WIP Wednesday: steam heat
After a bit of a break my fingers are itching and my brain is starting to nudge me into writing again. So here's a longish WIP preview of what I've got in the fire currently!
This is another story in what I'm calling the "Repertory Verse," so it technically exists in the same timeline/setting as Ordo Vitiorum, but you don't actually need the context, it's just a bonus.
steam heat
Sunny follows the lure of deep, resonant notes down the long hall that leads from the ghoul wing to the practice room. Her Earth feels it underfoot before it hits her ears, and if she closes her eyes and concentrates, she catches a faint hint of silt and damp moss that whispers through the air, too.
So, not Rain, though Sunny recognizes his parts being played, muffled but with increasing clarity as she gets closer.
It's coming up on two in the morning and someone's playing bass in the practice room. And they don't smell like pack. That's interesting.
Sunny's heard rumors about older ghouls like Delta, who may or may not still haunt these halls, corporeally or spiritually, or maybe both, who knows. The Clergy have too many secrets and she's usually smart enough not to meddle.
Usually.
Creeping close and trying to keep quiet, Sunny waits until whoever's playing starts up again, then opens the door a crack, slipping inside and putting just enough resistance against it so that it closes silently behind her.
The ghoul who's playing is even smaller than Sunny. Dwarfed by the big bass slung over her shoulders that she nonetheless swings around as easily as Sunny's ever seen Rain play, and even Dew on the rare occasion when he's feeling sentimental.
It turns out that Sunny's not the only one whose senses are on high alert—the ghoul stops playing abruptly, spinning on her heel. Her skin and hair are slick and shiny; Sunny half expects to see a puddle of water gathered around her bare feet.
The ghoulette's teeth, bared at the unexpected intruder, are also slick and shiny. And very sharp.
Sunny freezes, offering a lopsided grin and a wave, as if meeting here was Extremely Normal and not a deviation of the most unusual circumstance.
"Mist, right? Rain's mentioned you." And she was the first ghoulette summoned to serve the Ghost Project, once she saw her she knew who it had to be—but Sunny doesn't say that part out loud.
Mist tilts her head, considering Sunny. Doesn't reply, which could as easily be an invitation as a rebuff.
Sunny frowns a little, offering, "I can leave if you want."
Still no reply from the water ghoulette, her eyes, dark sclera and irises nearly indistinguishable from one another in this light, unreadable.
"All right, no problem, but before I go, I was wondering—does the Ministry only summon the prettiest water ghouls?" Dazzling smile, entirely unselfconscious, accompanied with an unmistakable head-to-toe drag of her eyes, delighted. "Or have we just been extremely lucky so far?"
Her voice isn't what Sunny expects. It's got gravity despite sounding hushed when she speaks. "If you want to stay you can just say that." Sunny catches a the barest hint of a smile as Mist turns away, adjusting the settings on her bass.
"Oh, I want to stay." Sunny gets a little closer, just enough to take a seat, dropping onto the ancient couch nearby and kicking her feet up. She tries not to make a peep as Mist mostly ignores her, playing through several more songs, but Sunny finds herself humming—quietly—along to the ones she knows. Some of the older ones are less familiar.
When Mist launches into Ritual—one of Sunny's favorites!—Sunny can't help herself, singing along loud enough that it gets Mist's attention. But she doesn't seem upset. She makes her way over to the couch in time with the beat she keeps unerringly, the cord to her amp just barely long enough to reach, planting herself squarely again and nodding along, performing for a enthusiastic audience of one. How times change.
During "Our Father, who art in Hell," Sunny can be restrained by her own dwindling self-control no longer. She hops up, putting her whole body into a surprisingly good imitation of Cardi's growls as she drifts over to a mic stand with a crescent-moon shaped tambourine hanging on it. She dances her way back to Mist, careful of the cable that tethers her to the amp, spinning and crashing the tambourine in time with the music, just like she used to with Cumulus.
As she twirls around Mist, their eyes connect again and again, and Sunny lets her tail flick out, lashing the tip lightly against Mist's legs, with each sway of her hips. It's not as demonstrative, but Mist dances, too—or at least sways a little more than she was before, in time with the music.
They finish the song back-to-back, Sunny holding the tambourine aloft in one hand as Mist raises her bass, narrow shoulders heaving quickly enough that Sunny can tell she's a little out of breath.
"Hey! That was great." The tambourine rattles in Sunny's hand as she lowers it, turning to Mist. "You've got to miss playing with—"
Mist's guitar strap takes the full weight of her bass as she grabs Sunny's shirt in both fists and pulls her into a kiss that's at least as much teeth as lips and tongue.
The tambourine hits the floor.
The bass' amp blasts the discordant crash of Sunny's arm against the strings before she uses one hand to frantically mute them and the other to keep the bass from swinging back into Mist.
When they finally break apart, both breathless, Mist releases Sunny's shirt and lifts her bass from Sunny's hands. She makes another of those efficient little turns, slipping the bass off over her head while Sunny stands, frozen to the spot, watching her.
"What?" Mist gives her a challenging look when she turns back to see Sunny still where she left her. "You want me—I can smell it. No reason to drag things out."
"Okay, fair, but—"
"No buts. Do you want this, or not? Either way I'm leaving, so come along. Or don't, I can take care of myself just fine."
