PHOCT Round 1 p2

"Sorry."

Someone uttered it to Renata as they shoved past her, almost knocking her to the ground. She would have liked to make them say it to her face, but in this madness, no one looked at her long enough to be affected by her glamor, and no one gave her the time of day. Not that she gave anyone else the same courtesy.

A few times, people who referred to themselves as members of the 'fleet' or something to that effect tried to order the masses into lines and groups and hair colours or whatever else they could think of, but it hadn't yet worked. Renata suspected it never would, either.

She remembered the boat she had taken to America decades ago had been this way. Dirty. Tight. Filled with the suffering, the dying, and the dead. Of course, everyone here was dead, but that was merely a technicality. At least then, she could take comfort in the strength of her own body, unburdened by the diseases that plagued the humans at her side. Now she didn't have that luxury. Not when she was carrying the monster. Just the same, it had been an unkind experience back then, too, one she had not wanted to experience a second time in her life.

She caught the irony of the thought late, though it offered her absolutely no amusement.  

There was a sudden rush of movement from behind her, and this time she really did lose her footing.

The succubus landed with her hands open on the earth, and had to rapidly clench them into fists to keep from losing her fingers to the encroaching crowd. It proved more difficult to keep her hair from the ground and at one point it tangled around a bird-like creature's claw and for a moment she thought the being would keep walking, taking a piece of her scalp with it as it went. She grabbed her hair and pulled it free just in time, but the effort of her tug sent her rolling backwards into a pair of legs that wasted no time in stepping over her.

Renata hissed in pain when a foot caught her across the shoulder—strange how even in death there was pain—and wrapped her arms around herself in a vain effort to keep from further harm. She wrapped her arms around her stomach first, and almost laughed at herself for it. Of all the things she could protect, the first thing she went for was the damnable creature that she kept inside. It was incredible how a person's own body could be so full of betrayals.

Her eyes darted across the passing bodies, searching for something or someone to grab onto, and finding nothing.

Except another pair of eyes gazing back.

The creature looking at her was absurdly tall, body broad and muscular, but like many of the beings in Hades, not human. His face was made up of a large, pincer-like mouth, long horns and large pale eyes, and on his back was a great yellow shell. She had received gifts from Africa once or twice from gypsies and nomads, and once she had received a bright, fire-like beetle that this man—creature--reminded her of. They were separated by some distance, but even still she could see his face.

He was giving her a peculiar look. It was difficult to discern in his inhuman features and pure, pale eyes, but she had seen that look in men before. That dazed expression that came from looking upon the light, and letting it get caught in the eyes. A look of hopefulness. A look of want. She had seen it more than she could count. And she had used it twice as many times as that.

Help me, she mouthed.

The creature, though he was slow, had long enough strides that he made up the space between them in only a few seconds. He braced his back against the flow of people, and though Renata saw them push and shove against him, he would not budge, and the crowd split to move past him and the succubus.

Renata had not realized she was holding a breath until she let it out. When she did, she caught the smell of filth, and did not have to think hard to realize it came from the beetle. It came to her so abruptly that it was like a slap, emptying out her every thought and feeling and leaving her unable to move, let alone breathe.

Hades was a strangely sterile place, in spite of itself. There was nothing to excite the senses here—everything was faded, as dead as the souls that lingered inside. Even colours were dull. Renata had noticed that when she first pulled up on the shore, but after a little while, even her ability to care was numbed. But the smell was pungent and very real, and she felt like someone had poured water on her head to end a long sleep. It was an unpleasant feeling—but she had needed it.

Swallowing, she looked back up to the beetle-creature, urging herself to ignore the smell, at least for now. When she glanced up, she saw it there again—that long and aching look of a man under her glamor. She could find strength in that.

The beetle proffered a great, gloved hand to help her up, and she took it.

There was no name for what she experienced in that moment. It was something like memory, but a memory so decayed it could just as easily have been a dream. It was a mess of darkness, mass and sound. There were no shapes and only flashes of colour, almost nothing of beauty or goodness, and very little of light. But there was the beetle, pushed into the corners of the shifting darkness, colourless blood streaked across his face.

Whatever this was, she knew she had no place in it. So when he turned his head to her, she recoiled. Her elbows smacked dirt in real life, and it snapped her out of whatever she had just seen.

"You…" she choked out, blinking away the memory as best she could. "What…"

Though there was obviously a question in her eyes, the beetle did not answer it. Instead he looked at her, eyes filled with concern. It was a look Renata had not received very often, and frankly, had never wanted to have directed her way.

The beetle gave it anyway.

"Are you…alright?" he said slowly, his voice a low rumble from his chest.

When was the last time someone had asked her that? Really asked her? She couldn't remember, even though she had practiced the answer more times than she could count.

"Yes," she was supposed to say. "I'm alright."

But she couldn't.

She felt something twist inside her and she clenched a fist.

"No," said Renata. She opened her mouth to correct herself, but instead just said it again. "No."

The creature seemed slow to process that. His face tightened after a while.

"Then…" he said, "how can I fix it?"

She dropped her head into her hands with a deep sigh and couldn't give him an answer.

"Do you have a name?" she asked after a while, still unable to clear her head. "If you're going to fix anything, your introductory skills might be a good start." Renata snapped her head up immediately after saying it. While she had never been one to mince her words, she knew better than to drive off potential allies with her disposition. Even her glamor could only hold so strong against offense.

The being in front of her didn't seem to notice she had insulted him at all. He just answered easily, "Aurel."

"Aurel," she repeated beneath her breath. "Would you like my name as well, Aurel?"

He nodded emphatically in response, and she couldn't help but smile at his insistence. She wanted to keep her gaze from seeming mocking, but it was hard. She had no other way to approach a being that was so hopelessly devoted in almost minutes.

"Call me whatever you please," she said, because that was always what she said. "Even Jezebel would suffice."

He nodded as he received the name, and did not question it. Renata wondered if she should take offense to that—or if maybe he didn't realize to be called jezebel was just as good as being called whore. Or maybe any name for him was enough.

The succubus snorted and raised herself off the ground, this time ignoring Aurel's extended hand. She had known a witch or two with such powers, and so wasn't prepared to question them, but she wasn't going to provoke them either. She turned and faced the direction in which the dead were moving. She could just make out someone, one of the Fleet she suspected, standing atop a pedestal and addressing them, but she couldn't hear a word that was being said. If so many were moving towards it, then perhaps it was important.

"Aurel," she said. As her composure returned, her voice took on a warm, honeyed tone, hiding the frigidness beneath. She gestured towards the pedestal. "Would you walk me there?"

"Yes," he rumbled without hesitating, and took a laboring step forward.

She followed his slow path, keeping close because she knew she would be crushed otherwise. It took some time before they reached the pedestal, and by that point that crowd was so densely packed that even Aurel's smell didn't keep others from becoming packed around them.

Aurel looked down at her, expression concerned.

"Can you see?"

"There are too many people here for that."

His expression pulled into something like a frown.

"Here," he said, reaching out that gloved hand again. She flinched away from it, not wanting to experience whatever he had done to her a second time. His brows furrowed, but rather than rethink his offer he said, "It will not happen again." When Renata didn't respond to him, he added gently, "I promise."

And what worth were the promises of a stranger? She wanted to ask. In spite of herself, she believed him. After all, he had no reason to lie.

She gave him her hand, and immediately he swept her up to sit on one shoulder, putting her several feet above everyone else in the room. It wasn't what she had been expecting, but it certainly did the trick—and Aurel held her gently by the knees, making sure she wouldn't fall.

"Look," shouted the black clad member of the Fleet, who was red from all the shouting he had had to do. "It's very simple. If you want to help find Charon, or his successor if he's actually gone and gotten himself killed, just line up over here--" He gestured to the left, "And we'll give you your pass so that you can start right away, alright?"

"What's in it for us?" a voice yelled out from the convoluted mass of bodies standing before the pedestal.

The Fleet member looked like he was going to explode.

"I already told you!" he yelled. "Anything you want! Why do I have to keep saying this? Just get in line already!"

Renata looked away from the man when another person in the crowd addressed him and he began to try and pull his hair out. "Isn't Charon the ferryman's name?"

"Yes," Aurel reaffirmed.

"And he's missing…" Thoth had said Charon was the only one who could get in and out of Hades. Did that mean that she was trapped here until he decided to reveal himself? Where could the man have gone, in any case? He had seemed terribly somber—not the kind who would leave his post. Not the kind who anyone would find any use in kidnapping, either.

She glanced at the line the Fleet member had indicated, already looping back into the darkness. A pass around Hades—she had only heard bits and pieces about the place so far, but she knew it was big, and she knew its structure was rigid. She would be stuck in this cavern until Charon came back, unless she decided to find him herself.

She felt a stir inside her belly.

"Get one of those passes, Aurel," she said, meaning it just as much as an order as a request. He moved forward without questioning her, ignoring the line completely and moving to the front. The man handing them out, another Fleet member, ignored them at first, but when Aurel moved right beside him, he looked up in clear anger at the intrusion.

"Back," he started, "of the li--"


He stopped in fear when he saw Aurel, and in awe when he saw Renata. His arm was half extended, a rolled up pass in his hand, and Aurel plucked it from his grip with ease, then handed it to Renata. The woman smiled at the member of the Fleet and Aurel slowly began to walk away from him.

Though the line had started hurling profanities in his direction, the man kept on staring at Renata until Aurel lowered her off his shoulder, and she disappeared out of sight.