#but it is nice to wrangle my thoughts into something readable for once

[pine-needle-shuffle]

HI :3 does angeal die in riptide what's the situation there

at this point in planning, no, he does not die. But it's not all sunshine and rainbows either.

After what would have been his and Zack's last altercation in Crisis Core, Angeal survives. Zack couldn't finish him off, Angeal wasn't so desperate as to force Zack to kill him. Even if Angeal hoped he would have.

He flees in an effort to find Genesis again, who had been evading most contact the whole time. They both needed answers now, Angeal's condition was getting worse, like Genesis before.

During the 5 years between Nibelhiem and current day in the story, he's barely been living. Most of the time was spent in hiding, they didn't have anywhere safe to go. Once, maybe a year or two after his fight with Zack, he journeys out. He felt he needed to apologize, make ends meet, something. But he doesn't find Zack. So he goes back to rot.

I'm not sure if it will be in the scope of A Pulling of Tides, but in the future he and Zack do meet up. It's...bittersweet. Angeal has so much regret, and Zack, while glad to know he's alive, is still kinda pissed at him under it all.

[lousylark]

blue lace

(Part 7. Read the previous part here, read the first part here. Check the “blue lace” hashtag for updates/other chapters. This is one of my favorite chapters. Enjoy. <3)

NOTE: at this point in the writing process Lark decides to start writing in present tense. You are not going crazy. Sorry.

Oak Tree Town - West Park. Midday. 

In hindsight, with her pencil balanced between her teeth and a healthy smattering of charcoal painting the outside curve of her hand a steely gray, perhaps she could’ve tried to look a little bit less scrambled. But Klaus’ “good afternoon” has caught her in a moment of deep creative gusto, and trying to get an inspired artist to compose herself is about as fruitless as trying to get Bessie back in the barn before the spring sunset. 

“I’ve interrupted your work,” he observes, his eyes trailing her up and down, no doubt taking in her disheveled appearance. 

“Not at all,” she lies, waving her hand dismissively. “I could use a break, anyway.” Even as she says it, her heart stutters in protest. On the one hand, she rather loves talking to Klaus — on the other, her fingers are itching to finish these festival designs. 

“How long have you been working out here?” Klaus asks, though he still seems hesitant to fully engage in the conversation. She bites back a smile — he is far too courteous, and she is too easily readable. 

“Oh, uh, I don’t know,” she says, running a hand through her hair. “Maybe a few hours? I’ve got to get these designs done for White Day.”

Now his interest is piqued. It must push him over the edge of politeness, because he leans a little over the bench to look at her sketchbook. 

“White Day designs?”

She hums, opening the sketchbook fully so that he can see her work. “It’s kind of a long story, but, um, we’ve decided to throw a little festival for White Day this year.”

“Isn’t White Day in, what, a week?”

She smiles. “Precisely. Which is why I’ve been sketching out here all morning.”

He looks at her with concern painting the corners of his eyes. “Minori, you do realize it’s the middle of the afternoon, yes?”

 She blinks once. Twice. 

“Is it really?”

“Indeed.”

She flips over her wrist to check her watch. Sure enough, the digital time reads half-past two. 

She can’t help but bark a loud laugh at herself. “Ha! I definitely need to take a break. No wonder my stomach has been growling for the past half hour.” She sets the sketchbook aside but doesn’t close it. Instead, she pats the bench next to her legs, and bravely ventures, “Would you want to sit with me for a minute or two? I could use the company. Unless you’re up to something important, of course.”

“Nothing more important than entertaining a lovely maiden such as yourself,” he says, and his eyes are so sincere that it makes her heart warble in her chest, despite his exaggerated speech. “I was just walking home from the inn.”

He rounds the bench to sit beside her. She allows herself to relax into the sloping wooden back — careful, of course, not to jump when her arm brushes his. She can’t pinpoint exactly when being around Klaus turned her into a middle school girl, but here she is — damn him and his enchanting snowflaked hair.

They sit in easy silence for a few moments. She subtly tries — to no avail — to rub the charcoal from her hand, grateful that Klaus seems distracted enough by the finally-lovely spring weather to pay no attention to her. 

The West Town Park is one of her favorites she’s ever designed. The flower pots, though all but barren at the moment thanks to the grueling winter, are filled with annual plants, and a modest fountain stands in the middle of the greenery. The flowing water provides a peaceful and inspiring background noise, hence why she often comes here when the weather is nice enough to design outside. 

She sighs. While she’d much rather sit here thinking about nothing with Klaus’ thigh grazing hers, there’s work to be done. 

“Maybe you can help me,” she says eventually, taking up her sketch book once again.

He looks at her with teasing eyes, apparently forgiving her for breaking the peace. “I thought you were taking a break?”

She grins. “Well, yes — but a lovely maiden such as myself ought to take advantage of the smart gentleman sitting next to her, should she not?”

His chuckle tells her all she needs to know. “Fair enough. But I would ask that you allow me some paper, as well.”

She tilts her head to one side in curiosity, but acquiesces nonetheless, tearing a corner of one of the pages out. As he reaches to take the paper from her, his pointer and index finger brush against her hand. She knows the touch is intentional from the way he lingers a bit even as he already has the paper in hand. She bites back a smile, hoping that the warmth on her cheeks isn’t too obvious. 

He pulls a pen out of his coat pocket. Clicks it. “I’m certainly no artist. But I do find painting to be calming.” As he puts the pen against the paper, he continues, “Now, do tell me how I can be of assistance.”

She explains to him the concept of Otmar’s lunch auction — how it works, how she might tweak it to be more socially acceptable in this age, and what sort of decor ideas she’s been toying with for the past few hours. He listens without interrupting, instead nodding every so often to indicate his attention isn’t lost on other things. 

“I think I’m settled on a 1950’s ice cream social theme,” she says, flipping her sketchbook to show him some decorative designs. “Raeger has a popcorn machine, which we could use to make some extra cash along with the auctioned lunches. I really want a cotton candy machine, too, but I don’t know if I could find one in time.”

He looks up from his drawing — which he’s keeping carefully concealed from her gaze — to say, “You know, I’m taking a trip to the city tomorrow. I could look for one for you.”

She smiles. “Seriously? I could pay you back. You’d do that for me?”

“I’d do that and more for a lovely maiden such as yourself.”

Again, she’s struck by how he can so effortlessly say such flowery things — and how strangely sincere he manages to come across. If any random man on the street called her a “lovely maiden,” she might be tempted to whip out her pepper spray. But Klaus, with his warm eyes and his gentle mannerisms, emotes only politeness and authenticity. 

And on top of that, she hasn’t the faintest clue how he can flirt so brazenly and not betray even the slightest bit of embarrassment. She can can only wield such a talent when she’s had at least two glasses of wine. 

He must detect her inner floundering, because he very graciously changes the subject. 

“Your sketches are beautiful, Minori.” He points without touching, because it would smear the charcoal (and the fact that he must realize this only makes her even more smitten with him), to her sketch of a vintage cotton candy machine. “I believe it was Marian who recently told me you studied fine arts at university? I was convinced you studied agriculture, given your natural aptitude for it.”

She smiles at the compliment. “No — I got my degree in design and applied arts before coming here.”

“From where?”

She pauses. Her answer to this question always gets interesting reception.

“Uh, you know — a place in Wine Country.”

He raises an eyebrow. Looks up from his drawing again. “In Wine Country?” His realization is slower than most — she watches as the gears turn in his brain, as the thought formulates first in his mind and then on his tongue. “You went to L’Université de Beauchamp, then?”

Her eyes don’t leave her sketchbook. “That was some pretty good pronunciation.”

He smiles, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that she’s seen in other reactions before. “You must be kidding.”

She shakes her head. “I half wish I were.”

“Oh, perish that thought,” he says, setting down his drawing for the first time to lean toward her and rest a hand firmly on her knee. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just strange, that…”

He trails off, but she can fill in the blank well enough. 

“You’re wondering how I went to a prestigious art school abroad and ended up in a tiny town like this?”

“Again, I meant not to offend.”

She smiles gently at him. Tries to ignore the burning sensation his hand on her knee is causing. 

“I would never accuse you of trying to offend me, Klaus.”

“I’m glad, for I should never hope to in my life.”

A bird squawks not far off, startling the both of them. He withdraws his hand from her knee, and she leans back into the arm rest of the bench just a bit. Her heart is dancing in her chest, like a bumble bee that keeps running into a window. She takes a deep breath in an attempt to wrangle it in. 

“Anyway,” she says, hugging her sketchbook to her chest. “After college, I came back to Norchester and tried to make it as a designer for a bit — but I wanted to do everything: interior, exterior, clothes, graphics for businesses…I couldn’t settle on any one thing. When I saw the ad for Oak Tree Town, it just seemed right.”

“And it was that simple? You just decided to try your hand at running a farm?” he asks, pulling out his drawing again. For once, she thinks he can read him pretty well: though his drawing allows him to play a charade of nonchalance, she can tell by the crease in his eyebrows that he is indeed interested by her story.

She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and shrugs. “Well, you know — I guess it wasn’t too out of left field, to be honest. I didn’t want to be stuck in the monotony of an office job, and I visited my grandfather’s farm a lot when he was still alive. It was my main source of inspiration for my art when I was growing up.”

“So perhaps there was a little bit of fate involved,” he muses. 

“Perhaps — though I think everyone I tell the story to perceives it as more of a mid-life crisis.”

He pauses. Looks up at her with a raised eyebrow. “Minori, you’re clearly very young. I doubt it qualifies as mid-life, or even quarter-life.”

She giggles, nudging his knee with hers. “You’re just saying that ‘cause you think you’re an old geezer — which you’re certainly not. You can’t be more than thirty-five.”

“I’m at least ten years your senior,” he supplies, nudging her back. “Which, for all intents and purposes, makes me the wise old man you can turn to for support and advice.”

“And help in scoping out a cotton candy machine.”

“Of course; I assumed that fell under the support umbrella.”

She smiles. Can’t help it. She hasn’t had a case of puppy love like this in years. He doesn’t have snowflakes in his hair like he did the morning at the Guild, but the early Spring sun is shining on his dark hair just so, and she wonders if she’ll have to draw another portrait of him later just to get the image out of her head. 

He returns to his drawing, and she opens her sketchbook up again. But just when she thinks the conversation is moving forward, he asks the one question she always dreads answering.

“Do you plan on moving back to the city, then? If you can?” 

He asks with a closed heart. She can’t read him at all now, hard as she might try. So she purses her lips. Focuses on the fountain in front of them. 

“Yes.” Then, following the pang in her heart, “No.” And finally, “I have absolutely no idea. You certainly ask the hard questions, don’t you?”

“I find the hard questions considerably more interesting than small talk, if truth be told.”

“Oh, same here, though I’m usually on the opposite end of the interrogation table.” In an attempt to divert the conversation, she asks, “How about it, then? Do my answers to your burning questions warrant a look into the mysterious Mr. Schultz’s background? How did you pronounce the name of my alma mater so flawlessly?”

She thinks she’s teasing — but the way his face drops as soon as she mentions his past makes her feel suddenly as if she’s overstepped a boundary. 

Before she has the chance to apologize, he points to some of her sketches. “Your drawings are in charcoal. What kind of color scheme were you imagining for the festival?”

She brushes off his not-so-subtle topic change and willingly bounds back into more comfortable conversational territory. They spend a long time sitting on the bench, discussing her plans, sometimes lapsing into silence as she makes a few modifications that he helps bring about. 

As she’s adding some finishing touches to a rough balloon archway blueprint, she glances up again at the little West Town park. She does love designing these parks in town, and she can’t believe she’s lucky enough to lead the life she does. And yet —

“Here’s the thing,” she says, resting her pencil against her mouth. “What I have right now, in this town, is a dream. I get to farm, and design, and schedule my day…but it isn’t sustainable.”

“And why not?” Klaus asks, putting down his drawing for a moment. 

“We’re bound to run out of parks eventually. Oak Tree Town is only so big.”

He crosses his arms. “Oh, I don’t know. What with the growth that you and the other farmers have provided, I can only see our humble little town getting bigger.”

“Then we run into an alternative problem,” she explains. “If the town gets bigger, I’ll be busier. I’d have to have some extra help at the farm — someone to help cook or clean, or even with the crops or the animals. And I can’t very well ask someone to do that for me when everyone in town has their own livelihoods to think about.”

A tiny pause. Minori thinks Klaus is just thinking about what she’s said, but when she turns to look at him, he’s donning a peculiar little smile. 

“You ought to be careful, Minori,” he says, not breaking eye contact with her. “If you talk about needing someone to help with the household chores, the young bachelors of the town will suddenly remember you’re on the courting market.”

Her eyes widen. For just a moment, she wonders — dare she say hopes — if Klaus counts himself among the ‘young bachelors’ of the town. 

Surprisingly enough, this time she manages to come up with a coquettish quip of her own: “Well, we’ll see who wants to buy my lunch at the White Day auction, I suppose.”

“Will it be tied with ribbon? How shall I identify it?”

Her heart leaps. He wants to buy her lunch! She manages to suppress the stirring in her stomach well enough to respond, “I’ll tell you on White Day — if you find me a cotton candy machine.”

He chuckles. “High stakes.” He brushes something off his pants, then looks at her pointedly. “You’ll have your cotton candy machine, or I’m not an honest old geezer.”

She smiles. “I’ve never met an old geezer as young as you, Klaus.”

“It’s what in the heart that counts, Miss Awald.”

A beat passes. Then he says with a hint of regret in his tone, “Well, I really must be off — though I’ll admit I’d rather stay here and interrogate you than get back to work.”

“It’s fine, I should get back to work, too.” She gestures to her sketchbook. “Thanks for all of your help.”

He stands. Yawns. She notices for the first time the dark circles under his eyes, and wonders if he gets enough sleep. Before she can advise him to get some rest, however, he speaks again.

“I fear I didn’t help so much as provide a listening ear, but if that was helpful to you, then it was my pleasure.” A quick bow, and then, “Oh, and I almost forgot. For you — though I fear I didn’t quite do the subject’s beauty justice.”

He hands her the little drawing he’s been working on throughout their conversation — a drawing of her, as it turns out. She takes in the curves of the sweeping ink lines, the way that he’s captured her hair pulled over one shoulder; the blush on her cheeks and her nose from sitting outside for so long. He’s even managed to include the freckles, like a child’s band-aid splayed over the ridge of her nose. 

“Oh,” she breathes, “Wow. You’re too modest, Klaus —”

But Klaus is already far away, walking back toward his home, and he gives no acknowledgment that he heard her compliment.

She looks down at the drawing again — the sketch isn’t perfect by any means, but the attention to detail leaves her breathless. Her heart thumps in her chest. 

“Dessie,” she breathes, “I’m smitten. Lillie and Raeger are going to have a hay day.”

Iris and Mistel’s house. Evening. 

Elise is grateful that the weather has warmed up, or else her walk to Iris’ house would’ve been rather treacherous. After all, she is nothing if not a gracious guest, so she’s brought with her to the ladies’ night two trays: one with cheese and one with chocolate eclairs. Throughout her walk, the silver trays have become rather heavy — Cookie, of course, insisted that she allow him to plate the meal on paper plates, but she was adamant that she’d be able to carry the silver platters to Iris’ house without her arms getting tired.

It turns out she was painfully wrong — but she would never admit that aloud. 

She finally arrives at Iris’ door, grappling with the trays for a moment as she tries to free a hand to knock. When she finally succeeds, it takes a few moments before there’s any answer. 

Finally, the door swings open to reveal a giggling Agate, clad in pink pajamas with pandas all over them. 

Her smile drops slightly, however, when she sees Elise. 

“Oh, um — hi, Elise!” she greets, quickly recovering. Her smile is back, though there’s a touch of  questioning in her eyes. “What’s up?”

Elise is quick to realize the bittersweet truth: while Minori was very kind in inviting her to the ladies’ gathering, she obviously didn’t inform any of the other guests. Her appearance is nothing but an awkward surprise. 

“There’s been a mistake,” she says cooly, taking a backwards step away from the door. “Do excuse me for interrupting —“

But then Iris appears behind Agate. Since she’s much taller, she can look right over the her head to survey the situation. 

“Elise! I’m so glad you could make it,” she says without missing a beat, opening the door further so she can enter. She looks elegant, almost matronly, in her long, lavender nightgown. Her hair spills over one shoulder, curling gently at the ends. “You got my invitation, then?”

Elise never received any such invitation, but she is not so foolish as to forgo Iris’ gracious save. 

“I did, thank you,” she lies, nodding politely to Iris. “I brought a plate of cheese and some chocolate eclairs — I hope that’s sufficient.”

Agate’s eyes widen to the size of tea saucers. “Omigoddess, chocolate eclairs?!” She all but snatches the two trays from Elise’s arms. “Oooh, yes!” 

Without another word, she turns and squeezes past Iris back into the house. Elise hears her stomp up the stairs and yell, “Angela, Elise brought chocolate eclairs!” 

Iris looks over her shoulder, watching the young safari girl disappear. Then, she turns back to Elise, still smiling softly. 

“Forgive me,” Elise says. Now that her hands are free of the platters, she crosses her arms over her chest. She feels like a jester standing before Iris in her day clothes, which consist of a frilly pink shirt and black dress slacks. “Minori asked me to come a few days ago. I wrongfully assumed the invitation was a group effort. I shall return home forthwith.”

Iris smiles. “Nonsense. We’d love to have you. Truly.” She looks genuine enough, but Elise still isn’t sure she trusts her.

She sighs, weighing her options. She can either stay here and masquerade at a party she wasn’t really invited to, or return home and eat broiled fish and asparagus under Madame’s leering gaze. Neither options are ideal, but she knows which of the two is a lesser evil.

“Thank you,” she says, nodding. “I’ll stay.” 

Iris opens the door and steps aside for her. “Good. I’m glad.”

It’s been seasons since she set foot in Mistel’s shop, but not much has changed. She always found the store to be a little distasteful — after all, what value is there in buying other people’s dusty junk? But the store has been known to draw in a great deal of tourism from the surrounding towns, so she tries to be polite whenever it comes up in conversation. 

She’s never been to the upstairs section of the house, so she’s surprised to find upon entering that the main living is actually very tastefully decorated, with dark hardwood and lovely purple curtains. There’s even a phonograph sitting in the corner that adds a quaint, vintage touch.

“Elise, these eclairs are delicious,” Agate squeals, pulling her from her thoughts. The corners of her mouth are smeared with chocolate. “Like, so yum!”

“I tried to tell her to save the dessert until later,” Angela adds, pushing her glasses further up on her nose. She, too, is dressed in pajamas — though the fact that her simple black top and bottoms don’t have any pandas on them makes Elise feel a little more at ease. “She wouldn’t listen — as usual.”

“No matter,” Iris says, crossing the room to sit next to Agate on the couch. As soon as she does so, the latter snuggles right up against her shoulder. “Elise, feel free to sit and have some snacks. There’s some cab sauv, but if you want something a little less dry Minori should be bringing some rosé later.”

“The sauvignon is fine, thank you.”

As Iris pours her a glass, Elise attempts to decide where she should sit. Since the five present girls — Agate, Angela, Iris, Lillie, and Licorice — are occupying the two couches, she chooses a rocking chair that’s just slightly off to the side. 

She now realizes that Agate’s pajamas aren’t even pajamas — it’s a onesie. She’s forgotten that such a garment even exists. Licorice is hidden underneath a fuzzy purple blanket, but Elise is quite sure that she’s wearing pajamas as well. As Elise is looking, however, her gaze suddenly comes to rest on the two tiny bundles of fur sitting in Licorice’s lap. 

Unable to help herself, she interrupts the girls’ tittering to ask, “Agate, are those…kittens?”

Agate grins. With her mouth still half-full of eclair, she says, “Yup! My cat gave birth a few weeks ago. I thought I’d bring these two over for some cuddles. You wanna hold one?”

Despite her arguably cold heart, not even Elise can turn down that offer. 

“Oh, why not.”

Stuffing the rest of the eclair in her mouth, Agate stands and gently lifts one of the kittens from Licorice’s lap. The creature lets out a tiny mew but doesn’t struggle. When Agate places it in Elise’s lap, it takes a few tiny steps on her legs before curling into a ball and beginning to purr.

“She likes you!” Agate comments, gazing adoringly at the kitten before stepping back toward the couch. “She usually takes time to warm up to strangers. You must have a kind aura.”

Elise almost scoffs at the notion — but she catches herself just in time, and attempts to give Agate a half-smile. “I had a cat when I was young — a darling Maine Coon.”

“Oh, I love Maine Coons! They’re so big and cuddly!”

“Indeed.” Elise scratches the little kitten’s cheek with her forefinger, delighting in the way she pushes her cheek against it in response. 

A glass of wine later, Elise feels a bit more at ease in the group. She contributes little to the conversation, fearing that her often-snide comments might get her kicked out of the party, but she does her best to listen politely. She learns that Iris has a new book that’s almost ready to be published, and that Angela has been given increasing responsibilities at Marian’s office, since the population of the town has been growing at such a quick rate. 

“Lillie,” Iris says after at least an hour has passed, settling deeper into the couch. “What was it that you needed to tell us about?”

An uncharacteristic blush spreads over Lillie’s cheeks. “Oh, um, we should wait until Minori arrives.” 

“Where is Nori?” Agate asks. She’s only had a glass of wine, but with the way she’s sleepily splayed across the couch with her head in Iris’ lap, Elise can only assume she has a rather low tolerance for alcohol. “She was supposed to be here, like, an hour ago.”

 As if in answer to their prayers, there’s a sudden knock at the door. 

“I’ll get it,” Licorice says. 

“No way, you have a kitten in your lap,” Agate replies, yawning. Then, she simply yells, “It’s open!”

There’s a short wait, and then Elise hears the sound of feet coming up the stairs. She looks over her shoulder to see that Minori has arrived — and, bless the Goddess, she’s in work clothes, too. With the person that invited her finally here and not wearing pajamas, perhaps she can finally begin to relax. 

“Noooori!” Agate greets. “Didja bring the Rosé?”

“Of course I did,” she says, approaching them. “Though it looks like perhaps you don’t need any, Agate.” 

Agate pouts. “I’m not even tipsy, I’m just sleepy. It was a long day of kitten-sitting.”

“Fair enough.” That’s when Minori finally notices Elise’s presence. Her entire demeanor lights up. “Elise! You came!”

Elise clears her throat. “My schedule had an opening. I thought it would only be polite to accept your invitation.” 

“Well, I’m really glad your schedule opened up.” She sets the Rosé on the coffee table and reaches for the bottle opener. “Sorry I’m so late, guys. I was at the Guild giving Veronica my plans for the White Day festival.”

“There’s going to be a White Day festival?” Licorice asks. 

“Yup.”

Elise can’t prevent her relieved sigh. “So you figured something out. About time.”

The other girls look a little taken aback by her bluntness — and perhaps, in hindsight, she might’ve been a little gentler — but Minori actually nods in agreement. 

“I know — it was really coming down to the wire. But I didn’t get a good idea until I talked to Otmar this morning at Raeger’s restaurant.”

“Otmar?” Angela peers at Minori suspiciously. “What is the festival, exactly?”

“It’s a lunch auction,” Minori explains. “Otmar says they used to do them all the time when he was younger, but eventually it became kind of…frowned upon. But I’m tweaking it so it’s less weird, don’t worry.”

“What’s a lunch auction?” Agate asks. 

“It’s like this,” Minori begins after taking a sip of wine. “Anyone in town can make a lunch. You can put in a picnic basket or tupperware or a lunch bag — doesn’t matter, as long as it’s edible and packaged somehow. That lunch gets put on the auction table, and then it gets auctioned.” She takes another sip. “Whoever pays the most for the lunch gets to eat it with the person who made it — unless, of course, that person is uncomfortable with whoever bought their lunch, and we’re gonna have ways to monitor that.”

“But what if someone buys several lunches?” Iris asks.

“Well, then I guess it can either be a speed-date situation or a group lunch. You know?” She grins. “And, you know, nobody is required to put their lunch for sale. It’s supposed to just be a massive picnic, with a cute auction thrown in.”

“It’s brilliant,” Elise comments, earning some surprised looks from the other girls. “After all, there are famous bachelors and bachelorettes in this town — Raeger’s lunch is sure to fetch a high price, for example.”

Lillie looks away, crestfallen. But Minori doesn’t notice — instead she smiles at Elise’s compliment. 

“Thanks. I’m glad you like it. I actually was hoping you might put a lunch for sale.”

A wily smile spreads across Elise’s lips. “Oh, most certainly. I’ll invite a group of my suitors so they can fight over me and ratchet up the price. I presume all the proceeds are going to our fundraising efforts?”

“Absolutely. Speaking of,” Minori says, looking to Iris, “is Mistel around? I was hoping he might agree to being our auctioneer.” 

“He had a meeting with a possible buyer in Norchester,” Iris explains, “but he promised to be back sometime tonight. If you stay long enough, you’re bound to run into him.”

“Great.” She leans back into the rocking chair she’s chosen to inhibit, the one opposite Elise. She, rather abruptly, gulps down the remaining rosé in her wine glass. Meeting the stunned gazes of her friends, she admits, “It’s been a really long three days, you guys.”

The girls dissolve into giggles, of course. Even Elise, softened by the effects of the wine and the relief that Minori has finally come up with a White Day plan, can’t stop the smile that edges onto her lips. 

“Oh, by the way, I expect all of you to put lunches up for sale,” Minori says, “not just Elise.”

“Ooh, nuggets,” Agate says, “You know I’m no good at cooking.”

Iris strokes Agate’s hair. “I’ll help you, angel.”

“Talk about celebrity bachelorettes.” Agate rubs her eyes and finally sits up on the couch again. “I bet Iris will have loads of people trying to buy her lunch, what with her new bestselling book.”

“It’s not just me!” Iris objects, though her cheeks are flushed pink. “Lillie is a weather reporter, for goodness’ sake — you don’t think she already has a gaggle of young men wanting to go on a date with her?” 

Lillie turns beet red. “Iris —“

“Actually,” Minori cuts in, her tone weighted with double meaning, “Lillie, maybe you should tell them about, you know, the thing.”

Agate squeals. “Ooh, a thing?! What thing?”

Watching them go back and forth, Elise is surprised that women of their age still engage in such idle gossip. Of course, Agate is rather young, so at least she has that excuse, but Iris is at least thirty. Elise has always been taught that, past twelve years of age, she can never get too excited in public, let alone squeal. 

It is, as much as she finds it a little distasteful, terribly refreshing. In fact, saccharine as it may be, the buzzing excitement of the girls’ energies makes her head feel a little lighter. 

The kitten in her lap squirms a bit. Elise lays a hand on her tiny head, and she starts to purr again. 

“It’s not really a…thing,” Lillie starts, pulling Elise out of her thoughts. “It’s just, uh, you know. Well, I guess it’s kind of a thing.”

“Oh,” Licorice breathes. “It’s Raeger, isn’t it?”

Licorice hasn’t talked much this entire time, so Elise is surprised to hear that she would make such a confident accusation. Minori and Lillie must be equally surprised, because their mouths drop open. Lillie hides her face in her hands and lets out a little whimper. 

“How did you know?” Minori asks, while the other girls readjust in their seats a little, listening intently. 

“I, uh, well,” Licorice stammers, caught in the spotlight, “I saw what happened at the New Year’s Festival. I had assumed — but, I’m sorry, it wasn’t really my business —“

“No, no, it’s fine,” Lillie says, waving a hand. She seems to be coming, at least partly, to her senses. “I should’ve known someone would probably see.”

“See what?” Angela asks, one perfectly tweezed eyebrow raised in anticipation. 

“Indeed, do tell,” Iris says, adjusting her wine glass in her hand a little. 

Thus, Lillie recounts the fateful tale from the New Year’s festival, starting with the dreadful man who kept following her and ending with how Raeger swooped in to save her with a kiss. 

“And ever since then,” she finishes, her voice quiet, “I guess I just haven’t been able to see him the same way.”

Surprisingly enough, Lillie’s tale tugs at Elise’s (admittedly numbered) heart strings. Lillie is one of the few people in town that Elise could come up with absolutely no reason to hold a grudge against: she’s a sweet girl with a respectable job, and her unbreakable bond with her sister and father is straight out of a fairy tale. It seems logical that the only piece missing from Lillie’s puzzle would be that she ends up dating her best friend from childhood — and Elise, being a closet fairytale-lover, feels its their responsibility to see the Lillie’s tale reach a happily-ever-after.

“We must concoct a plan, of course,” Elise says, taking a sip of wine.

The other girls look at her with doe eyes. “A plan?” Licorice asks.

“Indeed. A plan. Raeger and Lillie are childhood friends. It’s only right they end up together.”

“Oh. Um, of course.” Licorice ducks her head just a little. Elise makes a mental note of her reaction, marking it down for later — just in case.

“You mean, like, play matchmakers?” Agate asks, her eyes sparkling. 

Lillie defensively waves her hands in front of her face. “No, no, that really won’t be —“

“Great idea, Elise.” Minori completely ignores Lillie’s disbelieving stare. “Raeger just needs to see Lillie as more than a childhood friend, you know?”

“She has to rock her hot bod!” Agate agrees, throwing her hands in the air. 

“Agate!” Lillie squeaks, hiding her face in her hands. 

“But how?” Angela asks, a little desolately. “Are you suggesting she walk into Raeger’s restaurant wearing lingerie?” 

The girls become quiet, considering Angela’s words. She’s right: they would need an excuse for Lillie to get gussied up. It would be uncharacteristic of her to walk around town in thigh-highs — and, worse, it could sully her flawless reputation as the adored Norchester weather reporter. 

“What about the fashion show?” Iris muses. “Anyone can be a model, yes?”

Agate grins. “Yes! That’s what I’m talking about! We can design a super cute outfit and Lillie can be one of the models!”

Elise smirks. “You know, that’s…plausible.”

“But isn’t the fashion show in, like, three days?” Lillie asks, taking her head out of her hands just briefly to bestow an incredulous look on Elise. “You can’t make a dress in three days.”

“Of course you can,” Minori replies. “Designing only takes a few hours. We could design it tonight, all together, if we wanted to.”

“Ooh, sounds like fun!” Agate says, jumping up. “Iris, where’s your paper and pencil?”

Iris shakes her head, standing. “Downstairs. Come help me get some.”

“Okay!”

They stand from the sofa and start toward the staircase. Lillie, meanwhile, has turned sheet-white. 

“Oh, no,” she says, “Absolutely not. This is not happening.”

“Why not, Lillie?” Minori asks. Elise notices that her voice has softened with sincerity; all traces of teasing are gone. “It’s not a bad idea. Raeger already loves you as his best friend. He just needs to love you as a young woman, too.”

Angela nods. “That’s fair.”

Lillie looks back and forth between all of them. “But…I…who will I model for? You already designed your dress days ago, Nori.”

“That’s okay, I’ll just use this new design —“

Elise clicks her tongue. “Certainly not.” She makes eye contact. “As the Agricultural Representative, you have a responsibility to win every single contest from now until Fall. You need to give it your best, and hiring your best friend as your model could dilute your chances of victory for multiple reasons.”

Lillie sighs in relief, not even looking at all offended at Elise’s words. “Finally some rationality. Thank you, Elise.”

“Which is why,” Elise continues, disregarding her, “Lillie will model for me. We can slightly misinterpret the theme to ensure I can only come in second place — not first.” 

Minori blinks, stunned. Then, a grin lights up her entire face. 

“Elise, you minx,” she drawls, taking a sip of wine. “You’d better be careful, or I might actually start to consider you a friend instead of a rival.” 

Her cheeks suddenly feel a little pink. “Yes, well, it’s almost certainly the wine that’s making me feel more generous than usual.” She looks down at her lap. “And this precious kitten.” As if she can understand Elise, the baby cat raises its head and blinks. Elise’s heart turns to mush. “Yes, sweet baby, I’m talking about you. Now go back to sleep.”

“So do I have absolutely no say in this?” Lillie asks, exasperated.

“Certainly not,” Elise says, and a “nope” comes from Minori. When Lillie looks helplessly to Licorice and Angela, they just smile at her. 

“It is a pretty good idea,” Licorice says softly, bringing her glass of rosé to her lips. “I wouldn’t turn it down.”

“We’ll help you win Kamil’s heart next fashion contest, Licorice,” Elise says dryly. 

Licorice’s face turns ashen, and Elise immediately regrets her comment. Apparently, Licorice’s rather obvious crush on Kamil is not obvious to everyone, because the remaining girls in the room gasp.

Of course, Elise can’t take anything back — so she keeps her head high, finishing off her third glass of wine but completely avoiding Licorice’s gaze. 

“Licorice, you like Kamil?” Minori asks, gently. 

But the botanist just stands from the sofa, setting her glass down on the coffee table. “I’ve got to use the bathroom. Excuse me.” 

She tiptoes past the girls and heads for the staircase. Elise’s ears are burning, but she doesn’t say anything, lest she risk offending anyone else. She suddenly makes eye contact with Minori — who, rather than looking miffed or appalled, gives her a sympathetic look. 

“Perhaps I should head home for the night,” she says, already lifting herself from the chair — much to the kitten’s protest — to gather her things. 

“No, you shouldn’t,” Angela says with a sigh. “We need your help designing the dress.” She pauses to straighten the hem of her shirt. “Don’t worry about it, Elise. I knew, too. Licorice is shy, but she’ll be okay.” She looks up at Lillie. “Actually, I think she’ll feel a little less lonely knowing there’s someone in the same boat.” 

Before anyone can comment further on the matter, Iris and Agate trudge back up the stairs, arms full of paper and pens. 

“Alright, time to make the prettiest friggin’ toga the world has ever seen!” Agate cries, dumping her pile of paper on the coffee table.

Iris and Mistel’s Kitchen. Night. 

Three hours later, the girls manage to throw together a viable design for the fashion contest. Elise agrees to take it home and sew it up by the competition — of course, Minori mentally notes that she’ll have to confirm with her again tomorrow, seeing as Elise also downed at least six glasses of wine by the time she started home. In fact, her rival-friend was so inebriated that she actually kissed both of Minori’s cheeks before leaving. She smiles at the memory.

Elise also ended up taking home the little kitten that spent the entire night in her lap. Agate tries to give the other kitten, the tom-cat, to Minori, but she insists that she’d rather pick him up later in the week when she can consider adopting a new pet with a sober mindset. She isn’t quite as brave as Elise.

One by one the girls leave until it’s just Iris and Minori, the latter of whom insists on staying to help clean up and do dishes. 

“Are you sure?” Iris asks when she offers to help. “You’re not too tired?”

“I’m pretty wired up, actually,” she replies. “Doing dishes usually helps calm me down. Something about the warm water.”

And so, they situate themselves at the sink: Iris on drying duty and Minori on washing. Their lack of conversation doesn’t feel awkward, rather, Minori feels at peace. After all, it’s been a long — but terribly fun — evening, and Minori has never been one to force conversation when it isn’t necessary. 

Eventually, however, Iris comments over the steady rush of the sink water, “I saw you and Klaus sitting in the West Park earlier today.”

From her slightly cautious tone, Minori doesn’t know quite how to respond. She settles with nonchalance — after all, she’s quite sure that if any of the girls, even Iris, have discovered her budding feelings for Klaus, they would’ve brought it up during the course of the evening. 

“Oh, um, yeah.” She wipes her hands briefly on one of the dish towels. "He was helping me with some of my ideas for the White Day festival.”

Iris smiles thoughtfully. “He does have a rather good listening ear, doesn’t he? I used to work through ideas for my novels with him all the time.”

They fall into silence again, and Minori wonders if — hopes, really — that that’s the end of that conversation. To her understanding, Iris has long-since moved on from her feelings for Klaus. Apparently they dated before Minori was in town, and only for a very short while. She hadn’t previously considered that if Iris still harbors feelings for him, even something small, that it could put a wedge in their friendship.

Minori grabs another wine glass from their stack next to the sink. The stem is stained with chocolate — no doubt from the delicious eclairs that Elise brought. 

“Minori,” Iris begins — and she immediately knows where this conversation is going from her tone of voice — “I don’t mean to pry, but —“

“There’s nothing going on between me and Klaus,” she blurts out, refusing to make eye contact with Iris. “At least, not like that.”

But Iris snorts, rather uncharacteristically. “You misunderstand me, dearest. I’m long past my feelings for Klaus — if there ever were deep ‘feelings’ in the first place.”

As she passes the washed wine glass to Iris, they’re forced to make eye contact. But she looks more sincere than any actress Minori has ever seen on TV, so her heartbeat slows down a little. “Oh. Sorry.”

Iris shrugs. Smiles. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” 

A slight pause. Minori turns the faucet knob to the right to heat up the water a little more. Suddenly the tips of her fingers feel frozen.

“It’s just,” Iris starts again, not making eye contact, “no matter where you stand on the matter, Klaus looks at you in a way I’ve never seen him look at anyone.” She sets the now-dry wine glass on the counter. “You must notice that he has feelings for you.”

Minori scoffs. “Oh, I highly doubt there are any ‘feelings’ involved. We’re just…playful friends.”

Still, despite her joking, her heart flutters in her chest. Klaus does look at her in a sort of funny way, like he’s staring straight into her soul. And today, when he asked how he might identify her lunch at the White Day auction — does he really intend on buying it? Does that mean he wants to go on a date with her? She certainly wouldn’t deny him if he asked her on a date. And, on that note, if he came to her house at midnight and declared he wanted to make rampant love to her, well, she might play coy for a little bit, but she might not deny that, either, but perhaps that’s just because she so loves the way his hair might look in the moonlight as he kisses her senselessly —

“Minori?”

“What! Oh, shit —“

Iris calling her name causes her to jump, which in turn causes her to drop the plate she’s been vigorously scrubbing into the sink. The resulting splash of water drenches the front of her sweater. 

“I’m so sorry,” Iris says, handing her a dry rag. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s totally fine, I was just zoning. You know, like I do.” She takes the rag and dabs helplessly at her sweater. 

Iris kindly reaches over and turns off the faucet. Pulling the last dish from the sink, she forgoes her towel method and instead just places it on the drying rack. 

“All I’m saying,” she says, turning around so that she can lean with her back against the counter, “is that Klaus…isn’t exactly who he seems.” 

Minori pauses in her dabbing. She looks up at Iris with wide eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, it’s like this.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Klaus’ past is a mystery. Half of his current life is a mystery. And he’ll do absolutely everything in his power to keep it that way.” 

She blinks. Remembers how, earlier today when they were talking in the park, he completely avoided her questions about where he came from and what he did before he arrived in Oak Tree Town. And —

“Have you noticed how often he goes to the city?” Iris asks, quietly. “And how when you ask why he’s going, he never answers?”

Minori doesn’t respond — not because she doesn’t agree, but more because she’s scared of the implications. Klaus is indeed gone from Oak Tree Town a couple of times a week, sometimes for full days and nights. He did, after all, promise to find her a cotton candy maker. 

“Does he have, like, another job or something?” she asks, hoping Iris can provide a simple answer.

But she just shrugs. “I have no idea.” Her expression softens. “And truthfully, Minori, if you do have feelings for him —“

“Which I don’t.”

A coy smile appears on Iris’ lips. “Of course. But on the off-chance that you’re lying, which wouldn’t be unusual because you’re a terrible liar…” She inhales. Resets in a more serious tone. “I’m not trying to dissuade you from a relationship, if that’s what you want. But I care for you, and I’d hate for this to end in heartbreak.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not about to hand him my heart to break, isn’t it?”

The door to the house swings open. The creaking of the wood startles Minori a bit, and she’s grateful there’s nothing for her to drop in the dish water this time.

“What’s this about heartbreak?”

Mistel, finally returned from his meeting in Norchester, stands in the doorway. His hair is wind-tousled, and his almost boyish physique is swallowed in a large gray overcoat.

“You’re back,” Iris greets, smiling at her brother. “How was the meeting?”

Mistel’s demeanor turns unusually dull. “Awful, to be rather honest.” He sighs, removing his suave top hat and hanging it on a hook near the door. "Right before I left, I couldn’t find the blueprints I meant to sell with the antique.” In a show of defeat, he hangs his head. “I’m afraid they’ve been stolen.”

Minori blinks. “Stolen?” She feels like that conclusion might’ve been a little bit rushed, but Mistel is nothing if not shamelessly dramatic.

Iris seems to be thinking the same thing. “But how do you know you haven’t just misplaced them?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “I tore the house apart looking before I left.” Donning a tiny smile, he adds, “I thought you’d be upset about the state I left it in.”

She tuts a bit, crossing her arms. “Yes, well, Agate and I did a lot of cleaning before the rest of the girls came over. But I didn’t realize it was because something had been stolen.” In a tone that sounds more like a worried mother than a frustrated sister, she adds, “You should’ve told me.” 

He crosses to sit at the kitchen table. “Alas, but then I would’ve ruined your lovely ladies’ soirée.” Collapsing into the chair, he explains, “In any case, yesterday I laid out the blueprints on  my desk in the shop so that I would be prepared for the meeting. Even though I looked everywhere for them, they were gone. A keen customer must’ve realized how much they were worth and snatched them when I wasn’t looking.”

“And just how much are they worth?” Minori asks, turning around to lean against the counter. She isn’t sure she believes that anyone in Oak Tree Town would do such a thing, but perhaps for the right price, a visiting tourist might’ve been tempted.

“At least ten thousand dollars.”

She utters a rather colorful curse. “Ten thousand dollars?” 

Mistel nods sullenly. He looks rather like a waterboarded cat. “Indeed.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, frustrated that someone could do this to her friend. “It must’ve been one of your out-of-town customers. We’ll make a poster or something. I’ll let Veronica know when I head to the Guild for our meeting tomorrow.”

Mistel waves a hand. “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure they’re long gone from Oak Tree Town by now.” With a sigh, he adds, “Of course, thank you, in any case.”

Iris opens one of the cabinet doors to start putting away the dishes. As she does so, Minori makes a mental note to let Veronica know about the missing blueprints, anyway. Surely they could put together some sort of investigation. 

Still, she remains a little doubtful. Oak Tree Town doesn’t have a proper police force, let alone any stray detectives. They share a law enforcement with the next biggest town over — they’ve just never really had to worry about crime in such a nice town. Now, with the growing population and increased tourism, she wonders if this, too, will have to change. 

“Oh, Minori, why don’t you ask Mistel about the White Day festival?” Iris suggests, pulling her from her melancholy thoughts. “No doubt that will cheer him up.” 

Mistel lifts his head. “A White Day festival?”

Her worries of change will have to wait, she decides, as she notices the hopeful look in MIstel’s eyes. 

She grins. “Indeed. Mistel, how would you like to be an auctioneer for a day?” 

Elise’s Manor. Night.

Elise’s walk home is uneventful. In her drunken state, she nearly trips up the cobblestone stairs leading up to her mansion, but she can’t bring herself to mind. After all, the night sky is peppered with gleaming stars, and with her newly-adopted kitten curled up in her deep peacoat pocket, she feels a deep sense of contentment. 

She approaches the front door of the mansion, fumbling in the not-kitten pocket for her keyring. She stands on the porch a bit longer than usual, trying to find her house key with nothing more than the moonlight as her guide. A long time ago, when she first moved to Oak Tree Town, she denied her locksmith’s suggestion to just give her a master key for every building on the farm. Instead, she requested each key be color-coded, with the key to her own home being her favorite shade of pink.

She finally finds the right key, and sighs. She would like to capture this moment, she thinks — between the wine, the lingering effects of laughing with the girls, and her new kitten, she feels rather content just now, standing on the porch, drinking in the spring moonlight. 

That contentment is shattered, however, when she hears something shatter just inside the house. Despite the immediate pounding in her heart, she shoves the key in the lock, turns it, and shoves the front door open.

Inside, she’s met with a scene that, to any person who didn’t just singlehandedly down a bottle of wine in one evening, would be very worrisome: Madame Dupont stands at the bottom of the stairs in her nightgown, while a very alarmed-looking Nadi stands opposite her in the entrance of the parlor. The antique lamp that usually sits on the little table next to the banister is shattered on the floor in between them, and Dupont is holding what remains of the glass body. 

“Merde, mon dieu,” Elise swears, looking between them with wide eyes. “What the hell —“

“You,” Madame hisses, noticing her for the first time. She takes a heavy step toward her, waving the broken lamp-shard. “You lying little witch —“

Madame raises her hand — the one with the glass shard— high into the air, preparing to strike.

Due to her incapacitation, Elise’s reaction time is abysmally slow. Nadi’s, however, is not. In two large strides, he crosses the foyer to stand in front of Elise, blocking her from Dupont. 

While Elise appreciates the gallant gesture, she knows that this battle is between her and ex-nanny. She feebly attempts to elbow Nadi out of the way, but he won’t budge — she catches his gaze when he looks over his shoulder at her and his eyes are steely gray.

“Don’t touch her,” Nadi says, and Elise is surprised — and impressed — by the intensity of his warning.

 She stands on her tiptoes, attempting to make eye contact with Madame over Nadi’s shoulder. “Sweet Angelique,” she drawls, trying in vain to conceal her slurring, “please do explain to me why you’ve broken my favorite foyer lamp.”

“I’ll tell you when you stop hiding behind your Silk Country street rat —“

“Oh, absolutely not.” 

Elise finally pushes Nadi out of the way using both her arms. He stumbles to the side, thankfully making no effort to stand between them again, allowing her to stand-face-to-face with Madame. 

“Nadi had no part in this,” she explains, finally understanding what’s happening: their Prince-ruse is up. “I paid him off to keep quiet about our little prank.” She looks over at him — at the way he’s perched, ready to jump to her defense, and, upon feeling the warmth that blossoms in her chest like a spring crocus, adds, “He’s a more esteemed member of this household than you are and ever will be, and for the rest of your duration here, you’re to treat him as such.”

As much as she means for the speech to be dignified, her last couple of words slur together. In an attempt to regain her mental foothold, she reaches for the loping stair banister, but instead loses her balance when she underestimates how far away it is. Nadi is quick to stretch out an arm to catch her, while Madame steps away, disgusted.

“Elise, are you alright?” Nadi asks. If she weren’t so woozy, she might be touched by the evident concern in his tone.

“Certainly,” she replies, raising a finger and a foot and abruptly falling back against Nadi once again. The warmth radiating from his chest makes her feel like she’s standing with her back to a cozy bonfire. She remembers the night sky, her moment of contentment, and smiles despite herself.

Madame’s nose crinkles. She must piece together the implications of her slurring, stumbling, and strangely sappy expression. “Mon dieu, you’re drunk.” 

It’s less of a question and more of a disgusted realization. Elise grins.

“Absolutely,” she agrees, and promptly throws up right in front of Madame’s feet. 

The next few moments pass like an out-of-body experience: Nadi manages to support her while she threatens to collapse on the floor. Madame starts fuming in French about how while she was off “galavanting” with her “nightmare girl-club,” she called Elise’s father and found out that Nadi is indeed not a prince from Silk Country and that Elise indeed has made a fool of her for the past several days. Meanwhile, Nadi calls for Jenny to help Elise and clean up her mess. And meanwhile to that, Madame keeps screaming in French —

“Ça suffit!” Elise cries finally, shocking all of them into silence. Somehow, standing in front of Madame with some drool on the corner of her mouth and supported by Nadi’s arm around her waist, she feels without fear for the first time in days. 

“Cela suffira Madame, merci beaucoup.” She sighs. Wipes the drool from her mouth. Nods at her best servant. “Jenny, when you’re finished cleaning this up, please take Madame Dupont to bed. I fear she’s feeling ill.”

Jenny stands from the puke-stain and nods. “Yes ma’am.” Perhaps Elise is imagining it, but she thinks she sees a tiny smile playing on her servant’s lips. 

“I will not be — be put to bed,” Madame splutters.  

“Oh but yes, you most certainly will, and as will I,” Elise replies, wiping her bangs away from her sweaty forehead. “I think the both of us could benefit from some rest. We can discuss our dispute in the morning. Le matin apporte les renouveaux; that’s what my mother always said.” She tries to stand straight but staggers; Nadi catches her. “Goodnight,” she manages, and then drops her head again. 

Jenny, bless her, takes the shard of the broken lamp out of Madame’s hand and drops it in her cleaning bucket. Then, she motions to the stairs. “Shall we, ma’am?”

Madame shoots Elise the nastiest glare to ever exist, and then turns on her heel, trouncing up the stairs with Jenny obediently close at her heels. 

When they’re gone, Elise sinks into herself. She feels heavy. Hopefully, she thinks as she stares at the stain she’s left on the runner rug, the calmness in her stomach means she’s done sicking all over the floor. She wonders if perhaps she shouldn’t have had quite so much wine at Iris’ darling get-together — but then, of course, she doesn’t dare imagine how this situation might’ve gone down had she been sober. 

Nadi suddenly clears his throat. She starts — she’s entirely forgotten he’s still there, even though he’s half-supporting her as she clings to his waist with one arm. 

“Elise, are you…alright?” he asks gently, like prodding a sleeping tiger with a stick. He’s looking at her with one eyebrow raised. He’s in pajamas. Pajamas! She hasn’t seen a grown man in pajamas since she was a teenager, or younger.

“Oh, absolutely,” she replies, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “I always feel just peachy after sicking all over my foyer floor, don’t you?”

“Dupont didn’t…frighten you?” he asks, and he’s still looking at her so peculiarly, like she’s a kitten who’s been forced to take a bath. 

She shakes her head. “Dupont doesn’t scare me. Few things do. Besides, my drunkenness makes for a perfect suit of armor against her word-daggers, wouldn’t you agree, dear Nadi?”

He scoffs, but there’s a softness in his eyes. “You really are drunk. You know, in my two years of working here, I’ve never seen you take even a sip of alcohol. I guess now I know why.”

“Mmm.” She points a lazy finger at him. “I resent that insinuation.” Lips loose with wine, she continues, “It’s not that I’m an angry drunk or even a sloppy drunk, it’s actually that I find myself particularly amiable when I’m intoxicated — and one must keep up appearances.”

“You’re out of your mind. Come on, let’s get you up—“

Whatever he’s about to say is abruptly interrupted by a mewling sound from her pocket.

She gasps. “Mon minou!” 

“Your what?”

She reaches into her pocket and gently pulls out her new kitten. “Oh, my sweet princess, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot you were in there!” She brushes her nose with the kitten’s. “Are you alright, my darling?”

“You’re kidding,” Nadi says, deadpan, staring at the kitten in disbelief. 

“Indeed, I’m kitten,” she replies, chortling at her distasteful pun.

He pinches his the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “You need to go to bed.”

She cradles her kitten in her arms and sighs. “Yes, well, I’d rather like to, but I don’t completely trust myself to get up the stairs. Shall I sleep in the parlor? Or my office?” Addressing her kitten, she adds, “What do you think, ma princesse? Where would we be more comfy?” 

“Neither,” Nadi answers instead, touching the small of her back. Guiding her toward the staircase, he continues, “Come on, I’ll help you up.”

Elise is content enough with this decision. As much as it would be easier to fall into oblivion in her office chair or the parlor or even the floor, at this point, she would rather like to wrap herself up in her pink duvet with minou and sleep until well after the sun is up. 

“You know, Nadi,” she says when they’re halfway up the stairs, “your cold façade doesn’t trick me. You can be pleasant — when you want to be.” Her voice is loud and brash to be saying such words, especially in the quiet tenseness of the entry foyer.

He doesn’t respond, but he moves a hand to her waist as she stumbles a little against the banister. She likes the way his arm feels like a wall against the small of her back, like she could lean all the way backwards and still never fall. He would catch her, she thinks. It is a soft sentiment, one that she wouldn’t dare allow herself to feel were she sober.

They reach the door to her bedroom and she slumps against the frame, exhausted. Little minou jumps out of her arms and proudly enters the room, as if she somehow has some keen intuition that tells her she’s arrived home.

“Goodnight, Elise,” Nadi says, starting to turn away from her.

“Wait.”

He stops. Looks at her. Grins. “What, do you need to be tucked in, too?”

Her shoes are pinching her toes, her brain is swimming, and her forehead is terribly sweaty — and yet all she can focus on is the way his hair looks so nice when it’s tied away from his face. It accentuates the sharpness of his jawline, reveals the muscles in his neck.

She crosses her arms over her chest.

“If you tell anyone about what happened tonight,” she begins, surprisingly un-slurred, “and I mean any of it, I’ll find the remains of the lamp Madame shattered and shank you with it myself. Got it?”

But she may as well have threatened to put a downy pillow under his head and sing him to sleep, because he just chuckles quietly. 

“Of course, your highness. I wouldn’t expect anything otherwise.”

“Excellent. Goodnight, Nadi.”

“Goodnight, Elise. Sleep well.”

[master-sass-blast]

Strong as Stone --Part Thirty-Nine.

IT’S 4AM, I’M WATCHING THE PUNISHER, AND MY BRAIN IS TURNING TO MUSH! LET’S DO THIS!!!

Last time, we got to see a battle of epic proportions! Fun stuff!

This time, we get to see the aftermath of the snap (not pictured) and watch our team make a plan to reverse the effects of Thanos’s work.

Rating: M for death and generally morbid/serious themes.

Pairings: Okoye x M’Baku and Shuri x OC.

@the-last-hair-bender, @skysynclair19

Failure is not an end. It is simply an opportunity to try things a different way.

At first, she thought she was dead. She felt numb, maybe a little nauseous, and completely detached from the world.

And then she could hear voices. Screaming, calls of name, cries for help.

Something’s missing... Where’s... where’s M’Baku?

Okoye opened her eyes. She was still on the battlefield, crouched where she and M’Baku had stood when Thanos had captured the last Infinity Stone.

And M’Baku... was gone.

She lurched to her feet, staggering as she whipped her gaze around, searching for any sign of M’Baku. “M’Baku? M’Baku!”

As she scanned the field, she realized that several people --countless people--were missing. Aneka. Captain Rogers. Agent Romanoff.

T’Challa.

Shit, Okoye thought as the gravity of the situation hit her. Shit, shit, shit shit shit--

“Okoye!”

She whirled around just in time to brace herself before Dewani slammed into her. She wrapped her arms around the teen’s broad torso as she clung to her, letting out choked, dry sobs.

“Izgebe’s gone --and M’Baku. I can’t find him. He was with you, and he vanished, and I--”

“I know, I know,” Okoye said as soothingly as she could. “It’s okay. We’re okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

“Dewani!”

The teen looked up just in time to see Shuri sprinting towards her. She broke away from Okoye and wrapped her arms around her girlfriend, clutching the smaller young woman against her body as though she were about to vanish as well.

Okoye swallowed hard --and turned to hug Ayo when her second in command grabbed her by the arm.

“What --what just happened?” Ayo asked, voice shaking as she wrapped her arms around Okoye’s waist.

Okoye swallowed hard --once, twice. “I wish I knew.”

“We’re getting reports from all over the world. Based on the numbers we’re getting, it seems like... it seems like half the population has disappeared.”

Gamora grimaced, hand shaking slightly as she gestured at nothing in particular. “What did I tell you? That was his mission. And if Terra looks this way, I guarantee the rest of the galaxy --the whole fucking universe--does as well.”

Okoye braced herself against the table of the conference room as her head span.

Half of the world was gone. Half of the team they’d had going into the battle. Half of Wakanda.

Aneka. Thor. Captain Rogers. T’Challa. M’Baku. Djabi. Agent Romanoff. Wand--

Stop, Okoye told herself. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to push away the despair and panic she felt threatening to overwhelm her. Going through the names isn’t going to help.

“What do we do?” Nakia asked, eyes red from crying but tone determined.

“We don’t do anything,” Gamora replied, eyes dry and voice defeated. “We lost.”

“No!” Nakia spat out. “That isn’t the answer! We can’t just--”

“Right now, we can’t do anything,” Okoye said calmly, training kicking into gear. “Not until we consult with the new leadership of Wakanda.”

Shuri had always been small. Even as a baby, Okoye could remember how tiny she had been, small and delicate with an unbelievably powerful set of lungs.

Now, in a clean dress and a blazer, she looked even smaller.

Okoye knew better than to underestimate her for her size, though. She’d watched Shuri grow up through the years, a wickedly brilliant scientist with an intellect that was only outmatched by her sarcastic streak. She knew --almost better than anyone else, considering that she’d had to wrangle her out of several ridiculous situations during her earlier years of service--that as delicate as Shuri looked, she was made of solid vibranium on the inside.

But now, in the wake of her brother’s disappearance and their loss to Thanos...

Ramonda sat down next to her daughter and took hold of her hand. “Deep breaths.”

Shuri ducked her head, shoulders trembling as she tried to hold back sobs. “I can’t--”

Okoye walked forward and knelt in front of the younger woman. “My Queen--”

Shuri recoiled, flinching back into her seat. “No --no, I’m not--”

“My Queen,” Okoye repeated, gently, softly. “What do we do next?”

Shuri clenched her jaw, lifted her head, eyes wet and burning all at once. “We find Thanos. And we kick his stupid, over-sized purple ass into the ground.”

Dewani, somehow, looked a little better suited in the set of Chief’s armor that she wore as she strode towards them.

It’s probably her size, Okoye thought idly as she noted the bags under the new Jabari Chief’s eyes. She nodded politely to Dewani --a respect to her new status--then held her arms out when the teen slumped towards her. “How are you?”

“Tired. O’Chenga went missing after all of it. Half the tribe is gone. F’Tendi managed to survive, though. I think he followed me here.”

Of course he did. Okoye grimaced as she patted Dewani’s back. “It’ll be fine. We’ll deal with him eventually.”

There was the sound of footsteps pounding against the hallway floor, and then Dewani was breaking away from Okoye to catch Shuri in a massive hug.

At least they have each other, Okoye thought as she tried to tamp down the surge of loneliness --abandonment--she felt at the sight.

Nakia sidled up next to her, looking just as tired and broken as Dewani and Shuri did. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m alive,” Okoye said. “I’m awake. I’ll keep moving until I’m not.”

Nakia let out a hollow chuckle and nodded. “I’m about the same. Do you think there’s a way to reverse all of this?”

“There better be,” Okoye growled under her breath. “Or Thanos is going to catch my spear in some very sensitive places.”

“We need to make a plan for... for whatever we can do next,” Shuri said, still standing in the circle of Dewani’s arms. “We need to figure out if there’s even a ‘next’ we can accomplish.”

Okoye nodded. “I’m ready when you are, my Queen.”

“I think not!”

Okoye rolled her eyes as F’Tendi stormed around a corner. For Bast’s sake, why couldn’t he have disappeared too? She activated her spear as he marched towards them, ready to step in and have him thrown out of the palace.

“Are you fucking serious?” Shuri snapped as Dewani recoiled. “Half the world disappeared, and you’re still on some sort of warpath against us?”

“I will not have that degenerate blasphemer lead our tribe!” F’Tendi snarled as he jabbed a finger at Dewani. “She is an unfit Chief!”

“Maybe you missed the part where ‘half the world disappeared,’” Nakia interjected, scowling. “Your nephew included. We have more important matters at hand than tribal politics.”

“She helped a dangerous demonic conduit escape captivity and unleashed it on Wakanda!” F’Tendi shouted. “She is a traitor to the Jabari tribe and a stain on Hanuman’s name.”

Okoye rolled her eyes. “And that will be handled once we figure out how to save the world. Get him out of here!”

“I will not--”

“You won’t what?” Dewani stepped forward, glaring at her uncle before the guards could drag him away. “Are you really so self-centered that you can’t stop pushing your own damn agenda against me for five seconds? Half our tribe is gone. Half of the entire world is gone! People have lost family members, partners, and friends today without any warning or explanation! Complain all you want, but until we figure out how to get M’Baku back, I’m the Chief. The council voted against you, and there’s nothing you can do to change that. Now, I’m going to go figure out how to make sure that people around the world get their loved ones back. If you want to scream at something, pick a wall and go until you pass out --or maybe just bash your head into it instead.”

F’Tendi glowered at her --and then his face softened, relaxed completely. “I understand. Let me know how I can be of assistance.”

Okoye stared after him, unblinking --until she saw Mantis standing next to where F’Tendi had been, hand still extended.

Dewani regarded the antennae-d alien and smirked. “Nicely done.”

In Shuri’s lab, things weren’t much better.

Dr. Banner and Clint were physically restraining Tony --well, more standing between him and Sargent Barnes, but the intent was still easily readable--who was shouting over Sam at Bucky --who, to his credit, was taking everything in silence.

“Why are you screaming in my lab?” Shuri asked as they walked in.

“He killed my mother!” Tony snapped, pointing angrily at the Sargent.

“And?” Dewani asked as she followed Shuri.

“Are you fucking serious? It was my mom. One of the few people who ever gave a shit about me.”

“Yeah, and he did it when he was working for HYDRA, right? Which meant he was being used as a gun and kept in a brainwashed state, right? Which means he wasn’t in charge of his faculties, and is just as much a victim as your mother, right?” Dewani leveled Tony with a cool stare when he just glared at her. “I’m sorry you lost your mother, Mr. Stark. I know how that feels. But I also know that you can’t hang it all on the Sargent’s head. Not legally, and definitely not morally. Go take a few minutes to cool off if you need to, and come back when you’re ready to help us unfuck things --without any unnecessary screaming.”

Tony clenched, then unclenched his jaw. “I’m not exactly sure that an unfucking is realistically possible. We don’t exactly have an easy way to reach everyone we lost. We don’t even know where we are. And we also don’t know where Thanos is.”

“Not entirely,” Loki piped up from where he’d been watching everyone. “The missing people are in the realm of the Soul Stone.”

“Great,” Tony said. “And that means what, exactly?”

“It’s an interdimensional pocket contained within the stone,” Wong explained. “Anyone consumed by the stone is transported there.”

“Okay, so it’s inside one of the Infinity Stones,” Tony said. “Which are with Thanos. I’m not sure how we’re any closer to saving half the universe. And, pause button, do we even know if the people we lost are still alive?”

“My brother’s kimoyo beads went with him, and they’re still transmitting his vitals. If he’s alive, I’m willing to bet everyone else is, too. Dr. Strange,” Shuri said, “you have the ability to teleport through space, right?”

“I can, but breaking into the realm of an Infinity Stone is an entirely different beast.”

“Not to mention that Thanos is in possession of the Mind Stone,” Loki added. “Which means he would have the ability to know our plan before we enacted it.”

“I don’t think so,” Shuri said, shaking her head. “I saw the gauntlet before Thanos disappeared. It was fried from whatever he did. I doubt he’d be able to use it --at least, not without a lot of difficulty or repairs.”

“Okay, so let’s assume we have a --small--window,” Okoye said, stepping into the conversational fray. “Would it be possible to get into the soul stone realm without confronting Thanos?”

“Not probable, but not impossible,” Loki said after a moment of consideration. “Between Dr. Strange, Dr. Banner, Mr. Stark, myself, Wong, and Queen Shuri, I think we’d be able to work out something.”

“We could send a team in,” Clint suggested. “Extract our people so we can take down Thanos, and figure out how to restore the rest of the world when we don’t have to deal with him.”

Shuri nodded. “I think that’s our best option.”

“It’s our only option,” Dewani corrected.

“Yeah, and it’s probably suicide,” Tony said. “We are literally traveling into a place housed by a thing that eats people’s souls.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Sam asked.

Tony grimaced and shook his head. “No. We need to get the jump on Thanos, and we need to do it fast.”

“Then let’s get to work,” Shuri said as she cracked her knuckles.

The team heading in was small, to minimize potential loses. According to Loki, the realm would be protected by various demons and other horrors hosted by the stone to prevent its quarry from escaping.

Stark was right, Okoye thought as she prepped the weapons she’d be taking on her trip in. This is probably suicide.

There was a knock at her office door, and then Ayo barged in, slamming the door behind her. “Why are you going? Why aren’t you sending me?”

“The Queen thought it would be best if I went in to ascertain the status of her brother and Chief M’Baku. I agreed.”

“You’re the General!” Ayo spat out. “They need you here!”

“If something happens to me--” Okoye clasped Ayo on the shoulder “--I know you will be ready to handle things.”

A flicker of unreadable emotion flashed across Ayo’s face, and then she wrapped her arms around her friend, holding Okoye tight. “You better make it back. Please. I can’t lose anyone else.”

Okoye hugged her back, just a tight. “I will. I promise.”