Chlorine Halos

Rivalries

Her two gray eyes darted from left to right, over and over, staring into my eyes individually. Their color was entrancing, as if they had an intention to change, but were frozen in the midst of decision. Long strands of dark chocolate hair, catching the gusts of wind, brushed across the ends of her curled eyelashes. Her candy apple lips were pursed and pushed to one side while she hummed a falling note, not exhibiting any emotion which would suggest her impression of me.

She stood from bending at the waist, allowing her hip to drift, so she could rest her weight on one of her fishnet clad legs. The black, crisscrossing threads of her stockings stole the innocence from her ruby red, white polka-dotted sundress. A boggled thought bubbled out of my mouth.

"You're Jake?" I asked, not disguising my incredulity.

A blunt jolt to my face rode tandem with the sharp sting of a bronze ring. Unable to balance or catch myself with tied hands, I toppled to the side, slapping against the densely packed sand. As my assailant cracked his knuckles and chuckled with a smirk, another man with a cigar wedged in his yellow teeth grabbed my arm at the elbow and pulled me back to a kneeling position.

"It is not polite to speak out of turn," she said, waving a finger. "But, I will acknowledge your terse question and provide an equally terse answer: Yeah." Her smoky voice wrapped all her words with satin, then rubbed some with sandpaper—smooth, flowing, but folds of texture in certain syllables.

"Where do you think his allegiances lie?" asked the man still with a smirk, tapping a fist against his palm. "Cons are not this easy to capture."

"The Alignment is notorious for working in pairs," said the other man, blowing a stream of cigar smoke out of the corner of his mouth. "And it would take the apocalypse for the Vigilant to act on anything."

Both men had a chiseled musculature with wide shoulders which defined their frames. Neither appeared to have a respect for personal hygiene or fashion—unkempt hair, streaks of mud and grease from head to toe, wildly clashing colors in their clothes. The man who rebuked me for my manners wore an ensemble of lime green shorts with an elastic waistband, a wrinkled maroon t-shirt, and one shoe. The other wore a white sleeveless shirt under purple suspenders, pants with one leg longer than the other, and two different sandals.

Jake twirled a lock of hair in between her fingers, tilting her head to the side. "Perhaps he is a rogue. Or a mercenary arbiter."

"You don't under—" My second discourteous outburst was disrupted by a second strike to the face. The cigar enthusiast punched much harder than 'one shoe'. I fell forward at an angle, but was able to catch myself with my hands, though the rope which lashed my wrists together made the involuntary reflex difficult. 

I dug my fingers into the sand and clenched my teeth, hoping those actions would numb the aftershock of the beatings and serve as an outlet for my escalating anger. The further my fingertips sank into the sand, the more I felt the anger funnel out of me. The rushing sound of water came closer and closer. A strong gust of wind pushed my head to the side. A wave broke around me, slamming into the beach, then washed calmly back into the Gulf. Where the water diverted next to me, half-buried in the sand, was my strata.

I dropped it after the light was extinguished. I quickly turned around, looking into the waters which brought the strata back to me. I retrieved the sandy chess pawn and tucked it back into my pocket. As I stood, I found the wave did more than run an errand. Both men were on the ground, staring at me with their mouths agape. From the top of the seawall, looking down on all of us, stood Jake.

"He is an element," she announced. "And he has my attention..." Another strong gust caused me to shield my eyes. I slowly lowered my hand, looking back to the seawall. No one was there. Long, slender fingers caressed my shoulder from behind. I turned around as she said, "...undivided."