Young Writers Society

Nibbling gently at my thumbnail, I stare with a certain degree of anxiety at the painting behind the secretary's desk. It was a piece that Yen had commissioned from a former student; one of her favorites, I think. It was a massive project--five-by-seven feet--and depicted a partially nude woman, her pale legs folded and her upper body supported by her long, slender arms. She was turned so that her face was shown in 3/4ths view, a coy smile playing at her lips, her ice-grey eyes hooded and playful. Her black hair was cut short, and combed so that several thick locks fell over the left side of her face. Although a majority of any would-be identifying features had been tactfully hidden by lace--which had been carefully draped over the model, tucked and pinned so that it seemed natural and effective--I wasn't the only one with strong suspicions concerning the identity of the model.

"Emelia, she'll see you now," Mary, the receptionist, pipes up suddenly. Startled from my idle musings, my eyes flick down to meet hers. As she realizes I'd been staring with a mixture of disgust and awe at the painting behind her, she sighs bitterly. I wouldn't want to sit in front of a nude painting on the top floor either. Imagine if the building somehow crumbled; your last thoughts would be of how high you'd have to fall before you finally hit the ground, and your final memory would be of that damned painting tumbling down right behind you. 

Wincing at the macabre thought, I tug at my tan skirt. Jesus, I hated 'power' clothes. Give me some jeans and a ripped tanktop and I'd be happy. But sweaters, skirts, and pointlessly high heels? I was about ready to throw myself right through those floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the eastern wall. At least I'd land in the considerable garden area Yen had set up for her agriculture and botany students. I'd be put to rest--quite literally--in a bed of roses.

"Be honest with me, Mary," I say, giving the frayed and exhausted secretary a joking smile. "On a scale from one to ten..."

"She's a solid seven-point-five, Em," she chuckles, shaking her head as she returned to her endless typing. Yen was an ambitious creature who had access to both money and power; if she couldn't do it herself, there was always someone at-hand that would. It was a dangerous combination, and left her poor receptionist tapping out meetings, finances, contacts, and events into a computer for hours on end. "And in a forgiving mood, mind you, so don't push her buttons,"

 As I walk past the half-moon desk I rap my knuckles on the polished wood surface. "Ah, Mary, you wound me! When have I ever..." That grabs a snort from her and I--now pleased at managing to squeeze some happiness out of the tortured soul--turn the silver handle of the door to Yen's office and push.

It opens noiselessly, the handle scanning my prints with silent solemnity to make sure I was, in fact, Emelia Haynes. 

The room is larger than you'd think for such a tall building, especially since it was on the twenty-ninth story. It took up half of the entire floor, massive windows making up three of the four walls. Yen, as suited her personality, sat at her desk in the center-back of the office. Her chair, though leather, looked more like a throne than an ergonomic choice for relaxation in the workplace. 

Ironically enough, she favored black, white, and silver when it came to interior design. White marbled-tiled floors, black modern furniture, massive white-flowered plants encased in elegant black pots, and silver designs etched into every last one of them. Always that same dragon, its body tucked into a figure-eight, tongue flicking out between sharp teeth to graze the tip of its fanned tail. 

Swallowing thickly, I smile warmly at the woman that--despite the beauty and power of this place--dominated the room.

She takes her time looking up, cold grey eyes speckled with green and blue splotches. Her lashes flutter when she sees me, an immediate smile of recognition spreads over thin, strict lips. She was shockingly tanned, considering her station--you always expect rich, powerful women to be pale and lithe for some reason--her shoulders wide and her body generally voluptuous. For whatever reason, she preferred to wear a crisp white labcoat over her normal clothes. I guess it made sense; if she was called to any given Class, she might need to help with the material being taught. Sometimes that included demonstrating how to run a successful line of invasive code. Other times it involved creating chemical mixtures that were set to corrupt themselves after a set amount of time. 

With such a busy schedule, I suppose 'better safe than sorry' applied to the business clothes beneath the coat as much as it applied to Yen herself. 

"Emelia," she purrs, pulling her curly blond hair back into a ponytail, each flick of her wrist as graceful as a dancer's. "How was your trip?"

Shitty. "Long," I smile, my tone coming out apologetic by default. Yen had the rare and incredible gift of making you shiver in your skin whether you liked it or not. Eye contact was overpowering and her fury was devastating, however silent it may be. "Generally uneventful," I decide to add at the last second, remembering the virtually quiet drive with a certain amount of bitterness. 

Khrys, cowering in fear on the inside and therefore downright bitchy on the outside, had driven the minivan straight back to South Carolina on her own. I'd sat in the front seat for all of two hours before her brooding, worried aura sent me fleeing to the very back of the vehicle. Thank God for PS Vitas, R-rated comedies and horror flicks, for without their aid I would have surely died of boredom. 

"Enjoying your time back home?" She asks sweetly, hands clasped on the desk in front of her. Subtly, she pressed a button installed along the inner rim of the glass desk. With a whirring noise, her built-in keyboard sank into the surface of the desk, a panel of glass folding over it. Once it settled, you wouldn't know there had been a keyboard there at all. 

"It's good to be back, but the joy is bittersweet," I admit, shrugging uncomfortably as Yen waves me closer. I sit down in the smaller--but equally comfortable--leather chair that across from her own on the other side of the desk. 

"How so?" 

"It isn't pleasant knowing you were unsuccessful," avoiding eye-contact, I fiddle with the hem of my skirt, staring at the careful stitching with sudden interest. 

"I'd imagine so," Yen nods, one slim, long-nailed finger rapping against the glass surface with a slow, deliberate consistency. "And how do you feel you performed on your most recent endeavors?"

"Poorly," I respond instantly. This wasn't my first time making a hugely-backfiring mistake. I'd been in this office before for much of the same reasons--though the failed tasks, and therefore the resulting punishments had been far smaller in comparison--and knew what she wanted me to say.

Unfortunately, she also knew that I was aware of what was expected of me. "Did you feel comfortable in the subordinate position of a duo team?"

And there's the wrench in the works.

Yen was a psychologist through-and-through. It had been her first field of study--right alongside fine art--and made her downright deadly to talk to. Both metaphorically and literally, she knew exactly where and how to hit in order to get the most agonizing response. 

"It was alright," I shrug again, anxiety settling deep in my stomach. My heart rate increased steadily, my eyes flicking from Yen's observant expression to the blue and violet status lights that illuminated various sections of her semi-touchscreen desk surface. "Good learning experience,"

"Would you have felt more comfortable in the superior position of your team?"

Another stabbing question. "I'm not sure."

"If you had been paired with another A Class such as Khrystalia Leinsvitch, do you believe you would have been more successful in completing your objective?" My eyes catch on the potted plant that rested to the right of Yen's desk. The blooms were letting out a heavenly scent. 

"It depends on the person, I suppose," Again, I find myself shrugging.

"Do you believe that, if you had been paired with another A Class, you would have been comfortable taking over the superior position in your team?"

"Yes." My own answer surprised me as it fell from my dry lips, the singular, powerful word falling into the space between us like a bomb. I felt my eyebrows lift involuntarily as I considered my thoughts--really considered them--on Khrys's and my own leadership skills.

Yen wasn't merciful enough to allow me to sort through my inner conflict, though. Of course not; there was gold to be found in the cluster-dump brought on by chaos within the mind. "If given the chance, would you have disobeyed Khrystalia's orders or wishes at any given point during your trip? Even if, by disobeying her, you arrived at a far more satisfying result?"

"No," another immediate answer that I didn't fully understand. I was beginning to hate this meeting.

"Why do you believe you are able to blindly follow Khrystalia's leadership, even when her decisions are ill-thought out and questionable in judgement?" Yen's smile perks up ever-so-slightly at that, her tone dropping into a dangerous rumble. She had such a melodic voice; handy for hypnotising her students into confessing their inner thoughts and insecurities, I suppose.

A funny thought occurs to me. 'All the better to trick you with, my dear,'. Imagining Yen as a wolf, her tongue running over her sharp teeth as her wise grey eyes pierce into your soul, both scares and amuses me. What's terrifying is that it fits. I wouldn't be surprised if her spirit animal was the wolf. 

What's hilarious is imagining such a gorgeous woman reduced to a mere fairy tail, used simply for stranger-danger education. 

"I don't know," I laugh, the thought lingering playfully.

Yen's eyelids lower slightly, her lips parting as her teeth clench together.

I feel the blood drain from my face, all humor gone. Clasping my hands tightly together in my lap, I shudder, blinking a few times to regain focus. 

"Do you feel that Khrystalia's presence in your team, paired with your sexuality, negatively affects your judgement and effectiveness?"

And the bomb drops. So does my stomach, heart, and soul. She'd finally managed to slice at a nerve; the sheer intensity of the anxiety and fear that washed over me was shocking. I sat, eyes wide and mouth slack, my mind trying to form the proper words. A large part of me knew I had to say something--anything--to persuade Yen that I wasn't attracted to Khrys in any way. That part of me nodded along with the logic of quickly squashing any attraction I might feel towards her.

However, a far smaller, louder, and visible part of me snatched up my tongue and pinned it down. Itching my arms through the thin sweater, I lick my lips, considering. Finally, I lift my head, making eye contact with Yen for the first time since I'd sat down. "No,"

Yen's smile widens--not unkindly--as she studies my face. After a few long moments, she half-stands, reaching across the table to stroke my cheek. "Everyone makes mistakes, Emelia,"

"I know," I mumble breathlessly, heart surging with an undeniable daughterly love for the woman. She'd been my role model, my hero, and my mother-figure for so long, it was hard to cling to my fear of her when she genuinely smiled. 

Her thumb brushes my ear, fingers pushing strands of honey-blond hair away from my eyes. I watch as her eyes water slightly, her lip quivering. "You've grown so much, you know. No matter how severely this setback has affected us, I can't help but be proud of you."

A lump sticks in my throat, my mind leaping with joy. I lift my hand, resting my palm over her fingers and letting my eyes flutter closed for a few moments. Hers was the maternal affection my own mother had failed to show me once I'd turned 13. She's always told me I'd have to grow up eventually, and get used to the fact that the world didn't coddle people. Why should she cater to me? My mother's behavior towards me had left me isolated and bitter for a long time, even after several years under Yen's care.

I'd like to think that hatred was redirected into loyalty and respect for Yennora. I want to believe I drained my bitterness towards my mother, despite all of her former harshness.

But, come on. This was me we were talking about! If I ever saw her again, I'd probably knock her out in a spur-of-the-moment display of anger and betrayal. 

Too soon, Yen pulls her hand away. I open my eyes, wiping away a tear that had fallen down my cheek. "Enjoy your time home, Emelia," she smiles warmly, sitting back down and pressing the button that lifted her keyboard up from within the desk. "You'll be leaving again on Wednesday; I'm not sure if I'll send you with Khrystalia again."

"Of course," I nod, standing and straightening my skirt. As I turn to leave, a short, balding man with glasses perched on his fat nose peeks his head into her office. 

"Ms. Leinsvitch, your limo has arrived a bit early," he squeaks out, voice nasally and too high-pitched for a man of his... generous...ness...

She waves him off, typing a few things into her computer. "Of course, of course. I'll be there in a moment." Glancing up, she catches me trying to wiggle around the overweight errand-man, or whatever the hell he was. "Oh, and Emelia?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"You understand how important it is to me that Yang is eliminated, yes?" She's smiling, but her eyes are filled with concern and anxiety. I knew the feeling. 

"Of course," I give her a warm smile, then turn and leave the office, closing the door tightly behind me.