Chapter Text
you’ve always assumed you were destined for something better. greater, if you will. your eyes were protagonist-blue, your glasses always crooked, and your nail polish chipped-black-chick. your mother, a mean, shitty former-opera-singer-turned-teacher, and your dad, an odd car-salesman almost entirely benign and neglectful, raised you with the idea that you’re meant for more, but would never truly get there. your sibling, recently transitioned, in a relationship with the purpleblood troll across the street, both of them equally annoying in their plans to get you out of the house more. your best friend, a human prodigy that does research on the process of god-tiering, roping you into hour-long meetings with some of the city officials. you’ve always known people, and they’ve never known you, but you want to change that. you plan to move; a job interview with the right company, a shitty apartment to share with a roommate, a well-placed meeting with the highblood society, and you’re all set.
your name is ABEL, and you finally managed to do it in late december of the following year. the yearly xmas gala was held in high regard, with the fuchsias and CEOs and their combined inner circles planning it for the elites. you’ve always known that the elites included most of the company you’ve kept over the years (your sibling and their boyfriend, cidroh, especially), but this year there were hints that the creators would be there — the gods that created the cesspool you call a home — and that they’d be sponsoring people for the ascension rites of next year. this would be exciting if the planners didn’t separate the more important members from the lower class of society (i.e. you), but this still made for an exciting opportunity.
you, of course, spent weeks preparing. the job you landed in aviation allowed you access to the ascended breath players, and you got on well with them. the confirmed blood aspect in you has always been good at making friends, and kane (your ascended co-pilot) has apparently always been good at fashion, so going to him was a no-brainer. he wanted you to wear a long, royal blue velvet slit dress, drawing attention to your eyes. he would also officially be acting as your date, and entry to the very consequential party.
only an hour in, you started feeling overwhelmed; this was clearly an event for socialites to grow their reputation in the community. confirmed aspects clung to each other like bees to honey, and the breaths were fawning over kane and his ascension last-year. you started to feel like an accessory. everyone looked at you… oddly. this section of party was so boring, and you got the sense that these families have been on the party list for decades. sponsors that have had inter-family ties clearly had no room for a rogue human with no family weight.
you bid farewell to kane, and slowly started to make your way towards the balcony. the notion that you’re essentially wasting your one chance isn’t lost on you; you’ve been working for this since you realised you could do it in the first place. in a world of blood colours and family names, you needed to prove yourself through these yearly parties, and you just… couldn’t. for now, at least.
the balcony, you find, is empty, save for a few stragglers. the champagne in your hand is your only friend out here. the view is astoundingly beautiful, but you can’t picture much with the ascended breath players flying in the clouds. you take a sip.
“the view is great out here.”
you turn to see a man you do not recognise; his hair is black and his eyes are as blue as yours. the square glasses he dons are broken, and you nearly scowl at him for his fashion taste in an event as big as this. he wears stained sweatpants and a cropped black shirt that is clearly a size too big for him. the cliché of the starstruck lovers meeting on a balcony comes to the forefront of your mind, and, fine , you guess talking to him wouldn’t hurt.
“yeah, i… suppose. i just wish the breath players wouldn’t block the sunset,” you acquiesce, smiling softly in his direction. he doesn’t seem… drunk , per se, but he has an air of exhaustion that clouds his entire being. his small, obviously fake smile slightly grows. offhandedly, you’re reminded of how each ascended gets an invite, and he very well could have decided to come last minute. “it’s a bit upsetting. i mean, i came out here for a… reprieve from the noise and glamour. my friend is an ascended breath player, and seeing the breathies in the sky is just reminding me of them, you know?”
“i do. and it is. uh, upsetting, i mean,” he seems to mumble, and his hand comes up to rub at the base of his neck. “who’s your friend? anybody i’d know?”
you hum, taking a sip of your drink. “his name is kane osterkamp. he works with me in aviation - my co-pilot, actually.”
his eyes go a bit wide at that. you suppose that is normal, if only because aviation is highly esteemed in the current climate. with the amount of new cities and countries opening their borders in the recent years, the overpopulated city needs to leave and expand. pilot shortages are very common with the introduction of breath players’ private teleporting services, and the common people really can’t afford that, so. maybe he just respects pilots, or maybe he’s a breathie himself.
“oh! i know kane! well, kinda. we met, like, once, and that was when i paid for his college tuition, and we meet briefly every once and a while, but—“ he stops, suddenly, and you realise you never caught his name. “shit. sorry, i tend to ramble. we haven’t even gotten to introductions yet, have we?” he smiles at you, all wide and teeth and kind . the man looked… dorkish, with his buck teeth sticking out, but he made it look good. with an exaggerated bow and his hand up as if asking for your hand, he says, “it’s lovely to meet you.”
you grin reluctantly at him, placing your hand on the base of his palm. he brings it forth and places a kiss on your knuckles, then leans back to laugh at his own joke. you can’t help but laugh alongside him. “it’s lovely to meet you, too. i’m, uh, abel bringer. confirmed blood.” it’s always a scare when you announce your aspect; blood players are rare these days, and getting a confirmation test is expensive. maybe this is why his eyebrows raise; it was either this or you not being ascended, you suspect. he doesn’t seem like the type to care much about family names.
“you’re not ascended?” he asks, and he genuinely looks shocked. “it’s rare that non-ascended bloods—“
“yes, i know,” you interrupt. you don’t have the shame necessary to feel bad about it, and he looks like he deserves it. his expression is… awkward. you have to tear your eyes away. “bloods are rare. whatever, honestly. when was the last time you’ve seen a blood get sponsored? vantas doesn’t seem to care enough to sponsor his own aspect, and putting more stock into the time pool isn’t going to give his followers much hope.”
your words are harsh and necessary, but feel far more rude than you intended; speaking ill on creators has never once been good for you. besides, you once again realise you know nothing about the man standing in front of you - despite it being rude to ask who someone is at events like these, it feels prudent in this situation. maybe he’s an ascended blood, with how much emphasis he put on you. you take a drink of your champagne to get the bad taste out of your mouth.
your guilt starts up again when you look back to see him in deep thought. he is staring at (or is it through?) you, and his smile has now faded into a buck-teeth-on-lower-lip blank face. you find yourself looking at his mouth with a sense of foreboding. he swallows. “i guess you’re not wrong,” he eventually says. he seems to love to smile, even if fake, as his face brightens when he comes to. you’re inclined to do the same. “i mean, it’s not like breath’s creator is going to, like, sponsor someone outside of their aspect. with how things are going, more and more people are confirming breath, and half this gala is assorted breathie confirmeds…” he trails off, and his eyes get that far-off look again before coming to settle on you.
“i’m john, by the way. i’m an ascended breath.”
and there it is. you take a sip to conceal your disappointment; breathies and bloods don’t exactly have a rivalry, per se, but the only reason you got on well with those in aviation is because you have that common coworker link. it is so difficult to get a job as a pilot, even with the shortage, and the ascended breathies aren’t making it any easier for you. with both types being at the forefront of liberation or freedom, they have always fought for the roles they have in society. especially when vantas chose an anonymous breath to sponsor for his rites last year.
“are you… were you vantas’s anonymous choice last year?” you ask. john immediately shakes his head.
“bluh! no! kar- vantas and i don’t really get along. i heard he only sponsored the breath as a favour to… uh, strider. apparently strider somehow owed this breath something, but what do i know?” he explains, and you catch the slip up at the beginning. you… have to admit you have no idea which strider it is. most confirmeds immediately learn all the creator names, but you stuck with learning two: vantas and dirk strider, the heart creator. your tester said you were nearly a heart player, so you delved into that bit of yourself, you guessed. “i will admit i ascended, uh, quite a long time ago, though. i was very young.”
“you… what?” you throw out. you immediately backtrack. “shit, sorry. decorum, and all that. but there’s only, um, one person i can think of that got ascension down that early, and it was only a few decades after the creators, so you can’t exactly blame me for not believing you.” you give a small smile to placate him.
he laughs, and you find him looking at you again.“that’s fine! i forget only twelve people ascend a year, to be honest! if it were up to me, someone like you should’ve ascended with me forever ago!” his buck teeth make another appearance as his grin widens — you get the sense he’s… trying to flirt with you. your neck flushes, and you can’t exactly say it’s not working, but you try to laugh it off. ‘ someone like me?’ spreads through your brain like wildfire.
you snort at his declaration and roll your eyes. “well, as nice as that might be, that’s up to vantas.” his eyes seem to fall, a frown appearing on his face. you hurry to fix your mistake. “it’s alright, though. i’ve never been one for nice things—“ a lie, and it seems like even he notices —“but would you like a dance?”
you set your champagne down on the railing of the balcony, and find yourself offering him a hand. the thought of this being a cliché comes full circle, and his eyes seem to have stars in them. briefly, the word ‘dork’ appears in your brain once again, and your smile only grows from there.
“absolutely!” he nearly shouts the declaration, and his hands come up in fists as if he’s really excited. you can see his feet lift from the floor, and you laugh as you lower him back to the ground with the still-outstretched hand. “you know, after all these years, i don’t think i’ve ever danced with someone at the gala!”
your eyebrows go up into your hairline. sure, he’s a little chubby and his glasses are broken, but he’s by no means unattractive. you dare think he’s a little pathetic, having never gotten anyone go dance with him, but you shake your heard to clear it. you’re doing the exact same thing. “i’m happy to be your first,” you say with that oh-so-nice voice drop, and his eyes do the thing. the getting darker thing that you’ve never truly seen happen. “in more ways than one,” you fruitfully add on, and it does the trick.
“well, in that case.” his voice is low, and his eyes look you up and down with little to no awareness. you let him look for a second longer before you drag him back inside to the dance floor, your stomach doing little flips, and you bite your tongue. half the room seems to go quiet as you stop in the center, but he must have started using his powers, as a few seconds later the music turns up. it was a classical song by troll standards, but a cacophony of trumpets and drums by human.
“you know, i didn’t exactly mean slow dance, but this works too,” you say, and you grab his hands to place them in the correct places. he must not know how to dance, because his movements are hesitant and scarce. being so close to him now, you realise he’s at least a head taller than you, and he easily towers over your decently-tall frame. you breathe in, and you realise he smells faintly of pine and grass. breath.
“there’s… there’s a real one upstairs,” he whispers, and you get the feeling he’s trying to be quiet on purpose, not to be… well. “i have a pass. we could go up there and, uh, you know—“
“dance?” he slowly nods. “well, let’s get going, then.”