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hoe-doroki · 3 years

Text

passing the night stars

banner by @dymphnasprose

warning: reader has social anxiety

pairing: shinsou x reader (platonic or romantic)

genre: hurt/comfort

wc: 3.2k

summary: The party was neon and you needed darkness.

a/n: this is a gift for my SiL’s birthday today! To any astronomy nerds: I tried and I’m sorry.

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

There was something to be said about distance.

It was a buffer, quieting every voice, external and internal, until the only one left was that of the crickets singing over the lo-fi spilling out of the house behind you. You’d stepped away from the party long enough ago that the playlist had started over many songs back—you had no clue how many anymore. The distance turned the music’s thrumming into a quiet melody, the lyrics just as indistinguishable up close as here in the backyard, sitting on patio furniture that rocked lopsidedly in the grass.

Any filter would do, though. Anything that could soften the world just a little around its loud, coarse edges. The ice in your peach-flavored hurricane melting so that the drink was a little less saccharine. The rum casting a film over your mood, keeping your loneliness from dropping you into total dolor. The slight late-night breeze blowing the smoke from the fire pit away from you so that the acrid smell was stronger on the hood of your black sweatshirt than the air. It all muddled your emotions, numbing the buzzing overwhelm of the party to an anxious hum. The party had been neon, and out here you had a bit more darkness.

Without these buffers absorbing some of the furor, you might have escaped the party hours ago. Snuck out while the thing was still in full thrall, before social anxiety could hiss over your bones. Got out while you were ahead. Instead, you’d lasted as long as you could before out to the backyard with the near-dead fire, wracked with guilt at the prospect of leaving without saying goodbye, while too nervous to actually draw the attention to yourself necessary to actually say goodbye.

That wasn’t to say you hadn’t held up for a good while, though. You’d hung out with your friends when the fire had just gotten started and then when the party had moved indoors for drinking games and edibles. You’d hovered on the border as your friends grew more interested in dancing in drunken delay to the somniferous lo-fi beat than conversation. Then the itching had started in your brain, and before you knew it, you were out here, social battery drained dry, waiting for an indefinite future in which you could find the energy to escape.

You shivered as footsteps swiped through the grass, crickets chirping at the intruder.

“Did I surprise you?” Shinsou asked, his voice deep from booze or smoke or both. Or, maybe he was just tired, you figured, as the harsh light of the fire sharpened the bags under his eyes into dark creases.

“Breeze,” you mumbled, goosebumps rising on your wrists, standing the fine hairs on end. Only a few licks of heat from the pit were touching your knees, leaving the rest of you cold in your threadbare sweatshirt as the fire shrank smaller and smaller.

Shinsou had a blanket in his arms, ratty and certainly stolen from the back of the living room couch. He blinked at you for a second before he asked, “Can I join you?”

His voice was deadpan. Between the two of you, there was no real vocal inflection to speak of. Still, you shrugged one shoulder and said, “Sure.”

You stiffened when, instead of choosing one of the many other patio chairs or foldable camping chairs forming a friendly circle around the fire, he joined you on your bench, tossing a bit of blanket over your knees. You hardly realized you were staring at him until he said, “You’re cold, right?”

“Oh, yeah, a little,” you said, tucking your knees up to your chin and curling the scrap of blanket around your arms.

The blanket was raggedy in your hands, pilled on the hem, but warm from being indoors with all the dancing bodies. Plus, clinging onto it, running your thumb over the uneven texture gave you something to focus on instead of Shinsou’s body so close to yours.

Your senses were tingling, raw at having someone nearby again. It was too soon—you still didn’t have anything to say, no defense for why you’d dropped off from the party without a word.

But, on the other hand, being alone wasn’t fixing you either. Parts of your brain were still coiled taut as compression springs, and while they weren’t getting any tighter, they weren’t quite loosening yet either. It was rest, not recovery.

Abruptly—was it abrupt, or were you that zoned out?—Shinsou touched the back of his hand to yours, nearly making you flinch as he furrowed his brows at you. “How long have you been out here?” he asked, shifting towards you and pushing more of the blanket into your lap.

“Oh, um—” maybe a half an hour, maybe more, “—not that long.”

For that flash of contact, his skin had been hot against yours, so you could only imagine how cold your hands had felt to him. Your icy drink was probably mostly to blame, but you were also suddenly aware of how your shoulders were hunched nearly to your ears, your arms clenched to your sides like your chest might warm them. You piled the blanket a little more over your knees and one shoulder, only the hand holding your drink poking out.

“Hard being on the fringes,” he mused as he took a sip from a can. Possibly seltzer, probably beer.

You mirrored, tasting your own drink. It was really mostly water by now, though you were sure it was still painting your tongue orange.

Shinsou’s situation wasn’t much different than yours. Everyone in that house was old classmates. Shinsou was too, but he’d come late. Not too late to be friends, but late enough that it mattered. You were even later—not a classmate, but a post-high school roommate. You’d both landed on the side of Kaminari’s friend group, but neither of you were the core of it. The heart of it. That, for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, was Bakugou.

For some reason, you and Shinsou had never talked about this before.

“Hard being in a group big enough for there to be a fringe.”

Because, of course, it wasn’t just the Bakusquad here today. The majority of the old 3-A was here, those who weren’t on duty or suffering with early morning duty tomorrow. Enough people to certainly cause a ruckus and maybe a noise complaint that even pro heroes wouldn’t get out of.

“Touché”

The two of you fell into silence, and you couldn’t help but wonder exactly what had drawn Shinsou from the party. Even if he didn’t feel he was the most popular guy in the room, you’d seen the way he had the ability to talk to everyone. You weren’t sure if it was a product of his quirk or what, but he was able to start a conversation with everyone he met. He didn’t seem shy or anxious in the least.

Then again, that was just what he presented. You knew from that what you put forth in public wasn’t necessarily in line with what you were feeling.

It was hard to be the introvert around a group like yours. Worse—it was noticeable. This wasn’t the first time you’d stumbled away from a party, mind half gone not on alcohol or weed but on the sudden assault of attention, loud voices, and talk of hero work. Being one of the only non-heroes in the room was exhausting, and maybe that’s why you’d had to escape. Or maybe there never was a reason, good or otherwise, and you were just here because of your stupid self.

“Clear night,” Shinsou commented, “Don’t get to see much of the stars in the city.”

You looked up, a bright spot in the center of your vision from where you’d been staring into the fire. Almost everyone in your group lived in the city, not too far from each other, depending on your definition of the word. But those with quirks better suited outside the city, like Tsuyu and Koda, had moved out of town post graduation, granting the rest of you access to a night in the suburbs like this.

The truth was, you hardly looked up at the sky in the city. Tourists were always looking up, eyes glinting off the skyscrapers and billboards. But natives were always looking down, too aware of the fact that other natives didn’t always clean up after their dogs and, with so little grass, the sidewalk often needed a close eye kept to it.

But here, it was pretty. Not the smog-stained brown you were used to, but deep blue and twinkling with infinite pinpricks.

“Mm,” you hummed, taking another sip of your watery drink. “You’re right.”

“There’s Cassiopeia,” he said, pointing just over the tree line.

You followed his finger, unsure quite of what you were looking at. The stars hardly looked like clusters to you, especially on a night like this where you could see so many. It was more a broad network of them, either all connected or all individual. All the stars or just a star.

“You know constellations?” you asked, ears latching onto something that finally wasn’t hero related. Truth be told, you probably knew less about stars than you did about hero work but it was less alienating. You could lean into it.

“Some,” he offered. “Cassiopeia is a basic one.”

“Where is it?”

Shinsou glanced at you, leaning in closer so that his finger could match your gaze. You shoulders knocked and you could feel his wild hair against your own. His finger traced down and up, down and up in a cockeyed W. “Cassiopeia, mother of Andromeda.”

“She’s a woman?”

It was any wonder that ancient people had looked into the night sky and seen things like rams and bulls, creating a whole woman out of a few diagonal lines. Still, you listened to Shinsou, his low voice rumbling into your tired bones as he began.

“A beautiful woman,” he answered. “In Greek myth, she thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Her boastfulness made Poseidon angry, so he created a sea monster that Andromeda was sacrificed to. Andromeda was left to await her fate when Perseus, who had just killed Medusa, used Medusa’s head to turn the sea monster to stone. After saving Andromeda, the two of them got married, and when they died, they both became constellations alongside Cassiopeia.”

Shinsou’s voice was husky and even as he told the story. The cadences were easy drops, landing you softly before he started up again with his next thought. It was a voice you could be rocked by, a voice you could be held by.

“Do you know where they are too?”

“Just below,” Shinsou said. “Probably come up just in time for the sun to make them invisible.”

“That’s too bad,” you said, curling deeper into the blanket, curling so that on shoulder leaned more onto the bench than the other. You head was almost resting on Shinsou’s shoulder and you could feel his warmth radiating in the cold night. “How do you know all this?”

Shinsou was quiet for a second and your nerves spiked again. You hadn’t even felt them relax, but suddenly your anxiety was scratching again, wondering if you’d misspoke. Or maybe you’d whispered it and he just hadn’t heard you? Before you could decide whether to say it again or apologize, though, he let out a sigh that jostled the blanket.

“Jack of all trades, master of none,” he said by way of explanation.

You cocked your head. Perhaps it was just a good hobby for an insomniac, but you were unsure about the evasiveness. “Did you have to learn a lot for general studies? Or to get in to U.A.?”

“…Yeah.”

You could only imagine. U.A. was an incredibly competitive school for heroes, but that was a specialized course. For general studies you didn’t need to have the physical prowess or the other particular skills that came with heroics, but you had to be an ace in school. It was no small feat to get into general studies, especially while you were trying to pursue something else. You were satisfied with that, ready to let it go and return to the near silence of the crickets and the fire popping, when Shinsou suddenly continued.

“When it looked like my plans to become a hero wouldn’t pan out,” Shinsou began, his words slow, tired, “my parents encouraged me into any and all other interests. None stuck.”

“Oh,” you said quietly, the personal admission taking you aback.

For all the times you’d seen Shinsou talk effortlessly with people in a room, you weren’t sure how personal or vulnerable you’d ever seen him. He seemed comfortable enough probing other people, but this was new. It made the space between you suddenly seem private—so different from the party you’d escaped from. You could still hear the ambient noises of a couple dozen people in there having a good time, but it was suddenly a world away.

“I’m sorry, Shinsou,” you said, brows furrowing as you glanced his eyes, still gazing up at the stars. His parents had probably thought they were being supportive, but it wasn’t the support he’d desired.

“It is what it is,” he said. “It worked out in the end.”

There was the smallest smile on his face at that, barely betraying what must have been true joy at having a dream slip through his fingers only to fly back to him. And he’d earned every bit of it, even if he wanted to keep it to himself.

“So now,” you began softly, “you just have a lot of little things that you can offer people. The little things you could have been. That’s not so bad, right?”

“No, it’s not so bad,” he agreed. “I always liked that story.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Japanese astronomy varies so much from region to region and is usually about more functional things. Harvest, seasons. But these other myths about people with no chance of being heroes becoming ones anyway…”

He trailed off, but the sentiment was there. Trapped in the things he’d done to try and leave heroism behind were little vestiges. The inescapable fact that he was meant to be a hero and would be one anyway, even if the world told him he was a villain, doomed for failure.

The stories had been true.

“Are you feeling better now?” he asked, surprising you.

“Feeling better?”

“You’d been out here for over an hour,” Shinsou stated. “Your eyes were glassy and distant and you were freezing and you didn’t seem to notice.”

“Oh,” you intoned. You hadn’t realized it had been that long. You were sure it had only been half that time.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

“No, I’m fine,” you said truthfully. “I’m fine now.”

The anxiety from earlier that had been buzzing through you had kept you awake, all while thoroughly draining you. You’d hardly realized just how much until now, with your body not just feeling settled but heavy. The stress had run straight through you, and now you bore the fatigue.

Shinsou glanced down at you out of the corner of his eye. His brows raised and it lifted his whole face, making the dark circles under his eyes just a little less stark. “You look exhausted.”

“You always look exhausted,” you retorted, your first little grin curving along your lips.

In his surprise, Shinsou smiled too. “I know that. Here.”

Shinsou took your forgotten drink from your hand and set it down, then patted his shoulder.

“You should rest for a little while.”

Your eyes met his, searching for anything that looked like obligation or impatience. But there was none. Just a surprising amount of openness and a pretty shade of purple.

“Do you have more myths?”

Shinsou smiled and, once again, his gaze went up to the stars. As he started another tale, you snuggled onto his shoulder, the rest of your body drawing closer to his as well. He didn’t wait long to begin speaking, talking in more detail than he had before. There was no reason to be concerned that he might be boring you, or that you didn’t want to hear it. Really, these stories, these stars that had brought him even the tiniest speck of light were just what you needed too.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, and you weren’t sure when you woke up. But when you blinked your eyes awake, the first thing you noticed was that Cassiopeia hadn’t moved far. The second was the feeling of Shinsou’s head tilted against yours, his breath like gentle waves under you.

You shifted, signaling that you were awake, and Shinsou did too, his head lifting from yours. At some point, his arm had wrapped around you, encasing you in his warmth. He didn’t move it, not yet, as your body creaked and you forced yourself to sit up.

“How long?” you murmured, voice barely raspy with sleep.

“Not that long,” Shinsou answered, echoing your reply from earlier.

He didn’t look at his phone or a watch, and hadn’t since he’d come out, so you wondered if he had any clue. Or if it simply hadn’t felt long. Somehow, the idea that his time spent with you hadn’t felt long was a comfort, a relief.

“How are you feeling?”

You checked in, feeling that grogginess that always came in the wake of an intense mental episode. Your brain struggling to catch up and survey the backlash from its earlier antics. That would go away. It always did. “I’m good.”

Shinsou continued to look at you, switching between each eye, double checking your expression for any lie. But he must not have found any, for he leaned back into the bench and relaxed, that tiny ghost of a smile back on his face.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, gazing out again. “You out here alone before? It had been…well, we were…I wanted to check on you.”

For the first time, Shinsou looked almost a little shy, and you couldn’t help but smile, touched. You put a hand on the shoulder that had just taken your weight and brought his gaze back to you. “Thank you.”

There actually was one thing you knew about stars. You’d heard that every light year a star was away from you was a year into the past you were seeing its light. Looking at the stars was looking millions of years into the past. Despite the fact that these selfsame stars connected you to humans around the world today and those of old, that filter of distance and time rendered them ancient, if not already gone.

But as you looked at Shinsou, their soft, silvery starlight illuminating one side while the last dancing coals of the fire glowed on the other, you were sure that this was the opposite. This wasn’t old or past or known to anyone but the two of you. This wasn’t the stars or even the stories inspired by them.

This was just beginning.

#shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #hitoshi shinsou #hitoshi shinso #bnha x reader #mha x reader #shinsou fanfiction #shinso fanfiction #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfic #mha fanfiction #tw: anxiety

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yolkyeomie · 3 years

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Crescendo | Kang Yeosang

summary — The beating of a heart is like a crescendo, screaming louder and louder in one's chest until it's reached maximum capacity, and you’re about ready to burst.

word count — 8.6k words

pairing — yeosang x female!reader

genre —violinist + college au, band au there if you look around a little bit, fluff with like a hint of angst in the later parts

disclaimer — SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT,,, this is more of prologue than anything tbh. also I have almost zero knowledge on college and violins so if this is horrible I’m so sorry. also typos. lots of typos.

part I | part II | part III

There was just something about summer that you liked so much. You just couldn't exactly put your finger on what.

Maybe you liked the sunny days that it would bring? The giant ball of light in the sky beaming down at full power onto every human in sight. It would illuminate the world with a golden glow, bringing out the more natural and earthy colors hidden from the other seasons. The heat would call for unplanned trips to the cool waters and hot sand of the beaches or a quickly made dash to the nearest frozen ice cream shop. Perhaps it was because there was no more school, no more time needed to spend on slaving away for hours at a desk just to not retain any knowledge given.

Or maybe you liked it because it was the time you’d see children the happiest. Every time you biked along the sidewalk to and from your home you’d come across a playground almost always filled to the brim with the joyous sounds of laughter. Children scattered around the playgrounds like little ants to a picnic, grabbing whatever they found the most intriguing for the day. Some would be swinging, some would be sliding, some would even be chasing each other around without any of the equipment catching their attention at all.

However, there was a possibility that you enjoyed the summertime because of the theater your town held. It wasn't very big compared to the ones that could be found in the big cities of your country, but it was nice nonetheless.

There were white walls lined with a fake golden trim along the floors, bright lights nearly blinding one as they walked inside of the theater for the first time. There was a slightly smaller stage than normal, not too tiny but definitely smaller than you’d seen in the more famous theaters. The seats weren't in their traditional curved angles either. They were in neat straight rows leading all the way to the back of the theater where the volunteer tech crew would operate behind the scenes.

Every year your high school would hold recitals for their students in that theater. They would use these performances as a way to showcase their students' growing talents in the art of music or to spotlight their shyer students who never had gotten a chance to show everyone what they were made of. You weren’t in any sort of music group nor did you know how to play any instruments, so you never participated. But you did show up to every recital you could.

When you were in tour first year the only reason you had attended the performance was because your English teacher had promised to raise their overall grade for the year if they did. You were a decent student, overall you had average grades but wasn't the most outstanding person in your class. A few extra points to curve your grades were always appreciated so you had planned on attending the performance.

You had tried to grab a couple of friends to go with you, but all of them coward out when they got the chance. Some would say they were too busy, some would outright tell you they didn't want to sit through a performance they had no interest in. So you ended up simply going with your family, more begrudged than you originally were for the recital.

You had sat through choir members and members of the school's small orchestra and band repeating nearly the same song over and over again. Each song had a different tune, maybe a different style depending on how much creative liberty the singer or player gave themselves. One song was sung a bit louder than the others, another song was played by a small thrown together orchestra than simply a soloist, but they were all the same.

It was boring, and you were growing tired of listening to the same thing constantly. The only thing willing you to stay in your seat the entire time with the arm crushing strength of your mother and your need to get extra points on your grades for the year.

Near the end of the recital was when you had gotten hooked. Your family had finally decided they were going to pack it up for the night, her father had to work early in the morning and you were going to be thrown over towards your grandparents for summer. Just before you could have risen out of your chair to leave behind your parents, you heard it. A different melody than the ones that have been rocking your brain that night.

There was a boy walking on the stage, probably no taller than you was at the time. He was tiny for a first year boy, probably one of the shortest in his class as well. His hair was like a fluffy brown bunny's tail, bouncing and tousling itself around with every step he took. There was a string instrument in his hands, from what you could see was a red-tinged wood violin. You couldn't quite see the expression on his face either though, due to the distance you were from the theater stage.

You hadn't even realized you were holding your breath until he plucked one of the strings, letting the note resonate through the theater and bounce off the walls and into their ears. He had played a note, on a different key from the other performers. He was playing a song that his fellow violinists hadn't picked. He was different.

The sound was like a siren's song that grabbed the audience's attention and placed it to the stage. His melody started out soft and somber, almost as if the violin itself was conveying its unspoken emotions. The violinist was trying to use those emotions his instrument lent him to serenade the tears in the audience's eyes to fall and hit the ground simultaneously, creating their own beat to his song.

After a moment of enticing the audience to his performance, he sped up his pace. His quiet song suddenly grew in size until it overpowered every other sound in the room. He strummed each string with a quickness you didn't even believe was possible, his bow striking each note like it was powerful enough to create an earthquake. In a sense, it was like he and the violin had become one being, his string instrument becoming an extension of his arm as he played.

The audience whispered in wonder and amazement of the boy's talents, unable to take their eyes away from his figure. It was an enchanting sound so you couldn't blame them. The violinist had brought you into a world completely different from reality, where every object and plant in sight was made out of his musical chords.

How does a boy, barely over the age of fifteen, have this much power in his hands? You would be cursing yourself if you didn't grant him the title of prodigy right then and there.

Unfortunately for you, you couldn't listen to the rest of his alluring song. Your family had dragged you out of the theater to finally retreat to their humble abode for the night. After that night you had declared to yourself that you’d find the violinist who played that song, whether you had to search all summer for him or dig around your school for him. You’d attend every recital and every performance your school's small orchestra had just to get him to play for you again.

However, you lucked out each time you tried. Your school's orchestra didn't allow students outside of their instrumentalists into the classrooms. The violinist boy was too short for you to find in a crowd at their performances either. You even tried to find someone who might be close to him, but no one seemed to step up to the plate. This went on for the rest of your high school years. The only time you could see him where those days after the school year had ended, listening to him play those high energy tunes and somber melodies for his recital before he disappeared from existence once more.

That was, until now.

Plus you made a little bit of money on the side as well, and who didn't like money? Sure most of it was going to your tuition for college but there were times where you liked to splurged on your own interests every once and awhile.

"You seem tired," a feminine voice commented, making you turn around to face her. It was a girl, around your age, walking towards you, her long sleeves rolled up against her arms to mirror the way her shorts looked. She sat down on the pavement next to you, handing you a water bottle ice cold to the touch. "I would be too if I rode around in this crazy heat. I'm surprised you haven't melted at the mere light of the sun yet."

"I almost did," you responded, taking the water from her hands gratefully. "Today was unreasonably hot... I felt like I was sitting right in the middle of hell. And the fact that my bike is made out of metal, too? It's a miracle I didn't get third degree burns or something."

The girl went quiet for a moment, her brow furrowing in thought before speaking again. "You know I can always do it for you? The delivering stuff. It's my family's business anyway, I should be helping them out, not relying on you to do all of the hard work for me."

"Are you serious?" you questioned, suppressing the unusually strong urge to laugh. "You can't even ride a bike or skate. Nor do you have a car either, it'll take you hours to get from one house to the next. And I like the money I earn from doing this for you, I can't get a job anywhere else so this is just perfect for me."

"But still!" She complained, a pouting donning her lips as you screwed open the bottle cap. "I feel bad seeing you bike along in this hot ass weather for my family! I gotta do something to give you... at least a little relief."

You laughed at her desperation, placing the water by your side to face her fully. "The relief you can give me is not playing your cello so loud in the morning. You play wonderfully, trust me, but it's so loud and I'm so tired." you clarified, reminiscing on every time she'd walk up to her house with the sound of a cello's notes wavering through the air.

The girl wasn't in their school's orchestra, she had picked up on the instrument as a hobby. She didn't have a desire to play it in a school setting or professionally no matter how much everyone would suggest otherwise. Yet she suddenly began to really start practicing more often when her next door neighbor had moved in two years ago. You remembered exactly how frustrated the girl was when she discovered that he played guitar at maximum volume in the middle of the night without any regard for anyone else.

To counteract his annoying behavior, she'd open up all the windows in her house and began to play her cello as loud as she physically could in the morning times. It became a war of the instrumentalists after that and neither of them seemed like they were going to stop any time soon.

"Oh you know I can't do that," She responded, glaring at the house to their left where the guitarist resided. "He'll take it as me surrendering to him. I don't even want to think about what he'll do in the middle of the night once I stop. Probably bass boost his guitar so that it's even louder than normal! Oh god, I won't ever get any sleep if he does that."

You found it funny really. The two had never even met each other face to face. "Right... and we don't want that happening do we?" The girl shook her head vigorously in response to your words, taking your sarcasm very seriously. "I still think you can at least tone it down a little bit... this is our last year, in a few months we'll be dragged off into a bigger city to attend colleges and universities for another four or more years. Are you really going to be playing your cello first thing in the morning in your dormitory?"

"Well..." the girl pauses, taking your words into consideration. "No... I won't really need to since I'm not bringing it with me."

"Exactly!" You exclaimed, clapping your hands together and giving the girl a mocking smile. "Now I think you should at least go over to that boy's house and settle this raging war before you move onto better things. Make amends with him, he might even become a new friend of yours for the future. If not, you're not gonna see him again. There's a very high possibility that he's not going to the same college as you, or that he might not be going to college at all!"

She rolled her eyes at your suggestion, forcing herself off of the ground reluctantly. "Fine. I'll go make amends with him or whatever. But I'll only do it if you give up on the violinist boy from the recitals."

You stiffened at the mention of your high school goal, your very unsuccessful goal of finding him and making him play a song for you. "It's like you said, this is our last year here as teenagers. You've been trying to find him longer than I've been waging this musical war on my neighbor. It's about time to lay to rest, you. Seriously, it's more painful to watch than those terribly edited movies from my parents' watch for the "nostalgia"."

"Ouch there was no need to stoop that low," you mumbled, making the girl laugh in turn. "But I guess you're right. I've failed at finding him for this long, I might as well just give up now."

The girl nodded before patting your shoulders in reassurance. "If you really want to hear someone play music so bad for you, you can always ask me. I know a cello sounds nothing like a tiny violin but I can always try?"

"Actually that doesn't sound like a bad idea," you mumbled after a moment of thinking.

"Perfect!" The girl hummed, nearly jumping with excitement to show off her talents and pleasing your several years long urge to have someone play for you. "Usually I only play for my family but I'm very willing to show off what I've been working on. There's this one song I've using to annoy the guitarist boy in the morning and—"

"Go," you reminded her, your smile growing wider at her friend geeking out about her work. "Go get your cello and actually play it for me."

She nodded at your words, skipping on her feet as if she was as light as a feather towards her house. You knew it would be a bit of a struggle in moving her instrument from her room to the outdoors but if the girl was willingly and happily doing it, she had no reason to stop her.

It was a little funny though, how much you were surrounded by people who were gifted and talented in the form of music. Your school's orchestra knew you because of how you’d always try and snatch a peek into their classroom and attended their performances. Your closest friend was a cellist, but only played for hobby and the boy next door was a guitarist. All these connections started happening because a boy you had been chasing after for four years was a violinist.

You'd think you’d pick up some sort of instrument to attract them to you, and trust and believe you tried. You attempted to start playing many instruments after that summer night in your first year. Guitar, flute, piano, trumpet, you even tried to learn the violin yourself. You just weren't musical gifted, you didn't have the patience nor the ears to learn any sort of instrument that passed your way. The best you could do was play a sad tune on the kazoo or laugh into a harmonica.

It's even funnier when other’s learn that your mother used to sing and play the piano while your father played the clarinet when they were in high school. Go ahead and laugh, you knew you were a musical disappointment. Music was practically flowing strong in your blood and you sucked at it. Don't even get started on dancing either, it was a frightening sight to see. Those who could live to tell the tale never told the tale to anyone.

A melody began to float through the air once your friend disappeared into her house, catching you off guard. It wasn't the sound of an electric guitar, shocking the hair and making your skin prickle with its overbearing and booming sound. It was soft and sweet, vibrating through the air as if it was playing with the wind that blew by every few minutes. You could immediately identify the instrument as a violin, it's slightly strained notes from the bow connecting with the strings were all too familiar to you.

You turned towards the guitarist's house where the song was the loudest. To your knowledge, the boy didn't play any other instrument than the guitar. Yet the violin's sweet yet sorrowful song was coming from his house. Without even thinking you rose off the ground, following the song's notes like it was your guide. You had heard the door of your friend's house open again, signaling that the girl had successfully brought her cello from her room to the front of her house. Unfortunately for her, you were walking a little faster than she could drag her cello case.

"Y/N?" The girl called, trying to catch your attention. "Y/N, where are you going?"

You stood in front of the guitarist boy's house, right before where the balcony was hanging. The door to the balcony was ajar, letting the cool afternoon air into the room and releasing the melody of the violin out. "Is that the guitarist boy's room?" you called out to her friend, not taking your eyes off of the balcony. Just as you spoke the violin came to a screeching stop as if the mere sound of your voice was disrupting the flow of its song.

"No," the girl responded after abandoning her cello and running to your side. She pointed to the other side of the house where the window's blinds were closed yet light still shined through them. "His room is right across from mine, I should know I get the brunt of the blow every time he strums his stupid guitar."

Your voices dropped into pure silence when you saw something moving in their direction from the balcony. The door to the outside area slowly screeched open as the figure on the other side pulled on its door handle, stepping onto the wood floor of the balcony and letting the floorboards creak under their weight. Your eyes widened at the sight of a red-tinged violin, it's body scratched from its long term usage and its color dull from the lighting the setting sun had given them.

A boy stepped into view after the violin, the brown hair bouncing on his head like a bunny's tail. His resting face looked like you were staring at a statue, unable to catch any hint of movement in most of his features unless he blinked his eyes every few seconds. Right beside his eyes was some sort of mark, more of a rosy color than the rest of rather pale skin. He must not leave his house that much. After a few moments of silence, he leaned over the balcony's hand railing and spoke, "What do you want?"

The girl beside you glanced between the boy and you frantically, trying to piece two and two together. "you... is that the—"

"I want," you yelled up to him, interrupting your friend's question to respond to the boy above them. A smile began to play on your lips as you spoke, excitement festering up in your chest. You had found him. You had found the violinist from your first year. "I want you to play for me one of your best songs yet."

II.

There was just something about mornings you hated, no matter the day of the week. They'd always leave you more exhausted than you were the night before, whether you had gone to sleep late or not.

Maybe it's because of the dorm room you stayed in, assigned the room the moment you had gotten accepted into your university. It wasn't tiny, but it was definitely much smaller than your room at home. Your belongings barely had enough legroom with your roommate's whole entire area taking up more than half of the room. Despite being rather clean, to an extent, and cool during the day it was also incredibly hot at night.

A few months back the air conditioning unit for the floor you lived on broke down due to age. The university had reassured the students that they'd be looking into the broken unit and the technicians would be coming in and out of the building to fix it. However, they were rather slow with the process. Instead of just moving toward the third floor where the problem had started, they were moving from room to room on each floor the building had.

Apparently, they were just going to fix the problem in one go, however one go suddenly turned into a few days. A few days turned into a few weeks. And a few weeks turned into two months.

Thankfully they were on the edge of the summer season, the crisp breeze of the autumn air in October beginning to blow throughout the city. However that breeze simply abandoned them every time the night fell, the hallways and the common room being filled to the brim with students trying to escape the blazing heat. One would think it would be much cooler around the nighttime, so did they.

You weren't the heaviest of sleepers either, which meant you'd wake up at even the slightest vibration of a phone. One could only imagine your reaction when your alarm clock suddenly blared its ear piercing wake up call. The irritating buzzing of the built on alarm would always shock you out of bed like a cat. Yet even when you knew you were wide awake, you constantly struggled to force yourself up and out of your room. If time would allow it, you would lay in your very warm and comfortable spot in the bed for at least an hour or more.

What's even worse for you was that your dormitory was co-ed, which meant that next door to you was a group of boys who were sharing a room for the school year. They were loud, constantly moving around in the middle of the night, and screaming at random times of the day which usually ended up being the time that you used to study. There were always noise complaints about those students. No one on their floor, or the floor above and below, like them that much. Yet they never seemed to tone down the problem, they made them worse with every noise complaint that was filled to their resident assistance.

Every time they'd get a noise complaint, they'd go and find someone else who was just a little too loud one day and pin the blame on them. It was a way to show that everyone in the building made a commotion and that they shouldn't be the only ones punished for it. You didn't really care about what they were doing until you had suddenly become a target one day.

"I'm sorry, what?" you questioned them, leaning up against the door frame with your arms crossed. In front of you stood the two boys that lived in the dorm next to you, nearly towering over you like the buildings in the city thanks to the monstrous amount of height. They appeared to be up to no good when they had randomly shown up, and you were absolutely right.

"Are you the one who has been playing that music for the past three days? What was it... classical music?" He asked, tugging at his hair as he spoke. He glanced towards his roommate for confirmation, who nodded his head vigorously in response to his question. "Are you a music major or something? Maybe in the orchestra? If not it's been blasting really loudly lately and my roommate here has a majority of his classes at eight am. Right, Jaehyun?"

The boy didn't seem like he was on board with being used as an excuse at first, raising his eyebrow and staring at his roommate in confusion before turning to you. "Right, I have to get up so early for all my classes. I'd really appreciate it if you keep the violins and cymbals and triangles to like a minimum so that it doesn't bother me anymore."

"If not we'll take it to the RA," His roommate quickly added to put their threat in full effect. "And we'll file a noise complaint for disturbing us."

You scoffed at the thought, wanting to slam the door closed and forget about their petty revenge. "Aren't you the same duo that got a noise complaint filed to them last week because of an extremely loud yet unidentifiable thud..." you began before turning on your heels and correcting yourself. "Oh, my apologies. I meant boom, extremely loud yet unidentifiable boom that came from the laundry room. Only for one of the students on the lower floors to go down there and find that one of the washers and dryers had literally malfunctioned and exploded?"

"Listen," One of the boys tried to interject, his ears burning bright red as you kept talking. "That's not... listen, we—"

"Didn't they go on the security cameras to find out who had done the damage? Because a washer and dryer going suddenly haywire on its own is extremely worrisome and dangerous for the students who may have been around during that time. And weren't you two—"

"Classical music is such an amazing genre of music!" The roommate interrupted, yelling over your voice in a panic. There was a pained smile on his face as he hooked an arm around the other boy, punching his arm to follow along as he spoke. "I mean, it has such a clean and light texture to it, simplistic but a great melody nonetheless! God, it gives me nostalgia for a time I wasn't even alive in! Isn't that right, Jaehyun?"

"Oh," the boy spoke, his eyes darting in between his roommate and you. Slowly a smile began to grow on his face to mask his growing embarrassment as he gestured towards the other boy. "Of... of course! Johnny has such nice music taste! So you know when he says a genre is really good it really means something. Seriously love classical music, man. Lulls me right to sleep!"

Needless to say, they choose to not bother you as much as they used to. The strange and loud noises that would echo through the dormitory walls had gotten significantly lower since that day. They didn't stop completely yet but it was enough for you to keep your peace of mind before waking up every day.

Your mornings had gotten relatively calmer after that incident as well. Both of those boys were usually out of the dormitory by the time you were awake to attend classes or work, so you didn't run into them much during the week. You'd have calm enough mornings to where you didn't feel the need to nearly pass out on a car or bus ride to your campus and almost miss your stop. It felt like a dream come true when you would hop out of whatever vehicle you were in and would be right on time before your classes even started.

"Y/N!" A feminine voice screamed, catching you off guard when an arm suddenly slung around your neck. You clutched onto the bag hanging off your shoulder as you nearly tumbled to the ground at the sudden addition of weight, bringing the other girl down with you as you struggled to comprehend what was going on. They got a few stares from the other students who were arriving and leaving the campus but no one said a word to them. Thankfully everyone practiced the art of minding their business. "You'll never guess what I got!"

"Do I want to guess?" You questioned, shoving the girl's arm off of you so you could regain your balance. Once you were stable enough to stand up, you turned around to see who had stumbled into your path. The girl's eyes were wide with innocence and excitement as she stood in front of you, fidgeting in place as she tried to contain herself. Most of the energy she'd originally be exerting into jumping up and down was focused into the beaming and bright smile she couldn't wipe off of her face even if she tried. "Do I have to guess?"

"Yes, you have to," She demanded, holding her hands behind her back to hide whatever got her spirits high. The girl must have ordered some sort of object online again and simply couldn't wait till after your classes to show you. "It's so worth it, I promise! Just... just guess!"

A sigh escaped your mouth as you straighten your posture, reading deep into the girl's expression to try and figure out what it was. "I'm going to guess—"

"Two front row seats to our school's very own band performance!" The girl nearly squealed, shoving two flimsy pieces of paper in your face. You took a few steps back in order to align your sight with the tickets, taking them out of the girl's hands to inspect. Both tickets were for general admission, their names printed on it with the date they were expected to attend the performance. "Aren't you excited? I literally fought tooth and claw to get these before they sold out, and you know these sell out fast!"

"Band? Like the guys who play trumpets and bass drums during school games?" You questioned, glancing up from the tickets to face your friend. The tickets didn't have exactly who was performing written down on it, simply stating that it was a live music event. "Why would you go watch them play? I thought you were more of a... pop genre person?"

The girl rolled her eyes at your response, snatching the tickets from your hands and placing them back into your pockets. "No, not the band. Who goes out of their way to specifically watch our band team play?" She hissed. "I mean like rock bands. You know, the type of people who play the drums and guitars in one big band and perform on stage with a lead singer and everything. That type of band."

"My point with you being a pop genre person still stands," you mumbled in response.

"Yes I do like pop music, I understand that," The girl clarified. "But we're going to see Aurora. Our school's very own rock band! Do you seriously not know who they are? I know you listen to classical and orchestral music and all, but I thought you were at least in the loop with Aurora!"

You scoffed as you began to walk forward, shoving your hands into your pockets and you spoke. "Just because I don't listen to the popular music right now doesn't mean I'm out of the loop! I'll have you know that I am a very big fan of idol groups. I even participated in those farewell events when groups’ oldest members start enlisting in the military."

"Idol groups have absolutely nothing to do with Aurora and you know it," your friend grumbled. "Do you seriously not know who Aurora is? At all? Have I seriously been friends with a hermit crab this whole time?"

"Fine then," you shrugged. "Go ahead, tell me about this Aurora band since you're so obsessed and knowledgeable about this group I've never heard of."

Aurora is a much bigger thing than you had imagined. From your friend's knowledge, it was a group of boys who had gathered around the beginning of the year together, all of them having several different traits and personalities that simply meshed together all too well. They had created the band, Aurora, for fun at first as they were all instrumentalists with different crafts. They had started busking in order to make money as a side job and quickly grew in popularity with the audiences they performed to.

Their university had caught wind of their musical abilities and had asked them to perform during the annual club fairs to help attract more students. After that, they seemed to have skyrocketed in popularity within the college campus. Jung Wooyoung, the group's bassist, Song Mingi, the group's lead guitarist, Choi San, the group's drummer, and Jeong Yunho, the group's lead singer, had become some of the most well-known people on campus.

Everyone seemed to know them and wanted to listen to their music, which is why your friend was so excited to be getting front row tickets to their next performance. You thought it was funny though, Wooyoung was the guitarist boy that lived next door to the girl.

"The past is in the past!" She exclaimed, throwing up her hands as the two entered the university's building. The indoors wasn't very crowded, all the students attending were spread throughout the area either taking a break before their classes began or nearly booking it straight up the stairs in fear of being late. "Sure I wanted to murder him with my cello beforehand, but it's okay because we put our differences aside like you said we should have. And it's good that we did because we ended up going to the same university."

"So..." you began, thinking for a few moments before turning towards your friend. "Does this mean he's your favorite member? I mean you've got the background and chemistry for a nice little love story don't you think?"

"Oh absolutely not," she immediately responded. "We may have made up that summer but I have not spoken to him since. Plus my favorite member is their drummer so if anything I'd like to start a love story with him. Do you think I should plan out of my outfit for the music event? What if I actually start a love story with him like in those tv shows my parents used to watch? We catch each other's eyes during the performance and before we're about to leave I get asked backstage to meet him in person!"

You visibly cringed at your friend's fantasizing, putting four feet of space in between the two of you. "Gross. Go to class before you contaminant me with your fantasies."

"Oh shut up." She rolled her eyes, stopping in her tracks so that you were forced to wait for her. "Everyone likes to fantasize about their love life every once and awhile. It's natural to want something grander than reality to happen to you."

"You are the most cliche woman I have ever met," you mumbled, glancing over your shoulder to look at the girl. "You just told me you want to make eye contact with him and immediately fall in love just like that! Have a fun time dreaming about that while you stand in a crowd full of people in your general direction."

"You're so mean to me!" She yelled, causing everyone in the vicinity to turn and stare at the sudden commotion. "You're just mad that the violinist boy from freshman year refused to play music for you even when you got on your knees! And you were looking for him your entire high school career!"

You sprinted towards the girl at full speed, clamping your hands over her mouth to silence her. She screamed into your hands as you dragged her away from the public eye and muffled her voice. "Heejin, are you out of your mind?" You growled, looking behind you to see if anyone had heard her. "I thought we had both agreed to pretend like that never happened?"

The girl pried your hands away from her mouth and smiled innocently up at you. "We did promise. I just never forgot."

You shoved the girl towards where her lecture hall was located, a frustrated frown growing on your face as a pinkish flush began to creep across your face. "Go to your stupid business math class. Go before I chase you all the way there!" you threatened through gritted teeth. Her friend laughed at the girl's response, skipping like a child to her class for the day.

You really did get rejected that day, it was too ingrained in your brain to forget. The boy had stood on the balcony staring down at the two with a bored and uninterested expression in his eyes, tilting his head like a dog's when you screamed your demands up at him. Honestly, you didn't know exactly what you were expecting. Did you really think that he was just going to pick up his violin and start playing whatever tune he knew just because you asked him to? You didn't even say please!

You had spent a good ten minutes arguing with the boy about how you had been searching for him for years just to make him play at least ten seconds of a song for you. Each time you'd explain your situation to him, he'd immediately give you a dry response of why he kept declining you. He didn't even say it politely! He stared at you straight in the eyes and told you," I don't want to play for you because you aren't worth it."

You swore if you could jump high enough, you would have bounced onto the balcony and strangled him for his rude behavior. It was truly a sight for sore eyes watching an angry and frustrated high school senior scream up at an innocent looking but totally uninterested boy on the balcony. The argument was always almost completely one-sided as well, which made it slightly embarrassing to watch from the sidelines.

You had forced your friend to promise you that she'd either forget the whole incident or pretend like it never happened. Either one was good with you since your friend was known to tell everyone's stories when you weren't paying attention. She had gone this far without saying anything so the urge to talk about it must have been truly bubbling up inside of her. It's been a few months since the incident occurred and the memory is still fresh in your minds.

"God, I'm never gonna live down that stupid incident am I?" you grumbled, practically stomping towards your end destination. "Just when I thought maybe I was finally growing past it, she has to go and bring it back up again. Doesn't she know I'm still healing from that embarrassment? It took a toll on pride and this is how she helps mend the wound? By opening up again?"

You stopped in place when a melody began to waver in the air, following along the cold breeze of the university's air condition. The music notes hopped from breeze to breeze as it traveled through your ears to the next. The sound continuously grabbed your attention as each note was struck no matter how many times you turned to keep walking. It was hitting you like a rock to the head as your brain immediately identified the music maker to a violin.

You slowly turned around to see a few students peering through a crack in some double doors, staring intently on what was on the other side. "They're at it again," one of the older students spoke, holding the door open for his friends to look through. "They're much earlier this time than usual, we'll only catch a little bit of the performance. Do you think something important is happening?"

"You think they're competing for first chair again?" One of the younger students asked, glancing up towards the boy who had spoken beforehand. He shrugged in response to their question, but he seemed to agree for the most part. "Whatever it is, I bet Hong is about to take the first chair again. He's always the first chair. No one can beat that boy when it comes to the violin."

"Kang is always right behind him though, don't forget that," another voice reminded, trying to get a better view of the inside. "Both of them are musical prodigies, and the conductor has always been fond of Kang's playing style. I think he'll get first chair this time."

You couldn't help but let curiosity take over, standing just a few feet away from the group of friends and trying to peer through the small windows of the door. It was rather dark near the entrance to the room, but farther back was lit up by lights that illuminated the wood floor stage where two performers stood. The doors seemed to have led towards an auditorium from the looks of it. You couldn't exactly see their faces from how far away you were, but you could make out a little bit of what was actually going on.

A boy stood in the middle of the stage, the music coming directly from him as he strummed the violin with his bow, grace and elegance oozing off of him. He seemed rather focused on playing his violin precisely, not missing a single note in the song as he allowed the rich and melodic song to ring through their ears. The opened door seemed to amplify his sound even more, ringing within your brain as if it was trying to engraved its sound into her ears. Hearing a violinist play in person was truly much different from hearing it through speakers.

In a chair behind the violinist sat another figure, holding what seemed to be a violin as well in his hands. You assumed that it was the competition who had played their song earlier before you had arrived on campus. His shoulders seemed to tense as the violinist held his final note, a plaintive sound echoing through the auditorium as he held his form to leave an everlasting effect on his listeners.

The students in front of you held their breath as he finished, staring intently at where you assumed the conductor was sitting for his reaction. There was a moment of silence after the note finally fizzled into nothingness, no longer bouncing off of the walls after finding a home in the audience's ears.

"It's Park," the younger student spoke, standing up from where they originally crouched down. "Park is the first chair once again. Honestly, was I expecting a change? No, not really. He's just that talented."

"I was really rooting for Kang this time," the other student spoke, huffing as they crossed their arms in disappointment. "I wonder what he did to not get picked again this time. Usually, Kang performs wonderfully but we weren't early enough to catch his turn."

"Whatever it is," the older student added, shutting the door to the auditorium and shrugging his shoulders. "I'm sure Kang will get over it. I mean that's always next time! But I guess I say that every time this happens..."

When the trio had disappeared from sight, you couldn't help but open the door to the auditorium and peek inside. You had been walking past this exact area how many times and you didn't even notice an event like this happening? Your either extremely stupid or completely oblivious, there's no in between.

You pulled on the heavy auditorium doors, peering in the room to take a look for yourself. The room was chilly, much colder than the breezes nature had been giving you so far. It was like you had stepped straight into the freezer, feeling the need to rub your arms for warm to make sure you didn't suddenly die from the cold. "How long has this place been here? I could have sworn this was an administration office or a classroom... literally anything but an auditorium..." you mumbled to mumbled, your eyes drifting towards the stage.

Only one violinist was at the stage, his instrument dangling in his hands as he sat in silence. The other violinist and conductor were nowhere to be seen, abandoning him to be alone with his thoughts. He must have been the one who wasn't picked by their conductor for first chair, reveling in his defeat by his peer. "Is it that serious?" you mumbled, going to close the door before you zoomed to your class, only just a few minutes late.

Though you saw the violinist rise from his seat in the corner of your eye, approaching the edge of the stage to leave the room. Of course, being the generally nice person you were, you pushed the door back open, holding it open for the violinist to pass through. "Hey, are you about to— Woah! Woah, woah, woah, don't do that!" You yelled at him.

The violinist had raised his instrument high above the ground, a bored and uninterested look in his eyes as he debated on whether he was going to let the violin drop from the height it was at and scar it. It definitely wasn't going to shatter and break, but an ugly dent would be achieved through the notion. Your yelling seemed to stop him in his tracks, preventing him from possibly making the worst decision in his life.

"Don't violins cost a lot of money?" You nagged, forgetting about the door you were holding open and marching towards him. "I know you might be frustrated over whatever just happened but is it really worth breaking your instrument? You should be satisfied with the fact that you even got the chance to be chosen as an option for, what was it, first chair? Whatever it is, I think breaking your violin might be a really bad..." you trailed off as you got closer, slowing down your pace as you got closer to the stage

The violinist stared at you through his long blonde bangs, his eyes gleaming in the dingy and dim stage lights. Despite the horrible lighting it seemed to illuminate him as if he was some sort of statue on display, every curve and sharp corner of his face being highlighted just perfectly. His impassive expression refused to let you in on any sort of emotion or thought in his head, locking you out with every chain known to man. His eyes glanced over you, reading you like an open book before he finally spoke. "Why... do you care?"

Your eyes dropped from his face to his violin, taking note of the bored expression and the red tinged violin in his hands. It seemed like it had been used frequently, it's the color worn from age and usage with scratches scattered throughout the instrument's body. "Oh...," you trailed, dropping your hands to your side in defeat.

How long had he been here? Hiding right under your nose in what seemed to be plain sight. How long were you going to go without realizing the violinist from your freshman year was attending the same university as you? "It's you again."

The boy titled his head curiously, a moment of silence expanding over them like a blanket. You felt like you were going to twitch and squirm under his gaze, the eerie silence of the auditorium and his almost blank stare making the atmosphere uncomfortable for you. All you could think about was the one sided argument you two had; how you had embarrassed yourself in front of your whole neighborhood just because you wanted him to play a song for you. The amount of humiliation that was crashing over you like angry waves could have washed you right of the auditorium if it wanted to.

The violinist crouched down on the stage to look down on you, resting his head on his hands as he began to speak. “Do I... know you?”

“Do you know me?” You repeated, disbelief prevalent in your tone of voice. “Did you really just ask that? Of course you know me! Remember from this summer? Just a few months back?”

The boy nodded his head as you spoke, absorbing all the information you were telling him and letting it process in his brain. He closed his eyes as he began to form his final thoughts, leaning back on his heels before opening them again and staring at you. “Ah... I remember now. You were Wooyoung’s fling for a couple weeks... right?”

“What?” You exclaimed, a rosy pink tint spreading across your face as you spoke. You’ve never even spoken to the guitarist boy when he lived near you, nevertheless have a fling with him. The mere thought of doing something so... dangerous like that made your skin crawl. “No... I don’t... listen, are you serious? You don’t remember who am I at all? Not a thing about me seems to trigger some sort of memory in you?”

“Not to be rude,” he responded, lifting himself out of his crouched position and beginning to walk across the stage to the stairs positioned at the side. “But you don’t look like the most memorable type. I mean if I don’t remember you are, would anyone else be able to?”

His blunt honestly was like a knife to the chest, only he was repeatedly sinking the weapon into your already open wound. Had he always been this straightforward with people? Of course he was, that’s why you never got him to play a song for you. You didn’t even know whether or not you liked the fact that he didn’t recognize who you were because he had formatted his words. You’d much rather be remembered for something embarrassing you did than be forgettable as a whole.

Though by the time you had clocked back into reality, a snarky and rude comment ready to hit the bullseye on the back of his head, he was gone. There was no sign of violinist boy anywhere in the room, as if he has quiet literally disappeared into thin air. “I should have just let him smash his violin to pieces,” you rumbled, now not only late to class but also filled with bitter rage that wasn’t even reciprocated.

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szallejh · 3 years

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First Steps

Blink of an Eye - Part 1

Took me quite a bit to update the next chapter, sorry for that! It’s not that it hasn’t been written yet - I simply wasn’t at home (:

I don’t even know if anyone wants to read this. Anyway! If you do, enjoy ~

- - - -

I sat down on the grass to try and sort out the absolute mess in my head.

After I had closed my eyes and taken a few deep breaths, I realized that I had no other choice but to accept my current situation. Even if this did end up being a dream, or some kind of bad trip, I was at least safe for now. And on the off chance that this was now my new reality, I figured that I didn’t want to endanger my life any more than necessary.

I threw a glance down at my body. What I saw was the typical Asuran body structure: slim shoulders and nothing that appeared to be breasts. From the waist down, it looked to be all sorts of clumsy.

Perhaps it wasn't the most desirable-looking figure compared to human standards, but maybe the male Asura had different definitions of beauty instead?

The thought made me giggle aloud, the strange sound of my new voice catching me off-guard in the moment.

That’s still not my voice! I thought. But with each syllable, the voice grew to be more familiar.

A hum escaped my throat. It's the same as tiring your voice to where it sounds terribly hoarse. It'll reach a point where you can't even remember how your voice sounds in a healthy condition.

Eyes looked down to observe what I was now wearing.

My clothing was very simple. I wore a cream-colored shirt which was corded up to the top and was fitted with blue shoulder pads. The cloth was garnished with pastel blue and pink geometrical figures.

A skirt of similar color sat snug on my waist, the front of it opened to reveal a pair of dark brown pants underneath. The material was comfortable, and soft to the touch. Also sitting around my hips, was a dark wide belt which was equipped with a few smaller bags. Opening one of them had revealed some copper, silver and even a handful of gold pieces.

I lifted up a foot, looking down to see my shoes were made of dark leather and crafted in such a way that allowed my claw-like toes to be freed.

With a raised arm, I spread my digits outward to look at the gloves they were now sporting. The material was in the same color of my shirt, and decorated with blue cubes.

Well, not too bad for a start.

A backpack sat nestled in between my legs, its contents containing a few food supplies, a filled water pouch, and a map. There were also a bunch more items stuffed into it, but I had never seen them before so I had no clue of what each of their purposes could be.

In a side flap was an attached hammer, which was quite impressive and rather heavy. It had the typical-asuran designs too. I reached down to grab hold of it in my hands, figuring it to be a rather suitable fighting weapon.

Wait a moment!

While only virtual and with my keyboard, I had fought many times before. But I had never actually held a real weapon before, and my combat experience was practically non-existent.

This was the real world of Tyria though, and that meant I wouldn’t be able to skip fights completely.

The thought of potentially really hurting someone with this hammer made me feel fairly uncomfortable.

Or rather, I could get hurt in combat myself.

I shoved the thought away and hastily plugged the hammer back into its flap. The sun still stood high in the sky, but I figured that I couldn’t sit on this meadow forever.

First things first, I needed to search for an accommodation for the night. And then I would start working on gaining control of my new life.

With a sigh I stood up, and shouldered the backpack. I kept an eye out for a location that could be proven promising for a night quarter.

Just a few meters beside me was a winding path that led into the landscape. From what I could see, it was leading towards the direction to a few cubic buildings. With a nod, I followed the path, staying attentive and watching the nearby surroundings.

Who knew what dangers hung around this place, searching for prey?

Occasionally there would be bundles of trees outlining the area, the similar-looking foliage granting me some sense of familiarity to my previous world.

On the left side of the path I was walking on, I spotted a small platform hovering in the air. Stony footbridges led towards it, its construct sheltered by three pyramidal frames filled with glittering blue diaphragms in the center.

The closer I came to the platform, the louder I could hear a steady, humming and buzzing noise filling the air around me. I figured its source had to have been the structure's glittery blue middles.

Floating all around the platform were small cubes. Some of them were overgrown with pink and blue plants, a few even covered with vines that were wired to the ground.

Although I had seen this more than once before in-game, it had never made such a majestic impression as much as it did right now.

Slowly I ascended one of the footbridges, unsure if the construction was truly as steady as it looked.

Above I could see two golems standing guard. "Whoa!" I muttered, not wanting to mess with them. Luckily for me, they seemed to be in some kind of standby-mode which was made apparent by their beeping and lack of obvious care when I walked by.

Curious as I was, I reached out to stroke one of the vines growing on the platform with my hand. Startled, I retracted my hand very quickly when it constricted under my touch.

You've never been the one for plants... I thought to myself. I carefully descended the platform, suddenly glad there hadn't been any rain recently to turn the mossy stones into a slippery trap.

To my right was a classic laboratory which appeared to be housing a brisk-looking business. Everywhere I looked were Asura. Their appearances were diverse, and they bustled around while calling numbers and random tidbits of information to each other. If not that, then they were cursing aloud or beckoning to some absurd thing.

I didn’t dare to disturb them in their work, and continued walking towards the center of the town. There was little chance that a lab such as the ones I just saw would offer hotel rooms, which meant I needed to find better options.

Along the way, a few stray Asura and their golems briskly walked past me in a hurry, but none of them seemed to pay much attention to the stranger walking through their settlement. Few gave much greeting, and I kept my head hanging while muttering the occasional 'excelsior'.

While walking along, I started to feel anxious about my ability to find a rightful place in this new world.

How am I going to earn money to live? I asked myself.

I didn’t have the faintest notion of how golems worked, nor did I understand the techniques of something similar. With that lack of knowledge, I assumed most were going to call me the biggest-Skritt brained idiot in all of Tyria.

I sighed.

Perhaps there could be some dirty work that wasn't already completed by the golems around here.

At least I hoped so.

I threw a glance down to the coin pouch around my waist from when I had dropped into this new world. I still had a few gold coins, which meant I could possibly manage to get by for a couple of days. Hopefully by then, a better path would have revealed itself for me.

After walking through the town some more, I finally arrived at the city entrance. It was a big triangle made of stone, its sides both flanked by pillars of light.

Soren Draa, I remembered. At least that meant I was near Rata Sum, the main city of the Asura. And my midsection suddenly felt like it was doing somersaults.

I liked Rata Sum the most out of all other Tyrian cities, thus I couldn’t wait to see this masterpiece of architecture. Not only that, but to see the everyday life of the Asura who lived there with my own eyes.

I just had to walk through a simple portal in Soren Draa and...

I swallowed. What would portal-travelling feel like? I just hoped it wouldn’t feel similar to my previous arrival here…

Awestruck, I passed the light pillars and went through the city gate. A comfy sound originated from the pillars, similar to that of a technical humming. It wasn't loud enough to cause a bother, but it lingered all around.

Soren Draa on its own was a real masterpiece. A city - half built in stone with towers and floating hammocks. There were even hovering cubes that seemed to be planted with trees! Blue lights surrounded me everywhere I looked, and the sounds from the nearby labs assaulted me on all sides.

It was a choir of cries, clanking, beeping, humming, and golem's heavy metal steps echoing loudly on the stone.

I assumed I must have looked quite silly then, standing there with my mouth open and looking around in sheer awe.

Another Asura who had been standing just a few feet away and watching my astonishment finally spoke. "Each time you come to the city, it's a treat to the eyes, isn't it?"

Startled, I forced myself to close my gaping mouth once I realized someone had been watching me.

"Eh... yes. Absolutely fantastic. It's just as amazing as the first time I saw it", I said, staring at the ground to hide the blush ascending my neck.

The Asura shook his head in amusement, and when I finally dared to lift my head, he had long since disappeared back into the bustle.

Huh. Maybe I shouldn’t behave so stupidly next time, if I don’t want to be the main attraction today, I thought, staring towards the area the curious stranger had just been.

I straightened myself out and continued along the street, now attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible. I climbed an impressive amount of stairs, quickly taking notice of a portal at the end of the street which I knew would lead me to Rata Sum.

But seeing the intimidating portal was more than enough to snap me back to the reality that evening was coming, and I still wanted to rest a night before I hurled myself into the next possible adventure.

I glanced up to the sky, noticing that the fair blue color from the afternoon had now been replaced by varying tints of yellows, violets and pinks. The colors painted the clouds in whimsical patterns, and it created a window to look upon the first shining stars of the night.

When did it get this dark?

With another quick look around the area, I observed a pyramidal entrance just to the right. Even from the sliver of a doorway, I could see quite a few tables and chairs littered around inside. Above the entrance was a sign, which tagged the location as a tavern.

I blinked at the words, surprised I was even able to read the Asuran writing. Perhaps I didn't know how to work a golem, but at least I could read a strange new alphabet.

Happy to have finally found a place to stay for the night, I veered to the right to enter the tavern. Compared to the outside, it was far more bustling and busy-looking on the inside. But there were still a few empty tables, which meant there was a very good possibility that there would also be some available rooms as well.

Single-mindedly, I walked straight towards the counter to see a slightly-miffed looking Asura standing behind it. From the glance she threw at me, I wasn't sure if it was unfriendly or just annoyed.

The Asura had brown hair that was tied to a simple knot above her head. Her eyes were a dull-blue color that seemed to lack much expression behind them. But her ears - they were gigantic!

I knew that most Asura had really big ears, but these particular specimens had surpassed anything that I had seen so far. If they didn't extend out as far as they did, then they likely would have reached all the way down to her midsection.

“Excelsior. So, what do you want?” she spoke, her voice far louder than what I had expected from such a tiny body.

What did you expect from someone who works inside a tavern? A place that is almost always incredibly noisy?

I then cleared my throat. “Eh, I... I am searching for an available room tonight. And if that's possible, then maybe something to eat and drink as well."

I was readily made aware of how impolite I must have just sounded, but the Asura behind the bar didn't seem to mind. She toddled over to the wall behind her and took a key from it which was carved with the number 13.

Always a good sign.

She handed me the key. “That'll be a room for one night and one meal, which makes your total three silver.”

Nervous, I fumbled around the inside of my pouch until I was able to find the correct amount of coins before handing them to the innkeeper. She nodded, appearing satisfied before pointing me towards the direction of one of the empty tables. I walked over and sat down, waiting for my meal to arrive. It felt good to be able to sit after all of the tedious walking from today, and I rested my head upon my arms and closed my eyes.

It seemed these upcoming days were going to be incredibly long and possibly just as tiring.

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #gw2 fan submission #gw2 writing #blink of an eye

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maxparkhurst · 3 years

Text

SHADOW’S WARMTH

It was cold outside. Winter’s frost fogged the stained-glass window and only shadows cast from the fragmented light broke the chamber’s monotonous sprawl. Despite all his layers, Augustine shivered. He adjusted the crate of potions in his arms, vials chiming in alarm, and followed his sister through the Cathedral’s entry arch. Their echoing footfalls heralded their path through the pews. His steps sounded far off, muted beneath the dull buzz in his head. Fatigue nestled itself in the space between his shoulder blades, sickly sweet as it pulled the muscles taut. It made his arms quake beneath the weight of their delivery. He wasn’t sure when this sudden case of shakes began or if it’d ever leave.

Augustine kept his gaze trained on the small of Max’s back. Unlike some, he found no solace in the home of the Light. If anything those cold, empty pews sent a shiver down his spine. To believe in fate written by a sole force was to revoke one’s own agency in the coming of destiny. If he were to believe in anything, he believed in their work and the help it’d provide to those less fortunate. Thus, instead of raising his eyes to the angelic depictions splayed on stained glass he turned to his mentor for guidance.

Max walked with the same composure she always possessed. Those unaccustomed to her measured smile and level voice found his sister to be enigmatic. They approached her with wary eyes and shifting feet. Such was the case with the deacon who met them half-way.

“Master Parkhurst.” He dipped his head to Max, wringing his hands within the trenches of his belled sleeves. A pleasant, albeit weary, smile touched his lips when he turned to Augustine. “And son?”

Augustine mustered a meager grin. He wondered if it looked as fake as it felt.

“Apprentice,” Max corrected. She inclined her head to the deacon as she breathed a laugh. There wasn’t any emotion placed in the gesture. As with most things, the laugh was for display only. Something to fill the silence and lighten the air. “It’s good to see you in good health, Brother Matthews.”

Brother Matthews shifted on his heels, sending ripples through the hem of his diaconal vestments. Augustine imagined those flowing robes should bring a modicum of comfort to his restless soul. Quite the contrary. The gentleman hardly filled them out. Only the knobs of his shoulders poked through the dense fabric. Everything else? Lost beneath yards of cloth.

The deacon doesn’t wear the robes, he drowns in them.

“As good as I can be in these troubling times,” Brother Matthews chittered, running his fingers through an already thinning hair line.

His scalp visible through wisps of hair startled Augustine. This deacon could only be a few years older than him. Yet here this gentleman stood with less hair than perhaps what he started with at the beginning of the year. Stress must’ve aged him. Augustine grimaced and stole a glance up at his own locks. Had he faith in some deity, he’d pray to keep his hair once everything finally settled.

“...the potions?”

Augustine blinked. In his tired stupor, he missed the deacon’s question. The beginnings of a crimson blush crept up his neck as he scrambled for an answer. Luckily, Max stepped in.

“Yes,” she mused, coaxing the crate from Augustine’s grip, “They are.” She adjusted it in her arms, rattling the vials inside, and dipped her head to Brother Matthews. “If you’ll lead the way, Brother?”

Brother Matthews looked between the siblings before obliging with a nod.The hem of his robes fluttered as he drifted down the row of pews, looking almost spectral in the waning light. He paused at a stairwell’s threshold and beckoned. “This way…” he murmured.

Max stole a glance up at Augustine. Concern glistened in her eye as they made their descent down into the church’s underbelly. He tried to dissuade her skepticism with a forced smile. It merited a quirked brow followed by humoring silence. She hastened to fall in step with the deacon, lowering her voice so that they may converse in private. It suited Augustine just fine. If anything, he appreciated the momentary solitude. It allowed his thoughts to settle for the first time in over a week.

Has it really only been a week?

Augustine hugged his shoulders. He felt as if he lived two life times while toiling through this whole mess. With the brisk shake of his head, he dismissed the thought. Instead, he focused his gaze on the cobble stone and counted each step down into the lower levels. Only the faint glow cast from torches illuminated the long stretch of shadows. Each step deeper in the darkened veil seemed to put the deacon on edge. His shoulders buckled. His steps quickened. And he wouldn’t stop stealing suspicious glances at them over his shoulders.

For someone as old as you, Augustine mused, You shouldn’t be so scared of the dark.

Augustine simply didn’t understand. He grew more at ease the further from the Light they traveled. Warmth from the torches’ flames started to seep into his chilled bones. His arms slid down to hug his stomach as he cocked his head back, feeling the cobblestone walls brush against his shoulders. Small and dark. He closed his swollen eyes and heaved a sigh. Memories, vague and diluted images, lapped against the foreground of his scattered thoughts. The touch of fire… Press of stone… Long, dark shadows… If he let it, the memory could wash over him. Swallow him whole and cast him far from this cold, hellish nightmare. Send him to a simpler time. A time when he was small. And all he had to worry about was the next page read from Max’s lips as they nestled in the corner of their father’s forge.

He could be there if he fed the memory. Let it grow and consume his waking thoughts. All he needed to do was stoke its flame.

But there was work to be done…

He pushed the memory aside and opened his eyes. The stairwell led down into a hewn stone chamber. Smaller than the Cathedral’s grand hall but bigger than their apartment. Perhaps at some point it housed their clergy’s tomes and relics. Now bedrolls dominated what little space was available. Families huddled atop these meager homes, each in a different stage of misery. Some were mourning. Some were frightened. And some simply watched him pass with a blank stare.

Augustine paused and canted his head. A voice lifted in song. His heart ached from how sweet it sounded. He tossed a way-ward glance over his shoulder, watching as the deacon joined Max in offloading vials onto a workman’s table. They’d be fine without him. He shuffled his way through the huddled masses, following that melodic voice through the winding desolace.

“We cannot thank you enough for your contribution.”

Brother Matthews voice. Spoken just a notch above a whisper. His quivering drawl broke the teen’s concentration for a split second. Augustine didn’t need to look at his sister to hear the cordial smile gracing her lips. She always spoke in the same tone; pleasant and unwavering.

“We’re only doing our part. Just as the church is doing theirs…”

Augustine allowed their conversation to fade into the background. Scanning the room, he listened for the voice. So sweet. It’d been days since he last heard another human being’s voice, much less hear one in song. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the sound of people. His heart yearned to hear child’s mirth and city bustle. To hear the town crier and to listen to the lady’s chitter. To feel warmth and life again in the city. For now, it’d settle for this voice. One so delicate...That it possessed him to follow it until he found its source.

“Awake, our souls; away with fears… … let every trembling thought be gone; Awake and run toward thy heavenly light, … And imbue me with cheerful courage.”

The girl’s hair glimmered in the torch’s dim light, glistening pale like silver thread. She bowed her head as she knelt on the cold stone. Dressed in nothing but a tattered dress, she shivered as she breathed each word. She spoke with a lyrical somberance which captivated Augustine. He watched her in awe until she caught sight of him. She balked, a hiccup catching in her throat.

Augustine bristled. “Y-your song!” he stammered, curling into himself, “It was… It was lovely.”

Her demur countenance darkened. “It’s not a song,” she murmured, “It’s a prayer.” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I’m praying for courage…”

“Praying for courage?” he echoed.

“Yes.” The girl pursed her lips, turning her gaze back on Augustine. He felt his face warm as she searched him with wide, doe eyes. No shame resided in them, only resolve punctuated by the furrow of her brow. “The Prayer of Awakened Souls. Don’t you know it?”

Augustine shook his head. “I’m afraid not...”

“Why not?”

The question caught him off guard. A disquiet smile touched his lips as he tucked either hand in a pocket. He chewed on the question before shrugging. “The Light is viewed differently in Kul’tiras,” he professed, “There are Tidesages who blessed the ships and waters. As far as the Holy Light…” He averted his gaze. “Well. I figured it was only used by paladins…”

“By Paladins…” she echoed, flashing him a teasing smirk, “So they can smite their foes?”

Augustine bristled. He rubbed the nape of his neck. “M-maybe…”

The girl hummed with amusement. She scooted over on and beckoned Augustine to sit. “The Light,” she explained, settling back, “Is used for so much more. It can be wielded by anyone. You. Me. Even an infant. It grants those who believe in it strength.”

Augustine sat cross-legged and quirked a brow. “But the Light exists…It’s part of this world, just like arcane and nature magic. Believing or not, it’s an irrefutable fact.”

“There’s a difference…” She took his hands in her own. “Between believing in its existence and believing in it…” She pressed both their hands to his chest. “When you truly embrace it. Its warmth will fill you.”

In his palms, he held his chittering heart. He searched for such faith in each pulse. His smile softened. He found no Light in his chest. It only harbored the crackle of a still borne fire. “I think I understand now…”

Augustine nodded thoughtfully as turned to steal a glance over his shoulder. The conversation between Max and the deacon looked to have drawn to a close. Shadows danced off her lithe form as she crossed the chamber, coming to stop just before him. She looked between him and the girl.

“It’s time to go, Augustine.”

The girl released his hands and curled into herself. “Augustine,” she murmured, brushing back an errant lock of hair, “That’s a nice name.” She summoned a demur smile. “I will pray that the Light gives you strength.”

Such a strange sentiment that he found oddly comforting. Augustine returned the smile as he rose to his feet. “I appreciate it…” A twang of guilt touched his heart. He couldn’t offer words of comfort. Not in the way her expectant gaze asked.

For his gifts of strength came in the form of tiny vials and mason jars.

Previous Chapter: What We Can

#The Alchemists #Pre-patch stories #Act 1: Chapter 3 #| Shadow's Warmth |

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mars-the-fighter · 6 years

Text

Paradox Gaia (Chapter 1)

Decided to post this one directly on tumblr for the sake of my own sanity. I’ll most likely post the others in sta.sh and link them here, but for now, this is all I have.

Chapter 1 – Unlucky Start

Just like the first time, the tingling feeling lasted for only a few seconds.

It felt like being submerged in water, blackened, silent water. She felt her fur cold, as if wet from a rainstorm. The tingling spread quickly, making her shiver slightly. It always felt weird to her.

With a crash, she fell.

Thankfully, the fall was a short one, but she still hit the ground with a low yelp. She forced herself on her knees, rubbing the back of her head with her left hand. She checked her palm to see if she had hurt herself, but there was no blood on her hand, and she felt lucky for that.

With the quick check up done, she looked around at her surroundings, and what she saw left her breathless.

A massive city built on top of a plate, and beneath the plate, a smaller town. She wasn't too far from the settlement, but not close enough to be seen by citizens either, which made her feel safer considering her current form. She could smell salt and smog in the air, and as she turned her head she saw the sea, stretching all the way to the horizon, reflecting the moon's gentle glow.

In that moment, she finally realized two things; it was night time, and it was raining heavily.

Something dark stretched from the city's upper plate towards the sky, horizontally, the moonlight shining and reflecting on its surface. She couldn't make out what she was, so she gave up trying to recognize the shape.

She had no idea where she was, and she was alone.

She felt a rush of anxiety at the realization. The first time she jumped, she had fallen on top of someone who would become her companion during her journey. She didn't have to search out for someone as the situation allowed her to just latch onto their presence and tag along, go on with her life as she followed them.

This time, she wasn't granted that luxury.

With no one to guide her or give her directions, she decided the smartest thing to do would be to enter town and look for a place to stay, but then she considered that she didn't have any money to sleep at an inn or something. Well, that sucked, she thought. With the town being crossed from her thoughts, at least for the time being, her best bet would be to find somewhere hidden and safe to spend the night; she wasn't afraid of the wilderness, and she knew she could take care of herself. What worried her the most was the temperature, a bit chilly for her taste.

She lifted herself from the ground, groaning at the dirt on her fur. She'd have had to clean that later. Her eyes being a bit stronger than a human's, she started wandering towards a rocky formation not too far from the lower town's entrance, hoping to find a cave, and to her own delight she quickly enough found one. The entrance was rather small, but the inside was large and comfortable enough for her to stand, stretch, and even lay down completely. She rushed inside, sighing in relief the moment she stopped feeling the storm's wrath on her fur. Much like a dog, she shook herself to dry her fur as much as possible, but she had to give up quite soon, her body way too drenched to be fully dried in a matter of seconds.

She tried casting a small fire spell, to dry herself a little better and to get some warmth inside, but to her own disappointment not a single flame formed in her palms. She scoffed, frustrated. Magic in this world must have worked differently, she guessed.

Shrugging to herself, she allowed herself to slip down on the ground, sitting as comfortably as she could and lying against the wall behind her back and tugged her knees as close as possible, her tail rolled up to cover her feet and chest. She sighed, trying to relax and stop her slight shivering.

Feeling alone was a new sensation for her, or better, it was an old one that she hoped she'd never feel again. She remembered the years she spent on that island, alone and away from everyone. She had really hoped she'd never find herself alone and forgotten by the world again, but there she was again. She had left her friends, seconding her stupid sensation and jumping into the unknown. Why did she even do that? She hadn't felt that tug at her heart for years, for all she knew she might have been wrong. Her 'instinct' might have been wrong.

Then again, the last time she followed her heart, her presence had been a great help to those she had met.

She always seemed to stumble on those who needed her help anyway.

Maybe that was all she needed to know.

She was too tired for this.

If she could fall asleep, she could have thought about her problems tomorrow.

A gentle sunlight welcomed her into the world, waking her from her light but much needed sleep. She rubbed the sleep away from her eyes and stretched, yawning loudly and widely, giving herself a small scratch under the chin to quiet an itch. She was glad to feel her fur had dried during the night, but she was sure she had caught a flu or something, as she sniffled a few times.

“Great. Just great.” she voiced, annoyed and with voice still raspy from sleep. “Ah well. Should have seen this one coming.”

She walked out of the cave to properly stretch her legs, which she did with a little bit of effort – sleeping with her knees like that really put a strain on her legs, muscles being a little bit cramped from the awkward position. Still, stretching did wonders to both her body and mood, and she soon felt a small smile form on her face. She was ready to tackle the day with newfound energy, and she knew already where to start.

For that, however, she needed a quick change of looks.

Fur disappeared, leaving only bare skin in its place. Her tail also disappeared, skin and bone retracting back into her body as if they were never there in the first place. Bones moved and joints shifted, giving her more human legs and smaller hands. She grew quite a bit as well.

She brushed a hand in her hair, trying to feel its shape. Shorter on the side, longer on top and with a small fringe. She ripped out a few hair to test its colour, and when she saw it was a nice hay-like hue, she was finally satisfied with her change.

It was the same human form she occasionally wore in the other world. If it was convincing back then, it would have been convincing now as well, she figured.

She was almost sure her pupils were half slit, but if she didn't get too close to people, her weirdness would have gone unnoticed.

Probably.

She sighed at her clothes, however. A bit small for her own taste, especially the pants. The sudden growth spurt really did a number on her, and what she felt most irritating was the lack of shoes. She would have had to walk in town barefoot.

Sighing at the situation but nonetheless willing to get a hold of her surroundings, her eyes moved to the town, now much easier to see thanks to the sunlight. The horizontal shape she had seen the night before seemed to be a weapon of sorts, a cannon most likely – the sight of it made her shiver slightly. Was that weapon the sign of a military settlement, or just a statement of power? She decided to shrug it off, no use worrying over it when she had nowhere else to go.

She made her way into town. The first thing that hit her was the smell, the saltiness of the sea giving way to the foul exhalations of smog and dirt. The town itself was small, with a handful of houses gathered around the main street and a smaller side one reaching out towards the rocky, dirty beach. An extremely polluted town that once had been a fishing spot, maybe? There were a few boats resting close to town, but they were in ruin and abandoned, forgotten. If the sea was as polluted as the air, and she could bet on it, it was no wonder that fishing was also abandoned, not a single fish could have survived in such environment.

She shrugged herself out of her thoughts, focusing on her objective. She approached an elder man sitting on a porch, he gave her a curious but suspicious look. He eyed at her, his stare lingering on her bare feet for a moment before it focused on her face.

“Excuse me for the intrusion,” she said, bashful. “but I have no idea where I am, or who I was. Could I ask you the name of this town?”

The elder fixed a pitiful look on her, and she faced elsewhere, embarrassed. She hoped he wouldn't see past her lie. “Sorry about your memory, lass. This here's lower Junon! Once a fisherman's paradise, now a junkyard. We don't have much, but it's home.”

She nodded, clearly feeling the sadness in the man's voice. She could feel sorry for the town too, outsider or not. “Thank you. Is there a place where I could get money? I've got nothing on me.”

“Memory-less and money-less?” he chuckled, waving his laugh away. “Sorry, sorry, that was rude of me. Here, this will at least fix you a meal.”

He handed her a few coins, which she accepted reluctantly. “50 gil should be enough to get you breakfast and lunch at the inn. Ask the innkeeper, she's been looking for help in the kitchen, maybe she'll give you the job.”

Mars nodded, thankful. She gave him a warm smile. “Thank you so much!”

“Take care now, will you? I hope your memory comes back.” he waved her goodbye as she moved away from his place. “And get yourself some shoes!”

Mars looked at the coins, so small yet so shiny in her hands. The money was called guil? Jil? Definitely different from the munny she was used to, but money was still money. She could get used to this different name.

Of course she had no intentions of settling in one place, if her instincts were correct there was a storm brewing on the horizon, and so far her instincts had never been wrong. She knew she'd have to find why her sensation brought her to this world. Maybe gathering intel would be a good start while also stalling for time, surviving day by day.

She could settle for a few days or weeks in Junon, she considered. It wasn't so bad.

Uncaring of where she was walking, she bumped into someone else, scrambling away from her stream of thought and apologizing to the person she had unwillingly touched. The man, she assumed, was taller than her and wearing a blue uniform, and he was carrying what seemed to be a rifle. The helmet sported three red lights on the visor; it looked goofy, but it was most likely efficient despite the looks.

She moved away from him, but another guard walked beside the first one and stopped her. She started feeling uneasiness creeping up on her.

“Miss, we would like you to come with us.” the first guard stated, in a tone of voice that didn't allow any contradictory reply.

“Why is that?” Mars asked, curiosity in her voice.

“Someone among the townsfolk noticed something... off.” the second guard answered, adjusting the rifle on his shoulder. “Mentions of someone's body shifting from a beast to a human. The description they gave fits your appearance.”

She swallowed hard.

“They must be mistaken then.” she chuckled, trying to trick the two by feigning confidence. She hoped shapeshifting wasn't a thing in this dimension. “Who ever heard of monsters changing into people? I sure as hell can't, I can't even remember who I am.”

“We insist.” the first guard pressed on, shutting her off. “You must come with us.”

Her anxiety was rising at an alarming rate. She could feel her breaths drawing in with more difficulty.

The second guard drew closer, staring at her hard before she faced another direction.

“She has the eyes. Take her.”

In the blink of an eye, the guards were on the ground, knocked down by a swift, round movement of her right leg. She went on her knees, recovering for a moment as she tried to steady her breath. She knew how to fight, she had had good teachers if not the best. She just had to clear her mind of worries and doubts, and let her fists do the rest.

She could do this.

The two guards struggled to get back on their feet, one of them reaching out for his rifle. She swiftly kicked it away before grabbing the other rifle and submerging it in dark filaments, breaking it in half. She tossed the pieces on the soldier, who scrambled away from her. The other, adamant about taking her down, charged at her but she side stepped and kicked him on his back, making him lose balance and fall again.

Two more guards arrived, guns ready, aiming at her. She couldn't dodge bullets, but she could shield herself from them.

A black mass formed in front of her as she rushed towards them, effectively blocking the bullets by engulfing and disintegrating them. Both guards were shocked and surprised, which allowed her to get a good hit on them and knock them out quickly.

She could do this.

A warm sensation on the back of her head, spreading quickly and dully, leaving her mind with nothing but noise.

She heard someone mutter “Why must I do all the work all the time?” before her hearing also went out.

Darkness swallowed her, warm, welcoming.

#munwrites #paradox-gaia

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elainemeyer · 7 years

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Visiting the ‘Land of Enchantment’

Some states are very proud of their slogans (Florida’s ”The Sunshine State,” Texas’s “The Lonestar State).” Some states’ slogans make a political statement (D.C.’s “Taxation Without Representation,” New Hampshire’s “Live Free or Die”). Some states seem to have pulled theirs out of a hat (Connecticut’s “Full of Surprises,” North Dakota’s “Legendary”). And then there’s New Mexico, whose slogan is under the radar but clearly intentional. There’s a good chance you didn’t know that New Mexico is the “Land of Enchantment” until you visit, and there’s a good chance you’ll agree with that characterization. I had never heard the slogan before, but once in New Mexico, it was everywhere, from the audio welcome recording on the rental car shuttle to t-shirts and other state merchandise, to of course, license plates.

New Mexico is certainly enchanting, and it is also under the radar, not accustomed to puffing itself up the way some other states do (I won’t name names). And for me, New Mexico has long been near the top of the list of U.S. states I’ve wanted to visit. What has appealed to me its distinctness from other U.S. states, with its unique combination of Mexican, Spanish, and Native American heritage.

On top of that are the artist communities which sounded charming and protected. I imagined them as walkable little downtowns of adobe buildings with woven Native American rugs hanging over window sills.

And then there are is offbeat New Mexico: the off-grid movement, UFO sightings, geodesic domes, and all other signs that people were living and thinking differently than the rest of us. New Mexico’s weirdness has intrigued me in the way that cults intrigue me - in one sense they exist on the edge of society, but they address questions and build societies in response to questions we all ask ourselves. What would it be like to live unencumbered from the need for possession? to be able to live off the land? to not work a typical modern job? if there were a supernatural power? How can so many of us live with these questions and not act on them? And what does it look like to act on them?

I visited New Mexico for the first time in early February, on a ski trip with friends in Taos Ski Valley and a stop in Santa Fe. The photos directly below are of the road and property of the home we stayed at in the Taos Valley area. As you can see, the flatness in front of us gave a clear view of the mountains, specifically, the Sangre de Cristo.

Taos Ski Valley

The ski resort of Taos Ski Valley has a nice vibe to it. It was low-key and not super crowded, though still well-regarded. There seemed to be a lot of locals who come out all the time. In recent years, the resort has been spiffing up a bit, with some new or updated restaurants and bars. We particularly liked the Bavarian Restaurant, which was a basic German menu, with a few different types of wurst. We also liked the Hotel St. Bernard’s restaurant and Rathskeller Bar, which reminded me of a place where Cary Grant would have enjoyed a drink in North by Northwest.

I hadn’t skied in two years, and Taos is known for being steep, but I managed to ski most of the greens and a couple of small stretches of blue with only two falls where I lost a ski (and several other falls where skis stayed attached). By day two I was both high on skiing and, by afternoon, so tired from falling that I realized I was liable to break a limb if I kept going. The altitude, the falls, and the demands I was placing on a body usually accustomed to sitting in front of a desk in ergonomically lacking positions had wiped me out – in a good way. There’s nothing better than feeling tired because you did something, as opposed to because you didn’t do something, which is also a tired I have felt.

Taos

Probably the most interesting thing to see in the town of Taos is the Taos Pueblo, a Native American village built in 1000 to 1450 with houses made of adobe that have stayed in tact (with maintenance) for all of this time, including a multi-storied building that could be called an adobe apartment complex. Right below is a photo looking out the entrance to the church front plaza. The Spanish built the church in the 1660s, though it was opposed by the native people of Taos.

Below is one of the adobe houses. Today many of them have been turned into stores that sell Native American art, jewelry, rugs, and other items. Each home has been handed down from generation to generation since people started living in the pueblos, although many of the Taos people now live offsite, in homes near the Pueblo.

While at the Taos Pueblo, my friend and I started talking with one of the store owners, a man with multiple lives. In the 1970s, he had toured with the Native American Theater Ensemble. When the Ensemble collaborated with the American Shakespeare Theater, he met and started dating Helen Mirren. They lived in the Upper West Side of New York City for several years, until he returned to New Mexico, because he was not a city person at heart. His dad was one of the leaders in the movement that successfully won back nearby Blue Lake land in 1970 through a bill passed by Congress and signed by Richard Nixon. The land had been taken during the Theodore Roosevelt administration and designated as part of the U.S. National Forest Service.

America’s First Wine Region

When you think of American wine, you think of Napa, Sonoma, Oregon, maybe the Finger Lakes and Virginia. What you don’t think of is New Mexico. Yet New Mexico was the first region in the United States where human grew wine, at least according to the pourer who I met at La Chiripada Winery, in Dixon, New Mexico, a slightly run down artist colony. I parked in the lot of La Chiripada Winery next to one other car. I was the only one at La Chiripada during my tasting of several wines that I could choose (In fairness, it was a Monday around 12 PM).

The whites were mostly on the sweeter side, as it turns out Rieslings do very well in New Mexico. The dryer of the whites I drank, the Winemaker’s Select was a combination of Seyval/Vidal Blanc, and smaller amounts of Chardonnay and Viognier. The pourer told me that some their combination varietals, like the Seyval/Vidla Blanc, had grown together on the land in such a way that they were no longer distinct. The reds were very light, especially the Canoncito Red 2015 which was a combination of two grapes: Leon Millot and Baco Noir, which I had never heard of. I ended up purchasing the Canoncito part (full disclosure) it was the cheapest of those I had tasted.

Having learned some new things about the New Mexico terroir, I headed back on the road to Santa Fe, calculating that I hadn’t even had a glass equivalent of wine so would be fine to drive.

Santa Fe

My long-standing image of Santa Fe is consistent with the aforementioned artist colony I described above: a sun-drenched, red dirt expanse with open-air adobe homes where Navajo blankets hang on the window sills and residents sit in their front yards selling goods in shallow, straw baskets. I don’t know where this image came from, but this is not actually what Santa Fe looks or feels like.

The real Santa Fe had a lot of old Spanish mission style architecture, a few unmemorable buildings and multi-story parking lots, and was empty and overcast, at least that day. I quickly questioned what I was doing in Santa Fe, realizing I had no intentions to to buy pottery, art or anything made out of turquoise. I wanted a Navajo rug, but they were upwards of $1,000 and shipping it home would have been its own additional costs.

It seemed like the only people in Santa Fe under 40 were the young people who worked at the stores, such as Collected Works Bookstore & Coffee House. There seemed to be a particular presence of middle aged white men walking around in suits (which I later guessed had to do with town courthouse being nearby) and a handful of tourists.

At Collected Works, I grabbed a couple of books, ordered a pour over of a Mexican blend for less than $4 and I sat down on a leather couch near the fireplace and began to read, periodically nodding off.

I finally gave up on the two more ambitious books I had picked up and grabbed a book called Everybody Rise about a startup and New York City socialites. I stayed awake for the 15 or so pages and decided to purchase the book so I could have something to read for the flight.

The Georgia O’Keefe Museum

From Collected Works, I walked about five minutes to the Georgia O’Keefe Museum, like so many buildings in this region a boxy, mud brown, made I think of stucco.

The museum gave nice overview of O’Keefe’s life story, from Wisconsin to New York City to New Mexico (and around the globe). I learned from a video that O’Keefe felt people misunderstood her as a highly sexual woman after the release of naked artistic photographs taken by her husband Alfred Stieglitz. Around this time, she began going to New Mexico regularly, carving out her own path in the West. Stieglitz died in the mid-1940s, and as O’Keefe got older, she spent more and more time in New Mexico each year, until finally she moved there, starting in one house, and later moving to another and painting the strikingly colored New Mexico scenery for which we now know her.

As I looked at photos of O’Keefe and studied her paintings and sculptures, I marveled at how she managed to feel so at home in the barren expanse of New Mexico that I had driven through that day. All day I had felt a tinge of loneliness, made more palpable by the barren expanse, the space, and the lack of people. Yet O’Keefe took this place right away.

O’Keefe and I were both from the Midwest, which made her affinity for New Mexico even more interesting. Certainly she and I are from different types of communities (hers rural, mine urban and then suburban). I realized in New Mexico how accustomed I am to trees that block my view of the great beyond, and in turn how unsettling emptiness is. I am not the first one to say New Mexico feels like another planet. With its brown boxy homes that seem like they were built as deliberate camouflage to the geodesic domes, to the atomic bomb, to UFO sightings, New Mexico feels not of this Earth, and yet at the same time utterly of America.

Getting there advice

The plane travel was cheap. I took a Jet Blue flight from JFK to Albuquerque for around $215. But what I saved in money, I made up for in sleep loss, since I had to take a redeye that left Albuquerque at 11:59 pm on Monday. My car rental seemed cheap, at $60, but ended up being over $200 once insurance fees were factored in. A piece of advice: ask the car rental place how much your rental will be with fees, and get a credit card that provides this insurance so you don’t have to buy it with your rental. Make sure you know whether that credit card provides that insurance. I may have indeed had such a credit card, but I had forgotten to check.

#new mexico #Taos #Taos Ski Valley #Santa Fe #Georgia O'Keefe #travel

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