Fowlhunter [GL]

As night began to fall, the Shifting Sands admitted a gold-haired woman into its shadows.

The air was thick with the smell of liquor, incense, and smoke. Shedding her cloak, Jemi Garen weaved through the throngs of people. Sweaty drunkards, gyrating bodies, the odd scuffle that the bouncers stopped before they could break out into full fights. In the front, on a raised platform with sloping stairs carved to resemble dunes, dancers pranced in fluttering sashes. Loud music pounded in her ears, whilst kaleidoscopic lights strobed over the crowd, submerging them in flamingo-red, then neon yellow, then fluorescent-orange. Jemi was grateful that she wasn’t like her more photosensitive peers.

Jemi hadn’t been here in a good while. In fact, the last time she had been to a bar was all the way back in Wataron, when she had been quenching her thirst—ahem, gathering information while on the search for the freshly-exiled Ennanis Zoleil. That had been a long time ago. Only two months… but it felt like another time altogether.

Trying to compare the Shifting Sands to that nondescript small-town bar, however, was like comparing a castle to a dilapidated shack. After all, this wasn’t just any old bar—it was the biggest, most infamous establishment in Archizoun. People travelled to the western kingdom just to visit this place. The Sands named itself as a bar, but it was hardly a well-kept secret that it was also a brothel. If one looked past the plumes of coloured smoke and fan-circulated mist, you could see one of the twirling dancers break away from the group to loop their hands around the arm of some patron, leading them down one of the tunnels in the back.

The Shifting Sands had a deeply seedy reputation. All sorts of rumours surrounded the place, and were some of them proven true, the law would’ve immediately had the place shut down. But with how much gold the tavern brought in, and how many angels themselves participated in the Shifting Sands’ nightlife, the reports went quite deliberately uninvestigated. Whatever happened within these walls drowned within it like it was quicksand, swallowed whole, never to be seen again.

Was there something she could do about it? Jemi had learnt early on that she could not help everyone—so she would focus on helping only those closest to her. She told herself that she was trying her best, that it was the only thing she could do. Letting people die so she could help her friends. Making people die so she could help her friends. She didn’t admit to herself that somewhere along the way, she had become like the very angels she despised: using her power only for what she cared about, while turning a blind eye on those who happened to get in the way.

Ennanis was not one of those angels. She knew Ennanis Zoleil would’ve done something about it, just like she had insisted upon back on the Amethyst Volcano. For nine years the Cockatrice had showed her betrayal and death and suffering. For longer, her peers had pushed her away and kept her at the fringes of society. But Ennanis’ heart had stayed pure. It was improbable. Like a page of paper that had been dredged through ink and stayed unsullied.

Ennanis had called herself heartless, but Jemi had never known someone with a truer heart than hers. She was all that Jemi could never be. Someone like Ennanis was designed to stand on opposite ends from her.

I’m on your side, Jemi.

“.......” Jemi exhaled, rolling her shoulders. All this standing around was making her aches flare up. She needed to dosomething. Striding up to the bar, she slipped onto a stool, finding the least aggravating position for her body to couch into. Then, she brushed her gold hair over her shoulder, gazing at the menu. She didn’t bother reaching for her coinpouch.

Two minutes later, someone asked her, “Looking for someone, love?”

Jemi glanced back. It was a human woman. She had short, stripe-dyed hair and arms of tattoos, displayed proudly as she leaned on the counter next to Jemi. The woman was shorter than her, but she cut an imposing figure, flattered by the low lights of the disco. Her grin was pearly, her lipstick red and full. She was undeniably attractive.

“How about I get you something from there?” She gestured to the menu she was looking at.

Jemi wasn’t really paying attention as she pointed. The woman laughed and said something. The woman paid, and the bartender handed some drink to Jemi. Jemi received it, and downed it without a second thought.

The dye-haired woman laughed again, sounding visibly impressed. She ordered another round of shots. Jemi didn’t mind; she needed to stay alert in order to toy with the immortal prince, but more than anything she needed something to drown out the sensation in her joints. The other woman continued to talk, but the bar music was loud, and Jemi wasn’t listening. Crossing her legs on the stool, she swirled her shotglass. Her eyes slid over the woman’s muscles, which were curvaceous and well-defined—but then her mind dipped, plunging into another night:

Coarse hands holding her down to the gilded roof of a temple. Warm palms, stiff gold armbraces. Hot breath on her neck. Slitted gold eyes that devoured her, fingers that gripped her hips, creeping under her skirt-

“I need to get laid,” Jemi muttered aloud.

Mid-speech, the woman’s train of words ground to a halt. Jemi didn’t even blink.

“Well, aren’t you demanding.” The woman’s dark lashes fluttered, her red lips split in a luscious grin—then her face was up close, murmuring over her skin. Her hand moved to rest on Jemi’s thigh, her other around her waist, but all Jemi could think about was how they weren’t as warm as hers; about how the girl couldn’t see the line of bruises down her jaw, concealed by make-up; how the way she kissed was all hunger, not like—

Jemi broke them off, gasping, pushing herself away with more force than intended. The other woman’s barstool careened backwards. Jemi’s reflexes shot out, a wisp of Lunaki curling around the chair leg, stabilising the chair before it could topple. Fortunately, in the dimness, the silver sparkles falling from the legs of the stool looked a trick of the light.

“I’m sorry,” Jemi said, awkwardly.

The dye-haired woman shook her head understandingly. “Don’t be. I know a chick who’s still hung up about someone when I see one.” She waved a tattooed hand, smiling. “Whoever it is must be very lucky. My advice? Get with them, already. Life’s too short to spend it all running.”

The woman disappeared back into the crowd. Jemi watched her go with dark violet eyes. Then, slipping her hands into her pockets, she turned back to the bar, nursing the taste of her last shot on her tongue.

“Lucky?” she chuckled mirthlessly to herself. More like the exact opposite.

If Ennanis Zoleil had never met her, hadn’t walked past her cell that night, she would have continued on her path as the Golden Rose, the prodigious eighteen-year-old Commander. She would’ve never joined the Graveyard, nor ever been exiled from Mount Casca. She would’ve no doubt become an extraordinary Warden, perhaps taken on disciples of her own. And then eventually earned her place in Paradise. A smooth, easy path. The path she’d been meant for.

I have never regretted anything like I regret you. But… I can’t go back now. And I wouldn’t.

Maybe I just want to save the world together with you.

It didn’t help that the angel was deluded, of course, but Jemi didn’t have to entertain those delusions. She waved the bartender over again.

“I saw you just now, lady. You sure can hold your booze, for someone so light-looking!” remarked the bartender, whistling as he ambled over. “Would you like to try some of our wines? We’ve got a good selection.”

“No wine please, thanks,” Jemi said dryly. “Just get me a large cider. Hard cider.”

The bartender came back with a handle. He barely spared a glance at Jemi when she began pouring it out for just herself. Where at other bars they would’ve asked if she was okay, at least they didn’t ask any questions at the Sands. Jemi sipped at the cider. It tasted like sawdust, but it was definitely strong. She drank as she watched the dancers in the back, looking at everything and nothing.

She was down half the handle when Theseus arrived. She knew he was here because of all the racket he stirred up. The moment he swaggered down the sandstone stairs, the crowd swarmed him like sardines. It was mainly women who shook their hips and flaunted their chests at him, while others waved and clapped and sang, fighting tooth-and-nail to get a sliver of his attention. They didn’t go completely ignored; the prince strolled leisurely, taking his time in appreciating the provocative sights around him. He, meanwhile, was decked out like a peacock—head to toe in patterned silks, so bodacious that one got the feeling you could’ve spotted him all the way from Wataron, and Jemi realised she needn’t have worried about outshining someone like that. Jemi herself was wearing a tight black tunic, side-pleated skirt and stockings—earthy colours, aside from the crimson of her scarf.

It was via their active communication charm that Theseus located her, sitting by the bar with her cider.

“Lady Phaedra!” he called out. “You got started without me?”

“It was you who kept me waiting,” Jemi said airily. This wasn’t true. Jemi had come earlier than agreed upon to scout out the place. She also didn’t want Theseus to get here first and lay his fickle eyes upon his other potential suitors. She needed the man—just not in the way that he might’ve expected.

Rakishly, Theseus grinned as he pulled out the stool next to hers, like that dye-haired woman had done. The wreath of celery laurels still rested upon his head, oiled leaves catching the turning lights of the tavern. “I didn't know you were that excited to see me, princess.”

“Try to keep up,” Jemi raised her glass at him.