#and now is settling back into the Sonder universe :)! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

etherealblasphemy · 5 years ago

Text

You Never Seemed So Tense, Love

(what’s this? some actual content? on my blog? it’s more likely than you think)

hello again, y’all! it’s been a while since i’ve posted any writing, but at last, i’ve finished another fic! i hope y’all enjoy this one, i found it really fun to write. (title from “gives you hell” by the all-american rejects)

Trigger Warnings For: mild language and mentions of alcohol

Summary: Logan Guiscard loves his simple, mundane life. He most certainly does not love his next-door neighbor, Virgil Savage.

Length: 7,476 words

Kudos are appreciated, reblogs are adored, comments are loved!!

Logan Guiscard loved his life. Honestly. He loved his little suburban house that looked like almost every other home in his neighborhood. He loved his shiny car that he had to wash every weekend because if it wasn’t shining then obviously someone would think something was wrong and wouldn’t take him seriously. He loved his job as an astronomy professor at the local university where nobody cared about what the constellations were named because the Greeks were all dead, and it’s not they couldn’t just Google the names, anyways. He loved waking in the morning to see a lawn full of native plants and a little garden, because he might live in the affluent suburbs, but that didn’t mean he’d give into lawn culture, the horrid thing.

The only thing he didn’t love was his unfortunately next-door neighbor, Virgil Savage. Everything about him was simply illogical. The first thing the imbecile had done after moving in was paint the house bright purple, a stark contrast from the pastel grey every other home sported. He had a rather irritating habit of playing music a decibel too loud for Logan’s taste. He had absolutely no sense of self-care; Virgil seemed to throw on whatever clothes were clean— they were mismatched and rumbled, as if he had just taken them from his floor—and his skin was dull and most likely caked with makeup, which could easily be fixed if the man would just wash his face in the morning. Virgil Savage also had the miserable mannerism of being at least partially nocturnal.

Logan first found out about this “lifestyle” within a week of Virgil moving in. At first, he thought his neighbor was simply having trouble adjusting to his new house. And then the music started. Had it been any other time of day, perhaps Logan would have learned to let it by, to continue with his daily life. But because it was nine-thirty on a Wednesday night and Logan happened to teach Introduction to Astronomy on Thursdays at seven a.m., he marched over to the Savage house with a glare that burned hot enough to set Pluto alight, and knocked three times on the heavy door, tapping his foot incessantly as he waited for a response.

Virgil had opened the door with tired, bleak eyes the color of the Milky Way, full of enigmatic monachopsis that seemed to scream for human contact like an abandoned astronaut, and all arguments fled from the tip of Logan’s tongue. The music was even louder with the door open; the most prominent instrument was a piano that sounded like someone was slamming their fingers down on the keys in a desperate rage. Someone was screaming about friends and not wanting to leave, their voice raspy and broken.

“Do you… need something?” his neighbor had asked with a gruff voice, clutching at his elbows as if the sooner Logan left, the better. Logan had snapped out of his daze, pushing his glasses back up as he looked up at the man standing in the doorway. He couldn’t see much from where he stood on the porch.

“Yes, actually, I would like for you to turn your music down. It is impeding my ability to sleep, and I have to teach a class in the morning,” Logan explained crisply. Virgil looked him up and down, sizing up his new competitor with a smug smirk.

“Well, I dunno, teach.” Logan’s heart stopped for a full second at the nickname before his face morphed into a mask of contempt. “There’s a party going on right now, and what party is complete without music?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed as he glanced inside. He couldn’t see much besides a very much empty living room. “Apparently, a pity party,” he replied, his tone harsher than he intended. For a quarter of a second, a single frame in the movie of life, Virgil’s face had contorted, full of hurt, before quickly losing its emotion, replaced with cool nonchalance. Logan had had half the mind to apologize for his unsympathetic behavior before the song grew louder and Logan was reminded that it was late at night and he was too exhausted to deal with this sort of tomfuckery.

He was about to launch into a full debate to convince this heathen to turn his music down to a respectable volume when another figure came careening through the living room by way of an unseen doorway, crashing into Virgil with raucous, drunken giggles.

“Broooooo…” the newcomer slurred, his arms wrapped around Virgil’s neck for support. “You gotta finish that assignment of yours. You wanna pass the class, donya? Come ooooon,” he wheedled. Virgil’s face flushed as the stranger whined.

“Roman, how much have you drunk?”

“…a bottle.”

“A bottle?! Dee let you drink a whole bottle?!” Virgil’s eyes were the size of dinner plates, his mouth hanging open in disbelief as he turned, facing the living room that still held no-one despite the “party” raging on inside. “Dee! I’m gonna kick your ass!” he yelled as he unwrapped Roman’s arms from his neck. Virgil’s eyes glanced back at Logan. “Sorry about my friend.”

With that, Virgil pushed Roman further into the house, muttering in exasperation as he shut the door without another word to Logan. The teacher blinked before he regained his senses. He scoffed at the sudden cut-off from his neighbor, rolling his eyes. There was nothing else he could do now besides head back home and shove a pillow over his ears to muffle the music.

It was only when he finally slipped into bed that he realized he could only hear the sound of crickets and someone’s air conditioner whirring in the late August night heat.

The music had been turned off.

He hated himself for believing that it would end that night with a simple confrontation. The next week, the music was up again. Logan was too busy grading incomplete and frustratingly incorrect constellation maps to tell off Virgil, and let it be. But then it happened again the next week. And the next. It seemed to Logan that Virgil was just trying to get a rise out of him at this point. When he called his brother he ask for advice, the only promising words he got was “talk to him.”

“Patton, you don’t understand. I have talked to him, he just won’t listen,” he sighed as his brother listened intently over the video call, constantly adjusting his round glasses.

“Now, Logan, you know that everybody communicates in different ways. Maybe he is listening, but he just can’t communicate in a way you understand.” Patton adjusted his glasses again as he tilted his head, a thought striking him. “Maybe he’s trying to get your attention?”

Logan sighed, thinking about Virgil. Would he really be the type of person to annoy him just to get his attention? Virgil didn’t need to play music at an irritating volume for Logan’s consideration of him—those sonderous eyes plagued him almost as much as the music did.

Hold on. What did he just think?

“Are you alright, Logan? You’re making face you always do whenever I correct on your grammar. You know—like someone just ate all the second cookies,” Patton giggled. Logan heard someone talking in the background as Patton turned away from the camera, listening to the person off-screen. “Yep! Do you wanna come say hi to him?” Logan heard a sound of acquiescence and the pounding of footsteps as someone ran down the hallway of his brother’s apartment.

“Hiya there, Logan!” He flinched as Patton’s partner, Emile, popped up in front of the camera. “I heard you were in a jam!” The psychiatrist held up a jar of jam as Logan groaned at the pun, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“I don't know which is worse—your puns or Virgil’s music,” he grumbled goodnaturedly as the partners collapsed into laughter that sounded choppy in the low quality audio of his laptop. He ran a hand through his hair as he checked the time, cringing at the late hour. “I’m sorry, Patton, but I’ll have to sign off now. It’s getting late and I have the wonderful blessing of teaching a morning class tomorrow. I’ll see you next weekend, correct?” His brother nodded as he and Emile wished Logan goodnight.

As he turned off his computer, his mind wandered back to the original topic of his and Patton’s conversation—Virgil. He couldn’t possibly be engaging in this childish feud because he was, what, interested in him? Logan snorted aloud, shaking his head. Virgil was obviously only toying with him.

“Well, then,” he whispered aloud as he slipped into bed, ready to fall asleep. “Two can play that game.”

He wasn’t able to put his plan into motion until the following weekend, just before he had to pick up Patton from the airport. It was quite simple, in Logan’s opinion, but then again, he reminded himself, he had to be on the road by at least nine so he could pick up Patton from his eleven-o-clock arrival, so complex schemes were out of the question until he had the time and reason to do such. Thus, he found himself setting a heavy speaker down on the edge of his front porch, his phone already connected to it. He had deliberated for a while on what song to use before settling on the timeless classic of “Hooked on a Feeling”.

He was about to turn on the speaker when he felt his phone vibrating in his hand. He turned it on to see a text from Patton: “So… I might have told you the wrong arrival time…” Immediately, he called his brother.

“What do you mean, ‘wrong arrival time’?” he questioned as soon as Patton picked up.

“Well, I’m here now. At the airport. It turns out the flight isn’t as long as I thought it was…” He could hear incessant chatter in the background and could clearly picture the dismal little airport that never seemed to stop renovating one wing or another, resulting in utter chaos when it came to an orderly flight schedule. “If you’re busy, don’t worry. I can wait a few hours—”

“Don’t be silly, Patton,” Logan interrupted. “I’m leaving now. I’ll be there in forty-five minutes if the traffic’s alright.” He was already grabbing his keys from inside, throwing on a jacket, and unlocking his car doors. “Have you eaten yet?” The silence was answer enough for him. “There’s plenty of options around. Just be sure to eat something healthy, alright? And remember to get your bags,” he sighed as he started the car, the engine a gentle thrum beneath him.

“Alright, Logan, I will. See you in a bit. Thanks for picking me up.” The call disconnected, leaving Logan in the silence of his car before he decided surprisingly that he couldn’t stand the quietude and turned on the car radio as he backed out of the driveway, unaware of the jet black eyes that watched him go sadly.

Logan made to the airport in forty minutes, actually. He found Patton sitting at the counter of a small shop selling dumplings and baobaos, giddily eating the delicious food. He watched with a soft smile for a moment as Patton snuck a bite of a dumpling to the golden retriever laying on the floor beneath him, her vest proudly displaying her role as a service dog. As Patton straightened, he finally noticed his brother standing several feet away.

“Logan!” he called excitedly, waving him over. Logan’s feet moved on their own, small steps turning into bounds as he ran to his brother and hugged him tightly. “I’ve missed you, too, Logan. It doesn’t seem that university can end soon enough.” Logan’s grip tightened before he released his brother. He felt something nose at his leg and looked down to see Lola nudging at his leg, staring up at him with puppy eyes, despite knowing full well she was not a puppy, by size nor age standards.

He crouched down and ran a hand through her fur as Lola’s tail began beating excitedly. “Hello to you, too,” he said as Lola barked softly in greeting. “You’ve got your bags?” he asked as he stood up. Patton nodded, finishing the last dumpling, and clambered off his stool, thanking the shop owners as he grabbed the handles of his two suitcases in both hands. “I’ll hold on to Lola.” He grabbed the golden retriever’s lease, untying it from the chair’s leg, and began guiding the dog and his brother through the dim airport to the parking lot.

It was nine forty a.m. when they got home. The sun was glimmering, bearing down with no qualms onto the earth with a fierce intensity that seemed to rake across their backs with a near unbearable heat. Patton took one look at the speakers still set up on Logan’s porch and turned around, stopping in his tracks.

“Logan, what are you planning?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to listen to some music while I washed my car,” he explained, even though he knew his car was clean and it was pointless to try and wash it when it was supposed to rain that night, anyways. Patton’s eyes narrowed with a ghost of a smile crossing his lips.

“You’re going to play music, aren’t you?” he proclaimed, twirling around and pointing at Logan with one finger and a sly smile as though he was a detective who had just solved the most difficult case ever presented to him. “Oh, I knew that look meant something! You looked so starry-eyed when we were talking about Virgil!” Logan blanched as he gasped in indignation.

“I did not look starry-eyed! He’s not even my friend, he’s just my neighbor!”

“A neighbor who you call on every Wednesday night,” Patton teased as Logan brushed past him with a groan of frustration, unlocking the door and shoving it open.

“It’s his fault, Patton, he’s the one who plays punk rock from the 2000s and 70s and 80s pop songs played on what I think might be an organ louder than a plague of cicadas at ten-thirty at night.” Patton could only laugh at Logan’s description as he made his way into the kitchen and opened the fridge, already making himself at home.

“Sure, Logan.” Patton’s brow furrowed as he surveyed the fridge and its contents. “How many jars did Mom give you last time?”

“I counted twenty—wait, don’t change the subject, Patton!” Logan chastised. Lola spoke—or, rather, barked—up, woofing at the brothers as if to say, “stop talking about your neighbor and feed me.”

When at last Lola was fed and Patton had dropped his suitcases down in the guest room, it was nearing ten a.m.; he was finally able to step outside and stretch in the sun. Out of habit, he glanced at Virgil’s house, half expecting to see strobe lights flashing wildly behind the curtains, and saw nothing. He paused, his thoughts turning to the speaker still sitting abandoned on his porch. Was Virgil still asleep? An evil grin split across his face as he pulled out his phone, finding the song easily.

“I hope you like the taste of your own medicine,” he mumbled as he pressed played. Immediately, sound poured out of the speaker, the lowest notes tapping a familiar rhythm on his heart. He could just barely hear the sounds of confusion in the other house, following by the door slamming open as Virgil stumbled out in his pyjamas.

Well, he couldn’t really call them pyjamas. Virgil was covered—thankfully, of all the bad habits Virgil partook in, sleeping in the nude was not one of them—but just barely. He wore grey boxers beneath a violet tank top at least two sizes too big for him, and not much else. And perhaps Logan blushed furiously at the sight of sunshine on Virgil’s lanky arms and pale legs, but it was just from the heat. Just the heat.

Not that any of that mattered. Logan was too busy watching Virgil nearly trip over his feet as he shambled about in his lawn, momentarily blinded by the sun, to think any more about Virgil’s limbs. As his eyesight adjusted, Virgil noticed Logan standing in his own yard, then saw the speaker blasting music, and put two-and-two together.

“Do you know what time it is?” Virgil groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Logan snickered.

“It’s nine-fifty-two a.m., which is a more reasonable time than ten-forty-five at night,” he shot back. Virgil snorted before covering it with a cough. “Even if you wake up late, you should at least go to bed at a reasonable time. A good bedtime is crucial to a healthy life,” he lectured as Virgil raised his eyebrows with a smirk.

“Oh, getting worried about me, now? Careful, teach, or someone will think you’ve caught feelings for me,” Virgil chaffed, his eyes bright now in the daylight, intelligent and unrelenting in their mirth. Logan spluttered, unable to form a proper response. ��Beware, Logan Guiscard. You’ve opened up a Pandora’s Box now.” Virgil’s voice was deep and full of laughter—like Logan was missing out on the funniest joke ever told. “I hope you like punk rock.”

He couldn’t stop himself from saying, “It’s you’ve been playing, how could it ever get old?” This time, Virgil snorted for real, chuckling uncontrollably as he backed away towards his house. Logan knew he wouldn’t get that sound out of his head for weeks. Virgil paused as he reached the doorstep of his home, glancing back over his shoulder.

“…I was finishing a report for my theoretical astrobiology class, by the way. I finished a little past midnight. Sorry for wanting to sleep in. I’ll make sure to let my professor know next time that I wasn’t able to finish my paper because my neighbor cared about me.” Logan physically stepped back, stunned. Virgil was taking university classes? And astronomy-related classes at that? Sweet heavens. Somehow, Logan’s face grew even more heated in the August sun.

Too bad Virgil had already left before Logan could find out more.

It wasn’t like Virgil hadn’t warned him. Logan could clearly recall him referencing Greek mythology (which another one of his passions that just so luckily gave him an advantage in astronomy) as he swore to wreak havoc on Logan’s life. Now, perhaps he hadn’t used those exact words, but it was exactly what was happening at nine p.m. on a Tuesday night in the middle of his late-night astronomy class. The class was too far gone now to be reigned back in, the music was still pouring in through hidden speakers, and all Logan could do was stare at Virgil like his whole world had been shattered as his neighbor laughed with his whole body, the sound loud and full of life and shaking Logan’s very core.

He had been in the middle of explaining which constellations appeared during which seasons—it was the beginning of the semester and he had learned the hard way to always begin with the basics—when the music first started. He had been so envirgorated in his explanation of the importance of the North Star that he hadn’t heard it until one of his students asked if whoever was listening to Fall Out Boy would please turn the volume down. Logan had stopped in his tracks, eyes snapping back to reality with a sinking feeling of déjà vu, and listened.

Unfortunately, his dread was well-met. The sounds of Fall Out Boy’s “Thnks fr th Mmrs” were pouring in from all sides of his classroom; Logan scowled, already searching for the familiar pair of inky eyes that bedeviled his dreams and late-night musings. “Virgil Savage!” he yelled, praying that the incident was actually Virgil’s fault and not some poor student who just happened to have the exact same music interests as his neighbor. “You better show yourself before I make you!”

The laughter was more of a giveaway than anything else. Virgil slumped in the doorway, his smirk so infuriating yet charming all the same. He gave a two-fingered salute to the professor as he held up his phone, waving in his trademark teasing manner. Virgil paid no mind to the students staring at the occurrence with rabid curiosity; his focus was on Logan as he bit his bottom lip and held out the phone towards the professor as though inviting him closer.

“You want the music off?” he asked, his deep voice gliding out of his mouth and wrapping itself around Logan’s body like venti of the ancient age. Logan nodded silently and unceremoniously, unable to think of a good retort. “Come and turn it off yourself.”

That was what had sent his class into chaos. One of them had yelled “Dance party!” immediately after, jumping up from his seat and flailing his arms around in what Logan could only assume to be dancing—an attempt at dancing, at the very least. Logan glared at Virgil as he stalked slowly towards the interloper, the sounds of students nothing but background noise at this point. He leaned closer to Virgil, his eyes full of wrath.

“Turn that music off right now,” he hissed.

“You’re staying up too late. If I can’t sleep in, you can’t stay out,” was Virgil’s only response. Logan stuttered.

“You—I—I am teaching a class!”

“And I’m not turning the music off,” Virgil continued. “I told you, if you want it off—” Virgil other hand grabbed Logan’s waist, pulling him into a dip as the professor yelped in surprise and the students cheered Virgil on. “—you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

It took a full five seconds to pass before Logan’s brain rebooted, shutting down the moment Virgil’s warm touch had met his starved skin. Once his reason returned, he wrangled himself out of his neighbor’s arms with several muttered swears and all but ripped Virgil’s phone out of his hands, turning the music off quickly and shoving the device back towards his neighbor. He glared daggers at the interloper for good measure as he retreated back into the comforts of his classroom with a scowl on his face.

“You’re not getting enough sleep either, teach. What was it you said? Yeah, I remember now: ‘a good bedtime is crucial to a healthy lifestyle.’” Virgil smirked as he watched Logan try to reign in his class, to no avail, those dark irises of his eyes holding something mysterious Logan would love to unravel if it weren’t for the classroom of fifty students in the process of losing their minds. “Of course, not letting loose every once in a while and refusing to humor your everloving neighbor really takes a hit on you, doesn’t it?” Logan glanced at Virgil as he paused from removing a recording phone from particularly stubborn student, focusing on the annoyance swirling through him instead of the rapid, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wave of warmth that overcame him at the sight of Virgil’s eyes, half hooded by his black-painted eyelids and full of curiosity—curiosity for Logan. That particular feeling he shoved back into the recesses of his mind.

“Virgil Savage, escort yourself out of this room or I will have security do so. We will continue this at a later date.” Virgil only grinned wickedly as he saluted once more and slinked behind the door frame, disappearing in the myriad of hallways.

“How about we continue it tomorrow at Bourbon Coffee? I hear they make great croissants!” Virgil shouted back. Logan stopped dead in his tracks, his head whipping towards the door in shock. But in true Virgil fashion, he was gone before Logan could find out more.

His only hope to gain another piece of the puzzle that was Virgil Savage was to meet him at Bourbon Coffee tomorrow morning.

He prayed he would survive their encounter.

Logan woke up to the mouth-watering smell of french toast the next morning, a smile already on his face. He found his brother in the kitchen, slipping Lola little bites of bacon as he cooked.

“What is all this for, Patton? Don’t you trust me to make my own breakfast?” he asked as he patted Lola, who showed off her canines with a beam.

“One of Emile’s former patients is one of your students. They told a little story on Twitter, and Emile found out and told me!” Patton swiveled around, almost whacking Logan in the face with his spatula. “How come you didn’t tell me you were going on a date?” Logan huffed, swiping a slice of bacon from the plate where they were cooling.

“It’s not a date,” he argued. “This might be my only chance to actually deal with Virgil besides throwing a pillow over my ears.” Patton chuckled, leaving the conversation as he finished cooking and slid two slices of french toast onto a nearby plate and handing it to Logan, throwing a smaller slice on the floor for Lola to wolf down. He continued his points as he ate. “Besides, I wouldn’t even call our relationship a friendship—”

“Alright, first off, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Patton interrupted as he maneuvered them both to sit at the dining room table. “Second of all.” Patton waited until Logan looked up at his brother, holding his gaze. “Do you want it to be a friendship?” he asked gently, knowing the look that was growing in Logan’s eyes.

“…Truth be told, Patton… I do. Virgil…” Logan sighed, unsure how he could ever explain his interest in Virgil if he couldn’t explain the greatest mysteries of the universe, which were far more comprehensible than the mind and soul of his neighbor. “…Virgil is unexplainable. I try to understand him. But I can’t… Am I wrong to want to understand him?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Patton’s lips as he regarded his brother. “No. Not at all.” Patton’s grin turned mischievous. “But date or not, I still get to be excited! You never go out, it’s nice to see you having fun for once.” For once, Logan did not respond to Patton, allowing himself to genuinely grin.

Fun…

It wasn’t a foreign word in his dictionary, but its page wasn’t dog-eared the way other words were. It didn’t have the significance of ebullience (bubbly enthusiasm—it reminded him of his brother), it didn’t have the importance of syzygy (the alignment of celestial bodies—he always found some way to weave it into his lectures), it didn’t roll across his tongue with the same effortlessness of hiraeth (homesickness for a place that never was or cannot be returned to—plus, it tied into his efforts to learn the Welsh language). Fun was not an unknown word, but it was not one mulled over like wine as he pondered his place in the universe.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t reintroduce it to his vocabulary, relearn the way it sounded, the way it felt running along his vocal cords.

Patton could tell what was going through his brother’s mind. He sat back lazily as he ate his breakfast, his smile just barely concealing his pride. “It’s almost nine, by the way,” he added. “You should get ready soon.” Logan nodded, only a little disappointed that they had to end their moment of peace so quickly.

Far too soon, he found himself ready to go, with the exception of a stomach that wouldn’t stop churning. Logan had no idea why he was so nervous—at best, he and Virgil would get coffee and talk without tearing each other’s head apart, and at worst they would just continue their feud like normal. It wasn’t like things going wrong would ruin his life irreversibly—so why did Logan feel the need to impress Virgil, to make things go perfectly?

He pushed those musings to the back of mind for later analysis. He headed outside to be met with the uncomfortable heat he was so used to yet hated all the same. Wearing a black cotton button down did nothing to relieve the suffocating heat against his body. Silently, he cursed the sun as he glanced about, wondering where Virgil was. It hit him that they had never agreed to a specific time. For all Logan knew, Virgil could already by at the coffee shop waiting for him.

Swallowing thickly—he didn’t know why, he had no reason to be nervous—Logan walked over to his neighbor’s house and rapped his knuckles against the door, tapping his foot incessantly as he waited.

The door opened to reveal… not-Virgil. Logan vaguely recalled him as the drunken man who had popped up behind Virgil the first time he had given his neighbors a visit, though he could not remember the man’s name for the life of him. The man yawned, staring at Logan.

“You’re that teacher Virgil’s obsessed with, right?” he asked.

“…Yes?” Logan wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to that, even if his heart did flutter a little bit at it. “Is he inside? We’re supposed to meet at Bourbon Coffee, but he failed to give a time. I thought it would be logical to go with him so we arrive at the same time.”

The man at the door chuckled. “Virgil’s got a date, eh?”

Logan flushed against his will. “Alright—first of all, it is not a date, and second of all, would you please just tell me where he is?” he pleaded. The man nodded with a lopsided grin, glancing behind him.

“He’s still asleep. Probably thought the date would be a late one,” he drawled, laughing at the way Logan grumbled at the continued use of the word “date.” The man stuck out his hand, at last (re)introducing himself. “I’m Roman. Nice to properly meet you.” Logan took his hand politely, shaking it as he tried to be as inconspicuous as possible as he looked inside the house to hopefully see Virgil.

“I’m Logan Guiscard. Pleasure to meet you as well,” he said, biting back his frown when he couldn’t see his enigmatic neighbor. He drew his hand back with an awkward sigh. “Well, please let me know when Virgil wakes. I would rather go with him to the coffee shop than wait for him.” Roman nodded, saying he would, and closed the door to leave Logan standing on the porch with a heavy heart, though he decided it was better not to analyze why he felt disappointed that he wasn’t able to see Virgil.

Logan felt his phone vibrate and saw a text from his brother. Are you there yet? it read. He texted back a quick response, smirking devilishly when a notification from his music service popped up, giving him a positively evil idea. He tapped on the notification, opening the app, and scrolled until he found a song Virgil would adore waking up to.

“Would you mind if I listened to some music while I waited?” Logan asked Roman as innocently as possible. The neighbor shrugged. He bit back his sly grin as he subtly turned his volume all the way, connecting to his speaker, which remained on the porch from their last morning encounter. He pressed play, and let himself smile at last as chaos erupted to the sound of My Chemical Romance’s “Planetary (GO!)”.

The first thing to happen was Roman bursting into laughter as he realized what was happening. The second thing to happen was a series of shouts from inside Virgil’s house. Two people emerged from the shadows—someone Logan had yet to meet, and Virgil. He felt himself smile without thinking at the sight of his neighbor. Virgil’s eyes were hooded and full of exhaustion, bent on the murder of whoever woke him up so early. They cleared upon seeing Logan, lighting up like fireworks, but quickly narrowed as he put two and two together and realized Logan was behind his early wake-up.

“Y’know, if it weren’t for the fact that I love this song, I would be throttling you, you damn player,” Virgil mumbled with a tired laugh. He was murmuring along to the lyrics, holding out a hand to the teacher. “Come on, aren’t you going to dance with me?” For a moment, Logan felt like he had landed on an alien planet, because in no galaxy would this ever happen, but the moment passed as soon Logan realized, foreign planet or not, there was no way he would ever refuse.

He took Virgil’s hand with a sheepish smile, a silent apology for his lack of skill when it came to the aesthetic movement of his awkward limbs. Virgil didn’t seem to mind as they danced—well, to call it dancing would be pushing it. It was more like what Patton had once described as “moshing”, a frantic but energizing thrashing of arms and legs with no regards of what others thought. It was fun. Logan found that he actually liked it—or perhaps it was only because Virgil was dancing with him, and in a few minutes they would be grabbing coffee together like a real couple… of friends.

When at last the song ended, both of them were gasping for air as they laughed like the idiots they were. Logan was grinning so hard it hurt, but he found he didn’t care. I like him. I really like him a lot.

For once, the thought didn’t scare him.

“I’m guessing you want to head to Bourbon Coffee?” Virgil was asking him. Logan nodded wordlessly, unable to speak as he regained his breath. Virgil smiled softly. “I’ll go change, then. I’ve shown up wearing pyjamas too many times, they’ll probably kick me out this time.” Virgil hurried inside to change out of his night clothes, leaving Logan alone with Roman and the new person.

“We haven’t met before, I’m Logan Guiscard,” he introduced, holding out a hand to them. Their eyes flickered over Logan for a moment.

“Desmond Inoni. Call me Dee. You’re the teacher Virgil’s obsessed with,” the man stated cooly, amused as Logan blushed furiously, spluttering incessantly. The teacher was unable to voice his objections further, as Virgil came running out, hopping on one foot as he shoved a black sneaker on. “You two have fun,” Dee called as they set off. Virgil flipped him off playfully over his shoulder as Logan motioned for him to get in the teacher’s car.

In ten minutes, they were sitting down in the cafe with their hot coffee. Logan had gotten a simple black coffee, with about a bucket of added sugar, and Virgil had ordered some complex drink the bartender seemed to have had memorized. They sat in a corner booth by the window, enjoying the company of some calming, though probably fake, spider plants. Logan tried his best to be inconspicuous as he studied Virgil Savage, the mystery himself. He studied the way Virgil bobbed slightly to the cliché electro swing, the way the sunlight lit up the dusk in his eyes, the way his lips curved when he smiled as he spoke about his short-lived endeavor to become a musician to pay his way through college.

“What about you?” Virgil inquired. “How did you pay for college?”

“I won a scholarship by writing about astronomy. Being a teaching assistant helped to pay for the rest,” he explained. “I had to work quite hard to keep my scholarship, so I never had as many chances to make relationships—platonic or otherwise.” He caught Virgil’s gaze as he mumbled, “This is actually the first time I’ve been out with someone besides my brother and his partner…” Virgil’s eyes visibly widened in disbelief.

“Never?!” Logan shook his head, less melancholic than the last time he had mused over the young adulthood he never had. Somehow, sharing his woes with his neighbor lessened their meaning. Virgil took a sip of his drink before continuing, looking out beneath his thick eyelashes. “…I’m glad you thought my company was worthy enough for you, Logan.”

Logan knew he would treasure the way Virgil said his name for eons, forever and ever until the final star burned out and left the universe dark. He would always remember the way his heart skipped a beat, something slotting into place. Even if nothing came of this experience, even if by some reason he never saw Virgil again, even if the world ended right that moment and he was the last being alive, he would know that he had fallen in love with Virgil Savage.

But his neighbor was not meant to be his soulmate. Virgil didn’t love him.

“Logan? You okay?” Virgil was waving his hand in front of his face, worry swimming in his eyes. “You kinda disassociated for a moment. Don’t worry, I do it all the time.” Logan almost chuckled at Virgil’s small blush. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he promised. “Just… glad you think my company is worth an early rise.” Virgil cracked a smile with a huff, shaking his head.

“Don’t think this changes things,” he warned. “I have a whole playlist you’re going to fall asleep to.”

“That would sound adorable and affectionate if I didn’t know what a scoundrel you truly are,” Logan fired back with a smirk of his own. “I promise I’ll have my own songs to share with you in the early morning hours.” Virgil laughed loud enough to draw the attention of other patrons, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

They sat and talked for what must have been hours, trading anecdotes, questions, and life advice. He learned that Virgil had grown up half an hour away in the backwoods of suburbia, that his favorite color was violet, his favorite animal was a bird of paradise because their dances were beautiful and stupid at the same time, that his parents were divorced but were still friends, that his biggest wish as a young, dumb kid was to be an astronaut and die among the stars. In return, he told Virgil about himself, how his mother had died when he was nine but he loved his stepmother just as much, how his adoration of space began when an astronaut came to his school, how his favorite article of clothing was an old baggy sweatshirt from his first year teaching.

Yet all good things must come to an end, and eventually Virgil had to ruefully apologize that he had an appointment he needed to go to, and had to leave.

He watched Virgil leave wistfully, stirring what remained of his coffee with a cheap plastic stick as he let his thoughts wander over mountains and meadows. Somehow, by some chance, he was in love with Virgil Savage.

Even if Virgil never loved him back, he would make sure to cherish him. He would love and he would lose, yes, but he knew it would be better than to love and to imagine what could have been.

The climax to it all came about a week later, after many continued meetups. Virgil had been hinting at some big finale to it all for the past few days, and Logan was both incredibly excited and incredibly terrified of what his neighbor was planning.

It happened on a clear October night, just as Logan was winding down from a particularly tiring day. Patton was packed and ready to leave tomorrow morning, already sleep despite the early evening hour, and as much as his puns and jokes exasperated Logan to no end, he was going to miss his brother.

The teacher was sitting at the dining room table, finishing up reading a student’s paper. He rubbed at his fluttering eyelids, trying to keep himself from falling asleep as he took another sip from his water, determined to have all his papers graded before he went to sleep. He glanced at his watch every few minutes, chastising himself for checking so often as though he were waiting for something, quickly righting his course of focus back to his yet-to-be-graded papers.

He was about to call it a night and resign himself to an early morning finishing yesterday’s work when it happened. Through the window, which he had left open so he could enjoy the sounds of the night, came the telltale beginnings of trouble, a faint rumble Logan had come to recognize as a bassline emanating from his neighbor’s house.

As he began to hear the lyrics, he tipped back his head with a groan that couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be exasperated or amused. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me…” he muttered as he pushed away from the table to stumble to the window and stand bewildered at the apparent absence of life in the Savage household. Not even a bedroom light was on inside, and it seemed either Virgil had fallen asleep to The All-American Rejects, or this was Virgil’s finale. He knew it was the latter.

Sighing, he pushed away from the table with a clatter of his chair. Running a hand through unkempt tangles of hair, Logan all but shoved the door open and walked out into the brisk night, letting the overwhelming intensity of the song wash over him and take all worries of the papers on his kitchen table away from his mind. Then he noticed movement from one of the windows, and Logan knew to prepare himself for an overly dramatic performance that would have cemented his love for his neighbor if the secret space enthusiasm and the wistful eyes hadn’t already done so.

Logan’s hypothesis proved correct when the bridge of the song began, and people poured out of the house, just like in the music video—which he had watched dozens of times, in a long playlist titled “virgil’s favorites -- memorize!!”, because if he was going to be in love with the man, he might as well know more about what he liked.

And, just like in the music video, they began chanting the ever-plaguing verse as Virgil, playing the role of Tyson Ritter, strutted slowly and calmly down the steps to the teacher’s driveway, where Logan was waiting for him, an exasperated smirk greeting his neighbor.

As soon as Virgil was within an earshot, Logan called to him. “Is this your finale, then?” Virgil’s eyes lit up with playfulness as he stood toe to toe with the teacher, his grin bigger than a full moon.

“Was it too predictable for you?” Virgil retorted with a glimmer of affection in his voice.

“Perhaps,” Logan replied in the same dramatic air as Virgil. “Though I’m beginning to think maybe it’s because I’m rubbing off on you.”

“And maybe it’s because I’m letting you rub off on me. Maybe I like it,” Virgil laughed as he stepped but an inch closer. Logan could see the little discolored speckles in Virgil’s eyes now, from how close they were. Almost close enough to kiss, his brain supplied (un)helpfully.

At once, Logan’s entire demeanor changed. They were close enough to kiss, weren’t they? He’d been fantasizing about it on more than one occasion, though Logan always classified them as nothing but. Nothing but fantasies to tuck away for reminiscing. But here, under starlight, with Virgil looking like a Lunar Queen, with those mesmerizing eyes trapping his, those fantasies seemed more like memories.

“Logan,” Virgil whispered. And like that, the spell was broken. Logan broke from his dreaming to hear a silent night once more, the song having ended without his notice. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Virgil beat him to it. “Look up.”

And, oh, wasn’t that a sight.

“I was wondering why you weren’t outside watching the meteor shower, and when I texted Patton, he said you were grading papers. Can you believe it? Missing the coolest thing in the world for a couple of dead trees?” Virgil was saying, his voice soft and gentle as a blanket.

Logan, of course, was too busy looking to hear him.

Not looking at the meteor shower—oh, no, no. As gorgeous as the black-blue-purple swashes of paint across the heavens was, as breath-taking as the falling stars were, as inspiring as the night sky captured in pure happiness was, none of it compared to the beauty he was so enraptured by—the beauty, of course, being the look of pure awe in Virgil’s eyes as he watched the meteors shoot across the sky.

Without thinking, Logan leaned over, and kissed him.

It was brief, but as soon as he pulled away, he said, “I think I love you.” Just to cement it, of course. To make sure Virgil knew.

The man in question stared at Logan, his eyes wide with surprise, and lips parted in an unspoken gasp. Virgil said nothing. He only grabbed the back of Logan’s neck and pulled him for a second, better kiss.

Two shooting stars crossed the sky together above them, as if in love.

41 notes · View notes

etherealblasphemy · 6 years ago

Text

The Mechanic

just a little gift for you all to tide you over while i’m off in west virginia :)

(this is completely unreviewed, so apologies if there are any grammar/ spelling/ continuity mistakes)

TW: Mild language

They flew for Legion, a foreign country on a foreign planet in a foreign system. Cal couldn’t help but feel nervous as their ship slowly entered the atmosphere, not used to being completely new to a place. They didn’t know the people, they didn’t know the land, they didn’t know what resources were at their disposal if push came to shove and Draven showed up. It made them uneasy, squirming in their seat as they pressed their lips into a thin line, willing the worry to go away.

Halfway through the journey, Anxiety and Logan returned from the med bay, the earthling sporting a cloth sling. “It honestly doesn’t hurt that much now that Logan’s put some salve on it,” he told Roman, who placated immediately.

“Anxiety, I wanna see the Halo Sword, show it to us,” Cal begged. Anxiety shrugged, pulling out a small stone nonchalantly and holding out for all to see, palm outstretched. Cal’s eyes narrowed. “Is that… is that it?”

Roman hopped out of his chair, strolling confidently and swiping the stone from Anxiety’s hand. “It’s not activated yet, it’s still in its hidden form,” he told them as he whispered to the stone, waving his hand over the smooth surface. Before their eyes, the stone disappeared, replaced by a shimmering sword, its handle the color of roses. It seemed to glow, growing brighter every second Cal’s eyes were trained on it. “Ta-da!” Roman exclaimed, proudly showing off the gleaming blade. Cal marveled over it, running their fingers along its sharp length, careful to not cut their hand on the serrated edge.

“Calypso, Vasryians have the coolest things. When we defeat Draven, you’re going to get me one, deal?” Roman laughed, nodding his head as Cal continued to poke and prod at the Halo Sword.

“You might want to settle down Cal. Trust me, you’ll need that energy when you meet Wonderling,” Anxiety mused, stifling his giggles with the black sleeve of his hoodie.

“Okay, now I’m really curious about this ‘Wonderling’ person. What- how- who even are they?” Cal asked. The other four shared a look, a wistful look in their eyes. It was Logan who took up the duty of explanation.

“Wonderling… is an enigma, to say the least. She could very well qualify as the definition of sonder or ebullience; though, she’s a rather complex character to describe. We crash-landed once near her shop a few years back when we were less experienced pilots and had had a run-in with intergalactic law enforcement. She repaired the Sanders Yersinia and offered us hospitality. Wonderling is the best mechanic in the universe, without a doubt, and one of the few people besides Remy that we trust wholeheartedly,” Logan detailed. Cal pursed their lips, deciding to pretend that they understood half of the words the robot had used.

“She’s very tough when the time calls for it, but she’s a sweetheart otherwise,” Patton chimed in. “We’ve had an adventure or two-”

“Which we do not speak about,” Anxiety cut in. “The sooner I forget, the better,” he snickered. “The sooner Wonderling forgets, the better.” Cal smirked, planning to ask the mechanic about the incident in question as soon as they met.

“Hey, kiddos, we’re going to arrive soon,” Patton informed them as Anxiety cheered quietly, eager to see their friend.

Before Cal knew it, the world of Honua approached them, a spinning ball of blue and green, a marble of life in the bag of existence. Patton guided their spacecraft for the land of Legion, heading for Niner, a city that shined like polished gold and copper. Gears and stained brown off-white cloths seemed to be the decorations of choice in this town, mechanics taking center stage. As the Sanders Yersinia touched ground, Cal caught a glimpse of a blimp soaring across the sky like a man-made sun. Every single building appeared to be made of gold, bronze, or copper, gleaming in the early morning aurora as the sun crept over the mountains towards the east. In the sky, metal creatures of all sizes flew about, some transporting goods and people.

Cal stepped out of the ship with their jaw agape, spinning around to take in everything all at once. A wind-up songbird landed on their shoulder, whistling a tune merrily before flying away. They had half a mind to chase after it, but Logan called their name, gesturing them over down the street, where the others were waiting for them under a sign that read, “Exotic Wonders Trading Company and Mechanic.” Below it, a second sign was added, scrawled with messy handwriting, reading, “arbor & arbor tailoring.”

“Looks like Rowan’s finally got his stuff together since we last stopped by,” Patton was saying.

“Please, we both know Moxie threatened to show his baby pictures to Ada to get him to help her,” Anxiety retorted with a snort. “C’mon, let’s find Wonderling.”

They went inside, a small bell tinkling as the door swung closed, disturbing a cloud of dust. Cal sneezed, waving their hand to clear the air as their eyes adjusted to a place not illuminated by the sun. A couple lanterns were stationed on antique tables, their flames flickering. Aging portraits hung on the walls, little brass placards at the bottom describing them and their sitters, the dim light casting shadows on the canvas that made the people come to life, ready to pop out of their confining frames in a moment.

The tables and shelves doting the space were filled to the brim with exotic goods. One table’s surface was covered entirely in pocket watches carved with intricate miniscule details, and another was devoted to journals and tomes, some opened to seemingly random pages filled with doodles of mythical sea creatures and far-away lands. Cal’s attention was divided between a metal robot and a collection of shiny minerals when a voice spoke right behind them.

“Like what you see?”

Cal shrieked, jumping into the air as they whirled around, clutching their heart. Their eyes landed on a petite young woman watching them with interest, her icy blue eyes piercing Cal’s. Her mocha skin blended into the shadows, giving her the appearance of a ethereal creature. Something told Cal she enjoyed roaming unseen. The woman stuck out a hand in greeting, unhesitant as she grabbed Cal’s and shook it vigorously.

“Name’s Moxie Arbor. I run a tailor shop in the back of this treasure trove. You here for Exotic Wonders or Arbor & Arbor?” she asked in one breath. Cal stuttered, unsure how to respond.

“They’re with us, Moxie,” Roman said, coming to Cal’s rescue. Moxie rolled her eyes, turning towards the prince with a hand on her hip. “Do you know where Wonderling is?” Moxie laughed, her head falling back.

“Oh, she’ll have a fit when she sees y’all,” Moxie cackled.

“Hello to you, too, Moxie,” Logan said, approaching them, dragging Anxiety and Patton away from old telescopes and compasses. “I assume Wonderling is on another delivery?”

“Should be back by now-” Moxie was cut off by the ring of the bell, signaling the entrance of another customer. “Oh, heya, Wonder!” Moxie called, waving them over. “Look who showed!” Cal gulped at the heavy tread of boots, the newcomer’s face obscured by shadows.

“Well, I’ll be damned. If it ain’t the li’l shits who almost broke Axel,” the person, presumably Wonderling, grumbled deathly quiet, her voice devoid of humor. Cal heard Roman curse under his breath. She stopped right as the flames of the gas lanterns lit up her face. A grin suddenly broke across her face. “...who also happen to be my favorite customers! Y’all can head inside the workshop and help y’allselves to a glass of lemonade while I see what y’all broke this time ‘round- oh, who’s the sweetheart over here?” Wonderling asked, taking notice of Cal. Cal swallowed thickly, blushing furiously as they offered a awkward, toothy smile. “Don’t be shy, honey, I don’t bite that hard,” Wonderling reassured.

Cal bit down hard on their lip, willing themselves to not blurt out anything stupid and make a fool out of themselves. They eyes glanced over Wonderling, pausing on her warm chocolate eyes and ebony hair streaked with gold. Her smooth skin, the color of walnuts, glowed in the firelight of the lamps, the white of her blouse standing out in the shadows.

“Cat got ya tongue?” Wonderling inquired, pursing her lips teasingly. “C’mon, I’m guessing y’all are acquainted with one another.” Wonderling ushered Cal and the others into the back, passing into a sizeable room filled with gears and cogs and all sorts of tiny trinkets. A falcon made of metal sat on the largest table, half its wing dismantled on the surface.

“Don’t mind the mess, I’ve got to fix Axis’s wings before I use her again for package delivery,” Wonderling explained as they headed past into a much smaller room, where six chairs circled a table laden with a glass of lemonade and a small plate of cookies that smelled divine. “Help y’allselves. Just leave me some this time, a’ight?” Cal and Anxiety dove at one for the freshly baked desserts, shoving several in their mouth and moaning as the sugar melted in their mouths. “I’ll go take a look at the Yersinia; if y’all need help, just holler.” Wonderling left with a swish of her navy cloak, sending a wink towards a flustered Cal.

“Are those wedding bells I hear?” Anxiety teased, dodging a napkin thrown at his face.

“How about we leave me alone and figure out what we’re going to do now that we have the Halo Sword?” Even Logan cracked a smile at Cal’s flusteredness.

“We’re going to start a rebellion, and you’re going to start a relationship,” Roman said as Cal groaned, burying their face in their tanned hands, feeling their face heat up even further. “Just before the Guard of the Snake found us back on Vasryia, Terrence told me he knew every single staff member who was still loyal to my father and would ask them for their support if I decided to challenge the throne. As we speak, he’s probably rallying up the common folk. By the time we return, we should hopefully have people to help us fight back.”

“Let’s hope Terrence and the others aren’t caught by Draven,” Patton added, Logan humming in agreement.

“Once we rally the support of the commoners, we can storm the palace and capture Draven. We’ll ask any commoners who have any grievances against him to come forward and we’ll transcribe them,” Roman continued, accenting his speech with animated hand gestures. “As soon as we have a big enough list, we declare him overthrown and start imprisoning his original supporters for conspiring against the crown. That’s all I have for now. I think for the time being, we should forget about our impending doom and enjoy Niner while we still can.”

“If it’s fine with you guys, I’d like to explore the city before we leave. I saw some shops selling silk scarves and I wanna get one,” Cal piped up, rising from their seat, wolfing down their third cookie.

“Sure, kiddo, just don’t be too long,” Patton told them. Cal assured him that, of course, they wouldn’t be more than an hour or two, and bolted out of the shop. Their eyes instinctively narrowed in the bright sunlight. They spun around in the street, passerby swerving around to avoid their outstretched arms as they reveled in the glory of the shining city of Niner. Up ahead, they saw Wonderling cautiously approach the Sanders Yersinia, stepping up onto the platform they had landed on.

Cal meandered closer, biting their lip as they idly watched the mechanic set to work, tilting her head as she surveyed the damage dealt to the spacecraft, mumbling to herself as her eyes narrowed.

“Will Draven ever stop running them up the creek?” Wonderling whispered to herself, unaware of the onlooker.

“Um… excuse me, M-Miss Wonderling?” Cal spoke up, internally berating themselves for sounding so stupid. Wonderling spun around, eyes wide in slight panic. “I, uh, I surveyed the damage before we came. I can s-show you the, uh, the diagram if it’ll help…” they stuttered. Wonderling flashed them a bright smile.

“That would help me a mighty lot, honey. Thank ya.” Cal hurried into the ship, coming out with a thin device where they pulled up the ship’s diagram and began explaining where the ship had taken damage, pointing a shaking finger at the different areas. “Say, sweetheart, did they give ya a name along with those fancy scars ‘cross your cheek?” Cal flushed, laughing nervously as they rubbed the back of their neck sheepishly.

“My name is Calrex. Bennova. Calrex Bennova,” they spit out quickly, tripping over their words. Wonderling’s eyes narrowed.

“I reckon I’ve seen your face beforehand on some account or another,” Wonderling mused, gaining a faraway look in her eyes before snapping her fingers, straightening. “Might ya be the one they call the Pirate?” Cal went pale, stuttering their response. “Don’t be afeared, honey, I respect what ya’ve done. I know ya didn’t destroy that galaxy- all my eye ya did. Ya’re a right-lookin’ angelica with yar head set on straight. Now, I know what y’all are allotting upon. Mind ya, I wish the others’d stop poking their heads into the firing range, but that’s no business of mine. Ya just remember there are people out there who know the truth. They’ll follow yar lead, Calrex Bennova. Trust them, and they won’t let ya down when the clock ticks midnight.”

Cal was at a loss for words as Wonderling’s unhesitant, impassioned speech. The mechanic took notice of Cal’s nerves and gently grabbed their hands, her calluses rubbing against the soles of their palms.

“If y’all need help at any time during yar rebellion whatnot, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m a mighty fine pilot, if I may say so myself, and I’ve seen my share of battles. I’ve lost some and I’ve won some, but it’s knowing that yar friends are fighting right beside ya that keeps ya pushing ‘til ya’ve made things right.” Cal squeezed Wonderling’s hands, smiling thankfully.

“Thank you, Wonderling. I’m really starting to see why everyone’s eyes would light up when they talked about you,” they told the mechanic, who colored, looking away.

“Oh, I’m nothing but a mechanic with grease stains on my soul. Yar the one who’s going to be savin’ the universe, aren’t ya? Now, ya didn’t just come outside to talk with li’l ole me. Go off and explore, Pirate. Find some booty to show off,” Wonderling laughed, smirking as they let go off Cals hands. Cal flashed her another grateful smile as they turned away, ready to set off and run around the city before they were stuck in the Sanders Yersinia for far too long again.

They paused, turning back around. “Would you happen to know where I can myself a silk scarf?” Wonderling smirked, extending a long, dainty finger down the street, saying nothing as she sent a wink towards Cal, suppressing her giggles.

“Make sure to get one in red, sweetheart. It makes your eyes shine.”

Cal ran through the street, dodging loitering shoppers as they weaved in and around the shops, the sun climbing further up the sky to burn the shoulders of mortals. They found the stall selling scarves hanging from hoops, their multicolored fabrics standing out in the golden browns of the wooden beams. They ran their hands over the soft materials, chatting energetically with the shopkeeper, a stout, elderly woman whose gnarled fingers tapped the wood rhymically as she watched Cal’s eyes widen to the size of the moon, studying the potential buyer.

“These scarves are made by Olga,” the old woman said with an accent thicker than the trunk of a Farafallen haedel tree, pointing a finger at herself. “They good for love-finding.”

“Sure. Is this what you tell all the couples that walk by?” Cal quipped, examining a different scarf. The hag cackled, her eyes wild and crazed.

“Not that kind of love, child,” she snapped. “The kind of love you wish for when you lonely, the kind between lovers of another kind who fight side by side in heat of battle. The kind of love for family.” Cal felt their breath rush out of them, shuddering a little. It had been so long- too long- since they had heard such a beautiful word. Since they could even imagine someone loving them the way a parent loves their child, shielding them from the horrors of the world until they could fend them off for themselves and still return to patch up their little one’s scratches. “Is five galleon, child, but three for you with eyes the color of sky kissing grass,” the shopkeeper offered, holding out an ancient hand to collect the three coins she knew she would receive. Cal wordlessly dropped the coins into her palm, snapping shut and delivering the handwoven cloth to the pirate staring soundlessly into the distance.

“May you find the love you seek, young Pirate,” the shopkeeper whispered conspiratorially as she shooed them away. Cal ran their fingers through the scarf before wrapping around their neck, heading further down the street full of peddlers and overflowing bars, all a raucous celebration of the enjoyment of life.

A less crowded alleyway drew Cal’s attention. They headed down, brick walls shouting up from the ground, stained with the scribbles of wanna-be prophets and teenagers aching to have a voice. They lost themselves in a maze of backways and alleyways, letting their mind wander as their feet did. Eventually, the walls opened up and grass roots forced their ways through cobblestones. Before them stretched out a main street of a different neighborhood, one enclosed by the confining towers of apartments stacked on top of one another like a child’s blocks. Lines of laundry stretched across the narrow street, the sheets dirty and the clothes ragged.

Cal approached this odd alley with hesitation. Glancing to their left, they saw a handmade sign with the words “Union Alley” carved into the rotting wood. “Might be like home,” they mumbled aloud as they meandered further into the neighborhood of one winding street. “Oi, ‘zis the choir infantry?” they called to a passing beggar, praying they slang they had learned was known in a place as exotic and far-away as Honua. The man’s eyes were bright and deranged as they focused on Cal’s body, gazing just over their shoulder as though there was someone standing right behind them.

“‘Tever you need, Union Alley pr’vides,” he told them solemnly. “A prett’ girl-” Cal tensed- “shou’dn’t be wanderin’ this street wearin’ clothes of such… fine dis-po-si-’ion.”

“I kin punch a shit where it counts, you ‘cluded,” they threatened, snarling. The beggar backed off, throwing his hands up in defense. They sighed, rolling their eyes as they moved on, scanning over the goods presented by each shopkeeper, their stalls tiny and cramped, hogging as much space as they could to attract enough customers to manage a wage able to buy them the ability to sleep inside and not in the exposed stalls where they mongered their goods like animals.

“Buy a tonic or two?” one yelled.

“We kin teach ya magic ta use on the Mericon traitors!” another offered.

“Want a good time? Just ask me, Night Flower, your next dream,” a femme galante purred, moving sultrily against a wall to attract the flickering glances of those who walked by. Cal pressed on, giving old memories no time to rise from the dead. Searching hands of the blind reached out, aching to see the light once more as Cal danced between them.

“Pirate with the scarf of blood, watch where you step,” a voice called out from a stall hidden in shadows. “There are beasts that lurk below the ground and can hear your careful tiptoes. Allow your devotion to let you fly, and your determination to let you soar.”

The hair on the back of their neck stood on end, chilled by the voice’s words. Two yellow eyes glowered at them from afar. Cal stumbled back, their breath caught in their throat. From the darkness emerged a teenager, their eyes wrapped with bloodied cloth, clutching a yellow-eyed creature in their arms.

“Pirate, there is a snake within your midst,” the young being warned, their grip on the creature growing tighter. “Tread carefully, and escape before it bites.”

“What are you talking about? How do you- how do you know who I am?” Cal asked, their breath hitching.

“You, Pirate, are the savior of the common people who have no voice. You are exalted across the universe for standing up to King Draven of Vasryia. There are whispers of your accomplishments even in the lands the King believes are most loyal to him. You, Pirate, are a symbol of hope for us. But you are in great danger here. An old nemesis prowls this alley. Keep your eyes of an eagle and beware the snake prepared to strike.” Before Cal had a chance to process the words of the teenager, they disappeared back into the thralls of the shadows, the yellow eyes of their beasts dimming to nothing but the absence of light.

Although they tried to shake off the growing feeling of nausea in their stomach, Cal couldn’t refocus on exploring, so caught up in trying to decipher the teen’s ominous words that they failed to notice the man behind them. They bumped into him, grunting at the impact and knocking him over.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry!” Cal apologized, helping him up. The man was silent, nodding tersely at their apology. “Are you alright?” they asked sincerely, offering him a soft smile.

“I’m fine,” he said briskly before yanking his hand away from Cal’s, sending them to the ground themselves with a yelp. “Oh, dear, how clumsy of me. Let me help you up,” the man said without much emotion, all but digging his nails into Cal’s arm and forcing them to their feet. Cal stumbled, falling into the man’s arms. As they looked up into his eyes, they felt their face pale, their brain screaming with recognition as those citrine eyes bored into their soul, mocking them.

“Well, if it isn’t the Unwanted One.”

Pain bloomed from the base of their skull and their vision began to blur as they slumped in the man’s arms. The last thing they could think of before they fell victim to unconsciousness was the man’s name: Cato.

Logan leafed through the aged pages of a journal, immersing himself in the different entries, some pages long and full of awed detail about new lands, others short and content to sketch a sunset before turning in for the night. He checked his pocket watch, putting the diary away as he made haste for the spaceship.

“We should leave now,” he informed the others, who groaned but put away their objects of wonder back where they belonged. As Logan counted heads, not helped by Moxie running through the aisles, hugging all her friends goodbye and telling them to come back soon, he felt strange. Something was missing- Cal. They hadn’t returned yet, more than likely simply forgetting to come back to the shop. It probably hadn’t helped that Cal was new to Niner and didn’t know labyrinth of criss-crossing streets as well as he or a native like Wonderling and the Arbor siblings did.

“Hey, where’s Cal?” Anxiety asked. “Didn’t they say they’d be back in an hour? It’s been three.” Logan’s line of logical thinking took a slight detour, his reason turning to concern. Perhaps Cal had gotten lost, and were wandering about, sure to encounter danger. Immediately, he told himself Cal was fine and could handle themselves if they somehow chanced upon a rougher or two. This concern was nothing but him overexerting his systems, a glitch in his programming.

“Find Wonderling. The one you call Cal was taking a look to her. She’ll point us the right direction, a‘least,” Moxie suggested, holding the door open for the robot and his companions. They had no chance to exit, however, as Wonderling came running in, her breath ragged and her hair pulled back, strands smeared with grease.

“I found this on the ramp,” she breathed, pulling out a blood red scarf, her hand shaking as she held it out. “I told Cal to get a red scarf, something must have befallen her.” Her voice wavered as she finished; Logan had half a mind to comfort and tell her Cal was fine, if only to keep Wonderling from having the panic attacks that had been increasing in intensity as of late.

“Wonder, you sure some folk didn’t just lose it to the wind?” Moxie asked, placing her hands on Wonderling’s shoulders to comfort her.

“It was under a rock.” Wonderling’s voice was meek and quiet, something that rarely happened in the time Logan and his companions had known the mechanic. “Someone put it there.” Logan could hear her hyperventilating, her brown eyes brimming with tears.

“Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no, we gotta find Cal,” Anxiety was mumbling, running a hand through his long hair. “Shit, if something happened to them…”

Roman stepped towards him. “Hey, it’s going to be okay,” he assured the human. “Everything’s going to be alright.” Gently, he placed his hand on Anxiety’s cheek, pulling the nervous earthling into a hug, whispering comforting words into his ear to calm him.

“Right. We should hit the streets as soon as possible. While I would suggest splitting up to cover more ground, we need to know as soon as possible what’s happened to Cal, so we go as a group, spreading over a small area so if any one of us finds something, we can easily tell the others,” Logan said, already pulling up a map in his mind of the city, planning how they would search the city.

“A’right. A’right. We’ll find Calrex. They’re gonna be mighty fine, Wonder, don’t ya worry,” the mechanic told herself. “Let’s hit the craft first, ‘case I missed some’n. Sweet heavens, I hope they ain’t in a ruckus.” Wonderling held the door open as they crowded outside, squinting in the afternoon light.

Posthaste, they left for the landing pad where the Sanders Yersinia stood in all its glory. Wonderling’s box of tools and gears was left carelessly on the side on the pad. “Shall we begin searching?” Logan inquired. Wonderling, still shaken, nodded, going to pack up her toolbox as the others began scouring the area for any sort of clue of where Cal might be.

Logan watched the others for a moment as they searched. In the back of his head, he could hear himself saying how illogical this was. He had met Cal just over a month ago, and here he was, organizing a search for them and feeling- what, concern? The robot scoffed, rolling his eyes. No, this was normal. Missing people warranted concern and search parties, this wasn’t something uncommon.

But no matter how much he told himself he was not getting worried for the pirate, he couldn’t help but feel the dread boil in his stomach like a cocktail mixed wrong, a nuclear explosion only waiting to happen. He couldn’t help but feel those blasted errors in his coding.

The ominous feeling of doom only grew when his sensors caught notice of a slip of paper, half-hidden under a nearby stone. He took it out from underneath, ignoring the dread eating away at him. Unfolding the crumpled paper, he nearly dropped it as he registered the words scribbled on the off-white vellum. “I found something!” he called, watching his companion’s head whip toward him, desperate for answers.

He held out the paper for all to see, unable to keep the tremors from shaking his hand as he gripped the paper tight, reading the words aloud.

“If you want the Pirate back, darling nephew, you must come retrieve it yourself.”

Roman paled, clutching Anxiety’s hand as he processed the words. “It’s Draven. Oh, sweet Calypso, Draven took them,” he whispered as Wonderling inhaled sharply, covering her mouth with her grease-smudged hands, whimpering softly.

“We have no choice but to go rescue them.” Even Logan was surprised with the words that leapt out of his throat without his permission. Patton spoke up first, voicing his approval. Anxiety agreed less than a second later, Roman joining in with desperate acquiesce.

“Beat his ass, or you’re not ‘llowed back,” Moxie told them angrily, staring in rage at the note that had been left for them. Logan looked at Wonderling, who was staring blankly at the paper, fear driven wild in her eyes.

“Y’all better make sure to bring back that sweet soul, ya hear me?” she said quietly, still focused on the note. “And tell them it’s ‘bout time to rise up. When y’all decide to end this, give me a holler. I’m loath to turn my back on my friends, and y’all need all the help ya can acquire.” With that said, Wonderling turned away and hurried back to her shop. Logan called his thanks after her, knowing she would get Axel ready for a battle as soon as she set foot in her store.

“Bring ‘em back, boys. Wonder’ll be disappointed beyond belief if you don’t,” Moxie added, wishing them luck before heading after the mechanic.

“Don’t worry. We’re getting Cal back,” Roman growled, his brow furrowing with absolute fury. Patton lowered the ramp of the Sanders Yersinia, its crew wasting no time in boarding and gettin ready to lift off.

They were going to get their friend back.

hahahahahaha I have no idea how to end stories

I hope you all enjoyed this installment of Starbound! For once I was motivated enough to write something in a reasonable amount of time, hah. Thanks for reading and leaving notes, I really do appreciate all of it :D.

(*cough cough* wonderling and calrex forever, peasants *cough, cough*)

TAG LIST:

@asofterfan

@alix-the-skeleton

@hufflepuffsscrewdriver

@v-blue-writer

@sanderssidesstuff

11 notes · View notes