Dark Faerie
Partial Chronicle of a Sluagh Teenager
I walk through the halls, and I see what my Inspiration has made. This place, Vernon High School, was once an ordinary school, full of oppression, drugs, and fallen dreams. A place where the children of the Sidhe, the perfect-face walking tanning booths that made up countless 'popular groups' in countless schools, in countless cities and towns, had ruled without knowing how or why. The human world mirrors that of the Faerie World, and what better substitution for Seelie and Unseelie courts than high school? And thus, as long as the Sidhe ruled the courts, this particular group ruled the schools.
Of course, Vernon had changed. I had made it change.
The Sluagh are often looked down on as the wretches of the Fae, the hopeless romantics whose gothic ambitions can never reach their true heights. After all, what good is a silent, sorrow-filled Fae? We are supposed to be the creatures of the senses, bringers of inspiration, regardless of what court we belong to. I am proud, however, to be a Fae of the Russ. It is true; we originated in Russia, long before it became the Red Empire, when tsars ruled, and the land itself wept. And my pride, mixed with a bit of ambition and patience, has helped me take Vernon High as a Fortress of the Sluagh.
I see the people in the hallways going past me. Most in black, some in gray, all in long-robed and flowing clothing, letting their souls leak out to the rest of the world. Bright colors were not a common occurrence here. The administration, of course, hated it, but they were not really the ones in power, now were they? They couldn't really influence their people, and they could be bought easily with promises of many kinds.
Inspiration is what we call it. The power to turn others down the same path you are on, to make a depressed person happy, to make a failing artist the creator of a masterpiece. Paired with Glamour, Inspiration made humans more than they would have been otherwise. And my Inspiration had turned these people towards their inner darkness, their sorrow, and their sadness. They embraced it, and now saw the opportunity that had evaded them before: the opportunity to accept the darkness as part of it, instead of fearing it.
In a matter of months, this Sidhe backcountry had become a kingdom of the Russian Fae, a bastion of black light. Even its image in the Faerie World had changed: Spires and towers had grown like stalagmites, and the windows had darkened and tinted. In the human world, though, it remained outwardly the same. All well; one step at a time.
"Vladimr" My friend Gregory said from behind me. "I know class is starting in a few seconds, but I need to talk to you. Meet me in the parking lot at lunch."
I slowly nodded, letting him know I'd heard. The halls were very quiet. An outsider would not have guessed this was a high school.
Gregory nodded in return, and gave a small smile, gesturing to my clothing. He had already learned some of the rules of the Fae: Never ignore someone when they are trying to impress or be attractive.
My clothing was not much different from any of the other students, and yet, it was worlds apart. A gray Victorian Gentleman's shirt that was a little loose on me was tucked into black jeans with the icons removed. Over the shirt was a dark green vest, tight, and over that was a black leather trenchcoat. My white hair was pulled back in a long ponytail that came to the small of my back, fastened by a series of clasps that resembled ravens with their wings outstretched. I wore black combat boots with Iron soles and toes. Contrary to myth, only certain kinds of Fae were allergic to Cold Iron. The Sluagh, in fact, claimed the material as our signature metal that every House of the Fae had. To complete the outfit, I wore white gloves; the kind knights would use to slap each other to signify a duel. Back home in the Iron and Ebony chest were the swords I could use to back my challenge, should I ever start one.
The thing that made it different was Glamour, the power to make the seemingly normal, or at least not unnatural, seem otherworldly and beautiful.or tragic and terrifying. I preferred a mix of the two.
Just as Gregory said, class started, and I went to the first subject of the day: British Literature.
The classes passed quickly and easily. The lack of competition and worries of other things allowed the students to focus more on their work and classes. Who said I wasn't helping the school as an education center?
Seeing the romance in certain things, subjects even became interesting. Math, of course, was a hard subject to dramatize, and I hated it, but I had heard a student refer to the science of numbers like 'a complicated dance. To solve a problem, all you have to is put two dancers together and make sure they don't trip in their steps'. Rather poetic, actually. I'd have to keep her in mind.
Lunch had disappeared as a school service, as most kids had started packing their own food, to hell with chemicals being fed down your throat at disgusting prices. With the 'meat surprise' and 'Friday macaroni' all but extinct, the school would seem to not be making any money at all.
But then, since they had stopped spending it on expanding the football field and cutting funding for the more Sidhe-tainted activities, the money just sort of stopped, not gone away.
I took my own food, bits of blackened chicken and a plain salad, out to the parking lot. I went over to Gregory's car, an older car that had been repainted the color of deep red roses, and thorn and stem patterns shown in slightly darker lines all of the car. I had helped him paint it, and even added a little glamour to it.
Gregory came a minute later, a dry spaghetti stick protruding from his mouth. He broke it, and ate the three parts that it had fallen into. "Something is wrong with the students." He said.
I raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"Haven't you noticed? Some of them have started falling back on their clothing, some starting to wear brand name pieces." To anyone else, the conversation would have seemed ridiculous, and stupid. But things like this meant two things. Either my power was slipping, or it was being opposed.
"No, I hadn't noticed. Since when?"
"Just a few days ago. Look, Vlad, I know that whatever has happened to the school, you are in part responsible for it. I will never stop thanking you, for turning me away from the useless path I was following. But I think something else is happening, something like what you did, only it's turning us back to what we use to be."
I nodded. "That could be a problem. We can't afford to lose anyone, not know, not when everyone has finally accepted their darkness. Do you think that whatever is doing this is a person?"
"Yeah, I do." He bit off another piece of dry pasta. "This new girl, Amanda Queen."
I resisted smiling. I knew instantly what she was. Sidhe do little to disguise themselves. And only a Sidhe would go by the alias Queen. "Has she started acting like you did before?"
"Uh-huh. She's trying to get herself a little group, and that group is the one falling from grace, so to speak." He shook his head. "Shit. I'm starting to sound like a priest talking about the atheist choir boy."
That I did smile about. "Yes, you are. But you have a point. We'll have to talk to her, find out if she is something like me, or just a particularly influential normal."
"What are you, anyway Vlad?"
"I can't tell you. It would remove the mystery, the romance."
"True. Alright, When do you want to meet Amanda?"
"I think she'll come to us. In fact, I'm sure of it."
I arrived later at home than expected. I had spent a good deal of time looking for the Sarah Morgan, and by the time everyone had already left, it was 5:00. I decided I had better return if I was to have dinner.
I drove home, in my favorite car, my remodeled Hearse. It went faster than the average, everyday hearse, and had a black orthodox cross in the front were a Caddy symbol would have been. It also ran on glamour, not gas, which made it not only a beautiful car, but it is also very cheap. Who says Russians can't handle their economy?
Partial Chronicle of a Sluagh Teenager
I walk through the halls, and I see what my Inspiration has made. This place, Vernon High School, was once an ordinary school, full of oppression, drugs, and fallen dreams. A place where the children of the Sidhe, the perfect-face walking tanning booths that made up countless 'popular groups' in countless schools, in countless cities and towns, had ruled without knowing how or why. The human world mirrors that of the Faerie World, and what better substitution for Seelie and Unseelie courts than high school? And thus, as long as the Sidhe ruled the courts, this particular group ruled the schools.
Of course, Vernon had changed. I had made it change.
The Sluagh are often looked down on as the wretches of the Fae, the hopeless romantics whose gothic ambitions can never reach their true heights. After all, what good is a silent, sorrow-filled Fae? We are supposed to be the creatures of the senses, bringers of inspiration, regardless of what court we belong to. I am proud, however, to be a Fae of the Russ. It is true; we originated in Russia, long before it became the Red Empire, when tsars ruled, and the land itself wept. And my pride, mixed with a bit of ambition and patience, has helped me take Vernon High as a Fortress of the Sluagh.
I see the people in the hallways going past me. Most in black, some in gray, all in long-robed and flowing clothing, letting their souls leak out to the rest of the world. Bright colors were not a common occurrence here. The administration, of course, hated it, but they were not really the ones in power, now were they? They couldn't really influence their people, and they could be bought easily with promises of many kinds.
Inspiration is what we call it. The power to turn others down the same path you are on, to make a depressed person happy, to make a failing artist the creator of a masterpiece. Paired with Glamour, Inspiration made humans more than they would have been otherwise. And my Inspiration had turned these people towards their inner darkness, their sorrow, and their sadness. They embraced it, and now saw the opportunity that had evaded them before: the opportunity to accept the darkness as part of it, instead of fearing it.
In a matter of months, this Sidhe backcountry had become a kingdom of the Russian Fae, a bastion of black light. Even its image in the Faerie World had changed: Spires and towers had grown like stalagmites, and the windows had darkened and tinted. In the human world, though, it remained outwardly the same. All well; one step at a time.
"Vladimr" My friend Gregory said from behind me. "I know class is starting in a few seconds, but I need to talk to you. Meet me in the parking lot at lunch."
I slowly nodded, letting him know I'd heard. The halls were very quiet. An outsider would not have guessed this was a high school.
Gregory nodded in return, and gave a small smile, gesturing to my clothing. He had already learned some of the rules of the Fae: Never ignore someone when they are trying to impress or be attractive.
My clothing was not much different from any of the other students, and yet, it was worlds apart. A gray Victorian Gentleman's shirt that was a little loose on me was tucked into black jeans with the icons removed. Over the shirt was a dark green vest, tight, and over that was a black leather trenchcoat. My white hair was pulled back in a long ponytail that came to the small of my back, fastened by a series of clasps that resembled ravens with their wings outstretched. I wore black combat boots with Iron soles and toes. Contrary to myth, only certain kinds of Fae were allergic to Cold Iron. The Sluagh, in fact, claimed the material as our signature metal that every House of the Fae had. To complete the outfit, I wore white gloves; the kind knights would use to slap each other to signify a duel. Back home in the Iron and Ebony chest were the swords I could use to back my challenge, should I ever start one.
The thing that made it different was Glamour, the power to make the seemingly normal, or at least not unnatural, seem otherworldly and beautiful.or tragic and terrifying. I preferred a mix of the two.
Just as Gregory said, class started, and I went to the first subject of the day: British Literature.
The classes passed quickly and easily. The lack of competition and worries of other things allowed the students to focus more on their work and classes. Who said I wasn't helping the school as an education center?
Seeing the romance in certain things, subjects even became interesting. Math, of course, was a hard subject to dramatize, and I hated it, but I had heard a student refer to the science of numbers like 'a complicated dance. To solve a problem, all you have to is put two dancers together and make sure they don't trip in their steps'. Rather poetic, actually. I'd have to keep her in mind.
Lunch had disappeared as a school service, as most kids had started packing their own food, to hell with chemicals being fed down your throat at disgusting prices. With the 'meat surprise' and 'Friday macaroni' all but extinct, the school would seem to not be making any money at all.
But then, since they had stopped spending it on expanding the football field and cutting funding for the more Sidhe-tainted activities, the money just sort of stopped, not gone away.
I took my own food, bits of blackened chicken and a plain salad, out to the parking lot. I went over to Gregory's car, an older car that had been repainted the color of deep red roses, and thorn and stem patterns shown in slightly darker lines all of the car. I had helped him paint it, and even added a little glamour to it.
Gregory came a minute later, a dry spaghetti stick protruding from his mouth. He broke it, and ate the three parts that it had fallen into. "Something is wrong with the students." He said.
I raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"Haven't you noticed? Some of them have started falling back on their clothing, some starting to wear brand name pieces." To anyone else, the conversation would have seemed ridiculous, and stupid. But things like this meant two things. Either my power was slipping, or it was being opposed.
"No, I hadn't noticed. Since when?"
"Just a few days ago. Look, Vlad, I know that whatever has happened to the school, you are in part responsible for it. I will never stop thanking you, for turning me away from the useless path I was following. But I think something else is happening, something like what you did, only it's turning us back to what we use to be."
I nodded. "That could be a problem. We can't afford to lose anyone, not know, not when everyone has finally accepted their darkness. Do you think that whatever is doing this is a person?"
"Yeah, I do." He bit off another piece of dry pasta. "This new girl, Amanda Queen."
I resisted smiling. I knew instantly what she was. Sidhe do little to disguise themselves. And only a Sidhe would go by the alias Queen. "Has she started acting like you did before?"
"Uh-huh. She's trying to get herself a little group, and that group is the one falling from grace, so to speak." He shook his head. "Shit. I'm starting to sound like a priest talking about the atheist choir boy."
That I did smile about. "Yes, you are. But you have a point. We'll have to talk to her, find out if she is something like me, or just a particularly influential normal."
"What are you, anyway Vlad?"
"I can't tell you. It would remove the mystery, the romance."
"True. Alright, When do you want to meet Amanda?"
"I think she'll come to us. In fact, I'm sure of it."
I arrived later at home than expected. I had spent a good deal of time looking for the Sarah Morgan, and by the time everyone had already left, it was 5:00. I decided I had better return if I was to have dinner.
I drove home, in my favorite car, my remodeled Hearse. It went faster than the average, everyday hearse, and had a black orthodox cross in the front were a Caddy symbol would have been. It also ran on glamour, not gas, which made it not only a beautiful car, but it is also very cheap. Who says Russians can't handle their economy?