Above, Within, & Below

The open air club is bustling with sweaty bodies, moving to the blaring music, the words lost underneath the heavy beat, the cool night air circulating being the only reprieve from the heat radiating from each body making up the crowd. 

Verea doesn’t pretend to understand how people manage to lose themselves in this kind of atmosphere, or any for that matter, but she does pretend that she is one of them, capable of forgetting the stress of the brutal day underneath the glowing night stars. She lets her gaze drift upwards, past the bodies, past the crudely rigged lights and speakers, until her eyes land on the beams of burning gas lighting the night sky, most, if not all, already dead by the time their light manages to reach her eyes. She starts to count them, much as she counts the indents in the ceiling tiles when she can’t sleep, losing track after a few dozen. 

The brightest of the stars catches her attention, seemingly three times as large and as bright as any of the others, the dazzlingly white light mocking her, after all it is how she got her name, what else could she do but seem dull in comparison. She lets her head loll to the side, the weight of it tugging on the already tense muscles of her neck. 

Burning hot hands come up behind her, wrapping around her waist, dancing across the expanse of her stomach. Verea leans back into Nicheal’s grip, resting her head on his chest, the beat of his heart almost inseparable from the bass. His head leans down, his lips ghosting across her ear as he mumbles a welcome, just loud enough for her to hear over the crowd cheering as the dj steps down, vacating their spot to the next spinner of the night, some Lead’s child for sure, the only ones rich enough and free enough to spend their nights playing music instead of selling themselves for a fraction of a meal. 

Verea spins herself around to face Nicheal, his fresh tattoo glowing from underneath his shirt. She slips her hand underneath the mostly unbuttoned translucent shirt, tracing her index finger along the outline of the spaceship, the flame of the engine coming to life under her touch, sending the ship up and over his shoulder then circling back to its resting place just above his right nipple. Verea hums to herself, letting her finger wander farther south, popping the remaining buttons as she moves down, stopping just above his belly button, where the end of the tail of his tiger starts. The beast roars to life, prowling in the grass of his hair, snapping playfully at Verea’s finger. 

“Someone’s feeling playful,” Nicheal teases, his eyes focusing on Verea and tracing his fingers down her neck, stopping at her pulse point. He lets his palm fall down to meet his fingers, resting against her neck, tightening for just a moment to feel her heart jump. 

She smiles up at him, her teeth glowing with the drink she’d downed just before she’d stepped on the dance floor a few hours earlier. “How much longer?” Verea questions, retracting her hand. She places her own hand over Nicheal’s, gently prying it off of her neck, intertwining her fingers with his. 

His artificial green eyes search her black ones, searching for something beneath the darkness. “Four,” he answers, his eyes still searching hers, so intently that he misses the brief smile that slips through her facade before her lips return to their neutral position, slightly puckered and downturned at the corners, an expression practiced over and over in broken mirrors and cloudy puddles. 

Verea holds his gaze, narrowing her eyes ever so slightly, “Four?” 

The left side of his face shifts, his eyebrow cocks in a slight question of how could she doubt him, an Ilyer keeps their word, always and forever, but the right corner of his mouth smirking as if to answer his own question, of course she has doubts, she’s been waiting for a chance for years before she even met him. “Hope you finally decided on an idea,” Nikeal teases, his tongue darting out ever so slightly, wetting his lips, like a predator about to strike.

Verea scoffs, placing her hands on his chest, scrunching the thin fabric in her grasp. “You’ll have to wait and see,” she declares, pushing off of him and backing into the crowd. Nicheal follows after her, their eyes never leaving each other even as people bump around them, into them. Something bigger than himself, deep within his souls, tells him that he’d follow her anywhere. A dangerous notion anytime, but especially now, especially with who they are, where they are.

Nicheal reaches out, clasping his hand around Verea’s outstretched hand, tugging him along. “I get you a time with Jop and you won’t even tell me what you’re going to get done,” he presses, his eyes roaming over her exposed skin, his mind racing over what she’s going to get and where, from the tips of her fingers to the curve of her neck, jumping down to her legs, hints of skin poking through her ripped tights.

She stops moving, bumping into the person behind her, a curse halfway out of their lips before realizing who was in front of him, his words turning from vile to apologetic. Nicheal dismisses them with a wave of his hand, his family sigil clear on his hand, ropes wrapped around each of his fingers. Verea steps closer, leaving next to no space between the pair, reaching up and tangling her left hand in his hair, twirling a curl around her finger to mimic the ropes around his fingers, her mind silently wandering what she’ll look like with a matching sigil. She raises up on her toes just enough to put them eye to eye, her lips dangerously close to his. Nicheal holds his breath in anticipation, his eyes briefly dropping from hers to her lips. “If you really knew me, you’d know,” she breathes out, her air hot against his skin, but dull in comparison to the sickly sweet wintermint scent lacing her words, and suddenly he’s dying to know what it tastes like.

“If you’d let me know you,” he counters, inching closer, the smell intoxicating.

Verea steps back, her hand falling from his hair to his cheek, gently swiping her thumb across his lips, his tongue darting out to get a taste. “You’re not the one who’d die if someone found out,” she reminds. This time Nicheal doesn’t miss the break in her facade, but wishes he had, the pain written across her features heavy on his heart.

Nicheal takes her hands in his, placing light kisses to each of her knuckles, no longer bloody like the first time they met, or scabbed over like the second time their paths crossed all those months ago, trying to pour all of his feelings into each kiss, knowing words will never suffice, not where she’s concerned. “Two more hours and we have nothing to fear,” he promises.

Verea shakes her head, unpeeling her hands from his, hesitating for just a moment, not wanting to retreat from the peace she feels whenever they’re touching, but she quickly reminds herself of where they were, how many eyes could be watching. “There’s always something to fear, you’ve just been a Founding for so long, you’ve forgotten,” she chides.

He steps forward, closing the last bit of space between them. His chest falls heavily, heavy enough to set off warning bells in Verea’s head, instinctively taking a step backwards. Nicheal backs off, keeping his feet planted despite wanting to follow after her, and encase her in his embrace until neither can breathe properly. He squares his shoulders, ticking his head towards the door, “Come on, we should be heading over.” Nicheal leads the way, Verea carefully following behind him, keeping her eyes on the bright green stripe in his hair amongst the grey. Nicheal waves to the guard, knocking his head ever so slightly to indicate Verea could follow. Nicheal steps through the door, closing his eyes just before the disinfectant sprays, coating him in the dull red before it evaporates. 

He steps forward, turning around and watching Verea step through, visibly shivering at the spray. She breaks through the seal, the clear barrier immediately resealing behind her. She stops and lifts up her arms, checking her skin, not a trace of the red residue visible, but she can feel it, seeping past her skin all the way down to her bones, maybe past them. “I forgot how much I hate that,” she mutters, pulling at her dress, trying to smoothe invisible wrinkles, forgetting for the moment that it’s just the two of them, no eyes on them, except for the ones in the sky. 

Nicheal smiles at the immediate change in her, all from the simple act of getting out of the club. “You’ll get used to it,” he lies, his own body still feeling the disinfectant being absorbed by his body.

“I haven't been outside in seven revolutions,” she sighs, soaking up the completely unobstructed view of the night sky, the stars seeming neverending. Nicheal cocks his eyebrow in question, Verea answering before he can actually find the words to ask, “The Mister has a calendar in his office, x-ing off the rotations as they pass,” she adds. She laughs lightly to herself, little more than a scoff, but it makes Nicheal’s heart soar. “Don’t have any idea what he could be so excited about, enough to care to count them,” she muses, this time actually scoffing.

Nicheal smiles, voicing what she couldn’t answer for herself, despite knowing the exact answer, “Why everyone else does, why you do,” he adds, “freedom, no matter how far fetched.”

Verea shrugs her shoulders, not wanting to admit that in her free time, what little there is, that it is in fact all she dreams about, all she prays to forgotten gods about, and what she thinks about as strangers' hands roam her body. Nicheal can see her mind starting to wander. He bumps the tip of his shoe into her calf, waiting until she looks up at him. “There was a Mistress in Sector Fourteen that got her own sigil,” he says. Verea’s mouth literally drops open, her eyes searching his, waiting for him to laugh at his own joke. “Wine flows from a cup extending all the way up her forearm,” he adds, tracing his finger up her arm, stopping just below the crook of her elbow. He steps forward, letting her close the rest of the distance then reaching out and taking her hand in his before placing it on his shoulder. “Sorry,” he offers, slipping the glowing metal bracelet out of his pocket. 

Verea closes her eyes, bracing for the pinch of the needles located within the bracelet. “Don’t be, not your law,” she dismisses, nodding her head for him to continue, no use putting it off. He slides the band around her wrist, counting to three in his head before snapping the ends together. Verea tightens her grip on his shoulder, her short nails digging into his skin, a welcoming burn for him if it helps her pain at all. Verea exhales forcefully, trying to will the tears back where they came from to no luck, finally releasing her grip on him. She holds her hand up, twitching her fingers then turning her wrist, ignoring the burn to watch how the bracelet’s glow shifts with her motions. Nicheal reaches up, carefully wiping the tears and makeup from the corner of her eyes, wiping the black smudge onto his pants. 

Nicheal lifts his hand, gently tapping his sigil then the rope wrapped around his middle finger. The rope tightens around the appendage, the fingernail turning green to match his hair, eyes, and the ring on his opposite index finger. Within ten seconds, an emerald lift appears, the doors opening unto themselves. Nicheal links his fingers through Verea’s, squeezing once to reassure her, then leads her towards the box that seemingly came out of thin air. Stepping inside the box, the air is startling cold, a different world from the almost unbearable heat of the club. The doors close behind them, Verea watching in awe as the black walls come to life before her eyes, scenes from another lifetime projected on the screens. Fields and skies of every color imaginable, waves of pristine water beyond them. 

“Planet 94B,” he hums, just before the images shift back to black, the doors opening. Nicheal places his hand on Verea’s lower back, gently pressing her forward. Her heels hit the tile with a clack, the sterile white floors going leading off into six different hallways, each as ominous as the other. He presses again, urging her forward, towards the hallway directly in front of them. They walk down the sterile pathway until they reach a door marked with a needle. Nicheal drops his hand from its place on her back, only for her to snatch it with her own, death gripping it.

“Will you stay?” She whispers, fear making its way into her voice for the first time since Nicheal’s met her.

He squeezes her hand with the same force, “Forever and always.”

Verea laughs, turning and looking at him in awe. “How many times are you going to say that?”

“Until you do,” he responds, a smitten grin gracing his lips, one that Verea wishes she could kiss off of him. Before she can act on her thought, the door slides open, revealing Jop, instantly recognizable by their floor length black hair, but renowned for their talent when it comes to putting ink on skin, telling the wearers’ story for all to see. They step aside, allowing enough space for Verea to enter, Nicheal’s waiting where he stands. He sighs, finally releasing their grips on each other, “See you in a little bit,” he promises just as the door closes.

Verea looks around, the walls inside as sterile as the ones on the outside. Jop raises their hand, gesturing for Verea to lie down on the only padded surface in the room, a long table, with indents for the natural curves of a body. She steps over, sliding onto the table, her eyes fixed on the tiles above her. Jop moves toward her, waving their hand. A tray rises from the floor, the necessary equipment laying on it. Verea slowly raises her arm, holding it out for Jop to inspect. They turn it over in their grip, nodding slightly, then releasing her arm. She sets back at her side, a sharp pinch in her neck, the sedative quickly flowing through her blood, her eyes closing as the inking machine whirl to life. 

Nicheal’s carefully strokes Verea’s cheek, the color slowly returning to it, her eyelashes fluttering as she slowly opens her eyes, her smile growing as she realizes he kept his promise, and growing more as she realizes how glad she is that he's the first thing she sees. Nicheal cocks his eyebrow, his fingers tracing over the wrap covering her forearm. “Well, what’d you get?”

Verea pushes herself up, groaning at putting pressure on her arm, Nicheal reaching behind her and supporting her while helping her sit up. She swings her legs over the side of the table, wiggling until her feet touch the solid tile. “I want to go to the club,” she says, leaning on him to stay upright.

He turns to look at her in disbelief, “Your first act of freedom is to return to your place of imprisonment?”

Verea shakes her head, “I’m not free, not truly, not yet.”

“All you have to do is say the words,” Nicheal reminds her, but he knows that she’s not ready yet, and all he can hope for is that she will be someday because he knows he would wait forever. 

Verea takes his hand, letting him lead the way out of the room, out of the startling sterile facility, back into the elevator, that opens back out where they’d been only an hour before. This time, Verea leads the way, pulling Nicheal along with her. She takes the disinfectant in stride, pushing her way into the crowd and into the middle of the dance floor, Nicheal watching her in awe. 

Verea spins in place, letting the music flow through her, smiling so wide her face is sure to hurt later on, but she doesn’t care. She no longer has to pretend, she is now one of the few, losing herself in the music, focused only on the person in front of her, smiling as big as her, no longer focused on the stars above her, no matter how bright they shine, because now she knows, one day she shall shine brighter, and maybe even among them.

She releases the tape on her wrap, the fabric unwinding itself, falling to the ground. Nicheal’s eyes zero in on the newly revealed skin and the glowing tattoo covering her inner forearm, a vibrant dragon, it’s tail curling around her wrist, bleeding into the intricate series of ropes on her hand, matching Nicheal’s own sigil tattoo. Verea pushes herself up on her toes, her lips a mere centimeter from Nicheal’s, her eyes flickering back and forth, exactly as he has looked at her many times, including earlier tonight. “Always and forever, Nicheal,” she promises. 

He returns her smile, capturing her face between his hands, gently cradling her face, “Always and forever, Verea.”