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grimmseye · 4 years

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A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Five

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: T

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual)

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, Shower Scene, Nonsexual Nudity, Touch Starvation, Dissociation

This fic now contains spoilers up to Episode 97: The Fancy and the Fooled

— — —

For a blink of the eyes, the world fell away.

The sensation of stone under his knees became cold tile. Mollymauk didn’t know how they’d gotten there, one moment in the market and the next here, but he couldn’t dwell on it. A chill was settling under his skin, offset only by the heat of his wounds, the pressure of Essek’s vice-grip on his arm.

That grip vanished as soon as he registered it. Mollymauk slumped without its support, a whine leaving his throat, panic crawling behind it. Somehow he knew what came after this, and he did not want to be alone for it. He wasn’t the first time, he wasn’t the second, but the third was cold and e m p t y and

He was on the ground, now, panting. Black dots flickered in his vision. He saw the hem of Essek’s clothing dragging along the floor, saw a line of red that streaked from where he laid to where Essek stood. There was a rattling, something fell to the floor and clattered and rolled. The image doubled and then blurred beyond recognition.

And then he was upright, and the rush of it nearly made him vomit. Something was pressed to his lips, Essek’s voice in his ear, rough and breathless. He couldn’t respond, eyes rolling in his skull. There was something he was supposed to do. Something important, something easy, but his brain wouldn’t keep up.

A snarl sounded, making him flinch as Essek seized his jaw and squeezed. Molly’s teeth parted, and a bitter flavor drenched his tongue. He gagged, and a hand clasped tight over his mouth before he could spit it out. He retched, air and liquid expelling between Essek’s fingers but not fast enough. So Molly swallowed.

Essek let go to wrap his arm around Molly’s side instead, keeping him upright as he choked. It dissolved into heaving breaths, all his weight leaned into Essek. He didn’t get a chance to catch his breath before Essek pulled him along, Molly staggering with each step.

The drink — the potion, he realized — had been thick and lacked temperature, but now he could feel a warming sensation spreading from his belly and chasing away the ice under his skin. His wounds crawled and then cooled, the labored beating of his heart eased. By the time Essek lowered him into a seat, Mollymauk’s head had stopped spinning.

He blinked, eyes refocusing as Essek knelt down in front of him. The drow was a mess: his hair stuck out of place, his clothes were torn and sopped with blood. His hands, too, were slick with it, skin drenched red with what was probably Molly’s own blood.

And he was speaking, lips moving and brow furrowed. Molly only caught the tail end of a question, forgetting the words a second later. His mouth opened, tongue rolling out over his lips and not even wincing when he tasted iron.

“We just took a bath,” was what Mollymauk said.

The dumbfounded look on Essek’s face made him giggle, a high-pitched noise that began to slip to hysterics.

“Did you hit your head?” Essek started, only for Molly to laugh harder.

“Maybe,” he wheezed, “because I have no idea how we got here .” He nearly hit Essek in the head as he gesticulated about the room. It was all white tile, an opaque glass door on each side of the room. Circles of runes were etched and painted into the wall, and the floor had a shallow slant to a drain in its middle, letting the blood ooze down. “I think I blacked out on the way.”

“Ah,” Essek said. “No, that would be the teleportation. If we had traveled any other way, you would have expired long before we got any help.”

He reached up, pushing Mollymauk’s coat from his shoulders. Molly let it fall.

“This room functions as an emergency shower,” Essek continued. “You should get cleaned up.”

“What about you?” Molly asked, the words slurring together. He went to lift his shirt over his head, hissed as the muscles pulled at a wound. The potion had stopped his bleeding, and was clearing his head, but the damage remained.

“I can wait.” Essek’s hand shifted towards him, then paused and drew back again.

“That’s…” He failed to find a good word. “Dumb. What you said was really dumb.” Realizing what he’d been doing, Molly gave him a defeated smile and asked, “Mind helping me outta this?”

Elven ears were fun, he noted. They twitched, folding closer to the sides of Essek’s head, where his hair was buzzed short. Did the stubble tickle his ears when he was surprised? Or was that not surprise but something else — acknowledgement, maybe even interest? Probably not, but Molly could dream.

Essek cleared his throat and stood. His feet were on the ground, Molly noted. He himself was startled when Essek did lean in, head tilting up automatically, eyes finding lips before the pale pupils that didn’t meet his gaze. Essek’s hands were warm, brushing his sides as he took the hem of Molly’s shirt and lifted. Molly raised his arms, practically holding his breath as Essek slid his shirt over his head, feeling the slow draw of fingers over his skin, tracing a burning line up his ribs before the material was lifted over his head and away.

“Is that why you wear such wide collars?” Essek asked.

Molly blinked, looking up at him. His ears felt hot. “Uh — huh?”

“Your horns.” Again, Essek looked like he was going to touch one, but pulled back a moment later. “A shirt with a tight collar wouldn’t fit around them.”

“Oh, yeah. No, if it’s got a tight collar it needs buttons. Your tailor friend made note of that, no worries there.” Molly stood as well. Even with Essek touching the floor, Molly was only at eye level with his throat. It wasn’t a terrible angle, looking up at him. And with Essek looking down — a grin toyed at his lips. “Do you pay attention to the cut of my shirt?”

Essek only sighed. Molly watched the swell of his chest, the slump of his shoulders. He didn’t know a lot about anything, not about the world he’d been tossed in, not about the people he was chasing, not even about himself. But he knew things he liked, he knew what was good. Making people smile was good. People were good. And there were a few different ways to enjoy people, and at least one of them involved pressing his mouth up to Essek’s neck and feeling that sigh against his lips.

Bloodloss did funny things to his brain, it turned out. Molly swallowed, dragged his gaze up to find Essek staring back at him. Essek wasn’t shy, nor bold. He couldn’t pin Essek down as much of anything, and that was as disconcerting as it was intriguing. It made Molly want to put his hands everywhere they didn’t belong, search until he could find the chink in the armor and peel it away, piece by piece. What did Essek look like when he wasn’t wearing a mask? He would also settle for learning what he looked like when he wasn’t wearing clothes. Wishful thinking, again.

“We got off topic,” Molly drawled. “Get undressed. We’ll just shower together, this is a big room. Why do you even have a room like this?”

“Arcane materials are dangerous,” Essek said, voice clipped. “If an experimental potion begins eating through your flesh, you’ll want to wash it off expediently.”

“Fair enough.” He snorted. “You could afford to make it look nice, at least! If you’re going to have a giant shower you might as well lean into the luxury and live a little.”

“I have my own casual bathing facilities,” Essek sighed. And that was a treat if Molly had ever heard one. Essek had been holding out on him.

Molly took a step forward, intending to hunt for whatever mechanism turned the water on. Instead his knees buckled. Essek threw an arm around him, Molly clinging to keep his balance. He wheezed out a breath, laughing, “I may — shit, I may actually need your help just to shower. I swear this isn’t a ploy.”

“I didn’t think it was until you said that. Can you stand?”

“I’ll find out.”

“Sit on the ground if you must.”

That was what Molly did, sitting on the cool tile and wriggling out of his pants, tossing his remaining garments aside. Undressed, his body was a mess of scabs and dry blood. More scars to add to his collection, but at least he had the story for these ones.

He watched Essek approach one of the doors, touching a crystal embedded in the nearby wall. Where the rune circles were carved into tile, streams of water began to pour down. “Tell me when the temperature is comfortable,” Essek called.

Molly stuck a hand under the water, feeling it slowly warm. He waited until it was just on the edge of too hot to say, “Good!”

He scooted himself under the stream, finding a pleasant pressure behind the water. It ran a rusty brown, blood chipping away from his skin and running down the drain. Essek was shuffling out of his clothes where he stood, and Molly averted his gaze. He wouldn’t step further than he was allowed, and try as he might, he couldn’t get a beat off of Essek.

It surprised him to find Essek approaching. He had a towel in hand, sat down beside Molly and lifted it in an offer. When he nodded, Essek began to draw the towel over his skin, delicate passes of soft material.

Too delicate, really. It made shivers wrack along his spine, his chest feeling too tight for his lungs. If this were just for some heavy petting, he’d be happy to lean into it and purr, but that wasn’t the case. “You don’t like touching people much, do you?” Molly drawled, letting his eyelids droop.

The motion paused. “I don’t dislike it.”

“Then put a fuckin’ hand on me. I won’t bite unless you want me to, and you’re not getting anywhere treating me like those fancy plates you’ve got.”

More readily than he’d expected, a hand clasped on his uninjured shoulder. His skin buzzed under Essek’s touch, the drag of the towel growing more firm, making him hiss through his teeth. He tried to focus on the hand over the pain, how it slid down to lift his arm, how the pads of his fingers weighed on the back of his neck as Essek examined a ragged bite.

When it was done, and Essek pulled away, he mourned the loss. “You want me to get yours?” Molly offered, catching Essek’s gaze in the corner of his own. “At least the ones you can’t reach.”

He watched Essek weigh that in his mind. Something about the way he calculated things in his silence pinged a memory, someone else who was stuck in his own head, curled in on himself rather than open up to the world. The memory was there, in his grasp, and then it was gone.

“That’s reasonable,” Essek murmured at last. Molly watched the stains on the towel clean themselves before Essek handed it over, and turned so his back was to Molly. And again there was that thought of just bending down and kissing the skin where the water ran over his shoulder blade, and maybe parting his lips and seeing if Essek would like him to bite after all.

Then he set his hand at Essek’s unmarked hip, and he watched his shoulders jump and the breath freeze in his chest.

“You alright, there?” Mollymauk checked, not removing his hand but ready to.

“Fine,” Essek said, in that clipped voice again. So Molly began to wash the dry blood from his skin, abandoning the towel nearly at once to just work with his hands. It ran down Essek’s leg, and he murmured a soft ‘ excuse me’ as his fingers drew down to the back of his thigh, working quickly and brusquely to return to a spot that Essek’s arm had hidden.

Hands came up into his hair, where flecks of dry blood stood out against white. Essek made a noise, then, the muscles of his back winding tight but head seeming to tilt into his touch. The sound replayed in Molly’s head as he teased his fingers over locks of hair, dragged nails along stubble. Short and throaty, shaking into a sigh — it was a good sound.

He was massaging his thumb along the crease of a rib when he realized Essek was shaking. His breaths sucked in too quick and too deep, shuddering on the exhale. Molly’s hand froze in place. “Are you —”

“I am fine, Mollymauk.” The words were jagged things, broken and sharp. Essek yanked away, clambering to his feet. “I will take care of the rest myself, thank you. There are towels through there.” He pointed, hand quivering, to the first door in the room.

Mollymauk was silent as he stood and took his leave.

Towels were located in a cabinet as promised, alongside too-long robes. When Essek emerged, Mollymauk had donned one, black material bound around the waist, hanging open in the front. The drow did not so much as meet his eyes, the towel they’d used now clean and dry and wrapped around his hips for modesty.

Molly caught Essek’s movements in the edge of his vision. They were jerky and rough, reminded him of something — of a construct of metal and blades, of a prison and children in need and friends, one was an orphan like these children and one was like him and one was like Essek and there was a child with seven voices and black feathers and a knife in one hand and Welcome to the —

“Mollymauk.”

He nearly flinched, but held himself steady. Essek had already moved to the other door, levitating now in a robe that fell to the floor, covering himself completely. When he was bare, when skin was on skin with no layers in between, he shook and he cracked like glass struck so many times.

Molly followed without a word.

Essek made himself scarce, after. The day passed, and morning rose. No elven mage was there to literally hover over Molly’s shoulder, nor to show him about the city nor treat him to a day at the spa nor even cook breakfast.

That last number was just fine in Molly’s book. Essek’s cooking implied he usually didn’t cook in the first place.

The house — though it was more of a tower, round and tall instead of a box — was large and stunningly empty for something so elaborately furnished. Of half a dozen bedrooms, only Molly’s saw use. Without Essek around, he had an entire vacant home to snoop through.

The first hour was dedicated to finding the most comfortable couch in the building and the one after that to lounging on it naked. Fifteen minutes following that was the hunt for Essek’s bedroom, another five scrounging around for some hairpins, and then longer than he cared to admit spent on his knees trying to pick the lock before he realized it was magically sealed.

“Fucking wizards,” he growled, and left it at that.

Lunch was burning the most expensive cut of meat he found in the kitchen and then spotting a basket of strawberries for dessert. He wandered the house with sticky fingers, scanning over bookshelves and pulling one title off before realizing he didn’t care much for reading. A study yielded good, thick paper and pencils and pens that Molly scooped up to carry to the dining room table, uncertain what his hands wanted to do with them but willing to find out.

An image of a raven etched itself onto the page. It was crude, abstracted. Turned one way, the bird was falling, feet scraping the air to catch the branch that snapped under its weight. Turned the other, it ascended.

Death, he scratched on one end. Then he spun it around and wrote atop the other: Revival.

The raven had too many eyes. A sick feeling rose in his throat and he crumpled the page in a hand.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, hand locked around paper, staring into the table. When his mind returned to him, the clock on the wall sat at a different angle. His skin felt like cotton, sand filled his head. It weighed too heavily to the side, feeling that if he let it droop too far his insides would come dripping out his ear.

Molly slouched in his chair, realizing distantly that his muscles ached.

What was he doing?

He should stand up.

Mollymauk stared at the paper. He should stand up, he told himself. That wasn’t working. He should move his leg, then. It didn’t move. His head tipped just faintly, making his brains swim in his skull. He could hear his vertebrae creak with the motion. A finger, next, the knuckles smoothing out, index finger flexing. Middle, ring, pinky, and thumb followed, and he found himself able to let the paper go, to push himself mechanically away from the table, walk five paces and sink to the ground there.

He laid there, and then he started shaking, and then he started sobbing.

He didn’t know why he was sobbing. The tears poured off his nose and the breaths left his chest quicker than they came, until he was dizzy and shaking and wheezing into the rug. He couldn’t feel his own skin, he was empty inside, he was empty, he was — he was —

And then his breath was steady again and he was just lying still, wracked with sudden bouts of tremors for a stretch of uncounted time, until the tremors became less frequent and stopped altogether and his body went lax again.

Eventually, he would stand, and the clock had inched even further along.

Molly moved back into the kitchen, craving stew and not knowing why. Something about the idea felt like being surrounded by friendly faces. They didn’t have enough but they made do with what they had. That’s what he told her , the big one, his favorite, his heart.

Faces poured into his mind, faces and feelings, colors and music and days rolling by.

Stew was a meal meant to be shared, so when he thought it was almost done, Molly went to find Essek.

A set of three towers made up Essek’s property, surrounded by a garden Molly knew he didn’t tend to himself. There was a plot of loose earth hidden behind the tower that made up Essek’s actual living space, the shortest of the trio. All three towers were connected by bridges.

Mollymauk paused halfway across one walkway, the cold night air sweeping through his coat. He leaned over its edge, elbows braced on the thin rail to gaze out at the city sprawling around them. In the distance, he could see that house, the one with the glittering tree, the place he’d blindly crawled to and found empty.

The clouds opened up at night, here, allowing the moon’s glow to bathe the rooftops, the stars matching Rosohna’s lights.

His ear twitched at the sound of a door opening. He turned, seeing Essek drifting from the tallest tower, the one Molly had been approaching. As the drow locked the door with an arcane word, he turned his head, pausing when their gazes met.

Molly gave a smile, a faint wave. His voice felt stuck in his throat.

“Mollymauk,” Essek observed. He moved across the bridge, coming to hover a few feet from Molly’s side. His eyes seemed to catch the moonlight, pupils glinting white. “What are you doing here?”

It took a conscious effort to form words. “Made dinner. Have y’eaten?” He had to clip his own voice, wincing at how unnatural it sounded, like he grated each sound between his teeth before letting it out.

“... Not yet, no,” Essek said, meaning he’d likely skipped lunch and breakfast, too. Molly just gave a chuckle, raspy, and swatted his leg with his tail. He reached for Essek’s arm — wanting contact, needing to ground himself — to pull him back to the first tower.

He leaned into Essek, walking slowly to drag out the time he could spend close to another person. The material of Essek’s mantle was surprisingly comfortable, like silk. Molly would happily nuzzle a cheek into it if he didn’t know that would be crossing a line. If he could get skin contact right now, that would be worth the world. But Essek wasn’t offering a hand, he was letting Molly cling to his arm, indulging whatever he thought this was.

As they passed back into the first tower, the scent of cooking meat and spices filled the air. Essek’s stomach rumbled on cue, and Molly laughed. “Glad to have me now, aren’t ya?” He rasped.

Essek gave him a single laugh. It was better than nothing, he thought, until Essek turned that calculating gaze on him. “Did something happen?”

Molly made a vague noise, finally letting go of Essek to move into the kitchen. “Get some bowls down for me, would ya? You keep them in the worst place.”

Essek let the question drop. Molly took each bowl from a mage hand, filling each one nearly to the brim. Everything was cut in thick chunks, beef and vegetables in a rich gravy. He stuck a slice of bread in each and passed a bowl to Essek on his way to the table. It wasn’t pretty, but it was everything a meal needed to be: hot and filling and delicious.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Essek said, as he sat across from Mollymauk.

“Turns out I lived with a carnival,” Molly shrugged. “Learned that today.” Essek looked like he was going to dismiss the comment, and then gazed at Molly for a bit and seemed to concede. Molly snickered, then said, “Anyway, things like this are easy to make and can fill a lot of bellies. And when you have spices like what’s in your cabinet, it’s better than the ten-gold meals down the street.”

He watched, chin in his hands, as Essek gave his bowl a dubious look. “It does smell good,” he said, picking up his spoon and lifting it to his mouth. The ears and eyebrows went up, and before he was even done chewing Essek had another spoonful.

“Y’see?” Molly grinned. “I’m a pleasure to have.”

Essek only smiled down at his bowl. It was a good look on him.

They ate in a comfortable silence, broken only for Molly to tease Essek about the dainty way he ate his bread, for Essek to scrunch his nose at him when Molly licked his fingers instead of using a napkin. He got gravy on them on purpose after that, just to watch Essek’s displeasure as he licked them clean. He had to wonder if there wasn’t an interest in the fork of his tongue.

“You are repulsive right now,” Essek stated.

Molly clutched his chest in mock pain. “Oh! How could you say that.” He leaned an elbow on the table, grinning as he said, “And why don’t you just use your mage hand, huh? Then you never have to get so much as a spot on your beautiful hands.” He paused in his heckling, then gave a delighted grin. “That started as a joke but I actually need to see this, now.”

“See what?” Essek tore a small piece of bread and dipped it ever so slightly into his bowl, maintaining eye contact as he lifted it to his mouth. His fingers didn’t touch so much as his own lips, and Molly made an affronted noise.

“If you won’t get your hands dirty, use your magic hand.” Molly wagged his own hand at him. “The thing you got the bowls with.”

“Why would I do that.” Essek’s voice was flat.

The answer was easy: “To prove you can.”

He knew he’d won, at that point. Essek sighed, lifting his hands as though in surrender. A swirl of purple magic formed into a third, spectral hand, and Molly rapped his hooves on the ground in anticipation.

“This is inane,” Essek sighed.

“This is entertainment,” Molly corrected.

They both watched as the hand tore a chunk of bread, dipped it in the stew. When the hand lifted up to Essek’s face, looming closer to his half-open mouth — Essek’s will broke. His face pinched, a breathy sound hissing from his lips before he turned his head away. He laughed through his nose, eyes shut and lips spread around a smile, a series of quick exhalations as his shoulders shook.

“You can’t!” Molly crowed, smacking a palm on the table. The hand dissipated as Essek sputtered, covering his face with his own hand. “You call yourself a wizard!”

“What was the point of that,” Essek rattled out, losing the fight to hide his smile.

“Purely for my enjoyment.” His cheeks hurt, he was smiling far too broadly. There was something genuine at last, and it was a smile and laughter and the red tinge to the tips of Essek’s ears. Watching him fight to gather his composure felt like he’d finally gotten a peek under the mask.

He didn’t even care when he was caught staring, Essek spotting him with his chin propped on his knuckles and a smile on his face. For a long moment, they were both just smiling at one another, the warmth of laughter softening the air.

Then Molly asked, “Why are you doing this, anyway?”

Essek’s smile waned at the question. He finally seemed to pull himself in order, straightening up in his chair. “What are you referring to?”

“Just. This.” He gestured about, and then to himself. “Me. Keeping me in your house, getting mauled, dumping your potions on me. No offense, my friend, but I know you’re not just a charitable soul.” He recalled the bodies pulled into Essek’s magic, crumpled and broken, killed by the man sitting across from him without an ounce of remorse.

Essek inhaled slowly, as Mollymauk picked up his own bowl and walked to the sink. “That would be an… accurate assessment,” he said, and fell silent. When Molly had washed and dried the bowl, and was setting it on the counter, Essek spoke again.

“I owe the Mighty Nein a great deal,” he said. Molly turned, and found him hunched over the table. He gave a breathy laugh, said, “Technically, they owe me quite a few favors. But I do not think I will ever claim them. Not how I originally intended to.”

The silence stretched, and then Essek shook his head, a slow and delayed motion. “In any case. They are… my friends. I care for them. And with the weight of what I owe them, returning someone that they love to their sides feels like I may finally be able to alleviate some of that weight.”

He lifted his head, giving Molly a thin, somber smile. “So, no, I am not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I am simply, blindly hoping to weigh the scales in my favor. I apologize for that.”

And to his credit, there was a flash of guilt.

Molly only shrugged, giving him an easy smile. “Listen. My carnival memories are still fuzzy as a lamb, but from what I can make out… you find your family, and you live and die for those people. The rest are just… the rest.” He holds up a finger, adds, “And that doesn’t mean you get to go fuckin’ everyone over along the way. Everything I did, I was doing for those people and for myself. I’ve lied and I’ve cheated and I’ve cut a few throats when I needed to. But I tried to at least put a smile on the faces of the saps I was scamming.”

He walked to Essek, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Kindness is kindness. As long as you’re not gonna stab me at the end of this, I can appreciate that.”

Essek was still and quiet under his hand. His head bowed low. Molly ran his fingers through short, white hair. He nearly leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head before he pulled away.

“Mollymauk.”

He paused half in the doorway, looking over his shoulder to where Essek had spun in his chair, gazing back at him. “Yeah?”

Essek pulled in a breath. Let it out, slouching into the back of the chair. “Just… goodnight, Mollymauk.”

A smile graced his lips. “Goodnight, Mister Thelyss.”

#shadowmauk #mollymauk tealeaf #essek thelyss #mollymauk #essek #cr #cr fic #my writing #a bird in the hand

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ladyatthecrossroads · 5 years

Note

*pulling up to the best drive thru ever* Can I get uh number 18 from the super sappy lines prompt list with reader saying that to Mollymauk?

Anonymous said:

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” (18 from the sappy romance prompt list) with mollymauk and a gender neutral reader ? love your writing btw ! 💕💕

Thank you for the requests, anons! I hope you enjoy this!

As a note, I didn’t originally intend for this to turn into a post about body positivity, but here we are. also I’m bad at titling things…

Title: BeautifulWord Count: 1,640Pairing: Mollymauk x gender-neutral!reader

“Hey, do you wanna come hang with us in our room?” You turn your head at the sound of Beau’s voice, pausing mid-stride in the upper hall of the Pillow Trove. It’s a good thing you do, because you most certainly would have tripped over Fjord, who you now notice is just getting up from sitting in the same hallway outside the rooms you have all rented. Lost in thought as you had been, you didn’t even notice him until just now. But Beau is looking at you with something that is half-expectation and half-dead-pan. She shrugs one shoulder. “‘S just an offer. Y’know, ‘cause Molly…”

As she drags out the tiefling’s name, you can hear a very audible string of laughter and giggles emanating from Fjord and Molly’s room. You blanch. Dear Gods, he wasn’t joking, you realize and give the monk a nod, following Fjord into the room.

Jester is cross-legged on the bed, clutching a luxurious silken pillow and twiddling her fingers at you and Fjord; mainly Fjord. He looks so out of place, his green skin taking on an unusually warm tone. The both of you take a seat wherever available in the lavish suite.

Conversation ensues. You’re honestly impressed; this place is much nicer than any of your previous stays, so far out of all of your price ranges combined, that it feels entirely surreal that you were even here. The hour grows later, not that you take much notice of the passing of time. Sometimes it was good to just sit and talk nonsense with your crew.

That’s when he bursts into the room, lavender skin and tattoos bared to the world, his tapestry of the Platinum Dragon draped over him to give him some modicum of modesty. Mollymauk carries a half-eaten plate of fruit piled with fresh grapes and berries and you think you even spy a cut pomegranate. His jewelry twinkles in the dim candlelight and he has a glow about him that suggests his massage was very nice, indeed.

“I am your god!” he exclaims, ever the drama queen, “Long may I reign. Eat of my fruit.” The rings on his fingers sparkle as he extends the plate before him to share his delectables.

You notice Fjord running his palm over his face, obviously still uncomfortable by this display. As for you, you could feel your own face growing hot. That tapestry really left little to the imagination.

Mollymauk was quite a specimen. You had never known anyone so rich in flavor and flair, flamboyant and vibrant as the peacock tattoo embellishing his skin. Truth be told, despite his often ostentatious mannerisms and insatiable appetite for flirty remarks, you really had grown to like the blood hunter. Quite a lot, actually.

Sanguine eyes rove over your face and catch your stare. He gives a saucy wink and you avert your gaze, unable to keep the heat from growing on your face. You feel a sudden need for some refreshment to cool off. “Drink it all in, love,” he purrs, arms extending to put himself on display, “I am here for your entertainment.”

“Sounds like you had quite a night,” Beau comments, dryly, unfazed by the tiefling’s posturing.

Molly crosses the room to set the fruit bowl upon a table; you snatch a half of the pomegranate in passing, absently picking at the ruby arils. He places a hand upon his chest and takes a satisfied breath. “Never underestimate the power of a good massage and the company of beautiful people. You never know what you’ll learn.”

“I learned I may need to rethink my choice of roommate,” Fjord groans to himself. Molly chuckles under his breath.

“That must have been some massage,” you add, waving a hand in his direction and doing your utmost best to tame your slowly spiraling thoughts. “You’re practically glowing.”

He flexes and you get to watch the lean muscles of his back ripple in response. “Honestly, it’s the most relaxed I’ve felt in a very long time.” He cranes his neck to look at you again. “You should give it a try sometime. I’ll try anything once; that’s my philosophy.”

You let your eyes focus somewhere over his shoulder, nodding your head in consideration as he turns back to Beau and Jester. You sneak another glance his way, entirely too tempted by the long path of skin he’s revealing. Every now and then, the tapestry sways, giving you a lovely little glimpse of his tail and buttocks before shifting back into place.

But then your eyes take in the faded pink lines crisscrossing all up and down the back of his neck and arms, a road map of scars both self-inflicted and otherwise. Some cut through the various ink designs while others seem much more healed over. He doesn’t seem all that bothered to put them out there for you all to see, but that was Mollymauk for you.

You return to the present at the sound of your name being repeated and you blink to focus yourself in. “Hm??”

Molly is staring back at you, deep pools of crimson watching you, closely. He tilts his head, a mildly amused smile softening his features. “I said, I feel like a walk.” The tiefling extends a clawed, lilac hand towards you. “Care to join me?”

You cock an eyebrow in his direction, your mind made up for you before you manage get the remark out. “That depends. Do you plan on actually getting dressed or is public indecency one of your kinks?” You slide to your feet, already prepared to follow wherever he leads you.

He throws his head back and laughs, clasping you on the shoulder as the both of you make your way from the room. “What would you know about my kinks?” he teases.

Behind you, you can barely hear Fjord’s audible sigh of what sounds like relief, as well as Beau’s warning against staying up too late and Jester’s cheerful jeer of, “Goodbye Y/N, bye Molly, have fun!”

Molly’s arm drapes across your shoulder as the two of you stroll casually down the halls of the Pillow Trove, as though one of you isn’t clad in only a gaudy blue and silver tapestry. Occasionally, his hip sways into yours, and you find yourself thinking perhaps it’s not merely by coincidence. He turns, warm breath brushing over your cheek, a hint of the scent of sweet wine reaching your senses, as he leans in to whisper to you. “You know, normally I would say it’s terribly impolite to stare.”

So, he had caught you, after all. Fiddling with the pomegranate half still in your hands, you smile at the ground. “Yes, but you say that as though you don’t enjoy being the center of attention.”

“Point taken,” he says, and you can feel the press of his skin against yours, warm, strong, reassuring. His thumb rubs circles into the flesh of your shoulder in an almost soothing manner. He’s quiet for a moment before speaking up once again, this time in a more serious, softer tone. “Do my scars bother you?”

This is a turn in the conversation you weren’t expecting. So much so that you pause mid-stride and turn to face him, brow furrowed in confusion. “What in the world gave you that impression?”

He stops, turning to face you, and for once you see an expression appear on Molly’s face that you have never before seen. He’s almost bashful, a hand reaching to rub at the back of his head, blood red eyes now avoiding your gaze. His cheerful demeanor is gone, replaced with an oddly insecure look that makes something inside of you ache. “Well, I don’t know, you had this look on your face that just made me think maybe you were disgusted by them.”

“Disgusted?” You cannot help the shock from dropping your jaw right open, gawking at him. “Molly… Molly, look at me.” He does so. “Are you ashamed of your scars?”

“Not really, no…”

“Why would you ever think I would think less of you because of them?” You shake your head and close the distance between the two of you, taking one of his hands in yours and extending it. There’s so many faded wounds all along his forearms, testaments of battles past. “We all have our scars, but that doesn’t define us. Your scars are a part of you, but that doesn’t mean that’s all you are.” You trace patterns into his palm, mimicking something he’s done before with you, though you’re no palm reader, could tell no future from past. You only see the present. You only see Mollymauk.

He tilts his head and gives the faintest smile, and it’s all you need to know he’s at least reassured. “That’s very insightful of you.”

You shrug one shoulder. “Glad to know you value my opinion,” you admit, starting when his fingers close over yours.

“I always have,” he’s quick to reply. The way he stares at you warms you and brings many more questions to your mind, questions that maybe you’re not quite ready to ask while he’s barely clothed.

Pulling back after a moment, you hike your thumb over your shoulder back towards where the both of you had come from. “Well, I guess I should head back. It’s pretty late.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Alright, well… Night, Molly.” Turning, you pause at your door, weighing your words before you speak, daring yourself to say what’s on your mind before you completely lose your nerve. When you glance up, he’s still staring at you from across the hall. “For the record… You could never disgust me. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Sanguine eyes widen at this admission, but before he can respond, you’ve returned to your room and shut the door.

#critical role x reader #critical role #mollymauk x reader #mollymauk tealeaf x reader #mollymauk tealeaf #x reader

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mnemememory · 5 years

Text

better to scream

yasha is too tired for this shit.

pacific rim fusion au part 2 of 2 (part 1)

Yasha doesn’t hear about it until later. Much later.

She wakes up in the infirmary with Jester’s anxious hands fluttering between Yasha’s collarbone and her temple. She looks far worse for ware than the last time Yasha had seen her, with bruises running down the side of her face and along her throat. She’s hidden as much of it as she can with long sleeves and blue-tinged concealer, but it doesn’t really help.

“Yasha,” Jester says, when Yasha opens her eyes. “You’re awake!”

Everything hurts.

“How – how much do you remember?”

Everything hurts.

This is what Yasha remembers: Beau panicking on the coms. “There’s something wrong with Jester and Fjord!” she’s saying, but it’s far away and fuzzy. Yasha blinks. Molly is next to her, out of his harness and shaking her arm, but he can’t be real. Yasha is dreaming.

“Yasha is –” he’s saying, and then. Nothing.

Yasha’s tongue feels thick and dry in her mouth. She tries to swallow down her spit, but her throat screams in protest and starts coughing instead.

“Oh, Yasha! Here is some water – I should go and get a nurse –”

Yasha accepts the straw with exhausted gratefulness. She tries to sit up, but her ribs buckle at the sudden movement and she falls back to the bed with a silent scream. The water sloshes out of the cup and across her shirt, and she somehow manages to stab herself with the straw.

Yasha tries to speak, but she has to clear her throat a few times to get the words out. Despite looking around nervously for a medical professional, Jester doesn’t seem too inclined to actually leave the room, but Yasha anchors her to the bed with a hand to her wrist anyway.

“Molly,” she spits out, and starts coughing again.

Jester blanches grey.

“Where,” Yasha says.

Jester rips her hand away. There are red welts against her skin from where Yasha has pressed her nails in a little too deeply. They’re going to bruise. Yasha feels sick.

“I need to get Beau,” Jester says, rushing unsteadily to her feet and tripping drunkenly to the door. From the look of it, she isn’t in much state to walk, let along run anywhere.

Yasha rolls onto her side, heedless of the pain, and vomits noisily onto the floor.

“I changed my mind,” Yasha says, walking as briskly as the ghost-ache in her ribs will let her. “I’m not doing this.”

Caduceus follows her at a more sedate pace, looking not the least bit perturbed at the thought of her going. This only fuels Yasha’s greater desire to just up and leave. That’s the only thing she’s proven consistently good at, so why mess with a thing that works? Yasha is going to leave, and the world is going to burn, and it won’t matter anymore because even without getting back into Necrotic Shroud Yasha is as good as dead anyway.

“You chased the RABIT,” Caduceus says. “But it won’t happen again. You’re trained against it.”

“It shouldn’t have happened in the first place!” Yasha says. She doesn’t really know where she’s going, only that she needs to get as far away from Caduceus Clay as she possibly can. She feels gross. There’s a layer of grime under her skin that she can’t scrub away no matter how hard she tries. Everything about Yasha is rotten.

“I don’t think –”

“No, I obviously haven’t been thinking,” Yasha says. “This is a terrible idea. I’m not nearly emotionally stable enough for this shit –”

Someone clears their throat from behind her.

Yasha turns around, teeth bared, growl building low in her throat. “What?”

The person she confronts barely reaches up to her waist, with dyed-green hair bright enough to match with Jester and chipped, uneven teeth. She gives a small squeak and jumps back when Yasha turns to look at her, behind a taller man with a scraggly beard and bloodshot eyes. There is a tattoo of a Bengal cat done prominently across his throat.

“Good afternoon,” he says through heavy Zemnian accent. The small woman bares her teeth.

Yasha jerks back, caught between here-and-now and there-and-then. She forces her breathing to even out.

“You knew Molly.”

The man blinks, slowly. “Caleb Widogast,” he says, giving a small bow. “Science and Research Division. This is my co-worker, Veth.”

“Nott,” the woman corrects. At Yasha’s blank look, Nott-not-Veth rolls her eyes. “Only Caleb calls me Veth. My name is Nott.”

“Okay,” Yasha says. Her eyes keep flickering back to Caleb. There is something horribly familiar about his face.

He takes pity on her. “Mollymauk and I were roommates, the first year in the Academy,” he says. “I…dropped out to pursue knowledge, but he continued on to be a pilot.”

“Do you know what happened to him?” Yasha says. She can’t quite see straight. Her voice sounds distant, muted.

“I know enough,” Caleb says, and doesn’t clarify.

Nott clears her throat. “If you’ll excuse us, we have to go and give the Marshall our reports –”

“Of course.” Caleb shakes his head. He gives Yasha a polite smile, and then turns to Caduceus to give him a broader one. “I’m sure you two will work out your differences.”

I wouldn’t bet on it, Yasha doesn’t say. She’s very good at holding her tongue.

Caleb re-straightens his armful of papers. “If you ever feel like talking about him –”

He leaves the sentence open-ended. Yasha’s stomach squirms uncomfortably.

Nott does her a favour and whacks Caleb in the arm. “We’re understaffed and out of budget,” she says. “If you want to come down to help, feel free, but if it’s just to lie around drinking you’re going to have to find another person. Caleb here is too important to take too much time off work –”

“Yes, thank you, Nott,” Caleb says, hurrying them both past. There’s an embarrassed tinge of red to his cheeks that has Yasha, despite herself, suppressing a smile.

Caduceus is nice enough to be silent on their walk back to her room. It’s when he doesn’t leave that Yasha starts feeling the first real prickles of panic start to set in.

“Go away,” she says. “I think we’ve established that this isn’t going to work.”

Caduceus takes two deliberate steps out into the hallway and then sits down on the ground, leaning his back against the wall. Yasha stares at him in disbelief. It’s cold enough that her joints are aching, the lack of electricity and functional air-conditioning only further hampered by the fact that the whole building is made out of cold metal.

“You can’t be serious,” she says.

Caduceus shrugs and takes a small thermos out of one of his absurdly large pockets. He takes a small sip and sighs appreciatively.

“Would you like some tea?” he says.

Yasha slams the door closed.

Jester is alone, which is why Yasha goes to her.

She’s sitting curled tight in a corner, as out of the way as possible while still technically being in the main building. She’s shaking. Her fingers are clenched hard into her forearms, nails digging deep enough to leave bruises. Yasha doesn’t know where Fjord or Beau are, but she hasn’t seen them since yesterday. She doesn’t even know where they sleep. She used to know, once upon a time.

“Hey,” she says, leaning heavily against the wall and dropping to the ground next to her. Jester gives a hiccupping laugh and leans into her shoulder.

“Please don’t ask me why I’m upset,” she says.

“Okay,” Yasha says.

Jester manages a smile. Then she presses her face against Yasha’s jacket and starts to cry.

The alarm, when it sounds, is loud and familiar.

Yasha is up out of her bed and reaching for a uniform that doesn’t exist before she even processes it. She stumbles, cursing, out into the hallway and almost trips on Caduceus.

“What’s going on?” she says.

Caduceus just grabs onto her wrist and starts running.

The control room is a study in chaos. Yasha and Caduceus are collectively too large to dodge the people swarming around like rats in a sewer, so they carve out a path straight to where Shakaste and a tall, thinly androgynous figure is sitting in front of three screens. Every reflective surface is blaring red-and-white, doing nothing to dampen the impending panic.

“Bryce,” Yasha says, when she gets close enough.

Bryce looks up with a brief, strained smile. “Yasha. It would be good to see you, under different circumstances.”

Shakaste is talking to the gathered crowd. “Two signatures,” he says, and Yasha’s world goes white.

She barely hears the rest of the briefing. “Both Category 4’s. Codenames: Serissa and Catagan. They’ll reach the coast within the hour.”

Yasha looks out the window, into the hanger bay. Necrotic Shroud sits like a dead thing to the side, limbs limp and useless.

“We need to evacuate the cities. Shut down the bridges. We’ve sent out a general alert, so every civilian should be making their way into refuges right now.”

Beau is in the room. Yasha looks up and sees her, flanked by Jester and Fjord. They look grim and grey, all in uniform. Yasha’s cotton shirt and leggings suddenly feel far too light.

“Dragon Slayer,” Shakaste says. “Converging Fury. You two need to frontline this. Mighty Nein, stay back to the coastline and don’t engage until there is no other option.” He flashes a bright, savage smile. “We can’t afford to lose you right now.”

Four strangers salute from the crowd. Yasha barely has time to tattoo their faces into her memory before they’re gone, just as swiftly as they had first appeared. These are the pilots, she thinks. She’s seen them on television, working on the Wall – there hadn’t been much entertainment out there save for drinking and listening to bad radio, so television was treated as a luxury commodity. Her co-workers had enjoyed shouting rude things at the screen whenever a Jaeger pilot came into view.

They look so much smaller in person.

Shakaste turns to face Yasha and Caduceus. “You two will stay put.”

Yasha’s jaw clenches, but Caduceus nods for her.

One of the new pilots hesitates – Keg, her brain produces, and she doesn’t know whether it’s her own knowledge or Caduceus’s – eyes narrowed into stubborn slits. She looks like she wants to say something to Yasha, but her partner – Nila, taller than Caduceus but somehow less intimidating – nudges her away.

Someone grabs onto Yasha’s forearm and drags her down the hall. It takes her a few seconds to realise that it’s Beau, and then she starts internally panicking.

“If we don’t make it back,” Beau says.

Yasha glares at her.

“If we don’t make it back,” Beau barrels through. “Then I’m – I’m sorry for being such a…” her teeth grit.

Yasha pats her on the shoulder. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“God you’re the worst,” Beau says. “I’m trying to apologise.”

“Are you still taking lessons from Fjord?” Yasha says. “Because it shows.”

Beau turns on her heel and starts to stalk away. Yasha races after her and pulls her back by the wrist.

“What…?”

Yasha kisses her on the cheek. It’s fast and it’s soft and means a lot less than Yasha wants it to say, but there isn’t really much time and the alarm is still blaring around them.

“You’re going to make it back,” she says.

Beau blinks for a second, like she’s been stunned, and then shakes her head and rushes off. Yasha watches her go and tries not to think about how the last time they had kissed, Molly had died.

Caduceus finds her in her room, praying.

She hasn’t done this since she got to the Shatterdome, and the guilt of it slicks hot through her gut. There’s a part of Yasha that wonders if this is punishment – she knows the stories, knows the tests of devotion that plague the world before the world like poison. It’s so hard not to take the world ending personally. She’s got her holy symbol in her hand and her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

“I didn’t know you were religious,” Caduceus says, sitting on the floor in her doorframe.

“He saved me,” Yasha says. Her voice is a small, strained thing. Her fingers are cramping around the metal, skin white on contact. “I’d be – dead, without Him.”

“I understand,” Caduceus says calmly. He unhooks something from inside his shirt and pulls it out to show her a small stone with a swirl carved into it. If Yasha squints, she can see the outline of a crashing wave.

Yasha can’t manage a smile. She just bows her head over her effigy of the Stormlord and whispers impossible things under her breath.

Caduceus doesn’t say anything else, just sits there and lets Yasha breathe.

Dragon Slayer dies the way all giants do.

Loudly.

“Do you know how he died?” Yasha says.

Her spine plate clicks into place, the sharp bite of needles piercing down her back causing her to momentarily cut off and hiss.

Caduceus stands next to her, seemingly unaffected, as technicians swarm through their last-minute check-ups.

“I’ve heard the stories,” he says, eyes straight forward.

Yasha smiles as two people fit her chest-plate over her collarbones. “His name was Lorenzo,” she says. “And he thought he was a monster.”

“I’ve heard that story, too,” Caduceus says.

“He got past all the background checks that this place needed back in my time,” Yasha says. “And he smiled every time someone came back for seconds. He was a very good cook.”

She can still see him standing in the cafeteria. She’s seen him smiling every time she closes her eyes.

They give her the helmet. Yasha checks the inside and then starts walking forward into Necrotic Shroud’s head. Caduceus follows her. An outsider wouldn’t have noticed the way his feet hesitate at the entrance, the way his fingers linger on the harness. Yasha can feel it like an ache in her bones.

“How much of it did you see?”

“Enough,” Caduceus says.

Yasha lets herself have one short burst of laughter. It isn’t much, but it makes her feel better, somehow. “The morning of Shepherd, he drugged the food. Molly and Beau were sleeping in, but Jester and Fjord and I…”

Yasha’s throat closes over as she straps herself into the harness, fingers numb. This time, no one tries to help her.

“I passed out in the cockpit in the middle of the fight,” Yasha says, voice thick and eyes unblinking. “Beau was piloting a three-person Jaeger by herself. She managed to kill it, but not in time for –”

“Prepare for neural handshake,” Shakaste’s cool voice comes over the comms.

“That won’t happen this time,” Caduceus says. “I’ve seen the photos. I’m a lot larger than Mollymauk. I think either of those monsters would have a lot harder of a time swallowing me than him. He was very skinny.”

Yasha turns and gapes at him.

“Four, three, two –”

“What?”

“One.”

The Drift is silence.

Yasha feels Caduceus’ presence like a warm pulse, green and growing. She barely has time to hold her breath before she’s dragged under and drowning.

Someone asked Yasha, once, what Drifting felt like. It was probably in an early interview – before questions like that had been blacklisted. Yasha hadn’t managed to find the right words.

Here’s the best that fits:

A white room spattered in blood.

“I find that I don’t quite agree with you, Miss Yasha,” Caduceus says, and the world unfurls into something bigger and brighter than Yasha could have ever dreamed of.

Yasha comes back to her body with a gasp, jerking forward. Necrotic Shroud groans under her.

“Neural handshake holding steady,” Bryce says.

“Are you ready?” Caduceus says, sounding totally unperturbed. She can feel him shaking in her bones.

We’re about to get dropped into an active warzone, Yasha thinks. I haven’t piloted in years. You’ve never piloted at all. This is the first double event ever, and the only reason we’re being allowed to do this is because of our nuclear core.

The thought of Beau and Jester and Fjord trapped in the lifeless corpse of their Jaeger as the monsters swarm around makes something cold lurch in Yasha’s stomach.

“Sure,” she says, and apparently that’s good enough, because they’re dropping down.

Someone told Yasha once, “You fight angry.”

(A lot of people have told her that).

The monster looms out of the water, and Yasha laughs.

“It’s not over,” Caleb says, because of course it isn’t. Something like this will never be over.

Yasha is exhausted all the way down to her bones. She leans against the wall and closes her eyes, listening with only half an ear. Caduceus is little better. Drift-hangover is never fun, especially after your first ride. Usually it’s something that should be mediated out over a long period of time with copious amounts of mineral-water, and that’s just for simulations. The real thing is a thousand times more intense.

They don’t have the luxury of waiting around, though. Yasha can feel Caduceus in her head, twisting and churning. There are thoughts that don’t make much sense, prayers to the wrong god rattling around her skull.

“I predicted this double event,” Caleb says. “But this definitely isn’t he end. It’s just going to get worse from here on out.”

Behind the couch, huddled between Beau and Fjord, Jester gives a ragged cheer. They all look exhausted, wound as tight around each other as their shaking limbs would allow. Jester has a bruise along her cheek, and Beau’s left eye is patched over. Yasha had managed to get a peek at it in the infirmary: it was bright red, all the blood vessels burst.

“You’re such a ray of sunshine,” Beau says. “Every time you enter the room, the place brightens.”

Fjord sighs. His lip is split rather dramatically, but other than that he looks fairly stable – especially compared to the train wreck that his partners are presenting. “Go on, Caleb.”

Caleb gives a melodramatic flare of his hands, and holograms burst to life across the table. Jester oohs and aahs appreciatively. Despite herself, Yasha opens one eye to look.

“Here, we have the Breach,” Caleb says, pointing to the narrow point on his diagram. “Here we have the trench, and here is wherever the hell these things come from.”

“Probably a dimension incredibly dissimilar to our own,” Nott-not-Veth says. “Their physiology isn’t like anything on this planet, and I’ve been cross-testing whatever samples I can get my hands on over all the databases I have access to. Nothing.”

“Now, we’ve been getting these creatures coming in at increasingly smaller intervals. First it was every few months, which shortened to every few weeks – now, it’s every few days. The time between gets cut in half. In two days, we’re going to have another event.”

Yasha closes her eye. Around her, whispers break out.

“Our original plan was to send Mighty Nein with the thermonuclear warhead so we could drop it into the Breach,” Caleb says. “But that isn’t going to work anymore thanks to that last attack.”

“They’re learning,” Jester says, shivering. Beau hugs her tighter.

Caleb sighs. “It’s not just that they’re learning – they’re learning faster than we are. There are only so many adjustments we can make before we have to start building from the bones out again. That takes money that we don’t have.”

Yasha can imagine Molly sitting next to her and toasting his beer high: “Thanks for fucking us all, world government!” Next to her, Caduceus has to disguise his laugh as a cough.

Caleb’s face is fish-belly white as he stares around at them, dirt smudging along his cheeks like bruises. Yasha so badly wants to just go to sleep and never wake up. She’s so tired of this.

“We can’t switch out the power sources,” he says. “That would require entirely new Jaegers. At the moment, the only one who can reliably get to the Breach is Necrotic Shroud. Everything else will get taken out by that electromagnetic pulse.”

“If they can disable the Jaegers that far underwater, we’re sitting ducks,” Beau agrees. “It won’t matter that we’ve got the warhead if we can’t get it there.”

“Look at it this way,” Nott-not-Veth says. “If one of them pokes you too hard, you can just detonate yourselves and half the ocean with you.”

Yasha can feel eyes turning their way.

“You can’t be serious,” she says.

Shakaste flashes them a smooth grin. “You’re the best shot we have ate getting it there intact.”

“We’re down two Jaegers and the third is pretty badly damaged,” Yasha says. “And haven’t we tried bombing the Breach before? It didn’t exactly work out well the first time.”

“We’re running out of options,” Shakaste says.

“So we’re trying something that didn’t work before again because – what? Second time’s the charm?”

Caleb clears his throat. “The increased traffic should – if my predictions are correct –”

“Which they are,” Nott-not-Veth helpfully puts in.

Caleb ducks his head a little. “The increased traffic should force the Breach to stabilise and remain open long enough to get the warhead through far enough to collapse it’s structure. They’ve been coming through fairly regularly. The first time we tried – it was only months after the second attack, back when we didn’t know much about things. We were still learning.”

“That hasn’t changed,” Yasha says.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb says, eyes icy. “I didn’t realise that you were the one with a Masters in biochemistry –”

“Nothing’s ever even managed to get through it, though,” Fjord says, putting out his arms placatingly. Yasha leans back into the couch with a scowl, not entirely willing to let things go, but also not wanting to start a fight she doesn’t know she can win. Not now. Not when her head feels like she’s been used

Nott-not-Veth grins. “Actually, that’s where I come in.”

“This isn’t going to work,” Yasha says, staring at the blue, jelly-like substance that is being rubbed across every square inch of Necrotic Shroud’s metal body. Across the hanger bay, Mighty Nein and Converging Fury are being given the same treatment by some techs fitted out in hazmat suits.

The whole area had been evacuated on the grounds that interacting with biohazardous material would probably kill somebody. Yasha doesn’t quite know how to feel about this whole thing.

“It should certainly be interesting, though,” Caduceus says.

Yasha gives an unattractive snort. “That’s one word for it.”

“How did they even get this stuff?” Yasha says. “Aren’t we supposed to be – broke?”

“Oh, that’s a whole story,” Caduceus says. “It happened just a little bit after you left, I think – so apparently, Jester has a mob boss for a father –”

“Jester has a what?”

Nott-not-Veth is down on the ground, hazmat suit noticeably smaller than everyone else’s, bossing people around. As Yasha looks, she gives one of the technicians a whack on the back of the calf and grabs the hose from them, yelling profanities.

“I don’t want to know what that’s about,” Yasha says, when she’s recovered from the sudden shock of Jester – small, sweet, strong Jester – being related to one of the biggest crime bosses in the Dwendalian Empire. Yasha’s heart isn’t good enough for this.

“Nott isn’t so bad, once you get used to her,” Caduceus says. “And she’s a genius as well.”

“I don’t usually do well with geniuses,” Yasha says. People had called Molly a genius. Yasha had been good – had been better than good, sometimes – but it was always within the expected parameters of her personality. Yasha is big and can hit things. When Yasha is in Necrotic Shroud, she is bigger, and can hit bigger things. Molly had been the one to aim for the throat.

Caduceus hmms next to her but doesn’t speak up. They’re standing side-by-side over the hanger bay, feet dangling off the edge. Yasha can smell the potent mix of chemicals even from up here. She tries not to think about how proud Nott-not-Veth had been when she had announced the plan, but it’s a lost cause.

“My husband is a chemist,” she had said, chest puffed out. “He usually just stays at home and takes care of our son, especially since we moved out here for my job, but I asked him to come in and help with this. Edith is taking care of Luc at the moment, and –”

Yasha keeps nodding and smiling. She doesn’t understand half of the words that have started coming out of Nott’s mouth, and she’s frankly too scared to ask for some more clarification. Caduceus nods in time with Nott’s tone of voice and keeps smiling, long after Yasha can keep up the pretence of being interested in the process of deconstructing and mass-manufacturing monster DNA.

“Do you want to see photos?”

Yasha blanches, thinking of her brief (if singularly traumatising) foray into the deep, dark vestiges of the Shatterdome R&D department. She still hasn’t managed to scrub the image of monster parts, hacked to pieces, lying strewn out across the ground in some kind of disturbing parody of a children’s abstract painting. Nott had been in the middle of it all, elbow-length gloves covered in metallic blue muck and humming cheerfully to herself. Even Caleb was giving her a wide birth, which was saying something.

“We’d love to,” Caduceus says, showing – once again – that he had the self-preservation instincts of a blind lemming. Yasha starts to elbow him in the stomach, but she’s cut off as Nott shoves her phone underneath Yasha’s nose. Visible even underneath the layer of congealing blue slime is a small boy smiling happily at the camera, held tight by his short father.

“Oh,” Yasha says, softly. “He’s lovely.”

Nott’s smile is a thousand degrees hot and a world wide. “Isn’t he?”

“I need to talk with you.”

Yasha feels ambushed.

She had thought – well, she had hoped that there would be some lead up to this conversation. Some kind of warning. Instead, Beau is leaning with her hip against Yasha’s door, blocking the only entrance into her room. Caduceus is nowhere to be seen, the coward. Considering how he’s been camping out in that exact same spot for the past few days, he’s either been bribed or blackmailed to move. Traitor.

Beau doesn’t look good. None of them do, really, but there’s something extra than exhaustion hiding underneath her dark skin. She manages a grin when Yasha glares at her, opening the door and sweeping her arm out in invitation.

Yasha thinks about it.

“Okay,” she says, shoulders slumping in defeat. She walks inside.

She hasn’t had time to make the room as nice as things had once been – it’s too small and too empty at the same time. Molly exists in every corner.

Beau surveys the room with an arched eyebrow, and then leans back against the bed with a wry grin.

“Hey.”

Yasha crosses her arms across her chest and doesn’t say anything.

“So, I’ve been avoiding you,” Beau says.

Yasha gives her a Look.

“Yeah, I know,” Beau says. “But things have been pretty crazy lately, you’ve got to admit. There’s all these events, and very big monsters, and hey you’ve got a new Drift partner –”

“I’m not sorry for leaving,” Yasha interrupts.

Beau’s lips thin, and she cuts off with a sharp sigh.

“I had to go,” Yasha says. She feels desperate in a way she can’t fully express. She’s got three layers of skin between the air and her muscles, the shapes all stretched out to an awkward fit. Molly’s grin aches in the lines of her jaw. She can taste Caduceus’ favourite blend of tea in the back of her throat. Yasha doesn’t exist anymore except as a vessel for ghosts. “Beau, I had to go. I was dying.”

“You think we weren’t?” Beau says. Her fists are clenched at her sides, knuckles wrapped. The skin around the wrappings is scraped and bruised – she had obviously been working out her aggression before coming here.

Yasha leans back against the wall, abruptly drained. She doesn’t want a fight. For once in her life, Yasha doesn’t want to fight.

“I’m not sorry I left,” she says. “But I’m sorry that I left you.”

Beau’s head jerks to the side, cheeks flaring up. Her fists clench down harder, until there are going to be half-moon bruises on her palms later from her fingernails. Yasha has the absurd urge to reach out and curl her fingers between Beau’s, to kiss her knuckles. Without even meaning to, Yasha’s hand begins to reach out.

“Do you know what’s been going on?” Beau says. Her voice sounds clogged, raw. Yasha’s hand freezes. “Do you know what’s been happening these past few years? There are so many dead bodies out there. Every time we go out to fight, we’re walking over corpses.”

“The world is made of bones,” Yasha says.

Beau’s laugh is bitter. She throws her whole head into it, smile sharp enough to cut. “I can’t let them down,” she says. Yasha can tell from the tone of her voice that she is talking about Jester and Fjord. “I can’t let them die. I can live with anything else, but I can’t live without them.”

Yasha reaches out to take Beau’s knotted hand. It feels fevered in her cooler fingers, wounded. She gently flattens out her palms and leans forward to kiss her right index finger.

Beau watches her in a daze. The covering for her eye is still there, but the sticky-tape that’s been holding it to her skin is breaking away to reveal the horror underneath. Her eyelid is swelling into a blackened lump, the eye itself underneath red.

“When Molly died,” Yasha says. “The world kept spinning.”

“But you didn’t.”

Yasha smiles. Molly smiles with her.

“I wonder, sometimes,” she says. “If he even existed. I have – holes, in my memory. A lot of holes. Have I – have I ever told you that? I wake up, and I can’t remember my name. I have to think really hard about it. But I can always remember his.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save him,” Beau says, and starts crying.

“Did you have a good talk?”

Yasha glares at Caduceus as they leisurely walk towards the kitchen. Caduceus has his ever-present flask of tea in hand. Every time she tries some of it, it’s a different blend. Tea is almost impossible to get around here, even if it’s home-grown. Even drifting, Caduceus hadn’t been willing to share that little secret.

“It was for your own good,” Caduceus says, smile serene. He doesn’t appear to be noticing the dark clouds that are beginning to swarm over Yasha’s face, but the other people in the surrounding area certainly are. They begin to back away. Caduceus breezes on: “Things were complicated between you. Hopefully, they’re now less complicated.”

“They’re still complicated,” Yasha says, arms folded across her chest.

“Yes,” Caduceus says. “But having sex is a different kind of complicated to wanting to have sex.”

Yasha turns and walks away.

“Here’s what we need to do,” Caleb says.

The image is a little ridiculous. Caleb is standing in front of an old-fashioned blackboard, a piece of chalk in one hand and a laser-pointer in the other. Yasha keeps getting distracted by the bright light, which probably isn’t exactly the point of this exercise. She wishes that Caduceus would stop snickering at her from behind his tea.

There is a crudely drawn diagram on the blackboard. It looks nothing like Caleb’s usual shorthand scrawl – rather, suspiciously like it was done by a small child…

Nott notices Yasha’s look and puts a finger to her lips. “Children aren’t allowed in the Shatterdome,” she mouths.

“Here,” Caleb says, pointing. “Is the entry point.”

“Are you sure?” Fjord says.

Caleb gives him a bland look. “I’m sure,” he says. “And here” – this time, he uses the laser-pointed to wriggle around the top-left side – “is where Necrotic Shroud is going to push forward. You’re all going at different angles to hopefully catch the double event before they can disrupt our plans too much.”

“So we won’t have backup?” Keg says. Nila is sitting next to her, serene and calm. Yasha wishes that she didn’t know that Nila has a husband and child. She wishes that Caduceus hadn’t ever told her.

“No,” Caleb says.

“This plan definitely won’t fail,” Keg says.

“We only have until tomorrow to prepare,” Caleb says, ignoring her. “But we’ve already fitted all of your Jaegers with trace amounts of alien DNA – according to Veth’s predictions, they have a kind of lock on what can and cannot enter. Since you’ve all been coated –”

“You’ll all be able to go through!” Nott says, beaming. “Have fun falling into another world. I’m going to be safe and sound here, drinking my worries away.”

“If we fail, you’re not going to be very safe,” Fjord points out.

“If you fail, I’ll drink myself into a coma and not have to worry about it,” Nott says.

Shakaste clears his throat, hiding a smile behind his hand. “If you wouldn’t mind continuing?”

“Mighty Nein is going to enter the water first and get to the far side – then Converging Fury will go to the right, and Necrotic Shroud to the left. Necrotic Shroud is the one that absolutely must get through. They’re holding the payload.”

“And let me just say, I’m thrilled to be working so closely with nuclear explosives,” Caduceus says. “This definitely isn’t going to pollute the water around the rift for hundreds of years to come.”

Nott rolls her eyes. “The water around it is already polluted,” she says. “What, you think the monster aliens are going to care about taking care of the planet?”

Caduceus shrugs. Yasha leans over to give his shoulder a conciliatory pat.

“We have predicted the next event to happen sometime early tomorrow, so you’re going to be deployed at around 3AM in order to get to the Breach in time. I suggest” – Caleb…hesitates. Yasha closes her eyes and leans her head against the back of the couch. Caleb clears his throat and continues. “I suggest you get your affairs in order.”

Beau snorts. “The only family I care about is sitting right here.”

Jester runs an anxious hand across her scalp. “I need to call my Mama.”

Yasha feels like she’s been sucker-punched in the gut.

There had been a time – long ago. So long ago. A lifetime and a world away, when Yasha had smiled and the sea hadn’t been full of blue slime: Zuala had wanted children, and Yasha had wanted Zuala to be happy more than anything.

She wonders what it would have been like if things had been different. If she and Zuala – if they had –

“C’mon, let’s head off,” Fjord says, gently taking Jester by the shoulders and leading her away. Beau slumps against the couch, exhaustion written into the slump of her spine. “We can call her together, okay? She loves hearing from you.”

The rest of the group watches them go in silence. Then Nila breaks away and hurries off, face tight and ashen. Keg watches her go and lets out a loud sigh.

“This is fucked,” she says. No one says: this is a suicide run, but no one needs to. It’s written clear as day in the childish chalk-lines of Nott’s son. Yasha doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse. She doesn’t think it makes things anything, really.

“We knew what we were getting into,” Beau snaps.

“Maybe you did,” Keg says. “I sure as fuck didn’t.”

“Now, now – no need to –” Shakaste starts to say.

“Calianna and Twiggy are dead,” Keg says. “And we’re about to be next.”

“We signed up for this,” Beau says, folding her arms across her chest and clenching down hard on her jaw.

Keg laughs. Yasha flinches away from the bitter sound, fingers balling to fists on her lap.

“Of course you would say that,” Keg says.

Beau’s eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious? You’d much rather go down in a blaze of glory than –”

Beau explodes off from the couch and grabs at Keg’s throat. Keg doesn’t flinch, the wide – slightly manic – grin stretched too-large across her small face.

“Shut it,” she says.

“We’re all as good as dead,” Keg says. “You’re just a little further along than the rest of us.”

“What the fuck,” Yasha says.

Beau doesn’t look away from Keg. “Ignore her. She’s talking bullshit.”

“Beauregard,” Shakaste sighs.

Beau abruptly breaks away from Keg, letting her back to the ground. Keg coughs in a breath. She’s shaking. They’re all shaking, Yasha realises. She’s so cold.

Beau turns on her heel and strides towards the door. On the way, she catches Yasha’s hand and drags her along.

“Come on,” she says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Yasha follows.

If Molly was good at anything, it was keeping secrets.

Yasha can’t tell a lie to save her life. There’s a blunt straightforwardness to her that doesn’t do well under subterfuge. If someone is telling an untruth, Yasha is the last person in the room to know.

Molly, though. Molly could say the sky was green with such conviction that people would believe him.

“Don’t listen to her,” Beau says, tugging her further down the hall. Her knuckles are white under the pressure that she’s putting into holding onto Yasha’s hand. Yasha follows, quietly, and thinks of what Molly would say.

In the end, she’s not good with ghosts anymore than she’s good with lies. She says, “Okay”, and doesn’t say anything else.

“Are you sure about this?” Caduceus says.

Yasha just looks at him.

Caduceus grins, wide and sharp in a way that Yasha would have never pegged for him. There’s something so unassuming about his tall, rail thin appearance; the pink hair is a distraction. Camouflage. Nobody cruel could ever have pink hair.

“I’m not going to let them die,” she says.

Caduceus laughs to himself. Yasha wonders if they’re made of the same kind of steel, or if she’s just wishing things were different. Would she do this with Molly? Or is Molly the one suggesting it?

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s do this.”

Stealing a Jaeger is – surprisingly easy, once Yasha realises Caduceus’s older sister has terrorised her workers into submission. She has yet to meet the elder Clay, and at this point she’s a little bit too terrified to say: “Hi! Nice to meet you! Sorry I’m about to kill your little brother!”

It probably wouldn’t even come out that coherently, either. Yasha has so many problems with words.

Walking in the Drift is always a challenge. Fighting is smooth – punching, slashing: all easy. It’s walking that always tripped (Yasha snorts to herself, much to Caduceus’ amusement) her and Molly up. Neither of them had been very grounded people. Learning to run had come before their baby steps had even been an afterthought.

With Caduceus, walking – there’s an eerie feel of weightlessness to it. Yasha has always felt too heavy for the ground to properly hold her. Left, right, left, right. The further out to sea they go, the further away from gravity Yasha feels. Paradoxically, the heavier the controls become. Yasha is used to taking all the weight, but Caduceus – Caduceus holds his own. Better than Molly in some aspects, certainly. As Caduceus had pointed out: Molly had been very thin, and very small. Not much muscle in the end of it.

In her head – in Caduceus’ head – in their head, Molly makes an amused sound of outrage.

“I’m not short,” he says. He doesn’t even bother to refute his slimness.

“You’re shorter than both of us,” Yasha says. Outside, water swells around the reinforced glass of the cockpit. Left, right, left right: walking onward and forward and away from everything. Yasha’s floaty feeling does not dissipate.

“You’re both giants,” Molly says. His voice echoes around the otherwise empty cockpit, Caduceus and Yasha both beginning to sweat in their harnesses. No matter how many times Yasha has done this, she always starts to sweat the moment the first plate of armour goes on. Caduceus murmurs a small sound of agreement from over on his side. Together, they’re riding the Drift.

Three hours later, the intercom crackles to life.

“Well,” Caduceus says serenely as he listens to the babble of expletives that is being rained down upon both of them. “It looks like they figured out what we did.”

“A little early,” Yasha says, frowning.

Inside of her skin, Caduceus forms her shoulders into a shrug. Clarabelle is scary, but the night before the last big push was bound to attract some attention. It could have been as simple as one of the pilots not being able to go to sleep and wandering into the hanger, lost and lonely.

Yasha doesn’t want to think about that. Caduceus is kind enough to drag the thought away and smother it.

Beau’s voice abruptly cuts off from the intercom, and then Shakaste’s smooth tone comes through. There isn’t a hint of nerves in it, no matter that enough nuclear weapons to raze a small country has just disappeared into the abyss. Clarabelle had very helpfully disabled their GPS coordinates, though it probably wasn’t too much of a guess as to where they were going.

“What do you think you two are doing?”

Caduceus answers for them, when Yasha’s tongue gets knotted at the back of her throat.

“Completing the mission,” he says. He grins, sharp. Yasha has loved so many sharp people. “Sir.”

“Half at once,” Shakaste says. “Wait for the other Jaegers to get there. You need to stick to the plan.”

Yasha wants to laugh, so Caduceus does that for her, too.

“We’ll be waiting at the Breach,” he says, and cuts off the coms.

The silence gouges deeply into the space between them. Yasha is breathing heavily, and she hasn’t even said a single word. Next to her, Molly is laughing, because Molly is a dick.

“Beau sounded mad,” Yasha eventually says.

“Just a bit,” Caduceus says.

“I’m never going to get to apologise.”

“Probably not, no.”

Yasha thinks about that. Left, right, left right.

“Oh, well,” she thinks. Molly pats her shoulder. Caduceus says nothing.

They keep walking.

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smartlions · 6 years

Note

*slides you 30$* Heard you had some Lucien theories

oH BOY, yeah. I do have some. (also sorry for replying late i never got a notification) Apologies in advance for what is inevitably going to be a longass response i just talk a lot its my curse

firstly, credit and thanks to @midnigtartist for letting me scream at her and get my thoughts in order lmao. so most of my theories are actually collaborative from the both of us.

So, i feel like the evil Lucien theory was the easiest to to subscribe to at face value, since we know so little about him, aside from the fact that he was a) some sort of cult leader/figurehead b) raised from the dead. But that’s pretty much where our knowledge of him stops, and there’s a lot of stuff missing. Molly, as @midnigtartist has said a number of times, and i fully agree with, is likely a shell of Lucien–essentially just his body and maybe his personality, with no soul (which would explain the “empty”, and also the loss of memories). And knowing what we do of Molly at face value, that he’s a flamboyant but generous and thoughtful person, but a cynic on occasion, and someone who does not take things to heart as deeply as most (by virtue of his second shot at life), that speaks a lot of who Lucien might have been. When we met Cree, she didn’t react like there was something wrong with Lucien, at least not from what we could tell, despite him being molly. This, more than anything in retrospect, made me think that the interpretation of Lucien’s character as a dark and evil figure is more or less incorrect.

At face value, I think Lucien really and truly is Mollymauk. Just with more substance and a lot more baggage.

But that begs the question of WHO Lucien was, then, and what this baggage could possibly be. And this is really where the theories come into play:

1) Lucien was the leader of a cult, yes, and the cult was focused on the connection between the living and the dead. Considering the entire MO of the Ghostslayer archetype of the bloodhunter is to bridge that gap, it makes sense for Molly/Lucien to have this connection to the realm of the dead (and makes sense for Molly and his backstory, but that’s all more Mollymauk theories which would be a separate post all together). so the sacrifice of his own life to bridge that gap tangibly makes sense, and due to complications or incorrectly preformed rituals led to Lucien not coming back in spirit, and his body animating without his soul (complications also likely led his followers to be like “oh shit boy is fucked, uh, lets cheese it and pretend this never happened” when Lucien did not revive instantaneously as intended.)

2) Lucien was a selected figurehead for the cult, and actually not the leader of it, more of a chosen one used by the cult to garner more followers and prove their methods. Ghostslayers do some pretty bananas shit at higher levels, which Matt implied that Lucien was, and so that could be used as evidence of the cult’s successful contact with the dead. Lucien was likely a starry-eyed 20 something who due to his good nature, wants to help people connect with the other side–which i feel like might have been the MO of the cult, not to fear the dead but to connect to them, a la seances and that sort of stuff (this, i think, could possibly just be the cult’s intention anyway, not just in this theory).

2a) Lucien, in this case, is not actually a willing leader of the cult laying down his life to prove the point, but maybe actually was murdered in a sacrificial ritual and left for dead, only to resurrect not too long after.

3) Lucien was the evil leader of an evil death cult and did evil stuff, but left behind Mollymauk, who is like, super not evil and a good person who tries to better people’s lives constantly. which is maybe the most boring possibility.

all in all, I don’t think that Lucien being evil is a fun or interesting theory (though I’m not really that picky if he is evil, I’m happy to see him in action). Now considering the whole Molly situation, I feel like we might be getting close to meeting him–the things said at the Talks panel at SDCC make me think that if a rez takes place, Mollymauk might not come back without also bringing back Lucien. (and maybe in that case, they will be terrible brain roommates, maybe allowing Matt and Tal to RP bickering like children, which would be a lot of fun??? or maybe Lucien will just be a nerfed version of himself, now possessing the memories his body formed on its own in the 2 years he’d been partying with dead people. Or maybe he’ll run away and become an antagonist 3 arcs from now, which i still think is too boring and obvious to be the case.)

in short: I think Lucien isn’t some big-bad different character from Mollymauk, he’s the same dude with a dark backstory, and a lot more forward propulsion than Mollymauk’s character might have had since Molly was content and happy to simply be alive. deciding Lucien is evil is a bit too easy, but either way I’m interested to see how the story plays out, especially if Beau comes through and gets that Big Rez ™ going on our fave purple tiefling. (which, uh, Marisha. Lemme slide you $100 and lets make it happen girl, please. Please?)

#i hope that makes sense #critical role #cr spoilers #mollymauk tealeaf #lucien #critical role theories #ask #anon #long post #my badddd

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sockablock · 6 years

Text

Something New for Me and You

• (start) (AO3) (prev) (next) •

Ch. 4: Vanilla, Cream, and Chocolate Shavings

Caleb opened his eyes, and rolled over in bed, and waited for his brain to catch up and tell him what time it was. When the tired answer of “7AM” finally crept through the fog of exhaustion, he sighed to himself, slipped off his covers, and trudged into the bathroom. It was only as he just finished brushing his teeth over the chipped sink in front of the water-stained mirror did he remember that he did not have work today.

Or, rather, that he should have had work today.

He spat out his toothpaste and rinsed his mouth. He silently watched the suds swirl down the drain. He continued to stare long after the basin had dried. Then he put his toothbrush back on the ledge next to the green, untouched and very dusty child’s toothbrush that always rested there, and walked back to his bed.

He laid down and stared at the ceiling.

After about an hour, he shot up and marched out into the kitchen.

•

Around this time, Yasha awoke. The sound of pedestrians out on the street and the rush of cars passing by welcomed her brightly, as it did every morning. She rubbed at her eyes, yawned, and stretched.

•

“What’s all this for?” Not asked as she climbed onto the dinner table with a strip of jerky in her hands.

Caleb looked up from the massive pile of newspapers spread out before him, and gently tugged free a page that Nott had taken a seat on. Then he gestured at the nearest advert, which read:

Waiter Wanted—apply at the Meal Hearth, front counter.

“I’m job-hunting,” Caleb sighed. “We need a steadier stream of income than three days at a library and whatever you can steal.”

Nott raised an eyebrow. “Do you even know how to be a waiter?” she asked.

“Well, no,” he admitted, “but I suppose I will have to learn.”

“Maybe I could find a job too?” she suggested. “That way you wouldn’t be the only one caught in the cogs of our terrible capitalist society. And anyways, isn’t it good for you to have some free time?”

Caleb blinked a few times as he tried to process that statement. Then he sighed and said, “As nice as that would be, I do not think it is possible. You aren’t exactly…what, er, what most employers are looking for.”

“That’s true,” Nott agreed, and chewed a bite of jerky. “I’m also not technically a citizen, so that could make things complicated, right?”

“Right. Maybe you should just focus on just having sticky fingers for now. And speaking of sticky fingers, it is time to head out to Oglen’s soon, ja?”

Nott shook her head and waved the jerky in front of his face. “Actually,” she said, “I should head out to Oglen’s soon. You should be getting ready for your date.”

Caleb blinked. “My date? I don’t have a…oh. You mean coffee with Mollymauk?”

Nott pulled out her phone and beamed. “That’s the one,” she said. “He wants to meet up at ten, which is in…two hours. This is the address,” she added, flipping the screen around. “You’ll remember it, right?”

“Ja, of course,” Caleb said, though now suddenly overwhelmed. “But I do not understand why I would need two hours to get ready. Especially for a casual meet-up between acquaintances.”

Nott sighed. “The first time you met each other, it was at a crazy-fancy restaurant and you were in a dinner jacket that Jester custom-ordered for you. He’s going to have expectations.”

“But he was here for movies just two nights ago,” Caleb protested. “I was not dressed so nicely then.”

“That’s different,” Nott said, shaking her head. “There were a bunch of people around then, so it doesn’t matter so much. But when it’s just the two of you, the stakes are higher. You’ve got to be presentable. Come on, Caleb, even I know this, and I’m a goblin.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, sorry,” he sighed. “It has been a while since I’ve needed to bother with this sort of thing. Are you sure this level of effort is required for when two people who barely know each other go to a café?”

“I wouldn’t say he barely knows you,” Nott said, “but yes. It’s even more important if you aren’t familiar, because his impression of you isn’t finished yet. I know these things.”

“Yes, and how do you know these things?”

She shrugged. “Jester let me borrow her magazines.”

“…what are these magazines called?”

“Iva’s Secrets. They’re by some lady who runs a bookstore for ‘young wimmen’ and ‘lonely gents,’ according to the back page.”

Caleb was quiet for a moment. Then he sighed and rubbed his temples. “I am not sure you should be reading these, but I suppose I am not one to stop you from pursuing the written word—”

“—damn straight.”

“—so I will just shut up and…and…prepare for this casual meet-up, then.”

“Great!” Nott grinned and slid off the table. Then she passed Caleb her phone and added, “Here. I’ll leave this with you in case you need to call Molly while I’m gone. Oh, I’m so excited to see what’s in the store today. There are so many shiny trinkets and flashy baubles, and Oglen doesn’t even notice when I take stuff from him to re-sell.”

•

“I’m just saying,” Beau said as she slowly lowered the last of the kettlebells. “You’re going to need a lot of pantry space. Jester eats like…well, like a demon. Or a teenage boy.”

Fjord wiped a towel across his brow. “But pastries don’t even last that long,” he said. “And it’s not like you’re supposed to put them into a cupboard, right?”

Beau shook her head. “The point is that she’s going to try to. And when she realizes that they went stale, like they always do, then she’s going to buy sugary snacks and candy to make up for it. And if you aren’t prepared, it’ll be heaps and heaps of bags everywhere, and you’ll go crazy. Believe me, I’ve been her roommate for like…three years now.”

“And I always commend you for that sacrifice, Beau.”

“Thanks.” She tossed him a water bottle. “Now it’s your turn.”

Fjord took a seat on the bench and sighed. “Moving in together is a real big deal, you know? I just want to make sure everything works out right.”

Beau plopped down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Relax, Fjord, relax. She’s head-over-heels for you. It’ll be fine.”

“But what if it isn’t?” he pressed. “What if she ends up hating how much I snore, or she gets sick of me kicking in bed all the time, or what if I have a million little habits that it turns out she can’t stand? I mean, sometimes I leave clothes out, and maybe I forget to put the cap back on the toothpaste, what if that bothers her but she’s too nice to tell me, and it all ends up just…festerin’ until she hates me?”

Beau shook her head. “First of all, if she doesn’t like something she’ll definitely let you know. Nothing gets held back for her, that’s Jester 101. Secondly, if you already know you do these things, then warn her! Set some fuckin’ boundaries! You two need to sit down and have a chat about this shit, right? That’s what we did on day one.”

Fjord nodded, and gave her a weak smile. “Thanks, Beau. That’s…pretty smart.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “I’m an educated motherfucker, alright? Even if I ran away from school, I still know some shit.”

“I don’t really think they teach you that stuff in sch—”

Beau waved a hand dismissively. “You know what I mean. Don’t push it.”

He snorted. “Alright, alright, you got it.”

“Great. Now, it’s almost nine. Get your ass to class. If you fail, you can’t sneak me into the college gym anymore and our entire friendship will fall apart. Hop to it."

•

Mollymauk Tealeaf, standing out on the sidewalk in front of the large windows of the café, checked his phone. Then he examined his reflection the glass, adjusted his jewelry, and checked his phone again.

It was…okay to arrive this early, right? It was the proper thing to do, right? Even if was only 8:45AM and they were supposed to meet at ten, right?

After a few more moments of deliberation, he brushed off his jacket and decided to take another lap around the block. Then he’d definitely go inside and scout out the perfect place to sit.

He could also use that time to decide what to order. Yes. Good. Now he had a plan.

•

“Are you kidding me?” Nott shook her head. “That ring’s got to be worth at least forty. Do you see that? Those little flowers? That’s ornamental, that is. Sophisticated, that is.”

Oglen squinted through the lens of his spectacles. “Flowers? What, the squiggles? Eh…I’ll go thirty, but no higher than that.”

“Come on, come on, that’s genuine bronze, there! Caleb checked it, and you know how smart he is. We’re returning customers too, regulars even. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

Oglen seemed to consider this for a moment, then sighed and lowered his glasses. “Alright, Nott. Thirty-five.”

“Thirty-seven.”

“Thirty-six.”

“Deal.”

He nodded, and added the ring to a growing pile of random jewelry and knick-knacks resting on the wooden countertop between them. Then he made a small note at the bottom of a slip of paper and turned back to Nott.

“Okay,” he said. “What else have you got?”

She reached into her pouch and produced a set of earrings. “Now, don’t try to sell me short again, Oglen. These have got gemstones, alright? They’ll be worth more than a pretty penny to any lady coming here to buy from you.”

The wizened old gnome pushed up his spectacles.

“Bring ‘em closer,” he said. “I’ll be the judge of that.

•

Caleb finally managed to dig out a knit cardigan from the very back of his not-so-large closet, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was old, probably from a thrift store, and unsurprisingly a shade of light brown, but all the buttons were still there and the collar wasn’t too bulky and really, it was the best he could do.

He pushed aside the wrinkled t-shirts and occasional hoodie that had swamped his bed and lay the cardigan down gently on the covers. Then he nodded to himself and walked into the bathroom.

He stared at his reflection for a few moments, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the pale tone of his face, the overall sunken nature of his features. He ran a hand through his beard, freshly-washed but rather messy and tangled, especially for its short length.

He put his forehead against the mirror. He stared into the sink. He reached a hand into his pocket, pulled out Nott’s cell, and dialed a number.

The phone rang a few times before the person on the other end picked up.

“Hello? Nott?”

“Er, actually,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “actually, this is Caleb. How are you, Yasha?”

There was a brief pause on the end of the line.

“Caleb? Are you okay?”

He gave a nervous laugh. “No, no, nothing is the matter. I cannot just call one of my few friends for a chat? No such thing as pleasant conversation, anymore?”

“You don’t even have a phone you use, Caleb. Try again.”

He sighed.

“Yasha, you have known this group longer than I have. And you are used to dealing with many individuals from your work at the bar. I, on the other hand…I am an odd duck and this group is very large for me. I’ve only had Nott and Frumpkin for a year, you know? Then suddenly I met Jester and you and Beau, which has been wonderful, but now we are adding Molly and Fjord after barely having time to get to know the rest of you, and Beau and I have only just made up over the ‘bowl incident,’ and now today Molly and I are supposed to meet one-on-one, and…and I would like to make a good impression. I would like some advice.”

There was another, much longer pause. Yasha seemed to be trying to think of a response.

“Er, well…” she said, “...well, I mean...I am awkward too, Caleb, but...er...I suppose, if he tries to talk to you, you should respond, and, er...and you should be nice, and…and chew with your mouth closed, and wash your hands…”

And then they were both silent, for a while.

“I am confused,” Caleb said eventually. “Do you…have advice, or—”

Yasha sighed deeply. “Yes, yes, I do, I think, I am…not very good at this. Just, well, just be clean? It helps to be clean. How do you do that, anyway, stay dirty all the time?”

There was another pause.

“I did not mean that to sound so accusatory,” Yasha said quietly. “I apologize—”

“Nein, no, it is alright,” Caleb said quickly, “I got it. I just…er…well, this is a big city. And if you want to go unnoticed, the best way is to, as you said, ‘stay dirty,’ and people tend not to pay attention to you."

“I understand that,” Yasha said immediately. “I like to evade notice too, but I am…hard to miss. Not, you know, not hard to miss in the sense that, ‘woo, I am so pretty, I am so hard to miss,’ but more like…like…”

“Like you are built like a barn.”

“Exactly.”

“You know what I miss?” Caleb sighed, and pulled back to look at his reflection.

“What?”

He ran a hand through his beard. “I miss shaving. Feeling clean.”

There was another pause. Then Yasha spoke:

“I could…er…I could shave you, if you like?”

He blinked. “Was? Really? Have you…done that sort of thing before?”

“Yes, I have. Molly or Jester can tell you. Hang on, hang on, are you at home? I can be there in ten minutes.”

Caleb blinked again. “Oh, er, Yasha, it is alright, I do not think—”

The line went dead. He lowered the phone and stared at the blank screen for a few moments. Then he sighed, and went to go sink his face into a pillow.

•

“Jester,” Fjord whispered to hunched shape sitting next to him. “Jester, do you understand what Anders is goin’ on about?”

She glanced up from her notebook, covered in scribbled doodles and tiny comments in the margins. She glanced around the lecture hall, to the whiteboard, and then back at Fjord.

“Are…uh…are we still on chapter seven?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, good,” she grinned. “In that case, yes, I do know what he’s talking about.”

“Thank the gods. D’you think you could give me a hand, later on today? I’m lost.”

Jester reached over and gave him a pat on the hand. “Of course, Fjord. But really, I think maybe you should just get a tutor. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and Caleb would probably love more business, you know?”

He nodded sheepishly. “I think that’s probably a good idea. Otherwise I might have to kiss goin’ to Soltryce goodbye.”

She gave him another pat. “I can ask him for you later,” she whispered. “Now hush, I am in the middle of telling the Traveler what happened in The Courting of the Crick last night.”

•

“Yasha, is that a sword?”

“Yes? Why?”

Caleb rubbed his temples, and considered the wicked black pommel sticking out from behind Yasha’s imposing frame. The rest of the blade, wrapped in canvas, hung a foot off the ground. All in all, the weapon was probably almost as tall as its owner, which was saying something.

He sighed and waved a hand. “Come in, come in, I guess. You can put your coat on the rack, and…Yasha why do you have a sword?”

She took her boots off and hung her jacket up and followed him into the living room-area of the apartment.

“I don’t know,” she said, “for protection? You never know when you need a good sword.”

“Do…do you need a permit for that, or…?”

She shrugged. “Nobody has approached me about it so far.”

Caleb stared at her, took in her rock-hard biceps and sharp face paint and dead-eyed, cold-faced stare. She was probably a good foot-and-a-half taller than him, and twice as wide.

“I can’t imagine why,” he said. “Anyways, er…what am I supposed to do? Should I lie down?”

Yasha seemed to think about this for a moment. “Yes,” she said, “that might be best. Here, er…on the floor should work.”

He looked down at the wooden floorboards, and then watched as she casually unsheathed the sword. He quickly got down.

“Do you…always use such a large blade for these things?” he asked.

“No,” Yasha admitted. “Usually a dagger, or a razor, or something.”

“So why did you bring that?”

“It’s the only thing I have. Why, do you have a razor?”

Caleb considered this for a moment, weighing the options between having to actually go out and spend money on a pack of razors, versus putting his faith in Yasha.

He sighed. “Is this…is this going to hurt me? I know you are very strong, but is dexterity—”

“I have done this many times before,” she said. “I like having smooth arms, you know, and Molly likes having—”

“Okay, okay, okay.” Caleb squeezed his eyes shut. Then he opened them again and met her gaze. “I am glad we are friends,” he added quietly.

She cracked a smile at that. “I am glad also.”

“Oh. Oh, good.”

And then he closed his eyes and held his breath and steeled himself and waited.

•

“Oglen, it has been a pleasure doing business with you as always,” Nott grinned as the gnome grudgingly took her hand. “I admire your bartering skills, but know that on this day, you have been bested by Nott the Brave!”

He huffed. “You’re lucky I like you,” he said. “Not many others would be so nice about dealing with goblins. I hope you remember that next time you try and bargain the price up that high.”

“I hope you remember that I know what health code standards look like, and I know that the city isn’t so kind to merchants trading in illegal magical artifacts.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Oglen said. “It has been a pleasure. Come back any time.”

And with that, Nott shoved the bills into her pocket and cheerfully skipped out of the store.

•

Caleb turned back to a rather satisfied-looking Yasha standing in the doorway to his bathroom.

“Well?” she asked. “What do you think?”

He ran a finger along his jawline and over his chin, smooth for the first time in over a year. There was an occasional stubby patch, but nothing too obvious for those that didn’t know where to look.

“It’s…it’s fantastic, Yasha,” he said quietly. “Really. Thank you.”

She nodded. “You are welcome. Pay me back with Frumpkin?”

He chuckled at that. “Of course, Engel. I need to dress quickly now, but he will be in the kitchen. Stay as long as you please.”

Yasha's multicolored eyes glimmered. “Have fun on your date,” she said. “I will go find the cat.”

And before Caleb could correct her—it’s not a date, seriously—she darted out of the room with surprising speed, and he was alone in the bedroom.

He sighed, gave one last glance at his reflection, and started getting ready.

•

Molly, still out on the sidewalk, finally nodded to himself, slung a long, plastic garment bag over his shoulder, and strode into the café.

•

“Jester, why do you keep checking your phone?” Fjord whispered as the lesson continued. “It’s not polite.”

“It’s not any ruder than doodling,” she hissed back, “which is what I would be doing. Anyways, I’m checking to see if Molly’s sent me any texts. He and Caleb are going on that date today, remember?”

“Oh,” Fjord nodded. “Is that why Molly was so frantic this mornin’ about what to wear?”

“Probably,” Jester shrugged. “You know, you really shouldn’t have to ask me for information about his personal life. He’s your roommate.”

Fjord sighed. “Molly is an enigma to me, Jes. Give me Beau any day, I at least understand her. She’s a straight shooter. Well, not a straight shooter—”

Jester giggled. “Definitely not. Don’t worry, Oskar, I will keep giving you romantic updates. Even when you don’t want them, I will keep doing so.”

He sighed again. “Thank you, I think?”

“You’re welcome. Now hush, I am trying to focus. Go back to learning, or whatever you were doing before.”

•

A tiny bell over the door jingled softly as Caleb stepped inside. The Candleglow Café—its name scrawled proudly outside the large glass windows in curling script—was a small establishment with a warmly-lit interior. The ceiling sported a canopy of hanging plants, tiny yellow and scarlet flowers peeking through broad green leaves in wicker baskets. The hardwood floors gleamed from sunlight filtering in, and the afternoon crowd’s idle chatter created a soft blanket of quiet sound. Two figures stood at the wooden counter to the left, its surface piled high with platters of pastries. A chalkboard behind them listed drink offerings and announced that peppermint lattes were the season’s specialty. The smell of brewing espresso warmed the air.

Glancing around, Caleb could see that the clientele not only included the standard humans, halflings and such, but also a handful of more colorful folks. Their groupings varied; a tiefling sat across from a dwarf and a pair of sun elves shared drinks with two humans, and so on. None of the chairs they sat in matched either—some were painted with flowers, others sported cushions, a few metal, at the back were just sofas thrown in for fun. But instead of feeling haphazard and random, the atmosphere seemed strangely homey, weirdly honest. It was the very definition of snug. It said: we might not be organized, or coherent, or make any sense, but it works. And we serve damn good coffee.

As Caleb made one final sweep of the café, his eyes landed on a splash of purple lounging behind one of the small circular tables to his right, by the windows. It wore a maroon varsity jacket absolutely wrecked with embroidery, and had a pair of curling horns sporting silver and gold jewelry.

It was Mollymauk. Who looked over, saw Caleb, and immediately sat up and waved.

“Over here, dear!”

Caleb restrained himself from nervously combing through his hair, smiled weakly instead, and walked over.

“I hope I am not late,” he said, taking the seat across from Molly. “I was, er…shaving.”

He did not notice over his mounting panic, but Molly took a moment to respond and stumbled slightly as he did.

“You look dear, great—I mean, ah, you look quite nice.” He cleared his throat and turned around, revealing a long plastic bag draped over the back of his chair. He grabbed it and passed it over to Caleb.

“It’s your jacket,” he explained. “That you let me borrow. I had it cleaned for you, I hope that’s alright?”

“What?” Caleb blinked. “Oh, ja, er, that is very nice of you, Mollymauk. Thank you.”

“Yes, well. I figured it was the least I could do. You kept me from getting hypothermia that night, so I’d better make sure your clothes stay clean, right?”

“Ah…yes. Right.”

There was a pause, filled with background chatter and rustling as Caleb settled the bag over his own chair. Then he faced Molly again, and they stared at each other wordlessly for a few moments. Caleb scrambled frantically for something to fill the silence, and unknown to him, Molly did as well.

“So, do you—”

“Any preference for—”

Another pause.

“You first,” they both said at exactly the same time.

A final pause, which Caleb broke by laughing awkwardly.

“You go,” he said. “What were you saying?”

“Well, nothing too dramatic,” Molly grinned, and then tried not to wonder why he said that. He cleared his throat and continued. “I was just going to ask if there was a drink you’d like. I did promise to treat you, right?”

“Oh,” said Caleb. “Oh, yes. Ah…I usually just get black coffee,” and balked when he saw the offended expression on Molly’s face. “Er…is that bad?” he asked.

“My dear sir,” Molly said, pressing a hand over his heart, “that is a crime. Come on, the Candleglow has plenty to offer. Name any flavor combination you’d like, and I’m sure they can make it.”

Caleb seemed to consider this for a moment. “Anything?” he asked.

“Anything your heart desires, dear. Come on, is there anything you’ve always wanted to try before, or a drink you used to love? I bet there is.”

Caleb hesitated. Then he rubbed his chin. “You are going to think this is silly,” he said. “I had it mostly as a joke the first time.”

Molly’s eyes glittered and he leaned across the table. “Oh, dear. Now you’ve got my interest. Lay it on me.”

Caleb nodded. “It was something I had a long time ago, traveling with…with classmates. It was called a Rüdesheimer Kaffee. I think perhaps it is too early for anything alcoholic, but it was a very strong coffee drink, and then they added brandy, and whipped cream, and chocolate. And vanilla, I think, somewhere in there.”

He looked at Molly sheepishly. “A bit too fancy, though, ja?”

“It’s brilliant,” Molly said. “Gods, I want one right now.”

Caleb chuckled. “I do not know if they serve that sort of thing so far south, where we are,” he said. “And I would rather not have brandy before noon.”

“But vanilla and chocolate?” Molly asked, raising an eyebrow. “Now that sounds like much more fun than a black coffee, my dear. Hang on,” he said, and stood up. “I’m going to have a word with Thaddeus. I’ll be right back.”

And before Caleb could say a word, Molly had run off and was in deep discussion with a halfling—Thaddeus—behind the counter. He watched them go back and forth for a few moments, Molly pointing at various jars and nodding excitedly as two cups were brought out and filled and adorned to his satisfaction.

He returned and placed their drinks on the tabletop, pushing one towards Caleb.

Whatever coffee was inside had been absolutely buried under a large swirl of whipped cream, topped with little shavings of chocolate. It smelled like vanilla.

“To friends who help you stay warm,” Molly beamed, and lifted his own cup.

Caleb managed a smile at that. “Ja, alright,” he agreed. “And to warm cafés.”

When the drink hit his lips, Caleb’s eyes went wide, He lowered the cup and blinked. There was a line of white foam on his upper lip. “Scheiss,” he said, “this is much sweeter than what I remember.”

Molly wore an immense grin. “Just the way I like it,” he said, then chuckled. “Are you alright, Mister Caleb? Is it too sugary?”

Caleb shook his head and cleared his throat quietly. “No, no,” he said, “not at all. I am just unused to…to that taste. Give me a moment, do not worry.”

“Is it close to the…the rude drink, you mentioned before?”

Caleb actually snorted at that. “Rüdesheimer Kaffee,” he corrected teasingly. “And it was not too bad. Of course, I appreciate the lack of alcohol—”

“A shame, but you’re welcome.”

“—and the taste it not exactly the same, but it is quite nice. Quite nice indeed. Thank you.”

Molly beamed. “No problem, dear. Now, I assume we should talk about ourselves, yes? Especially since Jester and Fjord aren’t here to interrupt.”

“Ja, I suppose so. What do you propose?”

“I know virtually nothing about you dear.” Molly leaned back in his chair. “And I don’t remember talking that much about myself, so why don’t we do a trade? I’ll ask you a question, and you ask me one in return.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Okay,” he agreed. “That sounds like a good start. Er…go ahead?”

Molly laughed. “Hmm…how about…do you like your job? I seem to recall Jester saying you work at the library.”

“That would be correct,” Caleb sighed. “It is nice, all in all. Easy work, very quiet, and usually I am left to my own reading. The only problem, I would say, is that they do not give me more hours.”

“Well, that must be their loss, dear. You seem like the library type, you know.”

“Do I?”

“All you need are glasses, and you’d be perfect. It’s a, ah, a good look on you.”

“Oh. Er…thank you.” Caleb fidgeted with the handle of his mug for a few moments before speaking. “So, do you like your job? Being such a fancy singer at the Moondrop, and all?”

Molly grinned. “I’m definitely lucky to work somewhere so fun,” he conceded. “Though, and I think I’ve mentioned this before, I could stand to get into a little less trouble with the clientele.”

“Actually,” Caleb said, “I have been wondering about that. How is it that you are not swarmed on the streets? How is it that presses do not harass you, and all that? If you are so famed as Jester and Fjord said.” Then he balked and added, “That came out a bit, er…confrontational. Sorry.”

Molly waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, Mister Caleb, I got it. I think it’s mostly that…when I’m up on stage, I’m somebody else. I feel…like I was born to be the center of attention, in a weird way. And when I’m on the arm of some celebrity, or when I have a famous person on mine, I then for the rest of the world, I’m flashy and interesting. But when I’m alone…or in a quiet café out of the way like this…I don’t think I’m quite so interesting anymore. And not as recognizable. With someone famous, I’m exotic. I’m glamorous. Alone, I’m a random tiefling wandering through the streets of a very big city. Does that make sense?”

Caleb nodded slowly, and took another sip. “I think…I think that does.”

“Plus, I just have one of those faces that’s easy to mistake, you know?”

He scoffed. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely, dear. Now, my turn to ask. Hmm…can you tell me about how you and Nott met? She made…quite the impression on me during movie night a few days ago.”

Caleb smiled, and here there was no trace of strain or anxiety. “Ja, that is Nott in a nutshell, isn’t it? And, well, we actually met in…not the most elegant of locations.”

“Please, do go on.”

Caleb carefully met Molly’s gaze. “Tell me, Mollymauk, how…acquainted are you with things that are not always the most…legally up to standard?”

Those red eyes glittered. “I work at a bar, dear. Downstairs we run a club so popular we had to install more soundproofing than you can imagine. The mother of one of my dearest friends,” he continued quietly, “is a high-profile courtesan. And let’s just say tipping isn’t the only way to get coin from the pockets of patrons that wouldn’t miss it. What was your question, again?”

Caleb nodded, satisfied. “We met in a prison in a smaller township to the north. Both of us for stealing.”

Molly gave him a wicked grin. “And how did you get out?”

Caleb leaned back into his chair and examined his fingernails. For just a second, for a moment so short that Molly barely caught it, a lighter-sized flame burst from Caleb’s thumb and went out.

It sent shivers down Molly’s spine. He wasn’t exactly sure what kind.

“Of course, nobody got hurt,” Caleb added. “I…would not have done well if somebody had.”

Molly laughed. “Glad to see there’s a bleeding heart under the mysterious magical criminal, then. Now, ask me a question.”

Caleb tapped his chin, and then brightened up. “Jester mentioned you had your own magic to me once, I think? Is that true?”

Molly hesitated, and Caleb almost apologized. But then the tiefling smiled faintly and nodded. “I do, yes,” he said. “It’s probably not the same as yours, though. Actually, I think I can almost guarantee that it isn’t.”

“Is it innate, then?” he asked. “Like some of Jester’s abilities?”

Molly shrugged. “Maybe?” he said. “I don’t know, I’ve been able to do it as long as I can remember,” he added lightly. “Now, what is your favorite book?”

Caleb blinked, the sudden shift in conversation catching him off-guard. “My favorite book?” he asked. “Er, why?”

“It’s my turn to ask a question, right? Sorry, did you want to stop, or—”

“Oh no, no,” Caleb said hastily. “No, it is alright. Er…favorite book, favorite book…there was a novel I read once before called Before the River’s Dawn, about the creation myth of Wildemount. It is quite good, if you ever feel in the mood for history. And then there is The Mountain Range of Gold, that one was also excellent, and is a three-part fictional series. Actually, the second book is widely regarded as the best in the trilogy but the author believes the last was her most praiseworthy work, even though I really believe the first volume…”

And as Caleb continued rambling, Molly couldn’t help but feel relieved that the other man so easily dropped the subject of magic. It had been a pleasure, really, to watch Caleb’s usually-stoic mask crumble under the weight of sugary coffee and now light up animatedly at the opportunity to discuss his favorite novels. And most importantly, Molly was relieved that no sensitive topics would need airing out on a first date like this.

•

Nott cracked open the kitchen window of the apartment and crawled through, as she always did. It wasn’t until she had made her way across the counter and hopped cheerfully onto the white-tiled floor did she see a large figure crawling on the ground in front of her.

She screamed, which was understandable, and Yasha looked up in panic.

“What the fu—oh my gods.” Nott sighed, and rubbed her eyes. “Why are you in our house?”

Yasha stood up, dusting her sweatpants off as she did. “Caleb invited me over,” she said. “I helped him get ready for his date, and he said I could play with Frumpkin while he was gone.”

Nott only needed a second to go from terror to complacency. “Okay,” she sighed again. “Sure. Just…just warn a girl next time, alright? I thought there was a wolf in the living room.”

Yasha nodded immediately. “Sorry,” she said. “I can see why that would be startling.”

“Yeah, you think? And anyway, why were you on the floor?”

Yasha pointed at the couch. “Frumpkin ran underneath,” she said. “I was trying to get him out.”

Nott considered this for a moment. Then she unhooked her pouch from her belt, rolled up her sleeves, and marched towards the living room. “Hang on,” she said. “I’ll get ‘im for you.”

•

“Is Beau coming this time?” Jester asked as she and Fjord exited the Sutan Learning Hall and walked onto the street. “She mentioned that she might this morning, did she say anything to you while you were at the gym?”

Fjord nodded. “She said she’d meet us at the address. You know, I never expected her to be the type to enjoy apartment-hunting so much. Especially when she isn’t even the one hunting.”

Jester grinned. “She likes shaking up landlords. I think it comes from being a rich guy’s daughter. It’s probably therapeutic, or something.”

“Well," he chuckled, "I’m not one to get in the way of someone working out their personal problems. Shall we head over now?”

Jester giggled and held out her elbow. “I think we shall, sir Fjord. I’m actually super-excited to see this one. It’s pet-friendly and everything.”

•

By now, the morning mob had melted away into a rather bustling lunch crowd, that soon faded into the last stragglers of the late-afternoon. Molly, among other things, had learned about Caleb’s asshole of an apartment super, about Frumpkin the definitely-a-real-cat, and more about the underground smutty novel trade than he ever could have expected. Caleb, in turn, had learned about a number of the tiefling’s more riveting romantic entanglements, about Yasha and his friendship, and about life as a serial performer.

And as the empty cups of makeshift Rüdesheimer Kaffee slowly grew stone-cold, Molly began to see glimmers of somebody else swimming under the surface of the scruffy wizard in front of him. Somebody who, though perhaps he himself didn’t remember, not only knew what it was like to be the center of attention, but also had thrived there. And Caleb, plastic laundry bag pressed against his back, eventually began to notice a kindness and desperation for nothing but friendship, real friendship, lurking within in the man across the table, whose entire life was seemingly an act.

And just as Molly was wrapping up the story of how Ornna and Gustav nearly launched the Moondrop into a civil war over a simple spat—never underestimate that woman, Mister Caleb, she can be very persuasive when she wants to be—Molly’s phone started buzzing from its place on the tabletop.

They both glanced down. The screen read:

2:30PM

YOU HAVE REHEARSAL AT 3. DO NOT FORGET OR YASHA WILL KILL YOU

Molly sighed and silenced the alarm.

“Sorry, dear,” he said with an apologetic expression. “I should probably head out now. It…it truly has been lovely though. We should definitely do this again.”

Caleb smiled back. “I agree. I had a nice time also. You are…fun, Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

Molly grinned. “Really? Well, that is quite a high compliment coming from you. Oh!” he added, and hit himself in the forehead dramatically. “Before I forget, are you doing anything this Saturday?”

“This Saturday?” Caleb echoed. “Oh, uh…I do not believe I am. Why?”

“Well, the Moondrop is having a big celebration for its 25th anniversary. I was wondering if, ah, perhaps you’d like to come?” he fished around in his pocket and produced a small white card, trimmed with gold. “Here’s an invitation,” he said, and passed it across the table to Caleb. “We’ll all be there, Beau and Fjord and Yasha and I, plus Jester is coming too. You’re welcome to bring Nott along also. If you’re…interested?”

Caleb blinked a few times, and studied the card in his hands. “Ah,” he said. “Is it…a party, then?”

Molly quickly shook his head. “Not at all, dear. It’s a show. From all the singers and dancers, including yours truly. Limited social interaction, and I’m sure Jester would love to cover for you if anyone actually tried to mingle. She was going to ask you to go originally but, well, I wanted to. I thought it might be a good step in our friendship if I did. It would…mean a lot to me, if you would come and see me perform?”

Caleb nodded slowly to himself. Then he glanced back up at Molly and gave him a tentative grin. “That sounds…like a very good step indeed. I will…think it over, if that is alright?”

“Excellent!” Molly said, and gave Caleb a clap on the shoulder. “Perfect. I’ll send Nott the details if you decide to come? It starts at seven in the evening, so there’s plenty of time to get ready and all.” Molly stood up. “Er…see you later, then?”

Caleb nodded again, this time much faster. His smile grew only the smallest bit, but it was enough to make Molly’s heart soar with relief.

“See you later, Mister Mollymauk.”

“Wonderful, Mister Caleb. Tell Nott I said hello.”

And with that, the tiefling gave Caleb one more pat on the arm, and headed out the door.

•

Today 2:42 PM

Molly Tealeaf: Jester your idea worked theyre probably in Jester Lavore: of course it did! and I assume the date was good too? Molly Tealeaf: it was wonderful dear Molly Tealeaf: now you just gotta help them get ready and navigate fancy people during the event Molly Tealeaf: does that sound alright? Jester Lavore: molly are you kidding Jester Lavore: i would want nothing more than to do that Jester Lavore: oh my gods im going to put nott in a dress Jester Lavore: thank you for this gift Molly Tealeaf: go easy on them please I only just met em Jester Lavore: ive known them months Jester Lavore: im unleashing hell Jester Lavore: okay bye gotta go fjord says this apartment might be perfect and beau is gonna start haggling now k bye Molly Tealeaf: have fun dear make sure she doesn’t kill anybody

•

Hard as he tried, Caleb’s heart refused to calm down as he rounded the hallway and made his way up the stairs to his apartment. He felt light-headed, and he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. He felt anxious, as if he were expecting the clear skies overhead to suddenly turn grey, or as if he were about to get back scores from an exam he hadn’t aced after all.

And more than anything, he felt guilty.

He had enjoyed himself, at the Candleglow, with this strange man that had suddenly catapulted his way into Caleb’s life. This technicolor whirlwind that would go from high-energy to soft and thoughtful at a moment’s notice. This odd newcomer that made Caleb laugh, that bought him a drink that reminded him of home, that had managed to carefully coax him into opening up about his life where most could never get a word out. After all, Jester had been trying for months.

But Caleb shouldn’t have had fun. He wasn’t supposed to. He didn’t deserve that kind of happiness, and he had left it all behind.

Worst of all, up until now, the feelings now bubbling dangerously in his chest had unswervingly belonged to somebody else. And after it had become clear that they would never be needed ever again, Caleb had locked them up in a box and pushed them down, deep down, so far down that he thought they would never see sunlight again.

Until, apparently, now.

He sighed as he unlocked the front door. Then he yelped in surprise and backed up. Three pairs of eyes instantly trained on him from down on the living room floor.

Frumpkin—in Yasha’s hands, being scratched by Nott—meowed.

“Hey, Caleb!” Nott said cheerily. “Did the date go well?”

“Did Molly like your shave?” Yasha chimed in immediately. “Was it alright?”

He blinked a few times. Then he rubbed his face and sighed. “Have you been in my house since I left?” he asked.

Yasha glanced at Nott, who shrugged, and then back to Caleb.

“Yes?”

He nodded and took his coat off. “Don’t you have rehearsal, or something now?”

Yasha’s face suddenly looked stricken. “Shoot,” she said, and stood up. “I forgot.”

She handed a mildly disgruntled-looking cat to Nott, and quickly started to gather her things. She draped her large shawl around her shoulders, strapped the sword to her back, and gave Caleb a clap on the arm. “See you later. Thank you for letting me stay.”

“Er…no problem?”

And then she squeezed past, and bolted out the door.

“So anyways,” Nott said after Caleb had taken his shoes off and joined her on the floor. “Did the date go well?”

He nodded, and pulled Frumpkin into his lap. “I think it so,” he said, “though again, it was not a date. Mollymauk asked me to meet up once more, later this week.”

“Really?” Nott’s face lit up. “That’s great! Where?”

Caleb gave her a small smile. “At the Moondrop,” he said. “And you’re invited as well. How do you feel like being part of high society for a night?”

Nott raised an eyebrow. “Is that safe?” she asked.

Caleb considered the strange feeling of guilt weighing in his stomach. The dread he felt at having to interact with the upper crust. The terror of the past catching up to him.

And then he thought about the way Molly’s eyes had softened when he asked if Caleb would come see him perform. He thought about the distant glimmer of city lights at night as they stood up on the balcony together in the light snow. He thought about the way his mouth still tasted, ever-so-slightly, like vanilla and cream and chocolate shavings.

“It’s safe,” he said slowly. “And you know, I think the two of us need to just live once in a while. Ja?”

Nott’s eyes glittered. “Ja,” she echoed, and then grinned. “Yeah, absolutely.”

•

☕ ☕ 💚

#critical role #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #text #cr2 #widomauk #jay writes #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #fjord #jester #yasha #nott #beauregard #long post #longfic #something new for me and you

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sockablock · 6 years

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Chapter 8: The Long, Looping Scrawl

TUSK LOVE 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO Today 9:08AM

Lavender Thunder: soooooooo good news and bad news Lavender Thunder: the GOOD news is that gustav isn’t arrested and the cops have cooled off and nobody else is dead Seaman: that is pretty good news Lavender Thunder: yeah well Lavender Thunder: the bad news is that kylre isn’t going to be around anymore Lavender Thunder: and that I think we might need to find some new jobs Lavender Thunder: the Moondrop is gonna be out of commission for like Lavender Thunder: kind of a while

•

Jester, from where she stood next to the couch with her hands over Fjord’s ribs, watched Molly make his way through the front door and into the living room. “What does ‘a while’ mean?” she asked as he approached. “Like…how long is that, exactly?”

Molly collapsed onto the sofa opposite them and shrugged. “My best guess? Probably over half a year,” he said glumly. “It’s mostly to raise funding. Gustav says that he’s got to pay off a heavy fine to the city for all the endangerment his ‘employee’ caused before he’s even allowed to start rebuilding, and then there’s the cost of repairs and the cost of new furniture and the cost of new equipment. Not to mention how long it’ll take to actually fix everything. You should keep an eye out too, Fjord,” he added with a nod to the half-orc, “word on the street is that Fletch will also be closed in the meantime. Gustav or Desmond will probably send out some kind of notice later on today.”

Fjord sighed. “Yeah, I figured something like that might happen.”

“What are you going to do in the meantime, then?” Jester asked. “And what’s everybody else doing?”

“I’m not sure about myself yet,” Molly shrugged. “I know Gustav and Desmond are going to stick around and oversee reconstruction. Everyone else is taking time off to travel and visit family. The Sisters are going back to Felderwin for a bit, and Bosun says he’s going to go backpacking through the countryside. Yasha also took off to do…whatever it is she always does. And Ornna’s taking care of Toya now, though I’m not entirely sure what that entails.”

“I take it that Kylre’s out of the picture, then?” Fjord asked.

“Yeah, what exactly happened to him, anyways?” Jester asked. “You need should be less vague over text.”

Molly’s expression immediately went dark. “It’s…not great, dear. Kylre…well, after the authorities determined that he was a fiend, they elected to…to…”

Fjord sat up as best as he could. “What, Molly? What did they do?”

Molly’s shoulders sagged. “They took him to the Zauber Spire,” he said. “They’re banishing him to the Nine Hells.”

“What?!” Jester shouted. “What do you mean, banishing?”

“I mean that they’re going to send him there for good,” Molly mumbled. “According to what Gustav told us, the police decided that because he’s a fiend, he should be sent back to where ‘his kind’ reside. Whatever the fuck that means.”

Fjord reached out a hand as if to comfort him, and then thought better of it.

“Fuck, Mol,” he said instead. “I’m…I’m sorry."

Mollymauk shrugged listlessly. “It’s no fault of yours,” he said. “It was just…shitty. Complete horseshite.”

They sat there in silence for a few more moments. The distant sound of cars honking drifted up from the streets and through the window.

“Well…” Jester tried eventually, “…at least everybody else is okay?”

Molly snorted. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah, at least there’s that. I guess…I don’t know, I guess in a weird way, life will go on. Just without one of the troupe now, and with a lot of dumb financial problems.”

“Fuck…yeah,” Fjord sighed. “This means I gotta find a new place to work. For the time being, anyhow.”

Jester’s eyes went wide. “Oh, shit!” she said. “Does that…does that still mean we can move in? Or are we going to have to wait a bit, now? I mean,” she added hastily, “it’s okay if we do, totally cool—”

Fjord reached for her hand, and she relaxed.

“It’ll be fine,” he said gently. “As soon as my damn ribs get better, I’ll ask around and see what’s available. Maybe there’ll be something I can pick up at the Leaky Tap, or somethin’, and we can go from there. But…Molly, will you be alright?”

Molly hesitated. He thought for a moment about his bank account, and then considered how tired he was.

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “Maybe?”

Jester, despite the mood, giggled. “That doesn’t sound very responsible of you,” she said.

He gave her a half-smile. “We managed to negotiate the rent down for this year, and I’ve got plenty saved up. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually spend that much money.”

“It’s true,” Fjord agreed. “He eats at the Moondrop all the time and gets people to buy him stuff that he sells.”

Molly grinned. “I’m a financial wizard,” he nodded. Then he paused, and added, “but maybe I should look into finding a roommate. If you two decide to go ahead with the apartment plan, that is.”

“We’ll see,” they both said at the same time.

“Alright, you two, alright,” Molly laughed. “Keep me posted. I’m gonna need time if I’m gonna scout someone out that snores less than Fjord. Honestly, I don’t envy you, Jester.”

She started giggling again. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll make Caleb find me a silence spell that I can cast on him every night.”

“Hey!” Fjord protested, and then winced. He settled for sinking back down onto the cushions and pouting. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“It’s really bad,” said Molly. “It’s literally the loudest sound in the entire world.”

•

“That can’t be enough,” Nott commented as she peered over Caleb’s shoulder. “Look at how much water there is! That little cup is nothing.”

“It’s the right amount,” Caleb sighed and turned around to face her. “Believe me, I have done this hundreds of times before.”

“How come?” she asked. “Did you go camping a lot as a kid?”

They were both kneeling in the bathroom, positioned on the tiled floor next to the edge of a very full bathtub. Caleb had begrudgingly dipped into the month’s budgeted water usage, telling himself that he’d take less showers, and after heating the bath with a few magic spells, they were both currently blanketed by a thick layer of steam.

That smelled, rather strongly, of vinegar.

“Not exactly campfires,” Caleb said lightly, “but I suppose that works. Anyways, this is the best way to remove ashy smells from our clothing. I feel terrible, ruining them like this in battle. Especially since your dress was brand new, Nott.”

The little goblin shrugged. “It’s fine,” she said, “I don’t really think they’re ruined.”

“I am sure that you do not, though others may have differing opinions.”

“They always do,” she said solemnly. “I always ignore them.”

They finished hanging up their fancy attire on the neck of the showerhead, then left the bathroom and shut the door tightly behind them. Caleb moved towards his bed, flopped down and buried his face into the pillow. He felt a light weight sink into the mattress near the space by his foot, and he shifted slightly to give Nott more room.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Bitte. Gods, I am exhausted.”

“Me too,” she said. “I don’t even feel like doing anything today.”

“What a night that was, eh?” he asked, muffled but with a mild chuckle. “Certainly more than what I was expecting.”

“I don’t think anyone could have predicted a giant toad monster would turn a guy into a zombie and then fight us in an abandoned warehouse,” said Nott.

There was a beat of silence.

“Ja okay,” he said. “Point taken.”

There was a longer silence after that, in which Nott sprawled upside-down off the edge of the bed and closed her eyes. Caleb shoved his face further into the pillow, and tried to think of a happy place. Or at least, a sleep-inducing one.

Then:

“Those were some pretty good pancakes, though.”

Caleb turned his head. “What?” he asked.

“Those pancakes,” Nott repeated. “That Molly made us. Those were really good.”

He blinked. “Er…yes,” he agreed hesitantly. “They were rather nice, yes.”

“And it was really nice of him to let us use his bathroom,” she said. “And it was nice that he gave us clothes, and blankets, and made us tea. Even if it was creepy tea.”

Caleb nodded slowly. “Yes?” he said. “That is…true. Er…is there something you have to say about all that?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “There is. Last night was just…really nice. I liked it.”

“Despite the death and monster and fighting?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

She nodded. “Yeah. To be honest, I don’t think that stuff really matter too much.”

“Was? Why is that?”

Nott smiled. “Because we have friends now,” she said. “A lot of them.”

Caleb rolled over onto his back and stared up at the chipped ceiling. He considered this.

“Ja…I suppose we do.”

Nott’s smile widened. “I like them,” she said. “It was fun before, with just the girls, but after everything we all went through together, it sort of feels like…I guess it sort of feels like this whole group is a family.”

Caleb felt something flicker in his chest. He tamped it down immediately.

“I see,” he said eventually.

Nott giggled. “It’s okay if you don’t want to agree with me. I know the truth, anyhow.”

“Do you? What is that?” he asked, almost dreading the answer.

Nott closed her eyes again. “You like them too,” she said.

For a long, long while, Caleb thought of something to say.

And then, when nothing came, he closed his eyes as well and eventually fell back asleep.

•

“Beauregard!” Jester shouted, bursting into their apartment, “are you awake?! I am home! And ready to…”

She trailed off and looked around the empty kitchen. The lights were off, and the windows drawn shut, leaving only thin trails of light creeping in around the curtains. She dropped her purse, and the plastic bag that held her dress onto the floor, and took a few steps forward.

“Beau?” she called, quieter this time. “…Beau…? Are you there?”

Almost immediately, something began to stir at the back of her mind. Something heavy, and unbidden, and unnerving, and old. She felt her hand unconsciously reach into her pocket, and clutch a small metal object on a thick leather cord. She traced her fingers along its smooth surface, and relaxed slightly as a familiar warmth washed over her.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax further, and had just recovered her signature cheery smile when her eyes caught a single piece of paper lying on the kitchen table.

She ran towards it quicker than she probably would have liked. She immediately began to read the long, looping scrawl across its surface.

Jes—

I went to take care of some shit. I’ll be back tonight, but I’m not sure if I’ll be ready to talk to you about it ‘til later. I trust you more than any of these other assholes we call friends, so please don’t be upset if I don’t say shit when I return, alright? And please, please don’t ask any questions. I promise that the second I’m ready, I’ll tell you everything.

See you later,

Drunkmonk

She stared at the frustratingly short letter for a few more seconds. She flipped it around, saw nothing, then flipped it back over.

“Beau will be back tonight,” she whispered. She took another deep breath, and nodded. She carefully folded the page and slid it into her pocket.

“Did you hear that, Traveler?” she asked the air in front of her. “Beau is fine! She’s just running errands. And, and she said that she trusts me! Isn’t that cool?”

Jester was still, and silent for a moment. Her ears twitched as if listening to a far-off song.

“I agree,” she said eventually. “Also, thanks for helping out earlier with Fjord! I’m really glad he’s okay. And I’m really glad you were there for us.”

Another pause. Another strange, silent hum.

And then she laughed and nodded brightly. “That’s a great idea! Come on, I think I remember where I put it. We were on chapter nine, right?”

And then she skipped into her bedroom, leaving the door wide open behind her.

•

TUSK LOVE 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO Today 6:19PM

Seaman: good news yall! Seaman: Wessick says that the Tap’s looking for an evening bartender, and he says ive got the job! Seaman: which ALSO means yall get a friends and family discount for karaoke Seaman: probably Lavender Thunder: HECK YEAH Lavender Thunder: THAT’S AWESOME FJORD Lavender Thunder: why didnt you tell me that to my face though we live in the same house Seaman: i wanted to spread the happy news all at once Molly Seaman: also I still cant move and you went into your bedroom Seaman: sue me (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: that’s AWESOME (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: FJORD IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU Seaman: thank you Jester NottSoBrave: fjord you need to respond more energetically than that NottSoBrave: you shouldnt leave a lady wanting NottSoBrave: otherwise someone could snatch her up Lavender Thunder: oh and what do you know about women? NottSoBrave: i happen to BE a WOMEN NottSoBrave: woman NottSoBrave: whatever NottSoBrave: oh also Caleb says congratulations Seaman: thank you Caleb Seaman: and thanks for the relationship advice, i think? Seaman: don’t mention it Seaman: hey beau and yasha, what’re you going to do? (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: beaus busy right now (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: but im sure she’ll answer later! Lavender Thunder: ditto for yasha Lavender Thunder: that’s just how she do NottSoBrave: how mysterious NottSoBrave: why are they gone? NottSoBrave: is yasha a spy? is Beau a spy Lavender Thunder: yes Lavender Thunder: theyre spies

Nott looked up from her phone screen, stared at Frumpkin dead in his clear blue eyes.

“Hear that?” she said. “I knew it.”

“Spatz!” Caleb called from the kitchen. “Come on, your noodles are getting cold!”

“Coming!” she yelled back. She gave Frumpkin one last solemn nod, then tossed her cell onto the covers and scuttled out of the bedroom.

•

Beau arrived home that night well after sunset. She shut the front door behind her as quietly as she could, but frowned and looked around suspiciously when she noticed that all the lights were still on. Then she saw the living room couch, and her gaze softened.

Jester was laid out on the cushions, fully dressed and fast asleep. There was a tray on the coffee table in front of her, piled high with pastries and sporting a now-chilly cup of hot chocolate. A note next to the tray read:

For Beau!

She sighed. “You little weirdo,” she said, “you didn’t have to wait for me.”

She slid her backpack onto the carpet and carefully lifted Jester into her arms, bridal-style. She made it all the way to Jester’s extravagant canopy bed, and was almost done tucking her in, when she stirred awake.

Jester’s eyes slowly peeked open. Her irises glowed in the darkness.

“Beau?” she mumbled. “Is that you?”

“Yeah, Jes,” she said. “I’m back.”

Jester’s brow furrowed slightly. “You…your face is messed up.”

Beau reached up, felt the tender skin around her bruised eye and split lip. She shrugged and gave Jester a faint smile. “It’s nothing,” she said. “I fell.”

“That’s a lie,” Jester murmured, and closed her eyes. “But it’s okay. You said you trust me, and I trust you too. You can tell me whenever you’re ready.”

Beau was silent for a moment. Then she sighed. “…thanks, Jes,” she said eventually.

“I’m glad you’re home,” came the sleepy response. “I’m glad you came back to me.”

Beau scoffed. “Of course I did,” she said. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I?”

There was no answer. After a moment, Beau pulled the blankets up to Jester’s shoulder, turned around, and went back to her room.

•

And then, after that, life more-or-less returned to whatever semblance of normalcy it had once held, for most of them.

For most of them.

•

TUSK LOVE 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO Today 10:22AM

Lavender Thunder: guysssss Lavender Thunder: whos around??!!?? Lavender Thunder: im bored out of my goddamn mind Lavender Thunder: and yashas still gone (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: ughhhh sorry mollyyyy I have class now (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: and Fjord too right now Lavender Thunder: ah its arlight dear Lavender Thunder: anybody else? Drunkmonk: i hate you, so no Drunkmonk: but actually im also doing stuff right now Lavender Thunder: fuck off Lavender Thunder: nott and Caleb? NottSoBrave: calebs working at the library toady NottSoBrave: and I don’t want to hang out with you Lavender Thunder: wow alright then (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: Nott!! Apologize to Molly!! NottSoBrave: sorry Lavender Thunder: gee thanks Lavender Thunder: anyways have fun doing your stuff yall Lavender Thunder: i guess ill ,, read a book or something

Molly lowered his phone.

He was seated on his bed, wrapped up in his silk pajamas, staring out the window at the bright and bustling city landscape beyond.

This was a strange feeling. Here he was warm, and comfortable, and the sunlight gently caressed his skin with its soothing morning rays.

But today he should have been at the Moondrop. Today he should have been in the dark backstage performer’s lounge, helping the sisters with their makeup, or watching Desmond tune his instruments, or failing to stack crates as high as Yasha could, or riffing with Bo or giving Toya piggy-back-rides or pestering Ornna or chatting lazily with Kylre or learning about sound equipment from Gustav or even bemoaning the lack of proper lighting above his dresser mirror as he tried to apply his favorite glittering eyeshadow before the afternoon shows began.

Instead, he was here.

For the first time in his entire, extraordinarily short life, Mollymauk Tealeaf felt alone.

And he realized now, with rising dread, that he had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

• • •

hey guys! Just letting you know, I’m going on a short hiatus now that Arc 1 is complete! Updates will definitely be coming, as I take time to sort out my other WIPs and adjust to college and the UK. Thank you so much for reading!!!

💚 ☕ ☕ 💚

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