ꌗᎮꀤ꒒꓄ ꀤꉓꃅꂦꋪ - ᴀ ᴘᴇʀᴄʏ ᴊᴀᴄᴋꜱᴏɴ ꜰᴀɴꜰɪᴄ

ꉓꃅꍏꉣ꓄ꍟꋪ ꎇꂦꀎꋪ - no body, no crime

What is a perfume?
A synonym for headache
I hate mall kiosks.

⋆⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

I curse beneath my breath. This is fine. This will be fine.

Jericho and Araj furrow their eyebrows, seething in anger from my refusal to buy their product. Probably. I can't actually see the mouth of either one which takes away a vital part of emotion reading.

My eyes fall to Araj's surgical mask. Why someone who works in the perfume industry wears a mask, I haven't a clue. Really, if you like scents so much to go into the industry, why cover up your nose? I suppose that's why Araj doesn't cover her nose. The mask is perched on her upper lip, just beneath her nostrils. So infuriatingly close to being worn correctly, yet so so far.

I let my OCD compulsions take over and pinch the tip of the mask, moving it up into place. Actually, do I really have OCD if I don't have schizophrenia? Is that just another sign of being a demigod?

My internal monologue is rudely interrupted when Araj rips the mask of her face entirely and roars at me. Telepathically. Where she should have a mouth, Araj's skin is smooth and empty. Her words, I now realize, were never spoken aloud, but rather implanted straight into my brain.

I jump back a half mile in shock. The kiosk workers take it as an invitation to attack and begin to throw tiny glass perfume bottles at me. The liquid explodes as it hits the ground at my feet, splashing my ankles with sweet smelling acid.

My scream wakes Hedge from his (lavender) haze and he blinks rapidly, taking in the situation. He rubs his eyes and mutters, "Gods, why didn't I see that before? Astomoi. It was right on the label."

I don't have time to ask what I'm meant to do before a Vibrant Vanilla projectile hits the satyr in the temple, knocking him out colder than his Dip 'n' Dots.

A shard of glass buries itself in my forearm from a bottle smashed to bits against my collarbone. I wince and do a split-second sweep of my surroundings in search of a weapon. My fist curls around the baton still at the satyr's waist.

Zara Hakim, up to bat! The astomoi, as Hedge dubbed them, and I start playing a dangerous game of baseball, beating the perfume grenades in the air before they can hit the ground and splatter against my skin.

Dodging a bottle of Summer Sunsets, I stumble backwards into the kiosk table and the fragrances crash to the ground, adding a woody, spiced, floral, citrus scent to the already pungent air. I cough violently and struggle to collect my bearings. My palms slip out from beneath me when I try to push myself off the tile floor, now slick with perfume.

The astomoi move in on me from either side. I grimace and cover it in a weak smile. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to let me go in exchange for a soft pretzel?"

Jericho screeches, neck twitching.

"I'll take that as a no."

I slam the bottom of Hedge's baton on the ground, triggering the button that releases the bronze spearhead. The point buries itself in Araj's stomach. She shrieks, the sound rattling inside my brain, and explodes into gold dust. Her glittery remnants settle over me and Jericho like a blanket of snow. I sputter and frantically wipe it off my face.

Enraging Astomoi 101 by Zara Hakim. Step one: refuse to buy their perfumes. Step two: kill their partner. Step three: try to stab them.

Jericho catches the base of the baton with both hands and shoves it away from his body with a roar. I stumble and my hands slide from the weapon.

"Uhh.. Hedge? Now would be a good time to wake up and kick butt!" I shout.

I somersault backwards, just barely missing the astomoi's attempted mauling. My fingers curl around the black table cloth, holding it in place as I plant my feet on the side of the upside down table and kick it. Hard. It shoots across the floor, aided by the slicked tiles, and crashes into Jericho's feet. He stumbles and trips over the table. His face hits the ground with a sickening crack. I hiss through my clenched teeth in sympathy.

Yanking the table cloth off the floor, I jump to my feet and run to Jericho's side. My foot presses on his back, holding him down, and I wrap the cloth around his face. He squirms, but my hold is firm. I pull the cloth tighter. The monster claws at his face.

"Stop! I can't breath!" He transmits. "Please!"

I turn away, but don't let go until his screams cease and he falls still. My chest rises and falls rapidly as if I were the one who's suffocating. My vision is blurry with tears, but I force myself to grab the discarded baton and press the point to Jericho's body. He disintegrates at barely a whisper of a touch.

Gods, I am not cut out for this. My head throbs as the awful smells register to my brain. My future boyfriend better not like perfume, because I don't think anyone can ever make me wear it again.

"Come on, Gleeson," I mutter, grabbing the satyr by the back of his shirt. Luckily for me, he's a small man and I can manage his weight as I half drag him to the nearest mall exit.

"Hey, you! Stop!"

I spin around to find the voice. Nice of people to finally notice me after I've finished fighting for my life, but the man pointing at me does not seem like he intends to help me. He wears the typical navy uniform of a security guard and jogs towards me with a purposeful expression on his face. "Yeah..." I mutter to myself. "Maybe not."

Wrapping the still unconscious Hedge's arm around my shoulders, I break into a sprint and take off towards the door.

"Stop! Vandalist!" The guard struggles to get through the thick crowd of mall costumers, squeezing past one after another while my path is relatively clear.

I pump my legs harder. The sliding glass doors open just in time and I frantically scan the parking lot for Hedge's truck. The bright orange is hard to miss. My muscles ache and throb almost as much as my head, but I can't stop now.

Hedge moans as I drop him onto the ground, tearing the keyring off his belt and frantically inserting the key into the lock. I yank the truck door open and push him into the passenger seat.

"Hang on tight," I mutter. No time for seatbelts.

The guard sprints across the parking lot, nearly getting run over in the process.

"Come on, come on, come on!" I shout at the truck, knee bouncing anxiously. "Now is not the time to refuse to start!"

Finally, the engine sputters and rumbles to life. I smash my foot on the gas. Hedge's head slams into the seat. I crank the wheel to the right and he slams into the window. I'm beginning to respect his driving skills, though limited as they are, a little bit more. Leaving the security guard in a cloud of exhaust, I pull onto the highway and speed off.