The lack of biting cold woke her. Her cabin’s heating coil had been out for some time, and the lack freezing sensation was an alarm. The coil was out, her breath fogged the air, but she didn’t feel it.
There was no cold in her extremities because she was losing them. Her fingers--always shadowy, like the rest of her--were evaporating. Diffusing. The woman’s shadowy fingers went to her throat. There was no sound, no rasping of her palm against the hollow of her throat. She watched tendrils of darkness drift up from the contact of skin-on-skin--or shadowy, sort-of-skin.
Remora kicked her way out of her cocoon of clothes and thermal blankets and heaved herself onto her hands and knees; she rifled through the blankets and groped over the cold floor she could not feel, but her fingers didn’t find what she was looking for. Matte black eyes sliced through the darkness. She saw nothing but the wafting of almost-solid shadow as she lost bits of mass against the blankets. Remora checked the bed, though she’d never used it. Then the woman clapped, wincing at the bits of smoky shadow she lost from her hands. A glowstone on the ceiling flickered into life slowly to cast a cold, disgruntled light on the room. Remora reached behind herself and dug inside her own shadow.
“Jerky, no. Shirt, no. Pretty ring, no.” She shoved each item back into her shadow as she dismissed it. “Leg of turkey, not it. Cal’s tie, n--” The woman’s eyebrows, black on black, drew down into angry marks of suspicion. She stepped toward the door, leaving behind a smoky after-image of her own particles. Remora tried to open the hatch.
Nothing. Digitally hard-locked, or bespelled with a ward. It didn’t matter. Remora pressed her hands to her bare neck; she couldn’t do anything about the lock. The woman turned to survey the room. A small, boxy place. No windows. No vents. The fading woman drew her upper lip back in a soundless snarl; her breath came out in a frozen cloud tinged with black.
Remora lunged for her shadow; she rose back up with a pistol. She set the gun to the door, and then tried to pull the trigger; her diffuse finger phased through it. She didn’t manage a second try before the gun fell through her hand to the floor. It took both her hands gripping the light pistol for her to hold it.
The shots rang out against the metal door. Doubtless they would have deafened her, but Remora had already lost her ears to shadow, along with the rest of her head. Something that could not grit the teeth it did not have focused its will anyway, and Remora brought herself back to cohesion. She put a dull dark eye to the hole the bullets had punched through her door.
No one in sight out in the corridor. The flickering lighting out there left the hatch across the way in shadow; a moment of focus let Remora pop out of existence in her locked room and reappear within the other door’s shadow. She moved to step into the light and instead fell onto her hands. It was little compensation to her that she faintly felt the floor against her palms.
“Shit!” Remora glanced back and grimaced. Her legs were still fused with the shadows, going missing in darkness at her knees. She clawed at the shade. It was to no avail--finally she had to tangle her smoky fingers in the honeycombed floor to haul herself forward into the light. Something else hauled her upward by the shoulders. Someone else. Muscled, hairless, grinning. More of her mass sloughed away as the man slammed her against the wall.
“Cal,” she wheezed; the impact left her winded, and getting air into her diffuse lungs was difficult. Remora’s eyes were on the opal pendant fastened around the man’s neck. It was an absurdly feminine affectation for a man that was all faux leather and musk.
“Sorry, Remy. You know how it goes. The buyer asks for something, and you got to provide. Even if it’s from your gang.” His hands shifted to her throat, where his fingers dug in too easily, shredding skin that was no longer proper skin. It wafted away in dusky strands. “You’re falling to parts over this, aren’t you? Look, it’s about the rest of the crew. Not everybody gets out of hunger pangs by turning into shade. If you’d stay in your room...” Cal was looming over Remora. Overshadowing her. She fumbled at the wall behind her as he started pulling her away toward her room. She dipped her fingers into their mingled shadows; her eyes were still fixed on that opal pendant. Her ghostly fingers emerged from the shade caused by Cal’s broad chin. The opal gleamed, and Remora jerked her hand out of the shadows before they became a simple lack of light on the wall.
At the same time as the shadows slammed shut, she became simply a woman. A person, not a figment of twilight. Not someone breaking into bits of darkness. A short, plump, dusky woman being strangled. Her shadowy essence was nullified. Cal’s thumbs in the hollow of her throat made her gag and wretch. His solid fingers, digging into her solid throat. His elbows were pinning and bruising her arms. But if her arms were solid--so were her kneecaps.
Cal dropped Remora to clutch at himself; she landed easily on her feet as he fell to his knees. Now Cal was the one who sounded winded. His lips moved, but any insults he might have made were lost in his grunts of pain. The opal stopped shining when Remora kneed Cal; she went smoky again. She leaned forward to reach for the pendant. Cal freed a hand from gripping his own parts to grab her wrist. The woman watched impassively as her arm oozed slowly through his fingers. The shadow of her wrist coalesced and within a moment, there was no sign that he had ever touched her.
Both of them reached for the pendant again. Cal’s fingers touched it first, but Remora phased through his hand and plucked the necklace away. She tied the chain around her smoky neck; she would repair the clasp later. The opal shone and the dusky woman solidified. Cal looked up and saw no sympathy in those matte eyes.
Remora fished a blackjack out of her shadow and clubbed Cal over the head. When he collapsed, she patted down his unconscious form for weapons and credits. She dropped each item she found into her shadow. The woman finally rose to stand with her shadow overlapping Cal’s body. The man fell through to nowhere.
Brown curls fell against her face as Remora hurried down the corridor.
There was no cold in her extremities because she was losing them. Her fingers--always shadowy, like the rest of her--were evaporating. Diffusing. The woman’s shadowy fingers went to her throat. There was no sound, no rasping of her palm against the hollow of her throat. She watched tendrils of darkness drift up from the contact of skin-on-skin--or shadowy, sort-of-skin.
Remora kicked her way out of her cocoon of clothes and thermal blankets and heaved herself onto her hands and knees; she rifled through the blankets and groped over the cold floor she could not feel, but her fingers didn’t find what she was looking for. Matte black eyes sliced through the darkness. She saw nothing but the wafting of almost-solid shadow as she lost bits of mass against the blankets. Remora checked the bed, though she’d never used it. Then the woman clapped, wincing at the bits of smoky shadow she lost from her hands. A glowstone on the ceiling flickered into life slowly to cast a cold, disgruntled light on the room. Remora reached behind herself and dug inside her own shadow.
“Jerky, no. Shirt, no. Pretty ring, no.” She shoved each item back into her shadow as she dismissed it. “Leg of turkey, not it. Cal’s tie, n--” The woman’s eyebrows, black on black, drew down into angry marks of suspicion. She stepped toward the door, leaving behind a smoky after-image of her own particles. Remora tried to open the hatch.
Nothing. Digitally hard-locked, or bespelled with a ward. It didn’t matter. Remora pressed her hands to her bare neck; she couldn’t do anything about the lock. The woman turned to survey the room. A small, boxy place. No windows. No vents. The fading woman drew her upper lip back in a soundless snarl; her breath came out in a frozen cloud tinged with black.
Remora lunged for her shadow; she rose back up with a pistol. She set the gun to the door, and then tried to pull the trigger; her diffuse finger phased through it. She didn’t manage a second try before the gun fell through her hand to the floor. It took both her hands gripping the light pistol for her to hold it.
The shots rang out against the metal door. Doubtless they would have deafened her, but Remora had already lost her ears to shadow, along with the rest of her head. Something that could not grit the teeth it did not have focused its will anyway, and Remora brought herself back to cohesion. She put a dull dark eye to the hole the bullets had punched through her door.
No one in sight out in the corridor. The flickering lighting out there left the hatch across the way in shadow; a moment of focus let Remora pop out of existence in her locked room and reappear within the other door’s shadow. She moved to step into the light and instead fell onto her hands. It was little compensation to her that she faintly felt the floor against her palms.
“Shit!” Remora glanced back and grimaced. Her legs were still fused with the shadows, going missing in darkness at her knees. She clawed at the shade. It was to no avail--finally she had to tangle her smoky fingers in the honeycombed floor to haul herself forward into the light. Something else hauled her upward by the shoulders. Someone else. Muscled, hairless, grinning. More of her mass sloughed away as the man slammed her against the wall.
“Cal,” she wheezed; the impact left her winded, and getting air into her diffuse lungs was difficult. Remora’s eyes were on the opal pendant fastened around the man’s neck. It was an absurdly feminine affectation for a man that was all faux leather and musk.
“Sorry, Remy. You know how it goes. The buyer asks for something, and you got to provide. Even if it’s from your gang.” His hands shifted to her throat, where his fingers dug in too easily, shredding skin that was no longer proper skin. It wafted away in dusky strands. “You’re falling to parts over this, aren’t you? Look, it’s about the rest of the crew. Not everybody gets out of hunger pangs by turning into shade. If you’d stay in your room...” Cal was looming over Remora. Overshadowing her. She fumbled at the wall behind her as he started pulling her away toward her room. She dipped her fingers into their mingled shadows; her eyes were still fixed on that opal pendant. Her ghostly fingers emerged from the shade caused by Cal’s broad chin. The opal gleamed, and Remora jerked her hand out of the shadows before they became a simple lack of light on the wall.
At the same time as the shadows slammed shut, she became simply a woman. A person, not a figment of twilight. Not someone breaking into bits of darkness. A short, plump, dusky woman being strangled. Her shadowy essence was nullified. Cal’s thumbs in the hollow of her throat made her gag and wretch. His solid fingers, digging into her solid throat. His elbows were pinning and bruising her arms. But if her arms were solid--so were her kneecaps.
Cal dropped Remora to clutch at himself; she landed easily on her feet as he fell to his knees. Now Cal was the one who sounded winded. His lips moved, but any insults he might have made were lost in his grunts of pain. The opal stopped shining when Remora kneed Cal; she went smoky again. She leaned forward to reach for the pendant. Cal freed a hand from gripping his own parts to grab her wrist. The woman watched impassively as her arm oozed slowly through his fingers. The shadow of her wrist coalesced and within a moment, there was no sign that he had ever touched her.
Both of them reached for the pendant again. Cal’s fingers touched it first, but Remora phased through his hand and plucked the necklace away. She tied the chain around her smoky neck; she would repair the clasp later. The opal shone and the dusky woman solidified. Cal looked up and saw no sympathy in those matte eyes.
Remora fished a blackjack out of her shadow and clubbed Cal over the head. When he collapsed, she patted down his unconscious form for weapons and credits. She dropped each item she found into her shadow. The woman finally rose to stand with her shadow overlapping Cal’s body. The man fell through to nowhere.
Brown curls fell against her face as Remora hurried down the corridor.
TFW she sucks your soul into the shadow realm.
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