OCtober Day 1 & 2: Faida & Al

These two couldn’t be more of a classic odd couple if they tried, I thought to myself. 

The angel and the devil. 

The good girl and the bad boy. 

The pair from Purgatory.

I’ve seen them a few times around here, since I found my way to the Supernova. Clubs are high up on my list of places to people-watch. This one especially, standing tall and bright in the middle of a bustling city of free expression, became like a hive for swarms of humans, and demi-humans. 

Or, I wonder if they prefer the term ‘cyborg’ here?

Regardless, those two somehow stood out among the rest. Amidst the sensory minefield, they held a strange aura that I simply couldn’t ignore.

I caught their names in passing from the DJ. The story of two friends who got sick of their old lives, and founded a home away from home. An angel from ‘heaven’, a devil from ‘hell’. Thus, they called their home ‘Purgatory’; the space between.

The angel is Faida. Tall and pale, steel grey eyes behind steel grey glasses and long teal hair tucked up in a semi neat bun. I never saw her once dressed in anything but dark blue sports clothes and muddy white trainers. Sensible, yet irresponsible. A walking contradiction. The way she moves around the club, Faida doesn’t seem like someone who finds comfort in a place like this. In fact, the first time I tried to say hello, the booming speakers startled her so much she fled, clutching a small plush keyring. 

The second time I tried, she didn’t seem to hear me. In fact, she didn’t seem to hear anything besides her friend. The angel had plonked herself right down on a nearby table as her devilish companion wandered off to dance. Before I could go and ask her drink order, eyes unwavering from the game console in her hand, she’d tapped one in on the holo menu, assigning an android to the task. As she sat, I noticed a pair of small, silver implants in her ears. Detachable augments, a co worker explained. They could be used to filter out unwanted sounds. Fascinating, I thought; the things humans can build to help each feel more comfortable. I decided to leave her be. 

Her friend, however, seemed so much the opposite. The devil was known as Al, apparently short for Alabaster. No-one has a clue as to why he picked that name. Seems he used to be a permanent resident of this city, his friend being from the other. He had dark skin and flaming eyes. His black hair was styled into a spiked fringe, sporting a streak of orange. Aside from that, dark hair also sprouted in a small patch on his chin. Lots of piercings, lots of tattoos and plenty of spikes on his clothes. 

Often, I’d hear the young man bragging that he’ll “earn his horns one day”. From those little speeches, I managed to source his accent from the country of India. Not unusual mind you, it seems everyone around here comes from all over the planet earth. Helped me blend in after all. His friend Faida, though, I’ve yet to figure out her heritage. 

Speaking of which, this Al guy certainly differs in personality to her. He’s louder, brasher, and embraces the noise. Whilst she indulges in virtual violence, he’s knocking out the closest bastard that crosses either of them. Never do I see him angry though. Each punch is with purpose. Protection, enjoyment, whatever the reason may be.

When all is said and done, I always see him go back to her. He cools down, she perks up, they have a drink together, and leave. A simple routine. They both seem happy with the arrangement.

Today though, I saw something new. 

Not so much unexpected. 

Just...new.

The Supernova had an influx of patrons that night. Every now and again the DJ hosts these sparring matches, a co-worker told me. I was lucky that I got to be here for one in my time in this realm. Even amidst the many colourful faces, I still saw them; that distinct silver, blue, black and orange combo. Almost immediately, Al parted ways, making a beeline to the DJ booth. Perhaps to sign up, I assumed. As he ran, I noticed a pair of high tech gauntlets strapped to his hands. Meanwhile, Faida to my surprise came to settle at the bar. She shifted a fair bit in her seat, fingers gently squeezing that plush keyring from before. Upon closer inspection it seemed to look like some kind of game controller. I also noticed she had the implants in again. So, I spoke softly.

“What would you like to drink?”

She seemed a bit thrown at first, but looked up and replied.

“Um, do you make smoothies?”

“Of course, what flavour?”

“Banana and blueberry and...um...could you make sure it’s not really pulpy?”

She squeezed the controller again.

“Just...kind of a sensory thing” she finished, quietly.

I nodded, offering the warmth of an understanding smile.

“I’ll be extra careful, no worries” 

After some monetary exchange and some fiddling with the high tech blender, I came back with her drink. In that short little time, she had whipped out her phone and opened up some form of social media. Not wanting to interrupt, I gently slid the glass beside her free hand. After a minute she seemed to notice it, taking a hesitant sip. Then another. And another. She stopped briefly to take a picture, then proceeded to down the rest. 

Another customer satisfied. Huzzah!

Out of curiosity, I look to see if I can find her companion in the crowd. I scan the floor, to find nothing. Further and further up I crane my neck to see the little devil hanging off the edge of the DJ booth. An impressive feat to be sure. He quickly looks my way. I worry that he may have noticed me staring, then...

THWACK!

In one swift motion, Faida has knocked out a customer cold. A man dressed in green slides off the bartop, body crumpled on the floor. He’s swiftly shoved aside as someone else snatches up the free seat. I think his name was Gecko. Not what’s important though.

It seems the angel is not quite as docile as I’d been led to believe. She seems quite pleased with herself over it. I see her flash a thumbs up across the way to her friend. He mutters a few more words to the DJ, then climbs back. Faida hops off her seat, leaving the bar to go join him.

For a few minutes after that, things are quiet. Relatively. Can’t quite escape the ripples of the bassline drumming the ears, but other than that, it’s peaceful. Soon though, the music drops low and the DJ’s voice fills the void. We all stop our duties for a moment so she can introduce the show. Some rules explanations aside, plus a brief scolding to ‘shut up’, she moves on to the contestants.

“Alright, first up we've got the ginger terror. The tiger of the backstreets. The devil to the angel. It's Alabaster!”

My earlier assumptions proved correct. A crowd clears to the right of the stage, which ascended from the dance floor. All that’s left in the empty space are the eponymous angel and devil. Faida stands in the middle, positioning herself and her hands carefully. In a flash, Al sprints, hops, and uses strength to launch himself into the air. He pulls off a stylish spin, landing (almost) cleanly on the stage. Regardless, he gets the cheers. Couldn’t quite tell if this guy is used to this, or just a charismatic newcomer. Either way, people are rooting for him. His opponent is brought on soon after. They seem to be some young upstart from the mafia, going for that gambler aesthetic. A pool cue is slung over their shoulder. Tough opposition to be sure. But, the devil is not one to be thrown. Insults fly, and the DJ starts the match before temperaments start it prematurely. 

Now, the hands fly as fast as the insults. He fights recklessly. Not quite trained discipline of a soldier. Rather, more like a street brawler. It tells of a young man who’s had to force his way out of corners more than he should have had to. There’s some genuine, raw power displayed though. The gambler he’s up against is a slick one, fast enough to dodge the hits and hard enough to cause some hurt with that weapon. Even when Al gets the chance to go square for the gut, he’s recoiled by the sudden appearance of a yellow, glowing shield, emitted from the gambler’s ring. 

Rats, I was rooting for him to win. I do love a good underdog. He blows the hair out of his face in frustration, though said frustration quickly vanishes as quickly as it’s noticed. Stopping at the edge of the stage for a breather, it seems like all is lost.

Lo and behold though, the angel surprises me once again. Something blue snags the corner of my eye. Faida sprints through the crowd to the stage, her back now adorned by blue wings of light. She uses them to cut into, and climb the edge of the stage. At the top, she vaults half her body over the edge, her head now beside Al’s head. Her wings cut it close to his neck, but he seems alright. They converse for a moment, though the conversation is difficult to hear. Most I could gather is “energy” and “same as”. The tension is thick.

Al is quickly called back to finish the fight, to which his companion drops back down. The wings fade back into the jacket, and the angel they’re attached to blends back into the crowd. Everyone, myself included, watches closely to see what he does next. The gambler goes for the same trick with the shield. However, this time, it seems the devil has a counter attack. Orange light forms into a ball between his gauntlet covered hands, to which he launches directly at the centre of the shield. It crackles, disabling the ring. The yellow light dissipates. And, whilst stunned, Al goes in for a killer blow to the chest. The gambler is winded, stumbling back. He roars. We roar. It’s a glorious sight. Vindication.

Too bad it only lasts a second. 

Seems the devil got too cocky over one victory. He’s swiftly knocked down from behind by the gambler, who’s still standing, though a little red faced. The DJ counts it down while he’s pinned. The audience joined in.

“Three, two, one. You’re out!”

What a shame. Still, a good effort. I can tell the gambler feels the same, seeing their eyes tail the pair back towards the bar. The angel seems to be rallying her friend with a thousand words of encouragement as he mourns the loss. Before they land at the bar, I blend another smoothie for her, and grab a bottle of something from the fridge that I’m pretty sure he’s ordered before. They sit down and I slide the drinks their way.

“It’s on the house” I say, before they can question it. “Good effort tonight”.

They look at one another and shrug. Faida throws out a polite thank you, jostling the moody Al to do the same. He groans, but mutters a quiet “thanks”. The gambler drops by swiftly after to talk to the pair, so I leave them to it.

And I felt it then. Turning around, I smiled. I realised I’d been lucky to witness something so precious, and so rare that day.

The start a new story.

Well then, maybe I should stay here a little longer.

Just to watch.