Mingling, Part 2

A tall, pale skinned woman with exaggerated curves, filling out a sleeveless satin v-neck midi dress in deep burgundy, made her way through the crowd. Lustrous black hair in waves down her back disappeared behind a folded set of owl's wings which were surprisingly inobtrusive for their size. She wore a cool expression with the faintest hint of a smirk on her lips - as if she were remembering an inside joke that she'd already decided not to share. Her eyes were fixated not on Andy, or any of the other guests, but on Arabella and Anna, who stood to the side, quietly watching the interactions. Cassandra had left for a moment, and Lilith swept in. Arabella opened her arms, clearly pleased to see her.

“Lilith! Be welcome on my island. I am glad you decided to come after all, though it must not have been an easy decision.”

Lilith returned the hug with a brittle sense of aloofness. “Couldn’t miss seeing what you are up to, Arabella, and it’s interesting to see how some of it is done close up.”

Arabella smiled faintly. “I know you must have been busy as well. It has been far too long since last I saw you, and you have certainly come a long way.” She paused, then added, “It may not be my place to say, but I am sorry for the way you were treated, back then. Things were different, but it is not an excuse.” There was an odd look on Arabella’s face, something almost like regret.

Lilith gave her a flat look for a moment, then with a hint of bitterness, she added, “Everyone has their own path to walk, and given the company we’ve kept, the thorns that line the path are going to leave scars no matter how carefully we tread.”

Arabella nodded, a little sadly. Half a step behind her, Anna watched the interaction quietly, without intervening. The Host added, “None of us can change what has come before, but I am glad you are here, nonetheless. Can I do anything for you, to make you welcome?”

Lilith paused, seemingly giving the question genuine thought for the first time. Her eyes left Arabella for a moment, taking in the room, the other host and the visitors from various sets, before she eventually responded, “Not here, and not now. Perhaps later, when the curtains are lowered, we can share a drink backstage.”

Arabella was silent for a little while, sensing that Lilith had something else on her mind. A few moments later, the winged woman asked neutrally, “Do you think that what you’re doing here will work?”

Arabella shrugged. “I have no guarantee. I tried it before, but for the wrong reasons, and in the wrong way. This time, I think it will be different. But whether it will be a good thing or not…” She took a deep breath, less a Host for a moment, and more like a conductor preparing to start a challenging fugue. “As they say, the jury is still out on that one.”

Lilith offered a considering nod. Very quietly, she added, “May you arrive where you hope your path leads,” then turned as if to slip back into the crowd, pausing for a moment before gliding away.

“I won’t stop you if you need to go back to your season. And I understand if you prefer to go.” Arabella interjected, softly, “But it would make me happy if you stayed a while.”

Lilith nodded once, as if expecting it, and glanced back over her shoulder. Then, as if the previous conversation had not happened at all, her expression lit up with a bright smile. “Of course. It wouldn’t do to simply disappear without at least congratulating your season’s Master on all the progress he’s made so far. So many bonds, so tightly wrapped around him—it’s enough to give a girl notions.”

Arabella smiled softly. “This is different this time. Some things, even I cannot change. But Andy… he is full of surprises.” She looked at Lilith with a strange wistfulness. “Alas, both you and I have seen what most Masters really look like. Those gathered here are the minority. That’s why I have been testing him. Thoroughly.”

A merry laugh erupted from Lilith’s throat this time. “For certain values of ‘tested’. If you really want to see what he’s made of, give him to me for a few days.” Before Arabella could respond, Lilith waved as though to dismiss the notion, as unworthy of real consideration. Then, she added, “I’ll be good today. More or less. Would you care to introduce me, or should I do that myself?”

Arabella’s lips curled into a faint smile. “I know you will be good. This is my island, after all.” Her smile broadened. “Come. I will introduce you.” She offered her hand to Lilith, while Anna eyed the winged woman speculatively.

“It has been quite a while indeed,” she murmured.

Lilith smiled at Anna, ever so slightly more gentle a smile than the treatment Arabella received, but she did not respond as she accepted Arabella’s hand so that she could be led to the season’s central figure. She moved smoothly, stepping alongside the older woman as though every movement through the party were the next step in a dance she’d performed so many times, she could do it with her eyes closed.

Arabella led Lilith to Andy, who was watching a discomfited young brown-haired man in a gray suit walk to the refreshments table, after having just finished a short conversation with him. “Andy,” Arabella said quietly, “may I introduce Lilith? She is a Host, also, for a season called Dungeon Crawl. She and I have known each other for a long time.”

Andy turned to look at Lilith, his expression undecipherable as he nodded in greeting. “It’s a pleasure. Thank you for coming, I really appreciate it.”

Lilith studied Andy for several moments, then murmured, “Interesting.” She glanced sidelong at Arabella, a single eyebrow arching in a suggestion of inquiry before returning her attention to the season’s Master. “Of course, and congratulations on all that you’ve achieved so far.” She paused for just a moment, then added, “And so smoothly done, too—you’ve woven them all together in quite the tapestry.”

Andy frowned for a moment, then relaxed. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but they did much of the work themselves. This place… I believe it has helped all of us. Arabella would know.” He smiled at the Host, almost conspiratorially. “I understand not all seasons are so… accommodating.”

Lilith considered Andy’s words for a moment, then shrugged. “Accommodating is a relative thing. Each Host has their own vision for how a story will conclude. You should consider yourself fortunate that Arabella’s seems to align well with yours. Of course—” She glanced sidelong at the Host in question, a little smirk playing about her lips, “It’s also important to realize that the sausage will get made, whether the stuffing things it’s going to taste good, or not.”

“Undoubtedly, and unfortunately too many Hosts envision pain and fear as part of processing the stuffing.” Andy glanced at Caleb, a shadow of concern on his face. “It occurs to me, however, that sometimes the stuffing rebels. I understand Hosts aren't immune to consequences, then.” He looked at Emily, then back to Lilith with a disarming smile. “That being said, thankfully, this seems more of a danger for Hosts who underestimate their charges.” He shrugged ruefully. “I apologize, this became quite philosophical, didn't it? Thank you for coming, I appreciate the gesture.”

Lilith offered Andy a smile that, while not warm, seemed to acknowledge the point made. “Of course. Please, do enjoy the party and, of course, your harem.” She glanced at Arabella once more, expression unreadable, before going off in search of a drink.

Andy looked at Arabella inquiringly, and the Host gave him a faint smile. “I have known her for a long time,” was all she offered as an explanation before gliding back to where Anna waited.

---

Marissa Holt had always been skilled at reading rooms, but the Dance Hall defied her usual playbook. Too many variables. Heightened emotional states everywhere, amplified by the odd triggers and compulsions that the show seemed to favor. On top of that, every interaction layered with backstory, alliances, rivalries, and, tonight, the presence of other Masters and their entourages. She felt more like a field anthropologist than a psychologist: cataloguing, adapting, waiting for an opening.

She watched the new guests mingle with the others. The aquamarine-skinned woman was ordering a cocktail at the bar, with Emily grinning and preparing it deftly. When the woman sipped it, her eyes widened slightly, and Emily chuckled. Marissa supposed the woman must have asked for something unusual. Elsewhere, Claire and another small catgirl were deep in conversation. They looked so alike in demeanor that Marissa couldn’t help but smile.

The opening came when she stepped away from the buffet for a moment, and found Scarlet standing alone by a low planter filled with living orchids and LED fairy lights. The obsidian-skinned woman had an air of composure that was rare in this crowd: patient, slightly remote, but not disengaged. She caught Marissa’s approach and gave a brisk nod, as if acknowledging the inevitability of this meeting.

“Dr. Holt,” Scarlet said. Her accent was New York, but carefully sanded down. A comforting warmth emanated from her, like a hearth.

“Scarlet,” Marissa replied, opting for direct. “Please, call me Marissa. You look much less harried than you sounded the last time we corresponded.”

Scarlet’s mouth ticked up at one corner. “I’ve had a few years to calm down, settle, grow up. And, the lack of harpies wanting to break us helps.” She jerked her chin at the spread of activity behind them. “You holding up, or is this a professional hazard situation?”

Marissa considered. “The latter, but I have a good track record for keeping my head. Besides, there’s something comforting about chaos with a finite perimeter.”

“That’s very fair,” Scarlet said. She paused, then added: “You’re more soft-spoken than I thought. From your letters, I pictured more of a… commanding authority.”

Marissa smiled, genuinely. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Not a disappointment. Just a recalibration.” Scarlet’s gaze dropped, then returned. “Speaking of letters, I wanted to say: you didn’t need to apologize for the advice. It helped, actually. I never met a therapist who cut to the chase so fast.”

Marissa shrugged. “It’s a habit, sometimes. I tend to overstep, especially when I sense someone is about to run out of time.”

Scarlet nodded, absorbing that, but then her obsidian-dark eyes turned serious. “I needed someone to overstep for us. I was flailing at the time, trying to hold everyone together, trying to hold myself together. I like to think I muddled through it, more or less, thanks to you.”

Marissa shook her head. “You did everything you could do under impossible circumstances,” She said, gesturing towards the island. “The psychological load, even on a so-called ‘light’ season, is tremendous. I cannot imagine what you must have gone through. But you carried them through. That is something worth celebrating.”

Scarlet studied her, then nodded once, approval in the gesture. “You don’t waste time with pretense, do you?”

“I learned the hard way that it doesn’t help.” Marissa glanced at Scarlet’s hands, the way her fingertips pressed lightly against the planter’s edge, then back up. “May I ask? How are you… managing, after the season?”

Scarlet considered the question, then replied, “I think better than most. I wasn’t the primary trauma vector, and our Host didn’t particularly have it in for me.” She paused. “But a few of my sisters didn’t fare as well. Eilistraee helps, but there’s no real therapy in our world.”

Marissa’s eyebrow lifted. “Who is that?”

Scarlet nodded. “My boss, the drow goddess of freedom, the surface world, nature, beauty, lust, and a dozen other things. You want the whole ‘Have you heard the good news about Eilistraee’ talk, hunt down Skye. She’ll give it better than I can. But, in brief, imagine if Joan of Arc and Puck from A Midsummer Night’s Dream had a baby and left her to to be raised by Artemis in the woods. She’s a good therapist when she wants to be. She listens, she doesn’t judge much, and if you want a hug, she’ll give you one. But she’s also big on tough love at times. You should have seen what she did to Harper after Dinah left. Even so, I miss the option of a real conversation. Someone who understands boundaries, or at least pretends to. Talking with the High Matron of Eilistraee’s temple in town between her asking for progress reports about the novices I’m training just isn’t enough.” She eyed Marissa with a wry twist. “I suspect you’re the same.”

“I am,” Marissa admitted. “Some days I wish I could just turn it off. The analysis, the urge to fix. But it’s hardwired. How about you? Do you miss being…” she gestured vaguely at Scarlet’s arms, the crystalline growths embedded in her skin, “…untransformed?”

Scarlet flexed her hands, testing the feel of obsidian against the palm. “Not really. This feels earned, somehow. The crucible we all went through burned a lot hotter than yours so far. I’ve embraced the good things and accepted the less desirable ones.” She locked eyes with Marissa. “I will say that it’s good that more seasons are bringing in therapists. If I had to pick anyone to manage a group like this, it’d be someone like you.”

Marissa found herself smiling. “Thank you. Though some days I think a zookeeper would be better suited.” She inclined her head, shifting to a more relaxed stance.

Scarlet laughed, a real sound, quick and unexpected. “I will say, I envy how smoothly your season has gone. No eliminations, everyone still alive. That’s rare.”

Marissa’s expression sobered. “It’s not for lack of challenges. But Andy… he takes it personally. He doesn’t want anyone to get hurt. Even at the cost of his own well-being.”

Scarlet considered, then nodded. “I see it. He’s more parent than predator. Same instincts as Harper, I suspect. That’s probably why they’re friends.”

“Harper is similar, from what I gather.” Marissa folded her arms, then smiled. “It’s good to know there are at least two people in this madhouse who treat women as people, not points.”

Scarlet’s smile was slower, more genuine now. “Three, if you count Mark, there. His instincts are decent, although he does have a tendency to get **** up and lose his inhibitions. Sometimes I wish we could get all the Masters together and **** them through a group session. It’d be chaos, but at least it’d be honest.”

“I’d love to run that session,” Marissa said, only half joking. “Though it occurs to me that there are, what, six of them here today? We should gather them all in a room and lock them in until they bond.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Scarlet replied, then lifted her glass in salute. “To therapists everywhere. May we someday be out of a job.”

Marissa clinked her glass against Scarlet’s. “To adapting. And to surviving.”

They drank, and for a moment, there was a peace between them—a mutual recognition of skill, strength, and the quiet exhaustion of holding everyone else together.

Scarlet set her glass down, then looked at Marissa with a new curiosity. “What’s your plan, after all this? Go back to real life? Or stay with these goofballs and build something better?”

Marissa looked past Scarlet, into the swirl of laughter and color in the main hall. She thought of Andy, of the women she’d grown to care for, of the way her own heart had changed, however reluctantly. “I don’t know,” she said. “For the first time, I’m considering staying.”

Scarlet’s smile grew, small but sincere. “Good. You’re needed here.”

Marissa nodded, accepting the compliment. “And you?”

“I already have my answer,” Scarlet said, her obsidian eyes reflecting the LED lights. “My place is with Harper and the others. Plus, my wife Daphne’s four-year pregnancy is almost at an end.”

They stood there in silence for another minute, the world buzzing on behind them, and for once Marissa didn’t feel the need to analyze, interpret, or fix. Sometimes, she realized, the best therapy was simply being seen.

She offered Scarlet her hand, and Scarlet shook it, her grip as firm as her resolve, her hand surprisingly warm, almost hot.

“Take care of yourself, Dr. Holt,” Scarlet said.

Marissa grinned. “Only if you promise to call me Marissa.”

Scarlet’s laugh was low, but it lingered. “Deal. I’m sure when your season is over, we’ll see each other again.”

---

Chloe carried the punch bowl like it was a sacred offering, careful not to slosh a drop on her favorite sundress (blue, polka-dots, tight at the chest and so loose at the waist it billowed like an actual cloud). It was her third lap of the room, but Chloe didn't mind; every round was another chance to catch someone's smile, to ask if they needed anything, to perform the small rituals of care that made her feel, for a few minutes, like the most useful person in the universe.

She zeroed in on a butterfly-winged woman—Candy—and a slightly taller redhead in a prim white dress, the kind you only wore to church or a funeral, sitting together on a window seat. The two of them had hovered at the periphery of the party so far, talking in low tones and occasionally glancing at the chaos on the dance floor with the fond caution of small-town kids at a city parade.

Chloe approached, careful not to interrupt. "Would you like some punch?" she asked, pouring a gentle stream into the waiting cups. "It’s non-alcoholic, unless you want me to spike it."

Both women eyed the punch with an intensity that was equal parts longing and suspicion.

Candy's hand shot out first. She plucked a cup and cradled it in both palms, wings folding and unfolding in a nervous flurry. "Is it really, really non-alcoholic?" she asked, voice musical and slightly breathless.

"Promise," Chloe said, flashing her best sincere smile. "Pinkie swear."

Candy relaxed and took a sip, then shivered in delight. "Oh, this is so good," she said, eyes bright. "Thank you!" She gestured to the redhead. "Mary’s not supposed to have ****, either. Or caffeine. Or—well, anything fun, really."

Mary, face already flushed from the party (or the company), took the punch with a cautious nod. "Thank you," she said, her voice soft and warm.

Chloe grinned. "Just fruit punch, and a little lime. Cross my heart. No allergens. And no caffeine, either—Dawn tested it first."

Mary smiled, visibly relieved. She took a sip, then looked up, eyes round with gratitude. "That’s wonderful," she said. "I can’t tell you how much I miss being able to just drink something without worrying."

"Are you allergic?" Chloe asked, always curious.

Candy glanced at Mary, then back at Chloe. "She’s not allergic," Candy whispered, as if sharing a state secret. "She’s pregnant!"

The word hovered in the air a second, then Mary's ears turned crimson. "It's true," she admitted, hands covering her stomach as if to shield it from attention. "I just… we’re not telling a lot of people yet. But, well, here we are."

Chloe felt the joy light up her chest like fireworks. "Congratulations! Oh, wow. That’s amazing. How far along are you? If you don’t mind me asking."

Mary shrugged, bashful. "Little over a month, maybe? I’m not really showing yet, but… I’m being extra cautious."

Candy leaned in. "Me too!" Her wings quivered in a little parade of excitement. "I don’t think I could hide it if I tried," she added, "everyone keeps saying I glow. But it’s probably just the wings."

Chloe was so happy for them it hurt. She’d always loved babies—she’d spent her entire career surrounded by them, teaching kindergarten, taking care of nieces and nephews and random neighbor kids and sometimes even the lonely old people on her block who just needed someone to bring them soup and listen to their stories.

Tonight, though, she felt herself swelling with something like hope. Maybe it was the party, or the fact that, in this weird place, nothing seemed impossible. Maybe it was just the joy of being allowed to celebrate for once, instead of pretending she didn’t want what everyone else seemed to get by default.

She set the punch bowl down, careful, and scooted in beside them. "You both look amazing, by the way. Is it really true about the glow?"

Candy blushed, wings twitching. "I don’t know? Laura says she can see it, and Tracy says it’s probably just the way the wings catch the light, but I think it’s real. It feels real."

Mary smiled. "You definitely look happy. And healthy." She glanced at Chloe, a twinkle in her eye. "Are you…?" She didn’t finish the sentence.

Chloe shook her head, the smile tight around the edges. "Not yet," she said. "But maybe someday."

"You’d be great at it," Candy said, the words bursting out so fast it was almost a sneeze. "I mean, you have that… mom energy, you know?"

Chloe nearly teared up. "Thank you," she said, voice thick.

Mary reached over and squeezed her hand, fingers cool and gentle. "You really do," she said.

Chloe giggled, then covered her mouth, not wanting to be too loud. "That’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten. Seriously. I used to run a club for new moms, back home. It was mostly snacks and venting, but it made a difference. We could start one here!"

Candy’s eyes went wide. "Ohmygosh, yes! We could have snacks and storytime and everything. I bet Susan could make puppets. And Carla could do lullabies. And—" She trailed off, overcome by the vision.

Mary squeezed Chloe’s hand again. "I’d love that," she said. "I think a lot of us would."

For a moment, the three of them just sat, basking in the idea. Chloe looked at Candy and Mary, the way they both cradled their bellies without thinking even though neither one showed, the way they glowed with the promise of something new, something fragile and precious and absolutely real. She envied them, but it was a gentle envy, the kind that made her want to do everything she could to help them hold onto that hope.

"You know," she said, her voice quiet, "I’ve never really told anyone this before coming here, but… I always wanted a big family. Not just me and a baby, but, like, a whole pack. Even if they weren’t all mine by blood. I just wanted to be someone who made the world feel safe, at least for a little while."

Mary nodded, eyes soft. "That’s a beautiful wish," she said.

Candy bounced in place, unable to hold still. "You could totally do it."

Chloe beamed, her whole face alight. "Thanks. That means a lot. And if you ever want advice, or a break, or just someone to talk to… I’m your girl."

Candy grinned. "Deal. Oh! And you have to promise to get pregnant too, so you can join the club."

Chloe blushed so hard her ears tingled. "I… um… I’ll think about it," she said, laughing.

Mary looked down, then up, cheeks suddenly pink. "I know it’s weird, but… I get really happy thinking about other people getting pregnant. Like, really happy. Maybe too happy? I don’t know. It’s a little embarrassing." She glanced away, then met Chloe’s gaze, a sly smile creeping across her lips. "You should definitely do it."

Candy cackled, delighted. "She’s right, you know. You’d be perfect."

Chloe felt the warmth rise up her chest, then overflow, spilling out in a laugh so bright it startled the table next to them. "Okay, okay! But only if you both promise to let me babysit whenever you want."

"Deal," Mary said.

"Triple deal," Candy added, wings buzzing.

They clinked their cups together, and for a moment, everything was perfect.

---

Lilith is from Kinje's Dungeon Crawl season. Check it out!