Page 118 of The Fake Divination Offense
The Hellhounds are going to the rawball championship.
Our managers and coaches are ecstatic. Reverend Drach is ecstatic, too, at the reception my and Bel’s relationship continues to get, fans gobbling up every sighting of Oroxo/Beauty and the Beast. Any negative opinions spurred by my lawsuit are long forgotten, and more discussion is focused around us than the Urzoth church’s violence or the Urzoth-Galaxrien situation. And my parents are still totally besotted with Bel, as my occasional calls to my mother are spent reassuring her I haven’tscared him off yet.
Don’t really appreciate thatyet, but I let it go.
With things silent on the cultists’ front, it’d be easy to get complacent.
But I refuse to be passive. I’m not waiting around for the cultists to attack again and I certainly won’t let them get close to Bel. I spend every free moment I can poring over research, scouring texts and rereading passages until I can recite them from memory.
They think that sacrificing Galaxrien’s mortal descendant, or using his body somehow, will free Galaxrien. Thewhys andhows don’t seem to matter to them; that belief is what has taken hold, so that’s the belief I have to undo to stop them.
But I can’t make BelnotGalaxrien’s descendant. Even if I could somehowprovethat he isn’t, his true form is still overwhelmingly demonic, and that alone would paint a target on him.
I want Bel completely free of this. I want him to be able to walk around as his true self, or if he wants to be in his human form, I don’t care. I want it to behis choice. That’s freedom.
I hit dead end after dead end with who might’ve leaked info about Galaxrien’s descendant to the cultists. Mostly because it’s hard to hire investigators to look into members of a highly secretive adventure party. But Ilbryen swears she’s questioning things on her end.
Gods, helplessness will kill me.
Bel meets my obsessive research by deep-cleaning the apartment, and when I come out of my reading coma one day to chastise him for doing too much, he strips off his clothes and asks how I’m going to punish him.
All this research stresses him out, I know. He doesn’t want me in more danger than I’m already in, and he blames himself for all of this. I can’t stop, though. Ihaveto keep him safe.
As the rawball season comes to a close in tandem with the winter holiday season creeping up, both Bel and I get hit with a distraction that puts all our stress in irritating perspective:
A request from Reverend Drach to attend services for one of the biggest church celebrations of the year, Urzoth Shieldsworn’s birthday.
And not just attend it, but beguests of honor.
Gotta love the holidays.
Yeah, the Hellhounds are in the rawball championship. But who thefuckare we playing?
Makes me miss the college rawball schedule where we’d be all wrapped upbeforethe holiday season. Fucking game stress, I swear.
I pace the bathroom, glaring at my phone where it’s propped on the side of the double vanity I’ve come to think of as mine. Thegame play echoes in the marble space, crowd noise and reporter commentary overlapping in a dull roar.
“Can’t believe it went into overtime,” I mutter as I button my shirt.
The Hellhounds had their holiday game yesterday, on a day celebrating a werewolf god—Roesia’s god, actually. We pulled in our final win of the season, which was unneeded; we had enough Ws already. Even so, it felt good. Crazy good.
The Hellhounds are undeniably a force to be reckoned with, and meanwhile, the Chimeras are scraping it out against the Dragons for the chance to go up against us.
“You’re buttoning your shirt wrong,” Bel offers where he’s hunched over his side of the vanity on a stepstool, leaning toward the mirror. He needs the extra boost of being on his tiptoes as he swipes mascara over his lashes, and I’d swear he was doing it on purpose to pop his ass if he wasn’t actually so short. Add on that he keeps his toes in a rotating color wheel of pink, Hellhound orange, and black, and it’d be a strong enough distraction; but he hasn’t gotten dressed yet or put on his illusion spray, standing there totally naked, his rose-gold skin glossed with the steam of the shower we shared.
For a beat, the game fades. We blew each other in the shower but gods, that’s not enough. Never will be. Just like I’ll never have enough of seeing him getting ready next to me. The ordinariness makes it precious.
Then I hear what he said and look down to see—yep. My shirt’s buttoned wrong.
He meets my gaze in the mirror and grins.
Eyes helplessly on him, I rebutton my white dress shirt and tuck the ends into my simple black slacks, each movement a little slower than normal. Maybe if I drag it out, we’ll magically not have to go to a celebration for a god I don’t want to worship anymore.
I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to avoid this holiday. The church is still Bel’s sponsor and I still wear their symbol on my uniform, and in all our planned PR moments, we’re two big, smiling examples of how Urzoth can be loving as well as tough.
Of course Drach and the church want to capitalize on us, and beyond that, they have no reason to think wewouldn’twant to go. That Iwouldn’tbe ecstatic we’re two of the select few guests of honor. That Iwouldn’tbe thrilled to be asked to speak at the service.
It’s tolerable. We’re representing aspects of Urzoth I agree with. It’s not like Drach is making me knock heads all the time; in fact, hedoesn’twant me doing that. See? It’s fine.
