TOUCHING GOD
Peter Pans.
There can be no better drink for those looking to loose themselves in a sea of alcoholic absolution. Served in a large tumbler, the Peter pan consists of half the tumble full of Smirnoff 100 Proof Black Label Vodka, Sweet and Sour, Sprite, and a touch of Apple Pucker. Somewhere in there, amid all the intoxication and sweetness, lies bittersweet forgetfulness and a touch of amorous amnesia.
Screwdrivers.
What better friend for someone in pain, in need and sorrow? Both the Screwdriver and the Peter Pan flow so easily down the throat, with such a wonderfully searing sweetness that its drinker so often finds his or herself drunker than intended and far faster than anticipated. The alcohol burns it was faster, carried by the sugar of the orange or the Sweet and Sour mix, straight to the heart and the head. In no time, the drinker is floating high and feeling no pain, not a bit of it.
Guinness.
A loaf of bread in liquid form. Part sustenance, part absence, and whole-ly sinful.
They sat down the long bar, each with drinks in hand. None of them held the energy, nor the desire to even look up from their alcohol. Vodka. Tequila. Beer. Bourbon. Each had their poison of choice, resting on the tile counter top. Some sipped their drinks, rolling the liquid over their tongues and feeling the sickening sweetness of the liquors easing into their systems. Others just slammed back shots, squinting their eyes and contorting their faces in mild grimaces with each kick of the alcohol.
Nycole took the next, big shot, full to the brim with Jose Cuervo, pausing only to slam the glass down on the counter and turn in her bar stool. She trusted Jonas to slip her another shot in a few seconds. The bartender had been keeping all of them drowning their sorrows in a sea of alcoholic absolution, slipping them drinks under the table. Although, with how many of them there were, gathered all together and eating up valuable bar space, Nycole wondered how inconspicuous Jonas could be.
Even Amon and Sakaki sat with their own drinks of choice. Amon, sipping Bourbon on the rocks, and Sakaki nursing a round of Killians. Nycole had never pictured Amon as the drinking type, but, with the loss of Robin, the empath didn't blame him. Who knew where the girl had wandered off to, and what exactly was going on in her head? It didn't bode well.
And, then, there was Kristo, who sat silently, down at the corner of the bar, in a dark patch, sulking in the shadows. He had a secret. Nycole pondered what about, but she didn't care. They'd lost Kathain. They'd lost Robin. And, in the blink of an eye, everything seemed to have fallen apart. The only two girls Nycole had gotten close enough to call sisters had been ripped from her by time, fate, and destiny. She still felt an empty hole in her heart, deep and bruised.
Nycole glanced to the stage. They were playing again. They seemed to be a regular band, those rivetheads. Slamming on their guitar strings and screaming out a harsh melody. It was the same two she had seen earlier. Their auras glimmered and glowed mildly.
She would keep her secret, since Kristo didn't seem to be budging on his.
Amon silently wondered what would become of them as Nycole stared at the band. They were short one Oracle. An Oracle who knew what their destiny was, what the grand plan for the Thirteen remained. He took another sip of that liquid fire, feeling it flow into him and course through his veins.
Nycole could feel the bourbon in her own veins as though she drank it and not Amon. The empath shrugged it off, taking another deep drink of her tequila. She didn't care, couldn't care at all. Instead, she remained transfixed by the strangely blessed and cursed band members. The alcohol, and the bleariness conveyed by her mental connection to the others kept Nycole utterly amazed by their utter nonchalance and lack of notice. No one seemed to note the special features of the bassist and the singer, not even the Thirteen seated at the bar.
Perhaps it was the alcohol.
Yes. Yes it was. And that meant Nycole felt no pain, no reason, and no need for hesitation.
She had grown tired and weary of these games, these cat and mouse little chases. They were the Thirteen, and Nycole was Oracle to the Thirteen, Kathain or not. They were running out of time to this world, and, somehow, Nycole knew it.
The band was leaving the stage.
Nycole slammed back one last shot and made her move.
xxxx
The Thirteen were restless.
Sierra could feel it, in every fiber of her being, every inch of her body. Her very soul crawled. If it could, the girl wondered if her soul would just jump out and skitter away.
But, no.
She was strong. She had to be. For she was with them.
And, now, here they were, waiting for their bait, watching the crowds pass.
xxxx
"Leanna, you were supposed to kill them."
The girl gave a tired shrug of her shoulders. She had already heard this lecture at least a dozen times from Zaizen already. It was pointless and futile for the man to continue shouting at her even two or three days after the assassin allowed her quarry to leave unscathed.
The man rubbed his temples. "You were supposed to end them." He sighed. "Just tell me. And be very honest."
"There's no point to wasting my breath with lying," Leanna pointed out.
The man nodded slowly. "Good. Now. Why did you let them go?"
The girl shook her head. "There was no sense in killing them. They still have some purpose to serve."
It wasn't a lie. Not entirely. In truth, it was merely an omission of certain key details. Yes, in the long run, they still held some sort of purpose to the grand scheme of things. But Leanna wasn't going to let on what she knew of that. Not yet. Leanna knew better than to tip her hand to Zaizen. It gave her the advantage. The Thirteen, they knew her from before Leanna was Leanna. They knew her from the time she had been this mysterious alter-ego Kathain. They had answers to the questions Leanna needed to ask.
"And what purpose is that?"
"I'm not entirely sure." Again, not a total lie.
Zaizen looked primed and ready to strike for the kill. "Then find out."
Leanna gave a slight bow of her head. "That will be a little hard."
"Why?"
"They've left Washington."
xxxx
Robin spent the first day after leaving them completely lost and unsure of what to do. This entire time, the girl had followed loyally at Amon's side. She trusted in him, placed her life in his hands. But, now, she was a tiny boat lost in a vast sea.
And America was a very large, strange place to be lost. This country seemed so utterly different from both Japan and Italy. Everything was louder, faster, harsher, and angrier. Even the night its self felt hostile and aggressive, like a living creature. The world felt predatorial here, dark and hungry, hunting for her. It stalked Robin everywhere she went, everywhere the Craft user turned.
She felt so alone.
Some part of her missed Amon, even still, but he was not the person Robin had grown so close to and so utterly attached to.
Even there, in the Greyhound Bus Station, Robin could do nothing more than watch the people swirl around her. The Craft user knew nothing of these people, of this place. All she knew was one simple thing. She needed to get away from the Thirteen, get as far away as possible. And, at that moment, staring at the big board above her, looking at all the possible locations she could flee to, Robin felt just confused and tiny in the universe. A speck in a great cosmos.
"You look lost," a voice called from behind her.
Robin turned slowly. There, behind her, stood a strange girl. She looked and seemed so utterly like both Kathain and Nycole. Only shorter, with shortly cropped, blazing auburn hair. Those strands glinted flaming red under the fluorescent lights. Flashing, green eyes gazed out from a pale, pointed face, rather cat-like in appearance.
"Do you need help?" the girl inquired softly, with a slight elegance to her words.
Robin blinked. "No. I'm just trying to find my way."
The Craft user felt odd, invaded and mentally raped somehow. She didn't like it. The teenager turned her eyes to the big sign overhead, as if a clear way of showing her annoyance. Robin's fixed gaze seemed to hold the message "don't talk to me."
Still, the stranger persisted. "You see, I'm somewhat looking for my way, too." The girl stepped beside Robin. "My friends and I are."
A dark wave seemed to swell behind Robin.
Her eyes widened sharply. "Is there something I can do for you?"
A strong hand clamped down on her shoulder.
"You can lead us to the other Thirteen."
xxxx
Nycole staggered across the club.
She was drunk. Flat out drunk. Drunk like a fish. Drunk as a skunk. Blitzed. Bombed. However you wanted to say it, Nycole was it. A few too many shots and Peter Pans left her vision blurred and her sight on reality completely muddled. The world seemed to buck and wave underneath her feet, like the deck of a galleon, tossed among stormy seas.
The band seemed to be laughing and joking. How dare they have fun, these two? While they had been spending their days carefree-ly, the others had been on run for their lives. They lost a friend and more while these two just sat around playing music. It wasn't fair for them to be able to have such fun and freedom. No. They would be brought down to earth by her, humbled and leveled. And this was Nycole's place. It was her job to tell people who they were.
The bassist turned just in time to see her; Nycole grinned madly. "Evening, love."
"Evening," he returned the awkward greeting, his eyebrows furrowed.
Nycole laughed. "This is the most unlucky day of your life."
"What?"
The girl leaned close to him, tugging his black trench coat and drawing him close. "I know about you." Nycole sniffed him with both her nose and her mind, feeling his every sense, his every memory and thought. "I know about your dreams." Her mind reached out, coiling around his, and hunting for a name. "Dane."
"What the fuck?" he jumped back, terrified.
Nycole smiled sweetly, serenely. "I know you, Dane. I know more about you than anyone else. I know about your dreams. I know why you dream them. I know who you are."
"What the hell are you talking about?" the man demanded angrily.
The empath shrugged. "You are a Warrior. You play a part in a larger, far grander plan in the universe than to sit and play guitar all day." Her voice dropped low. "You see things in your dreams. You've seen the girl with the red hair. You've seen Kristo of the shadows. You know us just as well as we know you."
"Nycole!" Brett's voice.
She was running out of time; the girl rushed up close to Dane again, pressing her body close against his and slamming him into the wall lightly. "You know who you are, and who I am. You know how to find us." Nycole pressed with her mind. Drunken, it was hard to impress such thoughts and impregnate his mind so deeply. "Trust your dreams."
Even as he watched, Nycole jumped back, into the shadowy crowds of the Masquerade.
"What the hell was that?"
xxxx
Mergle?