#laertes bothers amelie

[speyeralling-down-thy-majesty]

Laertes checks in with Amelie within a few days, popping back into its living room as they so often do. They don’t know why they’re so certain it’s something he ought to do- he just felt like they were supposed to.

@laertesthelocalstranger

Amelie tilts its head at the sudden appearance of him, surprised. That feeling only lasts for a split second since it sees his strings, some of them wrapped so perfectly around its fingers. Like they were meant to.

"I missed you."

It coos out, tightening her strings. It missed faer puppet,not friend though.

[laertesthelocalstranger]

I love you guys. btw

[residentsofhollowville]

Jude returns home to find a sofa lying sideways in his apartment, a wall covered in crayon drawings, and a quilt waiting patiently on the refrigerator.

Laertes likes this place. It’s got much more life than Jude’s last one had, before they’d started settling in. More of a base to start with, an easier place to make a home out of.

Still. There’s a lot of vandalism to be done.

@laertesthelocalstranger

"Shit."

He sprints to him, helping him down from the top of the weather-beaten fridge and onto the dusty floor. He didn't expect her to visit. He didn't expect her to care at all.

"Kid. I - I missed you."

[laertesthelocalstranger]

It nods, disappearing elsewhere, wandering again.

What…What had just happened?

‘She’ doesn’t have to worry about that. It’s all according to plan.

He doesn’t have to think one bit.

Without a warning, there's a neon green door in the corner of Aurelia's field of view. It's a beautiful door,adorned with neon fractals that seem to twist and turn into spiderwebs with eyes in the center.

It opens up quietly, revealing a familiar smiling face standing in the doorway.

Aurelia smiles, nodding at Amelie.

“Hello, Amelie. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

[eyes-that-decieve]

"Luminary,may I bother you¿? I could use your help."

Amelie calls out the moment Laertes leaves, still feeling slightly out of it.

She appears almost right after they ask, floating an inch or two off a random chair in the room. If Amelie could see through her mask, her expression would be one of concern.

"Yes?"

[speyeralling-down-thy-majesty]

Laertes generates somewhere near Amelie's ceiling, falling straight down in a perfect criss-cross applesauce position on cat's couch.

"I have a proposition!"

@laertesthelocalstranger

Amelie lets out a surprised gasp,nearly dropping Willard from its lap.

"Yes, mischief quilt¿?"

[speyeralling-down-thy-majesty]

It’s about a day and a half into things that Laertes remembers that starving is slow. He does what he can to aid the process, and between the destruction of every strange object in that room, and the eyes drawn or taped on every surface, he’s certainly feeling much weaker.

Still. This is getting dull, and if he wants it done right, Laertes needs…additional resources.

She pokes around the back of the library. Amelie should be out, Laertes checked the schedule. They don’t want to talk to it.

Watcher, watcher, watcher… He thought-murmurs to himself, flipping through volumes for anything that makes her feel any more horribly exposed than she already does.

@laertesthelocalstranger

Amelie comes back to the library with tea in hand. They set it down on their desk, proceeding to check through the shelves. It hears an odd sound,ears swiveling to find the source of it. Rats? It couldn't be rats,why would there be rats here?

It carefully moves closer.

"Hello,is anybody here-"

Fae freezes upon seeing a familiar face.

"Quilt,what are you doing here,friend¿?"

[speyeralling-down-thy-majesty]

This time when Laertes appears, he arrives on the roof, before promptly falling off. Ow. She groans, picks herself up, and decides it might be safer to take the door. He follows the twists and turns to Amelie’s apartment, not bothering to knock. For some reason, none of the locks work under his hands.

@laertesthelocalstranger

Amelie's ears tense up at the sound of the door opening. It stays still, listening, trying to discern whether it's a friend or an intruder. The steps sound soft,so it must be a friend.

"Who's there¿?"

It calls out.

[laertesthelocalstranger]

Laertes approaches, sitting down cross-legged a few feet away from the cat, trying to coax it over. Maybe this one won't bite her?

There's a building on fire,and in front of it lays a very fluffy reddish brown cat, unharmed and clearly enjoying the flames. Walking closer one can hear her purring.

[laertesthelocalstranger]

Once Laertes reaches his home,a letter is waiting for him in his room.

He almost misses it among the wave of clutter that covers everything. But it’s neat, crisp, unpersonalized. This isn’t anything of theirs. Laertes picks it up, examining it and turning it over.

[laertesthelocalstranger]

Laertes pokes their head from around the tree. “Oh, is that your cat?”

Amelie's sitting under a tree in the park, hugging Willard like a plushie. Their face is burried in her fur, causing them not to notice whoever approached them.

[laertesthelocalstranger]

Is Amelie trying on a new mask? Weird. Laertes thinks she likes the old one better. More personal flair.

Our favorite mischief materials crosses the street, smiling brightly. To Amelie, there is very little new about them- though she seems to have acquired what looks sort of like fairy hair at some point, so iridescent it almost glows. Maybe it does.

To James? Laertes is an unfamiliar 19(?)-year-old, with disconcertingly yellow eyes that have a shifting, cracked light to them that looks almost painful. The way he moves is fluid and near animal, yet still manages to seem scripted, somehow, practiced in a deeply unsettling way.

His expression and stature are impish, teeth weirdly sharp at this angle, his body just androgynous enough that it’s almost distracting, giving the man a nagging desire to stop and figure out which sex they are. Patchwork cat ears poke out from hair that must obviously have been dyed that color pink, and a hole has been cut out in the back of her skirt for their tail to fit through.

In short, she’s a freak.

“Heya!”

Amelie can be seen exiting a restaurant with a man in his sixties.

He is wearing a simple dark grey bussiness suit,his greying ginger hair is neatly styled. His eyes, although somewhere between a steel grey and muddy green,are the same exact shape as Amelie's.

Meanwhile Amelie looks completely human, with their hair long and a very similar shade of ginger to their father. It's wearing a pastel academia style outfit.

On first glance, their conversation looks completely normal, though a keen eye would notice Amelie's expression be one of slight nervousness.

[laertesthelocalstranger]

Laertes wanders without any particular aim, jumping onto raised edges and carefully balancing until there’s no more runway and she’s forced to return to the ground again. His fingers tap impatiently along the gun, and their eyes dart to focus on any sound at all, always disappointed when it isn’t…something. She doesn’t know what. She doesn’t know what she’s waiting for, or even that she’s waiting at all. So much energy ping-ponging inside of Laertes, and he has no idea what for.

They get increasingly frustrated, beginning to grumble to himself when each new sound proves to be just a bird or a piece of trash in the wind, until the sound of it begins to sound suspiciously like growling.

Something about it brings to mind the image of an animal waiting to spot prey.

Laertes wanders the back alleys with a rifle that is comically large for her. She carries it loosely in their hand, with the lack of care of someone who doesn’t know much about the weapon. He brought it because of the increasing number of mannequins she’s spotted tailing her- and maybe because he likes the feel of it in his hand. Holding it makes Laertes feel safe, something he’s gone months without- though it’s only a safety in the way it’s safer to be higher up on the food chain.

Laertes feels odd- a mounting adrenaline high building beneath the surface, waiting for something to tip it over into action. They don’t know what it is, or why, but the buzz beneath their skin has him in a lovely state- jumping from one moment to the next using instinct and whim alone. He doesn’t have the patience to think, and so he doesn’t. And isn’t that what he’s wanted all along?

The thing in their gut paces, a live wire inside of him that has Laertes charged with energy and taut as tightrope, as an overstretched spring, as a bowstring waiting to be released.

[laertesthelocalstranger]

A tear opens a little wider after the eyes.

"Oh, hey, Amelie. No, you didn't." She was supposed to pick it up, right? Laertes doesn't really remember. The last month has been...a lot.

Laertes isn't at a gas station this time, but his goal is the same, and he's coming up equally empty.

Most of the threads keeping the huge amount of rips in her fabric together are either in a brightly colored thread that doesn't match their own or done poorly by a hand that really didn't know how. The remaining mess was being held shut by goddamn band aids. She even has a sticker somewhere trying desperately trying to hold her together.

Usually, he'd love the extra personality, but it hurts like hell.

How long has he been searching? And how little has she come up with?

Fuck it. He's done researching or following leads or chasing down clues or whatever eye guy shit he'd been trying out to find this. He wasn't made for it.

Laertes taps on the shoulder of the first supernatural person he senses, coming from behind and not bothering to check their face. Faces didn't mean that much anyway.

"Hey, what are the odds you know how I can supernaturally commit arson?"

[speyeralling-down-thy-majesty]

Amelie smiles a sad smile at him before leaving. This is as close as someone can get to experiencing what they used to, how they felt.

In a building that isn’t a building anymore, something pulses with rhythm and laughter, making its impossible claim to the world all around. It beats on, like the savage thumping of feet against the ground, like the unstoppable procession of a growing wildfire, like the sound of a wooden heart finally ready to dance.

There is a figure amidst the knowledgeless discord, stoking the formless flames, feeding the whirlwind of uncertainty. A new ringleader presides over the circus. She is the theater, and they are the chaos taking it, and it is more than the doll in the basement ever pretended to be.

[laertesthelocalstranger]

“The wax is. You can make little sculptures out of it.” Laertes is sitting in a swing next to Amelie’s. It’s weird- now that they notice it, something about the texture of the swings is off. And they’re a solid bright red.

Amelia is, very suddenly and without warning, sitting in a swing with a baby bel in its hand.

@laertesthelocalstranger

Amelie blinks, confused,and looks around. They notice the babybel in its hand.

"Huh. This is interesting!¡ And is this cheese¿?? Can't say it's that weird, honestly."