V.S.

A Short Story (2021)

The air was fragrant with the scent of rain and budding spring. As though awakened from hibernation, the city bustled with renewed fervour as the harsh winter melted into growth and hope; people and animals alike savoured the sunshine and impending warmth. In other words, it was the absolute worst time for a Siphon to be out and about.

Her measured steps clacked against the pavement like a metronome... or maybe they clicked like a bomb. Her skin tingled, buzzing as though she were a bee and she could feel every change of her environment through the tiny tips of dark, peach-fuzzed hair. The enthusiastic energies around her called out like tantalising flowers ripe with pollen and nectar, but she needed a very particular bloom today and couldn’t be allowed to stop among the others. The familiar threads of vibrations connecting her to the other beings that surrounded her on the busy street expanded, and her stomach clenched in response.

The general discomfort of moving through such an active part of town amplified to a prickle of pins, and she felt as though every step met invisible resistance. Still, if she could just find her target...

The metronome kept her going, but the other distractions were enough to ruin everything if she wasn’t careful. So, she distanced herself from her body and numbed herself enough to keep going. Her mother’s words echoed in the space between breaths:

“Just a little while longer. Hold on just a little while longer.”

Then, finally, among all the other strings calling out she found the one she needed. She steeled herself and buzzed through the final crowd of people.

She startled her target as she placed herself across from him where he sat alone, reading something on a... newschip.

A newschip? Who uses a newschip anymore?

She looked down, confused, but then remembered the task at hand.

She understood how unhinged she must seem as she shoved the helix at him, wordless and insistent that he read the message inscribed on the elegant bamboo cylinder. The shaky, hungry feeling had dissipated, almost like her mission had anchored her to a semblance of stability.

“Can I help you?” He asked. He didn’t say it unkindly, but she could sense his own confusion tense. She sighed, pushing the helix again in his direction. This time, adding a pleading gesture, palms together in a prayer.

It was his turn to sigh as he took the device and rolled it across the table, broadcasting the message in the cool blue hues of a hologram before him. It read:

“My name is O’nares Kane.” He sighed again, looked at her, but continued reading. “I was told to find you by a friend who said it’s ‘time to tip the little teapot over and pour me out’. They said you would know what that means. I recently escaped from the STC and—”

“You’re a Siphon?” He was kind enough to lower his voice when he spoke aloud. O’nares nodded and gestured for him to continue.

“—we need intervention. I don’t think people know how bad it is. I escaped to seek help, but was kidnapped shortly thereafter. They took my Voice—”

“You’re a Voiceless Siphon?!” His voice became harsher—though not louder—and his face contorted in a mix between disgust and anger. His eyes met hers; and she did her best to meet his without disclosing any of the hurt feelings she was keeping at bay.

She huffed, motioning to the letter that was obviously meant to explain further. He rolled his eyes, but she had felt the way his strings slackened when he had looked into her eyes. It almost felt like a failure, but he continued reading so she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“—and I need it back if I’m going to free my family and my people. Please help me retrieve it and I will pay you handsomely.”

“Pay me with what money? You just escaped and immediately lost your most valuable asset.”

She flinched and tried to calm her racing heart. Her temper screamed in her thoughts; She didn’t need this man. If he only knew the danger he was in... She so desperately wanted to give in to her darkest fantasies in that moment. Instead, she grabbed the helix and shoved it into its graver. She reconfigured the message, moving the blocks carefully around the cylinder, and shoved it back at him.

The neon blue returned before him: “You’d be helping me get my greatest asset back, remember? Besides, my friend will gladly pay.” He paused, nodding to himself. He looked down at his drink.

“I’m gonna need something stronger before we continue this super efficient conversation.” He sighed again, then stood. A tap on the table with a small, flat wand made a reassuring ping as his credits paid for his abandoned drink. “Follow me and stay close.” His voice became gruff, and she rolled her eyes.

What a baby... She thought. Then she corrected herself: He’s literally trying to help you... Give him a break. Plus, now he knows who you are… A part of her was always fighting; she always tried to rebel against the harshness of the world. Survival, however, didn’t always mean being soft and everyone knows old habits die hard. Her instinct was to lash out, but her heart begged her not to be the monster the universe seemed to believe she was.

The building they approached stole her thoughts. She had seen it in the distance and wondered at what it was, but had been otherwise occupied with keeping a level head. Up close, it was beautiful. Shiny black glass, shimmered with soap bubble brilliance and danced along the reflective surface. Inside, flashing lights could be seen pulsing with the music that must be playing. She could see through the glass, but only well enough to see shapes slinking and sliding to silent rhythms.

He led them through the membranous door of the place and she took a moment to appreciate the cool gel as it engulfed her into the building. He found a clean booth in the darkness, as it seemed to O’nares they had entered another time zone. Night and all her concubines existed outside of the reality of the city here, and here she reigned eternal.

What is this place? She wondered as she looked around. The building was unmarked and there were no signs within either. No logos on the menu or on the “uniforms” of the scantily dressed employees.

The man—she still didn’t know his name, only that he was known as the Hunter—examined her when they settled at their booth. He must have sensed her bewilderment because he started speaking, his voice relaxed though not exactly soft. “This place is a good one. It has so many names, they discarded it entirely. I’ve heard ‘Blackout’ or ‘Apex’ or ‘Zodiac’.” He fidgeted as he spoke, unsure where to look or how to behave in this situation which was comforting to her since she was much the same. “And most importantly, their drinks are strong.”

The Hunter didn’t bother looking at the menu and ordered an old fashioned drink that the staff might not even have when the server came by. “A whiskey. Neat. Oh, and can you bring me some paper and a pen?” The server gave him a pleasant, yet confused look, but nodded and went on her way.

O’nares declined anything from the woman, unwilling to figure out a way to communicate her needs to someone who probably would hate her if only they knew what she was.

“Super retro.” He commented, regarding the server; few places had meat-staff still around, he told her. Most that did weren’t reputable since the servers must have some other purpose besides taking an order in a universe where most 3-year-olds can place an order without knowing how to speak properly yet.

She smiled and nodded, staying cordial. She was trying her hardest to be patient, but every moment she wasted meant the probability of her never seeing her family again rose and rose. Even though she knew the journey ahead was much longer than she could fathom, her heart raced towards the brighter future she naively chose to believe was just around the corner.

Once he had a drink in hand and had taken a satisfying sip, he spoke of the matter at hand:

“So... you’re V.S., twice escaped, you’ve had your voice stolen and you...” He struggled to find the words for the last bit and stroked his beard as though he could coerce the words from there instead.

Go on... She urged, silently.

“You... have a Grey on your side,” He was matter-of-fact, sure his deductive reasoning was spot on. “Who is apparently powerful enough to pay my fees in order to, what? Send you back into that hellhole in order to retrieve your family?” His tone dripped with condescension, but she nodded her head. “That can’t be all.” He shook his head and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms but leaving a hand free to hold his drink.

O’nares shrugged. She knew plans and machinations might happen outside her purview, but she could only guess at them. She didn’t even know all the players, just that she had a part to play on this particular stage. He leaned forward, slid the piece of pen and paper toward her, returning to his previous position with a smugness she already did not appreciate about him.

She wrote her response and shifted the paper back to him.

“The only other thing I could think of is also ensuring that while I go to retrieve my Voice, I have someone to stop me if the Curse overtakes me.”

“Curse? You mean a Siphon’s thirst?”

She sighed. Unable to explain the entire old Siphon myth on a slip of paper, she instead wrote “IOU.”

“Ha, that’s an understatement.” He scoffed.

“I meant a story about the Curse. Does that mean you’ll help?!” She scribbled and shoved the messy lettering back at him.

He answered by taking a last swig of his drink and waving the server down to order another one. His silence made her jaw clench and now she fidgeted, resisting the urge to slam her fists down on the table. Was he playing games or was the decision really driving him to drink before noon?

The Hunter sipped his drink thoughtfully, leaving her to look at everything else but his stupid face in the lounge's darkness. She felt the tingles in the room against her skin and forced down the urges that were slowly coming back as she focused on strings that were not his.

That turned out to be a mistake, and she refocused on him. His string quelled the looming desire to bite, tear, rip, and feed on the drunk, dancing patrons. That, however, did not make him less annoying.