Samantha "Sam" Moon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thegreatexperiment) wrote2015-09-11 08:33 am
thegreatexperiment) wrote2015-09-11 08:33 am
Entry tags:
Waking up at the start of the end of the world...
Waking up with a headache and the enormous urge to ralph was not something new for Sam. Arizona was a party school and she tried to attend as many as she could. But as she struggled to open her eyes--each eyelid felt like it was glued shut--she started to remember. She hadn't been at a party. She'd been...where?
It came back to her in bits and pieces, like the images between flashes of a strobe light, each one progressing, but a stillframe all the same. An art exhibition. Most of it not to her taste. Bronze sculptures of nudes. Mostly old men. Paper-machete icons of toilets and dishwashers. The kind of art that was trying so hard to be edgy that it was stupid. Meaningless. She'd decided to leave early, to head back to campus. The bus stop was deserted. And then suddenly...suddenly there was an arm around her chest. And a hand clutching a wet cloth over her mouth and nose.
Chloroform!
Sam's eyes popped open, which was a mistake immediately. Dazzling overhead lights glared down at her, momentarily blinding her and sending a shooting pain to the base of her skull and her temples. She felt sick all over again and wanted to throw up, but there was nothing but bile churning in her stomach. A few dry heaves and the pain began to lessen to an aching throb. Greedily, she sucked in the air-conditioned air. It felt good. Soothing. And it helped clear her senses.
She started to become aware of the presence of other people in the room with her. The conversation was low, accompanied by the soft shuffling of papers and scratching of pens. Like a class waiting for the lesson to begin. As the haze began to clear from her eyes, she could see feet. A whole forest of feet arrayed around her, belonging to both people and a long, rectangular table. She became aware that she was on the floor. A cool, tiled floor. Marble, she was guessing. And fine marble at that. Her fingers traced the brown ribbon rippling through the white surface, like hot fudge in a sundae.
"All rise for Prince Kane."
Chairs scuffed against the marble and legs straightened. Painfully, Sam forced herself to look up, through the sea of unfamiliar faces. A woman had entered. She was thin-lipped and sharp-eyed, probably in her late thirties. She had red hair, pulled back into a severe bun. That, combined with the tailored business suit immediately made Sam think of a librarian. Well, a porn librarian, really. There were even dark seams running up the back of her calves from silk stockings. An unintentional sort of sexy. The woman took a seat at the head of the table. And when she gave the other people a curt nod, they all took their seats, some along the sides of the table, others along the sides of the room. Only two remained standing, a matching pair of brutes in leather jackets, one male, one female. They loomed on either side of the woman's chair, just slightly behind her, like bodyguards.
"Let's keep this short today," the woman said. She had a slight accent. English, maybe. "Are there any new arrivals to the city?" Silence. "Very well. Let's take look at our agenda. The first item would be the dispute between..." And she let out a long-suffering sigh. "Mister Hiler and Mister Frye?"
On either side of Samantha, two men stood up. She had to stifle a gasp. She knew them both. Larry Hiler was a photographer she'd seen exhibiting in several art fairs in the area. He was tall and lanky, wearing a leather jacket. His right ear was only pierced about a million times. Richard Frye was a sculptor who made his work out of old cigarette butts and discarded condoms. He was wearing a suit, his beard evenly clipped and elegant. Neither man was looking at her. Both of them had their eyes fixed forward.
"Prince Kane," Richard said, bowing his head.
A second later, Larry one-upped him, bowing from the waist when he said, "Prince Kane."
The woman--Prince Kane, apparently?--pinched the bridge of her nose. "I understand that you're still disputing who has the right to Embrace this mortal girl? One..." she glanced at a legal pad in front of her "...Samantha Halper?"
Sam gasped. But no one seemed to notice.
"Yes, my Prince," Larry said.
"I still maintain, my Prince," Richard said tightly, "that I have the superior claim. I saw her first."
"But I was the first to make contact," Larry replied. Vaguely, Sam remembered a brief conversation from a few months ago. They'd been at a gallery opening just off campus. He'd asked her if she had any cards. She didn't.
"Contact is hardly relevant," Richard replied, sneering a little bit.
Prince Kane held up a hand. "Gentlemen," she said. "We've already had this argument. Let's not have a repeat performance."
All around the room, people murmured in agreement. Well, everyone except Sam. She had no idea what the fuck they were talking about. And she opened her mouth to say as much. But words were hard. Her tongue felt like it was glued in place and when she tried to speak, all that came out was a strangled noise. And no one seemed to notice, except for a woman with close-cropped hair, sitting along the side of the room. She caught Sam's eyes for a moment, but then looked away.
"I see you've brought the girl in question," Prince Kane continued.
Richard nodded. "Yes, my Prince."
"Let me see her."
Both Richard and Larry leaned down at the same time. They looked at each other, and Sam could have sworn she heard a growl. But then each of them took one of her arms, gently pulling her up to her feet. She swayed uneasily, the fringe of her blue wig falling into her eyes. The desire to pull away from both of them was tempered by her desire not to faceplant onto the floor again. Slowly, Larry and Richard guided her to the corner of the table, near where Prince Kane was sitting. The Prince seemed like some kind of living meme for 'not impressed.' She was dead-eyed and motionless, staring at Sam and almost through her.
It made Sam feel weirdly naked.
"For the past few months," Prince Kane drawled dully, "the two of you have been fighting over this girl. While there's nothing objectionable about her, I certainly see nothing impressive either. Your argument is a waste of the Court's time." Court? "And, frankly, I'm tired of hearing about it. So. We're going to settle this matter once and for all." She turned to look at the hulking man on her right. "Pedro. Toss a coin."
Larry got bug-eyed. "What?"
"My Prince!" Richard stepped forward.
Prince Kane held up a perfectly manicured hand to stop him. "We're going to toss a coin. The winner may have her."
Beside her, Pedro had produced a coin. "Someone call it," he said, flicking it up into the air.
"Heads," Richard declared bitterly.
The coin dropped into Pedro's hand and he slapped it down on the table, keeping it hidden under his fingers. "This is no good way to decide," Larry said.
"But it is a fast way," Prince Kane replied. She turned to look at her brute. "What is it, Pedro?"
Pedro picked up his hand. "Tails."
What happened next happened so fast that Sam wasn't even entirely sure of the order of events. She wasn't sure if Pedro even finished the word 'tails' before Richard had let go of her and thrown himself headlong into Larry. No human being could possibly move that fast. And yet, suddenly, the two of them were careening into a wall and Sam was being half dragged behind them. What stopped her was the table. Her forehead smashed into the corner, forcing Larry to let go of her. She dropped to the floor as the room seemed to explode around her. There was incomprehensible shouting in at least three languages, and then an eruption of gunfire.
At least, she thought it was gunfire. Sam couldn't really be sure.
She rolled onto her back. The slight motion made her feel unreasonably sick. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make sense of the whirling colors above her, but she couldn't focus. It was like the whole world had been smudged with Vaseline. And something wet was starting to seep into her hair and the cotton of her tee shirt. Sam tried to lift a hand to touch her forehead, but she couldn't.
More sounds rang out above her, like a symphony of violence. But a face suddenly filled her vision, coming into sharp focus. It was the woman who she'd briefly made eye contact with, the one with the short hair. "Samantha?" Her voice echoed. "Samantha, can you hear me?"
"What's going on?" Sam mumbled, not entirely sure she'd actually spoken out loud.
"An excuse to air past grudges," the woman said. She brisky swept Sam's wig off of her head, freezing momentarily at the sight of her red hair beneath. Whatever surprised her, she shook it off quickly, probing at the damage to her forehead. Sam let out a yelp of pain as blackness flashed across her eyes. "Your cranium has been shattered," the woman said. "You're going to bleed into your brain."
Even if Sam wasn't pre-med, as her parents had encouraged her to be, she knew that wasn't good.
"Listen to me carefully, Samantha," the woman continued. "I can save your life. But it will come at a cost. You won't be human any more. You'll be like me, like the rest of us. You'll have to give up the things you love. There will be grave consequences. Do you understand?"
Consequences? Who the fuck gave a crap about consequences? Sam saw two options in front of her. Life and death. And she was seventeen years old. Of course she wanted to live. She wasn't going to be some kind of cautionary tale about the recklessness of youth and the fragility of life. She wasn't going to have some memorial set up for her in the quad, where people could tsk and shake their heads and bemoan the fact that she was too young to die. She was too young to die. So she wouldn't.
"Yes," she choked out.
"Do you want me to save you?"
"Yes."
The woman looked mildly unhappy. But whatever it was that was bothering her passed through her eyes quickly. She leaned her face into Sam's neck and suddenly, there was an explosion of pleasure, even more powerful than that time Sam and Chad had fucked in the Motel 6. It was so powerful it took away the pain. But it made Sam drowsy. And she couldn't quite figure out if the blackness was because she was dying or just closing her eyes.
She would never know.
It came back to her in bits and pieces, like the images between flashes of a strobe light, each one progressing, but a stillframe all the same. An art exhibition. Most of it not to her taste. Bronze sculptures of nudes. Mostly old men. Paper-machete icons of toilets and dishwashers. The kind of art that was trying so hard to be edgy that it was stupid. Meaningless. She'd decided to leave early, to head back to campus. The bus stop was deserted. And then suddenly...suddenly there was an arm around her chest. And a hand clutching a wet cloth over her mouth and nose.
Chloroform!
Sam's eyes popped open, which was a mistake immediately. Dazzling overhead lights glared down at her, momentarily blinding her and sending a shooting pain to the base of her skull and her temples. She felt sick all over again and wanted to throw up, but there was nothing but bile churning in her stomach. A few dry heaves and the pain began to lessen to an aching throb. Greedily, she sucked in the air-conditioned air. It felt good. Soothing. And it helped clear her senses.
She started to become aware of the presence of other people in the room with her. The conversation was low, accompanied by the soft shuffling of papers and scratching of pens. Like a class waiting for the lesson to begin. As the haze began to clear from her eyes, she could see feet. A whole forest of feet arrayed around her, belonging to both people and a long, rectangular table. She became aware that she was on the floor. A cool, tiled floor. Marble, she was guessing. And fine marble at that. Her fingers traced the brown ribbon rippling through the white surface, like hot fudge in a sundae.
"All rise for Prince Kane."
Chairs scuffed against the marble and legs straightened. Painfully, Sam forced herself to look up, through the sea of unfamiliar faces. A woman had entered. She was thin-lipped and sharp-eyed, probably in her late thirties. She had red hair, pulled back into a severe bun. That, combined with the tailored business suit immediately made Sam think of a librarian. Well, a porn librarian, really. There were even dark seams running up the back of her calves from silk stockings. An unintentional sort of sexy. The woman took a seat at the head of the table. And when she gave the other people a curt nod, they all took their seats, some along the sides of the table, others along the sides of the room. Only two remained standing, a matching pair of brutes in leather jackets, one male, one female. They loomed on either side of the woman's chair, just slightly behind her, like bodyguards.
"Let's keep this short today," the woman said. She had a slight accent. English, maybe. "Are there any new arrivals to the city?" Silence. "Very well. Let's take look at our agenda. The first item would be the dispute between..." And she let out a long-suffering sigh. "Mister Hiler and Mister Frye?"
On either side of Samantha, two men stood up. She had to stifle a gasp. She knew them both. Larry Hiler was a photographer she'd seen exhibiting in several art fairs in the area. He was tall and lanky, wearing a leather jacket. His right ear was only pierced about a million times. Richard Frye was a sculptor who made his work out of old cigarette butts and discarded condoms. He was wearing a suit, his beard evenly clipped and elegant. Neither man was looking at her. Both of them had their eyes fixed forward.
"Prince Kane," Richard said, bowing his head.
A second later, Larry one-upped him, bowing from the waist when he said, "Prince Kane."
The woman--Prince Kane, apparently?--pinched the bridge of her nose. "I understand that you're still disputing who has the right to Embrace this mortal girl? One..." she glanced at a legal pad in front of her "...Samantha Halper?"
Sam gasped. But no one seemed to notice.
"Yes, my Prince," Larry said.
"I still maintain, my Prince," Richard said tightly, "that I have the superior claim. I saw her first."
"But I was the first to make contact," Larry replied. Vaguely, Sam remembered a brief conversation from a few months ago. They'd been at a gallery opening just off campus. He'd asked her if she had any cards. She didn't.
"Contact is hardly relevant," Richard replied, sneering a little bit.
Prince Kane held up a hand. "Gentlemen," she said. "We've already had this argument. Let's not have a repeat performance."
All around the room, people murmured in agreement. Well, everyone except Sam. She had no idea what the fuck they were talking about. And she opened her mouth to say as much. But words were hard. Her tongue felt like it was glued in place and when she tried to speak, all that came out was a strangled noise. And no one seemed to notice, except for a woman with close-cropped hair, sitting along the side of the room. She caught Sam's eyes for a moment, but then looked away.
"I see you've brought the girl in question," Prince Kane continued.
Richard nodded. "Yes, my Prince."
"Let me see her."
Both Richard and Larry leaned down at the same time. They looked at each other, and Sam could have sworn she heard a growl. But then each of them took one of her arms, gently pulling her up to her feet. She swayed uneasily, the fringe of her blue wig falling into her eyes. The desire to pull away from both of them was tempered by her desire not to faceplant onto the floor again. Slowly, Larry and Richard guided her to the corner of the table, near where Prince Kane was sitting. The Prince seemed like some kind of living meme for 'not impressed.' She was dead-eyed and motionless, staring at Sam and almost through her.
It made Sam feel weirdly naked.
"For the past few months," Prince Kane drawled dully, "the two of you have been fighting over this girl. While there's nothing objectionable about her, I certainly see nothing impressive either. Your argument is a waste of the Court's time." Court? "And, frankly, I'm tired of hearing about it. So. We're going to settle this matter once and for all." She turned to look at the hulking man on her right. "Pedro. Toss a coin."
Larry got bug-eyed. "What?"
"My Prince!" Richard stepped forward.
Prince Kane held up a perfectly manicured hand to stop him. "We're going to toss a coin. The winner may have her."
Beside her, Pedro had produced a coin. "Someone call it," he said, flicking it up into the air.
"Heads," Richard declared bitterly.
The coin dropped into Pedro's hand and he slapped it down on the table, keeping it hidden under his fingers. "This is no good way to decide," Larry said.
"But it is a fast way," Prince Kane replied. She turned to look at her brute. "What is it, Pedro?"
Pedro picked up his hand. "Tails."
What happened next happened so fast that Sam wasn't even entirely sure of the order of events. She wasn't sure if Pedro even finished the word 'tails' before Richard had let go of her and thrown himself headlong into Larry. No human being could possibly move that fast. And yet, suddenly, the two of them were careening into a wall and Sam was being half dragged behind them. What stopped her was the table. Her forehead smashed into the corner, forcing Larry to let go of her. She dropped to the floor as the room seemed to explode around her. There was incomprehensible shouting in at least three languages, and then an eruption of gunfire.
At least, she thought it was gunfire. Sam couldn't really be sure.
She rolled onto her back. The slight motion made her feel unreasonably sick. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make sense of the whirling colors above her, but she couldn't focus. It was like the whole world had been smudged with Vaseline. And something wet was starting to seep into her hair and the cotton of her tee shirt. Sam tried to lift a hand to touch her forehead, but she couldn't.
More sounds rang out above her, like a symphony of violence. But a face suddenly filled her vision, coming into sharp focus. It was the woman who she'd briefly made eye contact with, the one with the short hair. "Samantha?" Her voice echoed. "Samantha, can you hear me?"
"What's going on?" Sam mumbled, not entirely sure she'd actually spoken out loud.
"An excuse to air past grudges," the woman said. She brisky swept Sam's wig off of her head, freezing momentarily at the sight of her red hair beneath. Whatever surprised her, she shook it off quickly, probing at the damage to her forehead. Sam let out a yelp of pain as blackness flashed across her eyes. "Your cranium has been shattered," the woman said. "You're going to bleed into your brain."
Even if Sam wasn't pre-med, as her parents had encouraged her to be, she knew that wasn't good.
"Listen to me carefully, Samantha," the woman continued. "I can save your life. But it will come at a cost. You won't be human any more. You'll be like me, like the rest of us. You'll have to give up the things you love. There will be grave consequences. Do you understand?"
Consequences? Who the fuck gave a crap about consequences? Sam saw two options in front of her. Life and death. And she was seventeen years old. Of course she wanted to live. She wasn't going to be some kind of cautionary tale about the recklessness of youth and the fragility of life. She wasn't going to have some memorial set up for her in the quad, where people could tsk and shake their heads and bemoan the fact that she was too young to die. She was too young to die. So she wouldn't.
"Yes," she choked out.
"Do you want me to save you?"
"Yes."
The woman looked mildly unhappy. But whatever it was that was bothering her passed through her eyes quickly. She leaned her face into Sam's neck and suddenly, there was an explosion of pleasure, even more powerful than that time Sam and Chad had fucked in the Motel 6. It was so powerful it took away the pain. But it made Sam drowsy. And she couldn't quite figure out if the blackness was because she was dying or just closing her eyes.
She would never know.