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mayihaveyournameplease · 1 year ago

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TIMING: current LOCATION: felix's boiler room PARTIES: @mayihaveyournameplease & @recoveringdreamer SUMMARY: felix gets a visit from their good friend beau in the boiler room. things go about as well as one might assume. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

Beau had really taken to watching Felix fight. He got an intense pleasure watching the cat whose little claws had torn up his abdomen take a beating. Felix’s sad little eyes made it so much better. Suffer little kitty, Beau would laugh sitting in the very important people section of the fight. That’s right, he’d started betting real big money. After all, all the money he had wasn’t from his stash. It was from a collection of names stolen. He could spend as much money at the pit as he wanted without losing a thing. Anything to become an important player in little Felix’s life. Eventually, the rumor hit his ears that Felix was living in the boiler room. Beau had to check it out.

“Hello my little pussy,” Beau said in way of greeting as he pushed past Felix and entered the boiler room. It was way more depressing in there than anything he could have dreamed off. Beau let out a reeling giggle. “Oh, my bestie, I know I haven’t seen you in a while. You understand. I’ve been scared since you almost killed me. That was traumatic, wasn’t it, Felix? All I’ve ever wanted was to be your friend and you tried to kill me.” He was laying it on thick, but Felix was thicker. It was probably all the blows to the head the cat had taken. “But I heard you got a new place and I just knew I had to come see my wittle witten.”

—

When they’d had an apartment to go home to, it had been easy to separate Felix from Wildcat. Wildcat existed within the walls of the Grit Pit. Wildcat was an animal on a leash, meant to be ordered and paraded around. Felix lived in an apartment. Felix went home at night and sat with their cat and watched movies with their roommate. It had been easy to build a wall between the two entities then, to pretend that they were different even if the blood Wildcat spilled still got stuck under Felix’s fingernails. They existed in different places. That made it easier.

It wasn’t easy anymore. Now, Felix and Wildcat shared the same space. Wildcat finished in the ring, and Felix didn’t leave the building. They returned to the boiler room and they stared at the same walls that held the animal on the leash and they wondered if the chain was ever really removed from around their throat. They stood in the doorway of the boiler room for… they weren’t sure how long. It didn’t matter much, anyway. The doorway, the mattress on the floor, the sink in the corner, it was all the Grit Pit. It was all a cage.

A voice from behind them shook them from their thoughts, a force pushing past them and into the boiler room. Seeing Beau always filled Felix with… complicated emotions. It wasn’t fair to feel uncomfortable around him, and they knew it. Beau had never been anything but nice to them, even after Felix’s claws tore through his stomach. Still, the discomfort swirled as he entered the boiler room, and the guilt swirled right alongside it. “Hey, Beau,” they said quietly, trying to stifle it. They didn’t want Beau in the boiler room, but only because they didn’t want anyone in the boiler room. “I — I’m so —” Sorry. How many times had they said it now? It would never be enough. They knew that. “Um, it’s not really… I mean, clearly… It’s not a great place for… visitors.”

—

Beau blinked his big beautiful eyes at Felix as his kitten tried to talk. Of course, the disappointment couldn’t manage another apology. It really was failure after failure with this one. Beau was truly so benevolent for allowing Felix the pleasure of his company. The cat would probably be so lonely without him. “I’m just a visitor?” Beau put the pout on. It was a big pout. It really played to Beau being the victim, after all, wasn’t he? The victim of Felix’s brutal attack. The victim of his name being stolen. The victim of multiple fae women who broke his heart. “I thought I was more to you than just a visitor.”

Beau let his eyes roam around the room. “Felix. You don’t have a bed frame.” Beau lowered his voice as if the boiler would care what they had to say. “Felix, you can’t get bitches if you don’t have a bed frame. They’ll make fun of you.” His eyes roamed up and down their body, as if they weren’t more jacked than Beau’s photoshopped profile picture. “That’s really sad, Felix.” He reached out a hand as if he was about to place a comforting palm on Felix’s arm. Beau changed his mind. He made a disgusted face before wiping his hand on a handkerchief he pulled out of his pocket. Despite the fact he never touched anything. “So, tell me about the new digs.” He stopped in front of the most horrific painting he’d ever seen. “A monster? You like monster art?” That was weird, and it gave him the strangest vibes that whoever painted this would have hated him. “You should throw that out.”

—

Guilt ate through Felix’s gut like acid, burning through their stomach to the point that they were sure there must be a hole in their flesh somewhere. They didn’t want to make Beau feel bad, but… Well, it was a really bad time, wasn’t it? This was the least convenient time for visitors, even without the boiler room of it all. Felix shifted their weight, swallowing. “No, of course you’re more than that. You’re my friend, in fact. And — and you were attacked. I feel bad about that.” This was going poorly. It always seemed to go poorly with Beau, no matter how much Felix tried to salvage things. You couldn’t un-claw someone’s gut into pieces, could you?

They swallowed as Beau inspected the space, already knowing it wouldn’t be up to his standards. It wasn’t even up to Felix’s standards, and Felix’s standards were pretty low. “I know,” they said, chewing their lip uncomfortably. “There’s… not a lot I can do about it, though.” They didn’t comment on Beau’s concern for their ability to get ‘bitches.’ Felix didn’t really like calling people bitches, but they worried Beau would be upset if they said so. And, beyond that, they weren’t really looking to hook up with anyone. They watched Beau wander around the room instead, pausing when he came to the painting Thea’s friend had gifted Felix. “Oh, um… someone gave it to me, so I thought I should put it where people could see.” The painting was a little creepy, but Felix was so touched that a stranger had gifted him her art — her art, that she made! — that they couldn’t fathom the idea of not displaying it.

—

There was something strange about the way Felix was talking. Something at the tip of Beau’s pointed ears. Something his long gangly unglamoured fingers might have been able to point out, but not his glamoured fingers. It made his horns twitch. What was wrong with the way Felix was speaking? “Best friend.” Beau corrected. It wasn’t a lie, because Beau was the best friend Felix had. No one else in Felix’s life could possibly compete. Look at how they lived. In a boiler room. They were lucky Beau would even talk to them. “Felix, can I be honest? I’m going to be honest. It’s so cute that you’re so passionate about your job that you never want to leave. But this is weird. This isn’t helping me with the idea that you’re a serial killer. The only reason you probably haven’t killed me is because you promised to do anything I asked. You remember you promised that right, very thoughtful. Good promise.”

“Anyway, the first thing you could do is get a bed frame. It’ll give you a chance at getting bitches, and I think you deserve some bitches, Felix. You’re….” Beau tilted his head while once again elevator-eyeing Felix. “Passable. After that you should paint. Maybe not blue. That would just remind everyone how sad you are. Which is…sad.” Beau was being so helpful. He was going to treat himself to something nice tonight. Being charitable might become one of his passions. “Get better art. Better yourself. Then it’ll be… passable in here. Oh. And a place to sit. It’s rude that you’re making me stand.” Beau started rubbing his abdomen, that way he could imply with his next statement that it had to do with the attack. He would have said it out loud if it wasn’t a lie. “I get pain, sometimes, you know.”

—

Felix nodded, because if Beau wanted to be their best friend, they probably owed it to them to do so. They had other people who, if they were being brutally honest, they might like a little more. Thea was nicer, Mona understood them a little better, Anita stood up for them. But Felix hadn’t dragged their claws through any of them, and that meant Beau probably had to take priority. “Yeah, I remember. Of course I do. But even without that, Beau, I wouldn’t kill you. I’m not a serial killer. They just… want me to stick around more, because I guess I’m a heavy hitter.” It felt wrong to say. A lot of what Felix was saying now felt wrong, but they didn’t really know how to stop talking. Beau probably wouldn’t like the silence much, anyway.

They watched as he continued to circle around the small space, offering a small smile as he referred to them as ‘passable.’ It was forced, but they thought they probably owed him at least some acknowledgment of the compliment. “I have been trying,” they said, a little defensive. “It’s just… I mean, what you’re implying…” They trailed off, not sure how to finish. It didn’t matter. Guilt washed over them again as Beau admitted that he still hurt, where Felix had gotten him with their claws. “You’re right. Let me find you a seat — I’m not being very polite.” They scrambled, nearly knocking the orange egg thing they’d bought from Leila off the boiler with how quickly they moved behind it to grab the flimsy wooden chair they’d dragged in from outside. “Um, here you go! If you need anything else, just… let me know.”

—

Felix was spouting some nonsense about being a heavy hitter. What did heavy hitting have to do with living in the Grit Pit boiler room? Beau wished Felix would make sense. Beau did so much to go out of his way and be there for this little weirdo, and Felix couldn’t extend the effort to be better? Be more? Beau let out a long-suffering sigh. “Okay, but serial killers live like this Felix. Look around. This place is the home of a serial killer.” Beau’s arm gestures flew everywhere. There were too many things to point at to prove his point. “You probably have dead bodies in the wall. That would explain the smell.”

“You haven’t been.” Beau agreed. At least Felix was finally starting to think. Felix really was a pet. In need of constant attention and direction to get anything done. How did Felix get anything done without their best Beau hold their hand? “You must have been so lonely since I’ve been gone. I’ll admit it. I was struggling with seeing you. I’m a little less scared of you. I can help you more. Like with this.” Beau grabbed at the ugliest orange egg he’d ever seen in his life. “You almost knocked this over. That would have done a number. Is this your grandma’s remains? It’s ugly, it probably gives her afterpains.” Beau carefully put the egg back, sitting down in the chair finally offered to him. “Do you have anything to drink? You don’t even have a sink.”

—

“Oh, come on, I don’t know about that. This place isn’t really serial killers, Beau, it’s, like… combat.” Wasn’t that what you’d call the Grit Pit’s goings-on? The matches in the ring, the back and forth between two fighters… Combat was probably the best word for it, really. Felix didn’t want to think about whether or not serial killer might be similarly applicable, didn’t want to live in a world where that word might encompass them. The idea of dead bodies in the wall made them shrink back, discomfort clawing at their gut. But that was deserved, too, wasn’t it? After all, no amount of discomfort could ever claw them as thoroughly as their jaguar had clawed Beau.

They tried to attend to what they thought Beau might need as he spoke, the guilt crawling up their spine as they hastily grabbed a bottle of water from the mini fridge they’d stuffed into the corner near the only available outlet in the room, offering it to him. With their back turned, they didn’t see Beau pick up the egg. When they turned to find him holding it, they felt a sense of unease they couldn’t explain. “I got it at a thrift shop,” they said, trying to entice Beau to trade the egg for the bottle of water. “I think it’s some kind of prop? I’ve been trying to brighten up the place. But… I know it’s still kind of a disgrace.”

—

Beau delighted in Felix’s uncomfort. They shrunk back, a kicked kitten. Beau held all the power between them, and that was the only reason Felix had anything interesting to offer. Well, they had their name. But Felix was a dumb name. It reminded Beau of that old black cat cartoon. Huh. Dots were connecting. Felix’s parents must have known how pathetic they were going to be when they named Felix after that cat. Beau crossed his legs in the chair, looking primly at Felix. A king in his peasants domain. Wasn’t he gracious? Wasn’t he kind? “Violence is for serial killers, it’s in all the thrillers. Combat in the grit pit is just the first bit. Cause you’re always clawing while the crowd is applauding at all of your brawling and when you go sprawling so soon you’ll start crawling your way into marauding and honestly it's appalling. That’s serial killer behavior.” Beau had meant to stop the statement there, but he couldn’t, just couldn’t let that be the last word. “And that’s a bad flavor.”

Suddenly Felix was desperate to be a good host. They waved a bottle in front of him, trying to get Beau to hand over a thrifted egg. “It’s hideous, you’re so oblivious. I’m trying to help, this thing would get a one on yelp.” Beau tossed the egg at Felix, without a care if their cat-like reflexes were good enough to catch the flying orange disgrace. “I don’t know why you persist, when I’m trying to assist.” Beau said mournfully. He liked the sound of his own voice, there was something especially pleasing about it today. “You’ll want to trash it or maybe smash it.”

—

Everything Beau was saying was the truth, and Felix knew it. In a way, it was almost a relief. So many people made excuses for the things they did in the Grit Pit, assured them that it wasn’t their fault or that they were a good person despite. Wasn’t it better to have someone be honest? Beau was a good friend, wasn’t he? Refusing to lie to them, refusing to enable them. Felix should be grateful towards them for their honesty. No one was ever honest with them anymore, if they ever had been at all. It stung, but that was okay. That was just how the truth was, sometimes.

They swallowed as Beau continued to grip the egg, fumbling when he tossed it towards them. They managed to catch it before it hit the ground, and they thought that was a good thing. They wouldn’t want the egg to shatter, even if they didn’t think it was the best decorative piece they’d picked up. “I’m sorry, Beau,” they sighed, placing the egg carefully on a shelf where it could look down upon the dingy room. “You’re a good friend, I know. I’ve been having a hard time lately, but I appreciate you greatly.” They kept staring at the egg, watching Beau’s reflection in it rather than looking at him directly. It was easier that way, sometimes. “I don’t want to break it, though. I spent money on it, you know? And… it must have been important to someone, once. The least I could do is hold onto it for a couple of months.”

—

That was it! Felix was rhyming. And it was annoying. Beau had to refrain from rolling his eyes in the most exaggerated and painful motion. He really was rising above. God what a pretentious little freak to start rhyming. With a serious face? “You think you’re all that, but you’re just a wet cat.” The words slipped out. Which was really quite rude because Felix had just called Beau a good friend, while apologizing. God. It was hard rising above. But his voice was really nice today. It felt like everything that came out of his mouth was meaningful, and held weight. Beau always liked the way he sounded, vain little creature that he was, but right now he felt better than ever.

Beau braced himself trying to find the right words to fix this, while not lying. Damn the fae curse of words. “Listen, Felix, what if it’s like a phoenix. Put it in motion and once it’s broken maybe the commotion will make it open and then that devotion to that ugly token will be frozen. You could move on to something improved on. Just like this hard time could become a fun time. It’s all in the mindset as long as you reset and don’t let this orange egg control your legs.” Beau nodded. Hands on hips, smile plastered to his face. This was surely enough amazing advice to get Felix back on their feet, and make them forgive him for his little slip of the tongue. But really, if they didn’t want to be insulted they shouldn’t be such a pathetic wet cat.

—

Felix flinched again at Beau’s statement, wanting desperately to protest. They didn’t think they were all that. They knew exactly what they were and how little they were worth. But it seemed rude to argue with Beau, too, so Felix did what they did best and shrunk into themself just a little more, made themself smaller and smaller. “I… I didn’t mean to,” they said quietly, though they really weren’t sure what they were apologizing for anymore. And wasn’t that, too, a sign of how shitty they really were? A better person would at least know what they’d done wrong, would recognize it. “I wasn’t trying to… upset you.”

Still, they didn’t want to break the egg. It seemed rude to toss something against the concrete floor of the boiler room just to do it, seemed unkind to break something on the off chance that it might turn into something a little more useful to you. Felix didn’t like the idea of it, and they shook their head quickly. “I just don’t think it’s necessary,” they said. “Phoenixes are kind of legendary. I’ve never heard of one coming from something like this. And, you know, I think we’d be able to tell if something like that was amiss.”

—

“It’s fine,” Beau said it with his smile. “That wasn’t very kind, but I just had to speak my mind.” Beau slapped his hands against his pants, a gesture that said, and that’s done and everything is all well and good. At least now Felix knew the truth about themselves, and wasn’t the kindest thing that Beau could have done? Beau had come here and bestowed so much upon them. The truth about their horrible living situation, the truth about the kind of person they were, and most importantly the truth about that ugly orange egg.

And after everything. After all the thoughtful advice, the truth, the forgiveness for what they had done, Felix still didn’t listen to Beau. And that hurt. This world was full of people who overlooked Beau. Because he was short. Because he worked for the BMV. Because he wasn’t cool enough to hang out with them at the lake on skip school day at the aos sí because ‘to be honest Beau, you’re weird and everyone thinks it’s uncomfortable when you hang out with us.’ What had he ever done to those little kids? Beau sat imitating the boiler, steam coming out of his ears with anger. “Well. I think we can both agree this didn’t go swell. Maybe I walked on shells too long around you as well. I should have known that was a hard sell. Now all I have to say is farewell.”

—

Beau didn’t seem angry, but Felix didn’t unshrink, didn’t look any less apologetic. They remained quiet, remained uncertain, remained sorry. They weren’t sure there was any hope of ever really making things up to Beau. After all, how could you apologize for something that happened when you weren’t yourself and mean it? How could you say sorry for a thing knowing, without a doubt, that you’d do it over again in the same situation? Beau deserved more than something so empty, and Felix knew it. But they didn’t have anything more to give him, didn’t have any way of making things right. So, the silence hung over them, thick and heavy. They hated the way it tasted.

Like a switch was flipped, Beau was angry again and Felix made themself smaller to get away from it. He didn’t raise his voice, at least, and there was some relief in that. Every time a man raised his voice, Felix was a teenager again, or they were in the apartment they’d shared with Leo. And it was unfair to assign either of those identities to Beau, who had never done anything to Felix at all. “I’m really sorry about everything,” Felix said, sounding as small as they felt. “Um, I can swing by the BMV with lunch sometime soon if you want to tell me what to bring?” We’re still friends, right? They wanted to ask, but the words felt stuck. They wrung their hands together, looking at the floor. “I’ll see you around, okay? You don’t have to stay.”

—

Beau was doing public service by making sure this sniveling cat had a friend, and someone to talk to. Beau was really good at being kind, and the reward for that was Beau got to feel proud of himself, but it was hard when Felix wouldn’t listen to him. It was hard to not yell louder to make his voice become heard clearly. Beau’s cheeks burned from the forced smile he was bestowing upon them. “It’s fine. We’ll dine.” Beau let out a hefty sigh. Of course Felix was asking him what he wanted. Because Felix wasn’t capable of making decisions for themselves. That was cute, kinda, but also annoying. It was like, get a clue? You’re an adult. Grow up. Do something good and stop wasting space. Beau forced his smile even wider. “You’re so kind, I don’t mind what you decide will be fine.”

It was true that Beau didn’t have to stay. The boiler room was stuffy, Felix wouldn’t stop talking in rhymes, and Beau was just generally annoyed by the lack of reception all his great advice was getting. Wasn’t he eloquent? When he spoke, shouldn’t the world turn its spot lights on him and praise him for his brilliance? “Yeah, yeah, I’m aware. You don’t want me in your lair, I’ll go get some air. I’ll go ahead and get out of your hair.” Was it never enough that Beau just wanted to help? He knew exactly how everyone should live their lives around him, and every time they didn’t listen. Beau had to fight tooth and nail just for Felix to acknowledge him as their best friend, and the best BMV employee. Another day, another disappointment. Beau left, without so much as a backwards glance. The sad part was, Beau knew, he wasn’t done trying to help Felix. The cycle would repeat, and Beau would always be the poor sad victim. The abused and ignored guy who tried his hardest. Wasn’t that just tragic?

—

Maybe all wasn’t lost after all. Beau, at least, seemed open to the idea of having lunch sometime, and wasn’t that all Felix could ask for? Wasn’t that more than they deserved, after all the trouble they’d caused him? They’d tried to take a chunk out of his midsection while shifted; to say Beau owed them nothing was a massive understatement, wasn’t it? But here he was, letting Felix meet him for lunch. So why was Felix always so uneasy around him? What was that faint prickling that made the hairs on the back of their neck stand up straight? They couldn’t put their finger on it, couldn’t quite figure it out. They didn’t think it was fair. They knew it wasn’t kind. “I’ll come by sometime,” they said with a small smile. “It’ll be sublime.”

Did Felix ever say the right thing? They offered to let Beau leave, but maybe he’d wanted to stay. Maybe he felt like they’d kicked him out, maybe his feelings were hurt. Guilt swirled in the balam’s chest, and they wanted to take it back. They wanted to ask him to stay, but wouldn’t he know they were only trying to mend what they’d dented? Wouldn’t that be an insult, too? “I’ll see you soon,” he said. “We’ll make it an afternoon! We can go to the park. Hang out until dark!” But as Beau disappeared, they wondered if they were offering too little. They sat in the stillness of the boiler room for a moment, swallowing around the lump in their throat.

Then, after a moment, they spoke to the empty room: “Wait, was he rhyming?”

#chatzy #chatzy: Felix #I wrote this uwu

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mayihaveyournameplease · 1 year ago

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TIMING: sometime while teddy was in canada PARTIES: @mayihaveyournameplease & @mortemoppetere LOCATION: a seedy bar SUMMARY: emilio and beau meet in a crowded bar. it is not love at first sight. CONTENT WARNINGS: unsanitary tw

The bar wasn’t crowded, but it wasn’t empty. People mingled, the smell of alcohol wafted with perfume and B.O. Beau made eyes at anyone who would look at him. Which wasn’t a lot of people. Most of their eyes seem to glance right over him. Why people didn’t look down was unbelievable. He wasn’t even that short. And short kings were in! Didn’t they know that? Beau nursed his drink, a little sullenly, a lot seductively to anyone who dared look at him. No one approached. He was going to have to make his own move. That’s when Beau saw him. Mr. Right. Fluffy hair, leather jacket, moody scowl. He drank like he didn’t care if he lived or died tomorrow. Beau liked that in a person, it screamed depression. Depression screamed vulnerability.

Beau siddled on up to the beautiful stranger, bottom lip bit, hands in his pocket, eyes on seductive mode. “Hey handsome, come here often.” It was the first thing Beau thought to say because he wished someone would say that to him. Wouldn’t that be novel? He was very handsome after all, it would be a compliment to get called handsome. “Why don’t you buy me a drink and we talk for a bit.” He winked, sliding into the chair next to medium height, dark and handsome. “I’m Beau, can I have your name?”

—

He got stir crazy, sometimes. Usually when he was stressed out, when the walls of whatever room he was in started shifting into ones he’d left behind years ago with blood on the paint and bodies on the floor. He felt uneasy in his own skin, like someone was watching him even when he was home alone. On those days, he’d found it was easier to be out and about and around people.

And alcohol. He always needed alcohol.

It made a bar the perfect setting, especially on a night like tonight. It wasn’t crowded enough to be stifling, but wasn’t empty enough to be uncomfortable. Emilio sat in front of the bartender, drinking his whiskey in silence. The poor guy had tried making conversation at first, but Emilio had tipped him a little extra and waved him away, making it clear that he wasn’t in the mood. The bartender got the memo.

Apparently, the bar’s patrons didn’t.

Emilio tensed as someone slid up next to him, nostrils flaring in quiet irritation as the man spoke. Months ago, if he were feeling the way he was feeling now, he probably would have interrupted the come on to ask the man to fuck in the bathroom just to give himself an outlet, but things were different now. There was Teddy, and while they hadn’t quite talked about exclusivity, Emilio didn’t want anyone else. “No,” he replied flatly, not looking up from his drink.

After a moment, he held up his left hand and tapped his wedding ring. He wasn’t technically married anymore – he didn’t think it counted when the person who’d put the ring on your finger had been dead two years – but the ring got him out of conversations like this one. People were a lot more willing to accept that than they were an explanation that you were dating someone. “Try someone else.”

—

“Haha,” Rejection used to send a ripple of rage down Beau. It used to drive anger to the surface, a boiling pot overflowing and burning the stovetop. “You’re not very nice, are you? Haha. That’s okay, I’m also known for being mid-height, mysterious and brooding.” Now rejection didn’t bring anger, because Beau was always angry. It was always bristling under the surface, a full moodlet that couldn’t possibly fill more. It’s just, the people of this town didn’t respect him enough. They were all so self obsessed. They didn’t care about people other than themselves, like say, the extremely handsome brunette with the big fuck me eyes that just wanted everyone to fall over themselves for the chance to talk to that loveable stranger.

But see, there was a fundamental problem with Beau (if you didn’t include everything about him) he just couldn’t take no for an answer! His legs swung off the bar stool as he smiled up at the stranger. The smile burned his cheeks as it fought the rage, but he was good at smiling. Everyone thought his smile was charming because he practiced it constantly. He really worked hard to be the most likable guy in town, if only people would get out of their asses long enough to notice. “Haha,” He added, for good measure, because the rage inside him wanted an outlet. Like punching a wall, but nice guys didn’t punch walls. They smiled and said haha.

“Try someone else?” Beau took a sip of his drink, it was fruity and sweet. He hated the taste of alcohol, and how bitter it was. “Can’t two extremely hot men have a friendly conversation without such hostility? Haha, whatever happened to kindness? Don’t people ever want to make friends anymore? We could be friends.” Beau batted his extremely long and beautiful eyelashes, that to anyone else might look like he had something in his eye. “Say, you’d look better if you smiled. Come on. Let's see a smile.”

—

“No, I’m not,” Emilio agreed. Nice, he thought, was too often a mask that people wore. Most people were shit. They were bundles of rage and selfishness held together by blood and bone. Kindness existed, of course — kindness was in Wynne’s tendency to leave food on the counter for him, or Teddy’s insistence of pausing the movie they were watching any time Emilio needed to get up and walk around — but nice was different than kind. Nice was less honest. Emilio didn’t think he was particularly kind, but he knew he wasn’t nice. He disliked lying too much to be that.

Irritation was a distant thing in his chest as the man continued speaking, because he’d really hoped he’d walk away. He wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone, and he especially didn’t think he was in the mood to speak to this person. He no longer enjoyed people who approached him in bars only to hit on him. It felt boring to him now, like something unable to hold his interest for long. “I am not being mysterious or brooding.” He was only mostly sure what those words meant. “I am drinking. I want to keep drinking. I don’t want to talk.”

But the man just kept going. He told Emilio to smile, and the irritation moved closer to the surface. “I have enough friends, I think. I’m sure you can find one somewhere else. Over there, maybe. Or in another bar. Maybe another city. I think this would be fun for you.” As long as you get away from me, he thought.

—

At least this guy knew he was an asshole. Beau swung his legs (being too short for his feet to touch the ground) his feet thudding against the bar. “You could be, if you tried. I’m nice. See? This is me being so nice to you. Isn’t that nice? It’s really nice. So maybe you should take a turn and be nice too. Then we can be nice to each other. Isn’t that how friends are made? Whatever happened to community? Do people not care about community anymore? I care about community and you’re in my community so I’m being nice to you. And that’s nice, don’t you think? Isn’t it lovely being nice?” Beau was good at talking. A lot better than this guy. He wasn’t even trying to have a conversation. It was like he wanted to be rude. On purpose. God, Beau could not stand people sometimes.

Beau started laughing. “You know what you remind me of? A caveman? You’re like all grrr scowl scowl. Not the guy who invented fire or the wheel. Those cavemen were probably nice, and probably didn’t spend all their time sitting by themselves. Fire guy probably wanted to keep all his friends warm, while they were drinking together. Because you know you can drink and talk, right? Maybe they didn’t have that in your cave, but people have been doing it for centuries now.” Beau took a big sip of his drink, just to give the man an example. It really seemed like he needed it; “And the guy who invented the wheel probably wanted to help people. He was probably talking to the people in his community and realized he could provide a service that no one else could! A wheel! Isn’t that fun? That’s so fun. Maybe you should think about that, while you’re sitting alone in your cave.”

“It’s okay to admit you have no friends. I would believe you. I really would.” Beau could take a hint. The thing was, he chose not to. “Say, how about I be your first? On the house. Because you don’t know what it’s like, and I? Well I have lots of people who I call friend.” There was a distinction between having a lot of friends and having people you call friend. After all, Beau was comfortable calling anyone a friend. “Let's kick it off. Why don’t you give me your name?”

—

“It would be nice,” Emilio said slowly, “if you talked less.” Christ, he could hardly keep up with what this guy was saying. The repetition of the same words over and over again made his head spin a little, his uneasy grasp on the English language struggling to keep up with the barrage of verbal bullshit being flung in his direction. Some people, Emilio had learned, just liked to hear themselves speak. They’d say just about anything so long as it meant their mouths got to keep moving. Sometimes, it could be almost charming — Jade liked to talk, and he didn’t mind her — but other times? It was beyond annoying. This man fell firmly into the latter category.

The man who was still. Fucking. Talking. He was droning on about cavemen now, and Emilio tried to tune him out. He took a swig of his whiskey, sighing as the stranger went on and on and on. What was with this guy? Did he know how to shut up? Emilio’s fingers twitched. He’d be lying if he said there was no part of him that wanted to rear back and take a swing at the man just for irritating him. He’d been up to his ears in problems lately, and his temper was shorter than usual as a result. But you couldn’t punch strangers just for being annoying unless you wanted to be kicked out of bars, and there were only a few left in Wicked’s Rest that would still grant him entry.

Finally, the guy seemed to tire of his own voice enough to ask Emilio a question. The brief pause that followed was almost a relief. “Sure, I’ll give you my name,” he said. “It’s ‘Fuck Off.’ You want me to spell it out for you? F… U… C…” He trailed off, downing the rest of his drink and waving to the bartender for another. “Look, cabrón, there are plenty of other people in this bar. Go bother one of them. I’m not in the mood for it.”

—

“Oh, you don’t know how to spell fuck do you. There is a k at the end.” Beau was laughing. It was radiating off him in the same air that kept Cherynobl too hostile to reinhabit. “You really are a caveman. That’s okay. I find it endearing.” Beau was fluent in Spanish, which should be noted about him, or he might have said that cabrón wasn’t a word. Alas, this wasn’t the first time he’d been called cabrón and it probably wasn’t going to be the last. The word slid right off him, like water sliding off a little baby duck’s back. He figured it was because of the horns, goats had horns, and the literal translation was a male goat. Thus, he’d never figured out that it was used as a curse.

Beau knew this anger. Because the truth is, he was angry once. (If you ignored the fact that he was angry every day, every day the way people treated him was wrong, every day people didn’t respect him the way he deserved, every day they didn’t love him when he was the most loveable person anyone had ever met.) That had been when he was lonely and didn’t have friends. Now he had so many friends and no reason to be angry and sad! He could help here! Some people just needed a little crack in that silly little eggshell. And then he’d probably be so grateful and fall madly deeply in love with Beau and worship Beau for the rest of his life. And that would be nice because his hair was fluffy and cute.

“If I leave now, we’ll never become friends. Hahaha, and don’t you know that it’s up to the extrovert to pick up the introvert? Lucky you! This is introvert adoption day and I’m choosing you to bring home with me.” Beau threw in a wink. He was good at winking because he practiced them in the mirror. Anything to make sure people realize how cute and handsome he is. Beau reached forward and tapped a cute little boop against the man’s nose, sealing the deal. Adoption complete.

—

Emilio wondered, absently, how many times this man had been punched throughout the course of his life. He imagined the number was a high one, figured it was something that happened often. Mentally, he began going down the list of people he’d call to bail him out of a holding cell when this interaction, inevitably, ended the way he imagined so many of this guy’s must have. There was no way in hell he’d bother Nora or Wynne for it, Teddy was still in Canada, Xóchitl had more than enough going on, things with Jade were tense… Would Kavanagh bail him out if he called her? He was pretty sure Kaden would leave him in the cell and take photos. Javi might pick him up, but he’d probably demand Emilio pay his bar tab in exchange, and that didn’t sound particularly fun.

The action of mentally scrolling through the list of people he’d likely owe a favor to by the end of the night served to calm him a little, if only because it distracted him from the irritating babble spewing from the man beside him. Emilio poured a little more whiskey down his throat, swallowing the burn and letting it settle in his chest. The man was still going. His fingers twitched, yearning to clench themselves into a tight fist and make contact with a nose that didn’t look nearly broken enough to reflect the current level of irritation the stranger was responsible for.

Maybe Teddy would come back from Canada just to bail him out if he knew the situation.

“I don’t want,” Emilio said slowly, “to be your friend. I have said this already. How many times should I repeat before you realize? Do I need to say it another way? No quiero ser tu amigo. I am not going home with you.” A hand reached out, finger tapping his nose, and it took all the self control Emilio had not to start swinging. “If you touch me again,” he said lowly, “I am going to punch you very hard in your face.”

—

“Haha, woah! Who said anything about coming home with me. You’re so full of yourself. Haha. It takes a lot more than one drink to come home with someone of my caliber.” The only reason this didn’t qualify as a lie was because no one had ever come home with Beau after one drink. Fae magic really was full of loopholes, as long as you knew how to work your intentions right. “I’m more of a take me to dinner, and seduce me, kind of guy, haha. Don’t you know the type? Haha. The type is me.” Beau lived in the blissful place where rejection meant nothing. There was no anxiety riddling his chest with thoughts that reminded him actions had consequences. Sure, he’d been met with many consequences for his actions through the year, but every time Beau decided that was the exception to the rule. The rule being, he was perfect and nothing else bad could possibly ever happen to him.

“Haha, I’m just being friendly. You’re being really rude, you know that right?” Beau batted his beautiful eyelashes. “Do you always try to bring home friends you make? Haha. You must be really into board games or something.” He was being purposefully obtuse. That was another thing about rejection. As long as you twisted your words, and pretended your intention was different, then they were the ones being weird to reject. They were the people being the problem. They were making assumptions when Beau? He was just being a nice little guy. He was being friendly. He was always friendly. That’s why his cheeks always hurt from smiling and why he was always ignoring the inferno burning inside of him.

“You know, anger looks ugly on you, haha. My mom used to tell me that anger makes a person ugly. It ruins their face and it scars their soul, haha, you don’t want to have a scarred soul because you were mean to a stranger who just wanted to be your friend, do you?” He put on the pouting face, the kind you would see from a child on television series, that always worked to get them their way. He wouldn’t call it a puppy dog face, because all puppies he had met were brats that piddled everywhere. Beau was better than any puppy. He never piddled anywhere he wasn’t supposed to.

—

An argument bubbled up in Emilio’s chest. He had mentioned taking Emilio home with him, had talked of adoption, and Emilio realized belatedly that it was some kind of metaphor too complicated to squeeze through the ever-present language barrier that sat between him and an English conversation. But arguing with this man meant carrying on speaking to him, and Emilio had little desire to do that. All he wanted was to sit and to drink and to pretend that nothing in his life was falling to pieces. “I do not like dinners,” he said instead of arguing, “so you should go find someone who does.”

But the guy just kept fucking talking. No amount of rudeness was making him leave, despite the fact that he was happy to point out aforementioned rudeness. “Yes. I am being rude. Which means you can go. There are other people in this bar you could bother. Most of them probably won’t punch you.” The unspoken addition to the statement being that Emilio would, if the guy didn’t fuck off soon. He wasn’t particularly good at swallowing his anger or his irritation; there’d never been enough room in his chest to house it all without it spilling over.

“I don’t care about my soul.” He was pretty sure he’d lost it a long time ago, anyway. “I’m angry. You being here is making me more angry.” What the fuck was he doing with his face? The guy looked like he was trying to take a shit. Emilio gripped his glass a little tighter, loosening his hold only when he heard the beginnings of it creaking. Shattering the glass wouldn’t end any better than punching this man would. It would actually be less satisfying.

—

“Everyone likes dinner.” Beau informed this man and that was kind of him. It was kind of him to correct this man who clearly knew nothing, not even about himself. How did Beau keep finding himself in these situations? Across from hopeless people who needed a calm guiding hand. Really he should open a charity for how many helpless and clueless people he ended up helping. Maybe that would be tax deductible. Oh, he’d like that a lot. Beau’s eyes flitted up and down his newest tax deduction, wondering just how much he could save. “Everyone eats. It’s part of being alive. Haha. Everyone likes dinner. Especially with me.” That was a bold statement, but he had nothing to back it up. Because no one ever wanted to eat dinner with him. He was tired of eating alone, if he was being honest.

“Acceptance is the first step to change, haha.” This conversation could be going better if this man would stop trying to send him away every five minutes. At least he knew he was being rude. “Today is the perfect day for change, haha. No one is going to punch me. Look at me.” Beau planted his chin on the palm of his hand, smiling up at the stranger. “I’m too cute to punch. You wouldn’t punch a little guy, right? I’m just a little friend. No one wants to punch me. That wouldn’t be fun. Oh, is that what you’re into? Bar fights? I’ll help you start one. I’m not a fighter, but I’ll watch. Everyone has their hobbies, haha.”

“Angry is good. You’ll need that in the bar fight.” Beau turned around, leaning his back against the bar as he scanned the crowd. Who looked the most punchable. Beau eyed the crowd slowly. Who looked good, who looked good… Him. Beau spotted the beefiest man in the crowd. That man looked like he could punch. “Be right back, amigo.” Beau slid off the bar and marched his way across the room. If Emilio was curious enough to watch, he would see Beau march up to the strange man, make him bend down to whisper something in his ear and point at Emilio across the bar. The man got angry fast, skin turning a deep red as he shouted. It was just like a scene from a movie. The music stopped, the crowd parted. The man marched over to Emilio and swung a punch. Beau scrambled behind, grabbing his drink and moving the side to watch with delight.

—

This man was sitting across from him and telling him that he was wrong, not about something objective but about himself. It grated on Emilio in a way few other things could manage, made his jaw tighten and his body feel hot. He was familiar with the kind of rage that was washing over him now, knew it better than he’d ever known anything else. Throughout his life, few things had been as constant as his anger. His short temper was something his mother had often tried to hone, to weaponize. Few emotions were though useful for hunters, but rage could be sharpened into a knife with relative ease. He was itching to use that blade now, holding back by reminding himself over and over and over again that he was in public, that this idiot was probably human, that you really couldn’t kill people just for being annoying.

“I am going to punch you,” Emilio said. “I do want to punch you. I don’t care if you are a little guy. You’re very annoying.” Maybe threatening him would make him go, or maybe Emilio would have to actually take a swing. He almost hoped for the latter; with the irritation building in his chest, he thought punching this man might be good for him. The man was still prattling on, talking about barfights and hobbies and Emilio wanted nothing more than for him to shut up. He tuned him out, trying to focus on the drink in his hand.

After a moment, the man left. Relief felt like a flood washing over Emilio; he wasn’t attentive enough to recognize that the stranger planned to return, or to pick up on what his plan was. He leaned over the bar, ready to ask the bartender to pour him another drink, when someone walked over and took a swing at him. It was through a lifetime of training that Emilio dodged the attack despite the lack of attention he had paid to its arrival, ducking beneath the fist and sliding out of the barstool to stand. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He dodged another fist. This one slammed into the person who’d been seated on Emilio’s other side, who took enough offense to the assault to get to his feet as well. A chain reaction started around the bar as drunk patrons began to join the fray.

—

Beau didn’t like fighting. It was brutish. People who needed to fight weren’t intune with their emotions. They weren't smart enough to have eloquent conversations that positioned them into getting what they wanted. They were dumb. Probably from taking too many punches to the head. However, if his little introvert wanted to fight, then his introvert would fight! That was how kind Beau was. If he’d said it once, he’d said it a hundred times. He was Beaunevolant. The big man came over swinging. His little introvert dodged, and that was cute. Go little buddy! Beau was sure to cheer silently in his head, as not to draw attention to himself. He vehemently did not want to get dragged into this fight.

A full out scene was beginning to establish in the bar. One person turned into five turned into twenty. It really felt like everyone was fighting. Beau giggled as he watched. How simple humans were, always falling for the tricks of fae. He tracked down his introvert, a true and pleased smile on his features. “Are you having fun yet?” He asked, ducking under a table and looking up as he asked. He had to be extra careful no one punched him. His face was the money maker after all. And what if they broke one of his horns? That would be a damn shame. “A fight for you to punch people! Just like you wanted!”

—

To Emilio, a fight made more sense than a conversation. Words were difficult to understand, especially in English. Most of the time, people spoke too quickly for him to keep up. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around what they were saying, couldn’t translate it into something understandable before they’d moved on into talking about something else entirely. Throwing a punch was the same in every country. Violence transcended the language barrier in a way nothing else ever really could, made complicated things simple. Emilio didn’t know how to talk to people nearly as well as he knew how to hurt them. He hadn’t been looking for a fight tonight — and that was a rare thing on its own — but here he was in the midst of one all the same.

He probably liked it a little more than he should have.

It was only when the insufferable little man returned that Emilio realized how the fight had started. This, of course, took a little bit of the fun out of the whole ordeal. The last thing he wanted was to give the stranger anything he might enjoy. “I wanted,” he grunted, catching a fist that was thrown his way and shoving it backwards into the face of the very man who’d thrown it, “to punch you. I still want to punch you.” Maybe a little more now, all things considered.

—

“Haha! There you go being rude again.” Beau let his laughter roll over the noise of a fighting crowd. This was far from this first observed bar fight, but he did find it to be a dull past time. What did fists get done that words couldn’t? Beau kept himself safely under the table, making sure no violence would breach his bubble. “Don’t punch me! I’m not very punchable, honestly. Besides, I’m too hot. Hot people don’t get punched. That might ruin their hotness, and then who will you stare at and think “Wow he’s so hot?” Beau let a fresh wave of laughter out. “Just kidding, just kidding. How long do you think this fight is going to take you?”

—

God the man was annoying. The more he spoke, the more he grated on Emilio’s nerves. And maybe that would have been fine, if not for the fact that he just kept talking. It was like he had no idea how to shut up. Each word was another nail scraping the proverbial chalkboard of Emilio’s mind until, finally, he lost his patience for it. Turning towards the man, Emilio reared back his fist and swung, the resounding crack one that seemed to reverberate through the bar even over the chaos. The man went down, and the talking finally seemed to cease. Emilio sighed, relief washing over him in spite of the chaos.

Leaning down to the now unconscious stranger, Emilio dug around in his pocket until he found a wallet. He pulled out a few bills and set them on the counter amidst the chaos, placing his empty glass on top of them to keep them from being blown away. Making eye contact with the bartender, who looked exhausted, he added a couple extra to the pile. Then, dropping the wallet on the irritating man’s chest, Emilio stepped over the guy and made his way towards the door.

If this was what socializing got him, he’d much rather just drink at home.

#chatzy #chatzy: emilio #beau's dream did not come true #thank u bex #you are my everything #unsanitary tw

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mayihaveyournameplease · 1 year ago

Text

The Wolf, the Spriggan and the BMV || Beau & Kyle

who: @xdarkhowlx & @mayihaveyournameplease when: recent where: bmv what: kyle meets the town's best bmv employee while making corrections to his identification warnings: none!

Because of a typo on a form, Kyle found himself waiting around at the BMV for his number to be called. It was the right kind of temperature where you’re not too hot, and you’re not too cold, and yet you’re clammy. The fluorescents buzzed at just the right pitch for the sound to settle into a pressing headache just above his left eye. It smelled like someone had just microwaved fish for lunch. Despite the special pocket of hell that existed in this stupid governmental office, the singular employee seemed to be having the best day possible. Kyle detested him for it.

By the time his number was called, Kyle had created a narrative explaining all the reasons this chipper man was the way he was. Watching this man have a normal day made Kyle’s day worse. “Hi, I’m Kyle Pryce and I guess I fu–uhh, messed something up and now my tags are way past expired and I think I gotta just fill it out again,” he rushed out in a large breath. “So, can you…help me with that, then?”

—

Beau hated when people gave him their names before they asked. It was rude. It meant that he was going to have to awkwardly ask them for their names again, and they would look at him like he was stupid. At least he would get the pleasure of looking back at them like they were stupid when they realized they didn’t have a name anymore. Beau sighed, adjusting his glasses and looking down at the kid in front of him. “Kyle Pryce. Uh huh. Do you have forms 1082r, 1293c, 1082rda, and 1329p filled out already?” Beau grabbed the forms from the guy's hands and started flipping through them.

“Uh huh. Uh huh. Hmmm. Haha, so what you can’t spell?” Beau marked something with his pen, he started typing on his computer. He really liked to put on a show when he was helping people. Working at the BMV was a production, and the show was the worst place on earth. “Very expired, haha. You could go to jail for that.” Probably. Beau didn’t actually know the law, he only knew the scope of things that involved the paperwork he needed to do here. “May I get your name?”

—

The numbers of forms swam in Kyle’s head. Before he could even check to make sure he had those forms, they were being snatched from his hands. Kyle had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something. If he pissed off the BVM guy, he would likely have to come back and do all this again, and he wouldn’t do that.

At the next question, Kyle felt his ears redden. He couldn’t spell, no, but this douchebag didn’t need to know he was dyslexic. That was just a mean ass thing to say. “Uh, I just made a typo. Or two. I’m human, mistakes happen.” He didn’t mean to sound defensive, but they weren’t starting this off on the right foot. He didn’t want to go to jail for having expired tags (or for petty assault of this man), so he swallowed his pride and nodded. “Yeah, I just told you my name. It’s—isn’t it on the paperwork? I swear I had to put it on there.”

—-

Beau continued the show. He typed loudly at the computer, a random key smash on the computer’s notepad. Kyle was talking. Made a typo or two. Kids these days. They never checked their work. They never did anything right. They always tried to slide by then got defensive when they were met with the consequences of their actions. Tip. Tap. Type. “Right. You’re only human, after all.” It was disdain that laced his voice, fighting with the smile plastered on his face.

Then Kyle decided to be rude. Was it not enough to be stupid? Must he be the harrowing combo of stupid and rude? Beau let out a long-suffering sigh, still fighting with the smile forcibly plastered on his face. “It’s on your paperwork. But there are rules and regulations. There is a correct way to go about this. There is a procedure. When I ask, ‘May I get your name?’ I’m asking you to tell me that you know what name is on these papers. Since you couldn’t spell it right the first time, we need to confirm a few things to get the ball rolling. Let’s try this again. May. I. Get. Your. Name?” He paused after each word, tongue clipping them off sharply as he stared down the kid across from him.

—-

There was a tone to this foul little man’s voice that set Kyle’s teeth on edge. He couldn’t place it, but the constant smile, the way he slammed his fingers onto the keys—Kyle was getting more frustrated by the second. He hated this man, and they’d only just gotten started. “Rules and regulations,” he parroted. “I get that, but why can’t you just read the forms? What’s the point in filling them out if you don’t read them?”

He grit his teeth, and breathed out steadily through his nose. It’s fine, he told himself. Just get through this without wolfing out. He could always go to the basement later and let it out if he was still worked up. “Fine. My name is Kyle Mahihkan Pryce.” As soon as the words left his mouth, it was like they disappeared into the ether. What had he just said? He couldn’t quite remember. There was an itch in his brain, like the words were on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t quite reach them. What had they been talking about?

—-

Beau rolled his eyes, as if this kid was asking the dumbest questions on the planet. To be fair, Beau did think this kid was asking the dumbest questions on the planet. What kind of questions was that? “Why can’t you just read the forms?” Beau repeated the question back patiently, kindly, despite wanting to use an open and mocking tone. “Don’t you know about three factor authentication to keep people from stealing identities?” Wasn’t that funny? There was a policy in place to keep humans from stealing identities, but it made it so much easier for Beau to do it? “Check the papers, check the IDs and get a verbal confirmation of the name, to ensure that the customer knows it without looking.” Beau wanted to roll his eyes. But he didn’t. He was kind like that.

There was a magical moment right after someone gave him their name. The birds sung, and flowers bloomed, and fae magic wove around him. Kyle Mahihkan Pryce. It wasn’t just a first name. It was all of it. A tasty treat. He copied the name into his program that tracked them. The program wasn’t necessary. He could remember every name as if they had been given to him at birth, along with the faces he’d taken them from. “Perfect.” He kept typing, he did some printing. “That’ll be thirty dollars. Cash or credit?” It would probably be canceled. Most of these got canceled, as the person realized they couldn’t remember their name and started crying.

—-

This guy probably didn’t get paid enough to answer questions. ??? had to tell himself that, because this guy was just begging to be knocked out. The tone he used didn’t match the words that came out his mouth, and ??? was left feeling small. He hadn’t thought about multiple factor authentication. It still didn’t make sense to him. If his picture was on his ID, why did he need to give more information? Certainly a BMV employee could identify a fake ID. And his name was right there on his license. Now, if he could just remember that name…

“Cash, I guess,” he replied, fishing in his pocket for a wad of loose bills. He just needed a good nap. He was tired, he was hungry, he was frustrated. A snack and a nap would sort out his brain. That helped him feel better after the disembodied smiles thing at the cemetery. He could accept any weirdness after a nap. Slapping thirty dollars in wrinkled bills on the counter, ??? started to slide them across to the employee, but paused. “I’m sorry, can you just read the name back to me? I’m a little confused.”

—-

Beau took the money, smile turning genuine. “Can’t you just read it from the forms?” He parroted back that so annoying phrase. He typed some more. He filled in some answers and he checked his boxes. “Your identification card is done and paid for. All your typos are now correct. Unless you typo’d on the forms and then you’ll have to come back again.” Beau let out a chorus of laughter, as if that was the funniest thing he could have said. Because it really was funny that this idiot had made typos.

Beau stapled some papers together and slid everhing back over to the kid. “All done. Bye now.” He switched the number he was now servicing and turned away from the confused soul, back pretending to be typing at his computer.

—-

Like a fish out of water, ??? opened and closed his mouth, searching for the words to explain how much he didn’t understand what was going on. Before he could articulate his confusion, he was being brushed aside. He could cause a scene. He wanted to cause a scene. He could yell at the employee and demand an explanation. Ge could demand his money back. Or he could take a number and get back in line. Wait his turn and do this little song and dance all over again. Both seemed like awful ideas, and a headache was beginning to settle above his left brow. That nap seemed more and more appealing. This employee did not feel like the one to take the issue up with. He had laughed in ???’s face for a typo. For now, he would go home and reassess. Frustrated, ??? walked out the door, thirty dollars lighter, and unable to recall his own name.

#chatzy #chatzy: kyle #the wolf the spriggan and the bmv

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