L’habit Ne Fait Pas Le Moine - [Jacky]

[Lyra d'Aiglemort]

The weekend was supposed to be a respite from office living. No more reports, no early morning alarms, just 48 hours of freedom. Weekend plans were a common question starting to trickle in around Wednesday and accounting for half the small talk by Friday. Lyra had been surprised, at the range of answers, and how many of her coworkers engaged in activities quite foreign to their desk jobs.

(Learning that Stacy planned months ahead to purchase tickets for and attend various punk-rock concerts on the East coast was a bizarre moment.)

A pattern emerged after a handful of weekends. Those who stayed home and the ones who went off to engage with the world.

What there wasn’t was anyone working through the weekend. And Lyra understood - of course she did - that it wasn’t really Lyra who went to work and shared with her coworkers the excitement of time spent with family.

It wasn’t surprising that an errand came up. Her disappointment was self-inflicted. Lyra hadn’t said a word, but Father knew anyway, as he always did, and shame had long since cannibalized her anger.

It slithered like an eel dipped in oil, pushing between her intestines in slick easy jerks that left her faintly ill.

Lyra dragged her gaze off the sidewalk, scanning the street now that she was closer to her destination. Without looking she sidestepped a puddle reaching the end of its lifespan, dropping off the curb to dart across the street, waving politely at the car that swerved in her wake.

Father needed her – he had asked her for help; all the rest of it, the startlement bled straight through to resentment, her humiliation running on repeat, the sting of rejection stifled too slowly – these were just details. Emotions.

Perhaps Lyra was childish to assume she would get the weekend she had imagined but she didn’t have to wallow in her immaturity.

Wind rattled the chain-link fence encircling a basketball court behind which the playground she was aiming for sat all shiny and new.

Lyra slid her hands into her pockets after adjusting the scarf tucked neatly over her wool coat. No one looked her way as she approached the low stone wall meant to symbolically separate the two areas. Just another older sister or young mother waiting around while their kids played.

She sat atop the stones, content to trust haphazardly strung up netting to prevent any stray balls from careening towards her back. Digging the toe of her boots into the dirt, Lyra skimmed the assorted children and trailing supervision.

Without a picture of a target this young, it was often hit or miss whether she found what she’d been sent to look for. Spiritual energies were weak enough in full-grown mortals. Youth had a way of dispersing the signs out amongst a group so that a flicker here or a feeling there could be attributed to any child.

[Jacky!]

It was going to rain.

Scent was there for it; those heavy sorts of moisture smells that had a chemical tinge to it more some days than others. This was more. Not nice or bad, just something that Jacky’s brain idly noted. It did that a lot. Another tick and he noted the slight pressure in the air current, the chill slight, but wanting to build. He was somehow also aware of it pushing in from elsewhere. It wouldn’t meet. Thus rain. Too early for snow. He didn’t know why it was too early but it was.

Somewhere close now but not that one.

It was going to rain.

He followed the scent back up and back down the different set of stairs that crisscrossed and floated weirdly past half built walls and twinkling darkness. Just enough light to make his way through the dim gloom. There was always The Bridge but that was a bad place. It was easy to find the way there. Could walk, explore a very long time, or felt very long, and never find anything but more cast off rooms and halls. But a thought and a curving turn and he’d be right back there. Whatever was on the other side was not a place he wanted to go. Not because he was scared (Jacky scared? Never. Heroes don’t get scared) but because it make his chest hurt. Like he couldn’t catch the breath he didn’t really need but often took and that same feeling would creep down into his belly until it ached.

But it was not a place of smells or even life. It was easy to pick out anything that wasn’t The Angles. There were…maybe things in it though Jacky had never met them. They were probably just shy. Scared because Jacky was so imposing in his suit probably. Didn’t need to be. They hadn’t done Bad Guy things so he could have been their friend; even tried telling them that. They never responded; never ever. He was so certain though, could feel them taking up space even if it was ever so slight and then gone again. Jacky hadn’t imagined it. Couldn’t have. Right? Right.

The tears, though. Those were of The Spheres. They did not belong to The Angles; seated somewhere very near to it but not of it. And there were many Spheres. At least three he knew of. Home was one which Jacky did not like very much because they were not-friends and did not know how to picnic. There was the other one where it felt like home but everyone wore Pajamas and it was a *very, very* big city. They didn’t like Jacky visiting, though. And then, the one that was the best, Earth. One of Jacky’s bestest friends taught him that word. It was not called, as he originally thought, Japan. That was a Country. Jacky didn’t know what those were but they were not a cookie and those he knew.

The ones with raisins were evil.

So he followed the scent of rain. The Angles always seemed to be close to one particular place at a given time. Or maybe it wasn’t and he didn’t know the difference. Very possible. He came to a shadowy spot, one darker and deeper that obscured the hallway further and when children laughed, echoing and distorted in the Angles, Jacky knew he had found the spot. The ways out of the Angles were not obvious, but they were there. Reaching through he was aware of where he would exit, the dimensions of things that seemed like they might be important but that the Hound merely recognized only in tactile ways.

He crouched stepping through and ended up squatting on the edge of a short stone wall. One of his friends recognized him and Jacky waved immediately, a broad smile stretching across his face…and then wincing when his friend caught the ball with his face. That was not how they scored points. Right? Jacky didn’t understand the game still. He just liked chasing the ball.

A Lady sat near him. He could feel her before he looked over; She had a Scent as well. He knew it. Humans all had scents and some smelled a different way and felt a different way that was bigger than others. Hers was bigger. This could be a new friend! She could see Jacky and Jacky could make a new friend but the big people were always different from the little ones. All of them had acted Silly when he started talking to them. A few were not nice. Hopefully she would be nice.

He tilted his head and turned with big toothy smile.

“It’s going to rain!”

[Lyra d'Aiglemort]

These ones were particularly young. Lyra held back her sigh, gaze darting up and down, her attempts at following a grid pattern foiled when the children were so adept at mimicking shoaling fish. She was impressed – whoever had taught them the arts of casual chaos had done well.

A dark-haired girl separated from the group, seemingly unaware of this fatal mistake. Humans, and in particular children, benefited greatly from blending in amongst their peers. To swim in the middle of a school was the smartest thing to do, neither at the front or the back nor one of those poor souls who refused to conform.

The middle was where safety lay – the closest approximate that anyone might find.

Perhaps sensing her vulnerability, the girl made a beeline for one of the adults. Seeking shelter instinctively. Her request for attention was met halfway, tucked against the adult’s side in a hug that didn’t require so much focus that the mother wasn’t able to continue her conversation with another woman.

Lyra blinked and looked away. The girl had no spiritual energy to speak of and so there was no point in watching her. Lyra was too easily distracted at places like this. She found herself observing the interactions between children and adults with a particular shade of curiosity that Lyra would do well to forget.

Father must have suspected. Sending her out on an errand like this to remind Lyra how much work she had left to do.

The idea that he had been thinking about her soothed the worst of Lyra’s hurt at being dismissed. If she did this task well, there was always Sunday. So long as she didn’t mess things up, she might still be able to spend time with Father.

Her vision prickled, blurring at the edges the harder Lyra stared at the group of children. Optimism reset, she applied herself with meticulous focus. All Lyra had to do was confirm that the target was showing signs of supernatural awareness – they were far too young for Father to want more than that.

Certainly, someone here was the cause of those will-o-wisp sparks.

Concentrating so heavily on the space in front of her, Lyra was taken completely off guard when an unannounced presence spoke from her right. She startled, falling into a preternatural stillness and only slowly turning to face the newcomer.

He was interesting. Lyra preferred to maintain diplomatic thoughts because it lessened the risk of saying anything inopportune. But whatever control she kept over her thoughts did not bleed into body language and Lyra felt her eyes grow wide.

“Rain?” She parroted back; manners deeply ingrained enough that her surprise couldn’t outweigh the default response.

Lyra glanced upwards, towards a cloudy sky – was that the grey of winter or a sign of impending rainfall? She couldn’t tell. “Will it be soon, you think? If it rains hard no one will want to stay out to play.”

[Jacky!]

Between the moment his new friend had begun to speak and the absolutely no good, terrible realization that it prompted in Jacky he had decided to do a handstand. That had to be impressive to her; hands were difficult enough. But he had planted his palms on the stone retaining wall and, while wobbling, had managed to do it. The unfortunate, no good, deplorable, and absolutely terrible idea that no one would be able to play further caused him to whirl in reaction more than thought. Jacky fought bravely to keep upright for a moment before his scarf, moving as if it had a mind of its own and often did, tangled around his wrists and spelled the end of his hopes of gymnastic approval.

A sound of panic, more at the bad news, shrank into a sharp short yelp as his skull smacked audibly against the retaining wall and his body tumbled over after it. Only a scant few seconds followed before Jacky’s eyes reappeared; peeking just barely over the wall and an obvious wound in his head erupting with a gush of blood shortly thereafter.

“Jacky meant to do that.” A brief nod coated a section of the wall with blood too dark to be normal. His head tilted once, looking himself at it with a curious noise only to promptly dismiss it as unimportant.

A crack of thunder overhead turned his eyes upright.

A drop of water hit him in his eye-

And could feel it drip down, roll across his vision blurry and beating darkly. It stung, made them ache so deeply, so awfully. It was the only part of him exposed that hadn’t been ease by the numbness of that bone terrible cold that left skin slick, welted red. He drew in a panting, panicked breath, trying to suck in all the air he could but the sudden rawness of the air against his body ripped a raw rippling scream out of his throat before being plunged back beneath the water.

And he blinked it out, poking at his eyeball before turning back to the crowd of mortals. Rain began to build in a patter and while Jacky’s friend called out to him one of the bigger ones –his friend had called the big man his dad though Jacky still didn’t know what that was- had taken his friend by the wrist and began leading him away.

Jacky watched intently then sighed. He scooped up dirt, not considering it as he did, and slapped it on the wound without a reaction. Intensely as he watched his attention returned to the woman at the wall and he beamed with yet another smile. “Um, will nice lady play with Jacky instead or does she not like rain either?”

[Lyra d'Aiglemort]

“Oh, my…”

Lyra blinked. Slowly. She retracted the hands that had almost met full extension before the other figure fell, lowering both appendages to her lap with a decisive twist of her fingers.

“Er, are you alright?” She peered down at him, eying the spurt of blood with a casual alarm. Quickly course correcting, she nodded in full agreement, erasing all signs of her concern. It wouldn’t do to point out his lapse if he preferred otherwise.

Of course, that was when the rain made itself known, a proof to (Jacky’s?) theory. Perfectly formed water droplets plummeting from on high to cause a miniature catastrophe.

Children scattered. Adults broke away from one another, diving for umbrellas or children depending on their individual priorities. It was a pandemonium that served her well – each fissure in the crowd another chance to analyze the people nearby and rule out the bystanders.

A thin boy with a Dodger’s baseball cap half off his head caught her attention as he pushed against the stream in their direction. His path was not meant to be as a man bearing all the genetic characteristics of close kin swooped in to collect the child, though not before said individual got out an excited wave.

Lyra followed his line of sight, only then connecting the dots and realizing the boy had intended his gesture for the downed figure in front of her. To be able to sense Jacky at such a young age was impressive in and of itself, much more so if the child could actually see the other.

She spared a moment to memorize the adult’s features, a better reference than the boy who would no doubt change quite a bit as he aged before Father had any real interest in him.

Ignoring the patter of rain, Lyra reached for her pocket and pulled free a neatly ironed handkerchief. Still watching the dispersing crowd, in the unlikely event there was another spiritually endowed child present, she offered the material out towards Jacky.

“Here, you shouldn’t get dirt in an open wound. You might develop an infection.”

Lyra had no idea if beings such as this could get infected, that would require a mortal-like immune system, most like – but the sentiment remained. It was entirely logical to worry about another’s health in an instance like this. And it was certainly that worry, and not any actual stirrings of sympathy at Jacky’s abandonment, that held her in her place while the playground was summarily vacated by other living souls.

“I don’t mind the rain. It can’t cause me any harm.” She brushed at her sleeves to demonstrate her point, water beading on the sturdy wool of her coat.

“Were you here to visit some of the children?”

In another world Lyra might have said such a statement warily – there was little good the supernatural world could want with children, she herself was proof of that. But she felt no malice from the individual in front of her and the hitch to his voice when he realized his targets were leaving was a difficult emotion to fabricate.