events not unlike what the trees were going through. However, Astarelle couldn't fault the boys, not when they had grown up alone in the streets, and certainly not while she was the only one who seemed able to handle them.
It took a wild thing to tame wild things, perhaps.
Smiling lazily, she left the boys to their botanical massacre and crossed the clearing. Her burgeoning pack lay against a fallen tree with sprigs of new growth rising defiant all around it. There, she sat, bottom on the grass and back to the flaking bark. Grass tickled her shins where her short pants didn't reach, and the wind plucked at the laces of her white blouse. She undid it a little, just enough to feel the breeze on more of her golden skin.
From multiple directions, the forest crackled under the savage ministrations of a dozen Ferals. Better hurry, Little Bee, Astarelle thought bemusedly, Or they'll have this whole place stripped bare up to waist height on me.
I am riding in a carriage. The phrase brings a smile to my face.
I decide all at once to try the words out on my tongue. "I am riding in a carriage." A giggle escapes my lips and I hope with all that I am that the driver cannot hear. It's true though. I, Cellar Door, am riding in a proper carriage on the way to spend time with a near-noblewoman.
I give the carriage's other 'passenger' my best princess smile. The half covered dummy just stares at me with it's button eyes.
It's all a bit much. I stare down at the newish clothes that cover my small frame. For a brief moment I notice how my elbows jut out awkwardly beneath the silky blue fabric and how sharp my shoulder blades appear just above the neckline. I push the thoughts from my head. "I am riding in a carriage." I am for at least this short moment, not a beggar. Though my body may say otherwise, for now I will just enjoy the beauty around me.
I let out a sound that could only properly be described as a 'squee', and lean back against the soft bench. I can hear the wind hissing against the doors and the sounds of clomping horse feet against stone. We are still in the city. If I were to look out, I would see the people who have always looked at me as lesser instead staring in awe. Instead I stretch my feet lazily across the cabin and grin to myself stupidly. Soon, I will see Astarelle again. She would never understand how much her kindness means to me.
I drift off. I'm not sure for how long. When I wake the hooves are barely audible, muffled by grass. I feel that the air around me is now hot, midday is here. I peek out of the window for the first time as the horses halt. I wasn't ready. The sudden change in movement sends me toppling into the other 'passenger.' I rush to right myself before the door opens.
I quite nearly succeed. I am on one knee and one foot when the door swings outward. Instead of the driver though, I am greeted by a group of dirty, smiling faces. The young boys are covered from near head to toe in dirt and twigs. Suddenly I feel very overdressed.
"Hi!" I give a small wave to the strangers. "I'm Cel"
That is enough for the children. I am officially old news as soon as the smallest of the bunch jabs a stick into the back of the one with the missing front tooth. The game is back on and the boys run in the opposite direction. I watch as they pass a familiar image. I pull myself from the cart, nodding in the direction of the driver who seems to have lost interest in the whole ordeal. I reach back in just long enough to grab the mess of blankets that holds my co passenger and then turn my attention to the one who invited me here.
I carry the large item, careful not to let the linens brush the grass. As I gain ground on the Ixian I am once again stunned by her appearance. Astarelle is a classic beauty. Her dark hair and skin tone frame her silver eyes and the markings on her forehead. Even without our brief history, I would have known her in an instant. Her image is everywhere in the aftermath of the Cell, the tournament she won that made her a household name.
She is so far above me on the social chain it makes me sick to my stomach just to stand in her presence. How could she not notice my lightly sunken eyes or the way my bones stick out beneath my pale skin? She smiles though and I return the gesture. Perhaps in another life it would always be this easy with those of higher status. "I see we have some friends." I turn my eyes to the strange, tanned boys from before. They have discovered the horse. The driver does not seem pleased.
As Cellar approached, Astarelle bounced to her feet. Mostly, it was to help with the oversized bundle that Mr. Buttons poked lankly from – they set him and his linen-wrapped accessories against the fallen log. But also, it was because Cellar was not dressed for menial labor, let alone the kind of day Astarelle had planned yet not shared the details of. Perhaps that was a mistake...
Regardless, she gave Cellar her warmest and most honest of smiles, then chirped a quiet, “Come here,” and wrapped her arms around the girl. It was said that Astarelle was a “huggy” person. During the Cell, she had favored Kyla Orlouge with a great big appreciative squeeze as protective magic popped and shattered all around them. She liked to think of that as the moment she had become an Ixian Knight, even if some aspects of the job brought out the worst in her... even made her regret it. This moment, she chided herself. Today's plan was as much about getting her away from the castle as anything.
She uncoupled from her younger friend and looked her over, keeping her hands on those boney shoulders. Perhaps it was too much to ask that a week of good food and good sleep would erase the dark lines and the knobby evidence of Cellar's past, but Astarelle was sure it would happen someday. She had taken particular care that the inn she paid the girl's way into was not only the safest, but also the most aromatic with delicious smells from the kitchen. Cellar would have no choice but to grow herself some womanly softness. And maybe, hopefully, her soft blue eyes would lose that haunted look.
“Shoo! Shoo!” the carriage driver shouted as he leaned forward in his seat and made emphatic swatting gestures at the boys. Their sticks prodded the two well-bred beasts as if feeling for the most tender cuts.
Astarelle pulled both hands to her mouth to keep from laughing. Truth be told, she had expected Cellar to come in a simpler wagon, likely driving it herself. That she had used Astarelle's monetary gifts to arrive in such style -in both attire and attendant- was... well, quite adorable. The extra distraction for the Ferals was fortuitous, though certainly not what the poor driver had imagined awaited him. Taking a break from waving, he swept a fallen leaf from where it landed on the pressed shoulder of his jacket, and Astarelle pitied him. His jacket would see far worse before the day was out, if it survived. She made a mental note to reimburse him.
Yet, she made no move to settle the boys. These were children that could not be settled. Not by parental means, at least. Only comeuppance could teach a Feral. So, offering an apologetic glance that the driver might or might not see in his gesticulations, she turned back to Cellar.
With a beckoning wave, she stepped back to the log and motioned for Cellar to sit next to her, opposite from where the dummy sat on her right side. “Tell me how The Roaming Tide has been treating you,” she said companionably. Before her friend could take a seat, however, Astarelle motioned for her to stop a moment. With a wave of her arm, a plume of golden and grey sand rolled from her sleeve to coat the flaking edges and spurs of bark. “Don't want to ruin the dress, my lady,” she laughed, trying to keep the natural tease from her voice as she patted the cushion of sand.
It is so good to see her again. I can count my friends in this world on one hand. Three fingers actually. The last two weeks have been confusing and wonderful and frustrating and a mixture of other emotions I can't place. Never before have I been assured my next meal. Often times I forget. Typically one of the inn staff will bring to my attention how long it has been since my last meal. My body just isn't used to regular sustenance.
I glance at the dummy with a smile. I'm not sure what the champion of the Cell has planned, but whatever it is should be interesting. I consider asking but my attention is pulled toward the strange children.
The boys run about, swatting at the horses and each other. I watch in a quiet awe. When I think of all the things I want most in the world, a second change at my younger years tops the list.
I have heard it said that the more a person has, the more they long for. How can one dream of luxury when they have an empty belly? How can one dream of marriage when they've never had a friend? How can one dream of self improvement when they have no idea who they are to begin with?
This theory may have some truth to it.
Seven weeks ago I entered a tournament, hoping to put enough coin in my pocket to survive a few months. Since then, I have been in a whirlwind of discoveries and new found friendships. I have learned more about myself and the world than I did in my first eighteen years.
I am finally at a point where I understand most of what made me who I am. I am no closer to finding out who I'm supposed to be.
I shake my head and smile at Astarelle, "Sorry!" I take the seat she offers, laughing along though I don't understand the joke. I have learned in the last week that the upper class laugh about everything, funny or not.
I do note the jest in her voice, and for some reason I feel compelled to explain. I've also learned the upper class never explain anything.
"I went to a dress shop. I looked and looked and honestly I couldn't decide what to get. I've never been in a clothing shop before. Then, I saw the most beautiful woman I've ever seen paying for this exact gown--" I laugh softly. "I suppose I figured she knew what she was doing."
I lower my eyes just in case Astarelle is staring at me. I feel her eyes on my skin, much like the nurses in the hospital I spent my teen year in. They were always watching, trying to figure me out. Now that I'm free, everyone watches me that way.
I consider looking up, but decide against it. Instead I stare at the lush green grass beneath me. I use the toe of my black leather slippers to move the blades as I continue my story. "So, I put the dress on, and headed to the wagon guy." The wagon keeper? The wagon master? I let it go and keep speaking just to avoid an awkward silence. "He took one look at me and said a lady needed a proper carraige. He asked how much gold I had and I had just enough for a driver too. Isn't that lucky?" I couldn't slow down the words as they spill from my lips. Why is it always so hard to keep things to myself?
I brave a look at my companion, who seems to be near tears with silent laughter. I'm not sure how to respond.
In the distance a war cry rings out. I consider going to check on the children but the Ixian doesn't seem concerned. I speak. "I'm really sorry about the money. I promise I'll pay it back! I just didn't know how to say no."
She laughs again, "Oh, little bee."
The nickname brings to mind our first encounter. I think of the chase through the streets of Radasanth. I consider how far we've come. "Astarelle? Why do you call me that?"
Astarelle's laughter creaked slowly to a halt like a carriage set loose from its horses. Cellar's rambling story -how it lifted her spirits so- took on an uncomfortable weight. The girl could be so whimsical in spite of fate dealing her a cruel hand. It made Astarelle think, even hope, that she might relearn some of that purity.
“Cellar,” she said, stressing it as if to apologize for the nickname, “I probably shouldn't call you that anymore. It's just...” She stumbled over the words, then looked out over the thick grass and leaned forward with elbows on her thighs. Her fingers worked together as if trying to solve an invisible blacksmith's puzzle.
At the side of the clearing, the driver creaked down from his seat. “I mean it,” he snapped, trying to address the swarm of wild youths all at once, “If you leave a mark on my animals, you'll be paying for it!”
“I'll tell you, but first,” Astarelle said with some ease. Her hands stilled. “I don't want you to worry about money.” She turned to look into the deep pools of Cellar's eyes, then motioned with her head toward the driver as if to say, “[I[Like that.[/I]” Her mouth took on the wry tilt of nostalgia, and she looked toward the center of the clearing again. “I suppose I had a fortunate childhood. I grew up with everything I could want; almost everything. It's unfair compared to how you were living. So, I want you to have a little piece of that. Spend it as you like.” She gave Cellar a sudden mischievous smile, “I've been told that I have no respect for money, so it's not my place to judge. Bury me, I would have bought a mountain of chocolate, eaten it in one sitting, and spent the next day moaning in bed. I guess I'm still very much a 'desert princess', as some of the Ixians call me.”
Cellar smiled as her eyes looked far away, clearly imagining a bedridden Astarelle with chocolate-stained lips. “But, if you lived like that...” she said, her voice soft and meek with curiosity, “Why did you leave?”
Astarelle's eyes twinkled with a more pleasant memory. “No one can cage me. No matter how gilded the cage,” she said as if reciting fondly the words of another. “And I hardly needed money after that, either. I had tricks, when it was necessary.” Her mouth twisted smugly as she imagined herself as some sort of noble thief. Then, a glance from Cellar brought reality crashing down. The girl knew all too well what kind of thief Astarelle was.
Back to that, then, she thought sullenly and took a deep breath.
She forced herself to look Cellar in the eyes as she spoke. “I call you Little Bee because that was my first impression of you. I had just stolen a gun from a terrible man who provided you with so little that he might as well have been keeping you prisoner. Yet, you ran after me as if you might take it back. You had no way of knowing that I wouldn't shoot you on sight.”
Her voice faltered for a split second as she tried to keep a thought from becoming audible. Even now, you still don't know how close I came.
“You acted without thinking about your own safety. It was foolish. But, more so, it was brave,” she said forcefully, willing Cellar to take it as a point of pride rather than shame. “Perhaps the idea for the name was planted by that trap in the gun case. Live bees.” She gave a small snort of bitter laugher. “By the depths, that surprised me. Even without that, though, you still would have looked like a little bee flying out into the rain to defend your hive.”
Astarelle gazed to the side and smiled softly. Her tone was passive, almost bashful. “I would still like to call you Little Bee, sometimes... If that's okay. You're no less brave than you were that day, Cellar. And, hopefully, you'll find a hive worthy of you.”
I watch her as she speaks. The smooth way she moves her hands in tune with her words mesmerizes me. It is all so natural and easy for her. I wish not for her looks, but for her grace. The moment I realize I'm staring I lower my eyes to my bony, fidgeting hands.
I am a strange creature. I've been told this enough times in my life to know better than to doubt its truth. I am passionate. I am skittish. I am a fleeting gust of wind that will no doubt leave little impact on the world. I am afraid of things larger than my own understanding. Time and time again I wish I could fight back, but I know that to take stand may well end my life.
I am very much a little bee. Perhaps not for the reasons that Astarelle uses the term, but I am all the same.
I decide I am okay with it. There are certainly more insulting things to be called. "I suppose that would be okay." My voice escapes me with a tinge of laughter. Surely there are worse things to hide than my own reasons for agreeing to my new nickname.
Astarelle's explanations of her own past seem to weigh down the air between us. I consider the trappings of a wealthy childhood. What would it be like to feel caged in a house of means? Is it all that different than my own prison? Perhaps my desperation for gold in my pocket will only bring me right back where I came from. Trapped and afraid. Am I better off on the streets?
I have never considered myself a philosopher, and rightly so. In the same moment my great epiphany strikes-- it is gone as I register the outline of a cat in a low hanging cloud.
I still as I listen to the giggling of children playing and notice the soft smell of lilies in the distance. The scent is so sweet I can almost taste sugar on my lips. I stare at the bright sky above us and allow myself to enjoy the cool breeze as it whistles through the tree line for a brief moment before my mind remembers our guest. I jump to my feet as a grin plays on my lips. "Care to tell me exactly what our friend here is for?"
Astarelle glanced sideways at the figure she had, temporarily, been thinking of as Mr. Buttons. He just stared off into space from his large sack, quietly contemplating the reason for his existence. At any other time, his purpose would have been to serve as a dummy in sword practice. Today's plan was not too far from that, though it was going to be blasted unorthodox.
“Self-defence training,” Astarelle chirped, leaving a space of silence to draw out Cellar's curiosity. Just seeing the earnestness on that girl's face made her smile. “Though,” she corrected herself after a moment, “it might be more like self-offence.”
She was interrupted suddenly by the loud smack and careening squeal of a single Feral meeting a hoof named Comeuppance. The other boys were a moment behind in adding their wild laughter to the noise. It almost drowned out the driver's shout of, “I told you!”
“This seems like the right time,” Astarelle said with an apologetic nod. She stood and hoisted Mr. Buttons up in both arms, then carried him to the center of the clearing on quick, pattering feet. His single pole leg -so thin compared to his bulky body and arms- scraped a path that sent the smell of wet earth into the breeze. It mixed with the smell of layered straw mats that made up his flesh, softening the musty edge of long storage.
Astarelle grunted as she hoisted the dummy high and planted it forcefully into the earth. Then, she turned to make sure that the Ferals were paying attention. They were. Like magpies before a jewelry store window, they inched forward, leaving the horses and driver behind. The man and beasts huffed in unison, then settled to watch whatever madness they had been contracted into.
“Okay, my little karuku-tals,” Astarelle sang cheerily, using a name for a desert beast that was just as wild as them. It sounded better than 'Ferals', though. “I'm going to teach you something, and I want you to only use it when you have to. If you try this on any of the castle staff,” she gave them a pointed look that made their eyes lower just slightly, “then I'll be very disappointed.” The dozen boys stopped in a semi-circle around her and the dummy. With a jittery kind of curiosity, they watch from under scrappy, leaf-matted bangs. One of them cradled his chest gingerly, though he didn't seemed seriously hurt aside from what was undoubtedly a hoof-shaped bruise under his shirt. The Ferals were tough kids.
“Could you bring our packs over?” Astarelle asked as if inviting Cellar onto a stage. She obliged, though not without a long, wary glance over the line of dirty beady-eyed youth. “Cellar, meet the boys,” Astarelle said as she stepped reassuringly beside her friend. “Most people call them the Ferals. You can too. I think they like it.” Some of the boys growled, then broke into laughter. “They were homeless in Radasanth until the Knights caught them.... swarming pockets during the Cell. I make sure that it's a home to them instead of a prison. In fact, right now, they're trying to Feral-proof a wing as payment for some of my recent work.” She leaned close to Cellar's ear and said smugly, “I drive a very hard bargain.”
Then, she straightened and gestured to the boys. “Everyone, this is Cellar Door. She used to live like you did. She's also a very good friend, so be nice,” she said with a very serious tone. Some of them were already looking at the girl with gentler expressions. However, none of them spoke. “They don't talk to adults. I've heard them talking to each other, though.”
One of the boys looked away, a mix of anger and shame reddening his face. With his stick, he worked up a plug of earth.
As Astarelle dug through the sack Cellar had brought, she kept an eye on the boys. A hope stirred in her that they would see Cellar as kin, or at the very least feel comfortable in her presence. They had hoarded so much mistrust during their short lives that it sometimes broke her heart. Healing, sadly, would come in small steps.
Quietly, Astarelle pulled a baggy leather jacket from the sack. It was far finer than what she had requested. Oh, Little Bee, she sighed inwardly so as to not interrupt the moment, you don't have to impress me.
For a moment I'm not sure if it's my imagination or if the boys truly are inching closer and closer with each passing second. Astarelle busies herself setting up the dummy. I watch eagerly as she pulls out the leather jacket I picked up at her request. The shopkeep had told me it was top of the line fit for someone of my new friend's status.
Had I known the article's future I probably would have bought it second hand.
I am soon too distracted by a hand on the hem of my skirt to study the Ixian's movements. I look downward and discover a pair of light brown eyes staring at me. The boy's face is serious and he shows no sign of speaking.
I awkwardly take a knee, surely ruining the gown. "Hi again. I'm Cel."
Several other boys begin to gather around. Their faces are both curious and skeptical. The one who has pulled my attention is one of the smallest. If I were to hazard a guess I would place them between seven and thirteen, though most would fall on the lower end. I was not much older than the youngest when I began life in an empty room, locked away for the safety of myself and others.
I quickly realize that this conversation is going to be extremely one-sided. "Have you enjoyed your stay with the Ixians?"
The answer is several snorts and a handful of laughter. Wrong question.
Okay, let's try again "Do you like chocolate?"
Nods all around. I smile. "Good, I just so happen to have some." I stand and make my way through the crowd that reaches just below my shoulders. My bag sits nearby. Inside its iron clasps I find a small package, expertly wrapped in bright silver paper and topped with a green bow. It was a gift for Astarelle, but something tells me she'd prefer the kids receive it anyway.
I hand it to my new friend, who eagerly rips the paper away with the help of a half dozen other hands. I can't help but laugh as he finds his prize. He breaks into the chocolate bar and passes pieces around as shouts of impatience and glee ring out from the group. Soon, each of their faces are smudged with delicious extremely expensive smears.
The grass is littered with ripped shreds of wrapping paper. I begin to pick up the scraps, but quickly feel another tug on my gown. I look down and see the same pair of brown eyes. The boy holds out the hand that isn't on my skirt with a small grin. In his hands is a tiny square of chocolate.
I kneel down once again. "Did you have any?"
He shakes his head sadly.
"It's yours. Wanna know a secret?"
He eyes the treat hungrily as he nods.
"I had some in the carriage on the way over." I whisper the words with a smile.
He grins and shoves the chocolate into his mouth. I reach out slowly and tousle his hair. He smiles. I do too.
We sit like that for a long moment. Then, all around us shouts fill the air. I look back at the dummy, who is now fully dressed.
He looks very familiar. No, surely it is all in my imagination. How would Astarelle know--
My thoughts stop as I see Astarelle pull something from her pack. I can't help myself anymore. The words come out a bit too loudly.
"What is that!?!"
Cellar's shout took Astarelle by surprise. Up to then, her mind had been quite adrift, just enjoying the bonding. A teeth-baring grin had become a permanent fixture on her face at the offering of chocolate. They have my weakness. Maybe they really are my own, she had thought.
The grin dropped as she looked around for whatever had startled Cellar. A small tract of maternal instinct even stirred at the idea of her cubs in danger. However, she saw nothing. A curious look back at Cellar told her where the problem was. “Oh, this,” she said with a heavy exhale, “It's a finishing touch.” She lifted the object that she had retrieved from her own pack; a mess of ropey strands tinged varying degrees of crimson. “I took this from the mop closet near Jensen Ambrose's room. Years of spilled red wine... and whiskey... and the driest martinis he can find.”
Cellar shrank back and wrinkled her nose.
Astarelle huffed, “Bury me. It doesn't smell. They bleach it to the depths and back.” She plopped the dry mop head onto the dummy's cylindrical dome and straightened the bangs so as to not blind the button eyes. Then, she stepped back to admire her work. She had cut the black shirt in the back to wrap around the dummy's stiff shoulders, and the same for the leather jacket. It looked fine -if snug- from the front, and the floor wig gave it a special offensive touch.
A squeak came from Cellar as if she was about to say something. But, Astarelle cut her off with a loud, “Now. Today's lesson!” The boys were already vibrating from the joy of chocolate. She would not be able to direct them for long. “This straw fellow is dressed like a bad man. A very bad man. You have to watch out for him,” she said with the rapid patter of a drill sergeant. The boys eyed the dummy incredulously. “Especially,” she continued, “the hands. He punches hard.” She jabbed a finger against the round, straw-frazzled nub of the dummy's arm. “If you ever see him, run. Don't listen to anything he says. Don't let him get close. Run.”
Some of the boys shot her worried glances. This was a woman who sat back while they were kicked by horses. If she was taking the threat of 'bad man' this seriously...
“But, if you can't get away,” Astarelle said with just a touch of worry dampening her voice, “I need you all to work together, and I need you to be brave. You have to forget the rules about living in the castle. You need to be that stealing swarm again.” A few of the older boys shook off the contagious worry to grin at the prospect of their glory days reborn. “If you are cornered by Zack Blaze,” Astarelle decreed with back straight and voice steady. She plucked a shaft of straw from the dummy's flesh. “Steal his stuffing.” The straw fell from hers finger and hit the clearing floor like a starter's flag. “Go!” She bounded out of the way as the boys charged, whooping and squealing as if it were a game. If they thought of it that way, all the better. The Ferals played rough.
It is not all in my mind. Astarelle is teaching the children to beat up Zack Blaze. Why is the world so incredibly complicated? How do those two even know each other? Does Astarelle have any idea that were Zack to meet a young child alone in an alley his first instinct would be to help, not hurt?
I am not ignorant. I know that Zack is not a good person. I also know that there are varying shades of bad.
At first there are sounds of shouting and all I can see is a wall of torn clothing and tanned skin. The boys are quite literally running over one another for a shot at the dummy. It goes on like this for a long moment.
Then, I hear the ripping of fine leather. It is a sleeve. The boy who has pulled it loose is the pudgy one. He holds it above his head in victory and lets out a war cry. I find myself torn between the comedy and my own feelings about the true Blaze.
The zipper of the jacket soon gives and from there it takes no time at all for handfuls of straw to fly in all directions. Several of the children take a few steps back and give each other a look that can only mean something terrible. All at once they take a running leap. They barely clear the smaller boys as they smack into the dummy with all the might four skinny street kids can muster. A sickening crack fills our tiny slice of paradise. Even the carriage driver turns his attention to the chaos. The dummy gives. The mop head rolls a few feet away, separated from the now cloth-thin body which lays at the feet of the ferals.
I take a deep breath. It is over.
I glance at Astarelle and note the look of joy in her eyes. Manipulating children into doing her bidding with the promise of food and protection? The whole situation seems all too familiar. Can she truly believe herself any better than Blaze?
I am pulled back to reality at the sound of a shout. The pudgy one has lifted the mop head above his head. He is parading about and receiving pats on the back from his comrades.
"Enough!" The word leaves my lips without permission. I may as well finish now though. I breathe and lower my tone. "Astarelle, may I speak with you?"
She gives a look of pride to the boys that reminds me of a mother whose child has just begun taking their first steps. I suppose to her this is quite the same. Their first steps toward bettering the world through violence and savagery. I turn my back and take several steps toward the wagon. I close my eyes and listen to the silence that has overtaken the field. Only the sound of the leaves rustling remains.
Astarelle dismisses the children to play with a loving voice before making her way to me. I can hear her approach. I consider my words carefully.
I look into her metallic eyes. "I appreciate everything you've done for me Astarelle. Thank you, truly. I think it's time for me to figure things out on my own though."
The Ixian gives me a doting look, "Oh, little bee. Stop worrying about the money-"
I cut her off with a sigh.
"This isn't about the money anymore. Or, I suppose it is." I have spent my entire life buried in words, and yet I have none when I need them most. "I've lived on the streets for a couple years now. I've watched others like me come and go. Many have joined the ranks of Misery Business, more still have joined your precious knights. Why is it that the only way to escape poverty in Radasanth is to choose one or the other?"
My tone changes all at once. There is far more venom in the words than I intend. "Does it make a difference, really? These kids can fight for him or fight for you. Either way they lose themselves to the wants of the person with the largest coin purse! I for one would rather scrape by for each meal than become part of this broken system! Perhaps you should ask your beloved ferals what they would chose."
Astarelle tried three times to form words, but she didn't know where to start. Her pulse, already high from the Ferals' destructive enthusiasm, rose higher. She began to sweat as an old feeling came back; vulnerability. Her intentions bared and read in the worst way possible. There was something she could say to smooth it over -there had to be- but she couldn't find it.
“Li- Cellar,” she began, forcing sincerity into her voice. The look from her friend said that it was fooling nobody. Cellar's sincerity was pristine. It had calmed Astarelle in one of her worst moments, even caused her to surrender the gun. Now, it stung. “I'm sorry,” she found herself saying, though she didn't know exactly why. She had underestimated Cellar's understanding of the world. But, it was more than that. She felt as if she was apologizing for a long list of wrongs with Cellar as the proxy pardoner.
Airborne straw clung to her shining skin as she took a deep, staggered breath of the dusty carnage. One foot moved forward, easing toward Cellar as if she was a frightened animal. The grass crunched loudly, for both the driver and the Ferals in the trees watched intently.
“Zack would promise them such honey and chocolate, Cellar. I'm sure you know that,” she said, struggling to find the right way to pull open this puzzle. She didn't even know how Cellar knew of Zack Blaze. There were too many cards in play, and she was blind to all but her own. Cellar scowled. She saw hypocracy, that much was clear in her once-soft eyes. Her mouth parted as if she might lend that accusation voice, but Astarelle cut her off shrilly. “I am not like Zack Blaze!”
She took two sharp steps forward, and she spoke to the girl so forcefully that her heart broke a little below the wave of anger that directed her. “I don't know how close you've come to this fight, Cellar. But, let me tell you what I've seen.” Her friend's eyes shone with moisture, but her words stampeded onward regardless. “He drew me into an unfinished Citadel arena. He tried to throw me into the blankness from which the illusions are born. It was an assassination attempt!” Her voice started to shake with emotion, and moisture welled in her own steely eyes. “He said he would come for my boys next. Me and them, we didn't ask for any of this, you know? It's just the hand I was dealt when I had no place to go and the Ixians took me in. Give and take. That's how they work.”
“And so you do it to others,” Cellar said in the tone of a meek philosopher, one who didn't know just how profound her words were.
Astarelle locked a desert-hardened hand on Cellar's slim shoulder. The girl leaned away as if ready for a strike from the other hand – the reaction made Astarelle's heart drop. Do you really think I would? she asked silently, for she feared the answer. More than anyone, even other Knights, Cellar had seen what she was capable of, when necessary.
“Listen to me,” Astarelle said, her voice lowering like the quiet, rolling pilgrimage of sand. Her words were for Cellar alone. “I know a cage -a prison- when I see it,” she began, letting her thoughts flow without their normal filter of white lies and deceptive guile. “Why do you think I disguised myself and stole a gun when I could have just bought it. I didn't want them to know. I wanted a way out.”
Cellar looked down, her face tinged with regret for making Astarelle part with the weapon, or perhaps for getting involved at all.
Astarelle's other hand shot forward, hooked under Cellar's chin, and delicately bid her to look up. There was a small smile turning Astarelle's lips. “No. Thank you,” she said gently, “I wasn't thinking straight. If I had tried to shoot my way out of the castle when they finally asked too much... Bury me, that would have been foolish. More foolish than brave. The boys would have been hurt, and so would those few in the castle who I consider friends.” A single streak of moisture fled from one eyes. “You know me. I will never submit to a gilded cage. The boys are the same, and I want them to stay that way. I want them to be able to defend themselves when I finally leave here.”
She leaned closer as if to keep her words safe not only from nearby ears, but also from listeners she could not see. “And I will leave, Little Bee. Someday, when no one expects it, I will disappear with the boys. The Knighthood and the Business can fight their war without us. We'll find our own hive... somewhere. Just like you will.”
I breath deeply as relief floods my veins. I was so close to writing the Ixian off. As badly as I need friends, I need my own approval more.
It does not come as a shock to me that Zack would wish harm upon Astarelle. Our brief encounters had left no doubt of his distaste for all things Ixian. I consider his brute force in the dogfight. I imagine what it would feel like to have that directed at me. I can't. Every time I close my eyes I see only his smile as he took my hand and led me to those who could tell me what I needed to know.
I owe much of my identity to Zack Blaze. I owe my life to Astarelle. I am at a loss to which one means more.
I will be the first to admit I know little of the workings of the world. One thing I do know though, is the human spirit. I am drawn to others in a way I can't quite explain. For some reason I devour their movements and actions like most would a play. I find each shrug completely intriguing. Each syllable of speech entrances me. For a long time I believed this fascination was due to being locked away for much of my youth. I never had the opportunity to learn the social order across a sandbox. The things others learned as children must be fast tracked for me to survive.
The longer I live in this world though, the more I doubt my own hypothesis. Perhaps there is something inherently different about me. Something that makes me distinctly--other.
It seems everyone chooses either 'good' or 'bad'. I'm not supposed to see the beauty and the horror in both. I take Astarelle at her word. Perhaps there is a hive for 'others' out there somewhere.
I give a small smile as I let my body relax. I do not speak. I just accept the fact that sometimes there are no words. Several of the boys have gone back to their play. The few who remain are wiping tired eyes. I look to the sky, where the sun is beginning to dip low behind the trees.
I raise my voice so that those running against the skyline can hear. Their silhouettes still as they listen. "How many people do you think we can fit in that carriage?"
The first cool breeze of dusk blew through an empty clearing. On its urging, straw tufts and bits of expensive leather danced as if trying to break free of the tall grass. A few golden stalks took to the air, tumbling gently toward a fallen tree where the grass had been flattened by the leisure of humans. There as no one left, now, and only the rutted mark of a carriage turning betrayed the direction they might have gone.
Down the road was an answer in a box, if the question was, “How many Ferals can you fit in a carriage?” That answer, technically, was “All of them.” Though, as with all things in life, there were caveats. Five of the boys sat atop the carriage, bottoms to its lacquered roof and fists holding tight to the railings that were supposed to support luggage, not persons. The other seven were crammed into the vessel's body. Three of them hung out the windows to escape the crowded seats and, while they were there, snatched leaves for their burgeoning collections. The four inside sat haphazardly on the seats and laughed with a fading mania as they played their newest game. In truth, it was a game for four and one-fifth players. The odd man out was a head with button eyes and flesh of straw, flying back and forth between the boys, ricocheting off the carriage hull and the bottoms of the window-leaners.
It was a strange and somewhat morbid trophy for, to be honest, strange and somewhat morbid children.
“I'll send you a quote for the damages,” the driver said bitterly. The reins were limp yet clutched tight in a white-knuckled grip. High on his forehead, a vein pulsed in the fading light. It would have been hidden if not for the loss of his hat, though it hadn't gone far. One of the boys on the roof, the oldest presumably, wore it like a proud rooster strutting across his coop. By some miracle -perhaps proof that wild boys could be reformed- he was taking care to keep it pristine and away from the grabby hands of his fellows.
“Parenthood is expensive,” Astarelle mused aloud, then turned in the saddle of one laboring horse. “Send me the bill later, good sir,” she said with mock elegance. The driver just huffed and hunkered down in his unmarked jacket. Count yourself lucky that they're tired, she thought with more than a little venom.
Perhaps a touch of that venom made its way to her face, for Cellar gave an odd reaction as Astarelle turned forward. The girl's eyes had been heavy with something. Guilt perhaps? Before more could be deciphered, she turned her deep blue eyes to the road ahead and stared far more intently than the dim, rutted trail warranted.
Astarelle felt the need to console her, but she could only say, “Don't worry about the money,” so many times before it lost meaning. It hurt, though, to see her charity causing Cellar such distress. Little Bee, she intoned, keeping the words and their exasperated sympathy silent. The girl was so unused to kind gestures, and Astarelle so free with them. She simply had to give Cellar something for her friendship. Nothing, however, was equal to the girl's trusting and sincere nature. It gave Astarelle leave to speak more honestly than with anyone else. It made her feel like she could breath deeply and just be herself.
All she could do was trust in return, if she dared open her locked chest of secrets. It was a chest full to the lid, and one that she often felt heavy on her shoulders.
“Cellar,” Astarelle said softly as she tilted easily on the horse's bare back. Her friend gave a small start, then leaned inward as much as she dared on the unfamiliar animal. “I haven't told anyone else this,” the reluctant knight whispered, “But, in that arena...” She refrained from naming her attacker again. “I did fall into the void of the Citadel.”
Little Bee gave a little squeak. Her eyes looked up and down Astarelle's body critically. “Are you okay?” she asked, to which Astarelle nodded emphatically. The obvious question followed, softer than the evening breeze and the soft clip-clops below them. “What was it like?”
“It was more than just illusions,” Astarelle said with a small measure of reluctance that she tamped down forcefully, “It was everything that might have been.” She stressed the odd phrase, not because she understood what she had experienced, but because it just felt right. “Later, I'll tell you everything. I'll tell only you. No one else.”
The curiosity caught in Cellar's eyes like lit tinder, and a subtle smile heralded her awareness of Astarelle's earlier hesitance. Secrets were a commodity that the Fallieni woman had in as much abundance as she had coin. Yet, it took force to part with one, and it meant much more than giving a small fortune. It was a gift Cellar might receive without guilt, for an invisible weight seemed to ease in Astarelle's face.
The desert scorpion gave a small piece of herself to her friend, the little bee, for the bee knew well the poison the scorpion harbored and was not deterred.
Great story. Writing elements made the difference here. As always, you can PM me for specific comments.
Roht Mirage
Story- 6
Setting- 7
Pacing- 6
Persona- 6
Communcation- 5
Action- 5
Mechanics- 7
Technique- 6
Clarity- 6
Wildcard- 5
Total- 59/100
Taste of Treason
Story- 7
Setting- 6
Pacing- 5
Persona- 7
Communcation- 5
Action- 5
Mechanics- 6
Technique- 6
Clarity- 6
Wildcard- 5
Total- 58/100
Roht Mirage wins, which means there will be a rematch next round!
Lye will be around to add rewards shortly.