#brace face (shelley) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

beauregardlionett · 6 months

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you've walked a hundred times before - ch.2

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“PUPPIES!” Raya shrieked approximately two seconds after Mar came into her line of sight. Mar winced at the sheer pitch and volume Raya achieved, but otherwise did not react. Raya approached at a speed Mar found quite impressive before she halted a foot from Mar and their dogs, clenching and unclenching her fists with big, sparkling eyes. She had apparently noticed the ‘service dog’ vests they were wearing and had barely contained herself.

“They aren’t on duty yet,” Mar said, gesturing to the dogs. “Knock yourself out.”

“Oh thank god,” Raya rushed out in a single breath before throwing herself to the floor to be smothered by two very large dogs.

Mar left her to it, going to drop off their bag at their desk before rejoining Raya.

“What are their names?”

“The Doberman is Ginny and the Rottweiler is Shelley.”

“I didn’t know you had service dogs,” Raya said as Ginny shoved her face into Raya’s chest. “You never said anything.”

“The paperwork was a bit complicated and confusing here, so I had to wait a little while for it to get processed before I could officially bring them in to work. I’ve had both of them for about a year and a half now, but you know I don’t talk about a lot of things. It also slipped my mind I hadn’t told you - between school and boards and all. They trained together and I didn’t have the heart to separate them.”

“I’m glad you didn’t, so I could experience this moment,” Raya said, sounding far too melodramatic.

“Well, my first patient is coming in five minutes, so your moment can last for two more minutes.”

“You’re seeing the Desmond’s kiddo, right?” Raya asked as Shelley flopped to the ground and dropped her head in Mar’s lap.

“Yeah,” Mar said with a sigh. “Which is why I’m glad the paperwork got processed for these two. They’re a big dog lover family, and I think it’ll make the appointment easier when I have to explain to the parents their son will probably never be able to walk without his leg braces.”

Raya winced as she scratched behind Ginny’s ears. “I do not envy you there. First thing in the morning, too.”

Mar leaned over and pressed their face between Shelley’s ears with a groan.

“They were so insistent during that eval last month about getting him to walk without the braces. But from what I’ve been able to get him to do and the way he’s progressing, it’s just never going to happen. Or at least, it’s not going to happen in the timeframe they’re looking for.”

“Let me guess, they wanted him ‘normal’ before he started school?”

“Exactly.”

“Damn, I’m sorry, Mar.”

“It’s not any one person’s fault,” Mar sighed, sitting up again. “It’s just how it is sometimes. And it’s not like that means there’s anything wrong with the kiddo. But parents never want their child to be different because they want them to fit in. So, no matter what I say, they end up crying about it or yelling at me.”

“Hence the dogs.”

“Hence the dogs,” Mar agreed wearily. They glanced up at the sound of the door opening, peering over the front desk to just barely see the heads of the Desmond parents from where Mar was still on the floor.

“That’s them,” Mar heaved out a sigh, pushing to their feet. “Time to work, puppies.”

–

It had been about a week since Ginny and Shelley were able to start coming to work with Mar, and two weeks since they had encountered Nightwing. All in all, the days since that evaluation had passed relatively normally - or at least as normal as a healthcare professional in Gotham could hope for.

The Desmond family had been understandably frustrated when Mar had to talk them through the fact that their son would need to navigate school with his leg braces. The dogs had helped to a degree, but Mar had possessed no delusions about them being able to completely alleviate the distress. There had been a few other cases in those days that Mar was beyond thankful for Ginny and Shelley for various reasons. A good majority of Mar’s caseload in their daytime clinic was pediatric, and the girls were remarkable with the children. Most of the parents were hesitant at first, considering the sheer size of Ginny and Shelley, but a few head nudges and cute tricks often sealed the deal.

As an added bonus, they worked wonders in providing Mar with ‘scary dog privileges’ on the walk home from pro bono.

Speaking of pro bono, Fariha had forwarded Mar an email the day before Nightwing’s follow up from a blank email address that simply read ‘untraceable’. It was apparently from Nightwing, saying he was very sorry but wouldn’t be able to make his appointment. Mar was left to ponder if they had given him the office number or if he was just that paranoid about his phone number being traced.

“How can you turn it down before you’ve even heard my full proposal?” Lydia whined. It was another night at pro bono, and things were slow. Both of their patients had canceled, so they were playing the waiting game until the next appointment slot. Jiro - who Mar had finally met last week during a pro bono shift - had an evaluation in one of the rooms, so they had the floor to themselves. Ginny and Shelley were on break with Fariha in the front office while Lydia and Mar walked on the treadmills in the back corner.

“I don’t do blind dates, Lydia,” Mar said again. “I have too much social anxiety for that.”

“You always say you’re an introvert and you have social anxiety, but you picked one of the most social career fields in the world.”

“I like helping people,” Mar said simply. “And this is a controlled environment. It’s different.”

“Whatever you say. I still think you’re missing out by saying no.”

“Then you go on the date for me.”

“You’re so mean to me.”

“Hey, Mar!” Fariha called, head poking out of the front office before they could retort. Stepping onto the side bars of the treadmill as they lowered the speed, Mar twisted around.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve got a walk-in.”

Mar did not like the look in Fariha’s eye - something mischievous even from across the clinic. They stepped off the treadmill and ducked into the front office, finding Ginny and Shelley curled up under Fariha’s desk, napping. On the other side of the window stood none other than Nightwing, grinning as brightly as he had two weeks ago.

“Oh, Nightwing,” Mar said, surprised. “Welcome back.”

His comment in the email had stated ‘patrol conflicts’ and he hadn’t rescheduled. Mar had figured that would be the last time they ever heard from him, but here he stood. Spandex, domino mask, and all.

“Sorry about last week,” Nightwing said brightly. “Fariha said you have an opening?”

“Yeah,” Mar nodded. “Just enough time for a session before my next appointment comes in. Come on back.”

“I’ll add him to your schedule,” Fariha said, sweet and teasing in one. Mar muscled down the urge to stick their tongue out at Fariha and nodded their thanks. They signaled for Ginny and Shelley, calling them from under the desk as Nightwing entered the gym.

“Oh, do you like dogs, by the way?”

Nightwing’s eyes landed on the dogs before Mar even finished the question. He gasped so hard Mar worried he might choke.

“OhmygoshcanIpetthem?”

“Go for it,” Mar said, smirking at the sheer, childish delight on Nightwing’s face. “They’re trained emotional support dogs and physical therapy aides.”

Mar left Nightwing with Ginny and Shelley to go find their laptop, catching sight of Lydia across the clinic. She was draped over the front of her treadmill, staring openly and adoringly at Nightwing, clearly trying not to swoon at the sight of him being gently accosted by two giant dogs.

Rolling their desk up to the plinth closest to where Nightwing was with the dogs, Mar called them over and waited until Nightwing was sitting on the plinth before letting them be pet again. Ginny parked herself between Nightwing’s feet and dropped her chin against his knee, content to let him give her an endless amount of enthusiastic ear scritches.

“So, how have you been doing, Nightwing?” Mar asked, pulling up his chart and opening a new note for him. “Any issues since I last saw you? How are your exercises going?”

“I’ve been doing the exercises as much as I can. I’ve been pretty busy, so I might have missed a few days, but I stopped swinging like you asked me to.”

“Good!” Mar said, genuinely pleased. “Has the pain gotten any better?”

“Sort of,” Nightwing said, deflating a little. “I can’t completely keep my weight off my arm, so I think that’s been preventing it from feeling totally better.”

“I figured that might be the case,” Mar said as they typed out a brief version of Nightwing’s comments. “What about the concrete thing?”

He brightened again, reaching down to scratch behind both of Ginny’s ears. “Only once since I last saw you!”

Mar immediately felt conflicted, and it must have shown, because Nightwing’s expression dropped again.

“No, wait,” Mar said, pushing their desk aside and running a hand down their face. “I’m sorry. I am genuinely pleased to hear that. But you have to understand I hate that this was even a number that did not start at zero. I dislike that this was a goal in the first place because the average person is not being thrown into several concrete-like surfaces on a daily basis. But I’m happy to hear that the frequency has reduced.”

Nightwing scratched at Ginny’s ears again and grinned, chuckling quietly as Ginny wagged her tail so hard her butt started moving.

“That’s fair,” Nightwing admitted. “It’s just become something I expect to happen that it’s easy to forget it shouldn’t be happening.”

Mar nodded, leaning their hips back against the plinth behind them. “Well, if you’re feeling up to it, I’d like to do some new exercises with you today to focus on building your strength back up now that the pain has reduced. What sort of things are you doing on a daily basis that we might be able to turn into exercises?”

“Besides swinging, I do a lot of acrobatics and hand-to-hand combat.”

Mar hummed in acknowledgment and let their gaze stray sideways, staring at the various pieces of equipment strewn about the gym. They had a few ideas already, but knowing they didn’t have a lot of experience with either of those forms of exercise, Nightwing would probably have to provide feedback. But that was fine, Mar could work with that.

They glanced back at Nightwing and found him completely engrossed in making kissy faces at Ginny, who was soaking up the attention happily.

“Let me check out your strength around your shoulder before we start,” Mar interrupted gently, pushing off the plinth with a faint grin.

After checking over Nightwing’s shoulder, they got to work. Moving around the gym to various places, Mar worked through building some exercises specific to Nightwing and his needs for work. When he had said he did acrobatics, Mar hadn’t realized he meant he had been doing them since he was a kid. They had him do a handstand with the wall behind him as a safety net and Nightwing didn’t touch it once. He even maintained a conversation with Mar as they sat on the floor next to him, staring at him in awe.

“Is this even hard for you?” Mar eventually asked after he had been at it for nearly five consecutive minutes. Mar had told him to hold it as long as he could without pain.

“Nope,” Nightwing grinned. He proved his point further by dropping one leg off to the side and didn’t so much as wobble. “I mean my shoulder doesn’t really feel great but it’s not unbearable.”

“Okay,” Mar said faintly. “Well, it’s been five minutes, let’s do something else.”

Nightwing pulled his leg back up and dropped gracefully to his knees in front of Mar without a sound. They blinked at him and marveled at the amount of control he had over his body.

“I’ll admit, I don’t know much about acrobatics or hand to hand,” Mar said as they sat on the floor. “What sort of things in your usual training do you do that have gotten hard?”

Nightwing perked up and proceeded to take Mar through a couple things he had been struggling with. Mar made sure to write them all down in their note on their laptop and watched Nightwing demonstrate. They quietly broke down each task, finding the parts that were most difficult, and pestered Nightwing with questions about the movements that he answered happily. At one point, they were going back and forth over a minute movement bugging Nightwing, and the open eagerness on his face reminded Mar of their conversation last time he had been here. They thought about all the medical professionals that assumed he was a meta, the ones that, perhaps unintentionally, didn’t give him the time of day.

Mar resolved to never be on that list for him.

With the little time they had left in his appointment, Mar jumped on one of the exercises they had been discussing and worked through it with Nightwing. They made adjustments and talked through temporary compensations together. Then Mar had him do a few more repetitions as they observed him while following along.

“Okay,” Mar said, slightly breathless but doing their best not to sound it. They gratefully sat on the plinth across from Nightwing’s and pulled their desk over. “How does your shoulder feel now after all that?”

“A little sore?” Nightwing said, moving his arm around and looking like he barely broke a sweat.

“That’s good,” Mar nodded, typing a few lines into their note. “That means we didn’t aggravate anything beyond what you can tolerate.”

As Mar typed another few notes for later into their document, Nightwing slipped from his plinth to the floor, letting Ginny all but sit in his lap. He pressed his face against Ginny’s shoulder and muffled a giggle - a giggle - there, scratching his fingers through her short fur. Mar’s fingers kept moving across their keyboard even as they stared down at Nightwing, smiling faintly.

“I know someone that would love you,” Dick said as he sat up and used both hands to scratch at Ginny’s ears.

Mar kept typing without looking and asked, “who would that be?”

Nightwing hesitated for a brief second after opening his mouth, clearly catching himself. Mar let him without commenting on it.

“Someone I know who works here in Gotham. He’s a big animal lover.”

Mar nodded and decided not to push further, turning their full attention back to their note. After writing down the bare bones of what they would need to remember for later documentation, Mar pushed their desk aside and leaned their elbows on their knees. Staring down at Nightwing and Ginny, Mar couldn’t help but grin. They let them have another minute of cuddling before Mar spoke up.

“Well, Nightwing, that’s all I have for you today. My next patient is showing up soon, but I can walk you out and we can try to schedule you an appointment again.”

Nightwing pushed to his feet and Ginny stood, too, pressing against his leg as she wagged her tail happily.

“If it’s alright, I’ll just stick with walk-ins. I don’t want to take an appointment slot that someone else might need if I’m probably going to have to cancel anyway.”

Mar slid off the plinth and stared up at him for a moment, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. After a few seconds of this, Nightwing shifted from foot to foot, grinning awkwardly.

“What?”

“You’re my patient, Nightwing,” Mar said, stern and simple. “You have as much right to an appointment slot as anyone else on my schedule.”

Nightwing opened his mouth, clearly to argue, but Mar held up a hand.

“Nope, hang on,” Mar said. They pulled their desk over and grabbed a sticky note and pen. Scribbling down their phone number and email address, Mar tore the sticky off the stack and held it out to him.

“Here, my work cell number and email. If you have a free night and want an appointment, contact me and I’ll get Fariha to add it to the schedule. Saves us both time just in case you try to walk in and I don’t have an opening. Or, if you’re tied up and can’t get here but have questions for me, you can reach me.”

Nightwing took the sticky note from Mar like it might blow up on him.

“This feels…like cheating.”

“What do you mean?”

“This means I can contact you and get on the schedule easier than other people.” He still held the sticky note between two fingers like it was something dangerous.

Mar put the pen down on their desk and crossed their arms, staring up at Nightwing’s hesitant expression.

“Nightwing,” Mar said, tone firm. “You. Are. My. Patient. Which means - like it or not - I’m going to do everything within my jurisdiction to help you out and make this as easy a process as possible. If that means you call me ten minutes before an appointment, that’s fine. If the slot is open, it’s open. Simple as that.”

When he still looked uncertain, Mar gentled their tone and uncrossed their arms.

“Listen, I gave you my contact information. The ball is in your court on this one. If you don’t want to contact me, then don’t. You won’t hurt my feelings, I promise. All I’m trying to do is help you out with scheduling.”

Nightwing pressed his lips together, still seeming unconvinced, but he nodded and put the sticky note away somewhere on his person.

Mar took it as a win and gestured, moving for the door.

“I’ll walk you out, again.”

Nightwing trailed after Mar, waving to Fariha as they passed the desk. They paused in the hallway once again, Ginny sitting neatly at Mar’s side and staring up at Nightwing.

“Keep doing your exercises, and try doing the handstand hold for five minutes a couple times a day as long as it doesn’t make your shoulder worse. I’ll have some new exercises ready for you when you come in again. Let’s shoot for another two weeks from now, if you can make it around then. And no swinging still, if you can help it.”

Nightwing nodded and bent down to say goodbye to Ginny. As he stood to leave, he paused, glancing back at Mar.

“Thank you,” he said, earnestly.

Mar blinked, their chest constricting with the sincerity behind his gratitude for something Mar considered routine.

“Anytime.”

Nightwing grinned and then he was gone.

There was something about early November in Gotham that got the resident villains excited. Or maybe they were always like that and Mar just never paid attention to them before November. Either way, it was annoying.

“What do you mean the Penguin wrecked the pharmacy on 12th?” Mar asked in disbelief. “I thought it was the one on 7th!”

“No, that was the Riddler.”

“What the fuck do these guys have against pharmacies?”

“No clue,” Raya said. “If you figure it out, make sure you let GCPD know. Actually, scratch that. They’re useless. Find a way to let Batman and his team of birds know.”

“I need to pick up a prescription,” Mar groaned, dropping their head against their desk. “Did they say if they were rerouting pickups somewhere else?”

“My sister said they told her orders and pickups were being allocated to the pharmacy on 5th until further notice.”

“Ugh,” Mar said with emphasis. “Fuck my lunch break, then.”

“What about going after work?”

“I can’t, it’s a pro bono night.”

“Can you get it tomorrow?”

Mar turned an exhausted stare on Raya, sighing. “I wish. I ran out of my meds four days ago and haven’t had time to get the new prescription until today. But now I have to haul ass over to 5th and grab it.”

“Oh my god, is that why I caught you staring into the back fridge yesterday for a solid three minutes?”

“Yes,” Mar groaned, rubbing at their forehead. “I was—hang on, you waited three minutes before saying something? What the fuck, Raya?”

“I was taking pictures of you to make into a group chat meme.”

“If I didn’t need this job so badly, I would strangle you.”

“Love you, too,” Raya sing-songed. “You know I love your ADHD ass, don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Mar checked their watch before shoving to their feet with a groan.

“Whatever. I’m taking Shelley with me. Can you watch Ginny?”

“Of course I can!” Raya said, cooing at Ginny and patting her knees to summon her.

On their way out, Mar paused at the front desk to let the attendant know they were stepping out and if they weren’t back for their first patient following lunch to let them know as much. Mar hoped they weren’t out that long because they wanted the chance to eat lunch, but getting their meds so they could actually function took priority.

Even as inland as they were, the biting wind from the nearby water was cold enough that Mar’s nose went pink at the tip and they started sniffling. Shelley seemed unfazed, trotting along with her tongue lolling and eyes bright. Mar was glad at least one of them was enjoying this walk.

They were about a block from the pharmacy when a car screeched to a stop in the middle of the road, swerving to block both directions of traffic. Mar paused, tugging gently on Shelley’s leash to get her to heel. They watched a few people pile out of the car, brandishing guns and yelling at drivers and pedestrians. Mar side-stepped toward the alley nearby, tugging Shelley along with them and pressing against the worn bricks. Mar reached for their cell phone to call the police, only to find it was dead.

“Are you fucking kidding me.”

Mar glanced around and saw someone across the street, also ducked into an alley and speaking rapidly on the phone. Good enough.

Turning back to where the people had left their car, Mar watched all five of them enter a building, leaving the street empty. They glanced down at their watch.

Shit. They really needed to get to the pharmacy and it was right there. They could literally see it at the end of the block on the other side of the corner store those guys just went into.

Mar glanced down at Shelley. Shelley peered up at Mar, ears lifted and eyes bright.

They could sprint. Those meds were the difference between Mar being able to get their documentation done or not.

“This is stupid,” Mar said to Shelley. “Let’s go.”

Mar ducked out from the alley and started for the other side of the street, hunched low and keeping a tight hold on Shelley’s leash. They might have made it if the driver hadn’t stayed behind.

He leaned out of the driver’s window and fired a warning shot into the air, freezing Mar in place. Shelley ducked behind Mar’s legs with a startled bark, tail tucked. Mar could relate to that sentiment.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The driver asked, getting out of the car and keeping the gun trained on Mar.

“Going to the pharmacy,” Mar said, voice surprisingly steady for the way their knees and hands were trembling. “I don’t want any trouble, I swear.”

“Oh, well, that’s funny. Because I do.”

“That’s nice.”

“Are you sassing me, kid?”

“I’m on lunch break.” Mar had no idea why they said that. What the fuck did that have to do with anything?

“Yeah? I don’t care.”

“Okay.”

Apparently dissatisfied with Mar’s sass, (they weren’t trying to be sassy, Mar literally was not thinking before they spoke) the guy leveled the muzzle of his gun to the center of their forehead. It was still hot from his previous shot, the heat emanating from the metal in the proximity of Mar’s skin. They had a moment to think back to their anatomy professor from the first semester of their doctorate program. The woman had told Mar during a dissection lab that if they didn’t learn how to relax, they were going to die young from stress.

Take that, professor, Mar thought, delirious and panicked.

The sound of a gunshot going off made Mar scream, short and sharp, as they jerked backward and squeezed their eyes shut.

Were they dead? They didn’t feel dead. How did one know they had died?

Shelley’s weight against their legs prompted Mar to open their eyes.

The guy with the gun was splayed out on the pavement in front of Mar, clutching his shoulder, mouth open in a silent scream of agony. Mar’s knees gave out and they dropped back, landing hard on the sidewalk and miraculously avoiding sitting on Shelley.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” Mar whispered, frantic and strangled. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Some lunch break, huh?”

The sound of a new voice, warbled and mechanical, drew Mar’s attention. A brick wall of a human being was crouched on the roof of the car blocking traffic, face obscured by a sleek red helmet.

“What the fuck,” Mar said again, voice pitched and wobbling. “Who are you?”

The mask was featureless, but Mar could feel the way this newcomer was raising a judgemental eyebrow at them.

“You must be new here.”

“You could say that.”

“Red Hood,” the introduction came without preamble. “I control this part of Gotham.”

“That’s nice,” Mar said, voice gone small. They stared at Red Hood as he climbed off the car and walked over to the driver still on the ground.

“Now you, buddy,” Red Hood said, standing over the driver and placing a booted foot against the bullet hole in his shoulder. The silent scream transitioned into a very loud, agonized one, making Mar flinch. “You aren’t new here. You and your buddies know this is my turf. So, wanna tell me what the fuck you think you’re doing in broad daylight?”

“N-Nothing!” The driver cried, eyes blown wide. “We’re not doing anything!”

“Oh, really?” Red Hood drawled, the sarcasm translating even through the modulator. “Then what’s all this? A picnic? Because it sure as hell doesn’t look like nothing.”

The rest of the crew took that moment to exit the building noisily, all of them colliding comically into each other the moment they laid eyes on Red Hood. Mar stayed perfectly still, arms wrapped around Shelley as a precaution. Every single fucking person around them was holding a gun and Mar was sitting on their ass on the dirty Gotham sidewalk holding their dog.

“You’ve got two options,” Red Hood spoke up after a few seconds where no one moved. “You can take that stuff you stole and hope I don’t put a bullet through your heads as you leave. Or, you put all that down on the sidewalk and make sure I never see your ugly mugs in this part of Gotham ever again.”

Mar’s arms tightened around Shelley as the crooks didn’t move for a few more seconds. Red Hood cocked his gun and suddenly the bags were being dropped on the sidewalk.

He chuckled, the sound distorted through his mask and modulator, and removed his foot from the driver’s shoulder.

“Get your asses out of here before I change my mind.”

Mar had never seen a group of men leave somewhere so fast in their life.

“Hey, lunch break,” Red Hood’s voice spoke, catching Mar’s attention. They looked up, sharp and panicked, not realizing they had been spacing out. It was probably dissociating, but Mar was trying to be optimistic.

“Are you hurt?” Red Hood asked as he holstered his gun.

Mar shook their head before finding their voice again. “No, no I’m…I’m okay.”

Mar watched on in a daze as an elderly woman toddled out of the corner store, frazzled. Red Hood scooped up the robbers’ bags and handed them over to her. He didn’t object to the well-intentioned way the woman dusted at his jacket and fret over him. She ended her inspection with a very grandmotherly pat to his arm before heading back into her store while Red Hood held the door for her. Red Hood turned back to Mar and it was about then they realized they should probably stand up.

The second Mar took their arms off Shelley so they could do so, Shelley was butting her head up against Red Hood’s knee, tail wagging. Mar dusted off their scrub pants with one hand and grabbed at Shelley’s leash with the other, eyes wide.

“I’m so sorry, she’s usually well-behaved, but she’s off duty right now and probably spooked.”

“Off duty?”

“She’s a therapy dog,” Mar said, wrapping Shelley’s leash around their hand a few times for the stability it offered. “I work at a physical therapy clinic with her.”

Red Hood paused, one hand absently patting the top of Shelley’s head.

“What the fuck are you doing all the way over here then?”

Mar blinked and then pointed at the pharmacy at the end of the block. “I was trying to get there.”

“And you thought running through an active crime scene instead of looping around the block was a good idea?”

Mar opened their mouth to argue back and paused, realizing that Red Hood was right. That would have been the smarter thing to do.

“I may be a little stupid.” Mar paused and tightened their fingers around Shelley’s leash. “And sleep deprived. And unmedicated.”

“Well try to be less of all that next time you take a lunch break stroll through Crime Alley, yeah? Stupidity isn’t covered by most insurances these days.”

Mar had no comeback for that, so they nodded and fiddled with Shelley’s leash again. Shelley seemed quite content sitting at Red Hood’s feet and getting tentative head pats from his gloved hand.

“Uhm…am I allowed to go? Or…?”

“Or what?” Red Hood said, gruff and distorted. “I don’t need you hanging around here to get shot at again.”

“It’s just…” Mar gestured to where he was still petting Shelley. “I didn’t want to just walk off.”

Red Hood stared down at his hand for a moment like it didn’t belong to him before he cleared his throat through the mask and carefully pulled his hand away.

“Whatever,” Red Hood grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Get out of here.”

“Okay,” Mar said. They were saying that a lot in this series of bizarre events. What the fuck else were they supposed to say? This city was insane. They gave a gentle pull to Shelley’s leash and signaled for her to follow Mar as they started to walk away from Red Hood. Mar got approximately three steps away before they paused and turned around.

“Red Hood?”

“What?” he had started to walk off in a different direction but paused, sounding annoyed.

“Thank you,” Mar said. “I know your intention probably wasn’t to save me given what you were saying to that guy. But I didn’t get shot because of you. So, thank you.”

The eyes of his mask stared back at Mar for a long few seconds before he turned away and waved a hand dismissively.

“Don’t go telling people I saved you,” he said, voice a little less gruff than before. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

Mar watched him walk off for a moment before Shelley pushed her head against Mar’s knee with a whine. Right. Pharmacy.

“Let’s hope I don’t get caught up in any more shit on the way back,” Mar grumbled as they started down the sidewalk again. They immediately regretted that and found the nearest piece of wood to knock on. “This city is a fucking nightmare.”

Mar somehow made it back to the clinic before their patient arrived with about three minutes left of their lunch break to scarf down a hastily reheated container of food.

“You look rough,” Raya said, eyeing Mar like she was worried they were going to choke.

“Thanks,” Mar said between bites. They took a second to breathe and swallow their food before continuing. “Some guys tried to rob a place I was walking by and Red Hood showed up to scare them off his turf.”

Raya nearly launched herself into space with how fast she got out of her chair, eyes bulging. “You saw Red Hood while you were walking to the pharmacy?”

“I didn’t know your voice could go that high.”

“Mar!”

“Yes, I saw Red Hood. He didn’t shoot me, the robbers didn’t shoot me, I have a patient soon.”

“Why would any of them have a reason to shoot you?” Raya all but screeched.

“I may have been in the middle of the sidewalk.”

“What?”

“Please stop screeching, I’m worried about your throat.”

“How are you so fucking calm right now? You’re acting like this is a normal thing to be saying happened on your lunch break!”

“An even mix of dissociation, compartmentalization, and the fact that I simply do not have time for that.”

“You’re terrifying,” Raya concluded, thankfully at a normal volume. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’ll put you in touch with my therapist and let you guys figure it out. She’d probably appreciate the input,” Mar said dryly, refreshing their computer screen. “Oh, my patient just checked in. I’ll give you her contact information later.”

“You’re not funny.”

Some lunch break.

#dc #batfam #batman #writing #my writing #PT fic is basically just PT suffering through situations

6 notes · View notes

circusgoth-dotcom · 8 months

Text

6684 Lemon Gulch

Ship: Logan Howlett x Gabriel Reaper-Argabritt [Exes AU]

Word Count: 1396

Summary: Hot damn another long one fhfhfh (For me, anyway). When the X-Men are faced with a new threat, they will need all the help they can get. Professor X sends Wolverine to track down and try and convince Gabriel Reaper, his ex, to return after disbanding from the team many years ago. Logan is shocked to find his ex has been "domesticated" since the days they used to go steady. CWs for mentions of implied prejudice toward mutants, brief suggestiveness, alcohol consumption, smoking.

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife @rexscanonwife

Logan heaved a reluctant sigh as he stood on the doorstep of 6684 Lemon Gulch, the last known residence of Gabriel Reaper, his ex, in several senses. He didn’t know if he wanted it to be here or not. The only reason he was tracking it down was on Xavier's command. They needed all the help they could get. The neighbourhood was nice… quaint… something that didn't suit the Gabriel he had left.

What if he didn't recognize it at all? Could things really have changed all that much since Gabriel voluntarily left the X-Men? Birds twittered in the sturdy trees lining the well-paved streets. Everything was so… quiet here. It made his supersonic hearing buzz with understimulation. He raised his hand, waffling between knocking and ringing the doorbell. He chose to knock.

A young man opened the door, his expression both confused and curious as he peered at the stranger on the doorstep. “Can I help you?”

“Does Gabriel Reaper still live here?”

The man braced his palm against the doorway, leaning back into the house. “Mr. Reaper-Argabritt! There's some guy at the door asking for you!”

You've gotta be shittin’ me.

It didn’t take long for a tired-looking Gabriel to appear. “Kev, I really appreciate you, but I just put Shelley down for her nap…” They trailed off, eyes widening as their gaze fell on their old flame, their face paling slightly. “Logan.”

“Ah, geez, I’m sorry. I’ll go make sure I didn’t wake her up.” The young man rushed inside, leaving Gabriel gaping, his breathing shallow.

“Well… I… come in.” He felt light-headed as he let Logan in, closing the door behind him and leading him into his Boho Gothic living room. “Make yourself comfortable, can I get you anything?”

Logan stood awkwardly at the edge of the room, unable to make himself sit as he took everything in, his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans. “I suspect happy-go-lucky back there isn’t your partner, is he?”

“Oh-hah, Kevin? No, he’s just the nanny. He’s been a big help, especially now with Shelley…” Gabriel cleared his throat and floated over to a shelf, off which he picked up a photo of himself and another man, showing it to Logan. “Otis Argabritt. My husband.” It stung both of them to be said aloud.

“Well, at least I can rest easy knowing you’ve always had an eye for the older ones.”

Gabriel put the photo back. He wore a long, grey, loose-fitting button-down dress over a white tank top and black sweatpants, along with a pair of grey, fuzzy slippers. He looked comfortable. A band of white gold glinted on his left ring finger. They then picked up two more photos.

“This is Bram, our little boy, he’ll be four in two months, and Shelley, she’s a year old as of the first.”

“They’re beautiful, Gabriel.”

“Thank you…” They softly smiled and put the photos back. It was a sad expression.

“Does Argabritt know?”

“Please, be more specific, Logan.”

“That you’re a mutant, and that his kids’ll likely be mutants, too.”

“Oh.” Gabriel slowly sat on its couch, clearing its throat. “No. I haven’t.”

“And how long have you two been together?” Logan absently rubbed his stubble, keeping Gabriel just in his peripheral.

“Five years married.” It swallowed. “It won’t matter unless the children start displaying powers, and that’s years in the future…”

“It’s still a possibility.”

“I know. I know.” They sighed and rubbed their eyes, pushing up their glasses in the process. “How did you find me?”

“With a little help…” He inhaled deeply but subtly. It still smelled like it did when they were still together, even under all the smells that weren’t its own. “But that brings me to why I’m even here-”

“Mm, there it is. I knew this wasn’t just an instance of ‘I was in the area and wanted to check in.’” He leaned back, inviting Logan to continue with his body language.

I’d be more than happy to see you if it was on any other terms. “The professor wants you back on the team. We’re facing something we haven’t seen before… we need all the help we can get.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thumb drive, handing it to Gabriel. “This contains everything we know so far.”

They frowned as they examined the drive in their palm. When their lip began to tremble, they put it on their coffee table. “I can’t. I’m a father, now… I’m going to guess Xavier knew that already. I didn’t exactly tell him not to keep tabs on me.”

“How did that happen, anyway?”

This surprised Gabriel enough for them to fold their arms as they looked up at Logan. “I had sex with a man who loves me, simple as that.”

“You didn’t want kids when we were together.”

“I was also younger then and preoccupied with being a superhero, Logan. If I remember correctly, neither did you.”

He grunted… it had a point. Still, this is not where Logan saw it ending up after all these years. He stepped closer, looking directly at him for the first time since he came to the front door. All those feelings never went away, no matter what he tried to replace them with. “Besides the interior decorating, this doesn’t really seem like you, angel.”

Gabriel’s breath hitched. “Please, don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry,” he rumbled immediately. Only Gabriel could get him to apologize so quickly. They crossed their ankles, looking down at their knees. He wished he knew what they were thinking.

“Do you want a beer?”

“Sure.”

They quickly rose from their seat and went into their kitchen, giving Logan more time to absorb what had happened to his ex in his absence. He wanted to know how exactly Otis had turned him into this “housewifey” thing. Though, of course, he didn’t want to immediately assume that Gabriel wasn’t working… but they had certainly been domesticated. He resisted the urge to go snooping, if only because it had returned with two beers and was beckoning him further into the house, leading him to a back porch.

“I know you like to smoke with your beer, so I thought we could sit outside,” it explained, settling into one of the deck chairs. Logan sat in the other.

“I hope that’s not the only impression I made on you, ange- I mean, kid- I mean, Gabriel.” He unsheathed one of his claws and popped the tab on his can, clearing his throat. They blushed as they opened their own.

“Of course not! … I also know you can be very sweet, even when you’ve convinced yourself you’re only capable of being a bitter loner who cares for no one.”

He sipped his beer, placed it in the mesh cup holder, and retrieved a cigarette from his pocket. “Only for you, kid.”

It let the pet name slide and reached over to light the cigarette, a flame sizzling from its fingertip.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it… though, I’d prefer if you didn’t go back inside after this, for the baby’s sake…”

He nodded, then let a small smile tease his features. “Shelley and Bram. That’s clever.”

Gabriel cheesed. “Thank you, I knew someone would appreciate it. I don’t think Otis quite got why I chose those names, but he agreed to them.”

“How’d you two end up together?”

“I did a lot of travelling after I left the X-Men… we met in Arizona, I was photographing the state parks. Funnily enough, he also likes photography… he noticed we were trying to shoot the same thing one day and we got to talking. I guess you could say the rest is history. He bought this house as a proposal gift.”

Logan coughed into his fist. “Must be some big shot, then.”

Gabriel nodded. “CEO of something or other. Such a boring job for an interesting man. He’s into rocks and minerals, and the migrational patterns of herd animals like caribou.”

Logan could care less, but he nodded along as if he were interested. Selfishly, he hoped there was something flawed in this relationship… some chance that he and Gabriel could get back to the good old days. I miss you. I’ve missed you so much. I’m sorry that I pushed you away. If only he could express it clearly.

#self shipping #self shipping community #safeshipping #self ship au #gay self ship #trans self ship #self insert #self insert x canon #self x canon #self insert oc #oc x canon #circus scripts #❌Lend Me Your Flannel❌

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skyguywrites · 27 days

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ellie/reid + 💡

💡 a scared text.

Ellie: Because the thing is, Reid, you're my best friend? And I love you more than all the stars. Ellie: I always have. I loved you in preschool when you let me smush your face with play dough and didn't even seem annoyed about it. I loved you when I was just a dorky pre-teen with braces and you held me in 8th grade when Shelley Holbrook made me cry in the girl's bathroom. Ellie: I loved you when you held my hand through labor while Dylan's good for nothing father was nowhere to be seen. Ellie: With the exception of Dylan, I've never loved anybody the way that I love you. Ellie: And I thought it was good? I thought we were best friends and that nothing could ever change that. I thought that we were in this for life, side-by-side, silly little platonic co-parents. Ellie: But you *love* me. So I panicked and I drove you away? But the crazy part is that I love you back. I am in love with you, and I don't know what to do with all that love, or where to put it? It terrifies me that I could ever feel all of this for once person.

#memes;#i write things;#ellie x reid

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imaginationlandtrilogy · 2 years

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Earlier in the month I made a post expressing my interest in making a South Park Monster High AU, as they're the top two media I'm the most invested in at the moment. I've since expanded on that through different characters and what monsters I'd like them to be, so all of that is below ⇩.

I didn't want to force myself to make a decision on some, so some more prevalent characters don't have a monster type yet!

Kyle: Vampire

I wanted to make Kyle a vampire, as I have a fondness of vampires and a strong favoritism toward Kyle... so he gets my favorite monster! As you'll find out throughout my headcanons here, I love it when there are contrasting themes and subverted expectations, so another reason I like Kyle as a vampire is because, much like Draculaura, he wouldn't like blood! He wouldn't be a vegetarian like her, but I just feel that he would have an aversion to blood, given his aversion to germs throughout the series (primarily shown in "Pee" and "Turd Burglars"). I think it would be true to canon to have him dislike blood and find it gross to consume. It would also shake things up a bit with the vampire trope and find some resemble to Draculaura, the most prominent vampire character in Monster High!

If Kyle is a vampire, it would mean one or two of his parents would have to be as well... Both! I really like the idea of a vampire Sheila and Gerald. If you're not familiar with Monster High lore, it's sort of built into canon that vampires are more respected monsters and ... upper class citizens, in a way? I thought this would be a nice parallel to "Chicken Pox" with what Gerald was telling Kyle about gods and clods (more on this later).

Ike: Sea Serpent

Ike isn't a vampire like the rest of his family, as he's adopted. I did consider making him human, but I grew very attached to the idea of him as a sea creature. While vampires tend to emulate humans more in appearance, I wanted Ike to look more monstrous - I want it to show in his features. I imagine him to be a different color, perhaps a greenish blue, with gils on his face, horns, webbed hands and feet, and a long tail. His difference in appearance from his family would represent his Canadian heritage. It's a common joke in South Park that Canadians look different from everyone else, so I want this to show with Ike's more monstrous appearance compared to his family.

Ike has also shown a love for pirates at points in the series, and sea serpents are always closely related to pirates. Of course, most often, they're seen as the enemy of pirates, but I feel as if in a monster world, sea serpents would be the pirates... so it would be very cool to see Ike as a sea serpent with that in mind!

Stan: Werewolf

The majority of this is based on vibes. Stan is just... a dog person, so why not make him a dog-person? I also like the idea of the two main characters being the most culturally prominent monsters (I blame 2000s YA novels for that). He's very dogish in personality, and tends to be a follower rather than a leader, which emulates a canine's desire to please.

With Stan comes his parents and his sister... I see them as werewolves, too. I especially like the idea of Shelley as a werewolf, as I think it fits her well. Again, bringing the subversion of expectations back, some braces come in silver... and... werewolves do not like silver. I think it would be funny to give a werewolf Shelley silver braces. Maybe that's why she's so easy to anger...? Werewolves are also physically strong, which Shelley definitely is. Last semester, I also took a class on paranormal stories from the Victorian era and found out about the existence of a novel: "The Were-Wolf" written by Clemence Housman. It's a story published in 1896 and, as the title suggests, features a werewolf... but the werewolf was a woman! Themes of woman's suffrage and Victorian-age feminism were incorporated into the book, as well as the female werewolf. Werewolves are definitely what people would consider more masculine, so it was really interesting to see a novel subverting these expectations (!) so long ago. That being said, this is kind of why I have more of an explanation for werewolf Shelley than Stan. It could also apply to Sharon as well. I just love the idea of a traditionally male or female monster being portrayed by the opposite or in-between (which I'll also discuss later).

Kenny: Zombie

How could Kenny be anything but a Zombie? It fits far too well. Zombies are dead and are able to rise again after 'death', and that strongly emulates what Kenny is. The first Halloween episode of the show also featured Kenny as a zombie!

In Monster High, zombies don't really speak the same language as the others. They communicate in groans and moans. The audience can't understand them, but the other characters are able to understand and communicate easily with them. That just sounds so much like Kenny! He has his muffled speech that the audience (generally) can't understand, but other characters are able to understand and communicate with easily!

Going back to what I said about "Chicken Pox" in Kyle's section, in the Monster High universe (primarily expressed in the webisodes), zombies aren't seen as higher class citizens as some of the other monsters. In fact, they're often looked down upon and not taken as seriously because they're zombies. I found this to be a nice parallel to what Gerald was saying in that episode, as he expressed that he felt he was more important because of who he was (having a "slightly higher intellect than others") compared to Stuart. With vampires being higher class in the MH universe and zombies traditionally being lower... the comparison was too good not to make.

Craig: Ccoa

I wanted to find something unique for Craig... not just something related to guinea pigs. So, much like the others, I sought after canon. Ccoas are catlike creatures hailing from Quechuan (indigenous people of Peru) folklore. They're more so spirits than anything, and are closely related with constellations and the stars. I would recommend clicking the link for more information!

In Monster High, there are numerous characters represented with monsters from their culture, so, as Craig canonically has something to do with Peru... I really wanted to give him a Peruvian creature, and what better than a cat involved in the stars? He gives me more catlike vibes - his whole family does! - and he loves space, so this really was a good match.

I like the headcanon that Laura is Peruvian, so I think what I would do is make Laura and Craig Ccoas, but make Thomas and Tricia regular cat-people. The thought of Thomas as a catboy is really funny to me because he's kind of goofy looking! I think I would want him to be an orange Scottish Fold. He has that big bald spot, and Scottish Folds are known for having their ears down, so I thought it fit well! Laura, a ccoa, married a werecat (in Monster High terms... but still a catboy, techincally), Thomas, and they had two children: Craig (a ccoa like his mother) and Tricia (a werecat like her father).

Tweek: Ghost

I love this one. I love the thought of Tweek as a ghost. Once again with the subversion of expectations, the thought of a ghost that's easily startled is appealing to me. I think it makes for a more interesting character... kind of like an inner conflict to pass! The other reason I have for this is his hair... Tweek's hair would translate visually well into wisps. It would be an easy design to create.

Clyde: Banshee

A banshee is a spirit originating from Irish folklore. They're traditionally women, however, I feel as if the description fits Clyde - as well as his family - well. First and foremost, I'd like to compare this illustration of a banshee to Betsy after her death. They're very similar, so this way, Betsy wouldn't have to 'die' at all - she's a banshee! Interestingly enough, one of the primary connections of banshees are dead family members... They're known to scream, wail, or shriek in lamenting the dead. They tend to be emotional creatures, which, again, I feel captures Clyde well. He's much more rooted in emotion than anything else - it's a prime characteristic of his, after all.

Bebe: Centaur

I have the design in my head, and I love it. I imagine Bebe to be a horse girl, and I headcanon her as such, so the idea of her being a centaur is appealing to me. When I think of centaurs, I often imagine long, luscious hair and a tail. Bebe has very recognizable hair - I would say it's her strongest physical trait, so it makes sense for her to be a creature with such emphasis put on the hair/mane.

#☆#mh au

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wiseabsol · 1 year

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Angelic Shadows - Shiny Edition, Chapter 1: The Mission

@cosmermaid asked and now they will recieve!

ANGELIC SHADOWS: SHINY EDITION ___

CHAPTER 1: THE MISSION

"Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a different birth, And ever changing, like a Joyless eye That finds no object worth its constancy?"

- "To the Moon" by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

___

Through the window of a ranger's cabin, a humanoid creature gazed out at the forest, his hand on the cold glass pane. Beneath the wind, the branches of the trees, thrusting heavenwards like bony arms, entangled their fingers together as they swayed. Above them dense clouds churned and snow pelted down, building into dunes. Upon occasion, the wind stirred up flurries of glittering dust. As he watched, the moon peeked between the clouds. For a moment the world was bathed in a ghostly glow…before, once again, the scene was plunged into darkness. Yet even in the shadows, the winter world was beautiful, with the clarity and fragility of faceted glass, needing only a glimmer of light to make it shine.

However, the beauty of this place was not limited to the wilderness outside. There was beauty inside the cabin as well.

Turning to face the fireplace, he looked at the blankets strewn a meter from it. The flickering light revealed a young woman sleeping beneath them, her black hair falling in a tangle over her shoulders. Her clothes were in a pile not far away, having been tossed there hastily earlier in the night. He'd helped her with that, one of his claws catching on a button and tearing it off, but she hadn't minded. Warmed by the memory, he walked back to her and sat beside her. Her arms were curled close to her chest, fingers cluttering the blanket around her shoulders. She'd kicked in her sleep, though, so her legs were exposed. He tucked her in, careful not to touch the soles of her feet. She was ticklish there, and while it was tempting to wake her up laughing, she needed to rest.

He brushed his fingertips across her cheek and paused as she stirred. Her eyelids flickered and she tensed, as if bracing for something…but then she relaxed and muttered, in a low, slurred voice, that he should go back to sleep. At this, the corners of his mouth tucked upwards in a rare smile. "I do not take orders from humans," he reminded her. "Especially ones who can barely string their words together."

She opened one eye to peer at him, the iris grey as moonlight. "Liar. I ordered you around plenty earlier."

"Did you? I thought that was begging," he teased. When she flipped him off in response, he chuckled, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to her temple. "We can debate this more when you're not half-asleep."

"I'll win," she insisted, cuddling deeper into her blanket. She was probably right. He didn't mind doing what she asked, especially in that context. Contentment warmed him as he remembered the evening they'd shared. It had been worth the struggle of the last few weeks; worth the pain of the last few years. He had his angel…his dear, dark angel….

But what would happen to them now? They might have escaped together and earned this night of peace, but the fight wasn't over. That man would never let it be over. As exhaustion at the thought rolled through him, he closed his eyes and attempted to push it away. They could deal with it in the morning. But despite his efforts, it continued to weigh him down, spoiling his happiness. But then again, when had the world ever allowed him, Mewtwo, to be happy for long?

___

Giovanni Maki had never been someone who accepted defeat. Some even referred to him as a croconaw who, after biting down on something, never released it. This held true whenever someone did manage to best him. Sometimes the victor would go missing shortly afterwards. More often, they were made an example of, if only to make it clear who was stronger. Nothing could be gained from trying to fight him.

Tonight, that was what drove him to visit the Team Rocket dormitories. His right hand, Agent 009, code-named Domino, trailed behind him, wrinkling her nose at their surroundings. He could understand her disgust. He didn't come here if he could help it, despite it being where a majority of his underlings lived. In most cases, he would summon the one they were visiting to his office instead. However, for this mission, he thought it best to take a more personal approach.

They stopped at Unit 150 and Giovanni rapped his knuckles on the door. After a few moments, during which a shouting match a few doors down was all they heard, the door opened a few inches. Though the hallway was dimly lit, thanks to a few of the lamps being broken (what did he pay the housekeepers for, Giovanni wondered peevishly), the light was enough to reveal the occupant of the apartment: a young woman with tired eyes and greasy hair, who was bundled in a bathrobe. However, her eyes sharpened as she looked at them, and she didn't appear to care about them seeing her so unkempt. She instead opened the door further.

"May we come in?" Giovanni prompted, when she didn't move to let him in. He thought he had taught her better than that.

Agent 004, code-named Corvo, nodded. "Be careful where you step. It's messy."

As they stepped into the apartment and the door closed behind them, Giovanni saw what she meant. It was a small space, structured like the other single apartments in this complex. Across from the entrance was the kitchen: the refrigerator set into the far corner, bare of photographs; the crumb-strew counters extending on either side of the stove and the sink; the grease-spotted microwave and other appliances shoved into the other corner. There were dishes piled in the sink, with empty cans of pokémon food and takeout containers next to them. Beside the kitchen was the bathroom, with a hamper of dirty clothes overflowing by the door. To their left was a closed closet; to their right, a short wall divider with a flat-screen television on top. Beyond it was the woman's bed, the blankets and sheets twisted together. In the center of the space was a table cluttered with papers, used mugs, and wax from a melted candle. Finally, there were metallic glints on the carpet: blades, halfway polished and then set aside.

"Try not to slice your feet open," Corvo said, crossing barefoot to the bathroom, presumably to make herself presentable.

Giovanni and his right-hand agent, keeping a wary eye on where they stepped, reached the table and its empty chairs intact. As they sat down and waited for Corvo to join them, Domino attempted to relieve her building boredom and distaste for being here by counting the number of cracks in the paint of the walls and ceiling. As she followed one down to the bed, she startled at the red eyes glaring at her from beneath the blankets. A shiver crawled up her spine, but then the bathroom door swung open, and when she looked back, the eyes were gone.

Domino noted with irritation that her fellow agent hadn't bothered to dress in her uniform. The dark grey jeans and sweater she was wearing lacked the signature crimson R of their gang. Couldn't she put in more of an effort when their boss went out of his way to visit her? Everyone else had to show their allegiance to Team Rocket by dressing the part. Why did Corvo think she was an exception? Well, Domino knew why, but that didn't make it any less annoying.

Corvo went into the kitchen and started scooping coffee grounds into a filter. "Do you want coffee or something else, Domino?" Corvo asked her, knowing that Giovanni preferred coffee, but that Domino only drank the stuff when it was thoroughly drowned in milk and sugar.

"Do you have a soda? Or something harder?" Domino said, keeping her voice honey sweet, hoping to needle Corvo. She was more fun when Domino could crack that calm facade. Not that they spent much time together. Not by choice. But they'd known each other for years, and Domino knew how to get a rise out of her.

Giovanni abruptly looked very tired and rubbed the bridge of his nose, but didn't interrupt.

"You know I don't," the other agent said. "I might have a raspberry tea, though?" she added, gesturing to one of the cupboards.

"It's fall. Don't you mull cider each fall?" Domino asked. She didn't really care, but usually she could count on that when they worked together this time a year. It was some sort of tradition for the other agent. Probably something from her mother? It definitely wasn't something she got from Giovanni. The only drinks the man made were mixed.

Corvo paused. "I haven't gotten around to it."

Domino glanced around the apartment again. Yeah, obviously, Corvo was letting things slide. Thank god her work ethic didn't suck as hard. "Forget it. Coffee's fine."

Corvo stared at the coffee maker and tapped her fingertips on the counter as the brew percolated. She poured three cups, heated the milk, and mixed in the amounts of sugar and milk they each liked - Giovanni taking his black, Domino's with more milk than coffee, and her own a reasonable tan color. Then, remembering something, she reached into a cupboard and tossed a package at Domino. It crinkled as Domino caught it: maple creme cookies. Well, at least she'd bothered to have the right kind of snack for the weather.

"Thanks," Domino said reluctantly, tearing it open and nibbling at the first cookie.

During this time, Giovanni firmly employed the virtue of patience - he excelled at patience - and waited for them to finish their exchange. There had been a time when he'd hoped the two would become friends, but that hope had died the first time he'd had them train together. The property damage had been considerable. It didn't help that Domino was jealous of Corvo and had, at one point, considered her a rival. It also didn't help that Corvo thought that was ridiculous and told her so. Domino hated when people didn't take her seriously (except her marks, who weren't supposed to). She'd worked hard to become Giovanni's right-hand, after all. Ultimately, the two women were similarly shaped, but incompatible gears, at least when they didn't have a mediator. Giovanni had tried and failed. Silver had been much better at it, but Silver wasn't here anymore. So Giovanni just had to wait this out.

He took a sip of his coffee and was amused at the expression on Domino's face as she drank hers. Namely, that she didn't hate it. She drank it faster than she normally did, but she also glowered at the folder he'd set on the table, so he guessed she wanted the caffeine to get her through the next ordeal: discussing Corvo's mission.

Corvo looked at the folder with a neutral expression. She sat down and sipped her coffee, wishing it was mint tea instead. Given the thickness of that folder, she had hours of study ahead of her, though, so she might as well keep the pot on warm.

Setting her mug down, she said, "So who am I killing this time?" Please let it be a rival Team leader. She almost felt good whenever she killed one of them.

Domino nearly choked on her drink at Corvo's lack of tact. It was probably for the best that Corvo was rarely sent undercover. Her lack of subtly would get her caught in two days flat.

Their boss, however, wasn't perturbed. "Not who, but what," he said, pushing the folder to her.

She raised a dark eyebrow and opened the file. Giovanni watched to see if she would have a reaction to the photograph inside, but she only seemed mildly curious. "The creature I would like you to hunt is known as Mewtwo. Dr. Fuji created it for my use." He ignored Corvo's startled look at the name and added, bitterly, "However, it managed to escape from our control…twice."

A few years after the incident on Mount Quena, he'd found rumors about a mysterious feline, recounted by his agents on the Unovan coast, to be rather unsettling. His informants had described the creature as a bipedal cat with white-and-purple fur, which could sometimes be spotted soaring through Castelia City on moonlit nights. They'd guessed that it was psychic in element and - given that the trainers they'd sent after it had turned up later with holes in their memories - a high-level one at that. And since no studies turned up what it could be, they concluded that it must be an unidentified and likely rare pokémon, and so of interest to Giovanni. After he had received blurry, distant snapshots of the creature, he'd been inclined to agree. Especially because there seemed to be something so...familiar...about it. However, he'd initially hadn't pursued it further. There were more important projects to focus on. But it had festered in the back of his mind until, finally, he couldn't ignore it anymore.

Following a hunch, he'd asked his fellow Gym Leader, Sabrina, if she knew anyone who was skilled with unearthing buried memories. It had taken feeding her a sob story about Silver for her to loan him one of her people - she didn't trust him, but she'd also gotten sentimental after reconciling with her parents - but she had delivered. Her expert had found entire banks of memory that Mewtwo had hidden. Telepaths could not erase memories, after all. They could only suppress them with varying amounts of success, depending on the energy spent and the skill employed during the wipe. Afterwards, Giovanni had searched his archive and found the confidential files on the Mewtwo Project, verifying that what he'd remembered was true. He'd debated what to do next - clearly, the artificial Legendary wasn't to be trifled with - and decided that trying to capture Mewtwo again would be fruitless. But he also couldn't let it continue to make a fool of him.

Breaking him from his thoughts, Corvo said, "He."

Giovanni blinked. "Pardon?"

Corvo glanced up at him. "He. The medical and psychological reports say that Mewtwo is male. "

That shouldn't matter to her. "Perhaps," he said, "But it a pokémon, not a person, and an artificial one at that."

She tilted her head slightly. "He's not a robot. He's a living being."

"Not for much longer," Domino said crossly.

Corvo gave her colleague a slow nod. "But why do you want him dead? It took a fortune to make him. You'd be throwing that away."

Giovanni reminded himself that he'd wanted a left-hand who would ask question and not a mindless automaton. "Mewtwo is dangerous. It might be content to wander around another continent for now, but what if it decides to strike back at us? What if it allies itself with one of our enemies? Or they find a way to control it? It has the power to level cities. Better to deal with the threat now than regret it later," he explained.

"Or you might be provoking him by sending me," she argued.

Not in the way she was thinking. "I'm confident you will succeed where I could not," he said.

She did not look convinced. She glanced at Domino, who was enjoying the last cookie from the pack. "What about Domino? She has high-level dark pokémon and experience dealing with him. Wouldn't it be more practical to send her? Pokémon usually fall into her area of expertise." Corvo was sent to deal with humans. Guard pokémon were the most she dealt with in her line of work.

Domino glared at her. Giovanni sighed. "Domino has turned this mission down. Given that she was one of Mewtwo's victims, I do not blame her. And as I said, I believe you have a better chance of success than anyone else."

Domino scowled, while Corvo continued to look skeptical. But she did have more combat training than the other members of the Team Rocket elite, so perhaps he was right.

"Will you accept, Agent Corvo?" Giovanni asked.

What did she have to lose, except her memories or her life? She choked down a laugh and said, "If that's what you need."

Giovanni gave her a satisfied smile. "Excellent." Then, seeing that Domino had finished her coffee, he said, "Domino, if you would wait outside for a few minutes? Corvo and I have a personal matter to discuss."

Domino gritted her teeth and said, "Sure thing, boss." She closed the door with more force than necessary as she left.

He would have to have a talk with her later. He understood that she didn't like or understand Corvo, and that she probably knew what this conversation would be about, as much as it was a family affair. But if she thought her temper was going to change anything, then she was overestimating her importance. That and it wasn't as if Corvo was going to challenge her for her job anytime soon. He'd tried to teach Corvo how to run the gang and navigate the politics between its factions. But managing people was not something she cared about, and the mystery surrounding her wasn't a replacement for charisma. At best she could spook the grunts into compliance, but intimidation only worked when you were seen as something more than human. And if anyone else saw the inside of her apartment, they wouldn't make that mistake.

"Should I hire a cleaner?" Giovanni asked.

She looked thrown. "What?" He gestured to the mess. "It's fine," she insisted.

"Archer will expect better from you," Giovanni said.

Her eyes hardened. "That would mean something if he hadn't ignored me for most of our lives."

He suppressed a wince. She wasn't wrong. Archer had looked at her and seen an orphaned ward, quiet and dull as a sparrow. That he'd changed his mind recently had nothing to do with who she was as a person. Still, perhaps that might change as they got to know each other. They were adults now. Surely they could put the past behind them? "He's noticing you now," he said.

"Only because Domino isn't an option," Corvo reminded him.

And wasn't that a surprise? Giovanni would have thought that Domino would jump at the opportunity to tie herself to his nephew, his heir apparent. Instead she'd laughed in Archer's face and told him she didn't need him to get what she wanted. And that she had more taste. He was pretty sure Archer would have arranged a car bomb for her, except that Domino had people spying on him, and would have found him out before he had the chance to set it. It was a shame, really. They would have made a fearsome couple.

"He told me over dinner that you've become a beautiful swan this last year," he said. "That he was a fool not to see it before."

Her laugh was harsh. "You're joking."

"You don't believe in true love?" he asked.

She gave him a deeply unimpressed look. "He wants me because he knows you favor me." That and Silver wouldn't let Domino hunt him down if Cassandra would be caught in the crossfire. "Even though I'd be shitty at your job."

"Only because you won't try," he said.

"Because I don't want it," she reminded him. "Domino wants it. She'd be good at it. Give it to her."

"She's not blood," Giovanni said tiredly. This was an old argument. "The family requires that."

"I'm not either," she pointed out. "I'm not your daughter."

That stung. "You are in the ways that matter," he said quietly. "Or does me taking you in when you were five not count?"

Her eyes went unnervingly blank at that, before her shoulders slumped. "I know. But you're the boss. Why not change the rules?"

If only it were that simple. Archer's faction might be smaller than Domino's, but it held more of the purse-strings. "What do you want, Cassandra?" he asked instead.

She stared at him, then said, quietly, "Maybe I just want to be done. With all of this."

Absolutely not. He hadn't spent years training her for her to throw it all away. "And who would replace you? We're going to be taking on the League soon. Do you think that will go smoothly without you?"

There was a flicker of disappointment on her face. She slumped in her seat and looked away from him. "You can kill people without me," she said.

"With ten times the agents, who would do your job half as well. At a certain point, it becomes a numbers game. And I'm not letting my personal assassin bow out because she's tired. We all need to pull our weight, Cassandra. You can rest after we take Kanto," he said.

Her eyes met his. "And that will make you happy?" she asked.

It would be a start. But perhaps she had a point. He had been working her hard lately. "How about this: you do this mission for me. And when you're back, you take Archer's offer. You take a well-earned break. Then he will take on more leadership duties." He would need a loyal officer to run Kanto when he expanded Team Rocket's reach, after all. "You protect him. Maybe he meets an unfortunate accident, maybe not. But that will take up most of your time. I'll only be able to send you on a few missions afterwards. The family will understand."

She looked tired, but she didn't immediately shut the idea down, either. "And what else will he expect from me?"

"Not much. He has his...companions. And a child by one of them. He shouldn't need you for that," Giovanni said.

"You're sure? I don't...." She grimaced. "I don't like people that way."

Oh, he knew. If only she and Silver had loved each other like that. Then all of this would be much easier. But Silver had a girlfriend he wouldn't talk about, and Cassandra.... "Perhaps you haven't met the right one?" he said.

"Sir," she protested. She didn't sir him unless she was mad. Good. He'd rather have her angry than listless.

"Do you think I want you to keep living like this?" he said, gesturing to their surroundings. She could have luxurious quarters like the other elite did, with personal cooks, cleaners, even escorts, if that was what she wanted. Why did she stay here when she could have so much more? She barely spent the money he gave her. He'd checked. "You're making your life harder than it has to be."

She stared at him. "I am?"

What was she implying? "You were never going to have a normal life, Cassandra. You know that. You were born into this organization, and you were born different. I know what I ask of you is hard. But I also know you can handle it." Just like her father had. "And you don't do yourself any favors by ignoring the perks of your position."

"You want me to party like there's no tomorrow?" she asked.

"It might do you some good. You're in your twenties. You should live a little wildly. Before you joints start to ache," he joked.

She gave him a weak smile, before it wilted. "And all I have to do is marry a man I don't like?"

When she put it like that, it made him sound horrible. "I married someone I didn't love," he confided in her. "But we made it work. We even had some good times." He reached over and placed his hand on hers, and ignored how hers jumped under his. "It won't be so bad. He knows who you are and what you've done. He won't judge you for it. Do you imagine anyone who isn't us would say the same?" She belonged in Team Rocket. With him. "I want you as my family, Cassandra. Please say yes."

He watched her resistance finally crumble. "Fine," she whispered. He had obviously made up his mind. And the boss always got what he wanted in the end.

The smile he gave her was heartrendingly sincere. "Thank you," he said. "Archer and I will begin making the arrangements."

"You have fun with that," she said, standing and collecting the mugs.

"You would be surprised how enjoyable picking flower arrangements is. Any requests?" he asked.

Would yellow carnations be too on the nose? He probably knew the symbolism, though. "Whatever you think would be nice," she said.

Maybe she wouldn't have to worry about this. Mewtwo might kill her. What she'd read of his file so far showed that he was capable of it. And if he didn't and Archer tried something - she could handle him, couldn't she? It wasn't like she would be drinking anything. All she would need to do is threaten him if he got frisky, and then call up one of his favorites to entertain him. It would be simple. She would be able to make it work.

And afterwards, she would have a break. A nice, long, bloodless break.

"Your plane will leave at six hundred hours tomorrow. Your luggage will be sent ahead of you," Giovanni said as he went to the door.

Cassandra nodded and waited until her let himself out. Domino was going to be furious, but when wasn't she? Looking back at the folder on her table, Cassandra sighed and went to refill her mug. First she had to get through her mission: kill the psychic kangaroo-cat monster. She sat back down and began reading in earnest, starting with the clone's history.

Back when Team Rocket was under Madame Maki's leadership, her second-in-command, Miyamoto, was charged with finding the legendary phantom pokémon, mew. Believed to reside in the Andes Mountain Range, this pokémon was said to be the rarest and most powerful in the world. While Miyamoto regularly sent radio transmissions with updates on her progress, these transmissions eventually stopped. Investigators who looked into her disappearance eventually concluded that she died in an avalanche. The search was then postponed. However, after Madame Maki passed and Signore Giovanni Maki inherited Team Rocket, the search resumed. It uncovered an excellently preserved mew fossil: an eyelash with intact roots. Signore Maki then commissioned Dr. Fuji, Kanto's leading expert in the field of cloning, to recreate a mew from the remains.

Dr. Fuji accepted the commission under a condition: that Signore Maki would allow him to create other pokémon clones and one human clone as well, which would also have a portion of the fossil's DNA spliced in. Since mew was said to be immortal, Dr. Fuji argued that medical advances could be make through the additional experiments, and that the other pokémon might have increased combat potential. Signore Maki agreed, though soon learned that Dr. Fuji had ulterior motives. The human clone, he learned, would be derived from Amber Fuji, Dr. Fuji's deceased daughter. Despite this conflict of interest, Signore Maki allowed the program to continue. Since a mew had not been seen in centuries, and because Signore Maki wanted the clone to be stronger than the original, genetic modifications were made to the eventual embryo. Dr. Fuij and his colleagues named their creation Mewtwo.

As the clones grew, the researchers discovered evidence that Ambertwo and Mewtwo were communicating telepathically. The other clones, Bulbasaurtwo, Squirtletwo, and Charmandertwo, soon joined in. The researchers speculated this ability was due to their shared mew DNA, but unfortunately, they didn't have a chance to study the phenomenon for long. Four of the clones, including Ambertwo, experienced an unexpected and sudden collapse on a cellular level, disintegrating in their gestation tanks. Only Mewtwo survived. Its brainwaves grew erratic afterwards and its powers threatened to go out of control, and so Dr. Fuji and his team had no choice but to sedate it. Mewtwo's brainwaves normalized afterwards and it grew to adulthood without further complications.

However, its temperament proved to be violent. Footage found in the New Island Laboratory's black box showed it destroying the facility and its creators within minutes of it waking up. However, Signore Maki managed to pacify it and bring it to the mainland. In the year that followed, the clone fought in the Viridian City Gym under his command.

However, the clone lashed out again after a year, breaking free from the armor that was suppressing its power. It destroyed the facility housing it, which Signore Maki was visiting at the time. He was miraculously unharmed. After another year of searching, Signore Maki and his second-in-command, Domino, found the clone at Mount Quena, a nature preserve in Johto. Strangely, there were other clone pokémon accompanying it, though where they came from is a mystery. Giovanni Maki speculated that Mewtwo had made them itself, though this was never confirmed. Through the use of state-of-the-art capture drones, Mewtwo was apprehended and the other clones rounded up.

Unfortunately, due to the meddling of several trainers and wild pokémon, Mewtwo was released. It then moved itself, its companions, and the spring of Mount Quena to an unknown location. Similarly, Giovanni Maki, Domino, and the rest of our operatives were moved back to their staging base, with no memory of why they were there. It was later confirmed that Mewtwo had used its amnesia ability to wipe their memories of its existence. Fortunately, that was not enough to stop our leaders, Giovanni Maki and Domino, for long.

Well, clearly the two of them had fans. Must be nice. Cassandra wondered what the report was missing, though. There's been an entire year between Mewtwo running away and being found, and a few between the events at Mount Quena and now. That was a lot of time to get up to mischief, including somehow making other pokémon clones? That suggested that he was extremely intelligent and resourceful, even if this report suggested otherwise. And why had Mewtwo killed his creators, including Dr. Fuji? She hadn't been comfortable around the man - not when he'd been so curious about her own genetic code. One of her fondest memories of Giovanni was him putting his foot down and saying that it was none of Dr. Fuji's business, and that he would deny his grant from the League if he kept prying. It was the first time she'd felt safe with him. If she had to guess, Dr. Fuji had put his foot into his mouth again, except this time, he'd pissed off someone as powerful as a god. He probably had only himself to blame, as extreme as Mewtwo's reaction had been.

And she couldn't feel too bad for Dr. Fuji. Not after what he'd been trying to do with Ai. That clone, Aitwo - it wouldn't have been her, even if she had lived.

Was that why she hadn't been introduced to Mewtwo? Because Giovanni hadn't wanted to open old wounds? He usually made sure she knew all of the major players in Team Rocket, even if she never worked with them. Maybe Giovanni had thought it was too risky, considering that Mewtwo had murdered nine people within minutes of his birth. With a sigh, she sipped more of her coffee, which was rapidly cooling, and went over the other files. Good medical prognosis. Excellent combat abilities. Standoffish personality. An aversion to touch. Questionable breeding capability? She didn't envy whatever doctor had tried to figure that out.

As she continued her studies, an ebony-and-gold fox squirmed out of her blankets and padded over to her. When he leapt up and settled on her lap, she smiled and scratched behind his ears. He leaned into her touch, closing his ruby eyes and purring.

"Good evening, Shadow. It seems I have another mission," she said.

"Umbre," he rumbled, baring his fangs at the file.

"You shouldn't worry so much. I can handle whatever Giovanni throws at me." If she was too tired afterwards to clean her apartment, so what? Shadow didn't mind, and it wasn't like she ever brought anyone over. Domino stopping by to deliver the occasional letter from Silver didn't count.

He opened his eyes just enough to glower at her. "Breon."

"Yeah, I know you don't like him. Or Domino. I think you scared her earlier."

Her umbreon's laughter sounded like stones being ground together. Cassandra stroked him down his spine. They'd been together since she was sixteen - an anonymous gift. She'd woken up one day to find a runt of an eevee outside her door, mewling for food. She hadn't gotten a pokémon when she was younger. She'd known Giovanni's hopes for her, which included a lot of travel and more danger, and it hadn't seemed fair to involve a pokémon in that. But it would also have been unfair to turn the little guy away on an empty stomach, and so she'd fed him, and then he'd curled up against her palm purring, and she hadn't had the heart to send him away afterwards.

When she was done with the file, she carefully lifted Shadow from her lap and set him on the floor. He watched her dart around the room, packing up the blades and doing some hurried cleaning, knowing she might not be back for a week or more. Afterwards, she went to the closet and flung it open. Lining the shelves were more weapons, along with vials of various chemical concoctions, some to knock people unconscious, some to cause memory loss, and others with more lethal results. She didn't bother with those; getting that close wouldn't be wise. She would need the infrared - she would ask Giovanni to throw in whatever version they had that picked out clone physiology - and maybe a gun or two? What about a rifle? Sniping him from a distance was probably the safest play. While she determined what to bring, Shadow jumped onto the table, curious who her target was.

Oh. This was. Not good.

He looked back at Cassandra, concerned. He should stop her. Nothing good would come from her trying to kill the shadow of mew. But how could he explain that to her? He could convey simple concepts to his human, not...everything that she was missing here. She didn't even seem worried. She kept packing her clothes with a soldier's efficiency. How was he supposed to protect her from this? Maybe he could get her to take him with? But when he mewled and pawed at her leg, and jumped into her suitcase to make his point clear, she lifted him out of it and said, "No, Shadow. As much as I'd like you with me, I'm not putting you in danger. Don't worry, I'll set your fountain and your feeder up before I go."

As if it was himself he was worried about! With a huff, he grumbled a prayer to the Legendaries, then went to check to that she wasn't forgetting anything important.

At dawn the next day, Cassandra drowsed as her flight took off. The sky was overcast and rainy, but despite the weather, a flock of pelipper escorted them to the edge of the ocean. She watched them wistfully, wondering what it would be like to only have breakfast to worry about.

"Miss, would you like something off the cart?" the flight attendant asked.

Cassandra, not feeling hungry, shook her head. Once the attendant moved on, though, she felt the seat behind her shudder. She twisted around and saw two grubby hands clutching the headrest. A child with messy black hair and blue eyes stared at her. His red-haired mother was asleep in the seat beside him. "Have you ever been on a plane before?" he whispered, not wanting to wake her.

His mother really should be paying more attention. Not her child, though, so not her problem. "Many times," she said. Though usually not ones quite this long. She usually worked in Kanto and Johto. Once she'd gone as far as Orre, but Unova was much farther away. It would be at least another ten hours before they reached land again. The jet leg was going to be awful, even if she did manage to sleep through the flight. And then she'd have to adopt a nocturnal schedule when she arrived. Mewtwo only came out at night.

Tugging her from her thoughts, the child said, "Oh. I haven't. How long will it take?"

For a child like him, with nothing to do except play with his Gameboy and watch bad in-flight movies? "Forever," she said.

He made a face, then asked, "What are we supposed to do?"

"Sleep, if we can," Cassandra said, feeling a headache forming. She'd been up most of the night preparing.

"That's boring. We could talk instead?" he suggested.

"I don't think your mom would like you talking with a stranger," she pointed out.

"But you seem nice," he protested. "And you have cool eyes."

He'd raised his voice loud enough to wake his mother. She spotted him standing on his seat, swore, and wrestled him back into it. "Don't bother the other passengers. I'm so sorry," she said quickly to Cassandra.

Cassandra couldn't help but smile. "That's alright. Apparently I have cool eyes."

The mother groaned and began to lecture at the boy, who looked sullen. Cassandra turned around and settled against her airline-issued pillow. Cute kid. Probably would be a charmer when he grew up. Her eyes were nothing special, though. Grey, even a grey as pale as hers, was a boring color.

___

By dusk the next day, Cassandra was refreshed and ready to begin her search. Her luggage lay open on her hotel bed. She changed into her uniform, grateful for the crispness of the autumn night. It would make the padded black silk of her vest bearable. She added blades to the sheathes strapped to her arms, stuffed her lock-picking tools into her belt pouch, checked that the infrared camera was working, and made sure all of the rifle parts were accounted for in their case. It had been designed to resemble a viola case - a wink on Giovanni's part. As far as the Unovans would know, she was an overly bundled tourist who might try her hand at street music at any moment. She'd had a flashier uniform than this, once, but practically had won out after the first few missions. At least this would keep her warm. Whether it would be enough to blunt telekinetic force was another matter.

There was no time like the present to find out. It was time for her to kill Mewtwo.

#Will see if Zach I mean Archer stays #He might still be written out #We'll see #Here you folks go have fun #Angelic Shadows #WiseAbsol #My Fanfiction

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justabookworm39 · 1 year

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Worst kind of warmth (Whumpay)

@whumpay Day 1: Heatstroke

Original story (Halogen Blood)

Warnings: A bit of losing-ones-grip-on-reality, not much else I don’t think??

Notes: Messed-up seemingly-infinite escape room nonsense!! The only piece of writing I’ve shared for this universe is post-main story, so this is kinda exciting :D

The air was so stale.

Shelley leaned sideways against the wall, eyes half-open. She didn’t know how long she’d been in this particular set of rooms. Too damn long, that was for sure. It was deceptively normal, at least in comparison to everything else she’d seen in this place. It reminded her of the house her parents had rented when she was a kid, with dingy carpets and off-white walls. At least there she’d had the landmarks of familiar furniture to serve as landmarks. Every room here was empty, save for the maze of doors she’d spent so long zigzagging through.

Her head hurt, slick with a thin layer of sweat. There was no air flow in here, which was something she didn’t really notice until it was gone. In this moment at least, she would take the dark towering foyer or the tunnel-like hallways of concrete in a heartbeat if that meant she could breath again.

Her hoodie was bundled up in her arms, and she half-considered ditching her jeans. It wasn’t like there was anyone in here to stare, so why should modesty be a concern? But she couldn’t quite work up the nerve. Or the strength to try.

Bracing herself against the wall, Shelley glared down at the stairs in front of her. It was only five steps. It felt so long. Her head throbbed a little more every time her sneakers hit the ground. But it was the first elevation change she’d seen in hours, and maybe that meant something.

Forward. Forward. She couldn’t do anything else.

The door at the base of the stairs was ajar. Behind it was a room identical to the one she’d just left.

A faint buzzing cut the air. Shelley barely caught herself on the wall, nails clawing at sandy-textured paint.

“–you hear me?”

Shelley shook her head. She was hearing things now. The floor felt like it was falling out from under her. She squeezed her eyes shut, resting her forehead against the wall not because it was cooler but simply because it was there.

“Maybe if I try–”

Shelley waved her hand weakly.

The ‘imaginary’ voice cut off.

“You can hear me.”

Shelley wanted to shake her head, but was fairly certain the extra movement would make her faint.

“Under the stairs, there’s a doorway under the stairs.”

She looked back. The stairway was attached to the wall on one side, the other trimmed with a lacy beige curtain. Clenching the handrail, she turned to face the other side, while the voice chattered on.

“Yes, please, behind the curtain, there’s–”

There was a door. Too short, maybe five-feet tall, but she could duck and fit through it.

The other side was humid and cool, dark and barely illuminated by a pale blue light hanging above. Several open rolls of quarters were strewn across the concrete floor. A vending machine sat against the wall to her right, and a door stood on the other side of the room.

“There you go.” Shelley’s head was already a bit clearer, and she could now hear the feedback crackling from the speaker mounted to the wall above her, overlapping with the one playing above the stairway. “Take a break, alright? You’re safe here.”

Her knees buckled, and she didn’t catch what the speaker said next.

#whumpay2023 #My writing #halogen blood #shelley herraro #original character #horror writing

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kieran-the-writer · 17 hours

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Statement of Salome Lukas

VIII. False Pretenses

2nd June 2007

The weather was beginning to heat up when Peter brought Salome with him to meet with a big Samoan artefact dealer that Salome had met once named Mikaele Salesa. Salome wasn’t sure she liked Salesa much. He was cheerful enough, but he always seemed to… loom. Salome didn’t like loomers.

She was a few steps ahead of her uncle, who had a habit of meandering, when his large hand came down on her shoulder. “Salome,” Peter said, “what are these?”

Salome froze when she realized her light jacket had slipped off her shoulder, revealing the scars along her back. “I-I, ah…” She tugged her jacket back into place. “Nothing, Uncle. It’s nothing. They’re nothing.”

Peter turned Salome to face him and frowned down at her. She shrank into herself as Peter’s gray eyes peered into hers. “Salome, who did this?”

“I d— N-no one.” She didn’t know why she was lying; Peter had only begun showing concern for her following her first true feeding late last year. She knew, deep down, that his care was surface level and conditional. But still, she lied. “No one. I lost my balance when Gerard and I were out last night.

She knew it was a weak lie; some of those scars were years old. But Peter just shrugged. “Right. Be more careful. And don’t let Elias see them. The last thing that man needs is…”

Salome recognized her uncle’s tone he used when he was complaining about Elias Bouchard, so she tuned him out. She tuned him out during his meeting with Salesa, too, though she wasn’t sure why he was meeting the man at all. Salome had grown up on Peter’s cargo ship, and she knew that the Tundra rarely, if ever, delivered cargo to port.

Peter harrumphed when Salesa said something about waiting for one more person. Salome wasn’t particularly interested when she heard the man “the Magnus Institute,” but when a somewhat familiar stuttering voice met her ear some minutes later, she looked around.

The blonde-haired young man from the Institute gave Salome a friendly wave. “Oh,” Salome said. “Ah, your name was…”

“Uh, Michael,” he offered. “A-Are you feeling better? I, I mean, you must do; it’s been a couple of months, hah.”

Salome felt Peter’s chilly gaze on her back at Michael’s question. Salome herself felt a little surprised that Michael had remembered her. She wasn’t sure why she remembered him. “Yes,” she said, unconsciously moving her hand to hide the scars that also littered her tattoo-free arm. “Yes, I am. Thank you. Why are you here?”

Salesa answered that question. “The archivist sends her assistants to do her business sometimes, little Miss Lukas.”

Little Miss Lukas. Salome had almost forgotten about that stupid nickname given to her by Salesa. Almost.

Still, whatever the specifics of this business were, Salome wasn’t sure, as Michael made no offers or purchases. He just took notes in a little notebook with a green open eye design. Salome avoided being in the eye’s direct line of sight when she could. But she did watch Michael out of the corner of her eye. He seemed so unlike anyone else in her life. While Peter was cold and distant, Michael was friendly and warm. Where Gerard was sardonic, Michael’s smiles always seemed genuine.

All in all, Michael Shelley confused Salome. And so, when she offered him her phone number under the pretense of business purposes, she wouldn’t have been able to say what the reason really was. Michael accepted her number, though, with a smile so wide she noticed a slight gap between his two front teeth. She offered a little smile of her own, just to be polite. It was an awkward smile, one that showed off her braces, but Michael’s eyes lit up at the sight.

Finally, Peter and Salesa’s business concluded, and Peter called for Salome to follow. She did, giving Michael one final glance. She offered a small wave, which he returned with a kind, real smile.

-- Masterlist

#statement of salome lukas #tma fanfic #tma oc #oc: salome #peter lukas #mikaele salesa #michael shelley

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bloodoenemas · 6 days

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The Gift.

𝔇𝔢𝔠𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 15𝔱𝔥 1905. 𝔐𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔩𝔢𝔟𝔬𝔫𝔢. .

𝙸t was the first time Spike had seen snow in London since he was a boy. Small crystals were floating in the air and littering his beloved’s hair like something out of a Dickens novel, the little that managed to settle on the bustling roads had been sullied by passing carriage tracks and turned into icey brown sludge. 𝙴verything pure and light that entered London seemed to wind up the same way. 𝙳rusilla turned to look at Spike with the brightest of smiles, pure childish glee and wonder on her face as she looked on into the busy Christmas market. “𝙻ook at them all.” She chimed “𝚃hey scurry like rodents.” The woman pulled her gaunt wrists close to her chest, a farfetched imitation of a pest. “𝙳oes kitty get to play? Pounce on the little mice?” 𝙶od, he adored her. The way she spoke brought such a warmth to his hollow chest. His frost-nipped fingers brushed against his sire's cheek in the gentlest way he could manage, his eyes scanning the crowd momentarily before turning back to Dru. 𝙶ently he adjusts her bonnet which seemed to be slowly drifting lower and lower off the back of her head. He could feel her eyes on him as he did so and as his stare lowered to meet her own he couldn’t help but feel entranced, she had eyes a person could get lost in, like two large pieces of lapis. Never had he met someone so truly… 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵. It took an embarrassing amount of effort to pull himself away from her gaze, and back to the bustling crowds. “𝚃hing about rats is that they scatter, Pet. You’ve got to be careful which one you pick. ” His voice drifted into a velvet smoothness, as though coddling a child. 𝚃hey had a habit of getting carried away, Spike could acknowledge that much. As much as he adored the carnage that they caused together, he dreaded to think that one day they would end up on the bad side of an angry mob or something equally as ‘Mary Shelley’ 𝙿icking something sweet for her from the crowd would be more practical. Then they could have all the fun they wanted without the scene, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. Spike was quick to remind himself of that. 𝙶ently Spike’s hands moved to his beau’s waist guiding her through the horde, the scent of baked goods guiding them securely to where he wanted to be, perhaps one of his favourite spots as a young lad around this time of year. 𝙱efore him were dozens of people, gliding through the ice in a diverse display, families with small children hand in hand, bundled head to toe in warm fabrics to brace them from the cold air as they stumbled and slid on the glassy surface. He braced himself, his breath hitching as he anticipated his Sire’s reaction.

𝚃he hollow eyes of his companions lit up with glee. She glanced at Spike and quickly looked back towards the rink watching the humans glide through the ice with ease.

“𝚃hey dance like Muses.” She murmured quietly

“𝙻et's play a game, love.” The gentle arms of Spike rested on Drusilla’s cinched waist, pulling her close enough to whisper in her ear

“𝙵or dinner, we’ll find the prettiest dancer and we shall see if her screams are 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 as delightful.”

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themovieblogonline · 1 year

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From The World Of 'The Boys' We Have The Gen V Trailer and Our Reaction

Brace yourself for some bloody dorm rooms and haunting corridors because the Gen V trailer has just dropped. The first three episodes are all set to release on September 29 on Prime Video. A spin-off to Prime Video's mega-hit show The Boys, will feature a younger generation of superheroes. Set in the familiar Godolkin University, an exclusive place for superheroes, this season is filled with mystery, superpowers, and of course deadly puppets. The trailer stars extraordinary students with unnatural abilities. As they seek to attain a seat alongside "The Seven", they discover the presence of something uncanny and sinister lurking within the walls of their prestigious institution. Thanks to the school owners Vought Internationals, the kids at school are now prone to darkness and danger tracking them down. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uhjJ5brX-bY Promising great visuals and complex characters, we'll be seeing some new and familiar faces in the show. Brought to you by the creative mind of Eric Kripke, the cast includes Star Chance Perdomo, Lizzie Broadway, Shelley Conn, London Thor, Derek Luh, Maddie Phillips, Patrick Phillips, and Patrick Schwarzenegger. In addition to all these cast members, some familiar faces from The Boys like Colby Minifie, P.J. Byrne, Jessie T. Usher, and Claudia Doumit will also make appearances. What To Expect Many speculations regarding the show's timeline are being made, especially after the announcement of the fourth season of The Boys. Gen V will be set in the timeline of The Boy's third season and will take the story forward. That means that we'll get to experience more of Soldier Boy's rage dripping from vindictive aspirations and blood-thirsty vengeance. Not to forget the nasty eponymous group with hidden agendas of their own. Whatever the producers decide to do with this show I'm just looking forward to the mind-boggling supernatural abilities of the characters. That being said, we'll be witnessing shape-shifting, size-shrinking, blood manipulation, and more of this fantastical universe. Moreover, the show has been described as "fucked up" and "a roller coaster" by cast members Star Chance Perdomo and Lizzie Broadway respectively. That's where you know we got some craziness coming our way. If you're as excited as we are, then don't forget to let us know in the comments section below. Source: Variety Read the full article

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purgatory-park · 3 years

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[Purgatory Park] "The Beginning of the End"

Years ago...

[recording started]

??? : Sharon What does that red dot on the camera mean?

SHARON: Randy! You are recording yourself!

RANDY: How do I turn it?

RANDY: I think I'm getting it! Very good. This is Randy Marsh, after a walk we the Marsh family are back at the Marsh residence. Am I okay, Sharon?

SHARON: I think you forgot to mention that we're the Marsh...

RANDY: You're right.

SHARON: Randy, that was a sarcastic comment!

RANDY: Here in the back we have my kids and dad!

RANDY: This is my eldest daughter Shelley Marsh, the most beautiful girl in the world. We also have little Stan and my dad. Say hello dad, this is a memory that children will see when they grow up!

MARVIN: I don't want to!

RANDY: Come on, Dad. It's just a few words to them. What would you like to say to Shelley?

MARVIN: That she is a very beautiful and charming girl.

RANDY: Well, Stan? Any words for Little Marsh Man? The one who left the surname and our legacy to his children. The one destined to be great.

MARVIN: Don't be gay.

RANDY: Dad! Oh my god, I hope some social network doesn't come out where if they heard you say that they would send you hit men!

MARVIN: Better! So I die faster.

RANDY: How do I turn off the camera, Sharon?

[Recording finished]

The present...

SHARON: Here's Stan Marsh returning to South Park after a long time studying away. Smile, son!

STAN: Is it necessary, Mom?

SHARON: Sure, it's a memory I want to have in this old camera.

SHARON: We're coming to South Park now, and I hope you meet all your friends again.

My name is Stan Marsh, I am 16 years old. When I was only 12 my parents sent me to study away from the state of Colorado, I left behind many friends without the possibility of being able to talk on the internet, I still have old photos of them.

South Park was always a place full of things that are hard to explain, that makes it interesting.

My father stayed in the village with my sister while my mother and I were away. After many excellent grades, my parents made the decision to bring me back.

Even so, going back to my old town is very scary, I haven't seen my friends in years and I'm afraid that they don't want to be with me. I don't know how much they could change.

SHARON: We made it home! Stan, get out of the car and meet me in the driveway so we can go into the house together.

STAN: But, mom!

SHARON: Stan!

STAN: Yeah, mom.

SHARON: Okay, stay there. I have to buy some things so I can have a dinner worthy of a family reunion.

Being away from home makes me feel helpless and embarrassed. I don't want to have the bad luck of having to run into someone. I'm very embarrassed, the Testaburger residence is next door and I don't think that-

??? : Stan!

That voice... it sounds too familiar to me. Shelley Marsh, my older sister. Since her birth, my parents admired Shelley's beauty, even claiming that she would be the prettiest girl in the whole town.

Or at least that is what was believed. There was an accident years ago, I don't remember too well but Shelley's beautiful teeth had braces for a few years. Before changing his appearance, he would have to start by changing that ugly attitude.

As children we always have enemies, we can even have a bully. Unfortunately my bully was my own older sister.

STAN: Shelly! I-It's been a long time since I haven't seen your face.

SHELLEY: Shut up, cairn! Do you think I'm happy to have to see you again?

RANDY: What's all this noise? Shelley, who are you with- STAAAN! CHILD! Finally, after so many years, I have my two beautiful children by my side!

RANDY: Come on, Shelley! We still have things to buy, get in the car.

STAN: Uh... Dad. Where do I stay?

RANDY: I told one of your friends to come play with you, take the afternoon to meet up with your old teammates. Come home before dark. Goodbye Stan!

Friend? I saw Dad and Shelley drive away. Which friend am I supposed to wait for? And for how long?

Ok, Stan... Stay calm, don't panic. Do my legs shake? Don't worry, just take your cell phone and pretend to do something interesting until that famous friend arrives... Everything will be fine... Maybe if I think a bit I'll know who's coming. I have three options.

Kyle Broflovski, the eldest son of the Jewish family. Before I left he was my best friend. On Hanukkah days, his family invited me to learn about Jewish traditions.

Eric Cartman, fat ass. Only son. Motherfucker

Kenny McCormick, a simple and humble boy. It was one of my friends.

??? : Oh, hey Stan!

That greeting... it can't be...

STAN: H-hello... Kyle...

STAN: Kyle... I... I'm so sorry I didn't let you know I was leaving, even for me it was a bit sudden and-

KYLE: Stan... I get it. I admit it's weird seeing you after so much. It was never easy to understand why my best friend left.

I never told anyone my departure, not even Kyle... he deserved to know the reason, but what was I supposed to tell him if I didn't even know I was leaving? All these years I also felt the absence of Kyle but if I tell him I will sound like a weirdo.

In front of me I have Kyle, but... I don't feel the same...

KYLE: What are you looking at me so much?

STAN: E-ehh... looks like you've learned to love your hair.

KYLE: What? No friend. Mom said I had to dress up so I could say hello. I still hate this stupid hair. Do you hear that sound?

STAN: It looks like someone's giving a concert. I don't think I'm popular enough to deserve a homecoming concert.

KYLE: Look! Lights! It seems that they come from the other street. Go?

STAN: Go to a place where we weren't invited?

KYLE: Do we have something better to do?

KYLE: I see it and I can't believe it... The Tucker residence.

STAN: I didn't know Craig was so popular.

KYLE: Dude, it gave me a really...um...depression...feeling lonely and being humiliated by Cartman every day. He only left home to go to school. So I'm really just as confused as you.

???: Hi kids. Looking for Craig?

KYLE: Mrs. Tucker. We were passing by by chance and saw the lights.

MRS. TUCKER: Go ahead, Craig is playing in the garden.

STAN: Thank you, ma'am.

KYLE: We go in and out. Nobody will see us.

KYLE: Hey Stan! Side hair looks good on you!

STAN: SHIT KYLE! I say- thank you. These brothel lights don't let me see.

???: VERY WELL! OPEN YOUR HEART FOR SALVATION!

KYLE & STAN: CRAIG?!

CRAIG: Hear the voice of salvation! Me! Craig Tucker the youth pastor! Praised be our lord!

STAN: Kyle... What is "youth pastor"? What the fuck is happening?

KYLE: S-stan...I think I told you I'm just as confused as you are. I haven't left the house since... well... you left.

KYLE: What if it's just a simple role play? You know, do you remember the role-playing game we used to play years ago? The stick of truth? Coon & friends?

STAN: They're 16 and still playing like this?

KYLE: It seems that now there is a better budget to play better. Damn Stan! I built a church in your backyard! It's like Clyde's Fortress!

CRAIG: Kyle Broflovski and Stan Marsh...blessed my eyes that see them again, their paths back together and led to the house of the lord. Would you like to participate in this beautiful duty?

#south park #southpark #southparkau #craig tucker #stan marsh #kyle broflovski #comic #au #purgatorypark #purgatory park au #south park au #tweek tweak #demons #angels

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kalinara · 3 years

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I’ve mentioned before I think that Rebecca and Ted’s respective height is a hill I will die on. I’m not kidding. I have back buttoned out of perfectly good fic because suddenly there’s a line about how she’s shorter than him out of her heels and how he thinks that’s adorable, or something like that. This is not meant to be an attack on those authors, mind you, but it really doesn’t work for me.

It already bugs me how certain fans are so adamant to match Rebecca and Ted’s heights to Waddingham and Sudeikis’s that they’ll tilt the screen, or use close ups when one is visibly not standing upright to make an assertion that he’s taller or filmed to look taller. When it’s very clearly never been the intent of the show, EVER, to show him as taller.

In a Doylistic sense, it bugs me, because all you have to do is listen to one of Waddingham’s interviews where she mentions her height, or particularly one of her joint interviews with Sudeikis where they talk about it, to see how important it was for her that he didn’t care about her height. That Ted wouldn’t care about her height. Maybe they didn’t originally imagine Rebecca being taller than Ted before they cast her, but that’s something they embrace whole heartedly by always putting her in those amazing shoes. I can’t imagine the difficulty a very tall woman must have in ego-obsessed show-business, but I can’t go from watching those interviews, seeing the relief and gratitude, the joy in her face, and then go read a fic where Ted is suddenly delighted that she’s suddenly smaller than him. I just can’t do it.

As I said above, I don’t think it’s the intent of the show, either. There is no scene where the show has ever intentionally made Ted look taller than Rebecca. Even when she is vulnerable and it would make sense. There is one scene where she’s barefoot (and he’s not!), but except for that last moment, where he yells a thank you “from Rebecca” to Higgins, they’re never even in the same camera shot. And in that last shot, they’re standing so far apart, with a skewed perspective, that it’s clear we’re not supposed to really be able to draw conclusions about their heights.

They could have easily done that differently. They could have easily just had them together in the same frame for the entire scene. They could have made it obvious that he’s taller than her (at least when he’s wearing shoes and she’s barefoot.) They could have let him loom comfortably and made her look vulnerable and tiny. And they don’t.

Even at her most vulnerable moments, like her tears outside of the Gala in For The Children, Rebecca still looks taller than Ted does. Even when she apologizes to him in the office in All Apologies, right before that hug, she TOWERS over him. That’s probably the most vulnerable that she’s ever been all season. She’s suffered Rupert’s final betrayal, she’s braced for his anger. And she’s still standing tall.

In a Watsonian sense, I think Rebecca’s height is important too. Rebecca is a woman in a male oriented field. In Rainbow, she talks about how she is sometimes made to feel like a school girl in pigtails. And when she wants to feel strong and powerful, the FIRST thing she does is increase her size. You could argue that it’s armor, sure, (and what’s wrong with that?) but it’s clearly also something that she ENJOYS.

This is a woman who WANTS to be tall. And sure, you can go the lazy route of having her finally feel safe and comfortable being the small one in the relationship...

Or you can think about Rupert Mannion for a second. Think about how RUPERT MANNION would react to a woman taller than he is. Think about how “eat this and wear that” probably also applied to her type of shoes. And you can think about how, now that Rebecca chooses her own wardrobe, she wears incredibly high heels and seems extraordinarily comfortable with them.

And think about Ted Lasso. Who never has to be the big one. Who should tower over people like Keeley Jones, Nate Shelley or Trent Crimm. I have no idea how tall Jeremy Swift actually is, but given the way Rebecca towers over Higgins, I can only imagine that Sudeikis is taller than him. Even when Ted is giving his Iverson speech to Jamie, with the latter sitting down, and Ted standing at full height, they don’t have Ted loom over him. Instead, they use interesting camera tricks to give an optical illusion.

And maybe it means something that Rebecca can feel safe and comfortable being the TALLER one in the relationship. Because she’s finally found partners that she doesn’t have to diminish herself to be with. She can enjoy her physical advantages, and even enhance them when she likes, without having to cater to someone else’s ego.

It’s kind of like how I said before, one of the things I love about Ted Lasso is that it never makes Rebecca apologize for her domineering tendencies. So many shows do this, I think. They’ll take the strident and forceful female antagonist, and when she becomes “nice” and starts being a friend to the lead characters (especially men), she suddenly becomes sweet and passive. The stridency and the bossiness are gone. (And she generally will look a little smaller.)

That’s not what happens with Rebecca. She’s nice now. She’s sweet and generous. But she’s a woman who will hear that a restaurant refused to serve you and immediately offer to buy it. She’s a woman who’ll watch you put small bills in a donation box and follow it up with a small fortune. She’ll make you wear a Santa hat and drag you across town. For your own good!

Rebecca’s domineering tendencies were never her problem. The fact that she likes to feel tall and powerful was never her problem. And these are things that she gets to enjoy, without judgment.

Obviously, everyone will have their own opinion about this issue. But for me, personally, Rebecca’s height is actually very important. It’s something that even now, in the year 2022, we don’t see very often: a potential romantic couple where the woman unapologetically towers over the man, without it ever being treated as a joke or a form of emasculation. It is one of the things that makes “TedBecca” a genuinely rare and even groundbreaking romantic couple, in my opinion (side by side with the fact that they’re both pushing fifty. That she’s older than him - a year isn’t much really, but by Hollywood standards she might as well be his mother. That she gets to be richer and more powerful. That he is kind and gentle. Et cetera and so forth.)

So now that I’ve gotten this off my chest, I’m hoping this means I will stop ranting about this issue to anyone unfortunate enough to have to listen. I doubt it. But one can only hope.

#ted lasso #rebecca welton #theodore lasso #I mean this is probably my fourth rant about this subject?#So...probably not much hope

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abeautifulblog · 2 years

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I am interested in hearing about the bad acid trip if you feel like talking about it?

Okay, so the truth is, I have no idea what I was tripping on—I would not have chosen to take acid, that is not a drug I have any desire to fuck with. It was supposed to be just pot, but everyone I've told this story to has gone, “That... doesn't... sound like... pot. o_O” So who knows.

Anyway, here's Gremble's Bad Drug Trip!

I had been on a trip to visit my parents, and while I was in town, I got to reconnect with my friend P, whom I hadn't seen in a while, when he and his housemates were hosting a party. It was chill, low-key, about a dozen people. P and his housemates had good taste in friends, everyone was cool and very queer, and even though the only person I knew there was P, I was having a good time.

(By the way, another character who will become relevant in this story is Shelley—my best friend, my roommate, my lawyer, my queerplatonic life partner—but she hadn't come on this trip so it was just me.)

Then a joint was getting passed around and I was like, Sure why not, I'll give it a spin.

See, I had tried pot twice before, and both experiences had been Bad, but they had been bad in different ways, so I still didn't have a baseline for what pot was 'like.' I was curious, and I do a lot of things out of curiosity.

And the first hit was very nice! Like the tipsy euphoria of being at the perfect stage of drunk, without the inner ear imbalance. And I thought, oh this is actually quite pleasant; this is what people are on about with weed.

And then I took a second hit.

P had offered me the water bong in the kitchen, and I took a deep hit off that and promptly started hacking my goddamn lungs out. Can't-stop, can't-catch-your-breath, tears-streaming-down-your-face coughing, like every stereotype about newbies trying weed. I staggered off to the bathroom so that I could at least hack my lungs up in privacy, until I finally got control of myself again.

I was braced against the sink, and in the moment when I lifted my head and locked eyes with myself in the mirror, I realized that my consciousness was rapidly leaving my body. I could feel it, sliding downward, about to slide right out through the soles of my feet, and the thought came to me, very clearly:

You have fifteen seconds to put yourself somewhere safe, because *you* are about to not be here anymore.

I managed to get myself to P's bedroom—which was sheer dumb luck, since I'd never been in that house before.

And then I fell through the void for ten hours.

For large swathes of it, I was... conscious but not conscious of myself. The word for it is depersonalization, but it is a hell of a thing to try to describe, because human language wasn't built with the words for that experience. Imagine having your senses, observing the things around you, but there is no you that is doing the observing.

Sometimes I was present and conscious, and it felt exactly like a picture I'd once seen in a grade school textbook, a photograph of the sun taken from Pluto:

That dot of light in the infinite distance was my life, the life I'd known before, and as I drifted weightless through the void of space somewhere beyond Pluto, I grieved for everything that I knew I was never going to see again. Everything I'd known and loved was lost to me, unimaginably distant, no returning.

I'm going to miss Shelley, I thought, at the times when I was lucid.

And then, like the Silent Hill sirens starting up their warning, I'd feel it as my consciousness started to slip away again. I kept drifting through space, but gremble wasn't there for it anymore.

Occasionally I would resurface to find myself in P's room—but that wasn't terribly reassuring either. I didn't know where I was, and P is an artist (same photographer-friend who took these pics, actually), so his room had dark walls covered in canvasses of his paintings—large, bold, surreal and abstract, and altogether not the thing to be looking at when you're tripping balls. To be honest, that room felt a hell of a lot more threatening than falling through space did.

P came in at one point to check on me—he got me sitting upright and got my boots off. I don't remember anything he said there, but I remember myself, very slowly, putting the words together to tell him, quote, “Your room is a very uncongenial place to get high in.”

And then he left, and I slipped away into the void again, and the next time I resurfaced I was back in a menacing room I didn't recognize.

And that was it, all night long. Sometimes drifting through a void of unimaginable isolation, with nothing but the knowledge of what I'd lost, sometimes waking up in a strange, dark room with with incomprehensible paintings looming over me on all sides.

(At one point when I was awake, “Take Me to Church” was echoing down the hallway from the living room, but slow and distorted. This song actually conveys the experience very well, of the familiar becoming strange and unsettling.)

After a while I did get used to the room. I still didn't know where this place was, but after returning to it enough times I came to recognize it, like, ah, it's this place again. And since nothing bad had happened to me the previous times I'd been there, eventually I reached a point where I could cautiously venture to relax a little in it.

I woke up the next morning to find myself back in my right mind, with P sacked out on the bed next to me. And while alcohol has a tendency to blur one's memories of being drunk, I could recall everything from the night before with unnerving clarity. The cognitive dissonance of being back in the real world—of never having left it, really—while simultaneously feeling what I had felt the night before, when I had known, with absolute certainty, that this life was lost to me.

I talked to P about it; apparently no one else had a weird night, just me.

But for the next twenty-four hours I was... not quite non-verbal, but close. This is a Known Bug when it comes to me and pot, that it makes talking very difficult, and since talking is pretty much my hobby, this is another reason why Pot Is Not The Drug For Me.

I went back to my parents' house and did my best to pretend like I was normal, but the experience had been extremely unsettling, so I called Shelley on discord and made her talk to me for a few hours. Except I still couldn't talk, so she was on voicechat, while I typed all my responses. She indulged me, because she is the bestest of friends.

Anyway. If another opportunity to try pot presents itself, I'll prolly do it, lol.

(Shelley: “Oh for fucks' sake, even my brother only stuck his finger in an electrical socket twice.”)

But I still don't have a baseline! I have tried pot three times, and each time was worse than the last, but the experience has been wildly different each time. And it's been very educational, and equipped me with the firsthand knowledge of how to write a bad trip, without requiring me to fuck around with drugs that are actually dangerous.

(Just... very unpleasant sometimes.)

So yeah, I'll probably stick my finger in that electrical socket again someday.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#drugs #a story about gremble

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solarianvoidthearoace · 3 years

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Excerpt#1 of my Gerry Keay/OC Magical/Mythical CollegeAU

CN/TW: Social Anxiety, discussion of mental illness, discussion of past trauma, awkward coming-out, miscommunication, misunderstanding, it/its pronouns for Michael Shelley, he/they pronouns for Gerry, they/them pronouns for OC, narrative mention of Mary Keay, mention of alcohol, mythical people living in a parallel society and amongst humans, original character talking German (two sentences; extrapolable from context)

“But sure, you're seeming nice so no problem.” Heaving a relieved sigh, Gerry followed them into the room. The two taking seats in the lower rows of the auditorium, seeing as Gerry’s companion wore glasses. Unpacking their notepads, pencil cases, and Gerry setting up his laptop. There was still time until the lecture was set to begin, so Gerry turned to his table neighbour,

“Your look sends very mixed signals, if I’m being honest.” They grinned, propping their chin up on the back of their hand,

“All the right ones, apparently”, demonstratively looking Gerry up and down. Making them look away, clearing his throat. They laughed,

“Not flirting, don’t worry. I’m Yanis.” He tried masking his relieved sigh best they could,

“Gerry.”

They did pay attention to the lecture, still, Gerry found out a bit more about his dyed ginger saviour. Yanis was in the same semester and some of the same courses has he was. Though they didn’t study for the same engineering degree, there was a decent overlap. Some courses Gerry needed for his software engineering degree much the same as Yanis needed for mechanical engineering. They easily offered they could study together. Yanis having been at the campus since they started their degree and knowing the ins and outs of it.

Having easily found common ground in their discipline of study, as well as their taste in music, Gerry had no qualms following Yanis to the canteen for a late breakfast. They kept chatting, switching back and forth between languages.

“So what if you’re 31?”, Yanis shrugged,

“I also had to take care of my health first. Plus we’re both neurodivergent so starting a college degree at all is more stressful to us. It’s not like anyone is rushing you.” Gerry rolled their eyes,

“Still. Being autist and depressed doesn’t exactly help my case here. That’s ignoring the ADHD and trauma.” A painted-black nail flicked his nose,

“Nope. None of that, you’re not demanded to keep pace with anyone and if your personal reasons bared you from even looking into college education until you were 25, then that’s how it is. Besides, it’s eight years between us. Don’t be dramatic.” Gerry tried to glare but they simply raised a brow in challenge, shutting him right up. While they weren’t in the same major, they compared their course schedules some more and found they were in the same philosophy and ethics courses for their minor. Gerry having decided to not put that on hold and taking the according courses in his semester in Germany as well.

By the end of the day, Gerry felt they had a better handle on his new college-everyday and possibly even made a friend. Which raised a few problems all of its own.

While Gerry had no problem with Yanis finding out what concretely had delayed his life so much, they had another problem. Gerry wasn’t human. And neither was their best friend Michael, for the matter, it being a changeling and his nature chaotic to a fault. Gerry themself was, depending on what one believed, involuntarily threatening to humans.

His mother having been a hulder, a mythical being almost looking like a human. The feature most telling of their mythical nature, though, the fact that they look hollow if seen in the right light, from the right angle. Akin to forest spirits, hulders were drawn by their nature to lure townspeople into forests. Not inherently malicious, of course, their blonde hair and fair skin drawing mostly men in.

With an established mythical society existing in parallel to the non-magical human society, there were laws and proper paperwork surrounding magical and mythical people’s “otherness” and characteristics.

Characteristics which were the life-long obsession of his mother. Her trying to create offspring of her own that would be inherently dangerous to humans and as malicious as she had been. Gerry hated thinking about his father almost more than he hated his mother. But matter of fact was, being half-hulder, and his father having been a river-nix, Gerry was… alluring. Drawing people in without them realising as much if he acted the wrong kind of way towards them. Gerry forced to be constantly mindful of their nature, as to not accidentally harm someone.

Which was why they usually didn’t make friends. Having to make sure the person wasn’t human as to not endanger them.

And yet, they got stuck with Yanis. Gerry was glad it was autumn, the chance of light hitting him in just the wrong way dwindling. But he couldn’t help their worried unease, recognising Yanis and them grew closer.

It wasn’t that Gerry was set out to avoid Yanis, having taken them up on an invitation to lunch and even to revise notes and study together. But Gerry had a bad feeling about it, especially when he grew to see them as a friend. They did try bringing some more distance between them, an attempt so he didn’t need to outright evade Yanis. Declining their invitations more often than not, excusing themself and finding reasons to convince himself it was the right thing to do.

Having forced himself to take a step back, Gerry caught themself looking for them. It had started so he could more easily get around them, trying to deter Yanis from inviting him in the first place so they didn’t have to turn them down as often.

Gerry wasn’t oblivious to their whole demeanour getting muted once it had clicked that he was trying to push distance between them. But seeing Yanis less cheery and energetic made Gerry realise some things about them.

Yanis wasn’t much smaller than him, a few inches at most. But they carried themself in a way that made them stand out. Gerry had learned Yanis had chronic pain, making it hard on them to be on their feet the entire day. Rarely, they wore leg braces, limiting their range of motion further than their chronic pain already did. Still, Yanis was confident and most days glossing over their frequent aches with relative ease. It had been more apparent when they hadn’t been upset but the way Yanis walked was… with purpose. Every step seeming deliberate and not to be questioned. While that cocksure confident way to carry oneself wasn’t all that remarkable, it stood out in Yanis.

And Gerry needed a good long while to figure out why.

Michael had badgered them to get out and socialise. It was the last week before winter break and there was a social happening of the engineering faculty. Gerry had put on a nice button shirt and proper slacks before touching up their black nail polish and putting on a hint of eyeliner.

Yes, he was cautious not to accidentally draw humans in but that didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to tart themself up. Gerry hadn’t even really planned to talk to anyone, if they were being honest. Just mingling among people and feeling alone in the crowd instead of feeling alone by himself.

That was, until aquamarine and black varnished fingers held a bottle in his field of vision. Gerry couldn’t fight down his smile before closing their eyes. Shaking his head, they just let it happen. Let that gentle affection wash over him for just a moment.

“Thought you might be here tonight”, Yanis held out the drink,

“The crown cap is still sealed.” Gerry pulled a face as to not smile despite themself. He sighed,

“You’re quite persistent.” Yanis raised a rather expressive brow at him,

“If you honestly wanted me gone, you would have told me. So I dare say you don’t want me completely gone. It’s nice having someone who can keep up with my ADHD jumping through topics, plus being able to overlook what allistics call me weird for.” When he finally took the bottle, their smile turned from friendly to bright. He bit his lip, trying to hide it behind the bottle. Yanis offered them their bottle opener.

“Got me there. And yes, having a neurodivergent friend is quite unwinding”, he admitted. Opening the drink, Gerry took them in. A proper once-over. They weren’t primped either but certainly had put thought into their casual suit not clashing with their once-again stark-red hair. Gerry having seen Yanis cycling through vibrant red washing out to ginger, before they went back to dyed poppy-red.

Gerry felt admittedly awkward standing together with them. Very much aware of how they had avoided them after all. Nursing their drinks, they kept quiet. Even though Gerry noticed Yanis also taking in his appearance. After some time he sighed,

“I’m sorry. It’s…”, they broke off, shaking his head.

“Complicated?”, Yanis offered with a huff,

“That’s one way to put it, I suppose.” Gerry raised a brow at them. Before he could ask what they were referring to, though, Yanis turned to him properly.

“Did you notice there��s a dance floor?” They blinked in surprise,

“Uh… yea, I did.” Yanis snorted, taking his empty bottle from them and depositing the glass on a nearby tray for used tableware.

“So, can you dance?”, Yanis’ smile inviting and warm,

“And would you dance with me?” Gerry froze, biting his lip and looking away. He knew they shouldn’t. They were very much aware that Yanis needed to keep their distance from him. He swallowed thickly,

“I can dance but…” Yanis hummed expectantly.

“We shouldn’t, okay? I don’t want to elaborate on that.” Yanis’ face cleared as they gave a soft ‘oh’ of understanding.

When Gerry looked back at them, Yanis was looking at them. The expression in their eyes making him pause. A glint of intent, resolve. But their overall demeanour had changed as well. That deliberate way they carried themself was back, not in a way that intimidated. But even standing next to Gerry, he could see they were moving with an intent, with a conscious focus on the way they moved to get there.

Yanis licked their lip,

“I will respect your turndown. But I would like you to know that I know.” Gerry froze. Raising a brow, Yanis’ tone turned gentler still,

“And I really don’t want to push you towards anything. Or put you up to anything.” Gerry felt his amusement bubbling up when Yanis said as much. The idea of someone human inciting a mythical or magical person to anything at all seemed a bit laughable.

“I’m aromantic myself”, they shrugged,

“And asexual.” Their smile turning into a bit of a smirk, cheeky just around the edges. Gerry’s face cleared in surprise, his jaw dropping a bit. His amusement freezing over with a faint ‘oh’ of their own. Before he grimaced,

“I am aromantic, yes, but that’s not it. I’m sorry, you’re a really nice person. You have been nothing but friendly and a reliable friend at that. It’s…”

Yanis closed their eyes, brows raised, before they snorted.

“Let me stop you right there. I know you have been avoiding me, I have respected that you were avoiding me”, they looked him in the eye,

“If you want me gone, I won’t bother you again. I’ll be out of your hair and we don’t have to even talk again.” Gerry felt his face fall, nervously biting his lip once more. Yanis wasn’t done just yet,

“But if you would like to, I want to get to know you”, a short jerk of their head,

“Properly get to know you. I think both our first gut feeling about the other was that we could become pretty great friends. And that’s all I’m suggesting.” Gerry needed a moment to process that. To let sink in that Yanis was really just curious about his friendship. Something they had so far always had to be wary around. At least until Gerry knew whether the person in question was human. Yanis huffed,

“While you process whether to give us a try, I’ll get us new drinks.” Gerry blinked, then nodded when they realised Yanis was waiting on his okay. Another one of those bright friendly smiles before they turned away. Gerry didn’t know what it was but they followed Yanis with his eyes. Their red hair easy to make out even in the crowd.

Just as he was about to turn away, he noticed something. Yanis was a very body-aware person, conscious and deliberate to a point it might seem standoffish. They had explained how it related to their chronic back and joint pain. But as Gerry watched them move through the crowd, he realised just how easily they moved around people. Almost light-footed, turning out of others’ ways with ease.

Despite them being almost as tall as him, and dressed in dark clothes, something about Yanis’ way through the crowd seemed almost airy.

It didn’t fit. It should have clashed immensely.

As they moved back towards him, Gerry realised what had been so weird about Yanis’ bodily confidence. They didn’t seem to make way for themself. Not at all. While that sureness was clear as day, written all over their most minute movements.

The way Yanis moved was the harsh opposite. Gerry was tempted to call it floaty. He knew they could make a way for themself through people, had witnessed as much a few times in the bustle of the campus. But how Yanis moved around people seemed just as natural.

Not even the slightest touch between them and the people around, as if some shimmer was keeping Yanis from being touchable. Kept up their airy strut, as if they weren’t turning and stepping around people.

The contrast did not make sense. And seeing as Gerry’s best friend was a changeling, well, if things didn’t make sense, it was likely some faerie or other was involved.

Which, on the one hand, would mean Yanis was safe from his own magic. But on the other hand it would raise so many more questions around them. About them.

Gerry couldn’t help his sceptical look when Yanis returned. Frowning at them, unsure whether to trust what they had seen.

“You're looking at me like that again”, Yanis raised a brow at him. Gerry gnawed his bottom lip,

“You’re a bit of a mystery, if I’m being honest.” But took the offered bottle none the less. Yanis’ warm smile returned,

“Well, I suppose it’s on you whether you care to figure me out, then.” An easy shrug as they raised a brow at him.

Gerry didn’t reply. They had not clue what to reply to that. And what they wanted to reply in the first place. Yanis didn’t push him. Much to Gerry’s relief. They fell back into companionable silence, emptying their drinks. When the bottles were empty, Yanis looked at him for a long moment. Searching their face. Yanis’ expression fell a bit, their smile not reaching their eyes anymore. Still, they only grimaced a little before sighing,

“So… have a good night, then.” Taking his empty bottle to take it away with their own, Yanis turned to go. Looking back over their shoulder,

“I guess I’ll see you around.” And with a final shrug and smile, they were gone in the crowd. Gerry stared after them before he closed their eyes and sighed. Silently cursing themself, he turned away from the crowd as well. One hand coming up to cover his mouth. Yanis had been right, if Gerry really had wanted them gone, he could have told them as much anytime. If they had wanted Yanis gone, he could have told them as much when they literally offered to leave him alone.

But Gerry didn’t. Because Gerry hadn’t and still didn’t want them gone.

They spent another few minutes turning things over in his head. What he had to consider if they really tried building a genuine friendship with Yanis.

Once he started looking around for them, Gerry regretted their delay. Not able to make out the red shock of hair, Gerry pulled out his phone. If he couldn’t find Yanis, he might at least tell Michael about his hunch. They had been friends for forever but Gerry still wasn’t all that confident to make out people that were connected to faerie. It was his best idea at the moment but he might just as well be off. Asking Michael for his opinion was a solid thing, also maybe it could distract Gerry if they really didn’t find Yanis again. Which meant Gerry would have to approach them around their next shared lecture.

Pocketing their phone, he looked up and around once more.

And huffed in amusement, Yanis standing almost directly in his line of vision. Albeit turned from them and leaning with their chin propped up over a bar table. Despite having avoided them, Gerry knew their usual posture well enough to see Yanis had to adjust to their pain at the moment. Holding their weight cautiously and reducing tension in their back and legs. Coincidentally, Yanis was looking at their own phone when Gerry came closer. And if he wasn’t mistaken, they were looking at the recent chat chronic between the two of them. The small frown pulling down the corner of Yanis’ lips gave Gerry a weird boost of confidence.

As he stepped up to the table, Yanis looked up.

“Du schon wieder”, they raised a brow but their frown had vanished. The quip good natured and accompanied by a small smile. Gerry couldn’t help smiling themself. With a slight head-tilt, he shrugged,

“Well, I can admit that I went looking for you.” Feeling a blush creep up on him, they tried fighting down his smile. Yanis turned to them fully, still with one elbow leaning on the table, they raised a brow. Giving Gerry a once-over. A short jerk of their head,

“Okay, und?” Gerry took a deep breath,

“You wanted to dance with me”, he shrugged,

“How about that invitation?” Yanis’ smile brightened a bit, stepping away from the table and coming closer. They offered him a hand,

“Your lead or mine?”

8 notes · View notes

nemo-draco · 4 years

Text

The First Step

Hi all! Bit of a crossover piece here, courtesy of some amazing art on behalf of @rose-junk-junky on Tumblr, and @a-rae-of-sunshine, whose characters feature here along with my own. Long story short, saw some amazing animatics and art with Rae's characters in a Frankenstein-like scenario, and my guys jumped in with a cry of 'new friend!'.

To read off our cast, Whimsy, Fancy, and Whimsy's 'creator' (this AU's version of the Mayor of Burnsville) are the characters of a-rae-of-sunshine. The AU itself was thought up by rose-junk-junky, who I also have to thank for showing the Frankenstein Musical album in the animatics. All the rest are mine.

Hope you enjoy!

A First Step:

"If any being felt emotions of benevolence towards me, I should return them a hundred and a hundredfold; for that one creature's sake I would make peace with the whole kind!" Adam Frankenstein, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Their dreams were racing, blurred things, fraught with frantic energy and a sinking sense of wrongness that made them feel sick to their stomach. It was like they were stuck on a top, whirling from images of crackling electricity, to fire, to the ripping of stitches, to the sounds of people screaming in both anger and fear. But rising above it all was that one face, that one person, who's attention they had coveted the most, and the one they hated all the more for what HE'D DONE TO THEM-

"I should never have given you breath…"

-Awakening in a dark room, empty, filled with books and beakers, devoid of anyone-

"You're a beast to be feared…"

-Wandering in the wilderness, cold and alone, seeing others but always being met with screams and vitriol-

"By heaven we'll drag you…"

-The brief respite of the blind woman and her company, ruined when the others came and saw-

"And haunt you…"

-Fire leaping, climbing higher and higher, growing out of control-

"And banish your soul…"

-His face, their own creator, staring at them with such revulsion and hatred-

"From this earth!"

The nightmare went from formless to something concrete, Whimsy all but slamming down into their own body just in time to feel a rope slip around their neck. Immediately it tightened, yanking the reanimated faerie towards…

…A creaky, rickety platform of wood. One that somehow filled them with more dread and fear than they'd ever thought possible. The fear became something real, forming fire that leapt around the construct like it was some specter summoned up from Hell. A shadowy crowd appeared in the billows of smoke, voices like howling wolves as they screamed.

"Kill it!"

"It's a demon, a monster!"

"Be rid of the awful thing!"

They spun, pulled, tried everything they could to get away from the noose's pull, even slipping their fingers around the rope to try to yank it off, but nothing worked. And worse still, a numbness was seeping into their body, starting from their feet and working its way up to their ankles.

A face in the crowd leapt out to them, their eyes widening as they recognized their creator standing among the throng. Before they could even think, or read into the neutral, blank expression on their maker's face, they cried out like a drowning man casting about for a lifeline.

"Help me! Help me, please!"

Their legs grew stiff and cold, only weighing them down as they struggled to escape the noose, the fire, the awful drop...

"I'm alive!" They screamed, eyes tearing as they sought out their creator's emotionless stare, as cold as the deadening sensation creeping up their body. They were being pulled up the stairs, up to the gallows...

But somehow, even over all the screaming, the jeers, the fire, and the creaking pull of the hangman's rope, they could hear their creator whisper as though he were right next to them.

"No, you aren't."

"You made me!" Whimsy cried, feeling a slight give in the boards under their feet, hinting at the presence of a trapdoor. The fire climbed, the crowd howled for their death, the feeling of the end pulling their hands away from the lethally light weight of the noose. "YOU MADE ME!"

But with no inflection, no emotion, came the cold response.

"I reject you."

And with a snap, then came the short drop...

...And the sudden stop as their body thudded against the floor, thankfully a carpeted one that masked the noise.

Not that Whimsy, for the moment, had much mind to be thankful.

For the time being, their mind was frozen, limbs shakily drawing in to curl out of some instinctive reaction as they tried to figure out whether or not they were once again dead.

The feeling of their heart galloping in their chest, as well as the frantic gasping rushing in and out of their clenched teeth, contradicted that idea. Well, that and a slight sting radiating through their hip given that had smacked into the floor before the rest of them.

Sitting gingerly up and untangling themselves with a trembling set of arms, Whimsy sat in the dark for a spell, before deciding that this wasn't helping and stumbling to their feet. Their hands only shook a little as they found the doorknob, though as they stepped out into the hall the faintly cooler temperature jolted them to something that felt a little more in control...and drew their eye down to a plate that had been left next to their door. A quick sniff brought the scents of beef, some kind of vegetables, maybe bread? All of it was a little dulled though, the plate itself cool to the touch. This had been left a while ago, that was for sure...

It made them realize that they weren't even fully aware of what time it was. The most they could say was 'night' but the house around them was dead silent. Everyone else must already be in bed.

The notion was surprisingly relieving, Whimsy picking up the plate and deciding to head downstairs. Even the faintly chilled food was somewhat appetizing, especially since this would be the first time they'd eaten all day. Or…night? Whenever.

Despite their height, the reanimated (corpse) faerie was able to move stealthily down the hallway, to the stairs leading down to the larger part of the house. The…guy, Cab, who had brought them here had said that it was an old firehouse. When they'd gotten it set up, they'd moved the pole, somehow got a spiral staircase, and made the whole downstairs open to co-join the garage with the rest of the first floor, barring a little section for a bathroom and closet. That was a design choice that Whimsy'd been a little confused by, Cab's words that it was for 'Bee's benefit not really helping to illuminate much.

At least, not until the car sitting in the garage space started talking, during which that little mystery was cleared up in short order.

Whimsy had just come down the stairs when a faint noise caught their attention, their head jerking in the direction it had come from to see a very small figure sitting at the table. The most eye-grabbing feature was a small streak of silver running through a head of otherwise black hair, a tired shadow in the tailor's face despite the brief flash of nerves at the sight of the towering, stitched-together faerie (reanimated corpse). The pair stared at each other, Whimsy belatedly remembering that this was the person who owned this house, what had Cab called him again?

Either way, they couldn't exactly ask with their mouth full, so they made an effort to swallow a rather large mouthful of chilled beef and bread. He ended up beating them to actually talking though, voice quiet with an attempt at nonchalance.

"Glad to see you liked the food. We did have dinner a while ago, but you were asleep. We didn't want to wake you."

"Thanks," Whimsy muttered, once their mouth was free to reply, though they realized that they didn't really have anything to add or say. Funnily enough, Fancy seemed to have the same issue too, drumming his fingers on the table for an instant as his eyes cast around before lighting on the softly steaming mug in front of him.

"Do, you want some tea?"

Tea. Whimsy had a vague memory of it from when they'd spoken to the blind woman. A bit bitter, but warm. And, if something were to go wrong, then they could just leave, right?

So, even with the mistrust nudging at the back of their mind, Whimsy edged cautiously forward, carefully watching for some sign of underhanded play. It was a nervousness that was echoed a little in the tailor, Fancy looking up to meet Whimsy's eyes and, consciously or not, huddling down a bit like a fox that had come too close to a bear.

The faerie themselves edged quietly into the seat, nearly approaching calm before a metallic, humming voice spoke up from behind them.

"'Ey Whims."

Oh, right, and the car, the thought of which immediately had Whimsy changing seats to keep both Fancy and 'Bee' within view (and noticing with a silent shiver of bracing tension that the sleek, not all together large but still not small black car had rolled closer). Not that Bee himself seemed to take much offense, given his next, calm words.

"Thanks for switchin', by the way. Easier to talk when I'm not hollering over someone. Guess it's the exterior, dunno. Not many people expect the car to hold a conversation." Despite the easy tone, Whimsy couldn't feel relaxed, like there was a trap somewhere that they needed to keep an eye out for. They might not have been run out on a rail yet but it had barely been twenty four hours.

"People…ignore you?" Whimsy still asked, faintly piqued by the implication. Though they really couldn't guess what was worse, to be shunned or ignored. A faintly vindictive part of them hissed that to be shunned was worse, an ignored person could at least live among other people.

"Eh, sometimes. Though bein' innocuous enough to escape notice does have its perks. It's how I was designed after all."

Immediately Whimsy's brain got stuck on that last bit, to the point where they couldn't help asking.

"…Designed?"

"Originally I was made to be what you'd call a 'cursed object'. Maker just decided to be more ambitious and cursed a car rather than something like a toaster or doll or whatever. Demonically-charged rituals can be a mite bit unpredictable, apparently, 'cause I ended up with enough 'me' to say I liked the guy I was supposed to be causing trouble for a lot better. 'Course I couldn't stay when I kinda revealed I was alive, but, y'know, nice while it lasted."

"We're glad to have you either way, Bee." Fancy spoke up, it just striking Whimsy then and there that the tailor didn't seem surprised by any of what Bee had just said. Granted that could make sense, considering they had known each other longer. Things like this had probably come up before. It definitely seemed like it considering that Bee's tone was casual, even wistful in some spots, when talking about this person that he'd supposedly been sent to cause trouble for.

"Same. Great to be in a house where I can actually talk to people."

It was almost relieving for Whimsy to drop into the role of a spectator, but inevitably, the talk had to turn back to the last conversation partner that was sitting at the table.

"So, Whimsy, were exactly have you been? Thought I knew all the myths around here. Granted, most of them live in this house, but, well…" Though Bee trailed off, and certainly didn't sound like he was anything but calm and faintly curious, Whimsy couldn't help but feel the edge of an interrogation in the words.

"I, I've been…traveling…" Even to their ears, it sounded incredibly feeble. But they didn't know what else to add so they stayed quiet. At least, what they could say without getting into some worrying territory.

"Blew in from outta town?"

"Yeah." The faint grumble from the reanimated faerie completely contradicted the easier, flowing tone that the car employed, Whimsy remembering what they'd just learned about Bee and feeling…a sort of discomfort. Bee had sounded like he'd at least known something about what they went through, at least on some level, how on earth could he sound so put together? So calm?

It wasn't fair.

"What made you decide to come here? It's not exactly a prime tourist spot."

"…I wanted to meet someone."

"This a myth or a person?"

"Person. Didn't work out." To put it mildly, their memory flashing to a twisted, destroyed frame hidden partially under a sheet, sightless eyes staring up at them as that voice screamed about how they would not be tricked or cowed by a demon, a shambling wreck of a faerie-

"Sorry to hear that."

Whimsy didn't have an answer, and looked down as Fancy came back with a mug of tea. It was too hot to drink, but the warmth from the mug was more than enough to create a comfortable heat, soaking into their hands and driving the memories away. At least for the time being.

"Do you have anywhere else to go? I know Cab's probably said you could stay, but… do you have someone that might be waiting for you?" Bee asked, the somewhat quieter, hesitant tone a definite tell that this was a question that the car was aware might be difficult.

"…No."

Alone. All alone. Anything they might've had gone in a blaze of fire and all because of some bad timing. Anything they could have had gone because of a selfish, stupid creator that only cared that they'd taken their first breath, and not any of what came after.

A flash of pain went through Whimsy's temple, causing a wince that had them bringing their hand up before they realized what they were doing.

"You alright?"

"Fine."

The sound of something rustling off to the side caught Whimsy's attention, the reanimated faerie nearly jumping out of their stitched skin as they looked in the direction of the noise, only to see Fancy having reached to the center of the table for a napkin. The sudden movement on their part made the tailor jump too, though something in Whimsy's face seemed to catch his attention.

"Whimsy?"

They weren't fine. This wasn't fine. They felt horribly off kilter and the questions and constant presence of people were starting to take their toll. If it was just Bee, or just Fancy, Whimsy felt like they could have handled it better. But the fact that there were two relatively sharp individuals here, moving around and poking at them, stoked their nerves. Even though they knew that there was no immediate danger, that no one had lit fires or gathered up weapons, a part of them was consistently on edge, looking for some sign of trouble.

And they didn't want to! It was making their jaw clench, their head zinging with overstressed aches and pains. They were jumping at shadows and it made it hard to concentrate.

They knew that the full answers would only provoke suspicion, and perhaps an eviction. It wasn't like they'd told everything to anyone here. Though, the memory of the blind woman, and the distinct difference in how that had felt versus this, tugged at Whimsy, making them wonder both just what had changed in them to create such a feral anxiety, and also knowing exactly why.

How long before this ended too…

Another faint pain twanged at the muscles in their temple as a result, the feeling making Whimsy wince and murmur to themselves as they tried to knead the sensation out.

"What's, what's wrong with me...?"

There was a pause, Fancy seeming to shore up his nerve before taking a seat next to the steadily devolving faerie, a hand tentatively resting on their arm.

"I think, that there's a lot you're grappling with, and you need some time to process it all. I could be wrong about this, but it doesn't seem like you've really had anyone before Cab brought you here, and part of that might be due to your appearance. Which, isn't fair to you, you can't control that sort of thing, not completely. I would say it's normal, even expected, for you to feel angry, to feel hurt, and... perhaps even a little afraid."

The notion that they were, or had ever been afraid caused Whimsy to recoil, turning a hard look Fancy's way as the tailor jumped and also withdrew, his face a mask of tension. Bee too remained quiet, though Whimsy could just faintly hear the noise of his tires rolling closer by a half-inch. The standoff lasted for all of a few moments, before Whimsy remembered that Fancy did not have to let them stay in his house. Besides, he had drawn off, and didn't look ready to try touching the reanimated faerie again.

So, Whimsy let him be, and turned back to stare into their tea.

But the sight of their own reflection merely stirred those thoughts up again, the defiant bark of why would I be afraid answered with a smaller, insidious whisper of because your existence is singular, and you will always be alone. You don't even like the sight of yourself in the mirror, remember? Your creator wanted nothing to do with you, you were a mistake from beginning to end...

And when death finally claims you, who will even bother to mourn?

A small droplet of water splashed into the tea from above, Whimsy's grip on the mug handle so tight it was quivering.

"Whimsy...?" Fancy's voice came from the side, still worried sounding but there was a new edge of care to it that still felt so alien for Whimsy to hear directed at themselves.

"Oh geez…" Bee's voice murmured, with the same sort of softer, concerned tones.

"Damn that stupid, selfish..."

It was quick, a hissed few words on Fancy's part, but Whimsy had heard them clear as a bell.

They weren't able to move, much less address those words, and Fancy didn't acknowledge them either. Instead, he rested his hand atop their arm again and continued to speak.

"Whimsy, I need you to take deep breaths, just a few. Can you do that for me?"

They tried, but what came out were hisses that turned into gasps that felt like far too much effort for the simple act of breathing.

"Alright, that's a good start. Now I want you to try breathing in through your nose, and out through your mouth, Whimsy. It'll help you feel better, I promise."

Though there was that instinctive nugget of mistrust, there was also the part of Whimsy that was starting to believe that they were being smothered somehow, and the way Fancy had spoken before tipped the scales in favor of trusting the little tailor.

And, in spite of everything, the advice was helping. Whimsy found air coming easier and easier after a moment or two. But the whole experience had left them winded and exhausted, which made it a little difficult to hear what Fancy asked at first.

"How are you feeling?"

"I," Whimsy started, swallowing around a dry throat. "I feel…"

It took a moment to really parse through their physical symptoms, though eventually words came to describe the strange mix of light-headed and completely worn out.

"Dizzy. Air, I need, outside…"

"It's alright, there's a window next to you, I'll open it. Just stay sitting down, please. I don't think I could carry you if you fall."

Whimsy glanced to the side as Fancy moved to the window in question, getting it open with only a small bit of effort. The rush of cool air was a balm, Whimsy turning in the direction and leaning as much on the chair as their towering frame would allow.

"Just take deep breaths, it'll pass." Fancy's voice came, the faerie's eyes fluttering open for a moment and locking straight on the tailor's gaze. There was a slight flinch that went through Fancy as their eyes met, Whimsy frowning and looking away first.

Something in their face must've leaked to Fancy, because he spoke up again.

"Do you, want to try drinking some more of your tea?"

With nothing else to do, Whimsy did take a sip, the lukewarm liquid still having a soothing edge to it. There wasn't much left, but the whole episode had taken a lot out of the reanimated faerie, leaving them rubbing at their eyes and blinking blearily as they set the mug down.

That eventually turned into them letting their head rest on their folded arms, though they still tried to remain turned towards the window. It was later in the year, but the faint chirping of crickets was still prevalent over the dark nightscape outside. The sound was a calming, and vaguely relieving one, reminding the faerie of those times when they'd lived off the land and spent long nights under the stars.

Before they realized how…different they were. It was definitely an easier time.

They must've dozed off at some point, because a new voice speaking up brought them back to reality.

"Aww, lookit that. All tuckered out."

It was a voice they only somewhat remembered, given that the person in question had been present when they had been brought in to be introduced. A concealingly-dressed figure that had been quietly leaning back in his chair, looking them up and down with a set of luminously colored eyes that flickered through bright, sharp hues. Everything about this otherwise gray shape was nonchalant, from the way their frame settled to the way a similarly colored smile flickered into being over the wrapping covering the lower half of the face, there and gone. After everything Whimsy had been through, it was a different way to be greeted, and they still weren't sure if that was a good thing.

So, carefully, they opened their eyes and turned their head in the direction of the voice, and immediately caught sight of the same figure simply lounging in the chair next to them, even going so far as to tilt it onto its back legs.

"Tagger, please don't break the chairs." Fancy's voice came, the tailor gathering up the mugs before stepping away.

"Alright, alright. No fun," 'Tagger' replied, and performed the somewhat odd feat of dropping the chair back on all four legs with barely any noise. Though, as it landed, those oddly-colored eyes happened to see Whimsy's, and immediately there was a flicker of that smile again.

"Oop, guess somebody is awake. Hey, Whims. Think maybe you wanna catch some 'z's in your own bed?"

On some level, that should have been a good idea, though there was a part of Whimsy that definitely remembered why they'd come down to the kitchen to begin with, and therefore was not so ready to just head up to lie in bed, jumping at more shadows and quite possibly have more nightmares. So, instead of acquiescing, they settled in and closed their eyes, turning their head away.

"No, good here."

"But, you're gonna go back to sleep." Tagger pointed out.

"Maybe I will," Whimsy growled back, still refusing to open their eyes.

"Inna chair."

The rather frank observation did get a more venomous look from the faerie, though Tagger didn't look the least bit worried by the much taller Whimsy staring him down. It was such a strange switch to what would usually happen that they honestly weren't sure what to do, so they ended up breaking off the impromptu contest first to stubbornly shut their eyes, huddling in their arms like it was some sort of impregnable fortress.

And they knew exactly what Tagger thought of that given that the sound of him chuckling to himself wasn't long in following.

"Oh, you are just a treat, aren't you? Can see why Cab liked you."

Cab being the one that had brought them here, that had opened the door to his home. Admittedly, he'd neglected to mention the presence of folks like Tagger, or Bee, but he did mention the fact that he knew two faeries. They'd already made the decision, but it definitely helped things along. Still didn't endear them much to Tagger right now though.

"Bit of a backstory moment here, Whims. I was the first."

"…What?" The reanimated faerie couldn't help asking, their gaze turning back to Tagger just to see if they could spot some falsehood. A bit hard with a mostly concealed face, but for the most part it looked like he was telling the truth.

"The first one Cab made friends with. The very first. We've been paling around together for years! Think after that it was Patches, then we found Bee, then Sunny, and finally Manny. Oh, and then Fancy." Tagger elaborated, just as the tailor walked by and glanced over with a fondly sardonic look.

"Thanks for remembering."

"Welcome. Anyway. Guess we can add you to the list. That's if you plan on sticking around, a'course." Whimsy honestly wasn't sure if the implication that they would just up and leave was insulting or not, and ended up giving off at least half a surly glare which was probably why Tagger continued. "Well, you don't gotta make a decision just yet. It's only your first night. Plenty'a time if you decide you're sick of us an' wanna split."

Yeah, that language really wasn't helping, Whimsy's stare towards Tagger turning a touch more spiteful. Though, instead of being bothered by that, he gave a theatric shiver before slipping back into his seemingly normal, at ease persona.

"Yeesh, if looks could kill… Tone down the eyeballs kid, it's casual conversation." Then a brief flicker of that same, glaringly colored smile appeared over the wrappings covering Tagger's mouth, further conveying the mischievous smirk in his following words. "Though I guess someone does need to go back to bed. A certain grumpy someone."

And back to this again, Whimsy growing fed up enough with the whole encounter to just resettle their head on their arms and close their eyes. Though, in doing so, they completely missed the somewhat conspiratorial, and equally impish grin that Tagger flashed to both Fancy and Bee.

It made the feeling of being swept up into a pair of arms all the more jarring, Whimsy left blinking as Tagger arranged the reanimated faerie in a bridal style carry and spun on his heel for the stairs.

"H-Hey! What're you-?!"

"Wouldn't squirm too much, Whims, the staircase is only so wide."

A very good point, and while Tagger was apparently strong enough to carry someone that definitely was a good few inches taller that didn't mean that the stairs were necessarily going to alter their proportions to make it easier.

So, out of a perceived sense of self-preservation, they scrunched in their towering frame as much as possible, warily eyeing the metallic edges as Tagger easily ascended. After what felt like a harrowing few minutes, they both made it to the upstairs hall, though to Whimsy's surprise and more-than-slight annoyance, Tagger kept going until he was standing next to the door of their room.

"…You can put me down now."

"Whatever you say, Whims," Tagger replied with shadows of that same amused chuckling, to the point where Whimsy had the honest impulse to just scramble away and figure things out from there. Tagger's approach to them may have been novel, but the novelty was quickly turning sour. They weren't a child!

Still, Tagger was both deft and careful, setting them down on their feet and heading past them to a door down at the furthest end of the hallway.

"Night, Whims. See you in the morning."

And he was gone, leaving Whimsy standing like a silent sentinel in the hall. With nothing better to do, they went back into their room, quietly clambering onto the bed and staring at the night sky they could see from their window. The sight brought to mind the window downstairs, from which those familiar sounds had emanated that had provided a brief spark of respite.

Whimsy got up to crack the window open, sliding under their covers and looking in the direction of the small square that looked out to the outside world. The sound of crickets and the rush of wind through the trees accompanied them as the world grayed out, and they slid into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

A knock at the door snapped Whimsy awake, though it only felt like they'd just closed their eyes. Blinking bemusedly, they stared in the direction of the window, seeing a blue sky and trees losing their red and yellow leaves, not quite sure what was going on before the knocking came again.

Yeah, they…probably should answer that, shouldn't they? The thought of which was what teased them up, causing Whimsy to reel to their feet and plod around their bed for the door.

A familiar face was there, a more unique set of features given the black and white, checkerboard-like pattern that was stamped into the other person's skin. Cab was wearing the same primarily white pinstriped suit as yesterday, a not-totally open grin on his face that somewhat disguised his teeth, which Whimsy couldn't help noticing yesterday given that they'd resembled the sharper ones in their own mouth. Cab was tall, lean, though even a six-foot-tall frame didn't have much when compared to Whimsy's eight feet in height, and therefore he'd had to crane his neckless head back a little to look them in the eye, reaching up to hold his boater hat on his head.

Not that Cab seemed to mind, an ever-present grin on his face that sharply contrasted Whimsy's barely awake stare.

"'Ey Whims! Sorry for wakin' you up, but I figured you'd wanna get some breakfast. Ever had pancakes before?"

It took their wakening brain a few moments to figure out, firstly, what had been asked, and secondly, that no. Pancakes were a somewhat foreign concept.

"It's a food…right?"

"Yep, it's a food, a breakfast food. Wanna come down an' try some?"

Their curiosity had been piqued, so they did say yes and made to follow Cab. Whimsy found themselves waking up a little bit more, enough that they couldn't help noticing the confused look Cab passed them just before making it to the stairs.

"…What's wrong?"

"Nothin', nothin', it's just…did you sleep in your overalls?"

Were they being insulted? It was a little hard to tell, though from what they saw Cab wasn't the sort to just poke a beehive just for the sake of it. But, if it was sincere then what was even the point of the question?

"…Yes?"

"We could try givin' you some pajamas if you like."

"What are… pa-jamas? Is that even a word?"

"It is too a word! They're clothes you wear when you're sleepin'."

"People wear special clothes just for when they sleep?"

"Well, yeah, they're meant t'be comfier. Fancy could make you some if you like!" Cab's offer was nice, though Whimsy was decently sure that if they tried to go to the tailor to ask for anything they might end up giving the poor guy a heart attack. Hopefully, they thought as the pair reached the bottom of the stairs, Cab wouldn't bring it up with Fancy because they sure weren't about to.

"What're we talkin' about Fancy makin'?" The sudden presence of Tagger's voice made Whimsy jump, head swinging around to see the whatever-he-was in question leaning on the railing like he might as well have been there all along. Even though Whimsy knew he hadn't been just a moment ago.

"Hi, Tagger! We're talkin' about pajamas! Fancy could make Whimsy some!" Cab replied, as though the sudden appearance just didn't bother him.

"Oh, are we?" Tagger's reply had Whimsy preparing for more demeaning mockery, though they were somewhat thrown when Tagger instead looked them up and down before coming to a decision.

"Green or red. Maybe blue. But not light, definitely darker colors."

"You think so?" Cab's frank question was also somewhat disarming, to the point where Whimsy finally had enough and decided to break in.

"Wait, wait, what are you talking about?"

"If you were gonna get new clothes, those colors would probably look the best on you. Your fur's darker, so lighter stuff would just clash. And make you look pale. Paler. You get what I mean."

"Tagger's an artist!" Cab jumped in, the 'artist' in question looking more flippant.

"You can see my work around town sometimes. Usually at night. I've, ah, 'tagged' a lot of buildings." Tagger's expression clearly hinted at a joke, though as to what the actual joke was, Whimsy couldn't help not knowing. And Tagger didn't seem too primed to explain, muttering about how 'it didn't land' and turning away, heading out to the kitchen.

The kitchen at which Fancy was quietly helping a much taller figure, a similarly patchwork shape that was handing him plates to put on the table. Whimsy had seen this one too, back when they'd first come in. They'd been given a name, they knew, but the sight of a figure even remotely similar to them had caught them off-guard.

Though, as the moments of that first meeting had worn on, it became clear that there were differences.

This other creature, this other faerie, did not seem to need to blink, for starters. Pale blue eyes ringed in black faintly glowing and constantly staring, almost as if their owner had been trying to pick apart Whimsy by sight alone. They, no, she, was also considerably shorter, with the top of her head coming up to the middle of Cab and Tagger's faces. In physical shape, she resembled a doll with a simplified face, jagged-edged mouth and all. But, much like a faerie, she had more animalistic features mixed in, namely small but noticeable claws, legs that resembled a dog's or a cat's, along with two points coming out of the top of her head that resembled a pair of ears. Though, given that her skin appeared to be a sort of canvas material, Whimsy wasn't sure exactly how well they worked. Then again, maybe they did, faerie logic being the way it was. Whimsy had tried to read into it, but the general consensus was that people generally didn't know how faeries worked. At least, not inside and out.

Their creator might've known. But the ship had sailed on asking.

Before Whimsy could even have a hope of sitting down, a pair of fast-moving shapes dashed past their legs, hurrying to the table with the same frenetic urgency of a starving animal that had just been presented with the prospect of food. And they were both chanting 'pancakes' like the apparent breakfast would need some sort of summoning ritual.

"Hold on you two." Fancy's calmer tone hinted that he had no fear of either, despite the fact that one was a literal skeleton but dressed like a child they might see walking down the street, and the other looked like an uplifted wolf puppy, dressed in what looked like some sort of medieval garb. A tail wagged through the seat of the canid creature's pants, mirroring the flicking movements of a pair of batlike wings poking through the wrap covering the upper part of the small body. Somehow Whimsy knew, without being told, that this was another faerie.

Granted, they had the same feeling that they did when first looking at the canvas-made fae, that, just maybe, they might be too different to fit in with another faerie. The fact that this little one was so bouncy, full of life, didn't help that notion any.

They felt like a note in a song that didn't fit, Whimsy's feet already sliding back before an arm at their back caught their attention. A glance to the side revealed that Cab was the culprit, the sharp-toothed grin turning softer at the edges as they gave the reanimated faerie a little nudge; it's okay.

So, taking a deep breath, and feeling like the act of moving their own limbs was a momentous thing, Whimsy put one foot in front of the other and started moving towards the table. They weren't exactly making a lot of noise, even with their larger size, so they weren't sure what exactly made the little faerie-puppy's ears swivel around to them. Her head followed the movement, cherry-red eyes growing wide as she looked up and up…

I should say something, right? Whimsy couldn't helping thinking, the feeling of something squirming in their stomach as they stared down at the faerie-puppy's face, the mask-like fur around her eyes starkly contrasting with that bright scarlet.

"U-Uh, h-"

"You're tall…"

This hadn't come from the faerie-puppy, but from the little skeleton who had turned around while Whimsy had been focused on what exactly they were going to say. The small, child-sized skull had bright lights set in the sockets, glowing blue pinpricks that also stared up and up at Whimsy with the same stunned shock.

"Yep! This is…" Cab started, before trailing off and gesturing with theatric dramatics to Whimsy, inviting them to introduce themselves.

"Whimsy."

"…Whimsy! They'll be stayin' with us ferra bit, so, don't give 'em too much trouble, okay?" Cab continuation may have been meant well, but it seemed to hammer in the notion that Whimsy had done their introduction wrong. Not that they had much experience, but the emotional knife had already been pushed in, and twisted all the more by who exactly they were being introduced to. They didn't exactly have the best luck when it came to people, never mind children…

An image flashed through their mind, of a small child clutching his arm as they tried to skitter away from the faerie, eyes wide and liquid-y at the edges as they stared at Whimsy with nothing short of complete fright.

"Why did you do that? I-I was trying to help you!"

-a limp little figure in their arms, before a CRACK-BOOM rang out and pain blasted through their shoulder-

They blinked, hard, the images vanishing though the sight that greeted them when they opened their eyes didn't seem much easier. Both the little skeleton and the faerie-puppy were still staring up at them with frankly unreadable, worrying awe, and Whimsy felt fresh out of possible conversation. Thankfully Cab came to their rescue, though the reanimated faerie felt like a coward as they accepted his reminder of pancakes as an excuse to get away from the pair, and actually sit down.

However, the trials for the day were not done, as the one that slid in to sit on Whimsy's other side was the other faerie, the taller one with the staring eyes. It didn't help that once the dishes were all laid out, this faerie was taking over the actual doling out of the pancakes, and while Whimsy was trying their best to mirror what they saw the others do, it didn't keep them from feeling a twinge of nerves when those unblinking, unreadable eyes turned to them.

It seemed to take an inordinate while of them staring at each other for the other faerie to figure out that Whimsy needed a little help, a much softer toned, feminine voice speaking up and somehow very audible to them despite one of the children laughing about something nearby.

"Did you want one pancake or two?"

"…Can I get three?" Whimsy's request was answered as she doled out three pancakes, though they couldn't help the brief glance at the plates around, mentally doing the math as to whether or not they'd taken too much. It seemed fine, but their brief spate of figuring was interrupted as they realized that the other faerie had not stopped looking at them.

"…Wh-What is it?"

"You never mentioned your name."

Though the specific language wasn't used, this still felt like a request for a name, and not in just the 'what is your name' kind of fashion. Whimsy had certainly not forgotten that this was a faerie, a faerie that, even with their more placid demeanor, probably held to at least some of the old standards when it came to behavior. So, squaring their shoulders a little, they replied.

"You can call me Whimsy. I don't think I got your name either?"

"Do you want to know it?"

Wasn't that why they were asking? Maybe they should have phrased themselves differently…

"…Yes?"

"Then you can call me Patches." The frankness with which the words were delivered made it hard to tell if the other faerie was upset or angry about what they'd said, Whimsy feeling that uncomfortable, cornered-animal-type squirming settle in their gut as they maintained eye contact. Patches was the one to look away first, turning to her two pancakes and leaving Whimsy to awkwardly consider their own three. The pancakes themselves were warm, the smell more than appetizing though the sight of the faerie-puppy trying to slice hers with her fork while partially shoving them in her mouth caught their attention briefly. Fancy's efforts to get her to use the knife something that Whimsy paid close attention to. While there was a surlier, more combative part of them that groused who cares how we eat it, a part of them couldn't help pointing out that if they wanted to avoid attention, they'd at least have to give some semblance of good manners.

Though when they finally tasted the pancakes for the first time, Whimsy couldn't help the immediate impulse to scarf them down. They were good, the one with the little dots of blue in it quickly discerned to have blueberries and wasn't that just a completely welcome surprise.

Non-sarcastically meant. At this point they were seriously considering asking for more, though a quiet chuckle from Tagger cut through the euphoria.

"You enjoyin' the pancakes, Whims?"

Of course, their mouth was full when he asked, leading to them throwing the neon-eyed figure a glare as they considered the notion of whether or not they could rush through swallowing this. Deciding that no, they wanted to savor the pancakes, Whimsy instead made to turn their attention back to their food, and ended up having another distraction in the form of Cab proffering what looked like some kind of jug.

"Syrup's real good on those. Here, give it a try."

Whimsy watched with a growing-less-wary sense of curiosity as the golden…liquid (?) was poured onto what remained of their pancakes. And a hesitant taste turned into pure bliss as Cab had been proven completely right. The rest of the pancakes were quickly scarfed down, though a quick glance around the table showed that there were other things to pick at. They recognized the small bowl of berries, snagging a few and quickly eating those, though the one with the bacon going too quickly for them to have a hope of getting anything and with everyone reaching for some they weren't too sure they wanted to bother.

But, just as Whimsy had dropped back to more or less consider their empty plate, Cab reached over and placed down a few strips of bacon. At their surprised look, he pointed to his other side, to where the little skeleton boy gave a bright wave to go with his fixed grin. Whimsy's lips twitched, though the sight of the relatively normal-looking teeth brought to mind their own, sharp-toothed grin, and they kept their smile small. It didn't seem to deter the little skeleton at all though, the small bones clattering as the child jittered around with pure happiness at the simple show of gratitude.

It did help, a little, though Whimsy found themselves drifting towards a silent backdrop, more listening to the words of the others rather than contributing. They didn't think they would have very much to say anyway. At least, not things you said when everyone else was talking, laughing, telling jokes, and overall being far more light-hearted.

Was this what it was like? To be…normal? To have a home and a family? It was vaguely reminiscent of what they saw through the cracks in the walls of the blind woman's family, the strangeness of the current cast aside, and it made the role of the watcher feel all the more fitting and familiar. Safe.

"Whimsy," someone started, the faerie feeling like that veneer of security just tumbled down around them as they were yanked into the conversation. The source turned out to be the nearly silent Patches on Whimsy's other side, their eyes yanking to her like she'd brandished a knife. "Have you ever done this sort of thing before?"

Their brain stuttered out a little, because they knew the answer and also had the very certain knowledge that perhaps telling the whole group in any detail how that went likely wouldn't end well.

"I, uh, yes. A long time ago."

Not so long though, the reanimated faerie avoiding everyone's eyes as they drew inward, closing off from the rest of the group. It didn't stop them from hearing the somewhat awkward pause in their wake, the conversation stuttering to life with some sort of joke from Tagger that blurred in their ears. They didn't really feel like paying attention much anymore, the earlier, calmer feeling gone by the wayside as things seemed to move on around them. Before they knew it, everyone was getting up, doing their respective parts to gather up the dishes as Cab took over the washing of said dishes.

It felt like the rest of the group moved on like a hurricane, taking their warmth and energy with them. Whimsy was left clumsily fumbling along in the aftermath, glancing around in askance before handing their plate off to Cab who'd practically all but entreated the reanimated faerie to give it over.

Just as the porcelain left their fingers, a tug on their overalls caught their attention, Whimsy looking around before dropping their gaze even further, and finally catching sight of the faerie-puppy staring up at them.

"Y'smell really funny." Her voice had such an odd accent to it that it took Whimsy a few moments to realize that the words weren't altogether flattering.

"Uh…"

"Y'smell like a lotta different things. It's weird."

"Uh, Sunny…" Cab tried to interject, though he was still up to his elbows in the dishes from breakfast.

"They smell like apples, Cab!" Sunny insisted, before closing her eyes and taking in another deep breath through her nose. "An' trees. An' dirt. An'…"

Another inhale, and Sunny's eyes opened again, looking more puzzled.

"…Lightnin'. You smell like dead things an' live things. Which one are you s'pposed t'be? Are you like Manny or are you like me?"

It felt very much like the child was asking the question 'are you alive or are you dead?'. It was one that Whimsy couldn't help asking themselves sometimes, especially given the fact that the only side of the spectrum they'd ever see were the people in the villages, the towns. The very much alive, and the dead things were lying in their worm-infested, decomposing beds. Seeing Manny was definitely a first, but Whimsy knew that they weren't the same as the little skeleton.

"I, I don't know. I don't think I'm…either…"

"Why don't you know? Wasn't anyone there t'tell you?"

No, but the word wouldn't come to their mouth, as it came with ranting about how their own creator hadn't wanted them, had taken one look at them and fled, leaving Whimsy to deal with the world alone. Even with distance, and cares, that still stung worse than physical wounds. But, as they tried to figure out how best to answer, Sunny seemed to come to her own conclusion, reaching out from her perch and pressing a hand to Whimsy's front.

"…It's okay. No one told me either. But if you're smart, you won't need tellin'. You'll figure it out. That's what Tagger said. But Patches said I could ask an' so did Cab an' Fancy. Maybe they can tell which one you are." Sunny said, with the gravitas of someone delivering a prime solution, punctuated in the conciliatory pat they gave the leg of Whimsy's overalls. It was the sort of thing that they really didn't have any words for, but in lieu of just sitting there like a dullard Whimsy did try to add something to the conversation.

"That's…that's some nose you have."

…Didn't mean that it didn't sound any less lame to their ears. Though, thankfully Sunny didn't seem too off-put by the switch. If anything, she seemed proud that Whimsy had pointed it out.

"I've got the best nose. Ask anyone."

"It's the best. Can find a rabbit in the whole forest." Cab pointed out, Sunny grinning happily at the support.

"Yep!"

But, even with the lighter switch, the question that the little faerie-pup had asked stuck in Whimsy's mind, beating like a drum.

Are you alive or are you dead?

It was one that, for all their efforts to wrangle an answer, they couldn't quite manage it.

They ended up retreating to the couch again, settling down on the leather fabric with a quiet sigh. Was there a right way that that was supposed to go? It hadn't felt right at all…

The faint sound of someone walking caught their attention, their head turning to see Cab approaching, a somewhat nerve-edged smile flickering over his face as he came near.

"'Ey, Whimsy. You doin' alright?"

"Yeah, fine," they mumbled, looking away to consider their knees and feet yet again. It seemed to provoke something in Cab, his tone changing from moderately upbeat to quietly apologetic.

"…Hey, just wanted t'say sorry. Forgot the kids can be a lil' inquisitive sometimes, realized that y'prob'ly didn't want t'deal with that just after wakin' up. And don't worry about Sunny, she's just curious. An', hey, Manny seems t'like you."

Which was, reasonable, and a little bolstering, but Whimsy couldn't help a recriminating thought from slipping out.

"…Don't think most people would want their kids being around me…"

"Hey, hey no, none of that now," Cab suddenly murmured, sitting down on the table in front of the sofa just to be within the reanimated faerie's field of vision. "Whimsy, no one here thinks you're a bad person, y'hear?"

Whole mobs of people felt differently, Cab, Whimsy wanted to say, though the more biting thought wouldn't quite make it to their tongue. Instead, something a bit more lame slid out, the faerie letting their chin drop even more as their shoulders rolled inward.

"…yeah, sure…"

"Whimsy, look at me? Please?" Ordinarily, they might've rankled a little at the thought of anyone telling them what to do. But Cab's behavior, his tone, everything felt like he was actually trying to be nice, like he thought of them as a person. So, even though they didn't quite relinquish their hangdog, beaten-down demeanor, Whimsy did look up to meet Cab's eyes. The look they saw there was enough to give them pause, only having seen something like it once before. Beaming sincerity and emotion, to the point where the eyes glimmered faintly at the edges. Cab's hands came up to grasp Whimsy's shoulders, the touch only getting the faerie to look away for the briefest instant before their gaze immediately snapped back to Cab's, somehow sensing that what he was about to say was something that he wanted them to properly hear and absorb.

"Trust me, I know. This is hard. And it's okay to be freaked out about it. But, Whimsy, no one here thinks you're a bad person. And, if you want to, you don't have to be a bad person. You don't have to be. You can be just as good as anyone else, just as good a person as you want to be. Nobody can force you t'make a choice, only you do that. And, Whims, I don't know a whole lot, I'll admit it. But, anythin' anyone said, anythin' anyone did to you, it's not your fault, okay? That's on them, what they do, what they say. Not on you."

It was nearly everything they'd wanted to hear, but somehow, there was doubt. There was a part of them that couldn't help looking for falsehoods and tricks, that thought that what Cab was saying couldn't apply to them. And maybe it didn't. It wasn't as though Cab knew about what happened to the blind woman's house, or that child's arm, or a similarly patchwork shape underneath a sheet…

"…Why do you care? Why, why does this…matter so much to you?" It was an honest question given how suddenly Cab had come in and just started, offering them things like friendship and a place to stay. Though while Whimsy couldn't fault themselves entirely for asking it, a part of them couldn't help feeling just a little like they'd done something wrong as Cab's hands fell away, his eyes glancing around as though for help before he just seemed to decide to come out with it.

"…I, I've been there, before, Whims. Maybe not exactly where you are, but…I've been somewhere near it. And, in a lotta cases, what I'm tellin' you was, I didn' exactly have that many friends to start out. Pretty much none, actually." Cab's eyeline dropped, his whole, lanky frame drooping as though held down by weights. But he didn't stay that way for long, quietly looking back up to meet Whimsy's eyes though there was still a careworn shadow in his face as he smiled. "Kinda, y'know, when you see someone goin' through somethin' similar, makes you wanna stick up for people like that. T'help them out. Heh, sorry, prob'ly not makin' much sense."

"No, I, I think I get it." Whimsy replied, feeling a faint, nearly involuntary grin tugging at the corners of their mouth. "Thanks…Cab. Thank you."

"Welcome. Also, Whims, we're goin' out, by the way. Just takin' a walk. Wanna come with?" As Cab spoke, his hand reached out to Whimsy, gloved palm up with the fingers a little outstretched. There, if they wanted. But...

More crowds, more people, more feeling out of place.

"...No." They should say something else, right? "No thank you."

Though there was a slight downturn to Cab's smile, he nodded in that understanding sort of way before heading back into the kitchen.

"Okay. I'll see you later, okay, Whims?"

"…Sure." Whimsy more murmured back, a faltering feeling in their stomach that Cab probably couldn't hear them. The thought that the group would have to come back through the room, and would therefore have to walk past them, forced Whimsy up and back to the spiral staircase. Not to mention, Bee was right beyond the door, and if he were to come back…

Well-meaning or not, Whimsy didn't want to deal with really anyone right now.

They were nearly to their room when they saw a faint ribbon of light playing across the floor, from a door that was a little further down the hallway than theirs. A wary sort of curiosity pricked at Whimsy's conscious mind, the reanimated faerie skirting down the hall with a stealth that was a little disarming given their eight-foot-frame.

It was a skill well honed, though, and put them right next to the door in question. And, with the way it opened, they got a rather good view of the room beyond. It was a space filled with color, different reels of fabric here and there, gatherings of sewing material, a rack full of completed and partially completed clothing. There was a desk directly across from the door, a familiar figure there and quietly at work. Fancy was bowed over what looked like a mess of warm colored fabrics, hands a constant blur of motion as he carefully stitched one of the seams. Whimsy honestly could not have said what it was, both because of the angle and just by looking, they were hardly any sort of expert on clothing.

But, the more they watched, the more they found the motions, and the overall atmosphere of the room, soothing. Perhaps it was the fact that it was quiet, but warm, and perhaps it also had something to do with the stitches running through their own frame, but somehow it was enough to keep Whimsy rooted there, quietly watching, for what felt like a good few minutes, their eyes quietly roving over everything from the clothes themselves to other things scattered about the room.

On one of the upper shelves of the desk, standing out because it was different from the other nooks and crannies filled with sewing supplies, were a bunch of what looked like random objects. Small stones, what looked like some sort of porcelain figure of someone dancing, an apparent amulet with a piece of some kind of crystal, a small mechanic's wrench, and a folded piece of paper with a smaller, colored piece pinned to it.

They were too far away to really look at any of the other objects, but the wrench immediately brought to mind Bee. Had Bee given Fancy that? Were the other objects all gifts too?

With the added layer of detail, the view into the room almost became a mirage, something that Whimsy could almost imagine themselves stepping into and claiming as their own. Someplace warm and inviting, with objects here and there that had their own stories, their own place.

Their own home…

Though unfortunately, the spell was broken with a too-loud creak coming from the hallway, Whimsy not sure if they'd accidentally shifted or not but seeing Fancy pause and make to look up. Without thinking, they turned tail and tried to hurry back down the hallway as quietly as they could, closing the door of their bedroom behind them.

For a brief instant they stood there, listening, before realizing that there was light coming in through the window behind them, which would illuminate the fact that they were standing there. Stepping back, Whimsy moved closer to the window, and happened to catch sight of movement in the yard below.

Out of instinct, they drew back, but it still didn't mask the sight of Cab, Tagger, Patches, Sunny, and Manny all heading off for their walk. The younger children skirted around the older three, clearly in good spirits with Cab more readily following along. Tagger and Patches were going at a more sedate pace, though were clearly part of the group. Despite the strangeness of the people, it was much like what Whimsy had watched from a distance.

What would it have looked like if they had gone too?

It felt foolish, not to mention horribly vulnerable, to just stand there staring out the window, so Whimsy instead turned to the bed, still rumpled from the nightmare-fraught sleep of last night. It looked just as lonely and forlorn as they felt, the reanimated faerie letting their eight-foot-tall frame thump onto the mattress. They didn't want to sleep, for a multitude of reasons, but, really…they had nothing else to do. Nowhere else to go.

It was…frustrating. Wasn't this supposed to be better? Were they doing this right? Was there a right way? They didn't want to go on the walk. Cab hadn't tried to force them, but he'd seemed… not bothered, but maybe a little put out. Had he wanted them to come?

But, they hadn't wanted to. Should they have agreed anyway?

The thoughts were more maddening than helpful, and getting tumultuous enough that Whimsy forcibly cut them off with an irritated growl as they pressed their face into the pillow.

Of course, cutting off their own air really didn't help much, so after a few seconds the reanimated faerie quietly pulled their face away and looked to the side instead, fixating on the blue and the tops of the trees they could see through the window. They had the thought to open the window again, to hear the sounds of the nature outside given that so far, it had been the only comfort. Though the thought was in their head, and they could easily picture getting up to do it, for some reason, they couldn't make themselves move. Instead, what happened was that Whimsy rolled onto their side, eyes lazily focusing on the trees outside as they gently swayed in a breeze.

Time melted by like that, and they easily could have slipped into a doze that thankfully was too light for dreams. But, as they flopped onto their back, a knock came from the door.

It brought to mind Cab, though in a twist, the one standing there when Whimsy opened the door was Tagger.

"Hey, Whims!"

"Hi." Whimsy wasn't about to force more than a politely neutral tone, though Tagger's voice still kept that calm, devil-may-care lilt that showed he wasn't the least bit intimidated by anything, never mind the eight-foot-tall faerie staring him down.

"Missed you on the walk, but Sunny and Manny wanted to get you some stuff. Think you might be able to come out and play next time?" They weren't sure how it happened, but somehow Tagger moved past them, setting down a few objects on the dresser across from the bed. Two rocks, one lighter colored and with rounded edges, the other jet black with sharp angles. As Tagger placed down the little souvenirs from the hike, it struck Whimsy just how plain and bare the place was. Fancy's room had been littered with personal touches, but for them the only thing in the room was the furniture.

Well, it wasn't like they'd set up shop anywhere long enough to really acquire things of their own. The fact that they had an actual bed still felt like a marvel. Tagger was currently sitting on it but it still counted.

Still, Tagger's tone, and words, rankled enough that now Whimsy actually felt a rebuke coming to their tongue.

"I'm not a child, you know."

"…Funny you should say that. T'me, pretty much everyone in this house is young. Well, younger." Tagger's tone had softened a little as he turned back, the look in those oddly-colored, glaring eyes easing down to something a little less blinding. It brought to mind the conversation that Whimsy had sort of participated in, where Tagger had divulged that he had been the first one that Cab had befriended, and more or less kicked off the formation of this strange group. Perhaps then would have been a good time to actually dig in and find out more, but, well, they were here now. No time like the present, right?

"…How old are you?"

"Rude." Given that it was more than a little hard to read Tagger's face, Whimsy couldn't help the immediate apology that leapt to their tongue. It didn't help that Tagger's body language could have been either mock-affronted or real-affronted, his arms crossed and upper body turned away with his head back a little. Had they said something offensive, it wasn't like they would know…

"I, wait, I wasn't…"

Thankfully, Tagger seemed to get that facing in the opposite direction wasn't helpful, turning around and actually facing the reanimated faerie as he replied.

"No, no, it's okay. I'm kidding, Whims. Don't be so serious. And, honestly? Couldn't give you an exact, numerical answer. I just know that, in terms of age, I pretty much rank ahead of everyone, Fancy included."

The notion was honestly a bit of a shocking one, though it stoked to life Whimsy's curiosity. And, if Tagger hadn't been too bothered by that one question…

"What exactly are you?"

"Well…you know that feeling you get when you're out at night, alone, and you keep having the feeling that someone's behind you even though you're pretty sure no one's there?"

"…Yeah?"

"That's kinda in the same ballpark as me. 'Course, you might be a little more familiar with the rest of the family. The Call of Cthulhu mean anythin' t'you?"

"…No, not really."

"Don't worry about it. For reference's sake, think of it like the blackness between the stars, or like when you're swimmin' in deep water an' just happen to look down at all that nothin'. Just, all the stuff out there that's too big to know that might keep you up at night if you think about it too much because, as it turns out, there's either no answer, or there's one you might not like all that much. Point bein', there's a reason I keep all this paraphernalia on."

Well, that was something of a revelation, even though Whimsy felt they really could only guess at exactly what Tagger was eluding to. Something unknowable, something too old to really pin down a proper age to, something that couldn't even show its true face or form around anyone. How on Earth did Cab even befriend something like that?!

"So, now that you know somethin' about me, can I ask somethin' about you, Whims?"

Seemed fair, though they weren't too certain they'd like where this was going.

"…Sure."

"Y'can sit down by the way, not gonna bite. Alright, my question is…where've you been, exactly? I can tell you're a faerie, at least on the outside and before whatever happened there, but somethin' like you doesn't just sprout up overnight."

"…I, I was, I've been traveling. Around. I…I spent some time in a village, a good ways north of here." Whimsy haltingly replied, sinking down to sit next to Tagger.

"Yeah? Spent a while up there?"

"Yeah. I, I was staying with a family…they didn't really know I was staying with them." This felt like the start of a chain reaction, Whimsy fully aware that this was, while not the worst of their crimes, a good lead into the destruction they'd wrecked.

"Guessin' the family might not have reacted well to their house guest, huh?"

"…One did. There was an older woman who lived there. She was blind. I thought if I could make my case to her, then, maybe they'd let me stay…"

"Didn't work out?"

"No. Her family came back, and they saw me, and chased me away, and when I'd gotten back they'd left and I-" Fire, fire had happened as the little cottage that they'd been so fond of burned up around them like some portion of Hell had risen to devour it. Whimsy had been angry, true, but there'd been something so soul-chilling in the sight that it had sapped them of their anger like a bucket of water to the face. Their efforts to put out the flames had ended in burns, burns that hadn't stopped stinging until they'd been able to douse it with water from the well and despite their best efforts, the whole thing had gone up. They'd had the thought in the back of their mind before, but especially now as they relived the memory, they couldn't help wondering what happened to the family. Did they come back? Did they see what the faerie had done?

"…I burned their house down."

"You don't sound proud of that."

"I wasn't, I'm not, I just…I got angry." A deep sigh, before Whimsy went with the first thought knocking about in their stitched-together head. "Doesn't matter anymore. Wouldn't have worked."

"Maybe you didn't find the right people."

"There aren't any right people. Nobody cares about me."

"You sure?" Tagger's voice had started to take on that semi-teasing lilt again, the reanimated faerie finding that they had barely any patience left for that nonsense, thank you.

"…Look, whatever you want to say, just come out and say it."

"Don't know the specifics, but Cab didn't have to say he'd be your friend, right? Fancy didn't have to let you stay in his house. I didn't have to carry you back up to your room last night. But we did. Kids didn't have to get you presents either. But they did. Know your experience is a little skewed, but…what'dya have to lose in tryin' again, Whims? Besides, you're not dealin' with some run of the mill, salt of the earth types. We're all pretty weird. Think I just demonstrated my own case decently well. And, if you're runnin' around with a crowd of folks that're weird, d'you really stand out?"

It was a good point, Whimsy going quiet as they considered it. They were, unique, for sure, and they were pretty sure that there wasn't anyone else in the world like them, but, considering what they were learning about their new housemates, maybe someone exactly like them wasn't needed.

"We're a stubborn bunch, Whims. You ain't gettin' rid of us that easy." The words, in and of themselves, were something to think on, but what grabbed Whimsy's attention was the fact that Tagger, did something. Made some sort of motion like he was going to reach out to the reanimated faerie, but as Whimsy stared and leaned away, Tagger pulled back.

"Alrighty then, suit yourself," he murmured, almost sounding dismissive. Though as Tagger made it to the door, he glanced back to the faerie. "And, if and when you're ready, c'mon down. We'd like to see you sometime."

They'd all like to see them. There was nothing in Tagger's voice that suggested a falsehood, which made the knee-jerk, resulting thought that no, no one wanted to see them, feel very much like a double-edged sword. Keeping anyone else away, but cutting deep somewhere inside.

"Oh, by the way, Whims," Tagger spoke up, twisting around in a way that didn't look altogether right as the neon pie-cut eyes glimmering from underneath the hood glanced back at the reanimated faerie. "Left you a surprise on one of your gifts, but you gotta turn the lights off and close the curtains to see it. Anyway, see you 'round!"

And with that, he was gone, leaving a somewhat confused Whimsy in his wake. Bemusedly their eyes turned to the little stones that were now sitting innocently on their dresser, the faerie even resorting to going over and picking them up for a closer look. Left something on them? What the heck did that mean?

Though there was the added stipulation of the lights, Whimsy quietly putting the stones back down before going to the light switch and then crossing the room to get the curtains.

It was when they turned back to the stones that they saw the glimmers of light, almost like paint, dotting the surface of the darker one. But it was only when they got close and picked it up that the reanimated faerie could read what had been scrawled over the rock.

A simple message, written in brilliantly neon colors with ever letter being a different shade: Hi Whimsy!

And a sort of design underneath it that, as they turned it around, looked like a small, simplified face winking at them.

It was such a small thing, the kids not having to think to get them a present but Tagger also had not had to add in the extra message. But it felt both lightening, and a little worrying. Like Whimsy was standing on the edge of a precipice and couldn't see the bottom of the pit they were looking to jump into. They'd seen groups of people, both friends and presumably families, that looked to have that perfect happiness.

It had been a strong lure, as perfect and content as it looked, to tease Whimsy from the trees and pique them to try talking to the people they saw. But it had never worked. Even when the other person couldn't see how they looked, it never worked.

Whimsy was weird, Whimsy was wrong, Whimsy was disgusting, a monster, unwanted, not supposed to be…

In a snap, they realized that they had started to squeeze the little stone, and immediately loosened their grip with a worried grimace. The present, and the message written upon it, were thankfully unharmed, Whimsy looking down at it for a moment before carefully placing it back on the dresser.

Their attention was grabbed by a brief shuffling noise in the hallway, Whimsy wondering for a brief instant if Tagger had come back to see if his gift had been warmly received. The door had been left open a crack, a few strides taking them over to it and a brief nudge opening it enough for them to look out into the hall.

Which was empty. Whimsy peered left, then right, seeing no one.

They pulled back into their room, thoughts turning to what Tagger had said before. Maybe, maybe they would try to go downstairs in a little bit. Just to maybe explore the place a little more, though they couldn't help a mental block on the notion of what they would do if they actually encountered anyone. Maybe better to tackle that in the moment rather than try to plan ahead, planning ahead didn't seem to do them much good…

Whimsy ended up being so engrossed in their own thoughts, that they missed seeing the door to Fancy's workroom, which had been open a crack, surreptitiously slid shut as they returned to their own room.

It took a few hours before Whimsy felt ready, heading down to the landing and ending up a little relieved by how quiet the main area was. Bee, it seemed, had left, and though the sight was calming, they were still on-edge given that just because the more-visible car had apparently stepped out didn't mean that the others weren't here somewhere.

Though, thankfully, at least from the higher-up vantage point, Whimsy could safely say that they couldn't outright see anyone wandering around in near the couch below, or in the kitchen. Listening around revealed that things were quiet, though a quick glance to the windows drew Whimsy's eye to the fact that the sky had gone gray, the first of a rainfall pattering against the glass.

It did kill the fleeting impulse to actually wander around outside, though Whimsy was loath to just return to their room. Not after they'd come this far. Maybe, even with the possibility of someone coming along, they could just sit for a while.

So, with that thought in mind, they slipped the rest of the way down the stairs, walking past the little kitchen area to the sort-of living room.

It was a good thing that Whimsy had gotten into the habit of watching where they were putting their feet, otherwise they might've traipsed all over the two little forms simply sprawled on the living room floor. As such, they simply stood there for a moment, a foot handing in the air as they stared. Sunny was predictable enough, the little canine-gargoyle faerie arranged like a sleeping puppy, but Manny was…more interesting, to say the least. At least, Whimsy was fairly sure that when things looked all disjointed and, spread out like that, they were supposed to be dead. Actually dead, but then again, Manny being a little skeleton, maybe the rules were different?

Either way, this was a little more weird than they felt equipped to handle, especially from children, so the reanimated faerie turned on their heel. Thankfully, Patches was just coming out of the back room, though the other faerie's lighter tread meant that Whimsy nearly ended up running into her when they peeked out. Immediately both recoiled, Whimsy with an apology on their lips, though they ended up truncating it, given that Patches had that ever-present serene look as she considered them. The kind that barely seemed to get ruffled, it was almost maddening given that it made it difficult to tell what she was really thinking.

But it would be…wrong, to simply judge the other faerie for a trick of her demeanor, something not able to be really helped, so Whimsy simply bit their tongue and stayed quiet on their internal thoughts. Instead, they turned, gesturing to the scene in the living room as they tried their best to convey the issue at hand.

"I just, I found them like this, is Manny supposed to be…?"

Patches peeked around them, pale, unblinking eyes immediately lighting on the slumbering pair. Perhaps it was relieving, in a way, that the cloth-made faerie didn't immediately blanch, or scream, but that calm serenity was a little maddening. This was precisely why they'd been so slow to integrate with anyone, Fancy was easy to read, Cab was too earnest to have ulterior motives, the children were children, Bee was a demon, if not an easy-going one, and Tagger was…Tagger. Whimsy still had yet to figure that one out, but at least he had more visible moods, unlike Patches who seemed to skate through life with a strange sort of distant coolness.

"This happens sometimes," she was saying, lightly skirting over with barely a noise. "You can just pick up Sunny. I'll show you what to do with Manny. Just watch my hands."

"If you just give him a little help, he'll come together on his own." To illustrate her point her gentle motions of picking up the somewhat discombobulated skeleton caused Manny's bones to jolt back into place, Patches carefully scooping up the small monster and tucking him close, like Whimsy had seen mothers handle their children. Manny himself barely woke up, automatically snuggling in to Patches's shoulder, though the reanimated faerie felt themselves bristle as those unblinking eyes turned to them.

"You can try picking up Sunny. As long as she's comfortable, it should be fine."

Though there was a part of them that bristled at the notion, especially since Sunny could easily fit in an arm, Whimsy still knelt, reaching carefully out to the small, winged body. It was only after they'd carefully plucked the wolf puppy-like faerie off the ground that they realized that Sunny had been sleeping on top of something. It was a sheave of paper, along with some pencils, though what drew Whimsy's attention was what was on the paper.

"Sunny likes to draw," Patches said by way of explanation as Whimsy picked up the paper, though something in their expression caught her eye. "Is something wrong?"

"I, she drew me."

And it was so, Whimsy able to more feel than hear Patches coming around to look, but for the moment they had no space left for their knee-jerk guardedness. They only had eyes for this, picture. This child's creation that had them as a part of the group, standing under a bright sun and blue sky, amongst what looked like long, yellow grass. Strangely enough, Tagger was the tallest of the group, Whimsy competing with Cab for second-tallest, and what was probably Bee looked like more of a jumble of red and black than a proper car, Sunny, Manny, and Fancy looking similarly blobbish, but it was all recognizable. And they were a part of it.

"Patches told us," Sunny spoke up through a yawn, having woken as Whimsy had picked her up, ", 'bout the fields she used to live in, when she scared the crows. She said it was like a dream, when it was sunny, and the winds blew through the fields. It's her best place. She said I could use it. Wanted you to be there too. No more bad people, just us. All of us."

"Wh-Why…?" Whimsy forced out, their mouth feeling very dry as something about the word, or perhaps the emotions behind it, stuck in their throat. But Sunny merely looked up at them with her cherry red eyes, beaming that sort of empathetic heaviness that most children didn't have. Maybe Whimsy might've considered it more, though right now, their emotions were bubbling up their throat, coming out in a soft sob at what had simply fallen in their lap.

"If I had known…I would never have given you breath!"

"You're an object of shame, without soul or a name!"

"You…no place but…THE GRAVE…"

"No," Cab had said the other night, when they'd first met. "You don't need him! You don't need someone that don't want you! He's hurt you, cut him out of your life! If you need somewhere to go, you can come with me, with us."

"You're a little late offering me friendship," Whimsy had replied, a sneer curling their lip as they glared at the bizarre…thing, a creature dressed very much like a man, that stood before them. But, a strange thing was happening, had happened. Even as Cab had spoken, tears were gathering at the corners of his eyes, like he'd meant every word of what he'd been about to say.

"But I'm doin' it. Late or on time, the point is in the doin' of the thing! An', if'n you saw someone who you know felt as lonely and as hurtin' as you do now, would you just stand by? Knowin' what you know, and havin' been through what you've been through, would you, would you just let them suffer?"

They hadn't an answer, but when Cab had held out his hand, they'd taken it with only a faint bit of hesitation. Cab had tried more to steer them along, but the way he'd been keeping a grip on Whimsy's hand made them wonder if he thought they might bolt if he let them go. But then he'd turned to them and said something that had been sitting quietly at the back of Whimsy's mind.

"Everythin' in life is a choice, an' while you've gotten one hell of a raw deal, you don't hav'ta stay there, you hear? You won't be alone, not with us."

A choice. Whether they'd been aware of the significance or not, they'd made a choice. And it had brought them something small, but heartfelt, and precious. This, not small, but simple life that accepted them so readily as one of their own. That accepted them as…

"Whimsy, it's okay, I just meant that we're family now, see? Patches, Cab, Tagger, Bee, Fancy, Manny, me, you, we're all a family now." Sunny's voice trembled with upset, though Whimsy felt completely unable to answer. But, like a calm wind, a ray of sun in darkness, Patches's calm, whispery quiet voice spoke up.

"I think Whimsy needs a hug, Sunny. Can you give them a hug? One of your very best?"

The small arms wrapping around what they could of their frame snapped the last, delicate thread holding back the emotional floodgates, Whimsy doing their best not to crush the smaller faerie as they cradled her, and cried. Deep, heaving sobs that came from somewhere far down inside as a wail stayed locked behind a set of clenched teeth, their stitched together frame feeling like it might shake itself to pieces from the maelstrom raging inside.

We're a family…

"No soul or a name!"

You don't have to stay there…

"Corruption of biology…"

You won't be alone…

The feeling of another small frame, this one bonier, coming to hug them caused Whimsy to start, wide eyes finding the equally tumultuous ones of Manny. They must've woken up the little skeleton, but before they could even think to apologize the boney little arms were wrapping around their own arm, Manny tucking in in his own effort.

Whimsy looked up just in time to see Patches kneel in front of them, something beaming through as they made eye contact. That calm serenity swirled with a compassion that loomed as large as the open sky, Patches quietly reaching out to the reanimated faerie, and carefully brushing their tears away with a hand made of course cloth. They were quickly replaced by more, though for the moment Whimsy only bowed their head, shoulders helplessly shivering as they tried their best to ride out the storm.

What they weren't expecting was for Patches to reach out, gently easing them to lean into her shoulder. Her hands, with their faint suggestion of needle-like claws, carefully combed through the topmost layer of their curly mane. Their head rested against Patches's shoulder, folded down enough that even their eight-foot-tall frame could rest comfortably while still not crushing the two children doing their best to give the overwrought faerie a hug.

A soft hum caught Whimsy's attention, Patches's whispery tones rumbling low in her ribcage before it blossomed into a lulling song.

"You'll remember me, when the west wind moves, 'pon the fields of barley, you'll forget the sun in his jealous sky, as we walk in fields of gold…"

The 'best place', a field of pure gold that rippled in the movements of wind like something alive. But peacefully so, like the soft rise and fall of breath. It felt so antithetical to what they had known before, the shouting, the strife, the loneliness, the abandonment…

Though there was a part of Whimsy that wanted to push back, to withdraw until they felt safe, they found they couldn't. It felt so foreign, and yet there was a part of them that couldn't help staying right where they were. It was also the part of them that seemed to be the center of the emotional storm, this screaming, wailing, crying thing that grasped at the physical comfort like a lifeline. Patches's voice blurred in their ears, a lulling hum as their mind moved away from the images of darkness, lightning, mobs, screaming…and to a field of softly waving gold.

The thought caused a soft, near-involuntary sob to rattle through Whimsy's frame, Patches briefly breaking in her song to murmur some soothing words that was probably meant to be nonsense, but somehow, Whimsy couldn't take it that way.

"Shh, shh, we're here, we're here…"

A few moments of that, and carefully rocking them a little, and the scarecrow faerie went back to her tune. Whimsy listened, holding onto it like it was a part of the stitches running throughout their skin as the world dissolved into an exhaustion-dulled haze.

"I never made promises lightly, and there have been some that I've broken, but I swear in the days still left, we'll walk in fields of gold…"

"Hey, Whimsy…" A voice spoke, piercing the calm stupor that had drifted in. In the moment, Whimsy had no other thought apart from that they particularly liked where they were and didn't want to move, burying their face in the material as they tried to get away from whoever this was.

"G'way…"

"Would, but you're kinda pinning Patches to the floor. Wanna try gettin' up on the couch, probably be comfier?" At first, Cab's words were confusing, Whimsy's eyes blinking groggily open before they realized that, well, he was right. Turning their head brought Patches's face into view, the calm, even stare a little softer as she looked down at the reanimated faerie. With a somewhat sheepish flutter in their chest, they realized that they were still using Patches's shoulder and upper body as a pillow, with Sunny and Manny still held close in a careful but firm grip. Whimsy straightened, pulling away from the relatively vulnerable position, but they couldn't make themselves let go of the pair just yet.

With nothing else they could do, and a glance around telling them nothing, they couldn't help asking a somewhat hesitant question.

"H-How long was I asleep?"

"About ten minutes. Not very long at all," Patches replied, stretching now that the weight of all three had been removed.

"Hence why we're bringin' up the couch." Cab pointed out, about to reach down to help Whimsy up before Tagger nudged him aside.

"They got two heads on you, noodle-arms. Lemme do it."

Though Tagger was definitely more than ready to haul Whimsy up, it was a little difficult given that their hands were full of sleeping children. Patches and Cab tried to make it easier by taking at least one per each of them, but Whimsy had a moment of conflict as they looked between the offered hands and the little forms nestled against their front.

"It's okay," Cab spoke, catching Whimsy's hesitation. "They're pretty much out. You wanna take five with 'em?"

The question provoked a shy, eye-avoiding nod, though no one seemed to begrudge Whimsy an iota as they clambered up onto the sofa, and quietly scooted inward to make room for the sleeping Sunny and Manny. Instead, there were just quiet words on the part of Cab and Tagger, varying levels of affection in the pair's voices as Cab handed Whimsy a blanket and wished them a good nap, and Tagger's neon grin rife with rough warmth as he said he'd see the faerie later.

Sleep well, see you later. Was that normal to hear, and to feel like it was being meant? They weren't sure if they wanted to ask, but it definitely was a first for them. But, as Cab and Tagger were moving away, it suddenly struck Whimsy that Patches was still standing by, and apparently had something to say.

"You can come to me again if you need to talk, I don't mind. Also," she murmured, kneeling down next to the couch to look Whimsy in the eye. "You have brambles in your hair. I got about three out but there's probably more. We can try to fix that later if you like."

The faerie in question wasn't sure they could offer much to that, but Patches thankfully didn't seem to need an answer, getting up and leaving without any prompting. Whimsy was left blinking in the wake of that, before deciding that, well, they didn't need to really decide anything now and settling into the pillow with a sigh.

The slight movement made both Sunny and Manny move around, twitching and squirming for a moment or two. Without thinking Whimsy reached out and placed an arm over the pair, mostly for the sake of keeping them from rolling off the couch, but found themselves surprised when Sunny turned to huddle into them, Manny's arms reaching over Whimsy's and wrapping around like the limb was a stuffed animal.

It made the realization hammer in all the more that these little creatures, these kids, trusted them. Trusted them enough to sleep peacefully next to them, trusted them enough to let them into their home, draw pictures of them like they were one of the, the family.

The thought had Whimsy swallow another lump in their throat, a prickling at the corners of their eyes stubbornly forced back down because they were sick and tired of feeling miserable. Besides, if they started up again it might wake the kids.

"Shh, go to sleep, you're safe with me." They found themselves murmuring anyway, a faint tremble eating at their voice as they huddled around Sunny and Manny.

The sounds of the rain pattering on the windowpanes formed a soothing backdrop, Whimsy's eyes lazily drifting to see the water as it ran in rivets down the glass. It didn't quite banish the sounds of fire, of screams, that lay burned in their memory, nor the ghostly feeling of a noose tightening around their neck…

…But it was some space. It was a start. Maybe that would be good enough for right now, the thought bringing enough peace to the reanimated faerie that they let their eyes slip closed, breathing growing slow and deep as they slipped into slumber.

It made them miss when, a little while later, a much shorter figure came round the sofa to look at the little huddle gathered there. Fancy looked upon the otherwise sweet scene, a slight furrow in his brow as his eyes turned to the hand and arm Whimsy had used to keep Sunny and Manny close, covered in stitches that he knew so very well. Because he'd sown them with his own hands, slaved for hours over the eight-foot-tall frame that now belonged to the sleeping faerie on his couch.

Briefly, the tailor reached out for the fingers in some knee-jerk impulse to inspect them, before the thought of what if Whimsy woke up, how on earth he would explain what he was doing made him draw back. Thankfully none of them moved, but it left Fancy standing there, awkwardly staring, and wondering what on earth to do.

The sight of a light flashing from behind the sofa, out in the garage, quickly caught the tailor's attention, and he followed the nonverbal signal all the way to the car innocuously parked in the far corner of the garage. The door opened silently in an invitation, Fancy climbing into the driver's seat with an exhausted sigh and feeling more tired than he'd felt back when Cab had simply brought his 'new friend' right to their doorstep.

"You gonna tell them?" Bee's voice spoke from the radio, quiet but questioning. Not accusing, or forceful, but like a nudge on your shoulder to get you in gear. But right now, Fancy very much did not want to 'get in gear'. Instead, one of his arms folded over his front, his hand coming up to knead at his forehead to dispel the growing ache there.

"Okay, different question," Bee started, "what'dya think of them? It's been a few days, you gotta have at least some thoughts."

"I think…they've had to deal with far more than they should have. That that stupid idiot…made some very big mistakes in handling them. That they've probably been alone for a while. I'm glad they're connecting with people though, be it Cab, or Sunny and Manny, or Patches. It should be good for them."

"Alright. Gonna let 'em stay?" Bee asked, the sudden question catching Fancy off-guard.

"Huh?"

"Whimsy. It's your house. Is it okay if they stay?"

He could tell that this wasn't meant to cast doubt on Whimsy or their character, but if the tailor were to be any judge he would say that this might be a way to make up for the downright shock that Cab simply bringing the reanimated faerie home had been. Especially given that it was practically unannounced, which was something that tended to throw everyone when it came to Cab. In a group of supernaturals that had to adhere to some strict etiquette rules, the one that behaved the most like a mortal, with all of the spontaneity that came with, tended to stand out like a sore thumb. Even if, to this day, Cab was something of a mystery. A mystery that tended to be danced around, given that telling someone like Cab that they were 'different' was usually a recipe for the checkered-skinned toon to just avoid the issue and then for him to burn out a few days later from how much he tried to avoid dealing with it.

And, either way, it wasn't like Whimsy had destroyed his house or anything, so Fancy didn't feel too much conflict over his next words.

"Don't think I could throw them out now even if I tried. The kids would be too upset if their new playmate left. Cab wouldn't like it either." It also probably wouldn't be very good for Whimsy to be just acclimating to a new place and then be thrown out. If anything, it would likely undo that bit of progress that Fancy had just seen. And, though Fancy might not admit it to anyone other than himself, there was a slowly growing sense of responsibility for the reanimated faerie. If the mayor would not look out for his own creation, then maybe the only other person aware of the circumstances behind said creation should.

"Good point." Bee's voice rumbled through the speakers, before taking on a somewhat more hesitant air as he asked his next question. "You, uh, holdin' up okay?"

"I'll be fine. You're not worried, are you?"

"Think Tagger an' I have been sorta worried since you called us to come get you. First time I saw you that freaked out by anything. Second might'a been when Whimsy came in."

To be fair, Fancy ruminated, both instances had been firsts for him too. The fact that a reanimated myth had simply been brought to his doorstep was a shock in and of itself, but the fact that it was the same myth that he'd been more or less forced to slave over, put together from dead bodies, and whose creator pushed him to the point of a nervous breakdown, now that was enough to perhaps add to the gray streak in the tailor's hair.

The nervous breakdown itself had been something, given that while Fancy could say that he'd had rough points in his life before, there was nothing quite like the experience he'd had when one of the bodies that Whimsy's creator had been working with turned out to be a little more rotten than previously thought. Mostly because trying to take anything from it had resulted in a horrid, absolutely putrid smell filling the room, Fancy having gotten a glimpse enough of the rotting features that he'd about lost whatever little he'd been able to eat beforehand. He'd run out, managing to get a call home and getting Tagger, and of course he'd come with Bee for expediency's sake.

The ride home was an ordeal, given that by the time Fancy had been sitting on the curb for a good fifteen minutes, trying to banish the stench and sights from his mind, he'd become uncomfortably aware just how acquainted he'd become with the dead. The sight of dehydrated, blackened flesh no longer enough to sicken him but in retrospect it was all the more horrifying. He'd tried to focus, tried to buckle down, tried to tell himself that it was just a job and he'd make it through, and the mayor had definitely been paying good money that could be put to good use.

But in the end it wasn't enough, and Tagger had been coming just shy of outright putting his foot down in stating it. It wasn't enough to justify poor sleep and worsening health. It wasn't enough to make up for the fact that Fancy knew, in his heart of hearts, that what the mayor wanted wouldn't be so easily obtained. Some 'conditions' just weren't curable, and death was unfortunately in that category. And while the tailor had been able to ignore the niggling concerns in the back of his mind about just where these bodies were coming from, there was the part of him that wondered if they were all being obtained by 'legal' means. Or, if any family involved might be aware of what was happening to their loved ones.

There was only one body that he'd felt more or less sure about, the one that the mayor had had set up on that main table, the one that had been having the most alterations done to it. That one had clearly died not that long ago, still with a shadow of life in its features. In the right light, it almost looked like someone languishing under an illness, their face frozen in a look of quiet but poignant resignation though their neck had been a little oddly bent.

Perhaps it was to be expected, given that it was a faerie's corpse, though there had been a part of Fancy that had been a little put off by how dismal the expression was coupled with what the mayor had been doing. Perhaps it could be partially blamed on the fact that he knew faeries, Patches and Sunny, and to see either of them in this position would have been gut-wrenching. But he hadn't known this one, so looking at them had just brought a sort of melancholy irritation for their situation.

You look like you've suffered enough. Can't he just let you rest?

But then that night had happened, and Fancy had taken a break for a few days to come back to a note on the door for him, explaining that his services were no longer required. There was talk of a payment, the mayor had sounded apologetic regarding the whole incident, but Fancy's mind kept going over what had happened when he'd asked why his services hadn't been needed anymore. The mayor's exact words were that the experiment had been a failure, but he didn't elaborate.

Maybe that should have been a sign that not all was well, but Fancy had believed the whole endeavor impossible. How was he to know it had actually succeeded in creating something?

Though, as Fancy snapped out of his thoughts, he realized that he'd more or less been sitting in silence, ruminating, for a good minute now, with Bee patiently waiting for him to reply.

"…I'm doing better, promise. Startled me, definitely, but I'm feeling more…balanced. Definitely less 'freaked out', as you put it."

"Good to hear there. Though, Fancy…I get 'not now', but, be careful with that kinda secret. If anything just because it'll end up sitting like a rock in the trunk."

"Fair enough. Worried I'll get more gray hair?" It might've been a bit of an unfair thing to joke about, as while Fancy had adjusted to the streak of gray in his hair following the whole incident with the mayor, the supernatural cast of characters in his household…really hadn't. At least, not until everyone was sure he wasn't about to keel over given that they'd all made the somewhat correct assertion that 'going gray' could mean that you were close to the end of your life. It had taken at least a few weeks for them all to back off, though out of all of them, Tagger and Bee were the only ones that knew the full circumstances. Still, there was a laugh in Bee's tone as he replied, hinting that while there might be a worry it wasn't nearly as strong as it had been.

"Hey, don't even go there, mister. Not until you're at least pushin' fifty."

"Alright, alright, I'll be careful. And, I probably will tell them. Just not right now. Thank you, Bee." The words were punctuated with a gentle pat on the steering wheel, the lights flickering like a grin in reply.

"Welcome. Gotta work on stuff?"

"As always."

"Can you show me sometime? Can't exactly make it up the stairs…or wear clothes, but it looks fun." It might've been an odd request for a car to make, but Fancy was decently sure that Bee had made similar ones before now, about various things that though he knew there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of him being able to participate he still wanted to know about. Ergo, it wasn't too hard to agree.

"Sure thing."

As Fancy was about to cross the living room, his path brought him within viewing distance of the huddle still slumbering on the couch, the tailor pausing for a moment to sort of re-take in the sight. Whimsy's face was quietly relaxed, arm still in that careful, protective position over Sunny and Manny, the pair just barely visible though Fancy could see Manny's much smaller arms still wrapped around the darker, stitched-together limb.

It was a surprisingly sweet sight, even with the unusual-ness of the cast of characters. Fancy gave a quiet, calm smile, before heading for the stairs.

#nemo's writing #whimsy #whimsy the faerie #frankenstein #frankenstein au #a-rae-of-sunshine #original characters #misfit toons

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