Successful
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 11
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Glitz's neon glyphs sputtered into nothingness halfway across the room, the last few sparks dribbling from her fingertips like dying fireflies. She blew at her nails—still smoking faintly—and shot Glam a defiant grin. "Okay, maybe I'm still punching it a little."
Glam reclined against the ruined headboard, legs crossed at the ankles, watching her sister's fumbling attempts with the lazy amusement of a cat observing a particularly clumsy moth. "Charming," she drawled, twirling a lock of silver hair around one electrified finger. The strand stayed perfectly coiled, levitating in a flawless helix without a single fray. "Though I suppose we should be grateful you're not setting the curtains on fire this time."
Glitz stuck out her tongue—literally—letting a crackling blue spark dance across the tip before flicking it toward Glam like a child launching a spitball. The bolt fizzled out halfway, dissolving into a pathetic puff of ozone. "Your standards are so boring," she groaned, flopping onto her back with enough force to make the bedsprings scream. "Who cares about precision when you can—" She wiggled her fingers, summoning a jagged fork of lightning that zigzagged wildly before fizzling into the mattress, leaving a smoldering Rorschach blot in the sheets.
Glam didn't even blink. "Ah yes," she murmured, examining her own flawless talons as they conjured a perfect sphere of humming electricity. "Because nothing says 'ultimate power' like third-degree burns in cheap motel linens." The orb pulsed between her palms, casting sharp shadows across her smirk. "Admit it. You're jealous."
Glitz rolled onto her stomach, kicking her legs like a petulant child, chin propped on her fists. A lazy arc of current slithered from her lower lip, dripping onto the scorched sheets with a hiss. "Jealous of *what*? Your ability to make party tricks look stuck-up?" She blew a raspberry—deliberately sending a spray of sparks toward Glam's floating silver ponytail—but Glam simply tilted her head, letting the electricity dissipate harmlessly around her.
Glam didn’t dignify that with words. Instead, she stretched one arm overhead, fingers splayed—and every lightbulb in the room flared to life simultaneously, filaments burning white-hot without shattering. The radio crackled to life mid-song, speakers distorting as she tuned the frequency with nothing but the flex of her wrist. A single drop of condensation slid down her abandoned iced coffee, reversing course to crawl back up the cup’s side in perfect defiance of gravity. All without blinking.
Glitz scoffed, flipping onto her back and kicking her legs like an overturned beetle. "Oh wow, parlor tricks," she drawled, even as her own fingers twitched with restless energy. A jagged bolt of violet lightning erupted from her palm, zigzagging across the ceiling before evaporating into acrid smoke. She grinned, lopsided and unrepentant. "Mine’s *prettier*."
Glam didn’t look up from where she was levitating a quarter inch above the mattress, legs crossed elegantly at the ankle. The coin she’d been spinning between her fingers froze mid-air, hovering perfectly still as if pinned to an invisible axis. "Cute," she murmured, and with a flick of her wrist, the quarter melted—not into a puddle, but into a perfect, glowing sphere of liquid metal that reshaped itself into a tiny, anatomically correct sculpture of Glitz mid-tantrum. It even had her signature scowl.
Glitz growled, kicking off the dresser hard enough to splinter the wood. She landed in a crouch, fingers flexing as arcs of violet energy spiderwebbed across her knuckles. "Oh, *fuck you* and your stupid magic tricks!" She flung both hands forward—not at Glam, but at the cheap motel lamp beside her. The bulb exploded in a shower of glass, but instead of raining shards, every fragment froze mid-air, trembling with unstable current. Glitz grinned, wild-eyed, as she tried to *push* them into a crude approximation of Glam’s face—but the pieces just shuddered, then clattered to the floor in a sad, sparking heap.
Glam sighed, long-suffering, and snapped her fingers. The glass shards lifted again—effortlessly—arranging themselves into a flawless replica of the Eiffel Tower before dissolving into glittering dust. She didn’t even look at Glitz as she did it, just inspected her nails like the whole display bored her. "Your problem," she drawled, "is that you treat electricity like a flamethrower when it’s a scalpel." To prove it, she flicked a single spark toward the broken lamp. The filament reignited, but this time the glow pulsed in time with Glitz’s ragged breathing—mocking her.
Glitz scowled, rolling her shoulders like she could shake off the humiliation. "Yeah, well, maybe I *like* flamethrowers." She kicked the dresser again for good measure, sending another crack splintering up the cheap wood. "And maybe this shitbox motel deserves to burn."
Glam caught her wrist mid-swing, fingers tightening just shy of bone-crushing. "No," she said, voice silk-wrapped steel. "We're not getting evicted *again* because you can't keep your voltage in your pants." Her thumb stroked the erratic pulse in Glitz's wrist—a warning disguised as a caress. "There's an entire city out there, darling. Surely you can manage not to fry it immediately."
Glitz bared her teeth, but the fight drained out of her shoulders when she realized Glam was right—the walls were closing in, the air tasting like burnt plastic and their own restless energy. She rolled her neck until it cracked. "Fine."
Glam released her wrist, already striding toward the door, hips swaying with that infuriating, unhurried confidence. "We take the fire escape," she murmured, pausing only to snap her fingers—the deadbolt slid open with a quiet click, untouched. "And we don't leave witnesses."
Glitz rolled her eyes but followed, her bare feet silent on the grimy carpet. The fire escape groaned under their combined weight, rust flaking onto the alley pavement below. The moment her boots hit asphalt, she was vibrating again, fingers twitching at her sides like live wires searching for a socket. "Fuckin' finally," she hissed, scanning the row of parked cars lining the alley. Her gaze snagged on a vintage convertible—burgundy, sleek, practically *begging* to be stolen. "That one."
Glam didn't argue. She simply slid a finger between the driver's side window and the frame, applying pressure until the lock mechanism snapped with a satisfying pop. The door swung open, releasing the scent of leather and stale air freshener. Glitz was already sliding into the passenger seat, running her palms over the dashboard like a lover. "Ooooh, someone's daddy had money," she cooed, flicking the rearview mirror until it reflected her smirking face.
Glam didn't sit. Instead, she leaned in, pressing two fingers to the ignition—just long enough for a thin blue current to leap from her skin to the wiring beneath. The engine roared to life, vibrating beneath Glitz's thighs. "Drive," Glam commanded, stepping back as the headlights flared to life. "But not too fast. We're not drawing attention tonight."
Glitz scoffed, fingers already tightening around the wheel. "Since when do we *not* draw attention?" But she was already pulling her phone from her cleavage, snapping a quick selfie with Glam's silhouette haloed in the neon glow of a nearby club sign. Her thumb flew across the screen—just drunk enough on stolen voltage to feel invincible. The caption practically wrote itself:
"Guess who just leveled up? 😘⚡️ New upgrades, same legendary bitches. Try to keep up, peasants. #ElectricBitches #BlueIsSexy #BuffAndSexy #SmugAsFuck"
Where are they going?
Glam reclined against the ruined headboard, legs crossed at the ankles, watching her sister's fumbling attempts with the lazy amusement of a cat observing a particularly clumsy moth. "Charming," she drawled, twirling a lock of silver hair around one electrified finger. The strand stayed perfectly coiled, levitating in a flawless helix without a single fray. "Though I suppose we should be grateful you're not setting the curtains on fire this time."
Glitz stuck out her tongue—literally—letting a crackling blue spark dance across the tip before flicking it toward Glam like a child launching a spitball. The bolt fizzled out halfway, dissolving into a pathetic puff of ozone. "Your standards are so boring," she groaned, flopping onto her back with enough force to make the bedsprings scream. "Who cares about precision when you can—" She wiggled her fingers, summoning a jagged fork of lightning that zigzagged wildly before fizzling into the mattress, leaving a smoldering Rorschach blot in the sheets.
Glam didn't even blink. "Ah yes," she murmured, examining her own flawless talons as they conjured a perfect sphere of humming electricity. "Because nothing says 'ultimate power' like third-degree burns in cheap motel linens." The orb pulsed between her palms, casting sharp shadows across her smirk. "Admit it. You're jealous."
Glitz rolled onto her stomach, kicking her legs like a petulant child, chin propped on her fists. A lazy arc of current slithered from her lower lip, dripping onto the scorched sheets with a hiss. "Jealous of *what*? Your ability to make party tricks look stuck-up?" She blew a raspberry—deliberately sending a spray of sparks toward Glam's floating silver ponytail—but Glam simply tilted her head, letting the electricity dissipate harmlessly around her.
Glam didn’t dignify that with words. Instead, she stretched one arm overhead, fingers splayed—and every lightbulb in the room flared to life simultaneously, filaments burning white-hot without shattering. The radio crackled to life mid-song, speakers distorting as she tuned the frequency with nothing but the flex of her wrist. A single drop of condensation slid down her abandoned iced coffee, reversing course to crawl back up the cup’s side in perfect defiance of gravity. All without blinking.
Glitz scoffed, flipping onto her back and kicking her legs like an overturned beetle. "Oh wow, parlor tricks," she drawled, even as her own fingers twitched with restless energy. A jagged bolt of violet lightning erupted from her palm, zigzagging across the ceiling before evaporating into acrid smoke. She grinned, lopsided and unrepentant. "Mine’s *prettier*."
Glam didn’t look up from where she was levitating a quarter inch above the mattress, legs crossed elegantly at the ankle. The coin she’d been spinning between her fingers froze mid-air, hovering perfectly still as if pinned to an invisible axis. "Cute," she murmured, and with a flick of her wrist, the quarter melted—not into a puddle, but into a perfect, glowing sphere of liquid metal that reshaped itself into a tiny, anatomically correct sculpture of Glitz mid-tantrum. It even had her signature scowl.
Glitz growled, kicking off the dresser hard enough to splinter the wood. She landed in a crouch, fingers flexing as arcs of violet energy spiderwebbed across her knuckles. "Oh, *fuck you* and your stupid magic tricks!" She flung both hands forward—not at Glam, but at the cheap motel lamp beside her. The bulb exploded in a shower of glass, but instead of raining shards, every fragment froze mid-air, trembling with unstable current. Glitz grinned, wild-eyed, as she tried to *push* them into a crude approximation of Glam’s face—but the pieces just shuddered, then clattered to the floor in a sad, sparking heap.
Glam sighed, long-suffering, and snapped her fingers. The glass shards lifted again—effortlessly—arranging themselves into a flawless replica of the Eiffel Tower before dissolving into glittering dust. She didn’t even look at Glitz as she did it, just inspected her nails like the whole display bored her. "Your problem," she drawled, "is that you treat electricity like a flamethrower when it’s a scalpel." To prove it, she flicked a single spark toward the broken lamp. The filament reignited, but this time the glow pulsed in time with Glitz’s ragged breathing—mocking her.
Glitz scowled, rolling her shoulders like she could shake off the humiliation. "Yeah, well, maybe I *like* flamethrowers." She kicked the dresser again for good measure, sending another crack splintering up the cheap wood. "And maybe this shitbox motel deserves to burn."
Glam caught her wrist mid-swing, fingers tightening just shy of bone-crushing. "No," she said, voice silk-wrapped steel. "We're not getting evicted *again* because you can't keep your voltage in your pants." Her thumb stroked the erratic pulse in Glitz's wrist—a warning disguised as a caress. "There's an entire city out there, darling. Surely you can manage not to fry it immediately."
Glitz bared her teeth, but the fight drained out of her shoulders when she realized Glam was right—the walls were closing in, the air tasting like burnt plastic and their own restless energy. She rolled her neck until it cracked. "Fine."
Glam released her wrist, already striding toward the door, hips swaying with that infuriating, unhurried confidence. "We take the fire escape," she murmured, pausing only to snap her fingers—the deadbolt slid open with a quiet click, untouched. "And we don't leave witnesses."
Glitz rolled her eyes but followed, her bare feet silent on the grimy carpet. The fire escape groaned under their combined weight, rust flaking onto the alley pavement below. The moment her boots hit asphalt, she was vibrating again, fingers twitching at her sides like live wires searching for a socket. "Fuckin' finally," she hissed, scanning the row of parked cars lining the alley. Her gaze snagged on a vintage convertible—burgundy, sleek, practically *begging* to be stolen. "That one."
Glam didn't argue. She simply slid a finger between the driver's side window and the frame, applying pressure until the lock mechanism snapped with a satisfying pop. The door swung open, releasing the scent of leather and stale air freshener. Glitz was already sliding into the passenger seat, running her palms over the dashboard like a lover. "Ooooh, someone's daddy had money," she cooed, flicking the rearview mirror until it reflected her smirking face.
Glam didn't sit. Instead, she leaned in, pressing two fingers to the ignition—just long enough for a thin blue current to leap from her skin to the wiring beneath. The engine roared to life, vibrating beneath Glitz's thighs. "Drive," Glam commanded, stepping back as the headlights flared to life. "But not too fast. We're not drawing attention tonight."
Glitz scoffed, fingers already tightening around the wheel. "Since when do we *not* draw attention?" But she was already pulling her phone from her cleavage, snapping a quick selfie with Glam's silhouette haloed in the neon glow of a nearby club sign. Her thumb flew across the screen—just drunk enough on stolen voltage to feel invincible. The caption practically wrote itself:
"Guess who just leveled up? 😘⚡️ New upgrades, same legendary bitches. Try to keep up, peasants. #ElectricBitches #BlueIsSexy #BuffAndSexy #SmugAsFuck"
Where are they going?
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·
June 13
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