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The moment Haze is brought into the main office, she’s already tired – which is a feat and a half, considering her entire being. She’s informed of a new interdimensional treaty, and the request for the OSIC to ensure that any potential incidents do not occur to their ‘asset’; when she queries what, exactly, that will entail, she’s informed that the Northern Ixian royal family is sending their heir apparent to the Cursed Apple. To Blackmore Academy. For reasons.
Which simply means that portion of the war-torn country is growing nervous about potentially losing said heir.
As is her practice with anyone the OSIC demands she monitor and/or protect, she slips into his dreams the moment he crosses the dimensional threshold. Even with the plethora of information she’d reviewed ahead of time, she’s surprised at the orderly nature of the young heir’s mind; chaos tends to reign in the dreams of the youth, but Apollo’s mind is clear, concise, and doesn’t bombard her with unnecessary information or teenage ramblings. It’s surprisingly nice.
Readily apparent is the foundational aspects of Apollo’s ability to compartmentalize trauma, which will help with some of the impulses but not all of them, as well as the fact that he has witnessed things no child should have to witness. Assassination attempts since he was young – and the one that was half-successful with the loss of his mother and a grave but non-lethal injury to himself; sitting in on meetings with combat maps and horrifying decisions, soldier’s lives played with like chess pieces; and the regular defensive training that has only solidified the foundational trauma poured like concrete all over Apollo’s upbringing.
From her recon, she deduces two potential concerns: Apollo’s devastation at being sent abroad for his protection will definitely lead to impulses she’s going to have to nip in the bud; and his relationship with his father is actually quite strong, with him desperate to ensure his father’s safety at any cost. Considering his attempt to save his mother when he was but a child failed, it makes sense, even if it will absolutely lead to more unnecessary impulses.
She hates monitoring kids. Doesn’t matter that he’s nineteen, he’s still a goddamn teenager.
Everything is made more complicated when she finds out Rem tagged along with an OSIC employee who went physically to the dream realm, returning shortly before Apollo’s arrival in the Cursed Apple. There’s never been a proper dream being made corporeal in such a way; even Haze herself was altered through the first maelstrom, her powers woven into the very fabric of her being. But Rem has a proper form now, proper emotions and proper wants and needs, and she cannot, in good conscience, allow him to come to harm.
She’s never lied to the OSIC, simply – omitted. For good reason, of course.
Setting Rem up at the hideout offers further security, as no member of the OSIC would ever enter such a place; the ghostly landlady is a bit of a handful, but she also has the protection of the Patrons, so none would attempt to overstep for fear of what may occur. Which makes it the perfect place for her to store Rem until she can sort out how to get him home. Preferably not through the Ritual, but - well.
Rem apparently meets Apollo and Graves through a tag along after traipsing about in the dreams of the citizens of the Cursed Apple. And his new friends, of course, inform him of the ritual when they learn of his circumstances; Haze finds herself on her backfoot as Rem adamantly demands he join alongside them. She’d been so busy with the general increase in her workload since the Patrons arrival that she’d failed to check on what Rem viewed every night and what Apollo might have been learning at his new school. Foolishly, she’d relied upon the general chaos of a transfer to a new school to keep him occupied. Clearly, that’s not the case.
And sure enough, at another makeshift skirmish the Patrons orchestrate, there Apollo is, alongside another Blackmore student, with Rem holding Apollo's hand and a pillow. He even waves excitedly at Haze.
They lose that match, solely because Haze refuses to harm Rem. She does kick Apollo a bit, just out of spite, though she doesn’t force him to be resurrected by the Patrons. Others do that. Maybe it’ll ensure both students don’t come back, or drag poor Rem along with them, though the fact that they won and the Hidden King gleefully praised all of them eradicated that possibility completely.
More matches occur, of course, as the Patrons find more champions to help bolster their ranks; sometimes, Haze is on the same side as Rem, other times she’s not. Same with Apollo. They’re picked like schoolyard children at recess, with the Patrons deciding on their teams with every iteration, a wish dangled as the ultimate prize to be claimed later, not loyalty. It’s a rather ingenious system, and if Haze wasn’t here specifically at the behest of the OSIC, she would probably attempt to join anyway.
Rem visits her frequently in her dreams, oftentimes seeking the calming refuge Haze offers up, other times simply wanting to speak to someone that understands at least on a base level. His abilities are – unique. Definitely weaponizable. She can’t begin to comprehend sorting through the subconscious while a mark is awake, yet Rem does so seamlessly. After a match, he tends to show up first to shake off the emotional upheaval of the event, before continuing on throughout the city, tagging along in the dreams of those that participated and those that have no idea of what has arrived at their city.
“Haze, Haze, hi!” Rem says, tumbling into her mind with that vibrating excitement of a match completed. She wasn’t on this one, and he’s not despondent, so it must’ve been a good match. She catches him easy as he floats down toward her, allowing him to snuggle in close as she holds him up. Shifts the dreamscape to something more simplistic: Rem had quite liked the jungle environment from her research days prior to OSIC.
“How was your match, little dream?” Haze inquires, supporting Rem against her as he rubs his face against her throat. “Did you win?”
“Nope!” Rem chirps, leaning back slightly to blink wide eyes at her. “We lost, but it was a lot of fun. I got to fly around with Ivy and Vindicta!”
Ah, so that’s why the energy is so high. She walks them along the well-worn path toward the hut she’d utilized for months while studying the effects of the maelstrom on the ecosystem. “Who were you up against this time? I know you don’t like fighting Apollo or Graves.”
Rem trills, fiddling with his pillow. He’s soft and warm, more dreamlike now that he’s in his proper environment, with the stars upon his fur flickering and flowing more seamlessly, his outline rippling off like he’s not all here. She can’t help but hug him a little closer; it’s like cuddling a well loved plush. Rem says, “I was up against Abrams and Billy and Vyper and Viscous –”
“That’s a lot of punching,” Haze cuts in, chuckling as Rem’s fur spikes up, chirping excitedly.
“It was! They punched me so much! Abrams is mean, and I don’t like him, though Billy is funny. He kept swearing whenever I’d hit him with my pillow,” Rem explains, tail smacking excitedly against her leg. “Oh! And, and, Alpha got to hit all the vending machines, he was so happy! But there’s a match coming up with Apollo and Graves later.”
Hmm, Haze knows which match that’ll be. The Archmother had informed of the particular pool of champions they’d chosen for that match and while Rem is included, Haze has – concerns. He hasn’t gone up against the Drifter yet, only had him on his team, which is worrying in its own right, as Rem had informed her that he quite liked tagging along with Drifter. With Drifter on the other side, she contemplates if she should attempt to dissuade Rem of the notion of joining. The only way for the Patrons to gloss over a choice is for the particular person chosen to object.
“You should sit that one out, little dream,” Haze says carefully.
Rem blinks in surprise, a chirp of confusion leaving him as he pats Haze’s cheek. “I’ll be okay, Haze, promise! All the matches so far have been really fun; dying is weird, but it reminds me a bit of dreaming, so it’s not too weird.”
Perhaps Rem will be fine? Though, again, while Rem has definitely had violence enacted on him, Drifter’s love of carnage and wanton violence is a different kind of beast. She hesitates only for a moment before gently nudging again, “Let’s sit the next one out, Rem, I won’t be there to help and I’d feel better if I could.”
“Oh, right, I didn’t hear your name when the Patrons talked about the next time,” Rem says, nodding solemnly. He hums and ha’s, leaning precariously back in her arms like a cat about to turn into liquid, closing one eye and then both, before he chirps in agreement, snuggling in close again. “Okay, Haze, I won’t go this time. I’ll let the Archmother know, though I might wanna be in a match later!”
Relief shifts the landscape around them as Haze walks out of the jungle and into a gorgeous, impossibly scenic oceanic view, the sand unfurling beneath her feet as a gentle breeze whisks past them. She lets Rem down, taking his hand as they walk along the shore, picking up dream shells and poking at fabricated starfish, chatting about his matches, the landscapes she’s visited, and the recent dreams he’s tagged along in. His gift would be terrifying in the hands of the OSIC. She will ensure that never happens.
By the time Rem leaves, Haze is more relaxed than she’s been in months.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
The first indicator that her previous task may be more complicated than she originally believed crops up thanks to Rem. She’s had a strangely difficult time dipping into Apollo’s dreams lately; it’s clear his mind recognizes that something has intruded that shouldn’t, and the barricade it throws up every single time forces Haze to work and wiggle and condense herself down just to get past the walls he’s erected.
But it’s clear Rem still has free reign, as she witnesses him excitedly barrelling down into Apollo’s foggy subconscious that she can’t seem to penetrate without active work. Thankfully, she can utilize the hole that Rem creates to filter herself in and finds Rem tagging along with a recent match that Apollo has completed. And there’s very alarming indicators as she witnesses the warping of the dreamscape into the tunnels beneath the main street, a coaxing whistle on the air that she’s more than familiar with. Damn Drifter.
Rem visits Apollo regularly, usually after a match that Apollo has just completed, so Haze shifts her schedule to better match Rem’s, waiting outside the barricade of Apollo’s subconscious to follow him in; it leaves a bad taste in her mouth, utilizing Rem like this, as it’s clear he’s acquired Apollo’s trust and she’s – using him to do her job. Has to fudge reports informing how she’s maintained her monitoring. She adamantly dislikes that Apollo has clearly found a way to shield his mind.
Due to everything else on her plate, including the lead up to the Ritual, she can’t - ensure nor assist in nudging Apollo’s dreams to something less fixated. Which means the change in Apollo’s subconscious becomes a settled concept: Drifter shows up in Apollo’s dreams more often than not, with Apollo chasing him down and the two of them fighting in some capacity. Sometimes Apollo loses, sometimes Drifter does, but most of the time they both walk away from it due to some fabricated reason, though there’s always an overwhelming sense of intrigue, ferocity and – something else. Something problematic, Haze is sure, as Drifter has always been a Problem. She can’t deep dive into subconscious thoughts like Rem can, simply surface emotions and concepts, and her charge wanting and clashing with and chasing after said Problem is clearly a headache waiting to happen.
The OSIC won’t shut up about Drifter’s presence, either, but he’s been chosen by the Patrons, so there’s no way to remove him without drawing the ire of both deities. Not to mention the Doorman has taken a shine to him as well, which creates its own host of problems. Haze hates that goddamn hotel, yet for some reason the Doorman actively sends Drifter to it quite consistently with a chuckle and a pleased smile, almost as though he’s - fond. Ms. Ha is another irritant that whines about Drifter constantly, and the combination of them all is a whole other kettle of bullshit she doesn’t want to deal with.
All this boils down to the fact that Apollo seems to have become enthralled at the prospect of besting a being that vampire society has spent centuries attempting to eradicate, that has joined the Ritual for the sole purpose of basking in the carnage, and who will absolutely cause the interdimensional incident Haze has been trying to stop from occurring.
This is why she hates monitoring teenagers. They have the impulse control of a starving seagull.
“Rem, do you tag along with Apollo a lot?” Haze asks as they’re prepping for another skirmish. Rem has acquired three different lollipops from the store owner just so he’ll stop reorganizing the items on the shelves, handing Haze one as Delta scurries up onto his head to hide under his hat.
“All the time! The Patron’s like me being on Apollo’s team, it’s really fun!” Rem says as he chomps down on his lollipop, demolishing it immediately. He hands the stick to Alpha beside him, who excitedly starts to kick it around the floor, chirping and bumping into Haze’s boot. She gently nudges it away.
Checking her guns, Haze attempts to query delicately, “Anything of interest?”
There’s a pause. Unusually long. Haze glances up to find Rem staring at her, pillow pressed to his chest as his head cocks slightly to the side. It’s actually a bit disconcerting. “Rem?”
“Only Apollo and I are allowed to know,” Rem says with such seriousness that Haze is genuinely surprised. The silence continues as Rem stares at her, eyes wide and luminous and knowing in a way that sends the sand within her vibrating. Before she can push back on that, a full body shiver visibly spikes up Rem’s fur and his voice shifts back to his usual cheerfulness, “But don’t worry, Haze, Apollo has fun dreams!”
That wasn’t her initial worry, but with how serious Rem’s comment was, it certainly pings an alarm. Before she can inquire further, the minions are released and the Hidden King thunders out his command for them to take out the Archmother’s chosen champions. It becomes a blur of combat after that, Haze’s mind shifting fully to the battle as she slides and jumps and dances her way through the opposition; Rem tags along with her a few times during the more harrowing fights, and his gentle coaxing of healing pushes her to run faster, fight more deadly, viciously chase until she can confirm the kill. It’s exhilarating in the most addictive way, something she hasn’t felt since her days prior to the maelstrom. The thrill of the hunt, as Drifter would unfortunately say.
Not to mention, it’s strangely hilarious when Rem pops out of his tag along to muck McGinnis with a pillow, over and over again, before he scurries off to assist others.
They just barely manage to eek out a victory. Haze collapses on one of the couches in the Hidden King’s lair as he booms out his glee over destroying the Archmother, and Haze waves away Calico when she attempts to hand her a water glass. It had been hard fought and exhausting, and she mentally tallies her weaknesses: Graves’ stupid line was a constant and literal sticking point; Holliday’s unerring aim at her usual hiding spots forcing her to recalibrate every single time; and Infernus’ constant running around made it nigh impossible to sleep dart him. She attempts to become one with the couch as her muscles ache.
“I don’t like fighting Apollo and Graves,” Rem grouses, clambering up onto the couch beside her, flopping against her side with a loud sigh. He peers up at her with squinty, glowing moon eyes, “Graves’ zombie friends kept charging forward all ‘rah!’” Rem flails his hands up to showcase how excitable the zombies were, and Haze chuckles, scritching between his ears until Rem melts into a little starlit puddle of delight. He muzzily continues, “but I think Apollo was off somewhere else? I didn’t see him a lot, though he did kick me a few times when I hit him with my pillow, which was mean.”
“Your pillow hurts, especially when you fill it with items from the shop,” Haze says; she hadn’t realized Apollo ran off somewhere. Even if she’s on the opposite team, OSIC has charged her with Apollo’s care, which boils down to her tracking him at all times when he’s out and about. The skirmishes are simply - exhilarating, fun, adrenaline packed, to the point where she forgets everything other than moving.
Peering around the room, she spots Calico conversing with Mirage and Celeste doing unnecessary handstands, likely getting excess energy out? That, or she’s finally been mucked by Venator one too many times. Those stakes hurt. Who she doesn’t see is -
Sighing loudly, she contemplates ignoring her realization of why, exactly, Apollo might’ve been absent; the skirmish is complete, she’s technically off the clock until she starts her dream work. Not to mention, if Apollo is doing what’s alluded to, then she’d rather be none-the-wiser to maintain deniability. Petting over Rem’s little head some more, she forces her spine to melt, merging more firmly with the soft cushions beneath her.
She blinks open an eye when Rem squirms upright, spotting Drifter as he skulks back in. Rem delightfully calls, “Drifter! You didn’t come back with us; do you want a tag along? I already got everyone else.”
“Want a bite, hm?” Drifter says gruffly, and Haze zeroes in on his expression, something she’s never witnessed before. There’s intrigue there, a slight cock to his head and a tilted smile to his lips that immediately pings alarm. Granted, so does his alluding to Rem’s tag along as a bite. What has the Problem been telling her little dream?
“Just a nibble,” Rem giggles, wiggling off the couch. Haze almost shoves up to halt him, but she’s bone tired, reflexes sluggish and offline as soon as the adrenaline had leeched from her system. She watches though, ensuring he’s safe as he trots over to Drifter, hand absently settling on her gun beside her. Can never be too sure.
Without hesitation, Rem walks right up to Drifter, holding his pillow in one tiny fist as he stares up at him, head cocked slightly to the side - opposite of Drifter’s, seemingly. Drifter rolls his eyes and crouches until he’s at Rem’s height. Gestures with a claw. Rem chirps in delight as he initiates his tag along, the gentle flickering of starlight healing dusting off Drifter as he idles, seemingly content to allow Rem his ‘bite’. His gaze shifts absently toward the exit from the lair, remaining crouched, wrists caught on his knees as he waits. Haze doesn’t like it. There’s something wrong; Drifter’s never this still.
“Didn’t see you at the end fight,” Mirage comments, and Drifter shrugs a shoulder, that same incredibly disconcerting expression crossing his face. Intrigue, hunger, and something else, something - concerning. Haze adds him to her dream docket for the night.
With a shower of sparkling starlight, Rem pops out of his tag along and lands in front of Drifter again, shaking off his fur like a dog shedding water. He twists around to peer up at Drifter almost immediately, head cocked to the side still, tail slowly swishing back and forth as Drifter meets his gaze. Haze isn’t the only one watching now, Celeste having edged closer as though prepared to yank Rem away should things get tense. Even Calico is eyeing the interaction. Drifter lifts a hand and everyone freezes, Haze gripping her gun, Ava tensing against Calico’s ankle - only for him to place it on Rem’s head, like - like he’s patting him.
“Get a good one?” Drifter asks, and Rem preens under the attention, letting out a delighted trill as he practically beams at Drifter. Starlight continues to dust off Drifter as Rem’s tag along lingers.
“I did! Your dreams are fun and I got to taste some interesting things,” Rem says, and there’s a bitten off chuckle, Drifter patting him again before he drops his wrist back to his knee. The energy in the room settles. Lifting his pillow, Rem hums an inquiry, “Can I tag along later too? It was yummy.”
Drifter shrugs a shoulder, “Sure, just don’t interrupt.”
“That ruins the flavour!” Rem says immediately, which gets a proper laugh out of Drifter. The alarm pinging consistently in Haze’s head rings louder; Drifter laughing is never a good thing. Not only that, the continued contextualizing of Rem’s abilities as eating is quite alarming. The hell is he experiencing in Drifter’s mind? No, she already knows.
“You’re funny, kid,” Drifter says before he stands, rolling his shoulders and flicking out his claws. His wounds have mostly healed up, the combination of the Hidden King’s lair and Rem’s tag along stitching everything up. Absently, Haze notes where each one was as well as the particular type: definitely wasn’t fighting McGinnis or Infernus or even Graves. Considering the degree of the slash marks -
The boom of the Hidden King informing them of the next pool of people that will be chosen interrupts her thoughts, and she files it away to puzzle over later. She’s tired. Not to mention, she’ll technically be on the clock in a few hours anyway, checking on her usual subjects as well as the addition of Drifter. Rem will no doubt visit Apollo, which she’ll utilize. Maybe. She has an inkling of what she’ll find there already, so it might not be worth the headache.
Hauling herself up off the couch, she gathers Rem up and heads for the exit, selfishly snuggling him as he waves goodbye to Drifter and the others, Celeste blowing him a kiss and Calico informing him that Ava would enjoy a visit from Rem later tonight. He snuggles against Haze’s throat, a soft little trill leaving him as he relaxes. Haze pets down his back. “You did well tonight, little dream.”
“I had fun,” Rem says drowsily, “even if I don’t like hitting Graves or Apollo. But they always tell me I didn’t do anything bad afterwards!”
“As they should,” Haze whispers, continuing the light petting as Rem settles further.
Heading back to the hideout to put Rem to bed, Haze plans on getting a nap prior to her nightly work. Maybe she’ll ask Rem to naptime her. She’ll need all the rest she can get for when she invades Drifter’s dreams; he’s not exactly a – kind host. Her focus will be on that expression, the change in his demeanour, and hopefully a potential clarification regarding Apollo’s fixation on him, though she’s not holding her breath.
So many problems to corral. She deserves a raise.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Haze is always surprised at the strange clarity of Drifter’s dreamscape, even if it tends to be bathed in the light of a crimson moon. Perhaps the way his sight works? Comes from hunting blood trails like a hound, eyesight remade into that of a very specialized predator; she’s curious if other elder vampires experience the same change, or if Drifter is uniquely altered to facilitate his desire for carnage and violence. The OSIC doesn’t utilize the Sandman division for vampires: until Drifter, many of them had been under the impression vampires didn’t dream.
When Haze lands on the familiar path of Broadway, something’s already happening. Seems Drifter’s dreaming of the most recent Ritual run, which is exactly what she’d been hoping for, the chaos around her familiar in a way that spikes the adrenaline in her system so sweetly she’s dizzy with it. Not sure what that says about her, but she’s here for a job, not to relive the thrill of the fight.
There’s a smattering of blood upon the cobblestones, leading down into the tunnels. Of course. She follows, the crimson fog growing thicker around her, the dream focusing on what, exactly, Drifter is unravelling, which pertains specifically to the trail she’s tracking. Sound burbles like she’s underwater, save for the distinct clash of something metallic against stone, flesh, claw. Ascending the stairs with the blood trail still bright and distracting, she exits out into the side alley and –
Haze should’ve known. She did know. But seeing Apollo clashing viciously with Drifter as the fog clears around them, showcasing where exactly Drifter’s subconscious focus is within this dream, still irritates her. There’s going to be so much paperwork.
Aware that her presence may be noted at any moment, Haze sneaks along the side of the alley to get a better angle. She doesn’t leave the low circling fog that permeates outside of where the two of them fight, curious if that will alert Drifter to her unwanted presence, but the closer she is, the easier it will be to gauge exactly what Drifter’s intentions might be. She’s unable to read so deeply into thoughts like Rem, but she can pluck surface level thoughts and emotions: right now, it’s that bloodthirsty delight and hunger that pervades all of Drifter’s dreams she’s invaded.
Haze settles in to watch. And to mentally write up her report on her observations.
Apollo skids across the dirty cobblestones, rolling with a curse before he catches a bloodied hand against the wall to haul himself up. Blood saturates the fabric of his coat, clear indicators of the wounds Drifter has inflicted throughout. Apollo’s knuckles go tight against the wall as he pants and stares down at the ground. Retreat is the only option now; Drifter has the clear upper hand here, Apollo unable to weather the sheer intensity of his attacks. Haze is curious how he’ll manage it. Drifter’s not known to let his prey leave unscathed.
Lifting the hand clutching his rapier, Apollo wipes at his bloodied mouth before a shudder passes over him and - and he laughs. A pure, almost deadly excitement that rings impossibly loud in the alleyway as he straightens, staggering a moment before he finds his footing. Another bright chuckle leaves him, pupils wide as he meets Drifter’s gaze with a confidence and hunger that nearly matches Drifter’s own.
“Don’t usually get a laugh,” Drifter drawls, though he pauses, claws shifting as he watches, gauging, fascination permeating his tone.
Apollo rolls his shoulders, head tilted back as he breathes up at the dark sky before there’s a clear shift in his stance. A looseness in the way he holds himself, wrist flexing as he spins his rapier, head dropping down as he grins at Drifter; it’s near feral in its intensity, a semblance of familiarity and desire that immediately sends the sand in her spiking in alert. In all the fights Haze has had with and against Apollo, she’s never witnessed such an expression; it’s quite a sight, and she curses not being able to sense more. She’s only getting surface concepts and emotions from Drifter, only able to pick and pluck certain thoughts that overwhelm.
All she can sense right now is possibility.
The crimson fog clears further around where they’re stood, forcing Haze to practically plaster herself against the stone wall lining the alley. Apollo shifts his back foot, tail swishing back and forth almost like a pendulum, slow, steady, nothing like what Haze expects. Drifter watches him, the first inklings of that expression she witnessed when he returned to the Hidden King’s lair bleeding over his face. Apollo’s response has piqued something in him. Haze is well aware of how dangerous that is, but it’s clear Apollo doesn’t care; strangely, it’s not overconfidence, no. It’s something - more.
All at once, Apollo dashes forward as the fog swirls in seeming excitement, clutching a stone in his hand as he warps ahead; there’s a glint of his rapier as he appears behind Drifter and immediately stabs down. It’s fast, impossibly so, and Drifter clearly isn’t expecting it as the tip of Apollo’s blade plunges deep into Drifter’s shoulder before he rips it free and stabs again. The speed at which Apollo uses the momentum from his first flawless advance makes it nigh impossible for Drifter to counter him, utilizing the tight walls of the alley and Drifter’s own position to kick off and relocate. Tail shifting like a cat, ensuring his balance is perfect as he continues to slice and stab and attack, each motion calculated as he pushes forward, advancing at a speed that’s dizzying.
Drifter manages to break his momentum for a single moment, claws shimmering as he blinks behind Apollo, the dreamscape shifting to focus more tightly on their fight. Apollo immediately whips the rapier in front of him, the sigil hanging in the air like droplets of blood; it lights up and explodes, blinding red light making Haze flinch as the magic slams into Drifter, forcing him back and away.
“You only get one of those, boy,” Drifter snarls and Apollo laughs at him again, that same dark delight as he lands, back foot shifting as he lifts his rapier. He’s still fucking grinning. There’s a heaviness to the air, a saturation that she’s intimately familiar with, a spike of emotion that is purely primal; she has no doubt Apollo’s dreams will carry this same quality.
They trade blows, clashing and breaking apart, Drifter gaining ground only for Apollo to slip free of him. Echoes from beyond the dreamscape indicate the Ritual is still going, though the suffocating silence that covers this small alley amplifies every single attack that finds purchase: the split of skin, the gush of blood, the clang of rapier and claw, each panting breath and delighted laugh. It’s strangely beautiful to watch and Haze finds herself rooted in place, breathless at the unfettered intensity.
Throughout it all, the expression upon Drifter’s face grows: intrigue, excitement, hunger. A fixation gaining traction as Apollo refuses to run, refuses to give in, clearly relishes the brutality of the fight in a way Haze is certain neither of them has ever experienced before. Every laugh, every grin, every goading comment; it all culminates in something terrifyingly dangerous but no less intoxicating.
Drifter pins Apollo back against the wall by the throat, clearly enthralled by the near feral grin on Apollo’s face as he immediately shoves a fist against Drifter’s chest, knee up to stop Drifter from pushing in too close. Apollo’s holding his rapier almost loosely at his side and it doesn’t make sense, why isn’t he using it, why isn’t he - Haze knows he can riposte out, has seen him do so in the most ridiculous circumstances, but here he holds, waits, stares up at Drifter as his bloody lips split as he smiles wider.
And then Apollo whispers something.
The entire dreamscape reverberates like a shockwave. Haze scrambles as she’s nearly bucked right out of it, clinging to the edges as whatever Apollo said reshapes everything around her into a single focal point. Drifter’s focus narrows in so sharply the usual structural integrity of the dream is eradicated, darkness rushing in to eat up the scenery around her, forcing her to push in closer, silencing everything but the two of them. The fog disappears, the walls shadow and dissolve; she’s close enough now that if Apollo were to repeat his statement, she could hear it perfectly. All that’s left is the alley, the bloodied aftermath of their clash, and Drifter holding Apollo tight against the wall. Drifter cocks his head ever so slightly, staring unblinking down at Apollo and his stupid bloody grin.
Fuck. This is what she meant about an interdimensional fucking incident -
There’s another shift, a ripple that signals Haze’s presence here is becoming unstable; the dreamer has become aware of an intruder skulking about. With the removal of the fog, she’s lost her cover, and with how fixated Drifter’s become on this instance, there’s nowhere for her to go. The animosity grows, a visceral sensation that vibrates and shifts the sand within her like overturning an hourglass. Counting down. Time to go.
Unsheathing her dagger, she casts about for the easiest edge of the dream she can slice and slip through. Her gaze continues to be drawn back to where Apollo and Drifter still eye each other against the wall. A shudder ricochets through the air: ah, Drifter’s altering the outcome of the interaction to something different, an underlying thought his subconscious sparked during the incident that his dream wants to experience. At the same moment, she spots the exact frayed edge she’ll need as the darkness curls closer, growing sharper, an open maw that will soon trap and destroy her if she’s not careful, but – but her curiosity locks her in place, spinning her dagger in her hand as her gaze bounces between the two of them and her escape. She wants to know, needs to know, their interaction fascinating and terrifying and enthralling, a concept she never would have attributed to Drifter -
How long can she remain before it’s too late?
The shadows prickle against her, the sand at her core spiking so hard she almost loses her form. A clear answer to her desperate query. Firming her hold on her dagger, she unsticks her feet and darts forward, escaping the hungry caress of a dream made hostile, slicing into the weakest edge of the dream and creating an out. Cannot help but glance back one last time.
Drifter’s dipped forward to sink his teeth into Apollo’s throat, the clear rivulet of blood dripping fresh down onto the cobblestones between them. The hand not pining Apollo has slid down to circle Apollo’s wrist, the one gripping his rapier, a single clawed fingertip curled and tapping against where his knuckles are white around the grip of it. But it’s the snapshot expression on Apollo’s face that sticks with her as she’s dragged through the exit, her sand escaping like being drawn by a vacuum.
The glint of golden eyes barely slitted closed. Throat offered willingly. That same feral grin curling his lips as though relishing –
She’s sucked out of the dream and tumbles back into her own mind, eyes snapping open with a gasp, sand still vibrating at how close she came to being consumed.
Well, fuck.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Haze regroups over the next few weeks, grateful the Patrons haven’t chosen either Drifter and Apollo to be on any of the upcoming matches, same team or opposite. It allows her time to reorient her priorities: as it stands, it's clear that this specific – impulse needs to be nipped in the bud. A head-on approach is not viable; Apollo would react in the quintessentially teenage way of deflection, then stuttering, leading ultimately to running toward the Problem more than being warned off. Drifter would just attack her. Neither of those options are optimal.
She scribbles out more of her report. OSIC doesn’t need her failed attempts, just her successes.
Unfortunately, by the time they’re into their next set of skirmishes, both Patrons have decided they’re done giving her time, throwing Apollo and Drifter on their respective teams almost every skirmish and forcing Haze to adapt. If the dreams and fixations are based on their interactions during the Ritual? Time to run interference. She ensures she’s always on the same line as either Drifter or Apollo, ensures that she gets to the other first, ensures that neither of them is left alone long enough to seek out the other.
“I’m not a child and I don’t require a babysitter,” Apollo drawls, trudging back up alongside her after she’d taken Drifter out in the tunnels. Agitation vibrates through him enough that the sand within her reacts; he’s not the only one annoyed. If he could just control his goddamn impulse to throw himself headlong into the jaws of a bloodthirsty beast, her life would be so much easier.
“I'm not your babysitter,” Haze snipes right back, internally rolling her eyes at how prickly Apollo becomes at that comment. “As I stated before, you dying will cause an international incident.”
Apollo huffs, pausing at the top of the stairs. “And as I stated, if we win that won’t be a problem.”
“Which we won’t be able to do if you’re off gallivanting away from the objective. You lack focus and discipline when faced with a potential adversary, a correction that’s clearly needed, so it’s my job to make sure you learn from that,” Haze points out. Perhaps by appealing to Apollo’s broader sense of duty, she can cut him off at the pass; chasing Drifter and whatever intrigue Apollo’s attached to him won’t lead anywhere good. Drifter’s Drifter: there’s a reason they call him a Problem.
Silence follows her proclamation, Apollo’s expression perfectly flat. He doesn’t respond to her goad, turning on his heel instead and heading toward where the minions have started to congregate, tail an agitated swipe through the air. Interesting. Perhaps a simple nudge will solve all her problems.
Apollo stays on task the entire time, ignoring the coaxing whistle from Drifter attempting to start another fight, and they end up winning handily. Haze breathes a sigh of relief.
Unfortunately, the dreams don’t change, but seem to balloon into more: more visceral, more specific, more – everything. As though her interference has only solidified the fixation instead of ripping the entire structure out. She scribbles out and rewrites her report again and again, irritation growing at every failed attempt in dissuading Apollo’s subconscious from latching onto whatever he’s constructed with Drifter; she refuses to hand it in until she has something of substance to give.
What she wasn’t expecting was Apollo outflanking her. And using Billy of all people.
Their friendship is – odd. She’s unsure how they started speaking, or how Apollo managed to convince one such as Billy that he wasn’t just a nothing trust fund baby, as he regularly labels Mina and Graves. Billy likes Apollo, which is a terrifying notion, and there’s nothing in Apollo’s dreams or subconscious that grants Haze any insight into how their relationship began. But Billy excitedly throws himself into any fight Apollo starts, and the two of them strangely compliment each other’s fighting style.
Which, inevitably, leads to Apollo utilizing Billy to block Haze from her continued interference.
“Haze, where y’going?” Billy calls, sliding in front of her and effectively stalling her from following Apollo’s flip down into the tunnels. “There’s peeps to fight, don’t go running off leaving me with all your shit. This ain’t even my lane.”
Haze glares at him. “Correct, it’s not: Apollo and I are running this lane, you shouldn’t even be here.”
“I’ll always help out my bro,” Billy says rather proudly, chin tilted up, allowing him to loom. Haze has no idea what Apollo has done to ensure Billy’s strange form of loyalty; he’s not even loyal to any of the goddamn hotdog stands littered throughout the city.
Every second she spends dealing with Billy means Apollo’s – distracted. Drifter’s in this skirmish, meaning the two of them will inevitably meet in the bowels of the tunnels, which will continue to reinforce this ridiculous - rivalry. Infatuation? Fighter crush. She attempts to push past, but Billy manages to bully his way in front again, chattering incessantly about the fight they have to go attend to right this second.
“I don’t have time for this, the guardian is down, just run up the lane,” Haze grits out, attempting to shove Billy to the side. It’s like shouldering a wall, forcing her back a step as Billy shrugs, bat bouncing on his shoulder as he bays at her.
“Let’s go then, I’ll drag ‘em in and you do your bullet dance bullshit. Piss everyone off,” Billy continues as he reloads his gun by eating the empty clip. He’s most ridiculous creature she’s ever had to deal with.
“You’re doing plenty to piss people off, I need to find my lane mate.” Haze ducks to the side, telegraphing an attempt to get by before pivoting on the ball of her foot and managing to get around, only for Billy to haul her back. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Fighting! Let’s fucking go,” Billy crows, dragging her away from the mouth of the tunnel, and the sheer audacity of his manhandling completely blindsides her, allowing him to shove her into a fight she can’t, in good conscience, leave. She runs the lane with Billy, bewildered and furious the entire time, and hucks her gun at him more than once as he continues to impede her from finding Apollo.
She spots Apollo at the end when the skirmish completes, laughing with Billy and sporting a few wounds that the Lair attempts to heal, as well as a bloodied bandage around his throat. Which can only mean one thing, since Mina isn’t even in this fight. Fury vibrates the sand under her skin in continued restless waves, and Haze clutches her guns, fiercely repeating in her head that she should not brain her charge with one of them.
Billy throws back his head and laughs, clapping Apollo on the shoulder. She hopes it hurts. “Fuck yeah, kicked his ass to the curb, that’s my boy!”
“He managed to pin me once, but I overpowered him in the end,” Apollo says smugly. Billy lets out a baying laugh, knocking his forehead against Apollo’s like the goat he freaking is, before he slings an arm over Apollo’s shoulder. She hopes that hurt as well.
“Alright, bud, let's get you drunk, you’ve earned it. Taking on someone like Drifter and sending him scurrying off like a wounded kitten’s gotta be celebrated,” Billy delights. Haze doesn’t even have it in her to remind Billy that Apollo’s not of drinking age in this dimension, though if they go to Infernus’ bar, he’ll probably overlook it. At least his dreams will be quieted by the alcohol.
Venator perks up at that, attempting a clear warning, “The lad is only nineteen –”
“Yeah, yeah, grandpa, calm your stakes, I’ll get him a pop or some shit,” Billy blasts back immediately, hauling Apollo along with him as he continues to natter on about whatever ridiculousness Apollo managed to orchestrate. It’s infuriating. They leave the healing dome of the Hidden King’s influence before she can check if the neck wound has sufficiently closed, but clearly Apollo isn’t bothered by it, laughing alongside Billy as they disappear around the corner.
“I hate teenagers,” Haze mutters.
Venator huffs a laugh. “He’ll realize his fragility soon enough; there is no hangover cure for one such as Billy.”
While that may be true, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s ultimately failed at ensuring her charge stays out of trouble. At this point, she’ll simply have to mitigate the damage. Apollo’s quick on the draw, able to sidestep her attempts at ensuring his safety, and she berates herself for not foreseeing such a possibility; he’s strangely wily, and for being a prince, incredibly resourceful. It’s infuriating.
“Now, Sandman, shall we covertly follow the young one to ensure Billy doesn’t give him alcohol poisoning?” Venator suggests, standing up with a pop from his knees. He’s still decked out in his entire ensemble, stakes, guns, and sensor, and she’s surprised he’s not simply running off to hunt random critters in the Cursed Apple.
Granted, having Venator as a cover might actually work in her favour. “Sure. I could use a drink.” Or ten.
Sure enough, the two of them do end up at Infernus’ bar, where most of the Patrons’ chosen go to drink when Infernus isn’t burning a path around them, forcing them to reconcile with the ferocity of an Ixian’s control over fire. He’s equally masterful at creating delicious and dangerous cocktails, which she can personally attest to. She slinks in behind Venator, who loudly greets both Abrams and Vyper, and she slips toward a dark table near the back, within earshot of Billy and Apollo at the bar.
“You’re too silver spoon, man, you gotta be adventurous, get off your high horse and all that shit,” Billy’s saying, waving at Infernus to attend. Infernus ignores him to continue his conversation with Abrams, but Billy doesn’t seem to mind, twisting so he can lean back against the bar. At least Apollo’s neckwound isn’t still bleeding. Haze hunkers further in the shadows, mentally writing a new report she never intends to file.
“I am plenty adventurous I’ll have you know, otherwise I wouldn’t be out gallivanting around with the likes of you,” Apollo says, tongue in cheek, and Billy smacks him upside the head with a gleeful bay of laughter. Definitely feels like a dig at Haze from the last time she reprimanded him; he’s clocked her then, which hopefully will lead to him being more cautious overall.
Which isn’t at all what happens. Billy orders for Apollo once Infernus finally acknowledges them, shoving a hand against Apollo’s face when he attempts to interject, “Alright, fireman, we’re getting my bro here good and drunk because of his badassery. Straight rum?”
“I would again remind you -” Venator starts and Billy sighs obnoxiously loud.
“Fine. Rum and coke. There, you happy, old man?” Billy snarks back and Venator simply raises a brow but doesn’t continue to push.
Billy comes up with various drinks that include some kind of pop or juice element, sliding them over to Apollo again and again until Apollo’s arms drape over the counter, slurring at some kind of strawberry pink daiquiri concoction that Infernus has loudly proclaimed will be his last one. Haze has steadily been working on a single glass of white wine, Ixian brand according to Infernus, that’s quite nice on the palate, and she rolls her eyes when Infernus raises a brow at her, the grin on his face alleviating much of the irritation she’s feeling over how easily Apollo gives in to Billy’s machinations.
“Billy, you know Earthly phrases, yes?” Apollo slurs. Haze perks up at that, finishing the remaining dredges of her wine as she leans forward to listen.
Billy shoots up like Apollo’s just declared his reputation absolutely tarnished. “Dude, did someone say some shit to you? Did they call you something? Fuck, I’ll beat their asses - let’s go right the fuck now, they’ll be in the ground.”
Apollo quickly appeases, swaying as he pushes up as well. “No, no, nothing like that. Someone - asked me something and I figured you would know, since you're more - more wordy? Earth wordy. Gods, what is in this thing?” He squints down into the empty daiquiri glass as though Infernus has added more alcohol than is required. “Doesn’t matter. What’s a ‘fangbanger’?”
Silence. Haze - is not entirely certain if she heard him right, but she’s glad she finished her drink prior, as half the patrons in the bar either choke on their drinks or spit them out in surprise; clearly, everyone has been listening in on this bizarre charade. Even Billy seems stunned, mouth falling open as he stares at Apollo, before he settles back in his chair, scooting closer to Apollo as though he’s realized how loud they’ve been.
Unfortunately, Billy only has one volume, and it’s decidedly not discrete. “Dude, you being asked if you’re a fangbanger? What have you been doing?”
“Nothing!” Apollo immediately defends, and it’s weak even to Haze’s ear. With what she’s observed, she knows exactly who has inquired over such a thing and Haze is tempted to put her head on the table; she can’t put this in her report, Apollo’s father reads all of her reports, and the OSIC will reduce her salary. They might even reassign her. Goddammit.
“Man, ain’t no one asking if you’re a fangbanger if you’re not looking to bang some fangs,” Billy says, nodding wisely, and Apollo’s expression shifts to drunken incredulity. Billy’s grin turns sly. “Which one’s you been going after? It’s Mina, isn’t it? She’s not my bag of cats, but I can appreciate the sass; she’s probably an absolute hurricane in bed.”
“What? No, that’s not it at all, I wouldn’t - I just want to know what it means, what - what it could be about - can you just tell me what it -” Apollo cuts off, realization taking over the incredulity, and the flush that burns over his face is actually impressive as he practically recoils. He goes a deep, dark maroon, mouth slightly agape as he slaps a hand against the bandage on his throat. Yeah, that’s what Haze thought. Kudos to Drifter for hitting the nail on the head; unfortunately, with Billy’s explanation, it’s definitely put a new idea in Apollo’s head, and now Haze will be forced to warn Rem off visiting Apollo for the next little while, lest he see some - things.
“You shy? Listen, I can help you out, though Mina’s kind of a bitch, always hitting me with that stupid umbrella, girl can’t even listen without getting hostile,” Billy grouses, clearly misunderstanding Apollo’s reaction. Haze peers around, curious if anyone else has connected the puzzle pieces, but many seem to agree with Billy’s assessment. Apollo doesn’t respond, staring blankly at the bar counter instead, palm tight against the bite at his throat. Haze sighs internally. Her report will be informationally anemic at this point.
Standing, Haze approaches while Billy elbows a shell-shocked Apollo, but addresses a bemused Infernus instead, “Infernus, I’m settling my tab. His too.” She tilts her head toward Apollo and Infernus grins, ringing everything up. She catches Apollo peering at her out the corner of her eye as she pays. “This is why you shouldn’t drink with Billy. Revelations while drunk are harder to reconcile in the morning. Have a good sleep.”
Haze heads for the door, pausing to take the shot Venator hands her absently. Might as fucking well at this point. She has to write a nothing report, that will simply have the line: ‘Observation to continue. No concerns noted as of yet’, and she’ll absolutely get reamed for that. The shot burns going down. The night air soothes her as she takes in a big gulp after exiting, staring up at stars, clouds like cotton swaps dabbing against the darkness. Good to know her well, fuck moment was accurate.
It had to be Drifter of all people. She didn’t see this coming from her recon. Ah, well, at least things continue to remain interesting. She reorients her priorities as she starts off in an aimless direction: observations continuing; skirmishes to be fought; Apollo’s survival ensured, even though he’ll actively fight against that with his new - fixation now given further parameters.
Maybe she’ll wander about and locate Rem, see if he’s down for a fun dream time tonight instead. Fuck it, she hasn’t taken a vacation night since she started with the OSIC. She deserves it.