This short story was prompted by my sister via backchannel prompt for the Writing Under Glass event. It does not connect to a current setting, but could be expanded into a full setting of its own.
“Welcome to Saviors Anonymous!” the group’s leader said. She was a bright girl, literally beaming with golden light.
“That’s not the name of the group,” added an older man, his face half covered in ropey scars. “Bridget is just perky and trying to make it seem less bad for the rest of us.”
“Okay,” Stan said, taking a seat in one of the mis-matched armchairs. “I’m not sure what I should be doing here, so if there’s like… a process or something….”
“No, you’re clear,” said a woman in her mid twenties. Her hair was chopped rough and short and her clothes were pretty much just armored motorcycle leathers. “Most of us are pretty anarchistic, seeing as we stood up to fascists and dictators and that sort of thing.”
“Cormal is lawful good,” added a slender boy. “But he’s also from a far distant past with ravening hordes threatening everything with unending chaos and bloodshed.”
“How’s he in the support group if he’s from the past?” Stan asked. By this point everyone had sat down.
“How’d you get here?” Bridget asked.
“Um, someone handed me a brochure on the subway and I don’t know, I thought I’d give it a try. I mean, I’ve been holding everything else together for so long, I have to take some time to hold me together too, right?”
“Yeah, but like, subway or bus or walking? What’s the address?”
“Bridget, that’s mean,” the man said. “Hazel, tell her it’s mean.”
“It’s mean,” Hazel, the woman in the leathers, agreed. “Don’t overthink it. This is a safe place to let go a bit, and we keep it that way. How isn’t as important as why. As in, ‘why are you here?’”
“Um, well, I’m Stan and I have to save the world,” Stan said. “Um, there’s a prophesy.”
“Bingo!” yelped the boy. “I have a bingo, Mark.”
“You know better than to interrupt Pix,” Mark said, his scowl twisting the scars on his cheek. “Sorry about them. Let’s do introductions first. I’m Mark, Undying Knight. I was cursed to wander the world for eternity, fighting evil, until I give in and marry the Witch of the Tower. Unfortunately for her, I’m not interested in marrying anybody.”
“Oh yikes,” Stan said, imagining his life stretching on into forever, always as frustrating and dangerous and painful. Mark shrugged.
“You get used to it. That’s Bridget Brightsoul.”
“My mom was the goddess of everything good,” Bridget said. “My dad was a minor god of petty evil. It’s not as bad as it sounds and the propaganda about it was way out of proportion. I don’t have NEARLY the tragic backstory everyone expects. I just have to continually focus on good thoughts or my mom dies. No big.”
“She’s still in denial,” Hazel said. “I’m Hazel McLeary, daywalker. Some asshole tried to make me into a vampire but it didn’t take. Now I work with a handsome but secretive detective to solve supernatural crimes in a city that’s almost always beset by some form of conspiracy of vampires or witches or fairies or some shit. I get like two a year.”
“Yeah, speaking of fairies,” Pix said. “I’m Pix. I was a human who was taken as consort to the Fae Queen of Summer, but um… yeah. She didn’t react well when I tried to get her to not do genocide. So I had to kill her. Now I’m on the run from the Hunt, but I can’t get any nutrition from human food and my body is significantly different than factory standards.”
“Holy crap, are you all right?” Stan said. “I’m not sure I should be here, this is way worse than my life.”
Hazel whacked his arm with a paperback novel. “No scar-comparing. We’ve all gotten used to our own situations, but sharing them sometimes helps us realize where we’ve come from. Now, you said a prophecy?”
“Yeah, I’m supposed to kill the Dark Lord,” Stan said. Bridget handed a bingo sheet to Mark. “I’m an orphan, or I thought I was, but maybe my Dad is the Dark Lord… it’s confusing and I keep having nightmares.”
“Welcome to the club,” Hazel said. “Literally. We’ve been there, you can open up about it.”
“I just wish everyone would stop acting like I have the answers. I didn’t graduate high school, for Pete’s sake! Only because the school sank into an alternate dimension, but still!” Stan sighed. “Some crusty old wizard saying I would fix everything doesn’t in fact make me qualified and it would be real fucking nice if everyone else took a shot at doing something too, rather than expecting me to just fix it for them.”
Pix snorted. “Yeah, other people can be totally useless. Do you at least have a plucky sidekick?”
“Eh, she’s caught in a love triangle at the moment, I don’t want to bother her.”
“Bring her with you next time,” Bridget said. “She could be one of us too.”
Mark’s phone buzzed. “We’re about to lose the hall guys, the next group is scheduled in five.”
“Who is it this time?” Hazel asked.
“Villain Recovery,” Mark said. Hazel winced. “Yeah, they need the space, poor sots. Next time, let’s do potluck, sound good?”
“Bring me Grizelda’s baking, and I will love you forever,” Pix said. “She may have cursed you but she’s a damn good cook and I can actually digest her food.”
“Wait, I thought you said you weren’t going to marry her?” Stan asked as they got up.
“I’m not, but after this many years she’s a good friend. Now we need to clear out so she can host her group. Later guys!”
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