Chrysalis Ch14: Glass Cages (pt2) (Patreon)

<- previous

         The little orange glow of Neith II's eye circles the bottom of her glass jar.
         The worm presses herself against the edges of her prison, stretches to prod at the lid, then finally rears back and slams against the other side with all of her weight. For the hundredth time, the jar rocks slightly, then settles back into place.
         No progress. No change. No power to do anything about it. She's tried for hours. At this point, it’s little more than an act of rote frustration.
         Neith II slumps irritably in the corner of her little glass enclosure, coiling up in a ball to sulk. Her segments tremble as her stomach rumbles, and she jerks upright, staring down at her body as if she could quell the pang of hunger through sheer force of will. Her orange eyes winks on and off like a traffic light as she gives a slow, exhausted blink. She lowers herself back down to rest. Rest and wait. Watching the disarranged room with that unique exhaustion only hours of boredom can bring.
         There's a soft noise from the trapdoor – footsteps, softly climbing up the ladder. They're slow, but not cautious. The gaps between the shuffling sounds are long, ponderous…
         Tired.
         The trapdoor finally squeaks open as L pushes it up, letting in a sudden wash of light around the room. L’s dress is rumpled, her antennae fall against her head, and her wings are drooping. In her free hand is a small, greasy packet in a cardboard container. Even from the jar, Neith can see the appetising potato strips, gilded from a fryer
         Neith II sits bolt upright, her eye fixed on the treasure and all its implications. She hungrily circles around her enclosure, head turning to keep the packet in view as L lurches up into the room. The trapdoor falls with a heavy thud, and L stretches with a weary groan.
         "Shift's over, Neith, I brought you some chips. We were gonna bin these anyway, so I'm sure it doesn't count as stealing. Not that you'd tell anyway, innit?"
         She waves the packet noncommittally and sets it on the table, right next to the jar. Neith II wiggles back and forth, imitating the shake of the bag, looking aggressively between it and the lid.  L winces a little, looking down at the enclosure.
         "...I'll get you a bigger tank when I can. And when I can get a few locks for it. Hold on."
         L steps around the makeshift privacy curtain strung across the middle of the room. It isn't much; just Selkie's spare dresses and outfits hanging from a line of netting, things they hadn't thought would fit or suit their new user. Making use of them felt better than just tossing them out.
         "Just let me get changed."
         There’s a small thump of protest from beyond the curtain as the jar rocks again.
         "I just need a moment!"
         L calls over her shoulder, picking through the pile of clothes. Most of them seem more appropriate for the stage downstairs, and the last thing she wants to think about now is work. Her hand brushes against a soft, light-blue sleeve - Ian's old hoodie. L lingers there, staring down at the garment, then shoves it away.
         A few minutes later, the 'curtain' twitches aside again, sending a few of the attic crabs scuttling away in protest. L emerges wearing a fresh pair of white socks, her biker shorts she brought from home, and a large slouchy women’s tee that her wings extend out the bottom of. She trudges over to the jar, staring down with heavy-lidded eyes. As she picks up the packet, the flavours of salt and cooling grease set her antennae twitching. It almost feels normal.
         Neith II sits curled in the centre of the jar, clear fluid dripping from her mouth. She straightens up and points her body toward the jar’s lid, looking sidelong at L to see if the nymph’s noticed how politely she’s been waiting.
         "Look, I haven't had it easy, either," L tells the worm, wondering how she should open the jar. If Neith II is even half as fast as she was back in her… swarm… it’s probably wise to take precautions. "Ian's being… I dunno. I don’t know what he's doing. And it was my first day, I don't even know if I did well at it, and then she turned up and said - "
         L's eyes widened.
"Mum and Dad."
         L drops the chips on the desk and bolts across the room, hurrying through the curtain in a swirl of dresses. Neith II flops over on her side, staring dramatically at the lid. Certain she is going to die in this stupid jar.

         Meanwhile, L emerges on Ian's side of the room. It's smaller than her half, with just enough space for a bedroll and a backpack. Unlike the chaotic pile of garments festering around her bed, Ian has neatly folded his clothes in the corner. L knocks them aside in her haste to flips over Ian’s pillow, snatching up the phone half-tucked underneath it. At least he hadn't taken it with him. She jams her finger on the power button.
         For a moment, the only thing she can see is the faint reflection of her own face… and then the phone buzzes on, the screen lighting up. The battery is worryingly low, but she’s surprised to see that it has a full signal. Evidently, someone in the Market carries cell service.
         L traces out the pass pattern Ian's used as long as she's known him, running her finger over the screen in familiar lines. She’s not exactly ordering an after-work pizza for the two of them, but she doesn't think he'd object this time. Almost as soon as the screen dissolves into the smiling face of Ian’s mother, she’s poking at it with short, quick movements, tapping out her father’s number.  
         Up here, in the dark and empty attic, Astraea's assurances ring a little more hollow than they had downstairs. What really was her definition of 'fine'?
         L’s hand trembles as she holds the phone up to her ear. It rings. And rings. And rings. The sound stretches on for what feels like an eternity before the line finally clicks.  
         "... I ... Ian...? What's wrong, is everything alright?" It’s not L’s father, but she catches the worried voice in an instant.
"Mum."  L can hear the relief in her own voice. She sags down on the makeshift bed, suddenly dizzy.  "We're fine. N-nothing's wrong here. Are you okay?"
         "... Y-yes, your father and I are alright. He’s out after new floorboards.”
         “New flo - “ L starts in confusion, but her mother keeps talking. The words are coming out in a rapid tumble.
         "They're c-coming for you L-... L - I’m so sorry, we tried to stop them. W-we should have just killed her, we had the chance. I don’t know how they knew where you are, but-”
         "I know. I know. She was here, Mum." L lets out a tense, shaky sigh. "She was here and - and I told her to leave. And she did. I-I think coming here… I think it… actually worked."
         Her mother pulls up short. "... she left? Just like that?" Before L can answer, her mother continues, a sharper edge of worry replacing the urgency in her voice.
         "W-what happened with your name? Why can't we say L-" She falls silent, cut off by… whatever Trystan’s magic has done. L’s starting to recognize the difference in pronunciation, the way the sound changes between someone trying to say her old name or using her new one. It's still strange to think about. Like it hadn't actually happened. L’s antennae flicker nervously up and down.
         "I… it's complicated. We had to… to make a deal. Um. So I sold it." L’s voice starts to trail off. She swallows, standing up and walking shakily back to her side of the curtain. Neith II can’t be getting any less hungry, and she needs something to take her mind away from imagining her mother’s silent reaction to this conversation.
         "To a bartender,” she continues. “I got a job. We both did. Er, different jobs. But the… person… who runs this place is already mad at her. Astraea can't… do anything without crossing them, and I don't think she wants that." L fumbles with the packet as she feels for the cold, rubbery chips, leaning to pin the phone between her ear and shoulder. "She said she's trying to protect me and that she's taken a room in the hotel. I hope it's expensive."
         "She said something similar to us." Mrs Morgan continues, her voice easing. There’s a pause as she searches for the words. "L, she's dangerous. What do you think she was talking about?"
         "I don't know."
         L rubs at her forehead, opening the jar as carefully as she can. She immediately plugs the gap with chips, dumping them in as quickly as possible. Neith II lunges up - only to be knocked down again by the first wedge of fried potato. The worm gathers herself, shaking her head, before unhinging her jaw and engulfing it. The chip vanishes with worrying speed, leaving no sign that it was ever there to begin with. The alp-luachra methodically moves to the next one as L gives the paper packet a shake, still focused on her mother.
         "Astraea might be making it up. Or she might just be imagining things. I don't care, as long as she stays away from all of us."
         "... I..." Mrs. Morgan starts. L tenses, hearing the note of doubt in her voice. Mrs. Morgan stops, breathes in deeply, and continues. "...I trust you."
         L’s expression softens. She turns away with a smile, taking a grip on the phone again and letting her shoulders relax. "...thanks, Mum. That… thanks." There’s a crackle in her voice. Her mother must have picked up on it. When she answers, her tone is lighter, more cheerful.
         "So what's this new job? You said something about a bartender?"
         L clears her throat, her wings twitching nervously. "Yeah. We're at this...restaurant… club… place. Ian's working with the bartender, and I'm serving. Right now, anyway. I'm supposed to, uh, sing. Later, I mean, when I-I think I can do it."
         "Sing...?" Her mother’s voice says, tilting up with amused curiosity. "Like a performer?"
         "Uh, yeah. There's… it's a lot. This is all a lot, but I think we're handling it."
         The phone buzzes against L's ear, sending painful vibrations up through her antennae. She winces and pulls it away. The battery's almost dead. Now that she knows they're safe… there's actually a lot to catch her parents up on. It's been a busy couple of days. She doesn’t want to cut this off halfway through.
         L frowns and pushes back through the privacy curtain, grabbing up Ian’s charging cable before wandering back to her side of the room. Most of the Glade is lit by lanterns or that otherworldly bioluminescence, but she's almost positive that there’s an electrical outlet near the vanity. If the fae have cell phones, they have to charge them, too.
         "Mum, I need to… um… I need to tell you something." L ducks behind the battered piece of furniture, her expression clearing as she sees a tiny, dusty outlet near the corner. L jabs the charger into it, sighing as the phone screen brightens.
         "With… with everything that's happened, and… the way I am now, it seemed like it might be easier if I just… went with it."
         There’s nothing but silence on the other end. L straightens up, hunching her shoulders, clutching the phone against her face. "B-being...being a girl. I mean - "
         “L, is… that what you want?” Mrs. Morgan’s voice sharpens again. “What kind of job is this, really? Are they forcing you into this? Is your boss still awake? Do I need to come down there?"
"NO!" L stands bolt upright, her wings straining against the sweater in alarm. "N-no. No, it's fine! It's just… it's complicated, right? It was already complicated." She closes her eyes, sighing. "I just wanted… one less complication. That's it."
         Her eyes open again. "Everything's..." L freezes. The top of the jar is lying on the desk, rattling in place, as if it has just been tipped over.
         The glass is empty.
         "...fine."
         "... what does Ian think about all this?" Her mother asks, softening. "Is he there? Is he doing alright? If there's anything either of you need, we'll do whatever we can to bring it for you."
         Moving carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible, L clambers up on top of the vanity, near the jar. It wobbles slightly with her movement. She can barely fit among the cases and brushes, the charging cord forcing her to hunch forward.
         The elaborate performance doesn’t keep L from the conversation. "He's been… good about it. Actually, he’s brought this stuff up. Wanted to make sure I was okay, I think."
         L picks up the jar with one hand, flipping it around so she's holding the solid glass container like a club. Her eyes scan over the room, trying to pick out the telltale orange spotlight.
         "He's… fitting in, actually. I think he really likes it here. He's just..." A sudden scurry of movement catches her eye. L raises the jar - but it's just a crab, picking its way through a gap in the floorboards. Her eyes narrow, and she shakes her head, pushing it from her mind. She continued, trying to keep her breath steady. "He's being a little weird, I guess. Like he doesn't think I can manage things."
         "... weird?" Her mother's voice intones. A faint flash of orange catches the corner of L’s eye, dancing in the shadows, but it’s gone as soon as she focuses on it. "Is he acting more differently now than in the past? You've always been a bit…” Mrs. Morgan chooses the word carefully. “...Delicate.”
         "Delica - Mum."

L shifts her balance, trying to keep track of all the dark nooks and crevices in the room. A sudden thought strikes her, and she darts a panicked glance at the privacy curtain. All the clothes it’s made out of. All those sleeves and loose spaces and pockets.
Burning it probably isn't practical, but...
         "But… he is, a bit. Like, he always wanted to - handle things, I suppose, but now it's like he thinks I'm going to..." The desk wobbles again. L hastily kicks out a leg and braces it against the wall. "...tip over and break. I’m fully capable of getting takeaway!"
         "Hmmmm...." Mrs. Morgan hums to herself. L can hear her tapping her toe. It’s easy to imagine her looking up at the ceiling in thought. "... Did he start acting like that after he discovered you were… different? Or after you decided to, uh, ’go with the girl thing’?"
         Something clatters across the floor, tubes of liquid liner bouncing over the floorboards.  L spin-shuffles to track the motion, the phone nearly tugging out of her hands, her elbow scattering more cosmetics.
         "Just now." L raises the jar alarmingly quickly, her heart pounding. There’s nothing there. "Th-that's… that can’t be it, can it?"
         The silence that follows says volumes. When Mrs. Morgan finally breaks it, her words are again diplomatic. "Men are just... like that, sometimes. They don't mean to - well, some might. But not a boy like Ian. Ian's probably just..." She trails off.
         The jar lowers. L's shoulders slump. "... I thought we could go get dinner tonight, and instead he tried to go find food on his own." L says, a little hopelessly. "I mean, I know I've only been here one time, but that's one more than he has. And I-I'm the one who sorta knows all this stuff, right? No, wait. It’s dangerous to be thinking like that.”
         The glass thunks softly onto the desktop as she settles down, staring glumly at the barrier of clothes. "We’ve already had a fight about it,” L continues. “I’m just making things worse. It’s all too much change, too fast."
         There's a soft laugh on the other side, hurriedly followed by an apology. "... oh, no no no, sweetheart. I don't... think he's wanting to avoid you. It's more like... you know in those stories you like, how there's always a princess that needs saving?"
         “Not always…” L mutters, rubbing at the back of her head.
         "Well, often, then.” Her mother says, a little briskly. “Living as a woman, there's a lot of things like that. Roles, expectations, the ways people will talk to and think about you. There are bits you'll need to get used to. And some surprises like... this, I suppose."
         "...oh." L adjusts her grip on the phone, trying to get comfortable. She carefully pushes some of the makeup aside, making space for herself. “Is he ever going to stop?"
         "Well…” Mrs. Morgan says, doubt in her tone.  “... he likely doesn’t know that he’s doing it. You could try reminding him that you're still the same person you were before. You're both equal partners in this. Take your father and I. We help each other, but we're still our own people.
         “You're an adult, L." Mrs. Morgan pauses, weighing her words. "We worry, but you've done more for yourself in the last few days than we managed in twenty-odd years."
         L sits upright, her antennae flopping over her eyes. "Mum, that's not - that's not true. You took care of me. I-I couldn't have done any of this as a child - "
         Something rattles nearby. She turns her head, leaning up against the illuminated frame of the mirror. Nothing. L clears her throat."So you're saying I have to tell him I...can handle things? How do I do that if he doesn't -” There’s a light touch against L’s back. Surprisingly soft. L freezes. Slowly, she turns her head. " - even listen?"
         Neith II is perched gently on her shoulder, looking curiously up at her. A few crumbs cling to the sides of her mouth, along with something that looks suspiciously like a fragment of crab. L's arm wavers. Slowly...slowly...she lifts the jar.
         The alp-luachra’s head bobs gently, seemingly unaware of the impending doom hovering over her. She lets out a tiny yawn, stretching her jaws wide before settling down in a tight circle. L blinks, then lowers the jar again, setting it down softly on the desk. She cautiously reaches up with a fingertip, scratching at Neith II's back. A little ripple runs through the creature’s skin.
         "I'm saying that you ARE handling things." Mrs. Morgan says, a faint undertone of worry in her voice.
         Suddenly, someone raps at the trapdoor. Neith II circles around to L’s other shoulder worryingly quickly, protectively hugging her neck as Ian calls out from the ladder.
         "’Oi mate, we're back. You up there? Trystan and I sorta went overboard on dinner, hope you’re hungry."
         "Just a moment!" L calls down, covering the phone. A small smile flickers to life on her face. The alp-luachra lets out an aggressive series of clicks and chirps in the direction of Ian’s voice. L speaks back into the phone.
         "Thanks, Mum." L's antennae lift. She goes back to patting Neith II, slowly calming the creature down. "I’ll…I’ll just have to show him, then. I think I can do that."
         "Of course you can." Mrs. Morgan affirms. "... And call me any time. I might not know much about what it’s like to be a fae..."
         "... but I have plenty of experience with being a girl."

continue reading ->

+++++++++++

Thanks for reading along!   
Be sure to check in Friday June 3rd to read
Ch15: Performance Anxiety (pt1)