Page 64 of Drift

A louder cheer went up.

Hasting’s risk with that move was so damn higher, with slower and wider arcs of the rope needed to give him time to roll out safely. It left Drift back to his feet, holding the mask, lookingatthe mask. The hood had fallen off his face, capturing such an innocent look he knew how to work so well, but as he jumped the next sweep of flame at his feet, he started to pull the mask close.

“Hurts.” West was on her feet, the cry her warning to stop a mirror of what happened countless times on the streets, butDrift slipped the mask on, his body jerking as blood redness lit him up.

And now the rope quickened in pace, dangerously so, as Drift started to catch the mask’s infection.

A mask was thrown to Hastings, and he slipped it on, this time with him taking up the lyrics of “Play With Fire” by Sam Tinnesz, his own twisted dance.

Drift matched Hasting’s move for move, then owned them as the poison took full control. It showed in how he twisted his body in the same broken-boned angle. Dark elf howls went up, and Drift was lost to the call of the fire, how he twisted his body around the ropes, lost now to his own play with fire. Only sometimes, in the height of it like now, it looked like he danced with someone else, leaving West in the embers he created with his ghost.

The interpretation was basic: how even the most loving could turn on a lover, catch the sickness… wear the mask and bring out the evil beneath what was meant to be a beautiful soul. It hurt West, in more ways than one.

And Drift, the twists to his body, he played the poison through a mix of madness, of using strong masculinity one moment, then more haunted sensual femininity the next, because all genders were twisted in heat of it all, and Drift’s look played both sides so unconsciously.

A shift of another body, her moves slow, seductive and almost lost in the mass of people caught West’s eye, and she frowned. The cowl of the woman was pulled too far down over her face to reveal any illness, but those moves, that slower… more seductive dance that matched Drift’s so expertly called dance partner despite the distance.

Ava. She never could be found far from Drift, Drift far from… her.

He didn’t seem to see her now, but then this was dancing, and it always did take Drift more. But… Ava.

Angered, West went to go over, but she was shoved back into the flames, forced into the moment. The closeness of Drift’s mask and lips chased hers, and she was lost to the poison taking him too. Seemed it was an offer that would always trick the lonely soul into his hold. Then the same broken-bone dance took her, eating her whole, and it left West with a core sickness she’d never be able to shake as she tried to look for Ava.

Childhood nightmares. Ava would always be hers. Back with Grant, all three of them as kids, Grant had maybe seen it. Many a time he’d broken Drift and Ava up, sent them out feeding to opposite sides of town, all the time keeping West back at whatever base they found for the night. But Grant’s harder look always strayed Drift’s way, as if he knew, he knew there was no hope for Ava, but Drift… he had the damn sense and heart to hold on to the good, steer clear of the… ill. Only he never had.

The rope eventually settled at their feet, and Drift took a step back, taking off his mask and bowing West’s way.

The noise and cheers off the crowd filtered in a moment later, but West hadn’t registered anything beyond the press of his body into her, how their heavy breathing played together as tightly as they worked moves on the floor.

This… this was them. The closeness Ava couldn’t touch with dancing. Always had been. Should always be, yet….

West glanced around the crowd, but Ava had gone. Instead she took the bow, then swept a hand back around the crew as she pulled away from Drift to focus back on working the crowd. Thiscould have been fucked up tonight for her and Hastings, and it seriously pissed her off.

Brighty,Blackburn, and Kent started working the crowd, shaking tubs, and Hastings took care of the fire. Lucy, a fifteen-year-old lass just a few months into their crew, she’d stayed on the outskirts of the crowd, making sure no one broke the circle and got burned. She also kept water and a First Aid kit close by, just in case any of the crew did. It happened, but not so much lately with how well they worked together. The mistake had been thinking Keyne would have been able to handle Drift’s spot.

Drift’s look rested his way too.

Fuck.

She didn’t make it over in time to stop Drift shoving Keyne back a pace, but she did get in between them to stop Keyne ending up on his arse in the middle of the street and damaging his hands.

Damaging Keyne’s hands would shift Jackson’s head his way, and he didn’t need that, so she shoved Drift back a pace.

“Back off.” She whispered up close in Drift’s face. “Now.”

“Th’fuckyou think you were doing, eh, twat?” Drift almost moved her aside, but she shook her head. Keyne didn’t exactly help himself as he started to dust himself down and sent a wink Drift’s way.

“Earn your keep, Sid. Stop watching from the sidelines and sponging off our talent.”

“Talent?” Drift shoved West out of the way. “That what you call your shit?” The past six months, Drift needed no excuse to get in Keyne’s face over the slightest screwup. “Can you play with broken fingers?”

“Hey, hey-hey.” Hastings came in hard, tugging Drift back as he went for Keyne. “He’s top musical talent.” Hastings got in Drift’s face. “You know the rules. You don’t touch. Ever. You have a problem with one of ours, you go through Jackson, because if you start something here, West picks up the hit for it as lead artist back at base. Do you want that?”

Competition was vicious out here. Keyne was always looking for new angles to push other tops out of the picture, and this… this wasn’t directed at Drift. West knew why shehadbecome Keyne’s problem, and because this was her setup tonight, any screwups would come her way with Jackson, not Keyne. And screwups cost money. They cost her time off the streets. And too many of workless nights could damn well cost her a bed at Jackson’s.

Rules were rules no matter the unfairness, because they had damn well protected her over the years. Jackson had. Drift knew that.

Only the dig under her skin ran with the same underhanded double-tap sickness that always coated the streets. Keyne liked testing out his skill of his touch on violin on lads, no strings literally attached, and Drift being Drift, he’d done what he usually did: looked for a quick fix of warmth with him. West could have given them that one time together, that Drift had just needed to find warmth and been damn stupid over his choice, but it hadn’t been just that one time. Because Drift neverhadbeen able to stand the cold or away from any cold touch found within it.

---