Echoes

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The inside of Chao's looked perfect, immaculate even--clean white tablecloths, intimate lighting, banners displaying Chinese calligraphy hanging on the walls. The only flaw Hope noted was the beckoning cat figurine near the register. Every time the arm descended, it clicked at the half-way point and froze for a second before popping back up.
The hostess had noted Hope's curiosity and explained that same figurine had been on display since a much smaller, more humble Chao's opened. If the restaurant enjoyed such success, they saw no reason to throw it away after their expansion and grand re-opening.
Hope gazed at the rhythmic motion and thought she could hear it clicking away, bringing in good fortune.
"Babe," Derrick said, snapping her out of her reverie. "You sure you want Peking duck and Szechuan chicken?"
Hope looked up from the menu and saw disbelief on Derrick's face. "I'm hungry."
"Me too. But--"
"I killed it at the gym today," Hope said with a laugh. "More like Clawz killed me. Screw deadlifts anyways."
"Same. Leg day for me. I destroyed my squat PR."
"Congrats. Have you ever tried shumai? They look good in the picture."
"Babe! Seriously."
"I'm hungry. And we're going Dutch, aren't we? What are you worried about?"
Derrick rolled his eyes. "I know you busted your ass in the gym or whatever, but ninety percent of results come from what you do in the kitchen."
Hope paused, then tried to play it off like a joke. "You saying I belong in the kitchen, you sexist pig?" She pointed her chopsticks at him in a mock threat, but her bright eyes betrayed her good-natured attitude.
Derrick leaned back. "I'm just sayin' do you really think you need all that?" His half-sneer made his judgment on the question clear.
The words hit Hope like a punch in the stomach. She held up the menu to hide her face, fearing tears that would only set Derrick off more. His voice resounded in her mind, a throwback to previous disagreements. Don't be so emotional. God, how am I supposed to talk to you when you get upset all the time?
She stared from one picture to the other until the waiter arrived.
Derrick ordered several meat dishes--none of them breaded or deep-fried. "No rice either, pal," he added. "Just some steamed vegetables."
The waiter turned to Hope, and she opened her mouth to order.
"Same sides for her," Derrick interjected. "We don't need high-calorie, high-carb garbage."
Hope shook her head briskly to clear her mind. "I'll have the Peking duck, please," she said in a meek voice. "Just the duck."

* * *

Forsephore studied the monitors and gauged her own reaction to Derrick's treatment of the Prime. You can do better than this, Hope. This guy treats you like dirt. Don't you see?
Across the central chamber of the Hub, Tuwonyne still glowed bright, her wedding dress radiant and shimmering. But she sat hunched over, staring at the empty floor of petitions, rocking gently while holding her stomach.
Sicstuphyve slumped on the bench beside Tuwonyne. The Echo looked like an exhausted gym dweller, stretched out across the seating.
Wonfortene sat cross-legged on the same bench, a little ways off to the side, taking down quotes and writing snippets in her ever-present notepad. Her pen moved swiftly, but her troubled eyes stayed locked on Tu and Phyve.
Something's wrong. Forsephore rose and moved toward her friends. What am I going to do about it, though? I don't know how this all works.
As she approached Tuwonyne, she realized the shimmering aura came from a misty cloud of Inspiration forming in the air around the Echo.
And the light that formed the mist was coming from Sicstuphyve. "I worked so hard for this," she groaned. "I lost two dozen pounds and dropped two sizes. I've got defined muscles. I'm stronger than I ever was before."
She coughed and pounded her chest. A puff of light seeped out of her skin and filled the air. "I need that," she said weakly.
The golden mist slid through the air and formed a swirling cloud around Tuwonyne. She looked up at Forsephore, her jaw clenched from pain. Her eyes rimmed with tears, and she fought for composure.
"Tu--" Forsephore started, then trailed off. She had no words to say.

* * *

"--threw a few more plates up on the bar," Derrick continued, his animated hands flapping like a flock of birds. "My spotter was all, 'You sure, man?' And I'm all, 'Bitch, please.' Then I benched the hell outta that."
Hope picked at her food and mustered a believable smile. "Great job, hon. That's awesome."
"Hell yeah it was! I mean, I'm not gonna lie. I wasn't too sure I could do it. But with all my boys and the gym hotties watching, I wasn't gonna let them down."
Hope twitched at the mention of other women. But guys can't help noticing those sorts of things, she told herself. And Derrick never gave her any real cause to be jealous.
Plus he had such a nice smile when he talked about himself.
She focused on the pride and joy in his eyes, and pushed down fears and doubts.
"Whoa, hey," Derrick said. "I been talkin' forever. Lemme eat a bite or three. Tell me what you had going on today."
Hope brightened at the opportunity. "Did I tell you that my blog got over ten thousand hits today?"
"Hits?"
"Views. It counts how many people visit."
"Ten thousand? Is that a lot?"
Hope nearly choked on her food. "Uh... yeah. I mean, especially for someone who just got started. And my feed was blowing up with positive comments, likes, reblogs and shares... yeah, that's definitely a lot."
Derrick extended a fist. "Great job, then."
Hope paused, studying his reaction. "Derrick," she asked, "did you even read my post?"
Derrick rubbed his chin and leaned back. "I glanced at it, yeah."
"What did you think?"
"Don't matter what I think if you got ten thousand hits or whatever."
Hope leaned in. "What you think matters because you matter."
Derrick smiled, but it faded fast. "Well, if you really want to know..."
Hope nodded.
"I don't know. You kinda came off like some feminazi." He clearly noted her displeasure, but doubled down on his statement. "I showed it to some of the guys, and a lot of them felt the same way. Sorry."
Hope pursed her lips and let her eyes wander. The damn cat by the register kept on clicking and waving, clicking and waving. She watched it for a moment rather than look Derrick in the eye.
"It's honest feedback, babe. Not trying to be a jerk. Just sayin' is all. Maybe stick to the cutesy pictures and stuff, y'know?"

Wonfortene gasped and arched backward, falling off the bench. As she sucked in air, Inspiration poured out of her, flooding the air with golden vapor. Wonfortene's skin visibly dimmed at the sudden loss. She clutched at her heart, her breathing sharp and labored.
The gaseous light twisted and curled, but flowed inexorably toward Tuwonyne. She looked on Wonfortene and Sicstuphyve with pity and sorrow. But her eyes lit with hunger for the transferred Inspiration, and she extended her hand to draw it in.
Tuwonyne stood, radiant with splendor once more. She held her chin high and straightened her dress. Then she caught Sicstuphyve's hostile gaze.
"We do not choose for ourselves which of us receive Inspiration from the Prime," Tuwonyne said. "But I wish it had been anyone other than you two."
"Yeah," Sicstuphyve growled. "Me too."
Wonfortene still seemed in a daze about what had happened.
"I have business with the Alphas," Tuwonyne said and excused herself. She headed for the dais, and likely missed the vulgar comment Sicstuphyve muttered about Bridezillas.
Forsephore ran her hands down the sides of her face. Banking on Tuwonyne may not have been the best plan. But she's what I've got to work with.