Once again, my writing style is different. Sorry, I was reading the Lost Prince by Julie (yes, that Julie— the one who owns Puck... grrr) and all the details affected my writing xD
Oh, err, did I say that we were nearing the turning point? Well, forget about that. I was delusional and I completely forgot about the stuff I need in between. It should take a couple more chapters. Ehem. Carry on. But we are getting somewhere. I think. I dunno. Whatever. Bai.
Oh, and sorry this took so long to finally be posted. I was planning on editing the past chapters, but then I was like, eh. I'm too lazy. And it can show me how much I improve. Or worsen.
Gambling and Flings
Things were quieter.
Without the constant and somewhat vicious banter between Goodfellow and I, there wasn't much talking other than between Meghan and Glitch when they planned our route. As well as the occasional remark by Goodfellow because, of course, total silence from the red-headed faerie was an impossible wish. Unless he decided to choke on the red skin of one of the apples he always seems to be munching on.
Once Meghan saw that my wound had quickly healed into a purplish, pebble-sized dent in my pale shoulder, she declared me fit enough for travel, and we were finally continuing on our way. We ended up retracing our steps back. Just a glance at the tree Goodfellow made me walk into earlier had my fingers twitching, aching to smack the gloating smirk off of his face as we passed the clearing to the real trod. Which was only a few feet away from the fake.
After we stepped through the door, this time without a hitch— or in my case, hit— we entered the human world and ended up in Las Vegas, Nevada.
Flowers were in full bloom, screaming street vendors lined the taxi-filled streets, and the slots chimed from the open doors of casinos. People wore as scarce clothing as socially acceptable, and flip-flops were able to see light again after hibernating in the back of closets, forced into temporary retirement as warmer, winter and fall shoes replaced them.
It was summer. It was daytime.
It was absolutely disgusting.
As soon as I stepped into the dingy alley where the trod dropped us off— actually, as soon I put a toe into the human world— my black leather jacket had become suffocatingly unbearable, my dark wash jeans clung to my legs like a second skin, my throat immediately went dry, and my sunglasses had begun to slide down the bridge of my nose. The sounds of people, drunk and sober, had seemingly attacked my ears— ears that had become sensitive from straining themselves while in the Wyldwood— and the ghastly fume of human body odor, intensified by the heat, filled my equally acute nose. Oh, what a wonderful season summer is.
Mournfully, I watched the trod door quickly shrivel up into nonexistence on the brick wall of some building.
Thankfully, my grievances were quickly relieved once Meghan had said, in a somewhat glum tone, that we were actually heading north to Canada for a steel mill in Quebec. I couldn't help but feel my lips twitch upwards into a smug smirk as Goodfellow complained loudly.
But then, my internal griping returned once my queen, the too-kind leader she was, had granted us the pleasure of staying in this city for a night since we were still ahead of schedule.
So, they wanted to go gambling.
And truthfully, so had I.
Of course, it didn't turn out well.
"You stupid machine! You ate all my quarters!" Glitch shouted at the slot machine, falling victim to the dangerous allure of gambling.
Unsurprisingly, his little fit gained no attention. We all had decided not to use much glamour other than to disguise our more distinctive features to make sure we didn't stand out, though, that didn't exactly account for our actions. But in Las Vegas, Sin City, the home of gambling, anger was an emotion that was high in abundance— so much so that in comparing Glitch's tantrum to a human male's who had lost thousands of dollars in one night made Glitch seem like a sulky toddler.
Except for the wicked glint in his glowing violet eyes.
Narrowing those bright eyes, he sat back down on the stool in front of the machine and glared at the slots. Suddenly, the lights started flashing as the pictures began rolling without him having inserted any money. Three golden sevens jolted to a stop next to each other. Simultaneously, the sirens on top of the machines blared a congratulatory belt while quarters gushed out into the metal cradle of the machine.
Now, this had caught the attention of a couple of people. As well as the interest of an attentive security guard.
Growing bored of the iron faery's strangely devious move, I rolled my eyes and left him to his own fate.
As I walked past the humans who were in various situations— some cheering, others sobbing— I noticed one of the tables being surrounded by an unusually large crowd. Slinking closer to the gathering, I saw, sitting at the standard-green poker table, was Meghan. My queen.
She was gambling.
Was she even twenty-one?
Though, I had my doubts, she certainly looked like it. We may have toned down our features and powers, but Meghan was still a queen; her power surrounded her whether she wanted it to or not— whether the humans noticed it or not.
She was slight and of average height, but with her perfect posture consisting of a straight back and a slightly lifted chin, she demanded submission from those around her. Her facial expression was impenetrable and slightly unnerving as she sat proudly at the table, cards in her hands, but if you kept observing her, the stillness would seem as a little too inhumane compared to the players around her.
While every movement of hers was sure and precise, the other players twitched at random. Their eyes flicked towards Meghan with a hint of uncertainty at the strange player, but they managed to keep the rest of their features from showing anything else. The crowd around them watched on with rapt attention.
A large man sitting across from Meghan suddenly sneered at her, "Who let this child in here? This isn't no playground, girl."
Feeling the urge to protect Meghan, my back muscles tensed as I bristled. Finding myself with arms-reach of the table, I took a step forward, breaking the invisible barrier between the crowd and the game when Meghan coolly regarded the man with a tilt of her head.
"Must I be middle-aged like yourself to be able to play cards?"
Most of themselves being of a younger age, the crowd of people snickered in amusement.
Then, the air turned slightly electrified, enough so that a couple of people pulled uncomfortably at the collars of their shirts.
Meghan wasn't amused by the implied insult.
Slowly, I stepped back and watched the event with cautious eyes. Sometimes, despite how obvious and noticeable it was, I forget that Meghan was a queen with an infinite supply of power.
The man flushed purple with anger, unaware of Meghan's small burst of power, before pushing forward a large pile of coins. "Five-thousand," he snarled viciously. "Can you keep up, little girl?"
While the other players grimaced at the bold play and folded their cards, she pushed forward a pile of chips. "Better; I can leave you in the dust."
A small smile was on my face as the crowd oohed at her response.
I had noticed that right before she contributed her chips to the center, her eyes were trained on him. Not his eyes or his face but just him. Testing out my theory, I opened up my mind to look at his aura. A clearly visible streak of a muddy, forest green and dark grey overlapped some muddled red, a strip of silver, and some dark yellow.
I was right.
My queen was cheating— in a way.
She was reading his aura, and she assumed that he was just bluffing in front of all the people and the other players. He seemed insecure about his shaky position as the leading player in the game, and he was just scared in general. In human eyes, he was convincingly confident, but if you looked a little deeper, you could see the real panic. He was scared about losing his five grand in one turn which possibly meant that his hand wasn't as strong as he made it seem.
But where did Meghan get her money from? Did she have a strong hand? Or at least stronger than his? There were no guarantees that she did.
I shrugged off my worries. She was a queen. She was fey. She could practically do whatever she wanted. She could take care of herself and didn't need me protecting her from every little problem that she crosses.
Watching her play the game— play the man— I saw a new side to Meghan.
Before, I respected how she treated me well and was kind and genuine. Then, I saw that she's also cunning and resilient; she didn't back down even when the man was trying as hard as he could to make her do so. She may look pretty and delicate, but she's made of steel on the inside.
She also didn't react rashly to the man's jibe. She didn't strike him down into a crisp on the spot but had decided to take a more reasonable approach by keeping a cool head despite the anger she felt which was displayed through her unintentional release of power. She was born for the throne, born to be a queen, and my respect for her only seems to grow.
Never mind the fact that she was technically cheating. After all, humans can do what we can, too. Well, some of them, anyway.
When the time came for them to reveal their cards, the man's neck turned red, and a drop of perspiration slid down from his temple. Slowly, he splayed his cards down on the table. A simple flush.
The other players at the table who folded had groaned and glared at the hand. Meghan kept her face emotionless as she laid out her own cards. A royal flush.
Fitting, I had thought. Since she's a queen and all.
The crowd cheered from around me before quickly dispersing. Humans had such small attention spans. Then again, Meghan was still fey so that might have helped them forget a bit. And I guess the plain t-shirt and jeans she wore didn't exactly cry out for attention.
As Meghan took in her win, the electricity from earlier lessened into an excited buzz. Nevertheless, the hair on the back of my neck stood from the power.
The game continued and I drifted away, satisfied with my queen's safety despite her first lieutenant's current preoccupation of being led away by a sharp security guard.
I was getting more dehydrated than usual. Even with the air conditioner of the casino on high, I was still uncomfortably warm with all bodies swarming around me like mobile heaters. Weaving through the crowd, I exited the gambling room and entered the dance room with the bar on the side.
As I neared the bar, I saw a flash of red. It was Goodfellow, flirting with some blonde. They both had drinks in their hands.
I didn't fail to notice the large, sparkling ring on the girl's finger.
Shaking my head at the foolhardiness of the males in our traveling group, I sat on a stool with a strange curl of discomfort in my stomach and a lightness in my head that couldn't be very good.
"Rum and coke," I ordered immediately, shrugging off my jacket and watching the dance floor filled with humans wriggling in ways they assumed were 'sexy' and 'alluring'.
"Are you over twenty-one, miss?" came the deep, bartender's voice from behind me.
Carelessly, I tossed him a coaster that was laying on the counter, quickly remembering a little trick I saw a faerie perform before.
The bartender's brown eyes squinted for a moment at the cardboard coaster.
"For some reason, I can't get myself to believe that you're a Faith Michaels who lives in Norfolk, Nebraska," he drawled, resting his muscled forearms on the counter in front of me.
I learned forward also in a challenging manner, tilting my head. "And why not?"
He showed me the coaster. "Because you don't have light brown hair with blue eyes, and you aren't five feet tall." Ah, shit. Sometimes, mimicry is really damn annoying.
Thinking fast, I flicked off my sunglasses. "I have blue eyes," I murmured, glancing at him through my eyelashes. Then, I took a piece of my long hair and began twirling it around my finger. "I dyed my hair black." For the final touch, I gave him a seductive smile and a slow wink, murmuring in a low voice, "And I'm a late bloomer."
The bartender smirked before sliding the coaster to me. "All right, then. I'll get to your drink now— on the house." He gave me a playful wink in return before whipping around to mess with a bunch of alcoholic bottles behind him, leaving me to let out a small sigh of gratitude that he didn't push the flirting as I slunk back onto the stool.
Feeling a pair of eyes burn into my back, I whirled around to face the dance floor.
I noticed a human male watching me with lecherous eyes as he danced, but I paid him no attention. He was just another irrelevant pest that wouldn't bother me as much as the gaze I felt had.
As I scanned the room, I noticed the blonde leading Goodfellow along the edge of the room towards a back exit, his large had grasped firmly in her smaller one. She wore a charming smile, and he had on a knowing smirk.
As they disappeared through the door, a large man with a golden band wrapped around his thick finger started for the same exit, a dark snarl etched onto his face. His hand lifted into the air, and his fingers twitched forward. In response, two darkly dressed men began moving through the crowd in the same direction.
Well, this isn't going to be pretty, I thought as I followed the man. An unwelcome flush filled my chest while an ominous fluttering took place in my stomach.
My oh my, Puck. Aren't you the little devil ;) Ahahaha, jk. If you so much as look at another woman...
doodle queen13: Yes! Them feels must be felt! :D Okay, well. It's not that fast of an update but it's a lot faster compared to my two month updates. Right? Right? Thanks for reading :3
Rafanan: You have no idea how much that one line made me laugh. Thank you!
xX Blood-Bond Xx: Thank you! I aim for cool! Or at least decent...
Mackie Effing Mad: Lol, thanks. Raaaage fest it was :3 Yush, memes are pretty amazing.
Queenie: I know you aren't there in type, but I know you are there in heart. Or whatever you have that keeps you alive. A block of ice? :D
Thanks y'all for sticking around. :) (Though, I have no idea why you guys do. I'm a horrible person :P)
Like a Ninja
