#heremita

[upsurge-esp]

[sleepless-in-southlands]

You're Telling Me Lies (I'm Telling You Myths)

Ao3

Summary: As a mob boss in Heremita, Scar's life was an inherently dangerous one. Surviving as long as he had required a certain level of risk-awareness, and the ability to make choices that would prioritize his safety as much as they did his power. So as to why he kept ending up spending time with another mob's right-hand, one who he was fairly certain would happily kill him at a moment's notice… well, Scar was still working on rationalizing that. Content: AU - Mob bosses, open-ended; flirting/threatening/who knows, trust issues, myths, flower language, poor communication, the rituals are intricate and right now that's not helping them ok Pairings: Fruity scarian (the plot is that they won't admit it), background also-fruity-but-not-admitting-it grumbo, platonic scar + bdubs Notes: Part six of the Bloody Fruits au

~

“Just buy a second bed.”

“We generally try to avoid staying overnight. A second bed encourages the opposite.”

“It doesn’t seem as though having only one bed is serving as much of a deterrent.” Grian pointed out, glancing at Scar. “Is it a cost issue? I’m sure the South could afford to supply its ally with another bed.”

Scar huffed, feigning insult. “A cost issue? Have you never seen the goods of the Glass Empire?”

“Goods?” Grian echoed questioningly, staring at Scar in a way that meant nothing but, as of late, hadn’t once failed at getting under Scar’s skin in the most maddening of ways.

“Gems and jewels and precious metals? All of exquisite taste and high cost?” Grian’s expression didn’t change, not that Scar truly expected it to. “You’ve been to at least one of my shops before, you know they’re jewelry stores.”

“Rocks don’t interest me much.” Grian said with a shrug, very purposefully adjusting his amethyst tie clip. Scar rolled his eyes.

“Alright then, what does interest you?”

“My work.”

Scar waited for Grian to say something else, chuckling when it became clear he wasn’t going to. “That’s all? Just your work?”

“Were you expecting something else?”

“What about- I don’t know- your employer?”

“Mr. Eris is rather heavily related to my work.”

“You know what I’m referring to.” “I believe what you’re referring to comes from a time where I was… less than rested, and you were nearly dead.” Grian dodged neatly, ever so slightly tilting his head in mock confusion. “So I don’t know if it’s a trustworthy reference.”

Get an inch, lose a mile Scar thought as he sighed, ignoring the smirk Grian technically wasn’t making but was certainly present. “Still. Nothing else?”

“You know my profession. Would you prefer I not give it my full attention?”

“I mean your out-of-work hobbies.” A blank stare. “Oh, I know you know what a hobby is.”

“My hobbies are also work related.” Grian stated with another shrug.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Are you trying to tell me, what, you don’t do anything except work? If it doesn’t have anything to do with being a right-hand, it doesn’t have anything to do with you either?”

Scar’s tone was teasing, non-serious; if Grian wanted to keep his hobbies to himself, Scar wasn’t going to pry, but he was going to poke fun. Grian’s reaction, however, was oddly somber. His face shifted minutely, but instead of scoffing or rolling his eyes, his lips downturned into something that could be read as rueful.

“My job is my priority.” He said flatly, the statement shadowed by a hidden meaning Scar could sense but not make out, before turning away from Scar to organize supplies at the back of the bar.

Frowning, Scar crossed his arms over the bartop. He had been at the End Crystal for about thirty minutes, having originally come to talk to Mumbo only to learn the head of the South was ‘busy.’

(“He’s busy with paperwork at the moment,” Grian had told him, which either meant that Mumbo wasn’t there or Grian was forcing him to rest, because never once had Scar seen Mumbo prioritize paperwork over anything, “but I can pass a message if you want.”)

Scar, whose business wasn’t quite worthy of leaving a message over, had opted to chat with Grian instead. Whether or not Grian would have entertained him in usual circumstances was moot, the right-hand having briefly traded his role as overbearing casino security guard for that of bartender, making it difficult for him to escape Scar. The only bartender employed for that portion of the day shift had called out sick, and since the End Crystal was rarely busy enough in the daylight hours to need more than one, they were short-staffed. The next shift worker wasn’t set to arrive for a few hours, and with no extras on stand-by (they had yet to fill the most recently vacated position, and Scar was starting to doubt they ever would- not for the first time, he considered seeing if he could convince them to let him handle it on their behalf), the options had come down to Grian filling in for a bit or closing the bar during business hours. Apparently, Grian bartending was the lesser evil.

Not that Scar was convinced it was any sort of evil. Grian had mostly been sorting and putting away supplies, a task he carried out with familiar ease even while talking with Scar, and the few drinks he had mixed he had done so with deft and clever movements. It was obvious Grian was experienced with working behind a bar, not that he was going to directly acknowledge that to Scar.

(“You’ve worked as a bartender before?” Scar had asked, watching as Grian flipped a bottle in hand and poured it into a metal shaker, arm rising and lowering gracefully as he did so.

“I have more important things to tend to than our drink selection.” Grian had responded, non-committal, as he lidded the container and began to shake it. The ice within the shaker started audibly cracking right away, slamming against itself and the metal around it, tossed about with the strength of arms built by cracking bones. Scar told himself he wasn’t thinking about that.

“You’re pouring drinks as skillfully as you break fingers.” Scar pointed out, earning an amused eyebrow raise from Grian as he did just that, a dark gold liquid spilling out of the shaker into the tall glass he had put onto the bartop beforehand. “You clearly know what you’re doing.”

“Interested in what I can do with my hands, Mr. Chronos?” Was Grian’s only reply, detached and cheeky, leaving Scar to pretend he was glaring at Grian when he was really watching his fingers flex as he smoothly slid the drink down to the patron that had ordered it.)

Grian had moved back to the counter area by the time Scar reemerged from his thoughts, stacking drink napkins underneath the lip of the bar, a silent indication that Scar could keep talking if he wanted to. Scar grinned at the gesture. Even if Grian was playing a passive role in the conversation at best, and even if he was working the entire time, and even if he was most certainly going to abandon Scar the moment he was no longer working the bar, Grian did want to talk to Scar.

Not that it mattered to Scar whether or not Grian wanted to talk to him. Or, it did, but only because it was important for Scar to be on good terms with all his organizational allies, like he was with Mumbo. But not exactly like with Mumbo, obviously, not that he would necessarily be against- wait-

By his Empire, Scar was starting to sound as bad as Mumbo. 

“No hobbies, and the only job you'll admit to working is this one. You're a difficult man to small talk with, Mr. Penemue.” Scar finally said, using the addressing conventions he usually protested in the same way Grian had shoved all the bar knives into a drawer when Scar sat down- automatically. Even Mumbo was only ‘Mr. Eris’ around other people, and Scar wasn't trying to antagonize Grian into using his name. “What can I ask you?”

“You can ask me anything.”

“I thought we weren't using weak moments against each other.”

Grian chuckled, and Scar took it as adequate compensation for having his own wit turned against him. “Playing fair isn't really in our mission statement.”

“Not even for a friend of the casino?”

“Usually? No. But I suppose I can make an exception, seeing as you’re our only one.” Grian looked up from his counter work, shifting his gaze to Scar. “I’ll answer one reasonable question. ‘Reasonable’ is determined at my discretion. How’s that for small talk?”

“It feels a bit more like one of your casino games.” Scar replied, propping his chin against one of his hands. “Since I’m guessing that asking you what counts as ‘reasonable’ is a quick way to end the chat in your favour.”

That pulled an actual smile out of Grian, as if in delight. “You catch on quick.”

“Like I said, you’re difficult to small talk with. Have to be careful not to miss the opportunities I get.” Scar returned Grian’s smile. Thinking of a question to ask Grian wasn’t hard, and choosing might’ve taken longer if it weren’t for Scar having a particular one that had been pressing into the back of his mind for longer than he felt could be considered normal. “What’s with the name thing?”

“How elegantly put.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Grian acknowledged. “But do you think that’s a reasonable question, Mr. Chronos?”

“You’re the one who decides that, Mr. Penemue.” Scar over-stressed Grian’s name that time, metaphorically gesturing at his point. “But for the record, yes, I do think it’s a reasonable question. I deserve an answer for all the trouble you put me through for it.”

Grian moved to rest his arms on the bar across from Scar, leaning closer to him as he did so, tone amused as he repeated, “Trouble?”

“I’m not the one who’s agreed to answer a question here.”

“No. You make the mistake of doing it for free.” There was an inflection to Grian’s voice that suggested he was teasing Scar. Scar did his very best to not press closer to the counter, to Grian. “But yes, your answer- it’s more respectful to refer to casino guests by their last names, and you know how the End Crystal prides itself on treating its guests as respectfully as possible.”

“Don’t lie, I know you don’t respect me.” Scar joked. “Besides, I don’t come here to empty my wallet. No need to bamboozle me with formalities.”

“You’re still a guest.” Grian said simply, pausing for a moment before adding, “For the sake of business, last names are also more professional. First names can get… personal.”

Silence, for a long minute, as Grian busied himself with refilling a bowl of peanuts and Scar attempted to un-busy himself with watching a mental replay of every time Grian had called him by his first name. He could count the instances on one hand, theoretically quick to run through, but his mind caught on the most recent, layered with thoughts of touch and personal and close.

“That explains me then, but what about Mr. Eris?” Scar asked, pivoting hard into the familiar territory of poking at Grian and Mumbo's relationship. “Hate how I phrase it all you like, I'm not wrong when I say things between you two are certainly personal.”

“Mr. Eris and I are close in a purely professional manner,” Grian lied like clockwork, “and technically that's a second question.”

“It’s a subquestion expanding on my original question, it’s allowed.” Scar argued, like it mattered, like they were in some sort of negotiations, like Grian wouldn’t just stop playing their little game the second he felt like it.

“It’s cheating.”

“So now we’re playing fair?”

Another smile. “Of course not.”

“Then please, Mr. Penemue, answer the subquestion.”

“If I must.” Grian’s attempt at sounding put out was unsuccessful in face of the fact that Grian never said anything he didn’t want to, never disclosed anything without first carefully thinking it through. Case in point: the slight pause in consideration before he spoke again, hidden behind more bar busywork. “You are aware that me and Mr. Eris used to… work elsewhere, I believe.”

Mumbo, panicked, fingers digging into his own chest, convinced old rivals had poisoned him; Grian, staring at Scar’s neck, talking about the right-hand who had tried to kill him, as if he knew something Scar hadn’t said. “I am, yes.”

“This line of work can follow you anywhere,” Grian said casually, conversationally, and if Scar wasn’t watching him so closely he might’ve missed the quick way Grian’s eyes darted around them, “can you blame us for being careful?”

“Never.” Scar replied, a little too quickly if the raise of Grian’s eyebrows was anything to go by. Scar cleared his throat, producing another ‘subquestion’ to distract Grian with. “Have you ever considered other options? Aliases, codenames, those sorts of things?”

“We like our names,” Grian answered as he tidied the already more-than-neat bar space, “and codenames aren’t great for professional interactions.”

“So you have codenames that you only use in non-professional circumstances?” Scar asked with a smirk. “Y’know, I think they have a different term for those. Starts with a ‘p,’ ends with an ‘etnames-’”

“Purely professional, Mr. Chronos.” Grian repeated, tone flat but not necessarily annoyed. “And I never said we use codenames, merely that they would be impractical for business purposes if we did.”

Scar huffed a laugh. “I take it you won’t be telling me whether or not you two do use codenames?”

“Observant as ever.”

“I try.” Scar quipped back, conversation briefly lapsing past that. Scar had already passed his allotted small-talk-questions quota, but Grian had yet to stop talking to him, and the End Crystal’s atmosphere had Scar wanting to push his luck. “I’m also guessing you won’t tell me if you have codenames with anyone else?”

“If you have a point you want to make, you may as well get right to it.” Grian replied, sounding curious despite the way he cut Scar’s dramatics to the quick.

“The point is maybe we should have codenames. For each other. Since that’s the only time, I imagine, I’ll ever get to know any of yours.”

Grian cocked his head to the side. “Not a minute ago you were implying something very… personal about codenames. Unsubtly, I might add.”

“Codewords, then.” Scar switched to, most certainly not blushing, because he refused to keep allowing his teasing to be turned back on him more effectively than he himself had employed it. “A type of confirmation without being so ‘personal.’ Come on, throw a dog a bone.”

Grian didn’t immediately respond, not that Scar expected him to. Scar had decided the most likely outcome for his conversational gamble was Grian taking his time to prepare a truly devastating remark, one that would then force Scar to flee the casino and make the difficult decision between going back to his base of operations and being ridiculed by Bdubs, or getting shot in enemy territory.

Before Scar could get too deep into thinking through which situation he’d be in more trouble over, Grian picked up a rag, using the excuse of wiping down the bar to lean close to Scar, speaking quietly. “And what would you propose our codewords be?”

“Hmm… let me think…” Scar did his best to sound like he was drawing out his answer on purpose, and not because he didn’t expect to make it that far, “They should share a theme, something easy to bring up in everyday conversation.”

“You’ve really thought this through.” Grian commented, making it clear that he knew Scar was making it up as he went. “Shall we choose each other’s words, then? So we don’t forget them.”

“That’s a great idea. Care to go first?”

“You insult the End Crystal’s hospitality. I insist you pick first.”

“I doubt ‘hospitality’ has anything to do with it.” Scar mumbled, ignoring the professional smile Grian flashed in response and casting his gaze around his immediate surroundings, looking for ideas.

Anything relating to casinos and gambling would be too obvious, so most of the scenery was out from the start. Liquor wouldn’t be quite as conspicuous, but Scar didn’t care for the idea of assigning Grian a cocktail as his codeword. It couldn’t be anything as common as ‘chair’ or ‘floor’ either; the codeword couldn’t be so unordinary as to make it jarring to bring up, but if it was too ordinary, it would be of no use.

Scar twisted in his seat, looking away from Grian. The space adjacent to the bar was filled with a cluster of tall tables, giving patrons a place to sip their drinks and chat in between games. The centerpiece of each table was a tall golden vase holding an elegant, colourful bouquet- tasteful eye candy that was nice to look at without distracting from the End Crystal’s more tempting splendors. Oh, yes, that would do nicely.

Without a word, Scar slipped off his barstool, walked to the nearest empty table, and picked up the vase on top of it. Turning back towards the bar, he found Grian watching him, having paused his work to focus on Scar with an intensity others would likely be concerned by. Scar took it in literal stride, returning to his seat and setting the vase down on the bar between them, pushed enough to the side it didn’t block their vision.

“Flowers?” Grian asked neutrally, still watching as Scar ran his fingers through the bunch. After a few seconds, Scar stopped, fingers curling around the stem of one flower in particular, swiftly pulling it out from the rest of the bouquet.

Taking advantage of the fact that Grian was still leaning over the bar, Scar tilted forward, reaching out and tucking the purple sprig behind Grian’s ear. “Lilac.” Scar corrected, settling back in his seat and admiring the way the flowers seemed to curve around Grian’s head like a half-crown. “How’s that for a word?”

Once again, there was no immediate response from Grian, but the silence came with the uncomfortable fact that Scar hadn’t expected it. He had put a flower in Grian’s hair, for End’s sake, he had expected- again- to be ruthlessly yet efficiently quipped out of existence, or perhaps even get his wrist broken as punishment for putting it so near to Grian.

(A voice that sounded unfortunately similar to Bdubs in the back of his mind asked why, then, did you even put the flower behind his ear in the first place? Technically unable to lie to himself, but certainly willing to try, Scar put the thought aside for later consideration.)

Instead, however, Grian wasn’t doing anything, acting almost as though he had been frozen in place. His expression was the one he wore most commonly around the End Crystal, professional but meaningless, like he wasn’t quite sure how to react and had ended up on a default.

“Mr. Penemue?” Scar said, tentatively, as the silence stretched. Without knowing what was wrong, Scar didn’t know what- if anything- he could do to help, outside of calling Mumbo if Grian proved to be truly unresponsive.

Thankfully, at the prompting of his name, Grian blinked and narrowed his eyes, expression shaping into one of (oddly mild) scrutiny. “You don’t know, do you?”

“I- what?”

Another moment of Grian staring before he closed his eyes, letting out a huff that could have been a laugh, could have been a sigh. Not answering Scar, he turned to the vase Scar had brought over, shifting through the flowers for a moment before plucking one out. Stem pressed tight between his fingers, Grian waited until Scar leaned forward, allowing him to tuck the bright red flower behind Scar’s ear in return.

“Poppy.” Grian said simply, looking as though he knew something Scar didn’t, before he echoed, “How’s that for a word?”

Not for the first time, and almost certainly not the last, Scar found himself envious of Grian's ability to adapt to whatever Scar tried to throw at him, skillfully returning any advantage Scar had held over Grian back to the right-hand tenfold. In his defense, his preparations had been for an outright attack, not… whatever this was classified as.

“Stunning.” Scar said after a moment, the pause dragging out a bit too long. He was still leaning forward. Grian hadn’t moved back. Close. “Er, it’s stunning. Great word.”

Grian stepped forward, the edge of the bar digging into his midsection as he tilted towards Scar, as if staggering, as if tipsy, even with his perfectly professional expression and perfectly steady cadence and perfect-

“Is that all you find stunning, poppy?”

“Well, Mr. Penemue, I do believe I’ve taken up far too much of your time already.” Scar quickly pulled back from Grian like a moth who had finally realized the flame was burning it, the flame himself watching on with no significant reaction. “Have a good day, tell Mr. Eris I’m sorry I missed him!”

Grian watched Scar hurry off, waiting until he had made it to the lobby to sigh. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

A moment later, Mumbo was sliding into Scar’s vacated seat, not looking apologetic in the slightest for his wakeful eavesdropping. “I woke up.”

“You could go back to sleep.”

“Later.” Mumbo glanced to the side as one of the casino’s waiters quickly ducked past him, dropping a drink order on the counter in front of Grian before leaving just as swiftly. Despite their standings in Heremita, Grian and Mumbo didn’t usually have to deal with skittish waitstaff, but the still fresh-in-memory firing of the waiter who had tripped had created a tense atmosphere.

(An overreaction, both Grian and Mumbo had acknowledged in retrospect, not that either had been interested in exploring why they had made it. They had their reasons- Mumbo’s boyfriend and business partner, Grian’s boss and organizational partner- but they knew they were excuses.)

Grian picked up the discarded paper, reading the scrawled order and grabbing the first glass he’d need without looking up. Scar hadn't been wrong in his earlier assumption- the road between the Desert and the South had been a long one, and of the jobs Grian had picked up along the way, bartender had been a favourite.

For a few minutes, Mumbo sat quietly as he watched Grian mix drinks. His own favourite occupation.

“You scared him off.”

“I’m trying to make a point.”

“Is it working?”

“Given he keeps coming back?” Grian carelessly dropped an olive garnish into one of the drinks, frowning at it before he adjusted the stick and wiped off the edge of the glass to correct the slight untidiness. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“Does he not,” Grian leaned forward as soon as he saw Mumbo’s arm moving, making it easy for the mob boss to brush the backs of his fingers past the petals in Grian’s hair, “lilac?” Grian scoffed. “He picked a random flower.”

“It’s accurate, nonetheless.” Mumbo pulled back, allowing Grian to return to his bartending. He moved his hand to the vase beside them, idly tracing the lip. “Yours wasn’t random.”

“I told you, I’m trying to make a point.”

Mumbo’s fingers stilled. He tilted his head, just enough to be noticeable, and Grian didn’t need to be looking at him to know a thread of melancholy had woven its way into his expression. “And you think that will work?”

Grian shuffled the completed drinks off to the side, other hand already reaching for another glass under the bar, ignoring how red the bases looked wherever his fingers pressed into them. “No. I don’t think it will.”

~

“Lilacs and poppies?” Bdubs looked up from the ledgers he had been reviewing to stare at Scar, confused and slightly apprehensive. “You want information on flowers?”

“Yes.” Scar rocked on his feet, tapping his cane for emphasis and balance. Around him, the back offices were bustling with the activity of counting bills and inspecting gemstones. Most of it was legitimate, and only Scar and Bdubs knew all the parts that weren’t. “They came up in conversation while at the End Crystal, and I was simply curious if you knew of anything… note-worthy regarding them.”

Bdubs eyes flicked to the poppy still nestled in Scar’s hair. Scar knew it was far too late to hide the flower, and trying to remove it in the moment would only draw further attention to it, but it was tempting to see if yanking it out of his hair and flinging it across the room would relieve some of the scrutiny being directed at him.

(It wouldn’t, but it was nice to think it would. Scar did miss the days when Bdubs only had to question his decisions when he got himself shot.)

“Flowers aren’t really my area of expertise.” Bdubs pointed out, as though Scar might have forgotten he was a mob boss’s right-hand and not a florist. “I know there's a myth associated with them, but that’s all.”

“A myth?”

“You don't know it?” Scar shook his head. “Well, it doesn't have much to do with the flowers themselves, but it’s supposed to tell how they came to be.”

“And that would be how, exactly?”

Bdubs frowned at Scar. “You’re aware I have actual work to be doing, right?”

Before Bdubs could finish his sentence, Scar leaned over and scooped up one of the ledgers scattered on his desk, holding it open with one hand. He gave it a quick once-over, identifying it as one of their less-than-honest logbooks before he looked back to Bdubs. “You were saying?”

Bdubs sighed before sitting back in his chair, accepting his defeat. “According to the myth, lilacs and poppies were created in a time where gods still ruled over humanity. Every so often, they’d demand a certain number of tributes to fight each other for the gods’ entertainment. Those who died were considered divine sacrifices, and the victor would honour the gods with their glory. Lilac and Poppy were two tributes in the same fight.”

“Ah.” Scar mumbled as he scanned one of the log pages. He did know some myths, after all, and it didn’t take too large of a leap in logic to guess how the named characters would end up correlating to their modern-day flower equivalents.

“The full myth is more detailed, but Lilac and Poppy team up and end up as the last two tributes. Since there can only be one survivor, Poppy offers to allow Lilac to kill them, but Lilac refuses and insists upon a fair final battle. They get one, but,” Bdubs shrugged, “Lilac still wins, and it’s unclear how hard Poppy actually fought back. Lilac, covered in Poppy’s blood, is declared the victor.”

Scar turned a page in the ledger as normally as he could, trying not to think about the flower in his hair. Or who had given it to him.

“Angry at the gods, however, Lilac kills themself as soon as they’re deemed the winner, throwing themself off the cliff they had killed Poppy on. No surviving victor, no glory for the gods.”

“Seems… extreme.”

“That’s kind of the point.” Bdubs replied, glancing towards his pocket watch to check the time. “Anyways, most of the gods hated both Lilac and Poppy for the disrespect of their final battle, but the god of love was touched by their devotion. To memorialize the tributes, he turned the drops of Poppy’s blood and the broken bones of Lilac’s body into flowers, thus giving the world poppies and lilacs.”

Scar briefly leaned against the edge of Bdubs’s desk, resting his cane against it as well. With his newly freed hand, he grabbed one of the pens Bdubs had out, making a quick mark next to one of the entries. “I take it the flowers are typically… paired together, then?”

“All the time, in romantic dramas for teenagers.” Bdubs said pointedly, reaching over to take the book and pen from Scar in a much nicer manner than he had made his implication. “And yeah, outside of movies too. It’s common to find them in the same bouquets, or in two-packs sold to couples to exchange between each other.”

“...Exchange?”

“The meanings of the flowers mirror their namesakes.” Bdubs explained distractedly, frowning at Scar’s note. Still looking down at the book, he made a gesture off to the side, catching the attention of one of the wandering employees. “Lilacs represent dogged loyalty taken to disastrous extremes, and poppies represent devotion above all else, even to the point of ruin. Although the traditional meanings are more watered down these days…”

Bdubs trailed off as the employee approached, focus shifting away from Scar as he started issuing a set of instructions to them. The timing worked out perfectly for Scar, given he needed at least ten seconds to re-school his expression into something a little less ‘openly shocked and possibly panicking.’

Unknowingly, he had given Grian a couple’s marker of intense loyalty. Knowingly, Grian had given him the matching marker of fatal devotion, right before he leaned directly into Scar’s space and called him by it.

Was it a threat? A reminder of who killed who in the stories? A promise between allies? Or… a promise between enemies?

How close do you keep your enemies?

“With that settled,” Scar forced his attention back towards Bdubs, who had handed off the marked ledger and switched to checking numbers in another, “did you ask Mumbo the South’s election counts? In between… everything else you were talking about?”

“I didn’t get a chance to, Mumbo was out.”

A microsecond too late, Scar realized his mistake, Bdubs’s eyes instantly narrowing at the admission. “You weren’t talking to Mumbo?”

“Uh-”

“Who gave you the flower, Scar?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was the bartender?” Not technically a lie, but Scar was fairly certain that wouldn’t change Bdubs’s level of disappointment upon learning who the bartender was.

“Grian was bartending?”

Scar was right- no change. “They were short-handed. And I was just passing the time to see if Mumbo would show.”

“With flowers.”

“With flowers.” Scar confirmed defeatedly. Scar moved a hand towards the incriminating poppy tucked over his ear, meaning to take it out but hesitating a moment before. The motion ended with his fingers briefly brushing the flower’s petals before dropping back to his side, achieving nothing.

Bdubs rolled his pen between his fingers, a little too fast, before sighing. “You should talk to him. Directly.”

“You and I both know how that would go.”

“It would be a start.”

Scar looked away from Bdubs, throwing his attention onto the busyness of the office instead. “There’s nothing to talk about, Bdubs.”

“That’s not-”

“Grian’s only loyalty is to Mumbo, and as either will tell you, that loyalty is entirely professional in nature.” Scar continued, shooting Bdubs a wry smile after a moment. “I’m nothing but the ally dating his boss.”

Bdubs looked up at Scar carefully, expression neutral- not Grian’s neutral, of stainless steel and polished mirrors; his had life to it, schooled away out of personal consideration rather than business etiquette. “The ally with a poppy in his hair.”

Scar just let his smile grow into a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, picking his cane back up and shifting his weight off of Bdubs’s desk in the same motion. “Speaking of allies, do you still have the resumes and background checks for our most recently interviewed, but not hired, applicants?”

“I do.”

“Did any of them have experience serving drinks?”

“A few.” Bdubs answered, turning his chair to watch as Scar started to walk away. “Want me to get them for you?”

“Yes please!” Scar called over his shoulder, fully confident as he stepped into his office that Bdubs had heard him and would get to his request as soon as he could. He slid into his chair, dropping his cane into its regular spot and readjusting the bright red flower curling around his ear.

He was going to get the South another bartender, like any good ally would do, and he wouldn’t think anything else about Grian, or mythological devotion, or the act of risking a punch just to get close enough to touch.

[oh-snapperss]

so i wrote another space au, i'm sure this will shock everybody here LMAOOO

Summary:

The streets of the lower levels of Heremita are never dark. But they sure are damp, and glum, and everything the head council of Heremita loves to pretend isn’t real. The planet is layers upon layers of city, and they say the lower levels have never seen the sun. The council, of course, refutes this claim with the argument that the lower levels are uninhabited save for the rodents and wild dogs, and that the sun can penetrate even the deepest points of Heremita. “Sine sole vivere est omnino numquam vivere!” They laugh, then move on with the next order of business. They’ve got far more pressing matters than the nothing that lives down there these days. They’re wrong, of course. There’s plenty living down there on the streets.

Chapters: 1/???

Warnings for this chapter: none!

Words: 2,487 (estimated 60-90k)

[comparativetarot]

Heremita. Art by Kore Art.

[lesser-known-composers]

Robert Morton (c. 1430 - c. 1479) - Motet "Ut heremita solus"

Ensemble Nusmido

[andtheplayerdreamedbetter]

Screenshots from an old house of mine in a server with friends! My residence was callled Heremita In Profundis (A hermit in the depths), because my character was an outcast of his former town when he refused to be sacrificed for his abilities and chose his new name, Arcano. So, he turned to living in the mountains (literally) and pursue the path of dark magick to get revenge. This is the outdoors of the house.

[astronomical-bagel]

40, 26, and 11 if you'd like for the fanfic writer ask 👀

If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

Ough. I’ve got many unfinished ones that involve dancing… those ones are always the prettiest to imagine.. Waugh. So yeah one of those. (Like. Theoretically because they’re not posted LMAO)

Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

actually one of the ones that I just mentioned above involved a lot of Grian angst so I was like ‘oh yeah I should put some yhs references in this’ and that made me want to rewatch the entirety of yhs and ts for the first time since sixth grade and THAT started a whole SLEW of fic ideas and in the end I decided not to add the yhs angst so. Yeah lmao

Link your three favorite fics right now

I’m choosing to interpret this as ‘in general’ so uh here you go

“I'm Calling Your Bluff (And Calling You Mine)” by Sleepless_in_Southlands, 25,468 words. (complete, part of an incomplete series) (mumscarian)

Summary: “It was a bit hypocritical to have rules in regards to a business that existed almost entirely on the wrong side of the law, but even in a place as depraved as Heremita, common sense could be found. Don't get too attached to your business rivals, for example.

Too bad Scar had never been one for too much sense.”

—

“Fool's Catch” by SamWasNeverHere, 31903 words. (complete) (mumscarian)

Summary: “When traveling salesman, and occasional conman, Scar hears about a potentially dangerous creature, he jumps at the opportunity to catch it for his work. However, he quickly learns that it is more than just a monster. His goal is to befriend this mermaid, or die trying!”

(SO CUTE. VIBES IMPECCABLE.)

—

“yours were the arms (that the whole world was in)” by sparxwrites, 1231 words. (complete) (mumscarian)

Summary: “Mumbo is not surprised when, the morning after Scar’s death, Grian runs away from the Southlands’ little trust exercise as soon as he’s been passed the life.

Martyn’s indignant squawks follow him as he flees, and Impulse gives brief chase, but Mumbo doesn’t bother. He knows exactly where Grian’s going. And he knows that Grian, even odds or better, will be back before long.

He’s even less surprised when Grian returns that evening, looking furtive and ashamed, and guiding a golden-eyed Scar by the hand through the still-rigged front gate.”

(this was actually the first mumscarian fic i read teehee ^-^) 

[lovetextbr]

RONRONAR.

Temo-nos à servir mais joventude. A paz buscada na virada da estrada, No final da caminhada, em teu nome registrada… Marcadas nas júrias das pedras, pelo mônge alma pelada.

Feliz são os negociantes de um belo astral, Por uma dimensão invetida e esclarecida, Onde se planta brotos de amor perfeito; A maneira de um agravante start sobre um pós romance, redimida.

Foi vista uma enorme clareira à nosso alcance, É a consciência de uma nova era em emancipação abundante. Servindo cosmopólitas de um reino solor heremita, Para com os amigos, espiritual, gentil e de bem com a chegada, na última subida.

Ajoelhe na sinta da onda, Se estenda para o que te atmosferas, Noosfera-se de uma comunicação telepática e silênciosa, Encarne-se à auxiliar Mamãe Terra.

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

🧙‍♂️

[upsurge-esp]

[chia-magica]

[ olhar as estrelas ] . viemos para esse planeta viver uma vida humana e portanto devemos aproveitar nossas experiências e aprendizados aqui . às vezes porém ficamos presos a questões pequenas a ponto de esquecer a magnitude da nossa existência . por isso é tão importante praticarmos estar conscientes no presente . assim, no meio de uma tempestade, podemos escolher respirar, pausar e olhar as estrelas . o lugar de onde de fato viemos . #watercolor #watercoloruniverse #aquarela #universo #rembrandtwatercolor #davincibrushes #hahnemuhlepaper #artofinstagram #artoftheday #watercolordaily #watercolorbrazil #heremita #aquarelabrasil . Artista: Anna Carla Camargo (em Brasília DF) https://www.instagram.com/p/CPyBeI-J_eN/?utm_medium=tumblr

[robjigsaw]

Sonho de consumo!!!❤😍🙏🏼 Longe de tudo e de todos. #cabin #cabana #heremita #paz

[sleepless-in-southlands]

I’m Calling Your Bluff (And Calling You Mine)

Ao3

Summary: It was a bit hypocritical to have rules in regards to a business that existed almost entirely on the wrong side of the law, but even in a place as depraved as Heremita, common sense could be found. Don't get too attached to your business rivals, for example. Too bad Scar had never been one for too much sense. Content: AU- Mob bosses, pining (kinda), s7 mayor race but make it gay mob bosses basically; blood, violence, threats, gunshot wound, scars, codependency, homoromanticism, kissing, obligatory characters not CCs Ships: Whatever the Fuck mumscarian has going on (def romo mumbo/scar, everything else is Very fruity and up to interpretation), platonic Scar and Bdubs Notes: Part one of the Bloody Fruits au

~

    The casino was as well-lit as ever, chandeliers of gold spilling aureate light down upon the finely dressed gamblers that filled its halls as they traded away dirty-money riches and purloined treasures for a moment of thrill. Flashing greens and blues were exchanged for cheap chips and lavish liquors, a night of expense that most of the players could afford to lose.

    Scar took in the sight indifferently, leaning on his deceptively delicate cane as he loitered just past the building’s foyer. Most looking for an audience with the opulent casino’s owner need to schedule far in advance, the man both busy and unsociable. Scar was not most people.

    He gave a small wave to the eyes in the sky that had been tracking his movements since the moment he had appeared on the street before the establishment. They blended into the ceiling like a charm, glazed purple domes tricking most into believing they were little more than colourful decor, but Scar made a habit of knowing when he was being watched.

    Soon enough, Scar was being approached by a man no one else would notice, dressed to be little more than an extension of his surroundings. In a pressed red suit with amethyst cufflinks and tie-clip, he looked rich enough to belong but not dazzling enough to stick-out.

    “Mr. Chronos.” His voice was smooth and refined, paired with a smile that was just a smidge too sharp to be genial. “You’re not expected.”

    “Mr. Penemue.” Scar replied in a matching tone. “I’m not, no! I was just strolling by and thought I should pop in for a chat along the way.”

    Grian’s smile didn’t falter. “Mr. Eris is a busy man, he doesn’t typically see those without an appointment.”

    “Oh, but he’ll see me, won’t he?”

    For that, Scar was rewarded with the edge of the other man’s lips quirking up by the smallest fraction in genuine amusement. “I suppose he can fit you in. Follow me.”

    Scar allowed himself to be led through the main room of the casino, sparing glances of idle curiosity to the tables they passed. Every dealer’s move was practiced and precise, every card that moved through their hands shining as they hit the table. Scar’s shops were doing fine, and the casino business had never been his scene, but in the halls of the End Crystal Scar had to admit he could see the appeal.

    A drab door marked ‘employees only’ near the back brought the two of them to a well-furnished waiting room. The late hours left it empty as they crossed the room, halting before a set of solid dark oak doors.

    Scar turned as they stopped, unsurprised to find he was being offered a plain- and mostly certainly unarmed- cane. “You know the rules, Mr. Chronos.”

    “Don’t trust me?”

    Grian’s smile had reverted back to the fixed and never-changing one he had greeted Scar with, though the look in his eyes had become hard. “When it comes to Mr. Eris’s safety, I trust no one.”

    “Oh, Grian, relax! It’s just me.” Scar handed over his cane, accepting the replacement as his was carefully placed in the ‘umbrella’ stand that did its named job poorly. “You can call him by his first name.”

    Grian pulled open one of the doors without response, allowing Scar to enter before him. Scar rolled his eyes in amusement, though he appreciated Grian’s vigilance. People like Scar didn’t make it very long without people like Grian, after all.

    The End Crystal’s office was as elegantly put together as the rest of the casino, but it lacked the gaudy comforts that convinced its patrons to empty their pockets. The crimson curtains were drawn on the window behind its owner, the streetlights streaming through casting him in a bloody hue. He looked up from the papers he had been marking as the door opened, one eyebrow raising. “A bit late for an appointment, isn’t it?”

    “Apologies, Mumbo,” The door clicked shut before Grian walked past Scar, taking his proper place at the right of Mumbo. Though his stance remained guarded, as though ready to strike at any moment, his shoulders relaxed and his faux smile fell, “but you know how he is.”

    Mumbo chuckled as he sat back, letting his pen fall against his desk. His outfit, a black suit and red tie, was a perfect mirror of Grian’s- or, more accurately, Grian’s outfit was a perfect mirror of Mumbo’s. In place of Grian’s amethysts, Mumbo’s cuffs sported moustache silhouettes outlined in red, a simpler representation of the man’s own facial hair. The design was not all that threatening if you asked Scar; which, in all fairness, made its notoriety all the more impressive.

    “I do indeed.” Mumbo replied to Grian, gesturing at Scar. “Well then? What has brought us the pleasure of your company today, Mr. Chronos?”

    “You South territory folks are much too formal.” Scar complained, dropping into one of the plush chairs that sat before Mumbo’s desk. “Please, it’s Scar. And I just wanted to see how your campaign efforts were coming along. Decided to drop-out yet?”

    “Hardly.” Mumbo said with a self-assured smile. “For every fortune won on my floor, another dozen are lost. There are a good number of people who would trade their vote for their debt.”

    Scar settled his borrowed cane across his lap. “Bought loyalties aren’t really long-term, you know. At the Glass Empire, we actually secure lasting alliances.”

    “Mine need only last til the election.” Mumbo responded easily, glancing at Grian. “The South only needs each other.”

    “A dangerous philosophy.” Scar’s grip tightened imperceptibly on the cane’s handle. “Isolated nations always fall in the end.”

    “Everything falls in the end.” Grian replied. Scar’s eyes flicked over to his, Grian returning his gaze unflinchingly as Mumbo chuckled once more.

    “Well put, Grian.” Mumbo tilted his head to the side. “But you sound as though you have a purpose to your words, do you not? If you are looking to secure another partnership for your Empire… well, the South would be willing to review the compatibility of our organizations.”

    Scar’s grip loosened. Tightened again. He flashed his hosts his most winning smile as he pushed himself back to his feet. “You move so fast, Mumbo! My visit today is solely personal, not for business.” 

    Mumbo leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk and creating a bridge out of his hands for his chin to rest on. “We could make this personal as well.”

    Scar looked directly at Mumbo, finding him looking back with an expectant curiosity. As the moment stretched, Mumbo’s smile returned, the sharp edges of his teeth just barely showing. He was waiting for something, and the longer Scar waited with him, the more sure he became he was getting it. Like a game.

    Out of the corner of his eye, Scar just barely caught Grian’s shoulders once again tensing. Always on his guard. Like a trap.

    “Delightful as ever to see you, Mumbo.” Scar said finally, forcing the moment to an end, bowing his head once to both Mumbo and Grian. “The same to you, Grian.”

    Pleasantries addressed, Scar made his departure, resisting the urge to turn back for one last look at the two as he left. Even as he retrieved his own cane and made his way to the casino’s exit, he kept his eyes forward, this time registering none of the risk and reward and ruin that was taking place in never ending cycles about him. Only right at the entrance did he stall, unable to help himself as he spared a single glance, finding-

    It was earlier than Scar usually popped in for an unplanned visit, but it was a necessary precaution in this sort of life to never let your schedule be too predictable. Had to keep people on their toes, especially with those like the South, who treated trust like little more than a commodity with those not within their inner circles.

    The lights were dim, servicing the meager handful of early-bird players adequately and adequately only. The true grandeur of full lights was reserved for the busy hours, when real profit could be raked in. Even so, Scar could still make out the back door opening from across the End Crystal’s polished floors, Mumbo and Grian entering from stage left.

    Mumbo had ditched his suit jacket, dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows yet still not spared from the mess of the business he had been attending to. Along with the red stains in the cotton white, his hands were practically painted in the blood of whatever poor soul had crossed the South and gotten caught. He was doing his best to clean his skin with a washcloth in hand, but his efforts were only so effective.

    While it was typically Grian in Mumbo’s current position, he was nearly stain-free, his role today likely just to guard and watch. There was a splash of blood across his cheek, however, arterial spray that had only just missed his suit. Grian swiped his thumb across his chin, catching a drop that had threatened to make him get dry cleaning, catching Mumbo’s attention.

    Shifting the cloth to one hand, Mumbo held Grian’s chin with one hand and set to cleaning his face with the cloth. He paused after a moment, cupping Grian’s cheek with the rag as Grian tilted his head up at him, a cheeky sort of smirk slipping onto his face, and somewhere in between a blink they were kissing, Mumbo’s hands remaining on Grian’s face while Grian tangled his in Mumbo’s hair. 

    Scar knew he should’ve looked away. He really should’ve. When the two of them stumbled backwards, Mumbo’s back hitting the wall not stopping them. When Grian started to draw away for a breath, Mumbo only giving him a moment to get it before tugging him back in. When they broke apart again, resting their foreheads together instead like they were content to do nothing else.

    He should have looked away.

    But he didn’t.

    -everything just as it was when he passed through, nothing and no one of note having come to occupy the space. Really, why would anything have changed? Same casino, same owner.

    With a nod to himself and his inner monologue, Scar pushed through the glistening revolving doors, replacing the perfume and champagne incense of the casino with brisk night air.

    The streets were dark, the End Crystal being the only business that pressed into the night with such fervor. Mixed shades of pink and purple lit up the sidewalk directly before the business, glitter gold words glowing in the coloured light and serving further to draw in the late-night wanderers with too much in their pockets. 

    Scar forced himself not to linger in its allure, aware that even out here Grian still had eyes on him. If Grian had returned to his regular station during the casino’s busy hours, that was; if Grian had actually left Mumbo’s office after Scar had, if Grian hadn’t instead stayed, if Grian hadn’t instead-

    With a particular purposeful tap of his cane, Scar was off, setting a quick pace in a familiar direction.

    It didn’t take long to reach his destination, escaping the lands of harshly edged moustaches and entering the one of paint splatter crystals. All his businesses were closed for the night, the empty streets once again making Scar consider getting into the night-life industry, though there was a good reason he never actually would.

    The after-hours were a dangerous time in Heremita, part of what had given Mumbo’s organization such a fast ascent to infamy in the area. When it first popped up, the End Crystal was predicted to fail in spades. But the South evidently knew their cards, and the casino’s success rose on the backs of those who tried to stop it.

    Scar still remembered the first day Mumbo had come around- with Grian right behind him, an inseparable pair from the very start- introducing themselves to every big name in town, like they already knew they were going to be something. Shame they’re not going to last, he had thought. We could be something.

    But they had lasted. And yet…

    Scar pulled himself from his thoughts as he realized he had come upon his destination. The jeweler's shop that served as his own base of operations was as closed down as every building around it, but the light over the back entrance was still flickering. Scar was careful to double-triple-double knock before entering, not really in the mood to get shot that particular night.

    As expected, he opened the door to find his right-hand man putting away his gun, replacing it in his hand with a pen as he returned to working the books. “Welcome back, Scar.”

    “You know, Bdubs, you don’t have to stay late.” Scar replied by way of greeting, shrugging off his suit jacket and hooking it on the hanger by the door. “There’s no rush, the work can wait.”

    “The election can’t.” Bdubs tapped the glass of his pocket watch, proudly displayed at the front of his desk. “I’m okay working some overtime.”

    “I still think you work too much.” Scar commented as he took a seat at the desk of one of his employees who had actually listened when he told them to head home, laying his head back. “But I appreciate your efforts.”

    Bdubs nodded at him in recognition, pausing his work for a moment to look Scar over. “Enjoy your walk?”

    “I did, thank you.”

    “Visit the South territory?”

    Scar lifted his head enough to shoot Bdubs an annoyed stare. “How do you do that?”

    Bdubs chuckled. “I know you, Scar. You always visit the South territory, especially in these last few weeks.”

    Scar let his head flop down again. “Still rude to point it out, isn’t it?”

    No response to that, the conversation being replaced with quiet pen scratches and paper shuffling for a minute. “Do any business?”

    “...They offered a partnership.”

    “Again?”

    “Again.”

    “And you said?”

    Scar sighed as he sat fully up, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know what I said.”

    Bdubs sighed as well. He put the pen down, rotating his chair to fully face Scar. He had replaced his work clothes with casual wear, a blue hoodie and jeans, but the distinctively-shaped emerald-green crystal hanging around his neck remained, a mark of his loyalties to friends and foes alike. “Scar.”

    “I don’t want to talk about it.”

    “We can’t keep dancing around the subject.” Bdubs pressed. “The South is big, as potential allies and current mayoral opponents. We can’t miss this opportunity all because you’ve decided to be weird about the heads.”

    Scar shook his head. “It’s just not that simple.”

    “This line of work is brutal, and you know that better than most.” Scar winced, one hand coming up reflexively to cover the side of his neck and the rough reminder Bdubs was referencing. “If you let schoolyard antics affect your decision making, you’re not going to make it back ‘round for a third try.”

    “You are talking back an awful lot today.”

    Bdubs didn’t dignify that with a response.

    Scar let his hand drop back to his lap. “Sorry.”

    The apology was accepted with a wave of Bdubs’s hand as he went back crunching illicit numbers. “It’s fine, just… maybe stop taking so many walks. Nowhere in this city is safe, but strolling through enemy territory every other night is asking for trouble.”

    “...Yeah, yeah, alright.” Scar agreed after a moment. “I won’t visit the South anymore.”

    “Unless you’re going to accept the partnership?”

    Scar turned away from Bdubs, looking out one of the small and reinforced back windows instead. “Sure thing.”

~

    Nights like these were ones Scar most deeply regretted having a bed in the spare office. It was always good to have a place to rest and recover close by, especially in this line of work, especially for him, but it made it much too easy to avoid going home when he should. Not that Scar was really the workaholic type- at least, not with paperwork- but too often he fell victim to the 'just one more’ mentality that had accidentally trapped him at work more times than he cared to admit.

    Granted, he could technically go home at any hour. But Scar wasn't an idiot.

    If Bdubs was still there, Scar might have bullied him into doing his job and escorting him home. But the man had worked a few too many long nights recently and it was finally starting to catch up with him- Scar had sent him home hours ago.

    “Are you sure?” Bdubs had argued, even as he was rubbing at his eyes in a desperate attempt to not fall asleep right there. “No one else is here, Scar. You should at least go home now too, while there's still light.”

    "This store is better fortified than area seventy-seven.” Scar had replied, gesturing with his pen. “I'll be fine. Go home, Bdubs, you need the rest.”

    There had been more grumbling, but Bdubs ended up going as requested, leaving Scar to his work in an empty store. In hindsight, Scar should have taken his advice to head home as well, while there was still light, but he had only been planning to finish filing one or two tax forms that were as accurate as anyone else's in Heremita.

    Scar glanced out the window, where the faintest sliver of a moon was beginning to reach its peak in the sky. Yeah, that plan had worked out well.

    Deciding to finally call it good for the night, Scar began putting away his papers, just about to stand up when he heard the unmistakable bang of a gunshot.

    Before Scar had even finished processing the sound, he had his own gun in hand, crouching beside his desk and aiming at his office's door, ready and waiting for a breach. Outside, more sounds followed the shot- something hitting the ground, running footsteps fleeing the scene, a string of curses. No more gunshots. No one trying to break down the door. No one after him.

    Scar remained in position despite his conclusion, listening for any sign it was a trap. But there was nothing, the only sounds left coming from the one who had been cursing. He had dropped the potty mouth, but he was muttering to himself, too low for Scar to hear through the store's walls. The voice was familiar, Scar realized, trying to identify which of his enemies it might be. 

    Except, it didn't necessarily sound like an enemy. In fact, it almost sounded like…

    Gun still drawn, Scar moved from his desk to his office door. After checking the main office was clear, Scar repositioned by the back door, peering out the slits in the window next to it.

    Scar could only spot the victim's legs, the rest of his body likely pressed against the shop's wall. Black suit pants only narrowed down the possibilities so much, but it counted more in favour of Scar's hunch than the other way around. 

    Steeling himself for the possibility of someone much less friendly than who he was expecting to find, Scar pushed the back door open a half inch.

    As suspected, the man was leaned up against the jewelry store's wall, immediately looking up when he heard the squeak of the door. Despite the awkward way he was holding his shoulder that immediately gave away the location of the gunshot's target, he managed to turn a corner of his lips up at spotting Scar. “Mr. Chronos.”

    “Bleeding out on enemy territory and you’re still as formal as ever, Mr. Eris.” Scar responded, checking each side of the alleyway before he fully stepped out of his building, gun still drawn. No sign of people lying in wait to attack, and Scar doubted that ambush was really Mumbo’s style, but you could never be too safe.

    “I didn’t realize we were enemies.” 

    “Well we’re not allies.” Scar came to stand in front of Mumbo, finally lowering his gun, though his finger remained on the trigger. “At least, not technically.”

    “That’s hardly my fault.”

    Scar shook his head. Why Mumbo had decided this was more important than the hole in his shoulder was beyond him, but it did signal risk of shock or more extreme injury than was immediately visible. Or a ploy. “What happened?”

    Mumbo nodded his head upwards, gesturing at something above him. Scar’s eyes followed the motion, finding a blue poster reading, “False for mayor!” plastered on the wall right over Mumbo’s head.

    With a grumble that bordered on a growl, Scar tore the paper down, crumpling it up and tossing it to the side. “She doesn’t normally make the mistake of tagging bases.”

    “Crime of opportunity.” Mumbo offered as explanation. “I’ve been edging into her territory recently, I’ve had her target on my back for a bit. Spotted Tango scoping out the Crystal earlier, hoped she’d be put off by me dipping through your territory. Sorry about that.”

    “The alley could always do with another clean, anyways.” Scar said with a shrug. He glanced around. “Where’s Grian? Did Tango get him?”

    “Grian’s safe, he didn’t see Tango. I told him to stay in the casino for the night, run some numbers on how many votes we can trade.” Mumbo answered, grunting as he got his feet underneath him. Dark blood sluggishly spilled out from beneath Mumbo’s hand at the motion, staining his suit darker than it already was as he stood up. Scar resisted the urge to offer him a hand up, instead trying his best to not look at him like he had suddenly grown an extra moustache.

    “You knew someone was coming after you and you told your head of security to stay home and crunch numbers?” A nod. “What the hell, Mumbo?! What were you thinking?”

    Mumbo rested his back against the wall once more. “It was safer.”

    “Safer? Safer?! False could have killed you! Tango could have killed you!” Scar gestured with his gun. “Damnit, I could kill you! You have security people for a reason, and if your life’s in direct threat, they should be on you!”

    Distantly, Scar was aware he was getting much too worked up by this for someone who, following the lack of allyship between their organizations, was a neutral party in the matter at best. Something in Mumbo’s expression as he watched Scar talk suggested he was thinking the same thing, but he didn’t comment on it.

    “If Grian has the opportunity to sacrifice his life for mine, he will.” Mumbo said slowly, as if there was something more to his words. “It is my job to ensure such a situation never arises.”

    “You’d sooner get yourself killed than let Grian do his job?”

    Mumbo met Scar’s eyes dead-on, stare unflinching as he answered, “Every time.”

    Silence in a blood-stained alley in the dead of night was always tense, Scar’s grip tightening on his gun (once more pointed towards the ground) as Mumbo refused to back down from his gaze. Finally, Scar let out a sigh.

    “Let’s get you inside before someone comes back to ‘check’ on you.” Scar flicked the safety on his gun back on, offering his other arm out for Mumbo to lean on.

    “I thought you said you could kill me.” Mumbo snarked even as he accepted Scar’s arm, using it as balance as he stumbled away from the wall. “That I was an enemy in unfriendly territory.”

    “I never called it unfriendly territory.” Scar corrected as he began walking back to his door, doing his best not to out-pace Mumbo. “The South is welcome in the Glass Empire.”

    “And so is the Glass Empire welcome in the South.”

    This time, Scar could identify the odd tone of Mumbo’s voice; the partial confirmation of some sort of agreement between their organizations, and the confusion of why Scar would do this, but still refuse an outright partnership. Scar let the unspoken question go unanswered, helping Mumbo take a seat at one of his employees’ desks before closing and securing the door.

    “Can you take your jacket off?” Scar asked him, pausing on his path to the first aid kit in case the answer was no. When Mumbo nodded, he left the room, gun still in hand as he fetched the kit. The chances of Mumbo attacking him were close to nothing, but even now they weren’t zero, and Scar knew there was no such thing as being too careful.

    Scar then proceeded to nearly shoot himself in the foot when he returned to the main office area to find that Mumbo had not only stripped off his jacket, but his shirt and tie as well. He had folded them up and deposited them on the floor by his feet, the small puddles of blood that were beginning to pool around them giving Scar an excuse to think about the different cleaners he’d have to call rather than anything else.

    “I could have just cut off the sleeve, you know.” Scar commented with feigned indifference, moving to the front of Mumbo and placing down the first aid kit and some towels on the desk beside him. “Didn’t need to take everything off.”

    Mumbo half-shrugged in response, careful to not jostle his injured shoulder any more than he already had. Despite his attempts to staunch the flow, blood had already begun trickling down his chest, and his hand was as bloody as it was the day Scar had come early for his typical impromptu meeting. Yet another thing Scar was going to do his best to not think about.

    The blood wasn’t the only thing of note on Mumbo’s chest, however. It was littered with scars as well. Most were small and faded, but one large one stretched over his heart, and another curved around his side in line with his ribs. The sight wasn’t too surprising, all things considered- this was their line of business, after all. But Mumbo was young for a boss, and new, and even now he was adding to the list of reminders that would follow him around for whatever amount of life he had left to live.

    It felt wrong.

    “Painkillers?”

    “It only hit my shoulder.” Mumbo replied flippantly. “I’ll be alright.”

    Scar placed the bottle out on the desk beside the kit regardless, just in case. He grabbed a second seat to use as his own as he started going through the first aid kit, pulling out gauze and sutures. “I won’t be able to tell exactly until we clean it up a bit, but I’m guessing you’re going to need a stitch or two.”

    “All I need is a bandage, Grian can stitch me up when I’m back at the Crystal.”

    “It’s funny how you think you’re leaving this building again tonight.”

    For all the ease their interactions had held so far, Mumbo immediately went on the defensive, sitting up tall in his seat and looking ready to fight Scar right then. Scar admired the fact Mumbo still might manage to win on sheer determination alone. “Excuse me?”

    “The last time you were outside at night you got shot.” Scar helpfully reminded, poking his own shoulder in mirror of Mumbo’s. “You’re safer here for the time being.”

    “I can take care of myself.”

    “Alright, let me put this a different way.” Scar moved one of the towels into his lap. “Grian’s already going to kill you for this stunt, that’s a given. So either you go out in the night, again, and get him committing double homicide against you for being stupid, and homicide against me for letting you be stupid, or you stay here for one single night, and save both of us at least one murder.”

    Mumbo didn’t make his choice immediately, choosing instead to glare at Scar as if that would change what he had said. Scar busied himself with laying out the rest of what he would need, briefly leaving once more to get a bowl of water. He returned to find Mumbo had once more slumped in his chair, privately grimacing.

    Scar took a moment to look away and loudly fiddle with a doorknob before taking his seat once more. Mumbo’s expression was once more masked, showing no signs of pain, but he hadn’t bothered to re-straighten his posture.

    “So, what’ll be, Mr. Eris?” Scar asked lightly, dipping a towel in the water bowl. “Need more blood on your hands tonight?” 

    “I suppose not.” Mumbo relented. “But I can still take care of myself. You don’t need to play nurse on my behalf.”

    Scar’s gaze fell briefly back to the patchwork of scars across Mumbo’s chest. “I have no doubt of that.” He said, the words coming out much gentler than he had meant them. “But you are my guest, and the Glass Empire insists upon its hospitality.” 

    "...You are an odd man, Scar Chronos.” Scar looked up again, finding Mumbo's gaze had softened somewhat. He still didn't seem too happy with the situation, unsurprisingly, but he seemed to have accepted it. "You can't seem to decide if we are enemies or allies.”

    “Why not a bit of both?” Scar said meaninglessly, scooting his chair closer to Mumbo and changing the topic. “Hand off.”

    Mumbo hesitated before complying, letting the hand that had been pressing against the wound fall to his lap. Scar gave him one of the towels, letting him wash his hands and wipe down his chest while Scar focused on the bullethole.

    "Did it go all the way through?”

    "No, it's still in there.”

    Scar nodded, grabbing his tweezers. "You're certain you don't want any painkillers?”

    Mumbo twisted the towel in his hands harder than he needed to. "Positively.”

    With another nod, Scar did his best to work delicately, trying not to add to the damage already done as he attempted to retrieve the bullet. Mumbo leaned his head against his uninjured shoulder, using his towel to bite on when Scar finally found his target and began to pull it out.

    Scar let the bullet drop to the desk beside them when it was finally out, mentally adding the piece of furniture to the list of things that would need to be cleaned. Mumbo dropped the towel to his lap once more, letting out a long breath before looking at Scar again.

    "Can I do my own stitches at least?”

    "Nope.” Scar answered with somewhat put-on cheerfulness. "But if it's really important to you, I'll let you bandage it afterwards.”

    Mumbo huffed a laugh before leaning back, resigned to Scar's cordiality. “No you won't.”

    "Correct, I won't.” Scar confirmed, picking up the wet towel and bringing it to Mumbo's shoulder. He was careful with his motions, not wanting to aggravate the wound more as he cleaned. Mumbo watched silently as he worked.

    "You remind me of Grian.” Scar did his best not to react too strongly to the sudden comment, instead raising a single eyebrow in curiosity. “So attentive. Usually I just stitch it up and call it good.”

    Scar hummed as he put the towel down, replacing it in his hand with the thread and needle he would need for the coincidentally mentioned next step. “Would you do that to Grian if he was the one that needed help?”

    “I wouldn’t.” Mumbo acknowledged, smirking. “But Grian is my right-hand man.”

    “And you are my guest.” Scar dodged, threading his needle. “Hold still.”

    Scar put in the stitches in silence, Mumbo not seeming as pained by the needlework as he had been by the removal of the bullet but hardly enjoying it either. His hand on his uninjured side patted his pocket as Scar worked, likely the location of whatever weapon he had on him. A knife, if Scar had to guess. If Mumbo had a gun it would either have been over his chest or in a leg holster. Scar would have been insulted if he didn’t understand the feeling so well himself. Scar’s work stayed steady with the knowledge that if Mumbo wanted to hurt him, he would have struck already. That, and the fact he could draw his gun faster than Mumbo could at current.

    As he finished off the stitches, Scar tied off the last one and cut it off from the spool. Mumbo inspected Scar’s work while Scar once again changed the objects in his hand. He made no complaints against the stitches or the fact Scar was picking up the gauze.

    Scar shifted his seat even closer to Mumbo’s, pulling more to his side so that he could wrap the gauze around his shoulder. Mumbo’s arm came to rest against Scar’s leg to give Scar better access to the injury, more small scars scratched across it. Scar couldn’t help but wonder how many of those Grian had helped with- how many of all the scars on Mumbo’s chest he had helped with, had cleaned and stitched and bandaged just like Scar was doing now.

    “Why doesn’t Grian wear your symbol?” Scar asked after a moment, well aware he had no right to, well aware there was no need to ask, well aware Mumbo likely wouldn’t answer at all. But it was a question that had always been on the back of his mind, ever since the first time he had seen Grian sporting amethyst instead of moustaches, and he doubted there would ever be another time where it was even close to appropriate to ask it.

    Mumbo closed his eyes, appearing to deliberate the question, deciding whether or not he would answer. Scar continued wrapping, nearly done when Mumbo finally spoke.

    “I don’t want to link him to me- to the South- like that.”

    “Everyone already knows Grian is your right-hand. Symbol or no.”

    “It gives him deniability.” Mumbo replied, looking down at the hand still resting over his weapon. “And it means if he ever wants to leave, he can. He doesn’t have to stay.”

    “You don’t want Grian in the South? Heremita?”

    “I don’t want him in this business.”

    Scar held the gauze in place as he reached for a piece of tape, securing the cloth. “He’s a strong member in your organization.”

    “Do you think that’s all I see him as?”

    “No.” Scar said quietly, moving Mumbo’s arm back into his own lap and pulling away to focus on repacking the kit. “I think you see him as much more.”

    Scar could feel Mumbo’s eyes on his back as he worked. He did his best to ignore the sensation, closing the kit with a bit of a louder snap than necessary. “Do you need any help getting your shirt back on?”

    “I’ve got it.” Scar nodded without looking back, taking the kit and spare towels back to where he had fetched them from. By the time he returned, Mumbo was pulling his jacket loosely over his shoulders, shirt on and tie shoved in a pocket. He looked more put together than a man who still had his own blood dripping off him should.

    “There’s a bed in the spare office.” Scar informed him, pointing out the office in question.

    Mumbo gave it a glance before turning back towards Scar, not looking enthralled. “Why would I sleep here?”

    “The door locks from the inside, and there’s a chair you can put under the knob as well, if it makes you feel more secure.” Scar explained, flashing a small smile. “And for whatever it’s worth to you, I promise you I won’t try to break in on you. I mean what I say about hospitality.” 

    It took a few minutes for Mumbo to respond to that, and even then it didn’t feel like nearly enough time for him to have made such a decision in. “Alright. But only if you wake me as soon as the sun’s risen. The sooner Grian hears about this, the less I have to be chewed out over it.”

    “I will.” Scar promised, watching as Mumbo made his way to the spare office. He hesitated in the doorway for a moment, turning to look at Scar again.

    “Grian’s not the only person I value past their position.” Mumbo said cryptically, smiling at Scar as if he should know exactly what he meant. “The South really would be chuffed if the Glass Empire pursued a partnership. Come by the Crystal again. Our doors are always open to you, even without an appointment.”

    Of the million things that sprang to Scar’s mind to say, to ask about, his only response came out as a nod. Mumbo seemed to accept it as more than enough, however, nodding back and wishing Scar a good night. The office door’s lock clicked behind him as he disappeared into the room, leaving Scar’s late reply of the same sentiments to echo in the empty main office.

    Scar found himself sliding back into the seat he had been helping Mumbo in, rotating around so that Mumbo’s room was behind him and the jewelry store’s side entrance in front of him. He pulled his gun into his lap, trying not to think too hard on whether or not he was just protecting himself right in that moment.

~

    “I'm heading out for a walk.”

    "Scar.”

    "Fine, fine! It's a business meeting! We don't need to be so formal about it, you know.”

    Bdubs spared Scar a glance as he worked on emptying display cases, packing things up for the night. “I'm being formal about it because I want something formal to happen. Casual walks into enemy territory still aren't safe.”

    “An ‘enemy’ I personally helped patch up! It'll be alright.” Scar argued, picking up his cane. “Besides, I think you're just upset over the blood.”

    "We haven't had any blood in the main offices in a year, Scar, it was very rude of them to break that streak.”

    “It wasn't entirely the South's fault for that.”

    “Well I can't do much about you. At least we're going after False for it.” Bdubs replied. “Speaking of, our efforts at cutting into her territory have been successful, we've gained some edge buildings. Got some votes out of the business owners there as well in trade for our protection from their old protection.”

    "Good. Teach her to leave her litter on my buildings.” Scar said, ignoring the look Bdubs shot him, as though there were other reasons the Glass Empire would suddenly pursue a much less neutral stance against False's organization. “I'll be off now. Don't wait up on me!”

    Bdubs wished him well as he stepped out the door, heading right off for the End Crystal. The sun was already setting, nighttime fast approaching, and with Scar's expansion into False's territory he knew the late hours were going to be even less safe for him now. 

    As he expected, Scar found the End Crystal nearly empty when he arrived, too early in the evening for the crowds to really be flowing in. Consequently, he wasn't surprised when Grian appeared sooner than he normally might. He was dressed as finely as ever, but his posture seemed a smidge more relaxed than usual, a minor detail Scar blamed on the lack of patrons.

    "Mr. Chronos.” Ah, but still as formal as ever. “We've been expecting you for a few days now.”

    "Well, Mr. Penemue, you know how work can be.” Scar gave as an excuse. “I do hope I'm not so late as to have missed my appointment.”

    “You miss none of the appointments you never make.” Grian joked even as he turned, guiding Scar towards Mumbo's office as he had done a dozen times before. The waiting room was again empty as they entered as they had weeks ago, the last time Scar had been in the End Crystal. This time, however, Grian brought the two of them to a halt in the center of the room.

    “Is there a problem, Grian?”

    Grian turned to face Scar, crossing his arms. “The opposite, actually. I wanted to thank you. You did Mumbo, me, and the South a great service in helping him that night, despite having no obligation to do so.”

    “I could hardly just leave him there to die.” Scar responded, clearing his throat before adding, “You alone would have seen to the end of my organization and myself had I not helped.”

    "Perhaps.” Grian admitted, before smiling knowingly and continuing, “But with False's poster, I very easily could have blamed her instead. Had you not assisted him, you would have brought about both the ruin of the South and the destruction of the Armory.”

    Scar laughed. “You sound almost as if you wished I had let him die.”

    “Not in the slightest. But it would have been much more beneficial to you, and because of that, I greatly appreciate that you helped him instead.” Grian paused, considering something before he said, “You know, me and Mumbo aren’t dating.”

    Of all the things Grian could have decided needed to be discussed, not in several years would Scar have seen that particular one coming. “Wha-”

    “You’ve been acting distant, professionally and personally, ever since you caught us kissing- Mr. Chronos, I am capable of back-watching footage my eyes saw while I was elsewhere- and so I presume the two things are related. I hoped to ease any… qualms you might have.” 

    “I- wait- you- okay, let’s just. Let’s back-up.” It was never a good thing to be so visibly caught off-guard in front of an opponent, much less so when it was in a manner that could be considered ‘flustered’, and much much less so when said opponent was smirking at you like it was funny. The sooner Scar would be able to recover from this, the better. “Why were you and Mumbo kissing if you two aren’t together?”

    “I owe my life to him, and despite my dedication to his safety, he would much too willingly throw himself in front of a gun for me.” Grian said with a shrug, as if it weren’t as important to him as it clearly was. “We’re closer than most couples are, we don’t need to be together to kiss.”

    “...None of the way you phrased that made it sound any less like you are together.”

    Scar was glad to note there was some level of amusement in the exasperated expression Grian took on. “If it’s easier for you, you can think of us as non-exclusive, then. It’s not that important to my main point.”

    “Your main point being?”

    “I know you’re not an idiot, Mr. Chronos.” Was all Grian offered as an explanation. “You’re welcome to head in now.” 

    Scar lifted his cane, catching Grian’s attention with it. “Don’t you want this?”

    Grian looked at the dangerous mobility aid, clenching his jaw for a moment as he seemed to make a decision. He looked Scar dead in the eye. “Hurt him in the slightest and I will take apart your Empire with my bare hands, Scar.”

    He took his leave of Scar then, before Scar had a chance to fully process the threat and use of his first name. He was fairly certain it counted as a good sign, at least. Grian's form of a blessing.

    His guide having left, Scar allowed himself into Mumbo’s office. The curtains weren’t completely drawn, letting in the fading daylight rays and illuminating part of Mumbo’s face as he worked. His jacket was only pulled over one arm, hanging loose around the one now in a sling.

    “We were beginning to worry you weren’t coming.” Mumbo said as Scar closed the door, looking up from his papers with a smile. “I expected you sooner.”

    “I wanted to give you some recovery time first.” Scar took a seat in the same chair before Mumbo’s desk, resting his cane against its side. “You and Grian, as I’m sure he wasn’t exactly thrilled at discovering your gunshot condition.”

    “He has been a lovely mix of overbearing mother hen and someone who must be restrained from starting territorial warfare, so, no, I wouldn’t say he took it the best.” Mumbo joked, rolling his pen between his fingers as he looked at Scar. “But he has been looking forward to your visit as well. This partnership is long overdue, wouldn’t you agree?”

    “That depends.” Scar returned Mumbo’s gaze evenly. “Are we talking professionally or personally?”

    Mumbo’s smile grew into a smirk as he stood, making his way around his desk to lean against the front of it, right in front of Scar. “I don’t see why we can’t work out something for both.”

    “That would be amicable.” Scar said as he leaned forward, reaching out to grab the end of Mumbo’s tie and tug him closer. Mumbo didn’t resist the motion, bending until his face was mere inches from Scar’s.

    “Is it a deal then?”

    Scar sat up taller in his seat, shortening the gap between him and Mumbo even more, tilting his head by a fraction. “Is Grian watching?” He asked in a low voice, as if there was anyone else who could hear.

    “He always is.” Mumbo replied, equally quiet and still wearing that knowing smirk, as if he thought Scar was being cute in a manner that wasn’t quite the typical definition of cute. Scar couldn’t help but return it even as he leaned in, sealing their deal like the charming gentleman he was.

[comparativetarot]

O Heremita. Art by Gabriel Santiago.

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