Green Healer
The explosion rips a breath from my lips. For a fraction of a second, my instincts take over, and I tense up, ready to react, before my mind reminds me that it's just a broadcast. But the sheer violence of the blast, the way the DFS-100 shatters into a rain of flames and twisted metal, makes me forget, even for a moment, where I really am.
My gaze locks onto the screen. Every detail burns itself into my memory. The shockwave hurls debris across the track, the other racers barely swerving out of the way in time, and the fire dances, fanned by the wind generated by their acceleration. My fingers, resting on my glass, tighten slightly.
"Usher… idiot."
I never believed in his ability to maintain his own machine. Too much arrogance, not enough caution. But something about this feels off. The explosion is too sudden, too violent. A human error? Possible. A fatal mistake? Likely. But sabotage… I can't dismiss the possibility.
I say nothing for now, preferring to observe. The room stirs with renewed energy, the spectators oscillating between horror and exhilaration. Adrenaline floods the air, tension vibrating in the atmosphere. My gaze briefly flickers toward Ova, who reacts in his usual excessive way—caught between anger and amusement. He curses, laments the lost credits, demands a drink.
I straighten slightly, regaining my composure. A smirk brushes my lips as I lift my own glass to my mouth. The alcohol slides down my throat, warming me with a fire far more controlled than the one still consuming the wreckage of the DFS-100.
The mood shifts. The accident becomes just another spectacle, and the race surges forward. The thrill of danger is never far in events like this, and I have to admit there's something intoxicating about the rush. I take a shot, then another. I can hold my liquor, too.
A touch. Warm, firm. Ova has taken my hand. My gaze drops slightly to the unexpected contact before rising to meet his again. For a moment, I let him weigh his own boldness, allow the silence between us to stretch.
Then, I choose to respond.
With a smooth motion, my fingers lace with his. A grip neither too strong nor too weak. Measured, but assured.
I listen to him speak, sensing something beneath his exuberance a thread of genuine intent. He's offering me a job. A bold move. I could ignore it, deflect with indifference or humor, but that's not my style.
I lean in slightly, letting my gaze hold his with a calculated intensity.
"I'm free to choose my contracts. Lyssara has priority in emergencies, but beyond that… I decide where and with whom I work. The Mistress gives me freedom of movement, we trust each other. My mistress autorize me to make my own life you know ?"
I pause, letting the weight of my words settle.
"And I must admit, the idea of working with you intrigues me. You seem to enjoy the thrill of danger as much as I do."
A slight smile tugs at my lips. I pick up my glass, lift the shot toward him, and with a swift motion, down it in one go. The warmth of the liquor blends with the exhilaration of the night.
"Then, to our future partnership, Captain."
I set the glass back on the counter and, without letting go of his hand, turn my attention back to the race. I can feel his gaze on me, but I choose to savor the moment, letting myself be carried by the energy of the night.
I take a third shot the glass is already empty, and I can feel my head starting to spin. I'm tipsy.
I see him coming back to me from eye level and his hand gently squeezing mine I then answer him with a slow gesture still looking away from the race.
"very well in that case I'll have a cocktail!"
Tonight is going to be interesting.
Ova Ziss
My gaze locks onto the screen. Every detail burns itself into my memory. The shockwave hurls debris across the track, the other racers barely swerving out of the way in time, and the fire dances, fanned by the wind generated by their acceleration. My fingers, resting on my glass, tighten slightly.
"Usher… idiot."
I never believed in his ability to maintain his own machine. Too much arrogance, not enough caution. But something about this feels off. The explosion is too sudden, too violent. A human error? Possible. A fatal mistake? Likely. But sabotage… I can't dismiss the possibility.
I say nothing for now, preferring to observe. The room stirs with renewed energy, the spectators oscillating between horror and exhilaration. Adrenaline floods the air, tension vibrating in the atmosphere. My gaze briefly flickers toward Ova, who reacts in his usual excessive way—caught between anger and amusement. He curses, laments the lost credits, demands a drink.
I straighten slightly, regaining my composure. A smirk brushes my lips as I lift my own glass to my mouth. The alcohol slides down my throat, warming me with a fire far more controlled than the one still consuming the wreckage of the DFS-100.
The mood shifts. The accident becomes just another spectacle, and the race surges forward. The thrill of danger is never far in events like this, and I have to admit there's something intoxicating about the rush. I take a shot, then another. I can hold my liquor, too.
A touch. Warm, firm. Ova has taken my hand. My gaze drops slightly to the unexpected contact before rising to meet his again. For a moment, I let him weigh his own boldness, allow the silence between us to stretch.
Then, I choose to respond.
With a smooth motion, my fingers lace with his. A grip neither too strong nor too weak. Measured, but assured.
I listen to him speak, sensing something beneath his exuberance a thread of genuine intent. He's offering me a job. A bold move. I could ignore it, deflect with indifference or humor, but that's not my style.
I lean in slightly, letting my gaze hold his with a calculated intensity.
"I'm free to choose my contracts. Lyssara has priority in emergencies, but beyond that… I decide where and with whom I work. The Mistress gives me freedom of movement, we trust each other. My mistress autorize me to make my own life you know ?"
I pause, letting the weight of my words settle.
"And I must admit, the idea of working with you intrigues me. You seem to enjoy the thrill of danger as much as I do."
A slight smile tugs at my lips. I pick up my glass, lift the shot toward him, and with a swift motion, down it in one go. The warmth of the liquor blends with the exhilaration of the night.
"Then, to our future partnership, Captain."
I set the glass back on the counter and, without letting go of his hand, turn my attention back to the race. I can feel his gaze on me, but I choose to savor the moment, letting myself be carried by the energy of the night.
I take a third shot the glass is already empty, and I can feel my head starting to spin. I'm tipsy.
I see him coming back to me from eye level and his hand gently squeezing mine I then answer him with a slow gesture still looking away from the race.
"very well in that case I'll have a cocktail!"
Tonight is going to be interesting.
Ova Ziss
