Sentinel Green 2.4

Wisteria 2.4

I’m drowning. I’m drowning and falling at the same time, but the bottom line is fear and I can’t breathe.

I snap awake in a jolt, kicking my chair which screams briefly across the floor before toppling. My heart is flinging itself against my ribs and for a gut-wrenching moment I have no idea where I am. Again.

It floods back to me as I jerk around to take in my surroundings. On the floor. Apartment. Bed--empty bed. Empty?

“Hello?” I call out, my voice a great deal less composed than I wanted it to be. Not a second later I hear the sounds of someone else in the apartment with me and leap to my--ouch, sleeping--feet.

The door to the bathroom pops a little as it opens, and there she is. My chest flutters with relief--I don't know what I had thought… maybe that magical girls evaporated into thin air when they died? Regardless I'm beyond happy to see her walking around.

“Morning,” she says, perhaps a little uncertainly.

“Oh--hey! You’re--how are you? Are you still…” I say, faltering a little over my words.

I pause. She certainly doesn’t look hurt. In fact, she looks great. Hair done, an outfit that’s not a pierced, bloodied corset, and… is she even wearing eyeshadow? Where the heck did she find these things in my sparsely-furnished and stocked apartment?

I decide to ask. “Uh, did you have a change of clothes on you I didn’t catch earlier?” Or is it magic? That’s my lingering, unasked question.

“The clothes and makeup are all magic,” she replies. “I don’t think I could put on makeup without stabbing myself in the eye or looking like a clown.” She chuckles softly at that, and the sound is pleasant--it sends a warm rush through my center. It doesn't last, though. She frowns a little a moment later and I find myself wanting to make her laugh again. She turns back to the bathroom, leaning over just enough to reach something inside it. “By the way, seeing as I don’t need it anymore...” She emerges from the restroom and tosses something my way.

I make a solid effort to catch the item--the shirt, but fail and it falls to the ground. Well, that’s a comfort. Even as a guy I’m terrible at catching shit. I pick it up, expecting to see blood and gore, but it’s clean. I frown at the shirt and then look back to her. “Did you wash this? You did an amazing job if so.”

She smiles at me and the expression makes me automatically smile back. "No, apparently things I wear, as well as myself are made clean.  I don't know how often it happens, but it's happened twice since I changed.  Useful, but I don't know how to control it.” She pauses, then adds, “The bandages in your sink are also clean."

“That’s… wow.” I shake my head and try to cook up a joke--she’s better than Oxyclean! She’s… I can’t come up with a pun off her name because...

“What’s… wow, I never asked. What’s your name?” I finally inquire, startled that it’s taken me this long to ask.

“You want my name with the ribbons or without?” she responds smoothly.

    “Either, both? Whatever you want me to call you,” I reply, not feeling half as composed.

She pauses for a second before answering. “Well, you can call me Maeve then.” Then she snorts. “Because ‘Guardian of the Void, Quasar Black!’ doesn’t really suit itself to casual conversation, and I figure if you’re doing me a solid like this you deserve more than the title.” There’s levity in that, which is a relief for me, but then that frown is back. “I… if I’m being honest,” she starts, haltingly, “I could use all the friends I can get right now.”

That tugs right on the heartstrings. God, can I relate to that statement. I tend to go quiet and retreat into my head a little, but I force myself not to this time. “Same here,” I murmur, then clear my throat. “Alright. Maeve it is.”

“What about you?” she asks suddenly, taking me off guard. “I don’t suppose you actually are a Harry?”

I open my mouth and form the first part of an “A” for my real name before I grind to a screeching halt. Nope, can’t give out my real name like I’m still the old me--not when I have no idea who might be looking for a guy claiming to be called “Ash” fitting my description out there. But now I’m left with my brain stalling out and seconds crawling by. Shit.

“... Riley,” I say, a little slowly, exactly the way someone would when they’re giving a fake name. Double shit. Trying to change the subject, I add, “Or…” And then I have to pause again. Crap, I don’t know my magical name. Is it noun-color? Is that the naming convention there? A flash of green blinks across my vision, maybe a hint… but that wasn’t very helpful. Guardian Green? No, no. Maybe flip it? Green Guardian? That sounds like a D-list superhero. Defender Green? God, so horrible.

“Sentinel Green. Uh. Keeper of the…” what was it? “... Glen and… and glade. … Sorry, I’m floundering here if you couldn’t tell,” I huff out, turning a little red.

Maeve just… kind of blinks at me, and if possible, I feel my face darken even more. “Holy shit, you are just as new as me.  I thought you were just inexperienced, but you haven’t even figured out your name yet.” She gives me a pointed look. “And don’t tell me Riley’s the name your mother gave you.”

I give her an apologetic smile. “It’s… it’s not. There are some… sort of complicated things going on in my old life right now that makes my real name sort of… not a great idea, anymore.” I deflate a little. I’d picked Riley on a whim, liking it because it was similar to my birth name--one that could be genderless. I don’t know how much to divulge, and taper off there.

“Fucking puchuu,” She snarls. “Seems like they give their new recruits a raw deal all around.”

“Yes,” I groan in agreement. “Okay, so he’s universal, then.” Why is that a shocker? It shouldn’t be.

“I don’t know if he’s universal, but he seemed to speak as if he was part of an... organization? Cabal?” She furrows her brow again, like she’s fishing for something in her mind, and even though it’s a frown, I find it more pleasant than her upset-frown. Her quizzical look is much more endearing. “What do you call a conspiracy of unnatural critters that transform people into magical soldiers?”

I snort at that, appreciating the wry humor. “The Magical Mafia? The Puchuu Posse?” There's really nothing funny about it, but the companionship is still nice.

My smile fades a little as the moment passes, though, and I run a hand through my hair and across the stubble growing on my face. “Well. From one Puchuu victim to another, you’re welcome here whenever you need it. I--” I pause. If she’s new to this lifestyle, what sort of issues has she been running into? Maybe I shouldn’t pry. “I’m not sure what your situation is like, but I know at least most of this shit isn’t easy. Maybe we can help each other out.”

She’s giving me a look that borders on neutral but… isn’t, somehow. I’ve never been completely great at reading expressions, but for some reason, I can tell that what I’ve said has reached her, somehow. I have no idea how I know, but… I know.

“I appreciate the offer, Riley.”  She hesitates for a moment, and I think this must be it--she’s going to let me down easy, push on without me. It surprises me when she finishes with, “but I don’t think I have a whole lot of choice right now.  My family doesn’t recognize me like this and I’m not sure if the allies who were going to let me crash with them are even alive after last night’s clusterfuck.”

There’s a stretching, poignant pause between us and her voice has a waver in it when she finally concludes her thought. “Like I said earlier, I can use all the friends I can get and as of right now, you’re all I’ve got.  I don’t want to be a burden.”

You’re all I’ve got--the words hurt, and I hurt in turn for her. I keep it off my face somehow, intuiting she wouldn’t take well to what might be misconstrued for pity. “You won’t be a burden,” I say simply. “At all. You’ll be--a blessing, really. I’ve… I haven’t got anyone, either. I’d… like you to stay,” I finally level, making it official and not roundabout.

And again, I find I’m starting to be able to read this strange, indestructible girl--she may have healed from her would-be fatal wounds, but there’s deeper hurt there--and it’s much, much harder to heal.

I want to reach out to offer her some kind of comfort, but what would be appropriate? Something inside tells me just a simple hand to the shoulder wouldn’t be too much, so that’s what I do, gently and reassuringly as I can. “So,” I say, clearing my throat a little around emotion and empathy. “I guess you’re my new roomie.”

At first I worry I did the wrong thing--she’s quiet and still for a while and I’m ready to pull back when she offers me a truly stiff, but still appreciated one-armed hug. “Thanks. Really. I’m… grateful,” she says. I return it the way a girl would--both arms, leaning forward at the waist, pat on the back. It never came up that I’m a girl trapped in a guy’s body, and now seems like a weird time to bring it up, but I wonder if it’s obvious in some ways.

We part a little awkwardly, and Maeve is right back to business, for which I am grateful. “Well, I’d say it’s time for breakfast, but it looks like our only choices are instant ramen, lasagna, or Swedish meatballs and noodles.  We’re going to need to do some shopping later.”

As if to chime in with its two cents, my stomach groans piteously. I smile sheepishly down at it and nod. “I’m down for that. That sounds… normal, and I’m really grooving on normal right now.” I pause though and shake my head, still stunned that she’s so much better after only one night of sleep and a wound that really should have been mortal. “If you’re up for that, so am I.”

Maeve responds with a lighthearted tone. “Well, normal got left behind two days ago for me. But unless you want to wait even longer to eat, your choices are ramen, lasagna, or Swedish meatballs.” She looks to the kitchen for a moment, before deciding, “I think I’ll go with ramen.”

“Same,” I say, starting to head to the kitchen to help with the food prep but changing my mind. Ramen doesn’t really take two people to make, and I don’t want to be in the way.

Instead I stand back and watch her work. She focuses on her tasks, not paying me any mind, and that gives me a chance to really study her. Her olive green skirt isn’t a tight, constricting miniskirt, but it still hugs her curves and trails down along her smooth, dusky thighs. Her long legs take her from the cabinet to the sink, to the microwave, and as my eyes rake up her body again I find myself wondering if the fabric of her gray tank top is as soft as it looks. Her shoulders are slim but she looks strong without being overly muscular--but maybe that’s just because I know she’s nigh indestructible. Dark brown hair falls in gentle waves down across those shoulders and every so often I get a look at her profile as she turns to look at her next goal. There’s a calm, soothing feeling about her that seems almost familiar to me for a moment--but I’m imagining things. It’s just something about her expression that puts me at ease. It’s probably because she’s the only person I now know who I can be relatively myself with.

She shuts the microwave and turns towards me. Pauses… then crosses her legs and arms, leaning back against the counter. Facing me.

Oh--shit. I didn’t realize I was being so overt, but she has clearly noticed. I snap my eyes back up to her face, feeling my ears grow hot. Should I say sorry? Or should I try to not draw attention to this at all?

I go for clumsily trying to change the subject. “Do--you cook? A lot? I mean, when we go out later to shop, what sort of things would you like to get?”

She smirks at me, clearly at least a little amused, and I feel somewhat relieved, if not mortified, by that. ”Well, I’m not much of a cook, though I can do some things.  We’re definitely going to need basics though. Milk, eggs, butter, bread, cheese, some kinda sandwich meat, condiments, rice, shoyu, probably some fruits and veggies to start with.  Maybe some ground beef and sloppy joe or Hamburger Helper mix. Eventually, some better stuff - chicken, pork or beef to freeze.”

“And that’s really just the start.”  She moves on to spin around and open up one of my cabinets. “I checked your cabinets.  You need pots, pans, utensils, and maybe a rice cooker. This place is pretty empty.  A trip to Safeway and then to Ross oughta do it.  Figure two, three-hundred bucks will get us a basic stock.”

I cotton on to one thing--she’s definitely planning on staying for the long haul, and that makes me smile a little. I know she’d said it before, but it feels good to have it confirmed. “I… uhm. Don’t want to be ‘that’ roomie, but… when I transformed my wallet sort of… poofed, out of existence along with all my old clothes. I have a dead cell phone and a probably dead car to my name. And I don’t fancy my chances of trying to sell either of them for money, as my friends and family are probably on red alert for my kidnappers by now.”

Awesome job, Ash. Let’s remind ourselves of depressing things. “I guess the bottom line is, I don’t have three hundred bucks. I don’t have three bucks.”

Maeve shrugs, her brown hair dancing down her shoulders with the movement. “Nah, I get it.  I lost my wallet and stuff that was in my pockets when I changed too.  But it’s your magic, rent-free apartment that’s saving me from the street here, so I think you’re pretty far from being the one douchebag roomie.  I should be good for it, as the fuzzball promised me a salary of three thousand a month, though I have no idea how he intends to get it to me, or if I don’t get paid til after the first month or what.  Hopefully we can track him and the other girls down and maybe beat it out of him.”

She pauses for a second, then, her eyes widening slightly like she’s remembering an appliance  left on back home. After a faltering second she says, “Shit, speaking of, you didn’t see anyone else while you were driving away, did you? There were two other girls there to fight the monster and they dug out fast once it showed up.  They kinda have my last few possessions.”

“I didn’t,” I confirm, frowning and trying to remember. “No, I don’t recall anyone--just you.” I hope they were just gone before I drove along, and not… worse. “We can go back and look,” I suggest, though… I’m pretty sure I don’t have magical healing abilities like she does. “If you think it’s safe.”

“Shit. I hope they made it out okay.  I tried to slow it down, but it seemed like it had plenty of strength left when it punched me at the end.  Maybe it stopped to lick its wounds though.”  She averts her eyes for a moment, brow furrowed, but then the microwave dings. I watch her as she moves to silverware drawer, snagging two forks, and removes my styrofoam cup from the microwave to give it to me. “There’s not much we can do till we get back, so let's just eat and head out.”

“Right,” I say, moving to hoover my ramen and burning my tongue. I take it a little slower after that.

Halfway through my food I think to ask. “So you’ve fought using your new abilities--what was that like? I mean, did it sort of… come naturally to you, or was it a lot of winging it on the spot?” I’m not so great with ‘winging it on the spot.’ I’m hoping sincerely it’s a lot more of the fish-to-water stuff. Now that we’re getting ready to dive headfirst into a potentially dangerous situation I’m feeling the nerves, but also something else--a little spike of pre-fight adrenaline.

I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be in a real conflict, one where I have no way out but to fight for my life. I’d never been put in the situation in earnest before, and with a body that could pop open a busted car door and take one of Victor’s punches without batting an eye… well. This could be seriously amazing.

Or blindingly terrifying. Or both.

Maeve swallows her food before answering, lifting her head up from the cup to respond to me. “I’m not sure how I’d describe it.  Aside from one time, using magic has been like trying to do something that you’ve half forgotten.  Not exactly natural but not really something that you are fumbling blindly at either.  And I’m still discovering stuff. I didn’t know I could give myself clothing until this morning.  As far as I know I’m pretty limited without being in uniform, so to speak, but I’ve found I can still do some stuff.”

She sets her cup down and my interest is immediately piqued--is she going to demonstrate? She crouches down, and after a protracted moment--she leaps.

It’s like watching someone jumping on the moon, or in slow motion--she arcs gracefully up into the air, head nearly touching the ceiling of my little apartment, and lands smoothly, with no sound to her landing at all.

My face splits into a wide, childlike grin. “That shit is amazing!” I blurt out, some of my old enthusiasm leaking through into this strange new situation. “Holy crap. I wonder if I can do that,” I ponder aloud, and not a second later I’m jumping--a very typical, unimpressive regular human male jump. I laugh as I land on the ground and rub the back of my neck. “Must not be doing it right. I’ve got some extra strength--but it seems to happen when I’m not expecting it.” Then I pause again and nod, distracted. “Or it has to do with the outfit, like you said. Come to think both times I did something really impressive I was all… decked out.”

Maeve shakes her head at me, seeming bemused. “You can probably do something similar with whatever your focus is.  I’ve apparently got gravity, so I’m just dropping my personal gravity when I make a jump like that, but I noticed I was pretty strong when I transformed, so maybe you’ve got conventional super jumping?”

That just makes me want to try it out even more, and as the urge to transform rises in me the words find their way out of my throat.

“Spirits of old, keepers of the glen and glade, I call on thee!”

There it goes again--the clothing I’m wearing ripples away into buckles, straps, vials, pouches, pockets, compartments--they twist in and out of each other, layering and layering until I’m left standing in my Sentinel Green outfit. I have a name--I have Gaia, I have a room mate who is going through the same things I’m going through--

And I take a tentative, gentle jump and nearly brain myself on the ceiling. I also have super-jump. I have a hell of a lot more than I thought I did just yesterday.

Maeve studies me after my transformation and my jump, then performs a small circle around me, in particular paying close attention to the gargantuan hammer I’m toting around.  “What is this?  It’s like some kind of impractical anime club/staff thing.”

“Beats me…” I say, hefting it off my back and getting a feel for how it handles. I can actually work it, which is amazing… in my old body I’d be lucky to budge this thing a few feet across the floor. “Comes with the package. Do you have one? A weapon, I mean.” At least, I assume this is a weapon. I guess it would really hurt to take it over the head, but it doesn’t seem to have any real slicing power.

“Yeah, I do.  Polearm, some kind of glaive.” She seems to hesitate for a moment, like she’s debating something, but before too long she stands up straighter, takes up a steady stance, and calls out, “Void beyond the deepest black, join with me to fight evil!”

It occurs to me halfway through her transformation that I’m seeing the outline of her body as her clothes vanish and are replaced by the violet and black corset I’d carefully removed from her yesterday--my face heats up and I manage to look away until her process is complete, only glancing back when I’m sure she’s… well, ‘decent’ isn’t the word, I hadn’t really seen… any…

Oh, she is going to be a difficult partner to work with. My weakness for her outfit is only compounded now that she’s whole and healthy again, not bloodied and battered. I can feel my body reacting to the way it accentuates her curves, pushing up and pulling tight in all the right places. It’s quite the sight to behold and I stare at her face very, very intently for a second. “See now,” I say, the first two words a little stiff and awkward, before my normal tone of voice melts through my discomfort. “Your weapon is badass and has a sharp, pokey bit. I approve.” It’s sort of a stab at a joke.

I clear my throat and face away from her, then uncomfortably shift like I’m trying to get my outfit on correctly. I hope to god I’m being at least a little subtle. To bring home the idea that my uniform needs adjusting, I tug at the shirt and the sleeves and adjust the ankles of my pants as well for good measure.

When I’m done with that I look back to my hammer to continue to distract myself. It’s clunky and big, but the fact that it’s made of wood makes me feel somewhat fondly towards it. It’s begun to happen, I think. I’m becoming a tree-hugger, just like Gaia wanted. But it’s true--Maeve probably feels close to her glaive and its powers the same way I feel a connection with this weapon, though I have yet to swing it. Impractical though it seems, I don’t think it will fail me.

Maeve is quiet for a time, studying me, and I try to ignore the fact that she’s doing so. Whatever is going through her mind, she seems to come to a conclusion, though--because she grabs the rest of her food, and as I turn to look at her she tips the cup skyward to finish off the last of it, then puts it back down on the counter.

“Okay Sentinel Green.  I’ve eaten, I don’t need to use the bathroom, and I’m ready to go. Do whatever you need and you can show me how to get out of here, because so far as I can see, there’s no door.”