Balance of the Heart

“I figured I might find you here.”

Marian was sitting in the office of her cart, curled up beneath the desk. She peered at Hana over her knees, eyes pleading to leave her be. She had been trying to find somewhere, anywhere, where no one would come to talk to her.
“Oh no, that is not how this works,” Hana said. She shook her head. “Everyone is worried about you.” She watched Marian pull herself into a tighter ball. Guilt. She frowned and adjusted her glasses. “If you don’t talk about it, it won’t go away. I know how you work, Mayumi. You’re just letting it eat away at you.”

She watched as Marian started to sob, tears breaking in her eyes and rolling down to hide behind her knees. She crouched down and held out an open hand. “It’s okay. Come on out. You’re okay.”

“Not okay,” Marian whispered. She hesitated, but took Hana’s hand and let herself be led out from under the desk. Hana, never taking a hand off Marian, sat her in a nearby chair and stood behind her, hands on either of the smaller woman’s shoulders. She let out a long “shh” while Marian cried. Marian sobbed, “I never should have left.”

Hana shushed her again. “Oh no, none of that,” she said.
Marian shook her head. She repeated herself, “I never should have left.”
Hana realized it would be hard to break her from this train of thought. She would need to appeal to a part of Marian that was less emotional. She moved her hands from Marian’s shoulders to the back of the chair and pushed her towards the desk. When she stepped away from the chair Marian looked at her. “Don’t go,” her eyes pleaded. Hana cleaned off the clutter of papers and odds and ends from the desk before heading out of the room and returning with a brass scale and a heavy bag of coins. She set both on the desk in front of Marian and pulled out a chair for herself. Marian sniffled. Hana poured the bag of coins out; careful enough to make sure they didn’t fall off the desk.

“You are very emotional right now,” Hana said softly, “so we’re going to handle this in the most logical way possible.” She gestured to the setup, but Marian looked confused. “It’s very simple.” Hana held up a coin. “Each coin represents something in your life, a result of your actions or inactions, the life wealth you have accumulated or perhaps that you owe; who is to say.” She looked at the scale and paused for a moment. It would be difficult to distinguish one side from the other. She turned and plucked the ribbon from Marian’s hair, the long purple tresses cascading down over her shoulders. She tied it to one end of the scale and rebalanced it.

“This side,” Hana indicated the side with the ribbon “represents the good things in your life. While this side,” she pointed to the other side of the scale “represents the bad.” Hana picked up a coin and placed it on the negative side. The scale tipped dramatically. “For the sake of this exercise, everything weighs the same; every event and person and thing is a single coin.”

Marian furrowed her brow. “But that’s not true,” she said. She had relaxed, just a little, and was staring intently at the scale. “Consequences don’t work like that.”
“Not in the present,” Hana clarified. “Everything seems bigger than it is when it happens. If we base things on your emotions at present, the bad will always outweigh the good.”

Marian huffed and Hana tried to hide a smile. Marian wasn’t looking, still focused on the scale. She asked, “so what’s that coin then?”
“Your most recent loss,” Hana answered.
Marian added another. Hana quirked an eyebrow. “Marsi,” Marian muttered. Hana nodded and pulled her into a soft side hug. Marian let herself take a deep breath, relaxing against Hana’s shoulder. The moment didn’t last long. Hana sat back up.
“The starting point will be leaving the Isle, since that is what you seem so hung up on. All of your consequences must branch from that point.” She placed a coil on the positive side. “For your freedom,” she explained. The scale moved, but just slightly.

Marian dropped coin after coin into the negative side of the scale. She had started from the beginning. Haunting memories of a life she never lived. Estrangement from the only home she had ever known. Ruining the life of one of her only friends. A failed attempt to reconnect with a child that was never hers. Forced from another home. The unwelcome feeling of showing up in Diamond City. The fear of becoming a monster. The fear of being found out as a child of the Realm. Connections lost through time and reincarnation. Uselessness. A fight, lost. Allowing the monster in. Three months of absolute hell. The reveal of her secret. The loss of her children. The stupidity of her own capture. Failure to do anything. Cowardice in the face of truest evil. A judgement lapse leading to failing a child. A judgement lapse leading to killing a friend. More cowardice. Each coin got harder and harder to add as tears blocked Marian’s vision and her whole body shook. She kept going. Building a reliance on someone she knew would hurt her. Ending up in a marriage she never wanted. Splitting apart her family. Splitting apart her home. Forcing someone else into a marriage they never wanted. War. So much war. Long dead memories of betrayal. Dragging her friends into her current mess. A soft hand on her shoulder kept her from slamming the coins into the scale. Her mother’s unfair imprisonment. This stupid war. Hurting someone she cares so deeply about. Failing with so much on the line. Falling for this ploy in the first place. The feeling of being used. The feeling of betrayal.

Marian stopped, finally finished, but another coin gripped tight in her hand. Hana gently massaged her shoulder and encouraged her to breathe. She was crying. She was angry. The scale sat, heavily skewed on the negative side, coins threatening to spill out.
Hana rearranged them slightly. She’d no room to tell Marian how to feel about everything that had happened to her; no room to remove any coin placed down in a fit of passion and sorrow and rage.
“What about the other side?” she asked, calmly. Marian shook. Hana frowned, took Marian’s clenched hand in her own, and coaxed her into dropping the coin onto the positive side of the scale. “My love and loyalty,” she said. She brought Marian’s hand back to the edge of the table and held it. With her free hand, Hana picked up another coin and set it onto the positive side of the scale. “A new determination to do the right thing,” she said.

She kept going, one coin after another, speaking each reason aloud for Marian to fully grasp everything she had witnessed on their journey together. The deep passionate love from Discord. The deep trust gained from time and deed with Knott. The quiet, sweet, welcoming kindness from Matra. The assurance that heroes do exist, locked within old memories. An old friend, regained, in Felicity. The soft love of Ellodie. The confidence of Tepet Ejava. Acknowledgement that she tried, above all things, to answer the call of war with peace. The courage to do the right thing and take out an abuser. Reuniting with Junko. The discovery that Satire was still alive and well. A helping hand granted to a lost cousin. The strong desire to see her people reunited. Support of V’neef. The blooming love between herself and Yuri. A coin for both children. A coin for each child yet to be born. The kindling of love between herself and Gabe.

Hana paused and looked at Marian. She’d stopped shaking and her tears had slowed, but not stopped. Hana picked up a coin and handed it to her. Marian placed it into the positive side of the scale. “For Mom,” she said. She picked up another and put it in as well. “For both Moms.”

Hana smiled.

It was slow going, but Marian began to add coins to the positive side of the scale. A deathlord defeated. A friend made among the fae. Softpaw. Audrey. Katarina. Isao. Sabriel. An attempt to destroy so many people; thwarted. Cynis. The Empress. The Pride of Mnemon. The growth of Diamond City. Robin. Fleetfoot. Emily. An acceptance into a secret society. The aptitude to learn a Sidereal Martial Art. The friendship of Liger. The respect (or what she hoped was respect) of Cecelyne. A coin, really, for each of the Yozi she considered herself close with. The demon Jazz band. The scale tipped down, but she kept going. A lasting belief in the good of Creation. The undying hope that the differences between the Realm and the Anathema could be resolved. The determination to protect those she cared about. The sureness that, against all odds, the Yozi could be redeemed. The burning need to do something to make change. And then, on top of the neatly laid pile Hana had been reorganizing as Marian stacked, one final coin.

“Love,” she said.

Hana and Marian stared at the scale. The positive end sat firmly on the surface of the desk, out weighing the other end by what seemed like quite a margin. A few coins still lay scattered around the desktop. They sat like that, staring in silence, for a little while. Marian leaned her head on Hana’s shoulder again. She wasn’t shaking. The tears on her face had dried, but her eyes still threatened more.

“How many of those coins would be there if you’d stayed home and did what you were told?” Hana asked. Marian didn’t answer. Her hand found Hana’s and locked their fingers together. She sniffled.
“It still hurts,” she said after a long moment.
Hana nodded. “It will,” she admitted. “It probably always will. But it will hurt more if you start taking coins off the good side.”
Marian whispered, “I’m sorry. I get carried away.”
“Your cousins would tell you to be kinder to yourself,” Hana said. She gave Marian a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “But I understand that can be hard too.”
Marian nodded.
“I’m still mad,” Marian said. She squeezed Hana’s hand a little. Hana squeezed back.
“That’s okay too. Just try to remember that you’re the one in charge, not the monster.”
Marian nodded again.
“Are you ready to rejoin the group, then?” Hana gently moved her at arm’s length and gave her a soft smile. Marian looked back at her, her face worn from crying and her hair a long and stringy mess. Hana’s face skewed to a frown. “Clearly not. Come on, let’s get you washed up.”

Inner Darkness

“I don’t really know what you expected.” Marian pictured herself floating behind her; lounging on an invisible cloud with a smart-ass grin on her face. She tried not to pay attention, to focus herself on something positive. “You knew she’d been planning this. You could have stepped in at any point and saved yourself the trouble….not that it would have helped.”

Marian pulled the pillow over her head and tried to block out her ears. It didn’t help. They were soundless words.

“Gods if you aren’t just pathetic. I mean, you’ve always been all talk haven’t you? Rather play games than get your hands dirty; all theory no muscle.” She heard herself laugh. It echoed with a hundred other voices she didn’t want to hear, but she heard her own through all of them.

She felt the sting of tears at her eyes. She dug her fingers into the pillow. Shut up, shut up, shut up, she thought.

“You walked right into her plans and gave her everything she wanted. Heck, this probably would have gone better if you’d opted to stay home.” Marian could see her other self’s smug smile through her eyelids, like the camera had zoomed right in on her mouth. Her teeth were sharper than she remembered. “They should have just left you down there. What a fitting end: buried in a forgotten tomb where no one will ever find you.”

Marian’s heart felt like a lead weight. Her throat felt heavy and sticky. How impossibly worthless was she? What good was she even for? What had they even accomplished in all of this?

“You wasted all of your time and more importantly: all of theirs. You endangered your children and hurt those you care about most. It’s a good thing you’re pretty, you’re not good for much else.”

A new voice, if only for a moment, “you’re a consummate professional.”

Marian took a deep breath. She didn’t have to feel good about herself, she just had to look good. She closed her eyes and tried to turn her focus. She was mad at herself, sure, but she wasn’t the only one to blame.

“She used you.” Those three words were enough to ignite the fire. Marian felt her fingernails tear apart the fabric of the pillow. If Marsi was smart, she wouldn’t show her face again. If she did it would be too soon.

It’s not about liking yourself. It’s about hating something else so much more.

In the Wake of Disaster

“I’m not so sure about this,” Havok whispered as his sister opened their mother’s bedroom door and took a silent, barefoot step on the soft carpet. Bedlam either did not hear him, or did not care as she kept walking.

Havok found his focus drift to the sight of the dust dancing in the sunlight that shone through the parts in the curtains. He shook his head when he heard the sound of a drawer being opened.
“Bedlam!” he whispered, dashing over to her.

She was digging around piles of folded clothes.

“Do you want to help her or not?” Bedlam asked. She stood on her tip toes, analyzing the room around her while her hand dug around the drawer. Bump. Her hand hit something hard and smooth. She grabbed at it; exactly what she was looking for.

She pulled the journal from the drawer and closed it once more.

Havok bit his bottom lip and jumped at a noise elsewhere in the house. The pair froze, staring intently at the doorway, waiting for any sign they were about to be found out. Nothing happened. Bedlam took her brother’s hand with her empty one and led him back, away from the doorway, to the walk in closet.
“Come on,” she said. She gestured at the door. Havok nodded, albeit nervously, then opened the door and turned on the light.

Bedlam made them a seat underneath a row of short dresses, then retrieved her hand and began to page through the book.

Havok wiggled in his seat. “I don’t think this is fair to Mama,” he said. “To go through her things, I mean.”
“She won’t talk to us,” Bedlam reasoned, “and you can see it written all over her face.”

She stopped on a page. Her eyes flicked back and forth as she read. Havok leaned over her shoulder and tried to follow along.
“Oh….” he said; a small and sad sound.

Bedlam nodded.

They sat in a long silence before Havok stood up and said, “I might have an idea.”

“What?” Marian asked incredulously.
“Please!” Havok begged. “Just two hours!”
Bedlam chimed in, “yes, please Mom?”

Marian bit her lip and crossed her arms. “Two hours?”

“Please?” the pair chimed in unison. Marian sighed and nodded.

Each of the twins grabbed a hand and pulled Marian to the living room couch. Bedlam snatched up the remote and put on Netflix.
“My Little Pony?” Marian was more confused than anything else.
Havok nodded. “You have to watch the beginning, or you won’t get it,” he explained.
“But it’s the last episode you need to pay attention to,” Bedlam clarified. The video loaded up and Marian was treated to a narration over pictures of brightly colored ponies.
“Alright.”

“I created the Tantabus to give myself the same nightmare every night, to punish myself for the evil I caused as Nightmare moon!” came Luna’s voice over the TV. Havok looked over at his sister. They could see the expression in each other’s faces: the moment of truth.

“To make sure I never forgave myself for how Equestria suffered because of me.”

The pair looked at their mother. Marian was good at many things, but hiding her emotions had never been one of them. Her cheekbones and nose had turned pink. Havok was sure he could see the tears welling in her eyes. As the ponies kept on with their speeches, Havok leaned in against Marian. Bedlam followed suit on her other side.

“We all trust you Luna, do you trust us enough to believe we’re right?”

Marian put an arm around each of her kids and Havok looked up in time to watch a tear roll down her cheek.

The episode rolled credits and Bedlam paused the stream. The three of them sat on the couch, wrapped in a warm embrace. Marian let herself cry.
“I’m sorry,” she managed to whisper.
“It’s okay,” Havok replied. Bedlam nodded.

It had been a long time since Marian had believed those two words.

History

“Hey!” She called after him. Doyle cursed under his breath and walked faster. He turned a corner, hoping to lose her. “Hey, wait up!” He couldn’t hear the click of her heels anymore. He turned around, just to see if he was still being followed, but it looked like she was gone. He sighed, stopping to catch his breath; to slow his heart. He turned around, alerted by the sound of crashing and rushing wind in the alley. He was just in time to see her land in front of him with a disapproving look as she brushed her long black hair out of her face.

“Oiga, will you please just stop for a minute?”

Doyle blinked. “How?” he managed to ask. He looked around for any sign of how she could have surprised him. She smirked. Not wanting to uncross her arms, she twitched a visible finger at the fire escape. Doyle squinted, still perplexed.
“Parkour,” she finally said. “Now, are you going to explain what just happened and why you’re scampering off?”
Doyle opened his mouth, shut it again, and shook his head. He turned on his heel and started walking back the way he came. Part of him waited for her to grab his collar, to not let him leave. She clicked her tongue instead.
“You act like I’m gonna be mad that you saved my life,” she called after him.

He paused.

“I’m…not supposed to be here,” he said.
She laughed. She had a beautiful laugh. She said, “neither am I.”
He lingered. He brought his hands together, tracing the shape of a clock on his palm. He wished he had a drink. He wished he’d just let her go.
“You got a name, or am I just gonna call you Angel when I talk to my friends?” He could hear the clicks of her heels as she put her shoes back on. The dumpster squeaked as she steadied herself on it.
What harm was there in a name? “Doyle?” he said.
“You sure?” her voice carried her smirk plain as day. His heart skipped.

The memory of an echoed gunshot.

He nodded. He guessed she nodded too. They stood still in silence. Doyle took another step.
“Wait,” she called. She took a step to match. He paused. She continued, “could…could you walk me home? Please?” The sound of shaken confidence.
Doyle started, “I don’t,” but he was cut off.
“Please, there’s more than just that scumbag walking around and you saved me once already…”

He sighed.

“Yeah, alright.” He turned, trying to smile, hands in his pockets. “Guess it’s better to be safe than sorry, yeah?” He gestured around. “Lead the way.”

They walked in silence, mostly, down the sidewalk. Doyle kept his eyes on every person they passed. She kept close, but squared her shoulders to hide her fear. Doyle admired that; it’s hard to not let them get to you.
“What were you doing back there anyway?” she finally asked. He licked his lips and tried to swallow. Everything felt dry, even in the misty air. He couldn’t tell her the truth. He couldn’t tell her he had heard the gunshot; that he had run in to see her beautiful hair sticky with blood. He couldn’t tell her about the awful smell of wasted life on the concrete; about the warm linger of gunpowder.

Another memory. The smell of whiskey. The sound of a bottle breaking. A scream.

“Shortcut,” he said. The lord would forgive him for lying. He took deep breaths, tracing the clock on his hands again; trying to keep them from shaking. It never got easier.
“Lucky me,” she said. She bumped him with her shoulder and when he looked at her, she was smiling. He smiled back, still afraid. Still hurt. She stopped at an older brick building. It wasn’t in the best shape. The small lawn was brown and patchy. The wood of the doorway and some of the windowsills was clearly rotted. A tarp covered a broken window on the first floor. “Well, this is it,” she said.

“Do ya have a cell phone?” Doyle asked. The girl nodded and pulled it out. An old cell phone charm hung off the corner; attached by a jerry rigged hole. “Would ya mind if I gave ya my number? In case ya get into trouble again?”
“You don’t have to,” she replied.
Doyle shook his head. “I’ve seen their types before; damn racist arseholes. I don’t want ta think about a nice girl like you getting’ hurt because of c*nts like them.”

She smiled.

“Wow, Angel, how sweet of you,” she teased. He frowned, and her face softened. She gestured for his phone and once he handed it over, she put in her number on his, and then his on hers. He let out a sigh of relief when she handed the phone back. “I hope you know this goes both ways.”
“What?”
She chuckled. “Look, I’m grateful for today, but I’m also stronger than I look. You need me to help take down another dirty Nazi you call me too.”
Doyle hesitated.
She shook her head. “Oh, no way. You gotta promise me, Doyle. You call me too.” She scowled at him.
“Alright, I’ll call you too.”

“Good,” she said, “get home safe then, yeah?”
He nodded. She turned and headed into the door of the old house. Doyle looked down at his phone, her number still open. “Annette ;)” it said, with her number underneath.

Doyle stuck the phone in his pocket and headed back down the street. The cool, crisp feeling of the evening crept deep into his nerves, twisting into an unmistakable sense of dread.

He’d made a change.

He hoped he’d get to keep this one.

An Android’s Dream

Dreams? Of course he had dreams. A little house out on the countryside, the wood siding painted with a yellow buttercream and the shutters a soft green. A little car parked in the drive and a large yard for the dogs. The light hits the attic window in such a way that the whole place seems to sparkle. A white picket fence, just along the front edge of the property, and a little red mailbox sit out front. The lawn is green, save for the garden planted along the edge of the house; a rainbow of flowers. The city feels far away. The air feels cleaner. The world feels like it could be okay.

He wakes up before her and goes to the bathroom to clean up. He oils his hinges and wipes himself down. He runs a diagnostic on his essential services while he wipes his eyes down with a micro fiber cloth. He spends some time playing with his hair and styles it into something soft and gentle. He smiles at himself in the mirror, unbothered by the subtle lines of his compartments and seams. He gets dressed: a crisp pair of black slacks, a starched white shirt. He puts on a pair of black suspenders and hangs an untied bowtie around his neck. The diagnostic tells him he’s running fine. He gives himself one last satisfied look in the mirror and heads into the kitchen.

The whole kitchen gleams like new. The dish drying rack is still full from last night, the only clue the room gets used. He grabs the apron hanging on the wall and puts it on over his clothes. The dogs wander into the kitchen, metal paws clicking against the tile floor. He smiles at them and pours a few bowls of kibble by the window. They sniff, take a few bites, then sit and wait. He heads to the fridge and pulls out everything he needs: eggs, bacon, cheese, butter, spinach. One of the dogs speaks up. He heads back to the fridge and pulls out a sausage. The group wags their tails; the ones who can. He sets everything on the counters, puts a pan on the stove, and gets to work.

The dogs get bacon and sausage while he works on the eggs. She likes hers with plenty of cheese. He starts up a pot of instant oatmeal and throws some bread in the toaster. He plates her eggs, then starts on another round. The dogs head off, satisfied for now. His work wraps up, he’s plated everything but the oatmeal. He’s adding the maple syrup when she comes up behind him and wraps her arms around his waist. He smiles, but his eyes remain focused on the food. She coos sweet good mornings around affectionate nicknames. His voice is soft when he responds, a smile always on his face. She lets him go and takes a step back as he puts the oatmeal in a bowl and turns around. Her face scrunches and she takes the bowtie.

“This won’t do,” she says.

They sit at the table together. She doesn’t eat, but she picks at the food and compliments his work. He smiles more. He eats, they talk, she laughs. The dogs return. She pushes her plate to the table edge and the dogs let the biggest of them have the plate. He remarks he could do without the spinach. They all laugh.

She brings him a new bowtie while he cleans. It’s more colorful, more daring. She ties it on for him and kisses his cheek again. He thanks her, then gently pokes her nose with a soapy glove. She squeals, the dogs bark, and then laughs.
“You’ll be late,” he says. She waves him off and heads into the bathroom. He brings up his to-do list application and goes over the day’s events: bathe the dogs, wash the car, clean the living room, call Buck back. The old rotary phone in the living room begins to ring. He takes off his gloves and wipes powdery hands on his apron. One of the dogs casts him a concerned look.

He answers the phone. He knows who it is; it could only be one person. The man on the telephone mentions a job; a run in the city.
“It shouldn’t take long,” says the man. “Should be an easy one if my intel’s right.”
He nods and tells him he’ll look into it. He hangs up the phone and looks at the dogs, all sitting nearby with their eyes trained on the phone, heads cocked sideways. He smiles at them.

A car pulls up to the house; sleek, black, and shiny. The motor hums warm against the gentle spring day. The horn honks; E flat, twice.

She steps out of the bathroom, fastening an earring. He’s putting the apron away. He wishes her a good day and kisses her cheek. She smiles, her eyes sad, cups his cheek with her hand, and kisses his forehead. The car out front honks again. She bustles off out the front door. The car is off as soon as she’s inside.

He sighs and checks his list again, adding the new assignment. He has a bit of time. He takes the dogs outside. They bound through the yard, panting and wagging their tails. He throws them a toy; that should keep them occupied. He grabs a bucket of soapy water and starts on the car. It’s not terrible; they don’t drive it much, but it keeps up the façade of it all. It’s champagne; her choice. He didn’t like the color and it had needed a lot of work, but it was theirs. He looks up and back at the shed behind the house. His ride is in there. He keeps it safe and out of reach. He checks the time; he still has plenty, but he wants to case the meeting place out first. He puts the supplies away and brings the dogs inside.
“Stay,” he says. They listen until he leaves through the back door again. They watch, paws up on the windowsill, as he opens the shed door.

The big dog whines.

The scooter is purple and spotted in color. The soft black seat is worn from use, but still good. He puts on his helmet and starts it up. He doesn’t lock the house; the dogs will handle anything wrong. He drives out of the shed and down to the road. The city waits on the horizon; tall and black and tired. He smiles.

BAD END Marley/Maxine

They had the advantage, two versus one. One of them could escape. Marley closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The girl was somewhere in the house. Something broke in the kitchen. They didn’t have much time.

“Charlie, listen to me,” she said. He turned and looked at him. He was shaking. She’d never seen him like this. It had never mattered what it was; demons, angels, trees, crushes; he had never looked so unbelievably terrified. With a pang of guilt, Marley pulled down her glasses and locked eyes with her brother. “Please, listen.” She kept her voice calm, praying somewhere in the back of her mind that her powers of persuasion would hold up.

Charlie’s posture calmed. He blinked once, took a deep breath, and nodded at Marley. She smiled, though her eyes were sad. Something else crashed in the kitchen. Marley could smell smoke.
“When I say ‘now,’ you’re going to climb out the window and run as fast and as far as you can. Okay?” She had pushed her glasses back up. He nodded anyway.
“What about you?” he asked.

Marley couldn’t sense the girl anymore. She unlocked the window and pushed it open. She checked around outside; just darkness.
“You need to find Chris and he needs to get you somewhere safe,” she said. She headed for the bedroom door and squared her shoulders.
“Marley, please,” Charlie sounded like he was going to cry. Marley felt a tear drip down her cheek.

“She knows what she’s doing. She’ll catch us both if we try to run.”

Marley could make out the soft sound of bells down the hall. She waited a few seconds. The bells kept ringing.
“I love you Charlie, but you have to go. Now.”

Marley grabbed her scrap-booking scissors from the desk by the door before kicking it open. Charlie scrambled out the window and hid against the siding of the house. Marley hissed as she entered the hall, the scissors raised and ready to strike.

The girl, the hunter, stood against a backdrop of flames. The jingling of bells came from her skirt, a fringe of coins knocking together along the bottom edging. She had a host of weapons; a few wooden stakes, an athame, a couple of glass bottles, and a white pistol strapped to her thigh. She was leveling a rifle at Marley’s chest, platinum blonde hair tucked behind her ears, tinted glasses sliding down her nose while she looked over them.

Marley ducked just as the hunter pulled the trigger. She dashed forward, chest nearly touching the ground, and shot upward with the scissors. The coins jingled, and Marley smelled blood. The rifle crashed to the floor as Marley’s face met the hunter’s. The girl turned and shoved her shoulder into Marley’s chest. She fell on her ass onto the hallway floor. Her scissors clattered next to the discarded gun, and Marley wished she had taken the time to learn how to use a firearm.

Marley moved to stand, but the huntress was quicker on the draw. One of the glass bottles, previously dangling from the belts over the hunter’s skirt, smashed open against Marley’s chest. Marley coughed, finding it hard to breathe. The hall smelled like blood and smoke and garlic. The offending liquid burned at her clothes, just what was in that bottle?

A movement in the corner of her eye.

Marley scrambled back across the floor. The hunter sunk a stake into Marley’s abdomen; close but damn did that hurt. She watched the hunter push her glasses up her nose and tear the stake out. Marley looked over at the bedroom door. The hunter looked too. She took a step forward and Marley cursed her worried heart. She pulled back a leg, against the pain in her abdomen, and kicked at the hunter’s legs as hard as she could manage. Between that and the prior injury, the hunter fell on top of her.

There was a mad scramble on the ground while the air filled with smoke and the fire spread.

Charlie ran once he heard the gunshot. He bolted, straight on through the back yard, through the field behind it. He was out in the open, but he had little choice. Tears streamed down his face.
“Please,” he whispered between breaths. “Please, someone…anyone…”

He ran until his lungs burned, and he kept running.

Prism crawled along the hallway floor to the furthest room she could find. She’d cut off her own escape with the fire, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time. She wondered if anyone had noticed enough to call the fire department. She was in a bedroom. She pulled the sheets off the bed and pressed them against her wounds.

She pulled a cellphone from a pouch on her belt and put in a number.

“Yeah. Hey. No. I’m fine. I just….need a ride.”

She hung up the phone and let out a long breath.

That kid couldn’t have made it far.

Maybe she still had time to catch him too.

Drastic Measures

“Where’d you get your hands on something like that?” asked the Captain, peering over Amber’s shoulder at the breakfast table.
She took a sip of her coffee and turned the page. She answered, “…library.”
She could feel his look of disbelief. “I don’t think so, lass,” he said.
She paused, deliberately, for a long time. She didn’t have a good answer. There were no good answers. “….I found it,” she finally responded.

The Captain set a skeletal hand on one of the book’s yellowed pages; the off-white bones obstructed Amber’s view of the drawing beneath. He tapped the mandala beneath his middle finger and the ghostly visage of muscle and blood and skin wrapped around his hand for no more than a few seconds. Amber swallowed hard, though her impassive expression did not change.
“These be dark things, Lass.” The Captain’s voice was low and quiet.

“It is not yet against the law to read,” Amber said. She kept her eyes on the book and away from her friend. It did not help, their connection a constant reminder of his concern.
“Aye, but it ain’t against the law to search bomb making on that fancy internet machine either. Doesn’t mean it ain’t dangerous all the same.”
She looked up at him. Her shoulders sunk just slightly.
“You won’t be able to help anyone from prison, lass.”

Amber slowly mover her hands to grab at her arms; a small self hug. The Captain closed the book. Amber could swear she saw it pulse. The room filled with whispers that she couldn’t make sense of; too many voiced layered one over the other. She tightened the grip on her arms and closed her eyes. She felt the Captain’s hand on the back of her head, and the world quieted just a little.

“Amber,” he said. The whispers stopped completely. The noises of the world came back. The cat knocked something off a shelf in another room. The fridge was humming in the kitchen. A car drove by outside. She felt a tear drip down her cheek. She felt a hundred thoughts race through her head.

She felt the gentle sound of a wave crashing against the shore.

Amber opened her eyes and turned to look at the Captain.
“The protesters are getting arrested,” she said. It wasn’t an argument to let her continue. It wasn’t a plea to offer something more. It was her expression of hopelessness that the world had dropped upon her. “People are dying.”
“Aye,” the Captain replied. “So what are you gonna do?”

Amber looked down at the book again. She leaned back and pushed the chair out from under the table. She stood up and adjusted her socks over her prosthesis.
“She wants me to be safe…but I cannot sit here in silence.”
The Captain put his hands on her shoulders. She felt the weight of him like armor, even as he stood behind her.

“You’ll be safe, Lass. Let’s get out there.”

All Nighters

“I don’t think one night out with some of your classmates would hurt you,” Hana said. She set a cup of tea down on Mayumi’s desk and pulled the pin out of her hair. Maymi huffed and attempted to blow the somewhat raggedy purple locks from her face. Hana rolled her eyes and grabbed gently at her friend’s hair, pulling it back out of the way. She brushed it with her fingers; it needed a wash.

“It’s never just one night,” Mayumi replied. She stuck her pencil back in her mouth and chewed on it gently while her eyes scanned over her notes. The desk was a messy assortment of books and papers, everything scattered about haphazardly. Even the teacup had no choice but to rest on a stack of books. She took the pencil out of her mouth to speak, “it’s the night and the next morning into the afternoon. I’ll end up with a hangover and miss time I could have spent studying. I could miss a whole day!”

Hana tugged at Mayumi’s hair less than gently. Mayumi let out a long breath, scribbled down a few notes, and stuck the end of the pencil back in her mouth.

“You’re going to overwork yourself again,” Hana said. She wove her finger’s into Mayumi’s hair and started to weave it into braids absentmindedly.
“I am not,” Mayumi replied. She noticed the tea and deigned to take a sip.
“You fell asleep in Southern Geography again,” Hana reminded her. “That’s two days in a row, Miss.”

“I can’t help that the professor is boring,” Marian huffed. She sorted through the papers with increasing desperation, as though she noted something missing. “Wait, what happened to those notes from last week?”

Hana tugged on her hair again. Mayumi stopped, tilted her head back, and scowled at her friend.
“Drink your tea, Miss,” Hana said. “And please turn in early. Sleep is important too, if you’re not going to go out.”
“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Mayumi grumbled. She took another drink of tea and set the somewhat slobbery pencil back on the desk. Hana finished with the braids, tying them off and attaching a piece of silk ribbon for good measure. She helped Mayumi up and away from the desk and set her off towards bed.

Hana was still asleep when Mayumi awoke the next morning. It was a weekend, so no classes, but that didn’t excuse Mayumi from studying. She slipped out of Hana’s arms and stuck a pillow in her place before sliding off the bed and over to her desk. Stacked, neatly on top of everything else was a set of papers; the ones Mayumi had recognized to be missing. A small, handwritten note lay on top:
See ‘Fiefs and Kingdoms, Chapter 18 Paragraph 6′

Mayumi smiled.

The floor wasn’t an ideal place to work but it would have to do. Cynis’ cart was nice, but lacked the layout and resources Marian was used to as far as working. The three books she had managed to borrow from the Celestial Library were all lain out in front of her, each open to different pages. Hana had remarked before that Marian wasn’t doing herself any favors by trying to read three books at once, but she wasn’t around right now.

It took precious little time for the papers around Marian to become littered with almost nonsensical notes and scatter themselves haphazardly in the small space. A few well chewed (and some severely broken) pencils ended up scattered about the wreckage. Her eyelids felt heavy, and hunger scratched at her stomach, but she simply didn’t have time.

Marian sat, alone, sifting through papers and books. One of these had to have the information she needed. There had to be a flaw in the law’s design. There had to be a way to keep her mother from being killed for a false confession.

Desperation would keep her going, she only hoped it would last her long enough to find what she needed.

She took pause only at the lonely emptiness inside her chest. A familiar ache. A familiar moment lost in time.

She had to keep going. There was too much at stake.

Too much to be done.

Sneak Thieves

“You seem awfully busy,” Emily remarked. She swung her legs back and forth while she sat on Marian’s bed. Marian was busy digging through a cedar chest in the closet.
“How so?” Marian asked, never looking up from her task.
Emily shrugged. “Well you’re clearly a master rogue,” she said. She glanced up at the ceiling and considered more as she spoke, pausing slightly between thoughts, “you’ve two people, at least, vying for your attentions.”
“Six,” Marian corrected. She paused, but before Emily could continue she corrected again, “no, five.”
“Five?” Emily asked incredulously. “How in Creation-“
“Very carefully.” Marian tossed a few scraps of black silk out behind her.

Emily took a moment to regain her train of thought.

“Five people vying for your attentions, two children, a business, all of your companions….and, Knott? Said something about running a city?” A confident ‘mm-hmm’ confirmed Emily’s inquiry. Emily sighed.
Marian leaned back and finally turned to look at her new student, “Emily, you’re really no trouble. I’m happy to teach you a few tricks.”
“…Can you teach me how to find six suitors?”
Marian corrected her, “five.” She couldn’t help but laugh. “And some things cannot be taught.”

Despite a hint of disappointment, Emily laughed too.

Marian returned back to the chest. It was a few quiet moments before she announced, “aha!” She pulled a few boxes out of the chest and brought them over to Emily. “These will get us started,” she said.
Marian set the boxes on the bed and opened them up. One was full of different winds of ribbon, all organized by color and width, each placed neatly beside another. The other was full of little metal bells. She cast Marian a skeptical look. “How are these going to help?”
Marian smiled, grabbed a length of red ribbon, and began to string on the bells. She explained, “it’s quite simple. A good rogue is sneaky, they move without being seen but they must also avoid being heard. This is easy enough when conditions are favorable, but the best rogues can move as quiet as ghosts no matter what.” She gestured for one of Emily’s hands. Emily obliged and Marian gently tied the jingling ribbon to her wrist.

“You want me to sneak with these?” Emily asked. She moved her arm around in front of her face. The bells sang out in a discordant chorus. She adjusted her movements, but no matter how slow, they always rang out.
“Of course,” Marian’s tone was matter of fact. She started stringing another ribbon; green. “If you can be perfectly silent while covered in bells, you can get past just about anyone who isn’t an exalt.”
“Sorry, Miss Marian? Everyone here is an exalt.”
“Not everyone,” Marian said; she finished tying the green ribbon to Emily’s other wrist and knelt down to get at her ankles next.
Emily rolled her eyes. “Fine, nearly everyone then. I still don’t see how this is going to help.”

“It’s very simple.” Marian strung a new set of bells onto a yellow ribbon. She tied it to Emily’s ankle, stood up, and fetched a velvet bag from a nearby shelf. “I’m going to give everyone in our travelling party a marble from this bag,” she explained, “all you have to do is fetch them all.”
“Without getting caught?” Emily asked. Marian shrugged and returned to tie the last ribbon on Emily’s naked ankle.
“Getting caught happens, you simply have to work your way out of it.”

“Like you did?”

Marian paused in her work and looked up at Emily. She looked younger here, in clothes she seemed more comfortable in. “Perhaps not exactly like I did,” she said. “I don’t recommend my methods, not for you.”
“Well, what do you recommend then?” Emily leaned down and put her elbows on her legs.
Marian finished the ribbon and closed up her boxes. “No one here will hurt you, so take your time trying out different approaches. If you need to punch Knott out to get his marble….actually don’t do that. But the point is, different approaches work best for you and others. Figure out what you’re good at or what works best. Take your time.”

“What if I need help?” Emily sat up as Marian stood and climbed beside her on the bed.
Marian answered, “You can ask, that’s okay too. I’m not throwing you to the wolves, Emily. That’s not how I work.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now go wash up, I think dinner’s on soon.”

Old Friends

Cool weather meant warm food, and that was reason enough for Dulcie to get excited. Combine that with the whole costume thing and October became a true delight. She had been mixing pie filling when the bell to the bakery rang. Her sister, Tori, set up the pie crust she had just finished and headed, floured hands and all, out to the service area.

It was only a moment before Dulcie heard her name.

She leaned the spoon against the edge of the bowl and snuck a finger full of her work. The warm harmonies of cinnamon and pumpkin made her smile. She skipped out to the service area.
“You called?” she asked. Her sister gestured to their customers; a young girl and her mother. The girl waved at Dulcie, a small smile on her face.

“Pip!” Dulcie cheered. She ran out from behind the counter and enveloped her friend in a hug.
Pip hugged her back and laughed. “You’re so warm!”
When Dulcie finally let go she was bouncing on her toes. “You’re back!”
Pip nodded, “I don’t need to see the doctors so much anymore. They said so.”
“Are you coming back to school?”
Pip shook her head. “Auntie won’t let me.”

The woman cleared her throat.

“That’s not true,” she clarified, “you just can’t go to school right away.”

Pip frowned. Dulcie looked between the two of them. The tension made her anxious and she could smell the warmth of her clothes. She tried her best to breathe. She could talk about something else, like her mom told her.
“What about….Halloween?” Dulcie asked. “Can you Trick-Or-Treat? Oh! Can you stay and carve pumpkins with me? Oh! Do you want to have matching costumes and run around with me?”

“Dulcie,” Tori said from behind the counter. Tori looked back at Pip and her Aunt. “I’m sorry. She’s very excited.”

“Auntie, please? Can I play with Dulcie this Halloween?” Pip asked, grabbing at her Aunt’s dress. Her Aunt placed a gentle hand on the young girl’s head.
“…We’ll see.”

“Woohoo!” Dulcie cheered. She jumped up and down. “We can both be witches and we’re gonna get lots of candy!!!” She turned to her sister, still beaming. Fire played at her fingertips. “Tori, can we go home and carve pumpkins now?”

Tori looked at Pip’s Aunt. She looked down at her niece. Pip looked back with a hopeful gaze. Her aunt sighed and nodded at Tori.
“And an Apple pie, please,” she said.

“I’ll call Dad then,” Tori resigned.