#Agatha avoiding the real reason: it makes her taller

[cissa-calls]

Countdown to Agatha: Darkhold Diaries: Day 704

Agatha: How am I looking? Ready for a duel for unknowable power with ancient beings?”

Y/N: “Only one way to be sure, give us a twirl!”

Agatha: *dramatically spins*

Wanda: “Hold on.” *points to Agatha’s feet* “what. The heck. Are those.”

Agatha: *lifts her robes to reveal a pair of chunky white new balance sneakers* “My fighting shoes?”

Wanda: “YOU WEREN’T WEARING THESE WHEN WE BATTLED?! IT RUINS THE LOOK!”

Agatha: “THE DOCTOR SAID I NEED BETTER ARCH SUPPORT”

[princelycannibalfiction]

🍂 Warming 🍂

[A short story from a collection I’m writing! I’ve already shown a few friends and I’m really proud of it, so I thought it would be a nice first real post :) ]

"Aggy."

The light is warm, coming in wide streams through the window, blunting the chilling air. There are birds outside, singing songs that fade into the back of your mind, distant and quiet. Your darling comes to your bedside, running her hands over your shoulder. Your hand is being taken and held so gingerly, it's as though you've been touched by the wind. She takes your hand in hers, but doesn't pull, waiting for you to look up to her. 

"Aggy," She smiles so warmly, "Will you come with me?"

She raises you up, steadying you when you waver on exhausted legs. When you look to face her, there are feathers in her hair from tending to the chickens. She doesn't stop you by the tarnished mirror or take you into the bathing room, but straight to the sweet smelling kitchen of your small home. 

She sits you down at the table and runs soft hands through your hair, separating the bed tangles and undoing your sleeping braid.  There's a large bowl of berries on the table, shiny and freshly washed. She hums so sweetly, laying your dark hair against your shoulder, making you painfully aware that you're still in your nightgown, while she's been dressed for hours, choring and cooking in her honey orange dress, copper hair braided and pinned up in a bun. You make to say something, to apologize, when she walks away. You hope your hair covers the flush in your cheeks.

You watch her rummage about, grabbing jars and plates to set on the table. She brings the honey and jam, plates and forks for you and her, and finally, a small woven basket lined with fabric. She lifts the lid of the basket and laughs as steam plumes in her face, waving it away. She lifts a plate from the basket, piled high with griddle cakes, making the whole room just a bit warmer. 

"The eggs from the other day were about to go off," She explains, as if she needed to explain, laying a short stack on each plate, "And those boys from the valley came up to see if we wanted any of their strawberries, so I thought I would make something sweet to go with them."

You nod, understanding. You had heard her answer the door, it felt like hours ago while you laid in bed, though you couldn't make out what they had said.

"Did-" you croaked, quickly closing your mouth. You swallow, trying to wet your throat so you could speak, "Did they want anything in return, Dorothy?"

"Oh, no," She smiles, moving back into the kitchen to get your mugs and the water pitcher, "They were quite adamant that the berries were a gift, but I insisted they come to me next time they need clothes mended."

You nod. She's so kind.

"Oh, they asked about you, Aggy," She pours you a drink, whisps of hair falling into her face, "They asked about your lovely garden and if they could take a few clippings."

You smile, taking a sip of water. You remember tending the garden in the summer, how the boys from the valley would walk up to their hill to talk and trade honey and fruits. The taller one, Edmund, would ask for clipped leaves and flowers to preserve in his books. 

He could talk for hours about the beautiful blooms and would sometimes bring up his notebook to show her sketches he had done of his own garden, comparing the two. His partner, William seemed more interested in the worms peeking their little heads out from the soil.

"I know you like to indulge him, so I said he could," Dorothy's voice shakes you from your thoughts, "I hope that was alright."

You smile, nodding, and you both tuck in to eat. 

***

"Agnes."

You look up from the garden, the sounds of the world fading back into your mind. You realize you've been staring at a bee on a daisy, not yet beginning to wilt. Dorothy smiles at you, warming something inside you didn't realize was cold. Her lips are stained pink from the strawberries and jam at breakfast. 

"I'm to deliver some mending and letters to the general store," She gestures to the basket in her hand, "Will you come with me, Aggy?"

You look down at your hands, the dark soil under your fingernails and between the wrinkles in your palms. You finished your work already, though you couldn't say how long ago. 

You stand, ignoring the way your face flushes and you waver, knees buckling after kneeling for so long. You dust your hands on your dress, frowning at the brown smudges now staining the fabric. Dorothy had made this dress, she liked to give you clothes as gifts. You worry your lip, suddenly scared she would say something, tell you to go change or to wash up before you go, that she would rescind the invitation and leave you alone.

She grabs your hand as though you haven’t stood there silently for a good minute, staring at your thighs. "Are you ready?" 

You nod, and she leads you up out of the garden and past the small fence you had put up last spring to stop the chickens from running loose over the hill. She zig zags through the untamed grass, taking care, as she likes to do, to not step on any wildflowers. Your eyes wander down to your linked hands, how her fingers are stained with berry juice and ink. Further down, you watch the hem of her skirt move along with her steps, perpetually discoloured from kneeling in the chicken pen and rolling in the wildflowers and suddenly you feel so silly for worrying about your dirty hands. 

“I’ve written to a woman in the other valley,” Dorothy speaks, “We met at the market not last week. She seemed interested in learning to tend to bees, so I thought I would help.”

You’re not sure what to say. You open your mouth but nothing comes of it, so you just nod, smiling. 

“She was trading fig preserves, Aggy,” She looks at you, light in her eyes, “I don’t even think I’ve ever had a fig before.”

“Well, I-” You clear your throat, “Maybe you could get some? Next time you go down to market.”

“I think I will!” She thinks for a second, shifting your hands so your fingers interlock, “She told me some figs have wasps in them, did you know that?”

You shake your head and get ready to listen to her talk about figs all the way down the hill.

***

You come to the general store, a building you tend to avoid, and she pulls away from you gently, leaving you to stand by the door while she goes to the owner. You watch her, how she pulls the basket up to the counter, smiling up to Mister Clement, unpacking the freshly mended pants and undershirts. He takes them and gestures to the sweets, offering whatever she chooses as payment, and you know without looking that she’ll choose to take a bag of candied petals and a square of bitter chocolate (the same as she always does.)

Clement bags the sweets, placing them into the basket while he and Dorothy chat, something about his young son, Henry and the piles of falling leaves around the back of the store. He doesn't pay you any mind except a polite wave when you walked in (and even then, it seemed mostly from politeness). 

You wait by the door, already expecting that your darling will take some time to get her catching ups out of the way, but as time goes on and you stand alone by the door, you feel yourself wilt. The warmth in your chest from the walk down begins to fall, leaving a chill to breeze through you. You don't say anything, even as you feel something in you fall like a stone into your stomach, uncomfortable and heavy.

Your eyes fall away from Dorothy, peering down at your dirt brushed skirt and hands. You feel dirty. You feel like you shouldn't be there, that you should have stayed home. Maybe you made a mistake going out, maybe you shouldn't have gotten out of bed at all. 

Your mind swirls with doubt and dull pain, eating up your thoughts until it’s the only thing going around your head. You feel like you're going to be ill. You want to leave, more than anything, but you can’t bring yourself to interrupt Dorothy’s conversation. You don’t want to be a bother.

“-ggy,” You hear her sweet voice fading into your attention, “Aggy?”

You look up to her, standing in front of you with such clear care in her face, and you feel horrible to have worried her. You become suddenly aware of the mist of tears forming in your eyes, telling and embarrassing. You try to wipe them away quickly, hissing when you get dirt in your eyes. 

"Agnes." She takes your hand from your eye, rubbing the gathering tears away with her thumb. "Are you alright?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. You don't know how to explain to her that you're fine, you were fine, that for some reason your mind just sunk and you don't know why or how to fix it. You don't understand why you're like this. 

She holds your face in her soft hands and smiles so warm and so sad, "Stay here for just a moment, and we can be going."

You don't argue, but you feel a dagger in your chest, knowing that she went through all the trouble of bringing you out with her and you ruined it. 

She goes up to the counter, handing over the letters and asking Clement something you can't hear. He nods and goes to the back for a moment, coming out with a large bag he puts into the basket. She thanks him and turns to leave, coming to link her hand with yours before you leave the store. 

“Let’s be going, Aggy,” She smiles as you walk into the sunlight.

***

“Oh, Agatha,”  You hear her voice from the doorway, so sweet and light. She comes to your bedside, carrying a candle to see you in the dark. 

When you arrived home from the general store, you had drifted to the bed room, Dorothy trailing after you to help you remove your dress, corset and drawers. She laid you down in bed, hushed away your quiet apologies and wiped your tears. You don't know what you would do without her. 

"Aggy," She rubs at your shoulder, warming you just slightly, "Will you come with me?" 

She takes you up, allowing you to redress yourself before bringing you to the kitchen. The house is dark, shadows cast wide around every room, only pushed away by the light of the candle. The sun is nearly set. 

Instead of sitting you at the table, she goes to carefully lift the basket on it, steam rising barely visible in the low light, and pulls you into the back yard. You walk with her past the chickens and the bees and the low vegetable garden, freshly replanted for the autumn, down to a patch of fog grass among the wildflowers, half down the hill, facing the sun. There's a blanket laid in the grass, pinned down by your water pitcher and two bowls. 

She places the basket down and goes to sit on the blanket, urging you to follow with a soft smile and a pat on the ground. You go to her, as if you had a choice, and take the candle from her hand, placing it down in as stable a place as you can find. Her eyes sparkle in the light, a pretty honey brown in the day darkened to near black. They suck you in, as they always have, and you can't help smiling back. 

"What is this, Dory?" You ask, eyes flicking to the basket and bowls. 

"Well, I figured it's been so nice out today, we should try to enjoy it before the chill really begins to set in," She lifts the basket lid, pulling out a large dish, "I forgot how long it takes to make potato soup though, so it got a bit dark."

She uncovers the dish, and the heat and smell of the soup hits you immediately, making you realize just how hungry you are. Your stomach growls and you almost hide your face in your hands. 

"Well, I suppose we should start right away," She laughs, spooning healthy portions into both of your bowls, handing you one. 

You both dig in, Dorothy blowing on your bowl with a smile after you burn your tongue. The soup warms you from the inside, the soft touches she gives you warming your skin and something deep in your chest until you can't tell you had ever felt cold. 

Between bites, she talks about little nothings, how the chickens chased around a beetle instead of filing into their pen, how the wood for the fire had popped along with her humming for just a moment while cooking but oh, how it felt magical. You listened intently, taking in her words and voice, so sweet.

You're done before you realize you've hit the bottom of the bowl and it's being refilled before you can ask. Dorothy pulls away to reach for the basket, pulling out two rolls, warm from the fire and being set next to the soup. She breaks one open, passing half of it to you and dipping the other in her soup. 

"What's better than this?" She asks, taking a bite of her roll, "a warm meal, a beautiful view." 

"A pretty girl," you mumble, cheeks warming when she looks to you, red faced. "I- I mean-"

She pulls herself up and places a kiss to your lips, quick and soft, and you feel like you’re spinning. You smile despite yourself, leaning over to press your forehead against hers, both of you leaning against each other. 

Dinner is finished slowly, peppered with laughing, one sided conversations and stolen kisses, and ends with Dorothy laying with her head in you lap, laughing up at you with tired, smiling eyes. She had taken the final bag from the basket, the candied petals and chocolate square. When she looks up at you, mouth open, you give her a petal and in return she breaks you off a piece of chocolate. It's cool, hard and bitter, but it melts on your tongue all the same. 

You feel, laying in the dying sun with your darling, that you've never felt so light.

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

sorry it’s late but here’s the Simon/Baz Bookshop AU

Real life got to me yesterday

____________________

Simon

Penny’s birthday is next week. I don’t know what to get for her.

She’d probably like if I didn’t make such a mess in the kitchen every time I cook but that’s not really a present now, is it? It’s a courtesy you’d expect from a flat-mate. Like you’d expect someone to clean her hair out of the shower drain.

I can’t think about the things that drive me and Penny stark raving mad about us sharing a flat.

Shopping for Agatha was easier. She liked things.Candles and perfume and picture frames. The bracelet I got her. The hat and scarf set. It was easier with a girlfriend.

When I had a girlfriend.

I don’t want to think about that either.

But Penny’s not my girlfriend. She’s my best friend so I feel like an utter pillock for not knowing what to get her.

Don’t want to get her something silly, like I used to. We’ve already got too many mugs at the flat anyway. Funny ones. Ones with stupid pictures or puns on them. Penny used to love those when we were in school.

I shove my hands in my pockets and frown at the world in general.

I stop by the bakery on my way home. Not that a cherry scone will solve my problem but it does make me feel better.

I catch sight of the new bookshop on the corner as I leave the bakery. I suppose it’s not really new. It’s been there for a few months. Penny raves about it. It’s got an eclectic selection of books according to her. Which means a fair selection of feminist literature, books on the occult, and ancient history.

I’ve been avoiding it.

It’s not that I don’t like books. I do. Or at least I do now. Didn’t care for them much when I was young. Had trouble reading when I was a kid. Someone finally figured out the issue and it was like a light turning on in a dark room.

I like books well enough now. Fantasy and science fiction mainly. Penny says I should read more classic literature and biography.

I like biographies. Just depends who they’re written about.

I stand on the street corner and scowl at the bookstore. “Open Sesame” it’s called.  Odd name for a bookstore but Penny likes it. Says it makes her think she’s entering a magical world when she goes in.

I’m sure I could find something for Penny there.

I just don’t want to go in.

I’m sure it’s a fine bookshop. I know it is. I went in there once, when it first opened.

And managed to piss off one of the employees.

I didn’t mean to spill my coffee, really, I didn’t. He just startled me. Came out of nowhere, he did. I wasn’t expecting one of the employees to be lurking among the shelves. Thought they’d be at the counter or something like that. You know--selling books, ringing people up, the usual store thing.

But it seems this wasn’t that kind of bookshop. There was a red-haired chap up at the counter and an older woman at a desk near the back of the store. I didn’t know there was another bloke—one with longish dark hair and arresting grey eyes—prowling around the store and startling unsuspecting customers.

He came up right behind me, he did, and said “That’s a bit of a humdrum one. If you’re looking for a fantasy novel that’s not one I’d recommend.”

I’d been reading a bit of it. Just to get a feel for the book. See if it interested me. Didn’t expect some posh, disembodied voice to pop up out of nowhere in the vicinity of my ear. I started and my coffee went down my shirt, splashed onto the book in my hand and dripped all over their new carpet.

“Bloody hell! Give a guy a bit of warning, could you?” I turned to scowl at whoever it was who had crept up on me like that.

Slate grey eyes met mine. His gaze raked me from top to toe and it was obvious in his sneer that whatever he saw was sadly lacking. “We try to be helpful to the customers here. Wouldn’t want you to buy something you didn’t find interesting.” He glanced at the coffee stained book in my hand. “Unfortunately, it seems that you will be this time.”

I spluttered for a moment but had to admit to myself that I’d mucked the book up. And the carpet too. “Listen, of course I’ll pay for the book. I can see that I’ve ruined it. And I’m sorry about the carpet too.” I looked down at the irregular dark stain in front of my feet then back up at him. “You startled me. Helpful suggestions are one thing but sneaking up on unsuspecting customers like that is unnerving.”

He didn’t say a word back to me. Just held my gaze for a minute before turning away and bellowing “Fiona!” at the lady at the back of the store. “Did you think to stock any carpet cleaner in the back? We’ve just had our first spilled coffee christening of the store. I told you carpet was a terrible idea.”

I shuffled my way up to the counter to pay for my coffee-blemished book and there he was again-- waiting for me, no sign of the other chap.

Fuck.

Rang me up without a word. Handed me my change and then pointed to an exquisitely lettered sign on the countertop. “Feel free to enjoy your beverages as you wander in the magical confines of our treasure trove of books but please no open containers. Books are magic and we wouldn’t want to damage them.”

Fuck. I hadn’t seen the sign. I never put a lid on my coffee. Don’t like lids. Keep the coffee too hot. Cools down faster without one.

I grabbed the book and hustled out of the shop, becoming painfully aware of another skillfully lettered sign situated right by the front door as I did.

I’d have to remember a lid next time I came.

No, fuck that. There wasn’t going to be a next time. I wasn’t going to set foot in that place ever again.

And I hadn’t. I’d avoided it like the plague.

But somehow, I couldn’t avoid seeing the bloke. He was everywhere, all of a sudden, it seemed.

Walking across campus. In the library. At Ebb’s bakery.

Maybe he was always there and I was just noticing him now that I’d had that miserably embarrassing encounter at the store and shouted at him.

I stare across the street at the bookshop. Surely I’ll find something for Penny there. How bad could it be? I don’t have a drink with me. I can’t possibly have a run-in with him again. I’ll check the aisles to make sure no one is lurking about.

He must be a student. I’ve seen him on campus enough to make me sure of it. He can’t work there all the time. The chances of him being there on a Wednesday afternoon are slim, right? He must have class.

I don’t let the niggling realization that it’s a Wednesday afternoon and I don’t have class deter me. I need a book for Penny. She likes this store. I’ll find something and be done with it.

The beverage sign is still on display by the front door. I honestly can’t believe I missed it the first time. I’d have finished my coffee and pitched my cup or just come back another time if I’d seen it.

There’re a few people milling about the store. The woman who had been behind the desk last time is up by the counter today. Maybe I’ll be lucky and grey eyes won’t be here.

I wander over to a display table. An interesting selection but nothing Penny would like. I go down the aisles, looking at the titles and topics, trying to find the feminist section or the occult books. I can’t make sense of the layout.

I’m scanning the titles on the endcap and not watching where I’m going. End up bumping into someone as I turn into the next aisle.

A scattering of books falls to the floor and as I look up to apologize I see a pair of grey eyes.

Fuck.

It’s him. The posh tosser. He’s not in class, he’s here. Fuck.

Maybe he won’t remember me.

“Sorry.” I mumble an apology and bend down to pick up some of the fallen books, not daring to meet his eyes again. I’m such a fucking wanker. I told myself I’d keep an eye out for lurking employees.

Although from the looks of it he wasn’t lurking this time. He was shelving books. He’s got a cart and everything.

The books are plucked out of my hand and I reluctantly raise my eyes to his. His eyebrow is arched up. He looks cool, collected and utterly bored. “At least you don’t have coffee with you this time. You’d be purchasing an entire set of Frances Hodgson Burnett’s books.” He waves a copy of Little Lord Fauntleroyat me.

Oh shit. He does remember me.

“Sorry.” I shuffle a bit and bend down to pick up The Secret Gardenfrom where it sits by my foot. I hand it to him.

He takes it from my hand and his fingertips touch mine ever so slightly as he pulls it away. They’re cold.

“Decided to venture into the world of bookshops again? Didn’t scare you off for good last time?” He raises an eyebrow, holding the stack of books to his chest.

He had scared me off. Penny’s the only reason I’m even here but I’m not about to tell him that.

“Looking for a book for a friend.” I suppose that’s telling him why I’m here. I’m such an idiot.

He turns away from me and I think this pathetic excuse for a conversation is over. I go to gingerly edge around him but he stops me. “Let me shelve these and I’ll see if I can help you.”

Even worse. Now I’ll have to actually speak to him.

I stand there awkwardly. I don’t know why I’m so nervous about it. That’s his job. He’s supposed to help people find books. Not sneak up on them and whisper in their ears, I remind myself.

I take a moment to settle down and end up watching him shelve the books. He’s tall, taller than me. Slim build but muscular, from what I can see of his arms. His hair is chin length, falling in dark waves but not obscuring the sharp planes of his face.

He’s got an arresting profile.

What the actual fuck?

What am I doing? Why am I staring at this bloke so intently? I can feel my face heating up so I turn to look at the shelf behind me, so my back is to him. The entire collection of Harry Potter books is in front of me. I focus on the spines.

It doesn’t help. I may not be looking at him but I’m still thinking about him.

He’s attractive. I’d noticed that last time, in passing, but in more of a pissed off way than I am now. I’ve gotten a closer look at him today. He’s actually fucking gorgeous. I want to turn around and look at him again but that would be a terrible idea.

I turn around and look at him just as he finishes shelving the stack of books and our eyes meet. My cheeks are hot.

He crosses his arms over his chest and regards me critically. “Looking for a book for a friend. Let’s narrow that down a bit, shall we? What kind of friend and what kind of books?”

“Uh. . . well that’s what I was looking for when I bumped into you. She’s got a lot of interests but feminism, antiquity and the occult are high on the list right now.” I look around and frown. “I couldn’t find them. I thought feminism would come shortly after Crafts and before Foreign Languages but I can’t seem to find it.”

“Feminism is in the Social Sciences so you are in the completely wrong section. Come on. Follow me.”

He tilts his head to the right and I trot after him, passing a few aisles of books before he makes a sharp turn and stops. I almost run into him but manage to catch myself before I do this time.

“So Feminist Theory? Women’s Studies? Gender studies? Any of those sound promising?”

I just stare at him. I’ve not got a fucking clue. Maybe the occult would have been a better choice.

“Uh.”

He sighs, crossing his arms over his chest again. “Give me some idea?”

“I don’t know. Is there anything that combines the occult and feminism? Or ancient cultures and feminism?” Is that a stupid thing to ask? It’s probably a stupid thing to ask. I’m going from bad to worse here.

His grey eyes are narrowed now. “Who is this friend of yours? It wouldn’t be Bunce, would it?”

A wave of relief washes over me as well as curiosity. “Yeah, yeah. My friend Penny. Penelope Bunce. How do you know her?”

He rolls his eyes. “She’s in here practically every week. I’ve had quite a few thought-provoking conversations with her.” He shakes his head. “Come on. This way. I’ve got something new that she’s likely not seen yet.”

He strolls across the store to another section. I don’t think I realized quite how big this place is. I don’t think I had the time or inclination to notice last time.

He plucks a book off the shelf but doesn’t hand it to me, just taps a finger on his lip thoughtfully and then turns in another direction entirely with me trailing along in his wake. He heads to another display table and picks up one of the books there. “Here you go. Either one will appeal to Bunce.”

I reach for the books and our fingertips brush again. I don’t know why I notice that. I look down at the titles he handed me. ‘Circe’ and ‘Agrippina: Empress, Exile, Hustler, Whore.’

He’s moved down the aisle already and is pulling yet another book off the shelf. “Here. This one’s new too.” I take the title from him, slowly this time, my hand brushing his once more.

I don’t know what I’m doing.

Baz

I hand him a book Bunce will surely find of interest--a copy of Good and Mad: The Revolutionary Power of Women’s Anger—when it happens again. Our fingers touch. It’s the third time it’s happened. I don’t know what to think. I’m not attempting to initiate contact.

That’s complete bollocks. I’m desperately trying to initiate contact. I’m not letting go of the books as he grasps them. I’m holding them in a way that makes our touch inevitable.

I’m doing everything I can to prolong this interaction.

I’ve seen him around campus for months now. He’s in my Film as Literature class. It’s an auditorium class—one of the most popular courses offered—so it’s hard to get to know everyone. He sits near the front, with Bunce. I sit in the back with Niall.

The class is enjoyable but the view even more so. I try to avoid looking at him while the professor is lecturing but I have no such compunction before class. I get there early for that very reason.

I know his name is Simon. I’ve heard Bunce call that name out at him. She shouted it across the room on the first day of class, to get his attention.

Simon.

I watched him come in the lower doors of the auditorium and saw him smile at the sight of her.

I haven’t been able to look away since.

I’m sure he didn’t even know I existed before he came into the shop.

I still can’t believe what an absolute prat I was that day. I’d been watching him for weeks by then.

Pining over him is what Niall called it but what does he know?

I’d been seeing Simon everywhere, it seemed. Class. The library. Ebb’s coffee shop.

And then he was suddenly here. I’d watched him walk in and made myself busy in the aisles as I followed him, discreetly. He’d stopped and lingered in Fantasy and Science Fiction so I purposefully made my way over there to see if I could be of assistance.

He’d been thumbing through one of Davy Mage’s books. I’ve told Fiona I don’t know why we even carry them. They’re pretentious and boring, in my opinion. But for some reason every bookshop seems to carry them. They’re insidious. It’s irritating. His writing style is pompous and overblown and his use of the Chosen One hero trope far too predictable.

I’d only meant to offer some assistance but instead I’d managed to startle him so badly he’d spilled coffee everywhere and shouted at me. I’d gone completely distant and cold in my embarrassment.

Fiona had a field day with me after he left. “That’s the boy you’ve been mooning about, then?”

“Shut up, Fiona.”

“So he is the one! You’re absolute shit at flirting, Baz.” She leaned across her desk and smirked. “Or did you just want to see him with his shirt all wet and clinging to him?”

I spent the rest of the afternoon in the store room.

But he’s here again. I thought he’d never come back.

Bunce is here almost every week but she always comes alone or with that tall American chap. I’ve never dared ask her about Simon. She talks about him though. That’s how I know he’s her roommate.

How I know his girlfriend broke up with him a few months ago.

How I know he’s not seeing anyone currently.

Against all odds he’s here again. He bumped into. Literally bumped into me and knocked down a stack of books.

His hair’s a mess, disheveled curls falling over his forehead. He’s covered with freckles. They’re much more noticeable close up.  He’s fucking gorgeous and I’ve got no idea what to say or do. Play it cool,Baz, I tell myself. Don’t be a fucking numpty like last time.

It’s child’s play finding books that Bunce will like. It keeps me close to him, wandering about the store, crossing back and forth to find books I know will appeal to her. He follows right behind me and when he almost bumps into me again I catch the scent of soap and cinnamon rolls.

He must have been at the bakery before coming here.

I’ve no more excuses to keep his attention. I’ve found three or four books that will work and we’re making our way to the counter now. He’ll pay and leave and I’ll likely never speak to him again.

Fiona’s on check out duty but as soon as she sees me coming towards her she makes a show of moving off and complaining about all paperwork on her desk and how it’s my turn to run the counter. She makes a runner for the back but not before winking at me.

I’m mortified. She’s my aunt so she thinks she can get away with being this way.

I slide behind the counter. “So, which one are you going to get?” The pile of books we’ve collected as likely prospects for Bunce are in his arms. He sets them down.

Simon frowns. “I’m not sure, really.” His blue eyes meet mine. “Which one do you think she’d like best?”

I can pick one and ring him up or use this opportunity he’s given me to extend my time with him. I dart a look around the store. A few customers but no one headed up to make a purchase.

I start to talk about ‘Circe’ and then carry on about the other books. What I think Bunce would like about each one, why I think they’re relevant. I know I’m droning on and on but he’s got his eyes riveted on me and I can’t stop talking and I don’t want to look away.

I don’t want this moment to end.

He’s right here. In front of me. And I’m blathering on about subversive retellings of myth and anger transcending into political upheaval.

I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. I pick up ‘Circe’ and push the other books away. “This combines a bit of everything. Feminism. The occult. Antiquity. I think she’ll like this one.”

It’s over now. He’ll pay for his book and walk out the door. And I’ll never have a chance like this with him again.

“Sounds good. I’ll take that one, then.”

“Would you like me to wrap it up? Since it’s a gift?”

“You do that?”

“It’s a service we provide, yes.” It’s not. I’m making this up on the spot. We do have some gift wrap we sell, in the back, with the gift bags and such. I ring Simon up and then leave him at the counter while I scurry to the back to grab wrap and ribbon.

“I’m taking this out of your wages, boyo.” Fiona whispers at me as I skirt by her desk, ribbon and shiny wrap in hand.

“Fine.” I have no time for her. Simon is still waiting for me up at the counter.

Simon

I could buy any of the books he’s chosen and Penny would be thrilled. It’s easier to let him choose. He’s read them all and has a better idea of what interests her, if he’s been debating feminist ideology with her. It goes over my head when she gets on a rant.

I lean my elbows on the counter and just drink him in. His face is animated and there’s a flush on his cheeks. It suits him.

I could listen to his voice all day. It’s posh and cultured but that’s not what I like about it. Not all I like about it, I mean.

I like how deep it is, resonant I suppose you’d call it. It washes over me and I’m quite content to let him go on about the books to his heart’s content.

He stops eventually. Pushes one towards me. “This one. I’m sure she’ll like it.”

I don’t even look at it. “Sounds good. I’ll take that one then.”

He offers to wrap it and I eagerly take him up on it. I’m a fright at wrapping gifts.

He disappears to the back and returns moments later with ribbon and brightly coloured paper.

It’s all precision and crisp, sharp edges. Penny won’t even believe it’s from me. His fingers are long and slender, folding the paper meticulously, curling the ribbon with an expert flick of the wrist.

That’s it then. I’ll pay up and then I’ll have to go. I don’t want to, not now. I’ve got no excuse to linger though, after he rings me up.

I pass him the money and then the coolness of his touch contacts my palm as he hands me my change. The sensation sends a rush of warmth up my arm.

He hands me a shopping bag, the expertly wrapped book carefully tucked inside. That’s it then. Time for me to go.

“Thank you. That was quite helpful.” I smile up at him. “I’ll have to remember that next time I need to get her something. Thanks so much . . .” I trial off. I don’t know his name. He gets the hint.

“Baz.”

“Thank you, Baz.” And I stand there, like a lump, not moving.

“You’re welcome . . .” he pauses meaningfully.

“Simon. I’m Simon.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Simon.” He pauses and then glances to the back of the store, tilting his head up and raising an eyebrow. I turn and catch the woman in the back rolling her eyes at him and then nodding.

“I seem to recall I made our first meeting a bit awkward, Simon. And I’m reminded that I likely owe you a coffee.” There’s a smile on his face now and this suits him even more.

“Oh. I don’t know about that. I made a right mess of your carpet.” Is he asking me to go out for coffee? Or is he just mentioning it? I’ve got no idea. I’m pants at reading people, Penny tells me that all the time.

Maybe I’m not good at reading people. Or perhaps I’m better than Penny thinks. I don’t want to wait for him to ask me.

Baz

I’m trying to work up the nerve to ask him to coffee. It should be the easiest thing in the world to say it. I’ve got leave from Fiona to bolt. I just need to get the words out.

“I might have ended up down one coffee but I’ve a feeling you ended up on carpet cleaning duty.” He’s right. I did, thanks to Fiona.

Simon’s smile is dazzling. I’m gaping at him, I’m sure.

I should just go ahead and ask him to coffee.

But then he goes and asks me.

“I think you got the worse end of that so we’re more than square.” He shifts his shopping bag from hand to hand and then gestures at the pile of books I found for him. “You helped me so much today, Baz. I know you’re working now but could I buy you a coffee sometime? As a thank you?”

“I’d love to, Simon. Is now good?”

It’s his turn to gape at me. “But aren’t you working? Can you just leave?”

“Happens I’m off. Starting now.”

I bolt from behind the counter, nod at Fiona, and come around to stand next to Simon. “Ebb’s then?”

He grins at me. “Yeah, Ebb’s. That’d be great.”

[journeysintowebcomics]

Girl Genius Liveblog #93

UPDATE 93: The Rightful Acknowledgement

Last time Agatha had finally gotten to the library, after traversing part of the unexplored areas of the Castle. It was off-screen – most of it – but you can be sure Von Zinzer was the one to suffer the brunt of the journey. Hah! So let’s continue.

Von Zinzer had offered to open the door for Agatha, since it seemed to be locked shut. Is it even possible for a man to open with his shoulder a door like four times taller than he is? He’s going to try, and so he does...and of course it actually was the Castle being the usual jerk it is.

Fantastic, Girl Genius is turning into a 70’s Hanna Barbera cartoon. You know what I mean, false doors opening to the outside of a place! But yeah, this isn’t the library at all. Has the Castle been deceiving Agatha, if it was giving instructions to her along the way? I wouldn’t put it past him.

While Von Zinzer hangs onto the door for dear life, Agatha confirms this is a test. The door is on the other side of this abyss. The test is rather simple, actually, just cross by walking on a bridge the Castle created...somehow. I have no scientific explanation for this! But it seems simple enough. It can’t be that simple, can it? There must be a catch.

It’s not a matter of being trusting, in my opinion. Giving it a try was the only option. If she refused – not that she ever would – her goals wouldn’t progress at all, and she’d risk the Castle killing her by not behaving like a Heterodyne. But hey, she got to the other side, so it doesn’t really matter now. It went without less problems than I thought it would, at least until she stepped on the other side and fell down a hole.

The place Agatha falls into is...hmmmm...let’s call it ‘Classic Heterodyne’. Lots of bones, lots of skulls, a very decrepit place...just what one could expect. No surprise there! But this is the end, Agatha has to prove herself as a real Heterodyne or it’s over. I’m excited! I wonder how it’ll be?

Agatha is far from being the first person to claim to be a Heterodyne. In the past many others have done that, for one reason or another, and no one needs to be smart to know they’re all dead. Very dead. It must have been an awful death. Their skulls cover the floor of the room, and there’s one space for Agatha. You know, the Foglios are doing great regarding setting up this as a rather tense situation. I mean, I know it’s likely Agatha will triumph, but I can’t avoid having doubts something may go wrong. Cool!

Our dear protagonist is a brave soul and isn’t scared at the threats. She immediately asks to get done with this – paraphrasing, so it’s time. Imagine what happens.

Yeah. Why am I not surprised. It’s intimidating, that’s for sure! Those false Heterodynes must have been terrified out of their minds, if this was the last thing they saw.

The situation seemed like it was setting up to be a fight, but no, it’s nothing of the sort. It’s rather simple. Just stick your hand in that awful face, and let it chomp on your arm. Yeah. It’s a bit...anticlimactic, but I suppose there’s no problem it’s simpler than expected. Besides, it makes sense, this is pretty much the one infallible way to ensure this is a real Heterodyne. It seems like it could be some sort of DNA test – or whatever equivalent there is in this world – judging by how it’s extracting all that blood.

Scene change, there’s Gil and the rest of the jolly band. Turns out Gil’s grand plan was talk to the Baron and hope for the best. I can say with certainly it wouldn’t have worked. His back-up plan was to drug Wulfenbach until everything was more or less okay again. Those certainly aren’t the best plans you could have made, Gil! Not that it’s an option right now, given that now they have a parade of people following them. Arriving to the hospital won’t be easy now, Wulfenbach wouldn’t even let them approach his room.

During the walk, suddenly the lampposts are set ablaze, which is unusual, it seems! Gil is startled and asks for an explanation, to which Von Mekkahn answers Agatha must have awoken something in the Castle. If the city is defending itself...then it worked! She has been recognized as a real Heterodyne! And that’s that. Problem solved? A quick glance at the number of chapters left in the volume indicates it’s not over. I didn’t read the titles, but given that there’s Zola and her backers to deal with, and Wulfenbach’s own machinations as well, there’s a lot of content left for the rest of the volume, and maybe for the next one too.

Speaking of Zola’s backers...it’s the night shift, they’re changing the people in there, and then they notice something anomalous is happening in Mechanisburg. Get away as soon as possible, everyone! They start their usual procedures when there’s fire on the ground, but a rather stuffy and antipathy-provoking man has arrived to force them all to follow his orders: no one leaves. In fact, if anyone tries to make the airship leave, they die. Now they all know who to blame in the last moments of life, I suppose.

I’m stopping here for now.

Next update: seven days