Fireflies

Exit Stage Tree

Mason doesn't make it far. Didn't even make it to the stairs. Shoulder against a beam, he leans just far enough out of the shadows of the second-floor landing to watch his guild mates enjoy their evening. Long fingers trace a crack by his hip, eyes far away.

She isn't sure where to go, so she carefully approaches. When he doesn't object to her presence, she leans her covered elbows against the railing and watches the party. The music ebbs and swells, battering the inside of her skull like the ocean against the cliffs outside. If she breathes and focuses, listens inside and out, she can match their pulses into one pummelling force inside her body.

None of those revellers realise what occurred upstairs. To them no destruction gathers its strength on the horizon. It doesn't exist. Doubt worms its way into her own heart. Were Iichi and Darain right? Was she looking too deeply into this, ready to ruin Firefly's one chance at fixing their status in Cartasia? All because finally getting something right felt so good? How could being wanted turn her into such a selfish, short-sighted creature? Who does she think she is? Their celebrity, and about as useful as one. When have her reveries ever been reliable? When have they ever helped her in her life?

Corama's stricken face swims through the miasma of partiers. A ghost of her own creation haunts the festivities, absentmindedly fiddling with the bangles on his arms. She remembers back to the last celebration he attended. Remembers his troubled expression on that stage, the same anxious fiddling. Remembers the Overseers willingness to let the disgrace of Cartasia participate in the bid.

She should have recognised the signs with how often her own anxieties translate through her fingers.

Scraping the bottom of the barrel.

"I don't care about the responsibility." When she looks over her shoulder, Mason's eyes are still on the party, but his fingers dig harder into the crack. Seeking the jagged edges. "This cities people haven't done anything for the guild for a long time. Longer than I've been part of it. Maybe that's petty, but I couldn't give a shit. We've got this job to protect the shitty people of this city, and we'll get it done. But while we're busy protecting the people, who's keeping them safe?"

Belrain shot guns an entire barrel of ale to the cheers from the crowd. He slams the empty keg down, roaring in celebration as he whips his flour and icing smudged apron off and spins it above his head. Behind the bar, Tabitha rolls her eyes at her brother as she serves Joy a tall glass of something red. Kody's doodling a unibrow and moustache onto his unconscious brother's face, egged on by the elderly Keat's as they shift their faces to match the soon to be complete artwork. Frazer's undefeated keg lies abandoned and foaming until Belrain scoops it up and finishes it for him.

Could she be right about this? If ever such an unthinkable notion could happen, the destruction of a continent is a terrible time for her to finally get something right.

"I don't care what Iichi can live with, but I can't leave their safety up to the hope that you're wrong."

It's the safest odd to play, but she knew he wouldn't bet on it. "What are you going to do?"

His fingers dig against the crack. When they move, a smudge of blood is left behind. He doesn't notice. "You're not going to help?"

Cold panic grips her chest. "We don't know what we're doing."

Mason stands away from the wall, looking down at her. "That's never stopped me before. And you're the ideas girl."

"I don't have good ideas."

He frowns. "What? That's not true. We have the contract because of your ideas."

"Those going wrong weren't going to cost thousands of lives," Marley gasps out in a rush. She can't breathe, and the heavy weight of Mason's eyes press harder on her chest.