empty thrones (ch4)

[lunecat16]

Title: empty thrones
Rating: Mature
Major Warnings: Body horror, graphic violence, familial abuse, other warnings included in fic

Drinking at the table had settled into an inconvenient but workable pattern by now. Reid lifted his glass of whiskey, shifted his position in his seat, and then twisted around to face away from the others. Then he drank, and twisted himself back around. Eating without the table and facing away from the others was more difficult. His half-eaten lobster bisque sat alongside the other, much more empty appetizer plates as testament to that difficulty–or maybe just to his lack of appetite.

As expected, Chase had eventually given in and let Hadley raid a portion of his meal, and Reid had graciously offered her some of the larger chunks of meat in the bisque before he ate. The whole affair was uneventful otherwise, and after they had eaten conversation had started to come and go–bursts of discussion followed by quiet.

This was one of those quieter moments. Reid looked around the table and saw the loose smiles the others wore, and their relaxed postures. Normally, if he wasn’t talking, Reid would have spent that time examining the body language and quirks of everyone around him. Whether friend or foe, they were still variables he needed to understand during negotiations.

There wasn’t much to understand here. His friends were comfortable with each other, at least on this occasion. Casual conversation and drink had shaved off most of the tension, and gotten them to let their guards down. Reid wished he could join them. He came along to let loose, he even agreed to drink, but he felt rigid, like a tightly coiled spring. He was on his third glass already–when was the inebriation going to kick in?

Frustrated, he went for another sip. Shift, twist, turn away, and then twist back.

“You don’t have to do that awkward swiveling around thing, you know,” Tanner said, half of his mouth turned upwards in an amused smile. “It’s not like anyone else is looking.”

“The idea of you three glimpsing what’s under this mask is worse than a bystander getting a look,” Reid replied. “If I have to be a little awkward to keep that from happening, then fine. Fuck it.”

“Aw, poor guy’s trying to hold onto his last scraps of dignity,” Hadley cooed.

Better to have scraps than none at all, was the first response that came to mind, but Reid wasn’t sure he even agreed with those words if he gave them a moment of thought. His family’s idea of ‘dignity’ was a farce, just a nice cover over their savage behavior. In the end, no amount of dignity could change the truth of their actions.

Before he could think up another response, however, the waitress entered the room. Chase perked up once he saw the woman, though apparently not enough to thank her when she took his appetizer plate. Reid felt the pull of the connection blocker as her hand hovered over his soup, but she passed over the bowl and took the other plates back instead.

He frowned. He wasn’t going to eat cold soup. The school kitchen and his dorm room didn’t exactly have storage for leftovers, either.

Chase’s gaze lingered on the waitress as she left, and he spoke up as soon as she walked out of earshot. “You know, she’s not half-bad.”

“Are you serious?” Hadley asked.

“I mean, she could have a bit more–” Chase’s hands made the familiar gesture of pushing up breasts, “–you know, but hey, cute face, nice ass, I’d ask for her number.”

“Ask for her number?” Hadley let out an amused scoff, raising her voice slightly as she continued. “She’s pretty, I’ll give you that, but she’s just a random waitress. A nobody.”

“Keep your voice down,” Tanner said in a hushed tone.

“This isn’t a library, loser,” Hadley said, though her voice returned to a normal speaking volume.

“That’s kind of the appeal?” Chase spoke up. “No families, no reputation… just her.”

“Sure, but don’t ask for her number,” Hadley said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “Here’s some words of wisdom: those people, waiters, baristas, whoever–they’re nice slabs of meat to toy with, but they overstay their welcome fast. Just have your fun and drop ‘em before they think they can have something deeper with you.”

Both Chase and Tanner looked too stunned to speak. Chase especially looked bothered.

“Slabs of meat, huh?” Tanner said, frowning.

Hadley took another sip of her cocktail and shrugged. “Isn’t that what we all are in the end? Just slabs of meat with bone tucked in?”

Weeks ago, he would have had his own opinion on the waitress’s looks. He saw her face, he knew she wasn’t that attractive, but his gaze hadn’t been drawn to her figure–he just couldn’t muster up the energy to pay attention.

Something else Chase said did stir up a memory, however.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation with a girl or a woman that was just me and her.

“You want a relationship of your own, without family expectations?” Reid asked, turning to Chase.

“I– Huh. That’s a good way to put it,” Chase said, nodding to himself.

“And sex?” Tanner teased.

“Good sex,” Chase corrected him. “Gotta be specific.”

“I think you should set your standards much higher–” Reid stopped. No. That was just telling Chase to do what his family wanted, wasn’t it? He knew how that ended. He was living that ending.

“–But if fucking a waitress you met less than an hour ago is something you really, truly want… I can’t object to that.”

The table went quiet for a good few seconds.

“I can’t tell if you’re insulting me or if you just really, really suck at giving advice,” Chase said, brow furrowed.

“No, I– it’s not bad advice,” Reid stammered. “You should have your own things and- and wants.”

Hadley, who’d been staring at him the whole time, pointed a finger towards him. “Okay, that, on top of how he hasn’t blinked once since we sat down, has me wondering what the hell replaced Reid. Jockey? Abyssal twin?”

“What do you mean, I haven’t blinked–” Reid started, only to stop when he deliberately closed his eye and felt the uncomfortable, tight feeling of his glamoured eyelid stretching over it. “Oh. I haven’t.”

“How do you forget to blink?” Tanner asked.

“My training hardened me against most minor discomforts. Glamour, on the other hand, likes to be noticed, so stretching it is much more uncomfortable than a bit of dryness,” Reid said, shrugging as he tried to look aloof about the matter, rather than embarrassed.

“Fucked up,” Chase muttered.

“Fits with what Estrella told me about glamour,” Tanner said at the same time, nodding to himself.

Reid glared at Chase. He was tempted to bring up how he’d seen the waitress spare Tanner more than a few glances while barely paying attention to Chase, but he was their ride back. Better to save a remark like that for another day.

“So… Abyssal twin?” Hadley asked again.

Reid sighed. “Come on, Hadley. No. No doppelgangers, no monsters that try to take over your life while trapping you in the Abyss–”

“That’s a thing?” Chase asked.

“–they are, but they’re not relevant, because it’s just me in the room, Hadley. Not any of this other shit.”

Hadley frowned. “Yeah, I know that, but ‘Reid’s just weird now’ is the boring answer.”

Reid wanted to object. He couldn’t. The Reid Musser they knew wasn’t at the table with them. Saying it was ‘just him’ didn’t mean anything when they didn’t know who that person was.

He didn’t know who he was either.

“So, you’re just…like this now, huh,” Tanner said, phrasing his words as a remark rather than a question.

“Like what?” Reid asked, tensing up.

Tanner shrugged, and then took a sip of his whiskey sour, as if that might help him speak. “Angry, prickly…Abyss-y? That’s not a fucking word, but whatever.”

“Abyss-y and pissy,” Hadley echoed, with a snicker that signaled she’d had far too much to drink.

Reid ignored her, because if he didn’t, he was certain he’d actually follow up on the growing, nagging urge to slap her. Instead, he made eye contact with Tanner. “Or, I’m ‘angry and prickly’ because you and Hadley keep questioning my humanity and my faculties, which I’m in full control of.”

“No urges to murder horny campers?”

“Fuck off, Chase.”

Hadley looked contemplative for a moment, and then spoke up. “Are those even a thing? Like, horny campers fucking in the woods in real life. Tanner?”

“Why are you asking me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re the one with the normal childhood–”

Tanner made a so-so gesture with his hand. “Relatively.”

“More than relatively compared to us freaks. Was that a thing for you?”

“Maybe?” He shrugged. “I only went camping for one summer, when I was… twelve, I think.”

“Is that the same place with the beaver story?” Chase asked.

“What beaver story?” Reid asked. That felt out of place with the conversations he usually had with Tanner. Most of the time, Tanner had been eager to discuss family politics and the practice.

Or was that only the impression he had because he’d kept the family in mind, and what they wanted from a useful augur ally? Had he ever asked Tanner about his own life?

Of course he hadn’t.

“It’s nothing special. Random wildlife encounter,” Tanner answered with a chuckle. “And yeah, I think it’s the same place, Chase.”

“Tell us anyway,” Hadley demanded.

“Maybe later,” Tanner waved her off. “Anyway, I was in one of those leadership programs, as far as I can recall. Sort of school-connected, if you had good grades and weren’t shit at gym class you’d get an email about signing up. I went with a bunch of other kids one summer, about twenty of us in total. A few friends and classmates, but I didn’t know most of them.”

Reid began to speak up. “And this was before–”

“Before the auspice, yeah. No magic to guess how it would turn out. We spent a month out there and it was a pretty nice time. But not a lot of horny teens. Only like half of us had started puberty, so sometimes you'd see kids sneaking off on 'dates' or for first kisses, but nothing more than that.”

“Huh,” Hadley remarked, with an expression that reminded Reid of a student listening attentively to a lecture. “You think they would've ramped up if they were older?”

Tanner paused, giving his response a moment of thought. “Yeah. I can see that, knowing a few of them.”

“Were you one of those tweens?”

“Pfft, no.”

“Tanner's way too boring for that,” Chase added.

“Hey, I did some fun stuff!”

“Like running away from a beaver?”

Tanner rolled his eyes. “Come on, you know that’s not what happened. I did get roped into a– oh shit, dinner.”

Tanner’s attention, and everyone else’s, was quickly pulled away from the conversation by the arrival of their entrees. They watched as the waitress carefully placed the dishes on the table, and offered their thanks or a remark on how the food looked great. Reid stayed silent so as to not draw attention to himself, but the food looked fine enough.

Hadley began to crack open the sizable crab legs on her plate, not bothering to use any utensil besides her hands. It was brutish, but the brutishness was the point–she was showing off, and as much as Reid wanted to, he knew that calling out her poor table manners was a dangerous idea.

Reid looked down at his own entree. The seafood mezzaluna had seemed safe enough, but like with the appetizers, he wasn’t excited to start eating. Instead, he began to cut the pasta into smaller pieces to make it easier to swallow.

Hadley spoke up again after finishing off her first couple of legs. “So, roped into what?”

Tanner stopped cutting into the fish he'd ordered–one of the menu specials–and looked up, dabbing his mouth with his napkin before talking. “A mock war between some of the guys. I was a council advisor or something like that. It was all pretty silly.”

“You kill anyone?”

“No. Kids killing each other isn't normal, Hadley.”

“Fuck you, I'm not an idiot,” Hadley grumbled, sounding genuinely upset. “No mock killings? Executions?”

“A couple of my friends acted out dramatic deaths when they got hit with a water gun?”

The smile returned to Hadley’s face instantly, as if Tanner hadn’t offended her just a moment ago. “Sweet. You should've done that.”

Tanner shook his head, and a smug smile appeared on his face. “I was too busy being the metaphorical chessmaster behind the scenes; making strategies, schemes–”

“So you were too busy being a little bitch. Got it.”

“Fuck you.”

Reid turned around in his seat and began to eat his pasta, a few small, skewered pieces on his fork at a time. It tasted fine–savory and filling, though it was a little too similar to the bisque he'd eaten earlier. Chewing and swallowing didn't especially hurt either, which was a welcome relief.

He listened to the others talk, though it was mostly Hadley asking the occasional question and Tanner giving a short answer. Chase was too busy digging into his filet and lobster tail to chime in, though it seemed like he'd already heard about Tanner's experiences and had no need to comment on them.

Reid didn't know what to say, really, or what to ask. Tanner's mundane camping trip was so far from his own childhood that any remarks he could make felt too detached, or just inane and stupid. How could he compare experiences when his 'mock wars' were high-stakes competitions between his cousins?

He needed to get more drunk. Then he'd be able to say what he wanted without thinking, just like Hadley. The waitress returned to refill their non-alcoholic drinks, and Reid requested a fourth glass of whiskey. It felt excessive, but maybe it took 'excessive' to influence a Musser.

Tanner raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

"You know, I didn't have any fake wars, but I guess you could say I've had plenty of camping experience," Hadley mused, staring at a half-eaten crab leg she held in one hand.

"You guess?" Chase finally spoke up with his mouth half-full, though he swallowed immediately after.

“I might have more real camping experience, even,” she said, a smile slowly forming on her face, “Tanner, you were safe and snug in your cabin, weren’t you?”

“Well, uh, yeah,” Tanner said, looking a little confused that he even had to answer the question.

“You ever slept out in the dirt? Maybe with a tent or blanket, if you're lucky?"

Reid rolled his eye, and took another sip of whiskey. "We know your hunting escapades, you've boasted about them plenty of times already."

"Shut up, they'd still be good stories even if I told them a hundred times. What about you? You've been awfully quiet."

Reid turned around to face the others. They looked expectant. He could also see the faint concern etched beneath the augurs’ expressions, as if even the mere reminder that he was sitting at the table broke the comfort they’d settled into.

As if they didn’t want him here.

Fuck. Why weren’t his senses dulled enough to ignore those fine details? How much more did he need to drink?

“I do have one story,” he said, speaking up after realizing he’d been quiet for a little too long, “from one of the schools I attended. Some years, in place of a spring or fall break, the staff arranged outings for students who were excelling in their courses. They might visit a prepared sub-realm of the Court to test their skills, or a grand ruin a teacher was trying to decipher.”

“Already a traveler even before your father sent you out,” Tanner mused.

Reid shook his head. “I was, in a way, but not for these outings. Most were secondary to the skills the family wanted for me, or we weren’t on good terms with the ones who arranged the trips. One of the ones I did attend, however, took me a short ways away to Scotland.”

“Camping out on the moors?” Hadley asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The mountains. It was an extended examination. An Other dwells on the Cuillin–the hateful memory of something troll or giant-adjacent, bonded with the howling winds and deathly chill. A teacher tasked her with holding onto a token of victory, and whichever child gave her a convincing claim to the token would ‘win’. Of course, we had to find her first, and fight with our classmates at the same time, all while traveling up the mountain with weather the Other influenced for the worse.”

His tongue put a particular emphasis on the word claim. It took him a few moments to even realize that was a thing he’d done, without thought or hesitation. He had a feeling it was something he’d always done as well.

Chase crossed his arms. “Well, you’re good at taking shit, right? Sounds like it was a breeze for you.”

“Only a couple other children were on par with me, but I wouldn’t call it easy, not with the environment working against us.”

“And the Other?”

“The easier part. Once you know the type of Other, they’re predictable,” Reid scoffed. “I just had to appeal to her nature and say what she wanted to hear.”

“...You don’t sound happy about it,” Tanner said.

Reid was silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “One of my classmates wanted to befriend me. I don’t know why–his family hated the Mussers. He wanted to work together to ward off the wind and frost, and have a fair fight at the end.”

“And you didn’t?” Hadley asked, though it sounded like she knew the answer already.

Reid shook his head. “I dragged his unconscious body to the Other and used it during my claim. I’m not sure how long it took the teaching staff to negotiate his return.”

Tanner winced. The table had fallen quiet.

Reid went for another sip of whiskey. “I’m wondering what would have happened if I accepted his offer. If I had thought for myself for even a moment, instead of–”

He paused, taking a deep breath. There were a lot of ways to end that sentence. Instead of using the perilous environment against the boy during the last stretch, like a scoundrel and a savage. Instead of only caring about family interests. Instead of trying to impress his father.

It felt like the more he looked back, and the more he thought, the more he found to get angry over.

“It wasn’t like the contest actually mattered– I could have gotten special lessons or favor from the teachers in other ways,” he said, continuing when none of the others spoke up. “It was as meaningless as Tanner’s make-believe conflicts, but with fucked up, senseless violence thrown into the mix.”

“The fucked up senseless violence is the fun part–” Hadley suddenly stopped speaking at the same time as Reid heard the muffled ‘thunk’ of someone jabbing her in the leg. She looked at Tanner and raised an eyebrow. “Was that supposed to tickle? Holy shit, you’re weak. Put some force into it next time.”

Tanner rolled his eyes and turned to Reid instead of replying to her. “I’m pretty sure your field trip mattered more than my camping misadventures.”

“Christ, are you seriously trying to gainsay him?” Chase said, letting out a small laugh in disbelief.

“No, I’m correcting, I’m–and that would gainsay him. Fuck.” Tanner sighed, slumping back in his seat in defeat.

“Don’t talk about me as if I’m in the other room. I’m right next to you,” Reid said, glaring at Tanner.

“Yeah, I know,” Tanner said, waving off his remark. “But, like, hey. You didn’t even bother with that kid, but you’re with us now. That’s what matters, right?”

Was he with them?

He gave Tanner a small nod. He went for another sip of his whiskey.

“Maybe I should get Abyss-hardened,” Chase commented, staring at him.

Reid furrowed his brow, but didn’t question the train of thought.

“I don’t think you’d last five seconds in the Abyss,” Hadley replied. “Besides, do you want to end up looking like that?”

“No, I want to drink people under the table,” Chase said, “seriously Reid, Abyss-hardening, Musser willpower bullshit, I don’t know what the fuck’s going on but–”

Oh.

“I don’t think he’d be ranting if he wasn’t at least a little buzzed,” Tanner scoffed.

Except Tanner was wrong. Tanner was wrong and he was talking over him again, but Reid couldn’t bring himself to speak up and bring Tanner back in line.

The Abyss’s environment had been so upfront–the heat pressing against his body, the smoke choking his throat, the rough surfaces scraping his skin. Exhaustion was a threat. Hunger and thirst were threats. Dozens of other things were threats. He thought of his training as hardening him against those specific pressures, as temperature and other minor irritations stopped bothering him and became easier to push through.

But those weren’t the only dangers. With the smoke and the noxious factory air came chemicals. When had he stopped feeling dizzy after breathing in too much smoke? When had the stench of the whole place stopped making him feel nauseous?

It made sense. Poisons were another threat in the Carmine Contest, especially with the goblin involved. It made sense to harden himself against toxins and keep his mind sharp. And since alcohol was a mind-altering substance, it also made sense that he would resist it and keep his head clear.

He stared down at his now-empty glass of whiskey. He felt sick, in a way even Abyss-hardening couldn’t dull. His prior trepidation, that uncertain hope that he could finally have the experience of getting drunk with friends, of even having a good time with friends, now hurt.

He could never have that experience.

He’d refused his chances back then, and now it was too late.

He’d missed the opportunities to make friends who were his, and not just family allies. And now he was an outsider at the table, only able to join in the conversation by trampling over it and dampening the mood. He had no real control. No claim to any part of this gathering, or the kinds of talks they had.

Reid’s just weird now.

They didn’t respect him. They didn’t want him. They pitied what he’d become.

The waitress arrived to take their food. He’d only eaten about half of the mezzaluna. He let her take his plate away anyway.

He wasn’t sure why he’d expected or hoped for anything different. But for a moment–for a good few hours–he’d imagined being able to loosen up, or being motivated to crack a few jokes. Like old times, even if Hadley was there. He couldn’t. No matter how much he tried to bring himself to, those parts of himself weren’t there anymore.

“Hey, come on Reid, you don’t have to be embarrassed about being drunk,” Tanner said, reaching out a hand to pat him on the back.

Reid glared at him, and he withdrew his arm before it touched him. Tanner should have been the embarrassed one–the alcohol was obviously getting to him, and–

He saw Tanner look just a little sad at the rebuke, and his gaze softened.

Fuck.

He wanted that. He wanted to do something embarrassing without thinking, to be an idiot just for one night. He didn’t want to think about how much it hurt to exist, he didn’t want to feel so tense and so empty at the same time.

“Earth to Reid, feeling any desserts?” Hadley asked.

He shook his head.

“We could have the bland chocolate cake here, or we could get back to the school before midnight and staff can make a great, I dunno, chocolate cheesecake,” Chase said, tapping his watch.

“You’re just mad cheesecake’s not on the menu,” Tanner laughed.

“I am! I wanted some,” Chase said, “but seriously, do you want me to fall asleep at the wheel?”

Another conversation he wasn’t a part of, and could never join in on. Another look at a future he could have had once, and a warmth that felt so far out of reach.

The dark cloud at the back of his mind was roaring, and for a moment he considered what it would be like to ruin it all–to hurt one of them, to overturn the whole table, to make a mess of things and make their evenings as miserable as his.

It would be easy to explain away the dark thoughts as the Abyss, as some outside force manipulating his emotions and impulses. He knew it wasn’t that simple. The universe wouldn’t let him have simple, or easy, or anything of the sort.

Without his input, they made the decision to skip dessert and just go for the check. He didn’t want dessert, but the fact that they hadn’t even asked him made him want to scream.

“Alright, let’s get a move on,” Chase sighed, gesturing towards Hadley. She’d been laughing at a remark one of them made, and that laughter trailed off into an amused grin as she stood up.

“You’re fucking out of it, wow,” Hadley remarked, glancing over at him. “Someone’s not a heavyweight after all.”

He glared at Hadley, and she cackled.

He felt lightheaded as he stood up. He was reeling–not from alcohol, like the others thought. The restaurant felt far away, even though he was inside it. His friends–no, classmates were far away. The only thing close to him was pain, both emotional and physical.

The group walked out of the restaurant and he followed. It was dark out. Hadley reached the car first, and fumbled around in her purse for her keys.

“Remember, I’m driving,” Chase called out.

“Ugh, fine.”

Hadley threw the keys at him, and he flinched, letting them hit his shoulder rather than trying to catch them. That might have been a good thing, because Reid could hear the keys whacking into him, and Chase’s swearing, which made it pretty apparent that Hadley hadn’t just lightly tossed them over.

Chase unlocked the doors, and Reid went to open the front door on the passenger side.

“Hey, no.” Hadley spoke up. “Get in the back.”

On most of his car rides, a particular social order was established by who sat where. If the driver wasn’t a valet, they were the car’s owner–the person in charge, like his father. Whoever was in the passenger seat had equivalent standing. His father letting him drive during their investigation of Kennet had been a privilege. The back was reserved for guests, lessers–like Raquel or his familiars. Tanner and Chase were from no family and a family of no particular repute. It made sense for them to sit in the back on the way to the restaurant.

It wasn’t as if they could create an entire third seat just for Chase to drive while he and Hadley were still in the front, but a small, petty part of him was screaming that this wasn’t fair. He didn’t want another sign of how far he’d fallen–he didn’t want to be lumped in with the likes of Tanner and Chase. He wasn’t even drunk, he could drive, but if he said he wasn’t–would taking away their happy, carefree evening with another awkward moment make him feel better? Would he be satisfied driving back?

Did he even trust himself to drive, feeling as he did now?

…No. No to all of those questions.

Tanner lightly nudged him, and he didn’t bother glaring or giving him a response as he moved away from the front door and towards the back, sliding into the vehicle.

“Woo, counting coup against the Musser,” Hadley said, carefree.

Reid went to open his mouth, but the lump growing in his throat made him stop.

Tanner stared at him, clearly uncomfortable, but chose to take out his phone rather than say anything.

Once the car had started and they were on the road, Reid turned his gaze towards the car window and the stretch of civilization outside, which was quickly disappearing as they exited Timmins.

“What were tomorrow’s classes again?” Chase asked.

“Dunno, not going,” Hadley muttered.

“Magic item lesson from Ray, your class with Emotion-based Incarnates…” Tanner replied.

“Fuuuck. I wanted to sleep in,” Chase groaned, “it’s gonna be at least midnight by the time we get back.”

“Maybe if you go faster it won’t,” Hadley said.

“And run into something and die? No.”

“I could ask War to send someone after us and make you speed up. Car chases are great.”

The inane bantering continued, and Reid let it fade into the background. Shadowed trees and flat plains passed by them, with the shapes of bushes barely visible in the oppressive nighttime darkness. Occasionally, a burst of light in the form of another car or house lights passed them by. As his eye adjusted, Reid could sometimes make out shapes in the darkness as well–things prowling in the woods, or standing still and watching. Most of them were probably tricks of the mind, but a few felt like more than just tricks.

His glamour itched. He wondered if it would be fine to just rip it all off by now–he didn’t need it anymore. He doubted their view of him could get any lower.

Cleaning up any blood that spilled would be miserable though.

He sighed, and closed his eye.

—

He opened his eye.

The car wasn’t moving. He stared out into the woods. On the tree trunk closest to the car, a small, lizard-like Other stared back–pale white-green, with wispy ridges and frills covering it that made it look like a piece of lichen had come to life. The minor spirit scurried to the other side of the tree trunk after Reid stirred, quickly disappearing from sight.

He heard shouting in the distance. He turned his head and looked out the front window. Hadley was standing in the middle of the road, gesturing and yelling at a figure sitting on a parked motorcycle. Chase was also outside, yelling at Hadley.

He shifted in his seat, and Tanner, who still remained in the car, took notice.

“So it turns out Hadley could avoid War on the road with random cars and traffic, but not other conflicts,” Tanner explained, turning to him.

Reid looked closer. The figure was a young adult wearing a tattered leather jacket. He didn’t have a head, though he was cradling his helmet in one arm, so Reid had an idea of where it was. An echo of a girl wearing a tank top sat in the passenger seat–probably a wraith, given that she looked aware and present in the conversation.

“Dullahan.” Reid stated, wincing at how much of a rasp his voice had. He tried to clear his throat, but that just caused pain to shoot through it.

“Yeah. Hadley’s run into him before, apparently. Water?”

Reid nodded. Tanner passed him a water bottle.

Reid accepted it, only to remember that they hadn’t brought water with them on the drive down.

“Where did–”

“We stopped at a gas station. You were out for a while.”

“Oh.”

The front window was open. He could hear the chirping of crickets from the woods, providing a backdrop of droning noise to the argument on the road.

“The air feels strange out here,” Tanner said. “I don’t know when you went to sleep, but–”

“No. I know what you mean.”

The summer had been strange as well, but a different sort of strange. Aggressive Others had acted out, challenging wards or creeping too close to civilization. The less violent ones hid. The spirits functioned as they always had, but with the higher power arbitrating them murdered and her blood pooling over the region, some Others had decided to test boundaries and see what they could get away with.

The little spirit was a sign that things should have been better. A new arbitrator was on the seat and making sure violence was regulated. The lesser wildlife felt secure enough to emerge. Things should have been returning to normal.

But that arbitrator was the Carmine Exile. He would make a new normal, or attempt to. There wouldn’t be any major changes, but Reid could already sense something had shifted. He wasn’t a shaman or able to read the flow of spirits, but he–

He just knew. He was tainted by the Abyss, and that part of him just knew deep down, things were different.

They weren’t safe here. They were vulnerable, in ways they hadn’t been before.

Silence fell over them, as neither knew what to say next. Reid didn’t have the energy or will to start up any sort of small talk. Tanner’s swoop of blond hair obscured the side of his face, but he didn’t seem particularly at ease with the quiet between them.

That seemed to be a constant with Tanner. It rarely showed on the surface, but there were subtler tells–from the faint tension in his posture, to the suits that Tanner never seemed fully comfortable in, despite how sharp and well-fitting they looked. Reid used to admire that–he assumed Tanner felt out of place given his background, and admired his efforts to try and raise himself up, to keep up with his practitioner allies.

He couldn’t admire Tanner now. It felt as if his mere presence was distressing to his classmate.

Tanner used to be brimming with questions about the practice, or about Reid’s own experiences.

For a moment it looked like Tanner might open his mouth, but the sound of a motorcycle revving in the distance diverted his attention. Chase and Hadley started walking back to the car, and Tanner almost looked relieved to see them returning.

To have an excuse to escape talking to him. The lump in his throat grew.

Reid closed his eye again.

He was asleep before the car started.

—

“We are back! Hello, Blue Heron!” Hadley exclaimed as she opened the door to the senior hall. It was far too late to be shouting, but Hadley hadn’t gotten the memo. She looked even more invigorated than she had this afternoon, and it felt especially out of place in the lifeless nighttime hallway.

Amazingly, no one seemed to have been stirred by the noise, or if they were, they at least weren’t shouting back and telling Hadley to fuck off. The two augurs trailed behind her, both of them looking worn out and exhausted in contrast.

Reid followed after them. He didn’t want to think about how he looked.

“Thanks for the night out, boys,” Hadley said, turning back to face them. “See you tomorrow afternoon.”

She grinned and entered her room, shutting the door behind her with more force than she probably intended.

“Might skip class tomorrow,” Chase mumbled, walking down to the other side of the hall.

“Won’t your sister be annoyed? Whitt family heir not showing up to teach about emotions?” Tanner asked.

“She’ll bitch if I teach too. She’s way more into the family practice, she’ll find something to bitch about.”

“Sounds like you’re fucked either way,” Tanner said, giving him a lighthearted shrug.

Chase let out a despairing groan, and retired to his room.

Tanner, already at his own door, turned around. “Goodnight, Reid.”

A clipped, scripted goodbye that he barely put any emotion into.

Reid gave him a small nod of acknowledgement, and he disappeared into his room shortly after.

Escaping him.

An emptiness rose up in him. He felt a mental static prick at the edges of his mind, interrupting his thoughts with reminders–pain, surges of feelings.

He needed to get the glamour off his face, but he didn’t want to go back to his room. It was like a tomb–a sealed, dark chamber, stuffed with mementos of the person he used to be, and reminders of everything he could never go back to.

He turned around, taking stock of the empty hall again.

There was a light behind Raymond’s office, though it was difficult to see with the office’s positioning. It seemed to be coming from the Belanger circle’s office.

Reid knew who was in there. It couldn’t be anyone else, especially at this hour. He also knew that talking, or even seeing anyone else would only make him feel worse.

He headed towards his washroom. He took off the mask and eyepatch and ran his hand down them to remove the glamour. The substance fell off, spent, and the face coverings became blood-stained bandages, which he threw in the trash. He splashed his face with water and rubbed at it with his hands, and the glamour ran down into the sink with blood, turning the water red.

He wrapped fresh bandages around his face, watching it barely take a minute for faint bloodstains to appear in the mirror, or for the dark watercolor stains to start creeping in.

He stared at his bed for a moment. Then, he walked back out of his room, because as horrible as any interaction might make him feel, he knew it would be better than being alone.

The door to the Belanger circle’s office was slightly ajar. He pushed it open and stood at the doorway.

Wye was sitting on a couch in front of a coffee table, in what looked like a casual lounge room or waiting area for the office. The only lights that were on were the warm, yellow light of a lamp on the end table, and the artificial glow of Wye’s laptop, which was sitting on the coffee table in front of him. A glass of liquor, mostly empty, also sat on the end table.

After a couple of moments Wye seemed to finally notice him, and pressed a key on the laptop before looking up.

“Hey, Reid,” he said, a small smile appearing on his face. “Finally back?”

“Finally back,” he answered, taking a couple steps inside the office.

“That bad?” Wye let out a small laugh, and patted the empty seat on the couch, gesturing for him to come further in.

Reid followed the gesture and sat down next to him. Obeying Wye gave him authority in the conversation, but Reid didn’t care right now.

There was a show on the TV screen, which Wye had paused. It looked like some kind of courtroom drama, with an older man wearing a brightly colored suit in the middle of the screen.

“Tanner recommended this one. He said the lawyer reminded him of me, though I’m starting to wonder if that was a veiled insult.”

As amused as Wye sounded, his good humor didn’t reach his eyes. He looked sad, with a weariness that seeped into how he held himself, and how he both stared at Reid and right through him all at once.

Reid nodded. Wye’s earlier question didn’t demand an immediate answer, and Reid couldn’t think of anything to say, so his gaze fell back onto the laptop screen. Wye resumed the episode, and he watched the older man defend a suspicious-looking client with a passionate speech, citing legal loopholes along with emotionally manipulative pleas. He didn’t see much of Wye in the character–he hadn’t seen Wye at work often, admittedly, but he wasn’t a con artist.

The scene ended after a few minutes. Reid attempted to collect his thoughts as the show transitioned into quieter dialogue.

“I thought something would change tonight. Maybe I’d gain some pleasant memories for a change, or I’d learn something new.”

His voice sounded weak, small and shaky because it was taking most of his effort to hold back the welling pit of emotion growing in him.

“Did you?” Wye asked.

“I learned that I can’t get drunk. Not anymore,” Reid scoffed.

Wye’s eyes widened. “Really? The Abyss is too cruel.” He leaned back, placing a hand on his chin as he contemplated. “There’s a priest of Dionysus in… Toronto, I believe. If you wanted to restore–”

Reid shook his head, and Wye stopped.

“What, and be blessed into a drunken stupor for the rest of my days?” Reid let out a small, bitter laugh. It hurt. “Actually, that sounds like an amazing idea. Better than anything else waiting for me at the funeral.”

Wye chuckled, though the good humor he forced out continued to feel at odds with his expression. He trailed off, falling quiet and staring at Reid.

“You sound different.”

The words were said with the slightest smile. Wye met his gaze and he looked wistful, almost–the sadness in his eyes touched with fondness. His words weren’t judgmental or prying, and the pity he had managed to not feel patronizing.

It felt warm.

Whatever strength he’d been using to hold back the flood of emotions and keep his composure broke.

His eyes, both destroyed and intact, began to water.

“Kaye said she liked my voice,” he whispered, hoarse. “She liked when I sang to her.”

Wye hadn’t been referring to his actual voice. He didn’t care.

“I can’t sing to her anymore. She won’t want me.”

He choked out the words and leaned forward, hugging his arms close to his chest.

“The others don’t want me. I’m just–I’m miserable and fucked up and nothing and I can’t be anything else and–”

He let out a sob, and spoke on the trail end of it. “I don’t want to be like this.”

With those words came more sobs, and tears that flowed out and stained his bandages. He knew he should stop, he shouldn’t cry, especially in front of a peer, but he couldn’t. When he cried in the hospital he’d been able to hold some of his composure, mostly because he’d been so weak that he could do little else but let tears stream down his face.

He couldn’t remember sobbing like this before. It felt like that hollow pit in him was bottomless, and no matter how much he cried, or let out unseemingly wails, he couldn’t make it get any smaller.

“It hurts–so much, all of the time–I can’t feel rested, I can’t enjoy food–can’t enjoy anything, I don’t have anything to enjoy without–without bad memories, so I just feel angry, or empty, or–or–I don’t know what I feel–”

The worst part was listening for a reply, a shift in Wye’s posture, anything to tell him how his friend was reacting. He heard nothing. He glanced over, and Wye didn’t even look bothered or disturbed. He looked concerned, with a small, sad frown across his face, almost like–

Almost like he cared. He was showing him more weakness than he’d shown since he was a toddler, and Wye was just…worried about him.

“Just let it all out,” Wye said. “It’s good to cry.”

Reid wanted to object to that statement, but he couldn’t stop sobbing. He couldn’t object to Wye reaching out his hand–slowly, as if asking for permission first–and laying it on his back, giving it a comforting rub.

The gesture made him cry even more. He’d never entirely processed how isolated he felt after losing his familiars, how there was just a gaping emptiness where he used to always have a connection and someone at his side. Wye’s touch alleviated that loneliness, just a little bit.

He wanted to lean into him, to have some kind of support–

But he couldn’t. Wye wasn’t like Kaye. Even if he’d been with Reid in his worst moments leading up to the contest, and even if he was here now, they weren’t close. They were both adult men. It would just be offputting and pathetic.

So he leaned the other way, letting the armrest support his side and resting his face in his hands. He cried for his past life, with its simplicity and his naive confidence, both lost forever. He cried because he’d fucked up so much of that past, missed out on so many things he could never have now, and did things that could never be taken back. He cried for his face and for the Abyss that ran in his veins, and how each sob he choked out hurt. It felt like each thing that prompted tears led to him remember another, related thing to cry over.

He didn’t know how long he was like that. Time stopped feeling present. There was lighting, but it was dim enough that the edges of the lounge room were swallowed up by darkness.

It was as if this one room was the only place in the universe. Like he and Wye were the only people who existed, in this quiet place cut off from everything else.

At some point, his sobs grew quieter, and he had more room to breathe. Whatever supply had existed in that bottomless, hollow pit felt like it’d begun to exhaust itself. Or, somehow, his body was tired of crying, even if he couldn’t feel that tiredness.

And Wye was still there. His show had ended a long time ago, but he was still there, staring ahead into the darkness.

He sighed. “Look at us… some sorry excuses for successors, we are.”

“Hm?” Reid croaked out, looking up and at Wye.

“I’ve been thinking. We’re the last ones left, really,” Wye said, picking up his glass and swirling the half-melted ice cubes around inside. “Bristow’s gone, no heir, Durocher only has and wants the occasional apprentice, and Ray… he has Zed, I guess, but it’s not really the same. Not like Hector was.”

Reid sat back up, remaining quiet as he watched Wye place the glass back down.

“It’s just us. What’s left of the ‘BHI Five’.” Wye raised one hand and made lazy, almost sarcastic air quotes. “One young man who’s lost everything and I– I couldn’t even keep Maurice on the line for five minutes, when Alexander–”

He took a deep breath, composing himself.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t make this about me. It’s not about me.”

“It’s fine,” Reid said.

“You understand though, right?”

Reid thought about it. He thought about their conversation in Kennet, and how he compared the pressure both Alexander and his father placed on them, respectively. All of those expectations to live up to, and the people who were guiding them–who they looked up to more than anything or anyone else–were gone.

“Yeah. I understand.”

“Yeah. So I want to let you know… I’m glad you’re here. Everything’s gone to shit, but you’re still alive. That matters.”

“I may not be alive for long,” Reid said, bitterness touching his voice. “There’s still the rest of my family.”

Wye’s words should have made him feel better. Crying should have made him feel better, letting him vent his emotions or whatever nonsense people said to justify their tears. Neither words or tears did. That dark cloud, that hollowness inside him that went beyond sadness–it was all still there.

“Well, let’s just hope for the best.” Wye gave him a small, momentary smile, and then leaned over to open his laptop bag that was sitting against the side of the coffee table.

He took out a couple of pieces of paper and handed them to Reid. He looked over them, skimming at first, and then reading more closely when he saw the contents. The identities of two women were on them, as well as their social media accounts, their shared license plate number, and their phone number.

“These were the two women who came with the late contestant– Lauren. I saw their faces, used practice to look back at their license plate, and mundane detective work filled everything in from there. I know Raymond said he’d give you a way to contact her family, but I don’t know if–”

“I called them. It wasn’t productive,” Reid said, still looking down at the papers, still stunned by what he was seeing.

“I figured.”

“How long did this take?” Reid asked, his voice small.

“A couple of hours, give or take,” Wye said, shrugging.

“What about the jobs you need to do? Your family? All the contacts who can’t be kept waiting? Nicolette’s trying to undermine you with her own augury, you can’t afford–”

“That’s what Tanner and Chase are for,” Wye joked, though his reply was a little too forceful to be completely joking, “but you’re important too. I wanted to do this. It was a nice break from exhausting politics.”

Reid tightened his grip on the papers. He almost felt like he was going to cry again, but pushed that feeling away.

“Look. If you ever need anything, or you want me to do something… just ask. I can’t guarantee results, but I want to help you.”

Reid stared at Wye, trying to read his face. He didn’t understand what was going on here. The Wye he knew wouldn’t make such an open offer, or if he did, it wouldn’t be with any real sincerity. Yet he looked completely serious– no faint amusement, only a small frown and what almost looked like guilt in his expression.

Manipulation? No, Wye had nothing to gain from a pawn that was going to be skewered metaphorically and maybe literally in a matter of days. It couldn’t be that. He dismissed the idea quickly, because he didn’t want it to be true, either.

This was sincere. Wye had seen him wail like a baby for God knew how long, he’d been with him in Kennet, and he was still saying this.

Reid stared back down at the papers.

“There is one thing, actually.”

Comments

[sunlit_skycat]

Wye wasn’t like Kaye. Even if he’d been with Reid in his worst moments leading up to the contest, and even if he was here now, they weren’t close. They were both adult men. It would just be offputting and pathetic.

This passage, where Reid explicitly compares Wye and Kaye in his head, reads both like shiptease and also that sort of internalized homophobia thing where men are afraid to get emotional support from other men because they're worried it'll make them look gay, and therefore weak. It's also a marked contrast between how much effort Reid put into keeping up appearances around Chase, Tanner, and Hadley.

I don't know if this is the the type of work where they kiss at the end, but clearly there is some strong emotional bond there.