( & may the bridges i burn light the way. )

So Celeste was sort of a bitch. But it was reassuring in its way, because there was no insincerity - no I love you followed up with a punch, no we just want the best for you followed up by half a bowl of gruel to eat all day.

Celeste was never going to be her friend, but that was fine. Dear as her friends were to her, Kris didn’t feel the need to seek out more just for its own sake. Sometimes it was nice to talk to someone like Celeste, with no pressure and no obligation. It was hard to be offended, anyway; Celeste was quick and clever. Kris had a loud voice and spoke far too often with her fists. So yes, Celeste WOULD live longer than she ever would. But Kris wouldn’t mind dying if her death could change something, save someone - and that was the difference between them.

Unscrewing the cap and taking two too-long swigs of whisky, Kris grimaced. The booze was peaty and tasted like a bonfire, and it burned against her cracked lips. It felt good. It was what she’d wanted. “Don’t wanna slip through the cracks though, do I? I wanna fuckin’ FIGHT. I ain’t join the Guard to protect myself, I done it ‘cause I wanna make a difference.”

         &&.    “You have others, y’know, to do that for you. PROTECT YOU. Whether you like it or not,” she found herself grinning in the night, releasing a plume of smoke. “I don’t see any of Kris’ band of friendsies letting her die, even if that means they do. Non-negotiables, funny things, aren’t they?”

         If nothing else, Celeste could lend her respect to Kris for, as she did herself, pursuing a goal. ( Even if the other soldier’s goal was questionable at  B E S T, and IDIOTIC every other time. ) Indeed, she was a creature of fickleness and temporary solutions and slipping through the cracks. She’d never dealt in permanence. But, above all, over everything, no matter the cost: she pursued survival. That was permanent, that was a  n o n - n e g o t i a b l e.  Kris hadn’t chose the right goal to pursue ( and one that would surely see her life ended of unnatural causes ) but AT LEAST she’d chosen one. 

          MAKE A DIFFERENCE, that was Kris Hyland’s non-negotiable. 

          So Celeste didn’t part her lips and ask the Red what the POINT of difference was if she’d likely not be around to see it. To live it. Just like she felt sure Kris wouldn’t ask her why if ( ... WHEN ) it came to a choice between her life and any one of theirs, she chose herself. NON-NEGOTIABLE. 

          “You JOINED the Guard, you want to  F I G H T,  eh?” She laughed, and it sounded crisp in the quiet night. “I fear you’ll get the chance. See, I fell into the Guard, and I want to  L I V E. What are my chances?” Celeste drew in from the cigarette, eyes glued closely to her companion. “You’ll get your fight, the odds are in your favour on that one. But in ALL THIS,” she nodded her head in a vague direction, a very MERE gesture for a grand idea, “what are my CHANCES of living? What of my odds, Kris Hyland?”

Octavian couldn’t help it—he grinned, taking a small step back to move out of the Red’s personal space, his eyes travelling up and down her. He took in the mocking expression, the empty plate, the raised arm, and knew instantly he’d happened across somebody he wanted to get to know more than the vast majority of the Silvers he’d found himself spending time with in recent weeks. Sure, she was a Red, but since coming to Archeon he’d found himself minding less and less about the colour of blood. After all, he wasn’t exactly swimming in interesting conversation enough to be picky about where it came from.

“Yes, those look like phenomenal biceps,” he agreed, laughing, reaching out to encircle her uplifted arm with his fingers and squeeze jokingly, careful to keep the movement light enough not to hurt. He was so useless at remembering not to just reach out and touch as he’d done all his life—his instinct was to seek out other people’s bodies, not withdraw from them as was polite.

She was wiry, certainly, and probably not weak compared to other people…but everybody, next to Octavian, had the strength of a newborn lamb. Still wearing a teasing expression, he released her, and raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Are you going to turn that terrible strength on me if I ask you to show me where you got that food? I’m starving.”

          &&.   As the Silver scrutinised HER, she did the same thing right back. Her eyes narrowed and her sinewy arm still raised, the last thing she expected was for him to join her joking. Celeste, MIRACULOUSLY, found herself budging a  c a u t i o u s  grin. His hand, however, shot out to snake around her arm, and the Red instinctively flinched. Upon realising it wasn’t to HARM, though, she tried to cover the grimace with a laugh. “Mate, phenomenal? I prefer  G O D L Y  biceps,” she tipped her head in mock arrogance, her brows cocked, the way she remembered Silver soldiers to do. 

          She placed her hands on her narrow hips, her chest puffed out. A posture of her continued tough guy act. “Well, I MIGHT HAVE TO ——— if ya don’t do the GENTLEMANLY thing and buy a helpful Red such as meself a pancake or two for leading the way.” Celeste raised her palm to her mouth and  S P A T  in it, before holding it out to the Silver. “Deal?” She allowed a moment to pass before relinquishing her hand to wipe on her pants, a MISCHIEVOUS smirk on her lips. “Just fuckin’ with ya. It’s this way,” Celeste bopped her head to their left, and begun walking.

Damon and Celeste seemed to just understand that spending the night trapped in a small room wasn’t what they both wanted. The exchange had been nothing more than a shrug and a series of looks before he followed her up the ladder to the roof of the small apartment. He wasn’t feeling up to sleeping anyway, there was way too much on his mind to even let him close an eyelid. If it wasn’t enough that the day had been horrible, he couldn’t help but still feel on high alert being so close to Silvers in a place he’s not familiar with.

The night was colder than he had expected so he was thankful when she held out a bottle to her. Usually he’d say no, tell her he wasn’t that guy anymore and he had to work on being better for Kris and the people around him. But what he had learnt during the last few days was that people owed him nothing and he owed them nothing in return. If they weren’t going to treat him properly than why should he give a damn whether he tried to get better or not. Kris certainly didn’t care whether he was better or trying or not. 

He took the bottle from her without bothering to say why he had changed his mind on the matter of drinking. The alcohol on his bruised, sore throat seemed like a blessing and a curse at the same time; the pain making him feel better as the begins of guilt started to wrap around his shoulders. He took several more gulps before handing her back the bottle, ignoring the fact it burnt like somethin’ else.

The silence settled over them comfortably and Damon sighed, glad that the world had quieted down a little. Eventually he spoke, “so did you have a shitty fucking day like me.”

          &&.   If there was one thing Celeste could say in defence of her cold nature, it was that DESPITE having near no feelings, an indifference, if you would, to everyone she’d ever met: Damon and Brooks were two Reds she had a CERTAIN amount of non-indifference toward. That wasn’t to say all the non-indifferences were positive. It wasn’t to say she considered them FRIENDS. However, the two weathered soldiers had each stirred up something in her, in face of a lone wolf-like  d e t a c h e d n e s s. 

          For Damon, she harboured irritation. Fear, nervousness, distaste. Harm and hurt seemed to leak from his pores. Himself, those around him: Ivers was always DAMAGING something or someone, sometimes in an unforgivably awful way. ( She’d never forget what this man’s hands had done to someone he claimed to love. ) But, buried beneath all the DISLIKE, was pity. Celeste couldn’t remember feeling sympathetic toward anyone in the entirety of her life. Yet, she did for Damon.

oh, did she PITY him. 

             “No shit,” she agreed. “At least Naercey ain’t  c r a w l i n g  with Silvers.” She’d been observing people and their HABITS long enough now to sense a sort of helplessness in him. It wasn’t an excuse for his behaviour, but it seemed an inevitability for it. People DESPISED Damon for the monster he was, and so, despite all his intentions of being better, a monster he chose to and would be. He dealt a shitty,  v e n o m o u s  hand, but the cards Damon had been given to start with were never hopeful. He NEEDED some kind of help, but help was seldom offered to the hot-headed, mess of a Red. “Wanna’ talk about your day?” She didn’t want to talk about anybody’s day, alas, that was the kind of thing friends seemed to do.

         Celeste accepted the bottle back and skulled a swig, before resting the bottle between her lap and reclining as she eyed Damon’s face. “Sporting a couple new bruises, hey, Ivers? Let me guess. You got into a fight with a  L I O N,”  her lips spread into a soft smile of what she hoped translated as camaraderie, “and you WON.”

It hadn’t been that long since Sabina had wandered these streets with Aetius, but the sun was no longer perched high in the sky, and her stomach not so empty as it was at the beginning of the festivities. She couldn’t eat another wedge of a candied apple, another piece of caramel corn, another slice of cake… but the cotton candy had been so light and fluffy, maybe she might be able to get just one more sugary pink cloud of the stuff…

But the unexpected voice shook her from her thoughts. Truthfully, Sabina hadn’t really realized how late it had gotten. When she found out the event had been extended, she didn’t feel so bad about slipping out a little early to go home and catch up on some midnight reading. After all, she’d be up with the sun the next day, bright and early and ready to do it all over again. She was determined: she would not miss a thing.

“I might say the same to you,” she countered lightly, almost a laugh. “You’re not lost, are you?”

         &&.   “YOU MIGHT,” Celeste agreed, and felt nervous for a moment, that perhaps the Silver would do that exactly. But she didn’t. Her fists unclenched, muscles loosened slightly. Though, not entirely. Sure, this particular one didn’t look VICIOUS, but underestimation could be the most  r e g r e t t a b l e  of mistakes. The Red remained grounded, the distance between them of design. The Silver’s question, however, had Celeste cracking a rare grin, her brows drawing up in amusement. 

         “Lady Silver, would you know what I mean if I told you I’ve been  L O S T  for as LONG as I can remember?” She asked, searching her companion’s eyes to gauge a reaction. “Never known where I’m going, never known where I’m living, never been sure about NO PLACE in my life.” Celeste fished around her bag for a pack of fairy floss, ripped it open, and plucked a cloud out before popping it between her lips. “S’pose not, aye?” The Red tipped her head towards the TOWERING, GLEAMING structure that was Whitefire Palace. “Y’all got that one light, always sucking you in like moths. Hard to get lost with that.” Cautiously, she extended her arm towards the woman, fairy floss in hand; an offer.

         “Me? All I got is my own two feet and the  N I G H T  S K Y,  black as charcoal. Us Reds don’t really get prime electricity,” Celeste cackled wildly, as if she’d told a HILARIOUS joke. ( The INSIDE kind of joke ——— one that only SHE would get. ) 

( OPEN TO ALL REDS ) 

                       After wandering through the carnival for hours, Sera eventually found herself on the outskirts of the festival, drawn in by the firelight. The electric lights weren’t as frequent so far away from the main event, but there were a few small bonfires set up, and music playing. The music! Stars, Sera had never heard music that raw before, music that was cutting through the air on reedy fiddles and flutes and guitars, played with unskilled fingers. She was used to the perfect recordings of old world music, to the practiced and beautiful compositions of the Silvers. The music of her world was so much more REFINED than this, but it was nowhere near as ALIVE as the melody she could hear wafting through the firelight. Couples and children danced in a giant circle, paired off into twos and threes and fives as they spun and clapped and laughed in time with the beat, and Sera found herself counting their steps as she hovered on the outskirts of the group. The dance was unfamiliar to her, but simple enough. One, two, three, cross, spin, clap, two, three, clap, clap, spin. It was easy to follow, an uncomplicated pattern that was embellished on by the more talented couples in the group, and by the time she’d watched two cycles of it, Sera was fairly certain she had it down. Not that she was about to INTRUDE, by any means, but a dancer herself, she was all too interested in this folksy bit of fun. 

                       She had good intentions –– the BEST of them, really –– when someone bumped into her, sending her stumbling forward, closer to the group of dancers. It was odd. No one immediately apologized or reached to steady her. No one bowed or cowered before her. Three people turned to glance curiously at her, but that was that. Sera blinked, startled, but then smiled, a bit pleased that no one had recognized her. She didn’t have to be the ghost tonight. She clapped when the song finished, CHEERING for the band with the rest of the Reds, intending on turning around and leaving them to their own devices and enjoyment, when a new song started up. Something slower, still unfamiliar, with drawn out claps and a humming so loud and deep it felt like the buzzing vibration of standing in the middle of an oversized beehive. Someone grabbed her by her wrist and tugged her into the stamped down circle of a dance floor, and before she could protest, they were spinning and dancing with the rest of the group. She stumbled a little with the steps, glancing at her partner’s feet and at the feet of the couples around them, and flushed SILVER in the firelight. 

                       “ Sorry!! ” she called out over the music, “ I’m not really familiar with this one! ” 

          &&.   PISS DRUNK, DRUNK PISSED. Celeste found herself barely able of making a mental note to berate Grey for such nonsense. Was it the whiskey or the wine that had slid her passed the safe point of inhibitions and common sense, to LOOSE LIMBS and a LAZY GRIN. And, furthermore, at what point had she lost her silver-tongued, sailing companion in the streets of Archeon? Closer and closer her feet brought her toward the THRUMMING beat, the sound of home from  f o r e v e r  and ever ago. NOT NAERCEY. The place before that. Before, even, she’d come to know what it was like to be HUNGRY and ALONE. Before she had to fend for herself. Before she was the  O N L Y  Hodson left. 

           Some part of her brain, she felt, vaguely and dimly screeching to AVOID the group of Reds dancing that came into view as she rounded an alleyway. But, much more dominantly, Celeste felt the lively swimming of booze in her veins, and a magnetic pull to the firelight. It wasn’t another few moments that the soldier found herself twisting and spinning with another Red, and then another and another. Her fifth ( sixth, seventh? ——— she’d lost count, ) partner, she noticed, wasn’t QUITE as fluid as the last. A bout of loud, AMUSED, drunk-happy laughter sounded from Celeste’s lips. “It don’t matter,” she assured the blonde, taking the lead. “You’re doin’ great!!” The slower song came to an end, and to her  D E L I G H T,  something faster had the couples picking up the pace with a new dance.

          “Here, like this,” she slurred, shooting her partner a wide, encouraging grin, and shimmied out the next moves a little slower. Clap, one, two, pull together, pull back, shimmy, hands together AND twist, clap. REPEAT. “Alright ——— ready to speed this up?” Celeste asked, laughing. 

     She had always been an observer, someone who felt most comfortable in watching from a safe distance where nothing could touch her. Her desire to observe sprung largely from the fact that she was utterly terrified of just about everyone, in one capacity or another. In fact, most of her own kind made her feel rather displaced; the only people she expected to be truly honest with her, and truly themselves were the Red servants she counted as friends ( though they hardly counted her a friend, surely ) and her cousin, though he was a given. 

     The only Silver she’d met, other than her own family, who hadn’t seemed to judge her had been one who seemed to appear and reappear at all the right times– in fact, he was just across the crowd now, with his back turned and his lovely eyes focused on something else entirely. Lucretia couldn’t help but watch him; he was perhaps the most handsome man she’d ever seen. It was not polite to stare, but something told her that he wouldn’t mind– especially if he never knew. 

     But someone else seemed to mind a great deal, for they came tumbling toward her, hasty words spilling from her mouth– had she called her ‘LADY SILVER’?– faster than Lucretia’s startled mind could register. She blanched, eyes wide and mouth ajar as the approaching figure drew closer, only to topple to the ground just feet away. Despite how utterly confused she was– a great R E D?– she found herself scrambling forward to help her up, a flustered, “Oh goodness!” slipping from her lips as she tentatively fluttered about, wondering if it was appropriate to simply hook her arms around her and pull. 

     “Are you alright?” Lucretia tentatively placed her hand on the Red’s arm, eyes darting from her face, to the face of… not Dorian Thany, perhaps. Had she been staring at the wrong man’s ass for the past five minutes? “I’m sure he’s– Brooks? Took quite a tumble there; you’re a Red, you said? And– and your friend? Did I– did I do something to– here, let me just help you up, okay?” BROOKS? Who the hell is BROOKS?

         &&.   “Oh, jeeze. Oh, God. Oh Jesus, lady Silver, I... I’m really not. I don’t wanna’ cause no trouble. I’m,” ——— upon realising the hand the woman placed on her arm was there to HELP and not to  H U R T,  Celeste Hodson’s rambling came to a baffled end. She peered up at the Silver, her features considerably horrified, but, mostly, CONFUSED. The Red immediately jolted up to a stand, taking another few steps back whilst brushing her dirt covered palms on Damon’s pants. 

         She extended a hand with the intention of patting the Silver’s shoulder, a show of thankful camaraderie, but just as soon withdrew it. Don’t want to offend with inappropriate gestures, she thought to herself. She opened her mouth to thank the Silver, but similarly clamped it shut. Don’t want to offend with stupid words, Celeste reminded herself. Man, this Silver was  O D D.  Didn’t want to hurt her, didn’t want to teach her a lesson. OFFERING HELP, even? Not even Gamble irked the Red soldier this much.

          So Celeste did the ONE THING she always reverted to in doubt. She jammed her hand in her backpack and produced an apple. She held it out towards the Silver, an offering. “Sorry, Miss Silver. About everything. Way, super sorry. I just, well ——— hahahaha ——— Reds, y’know?” Celeste scratched the back of her neck awkwardly following up the loud, unnerved guffaws. “We’re weird sometimes!!!”

It was no surprise that Celeste was quick to help herself out with ‘borrowed’ pieces of clothing from Brooks and Damon. Anger was not the reason his eyes moved up and down, observing her. It was just almost amusing how she was drowning in fabric that could cover her up twice, if not even three times. But she was still running around like that, not having a care in the world that it didn’t fit. 

“No, I’m just not sure if that’s your color. — But keep it.” He offered, shaking his head with a small grin on his face. Celeste was so tiny, and their clothes so big. He couldn’t explain himself how she felt comfortable in them. Even with the shirt buttoned up to the top it was still slipping off her shoulder, exposing quite a bit of skin. It was actually adorable and funny.

“I don’t know, why?” He returned at her question. “You don’t like parties, huh?” Celeste was like him, mostly trying to stay away as best as possible from people. But opposed to her, tonight he was feeling really good actually.

         &&.  “One trip to Silver Land and suddenly you’re OUR VERY OWN fashionista, hey hey, Faulkner?” She pulled her fingers away from the hanging prizes after a moment, and deposited the small trinket she’d nicked directly into her pocket. ( THREE OF THEM ALREADY SAT AT THE BOTTOM OF HER BAG. ) Celeste coasted out of the stall and towards Brooks, tugging her pants up around her waist. “Ain’t my size, that’s for fuckin’ sure,” she mused absentmindedly. 

          “Me?” Her hand snaked nervously up to her ear, shoving a loose dread away from her face. “Why, I LOVE PARTIES.” She drifted in front of him, and slyly plucked a piece of fruit from a stall whilst the owner distractedly checked out Faulkner. Celeste slid it, unseen, into her pack. “Y’know, my favourite kinda’ parties are the ones with,” she paused, glancing slightly over her shoulder as a guard passed them, “——— SILVERS everywhere I turn. Really brings out your festive side, bumping shoulders with your mortal enemy and long-time OPPRESSORS, don’t it?”

          She stopped in her tracks, her full attention on Brooks for a second. Celeste spoke quietly, then, her head suddenly downturned. The soldier found herself unable to fight off the anxiousness seeping into her eyes, her tone. “I don’t like this, man. I don’t like  A N Y  of it. None of us shoulda’ came here. BAD FUCKIN’ idea.” The entire point of Naercey was freedom from Silvers, safety from their reign. So why the FUCK had Aurora allowed them to be thrust into the midst of the one city most populated by them? “I don’t want to get stuck here.”

          &&.   Utilising the rusted bars of the ladder, Celeste propelled herself upwards to the roof. At the top, peering through the dingy sun-roof, she could make out Brooks. Asleep, or resting, she guessed. In any case, unwilling to be bothered by his two companions. Outside, the night fell over Archeon. Unlike Naercey’s thick darkness, the light-speckled Silver City didn’t have her shoulders feeling any less tense. Even in the night, even there crested on the very outskirts of the city: their buildings seemed far too  S H A R P,  far too close. Crouching, she turned to eye Damon as he followed suit and joined her on atop the nondescript apartment they’d been staying in. 

          She shot out a hand to catch his, offering a measly bit of support to get him that last bit up the ladder. “You,” the soldier started, extending her other hand, a whiskey bottle clamped between her fingers on offer for the Red; “look like you could use THIS, aye?”

After the conversation ( if it could be called that ) she’d had with Damon, Celeste should be one of the last people Kris wanted to see, as one of the few people that stuck around with him. But there was something about her that Kris couldn’t bring herself to dislike; she had a wolf’s skill for survival, and it was nothing to be looked down on. Besides: despite it all, it was good to see someone willing to put up with Damon - though Celeste’s motives were questionable, as they always were, it was good to know that Damon didn’t have to be totally alone.

She had actually been headed to the small room she’d be sharing with Andy, Adri, and Dean, but the unmistakeable sound of clinking bottles drew her back. Though not a habitual drinker, they sounded like church bells to her now: some days just made you thirsty. Cigarette clamped between her teeth, Kris glanced behind her as though Celeste could be addressing anyone else. “Nah, man. I’m a big girl, tie my own shoes and everything. Mind tradin’ me some booze?” She held out a fresh pack of cigarettes in offering, because she’d picked up plenty of those - no alcohol, though. The Silver cigarettes were a bit of a let down, anyway; they didn’t burn her throat nearly enough. She’d been having to smoke about four for every one she would have had back home, and you could hear it in the throaty rasp of her voice.

         &&.   “Hyland,” Celeste greeted, momentarily narrowing her eyes further. Celeste had never been the open mind, no-judging type. She was the CATEGORISING type. And Kris Hyland happened to fall under ‘avoid.’ Like most the other Reds from Naercey, the soldier had people she would  D I E  for.  Being Celeste meant avoiding people who would willingly die just for another to live. ( These type of people fell under ‘STUPID ASS,’ as well as ‘avoid.’ ) If they were down to die for the people they loved themselves, she’d bet they’d be more than okay with sacrificing her’s, too. Nope. No way.

          Her  s c r u t i n i s i n g  glare, however, softened at the prospect of cigarettes, and Celeste produced the whiskey for the trade. She didn’t bother with formalities, no ‘thank you’ was uttered as she plucked the pack from Kris’ hand and swapped it out for the alcohol. “Big girl, eh?” She mused, a cigarette propped between her teeth as she rummaged through her bag for a lighter. Once found, she lit the end of it and gestured behind Kris, towards the palace in the distance. Celeste felt Whitefire and what sat within it looming like crows circling their next meal. ( SHE WAS THE MEAL. ) “Don’t look so big up against the SCENERY out here in  S i l v e r  C i t y,  Tie-My-Own-Laces-And-Everything. Me? I’m a fuckin’ ANT.” She exhaled a plume of smoke, “none of ‘em will see me when I slip through the c r a c k s.”

          &&.   The carnival festivities had been UNSURPRISINGLY extended, and Celeste was betting on the Silvers executing their trap any hour now. She slinked through Archeon’s backstreets toward the place where Damon and Brooks likely waited for her, her backpack clinking with stolen assorted goods and her breath laced with whiskey. It wasn’t a  b r i l l i a n t  plan of His Majesty Carl Luke David Aurelian Calore the 200th to hatch in retaliation for the harbour’s bombing, by any means. Attract enough Reds with a gathering so that it’d be impossible for rebels to NOT be amongst the crowds. Lull them into a false sense of security with pancakes and shiny, golden things. SLAUGHTER THEM ALL IN THEIR SLEEP. She’d seen it coming miles away, all the way back in Naercey, where she’d been planning on staying UNTIL Grey’s persuasions.

          The Red reached around to her backpack for the waning bottle of whiskey. Celeste figured that if she was about to be on the run as a Red fugitive in the middle of Silver City, a little something boozy would do well to quell her nerves. However, at the sound of footsteps approaching, she paused and cleared her throat.

                ”ISN’T IT A                 LITTLE LATE TO BE OUT ON YOUR OWN...

The only reason Adri had ripped herself away from the shooting dart station was due to the intense smell of the delicious food that kept reaching her, provoking her, and finally making her give in. Silvers had no good attributes in her eyes, except maybe their food. Now that was to die for. The moment Adri receive her food she let out something between a groan and moan at the scent and sight of it. A low “fuck” left her lips at the first bite. The greasy food had just made this entire thing a hundred times better. Her walking back to her ‘station’ did not even stop her from continuing to eat, but the sight of someone familiar did make her change her trajectory. 

“Look what the cat dragged out,” she said, stuffing more of the food into her mouth. The brunette was not sure if to be surprise or not at the fact that none other than Celeste was standing before her. She knew the girl tended to keep to herself. Hell, she even lived by herself. “Let me guess, you’re going to be a party pooper and not have some fun because of the children.” Adri taunted her, cocking one brow. 

          &&.   Hovering by the food section, as well as avoiding any stalls that seemed popular was how Naercey’s resident rat had been busying herself. The soldier stood, or more specifically slouched, behind a small and uninteresting looking canopy. ( In other words, the one LEAST LIKELY to attract others. ) She scarfed down beer and sweets like nobody’s business. Her shoulders, miraculously, managed to slump even further at the sound of a FAMILIAR voice. 

EVEN IN ARCHEON, SHE COULDN’T ESCAPE HER FELLOW REDS.

          Celeste regarded Adri Nieves with barely a flicker of her unkept brows. She shoved another pancake begrudgingly into her gob, chewed dismissively in an attempt to convince the girl that she wasn’t WORTH antagonising. If she was in luck, Adri would grow bored, decide Damon was a better bet for a designated punching bag and leave her be. At her mention of CHILDREN, however, Celeste’s eyes widened. Her attention snapped up completely, she hovered reluctantly closer to Adri.

          “Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait.” She stepped closer again, lowering her voice a few octaves as if sharing a grave secret. “Y’mean... SILVER CHILDREN are here?” The Red swallowed thickly, blinking. “Oh, FUCK ME. Fuck’s sake. Fuckity fuckin’  F U C K.”  Celeste threw her plate towards the nearest bin, wiped her sticky fingers on her pants. “Nieves, listen. Wanna’ know the ONLY thing worst than the little gremlins of Naercey? Tiny scallywags with SILVER BLOOD and SILVER POWERS and big, angry ass ————

R E D -    HATING,      SILVER        P A R E N T S.” 

          Celeste rubbed her stomach, that just a moment ago she planned on continuing to overload. “BOLLOCKS. I’ve lost my damn appetite.”

For once, after his headache-inducing encounters with his siblings and Helene, Gerard was trying to mind his own business. Rare, he knew, but with the throbbing in his brain not likely to cease any time soon, it seemed best to wander around alone until life threw yet another nuisance at him. 

Unfortunately, that nuisance arrived SOONER rather than later, with a sharp jab to his chest. Admittedly, he hadn’t been watching where he was going ( he was unused to it- people in public had gone y e a r s moving out of his way without being told ), but she was so much shorter than him that Gerard honestly didn’t believe it would have mattered if his eyes had been peeled for her. 

She was small, made even tinier so by the clothes she was almost drowning in. It was a wonder that even with all of that, she managed to compose herself- a farce she was most likely putting on because she’d realized, seconds after sticking her elbow into him, that he was a Silver. 

Sure enough, ‘Mister Silver’ came out in her next breath, but then she dropped her formalities as soon as she’d gathered them. In less than thirty seconds, she’d made him DIZZY. 

“Oi?,” he asked in disbelief, looking down his nose at this small and ratty slip of a girl. There was nothing else he could say- nothing else to say. For the first time, a Red girl had taken his tongue. 

          &&.   Her brows furrowed at the Silver’s parroting of her words, face set somewhere between being perplexed and disbelieving. Maybe this Silver was from another Silver city, maybe he didn’t speak their language. Maybe he just didn’t speak Red, she thought to herself, and saved her laughter at her own joke for a time when it wouldn’t be in a SILVER’S face.

           “... S’pose you lot would have no reason for belts, though, aye?” She drawled, nodding mostly to herself, in the way of someone who’d just solved a puzzle. “Get all your pants made for you by... pants people and that.” Celeste paused, as if on cue to pull her pants back up once again. “Anyways. They’re, like, these things you put around the top of pants and buckle up so if they’re a little big, they don’t go falling down all the  D A M N  time. They’re usually leather.”

           She gave him a few moments to absorb the information before continuing. “And oi? Oi is like... y’know when y’all say ‘excuse me fellow lord or lady Silver, fifth... or whatever number... of his or her name, Archeon born yadda yadda: we just say ‘OI.’ Keep it simple. Speaking of keeping it simple,” she gestured down at her ever-sagging pants, “a bit of rope would be great if y’know where I can find some? ANYTHING I can tie around my waist’ll do. Who needs belts when you have a nice piece of string huh?” She asked, laughing. 

          Just as quickly as the chuckles passed her lips, however, she’d wished she could stuff them back down her throat. Celeste smacked her lips together, rocking back on her heels with an unceremonious shrug. “Red humour.”

( send me △ for my muse to get trapped in a small closet with yours. )

          &&.   Her heart had just about come to a halt. WHITEFIRE PALACE WAS UNDER ATTACK, and no one had GOD DAMN bothered to give Celeste a heads up.

           It’ll be fine, Celeste, the Red soldier imitated her Commander inwardly as she bolted through a deserted hallway and  A W A Y  from the sound of gunfire. Just waltz into the Silver equivalent of a bee’s nest and expect not to get stung, Celeste. I’m the Commander and I’m equal parts pretty and bad ass so you can trust me when I say you’re TOTALLY not going to die out there, Celeste. Also, I control your food rations so you don’t really have a choice ——— but have fun!! P.S. I’m going to blow the fucking palace up.

          “Fucking irrational ass, wild as shit, mother - f u c k i n g,” she spat, pausing to catch her breath. After the explosion ripped through the ballroom, chaos ensued. Silver blood stained the marble tiles and screams pierced through her thoughts, dimmed by the numb buzzing left from the loud BANG.  From what she could gather by the sounds echoing and carrying throughout the palace, SOMEONE was holding SOMEONE hostage. Which side was winning, she had no clue. Either way, she sure as shit wasn’t planning on being around to find out.

          Celeste tried the FIFTH apartment door she’d came across, all four before it locked, and was surprised to find herself stumbling into a room. She might’ve taken a second to marvel over all the steal-worthy shiny things if it weren’t for the man sprawled out atop a desk to the left, holding his side. Vibrant silver leaked through his fingers, and his eyes immediately narrowed at her. Her eyes, in turn, WIDENED at him.

          Clad in an extravagant dress and a thick layer of cool tinged makeup, she reminded herself she looked the Silver part. If she played it right, she could shackle up there until one of the Reds found her. GOOD PLAN, she commended herself, STICK TO IT. And then a barrage of approaching footsteps sounded behind her, and just like that: all her composure dissipated. “C’MON, fancy pants,” Celeste thrust forward, collecting the Silver’s hand as she dived for the decorated closet that sat against the apartment’s back wall. “TIME TO HIDE.”

         She tugged the closet door shut behind them and clamped her lips together, listening intently to the shuffling and stepping noises floating into the room. Celeste almost forgot all together about her Silver companion, until his blood dropped onto her dress. Her line of sight snapped up to his face, steely despite the pain he was likely in. Skeptical. SCRUTINISING HER. She considered, for a moment, how to angle this. ( It wasn’t like she could just knock out a Silver twice her size, unfortunately. )

          “You’re hurt? Well, you’re OBVIOUSLY hurt. Soooo… brave,” she ambled awkwardly, trying to bat her lashes like she’d seen some of the Silver ladies doing. DAMSEL IN DISTRESS, she could do this. “Jeeze Louise, am I… awfully… terrified,” Celeste allowed her flimsy frame to go weak against his, swallowing her distaste down for the forced act. “Hold me,” the Red whispered, touching a hand to her forehead, “I may pass out. I mean…. faint. I may FAINT.” Where the FUCK were the Reds already?