Disclaimer: "Gargoyles," its products and such, are not owned by me. I am not profiting from this fanfiction.
Of The Night
Fourteen
"I think you should have some fun, tiny human, silly little one, so what say you we play a game? The end will come when you say a name of someone in this big, big city – if you don't, well, such a pity. Then forever will you stay flesh by night but stone by day."
Brooklyn touched grass in time to hear the rhyme begin, and – recognizing Puck's voice, and that he was rhyming – dashed towards the open archway the voice was coming from.
He got there just in time to be blinded by a flash of light. He was half-dreading what he was about to see, but at the same time, half-hopeful. If Puck cast the spell Brooklyn thought he'd cast, then Lydia would be. . .
A feral snarl was his first clue that the expected change had happened. When the light cleared, Lydia remained, yet now she was golden-brown and sported an extra three limbs. When she turned to swipe at Puck, he saw that the back of her shirt was missing to allow for the wings, and the belt of her jeans was torn to allow for the tail. Her shoes were missing – assuming she'd worn any.
"Lydia?" he gasped.
She turned a sharp look on him, and he jolted to see that her eyes were still violet.
She was one-hundred percent a mimicry of the gargoyle female he'd once loved. The sight of her sent his brain spiraling back in time. If not for her clothes being different and her hair being shorter, he would have thought that female had somehow come to the future to meet him.
She grimaced at him as Puck vanished, chuckling.
"Uh. . .Lydia," was all he could think to say.
She glanced behind him to the sky. "It's almost sunrise huh?"
He shook himself out of his stupor. "Yeah. There's no time to fix this tonight – you'll have to roost with us." It was a strange thing to say. He felt uncomfortable.
She sighed. "Alright." She spun and snatched up her sketchbook and utensils, closing the book and laying them in a neat pile on the table. Then she turned a strained smile on him. "Does it matter where I. . .sleep?"
"Not really," he answered. He took a step back. "Just. . .follow me."
He spun and climbed up the building, watching to make sure she clawed her way up behind him. A moment of doubt passed, during which he wondered at her ability to climb flat stone, and then it passed. What a stupid thing to think about – she was a free runner as a human, and he'd seen her scale walls without trouble before. Of course she'd have even less trouble with talons to help. He upped the speed, reaching the rest of the clan before Goliath had climbed to the top.
"Puck changed Lydia into a gargoyle just now," he rushed out.
Silence fell like a curtain. The only sound, for a moment, was the crunching of stone as Lydia climbed up to their height. She pulled herself up onto the ledge before much recovery had taken place.
She didn't glance at the others, merely looked over at the horizon. "Is this the time to be standing around, doing nothing?" she asked no one.
"We'll talk more after dusk," Goliath promised, then started pulling himself up the tallest tower.
Everyone kicked back into motion, taking up their places. Brooklyn pointed Lydia to a spot for her to perch. She didn't, really; she pulled one leg up onto the ledge, half-sitting, and relaxed, leaning on one arm, staring out into the distance. He watched her as the sunlight brightened her face and then solidified. It was the last thing he saw before the dreams began.
Lydia woke screaming, body flexing from top to bottom, at the same time as the others. Flecks of stone skin flew off her, colliding with the castle and other flecks from everyone else. A few tiny pieces of stone skin littered her hair from Goliath, high above her.
Now she understood why they groaned and moaned every time they woke up. Regardless of being totally composed of stone for more than half a day, you still woke up with stiff muscles. She flapped her wings twice before realizing what an odd feeling it was, to flap her wings.
And then Brooklyn was at her side, anxious.
"We have to fix you," was the first thing out of his mouth.
She had different ideas. After all, she'd always wanted wings to fly with – this was likely as close as she would ever get. And besides, she'd spent the entire day dreaming of soaring the skies, hiding amidst rafters, bending steel and scaring the bejesus out of everyone who'd ever terrified her as a kid. She wasn't so sure she wanted to be human again. It would be detrimental to her wishes.
"Good luck with that," she replied, then shoved off the building. She didn't want to wait to be taught to glide or to hear Brooklyn begin listing all the reasons why she should go back to being human. If anything, she saw this new development as a gift as opposed to a curse.
For instance, Lydia Smith the human had a court date in four weeks and was under house arrest. Lydia the gargoyle was untouched by those laws. Lydia the gargoyle could go wherever the hell she pleased and no one could stop her.
Her wings fanned out, but it wasn't until the first, disorienting second of plummeting that she realized it probably would have been a better idea to have someone teach her the basics. She wheeled as she fell, unable to control the way her wings were working.
Something collided with her, stopping her death spiral. She hadn't seen Brooklyn as she spun around, but she knew it was him. Who else would leap off the building right after her to keep her from eating it?
She latched onto him instinctively, curling in on herself to make herself as small as possible. His descent was too fast, she noticed. But he wasn't landing; he soared over the castle wall (while calling her an idiot and she had to agree) and then higher up. He had regained control faster than she'd been able to lose control.
"Yeah, yeah," she sighed. "I'm an idiot. So what? I figured it was instinctive." She watched the buildings beneath her as she said this, frowning when the castle was in her line of sight again. "We're not going back," she complained. "I wanna fly."
He glared at her, touching ground. Everyone else had already gathered there, including a slightly-stunned Elisa and disapproving Fox. He set her on her feet.
She pouted, crossing her arms. Without thought, her wings folded too, around her shoulders.
Angela was giving pitying looks. "I'm sorry about this," she said.
Lydia scoffed. "Yeah, it's a real pain in the ass," she retorted, sarcastic.
"We'll get Puck to change you back," Goliath promised.
She stared at him. "Why?" she wondered, the word escaping before she could think it.
Stun again. No one moved for a second, while Bronx whined uneasily.
"Lydia, you're a human," Elisa told her.
"That's debatable," Lydia returned, pointing at her.
"No it's not," Fox disagreed. "And Puck shouldn't be messing with you like this. You're a human; you should stay a human."
"By whose definition?"
Brooklyn sighed. "Why are you being so difficult?" Lydia glanced at him. "We need to break this spell and get you turned back."
She stared blankly. Then she blinked, shaking herself free. "I wanna talk to you," she said, voice severe, "now." She could've sworn that he had a crush on her – why in the world would he not want her to be the same species as himself? Was he unhappy being a gargoyle? Did he wish to be a human? Why did he want her to be human again so bad?
He leaned back, suspicious. "We don't have time for talk. We have to fix you."
She inhaled sharply, squaring her shoulders. "Fuck no," she spat, her accent falling through just a bit. "Being a human sucks ass – not that you would know," she added, rolling her eyes.
"You can't honestly want to stay like that!" he snapped, gesturing her.
Hurt and rejection washed through her. He was making all the stupid mistakes; just yesterday she'd mentioned that she was PMSing, and now he was crossing lines he shouldn't be crossing.
Like, for instance, telling her what she did and didn't want.
She heard herself snarl at him, watching with vindictive satisfaction as he took a step back.
"Lydia, that isn't helping," Elisa told her gently. Her voice was calm, soothing.
It had the opposite effect. "What in the world makes you think I want help?" she snapped, turning on Elisa. "I can think of worse things than being a gargoyle. Like, let's say, being human. I'd rather stay like this, thank you."
"Not gonna happen," Elisa replied, shaking her head.
"I understand if you want to be a gargoyle," Fox started, (Lydia thought the other woman had no idea what she was talking about) "but it's not you. Everything has its natural order. You have to understand this."
"You're talking to someone who studied biology," Lydia told her, "and enough so that she knows very well how nature and orders and everything in its place works. Right now, I don't give a shit. What's one less human? I'll tell you – one more gargoyle. Where's the tragedy in that?" she challenged.
Hudson heaved a sigh that was half a groan. "I'm too old for this," he complained, heading inside with a "good luck" pat to Goliath's shoulder. Bronx went after him, whining at Lydia.
"Am I the only one who's okay with this?" she bit out, gesturing herself.
"You need to go back to being human," Elisa said with difficulty.
Lydia scoffed. "Right. That's just like someone winning the lottery and then taking away all their money, saying, 'Yeeeeaaaah we made a mistake. Things were better the way they were before.'" She rolled her eyes as she spoke.
Elisa ignored her this time, facing Goliath. "How did the spell go?"
Goliath turned to Brooklyn and Lydia, waiting expectantly. Lydia glared; she would give nothing away that would shorten her time as a gargoyle.
Brooklyn answered (the traitor), "Puck said the spell would end when she speaks the name of someone in the city."
"First name and last name?" Elisa prodded.
Brooklyn shrugged. "I'm guessing."
Lydia, in a show of disobedience, made a motion of zipping her lips closed and throwing away the key. She crossed her arms again and kept on glaring. She put her foot down on this; everything else she'd bent on. Losing her job when she could have fought, escaping this building after being put under house arrest, not breaking out of jail when she could have slipped between the bars, being halfway forced to attending a Halloween party. . .
Not this time. This time she was standing up for what she wanted.
And she wanted to remain as she was. If that meant being mute for the rest of her life, well, she didn't really need a tongue. . .or teeth. Or vocal cords. And she knew exactly how to perform surgery on herself, should she have to. All she needed was a needle and thread, a scalpel or equally sharp blade, and enough painkillers to fell an elephant. She was certain she could find those items somewhere in the castle, if not the building itself.
The others were talking strategy as all this was decided. Phone books and the internet were suggested; Lydia considered mutiny. An added suggestion involved the Census; Lydia began eying the skies.
Then Angela entered her field of vision, eyes sad. "I'm sorry about this, Lydia," she started.
Lydia blinked. "I'm not," she replied. She found, then, that she couldn't be angry at the woman. Something about Angela was so very delicate, Lydia couldn't imagine being harsh with her.
"But you're a human," Angela argued, shaking her head. "This must be hard for you."
"Confusing and new, yes," Lydia agreed. "But not hard."
"Puck did a cruel thing, casting a spell on you," Angela went on.
Lydia shrugged. "Maybe. You know what, come with me," she rushed out, catching the other woman's hand. She spun and headed for the wall, wings unfurling as she went. Once there, she released Angela and launched herself to the top with little effort; Angela landed softly beside her.
"What are you thinking?" Angela wondered, eying her.
"I'm thinking that I may be a gargoyle for a while, even with all that planning behind me," Lydia answered, hooking a thumb over her shoulder. "And I'm thinking that I ought to learn the basics as long as that lasts."
"You want me to teach you to glide," Angela concluded.
Lydia nodded. "You got it."
"It's mostly instinctive," the dark beauty began, thinking it over. "You need to control the strength and angle of yours wings. Be mindful of the wind, seek out air currents. . .And know when you need to land," she advised.
"Don't worry about me falling and hurting myself," Lydia smirked. "I've taken thirty-foot falls before and walked away with only aching feet."
"Gargoyle feet are much tougher," Angela chuckled.
"All the better for me, then."
"Take off and follow me," Angela ordered, shoving off the wall and circling around, gaining height.
Lydia grinned. "I have a better idea." She launched herself off the building, folding her wings in a straight dive. She heard Angela call out to her, but the wind in her ears blocked out the words. That, alone, was amazing - that she could even hear Angela at all.
She spread her wings, caught the air, and shot into a glide. The snap from dive to glide made her a little dizzy. At least this time she was holding her wings steady.
It didn't take long for Angela to appear at her side.
"Don't do that," she snapped. "What if you crashed? Brooklyn would kill me!"
"You're with me now, aren't you?" Lydia returned, unable to clear the smile on her face.
"Just don't get hurt," Angela pressed.
"Sure thing, doll," Lydia laughed.