0.10
"Get in," A voice snarls. There's a rough push and she almost hit her head on the door's side. Stabilising her grip, Evelyn straightens up and throws her captor a harsh glare. Her captor is some eighteen-year-old girl; blonde hair, green eyes like grass and soft curves.
Evelyn grits her teeth but push her anger down and exhale thickly to calm herself down. Lull them into security, lull them into security. Just like you did with Daddy dearest. She lets out a childlike whimper, twists her lips into a pity-me pout and the girl immediately softens, as if she felt like she just hit Bambi. That's right, Evelyn makes it a conscious effort not to smirk.
"Sorry," Another boy puts in; he hasn't spoken a word throughout her trip from the Senate to the barracks. Evelyn reads his body; tentative stances, green eyes darting to the ground. Evelyn's lips curl. Poor thing. He's shy.
Evelyn speechlessly nods, looking up with her large round, slightly hooded pale green-blue eyes. They're much softer with her this time, their hands place softly on her back to guide her into the barracks. The boy points out how her prison belongings- folded palls of orange jumpsuits and sparse amount of her old toiletries- had been neatly packed into the bedside cupboard beside the military-styled bed. The girl who accompanied him had left, saying she has duties to attend to.
"You should rest a bit," The boy advises her when the girl leaves. "Reyna will come to get you when she's ready to question you."
Evelyn nod, "Thank you," she twirls a lock of unruly blonde hair, the shackles around her wrists clinking together.
The boy shifts uncomfortably when he sees her legs and arms bounds. "Do they hurt?"
"A little," Evelyn admits, making sure she pours fear thickly onto her voice, "They're made out of fragnos; uranium and titanium fused together. They're meant to block out a demigod's ability so it stings to our touch."
"Really?"
Evelyn holds out her bound wrists. "Try it," she says in an innocent tone.
The boy hesitantly places a finger on the metal and hiss, recoiling at the slight sting the metal produce. "How do you get used to that?"
Evelyn's figure droop. "I don't know," she sounds emotionally drained, insecure, fearful. Evelyn knows despite her teenage age, she appears younger. She's sixteen but she knows she looks fourteen. The boy's eyes widen as if he couldn't believe such a sweet little girl could be treated that way. "I get used to it."
"That can't be…"
Evelyn smiles sadly, "It's fine."
"I can...make them a little looser if you want," The boy offers, "They gave me the key."
Evelyn palpably brightens. "You'll do that for me?" she bats her eyelashes, "You're so sweet!"
The boy's cheeks heat up, red spilling into them. "It's nothing...really. I mean, you're not too bad." That's what you think. The boy produces a key and inserts it into the small padlock in between the two cuffs, then proceeds to widen them a little before sealing it back shut. "There, a little better now?"
"Much better." Evelyn yawns, stretching her shoulders. Since her cuffs are now loose around her wrists, maybe she should try stretching out her abilities a little. Try something small and weak, like a dream sequence before she goes big. Then she'll work her way up, be finally powerful enough to break the chains and find her freedom. Hmm. "I think I'm gonna nap for a while. Is that okay?"
"Of course," The boy says. "I'll wake you up when Reyna wants to talk to you. I'm Santiago, by the way."
"Charm to meet you," Evelyn smirks. To the average eye, she just appears to be mischievous, a kind of elfin grin that seems harmless. Like a Hermes child. But to anyone who truly knows her knew otherwise. "I'm Evelyn. Evelyn Clearwater."
How to describe it?
It isn't exactly a dream but it isn't as though she's dead.
Evelyn rises from her slumber, expecting to see the barracks, expecting the clinical sharp smell of Axe body spray to greet her but she appears to be lying on the black grass, breathing in the earthy dirt of the hard ground below her. She lifts a limb- her arm, no cuffs, no stupid fragnos, perfectly in control, and flex her fingers, wiggling them. Working just fine. She pulled herself upright, wondering where she is and where is everybody else.
Then she remembers. She's in a dream sequence. She's lucidly dreaming. Her heart beats loudly in her chest. She couldn't believe it worked. For the first time since she's been captured, she's dreaming again. And she's perfectly in control.
Evelyn blinks the sleep out of her eyes. She begins to stand up and seize a good summary of all her surroundings. It looks like she was previously sleeping on the English countryside because everywhere is a landscape of rivers, low valleys and grassed ridges but instead of green and blue, it's black and grey, like a bleached-out black and white photograph of Yorkshire country. The water trickling over the mossy rocks of the river was a silvery, slimy grey-black snake, slithering away into the horizon. The grass below her is void of colour. It should've been dead but it rustles to the wind, humming happily as if it's alive.
Evelyn's rake down her body. She's wearing her church dress, the one she wears for Mass and Communion. She's surprised it fits her- the last time she wore it was when she was five before her stepfather found out about her abilities. The dress appears different, though. Instead of being its original black colour, it's grey with a frayed hem and the satin material drape all over her body in the cut of a sweetheart neckline and a fitted skirt, tattered and torn with gaping holes and knife slashes as if she's a survivor coming out of the shredder.
"Where am I?" she asks rhetorically, meandering along a path that wound through the pastures of empty land into a low flatter area of a river embankment.
"You'll find out soon," answers a voice from behind her. Evelyn freezes in her tracks, and she's sure she looks comical, eyes wide as she languidly turns on her spot. A woman with ice gold hair, pale sepia-tinted eyes is looking at Evelyn like she is greedily drinking in the sight of her- and with a startling tumble in her stomach, nerves uncoiling, Evelyn realises she knows the woman. The woman in pictures. The woman who gave birth to her. Her mother.
"Mum, you're…" not dead? Didn't slit your wrists in front of me?
"I am," her mother smiles wanly, answering her thoughts.
Funnily enough, no fear flits through her. Instead, a wave of serenity washes over her. "Really?" she tempts, like a child being promised McDonald's and not really believing it.
"Really." Her mother offers her a hand. It's welcoming, a gesture that makes a heaviness in her lift.
"Don't." Another voice whisper in her ear. "She's trying to lure you. She's not your real mother."
Evelyn hesitates to touch her mother. If it even is her mother, assuming the voice in her head is right. As a child of Morpheus, Evelyn had learned how to trust unknown voices inside her head. Or maybe she's going crazy. Or she already is. Crazy seems to be the most favourable option. There's nothing wrong with craziness. Some say there's a method to it.
"You're not crazy. I'm somebody else, projecting myself into your thoughts."
Somebody else?
"Yep."
"Evie?" Her mother prompts, her words are lilted with genuine kindness. But it's a little too genuine like her mother is desperate for her to trust her like her mother depends on it.
"Yeah?" Evelyn bites her lip, faking cluelessness, trying to stall her mother.
"She is a shade of her old soul, a mere memory. She's not your mother. The only thing she shares with your mother is her image."
"Hold my hand," Her mother says, her face serene as moonlight reflecting on a river. "I'll guide you."
"Why don't you just...lead the way."
"What's wrong?" her mother question, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, sensing Evelyn's hesitation.
"Nothing!"
Evelyn curses her luck as her hand accept her mother's offer. Her mother's touch is cold and clammy like Evelyn is gripping an icicle. Her mother graciously walks her through the grey countryside. Below her feet, the grass and mud are squishy and wet, soaking Evelyn's barefoot with tea-coloured water, causing her skin to become dirty with mud and rainwater gathering in her nail beds. Evelyn looks up to the grey skies, shifting monotonously. Could it rain in her dreams?
"It's not the worse of your concerns. Watch your mother."
Evelyn studies her mother. Her mother's hair is blonde, like hers, and her skin is pale but her lips and cheeks are colourless and grey, matching the sky and grass; a bleached-out black and white photograph. Obviously, a ghost, Evelyn notice with her powers of perception, fading yet crackling with energy from the force her mother exerts by pulling her through the troughs of the grey countryside.
Her mother leads her over a lung-busting ascent up a ridge. At the top hovers a billow of rolling, snaking fog so dense Evelyn is sure she'll disappear forever if she is to step into it. As her mother pull her away from the banks of the river, further down the other side of the ridge, the fog thickens. The silver sun fade into pale white gossamer. Moisture clings to everything, drenching her dress and beading on her skin. The temperature falls into a bone-numbingly cold. The path flattens and Evelyn almost feared she lost her mother in the fog until:
"Almost there," Maria Clearwater hums eerily. Evelyn almost trips against the ground, unable to see where she is stepping through the impenetrable mist. She squints and tries to watch for the uneven floor but her eyesight couldn't be trusted. She keeps stepping onto knee-deep bog holes, filled with mind-jarring icy cold water.
Evelyn follows her mother's muddy footprints, her mother's hand delicate and fragile over hers, and even though, the mysterious voice has warned her not to listen to her mother Evelyn is glad another human is there next to her. If not, Evelyn is scared at the mere thought of being lost forever in the mist. The fog works like the dark, an impenetrable force, and Evelyn, after years of being chained underneath a dark basement, feels oddly reminded being there. Nonetheless, Evelyn likes the idea of company, despite how dangerous the company is.
Evelyn finds her voice, trying to make some kind of conversation in hopes of circumventing the danger the mysterious voice had told her about. "Where am I? Am I dead?"
"You're in Purgatory. The thin line of Dreamspace, where comatose mortals linger before they're confirmed to go to Hades's realm. It means I'm dead," elucidate her mother languidly with a misty quality floating around her flickering form. Her mother's fingers tighten around Evelyn's wrist possessively. Her mother looks over and smiles eerily. It doesn't reach her hard eyes. "And you'll be dead too."
Evelyn stops dead in her tracks, turning around slowly on her heels to face her mother with terrified eyes. "I don't-"
A growl of a black dog interrupts Evelyn. Her mother's clawed grip on her wrist shreds apart as the dog leaps up from behind her, emerging from the smoky shadows. Quicker than lightning and without any given warning, it's cavernous mouth consume her mother's misty figure with one effortless bite, it's thick, razor sharp canine teeth pulverising through the ghost's exterior. Her mother's ghost vanishes into dust, splattering yellow sulphur onto Evelyn's dress, legs, neck, hair.
The smell of stinking rotten eggs is the first thing Evelyn register before she could even digest anything else. There is a guttural grumble from a creature and within the lewd lunar strands of bog, stretching from the mist Evelyn distinguish a massive hunk of coal black fur dancing with the grey blur, then a pair of gleaming amethyst eyes appearing, looking expectantly at Evelyn as her jaw fail to close. Saliva drips hungrily from its monstrous teeth, which is stained with yellow dust and rusted blood. The dog pace around, circulating Evelyn as her heart skip several beats, eyes fixed on her like she is a chunk of meat it is ready to eat.
Suddenly, the fog around her dissipates and the grey countryside seeps into another background like paint on a blank canvas, but instead of fading into white paper, it transforms into lush green trees and a robin blue summer sky with fat clouds in shapes of disfigured animals cruising by. Around her, the trees and the valleys disappear into lone temples erecting from the horizons in the faraway distance of a mountainous landform The cold wind die upon Evelyn's cheeks and is replaced with the mellow heat of the sun shining against Evelyn's skin. The whole landscape completely changed. From the outskirts of London, Evelyn has been transported into another dimension, somewhere else in Europe it seems. But even though it's an utterly different place, it shares similar characteristics. The intense isolation, for one thing. Except for Evelyn and the black dog, there is nobody around for miles.
Evelyn presses a hand on her temple, befuddled, confused and puzzled with questions rushing towards her instantaneously. "Where- where am-"
"I told you not to touch the shade." It doesn't sound predatorial. It just sounds...annoyed.
"I'm- I'm sorry," stammer Evelyn, stepping back nervously, her bare feet sinking down in the warm grass. Not a wet and cold bog. "I didn't know what to-"
"It's fine; at least you are safe."
"Why are you here? This is my dream. You shouldn't be here." Evelyn reach out to stroke the dog's fur only to have the dog smack Evelyn's hand away with a stretched out paw.
"No, this isn't your dream," retort the dog critically, "It's your subconscious. Two different things, daughter of Morpheus. Didn't your father tell you? There's a difference between a lucid dream, which you control, and your subconscious, which has been lulled upon by another force. You were almost dead. And you would've been dead if I haven't come in and saved you."
Evelyn searches the area, wondering for explanations how it changes so abruptly. "How did the-"
"It's because I destroyed your mother's shade, which was tied to the location and conjured by the Mist. Because she's gone, it's now my choice of the decor and this is my domain." The way she says 'domain' is like how a king should say 'kingdom'.
"But…who are you?" Evelyn nearly chose the word 'what', but decide to go with 'who' because it's more polite. Besides, the dog just ate her mother's ghost- shade, whatever. It's best not to offend it.
"I was the one talking to you inside your head," the dog nuzzle her legs to lurch her into motion, it's fur soft under Evelyn's skin. A contradiction to her mother's rough, calloused touch. "And I'm Hecate. Any more stupid questions, demigod?"
Hecate brought Evelyn to her home, which isn't too impressive for a two-thousand-year-old goddess, considering it's a tent hitch up on two dry wooden sticks with a linen cloth draped over it with straws decking out at the entrance of the tent. It doesn't even look strong enough to hold out winters for the mountain. Evelyn is expecting a fancy golden Grecian palace with peacocks flocking the entrance, gilded doors with bronze accessories, beautiful women in white silk and lapis lazuli and the like. Not a shabby tent in the middle of the European mountains
"Welcome to my humble abode," announce Hecate, the talking black dog, grandly. Humble abode indeed.
"Wow," she examines the size of the tent. It appears to be the size of a sleeping cot for a cavalry soldier in World War I, cramped, tiny and unnecessarily small. "Are you sure we can both fit in-"
"Just go in."
Obediently, she lifts the straw doors and peeks inside. Her mouth drop and air fail to travel towards her lungs. Her stomach feels like someone just punched her because oxygen is literally knocked out of her as she steps onto the gleaming marble passageway of stone walls and strong Grecian-inspired pillars, which lead towards an arched double-door entrance and gas torches igniting green flames at her presence.
Evelyn floors. "How…?"
"Magic," The dog says in a tone that means duh.
Hecate follows closely behind her but the dog is no more. In who stand at the lion's position is now shapeshifted into an intimidating woman with pale skin and amber eyes, her golden hair slicked back into a neatly woven braid with bronze clips holding her hair together. Evelyn blink. Hecate's form transforms once more- now a young girl, no more than twelve, in twin braids and a prairie dress. Evelyn blinks again. Now she's a middle-aged crone, with harsh dark eyes and coarse cocoa-skin. Just her presence alone is engulfed in a thick cloak of magic and the Mist. After a while, she solidifies into a young woman with dark hair in an Ancient Greek style high-set ponytail and warm brown eyes.
The Goddess carry two twin unlit torches, which gleams menacingly in the gauzy lighting. The handle is beaded magnificently with jewels such as lapis lazuli, emeralds, rubies and amethyst and entwined with vines and different branches of trees with magical properties. The Goddess's dress is strangely not of Greek fashion but a dark medieval ankle-to-floor length form-fitting bilout made out of flax linen and a cincture knotted over the abdomen. Her leather boots slap loudly against the mosaic floor, proclaiming to the whole place that their master is back.
"Around here," say Hecate promptly, beaming with pride as she journeys across the lonely passageway. A profoundly daunting feeling pretzels in Evelyn's trepidation as the torches' flames flicker from green to red, growing wider as the Goddess pass by.
They walk over the threshold of the arched entrance and enter a grassed pavilion with a fountain in the centre and black leather sofas encompassing the fountain in a U, which comes along with a glass coffee table and a blood-red rug. A fire burned in a slate fireplace. A stone granite bar is situated on the corner and a girl in the same type of medieval outfit- servant, most likely- is making beverages.
"Viviane," greet Hecate amiably, "Do you mind making something for me and my guest?"
Viviane feebly nods and resume her work. Coffee coloured satin fingers protrude out from her long-sleeved dress and they glow, enchanting a teapot to levitate.
"She's a witch."
Hecate laughs, "Obviously."
"Of course," Evelyn's mind piece together the puzzle, her head tilting up to digest the tall walls, which is decorated with tapestries depicting history from around the world. "Wow, you're uh- you're well-traveled."
Hecate leans back into the softness of the sofa, "You can say that" she sighs, looking at the painted image of Henry the VIII sending Anne Boleyn to her unfortunate death. "Children of Ares had always been cruel; especially to demigods of minor gods and goddesses. Anne didn't know what was coming for her."
"Wow," Evelyn says. "But...this doesn't seem like Greece?"
"No, it used to be part of the Greek Kingdom. We are on the Balkan Mountains, which used called Haemus Mons. It was part of the great kingdom of Thrace, where I had a popular following Now it's in modern day Bulgaria and Serbia but even then, the culture of occultism and witchcraft is still strong within this region.
"Home," Evelyn suggest inquisitively, eyes twinkling brightly with Hecate. Unlike other demigods, the daughter of Morpheus does not tremble in the presence of Celestial Beings. With a childlike manner, she approaches the Goddess. "Right?"
The Goddess smiles fondly as if bathing in the glow of old memories. Viviane pads over in quiet paces and bow as she gracefully set up the coasters and placed two glass of iced drinks. Viviane looks rather terrified as she pays Evelyn no heed to scutter back to the bar.
"She's been like this after a traumatic childhood event," explain Hecate. "She was a witch but she hasn't been the same after her family outed her for Witchcraft back in the 18th century. I took her in because…" Hecate pause to examine Viviane; the frightened deer-in-the-headlights expression that is a permanent fixture on her face, the jumpy movements, the hunched-over posture- as if Viviane is expecting somebody to hit her at any given movement. "I see a fighter."
Evelyn doesn't share the same opinion but she smiles sweetly and collect her drink. She takes a sip, just to test the flavour. Evelyn is immediately taken by the pungent taste of alcohol, wincing, but the ice refreshes her brain. The sweetness of the grapes and fig in the drink help tone down the potency of the alcohol content.
"Greek wine," elucidate Hecate, gulping down her drink in large gulps, causing Evelyn to fret. She sincerely hoped the Goddess had a tolerance.
"So...um…" Evelyn clears her throat as she sips again "Why am I here?"
"Right, you're probably wondering that." Hecate's fingers glow, willing the ice to swirl and churn on its own, "The thing is you're in Purgatory, also known as the Duat, Niflheim, Asphodel, depending on which Pantheon you're descended from. You were led here, by a force. More specifically, a mistake of mine."
Evelyn's head spin with questions and explanations- a contradiction, but life is full of contradictions. Naturally, "Okay," Evelyn nod, rubbing her temples as if hoping the action will make all her problems disappear. "So am I dead?"
"Halfway. You're halfway dead," Hecate corrects. "This is the work of witches, a coven who used the Mist to pull you here and the Mist to conjure up a shade of your mother to lead you to Asphodel and then Tartarus. If she had taken you, you would've been a permanent member of the Underworld."
"But how?" Evelyn persists, losing the childish charm she often hides under. "I mean, this is my dream and therefore, it's my domain. Children of Hecate shouldn't be able to intercept my control."
"True. But you were seeking out- and I answered, however, my children had intercepted our call and used it as a ploy to...uh decimate you."
"But it's still a dream. They're your children, not children or Morpheus."
Hecate purse her lips. "And once again, demigods had been proven to be so daft. I am Hecate, intrinsically ambivalent and polymorphous. I straddle conventional boundaries and eludes definition, and have minor control over each of the God's domain. I cannot create lightning, like Zeus, but I can wield it. I cannot create hurricanes like Poseidon but I can control it. Telekinesis, a common spell most children of Hecate can master, is a form of aerokinesis, to an extent. Even children of Hecate have shown the ability to pour insight in the future through divination, an aspect that seems entirely dominated by Apollo and his Oracles. So yes, daughter of Morpheus, children can infringe on your domain despite their heritage."
Evelyn bite the corner of her lip. "So is there anything else I should know? Or did you just simply bring me here for a tour of your house?"
Hecate's face darkens. "You should know about the few witches who intercepted our connection; they'll be a foe you'll most likely to be worried about."
"But why?" Evelyn wonders, "What does that has to do with me? I'm just an imprisoned daughter of Morpheus."
"This has everything to do with you. The recent attack on Camp Jupiter, the attack on the Prison, the sudden shift from sporadic mortals' terrorist attacks...they're changing strategies. My daughter has a hand in this and I've been trying to tell you this, Daughter of Morpheus because your abilities and dreams make you a near prodigy. You have the ability to gain insight on their plans, which is why they make ultimate plans to eliminate you first."
Evelyn is dizzy. "Prodigy?"
"Demigod prodigies are rare," Hecate nod, "But it makes sense for us to have them. They usually show up in times of desperation, as the Fates will hand picked a few unlucky souls to possess unique qualities that are not seen within your usual demigod but are used to battle a great evil that will put the world in mortal peril. A good example is Frank Zhang, who appears to be your ordinary child of Mars but was gifted with the ability to transform into animals or Hazel Levesque, a daughter of Pluto who was also blessed with the ability of the Mist."
"Percy Jackson?" Evelyn wonder. Even she heard of the guy, from the mutterings of Nico Di Angelo occasionally.
"No, just an ordinary son of Poseidon," Hecate laughs. "Big Three Children are naturally that powerful. He doesn't possess unique powers that are strange for children of Poseidon."
"And I'm a prodigy?"
"Ordinary children of Morpheus can control their own dreams and use it as a tool of clairvoyance. They can also induce sleep and induce dreams of other people but they need to be asleep in order to be in touch with their subconscious for that to happen. You, on the other hand, can be awake, cognitively aware and induce hallucinations and dreams. I believe that was how you landed your stepfather in an asylum."
Evelyn set her jaw, a veil of hardened barriers falling over her face, but Hecate doesn't seem to mind that Evelyn was the reason why her stepfather went insane. Usually, people tend to freak out after that little tidbit of information and assume the worst. Evelyn knows, truly, deeply inside herself that she isn't as unstable as she lets on.
Evelyn Clearwater isn't insane. She isn't one of those who genuinely needs medication or sedation to calm them down; she ticks and breathes like a normal person. It's a fabrication, a persona she puts on due to the fact that she had crippled her father's mind into a state of terror, as an act of justice for the years of torture and experiments and electroshock therapy he had endured her through. But people didn't know that- or if they did, they're quick to connect the dots and assume she isn't right in the head. To be fair, Evelyn doesn't know if she's exactly sane or not but who does really? And what eludes the definition of sane exactly?
Evelyn knows who she is. She's the girl in heart-shaped sunglasses, who plays up her gamine, childlike frame in short school girl skirts and knotted white button downs. She'll twirls around a lollipop, bat her eyelashes and giggles and pretends to be off her rocker, of some sort of madness induced Lolita. It's all a fraud, and Evelyn knows she's a fraud, playing the crazy card but it's a defence mechanism. And after her stepfather, she needs all the defence mechanism there is.
Pretending to be mad is the most fun she had in ages. And it's a clever position to put herself in, Evelyn decides. People can't know how smart you are and therefore, they underestimate you. They think you're stupid. And playing dumb is the best thing ever. Really spices up the life.
"So I'm Morpheus's prodigy?" Evelyn muses.
"Speculatively so."
"And you're going to tell me that the bad guys have demigod prodigies too."
Hecate's eyes twinkle. "I'm not really allowed to say." The sky rumble. Thunder roar. Her throat muscles tighten. "As the Fates dictated."
"Who is it? Is it the Isaiah guy of the Celestials?
Hecate waves her away, "You'll find out yourself. After all, time will always tell the truth."
"But what do you mean by saying-" Evelyn say but before she could finish, Hecate's palace fade into thin air and her vision turns black.
FOUR MONTHS AGO
There is a bruise forming on her knuckles as Mckenzie Cordell drives it into the stomach of her opponent but it barely makes a dent as the boy skillfully ducks and counteracts with a good solid punch to the face. Mckenzie has taken her many hits before. It is her whole life- taking hits, fighting, punching, poison, killing- and it is her only purpose but still, it causes her to stagger in pain, head reeling, blood spurting into her mouth as her teeth unexpectedly bite her tongue from the impact.
She drops to the ground in a series of unceremonious stumbles, extremely ungraceful for somebody has been fighting since the tender age of seven, and prepares herself to launch back up to her feet. The first rule of combat-training: Never let yourself stay on the ground. But Mckenzie hears the ding! of the alarm symbolising that the fight is over and she has lost.
Damn it, Mckenzie swears wildly in her mind, panting, heaving into a stance where her hands lower on her knees. The sweat is dripping down her forehead in a torrent and the pain is still throbbing in her cheek, where his fist has connected to her mouth. Her opponent is a colleague of hers. Finnic Macduff, Son of Poseidon and despite Mckenzie's already stocky, athletic built, noticeably much larger than her, with his frame built like a refrigerator.
Jack London is displeased. "What the actual fuck, Mckenzie? That was absolutely disgusting. You're a daughter of Mars so what was that? Who teach you how to fight like that?"
Mckenzie grits her teeth and tries not to lose her cool in the eyes of her superior. No doubt Isaiah would kick her out of the Celestials if she was to gouge the eye out of one of his trusted advisors, as well friends since Jack has been by Isaiah's side almost as long as Erica had. Mckenzie despises her combat training. It is her weakest subject. She usually prefers when she has something in hand.
Nonetheless, even if it's her most subpar subject, she hates losing and she hates that it's her biggest weakness.
"He's bigger than me," Mckenzie defends herself, pointing to Finnic, and knows she'll be berated the instance she said that but Mckenzie is exhausted, cranky, moody and all she want to do was to is kill something. "He has an advantage above me, Jack-"
"Shut your mouth, Cordell!"
Mckenzie abruptly shuts up and clenches her fists to stop herself from lashing out.
"So what if he's bigger than you?"Jack Circles around and waves at Finnic, signalling his dismissal. Mckenzie folds her arm. "You'll meet opponents bigger than you, smarter than you and richer than you but you don't complain. We're preparing for something big soon, not little missions like before. You find a way around your enemies. Alienate his weakness then finish him. Understood?"
Mckenzie nods. "Yes, Jack."
Jack narrows his dark eyes at her. "You say he has an advantage against you? Might sound a little unconventional but you can use your boobs."
Mckenzie rolls her eyes. "I'm not Lyra, Jack."
A shadow of a smile glosses over his face but Jack shrugs, "So? You're a girl. Use anything at your disposal. Hit him by the crotch. Rub against him. Hit him off guard. Sex is still a weapon."
The comment slaps Mckenzie and suddenly Mckenzie is conscious of her myriad of insufficiency, which is that she is a girl. "But-"
"I know it's outside your comfort zone," Jack interrupts firmly, softening, "But when it comes to a life or death situation, you have to think outside the rules. If we're going to succeed, you have to think outside the rules."
Mckenzie glumly nods and salutes him- as a sign of respect. "I understand, sir."
"Repeat what I just said."
"Think outside the rules."
"The other one."
"...use my boobs?"
"Yep."
"Thank you," Mckenzie says stiffly. "I'm glad for the advice."
"Not a problem, Kenz." Jack looks like he's on the verge of hugging her but Mckenzie would've been uncomfortable. It's weird.
Suddenly, there's a knock on the door. "Come in," Jack orders.
It's Casvel; a pale blob in dim lighting.
"Hey guys, Isaiah's requesting for a meeting. It's just gonna be the Inner Circle."
"We'll be over."
Casvel's boots tread softly against the wooden floor and promptly exits, leaving the lights of the training room on. Mckenzie wipes her forehead free of sweat with her hand and walks over to her plain black duffel bag where all her training essentials are located. Reaching into the bag, she snatches a power bar and peels off the wrapper reluctantly, sitting crossed-legged on the floor as she begins to eat the bar. The crumbs spew out of her mouth messily as she eats it, dusting it off her lap before taking it onto her shoulder and following Jack's lead out the door.
Windows fill the lobby with lights emitted from the skyline and the dying orange ember rays of the sun sinking below the buildings. They're in Chicago so it's no surprise to see hulking, massive buildings with glistening glass surfaces and asymmetrical structures in weird, impractical shapes. It is beautiful in a very modernist, minimalist way, plain with white, silver and grey but the real beauty lies behind the Metropolitan, where the sun looms in the distance, tinting the sky with blue, orange, red and pink.
The new office building they've acquired is a gift- more like stolen goods- from Lyra herself, who had 'borrowed' it from her parents on a cheap lease when the building is easily worth fifty-five million. She had enchanted it to appear like an abandoned warehouse undergoing urban decay, among the vistas of rotting nineteenth-century houses, the sides shored up with balks of timber and windows patched with cardboard and roofs with corrugated iron and crazy garden walls sagging in all directions and her magic is so powerful, it took her a full five minutes to realize that's it's actually a skyscraper piercing into the sky.
Isaiah immediately took up the liberty to refurbish the building; something inexplicably him with clean lines, airy interiors, white walls and simple steel furniture, which shows throughout the hallways as she and Jack head up the elevator and exits into the boardroom.
"Ah good," Isaiah says upon their arrival. "Now everybody is here, we can get started. Everybody take a seat."
DEFINITELY some heavy focus on evelyn there but felt like it was needed because she hasn't been featured much in a long time and her ability to control dreams was what i needed to add in more plot and background before we go back to camp jupiter where the questioning of the prisoners begin and members are picked. i want each different 'prisoner' to find their own connection to the quest and to isaiah and what's happening. i know the story is coming a little slow but when you have a cast this big and a person like me who doesn't want to leave any brilliant character unexplored, it's bound to have a slow plot.
anyway, hope you enjoy and leave a review!