In the kitchen on the third floor, one of the main floors utilized for daily tasks, Kallias puts a kettle on a stove and trudges to the cabinets, reaching for a cup. While waiting for his nighttime tea, he sits on the stool and leans his forearms on the countertop.
The communicator, a device based on modern phones, is dark brown and cool to the touch. Kallias's fingers skim over four buttons on the back, engraved with small words. He taps the first one written with the word 'Tv,' and then in the next second the communicator expands.
Inside his head, a virtual screen materializes.
Pulling his head back automatically, he clicks and scrolls through the selection of shows, deciding on combat reality tv for the moment. Reality tv is a fondness of his, the authentic vibes and drama wrapped in a perfect combination is something he can't find in his reality.
The one he's watching is of contenders fighting in a gladiator competition; the prize being a celestial weapon once wielded by Solar Goddess, an umbrella that morphs into a sword, with the formidable ability to revert things back to the beginning.
After a couple minutes, his time alone is interrupted. The sole source of light from the stove dims as the ceiling lights flicker on.
Tilting his head and looking at the entrance, his lips stretch into a faint smile. "Lycidas, why are you up? Would you like some mint tea? I can make the honey tea you prefer."
"It's 8:00 PM," he says.
"In other words, not too late?"
"Mhm."
"Tea?"
"No, thank you." His round body dressed in casual pajamas heads to the refrigerator, expression neutral as he takes out a water bottle. As he walks out of the kitchen, Kallias calls out after him, "Goodnight. I love you, brother!"
Lycidas replies in a fading tone, "I love me too."
"Fucking narcissist," Kallias grumbles. His eyes yank to the stream from the kettle. Rising from his seat, he clicks the communicator off after saving his show process into a continued file. As he makes his tea, voices drift through the air, emanating from the towering staircase.
"Teal, stop him!" A girl's voice screams.
"No, don't let her catch me!" Akira exclaims; his words almost slurred.
A sound of thumping resounds, as if someone is falling down the flight of stairs.
"Teal, you traitor!" Akira shouts. "Whatever she offers you can't be good! I'll treat you better than your last!"
"Stop trying to flirt with him, you ain't got no charm, little bro!"
"I follow the orders of who's stronger when given a command at once," Teal mechanical voice states.
"Great, now you're insulting me."
"I was informing you of information you lacked, young lord."
Akira lets out a loud groan. "I need a healer! I think I broke my back."
Curious, Kallias sips slowly on his drink, his steps leading him to the railing, and he glances down. On the steps halting at the third floor, Manon Misul rushes towards a collapsed Akira with a scowl on her face, but Kallias can tell he isn't really injured by the wide grin Akira wears.
"You really do play too fucking much." Manon kicks Akira, bending down to grab a notebook that Kallias guesses to be a diary, then heads upstairs, not once sparing him a glance as she passes him. Her eyes were dark with resentment.
Kallias walks carefully down the stairs and stops before his childhood friend. "What did you do this time to piss her off?"
"Oh, hey, Kallias." Weather Singer stands up, running a hand through wild black locks. "I fucked up her mood like a true sibling." He laughs. "You should try it. I'm sure Rune would appreciate that most."
He winks with a knowing smirk, then drapes an arm on the purple-haired boy's shoulder. "I've been wondering, do you even want to be Star Clan's Heir? Do you want my support?"
"….. Akira, are you drunk?"
"Pshhhh." Akira waves him off, dragging him to the first floor. "I am not that intoxicated. If I were, I would suggest we murder your kin right now. I know a few crazy motherfuckers who will be down for it."
"….."
He barks out a booming laugh at the scrunch of discomfort on Kallias's features.
"I'm just full of jokes," Akira says. "Come, let's go party!"
****
'Ain't no way they're partying. Ain't no fucking way.' Catalina's eyelids twitch in irrational anger. She squeezes her eyes, kicking the comforter to cover her feet more and thrashing a couple of times in her bed. Finally, she goes still and lays on her back. She fixes her bonnet, wearing plain red pajamas and trying to find comfort in her spatial memory.
The girl's room is similar to the boy's; their beds lined up and furnished with sheer purple fabric and two pillows. Most of the beds are unattended while the rest are in deep slumber. Her space was originally in the center, but she switched with Rhea, so she now resides against the wall.
Her pillows are softer than her comforter. She fell asleep for a few hours until the walls started to shake from the noise booming in the basement. The seekers stay on the first floor, which is underground and closest to the party thrown by Akira.
After trying and failing to fall asleep once awakened, Catalina slid off her bed. Her bare feet paddle across the smooth carpet. "Where are you going?" A soft, sleepy voice causes her to pause.
She looks towards Rhea, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "You've been blessed with all siren traits, yes?"
Rhea blinks her drowsiness away, then yawns with a slow nod.
A mischief gleam lit in Catalina's eyes, making Rhea's stomach clench in unease. "Wanna drown some music?"
While Catalina cares little for people's opinions, especially irresponsible ones, she does not want to be bothered with hostile attention. If eyes are on her, she wants it to be because they fear or admire her.
A plan manifests in her mind.
Misul, the founding family of the Moon Clan, can control water. It's a trait passed down by their ancestors: a gift from their siren's guardians. They can also manipulate and sense emotions, transfer pain, and have extraordinary mental endurance, along with underwater breathing.
Convincing Rhea to come with her, they tiptoe out of the room and to the end of the hallway. An hour before bed, she had mapped the entire first floor—she intends to memorize all floors, not wanting a repeat of earlier—and knows the location of a small window that provides a view of the basement.
"Are you sure this is okay?" Rhea asks quietly, a quiver of uncertainty in her voice. "No one will get hurt, right?"
Catalina suppresses an eye roll. "The owner of the speaker, maybe."
"T-then, I-I don't think I—
"His feelings, girl, not physically."
"Oh."
"Hey," Catalina begins. "What's with your hair? In the morning it's pink and at night it's silver."
Rhea winces, though expecting such a question daily. The physical traits of Moon Clan are pink eyes, a defined nose, and a diamond shaped face. She possesses none of those characteristics. "I'm cursed or blessed. I'm not sure. My mother doesn't explain anything irrelevant."
"Your phenomenon of hair is irrelevant? That's fucked up," Catalina blurts. "It could be a disease."
Rhea casts her head down; pale blue eyes glisten to the hue of midnight.
"You're like a protagonist." Catalina smiles, threading a hand through loose silver hair. "Cursed or blessed—whatever it is does not deny you stand out in a very unique way."
Surprised to the core of her being, Rhea stares blankly. "You really think so?"
"Why would I lie? To make you feel better? I don't care for that."
Rhea chuckles, then swallows the lump forming in her throat. "Thank you."
"Uh, okay?" She gives a close-lipped smile. "You're welcome."
'That was an awkward ass conversation. I shouldn't have asked shit.' Pushing the laundry door open, Catalina scans the wide area lined up with machines on the wall. A sigh of relief at the absence of anybody here warms her chest.
The woody smell of detergent enters their senses, accompanied by a wisp of cool air. Rhea tightens her arms around herself, donning a hoodie and shorts. Her pale legs prickle with goosebumps.
"I've been meaning to say this since earlier, but your emotions…. I don't feel them," she confesses.
Walking ahead of her, Catalina turns her head slightly and leans into Rhea space with a single raised brow. "What?"
She hadn't heard her. The music is louder here than in the girl's room because the tinted window is open, which is perfect for them.
Rhea shakes her head. "Never mind."
Catalina shrugs off Rhea's hesitation, assuming the girl is fearful of getting in trouble. Granted, she is too. If her parents find out she isn't in bed sleeping but is about to fuck with her comrades-in-arms, then she would receive a stern scolding.
'I'm sure they'll understand.' She comforts herself with inky lies. 'Ah, delusion, delusion, embrace me!'
Lifting Rhea onto her back, she flies to the window stationed between a washer machine, avoiding detection by sticking to the side.
With Catalina's guidance, Rhea finds the speaker perched on a glowing counter filled with alcoholic beverages and waits for the perfect moment. She inclines her head forward to peek inside, her hands raise in the air and fingers arched.
As if divine intervention descends, a teenage boy turns on the sink nearby. Rhea instantly controls the water to swim through the air, forming a bird out of the clear liquid and slams it upon the speaker.
Sparks fly!
The music crackles with a buzzing noise before coming to a complete stop.
"What the heck?!"
"Fuck!"
"Who's messing around? Turn the music back on?!"
When the screams and shouts erupt from the intoxicated students, Catalina's already soaring out the room. She presses her lips tightly together to hold back laughter, but the same can't be said for Rhea—a giddy laugh surges in her throat, and she can't help herself; she giggles.
Catalina hurries into the girl's room, the back of her feet kicking the door shut. Not stopping by Rhea's bed, she heads straight for her own, dropping down on it with laughter.