The Trick to Falling in Style

Skyros

He sat on the parapet, legs swinging off the side. He watched as the sun began to dip below the giant wall in the distance. The edges of the sky were starting to darken into night, and lights were flickering on in the thousands of buildings that made up the districts. He felt someone press something cold against his hand. "Have a drink with me! Salut!"

"He isn't old enough to drink, MD," An exasperated female voice echoed in his ear. The coldness disappeared from his hand, and he felt water droplets slide down his palm.

"I was drinking at his age."

"And look how you turned out," Another voice responded on his other side. He didn't look at either of the people around him. He kept his focus on the horizon stretched out in front of him. For a moment, he felt like the wall wasn't there. He felt like he wasn't in some elaborate prison.

"Low blow, Sam, low blow."

"Should you really be talking to our boss like that?" Another voice added, and something else was placed in his hand. It was warmer, almost burning against his skin. He lifted it to his lips, letting the warm drink wash down his throat. He stopped when he realized he didn't taste anything. He lowered the drink, peering inside the mug... the mug? Wasn't it a cup? What was he supposed to be drinking? Was it actually warm, or was that his own body heat?

Was the sun setting? Or was it rising?

Was he sitting next to Sam and MD? Or was Nook right beside him? Actually, he might have been standing.

He wasn't... or he was... he is... he doesn't remember. Not every detail. He just remembers the rooftop. He remembers their words and presence. He remembers the cold drink being taken away... and who took it away?

He looks up. She is standing next to MD. She smiles at whatever he's talking about. She tucks her dirty blonde hair behind her ear, noticing that he's looking at her. She meets his eyes unflinchingly. She's still smiling, but it's a soft one meant for him, not an amused one aimed at MD. She opens her mouth to say something to him, but he can't hear her. He vaguely thinks that she's apologizing to him, and he doesn't know what for. She can't look that happy and be apologizing. Apologies should be remorseful. But she's smiling and he can only hear her lips muttering an apology.

—

His chest feels heavy. Breathing takes far more effort than it should. He feels like someone slammed a sledgehammer into his chest, but he firmly believes that it is only pain. He doesn't think anything has been broken, probably just bruised. Nothing else hurts, but his muscles do feel a little sore. His head is groggy, but it isn't pounding. He takes both of those to be good signs, and he allows his eyes to open. He sees cracked gray concrete illuminated by some sort of green light. He squints his eyes as he looks around, and his gaze settles on a pair of hands. He realizes as soon as one of the hand's flexes its fingers that those are his hands. They are bound at the wrists by some sort of glass tubing. The main tube is a green-tinted shade of white, but the aureole around the tubing is a viridian color. He's been tied up with neon tubing, and he doesn't fully understand how that's possible. He tries to pull at the tubing, but it doesn't budge. He's stuck, and by the way his legs won't part, they've been tied up, too.

"Good... evening, I think," Mamacita greets him with a soft whisper. He winces as the memories wash over him in slow waves. He remembers the emotional conversation in the car ride with Monarch, and then Mamacita woke up with the need to pee. He wanted to examine the area for monsters, but she... she knocked him unconscious with... neon tubing? Where in the world would she get neon tubing? Unless she had it on her person, which was as weird as it was impossible, she must... she must have created it herself. He never knew she had powers.