JackSGreyson Says

“No more ritual,” Siobhan says, soot streaked across her face and somewhat literal fire in her eyes.

“No more heroes.”

—

Siobhan comes from a long line of perfectionist, preparatory pessimists–also, powerful psychics.

It’s for this reason that she hates the winter solstice with a passion. The ritual is only a stopgap: it’s only a matter of time before the seal fails.

—

She heals her hand with an irritated flicker of thought, shooting quick, assessing glances around.

Some kind of pocket dimension mirroring the village, it seems.

Given the atmosphere, it’s a fairly easy guess on who it belongs to.

—

Siobhan’s grandmother was one of the original heroes–although with, perhaps, a loose definition of the term hero. She spent most of her life making cutthroat deals with spirits and lesser devils and only paused long enough to stop the greater, chaotic evil from making the world unlivable.

Only the expectations and scrutiny of the world stopped Siobhan’s mother from doing the same.

—

She eyes the other descendants, not suspiciously–she sees them at least every year, they’re idiots not evil–but definitely skeptically.

Of the heroes they may all be, but heroes themselves they are not.

As is, she’s quite sure she’s going to have to ride herd so as to ensure nobody dies.

—

When it came to psychic training, Siobhan wasn’t so much thrown in the deep end as she was chucked in river rapids with stones tied to her limbs and told that only a mere hundred feet was a waterfall.

Needless to say, it is not vanity or exaggeration when she says she’s the most powerful psychic in the world; their home world, that is.

This world is a whole other story.

~

A/N: Sorry for the lack of posting everyone! Just came back from vacation (in which I hung out with my BFF who I haven’t seen in over a year) so I was nowhere near my normal schedule.

Unfortunately(? or probably, something more neutral than that) I will probably not be AS on top of the daily posting as I ought to be because a) I’m tentatively looking for a new job and b) doing another production with Bindlestiff for their April show and so my creativity will probably be funneled more in that direction.

The structure of it is a little unusual since it’s mostly collaborative, and less “4/6 discrete short plays done altogether” and more “a jumble of scenes/stories all set in the same time/place” so I’m kind of seeing if this is something I can explore a different writing style: more specifically, I’m thinking of composing some songs of, like, background characters’ experiences as little palette cleansers in between the back and forth dialogues.

I dunno, sort of like this experimental thing  but less about depression and more about fan lifestyle? I don’t know how real musical scores are… I should probably research that.

“But,” Riz stutters, staring at hir own hands blindly, searching for answers. None of this past day has made any sense.

“But it was my destiny.”

—

Every year, Riz returns home for the winter solstice. It has less to do with the festive season–though, admittedly, there is some of that, too–and more to do with the whole “hir blood and presence is a vital component of an annual ritual to ward off a demon invasion.”

But there is a feast, at least, which makes it a little bit less of a chore.

—

Almost a century ago, a demon crossed the barrier between the worlds.

Its name has been lost to time, but the tale of its terrible actions have not.

Only through the bravery and skill of five heroes could the demon be defeated.

But not before it got its clutches in the fifthe hero.

—

Riz is nine decades old.

Practically ancient as far as human lifespans are concerned, but young for what zie is.

And thus zie is caught between knowing so much, but not necessarily understanding.

—

The fifth hero, in an act of ultimate selflessness, sacrificed themself to seal away the demon.

However the demon was too powerful.

In order to ensure their fallen companion’s sacrifice was not in vain, the remaining four heroes created a ritual to strengthen the seal.

—

Riz remembers every villager born in the town: what they were like as children and who they became as adults. Many of them have had children and even grandchildren of their own, Riz watching over every generation with fondness.

Zie has also witnessed as the other remaining heroes aged, their own descendants replacing them in the ritual as years passed.

In contrast, Riz is always the same.

—

Every year, the blood and presence of the four remaining heroes is used to strengthen the seal and keep the demon at bay.

For almost a century, this works.

Until it doesn’t.

—

When Riz draws hir bleeding hand away, zie looks around confused and not a little bit frightened. The village around them looks distorted, a warped reflection with all the details unnervingly off; except for the other descendants, there is no one around.

Something is wrong.