Camille Van Bueren's Story

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Sitting amongst the select Supreme was Camille. Third from the farthest seat on the left she was positioned diagonally behind Katelyn. The annoyance of literally being overshadowed by the Queen tugged at her jealous strings, but the ability to see all of Marcello’s facial expressions made it worthwhile. Wrapped around her like a luxurious blanket was a large wool coat of a glittery canary yellow, and it was so large that it billowed onto the floor. While standing the coat had a long train, a stiff collar, and looked rather graceful. While sitting, it looked like magical yellow skin swallowing her up. Under this cumbersome coat Camille wore a bright red dress. It was made of spider silk, a rather strong fabric with a mild sheen, and had an low ‘’V’ neck that nearly touched her navel. Even for the most morbid of events she needed to draw some attention to herself. She found that dressing a little too well for an event and showing off a little too much skin usually did the trick.

Camille sat with her pointed golden heels crossed and her body leaning against her left arm. In this position she was able to gain just a few more inches of the sight of her beloved High King. Her brown eyes traced over the features of Marcello’s face. As far as she was concerned he was constructed by the gods to become a god. The young Senator began to nibble at her pointer finger as her eyes wandered and devoured every inch of him. Never was she more attracted to Marcello than when he was in his element, addressing the people and standing up for his rightful place on the throne. Camille made a mental note to reward him for his gallantry the next time they were alone.

Lost in her thoughts Camille jumped at the sound of the execution bell. Realizing that she was daydreaming she quickly composed herself and regained the sleekness that she had possessed prior. A flush of red embarrassment powdered her face, but it was nearly impossible to recognize though the makeup she had on. The execution was beginning. Camille had a flutter of excitement course through her. She, unlike most humans, looked forward to execution days. They were a brilliant and edgy way of teaching everyone a lesson. The other Supreme who sat with her remained neutral in their body language and facial expressions, none of them wanted to have the High King or the commoners to notice their true feelings. These powerful individuals would only show expression when Camille prompted them with a smile. A pity, she thought, that they could not enjoy themselves as much as she did.

Multiple minutes had passed by before Marcello left his seat and made his way to the podium. When the High King rose she and the other Supreme also stood, it was a sign of respect and following. Camille wrapped her coat close to her and beamed at the High King as he spoke. He was truly a man of great inspiration and power. She admired him more than she had admired anyone in her entire life. Camille let his words wash over her and within moments she was consumed. She closed her eyes and faintly listened to Marcello's voice drone on. His voice danced her head and she began to manipulate it in her mind and imagine herself as the High Queen. She would have the power to do what she wanted, be praised by all, and be Marcello’s wife. Then her life and her love would be secure. Being High Queen would mean that she would be the begin all and end all of Marcello, and there was nothing more in the world that she wanted.

When Camille opened her eyes she drew in a deep breath and saw that the girl in the tube was nearly finished. Valarie’s arms were over her head, pushing her body down to prevent from hitting the ceiling but also keeping herself afloat just enough so that her mouth and nose could receive air. Camille could see that Valarie was beginning to strain her neck in order to take one last breath before succumbing.

Marcello’s speech was over. The girl was storing water in her lungs now, but still thrashing about and causing a stir. Soon Valarie would be drifting into an eternal sleep. Camille grinned and she smacked her hands together enthusiastically, showing the utmost pride she had in her people and her leader. It was common knowledge that Camille was a huge supporter of the king, but their affair was underwraps. Remembering this she moved her gaze from Marcello to those around her and nodded in approval.

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The brown orbs in Camille’s head eagerly preyed over the High King, soaking in every last inch of his body and wishing they were nearer to him. This concentration was broken by the not to subtle looks of the High Queen. The blonde woman obviously had a wandering eye that needing correcting. Perhaps a sucker punch, or maybe a clumsy spoon, would do the trick. A flash of violence leapt through Camille’s mind. She rolled her eyes at herself and chuckled before settling farther in her seat.

The ceremony was over way too soon for Camille. She would have liked to revel in glory of a little torture, but the High King had his reasons for each and every execution. God, Marcello was a brilliant man, she thought. Just thinking about his creative process when it came to planning executions made Camille excited.

The young European Queen brushed past Camille, she noted that the Queen was rather nervous and eager to flee the scene. Camille watched her for a moment before turning her attention back to Marcello. At this point he was fawning over Katelyn, loving her as a loyal husband ought to. If only the High Queen knew.

Bent out of shape, Camille surrendered to escorting herself to the gathering. Her large yellow coat was gracefully taken from her when she entered the large glass hall. Her curious eyes glanced around the small crowd that had gathered. There was no one that Camille found particularly interesting, so she resorted to standing with a flute of champagne and sipping at it while watching the door.

When the Queen Helena entered the hall there was a stirring. The painted lips of the Supreme flapped with rumors and truths, stimulating a low buzz of voices. There was plenty to speculate about the dear European Queen, but it was especially interesting that she should choose to have her right hand man escort her to such an event. Camille’s vicious eyes scanned over the odd couple, gathering just enough information to create believable gossip. Camille was not acquainted with either of the two but she knew the man’s name was Eric. It was then that Camille decided to make herself known to them.

Standing at the sidelines she waited for the perfect opportunity to approach the Queen and her escort. “Truly a beautiful display,” Camille said referring to the execution. “Though I dare say that you, Queen Helena, have been blessed with beauty yourself.” Helena looked Camille over before nodding her head in thanks and smiling half-heartedly. Helena was not in the mood for such empty displays of affection. “Thank you,” Helena finally said in response. Camille had expected the Queen to return the compliment, hearing of the Queen’s personable politeness. A slight frown captured Camille’s face as she moved on to the man. “It doesn’t hurt that her Highness has a scrumptious fellow at her side.” As Camille said this her wild eyes inappropriately scanned over Eric Orr, appreciating him.

Helena clenched her jaw, starting to feel uncomfortable about Camille’s unforgivable boldness. Just before an odd silence would have washed over them the High King Marcello joined their small band. He went on to introduce Camille, looking at her with respectable affection. A flash of a passionate past rushed through Helena as she made eye contact with Camille. Helena didn’t like to pry into such things so she gave them the benefit of the doubt and assumed they worked closely together and thus had a dear friendship.

“Oh yes. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Senator. I’ve heard good things about your work,” Helena said. This was a lie of course, Helena had never actually heard of Camille Van Bueran. But the Queen’s instincts told her that this woman needed positive attention in order to be a friendly ally. Pleased with the compliment, Camille bowed her head in thanks. “And this is Eric Orr, my right hand man,” Helena added in politely.

“A handy man he must be,” Camille said with a suggestive brow and a slight giggle. Helena ignored Camille’s comment and stretched a hand out to rest on Marcello’s elbow before sincerely saying “A grand ceremony, your Highness.” Helena didn’t want to go so far as to compliment the brutality of it, but she wasn’t lying when she said that it was grand.

From the other side of the room Helena heard the wailing sounds of the dance music begin. Soon the Supreme would be bubbled up and dancing with the gleeful heat of alcohol in their faces. Helena caught sight of the High Queen Katelyn and looked back at Marcello. “I suppose your wife doesn’t like being ill attended to,” Helena noted, seeing that the High Queen had taken the first dance with another Supreme. From what Helena could remember it was customary to give the first dance to your spouse or loved one, but she could have been mistaken.

“Perhaps you should take the lovely Camille out,” Helena suggested only so that the King wouldn’t ask her to dance. Helena truly enjoyed these events, including the dancing, but she was far too moody to be a pleasant dance partner. A prick of suspicion tapped Camille and she shook her head. "Oh, I beg to differ. The two royals are a much better match for this dance. I'm more suited for the handsome Eric here, or even that war hero Damian everyone keeps talking about."

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No execution would be complete without champagne and finger foods to wash the blood down. It was an extravagant chaser suitable for the king, though not really agreeable to the stomach of the strongest man in the room. Following the execution, the man had gone gladly to change into a darker, more subtle suit. Bright colors are demanded at the main event, but for dessert people are free to dress in any way they please. If only there had been time for a shower- he feels a striking need for one that burns hot enough to sear skin. On days such as this, he almost regrets not taking up the offer to join the Alphas, to distance himself from this gilded zoo. At least on the battlefield the consequences of such a lifestyle are not hidden behind pretty baubles.

But he can be of little use there, not to the party that he swears genuine allegiance to. No matter how many times the king's general, the intimidating Damian Marciano, calls him a coward for remaining in the capitol and rubbing elbows with the pomp and circumstance crowd, Theo knows that running to the battlefields would be a greater act of cowardice. Here, he is surrounded by enemies. There, he'd at least have a few brothers in arm about him, and very few foes of actual consequence against his supernatural strength.

As he enters, Theo actually catches sight of the King's man, probably back from another bloody battle over another pointless square on the king's chessboard. How could he fail to notice him- muscles and a look of discomfort, the man sticks out like a sore thumb against the white-palmed patricians. Theodore may be the strongest man alive, but Damian does a much better job of looking the part. He even manages to look taller than Theo, who in reality stands two inches over him. It's not a man that anyone would do well to get on the bad side of- not that Theo isn't already a card carrying member of that lot. Without a doubt, he'll have one eye on Damian throughout the night with the intention of keeping him at a two yard radius. Theodore isn't in the mood for being called spineless yet again.

He's going to have to find a way to confront the champion eventually, of course. Mel is adamant that he is an important piece to her movement for equalization, and is somehow convinced that he may be convinced to join the rebellion against the king. Theo, less inclined towards the belief that people change, is certain that they could never engage Damian in yet another war. The general may not always be the king's biggest fan, and he may have a gym that unites royals and commoners alike, but these are different things entirely from taking part in the usurping of an empire.

Theo walks quickly away from Damian's line of sight, now on the lookout for Queen Helena and her guard. He's doing a rather shoddy job of liaison to foreign diplomats at the moment, given that he hasn't spoken to the foreigners all day. He finds her standing between Camille Van Bueren and the king- a very precarious place to be, if certain whispers he's heard around the palace are to be believed. The royals are inclined to forget that the staff are little more than moving furniture, making them fountains of information.

Putting on a large, easy smile, he walks up to the frightening trio (there is a notable gap of room allowed between them and the other patricians). "Your Majesty, Your Majesty, My good sir, My Lady" he greets them each respectfully, still smiling with all the sincerity in the world. To the outside eye, he may seem completely ignorant to the thin layer of tension simmering between some of the world's most powerful players. There will always be some when such people come together. "I realize I'm not very good at my job if I don't say hello at least once tonight- ah, am I interrupting something?"

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Camille was too enchanted by Marcello’s finessing hands to care about any other inappropriate body language. He, the High King, the most powerful man in the world, was finally touching her. Then he began to lead the dance, signalling only with his fingertips where he wanted her to follow. Given the opportunity, Camille would have followed Marcello wherever he dared take her. Even if that meant she had to live in squaller, below the palace and without luxury.

Their bodies moved smoothly across the dance floor, almost too gracefully, almost as if they had done this very dance a hundred times before. Camille’s pride filled eyes were glued to his magnificent face when he asked of her opinion. “It was simply perfect, your Highness.” she said politely, trying to keep up appearances. In actuality, there were endless amounts of details that she wished to praise him for, but she knew that those words and rewards were meant for another time. The swift movement that brought them closer had Camille ducking her head under his chin, touching chests together in the typical fashion of the dance. His scandalous words had led to Camille’s head popping up as they parted. Those were the words that she had been searching for all of today and day before. Excited by the prospect Camille grinned suspiciously at him, “Nothing would plea-”

Horrifying noises interrupted Camille, a large shard of glass fell from above and crashed just inches away from her as she screamed. The initial shock sent Camille forward to find comfort in Marcello’s embrace. Marcello’s reactions were too quick though and Camille found herself being dragged to the edge of the madness by his force. With huge eyes she watched as Marcello transformed from High King into a crazed beast.

The deafening screeching distracted Camille’s gaze, letting her witness even more destruction. Several of her peers were injured, seeping scarlet red blood and displaying fear for the first time in years. The sheer terror that echoed from wall to wall was enough to make Camille lose her head.

The floor continued to crack until the weight on some of the glass was too much to bear. Both the injured and the unafflicted were beginning to sink, joining the fishes below. Those who were trying to hoist themselves up from the water were doing nothing more than slicing at their torsos. Blood began to run in the water like a decorative display. Camille watched the streamers of red twist below her feet. It was then that she realized there were sharks in the tank.

Aghast, Camille brought her left hand up to her mouth as she watched the chaos. Miss Van Bueren was both too terrified and inthralled to ensure her own safety and remained in her position. Her back was pressed against the glass wall that had been shattered. It was perfectly planned so that the explosions would affect the floor while keeping the height of the walls to prevent climbing. Her eyes darted around the room, Marcello had already moved on to find his wife. A pang of jealously, despite all of the situation around her, swept over Camille. She half hoped that the High Queen would find her grave in this water. Then Camille realized that wouldn’t be quite as fun.

Shards were still falling from above but Camille paid little mind to them. Her concentration was back to the poor souls in the water, bloodied either by the floor or the fallen glass. Cringe worthy screams came from those realized their fate was in the hands of the sharks. Pathetic sobbing and frantic swimming became the way, and many of the ‘land’ Supremes who were finding their exits were too afraid to help. Accidentally killing yourself in pursuit of saving another didn’t quite ring heroic to the Supreme. Camille herself felt no desire to help the ill fated ones, after all she had a life to accomplish.

Another large crack trailed across the glass floor, making travel across the hall even more vulnerable. A wave of sheer panic came over Camille. She was going to die. Camille Van Bueren was going to die without having accomplished any of her dreams, without the approval that she so desperately seeked, and without the comfort and true love of Marcello. Intensity was rising in her as she searched for a exit. Everyone was pushing through to the only exit available, and soon there would be no floor there at all. A brazen fire of emotion came over her and Camille could no longer control herself.

Swiftly she grabbed a small chair and began swinging it with all her strength against the glass wall. Unbeknownst to her the glass she was trying to break was bullet proof and the wits that she normally possessed had completely vanished. While the High King and his wife would be ushered forward she was nothing more than a pawn in Marcello’s palace. Perhaps that’s all she had even been. A simple toy.

Infuriated by her own thoughts Camille began to pound with all her strength. Tears, mixed with hatred and jealousy and sadness, began to stream down her face. Like an animal, she was recklessly and stubbornly attacking something that would never become.

Her tantrum ended with blackness. Unconscious, Camille Van Bueren lay with a head wound and complete susceptibility to the terrors around her.

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xxxx"We can't just let her die."

xxxxThe nobility are preparing their dresses. Donning their fine suits and jewels, putting up their hair and makeup in a manner even more complex than the styles worn to the execution. Only a short distance from all of this fuss, a slight girl meets with a young man wearing a uniform that marks him as part of the construction team working on renovations. He's hardly more than eighteen, not a soldier. If he had been found planting explosives along the the delicate bubble that is to hold the glittering birds, his life would end at that young age- not really that much shorter a life than Mel's own. Still, he looks down at the young woman as a leader, communicator of plans to be followed without question.

xxxxHer stone expression hides exhaustion, though passion and belief in the cause keeps her going without fail.

xxxx"Fuck you." As if she hadn't tried to save Valerie. As if she hadn't offered to go on her own if necessary. When it comes down to it, Mel follows Diego. She may be brilliant, she may be competent. She is not a leader. The young man looks at her like a foot soldier at a general.

xxxx"Everything is in place."

xxxx"Thank you. Go home- sleep." And he is gone. Mel leaves soon after. She needs to get dressed for the dance, after all.


xxxxAmelia is no stranger to the palace events. Certainly, she is hardly a regular, but occasionally she slips in among the servants, extra hands to bear the weight of the patricians' ambitions. She is one with the crowd, though one or two may whisper with some recognition- "Isn't that the King's commoner whore?"

xxxxTonight the excitement is too high for such comments. No one notices the young woman gliding about as though she belongs there, as though she doesn't feel the urge to pace like a beast kept in a cage. She is never too far from the King, an easy man to spot by the way people simultaneously move towards him and maintain a respectful distance. It is a strange pulsing ring. He speaks to his wife, to the Senator, to the foreign queen. The picture of a young king, charm and grace. Mel, despite her reputation for being cold when it comes to rebel missions, takes no pleasure in killing. But his is a head she is certain would look lovely on a spike.

xxxxThe first dance begins, and the nobility sweep to the center, twirling about in blurs of beautiful color. Everyone is light on their feet, no caution weighing on their minds. The rebel leader is dead- it is cause for celebration. A lightweight bracelet hangs against Mel's somewhat bony wrist. Across the room, she makes eye contact very briefly with Theo, who quickly disconnects and turns to make animated conversation with two women beside him, hands moving about excitedly.

xxxxAmelia sets off the detonators, and the sky seems to fall. Shards fall heavy against the glass floor, dragging ladies down by their fine dresses. Amelia plays the part of a frightened onlooker until she reaches the edges, and slips away unnoticed, with little more than a slight tear in the hem of her dress.

xxxxOn a still partially standing slab of glass, part of the original walls, figures clothed entirely in black spray large red words. They are gone before any guards can get to the other side- before most anyone even notices they were there. Chaos is more effective than the night in keeping Mel's people safe.


xxxxBread and circuses. The Roman Empire once grew too complacent, distracted by entertainment and food, the appeasement of the governing. But all empires, long and brief, must fall.


xxxxMel may slip away, but Theo is left in the fray. A large chunk of glass falls directly towards him and the women he had been speaking with. His arms shoot up and catch it, muscles tensing to stop it at the speed. His hands are bloody from being sliced by the jagged edges. For his trouble, he is thanked profusely before the two ladies run to the guards for aid. He stays on the fringes, watching- conspicuously offering help where it is needed, assuring those who ask that his hands are fine, it is simply a small cut.

xxxxOf course in these efforts to help in the pandemonium, he finds the Senator fainted on the ground. Others run past or around her, not interested in the woman. Theo would just as soon leave her, in different circumstances. But instead, he lifts up the dark-haired woman and rushes back to the edge of the still crumbling hall. He brings her to safety, passing Diego as he does so. He makes no sign of seeing the security guards- even in this chaos, his facade holds. With little care for her comfort, Theo drops Camille on the ground and takes a moment to breathe.

xxxxMel is nowhere to be seen.

Predictable. That was the word to describe every last one of these occasions Damian was commanded...er...invited to attend. Every time the High King would find himself surrounded by the prettiest women in the room and every time his Queen would show that she was not jealous by finding a horny soul to fuck with until her King came back. It was worse than a novella. Damian stood with his back to the cold glass wall with the even colder aquarium thriving beneath him. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about the night but assumed the guards did their rounds and everything was fine. If Kristopher were here and this was war he would be saying, "I have a bad feeling about this battle." Honestly, Damian would have probably listened to him this time around. He felt so naked without his two comrades. Without them he was still a guy you didn't want to piss off but he wasn't "The Snake" without Manny's abilities. Damian knew that if anything happened while he was in DC he would have to rely on himself, like the old days. But odds are this party would begin, middle, and end just like the others he's been too. DC, land of predictability.

Damian noticed a shift in music which could only mean that Queen Kate has latched on to a new victim which also meant...Damian's eyes scanned the room for pretty women because he knew that's where he would find Marcello. And just like clockwork that's where he was, chatting it up with a newly appointed Senator and The European High Queen, arguably the two most attractive beings in the room. Damian eyes stopped on Queen Helena and her silk dress that just begged for men to fantasize what was underneath. Her jet black hair falling over her shoulders and onto the dress contrasted so well and was soothing to look at and Damian didn't mind looking. An abrupt and awkward looking motion by the Senator took him off guard and Damian chuckled to himself. Whatever she just said looked like it failed. Speaking of failing, the Senator looked like a commoner whore and not like her usual; a Supreme whore. Kris explained the difference to Damian months ago:

"You just know when someone is a whore. You have to stay away from the commoners though because they'll take your money. Actually, stay away from all of them because the supreme whores can easily find eloquent ways to royally screw with your life."
"I didn't know there was a difference between the two."
"The difference? Oh, that's easy, Damian. Commoners hide the fact that they get around for their reputation is all they have left. Supremes could lose all the respect in the world and still have abilities, money, and power. I tell my son the same thing."
"Kris, your son is 13!"
"Yeah, but he has his old man's looks. Those sluts will be all over him."
"You should really stop calling women that, Kris."
"I will stop calling them sluts when they stop acting like sluts"
"I don't know why I picked you to be in Alpha."
"Because I'm the best and you know it."

Damian truly missed his friends and quickly mumbled a prayer that they were okay. He was expecting to receive a status letter from them tomorrow. Damian's smile dwindled as Theodore entered the conversation. So this is what he did instead of fight with Alpha? Drank wine and champagne with foreigners? What a waste of talent. While Theo stands there licking the boot of Queen Helena (and whoever that other guy next to her was) there were hundreds of commoner soldiers dying on the battlefield. But seriously who the hell was the other dude with Queen Helena? The European Queen's male maid that she brought around with her was essentially attached to her side.

And just like that, she was off. Helena and her sidekick walked over to the dance floor which was a few meters closer to Damian's solitude corner. Theo, who's hunger for whatever was under Helena's boot quenched, disappeared to talk to other Supremes. Damian watched as the King and the Senator took each other in their arms and began to dance as well. In that moment nearly every human in the room was dancing or conversing with someone...except for Damian. He knew he was being antisocial but having people marvel over him being a war hero wasn't really his cup of tea. He would much rather be at his gym helping all of the-

"You have to be kidding me," Damian shot up from his relaxed leaning position to avoid a shard of glass impaling him. The glass ceiling above him started crashing down all around him. He sprang into action, removing his suit jacket, and running toward the dance floor. He could overhear guards urging people to stay calm but didn't actually see them doing more than the bare minimum to help. Damian almost lost his footing as the ground beneath him began to crack and separate, "you have to be kidding me," he said again. He was really missing his team now. Kris's speed could have saved a ton of people and Manny could have held parts of the floor together with aluminum. But what could he do? He couldn't stop time. The people closest to the exit were making it out fine but a few were in deep shit...actually deep water. Blood tainted the clear water red and screams grew louder by the second. The attractive Senator was off in a corner playing a dreadful combination of musical chairs and wack a mole at the same time and a douchey blonde character was floating on top of the water chopped in two.

It was then that Damian noticed Helena in the water frantically swimming. She was staring at something but he couldn't make out what. "YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME!" Damian noticed the shark racing towards Helena. He stood on the last bit of stable glass floor and focused his attention on the shark. He took a deep breath and sent a signal towards the shark that slowed down its ability to bite and Helena was able to dodge the hit. It quickly doubled back and tried again. Damian watched and timed another signal to slow its bite and Helena ninja kicked the living hell out of it. Damian in that moment was equally terrified and attracted to his soon to be new best friend. The shark swam away but all knew it would be back. Damian jumped into the fish tank and swam towards the Queen.

"You're gonna be fine, Helena," Damian took a hold of her waist, not giving a damn about courtesies about touching royalty. It wasn't the time to bow and ask permission, "I've been fighting sharks all month." He sent a strong signal to every shark in the tank to slow their processing of heat which would give him a few more seconds to get out. He never had to send so many signals at once to animals so huge and his head was beginning to pound. He ignored it and kept swimming towards the jagged edges of the floor next to the exit with Helena in his right arm, probably kicking with all her might. When they reached the edge Damian grabbed onto it tightly with both hands, "use me as a ladder," he commanded the European Queen. Blood exited newly made slits on his hand, running down his arm and into the water. That meant soon the sharks would be on their way. He could feel the approach of the sharks and knew he had to send a huge signal to get out of this one which would definitely reveal his power to Helena, a chick he knows nothing about. Once Helena was on the platform he turned so he could face the sharks coming at him. Damian had just about had it with sharks for one lifetime. Once the sharks were in attacking range he sent his strongest signal which blocked all communication between muscles and the brain for a few seconds. The sharks stopped dead in their tracks, dumbfounded. Damian hoisted himself onto the glass floor as the sharks regained themselves, chomping at his leg as he barely escaped their grasp.

Damian had a feeling Helena wasn't the type to like being saved so he decided not to pick her up. Instead he stood in front of her, back towards her, and knelt down. "Piggy back time," Damian gestured to his back for the Queen to hop on so they could get the hell out of dodge. He then carefully jogged the remaining 20 yards to the exit, avoiding precarious looking cracks in the floor. The sharks followed underneath, hoping that their food would make a mistake. As Damian exited he made eye contact with Diego Torres, a commoner he trained a few years back at his gym. "Glad that Marcello and Katelyn have someone like you protecting them," Damian smiled at his old student, "thank you for getting them out safe, Diego. Don't know what would have happened to them if you weren't here." Damian turned to look at Helena to make sure she was okay before heading off to find that other guy, "where is your man maid?"