#it should be at least THREE per shelf | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sabraeal · 1 day ago

Text

The Man of Progress, Chapter 4

[Read on AO3]

Written for @infinitelystrangemachinex who has not only been very patiently been waiting nearly two weeks for this birthday fic, but beta read it TWICE in one week so I could turn this around within a week of Act 3 airing. Since I think we all could use...something else to think of right now 🤣

Pretty manners might keep any clansman in good standing from daring to venture the question, and a personal precedent to refuse answering any inquiry without compensation might keep her from giving it, but there’s no shame— in Mel’s mind, at least— in admitting that she is just shy of three decades. That might make her an old crone according to some of her more distant cousins; the kind that merely cling to Medarda’s coattails, only caring about investments and opportunities the clan makes when it affects the amount of money left in their pockets.

But to her, that is nearly twenty years of experience. The proof of a comprehensive education in keeping this clan afloat, even in its leanest years. A testament to her knowledge and skill, a record of competence—

And yet one step beneath these vaulted ceilings, and she might as well be that small girl child from Noxus once again, still smelling of blood and sand as they herded her into the master’s study. Even now she can picture their pinched smiles, worry and suspicion carving furrows at the corner of her cousins’ eyes.

“I wonder if you understand the scope of what you mean to do.” Master Jago does not so much speak as croak these days, his once sonorous voice interrupted by the pops and crackles of age; a victrola’s skipping needle on the record of time. “It was Medarda who cast the Sun Gates' first gears.”

Mel stifles a snort, pacing the length of a shelf, fingers tracing over the master’s trophies; a carved dunpor horn from Stonewall, the dried husk of a honeyfruit from Palclyff, two entwined statues from Demacia with wings spread wide. Ridiculous to think that she needed to be reminded of their contributions, as if her tutors hadn’t had her memorize those accounts down to the washer barely a week after Ambessa dropped her at their doorstep.

As if Jago hadn’t handpicked her himself to be their representative on the council, hadn’t called her ‘the most Medarda of all of them,’ as shrewd and sensible and relentlessly ruthless as any of the old cog-clutching misers that preceded her. The only difference between their service to the clan and hers was that she looked good doing it. “Isn’t it fitting, then, that we should be at the forefront of Piltover’s next great venture?”

“A more prudent one would have been to use this Hextech to strengthen our current investments.” Jago’s hands are parchment pale as they tremble over his desk, wrinkled as an bank note discarded in the bin, but when he takes up his pen, there’s not a bit of him that isn’t steady, as sharp as the nib he sets to page. “If the Sun Gates were able to pass ships through fifty percent higher than our current rate, then that would put us near Clan Ferros in terms of wealth generated per day—”

“And they would somehow find some way to pick at our profits, either through maintenance or manpower.” For a man who professed to have no interest in running his clan, Albus has a keen sense of how to wedge his elbow into every door, turning any opportunity for one clan into an unmitigated triumph for his. “Even if our current ventures vest as they should, we’ll still be left nipping at Ferros’ heels. But if we were to put our considerable assets behind something new, something bold, then we have a chance to not just pull ahead of the other families, but to set the pace entirely.”

Jago had been halfway to gray when she’d been dropped on Medarda’s doorstep, but the brows he furrows now are whitecap pale, one disappearing behind the golden frame of his monocle. “You present a compelling point, as always, Mel.”

It would be foolish to preen under the master’s praise— she’s no longer a child in the schoolroom, proving that she has sufficiently mastered her sums, after all— but Mel allows herself a moment to bask in the flush of her accomplishment. To even let her shoulders relax— no slumping, and never slouching, but not entirely square. A moment of repose, well earned.

That is, of course, until Master Jago says, “However…”

Her spine snaps straight, even as her steps remain languid, confident, as if she anticipated his doubt. “I have handled all the arrangements,” she assures him, circling behind his chair until only her voice and the steady staccato of her heels mark her. “Not only will the presentation be sure to impress even Hextech’s staunchest critics, but there will be no question as to which clan has chosen to back the venture. The Sun Gates ushered in a new age of progress for Piltover two hundred years ago, and the Hexgate will do the same now.”

“I have no doubt you have seen to all the details, my girl.” Her cousins might murmur that one day Master Jago will lose his edge, that senility will come for him the way it does every man and take Medarda with it, but the eyes that swing to her now are still sharp, wheels and cogs in the great machine of his mind still running with a young man’s ease. “But Medarda has long made its fortune on maritime trade routes. These are not seafaring vessels, but…”

“There is no reason to worry, Master.” His shoulder is thin beneath her hand, frailer than she remembers. Still, she keeps her grip firm, if gentle. “I don’t imagine you acquired that sky frigate a few years ago with no intent to use it, did you?”

“Of course I didn’t.” One absent hand reaches up to touch hers; an afterthought, if a fond one. “It doesn’t do to be beholden to only one form of trade. You only need to look at the Hollorans to see what happens when you allow yourself to fall beneath the wheel of progress.”

“Then Medarda is already poised to take advantage of the new avenues for trade that the Hexgate can open to us.” She steps past him, hand leaving his shoulder to trace along the contours of his desk. How large this thing had seemed as a girl— an entire other country, never to be traversed. And now she skirts around the perimeter of it with no more than a stretch of a leg or two. “Only a few families have bothered to buy into sky ships, and those are nearly all pleasure barges. Not a single one of them is fit for long distances with heavy cargo.”

“It will astound you how quickly those things can change.” He laughs— a heavy, rolling noise, more like thunder than humor— but the stare he fixes her with is stern, sober. If she were more given to drama, she might even call it dire. “Only this morning, the papers said Albus Ferros planned to finance a significant portion of Hextech research. How certain are you that he will not simply shut you out from your plans when they’ve advanced far enough and reap the benefits all on his own?”

It’s certainly not out of the realm of possibility, as uncomfortable as it is to admit. Talis plays the part of a man of the people, just one engineer out of the hundreds of genius inventors the Academy has put out, pulling himself up by the bootstraps to change the world— and he plays it well. But he’s not that humble engineer, no matter how well he swings a hammer; he’s the scion of one of Piltover’s merchant clans, even if their circumstances are much diminished, and as eager to prove himself among them as any master’s son. If she can sway him with a sashay and a smile, Ferros could just as easily with an open purse and a pat on the back. Even now she can see it, those two sets of broad shoulders— one natural, one entirely engineered— rubbing as they bend over some schematic, shaking hands as coins rattle one after the other on the workbench.

But then she pictures that constructed bit of posture turning around, glaring over his mustache at the curved spine in the corner, more grease than man, and laughs.

“Quite sure, my dear Master Jago,” she says, smile slanting over her lips. “But I must admit, I’d love to see him try.”

The morning still clings stubbornly to the horizon when Mel emerges from the Medarda manor, none the worse for wear. It’s too early; Master Jago might prefer to have his business done by tea, but it's hours yet before any councilman would dare to show their face at the office, the fog not even burnt off from the dawn’s chill. It sits thick on the cobbles, eddying around the sway of her skirt, leaving an unpleasant draft against her ankles.

“You’ll be off then, Councilor?” one of the grooms asks, pushing off from where he’d been leaning on the carriage’s cab, making time with what seemed to be a gardener.

“That I will.” She takes his offered hand— appropriately gloved, black, and sturdy for the purpose— and asks, “Is your mother feeling better, by the way?”

There’s a single moment of hesitation, a small hiccup between one blink and the next that leaves room for his cheeks to flush and his tongue to flop around like a loose cog before snapping right into smiling place. “Much, ma’am. And I’m supposed to pass on her thanks— for the tonic, she says. Got rid of the cough right away.”

“Think nothing of it.” Impossible, she knows, but humility assures more goodwill than lofty benevolence. And a squeeze of the hand— not too much; just shy of an invitation— wins more loyalty than words ever could. “It was the least I could do.”

The man’s too well-trained to gawp or gape— Medarda isn’t in the habit of hiring hayseeds fresh off the wagons, after all— but his wide eyes weigh on her as she ducks into the carriage, warm as a hand laid against her spine. There’s one less tongue to wag itself at the master the moment he glares its way; important, if she’s going to pull this snare tight without Jago’s long fingers tangling in the knots.

A sigh slips from her as she sits, fogging a sliver of the carriage’s glass. “I trust everything is set for the reception?”

“Yes, Councilor.” Engineers could use Elora’s spine as a slide-rule for how stiff she sits on the bench, collar and hemline pin-straight, perfect. Another flawless cog in Medarda’s great machine. “Your meeting went well?”

“As well as can be expected.” Better, but Mel’s hardly fool enough to admit it where it might work back to Jago’s ears. Elora may be her personal assistant, secretary, and the closest she comes to a confidant, but it’s not from her accounts that Medarda pulls the cogs to pay salary. “Do I have any other engagements today?”

Elora glances down at the notes in her lap, even the line of her jaw precise, if not the bend of her mouth, too worried to meet proper angles. “The atelier you requested is sending over samples this afternoon.”

“Really.” Mel leans back, frowning at where the Academy juts up from Piltover’s skyline, its towers far above the fog of the city below. “They’ll be acceptable this time, I assume.”

“They have been informed of your particular specifications.” A corner of Elora’s too-serious mouth lifts, almost a smirk. “No blue, no beige, no white. Something impressive.”

Mel snorts. “Let us hope that they pay attention this time. If I have to hear that man preach to me about visions or muses again just because he can’t envisage a color darker than cream…”

“Any other modiste in the city would trip over themselves to dress you,” Elora assures her, quick as reflex. But it’s not simply comforting patter, oh no; she’s already flipping through her notes, finding names. “It would be short notice, but it’s not as if we can’t afford to pay them for the rush. If they even thought to ask.”

“We would pay them for their hard work whether they asked for it or not.” The other clansmen might clutch to cogs and account for every nut down to the washer, but Mel prefers to deal in a more valuable currency. “But hopefully our dear modiste does not get it into his head that he knows my preferences better than I do, and we are saved the trouble of finding out.”

Elora’s mouth rumples, unconvinced, but her fingers cease to flip pages. “As long as you’re sure. We could start contacting a few of the more fashionable houses to see if they could promise a complete product, just in case—”

Mel holds up a hand. Better to beg for a dress at the eleventh hour than to be seen undermining one of their fellow dressmakers the day before. “Let us believe that he can at least put out one sample that meets our expectations. At least for now.”

Modistes might have a reputation for nipping at each other’s backs, having as many petty quarrels as the council itself with just as disastrous consequences, but all it would take is one perceived insult to turn them all into dear colleagues— and leave her quite in the lurch.

A lone sky ship putters through the clouds; a heavy, ungainly thing that wobbles as the wind eddies around its bulk. There’s another slouching over the horizon, propellers struggling to keep the whole of it aloft instead of fumbling toward the sea. Pleasure barges; one more and it would be as many as she’s ever seen floating at once. The merchant clans might tout progress as their business and innovation as their creed, but when they envisioned the future of Piltover, this was still what they saw— a city dominated by the Academy.

Mel squints at its peaked roofs, clouds catching the thrust of its golden spires, and asks, “Is that all?”

“That’s all,” Elora confirms, hands folding over paper and ink. “They’re not supposed to be by until later this afternoon, so if you wanted to head to the Council Building before—?”

“Hardly.” She leans forward, drawing down the trumpet that leads up to the driver’s box. “To the Academy, if you would, Mr Gallow. I would be most appreciative.”

The carriage lurches to the left, hurtling down the familiar cobbles, and Elora’s frown furrows deeper into her cheeks. “The Academy? What business do you have there?”

“Why, to check up on my favorite investment, of course.” Mel leans her arm on the rest, letting her gaze drift back to those ivory towers, considering. “If we’re having all of Piltover out to see this little bit of theater, I’d like to know we have an actual show to put on.”

“The presentation is only two days away,” Elora reminds her as she chases her heels up the academy steps, practically bleeding paper on the marble. “Nearly all our guests have RSVP’d.”

“You don’t need to remind me.” The Academy has always been an impressive edifice, a marvel of modern engineering— and hell on the legs, if one didn’t navigate stairways poro-back. Still, she mounts each one with the ease of habit, hand only just brushing over the rail rather than Elora’s life-line clutch. “Why do you think I’m here?”

Her assistant blinks up at the labs looming before them, just as stately as the lecture halls— and certainly far nicer than the warehouse in Midtown, only suited to contain occasional explosions of genius. “You don’t think it’s done?”

A laugh spills right off her lips, as airy as it is wry. “You don’t know many engineers, do you?”

The question catches Elora by surprise; she lags behind a step, then two, before she scurries to keep pace. “It’s just…Mr Talis’s presentations are so polished. I can’t imagine him leaving anything to the last minute— not something so important, at least.”

So one might be tempted to think, so long as they had not witnessed Talis more than ten minutes pre-symposium. The Master of Ceremonies could be cutting his teeth on the glowing words of their introduction, and both those Academy boys would be on their knees backstage with wrench in hand, tightening bolts until the curtains rose.

Knowing Viktor, he’d still insist they were one last tweak from perfection, sending Talis to beg for five more minutes— ten, twenty, just an hour, surely she could give them one more day?— to work. Just one last distraction before the masses got to take their peek behind the curtain.

Mel snorts. “It’s not Mr Talis that I’m worried about.”

Elora’s brow furrows. “Then who—?”

The lab’s glass facade does not so much open as burst; at one moment a long, endless bank of mirrored windows, and the next, hinges squeal their protest as the atrium doors fly open, disgorging an entire entourage of trousers and waists, open-cut coats fluttering in the breeze of their brisk pace.

“Reginald.” The voice is as bold— brassy, one might even say— as the cogs capping Ferros’s shoulders, ringing out across the pavilion with all the pomp of a man used to being heard. “I want results, not numbers. Make it happen.”

The man scurries off on Ferros’s business, but he could be bowing and scraping and crawling on his belly still for all that Ferros notices, swaggering down the steps with the confidence of kings. Piltover prided itself on its meritocracy, boasting that without lords and peers, any man may make himself into a master if only he worked hard enough. But it was men like Ferros— born clansmen, ones who had enough hexes to be patrons rather than the patronized— who seemed to succeed, standing on the backs of brighter minds and pretending to more talents than simply sussing con from coup.

“Councilor Medarda.” The man smiles with all the warmth of a shark in chummed waters. “What a pleasure to see you here.”

“Albus.” She inclines her head, letting him take her hand between his two over-large ones, swallowing her up to the wrist. Thankfully he refrains from doing anything so crass as pressing his lips to it. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“I doubt it.” His mustache twitches at a corner, threatening to lift, to smirk. “You must be here to take a gander at what my boys have been up to.”

His boys. Her smile nearly creaks. “I just came by to make sure that everything was prepared for the presentation. Only a few days left, after all, and Medarda has put quite a bit behind this technology of theirs. We’re quite invested in making sure there’s no…surprises before the curtain rises.”

Such as not having a functioning prototype. Clan Cadwalder had never quite recovered from their last little slip up— fifteen years ago, by her count— and Mel had no intention of making Medarda suffer the same shame. She hasn’t clawed them this far up Piltover’s wheel of progress to be shoved back down by trusting engineers to meet a deadline. Especially not these engineers.

“Of course, of course.” There’s a smoothness to the way Ferros speaks, leaving the gravel of his voice to catch on it like a callus on silk. “Mr Talis’s project would be quite the boon for Medarda and its investments, should it pay off. One you must sorely need, since those summer storms off Demacia have made your foreign ones…slow to mature.”

Sunk to the bottom of the Conqueror’s Sea, he means— or at least, his shark-smile implies, eager to feast upon misfortune. He’d gotten their taste not long ago, and oh, it seems he’s ravenous for more. Pity she’ll have to disappoint him.

“Your concern is touching, Albus,” she drawls, brushing her fingers just beneath his cogs. “But Medarda has been sailing their ships down that strait since before the Sun Gates’ first cog was a sparkle in our eye. A few summer squalls won’t scuttle our ships or our investments— we know better than to count our coins before they cross our palms, or ships before they come into harbor.”

That mustache twitches again, grin stretching to grimace before finding good humor again, and pride pulls those bronze cogs even broader. “Excellent to hear. Medarda has always had a history of…over-reliance on its foreign connections. A pity when there is so much profit to be made relying on good old Piltoverian stock.”

“When it comes to innovation, I suppose, we can hardly disagree.” Her hand presses against the fine wool of his coat, patting the sloped shoulders he’s trying so hard to conceal. That was ever Ferros’s way— covering weakness with a show of strength, whether it be a poorly worded trade agreement with a display of wealth, or a weak upper lip with a ridiculous mustache. “Progress Day would hardly be much of a celebration of Piltover’s prowess if Medarda hadn’t commissioned every gear to be made in our own forges.”

“Well said,” he drawls, like a man marinating more than a few arguments of his own. “I must admit, I didn’t think you would be so appreciative of Piltover’s place in history. Few are, outside of these walls.”

Mel blinks, fingers flinching back from where they rest. They hang in the air for a bare moment, tension coiled down to the knuckles, before she lets them fall. A controlled descent, poised, like a skipping needle set back on its groove.

An amateur might stretch a smile across their teeth, making bone act as a buttress, as if more structure would solve the need for motivation. But Mel is an expert in insincerity, letting her lips lilt instead, humor implied by angle rather than earnestness by length. “And we’re all the poorer for it. Just think what our engineers might achieve if only they had competition to compel them.”

There’s a sharp jerk that of that mustache, a spasm that resembles a furred creature’s death throes more than a facial twitch, before it settles into one of his patronizing smirks. Or at least the shadow of one; Ferros barely able to hold its shape as he drawls, “Now wouldn’t that be something to behold.”

“If you would excuse me.” She rises one more step, the gap between them shortening. “Business conspires to keep me moving. No rest for the wicked and all that.”

“There certainly isn’t.” It’s said pleasantly enough, polite smile clutched in his mustache’s talons, but when she moves to pass him, his eyes fix on her with a predator’s purpose. “The presentation is only a few days away, isn’t it, Councilor? And with Medarda hosting the reception, it must keep you busy.”

He might well put a paw to her neck for how thoroughly his stare gives her pause, mounting only one last step to draw them shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Talis’s technology— it’s quite impressive, isn’t it? Magic for the masses.” He huffs out a laugh, but for all his bluster, his eyes never move an inch, keeping her pinned perfectly in place. “It could go a long way in paying back Medarda’s debts. If it works.”

Spoken like the man who holds them. “I suppose,” she allows, careful of the purse strings that could choke her. “Though one might think that being informed of such an opportunity might be its own payment.”

“One might,” he remarks, as if it were nothing.

Clan Ferros never concedes, never compromises— and yet here’s a foot in the door; the wedge she needs to keep it open, if only so that one day she might get out. Desperation makes strange bedfellows, her mother would laugh, watching clans and countries scramble for allies under her encroaching shadow. If only Mel had known she meant necessity breeds mistakes, she might have thought better of crawling into bed with them in the first place.

“Have a good day, Lord Albus,” she says, putting one sole on the step above her, shifting her weight to rise—

Only for Ferros to reach out, fingers banding around her arm, folding over where metal bites into flesh. It warms beneath his touch, a warning and a promise, just like the way he leans toward her, shoulders so broad they cast her in shadow.

“Impress me, Mel.” It’s not a growl— Ferros is far too mannerly for that— but it grates nonetheless. “Give me progress, and then we’ll see just how much such a helpful hint was worth.”

He releases her— just a simple jerk of his fingers and he’s gone, as if manhandling her was as natural and unremarkable as picking up a handkerchief. And yet, here she is, standing on the pavilion steps with every nerve left raw and sparking, like some half-finished project strewn across Viktor’s bench.

“Mel.” It’s more gulp than gasp, Elora lurching forward, concern scrawled across the tight furrow of her brow—

But Mel holds up a hand, halting her in place. “I’ve changed my mind. I think I’d like to see some blue after all.”

“Blue?” Elora steps back, blinking. “You mean...the dress? But didn’t you say—?”

“I know what I said,” she says coolly. “But I think a few people need to be reminded.”

Her head tilts. “Reminded? Of what?”

Mel pointedly lifts her gaze, right up to the top of the Academy’s ivory towers, where the blue and gold of Piltover waves. “Of who I am.”

Much as Talis might have prided himself on Hextech’s humble origins, there is nothing of that Midtown warehouse left in the lab now. Every surface is polishing to gleaming in the showroom, even the podium for reception sleek and buffed until stone shines like chrome. Which is where Talis stumbles out from, notes fumbling across the desk as she makes her entrance, guilt leaking out of him like a faulty faucet.

“Councilor!” he calls out, surreptitiously shoving papers on top of other papers, every line of him screaming unready. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

Her eyebrow arches, one corner of her mouth following. “Clearly.”

“What do I—? Er, I mean, we, what do we, ah…” He clears his throat, one large hand tugging at the knot of his tie, as if a little air might make his conscience cleaner. “Elora isn’t with you?”

“She was.” Mel paces past him, touring the tables with all the interest of a tutor overlooking a student’s drill work. They’re cunning pieces, useful things in a pretty package— even the mining gloves have an elegance to them, though she doubts it would be appreciated by the folk down in the fissures— but with the instability of the crystals themselves, ultimately decoration; a future Talis could design but not manufacture. “However, it seems that I overlooked a small detail for the reception. I sent her to handle it.”

“Really?” She has to hand it to Talis; when he turns those wide eyes on her, all concern, she believes it. “Not anything too important, I hope. Be a shame for things to go sideways this late in the game, you know.”

“Nothing that would keep you two from getting up on that stage, I’m sure.” Though she wouldn’t put it past Viktor to try. What’s the point, he would drawl from the bowels of his creation, if the Councilor isn’t looking her best? We might as well move the whole thing to, oh, let’s see…never?

“That’s good.” His waistcoat doesn’t leave much room for slumping, but, ever the over-achiever, Talis manages it, relief slackening that chiseled jaw. “So this is just a…er…personal visit?”

“Hardly. I was out handling some last-minute plans for the presentation, I thought I might see how you boys were coming along.” She brushes past him— not close enough to touch, but close enough to imply, which, by the sharp breath he draws in, is more than enough for an engineer wound as tight as Talis. “Or at least make sure there’s an actual, working prototype.”

“Aw, come on, Councilor, can’t you give us a little credit?” One of those large palms scrapes over the short hairs at the back of his head, and ha, no one else could make humility so appealing. “We’ve never come up empty-handed, have we?”

She lifts her chin with a playful sniff. “Try that on someone who hasn’t seen you spend every last second before an exhibition tightening bolts.”

“Well, you got me there.” Talis rests one hip against the receptionist’s podium, hands lifted in a very aesthetically pleasing surrender. He always did have the sort of face that Noxian artists would clamor to paint on its knees. “But I promise, Councilor, I don’t have any intention of letting you down.”

“I’m hoping neither of you will,” she warns with a warmth that leaves Talis grinning rather than grimacing. “Though I suppose if Lord Albus’s mood was any indication, I won’t be unsatisfied with your progress.”

“Ah…” Talis has the grace to look chagrined, at least. “So you did see him.”

She cocks a hip, crossing her arms beneath her chest for best effect. “We ran into each other on the stairs.”

“Ah, right, right. Makes sense.” Little as he seems to like it. Clearly crossing patrons hadn’t been part of his afternoon plans. “It’s just— he only wanted a look around. Not in the lab, though. You know how Viktor doesn’t like, er” — gawkers is the politest way he’s ever put it in her hearing, and she doubts he’s stretched himself to search for another— “visitors while he’s working.”

“Really?” She arches an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Albus Ferros never struck me as the sort to leave any sleeping dog to lie.”

At least, not as long as he had money in it. The finer details of Hextech might fly right over his well-oiled head, but he does know what it will cost right down to the washer.

“Well…” Talis grimaces, guilty. “He might have peeked his head in. Just for a minute.”

Ah. Gawker. “And I suppose Viktor’s in fine feather after such a pleasant visit from his patron?”

“To put it mildly,” Talis mutters, arms crossed over that wide expanse of waistcoat. “He’s in the lab, if you’re looking to get scowled at. I’m letting him make some last minute tweaks to blow off some steam.”

She doubts that Talis had much of a say in the matter, but she magnanimously refrains from saying so; no, instead she drawls, “Tweaks? Is there some problem I should be aware of, or—?”

“No, no, nothing like that, Councilor.” He’s all good humor and graciousness now, hands waving in the air between them. “He just— well, you know Viktor. He had some ideas about optimization and performance, and well…as long as the gate gets on stage in working order in time for my presentation, he can do whatever he likes.”

“Your presentation?” The muscles in her cheek twitch, one side of her smile slanting into a smirk. Teasing, of course; playful, even. Enough to take the sting out of, “Weren’t you the one who wouldn’t even stand next to it when there was a cage?”

“Well, that’s before we got the field stable,” he protests, shoulders a little too square for nonchalance. “Now there’s no worries at all. Smooth sailing. Like riding one of those steam cabs downhill.”

Mel arches an eyebrow. The masses do seem to find their fun where they can get it. “I can’t say I would know.”

“In any case, I think we’ve all earned a rest on our laurels, haven’t we?” He leans over the podium with his most charming smile, heedless of the pages crinkling beneath his sleeves. A little ink smudges on his cuff, still wet, and she can’t help dropping her gaze to trace the angle of it, making out strange corners and hastily scribbled letters. “Speaking of a little rest and relaxation…I’ve heard there’s a new restaurant that’s opened up on Sidereal Avenue, just down the street from the treasury. Some little Shuriman fusion place, I thought maybe you might—”

“What is this?” She bypasses those big dog eyes of his with a tap of her finger, drawing his attention down to his elbow. “Runes, I suppose?”

“Oh, that?” A laugh blows right out of him, more dismissive than a wave of his hand. “This is just a theory Viktor’s got me working on. It’s…well, it’s kind of technical” —meaning, she presumes, that there’s no possibility she might understand it— “but he’s got some ideas about the formation of runes. You know, how they talk to each other.”

“Oh? Because of how you two constructed the gate, correct?” The nitty-gritty of Hextech’s inner workings has never been her forte; she saw little point learning a science poorly when she already had two experts at her beck and call. But even she can see these aren’t the sharp lines and pointed corners she’d seen etched into metal from the day she first elbowed her way into the lab. “You’ve been toying with that gravity rune for ages, but the beam needed—”

“Something to focus it, and another to aim, yeah.” Talis scratches at the back of his head, no longer from boyish charm, but single-minded focus. “Took more than a couple, and the whole time it felt like I was trying to reach an itch I couldn’t scratch. I thought I was, you know, remembering, but Viktor…”

A thick finger traces over a delicate curve of ink, four trembling tines disappearing beneath it. As if the strokes themselves were uncertain— or the hand that made them. “He’s wondering if we just sort of find them. You know, when we need to. Like when we reach for the arcane, it’s just….”

Talis shakes his head, suddenly all square jaw and smiles once again. “Anyway, it’s all just a theory. Something we’ve been scratching away at in our spare time.”

Mel arches an eyebrow. “I imagine you don’t have much of that, right now.”

“We don’t,” he agrees, a shade too quickly for sincerity. “But I’ve been pecking away at it when I’ve got a minute. It’ll all be worth it if a little bit of forethought now keeps us from burning the midnight oil for months, hoping the lack of sleep will give us a breakthrough later.”

“Is that so?” she hummed, resting a hip against the podium. “And here I thought Viktor loved staying up to all hours.”

Talis laughs, shaking that pretty head of his. “That’s what I said. And you know what Viktor told me? I’d like to be doing it alone.”

“Now that sounds like him.” She can see it now— his already curved spine bent to all angles, making one last tweak, taking one last measurement, peeking out from beneath his monumental work to say, get out. “I suppose since I’m here, I best pay my respects to the genius inventor. I’d hate for him to think I’m playing favorites.”

“I doubt he’d mind,” Talis huffs out, all humor until she sweeps past him, making her way to the lab door. “Hey, you aren’t really going to go in there, are you? I told you he…?”

She slows to a sashay, each click of her heels lingering before she makes the next. “Would be happy to see his favorite patron?”

His outstretched hand curls, falling back down to his side. “Not exactly what I was going to say, no.”

“Oh, please.” It’s a struggle not to roll her eyes, but she blunts her impatience down to a cock of her hip and a cross of her arms. “If you think I can’t weather a man’s poor temperament, Mr Talis, I’d invite you to spend a day on the council. Then you’ll really see the sort of tantrum a grown man can throw.”

Talis snorts, shaking his head. “Hey, it’s your— er, choice. Just thought I’d give you fair warning.”

“And miss Viktor’s undoubtedly stimulating conversation?” Her mouth hooks into her slyest smirk. “Perish the thought.”

“Try blistering,” he mutters, so soft he must think she cannot hear. “Ah, but about the restaurant—”

“It sounds lovely,” she replies absently, the first set of doors opening before her. “I do hope you have a good time.”

If there is one compliment Mel can lay at the Revered Professor’s feet, it is this: his penchant for high ideals never stumbles. Every building of the academy is designed with his lofty goals in mind, every wall stretching up to vaulted ceilings, supported by square columns meant to draw the eye up, inviting every body that views it to dream beyond their earthly goals.

What purpose that might serve in what was, essentially, a service corridor, she could never quite say, but the acoustics were superb. The harsh click of her heels amplifies with every step, echoing down the tunnel like her own personal set of heralding trumpets. A pity there’s a set of doors at the end of it, heavy and metal; the academy’s answer to Talis’s blast door— what she wouldn’t give to see the face of her favorite investment as she swept into the lab, a veritable angel choir announcing her arrival.

Knowing him, he’d start researching an automatic door. Or at least a way to sound-proof the corridor.

Not that either of them would be terrible ideas. Especially if this presentation impresses the way she’s certain it will. Going forward with gate technology would take all this from academic to proprietary; an investment Medarda will have to see to protecting. More doors would be a start, and security that did not simply start and stop at the reception desk. Heimerdinger would never consent to private consultants on academy soil, but maybe a more responsive team of Piltover’s best—or at least someone with a bit more ambition than a grandfather more eager to show off family pictures than arrest trespassers.

He’ll have his concerns, of course— too much power in one person’s hands, he’d bluster, and anyone could become a tyrant— but she knows all too well that most of his protests are meant to act as a dialogue; a mentor posing questions in order to lead a student along the proper path. To teach how to think, rather than provide answers. An irritating little habit of his, but one Mel is happy to play along with so long as it helps him put pen to paper. Or wrench to bolt, as it were.

The sticking point will be whose pockets the washers come from— Medarda eager to stake its claim, and the Good Professor just as keen to keep the academy from being sullied by the grasping hands of Piltover’s clans, but—

“—Much as I would usually love to debate over the wisdom of that particular phrasing.” Viktor’s voice rings clearly into the corridor, just as strident and harassed as she expected from a man who spent the morning with Albus Ferros. “I do not particularly have the time for the theoreticals right now. Not when the practicals are going to knock down my door if this isn’t ready to ship out by tomorrow.”

It’s not until the much softer, more uncertain, “I appreciate that, I really do,” that follows— from the assistant, she presumes, considering the heavy dose of hero worship weighing it down— that Mel notices the doors stand open, the full breadth of the lab on display before she even gets to the stairs.

“It’s just…” The girl hovers at Viktor’s shoulder— or where his shoulder would be, if the whole of his body wasn’t eclipsed by the dome bubbling out of the floor tiles— fretting the way Hoskel does over his horses. As if by worrying, he might make them cross over the finish line faster. “I’m concerned with how much power the beam might need to be focused. Doesn’t it have to be grounded somehow? I thought that if we moved a couple of these antecedents, we might be able to displace—”

“Sky.” He sighs at the precise pitch of the pinnacle of his patience. “That is a conversation almost certainly worth having…at another time. Right now I have to concern myself with—”

“Making it work?” Mel offers, letting her heels clack a little more sharply as she descends the small set of steps down to the lab floor. “And after Mr Talis spent so long assuring me that you actually finished something on time.”

“Councilor.” The title rolls around between his teeth, taking scores out of it before he lets it loose in his lab. Viktor doesn’t bother to stand— where he’s crouched, she hardly thinks he could manage it without a crutch and a decent dose of cussing, both of which he’s loath to use in front of her— but he also doesn’t bother to look up, not until she orbits around one side of his lonely star to meet him in the middle. “To what do we owe the”— he hesitates— “honor?”

Sky watches her closely, skittish, almost. Those clever eyes dart between them with the same fervor as children counting between thunder and lightning strike, trying to divine just how close the next might come to their doorstep.

Mel smiles, but not at her. “Do I need a reason to visit my favorite investment?”

“No.” His teeth bite around the word, just shy of something like a smile. “I was under the impression you didn’t do anything for less than three.”

He looks at her now, hair askew and brows lifted to meet it, entirely too cocky to abide. She wraps her mouth around her next volley, already calculating his return, when—

“Viktor.” The Sky girl elbows her way between them, tall enough for the puff of her hair to disrupt line of sight. “What I was saying, about the rune phrasing—”

“We will talk about that at a later date.” It’s a rare occurrence to see Viktor acting as a mentor rather than recalcitrant employee; what would have been a rousing row if Mel stood between the man and his machine is blunted down to a gentle correction, his impatience only apparent in the way he puts his back to the girl, focus narrowed down to the single point where he works. “Now is hardly the time to start talking about…grammar refinement.”

“But the arcane power demanded by the current construction is—”

“Miss Young." His hands still, his dismissal all the more stark in the silence. “Later.”

Her shoulders shift beneath the white of her lab coat, sitting straight enough a yardstick would turn green with envy. A defensive maneuver, like a kitten puffing up its fur or hedgehog quivering its spines. As if she makes herself big enough, his disinterest can’t hurt her.

It’s a child’s game, one destined not to last. Puffed up as she is, there’s nothing left to do but deflate, her chest rounding over the books she has clutched to them. The girl spares Viktor one last lingering glance— hoping, perhaps, that he’ll notice the blow he’s dealt— before scurrying toward the door. Mel’s half-tempted to pity her; it’s the same sort of scene she’s seen played out in schoolyards and soirées and soldier encampments alike, one of the abiding embarrassments of growing up—

But the clever little assistant stops at the top of the stairs. Has her hand on the door and hesitates even still, as if just one more moment, one last look might change everything. But this time, she doesn’t pitch puppy dog eyes toward Viktor, oh no— this is a wary glare, aimed squarely at where Mel stands. Accusatory, almost. As if she is the interloper in the sanctum sanctorum that is this lab.

Perhaps she’s right, at that. But Mel’s hardly going to apologize for it. Business, as always, comes before feelings, no matter how tender some may be.

“Don’t you think you might have been a little harsh?” Most of their conversations flow best with a level playing field, but it would be a cold day in Sai Faraj before Mel would lower herself to a crouch. Not in these shoes, and certainly not in this dress. “The girl only wanted to impress you.”

“What’s the point? I’m already impressed.” He leans back, hands flush against the marble floors, leaving dark streaks of grease over its artful veins. “What would be the point of having her here if we didn’t think she could lend any insight into this project?”

It’s at the tip of her tongue, a reflex rather than a conscious thought— have you thought to tell Ms Young any of that?

Were this merely the lapse of a mentor in regards to his student, a failure in encouraging professional confidence to thrive, she might have let it fall. She’s hardly an expert on the shaping of young minds; not nearly old enough to take on anything like a successor, at least according to the Medarda, and not inclined to tutor any of her younger cousins, lest they’re encouraged to compete for her place. But she had, not long ago, been an apprenta herself, and Master Jago— well, he had never had a reputation for being effusive in his praise, not even for a young girl desperate to prove her place among a family more eager to see her stumble than succeed, but Mel never questioned his respect for her skills or her talent.

But this— this is not that. Simple professional jealousy would hardly leave her back burning this long after that girl’s glare gouged it; no, this is something infinitely more personal—

“Besides.” A tuft of dark hair slips down the furrowed expanse of Viktor’s forehead, and he spares a breath to blow it back. “She’s right about the grammar. This design draws too much power to be supported by so short a phrase. We either have to elongate the chamber, or we’ll have to swap the antecedents etched on every piece of the mechanism, from top to bottom—“

And equally unlikely to be noticed. The object of Ms Young’s admiration was already in a committed, mutually-beneficial relationship: with his work.

Sweet though, to see someone so interested in a man made more of math than muscle. Refreshing, even, to know that there were some who were drawn to intelligence over aesthetic. Little as the man in question would ever see his way around to appreciating it.

“So you mean to tell me that when you flip your switch tomorrow, the machine won’t work?” Hard to believe when every surface of this dome is carved with runes, channels for the arcane shaped like fissures around them; somewhere between an art installation one might find in the Council Building’s atrium and a brain.

“Ah, what? No. No no.” His hand waves sharply between them, not to ward off her question, but to redirect his mind to answer it.

“This” —his palms open, the whole of this great machine encompassed between them— “will turn on. And not only will it turn on, it will work. It will work so well that all our esteemed patrons will see fit to empty their pockets and give us five more years funding. And that is where Miss Young’s theory on antecedent order will matter, since then we will either reconstruct the whole thing to use the more efficient grammar, or we’ll have to…I don’t know. Build a tunnel long enough to contain the runic phrasing done the wrong way.”

Mel has never been a slouch at mental calculations, but even her mental faculties fail her as she tries to consider the scope. “And just how long would that be?”

“Well, let me put it this way: it wouldn’t do the Council any favors with your relationship with the Undercity.” A laugh scrapes up from the recesses of his chest, less like draining the dregs at the bottom of the barrel, and more like cleaners shoveling up carriage-crushed carcasses from the streets. “Not that any of our Betters have lost sleep over that sort of thing before. But I would like to consider it a last resort. Greatness does not come from taking shortcuts.”

That little adage still has so much of the Great Professor in it, it squeaks, but Mel hardly finds that the most noteworthy part.

“Betters?” Her fingers reach out to trace the dome’s joints, pacing its perimeter with all the curiosity of a child approaching pristine plate glass. “Esteemed patrons? I never thought I’d live to see the day when you called me that.”

“It goes over better than purse strings.” There’s a strain in his voice, a snap, before Viktor settles back on his heels, nodding at his success. “Jayce has informed me that if I liked the…academic lassitude that comes from our funding, I cannot bite the hands that feeds. Or at least”— his mouth curls at a corner, teasing the barest hint of teeth— “learn to nibble a little more pleasantly.”

“Oh my,” she hums, drawing the words out to their flattest notes. “What dire straits Hextech’s funds must be in if you consent to being civilized. Whatever will Mr Talis do should his project fail before he even takes the stage?”

Ah, now that gets a glare slanted her way, Viktor’s mouth pursing in the very picture of academic affront. “I’ll thank you to remember that this is our project, Councilor.”

“Is it?” She lets a brow arch, inquisitive, skeptical. “With the way Mr Talis was talking out in the showroom, I assumed you had stepped down from being a partner to a”—pet, she’s not quite unkind enough to say— “employee.”

Four years of handling Piltover’s prickliest engineer has made Mel a connoisseur of grunts and snorts, and this newest one— a huff, bare inches away from a cluck— is dismissive. Dubious, even. “Then I’m afraid you’ve quite misunderstood. I am just a much as founder as I was the day—”

“I found you fiddling with Heimerdinger’s keys outside his office door?” Her mouth tilts, the fold of her arms following a similar cant. “Or maybe you mean later, when you blew out the Revered Professor’s—?”

“That’s all water under the bridge,” he assures her with a lazy wave of his hand. “He can hardly complain about his star pupils, now can he?”

“I suppose not.” The fissures thread along the bottom of her fingers, the chaotic network of channels falling into a half-familiar pattern, one she almost anticipates as one etching leads into the next. Like a half-forgotten childhood lullaby; she knows the tune by heart but stumbles through the words, phrases rising from her memory only fall to pieces beneath the weight of her tongue. “I have to admit, despite all the…extralegal skulduggery, you seemed like more of a partner then. Now you stay here in the lab, working on the future you and he were so keen on creating, while Mr Talis makes himself a household name.”

There’s scuffling as he gets his foot beneath him, one hand grasping at the crutch leaning on the console to deftly lever himself to his feet with only the barest squeal of his brace. The man might be doused in lubricant, the stretch between wrist and rolled up sleeve more grease than skin, but even still he can’t keep the thing properly oiled. For all his flaws, Talis must have the patience of a saint; even now she’s half tempted to hold him down and care for the joints herself, if only to save her from the clanking and whining she’s subject to as he hobbles his way across the workshop. Away from her, she takes care to note.

“You may not know this, Councilor,” he drawls, leaning over a sprawl of schematics. “But long-term partnerships require compromise.”

“Is that so?” She approaches with all the patience of a predator, skirt swaying around her legs like tall grass before a sand cat strikes. He watches her the way prey doesn’t, wary but aware as her hip props up beside his, fingers brushing over the topmost sheet— a sky ship, it looks like, though its shape has more in common with a sloop rather than a galley— until they trace over the single signature sweeping across the corner: Jayce Talis. “Including who gets credit for your inventions?”

He scowls, scooping up the schematics and rolling them into a tight tube. “That is for patenting purposes. We both invented these. Jayce knows that better than anyone.”

Reality rarely keeps an ambitious man from claiming credit, in her experience. “And I suppose it’s the both of you who will make sure the gate is in proper working order before the presentation? With no chance of explosion, if you don’t mind.”

“Councilor, please.” He presses a hand to his chest, the slant on his smile far too steep for sincerity. “When has one of my projects ever exploded?”

She barely has time to roll her eyes toward the window before he adds, “Recently.”

“I’m being unfair,” she admits, after a heavy pause to consider. “Your inventions don’t explode.”

“Thank you for n—”

“You merely throw yourself through them, untested, and hope for the best.”

“The gate wasn’t untested.” Most men would puff themselves up for this amount of protest; stretching their spines to loom, hoping the breadth of their shoulders might quell any question. Viktor, however, sits. “Its effects were just largely unknown on living objects larger than…oh, let’s say a cat.”

It’s Mel who stretches now, lifting her chin to its most imperious height. “So you thought the first person to test those effects should be you?”

Viktor shrugs, mouth pulling into one of his ridiculous grimaces. “Someone had to do it.”

“And what about me, then?” Positioned at all her best, most forbidding angles, Mel favors him with a glare. “Was there some reason I had to be the one to witness it? Without warning, might I add! Just called across the city with no explanation, only to have you disappear right before my eyes—”

“Not disappear, really,” he muses, one long finger tapping at his chin. “More like a relocation. The gate merely opens a point of entry in reality, and the vacuum pulls you through, almost like a pneumatic tube—”

“You were gone.” Mel prides herself on control, on her precise grasp of the way her voice rises and falls, always doing just as it ought. As she wills it to. But that last word leaves her mouth and collapses, folding in on itself, unable to bear the weight.

Viktor glances at her. Not the kind she’s used to from men; that surreptitious pass from one end of her to another, taking her measurements as thoroughly as a modiste— only it’s not the fit of a dress they’re concerned about. No, this one lifts to meet hers, not falling to any more familiar anatomy, but lingering. His brow furrows, the subtle movements of his eyes searching.

It’s…embarrassing, really. This…vulnerability. Mother always said it would kill her, caring too much. If only she had known it could lead to things worse than death, maybe she might have listened.

It’s a relief when his attention finally drops away, fixed to where his hands rest on the desk. His fingers flutter, his mouth works, and after one terrible, too-long moment, he shrugs. “I came back, too.”

She clears her throat, the pitch of her voice concertedly casual as she says, “Yes, well, you might have given me some warning. I’m sure Mr Talis might have had some idea of what to do should your…experiment go wrong, but I was quite in the dark.”

“Well, if I’d done it in front of Jayce, he would have stopped me.” He rolls his eyes, hands lifting to wrap quotes around, “For ‘safety reasons.’”

“I see,” she hums, deceptively light even as her temper lashes behind the golden cage of her civility. “So you chose me because you thought I’d be too stupid to understand what you were up to.”

“You wouldn’t be aware of the precise nature of my intentions, no.” The bastard doesn’t even have the decency to sound even slightly apologetic. Typical of him, really. “Or the risks of putting myself through what essentially amounts to a hole in reality.”

“Oh?” There’s no point in hiding the edge of her tone, not when he could have a real, actual knife held to his throat and still go on about his precise criteria for what constituted a ‘calculated risk.’ “For example?”

“Well…” His head tilts, sending that tuft skittering across his brow again. “There’s no air in a vacuum, traditionally.”

“Oh, honestly—!”

“I lived,” he tells her, as if that is his only metric for success. Considering the few times she’s seen Viktor testing his creations, there’s a reasonable possibility it might be. “And you were suitably impressed with my efforts, if I recall.”

“I was suitably impressed when you managed to move a pencil.” Had she only known that would not be his only magic trick that day, she might have spared herself no small amount of fright. “It has always been Medarda’s policy to allow our apprenta be the experts of their field of study with little oversight, however”— she slanted a pointed stare toward him— “perhaps in the interest of our continued support, I should become more familiar with the basis of your work.”

“Oh, don’t put yourself out on our account, Councilor,” Viktor assures her with his best don’t-get-in-my-way smile. “The naive mind is a wonderful thing. A layman’s perspective often gives more insight into a problem than—”

“I’m not trying to help you with your work, Viktor,” she grates out, every syllable strained through her teeth. “I’m trying to keep you from killing yourself with it.”

“Oh.” His mouth wraps around the sound slowly, as if testing to see if it might hold his weight, brow furrowed. “Well, that doesn’t seem necessary. It’s not as if I’ve died.”

“Yet,” she stresses wearily. And yet, even so, her own mouth begins to curve, hands coming to rest against the cool metal of the tabletop. “I do have to admit, that’s the first time in a long while that someone’s dared to call me naive.”

“Well then.” Viktor makes to stand, the mole beneath his eye wrinkling with the first inkling of a smirk. “I’m glad I could get away with it.”

It’s just chance that makes his glance flick to hers, a trick of the light that turns amber to gold and the strain of straightening his spine that drops his voice just so, that makes him lean in, entirely too close. And yet—

And yet the effect is undeniable. A strange itch that settles beneath her skin, an odd twist to her stomach. The sort of things that a nice pair of shoulders might make her feel, at least on the right man.

Which this certainly is not. It’s just…Viktor.

He rights himself, cursing as he gets the splinted leg beneath him, chin dropping to inspect the brace— it may not be squealing now, but misbehaving certainly seems to be on the menu— and that ridiculous tuft drops over him again, obscuring his eyes, in the way—

Her hand reaches out, the lightest brush pushing the errant tuft back to where it belongs. Or at least, where it will consent to stay. She knows better than to expect anything about Viktor to be tamed, least of all by her. “You will get cleaned up, won’t you?”

He stares at her, his gloved hand half-raised— to knock hers away, she realizes. A reflex, perhaps, abandoned after a thought. Or by the look in his eyes, a lack of one. “Pardon?”

“For the reception,” she says, stilted in a way she can’t quite account for. “I thought you might try and look presentable, for once.”

“Reception?” He snorts, hand dropping back to his crutch. “Why do you want me to go to one of those things? So they can all talk over me like I’m furniture?” His weight shifts, turning his back to her. “I think I’ll pass.”

“So that they can see it’s not just Jayce who is the mind behind Hextech,” she presses. “But the both of you.”

He hesitates, knee joint squeaking in protest. “I think they might rather it that way. It’s certainly simpler. I don’t think any of them would enjoy having to owe something to a man from the Undercity.”

Mel crosses her arms, one eyebrow lifted in challenge. “I didn’t realize you wanted to make things simple for these people.”

His hand flexes on his crutch. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask,” she says, and knows better than to add, for now.

#melvik #arcane #the man of progress #my fic #okay so like confession time. i had to split this time point in half #presentation & reception should be coming some time in Feb/March #and i am still annoyed that like. I had to do it at all #because I got to the scene with mel and viktor and realized i was halfway through #and at 10K. which meant the other half would be 10K too #and this would be a 20K chapter #and i just couldn't do it. it's too long man. not in a fic where every other chapter is between 7-10K #DOES NOT BODE WELL FOR THE NEXT TIMEPOINT EITHER #in any case please enjoy this fic where the only thing i take from season 2 is how the hexgate works #because fuck all that noise!

12 notes · View notes

greyspirehollow · 26 days ago

Text

MURDER AT THE HOSPITAL

Chapter 7

warnings: swearing; serious/potentially triggering themes ; discussion of ongoing investigation ;

I would rate this chapter and the overall fic 16+

The silence was only broken by the distant sounds of phones ringing and chatter amongst colleagues. Vulgora flipped through the different boxes of files on the metallic shelf, trying to find somewhere, somehow, a list of the different employees at Tower. They had no name to help with their research per se, only this “Big Bill” nickname. They gnawed at their lower lip as they focused on their research. But then they paused and cursed under their breath: Tower was a private company, there was no way the office had anything about them that was easily accessible. Of course. They sighed and pinched the bridge of their nose, sitting down at a nearby table on which they had laid files already. If they wanted information about Tower and its employees, they were going to have to get a warrant, or some other permission to investigate. They would need to ask Volta for that, and they mentally noted they should ask permission to search Rick’s house too. Gods, all of this was so complicated for nothing… At least it was much simpler back in the army: you had a few superiors, they gave you directives, and that was it. Their fingers drummed on the table as they grabbed their phone, looking at the slightly broken screen. They hesitated, but ultimately decided to text Liam.

Vulgora sighed and rolled their eyes. Sure, they could look into small acts of vandalism in all of Vesuvia. If they had eternity. Looking into those that happened only around Tower wasn’t too bad of an idea, but they knew gangs’ territories could go much further than their working areas -besides, some groups had more than one zone-. But… at least it was better than nothing.

Vulgora wheezed quietly as they put their phone back in their pocket, trying to focus back on the task at hand: minor offenses in the zone surrounding the Tower concrete factory. Their shoulders still shook softly with silent laughter as they once again searched through the boxes of files, on a different metallic shelf this time.

They flipped through file after file, searching for those “little crimes” people might have committed around Heart District. Vandalism, car theft, nocturnal noise… Their brows furrowed, focused, as their eyes scanned all the culprits’ pictures. A few caught their attention, namely those who looked slightly disheveled or defiant in their mugshots, but eventually, finally, they found what seemed to be their guy. They grabbed the file and pushed the others aside, quickly scanning over the information written on the paper which was pinned to the front of the file… Emmanuel Biz, twenty-nine years old, five foot nine, initially from Prakra, more specifically the Pearl Isles. Moved in Vesuvia ten years ago, before he dropped out of college; he stayed in the city, however. Has been an employee at Tower for around five years now, and has previously been charged with multiple accounts of vandalism and destruction of property. Various store windows and three cars, the file said… Vulgora took the time to let the information they’d just gathered sink in. This man was nothing more than a small delinquent and was certainly not the author of the murder. However, there was a chance he did know the murderer, if he was truly part of that “gang” Miss Averton had mentioned. One thing was sure, the victim knew him, and was at least acquaintances with him, and that, was big. This Big Bill guy was the biggest piece of this case yet, and maybe they’d get all the answers from him… Or not. They sighed. True, there was still a chance that this man knew absolutely nothing and that the murderer was nowhere near him at all, but… They had to try. It’s all they had.

They closed the file and went to put it on their desk before putting back the other ones. They then sat down in their chair with a loud huff, leaning back and stretching briefly. They sighed and glanced at their phone – which they had lazily put down on the desk before sitting – and considered phoning Liam. They were supposed to keep him updated… Their eyes widened as they realized they needed to keep everyone updated! They cursed under their breath and looked at the time. It was going to be noon soon, and it was likely that the everyone in question were all busy… They sighed and nonetheless opened the message app, creating a group chat for the four of them.

Vulgora quit the app with a sigh and went to their contacts, looking for Volta’s. Once they got it, they tapped the call button…

Vulgora hurried out of their office at around 7:45 PM. They were running a little short but hopefully they would be able to get ready just in time. Their heart hammered nervously in their chest as they drove up to their house and quickly dashed in the master bedroom, opening their closet and quickly scanning over what was available. They picked out a simple red suit and quickly changed, trying not to overthink it. They adjusted their tie, but then decided to take it off completely, instead opting for an open shirt collar. Gods, this felt strange. This felt weird. Preparing for the occasion. They’d never been a romantic person and here they were, trying not to wrinkle their tuxedo like some sort of nervous lovesick teenager on a first date. They’d seen that man naked, dammit! It’s going to be fine!! They took a deep breath and caught a glimpse of their reflection in the mirror while turning around. They paused. They adjusted a thing or two here and there -their sleeve, their watch- and… Let their features soften a little. No need to be overly military tonight… Vulgora looked at themselves a little more and, slowly, hesitantly, let their hair loose from their usual low ponytail. They didn’t do that often. If… Ever, really. They watched as the red strands fell over their shoulder, and ran their fingers through it, giving it all just a little bit of volume. It… It looked good. Yes. They took a deep breath and just quickly sprayed on some cologne before dashing back towards their car, heading out in the center city.

They parked near the restaurant, steeling themselves and walking towards it. They told the receptionist they’d reserved a table for two, and the man pointed to the table in question. They felt their nervousness spike again as they saw Vultur was there already, and they made their way to the opposite seat as confidently as they could. Vultur looked at them once they sat, his crystal clear blue eyes meeting their gold hazel own. He looked at them fondly, and smiled. By the Arcana he smiled. Stay calm.

“Good evening.” He said softly, putting down the menu which he’d been looking over before they arrived. He too had dressed a little bit for the occasion, in an all black suit with subtle little darker patterns. They felt so awkward they almost forgot to respond. Gods, they weren’t used to this, were they? They cleared their throat.

“Good evening.” after a short pause, they felt as if they should add: “How… Was your day?” It sounded nervous. But they were trying.

Vultur hummed, leaning back in his chair. “It was alright, I guess. The doctor said my lungs were getting better but I was still on thin ice, so I shouldn’t push them too much.” he replied, his voice soft and a little tired. Vulgora nodded softly. Vultur asked as well: “How was yours?”

Vulgora took a deep breath. “It was ok, I guess. I’m making some progress, at least.”

It was Vultur’s turn to nod: “hm, that’s nice. A little bit is better than nothing, especially in cases like these…”

Vulgora had to agree with him there… They looked at his face again, noticing the subtle bags under his eyes and his sagging shoulders. “… Do they hurt?” the question slipped past their lips before they could stop it.

“Hm?”

“Your- your lungs.”

“oh. A little bit, but… It’s not as bad as before the operation.” Vultur smirked slightly, and leaned forward on the table. “I might just think you’re worried about me~”

Vulgora felt their cheeks flush: “Isn’t that what you want??” They bit down on their lip – the words had sounded much harsher than they intended – and tried to fix their tone, forcing their voice to soften a little: “I-I mean… Don’t you want me to care for you?”

Vultur’s head tilted slightly, as he contemplated their answer. His smirk faltered in a small smile, and his features relaxed. “… Do you want to care for me?”

Vulgora blinked, taken aback, the words getting stuck in their throat. Yes. That’s all their mind was screaming. But they weren’t ready to admit that, not yet… They swallowed nervously and looked down at the menu, fiddling with a button of their sleeve. Vultur smiled. Even if the lack of answer slightly pained him, he knew he had to be patient with them. He could see they were trying, and knew deep down they cared, and no matter how much they looked at that menu he saw it in their eyes. He observed the way strands of their long red hair slipped from their shoulder to come frame their face, drawing his attention to their cheek, their brow… His smile widened a little bit. He was really tempted to reach out and tuck the strands behind their ear, but he thought it was better to wait until they were back home. He knew they didn’t like publicly displaying affection. Vultur looked down as the menu as well, his eyes flickering over the different dishes proposed. He was familiar with all of them, of course – this was his favorite restaurant after all – but he doesn’t remember Vulgora having come here before. His smile faltered slightly as he read the wines list… “Hm. Valerius’ wines keep gaining in popularity, I see…”

Vulgora raised an eyebrow and looked back up at Vultur. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Vultur replied, pointing to the menu. “They replaced mine.”

Vulgora’s eyes widened. “This place used to serve your wines?”

“They did. Until a month or two ago, perhaps… I still have no idea how those wines got popular so fast…” Vultur sighed. “I guess I’ll try them out and take a glass.”

Vulgora was about to respond, but words failed them. What does one even say in such situations? They decided to try and keep the conversation going instead. “How… Are the vines? Did you go to see them today?”

Vultur chuckled. “They’re all fine. All very healthy, even with the weather getting colder. As usual, the production will be on hold during winter, and then when spring comes back around, the wine will as well.”

Vulgora nodded, looking between him and the menu, still trying to decide what to eat. “Uhm- how are wines made again? I don’t remember if you’ve told me.”

Vultur nodded, and proceeded to start explaining the process. And despite their best efforts, Vulgora… Didn’t care. They couldn’t bring themselves to listen. They tried, they really did, but the subject was… Boring to them. They looked at Vultur sheepishly when he paused.

“… You don’t care, do you?” He asked with a chuckle.

“I am so sorry.” Vulgora replied, hiding their face in their hands, embarrassed as ever – and feeling a little guilty as well – “I tried to listen, I just…”

Vultur laughed softly. “It’s alright. I get that a wine business isn’t as interesting as a murder case.”

Vulgora sighed, looking back at him, their gaze silently asking for forgiveness. When they were met with soft, fond amusement on his part, they tried to resist the urge to hide their face again, as they felt their cheeks burn. They cleared their throat and adjusted their tuxedo a bit.

Fortunately for them, the waiter arrived and took their orders. Vultur ordered one glass of wine to go with his plate, and Vulgora passed on any drinks. They spent the waiting-for-their-dishes time mainly in silence, much to Vulgora’s distress. They didn’t like silence. It was so awkward… Their eyes darted around the restaurant nervously and eventually they groaned slightly. Vultur, on his part, didn’t seem to mind the silence. He seemed to relax, even, and that made Vulgora want to settle down as well, to try and take in the present moment. Did they need to talk at all? Not really… But they liked to talk. Fortunately for them, Vultur spoke up and asked, calm and smiling, as usual: “So, are you allowed to tell me a little bit about the investigation?”

Vulgora sighed. “No, I can’t… I wish I could, I really do.”

Vultur nodded. “That’s alright. What about your colleagues, then? You rarely ever mention them, whether it’s at the station or somewhere else.”

Vulgora’s eyebrows raised in surprised. “I… don’t? Well. I was sure I did��” They awkwardly cleared their throat. “So there are currently four of us working on the case. Me and Liam are from the police and Julian and Valdemar are not.”

Vultur let out an intrigued hum: “Valdemar? The same you told me about?”

Vulgora huffed, slightly amused. “I’ll be damned if there’s two of ‘em. Yes, the weird one… And, well, we… Are trying our best to gather clues. I managed to fish out some info about a suspect this morning – that’s the minor progress I was talking about – and a day or two ago we found the site with Liam, my colleague from scientific police. It feels kind of weird to call him a colleague, he’s just some guy but, whatever.”

Vultur chuckled. “Just some guy?”

“Yeah, he’s… just there, being… Himself, I don’t know! He’s just a dude! I forget he has a life and a job sometimes…”

“Maybe it’s because you’re not that close to him.” Vultur commented, playing with the rim of his glass of wine which the waiter had just poured.

“Could be it… Hopefully he won’t be a pain in the ass.” Vulgora grumbled, crossing their arms. Vultur chuckled at that.

“What about the others? Are they a pain in the ass?”

Vulgora hummed in thought. “Surprisingly enough… No. Not yet. I hope I won’t have to fix anyone’s mess, is all…”

“It should be alright.” Vultur assured. “They’re adults, aren’t they?”

“I wonder, sometimes.” Vulgora commented, deadpan.

Vultur chuckled, before taking a sip of his wine. “Gods, it’s awful.” He said, still chuckling while looking down at his glass. Vulgora raised an eyebrow.

“Can I try it?” They extended a hand towards the glass.

“At your own peril.” Vultur said, handing them the glass.

Vulgora smelled the beverage briefly. It didn’t seem off or anything. They brought the deep crimson liquid to their lips and took a sip. They tried really hard not to make a face, but it tasted especially bitter. Their nose scrunched under the effort and they put the glass down. Vultur chuckled again, amused. It was a warm sound…

“I don’t remember wine tasting like that.” Vulgora commented, coughing discreetly before taking a big gulp out of their glass of water to wash the bitter taste away. Vultur seemed to laugh a little more heartily. Vulgora had a hard time suppressing a smile…

“The face you made-” Vultur commented quietly through his laughter.

Vulgora huffed, falsely offended: “What about my face?? You love my face and you know it.”

The man’s laughter subsided but he was still smiling. “I do love your face…”

Vulgora paused, flustered, and drank down their whole glass of water, hoping to drown out their reddening cheeks.

They finished eating around maybe 9:45 PM. The streets outside the restaurant were quiet, the sky was dark, and the electrical street lamps cast a strange greenish glow on the grey concrete around them. They had to admit, the food was good there. It was a little bit too fancy to their taste though. No wonder this was Vultur’s favorite restaurant, it’s almost as if he was part of the décor when he was there, as if he was in his natural environment. They looked at him from the corner of their eyes, an idea coursing through their head. They looked down at his hand as they walked… It was in his pocket, but… They took a deep breath and slipped their hand in to take his, their heart hammering in their chest as they intertwined their fingers together. They looked firmly ahead, cheeks burning hot, as Vultur curiously glanced at them, contemplating the sudden gesture of affection. It was such a small gesture but it was also enormous progress. He smiled…

“Woow, things are going fast between us~” He teased, feigning shock.

“SHUT UP.” Vulgora shouted back, their cheeks reddening even more, if that was possible.

Author's note: plz ignore the inconsistencies in the group chat's name or in the messages I beg you the sites are pretty tricky to use :') Again, please let me know if I missed any trigger warnings !

Hope you still enjoy <33

#the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana a mystic romance #modern au #julian devorak #pontifex vulgora #quaestor valdemar #apprentice liam #murder at the hospital #original story #the arcana oc #the arcana courtiers #baron vultur #lucio morgasson

10 notes · View notes

sharpfamily · 1 year ago

Text

Per Aspera Ad Astra

Happy Birthday to our favourite ex-auror potions professor! Three birthdays in the life of Aesop Sharp, brought to you by@tea-withjamandbread and @aesopsharpmybeloved. Part of collections A New Chance at Life as well as The Sharp Family Chronicles. Aesop Sharp x (adult) MC!reader

word count: 9.4 k

tw: mentions of alcohol abuse, depression, suggestive content, tooth-rotting fluff

July 1st 1881

It’s been a few days since he’s been released from St Mungo’s. Again. Dinah still had a few more days to attend to her responsibilities in Hogwarts, however, for the time being, she seemed to trust Aesop not to do anything too crazy until the term officially ended. Aesop soon discovered that all of his liquor bottles, both empty and full, had disappeared. Wonderful. There was not a single drop of alcohol left in his house. At first he felt annoyed. Irritated. Already trying to think of a way to get at least a single drink, just a little something to take the edge off.

He didn’t have an owl, and he couldn’t exactly Floo, much less walk to some shop or pub. Not in his current state. Wiggenweld potion could only do so much, and while it did heal the smaller cuts and scrapes and helped with the pain, his hands were still bandaged in order to keep the healing balm applied to them from drying up while it restored his mangled hands. If he didn’t look miserable before his breakdown, he absolutely looked miserable now.

There was no way he could go anywhere like this… and there was no way anyone would be willing to bring him anything either. Aesop didn’t know how many people knew about his collapse - he was certain Dinah would make sure the number was minimal - but he was absolutely certain his mother knew. Abraham too, possibly. And the very thought of flooiong one of his (now former) colleagues to ask them to send him a drink? He shuddered. No. They’d ask questions. They’d possibly come over. They couldn’t see him like this.

Dinah was right. As she usually was, of course. He probably should lay off the booze for a while. Aesop wheeled himself throughout the downstairs of his childhood home. The mirror in the ground floor bathroom was left nothing more than a frame - Dinah probably vanished all of the broken glass. As he slowly rode through his kitchen, a picture frame caught his eye. In it was a photograph, and Aesop almost couldn't recognise his own face in it.

He didn’t even know why Ashley would get a camera - probably to take photos of her son, first and foremost - but she had brought it to his birthday dinner last year. She wasn’t a particularly good photographer, but a few nice shots were taken that night a year ago. This was one of them - he was standing by the bar in the Leaky Cauldron, actually looking quite handsome and very confident, Dinah next to him and Abraham on the other side. The photograph was moving like they were moving back then - grinning, laughing, clinking their glasses together.

And then, suddenly, Ashley appeared, peeking out from the corner of the photo, wanting to be in the picture while taking it. She looked like she always did - carefree, optimistic, confident. Her wild streak has lowered somewhat since she and her wife got their little boy, but she was still the kind of person who walked into the room and lit it up with her mere presence.

He wheeled over to the photograph and placed it face down on the shelf where it stood. He couldn’t look at it anymore. Those happy memories had been his reality only a year ago. To him, though, it felt like a century had passed. The man whose birthday was being celebrated in that photograph was someone else. A happy man with his whole life ahead of him. A man with a successful career, who still struggled with his love life to be certain, but who hadn’t given up on his dream of settling down and raising a family in the home in which he himself had spent his entire life.

A family? He wasn’t sure he could even… Not that anyone would ever want that from him anymore. Who could see him as any more than the cripple that he was. That dream of having a family of his own died the moment he stepped on to that godforsaken ship. It had vanished the very moment he had led his partner, his oldest friend, the one he was supposed to protect, to her death. His hubris having cost her all of her dreams and plans as well.

He decided that the birthday captured in the photograph Ashley had taken would be the last one he celebrated. He would have more birthdays, of course, Dinah having knocked some sense into him after his breakdown. He had already been the cause of enough pain and suffering for those he cared about the most. So he would make a point to survive, to continue existing, for them, but he saw no need to boast about having circled the sun one more time. Not when his partner hadn’t circled it with him.

Suddenly he heard the door open. He wasn't expecting company, in fact he had specifically requested that no one visit him today. He didn't want to worry anyone but he also didn't want to face their feeble attempts at cheering him up, at making him feel special on the anniversary of his birth. He didn't want to see the sadness and pity in their eyes. They did their best to hide it, of course, but he knew it was there. He was a pitiful sight indeed. He wheeled himself around as fast as he could manage and drew his wand, not that it would do him much good in his current state, the bandages on his hands making his grip awkward. If it came to it, he didn't know if he'd even be able to defend himself and his home in the event of an unsavory intruder.

He recognized the footsteps instantly and pocketed his wand.

Of course she'd show up anyways. The nerve.

Dinah bloody Hecat.

He heard the door close and wheeled himself to greet his guest. He'd at least give her that courtesy. When the younger, now older looking woman appeared in his line of sight, he saw she had come armed with a large bag of groceries. She looked at him.

"You look like hell."

"Lovely to see you too."

Dinah walked right past him, heading straight for the kitchen. Aesop thought she might have walked straight into him if he hadn’t quickly wheeled himself backwards. He supposed he still retained some of his Auror reflexes even after everything.

Dinah set down her bag and started unloading everything, pulling out potatoes, carrots, parsnips, various herbs, a jar of broth, some dried mushrooms and a large piece of meat out of the bag. Aesop knew instantly that she had come here on someone else’s errand. She had never been much of a cook herself after all. Aesop however, recognized his mother’s venison stew when he saw it, even in its currently disassembled state.

“Mum sent you, didn’t she."

It wasn't a question.

“She’s worried about you, Aesop. Especially today of all days”

“There’s nothing special about today. It’s just… a day”

“It’s your birthday, Aesop”

“Why does that even ma-“

Dinah dind't give him the time to finish, fixing him with a stare so intense, he had to stifle a tremble.

“It matters because 34 years ago your mother labored for about the same number of hours in order to bring you into this world. She then raised you along with your father until he was gone. Then she somehow found the strength to raise you AND provide for you by herself while grieving her own husband. It matters because she made sure you had everything you needed for your education, because she saw you through your Auror training AND career and earlier this year, she thought she’d be laying you to rest next to her husband instead of the other way around. So today, on the anniversary of your birth, even though YOU don’t want to see her, she STILL wanted to make sure you got to eat your favorite meal, so I am here, Aesop Theodore Sharp, on HER errand and I WILL see this through, even if I have to bind you to that infernal chair of yours and force feed you myself.”

Aesop pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew his mother deserved better than the worry he had put her through not just this year, but during his entire career as an Auror. And as much as he hated to admit it, he knew that Dinah could, and would follow through with her threat. Hell, the woman could have taken him down at his peak, let alone the sorry state he currently found himself in.

"Dinah-"

"As I was saying, I'm not here to celebrate. I’m here to make sure you don't starve to death. Also this house needs tidying up… you know I'm always afraid of tripping over something or another when I visit you nowadays. My balance isn't the worst for someone my…well for someone with the body I have, but it's not getting any better"

It was easy for Aesop to forget that Dinah, while exhibiting a strong facade and with her fierce personality, still hadn’t fully made peace with her own career-ending injury. Although she had remade herself as Hogwarts’ Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, he knew this was not her first choice. He would have to remake himself in due time, the pension he received from the Ministry barely covering his living expenses, but he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet at least.

Dinah busied herself browning the meat for the stew when she addressed her friend once more.

"You need to bathe, Aesop, you smell quite terrible."

"I… it's been a few days."

"I can tell. Do you need my help or can you manage on your own?"

"I think I can manage."

“Good."

Aesop wheeled himself to his bedroom where he carefully got undressed and discarded his clothes in the now overflowing laundry bin. Well, it wasn’t exactly his bedroom, the room had originally served as a study, however, following his injury, ascending the flight of stairs that led to his bedroom was no longer an option, so his mother had conjured a bed and had attempted to make the room as cozy as she could. He appreciated her efforts, but it just wasn’t the same. Nothing was, come to think about it.

With a towel around his body for some semblance of privacy, he slowly made his way to the bathroom and took the bandages off his hands. They looked a little better today, but he would still need to reapply that healing balm for another week according to the Healers at St Mungo’s. He sat on the bench that had been conjured in the shower and turned the water on. He carefully went through the now considerably lengthy ritual of lathering his hair and body, being careful not to irritate his hands too much.

The scars on his leg and face used to be excruciating, however the passage of time as well as rigorous desensitization as part of his shower routine had made them almost painless to the touch. If only his blasted leg would have improved in the same manner he’d maybe have a shot at a fulfilling life. However, he had been told to get used to it, to “learn to live” with his injury. He could never get used to this. He would never get used to it. Perhaps there was something out there that could help him.

He put those thoughts aside and shut the water off, dried himself and opened the door leading to his hopefully temporary bedroom. He instantly noticed that the windows had been opened, a warm summer breeze gently blowing in the large bedroom. His bed had been made, the overflowing laundry bin had been emptied and there were clean, comfortable clothes laid out on his bed, next to the armchair he sat on while getting dressed.

That woman truly was incorrigible. As he got dressed though, he realized how nice it felt to breathe the fresh summer air that was cleansing the room, as opposed to the stale air he had been inhaling ever since he had been discharged from St Mungo’s. He hadn’t been opening the windows at night like he used to before his injury. In that moment, he remembered how much he enjoyed it, though. Tonight he’d make a point to open his bedroom windows before turning in. He also realized how his shower, how the simple turned not-so-simple act of washing his body had put him in a slightly better mood. He applied the healing balm to his hands and bandaged them before making his way towards the door.

As Aesop left his bedroom, he could already smell the stew Dinah had prepared, which had just started to simmer. He could also smell the freshly brewed tea she had prepared. As he approached her, seated at the dining room table, the chair that would normally be next to her having been vanished in what he assumed was an invitation to join her, he noticed she had already poured them both a cup, and that she was currently poring over his mail, which had accumulated over the past week. He hadn’t bothered to sort through any of it since returning home.

“Still only cream in your tea?”

“Of course”

Dinah handed him his cup as well as a pile of letters

“These require your immediate attention”

“I’ll… make sure I deal with them, then”

Dinah handed him a quill, barely looking up from her organizing.

“No time like the present, Aesop.”

Aesop took the quill without argument and started filling out the various forms Dinah had given him. Applications for additional disability pay from the Ministry, tax forms, appeal letters to send to the Ministry requesting they cover the various experimental treatments he had received to attempt to heal his injury sustained in the line of duty. Once in awhile Dinah added a form or two to his workload, while sorting out the mail she deemed as rubbish.

“This one appears to be an offer letter fo work for the Auror recruitment program”

“They told me to 'take all the time I need' but they’re really hoping I don’t need time at all don’t they. That I’ll just bounce back, so to speak.”

“It would appear so”

Aesop sighed. “I’m not ready, Dinah. I can barely take care of myself at the moment. I can barely even walk from here to the front door of my own house. How could I-”

Dinah placed her hand on his

“You don’t have to accept the position right now, Aesop. I read the letter and they appear willing to wait for you to recover more before you’d-”

“I’m not sure I even want that job. I don’t think it would be right for me to take it”

“You can think about it later. For now, let’s get us some fresh air.”

Dinah stood up and made her way towards the side door, past the kitchen, where the stew she had prepared was still simmering. Aesop followed her outside. She sat on the stone bench closest to the house, overlooking the now quite unkempt garden. Aesop wheeled himself right next to her, a difficult feat on the uneven terrain. He really ought to get walking again, lest he spend the rest of his life confined to his house. They sat in comfortable silence.

“That stew does smell delicious. You did a great job.”

“Well, your mother was very clear in her instructions. All I did was follow.”

“You did so much more than that.”

“I know you’d have done the same for me. You did, in fact, if I remember correctly.” Aesop had been there for her when Dinah had been wounded on the job. He had been there at the hospital, and had helped her tremendously when she moved back to her home. He had even offered for her to move back in with him. They were no longer romantically involved, but he had still been ready to put his life and plans on pause to help her in any way he could. She had declined his kind offer but appreciated it nonetheless.

“Yes, well… that’s what friends are for, I suppose.”

They had been through so much together. A failed romantic relationship turned friendship for the ages. They had each seen each other at their worst and would eventually make peace with their respective situations, and see themselves at their best once more. For now, though, the present moment was all that existed.

"You know, you told me I'd hate you come September… you're going to try a lot harder to get me to that point."

"Term just ended. I have plenty more time now to be a thorn in your side."

Aesop chuckled, perhaps for the first time in a long time

"Thank you for being here today."

July 1st 1893

The last week of school flew by in front of Aesop’s eyes. Exams were done, and both teachers and students could breathe a sigh of relief. He had helped his sweetheart settle into the little house she rented at the edge of Hogsmeade throughout the last few days, her various books and tomes, the majority of her clothes, the little knick knacks and memorabilia she collected during her three years at Hogwarts.

And, of course, the beasts. Some would be released back into the wild, as the poachers throughout the Highlands severely lessened in numbers, following this insane (former) Ravenclaw student crashing into their operations. A few more vulnerable ones would be found new homes, as would be the girl’s new apprenticeship at Brood and Peck, and some she simply wished to keep and care for herself. With Aesop’s help, they transfigured the inside of a large chest into something of a Sanctuary for the beasts his love would be keeping. Deek aided in their relocation, having a hard time saying goodbye to them. (F/N) had promised the elf he was welcome to visit them whenever he wanted.

The Seventh year’s ball rolled around, then graduation, then the teary-eyed departure of most of the students on the Hogwarts express. Aesop wouldn’t admit it, but he too had shed a few tears all those years ago, when he boarded that train for the last time.

Today, however, was not a day for tears. It was Saturday, which meant his sweetheart had two more days to settle in and get her bearings before officially beginning her adult life and her new job. She usually woke up before him, but it seemed the turbulent few days left the young woman in a state of exhaustion. It was the first time she spent the night in her new abode, and Aesop graciously agreed to help her find out if the bed was any good.

Well, it definitely wasn’t as good as the bed he slept in at Hogwarts, nor the one in his own house, being softer than he was used to. However, he noted that his back wasn’t troubling him upon waking up, which was a small victory. Much bigger victory currently craddled in his arms. His beautiful young lover was curled into his side, her breathing soft and even, her hair matted and messy with sleep, and a bit of drool was dried upon her jowl. The potions master thought she looked like a dream come true.

He took in his surroundings, the room was unfamiliar and had yet to be lived in, but it had every bit the potential to become a very cozy bedroom. The floors were straight and firm, the wallpapers pleasant to the eyes, the windows let in a lot of natural light. Speaking of the windows, they were currently open to let the fresh summer morning air in, and Aesop could hear the wizarding village waking up and coming to life. In a few hours, the streets would be filled with people enjoying what was looking to be a sunny Saturday. Aesop closed his eyes again with a content little hum, burrowing further into the light smooth sheets and his sweetheart’s arms.

It all still felt rather surreal, really. Every single night he went to bed with the lovely Ravenclaw, he expected to wake alone and realize it's all been nothing but a dream. And while he did wake up alone on quite a few mornings, it took only a few seconds for him to know that it certainly hadn't been a dream. There was the faint floral scent of his lover's perfume clinging to his sheets, to his pillows, to him. It was all around him in this intoxicating vapor, mingling with the cool air around him. There was sometimes a note, carefully folded upon one of the seats of the large leather sofa, directly in his field of view from the bed. There was the absence of the shirt he wore the previous day…

Even now, when she was resting in his arms, soft, warm and absolutely real, Aesop bit into his bottom lip to make sure it wasn't a dream. He was startled then, as a sudden loud sound came from outside, followed by some more commotion and the frustrated voice of Zonko's shopkeeper. Probably a firework gone haywire. The young girl stirred against him, groaning quietly.

"Good morning, you," Aesop said softly, a smile appearing on his face on its own accord. His beloved tilted her head and her eyes fluttered open. The first thing she saw was Aesop, and he felt his heart throb, when her own face stretched in a smile, her sleepy eyes immediately filled with love and devotion. She looked around the room then, an adorable little line between her eyebrows as she slowly began to realise she wasn't in Aesop's chambers, nor was she in her dorm.

And then it hit her. The young woman released a breathy chuckle and her legs curled around one of Aesop's own. The potions master felt her warm cheek on his collarbone, he felt her hands caress his furry torso. It was then he had a little realisation himself - his sweetheart was also making sure she wasn't dreaming. And it was this knowledge that made him drop his head back onto the pillow, his eyes closing in bliss.

“Good morning, Aesop,” she whispered before raising her head a little to place a kiss between his jaw and his chin. She released a soft sigh then, gently resting her forehead against his collarbone once more. Aesop’s heart beat loudly in his chest, and he was certain she knew it was only for her. “Merlin, it's so strange… no homework, no essays, no studying… so strange to wake up and know that I don’t have to do anything...” On her mouth was a content smile, very much reminding Aesop of a kneazle that got the cream. “Oh, yes,” he answered, voice light and teasing, “for exactly two days. Then off to work with you!” The girl snorted against his skin, and when she lifted her head again, Aesop was nearly certain she was keeping herself back from sticking out her tongue at him.

“Besides,” he continued, his large hands stroking over her sides and back, relishing at the feeling of her silky soft skin under his calloused fingertips, “don’t forget that you’re not in Hogwarts anymore. There are no house elves - you cook for yourself, clean after yourself, the full deal.” She was lazily twirling strands of his chest hair around her index finger, her face absolutely relaxed: “I can do that. I think. I can cook a little, and I tend to keep things tidy. It’s just… Well, my household spells are still a bit shabby. I think I’m going to get frustrated trying to wash the dishes using magic, and will end up just doing it by hand anyway.” Aesop chuckled, the girl atop his chest bouncing softly with the motion. “All in good time,” he said, “Rome wasn’t built in a day, and just like everything else, household spells need to be practiced in order to be perfected. I can help you with that.”

They lay in the girl’s bed, legs entwined, just enjoying the calm summer morning. “What will you be doing, by the way, now that you’ve no classes to teach and school work to grade for the next two months?” She inquired curiously. “Me? Oh, I’ll be staying in your bed every day, teasing you that you have to go to work!” the potions master grinned and promptly received a playful smack to the chest. “No, no. I still have some unfinished things at Hogwarts, not to mention my trunk’s still in my chambers, terribly unpacked, I'm afraid. There’s several teacher meetings during the summer as well. I’ll be brewing potions for the hospital wing throughout the two months so that it’s all stocked up for the following term. I'll be revising the curriculum - though I hardly ever make changes to it - and I also need to tidy up the house a bit. It does get dusty after ten months. However, that all can wait. It can definitely wait for the two free days.”

And so Aesop Sharp and (F/N)(L/N) spent the beautiful July day simply enjoying their freedom and their company. The young woman insisted on preparing their breakfast by hand, and while it was ‘just’ scrambled eggs and some toast, Aesop was certain they were the best scrambled eggs he’d ever eaten, simply because they were prepared by her and he was able to enjoy them in her company alone.

Afterwards he showed her how to properly clean the dishes with magic, starting with a single teacup. They picked up and cleaned the singular dishes back and forth, until everything was clean. A single flick of Aesop’s wand summoned a towel from a hook, which promptly began drying the dishes clean. Another flick, and the dry ones floated to their respective spaces and stored themselves. With a smile, he observed his young lover’s awed expression. “No worries,” he promised, “you’ll have perfected it before the year is done.”

They decided to go for a little stroll along the banks of the Black lake later, talking softly, basking in the sunlight. Aesop, whose entire wardrobe was still at Hogwarts, chose to only wear his trousers, shirt and waistcoat, opting to leave his jacket and overcoat behind, as it was entirely too warm to wear them. He still applied a little cooling charm on all articles of his clothing for comfort. When his sweetheart got dressed, he realised that it really had not been often he saw her out of her uniform or her adventuring ensembles. He certainly couldn’t wait to remedy that, he thought, as he observed the dress she chose for their outing. It was light, sleek and simple, and it complimented all of her curves perfectly. She saw him staring and actually twirled for him with a wink. Little minx.

Aesop offered his arm to her, and his heart squeezed tightly at the display of emotion he saw in her eyes when she immediately accepted it. They walked all the way to the spot she brought him during their late night hippogriff flight. “You know, back then I had to use all of my energy not to just turn my head and kiss you,” (F/N) laughed quietly, a small blush on her cheeks. Aesop grinned and looked towards the dark, murky water, remembering that spring night. He could almost see the memory in front of his eyes. His sweetheart skipping stones at the shore, him standing behind her, longing.

A shuffle next to him brought him out of his thoughts. The young woman was currently pulling off her summer dress, baring the skin of her legs. “What are you doing?” he asked, eyes as big as saucers. Normally, her taking off her clothes would get nothing but positive feedback from him, however, seeing as they were out in the open, in broad daylight, he very much doubted the woman had some tender fun on her mind right now. She grinned at him giddily as she finally managed to escape the fabric and folded it haphazardly. She disposed of it on the same boulder he leaned against over a year ago, her shoes already sitting on it, and, with a wink, began running towards the water, in nothing but her chemise and drawers.

“No way…” the potions master shook his head, even as the corners of his mouth began twitching. And then, with a single tiny squeal, (F/N) threw herself head first into the Black lake. He was smiling fully now, finding her youthful playfulness and unadulterated joy incredibly endearing. He walked closer to the water’s edge. His sweetheart emerged a second later, drenched from head to toe, grinning wildly. She was slightly flushed from the cold, but otherwise looked in utmost bliss.

“I hope you don’t expect me to jump in after you,” he said wryly, crossing his arms over his chest. The woman laughed with all the meriness of a child. She swam closer to the shore for a bit, so that she could stand while she pushed her wet hair out of her face: “Honestly, I was rather hoping you would, but I’m not going to force you. Although I’m telling you, you’re missing out!” And with that, she leaned back and began idly floating on her back.

Aesop looked at her form. The white chemise was clinging to her body, her skin showing through the wet material. Dropping the cooling charm he put on his clothes, he noticed just how hot the day turned. Suddenly the water seemed all the more appealing. He admired the curves of his lover’s body, his hands already itching to trace them as he unconsciously pulled at his own clothes. He knew she was watching him out of the corner of her eye, actually saw her roll her eyes a little as he conjured a small leather holster for his wand and tied it around his bony ankle and shin.

She rolled around to look at him fully when he took a step after step towards the water. Despite the hot weather, the water was cold, and it nipped at his skin, but Aesop didn’t let that stop him. Another step. The water was now at his calves, then knees, and getting higher. He winced slightly when he was half submerged, baling his hands into fists as he battled the cold. But then he saw her little smirk, the challenge still shining in her eyes. With a huff, Aesop dived under the water. The sudden shock his body experienced was quickly overcome when he saw his sweetheart’s legs underwater, kicking slowly to keep her afloat.

He grabbed her just above her knees and rose above the surface. He faintly heard her little squeal before a pair of arms wrapped around his neck and her playful eyes connected with his own. Her legs found purchase around his waist and he released them in favour of curling his own arms around her waist. He stared triumphantly into her eyes for a moment, before chasing her lips in a very wet and a little cold kiss, prompting a happy humming sound from his beloved.

Aesop was done with missing out.

It was late afternoon when they returned to (F/N)'s new abode. They spent the better part of the day by the water, swimming, playing, and simply relaxing. While his sweetheart busied herself with conjuring up a blanket for them to sit on on the bank, Aesop cast just a few protective wards around them, so that they could enjoy themselves in solitude and safety. He couldn't even remember the last time he's had a day like this. They swam, they rested on the blanket, they swam some more. It was so simple, and yet Aesop's heart was fluttering with absolute contentment. Once they dried themselves, got dressed, vanished the blanket and dropped the wards, they simply apparated back to the little house. The potions master prepared a dinner for them with magic, since they were both starving by the time they arrived.

His sweetheart watched in amazement as some of the various food items she brought over to her new home the previous day floated about, cut themselves up perfectly and arranged themselves around a small baking dish. Chicken legs with roasted vegetables it was. Within just a few seconds, their food was ready, looking amazing and smelling even better. They ate their fill in a comfortable silence until: "You know, this is spectacular, and I'd surely like to learn how to do it," she said quietly, "however, I actually quite enjoy cooking by hand." Aesop chuckled, piercing a baked potato onto his fork: "So do I. Many people do, this is just quick and convenient. And while it tastes alright, you'd be moaning at the taste was I to prepare it by hand," he spoke confidently. His young lover giggled into her food: "You can still make me moan tonight, if you want to."

Aesop very much wanted to.

Later, as they were coming down from their highs, snuggled perfectly in each other's arms, the professor took some time to reflect. He really could not remember the last time he had such an amazing birthday… he tended to even forget he had one, not having celebrated it since that fateful day twelve years ago. But today, despite his sweetheart not knowing that on this day, 45 years ago, Aesop Theodore Sharp took his first breath, she very much made him feel like the birthday boy.

He cuddled up even closer to her, his strong arms squeezing her frame, still hot from their previous activity. His lips found hers in a deep kiss and afterwards, the professor rested his forehead against her own, breathing the same air as her. "I want to thank you…" he said quietly, only for her ears to hear, "this was the best birthday I've had in years."

He could feel her body tensing immediately. "Today's your birthday?" she asked, raising her head to look at him. Her beautiful eyes were wide and filled with panic: "Why didn't you tell me? I don't- I don't even have a present for you." He quickly pulled her up for a kiss, stroking her back in a calming matter. "I haven't celebrated my birthday for a long time... And as for a present - why, you already gave it to me!" His sweetheart fixed him with a curious gaze and Aesop sighed: "To be able to hold you, kiss you, love you… this entire day was the greatest gift I could've asked for. To have your heart in my hands, that is the most precious thing I've ever been given."

The young woman sighed as well, and wrapped her delicate arms around him, nuzzling into his neck momentarily before raising her head up again, a brilliant smile on her face, a smile of love, devotion and incredible joy: "Still, we should celebrate. You deserve a day to be spoiled rotten!"

"You are already spoiling me rotten!"

"Hah, I try to, but we should still celebrate. Let me take you to the Three Broomsticks tomorrow for a meal. We can have a good bite, champagne, who knows, perhaps Sirona will be able to get us a cake!"

Aesop chuckled, his cheeks warming up somewhat. It was strange - the idea of actually celebrating his birthday after he hadn't done so for so long. However, as strange as it felt, he could already feel the pleasurable tickling of anticipation. "Alright…" he breathed then, "if you want to. But know that I would've been happy enough to just spend the day in your company."

His sweetheart fixed him with an intense gaze, her eyes sincere: "I want to. Because I finally can. We spent so much time sneaking around, I long to finally be able to show how I feel openly. I want to grab your hand in mine when we walk together, I yearn to be able to kiss and hold you whenever I wish. And I really want to celebrate that on this day, the most incredible man was born. I don't know what I'd do without you here. Perhaps I wouldn't be here myself, if you hadn't gone to the Astronomy tower that day. You are an exceptionally beautiful existence, Aesop Sharp, and your birthday should be celebrated."

The potions master swallowed heavily, willing away the tears that threatened to form in his eyes. Her confession shook him to his core, and, in that moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to hold her in his arms. Aesop truly did not think he'd ever celebrate his birthday again. Since Ashley's death, he really thought that he wasn't entitled to do so. But perhaps his sweetheart hadn't been entirely wrong. Perhaps him saving her life tipped the scales a little. If Ashley could see him now… well, she'd probably smack his shoulder very hard and tell him to pull his head out of his arse and seize the chance he's been given, like a proper Slytherin would. In that moment, he felt a sense of peace wash over him, and his breathing slowly evened out.

"Alright, my sweet," he said only, as her face once more nuzzled into his shoulder, more than content to stay there. Aesop breathed out slowly, his arms wrapping around the young woman's body in a protective manner.

The room was dark and Aesop could hear sounds of the village outside falling asleep. He could hear faint music coming from the Three Broomsticks, and he heard silent voices caught in a conversations, as their owners passed by the little house. The air smelled sweet with the sun having warmed it the entire day. Aesop closed his eyes, basking in the feeling of love, of comfort.

The next day, his sweetheart did exactly as she promised. She walked with him into the Three Broomsticks, hand in hand, looking proud and happy. She kissed him out in the open, before they even opened the door to the pub, absolutely uncaring to whoever saw them. The look she gave him afterwards… Aesop realised that she did want to do that for some time. That the fact that she was his own filled her with pride. That the young woman, who defeated a troll during the first week of her studies, willingly gave her heart to one ex-Auror potions professor. In a moment of giddy madness, Aesop grabbed her around the waist, dipped her ever so slightly, and snogged the living daylights out of her.

"Are you quite done? Your stew's getting cold," came the voice of Sirona Ryan, who was leaning against the doorframe with a mischievous look in her eyes. Aesop fixed his sweetheart with a curious look.

"I may have written to professor Hecat to ask what's your favourite food when you were still sleeping," she admitted with a shy smile, "and I also may have written to Sirona, asking her to prepare it for you, as well as get us a cake afterwards." Sirona watched the scene unfold before her eyes, a big smile on her face: "Happy birthday, Professor Sharp." "Thank you, Sirona."

It truly seemed his life was to be filled with strong-willed and strong-minded women. He was quite the lucky man.

July 1st 1908

It was morning in the Sharp household and a summer breeze gently blew through the open window of Mr and Mrs Sharp's bedroom. The gentle sound of birds chirping could be heard but didn't wake the occupants of the bedroom, currently soundly asleep in each other's arms. A sound did manage to rouse Mrs Sharp though. The pitter patter of little feet and the creaking of floorboards.

Someone was awake. Actually, judging by the sound of it, more than one of the children was on the move. She knew the children had been looking forward to surprising their father with breakfast in bed for his birthday, but she hadn't managed to piece together much more than that. She didn't know what they were planning to prepare, and thought it would probably be best if she made her way downstairs to assist or, at the very least, supervise.

As gently as she could, she tried to extricate herself from her husband's grip without waking him up. It was still early and she wanted to let him sleep for a little bit. Aesop had other plans though, having been woken by his wife's feeble attempt at leaving their shared bed.

"Where do you think you're going, darling?"

He pulled her towards him and held her close, her back completely flush against his front. She could feel his morning arousal as he kissed her neck.

"You weren't just going to leave me to wake up by myself, today of all days."

He continued gently nipping at her neck, his fingers drawing lazy patterns on her skin. With a sigh, she melted into his embrace and he took the opportunity to gently turn her on her back, moving his hands along her body and moving his kisses to her collarbones, her body semi-trapped underneath his large frame.

It had taken some number of years, but eventually (F/N) had managed to convince her husband that his birthday was a day that deserved to be celebrated, and he eventually got to enjoy being the center of attention for just this one day a year. Perhaps a little too much at times! It seemed as though he was already quite eager to unwrap his birthday present from her.

This morning, though, as much as she enjoyed the way his kisses and touch were slowly lighting her body on fire, as much as she wanted to give in and give him what he wanted, what they both wanted, she knew she needed to make her way downstairs, before their children would have the chance to set fire to the kitchen. However the feeling of her husband's very experienced hands making their way towards her more sensitive areas, the knowledge that his mouth would soon follow, was enough to make her momentarily forget about the possible disaster that she would find downstairs should she choose to indulge her husband.

"Aesop I-"

"Hmmm"

Aesop knew what he was doing. He trailed kisses down her abdomen and she knew then and there that she had lost the battle. She'd deal with the chaos later. Right now there was only one person that existed in the world and that person was about to…

CLANG!

The loud sound coming from the kitchen put an instant end to the couple's morning's activities, their arousal instantly replaced with concern. Concern for the structural integrity of their home, as well as the safety of its occupants. Aesop begrudgingly made his way back up to the head of the bed.

"I should go investigate that."

"Probably a good idea. Let's go see what the rascals are up to now."

"YOU are going to stay right here, sir, and act surprised when the children bring you whatever it is they planned on making you for your birthday breakfast. I will go downstairs and make sure we still have a house by the time they're done."

Aesop gave her a mock pout as his wife quickly got herself dressed for the morning.

"Don't worry, love. I'll make sure you get to unwrap your birthday present… after the rascals are in bed."

One quick kiss from his wife before she swiftly left the room and quietly closed the door.

Aesop heard his older son speak right outside the bedroom door, he had probably been on the way to ask for his mother's help with whatever it was the children had planned.

"Is he still asleep, Mum?"

His wife whispered

"Still sound asleep, dear."

"Brilliant!"

"Shhhhhh"

Eleazar lowered his voice

"Right. Quiet"

"Let's get downstairs"

Down they went and Aesop was left with his thoughts. He could hear the faint buzzing of his family in the kitchen, his wife no doubt deferring to their children's plans for his breakfast and letting them do as much as they were able to manage on their own. He remembered his birthday breakfast in bed from the previous year with fondness. A half burnt over-salted omelet along with biscuits (slightly undercooked), tea (weak) and a bowl of strawberries he ended up having to surrender to his 3 year old twins. It had been quite unpalatable, but seeing the pride in his children's eyes when they had told him they had cooked everything themselves had made the meal the best birthday breakfast he had ever had. He knew the children would outdo themselves this year.

He had been a father for a whole decade by now, but sometimes he still couldn't believe that the rambunctious bunch that was currently being supervised by his darling wife, those four bundles of joy and chaos, were his. That this was his life now. He had known as a young man that he wanted children and had given up on this dream at one point of his life. He had never expected though, that he could love these four little people as much as he did.

He was pulled out of his reverie by the smell of bacon. Wonderful, he thought, one can only mess up bacon so much! He knew his family would enter the bedroom any minute now to “wake him up” so Aesop laid down on his side of the bed, turned away from the door and closed his eyes. He heard the door creak open.

“He’s still sleeping”

“Shhhhh”

“Wait, no we need to wake him up!”

“I can do it!”

“Alright dear but be gentle”

“Okay Mum”

“Thedodore don’t jump on-”

Aesop felt the bed dip and braced himself for what he was sure was an incoming tackle from a rambunctious four year old.

“Hmphhh”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD!”

“My birthday isn’t until next week Theodore”

The boy stood up and looked at his mother in confusion

“He’s just pulling your leg, dear”

“That’s right, I’m just” Aesop physically tugged at his son’s legs, causing him to land flat on his back on the soft bed and dissolve in a fit of giggles “messing with you!”

The former professor looked at his family. Everyone was still in their pajamas, some of his children's clothes bearing the proof of their efforts in making his breakfast, little spots of dried batter the most evident. Both his daughters' hair were still in the braids he had woven the previous evening, now with stray strands sticking out in odd directions from their slumber. Theodore obviously hadn't brushed his hair yet, while Eleazar looked as put together as he usually did, wearing a light dressing gown and bearing the least bits of Aesop's breakfast on his clothes. He caught his wife's eyes - they were shining with pride. She was, of course, completely clean, her silky dressing gown as pristine as it had been before she left the bedroom.

Four pairs of his own brown eyes stared up at him with excitement and anticipation, and Aesop felt his heart swell when he saw the perfect mix of himself and his wife in each of their beautiful children.

Maggie approached her father with a tray.

“We made you breakfast in bed!”

Aesop took a look at the tray from his daughter and from what he could see, the children HAD outdone themselves. He was right about the bacon, there were also scrambled eggs, pancakes, a lovely fruit salad, a cup of tea, and a small bowl filled with chocolate chips.

“I cooked the eggs and the bacon and I tried to flip the first pancake, but it didn’t turn out nice, so we tossed it, then Mum helped me make the second one but the one on top I did all by myself!”

“That’s wonderful Maggs.”

“And (F/N) and Theo were in charge of mixing the fruit salad and filling the chocolate chips.”

“That salad looks expertly mixed, thank you. Eleazar, what did you do to help?”

“I measured out everything for the pancake batter AND I brewed the tea. I even used the scales like you taught me!”

Eleazar spoke with great pride. Last year his father had started to teach him the basics of potionmaking and the lad had taken to the craft like a fish to water. Aesop took a sip of his tea.

“That’s some very good tea, Thank you Eleazar”

The boy beamed.

The twins each sat on one side of him and Aesop made sure to grab himself a handful of chocolate chips before the inevitable happened and he’d have to surrender the sweets to his youngest children.

“Alright, everyone, let’s let Dad eat his breakfast in peace now. Then we can all have fun. Shop’s closed today so we get to keep Dad all to ourselves for the day.”

(F/N) herded the children out of the bedroom and handed Aesop what was left of his little bowl of sweets.

“Enjoy your food, darling, I’ll get the little ones dressed then we can do whatever it is you’d like.”

She gave him a kiss before leaving the room. Aesop was pleased to find out that everything had been seasoned well this year, most likely due to Eleazar’s precise measurement of ingredients. Once his breakfast had been eaten, Aesop got dressed and did his morning hygiene before joining his family downstairs, empty tray in hand. The weather seemed nice, perhaps they could go to the beach for a picnic and a swim.

The potions master walked into the kitchen, which actually bore less signs of the breakfast preparation than his children's clothes did. No doubt his wife's prompt work with a wand. His eyes were caught by the sight of many moving photographs displayed on a shelf. Aesop stopped for a moment, looking at the pictures fondly. The photo with Ashley taken 28 years ago on this very day was proudly standing among other happy photos. There was a picture of him and his wife on their wedding day, grinning at each other, both looking incredible as well as incredibly in love. His sweetheart still looked at him this way, even 12 years after that beautiful June day, and he knew he did as well. There were the newer pictures, his children at various ages, from mere babies and toddlers, to a very recent photo of Maggie holding a very fluffy Puffskein. And then, there were some older ones, too. A moving photo of young Aesop, taken the day he got into the Auror program, looking proud and confident, as well as a single completely still photo of his dear wife, taken by a Muggle camera.

Aesop deposited the tray into the sink and with a flick of his wand, the dishes got to cleaning themselves. His wife walked towards him and put her arms around his abdomen, pressing herself against his back.

“You’re not supposed to be doing any dishes today.”

“It’s nothing, besides you already have your hands full with the children.”

“They can take care of themselves… mostly.”

Aesop turned around to face his wife. They had circled the sun many times together but she still looked as young and beautiful as the day he married her.

“I was thinking I’d like to take everyone to the coast for lunch, let the children play in the water.”

“Only the children?”

“I suppose we could also go for a dip, for old time’s sake.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

He leaned in and captured her lips in a quick kiss, before being interrupted by Maggie and Eleazar.

"Dad, how old are you turning?" Aesop decided not to volunteer that information. The former teacher in him made him want to make his children work for the answer.

"Well let's see. I was born in the year 1848 and this is the year 1908."

The children to looked at their mother "Don't look at me, you know how to subtract."

The two eldest rushed to find the nearest quill and parchment and got to work, eager to get an answer to their burning question.

Aesop let out a sigh. He was hitting a milestone today. "Oh come on, dear. If it makes you feel any better you don't look a day over fifty."

Aesop chuckled and pulled his wife close. "Thank you. It's strange, though. I don't feel old. Merlin knows I feel better now than I did for most of my thirties. My life significantly improved in my forties"

“I wonder what happened then”

“I met this incredible woman, you see, got to know her, fell in love with her, somehow she decided she’d entrust her heart to me. Sometimes I still don’t understand what she saw in an old cripple but - don’t give me that look, that’s what I was at the time - in any case, loving her was what turned my life around for the better. And now we have these incredible-”

“SIXTY!”

Both parents chuckled. “Well done, you two.” “That’s… six times as old as I am!” “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that Magdala Dinah Sharp”

Later that day, the family of six found themselves at the beach, all four children playing in the water, both older siblings keeping an eye on the younger children whose swimwear had been enchanted to keep them afloat. Aesop and (F/N) sat on a blanket basking in the sunlight and taking in the scene.

The gentle rocking of waves filled the air around with a soft fizzing sound, broken by the cries of seagulls. Aesop could hear other birds singing from somewhere behind them in the trees. The sounds of nature combined with the giddy squeals and chattering of his children was like a symphony of absolute peace in Aesop's ears. He looked at his beloved, and saw her eyes reflecting the same utter contentment that was held in his own.

A thought crossed Aesop's mind and with a mischievous smile, he whispered in his wife’s ear “I’ll bet you a kiss I can beat you to the water”

She looked at him, her smile matching his own “Hmm I don't know… I wouldn't want to make you look bad on your birthday” she teased, but standing up as to indicate she accepted his challenge "We'll see about that…" the potions master teased back

The children watched with amusement as both their parents suddenly broke into a full blown sprint towards the sea when suddenly a faint “pop” was heard and Aesop disappeared, immediately appearing in the water, a few meters behind the children.

“You cheat!”

“We never said apparition wasn’t allowed” Aesop swam over to the children who were all giggling. (F/N) finished making her way towards the water before taking a few steps in. Once she was able to, she dove in and swam over to meet the rest of the family.

“I’ll be claiming that kiss now”

“You cheated. I think that kiss is mine to claim”

“As you wish”

Aesop made his way over to his wife, gently kissed her lips before moving around her and wrapping his arms around her waist, both of them watching the children resume their play, Eleazar and Maggie having apparently decided on a little swimming race of their own as the twins tried to keep up.

“Thank you.”

“Whatever for?”

“For today. For every day we get to spend together.”

A few days from then, Aesop and (F/N) would celebrate his birthday once more, sans children, in a private room at the Three Broomsticks surrounded by their close friends. Today, though, Aesop couldn’t imagine spending the day in better company.

Years had passed since the incident that took his partner’s life and nearly took his own. Years had passed since the simple task of making it through the day appeared monumental. Years had passed since he had made the decision that another circle around the sun wasn’t something to celebrate but rather something to feel guilt over. Today however, he felt nothing but gratitude for those who had pulled him out of the abyss where he once dwelled, who had patiently walked beside him, and who had lifted him higher than he ever thought possible, so high, in fact, he swore he could touch the stars.

Fin.

@aesopsharpmybeloved: I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to read this story, and I'd especially like to thank @tea-withjamandbread who wrote with me. Being able to read the wonderful words she used and build this story (that I frankly love and will re-read many times myself) has meant so much to me and brought me a lot of joy. To everything we'll yet create together! <3 -Tess

This story is also be available on AO3. We'll be very grateful for any feedback!

101 notes · View notes

skellebonez · 1 year ago

Text

A Trip For Two?

The final fic for @lunar-wandering's Monkie Destiny Challenge! I WAS doing 8 prompts per "week", sometimes using both prompts per day and sometimes just one. This one includes:

... a lot fdkjgfdkslj. I was only able to implement a few random ones.

Happy Halloween!

AO3 Link!

“I can't believe you convinced me to do this,” Pigsy said with a grunt, hand held against the wall as he followed it toward their destination through the pitch black darkness.

“I can't believe you agreed to it only the second time I asked,” Tang countered, a soft excited but nervous laugh echoing softly.

To be fair, Pigsy had always wanted to try one of these escape rooms. He just never got around to finding the time or the right one close enough to give it a shot. Why Tang wanted to go to a murder mystery themed one specifically was easy enough, he wanted to give all his recent extra study focus a new target.

He’d been extra focused ever since the incident with Azure, no more cramming at the last second for anything. Granted, he DID change up his method of study from the one that Shifu Subodhi had him work with, but this new one seemed to work better for him in the long run when balancing the rest of his life duties. Heck, he’d even applied himself to helping Pigsy research different methods of cooking ingredients to elevate his noodles even further.

But he’d also been getting antsy. Not just because of any reason related to his studies, though he was getting more and more frustrated with not “having a better fitting challenge” every so often, antsy with all the stuff going on around them. The constant endangerment, new enemies at every corner, new powers he seemed to continue to need to master and experiment. He thought they needed something that Pigsy hadn’t had in decades.

A vacation.

So, of course, Tang figured he could kill two birds with one stone. An escape room meant a challenge he could meet head on. And this one was offering a prize to anyone who could beat it within a certain time limit. One romantic getaway for two in Guilin, where Tang promised to take him to the Yulong river when they win this.

Tang was overwhelmingly positive they would.

Pigsy had… reservations.

“Tang, you know I’ve never been good with riddles,” Pigsy protested with a snorting laugh.

“No, but you ARE good at problem solving in other ways!” Tang boasted as he looked their pamphlet over. “I’ve seen you somehow manage to Tetris in all those ingredients in your supply cabinet for the shop.”

“That’s just work brain.”

“Well your work brain and my school brain may be brilliant enough to solve this challenge and get us that romantic getaway prize.”

Pigsy couldn’t help the soft smile that crept on his face at Tang’s boasting. It was sweet, how much confidence he had in the two of them.

But Pigsy also knew that as brilliant as he knew Tang to be… he also got stuck on the crossword puzzle on the city’s homepage last week. Three letter word for mirthful.

The answer way “gay”.

They were, probably, doomed. But at least this would be fun!

Pigsy chose to believe that as they finally reached the doorway at the end of the hall, Tang eagerly opening the door to allow them inside the main escape room.

The room wasn't terribly big, all things considered. Roughly the size of the entire dining area and kitchen of Pigsy’s, it was styled like a typical western study one might see in a mansion in an American movie. If it was horribly ransacked and clearly burgled, and also meant to look possibly Haunted. If the old stains and spider webs and the creepy doll on a shelf by the exit were any indication.

So Pigsy had to give the Escape Room crew points for detail! Just crowded enough to look realistic, but not so crowded it would make the game too hard to complete at all. But it did make it clear why this room took over the prize time limit to complete for most participants. Even he was a little overwhelmed and wondering where they should start looking in all of the clutter around them.

It didn't take long for them to find the first clue, or to solve it. Ironically, it seemed like this particular one was timed and they just had to wait a moment for the TV to come on to find the next clue. In fact... most of the clues in the room seemed to come easy to them.

Right until the 6th clue, a note in a vase lead them to a riddle on the wall and, quite frankly, it made no sense.

“I made quick work of the mountain chicken to hide my motive.”

Pigsy didn’t know what the hell this clue could have meant. If a mountain chicken wasn’t a chicken… what the fuck was it? Some other kind of bird? A lizard? A salamander?

“It’s a frog,” Tang said confidently.

“How in the world did you know a mountain chicken is a frog?”

“I didn’t,” Tang said with a shrug. “But this reference book fell off the shelf and the bookmarked page was for that frog. It’s probably meant to be a clue for people who don’t know that already, it falling saved us a LOT of time!”

Yeah… just like how the TV coming on via a supposed timer gave them the clue earlier…

Was this game rigged?

... couldn't be.

But, somehow, it was right there. A broken statue of a frog that looked exactly like the Mountain Chicken in Tang's reference book. And hidden inside one of the cracks was a torn slip of newspaper, revealing who Pigsy assumed must have been the culprit and their motive for this little murder mystery.

“Hey Tang?”

“Yes, Pigsy?”

“Hasn't this seemed a little... too easy?” The chef asked, eyebrow raised in confusion.

“I think we've just gotten really lucky,” Tang said with a smile. “And we HAVE had to puzzle out all but two of the clues ourselves anyway. We're also still really close to the end time and we have one clue left...” Pigsy hummed, nodding as he realized Tang was right. They may have gotten everything pu t together, but they only had 5 minutes to put the clues together in the correct order in the little computer next to the exit door. They were still going to have to work fast to win this challenge.

As they rushed over to the computer he couldn't help but see Tang's wide smile. He was so EXCITED at the idea of winning this. Was he just happy that he could win something that he had to solve? Or was he happy that he was possibly going to win a romantic getaway with his husband? Pigsy didn't know...

But as long as Tang smiled like that? He found he didn't really care either way. He just wanted him to smile more.

“OK, so we have to put this together like... oh gosh, it's Cludo,” Tang said with a laugh. “We have to put all this stuff in like a Cludo answer but with more steps.”

“Well that's easy!” Pigsy said with a laugh. “Mr…uh… what was his name?”

“Chandler.”

“Yeah, Chandler!”

“AH, right, Mr. Chandler stole the study key and killed Mr. Doe -aka Mr. Bennet-, in the kitchen with poison and moved him to the study to make it look like the owner of the mansion did it since only he had the key!” Tang said triumphantly. “Great job, Pigsy!”

He smiled wide, turning around to grab Pigsy and plant a passionate kiss on his lips and-

Wait…

Pigsy pulled back from the kiss as the exit door opened, looking at Tang in confusion.

“I… I didn't remember his name,” he said softly.

“… I didn't either,” Tang admitted, looking around in confusion.

“Then who-”

“You're going to miss your deadline,” the mystery voice said again. From high up. And when they looked up they noticed the creepy doll on the shelf had moved, turning to stare down at them with blank glassy eyes. “… run.”

Pigsy and Tang ran faster out of that room than they ever had before. So fast they didn't notice the giggle and the soft whisper of “I hope they like their vacation” they emanated from the room before the door closed behind them.

They did, by the way.

Even if they were very cautious of escape rooms after that.

#bonezrattling #monkie kid #lego monkie kid #fanfic #monkie destiny challenge 2023 #tang #pigsy #freenoodleshipping

29 notes · View notes

benkyoutobentou · 9 months ago

Text

31 Days of Productivity Reading: Day Two

Before: Alright, I think I should show you my manga tracking sheet. I don't actually have any organization for my unread Japanese novels, but I have a tbr shelf for my English novels and the aforementioned Sheet for my manga. Also, I should be going to pick up (guess what) (take a guess) (yeah okay you guessed it) more books today! I should have a package at the post office today, if I don't I'll cry because it should have been sitting there for a few days and that's way too much manga to lose in the mail. Yes you will be getting a haul photo. And how much did I spend on it total? Less than ten USD. I only paid shipping! The internet is a very wonderful place with many wonderful people.

I usually don’t have a whole lot of time to read on Saturdays because I’m running errands all day, but I’m hoping to finish another chapter of No. 6 (I did finish a chapter last night!). This next chapter is shorter than usual for this series (about thirty pages as opposed to around fifty) so hopefully I will be able to get some manga reading in today as well. I’m fully expecting to keep saying that and not reading any manga until I finish this book.

After: As expected and as usual, my reading time was pretty condensed today and have only read for a total of one hour and eight minutes. Like yesterday, though, I'm planning on reading for around another hour before bed to finish up this chapter. I'm about halfway through, so that puts me on track for that timeline.

As you saw, my manga did come in today! It’s the two stacks on their sides. Where you see them is where they’re staying. I planned to go to Ikea today to get height extensions for my bookcases, but they were out of stock. :') They were in stock last weekend and last time I bought a bookcase, I had to wait probably three weeks for it to come in. I love how the only Ikea in my area never stocks anything. Anyways, my new manga tracking sheet is so ridiculous, now you see why I need this challenge. If you see any favorites on the list that I should get to sooner rather than later, feel free to bully me into reading it :3c

I also had another package that was less expected; my Notebook Therapy notebook came in! I've been waiting on this for two weeks now, and I can finally start studying ASL now that I have it! Unfortunately, I doubt I actually will, because this upcoming week for me is going to be insanely busy.

The day’s final update: I didn’t end up finishing the chapter, but at this point I’d rather sleep. The next chapter is also on the shorter side so hopefully it won’t be too much of an issue to fit these extra pages in there. Also, as an established No. 6 fan, I know that this chapter is going to end with a hugely important revelation for Shion, so I’m a bit disappointed that I didn’t have the time to finish it. But it’s something to look forward to for tomorrow!

For today’s totals, I read twenty pages in an hour and twenty seven minutes. That’s 4.3 minutes per page, which is pretty much exactly what I clocked yesterday as well. At least I’m consistent!

#benkyou posting #30 days of productivity #langblr #studyblr #language learning #studying #polyglot #booklr #im scheduling this one so it doesnt post at such an odd time like yesterdays post #my notebook has a train on it!#I’ll be honest I thought it was a boat until I saw it in person today but I think I like the train better #two for two station idol latch mentions how long can I keep it going #(joking)

3 notes · View notes

echonidae · 2 years ago

Text

a buncha headshot portraits! three out of five portraits, i'm finishing up the last two c: the sketches here are from way back in august/september, and i fiddled with them for some weeks on end trying to make Something out of them, then proceeded to frustratedly shelf the lot of them away. so it's nice to see at least these three all finished up now :') and they were really nice to work on too ;v;

but ohoho okay, this is a lot of announcements in one single post, so bear with me a moment :3c here's a tl;dr first: 1) headshot portraits as a new commission option maybe? :0ccc 2) commissions are opening again on monday, jan. 23rd! 3) separate commission info webpage for reading convenience (particularly for folks on mobile) 4) commission rules changes: payment in full & upfront, rather than half-and-half 5) two-slots-per-person rule will be no more and folks are free to send as many orders as they want, but any ones after the second will go into the queue instead 6) also a small change with unoccupied queue slots

the rest is under the readmore :')

so, i've been thinking about adding this sort of portrait as a commission option!! fairly simple compositions but fully rendered (because i darn love painting so much; cellshading is nice and all, but coloring it all in one layer is just... heart-eyes), on the big 2600px to 3800px canvases as well c: and i'm thinking of pricing commissions like these at 28 USD (feels like a good price but i'm accepting feedback on that — the point was to add something that's just straight up fully-rendered, but for the lower end of the pricetable, and the limitations of a headshot portrait feel fitting enough on both sides ;v; )

also portraits like these are fairly quick to draw, so the turnaround time would be fairly short! add to it that 1) these are fun, 2) i could use focusing on just the face and expressions rather than elaborate poses and all, 3) portraiture lighting my beloved, and 4) these are painted, and don't take forever to figure out or paint. :D but yeah, let me know what you think of the headshot portrait option!! would you folks be interested in something like this? :0c

and now hold on a moment, i have more things to say!! xD

commissions are reopening monday, jan. 23rd, at the usual 5pm BRT (UTC -3:00)!

6 active slots (previously known as regular slots; can't believe it's taken me years to figure out a better way of calling these orz), as well as another 24 slots on queue. these will remain open until further notice; money's tight right now, hence the lack of closing date :')

there should be plenty of slots either way tho, so no rush at all! but i apologize for the super short notice orz

also, i went and got all the commission info on a separate webpage on wix instead. here you go!

should be easier to access and read through stuff, particularly on mobile — or at least i sincerely hope it is, please leave me feedback if you can!!! let me know if you encounter Problems, i've looked and combed through every bit of these four (4) pages but i might have missed stuff still, pretty please let me know if you run into any Issues! ;-;

but yeah, the website has all the rules and info and all the different options as well, with extra examples and all. on monday, you'll also be able place orders directly through there, i made a little form and all c': technically the form is already there but pls don't send requests yet, i can't reserve slots ahead of time!

also also, and these are the last things i've got to say, i promise (and thank you if you've read this far!),

a couple commission rules are changing!

1) from this new batch onwards, i'll be charging commissions in full & upfront instead of the half-half system i'd been doing up until this point. the exception is if an order exceeds $80 USD; for those ones we'll return to the half-before-sketch + half-once-finished situation instead!

but how's that? :0c i hope this is alright, but please let me know if this would make commissions just... unaffordable ;o; i do really like the half-half system, and i'd rather keep it, but it's either this or raising prices, and i don't think i can do that yet :T either way, please let me know your thoughts on the matter!!

2) the only-two-slots-per-person rule will no longer be in effect, so go ham with multiple orders if you wish on monday — the caveat is that i'll still be working only on two orders at a time per person, so if you order three things, the third one will be placed at the end of the queue c:

looking back i could've... done this from the beginning. orz it should be more convenient to send multiple orders if you have 'em!

and finally, 3) if the queue list hits its closing date with slots still available, folks who have already ordered and would like to get in the queue again can go on and grab those empty queue slots if they want, instead of being limited to two slots per person per batch, and then having to wait for an entire new batch.

i opened this exception for the last round of commissions (thank you once again to the folks who wanted repeats ;-; ) so i thought i should just make it into a proper thing instead, since it does make sense to do it anyway — the queue list is purposefully filled with a ton of slots, then left open for weeks on end to make sure everyone interested can get their orders in, so letting folks claim those remaining slots after the deadline sounds fine ;v;

that being said, there won't be a deadline for this monday's batch, so this bit technically doesn't change anything xD but i thought i should mention the New Thing #6!

and that's it! that's all!

while i'm pretty set on most of these (specially the full-upfront-payment bit — again, money's tight orz), i'm still definitely open to feedback, and to change things if something doesn't work for you folks!! please do share your thoughts on it, or send a note if you'd rather!! and let me know if you have any questions too ;v;

i apologize for the super short notice again (and for cramming all of this into a single post) orz i'll be sorting things out until 5pm on monday, and getting these last commissions posted as well c:

thank you again for reading all of this orz and please don't feel obligated to reply to all the points if you have thoughts on only a specific one, i'd rather hear a little feedback than none at all ;o;

all in all, hope at least these portraits look nice, they were fun to work on :') Oliver, Owen and Steffan (previously known as the Swordsman/the Warlock — yup he's got a name now!); i'll get the other two of Matthew and Coriander done and posted!

thanks again folks, have a nice friday! ;w;

39 notes · View notes

finiffy · 2 years ago

Note

First draft of Kingson angst fic prologue.

About 2700 word, cw for some 4231 mentions and Clef having a mental breakdown off to the side.

~~~

King just needed to get this report done and he'll be free. Well, at least for a week.

He wasn't even aware how few days he took off within the year until administration asked him to fill out his vacation days for mandatory reasons. It would be nice to finally have a quiet day or as quiet as his curse and Edison would allow it. It was nice to have Edison back from Antarctica, hopefully he'd stay out of major trouble again. As much as Edison was to handle, King married the damn fool. He couldn't help but smile as he thought of how the florist took days off to join him for the first three of the seven days. In Edison's own weird way of saying things: the two of them might be side characters but at least they had each other in the background.

He just needed to get this data report signed off on before an apple seed materialized its way into his computer's hard drive again. Whoever was in charge of these percentage checks seemed to know almost nothing about how to do statistics, they were all wrong and he didn't even know how they would get these numbers. At this point he's beginning to wonder if it's part of this anomaly's effects or heaven forbid he just found a new one and would be put incharge of it. He was never really good at being the head of something, too difficult to keep all those people under him in check. Come to think of it, if he sends this off to anomalies testing with a checking request for abnormal behavior it would be faster than looking at everything and fixing the numbers himself, maybe the idiot that did these in the first place will get fired, he has just cause for reporting.

Hearing an apple seed drop down off a shelf to the tiled floor behind him he quickly sent the request in and logged out. On average seeds appear in his computer once per 5 hours, it's been around 4 hours since he last took one out from his keyboard and he didn't want to risk one in the motherboard. The vacation days might get pushed over if one did. That data no matter how wrong it was could be extremely important and out of his clearance to know why, it's better to scoot it over to someone else than have it stay on his plate.

He got up to walk out of the office feeling compelled to look back once more. It was a standard office, a cube of a room, with white floors and light gray painted walls. A long metal desk in the corner with the average monitor setup the Foundation required with a fax machine and a few antics calculators he placed around for show. A white board stroon with equations and sticky notes in the other corner. Two wooden tables next to the door for in-and-out paperwork. It was minimal and average just the way he liked it. This place found weird ways to make you feel like leaving the office for the day was like saying goodbye to your childhood home. Its work, he should want to go home, why did he feel this would be the last time he'd be here.

Everett found himself walking down the hallway, which is standard you just do that, but he felt like something was off. Old strings he thought he cut ages ago were finding their way back around him. The Narrative called again. No matter he's fought this battle before and won. A hallway to his issued dorm it is then.

The sound of the offices could be heard around him, clacking of keyboards, buzzing phone calls, fax machines trying not to die, murmuring from past doors though nothing could be made out from them, the like. Average 6pm it seemed.

Or well it was until he heard a familiar voice call out from around the corner. "Someone, please, listen to me! Would you all stop ignoring me! This is urgent, I swear!"

The voice was deep and rattled with the more unique unmistakable bad southern accent, was that Clef? He sounded short of breath, pained and weak, almost sobbing. King was around the other enough to know that wasn't normal, well it's not normal for anyone, but it was most concerning wasn't here.

The aforementioned doctor came barreling past the corner. He looked absolutely like a disaster, well more than usual. His hat and lab coat were nowhere to be seen, his Hawaiian shirt tattered at the cuffs, soaked in his own sweat, and caked in... something, multiple somethings. Once dirrty ashy blond hair had faded to white in over a night, matted and cow licked somehow ever more and it stuck to his skin. All three of his eyes were open, King had barely seen Clef's third eye the entire time working here, but it stood out very clearly on his forehead as of right now, all looked to be dilated and sunken into his face. Panting and out of breath he looked to Dr King, fearing some unrighteous anger on their face he was met with the look of panic and urgency.

"King? KING! Everett my buddy old pal, you hear me don't you!?" He sounded relieved at that fact.

"Of course..." King trailed off in confusion.

"King, you need to listen to me." Clef in no time at all ran up and grabbed Everett by the lab coat. God he looks almost dead up close. "I know everyone thinks of me as a liar, w-which is true. But I-I need you to believe me, I'm telling the truth right now."

King didn't respond as he didn't even know what to say other than just letting them continue. He was in pure shock at this moment.

"I think a ZK event is coming!

I can feel reality, it is slim and weakening by the minute. We-We're all in grave danger if it's in this state. We are all dead if it collapses. DEAD YOU HEAR."

"Calm down for a moment, why didn't you go to the O5s if this is happening."

"The council isn't listening to me! The MTFs aren't listening to me. No one you hear me. Not even Gears, Bright, Kondarki, or Glass. My own psychiatrist, Simon, he won't even give me the light of day! I even called the GOC and they can't even hear my voice over the radio!

Reality may be already doomed, i-its obviously started to fuck things up!

If it collapses, imma dead man or worse not and I rather not think of that right now."

"Okay. Okay. I get that part. What's causing the event."

"What's causing it? FUCK! How do I explain this to you?

There's something from the past you hear.

Listen to me!

It's getting closer, I can feel it. It's coming back for me! I-I don't know how to stop it.

Everett, you need to help me! You're the only one not currently affected by whatever's happening."

Oh, it's this call thing again isn't...

"Look Aut-"

"Alto."

"Alto, I can see you're in distress right now, but I'm just a mathematician. What could I possibly do to help?"

Clef's eyes opened wider, his pupils once taking up his irises strunk to small dots. His third eye began to rapidly blink. He became even more pale as he let go of King's coat, slowly stepping backward.

"Oh, no. No. Nononononono!

I WON'T LET YOU DO THIS!

I WON'T LET YOU HURT HER!

I WON'T LET YOU TAKE EDISON EITHER!

YOU SHOULD HAVE KILLED ME LONG AGO,

I WILL NOT BE TAKEN AWAY WITHOUT A FIGHT!"

Clef screamed out in full terror as he ran back the other way calling out for Edison. King breathed out a sigh, it was indeed this again. Alto was going to rope Edison into this deeper than he already was. King just wanted a nice week off with his husband... he might even believe whatever Clef was going on about.

He fought the Narrative before and he can do it again with Edison. Whatever it's trying they will get through it, they are just two average people, and that's the way it will stay.

Finally making it to his apartment, he can just... there's apple seeds in the lock again isn't there. Giving the handle a violent stir before trying to open it again. Apple seed fibers fell out the nook in the door before the rest of the seeds fell out after it. Let's see one, two, three... five. There was five seeds he count this time. Not the worst he's found in there before, but up there in 'pretty bad.'

The light was already on and he was greeted by the smell of the greenhouse that was once the entrance and living room of the dorm apartment. He would have liked to still have a living room, but couldn't complain. It smells lovely in here every time he comes back after work. Lemon and orange, pine and palm, lavender and roses, a lot of other nice smelling plants he's never heard of nor could he pronounce. Barely even went into the botany wing of Site 19 so it had never bleed into the monotony of the Foundation's containment chamber and hallways. He moved a monstera leaf to the side as he walked it.

To the side he could see his son was still healthy as it ever was. Well not really his son, but it's the closest he will get most likely. Edison had successfully grown one of the apple seeds that spawned out of thin air. Impressive it was, he thought they were all dead, but low and behold taking up a full coffee table was a bonsai apple tree, it had started to bud flowers too, having little clumps of white and pink. He hated all things having to do with apples except for that thing. Having to take care of it while the other got shipped off to Antarctica for the third time contributed to his begrudging acceptance of it in his life. Some of the wires looked like they needed to be tightened, but that could wait for tomorrow. He didn't know a thing about how to do those properly and didn't want to mess with whatever Edison did to get them to look like this.

He could hear an oven beep from the kitchen and a murmur of a swear word under someone's breath.

"Are you burning the house down?"

"No."

He never thought hearing a calm 'no' today would be relieving. Despite how low Clef's voice was usually it could shatter wine glasses if it pleases. Deafened it was.

"What are you trying to cook?" King asked as he wandered into the kitchen which thankfully the only plants in there were succulents and an aloe vera.

"The freezer BBQ chicken tenders. Didn't feel like ordering anything, so I went digging through the fridge. That okay?"

"Yeah. Don't feel like ordering more Chinese food." He needed to spit a seed into the trash can.

"We could probably go off site for dinner the next few days." Edison always sounded so perked up and excited when he spoke, it evened out nicely with King's more flat and calm voice. "It would be like all those romance stories with the candle lights and fancy waiters. We could even do that thing with the spaghetti! And you can bring roses!"

"Do we not have enough roses? We have three bushes in the apartment. I don't know how many you've got in the on site greenhouse."

"I believe there are 12 different ones currently. You do have a point, 15 full bushes is a lot... Oh maybe we could!" He started to go through a whole laundry list of things from what King could only guess were tropes from romantic books, movies, and romcoms.

They ate dinner and headed to the bedroom to watch TV. It was the closing thing they substituted for a living room. The remote had broken a while ago and they'd never bothered to replace it so King went up to manually turn it on and switch channels.

"I wonder, what's on the Discovery Channel?" Edison questioned as he climbed up on the bed.

"Foundation blocked it for false information stated as fact."

"Wasn't that the History Channel?"

"Both." He set the TV to one of the late night drama shows they've been keeping up on.

King wouldn't pay them much mind, but he was starting to remember some of the characters names from two of them, how the other kept tabs on exactly what was happening across 10 different ones was beyond him.

Edison had shuffled his way under the blankets motioning for Everett to join them. The mattress creaked under the new weight. The smile on their face was contagious, they were alway optimistic, and a bit oblivious, to the world around them. Even working at the Foundation and being exiled to an ice desert for months at a time multiple times, he still looked on the bright side of this world. Most people loss it early on, he did especially when the apple curse showed it ugly head, but they didn't.

"Hey, did Clef talk to you today?"

"He did. He looked like he hasn't slept in days, or a week, or month for that matter. I think he might need new medication."

"I think he needs to be institutionalized."

"Well I don't think he's that far gone. He has always been a bit... extraordinary."

"Did you not hear him, or is he fucking with me?"

"Umm... did he talk to you about reality dying?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then no, he's not messing with you personally."

"Did he say anything to you about me?"

"Yeessss..."

"I'm asking what he said about me, Edison?"

"Maybe he does need to be forcibly helped. He said you're not the same King... that my King was dead... and you would hurt me... and that I needed to run and hide."

"Okay I'll let Glass deal with him then."

"Deal how!?"

"Deal with Alto's mental state! I don't want to hurt you, that's preposterous. If reality is about to collapse we'd already be informed and we sure as hell wouldn't have days off."

...

"You know that trope where everything they said wouldn't happen happens?"

"Unfortunately yes, but don't be ridiculous. He's a liar through and through."

"Hasn't this whole day felt like it's foreshadowing something awful is going to happen over the week..."

"I hope not! I would like not to go back to the computer and stare at numbers because something breached containment."

"But, Everett, what if he's telling the truth this time for some reason..."

"Edison," he gently, as gently as he could, cupped his hands around their cheeks, he melted into them the moment they touched him, "I'd never hurt you. I know how much you look up to him, for whatever reason that may be, and I very much can see the distress he's in, he's obviously having a mental breakdown and I have no idea why no one's done anything about it. But he's crazy, or more crazy than on average. I love you, why would I ever do that?"

"I don't know, he seemed convincing."

King led in and placed a kiss on his lip. Something seemed to be getting through to him as he led it to it as well, so least that's a start.

"Now Micheal could you tell me what Jessica's deal is with Mary again."

"Oh, that, well you see Mary killed her third removed cousin and wants his wrist watch so she..."

At least he got the other to think about something else. Should've never brought the topic up, curiosity makes fools out of everyone. Something was going to go wrong and he wasn't too excited to learn what that will be. Here's to hoping his days off won't be too hectic and it ends on a good note.

~~~

It might be a bit too meta currently and might need to add more fluff scenes in here. It's a start and it works for it's purpose.

~ Mold Anon

ASDASDHSAF AAAAAA HELL YEAH THIS WAS AN AMAZING READ!! THANK YOU FOR MAKING THIS

If you could see me, I was just holding my phone and just wandering around in circle as I read this. God I really am dying with the King lore as in I am very obsessed with it and just King doing his damn hardest to fight the narrative off. Also poor Clef, panicking and out of his mind-atleast Edison is there

#fin answers #mold anon #long post #other's amazing stories

12 notes · View notes