Here's the next chapter! Some are really short, so sorry about that, but something is better than nothing, I suppose. Enjoy :)
Jillessa Heronstairs's characters: Amie and Clarisse
MortalShadowhunter's characters: Piper and Zander
My characters: Hunter and Layla
~~ Piper ~~
The most desirable part about living at the Institute was definitely the drama.
Piper always kept an ear open for any gossip, savouring any particularly juicy news. She wasn't looking for just anything, she liked the deep dark secrets. The ones which probably shouldn't ever see the light of day, but managed to force their way out of the closet regardless. Those were the ones she collected and stored in her mind, like a child collecting seashells. It was a… hobby of hers. Most would think it was a bad one, she knew, but she didn't care. It was too much fun, after all.
The whispers seeped out from beneath closed doors.
"She's pregnant."
"He cheated on her."
"They deal in dark magic."
Besides, who could argue with her when she held all the power? Secrets, she had learnt, were far more powerful than money. In fact, she wasn't even afraid to outright ask someone if they had any secrets. Their reaction was all part of the game. If someone's eyes flitted away from hers, or they shifted uncomfortably, she knew they were hiding something from her. Almost everyone lied in response to her question, and it made her grin. It was just too much fun.
She was like a detective, sussing people out, and sifting the truth from the lies.
Not afraid to do anything for a bit of entertainment.
~~ Amie ~~
While most people dreamed in colours, Amie dreamed in runes.
Each line was etched into her mind in black, as if drawn there by a paintbrush. Sometimes she stayed up all night, not able to sleep, as the runes took over her mind and every thought. She was never without her sketchbook, and in her free time, her hand drew the curves, the lines and the patterns, until she created a picture – a rune which could be used. Either for bad or good, it didn't matter, they were her creations.
Heading to the Downworld Towns, she would watch her creations change people's lives, making them impossibly strong, or less tired, or more desirable. She was a hero, in her own way. As long as she got something in return.
Carrying out trials on subjects, she would enhance and change the runes until they were perfect. Occasionally there were a few minor side effects – forgetfulness, nausea, vomiting or dizziness, but they were never enough to stop her in her quest. To her, the benefits always outweighed the risks.
Her runes were etched on their bodies, like a piece of artwork, where they would remain forever. Sometimes after drawing one on someone, she would step back and admire her handiwork. It was just so perfect.
She was an unstoppable force that the Clave could never bring down. For her customers are loyal, and she had many backup plans if something were to go wrong. And if any customers ever pestered her, she could always use a persuasion rune which she had created, or other, darker ones.
Most people said runes were only for Shadowhunters, that she was a liar, but she merely laughed in their faces. They had no idea of the power of her mind, which reached far beyond the influence of the Grey book.
This was only the beginning of what she would achieve.
~~ Hunter ~~
Hunter would never forget the day he fell off a cliff. Or jumped, to be precise.
It happened when he was young – only seven or eight, and had been playing with another Shadowhunter his age. He'd told the other boy – Jason – that he wasn't afraid of anything, and he'd meant it. Jason had merely laughed, for he didn't believe him. Feeling the urge to prove himself, Hunter had walked over to the edge of the cliff, and looked down. It had seemed far for him, since he'd only been young, but heights didn't scare him.
Jason had called him back, expecting him to chicken out, but he held his ground. He knew he was invincible, after all. Pain didn't affect him, like it did others. Closing his eyes, he breathed in deep through his nose, and then made the plunge, tumbling through the air, and landing awkwardly on his arm. All he could hear as he fell was Jason's piercing scream and a crack when he hit the ground. The breath was knocked out of him, and he lay there panting for a little while. When his breathing returned to normal, he sat up, wondering why his arm was bent at such a strange angle.
Having heard the scream, Hunter's parents peered over the cliff, then came running down, yelling for him to 'hold on.' He merely shrugged nonchalantly and stood up, dusting off his shirt with his other hand. When they reached him, they cried in relief, and his mother pulled him to her, stroking his back and muttering comforting words. He frowned, wondering what all the fuss was about. Besides the strange angle of his arm, he felt fine. He never felt the pain, after all.
His parents had carried him back to the Institute, and called on a Silent Brother, getting him to do a thorough check. From what he heard, he gathered there was a few broken bones, some swelling, and some nasty bruises. When he'd tried to get up out of bed, his father had pushed him down, telling him he'd have to go easy for the next couple of weeks.
It turned out that 'going easy' meant having to stay in bed for ages. He soon got bored staring at the ceiling all day. He felt fine, so what was the problem? In fact, he felt so good, he was determined to get back to training.
It turned out his parents didn't like that idea, and resorted to locking him in his room to get him to stay put. It wouldn't be the first time. They always thought they knew best.
As he got older, he soon learned to love the thrill of the jump. As if the more times he did it, the more he could feel.
However, each time he felt just as empty as before.
~~ Layla ~~
Layla soon found out it wasn't easy being the only female mechanic in the garage. She and a boy her age were both starting a traineeship at the same time, and it didn't take them long to develop a mutual dislike.
It all started at the end of their last shift of the first week. After collecting her belongings from her locker, Layla wiped the grease from her forehead – probably smudging it further – and didn't bother to change out of her uniform, before leaving. As she started down the street, the other apprentice, Lachlan, called her name, so she turned and waited for him to join her.
Looking her up and down, he raised an eyebrow. She stared back at him, guessing he must have been thinking about her dishevelled, dirty appearance. Sure, he was dressed in normal clothes again, but that didn't mean he didn't need a shower just as much as she did.
Sick of the silence, she asked, "What's up?"
"What's up?" Lachlan repeated, laughing. "Those clothes really don't suit you. I think you're working at the wrong place."
"Excuse me?" she said, immediately narrowing her eyes. She hadn't expected this at all, and she half hoped she was misunderstanding the situation.
He sneered at her. "You heard me. This is a men's job, do you see any other women working there? Women don't know how to fix cars. A pretty girl like you should go get an office job or have a baby or something. I bet you won't last another week here."
That was the last straw for Layla, and she clenched her fists, fighting to keep from Changing in her anger. The last thing she needed right now was to turn into a werewolf and attack him. So she took a deep breath, counting out a minute in her head, to allow her heartbeat to settle down first.
….58….59….60
"I can do anything you can do, and better," she stated confidently, her voice determined. "I'll prove to you just how wrong you are. Mark my words."
And so she did prove it to him, every day.
As days turned into months, they tossed insults around like a ball at a tennis match. She called him a 'misogynistic pig' quite a few times, while he called her equally unpleasant names. It almost became like a daily ritual, since they had to work together so often.
On the last day of each week, she grinned at him, not bothering to hide her smugness, as if to say, 'I'm still here.' In a way she had to thank him, if it wasn't for him, she never would have been driven as much as she was to succeed.
In the end, he had to grudgingly accept she fit in there. Especially when their preceptor praised her over him, more often than not. They developed a sort of mutual understanding, and eventually he saw her as just 'one of the guys.' It came as a relief to her, and she enjoyed the feeling of fitting in, and the respect that came with it. If only she could change everyone's opinion like that.
Unfortunately, she knew the world was a big place, and she'd hardly made much of a change at all. However, politics weren't really her sort of thing. She wasn't a smooth speaker, she tended to lean towards bluntly telling the truth, and she knew that wouldn't get her anywhere in that sort of field.
So she made a pledge to herself, to do what she could day by day, in order to change the opinions of those she met. After all, one small pebble could still make a ripple in a large pond.
~~ Clarisse ~~
Her vivid dreams confused her. Every night when she shut her eyes, the dreams were so real, that she felt like she could reach out a hand and touch them. Sometimes she wondered if they were just hallucinations, and there was something wrong with her.
Blink. Midnight black hair. Blink. Hazel eyes. No matter how many times she blinked, he was still there. Who was he?
When she first saw him in the Downworld Towns, she thought she'd gone crazy. It took seeing things to a whole new level. But he was… different. His clothes were stranger, and his eyes rimmed in black.
She saw other people in her dreams too, and she felt a strong connection to them. As if they were related by blood. Did she have a family? Were they still alive?
Although she tried hard to think of her life before the Hunt, she always came up blank. It was as if she walked to the edge of a cliff, and looked downwards, only to be met by everlasting darkness.
There were so many questions she wanted answered, but if she whispered them to the breeze, they would merely float away.
Climbing a tree, she gazed out at the Hunt base. Faeries flitted around like worker bees, carrying out their tasks with ease. Clarisse didn't feel like she quite fit in. Everyone else seemed to have a purpose, while she was left unsure, mostly keeping to the trees for company. One of the best things about trees was that they were constant, never changing. Growing for years and years, they had a steady grace that she craved. They weren't confusing in the slightest.
As days grew into months, she sought harder for answers, resorting to other means to find them.
Only then did she realise just how much she'd changed too.
~~ Zander ~~
Zander was like a lone wolf.
A wolf which had been driven from the pack or left of its own accord.
Mainly keeping to himself, he avoided the other faeries in the Hunt, spending a lot of his time at the stalls, where he'd befriended a wolf. His wolf, as he liked to think of it sometimes, although he knew the Hunt owned it.
He felt a strange connection to his wolf, feeling jealousy spark even if someone did as little as pat it. After all, he was the one who really understood the wolf. No one else could, quite like he did.
Sitting down in the stalls, the wolf nuzzled his hand, then curled up beside him. Zander knotted his hand in its hair, content to just sit and watch it sleep. There was a sense of loyalty and respect shared between the two of them.
On occasion the wolf had nipped at his hand – playfully of course - and he had a scar to show for it. But he knew the wolf would never purposely try and hurt him, so he was never scared.
Maybe the real reason they got on so well was because they could relate to each other. Both a lone wolf, both imprisoned inside the Hunt, never to leave.