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maura-alair-blog · 7 years

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The Awkward Luncheon | 001

The clamor in the hallway was boisterous; and around their trio, calamity seemingly took hold. From the jocks wild whoops to the shrieks of gossiping primadonnas, the slender and crowded space was understandably uncomfortable. For three, complex individuals especially, this atmosphere consisted of only the most repulsive of teenage displays; the over-ripened belly of young, vociferous hormones.

While Samara Mier found this rumpus obnoxious and distasteful, one of her two dearest friends, Maura Tomory would beg to argue against her negativity in hopes of keeping them in line. Always eager to stay “out of trouble”, she’d rather have their party endure the annoying quell of the Math Wing just before lunch break than sneak off to enjoy a moment’s peace away from the redundant, adolescent mess.

“You’re not dragging me up to the roof again,” the blonde stated, lashes batting shut as her arms folded beneath the swell of her breasts in defiance. “Not after last time. Not after I had to suffer through one of Mr. Darling’s detentions.”

At this, the elder girl couldn’t help but smile and attempting to hide her amusement, cocked her head away from her two, obnoxious friends; though, only scarcely could she manage to hide the tilt of rosy lips from their insistent eyes. The pressing concern of their immediate exit now rode solely on her shoulders.

From the corner of her vision, Maura notice Samara snort behind her hand and it was all she could do to keep from stomping her foot in opposition. “It’s not funny, Sam.”

It had been funny, however. The memory of wiping down chalkboards and washing out chemistry equipment was respectably, a fond and amusing one. For hours, they’d made jokes about the old, perverted teacher and had taken advantage of their alone time; making fun out of something that should have been quite dull and tedious. But still, he had stated that he, “knew their secret”, and that it would be, “wise of them to keep away”, which Maura could only perceive as meaning that the sour, geezer would be prompt in checking the location more often.

Before, their impromptu sanction had been safe. None of the school’s staff had ever gotten curious enough to check for delinquents on the rooftop. After all, the set of stairs that let up was locked and off limit to students, making the venture of relative challenge. Of course, such a complication hadn’t stopped Pia from keeping their small group away. Trained in the art of lock-picking, she’d easily managed, time and time again to break through the elementary device that kept the rest of the student-population from wandering the flat, open roof.

“This place is horrid,” the gangly red-head complained, her hands pulling dramatically at her hair; an act of displaying her sheer disapproval, however silly and over-blown it was. “I mean, just look,” she started and lazily motioned down the hall at a scene Maura hadn’t yet noticed. “It’s like you’re forcing us to watch all of this garbage continue to rot in its own filth. And instead of just agreeing that maybe the roof would be better than this, I now feel compelled to watch that pipsqueak of a girl down there get pushed around by a douche-bag party of Sophomores.”

Turning her head now to face what Samara had been pointing to, Maura felt her lips turn in disgrace. Not too far away, two, awkwardly shaped boys stood over a girl much smaller and fragile than themselves. Their mouths were twisted maliciously as they spoke to her and though they made no physical move towards the petite brunette, Maura could sense their cruel intent as well as the stranger’s discomfort. Why nobody had rescued the girl from the distressing situation, the blonde couldn’t fathom. Even Samara, who had been watching for moments now, hadn’t felt compelled to step forward and speak up. Was it that nobody was brave enough to confront such mean-spirited people? Or was it that all of the eyes watching felt that aiding somebody so obviously weak would only be a futile effort? Small, pale hands fisting at her sides, Maura stepped forward and in response, Samara sighed.

Turning to her close friend, the red-head slapped the other’s paw, trying to coax her into acting quickly before their companion had a chance to make her move. The eldest girl had such an inflated sense of justice, it was often misguided, directed towards issues she couldn’t fix. In many attempts to fulfill her ideals, Maura would inadvertently render situations more convoluted than they’d been before her help. And though it was a beautiful sense of righteousness that fueled her friend’s actions, Samara knew the faults in her comrade’s angelic displays. Perhaps, she was just too passionate; nothing had ever swayed her from doing as she saw virtuous and fit.

This was no different. And by the way the blonde’s deep blues flashed with integrity and a moralistic sense of devotion, Samara knew that they were already in over their heads. If anybody could stop Maura from acting on her heart, it would be Pia; though the red-head knew well that when it came to Maura’s heart, there was no defying it. Their chances in avoiding this rectification of a stranger’s pride was unavoidable now that she’d stupidly gone and drawn attention to it.

It seemed as though they wouldn’t be heading to the roof after all.

“We can’t just let them get away with it,” the blonde stated, her tone low and warm with frisked excitement. “You two can go on without me,” she told them, though she knew they wouldn’t. And before she could let Samara croak out a, “stop”, or listen to anything that would only be interpreted as judgement from Pia, Maura hurried off to play martyr for some stranger they’d never before met.

Scoffing as their friend left their side, Samara rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Elbowing her counterpart gently, she teasingly said, “Think she’s only doing it because that pussy looks tight?” and snorted as she reared her head away, unable to watch the source of her passion slip off to protect somebody so obviously inept. Biting down on her tongue, Samara tried to choke down the gale it would take to play nice when Maura inevitably brought that pretty, helpless thing back with her.

“I was watching for a moment, trying to understand what it was exactly you two thought you were doing,” she started, grabbing hold of one of the boy’s arms and forcing him to turn. “But you were hurting this girl and I can’t stand by and let that happen.” Though her voice was still and calm there was ice about it, an edge to catch the attention of the bullies. “You truly picked a terrible day for this little display.” A smile snuck upon the blonde’s lips and content with their confused expressions she added, “Oh, my parents you see are great friends with the principle here,” she convincingly lied; an air of obvious confidence around the girl made it difficult to ignore her claims. “All that’s needed is a word from me, and you two will be expelled from this academy. Expelled before you even have notice enough to tell your mother and father that once again, their son has gone and disappointed them and that as parents, they’re failing terribly.”

As they backed slowly away from the darling girl behind them, Maura managed to smile softly at her through the open space and brought up a hand to wave warmly. Already, the senior girl knew that she’d won this petty battle. As far as she could manage to gather, the simpletons were on the verge of being expelled anyway, and their dumb expressions only did to solidify the nature of their ways. The type to ignore their studies, both of two’s mothers were probably already eager to wring both their necks for terrible grades, detentions and calls from the administrator’s office alike. A complaint that they’d been caught bullying a defenseless, young girl wouldn’t do them any justice and their receding steps down the hall forced a knowing grin upon the blonde’s lips. Once more, she was triumphant.

Stepping forward now, nose tilted and eyes watching curiously, Maura offered the stranger an apologetic smile and felt her cheeks turn warm. “Those two were only idiots,” she explained and shrugged. “You don’t deserve to catch any word of their stupidity. And certainly, I hope you haven’t taken anything they’ve said to heart.” Running the tip of her tongue along the belly of her lower lip, the blonde thought only momentarily before a small, quirked grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I’d really like your lunch period to go smoothly after that encounter you just underwent.” Playing distractedly at the hem of her dress, Maura asked, “Perhaps you’d like to eat with my friends and I? There’s this quaint spot that’s all our own and well, it’s at least away from all of this noise. You might feel a bit more comfortable there than with them?” Raising a brow, she gestured dully around, pointing out the obviously idiotic, hyper-activity of their peers.

#para #001

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ecotone99 · 5 years

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[SP] Artisan Grove, Part 1

Father and sons sat around a steadily burning bonfire, listening to the snap and crackle of the wood as it popped under pressure and heat. The boys had gathered the firewood from the wood pile outside of their cabin; not quite the woodsy, do it yourself experience that camping was supposed to be, but close enough for future leaders of the "free" world.

Having the full experience of gathering deadfall and chopping wood probably would have suited the boys better, or at least left them too tired for petty squabbles. As it was, the older had picked up the smaller pieces of firewood and whipped them at the younger, prompting a fight that ended only when the younger went crying to their father for mercy.

After not even a full 24 hours with his sons, Warren was heartily tired of the experiences that came hand-in-hand with being a father. He preferred to let his boys grow up at a respectable distance, getting involved only when it was absolutely necessary to scare one or both of them back on the path he wanted them to take. An irresponsible approach to fatherhood, perhaps, but he was more concerned with the numbers in his bank accounts than showing his boys how to be men. (Arguably, he would have had to be a "real man" to pass that trait onto his sons, but such vices had been bleached out of him by Spite and Greed and Pride.)

With night slowly descending over a day full of shouts, squeals, and squabbles, the two boys finally seemed to be settling down. Warren was grateful for the quiet. If they'd been anywhere else in the world, he would have had their mother - or, more realistically, a small army of nannies - handle the messy details of raising the children, but Artisan Grove was no place for women.

Many of the men who converged on the redwood forest for their summer shenanigans knew the saying - weaving spiders come not here - but few of them understood what was really at stake.

All of them knew women weren't welcome in the grove after 9 or 10pm. Most of them probably assumed it had something to do with some of their more compromising rituals, but none had ever stopped to ask themselves /why/ they dressed up like they did and indulged in the kinds of things that had caused one of the Presidents of the United States to say: "The Artisan Grove, which I attend from time to time — it is the most faggy goddamned thing you could ever imagine."

There was a joke hidden in the statement - faggy doesn't only mean gay - but from whatever angle you studied the words, you could find some flavoring of truth.

Warren had just grown complacent in the quiet when Tommy, the younger boy, piped up: "Dad! Owen won't stop poking me! Quit it!" He swatted at his older brother, who was wielding a marshmallow roasting stick like a weapon.

Warren didn't try to swallow his sigh. "Enough, both of you," he said darkly. "Brothers don't behave like this." Had he been considering it from another perspective, he may have seen the similarities in the way his sons treated each other and the way his Free Thinker brothers treated one another. Their weapons were sharper and their wars more complicated - over things that were no less stupid - but in the end, they were all little boys poking one another with roasting sticks.

The boys fell into a grumbling, troublesome silence, and Warren had the sense he could either step in and get his hands dirty or watch his peaceful night dissolve into yet more shouts, squeals, and squabbles. "Neither of you have heard the story of Boaz and Jachin, have you?"

Owen muttered something under his breath about how he'd rather be playing on his gameboy, but Tommy was more eager to prove his worth to his father. "They're the two pillars, aren't they?" He piped up.

"Yes," Warren agreed, "but what does that mean?" Blessed silence answered him, at least at first. Then...

"They're what stands in front of the Free Thinker lodge you're always going to," his older son muttered. There were equal amounts of resentment and accusation in his voice, but he was nearing 13. If he was anything like his older cousins had been during their years as a teen - worse than the terrible twos because they were harder to ignore as teenagers - resentment and accusation were the least of his parents' worries.

Warren didn't expect either of his boys would truly come to appreciate the importance of lodge business until they entered college, so he didn't directly answer his older son's sullenness over his frequent absences. Instead, he said, "Boaz came first. Or, more accurately, our brotherhood found Boaz first..."

"You found a pillar?" Tommy asked, sounding like he couldn't imagine why that would be so important.

"No," his father chuckled. "The pillar is a symbol of what Boaz used to be... Of what generations upon generations of Free Thinkers turned Boaz into." He looked up at the sky. "I think it's too late to see Mercury now, but -- our origins aren't strictly on this planet."

The younger son still didn't seem to understand, but Owen was suddenly paying attention. He even straightened up on his chair, abandoning the lounging posture that Warren privately felt had been calculated to irritate him. (Which was why he hadn't said anything about it.) "Are you saying we're aliens?"

Warren chuckled. "In a sense, yes, but I prefer to think of our ancestors as travelers -- visionaries, really." They were so much less than visionaries, but men had been well trained to inflate their own egos and personal histories. Not even Warren fully understood why Boaz and then Jachin had fallen as they had, like pins in a cosmically slow bowling game.

But then, that was the trap in being part of the Free Thinkers' Society. You bought into the free part of it without ever comparing your lot to the 'free men' living Blind, Deaf, and Dumb in the 'real world.' Teach a human to look down on those like her or him, and you taught that human to look down on themselves.

"Was Mercury Boaz or Jachin?" Tommy's voice was quiet with what Warren decided to interpret as awe.

"Boaz," his father supplied. "The Father of religion." Not religion as humans knew it, of course, but the sloppy origins of a sloppy group of time travelers who were trying to establish their past alongside their present.

The first step for any time traveler trying to build a foundation for their past was to get their 'past selves' to pledge allegiance to their 'future selves,' and that's easily done using religion. We are all one is a similar kind of trick, convincing independent souls they're just one part of the collective meant to build a better future for someone better than they believed themselves to be. It was like trying to convince a mountain that it was a stepping stone, but if you skewed the soul's perspective well enough you just might manage it... For a little while.

It's a kind of malicious compliance to the concept known as informed consent, but doing it that way has a nasty habit of creating paradoxes and other time instabilities. Once the timeline becomes too fragile to sustain itself, it collapses. The trick is controlling where, when, how, and why civilization collapses and having the right people in the right places to rebuild. The Free Thinkers' Society would not be what it is today if they hadn't perfected the art of being in the right place at the right time, but even an Olympic runner trips every now and then.

The joke is that you're kept so busy trying to rebuild the crumbling, sand-like quality of your past, you fail to put anything worthwhile in your future. (The real joke is that Free Thinkers aren't in the future. They're a tool being used by the future to prune the past, bonsai style, and like a tool all of their hard work inevitably benefits somebody else.)

"That means Mars was Jachin," Owen said. His father was pleased to See he wasn't thinking about the gameboy he'd sneaked along in his backpack anymore.

"The Father of establishment," he agreed. "Mars was named for Earth's God of War for a reason." Maybe that was why it didn't last for much longer than Boaz, despite being a larger planet in most dimensions.

"Why did we leave," Tommy wanted to know.

His father hesitated. "There are some things you won't understand until you're older," he said. There were some secrets that he couldn't teach his sons -- at least, not until after they'd gone through the necessary initiation rites. Necessary only because they tied the men together in their shared vices and depravities, introducing them to the cutthroat world of secrets, blackmail, and most of all lies.

The fire was starting to burn low, though the meaty log at its center was still closer to wood than coal. "Will we have to leave Earth, eventually?" Tommy asked in a small voice. "Where will we go next?"

Warren could only shrug his shoulders. Such things were outside of his jurisdiction, but he didn't want to admit to his sons that he wasn't as powerful as he liked to pretend. Free Thinkers were funny in that way; like the Americanized karate belt, it was easy to reach Master status among the brotherhood... But there were many levels inside of that Mastery, and very limited means of rising to true power. Most aimed for the reality and had to settle for the illusion. "We'll just have to find another planet," was all he could say to his youngest son. "But don't worry. The Earth is a long ways away from ending."

Another lie, deliberately told. The end of the world is always lurking just around the corner, different for every man, woman, and child who'd been born waiting for it to happen.

Perhaps Tommy sensed the lie, because his face screwed up like a prune and he began to weep. "I don't want to leave," he blubbered. "I love the Earth!"

Warren was alarmed. The boy was crying loudly enough for his brothers in nearby cabins to hear, and wouldn't that be a humiliating story to tell? "Hey, hey now..." he groaned his way to his feet - it'd been a more active day, physically speaking, than he was used to - and went to put his arm around his youngest son. "Didn't you hear me? The Earth isn't going to end."

But the boy was full on into hysterics, and all that Warren could do was look at Owen for help. The smug little bastard just smirked at him and started poking at the fire with his roasting stick. After several moments of crying, and a soggy shirt besides, Warren finally stepped up to the role of fatherhood. "Look. Tommy, look up. You see the moon?"

A watery "uh-huh" was the best the boy could do for an answer.

"That's where we'll go, if things go poorly on Earth."

"The moon?" Owen asked scornfully.

"Yes, Owen," Warren snapped. "The moon goes wherever the brotherhood goes. When we leave Earth, we'll always have a place on the moon."

Somewhere nearby, an owl hooted in an eerie imitation of laughter, but Tommy believed him enough to sniffle his way out of his tears. "You promise?" When Warren solemnly said that he did, his youngest son held out his pinky finger. "Pinky swear?"

Another joke, but one that Warren was happy to indulge the boy in. So they pinky swore that they would go to the moon when the Earth ended, and they ended the night contemplating how and when it would happen and what color Tommy wanted his spacesuit to be -- never realizing that, as always, apocalypse was waiting ever patiently in their future.

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