#*replies.cen

“You know, I like this new look—you’re like somethin’ outta an old vampire flick,” Celeste muses, ruffling the towel through her damp hair. A playful note cuts through her words, but the glance she casts at him is softer, more deliberate. “Ever think about makin’ it a theme? Could work for you.”

She knows she can’t hear his mind, not right now, but sadness doesn’t need translation—it’s etched plain on his face. Wrapping the matching towel and robe tight around herself, she pads over and sinks into the couch, close enough that their shoulders almost touch.

“I don’t really know how this… nullification thing works,” she admits, tipping her head toward him. “Especially on you. But—” her lips twitch with a small, hopeful smile, “—we can give it a shot, yeah?”

Celeste doesn’t bother knocking — she never has. The door to his office groans open, and she leans against the frame with a smirk that doesn’t quite cover the restless tension in her shoulders. The switch hasn’t been kind to her, and she hates the way her new ability feels — loud, messy, unrefined. Amplification. Nullification. Whatever it was, it left her itching, like she wasn’t in her own skin anymore.

Her eyes flick over the room, catching sight of the faint skitter in the corner — rats, insects, whatever he’s calling to him these days. “Never thought I’d see the mighty dragon reduced to… pest control,” she teases, though her voice softens at the end. She pushes herself off the doorframe and steps inside, deliberately brushing her hand across the desk as if testing the air around him.“Miss me?”

The music throbbed through the speakers, but it couldn’t drown out the chaotic flood of voices crashing in her mind. "Her singing is amazing!" "Her figure is gorgeous!" "I need another drink." "Where’s the bathroom?" And hundreds of others circled her thoughts, a constant, overwhelming buzz that bled through her senses as she made her way up the stairs to one of the VIP rooms.

Celeste collapsed onto the plush velvet couch, her fingers fumbling for her black silk clutch. She sifted through it blindly, desperate, until her fingers closed around the familiar shape of her medication. Without hesitation, she popped two pills into her mouth, quickly swallowing them with a large gulp of water to soothe the dryness in her throat. Her breathing was shallow, ragged, as she leaned her head back against the couch, trying to catch her breath.

Her pulse raced, the world spinning with the noise of others’ thoughts, but she focused, her hands clenching and unclenching into fists as she practiced grounding techniques. Slowly, methodically, her breath began to even out, the sharp panic fading into a dull hum in the background.

It was only then that she noticed Max standing in front of her. Celeste’s lips curled into a smile, though it was a little slurred as the medication kicked in. "Max," she greeted warmly, her words a bit more sluggish than she intended. To shake off the grogginess, she grabbed another bottle of water and began to chug it down, motioning for him to sit. "I hope three hours was okay, but if you need more or less, just let me know and I’ll talk to Seth." She tossed the empty bottle into the trash with a soft sigh. "Is it as busy as it seems, or is everyone just caught up in their own heads?"

If there was one thing Celeste could truly appreciate about The Bearded Lady, it was its owner, Seth. He had an almost instinctual understanding of her craft—just as much, if not more, than she did. She never had to worry about being labeled a diva when she made a request or voiced a complaint. Seth always seemed to get it right on the first try, or if not, he was the one ensuring the team scrambled to fix anything, from getting her a fresh cosmopolitan to adjusting the stage lighting until it was perfect. She couldn't say Seth treated her like a princess, but when she walked in, she certainly felt like royalty—or at the very least, deeply respected. Her presence always drew a crowd, and they reciprocated the love, allowing her to flourish without needing to force it. They adored her, and she was more than happy to return that appreciation.

Tonight, as Celeste entered the nightclub the night before her performance, a wave of thoughts from the employees hit her. Most of them were centered around complications with her set-up the previous evening. "This is weird. Who’s idea was this?" one of them thought. “This is nearly impossible to do… I don’t think it can get done,” came another. The uncertainty in their minds made her uneasy, the whispers of their doubts gnawing at her, even though she knew she could push through it.

Her eyes scanned the crowd, looking for Seth, and she heard him before she saw him—his mind a constant hum of calm authority amidst the chaos. With her heart steadying, she strolled over to him, offering a smile that could melt the coldest of atmospheres. “Seth,” she called, her voice warm and casual. “I was just in the area,” she lied smoothly, “and thought I’d stop by. How’s everything going?”

It’s supposed to be routine — another night, another client. But routine’s turned slippery these days, like everything else since the switch snapped the world back into its old skin. Humans and mutants alike are restless, grasping for control they barely had to begin with. People want more now — more power, more pleasure, more quiet — and Celeste is the one they keep coming to for it.

Tonight, one of them wanted too much.

By the time she makes it home, her glamour’s stripped bare, leaving bruises blooming purple-black along her ribs and blood darkening the hem of her periwinkle dress. Her boots leave uneven prints on the floor as she slips inside, shutting the door quietly behind her. The apartment hums faintly with the smell of cedar and whiskey — leftover ghosts of him, she thinks — and she tells herself she’ll patch up in silence, hide the limp, pretend tomorrow that she’s fine. Then she sees him.

Leaning against the counter, sleeves rolled, eyes catching the low light like a blade’s edge. The sight of Cyrus freezes her in place; her breath catches, and for a heartbeat she considers turning right back around. She’s too tired to run, too proud to beg. But the anger that flashes in his eyes when he really looks at her — at the blood, the bruises, the trembling hand clutching the doorframe — hits harder than any blow she took tonight.

"I guess the only good thing about not getting to be in everyone's head is that I don't get to hear all those perverts' thoughts," Celeste mumbles to Seth as she pats herself dry from post-performance sweat. She huffs as she unclasps the diamond-studded bra and it falls to the floor. "How do you think it went? Did they react...the same? I can't tell anymore." The cheers & jeers didn't feel the same. The crowd didn't feel as into it but maybe all this time, she had been relying on her flourish to know how the crowd was feeling. She knew her perfomances were top notch, one of the best you'd find in Sol City. But she couldn't shake the fact that knowing what someone wanted was what made her successful; and without it, she felt like a failure.