Work Text:
Dawn is coming.
Sloane is perched on the windowsill of their tiny tavern room, slouched up against the frame. The window faces eastward; in the distance, the edge of the hazy desert sun shimmers, peeking into the night sky and dragging its blue-and-yellow fingers through the traces of sparkling indigo. Though the golden city is restless, Goldcliff finally sleeps. She exhales a plume of smoke and watches the tendrils dissipate into the morning air.
She hates this city.
She didn't always. Underneath the bubbling scorn is a fierce, hot love, locked tight away in her chest that she only lets sing when she races. But Goldcliff hadn't taken care of her like it did the land barons, the oily ex-wizards that gave up magic after riches called louder, troupes of Goldcliff's finest knights tethered to their sides like loyal guard dogs. The wealthy elite that watch her race with ravenous fascination, that bet heaps of gold on the Raven and the Ram - all hers, and more, when she comes to their back doors late at night and flitters from locked chest to chest. Goldcliff didn't teach her to be kind and forthright when she was pawing through heaps of their trash. Instead, Goldcliff taught her how to race. Goldcliff taught her how to ride. Goldcliff taught her how to fly.
For a long time, Sloane sits in silence, smoking her pipe and lost in golden daydreams, until she finally circles down and roosts on the writhing horror that's been plaguing her.
I killed those men, she thinks dully, in the face of impending dawn.
<Sure,> the Gaia Sash says lightly. Even when she's wearing next to nothing, just a pair of loose black trousers fitted to her ankles, the Sash stays with her. <But they had it coming, didn't they?>
Sloane snorts. Behind her, she hears a warm, sleepy snuffle, and stiffens. After a moment, Hurley sighs and turns over, still fast to dreams, and Sloane relaxes very slightly.
If they had it coming, she reasons darkly, I must doubly so.
<Don't talk like that,> the Sash croons. <Hurley doesn't think so. And she's a good person, right?>
Sloane's fingers twist around the pipe in her hand. An awful clench seizes her stomach, and she doesn't think anything for a moment, just sucking in another lungful of burning and letting it swill in her mouth and throat. Sweet emptiness. For all of two seconds, anyway.
Too good, Sloane thinks; if the words were aloud, they would be very quiet. Too good for someone like me. You saw her earlier. You saw how torn up she was about those guys.
She blinks, and Hurley's tear-streaked face flashes across her eyelids. She doesn't know if it's her own remembrance, or if it's the Sash throwing the memory of confusion and hurt wrenching Hurley's face apart into sharp relief.
<But she learned it was all a mistake, right? Just a misunderstanding.> More images - Hurley's disappointment. Hurley tallying up every strange thing she's noticed happening to Sloane, like how she hasn't had a proper meal in weeks, how she's become even moodier and more closed off. How she's now killed two people. Sloane's admittance of uncertainty, that something terrible was happening to her and she didn't know how to stop it. Her fingers flickering in the firelight, the tips burning, throwing her hand in the fire to prove she could still feel pain. Hurley kissing away the blisters and the ash, saying that they'll figure it out, they'll figure it out together, she's not going to quit on this, they just have to take a break from the battlewagons for a while, that's all, that's all... Her hands in Hurley's hair, crawling down her spine, twisting hungrily into the fabric of her gi, Hurley pulling her face down to kiss her hard... And then the fluid bliss of sweet, soft heat--
Stop. Sloane's thought is sharp, and she puffs smoke out of her nose like an irate dragon. Small and inky black and curled up hard against the world. I just lived it, honey. Don't need the high definition recap.
<So what's the problem?> Sometimes Sloane thinks the Sash moves, coiled around her waist like a snake, twisting with movement ever so slightly. <Hurley still loves you. Nothing to worry about on that front.>
Not for long, Sloane thinks bitterly. Not if I can't get this under control.
There's a short, slightly hurt pause. <... "This." You mean me, huh? You... think I'm out of control.>
Yeah, Sloane thinks rebelliously. When the Sash doesn't respond, the fear that it will reject her grows hard in her throat, and she swallows, starting to amend it-- No, not you, I just mean - what you've given me, all of-- I mean me, it's me I've got to--
As she nervously twists the pipe between her fingers, her grip slips, and the pipe goes tumbling out of her clammy hand. She swears under her breath and leans further out of the window. It almost hits the ground, but before it does the ivy lining the side of the tavern stretches out to catch it. She watches, half-concentrating, as the ivy passes the pipe up, from leaf to leaf, like a crowd of tiny hands, all the way up to gently tuck it back on the windowsill.
<Nice catch,> the Sash says, amused.
Thanks.
<I mean it,> the Sash says. <That was artfully done. I'm glad that you're the one who found me, Sloane.>
Honeyed words aren't usually Sloane's cup of tea (which she likes as bitter as rejection). She sure as hell ain't used to them. But god damn if those words don't sound like they could have come from Hurley's mouth, the only person who has ever believed that there was a person behind the mask of the Raven. Sloane blinks furiously, immediately hating the hot pinpricks in her eyes for such manipulative sweetness. Once upon a time, she knew better.
You're a liar, Sloane thinks, not really in control of where her mind goes. The Sash has made her hungry and lonely, her heart a yawning abyss. Say that again.
<You are perfect, Sloane,> the Sash says. <I could make you a god, if you let me. If you wanted.>
I can't, Sloane thinks desperately. She gets the brief sense that she is drowning, hopelessly trying to keep her head above the surface of the Gaia Sash's glittering, intoxicating magic. What about Hurley?
<You won't hurt her,> the Sash says. <You're in total, absolute control. When she sees your true brilliance, she'll love you that much more. The two of you could live forever.>
In mind's eye, Sloane sees herself as a teenager, scraped elbows and bruised knees and boiling eyes. She watches herself jump off of rooftops, trying to touch the sky, and breaking her arm on the unforgiving ground instead. She watches a montage of innkeepers and guards chase her off of buildings, out of banks and fine establishments, into the cold, hungry nights. She watches little Sloane mount her first battlewagon, this arrogant slip of a girl placing third to the surprise of a roaring audience. She watches herself put on a face of feathers and declare that she'll go so fast even the Raven Queen can't catch her.
<I could make your desires reality,> the Gaia Sash whispers.
I'm afraid to lose, Sloane thinks.
<You won't lose. Not ever again.>
She tips her head back, her thick, loose hair tickling her bare back. I'm afraid to die.
The Sash says nothing to that, merely hums in her ear something that sounds like a lullaby. The morning breeze dances lazily along the skin of her forearms. Her doing? The Sash's? Nature's? She doesn't know anymore. She's not even sure what the difference is.
... All right, Sloane concedes. Her cheek is slightly wet. All right. We'll fly together for a while. But the minute I find something stronger than you are, it's over. I'll know you're full of shit by then.
<The same old song,> the Sash sighs. <You haven't even had a real taste yet.>
Sloane swivels back into the room proper, wiping her eyes with the back of her wrist. Thinking about all of this with Hurley here, even though she's sleeping so peacefully, feels wrong. She'd made up her mind to try and get some shut eye, but looking at Hurley's face scrunched with worry even in sleep, Sloane can't imagine trying to pass out at a time like this. Her blood boils as she places her pipe on the rough wood of the bedside table and pulls a light leather men's shirt on over her head. She thinks of maybe writing a note, but as she stands there awkwardly in the silence she realizes she'd have no idea what to fucking say. So she just leans over and lightly kisses Hurley's cheek instead.
She'll be up soon, Sloane thinks in passing. Affection and guilt squeeze her heart. Always been a light sleeper.
<Then let's let her rest a while longer,> the Sash says.
Sloane walks to the open window. The sun's rays have painted the city in milky gold. Though drowsy now, Goldcliff will awaken soon, and the hustle and bustle will begin anew. She thinks she can already hear the clinking and clanking of the garages far off in the distance. Sloane holds her hands loosely at her sides, her palms open and facing the window. A corvid caws in the distance, preparing for its wake up song. She closes her eyes in the morning light and concentrates.
At first, nothing is readily apparent. The dawn light flickers a bit, like a cloud is passing through the sky and casting the golden buildings in shadow. The bird squawks again. Sloane breathes deeply through her nose, beads of sweat building up on her brow. Her skin feels electric. Energy courses through her, hot and pointed, ready to be used. Her muscles tremble.
Something changes. The darkness becomes more complete; the fingers of dawn fade out of the indigo sky, which tips back down towards the east. Distant stars flicker brightly, a polka-dot pattern that emerges slowly as night spreads back across the eastern sky. Time does not change, but the very world realigns itself back into a half-night, the twilight of dawn.
Achingly slowly, fighting her every second of the way, the sun dips back down beneath the horizon.
<Good work,> the Sash says as Sloane's eyes fly open and she sucks in a deep, cold gasp. <Try not to strain yourself so early on, though.>
I'm through with party tricks. Sloane takes a moment to recover her energy. Her limbs are wobbly, and her stomach feels empty, but she is still exhilarated. Her eyes are wild and fierce. It's all or nothing.
<I'm glad to hear you say that,> the Sash says approvingly.
She doesn't give Hurley a second glance, terrified she'd want to stay if she did. At least sunrise has been postponed for a while, so Sloane can be long gone by the time Hurley wakes up with the daylight. Instead, she climbs up onto the windowsill and vaults up onto the rooftop. When her bare feet scrabble for purchase, the building's ivy gently grabs her ankles and guides her footing.
She stands, the sun just barely peeking over the desert, her hair whipping in her face, and stares out over the city. She puts on her mask.
And then she turns, leaping down from the building, and vanishes into the darkness.