If dreams can’t come true, then why not pretend?
- Into the Unknown, Over the Garden Wall
He looked good; ready for his first lecture.
Standing before a full-length mirror, Silvio checked over his letterman jacket, purple and gold with a University of Washington Husky. He adjusted the strap of his book bag and brushed a bit of dark hair from his forehead.
Looking back at him from the mirror was someone working for their future. Someone willing to put in the hours and give themself a skillset no one could take from them. Someone worthwhile.
It was the first step toward getting something he’d always wanted. It was the seeds of safety, of security, of knowing where he was supposed to go, what he was supposed to do, and who he was supposed to be.
Looking back at him was the first step toward everything he’d ever wanted.
“You are perfect, honey!”
Silvio felt a make-up brush tickling his cheek, blinking out of his reverie. Artemis Direction, the Drag Mother of House La Lune, beamed at him as she drew back. She was radiant in a sleek gold shift dress, and black opera gloves, her wig a complex updo of blonde curls and braids.
It had been two months since Silvio had been whisked away to Seattle by Leslie and adopted into Artemis’ drag house. While he’d been perfectly content to stay behind the scenes working on costumes, make-up and props, Artemis was insistent that, sooner or later, he’d need to walk just like everybody else did. Something about not wanting to waste, ‘cheekbones that could cut glass.’ While he didn’t have any compunctions against wearing a dress, Artemis told him he was better suited for other categories. It turned out drag wasn’t just dressing up as another gender; it was playing with all kinds of gender roles and social expectations. There were many different categories, and for Silvio?
Well, Artemis had told him, who could resist that schoolboy charm?
“Just look at that contour! Are you ready, darling?”
Silvio gave her a small smile. “As I’ll ever be.”
“Outstanding! Now, let’s pop that freshness seal and get you out there.”
Taking a deep breath, Silvio stepped to just behind the curtain that led out to the runway beyond, closing his eyes a moment as he listened for the emcee, re-playing the instructions he’d been given from Artemis and Zach in his head one more time.
“And now, walking in the category of college realness, debuting as a representative of House La Lune, Silvio Slay-on!”
The curtains were drawn back dramatically, and the teenager was momentarily blinded by the house lights. As his vision cleared and he was met by the appreciative whoops and cat calls of the audience, every thought dropped from his mind. For a second, he froze, feeling exposed.
The ballroom was crowded with people on either side of the runway leading up to the front stage where the judges were positioned. The scent of sweat mingled with alcohol, make-up, and cologne, colored lights swirled over a blurry mass of faces that melded together in one voyeuristic vista.
They were all looking at him.
No, not just that.
This is what he wanted. This was who he wanted to be; who he was supposed to be.
They were all looking at his denied dream, his impossible wish.
His failure.
He felt a white-hot little spark ignite in the pit of his chest.
No.
Almost in spite of himself, he felt a smile tug at one side of his mouth, and his body began to move in a loping, easy manner as the bassline in the music thumped through him like a second heartbeat. It was as if someone else was behind the wheel.
But that was the point, wasn’t it?
He wasn’t Leon, he was Slay-on.
Silvio Leon was poor trailer trash left scraping and scrambling to kitbash together some kind of life after the future he earned was mercilessly put down with a phone call. He’d probably be eating variations of ramen for at least the next decade, and living on the untender kindness of tattoo commission work and tips from clients.
But Silvio Slay-on? Right here and now? Well, that guy had his shit together. That guy was a newly minted university Freshman at the UW. He had a future.
And he was grinning that broad, satisfied grin that came from a sense of surety. Of security.
A confident schoolboy who had the luxury of success.
As he strolled down the runway, the jitters easing, he let himself get lost in the shape of this new identity.
He barely noticed when someone pinched his ass.
Spooky had been uncharacteristically quiet.
Considering how much they’d been on the Oracle’s case prior to AoD, he was a little suspect of their absence, but…
The last time he’d lost, he hadn’t needed motivation from Big Boss Spookitude to come right back out again and show precisely why he was not someone to be struck down idly.
Hadn’t needed anyone to tell him to unsheathe his claws and bare his fangs. No one needed to tell that to a survivor.
While that was just as true now, he needed to wait until he could sink them into what he really wanted.
But maybe it was better that way.
He considered what he’d told Mitch.
“Regroup, reassess, try again later. Sometimes…you gotta figure out another angle to come at things.”
Sitting on his living room sofa, Silvio was still trying to beat the thoughts and feelings that swirled in a miasma through him into some kind of order. He knew this didn’t have to be the end – far from it. He’d lost before and when he’d gotten to his feet again, everything about him had just become sharper.
It wasn’t just that, though.
That hollow feeling that opened up in him after the match was still there.
It itched. And any time he thought of how to salve it, the only vision that swam through his mind was of the ring.
He bit his lip, trying to ignore it, finding the irritation only becoming more insistent at his denial.
Soon, he promised it.
Not Cat. Not yet. But something else to keep that hunger from overcoming him.
Something to continue his goal of helping to highlight the roster while he worked toward getting back to where he was.
God, Avenger was so happy.
Silvio couldn’t blame him. After working that hard for so long, he’d finally been rewarded for his efforts. Things were coming together for him and he was so…bright. So shining.
LRK was a feast of light, color, and sound that cast two shadows; one like shattered glass and the other a chorus of grating metal.
Catalina was life and fire; the desert sun poured into the shape of a woman and just as intense.
Silvio wondered what the Heart of Carnage would taste like.
“Seems like congratulations are in order.”
Silvio is seated on the roof of Witch Dagger Ink, the city of Baltimore spreading out around him under a twilight sky. He’s dressed in his usual waistcoat, jeans, and white button-down, the shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows to display his tattoos.
“You did it, Vengy. After Adrienne left, I wondered who would step up to fill this spot. You’re a whimsical successor. I mean, there’s definitely some narrative romance to having a superhero be the city’s champ.”
He takes his deck of tarot cards from his pocket and begins to shuffle them.
“I had a notably less successful evening, but like I said in my promo – I’m strong enough to survive the fall. I am not someone prone to contentment. I am going to reach that peak again.
“And the climb starts with us.”
Spreading the tarot cards in front of him and drawing six forward with one fingertip, Silvio looks up at the camera.
“I figured it was time to get back to my roots. And I haven’t had a chance to check out what’s in the cards for you, yet, caped crusader, so let’s see what’s going on for 107.”
The first card that’s flipped over reveals a woman kneeling at a river bank, a pair of ewers in her hands, stars bringing the sky to life above her.
“Here’s how you’re feeling. The Star. Not a surprise. This card represents hope, renewal, faith, and purpose. You just won your first single’s championship at Carnage, so that should only follow. So what is it you want?”
The next card shows a rune-etched wheel atop which perches a Sphinx, a jackal clinging to its bottom.
“The Wheel of Fortune.”
He smiles, spreading his hands with a raised brow.
“You really want this to be your turning point. Of course you do. You’ve had a good year so far, and I applaud you for your successes. You really are a treasure for the roster, and now that you get this chance? This status?”
He smiles, voice dark and rich as black velvet.
“It’s heady. Intoxicating. But power always is. While I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept, you’ve never dealt with it in quite this form. Like you were saying, is what you’ve always wanted. This is your holy grail. That in mind, what’s got you nervous?”
The illustration on the next card shows a Satanic creature perched in a plinth, wings spread over a pair of chained demons.
“Interesting,” he murmurs, with a little smirk. “The Devil.”
His eyes flick up at the camera for a moment, glinting in the twilight dim.
“One way you could read this relates to what you were talking about in your last promo. With everything you’ve been able to accomplish, you’d think that nagging little voice in your head that tells you you’re not good enough, that you’re a joke, just evaporates. But it’s never quite that easy, is it? And if it comes creeping back, sabotaging your sense of confidence, well…”
He gives a theatrical shrug.
“…what’s that going to do for your ability to keep this streak of yours going? Of course, there’s another way we could read this. I’ve garnered a few monikers, and I have a particular one from our current World Champ I find rather fitting.”
Raising the card so it’s next with his face, displayed to the camera, Carnage’s affable devil grins.
“Maybe you’re just a little spooked by the spoopy boy.”
Turning the fourth card over shows a depiction of a child riding a white horse, a field of sunflowers spreading out in the background, the sun shining down upon the scene.
“This is what you’ve got going for you. The Sun. Joy, celebration, success. This one definitely relates back to the Star. You’re on top of the world, brimming over with happiness. When you have that kind of elation in your heart, it can take you places. But…”
The next card shows an old man in grey robes with a trailing white beard holding a lantern aloft.
“…Don’t let your enthusiasm get the better of you. This is what’s working against you. The Hermit represents contemplation, inner guidance and solitude. In this position, you’re in danger of making a rash decision. You just won a championship and I had my first singles competition loss. Maybe those inner voices cautioning you don’t know what they’re talking about. So I’m thinking I should encourage you to get a little… reckless.”
Flipping the last card reveals an image of a robed man standing behind a table laden with arcane items, a scroll held aloft in one hand.
“The Magician. If you want to walk out of this with a win, you’re really going to have to work for it. The Magician is all about taking your will and making it manifest. He’s pointing to the heavens and the earth – as above, so below. But that’s kinda what being a superhero is all about, right? You take the dreams of what a better world might be and try to condense them into a person who can make them come true.”
Silvio sucks in a breath through his teeth, raising his brows.
“Not gonna lie – that’s not a bad card to end on. Heck, if I were to pin a card on you lately, this one would probably be it.”
He raises a brow smiling crookedly at the camera.
“So, what’s a poor, newly former champ to do in the face of manifestation?”
Sweeping the cards back up into his hand, he shuffles them rapidly.
“It’s been an uneven year for me so far. I miss the friends I made here who have gone. I miss Kohaku. I miss Adrienne. Mitch is going to be gone for a while, and it looks like King will be, too. Ax has the Entourage and it looks like someone’s fucking around with Jon again, so that jackassery will have to be dealt with. Cat finally got to be the dog that caught the car they were chasing, and now we’re all going to get to watch her not knowing what to do with it before I take the keys back. So, what’s in store for your Mystifying Oracle?”
Drawing a card from the deck, his brows raise and he laughs, shaking his head.
“Well! Speaking of cars…”
He turns the card over for the camera to see, revealing an illustration of a chariot rider crowned with stars, armor decorated with crescent moons, driving a pair of black-and-white sphinxes before him with a determined expression.
“The Chariot. Willpower, determination, drive, victory. When the chariot turns up, it shows you’re going to succeed through sheer will and hard work. Now’s no time for me to be passive. I don’t have a bloodline to rely on or superpowers to get the job done. But I know what I want and I know how to get it.”
He gives the camera a sardonic smile.
“Gosh, that’s a nice piece of momentum you got there, Vengy,” he purrs, his expression like a cat who’s caught sight of an especially fat and tuneful canary. “Would be a real shame if someone fucking ate it.”
Still holding the card as he tucks the rest of the deck into his pocket, Silvio gets to his feet, the camera following him.
“The last time this happened, Cat was on the immediate receiving end of the whole, ‘If you strike me down, I’ll become more powerful than you can possibly imagine,’ deal. If you’re smart, you’ll be watching that match very carefully.
“Like I’ve said before – every single person here knows something I don’t. Every single person is a teacher, and I am an apt pupil. The only thing beating me is going to do is show me exactly where the chink in my armor is and how to patch it up. The only thing beating me is going to do is show me exactly where I need to place my shot to put you down. And the only thing delaying my gratification this time around is going to do is make the final bite that much sweeter.”
He smiles lopsidedly, watching the card twisting between his fingers.
“Cuz there’s another thing The Chariot stands for, and it’s a dish best served cold.”
Looking at the camera, his eyelids lower to half-mast.
“Revenge.”
He kisses the card before raising a brow at the viewer.
“But for now, Legion?”
The card is flicked at the camera, the scene going black.
“I’ve got a heart to break.”
“You were fabulous, dear!”
Back at House La Lune, Artemis was beaming at her newest child, happily clutching a little gold trophy in one hand, standing in the living room.
“Thanks,” Silvio said with a shy smile. He sat on the burnt orange living room sofa, the scent of the ballroom still clinging to his clothes. His letterman jacket was folded in his lap, and he couldn’t stop curling his fingers into the fabric. “I didn’t…know I had it in me. But…it was like somebody else took the reins. It was really wild.”
“Not at all. It just means you’re a natural.”
Setting the small trophy on the mantelpiece, she smiled back at him.
“That’s the way it is at the best of times. You have this other person inside who wants out; someone you need to be. Someone you already are. To the world, you may be humble, unassuming Silvio Leon. But get you on a runway under a spotlight in the right clothes, hair, and make-up? Honey, you can be whoever you want to be.”
He thought of the other drag artists he’d met. Seeing them in and out of their personas was always fascinating. The way they could change themselves so completely was still astonishing even when he was watching it happening. It always started with the body language – it told a story before a speck of make-up was applied. He’d never imagined someone’s image was so malleable, but even just changing the way you held yourself made all the difference in the world. His own transformation had been subtle, but profound.
You believe, therefore, I am.
“Like a secret identity,” he mused.
Artemis laughed musically.
“Oh, handsome! You must go! The city needs you!”
Silvio ducked his head, blushing and smiling bashfully.
“Hey, come on, it’s not that out-there. I mean…you’re saving kids, right? Why not Super Drag Mom?”
Chuckling, Artemis settled into a nearby armchair.
“We all have to find our own way to save the world,” she said. “The trick is figuring out how to do it with the tools and talents we have available.” She tossed a lock of hair over one shoulder. “Thankfully, I am a woman of many.”
“Tools or talents?”
“Puppy,” Artemis grinned. “If you saw my…collection…you’d know very well it’s both.”
Silvio sputtered. “Artemis!”
“I meant my makeup kit, darling!” she said with a scandalized expression. “What were you thinking about? Get your mind out of the gutter!”
Laughing, Silvio’s eyes flicked down to the letterman jacket one more time. It felt good. It felt really good to be that confident, assured boy. The one with a future he’d earned. If he closed his eyes, he could see the tableau of that imaginary life unfold before him. That other boy had a nice apartment, and spent Saturday nights indulging in his wild side, painting the town red with his friends. Maybe he had a cute significant other he could surprise with flowers from the Market or little hand-drawn notes left in their coat pockets or tickets for the ballet or orchestra. There’d be a reliable little car for impromptu road trips, and he’d letter in something like swimming or track.
And his parents?
Oh, they were so proud of him.
“So…” he said, tentatively hopeful, opening his eyes, “…when can I do this again?”
He needed to do this again.
Silvio felt that irritating little impulse ease somewhat as he stepped back into the Carnage arena.
He needed to do this again.
There was both annoyance and exhilaration in the idea, but there wasn’t anything else to be done for it.
Except of course.
To do this.
Again.
Winning the belt off of Ken had been intensely cathartic. He’d come in with all the speed and righteousness of a conquering monster and helped knock the last bit of godhood out of Davison. The Oracle was happy for him and Kyra. They made each other better.
Dropping the belt on his first defense had shown him he needed a different mindset to hold onto the thing. He’d balked at the idea of being considered a, ‘king,’ but maybe he should have thought more about the difference between a ruler and a raider.
More adjustments to make. More facets to consider.
More lessons to engage in.
His veins burned with the need for them.
APT PUPIL INDEED.
“You haven’t had a lot to say lately.”
Dressed in his gear, Silvio slid under the ring ropes, rolling to his feet and breathing deeply.
It wasn’t the same without another person here; a crowd watching. It wasn’t enough.
But he needed to do this again.
And right now this was as close as he could get.
WHAT AN ODD THING FOR YOU TO COMPLAIN ABOUT.
“Just an observation,” he replied, stretching his arms. “What’s the deal?”
WE JUST HAVEN’T BEEN IN THE MOOD TO CONVERSE. DID YOU HAVE SOMETHING YOU WANTED TO ASK US?
Silvio made a face as he stopped in his stretches.
“…It doesn’t feel the same as it used to. When you’re…eating or whatever you want to call it.”
DOESN’T IT?
“Don’t play stupid. What are you doing?”
NOTHING DIFFERENT. THOUGH…WE SUPPOSE IT MAY FEEL A LITTLE DIFFERENT WITHOUT YOUR PRECIOUS BAUBLE.
Silvio fidgeted with the tape on his hands, scowling.
“Are you saying it’ll go back to how it was if I get the belt again?”
PERHAPS. IS THIS SENSATION SO DEAR TO YOU?
In lieu of answering, Silvio began to run the ropes.
HE ISN’T DELUSIONAL, YOU KNOW.
“What?”
THE LITTLE SUPERHERO. HE’S NOT MAD. A BIT ECCENTRIC, BUT NOT INSANE.
“I was sacrificed by a cult of disaffected suburbanites and resurrected by your Lovecraftian ass, I’m romantically involved with a fox spirit, I’ve traded blows with Kit Marlowe, my tag partner is in all likelihood an escaped military science experiment gone horribly wrong, and apparently my rival’s mom is Sub-Zero. So if you’re trying to shock me by telling me we’ve got a genuine superhero on the roster, you’re going to have to go a little harder, Spooks.”
THAT’S FAIR.
Silvio hesitated, tugging on the top rope and gazing out into the empty seats.
YOU’RE CONFLICTED ABOUT THIS.
“No, not exactly. He did want to be taken seriously.”
SO YOU’RE SAYING HE’S ASKING FOR IT?
“I mean, yeah, literally.”
FOR WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO DO TO HIM?
Silvio froze.
WHAT YOU DID TO THE CORTES GIRL THE LAST TIME THIS HAPPENED?
“…He can handle it.”
DO YOU THINK SO?
“He’s a superhero, right?”
ONE WHO HAS FINALLY REACHED HIS GOAL; FINALLY EARNED HIS TITLE.
“And?”
BESTING HIM RIGHT AFTER WHAT WE BOTH KNOW WAS PROBABLY THE GREATEST NIGHT OF HIS LIFE…SHOWING THAT THAT TRINKET AROUND HIS WAIST IS MEANINGLESS BECAUSE YOU COULD TAKE IT AWAY IF YOU WANTED TO…
THAT’S JUST…SO DELICIOUSLY CRUEL–
“Compelling,” Silvio said quickly. “It’s not cruel, it’s compelling storytelling. It’s business. You’re a fighter, you win some you lose some. And who’s to say I’m going to beat him?”
OH, PLEASE. STOP KIDDING YOURSELF. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE. YOU KNOW WHAT LENGTHS YOU’RE WILLING TO GO TO, SURVIVOR.
Silvio was silent.
‘I WILL LET YOU DIE SO THAT I CAN LIVE.’
“I’m not going to–”
AND WHAT A FITTING SACRIFICE. SO SWEET AND WITH SO MUCH HEART.
“It’s not like that!” Silvio snapped, fingers digging into the ropes.
Exhaling, he leaned against them, closing his eyes.
“I just…”
His heart hammered within his chest, that hollow spot making the inside of his skin burn with longing. He thought of the colors, the lights, the sensations. The way the world just came to life and gave up all its secrets.
That hit that faded much too soon. The high that could not be sustained.
Only one thing to do for it.
“…I need to do this again.”
oracularmysteries 