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Chapter 18 - A Lesson in Keeping Calm
  • Sinderella

    Angy Tumbleweed
    Staff
    Location
    In Guzma's Closet
    Pronouns
    She/Her
    Partners
    1. sylveon-shiny
    2. gothitelle
    3. froslass
    4. chandelure
    5. mimikyu
    White Swan.jpg

    Chapter 18: A Lesson in Keeping Calm
    Author's Note: I'M BACK...AGAIN! I recently got back in to reading actual books and it kinda allowed my prose-writing synapses to start firing again, so while it is un-beta'd, this chapter felt really good to write. I also became acutely aware at just how long my past chapters are, holy shit :ROFLMAO: So going forward I'm planning to keep them all under 6k. Which...has resulted in a lot of split chapters on my planning end LOL. More fun for you, and more opps for juicy cliffhangers, I guess!

    As always, thanks so much for reading this stupid story 🤍 🖤

    For a small stretch of her commute, Odette felt like she was falling into an auto-piloted fugue state.

    You still there? Probably not wise to zone out when you’re operating heavy machinery, Odile said, causing Odette to jolt back to attention.

    Maybe Odile would be good for something, if not just present to bust her balls.

    Odette made it just as her first class was letting out. Or rather, she assumed as much based on the time. If she followed their normal schedule, she’d have her Battle Tactics course, and Dorien would arrive at the campus in time for their shared Battle Performance class, giving her approximately two more hours of Dorien-less bliss. Not nearly enough time for her tastes. And of course, she could already hear RotomPhone notifying her of texts from him, so that time would barely count.

    She realized that she hadn’t seen him in about a week, which felt like a long time for couples who were supposed to be head over heels in love. Granted, she had been sick, and she was supposed to be a little mad at him. Those excuses could carry her, but she knew she’d have to watch it going forward.

    However, with the over-the-top “marking territory” flowers he’d sent her, followed up with the revelation that he’d actually drugged her and Solene, she wasn’t sure how she was going to watch anything around him. How was she going to keep herself from killing him outright as soon as she saw him? The thought of his glowing green eyes, perfect skin, and perfect smile sent a stream of boiling rage through her, and she started grinding her teeth to keep her expletives down.

    Check yourself before you wreck yourself, dumbass, Odile warned. You’re already making yourself nuts, and the fucker’s not even here yet.

    The Wrath embodiment had a point. If she couldn’t contain herself at the thought of him, how would she fare when she saw him in the flesh?

    “Right. Thanks,” she muttered under her breath, shrugging her backpack onto her shoulders.

    Battle Tactics went by far too fast. She tried to get lost in Songmin’s lecture, but her mind’s eye was haunted by images of Dorien hugging, kissing, and intentionally trying to grate on her. Paired with the Wrath demon’s incessant comments on the lecture at hand or her thoughts about how Songmin’s pants looked too tight for her tastes (which she insisted on pointing out every five minutes), the clock turned faster than it normally did. Before Odette knew it, everyone was getting up to leave.

    Well, that was an invigorating lecture. I certainly feel smarter, Odile said, sounding proud of herself. Odette, in the middle of zipping up her backpack, exhaled sharply.

    Are you sure you just aren’t more aware of how to tell when somebody is wearing their pants too tight?

    What the fuck else did you think I was talking about?


    Odette wasn’t sure why she bothered engaging. Then again, it wasn’t like she could just walk away.

    RotomPhone buzzed in her pocket again, and dread opened up like a sinkhole in the pit of her stomach. She knew what the message said before she opened it.

    Outside waiting for you 😘

    For a quick second, her grip tightened on the phone. RotomPhone made a noise that resembled television static and sent a minor shock through her fingertips, causing her to start.

    Bzzzzzzzt, hey!” RotomPhone barked. “Watch those hands!”

    “I–sorry,” she said quickly. She forced a breath into her lungs, which had shriveled under her sudden anger. “I’m sorry.”

    Minding how tightly she held him, she started typing her response.

    Don’t bother because as soon as I see you you’re gonna fucking die because I’m gonna take a fucking bat to the back of your—

    Bzzzzzzzt…uh,” RotomPhone said, bringing his voice down to a whisper. “Are you sure that’s what you wanna send him?”

    Tonguing the inside of her cheek, she quickly deleted what she was writing.

    Okay, be out in a second :smile:

    “Better, bzzzzzzt,” RotomPhone complimented. She offered him an apologetic yet bitter grin before setting him back in her pocket.

    That was a close one, huh?

    Eat a dick.

    She hustled down the lecture hall bleachers and to the door. Maybe he would miss her if she went fast enough, but that wouldn’t save her from running into him in their next class. Prolonging the inevitable was hardly a good approach, but if she could milk even a few more seconds, she would try to.

    It was no use, though. She barely made it a step outside the classroom before he caught her.

    Dorien had situated himself against the wall directly across from the door, ensuring she could not stealth by him. It was like he’d calculated it perfectly. She met his eye immediately upon exiting, and the smile that sprung across his face almost made her throw up all over his expensive-looking sneakers.

    She held it off by forcing a tight-lipped grin. “Hey,” she greeted, tasting bile. Bile turned to searing acid as he approached, wrapped his arms around her, and planted a kiss on her temple. It might as well have been a fucking bullet. She wished it was.

    “Hey there, Doll!” he beamed, pulling away just enough to grin at her. “God, I missed you so much.”

    As she held his deceptively tender gaze, the memory of him asking her about that thing like it was nothing echoed in her ear, far more grating than the sound of Odile’s cackle. The image of him blowing Vice Dust into her and Solene’s faces strobed in and out of her mind, causing her body to seize up with a rising urge to fight.

    I want you dead. I want to shoot you and your little demon right between your big green eyes, you raging fucking asshole, she thought against her twitching fingers. Her hands ached to throw a punch, but she knew for certain that wouldn’t be enough. Her need for violence against him transcended mere physicality. She wanted to see the life drain out of his eyes and have the satisfaction of knowing he’d be too dead to bother her anymore.

    The totality of her resolve to kill him frightened her just as much as knowing he’d drugged her. But the latter was far more pressing than the former.

    It was Odile who kicked her back into gear. Your enthusiasm brings a tear to my eye, really. But you need to C-H-I-L-L out.

    “I missed you more,” she said, feeling the muscles in her cheeks loosen up as she forced herself back into her act. “I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to come see me while I was sick. I was honestly a little embarrassed about you seeing me like that.”

    He stuck out his lower lip, canting his head with the solemnity of a preschool teacher consoling one of their crying students. The affection behind his eyes made her want to scream, and she bit her tongue just as she was pulled into another tight embrace.

    “Odette, please,” he said in a sigh. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about those sorts of things around me. You can’t help health spells like that.” His arms tightened on her. “And I was so worried about you, I can’t even begin to explain it.”

    Right. Of fucking course you were, she thought, feeling her lip starting to curl up over her teeth. She smoothed it out when he pulled away to look at her again, this time raising a hand to graze his thumb over her cheek.

    “You look better, though. Really.”

    “I feel better,” she said, nodding. Not.

    He grinned again, something she guessed was supposed to be more joking. “I definitely prefer your face with some color in it,” he said.

    I’d prefer your face rearranged, she thought. She tried to muffle it with a chuckle of her own.

    “And…” He trailed off as he took her hands, holding them tenderly while he ran his thumbs over her knuckles. The gesture was meant to be intimate, but the urge to pull away came on like a sixth sense, and she had to fight it off while she listened to him continue.

    “I wanted to apologize, in person, for how I acted in the garden. I don’t know what came over me, I-I was just–” His shoulders hiked up to his earlobes as he frantically shook his head, seemingly losing his words. “–I was distraught seeing you in that line of fire, and when that thing scampered off I just wanted to know what, if anything, you did to get it away from you. Just in case it happened again, so I wouldn’t be a sitting ducklett. You know?”

    It was an Oscar-worthy performance, one that made her want to body-slam him into the bulletin board they were standing next to.

    Man, he’s good. Fuck him, Odile sneered.

    In what way? she asked.

    With a rusty pitchfork, preferably.

    They were on the same page there.

    She nodded, matching his solemnity. “I know,” she said. “I think I would have been a mess myself if the roles were reversed.”

    Oh, nice touch.

    Dorien sighed, sounding relieved. “Can we forget it happened? Water off the ducklett’s back?”

    Couldn’t you just Vice Dust me to get me to forget it happened? she wanted to say.

    “I’d like that.”

    He smiled again, a joyful light coming into his eyes. She couldn’t analyze it for long before he leaned down and set a kiss on her lips. It was quick, thank the gods, but it still left her aching for some steel wool to scrub her face clean. His kisses somehow felt worse than they had before, yet all she could do was smile through them and act like she wanted more, as if nothing had changed.

    “Come; I would like to get a decent set in the gym today,” he said, turning and gently leading her down the hall. “Besides, I think we’ve given everyone in this hall enough of a PDA show,” he added with a chuckle.

    The people in the hall? Odile asked in a wheeze. What about us?

    Odette felt her brow twitching with a threatening scowl, which managed to slip through once she realized Dorien wasn’t looking directly at her. It was a quick yet much-needed break. It had only been a few minutes, and she felt winded, like she’d just sprinted a mile. Gods help her.

    Finding a seat in Battle Tactics wasn’t difficult. They’d arrived early enough to where there were still plenty of spots toward the top of the bleachers, where they usually sat. By his own admission, Dorien preferred to sit at the back of the class, and that was the one thing they could agree on. What she didn’t agree with was the way he slung his arm around her when they sat. Her body wanted to lurch at the thought of settling into him, but she knew she had no choice. He usually let up once Chuquete got in, so if she could hold out until then, she’d be home free at least until the end of the class.

    “So, what else were you up to this week aside from recovering from that little spell?” He’d taken to mindlessly intertwining his fingers with hers, which subsequently made her want to saw her hands off.

    “Fever broke, went back to work, and the cast and I had our little line-reading get together yesterday at a cast-mate’s house,” she said. She didn’t have to put much thought into the explanation because it was all true—well, most of it. “Noel and I got rained in while we were there.”

    “Ah. You and your second boyfriend, huh?”

    Odette snapped her head in his direction, and a hot sensation clawed up her back and coalesced in her scalp as if something were yanking on her hair.

    EASY, Odile hissed.

    Blinking, she settled her face into a polite frown. “What do you mean by that? Are you implying I might be cheating on you with him?”

    Dorien laughed like he knew the insinuation was preposterous, but it didn’t sound quite convincing enough for her. “Not at all. I think you’re lacking the parts for that to line up.”

    “But?” she pressed, dipping her chin toward her chest.

    Sucking his teeth, he shifted his sitting position in a way that indicated that he was uncomfortable. The thought lit a small flame of joy within her. “I don’t know, Odie. Don’t you think it’s a little weird that you’re hanging out with another guy so much when you’re already seeing one? Sexuality aside.”

    “I’ve been friends with Noel since before I knew you existed,” she said, sounding far more terse than she intended to. He seemed to catch that because his brows jumped higher than she’d ever seen them go before. He pulled his hands away and held them up like he was anticipating her to take a swing at him. Maybe his instincts were better than she gave him credit for.

    “No, I know.” His defensiveness sounded almost sincere enough for her to lower her own guard. “I’m just saying. We are dating, are we not? It feels odd that you don’t spend that time with me.”

    She felt her eye twitch, and she blinked to keep it from becoming too obvious. “We’ve gone on multiple dates, just the two of us. In fact, I vaguely recall spending multiple days in a row with you. I don’t think I saw Noel once in that first week we went out.”

    “Okay, fair,” he said, fanning his fingers to his sides. “But…” He trailed off into a heedful silence. The way he studied her face made it seem like he was afraid of offending her if he didn’t select his words carefully. She had to wonder where that caution was at that island restaurant.

    “You’ve brought him to multiple gatherings already. And I’m not concerned about how he might fit in with the attendees; he’s a very…”

    He flexed his lips, disgust glazing over his eyes for a nearly unnoticeable moment.

    “...likable person. But my concern stems from how it might look for us as a couple.” He lowered his voice and leaned in so close that his forehead hovered mere centimeters above hers. “You know people in my world talk, right? Gossip is like a drug for them. And I don’t want to be the couple that fuels their habits. I also don’t want anyone to think you might be, how do I say this politely…” He tapped at his chin. “Loose.”

    Odette’s toes curled inside her sneakers, and she clawed into the fabric of her joggers with such intensity that she thought she would tear through the thick polyester. Odile’s deafening silence allowed her more headspace to imagine pushing him off the bleachers in a manner that ensured he broke his neck when he hit the floor.

    “Do you think I’m loose, Dorien?” she asked with the calmness of a cracking dam.

    He appeared shocked by the question. “Of course not.”

    She exhaled through her nose. Cool. Calculated. Calm. She knew what he was doing now, and she wouldn’t allow it to work—not again.

    “Then I don’t see the problem.”

    She hunted for a seed of disappointment sowing on his face, just as a small reward for her efforts. All she got was a half smile and a defeated eye roll. He settled back into the position they’d been in previously.

    “No, I guess you’re right,” he said. He forced his fingers back between hers, and she channeled her desire to yank her hand back into clenching her jaw. “I’m not saying you need to stop hanging out with him. I just want to be careful going forward. You probably don’t mind the gossip, but I don’t want anybody to say anything negative about you.”

    He raised her hand to kiss the back of it again. His lips felt like the stinger of a beedrill: agonizing and entirely unpleasant. Nonetheless, she smiled at him.

    “I only want to hear good things about my Doll.”

    Her rage fizzled out, quickly eclipsed by the chill of anxiety. Something about that statement instilled a sense of flight within her that sent her heartbeat into a frantic gallop.

    She opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by a gasp.

    “Oh!” he said. “Before I forget. Did you like my present? You got it, right?”

    Curses pounded against the back of Odette’s clenched teeth. “I did,” she said. “You really didn’t make it easy for me to take home, huh?”

    Recalling how she waited until all her castmates had left that day to lug the rose mound out back and have Ange and Freddy burn it in the dumpster was a brief moment of solace.

    “Maybe a bit of an oversight on my end, I’ll admit it,” he said. “But! I only want the biggest and best gifts for my Doll.”

    She wished he’d stop calling her that. It made her feel like she needed to take a shower.

    “Big gifts for big apologies, I suppose,” she said, feeling some new heat building up under the words. Dorien let out a nervous laugh that sputtered out into a sigh.

    “You know me just a little too well,” he said, his eyes falling to her hands, still locked with his. “It felt necessary, though. You barely spoke to me, and I felt I had to do something.”

    You fucking grabbed me and screamed at me; why the fuck would I speak to you after that? She thought.

    “I was just…” Now, she was the one carefully selecting her words. “I was a little put off by the way you acted.”

    Dorien sighed again, his nostrils flaring. “But I told you why I did that.”

    He was poking the beartic again. She might have respected his balls if she didn’t harbor such a deep, unsettling, homicidal rage toward him.

    Her stomach lurched, and she could feel her blood pressure spike to a level her doctors would have likely had her admitted to the ER for. “Yes,” she said with a calculated nod. “But you still grabbed me and yelled in my face.”

    “Maybe. But you might have overreacted just a little bit, no? It was a high-stress situation; icing me out for a few days was certainly a bit low.”

    His reasoning not only caused her mind to stall, but her acting chops as well. For an excruciating set of seconds, she couldn’t figure out the best way to respond to that. The only thing that filled her head was the sound of her blood coming to a simmer over her suppressed anger.

    Dorien held her hands up to his chin, effectively pulling her just a little closer to him.“It’s just that I care about you so much, Odie, and it hurts me that you thought my intentions were anything but good. They might not have seemed that way at the moment, but I figured you’d know me better than that by now, right?”

    He smiled at her with a sickly sweetness that left her feeling like she’d ingested too much sugar. He was acting as if he didn't drug her brain a few weeks ago, and like his attempt at manipulation was supposed to be cute and sincere.

    All she wanted to do was tear his fucking lips off his face.

    Odile's voice filled her head again, so abruptly that she nearly jumped. Oh, you know what–fuck it. I can’t fucking take this. Do that. Tear them clean off, she said. Show this bitch how it's done.

    Odette wanted to glare, but there was nothing to glare at.

    Wha– What the fuck happened to not giving in to the temptation?

    Odile didn't respond at first. Odette felt her brain empty out as if the eldritch terror herself was stalling on her own thoughts.

    This is the part where I tell you I'm testing you, and you pass. B+.

    Why a B+?

    You lost your chances at an ‘A’ with that bitch ass attitude of yours.

    The physical reaction came on fast but was halted by Dorien waving his hand in front of her face.

    "Earth to Odie," he cooed. "Something on your mind?”

    Smiling felt painful. “No. You’re right. Maybe it was a little rash.”

    He looked proud of himself, making his face astronomically more maimable. “I just don’t like being apart from you for so long.”

    “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

    As if the universe was finally set to throw her a bone, whatever Dorien had geared up to say was interrupted by the gym doors opening, and Chuquete entering with the usual group of stragglers coming from their previous classes, Odette's own teammates included among them. Odette could see the top of Solene’s head before she noticed anyone else, and the dread corroded a hole in the pit of her stomach.

    It was hard to make out the expressions on any of her teammates, and she couldn’t look too eager while she tried to. But as they wandered closer, and up the bleacher steps, it was evident that nothing had changed since that morning. Although Solene had conjured up an air of composure in the time since they separated for classes, her typically bright eyes were dullened with the shadow of agitation.

    Enora, on the other hand, looked as stoic as ever. She always held herself the same way regardless of how she was feeling. Odette wasn’t entirely concerned about her, the sense of betrayal she still felt lingering in the corner of her mind aside.

    “Oh, wonderful timing,” Dorien chided. “And it looks like your calvary is here.”

    He surely meant it as a joke, but he didn’t know just how right he was. Instead of acknowledging it, however, Odette took note of the subtle sidelong glare Solene sent him. Odette knew it wasn’t aimed at her, but she could feel the residual chill of the gothitelle’s eyes, pupils shrunk to white pinpricks of frigid contempt.

    Odette felt the skin on her arms prickle with a different flavor of unease. Solene had always been a loud type of angry. When she was upset, you always knew it. This silent, tight-lipped, icy rendition was something Odette had always known was there, but she’d prayed she’d never have to see it in the flesh.

    Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh… Odile started to say. Loïc scampering into Odette’s lap interrupted whatever the intended follow-up was.

    Odette gasped under her breath, but when she set her palm against the rough burlap of his disguise, she felt some of the pressure release inside her chest, like the abrupt opening of a swelling wound. She exhaled from her nose, feeling her eyes start to well up under the rage she was breathing out. A new weight crashed down upon her, threatening to take her eyelids down with it.

    Without a word, Loïc’s shadowy hand manifested from under his cloak, clutching a miniature plastic water bottle between its pointed claws. The second wave of relief that rushed over her nearly made her burst into tears.

    She knew now more than ever that she really could not have been doing what she was doing without her partners.

    Grabbing the bottle with calculated restraint, she chuckled. “How’d you know I left my water bottle at home?” she said, playing into the hypothetical situation where she truly wasn’t bothered by her situation. It helped that she really had left her water bottle at home.

    She began to unscrew the cap. It wasn’t coming off fast enough. “Thank you. I appreciate your concern for my hydration.”

    “Kkkknnngggggg,” Loïc said.

    With an appeasing ‘CLICK,’ cap separated from plastic and Odette went in for the gulp. She tried to show some more restraint in her drinking, but momentarily lost the ability to think straight. When she regained herself, she’d sucked down half the bottle, and she no longer like she was going to collapse.

    Dorien laughed to himself. “Goodness, how thirsty were you?”

    “Not too much, why?” she replied without missing a beat, earning her a heartier laugh. Disgust burned her nose and she sniffled to ward it off. She didn’t want to make him laugh. He didn’t deserve her comedy.

    Chuquete was mercifully quick in kicking off class once everyone was seated. 20 minutes of solo 1 on 1 cycle sparring before the day’s hands-on lesson in more effectively playing around weak power matchups. Something Odette thought was interesting enough to adequately keep her attention, instead of it sitting on fuming at Dorien. But of course, this was the one day Chuqete didn’t pick their sparring partners for them, and Dorien claimed her as his before she had a chance to protest.

    The cycle sparring was at least mostly uneventful and painless to start. Being that cycle spar matches started and ended quickly–with a Pokemon switching out for another every time it was hit with an opposing move–Odette didn’t feel nearly as tense as she would have felt were they having full-fledged matches. The quick procession of sparring meant Dorien and his sacrilege crew couldn’t go on a tirade and overshoot the power of another move again; they simply wouldn’t have time. Or, at least, she hoped they wouldn’t. She hadn’t had a chance to really drill Valentin about how that worked, but she had to assume that it was something that needed to be charged.

    She’d yet to see it happen again since her first battle with him, and she wanted to keep it that way.

    Ange fared pretty well against Ferrothorn, but was knocked aside by a sudden intrusion from Dorien’s poliwrath partner after getting a little cocky with his movements. He was still throwing a tantrum even as Odette recalled him to his ball and sent out Solene to deal with the new matchup. It was the third time Odette had called the gothitelle out, and Odette still couldn’t get over how rigid she was with her movements. Rigid, and most of all, silent. Solene always had a bark to give, or grunt to make every time she made a move, and with each one she executed, she was as quiet as ever.

    With a calculated Psychic burst, she sent Poliwrath back to its ball, leaving Dorien to send out Conkeldurr, probably in an attempt to get a jump on the day's overarching lesson. Its presence sent Odette’s heartbeat off in a sprint as she replayed the image of it running at a downed Ange with the intent to eat over and over in her head. Gluttony, no doubt, she thought, a scowl ruffling her brow.

    I wonder how that would even taste? It’d be like eating a sconce, right? I’ve eaten sconces before; they’re not exactly–

    Can you not? Please? That’s not exactly an image I want to entertain.

    I’m just saying, if it were to happen, it would be just as unenjoyable for that fatass over–

    Odette tuned Odile out in just enough time to watch Solene’s hands flare up with her signature pink glow, evidently charging up another round of Psychic, which, given Conkeldurr didn’t dodge, would easily knock it back. However, as the light built up in intensity, and Solene still made no move to let it go, Odette felt a drop of chill slide down her spine before she could register why.

    “Sol, you can let it–” she started to say, but the gothitelle was one step ahead. With a flick of her hands, arms of psychic energy shot forth, some aiming for Conkeldurr, who successfully sidestepped them. The remaining beams should have finished the job, but they had strayed in another direction.

    Right at Dorien.

    It happened faster than Odette could react. A yelp, a loud crash, and every bit of movement in her peripheral vision ceased. All she could focus on now was the smoking hole in the protective barrier around the wall behind them, before her eyes slid slowly over to Dorien’s panting form, completely unscathed aside from clearly being a little shaken. He'd managed to dodge the beams.

    A shrill whistle cut through Odette’s shock like a hot knife through butter, and she turned her head to see Chuquete sauntering toward them with her hands raised. “Whoa, whoa! Team Cinq-Mars, what’d I say about watching your aim? Come on people, I know we’re not on a huge field right now, but I expect more control from teams of your level!”

    Odette could hear her shallow breaths, clawing in and out, in and out. Yet, she could not feel them. She couldn’t feel her lungs working, and she couldn’t feel the air flowing into her system. She felt like she was being suffocated under all the pairs of eyes that were now trained on her and Solene, who still stood stick-straight in place, not paying anyone else any mind. She hadn’t even turned her head to look at Odette. Her eyes remained trained on Conkeldurr and Dorien.

    “R-right,” Odette said, exhaling over her word and feeling the air rush out of her head. “Sorry, Chuquete. Got a little overzealous.”

    It wasn’t the first time somebody had gone out of bounds of the court and hit a wall or the bleachers. But it was the first time Odette’s team had done it.

    “Yes,” Solene replied. The only movement she gave was her shoulders raising under the breath she inhaled. “My mistake.”

    Chuquete appeared to accept the apologies and abruptly motioned for everyone to get back to their sparring. Dorien took that moment of downtime to cautiously make his way over, holding his hands out to his sides to underscore the dumb quizzical look on his face.

    “Jeeze, if I’d have been any slower that might have taken my head off,” he said. “I guess accidents happen, but still. That would have hurt.”

    Odette slid her eyes back and forth between an unmoving Solene and Dorien before they finally settled on Dorien. “I-I’m sorry, we’ve never done that before. She just overshot a little, and–”

    Dorien set a hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine, Odie. I’m not mad. It was a very impressive show of Psychic, otherwise. Besides, you’re not the one who actually did it, now are you?”

    A glimmer of indignation sparked in his eyes as he pinned Solene with a leer. She slowly turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, expression still mostly unreadable on Odette’s end.

    “My apologies,” she said, tone as soft as it normally was when she was genuinely apologizing. “I seem to have a clumsy streak going.”
     
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    Chapter 19 - Oops, She Finally Crashed!
  • Sinderella

    Angy Tumbleweed
    Staff
    Location
    In Guzma's Closet
    Pronouns
    She/Her
    Partners
    1. sylveon-shiny
    2. gothitelle
    3. froslass
    4. chandelure
    5. mimikyu
    White Swan.jpg
    Chapter 19: Oops, She Finally Crashed!

    Odette spent the rest of class trying to choke back the biting expletives she wanted to scream at Solene. There was a part of her that anguished over the beams that missed Dorien’s head, but fixating on that only threw fuel on the fire within her.

    What were you thinking? she thought, firing venomous sidelong glances at the gothitelle throughout Chuquete’s lesson. Are you trying to blow our fucking cover? If it was literally anyone but you, it might have been passable, but you’re the one he drugged! You better say a fat fucking prayer he’s too traumatized to think too hard about it, or so fucking help me, we’re gonna have an enormous problem.

    Sounds of an emery board scrubbing over fingernails joined up with her seething internal monologue. I will give credit where it’s due; her control is insane, Odile said. The move, not what she did. Though if she’d been a centimeter more precise she might have eliminated half of our current problem. And we’d probably be in jail.

    Not. Now, Odette thought, sinking lower into her seat, trying to duck away from the rage pooling around her skull.

    They could talk when they got home. It was their last class of the day. They could go home and have a very long conversation about restraint and trust and everything else it seemed that Odette and her team now had to work through. They were all supposed to be in this mess together, but with Enora’s clandestine past and Solene acting out on her own, how the fuck were they supposed to continue without risking the whole operation?

    Valentin was already questioning the idea of keeping them involved, and surely if he found out about this faux pas, he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the plug. After finally having a breakthrough, after finally being able to piece her puzzle together, Odette wasn’t sure if she’d be able to handle being cut off like that. Whatever anger she’d successfully breathed out slithered back into her system and left her gritting her teeth so hard she felt one of her molars shift.

    Class being dismissed was the repose her nerves needed, and she was the first one to begin standing and packing up her stuff, recalling her team to their pokeballs as she went. The gym had grown stuffy under the anxiety that sought to exacerbate her aggravation, and Odette knew a breath of crisp, petrichor-laden air might do her head some good. However, she couldn’t look too eager as she gathered her things. She couldn’t risk giving Dorien any more reason to suspect they were onto him, as if nearly being assassinated by the very ‘mon he’d memory wiped wasn’t clue enough.

    So help me fucking gods, Odette thought. She was certain she saw steam on the breath she exhaled.

    She counted the steps toward the front entrance of the battle building, using that as her distraction from Dorien’s arm slung around her shoulders, and from her brain trying its hardest to figure out how to do some damage control. What could she do that wouldn’t come off as suspicious?

    She couldn’t amp the charm up too high; surely it wouldn’t take him long to figure out she was doing it as a distraction. Not to mention, that might be the end of her. She was barely hanging on as it was. She also didn’t want to keep bringing it up, under the possibility that he actually wasn’t thinking about it as hard as she was, and continuously drawing attention back to the incident would cause him to.

    Odette had thought she’d toyed with enough niggling “what-if’s” over the past two days. Obviously, the universe didn’t agree with that assessment.

    Her first breath of actual fresh air alleviated some of the tightness in her throat. She slanted a glance toward her bike, parked mere paces from the front door of the building among the other student’s motorcycles and mopeds. Her thoughts supercharged with ways to make a break for it—telling Dorien her mum needed her home, that a family member had suddenly died, something—but the fear of sowing more suspicion kept her rooted under his arm. Damn you, Sol, she thought, the weight of his forearm sending tingles of resentment across her skin. Gods fucking damn you right now.

    Odile didn’t have a comment for that but Odette could hear the emery board again.

    Dorien made his way down the stone stairs, forcing Odette along with him. The further they moved down the willow lined sidewalk, away from where her bike was parked, the more her hope of escaping him sooner rather than later faded out of certainty. They hadn’t seen each other in a week; of course he was going to want to lead her off on an escapade. She knew she should have been prepared for something like that, and yet the thought of having to spend the rest of the day with him churned the nausea in her gut.

    “Where are we going?” she asked, forcing herself to look up at him instead of back over at her motorcycle.

    The grin she received in response sent discomfort skipping along her nerve-endings. “Nowhere far. I have some previously scheduled plans with my friends and I’ve already rainchecked a few times and if I do it again, I won’t hear the end of it. I’m meeting them out front, and I just wanted you to show some face. Let everyone know you’re alive. Maybe ask if they wouldn’t mind having you along, for my sake. ”

    A flare of hope synergized with the disdain of having to fraternize more with his little group. But, she would suck it up if it meant she had a chance to cut away earlier than anticipated. “The trials and tribulations of keeping relationships,” she sighed as if she were teetering on the edge of disappointment.

    “I know,” Dorien said, petting her shoulder. “I’d say you’re worth it, but playing the social game is also part of my job. Besides, if we wanted to get technical, we could have seen each other sooner…”

    The corner’s of Odette’s lips twitched with the threatening weight of a frown. She lasered in on him with an indignant look. “You’re going to make me apologize again?”

    That earned her an abrupt kiss on the cheek. Had she known that was what was coming, she’d have kept her mouth shut. “No; I’m just pushing your buttons. But I’m done, I promise.”

    “Are you?”

    He held a pinky out to her. “Promise.”

    As she wrapped hers around his, the impulse to snap the bone creeped up her back and into a dimly lit corner of her mind.

    You better keep that hand steady, bitch.

    Odette carefully pulled her hand away and tucked it into her jacket pocket. Safe and sound.

    “Okay. I’ll say my hello’s and show them I’m still breathing.” Honestly, I’d prefer it if I was dead to them, she thought. “I have to ask, though; have you ever had to call an ambulance on anyone at one of those events? Just to know for the sake of my own embarrassment.”

    “Actually, yes. You saw how many old bitties there were; you’d be surprised how many of them have underlying medical conditions that like to pick public affairs to flare up.” He flicked his hand around with a sarcastic cadence, matching the rhythm of his words.

    He said you have the constitution of a grandma. When you eventually kill him, might I suggest a dull hacksaw? Really draws out the agony; I give it a solid eight stars out of 10, Odile snickered.

    “Well, I unfortunately know a thing or two about that,” Odette said. She pretended not to hear Odile that time. She wasn’t sure what to do about the contradicting intrusions yet.

    “Please, Doll. I wouldn’t exactly group the Duke of Joule’s alcohol-induced liver failure up with your hypotension episodes.” She felt his arm tighten around her shoulders, just slightly enough that she could brush it off as him readjusting, but just obviously enough that the new pressure she felt against the side of her neck lingered like a spoken threat. “Unless there’s some other secret reason why your blood pressure likes to drop?”

    The load behind that question sent her pulse into a sprint. A little over 24 hours ago, it would have provoked confusion, maybe even some minute irritation. Now, she felt cold sweat flooding into her pores, contrasting heavily with the blazing fury searing away at the edges of her forced patience. He knew exactly what he was getting at and it made the thought of his demise sit a little easier in her imagination.

    “No. Nothing besides me vacating the womb two months too early,” she said earnestly.

    There wasn’t much else to be said before the unexpected growl of a car engine made Odette jolt. Dorien stifled a chuckle while he raised his free hand to steady her, then looked up expectantly as not one, not two, but three cars glided through the nearby roundabout and came to a sliding halt by the curb they were standing on.

    Upon immediate examination, Odette could see they were exactly the kind of cars Dorien would be associated with. Their radically sleek silhouettes, low-rise builds, and sharp, ultra-modern detailing lent an air of lavishness to them that practically begged her to gawk. She was certainly more of a bike person, but even she wasn’t immune to the splendor of an expensive whip, let alone three of them.

    Dorien was shaking his head now. “You know revving the engine like that just makes people think you’re not well endowed, right?”

    All three sets of doors practically levitated open, and Odette’s moment of admiration was dashed by the arrival of Dorien’s little posse. All the familiar Lansat faces, plus the one who couldn’t keep his flirting to himself.

    “Yeah, but it sounds so cool, I can’t help it,” Colin said, skipping in place like a happy lillipup before sauntering his way up the curb. He ignored Dorien and went straight for greeting Odette. Despite the fact he hung around assholes, he exuded a persona that was palatable in comparison to the others. While she didn’t have to try as hard to seem at ease around him, the fact he willingly hung with the rest of them kept him high on her shit list.

    “So, that’s the only answer you really need,” Adam said, laughing at the glare Colin nailed him with. Once he settled himself, he nodded in Odette’s direction. “Sup, ma’am. This guy’s got you hostage again?”

    “You know it,” she replied, hoping she didn’t sound as honest as she felt.

    “C’mon Dorien, kidnapping is illegal,” Denis said while he exchanged the standard greeting kisses with her. They felt like they lingered just a moment too long.

    “So is thinking I have to kidnap my girlfriend to make her hang out with me,” Dorien said. There was a dangerous warning brewing beneath his words, just present enough to send Denis rolling his eyes as he turned back toward the cars.

    Whatever slivers of ease she’d found in Colin was lost to that exchange. She struggled to remember anything about the relationship she had with Denis before Vice Dust might have been introduced to the scenario. The blanks she drew tasted of panic and bile, exacerbated by the kiss Lionel suddenly planted on the back of her hand. She jerked her wrist away on instinct, not realizing how that might have looked. The way Dorien jumped between them eased her concerns; however, the outrage digging craters into his brow was a glorious sight to see, even at her own expense.

    “Sorry, figured I’d keep our repertoire going,” Lionel smirked, eyeing Dorien with a smug satisfaction while he licked his unnaturally white veneers. “You’re welcome to return the favor to even the field.” He held his hand out as if expecting her to reciprocate.

    “No thanks. I feel a cold sore coming on; don’t want to make it worse,” she said. She’d subconsciously started scratching her hand, like she was anticipating a welt to form. She listened to the mocking laughter being thrown around before it was drowned out by another Odile intrusion.

    Noooooo, that was a missed opportunity to bite him. Show your fucking dominance, pussy.

    That’s easily an assault charge, she thought. If I’m going down on one of those, it’s not going to be wasted on him.

    Okay, I’m enjoying this process of elimination. Very executive of you. But you’re still a pussy.


    Her eyeballs ached with the need to roll so she fixated back on the cars while the boys launched into a conversation that she was too poor to follow along with. She visually dissected every curve, every handle, every light on each of the car’s bodies, listening to the way their engines purred in harmony.

    It was familiar. And not in a good way.

    The one in the front in particular—a white Bugatti with a tasteful red trim and a very noticeable skeledirge decal stuck to the back window—tickled a deep annoyance within her the longer she looked at it. It had felt like she’d seen the exact car before, which was strange, because she was certain she’d never been this close to a Bugatti.

    Her eyes then bounced to the other two; a slim light blue beast that she eventually discovered to be from a brand called Pagani, and a dim yellow curve of an Aston Martin. Slitting her eyes, she imagined herself just a few weeks back, sitting at the stoplight with Noel talking her ear off about hair care while she watched with compounding rage as a group of rich dickheads flew through a red light and nearly took them out.

    These were those same cars. She recognized the colors. White, blue, yellow.

    Crossing her arms to brace herself against her rapidly rising temper, she turned to Dorien.

    “These cars look like they belong on a race track, not public roads,” she said, effectively interrupting their conversation about the price of diamonds in Johto or whatever the fuck they were on about.

    Dorien gaped at her for a beat before chuckling toward a bemused smirk. “Oh, you noticed? Don’t worry, they get their fair share of racing in. I’m probably the best street racer in our inner circle, and nobody here needs to correct me.”

    “Bull-fucking-shit; you’d be the best if the best were good at nearly skidding off fucking bridges,” Lionel retorted, resulting in a full-fledged spat between the two of them. Their arguing only bolstered Odette’s anger, and she felt her nails digging into the fabric of her jacket while her blood began to simmer on high.

    Colin sighing pulled her from the boyish quarrel. She offered him a sidelong glance, just in time to catch him shaking his head. “You opened up a can of wurmples there, sis. Last time we went out, we absolutely tore down Metronome boulevard. Right after a storm too; shit was wild. But your idiot boyfriend did almost take out a barrier on an overpass bridge.”

    “Which only happened because you distracted me,” Dorien hissed with an aggravated zeal Odette hadn’t yet seen on him. However, she’d become far more occupied with the fact that her little bait for information had worked.

    Flashes of that night sped through her mind, just as fast as Dorien’s asshole posse had skidded through that intersection; the corner of Metronome boulevard and Bleakwind road. The red light had meant nothing to them. She and Noel would have been roadkill had she not been paying as much attention as she was. Would they have even stopped?

    The sound of those luxury engines reverberating down the street, between the tight school buildings, beat on her eardrums along with the increasing tempo of her heartbeat. She had so many things she wanted to say, most of them starting with some variation of the words “kill” and “yourselves.” With that came the desire to trip Dorien to the floor and start wailing on him, preferably with a metal pipe.

    “Careful, the cops will ticket you from here to kingdom come if they catch you.” She shoved her hands into her jogger pockets and went to work at the frayed threads along the seams.

    “Wait, Cinq-Marsy, your grandad’s a cop isn’t he?” Denis asked.

    She felt Dorien jolt at the nickname, and she also found herself doing a double-take. Familiarity poked tiny holes in her apparent Dust-induced amnesia, but not enough to jog any specific memories. All she knew was that she vaguely recalled that being a common nickname her peers had dubbed her. Grave nostalgia dammed up in her throat and she regarded him with a nod.

    “Yeah. The chief.”

    The low rumbles of juvenile hoots left Odette wanting to smash one of the car windshields. At least it might keep them from nearly running over some other poor schmuck for a few days. She tugged one of the pocket threads loose and felt a hole open up in the fabric.

    “Oh shit. Cop granddaughter,” Lionel sneered. “Dory, you didn’t tell us you were dating a purebred narc.”

    Odette decided that Lionel would likely be better company with a fresh bullet in his head.

    Wow, you are zero to fucking a hundred today, aren’t you? Odile said. Again, enthusiasm is great, but can we save the actual murder until after we have answers?

    Which is it? she seethed. Do you want me to lose my goddamn mind or am I pussy? Pick one, or when I go to sleep tonight, I’m showing up with a bat and playing baseball with your fucking head.

    That’s a tough one. Let me consult the 8-ball.

    The sound of sloshing water filled her thoughts. She briefly wondered if she could knock Odile—and perhaps herself—out by beating her head against the tree she was standing under. It felt like the only solution for such an asinine situation. Besides, she was sure that Magic 8-balls could only be asked yes-or-no questions.

    It says ask again later.

    Had Dorien not spoken up, she would have screamed in frustration.

    “Guys, come on, Odie’s no snitch. Especially not in my regard, right Doll?”

    Odette could practically taste the irony building in the air; thicker than the petrichor ever could be. She decided that allowing herself to laugh about it would be better than harping on the homicidal rage hitching a ride on her train of thought. Anything to keep her from having a meltdown right there on the curb.

    “Of course. I know the adage. Snitches get stitches.” The next part felt harder to say. “I can hang.”

    Mischief added an obnoxious glow to Lionel’s gray eyes. He gave a slow, dramatic gesture toward the Bugatti. “Well, with that said, are you comin’ along for lunch or what?”

    “Oh, no.” That was far too forceful. She saw Dorien shoot a look at her out of the corner of her eye and realized she had to reel it in a little. “I won’t snitch on you, but if my grandpa finds out I fucked around in one of those, believe me, he’d find a way to ground me one last time. No thanks.”

    “He’s okay with the motorcycle and not with the fully functional car?” Adam asked with a tilt of his head.

    She grinned. “Never said he was okay with the bike.” That was the gods honest truth. “The sole difference is that I’m the only one driving the bike. And I tend to keep within the speed limit on public roads.”

    She was proud of herself for being able to sneak a jab in, and it seemed to go over well enough judging by the way Dorien slung his arm back around her.

    “Well, are you at least coming to the yacht party?” Denis spoke that time.

    That gave her something else to think about that wasn’t destroying those cars or wishing Dorien had indeed driven off a bridge. In their text conversations throughout the week, Dorien had mentioned that another gathering was coming up; a yacht party indeed. The idea of getting back on a boat with him, knowing what he had done the last time they were on one, made her want to decline the invitation. But, this time around, it sounded like they wouldn’t be alone. Not that that would stop him from doing anything nefarious again.

    But, if this involved the same group of people that had been at the gala and garden parties, then Valentin would likely be in attendance too, which meant an extra layer of protection. That helped ease her feelings on the matter.

    “Oh. Right. Dorien mentioned that in some texts; I guess I am.”

    “It’s next week; formal attire. Also, limited seating so unfortunately, no plus ones.”

    Colin whining spoke everything she’d wanted to voice out loud. That much was news to her.

    “Aw, so I’m not going to see Noel? I was gonna wear my new tux, dammit,” he said.

    “I’ll have to break the news to him,” Odette said despite her mind having wandered fifty miles away. She knew that she wasn’t going to be able to drag Noel along to every Shiny Trade gathering Dorien took her to, but it still felt like that monkey wrench was bashing her in the temple. However, she’d survived one boat outing without him. She could manage another one, now that she was armed with knowledge and Valentin’s official protection.

    “Are you sure you don’t want to come along?” Dorien asked, rubbing her shoulder as if to urge her into agreeing. “I’m sure you’ve never been in any cars like these, hm? And the invitation is extended.”

    His hand against her skin felt like a grater, grinding her down until she had no choice but to say yes. “Grandpa’s strict upbringing still has me in a bit of a chokehold.” But, what choice did she have? She’d been invited without Dorien having to make any requests, and they hadn’t seen each other in over a week. Had Solene not almost decapitated him, she might have had some wiggle room to say no. Now, if she wanted to continue with her damage control, she felt she had no choice but to go along with it.

    God fucking damn you Solene.

    “So, I’ll just drive myself. See if your cars can stay in line with my lawful pace,” she taunted.

    Dorien’s eyes shined with a hint of mischief, enticed by her challenge. He exchanged looks with the rest of his posse before leaving her with a smirk.

    “You’re on,” he said. “We’re meeting at Gale Wings Bistro on Hadron road. Know it?”

    She actually did know it. She remembered a relatively recent time where she, Acadia, and Noel were looking for a new place to eat, and Acadia had pulled the place up on her phone. After seeing that the cheapest thing on the menu was €40, they quickly realized they were not the target demographic for such an establishment.

    “I do. See you there,” she replied, waving her fingers at him and the other prying eyes before making her way back to her bike. She had to focus on tempering her walking speed so she didn’t break into a full-blown sprint. Their eyes were a pressure against her back, one she had to ignore while she donned her helmet and revved the motorcycle to life. The sound was just enough to knock her anger down a notch.

    She rolled herself out of the parking spot and down the street, coming to a stop next to the parked cars, still rumbling in place, unoccupied. The fuckface crew remained rooted in the same spots she’d left them in, watching her meander by with varying looks of wide-eyed interest and childlike competitiveness. At least she knew that the sight of a short woman on a motorcycle could momentarily stun them. She wasn’t sure where that information would prove useful, but it was something to remember.

    Flipping up her visor, she raised a brow. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she called. Disdain creeped into her words, but most of it was drowned out by the sound of her working motor. She revved it one more time, and after lowering her visor, she sped ahead. It wasn’t long before she heard those rich engines roaring to life behind her.

    +++​

    They caught up to her rather quickly. Not that she was going particularly fast to begin with, but she wasn’t out for a casual Sunday ride, either. They all came to a stop at the last stop light before the highway leaving Santalune. She’d tried to pretend they weren’t there, but with the Bugatti on her left and the Pagani on her right, she was too cornered to play stupid. She heard the Bugatti’s window roll down, and turned to see Dorien’s stupid sunglasses-covered face making a visual meal out of her.

    “You know, I never noticed before. But damn does a motorcycle suit you,” he called. Then he whistled. Never had a sound instilled such a deep sense of disgust in her.

    Her grip tightened around her brake lever, and she thanked what was left of her lucky stars that her helmet’s visor was so dark. She could glare at him all she wanted, and he’d never know. She wondered if she could conduct the rest of her dates with him with it on.

    “Yes, us shorties tend to do better on bikes. No gas pedal to worry about reaching,” she chided.

    She couldn’t see who was in the car with him, but she heard laughter. It joined up with the giggles that echoed through her mind.

    You know, I might have called you fat and said you were a dirty cunt, but have I told you that you’re also really funny? Odile said.

    Was that your idea of a compliment?

    ‘Thank you Odile. You are also really funny and might I add, great at bloodstream design,’ Odile replied in a grating falsetto.

    Before Odette could get into an internal argument, Dorien was talking again. “Speaking of gas pedals, surely that thing has some more speed on it?”

    Canting her head at him, Odette huffed deeply, feeling her breath accumulate against the insulation of the helmet. “Nice try.”

    “What, you’re afraid of being out sped by a couple of designer cars?”

    “Sounds like it's the other way around.”

    The Bugatti’s engine revved, and Odette felt her aggravation spike and her self-restraint wane.

    “Come on; you claim to be so good at driving that thing, so show us boys how it’s done. Don’t be so wimpy,” Dorien heckled.

    It was such a juvenile attempt at getting under her skin. But the issue at hand was that it was working, which only served to make her more upset.

    She was not the most social dater in the past (at least, not that she remembered), but she was friends with enough boys to know how they acted around one another. What some of them spoke about. How some of them spoke about it. She could practically hear Dorien jeering about her riding skills, while being egged on into making more vulgar, sexually charged comments about how women looked on motorcycles.

    The desire to press her gas switch down to the handle, to speed through the red light herself just to get away from him and silence the hypothetical commentary, was overpowering. She could tout on and on about her lawful driving practices, but it was evident Dorien knew exactly what to say and do to get her to consider throwing it all out the window. Just when she thought she couldn’t hate him any more, the space for her animosity expanded.

    “I’m already doing that,” she said. She pumped the accelerator, just to sate her twitching thumb. As if that was all the stop light needed to change color, red blinked into green. She shot forward, not bothering to wait for any of the other cars around her to kick into gear.

    The further she got away from them, the better she felt. The further she got down the highway, the less anger steamed her blood. It was amazing how quickly her strife and woes could be blown off by a speedy motorcycle ride down an open road. It was also amazing how quickly they could return by being passed up by six idiots in cars that likely would have killed her a few weeks ago.

    It was obvious bait for her to follow, and despite her wrath-fueled desire to keep up, they’d already topped the speed limit ten times over what she’d decided to push it. The way they weaved in and out between the lanes also left her eye twitching, and she began to slow down out of spite.

    Fuck that,” she spat into her helmet. She’d gotten her fill. Now she could sit back and watch them be problematic dickheads from a safe distance, and she’d deal with the subtle digs about her apparent wimpiness when she got to the cafe.

    Boys will be boys, Odile said in a deep sigh.

    “Oh, do you consider yourself a male connoisseur now?” There was nobody around to hear, so it’s not like she had any reason to keep her responses internal.

    There’s not much to be a “connoisseur” about. Most of them have the complexity of a single-celled organism.

    “Good one,” Odette said, feeling the humored smirk playing on her lips. Sometimes Odile was capable of being funny. At least, when she wasn’t dropping that type of commentary in the middle of Odette fighting hypothetical tooth and nail not to lose her shit.

    Still, she couldn’t quite afford to linger so far behind. She had a general idea of where Hadron road was, but it would be much easier to just follow along. So, she picked up the pace, just enough to ensure she could see the Aston Martin up ahead.

    While it bobbed in and out between the other cars on the road, she could still catch sight of it from far off. However, with the gas the group was trying to put on those cars, it wasn’t long before she could no longer see them, even from a safe distance.

    “Mother fucker,” she grumbled under her breath, leaning into a little more speed. Part of her started to wonder if that was a sign to just drive her ass home and forego the outing altogether. But, she could practically feel RotomPhone buzzing with accusatory texts from Dorien, wondering why she ditched him, and perhaps accusing her for setting Solene up for nearly decapitating in class.

    Gods fucking damn you Solene.

    The thought fueled her pressure on the accelerator, and she looped between lanes and slow-moving sedans to attempt to catch up with them. Bernard’s warnings about keeping a lawful speed once again rang in her head, as did images of that night she and Noel had nearly been run over. But, at that moment, she didn’t care. She decided that the faster she caught up, the faster the outing would finish, and the faster she could get home and scream bloody metaphorical murder into her pillow.

    SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH.

    A car she hadn’t seen coming suddenly tried to cut into her lane, not fully in front of her enough to allow for a safe clearance. It was mere centimeters from her front tire, and she swerved away to avoid impact, which subsequently landed her in front of a pickup truck going at least 20 miles over the speed limit.

    Her brain didn’t have enough time to register what was happening. Instead, her body, and all the muscle memory she’d gained from years of operating a motorcycle, shifted into gear, and with a sharp turn of her handlebars, a calculated grip on the brake lever, and a loud and very wet shriek out of her tires, she was on the shoulder of the road, facing the opposite direction she’d been coming from.

    Once the stillness registered with her, only then did she really begin to understand what had just happened.

    A fucker who couldn’t drive, she tried to avoid it, and some poor sap in a truck nearly hit her…

    Were she not as skilled with a motorcycle as she was, she’d have surely been roadkill, and her ghost would have been faced with the brunt end of Bernard’s grief-stricken I-told-you-so’s, and the eternal knowledge that she never got to kiss Valentin on the lips. As if she’d needed more of those to weigh down her psyche.

    For a long moment, all she could hear was her heartbeat. The car tires driving over the wet asphalt, and the occasional horn registered to her as mere background noise as she stared down the barrier gate she’d come to an abrupt park next to.

    No…fucking…way…

    In the seven years she’d owned and operated a motorcycle, this was the first time she had ever been run off the road. She’d fallen learning to ride it, she’d had very close calls, but never that close. Of course, it had to happen today of all days. The day that was already batting a thousand, with thousands more likely coming.

    Odette, take a breath. Odile’s voice was the loudest she’d heard it all day, and yet it still didn’t register within her. Not over her own thoughts, which had built up in intensity over such a short period of time.

    Why do bad things keep happening to me?

    Odette, STOP, YOU’RE TOO—

    Warmth engulfed her senses, drowning out the frigid air and numbing the weight on her stomach. When she opened her eyes again, the left had gone dark, but it was the least of her concerns.

    The shriek that came out of her was otherworldly. It was a culmination of her building vexation over the past 24 hours. It was everything she wanted to say, do, break, rolled into one single agonized sound.

    She only stopped when a nearby street lamp exploded.

    The sound of it jolted her back to her senses, abruptly shedding off the warmth and regaining the full range of her vision. That gave her just enough time to reel around and watch the glass fall to the ground in front of her bike. The sight of it barely registered with her before her knee joints disintegrated into jelly, and she sank to the asphalt while the world around her blurred into a mess of grays and whites. She had just enough sense to cling to the barrier gate, keeping her from totally collapsing onto her rear.

    I’m…kill…stupid asshole…you…!

    Odile sounded like she was speaking through a phone with a spotty signal. Odette couldn’t make out any one complete sentence, as most of the words waned into a distorted din that left her feeling lightheaded.

    Do you…understand…bad…?

    “I can’t…” Odette panted. Her cheek fell against her arm, still being held up by her iron grip on the railing. “…hear you…”

    She wondered if she could reach one of her Pokeballs. She’d locked them, as was protocol when operating an open vehicle such as a motorcycle. Their voice activation keys would unlock them, but in her haze, Odette couldn’t remember what she’d set them to.

    That was…close…

    Water, Odette realized. I need water.

    She’d left her reusable bottle at home, but Loïc had come in clutch with that other bottle he got for her before class. She finally willed her hand to let go of the railing, and reached around to the side pocket of her backpack to grab it. Shaky hands took far too long to get it open, and she didn’t have the cap fully off before she was trying to pour it into her mouth. Some of it splashed across her cheeks and dribbled down her chin and into the collar of her jacket. But, just enough made it into her mouth to perk her back up.

    The highway before her reformed, her headache settled, and the static filling her head faded away into absolute clarity.

    CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW, YOU ROOM TEMPERATURE IQ, THICKER-THAN-A-WHORE’S-FREE-CLINIC-BILL, WALKING, TALKING TRAINWRECK OF A GNOME?

    Odette cried out and slapped a hand to her head, feeling her eardrum vibrating with the residuals of Odile’s scream.

    “Yeah, loud and clear,” she winced, hanging her head between her knees. “Too clear. Lower your voice. And don’t call me a gnome.”

    SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH BEFORE I ENCASE YOUR VOCAL CORDS IN CONCRETE. Same volume. Odette was covering both of her ears now. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW CLOSE THAT WAS? WHAT DID I FUCKING TELL YOU?

    Stop yelling,” Odette growled to nothing. ”Please, I’m already struggling to keep my thoughts straight.”

    Yeah, isn’t that the truth, Odile hissed. You are so lucky. You are SO amazingly fucking lucky, do you know that?

    “Hard to call myself lucky when I’m barely clinging to consciousness on the side of a highway. Enlighten me, oh wise one.”

    Odile’s cackle held no joy. You damn near forced me out. I had to hang on for dear life, you absolute paragon of an assholeism. You couldn’t tell? You didn’t feel anything different?

    She had to think about it a little harder than usual, but Odette found herself shaking her head. “No, I definitely felt it. It felt…exactly like it did in the garden. When you repelled the desmocula.”

    Huh! Crazy how that works! Odile said. That time, I poked out to save your ass on my own volition, but this time? All you. All you, yourself, and every other stupid part about you. Doing the exact thing I warned you not to do. Did I mention that you’re stupid? Because you’re STU—

    I got it!” Odette yelled.

    Odile finally shut up, leaving just the sound of the passing cars as Odette’s company. As she sat there, replaying the past five minutes in her head, the feeling of moisture dripping down her cheek finally registered with her. Her breath hitched upon remembering the garden fiasco again, and she raised her trembling hand to wipe it away.

    The blood coating her fingertips caused discontent to take root in her chest. This was the second time it had happened. Now, she had a full understanding of why it did, and that only set her teeth on edge. Crying blood was peak possession bullshit. She’d watched enough horror films to know that for a fact.

    She steeled herself with a steadying breath before pushing herself up to stand, dragging her rebooting body over to get a good look at her rearview mirrors. She saw what was left of that crimson tear streak, it having traced the front of her cheek in its entirety before stopping just below her chin. Using her palm, she wiped the rest of it away, blinking rapidly to ensure there was none in her eye. She hadn’t felt or seen any, but she couldn’t be too sure.

    “Is that supposed to happen?” she asked.

    It’s a side effect of me coming to the forefront and physically inhabiting your body. So, yes. Kind of.

    Odette sniffled at her reflection, then went to work trying to smooth out her hair. “Don’t you already inhabit my body?”

    I inhabit your soul. It’s separate, Odile bit out. I can bang around in here as much as I like, but taking on your physical skin is a whole different beast, and is what just naturally happens on my way out the door as a technically uncaught blood type. For future reference, since we’re talking about it.

    So, in the event that Odile did eventually come out, Odette would have to experience the discomfort of her eye bleeding again. That is, until she formally caught Odile. If she formally caught Odile. She made a reluctant mental note of that.

    Now, more than ever, she was ready to go home. Both incidents—nearly being hit again and nearly expelling Odile—had surely taken decades off her lifespan, and now, she just craved a nap of an indeterminate length. If she wasn’t keen to sit through a lunch with Dorien and company before, she certainly wasn’t now. Especially knowing she’d already gotten so close to forcing Odile out, and he wasn’t even in her general vicinity. Who’s to say just laying eyes on him wouldn’t set her off on a second round of having a demonic tantrum?

    At that thought, she snuck one more wary glance at the shattered glass from the street light.

    “What caused that?” she asked.

    Odile’s response was delayed. I feel like you’ve dealt with enough magical type Pokemon to know what the answer to that is.

    Odette nodded to herself. Sometimes, a powerful enough ghost, or even psychic or fairy type, had strong enough magical energies that if they simply exerted themselves a little, they could cause certain technologies to go haywire—ranging from slight interference to absolute explosions. Vienna had explained it multiple times; something about strong magical energies being able to override those exerted by electronics and the like.

    Of course, she should have expected as much out of something like Odile. Whatever hellish power she had under her legendary belt would likely put any of the magical-type 'mon she lived with to complete shame.

    Odette briefly hoped the street lamps didn’t have built in cameras. She wasn’t sure how she’d go about explaining that one if she somehow got pulled in for questioning about vandalizing public property. Sorry, it wasn’t entirely my fault. The energy of the demonic legendary in my soul mostly caused that.

    She could practically see a padded room in her future.

    Running one last finger under her eye, Odette made doubly sure she’d gotten all of the blood off her water line and lower lid. She also checked to make sure none had dripped on her jacket or pants, finding, fortunately, that her white outfit remained unblemished. One less thing to be concerned about.

    After deciding her head had mostly cleared, and that hydrating had left her feeling awake enough to drive, she moved to get back on her motorcycle. However, the lasting adrenaline in her system coiled up in her chest, squeezing with a vigor that left her shuddering in fear.

    That had been way too close. She’d once again fallen victim to her rage and had nearly paid the ultimate price for it. Would Odile have been able to help her out of being crushed under a pickup truck? That was a question she decided she was happy to not know the answer to.

    It wouldn’t be the last time she got angry today. Not by a long shot. But that would be the first and only time she let it put her in such a precarious situation.
     
    Last edited:
    Chapter 20 - Poking Beartics
  • Sinderella

    Angy Tumbleweed
    Staff
    Location
    In Guzma's Closet
    Pronouns
    She/Her
    Partners
    1. sylveon-shiny
    2. gothitelle
    3. froslass
    4. chandelure
    5. mimikyu
    White Swan.jpg
    Chapter 20: Poking Beartics
    Author's Note: Aaaaaaand now shit has hit the fan. We're really past the point of no return now.

    While I was really happy with how this chapter went, I wasn't sure if the big reveal here was potent enough, or if Odette's reaction was too harsh. It could be because I'm being too harsh, or maybe there's some plot holes there, or maybe I could write it a little differently, but who knows! Right now, without any betas telling me otherwise, I think its fine :ROFLMAO:

    As always, thank you for reading 🤍

    Lunch had been excruciating. But she survived.

    As Odette stared into her tired reflection in her bathroom mirror, fresh out of a much needed shower, she really did wonder how the fuck she was still alive. Or how she hadn’t been arrested for assaulting somebody yet. She decided, after looking far too closely at the dark circles taking root under her eyes, that some mysteries were better left unsolved.

    Any one on one time with Dorien was already bad enough. She’d hoped that being among his group would protect her from too many direct confrontations with him, but realized very quickly that she was stupid for thinking that was even possible. Being in that cafe had felt more like she was sitting in an echo chamber of infuriating wealth rather than among actual human beings. They all egged each other on, with her the butt of many of their poor taste “jokes,” leaving her to sit there and listen while she forced a €45 salad down her throat and tried not to set the place on fire.

    Odette worked what was left of her hair mask through her loose, damp curls as she groaned to her reflection. Aside from nearly losing her life on the road and Odile nearly rupturing her eardrums, the rest of the afternoon had been mostly uneventful. Surely, the day was saving more of its obstacles for the rest of the evening, now that she was back in the comfort of her own home, with her fractured team and a weighty understanding that a mediation needed to happen sooner rather than later.

    Not to mention, her mother would be home soon. That left a whole other area of issues to be explored; a thought that was not sitting pretty in her gut.

    “Incoming text from Noel Masse! Bzzzzt.” RotomPhone alerted her. Odette had been glacially texting Noel since she walked in the door, and slid her finger over Rotom’s screen to read his most recent response.

    Odette Cinq-Mars
    Hey, I’m home. Need to decompress and am also waiting for mum to get home, too. I’ll come up later.

    Noel Massé
    did school suck? I didnt see u on the news so im assuming u didnt kill dorien yet ( ̄Д ̄)ノ


    Odette Cinq-Mars
    Got close. Could use about 60 drinks.

    Noel Massé
    ill get my dad to break out the good wine then (╹◡╹)♡

    Noel Massé
    did u talk to Enora n Sol? (・_・;


    Odette Cinq-Mars
    Again. Could use about 60 drinks.

    Noel Masse
    oof…ok say less (ーー;)


    She grimaced at the response. Not because she was expecting a more peppy reply, but because it reminded her about how poorly everything had gone. From her argument with Enora to Solene trying to kill Dorien, she wasn't in an ideal position by any means. She began to type another broody message, when she received another notification from him.

    Noel Masse
    btw did Val text u by any chance? (・・?)


    She scowled at the screen, then typed out a new reply.

    No? Why?

    Her thumb roved over the send button, when RotomPhone promptly notified her that she’d received another text. From her contact Clovis LeClair.

    The breath she was inhaling caught in her throat, along with a little extra saliva, and she started hacking up her surprise into the crook of her arm.

    Even through the incessant coughing, she was hasty in pulling up their texting thread. It was quite sparse, as they hadn’t messaged again after setting up their initial meeting, or even much prior. But now, the thread had populated with one single, oh-so-titillating text.

    Clovis LeClair
    Hi. Just wanted to check in on you and your team to see if you were alright? :)


    A smiley face. That was a sign of something less professional, and more friendly, wasn’t it? She felt her fingers tingling with the need to respond as quickly as possible, but her brain knew that an immediate reply might come off as too desperate. But, if she waited too long, he might think the message was off base and unwanted, which was far from the truth.

    Before she did anything else, she shot a message back to Noel.

    Odette Cinq-Mars
    He did just now.

    Noel Massé
    Bet. consider it a reward for ur hard day (^_−)−☆

    Noel Massé
    Go get im tiger ٩( ᐛ )و


    She didn’t know what Noel did—more importantly, she wondered when he and Val had exchanged numbers—but she wasn’t going to ask. She’d become far too focused on crafting the perfect text back. Not too eager, but not too cold.

    This was how she wanted to spend her energy for the rest of the evening. Trying to talk to Val felt far less problematic than trying to talk to her mother about Florent, or opening up the floor for another argument with Enora, or even trying to explain to Solene why attempted murder wasn’t the ideal approach to the game at hand. Still just as anxiety inducing, but it was the thing that was least likely to end in a fight. Or more secrets she didn’t know about coming out to ruin her night for the second time.

    “You should tell him he has a nice butt, bzzzt,” RotomPhone commented. She could hear the mischievous static behind his words.

    “First of all, you’re stupid and I hate you,” Odette said, her thumbs still working away at her keyboard. That got an electrical whir of a giggle from him. “Second of all, why do you know that?”

    “So you admit it? You think he has a nice butt? Bzzzt?

    “Okay, don’t fucking Regina George me when I’m typing arguably the most important text of my life.” She sounded annoyed, but it wasn’t enough to stop the smirk playing on her lips. She appreciated his attempt at lightening the mood, even if that attempt involved her indirectly admitting to objectifying her crush. But it was true; she did think he had a nice butt.

    With some struggling and repeated backtracking, she managed to string something decent together.

    Hey. I’m fine 🙂

    Wow, Odile finally cut in. Yeah, that’s really gonna get him to fuck you. Flirting champion of the world right here.

    Odette glared at the screen only because Odile wasn’t present to look at instead. “Shut your godsdamn mouth. Or…yeah, your mouth,” she muttered, tapping the backspace key until her diminutive message disappeared. She grit her teeth through the irksome cackling that swelled in her mind.

    “You’re thinking too hard, bzzzt,” RotomPhone said. “You can definitely give him more than that.”

    Of course she agreed, but with everything else banging around upstairs, writing a coherent text that wasn’t offputting wasn’t coming so easy. The fact that it was Val made it so much more difficult.

    Loaded question, but we made it home without accruing a criminal record. Feels like a win 🫠

    They had the same sardonic sense of humor and it always came into play whenever they spoke. Somehow, that felt right. Before she could think about it much harder, she sent it.

    And now we wait to see if you just fucked your chances of him fucking you, Odile said. Odette could hear the taunting grin in her voice, and her fingers started to curl. Loïc scurried into the bathroom before she could do anything too rash, hissing something incoherent as he ran a lap around her feet.

    “What?” Odette asked, just in time to hear the front door of the apartment open, followed by the sound of Vienna having a one-sided conversation. Likely on the phone.

    Vienna’s voice caused Odette’s body to seize up. Loïc scurried his way up her leg and sat himself on her shoulder, nestling into the fabric of her oversized Ghost Trainers of Kalos t-shirt like he was attempting to calm her down from the emotional high she just shot up to. She’d have thanked him if she had the capacity to do anything else but stare blankly at her bathroom door.

    Texting Val suddenly didn’t take precedence. All she could contemplate was approaching her mum. Their conversation from the morning hadn’t gone according to plan because she’d found herself incapable of getting the words out. Vienna had been rushing to get out the door at that time, but now, Odette had the whole night to ask her that pressing question. She had no excuse.

    Interrogation round two? Odile asked.

    Odette steeled herself with a shallow breath, locking RotomPhone’s screen as she walked toward the door. “Interrogation round two,” she murmured.

    She was bombarded with the smell of takeout—it smelled vaguely Paldean—and the sight of Vienna standing in the kitchen, Iris and Thea flanking her sides. They were trying to listen in on the conversation while Vienna chatted about something about a research project. Two many technical terms and numbers were being thrown around for Odette to keep up.

    She noticed the space was rather devoid of her own team, though she should have expected as much. Enora and Solene didn’t come out of their balls after getting home, and Isaur decided she wanted to nap until dinnertime, having tired herself out after filling up at the bistro. Ange had said that he was, quote, “straight up not having a good time because everyone was too tense,” and wanted some reprieve in his ball. That left Loïc, who’d taken to roaming as normal. He occasionally approached Odette to bat her ankles, bring her a dust bunny, or ask her if she wanted a pecha berry from the freezer. She politely declined every time.

    Upon meeting Odette’s eye, Vienna lit up, waving her fingers in an eager silent greeting, with Thea and Iris quick to mimic. She gestured to the neatly tied bags she’d stacked on the counters. “Dinner,” she mouthed, holding her phone slightly away from her ear. She tried to say something else, but was promptly pulled back into the conversation on the line. “No, yeah, yeah, yeah, we’ve studied that haunt hundreds of times so it should just be routine…”

    Odette waved back, leaning against the entrance to her hallway, giving the three of them a chance to finish their call before she approached. She trained a half smile on her lips, hoping it would smother the deafening volume of her heart beating. She began to say a silent prayer that Vienna would be on that phone call for the rest of the night, but she wasn’t holding her breath.

    Watching her mum pace around the kitchen, she felt RotomPhone vibrate in her hand. She jolted at the unexpected feeling, lowering her gaze to read the notification that lit up the screen, just in time for another one to pop up.

    Clovis LeClair
    I reckon that’s about all we could ask for today, but I’m happy to read it. Did anything of note happen?

    Clovis LeClair
    Also, I apologize if I’m overstepping!


    Against its own panicked pace, Odette’s heart fluttered. His response hadn’t taken long at all, and not only was he asking about her day, he’d double texted. She got him with the sardonic humor approach, hook, line, and sinker. Breifly distracted from the idea of talking to Vienna, she held RotomPhone to her nose while she ruminated on her next reply.

    Should she double text back? It took a lot of nerve to do something like that, and she wanted to match his energy. She wanted to tell him he could never overstep…of course, without overstepping herself.

    “Okay, talk later. Bye,” Vienna said. Odette looked up in time to see her clicking her phone off and throwing her arms in the air.

    “Honeeeeeeeey, I’m hoooooome,” she sang; off key as usual. Thea proceeded to shy away from her intentionally awful singing while Iris even attempted to cover her mouth. “Stooooppppp, you suuuuck,” the reuniclus whined.

    “I’m taking that as my cue to go freshen up; good luck Odette,” Thea said flatly as she picked up her pokeball and hovered off down the hallway to Vienna’s bedroom.

    “You’ll hit that note one day,” Odette heckled, crossing her arms and wiping away whatever traces of puppy love that had appeared on her face.

    “But not today,” Vienna sighed. She nudged Iris off of her, and Iris took that defeat as an excuse to also hover off to presumably freshen up for dinner as well.

    “You hungry at all?” she called as she began to untie one of the takeout bags. “I was trying to tell you, we picked up from Asado, so we’re all eating hella good tonight. Where’s the rest of the team?”

    Odette shifted her weight to her left leg uncomfortably, exchanging glances with Loïc. “Oh, in their balls. Had a hard lesson in Battle Performance today, so they’re all pretty drained.”

    That was mostly the truth.

    “Welp, a hearty meal should perk them right back up. How was the rest of your day? Made it to school just fine?”

    “Yeah.” She paused. She was probably going to regret what she had to say next, but there was a method to the madness. She hoped. “But I almost crashed on the ride back, so that was fun.”

    Vienna bristled. It was such a visceral reaction that Odette became very glad Iris and Thea had left the room. Vienna alone was enough, knowing Iris likely would have had a full-blown meltdown, and Thea would have given her that disappointed look that always made her flinch. She wasn’t in the mood for either.

    “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Vienna leaned against the counter, looking ready to jump over the bar top to get to her. “Don’t tell me that. Are you okay?”

    “I’m standing here uninjured, am I not?” Odette offered, shrugging.

    A motherly sternness clouded Vienna’s stare, her glossed lips tightening into a dull frown. “You better hope your grandfather doesn’t find out; he’ll kill you, and then I’ll never hear the end of it for letting you get that stupid bike in the first place.”

    “Well, thank the gods you’re the first and only person I’ve told.”

    Groaning, Vienna pushed herself up to stand and dragged herself out of the kitchen and over to where Odette was standing. When she was close enough, she gave Odette a scrutinizing once over, pursing her lips in a manner that indicated she had a lecture locked and loaded.

    “Look, I might not be as bad as him, but it still scares the shit out of me how you ride that thing sometimes,” she said. “You’ve never almost crashed; what happened?”

    “That you know of.” Vienna didn’t find the response as witty as Odette thought it was, because she slit her eyes dangerously.

    “I know you're 22 and a working member of society, so I can't really ethically do this anymore, but I will ground the fuck out of you one last time.” Her tone bore an odd mixture of jest and seriousness, and it sent Odette’s eyes rolling.

    “I just…got mad. Mind full, you know?” she said.

    Some of the tension left Vienna’s shoulders, blown out by a sigh. She reached out and cupped Odette’s face, squeezing her cheeks together just tight enough that it forced her lips to pucker.

    “You’re always mind full and mad. So, yes. I do.” She planted a hard peck on Odette’s forehead before letting her go. “What’s got you clogged up?”

    Odette grimaced. “Ugh, don’t say it like that. Makes it sound like I’m constipated.”

    “You kinda are,” Vienna giggled. “Mind constipated.”

    “Maman, that’s gross.”

    “You call me disgusting all the time, so you should just expect it at this point, hun.”

    With her frown sinking lower, Odette swapped one more look with Loïc. She used the urgency glinting off his beady eyes as the push she needed to spit out what she wanted to say. The setup could not have been more perfect, and she couldn’t lose her momentum now.

    “I…I was thinking lately.“ Spit it out. Just do it. Rip off the bandage. “You’ve never really talked to me about my dad before.”

    Vienna’s head recoiled while astonishment ignited in her eyes. “Huh.” It was her turn to cross her arms. “Of all the things I thought you were going to say, that was not one of them.”

    “I know, it’s just…” What kind of lie could she tell to segue into this? “Noel and I were talking a lot about dad stuff the other day, and it kinda got me thinking.” That was good enough. She knew Noel would play along if asked, and it wasn't entirely far from the truth. They had argued about it a little just last night.

    “I know Grandpa has always been the ‘man’ in my life, but he was always ‘Grandpa.’ Never really ‘Dad.’ I didn’t ask about it as a kid because I don’t think I cared that much, but now that I’m a little older and have had time to think on it, I’m a little curious. Like, who am I the other half of?”

    Having successfully rid herself of the surprise, Vienna’s face scrunched with steely contemplation. Odette wondered if she was going to be met with a metaphorical stone wall—a thought that made her back tingle and insults ball up on her tongue—or if she was going to be met with an interrogation about why she cared that much—a thought that had her frantically putting together fibs to tell that weren’t “I’m involved in an undercover sting operation for my apparent biological father’s cultish drug ring.”

    “Hm. No, that’s fair.” Vienna reached up to scratch her head, then flashed a stiff grin that effectively trashed all of the half-assed falsehoods Odette had conjured up. But, it didn’t settle her head entirely. “I figured you’d ask one day, just not so soon.” The irony in her comment prompted both of them to laugh, but the laughter didn’t feel very sincere on either end. Whatever bubbling anger Odette felt was cooled off by an icy, gnawing agitation.

    Vienna had to know. About Florent. About what he was up to. About Venira. About most of the topics that had been uncovered yesterday. There weren’t a lot of other things Odette could think of that would warrant such a hesitant reaction, no matter how subtle it was. Most of the talking points a normal single mother with a lovechild would be scared to tell their kid, Odette already knew. Unless, now that she was thinking about it, Florent had just done something unspeakable to Vienna—something she wasn’t fully comfortable talking about even now—in which case…that would open a new can of wurmples. And would likely result in Odette finally puking up every last drop of grief she’d been swallowing down. She tried not to dwell on that hypothetical guilt for fear she’d lose her nerve and scamper back off to her bedroom like the pathetic possessed idiot she was.

    With a huff, Vienna slid into one of the dining table chairs. She’d started running her fingers through the curls that framed her face as she tended to do when she was deep in thought. Odette could also see she was tonguing the inside of her cheek, something she did when what she wanted to say wasn’t particularly positive. They already weren’t off to a great start. Odette pulled up the seat next to her, folding her hands in her lap to prevent herself from compulsively loosening any threads on her shirt.

    “Well, what have I already told you? He was a lot older than me. I met him when I was in Galar on an exchange program; he told me he was Galarian, and he had the accent, so I believed him. I also suspected there was some Paldean in him, too.” Brown eyes swerved up to the ceiling, where they got caught on the closed air vent. “Uh, very wealthy. Some business stuff; I admittedly don’t remember much about it. We were only together for about two months and it was 22 years ago. I know I also told you that you weren’t exactly planned.”

    None of that information was news to Odette. Just a recap. “Right,” she said. Now it was time to really poke. “But did he know about me?”

    Vienna hesitated. A thought darkened face, but she blinked it away before Odette had a chance to analyze it. “No. I knew someone of his stature wouldn’t want the stigma of having a kid with a girl half his age; out of wedlock, no less. Didn’t want to put myself in a position where he might have told me to not have you. And, believe it or not, while I was 18 and stupid, I really did want you.”

    “So it’s not as much he wanted nothing to do with a baby; he just doesn’t know.” It wasn’t exactly a startling revelation; in the select few times she’d wondered about it growing up, that always felt like a possibility despite Vienna’s specificity. Besides, if he didn’t know before, he definitely knew now. Vienna nodded grimly.

    “I know I’ve told you that I didn’t like him very much, but really. He was a fucking asshole. Really nasty to me. So a part of that was just me trying to keep you away from him, too. I didn’t want you to deal with the brunt end of that.”

    That hypothetical guilt began to skip along Odette’s nerves again while nausea pooled saliva on her tongue. Was she making a mistake, poking her mother like this? Was she uncovering some horrible past event that Vienna had tried for years and years to hide away, only to have it prodded out of her by her Wrath-fueled ingrate of a child?

    “Wait…did he hurt you? Or…?” She couldn’t finish the sentence; not before the word got stuck in her throat and cut off the breath she was taking. The idea of Florent Lambourne doing anything inherently violent to her mother made her want to drop a nuke on Lumiose in its entirety. Vienna gasped and slammed her palm flat over her chest.

    “No, no. Gods, no. Nothing like that, oh gods.” She reached that same hand out and clamped her hand tightly around Odette’s wrist, as if trying to keep her physical body from reaching the height her brain had. She also spoke so forcefully that Odette couldn’t doubt the answer, and she felt the bile burning her throat seep back down to its rightful place in her stomach.

    “He never laid a hand on me. It was more just verbal, mind game-y bullshit. He’d say some really off putting nonsense, or he’d condescend me whenever he could. He’d get upset if I didn’t agree with him, or gaslight me if I was angry at him for any reason. Stuff that made me wonder if he was actually 32, and stuff that, looking back now, makes me wonder how and why I stuck around for as long as I did. Sucker for a gorgeous face, I guess,” she added under her breath. “If it had ever gotten physical, I wouldn’t have lasted as long, I’m sure.”

    While Odette was glad she wouldn’t have to wallow in the self-reproach of forcing her mother to dredge up a traumatic past, she was still left trying not to let her impatience play on her face. So if it wasn’t anything that bad, then what else was there? It wasn’t something that affected Verinna’s schooling; she still graduated top of her class and became a well-respected Pokemon Professor. Her relationship with Bernard and Marieanne was as ideal as a parent-adult daughter relationship could be. She had a roof over her head in Lumiose fucking City, and a daughter who (currently) loved her. She’d never been shy about owning up to the fact she’d gotten pregnant off of a taboo fling, so there was no shame to power her hesitation, either.

    So, did she know?

    Odette nodded along with Vienna, willing herself a couple seconds to pause to feign a deep digestion of the information. Since appearances had come up, she decided to ask, just to keep the conversation moving. “Do I look anything like him?”

    Pressing her lips into a tight line, Vienna shifted her sitting position so she could rest her chin in her palm. Her eyes didn’t leave Odette’s as she groaned.

    “A little.” She reached out and brushed a strand of Odette’s hair away from the rim of her glasses. “The one thing I remember most distinctly about him was that he had the reddest eyes, and you sure as shit got those eyes.”

    Odette thought her stomach couldn’t have sunk any lower, but she was feeling it near her ankles now.

    “But you got way more of me. My little ruby-eyed clone.” A smile worked its way back onto Vienna’s lips. It was supposed to be comforting, but Odette was in no state of mind to feel comforted by or about anything. “Not that I’d have loved you any less either way.”

    Would she love you any less if she knew you were possessed?

    Odette didn’t exactly appreciate the intrusion, but the question was valid. That was, of course, implying Vienna didn’t know, which she was far less sure of than she was a few moments ago. Bitterness from her 48 hours of life-altering revelations curdled her blood, and she lended some of that flavor to her next question. “Are you sure I got more of you, though? I don’t think my sea of medical issues and temper run in Cinq-Mars genes.”

    That steely look reprised itself with a more severe edge. “Why does that have to be genes?” Vienna retorted. “You had a horrifically traumatic birth; you were two months premature. That was guaranteed to cause problems, and those problems manifested in hormone imbalances, a fucked up immune system, and some emotional regulation issues.” After letting the words hang around them for enough time, the frown she followed up with was laced with unease.

    “Is that what this is about?”

    Odette wasn’t sure what to say. Vienna‘s response felt too severe for the question; enough to kick up the dread coursing through her. She supposed she could play it off as motherly concern for her child’s self esteem; Odette hadn’t been coy about her disdain for her health or her penchant for losing her proverbial shit. But there was just a tad too much force in Vienna’s words; a tad too much frustration.

    “No,” was her knee-jerk response. But the sickly feeling in her gut forced another. “I mean, a little? Am I wrong for wondering?”

    “You’re definitely not. But I do think you’re a little silly for thinking your grief with that stuff will be eased by, for all intents and purposes, a sperm donor.” Vienna was rubbing her forehead now, and it looked like whatever energy she’d had upon returning home from work had been sapped away. “If he’s anything like I remember, he’d probably find a way to make your feelings about that worse. Or, maybe he got prostate cancer or something and that’s what all of his energy is going into nowadays so he wouldn’t have the time to bring it up. Even better, maybe it killed him already, so no need to bother wondering.”

    There was a severe layer of vitriol in the latter half of that statement. “Prostate cancer isn’t funny,” Odette scolded, hoping to bait a harsher response. One that spilled a little more information.

    “Hence why I said what I said. The only thing he was good for was giving me you. Otherwise, good riddance.”

    Vienna had supplicated various harsh fates upon the people that had wronged her over the years. When a colleague copied six months worth of her research statistics centered around evolutionary forms for aegislash and passed them off as his own, she not only wanted him stripped of his license, but prayed he’d also get stuck naked in a pen with seven wild stunky. When a newbie tried to usurp a promotion from her on the premise of nepotism, she conjured probable ways the newbie could have her trust fund legally forfeited and given to a nonprofit centered around discovering a vibrator-form rotom. While most of her threats were bizarre at best and unsavory at worst, never had she wished a death upon anyone.

    “Got it,” Odette acknowledged. “You don’t just hate him. You really fucking hate him.”

    Remorse painted a shadow across Vienna’s face. She must have had the same realization Odette had, because she pinched the bridge of her nose as if she were exasperated with herself. “I-I’m sorry. I know it’s probably not what you want to hear, but I don’t want to sugarcoat any of this. It wasn’t some fairytale fling with an amicable ending. It might have started that way, but it didn’t last. I didn’t like having to tell you your biological father was a dick, but I didn’t want you to grow up thinking he was some amazing mystery figure, either. I didn’t want to risk anything about him clouding what you might think about yourself. I also didn’t want to risk him perhaps physically showing up to make your life harder.”

    Too late for that, Odile said, right on par with Odette’s thoughts.

    Odette wasn’t necessarily angry at any of this information. A lot of it was just specifying things she knew or inferred, or things she had time to stew in since last night. When it was all said and done, she doubted she could feel any worse about herself as it related to her paternal ties, and she truly did understand where Vienna was coming from. If Vienna was being as sincere as she sounded, it just seemed like she’d just been acting in the best interest of her unfortunate bastard child. Being the product of a teen pregnancy, a traumatic birth, and a childhood of medical issues was bad enough, but to have the looming image of a romanticized father figure hanging over her, only for it to be dashed by a dose of reality likely would have made it all so much worse. If what she was dealing with now was any indication.

    “I understand.” Odette offered a smile, one that didn’t feel too difficult to put on. The way it seemed to break the rigidity of Vienna’s posture loosened some of the knots in her gut. “And thank you.”

    “Of course. And this is where I apologize for being a psychotic teenager and having you under psychotic circumstances. But, I think you turned out A-okay anyway,” Vienna grinned, reaching over to land an affectionate poke against Odette’s cheek. Loic purred and nuzzled into her other one, like he was trying to drive the point home.

    “It’s okay. But, you can make it up to me by answering one more question.” With the reencouraging warmth settling her soul, she felt that now was better than ever to ask her ace question. Most of the mental barriers around the conversation had crumbled with the sudden arrival of some candid, albeit pretty intense discourse. The roads were paved, the walls were down, and she felt more comfortable than ever asking.

    “Can you at least tell me his name?”

    It was simple. Risking her motorcycle autonomy and the probability of Vienna recounting a horrific experience with her fucked up baby daddy led to that simple question. Odette would ask her for name, Vienna would say “Florent,” she would answer “Lambourne?” and they would discuss it. While the discussion itself felt fuzzy in Odette’s head, the lead up to it was as sure as her crush on Val. It was such a simple question that there should have been no other way around it.

    She says Florent. I say Lambourne.

    A heavy pause that reeked of dubiety.

    She says Florent. I say Lambourne.

    Vienna averted her eyes for a split second. It was so quick she probably didn’t realize she did it. It gave the perfect opening for dread to take Odette’s chest in a tight grip and wring her dry of every last drop of warmth she’d gathered.

    Florent. Lambourne.

    “Aurelius.”

    The lie struck Odette harder than she’d anticipated it would, piercing her soul and sending shockwaves of chilly betrayal through her blood. It cooled off any chance of her losing her temper, as all she could feel was that single word, that single lie, rocking her already rocked world.

    “That’s a pretentious ass name.”

    “For a pretentious ass man.” Vienna’s comeback was firm and unrelenting. She wasn’t budging. That was her final answer.

    Odette tried to reason with it. Perhaps everything she’d been told yesterday was incorrect; that, in fact, her father’s real name was Aurelius, he happened to also have red eyes, was involved in some vague business dealings, and this was all a big misunderstanding. She wasn’t actually related to Florent, and she had nothing to do with the sacrilege crisis or his ties to those bloody legendaries.

    But, she’d seen the picture. Odile had confirmed it without a shadow of a doubt, and of course the god with a blood affinity who’d been aware of the Lambourne bloodline for a thousand years would know. Florent was her father, and Vienna was not keen on letting her know that herself.

    Ouch, Odile said. For once, she sounded remorseful.

    Maybe Florent had given Vienna a fake name. Maybe she didn’t know any better, and was certain that was his real name. But that slight pause was deafening. She’d had the right answer in mind, and yet she hesitated. Hesitated like someone quickly deciding whether to lie or not would.

    “Sounds fitting,” Odette said. “At least, if anything, I didn’t get any of that pretentiousness.”

    The relief in Vienna’s smile made Odette want to vomit. “That you did not. You’re about as far from him personality-wise as anybody can get.”

    Are you sure about that, Mother?

    “Was there anything else?” she asked.

    Yes. Why are you a fucking liar?

    “No. But I’ll let you know if something else comes up.”

    “Of course. I’ll answer any questions you have as best as I can.”

    Liar.

    Odette managed a tight-lipped grin, pushing herself up to stand despite the way the room around her swam. The knot in her chest was tight; suffocating. Her nose stung under its weight, and she could feel a pressure welling behind her eyes. “I’m gonna go get the rest of the team. I’m sure they’re starving.”

    “Don’t take too long,” Vienna beamed as she hustled back toward the kitchen to continue fiddling with the bags. “I definitely don’t want this getting cold.”

    Odette was already pushing open the door to her room before she could respond. She could no longer find words, instead sending a single nod her mother’s way before slipping through the crack in her door. Her back hadn’t fallen against it before she felt the tears rolling down her face. The breath she let out ached of a metaphorical gut punch, hurting so badly that she wished she’d been actually punched instead. That pain might have been more bearable.

    She tried to ground herself in the familiar sight of her bedroom. The dark turquoise walls. The white wire-framed bed. Her disheveled ghost-type purple bedding. Loïc’s weight on her shoulder. RotomPhone in her hand. Her team, gazing wide-eyed at her from their spot, huddled near the door.

    Ange. Isaur. Solene. Enora. Out of their balls, all having clearly been listening in on the conversation at hand. Odette’s own despair was briefly alleviated by the realization that they looked just as dumbfounded as she felt, only for another round of tears to blind her with a rush of anguish. Knees shaking, she stumbled her way to her chair, dumped her pile of clothes to the floor, and threw herself down in it before setting RotomPhone on her desk.

    She tried to go through the motions of calming down as if she were about to lose her temper. She tried to breathe, but felt each inhale getting caught in her lungs, driving her to the peak of hyperventilation. She tried to mutter her way through a Purrloins! song, but the lyrics came out in a mindless garble that did nothing to soothe the sting of deception. She tried to remind herself how much she hated crying, and how stupid she probably looked, but that only drove her to sobs so deep, she had to double over, sending Loïc to scramble to her back.

    Screams boiled in the back of her throat, held back by her hands muffling her cries. She clawed her nails into her cheeks, trying to rid herself of the desire to punch a hole in her wall. She wanted to march back out to the kitchen and throw every curse word; every nasty slang word she knew at Vienna. Her eyes flicked over to where she’d sat her phone, and she considered the possibility of texting Noel. Or finally responding to Val. He was surely waiting on her, and focusing back on him might be a cure-all for her obnoxious weeping.

    Despite everything her body craved, she could only sit there and silently cry in plain view of her fragmented team. Pathetic.

    As if the thought of her friends willed it, she felt arms wrap around her. Then another pair, colder to the touch. Then another, more metallic. Then something soft nuzzled into her leg, while burlap dug into the nape of her neck. She raised her head to see Solene rest her head on her shoulder, and Ange hovering near her face. Isaur had spread her arms over her back, and Enora was now protectively curled around her ankle, glowing with an aura that slowly but surely alleviated the biting chill that had clamped around Odette’s heart.

    The warmth of her team’s collective embrace brought Odette back to her senses, allowing her to breathe through the last of her cries. She straightened her posture, just enough to feel Loïc scurry to the top of her head, while nobody else shifted.

    Exhaling, Odette covered Solene’s hand with hers, and she felt the gothitelle squeeze her fingers. She looked down at Enora, seeing the clear tear marks tracing the fur on her cheeks. An apologetic frown wrinkled her brow, and said everything that needed to be said in that moment. Just as the hugs did.

    They weren’t fragmented. They never really were.

    “Thank you,” she said.
     
    Last edited:
    Chapter 21 - Oh, Brother New
  • Sinderella

    Angy Tumbleweed
    Staff
    Location
    In Guzma's Closet
    Pronouns
    She/Her
    Partners
    1. sylveon-shiny
    2. gothitelle
    3. froslass
    4. chandelure
    5. mimikyu

    White Swan.jpg
    Chapter 21: Oh, Brother
    CWs: Strong Language
    Author's Note: Hi hi! Silently laughing to myself right now because of the amount of people who have reviewed up to this point saying "Oh, thanks for the downtime!"

    Downtime is over, ladies and gents. At least, for now.

    I had a blast writing this chapter, as its been in my head for years. However, I fear that the pacing and general "atmosphere" might not have hit a home run here, so please let me know what you think. As always, thank you for reading, and good luck! 🤍🖤
    Odette had never been one to get seasick. But, standing on the dock in the Azure Shipyard, beholding the mammoth of a yacht she’d be perusing for the day, she felt her stomach churning as if she were stuck aboard an ocean liner in the middle of a castform-induced hurricane. She had affixed her gaze on the striking red letters painted in an imperious script along the side of the unusually pointed bow.

    S.S. Mystic Milotic.

    The words looked like bloody wounds slashed into the ship’s pristine white skin. Bold, in the most threatening kind of way. It was enough to make her shudder.

    Dorien slinging his arm around her didn’t help. He was always in a chipper mood—in a very smug sort of way, of course—but today felt different. He was more excited than usual. Maybe he was anticipating this event more than the rest. Or, maybe he just really liked boats.

    The second thought made her wrinkle her nose, and her eyes sunk down to the breast pocket of his striking champagne-colored suit jacket. Was he hiding more Vice Dust in there? Was he going to rile her up again and blow it in her face when Odile stayed rooted inside her soul? The number of immaculately dressed people sauntering up the entrance ramp should have been enough to ease her fears, but she didn’t put it past Dorien to drug her in front of a crowd. Hell, if they were all in on the shit Enigma was doing, perhaps it would be another Wednesday for them.

    The lull of static in her ear brought her back to her senses, and she had to resist bringing her finger up to her earpiece, even as Noel’s voice filled her head.

    “Testing, one, two, testing.” A brief silence. “Sorry, probably not the best time to do that…”

    Although Noel wasn’t invited to this particular outing, he still begged to be involved somehow. Valentin decided his social graces would still prove useful, even from a distance, and he was excitedly whisked off by a discreet Virtue Corp vehicle that morning to board the Virtue Corp submarine that was going to follow the Mystic Milotic out on its voyage. Provided that Valentin wasn’t busting her balls when he told her that that was the plan. It sounded so absurd when he said it. But, with the amount of money they seemed to be sitting on, the idea that they had a godsdamned submarine on hand wasn’t that farfetched.

    Testing, one, two, testing, Odile said back. When Noel didn’t reply, she groaned. Darn. Guess it doesn’t work like that.

    “Ignore us, Odette, Odile, we’re just ensuring the connection down here is functioning.” Valentin’s voice made the sense of longing well up within her; both for a kiss and his presence here today. She knew she wasn’t getting either.

    On top of discovering Noel couldn’t come along, she also learned that Valentin—or rather, Clovis—was also not on the guest list for this event. He hypothesized that this was one of those thresholds he’d yet to pass during his undercover work, leaving her to pick up the slack. She didn’t anticipate that she’d be left on her own so soon, but busting a conspiracy left her open to blindside after blindside.

    Odette was still amazed at how well her earpiece had been fitted into her new gold ear cuff. It was so inconspicuous that she’d have never known it was there had Valentin not been the one to present it to her and point it out. “I know you don’t have your ears pierced,” he’d said, bashfulness lending a subtle flavor to his tone, “so this is the best we could do.”

    Odette guessed this was the plus of being affiliated with an organization sitting on infinite amounts of money and resources. Nevermind the way her heart fluttered when she realized he had taken note of her lack of piercings—a prominent side effect of her raging trypanophobia—she was very curious about what other super spy-level gadgets were coming her way, not including discreet submarines. But, she’d have gladly traded the neat tech for the peace of mind of knowing Valentin would be physically boarding the boat with her.

    “I feel like it’s been so long since we’ve gone out like this,” Dorien said. His eyes lingered on the ship for a beat before they began to hungrily rove their way over her dress. He’d insisted on matching for today’s outing and took it upon himself to gift her with his most expensive present yet: an Oscar de la Renta gown, made of silk so soft that it called her poor just by touching it. The draped style of the drop waist, strapless bodice hugged her torso, while the skirt flared out from under it and fell around her in an elegant circle of glimmering blush, parting at a leg slit that was almost scandalously too high.

    She’d sent a picture of it to Valentin and Noel, and Noel had convinced himself it was no less than €5,000. Valentin confirmed that it was double the price, having seen a version of it at one of the designer department stores he frequented. From there, Odette hypothesized it cost slightly more, as, according to Valentin, the dress was only available up to size 36. She knew she soared about five numbers over, which meant Dorien likely had to bribe Oscar to acknowledge the existence of curves.

    “And I don’t know if I said it enough, but you look exquisite.” He had, in fact, said it about eight times on the limo ride over to the docks. “Did I do well?”

    The way his tone curled around the word ‘exquisite’ sent a ripple of horrified goosebumps up her arms. And yet, she smiled. “Yes. It’s actually gorgeous.” Small truths helped bolster her lies. She grasped the skirt with her free hand and swished it around for good measure. “How did you know my size?”

    “Eyeballed it,” Dorien said. He was obviously proud of this hidden skill of guessing girl’s dress sizes. Maybe she’d be impressed if it wasn’t coming from him. He had another thought, but paused before he spoke. His gaze fell to the dock, where he began to scan the immediate area with growing concern. Unsure of what he was looking for, Odette followed his line of sight.

    “Doll, where’s your–?”

    As if he’d read Dorien’s depraved mind, Loïc manifested at the toes of his Prada loafers. He stood still even as Dorien flinched backward. Odette narrowed her eyes, knowing that lack of movement from Loïc usually indicated he was up to something. Sure enough, something unseen began to rustle around underneath his burlap disguise, and with a stomach-churning retch, he hacked up a perfectly intact fishbone right between Dorien’s feet.

    “Oh my god.” Noel gasped so shrilly that it caused the earpiece to crackle. “What did that little imp do? I wish I was there to see!”

    “Sh!” Valentin’s voice sounded distant. “Don’t distract her or I’m taking you off the mic.”

    Ha! Odile laughed. I knew I liked this guy the best!

    Clearly the gold sequin bow tie Odette had forced around the mimikyu’s neck wasn’t enough to force some manners into him. She wasn’t mad about it.

    “Aw. He likes you,” she said, watching with delight as Dorien’s lip drew back in revulsion. Hissing, Loïc scurried his way up her leg and landed on his usual spot on her shoulder.

    Dorien clenched his bared teeth while he sidestepped away from the “gift.” “I-I take it none of your more…refined partners were available today?” He angled a wary glare toward Loïc, who jostled his disguise.

    “They were,” Odette admitted. “But Loïc’s never been on a boat before, and I promised.” That was aside from the fact that Loïc’s sneaking abilities were unmatched. If something were to go awry on the ship, he’d be the first to know. Plus, his Shadow Sneak would come in handy should they need to make a quick escape.

    She could safely admit to herself that she would have been comfortable bringing any one of her teammates along. The tension between her, Enora, and Solene had long settled, what with the reveal of Vienna being a bonafide liar driving them to reconciliation. Solene was quick to own up to her faux pas; though, with a clearer head, Odette struggled to fully blame her for acting out. Meanwhile, Enora had been more than liberal about explaining her relationship with her “Canary.” Something that, Odette realized, she couldn’t take for granted anymore.

    Apparently, Canary aired more on the docile side of blood type behaviors. She had no interest in making her presence physically known unless emergency circumstances called for it. She was not interested in battling, nor being separated from Enora. For all intents and purposes, she was comfortable precisely where she was, and would remain so for the foreseeable future. However, according to Enora, Canary had a certain “fondness” for Odette, going as far as to indicate that she would be willing to rear should Odette or, more importantly, Odile request her to as means of assistance.

    Days later, Odette was still chewing on that bit of information. Knowing that not one, but two blood types had been hiding among her team for years and were dedicated to helping her achieve her conspiracy-busting goals produced a feeling that she was still struggling to pin down. Fear? Humility? Bewilderment? All she did know was, of all the bombshells she’d been pelted with, that was the easiest one to take.

    Dorien nodded, slowed by his poorly-masked annoyance. “Ah. Then who am I to question? I just hope he knows that most of the guests here won’t receive such gifts with the same level of grace.”

    If his reaction was what he called “grace,” she was morbidly curious to see what he considered “rude.” “He’ll be on his best behavior. You have my word.” Starting now.

    The interior of the ship was exactly what she expected. The entrance alone boasted thick hardwood floors that amplified the sound of her five-inch heels falling against them, crested by walls of pure obsidian. They were polished so pristinely that each slab beheld the grotesque reflection of her on Dorien’s arm as clearly as a mirror. Sleek gold accents carved into the natural pattern of the stone drew her attention to the bowl-shaped chandelier budding down from the ceiling. The crown molding that wrapped around its perimeter was outlined with a piping of soft light that provided the room with a glow that wanted to be appealing. Under the circumstances, it felt sterile. Off-putting. That unpleasant atmosphere was exacerbated by the presence of armed guards.

    Shrouded in full-face helmets that were adorned with ominously fashioned red lights and deep black cloaks that brushed their ankles, they lined the hallway leading to the ballroom in wide intervals. Their large assault rifles sent Odette’s pulse skittering into a sprint and she jumped at the one that greeted them in spite of herself. What kind of party called for such heavy artillery? And why was she the only one who seemed bothered by it?

    Dorien took notice of her involuntary startle reflex and pulled her close to whisper in her ear. “Don’t mind them,” he said. The scent of Listerine that drifted past her nose triggered her gag reflex. She had to focus on the odd pattern of lights blinking inside the greeter guard’s visor to keep it at bay. “They’re just here for show. The people around here like to feel like they’re under protection.”

    From what, an army of school form wishiwashi? she thought. A different entity of distress creeped up on her as she imagined the ship being overtaken by those vicious ‘mon. They didn’t typically inhabit the waters around Kalos, but even so, she didn’t mind the concept of precautions for such a run-in.

    Yeah, because Team Enigma’s main concern are fucking wishiwashi, Odile scoffed. With her saying so, Odette realized that her irrational fear was completely unfounded. She aimed that discomfort back at the presence of the guards, wondering what other weaponry a secret cult like Team Enigma would have on hand. Or, rather, what they were really present to protect.

    “Right,” she said. Even as Dorien pulled her down to the hall, her eyes lingered on that unmoving guard.

    The ballroom was somehow bigger than Odette assumed it would be, even after taking in the sheer size of the Mystic Milotic. The hefty double doors transferred her onto a plush carpet of a burgundy hue, so thick she felt her heels sink into it. The deep color was broken up by serpentine patterns of lush gold that followed the figure-8 layout of the room. It crept along the wrap-around window panes, wound between the eloquently set tables and the hundred other bodies socializing with one another, before dipping down into steps that led to the porcelain-tiled dance floor. The grand chandelier—a deliberate mess of solid gold curves, pointed bulbs, and dangling crystals that caught the sun‘s rays and casted rainbow fragments upon the patterned tile—fought with the expansive ocean view for the distinction of being the room’s focal point. The cherry on top was the eight-piece string ensemble playing quiet background music to help set the festive mood.

    Odette didn’t have much time to take in the scenery before she was yanked into introductions and mindless chatter with Dorien’s apparent friends and acquaintances. She smiled her way through eerily enthusiastic greetings that just kept coming. She lost count of how many people approached her to shake her hand or kiss her cheek or compliment her dress after she reached 20. The insanity of it all was occasionally broken up by some snide remarks from Odile, interjections from Noel and Valentin filling her in on people that sounded familiar to them, and garbled trills from Loïc. Although Noel or Valentin weren’t with her physically, it brought her a minuscule sense of comfort knowing they were essentially listening over her shoulder, and would be ready to jump into action were something of a Vice Dusting nature were to occur.

    “Odette, how long have you and Loïc been partners?” The latest woman Dorien had dragged her into conversation with was looking at her with wide-eyed anticipation, so exaggerated that it dangled on the side of patronizing. Odette had already forgotten her name, but she was certain she was number 50-something to come say hello.

    “It’s been over a year, I think,” she responded, angling a glance at Loïc. She noticed his bowtie was crooked and adjusted it, only for him to reach up and turn it again. Odette’s look hardened into a subtle glare, but with an exasperated wave of her hand, she let it go.

    “He’s the newest member of my team, but we’re already so close it’s like he’s been around for years.”

    “Kkkkkkkk,” Loïc hissed in agreement. Clearly, 50-Something wasn’t expecting such a sound out of him. She flinched backward and clutched at the million euro emerald necklace dangling around her neck with the claws she called fingers. “Goodness!”

    Odette felt a grin tugging at the corners of her lips, but Dorien did what he did best and chased it off by lacing his hand with hers. “He’s…quite the animated little thing, isn’t he?” The lingering distaste in his inflection let her know he still hadn’t gotten over the fishbone. She hoped he never would.

    “Quite,” she agreed, nuzzling her cheek into the burlap of her partner’s disguise. The way he purred settled her soul, if only for a second.

    50-Something cleared her throat and was soon back to flashing that disturbingly wide grin of hers, enhancing the failed Botox treatments around her forehead. “Well…do you have any other partners on your team?”

    Her emphasis on the question set off alarm bells in Odette’s head, so loud that they stunned her. She blinked away the immediate surprise and stammered her way into an answer. “Yes. Four. I’ve been training on and off since primary school.”

    “Really?” 50-Something looked perplexed by the answer. “No sixth?”

    Something in her tone set Odette’s teeth on edge. She spoke in a way as if she were trying to prod for a deeper answer. As if she knew something.

    Odette opened her mouth to reply, but her ears perked at the borderline silence that had swallowed the immediate area around her. A perfunctory glance around the group that had gathered near them showed her that every last Noname she’d been twaddling with was now eyeing her like they were keenly anticipating her answer. A lump of panic rose up in her throat, blocking the breath she was inhaling while her nerve endings lit up with awareness. So many eyes, so many eager eyes, on her. For what?

    Take a breath, Odile warned before the pause lingered too long.

    “Nobody’s fit the group vibe just yet,” she said. She became acutely aware of just how loud her heart was beating now and was certain she could hear it echoing off the high ceiling. Her answer, thankfully, seemed to be enough to settle the odd curiosity, and 50-Something shrugged.

    “Such is the life of a trainer, I suppose.”

    As if to answer her prayer for the conversation to end, Dorien tucked his arm back into hers and began to lead her away. “Well, we’re going to find our seats. We’ll be sure to catch up with you all later!” He didn’t stop in his retreat, even as he spoke. When they were long out of earshot, she vaguely heard a sharp exhale rise out of him.

    “...are you alright?” she asked.

    Dorien snickered to himself before resting his free hand on hers. “Of course. Although, the nosiness gets a little tiresome sometimes.”

    Something they could agree on. “Oh, so that’s what that was about.”

    “Well, Doll, I’m a very renowned figure around here. Many people want to know all about the woman who’s stolen my heart,” he mused.

    Yeah, you’d like to steal his heart alright. We can put it in a meat grinder once we get ahold of it, Odile said. She’d taken the words out of Odette’s mouth.

    “And that includes my Pokemon team?” she pressed. That earned her a shrug that carried a barbed weight to it.

    “That includes everything. You’re a commoner dating a socialite, so it simply comes with the territory, I’m afraid,” he sighed.

    As much as she tried to rein in the pull of rage that tugged at her frown, she was unsuccessful. “A commoner?” she repeated, feeling her eyebrow start to twitch. The apologetic grin Dorien responded with was enough to have her digging her teeth into her tongue.

    “No offense, of course! I don’t mean that as an insult. We just exist in different socioeconomic circles; you know that,” he replied hastily. “It’s just how it is. Try not to think too hard about it.”

    Except, she was. She’d be thinking about it for the rest of the day. The way 50-Something questioned her, like she wanted her to admit to her unofficial sixth team member; like she knew Odile had taken up shop in Odette’s head.

    Did she? Did they all know?

    If everyone aboard this ship truly was in on Team Enigma’s nonsense—if this was the select group of people Valentin had yet to pass his way into—then it was completely possible that they did, indeed, know. That would explain the curiosity. That would explain how eager many of the attendees had been to greet her. Would that also explain the guard presence?

    The hypothetical realization made her dizzy. She pondered over what was worse: another round of Vice Dust being blown in her face, or being stuck aboard a ship full of cult members and armed grunts who knew she was harboring Wrath incarnate. When she couldn’t come up with an answer, she began to crave several large glasses of wine and a speedy limo ride back to her flat building.

    By the time the yacht finally pulled out of the shipyard, the ominous storm clouds had begun to roll in, and Odette found a moment to excuse herself to the bar.

    She knew she’d be looking over her shoulder for the rest of the event, but it was even more jarring to see how many people glanced her way as she walked past. With each fleeting look, no matter how subtle, she became more certain something was up. A growl bubbled in the back of Loïc spectral throat and she felt him shift as if he were going to pounce.

    “Do you have a moment to talk?” Valentin asked. Although he sounded as collected as he normally did, apprehension brewed just underneath his question.

    “Briefly. Eyes on me,” she muttered, rubbing her nose to ensure her mouth was covered as she spoke. “Either they know about Odile or they’re really excited I’m dating Dorien. Armed guards everywhere.”

    Incoherent exchanges sounded from the other end of her earpiece, sounding like a mix of Valentin, Noel, and other voices she didn’t recognize.

    “Okay,” he huffed. “Have the guards made any moves toward you?”

    “No. Just kinda there.” She made it to the bar and pointed toward the bottle of Pellegrino sitting among the spirits and liquors and held up two fingers. The bartender nodded and began to prepare it for her. She watched his hands like a fearow would watch an injured rattata. Nobody would be drugging her or her partner today; not through Vice Dust in their faces, and not through the presumably cult-aligned bartender putting anything illicit in their drinks.

    “Alright. We have eyes on the ship and are prepared to intervene should something go wrong. Keep Loïc close, and keep your cool.”

    “Mm,” she responded. The thought of him and Noel and however many Virtue Corp operatives tailing her several miles back recovered some of her lost sanity. Maybe all of the precautions they’d taken would be for nothing, and she was putting herself, and subsequently Valentin and Noel, on edge for nothing. Maybe exclusive Enigma parties always had guards on duty. Maybe the attendees always subtly gawked at the newest person in the room.

    As much as she tried to force her own optimism, her gut feeling wasn’t having it.

    She took both glasses of drug free sparkling water and handed one to Loïc, then headed back to the table. She tried to focus on the mind-numbing wealthy people conversations Dorien was having, staggering through more personal questions that were just surface level enough to not be entirely suspicious.

    “Your hair is gorgeous; how do you style it every day?”

    “Something tells me you’re a ghost-type trainer, but do you work with any other types?”

    “Dorien tells us you used to sing; what’s your octave range?”

    Each question took a fraction of her energy and hope for a semi-normal outing with it. There was too much cheer in their voices as they spoke; too much of a feeling of utter nosiness that left her hesitating over her answers. Why did they care so much? She was a 20-something in a relationship with another 20-something; who cared about how she styled her hair, or what Pokemon she trained, or what her octave range was? It didn’t matter how rich Dorien was or his “status” among them; why did they care?

    The disquieting taste of panic coated her palette and no amount of water or bites of table bread and butter could do anything to wash it away. The high ceilings suddenly felt lower. The wide walls, closer.

    Keep your cool, Valentin had said. Loïc was with her. Virtue Corp had eyes on the ship. If something were to go wrong, for whatever reason, they had a plan in place.

    Keep your cool.

    Just when she silently wished for the attention on her to relent, the presumed emcee of the day—a man dressed eerily similarly to the guards—took to the mic to welcome everyone aboard. Odette thought he was going to call another couple up to perform another battle with more blood type ‘mon, but he just invited everyone to dance, in anticipation for the splendid lunch they were about to have. When Dorien yanked her up for a waltz, she found herself wishing she was watching another violent battle instead.

    “You’ll have to be kind to me,” he said while they swayed in time with the upbeat classical tune rising from the ensemble. “I’m no trained dancer.”

    “Please, Dory, you’re doing fine,” she tittered, ignoring the desire to dig her heel into his big toe and make a run for the exit. She would reluctantly offer him credit, though. He wasn’t awful at ballroom dancing.

    She received requests to dance from a few of Dorien’s acquaintances, of which she unwillingly agreed to save face. One of them was a heavyset balding man who indulged her in a bizarrely pleasant conversation about Astral Shrines as he swung her about the dance floor. Another was a much younger, fit guy who reeked of wine and what she pinpointed as bacon grease. She didn’t see anything containing bacon being offered as an hors d'oeuvre, so she spent the entirety of the dance internally arguing with Odile about how he could have possibly accumulated such a stench. Dorien looked more than eager to receive her back afterward, and for once, she was happy to be at his side. Listerine and Gucci cologne were far more palatable scents by comparison.

    After the millennia of dancing, lunch was served by waiters, waitresses, and Pokemon that practically glided through the ballroom with trays in hand. The steaks she’d ordered for herself and Loïc were divine, as expected. Loïc practically swallowed his whole, much to more of Dorien’s blissful chagrin, while she could barely get down half of it due to the uncertainty taking up most of the room in her stomach. Nothing tasted wrong, and the odd glances had subsided once everyone had gotten food in their bellies. Could her alarm have been fueled by hunger? Something adjacent to simply being “hangry”?

    It was soon back to dancing and more socializing. No talks of another battle taking place, or any other entertainment she would dare call “cultish,” for that matter. The armed guards and bizarre fixation on her aside, the party might as well have been a boring networking event for the wealthy elite. She just happened to be in attendance because her asshole boyfriend brought her along for his own amusement.

    With dancing having run out of its novelty, Odette broke away to admire the view from the windows. Loïc tagged along and she had to laugh at the way he flattened himself against the glass to get a good look at the water below. The way it fogged up under his heavy breath was a much needed humorous sight.

    The ship was moving at a breakneck speed, chasing a darkening horizon line it would never catch. She wondered if there was a plan to drop all the attendees off at some island far off the coast of Kalos. At the rate they were going, they had to be close to the likes of the Kalosian border islands, like Oléron or Île de Ré. Getting off at a stop would surely make her escape to a Virtue Corp vessel much easier. Unfortunately, Dorien, nor any of the talkative trust fund babies she’d been obliged to speak with throughout the day, had mentioned anything about an excursion. The ship was just doomed to roll onward into the foreboding clouds.

    “We can’t escape the rain, can we?” she murmured. Loïc replied by darting underneath her skirt and peeking out through the leg slit. “Kkkk,” he hissed quietly. That sounded like something of an agreement.

    “Castform really getting jiggy with it,” Noel said back.

    “Well, perhaps this is a good thing. If we see too harsh of a deluge, you’ll have no choice but to turn back early,” Valentin added.

    Typically, Odette didn’t mind the rain. She liked to think she thrived more in overcast conditions than she did on cloudless, sunny days. She’d always liked the smell of rain-soaked asphalt, even when it usually meant her fellow drivers were incapable of staying in their own lanes. But lately, rain has always preceded something bad. Or something life-altering. Like the castform somehow knew that the ideal backdrop to her watching her life spin out of control was a series of vicious storms. Knowing that, the rolling thunderheads were only driving her closer to a mental break.

    I’ll do one better. Maybe if it rains too hard, it’ll sink the ship, Odile said. She sounded, strangely enough, like she was trying to make light of the situation.

    Odette briefly humored the image of the yacht being struck by lightning. The force of the strike cracked it in half, Titanic style. Luckily, she and Loïc had the Virtue Corp tailing them, and made it to safety with little more than some wet clothes. They got to watch as everyone else aboard—Dorien included—sank to the bottom of the sea, never to be seen again.

    Such a dark thought should have made her shudder. But it didn’t.

    “Odie, there you are!”

    She grimaced to herself, stifling her groan into one last sip of her water. Dorien really was no different than a clingy, petulant child—he couldn’t be away from her for more than a couple minutes at a time without getting cranky. Molding her lips into the most winning smile she could muster, she turned toward him.

    “Sorry, Dory, I was—”

    She watched it happen in slow motion. Dorien, walking toward her with a beaming grin on his face. Not paying attention to the waiter, carrying a tray of full wine glasses. Their paths met at a perpendicular point, with the force of Dorien’s step knocking the waiter off balance, causing him to involuntarily toss the tray. Odette had a mere half second to move, and even that likely wouldn’t have saved her from the inevitable.

    She was doused from head to toe in seven hefty servings of a thick, expensive red. She reached up to cover her head and save herself from the impact from the glasses, cringing at the sound of them shattering at her feet. The startled cries from the unsuspecting patrons washed over her along with the tickle of the liquor dripping off her hair and sliding down her cheeks, neck, chest, and back. When she finally gained the motor function to open her eyes, she looked down to see her gorgeous dress was now marred by so many stains, a dry cleaner would have cried out at the sight of them. When she looked up, the reality of what had just happened struck her like a bullet.

    Anger collided with the shock and embarrassment that had flooded into her chest, hardening into an unbearable pressure that sapped her voice and ability to breathe. Her reddening vision zeroed in on the waiter who had taken the spill, then cut to Dorien. Her fists balled up under the mental image of landing punch after punch on his stupid, dumbstruck face. The smell of the wine made her eyes water, while the sensation of hundreds of pairs of eyes locked on her in one collective anticipatory stare nearly forced the tears out of hiding. The swelling silence could have stretched on for miles, but it was contained within the shrinking walls around her.

    It was blinding. Suffocating. Overpowering.

    “I–” she managed in a squeak. Her voice echoed as if she were shouting into a cave. Hot outrage fought with her crippling shame, sucking her dry of what little mental fortitude she had left. She felt her legs going numb, her knees beginning to shake beneath her skirt. She was certain she was about to involuntarily kiss the carpet beneath her feet and distantly hoped Loïc could somehow catch her.

    Odette–

    “Odette, what’s wrong?” Valentin said.

    “Are you okay?” Noel said.

    Odette, watch it!

    The chandelier flickered.

    It was quick. Like a blink. However, it pulled the crowd's attention away from her and up to the nest of shiny gold dangling above their heads. The break in their scrutiny snapped Odette back into her agency, where she found just enough voice for two words.

    “Excuse me.”

    Her mental autopilot kicked into gear, carrying her past Dorien and through the murmuring crowd. If he said something to her, or even reached for her, she didn’t register it. Somewhere between her walking ahead and exiting the ballroom, Loïc ended up back on her shoulder. She could feel him vibrating under a purr that was meant to be comforting, but she felt nothing except a determination to get to a private space. She approached a guard, standing sentry in the hall near the ballroom entrance.

    “Bathroom?” she managed in a breath. The guard didn’t immediately answer, instead tilting his covered head down as if he were looking her over. A yell bubbled up in her throat, but before she could let it free, he pointed further down the hall.

    “First left.” It sounded robotic, like his voice was being filtered through a voice changer embedded into the mask. Odette didn’t stop to dissect it, instead rushing in the offered direction and promptly barricading herself inside the bathroom as soon as she found it.

    The bathroom had three stalls in it, but there was a lock on the main door, which she turned when she was certain nobody else was present. Finally allowing her cracking facade to crumple away, her breaths dissolved into weak, jagged versions of themselves as she stumbled to a mirror. Upon seeing her reflection, she wished she hadn’t. It was just as bad, humiliating, as she figured it would be. Every bit of her look—from her makeup, to her dress, to her hair—was left completely disheveled, with her skin bathed in a thin sheen of red. It had started to dry, leaving behind an unpleasant sticky sensation that clung to almost every part of her body.

    The thought of standing in a room with a hundred people staring her down like she’d just emerged from a burning trash heap shrouded her brain. Knowing she looked like this magnified the vile thought by a million. Before Odette could stop herself, she was sobbing uncontrollably into the sink.

    I– Odile sounded like she was at a loss for words. I don’t–

    “Odette, what happened? Talk to us,” Noel urged.

    Wine,” she wept, swiping at her nose with the back of her hand. “D-Dorien knocked a waiter; s-pilled all over me.”

    Reliving the incident again brought on another swell of tears. She covered her mouth so her crying didn’t somehow leak through the walls and, gods forbid, carry all the way back to the ballroom.

    “It fucking soaked me,” she blubbered. “Everything. And they were all just looking at me, like I was a fucking freak.”

    “Easy, Odette. Breathe,” Valentin said softly, maintaining that same level tone he’d used on her back at his apartment. She opened her mouth to indignantly protest, but felt a hand press something soft to her cheek. The gesture startled her enough to look up, where she saw Loïc had somehow gathered a messy wad of tissues and was sitting back on her shoulder, outstretching his shadowy hand to wipe her face.

    “Don’t cry. I help,” he said.

    She let him pat her down, soaking up the excess tears, wine, and running mascara. When the tissue lost its white sheen, he carelessly tossed it aside and plucked another from his ball. This one was completely shredded, but he used it to dab off her chin and neck. She had to laugh at the perfect mix of ridiculousness and wholesomeness behind his help, which helped ease the soul-shattering embarrassment threatening to bring her steak back up.

    “Thanks,” she sniffled. “When did you get so sweet?”

    Loïc threw his current tissue to the floor and went to work on her nose with a new one. “Sweet like pecha.”

    Another laugh broke through her diminishing whimpers. “Sweet like pecha.”

    Now that she sounded a little less distressed, Noel spoke gingerly. “How bad is it?”

    “It’s pretty fucking bad,” Odette replied. She stole a quick glance at her reflection again. Despite Loïc’s best efforts on her face, nothing else looks remotely salvageable. “Complete wardrobe overhaul bad.”

    She heard more mutters over the earpiece, followed by Valentin clearing his throat. “I don’t want to alarm you any more than you already are,” he said. “But after everything that’s already been happening, what are the odds that this wasn’t just a setup?”

    With the privacy and shamefaced agitation to fuel her analysis, hearing Valentin suggest it caused it all to click. The strange welcomes, the emphasis on asking her about her team, about her life as a whole, and the sheer uneventful itinerary to follow it all…it wasn’t her being paranoid.

    She was the event.

    Slim to fucking none, Odile said, having found the ability to respond again. Put you on edge then dump wine all over you. That’s about as low of a fucking blow as anyone can get.

    Before Odette could say as such, a heavy knock at the door made her start. Loïc’s eyes cut to the door and he uttered a low warning growl that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

    “S…sorry,” she called. “Occupied.”

    She half expected to hear a faux-concerned response from Dorien, or a whiny insistence to be let in from an oblivious attendee. When neither rang through the door, Odette tentatively assumed the point had gotten across. After having drinks dumped all over, she decided she deserved a moment or two of privacy. She hoped whoever had come knocking was willing to agree.

    Keeping quiet, as to ensure nobody was listening in either, Odette switched on the faucet and began to scrub her hands. She splashed some water on her face to wash the rest of her ruined makeup away as well. When she began to dry her face off, another round of thundering knocks filled the bathroom and kicked her heartbeat into high gear.

    “I said occupied,” she hissed, letting some of her frustration power her insistence. “I’ll be out in a second. I’m sure there are other bathrooms around; it’s a big ship.”

    No response. Loïc still looked ready to pounce. She lowered her voice to a whisper.

    “Some dickweed wants me to come out, but I don’t–”

    A hand clamped around her mouth, cutting her off and muffling her scream as she was yanked backward into sudden darkness.

    Her sense of fight overtook every synapse. She began to kick against the arms that now restrained her, screaming into the palm that smothered her nose and mouth while gnashing her teeth in an attempt to catch the skin in a bite. The abrupt change in exposure blinded her for seconds that stretched on like eons, but that didn’t stop her from trying to locate Loïc. She could no longer feel his light presence on her shoulder, yet she could hear his protective growls in the inky blackness that overtook them. The distraught calls of Noel, Valentin, and Odile muddled together in one agonizing din that threw more fuel on her adrenaline and she thrashed with the surge of power. The arms, however, belonged to somebody much bigger than she was. With a single jerk, they forced her taut and caused her breath to snag on her lungs.

    “Don’t make a sound. I’m not going to hurt you or your partner and will let you go as soon as they leave.”

    The whispering voice was undoubtedly male and laden with a prominent Galarian accent. He spoke with a sense of urgency, though just enough tenderness poked through to ease the terror kicking against her pulse. It reminded her of how Valentin chastised her for slamming the glass vial on his floor; firm and serious yet empathetic.

    "Nod if you understand. If you relax, I will too."

    Odette had to concentrate on making her neck work. With a single, slight dip of her chin, she heard her captor huff in acceptance. As soon as she forced herself to go limp, she felt him loosen his grip. Loïc had gone silent, and now with enough room to turn her head, she caught the shape of him being held by another set of arms.

    “Don’t worry,” the man said. “I promise he’s fine. Just stay quiet, please.”

    She wanted to ask what the hell he was talking about, and why he thought it was okay to grab unsuspecting women and their partners. With her eyes adjusted, she could now see that she was staring straight into the bathroom she just stood in. While the view of it looked distorted—as if she were viewing it through an early-2000s television—it was undoubtedly the same room. Further investigation of her surroundings revealed she now stood among pipes, exposed metal, and bunches of wiring.

    Another round of loud knocks alerted her back to the scene before her. They were followed by the sound of the door being forcibly opened, and about ten of the armed guards flooded into the bathroom with their rifles raised. When there was nobody for them to bombard, they looked in the stalls and examined the discarded tissues on the floor. Looks traveled between one another as if any one of them had the answers they were looking for.

    “Is she not here?” one asked, voice as robotic as the first guard Odette had directly spoken to.

    “This is where she was directed and was last heard,” another responded.

    “She has a ghost-type partner present with her. Is it possible she slipped out another way with their help?”

    The rest of the guards regarded the first one that spoke, waiting for their instructions. They nodded once, then gestured to their comrades.

    “Search the ship. It’s unlikely she’s gotten very far yet.”

    Nods were passed around before they quickly filed out, slamming the door shut behind them.

    Contrary to her captor's initial promise, he did not immediately let Odette go when they left. She was too dazed to realize, instead staring unblinking at the apparent projection of that closed bathroom door. Everything was moving far too fast for her mind to keep up, leaving her to quietly stew in the hot mess of horror that was the last five minutes of her life.

    When the man’s hand fell away from her mouth, her jaw went slack. She could manage nothing more than a weak, mewling, “What?”

    The guards were…looking for her?

    The gravity of the situation was quickly crashing down upon her, heavy enough to pull her to the floor were there enough room in the narrow passage she now stood in. It wasn’t long before she found her breath. However, she struggled to control it, listening as it worked up in speed, like it was seeking to match the tempo of her raging heartbeat.

    “We don’t have a lot of time,” the man said. “You need to get off the ship.”

    As if the prospects of dozens of armed guards now looking for her wasn’t enough, it also dawned on her that she’d been pulled into the dark walls by a stranger. A stranger who knew this was going to happen.

    With her hands balled into fists, she whipped around to swing on him, but stopped short upon meeting his eyes. They shone brightly under the light of the projection in front of them.

    Maroon. Stark maroon.

    It wasn’t just his eyes, either. His young features, while entirely masculine in their appearance, settled with the same austere intensity hers did. The way his brow wrinkled under his frown, and the way his eyes naturally slanted at the same degree as her own made their resemblance as clear as the familial drama they were both caught in.

    Although she was positive she knew the answer, she asked anyway. “Who are you?”

    His expression didn’t waver. “Armel Lambourne,” he replied. “And I suppose, if we were to get technical, your older half brother.”
     
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