SAVE POINT 104
Reloading a White-Blonde Sister &...Apparently Some Cake???...20%
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EmeraldCity_88
They're bad at this hostage thing; I can tell that right away. The freckled one with the angular, woman-cop feel about her has me by one arm and shoves me through a doorway onto...a balcony?
Sunlight streams into my eyes, and I squint into it, pushing away a flyaway, green piece of hair from where it flutters into my eyes. There's movement here: the wind, the water billowing out as far as I can see but there are so many things wrong with this situation. No gag. No blindfold. My hands are badly tied together and—
Oh shit.
There's that brunette girl leaning with both hands on the railing. She turns to meet my eyes and I recognize—damn it, there's that same inspired sparkle in them that she'd had when she came to gawk at me behind bars. It must be like carrot baby food vomit; that shit just doesn't come out even if you scrub at it.
"Listen, if I'm here as a feel-good gesture—" I start, raising my hands defensively because clearly I want none of that—
"You're lucky she didn't go with my idea," the mean-spirited-looking, pink-haired guard next to the brunette spits, nodding over at her. I watch the warrior's thin fingers tighten around the hilt of a knife on her belt like the action is the only thing keeping her from lunging at me...or past me... "If I had my way, that pathetic excuse of an army down there would be a pile of bodies—including your sister." She says the last part off-handedly but—
It catches me.
Throws me.
Out of synch—out of rhythm.
Like my heartbeat's sped up. Like I'm trying to breathe in a vacuum because—
Well, it's one thing to tell yourself something is true—to repeat it, countlessly, to yourself, over and over, till you believe it but... To find out that that thing is a reality—that it's real...my sister? —Real? Alive?? I can—touch her? Hug her again? A clutching feeling of absolute joy and terror grabs at my chest—like stage fright: needing to be seen so badly and, yet, entirely terrified of the experience at the same exact time.
I'd told myself, repeatedly, that my sister was coming for me—that Ammat had won the Multiplayer mode and gotten her prize, traded it for me; she'd won her freedom and my sister. Of course, Skipper would come for me. Of course, she would find me. I'd known this was true, I just—
I guess I just believed it was a coping mechanism to string me along and keep me positive. And, maybe, I hadn't been entirely—in my heart of hearts—sure it was possible. ...My baby sister being resurrected from the dead in The Game. But, apparently...well, it looks like it is...
"Skipper?" I choke out, "Skipper's—here?"
My heartbeat skips, quickening.
Ammat did do it—my fast-thinking has turned this all around. Things are finally working for me again.
"She's down there," the brunette girl jabs a finger below us, off the balcony.
And I lean forward—as far as the guard girl holding me will allow—barely breathing. Afraid—for one, short moment in my life...
And, there she is.
Skipper. Her white-blonde hair shining in the sun.
Her pale skin...warm again. Life in the bones and skin I'd seen glossed over at the viewing where everyone had milled around the funeral house trying to tell me what a 'shame' things were. What a 'shame' she had to go so young. But they knew nothing of shame then...
And Skipper hasn't seen me yet. Her face is strained in a frown as she converses hurriedly with someone at her righthand. She brought an army—created one! I knew she and I were so much alike...
Stolen novel; please report.
"Any way you could convince her not to aim the tank at us?" I startle back to reality to realize that the pink-haired warrior just spoke—a dry, sarcastic comment. Convince Skipper? A hoarse chuckle bubbles up from my throat like an uninvited burp.
"Ah—no," I sputter, "She gets kinda intense when she's fired up about something."
"Well, your job is to get her unfired up," the pink-haired girl dictates flatly, her expression, scowling and unconvinced.
The brunette, leader one elbows her swiftly in the stomach, attempting a quick smile at me which mostly appears rushed, though genuine, "Talk her down, and we'll let you go to her."
'Go to her'—the girl's words sound magical to me. I stare. They're just going to let me go, if I help? They'll just hand me my freedom and my sister? It's all I've ever wanted—
"Done," I nod, "Except throw in a few of those cakes from the kitchen here. I've overheard the guards, and it's all they talk about," I blather.
Because I can't help myself; when you're in a position of power, you fucking take it all, you know what I mean?
"You little greedy twit," the pink-haired warrior snarls under her breath, but the brunette girl nods—and she's the one that matters—meeting my gaze.
"You've got it," she agrees swiftly, talking over her friend, "As much cake as you can carry."
And I smile. Let the games begin.
"I'll announce you," the brunette starts. She clears her throat, spinning around to face the army beneath us. "Bring her forward," she urges the freckled girl guard holding me, and she thrusts me forward. Till we stand next to each other: leader next to enemy. Somehow united. 'An enemy of my enemy is my friend?' Is that what's going on here because I really can't keep up with this chick. The time before I'd seen her at my prison cell, I'd had her and her little group encased in swirling, black magic to keep my promise to a dragon... Whatever this 'Game' is, it just keeps getting weirder and weirder...
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Rosabella
"Your sister's right here!" I yell down at the white-blonde girl leading her rouge army. EmeraldCity_88 had called her 'Skipper'. Clearly, I've gotten the right 'sister' because I watch the girl's face morph, cracking open with obvious vulnerability before smoothing over, carefully, again with the same rigid, hardness I remember.
"Send her down to me safely," she calls back, "One wrong move and I'll—"
I know.
"We're well aware of your threat," I interrupt, "But be aware of ours too. We'll let her go without complications, but, if you start any sort of attack, we'll be forced to retaliate. Every one of us have creator magic now, and we'll fight you to the bone. We also have a programmer here which, if need be, will shut off your magic. So, think before you make good on any of your words."
To be honest, I'm rather pleased with my own. My voice sounds stronger than it ever has—confident and smooth. I'm getting practiced at this speech-giving...this leading thing. It's feeling more natural every day, though I wonder if I should get quite the thrill out of this that I am; goosebumps race up my arms, anticipation jumping on my skin and setting it on fire. Will this work? Or will there be a firework show of magic that I'll have to explain to The Gamers later?
"Skip, do what they say," I hear EmeraldCity at my elbow yell over the balcony edge, "I'm coming down."
And I nod. "Take her," I tell Mimi, "And don't forget to stop by the kitchen and get her those cakes."
The freckled girl rolls her eyes, but nods; she looks even more menacing in her uniform. The pair disappears through the door back inside.
...And, then, we wait.
It's an awkward thing, waiting...with far too many eyes darting to mine. I tap my foot, mulling over the possibilities again and trying to will myself not to count the number of people following the girl below. If they decide to be hostile, Joy's by my side, but I'd lied about Dormouse. He's somewhere still inside the mansion. It'd take a while to track him down if we are able to reverse the creator magic for a few, rather than the masses, at all. That'd all been a lie—a bluff. And I'm no good at cards, but it kind of looks like they might be buying it. Skipper shifts her weight from foot to foot as her hand pauses in the air, signaling a hold on the big gun which has come to a rest pointed far above us.
I bite my lip, tasting blood.
Hurry up, Mimi.
Finally, after what feels like forever, Mimi and EmeraldCity break through the door on the lower level, Mimi cringing as she attempts to balance a cake in one hand and the prisoner's arm in the other. The green-haired girl, herself, holds an ornately-iced double-layer cake piped with icing. ...And she's grinning from ear-to-ear; Joy was right, she is a twit.
I let out my breath as Mimi releases EmeraldCity.
I watch the green-haired girl reunite with her sister. There's hugging and, maybe, tears though I can't tell exactly from up here.
And, then—whew. I can breathe again.
Because there's no riot.
No yelling.
No magic.
The group just turns on their heels and retreats...away.
I whip around, trying to screw my head on straight again and count my lucky stars when I catch Joy's glare. I blink at the pink-haired girl, confused. —What?
"Do you just get lucky over and over?" she shakes her head in disgust. "Is that a thing for you? That you're a golden Budda statue or something? Maybe we should all rub your fucking head or stomach."
Her voice is sour as she shoulders past me and back inside, and her words leave me feeling hollow. Joy thinks I'm just lucky? That all this just, falls into my lap because of no effort of my own?
I chew on the inside of my cheek again, recognizing a sinking feeling start in my stomach because...I guess I’m starting to wonder myself...