Lucas Long's Story

Throughout the dance, the Queen continues to press herself against the knight, a sort of chess in which pieces are clung to rather than taken. Daniel has always been rather good at chess, with his unending patience and levelheaded intelligence. It is a matter of strategy, of foresight, of never taking too long or too short of a time to play just a little glimmer of one's hand. This dance is, to put it bluntly, nothing like any game of chess that Daniel has played before. His jaw tightens, his eyes shift slightly away, looking into Nina's eyes only when they are completely composed. To say that he is beginning to feel confused by her flirtation, escalating beyond the normal banter he so enjoys, is an an understatement. The normal back and forth has become so routine, so reflexive, that a divergence threatens to disturb his balance. Of course, this is Daniel, one must remembers, and no amount of vertigo will knock him off of his feet after the little mishap earlier. He has bound the doors will every tool in his arsenal, and checked the bolts twice simply for some peace of mind. Daniel takes Nina's new game as a test, and is determined not to fail it by becoming one of those idiots who surround the two. He is calm, collected, and apparently unfazed by the way her hips graze against his.

Her breath is against his neck. She plays a timid hand, Monroe in her innocent seduction. By no means a Kennedy, Daniel will not allow himself to be taken in. He will not fail this test, for he is above such things. How else could he properly be her right arm in all things? Besides, this feigned look of timidity is one which Daniel dismisses readily, it not corresponding with the Nina that he has come to be so devoted to. The new Sam. So he studies her shoulder, face now against his neck, and keeps his hands an appropriate distance above her hips. Daniel Ahn, after all, is every bit the gentleman, a knight whose battles are fought under the rules of court etiquette. Forward two, left one. He guides her around the light, reflected in her eyes as she now looks at him once more. There is a strange, unnerving desperation in the Queen's voice when she speaks. Daniel does not understand it. He is so clever, so insightful, and yet so painfully unobservant. Preset boundaries can be so difficult to break, and he has always been one to play within the rules.

"See me."

Only as you are, Nina, he thinks, the words cryptic in meaning even to the young man himself. Ironic, as he knows nowhere near as much about the depth of her mind as he believes. But at least Daniel is aware of something swimming leagues beneath the surface, occasionally sending ripples across the water like a fault line prepared to separate and consume all in its path. He is concerned of the day on which the earthquakes will begin, but is confident that he will be able to hold onto the cracks until his fingers are bloody from it. "I want to."

The meanings are tragically misconstrued between the Queen and her dog.

"Are the stars flattered when astronomers try to claim them with names? I should think not, Miss Romanov," he is now looking directly at her- while she looks beyond his shoulder. The two are incapable of looking at the same time, it should seem. Perhaps there lies part of the problem. The song ends. He takes her hand and bows languidly, lips brushing against her knuckles.


Erin is glad for Carr's compliance in dropping the subject, knowing that he does it not out of lack of personal curiosity but in the interest of her comfort. Carr has sensitivity in bounds where Erin often seems to lack it completely, and it is for this reason that she depends so greatly on his friendship. Erin depends rather greatly on all of her friends, in fact, though she does manage some level of independence. She is too open to them, someone more cynical might say, too vulnerable to any secret blades hidden between their pages. Luckily, Erin refuses to listen to such cynicism, even when it has proven true in the past. She grins and twirls, deciding that the lightheadedness is entirely the good kind, and that any inclinations that it might be nausea or discomfort are pure rubbish. Right now, her desire is simply to dance and have fun with the friend before her, who so rarely comes out to things like this with her.

A friend who is apparently made uncomfortable by her prodding question. Perhaps it is partially the alcohol or proximity to the fire, but Carr's face flushes quickly upon her offer to help out as a wingwoman. The question was half in jest, but there is some thought that perhaps if he is willing to come to the bonfire and dance and laugh, he will be willing to take a step forward towards someone as well. More than anything, Erin would like for Carr to expand his horizons and befriend new people. She sincerely worries about him, as one would a younger brother, wondering how he will fare when separated from the people whom he has been around for the entirety of his life. She worries the same thing in regards to herself.

Distracted by the spins, Erin laughs and practically topples on top of him thanks to a mix of dizziness and alcohol. Having fun with Carr is far to easy, the young woman dreads being without him once she goes off to college. How will she succeed without her curly-haired and dimpled-cheeked teddy bear? Not very well, she fears. So she must enjoy his presence while she can. "Not you. You're small. . .and silly." Erin is struck by the impulse to trap Carr in a bear hug when he says this, but is prevented by the fact that he has already wrapped his arms around her in the sort of position that is reminiscent of a middle school dance. Erin smiles and nuzzles into his shoulder. With Carr, she is safe. No drama, no fear, no tension. He may seem to be the more anxious one, may seem to require more care, but much of the time it is in fact the reverse that is true. There is a brief lapse of silence, but Erin doesn't notice it. She is content in the arms of a friend.

As Carr does speak once more, the song comes to an end. "You… How about you? You shouldn’t waste your good looks on me and Lane, you know?" Erin frowns slightly at the thought that anything she does should be 'wasted' on Carr and Lane, two of her favorite people in the world. That they are willing to be around her is a gift. Still, the frown curves up in a smile of sorts.

"Oh, you know me. I only ever want to use people for their cuddling abilities," not entirely untrue, as Erin is known for her love of cuddling. Still, she has been one to enjoy a few flings, though nothing ever seems to last for one reason or another. "I'm starved. Let's grab a snack."



The proximity of Becca's lips to his skin is not lost on Keevan as she laughs and encourages that rumors be interesting if they are going to exist. Of course, she is not immune to the tendency of rumors about the Influential girls to be somewhat more slanted in a sexual direction. As far as the other two groups are concerned, the members of the Influential are constantly messing around with each other, probably using protection made from silk and hand stitched in Italy. Keevan certainly knows this- as the master of whispers to the common people, there is not a rumor, true or false, that has not passed by his ear at least several times over. It is to him to determine which ones hold grains of truth within them. He doesn't know about Nina, but is rather certain that those spread about Becca's are false. If they were true, he would have noticed some sort of hints indicating it, her sneaking off with people, something.

Not to say that he is constantly watching her, of course. But Keevan would probably have noticed eventually.

She pulls away from his neck to study Keevan, briefly, making him feel squeamish and inferior under her scrutinizing gaze. It does not show, of course. He raises an eyebrow in response, a lazy sort of half smile across his frightfully pale face. "If you take a picture it'll last longer," he quips, disappointed with his own lack of originality. Perhaps she had been too distracted to respond, or too uninterested, for soon Becca's head is resting warm against his neck. The space between their bodies is lessening, and it is a good thing her eyes are closed because his neck is beginning to flush slightly. Even if they were open, hopefully the shadows would have hidden the visible reaction to her presence from view. He likes the feeling of her resting in the curve of his neck. It feels natural. Unfortunately, it is over too soon that she raises her head and speaks, with some severity, on the topic of the fight, which will naturally be in the Onion tomorrow morning.

"Even my saint-like heart is not so forgiving, Rebecca. He brings shame to me and all the other teenage dirtbags out there. Now, I believe my five minutes are up- you can return to your perch, love. I hope to see some more stories by the end of the night," he gives her hand a quick squeeze, but is the first to walk away.

People coalesce like pools of ink dispersing through water. Scattering. Tangling. Clarity giving way to murkiness. Nina floats like a stream of glitter through their depths, winding through but never dissolving into the mass. The wind sinks its fingers through her hair as she spins, head tossed back in laughter. It is the sound of sirens and breaking glass.

She'd moved away from Daniel after their first and only dance, saying nothing in response to the poetry that slipped through lips that have always been slow to smile. Beautiful words. But that's all they were and all they might ever be. Beautiful words from a beautiful man who spins gold from straw, truth from deceit. She is a puppeteer that has never laid eyes upon her own stage. What does she know of Daniel Ahn but the sheen of his armour and the glint of his sword? Who will she find when she lifts the helmet from him? It is his nature to know all secrets and Nina has too many to risk.

Her civilians calls for her demise. "Shots, shots, shots!" they chant. To my head or my chest? she muses. Nina grins, devouring the row of tequila shots as if she's drinking water. The alcohol fills the cavern in her chest like molten lava.

Colors blur, rippling into a swirl of movement as her body sways. A hand on her hip. Lips pressed against her neck. The warmth and cold of meaningless companionship. They tug and push until she's standing at the edge of the lake, the music a distant echo. Her head throbs to the bass and her body sways to the melody. She hums under her breath and tips her head back. The stars sway and her body decides it's been too long since its last collapse. She lets herself fall back.

It is for the royalty to revel and make merry, to put on a show in which gilded elegance merges with a chaotic sort of fun and creates the image of a court of careless fae, such that others may watch and wonder how they can be so drunk and still look so good. It is for the Royalty to dance and sing on an evening so fine as this one, to bask in a moon so full that it mirrors their own radiance.

It is not for Daniel. Daniel, who so treasures the firm grasp he has on his mind, whose greatest strength his his constant (or near constant) clarity, refuses to take part in alcohol. He will remain sober throughout their solemnity. One or two, emboldened by liquid courage, stumble up and offer him a drink, or chide him for being a 'party pooper,' but all are sent away with a raised eyebrow and a slight raise of a cup that holds nothing more toxic than a few ounces of soda. Even this is something he usually ignores, soda, knowing them to be bad for you. Perhaps this is as loose as Daniel is willing to let himself become.

The Queen, however, is far more willing to celebrate. Under the influence of drinks and an encouraging crowd she takes one shot after another. Daniel does not consider it his place to stop her, but all the same hates to see her taking orders from people and losing hold of the normal sharpness of her mind.

He is briefly distracted by another person, encouraging him to take another drink. When he has brushed them away, he notices with a brief moment of panic that Nina has vanished. Several questions direct him closer to the lake. Please don't be thinking of a swim, he is rushing towards the lake. He has lost before to the influence of alcohol and drugs, and for not the first time tonight Daniel's heart is racing with the thought of it happening again.

But she is there, swaying in the moonlight as if to challenge Diana herself to a battle of beauty. His heartbeat shudders and calms, panic passing as his pace slows and he walks towards her, all traces of panic sliding off of him as rain off an umbrella. And then she falls.

Daniel lurches forward to catch her, goddess fallen.

For a moment he merely stands there, adjusting such that she is held bridal style in his arms. The weight to her is bizarre, making her more corporeal, rather than just the usual brief touch and kiss on the cheek. More human. He does not like it.

The sound of a firecracker, probably brought by one of the students, reminds Daniel of his whereabouts. He is by the lake, by the fire, by the dorms. He needs to get Nina back to her room. Without much thought he knows to avoid the fire, knows to avoid letting people say Nina passed out. As far as they are concerned she is capable of getting raving drunk and then disappearing with the moon, her eternal drinking buddy.

But Nina's door is locked and Daniel doesn't have a key. For a moment he stands there, boy interrupted. Of course there is really only the one solution- and luckily Daniel's roommate is nonexistent due to some pulled strings. He shifts her weight over to one arm, and walks over to his own room, managing to unlock the door and enter. It is dark, leaving the two of them to be one shadow molded together until his eyes adjust. He finds the concept interesting, but cannot grasp why.

He stretches her out on his bed and pulls over the blankets, previously having been tucked in with military precision. A cup of water by her bed, an alarm set for classes the next day. Daniel makes accommodations as befits his position: he takes the chair by her side, and makes do.

Abort. Abort. Shit shit shit shit, Erin bites the inside of her cheek, angry with herself over the very much failing attempt to avoid the problem -which really isn't her situation and she is concerned about becoming overly involved in- at hand. Aimee immediately confronts her, catching on that the girl has some sort of information that is holding her back as if the words of it were written on Erin's cheeks in permanent marker. Erin values honesty, but at times like this really sincerely wishes that she had learned to fake expressions and spin lies. There are times where such a talent would make things far easier, would make avoiding hurting people far simpler. Unfortunately, Erin's face is a blueprint and the specifications are meticulously written, making everything clear to those who may view it. A good trait in a sketch, perhaps, but a person is more than a rough design. Or she hopes to be, at least.

Please don't do this. Please just- Aimee's hand is around Erin's wrist, quickening her deceleration to a stop. The young women stand there, both silent for a moment, Erin still trapped by a grip strengthened by a resolve of angry. Aimee stutters a non-sentence, a broken thought, and sprints out. A familiar flash of silver-white hair follows behind her, and then an unfamiliar dark-haired boy. What have I done? self criticism paralyzes the girl briefly, though a single thought is capable of restoring movement to her legs.

Lane.

And Erin is running out the door, towards the dining hall as fast as she can manage. Still, when she bursts into the dining hall the fight has already spilled over. There is no prevention now- only an attempt at ending. Aimee is shouting at Lane, vehement rage spilling out of the normally reserved girl such that Erin had not known was possible. The scene before her is almost painfully reminiscent of one she has been part of before.

The ripping and destruction of a friendship, breaking as two hands might desperately tear apart a fabric they had worked so hard to weave together. Yours are not the hands desired to keep stitching away at the tapestry. Yours are not the hands deemed worthy. So it is better ripped apart and left as bitter tatters of the beautiful potential it had. You stitched with reds and blues when the other wanted something silver. Something sterling silver.

"Aimee. Lane," She is the first to broach the bubble forming around the girls, putting a hand on the shoulders of each of them and shoving the two apart. "Aimee, Lane was drunk, she didn't know what she was saying. Lane, you can't try to force this. I promise." You can't try to force this, the thought that had chimed through Erin's head throughout middle school. The words keeping her an arm's length from what she thought was the happiness that could ruin everything. Her voice is a stage whisper.

Erin has begun to learn to keep friends in your arms, and romance out of them. Lane and Aimee are a replaying memory, explosive words never quite said, emotions revisited in the form of others. "Is this really worth it?" The future terrifies the blonde, but the past is not a place to be revisited either. Especially not this part. She is not Gatsby and is not asking for this time loop. "Please," it is desperate, quieter than her other words. Erin is looking at Lane now, not Aimee. This is a direct plea.

"Please."

Erin is at Lane's side, and the asian boy from before is at Aimee's. Every piece has their support system, however rooted into the past they may or may not be. It eases the guilt Erin has over focusing on Lane more than Aimee, to know that there is someone focusing on that girl as well. She gives the guy a quick look, thankful, but chances are he doesn't see it. Thank you, he is doing this for Aimee's sake, of course, not hers, and that is all the more reason for gratitude. Erin just desperately wants for all those she considers decent to be happy. Even some that she hates, some part of her wants them to find happiness. Nina, she thinks, could perhaps return to some semblance of her former self if only she could be happy. Sterling, even, she would wish happiness to, if that would make things right and get him to leave her alone. Daniel, the human robot, could perhaps find some new programming for joy that would make him less cold and severe.

But Erin is a sap whose wishes are outside her reach, and she knows it. She hadn't always known it, but is fiercely aware now.

And thus walks -no, floats- in the woman who shoved back the curtains and did her damnedest to scorch the optimism out of Erin's retinas (though Erin is notoriously good at bouncing back), Nina Romanov.

Oh, not now. Please, for once just keep your claws out of this wound Nina. Please, Erin has been thinking and saying please a lot lately. No one has time to waste on her niceties, though. Lane had just begun to relax beneath Erin's hand, she could feel it. Everything was just about to be okay, about to be resolved- and then enter the dragon.

And her breath is removed from her lungs as Nina chooses to stand up for Lane, rather than claw her eyes out. Erin steps away from Lane to watch, finding it difficult to find air. It is sly, sarcastic, careless, but it is a defense. Erin almost dares hope this is the sign of something, but even an optimist must know when to fold their cards. She folded on Nina long after she should have, but still more than a year or so ago. Those aren't cards she's willing to pick back up, for fear of razor blade edges.

A warmth at her back. Believing it to be Anthony, arrived to stand silently beside her, she begins to breathe steadily once more, unclenching her fists. She couldn't have been more incorrect in her assumption.

His voice speaks up behind her, just inches from her ear. The realization of Sterling's nearness makes her shiver, though she interprets it as a shudder. Naturally she immediately steps away such that his hand will no longer be on her back. You two are the last people we need right now. Everything was fine. It was fine. You decided to leave us, don't keep trying to come back, Erin hadn't realized her eyes were shut until she opens them once more.

Lane is hissing at Nina, words Erin had thought but not vocalized. Nina is laughing. Her dimples are flashing in that way Erin used to melt over. Now it just makes her more tense. Glancing at Sterling, she realizes he must be thinking the same thing. How incredibly stupid the pair of them are, half in love with the memory of a girl.

Erin hates herself for it. Luckily, the current girl will not allow Erin to forget that the old her is gone. Her words are tickled with malice, purring like a panther content with its kill. Aimee is gone now. It is only them. Why is only ever them, in the end? Lane, Erin, Nina, Sterling. The lens through which one might witness deterioration at its finest.

And Sterling is still there , close enough that she can feel it. No doubt she remembers, though she was too drunk to fully understand. Another shiver- no, shudder.

The bell rings, a saving grace calling them for their first class. She prays that Speech and Debate will have a quiet, simple group. She prays she won't have to speak- this isn't a class she took by choice.

"If you would kindly find some other person's air to breathe, I have to get to debate," she isn't able to look at Sterling as she says this, knowing she might snap or break or simply collapse if she does. Stop making Nina hate me more than she already does.

She sees a dark shadow approaching, Daniel Ahn come to his Queen's side a bit too late. Perhaps that was on purpose.

"Let's go, Nina," he says, finally speaking her name out loud.

And so charges the lightning brigade, unknowingly into the valley of death. As Keevan might call it, the perfect pressure cooker scenario.