#mayihaveyournameplease

[recoveringdreamer]

@mayihaveyournameplease from here:

[pm] haha, what do you mean it's not you? [user zooms in the extremely blurry photo, it looks like nothing but a large slab of wrong flesh tone] It looks just like you.

​[pm] [user doesn't really like the zoomed picture, so they decide to send something long enough to get it off their screen.] No, that's the wrong color. [user googles 'jaguar' and puts a picture in the chat to chase away the zoomed squonk.] See, I look more like this! :)

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: sometime while teddy was in canada PARTIES: @mayihaveyournameplease & @mortemoppetere LOCATION: a seedy bar SUMMARY: emilio and beau meet in a crowded bar. it is not love at first sight. CONTENT WARNINGS: unsanitary tw

The bar wasn’t crowded, but it wasn’t empty. People mingled, the smell of alcohol wafted with perfume and B.O. Beau made eyes at anyone who would look at him. Which wasn’t a lot of people. Most of their eyes seem to glance right over him. Why people didn’t look down was unbelievable. He wasn’t even that short. And short kings were in! Didn’t they know that? Beau nursed his drink, a little sullenly, a lot seductively to anyone who dared look at him. No one approached. He was going to have to make his own move. That’s when Beau saw him. Mr. Right. Fluffy hair, leather jacket, moody scowl. He drank like he didn’t care if he lived or died tomorrow. Beau liked that in a person, it screamed depression. Depression screamed vulnerability. 

Beau siddled on up to the beautiful stranger, bottom lip bit, hands in his pocket, eyes on seductive mode. “Hey handsome, come here often.” It was the first thing Beau thought to say because he wished someone would say that to him. Wouldn’t that be novel? He was very handsome after all, it would be a compliment to get called handsome. “Why don’t you buy me a drink and we talk for a bit.” He winked, sliding into the chair next to medium height, dark and handsome. “I’m Beau, can I have your name?”

—

He got stir crazy, sometimes. Usually when he was stressed out, when the walls of whatever room he was in started shifting into ones he’d left behind years ago with blood on the paint and bodies on the floor. He felt uneasy in his own skin, like someone was watching him even when he was home alone. On those days, he’d found it was easier to be out and about and around people. 

And alcohol. He always needed alcohol.

It made a bar the perfect setting, especially on a night like tonight. It wasn’t crowded enough to be stifling, but wasn’t empty enough to be uncomfortable. Emilio sat in front of the bartender, drinking his whiskey in silence. The poor guy had tried making conversation at first, but Emilio had tipped him a little extra and waved him away, making it clear that he wasn’t in the mood. The bartender got the memo.

Apparently, the bar’s patrons didn’t. 

Emilio tensed as someone slid up next to him, nostrils flaring in quiet irritation as the man spoke. Months ago, if he were feeling the way he was feeling now, he probably would have interrupted the come on to ask the man to fuck in the bathroom just to give himself an outlet, but things were different now. There was Teddy, and while they hadn’t quite talked about exclusivity, Emilio didn’t want anyone else. “No,” he replied flatly, not looking up from his drink. 

After a moment, he held up his left hand and tapped his wedding ring. He wasn’t technically married anymore – he didn’t think it counted when the person who’d put the ring on your finger had been dead two years – but the ring got him out of conversations like this one. People were a lot more willing to accept that than they were an explanation that you were dating someone. “Try someone else.”

—

“Haha,” Rejection used to send a ripple of rage down Beau. It used to drive anger to the surface, a boiling pot overflowing and burning the stovetop. “You’re not very nice, are you? Haha. That’s okay, I’m also known for being mid-height, mysterious and brooding.” Now rejection didn’t bring anger, because Beau was always angry. It was always bristling under the surface, a full moodlet that couldn’t possibly fill more. It’s just, the people of this town didn’t respect him enough. They were all so self obsessed. They didn’t care about people other than themselves, like say, the extremely handsome brunette with the big fuck me eyes that just wanted everyone to fall over themselves for the chance to talk to that loveable stranger. 

But see, there was a fundamental problem with Beau (if you didn’t include everything about him) he just couldn’t take no for an answer! His legs swung off the bar stool as he smiled up at the stranger. The smile burned his cheeks as it fought the rage, but he was good at smiling. Everyone thought his smile was charming because he practiced it constantly. He really worked hard to be the most likable guy in town, if only people would get out of their asses long enough to notice. “Haha,” He added, for good measure, because the rage inside him wanted an outlet. Like punching a wall, but nice guys didn’t punch walls. They smiled and said haha.

“Try someone else?” Beau took a sip of his drink, it was fruity and sweet. He hated the taste of alcohol, and how bitter it was. “Can’t two extremely hot men have a friendly conversation without such hostility? Haha, whatever happened to kindness? Don’t people ever want to make friends anymore? We could be friends.” Beau batted his extremely long and beautiful eyelashes, that to anyone else might look like he had something in his eye. “Say, you’d look better if you smiled. Come on. Let's see a smile.”

—

“No, I’m not,” Emilio agreed. Nice, he thought, was too often a mask that people wore. Most people were shit. They were bundles of rage and selfishness held together by blood and bone. Kindness existed, of course — kindness was in Wynne’s tendency to leave food on the counter for him, or Teddy’s insistence of pausing the movie they were watching any time Emilio needed to get up and walk around — but nice was different than kind. Nice was less honest. Emilio didn’t think he was particularly kind, but he knew he wasn’t nice. He disliked lying too much to be that. 

Irritation was a distant thing in his chest as the man continued speaking, because he’d really hoped he’d walk away. He wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone, and he especially didn’t think he was in the mood to speak to this person. He no longer enjoyed people who approached him in bars only to hit on him. It felt boring to him now, like something unable to hold his interest for long. “I am not being mysterious or brooding.” He was only mostly sure what those words meant. “I am drinking. I want to keep drinking. I don’t want to talk.” 

But the man just kept going. He told Emilio to smile, and the irritation moved closer to the surface. “I have enough friends, I think. I’m sure you can find one somewhere else. Over there, maybe. Or in another bar. Maybe another city. I think this would be fun for you.” As long as you get away from me, he thought. 

—

At least this guy knew he was an asshole. Beau swung his legs (being too short for his feet to touch the ground) his feet thudding against the bar. “You could be, if you tried. I’m nice. See? This is me being so nice to you. Isn’t that nice? It’s really nice. So maybe you should take a turn and be nice too. Then we can be nice to each other. Isn’t that how friends are made? Whatever happened to community? Do people not care about community anymore? I care about community and you’re in my community so I’m being nice to you. And that’s nice, don’t you think? Isn’t it lovely being nice?” Beau was good at talking. A lot better than this guy. He wasn’t even trying to have a conversation. It was like he wanted to be rude. On purpose. God, Beau could not stand people sometimes. 

Beau started laughing. “You know what you remind me of? A caveman? You’re like all grrr scowl scowl. Not the guy who invented fire or the wheel. Those cavemen were probably nice, and probably didn’t spend all their time sitting by themselves. Fire guy probably wanted to keep all his friends warm, while they were drinking together. Because you know you can drink and talk, right? Maybe they didn’t have that in your cave, but people have been doing it for centuries now.” Beau took a big sip of his drink, just to give the man an example. It really seemed like he needed it; “And the guy who invented the wheel probably wanted to help people. He was probably talking to the people in his community and realized he could provide a service that no one else could! A wheel! Isn’t that fun? That’s so fun. Maybe you should think about that, while you’re sitting alone in your cave.” 

“It’s okay to admit you have no friends. I would believe you. I really would.” Beau could take a hint. The thing was, he chose not to. “Say, how about I be your first? On the house. Because you don’t know what it’s like, and I? Well I have lots of people who I call friend.” There was a distinction between having a lot of friends and having people you call friend. After all, Beau was comfortable calling anyone a friend. “Let's kick it off. Why don’t you give me your name?”

—

“It would be nice,” Emilio said slowly, “if you talked less.” Christ, he could hardly keep up with what this guy was saying. The repetition of the same words over and over again made his head spin a little, his uneasy grasp on the English language struggling to keep up with the barrage of verbal bullshit being flung in his direction. Some people, Emilio had learned, just liked to hear themselves speak. They’d say just about anything so long as it meant their mouths got to keep moving. Sometimes, it could be almost charming — Jade liked to talk, and he didn’t mind her — but other times? It was beyond annoying. This man fell firmly into the latter category.

The man who was still. Fucking. Talking. He was droning on about cavemen now, and Emilio tried to tune him out. He took a swig of his whiskey, sighing as the stranger went on and on and on. What was with this guy? Did he know how to shut up? Emilio’s fingers twitched. He’d be lying if he said there was no part of him that wanted to rear back and take a swing at the man just for irritating him. He’d been up to his ears in problems lately, and his temper was shorter than usual as a result. But you couldn’t punch strangers just for being annoying unless you wanted to be kicked out of bars, and there were only a few left in Wicked’s Rest that would still grant him entry. 

Finally, the guy seemed to tire of his own voice enough to ask Emilio a question. The brief pause that followed was almost a relief. “Sure, I’ll give you my name,” he said. “It’s ‘Fuck Off.’ You want me to spell it out for you? F… U… C…” He trailed off, downing the rest of his drink and waving to the bartender for another. “Look, cabrón, there are plenty of other people in this bar. Go bother one of them. I’m not in the mood for it.”

—

“Oh, you don’t know how to spell fuck do you. There is a k at the end.” Beau was laughing. It was radiating off him in the same air that kept Cherynobl too hostile to reinhabit. “You really are a caveman. That’s okay. I find it endearing.” Beau was fluent in Spanish, which should be noted about him, or he might have said that cabrón wasn’t a word. Alas, this wasn’t the first time he’d been called cabrón and it probably wasn’t going to be the last. The word slid right off him, like water sliding off a little baby duck’s back. He figured it was because of the horns, goats had horns, and the literal translation was a male goat. Thus, he’d never figured out that it was used as a curse. 

Beau knew this anger. Because the truth is, he was angry once. (If you ignored the fact that he was angry every day, every day the way people treated him was wrong, every day people didn’t respect him the way he deserved, every day they didn’t love him when he was the most loveable person anyone had ever met.) That had been when he was lonely and didn’t have friends. Now he had so many friends and no reason to be angry and sad! He could help here! Some people just needed a little crack in that silly little eggshell. And then he’d probably be so grateful and fall madly deeply in love with Beau and worship Beau for the rest of his life. And that would be nice because his hair was fluffy and cute. 

“If I leave now, we’ll never become friends. Hahaha, and don’t you know that it’s up to the extrovert to pick up the introvert? Lucky you! This is introvert adoption day and I’m choosing you to bring home with me.” Beau threw in a wink. He was good at winking because he practiced them in the mirror. Anything to make sure people realize how cute and handsome he is. Beau reached forward and tapped a cute little boop against the man’s nose, sealing the deal. Adoption complete. 

—

Emilio wondered, absently, how many times this man had been punched throughout the course of his life. He imagined the number was a high one, figured it was something that happened often. Mentally, he began going down the list of people he’d call to bail him out of a holding cell when this interaction, inevitably, ended the way he imagined so many of this guy’s must have. There was no way in hell he’d bother Nora or Wynne for it, Teddy was still in Canada, Xóchitl had more than enough going on, things with Jade were tense… Would Kavanagh bail him out if he called her? He was pretty sure Kaden would leave him in the cell and take photos. Javi might pick him up, but he’d probably demand Emilio pay his bar tab in exchange, and that didn’t sound particularly fun. 

The action of mentally scrolling through the list of people he’d likely owe a favor to by the end of the night served to calm him a little, if only because it distracted him from the irritating babble spewing from the man beside him. Emilio poured a little more whiskey down his throat, swallowing the burn and letting it settle in his chest. The man was still going. His fingers twitched, yearning to clench themselves into a tight fist and make contact with a nose that didn’t look nearly broken enough to reflect the current level of irritation the stranger was responsible for. 

Maybe Teddy would come back from Canada just to bail him out if he knew the situation.

“I don’t want,” Emilio said slowly, “to be your friend. I have said this already. How many times should I repeat before you realize? Do I need to say it another way? No quiero ser tu amigo. I am not going home with you.” A hand reached out, finger tapping his nose, and it took all the self control Emilio had not to start swinging. “If you touch me again,” he said lowly, “I am going to punch you very hard in your face.”

—

“Haha, woah! Who said anything about coming home with me. You’re so full of yourself. Haha. It takes a lot more than one drink to come home with someone of my caliber.” The only reason this didn’t qualify as a lie was because no one had ever come home with Beau after one drink. Fae magic really was full of loopholes, as long as you knew how to work your intentions right. “I’m more of a take me to dinner, and seduce me, kind of guy, haha. Don’t you know the type? Haha. The type is me.” Beau lived in the blissful place where rejection meant nothing. There was no anxiety riddling his chest with thoughts that reminded him actions had consequences. Sure, he’d been met with many consequences for his actions through the year, but every time Beau decided that was the exception to the rule. The rule being, he was perfect and nothing else bad could possibly ever happen to him.

“Haha, I’m just being friendly. You’re being really rude, you know that right?” Beau batted his beautiful eyelashes. “Do you always try to bring home friends you make? Haha. You must be really into board games or something.” He was being purposefully obtuse. That was another thing about rejection. As long as you twisted your words, and pretended your intention was different, then they were the ones being weird to reject. They were the people being the problem. They were making assumptions when Beau? He was just being a nice little guy. He was being friendly. He was always friendly. That’s why his cheeks always hurt from smiling and why he was always ignoring the inferno burning inside of him.

“You know, anger looks ugly on you, haha. My mom used to tell me that anger makes a person ugly. It ruins their face and it scars their soul, haha, you don’t want to have a scarred soul because you were mean to a stranger who just wanted to be your friend, do you?” He put on the pouting face, the kind you would see from a child on television series, that always worked to get them their way. He wouldn’t call it a puppy dog face, because all puppies he had met were brats that piddled everywhere. Beau was better than any puppy. He never piddled anywhere he wasn’t supposed to.

—

An argument bubbled up in Emilio’s chest. He had mentioned taking Emilio home with him, had talked of adoption, and Emilio realized belatedly that it was some kind of metaphor too complicated to squeeze through the ever-present language barrier that sat between him and an English conversation. But arguing with this man meant carrying on speaking to him, and Emilio had little desire to do that. All he wanted was to sit and to drink and to pretend that nothing in his life was falling to pieces. “I do not like dinners,” he said instead of arguing, “so you should go find someone who does.” 

But the guy just kept fucking talking. No amount of rudeness was making him leave, despite the fact that he was happy to point out aforementioned rudeness. “Yes. I am being rude. Which means you can go. There are other people in this bar you could bother. Most of them probably won’t punch you.” The unspoken addition to the statement being that Emilio would, if the guy didn’t fuck off soon. He wasn’t particularly good at swallowing his anger or his irritation; there’d never been enough room in his chest to house it all without it spilling over.

“I don’t care about my soul.” He was pretty sure he’d lost it a long time ago, anyway. “I’m angry. You being here is making me more angry.�� What the fuck was he doing with his face? The guy looked like he was trying to take a shit. Emilio gripped his glass a little tighter, loosening his hold only when he heard the beginnings of it creaking. Shattering the glass wouldn’t end any better than punching this man would. It would actually be less satisfying.

—

“Everyone likes dinner.” Beau informed this man and that was kind of him. It was kind of him to correct this man who clearly knew nothing, not even about himself. How did Beau keep finding himself in these situations? Across from hopeless people who needed a calm guiding hand. Really he should open a charity for how many helpless and clueless people he ended up helping. Maybe that would be tax deductible. Oh, he’d like that a lot. Beau’s eyes flitted up and down his newest tax deduction, wondering just how much he could save. “Everyone eats. It’s part of being alive. Haha. Everyone likes dinner. Especially with me.” That was a bold statement, but he had nothing to back it up. Because no one ever wanted to eat dinner with him. He was tired of eating alone, if he was being honest. 

“Acceptance is the first step to change, haha.” This conversation could be going better if this man would stop trying to send him away every five minutes. At least he knew he was being rude. “Today is the perfect day for change, haha. No one is going to punch me. Look at me.” Beau planted his chin on the palm of his hand, smiling up at the stranger. “I’m too cute to punch. You wouldn’t punch a little guy, right? I’m just a little friend. No one wants to punch me. That wouldn’t be fun. Oh, is that what you’re into? Bar fights? I’ll help you start one. I’m not a fighter, but I’ll watch. Everyone has their hobbies, haha.”

“Angry is good. You’ll need that in the bar fight.” Beau turned around, leaning his back against the bar as he scanned the crowd. Who looked the most punchable. Beau eyed the crowd slowly. Who looked good, who looked good… Him. Beau spotted the beefiest man in the crowd. That man looked like he could punch. “Be right back, amigo.” Beau slid off the bar and marched his way across the room. If Emilio was curious enough to watch, he would see Beau march up to the strange man, make him bend down to whisper something in his ear and point at Emilio across the bar. The man got angry fast, skin turning a deep red as he shouted. It was just like a scene from a movie. The music stopped, the crowd parted. The man marched over to Emilio and swung a punch. Beau scrambled behind, grabbing his drink and moving the side to watch with delight. 

—

This man was sitting across from him and telling him that he was wrong, not about something objective but about himself. It grated on Emilio in a way few other things could manage, made his jaw tighten and his body feel hot. He was familiar with the kind of rage that was washing over him now, knew it better than he’d ever known anything else. Throughout his life, few things had been as constant as his anger. His short temper was something his mother had often tried to hone, to weaponize. Few emotions were though useful for hunters, but rage could be sharpened into a knife with relative ease. He was itching to use that blade now, holding back by reminding himself over and over and over again that he was in public, that this idiot was probably human, that you really couldn’t kill people just for being annoying. 

“I am going to punch you,” Emilio said. “I do want to punch you. I don’t care if you are a little guy. You’re very annoying.” Maybe threatening him would make him go, or maybe Emilio would have to actually take a swing. He almost hoped for the latter; with the irritation building in his chest, he thought punching this man might be good for him. The man was still prattling on, talking about barfights and hobbies and Emilio wanted nothing more than for him to shut up. He tuned him out, trying to focus on the drink in his hand.

After a moment, the man left. Relief felt like a flood washing over Emilio; he wasn’t attentive enough to recognize that the stranger planned to return, or to pick up on what his plan was. He leaned over the bar, ready to ask the bartender to pour him another drink, when someone walked over and took a swing at him. It was through a lifetime of training that Emilio dodged the attack despite the lack of attention he had paid to its arrival, ducking beneath the fist and sliding out of the barstool to stand. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He dodged another fist. This one slammed into the person who’d been seated on Emilio’s other side, who took enough offense to the assault to get to his feet as well. A chain reaction started around the bar as drunk patrons began to join the fray.

—

Beau didn’t like fighting. It was brutish. People who needed to fight weren’t intune with their emotions. They weren't smart enough to have eloquent conversations that positioned them into getting what they wanted. They were dumb. Probably from taking too many punches to the head. However, if his little introvert wanted to fight, then his introvert would fight! That was how kind Beau was. If he’d said it once, he’d said it a hundred times. He was Beaunevolant. The big man came over swinging. His little introvert dodged, and that was cute. Go little buddy! Beau was sure to cheer silently in his head, as not to draw attention to himself. He vehemently did not want to get dragged into this fight. 

A full out scene was beginning to establish in the bar. One person turned into five turned into twenty. It really felt like everyone was fighting. Beau giggled as he watched. How simple humans were, always falling for the tricks of fae. He tracked down his introvert, a true and pleased smile on his features. “Are you having fun yet?” He asked, ducking under a table and looking up as he asked. He had to be extra careful no one punched him. His face was the money maker after all. And what if they broke one of his horns? That would be a damn shame. “A fight for you to punch people! Just like you wanted!”

—

To Emilio, a fight made more sense than a conversation. Words were difficult to understand, especially in English. Most of the time, people spoke too quickly for him to keep up. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around what they were saying, couldn’t translate it into something understandable before they’d moved on into talking about something else entirely. Throwing a punch was the same in every country. Violence transcended the language barrier in a way nothing else ever really could, made complicated things simple. Emilio didn’t know how to talk to people nearly as well as he knew how to hurt them. He hadn’t been looking for a fight tonight — and that was a rare thing on its own — but here he was in the midst of one all the same. 

He probably liked it a little more than he should have.

It was only when the insufferable little man returned that Emilio realized how the fight had started. This, of course, took a little bit of the fun out of the whole ordeal. The last thing he wanted was to give the stranger anything he might enjoy. “I wanted,” he grunted, catching a fist that was thrown his way and shoving it backwards into the face of the very man who’d thrown it, “to punch you. I still want to punch you.” Maybe a little more now, all things considered. 

—

“Haha! There you go being rude again.” Beau let his laughter roll over the noise of a fighting crowd. This was far from this first observed bar fight, but he did find it to be a dull past time. What did fists get done that words couldn’t? Beau kept himself safely under the table, making sure no violence would breach his bubble. “Don’t punch me! I’m not very punchable, honestly. Besides, I’m too hot. Hot people don’t get punched. That might ruin their hotness, and then who will you stare at and think “Wow he’s so hot?” Beau let a fresh wave of laughter out. “Just kidding, just kidding. How long do you think this fight is going to take you?” 

—

God the man was annoying. The more he spoke, the more he grated on Emilio’s nerves. And maybe that would have been fine, if not for the fact that he just kept talking. It was like he had no idea how to shut up. Each word was another nail scraping the proverbial chalkboard of Emilio’s mind until, finally, he lost his patience for it. Turning towards the man, Emilio reared back his fist and swung, the resounding crack one that seemed to reverberate through the bar even over the chaos. The man went down, and the talking finally seemed to cease. Emilio sighed, relief washing over him in spite of the chaos.

Leaning down to the now unconscious stranger, Emilio dug around in his pocket until he found a wallet. He pulled out a few bills and set them on the counter amidst the chaos, placing his empty glass on top of them to keep them from being blown away. Making eye contact with the bartender, who looked exhausted, he added a couple extra to the pile. Then, dropping the wallet on the irritating man’s chest, Emilio stepped over the guy and made his way towards the door.

If this was what socializing got him, he’d much rather just drink at home.

[magmahearts]

@mayihaveyournameplease from here:

[pm] Solve my own problems, haha, right totally. Solve the problem of being the worst fae around, go get a house from someone and stop living in a cave.

[user is offended. this is probably fine!]

​[pm] I could dissolve your pathetic body into ash. Do you realize this? I could pour magma down the length of your throat and watch as it burned you from the inside. It wouldn't be particularly hard. You burn so easily. Like dry grass or paper. Maybe I'll take your house, just to see it burn. Maybe I'll do it with you inside. How does that sound?

[see? fine!]

[chasseurdeloup]

@mayihaveyournameplease replied to your post “What is your favorite cheese? And have you paid...”:

Haha, I love a good cheese. I think everyone should have a good cheese. Maybe cheese tax is when you pay me cheese because I've been known to be a silly guy who makes cheese jokes. Haha. I'm funny like that.

​Right... Somehow I don't think that's what it is. Who are you, anyway?

[kadavernagh]

@mayihaveyournameplease replied to your post “Hello, haha, I'm cheesed to meet you. I've heard...”:

Oh haha, I see that was such a big misunderstanding. Normally I'm a very understanding guy. Very emotionally intelligent. So when that one guy online said "someone broke in cream cheese shoes" You know, that's paraphrasing. They call me the paraphraser. Well when he said that and I saw you respond "I know what you're thinking, it isn't me" I thought to myself 'Well there is someone who knows how to have fun.' I'm known for my cheese based pranks after all. You wouldn't believe how many cheese based pranks I've had. This is going to be such a funny story. Hey, I missed your name, can I have it? I would love to be able to tell all my coworkers at the DMV about this funny little cheese incident. They love my cheese jokes. Haha, Cheesed to meet you. It's their favorite. I say it sometimes you know.

​I can assure you, I do not know how to have fun. I'm sorry to disappoint.

You missed my name because I didn't give it to y-- wait. I never stated my name. It's Dr. Kavanagh. And yourself? After all, if you're known for your, um, cheese-based pranks, I should probably be aware of exactly who you are. And possibly inform the police.

For someone known as the paraphraser, you're quite... verbose. Has anyone ever told you that?

[ironheartedfae]

Timing: Current Probably Location: The streets Feat: @mayihaveyournameplease & @ironheartedfae Warnings: None! Summary: :)

Everything was irritating. The way the air was too warm, the way it made her clothes stick to her skin, the way her hair was falling on her forehead. Far more grown out than Darya had ever let it get. Ren wasn’t really ever in a good mood but today was particularly bad. And it was about to get a lot worse. At least for a bit. She’d have to listen to that awful man, hear the voice coming from his mouth rather than imagined through the text he put online. Thankfully, it wouldn’t be for long. 

Twitchy gloved hands fiddled with the knives in her pockets. Her two trusty balisongs, then several others hidden around. Just in case. You could never be too prepared for a hunt. Certainly not with something as devious and obtuse as the creature going by the (probably stolen) name Beau Bueford. He’d named the place, and she was going to be on time. She might even smile to try and sell the act she’d come up with. Lure him in closer. Make use of that awful fae bond that was supposed to make her feel all warm and welcome even if it only ever made her feel nauseous and empty. 

The lamplit street was mostly empty. Good. There were several alleys for the deed to be done, and several rooftops she could escape to. If all things went well, she’d be home before midnight. And no more names would be stolen by this unruly beast. 

— 

Beau felt good about himself. He was doing community service, practically. The youth of today all wanted illustrious jobs at the Bureau of Motor Vehicles, and here he was setting up to be a mentor for one of those youths. Truly he was the most eligible bachelor in Maine at the moment. After helping the kid with her resume he’d get her to pose for a selfie together. Then he could write an essay for the town website about how good with kids he is, how much he cares for the future, and how he wants to see each and every youth of the day succeed. Truly he would be a masterpiece of a man to all the single women and men in the town. They would see how delightful he was and flock to him. Beau was practically beaming by the time he arrived at the meeting spot as he imagined the mayor of the town awarding him with a medal for service to the town. All because he went out of his way to help some kid he didn’t even know. 

There had been a little bit of surprise on his end when the girl had suggested they meet in the dead of night, on a near abandoned street. But that was okay. He understood she didn’t want anyone stealing his expert advice. Besides, he’d already told her she was way too young for him. Arriving at the location, Beau saw the shock of red hair illuminated by the street light. “Lali-ho!” He called out, raising a hand in greeting. Beau examined her, hands shoved into her pockets, a slight jitter to her movements like she was waiting for something to happen. Beau let his charming smile pull across his features. “No need to be nervous, I know not everyone’s resume can look as good as mine. Don’t worry dear, I’m going to help you the best I can.” He held out a hand. “Now how about you give me your resume and your name so we can get started?” 

— 

No such lofty  or gracious feelings had been shared by the young thing staring back at Beau. Ren felt nothing but fire in her veins as the swell of magic alerted her that this was the right man. He was fae alright. Bright green eyes scanned each inch of Beau Bueford, just as he was doing the same to her. His cheery demeanor was saccharin, sickly, and shiny. Quite a bit too sweet. Artificial and amplified. If Ren had ever been familiar with cars, and their salesfolk, it might have reminded her of that. Instead, her mind went immediately to a breakdown of strategy.

Intricate swirling tattoos covered nearly every bit of exposed skin not on his face. Though, even there by the ears not quite round enough to be normal, small tattoos had been littered about too. Spriggan. Ren sneered. Thief. Weak little pest worse than the entomae, worse even than the pesky little fae parasites who take things from people's homes. Spriggan were habitual thieves, they couldn’t help it. This one had an obvious affinity for names and that just wouldn’t do. The only way to put an end to this was to get her iron blades buried deep. Knock that smug look right off his face. 

There wasn’t time to give herself any specific protection (like flipping her clothing inside out, what a strange thing to fear…), though Spriggan weren’t exactly known for great fighting prowess. Just a lot of illusions and fuckery. But Ren could keep up with that. She could feel the vibrations, she could know which was real and which was an image. At least better than a human. Though she appeared to have caught him off guard enough, he didn’t suspect much. He was just so annoying. The more he talked the more Ren’s heartbeat kicked into gear, she couldn’t help herself but growl before lunging– 

“The only thing I will be giving you is quick death.” 

—

It was very delightful that his special youth project was another fae. Not only was he giving back in the human community's eyes, but the local fae community would really see him stepping up. Maybe a hot muse would find that very inspiring of him. He'd always had a thing for the muses. There was just something about them that inspired him. Hard to put his finger on exactly what it was. Beau would have kept his asinine talking up, but the fae child wasn't behaving right. A quick death? What could she mean by that? They were both fae, why would she try to kill him?  

Oh, she was actually trying to kill him. Beau fell to the ground as he tried to duck out of the way. What was he supposed to do if someone wanted to kill him? He'd only ever been in one fight with the warden. He'd talked his way out of this one. Beau steeled himself. He would just have to talk himself out of this one. But with another fae? That was the part that confused him. Beau started crawling on the ground, trying to caterpillar away from the crazed fae. 

A fence to a building was in front of him. The grating of the fence was crisscrossed in a tight pattern. Maybe tight enough to keep a knife from poking through. Beau rolled behind it, shutting it tight. "Hey! Hey now!" Beau said, still cowering in a fetal position behind the fence. "We can talk this out. You're really passionate about that BMV job, I get it! I would be too. You don't need to kill me for it! Tell you what, I will personally get you a job there if you help me. It's a great job for a fae like us. We can steal as many names as we want. We can even look at the names before we steal them. Super easy. You'll love it, kid, promise." 

—

As small as she was, Ren had to put every ounce of her weight into every throw to make them land. The force of lunging didn’t stop the way it should have. Of course it didn’t, because there was suddenly nothing to stop it. The man had crouched at just the right angle at just the right time that he ended up table topping the attacker, sending the angry nymph toppling over her own two feet. Gravel dug into the parts of Ren’s skin that hadn’t been shielded by the large jacket and as she rolled to right herself, she silently thanked Emilio and the fact that she had managed to patch things up with him. He wouldn’t like what she was doing right now though. Not at all.

But… maybe this was different. Taking out something like Beau was a boon to society. Her head whipped around, seeing his shadow dip behind the metal fencing. Worse, she heard his voice come straight through. “I do not care about the stupid BMV you LOUD imbecile!!” Any more fire and she would have to become an oread or hesperidae just to keep up. Everything he said riled her up more. Ren gritted her teeth and shot an arm through one of the holes in the fencing. She was certainly tiny enough to do so, but once again her knife only found air. “There is no we, filth.” 

— 

“You don’t care about the BMV?” Beau was indigent. What did this girl mean she didn’t care about the BMV? The BMV was the most magical place on the earth. He had to be hearing that wrong. He shoved a finger in his ear, squishing it around for good measure.  A good bit of ear wax came out with the action. He wiped it against his pants. “It’s the most magical place on earth!” Beau added, repeating the words in his own head. “No we? Little darling, we’re both fae. The we is literally the fair folk. We’re defined by it.” Beau ducked out of the way of another blade shove, crawling a little farther away. “Did I steal someone’s name, you know? I can’t return it. If you kill me it’ll never go back.”

“Okay, okay!” Beau was pushing himself up to his feet, holding his hands up in the universal sign of I am absolutely no danger. “Let’s talk about this! Let’s have a conversation like fae. Why don’t you give me all the reasons you want to harm me?” That was the same trick he’d used on the warden. The same warden. The warden had forgotten then why he wanted to harm Beau, but Beau being Beau had given him a new reason. He’d taken his name. That was why the warden was still hunting him. 

— 

Ren rattled the fence like an angry dog trying to bite the mailman. Too angry to fight smart. None of the others had been this talkative. None of the others had been this infuriating. They were different things (Betrayed, angry, sad,) but not this. Nothing like this. He was trying to appeal to Ren by offering her a kinship in their shared ancestry. It was perhaps the furthest thing from what the girl wanted to hear. 

“This is not personal.” In a movie, this would have been a cool line just before the hero takes down the bad guy. In a movie it would have been so much clearer where the rights and wrongs lay. Instead, it was life. Ren didn’t even have the context to understand what she’d said was practically a trope. Instead, she vaulted herself upward, scrambling up the side of the fence so she could pounce down. End it. Stop his stupid voice, and the stupid words coming from his stupid face. “Monsters like you are why no fae is safe.”

Ren was seeing red. Not thinking clearly. Not thinking about the way anger bubbled up inside her and turned into words that clambered out just as her foot cleared the top of the fence. “I want to kill you. Not Harm. Kill.” She shouted, knives at the ready. An assassin in the streetlight. “I want to kill you Beau Bueford, for hurting humans!!” It slipped away. “For stealing names!!” That too. “For all of the awful mean-spirited things you do!!” The response left her lips and sent her head into a dizzy swirl. Momentum betrayed her for the second time that evening. Propelling the nymph over the top of the fence and hurdling downward. A fugue state falling star. Careening right at the spriggan of the hour. 

— 

An angry fae was a dead fae. That’s what Beau always said. Well, actually he’d never said it before this particular moment. It seemed fitting though. The angry fae who was set on hunting him truly did give him all the reason she wanted him dead. Just like that the threads that held all that information snipped into bits, tearing it from the quilt of her life and sewing it into Beau’s ever growing collection. It was funny. The girl carried so much anger with her, that when push came to shove she dealt her hand too early. Falling for a classic fae trap. 

Beau stepped out of the way as the girl fell to the ground. Once she hit the ground, Beau crouched next to her. “To be honest kid, I don’t think I can recommend the job for you.” Beau told her, his voice serious and calm. His signature smile was missing in the moment. “I just don’t think you’re suited for a life of customer service. Anger issues, you know? The customers, they’ll do anything. They love screaming and yelling. You gotta remain calm. I have a feeling you have a lot of anger. Probably why your hair is red. It’s full of rage.” Beau patted her back. “It’s okay. You’ll get a different job.” Beau noticed her knife had landed near them. He picked it up by the blade only to immediately drop it. It stung of iron. “What is a fae like you doing carrying around an iron blade?” He asked her, getting to his feet and kicking it towards her. “You’re going to hurt yourself on that thing.” 

— 

The whirring thrum ringing through Ren’s ears was becoming an uncomfortably familiar thing. Showing up nearly every day since arriving in Wicked’s Rest. Or at least, every day that she went into town. Every day she interacted with locals. Every day she went online and saw things that made her head spin, though… she couldn’t quite recall all of them anymore. 

She hadn’t even put her arms out in front of her to stop her fall. She just… what was she doing here? Where was she? There was sound, a voice, behind her. Trying to focus on it was like trying to stare at the sun. All too bright, too much, all at once. “Job.” She repeated, flatly, dryly. “Wh- Huh??” The whole of the conversation that led here, all of it had been whisked away. It left Ren reeling, nauseous, and unable to process any of what was going on. If there was anger left in her, it wasn’t able to gather up enough to become anything. Heat slipped away, ebbing out into the ground below. 

He was touching her. Who… who was he? Did she know him? He was– no. No that’s not… Ren’s shoulders tensed, pitching up like she was having an allergic reaction to touch. To being close to something awful but not being able to pinpoint why it made her so uncomfortable. Fae. Fae. Fae. Whatever it was, what he was– who was he again? Iron blades. Those still registered as hers. Still something she needed. Her hands felt empty without them. But why did she need them now? 

“Who– are you..?” 

— 

A paternal figure might feel bad for the confused kid in front of him. They might want to talk it out. They might have felt the urge to help a fellow fae who was obviously confused. Not Beau. Beau had tried to help and it had landed with him almost getting stabbed. Beau scowled down at the redheaded fae. “No one who cares to know you.” He answered. His arms crossed over his chest. “You should be disgusted with yourself. You’re a disgrace. A fae carrying around iron blades? And you planned to stab another fae with that? You’re a traitor to your kind.” Beau spat on the ground next to her. “I never want to see you again.” 

Beau had done a lot of shitty things in his life. Beau had stolen names from his fellow faes, he’d bragged to them, he’d led a warden to their door steps and endangered them. None of that mattered, not to Beau, not right now. Not when he knew he had a high horse to sit on. Not when he knew he wasn’t fae traitor. The only time he’d actually put other fae in danger had been an accident. He hadn’t known the Warden was on his trail. It was forgivable. Whatever this was in front of him wasn’t. 

“If you really want to hurt a fae, hurt yourself.” Beau was done here. Beau was tired of being here. Beau walked away. As he walked, his usual happy jaunt entered his step. A whistle came to his lips. A joyful tune filled the empty night air. He hadn’t died. That made it a good night in his books. He’d lived an attack and once again added to his collection. He was happy with how this ended. 

[totally-not-a-dod-agent]

TIMING: 26th of July LOCATION: The mines PARTIES: Beau and Eli SUMMARY: Elijah is in the mines working. Beau goes to see what's up with the mines? They both realize they know each other. CONTENT WARNINGS:  n/a

The memory of Jedidiah Sebastian haunted Beau like the ghost of Christmas past, present, and future combined. How often had Beau dreamed of that beautiful face and the way it smiled as it lied. How much did Beau fantasize about how that night could have gone so much different, in that motel where he used to work. The new janitor, too pretty for such dirty work, and the check-in guy. Hadn’t Jedidiah felt it? The moment their eyes locked together. Hadn’t he also felt the chill up his spine, the truth that they could have been so much more?

How often were these hauntings followed by Beau spiraling out in complete rage.  All his names. His life works. The only thing he’d ever truly cared about, stolen from him by some asshole with a charming face. One that he still dreamed about. That asshole was going to be the reason the warden finally tracked him down and showed an iron blade through his chest, Beau just knew it. He was going to have a few choice words when they met again, because they were going to meet again. Beau knew the threads of destiny tied them together. They were woven in the seams of the same story.

So, pretend for a second, dear reader, that you are Beau. You are going for a pleasant stroll to the mines because you know that this town has a weird crystal problem. Where do crystals come from? The mines. You’re curious. You want to take a look. You show up, not knowing what to expect, but you most definitely do not expect Jedidiah Sebastian to be standing there, in all his beauty. Just as breathtaking as the first time you laid eyes on him. How surprised would you be? Because Beau was blown away.

Beau stood there, gapping openly at the man that had taken everything from him. He was here. In Wicked’s Rest. Beau took one step forward. Then two. A hand coming up and pointing. “It’s you. You’re here.” The words were climbing over each other to race out of his mouth. “My- My names I want them back, give them back.” 

___

Henri or rather Elijah remembered him. “Sir, you have no business being here,” he retorted, holding up a hand before himself. The last time he spoke with him, he bore a different accent and a different name, but this wasn’t the motel anymore : the mines were a dangerous place, even for those who knew what they were doing. Henri had been sent here for this very reason. When people went missing, disappeared or died in such strange circumstances, it was a matter of time before his department got involved. They didn't concern themselves with wild animal attacks unless they rose dramatically. If they had, they would have lost sight of the bigger picture. 

“Sir?” It was near mesmerizing, watching the other’s mood go from surprise to awe, to surprise and finally settling on anger and betrayal. Ah, he had been rather cruel to the guy. What was his name again? His eyebrows furrowed, as if to suggest confusion. He rarely had room for doubt in his profession, but he’d have made a terrible spy if he couldn’t lie every second of his day. Henri simply did not want to deal with that guy. He reminded him of his crook of a father, untrustworthy and ready to backstab anyone for profit. Elijah however, didn’t know a thing about him, and had to stay professional.

“Your names? Did you hit your head?” each word was spoken bluntly. Henri might have been having a lot of fun now, Elijah would have wanted to see that guy out of his hair. “Do you not remember your name?” He picked up a walkie talkie from his belt, eyeing at him with narrowed eyes. “I’m gonna call for help from above. They’ll get you out.”

___

The accent was different, the words clipped in different angles than the one he remembered all those years ago. The eyes, the beautiful deeply brown eyes, that had mesmerized him all those years ago looked back at him. To his dismay, they reflected back nothing. No hint of recognition. No spark of humor, triumph or anything. The only look he got was indifference. Beau's hands clenched into fists. It had been years since they'd last seen each other, but didn't the man in front of him know what he'd done to Beau? He'd taken everything from Beau. Even the tattoos winding around his body had been shifted into unrecognizable swirls because of the effect this man had had on him. And all he got back was indifference. 

"My-My names." It was hard to keep a confident air, as Jebididiah looked down on him. As if this was just a stranger who happened to share a face with him and not the many that had ruined his whole life. "I don't remember my name because you took it." Beau took a step forward, even if this wasn't the right guy, he could still feel the anger inside him boiling and bubbling. An ocean of rage that he'd contained for so long, and was ready to break through the dam of that tight smile he held all the time. Reaching out a hand, Beau did his best to slap the walkie-talkie out of his hand. "You know who I am, Jedidiah. I know you know." His voice came out in a rough current. 

"You ruined me. You took everything I had. You destroyed me. You know that right? You're a life ruiner. No wonder you're pretending like you don't know who I am. I hope the guilt has been eating you alive. I hope you can't sleep at night. I hope every step you take, you're surrounded by the agonizing pain of your actions. You're the worst person I have ever met, and you deserve to be stuck in these mines. How would you like it? If I took everything from you. What if I took your ability to get out of here so that you're stuck in these mines forever, huh?" Once Beau got started, he couldn't stop. The floodgates were open and he'd been holding on to these words for far too long. 

___

“I didn’t take your names,” Elijah protested. “How do you even take names from someone, huh?” It was as if the other was accusing him of being some sort of identity thief. From what Henri had found out, while sporting the name of Jedidiah (what a fucking shitty name that was), [redacted] very much fit that label : identity thief. He had some fucking nerves accusing him of that. Still, Elijah couldn’t have known about all this common history they had, and he simply furrowed his brows in confusion, and furrowed them a bit more as the other whacked the talkie out of his hand. “That wasn’t fucking necessary,” 

The other was dripping with anger now. Dang, he really held a grudge against Jedidiah, heh? If that would have made him smile, he contained his glee on the inside and instead put a hand to his utility belt. The miner had a bunch of tools there that could turn into a weapon if need be. There wasn’t much one could do against a miner’s pick. Perks of having a blue collar job as his cover, he supposed. “That’s not my fucking name, you dumbwit. I’m Elijah,” he pointed to the label on his blue jacket. “Nazarian?” 

And so when the other spilled out what he could only assume had been building up within for years, all he could give back was a sigh. “Jesus. Are you fucking done? You’re knocking at the wrong damn door. I’m not your Jebediah, and I’m busy. Now fuck off,” with a tick of his tongue, he leaned down to pick up the talkie, his scowl still fixed on the little bugger before him. 

__

“H-h-how?!?” The word spluttered off of Beau’s tongue, disbelief coloring all his actions. “What do you mean how? What do you mean you didn’t take my names? Just because you’re a filthy human capable of your filthy little disgusting lies doesn’t mean you can keep lying to me.” Beau stepped closer, finger pointing towards the man who had stolen everything from him. The man who was the epitome of everything he hated and yet radiated like a magnet that made Beau want to know more about him. The man who was now claiming that his name was Elijah.

“Elijah?” Beau repeated the name, it tasted bitter and savory, like a good bleu cheese. It drew him in with the mystery while repulsing him with the lies. “Nazarian.” The name was good. The name was just as good as Jedidiah Sebastian had been. The name spoke to Beau, it called Beau, asking him to come forward and steal it. To claim it for himself. But how could he ever take anything from the man who had stolen from him. He obviously wasn’t a clueless human who would easily hand over his name. He had plans, moves, and lies. He was someone that Beau needed to be weary around.

“Then give it to me.” Beau demanded. “Give me your name. If you give me your name, I’ll go. Easy. See. Just say you’ll give me your name.”  It was like every single ounce of composure had left Beau’s body. Beau was a desperate man who’d gone without water for three days and was dragging himself across the desert, begging the first person he saw to quench his parched mouth. He stepped even closer to Elijah Nazarian, hands grasping at the collar of his shirt. “Say it. Say you give me your name and I’ll leave right now.” 

__

The miner’s eyebrows furrowed. He didn’t feel particularly threatened by the shorter man. He remembered him well, from long long ago. Beau might not have been the most frightening person, he was a menace. It was a wonder to him that no one at AARO had investigated all those name disappearances. 

“I’m not going to give you my name. It’s mine. You already are aware of it, and that’s plenty enough,” it didn’t matter to him that the other was moaning about it like a spoiled child in the toy aisle near Christmas. In his despair, he clutched at Eli’s collar. Just when he thought the other could not get more pathetic about his stupid name collection. The damn thing meant absolutely nothing to him, and he felt ever more disgusted knowing that instead of moving on, that guy had spent the last few years trying to build himself a new one. “Beau, you’re not going to ever get my name, do you understand?” Putting his hands over his wrists, gentle but firm, he looked down at the other, shaking him to get him to look him in the eyes. “You’re gonna let go, and you’re going to leave.” 

___

A tremble of rage sent Beau’s body into a spiral of shivers. He was a rabid chihuahua with his eyes set on the mail man that had stolen all his bones. “No. I need them back. Please. Please, I need them back.” The stages of grief were once again flipping through him. The years of having lost his collection may have passed, but now, seeing Jedidiah or Elijah, whatever the man wanted to call himself, ripped open the wound and left it fresh. “Please. Let's make a deal. I always make deals when they give me their name, because I am a kind person. Please. What do you want? What can I trade for it back? I have so much. Money? I could give you money.” 

Eli had his hand wrapped around his wrists, and Beau was staring into those big beautiful eyes. The eyes of the most beautiful man he had ever seen. After all these years he still felt the pull of him. It warred inside of him like two opposing wolves. One wolf wanted to give Elijah everything, it wanted to roll over and decide that this beautiful man was in the right. The other wolf was angry, angry that the human had lied to him, cheated in their game, and stolen all his names. The feelings created a turmoil in Beau that left him a confused and bumbling fool, focused on the warmth of Eli’s fingers wrapped around his wrists. “No. No! I can’t leave. Not until I get my names back. You’ll never get rid of me. You’ll see me every day. I’ll follow you until you give it back. You cheated in that game and you know it. You’re a cheater and a liar. Give me my name back.”

___

"Why would I want to trade something that's apparently so precious against something like money?" Elijah looked at their surroundings. "If I wanted to make money, I wouldn't work in mining," with his ease to carry a lie, he could have been an actor. He believed himself to be more than charming enough to land roles, but that kind of career didn't interest him at all. 

"And if I already stole from you, aren't you concerned I will do it again?" He looked back at the other, deep brown eyes settling on that little angry, confused, positively unnerved man. Elijah smiled, for a moment restoring the warmth the other must have grown accustomed to as he watched Jedidiah do the cleaning in that damn motel, always chatting up customers, subtly eager to find out more about the person staying in room 013. That wasn't [redacted] but he had to admit he found the cunning little shit immediately enticing.

"If I'm a cheater and a liar, you're better off walking on a different road," he insisted, well aware that the seeds of doubt he tried to sow wouldn't take. "Or you could apologize and we could start over." 

___

“What possible need do you have for names?” The words snarled and hissed from his tense smile. His fingers clenched and unclenched in a fist. “You’re just a human. A human! You can get a new name! You have nothing keeping the names to you. You can’t even use them. You can use money. I know you can use money. Even you know you need money. You just said you have no money in mining. I’ll give you money so you can enjoy mining more!” Beau was grasping, his words were reaching for any string of logic and begging to weave into something comprehensible. What was it about this man, this beautiful man, that unraveled Beau like a spool of thread being played with by a cat. 

Elijah Nazarian was smiling, and in that moment. Beau was REDACTED. He was back in the hotel, their eyes were meeting for the first time across a sparsely populated room. Jedidiah had seemed so kind then, when their eyes had met and he had smiled. Beau’s heart had fluttered for just a second before he waved back. This was another trick. Another trick from the bastard man that had ruined him. Beau steeled himself, he pushed the flutter out of his chest once more. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice and I’ll ruin you. I’ll make sure you never work in this town again.” As if he had the power or the influence to make that happen. 

“Apologize? Apologize? What do I have to apologize for? You lied to me! You cheated me! You should be the one apologizing. You should apologize by giving me my names back! Give me! My names back!” Beau was spluttering and puffing. His face was turning red from the effort of trying to stay in control. Beau was not very cheesed to meet Elijah at this moment.

___

That man really wanted to punch him, didn’t he? Henri was having a field trip, of course. There was not much that could send him into a panic aside from perhaps, anything to do with his parents, but he hadn’t seen them in years, and that was all the therapy he needed. Though he wouldn’t reveal the other his actual name (a simple precaution), kind, charming, completely inoffensive Elijah really didn’t stand much of a chance against Beau. “You don’t have one,” he paused, looking the other dead in the eyes. One of the perks of having big brown eyes, was that a bit of anger could give them a whole different taste. “One thing that I could possibly want. I don’t want money. I don’t care for money,” he didn’t mind it, sure, but being comfortable was really plenty enough for a man who didn’t like to splurge. 

The empath’s smile softened. Good to know the guy was still, somehow, attracted to him. It was surely accidental that he chose this moment to move away from Beau, and let go of him. “You know, you should really do something about your temper,” he picked up the talkie again, hooking it back onto his belt. “Because I haven’t heard anything so pathetic in… When did I last see you again?” He knew when, he didn’t want the other to know that either. “What, two? Three years?” 

Running a hand through perfectly combed hair, the DoD agent took another step back, hands once again on his hips. “It’s terrible, isn’t it [redacted] ? Not getting what you really want?” He could see the frustration, the anger, mixed with a dash of shock and scandal. Those colors were a pretty look on Beau. It was a shame he was the only one to see them. “Perhaps you should see this as a teaching moment. Don’t fuck with people who can fuck with you in return.”

___

Each word coming out of Elijah’s mouth was an arrow through Beau’s chest. It pierced him so deeply, so completely. It left him staggered, and short of breath. Not a single thing. Not a single thing that he wanted? Elijah sat there with all the power, and all the cards. He held them in an iron grasp while Beau was clawing for any sort of ground in this confrontation. He just needed an even footing. But how when Elijah claimed there wasn’t a single thing he could want. Beau could feel the pricks of tears tickling behind his eyes. Anger was getting the better of him. Even his forced smile was starting to waiver. This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t fair! 

Then Elijah said the killing blow. The confirmation of another one of his lies. Of course, Jedidiah had remembered him. Of course he was standing there calling Beau pathetic and lording over his ability to maintain a perfect smile, composure and hair. Beau hated him as much as he admired him. He was as wicked as he was beautiful. Beau was enraged and incensed. “You’re still a filthy liar of a human.” Beau said, spitting on the round between them. “You’re the kind of scum that makes human hunting a sport of honor.” Beau knew other fae that liked to hunt and hold humans for fun. It wasn’t for him, but he wished some muse would come trap this liar in its embrace right now. 

Elijah was running his hand through his hair, the hair Beau wanted to run his fingers through. Instead, Beau stepped forward, fist balled, and went straight for a punch in his pretty face. The anger had gotten the best of him, driving his decisions and making Beau act rashly. “Perhaps you should learn how not to be a fucking liar, and give me MY NAMES BACK.” His words turned into a hoarse and harsh yell.  

__

Human hunting worthy? That revelation had Henri whistling in faux impressment, a mocking chuckle following behind to push it all underneath a carpet of deception. “You’re so funny,” but he shouldn’t have completely underestimated the shorter man either way. He knew [redacted] to be unpredictable, and he was well aware that angry people could do just that. A rookie mistake, all because he had hubris. 

It hit him in the jaw before he could block it, his hand wrapped once again around Beau’s wrist, this time not to hold it, but yanking at it. Incapacitate. The fabricated amusement on his face gone, he twisted the other’s arm, placating him against the nearest wall without a care for whether or not that would be uncomfortable, or better yet, painful. If the other was under some sort of impression that he had any chance at ever getting the upper hand, he’d crush it right here and then. 

He reached for Beau’s other hand and, pressing his chest against the man’s back, Henri decided to set the clock back to his timezone. “This is the only warning you’ll get. You give me this shit again, you threaten me again, no one will find you,” he didn’t speak any louder than a whisper. Sound traveled fast in those caves, and it was quick to echo. “Do you copy,” he asked, twisting a bit harder his elbow.

__

The punch landed. Beau’s knuckles cracked under the sudden violence. Beau wasn’t usually one for violence. His normal go to was words, or crying. Depending on what was happening around him. Just like when that one kid was coming at him with knives slashing, he’d crawled away and talked himself out of that situation. But now he was so enraged that violence really seemed like the only answer. At least he had the satisfaction of the moment. Elijah, Jedidiah, whatever name he used these days, hadn’t seen it coming. 

The satisfaction lasted for barely a second before a flurry of movement left Beau confused and pressed against the wall. His face dug into the stone of the mine’s wall. It was rough and bits of dirt flecked over him. A sharp protrusion from the wall was digging into one of his ribs, causing Beau to let a low uncomfortable groan. “Get off me.” He snapped, Elijah’s back was pressed against him, warm and strong, holding him in place. “What the FUCK is wrong with you?” 

Then Elijah was whispering threats into Beau’s ear, his breathing tickling Beau’s ear. “Fuck you.” Beau repeated. “You’re nothing but a dumb and stupid human.” The elbow being twisted harder and harder hurt. Beau struggled, but it was hard to struggle being pressed so firmly against the wall, and with his arm held so tight. Beau’s heart raced, as worry started to seep into him. Elijah probably could make that happen. Who would miss him if he was gone? Beau didn’t even have a pet to love him. “Fuck you.” He repeated, a cornered little man with nothing to do other than lash out because he wants to be the powerful right one, not some other man. “I’m not fucking scared of you.” The beat of his heart said otherwise. 

___

"A dumb and stupid human who beat you at your own game." Henri let his whispers sit in Beau's mind just for a few seconds, to let him do the inevitable math: if Elijah was so dumb and still managed to win, then what did that make him? 

He didn't let go, not yet. His warm breath against Beau's cheek, he listened to the other's emotions. Pain and worry were expected, given the circumstances but slowly, seeping over was the one thing Henri was waiting for : fear. "Are you sure [redacted] ?" If he found delight in using the man's real name, it would have been impossible to know it then. Warm as his words might have felt against the other's ear lobe, his voice carried them as if they were made of ice. 

"You give me this shit again, you threaten me again, no one will find you. Do you copy?" He repeated.

___

“Everyone makes mistakes.” Beau’s face hurt as it moved against the wall, the bits of dirt and rock scraping against his jaw with every movement. “Everyone has bad days.” That didn’t make him less of a fae, less of a spriggan. He had gotten cocky. He knew better now. He would never, ever offer a trade of all his names again. “You lied. You cheated. That’s the only reason you won.” Contempt dripped off his voice. 

Elijah was pressed against him, enough that Beau could feel the steady beating of his heart. The beating that was calm, and unrushed. Compared to his own racing pulse it was embarrassing. Once more he tried to wiggle his way out of the hold, but it only resulted in more pain from the hold he was in. Then there was the name. The name dripped off of Elijah’s words and hung in the air, like oil and water, sliding out of Beau’s ears with the disbelief that that could have ever been his name.

“Give me my names back and I won’t give you shit again.” He couldn’t let Jedidiah win again. He couldn’t let Elijah shit-head come into his new town and make him booboo the fool all over again. “Do you copy?” 

___

"Oh you hate that so much." Maybe Beau couldn't lie, but Henri didn't believe for a minute that there was no trickery, no cheating to his way of making deals. "You just hate that so much, knowing that you got beaten at your own fucking game by a human." Even if he hadn't had his empathy helping him out, Henri was confident that, that fateful day, he would have won anyway. 

He had listened to his old man lie too often, for too many years, and it would take a lot for him to fall for any sort of bullshit ever again.

Henri refused to be naive. That's how you got yourself hurt.

And so he didn't let go, not when the other tried to wiggle away, not when he groaned in pain. Why would he have done that? Old time's sake? The only common history they had was non-existent to him. He had done what he had to do then, and [redacted] was just collateral damage. If anything, Henri thought perhaps he had given him a lesson. That. That had been naive.

"That won't do." Henri sighed. "The work I do here, it's more important than one person, Beau. If you're gonna be difficult, you gotta go. Now," he ticked his tongue impatiently. "Do you, or do you not copy?" 

__

Beau wanted to scream, he wanted to rage, he wanted to pound his fists against the wall and yell until his lungs deflated and his throat hurt. Beau wished he could grow into a giant and crush this horrible horrible man and this annoying town under his huge giant foot. Instead, he was crushed between a rock and a hard place. Beau twisted and turned and shoved and groaned and tried his hardest. A squirming rat caught in a trap, but Elijah held fast, unmoved by anything.

Finally Beau was left panting, and forced to consider the words Elijah had been throwing at him. Of course he hated that a human had bested him. Humans were the cattle of the world, just livestock placed on the planet for the enjoyment of fae. It wasn’t right when cattel took it to be their own person, instead of property for the fae to amuse themselves with. Even worse, Beau was letting him win again. Again. Shame bubbled through him, popping in waves of disgust and disappointment. 

“I do not copy. Wherever you go, I will find you. I will find you and I will make  you give back my name. One of these days you will do something so stupid, and I will be there waiting. I will get my name back, mark my words. I will get my names back and then I will make you suffer for all of this. Everything you’ve done. I will make sure you know that you’re on borrowed time.” The anger was propelled by his own self hatred, he wasn’t a man of violence. Beau was a man of sniveling cowardice. How would he back up these words? 

__

“...” The mines fell quiet. You could hear faintly, far away, the sound of excavators, metal against stone, faintly, closer, Beau’s breathing louder than his own. Understandably. Unmoved, undisturbed by the anger and the pain he could feel through Beau, the federal agent assessed, for now, that the other was no threat to him, or his mission. He was just an angry, pathetic, cowardly man who focused on things, most likely to fill in a void he couldn’t ever replenish with people. It might have been prematured of a statement, but how many people did he see stacking property to hide how empty they were. 

He let go of him, but not without making sure the other knew that Henri had deemed him inoffensive. “I’m sure. I’ll be waiting,” the words were flat, lacking in emotion, and even as he leaned in to place a kiss on the man’s cheek, this emptiness he suspected in the other, it was there. 

Maybe he’d run into him again. Henri had no doubt about it, but for now, they needed to be apart from one another. He didn’t come here for [redacted]. He’d lie if he claimed he never thought of him at all, but he was never Henri’s mission. Already, he knew those tunnels well enough to make a quick exit and leave the other to his rage, and whatever else he would want to feel. 

__

Beau had been all blusters and threats. Sweat prickled his brow from the effort he made to escape. Elijah had been calm, cool, collected. Beau felt as his arm got released, and the warmth of Elijah’s chest against his back ceased. Beau was rubbing his aching arm almost instantly, ready to turn around and begin yelling again. But he didn’t turn around because the most unexpected thing happened. The gentle warmth of two lips against the skin of his cheek. The flutter of his chest as he realized Elijah, Jedidah, the most beautiful man Beau had ever seen in his life, had planted a kiss on Beau’s cheek. 

A heart beat, the sound of feet echoing off tunnel walls Beau turned around. There was no sign of him. He stood there, confused, hand brushing his cheek. His cheeks had flushed a shade of deep pink, a mixture of the anger that had rushed to his head and the blush that had just taken over. “What?” Beau whispered into the mines, all alone with no one to answer. “What did you mean by that?” Beau shook his head, trying to get it together. Surely the man who had stolen his names was just messing with him. He would not let himself get tricked again. Right? 

[profoundlydaphne]

That's really cool! I hope we can be friends then. :) I've only had a few and I could never keep them- Life is weird, you know? Are you a hunter or just a normal guy? I hope you're a hunter. It would be nice to have a friend who- Well, I am going to make it my goal to make sure you know it's appreciated!

Me too, haha. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. But there are always reasons for his rules, and I trust him. I never found the reason in our book, but maybe if I look again- He never explained it. But he's never given me a rule without it being important. [...] Where does a super helpful guy like yourself work?

Haha, I always have room for friends. I'm a nice guy. Pillar of the community kind of guy. There for everyone who asks. But for some reason people don't ask me for help which is weird cause I'm super rich. Haha. The friendliest person I know!

Haha your dad sounds like a strange guy. Are you a fae? Why would he warn you about giving your name away? Haha. You're a fae right? Yeah. Haha. Stay hydrated! Haha. It's humid out there, really takes it out of ya.

[masamihanazawa]

@mayihaveyournameplease replied to your post “Anonymously say something from your heart to...”:

Haha, that's not very nice!

​Never said I was nice. [...] Aren't you the fanfic guy?

[itzbridiebitch]

@mayihaveyournameplease replied: You could dominate my world! Wink! Haha, just kidding! I like making jokes! I'm a funny guy!?

Bestie why did you put a question mark after the exclamation point? No body is gonna believe you’re a funny guy with that attitude.

[recoveringdreamer]

TIMING: current LOCATION: felix's boiler room PARTIES: @mayihaveyournameplease & @recoveringdreamer SUMMARY: felix gets a visit from their good friend beau in the boiler room. things go about as well as one might assume. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

Beau had really taken to watching Felix fight. He got an intense pleasure watching the cat whose little claws had torn up his abdomen take a beating. Felix’s sad little eyes made it so much better. Suffer little kitty, Beau would laugh sitting in the very important people section of the fight. That’s right, he’d started betting real big money. After all, all the money he had wasn’t from his stash. It was from a collection of names stolen. He could spend as much money at the pit as he wanted without losing a thing. Anything to become an important player in little Felix’s life. Eventually, the rumor hit his ears that Felix was living in the boiler room. Beau had to check it out. 

“Hello my little pussy,” Beau said in way of greeting as he pushed past Felix and entered the boiler room. It was way more depressing in there than anything he could have dreamed off. Beau let out a reeling giggle. “Oh, my bestie, I know I haven’t seen you in a while. You understand. I’ve been scared since you almost killed me. That was traumatic, wasn’t it, Felix? All I’ve ever wanted was to be your friend and you tried to kill me.” He was laying it on thick, but Felix was thicker. It was probably all the blows to the head the cat had taken. “But I heard you got a new place and I just knew I had to come see my wittle witten.” 

—

When they’d had an apartment to go home to, it had been easy to separate Felix from Wildcat. Wildcat existed within the walls of the Grit Pit. Wildcat was an animal on a leash, meant to be ordered and paraded around. Felix lived in an apartment. Felix went home at night and sat with their cat and watched movies with their roommate. It had been easy to build a wall between the two entities then, to pretend that they were different even if the blood Wildcat spilled still got stuck under Felix’s fingernails. They existed in different places. That made it easier.

It wasn’t easy anymore. Now, Felix and Wildcat shared the same space. Wildcat finished in the ring, and Felix didn’t leave the building. They returned to the boiler room and they stared at the same walls that held the animal on the leash and they wondered if the chain was ever really removed from around their throat. They stood in the doorway of the boiler room for… they weren’t sure how long. It didn’t matter much, anyway. The doorway, the mattress on the floor, the sink in the corner, it was all the Grit Pit. It was all a cage.

A voice from behind them shook them from their thoughts, a force pushing past them and into the boiler room. Seeing Beau always filled Felix with… complicated emotions. It wasn’t fair to feel uncomfortable around him, and they knew it. Beau had never been anything but nice to them, even after Felix’s claws tore through his stomach. Still, the discomfort swirled as he entered the boiler room, and the guilt swirled right alongside it. “Hey, Beau,” they said quietly, trying to stifle it. They didn’t want Beau in the boiler room, but only because they didn’t want anyone in the boiler room. “I — I’m so —” Sorry. How many times had they said it now? It would never be enough. They knew that. “Um, it’s not really… I mean, clearly… It’s not a great place for… visitors.”

—

Beau blinked his big beautiful eyes at Felix as his kitten tried to talk. Of course, the disappointment couldn’t manage another apology. It really was failure after failure with this one. Beau was truly so benevolent for allowing Felix the pleasure of his company. The cat would probably be so lonely without him. “I’m just a visitor?” Beau put the pout on. It was a big pout. It really played to Beau being the victim, after all, wasn’t he? The victim of Felix’s brutal attack. The victim of his name being stolen. The victim of multiple fae women who broke his heart. “I thought I was more to you than just a visitor.” 

Beau let his eyes roam around the room. “Felix. You don’t have a bed frame.” Beau lowered his voice as if the boiler would care what they had to say. “Felix, you can’t get bitches if you don’t have a bed frame. They’ll make fun of you.” His eyes roamed up and down their body, as if they weren’t more jacked than Beau’s photoshopped profile picture. “That’s really sad, Felix.” He reached out a hand as if he was about to place a comforting palm on Felix’s arm. Beau changed his mind. He made a disgusted face before wiping his hand on a handkerchief he pulled out of his pocket. Despite the fact he never touched anything. “So, tell me about the new digs.” He stopped in front of the most horrific painting he’d ever seen. “A monster? You like monster art?” That was weird, and it gave him the strangest vibes that whoever painted this would have hated him. “You should throw that out.” 

—

Guilt ate through Felix’s gut like acid, burning through their stomach to the point that they were sure there must be a hole in their flesh somewhere. They didn’t want to make Beau feel bad, but… Well, it was a really bad time, wasn’t it? This was the least convenient time for visitors, even without the boiler room of it all. Felix shifted their weight, swallowing. “No, of course you’re more than that. You’re my friend, in fact. And — and you were attacked. I feel bad about that.” This was going poorly. It always seemed to go poorly with Beau, no matter how much Felix tried to salvage things. You couldn’t un-claw someone’s gut into pieces, could you? 

They swallowed as Beau inspected the space, already knowing it wouldn’t be up to his standards. It wasn’t even up to Felix’s standards, and Felix’s standards were pretty low. “I know,” they said, chewing their lip uncomfortably. “There’s… not a lot I can do about it, though.” They didn’t comment on Beau’s concern for their ability to get ‘bitches.’ Felix didn’t really like calling people bitches, but they worried Beau would be upset if they said so. And, beyond that, they weren’t really looking to hook up with anyone. They watched Beau wander around the room instead, pausing when he came to the painting Thea’s friend had gifted Felix. “Oh, um… someone gave it to me, so I thought I should put it where people could see.” The painting was a little creepy, but Felix was so touched that a stranger had gifted him her art — her art, that she made! — that they couldn’t fathom the idea of not displaying it.

—

There was something strange about the way Felix was talking. Something at the tip of Beau’s pointed ears. Something his long gangly unglamoured fingers might have been able to point out, but not his glamoured fingers. It made his horns twitch. What was wrong with the way Felix was speaking? “Best friend.” Beau corrected. It wasn’t a lie, because Beau was the best friend Felix had. No one else in Felix’s life could possibly compete. Look at how they lived. In a boiler room. They were lucky Beau would even talk to them. “Felix, can I be honest? I’m going to be honest. It’s so cute that you’re so passionate about your job that you never want to leave. But this is weird. This isn’t helping me with the idea that you’re a serial killer. The only reason you probably haven’t killed me is because you promised to do anything I asked. You remember you promised that right, very thoughtful. Good promise.” 

“Anyway, the first thing you could do is get a bed frame. It’ll give you a chance at getting bitches, and I think you deserve some bitches, Felix. You’re….” Beau tilted his head while once again elevator-eyeing Felix. “Passable. After that you should paint. Maybe not blue. That would just remind everyone how sad you are. Which is…sad.” Beau was being so helpful. He was going to treat himself to something nice tonight. Being charitable might become one of his passions. “Get better art. Better yourself. Then it’ll be… passable in here. Oh. And a place to sit. It’s rude that you’re making me stand.” Beau started rubbing his abdomen, that way he could imply with his next statement that it had to do with the attack. He would have said it out loud if it wasn’t a lie. “I get pain, sometimes, you know.”

—

Felix nodded, because if Beau wanted to be their best friend, they probably owed it to them to do so. They had other people who, if they were being brutally honest, they might like a little more. Thea was nicer, Mona understood them a little better, Anita stood up for them. But Felix hadn’t dragged their claws through any of them, and that meant Beau probably had to take priority. “Yeah, I remember. Of course I do. But even without that, Beau, I wouldn’t kill you. I’m not a serial killer. They just… want me to stick around more, because I guess I’m a heavy hitter.” It felt wrong to say. A lot of what Felix was saying now felt wrong, but they didn’t really know how to stop talking. Beau probably wouldn’t like the silence much, anyway.

They watched as he continued to circle around the small space, offering a small smile as he referred to them as ‘passable.’ It was forced, but they thought they probably owed him at least some acknowledgment of the compliment. “I have been trying,” they said, a little defensive. “It’s just… I mean, what you’re implying…” They trailed off, not sure how to finish. It didn’t matter. Guilt washed over them again as Beau admitted that he still hurt, where Felix had gotten him with their claws. “You’re right. Let me find you a seat — I’m not being very polite.” They scrambled, nearly knocking the orange egg thing they’d bought from Leila off the boiler with how quickly they moved behind it to grab the flimsy wooden chair they’d dragged in from outside. “Um, here you go! If you need anything else, just… let me know.”

—

Felix was spouting some nonsense about being a heavy hitter. What did heavy hitting have to do with living in the Grit Pit boiler room? Beau wished Felix would make sense. Beau did so much to go out of his way and be there for this little weirdo, and Felix couldn’t extend the effort to be better? Be more? Beau let out a long-suffering sigh. “Okay, but serial killers live like this Felix. Look around. This place is the home of a serial killer.” Beau’s arm gestures flew everywhere. There were too many things to point at to prove his point. “You probably have dead bodies in the wall. That would explain the smell.” 

“You haven’t been.” Beau agreed. At least Felix was finally starting to think. Felix really was a pet. In need of constant attention and direction to get anything done. How did Felix get anything done without their best Beau hold their hand? “You must have been so lonely since I’ve been gone. I’ll admit it. I was struggling with seeing you. I’m a little less scared of you. I can help you more. Like with this.” Beau grabbed at the ugliest orange egg he’d ever seen in his life. “You almost knocked this over. That would have done a number. Is this your grandma’s remains? It’s ugly, it probably gives her afterpains.” Beau carefully put the egg back, sitting down in the chair finally offered to him. “Do you have anything to drink? You don’t even have a sink.” 

—

“Oh, come on, I don’t know about that. This place isn’t really serial killers, Beau, it’s, like… combat.” Wasn’t that what you’d call the Grit Pit’s goings-on? The matches in the ring, the back and forth between two fighters… Combat was probably the best word for it, really. Felix didn’t want to think about whether or not serial killer might be similarly applicable, didn’t want to live in a world where that word might encompass them. The idea of dead bodies in the wall made them shrink back, discomfort clawing at their gut. But that was deserved, too, wasn’t it? After all, no amount of discomfort could ever claw them as thoroughly as their jaguar had clawed Beau. 

They tried to attend to what they thought Beau might need as he spoke, the guilt crawling up their spine as they hastily grabbed a bottle of water from the mini fridge they’d stuffed into the corner near the only available outlet in the room, offering it to him. With their back turned, they didn’t see Beau pick up the egg. When they turned to find him holding it, they felt a sense of unease they couldn’t explain. “I got it at a thrift shop,” they said, trying to entice Beau to trade the egg for the bottle of water. “I think it’s some kind of prop? I’ve been trying to brighten up the place. But… I know it’s still kind of a disgrace.”

—

Beau delighted in Felix’s uncomfort. They shrunk back, a kicked kitten. Beau held all the power between them, and that was the only reason Felix had anything interesting to offer. Well, they had their name. But Felix was a dumb name. It reminded Beau of that old black cat cartoon. Huh. Dots were connecting. Felix’s parents must have known how pathetic they were going to be when they named Felix after that cat. Beau crossed his legs in the chair, looking primly at Felix. A king in his peasants domain. Wasn’t he gracious? Wasn’t he kind? “Violence is for serial killers, it’s in all the thrillers. Combat in the grit pit is just the first bit. Cause you’re always clawing while the crowd is applauding at all of your brawling and when you go sprawling so soon you’ll start crawling your way into marauding and honestly it's appalling. That’s serial killer behavior.” Beau had meant to stop the statement there, but he couldn’t, just couldn’t let that be the last word. “And that’s a bad flavor.”

Suddenly Felix was desperate to be a good host. They waved a bottle in front of him, trying to get Beau to hand over a thrifted egg. “It’s hideous, you’re so oblivious. I’m trying to help, this thing would get a one on yelp.” Beau tossed the egg at Felix, without a care if their cat-like reflexes were good enough to catch the flying orange disgrace. “I don’t know why you persist, when I’m trying to assist.” Beau said mournfully. He liked the sound of his own voice, there was something especially pleasing about it today. “You’ll want to trash it or maybe smash it.”

—

Everything Beau was saying was the truth, and Felix knew it. In a way, it was almost a relief. So many people made excuses for the things they did in the Grit Pit, assured them that it wasn’t their fault or that they were a good person despite. Wasn’t it better to have someone be honest? Beau was a good friend, wasn’t he? Refusing to lie to them, refusing to enable them. Felix should be grateful towards them for their honesty. No one was ever honest with them anymore, if they ever had been at all. It stung, but that was okay. That was just how the truth was, sometimes. 

They swallowed as Beau continued to grip the egg, fumbling when he tossed it towards them. They managed to catch it before it hit the ground, and they thought that was a good thing. They wouldn’t want the egg to shatter, even if they didn’t think it was the best decorative piece they’d picked up. “I’m sorry, Beau,” they sighed, placing the egg carefully on a shelf where it could look down upon the dingy room. “You’re a good friend, I know. I’ve been having a hard time lately, but I appreciate you greatly.” They kept staring at the egg, watching Beau’s reflection in it rather than looking at him directly. It was easier that way, sometimes. “I don’t want to break it, though. I spent money on it, you know? And… it must have been important to someone, once. The least I could do is hold onto it for a couple of months.”

—

That was it! Felix was rhyming. And it was annoying. Beau had to refrain from rolling his eyes in the most exaggerated and painful motion. He really was rising above. God what a pretentious little freak to start rhyming. With a serious face? “You think you’re all that, but you’re just a wet cat.” The words slipped out. Which was really quite rude because Felix had just called Beau a good friend, while apologizing. God. It was hard rising above. But his voice was really nice today. It felt like everything that came out of his mouth was meaningful, and held weight. Beau always liked the way he sounded, vain little creature that he was, but right now he felt better than ever. 

Beau braced himself trying to find the right words to fix this, while not lying. Damn the fae curse of words. “Listen, Felix, what if it’s like a phoenix. Put it in motion and once it’s broken maybe the commotion will make it open and then that devotion to that ugly token will be frozen. You could move on to something improved on. Just like this hard time could become a fun time. It’s all in the mindset as long as you reset and don’t let this orange egg control your legs.” Beau nodded. Hands on hips, smile plastered to his face. This was surely enough amazing advice to get Felix back on their feet, and make them forgive him for his little slip of the tongue. But really, if they didn’t want to be insulted they shouldn’t be such a pathetic wet cat. 

—

Felix flinched again at Beau’s statement, wanting desperately to protest. They didn’t think they were all that. They knew exactly what they were and how little they were worth. But it seemed rude to argue with Beau, too, so Felix did what they did best and shrunk into themself just a little more, made themself smaller and smaller. “I… I didn’t mean to,” they said quietly, though they really weren’t sure what they were apologizing for anymore. And wasn’t that, too, a sign of how shitty they really were? A better person would at least know what they’d done wrong, would recognize it. “I wasn’t trying to… upset you.” 

Still, they didn’t want to break the egg. It seemed rude to toss something against the concrete floor of the boiler room just to do it, seemed unkind to break something on the off chance that it might turn into something a little more useful to you. Felix didn’t like the idea of it, and they shook their head quickly. “I just don’t think it’s necessary,” they said. “Phoenixes are kind of legendary. I’ve never heard of one coming from something like this. And, you know, I think we’d be able to tell if something like that was amiss.”

—

“It’s fine,” Beau said it with his smile. “That wasn’t very kind, but I just had to speak my mind.” Beau slapped his hands against his pants, a gesture that said, and that’s done and everything is all well and good. At least now Felix knew the truth about themselves, and wasn’t the kindest thing that Beau could have done? Beau had come here and bestowed so much upon them. The truth about their horrible living situation, the truth about the kind of person they were, and most importantly the truth about that ugly orange egg. 

And after everything. After all the thoughtful advice, the truth, the forgiveness for what they had done, Felix still didn’t listen to Beau. And that hurt. This world was full of people who overlooked Beau. Because he was short. Because he worked for the BMV. Because he wasn’t cool enough to hang out with them at the lake on skip school day at the aos sí because ‘to be honest Beau, you’re weird and everyone thinks it’s uncomfortable when you hang out with us.’ What had he ever done to those little kids? Beau sat imitating the boiler, steam coming out of his ears with anger. “Well. I think we can both agree this didn’t go swell. Maybe I walked on shells too long around you as well. I should have known that was a hard sell. Now all I have to say is farewell.”  

—

Beau didn’t seem angry, but Felix didn’t unshrink, didn’t look any less apologetic. They remained quiet, remained uncertain, remained sorry. They weren’t sure there was any hope of ever really making things up to Beau. After all, how could you apologize for something that happened when you weren’t yourself and mean it? How could you say sorry for a thing knowing, without a doubt, that you’d do it over again in the same situation? Beau deserved more than something so empty, and Felix knew it. But they didn’t have anything more to give him, didn’t have any way of making things right. So, the silence hung over them, thick and heavy. They hated the way it tasted.

Like a switch was flipped, Beau was angry again and Felix made themself smaller to get away from it. He didn’t raise his voice, at least, and there was some relief in that. Every time a man raised his voice, Felix was a teenager again, or they were in the apartment they’d shared with Leo. And it was unfair to assign either of those identities to Beau, who had never done anything to Felix at all. “I’m really sorry about everything,” Felix said, sounding as small as they felt. “Um, I can swing by the BMV with lunch sometime soon if you want to tell me what to bring?” We’re still friends, right? They wanted to ask, but the words felt stuck. They wrung their hands together, looking at the floor. “I’ll see you around, okay? You don’t have to stay.”

—

Beau was doing public service by making sure this sniveling cat had a friend, and someone to talk to. Beau was really good at being kind, and the reward for that was Beau got to feel proud of himself, but it was hard when Felix wouldn’t listen to him. It was hard to not yell louder to make his voice become heard clearly. Beau’s cheeks burned from the forced smile he was bestowing upon them. “It’s fine. We’ll dine.” Beau let out a hefty sigh. Of course Felix was asking him what he wanted. Because Felix wasn’t capable of making decisions for themselves. That was cute, kinda, but also annoying. It was like, get a clue? You’re an adult. Grow up. Do something good and stop wasting space. Beau forced his smile even wider. “You’re so kind, I don’t mind what you decide will be fine.”

It was true that Beau didn’t have to stay. The boiler room was stuffy, Felix wouldn’t stop talking in rhymes, and Beau was just generally annoyed by the lack of reception all his great advice was getting. Wasn’t he eloquent? When he spoke, shouldn’t the world turn its spot lights on him and praise him for his brilliance? “Yeah, yeah, I’m aware. You don’t want me in your lair, I’ll go get some air. I’ll go ahead and get out of your hair.” Was it never enough that Beau just wanted to help? He knew exactly how everyone should live their lives around him, and every time they didn’t listen. Beau had to fight tooth and nail just for Felix to acknowledge him as their best friend, and the best BMV employee. Another day, another disappointment. Beau left, without so much as a backwards glance. The sad part was, Beau knew, he wasn’t done trying to help Felix. The cycle would repeat, and Beau would always be the poor sad victim. The abused and ignored guy who tried his hardest. Wasn’t that just tragic? 

—

Maybe all wasn’t lost after all. Beau, at least, seemed open to the idea of having lunch sometime, and wasn’t that all Felix could ask for? Wasn’t that more than they deserved, after all the trouble they’d caused him? They’d tried to take a chunk out of his midsection while shifted; to say Beau owed them nothing was a massive understatement, wasn’t it? But here he was, letting Felix meet him for lunch. So why was Felix always so uneasy around him? What was that faint prickling that made the hairs on the back of their neck stand up straight? They couldn’t put their finger on it, couldn’t quite figure it out. They didn’t think it was fair. They knew it wasn’t kind. “I’ll come by sometime,” they said with a small smile. “It’ll be sublime.”

Did Felix ever say the right thing? They offered to let Beau leave, but maybe he’d wanted to stay. Maybe he felt like they’d kicked him out, maybe his feelings were hurt. Guilt swirled in the balam’s chest, and they wanted to take it back. They wanted to ask him to stay, but wouldn’t he know they were only trying to mend what they’d dented? Wouldn’t that be an insult, too? “I’ll see you soon,” he said. “We’ll make it an afternoon! We can go to the park. Hang out until dark!” But as Beau disappeared, they wondered if they were offering too little. They sat in the stillness of the boiler room for a moment, swallowing around the lump in their throat.

Then, after a moment, they spoke to the empty room: “Wait, was he rhyming?” 

[alan-duarte]

[pm] I said goodbye Beau.

I'll be seeing you.

[pm] I hope you enjoy losing everything because you're too stupid to be nice enough to get your name back.

[mortemoppetere]

Would you date this man? [it's a picture of beau. this was obviously supposed to be sent anonymously but beau forgot to turn the feature on]

[user barely looks at the picture.]

No.

[magmahearts]

[pm] You're that homeless fae right? There is an asshole cat outside my house that won't shut up. Come get it.

[message marked as read.]

[user reads over message history. there is none. beau and cass only met in person. user reads over beau's profile instead. he finds beau remarkably annoying.]

[pm] Solve your own problems.

[kadavernagh]

@mayihaveyournameplease replied to your post “When was the last time you went out on a date?”:

You, me, Friday night? Bones? I heard you like them. I can supply one.

​Tell me more about this bone you could supply, and I will consider spending 5 minutes in your presence, in silence, before we amicably part forever.

[necrosemancy]

You know what, you've got the spirit, and you've got good taste in songs. You seem like you'd be fun at a karaoke night.

[user attaches a link to his YouTube (we are going to pretend it’s Beau’s YouTube)]

Haha, you could say I’m very musically inclined, if you wanted.