Nine Swords

Please do not read if strong language and non-heterosexual relationships is not your thing. This is meant to be SWL-adjacent: some mentions of the world but not every theme will be adhered to.

--Balam.

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The first time Seungkwan saw The Basement it was the DJ that attracted his attention, illuminated by the deep reds and moody purples of the club’s lighting. The man was clad simply in a singlet and torn jeans, so ragged and oddly attractive. His arms gleamed bright in the black-light they had hidden somewhere, firmly muscled and tight and decorated with UV paint. He was spinning something heavy, a remake of David Forbes’ Obscene Filthy, and the club was thumping.

Seungkwan stared, fascinated, then turned to look at the packed club. He had never been at The Basement before, being so far from the typical club kid that it wasn’t funny. His hook-up was likely in the crowd somewhere, but he didn’t know if he could get to the bar, let alone the other side of the dancefloor.

Staring only made the crowd seem thicker, his goal further away. Too tired for that fight, he turned and looked at the DJ again, eyes widening appreciatively at the way cherry hair coloured something closer to sanguine by the changing lights. The DJ’s face was canted down, but he could see sweat prickling and beading like blood at his hairline under the lights.

The DJ looked up and straight at him, heterochromic eyes piercing across the distance. His lips pressed shut, his hands moved on automatic, but the connection felt heavy between them, a heaviness that echoed the music. The screaming crowd drowned beneath it, becoming mere accessories to the thump-thump-thump of the beat between them.

Seungkwan’s breath caught, spine molten, and he faltered, uncertain whether there was something in the air. For a moment he rocked forward but the ping of his phone distracted him. He shook his head, grimacing as he turned to press through to the bar.

It was a struggle but he triumphed, finding a small space to stand in as he flipped it open; the sudden illumination of it lured the closest bartender closer. He looked tall and thin, but impeccably dressed in fuckboy waiter attire: slim-fitting black pants, casual black shirt opened at his neck and rolled up over his forearms. His eyes were dark-dark-dark to the point where they seemed less eyes than empty windows and it threw Seungkwan for a moment.

“Get you anything?” Smooth voice, very posh English accent, not what you’d expect from a fuckboy bartender in a club in the Meatpacking district.

Seungkwan risked a look down at his phone, wanted to curse at the ‘couldn’t make it, see you later?’ on there and looked back up at the dark, dark eyes. “Something strong,” he said simply. Irritation made him add “Something to loosen me up.”

The bartender cast a look at him, taking his time to trace from the ultraviolet blue of his hair to the slightly-too-preppy clothing he had on, and merely nodded. For a moment there was a flicker of curiosity on his face; seconds later he turned to make the drink. It arrived in a tall glass, involved what looked like an energy drink and something that foamed. When it arrived, it had a smaller secondary glass filled with a clear liquid. “This first,” the bartender said, indicating the shot glass. “Shake, wait a moment and down it. Then the Jägerbomb. All in one breath.”

Thinking of the assignments he had at the dorm, Seungkwan smirked and did as the doctor ordered. The first hit him like a freight train running in the night, heavy and soundless and potent. Tequila with the sourness of lime omitted but still burning. Then the clink of the Jägermeister falling in the energy drink; that felt like sliding into sin, burning and bubbly and dangerous, as if he injected adrenaline into his veins.

He swayed when he finished the last drop and looked up at the bartender again. The man’s face blurred, looked leaner for a moment, but was back in the next moment, sinfully beautiful but remote. “Thanks,” he slurred, waving his phone over the wireless pay-point. Hot on the alcohol’s heels confusion crashed on his shoulders: the disappointment of the night’s missed hook-up, the mysterious angles of the bartender’s face, the aching beauty in the DJ’s heterochromatic eyes.

“Dance,” the bartender ordered.

Seungkwan wasn’t sure whether it was a command or a suggestion, but he turned from the bar and did just that, creeping into the pit of bodies to dance. He danced until his heart felt as if it wanted to explode – it thudded loud and fierce and angry in his throat, until he panted with exertion and enjoyment.

There were hands on his hips and a tall body dancing behind him when he paid attention again. Somewhere along the line the lights had died down, bathing everyone in the ghostly blues of black-light augmented with vivid UV. He saw a man that looked like stars, tribal patterns dancing over and around people, aboriginal rainbow dragons on the arms that held him.

He was light and heat and need and passion. His skin smeared with lines, bruised up with UV paints. In the distance he saw the ghostly radiance of a vampire’s teeth, sharp and seductive. The drinks let him hear colour, see potential, until the night passed like a technicolour trip.

Hours later, soaked to the bone with sweat and utterly spent from dancing, he fell asleep without seeing the smudges that decorated his neck.

Hope there is more to come!! This is great, Balam!

woah I like your writing style, can't wait to see more!

Very awesome!

Seungkwan stepped off the subway and made his way out, clutching his bag and travel mug close to his chest. His sinuses ached from the cold and he tried not to shiver; his coat was thick enough, but just the sight of so much snow on the street and the puffs of breath around him made everything worse. A night’s sleep had done him no good. He had dreamt of horns and horses, some kind of impromptu medieval hunt that he neither understood nor wanted but was trapped in. Makeup had only slightly helped his puffy eyelids; he thanked the gods of New York that had mandated huge sunglasses for the season.

He fought his way out of the 66th Street Station and tried not to fall as his feet crunched down in fresh snow. Around him dancers waddled like ungainly ducklings in the snow, legs much more heavily clad than their torsos. He found it funny the first year, and it had morphed into profound understanding since – he wished that he could fit a second pair of leggings underneath his jeans, but the thin, ultra-sheer thermal leggings from Canada would have to do.

He peered around, trying to decide which way snow flurried less, and was nearly run over when he cautiously stepped forward.

“Shit, sorry!” came a deep voice from a guy that towered almost a hand above him. He was so slim that it seemed the snow supported him somehow, but the hand that stretched to keep Seungkwan straight was strong and firm, and the man had no problem counterbalancing his weight. “I should have watched where I walked. Are you ok?”

Seungkwan tried not to stare. The guy had silvery hair that fluffed everywhere, unrestrained by beanie or hood or scarf, and he was oddly beautiful: lanky but not waifish, with excellent cheekbones. “Yeah… uh, I’m okay, thank you. I’m sorry. It’s the snow.”

Without a second thought the stranger linked his arm with Seungkwan’s and propelled the two of them forward and across the slippery street. “Why? The snow is happy, don’t you think? All these snowflakes building on each other, like a million little comrades-in-arms. Each time one falls, it rubs its cheek against another one’s back, like a city full of hugs.”

His steps were extremely long, almost like a stork’s, but it seemed effortless to keep up with him if only because Seungkwan’s mind floundered with the strange thought. His boot touched the sidewalk on the other side, found a firm step, carved a place for him to stand all without his body considering the movements or the icy wind. “I…”

“Oh look!” the stranger said. “We’re here… Kara! Hey, Kara!” He stuck his hand in the air to wave at someone standing on the steps. Three someones standing on the steps, for that matter, and when Seungkwan looked in that direction he stumbled and nearly fell flat on his face. ‘Kara’ was as beautiful as the man that had hauled him to this side of the road, one man had the kind of tip-tilted gaze that tigers would be envious of, and the last…

Amber and moss, patterns like rainbow snakes down naked arms. A furnace-hot body behind him. The food of idle daydreams and frustrated fantasies. Even at fifty paces the man’s eyes reminded him of the night before.

“Thanks for helping me across the street!” Seungkwan said urgently to the stranger at his side, pulling his arm free. “Thank you, very friendly of you, but I have to go now!”

He attained freedom and fled towards one of the alternate entrances, leaving the four of them to stare at his back. He didn’t look back himself, too discomforted; the sound of his nightmare’s hunting horns played in his mind as he barged into the glass door, suddenly ludicrously out of breath. Once inside, he pinched his eyes shut at the sudden blast of warmer air, and counted having to traverse the entire building a small price to pay for escaping those eyes.

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The glass door closed distantly behind the boy with the brown hair. Evris watched it close before he turned to the three on the steps, eyebrows lifting. “I get the feeling there’s a story I don’t know,” he said very mildly, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I don’t appreciate not knowing all the stories.” He turned his head to the man with the heterochromic eyes. “Why did the innocent flee as if all the devils in Sheol were after him when he laid eyes on you?”

The man didn’t reply, merely directed his gaze down towards Evris’ bare feet. Veiled from mundane sight, Evris’ toes were bare even as he stood on freezing paving stones with snow melting around his ankles. Frowning, he tilted his head a little at the henna patterns painted on them.

Kara gave a long-suffering sigh as Evris shifted his attention and looked at her. “Can we go inside? Not all of us have the ability to waltz along the snow like fucking Legolas.” Her voice sounded sulky, with a whining pout veiling deep affection. “You’re making the rest of us look bad, Evris.”

“Impossible,” Evris said thoughtfully, half-sly. “We’re all way too hot.”

After an eyeroll, Kara nodded to the men at her side. “This is Gabriel Kwon, he’s in my third-year class.”

The man gave Evris a squinty-eyed, adorable smile even as he walked backward up the stairs with seemingly no effort whatsoever. “Pleased to meet you!” he announced. “I’m Gabriel Kwon but my stage name is Edward!”

"Don't ask," Kara warned Evris. "You'll only encourage him."

But Edward? For a stage name?

Evris felt faintly impressed. He was literally as graceful as an elf, but he’d fall over his feet and brain himself if he tried to waltz backwards up the steps like Gabriel. “I see.” Following everyone inside took only a moment, and he conscientiously wiped his bare feet clean on the carpet before eyeing the last stranger. “But I still want to know why the very cute, very new boy nearly killed himself running from you. Did you do something to him?”

A serene look came Evris’ way, but there were hidden depths in the honey-and-moss gaze Jacob so calmly bestowed.

“This is Jacob Lee,” Kara supplied. “He’s one of Artemis’ protégées at The Basement.” He paused. “DJ Seren.”

Ah,” Evris murmured, clicking his tongue-ring against his teeth. “Bad hookup, I see.”

"We didn’t hook up.”

The guy’s voice was low, as low as his. There was an energy to him as well, a carefully-veiled strength – but then most DJs were about control and dominating the crowd. You weren’t very successful if you didn’t have it.

“Why don’t you have shoes on?” Gabriel Edward Kwon chipped in.

Evris shot him a vague look. “I don’t need them. Kara, I’ll meet you later on for the thing?”

Kara blinked, then caught up to their old code. “Oh, that thing? Yeah… yeah, I’ll be at home at four.”

Evris’ smile sparkled as he sidestepped them and made for his backstage job. Behind him, he heard Kara whisper ‘Edward? Where the fuck did that come from?’ to Tiger Eyes guy. Jacob, however, stared at his back until he turned down a corridor.

Oh, the vain, vicious, devilishly Unseelie part of him rejoiced, tickled him with the possibility of a mystery. Oh, this is going to be fun.

I agree with Evris! Also I really loved his waxing poetic about snowflakes, he's adorable <3

Razorgrin wrote: ↑Tue Jun 15, 2021 4:19 pm I agree with Evris! Also I really loved his waxing poetic about snowflakes, he's adorable <3

Kickass, but a softy inside.

Kara dressed like a hobo dancer, all leggings and torn, oversized sweaters, so one might be mistaken in thinking that her apartment was either a student’s cramped dorm or an artsy studio somewhere chic.

Evris, staring up at the façade of the building situated on the ‘Gold Coast’ of Greenwich’s 10th street, felt overwhelmed every time he looked at it. The Parks were old money back in South Korea, some kind of business situation, and Kara’s father doted on his daughter the way his art-positive, now-dead Fae wife would have wanted.

Seven floors including a basement, the place was massive and was Evris’ favourite place in New York. Kara had had to talk for five seconds flat before he agreed to move in. It was on the ley that led to Central Park and the nexus of power there, it had plenty of space for a studio for him, and more importantly it was filled with music and art and freedom, and no one looked at him funny when he slouched around barefeet in pyjamas.

To be fair, they were Gucci pyjamas, Kara’s latest birthday gift to him.

He shuffled into the lobby of the single-occupant building and smiled at the unassuming security guard sitting there. Derek looked as if life was grooming him to be an accountant. Derek also knew eleven styles of martial arts and was a crack shot, and fanatically loyal to the Park family.

“Hey,” Evris muttered softly, shuffling up to the desk and plunking a container of profiteroles down. “For Haley. How’s the baby?”

Derek smiled at him, cast his eyes up to the heavens and groaned. “Still waking me up at night. You go on up ok? Kara’s just in. Thanks, Evris.”

Evris smiled absently and made his way to the ground-floor entrance, slipping inside and hearing the hermetically sealed door thud closed behind him before he took the lift to the third floor. The wood of the apartment felt buttery and whisper-soft underneath his feet as he made for the living room. “Kara?” he called out, obligingly changing course when his best friend called out of one of the smaller bedrooms.

He entered and paused to admire his friend. Kara had stripped down to her underwear already, revealing a strong back, toned waist, and legs that Evris would have killed to have. He paused in the doorway to look at them, then sighed and slumped sideways against the lintel. “What does that dried-up old stick have that I don’t?” he complained. “Seriously, Kara, you should be interested in me. We could make wonderful porn together.”

Kara gave a remarkably easy snort-cackle and plucked the legs on her panties down. “Weird child,” she muttered. “Come on, you said you wanted a canvas for tonight’s party, right? Do you want me male or female?”

Evris’ interest slipped over to the academic and he went to run his hand along Kara’s back, then legs. Smooth, primped and moisturised and the perfect canvas. He measured out portions with his hands, saw a vision in his mind that shorted his breath, and sighed out slowly, softly. “I want to make you a fish for tonight, strange and lovely and wonderful,” he murmured. “Come on.”

Some practiced their art on canvases and buildings, ranging from misty, impressionistic landscapes of the city to serious statement pieces. That had never interested him. The human body interested him: the angles he could achieve, the sheer, shocking scope of it that crossed from body painting into breathing, living art.

He practised it sparingly: it only came out in the darkest of circumstances, when the beat was heavy and the UV lights glaring, when the music dragged you into its drugging rhythm. His artwork pulsed with each movement of the dancer. Statement pieces by Neon was as coveted by fashion shows as pieces by Banksy in their way; the fact that no one knew it came from his magic only made it better.

Kara, his Seelie opposite, was his favourite canvas. She carried herself proudly in the clubs they went to, baring her skin to showcase Evris’ visions. She had once confessed it made things easier for her as well; she wasn’t shy but it made her feel better to feel the magic on her skin when she had to hold hers in tightly to appear mortal. Like a mask, she had once said, Captain UV.

Leading Kara into his studio, Evris turned to his paints and pulled out his UV palettes. “So how is the dried-up old stick doing?” he asked curiously. “Still thinking he’s too old for you?”

Kara scoffed and reached for the primer, smearing it on her limbs in slow, even strokes. It was a special mix Evris created from cosmetics the FDA would never approve of, least of all because they couldn’t identify the magic in it. The rest of it, created from a little of his breath, a lot of power from the moon and the dark spaces around it, and galls from Central Park’s hidden stretches, did nothing but leave the skin smooth afterwards, if with a tendency to glitter as if too much body shimmer had been applied.

“He’s being ridiculous,” Kara complained. “He looks at me with those bedroom eyes of his and I can tell by now when a man’s interested, ok? But then he’s like every goddamn cliché vampire movie out there despairing about his ‘eternal age’ and it makes me angry enough to shit a brick. I wouldn’t have minded if it led to angry fucking, but it’s getting ridiculous. Can’t you speak to your sister and see what she can do?”

Evris pursed his lips and thought of his ‘sister’. Cassandra only shared an adopted name with him, not actual blood, but the ultra-gorgeous Chief Executive of the Camarilla in the city had claimed him fifteen seconds after seeing him, and they had had an unusual relationship ever since. Cassandra understood the dark spaces that the Unseelie part of him rejoiced in, understood the eternal struggle that kept him to being moody and away from dancing with entrails hanging around him. In her own way she protected Evris like the little brother she had claimed him.

Cassandra was also one of Artemis’ oldest friends, though no one would think so after meeting them for the first time. She was the silent partner in The Basement; as a vampire Artemis had had to get her permission to nest in New York and start a business, so it was plausible that she could put in a good word for Kara. Nevertheless…

He began painting the outlines of the artwork he wanted on Kara’s back, just finely sketched outlines for now. “You know I would,” he said thoughtfully. “But then you’d not have the pleasure of wearing him down.” His fingers lifted to trace along the shell of one ear, pinching the lobe fondly. “I’ll make you beautiful tonight and we’ll go wipe his face in it. Is he spinning tonight?”

“No, it’s the new kid he’s been talking about. DJ Seagull.” Kara relaxed at the touch, tilting her head to the side. “Jacob introduced him to Artemis. He’s a werewolf.”

Evris frowned as he sketched out muscle fibres. “Tell me he’s an omega.”

Kara flexed, threw the muscles in her back in relief as she bent forward for the cool, slick tickle of the kohl eyeliner. “You know what DJs are like,” she mumbled face-down. “They all get off on dominating the crowd. There’s not a chance in the hot hells that he’s an omega.”

“Yeah, speaking of werewolves, what was up with that little puppy today?” Evris asked curiously. “The one with the mismatched eyes? And his friend?”

Kara sighed deeply. “Gabe’s an idiot,” she said fondly. “He’s a clown, he loves to make people laugh, and they look at his baby face and forget he can rip someone’s face off. I’ve not really asked, but he’s a were-cat of some sort, and he can dance like a demon.”

“And the boy?”

“Jacob… I don’t know him that well, just enough to know he’s a were as well, but the word is he’s bad news. Not like Gabe at all. Getting him to talk is like extracting teeth from a chicken. His pride over in Seoul kicked him out because he wish-boned the leader, so he came back to his mother’s country. Talk is he literally took the man by each ankle and ripped him in half.”

“He knows that if he hurts you there’ll be some trouble? I’ll gut him and if I have difficulties I’ll put Mingyu on his case.”

“Evris,” Kara grumbled. “I might be all Light Court but that doesn’t mean I won’t protect myself. Don’t worry, okay? Come on, turn me into a fish so I can go and get laid by Little Meow Meow.”

Evris, lips twitching, pondered the insanity of referring to the second-strongest vampire in New York as ‘Little Meow Meow’, and resolved to call him nothing else. “Fine, fine, I…”

Their head snapped to the window as the sound of a hunting horn tickled across senses no mundane had. A shiver crawled down Evris’ back and he saw an answering ripple from Kara. “Theo is back,” he said softly, steadying himself on Kara’s shoulder. “That means the Hunt is back as well. I thought people learnt after the last time some idiot warlock tried to summon up a hot babe to sleep with and got Azazel. Remember that?”

Pieces of the warlock had been mailed to each warlock or witch in New York, tastefully so in a black box with a sprig of rue under the silky black ribbon. Evris, who had been with Namjoon when the Druid got his, had looked at the rolling, familiar eyeball inside it and turned around to get sick, horrified that a part of him applauded the gesture.

Namjoon had laughed and laughed, a bitter sound that had nothing to do with mirth and everything with anger.

“Shit,” Kara muttered. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Balam, I hope you don't mind me reading / commenting, but writing is my real life obsession. I couldn't help myself.

You've got a distinctive voice and a strong, vivid prose style. Highly visual, too. Are you working on a larger project?

I don't mind at all -- not really? I've written things here and there, but I've never had the courage to go for something bigger.