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lettersnorth · 4 years ago

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For What Ails You

Bertram arrives within the Heartwood clinic with all of the silence that one would expect for a man with the epithet 'Windshadow'. Of course, it wasn't precisely polite to go sneaking around unannounced in proper company, so Bertram produced a quick pair of raps upon the door as he slipped through. He took a moment to glance around the room in search for who might be present. He'd been told that he could find Aislinn here but he was still uncomfortable removing his visor in unfamiliar company.

Aislinn appeared to be in the middle of something that took a good portion of her concentration. She stood at the stove, her back to the door. Spread across the clinic's counters were a variety of jars that stored everything from herbs to aethersand and perhaps even an animal part or two. Currently, she was flipping between two open recipe books with one hand while the other continually stirred a mixture that was simmering in a double boiler on the stove.

At the sound of someone knocking, her expression cleared and she glanced over her shoulder. "Bertram." she greeted, albeit a bit absently. "Alright, there?"

"Keeping myself together in one piece." He answered with a subtle smile, a hand rising up to rub at the back of his neck idly before his attention shifted to the work that Aislinn was doing at the bench. His hand shifted from his neck to his visor as he moved. There's a quiet 'click' as he removes the device from his face and focuses his good eye upon the various reagents. "You certainly seem ... busy?" He then turns his attention back to Aislinn with a slightly risen brow.

"One piece is always preferable." she nodded, her hand never pausing in the stirring of the pot. "Ahh..." she looked back to the accoutrements she had spread out across the counter. "Just...trying a new potion." she said blithely. Perhaps a touch too blithe, to be honest. "But once it's done simmering it has to sit awhile, so not too terribly busy. You've caught me near the end."

Bertram nodded his head slowly, his attention shifting back to the potion-in-progress with a curious expression. "Is it ... for anything in particular ..." his attention flicks back to Aislinn, "... or is it just some exploratory alchemy?" He offers the woman a light smile.

Aislinn paused at the question, reaching up to brush away a wayward strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes. She considered and immediately discarded half a dozen lies she could have told him. In light of certain events that would have made quite the hypocrite of her.

"I'm still having a bit of trouble. With..." she trailed off, tapping a finger against her breastbone. "That issue I told you about earlier. Those attacks that make me feel like I might burn up from the inside out. It hasn't happened half as much since...well, since we dealt with all the Red Argos business but it's still there." she was quiet a moment as she stopped stirring the concoction and moved the pot off the stove to cool. "It's a bother." she said simply though that was certainly downplaying the issue. "So I'm trying this to see if it helps or not."

Bertram furrowed his brow slightly as Aislinn explains the purpose of the concoction. The man glances off to the side for a moment as he takes in a slow breath and then he's back to leveling his attention upon the pot. "It's ... not getting worse, is it?" He asked, sounding noticeably concerned, "Do you have theories as to what it might be that's causing it?"

Setting down the whisk she had been using, she takes up a towel from the rack and wipes her hands. "It...doesn't happen as often but...it feels as though it's become more intense." Again, an understatement. The other night she been crippled by it, unable to rise from the rug in her room until it had passed.

She busied herself with cleaning up the open jars, screwing the tops back on and moving to place them back on the shelves. As though if she just kept moving it would make the subject loom that much less in her mind. "Not as easy to shake off. But..." Theories. She had a few. Though that would require regaling Bertram with tales of what had happened to her while living in Ul'dah and she was less than inclined to do such a thing. "I don't really know. Nothing concrete. Though if this doesn't work I was thinking I would go and see the monks."

Bertram slowly turns his attention toward Aislinn as she offers up her back-up solution. It was, of course, easy to see the concern within his expression. Though that wasn't necessarily a surprise given the circumstances. "... do you think the Fist's'll have the answers?" He asked quietly, a bit like a dolt. Of course she did Bertram, why would she go otherwise? He cleared his throat and shook his head, side glancing to the cooling pot. "If there's anything I can do for you in that regard ...I'll do whatever I can."

Aislinn finished wiping down the counter. At those particular words, her lips compressed a moment in a flat line before she managed a tight smile she didn't feel. She flicked the towel at him before hanging it back over the rack. "It's the monks. I think I can remember my way there, I'll be fine." she said, neatly declining his offer. With a sigh, she settled against the counter and folded her arms across her chest. "But you came by the clinic for a reason of your own, didn't you?" she asked, quickly changing the subject.

Bertram lifted his hands up in a faux-defensive gesture as the towel is flicked in his direction. A quiet laugh and bow of his head conceding to her point. "You're ... right of course. You usually are." He clears his throat, "But, all the same, I just want to make sure you know I've got your back if you need it." There's a pauses as she turns the questioning around on him. "Yes ... well ... I was hoping to find some ointments for ..." He looks embarrassed, "Bug bites?"

She gave a single, non-committal nod in reply to his assertion that he would be there if she needed. But as he explained his true purpose for stopping by, her face became more expressive as she raised a skeptical brow. "What sort of bug bites? Let me see."

"I ... ah ... midges, I think?" He tries to offer though he seems entirely unsure about that situation. "I honestly didn't get a very good look at them." He lets out a quiet, nervous laugh as he shakes his head and lifts up an arm and begins to roll back a sleeve. And ... sure enough, the arms is peppered with a small constellation of angry looking red dots. Nothing life threatening, of course, but ... boy did it look uncomfortable.

Aislinn leaned forward and took a look at his arm. It was indeed, a right mess. Pushing herself off the counter, she carefully took hold of it and peered a bit closer at the bites. "Nymeia's Blood, Bertram, did you go for a joy-walk through a swamp?" she tsked. Releasing his arm, she turned for the cabinets that lined the clinic's counter and began rifling through the various pots and jars located within.

"Luckily, we're a fully stocked clinic. No telling what the members of Heartwood are going to get themselves into. Always best to try and prepare for a little bit of everything."

Bertram was quick to clear himself out of Aislinn's way as she set course for the cabinet behind him. He couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh as he swapped ends of the bench with Aislinn. "Just a bit of good samaritan work ... though I might have gone a bit overboard ... given the circumstances."

"Sometimes folk forget that the Elementals are always watching out here. Even if they aren't as potent as before."

"Well, no good deed goes unpunished." Aislinn murmured as she pulled a porcelain blue salve jar from the cabinet. She paused, her hand gripping the wide cork top, as though she just realized what she said. With a shake of her head and a soft snort, she continued, pulling the lid from the salve and giving it a whiff. "This is it." re-corking the jar, she turned and held it out to him. "Was it worth it? The good Samaritan work?"

Bertram laughs quietly at Aislinn's first comment, his head bobbing to the side amusedly before accepting the jar with a grateful smile. His brow furrows slightly at the question that she left him with as he lifts the jar to get a whiff himself. "I'm not sure I'd be a very good 'good samaritan' if I went around judging people I help like that." He teased quietly before taking a sample size of the salve and beginning to spread it on a small patch on his arm in test. "But ... they seemed like a nice enough person. Just seemed a bit ... new to the area, honestly. They were grateful at the very least."

Aislinn tilted her head, seeing that he had missed her point. "Not asking you to judge them, but I'm glad it all seemed to end up well enough. Aside from the run-in with the midges. The Elementals seem a bit touchy lately. That or there are quite a few more people than normal wandering the Shroud who are new to the area."

Bertram blinks quietly at the opening to her response, looking a bit caught off guard and suddenly second guessing what she meant from before. He gets caught up in his mind for a prolonged moment before clearing his throat, "... oh, yeah. Seems like there're more people that usual out and about. Maybe refugees?" He glanced off to the side again before looking down to his arm. He wasn't positive but the salve certainly seemed to be doing the trick. It was a distinct relief. "You're running into folks running awry of the Elementals too?"

"Maybe refugees." she nods in agreement. Leaning over the stove, she checked in on her cooling pot of potion and tested it by shaking the pot gently by the handle. Not quite ready. "But Cravendy apparently had a run in after some target practice of hers went awry. She says her aim still needs work. Can see how something like that might miff the Elementals." she said with a wry twist of her lips. "I may have possibly been chased out for that a time or two back when I was new."

Bertram laughs quietly and shakes his head, idly poking at the bites that he had covered in the salve; testing to see if they would be easily re-aggravated into itchiness. Fortunately the medicine seemed to be doing an *excellent* job. "They ... definitely aren't exactly used to gunfire being anything other than overtly hostile in ninety percent of cases, that's ... probably true." He looks back up at Aislinn with a grateful smile, "This seems to be doing the job." Bertram gives a slightly wry smile. "Maybe there should be a class."

Aislinn gave a pleased smile as he informed her the salve was working. Then a short laugh. "A 'Welcome to Gridania, Mind the Elementals' Class?" she shrugged. "Suppose it wouldn't hurt. Not sure Cravendy would have paid attention though."

Bertram bobs his head to the side slightly, "Yeah, something like that ..." He pauses as Aislinn further explains Cravendy's unlikelihood of actively benefiting from it. He can be shake his head gently with a soft amusement. "A bit of a stubborn streak then?"

In reply to his question she let go another brief laugh but this one lit up her whole face with amusement. "A bit of an understatement, that." she shook her head. "Though I suppose I'm not really one to talk." she tossed a knowing look his way that said she knew he'd agree with her.

Bertram cannot contain that easy and gentle laugh the rose up from his lungs as she gave him the pointed look. Once he'd managed to find more rein upon his faculties he gave a conceding dip of his head to her point. "Well ... if there's anything that I have a lot of experience with, Lin, it's being around stubborn personalities." He gave Aislinn a pointed look in turn. She and Barengar might be two different brands of stubborn, but ... they were *definitely* stubborn. "Maybe I'd have some luck if I taught the class."

One corner of her lips pulled upward at that. "Probably save yourself any more problematic bug bites from all that good samaritan work if you did." once again, she reached over and checked the pot. It had appeared to have settled into a consistency she was satisfied with and she reached for an empty potion jar from the shelves. "Go ask the Adders, I'm sure they're tired of rescuing people as well. They'd probably let you do it if it ended up saving them some work."

Bertram suddenly looks as though he might *actually* be seriously considering the idea that he had initially brought up as a joke. He blinked several times before looking at Aislinn with a decent measure of surprise. And then a quiet laugh as he silently talks his himself down ... for the time being. "Maybe ..." he grins slightly, "... I probably do with a more steady living situation than being an transient in the forest. I ... can admit to that."

Aislinn tilted her head from one side to the other as if considering his point. "So, start with that. Unless you're enjoying the transient life in which case I'm sure you could still convince them of your merits." she poured the potion carefully into the jar and held it up, carefully giving it a final swirl before corking it. Setting the jar aside, she picked up the pot and scooted around him to place it in the sink at his back.

"Perhaps ..." He murmurs thoughtfully, quietly shifting and moving out of Aislinn's way again as he goes about applying more of the salve to his arms. He gives her a curious look that was saddled with a touch of anticipation. "Did it ... turn out alright?" He asks in regards to the potion.

Aislinn glanced over at the jar in question, the deep blue liquid growing darker the longer it cooled. "Maybe. Won't really know until I'm in need of it." She tried not to let on how apprehensive that made her.

Bertram attempted to do the very same. There was a certain discomfort in not knowing if something you were counting on saving you ... just doesn't. The rich blue liquid remains within his gaze for several moments. He'd just have to have faith in Aislinn's formulas. It was about all he could do in this case. He looks back to Aislinn with a quiet smile, putting on his best brave face, "I'm sure it'll help."

"Is there anything that I can do to help around here?" He asks as he begins to roll his sleeves back down. "Seems ... only fair for using your guys' salve." He manages a warm smile.

Aislinn nodded in the face of his assertion that her potion would work but her hand wandered up to her neck, fingers pressing against the dip in her throat. A worried gesture. "At the very least, I'm certain it won't kill me. So there's that." she said as she let go a breath and a half-hearted laugh. Turning to look around the clinic, she considered his request. "Well..." she began thoughtfully. "I noticed we were running low on some herbs. Maybe you've seen enough of the Shroud for awhile but if you're up for it, you could help me restock?"

Bertram does his best to keep on that convinced expression, even as the expectations were brought down to a rather *bare* minimum in his eyes. As Aislinn mused upon how he might be able to return help for help proffered he gave an eager nod of his head. "I think I'd like that quite a bit." He glances toward one of the windows, "I honestly find wandering around out there to be ... pretty calming."

Aislinn inhaled a breath and, upon realizing what she was doing, quickly dropped her hand from her throat. "Right. Let me get changed and then we can go." She picked up the jar off the counter and made her way for the door. "Take the salve with you. Bring it back once the bites are gone." she said over her shoulder. "I'll meet you outside in a few."

Bertram offers Aislinn a small smile before nabbing his visor and 'clicking' it back into place. One he's tucked the jar of salve away he follows behind the woman on the way out of the clinic. "I'll be ready when you are, Lin," he offers with a gentle bob of his head before pausing, "and thanks."

Aislinn waved his thanks off as she passed through the door. "Of course. What else is a clinic for?"

#ffxiv rp #balmung rp #rp snippets #Bertram Windshadow #Aislinn North

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paganvamp · 4 years ago

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Saving Grace: Prologue

1,000 years ago, a witch with powerful psychic abilities had a premonition that the family next door would commit an act so unholy, it would breed a race of monsters. And though she considers the family’s children to be close friends, she cannot risk the balance of nature. But just as Esther heard of the Immortality Spell, there are whispers of another... a spell which may leave a vital chink in the armor Esther is creating for her children.

But magic has a mind of its own, and Maja’s curse is not what she intended.

In present day Mystic Fall, Virginia, Grace Sinclair wakes one morning sure that her friend Elena Gilbert is returning to school after a four month absence following the death of her parents... only, Grace is apparently the only person aware of such a tragedy. Until that night, that is, when the Gilbert car nosedives off the Wickery Bridge.

So sets in motion a whirlwind of events none of the citizens of Mystic Falls are prepared for, including witches, psychics, ghosts, vampires, werewolves, and hybrids... and that’s just the beginning.

Eventual Kol x OC (in the meantime, slight Damon x OC and Tyler x OC)

(A/N: Disclaimer - I do not own TVD or TO. Also, this has not been beta’d so any mistakes are my own) (Also the GIF is not mine, all credit to the original creator)

CW: Talk of blood, canon-level violence, eventual cursing and smut

1000 AD: The Originals

“Ayana, you mustn’t do this.” Maja had been begging the older witch to see reason for nearly half a day.

“Esther will not be swayed,” Ayana’s response had been the same for nearly half a day. “She wants to protect her children, Maja.”

“You know what I saw!” Maja protested. “You know how it will anger the Spirits!”

“Then it will be her consequence to bear, not ours.” Ayana bore no ill will against either the young witch in front of her or the woman of whom they spoke. But she had no desire to get any more mixed up in their business than she already was. She had conceded to Esther’s pleading out of pity, guiding her towards a spell that would give her the protection she so craved for her remaining family. The same night the child, Henrik, had died, however, Maja had Seen a premonition of the future, a rare gift no one else in their land possessed. Monsters, she had cried, you will breed a race of monsters! Esther, who had been a mentor to Maja as she learned alongside Esther’s own son Kol, had ignored her. Blinded by grief, Esther demanded Ayana help her gather the ingredients for the spell, forsaking the Ancestors she had been sworn to.

“I saw our home, Ayana.” Maja spoke softly, knowing that was the one bit of information she had yet to share, had left out of her recounting to both women earlier. The destruction of their village. “Overrun with unnatural creatures, bathed in the blood of innocents.” Ayana straightened, abandoning her basket of White Oak bark on the ground.

“Esther can’t have done that much damage.”

“Can’t she? A thousand years later, Ayana, and our descendants are still paying for whatever mess Esther creates tonight.” The older witch hesitated, then stepped closer and lowered her voice.

“There is… something.” She had heard of a tactic they could try, a story passed down from legend. “But it may not work.”

“I will try anything.” Maja vowed. She felt for Esther, she truly did. Kol and Rebekah, all of them really, were her friends – she didn’t want anything to happen to them; Henrik had been a joyful presence in her life. But she couldn’t let Esther upset the Balance so monumentally – she wouldn’t. Even if it the cost was her life.

——————————————————————————

The spell Ayana had found for Esther centered around blood – Black Magic. She was to mix it into their dinner, with a few other ingredients, perform the spell, and feed it to her children. The result would be their redemption; no one could hurt any of them ever again.

Ayana had found something that might put a dent in that plan.

“I won’t be part of this,” she warned Maja. “I gave you the spell, but if you want to stop Esther, you’re on your own.”

“I understand.” Esther’s wrath could be as ferocious as her husband’s. “Thank you.”

“This is not a guarantee. It is a legend, nothing more, and it may not work at all.” But Maja had hope. No premonitions had revealed to her the success of the spell, but she knew enough about her gifts to trust in her intuition. So, she got to work. She knew what Esther had used for the spell – who Esther had used for the spell – and knew that she had only a small window of opportunity. As Esther’s spell centered around blood, so did Maja’s – her own. It only took a bit, not enough to kill her, spelled and mixed in with Tatia’s. In theory, it would provide a loophole specific to her. Esther’s spell may make her children invulnerable, but Maja would be their weakness. By consuming her spelled blood, all six of them would be connected.

Sneaking as close as she dared to the fire pit outside Mikael’s home, near which sat a cask of wine she knew contained the magical elixir, Maja pulled a bottle of her own blood, previously collected, from under her skirts. As quickly as she could, she began pouring it into the cask, when Rebekah stepped outside.

“Maja? What are you doing here?” Only half-emptied, Maja was forced to let the small vial fall to the ground, where she pressed it into the mud with her foot.

“Oh, I was coming to say hello when I smelled your mother’s stew.” Luckily, any strange movements Rebekah might have noticed Maja making were hidden by the rather large spit and pot over the fire. “She really is the best cook in the village.”

“I would invite you to have some, but my father will be home soon.” Everyone was afraid of Mikael, with good reason. After Henrik’s death, his temper had been even more uncontrollable.

“I understand. Say hello to your family for me!” Walking quickly away, Maja prayed the amount of blood she’d gotten into the wine had been enough.

——————————————————————————

Later that evening, far too apprehensive to finish her supper, Maja stepped outside her home, hoping to find reprieve from the concerned looks of her parents and siblings. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of Mikael through the open window of his own home next door. She was just in time to see him drive his sword through Kol’s heart, an action that felt as though it were echoed in Maja’s own - Kol was, along with Rebekah, her dearest friend. The Sun for life, she chanted to herself, one half of her hoping the poor family would stay dead, the other pleading to see her Kol’s perpetually smiling face pop back up at the window. Mikael left, looking for something, and Maja stepped back into the doorway, hidden from him amongst the shadows. A few minutes later, Kol’s head did appear again in the window, along with the rest of his siblings, all looking bloody and extremely confused. Mikael returned, a sick-looking girl in his arms. Fresh blood. Maja didn’t want to watch anymore.

The next night, Maja was sitting under the White Oak in the middle of the village, one of her father’s hunting knives up her sleeve. The White Oak for Immortality… but if the spell had worked, would she be the exception? Mikael’s request, repeated to her by Ayana, rang in her ears. Stronger, faster, superior in power and senses. Perhaps, then, the trick wouldn’t be killing them, but getting to them. As Elijah walked past, off to do whatever errands he could no longer do during the day, Maja made her choice. Dear, sweet Elijah. The most mild-mannered, the most kind. The one least likely to snap her neck should he notice her intentions.

Knowing it was likely futile to attempt to be sneaky, as she and Elijah were the only two people out, she went for another tactic.

“Elijah!” He whirled.

“Maja? What are you doing out here so late?”

“I just… wanted to see how you were doing? I know this transition cannot be an easy one.” She stepped closer and he stiffened.

“No, no it… it is not.” Even now, his deep, calm voice soothed Maja’s anxiety, as it always had. “There are…unexpected challenges.” She imagined all of it was unexpected, but she knew what he was trying to say.

“Like what?” She stepped closer again, now within striking distance. Elijah was clearly uncomfortable with her line of questioning.

“Let us just say it is an exercise in control.” Suddenly, she lashed out, knife in hand. Had he been human, it would have gone directly into his heart. As he was not, however, he moved to the side in time to avoid most of the damage. She did leave a long gash across his chest, however.

It healed almost immediately.

“What are you doing?” Elijah demanded. Maja was numb.

“It didn’t work.” She felt her lower lip begin to tremble with tears of hopelessness.

“Of course, it didn’t work! You of all people should know better.” I meant the spell. But she didn’t correct him, and she didn’t seem to notice that she was being criticized, not for attempting to kill him, but for doing a shoddy job of it. We’re not connected at all.

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dontasktheradiodemon · 4 years ago

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Post-Extermination Cleanup (1/17/2021)

Hey look it’s a chat log that has nothing to do with that event I’ve been logging for the past few weeks

Alastor helps dig out @usedhearts Sir Pentious’s airship after it got crushed during the annual extermination, and totally overexerts himself in an effort to show off. Sir Pentious gives Alastor a tour and plans what ship repairs are needed. They talk about their deaths, play a violin duet, and somehow manage to act incredibly gay without either one noticing the other one has a crush. “How incredibly gay?” you ask, and I answer: at one point they just start smelling each other’s perfume/body wash and neither one thinks this is weird. Radio waves interfere with gaydar.

usedhearts

🎩 I WAS PLANNING TO REPAIR THE WAREHOUSE SO THE SHIP WOULD NOT NEED TO BE MOVED AS IT IS REPAIRED!

🎩 BUT HERE IS THE LOCATION TO CLEAR AWAY THE DEBRIS! [location info lmao]

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Wonderful! Is now a good time for me to come over?

usedhearts

🎩 IT IS! I AM AT THE HOTEL, AND I WOULD LIKE TO BE THERE TO SEE YOU DO IT, SO COULD YOU COME GET ME FIRST?

🎩 I HAVE NOW REALIZED THAT DOING IT THAT WAS MAKES ME GIVING YOU THE LOCATION OVER THIS OBSOLETE! L-O-L

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Ha! Glad to have it anyway. I was actually just about to ask whether you were going to be there or if you were just going to trust me to clean off the debris unsupervised!

🎶 I’ll be right over! And I’ll bring brunch!

usedhearts

🎩 OH, YES, THANK YOU! I HAVEN'T EATEN YET TODAY!

🎩 I WILL AWAIT YOU WITH BAITED BREATH!

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 And a hearty appetite, I hope!

🎶 And for my next magic trick, I’ll be silently appearing half a foot behind my audience! In three, two, one...

Alastor

Guess who is now, as promised, six inches behind Sir Pentious. And menacingly whispering “Ta-daaa~”

In order to get six inches behind Sir Pentious he had to position his feet to straddle Telly’s tail. It’s honestly not a very intimidating stance.

Sir Pentious

And there goes his hood in surprise! Even when he was expecting it, he was still done a startle.

"OH!" He laughed after, turning to see Alastor. "GOOD MORNING, ALASTOR!"

Alastor

Alastor comes *this close* to receiving a broken nose. Luckily, he was expecting the hood fwoop. "Good morning!"

For a split second he was desperately tempted to just lean forward, wrap his arms around Sir Pentious, and plop his chin down on his shoulder... but no, no doing that. Instead he stepped back and held up a box. "And here I am with brunch, as promised!"

Sir Pentious

Well, if Alastor wasn't, Telly would then! He turned around enough to be face to face and then hugged him, letting out a little snakey purr.

"It's good to see you, I missed you!" Was that weird to say? Friends missed on another right?

He pulled back and cleared his throat. "YES, WHAT'S ON THE MENU TODAY?"

Alastor

Oh! Okay. Hold on, he's going to melt into the hug. If he hugged back tightly enough it would crush the butterflies in his stomach right?

Apparently not, that *I missed you* made them multiply. "I missed you, too."

Stepping back felt like trying to rip his own arms off. Impressive enough that he succeeded, absolutely astounding that he did it without demonstrating any pain. "I hope you're not sick of eggs—I made a frittata! Just a lazy, simple thing, I'm afraid." This lazy, simple thing was stuffed with pesto chicken and two different kinds of cheese and even a tomato he'd shanked a man in an alley for in order to get it fresh. Never trust Alastor when he calls food simple.

It also, as it happened, had been *his* frittata, until suddenly he'd discovered an opportunity to pass it on to a snake who needed it more than him. He'd carefully trimmed off the part he'd already eaten in a way that disguised the fact that it wasn't a whole piece, devoured the scraps, and hurried over. He wasn't about to waste time making more food when he could just hand over the food he already had.

Sir Pentious

Oh his eyes are big! They are Big and Wibbly, as he stares at that frittata!

"It looks delicious! Oh, thank you, Alastor!" He took it, almost reverently, and sat on his coils to just....start eating right there. He's eating fast but somehow still savoring it! He's making some very happy snake noises, and when he finishes, he's coming back to give him another hug!

"It was delicious, thank you!" He pulled back, but ran his hand down Alastor's arm to hold his hand. "Did you get fresh tomato? It didn't taste dried!"

Alastor

"Any time!" Just look at him eat. Was the poor man starving? Maybe he should have made a new one, it would have been a little bigger. He was considering whether he could teleport in some toast when he got hugged again and forgot what he was thinking about.

"Er—yes! Straight from the living world, I think! Either that or there's a *very* good greenhouse hidden somewhere nearby, but it certainly tastes like mortal realm quality, doesn't it?"

Sir Pentious

"It did! It was so tasty, I haven't had a fresh tomato in--" He pauses and thinks, his face scrunching. "Well, I can't even remember when!" He laughs a bit.

"Did you want some tea-- or, rather, coffee? I know you don't like tea. I figured we might have a cup before we head to the warehouse?"

Alastor

"I've got something of a knack for tracking down the good ingredients! Most of them, anyway—I haven't scared up any tropical fruit for you yet, but I'm keeping my ear to the ground."

He waved off the offer, "Don't you worry, I'm taken care of!" He opened a portal and a handy travel mug dropped through—the coffee he'd been having with brunch. "But if you want to make yourself some tea before we go, I'm more than happy to wait!" He bowed with a dramatic flourish. "Today, I'm at your disposal, my good Sir."

Sir Pentious

Telly's eyes widened again at the sight of the mug. Oh, how convient! He laughed. "I sssee! Putting that french press to good use then?"

He went over to his hot plate, turning it on as he filled the kettle. "And here I was hoping that perhaps I could con you into trying some more tea." He giggled again.

Alastor

"I most certainly have! Let me tell you, it's kicked up the quality of my breakfast a notch or two!"

Alastor found a counter to lean against. "As I said, I'm at your disposal. If you want me to try some more tea..." he placed a hand over his heart gravely while a solemn military march played faintly, "then I'll endure this trial with quiet dignity and grace." His audience laughed at him. "Anyway, this coffee's got to last me the rest of the day!"

Sir Pentious

"Perhaps just one cup? I made this mix just recently and find it quite delicious, even without honey!" He hummed as he too leaned against the counter, waiting for the kettle to whistle. When it did, he poured the hot water into a prepared pot, and settled on his coils to wait. This pot, however, was clear glass, letting the petals and tea inside be seen, as well as how the water changed color.

"It's a blackberry jasmine tea, with a dash of sweet vanilla!"

Alastor

"Better make it a small cup, I don't want to waste your fancy tea if it turns out it isn't to my tastes." And he didn't think it would be, but he wasn't going to be so rude as to not even try it.

He watched the pot, fascinated by the gradual color change.

Sir Pentious

Telly seemed to know the perfect time to pour it-- probably from how often he made tea-- and poured a full cup for himself and only half of one for Alastor. He slid the cup and saucer over towards him-- the cups matched the pot, clear glass with gilded gold edges.

"I think you may like this, as it's more bold and bitter than some other teas I've made." He took a sip without adding anything and sighed happily.

Alastor

"Thank you!" He sipped it, then considered it in thoughtful silence. The invisible audience murmured among itself like judges debating an Olympic gymnast's score.

"Well—I don't think I'd pick it off the menu myself, but it's not bad," he finally said. "It tastes the way a flower garden smells! It suits you."

Sir Pentious

He smiled, taking another sip. "I try my best. I'll find a tea that you actually like yet!" Telly moved closer, sitting on his coils again.

"Alastor, may I ask you something? I'm curious."

Alastor

"If you don't, rest assured that the fault lies in the nature of tea itself and not in your diligent efforts."

He gave Sir Pentious his full attention. "By all means!"

Sir Pentious

If Alastor was expecting something profound, he'd be sorely disappointed. "Why do you like coffee?"

Alastor

A shrug. "I like the flavor!" If Telly was expecting something profound... "Plus, it helps me focus. Like adjusting a telescope's knobs to get the blurry edges of the moon to sharpen. But isn't that why most folks like their morning coffee?"

Sir Pentious

His tongue sticks out a moment and his head tilts. "Perhaps! Every time I drink something with caffeine in it, all it does is make my brain scream, which is why I avoid it!" He shrugs and 'stands', offering his arm to Alastor.

"Shall we head to the warehouse now, my good sir?" He smirked.

Alastor

"Just means you have to be sharp under your own efforts, doesn't it?"

He accepted the arm. "We shall! Shall we be traveling *my* way?" He held up his free hand, ready to open up a portal.

Sir Pentious

"Yes! Absolutely! I'm looking forward to going through one of these portals and not getting pummeled by a giant tentacle monster!" He laughed, thought the sound was a _little_ forced. Also his Scent for the day was also jasmine and blackberry. He was doing a matching thing.

Alastor

"There's going to be no pummeling on *my* watch." For a moment, his tone was unusually serious. "Today, the giant tentacle monster is going to be making up for sins against airships past."

He contemplated their route, then moved his arm from being linked with Sir Pentious's to wrapping around his waist. "Remember when you took me for a dive? You're going to want to get a grip on me that tight. And probably to keep your eyes closed. The view can be... nauseating."

Sir Pentious

Telly glanced down at his tail, the eyes that remained ever open. "That might be...difficult."

But his arm wrapped around Alastor's waist, and he pressed close to his side, his claws even going so far as the latch onto his coat. "Alright! I think I'm ready as I'll ever be!"

Alastor

"Can't blink them?" Tsk. "Well! Try not to look to hard!"

He resisted the urge to take a scenic route, mentally called for a portal, and tumbled them into it with a little push off the ground like kicking off from the side of a pool. For a moment, they twirled through a dimension of stale air and distant roiling shapes, dead eyes tracking their movement, cacophonous inhuman music playing from every direction—

And then they were out the exit portal. The experience lasted under two seconds. Take 1 point of psychic damage.

Sir Pentious

Just the small amount of time they were inside that....whatever it was, had Telly's mind reeling when they exited. He held tight to Alastor even after they were out, blinking owlishly and trying to keep his tea and frittata down. He took slow, deep breaths, and stilled the shaking in his limbs.

"W-well, you weren't kidding about that, were you?" He laughed, the sound weak, and he closed his eyes (on his face) a moment.

Alastor

"They're wonderful folks once you get to know them!" Not that that was much comfort right now.

Alastor was used to it, but he remembered the first times he'd glimpsed that dimension. He pulled Sir Pentious into a hug—physical grounding was probably good—and played the oldest popular song he could think of off the top of his head, "If I Ever Cease to Love." Hopefully Sir Pentious would recognize it from when he was alive—maybe—perhaps the song was too American?—but even if he didn't, it was still a sound far more familiarly human than the noise in the dimension they'd left behind.

Sir Pentious

He didn't recognize it, no, but it was comforting all the same. He stayed clinging to Alastor until the trembling subsided and the nausea faded. Telly took another few deep breaths as he slowly pulled away, though his hand moved to grip Alastor's shoulder.

He shook his head and then looked at the warehouse-- his expression soured instantly at it, half rubble with half his airship still trapped inside. His mind reeled at how much work it would take to fix it. He'd _just_ gotten it back in order, too...

"It's a pity that the angels didn't just....leave it be. I made sure all the Eggs weren't anywhere near it, that the area around it was empty and abandoned, but noooo, they still had to just...._destroy_ it." That was probably more venom in his voice than Alastor had ever heard-- a real, seething hatred.

Alastor

Alastor squeezed Sir Pentious's shoulder in turn. "What do the jailers care about breaking their prisoners' toys, especially when they're only coming into the prison to execute us?" He shook his head scornfully. "Do you know what all this senseless damage and destruction says? They're scared of what you can make. As they should be."

Sir Pentious

His tongue stuck out, and his face scrunched up as he surveyed it-- the Eggs hadn't noticed them yet, and they were still scrambling over the rubble, clearing it little by little. There were only about two dozen of them here, which probably said more about how many he'd need to replace than anything.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps it was simply collateral damage. I _tried_ not to advertise that this was were I was hiding my ship this year."

Alastor

"Well, if they're not scared, then they're stupid and ought to know better!" He laughed. "So! What's first? Get all the warehouse pieces off of all the ship pieces?"

Sir Pentious

"Yes, that seems best! Let me get the eggs off of the debris before you start." He moved a bit away from Alastor-- just so as not to make such a loud noise right by his ears-- and then put two fingers in his mouth to whistle. It was loud, sharp, and shrill, and the Eggs immediately stopped and turned, en mass, toward him-- before swarming towards him. They all babbled over on another and Telly sighed, hands on his hips.

"YES, YES, HUSH NOW! MOVE OUT OF THE WAY, ALASTOR IS GOING TO CLEAR THE REST!"

They Eggs all turned in unison to stare at Alastor, half confused and half looking just Not Happy. "Mister Bossman?" One stage whispered to Pentious. "Are you sure about letting HIM help?"

Telly sighed and rolled his eyes (all of them). "I DO NOT HAVE THE TIME TO EXPLAIN MULTIVERSE THEORY TO EGGS. HE'S NOT THE MEAN ALASTOR, HE'S HERE TO HELP, NOW _MOVE!_"

He shooed them off to a clear area a small distance away, and the Eggs obeyed, though many still stared at Alastor as they wandered off.

Alastor

"Just tell them the mean one is Alastor Number One and I'm Alastor Number Two! They should get that—that's how the eggs work, isn't it?" He laughed and turned toward the ship.

He was going to regret having such a small breakfast *and* opening several portals and quick succession—he was well below peak energy even before he got started. Still, he had enough in him for some magical manual labor—he'd be starving at the end, but he'd still be on his feet. "This is going to take a bit of concentration, so I'll be back with you when the show's over. Play a round of cards or something."

He cracked his knuckles and surreptitiously jammed one claw into the palm of his hand. His eyes went wide and blank and filled with static as he connected his mind directly to his usual inhuman partner, and he got to work.

The tentacles dangling out of the massive portal above the airship looked slightly uncanny and unreal as they worked, but they didn't look nearly so mind-meltingly horrifying when framed by normal reality rather than the monster's home dimension. Alastor stood stock still for long minutes as he conducted the creature; the only parts of him that twitched were his arms and hands, moving as though he was puppeting a marionette or playing a piano. First the big pieces were picked up and tossed outside (or, occasionally, dragged into the portal for who-knew-what purpose); then the small ones, delicately plucked up and settled on the warehouse floor by the large suckers or the thin tips of tentacles.

Alastor didn't speak and didn't break his concentration for a moment until he felt the airship was sufficiently clean. Then he cut the connection. As the tentacles withdrew into the closing portal, his shoulders sagged and he stumbled a step back. That took more out of him than he'd anticipated. He didn't know when he'd last been connected to the monster for that long.

He turned toward Sir Pentious, trying not to let his fatigue show. "How's that?"

Sir Pentious

Telly watched with rapt attention-- not too the monster that had once destroyed his ship and was now cleaning and clearing the debris from it. No, he was focused on Alastor, watching ever twitch and movement-- and thus, caught the sagging. Instantly, he was at his side, a hand on his back and the other holding his arm. Telly's tail slithered around behind Alastor, gently bumping the back of his knees to try and get him to sit.

"Are you alright?" He asked softly, face creased in concern, the hand on Alastor's back starting to rub in slow circles. "That looked like a lot..."

Alastor

"What? I'm f—" The tail bumps the back of his knees and his legs immediately give out. He flailed with a sound effect like a bookcase falling over as he went down—oh, now he's sitting. Okay. This was fine.

So much for trying to act cool and unaffected, though.

"... As I was saying! Perfectly fine!" He folded his hands primly in his lap.

Sir Pentious

Telly smiled, a bit rueful, and nodded. "Yes, perfectly fine." His hand was still rubbing Alastor's back, though.

He turned to look out over the space, now open and much cleaner, the half of the warehouse that still stood and the half of the airship inside, now exposed.

"It looks good. Now the Eggs can get started on rebuilding the warehouse-- they're much faster at building things than cleaning, that's what they were designed for, after all." He turned his head, hand cupping the side of his mouth as he shouted.

"NOW GET BACK TO WORK YOU SLACKERS!!" The Eggs, of course, burst into motion.

Alastor

The back rub was somehow half soothing and half incredibly grating, highlighting as it did how vulnerable he must seem at the moment. He endured it for only a few seconds before the buildup of unpleasant stimulation had him squirm away from the touch. "Anything I can do to help with the rebuilding efforts?" He said like some kind of a person in any condition to be rebuilding anything.

Sir Pentious

Telly pulled back his hand, setting his hand on his hips instead. He looked out over the Egg Bois and their work and then shook his head.

"No, they'll have it in hand soon enough. But I could give you a tour of the surviving half of the airship, if you like?" He turned to smile at Alastor.

Alastor

"I would absolutely love a tour!" He hopped to his feet and steadied himself as he momentarily almost blacked out—that wasn't visible, right? "Does the surviving half happen to include the kitchen? I realize you had brunch not too long ago, but it's about lunch time for me!"

Sir Pentious

He didn't touch, not again, but his hands flashed out to hover around Alastor as he hopped up-- just in case. At the question, he ran through the mental blueprint of the ship, his tongue stuck out in concentration.

"The bridge is fine, as is my organ, and the kitchen and my bedchambers are right below those, so I should think so! Though, the furnace was in the back...." He frowned. "I do have an old wood stove in there, though, I'll have some of the Eggs gather some things to burn."

He whistled again and called over four of the Eggs, sending them off with instructions before offering Alastor his arm again. "That's settled, let's get you that tour!"

Alastor

"Oh, the organ survived!" He beamed, what a relief. "Well, the ship will pull through all right then, won't it? Just like admitting someone to a hospital after a terrible accident—it doesn't matter how badly mangled she looks from the outside, she'll survive as long as she didn't damage her internal organs!" Studio audience laughter. Alastor thinks he's hysterical.

He looped his arm with Sir Pentious's and summoned up his cane. "Lead away!"

Sir Pentious

He started to slither toward the exposed, open part of the warehouse and ship. He didn't move fast, setting a leisurely pace. Before long they would get to the bottom floor-- just a lot of machinery. And that was when Telly realized...

"Shit. The ramps are gone."

Alastor

Alastor elbowed him lightly. "Have you forgotten who you're with?" He was sure had enough energy left to summon up a temporary ramp.

Sir Pentious

"We'd only need one up to the second floor-- The one from my bedchamber to the bridge should still be there." He's Trying to not look worried about Alastor. And he failed, he looks very worried.

Alastor

"Not a problem! Just let me know when you need me to summon it up! It'll only last a few seconds, so don't let me forget myself and strand you up on the second floor when I go home, hah!"

What's that look for? Alastor's fine! No weakness!

Sir Pentious

"Now would be good, the kitchen is up there too. The Eggs can find their own way up, they always do."

Alastor

*Kitchen.* Oh, that was an appealing place to start their tour. "Well, in that case!" He tapped his cane sharply on the floor. The light disappeared, leaving their surroundings illuminated in a strange blueish glow—and with the lights out, a glowing neon ramp appeared out of thin air. Shadows were good for all sorts of tricks. Alastor gestured grandly up the ramp. "Shall we?"

Sir Pentious

Hold on he's going to need to take a moment too look at the FUCKING NEON that he now was. Well, that was SOMETHING. After that moment, he just started up the ramp, Alastor still on his arm.

"This is so odd looking, but it's....beautiful..."

Alastor

"Isn't it just?" He was looking at Sir Pentious as he said it. His eyes and yellow stripes practically gave off their own light in this darkness, didn't they. "Simply gorgeous." It had been so long since he'd seen *any* Sir Pentious in light like this...

Hey, pal, whaddaya staring at? Eyes forward. "And it's great for parties, too!"

Sir Pentious

The body eyes stare right back at him. They know your sins, Alastor.

"Yes, I'd think so! I doubt you'd like the music but this lighting reminds me of those 'raves' that the kids have noawadays!" How did he know about raves? Who knew. He slithered all the way up the ramp and then blinked at what the neon did to his bedroom. That was....interesting.

Alastor

Everyone's a critic.

"Oh, I've been to one or two! Can't stand them!" He gave Telly an impish grin. "Did you know some of those places are so crowded that you can run the turntables for *five minutes* before security can make it through the crowd to kick you and your Cab Calloway records out?"

No need for the ramp anymore? Alastor dismissed it with a wave, and the strange lighting with it. The fatigue hit him like a basketball to the stomach. Oh, that left him less energy than he'd expected. Good thing he'd had the foresight to pull out his cane.

Sir Pentious

Telly blinked as the light changed back, and then laughed loudly. "Well, one would think they'd enjoy some Cab, at least you can properly dance to that!"

He surveyed his room, humming a bit. "First thing's first, I'll need to get the wall and ramp rebuilt. I don't want to leave this ship again until it's fixed." Now that he was back, he realized just how much he'd missed it. "Then the plumbing, the tanks, get the power back up...."

Alastor

"You want the walls in *before* you have plumbing?" He shrugged. "All right, if chamber pots are your thing..."

Sir Pentious

"A wall can be put up in an hour, plumbing will take the entire rest of the day. And I won't be able to sleep with a big hole right into my bedroom." His face scrunched and he shrugged. "The kitchen is through here, though." He pointed at the door across the room.

"Let's get some food and then I can get out my blueprints, really assess what all needs to be done and in what order..."

Alastor

"An excellent plan!" He's practically dragging Telly toward that door, don't mind him, deer in starvation mode coming through.

Sir Pentious

"Oh no, everything in the ice box has probably gone bad." He moved with Alastor, opening the door for him as they moved from hardwood to tile. "But hopefully the pantry is still intact and filled? There should be cans of food in there, along with other non perishables..."

Alastor

"I'm sure there will be something we can make a decent lunch out of!" He plopped down in one of the kitchen chairs to wait for Sir Pentious to survey his supplies.

Sir Pentious

He's more than willing to let Alastor rest as he opens the pantry to dig through it. "Well, we have the usual staples, beans and rice, some cans of various soups. Dried fruits-- oh! And some jerky." He pulled out the bag of dried meat with a grin.

Alastor

"Toss it here!" He held out a hand.

Sir Pentious

Toss! The bag goes sailing towards Alastor as Telly grabs a couple of the cans, a small bag of rice, and a similar sized one of beans. "Nothing fresh though, unfortunately." He lays the spoils on the table.

Alastor

He opened the bag and stuffed three pieces of jerky in his mouth at once as he surveyed their haul. "What do your spice stocks look like? They'd have survived the power going out." He just kind of assumed Telly had spices.

Sir Pentious

Oh he looks a little embarassed but slithers back to the pantry. "Hmmmmm....Salt. Pepper. Some basil....garlic powder...a bit of rosemary, onion powder...."

Alastor

The fact that the first item worth noting was *salt* was somewhat alarming. Even at that, when Sir Pentious trailed off, Alastor waited for a moment for the rest. Oh. Oh that was it.

"... Well! It's better than nothing!" He considered the options, ran through his mental recipe list, guesstimated how long it would take him to make the few options available, and reluctantly settled his gaze on the pre-made soup cans. Desperate times.

"All right, this will do for lunch," he muttered. "But for dinner—" he set the rice, beans, garlic and onion powders, and bag of jerky in a pile by themselves, "—I'm going to make some red beans and rice that would get me disowned by both sides of the family and half the state of Louisiana. So don't tell anyone about it. Unless it turns out amazing."

Sir Pentious

"I swear, I won't," Telly said with a giggle. "Maybe you can provide me with a list of spices and I can stock my pantry accordingly, for the next time."

Alastor

Was Sir Pentious planning to have Alastor over that often? (Don't get your hopes up too high, buddy.) "I'd be honored to suggest a shopping list! But, for now..." He plucked up a soup can disdainfully. "Is the stove ready to burn?"

Sir Pentious

"Oh! Let me see if the Eggs came back with the wood." He slithered from the room for a few minutes. His voice echoed as he ordered the Eggs bring up what they found and then, in they marched, carrying armloads of wood.

"Starting a fire shouldn't be too difficult, I'll just find the matches...." The Eggs set most of the wood by the stove, and shoved some into it, as Telly looked around for his matches.

Alastor

All right. Time to be vertical again. Heave-ho. Alastor rummaged around for a pot and a spoon to stir with while Sir Pentious got the stove going.

Sir Pentious

He discovered the the matches, and then some alcohol and an old rag. He tore it into strips, dousing them in the alcohol before tossing them in among the wood. Telly lit the match and tossed it in and there was a loud FWOOM as it ignited. He coughed a bit as he closed the stove's door, locking it in place.

He waited a few moments to see if the chimney was working-- and it was. No smoke filled the room, thankfully.

"Shouldn't take long for it to heat up."

Alastor

The soup was probably pre-cooked, so he only needed to put it on the stove long enough to heat it up, right?

While he waited, he asked, "So. Wall and ramp, plumbing, tanks, electricity... What all is it gonna cost to get this bird back up in the air? I don't just mean money-wise—time, labor, materials...

Sir Pentious

A deep, long sigh and he frowns. "A _lot_." He slithered toward the door. "Let me grab the blueprints, I'll be able to get a clearer picture with those."

After he left, there was an odd amount of silence, and then a KA-THUNK that sounded like a safe opening. And then he's back in, carrying a leather tube under his arm. "Here we are, let me get these out."

Alastor

Alastor quickly moved the pantry supplies off the table to make room for the blueprints, then stood near to watch their unveiling.

Sir Pentious

He undid the top of the tube, tapping it lightly to get the blueprints out. Some looked far far older than others, and Telly quickly plucked out the newest looking set, putting them on the table before gently coaxing the rest back inside. He set the tub next to his tail and spread out the papers.

Which clearly showed that much more than half the ship was gone-- more like 3/4ths, and Telly's throat constricted a bit. He cleared it with a cough and taped the front end of the drawing. "All of this is intact-- this is the most important bit, so that's good. There's a lot of one of a kind equipment on the bridge that is all fine..."

Alastor

Alastor leaned over to look, passing off his spoon to his shadow to keep stirring the soup. "So you're not going to need as many finicky, fancy parts, I take it?"

Sir Pentious

"Not as _many_ but there were quite a few things that were of my own design that I now have to rebuild from scratch." His eyes flicked this way and that on the paper, and he removed Hatty, tossing him over to the counter to sit. Telly began to rub his hands over the top and back of his head as he stared.

"This is going to take _eons_," He whispered.

Alastor

Alastor looked at Sir Pentious's dejection, and then at the blueprints. He took a seat across from him. "What can I do to speed up the process?" he asked. "Steal supplies? Conquer a better warehouse? Teach all my ghosts to weld sheet metal? Clone eggs?"

Sir Pentious

He was quiet for a long moment as he thought. "First, we can't kill any more of my Eggs, I'll need them all working round the clock to make any sort of headway. Rebuilding said cloning machine is first thing after the necessities. Getting a source of steel, brass, copper, perhaps some silver and gold. Hardwood and softwood, both of high quality. I'd rather not piss off any suppliers, so no stealing from them. The warehouse will be fixed soon enough, probably within a day or two. Some extra hands would be good, though, if your ghosts can carry large loads...."

He trailed off and rubbed a hand over his face. "That's not to mention how many personal hours I'm going to have to sink into it, rebuilding things like the boiler, the engines, and then redesigning things..."

Alastor

The man who was going to conquer Hell was too down and out to risk so much as stealing a bit of metal? He was in more dire straits than Alastor had thought. "Sure, not a problem, they can carry the loads—my ghosts *and* my many-limbed friend!"

He watched helplessly as Sir Pentious rubbed his face. "But surely I can help with more hauling heavy loads around? Don't get me wrong, if that's what you need, you've got it—but isn't there more I can be doing to help out?"

Sir Pentious

He's quiet for another moment before his head lifts and a thoughtful look crosses his face. "Well....considering you're an accomplished Deal Maker, maybe you'd be able to wrangle better deals from the suppliers than I normally would-- I'm half convinced they upcharge me just for the fun of it." His face scrunched.

"Though I understand if you'd rather not use your reputation for that sort of thing...."

Alastor

"You've got it!" His expression brightened at something he could help with. "We'll have to be clever about it, of course—a little subterfuge here, some cross-universe acquisitions there—because once people know I'm making orders on your behalf, things get *much* harder for *you,* my friend." He flung an arm around Sir Pentious's shoulder and winked conspiratorially. How did he do that, a second ago he was on the other side of the table. "But we're a couple of clever villains, aren't we? I'm sure we can get the supplies you need without tipping our hand."

Sir Pentious

His own expression brightened right back at Alastor's, and he smiled. He leaned into Alastor when he put his arm around him. "Sounds good. We are clever, we can make this work!" He felt a lot more optimistic, all of a sudden! Well, that's nice! "It'll still take a lot of time and hard work, but that will help a lot."

Telly grabbed the blueprint container again, grabbing a few pencils from the side pocket to start scribbling over the blueprint, already making alterations and modifications on the design. "Don't forget your soup, Alastor. Can't help me fix all this on an empty stomach." He winked.

Alastor

"As if I could forget lunch!" He'd totally forgotten lunch. He looked at his shadow, which held out the soup pot and shrugged at him. Alastor took it by the handle, found a soup spoon, and plopped back at the table to eat it straight from the pot. "What all needs changing?" he asked, leaning forward to read the blueprints upside-down. "Angel-proofing it? Say, I think the airship seems vulnerable to attacks from above, don't you? Especially collapsing warehouse attacks.”

Sir Pentious

"Yes, it does need upper reinforcement. That's definitely one thing I'm adding. It was far too fragile. Also more automated defenses that would trigger when registering angelic power...." He hummed and tapped his lip with the pencil.

"Maybe I can prototype that one weapon I was thinking about when we were on Okkylk..." He nodded a little. "Fairly sure angels can be hurt by their own weaponry...."

Alastor

"Careful—once someone manages to hurt an angel, all of Heaven's going to be targeting them to make sure they don't tell everyone else how to do it. Might be better to lay low and accept a few more smashed airships until you're sure you've got something that can take *all* of Heaven out."

All suggestions of caution aside, he was beaming with glee. "Do you really think you've got something that can take out angels, though? We've had black market angelic weapons down here for eons, if all it took was chucking their own spears back at them someone would have managed it by now! There's few beasts humans won't find some way to hunt, after all!" He pantomimed firing a rifle—a gunshot and a startled elephant trumpet rang out. "You must have something with a little more oomph to it?"

Sir Pentious

His hand perched under his chin, Telly's face looked downright dastardly with evil glee as he grinned. "I do, Alastor, I do indeed. You see, Valera told me that she has Angelic and other magical weaponry in her home, and that got me thinking: perhaps these weapons could simply have their energy siphoned and used to make.....perhaps a ray gun?" He started to cackle, first softly and then gaining in volume.

"It's so simple, one would think I would've come up with it before, no?" He settled but his grin still stayed. "Though, that does lead me to another request for you: I would like to learn more about magic, so as to better make this device, what would you say to teaching me?"

Alastor

Under other circumstances, Alastor would wonder how an angelic ray gun would have better odds of injuring an angel than an angelic bullet gun.

But under *these* circumstances, Sir Pentious was wearing an expression fitting on any silent movie dastardly villain and letting out a megalomaniacal laugh that should have won awards, and if he'd told Alastor that this ray gun could cut the moon in half and cause God to spontaneously shit His britches, Alastor would have agreed.

"*Well,* now!" He considered the request, rubbing his chin. "Some things that I know, I can't teach you—it simply isn't *for* you, it's something you only get the right to learn through your ancestors. Other things won't be much use to you, if step one is 'make a deal with so-and-so' and you're gunning to usurp so-and-so's whole chain of command. But the rest?" Another thoughtful pause. "Sure, I think I know a thing or two that might be useful to you."

Sir Pentious

"I would love to learn whatever you have to teach me, Alastor. I've been curious about magic for a while, but it seems so opposite my technology that I hadn't bothered-- plus, considering how terrible this universe's Alastor is to me, that put me off it too. Now, though, considering I have you, well, it seems the perfect opportunity to start." He chuckled, looking back down at the blueprints. He started sketching again, humming softly.

"Just think of all the new things I could make combining my technological skills with magic...."

Alastor

"Oh, I *do* think of it." He used to fantasize about the sort of doomsday weapons Sir Pentious could make if he had a little magic in his machines. "It's really gonna be something, isn't it?"

Sir Pentious

"Oh I hope so." There's a sort of dreamy cast to his voice, and his smile is wistful. "Things I could only dream of....maybe bring back a few scraped projects..."

Alastor

"*Oh?* What kind of scrapped projects?" He'd barely eaten yet. He scarfed down more soup as he listened. (Tastes like preservatives and salt.)

Sir Pentious

"Hm?" He looked up, having gotten distracted by the blueprints again. "Oh, just things that weren't aerodynamically sound for the airship-- maybe trying a crack at another dual sea/airship..." He shrugged.

Alastor

"Careful with the pipes." Studio laughter.

Sir Pentious

His face fell a little at the crack, and his eyes slid back down. His tail curled around the leg of his chair and he looked back at the blueprints, merely nodding at Alastor's joke. "Yes, certainly." His hand shook a little as he continued to make modifications, his grip a little too tight on his pencil.

Alastor

Alastor's smile wilted slightly. He tisked. "What a terrible comedian I make, don't I? Misjudge a little lighthearted ribbing and it comes across like a knife between one's ribs! My apologies, Telly!" He reached across the table to put a hand on his wrist. "I didn't intend for that to sting. No more death jokes."

Sir Pentious

At the hand on his wrist, he looked up, maybe a little too suddenly, and his breath made a sharp, but soft, intake. An apology from Alastor, any Alastor, was still a strange thing to hear. But his smile returned, smaller, but genuine and he nodded. "Thank you...I would appreciate that-- my death was, as one could assume, quite traumatic."

His eyes unfocused and his face went a bit slack. "My ship crashed, I told you that much but-- I survived the crash itself. Not for long, but long enough to....suffer.... I was pinned under pieces of my ship, my legs were crushed, everything inside...._hurt_, and I was....blinded. My eyes got--" He swallowed. "It was terrible. Dying slowly from bodily trauma, all alone, blind, under tons and tons of metal and glass...."

His breath hitched, and his hand covered his face. "I....I'm sorry, I just need a moment...I didn't mean to--" He took another deep, shuddering breath. No tears, but obviously that was only because he was trying very hard to keep them back.

Alastor

Alastor was completely silent as he listened (a rarity), focused entirely on Telly’s face. When he’d finished, Alastor gave his wrist a comforting squeeze. “Buried alive. I can’t think of many worse ways to go.”

He was silent for a moment; but then he said, “Mine was a lot faster than that. The gap between the wound that killed me and my arrival in Hell was non-existent. Lucky for me, eh? No lingering in pain?” He chuckled weakly. “I was... on a hunting trip. It was deer season. Dead of winter, too—shouldn’t have been out, really, but I was desperate to get a kill. I saw another man out there hunting—we’d actually crossed paths a couple hours earlier—but when he saw me, he must’ve only gotten a glimpse of me through the trees and thought I was a deer, because he fired immediately. I didn’t get a killing wound, but it was, you know, it was still a bullet wound. It was enough to knock me to the ground.

“When he came up to me, I was sure he’d realized his mistake and was coming to give me first aid. Instead, he looked down at me in naked terror, and then pointed his rifle right at my forehead. I guess he’d decided he’d rather get rid of the witness and go home than let a hunting accident ruin his Tuesday.” He played that gunshot sound effect again. This time, the sound seemed to hang in the air dolefully, slowly fading out into dead silence. “I died on my back with my arm trying to shield my face.”

Alastor squeezed Sir Pentious again. “I know yours, now you know mine. That’s fair, right?”

Sir Pentious

As Alastor spoke, Telly uncovered his face, listening intently, and his face started to scrunch. "How....how terrible." The words repeated in his mind, something about them sticking and then it struck him.

"'Get a kill', do you mean a deer? Or something else?" His head tilted, curiousity coloring his expression. "Though, if you don't wish to speak of it, I understand," He added hastily.

He let out a little hum. "Well, it really is no wonder that neither of us had a particularly gentle death, considering how we are now."

Alastor

Alastor gave Telly a wry smirk. “Well, you’ve painted me into a corner, haven’t you? If I *don’t* answer it, that’s just as good as admitting I was out there hunting for something worse than deer, isn’t it?” He scoffed. “I tell you, what’s the point of trying to get clever with ambiguous wording if someone’s just going to ask you to clarify? Some days it just doesn’t pay to tell half truths, you’ve either gotta commit to the truth or to a lie and not split the difference.”

He sighed heavily. “Well, since you asked, I suppose I might as well say this much, but no more than this: the only reason that man survived the day is because he shot me first, and he’ll probably never even know it. And that—that *is* funny. I can laugh about that! But I can’t laugh about much else from that day. I don’t blame you for not laughing about yours.”

Sir Pentious

Telly smiled in return, and nodded. "It is a little funny, yes." He took Alastor's hand and squeezed it. "Thank you for being honest with me, I truly do appreciate it, and I appreciate you."

He looked at Alastor's soup. "It's getting cold, you should eat." He returned to his modifications, humming a little more. "Why is it whenever we're together we end up spilling our guts to one another?" He laughed softly. "Not that I mind it, it's....refreshing, talking so openly about things like this. Trusting someone. It's nice."

Alastor

Telly just had to tack on that *I appreciate you,* didn’t he? Maybe if Alastor shoveled soup into his mouth he could drown the butterflies in his stomach.

“You know, I’ve got this theory—don’t quote me on this—but just a theory that, despite all our grousing and griping about each other, humans actually like humans. And we all go a little stir-crazy down here, not having any humans we can trust. Almost all the trustworthy ones went upstairs and the few that landed down here learned to hide it real quick. So the moment we find someone who doesn’t immediately make us regret a half second of vulnerability, we scramble to put all our eggs in that basket before the bottom of it has a chance to fall out. How does that theory sound?”

Sir Pentious

Telly listened and his face went on a kambucha girl style journey, before he ended it with nodding.

"Yes, that does make sense. Especially for ones who have been in Hell as long as us. Decades and decades, you jump at the chance when you find someone to trust." He smiled, rolling a pencil between his hands. A flip seemed to switch in his mind and he let out a small 'oh'.

"I should survey the pipe damage to get the water running. I can hook it up to the city line, as long as the filters are in place and fine. It would be nice to have water. Would need to cap off any broken pipes before then...."

Alastor

That, and no other version of Sir Pentious had ever given Alastor a reason to regret honesty—and Sir Pentious was the one person Alastor *wanted to know him.* But say that and it invites questions about Alastor’s *local* Sir Pentious. You don’t have to worry about half-truths if you just say nothing at all.

And they’d looped right back around to another opportunity to make a pipe joke. Alastor valiantly restrained himself. “There’s a high priority repair. Without water, it’s going to get pretty unpleasant around here pretty quick. I suppose when you’re in the air you’ve usually got big tank for your water? Do you recycle your water supply onboard or do you land to refill before you run dry?”

Sir Pentious

"Yes, a tank for when it's airborn. Don't need to land it to refill though, it has an extendable pipe that I can deploy to connect and refill anywhere. Most of the water has a double use of cooling the machinery after it goes down a drain from a bath or tap. Anything from the.....toliet, gets put into a seperate tank that can be drained in a similar way to the the water intake. That's certainly the first tank getting repaired." He made a face.

Alastor

Extendable pipe. “*Like a giant straw.*” This concept delights him. “The eggs don’t need to use the toilet, do they? At least not much is going in that tank!”

Sir Pentious

"No, thank G--" He stops from saying that and his face scrunches again. "Thank ME, they don't. They don't need to eat, drink, or breath, either. I'm the only one around here who--"

He stops short and makes an even more scrunched face. "WHY ARE WE TALKING ABOUT THIS, I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT MY BOWEL MOVEMENTS."

Alastor

“Talk about *spilling our guts* to each other!” A toilet flush and more studio laughter. “I know we’ve been doing a story-for-a-story thing, but I doubt you want to hear about mine, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t reciprocate this one.”

Sir Pentious

Telly can't help but laugh at that, his arms on the table and his face buried in them. "YES, PLEASE, I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW ABOUT THAT!" He lifted his head and giggled a few more times. He sighed softly.

"Alright, I need a moment to go siphon some of the Eggs to get started on capping the broken pipes." He stood and slithered out, leaving the door open after him. He loudly called for the Eggs and set them to work before returning.

"I wish I had the PA system working, having to go out and yell for them every time is exhausting."

Alastor

There, that was the sort of laugh Alastor wanted to get from him. One of *many* sorts of laughter he wanted to get from him.

Alastor pointedly cleared his throat. It carried a sound like the amplified rumblings of someone fiddling with a megaphone. “You say you need to get a PA system working?”

Sir Pentious

"Oh!" He laughed again. "Yes, that would be something of your area of expertise, wouldn't it?" He shrugged. "I would love your help, but first the power needs to be fixed, so that it could be properly tested. Though perhaps you could help me with speaker placements on the blueprints?"

Alastor

“*Telly.*” He arched his eyebrows. “You think I need the *power?* To get the *PA system* to work? My *friend.*”

Sir Pentious

Telly laughed, shaking his head. "No, I know you don't! But _I_ would need it for it to work once you leave!"

Alastor

A shrug. “Fair enough! But as long as I *am* on board, let me know if you need to yell anything else at your eggs.”

Sir Pentious

"Oh, that reminds me, you wanted to see the bridge, didn't you?" He stood and started to gather the blueprints on the table, and then his case of them. "I have a work table up there too, and that's where the PA system's main hub is, if you wanted to take a look."

Alastor

“Absolutely!” He devoured the rest of his horrible soup—he’d need that energy if he was going to play with the PA system—and then hopped up to follow Sir Pentious.

Sir Pentious

Telly made sure to grab Hattie before he left the room-- couldn't forget him! And then slithered back into the bedroom. Moving around the bed, he opened another door to a ramp up. "Right this way!"

Alastor

Alastor paused for a moment in the bedroom—goodness, how many doors did this room have? It was Grand Central Station in here—then followed him up the next ramp. He wished he had a chance to get a better look at Telly’s bedroom, but... well, that would *definitely* be weird to ask.

Sir Pentious

And Telly's already halfway up the ramp, slithering and shivering at the cold metal. "I must get the heating back up soon too, it's far too cold in here for ssssomeone coldblooded."

Alastor

Alastor stopped abruptly on the ramp—he *intensely* disliked the combination of cold and airships and snakes—but he forced himself to shake off the awful feeling that had wormed into his gut and continued to follow Sir Pentious up the ramp.

Finally, at the top, he got himself to speak again: "We're in a tin can in Hell with no roof over us. The rooms closer to the hull are probably going to feel like ovens, aren't they?" Like being in a locked car with the engine off.

Sir Pentious

"Yes, unfortunately for you. It'll feel nice to me though." He laughed. He reached the intricate double doors that led to the bridge and paused the appropriate amount of them for a dramatic reveal before flinging them open.

"AND HERE WE ARE! THE BRIDGE OF THE GREAT SIR PENTIOUS'S AIRSHIP!"

....Which was currently filled with broken glass. Looks like the windshield would need replacing wholesale.

Alastor

There was nothing sadder than a dead bridge on a crashed airship, was there? It didn’t do much to lift his sudden morose mood.

All the same, he played an enthusiastic round of applause for the big reveal. He summoned up a couple of his ghosts to sweep aside the nearest glass so Sir Pentious wouldn’t have to slither over it.

“You know, you’re the only one I know who would make the inside of a giant war machine look like the kind of place you’d want to set up a cafe table and have a coffee!” He admired the scale motifs on the wall as he walked further onto the bridge—until he caught sight of the organ. “Well—*hello there,* beautiful. I don’t think I’ve seen *you* around the neighborhood before. New in town?” He propped himself up on it with an elbow. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a dangerous place like this?”

Sir Pentious

"Well, I often say that if one cannot make something functional AND beautiful, what's the point?" He laughed, giving a nod to the ghosts. He didn't know if they would respond, but he still had manners.

"It helps that this warship doubles as my home. If its decor was bland it wouldn't be a very good place to live, in my opinion." He waited for the ghosts to clear the path to the organ, and slithered over to it.

"I see you've met my pride and joy." He lovingly stroked the dark wood and metal of the instrument.

Alastor

"I can't stand a conqueror without style. What's the point, indeed!"

One of the enthralled souls gave a dazed nod back. The other looked away. Rude.

"Why, you *should* be proud of her. Amongst all the instruments of destruction, here's an instrument that's wholly different—but no less capable of bringing down the house!" He pressed one of the keys. Nothing happened. "Oh, right." No power.

Sir Pentious

"Yes, she is glorious-- makes it wonderfully fun to score my own battles!" He laughed, stroking his fingers over the keys. He frowned when no sound came from Alastor's press.

"Ah yes, the bellows can't function without Eggs running it." He nodded solemnly. Then he grinned as he slithered to the side of the organ, pressing his hand to a wooden panel. "Fortunately, that's not the only instrument here."

The press of his hand unlocked the panel and he swung it open, revealing a set of three violins. "Do you play, Alastor?"

Alastor

“Score your own battles?!” Alastor slapped a hand over his dead heart. “Oh, you would have been a hit at the picture shows before they added sound! You mean to say you play *while* you’re in battle?” He could swoon. That’s the single most wildly attractive thing he’s ever heard.

He laughed, “The bellows are still powered manually? How marvelously medieval! I would have thought you’d put this thing on electric power!”

His smile stretched even wider when he saw the violins. This instrument had trap doors. Trap doors that hid even more instruments. Move over, Erik Le Fantôme. “*Do* I *play!* You may never hear me at the opera house, but there wasn’t a *fais do-do* in Louisiana where I wouldn’t have been a welcome addition! *You* play?”

Sir Pentious

He laughed, a long cackling one, pulling out a violin. "Do I PLAY? Why would I have these if I didn't!" Telly tucked the violin under his chin, plucking it a few times to make sure it was in tune before grabbing a bow. He took a breath and pressed the bow to the strings and began to play. The number was quiet recognizable, the first notes giving it away as the Phantom of the Opera.

(( the version he's playing https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vYwqBCskfsM

Alastor

"I don't know—decoration? To coax guests into playing for you?" He picked up a violin himself, hoping to show off—but before he got a chance, Sir Pentious took off; and Alastor sank down onto the organ's seat, eyes wide, spellbound as he watched and listened.

Only when he'd stopped did Alastor speak up. "You know, I've always wanted to hear you play Phantom. I just thought it was going to be on this!" He nodded at the organ.

Sir Pentious

"I often do! It's a good piece to just play on anything." He grinned, settling down into his coils. He set the violin on his lap and stroked it.

"When I was alive, I had a Stradivarius! One of my most prized possessions! Music was one of the few things that my family encouraged!" He chuckled. "Can't get that quality down here, but I hunted these down. They're very precious, which is why I keep them with the organ. Generally, if something survives a crash it's the bridge, and that's why I keep all these here."

Alastor

"If you can play it this well on violin, I can't wait to hear what else you play it on!" He studied the violin he'd picked up, as if he could judge its sound quality just by looking. "Is the entire organ near the bridge, pipes and all? Or were some of them spread out to the parts of the ship that got destroyed?"

Sir Pentious

"Some of it is here in the front of the ship, but some of them were damaged or destroyed, yes. Usually I have the pipes running throughout the ship, so that the sound of it can be heard anywhere-- it helps keep the Egg Bois' moral up, hearing me play!" Was he preening and puffing a bit, proud of himself? Why yes, yes he was.

Alastor

As he should be! "And heard from miles around, I'm sure! I suppose those are going to need repairs, too?"

Sir Pentious

"Oh, yes, they will. Unfortunately, that will have to be left until more vital things are replaced." He looked very sad about that, and gently pressed a silent key on the organ. And then he blinked, looking at Alastor as a slow, sly grin came across his face.

"Unless, I had someone I trusted to help handle the delicate sort of repairs an organ would require. Perhaps someone with a vested interest in musical instrumentation...."

Alastor

Alastor blinked at that. “Well, now! Do I have a vested interest? Sure! But do I have adequate skill? My instrument maintenance capabilities cap out at re-stringing the violin and emptying the spit out of a trumpet. *But*...” He rubbed his chin. “I’m not qualified to rebuild the pipes myself—but if someone else made the pipes and all I had to do was install them... I could also check with the souls I’ve got enthralled, see whether any of them ever worked on pipe organs?” He let out a long, thoughtful sigh. “What all do you think you’d have me be doing?”

Sir Pentious

"Oh the Egg Bois would be able to handle the actual building and repairs, I wouldn't have you doing physical labor, that would be preposterous!" He chuckled. "No, what I had in mind if giving you the blueprint for the organ's pipes and making sure the Egg Bois don't fuck it up, as they are wont to do. So, you'd be supervising! And then, you probably have if not perfect pitch, then damn near it, correct? Tuning it all is a hell of a job, and one I would gladly take your expertise for."

Alastor

“*Do* pipe organs need to be tuned?” He looked bewildered by the suggestion. “I... sort of assumed you just set up the big tubes and let them do their thing! But—sure, that makes sense, doesn’t it, even trumpets need tuning and they’re just big metal tubes too. I suppose a pipe organ has to have some tuning slides somewhere, doesn’t it?”

Sir Pentious

"Yes! Though it's mostly with the reeds and the sizes of the pipes. Usually I'd go through a few weeks of testing and hearing it out before I would feel it's ready to actually play, but someone else who knows music as well as I do would certainly speed up the whole process." He gave a little shrug. "Most pipe organs also never get moved or regularly have parts of them destroyed, so I am in a bit of a unique situation."

Alastor

“Fair! I suppose you’ve also got air pressure and such to worry about. Temperature?” A shrug. “Well, you’re right, I do have impeccable pitch—but you’ll have to show me the ropes before you set me loose in the pipes!”

Sir Pentious

"Once you tune the first pipe, I'm sure you'll catch on fast with the others, but I will be sure to show you how to it beforehand." He smiled brightly, and lifted the violin in his lap to tuck beneath his chin. "Would you like to duet, Alastor? I've never had the chance to play with another violinist."

Alastor

“*Never?*” He was aghast. “Ever? Then by all means!” He quickly started to tune the one he’d claimed. “What song?”

Sir Pentious

"Well, not since death, no." He shrugged, letting his bow drag down the strings, letting out a ringing note. "Perhaps more Phantom? I know almost every song from that."

Alastor

“Sure!” He enthusiastically raises the bow and violin. “Now, you’ve already covered the main theme wonderfully. Usually I’m partial to ‘Music of the Night,’ but... no, not that. For two violins, a *duet* would be more appropriate, wouldn’t it? What do you say to ‘All I Ask of You’—we take turns on playing the main melody and playing a harmony line?”

Sir Pentious

"Oh, yes, that sounds lovely!" He smiled wider and started playing. His eyes (on his face) almost shut to enjoy the tune, but he kept them open instead, to watch Alastor play.

Alastor

Since they’d launched straight into it, Alastor let Telly take the main melody first for Raoul’s parts, improvising a harmony line to compliment it. It was lucky he was as familiar with the song as he was, because less than half of his attention was on his own playing; most of it was on Sir Pentious, the look on his face, the grace with which he played. He barely remembered that they’d agreed to take turns in time for him to switch to the main melody for Christine’s part.

Sir Pentious

He swaps almost effortlessly to the backing melody, weaving harmonies around Alastor's playing. It's clear that he kept up with practicing through all the years since he'd died, so much so that he was able to be absorbed into watching Alastor play with an intense sort of focus, soaking in every detail. When Raoul's part came back around, he slid back into the main melody, and he smiled.

Alastor

He was *good.* Even after hearing him play Phantom, Alastor hadn’t expected him to pick up an improvised duet so easily. Part of that was no doubt thanks to the fact that Alastor himself had been attending improv jam sessions with total strangers for the better part of a century, he knew how to compliment and enhance another player—but this was not jazz, and if Sir Pentious had been terrible even Alastor wouldn’t have been able to cover that up.

But he most certainly was *not* terrible. And Alastor wished he’d picked a longer song.

Sir Pentious

Telly fell into the back and forth of the duet with such an ease that he even started adding flourishes-- unnecessary, yes, but he also wanted to show off for Alastor. And it was for Alastor, every extra movement of his fingers, ever added note and vibrato, they were all for him. Maybe he was putting a little too much passion behind it for being only friends, but caught up as he was, he didn't find it in himself to care about how appropriate or not it was.

Alastor

Alastor was showing off no less. This symphonic style wasn't his forté, he was more of a fiddler than a violinist, but by God did he plan on playing like he did this every night if his afterlife. He'd started the song still seated on the organ bench, but by the end was on his feet, swaying with the music... and if he'd gotten any closer to Sir Pentious, they'd be risking smacking their bows together as they played.

Sir Pentious

The end of the song came, and with a final flourish, he stopped playing. He set the violin on the organ's bench and took a few deep breaths, his face giddy and his body feeling light. Telly laughed a little and took Alastor by his upper arms, grips tight but happy. "That was fun!"

Alastor

The fact that Alastor hadn't put his violin down before his arms were grabbed was probably the only thing saving him from pulling Telly into an embrace and proceeding to ruin everything. He laughed as well, breathlessly, smiling so wide it hurt. "Goodness gracious, you're—you're *good* at that! I can't believe you haven't played a duet since the 1800s! What other talents are you hiding?"

Sir Pentious

In that moment, breathless and smiling and so close, Telly desperately felt the urge to kiss Alastor. The only thing that saved him was Alastor's voice, and he blinked and pulled back a bit, though his hands lingered on his arms.

"Well, you know about the perfume making, I think. And the tea mixing. And now the violin playing...." He ticked them off on his fingers, though he couldn't even play at seriousness. "I'm not sure if there's much else I could surprise you with!"

Alastor

"Hold—hold on, you make your own *perfume*? *Did* I know that? I noticed how often it changes, but I just thought you had a collection!" This was an entirely new discipline as far as he was concerned.

Sir Pentious

"Oh! I guess I can. I could've sworn I told you about that..." He thinks for long moment, head tilted. "Hm, actually I think I told Valera! Apologies, then."

He laughed and turned his wrist towards Alastor's nose, letting him get a whiff of what he was wearing today. "Gardenia and lilac! And yes, I make them myself. Always found that others made floral mixes too strong, decided I'd like something subtler. Florals are my forte, but I can mix most any kind of perfume."

Alastor

Don't mind him as he shuts his eyes and takes a much deeper whiff than necessary, like some kind of creep. "... *Lovely.*" Okay, that was enough lingering. He smiled crookedly. "So, if I wanted to talk to someone about getting some of that gasoline perfume we discussed..." Studio laughter, he's kidding.

Sir Pentious

He laughed as well, giving a shrug. His arm moved from where he'd rested it on Alastor's shoulder to slide around his waist instead. This was fine, right? He'd touched Alastor like this before, it wasn't weird right??

"I could, actually, but gasoline has such a strong smell you'd be better off just dabbing it on by itself!" Another laugh.

Alastor

That was very fine and Alastor was going to immediately tuck the violin and bow under one arm so that he could slide the other around Telly’s shoulders. “Oh, *well* then.” He shrugged. “What’s the point if it doesn’t come in an overpriced fancy little bottle? I’ll stick to the fragrance I’ve got.” (Which was, for the record, a combination of shampoo and body wash that probably had some kind of name like “ocean breeze.” It was a recent change. Probably very faint, since it had been... a bit since he’d showered. Oh god he should have done that before coming over.)

Sir Pentious

Too late, Alastor, you mentioned fragrance and now he's leaning in to Smell. Blelelelele.

"Oh! That's nice. But if you do want another, proper, fancy bottle level fragrance, do let me know. I would love to make some fragrances for you." He grinned, and gave another blelelele that tickled Alastor's cheek. And then he realized he'd just essentially _licked_ Alastor and he sat up straighter. Thank God he couldn't blush.

Alastor

Pay no mind to the way he leaned into the lick. He told himself not to read into it, it was just a snake thing. "I've never been much of a fragrance person, but... I'll keep it in mind. I've got to see you at work on this newest hidden talent of yours sometime, don't I?"

Sir Pentious

"Yes, I think you do! And my tea mixing, but I'm afraid neither are terribly exciting." He gave a shrug.

"Oh yes, the PA system is over there." He pointed across the field of glass still as of yet uncleared.

Alastor

“Right!” That was what they’d been here for. Not music. The music was just a bonus. A beautiful bonus Alastor was going to be thinking about for weeks. “Then shall we?”

He handed off the violin to his shadow so it could stow them both away where they belonged, and let his enthralled souls clear a path to the PA system. He kept one arm around Sir Pentious as they went.

#usedhearts #chat log

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authorautumnbanks · 3 years ago

Text

How To Tame A Sorcerer

Summary: After nine long years, the well has finally opened! Not waiting for it to change its mind, Kagome leaps into the well, dead set on reuniting with InuYasha. Much to her surprise, she ends up falling into the lap of a blindfolded sorcerer! Can Kagome and Gojo make it work with so many secrets between them? Can Gojo keep Kagome safe from the elders? And what is it about the young priestess that has even the king of curses scared?

"Ah, shit," Kagome mutters to herself as she rubs her bottom. When she felt the rush of magic coming from the well, she kind of assumed that it would transport her back to the past, or at least within another well. Falling from the sky and landing in the lap of a stranger was not how she wanted to spend her day.

The stranger beneath her shifts. Suddenly it hits her just where exactly she's rubbing and two, she's still sitting in this person's lap. Kagome scrambles up, turns around, and bows profusely. "Sorry, sorry," she repeats with each bow. Her cheeks flare up from the indecency of it.

How the heck was she going to explain why she was falling from the sky? I jumped into a well to time travel and ended up in your lap instead. No one in their right mind would believe such a tale.

"I'm used to women falling over themselves for me, but never have I one come from the sky?" His tone is soothing, though the hint of danger laced within it licks at her senses and causes her to shiver slightly. Kagome straightens her spine and then leans back ever so slightly. The stranger is tall, like freakishly so. His white hair catches her attention first, it reminds her of InuYasha, though nowhere near as long, and stranger dude seems to take a lot more pride in his appearance. And half of his face is covered with a blindfold.

Perhaps he's blind?

He leans forward, startling her with the sudden proximity of his mouth so close to hers. "What are you?"

"Human, of course." Kagome prides herself on how strong her words come out, though she knows that her blush is spreading further down her face. She averts her brown eyes away.

"A sorcerer, then?" His smile is all teeth, a juxtaposition to his playful tone and relaxed pose.

"No." Kagome bites the inside of her cheek. She isn't sure what he means by sorcerer or what kind of world the well saw fit to transport her to. "I wouldn't consider myself a sorcerer."

"Your energy isn't cursed," he says to himself, but Kagome hears it loud and clear. The man tilts his head to the side as if she is some specimen that he needs to dissect. "But you're definitely more than just a human."

"I'm a priestess. I use holy energy."

The man tenses, the atmosphere becomes heavy with uncertainty. Kagome knows that she shouldn't be giving away so much information in a world that appears to be so much like her own, and yet not. She takes a small step back, needing space between them. His covered face is off-putting, not being able to see his eyes unnerves in a way that a demon could never. Breathing slowly, Kagome focuses on the tightly coiled energy surrounding the man. Whoever he is, whatever he is, there's power within him.

"You were able to bypass my infinity." He takes a step forward, invading any personal space she had.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what you mean by that." She gulps and clutches at the ends of her pleated skirt. "I didn't mean to. I, uh, would like to be on my way now."

"I don't even know your name," he remarks.

"Kagome."

"No last name?" he asks as he leans forward until their mouths are a hair width apart. "Satoru, then."

Silently, Kagome berates her heart for speeding up at how close he is. "Well, Satoru- san, I really should be on my way." She takes another step back. "And, I'm really sorry for landing into your lap like that." She grimaces when he takes another step after her. Why couldn't he just pretend like this exchange didn't happen?

"Do you like dango? I know the perfect bakery that sells the most amazing sweets you can find."

"Um."

"In fact, why don't we go there right now, Kagome-chan?" He grabs her arm and tugs her down the sidewalk. "Relax, I just want to talk."

"By kidnapping me?" Kagome tugs her arm back to no avail.

"A strong accusation. I'm leading you to the bakery, so you don't get lost," he responds with a sickly sweet tone that probably works to placate others, but Kagome has been around her fair share of con artist, and Satoru-san's easy demeanor was not fooling her.

"If I humor you, will you let me be on my way?"

"Depends on the answers I get. Which you are free to ask questions as well. It's not an interrogation." Kagome grumbles to herself in response, all the while shooting other citizens a glare for ignoring the way this stranger is manhandling her.

Luckily, the bakery he takes her to isn't too far of a walk from the park they were at, and the buildings with all of their glitz and flashing commercials look like the Japan she's used to. Maybe she just ended up in another city?

"I'll take this entire row and two coffees." Satoru-san's voice pulls her out of her musings. The cashiers turn sheet white at the order and quickly go to work putting all the items into bags. "Thank you," he responds and then leads them to a table in the back.

"Now then, I would appreciate it if you would stay seated Kagome-chan. I could finish all of these sweets myself, but I'd like it if you shared some with me."

"You aren't really giving me much of a choice." Kagome huffs and pulls back the chair closest to the wall. Her arm burns from his touch–not that she'd ever voice that to him.

"You never said if you liked dango or not." He takes his seat opposite of her and pulls out a couple of sweets for them to munch on. A waiter rushes over to their seat with two coffee mugs in hand and a steaming pot of coffee in the other. "Thank you." He waves the waiter off and gives the woman in front of him his full attention.

"I enjoy it," Kagome says evenly, reaching for her mug and taking a long sip. "But, let's just cut to the chase. What is it you wish to know?"

"Where are you from?"

"Tokyo."

"What a coincidence, so am I." He laughs as he shoves his dango in his mouth. Seriously, how? "And yet, I've never felt your energy before. Not until you fell into my lap."

Kagome tilts her head and runs her fingertips on the rim of the mug. How much information should she give away? All this talk about cursed energy, not being phased by her appearing out of nowhere, and the tight control over his powers, tells her that, he isn't the kind of man that would just let her go peacefully.

"I don't think I'm from your world," she begins, ignoring the tightness around his mouth. "And based on your reaction, holy powers don't seem to exist in this world."

"There is only cursed energy." He pours twelve packets of sugar into his coffee and stirs it all with a butter knife. Kagome eyes the way his long fingers grip the handle. "But, if you aren't from this world Kagome-chan, where exactly did you plan on going?"

She bites down on her tongue and stares up at his stupid, blindfolded face. "I hadn't gotten that far yet."

"You should be happy," he interjects, " that it was me you found. All sorts of nasty curses out there that will be drawn to your holy energy."

"Curses? Like demons?"

He grins and takes a long drink. Kagome shudders at the diabetic drink.

"We call them curses because they are born from the negative emotions of humans."

"So, not like demons then," she mutters to herself. "Wait, you fight cursed energy with cursed energy? How effective is that?"

He shrugs. "Works just fine for me. So you have demons where you are from?"

Shit. She didn't mean to let that slip. Though, there has to be a reason why the well sent her to a world that doesn't have holy energy.

"Yes, though we were to curses as spirits in my world." She leans back in the chair. Would it hurt the guy to let her see his face? It's unnerving how he can get her to open up while giving away hardly anything himself. "What did you mean early, by breaking through your infinity?"

He lifts his hand and holds it out in front of her. "Try to touch me."

"Is this some kind of trick?" she asks as she lifts her hand and touches his.

"You shouldn't be able to touch me. That's the problem." His hand grips hers, turning it over as if he can't believe what's happening.

"So what does that mean?" She licks her bottom lip but doesn't tug her hand away.

"I'm afraid, Kagome-chan, that I can't let you go." She starts to protest, but he lets go of her hand to lean forward and place one finger on her lips. "Call it intuition, but I don't think you really want me to either."

She gulps, eyes darting from his finger and back up to his blindfold. Crap! She was in bigger trouble than she initially thought.

"Only because I don't have anywhere else to go."

#Gojo x Kagome #Gojo satoru x Kagome #Kagome Higurashi #CrossOver #InuYasha x Jujutsu Kaisen #gojo satoru fanfic #Kagome fanic #crossover pairings

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inspectormila · 4 years ago

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Mirror’s Edge || Sharmila & Erin

TIMING: Current (POTW)

PARTIES: @inspectormila, @corpse--diem

SUMMARY: Mila goes to discuss Erin’s recent fire. Things don’t go well, but not for the reason you think.

Sharmila wasted no time once she returned to White Crest in opening and reinvestigating each and every fire that occurred in her absence. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her department to do a thorough job, it was just that they weren’t that great. They weren’t her. Every accidental fire and explosion case she could convince the chief to hand her was now splayed across her dining table in loosely organized chaos. Most looked like accidents, but there were a few questionables. The explosion at the morgue, for instance, but she would grill Cece about that later once they’d had a few drinks. The second was also close to home, Nichols’ Funeral Home. Not only were there people trapped inside, one of their own had actually been killed in the blaze. Mila didn’t know Roland well, but he had always been nice to her when they passed in the halls. It was still a tragedy. And it was still suspected arson. Why it had been shoved by the wayside was beyond Mila and she would make damn sure she got to the bottom of it.

She hadn’t given Nichols much of a heads up, calling the woman when she was already on her way, notebook and tape recorder in hand. If the reports were correct, she was seen having an argument with an unknown person just before the blaze broke out. Mila wanted to make sure she caught the woman off guard in case she had something to hide. Most arson cases in town were owner caused, more often than not because of insurance fraud. How silly. She would always find the truth, didn’t they know this by now? The sun was just beginning to dip low behind the trees when Mila’s louboutins clicked their way up the driveway. Reaching out a perfectly manicured finger, Mila rang the bell and called out. “Hello? Ms. Nichols? It’s Agent Darzi? I called on my way over?”

Erin didn’t have a chance to appreciate the anxiety that brief phone call had given her. Just knew that some Agent Darzi was on her way to her apartment right now with some questions regarding the fire that brought down half of the funeral home. This wasn’t her fault--not this fire, anyway--but how was she supposed to explain herself here? Sorry, some asshole with magic fingers and a vendetta torched the place? Also, please don’t worry about the recent arrest on my record? She probably didn’t need the caffeine but she put on a pot of coffee anyway to busy herself while she waited. When the doorbell rang, Erin ran a hand down her mouth, trying to steady her heartbeat, reminding herself she hadn’t been the one to physically set the building to flame. She wasn’t innocent but this part she couldn’t take all the credit for.

“Agent Darzi,” Erin smiled tightly, nodding her head in greeting, a little taken aback by how young the woman was. Age hardly mattered when it came to whether or not she had the ability to toss Erin right back into that depressing holding cell. “You can just call me Erin. Come in, please,” she insisted, moving aside to let her in. The coffee was already set up on the table and she guided her towards it. “Coffee?” She asked, trying to loosen some of the tightness in her throat and started pouring two mugs before Agent Darzi had the chance to decline or accept. “You said you had some, uh--questions? About the fire?”

Sharmila smiled and entered the apartment, glancing around casually before following her mark towards the coffee. She breathed in deep, inhaling the warm scent before placing her things on the table, making herself quite at home. “Oh I would love some, thanks!” She reached out, letting the cup warm her hands. “I didn’t get a chance to inject any caffeine this morning, so this is a godsend!” She chuckled, attempting to put the woman at ease. Mila knew all too well how stressful law enforcement home visits were and in her experience, you caught more flies with honey than vinegar. “Yes,” Mila frowned, taking a small sip. Dark and bitter, just like she liked it. “I’m so sorry about your losses, I’m sure it’s come as a great heartbreak. Unfortunately, as arson is suspected, we have to do a thorough investigation. You understand. Just making sure everything’s in order!” Mila set her coffee down and began rummaging through her bag, pulling out a few folders. “Now, did you have any insurance policies on the building or business? Unfortunately money is almost always the real cause for these things.” She raised her perfectly plucked brows in a gesture of innocence. “Not that I’m blaming you for that! Just the facts, really. We want to make sure whoever is responsible is dealt with accordingly and if you do have a good insurance plan, we want to make sure you can get back up and running as soon as possible!” She smiled, tapping her pen expectantly on her pad of paper.

The woman sure was eager, wasn’t she? Erin would’ve appreciated the enthusiasm more if it wasn’t her case she’d decided to double check. “Totally understand. You’re just doing your job, here,” she smiled, trying to be gracious about Agent Darzi’s efforts. God, that would be nice, though. Kicking the insurance into gear, getting construction underway, going back to work. Her smile lifted more genuinely at the thought. “I’ve got all of that information right here. All that I could find on such short notice, anyway. Not much from my office made it out.” She tried to ignore the crackling of fire in her ear or Blanche’s screams of terror. Still felt as real as it did two months ago. She cleared her throat and pushed the folder towards her. “The only thing that’s changed in the past few years is the policy owner, from Jack Nichols to myself. There’s a few extra things because of the nature of my business. Equipment’s expensive to replace, but that’s about--”

Erin took one short look at the coffee pot, then another, longer this time--and jolted back with a start. A woman’s face hovered beside her own, obscured and abstract due thanks to the shape of the pot yet horrifying. She looked… dead. Pale skin cracked around the curves of her face, darkening to almost black around the eyes. “Jesus!” She yelped, turning to look behind her, knocking her full cup of coffee all over the place. There was nothing there, and nothing in the coffee pot when she looked again. What the fuck? She jumped again when the hot liquid dripped onto her lap. “I--shit, I’m so sorry. I don’t know--” she started, standing up, limbs shaky from the sudden fright as she grabbed some towels from the kitchen and started to clean. The papers were covered in coffee. “I thought I saw--something.”

Mila nodded, her lips pouting a bit. “Of course, so sorry to spring this on you again, I guess I don’t know what to do when I’m not working so I like to dive in head first!” She reached out and began flipping through the documents. Nothing looked out of order, no expansive insurance policy that would pay for her second home in Cabo. But then there was that mention of an argument...Heated arguments were explosive in cases like this. “Now, I’m so sorry to ask but do you have any enemies? Old coworkers, competing businesses, anyone who would want to see your home burn? There’s a note here-” Mila looked down to her file a split second before coffee and papers went flying. She jumped back, swatting a few stray droplets from her Chanel pants. “Oh! Are you ok??” Mila set about drying off her papers, bristling at the idea that maybe there was something suspicious in here after all, but one look at Erin’s face told her maybe not to jump the gun. Her hands hovered over the papers. “Ms. Nichols, are- what’s wrong? Are you alright? You’re shaking...Here just hand me some paper towels, I’ve got this. No use crying over spilled coffee, right?”

“No, no, I’m fine!” Erin insisted, trying to take a deep breaths. She was just seeing things. That’s all. Stress, lack of sleep, and a trick of the light would do wonders to mess with anyone’s mind a little bit. That’s all it was. Besides, this place was fully warded against anything even resembling a ghosts. Even fires, thanks to Nell’s helpful addition. Blanche had even come to double check them all. They had nothing to worry about. Nothing. “God, I’m sorry. This probably looks… not great.” She had to laugh as the adrenaline slowly started to loosen itself from her limbs. Her nose crinkled at the ruined paperwork and she slid a worried hand down the side of her face. “Whatever you need from me, I’ll be happy to replace. I’ll get the insurance company to send over more copies too, if you need them?” She asked, hoping that her blunder hadn’t made her look even more guilty than before. With the table cleaned, and the coffee pot reflection free, she sat down once more, trying to smooth over this shamble of a meeting. “You were asking about… enemies?” She stiffened, narrowing her eyes, shrugging innocently. “Nope. None that I can think of. I mean, competition for funeral homes isn’t exactly stiff in this town, if you know what I mean.”

Mila knelt down and collected what she could, handing back a few of the more ruined documents to Erin. “It’s fine, really. I would like to have some copies, but maybe...let’s email those over to my office directly?” She gave a small smile. Whatever had spooked the woman seemed to be gone now, but it raised the question in Mila’s mind, what if something similar had happened with the fire in question? That would make it an accident, not intentional arson. She scribbled down a quick note before looking back up. “Luckily all of this,” she waved her folder casually. “Is backed up multiple times. Can’t work in the business of fire and destruction without assuming accidents might happen to you too.” The lamia tried to center herself back into the task at hand, hoping Erin wouldn’t be quite so jumpy for the rest of their meeting. “Are you- oh good lord.” Mila grinned, slapping a hand on her knee. “No, I suppose it isn’t is it? No one plotting for your business, hm? Now…” Her face fell a bit, shifting from her jokes. “There was a witness who saw a man speaking with you just before the fire. Can you tell me about that?”

Oh good, they were both full blown punning now. That was a good sign Agent Darzi wasn’t about to find her guilty and slap some handcuffs on right now, right? The thought was ridiculous of course but after her first go around, Erin wasn’t anxious for another. An easy laugh fell from her and she sat back in her seat, trying to push the image of the woman in the reflection out of her mind. This was fine. “Plotting for my business. That’s a good one,” she pointed towards the other woman. “No, no. Believe me, my life is ridiculously boring,” she answered, lying so seamlessly it almost felt true. More of a wish, than anything. Her nerves had finally seemed to settle when she saw it again--just behind Darzi in the mirror on the wall. There was no mistaking it this time. Erin froze, no longer listening, just stared back at the wretched and angry face locked on hers. The woman’s black lips parted, gaping open as a wail burst from her throat, inhuman and raspy. “MURDERER!” the voice bellowed, pointing in her direction.

Erin flew backwards in her hurry, taking the chair down with her, an icy fear shooting up her spine. What the fuck? What the fuck? Another scream left the woman in the mirror, her finger pointing in Erin’s direction. Suddenly, she was in every part of the room, all at once, in every reflection. Pointing and screaming “Murderer!” at the top of her lungs. It was almost as if she didn’t even see Agent Darzi. Murderer. Guess that was her. Fuck. “Run!” she hollered at the other woman anyway, scrambling over some of the moving boxes on the floor on her way down the hallway.

If she was honest, Mila hoped this woman was innocent. It was always hard to file a case against the good ones, nice people who maybe just needed some extra money or in an accidental passion sent their home or business up in flame. Hell, wasn’t she a little hypocritical at this point? Not that she ever lit up anything important or owned by someone else. “Ridiculously boring can still have it’s sharp edges,” Mila replied, tapping the end of her pen against her leg. Mila watched as Erin’s face went blank, white as a ghost. She was familiar with the look of horror, but it wasn’t aimed at her. Instead her eyes were focused on a point behind Mila’s head. “Ms. Nichols? Are you- what are you-” Before she could finish the question, Mila slapped her hands to her ears. The inhuman screeching echoed around her brain and she cursed her lamia parents for giving her perfect hearing. “What the hell was-” Mila didn’t have to ask. Suddenly in front of her were fractal images of a pale, horrific woman, screaming. Murderer. Mila’s eyes went wide and she jumped back from Erin. She’d never committed a single crime against another person, there was no way in hell she was a murderer. She’d never eaten a person, only animals, and nothing sentient. Her parents had always been adamant about that. Erin screamed at her to run, and while she was hesitant to follow an apparent murderer, she did just that. The alternative was to hang out here with a bloody mirror ghost and Mila wasn’t overly fond of that option. She dashed back through the hall, following Erin’s lead. “What is that thing??” She cried, wondering if this is what Ms. Nichols thought a ‘ridiculously boring life’ would entail.

Erin didn’t look back to see if the agent was following her, just booked it down the small hallway. This was absolutely the part of the movie where she’d be screaming at herself to run out of the apartment but--here she was anyway, fucking off into her bedroom. “Murderer!” The accusing, angry voice yelled again from the mirror above her dresser. From the window next to her bed. Even the half empty glass of water on the table. She was everywhere. Pointing still, directly at Erin. She didn’t know how she knew, or even who the hell this woman was, but she was relentless in whatever the fuck this pursuit was. Justice? Truth? Erin reached for the closest thing near her, a lamp, and tossed it at the mirror. The glass splintered, breaking off into pieces, but the woman only appeared again and again in each fragment, like an inescapable nightmare. “What the f--” Her eyes were wide and she looked for Darzi. “I don’t know! I don’t know. You’re--you’re seeing this right?” The reflection shifted from a two-dimensional horror into a very tangible reality as the woman reached out from the picture frame directly beside Erin. She didn’t have time to dodge the cold hand that grabbed her, wrapping around her throat, holding her to the wall as the rest of her slowly eased out of the reflection.

Panic overwhelmed her better senses, pushing Mila further into the home after Erin. She toppled into the bedroom moments after she heard glass shattering, only to see even more ghastly faces reflected back. “Yes I’m seeing this! But what is THIS??” The ghostly woman had no heat signature, obvious that she wasn’t among the living, but Mila had never seen a ghost. That’s what this had to be, right? It’s not like zombies crawled out of mirrors and attacked people- which was exactly what this bitch was doing. “Oh my god!!!” Mila shrieked, throwing herself towards Erin, unsure what, if anything, she would be able to do here. “Get off her- you- BITCH!” Her hand wound around cold flesh that wasn’t really flesh and she yanked with all the strength she had. It wasn’t enough, not by a long shot. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for anything that might help. God, where was a giant sword when you needed one? “Hold on, Ms. Nichols!!” The woman’s gasping was sending new waves of panic through her. She barely knew this woman, but she refused to let her die, not like this. With no knowledge of whether or not it would work, Mila set her sights on the mirror the ghastly woman was currently climbing out of, raising a stilettoed heel and bringing it sharply down on the glass, sending the woman into fragments. “OK let’s get the fuck out of here!!”

Darzi was on her attacker, fast, and Erin was never more thankful for the agent’s impromptu visit. Her vision was beginning to blacken when she heard the mirror shattering beside her head. The air rushed back into her lungs the second the ghostly woman’s hand dissipated into thin air and she took greedy gulps, stumbling forward into a full out run. “What the fu--” Erin yelled hoarsely, starting and stopping through every turn in her relatively small apartment. It wasn’t big but every reflective surface taunted her with that face, again and again. She didn’t think, just booked it right out of the apartment, leading the way for the agent. The woman was everywhere still. In the windows, the framed stock art on the walls, even the full reflection in the elevator. Relief came in the form of a dim stairwell. No reflections--just concrete, steel and the low glow of the exit sign. She dared to pause, just for a moment to catch her breath, clutching her throat. The woman’s hand had been so cold--like Dale’s had been. A shot of anger piggybacked her sharp fears. “Shit--are you okay?” She managed to ask, leaning against the wall. “Thank you for that--christ, she nearly killed me,” she huffed out incredulously. Still trying to stabilize her breathing and heartbeat, eyes flickering constantly around the room, before landing on the other woman again. “What the fuck was that? Who the fuck--?”

Mila didn’t pause, following Erin out of the apartment as fast as she possible could. Everywhere they turned, there was the woman ‘s face, now staring menacingly at herself too. Fuck. Her heart hammered in her chest as they reached the stairwell, a blank canvas, not reflections in sight. She didn’t even dare pull out her phone for fear the woman would appear in the screen. “Yeah,” Mila replied breathlessly, her hands on her knees. Thank god she was used to running in couture footwear. “Yeah I’m ok...how’s your neck?” Her eyes scanned Erin, looking for any readily apparent damage, but other than the choking incident, it seemed more of a mental fuck than anything. “Do you...What- you didn’t recognize her or anything?” Mila leaned against the cold concrete and rested her head back, thinking. She’d lived in White Crest long enough to know a thing or two about strange occurrences, she knew there were ghosts and werewolves and vampires and obviously the more exotic creatures like herself, but this thing...it was undead. But unlike anything she’d ever experienced or heard of. It wasn’t possessing any one, it came out of a goddamn mirror.

“No, I’m fine,” Erin shook her head, rubbing her neck as if to emphasize the fact. Something was wrong--obviously, but there’s no way that a ghost could have gotten into her apartment, bypassing wards put in by an experienced exorcist. Blanche had even double checked her work to be sure. Was it even a ghost? “No fucking idea,” she raised a brow, her eyes still roaming the walls as if suddenly she was going to pop out again. Murderer. Murderer. Murderer. Her face burned as the words repeated in her mind, the woman’s finger and eyes locked on her. No, nope. She wasn’t going to think about it - she had done what she had to. That was all. She hadn’t allowed herself to sink her teeth into those emotions just yet and some murderous ghost bitch wasn’t about to get her to start now. Not with Agent Diaz already questioning her about the fire. Standing straight, she tried to shake off the nerves clawing at her bones. “We should, uh--we should go.” Erin sure as hell wasn’t heading back to her apartment tonight. The stairwell exit opened up to more barren concrete halls. This was fine. For now, this would be fine. “You know, you’ve got a hell of a right hook with that stiletto,” she tried to tease now that the air was coming back to her in shorter intakes. “I’m so impressed, I won’t even bill you for the damage.”

Mila nodded, running a hand through her hair. She hadn’t forgotten what she’d heard, what that thing had been rasping...but murder wasn’t exactly in her job descprition. She eyed the woman carefully, not sensing that she could be a murderer, but then again, you never really knew people and she’d only spent what, an hour at best with her? “Maybe...don’t stay at your apartment tonight,” she offered as they exited the stairwell, carefully checking for any reflective surfaces. “Is there someone who could take you in for a night?” She would offer, but the whole investigation would crumble, not to mention the whole murderer thing. Not that Mila couldn’t take care of herself. “Thanks,” she smiled, popping one of her feet into the air. “Not only fashionable, but a deadly weapon against mirror monsters,” she chuckled. Suddenly Mila felt the earth shifting. Tiny, miniscule grains, rolling against the smooth ground. She stopped in her tracks, throwing an arm out to halt Erin as well. “Stop...I don’t- something’s not right…” Slipping out of her heels, Mila felt the cold tile on her bare feet trembling. Something big was coming, growing, with each spec of...was that sand? “Ms Nichols, I don’t think we’re quite finished yet…is there another way out of here?”

If Mila had caught on to whatever the woman in the mirror had been screaming at her, she wasn’t pressing Erin on it. Not yet, anyway, and she was thankful for the reprieve anyway after such a close call. “Yeah, I’m good, I’ve got people,” she assured her, knowing she’d most likely end up crashing at Skylar and Nic’s again. Sounded pretty nice right about now, actually. She smiled her way, letting the relief trickle into her chest. “I’ll have to remember that. Maybe sharpen the heel on my pumps for when I get back to work--” she froze suddenly, realizing these jokes and this audience really didn’t mix. But Mila was barring her back, a new sense of alarm on her face. Sand? She didn’t know what to think, just knew on some level inside of her, the one had grown familiar with this sort of supernatural fuckery, that Mila was right. “What now?” She nealy grumbled, but there was no time to question it. Sand seeped into the stairwell from every nook and cranny, slicking the floor with a thin layer. The only other way was back where they came from--or up. “C’mon,” she grabbed the other woman’s arm, shielding her eyes and mouth from the sand trickling in around them as she made a run for the rooftop.

They just couldn’t catch a break today. Mila glanced over at Erin and wondered slightly if the woman was cursed, actually cursed. How else could you explain two clearly supernatural oddities attacking within an hour? Even for the Crest, that was pushing it. Taking a step back, Mila felt the sand growing, shifting and forming of its own volition, gearing up for something. This was not good. “Shit.” Holding her heels in one hand and Erin’s hand on her other arm, Mila spun and made for the stairwell again, hoping beyond hope they could get to the roof. Once they were there, she hadn’t the foggiest of what they would do next. How did you fight sand? Mila charged forward, sneaking cautionary glances around corners to make sure they didn’t run into that fucking mirror thing again. Sand poured in on them from all directions, gathering so loudly it was almost overwhelming. Mila threw a hand over her head, trying to shield her face. She’d never been so happy to have a third eyelid, praising her lamia heritage. Mila slammed her entire body weight against the metal door leading up to the roof and blinked against the sunlight, feeling a single grain of sand catch under her membrane. “Fuck,” she grumbled, ushering Erin out before slamming the door closed. For a moment, the sand trickled under the door, a thin layer of moving earth. The lamia rubbed at her eye, attempting to free it of the grating foreign matter. She couldn’t be distracted, not now, not when they were under attack. “Is it still coming?? What do we do now??”

Miraculously, Erin had burst through the rooftop door without getting even one grain in her mouth or eyes, thank god. Her hair, her clothes, her shoes? That was another story. She was still shaking it off as she ran behind a vent, waiting, watching with Mila. “I don’t know, I don’t hear anything,” she whispered, staying still and alert. She couldn’t wrap her mind around what ominous thing was awaiting them on the other side of the door that was capable of sweeping a small beach worth’s of sand. “You alright?” She asked, noting the red eye and the way Mila was rubbing her eyes. It was still quiet though, too quiet, even as the sand continued to blow out from under the door. Erin glanced around, grabbing a piece of rain-battered plywood that had been left up there. It wasn’t much but it was all they had, save for Mila’s heels. “Stay here,” she instructed. “But keep those heels ready?” She tried to smile, but she couldn’t hide how terrified she was of what was possibly waiting for them on the other side of that door. She knew she sure as fuck wasn’t going to wait around for it to pounce though. Taking a deep breath, she paused, then yanked the door open, holding the plywood up, ready to strike. The door opened to--nothing. Erin waited, gripping the wood harder, but the sand just blew quietly on to the rooftop. But nothing. It was quiet, again. Eerily so.

Mila crouched behind the vent, still rubbing furiously at her eye. She couldn’t see well normally, and this was really putting a damper on what little sight she had. Instead she turned to her other sense, letting her bare feet feel the vibrations. Erin’s footsteps echoed through her body, and the soft drifting of sand, but no thunderous rumblings, not like before. She peeked out from her hiding place, her heels at the ready. “Do we need the heels?” She called, wishing there was a way for her stilettos to actually help. “Is it...I think it’s gone? Whatever the hell it was?” Whatever had been moving the sand, maneuvering it after them, seemed to have abandoned it’s hunt. One eye blurry beyond belief, Mila glanced around for any reflective surfaces. “Are we- is it fucking over?” She stepped out carefully, slipping back into her shoes. “I swear, most of my home visits aren’t quite so...eventful.”

The hall was empty, save for the layers of sand wisping around Erin’s feet. For now, the danger seemed to be gone but the foreboding feeling left in its wake was hard to ignore. It felt… unfinished. They’d gotten way too lucky to have run from not just one but two mysterious whatevers that had decided to knock down their doors and mirrors today. Tentatively, Erin stepped forward into the hall doorway, ready to swing if necessary. “I think we’re… okay?” It didn’t feel right to say it either. Her heart was still racing and she kicked some of the sand in the stairwell, as if she was waiting for it to spring back to life. She looked to Agent Darzi, letting out a breath. “I hope not, otherwise I’m going to have to decline a follow up.” She ran a hand down her face, contemplated dropping the plywood, opting to grip it a little tighter. Nodding at the other woman, she kept her eyes on the stairwell. “Are you sure you’re okay?” She asked one more time.

Mila smiled lightly, brushing the sand off her clothes where the grains fell lifelessly to the ground. “Don’t worry, I think if I have any further questions I’ll just email.” They made their way cautiously back down the stairwell, the building looking menacingly...normal. “Me? Oh yeah, just...tired I think.” Tired was an understatement. The pain in her eye subsided, making way for an indescribable fatigue. Then again, she had just run from two mystery monsters, in stilettos no less. “And I’m not even the one who got strangled. Make sure you get some rest, and uh...drink some tea?” Mila shuffled closer to the exit. “And I’ll send my assistant by to pick up the paperwork, I really ought to get home.” She could feel her muscles aching to lay down and honestly, she wanted nothing more than to take a long, hot bath in a room with absolutely no mirrors.

#wickedswriting #erin1 #potw: sand

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kyukun · 5 years ago

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Haunted House (OumaSai)

ofc ofc! gOd i love me some spOOpy saiou haha

this is just an au where kichi is nicer lmao cause why not

title: Haunted House

summary: On one particular October evening, the squad all collectively decide to go trick or treating together. Kokichi sees a haunted house along the way and believes it would be the perfect pranking opportunity.

word count: 1568

~~ prompt starts after cut! ~~

It was Halloween; everywhere and everyone was completely decked out in spooky attire. Many houses along Shuichi’s street had extreme to moderate amounts of Halloween decor, some consisting of just pumpkins and fake gravestones with skeletons and cobwebs to the more extreme houses which had projections of creepy eyes or moving plastic ghouls whom of which would inevitably spook kids.

His house on the other hand was more on the plain side. He only had some lights strung up with a pot of candy beside their door with a sign that read ‘take one.’ While he knew full well that nobody alive would just take one, he kept it there anyway. He and his friends had been planning to go trick or treating for the last year as high schoolers.

His uncle had been working on Halloween so he saw no particular reason to stay at home, eventually agreeing to go trick or treating with the group anyway. He waited outside his door, checking the time on his phone. He wore a simple vampire costume. It consisted of a black cape with red fabric on the inside that flared out in the neck, as well as a fluffy white dress shirt and a vest that had gold buttons embroidered on each side.

He even bought those stupid fake fangs that they hand out in dollar stores with fake blood dripping down his chin. The teeth had begun to hurt him a tad so he decided to take them out before being greeted by a loud shout.

“Saihara-chan!”

He looked up and saw Kokichi and the rest in their costumes walking toward him. Kaito wore a really… odd Halloween outfit. It was a cowboy suit that exposed his chest which he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at. His eyes shifted down towards Kokichi, his face grew a tad heated at his costume. It was rather scandalous, to be honest.

“Hey guys. Kokichi… what are you wearing?”

He crossed his arms, holding a bright red whip in his right hand. He could see him furrow his eyebrows through the matching red cat mask that covered a bit more than half of his face. “Do you seriously not know who this is? Saihara-chan I’m so disappointed!“

Kiibo shook his head, holding a plastic pumpkin in his hand. "Not this again."

Shuichi raised an eyebrow but remained silent as the group continued to stare away from Kokichi in embarrassment? "I’m Ann from Persona 5! God, Shuichi! You’re the one who I thought would’ve liked this costume more than anyone else. For more reasons than one…” His voice lowered, he moved his arms over Shuichi’s shoulders which incidentally pulled him closer.

His smirk remained, Kokichi drew himself closer now on his tiptoes while Shuichi froze, unable to move as his face heated. “Calm your horny ass down, Cock itchy. Let’s go get some fucking candy!” Kokichi released Shuichi with a sigh, innocently skipping over to Rantaro who wore a simple pirate outfit. The group moved along a few houses not long after.

After about a few solid hours of candy searching, Kokichi noticed something a few houses down. A haunted house. That’s perfect! Halloween is a holiday known for mischief and pranks after all, right? This would be the perfect opportunity to prank everyone. Kokichi halted the group, which drew out a few groans from Kaito and Miu.

“Let’s go to a haunted house!” He suggested, tugging on Shuichi’s sleeve while the rest stared with their eyebrows raised. He knew full well that if he got Shuichi to tag along, the rest would follow and eventually everyone would go. So all he had to do was guilt trip Shuichi into going. “Shumai, please? This is our last time going trick or treating as third years! You’re always saying we should make the most of it, so what better way to do that than to try something different?”

Fair point.

He noticed the taller male’s gaze melt into his. That was the minute he knew he had him. Shuichi was so easy to read. “I mean I guess but–”

“Great! Let’s go!” Not allowing Shuichi to continue, he ran as fast as he could with the teen in hand, leaving the rest behind without a second thought. He could still hear the others let out groans as they reluctantly followed the pair.

The house had been decorated pretty well, the eery decorations adding onto the already creepy house. The surrounding area was darker but still had a single street light illuminating the pavement and a bit of the house.

Kokichi giggled as he opened the unlocked door which earned a few concerning comments as he carelessly walked inside. “Kokichi, please be careful–”

The rest of the group went inside the moment they realize he wouldn’t listen. Shuichi silently stayed behind Kokichi, shaking a bit as the lights slowly had begun fading from view. Luckily, he could still see the glowing bracelet everyone in the group had for safety (in accordance to Kiibo,) and continued to walk beside Kokichi’s purple bracelet.

“Guys stop being so scared! Nothing’s going to hap– woah!” He had spoken too soon and before he knew it, a pair of hands grabbed him from behind and pulled him into a room. “Kokichi–!” The same hands had pulled Shuichi into the same room.

“Guys?! What’s happening?! Oh god, I need my inhaler.” Kiibo screamed, clinging onto Miu as she held hands with Kaede. “You’re going to be fine! Just fucking breathe–” The group was now all split up, living Kaito with Maki as the two stayed close to one another.

Kokichi looked around the room, it was a pretty cliché one at that. Not scary at all. He sighed and closed his eyes. Just great. It was one of those haunted houses. He could’ve sworn he heard a voice mutter his name. It sounded familiar. He turned around and noticed a figure cowarded in the corner. Even better. What scared loser did he get stuck with?

“K-Kokichi, please tell me that’s you."

Oops, that’s just Shuichi.

Well then.

Well done, mysterious hands.

"It’s me Shumai. Why are you hiding in the corner? This room isn’t even that scary.” He bent down to the cornered figure and put his hand on the latter’s hair in soothing motions. “I hope everyone’s okay.”

“I’m sure they’re fine. Now, you have to get up so we can meet everyone and get out of here. None of this stuff is even real, look!” Kokichi grabbed a fake spider and wiggled it around in front of Shuichi’s face, “Look at me! My name is Arachno, y'know, like arachnophobia!” He teased, making a funny voice in an attempt to make Shuichi laugh, to which it did.

“Thanks.”

“Eh, it’s no biggie. I just want more candy so the faster we get out of here, the better.” He shrugged, placing both his hands behind his head while Shuichi stood on both his feet. It made Kokichi happy that he did that. He made Shuichi feel better. Though he’d never admit the pride and warmth he felt when his best friend and secret crush stand up and laugh because of something he did.

Instead, he just decided to bask in the glory in secret. The two walked together side by side through the room before Kokichi felt something grab his foot, and in response, screamed and fell over in the dimly lit room. “Kokichi?!” Shuichi immediately bent down to the figure and checked on him.

“Are you okay? Can you move your foot?” In this heap of worry and through the darkened room, Kokichi could still see his grey eyes shine. His lips curled into a smile as the frantic vampire gently tried to hoist him up against the wall while trying to not move him too much.

“Saihara-chan, I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

“Really. I’m fine.” In a moment of silence, the two locked eyes. Kokichi caressed Shuichi’s cheek, bringing his lips closer to his. Shuichi didn’t know what had came over him. He felt his entire body melt into Kokichi’s touch as the slight sound of rubber could be heard with each movement Kokichi had made.

Shuichi stared deep into Kokichi’s eyes which were beaming through the red cat mask he had worn. Next thing he knew, his body had taken over and their lips locked. It had felt like a thirst he never knew he had was finally being quenched.

Like a need that was being fulfilled after a long wait. That type of thing.

Shuichi had no fucking clue what he was doing but god did it feel amazing. Kokichi was now limped over, Shuichi’s grip the only thing that’s keeping his body from completely collapsing.

His small body shivered under his touch the more his own fingers explored the frame beneath him. Shuichi unclenched his jaw and released Kokichi from his lips, panting a bit. “You worry too much.” Kokichi laughed, ruffling his hair with his hand.

Shuichi could feel his face turn red in a realization of what he had just done. “Let’s just get back to the group.” Kokichi nodded as he helped him off of the ground.

They eventually found their way out of the house as well as the others. But no one really seemed to question why the two came out holding hands. Oh well. It was probably for the better anyway.

#kyus post #oumasai #kokichi ouma #shuichi saihara #saiouma #heyyy kyus alive wow!!#ive escaped writers burnout woohoo!!!#hope this isnt too sloppy anon #sorry for the wait ;;;

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pedalfuzz · 5 years ago

Text

Ed Schraeder’s Music Beat

Ed Schraeder’s Music Beat are Ed Schraeder and Devlin Rice: two friendly, funny dudes who make serious music in Baltimore, MD. I first saw them at a First Unitarian Church show in Philadelphia a few years ago, but when I heard their most recent album, Riddles (recorded with Dan Deacon), and caught their set at Hopscotch I was more than a little impressed at how much their sound had evolved and expanded: this set of songs boasts jocund jams; jagged, juddering jazz; and other jaunty jewels. I caught up with them in Charlotte, NC, where they opened for hometown friends Future Islands. Ed and Devlin were outrageously generous with their time, their insights, and their tour bus seltzer.

[Edited lightly for length and clarity]

Pedal Fuzz: When I listened to the song “Seagull” it made me wonder: what is your songwriting process? When I hear it, I imagine coming up with that bass riff and building lyrically and vocally from there. So, do you guys bring different parts, do you take turns bringing things, do you both bring stuff, do you just wait for inspiration? How do you build a song?

Devlin: Well, that one specifically–we did a lot of different things for this record. For the first couple of records Ed had a vocal melody and then I’d write to that. You know, the “Seagull” bass line kind of mirrors the vocal. But for Riddles, basically when we started recording with Dan, we came in with a bunch of songs and then to a click track just kind of put everything together with just bass and voice. Then we started just making a map of the song. “Seagull” was the first one that we worked on where he was like “Oh, let’s put in a kick here,” or “Let’s repeat this part…”

Ed: I remember I was listening to this show called American Routes and I was hearing all of these old songs, and I was like “Man, it’s all about the melody!” Then I came up with this little dirge that’s like five-tenths of the song, you know [Ed hums the jazzy, descending and re-ascending bass line here]. It was our usual old process of humming it, Devlin thinking about his thing, but then inputting it to Dan’s formula of kind of taking each piece one at a time, deconstructing it, and kind of building in steps instead of like “Alright, cool, we can get this done and get lunch!” You know?

Devlin: Yeah. And each song on Riddles had a different, like, inception or birth, ‘cause half of it was written in the studio, some stuff that was brought in got tossed…

Ed: Yeah. And it was so weird making a song from the ground. There were a few songs that were made actually in the studio, which is not at all what I usually do. And it was really fun, very freeing, and it puts you in line with that sense of improvisation. You know, like when you’re really in the zone and you’re like “Oh wow, I could do this for living!” There’s those electric kind of moments where the flow is really good and stuff’s coming out, and you’re like “Wait, maybe this will stay, this is good.” And being comfortable enough in a studio to get to that place was an accomplishment, you know, because normally I feel uncomfortable, and I feel like this was the first time I really felt at home.

Devlin: Yeah.

PF: So, do you enjoy playing live more than you enjoy recording?

Ed: You know, I used to enjoy playing live more than recording but now I feel like Dan has really opened up the process and made it fun to the point where I actually like them equally, if not recording is actually a little more fun because it’s like–

Devlin: You’re making something new.

Ed: –yeah, you’re playing, you know, you’re creating, you’re making, it’s like being a kid with Play-Doh. [Switches to an excellent David Brent impression] “The philosopher, not the toy.”

PF: Speaking of which, I loved your Ricky Gervais voice onstage at Hopscotch. My friend and I had been joking about The Office all day, so when you started doing that, I was like “Is he reading my diary?”

Ed: Oh, that’s awesome! It’s like [Back to David Brent] “Is he having a laugh?” Yeah, I don’t know what’s going to come out once I get onstage! I just let myself go, like “You know what? Just be a goofball and don’t worry about it, be yourself,” more so than I am in real life. ‘Cause, you know, if you’re standing in line a Dunkin Donuts and you start like, screaming, people are going to get concerned.

PF: Ha, sure.

Ed: But onstage I’ve learned to let myself go within reason. Not like, boring people, or reciting The Canterbury Tales or something.

PF: Right, right, which I’m sure you could actually do.

Ed: I can only do, like, the first twenty lines. It’s been a while!

PF: It’s so interesting that you’re bringing up letting yourself be yourself onstage, because I feel like, if I’m playing onstage, I’m notoriously bad at banter, and being natural onstage, so it ends up like “Hey guys...uh, what’s up?” Luckily, I play with people who are much better at that than I am, but are you saying that’s not your personality normally?

Ed: Oh, it is, but being who you are onstage is tricky, because at first I’m like “Oh, I’ll get onstage and I’ll just be Ed!” But you do that thing where you kind of go above yourself, and you’re kind of watching yourself, that does happen sometimes. And you have to learn when that happens to still be free enough to keep in the zone and keep that flow going and not get into your head too much. I think years of touring taught me that, being in different situations on different stages. Just learning to, no matter what’s going on around me, create that little bubble where I can just be myself. I just pretend like I’m at my friend’s living room and we’re playing Mario Kart and smoking weed, then I’m like “I’m gonna get up and do a song now!” That happy space, that good space, I always try to keep that around me, and then hopefully emanate that to other people.

PF: You mentioned working with Dan, and that’s actually the second question I had written down, so: perfect, I anticipated this wonderfully!

Ed and Devlin: [Laughter, because I am hilarious]

PF: I was reading on your Bandcamp, and I’m going to quote back to you what it says on there: “Ed and Devlin dreamed of a fuller sound—layered, breathing arrangements their early rapid-fire compositions always seemed to imply, without yet having the tools to realize.” I’m wondering how exactly working with Dan–what tools he brought and what tools you discovered together–helped you realize that vision that you think you didn’t quite have before.

Devlin: I think a lot of it was just having the time to–and I alluded to this earlier, because previous records were like “Get it done as soon as possible…”

Ed: It’s all about the money, and worrying about the budget.

Devlin: ...where Dan was more like “Let’s take some time.” And you know, a lot of the earlier songs, there’s stuff going on that it’s almost like your imagination can fill in, like “Oh, I hear a guitar doing something over here, or whatever.” But for this I think we just wanted to write a record and figure out how to play it live later. Because, you know, Party Jail and Jazz Mind were very much like “We’re a live band, how are we going to do things live? It’s just the two of us.” We just wanted to expand the sound because I think we both appreciate artists who aren’t just doing the same thing over and over again. I’m not saying Slayer should make a jazz record, but, you know, I feel like I don’t need to hear another Slayer record, I’ve already got Hell Awaits. We want to do something interesting and do something different, and having [Dan] we were able to really show what we could do as musicians, too.

Ed: We were restrained by necessity before.

Devlin: Yeah. So it was like “Yeah, let’s bring in a mellotron!” And especially Ed’s vocal performances, they’re pretty different than what was on a lot of the other stuff because now he’s like “Oh, I don’t have to play the drums and sing this.”

Ed: [singing] Now I can be free!

PF: Haha, yeah.

Ed: And sometimes Dan and I would do whole days where I would just get in there and make a pot of coffee and he’s like “Hey, sing that Billy Joel song you were singing the other night!” And I’d ask why, and he’d say “Just do it!” and I’d say “Okay…’It’s nine o’clock [on a Saturday]...’” And he’d say “Now change the words...ok, now just focus on that one word...ok, now change that”, and then all of a sudden the melody’s different, and then all of a sudden we’re not even doing that song anymore. And then we’re building something, and then an idea forms, and then from that, you know, it’s like we start making the roots of a song, but making it coming from a place of fun and excitement, versus etching something out in stone, sitting there at a cafe like “I gotta write this fucking song!” Instead, it’s coming from a place of “Oh yeah, I feel like I’m at karaoke night, I’m having a good time!” It’s getting to a place where I wasn't feeling a need to filter or gate anything, and I was really being myself, letting my actual voice come to the surface, more so than I feel like I would’ve had I made the songs months in advance and had in my mind exactly what I wanted. Like, putting me in a space where someone was like “Hey, do this, try this, try that!”– it was fun, and it was like a cross between a coach and a magician or something. And it was like “this might be weird, but wait: it’s not weird, it’s cool! He tricked me into making a good song!”

Devlin: “You tricked me!” Do you want coffee?

PF: Uh, I just had one and I’ll die if I have another one, thank you.

Devlin: [Laughing] Gotta know the wall!

PF: Exactly!

Ed: But yeah, I think in general I just felt more free in the studio.

PF: Huh, that’s interesting! So, this is a complex, multi-part reply-slash-question: when I hear you talk about making an album without having to worry about performing it, without that being the primary concern, and then I hear you talk about Dan being this coach-magician, who sort of gets things out of you that you might not have gotten out of yourself, it really sounds like...well first of all, my first thought when you were talking about not having to record based on practicality–and this is the least original observation ever, but–it made me think about when the Beatles just stopped worrying about making songs they could play live and just started fucking with layers and tapes and multitracking things they couldn’t possibly have done live. Then that led me also to think about when you were talking about, again, the magician-coach: I was just having a conversation with a friend about how a good music producer can be like a good theatre director, they can elicit a performance from you that you couldn’t necessarily get from just, say, running lines by yourself. Is that crazy? Does that sound kind of like what you’re talking about?

Devlin: No, that’s right.

Ed: Yeah, and also I think also a person who is either A) good at observing, which I think Dan is, and then B) has known me for a long time, and is also an avid fan of the music, is perhaps seeing things objectively that I might not see from sitting in the cockpit. “Hey man, you’ve been singing out of your nose for the past two albums; that’s cool, sounded groovy!” And you know, there were definitely some sonorous, kind of a capella moments on those first two albums, because I grew up listening to Billy Joel, Elton John, Sting, Patti Smith, REM...you know, a whole slew of things, but a lot of these pop musicians who are writing these three minute, encapsulated ballads, where I was doing these thirty second songs, like [delightfully staccato] ‘ba-da-dah-da-dat! Wa-wah-wa-wah-WA!’ So, going from more noise-experimental into this thing that was the thing that drove me in the beginning...I mean, it’s funny: my first experience singing live was Montell Jordan’s “This Is How We Do It”.

PF: Excellent start, excellent start!

Ed: Yeah, it was at an open mic and I sang it and got asked to join a band! Then, we did a bunch of Smashing Pumpkins covers and stuff like that.

PF: This keeps building, I love this setlist!

Ed: We didn’t have any shows, we just practiced. Then I tried doing dance moves, and they kind of kicked me out of the band! But in any event, the initial dragon that I was always chasing was trying to be those people, like I wanted to be [Michael] Stipe, you know, I wanted to be up there. But then, as I got older, I ended up working doing dishes and tough jobs and stuff like that, and being like “Oh, I guess I’m not going to be famous but I’ll work on this as a craft.” And I remember I took an art appreciation class, and I was just like “Oh, art!” And I watched this Jackson Pollock movie: “Oh, interesting!” You’re just learning more about being quote-unquote an artist, and that’s interesting. So, stepping away from, like, the indie-rock/Smashing Pumpkins stuff I was doing, and moving to Baltimore and seeing performance artists, minimalists, and noise musicians who were more in the performance art realm, and going into that world, that kind of shaped the pop thing that I was doing, and, I feel like made it better because it forced me to deconstruct, and then in that deconstruction re-amalgamating who I was. I was actually thinking about it much more than I was before, when I was just trying to sound like Built To Spill or whatever. If that makes any sense…

PF: No, it makes a bunch of sense, and you just name-checked a billion bands I like.

Ed: Hahaha!

PF: I’m really glad you talked about Stipe because I hear so much Stipe when I hear you sing, in all the best ways, so I’m glad I wasn’t wrong about that. The Billy Joel ties in too, we’ll definitely talk about that later on. So, you were talking about Baltimore. It seems like–again, when I was watching you guys at Hopscotch and listening to your superlative stage banter–you were talking about how a lot of the songs were inspired by a particular place. “Kid Radium” you said was about Baltimore, and “Culebra” is about Puerto Rico, so I just wondered if the sense of place, of spatial association, informed a lot of what you do?

Ed: You know, I’ve actually never thought about it, but even going back and thinking about “Sermon”, that was a lot about red tape and Baltimore politics and people trying to do good things and not being able to get them through because of bureaucracy, and so that’s about a place. “Rats” was about my fear of rats when I lived in a warehouse space where I would see rats and be like ‘Ahhhhhh!’, but then also metaphorically it was about communing with God. I saw this Tori Amos video-–and she might have been stoned out–but she was talking about this one religion where people would let rats actually crawl on them, because they felt that that was a way to kind of commune with God, and I found that interesting. And it’s a very limited understanding from a VH1 interview, but I just thought that’s an interesting thing juxtaposed next to this fear, because we look at one end of the spectrum and it’s like “Rats! Vermin!” And then it’s like “GOD!” And it’s just kind of interesting, there’s got to be something there. But you, know, for ‘place’ in that song, it’d probably be the warehouse space I was in. And then I was also listening to Swans a lot at that time–that guy’s always singing about God and power, you almost feel like he’s an X-Men character or something, like Thor.

“Kid Radium” is definitely Baltimore, but also at the same time I saw a play called “The Radium Sisters”, and it was about women that worked in a factory who were exposed to radium, and so just about the toxicity of an environment, using that as a metaphor for the kids being in an environment that was toxic, and the long-term effects of that, similar to working class women whose bodies were falling apart because of this exposure to radium. And toxicity comes in different forms, be it verbal, mental, emotional, and is affecting people in those ways.

So, as far as location goes, maybe it’s not the centerpiece for every song–but even “When I’m In A Car” is about driving around Utica, upstate New York in a car. It’s kind of the first time I’ve actually ever thought about that and it’s a really good point. Location is...you know, I remember as a writer, they’re like ‘Where are you? What’s in the room, what’s around you? Describe it–don’t overdescribe it, but describe it.’ I guess location is there at least two-thirds of the time unless I’m singing out something very abstract. Like air!

PF: Again from the Bandcamp–sorry, but the Bandcamp is a goldmine–it sounds like all three of you went through kinda some shit while this album was being recorded. One of the the things I noticed when I was listening to it in my kitchen while I was making dinner is that a lot of the stuff is either very anthemic, or it felt like it was very sort of meditative, with loose and repeating phrases, and I wondered if any of that could have been either consciously or subconsciously a way to...well, things that are either very exuberant or very repetitive are good ways to shut down the mind for a second and escape. Not that you haven’t tended to sound like that anyway, I just didn’t know if you guys found any of that to be the case while you were recording, or if that was intentional, or if it was a means of escape to clear your mind of things, or if I’m just pulling all of that out of my ass.

Ed: I think moments of introspection and meditation kind of go tandemly with intense life things like death or big changes or transitions and things of that nature. They’re so intense that you almost need to recoil and go into that meditative state to process it. So, it goes from “Griiiieeeef!”, to “Now I’m going to think about the grief” to “GRIIIIEEEEF!!!” again.

Devlin: That’s just the cycle of grief, it oscillates.

Ed: Yeah. The grief snake!

Devlin: The closer you are to the event, the more your swings are completely erratic; you know, petal on the water kind of thing. Also, at the time, I was living in Rhode Island.

PF: Yeah, so you were commuting back and forth, right?

Devlin: Yeah, so we weren’t even seeing each other. It was like every six weeks or so.

PF: Were you driving that, or flying, or bussing?

Devlin: Driving. I think a couple of times I took the bus. It’s six or seven hours depending on the traffic in Connecticut and New Jersey. But I think that every session all of us had something else that was happening, or had happened, or we were experiencing a certain peak or valley. Like, ‘Riddles’ for instance, we were working on one other song and Dan was just like “All right, I’ll be back in an hour, I just gotta say ‘hi’ to my girlfriend. Here’s the setup and things, just dick around.” And we came up with the chorus for that sort of by accident, we didn’t set out to make a U2-style anthem. So I’d say it wasn’t all necessarily by design, it was just sort of what came together, and we were excited about it, and we followed it that way.

Ed: Yeah, and I feel like kind when we first met with Dan a lot of the stuff was more the concise, beat poet, kind of slam style that we usually did in terms of just like one minute little haikus or whatever, or like a minute and a half with a little bridge, verse-chorus-verse. I think he manipulated space and composition to make the songs, to give more space to them, to let them breathe more, and then they developed more richness and nuance because of that. But I think it was also with him changing the composition, it made me also think differently about the song itself.

Devlin: Yeah, like how you’d sing it and everything.

Ed: Yeah, and to live in the space of the song for a little bit longer, and therefore to maybe contemplate some different things in terms of melody and structure, like ‘What am I saying here, and how do I want this to end?’ And making it feel more natural too, because I feel like with the earlier songs, they’re great, but because they’re so short–and I wanted it to be that way and I think it was a good reflection of the time, because I’ve always liked songs like “I’m On Fire” by Bruce Springsteen, which is like a minute and forty-eight seconds, and it doesn’t need to be any longer, and I always thought “Well, I’m just going to make music like that”–but, you know, started myself listening to things more along the lines of Massive Attack where space is definitely in the mix in terms of what makes it good, just giving it room. And I feel like that for us was good because we were just like [in a spitting staccato] “DAT-DAT-DAT-DAT-DAT!” And then Dan would be like [crooning in a smooth legato] “Daaaaah, da-dah-di-daaaah, di-da-da-dum, let’s unpack it a little bit and slow down, and have fun!” Not that there’s nothing wrong with, like, a one minute Buzzcocks song, but it was nice to put on a different hat, and I feel like that brought out different things.

PF: So let me ask you then: what’s it like playing the songs without Dan? It seems like you guys were all a unit while you were recording it. Is it difficult or weird?

Devlin: No. I mean, it’s definitely a new setup, playing to backing tracks.

PF: Right, you guys have the tracks, obviously.

Devlin: What’s interesting [is that] I was always resistant to it because it was just sort of like ‘What’s really happening [live on stage]?’ But then when I actually listened to the tracks [by themselves] without the bass or the vocals it was like, ‘Oh,wait, those things need to be there.’ It’s not like at any moment we could stop performing, or stop playing–the bass needs to be there because otherwise it just sounds completely bonkers, and realizing that, it was like “Ok, this isn’t really too far; even though we’ve adapted and added this other layer, the essence of the band is still really just Ed and I.” And I think even a lot of the melodic content, some things that Dan and I would be kicking around like making up chords or experimenting with different things, there was more of a back and forth in terms of composing that stuff, so it was more of a collaborative thing, and not that he was just like “Do this, do that.” Because we always knew that it was going to be just us, anyway. So I guess I haven’t really thought that.

Ed: Yeah, that would be fun. I would love, love, to do it with Dan, but he’s got an album to record, he’s on the road. And in terms of being pragmatic, you know, at the point we’re at now we’re still a band that’s coming up, so having two people makes it something that’s feasible and sustainable on the road, you know, versus like if we had all the instruments that are on the album. It would be awesome, but that would be like a ten piece band. I don’t think we’d be able to even cover everyone’s transportation!

PF: Right, right.

Devlin: Some people would only be playing two songs, you know what I mean?

PF: Right, ha! Like, flugelhorn guy would pop in…

Ed: Down the road it would be cool, knock on wood, to get to the point where that is a possibility, but in the meantime wanting to evolve and make something new but at the same time finding a way to bridge that until it’s reality–I feel like Dan did a good job of giving us the tools to do that on the road. You know, and going forward, I think we’ll be bringing back live percussion into the mix, which I’m excited to do. But I think for this phase, we needed to do that–just the two of us go out there with the backing tracks and do our thing on top of it. And there’s so much show on top of what’s there, in terms of what’s physical, Devlin’s putting a lot of texture and style and working with the energy that’s right in the room too, and then I’m cracking jokes between songs [chuckling].

PF: I have a weird tendency to describe band dynamics in terms of romantic relationship dynamics, but it sounds like–well, the whole time I’ve been thinking “Man, it sounds like they had a really successful threesome, like: they brought another person into the bedroom, and it was cool, and no one was weird about it, and they moved on or whatever, and everything’s fine now.”

Devlin: Ha! Yeah, we’ll call each other again sometime!

Ed: It challenged us!

PF: Exactly! It expanded your horizons, but in a good way. You know yourselves a little better now.

Devlin: That’s funny.

Ed: That’s a good metaphor, yeah.

PF: Ok, I’m going to ask you two more questions. This is something that I ask all of my friends, or really anybody interesting I’m talking to–and it doesn’t have to be cool, because my answer isn’t particularly cool, but I’m curious: what are the first albums you ever bought? Like, with your own money, you went to the store and bought this. I will tell you right away that mine was Billy Joel, Storm Front. I was in the fifth grade…

Ed: [singing] “There’s a storm front coming…”

PF: Exactly, yeah!

Ed: Downeaster Alexa!

PF: Man, you’re just naming the tracks! Delightful.

Ed: The first thing that I actually bought was [REM’s] Monster on cassette tape, I think. That was the first thing that I didn’t borrow from my sister and/or find like, in the garbage, I bought it new, like a brand new album. I think the first thing I got was Elton John’s Greatest Hits Volume II, but that was used, like one dollar. This was Monster, brand new, sealed, ten dollars: “Oh wow, that’s expensive!” I got that and I played it over and over. The second album was Sting, The Dream of The Blue Turtles. I bought it in Spanish for my friend who hated Sting and was having trouble in Spanish class, so I was like “Here you go, Happy Birthday!” as a gag gift. He was like “I don’t want this” so I took it home and listened to it, and I was like “Wow, this sounds good in Spanish, maybe I’ll try it in English. Whoa, this is actually a pretty cool album. He was in this band called The Police...oh, they’re really good, this is really good stuff!” and from there, then kind of discovering other things. But I’d say yeah, Monster and The Dream of the Blue Turtles were my first two purchases. That’s pretty weird…

PF: No, I love it, it’s a pretty good mix. What about you, Devlin?

Devlin: Ones that I bought by myself that I remember...I think it was Nevermind and Bush’s first record?

PF and Ed simultaneously: Sixteen Stone?

Devlin: Yeah! And then those got taken away.

PF: Did they? Like, by a parent?

Devlin: Yeah. I used to just listen to like, oldies radio, all the way up until high school; I just was not down with contemporary music at all, so that was my “Well, people like these, let me try that,” and then I was like “Yeah, I really like this Nirvana, this sounds crazy!” Then I ended up finding out what I really liked by going to punk shows and stuff like that. And then, you know, fucking Ride The Lightning comes along…

PF: Yeah, yeah, it’s a jump from The Swingin’ Medallions to Ride the Lightning for sure.

Ed: Ha, there’s a little in between!

PF: Yeah, some space to be filled in for sure.

Ed [once again in Gervais mode]: A bit of a chasm!

PF: Bit of! The last thing I want to ask is–whatever, I was super touched by this. Again, when you guys were playing at Hopscotch, and I don’t know if you do this all the time, but at the end of the set you shared this wonderful hug–I wasn’t even drunk but I thought “Man, that’s so awesome!” The shows are super high-energy, and you give it everything, and you spend so much time together. How do you manage to...I mean, I’ve been on the road with people I wanted to kill eighteen hours into it, you know, “I might stab this motherfucker to death in the car right now.” How do you guys–again with the relationships–but how do you keep it fresh?

Ed:I think it’s like...I think we’re lucky because we are actual friends. I mean we’re best friends in real life, we get along and actually hang out anyway. Being in a band with anybody, yeah, there’s going to be times where it’s like “Oof, I just need a minute to decompress,” or it’s like “What were you saying? I’m sorry, I’m zoning.” Everyone needs their Zen time and their space, even if the relationship is perfect. It’s like family, you know? You’re going to drive each other crazy sometimes, that’s just the nature of being on the road and you’re both going through a very stressful thing where you have to be vulnerable and there’s just going to be moments when you’re like “Dude, I need a minute,” but in general I think that we do have very good chemistry as friends. Devlin’s even looked us up on astrological charts.

Devlin: Yeah. I forget exactly what it is, but it’s supposed to be like fire and air signs. I think that in the Secret Book of Relationships it was like “As a working partnership this pairing tends to make something that’s familiar and recognizable but completely different. The Week of Genius is always floating up in the air and The Week of Balanced Strength is the centering thing.” As I was reading it I was like “Man, this is pretty right on…”

PF: Yeah, that’ll work.

Ed: I also think Devlin has a lot of patience, and I actually learned a lot of patience too growing up, I just had a real smorgasbord or personalities I dealt with. I think both of us had challenges we dealt with, and I think it taught us both to have more patience, perhaps, than most people do, coming from those different situations where we had to be not the center of attention and/or giving to another person and/or kind of a nurturer, in a sense. You know in most relationships I tend to be like “let me cook,” or “I got it!” or this and that, but there are definitely times where I’m like “I need some help today”. I feel like we’re both those types of folks, I like to think that we put others before ourselves and we go out of our way to help people. Coming from a big family, for me, being youngest with seven kids in the house, getting the hand-me-downs of the hand-me-downs, having an older brother who was autistic and needed to be looked after at times–it’s like, it’s not about you and you’re not the center of attention. From that experience growing up, and I think from just knowing an array of different personalities and situations, and having different jobs, we had a lot of life experience prior to the band to learn that kind of patience too. But getting back to Devlin: yeah, I think he is very patient, and I think that there’s definitely times where a lot of people would’ve thrown me into the river, where Devlin was like “Alright man, I just need a minute. [Pause for a beat] Arrrggghhh!” A lot of grace under fire.

Devlin: Our favorite sitcom.

Ed: Also, our favorite sitcom!

PF: Isn’t it the best? Well, I think that’s it. Thanks so much guys, it was fun!

Melvyn Brown is a musician (Toothsome, Broads, NONCANON, Ladies Auxiliary) and writer from Greensboro, NC who is also passionate about the Four Ts: taking photographs, Thai food, technology, and thrift stores. His appreciation of Scotch whisky is not necessarily related to Steely Dan. You can follow him on Twitter at @metaquasiproto, Instagram at @generalclearinghouse, or at generalclearinghouse.com

#Ed Schraeder’s Music Beat #Hopscotch Music Festival

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psychosistr · 5 years ago

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Don’t Cost a Thing- Part 3

Summary: Domino is stuck at F.O.W.L. HQ all day for meetings. Which wouldn’t be so bad if he someone hadn’t swiped his lunch... Well, at least Steelbeak’s there to keep him company.

Notes: References to death and murder in this one, but it’s just an every day conversation as far as these two are concerned.

-First Part-

For Dominic, the next day at work held one of the events that he dreaded all year long:

Review day.

Normally, the work he did, with or without his partner, revolved around covert operations, deadly assignments, espionage, toppling governments- the exciting stuff that was normally blown out of proportion in spy movies for the sake of funding the special effects industry.

Today, unfortunately, was not one of those days.

Review day was a generally loathed mark on the calendar of every F.O.W.L. operative from the eggmen to the chief officers (he seriously believed that even high command themselves hated the day). While most days the agents would be free to go about their day to day lives until called in for a mission, review day required all agents to stick around the designated F.O.W.L. headquarters for their district while high command called different agents in and out of the meeting room to review their previous missions of the year and possible new ones that may be on the horizon. What made the day even more loathsome and tooth-grindingly boring was the fact that it was an all-day affair and no one was allowed to leave until it was over. Which usually took at least eight to ten hours…minimum.

As an experienced agent who’d sat through his fair share of review days, Dominic had come prepared for the tedium the day would entail. He’d brought plenty of reading material ranging from his favorite books to whatever magazines he had lying around, his own thermos to refill with coffee from the break room when he had trouble staying awake, and a large pre-packaged meal for when he was eventually given a long enough break between meetings and planning sessions to actually eat.

Luckily for him, now happened to be such a time and he was starving after sitting through six straight hours in the meeting room.

When he opened the door to the special agents’ designated break room (having a break room separate from the eggmen masses was the first thing he’d been grateful for after officially becoming a higher-ranking agent), he was relieved to see that the room was nearly empty. The relief died slightly, however, when he realized that the ‘nearly’ part was because his partner was also in the breakroom.

Steelbeak was apparently on his own break, currently leaning against the counter that housed both the microwave and the coffeepot. He hadn’t reacted to Domino’s entrance yet, apparently lost in his own thoughts while waiting for the seconds on the microwave count down. The rooster seemed to be doing that a lot lately- getting lost in his own thoughts when no one else was around to call him out on it.

Dominic would have been happy to leave the chief officer to his thoughts, but, unfortunately, he would have to get by him to reach the fridge where he’d left his own food…and with the way Steelbeak was leaning with his back to the counter, his legs and torso were blocking the quickest path to his destination. He could’ve just vaulted over the nearby table and tumbled onto the couch to avoid talking to him, but that was honestly more work than he was in the mood for just to save himself three steps.

So, resigned to his fate, Dominic set his small suitcase (which he was just using to carry around his books and magazines in a more orderly fashion) on the table then walked up to Steelbeak and cleared his throat once. “Ahem.”

“?!” The simple sound was enough to jolt the taller bird from his thoughts and make him look down at Dominic. “Oh, it’s just you..” Apparently guessing what the loon wanted, Steelbeak stood up straighter and took a step back so his hip was against the counter instead of his lower back, giving his partner plenty of room to walk past without bumping into him.

“No need to sound so disappointed about it.” Dominic commented on his way to the refrigerator. He opened his thermos and left it on the counter beside him to refill on his way back to the table before opening the fridge.

“Hey, I’ve been stuck sitting at a table being bored out of my skull for almost seven hours and could use some company that’s actually entertaining for a change- sue me.” Steelbeak finished his comeback right as the coffee finished brewing and took the filled pot off of the machinery to fill his own thermos (he’d been through enough of these days to come prepared as well, it seemed). “You can’t tell me you ain’t bored of this shtick, too- even you can’t be THAT uptight.”

Dominic rolled his eyes and spared the fowl a side-eyed look of annoyance before he began searching the cold shelves for his meal. “Of course I’m bored. Anyone who says they actually enjoy this sort of thing is either an office worker or an undercover S.H.U.S.H. agent..either of which deserve to be shot on sight.”

The taller bird gave that distinctive clipped nasally-laugh of his while filling up his thermos with the piping hot coffee. “Whattaya know? You DO have a sense of humor in there.”

“Who said I was joking?” Dominic asked with a tone full of sarcasm, hiding the smile on his beak thanks to the fridge door beside him. Hearing the sound of more coffee being poured, Dominic peeked back out and saw Steelbeak filling his thermos for him. That was…surprisingly thoughtful of the selfish bird. “…Thanks.”

“Eh, I was doin’ it anyway.” Steelbeak said casually while putting the pot back for whoever wanted the next cup. He then grabbed a handful of the various packets of sugars and creams from their cardboard containers along the back of the counter and, without even asking, he set aside the exact type and number of packets that Dominic would have grabbed himself.

“You know how I take my coffee..?” The loon asked with a quirked brow, feeling…well, impressed, honestly. Being able to sneak into his apartment and leave him a high-dollar present was one thing- a very flashy, unwelcomed thing that felt entirely superficial- but to know something small like how he took his coffee seemed somehow much more personal.

Shrugging as he grabbed a coffee stirrer and began mixing in his own cream and sugar, Steelbeak’s tone remained casual. “Little trick I picked up after workin’ with my first partner.”

“Really?” That was certainly news to Dominic- the two never really talked about their previous partners.

The information was available in their files, and he’d briefly skimmed over Steelbeak’s before being assigned to him, but the other agent wasn’t very forthcoming with information unless he felt it necessary. Not to say that HE was any better himself, but he was pretty sure Steelbeak already knew about what happened with his previous partner and why he was moved to his current sector. Admittedly, he was grateful that Steelbeak never attempted to pry into his past or dig up old wounds, even when the two of them had a disagreement on something, and he’d attempted to show the same level of professional courtesy.

Still, it was interesting to hear Steelbeak bring up one of his previous partners so casually-

“Yeah, I poisoned his.” He replied just as casually as if they were discussing the weather. Which, to a F.O.W.L. agent, was actually a pretty common thing to discuss, but, still, WOW, that came out of NOWHERE.

“That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence…” Dominic muttered while briefly eyeing the coffee sitting in his thermos.

Steelbeak rolled his eyes and blew on his own coffee “He was a mole for S.H.U.S.H.” He paused to take a sip before continuing. “The geezer was a senior agent that was supposed t’ be showin’ me the ropes- used to make me do the rookie stuff like fetchin’ the coffee and puttin’ away his paperwork. Thing is, he didn’t count on me overhearin’ a VERY interestin’ conversation between him and his handler in S.H.U.S.H.” A smirk briefly turned up the corners of his mouth around the metallic beak, the deadly steel catching the light and giving him a more menacing look that fit his next words perfectly. “He also didn’t count on me puttin’ arsenic in his coffee instead of almond milk…his mistake.”

Dominic nodded, a brief scowl turning down the corners of his own beak. He knew all about the damage an infiltrator from S.H.U.S.H. could cause… “He got what he deserved, then.”

Steelbeak gave a short chuckle and set his thermos aside when the microwave finally finished. “Exactly. So, long as you don’t go turn-coat on me, you ain’t got nothin’ t’ worry about.” He spared Domino a look with a cocked brown while pulling a large container of food out of the microwave. “You lookin’ t’ help fight global warmin’ there, Deedee?”

“Hm? Oh..” A slight chill along his feet made the rooster’s words sink in and Dominic realized he’d been standing there with the refrigerator door open the whole time. “No, that would be pretty pointless since half of the world doesn’t even believe in it yet.” After searching the shelves for a moment and, begrudgingly, moving a few containers and bags around to make sure he wasn’t missing anything, a frustrated expression replaced his previously confused look. “Has anyone else been in here today?”

Steelbeak popped the lid off of his meal’s container while thinking the question over. “Ammonia and Ample were leavin’ when I got here…well, Ammonia was leavin’- Ample was gettin’ dragged along and complainin’ about not gettin’ t’ eat yet.”

“Was she holding anything when she left?” Dominic pinched the bridge of his beak in frustration and closed his eyes, already anticipating the answer and dreading its validation.

“White box with a red lid.” Steelbeak looked at the loon’s frustrated expression and smirked a little. “I’m guessin’ that was yours?”

“It’s HERS now.” Dominic corrected while finally slamming the refrigerator door closed. Even if he was hungry, if something had been in Ample’s hands, he did NOT want it back. Ever. “Guess I’m getting takeout..” He said under his breath, taking the opportunity to properly prepare his own coffee now before attempting to walk out.

He was barely three steps from the door when Steelbeak’s voice stopped him. “I would NOT recommend that today.”

“And why would that be?” It was hard for Dominic to keep the aggravation at his increasingly aggravating situation out of his voice as he turned back to look at his partner for an explanation.

“Megavolt and Darkwing Do-gooder had a fight at the city’s traffic control hub.” Steelbeak provided the explanation, calm even with the loon’s glaring red eyes pointed at him. “Lights all over the city are fried and traffic’s backed up for miles. So, ‘less you know any good places within walkin’ distance or can find a place that delivers to evil secret agencies, forget about it.”

“Great.” Dominic scowled and took a seat at the table. “Guess I’m drinking my lunch today…” He opened his suitcase and pulled out the book he’d been reading earlier, ignoring the shuffling sounds of whatever Steelbeak was doing at the counter. He was just finding the line he’d left off on when the other bird took a seat at the table and, to his surprise, slid something over to him. “…?” Dominic moved his book enough to see a paper plate piled high with a rather sizable helping of steaming-hot roasted vegetables and potatoes as well as half of what must have at one point been a sixteen ounce, inch and a half thick New York strip steak topped with sautéed mushrooms- there was even a napkin set off to the side with some cutlery. Looking over to his partner, Dominic saw that Steelbeak had a plate that practically mirrored his own and was already eating his share of vegetables. “I didn’t ask for this.” Dominic said while trying to slide the plate back towards the fowl.

Steelbeak nudged it back over to him with the blunt end of his knife. “Eat it. I packed way too much, anyway.” He paused to take a drink from his thermos. “Besides, if F.O.W.L. high command decides t’ send us on a mission tonight, I don’t need you passin’ out from low blood sugar or somethin’.”

“I’ve gone days without food before- I think I can survive a few hours.” Dominic countered, refusing to look at the plate in front of him and instead fixing the other bird with a mildly offended glare.

Steelbeak shrugged, once again not even remotely bothered by the harsh look sent his way. “Hey, do what ya want, I don’t care- it was just gonna go in the garbage, either way.”

Dominic glared quietly at the larger bird for a few more seconds, but gave up when he realized it really had no effect on the incorrigible fowl. He still tried to ignore the food in front of him, but catching a brief waft of the tantalizing aroma made his stomach growl.

Darn it, that did smell REALLY good…

…

……

…Well, if it was just going to be thrown out, anyway……

Snapping his book closed, Dominic set it aside and reluctantly pulled the plate closer. He cut the food into smaller bites than what Steelbeak himself was shoving into his mouth and began to eat. To his surprise, the food tasted absolutely incredible, despite going through the microwave. Everything was perfectly seasoned, none of the vegetables or potatoes had gotten too soft, and even the steak retained a healthy amount of tenderness and was still fairly pink in the middle, suggesting that it must have been extremely rare before to retain so much juice after being reheated like that.

“This is pretty good.” Dominic conceded after the first few bites, looking across the table at his partner. “Where did you get this?”

“Oh, y’know, just a little hole-in-the-wall joint called ‘my kitchen’.” The taller man replied with that smug grin of his.

“What?” That actually surprised Dominic, making him blink twice in an attempt to dispel the disbelief he felt at the idea of the other agent actually COOKING something. “You can cook?”

“Hey, what’s with the look?” Steelbeak’s smug grin changed to an overly-dramatic affronted expression. “You think a body THIS good-lookin’ comes from eatin’ take-out and TV dinners every night?” He flexed one arm to help illustrate his point.

“I suppose not..” Dominic glanced to the flexed arm before meeting his partner’s gaze again. “You just don’t strike me as the type to cook your own meals. I would’ve assumed you had someone else cook for you; either that or you had some five-star restaurant delivering to you directly- you could definitely afford both options.”

Steelbeak shrugged and sliced up the last few bites of his steak into more manageable pieces. “I could, but I don’t. I don’t mind cookin’ for myself, so why bother payin’ someone else t’ do it unless I’m just NOT in the mood? And if I ordered food from some fancy joint all the time, I’d get bored of it eventually, even if it was better than Hamburger Hippo.”

“Hmh, that makes sense.” The loon conceded with a nod after taking a bite of the steak as well. “For what it’s worth..” He began after he’d finished his bite and before he started on another. “You could probably give quite a few of those ‘fancy joints’ a run for their money.”

Steelbeak gave that distinctive chuckle of his and looked at Dominic with an expression somewhere between a smirk and a smile. “Are my ears playin’ tricks on me, or did I actually just hear a gen-u-i-ne compliment come out of that big beak?”

Dominic rolled his eyes, but it was hard not to smile at least a little bit as well. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late for that.” The other agent chuckled again. A comfortable silence settled between the pair as they ate, the two going several minutes without saying anything else before Steelbeak opened his beak again. “Y’know…you could pop over for dinner sometime…guarantee I won’t charge as much as some of those swankier places uptown.”

Dominic almost said no on reflex. He wasn’t normally a fan of going to other people’s homes for dinner. Disorganized spaces were not something he was fond of, and neither was the small talk that seemed inevitable when visiting someone’s home. Combine that with the much more lax health standards in most home-kitchens compared to professional restaurants and you had three major reasons for him NOT to go.

What stopped him, however, was looking back up at his partner’s face.

The normally over-confident and arrogant rooster was keeping his eyes on his plate rather than meeting Dominic’s gaze. He wasn’t giving him one of those usual smirks or that trying-too-hard-to-be-cool look like when he gave his unwarranted gifts. On top of it all, he’d been chewing the same bite of food well past the time it should’ve been finished- a classic stalling tactic when one wanted to avoid saying what they’d mentally dubbed “the wrong thing”. This was different behavior then what he was used to with the cocky fowl.

But, all things considered, Dominic found that he preferred this genuine and sincere version of the bird far more than the façade he’d been wearing for the past six weeks every time he tried giving him a gift. Besides, it’s not like Steelbeak’s home was more than a few feet away from his own- if he felt uncomfortable, he could always just LEAVE.

“Sure.” He finally answered after resolving his internal conflict on the matter. “But no finger foods.”

Steelbeak swallowed the long-finished lump of food and the corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smile that Dominic caught before the chief officer schooled his face into its usual smug smirk. “Fine, no chili dogs or cheese fries.”

They both shared a brief laugh over the idea of Dominic so much as touching such messy excuses for cuisine, the loon’s laugh much quieter compared to the large rooster’s but no less real.

After that, they went back and forth between different conversational topics and comfortable silences in equal periods. This was much better than the tension that had existed between them since the beginning of their partnership, and it was something Dominic preferred hands-down to the shift they’d gone through over the past few weeks.

He wasn’t a fool, he knew what the change in their dynamic was about and what had caused it. He knew the reason why Steelbeak kept trying to shower him with things that he’d never asked for, and he knew that it was related to why the other bird had asked him over for dinner.

Despite what Steelbeak himself might think, Dominic wasn’t completely against the idea or the notion behind the presents, it was merely the method he’d employed in trying to garner the loon’s favor that he disapproved of. Gifts were fine with him- his previous partner had given him plenty over the course of their relationship that he still held onto. The big difference, though, was the thought that was put into them: What his last partner lacked in over-the-top expensive taste, he made up for by showing how well he knew the bird, often getting him things that he knew Dominic would enjoy such as a book from a series he liked (even though half the time he got him one he’d already read), and it would always make him smile because it showed just how much the other man cared. Steelbeak’s gifts, on the other hand, while classy and definitely venturing into the territory of things that Dominic hadn’t thought to buy for himself, felt more like they were purchased simply for the sake of showing off and looking flashy- they could’ve been bought for anyone, not exclusively him.

Steelbeak’s behavior today, however, was a step in the right direction. Little things such as showing how well he’d come to know Dominic and making an effort to approach him in a more sincere and less over-the-top way were preferable to the materialistic method of essentially trying to buy his attention.

If the rooster continued acting like THIS, maybe Dominic could actually give him a chance.

<-Previous Part Next Part->

End Notes: Some heart-warming interaction between our main characters before things get crazy next chapter. This was the calm before the storm- you have been warned.

#steelbeak #dominic domino #darkwing duck #dwd

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goddessofgamma · 6 years ago

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Extreme Lengths to Prove Loki Wrong (Ao3 link)

Summary: Annoyed by his brother's teasing, Thor tells him that he has a boyfriend. The holidays are fast approaching and Thor needs to come up with someone to be his ''partner" quick, and luckily for him, Bruce doesn't have any plans.

This was written for the lovely @ragnarokwrites who requested some ‘Fake a relationship for the holidays’ fic. I’ll write the second (and last) chapter sometime just before Christmas if all goes to plan.

It had all started with a snide comment from Loki over what was supposed to be a good-natured catch-up brunch. They had been bickering again, Loki telling Thor all about his new boyfriend (Thor thought that ‘sugar-daddy’ would be the more appropriate descriptor), and Thor holding fast to his belief that anyone who went around asking to be called ‘the Grandmaster’ was not right in the head.

“Well at least I’m not going to have to spend this Christmas alone with our parents,” Loki had said. “I might have thought that two years after Jane dumped you-“

“- She did not! It was a mutual –“

“- That you might have tricked some poor soul into dating you rather than moping around all the time.”

“I am seeing someone!” The words were out of Thor’s mouth before he could stop them, the need to prove his brother wrong stronger than his need to be truthful.

“Really?” Loki’s tone was sarcastic, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Thor tried his steadiest tone.

“Who are they, then? Go on, tell me all about my possible future in-law.”

Thor scanned his mind for friends he had who weren’t already in relationships.

“Bruce. His name’s Bruce, he’s a scientist.”

Bruce had shot to the front of his mind; they had had a conversation the day before about his plans for the holidays, and Bruce had awkwardly mentioned his lack of family to spend them with. At the time of their conversation, Thor had wished it would be possible for him to keep Bruce company over Christmas, but he knew that his family tradition and powerful parents demanded he should come back home.

“Right, a scientist.” Loki did not sound convinced. “And why haven’t I heard of him before?”

“He doesn’t like the spotlight.” That, at least, was not a lie. “If father knew about him, you know he would demand to meet him and I don’t think Bruce would be comfortable with that.”

“I suppose we’ll find out.”

Thor’s head spun.

“What? No, Loki don’t tell father, he wouldn’t –“

“Whyever would I keep how happy you are from father? You know he would love to meet this ‘Bruce’ for Christmas-“

“Loki –“ Thor’s tone was warning.

“Unless, of course, he doesn’t actually exist.”

“He does!”

“You won’t mind bringing him along for Christmas then.”

Two days since that conversation and Christmas was fast approaching. Only an hour after Loki had left, Thor had gotten a commanding message from his father about how he expected to meet Thor’s new ‘suitor’, accompanied with a rather sweeter message from his mum about how she was glad he’d found someone that made him happy.

He had yet to deal with the unavoidable future backlash, avoiding Bruce’s messages and cringing every time his name came up as a notification on his phone. It would be unbearable now to tell Loki, to admit that he’d lied just to prove a point, but Thor knew that it would be more ridiculous for him to continue the act further. If Bruce found out the lie that he had told, he might get spooked, might get angry at Thor. Still, the way things were going, Thor worried he might end up insulting Bruce anyway with his lack of contact.

Braving the prospect of admitting to Bruce what he had done, Thor sent a message to Bruce asking him to come over the next day, ostensibly to arrange to buy joint Christmas presents for some of their mutual friends.

Sat awkwardly in the small space between his Christmas tree and the power socket, Thor fiddled with the plug of the fairy lights, trying to stop them from flickering fast enough to induce a seizure. The screeching tones of Merry Christmas Everybody swam down from his speakers, and every conceivable surface in his living room was covered in either tinsel or glitter.

The chime of the doorbell made Thor spring to action, trying to jump up from the ground but finding that his back was aching from all the time he’d spent sitting on the floor. Rubbing his back with his hand, he went to open the door.

“Hi, Thor,” Bruce greeted him.

“Bruce! Come in.” He motioned for him to move to the living room. “I’ve made some mulled apple juice, would you like some?”

“Mulled apple juice? Non-alcoholic?”

“No, I know you don’t partake in alcohol so I thought –“

“I’d love some, Thor.” Bruce walked into the room and looked around him, taking in the decorations. “Someone’s really gotten into the Christmas spirit.”

Thor let out a small, low chuckle.

“I do like the Christmas season, warm colours and shiny decorations, they remind me of home.”

“Back in Asgard?” Bruce checked.

“Yes,” Thor nodded. “Or at least, it reminds me of the better parts of home. The palace is beautiful, all gold, with red embellishments, dazzling, with such warmth.” He thought back; there was a part of him that missed it, but the freedoms of living away from the country where everyone expected you to behave like a prince were too good for Thor to pass up on. “Although, I must say, the gold there is real, not glitter.”

Shaking his head in mild disbelief, Bruce smiled.

“I can’t believe I’m friends with a prince.”

“I can’t believe I’m friends with a Nobel-winning scientist,” Thor countered. He was met with a bashful look in response.

“I’d love to go there, one day. Asgard… it’s not exactly my usual sort of place, but it always sounds amazing when you describe it.” Thor was about to respond, tell him that he could go to Asgard in a week’s time, if only he agreed to go along with Thor’s deceit, when Bruce’s attention was caught by something behind him. “Oh my god, should your lights be doing that?”

They were flashing more than ever, not just rippling, but turning on and off at an alarming rate that no one could have found enjoyable.

“Eh, no. I was trying to fix that when –“

Bruce sat on the floor by the tree, trying to figure out how to set them right.

“I think it’s just on the wrong setting.”

Nodding, Thor went to the kitchen get the apple juice from the pot he was brewing, figuring that Bruce would be occupied for the amount of time he would take. As he got out some mugs, Thor tried building up the courage to ask Bruce to pretend to be his partner, thinking about what the best way to tell him would be.

Thor walked back into a living room devoid of any flashing lights.

“You did it, wonderful! I’d been trying to sort that out for half an hour.”

Bruce smiled, almost smugly.

“I guess there are some plus sides to having a Nobel-winning friend.” He pushed himself off of the floor and sat down next to Thor at the table.

“Bruce?” Thor said the name questioningly, working his way up to ask him his real question.

“Hmm?”

“You know how you said you would like to see Asgard someday?” Bruce murmured his agreement. “Well, you may have the opportunity to do so, although I am afraid that I may not be offering the circumstances you would hope for.” Met with a puzzled look, Thor could tell he wasn’t explaining himself well. “My parents and Loki, they have been asking for two years -since I split with Jane – whether I have since moved on and started seeing anyone else. And Loki – well – Loki was taunting me and telling me all about his partner and he asked whether I was dating anyone and I told him I have a boyfriend.”

“You have a boyfriend?” Bruce seemed shocked.

“No!” Thor clarified. “I told him I have a boyfriend. Except when he asked more about this imaginary boyfriend, I couldn’t come up with an imaginary person on the spot so I sort of told him you and I were dating.”

Bruce nearly laughed, which was not at all the reaction Thor had been expecting.

“It’s a good thing he doesn’t know what I look like or he’d have seen through that straight away.”

Aghast, Thor tried to correct Bruce.

“Why? You are a handsome man, Bruce, you must see that.”

“Maybe a while back, but right about now I’ve got more of the overweight, aging professor look going on, not exactly someone that a guy as hot as you would look twice at.”

Thor took Bruce’s hands in his and looked him in the eyes pointedly.

“You are truly a very good-looking man, Bruce, I would do much more than look twice at you.” Suddenly Thor felt his hands overheat. “Anyway, if Loki saw us together, he would not doubt our plausibility as a couple. In fact, I had hoped that you would meet him.”

“Meet Loki?” Bruce was even further in his confusion.

“Not just Loki, my parents and my sister as well.”

“What? Why would I do that?”

“Well, since I told Loki that I had a partner, my family expects me to bring said partner to Asgard for Christmas.”

“And you want me to meet them and lie to them?”

“There wouldn’t be a lot of lying, more just letting them assume that aspects of our relationship are more romantic than platonic.”

“You want me to lie to the King of Asgard? Isn’t that treason?”

“No!” Thor said defensively. “Well, maybe but they wouldn’t ever know. I only see my parents in person a few times a year, you’d only have to meet them once. Then I can tell them we went our separate ways, but are still friends.”

Holding his head in his hands, Bruce looked baffled.

“What made you think that this was a good idea? Loki torments you for a few minutes and you decide a fake relationship will sort it all out?”

“Loki’s been tormenting me his whole lifetime. I thought this would be a way of getting him and my father to cool off about it a little while. And I had also thought that it would be nice for us to spend our Christmas’s the same side of the Atlantic.”

Bruce bristled at that.

“Oh right, you thought I would love to spend my Christmas not alone for once, thought I would be somehow less sad for me to be someone’s fake boyfriend than it would to spend the day alone.” Anger was slowly growing in Bruce’s voice and Thor wanted to put it right.

“I know it was selfish of me, but it wasn’t just that, I had thought it would be nice to choose who I spent the holidays with for once.”

They were quiet for a moment before Bruce responded.

“You’d choose to spend the holidays with me?”

“Yes. You put me at ease, Bruce, and apart from my mother, that’s not something I’m used to at Christmas.”

The silence roared as Thor watched Bruce’s mind whir for a moment as he decided.

“Okay. I’ll do it, so long as it’s a one-time thing and I’m not expected to buy expensive presents I can’t afford for your relatives.”

Thor beamed.

“Don’t,” Bruce objected but he was smiling too.

“I’m not doing anything! Just appreciating how fine my lovely partner is looking today.”

Bruce responded with only a shake of his head and a nervous fiddle of his glasses.

#Hope you like it!#thor #bruce banner #thorbruce #gammahammer #my fic #thunderscience #loki

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starscreamloki · 6 years ago

Text

Bittersweet

One shot

Read on AO3

Imagine/summary: This fic is a combination of an imagine Loki, and an ask on Veliseraptor’s blog and the answer. So, imagine Loki replacing all the coffee in the Stark Tower with decaf and then swapping it with espresso after a couple of months, and what if Loki downs half a pot if Vanaheim espresso? Even the God of Lies makes mistakes sometimes.

Warnings: None, just fluff and a hyperactive God.

Words: 3783

A/N: Yeah, this story might seem a little bit old, but I really enjoyed writing it! Thanks to the Anon who put in the ask at @veliseraptor‘s blog, thanks to @veliseraptor self and @theotherodinson for the headcanons. Also thanks for @imagine-loki for putting up the imagine. Headcanons are not mine, I just wrote more letters around them!

---

At had been a couple of weeks since Loki had taken up residence in the Avengers Tower. It hadn’t been a pleasant stay because the Avengers kept picking on him, and more than once had he considered to leave, no matter what the repercussions might be. On the other hand did he have way to much fun with annoying the Avengers as they had to put up with his mischievous pranks as well, but the fact remained that Loki only pulled off tricks and made sure no harm would befall them, but the Avengers didn’t play by that rule, and Loki had been hurt more than once.

In the end he never had had the heart to actually walk out of the compound because Tony way to often threatened with the device that could render him paralyzed, not able to do anything against the violent electrical shocks that would travel through his veins.

Loki shuddered. Clint had gotten his hands on the device once and had used on Loki just to get back at him for brainwashing him. It had been Thor who had eventually freed him from the shocks of the device.

Little did Clint knew, and the Archer still wasn’t aware of the fact that Loki had been manipulated himself to act in the way he had done a year ago. Maybe someone hadn’t explained it to him yet, but it was more likely Barton just wanted his sweet revenge and choose to ignore the fact.

But Loki could handle it and ever gracious he let them pester him, partly amused at their actions, partly not caring, but most of all biding his time for his revenge.

Loki smiled. The Avengers had been on edge for the last couple of days because Loki hadn’t done anything mischievous for a whole week and they constantly eyed him warily when they were around him. And thus Loki put on smirking, faked smiles whenever one of them was keeping an eye on him, acting all innocent and sweet.

Of course Loki wouldn’t go a whole week without pulling of some mischief, but this time he had set up something for the long term and he just had to be patient even though he often itched to kill each and every one of them.

He had noticed that each Avenger greatly depended on coffee, whether it be morning, during the day or the evening. They downed the liquid like their life depended on it. Loki hadn’t tried it yet and eventually he had thought it would be for the better not to try it either. He had done some research on the black stuff and learned about the cafeïne and the existence of decaf!

One night he had snuck around the tower and replaced the coffee of every machine with decaf coffee. He wasn’t as stupid to leave behind any traces and had swapped the normal beans in each package with decaf as well.

The first couple of days had been hilarious. Even Thor, who also was addicted to the brown liquid by now, had fallen prey to Loki’s trick and Loki was very amused at seeing them walk around like zombies, not able to focus or stop yawning.

It had been a dangerous situation as well, because they weren’t their normal selves and if there would be an attack of some sorts, Loki was pretty sure they might have gotten themselves in peril. Luckily no such thing had happened and Loki enjoyed the quiet time he had, for they were all too tired to bother with his presence and they left him be.

After a couple of days the Avengers were turning back to their normal selves again, and with that, their occasional snippy or hurtful remark at the God of Lies. Loki didn’t care, or at least pretended not to care, and just let them push him around.

His time would come.

***

After a couple of weeks biding his time, one night Loki found himself snooping around the tower again, messing with the coffee machines again. This time he replaced all the decaf with espresso and a sly smile played around his lips.

Tomorrow would be so much fun!

Morning came and the Avengers moved to the kitchen for their breakfast and coffee. Loki sat on the sofa, smirking from behind his book, trying not to draw too much attention to himself but actually feeling quite giddy at what was about to come.

The Avengers downed their coffee, some of them looking at the contents of their cup with a weird face. “Does this taste different to you?” Bruce asked to no-one in particular. Nobody answered for they were still to drowsy and Bruce just shrugged, downing the rest and pouring another.

It took some time before the cafeïne had kicked in, but when it did, Loki had a very hard time keeping his poker face, biting his lip not to burst out in laughing.

Bruce and Tony were wound up in a conversation about some science project, talking so fast it was almost inhuman and Loki had to strain his hearing to keep up with the conversation. But both of them were on edge, trying to trump the other with their ideas, which started to border on ideas that maybe they shouldn’t execute because they were downright bad, to Loki actually fearing for the welfare of the realm. And considering the fact that he had set an army loose on Earth, one could only imagine how utterly dangerous the ideas from the two scientists were!

Thor on the other hand did have a somewhat similar reaction, also trying to be the alpha-male, but in his own way. Claiming to be ‘the almighty God of Thunder’ - which of course he is - he started to summon dark clouds, rain, and said thunder right there in the tower, the clouds whirling around him in a entrancing dance. When Thor started to display the Thunder even more, sending it across the room in loud cracks and almost frying the book in Loki’s hands and destroying multiple items and furniture, Tony had had enough, had suited up, and kicked Thor out of the tower so he could ‘play’ outside with his dark clouds.

Thor’s actions had effected Bruce and the Hulk had been scratching the surface to get out, but Tony really didn’t want his tower buried in ruin and had achieved to calm Bruce down by rapidly talking about their project again, keeping the green monster at bay.

Loki let out a sigh of relief at that because he wasn’t very fond of the beast. They had more than once threatened to set it loose on him if he wouldn’t stop… Well, whatever it was he was doing wrong in their eyes, which pretty much contained living and breathing all together.

Steve just literally bounded of the walls, using the room and furniture as his training ground leaping from couch to chair and somersaulting through the air. In one particular somersault Steve jumped over Loki, Steve’s hair brushing the top of Loki’s forehead while upside down in his leap. It was at this point that Loki started to doubt his trick a little bit. Steve bounded towards Tony and Bruce who were still wrapped up in a heated discussion which started to contain a lot of vile words. “Language-language-LANGUAGE,” Steve bellowed as he passed them, jumped on the counter and crouched there like a cat.

Suddenly the door burst open and Clint rolled in, his bow set and an arrow trailing towards the God of Mischief which he barely caught before it hit him in the shoulder. Quickly Loki disposed of the arrow, anticipating it might explode, but it didn't.

Threateningly Clint stalked towards Loki, murder in his eyes while summing up all that Loki had ruined for him when he was enthralled. By now Loki had put his book away and got up from his spot on the sofa, trying to make himself as tall and threatening as he could. Something in the back of his mind said that Barton would not back down and that he was out with intent to hurt Loki. Loki only smiled at the archer, warily eyeing the bow and its arrow that was aimed for Loki’s eyes.

Bruce and Tony had stopped their conversation to watch the situation unfold, and even Steve looked curious at the events.

Before Loki or Clint could do something, Natasha jumped between them, telling Clint to put away the arrow and back off.

Loki raised an eyebrow, baffled by the fact that she would put herself between them because she absolutely held no love for the Trickster, yet her she was putting herself in harm's way. ‘Move, Romanoff,’ Clint hissed, “so I can put an arrow through his skull and see if he still lives to tell after that!”

Natasha was unfazed by Bartons threat and sped forward, shoving the bow out of harm’s way (and setting the arrow of which ended up in the ceiling), and with a few quick blows she had Barton on his knees. It had all been to quick for Barton who was still stuck in a cafeïne-haze and hadn’t been able to focus on the Black Widow and her quick moves. He swore vigilantly which was immediately followed by a Steve bellowing “language”.

“I think I’ll take my leave now,” Loki stated calmly and trying not to sound threatening. As he went for the door, eyeing Clint warily, he saw the counter. Loki only counted five used cups and his head snapped up to meet Natasha’s eyes. A grin formed on her face and Loki realised he hadn’t seen the Black Widow down her morning coffee.

She knew!

***

Loki hadn’t taken his leave but merily made himself invisible to further observe. And even though he had felt the threat, he still snickered at their actions as they bounded of the wall.

When all dust was finally settled, and everybody except Natasha was crashed down on the chairs and sofas in the living room, Loki revealed himself and casually walked back into the living room. A stupid smirk formed on his face as he saw the deprived faces from the Avengers. Loki picked up his book, which miraculously still was on the table and unmarred, and took of to his chambers.

While he lay on his bed he still snickered at the thought of the Avengers bouncing of the walls. It had been a dangerous situation, for him as well considering Barton who actually had wanted to kill him, but it also had been fun and he would definitely do it again.

No, not again, that would be boring but he could definitely up the game. If only he could get his hands on some coffee from Vanaheim…

***

It had taken a couple of months, but luck had been with Loki for he had been to Asgard with Thor. The exact reason for their travel had not been shared with Loki, but he was pretty sure it had to do something with his behaviour. He didn’t mind though and upon his visit he had snuck into the kitchen of Asgard and managed to get the cook to give him coffee from Vanaheim.

Upon his return Loki had carefully planned his action. In the first couple of weeks all of the Avengers had been warily around the coffee machines, checking and making sure that there hadn’t been tempered with their precious liquid, but eventually everything went back to normal - as far as that would ever go - and they had downed their guard.

Loki still acted out of spite, simply because sometimes he was so utterly done with their behaviour of messing with him but he couldn’t in the least say his hands were clean, because more than once Loki still antagonized them all and especially Clint had suffered Loki’s wrath in the first couple of weeks after the first coffee-incident.

It was early in the morning and everybody was still asleep except Loki who once more snuck around the Tower. With a smirk on his face Loki replaced the regular coffee with the Vanaheim version. He was just about done when the coffee machine in the kitchen turned on and started to brew the brown liquid. It was one of Stark’s little inventions, making sure the coffee was ready in the morning so the first person who got up didn’t need to turn on the machine but could just grab a cup.

Loki watched with some fascination as the machine made some vibrating noises and the liquid started to drip in the can. He really did not understand what everyone on this Godforsaken realm found so appealing about this stuff and he wrinkled his nose at the smell of it. Loki rather had a decent cup of tea.

He was curious however. What made it so appealing? Why did everyone need it so badly to function? But most important, what did it actually taste like?

He thought back at what had happened with the Avengers and still smirked at the thought of them bounding of the walls, and he really shouldn’t, but he was just so curious. And was it harmful to try? Sure this Vanaheim stuff was stronger than that compared to the Midgardian stuff, but how much would it affect him? He was a God after all, and the God of Mischief on top of that!

Loki was torn between the options, but in the end his arrogance and his curiosity got the better of him and he poured himself a cup, sipping it’s contents.

It didn’t taste awful but he wasn’t sure he liked it very much either. After he had downed the first cup he waited for a couple of minutes, but nothing seemed to happen. He didn’t feel different in any way and something must have been off. Maybe this stuff from Vanaheim was not as strong as he thought it would be, and thus he poured himself another cup and downed that as well.

Still nothing. Another cup.

Loki shrugged. Maybe it wouldn’t affect him, and he really didn’t like the taste anyway, so he forfeited his attempt at understanding this stuff. He walked to the sofa and flopped down on it, picked up his book and started to read.

After fifteen minutes Loki felt his fingers tingle and the words on his book didn’t seem to come through anymore. He looked at his fingers and played with the magic that swirled around it, giggling softly at the traces it left in the air. Suddenly he felt the urge pace around the room, and thus he got up and did so, his thoughts going rapidly.

Maybe the coffee had worked. It was such a weird thing. Other things were weird as well. Like what? Oh right, the magic around my fingers!

Loki paced through the room, intently watching at his magic which couldn’t seem to focus and just bounded of his hand in any way he pleased.

Magic, yes! Didn’t the mortals find magic difficult to understand? Why? It was just so easy! If you’d just-

At that moment Tony walked into the room, a worn expression on his face, as he saw the God of Mischief pacing around the room, green magic radiating from his entire being and lazidly trailer after him. Tony stopped dead in his tracks, raised an eyebrow and just gaped at Loki.

A little uncertain Tony spoke, not sure what had gotten into him. “Reindeer Games, what are you doing?”

When Loki noticed Tony he reacted with a delighted glee and a stupid grin on his face. “I-understand-it-now,” Loki said, the words tumbling out of his mouth. Before Tony was well aware Loki was in front of his nose and babbling to him about God knew what and Tony’s mouth just dropped open farther. A little bit scared Tony took a few steps back until he was standing in front of the doorframe, and Loki just kept walking with him, still talking like the devil was on his tail.

Just when Tony wanted to take another step back someone from behind bumped against him. Before either one of them could make a snippy remark Loki gleefully exclaimed “Thor!” and started rambling at the God of Thunder.

With a snap Thor was pulled out of his drowsy state of sleepiness and looked at his brother. Loki’s eyes were wide open, the green magic surrounding him giving him an eerie look and Loki was shivering. “Brother, what has gotten into you?” Thor asked concerned.

“I-can-finally-see-it-now. All-the-patterns-and-how-it-is-linked-together! It-” Loki started to speak so fast that Thor had problems following what Loki was saying and his eyes grew wider at the oddness with which his brother was behaving.

“Uh-oh,” Thor heard Tony mutter from the kitchen and Thor stealed a looked at him, seeing the coffeepot Tony was holding aloft. Within two strides Thor was near Tony, getting a furious scorn from Loki about being rude to walk away when someone was having a conversation with you. But Loki’s thoughts went so rapidly he quickly forgot about Thor’s rude behavior and he just stared out in front of him, still shivering, no, vibrating, his eyes wide and his magic swirling around him like a whirlwind.

Thor picked up the can of coffee and smelled at its contents, even carefully taking a sip, not bother to pour it in a mug first. “This is not from Earth,” he stated. Tony mumbled some vile words under his breath which immediately followed by the all to known snappy remark from Steve who entered the room.

Without second thoughts Tony grabbed the can from Thor and dumped its contents into the sink and asked JARVIS what had happened. JARVIS told what had transpired and Loki angrily looked around trying to find the source that was JARVIS while calling him a traitor and a coward for not showing himself.

Thor walked out of the room leaving Tony and Steve with the God of Lies. They carefully tried to approach him, trying to calm him down, but when they did, Loki lashed out with his magic and they kept their distance, not willing to antagonize the God any further.

Eventually Bruce, Natasha and Clint appeared as well, baffled at Loki’s state who was talking to himself now, drawing things in the air with his magic. Clint laughed at seeing Loki in this state and suddenly Barton had Loki’s undivided attention drawn to him, murder in his green eyes. Within two strides Loki was in front of Barton, grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him in the air and snarled at him.

“Brother!” Thor screamed from the door opening in which he stood. Loki’s head snapped his way, a bewildered look in his eyes. “Put. Him. Down.” Thor threatened and stalked towards Loki. A soft ‘uh-oh’ came from Tony who was reluctantly anticipating that the two Gods would tear down his tower.

Loki didn’t let go of Barton and Thor had to pry the Archer from his strong grip. As Loki got angrier the magic swirling around him started to expand and even sizzle. Tony mumbled something about suiting up which resulted in an angry glare from Loki, his eyes fixing on Stark and making Tony well aware he would be next one who had to be pried from Loki’s deadly grip. Before things got any worse Thor ordered everyone to leave the room.

Trusting the God of Thunder, everyone did as they were told.

Thor walked to the kitchen and put on the water boiler and set down the stuff he had went out to get. Loki’s behaviour had turned around completely, from the anger and intended murder just seconds ago, to happily chidding away again about every thought that coursed through his brain. It was also at this point that Loki started talking in multiple languages at once in one sentence, and Thor had just forfeited listening to him at all.

The water boiler was done and Thor continued what he was set out to make while more magic swirled around Loki. It was then that he started to whimper and shiver even more, skittishly looking around from the corners of his eyes. Loki could feel his heart rapidly beating in his chest, his blood pumping through his veins as never before giving him an odd sensation of feeling too warm but not able to shake it off.

Suddenly he was behind Thor breathing down his neck, fidgeting with Thor’s clothes while trying to see what he was doing. Thor wondered if Loki was even remotely aware of his behaviour but one look in his brothers eyes told him he probably wasn’t.

The door opened and Steve walked in, startling Loki who seemed a little bit too jumpy for his normal way of acting. Steve moved through the room. “Just here to get my…” he eyed Loki warily who made a sudden move by stepping behind Thor, “...things…”

Loki’s eyes stood wild while he looked at the Captain over the shoulder of his brother. “Is he having an anxiety attack?” Steve whispered. Thor shrugged and his sudden movement made Loki jump.

Not wanting to see how this would play out, or being the next victim of the God of Lies, Steve hurried out of the room with his equipment and closed the door with a bang. Loki bared his teeth at the door, almost hissing like a snake.

“I made you some tea,” Thor spoke soothingly. “It’s mother’s calming herbal tea. Please drink it.”

Loki eyed the glass and its contents warily. Still not having shaken his snake-like behaviour he hissed at it. Then he figured he might as well turn into one and slithered across the floor, green scales gleaming and still surrounded by a swirl of magic.

Thor sighed. This was going to be a long day!

***

Loki lay on the couch, a splitting headache eating away at his skull. He couldn’t remember much about what had transpired except for some bits and pieces.

Natasha opened the fridge and an eyebrow crept up towards her hairline. “Loki, why is your book in the fridge?”

Loki moaned, he couldn’t remember he had put it there. This had been a bad idea and he wouldn’t ever touch coffee again.

***

It had been weeks and everyone was still on edge after this whole endeavour.

The Avengers had decided to install new machines that didn’t grant access to anyone but JARVIS who controlled the order of the right coffee beans, and their refills.

It had been, however, the last time any of them had bullied the God of Lies.

---

Taglist: @welcome-to-fangirl-hell , @lusty-loki , @destiel1597, @laralaufey, @welcome-to-fangirl-hell, @fairlightswiftly

#loki #loki imagine #imagine loki #loki fanfic #loki and coffee

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