#rayn's flat

[ace-sailor-uranus]

i think my favorite hopeless romantic! steve harrington headcanon is that he's been low-key planning his wedding since he was, like. six. with like, all that disney princess kinda stuff- gauzy white tablecloths, gold trim plates, fancy napkins and shit

(and the subsequent steddie headcanon that steve is actually like low-key devastated when he gets together with eddie bc like, yeah he loves eddie a whole helluvalot but also they're two dudes in asscrack indiana, no one's gonna wanna rent them a fancy pavilion without a very convincing reason) ((also they're broke af))

(((i also love them getting courthouse married on the day it's legalized, and then eddie later surprising steve with a big ass fancy shmancy no holds barred blowout wedding of his dreams)))

[ace-sailor-uranus]

@freackthejester

New hairstyle “monkhawk” which is like the tonsure of a medieval European monk gelled to stick straight up forming a basket-like shape

[melancholymegumi]

melody's current thoughts .. 💭

pussy inspection w rayne & orter..

warnings : mean dom!rayne & orter , degradation (slut , whore) , pet names (bunny , princess) , lowkey ddlg undertones if you squint , daddy kink , reader gets ignored by rayne & orter , age isn't mentioned but all characters are adults. (Rayne is 20 , orter is 24 , reader is 19) , lance is mentioned , this is probably less than 100 words. minors, do not interact.

god, this is so annoying. They talk like you were basically non-existent. "Was she bad this week? pussy's throbbing like a slut." you were squirming, again. They talk like you're not even there. It's like you're nonexistent.

"of course she fucking was. rubbing herself against the pretty boy from Adler today. I left her with him for a while, only to find her pushing her tits against his arm like a fucking whore. The princess doesn't mind her manner apparently." "no I didn't! daddy's lying—" he pinched your clit. God , that insufferable and scary look he had on whenever he's fucking pissed. The look that made everyone shut the fuck up.

"I didn't know that we gave you the permission to talk, bunny. Now stop fucking squirming before we tie you up again."

god, you fucking hate them. but, atleast it's better than 2 weeks of not sitting flat on your ass and having everything taken away. or is it?

[seungsuki]

head pats - who doesn't love head pats? (gn!reader)

warning: none

note: nini is in her lazy era ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Summer has already spread in the fields of Easton Magic Academy. It was one of those rare days when the divine visionaries of the building got a brief break from work. Having nothing planned [name] quietly stood in front of a window and enjoyed the breeze. 

Rayne Ames, the serious and somewhat reserved divine visionary, stood not too far. His yellow eyes locked onto the sight in front of him; you. He silently watched you, trying to print the image in his mind. 

You suddenly shuddered. Was it the cold wind hitting your sensitive skin? You looked around and saw a piercing set of eyes watching your every move. An awkward smile painted your face as you quietly strolled over to the double-liner 

“Surprise seeing you here Rayne”, you joked 

“Why would it be a surprise?”, he asked locking eyes with you 

Oh god, here we go again. Your eyes never left his gaze and you painfully gulped. A small blush erupted, enhancing your already perfect features. Your heart beating faster and faster as time slows down 

“You’re never this quiet”, Rayne spoke again 

You broke out of your trance and shook your head from the thoughts lingering in your mind. You hoped Rayne didn’t notice how much of a lovesick puppy you become whenever he’s present in front of you. 

“I can’t think of anything to say”, you muttered 

Liar. your internal thoughts overlapped your actual words. You could go on and on about how great this moment was. How you wish you could frame this opportunity to look back at it… you cringed at how you sounded right now.

“That’s unusual. You’re always chatty”, Rayne questioned your behaviour 

“I’m using my only chance to escape from the paperwork orter throws on my desk”, you sighed remembering your long-due work 

“Then you better get to it”, Rayne said 

In an attempt to leave, he gave you a small pat on the head before leaving you behind. As soon as Rayne was out of sight, you fell flat on the ground. Your knees gave up and your heartbeat rate skyrocketed. Coincidentally, mash and his gang were walking around the corridors. They walked into the scene and Finn was the first one to run over 

“[name]! Are you okay?”, Finn bent down to reach your level 

“Rayne”, you whispered 

“Rayne..? What about him?”, Finn asked trying to piece together the problem 

“He patted my head!!”, you joyfully remembered touching your head 

“That’s it? You gave me a heart attack!” 

Lemon overheard the conversation and squealed in joy. She quickly rushed to you and got you back on your feet. Holding your hand tightly, the both of you jumped up and down in excitement 

“You’re one step closer to winning his heart!”, lemon cheered 

Lance and Mash watched the interaction in confusion. They knew you had a crush on Rayne but they didn't expect you to be down bad for the divine visionary. Finn sighed at your behaviour.

While everyone watched you and Lemon gush over the simple touch, Rayne was behind the wall, listening to everything. He knew you liked him and he felt the same. Maybe a new love story will bloom? Only time will tell (definitely not nini being too lazy to write an actual story)

© seungsuki 2024-25 -- do not repost, translate, alter, etc on any platform without permission. Any characters used in my work do not belong to me, they are created by their original creator

[ace-sailor-uranus]

See, I think part of the thing is, that's vitally important here -not to make any excuses or anything- but you don't have a Local Sesame Street. You can't go to your local fucking educational puppet show and piss and whine and throw shit, but you CAN go to your local Starbucks/Target/corner-store-that-sells-shitty-beer/et fuckin cetera, and harass the employees and break shit and be a bitch in general. If people make threats against sesame street? Whatever. It's considerably more difficult to find and threaten a goddamn muppet, and i will give you a crisp high-five if you can prove to me that your average motherfucker on the street could pick out any of the face characters from a line up.

BUT

Do you know how many people work at Target? Walmart? Starbucks? Local corner store selling shitty beer?

You agree that the shit that your average customer employee faces on a day to day business is bullshit, right? You're with me on that? Can you think about how much fucking worse it is when it's trumped-up egotistical bitch babies who think that anyone and anything even slightly off from 'normal' is more useful DEAD?

And you trust cops about as much as I do, yeah? Less than useless, violent, blah blah blah. Are they gonna do anything to protect the workers in the stores? Fuck no! Not any more than they absolutely goddamn have to. Bare minimum, across the line.

Do you REALLY think they'll do shit for fucking BOMB THREATS to your local target? Or did y'all forget that fucking happened?

Yeah, sure, definitely keep it up about how it's bullshit that they give in to THREATS to their EMPLOYEES LIVES.

Like, yeah, there's shit they could do better. There's ALWAYS shit that can be better. But throwing the CRUMBS of support that the queer committee can get under the fucking bus in order to lift up something else? What the fuck is wrong with you.

Like. Capitalism is a nightmare, ceos are corrupt, blah fuckin blah. You've heard it before, I'm not gonna make you read it again.

And like, I know the bar is on the fucking floor. Not the point.

PBS (Sesame Street) and fucking. Target. Or Walmart. Or Vons or Barnes & Noble or Grocery Outlet or fucking 7-11- they're not fucking equivalent. You're not even comparing apples and oranges, you're comparing strawberries and fucking. TOASTERS.

Like YES, keep pressuring companies about improving worker wages and lives, but don't. don't compare them.

the way sesame street, a pbs puppet show for literal babies, is pressing on with pride content despite vitriolic monsters descending on every post to insinuate they're pedophiles or demons while some of the biggest companies on the planet who could swim in olympic swimming pools of money like scrooge mcduck on steroids buckle and cave just emphasizes how completely and utterly pathetic these corporations are. they'd butcher a baby if it meant saving a penny.

[mashleverse]

#38 [MASH RADIO] - Web Radio feat. Kobayashi Chiaki & Eguchi Takuya

Mash Radio is back! Just like before, messy summary is under read more below.

Unlike the usual one where the guest was supposed to be the one reading the opening, now it's Kobayashi who read the opening segment, while Eguchi immediately cracked open a cold one!

Kobayashi talked about how Mashle as a series is now becoming so widely beloved and popular, that the detective-themed event back then was also a huge success!

Kobayashi: "After the events of S1 and S2, what do you think about Dot so far?" ; Eguchi: *with flat tone* "He made me use a lot of loud voices."

Eguchi also said that he'd never played a role that made him use such a head-numbingly loud voice to the same extent as he did for Dot, where he had to speak in such ways in both anime and even drama CDs.

They're talking about the main characters' seiyuus, a lot of times about Kawashima (Finn's VA), and sometimes about Ishikawa (Lance's VA)! The Mashle casts seem very close!

As both of them are reading the letters from listeners, everyone is pretty happy to welcome Mashle Web Radio back!

After reading the listener's letters, they recall what happened during the detective-themed event a few months ago, and suddenly... Eguchi: Kaji-san... is dressing in such a weird outfit. Kobayashi: *confused* Are we... are we supposed to talk about this publicly?

What Eguchi meant is that during the event, when Umehara (Abel's VA) asked the audience to form a pose, Eguchi seemed to notice how strange Kaji (Rayne's VA) outfit at that time was, so much it was stuck in his memories and he wondered why he had such memories. Kobayashi recalled too that a while ago he met Kaji for a work in a different series, and there he wore a strange outfit as well, described by Kobayashi as "a stylish guy who goes all out when he puts himself on the line (?)". Eguchi said: "As expected of fellow seiyuus from Showa generation!"

There are no minigame sessions, only reading letters and a lot of fun talk between Kobayashi and Eguchi!

Kobayashi went to watch the Mashle Stage 2.5! He said it was amazing! He praised the actors and actresses' huge respect for the original work and the anime, especially how the actors' and actresses' voices are very close to the anime's seiyuus, including stage Dot's explosive performance! Eguchi: I'm worried about his throat! (because Dot screams a lot)

And that's it for this episode's Mashle web radio!

[the-forgotten-angel]

Just a quick mod update, and an apology for being so very inconsistent- I still have to figure out how to manage this project that isn't relying on brief fixation before falling flat again. But one little change I think will help, I'm going to close the askbox for now, and open it again when it's empty. You guys are so engaged with Chara and that's honestly amazing, but it does mean that I have to figure out how to pace myself. By all means, keep giving asks when you can, keep reblogging the posts, consider some of the authors' ko fi, and have an amazing day- The askbox is temporarily closed, I will announce when it's open again. -Rayne

[ace-sailor-uranus]

ah fuck

hi. i made a uquiz

[ace-sailor-uranus]

...chosen for what

also, UN-choose him, that is a goddamn baby

[babeluda]

Something something Faulkner putting the finger on my deep fear of deterioration in age when he spoke with sibling Rayne about losing how far you've come.

I can't visit my grandmother anymore. I feel immensely guilty about it, but the alternative is worse.

It's good I was folding laundry and preparing crepe batter in my brightly lit brightly coloured flat because this episode is the first that unsettled me to the point of swallowing and looking around nervously.

[notsoterriblymisanthropic]

One year, we were driving down this stretch of road and saw one of the abandoned barns engulfed in flames. The fire was two stories high, hypnotic in its efficiency, made fiercer and brighter and hotter by the flat monotony of the landscape around it. It looked like the end of the world. It was the most viscerally destructive thing I had ever seen in real life, and this is the part that really put a pit in my stomach: all this sound and fury, and it wasn’t destroying anything that anyone had cared about for a long, long time.

Rayne Fisher-Quann, Home for the Holidays

[ace-sailor-uranus]

i have gotten visibly more tired as the years go on.

New picrew chain idea: yourself vs what you looked like as a kid

Free for anyone to join in

Link

[belsasim]

Timeskip time...

3 seasons had passed. Rayne hadn't returned.

He had called a few times, hushed and rushed, pounding club music on the background. The toddlers were happy to hear their father's voice, Zinnia would try to talk to him, but always ended up crying and asking him to come home and Kit would flat out refuse to come near the phone.

Both sets of twins celebrated their birthday without their father present. Sarah outdid herself with cake and a party with their relatives, but for Kit and Zinnia, it still felt bittersweet.

Once there were teens and children in the house, Sarah should've been able to relax a little bit more. But she seemed to throw herself into her work even more. Working all day while the kids were in school and continuing into the late hours once they were asleep.

Anyway, all they could do was to keep on keepin' on. And that's what they did.

[onegianthotmess]

So, I’ve been on a kick with the possibilities of a toxic relationship recently, so I decided to make my dreams a reality!!!

Meet Finnian Rex, formerly known as Finnian Rosehearts! This is the ex-husband of Iracebeth Rosehearts and the father to Morel, Riddle, and Rayne Rosehearts! He’s also the reason why his children all have pretty baby faces!!

He’s themed after the White King a bit in terms of being the opposite of Iracebeth Rosehearts, the world’s worst wife and mother.

Currently, Finnian is 46 and on his second marriage with his old friend from Night Raven College who told him that Iracebeth was bad news, but our boy didn’t listen until he slowly saw it for himself when Morel was around three and deemed a “failure” by Iracebeth’s controlling ass.

Finnian was a very good and well-known professional Spelldrive player until he was blinded in his left eye due to an “accident”. After he retired from the sporting scene, he fell back on his second passion, art, and now he’s a professional artist, specifically a painter! He’s made a pretty decent living off of his works, too!

Throughout his relationship with Iracebeth, Finnian realized how bad she was and eventually began demanding a divorce, but he didn’t get it until after Riddle and Rayne were born. Slowly, but surely, Finnian began to use alcohol as a coping mechanism due to Iracebeth coaxing and enabling him before she took it to court and Finnian was deemed unfit to have Morel visit him at all due to his alcoholism and he lost all custody of her. For people wondering why Riddle and Rayne weren’t in shared custody, they were quite young during this time and Finnian’s name isn’t on their birth certificates, so he legally isn’t their father.

After Finnian lost the right to see his children at all and was ordered to stay away due to his addiction, he fell further into alcoholism until his friend, now spouse, saved his life when he was about to die of alcohol poisoning. When he almost died, Finnian began to straighten up and go to rehab, he eventually even got to be able to write letters to Morel, who just got into Night Raven College and was in Heartslabyul.

Finnian always regretted never being able to stick around for Riddle and Rayne, but he was always very happy when Morel wrote about them in her letters and such. He was even sent prints of pictures and stuff that Morel took so that he could have something at least. It did shock Finnian just how much Riddle and Rayne look like Iracebeth, but Riddle looks the most like her to him. Eventually he became pen pals with Rayne and then Riddle and he became even happier because now he could get to know them on a deeper level.

His plan is to meet them in person during their graduation and apologize for everything he’d missed. He also plans to give them all of the cards for their birthdays that he was never able to give to them because of their mother—Finnian even has very old letters addressed to Riddle and Rayne from their first birthday that he was going to give them when they learned how to read, but was never able to because of Iracebeth.

Onto more fun stuff and facts about our lovely father here, Finnian is an incredibly kind man, almost to a fault. He is generous and doting to those he cares about, he just wants to show his love and appreciation for those around him. He’s very similar to Trey, though he’s less of a mom friend and more of a full on support system in case someone needs it.

Finnian is the friend who will stab someone if you so much as say the word-

He used to wear contacts instead of his glasses because they got in the way during Spelldrive, but since he was blinded in his left eye he started wearing them all the time because there really was no point in the contacts anymore and he needed all the help with sight he could get. Also, Finnian’s hair is straight! It’s just fluffier and not as flat as Iracebeth’s hair and he doesn’t mind going around with his hair slightly tousled up. It somehow always looks perfectly messed up and looks amazing on him, even if he’s just woken up. His spouse is jealous-

And Finnian steers clear of alcohol for the most part aside from the occasional couple of glasses of wine or dessert wine. He stays away from strong drinks and tries to not drink around Morel when she visits because she’d arrive at his house to find him passed out from morning drinking when she was still allowed to visit him as a kid.

He can’t cook, but he can bake somehow. He’s one of those people who can’t boil water, but he can make a baked Alaska no problem by some strange and unnatural fuckery or witchcraft. But he’s more of a bread kind of guy and the sweetest thing he usually makes is pound cake. He will be making pound cake for his kids when he finally gets the chance.

He’s just a sweet guy who wants to make up for lost time with his only son and younger daughter.

(Also, he looks like a cute nerd to me and I love it. Maybe it’s the cardigan for me. I don’t know, but I love Finnian, he’s a new favorite of mine!)

[ansbobcar]

EP 4. Compromises are the best if you do it right

WORD COUNT. 3208

Link to overview

_ _ _ _ _

The month was soon ending, soon bringing the summer season. Although there was barely any change between the seasons. However, that also indicated something important. Midterms were coming up and Darren had barely caught up with her work.

As if changing half her subjects wasn’t such a pain, scribbling notes onto another piece of paper late into the night. ‘I swear if these teachers add more last minute content, I’d rather burn this school down or go back to that shitty school again.’

If it wasn’t for her favourite subjects, Magical Geography and Magic Zoology, she would have quit on her first day. Along with the fact she actually wasn’t kicked out of every class for not using a wand. She should be grateful for this opportunity but it was really infuriating.

But if the school burnt down, there was no way in hell she’d ever encounter Rayne ever again, she cursed to herself at the predicament as she looked up to the window which seeped in the light of a full moon. As if the wind and walls played tricks on her senses, a faint howl echoed with woe and simply continued. It ruined her concentration, she sighed heavily, standing up in her cotton off-white collared nightgown and wore her uniform’s robe before taking a step outside in her bare feet.

The howls were from the hallways, she quietly began with a walking pace towards the voice, leading her down the stairs to the 10th floor. Although her feet was probably more than darkened, it wasn’t something she was foreign too. As if her complexion was already rather darker to begin with considering she lived in one of the great flat plane regions which witnessed the sun’s eyes constantly. 

But it’s the dead of the night, there was no need to talk about the sun. Something was off about the moon, she told herself. Alongside the constant swipes of sadness the howls brought. ‘If it’s what I think it is…’

Instinctively, she extinguished flames headed her way. Two boys in what she presumed was not the Adler uniform seemed more than startled at her appearance. “What?” She sighed. “Where’s her wand?”

“My name’s Darren Randel,” she uttered to be met with dead silence from the two. She could barely make out the complicated expressions they had drawn onto themselves but it was probably fear.

“That’s her! The one who defeated him!”

Without another moment to spare to her, they dashed away. Leaving her alone. The suspicious howls disappeared this time much to her confusion so she headed back to her room only to be greeted by the old man himself with a calm yet serious face at her door.

“What is it this time?” Almost rolling her eyes.

“Young Darren, would you mind wearing your uniform first?”

Here we go again.

Without a word, Darren had disappeared. Unlike last time, there was no food prepared when he had arrived to the bunnies who were just as shocked as him by her lacking presence. Just like before, the teachers were aware of her absence. 

The wolf sightings disappeared along with the full moon and suddenly things felt like when he was in his first year. With dwindling numbers of duel requests, he ended up following his friend for his excursion on her second day missing. Although midterms were coming up he was more than prepared to get decent grades in them, drowning his thoughts amidst the vicious gnawing of their teeth.

Maybe he was a bit too harsh on her last time. Apart from Max Land, she was the only one who approached him with no expectations. Bunbun and Bunaldo were weird, snuggling under each of his armpit like there was no tomorrow. The doe in particular was chomping harshly once again.

He exhaled.

They never slept on him. And he was sure Buns would jump back to the corner again once all the snacks disappeared. At least they weren’t like Bunster and Bunnykins who were more than just stuck at the hip when they were eating. Only Bunnelby stuck to him.

Apart from her, nobody else could truly tell them apart as much as he did. Unmoving from his position. He might as well get eaten alive at this point and prepare to be met with the disappointing voice Wahlberg sometimes carries.

“Unfortunately, Young Rayne,” he would begin. “Young Darren has been expelled due to the new report that she beat up…” and continued to list out her whole bad record. From stealing exam papers to bullying, he listed mountains upon mountains of reports for him to hear. “That was our conclusion as a school.”

But she barely duelled anyone apart from Wirth Madl.

He heard a knock on the door before it creaked open. “Rayne?” Max called out. “It’s getting late.” Slowly he stood up in response and locked up the house, making sure the headcount was 9.

“Still no sign of Darren?” the light brunette inquired as they walked back. He shook his head. “That’s odd. I hope we get some sort of news about her soon.”

That would be for the best.

_ _ _

On the third day of her absence, nothing changed. Some more last minute content was added, with certain teachers making them hold about 3 marks in their midterms and finals respectively. And then he swept the floors of the rabbit house a bit more and reorganised a few things, like their bedding and toys. Life was as usual.

Maybe he should go out tomorrow, having initially planned to drag along his friend and the girl. Maybe he just wasn’t supposed to meet her. How comical. Such a short lived person in his life who somehow made him a soup his own late mother had made, walking back to the dormitory alone.

Was he disappointed at how things turned out?

Yet something familiar slithered its way into his head in familiarity. Soup… spice… 

It’s her.

From the Adler Dorm’s kitchen no less, as he sprinted down to the door and prevented himself from bashing the door open. Catching his breath, he saw the familiar auburn head with blue tips in her hair. She didn’t have it up in her usual pigtails…

“What’s with the long face?” She faced him, turning down the stove’s fire, her face seemed heavier on one side with gauze on it.

“Are you part of some street gang?” He huffed, irritation evident on his face.

She chuckled at his assumption. “Life would be easier if I was. Why?”

He pointed at the bandaged cheek. She waved it off. "It could've been worse and a lot longer, it was settled well enough," she forced herself to keep it vague. Scooping up some soup for him to have. "What do you want tomorrow?”

“Something with carrots.”

_ _ _

Oh she can’t bear to look at the scores any longer, slumping down on her desk for everyone to see. Cheers for passes were heard from her cohort and maybe some snickers from people like Chloe. Thankfully, her parents couldn’t care less about her life at school. They just wanted her to pass. But who knew the passing marks were higher than the smarter school?

Turning her head towards the tallest of the three, she asked, “How much did you get Rayne?”

“Nothing much,” he stated, as the two peered over his shoulders to see the marks. Nearly full scores! What is this genius intellect? This rabbit hoarder???

“You’ve got a month to turn it around you know?” He pointed out as he saw her abysmal grades. His facial structure lacked emotion as she seemed on the cusps of wailing. “Midterms are just for the teachers but you’ll get expelled if you fail even a subject for the end of semester tests and that means…”

“You got a demerit!” Max chimed in much to her agony. “It’s alright Darren, I’m sure we can help you… right, Rayne?” Surely, they would be able to help raise her grades.

They in fact, did not.

“I’m sorry you guys,” she murmured, dropping her head onto the table. Papers with red circles were indicated. The two were the type to go through papers and questions instead of the content, which is what she needed help with if anything. “I’ll just study more…”

Oh well, that probably means they’ll get less food now.

“I’ll make sure to give you food guys food still, I’ll just be losing some sleep a bit,” she chuckled awkwardly, hiding her nails which dug into her palm.

‘It’s all his fault for messing it up.’

_ _ _

Etched in his soul was a wound that never ceased to burrow. Thriving through the nights, through the scent of the calming morning dew that escaped into his dorm room, through the hellish blank yet raging canvas his brother had abandoned him in each winter. Loneliness and wrath were only by products of it.

Outside of his grades, he served no self-fulfilling purpose. Stuck in the shadows of stars. Unfound.

That is, until he stumbled across the root of his recent nightmares, through the void of eternal emptiness, balancing stacks of books while eyeing another as she leaned onto the ladder. There was no way in hell this was real.

"Oi," he whispered to her. "Oi! Are you insane!?" he tried calling out to her, to no avail. She seemed to crane her head towards the shelf only. Those were at least 20 books in her hands! The fact there's no magic makes it so much worse! The school had centuries worth of knowledge, there was no way that she was about to ruin a bunch of them with her careless handling.

The rumours were true how useless she was in regards to mundane magic, ready to mutter a spell to elevate himself but she simply cursed. "Who? the. fuck. is down. there?"

"Wirth Madl."

Instantly, her chipper mood removed itself as she looked down at the Lang student. Disdain in her eyes. "What brings you here?" She crudely asked, still managing to balance her books with a single hand.

"It's a fucking library, for books obviously," he replied, increasingly getting agitated by the sight of her. 

"So why are you bothering me?"

"Because you're not using any spells for your books," he pointed at her. THE SIGHT OF HER WAS GONNA KILL HIM SOONER OR LATER, trying to maintain his composure. 

She arched her brow before she hummed at his words. "Good point," before she decided to slowly climb down. She took a minute with each step.

OH HOW WAS HE SUPPOSED TO KEEP CALM??? Who goes down without two hands on the ladder?

"You're gonna die if you don't levitate your books."

"It's fine," taking another step down. The books leaned side to side like a pancake tower. Her hand grew increasingly wobbly the longer she held it for. He could see her become more tense as she took longer once she was about 5 metres from the ground. 

"I... I can help if you want," he huffed, unable to stand the sight.

"No, I'm," she clutched tightly onto the side of the ladder. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You're getting more tired," astonished by her stubbornness, as she stayed in place. "If you fall, those books can't be replaced you know? You'll have to pay hefty fines for damaging school property."

"Then I'd rather fall than ask for help."

"What is your problem?"

"What is YOUR—"

Her hand and feet slipped as a loud growl revealed its presence towards the two. "Ruptu—" she covered her mouth before she could finish the spell.

Immediately, the Lang student chanted a levitation spell on the stack of books. ‘It would last long enough to catch this skinny girl,’ is what he told himself. Ready to catch her in his arms as he positioned himself right under her shadow. Yet his feet dug itself into the stone floor immediately as numbness enveloped his body and he felt a sharp stretch emerge from his arms as he breathed. Her eyes were struck with fear as if she knew what had just happened to the two of them.

He winced as she shifted herself and she seemed to hold back a wail. "I forgot to nullify it again. Ah," she gripped her hands into fists. "I'm sorry. You should've just let me fall to the ground. Now you're gonna get me kicked out."

As she seemed to woe her curses at him, the rather magically more adept student focused his efforts on gently placing the books down without ruining them.

"Why... don't you take us to the infirmary or something?"

_ _ _

After requesting—dare I say blackmailing—the head nurse, the two were given the most potent healing potions the school's supplies could concoct to ensure Wirth Madl, the 2nd Fang of the Magia Lupus, had never broken his arms in the first place trying to catch a girl from the Adler house.

"It's nice that there are some students who are taking care of each other," the nurse had stammered out before shooing them out of her office.

Awkwardly, still in the empty hall, he finally asked her, "So what were you doing with over 20 books in your hand?"

"Study material," she quipped. "I didn't pass enough of the midterm papers."

That's rather odd, he told himself. "What's your average score?"

"12 marks."

Oh god. That's actually bad.

"I usually get by enough not the get expelled," she murmured as they walked back to the library. "Can't believe Easton's grade boundaries are higher."

"Getting 50% to pass isn't that high."

"It's high to me, okay!"

"Chill will you? What were you tryna study anyways?"

He should've never asked. She had books about the history of and proof behind principle maths concepts down to the kiddie maths workbooks in her stack.

"Do you even know what you're studying?" He reiterated, noticing another pile with a pop up human physiology book and loads of rubbish notes and papers around it. "Like genuinely, do you?"

"Why does this matter to you specifically?" She countered, unable to look at him in the eye.

"Because I want a rematch, which obviously won't happen if you're gonna get expelled next month anyways."

She tried to speak a few times but was at a loss for words before she took a deep breath and continued.

"Good point. Then I'll," her heel pivoted as she pointed her hands towards him. "Ask you about your average score."

"100 marks."

Her jaw dropped. This guy's smarter than Rayne!! "I beg your pardon?"

"I get full marks for my tests," he shrugged.

"Okay, smartypants," she laughed awkwardly. "How about a deal." He eyed her sceptically, with his arms folded. "You tutor me so I can pass the terms and I feed you fresh meals."

"Feed?" He hawked. "What are you gonna feed me? Freshly grilled wagyu steak?" How absurd. She didn't even have a wand, how was he going to get a decent meal from her hands. Commoners nearby don’t even have access to those premium grade livestock.

Her eyes seemed to light up at his words as she fished out of her pocket, a plate of thinly sliced and marbled red meat. "I forgot this existed," she hummed. "I'll make beef noodles for dinner then."

"On another note, I'd prefer live octopus."

“Like this?” she pulled out one from her pocket without batting an eye.

"Foie gras?"

Again, she had it. "This is a delicacy amongst the elite isn't it?" she mused. "Never tried this variation though," putting it back.

"Nevermind... I want this type of delicacy known in the southeast region made with the manihot esculenta or tapioca," he rambled. "It's not too sweet and needs a certain firmness—"

"Tapioca huh?" She tapped her foot. "I remember making something like that a few years ago."

Now he was at a loss.

"You won't drop this until I accept this deal won't you?"

"I won't," she curtly replied. "I can't get deported back to the countryside," she stressed with some gestures. "Trust me, I make some pretty spectacular food. Let's find your dorm's kitchen first," she gestured him to lead the way.

"Fine."

_ _ _

The eyebags seemed to grow heavier on Darren’s face as the week continued on, she seemed to still be cheerful and ask questions in class but it seemed slightly less focused than before. “So that means there’s only 10 base formulas, right?”

The professor nodded at her words. “Yes, that is correct. Apart from Lethargy and Energy, there are also Physical Ailment, Mental Ailment, and Physical Enhancing base formulas which were studied before last year alongside their antidotes.”

“Does that mean we’ll be studying Augmentation and Curse next?

“Only Augmentation. Learning about the Curse base formula is rather complicated and has been delegated a 3rd year topic,” he explained; “Additionally, it will only be a topic for those placed in the advanced potionology class only just like learning normal curses is.” 

‘Ah. I need to do good for this class,’ she told herself. ‘Augmentation’s pretty useful for the future.’

Once classes finished, she waked goodbye to the two and immediately ran round the corner to transport herself at the meeting spot where lots of sunlight existed and cast a light shadow from the tree. The random spot nobody had found yet by sticking with the dorm lounge and library.

“Just calling it ‘the spot’ is a pretty lame name ya now, Mudkip,” she uttered as she walked to the middle with nobody present. Appearing from the ground, he spawned with an irked face.

“You did not just call me a Water-type Pokemon.”

“I did, Swampert,” she jeered.

“Let’s continue where we stopped from last time,” holding out his hand. Immediately, he received a boxed lunch. “I meant the papers. You didn’t forget then did you?”

She took them out without a hassle and placed them down for him to see. “I tried doing 2 more questions, can you look at them?”

“Alright.”

With a mere glance, his brows furrowed and quickly began to take out a clayboard. “You confused the formulas again. When you see this question type, you need to think about completing the square after expanding the equation. You’re already okay at expanding and simplifying.”

“Example?”

He took out another one of her older papers and showed it to her to overlook before explaining it. “The trick I learnt was…”

And after a solid session of completing Maths, they had moved on to History. “I suggest these comic books first as the foundation.”

He wouldn’t mention he stole them from his brother’s personal collection. ‘He lost that a decade ago anyways,’ he reminded himself watching as she read it quietly. ‘I doubt he’d care about anything in that household.’

“Are you sure this is a good way to get into the topic?”

“Trust me, it will.”

“Did they really do that?” Leaning over his shoulder as he stayed on the page with the assassination of a king.

“I learned that in school, so it must be pretty accurate, don’t ya think?”

If only things were the same.

“If you say so.”

_ _ _ _ _

I'll be taking a break from publishing after this episode/chapter because I haven't started the Summer Internship Arc. It's still in writing, updates will be much slowly too.

I also might modify things a bit for the future.

Oh right... PROPERLY INTRODUCING WIRTH MADL AS THE 2ND ML Y'ALL!!!!!

So where do you think Darren went off to now?

[wonder-in-wings]

TIMING: Recent-ish LOCATION: Fable Blades PARTIES: Owen (@apaininyourneck and Parker (@wonder-in-wings SUMMARY: Parker visits Fable Blades, definitely to shop for weapons and not because he was told there were giant spiders in the cellar. Owen is there and does what Owen does best, which is anything he sets his mind to. CONTENT WARNINGS: Two insufferable know-it-alls have a hissing match

This was the place, right? The place that Mack had told him about - the one with the supposedly bull-sized spiders in the cellar? Parker’s blue eyes danced over the exterior of the building. Unassuming, almost archaic in the way the wood bent but never truly yielded over the years of weathered use. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted whatever was on the inside… He tended to make his own weapons since they were so unique and specific to what his modus operandi was and he didn’t really frequent public stores. Not that this place was particularly public, though if he had to guess he was sure this establishment had seen its fair share of passersby and enthusiasts who wondered what the hell they sold here.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Parker had to keep himself from going into the building and asking whoever was working the counter (if they had a counter) where the giant spiders were or if they had any other pests they couldn’t control. Instead, he walked in with a measure of self-restraint, for a moment moving stiffly as though he were a ball-jointed doll being moved by a careless child. The inside carried a peculiar scent of metal and wood, combined together to form the antique weapons that lined the walls and cases in front of them. One of his hands went to the ever-present leather belt that always hugged his hips, the other absently fidgeting with the spinner ring that Rayne gave him to settle the effects of the crystal on his mind. Both were soothing gestures as he was in the unfamiliar store.

—

With The Wormhole still under repair - god, Owen’s blood still ran hot at the thought of that fucking ranger - the shifts at Fable Blades had gotten more frequent. Chet, true to character, hadn’t bothered to ask about the new bandages Owen was sporting thanks to said fucking warden and his werewolf buddy. He’d simply grunted an agreement to give him a few more shifts and left it at that. He’d been using all this extra time at the weapons store to gain some more knowledge on shifters, more ways to kill them to be more exact. 

A man he didn’t recognize entered, forcing Owen to put down the silver blade he’d been messing with. Surveying the man, immediately spotting that this wasn’t an antiques enthusiast or a LARPer looking to impress with a shiny weapon they had no idea how to use. Granted, the healing slashes on his face were a pretty dead giveaway. A ranger? Might be good for some information, then. The man looked tense as fuck, however, fiddling with uncertainty that made Owen quirk an eyebrow. “You lost?” he questioned, stepping out from behind the counter, voice devoid of any customer service. 

—

Insufficient hearing did Parker no favors though he compensated by being on alert, light on his feet on the off-chance that something would happen. Of course, he kept his blue eyes drifting for any signs of pests or insects but seemed to come up short. He heard someone addressing him though and his head turned sharply to regard a tall, lanky man coming from behind the counter - the employee tasked with asking superficial questions to make sure he, as the ‘customer’ was being attended. He noticed the bandages but didn’t ask about them - perhaps they were also a hunter who’d gotten into trouble recently. It seemed to be a common occurrence, though before the incident with Felix, the Warden almost prided himself on not sporting any visible scars. “No, I don’t believe so.” Parker replied, his own tone flat though not necessarily aggressive as his blue eyes stared at the employee’s face. “...Then again, I might be. I was told that there were giant spiders in the cellar but… now that I think about it, I may have the wrong weapons store.” His expression didn’t falter, though his voice now indicated that that wasn’t normal starting conversation. “I mean…” ‘Too late.’ “I’m here for… weapons.” ‘The important thing is that you tried, my son.’

—

Leaning back against the counter, arms crossed, Owen regarded the newcomer further. The man had barely looked at the weapons on display, more so scouring the entire area. Even the customers that strayed in here by accident got enamored by the wide arrange of different blades and bows, some of them handcrafted to look more like art than weaponry. Hunter-like looks or not, it was doubtful this man was here just for shopping. Sure enough, the provided explanation proved as much but didn’t exactly offer much in the sense of clearing up the situation. 

With an amused snort, Owen raised an eyebrow, allowing the man to fumble through the feeble attempt at a lie. “You’re a shit liar. And your resources are definitely shit, too.” Giant spiders? He wouldn’t have minded a look at something like that but alas. “We don’t even have a basement, buddy, and I’m sure I would have noticed giant spiders around.” Sizing up the man even further, making the gesture very noticeable, Owen continued. “You don’t look like pest control so… bug kink or just always craved death by spiders?”

—

‘You should really leave it to the pros.’ His brother’s voice mingling with the employee’s bold assertion that he was a poor liar didn’t mix well in Parker’s brain and his brow subtly furrowed to reflect it as he noticed the other man’s obvious body language, as though gauging the Warden for a response. He didn’t know what type of response he wanted, though, aside from the crude language suggesting that he either wasn’t particularly eloquent or he didn’t bother himself with making sure he left an intellectual first impression. Parker was willing to bet that it was both. “I’m usually rather proficient at lying.” And the ironic thing was that it wasn’t a lie. Not that the stranger could’ve known that. He wanted to add that the other man was probably right about his sources as well, though he didn’t know if he wanted to already admit that the guy was right. The Warden could’ve sworn it was Fabled Blades… oh. Oops. He didn’t wear realization on his face as he learned that it wasn’t his source that was bad, it was his memory. He gulped quietly, the only acknowledgment he paid to the thought before he pulled himself out of those filing cabinets, the library of thoughts and he was brought to the present once more. “Neither.” He replied, one of his brows twitching slightly with it. “I’m a Collector.” Parker opted to explain, if not in great detail. “And I’ve yet to add ‘large spiders of indeterminate species’ to my collection.” A pause. “The size of a bull, I was told. Not a goliath bird-eating spider.” 

—

This man didn’t look all too impressed with Owen’s jokes but people rarely appreciated them at first. It also rarely deterred the slayer, even if they continued to dislike his quips and general attitude. “Ah, just an off day for the proficient liar, then,” he shot back, trying still to get any sort of read on the man’s almost blank face. As someone who prided themselves on not showing unwanted emotions splattered across his face, Owen did at least usually have an expression of some sort visible. It seemed like this man was either lagging or just… not feeling anything at all. A real charmer. 

Then finally, the slightest hint of a reaction. Well, reaction or involuntary twitch of a muscle. Either way, a fairly muted response to being accused of whatever the name for a spider kink was (Owen was sure a name existed, as it did for most everything one could think of). Uncrossing his arms, Owen finally pushed himself away from the counter and stepped up closer, eyebrows raising at the provided job title. Wondering what else this man considered necessary to his collection. “Sorry to disappoint.” He wasn’t, obviously, made clear by the amused expression on his face. 

“I’ve lived here for quite some time, though. If you tell me the sort of stuff you’re looking for, I might be able to help point you in the right direction.” It might have sounded like an unexpected gesture of goodwill - to anyone who hadn’t known Owen for more than five minutes. The offer was a means to an end, learning more about this strange man and his ‘collection’. Owen was definitely intrigued. “And to clear the air, I’m a hunter, that scar on your face definitely makes me think you’re one too, and we do sell weapons catered to more… specific prey.”

—

“Unless that’s also a lie.” Parker didn’t like going down that thread of thought; on a good day, it was aggravating and otherwise it was infuriating for him to have to deal with the other person. This man, however, seemed… well, not stupid, that much the Warden could discern. Foolish, maybe. Apathetic, certainly, and once more he was wondering if there was something in the air that caused so many people around the town to be… flirtatious. ‘That’s not the word I’d have used.’ He knew the word his brother would’ve used. ‘It doesn’t affect you though. Ya weirdo.’ The apology was empty but even if it wasn’t, it didn’t concern Parker; he knew better than to have any attainable expectations for anyone, especially haughty know-nothings who were taller than him, even if it was only by... an inch, if that much; the slightest difference in height apparently made a huge difference in how much thinner the air was, if the way they talked was any indicator. “Do you always judge the profession of an individual based on their superficial, mutable character traits?” The Warden asked, the same eyebrow quirking though it was slightly more noticeable this time. It was an ‘interesting’ perception to have, and when he thought ‘interesting’ he actually meant ‘stupid’. “Since you think of me to be a temporary respite from your evident boredom, I’ll entertain your guess as to which type of hunter I might be. Assuming I am one and not just someone knowledgeable on whatever you’re talking about.” He kept his icy stare on the other man, his hands instinctively resting on his belt as he made it as obvious as he possibly could’ve with that sentence alone.

—

Lips twitched into a semblance of a smile - the slightest bite noticeable behind the stranger’s words. Clearly not just going to roll over and give in. Good, Owen thought. Messing with people that didn’t fight back always felt too much like kicking a sad puppy. That didn’t mean that he backed off when people didn’t defend themselves but it did make it less fun. “Do you always talk like you’re attempting to sound smarter than everyone else in the room? Or are you just trying to impress me?” he shot back, smile morphing into a grin. 

Another long and overly complicated sentence, confirming what Owen had suspected from the get go and honestly, the man would have had a much harder time trying to convince him he wasn’t some sort of hunter. Owen was rarely wrong and the occasions on which he admitted to being wrong were even rarer. “Aww, come on. Not even going to give me a clue?” he complained, even as amusement tinted the words. His first bet would have been a ranger judging from the look and size of the scar but seeing as Owen himself had jostled with a few shifters, it wasn’t enough for a solid guess. The rest of the man’s unimpressive appearance didn’t provide much, either.

“If you’re so knowledgeable, I think it’s only fair that you have to guess as well. Random guessing is no fun though so… Preferred weapon? I’d have to go with something like… this,” he said, moving a few steps closer to the display wall and gesturing towards one of the trailing point hunting knives propped up there. 

—

Parker tilted his head ever-so-slightly. “I don’t have to attempt.” He replied simply, with a hidden level of self-assurance; as far as he was concerned, he didn’t. And he left off the part where he also didn’t feel a need to impress someone else, whether or not it was a joke. He figured at this point that it was - everything about the man who cast him playful smiles and teasing remarks, fake questions that gave false emotions indicated that he wasn’t taking any of this seriously. His inquiries carried an empty weight to them. He was self-assured, cocky… outgoing. He had the standard fare as far as scars went and Parker didn’t want to glance down at the man’s hands longer than necessary, feeling as though it would make him seem like he was being submissive though oftentimes hands held greater secrets than one would’ve known. Any weapons he would’ve had seemed to be under his jacket, rather smartly so considering they were technically in public. Parker didn’t often obscure his utility belt, for better or for worse - he had remarked that Rhett looked distinguishable from the populace but he failed to realize that the same could be said about himself with his belt and, more recently, the scar on his face. Then the man took a few steps over and motioned to what appeared to be a hunting knife. Then again, Parker supposed all of the weapons in there were for hunting. It wasn’t enough for him to make an educated guess, though the man certainly didn’t give him any impression that he was a Warden, reminding him of his brother as much as he did off the bat. He inhaled slowly and glanced around the establishment. “I don’t see my preferred weapon here.” He remarked rather mildly, and not untruthfully for multiple reasons. He wondered if that would help narrow him down. “Then again, I suppose I shouldn’t come to a weapons shop for knowledge.” He glanced back at the stranger. “Parker.” He offered his name, considering if he should ask if he could have the other one’s name as well, gauging to see if he really was as naive as many other hunters he’d encountered. Ultimately, he decided against it, though.

—

With the amount of blades and bows scattered across the wall, Owen felt fairly confident in his decision to rule out ranger as a possibility. There was always the option of a firearm, sure, but the ones Owen had met so far rarely indulged in that. What was the point of superior strength if not to brutally take down what you were hunting? And if this strange man was a gunslinging ranger, then he had to be a pretty bad one to have gotten that scar. “Don’t let Chet hear you talking shit like that. He’s not nearly as nice as I am.” The truth, in a way since ‘nice’ was a far cry from what the slayer generally was, but Chet was an asshole and would not take kindly to his knowledge and store being bashed in one sentence. 

A name was provided unprompted and Owen thought about completely ignoring social standards, let this Parker have to earn his way to a name but decided against it on the off chance it would insult the snooty man enough to make him leave. Owen still wanted to know what exactly it was that he collected, other than theoretically giant spider legs. “Owen. Do you work business hours or late shifts?”

—

Owen. Parker’s first thought was ‘ranger’ but then again, maybe that was because the name was associated with ‘Rover’ to him. ‘Rangers are basically beasts themselves; just gotta be bigger and stronger than ‘em’, he heard his father say. Then again… each subtype tended to dress, act and carry themselves a certain way, especially rangers and slayers: in his experience, rangers were all flannel, all day with an excess of hair whether it was facial or otherwise (as though the concept of not having grabbable hair was foreign to them). He allowed his blue eyes to stray from Owen’s face, now glancing down at his attire. Not completely obvious but then again, he didn’t figure Wardens decided to be eye-catching either until he met Rhett. While he was looking, however, he did catch a quick peek at the hunter’s hands where he could’ve sworn he saw some entry points for fangs. Still, though, they could’ve belonged to a dog or a snake, perhaps… not a werewolf; he was under the impression those left bigger marks. What else did he know? ‘Don’t get trapped with a slayer in the dark; they can see better ‘n you can and they’ll leave you sooner than help’. “I work at the museum as my day job.” ‘Rangers can hear better than you, too; they gotta have special powers or else they’re just as useless as they seem.’ Parker remembered being a child, sitting in one of the old moth-eaten chairs in the chateau, leaning over a table working on one of his specimens as his father went on another rant about hunters. “But I tend to do my best work whenever inspiration strikes.” A pause. “Surely you have something better to do with your time, as well.” He glanced over at the other man. “...No offense to Chet, of course. But this place doesn’t seem exciting enough for you.”

—

It was rare to be perceived in the way he currently was, those chilly eyes gauging Owen like a puzzle needing solving. The slayer was used to all kinds of once-overs, be they judgemental or filled with interest but this felt like a first. Like he was being read in a way Owen knew himself to be guilty of from time to time - people could lie, their actions and appearance were harder to hide. Being under this kind of scrutiny himself was… interesting. Made him wonder what, if anything, about his own appearance might give away some unspoken truth. He felt confident in his ability to display what he wanted to the world so being analyzed was less nerve-wracking, more intriguing. 

Museum. Fitting for a self-proclaimed collector of things yet to be further defined and a job that made Owen recoil with boredom at the mere thought. Slayer or warden? Inspiration was an interesting choice of words. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been struck with inspiration, more often it was an overflow of pent up energy that preceded most hunts. Was he being coy about the time of day on purpose, though? It would provide some clues if Parker mentioned nighttime. Though he didn’t seem the type to be coy and something about the word inspiration stuck with Owen. “Museum. Sounds like a good fit.” He didn’t elaborate on what was obviously a dig from the tone of his voice, letting Parker have the pleasure of taking whatever meaning he wanted from that. 

“I do my best work after hours, this just provides me with access to the best weapons and information,” Owen argued, even though the fucker was right - this place was far from exciting. Making money from vampire killing wasn’t exactly easy, though. Whenever inspiration strikes. “I’m doubling down on warden. Not charming enough to be a slayer.” Obviously that wasn’t the reasoning for his choice but every opportunity for an insult was a good one. 

—

Was everything Owen said intended to either be sarcastic or insulting? Parker wondered if the man casually standing before him was capable of being serious or honest about something that lay outside his interests. ‘And that’s you thinking that, so you know it’s bad.’ The Warden ignored the comment about the museum being a good fit, something he could only assume Owen wasn’t sure if he meant due to only knowing the one facet of him and that being ‘he collects things’. Instead, he thought a little more about his own answer pertaining to what type of hunter Owen was. How accurate were the tried and true stereotypes about other hunters? Unfortunately (or perhaps quite fortunately), Parker hadn’t interacted with many hunters in general but his mind was a veritable steel trap and he keenly remembered each one he had interacted with. And he wasn’t sure what about their interaction had indicated that he wasn’t a ranger but the other man’s last comment about how Parker must’ve been a Warden because of his lack of perceivable charm all but confirmed his own idea. “Which means you must be a slayer.” He replied, finally removing his steely stare from Owen entirely as the nonverbal game had seemingly reached its natural conclusion. It was still a guess, not something he preferred, but if the other man could guess based on one or two traits, then the Warden could, too. “Daggers are close to stakes, which means you get up close and personal with your target; rangers, in my experience, prefer to use guns and bows. You also work at a weapons store for the ‘best weapons and information’, in your own words and the only rangers I know that have desk jobs - or relatively speaking - are retired. And they hate them. “‘I didn’t ask’.” He inhaled as he imitated Owen, bobbing his head slightly as he said the comment with what could’ve been a mocking tone in his flat affect. “You’re right, you didn’t, which is why you aren’t a Warden.” Parker placed his hands on his belt, looking sideways at the man as he started to pace in the space he was given. “Slayers are some of the most self-aggrandizing people I’ve ever met inside supernatural circumstances, and I deal with fae: only a slayer would say that someone isn’t ‘charming enough’ to be one of them.” He paused, licking his lower lip. “‘Are you done?’ Yes. I am.” Parker returned his stare to Owen’s pale face. “Did I get anything wrong? If so, tell me; I can use this as a learning opportunity for future endeavors.”

—

Owen grinned proudly when his hunch was confirmed, even though his choice of words had seemingly provided Parker with enough information for an educated guess. “So you do think I’m charming,” he teased, although it was doubtful the stoic man standing in front of him was charmed by anything. The rest of the warden’s evidence as to Owen’s heritage wasn’t too far off, meaning Parker was smart which the slayer had somewhat pieced together by now. Before he could even respond, the man continued, some semblance of sass starting to break through, Owen’s annoying comments clearly having ignited something. 

A smile played on his lips as he let Parker monologue, eyes trailing him as he paced, one eyebrow raised in amusement. Owen wasn’t sure if ‘being a slayer’ was all that lay behind his supposed ‘self-aggrandizing’ (again with the big words) behavior but he supposed they did tend to be cockier than most. Not all of them were using it to hide their crippling self-hatred like a certain hispanic slayer, but still. Point for Parker. 

That cold gaze finally returned to meet Owen’s, whose face was still painted with humor, nothing from the warden’s little speech seeming to have any impact. “Bravo,” he said sarcastically, giving Parker a mocking slow clap. “You know, you’re almost bitchy enough to be a slayer, I’ll give you that.” Chuckling quietly, Owen moved away from the other and headed back to the counter, hoisting himself up to sit on top of it. “So - any chance of buying a ticket to see your little collection? I doubt there’s anything like it in our regular, musty museum.”

—

He should’ve known from the second he opened his mouth to explain his reasoning that none of it would’ve registered with the slayer - he supposed his father’s biases against certain hunters still held some merit, This was why Parker didn’t talk very often; if there was one thing he hated more than engaging in conversation, it was not being listened to during those conversations. Granted, he might’ve been a little unintentionally sarcastic but he didn’t think he was wrong about any of it. But… Owen responded with more dry humor. And Parker would’ve taken the backhanded compliment with more grace and quip if he were his brother but he wasn’t, so instead of reacting favorably or unfavorably, he didn’t react at all. He crossed his arms as he kept his persistent stare on the slayer, the latter unprofessionally sitting on the countertop. He supposed he wasn’t surprised at the behavior, but he did think he was slightly surprised when the other man asked to see his collection. Parker had to resist the urge to give a direct and blunt ‘no’; given how they’d interacted thus far, the Warden didn’t trust Owen’s respect for his craft as far as he could care to throw the man, which was that he didn’t care at all to even try. He didn’t seem like the type to take anything outside of his narrow wheelhouse of interests seriously; on the contrary, Parker assumed he would’ve made fun of whatever he saw sooner than admitting that what he was observing was actually interesting, beautiful or immaculately-arranged. 

“I think you’d find it boring.” He finally said after chewing on whatever words he arranged in a sentence that didn’t make him look bad or throw Owen under the bus, fitting a position as that would’ve been. “Or would you like to prove me wrong?” It was a gamble and he wasn’t sure if Owen would bite but if he was as predictable as just about any other hunter he’d met, the slayer’s pride would be too great to have someone like Parker tell him how he thought he’d react to something.

—

Ah, finally. A hint of emotion other than general distaste, when the faintest hint of surprise passed over the warden’s face. Owen’s smile grew smug, head cocked, daring the other man to turn him down. Parker didn’t, taking the coward’s route of trying to pin the whole thing on someone else. It was a bold faced lie - pride had dripped from the man at the first mention of his collection and he was smart, definitely smart enough to know that any collection containing giant spider legs wasn’t boring. Owen didn’t need to wear glasses and elbow patches to be able to appreciate the beauty of dismembered monster parts. 

So, he jumped back down from the counter, once more invading Parker’s personal space before he spoke. “I would love to come over and call your collection boring.” Eyes gleaming, he pulled out his phone, holding it out for the warden to take. “I’ll call you when I’m done here.” Again, there was a challenge. A chance for Parker to bow out, to not give his number to the slayer at the weapons store, to not have said slayer over into what sounded like a very personal collection. Owen knew the other man wouldn’t take the opportunity and honestly, he admired the stubbornness. 

— Ice met acid as Owen removed himself from the counter and found himself uncomfortably close to Parker yet again. The Warden, having since come to the understanding that it was done on purpose to elicit a response, didn’t and instead stared into Owen’s mischievous gaze, not breaking eye contact even as the slayer retrieved his phone and held it out to the other man.

‘Refuge in audacity, brother.’ That’s who Owen reminded him of; Walker. Somehow more annoying but just as likened to a gremlin in behavior and general attitude. The sly smile, indicating that there was something more hidden in the words, purposefully so at the expense of Parker’s ability to read deeper meaning into them. It was actually Walker’s devious behavior and quick wit as children that inadvertently taught the younger Wright about double-meanings, hidden agendas. Things that were there that weren’t indicated from a cursory glance or listen-through.

When Owen said that he’d have loved to go over and call his collection boring, Parker read two potential meanings in there; the first of which was that the word ‘love’ was ironic and that he might’ve found little he would’ve enjoyed less than that prospect. The second, and perhaps likelier of the two options was that he was just saying that to get under the Warden’s skin and he might actually… appreciate it. Give Parker’s work an actual compliment or acknowledgement, the rare thing that the Warden liked to hear.

It was that potential second option that eventually had the Warden take the phone from the other hunter, gazing down just long enough to put in his phone number before offering it back to Owen. “Very well. I shall keep my schedule open.” He replied and with one last, unblinking but brief stare at the slayer, Parker placed his hands on his belt, turned and departed from the weapon store that didn’t have any giant spider legs but it did have a spidery-legged, cocky slayer in it.

He supposed only time would tell if Owen held the same amount of value that the giant spider legs did.