#BorrowerReynard

[rubeau-art]

Foxhole - Chapter Two

Chapter One

Chapter Two below the cut - 

FoxHole

Chapter two:

Weeks passed after the final chapter had arrived at the office, and the ladies still talked about it. But more and more their attention turned to other things. The work at hand, and the things that were happening in their lives, leaving Reynard to listen to as what little impact he had on the world slowly slipped away.

He had not been back down to the desks to write since that night. In fact he had barely left his little nest at all. Living off the few non-perishable things he had gathered, but even those meager stores were starting to run low. Sooner or later he would need to leave the false safety of the fog that swirled around his head and clung to his home in order to gather new supplies. But every part of him didn’t want to. What was the point of it all if he only existed to be forgotten?

Today his downward spiral was interrupted as his stomach growled painfully. Reynard let out a frustrated groan and flopped his arm over his middle. Looked like he would have to go sooner rather than later. With another groan, he forced himself to sit up, feeling his joints ache with every movement, telling him in no uncertain terms that lethargy did not suit him.

Going through the motions, Reynard pulled on his boots, noting that the soles were starting to wear through, then picked up his empty gathering pack and bundle of tools. Better to get this over with rather than sit  around contemplating his existence forever.

—

It was a long climb down to the kitchen, but thankfully the wires and struts within the office walls provided plenty of handholds for the tiny writer to use. He had been surprised when he arrived here just how straightforward the trip was.  Climbing back up was a more taxing endeavour,  especially with a full bag. Still, it was miles better than the last place he had lived.

The kitchen was dark. But for Reynard it was always dark. That’s what he got for living a nearly completely nocturnal life. But for the first time he could remember, the usually comforting darkness felt oppressive and heavy.

He paused at the gap in the tile behind the microwave, breathing in that darkness, feeling it stick in his throat and lungs.

“Okay… I'll admit it’s been a while."Reynard breathed. He had long ago gotten used to talking to himself, and didn’t think much of it as he set out across the bench toward the cupboards. "But it's just business as usual. You've got this."

The walk from the crack to the towering cliffs of the cupboard doors wasn’t a terribly long one, and thankfully the ladies who worked here were all clean people. His last place, he had needed to navigate an ever-shifting landscape of stains, mystery sticky patches and dishes in order to get what little food he needed. Here it was just a simple stroll. Except…

“What is that?” He whispered to himself, crossing the counter to the shape that caught the light from the microwave display.

It was a book? Thick enough to come up to his waist, Its cover was unmarked, and the whole thing beautifully bound in dark green linen. Reynard couldn’t help himself. No one was around to see him, so what did it matter if he stopped to take a peek? Besides, it was the most exciting thing to happen to him in weeks. How sad was that?

With a soft grunt of effort, he pushed the cover open. The soft thud of the cover against the counter made him jump, but when nothing happened after a moment, he pulled himself up onto the first page. What he saw made his heart stop.

Inside the cover were the words:

‘For Mr. Walker.

Wherever you are, thank you for sharing these words with us, the lucky few.

Though this volume may be the only one of its kind to ever see the light of day, it is loved more than you could ever know.’

He stared at the words for a long moment, then scrambled madly to turn the page. His tiny heart pounded in his ears as paper ruffled loudly around him. Was this… was this his book?

His question was answered, as immediately upon the next page, emblazoned across the white expanse in printed letters the size of his palm, was the title he had picked, and his name.

They had kept it? And had even gone to the effort to print and bind it! And he had thought they had forgotten all about it. Forgotten about him.

A sudden tangle of emotion engulfed him, all thoughts swept from his mind. His current goal, any fears he should have, all lost. Reynard crumpled onto the page, his chest heaving and his whole body trembling as he sobbed and laughed his heart out.

—

It was rare for someone to come into the office on the weekends, let alone stay late into the night. But on that particular Saturday, Chris had a deadline to meet and she had desperately needed to get out of the house for a while. Her neighbours were renovating upstairs at all hours and it was driving her mad.

She slumped at her desk, reading and re-reading one of the articles they were due to run on Monday, but no matter how hard she tried, her tired eyes just would not let her get a grip on it.

“Alright, this isn’t working.” She said. With a groan, she stood from the desk and stretched, feeling the tension leave her shoulders as the joints popped softly. She let her arms flop down to her sides, then picked up her empty mug and strode out of the workroom toward the kitchen. “No one can tell me off for having coffee at midnight if they never find out about it.”

Chris had just placed her hand on the doorknob when she heard a soft thud from inside the kitchen. Was she that tired that she was starting to hear things? With a sigh, she pushed open the door and flicked on the light. No point in worrying about sounds that weren’t-

Her train of thought was abruptly derailed as along with the light came a startled yelp and a tiny flurry of movement from the counter as something ducked behind the now open book she had left there the previous day.

“Okay… no more late nights after this one.” She said to herself, quickly dismissing the movement as her tired mind showing her things that were not there. And as for the book, maybe she had left it open and just forgotten about it?

—

Tucked low behind the book, Reynard curled with a hand clamped over his mouth as the other tried frantically to wipe the tears from his eyes. He hadn’t checked to see if the light was on in the other room! And now he was trapped because of such a simple mistake! Any dash he could make for cover was too open and he would be spotted in an instant, and she had already clearly seen something from the way she was talking to herself. Shit. He shouldn’t have come down, it wasn’t safe-

He jumped as the mug was set down off to his right. The vibration as the object touched the counter rumbled up through his legs and made his hair stand on end. He looked up to see the book cover close behind him, stress-gnawed fingertips dangerously close to him.

This was it. He was going to be grabbed and taken away or killed, or any of the other horrible things his parents had told him- Wait. His fearful train of thought ground to a halt.

Those huge fingers pulled away from him and he saw the thin face and round glasses he was already so familiar with. Chris wasn't like that. She was a kind soul, he'd seen it! She wouldn't hurt him! And his parents had been paranoid arseholes who had bailed on him the first chance they got!

A sudden boldness overtook Reynard and he stood, showing himself to her even though his body shook like a leaf in the wind. He was tired of being scared, of being nothing. But here, standing beside the words that marked his existence, he wanted to be seen.

He watched as the impossibly tall woman drew back from him, her eyes wide and fixed upon his little body as he stepped forward.

Whatever happened now, it was time to start living!

"Hey, Chris."

[rubeau-art]

FoxHole

Foxhole is a Darkbloom borrowerAU that has been plaguing my thoughts for months now. I figured I may as well use it for writing practice and try sharing more of my writing even if incomplete. 

I will add a link to AO3 when I finish editing the next chunk.

Chapter One under the cut- 

FoxHole 

Chapter One:

It had gotten late. Far too late for anyone to be lingering at the office. The lights were out and the doors had been locked tight. Five desks sat still and silent  in a moderately sized, immaculately decorated space, with the blinds left open wide to let in the soft residual light from the street below.

If you were to walk into the office for the first time, you would think it an inviting, friendly space. Maybe a bit less professional looking than it ought to have been, with every desk scattered with personal photos and trinkets of one form or another across it, along with a bouquet of half deflated balloons attached to one of the chairs. The remnants of a birthday the week before that the owner hadn’t the heart to remove just yet.

Reynard had always liked living above the office. Listening to the women who worked there as they spoke of their days, the projects they were working on, and whatever nonsense occupied their minds at any given time.

When he had first arrived, he had barely any idea of what they all did here. The world and works of humans had always been something out of reach and not required to be understood. Not when there were more important things for him to worry about. 

That was until he’d grown bolder and started jourying from his hiding spot over the office and down to the desks below. There he had stumbled across papers left open across the various workspaces. Drafts tossed into waste paper bins, and notes passed between the ladies that worked there detailing things he had never heard of. Strange stories, impossible events. All this writing. All these stories. They began to consume his thoughts at a rapid pace, and soon he found his life taking a turn as those little scraps of tale he found at night steered him down an enticing and dangerous path.

You might have guessed by now, Reynard was not human. Despite the fact he appeared to be in every sense, it was easy to tell given his meager stature, barely standing at four inches tall.  If you had seen a photo of him, you would simply see a young, sharp-faced man with bright red hair and piercing silver eyes and probably think ‘wow, that is an intense looking young man’. It probably wouldn’t even cross your mind to think he stood barely the width of your hand.

Well aware of his place in the world, like most small folk, Reynard had kept to himself and stayed out of sight when humans were about. But since discovering the thrill of writing, he had been emboldened.

Three months ago when he had first moved into the ceiling space over the office, he would never have dreamed of making sneaky late night trips. Not to steal from the little kitchenette in the break room, but to ‘borrow’ one of the humans laptops so he could do a little writing of his own.

And on that quiet night, writing was exactly what he was doing.

—

Pale blue light shone down from the monitor and splashed over the keyboard, illuminating Reynard’s miniscule figure as he tapped a few keys with the sole of his boot. He’d lost count of the times he had done this now, but even so, he always stopped to check how loud the sound of his typing would be before kneeling down to reach the keys with his hands. He tapped out the stolen password he had taken days to learn, a little smile dawning on his face as the desktop opened up.

The fear that the door would open behind him, that the lights would come on and he would be caught splayed out across the keyboard, unable to hide, had long since gone. No one was ever here this late. If they were, he would leave no trace he’d been there and hunker down in his little nest over their heads.

He happily spent the rest of the night tapping away on the keyboard, though constantly having to walk end to end to reach the keys was always a bit of a workout. But the effort was worth it. To create something from nothing, and then to be able to share that creation. It was as close as he would ever come to having an impact on the unreachable and dangerous world of humans, and it thrilled him to no end that, even if they never saw him, through his words they would at least remember him.

By the time the dim gray light of dawn cracked through the windows, Reynard was long gone. The story he had been working on feverishly through the midnight hours, now folded neatly in an envelope and left on the mat by the door with the rest of the mail. Waiting for the office ladies to find it. The file was gone from the computer too. Carefully deleted, so that no trace of his actions was left behind.

---

“Chris!” Lana’s voice carried through the small office as she hurried into the room, “Chris where are you? He sent us another one!” The tiny woman trotted around the office, an envelope clutched in her dainty, ring-clad hands. Circling like a mad butterfly until she skittered to a stop beside one of the desks “Oh my goodness, I can’t believe this is the last one!”

Chris looked up from her screen when she heard her name, and watched as Lana tittered about. A perfectly shaped eyebrow raised in surprise. “Have you read it yet?” She asked as she stood from her seat to take the offered envelope.

Chris was a tall woman. Tall enough to make most men feel a little inadequate in her presence. And that was without her preference for wearing a cuban heel. She wore big round glasses that gave her an owlish appearance, combined with her neat, comfortable clothes and the way she wore her pale hair up in a knot, she gave off a sort of ‘kindly librarian’ vibe.

“Psh! Of course I haven’t read it yet!”Lana pouted, feigning offense as she placed her palms on Chris’s desk. “I was hoping we could all read it together. Like we usually do.”

Over the past few months, the office had been receiving unaddressed letters. Left on the step in the mornings, each contained a chapter of an ongoing story. All they knew was that it was penned by a ‘Mr. R. Walker’, and that they were all addicted to the mystery he had been sending them.

The ladies had taken to reading the chapters out loud together over lunch whenever a new one arrived, and would talk about it around the office until the next one came in to answer the questions they had about the previous.

“The final chapter.” Chris pulled out the pages and  thumbed through them slowly. “It will be a shame to see the story end.”

“Oh, but we have to know how it ends! And who knows? Maybe he’s working on another book already? Come on, Chris. Please?” Lana whined, barely able to stand still in her excitement.

“Alright, alright. We’ll save it for lunchtime.” Chris laughed softly and set the pages down on her desk.

“Yes!” Lana beamed at her, then scurried off to tell their colleagues that the final chapter had arrived.

Chris watched her go with mild amusement. She loved how honest Lana was with her excitement. After a moment, she turned back to the article she had been editing and sighed. “The last chapter…”

They had never gotten to meet the mysterious penman in person, and their attempts to send letters back never got a response. Was Lana right? Was he working on another book? Would the letters still come after today? More stories? Or even just a simple hello? She surprised herself with how sad she was at the thought this might be over.  

After ten minutes of staring at the words on her monitor, but not actually reading a word of it, she sighed. She closed the window and pulled out a sheet of paper to begin penning a letter of her own.

---

Tucked away safely behind the roof panels, hidden amongst the dust and wires, Reynard had made his home. It was little more than a patchwork tent of stolen fabric and a bedroll of roughly quilted leather for the bottom and thin linen on top, but it was more comfortable than laying on the hard ground. The rest of his things were crammed into a worn out old backpack in desperate need of repair. It wasn’t much, but it was safe, and for the most part, spider free.

Reyard could hear everything the woman below were saying from where he lay bundled up in his blanket, their voices carrying easily through the thin internal ceiling. At lunchtime, half asleep, he rolled over to listen as they started reading his final chapter out loud.

His own words felt alien in their voices, but that was why he listened. The way his chest filled with warmth as their voices carried up to him, secret and unknown, every word of his they spoke reminded him that he was someone. That he existed. That he was not simply a tiny stowaway on the back of humanity.

“...Maybe I should start another book.” He mused to himself as the group of women below laughed at something. He didn’t want this strange relationship to end.

The thought that it might end stifled the warm feeling in his chest and he groaned quietly into his blanket before pulling it up over his head. For all his efforts, he would only ever be words on a page to the world beyond. Unable to truly interact with even the handful of people who knew he existed. They didn’t know what he was. That he was barely five feet away from them, wishing to be standing beside them. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he had others like himself to talk to, but it had been over a decade since he had seen any trace of another person like him.

He only had himself. Himself and the words he set to paper.

Reynard shut his eyes and let out a sigh weary with the weight of the world, then rolled over and tried to force himself to sleep.

---

That night, after everyone else had left and the banter about the final chapter had faded into the city streets, Chris set about locking up the building. After a quick glance around to make sure the others had all gone, she pulled her letter from her coat pocket and taped it carefully to the door. She had no way to tell if Mr Walker would come this way again, or if he had gotten the letter, but she left it for him anyway.  Just in case.

---

Reynard knew of the letter. He had looked through the crack in the tiles and seen her working on it. Though he had not known it was for him. If he had known, he would have made every effort to take it off the front door and drag it back up to his little home. But he did not. So the envelope stayed taped to the door waiting for him.