j-ofspades

[j-ofspades]

Once upon a time, in what is now Jaén, Andalucía, there was a king. And a war. Such stories usually begin this way, don’t they? Two swords clashing; the leaders of two opposite sides, the last ones standing. Around them, nothing but corpses. The sky darkened by the amount of crows flying towards the battlefield, attracted by the smell of blood, even if they yet couldn’t see it. Hungry, impatient to claim the soft tissues, to rip eyeballs from their sockets. While both kings fought and fought and fought to the death.

Moors against Christians. The year 1212. Moroccan and Arabian forces crossing the Strait of Gibraltar and ending the reign of the Visigoths. The creation of Al-Andalus, a place that would become a center of production and cultural interaction. A home for bright minds, with even brighter futures. But not all agreed – some others, of fairer skin and lighter eyes, consider the land as theirs. Could someone really claim that a piece of soil belonged to them? It seemed to be the case.

And as such, wars were fought and won and lost and treaties were sent and none of them accepted by any of the sides. ‘We won’t retreat,’ had the Moor king said. And as such, he had gone to war, in shining chainmail and armor, arm raised, holding a sword. Him and his horse disappearing into the horizon were the last things his most adored treasure, his daughter, had seen before being hidden underground, locked inside a secret room only her father knew about, with enough provisions and oil lamps so that she could survive until he was back. He hadn’t told anyone about it, hoping he could keep her safe. His last, and most fatal mistake.

Because he never returned. The Christians were victorious; her father’s heart had been punctured by a spear. She hadn’t been there to see it, but had she been, she would have watched as the king was standing there, in his white steed one second and then… not anymore. Strides behind it, he laid now, with the blade deep inside of his chest and a red stain that grew bigger and bigger and bigger. Eyes open, misted, that watched no more.

But Cassiopeia hadn’t been there. And as such, she trusted in her father’s prompt return. Prayed for it, even when madness started to get a grip on her mind, even when she had run out of oil for the lamps and of things to eat. Soon, she knew the truth she had refused to accept: no one would be coming for her.

Winter and hunger, worse enemies than entitled men. A battle she couldn’t really win. Desperation and insanity. Cassiopeia thought she would die – but she didn’t. Feverish, she couldn’t feel her frozen legs any longer, but when she touched them with numbed fingers, she found scales. Like that of a reptile.

It wasn’t long until despair became anger. And thirst for vengeance.

No longer could the big stone that acted as the door to the secret room keep her in. No longer was she scared of venturing out. No longer did she care about anything other than blood and killing and separating heads from bodies and sticking her sharp teeth on warm bodies be it woman, or man. The last vestiges of humanity she had left, she used them to sing. On dark nights, walking around, with her serpent tail acting as legs, the top half of her body covered only by red curls that reached her hips.

Whoever listens to me sing

Won’t see the light of day

Or the night of San Juan…

It was precisely the night of the 23rd of June that she found out something that would change her immortal life forever.

She woke up, ready to kill and rip and murder, as hungry as ever, to realize she didn’t crave blood. Instead, bread and potatoes and spiced meats like her mother used to cook filled her mind. Shaking her head to dispel those thoughts, she stood up from the humid floor of the castle dungeon she had made her home, only to find she still had legs.

A pair of white, sickly-looking things, filled with bruises but not with scales.

Each step felt like a thousand knifes stabbing the soles of her feet, and yet, she danced and sang and cried of happiness and did so some more when she found an old dress that had belonged to a maid once and put it on and went to the nearest town and was served mead, and bread with meat and potatoes and danced to the tunes of the local tavern’s bard, until he asked her if she wanted to spend the night with him, and she did, kissing him until her lips were sore and stroking his skin, his hair, until her hands were tired.

However, by morning, a blinding pain.

And she didn’t have to lift the sheets to know, she was half serpent again.

Because the bard’s meat had been ripped from his bones, his blood sucked and the tender hands that had caressed her body were not anymore attached to his.

Cassiopeia ran away. And hid. And started eating only lonesome travelers that deviated from the road, or those that wanted to see the legend of the Tragantía, as the locals had started to call her. She cured her bloodthirst with those that invaded her privacy, furious with their behavior, feeling rage travelling through her body instead of blood, plasma, and other fluids.

And still, every San Juan’s night, she went out. She bathed, carded her curls, wore a dress. She was still a celebrated beauty; slanted brown eyes, full lips, a round face. Too thin, from the famine before her transformation, but nothing a blouse and a skirt couldn’t mask.

Every year, she wandered the world. Stood wide eyed in front of new things – a television, you say this is called? Are there little people inside? – and heard people’s stories, mostly in bars she entered, pretending to be a foreigner, justifying that way the way in which she spoke Spanish; using strange words, that were out of fashion. But Cassiopeia still managed to make herself understood and to learn, so that hopefully, the next year, she wouldn’t draw as much attention to herself.

It was 2020 when she met him.

A man, another traveler. Perhaps looking for something else in that small town, but finding her. And she knew; finding him was one of the reason why she had been alive for over 800 years, why she hadn’t wished to die any of them. A scholar, maybe, asking questions about eternal life, immortality, a deity he called Sleep. Local legends.

‘I can tell you all about them,’ Cassiopeia said out loud, with a smile, drawing shapes on the wooden table using a finger as a pencil.

‘I would be thankful…’ He seemed to be looking for a way to call her.

‘Cass.’ Her smile grew wider.

Hearing her name come out of his mouth was like a dream come true. Telling him all about the Tragantía, the beast who many used to scare their children when they misbehaved in Cazorla, didn’t. And that’s why she confessed, after their lips had met in a dark alley, remembering the fate of that bard and not wanting this to happen to him. To Alexander.

She told him everything. How she had been left to die. How consumed by hunger and thirst she had gone crazy. How she had cried, waited for her father to return, but he hadn’t, he hadn’t and her prayers had been directed towards a deaf God who hadn’t replied to them, and…

Others would have questioned her words. Would have screamed in horror. But not him. Instead, he placed an unruly curl behind her ear, and looked at her straight in the eyes.

‘You’re the most beautiful monster I have ever seen, then.’

Was he joking?

They had gone their separate ways, after the light of the morning had started to illuminate the small hotel room they had rented for the night. With a promise. One that she hadn’t thought he would fulfill.

‘See you next year.’

However, there he was in 2021. And 2022. And 2023. Waiting for her, spending hours simply talking, holding her hand, kissing the top of her head, her cheeks, her lips, her shoulder… as if he had truly missed her.

As if he loved her, as much as she loved him.

@j-ofspades

[j-ofspades]

[j-ofspades]

Another night of wandering aimlessly beneath an inky black sky. The city lights were too bright, they blotted out every trace of stars. 

Vessel missed them, stars. When melancholy got to him–as it often had for the past century–the fact that he couldn’t even find comfort in the night sky tore at his heart. 

‘That is the great curse of Immortality: everything else changes while we stay the same; a fixed point amid a vortex. Find a reason to hold on or you will lose your mind.’ Such had been the lessons of his Maker.

As it was, Vessel hadn’t really believed that the ritual he had volunteered for almost 6,000 years ago would actually grant him immortality. He had volunteered because it was his duty as High Priest, the wearer of the Sacred Mask, The Vessel. He had given up his name upon joining the mysterious cult, and he became an oracle, the author of many prayers he still sang every once in a while.

But the ceremony had worked just as they said it would. He was emptied of blood and given the blood of an old god, over and over. His Maker was patient during the agonizing process, he told Vessel everything he knew, but he also told him that all of it meant nothing, that ultimately he would have to find his own meaning or the only constant in his very long life would be loneliness.

‘There is no such thing as true Immortality,’ his Maker had said. ‘If you survive the ritual, you will have an incredibly long life, beyond the wildest dreams of men, maybe ten lifetimes. But everything ends, there are things that can kill you. And, in all honesty, you will probably end up thinking about this as a curse, and you will want to end it yourself. At 900 years, I am the oldest immortal that endures.’

The transformation enhanced his senses. Vessel felt awake in a way he had never been. Six thousand years later, never, not once had he felt despair gripping him; and even if he sometimes longed for a connection he wasn’t sure he’d ever find, he was convinced he wanted to keep living.

And then one night he found it when he wasn’t even looking for anything. A young woman, the embodiment of one of the ancient goddesses that Vessel used to pray to, he was sure of this. Her red hair caught his eye but the fire in her eyes burned a path to his heart. This was the connection he hadn’t been able to find.

Vessel thought there were no new experiences left for him to discover. After spending a few nights with Cassiopeia–Cass, just Cass–he realized how wrong he was. He would have liked to court her properly, but unfortunately, he couldn’t exactly visit her during daytime. How did they manage to meet repeatedly at night? Well, the deity had her favorites, and in that moment, Vessel believed himself to be one of them.

He couldn’t keep his secret from Cass for long. He didn’t want to. Vessel wanted to share all of him with her, and he hoped she felt that way. So he told her what he was, assuring her that if she chose to stay away from him, he would respect her wishes and disappear from her life. When Cass said she wanted to be like him, to walk the same path… 

Turning someone was something Vessel had never done. He’d never met anyone he believed could bear the burden, and he wouldn’t have done it lightly. 

During his long life, he’d witnessed the rise and fall of entire civilizations. Humans were so very interesting to him, their perseverance, their desperation to be relevant, to be remembered. But just as he’d been a silent observer to their history, he’d been slightly more involved in vampiric history. 

How did younglings keep finding him? To Vessel anyone under a thousand years old was a youngling, which made it… almost every remaining vampire. He knew most of them thought of him as an oddity, as a legend, a myth, even those who had met him.

Which was why he didn’t participate in their affairs. Vessel knew of the Vampiric Council; he'd been present when it had been formed, something like two thousand years ago, but he never accepted the Seat he was offered. 

Still, when he was about to turn Cass, he decided to play by their rules. The Council demanded to know whenever a vampire turned someone. The creation of new vampires was heavily regulated since the turn of the century, to avoid raising suspicion. Vessel didn’t want powerful enemies, it was best to keep The Thirteen happy.

Vessel believed the Council session would be more of a formality, something along the lines of “I’m just letting you know that I will do this”, but as it turned out it was actually a vote. Which he lost.

Many reasons were given for this refusal, chief among them, the fact that his blood would be too powerful for the process, and that he hadn’t even known the “candidate” for a decade, not even a year.

‘It is but an infatuation, son, it will pass.’ Those had been the words of the Head of the Council. Patronizing, condescending. Vessel was half convinced he was jealous. Of what? His age? His depth of feeling?

Some vampires had tried to appeal his case. Vessel would never forget them: an exquisite woman with wise eyes on a heart-shaped face and long blond hair; the equally alluring vampire with dark hair who sat next to her (and held her hand); another vampire he’d seen from time to time, gorgeous, charismatic, charming.

What Vessel did next he would live to regret every day.

He had decided to go behind the Council’s back and turn Cass anyway. They could find some other remote place to live in. Wherever, it wouldn’t matter as long as they were together.

Vessel started the process with more faith than he’d ever had when he was a priest. The truth was that he was scared. He hadn’t done this, ever, but he trusted his instinct would tell him what to do. He bled Cass to the point of unconsciousness and then tore a vein in his arm to give her his blood.

Chaos. Confusion.

Someone broke into his house. In his weak state, Vessel couldn’t fend them off, there were too many of them, three maybe four strong vampires keeping him away from Cass. Vessel screamed like a wounded animal, begging for her life. But they drank from her until her heart stopped.

He tried to wake her, he fed her his blood but he realized she wasn’t taking it anymore. There was nothing he could do. Love turned to grief in his heart and then he felt hollow, empty, convinced he would never find another love.

Never again, he swore to himself. Going through that loss had almost made him take his own life. The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that his beloved wouldn’t have wanted that. 

That, and the fact that he still felt her. A maddening presence in the periphery of his mind, never within reach. If he hadn’t been there when it happened, if he hadn’t attended her funeral and read her obituary, if he hadn’t weeped at her grave, he would swear that she was still alive somewhere, calling to him. Maybe he was just losing his mind.

Endless life became endless mourning. And so it was, for almost almost ninety years.

Vessel crunched the fancy card between his fingers. A party, really?

The Vampiric Council had betrayed him, so ever since Cass’ death he stayed away from their frivolous business. How could they presume to have the power to vote on who got “The Gift”.

As he was about to throw the invite into the flames he unfolded it and read the names. He knew them, he knew their faces. They had tried to help him, they had passed judgment on the rogue vampires who had killed Cass. 

Rumor had it that the hostess was a powerful psychic. Young, not even 600 years old but adept at telepathy. If she could read thoughts, maybe she could take them out. Vessel didn’t want to forget about Cass, but he wanted to understand why he could still feel her, he wanted to know if reason had abandoned him, just as love and hope had.

[j-ofspades]

‘Can you go pick Hércules up?’

‘Me? Why me?’

‘Because you’re also his older sister?’

Oh. True. Sometimes Cass forgot her and Hércules weren’t the same age, since they behaved pretty much like twins. Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Or, if you wanted something slightly more national, as the siblings were Spanish… Zipi and Zape.

She nodded in Andro’s direction, watching as she disappeared.

It was weird for Cass to feel that she was so close to Hércules, who was two years her junior, and to see Andro so, so far, even if she was merely a year older. So distant. Like something that you see is there but can’t quite grasp, like grains of sand escaping your closed fist at the Beach, doing it so at an alarming rate…

She sighed. It wasn’t like it was Andro’s fault. The black-haired woman just acted that way because her parents had never really stepped up and proven worthy of the title of mum and dad. Just those words made Cass cringe. Mum. Dad. People you could look at, recognize certain features from: the slanted eyes belonged to Fernando, the crooked grin was clearly María’s, as were the red curls that only Cass had inherited… but the moment they opened their mouths and tried their hardest to strike a conversation: nothing. A blank page, waiting to be filled.

They had shared so many moments, spent so many years in the same home. But they were strangers.

That’s why Andro and her hadn’t moved to the student’s residence hall, and were still living at the family house. Because Hérc had to be in high school for a couple of years more and they couldn’t really do that to him, leave him alone with the ghosts that once had been their loving parents.

Substance abuse did that to you.

She didn’t have class until after lunch, so she went to the library, carrying a pink backpack in one shoulder, filled to the brim with painting tools, with notebooks that she used both for drawing and taking notes, and a pencil case. She didn’t really use her laptop, preferring to do things the traditional way. And… also, she was very scatterbrained. Cass was certain that if she had brought a computer, she would end up the class watching the weirdest YouTube videos about urban legends and random fun facts she had no one to tell them to.

But… that wasn’t completely right, was it?

Cass had always been a loner. For the entirety of high school, and starting university hadn’t really changed that fact. It was not like she didn’t have any friends. She did, just very few of them, and ones she had a pretty impersonal relationship with. Her only real connections in this world were Hércules, Andro and their friend Airi, or so it had been up until a few months ago, when she had met Alex.

Curious circumstances, that which had brought them together. A group of students from the Communications major had appeared a random day in Cass’ drawing class, asking if someone could help them with a quick issue. They were doing a video on the university, and needed a person who could do an illustration for the cover. Something that would draw attention, something that would make people immediately click on it, but that was true to the spirit of the institution.

Luck had it, Cass had just had a bad experience with one of her teachers, because he had criticized one of her drawings for being too shocking, too attention grabbing, and had asked her to stay in line because the dean doesn’t approve of this sort of things…

By the end of that day, those Communications students had a digital drawing sent to their emails, greatly inspired by 1984, George Orwell’s book: a picture of the university dean in a huge TV, sporting a mustache not unlike Hitler’s, and dozens of students dressed in prison uniforms, crying and begging and throwing money in the air, all because they wanted a piece of paper in which the word ‘Degree’ could be read.

Of course, they hadn’t chosen it. But Alex and her had become friends ever since.

Cass wouldn’t say it out loud, but she liked him. She liked him very, very much. But he was not into her – that much was painfully obvious. They had even slept together a few times, after parties that had gotten out of control… but just slept. They had both woken up in each other arms, their bodies still covered with the same number of clothes they had the night before. There had been some moments something deep inside of Cass had screamed yes, yes, yes, now is the time, first kiss… but no. Nothing.

It was fine, however. Having him as a friend was better than not having him in her life at all.

And it was not like she was going to confess out loud and ruin the whole thing.

And yet… the idea of it was always lingering, floating around her, especially when she saw him. Like now, in the library, with his headphones on, hunched over a computer, working on some project whose deadline was approaching at vertiginous speed, probably.

Cass approached him from behind. She thought about scaring him, but if she did, she would undoubtedly get scolded by the librarian or any of the many students around. So she contented herself with lightly tapping his shoulder, giving him a kiss in the cheek before plummeting to the chair next to him, leaving her backpack on the table.

‘Guess who has to go pick up her little brother after class?’ Cass pointed to herself, rolling her eyes. ‘Andro can’t. Probably sleeping with some substitute teacher, or something.’ She chuckled, moving her body so that it was closer to his, placing her chin on his shoulder to get a view of his laptop’s screen.

‘What are you doing?’

Her fingers, covered in dry paint, were now playing with his blond curls. Anyone who saw them would have thought they were a couple… better, Cass thought to herself, because she knew the moment Alex found a girlfriend would be a very, very, very sad day for her.

Cass wasn’t stupid. He was incredibly handsome. He was kind, generous, caring, intelligent, had a tragic backstory, a beautiful singing voice and played almost any instrument. He was about to be done with university, too. All of these things made him the perfect boy, and a lot of other girls seemed to think so, too.

She had heard them whisper around the corridors. In parties, they always tried to approach him. Why, exactly, he preferred spending time with her than with them, Cass didn’t quite know, but she was thankful for it.

‘Did you listen to Vessel’s show yesterday?’

Vessel was the host of a radio show in the university radio. He ran the night slot, where he talked about random stuff, played some weird and cryptic music. Cass had kind of started listening to it as a joke, but now, she didn’t miss a day. She hate-listened to it, because she disagreed with most of the young man’s opinions about music. How dared he play Katatonia at three in the morning, when she was studying for exams, instead of something a little bit more cheerful, a little bit more… alive!?

‘I called again. He probably hates me by now.’ Cass showed her shark-like grin, full of teeth, cheeky, and slightly lopsided. ‘I just wish I knew who he was! He does have a nice voice. I would love to share a coffee with him.’

Cass shrugged. She had told this to Airi and Andro earlier that morning, and both had agreed that next time she called she needed to ask him on a date.

‘But Alex…’

‘This has been going on for months! Are you going to confess?’

‘And ruin our friendship? Nuh uh. Plus, I’ve told you this, I don’t think he likes me…’

‘I mean, you have a point. If he did, he would have tried something with you already. All the more reason to ask this Vessel guy out.’

Maybe she actually would. Why not? She didn’t think she would like him as much as she liked Alex, but well… perhaps she could try, see if something came out of it.

@j-ofspades

[j-ofspades]

♠ The Last Game, the Consequences ♠

The last game had been brutal, just as he knew it would be. He hadn’t expected to get out of it alive but now he had to. 

As the one behind everything in that place of death it shouldn’t have been difficult, but Vessel never thought he’d want a way out.

The Borderlands were his experiment, a way to test people in ways that wouldn’t be possible in “the real world”, a way to explore an alternate reality with stricter rules. He’d been so sure about his methods when he first started designing the place. Why death games? To filter those who really had the will to live. And he’d placed himself among the citizens to tell himself he was being fair.

Now he knew he wasn’t. He’d twisted his beliefs to convince himself he was right. 

And then he met her and he understood he couldn’t let her die, and he realized he didn’t want to die either.

But those were the rules. Those who couldn’t clear a game were eliminated, dying in the Borderlands and in the real world.

But technically, those were his rules.

Rules could be bent, rules could be broken. Vessel would do it for her, Cass. But also for her friends, and for himself. He would atone for the lives he’d taken, however indirectly. But he would help the people he’d met first.

To the Jack of Diamonds, Vessel said: ‘To save her, your game has to end in a draw, but you can’t tell her.’

And Cass had to win his game. And he couldn’t tell her that he wouldn’t die.

The rest was in some deity’s hands.

Vessel woke up with the uncomfortable feeling of having something over his head. No, not over. Bandages, covering half his face. A quick look around told him he was in the hospital, he’d made it out.  

There was no blissful oblivion for him. He remembered everything. 

He almost jumped out of his bed when he realized Aki was right there in the adjacent bed, still unconscious but he didn’t appear to be in imminent danger. Vessel wanted to rip out his bandages, the IV drip and go see who else was there but the nurses threatened to strap him in place. He’d have to wait.

The black-haired man woke up a few hours later. Vessel greeted him like he would an old friend but Aki didn’t recognize him. Still, they talked and Vessel was glad to see the former Jack of Diamonds was fine. 

Aki told Vessel he was in his car when he saw the meteorite. He was on his way to meet his band, they were auditioning dancers for their next music video. He half-joked that he had complained about it, expecting it to be boring. ‘I guess I would much rather have made it to the audition than.’ Aki waved around. ‘This.’

A day after Aki was discharged, something happened that made Vessel’s heart skip a beat, prompting the machines beside his bed to beep loudly.

Someone opened the door to his room and a red-haired woman poked her head inside and smiled at him. It was her.

But before he could say anything, before either of them could say anything, someone yelled from outside.

‘Cassiopeia! Don’t you dare disturb other patients, get back here at once!” 

And just like that she was gone again.

By the time Vessel was allowed to stand up, a couple of days later, Cass and her siblings had been discharged as well. He had no way to find her, no one to ask.

He knew he deserved that, to live with his bittersweet memories, with his regret. 

Aki visited Vessel every couple of days until he was allowed to leave the hospital. He was the only person Vessel felt like talking to. Somehow, their conversations almost always took a turn toward loss.

I’m sorry I made you lose someone, Vessel thought, wishing there was a way for them to find Airi and Cass.

He couldn’t know both of them would recover what they’d lost, that they’d find that love again.

But he had hope.

[j-ofspades]

She had opened her eyes after the meteorite impact a couple of days before meeting Alex… for the first time?

Seeing her brother and sister by the bed, Cass hadn’t thought anything at all. Just normal day, like any other, in which they had all stayed at Andro’s place (Hércules had roommates and Cass lived in a small studio apartment) and the middle García sibling had been the last to wake up.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

But, if that was the case, why were they crying?

They had explained. The day they had all met for coffee, a meteorite had struck Shibuya. Hundreds had died. But not them. However, while Andro and Hérc had been more or less okay, except for a few ugly bruises, three days in a comatose state and their heart stopping for a minute, Cass had all that plus a very disgusting-looking wound in her abdomen (something – she didn’t want to ask what but sharp and pointy – had ripped her skin undoubtedly leaving a nasty scar) a broken, purple, bloated lip (hey, at least I now don’t need plastic surgery! had been her way of making her parents feel better about it) and what most likely would end up being an addiction to morphine; the first days, they had her high most of the time. She didn’t quite know what they were giving her or why, but apparently she had required a few minor surgeries and…

It was during one of those days, that she had sneaked out of her hospital room. Cass had heard something outside: a conversation between her mother, María, and the doctor. They needed to perform a few blood tests, to check the levels of blahblahblah because it could be an indication of God knew what. And no. She refused. They had finally stopped giving her the medication intravenously, which meant: time for her escape plan.

Grabbing her mother’s fancy coat and hat, she had ran away of her room. She hadn’t thought much about it; she only knew that, for whatever reason, she wanted a pizza, sick to the core of hospital food, and to try and find a Halloween store, to check out some masks. The masks were really important, and apparently she had been telling absolutely everyone everything about them. In particular, she wanted a mask with six eyes, with a red sigil, with beautiful and intricate decorations of the same color. A mask that meant something, that symbolized some deity, but none of any religions she could think of.

Barefoot, she wandered around the hospital, tipping her hat to whoever she came across, like someone from the medieval ages. Sir, Ma’am. Cass was about to make a turn in some corridor when she came face to face with her doctor, a man in his 50s that went by the name of… actually, she didn’t remember. So she did what anybody else would.

She entered the patient’s room closer to her, pretending to be some visiting family member.

‘Hello, dear! How are you? Are you feeling better?’ She cheerfully and loudly asked the person laying down in the hospital bed, closing the door behind her quickly. ‘Ufff, that was close. So sorry to bother you but they want to take my blood and I think it belongs in my body!’

The person in question was a man, one who had the top half of his face, except for his eyes, covered in bandages. She could see nothing but his mouth, jaw and neck, but Cass found herself staring. There was something about him… ‘You are so handsome. Well, so handsome. Like don’t get me wrong, you probably are, I just can’t see you! But you feel so handsome. I just… woah. My name’s Cass. I was attacked by a meteorite. Not like personally. I just…’

‘Alex.’ He said, apparently not bothered at all by the fact that she wasn’t making any sense at all. He even was smiling in her direction and his voice sounded… relieved, maybe? Anyway, heavy with emotion. Alex, Alex, Alex.

Cass was about to say something else when the door opened again. She was expecting a nurse, maybe. She could deal with that, use her charms to drive them away. But nothing could have prepared her for coming face to face with Andro, whose arms were crossed above her chest and whose eyes were mostly white. She was rolling them towards the ceiling, as she took a deep breath.

‘Cass! You were supposed to get your medical tests done and…’

‘No, Androoooooooo. Andro, please, I don’t want to. I’m so tired, look at all the bruises in my arm from them poking me with needles. Like plim, plim, plim. No, pleeeeeeaaaaaase.’

‘Cass.’

Her sister’s tone admitted no reply. Cass sighed, finding herself absolutely defeated.

‘But I made a new friend?’ The tone was slightly interrogative, because they had after all exchanged literally a thousand words on Cass’ part and one on his, but one look at Alex and the blonde woman knew. They were friends. Or would be friends.

‘I’m so sorry she bothered you.’ Andro began. Her older sister was not speaking to Cass anymore, but to Alex, who had propped himself up on his elbows and shook his head.

‘She didn’t bother. At all.’

Again, that warmth. That feeling of acceptance, of belonging. Maybe she was still high, no, certainly, she was. But Cass had never felt this before, and she would fight for it. By pouting and pleading. ‘Please, I don’t want to go!?’

‘Cassiopeia, por favor…’

Uh oh. Andro using her full name meant trouble. With a defeated sigh, after a battle she would later remember as fierce and fiery, she waved Alex goodbye and blew him a kiss, before her sister took her back to her room, where an evil person would steal her precious blood.

───⋆☆─────────────

‘I know it’s unorthodox, a man and a woman sharing the same room, but she absolutely refuses to agree to any medical procedure unless she can be with you...’

The doctor was explaining as Cass walked in, carrying a couple of stuffed animals in her arms, running excitedly towards Alex with the brightest smile, one that made her whole face shine.

‘Hi! I convinced them to let us share a room if you wanted to. I guess you agreed because if not I wouldn’t be here. Cool, huh!?’ She exclaimed, standing beside his bed, smiling even more although it didn’t seem possible when she saw that he was happy about it, too.

She didn’t take as much pills now, her mind a lot less foggy, and would have apologize for her erratic behavior from last time, but when she tried to do it, he immediately cut her. There was nothing to apologize about.

That night, none of them got much sleep.

She sat at the foot of his bed, with her chin placed on top of her knees, her legs against her chest, her arms around them. Cass laughed more than she had in her entire lifetime as they shared anecdotes from their lives. Funny and happy ones, before switching to sadder ones, because they wanted to tell the other person absolutely everything. No secrets, not now, not ever. One in particular was harder than others, because it had marked a before and an after in Alex’s life: his parents falling into a coma after a car accident.

Cass had simply extended an arm, grabbed his hand. Held it hard as he told the story. And then, brought it to her lips, softly kissing his fingertips, sweetly.

His expression told her that she had done something right, something that had evoked deep feelings in him.

She had refused to go back to her cot. She hadn’t wanted to, and Alex didn’t seem like he wanted to let go of her, either. So she had simply laid beside him, until Sleep had taken both of them with Her to her realm, softly caressing his jaw, his neck.

Even if the doctor had scolded her the following morning, it had absolutely been worth it.

And she had kept doing it, night after night after night.

They could talk for hours, or stay in comfortable silence. Cass would paint him. Alex would sing to her. They would watch shitty movies on the TV in their room and she would let the doctors perform each and every test they wanted on her, as long as he was holding her hand.

When they had taken the bandages off of his face, she had been there, next to him, knowing that whatever he looked like wouldn’t change how she felt about him. Because Cass was in love, completely and absolutely, with every single part of Alex.

‘So, I was right the first night, you are devilishly handsome.’ She had declared, after he had stood still for a minute or two to let her examine his features, before finally closing the distance between them and kissing him.

───⋆☆─────────────

Cass was discharged before Alex. Weeks before.

But there was not a day she didn’t come visit after work, bringing food from the outside; bags full of takeaway, little snacks, things that he had mentioned he liked or things that she had commented about and wanted to share with him.

Between colorful wrappings of cookies and chocolate bars, more stolen kisses. Shy, at the beginning. Passionate, as time passed.

New lovers were supposed to be clumsy, but their bodies knew each other perfectly – from a previous life, maybe, their lips moving in perfect sync.

The doctors and nurses still got mad at her and her mischief; but they also just left them alone more times than not by that point, maybe slightly moved because out of the horrible natural disaster that had been the meteorite crashing in Japan, something as beautiful as their love story had been born.

It didn’t surprise anyone, when they made it official. When they started looking for a place for both of them, after merely months of dating. They were moving fast, yes, but why wait when they were made for each other?

This was Eden. Paradise. Mutual respect, acceptance and love. A sacred connection, and they were just pawns following one mandate: to be together.

In this universe. And all of them.

@j-ofspades

[j-ofspades]

[from @cassiopeiagarcia]

I took the liberty of making the bingo meme that's been going around for you...

This is accurate. Nothing else to add.

—V ⭕️

[j-ofspades]

I am reduced to a thing that wants you.

To a thing that looks for you in everyone, in everything, for a person I’ve only known for two days but also met one night eighty-six years ago, when I was twenty-six, when I still had a beating heart and a breath that could get caught.

I had always imagined myself marrying a soldier – mind you, I was a young adult while the Spanish Civil War took place, and my father was a general, so the thought is not that strange. And still, when I met them, when I attended those lame parties filled to the brim with pretty men with weary smiles and extreme politeness, there was nothing in them that I would want. Nothing that spoke to me. Maybe it was the epoch. Maybe it was my disposition. Maybe it was that I was always waiting for you, unknowingly.

Do you believe in reincarnation? Do you think my soul, perhaps, was alive before, in a different body, in a different city, country, continent? I used to think it could be, but not anymore. Because I’m confident you would have found me. Maybe once I was a Russian man named Vladimir that cultivated potatoes for a living and owned two cows. A simple life. Maybe I even had a wife and children. Two girls; Anastasia and Valeria. And yet, I’m still sure, that if that had happened, you would have known. You would felt the distortion in the air, in the universe, eventually appearing outside of my window, breaking into my house and falling in love with me, as I would with you. Because this is destiny.

Because I feel like there’s a sort of string, somewhere within me, connected to another string, somewhere within you. Unbreakable, warm. Like fire. Like the gift we both share.

I am the flame, your Flame, and you are the moth. But I won’t hurt you. I will envelop you and protect you and be the pyre in which you can burn all of your enemies, anyone who ever tries to harm you or keep us apart.

I don’t know if my writing makes any sense. I have never been able to put things into words as easily as others do. I am just… unrestrained action, no thought, as you probably know. I am just a person who loves you, who has missed you without remembering you.

Who wants a double casket and a house we can share.

Yours, always.

Cass

@j-ofspades

[j-ofspades]

💫🌟🌌 A Field of Stars 💫🌟🌌

Written for the aib server prompt: Sci-Fi AU

The dark helmet had felt like his very own prison at first. Restricting, suffocating, severing him from the rest of the universe. Now? The helmet was as much a part of himself as his own face.

Even if he wasn’t constantly on the run, it was probably for the best if he concealed his identity. As a Ronin, a mercenary, Vessel’s activities weren’t precisely legal.

Vessel.

That name had come to him like an unwanted gift, the night he had escaped. He’d snuck into a merchant ship, a spatial stowaway; there, crouched behind crates stamped “BESSEL”, the word got ingrained in his head so much that when he arrived at a customs outpost he muttered it as his name. The officer wrote “Vessel”, so Vessel he became.

It was very late when he arrived. Home. The only place he would ever call so. Neon.

‘Where it all began,’ Vessel muttered to himself. 

Years ago, he’d been a Neon Street Rat through and through. Born in the Underbelly, he couldn’t even say he resented his luck back then. It was a simple life but he was happy to have his family and that was that. He started working for Xenofresh Corporation when he was still a teenager, Vessel and his father hoped they could work hard enough, save enough, to give Vessel’s younger sister a better life. 

If he sometimes wandered all the way to Bayu Plaza to pickpocket unsuspecting tourists, well, they were to blame. Partially. ‘Fools and their credits are easily parted,’ his father often said, and Vessel had to agree. Not long after, his skills also included lock-picking. But even then, he made a point never to take from anyone in need, no, just from those people who treated his city as a dumpster where everything went.

And then one day someone noticed him, his potential, as they put it, and they offered Vessel a job. If he’d known what that meant, he wouldn’t have accepted.

The Crimson Fleet.

They’d introduced themselves as “independent merchants”, “adventurers with special interests”. Pirates, they were pirates. And Vessel had been fool enough to join blindly, not knowing that death would be the only way out.

The first few years went by, and while Vessel didn’t actively participate in the capture of ships, he did take part in the looting, telling himself that this was just a “redistribution of wealth”, hell, he was starting to sound like them.

Still, little by little the implications of his choice of life started bothering him and, although he wasn’t opposed to violence at first, he found himself very much opposed as the violence of the attacks escalated, especially when it was directed toward simple merchants or explorer ships. But he did nothing. He could do nothing.

Fifteen years later, he found a chance to leave.

Neon wasn’t a safe place for Vessel to be, no planet, no system was. He could run, but he couldn’t hide. The Crimson Fleet didn’t take desertion lightly, Vessel’s former captain put a price on his head when he noticed Vessel had left. If that wasn’t enough, his former association with pirates meant he was also wanted by the UC and probably every other faction.

That was why he needed to keep moving, going from one planet to the next, all over the Settled Systems. He could never stay still for too long or someone would catch him. Running and his helmet were the only two constants in his life.

But he couldn’t help it, he had to return to Neon every few months, for the same reason he had left in the first place: his family. Vessel still sent them credits whenever he could, in intricate ways that could never be traced back to him. Being a mercenary meant he didn’t exactly have a stable income, but he got by alright.

Vessel walked unhurriedly under the neon lights, letting people jostle him to and fro. He wouldn’t visit his childhood home, the home where his parents still lived. He wouldn’t bring danger to their door. Instead, he made his way to the Astral Lounge. The bartender there was his “friend”, which meant he told Vessel about the city, about his family for a fee. That was how Vessel had learned that his sister was apparently dating the club’s dancer. Vessel hoped to see her–without letting her see him–before he left. He had a job to do somewhere else.

As a blade-for-hire, Vessel preferred jobs for people who truly needed help. But he wouldn’t turn down a well-paid job when the opportunity arose.

Redemption? No, Vessel didn’t believe such a thing could be achieved, it felt out of reach. He didn’t want to be considered a hero. All he wanted was to help others, to take care of his family even if it has to be from afar. If those that wanted him dead caught up with him, all he hoped was that he would be able to take more than a few of them with him. Other than that, what more could he ask for?

[j-ofspades]

If science is to be believed in, our bodies are mostly made from water.

Maybe that was the reason why Vessel had been like a perfect flood, engulfing her again and again and again and again ever since she had first laid eyes on him.

To paint him, Cass only needed three colors: black, red and white.

Black for his body. White for his mask. Red for his sigil.

Different tones came into play, then, depending on whether she was painting him in the sun, on one of the few occasions they met in daylight – something that still felt almost illegal, mysterious as he was – or in the night time, which was their preferred hours to see each other. Like vampires, but instead of needing blood, craving each other’s company, with an animalistic desire that couldn’t differ that much from a drug addiction.

Cass didn’t have one of those fancy watches Andro used for the gym and that checked how many times your heart was beating per minute, or how much oxygen was in your body, or whatever things indicated your workout had been a really good one. But she was sure that had one adorned her wrist when she had seen Vessel for the first time, she would have received a worried message from the little machine.

Are you dead? A sad face, made of pixels. Your heart stopped beating and there has been no oxygen intake for the last few seconds.

And there was only one person to blame.

A person who had attracted her attention, piqued her interest. One who she had walked towards as if pulled by an invisible string.

She had introduced herself as Cassiopeia, because it felt more magical, because that man deserved someone from legend; the reincarnation of a woman who had defied the Gods with such vehemence she had been immortalized in the sky. And instantly said no, call me Cass.

She wasn’t Cassiopeia. She was Cass. She was definitely the type of woman who would go against a deity to see her wishes fulfilled, but she wouldn’t claim to be her namesake. She was a twenty-six year old, Spanish woman, who had lived in Japan her entire life, who loved art and her siblings and… she wanted to give Vessel exactly that.

He could take it, or not. But that’s what she could give. Her offering.

Cass had realized, ever since her hand had closed around his and she had taken him to her room to show him her work after learning he was also an artist, a like-minded spirit, that her arms belonged around him.

Home is where the heart is, they said. And Vessel held her bloody heart with his long fingers.

Therefore, it had felt natural when their lips had met for the first time. And had kept meeting, time and time again, clothes forgotten and hands and tongues and teeth following one secret mandate; to devour the other person, however way they could.

Gluttony, another form of lust.

@j-ofspades

[j-ofspades]

‘I love you, Cass,’ Vessel whispered softly, hoping she had still heard him before falling asleep. He would tell her again when she woke up, he would tell her every chance he had. He sat on the edge of the bed, with his back against the headboard. 

The familiarity of Cass’ room made him feel calmer, less scared. He felt like he hadn’t been breathing properly since he’d seen her come out of the game, pale as… No. He didn’t want to think about that, it was more than he could bear.

If Aki could see him now, he would surely say “I told you so” but Vessel was holding on to the sliver of hope he had. If he had found himself in this place, he would find a way out. He made a silent promise to her.

Vessel wanted to stay awake, to watch over Cass should she need anything during the night. But the rush of adrenaline of the frantic night they’d lived had left him completely exhausted. 

He drifted off into an uneasy sleep, plagued with disquieting visions of Cass, motionless in his arms and just as he tried to lean down and wake her, she opened her eyes and looked at him with a mixture of hurt and hatred. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she yelled at him.

That yell was still ringing in his ears when Vessel woke up, startled. Everything was alright, they were safe in her room and Cass was fast asleep beside him. But he knew, he knew he had to tell her what he was, what might happen.

He brushed a curl away from her face and repeated the promise he’d made earlier in silence. ‘I will find a way out for us. If I can’t, I will find a way out for you.’

She didn't quite know how she made it to her room. Memories were nothing but a blur. She remembered talking with Andro, her older sister telling her a story she liked to hear before bed when she was a kid. Hércules' fingers running through her hair... and one of his many rings getting tangled between her curls, and a soft groan escaping her lips as her only way to complain, her brother's voice apologizing suddenly filling the vehicle they were in.

Then, they had arrived at the Beach. Cass had heard the music from the parties, but it seemed distant, even more than usual. Had she lost consciousness, at any point? Why couldn't she recall climbing the same stairs she did every day, finding her way to her room, changing into clothes that were clean and not drenched in blood, getting in a bed that she had left earlier that day covered in sketchbooks and pencils and brushes and other painting materials?

She was suddenly lying down, Andro covering her with a sheet she quickly scrunched up her nose upon. 'It's warm.' She complained, but her sister wouldn't have it. So she simply mumbled some more stuff in the lowest voice possible and decided she would allow the raven-haired woman to win this fight.

'Of course I want you to stay.' She told Vessel, surprised by the question. Pain was still present; clinging to her like her fingers had been to the edges of the gurney. But it had subsided so much it felt remote, detached. Like it had happened long ago, nothing but a memory. She opened and closed both her hands, lifting her arms towards Vessel, like a small kid trying to get their parents to give them something they really wanted. 'Stay. Por fi.' Her way of getting what she wanted. Saying please in her mother tongue, and pouting.

Andro's features had softened up; Cass was well aware she didn't like Vessel too much before that. Too weird, why does he wear a mask and cloak, he speaks of this deity, is that his ex?, Does he think he is a superhero or something? Now, however, she was looking at him with respect. Maybe, even, a hint of endearment?

'I'll go. Hérc, come with me, too. We'll come visit you tomorrow, ¿vale, peque?'

'I'm not peque.' Cass whispered, reacting to being called by the nickname her sister used for her when she was a kid. Little one, despite only being a little bit over a year apart.

But Andro was a master at pretending not to hear what she didn't want to listen to (Cass had to had inherited it from someone) and she just left her room saying buenas noches, peque, with Hércules silently laughing behind her.

'When I feel better, she's dead.' Cass said, before curling up in a ball next to Vessel, her eyes already starting to close. 'I love you, Vesselito.'

A love confession, her last words before falling asleep.

[j-ofspades]

@j-ofspades

[j-ofspades]

‘You did, love, you did.’ Vessel smiled at Cass’ question. So innocent, so meaningful. Had all this pain been for nothing? ‘You cleared the game and you don’t have to worry about playing.’ For now, at least. For a few days. Vessel would have loved to tell her that she didn’t have to worry about her visa days at all but he couldn’t promise that.

Not yet, in any case.

‘Let’s go. You will be more comfortable in your room, on an actual bed.’ How comfortable was yet to be seen, but maybe they could find a doctor or at least someone who could provide guidance on how often Cass could take the painkillers they’d procured. 

Vessel packed the medical supplies they’d found and went to verify no one was outside. Luckily, the coast was clear, the night was quiet. No one would guess that a few blocks away many death games had taken place–or maybe were still taking place. The streets should have been awash with blood and yet, other than the slight decay that made it look like the city had been abandoned for years, everything was rather peaceful.

They helped carry Cass back into the car, letting her lie down like she had before, her head on Hércules’ lap. Andro was saying something to her in a soothing tone. Vessel was grateful for their presence, he didn’t know how he would have fared alone. 

He remembered Aki’s words, his fear of losing the woman he loved. Vessel could understand that very well even before Cass was shot, but now that fear took on a different shape, it became more real, more present. Love could be a blood sport. He was aware of that now, but he still wouldn’t give her up. 

The noise from the pool party carried all the way to the courtyard when they parked the car. As annoying as it was, it made Vessel feel a strange sense of familiarity. At least they had this place as a sort of home to come back to. 

It took Andro, Hérc and Vessel a good while to get Cass to her room. Andro helped her change into a clean shirt while Vessel and Hércules cleared the bed of paintbrushes and sketches so Cass could lie down. 

‘Do you want me to stay?’ Vessel asked before Cass closed her eyes.

'I know.' She reassured Vessel, thinking that as long as she was aware of it, maybe the pain wouldn't be too great. Oh, wasn't she wrong. She felt Andro's hands caressing her hair, Hércules giving her something to bite so that she could scream and scream and scream as Vessel performed an incission in order to be able to fit the tweezers and fish out the bullet, while she gripped the edges of the gurney with knucles white from the strength.

Cass couldn't see anything, tears flooding her eyes, fear getting hold of her and swelling with every passing second. Was she going to die? What if Vessel didn't manage to get out the bullet? What then, could she just go her merry way and...

She couldn't move her head. She couldn't move her tongue, or her hands, or her legs. She just screamed, and screamed and screamed until her throat hurt and was sore and she didn't know whether the pain was coming from the wound in her stomach or from somewhere else, all of the things she was feeling merging together, like lovers intertwined during a night of passion.

A horrifying mass, crushing her, and more, and more, and more. Neverending. Infinite. Please, make it stop. Oh, please, make it stop before it gets worse.

And then, the pain subsided. The giant vice had finally let go. She was not between its jaws any longer. There were still remnants, but nothing as bad as what she had felt second ago. Minutes, hours.

Trembling from the effort, she considered whether or not she should try and stand up. Maybe if I turn sideways... she thought, only stopping to do so when Vessel's mask came into her line of vision. Her body relaxed just at his mere presence, and she opened her mouth to speak. When had they taken away the piece of fabric she had been biting during the operation? She, however, couldn't. Her tongue feeling unresponsive, dry, uncooperative.

I don't want to sleep, she wanted to complain. But just as those thoughts appeared, her eyelids started to close. And soon, she was sleeping.

When she woke up, it wasn't any better. Everything hurt, and she felt like she had been beaten up, or hit by a truck and left in the middle of the road to die. She wished she could go back to sleep, agony flashing up her every limb and the sudden urge to retch, her face pale as wax. A croaking sound left her lips. Not a name, but a question.

'Did we win the game?'

[j-ofspades]

@j-ofspades

[j-ofspades]

[j-ofspades]

source

[j-ofspades]

‘I… can try to talk to Cass, yes.’ Vessel considered Aki’s request, tilting his head slightly. ‘However, I can’t promise anything.’ 

Vessel would have liked to assure him that it would all work out. That Cass would talk to Airi and that she would mediate on Aki’s behalf. While he wanted to encourage the Jack of Diamonds to have faith, he didn’t want him to foster any false hopes.

‘While it may be a good idea to ask a friend to approach Airi first, to gauge her reaction, Cass is a force of nature, she won’t do anything she doesn’t want to do,’ Vessel explained, thinking fondly of her; she was indomitable, but she had a heart of gold, even if she didn’t show it to everyone–which was just another reason for Vessel to love her even more. 

‘But if she talked to you… if she told you about that letter, then maybe she will carry the message back to Airi.’ Vessel offered Aki his hand and a sincere smile. ‘After that, it’s all up to you.’

Perhaps it was Vessel’s imagination at work, but he had the impression that Aki didn’t seem as tormented as when they started speaking, even the room seemed lighter, illuminated by a soft glow.

‘I will sing a prayer for Airi and for you.’

Vessel didn’t know what would happen. With Airi and Aki, with Cass and himself. But he listened to the deity. And the deity, at this moment, spoke of love.

Hope.

A dangerous thing to have in a place like the Borderlands.

And Aki still found himself full of it, surprisingly.

Hope that it was not too late, that she would like to see him again, that she would forgive him for not saying anything in response to her letter, especially since he really couldn't tell her the reason for his silence. If he would confess to being a face card, then... what? He could join games, even if he didn't have to, to try and keep his real identity a secret. But still, then... Silence as heavy as the lid of a tomb, burying him alive and submerging the entire world in darkness. The question now was; how long did he have until he ran out of air?

He took a deep breath.

'I thank you, Vessel. Sincerely. You have helped me a lot today,' Aki had shown him his heart. And the masked man could have laughed, ignored him. Went to live a happy life with the woman he loved, leave him to drown in the tempestuous tides surrounding him from all fronts. Instead, he had given him a hand, the push he didn't know he needed. Aki had jumped into the abyss and he had never felt more alive. 'I have... one last question, perhaps, if you wouldn't mind.'

'Do you think you could ask Cass to help me? I know she probably dislikes me because I hurt her friend. Could you explain the situation? Somehow? Without getting into details of...' Of what we really are. Of who we really are. 'I don't know if I could simply show up. If maybe Airi needs convincing to speak with me again. But... could you maybe talk with her so that she...?' Aki usually had a way with words. But today, it didn't seem like it. He was blocked. His muse was gone.

Because Airi had left, and she had taken everything that once had shone bright with her.