forum Siren is writing and YEETing them here

Started February 23, 2024 by @Serenity88 group

tune

ive been suggested to start a writing forum thing. SO ye here we go. when I write ill just…
YEET here ye go

uhhhhh ye this was like the first thing I ever wrote on NB

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The trees muted the sunlight, filtering it to a green glow. Darker green shadows danced with spots of sun across the pine-needled ground. A breeze brushed through the tallest branches, shushing the two travelers who strode comfortably amongst the tall pines and wide maples.

The two travelers might have been a strange sight, had this not been their home. One was a human named Quinn Hunter. He had hair that covered his ears and forehead in its length, and toted a worn pack across his shoulders. A walking stick swung in step with him, guided by his right hand.

His companion was a Clouded Leopard bigger than most horses. His feet padded behind the human's, barely audible on the carpet of moss and pine straw. His eyes were not the usual color of clouded leopards; they were the same bright green of the sunlight through the maple leaves.

"It's nice to be back home," Said the Clouded Leopard in a deep, rough voice. "The other felines at the academy weren't great company. No respect for elder or larger cats whatsoever."

A smile touched Quinn's lips. "Aw come on Yahante, Sashi isn't so bad! You like her, right?"

Yahante huffed. "She thinks rather highly of herself. Not much one to respect elders either, that one." He flicked the tip of his tail.

"Ok, but aren't all felines like that?"

"I wasn't. I knew my place."

"Yeah, and how long ago was that?" He was just teasing Yahante now. "Before Clubs Kingdom was founded?"

"Long enough ago, it seems, for that way of raising kits has been out of style the past decade." Yahante's voice had grown gruffer as the conversation wore on; now it struck a melancholy tone.

"Hey, she was an orphan. No one raised her." He felt the need to defend his silver tabby riding feline he was training. She had been taken in by the academy as a small kit, and was now the equivalent of a teenager. It was true, she was very sassy and thought very much of her own self, but Quinn was hoping to take her on some quests with him and Yahante soon– maybe that would help bring her down a couple notches.

"I know, but she could at least–"

A flicker of movement caught Quinn's eye. In the trees to the right and in front, a figure dashed past the travelers at a speed that humans couldn't achieve in the densely packed tree trunks. He stopped, barely breathing, trying to get a better look and hear footsteps. He held out a hand to stop Yahante.

Yahante inhaled slowly, trying to scent out anything unusual. "What was it," He asked in a quiet, low voice, "How big was it?"

"Not sure," Quinn squinted hard into the trees, scanning for more motion. "It was person-sized, I think. Whatever it is, it's fast."

He thought he heard a tiny feminine giggle, an caught another glimpse of the thing. It looked like a frail, nimble girl, with dark hair. She vanished ahead, toward the town. After another tense moment of standing frozen something clicked in Quinn's head.

"Oh," he exhaled, relaxing, "It was just Mirya."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, she was probably just looking out for us and now she's gonna tell the town we're coming."

A small snort puffed from Yahante's nostrils. "No stealthy entrance? No element of surprise?" He lamented.

Another smile crept upon Quinn's face. "I guess not," he agreed. "Are they planning one some sort of party or celebration?"

"I would think so. After all, you are staying for a whole week before going on your quests."

Unease flickered though his stomach. He hadn't told Yahante about what Jasmine had told him through the mirrors yet, but now seemed like a good time before they reached the town. The news had chased away much of his pleasant dreams of home and adventure the past three days– news of a stranger with a strange companion brought with him in chains. A stranger wearing a long cloak that hid his face from sight, seeming to swallow the light as he walked. His 'companion', who looked like a prisoner to Jasmine, wearing manacles that seemed to be connected to an invisible chain the man used to haul her around. When she was seen away from the man red rings marked where the manacles sat, but the shackles themselves were nowhere to be seen. Both of the strangers looked road-worn and tough. Jasmine said the man spent most of his time at the inn, and any interaction with him showed him to be gruff and borderline rude. The girl though, she was nice and spoke softly. The man scared most of townspeople.

"Hey, before we get there, I need to tell you something."

next scene! Completely out of order… but its one of my fave scenes ive ver written tbh

---

Jasmine just got bitten by the Taks plant.

She gasped, jumping with no coordination away from the edge of the path right into Quinn.

“What, what is it? Jas, you good? What happened?” He stumbled as she slammed into his side. They ended up in a heap on the left side of the road, Jasmine in Quinn’s lap.

“Damn… Plant…” her teeth ground out the words. Her skin, already pale, took on a pallor the color of spoiled milk and sweat slicked her brow.

“The… the Takses? You got bit?” Cayde was by their side now, his hands twitching.

“Quinn, what can I do.” His voice was low, more serious than Quinn had ever heard him.

Jasmine’s breath was coming more and more shallowly now, her muscles loosening. Her eyes drifted off into oblivion. “Quinn… I’ll be okay…” she spoke so faintly, so weakly. Her hands locked onto his arms, her eyes focusing a little. “Don’t— don’t leave…don’t leave me…” then her entire body slackened, her head lolling back onto his shoulder.

“I won’t, Jas, I will never leave-“

“Quinn, what do I do?”

He could barely see. He swiped the tears away, and stood, holding Jasmine like a tiny child in his arms.

“Get all the medicine we have, then we get back to the cabin. It was only a mile or two back, right?”

“Is our medicine gonna be enough?” Cayde paused, elbow-deep in the medicine pack. Quinn thought he had never seen him so serious.

He turned back the way they had come. He was not going to let Jasmine die, not after this narrow enough escape, and not by some shrubbery.

“It better be.”

And he walked.

Back at the cabin

Cayde had gotten a fire stoked up in the grate, filling the cabin with warmth and the smell of smoke. Jasmine lay under a mound of covers, shivering but shining with sweat. Her coat and boots sat by the door, abandoned. Quinn sat by the bed, clutching her hand as she faded in and out of consciousness.

She sat up, a grin on her face. "Quinn!" she cried, laughing. "Why so serious? I'm fine!"

He flinched. Her voice… it sounded fake. Too full of cheer. "Jas… what's the last thing you remember?" He didn't let go of her hand.

A cloud seemed to pass over her face, darkening it and creasing her brow. "The road… The road! Quinn!" she was screaming, shouting out nonsense at the top of her lungs. "The road Quinn! The bird! If your brother could see you now, oh what would he say? Cayde, you little bitch–" her head lolled back into the pillows, muffling her continued murmurs about roads and general nonsense.

Quinn stared at her. Why had she thought of his brother? He assumed she meant Simon, since Cayde was right there and Simon had been gone for years.

"What did I do…?" Cayde's eyes were huge, confused. Next to the fire, one side of his face was lit with yellow light, the other half obscured in shadow.

"What?"

"She called me a bitch…but I haven't done anything. What does she think I did?" His eyebrows were drawn low on his face.

"I don't think she's in her right mind. You saw her! She doesn't act like that." Quinn heard a note of desperation in his voice, and realized he was trying to convince himself just as much as Cayde. "I think we can assume anything she says or does right now is the Taks poison, messing with her."

A giggle rose from the blankets. "Cayde…Quinn…Were are you?" he could barely recognize the voice as Jasmine. A crazy lady from the woods would have this voice, not her. "Come on, don't hide. I won't get you." The blankets shifted and rustled, the lump that marked her body moving around underneath. She seemed to just be burrowing in circles.

Then she burst out, gasping for breath. Hey eyes were wide, as if in terror. But they weren't their normal bright fantasy green– they were milky white. Jasmine cast her head around, seeking something she couldn't find. "Hey!" she shouted, as if into a great distance. "This isn't funny, Hunter!"

Hunter? She hadn't called Quinn by his last name in years. "Jas," He said softly, "I'm right here."

She didn't acknowledge him. "Hunter!" he flinched back at her loud tone. Her eyes still shifted around, looking. "You know I'm blind!"

"What?" Cayde stood up from his crouch by the fireplace. "Since when? You've never been blind, never even needed glasses!"

Jasmine's head whipped around, her mouth forming a snarl. "Little Hunter. I should have known." she rose out of the blankets, standing on the mattress so she towered over Cayde. She looked right at him, or at least where his voice came from. "I should have known," Her features full of disgust, she stepped gracefully off the bed. "Should have known you would steal my sight for yourself."

"What?" Cayde took a step back. "Girl, I don't know what you're–"

"Don't lie." She walked confidently toward him, although her eyes were still sightless. "I know exactly what–" She tripped over the medicine bag, sprawling face first into the floor. Quinn tried to catch her but was too far away to reach her in time. She came up, howling profanities.

"Ooookay crazy-lady-who-looks-like-Jasmine-but-is-not," Quinn held her shoulders and tried to push her back from Cayde. "I think that's enough. Back to the bed, go on."

Jasmine collapsed, her sudden lifeless weight almost making him lose his footing. She began to cry. "Quinn…" She sobbed, "Where did you go?" She looked up at him, and he almost dropped her.

The vibrant green was back in her eyes, but blood was leaking out of them like tears.

She kept weeping, turning away from him. He grabbed her arm but she shook his hand off. Her knees hit the wood floor with a thud, her sobs turning to wails of anguish. Blood pattered on the floor in little crimson droplets. Then the coughing began.

Great, hacking coughs that racked her whole body. Quinn and Cayde tried to pick her up off the cold floor, to put her back on the bed, but she flailed and screamed as if they were tearing her skin off. So they wrapped a blanket around her and tried not to let her hurt herself.

Cayde brought a cup of water over. "Jasmine, you ought to drink some," He lifted it to her lips but she bit the lip of the cup, throwing it across the room with a sharp flick of her jaw. Her head had been nestled on Quinn's chest, so she head butted him in the mouth. He tasted blood.

Thus it went, for hours. Jasmine would be a crying mess one instant, a cackling madwoman the next. She developed a fever and refused any food, water or medicine. She got up once and tried to force to door open but Quinn had made sure it was locked. She screamed and wailed, pounding with her fists and scratching with her nails until Quinn and Cayde managed to drag her back to the bed.

Throughout the day, she cried more blood tears and had another bout of coughing, this time speckling the quilts on the bed with thick, dark blood. She threw up on Cayde then passed out in the vomit that made it to the floor. While Cayde cleaned up himself in the stream outside, Quinn leaned Jasmine's back up against the bed and wiped the sick off her face.

She came too, glancing around until she saw him. "Wha…Quinn…?" Her voice rasped in her throat questioningly. "Where… where am I?"

"Hey, hey Jas," He set the damp cloth he was using to mop her face down in the bowl of water and supported her shoulders. "We're in the cabin. You remember?"

"Wh…" she couldn't form the words, but her eyes asked a dozen questions.

"It's okay." he softly brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. "I'm here, you're safe. It's gonna be okay."

She nodded, but kept staring at him like she was seeing him for the first time.

"What is it?"

"You're.." the words again escaped her grasp. So she settled for reaching up and touching his cheek with light fingers. "Quinn."

A tiny laugh slipped out. "Yup. That's me." his hand drifted up to cover hers.

Jasmine's lips twitched, perhaps into a semblance of a smile. Water gathered in the corners of her eyes. She seemed closest to normal since being bitten.

Quinn stared into her bright green eyes. His favorite eyes. "Hey," He reached his free hand to swipe away the tear that trickled from the corner of her eye. "What is it? Talk to me Jas, what's wrong?"

A shaky breath inflated her chest. She blinked, pushing more tears out onto her cheeks. "I'm… not okay." She barely breathed the words, but they drove little knives into his heart.

"I know, I know." Now his vision was blurring. "But you will be, you hear me? I will make you better, you will get better." He willed the words to be true, for them to not be a lie.

A smile, a real one, curved her mouth as she looked away, chuckling breathily.

"What?" Quinn felt himself smiling too, despite how heavy his heart felt.

Jasmine looked at him, looked into his eyes and whispered, "You're real cute, you know that?"

His face was hot. It was really hot in the cabin. "Why do you say that?"

She tapped him on the nose, and he realized how close they were sitting. He'd never felt shy or awkward much around her but now he thought his skin was surely crawling with ants made of ice. "You're just cute. At least," she blinked slowly, as if falling asleep. "I think so."

"Okay, but why?"

"Deal with it," she slurred drunkenly. Her head wobbled, her coordination failing, her face tilting towards his.

He stared into her eyes. They were so close, he could feel her breath on his face. So close he could see all the tiny designs in her beautiful, perfect eyes and every speck of dried blood from her tears on her cheeks. His hand cupped her chin, keeping her steady.

Footsteps on the little porch. The door sliding open. The feet stopping in their tracks. "Quinn!"

They jerked away from each other as if electrocuted. Quinn adopted a neutral expression automatically, as if he hadn't been caught with his face two inches away from Jasmine's. "Yeah?"

With a squeak, Jasmine promptly fainted, her head bouncing off the mattress and falling to the floor, but Quinn managed to get hold of her head and shoulders before she could hit.

"Look what you did!" He whisper-yelled at Cayde.

"I didn't do anything!"

"Help me get her up here," He swiftly changed the subject.

With Cayde's help he lifted Jasmine up and nestled her back in the blankets. She didn't wake, so Quinn was hopeful she would stay asleep this time and wake up back to herself.

                                                                            ⚔️

this is from my story Tuneless/Anarchy (still like both of those names), the one and only piece ive written for it

---

Florence opened the door to her bedroom, setting her backpack down on the floor next to it without looking. She hadn't taken off her shoes on the porch, because she really didn't want anyone to steal them; her favorite black platform boots with glittery laces. They gave her an extra inch and a half of height so if a tall person took them without reason she would have to kill them. That might make her parents a little upset.

Now those boots thumped softly on the dark blue carpet of her bedroom floor. They stopped at the bed, and suddenly lifted off into the air as she flopped dramatically onto her quilted bedspread with a groan.

I want noodles.

With another groan she slid, liquid-like, back down to the floor, bumping her knees. She rocked onto her heels and rose to her feet in one fluid motion. She slipped out the door, barely opening it wide enough to get by. Her boots thumped louder on the wood floors in the hall, and they thudded loudly on the way down the stairs. Her mother was leaning her backside against the counter in the kitchen, sipping what appeared to be coffee but Florence was sure it was probably spiked with nasty-smelling alcohol.

Susan was in her late thirties, with blonde hair that was starting to look weathered from living in a house with Florence. She had big grey sweatpants on, the drawstring cinched loosely around her hips. Her long hair spilled over in front of her soft pajama shirt. It was only four in the afternoon, but she had already dressed for being lazy after a long day of being a morning news anchor. She hadn't washed her makeup off though, which contrasted with the laid-back look of her outfit.

She looked up from her phone as Florence stepped into the kitchen. "Florence…" she sighed. "Boots. Off. They can hear you in Australia."

Florence rolled her eyes as subtly as she could. "No, the Australians are deaf from your snoring. Is there any noodles left?"

"Are there any noodles left. Take them off before I do it for you."

"So we have noodles?" Florence knew she was pushing buttons, but she wanted her noodles and didn't care if the Australians heard her clumping around. It was her own house, and they were in Australia.

She checked the cabinet above the microwave; there was one packet of ramen sitting next to a box of macaroni elbows. "Aha, my precious." she murmured to herself.

"Was that back talking?" uh-oh, she had her nearing-mad-mom voice on.

"No, I'm glad to see there is ramen." She took a bowl from the dishwasher. It had a dry noodle stuck to the inside. "Ugh, did the dishwasher not get run last night?"

Upon hearing no reply, she stuck the dirty bowl back in the dishwasher and pulled a clean one from the cabinet. Adding water to the bowl took forever, though she only needed like half a cup. "Why do we have no water pressure?" She asked. Her voice sounded whiny even to her own ears.

He mother glanced up from her phone's bright blue screen. Without really looking, she made a noncommittal noise and looked back down.

Florence rolled her eyes again. The microwave hummed loudly; the two vases sitting on top it, currently empty of flowers, rattled and clinked against each other. It beeped rapidly to signal the end of two minutes. She stirred the noodles aggressively, barely keeping the water from sloshing over the sides of the porcelain bowl. Another two minutes later and she was carrying the bowl up to her room, a potholder protecting her fingers from the scorching bottom.

Just as she reached the first stair, her mother said, "Take the boots off Florence. I mean it." But her voice sounded more tired and weary than angry.

"Sure," Florence gave in. Not much point in persisting, and walking in her boots inside was going to make her carpet dirty. "As soon as I can set the bowl down in my room."

Once the bowl of ramen was set safely on her desk, she removed her boots. The laces took a while to loosen all the way down, but she didn't mind. It left more time for the noodles to cool from lava to merely boiling.

Her purple backpack, covered in black sharpie doodles, was aggressively shaken over the bed to disgorge it's contents. A notebook, a drawing book, a bulging pencil bag, a half-empty bottle of Snapple, lots of candy and snack bar wrappers, and a sheaf of homework landed on the blanket in a jumbled heap. The books – one for school, the other for arting – were stacked neatly near the pillows. Florence put the pencil bag on top of them. All the wrappers and other trash were swept into the small trash bin that lived under the desk, next to her stack of canvases leaning against the wall. The homework she didn't bother to uncrumple, just tossing it to her desk. Some of the papers fluttered away, down to the floor, like injured butterflies. The Snapple was dumped into her water bottle with the partially melted ice and small splash of water.

With butterflies on the brain, she threw her bag into the closet and opened the drawing book. Taking a colored pencil from the pencil bag, she sketched out a butterfly; it had heavily stylized wings, with intricate mandala patterns and long flowing tails. Opting out of a background, she began the line art.

Time both slowed and sped by, leaving Florence with her mandala wings and curling antennae. The steam from the bowl of noodles on her desk slowly drifted off, leaving less and less heat behind. But before it could become lukewarm and gross, she pulled herself out of the comfortable position leaning back on her pillows and moved her operation to the desk, where she could enjoy her ramen and continue drawing.

As the butterfly's details sharpened and resolved from little blurry sketch lines into clear defining strokes from a pen, Florence's mind wandered. What if I went and tried to sell my art at school? She'd be arrested for sure by the Guardians. Then Mom would go to prison and I would go to juvie, and we would both never see each other again… She ate a forkful of noodles. They were almost too cold for her liking.

The butterfly was looking quite stunning on its page, graceful and elegant. I think you need some color. But pencils or watercolor? Both. She picked out some Prismacolors and gave the wings' segments stained-glass color– pastels and transparent hues throughout the color spectrum. Glittery shimmers followed the trailing tails of the wing-tips.

Now the ramen was too cold for her liking. Ughghghgh. She set the periwinkle pencil down and arched her back, several vertebrates popping. She lifted the bowl off the paint-smeared desk and slipped out of her room.

Down in the kitchen, Susan was no longer leaning on the counter watching her phone, but was instead in the adjacent living room watching some show with lots of girlish screams and car-tire squealing.

The microwave sounded loud and droning as it re-warmed the room-temperature broth. When the vases on top continued to clink even after Florence readjusted them a few times she had to control an outburst of sudden anger. It caught her off guard; they were just vases, there was no reason to be so mad. She managed to not destroy anything nearby except a hangnail on her pinky, until the microwave beeped the end of one minute. Still using the potholder to carry it, she took the bowl back upstairs.

The butterfly, which had looked so beautiful and well-drawn just a minute before, now looked sloppy and clumsily created. The colors clashed, the lines were shaky, and the glittery trails that had seemed so magical just looked like scribbles of color behind a butterfly drawn by a kindergartner.

Florence hated it. She hated how it looked, how that piece of paper felt, how long it had taken her– so long her delicious ramen had to be reheated.

She stood frozen in front of her desk, staring down at her project. She hadn't even set the bowl down. Now she set it down, slowly, felling struck with revulsion at the drawing.

Then she ripped the page out. She yanked it from the threads that bound it to the spine and crumpled it, then unfolded it and slapped it on the desk. She snatched a paint marker from her pencil bag– a black one. The paint marker spewed ink over the paper like blood from a slit throat. It spread, soaking into the page, dribbling into the creases and folds to blot away the once majestic butterfly from history. She viciously scribbled across it, her teeth bared at the disgrace she had wrought.

In a very short time, the butterfly, which had indeed been graceful and full of magic before, was obliterated.

                                                                       🎨\🦋/🎶 

ohhhh boy this one is good too. some of you may recognize Einar from my Cryptids Chat…well this is what happened right before his introduction.

---

The dining hall was a whole different place.

The tables and benches had been shoved to the walls to make seats and to clear the middle of the room. On the ceiling, the chandelier that usually flashed colors to cue classes starting was now casting bright neon and blacklight all over the vast space. Four small disco balls hung, one in each corner. Fairy lights outlined the edges of the walls. In the corner farthest from the door, a couple of nerdy looking kids had set up two huge speakers, and they appeared to be choosing a song from a laptop glowing on a table next to the speakers.

Leen looked unimpressed by the skating rink-style party, but Einar looked just as surprised as Juniper felt.

"Do they do this every year?" She asked Leen.

"Yeah," she sounded bored. "Sometimes they give it a theme. My sister said for her first year they pulled out roller skates and let everyone have a skating rink instead of a dining hall."

Einar stared at the speakers across the floor. "Those things must be super loud," He murmured, as if to himself. "Look at the size of them! They must be taller than Leen…" Einar glanced sideways at her. "but that's not hard to do."

She gave him a death glare. "Hardy-Har-har, Peanut Gallery."

Some other kids were walking around. A few were at the buffet line checking out the sweets; two were at the nerdy table.

"Hey!" Juniper had a thought. " Think we can request songs?"

Leen nodded. "There's always loud music, and always crummy music cause kids can make requests. I'd bet you a funnel cake that's what those punks over there are doing."

Juniper stared at her friend. "You good?" She asked gently. "You seem mad."

Einar snorted. "Mad? Only always."

"Shut up nerd." Leen was definitely upset about something. She scowled at everything, and didn't examine the food table too closely, which was what really got Juniper's attention. The girl had the biggest appetite of anyone she knew.

"All right then." Juniper decided to let her grouch. "Come on nerd, lets pick a song."

"Would you stop calling me nerd!" But Einar followed her to the table anyway. "I'm not even wearing glasses today," He grumbled.

At the table, a pair of preppy girls and an emo-looking girl were arguing over whether they should ask for Over My Head or Wildest Dreams.

"Hey," Einar greeted the nerds. One had black hair and glasses resting on his beaky nose, and had a Ride the Lighting t-shirt. The other was chubby, with hot-pink dyed hair and lots of piercings. Her eyeliner had huge wings that seemed like overkill to Juniper, who never wore makeup.

"Oh, hiya," The chubby girl answered. "Got a song to request?"

"If that's allowed," Juniper confirmed, "then yeah. We were just checking."

"We can take requests," The Ride the Lightning guy said, "But we won't start the music for another–" He checked his watch "–ten or fifteen minutes. After that, all the kids will be clamoring for their song to be played."

"That's cool," Einar assured him. "You got Crazy Train?"

"Crazy Train? Aw hell yeah!" Dude DJ gave him a high-five. "I'll play that one first."

Einar slapped his palm enthusiastically. "Yah mon, you're cool."

Dude DJ looked to Juniper. "Got a song you want?" He asked through a grin.

She thought for a moment. "Scars to Your Beautiful?" She suggested.

Pink Hair nodded, agreeing with that choice. "That'll be the second to play," Dude DJ told her.

She and Einar thanked the nerds and looked around for Leen. She was filling up a paper plate at the buffet table; lots of meat and chocolate, it looked like. Weirdo, who eats meat and chocolate on the same plate? Leen, apparently.

"Oi!" Einar called to her. "Bone apple teeth, ey? That's some collection of fine cuisine you got there."

She gave a Look of Death. "SHut, nerd."

He tossed his hands up in the air. "Lady, I'm not even- wait is that a karaoke thing?"

Across the room from the door, in the opposite corner from the big speakers, was a small stage set up from about ten or fifteen tables of the non-folding variety pushed together to make a platform. The outer edge was made up of picnic tables, so there was a step up onto the stage. Or seating, if you were okay with being in kicking range of a jamming out metal fan. Standing in the center of the makeshift stage was a microphone stand, a wire trailing down and back to a large sound bar. Another kid whose face was lit blue by a computer screen typed furiously. Juniper wondered if he was doing something related to karaoke or just messing around online. Maybe he was texting someone.

" 'Scuse me, fella," Einar called conversationally, "This wouldn't happen to be a setup for karaokeing, would it?"

"Aye, that it is." for some reason the other guy had silently agreed to talk like they were in the 1800's or something. "Why, you got a song to sing? A melody to… melodize?"

"Perhaps…" Einar said mysteriously. "Or perhaps my friends here like to vocalize in harmony."

"That so?" he peered over his laptop, the blue of the screen casting shadows across his face, lighting his features so it was difficult to tell exactly how they were actually shaped. A hoodie with the hood pulled up added to the effect, like some sort of grim karaoke master.

Einar nodded. "At what time this evening does the karaoke begin?"

The grim karaoke master checked the time inn his laptop. "A fair stretch of time after the other music starts, so other singers will be–" He seems to check himself, like he almost said something that would be kinda funny, kinda not. "–um, loosened up from sugar consumption."

Leen bit into a chocolate bar with a loud crunch. It seemed a rather pointed gesture.

                                                                       🍫

Later, about two hours after the official start of the party thing…

Some of Einar's guy friends took him off to find something they wanted to do. Juniper didn't mind; Leen was only getting surlier and surlier, and didn't need to aim all of that at their only other good friend. However, she did spot him in a corner with two other guys, drinking from a flask. Oh no… was Einar drinking drinking, or was that just something a friend had brought that definitely wasn't alcoholic?

"Be right back," she told Leen.

She looked up from her bowl of ramen. "Mm, where you going?"

"Gonna find our nerd before he gets in trouble." The fear and nerves clearly had shown through her voice, because Leen stood.

"What's he doing?" Her voice had lost its deadness and picked up a quiet charged energy. "Where is he?"

"Hey, you don't need to come," Juniper stood in her way so she wouldn't see Einar and lose her head. "All this… whatever it is with you tonight, we don't need that. So eat your noodles and chill!" She realized her voice sounded pretty harsh, but Leen could be stubborn as all-get-out.

"Okay, but–" Her protests were drowned by a voice from the loudspeakers.

"Oi-oi-oi, guess what kids?!" The voice was that of the Dude DJ who had played Einar's song and it was loud. "Its time… for karaoke!!" A loud noise answered him from the kids, varying from 'yay' sounds to 'aw come on' sounds. About half the population of the room moved to clamor for the karaoke master to acknowledge them, while the other half stood at a distance to watch. The first one to get admitted on stage was a wiry little boy with dark hair who spoke a little funny. He requested a Michael Jackson song and did all the dance moves that accompanied it.

Meanwhile Juniper was shoving her way through the masses of people toward the corner she had last seen {name} in. She used her elbows and shoulders to push them out of the way, earning several exclamations of surprise, anger, and many 'hey watch it!'s. By the time she reached the spot, the thin kid had finished his Michael Jackson song and the karaoke master was searching for another singer/dancer. But she barely noticed this because the corner was empty of {name} and his two friends.

"Yup, come on up Ozzie Osbourne! Are you gonna do Crazy Train for us?" The voice of the Karaoke master reached her ears. what? Ozzy Osbourne…? Crazy Train… Einar! Her head whipped around. Suer enough, climbing the bench-steps to the stage, was the dark-haired figure of her wayward nerd. He wobbled on his feet and nearly tripped over the edge of the stage. Oh NO! He definitely didn't look sober.

Einar giggled when the karaoke master asked him what song he wanted. He gave him a sideways look that suggested he noticed how tipsy he was acting and wasn't sure what to do.

"What about Everglow? Starset? Aye? Yeah, do that one." He giggled again.

Juniper wasn't sure what to do any more than the karaoke master. She could let him go through with this, and let him make a fool of himself so hopefully he would learn something from it; or she could jump up there and stop him. If she tried to stop him, both of them could be made fools, or he could think some drunken thing like he was being arrested and try to escape, then fall off the stage and crack his head open on the hard wood floors. But not stopping him might end with him actually being in trouble for drinking or whatever it was he was doing and she didn't want him in trouble… or did she? He could just get humiliated.

The start of Everglow began to thrum from the speakers. Leen appeared by Juniper's side. "What is he doing?!" She yelled. "He is always too chicken to sing in front of people. Why now? What's wrong with him? Is this what you meant by trouble?"

Juniper was busy watching Einar and didn't respond. He swayed unsteadily until the first verse, then he leaned all his weight on the mic stand. "You come in… Waves… Til you're all I know. Then you fade a…way"

A hush settled over the assembled kids. His singing voice–which Juniper and Leen, his best friends, had never heard– was amazing. It swooped and danced through the air, painting out the colors of the song so the crowd could almost see it. Einar clearly got lost in the song– he swayed on his feet, his eyes closed, one hand gesturing and floating with the melody. "Everglow…! You'll never know the beauty I see when you open your shadows. Everglow…! They'll never know the worlds that I see in the darkness you don't show…"

His eyes opened, locking onto Leen and Juniper. One of his eyelids blinked down; Juniper couldn't tell if it was a wink or muscle spasm.

As the song continued, the drunken unsteadiness seemed to drain out of him. He stood straighter, but still relaxed. His eyes closed again, swaying side to side with the music, one hand floating up and down with pitch like a conductor's directions. The voice that came out of Einar didn't match his regular voice; it flowed around, painting a picture with color and emotion that Juniper could feel resonating within her bones.

The overhead fairy lights dimmed and brightened as the melody swelled and dropped. The shadows on all walls flickered and danced. Behind Einar, his shadow lengthened and seemed to grow wings, spreading out, flexing. Great, feathery wings that reached almost wall-to-wall and that began to look less like a trick of the light and more of a real shadow, cast from a wingless person.

https://www.notebook.ai/documents/236936

soooo um yea I just kinda scribbled this out I could totally do some editing and correcting but Id be lying if I said I cared a whole lot at the moment. Amelya, from House of Cards (my biggest WIP) just saw her older brother get the dead and she goes berserk YAYYY
TRIGGER WARNINGS!! GORE, VIOLENCE, SWEARING, SOMEBODY DIES…ye

---

Thaddeus's eyes widened. In slow motion, Amelya watched as the red stain washed over him, stealing away the life that had been there, leaving only coldness in its place. His form hit the ground, so limp and soft. The foliage leaned toward him, taking her bother in their caress.

Her eyes, burning of tears and too many feelings to name, turned to the man standing in the space Thaddeus had fallen from. Amelya saw him, but didn't see a man; there was only a killer, a twisted monster who sought to take her home from her.

Everything was slowed to the point of being fast-forwarded. She crossed her wrists, pulling her daggers out from her flesh. Dimly, she heard Quinn calling her name, calling her brothers name. Too late, Hunter…he cant hear you now. A twisted semblance of a smile, contorted to a savage snarl with the storm boiling in her chest, split her bloodied lips.

"Whoopsies. That was my brother." The nameless storm in her chest burned up to her head… just heat and clouds of shadow struck through with lightning ready to kill. Her usual dark humor was a whole new shade of dark. "Bad move, buddy." The grin widened, releasing a rising cackle that showed her why insane people were sometimes referred to as mad.

She had raced forward without thought, now she was behind the killer as he sprinted away. Everything burning her from the inside out was merely fuel, pushing her on, faster and faster… she was in reach now, one good leap and she could tackle him – but he planted his feet, shouldering her back. he whirled, that knife flashing at her ribs, the lifeblood from it's last kill still glistening on the narrow blade. Amelya dove at his wrist, clamping her teeth through his sleeve, bursting veins and tearing tendons as sweet copper flooded her mouth.

the killer's screams barely reached her ears.

A blow from the side knocked the flesh from her mouth, blood spraying from both the wrist and her soaked tongue. with a Feral scream she rolled out of the way, a sharp kick sending her flying off balance. Amelya whirled to her feet, ducking another punch and quarterback-tackling him to the cold ground. Shrieking uncontrollably, she rained strikes on his face as fast and hard as her adrenaline and grief-fueled muscles would allow – very, very fast and hard. The man squirmed and thrashed, his attempts to dislodge her entirely futile in the face of her fury.

Amelya took one of her daggers and plunged it between his ribs, right below his heart. She felt his ribcage contract as he screamed into the unforgiving air. That cruel grimace still frozen on her bloody face, she screamed with him; a scream of fury and hate and laughter at how helpless he was now.

She twisted the knife in the space, driving the ribs apart. More sticky red flowed onto her skin, a hot bath of vengeance; she loved the feeling.

With a final desperate flail, the assassin kicked her off his torso, sending her flying back into the stunted trees lining the road. Her head smacked into a more sturdy trunk, the branches tangling mercilessly in her hair. The killer stood, pressing a hand to the gaping gash in his side. He staggered, falling to one knee with a muffled cry. The next instant he had whipped a small knife and it was flying toward her chest. With a scream, she wrenched herself free from the grasping branches that clung to her hair and clothes, falling to all fours in the dewy undergrowth. An impact blossomed pain in her side. She was on her shoulder now, looking up through bloody lashes at the face that leered down at her.

"Fuck off," she groaned. "I don't have time to get killed by a backstabbing coward such as yourself."

He laughed, sound so pleasant she wanted to surgically remove it with rusty spurs and no anesthesia. "Oh? A coward?" He crouched, his mud-green eyes burning into hers. "The only coward here is the little girl who ran from her father, from her life of prestige and glory in the Hearts capital." The snarl carved into his mouth matched the one on Amelya's.

She flinched away. "I'll have you know that I was pushed away, told to get lost." Now she leaned closer, hoping he could smell the blood on her breath. "Now fuck off like a regular old coward before I kick your ass again." To the assassin it hopefully appeared that she was clutching at her stomach, but her crossing her wrists again, preparing for another fight. But he just laughed some more.

"Riiiiight, you will kick my ass. But," He stood, rolling his neck. "I dont see you on your feet and ready, little girl. So I think I'll finish my job here; what kind of professional assassin would I be if I left a target alive, hmm?"

this one is from several weeks ago, but I added a little to the end and decided to post it here. its not very good, but hey what the hell why not.
um there is some pain in the end, but not much. idk if thats a trigger or what but now you're warned

---

Her head felt like cotton soaked in dirty water. But…

The thought wouldn't form. They wouldn't get in line, she couldn't control them, couldn't figure out why. After several more minutes, seconds, hours, she opened her eyes.

The ceiling was flat, tiled, and light gray in color. A can light in each corner provided the light– a harsh light, dialed down to about 40% brightness.

But how did she know what 40% brightness looked like? How did she know that the lights were actually harsh and sharp when not dimmed?

A feeling, like resignation or dread or deja vu or all three came over her. The feeling said, 'no, not again…not again…' Again? She had no reason to feel like this had happened before. It hadn't. Nothing had happened.

Now her head felt like a gaping, aching void barely contained by her skull. Where was all the thoughts? No, the memories?

Where are you?

the void in her head didn't answer, only throbbed with her heartbeat.

She groaned, lungs feeling sore. Tried to clutch at her head, but her arms didn't respond as they should have.

Her head had some limited mobility; she could lift her chin a little, and tuck it to her chest. It moved stiffly, as if rusted, when she tried to turn it sideways, but complied.

She was in a small room, perfectly square. Two doors stood at either side of the room; one had a small rectangular window at eye height, the other had no window. the bed was lined up on a wall, the headboard on the same wall as the windowless door. At the foot of the bed rested a wooden chest, the lid only just visible from her prone position on the bed. Across the room, a cart with a small TV or monitor sat next to a full length mirror parallel with her head; her reflection stared back at her from the shiny surface.

She had dark skin; not black like African, more like hispanic. Wide-set green-blue eyes set over broad cheeks and a plump, scowling mouth. Her eyebrows lowered, then lifted as if in surprise. She didn't feel any of it, could barely move her eyes. She stared at the face in the mirror. It must have been her own face, but it didnt look familiar. she couldn't place the features in her memory, the were completely new to her…or were they? The dread in the pit of her stomach writhed at the sight of the mirror, telling her that something was wrong.

If she had no knowledge, how did she know how the mirror worked? Why didn't she think it was a stranger looking at her, how did she know it was her own face in that pane of glass, gazing back into her own eyes with mounting horror?

Her breath came in gasps, chest heaving. Stop that. Panic wont get you anywhere. Automatically, she slowed her breaths down to controlled five-second intervals of inhaling and exhaling. Where had that habit come from? It was second nature, but why?

As her breathing calmed down, the questions kept swirling. But when the answer felt close, it flinched away, leaving a metallic taste in her mouth. No, not metallic… chemical.

The lights in the ceiling flashed brighter than they should be able to, blinding her, cutting into her skull. Why were the lights so bright? Why did they hurt so much? In an instant, it went from painfully luminous to excruciatingly searing sound. She clenched her jaw, trying to contain it, but a scream ripped her throat. Her spine thrashed, as if trying to escape the agony tearing at her skin, but she was barely aware of it.

here's one piece from my new idea, a steampunk-ish world. this scene is just pure fluff and I honestly love it. its still in progress, just fyi
_{guys I think im a fluff writer 😱}

---

"Come onnnnnn." Kee grabbed her hand, animatedly hauling her along. "The show's starting soon! Let's go."

Maya laughed at his antics. "Calm down, the stars are just barely out! It's not even really dark yet."

He did not calm down, tugging even more insistently at her hand. His feet skidded on the dewy grass. "Aw c'mon, you know it's never truly dark around here." he gestured at the city skyline behind them, casting a glow into the darkening evening sky.

Maya let him drag her across the sparse grass, not speeding up at all despite his insisting. At last they breached the little hill, with it's picturesque tree perched at the peak. But there wasn't normally a tattered quilt laid out underneath it.

"What's this?" She smiled at him, already flopping down and arranging the mismatched pillows set on the quilt. "A whole blanket? And – wait isn't that the one from your bed?"

"Ya!" he patted the spot next to him. "It's not as dirty as it looks, promise."

"Oh good, I was worried for a sec about dirtying up my nice clean… outfit." They both laughed; Maya was in oil stained leather pants and burn-riddled gray knit long sleeve shirt, and it was all filthy with grime and soot.

She snuggled into the crook of his arm, curling against his side. "So I guess we'll see if this thing lives up to all your talk, aye?"

"Oh it will," he looked at her with that expression so full of affection it hurt her heart sometimes. "You'll see."

As if on cue, the first burst of color lit up the sky. A streak upwards, then an explosion of blue and green with an echoing boom and crackle. Maya shouted with surprise, then laughter. More and more fireworks flew, and burst, and showered the night sky with neon rain. She wouldn't admit it, but it was everything Kee had promised and more.

Eventually she was falling asleep against his chest, even as the last fireworks burned out. She knew he would let her stay there all night if she asked, but the thought of her bed kept her just awake enough.

Maya inhaled, lifting herself out of Kee's embrace. "We probably ought to get back home, yeah? To our respective real beds?" Sitting up, she turned to look at him when he didn't respond. He was asleep, leaning on the tree and most of the pillows. "Hey," she prodded him.

Kee stirred, his tawny hair all mussed. "Eh?" He blinked blearily at her. "Ehhhh, you were warm, come back…" He tried to pull her back down.

"No, we need to get back." Maya pulled on his arms but was entirely unsuccessful in getting him up. "Isn't your actual bed better than a blanket on the ground?"

"Not when I got a Maya with me…" He murmured, settling back again.

"Kee." Her voice sharpened. "Kee, get up." she kicked at his legs, mostly mussing up the blanket on the ground.

"Hey," Kee finally sat up, hair a mess, eyes bleary. He flattened his lips into a thin line. "You really want to get back?" Those gray eyes cast about, their sleepiness not lessening their appeal in the slightest; quite the opposite.

"Yeah," Maya said softly. "You really want to stay here all night?" she gestured, encompassing the scrubby grass, city skyline, and windswept tree in a sweep of her arm. "It's gonna get cold soon anyway."

His eyes followed her every motion, and she got the feeling he was memorizing her. "Yeah, I guess we should get back." he finally sighed, sitting up. She took his hand and lead him away from the hilltop.

He hesitated, pulling her to a stop. "What about the stuff?" He pointed to the quilt and four pillows still laying on the ground. "It's kinda supposed to be on my bed right now." A grin curved his mouth, sending a thrill through Maya. "Kinda like some very pretty girl I could think of."

Despite the heat in her face, she grinned and rolled her eyes. "We can get your stuff in the morning." The night was rapidly cooling off, chilly dew settling on her skin. She wanted to be back in the hotel, wrapped in blankets, preferably with Kee. He pouted at her, knowing exactly what her was saying.

"But where am I gonna sleep if most of my bedding is out here? Also, somebody might steal my blanket."

Maya tilted her chin up at him. He was taller than her anyway, but now he was standing uphill, giving him even more height. She fixed him with a sultry glare and pulled him toward her. His wrist was warm under her fingers. "You'll stay with me, dumbass." her voice came out much lower than she'd meant it to, but his eyes darkened as she'd intended.

Kee shrugged, his feigned indifference belied by his tone. "If you insist." He leaned close enough that she could feel his breath lightly brushing her face.

The corner of her mouth twitched, then she whisked away, spinning around to run down the hill. She didn't get far though. Hands grasped her waist, pulling sharply backward. She fell, landing abruptly on a warm body. Their laughter rang out, bouncing off the derelict buildings and echoing beck at them. Kee wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling his face into her neck. "Kee, stop!" she squirmed, laughing harder. "Stop it, that tickles! Stop stop!" her words dissolved into giggles.

"Oh it tickles?" he grabbed at her sides, tickling her on purpose now.

"Hey, hey hey, hey," she gasped for breath, still laughing. "Kee hey, stop." Her face hurt from smiling, her stomach muscles aching from laughter and squirming.

"Now why would I do that?" he asked conversationally. But he paused in his tickling to hear her out. "I need a real good reason."

Maya took a breath before making a ponderous noise. "Hmmmmm… 'cause I gotta pee." She turned her head, grinning at him sweetly.

Horror dawned on his face. Kee pushed her away playfully, scrambling up. "Geez woman, don't gotta threaten me like that!" His face glowed with his beautiful smile. He reached down a hand to help her to her feet. By silent agreement, they turned back toward home, hand in hand.

They walked back down the hill and through the hole in the chain link fence, down into the drainage ditch, ducked low through the drainpipe, and wove through the littered back alleys of the city. They skirted heaps of trash and clambered over piles of rubble from mildly collapsed structures. The route was familiar to both of them, as well-known as each other's faces. By the time they reached the hotel, dark had truly fallen. The only illumination came from the few remaining intact street lamps, their guttering yellow glow casting long shadows, and the handful of lit windows in the hotel. The once red bricks, now faded and blanketed in dust, grime and graffiti, looked black in the night. The back door was nearly invisible, the spray paint art blending it in with the surrounding walls.

Kee turned the knob and threw his shoulder into the door. It didnt budge. He sighed. "This freakin' door…" he muttered, trying again. This time the metal-plated wooden door inched inward with a scrape and a squeal of rusted hinges.

"There ya go!" Maya encouraged. One more shove and the door flew open, shedding dust and shrieking loud enough to wake the dead – and whoever was sleeping inside the hotel. Footsteps and voices could be distantly heard, in upper floors of the abandoned hotel. Kee and Maya exchanged a wide-eyed glance. "Whoopsies." Kee didn't sound sorry in the slightest. He took her hand again and led the way through the entryway and up a little flight of stairs.

The lobby was just a big hole in the front of building. The doors, big windows that used to invite morning sun, and cheerily painted walls had long ago been blown out by some great explosion in the years following the Spill. That entire side of the lobby was gone, open to the wind, bricks crumbling to the ground from the tattered edges of the hole. The floor had once been gray and blue tile, but now was cracked and covered in rubble, dust and trash. Bare concrete was visible underneath the worst of the damage, like muscle under revealed under torn skin. They slipped unnoticed through the wreckage, turning to climb the grand curved staircase. The mildewy carpeting softened the sound of their ascent. It seemed that those who'd been wakened by the back door's noise had dismissed it and gone back to bed. All was silent in the long stretches of hallway, only occasional murmurs from behind doors or makeshift doors: sheets tacked up in the doorframe, the original door, it's hinges broken, leaned in the space it used to occupy.

Three turns and one more staircase later, Kee stopped at a grey door with the number 42 painted on it in patchy, fading black paint. He opened the door with a flourish, bowing to Maya and gesturing for her to enter. "Your suite, madam." He grinned as she rolled her eyes at his theatrics. She stepped past him and swatted the yellowed light switch, filling the room with dull yellowish light from the old bulbs. There had once been a ceiling fan, but now there were two naked bulbs on bare wires, though only one bulb worked consistently; sometimes the second would flicker to life for a few hours. The room was small, with peeling blue paint and only one window. The window faced east, and when morning rose the murky sunlight would filter in through a curtain improvised from a threadbare blue plaid couch blanket that didn't span the entire width of the window or reach the sill. Maya's bed was shoved in the corner so it was positioned under the window. Kee flopped on the bed without invitation now, displacing the neatly made blankets. Maya paused to tap the second light bulb: sometimes if she messed with it, it would work for a while.

"Mayyyyyyyy," Kee whined. When she looked down at him, he was sprawled on his back, one hand behind his head, the other stretched imploringly toward her. One of his long legs hung off the bed. Those grey eyes gazed into hers, so wide and full of trust and love. Kee's straw-colored hair splayed over her pillow, the light seeming to catch in it as the second light bulb suddenly lit up. The unexpected light caught Maya's eye for a second, but she felt Kee's eyes never leave her. The look in his eyes stole her words for a moment.

"Aw c'mon Kee, can't you take your shoes off? No shoes on my bed." She covered her lapse in intelligent brain activity with exasperation. She heard his shoes fly off and hit the opposite wall, as her back was turned so she could deposit her own boots by the door.

"Aight, c'mere," He reached both arms to her, like a little kid wanting to be picked up. Kee gave her his best puppy eyes, pouting ferociously, his bottom lip stuck out as far as it could go. With a grumble Maya gave in, flopping all her weight on him. He made only a little noise of protest at the impact, wrapping his arms tightly around her. He smelled of soot and the outside air and crushed grass. She curled into him, savoring his warmth and familiarity, the steady beat of his heart. She hummed quietly as he stroked her hair.

---

TO BE CONTINUED!! im having a lot of fun with this one 🥰 what do you think??? is it crap or a masterpiece? 😎

this piece is earlier in the timeline, but in the same story as the last piece I posted. this is Maya's first day here. im going to get around to writing the actual intro I wrote on paper at some point, but heres this. whipped it up in like three hours

---

“Yeah, it’s definitely gonna rain later.” Kee said, twisting to look at the sky out the window. Maya didn’t know how he could be so certain. It was always overcast, and the windowpane was so crusted over, the edges were completely opaque.

“What’s the rain like outside?” He asked suddenly.

“Outside?” Maya repeated.

“In the city, outside the Spills.” Kee elaborated. “It’s a little different in here.”

“How different could it be?” And how long had it been since he’d seen rain?

“Well, for starters, the rain in the Spills is acidic,” his mouth quirked at her disbelieving gasp. “And when it stops, it rises back up again pretty soon as fog that’ll make you cough up blood if you breathe it in,”. Kee smiled like he’d just told her a sweet little urban legend.

She realized she was gaping a little. “I — really?” Was all she could manage. The idea that rain could make you cough blood just from breathing the damp air after a shower made her feel sick, or as if she was stuck in a bad joke she couldn’t tell the pranksters off for yet.

"Yeah," He nodded along, like that would make it better. "Stings a little, but it's not like it'll melt your skin off your bones."

I should have stayed at the orphan house, she thought for a moment before chasing the thought away. At least here it was the weather out to get her, not humans with rot for hearts. Here, the humans were nice and seemed to only want to help her. But at the orphan house she had known how it all worked and how to survive.

"How can you tell it's gonna rain?" she asked. The clouds outside looked no different from the overcast skies constantly hovering over the Spills.

Kee laughed. "How can you not?" With a grunt, he forced the stiff window open. White paint shed in flakes onto his hands. With his hands braced on the sill he leaned out, inhaling deeply. "The air is charged different. Like when you put the key in the ignition of a motorcar, but don't turn it all the way, y'know?"

Maya nodded to his back. She understood the metaphor, but still couldn't detect the change in the air. It was still thick and hot, choking with soot and that old-house smell, barely moving through the open window.

Kee turned back to her. He curled one side of his mouth in a tiny secretive smile. "Ah, well. You're a city girl. Couldn't expect you to get it, could I?"

She almost flinched. "What's that supposed to mean?" she snapped accusingly. "You're still in the city too."

"Yeah, but this city is dead." he lifted his arms, gesturing all around them. "It's a corpse city, it's a whole 'nother animal. You're used to the city proper, where they tell you when its gonna rain and when its gonna sun and what to do all the time and –" he stopped abruptly. "Nevermind." His lips pressed in a tight line, holding the flood of words back. "Just pick a room, aight? Tater usually sets out dinner-foods around six."

He stalked out, all closed off and hard edges. Maya hadn't seen him act like that before, and it unsettled her. Why had he been so light and friendly up until this point? What was he stopping himself from saying? And why was it so bad to be a city girl?

As the tattered bedsheet whisked back behind him in the doorframe, one more question came to mind: How was she going to tell when it was six? Her stomach gurgled at her, pressing the point. She hadn't seen a functioning clock anywhere in the hotel on her way up here, not that she remembered at least. And with the cloud cover, she couldn't use the position of the sun to try to guess. For a moment she considered calling Kee back to ask him, but now she had a feeling that he might not want to see her around. The way he'd said city girl… like it was an insult.

With a fortifying breath, she decided to ignore him and his confusing behavior, and just find a room to stay the night in. He was just some kid in the Spills, it wasn't like he was her lifelong friend. And while the clouds did cover the sun, the light was gradually dimming as the hidden sun slipped down to the horizon. She needed to find a room and some food.

Maya stood there, staring out the still-open window, for a few endless seconds more before making her way down the musty hall. The floral wallpaper was peeling off in great strips. The patterned carpet was so full of filth, the designs were obscured to a mottled brownish-reddish color. It was so dim she had to walk with one hand on the wall, until she reached the next room with enough light coming through the window to see. One room had several metal bed frames piled against the walls, only a tiny area of floor space left to stand by the door. The next had no glass in its window. The next three had no outer wall. It was all jagged spikes of wood and metal and loose veins of wiring, one such wire still sparking weakly. She kept moving, peeking into empty doorframes and past curtains and around detached doors leaning in their old places. Most rooms had no bed, some had no window. Many were gutted; the walls bare of wallpaper, the wood panels underneath pulled out, then the studs under that cut away.

Eventually, Maya reached the top floor. Her mind had wandered away from finding a place to sleep, more content to just explore. She pushed at a thin metal door pocked with little ragged holes. It scraped over wooden planks, resisting her efforts to open it. Finally, she got the gap wide enough to just barely squeeze through. The worn wooden planks under her feet groaned softly. A flat roof with deteriorated plastic deck chairs and a stone-ringed fire pit was not was she had been expecting. The floor had once been stained and polished to a rich dark brown, she imagined. Fancy ladies and dashing gents had once partied and stargazed and enjoyed light cocktails up here under the setting sun, leaned on the metal rail to look down at the traffic on the street below, or just come up to get away from the hotel room.

Maya kicked something that clattered – an ashtray, decorated with curling vines almost completely covered by grime and ash. Or they just came up here for a good 'ol cigarette, she added. Her mother had never smoked, but she remembered her father puffing on a fat cigar occasionally in the last few months she would ever see him. The thought sent a hundred more spiraling through her mind – her father, kneading his brow in stress over the bills; her father laughing at something her mother said; her father, beckoning her over the help him with maintenance on his skyship; the other orphans, jeering at her for having formerly rich parents; her mother, collapsing on the floor, racking with sobs, clutching the letter with the news of her husband's death to her chest; the orphan house mistress, giving her extra scorn for asking for a new skirt after the boys burned her old one…

Her breath caught. Her eyes blurred. Maya ran to the edge of the rooftop deck. The metal rail bruised her ribs. With a screaming, sobbing cry she hurled the ashtray as hard as she could into the inky twilight. She heard a faint bang as it struck something, maybe a dumpster, a second and a half later. She hunched over the rail, choking on tears. She couldn't stop, and she didn't know why. Maya couldn't even explain why she was crying if anyone had asked.

"Why are you crying?" a gentle voice asked from behind her. Startled, she whirled around. A boy with a dirty apron and a kind, roundish face fidgeted with his hands. Dirt smudged most of his entire self, streaking across his brow and cheeks, smearing his clothes and caking his boots. Gardening tools poked out of the pockets of his tattered apron.

"…What?" She sniffled and wiped her eyes. How embarrassing, to be caught crying by a stranger, but one who probably knew who she was. Yup, the city girl's blubbering.

"Um, are you okay?" the boy asked. His voice was soft and somewhat nervous, like he was just as embarrassed as she was. "I heard somebody walk up here, 'n' figured it was just Beni, 'n' nobody came to me, 'n' then I heard a – a scream 'n'…" he trailed off, flushing and fidgeting even harder with the edge of his apron.

"I'm fine," Maya told him. The wobble in her voice wasn't very convincing though. She inhaled sharply to clear her head and tried again. "I'm fine."

Her voice must have sounded harsher than intended because the boy leaned back, not quite stepping away. He held up his hands but subtly, just lifting his fingers toward her from their close position. "Aight, aight." He seemed to consider. "D'you want some basil?"

"What?" she really needed to stop saying that. "Basil?"

He shrugged shyly. "I'm told its good for feelin' sick, but then I guess you're not exactly throwing up…" He trailed off again. "Or I can.. go, leave ya to your… self?" He was so awkward, but his bashful kindness made Maya feel better.

"No, um, I'm good." A few more awkward seconds passed. "What's… basil?" she hadn't heard of it before. Was it a drink?

"What's basil?" he repeated incredulously. His eyes were wide in his dirty face. "What's basil? Only one of the best herbs out there!" His shy awkwardness seemed to drain away. "Here, come try some!" He beckoned at her to follow as he turned and walked back behind the stair house. Maya followed him up a short rope ladder to the top of the stair house. It was much, much bigger than she had thought, and every inch was covered in greenery. Squared logs of wood lined the edges, keeping the soil on the roof. Neat rows and squares of plants she couldn't recognize filled up all the space they could. The only herb she could confidently recognize was a small bunch of mint with drooping leaves in one corner.

The boy strode delicately but confidently to one side of the garden. Squatting, careful not to squash any of the plants on all sides, he plucked a few large, smooth leaves from one of the bigger herbs. When he had stepped his way back over the plants, he handed her one of the leaves. "Try it," He encouraged, placing a leaf on his own tongue.

Maya hesitantly put it in her mouth. At first all the tasted was dust. But when she chewed the soft leaf, it seemed to explode with intense flavor. It burned her senses and scrunched her face up. The boy laughed at her expression. She spat the leaf out after only a few more seconds of giving herself a chance to adjust. "That's basil?" she asked. "It's so…" her nose crinkled more.

"You don't like it?" The boy looked sorry or sad, like he thought he did something wrong on accident.

"No! No, it's very, um, strong." Maya didn't like basil at all, but couldn't bear the look on his face. "I've never tried anything like that." She tried to downplay her reaction.

He brightened, smiling at her knowingly. "You should try oregano. That one's spicy, but not like peppers." He had a very nice smile. It went all the way up to his eyes, causing little lines in the filth on his face. Maya decided he probably wasn't so bad.

"What's your name?" she asked, only now realizing he hadn't said.

"I'm Tater." The name rang a bell in her head, but she couldn't place it before he said, "You're the orphan home girl, right?"

The gross, contaminated, bitter feeling came rushing back. Her cheeks flushed with shame. Is that what she was now? 'The orphan home girl'? Maya clenched her jaw and looked away. "Yeah," she muttered bitterly. "That's me."

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next part for the last thing I posted! its a lot

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"I'm Tater." The name rang a bell in her head, but she couldn't place it before he said, "You're the orphan home girl, right?"

The gross, contaminated, bitter feeling came rushing back. Her cheeks flushed with shame. Is that what she was now? 'The orphan home girl'? Maya clenched her jaw and looked away. "Yeah," she muttered bitterly. "That's me."

"Ah, well. You're not the first one to be shoved out here with us by the orphans."

She started. "Really?" she asked, not sure how to react. Was it better or worse? Was it that she was just another castoff or that her misfortune didn't mark her for extra scorn?

Tater nodded solemnly. "Not a whole lot of 'em, but it's happened before. The rough ones get sick of messing with one of them and just… toss 'em out here with us." he shrugged, despondent. "I guess maybe they don't want to be tattled on or some such."

She nodded to herself. "They were saying it would be nice to put me down in the bottom of the barrel so I could know what it was like. Like I'd never known any hardship at all."

"Well, that's just silly!" He laughed at the idea. "There's nobody who's never been through some bad stuff, nobody at all. Why would they think somethin' like that?" He looked, amused and quizzical, at her. Maya said nothing.

"Ah, well." He said again. "It's about supper time anyway." He started down the ladder to the roof, then paused. "Would you want to help me?" he asked shyly.

She realized where she'd heard the name Tater before; Kee had said Tater would make dinner? But this was a kid, maybe even a little younger than Maya. "Um, do you need any help?" why would a child be making supper for so many people? why not an adult?

He shook his head. "Nah, I got it. Just wondered if you wanted something to do." He bobbed bashfully on the ladder.

"No, thank you. I need to find a spot for the night." In her wandering she had surely passed a room fit for sleep, right? Her mind had drifted from the task at hand and now she no longer had an idea of where she was, or how to get back downstairs.

"Okay!" He clambered down the ladder with practiced ease. She followed, much more shakily. He steadied her with a grubby hand as she practically fell off the last rung. "If you can make your way back down to ground floor, I think there's a few intact rooms there and on the second floor." He gave her another sweet smile.

She nodded. "Thanks, Tater." she fought the urge to give him a hug. This stranger, this grubby boy that she'd only met minutes ago, somehow felt like a friend already. "I think I can find my way."

He gave her one more look, one Maya couldn't quite decipher before her turned away. "Ah, well," he started toward the door to the stairs. "Welcome to our lil corner of the Spills, I reckon. Hope it's not too rough for ya." He turned just before slipping through the stiff metal door, giving her a smile that looked soft but lonely to her. "I'll be down in the 'ol kitchen if you need me, I guess." And he was gone.

Maya stayed up on the roof deck for uncounted minutes, watching the gray light fade and inhaling the thin scent of Tater's herbs on the limp breeze. If the clouds ever lifted, this would be a truly lovely spot. But in all her – admittedly limited – time in the Spills, she hadn't seen so much as a glimpse of blue behind the unending gray. Her mind felt…numb. Like it had taken all it could and was refusing to take in any more change or bad things or confusion. Her limbs were heavy with exhaustion after the four flights of stairs, her bruises and aches still sore from the other day. Surely it had been more than two days since the other orphans had beat her black and blue and dragged her through the ragged, tearing gap in the fence and then a boy had come to her rescue with pitiful fake coughs and taken her from a rock to a hard place, but better than the rock. Sleep would be a blissful escape from … well, everything. But first, she had to find someplace safe to sleep.

As soon as she pulled the roof door as far shut as she could, she had to stop to let her eyes adjust. If it had been dim outside, in the stairwell it was positively dark. She could just barely make out her hand in front of her face, but she had always thought that wasn't a good indicator of visibility because you knew where your hand was, so wouldn't your brain say you could see it even if technically your eyes weren't picking it up? After a few silent moments, she could make out the shape of her feet on the rusted metal landing, and then the pipe rail on the stairs. Gripping that cold metal pipe with one hand she stepped slowly, slowly down the first ten steps. Her breath hissed in her ears. By the first turn she could make her way a bit faster, the steps coming into blurry focus that dodged direct eye contact. Her ears rang with the combined heavy silence and the ring of her footsteps on the metal steps, and her eyes felt like they were straining enough to pull a muscle. Finally she found the door to the fourth floor and dashed through it as fast as the stiff hinges would allow, raising her eyebrows from their unconscious squint as her eyes registered actual light. She dashed straight into a person.

"Woah there, kid!" cried a female voice. Big hands caught Maya's upper arms as she started to bounce to the ground. "You aight?" she was lifted to her feet, level with a dark chin. Above them were a quirking pair of cherry lips, and a set of bright eyes. "Them stairs sure aren't fun after dark, aye?"

Stepping back, she could see this new stranger had really long legs and a lot of hair – coils and ropes and strings and snakes of ebony hair fountaining from her scalp in tight, fuzzy dreads. Rough, mahogany hands on a narrow waist bared under a cropped shirt.

"Um, yeah I – I'm alright." Her voice sounded so tiny to her ears. Who was this confident, pretty woman and how could Maya ask for the time without sounding lost and pathetic? She sure felt lost and pathetic.

"Good good!" the tall girl said. "I'm Beni. You're our new girl, yeah?" Her smile was warm and seemed to add some light to the room.

She only nodded, somehow too overwhelmed to speak. Get it together, we can talk to strangers. She lifted her chin and put maturity in her voice, just like her parents used to tell her to. If they think you're just a dumb kid they'll treat you as such. But you're not a dumb kid, are you? "I got turned around. Can you direct me to the kitchen?" She thought she'd done well composing herself, but Beni laughed and her stomach sank so fast she got vertigo.

"Well aren't you a well-spoken little snip!" She chuckled. "Yeah, kitchen's down five floors, it's actually under the old dining hall. Dining hall got all blown out, but its got stone floors so the kitchen missed the blast. It's kinda far from here, though."

She smiled, but it was forced. What happened to being gaining respect through mature speech? This lady had laughed at her words like her coherence was cute! "Thank you. I think I can find my way." She turned to go back into the pitch black stairwell, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her cold. She whirled, swatting the hand away, a cry caught in her throat. Beni stepped back, holding both hands up like she meant no harm. Without realizing it, Maya had contorted her face into a fearful snarl and shrank, wrapping her arms around her waist and cringing into the wall. Her breath gasped, loud in the dead hall, and she smoothed her face back over and stood mechanically. "Excuse me." She turned back to the door. Once again, some distant part of her realized how cold she felt inside, like her very mind was curled up in the fetal position and going into shock.

"Hey hey, my bad, kid," Beni caught her eye, stopping her again but without touch. "I was just gonna tell ya there's a better way than the creepy stairs."

"There is?" She let the heavy door fall shut, a small gunshot echoing down the hall as it clanged into place. "I'd appreciate it if you could show me." Maybe if she kept up her etiquette it wouldn't be amusing, but respectable. Maybe. In the last several months she'd learned that the lower-class citizens didn't seem to appreciate what her former peers did.

"Yeah, this way." Beni beckoned and strode off at a casual pace that set Maya's legs to a jog.

"How old are you?" The question was out before she could revise it and put it back away. She seemed like early twenties, maybe?

The tall girl laughed. "Get that a lot. I'm almost sixteen, but I got my momma's legs. Everyone thinks I'm like, twenty." she cast a sly glance down at Maya, a grin teasing one side of her mouth. "How old did you think I was?"

She shrugged. "About sixteen."

"And how old are you?" Beni slowed her speeding walk a bit, matching her stride to Maya's.

"I'm almost fourteen." But she hadn't gotten anything from her mother except a whole lot of misfortune.

"Oh nice, when's your birthday?"

"September twenty-fourth." Beni seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say, and it was startling and refreshing all at once. "When's yours?"

"Oh, nah nah nah," Beni grinned a grin full of laughter at her. "You are not almost fourteen! September? That was only four months ago, kid!" bumped Maya with her wrist, playfully swatting her shoulder. "You only just turned thirteen, ya scoundrel."

"Okay, maybe so. But when is your birthday?"

"August. The twenty-eighth." Maya crowed triumphantly. "Yeah, yeah, okay fine. Maybe I'm not quite almost sixteen."

They had turned two corners and reached a little door set high in the wall. The bottom was a full two feet above the floor, and it had a little handle to slide the door open, which Beni did. "So, I can't go with you this way, but it's much faster. Got these old dumbwaiters, a few are still functional." The little door stuck halfway open, stubbornly refusing to budge. Beni inhaled slowly. "Hold on," she told Maya. "Old things get comfy with not working." She leaned all her weight into pushing it, then into pulling it. The thin panel stayed put, not moving an inch. Beni stepped back, muttering cusswords under her breath, and Maya had to fight the urge to plug her ears like she used to as a little kid. With sudden ferocity Beni kicked the door in.

"Aight, that worked." She peered into the small space, pulled on a rope that caused distant squeaking and then wrangled the broken wood panel out. "Right! So ya just curl up real tight 'n' pull on this rope and you'll get down to the second floor. Used to go to the basement, but you know how it is."

Maya stepped cautiously up to the gaping mouth of the dumbwaiter. It smelled like old house and mold and dust and a hint of dead thing. Four ropes lead into the shadows above, one at each corner of the wooden platform she was supposed to ride to the second floor, plus two more that seemed to be the pulley system. "Are you sure this is operational?"

"Sure as I can be," came the fast, confident response. "Hey it's gonna be about as dark as the stairs, but a lot shorter. Door down there should be open and it opens easy enough. Not like this door," she kicked the two pieces of panel across the ripped carpet. "In you go!"

"Wait," Her heart pounded. The thought of getting stuck in there, or the ropes snapping and plummeting her down into spikes of broken wood, or the door not opening at the other end kept her frozen in place. "How will I open the other door? And where do I go after I get out? And how do you know it won't drop me?"

"Kid," Beni sighed and crouched down, putting her below Maya. "Hell of a day, yeah? You can walk on down the long way with me or you can give it a try. I used to do it all the time, but I grew too much and now I don't fit in there. I can promise you you'll be fine, but you'd still have to trust me." The boisterous humor was replaced by calm and reassurance. "What's it gonna be, kid?"

"My name is Maya." Suddenly she didn't want to trust this person she didn't know, she didn't want to like her and didn't want to be near her. Irritation and frustration and a hundred other things she couldn't even name, all building up all day under her skin, were threatening to escape and she needed to protect herself and anyone around her from that the only she knew how at the moment.

Without a second thought she hoisted herself into the dumbwaiter and hauled the closest rope and dropped into the darkness. The last thing she saw before it swallowed her whole was Beni's startled face.

It really didn't take long for her senses to return and for the fear to come back. All of her was exhausted, tired beyond anything she'd felt before. But the terror kept her eyes wide and her heart thundering.

Not long after that the dumbwaiter hit the bottom with a jaw-rattling thud, but she couldn't find any light. This was pitch dark, true dark, and no matter how hard her eyes strained she couldn't make out a single detail of her surroundings. Her breath got louder. She groped in the darkness for the wall, a panel, anything, but her hands found only air. One moment she was seated on uncomfortable wooden planks, the next she was halfway off the platform. She couldn't even tell what she was falling toward. One flailing hand snagged a rope and the platform jolted, tossing Maya back up before catching her hard. A scream she hadn't even felt leave her throat echoed in the walls, in her head. Her heart was banging around in her chest hard enough to hurt now, and her lungs heaved but the oxygen didn't seem to be reaching her brain.

Clinging to a rope she couldn't see, Maya leaned toward the side of the platform the last door was on. It was hard to tell, but it felt like she was swinging in a bigger space than the one she'd left. Her searching hand brushed something rough – it felt like splintery wood, but she hardly dared hope. Sobs bounced through the utter black, and it took her several endless seconds to realize they were hers. The platform swung away, and she felt her clammy grip on the rope slipped. With another yelp she pulled back to the center, more disoriented than she'd ever been before and trying to stop her tears to avail.

The platform jolted again, as if bumping into some unseen wall, and this time she swiped her hand out, hoping to catch a door handle or a lone beam in the wall or anything. Her fingers caught a loop of stiff fabric, and she clung to it with all her strength. The platform tried to swing away but her grip held it in place, nearly pulling her aching knees off the smooth wood. The fabric in her hand shifted to one side. A hairline of light cut the shadows, slicing her eyes. Gasping in enormous empty lungfuls of dust, she hauled on the loop as much as she could with her awkward position, forcing her arms to move directions they weren't supposed to under this much pressure. The line of weak light hurt her eyes as it widened to a wedge wide enough to stick an arm through.

Maya lunged, desperate for fresh air and light and to get as far away from this dumbwaiter as she could, and somehow managed to hook an arm around the edge of the door. But with her left hand wrapped around the loop of fabric serving as a door handle and her right arm crooked behind the sliding door, there wasn't any hands holding onto the dumbwaiter. Her knees slid, slipped off the edge and then she was only holding onto a flimsy wood panel and a piece of probably old denim jeans and her legs were dangling into abyss. Then her arm was loosening and the door was moving away and her legs were kicking the wall but as hard as she searched for a foothold it only made her loose her grip more. She coughed on dust and wood splinters, her head pounding. Her grip loosened more. Screams were echoing in the vast hollow space. A dull thudding rattled her skull. Every muscle in her body strained but still her last dregs of strength ran out and the door wasn't in her grasp anymore.

Then a hand caught her wrist, crushing the little bones together and yanking her shoulder nearly out of socket. Another cry rang through the shadows.

Up above her, haloed in murky light, was a boy with tawny hair and wide eyes. "Maya?" Kee pulled harder, inching her up until she could get both arms on the edge of the hole in the wall. "C'mon, grab me, grab me." He strained, veins standing out on his forehead, as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders as best she could. With one final heave they were out of the dumbwaiter and sprawled on the musty carpet in some dim hallway. She could feel the dust and grit in her hair, her clothes, her teeth. Her lungs couldn't slow down and her head felt like there was church bells jumping around inside. Kee sat up, his hair mussed and dirty.

"Well! I see you've discovered our finest inter-hotel transportation method." He said cheerily.

Shakily, Maya used the wall to help her stand. A wide strip of peeling wallpaper clung to her sweaty palm. She shook it off, perhaps a bit more aggressively than necessary, and said with cold calmness, "What is wrong with you people?" She sounded as if she was asking where the little girls' room was. She could feel a quiet something boiling somewhere under her stomach, and it wouldn't be quiet for long.

"Whatdya mean?" He scuffled his hands through his hair, messing it up more and releasing a cloud of dust and filth. "Whole bunch of stuff's wrong with us, that's what happens here in the Spills." He caught the look on her face and froze.

"What. The hell. Is wrong with you people." Her breath was moving faster again, but for entirely different reasons. "Who makes a kid make dinner for a whole bunch of people, on the usual? What the hell kind of people would keep these dumbwaiters open when they're clearly a hazard, and why would anyone let a kid ride in one as old and out-of-order as that?" She was shouting now, and she knew she should lower her voice but she couldn't. Her arm was trembling as she pointed accusingly at the dark maw she'd just had to be rescued out of by a grubby boy she didn't know or like or trust. "What the hell's wrong with all you people?"

Kee had been gaping at her sudden outburst, but now his face was a mask of fury. "What the hell's wrong with you people?" he shouted back. "You city folk, killing over money and throwing your kids in boxes of nutjobs and then throwing each other into hell with the rest of us freaks. All you city kids, thinking you get to be on a pedestal above us scrappers, never having to work for your life."

They stared at each other across the hall, breathing hard. Maya was taken aback by his response, but not enough to make her back down. But before she could retort, Kee seemed to close off himself again. His face shut down and all he said was, "You should go back to your city while you can." and he wheeled around and whipped down the hall at a sprinting walk.

For the third time that day, Maya was left alone and speechless and contemplating how she had gotten where she was.