#wickedswriting

[magmahearts]

TIMING: current. PARTIES: @ariadnewhitlock, @vanoincidence, @muertarte & @magmahearts LOCATION: the magmacave. SUMMARY: as cass prepares to leave town for good, ariadne, van, and metzli show up to speak to her. when makaio finds them, things go south. CONTENT: parental death, child death, emotional manipulation, domestic abuse

Something had shifted with Metzli’s last visit. Cass had always known, on some level, that her father was capable of being dangerous in the same way she was, but she hadn’t thought much of it. Most of the people she loved were capable of being dangerous, and it never made her love them any less. Even now, she wouldn’t pretend she loved Makaio less than she had before. He was her father. She still loved him, would always love him. But… she didn’t think it was safe for him to be around her friends anymore. Not after he’d tried to have her hurt Metzli, not after he’d made it clear that there was only room in her life for him. She loved her father, but she didn’t think he belonged here.

Which probably meant she didn’t, either.

She’d already started planting the idea in his head. The two of them would be better suited for somewhere far from Wicked’s Rest. Alaska had a lot of volcanoes, and would put a whole country between them and the people she loved. It had a lower population, too, which meant less risk of… accidents like what had happened with the security guard. (Or things that weren’t accidents, like what had happened with the hunter. Cass tried not to think about that one.) Makaio actually seemed excited about it, and that was a good thing. The two of them could start over somewhere fresh, where no one she loved was in danger and she could have the family she told herself she wanted. 

So, she was deep within the Magmacave, scribbling letters in a notebook. She knew she couldn’t say goodbye to her friends in person; they’d all ask her to stay, and Cass wasn’t sure she was strong enough to say no. The notebook would be a better option. She’d leave it in the woods near the cave, someplace where one of them could find it. They’d be sad, but they’d be okay. They’d move on. Everyone always did. 

If she were less busy with the writing, she might have known someone was coming before the footsteps echoed off the walls. She might have registered that those butterflies in her stomach that signaled the presence of another fae, of her father, were absent with the approach. But knowing probably wouldn’t have changed anything, anyway, and so it didn’t matter that Cass didn’t hear them coming ahead of time. Her pencil paused in its scribbling as the footsteps finally echoed close by, head snapping up. “You shouldn’t be here.”

—

Van remembered the last time that she’d seen Cass and how tense it had been, of how she re-ran the conversation over and over in an attempt to figure out how to have it better next time. She wanted so badly for things go right that she didn’t heed the warnings. So what if Cass’s dad was dangerous? So what if Cass thought she was dangerous? Van was dangerous, too. She could do things, too. Unimaginable things. For the first time in a long time, Van wasn’t afraid as she walked towards Cass’s cave. 

It almost felt foreign in a way, a forgotten kind of memory that was only linked to the dreams she used to have about all of them beneath the cavern’s edge. She thought about the times that she’d been there to visit Cass, with or without the others– of the comics spread out on the floor, of the movies they’d watch on their phones. Van wondered very briefly if she should’ve brought pizza like before. 

It was just as difficult as before, navigating her way through the cave’s entrance to the opening that would lead her straight to Cass. Before she turned the corner, she could hear her friend’s voice ring out. “You like, said that before.” She didn’t have to do much to dodge the overhanging parts of the cave, as she was already on the shorter side. Instead, she walked right through, feigning authority and confidence. The moment she finally saw Cass, however, it shattered. She was wearing the necklace. It burned itself like a plate against the magma, but she was wearing it. Van stuttered as she spoke, “I just really wanted to see you. I’ve been– it’s– I missed you. A lot.” 

—

Ariadne had missed Cass more than she could put into words. Except that she’d decided that she had to go by the cave now. There wasn’t any other option at this point. Cass could yell at her, ignore her, do anything, but she needed to see Cass. Cass was her best friend and she’d been the person to make Ariadne really understand what it was like to have a best friend who wasn’t part of your family. She also needed to make sure that Cass was okay. Even if Cass never wanted to talk to her again, Ariadne needed to see for herself that her friend was at least okay.

She should’ve brought cookies – M&M, or something like that. Chocolate-caramel-chip. All sorts. Lifesavers gummies too. Except she’d shown up, with only a embroidered piece of fabric that was another volcano. A volcano with stars shining above it.

“I’m sorry.” She nearly walked into Van as she arrived at the cave. “I – uh. I missed you. Also. I’m sorry. I know you said – but you’re my best friend in the whole world and I really, really miss you and I needed to see you because –” Ariande cut herself off. “Please, let me – us – let us in, just for a little while?”

There was something finite about visiting the cave again, feeling the stone beneath their fingertips as they trailed behind the two girls ahead of them. More than ever, Metzli felt like death was permeating around them. Whether it was from a separate source or from within, they weren’t sure, but they saw the way Cass’s father kept himself gripped to her. Quite literally. 

From what they’ve seen and what they’ve experienced, Metzli knew all too well that it would take violence to get Cass away from that man instead of sacrificing the life she made for herself. They couldn’t let her give up the home she had worked hard to make, not for anyone. Especially not a man who abused his position as a father. The very thought of that made Metzli’s stomach sink, gagging them into silence while they listened to Van and Ariadne speak until there was a pause. 

They swallowed, wringing their fingers together several times until the ball in their throat released their voice. “We love you.” Metzli breathed, “It has been too long since we are able to be with you. Just for a little bit, we will like to see you.” Their body stiffened, and they added, “Please.”

It was overwhelming, having three of her closest friends show up at once. For weeks now, Cass had felt as though she was drowning just dealing with them one at a time, trying to keep both her families intact while knowing they needed to be kept separate. Seeing Metzli, Van, and Ariadne all here, all telling her the same things they’d been telling her for weeks… It was hard. More than that, it was scary. Cass glanced towards the back of the cave, where Makaio was resting. Hadn’t he said he’d kill Metzli if they returned? Wouldn’t he do the same to Ariadne and Van? This was why she had to go. None of them could ever be safe so long as she was here.

Half panicked, she looked back to them, getting to her feet. Hesitantly, she put up her glamour, stone and magma giving way to skin and hair. It was the first time she’d bothered with it for weeks now, the first time she’d worn it in her cave since Makaio first introduced himself to her. She took a step towards them, gently pushing the notebook towards Van.

“I love you, too,” she said quietly. “All of you. But you can’t be here, okay? Just — Look, I’m not… We can’t do this right now.” Or ever, really. But if she told them her plans, would they let her go? The best case scenario was for them to leave, and for Van to open the notebook after. By then, Cass and Makaio would be gone, and it would be better. Wouldn’t it be better? “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve been — weird lately. But you guys really need to leave.”

—

Van hadn’t anticipated the others, but they were welcomed additions. What better way to prove to their friend that she was loved than to all show up? It might’ve been overwhelming, too. There was no sense in facing the back and forth of what it could mean for Cass, because it was clear that they all thought they needed to be here for their own reasons. She figured from her’s and Cass’s last meeting that there’d be no such appreciation for the sudden visit, but hadn’t anticipated panic. She remembered what it looked like on Cass’s features from the time in the grocery store, Debbie’s blood spilt between them. 

“What is this?” Van didn’t open the notebook that Cass pushed into her hands. Instead, she held onto it tightly at her side, fingers denting the flimsy cover. It was a little odd, seeing Cass in the way that she remembered her most easily, and while Cass might’ve argued that the former was more in tune with who she was, Van thought that they both were. She didn’t really know how fae glamor worked, but it was clear it was different across the board, given Regan only had to hide wings. Well, not anymore, but still. 

“What’s going on, Cass?” This was different than the last time, too, Van realized. “Are you okay?” Her voice trembled slightly as she took a small step forward, catching Cass’s hand with her own. “You can come with us, right? You can come with us, and you can tell us.” Her eyes swept behind Cass where she anticipated Makaio’s arrival, but all she saw was darkness. “You can come with us.” It wasn’t a question this time, instead it was spoken with finality– a plea dressed in the most basic of emotion. 

—

A part of her had wanted to be the only one here, but it made sense that Van and Metzli had shown up too. If Ariadne were honest, it was also a welcome addition, because it meant she didn’t have to convince Cass of her value all alone. Van and Metzli were perfect additions because she knew Cass loved them deeply too. So maybe this would work. Maybe she could get her best friend back. To show Cass just how desperately loved she was.

Cass’s panic was unsettling. Ariadne would’ve preferred anger, preferred being yelled at to go and being told she was annoying, no matter how much that hurt her. Cass’s glamor shifted, and Ariadne opened her mouth to say that Cass didn’t have to do that, that she was so incredibly beautiful in her true form, but maybe now wasn’t the time for that.

“Please come with us.” She echoed Van, taking a step forward and grabbing Cass’s other hand with her own, gaze falling to the notebook, wondering what was in there, if Van knew more, and what that more might have been. She hadn’t met Cass’s dad yet, but figured he had to be somewhere in here. “Just come on, we can – we can do whatever you want to do. Anything at all.” Because even on the most normal of days Ariadne would have done anything on earth for her friend. But now it seemed especially important to highlight that, to make sure that her best friend knew how much she’d do anything on earth for her.

“I missed you. I love you.” A mantra, almost. The way it flowed off her tongue was nearly like a prayer. “We love you. We love you.” She changed, not wanting to ignore the others who were there, even if a part of her wanted to wrap Cass up in their own little world. “What’s the matter?”

The reciprocated love, although quiet, meant everything after the months of pushback. It helped further prove to Metzli that it was never truly Cass who spoke so cruelly. Maybe she once believed the words as they flew off her tongue, but that didn’t seem the case anymore. They recalled the last time they were there, and looked to Cass’s shoulder. Metzli could still see the jagged grip on it, detested the idea that she was left with a bruise and an ache that they couldn’t soothe after they left. 

Quickly, the thoughts were shaken away before more could be conjured in a panic. Their focus was better set on getting Cass somewhere away from her father, somewhere safe. By the looks of it though, with Metzli’s trained eye and propensity for analysis, the notebook Cass was shoving into Van’s hands looked a lot like a goodbye. Their shoulders fell and their posture stiffened at the realization, and it was all they could do to keep their composure. If Cass left, she would be sacrificing everything for a man that did not deserve it. Metzli couldn’t let that happen, and they were glad to have the unexpected help to convince her of that.

“You should not go with him.” It was a quiet plea, much too quiet for anyone to actually hear, so they said it again. “You should not go with him. He hurts you. Love is not supposed to be painful.” Metzli paused with a swallow. “Not like this. Will you please listen? We can help you.” They took a step forward, taking a breath. “We can. Let us help you.”

Van didn’t open the notebook, and that was good. Cass wasn’t ready for her to do that yet, wasn’t ready for the goodbyes to be acknowledged. If they knew she was leaving, they’d argue, and… Cass didn’t want to fight with her friends. She’d done enough of that already. She would be leaving them with this terrible impression, this quiet doubt of who she was and how she felt about them thanks to the last few months of distance she’d forced between them all. The last thing she wanted to do was widen that gap at the end, make any of them think she loved them less than she did. She was sick of fighting with them, but she didn’t know how to stop. This thing with Makaio was a boulder rolling down a hill; the momentum was too intense to keep it from rolling to the bottom.

“I’m okay,” she said to Van, a quiet mantra she’d been repeating for a while now. She was fine, she was loved. It wasn’t Makaio’s fault that no one else understood him; how could it be? They didn’t know him the way Cass did, didn’t know his history. Even if they did, they couldn’t understand. No one understood her father the way Cass did, and maybe that meant that all of this was okay. She could go with him, and she could understand. She could go with him, and she could be understood. It didn’t have to be a bad thing. So, she repeated it, trying to make it feel right. “I’m okay.” It didn’t burn her tongue the way a lie would have, but there was an uncomfortable feeling in her chest all the same. 

She swallowed around the lump in her throat, shaking her head. “I can’t go with you. I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’m — My dad needs me. He’s alone. He’s been alone for such a long time. I can’t… I have to stay with him. I’m sorry. But that doesn’t mean I don’t —”

“What’s this?”

A jolt of panic rose to her throat at the cool, familiar voice behind her. Her guts had been so twisted up in all the things she was feeling that she’d neglected to recognize the fluttering in her stomach that had signified her father’s approach, had missed the tug of the cave around her as his feet padded along its floor. Cass whirled to face him, fear and guilt spreading over her face. “I — They were just leaving. They came to get some things, that’s all. Right?” She looked back at her friends, hoping they’d take the hint and go.

—

Van had done a lot of running. She’d shied away from danger time and time again, favoring ignorance as a means to keep things normal. But the reaction Cass had to her’s, Metzli’s, and Ariadne’s pleas was anything but. She knew that Cass didn’t believe herself to be the girl from the grocery store, but there was another edge to it. Van listened to Ariadne’s voice, soft and delicate, and then to Metzli’s– still soft, but with an edge of knowing. What did they know that she didn’t? She cast a glance in their direction before it realigned on Cass’s face. 

Before she could echo Metzli’s sentiment about having Cass leave with them, the sound of footsteps and a minor vibration beneath her feet had her snapping her mouth shut. She looked past Cass to see her father– not traced in any kind of glamor, but more akin to the way that she’d seen Cass the last few times now; molten and blistering. She swallowed the plea she had tucked at the back of her throat, and instead held onto the notebook tightly. 

It occurred to her then, what it meant. It was a goodbye. Cass planned to leave with him. Metzli figured it out quickly enough, and maybe she should have, too. 

At Cass’s insistence that they agree with her, Van felt the weight of her’s and Cass’s friendship slip over her shoulders– a heavy weighted thing. The idea that if she didn’t fight back against the ill fated reassurances, she’d lose her forever. “We weren’t.” The words came out, never mind how minor, and they surprised her. Before, she would have relented– found her way through the cave’s mouth and escape only to message Cass later. But this had a certain finality to it, that if she turned her back, she might never see Cass again. 

“We’re here to see her.” Her tongue felt heavy and iron pulled from the back of her throat. 

—

Life was dangerous. Ariadne hadn’t been quite so aware of that when she was growing up (and she had a guess that being human then was a good part of it – and then there was how her parents didn’t have a clue about anything, and if they did have a clue, they kept all of that well away from her). But in the past year, and even more particularly in the last half year, and even more recently than that, she’d been terrified for Cass. Because her best friend wasn’t someone to shy away from friends. If anything, Cass was – or had been – ever-present in a way that provided unending comfort.

So her sudden drawing back was weird, especially when it came with confusing reasoning that Ariadne couldn’t find a way to make sense of. Wynne and Van had agreed about that, and now it seemed Metzli had, too. Even though she didn’t know them too well yet, they were Leila’s partner, and if there was someone whose opinion she knew would always be right, Leila was top of the list. Leila was scared for Cass too, she recalled.

Except before she could say anything else someone else appeared behind Cass. Non-glamoured, and beautiful in some ways (though not as beautiful as Cass), and she wrapped her arms around her torso, fingertips digging into each opposite upper-arm.

“Yeah.” She nodded, bolstered by Van’s words. “We’re – we’re here to see her. She’s my – my b-best friend and I just – I miss her. We all miss her.” Ariadne focused on Cass, not wanting to look her father in the eye, feeling incredibly tiny despite her height. “I can’t – can’t go, not yet.” The words burned in her mouth, and she found herself grateful that being dead meant she couldn’t blush anymore. Maybe it gave her an edge. Maybe it would allow her to help Cass.

—

Panic and fear were powerful feelings, sometimes unstoppable, but they brought out a violent honesty that was near impossible to suppress for most people. Metzli could recall countless moments they looked just as Cass did, and their mind went back to a painting still displayed at the gallery. A looming shadow in the background and a being unable to escape its touch. It was a sight Metzli had every instinct to protect Cass from, but they weren’t sure she’d allow for it. 

The truth was far too terrifying to witness, so what would make the illusion fall right then? Metzli wasn’t sure, but they knew they had to try. Even if it meant getting burned. Stepping forward, they placed themself between Cass’s father and the two younger women, becoming a shield. 

“Her friends miss her. I miss her too.” They stated firmly, keeping their eyes low and avoiding any gaze, but focused. Fear didn’t drive them to look away, not exactly. Looking at the man would only drive Metzli to violence, and they didn’t want to find out how Cass would react if that happened. “If you want to be good father, then you will be happy that she has so much…” Taking a breath, Metzli’s nape bristled, uncertain whether or not they were choosing the right words. “Family. She deserves every love. All of it. We will not leave her, and it will be w-wrong to make us leave. Wrong. Wrong.” 

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. 

They felt the emotion begin to run their mind in circles, and before they could trip over it, Metzli wrung their fingers against themselves and counted softly to themself until the episode passed. 

For a moment, it felt as though the world stood still. Cass was beyond hoping that her father would have a positive reaction to something like this. Maybe months ago, in the very beginning of their companionship, she would have longed for it. She would have imagined a world in which he cracked the smile that, until now, had existed for her and her alone, would have crafted a universe where he invited her friends to stay for dinner and listened to stories of Cass as she had been before he knew her. But naivety wasn’t the kind of thing she’d ever been able to afford, and she knew better than to hope for the impossible. The world stood still, not in anticipation of something decent springing it back into action, but to ask the question of just how bad things would be. 

Van was insisting that they were here to see her, not leaving as she’d suggested. Ariadne was saying, again, that she missed her, and Cass ached with the words. Metzli was standing in front of a man they knew wanted to see them turned to dust with their fists clenched and their jaw set. Makaio glared at the lot of them, fire burning behind his eyes. And Cass loved them all. She loved Van’s stubbornness and Ariadne’s bravery, loved Metzli’s careful words, but she loved Makaio, too. She loved his protectiveness, loved the way he said her name like it was a precious thing. And she wondered if she was supposed to. 

Her friends looked at him like he was a monster, and Cass loved him. She loved him even now, with her hands trembling and fear crawling up her throat. Could you be terrified of someone and love them still? Could you adore a person and still have nightmares about the things they were capable of? 

Makaio turned to look at her, and she shrank beneath his gaze. She felt smaller than she’d ever felt before, felt like an insect at the foot of a giant. “I told you,” he said coldly, “that they didn’t respect you enough to understand your decision to be apart from them. I told you this.” 

“It’s not — It isn’t like that,” she insisted, unable to meet his eye. “They’re just worried. And I was — I was going to tell them to go. Before you got here, that’s what I was doing. They just — They don’t understand.”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “They don’t.” For a moment, she thought that might be the end. She thought, maybe, he would let her handle it. But Makaio sucked a breath, and Cass stilled. She knew, in a way, what he would say before he said it. Loving someone meant being able to predict what they might do next, after all. “So it’s time that you make them. You say you want us to be equals, Cassidy. This is how you can achieve it. Get rid of them, and you and I can carry on in peace. It’s the last thing I’ll ask of you, keiki. Kill them, and it can be just the two of us. The way it was meant to be from the beginning.” 

—

Van could understand to a degree where Cass was coming from. The idea of having somebody that loved you enough to stick around was something that drew her forward, too. But this was not right. The way that Makaio looked at the three of them, and then at Cass… there was something deeply sinister about it, and it made her stomach twist. She listened to Ariadne trip over her words, but the strength was still there. Metzli’s steeled voice sounded authoritative, and it had hope blooming through her. 

Cass, however, seemed frightened. She was being split in multiple directions. Between their begging words and the stern look from Makaio, she knew what kind of weight must be pressed onto her right now, and Van felt bad that she was making it worse. That there might be repercussions once they did leave. But if she, Metzli, and Ariadne had it their way, the repercussions would come later, after they managed to get Cass out of the cave and talk some sense into her away from Makaio. 

Defiant words crawled up and over Van’s tongue, pressed against the back of her teeth as she clenched her jaw. This was gaslighting 101, right? Like, how could Cass not see that? But she knew it wasn’t fair to impart that thinking on her friend, especially given the fact that when on the side of things where you thought this was love, it was hard to see it wasn’t. Maybe Makaio did love Cass, but not in the way that she deserved. Not in the way that everyone else in Wicked’s Rest did. 

Their prior conversation rattled around in Van’s head like a bell calling the livestock home, but home looked different now that she was in front of Makaio who was telling Cass that her friends didn’t understand, and that– 

“Whoa, whoaaaa–” That had to be what turned Cass over, right? Van’s gaze slipped over Makaio, then back to Cass, her hand still locked around her friend’s wrist. If Cass really wanted her to let go, she could pull back. Van wouldn’t stop her. “Are you serious– Cass, are you listening to him?” A nervous sweat licked at the back of her neck, and her throat suddenly grew dry. “Cass,” Van tugged on her hand, begging her to take a step away from Makaio. “She’s our friend! Why are you doing– why are you asking her to do this? She would never do that, not to us. She wouldn’t.” For once in Van’s life, there were no tears. Her magic was absent, held back by the ring wound around her finger. She could feel it bubble, but there was no spilling. 

—

It wasn’t that Ariadne wasn’t happy for Cass to have family in town. Ariadne knew that she was lucky to have the parents she had. Ridiculously lucky, and shouldn’t she want that for her best friend too? She did want it, but with everything that had happened recently, she wasn’t sure just how much joy she could feel. She didn’t like how Cass’s dad was looking at them. It kept making her feel small, feel like she could just shrink into herself. 

Her friend’s voice wavered and it made Ariadne feel sick. Cass was so often giddy and excitable and sure-footed. There was no judgment about her not being this way all of the time – and there never would be – but it was so much unlike the Cass that Ariadne knew that she had to do a double take. She didn’t want Cass to be afraid. She wanted to devour every hint of possible fear that her friend could have, keep them away from her. To never let her be hurt, not even one bit.

– so why couldn’t she move? She took another step toward Cass, on the opposite side from where Van was. Trying to keep her friend safe, as best as she was able. Which might have not been so very much, but something was better than nothing. Looking for any free space, she hooked her pinkie finger around Cass’s. Treasured the warmth from her friend.

Even if her dad did care about her, why would he want her friends to go away? Ariadne’s parents had practically literally jumped for joy when she’d admitted to finally having a few real friends. They’d wanted to meet them, for her to have them around for as long as it was possible. So it didn’t add up that Cass’s dad seemed to want them to go away.

Then he was saying to kill them and Ariadne shook her head right away. “Hey, uh, no. No thanks – there’s, uh, there’s no reason to do that! You know?” She was squeaking again, and she was maybe weak, but she could be better than that. She could be anything but weak. “Cass?” She echoed Van’s words. “Hey, Cass. I love you. Come on, you can – you don’t want to hurt us.” Didn’t say kill, because she couldn’t get the words out. “She won’t hurt us.” She narrowed her eyebrows, the hand whose pinkie was not around Cass’s clenched into a fist. “She’s not that sort of – friend.” Person, she almost said, but maybe Cass’s dad wouldn’t like that. Maybe Cass wouldn’t like that. Friend, however, was indisputable. “We can all hang out. We all love Cass so much.”

—

There was a sensation coursing through the vampire that they hadn’t felt since Chuy broke the news of his string of betrayals. It was an anger that had gone long past a simmer and a boil. Silently and with a bit of hyperventilation, Metzli wondered if that was what it felt like for Cass. The heat of her own body mixing with the anger. Her devil was dancing with her father’s demon, and the fiddler’s tune was only just beginning. Each pizzicato from the bow sent another rippling burn in Metzli’s belly, and before they could stop themself from speaking without thinking, they snapped. 

“You make her work to be equal?” Parents weren’t supposed to do things like that. Being alive, just existing was supposed to be enough. Every moment was precious, and Cass had such little self worth from her life of abandonment that she couldn’t tell what her father was doing. “You make her do things for you so you can love her? How…how dare you?” The words came out in a growl, acid dripping from their tone. Looking up, Metzli’s eyes were already red and their fangs were sharp. They had to unbury Cass’s eyes to the truth, expose the man’s secrets to the glare and reflect it out like a grotesque carnival mirror. 

“What-what is wrong with you?!” Their voice shook, but their spine was made of steel. Taking a step toward the two fae and van, Metzli swallowed, shaking with an anger akin to a volcano ready to erupt. With every plea that came from Van and Ariadne, the tremors grew, and when the man spoke of what was meant to be, Metzli vehemently shook their head. 

“If she does not want to kill us, you will be a bad father if you make her. What kind of father does not want their child to be loved? Why does this family threaten you?!” They took another step forward, staring daggers into the bigger fae with their lungs filled with a mixture of courage and anger. “You are not good father. A good daughter like mijita deserves a good father.” Metzli’s fist was balled tightly while they kept the last shred of composure they had. “Be one. Be better. Maybe I leave one time, but I choose better and listen to Cass. Listen to what she wants!”

Makaio’s eyes slid to Van and Ariadne, and Cass was fairly unfamiliar with the feeling of being cold — volcanoes seldom froze, after all — but a chill ran through her all the same. She wanted to tell him to stop, but the words were caught in her throat. She could feel them stick to the inside of her mouth, feel them cling to her tongue and refuse to leave it. The world seemed to be closing in on her, two universes colliding in a way she’d always imagined would be joyous but was anything but. 

“She’s killed for me before,” Makaio said, and Cass flinched. “More than once now. It’s asking very little for her to do it again. Things like you die so easily.” 

They’re not things, she wanted to say. They’re my friends. I love them, just like I love you. Why can’t I have both? I want to have both. Please. Was it a selfish thing to want? She’d spent all her life longing for one family, and now she was throwing a fit over her inability to have two. Would she spend every waking moment wanting more? She wondered, with a sharp pain in her chest, if it would ever be enough. If her father had wanted to merge with the family she’d found in Wicked’s Rest, would Cass be happy? Or would she still long to add to it, still want in the way she always had? Maybe nothing would ever be enough for her. The thought was a stifling one, a thing that ached. 

People were taught not to want, weren’t they? People were taught to be happy with what they had. Maybe Cass’s life would have been easier had she ever learned that lesson. But she didn’t. She wanted, even now. She wanted this moment to be different, to be better. Ariadne was scared, Van was confused, Metzli was angry, Makaio was close to eruption. Cass closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, taking a moment to steel herself. 

He wasn’t expecting her to pull her wrist from his grip. She’d never done it before. So when she yanked, her hand came free fairly easily, and Makaio’s expression shifted to one of surprise. Cass planted herself firmly between her father and her friends, trying not to look as nervous as she felt. “Stop it,” she demanded. “I’m not — I’m not going to hurt them. They’re my friends. I’m sorry I’m not what I wanted you to be. I’m not — not what anyone wanted me to be. I know that. But I’m not going to hurt my friends.”

The surprise was still present on Makaio’s face. It rippled, a rockslide that shifted his features from shock into rage with a quiet rumble. His hands, now free without her wrist in his grip, clenched into fists at his side. Cass had seen her father angry, but never at her. In spite of everything, it hurt. She chewed her lip, standing firm despite her nerves.

“Stupid girl,” he said lowly. She flinched as if it were a physical blow. “I thought, with time, you could be shaped into something worthy. Perhaps it isn’t too late. If you won’t do what needs to be done here, I will. Let the slowness of their deaths be a lesson to you.” 

He took a step forward; around them, the cave rumbled.

—-

Ariadne echoed her sentiments about not wanting to be killed, and Metzli conveyed the anger that stirred inside of her, displaying it for both Cass and Makaio to see. Van stayed still– silent in her disbelief that somebody could request this of somebody they claimed to love. The idea that Cass had killed for him before didn’t bother her, not in the way she thought it might at the confirmation. Instead, she thought of Debbie. Of the branding she and the others shared on their stomachs after being slashed with what Van knew now to be iron. She considered telling him, but what did it matter if she did?

Instead, she made eye contact with Cass. She hoped that her expression conveyed a certain neutrality, but the kind that was loudly on Cass’s side. Even if Cass had killed before, it was clear that it wasn’t in the vein of cruelty, but in something else– the hope for a connection, maybe. It was clear that Makaio had made their relationship all about what she could do for him, not what they could be together. Van hated him in place of Cass. Hated him enough to envision him dead, crushed beneath the weight of his choices. But now wasn’t the time. Her magic was stagnant, a boat out to sea with no power to move forward. 

She listened to the way Cass fought back, insistence laced with longing. Van couldn’t completely understand the way that Cass felt, but she knew what it was like to love somebody who had the wrong idea. Would Jade ask her to kill a friend for the sake of her duty? Was it wrong to impart that idea onto her? Her chest tightened as Makaio began to speak, calling Cass stupid of all things. 

Cass was the opposite. She was kind, compassionate– loving, fierce, loyal. She was everything Van had hoped for in a friend, so when Makaio began to shake the walls of the cave around them, Van enveloped herself in the love she had for her friend and she stepped forward, grabbing onto Cass’s arm. “She’s better than you’ll ever be, and she’s– she’s everything, and if you don’t see that, then you’re…” Van shook her head, fear beginning to worm its way through the adrenaline as the walls around them continued to rumble, “I don’t know what you are, but you’re not a father. You’re somebody who wanted something, and Cass is more than anything you could’ve hoped or dreamed for, and–” She held onto Cass’s arm tightly, partially forgetting that the other two were there as well, “she’s killed for me, too– protected me, and that’s what it should be about, love and protection, and maybe she did that for you, but I did that for her, too, and I helped her, and we share something, and I don’t think you’ll ever share it with her because you don’t know her and you never will.” The words came tumbling out laced with something that was hard to identify. She turned to Cass, “we can leave, we can go– he can’t hurt you when you have us.” 

—-

Cass was one of the bravest people she knew, full stop. It was something Ariadne had believed forever, and right now was only further proof of that. She just wished that her friend didn’t have to be so brave. She deserved a break from things, and she deserved to have support from people closest to her. From her father, of all people.

“I don’t care if she’s killed. She’s still my best friend!” Ariadne shout-squeaked, wishing she had the ability to seem just a bit more frightening in this moment. She’d never really wished to be scary, but if it could get Cass’s father to back off, she’d wish for it a thousand times over. Wish for it until she couldn’t wish any more.

Van looked over to Cass and Ariadne did too. “She’s my best friend for-ever and always, and I love her no matter what.” That much was true. Her stomach turned as she thought back to the hunter who’d almost killed them both, and how that seemed to be when Cass had stopped talking to her in the same way. Ariadne should’ve followed after her. She knew that. She should’ve reassured her – or maybe not even stopped her. Even though she didn’t like the idea of that, and she didn’t know if she could go back and let Cass kill someone (even though maybe they did deserve to die, if they tried to kill her. Maybe, maybe.). What she did know was that she wished she’d never let go of her friend’s hand, literally or metaphorically.

Cass spoke, but her words wavered and Ariadne’s heart hurt. She shouldn’t be feeling that way. She was a volcano. She was bright and powerful and sometimes pretty loud and excitable and it felt wrong to see her looking small. It felt even worse when her father called her stupid. That wasn’t what parents were supposed to do. Van seemed to think along the same lines, and Metzli would too, Ariadne knew. They’d talked about protecting family. Cass was family.

You didn’t let go of family. Cass was family. She moved closer to Cass. “She’s not stupid. She’s one of the most brilliantest,” okay, not her finest word choice, “amazing people I know. She’s anything but stupid. She’s clever and caring and so so smart.” The cave’s walls were rumbling, but Ariadne didn’t move. “We’ll keep you safe.” She echoed Van again. “We’ll keep you safe and I’ll make sure he never hurts you. Make sure you’re happy.” It was all she wanted. She wanted to wrap Cass up in her arms and protect her, to tell her what familial love should feel like. Her parents could adopt a grown up, right? She could give Cass a family who wouldn’t force her to do what she didn’t want to do, right? “I love you. I love you forever.”

—-

“You do not scare me with your threats.” Metzli growled, unwavering in their place as Cass’s father attempted to strike fear in them by weaponizing the truth. Cass had killed someone, but that didn’t shape her into anything different in the vampire’s eyes. They were more worried for her mental well-being, knowing the guilt that riddled her heart for smaller things than murder. Taking a life was never easy, even when it was right, and Metzli wasn’t going to let a strange man perpetuate an idea he had no ground to uphold. 

“Cass, it is okay. I still love you. It does not scare me that you have killed. I have too. It is scary and heavy when it is new, but we can be okay again. Come with us,” Metzli breathed shakily, eyes glistening with hope when she talked back to her father. “I love you, okay? You are not stupid.”

Family loved, unconditionally, and Cass dreamt of having her father fill his role the way he was supposed to. She fell prey to her own wishes, making excuses and rearranging the image of a family in hopes of the pieces fitting together seamlessly. You couldn’t force them to fit, and despite the pain, Metzli could see that Cass was beginning to accept that, in her own way. Even if she was still telling herself she was the cause of the puzzle not being cut correctly. They could work on that later, help her see that she was always perfect the way she was. When her father was out of the way and they were all safe, Metzli and Van and Ariadne would help her, and others too. 

It looked like it was time to leave, anyway. Cass’s father was throwing a tantrum violent enough to shake the cave, endangering everyone who wasn’t stone. They had to act quickly. 

“Come with us, mijita.” Rubble began to bounce off Metzli’s shoulder, and they looked up to see the integrity of the cave diminishing. They stepped closer to be a shield, watching Van pull Cass toward the group. She came to her senses, so she was going to leave with them. She had to. Right? 

“We will take care of you. Come with us.”

She was wavering. She knew her father could feel it, knew he saw the way her body language screamed of her uncertainty. Where she’d previously leaned towards her father, she leaned back towards her friends now, making no move to shrug their hands off of her or step away from their comforting words. Makaio’s eyes flickered between them, glowing faintly with his rage as he scoffed.

“They rally behind you because they know you don’t want them,” he told her bluntly. “They’ll leave the moment you’re more accessible to them. They’ll walk away freely, as everyone always has. Who has stayed with you, Cassidy? Who besides me?” 

Cass swallowed. Those old fears were swirling in her gut, reminding her of all the times she’d felt alone. But — but Van’s hand was on her shoulder and Ariadne’s words echoed in her ear and Metzli stood beside her the way she’d always imagined a parent would, in a way that spoke of the pair of them as equals. Makaio had never done any of this for her. 

“They love me,” she said quietly. “They love me, too. Why can’t — Why can’t you be okay with that? They love me, like you do. They —” 

“How could anyone love you?” Makaio snapped, and Cass’s mouth shut with such force that her teeth gnashed together painfully. “You are a disappointment. You are a failure. I thought you could be made useful, thought something good could come from you, but I was wrong. I spent months playing pretend for a sad little girl, and now I see it was for nothing. If I can’t make use of you, Cassidy, I’ll be sure you pay for wasting my time.” 

It was jarring, this shift. For months, she’d been so sure that, if nothing else, her father loved her. Whatever else he was, he was still her father. He still cared for her, still wanted what was best for her. That thought had driven her all the while, had inspired her to push everyone else away and to defend him to the bitterest of ends. And now, standing here with the cave rumbling around her, she realized it was a lie. Makaio wasn’t someone who loved her. The people who loved her were the ones standing behind her now.

Cass turned back towards her friends, her heart in her throat. They wanted her to go with them. She wanted to go with them. But…

“I won’t leave you. I promise, I won’t.” Her words, the ones she’d spoken to him months ago, echoed in her mind now. She glanced towards him, saw it in his eyes. He remembered, too. He was probably tugging the bind now, causing that anchored feeling in her chest. There was only one way for her to go with her friends, only one way for her to leave.

Her father had to die.

In spite of everything, the thought made her stomach twist in violent discomfort. He didn’t love her, and maybe he never had, but Cass loved him. Even now, even standing in this trembling cave. She loved him, and she wanted to go, and the only way for her to do that was to force the bind to shatter. 

The cave rumbled violently, the two oreads’ control warring with each other. Rocks fell on Metzli’s head, and they were small enough not to do any real damage, but a few feet away a much larger chunk of cave ceiling came loose and shattered against the ground. She glanced back to her father, and he was stepping forward. He burned dimly — never as bright as Cass herself, which might have been why he’d sought her out the way he had — but it was a dangerous glow all the same. A hand snaked out, trying to grab Van behind her, and Cass shoved him back. 

“You think you can protect them?” Makaio sneered. “They’re going to die here, Cassidy. And when they’re gone, you’ll have only yourself to blame. And only me to fall back on.” 

Cass whirled around, panic in her eyes as she faced her friends. “Go!” She yelled over the sound of the rumbling cave. “Go outside! I — I’ll meet you up there, I promise! But you need to go, now!”

—

Both Ariadne and Metzli continued to echo her own sentiments. If it were just her and Cass alone with Makaio, would they have gotten this far? Would Van so clearly be able to see the shift in her friend’s demeanor? The stark realization that she’d been manipulated? It wasn’t Cass’s fault, and Van didn’t blame her. Despite the hurt she felt due to the growing distance between herself and her friend, Van wasn’t angry at anyone other than Makaio. This was his fault. He preyed on the fact that Cass wanted nothing other than to be loved and he twisted it like a knife until it was too late to pull back without any blood loss. 

But now, Cass was hemorrhaging. They all were. 

Small rocks from above began to rain down, hitting the ground with enough force to make snapping noises. Van’s anxiety had begun to show its head in the way that iron coated her tongue, slipping down through her throat. She pushed it away. There was no room to be afraid, especially when Cass needed her. What good would it do, anyway? 

Makaio’s words lit a fire beneath Van and she clenched her jaw, her magic still stagnant, but glaringly obvious now that she’d become more aware of it. It was there, and she would allow it to help if needed. She would trust her magic to protect them all if it came to that, but she knew she also needed to trust Cass, too. Van had learned that fae could not lie, not without some level of discomfort, and so the vitriol that Makaio spewed told her that he believed she was nothing. “Cass is the greatest thing to ever happen to you, the greatest thing to ever happen to me, and the fact that–” She looked towards Cass, recalling the night with Debbie– of their blood spilled, of dumping her into the pit, of everything else. The late night talks, the sweets shared between them, the jokes, the reassurances. How it had all come to an end because of him. 

Makaio reached out for her and Cass put herself in between them. Van’s hand was still on her shoulder, grip loosening only due to the constant rock fall. The sound of the cave groaning made her skin crawl. This would likely be all of their ends if they didn’t leave, but Van couldn’t leave without Cass. “Not unless you come with us– you can’t– we can’t leave you, Cass.” Her grip tightened almost instantaneously, a hopeful thing laced with an edge that reached her tone as she dared Makaio to challenge the three of them. “Please, come with us. Don’t stay here. Just leave. Please!” Worry spun circles around her as her vision became hazy from the dust as it bloomed around them, larger chunks of rocks beginning to fall at their feet.  She could see the look in Cass’s eye– had seen it a dozen times. There was a promise there, and she knew it to be binding, but what if she didn’t make it? Van enveloped Cass into a tight hug from behind, attempting to drag her backwards. “Come on, help me!” It was said to the other two behind her as she tried to bring Cass towards safety. 

—

Her best friend’s father wasn’t really much like a father at all. Fathers weren’t supposed to act like this, to do things that made their children scared or uneasy or even significantly uncertain. Ariadne knew that she’d won when it came to parents, but she also knew that right now, Cass’s dad wasn’t meeting even the bare minimum requirement. Cass deserved so much more. Van and Metzli were echoing the same sentiment, and she knew that Nora and Wynne would think the same. Cass had so many people on her side, Ariadne just wished she could make sure that she knew that. Because Cass doubted the love people had for her, and she’d been given love, but the love she’d been given hadn’t been real, and yet she’d been convinced that it was.

And now she was realizing just how much it wasn’t and Ariadne wanted to take away every bit of sorrow and fear that Cass must have been experiencing now. She was grateful that she wasn’t alone with Cass and her father, but in the same thought, there was a certain part of her that wished it was just the three of them. Because then maybe, somehow, she could deal with this. She could prove to Cass that she could be strong, that she could do anything for her friend. For her forever friend. Or at least as close to forever as she was going to get. Hundreds and hundreds of years sounded pretty neat.

“Cass is the best thing in the world. I didn’t know anything really about friends – best friends – until I met her.” Ariadne didn’t look right at Van, mostly because she didn’t want to hurt her other friend. She and Van had been friends, but Van had been closer with Chance, and the two of them had grown apart until just over a year ago. Besides right now was all about Cass, and Ariadne was intent on keeping it that way.

The cave made a sound that was unsettling. One it had never made when it was just Cass around. Because Cass loved the cave, and the cave loved her, and things were balanced, then. With her father around, things were darker and cloudy and Ariadne opened her mouth to speak as Cass stood between them and her father. She wanted to scream that she couldn’t die, that she was already dead, that it didn’t matter, so long as Cass lived. Not in any form of a ‘want to die again’ way, but Cass mattered more than anything right now. She grabbed Van, reached out to touch Cass’s arms, to pull her as tightly as she could. “Just come now. Please, Cass. Please.” She had to listen, didn’t she? “You’re still my favorite superhero. My favorite friend. I – Cass, please.”

—

The structures around them all groaned and cracked, but nothing sounded louder than the way Cass urged them to leave. Van and Ariadne protested, and Metzli kept their hand out for just a little longer until a larger piece of stone crashed into their shoulder. Their arm went numb momentarily from the sudden impact, and it suddenly became very clear that they might have to do as Cass says instead of convincing her to join them. 

She was promising, becoming an anchor to two tethers in separate directions, if the look in her father’s eye was any indication. It looked a lot like the look in both Eloy and Chuy’s eyes when an opportunity to exploit a weakness presented itself. The smug smile on his face was taunting and arrogant, making a pit in Metzli’s stomach as they pondered on the possibilities. He had something to use against Cass, but they just didn’t know what and time wasn’t on their side to figure it out. 

“Van. Ariadne.” They swallowed, placing a hand on the young mare’s shoulder, but it fell quickly when another rock landed on them. With a hiss, Metzli tried again and tugged her gently toward them. They didn’t want to force them to follow, but if Cass was promising she’d meet them outside as the cave around them collapsed, Metzli didn’t really have an argument. No matter how badly that they wished they did, unsure if an oread could prevent themself from being crushed by their own nature. They loved her, so they had to listen. 

With a little reluctance, the vampire tugged again, ignoring the way panic marched up and down their skin. “We have to trust her.” Metzli’s voice shook, but they did their best to not waver as more and more rubble began to surround them. “We have to go. She is promising!”

She couldn’t concentrate. It was taking all she had to keep herself together, to keep her father from getting too close to her friends, to make sure he didn’t hurt them. She knew she needed to take a more offensive stance, needed to fight him off directly, but with Van’s arms around her and Ariadne trying to help their friend pull her from the cave, Cass couldn’t focus on any of that. With the rocks falling around them, she couldn’t focus on any thought beyond the desire for her friends to be safe, for them to get out and get free. She could deal with Makaio, she knew she could. She recognized now that her strength had always surpassed his, that he hadn’t offered to help her destroy tourist sites or hurt hunters not because he wanted her to learn, but because he wasn’t sure he could. Cass was the stronger oread. She knew that now.

She just needed to prove it.

Maybe there was something selfish in the desire for her friends to leave the cave. She wanted them safe, of course she wanted them safe. But, at the same time… she didn’t want them to see what she was going to have to do here. She loved them all, and she knew now that they loved her, too, that they always had, but some dark voice in her mind still whispered that if they saw her cross a line — if they saw her do what needed to be done to separate her from her father — that love would falter. They would look at her differently, they would flinch away. Cass didn’t think she could handle it, not after everything. She wanted them to be safe. That was the main drive behind the insistence that they go. But it wasn’t the only one.

Makaio took another step, his face twisted into something terrible. For months now, Cass had thought the rocky features of his expression an immovable thing. His face was like that of one of the sprawling cliffs near the Magmacave — constant and smooth. Seeing it now, she realized she’d been wrong. Rage was capable of causing an earthquake that could shift that cliff into a crater, could make it into a terrifying thing. She thought of the Allgood pit, with the steep edges and the stench of death. Her father was much the same.

Pulling her arms free from Van’s grip, she moved to shove her father back, a resulting crash echoing through the cave as stone met stone. Her expression was one of desperation as she looked to her friends, locking eyes with Metzli. Of all of them, she thought, Metzli understood the most. Hadn’t she helped them take out Chuy in that crypt, when they were still mostly under his control? Hadn’t they said nothing when she’d let her magma seep into his skin? Her expression turned to one of pleading as the vampire called out.

“I promise!” She repeated desperately. She looked at Metzli, begging with her eyes. “Metzli, I can’t — I can’t do this with all of you here. I can’t keep them safe. Please. Please help me keep them safe.”

—

Van could barely hear Metzli or Ariadne over the sound of the cave splitting at the seams. Its groaning was a mournful thing– the acknowledgment of what was to come if they all left this place without Cass. Van’s fears were becoming a reality; that she would lose Cass forever. She tried her best to keep her arms around her friend, dodging the litter from above them by burying her face into Cass’s shoulder. She committed the feeling of Cass’s frame to memory, because it was the only thing that eased her into pulling away. 

That, and Metzli’s arm snaking around her waist. Van let out a yelp as she was torn away from Cass. “Please, please– we have to take her with us!” She knew the ending of this story. She knew Cass may never come back from beneath the rubble, and who would she be if she left without acknowledging that? “Cass, please!” She shouted again, struggling against Metzli’s grip, but it was no use, they were far too strong for her to remove herself from. She tried to twist the ring from around her finger, to let the explosion of magic take them all down– to at least sacrifice herself in favor of the others, but Cass was becoming harder to discern from the dust and rubble. 

Ariadne hadn’t followed them out, and thus another wave of panic washed over Van as she tried to peel herself away from Metzli. She gulped in the fresh air as soon as they broke free from the cave, and just as she managed to wiggle free, she watched as a large chunk of the cave came crashing down into the entrance, sealing them off from those left inside. “Ariadne is still in there! Cass!” Van threw herself at the rubble and immediately began trying to clear it away. “Cass! Ariadne!” She screamed as she scooped away the debris. The larger chunks were unmoving, and so she turned towards Metzli. “Help me,” Van pleaded. 

There was a look in Cass’s eyes that Metzli had seen only months ago. Suddenly, the fiddler’s tune began to ravage the strings with fervor, and the devil began its dance, though to the blind eye, one would only see Cass’s father. She needed to join in, and everyone else needed to let her, trust that she could out-tempo his tune. They just needed to get the others safe, but they only had one arm. 

For a few beats, the vampire looked around, trying to figure out a way to get both of Cass’s friends out in their arm. Then it clicked. Ariadne would be fine. 

“I love you.” They said shakily, “I am proud of you.” Squeezing their eyes shut, Metzli nodded their head and tears rolled down their cheeks. They wanted to stay and fight for the girl they saw as their own, but the world had other plans. It always did, and before Metzli knew it, they were dragging Van out of the cave, only looking back to see Cass disappear in the clouds of dust. “Ariadne will be okay. It is night time. We have to trust.”

When they made it out, they were welcomed with fresh air, still warm from the day. Metzli looked back to the mouth of the cave and finally set Van down, arm ready in case she tried to run back in. “We will wait.” Their voice was shaky yet firm in its command. “Too dangerous to be inside with flesh.” Taking a breath, Metzli added, “I want to stay inside too, but no one ever listen to Cass when she was child. Loving is listening. I am sorry.”

Cass was telling them all to leave and Ariadne was five again, refusing to leave the ice cream store. Except this was much more important than that. This was about her best friend. Her best friend who was desperate and afraid and it made Ariadne shake with anxiety, because Cass wasn’t listening and her stubbornness was one of Aria’s favorite things about her, but right now she just wished that her best friend would listen. Except she wasn’t, and now Metzli was dragging Van out and Ariadne ducked out of the way.

She’d help Cass. She’d get her out. Everything was dusty, and it was becoming harder to see. She was grateful that she didn’t have to breathe. Except Cass did. But maybe because she was part rock and volcano and maybe that meant that it would be okay for her?

“I’m not leaving, Cass!” She screamed as loud as she could manage. Doing something that made her lungs hurt like she’d run for too long in the cold. “I’m not. Not until you leave. We’re best friends, and I love you, and come on, please!” She ran forward, grabbing onto Cass’s arm. “Collapse it or whatever you’ve gotta do and then hold my hand and we’ll run and you can — it’ll be okay, right? Please.” She wasn’t going to cry. Ariadne was going to be brave, for her and Cass’s sake. And also for Van and Metzli who were outside, and safe – because they had to be, because she could only worry about so much right now.

“I’m staying and then we’re going together.”

—

Metzli pulled Van out, and Cass hoped they understood the flood of gratefulness that flowed from deep within her chest even if there was too much chaos to properly voice it. With two less people to worry about in the cave, the oread could focus more of her attention on holding her father at bay and a little less on where the stones were falling around her. Van and Metzli were safe; Makaio couldn’t use them against her so long as they were outside the cave, and Cass could focus more of herself on defeating him and joining them at the surface. Van and Metzli were safe. 

But Ariadne wasn’t.

It struck her all at once, her friend’s voice echoing through the cave. Metzli couldn’t drag the pair of them out, not with only one arm, but she’d hoped Ariadne would go with them all the same. Instead, the mare was gripping her arm and begging her to leave, and Cass wanted to shout her frustrations into the collapsing structure around them. I can’t, she wanted to yell. You don’t understand. I can’t leave him, I promised. But saying it aloud felt like saying too much, and there was always a risk that Aria wouldn’t understand the weight of it, anyway. She’d explained promise binds to her friend, but wasn’t it the kind of thing that was impossible to understand from the outside? 

She couldn’t leave her father, and she couldn’t do what she needed to do with Ariadne watching. She wanted — She wanted an after, a place where all of them could exist unchanged. She wanted a world where her friends wouldn’t see her differently, a place where she could exist outside of this moment. It was already a slippery concept to hold, already like trying to grip a stream of water between her fingers. But if Ariadne stayed, if she bore witness to what Cass knew needed to be done here —

Even if she got out physically unscathed, the bond between them wouldn’t be the same. Cass knew it as surely as she knew her name, as surely as she knew what she had to do here to free herself from her father. She needed Aria to go. She needed the cave empty for this next part, needed it to be only herself and her father the way it had been for months now, even if she needed it for different reasons than she had then.

She set her jaw in a stubborn line, stomach churning with the knowledge of what she had to do next. There was only one way to get Ariadne to leave the cave quickly, only one way to contain the damage. “You thanked me,” she breathed, the sound of her voice rumbling along with the cave. “Back — months ago. You thanked me and I didn’t — I never cashed it in. I’m cashing it in now. Go outside, Ariadne. Get out of here. Now.” She made the bind with practiced ease, even if doing so made her feel a little sick. This was what needed to be done for all of them. Cass knew that.

—

Cass seemed mad. Which didn’t make sense – she couldn’t actually be mad, could she? She was stressed and maybe Ariadne had overdone it with the staying, but she couldn’t help herself. She also couldn’t not stay. That wasn’t an option. Friends didn’t let friends stay down in a cave that was falling apart alone, or something. Some modified version of the actual phrasing. 

You thanked me.

Ariadne’s stomach turned and she wanted to refute that fact, but it wasn’t really possible to, because Cass couldn’t lie and Ariadne was sure she’d messed up more than once with her expressions of gratitude, even though Cass had told her not to do that. But she was forgetful and she loved her friend so much, so messing up was something she was bound to have done.

She just wished Cass wasn’t so keen to use it. Cass hadn’t really ever cashed in on thanks or promises before, and Ariadne didn’t like the implications of what Cass was doing right now. “I – no!” She shook her head. Except, of course, that did nothing. It was nighttime, and with her friend’s words, she found herself suddenly outside, cursing herself that she actually was good at astral projection. That wasn’t how things should have worked, and she collapsed onto the ground, in front of Metzli and Van and shook her head.

“She – she made – I – she made me go. She’s still there!” Turning towards the entrance, Ariadne screamed again, “Cass!” Turned back to the other two. “I – she’s – I – why did she do that? She – I – Cass!”

Dust and rubble collected at the entrance of the cave, and Metzli watched in horror as it covered it completely. Their heart begged their legs to move, but they wouldn’t comply. Cass wanted them to trust her, believe that she could do the impossible when her father so clearly did not. Metzli gritted their teeth at the thought, keeping an eye on Van. “Please,” They whispered, watching and waiting. Their entire body continued to tense, and it wasn't until Ariadne appeared out of thin air that Metzli allowed themself to relax. Slightly. 

“You are out!” The vampire blurted, still keeping an eye on Van as they embraced Ariadne tightly Leila surely would have somehow had a heart attack if anything happened to either of them, and it was a relief to Metzli that they would have no bad news to share once Cass was out. They swallowed, “She wanted us safe. We have to trust her. We have to. She is strong. Her father is not. He is a weak coward.” Squeezing a little harder, Metzli planted their cheek atop Ariadne’s head in a soothing manner, shifting their eyes back to the cave entrance in hopes of seeing Cass crash through soon. 

Van was not gentle with the rocks she pulled from the small mound blocking her entrance to the cave. Instead, she threw them behind her. Some were too large to throw, so they rolled at her side. She could hear voices behind her– Ariadne’s, but she made no move to turn and see if her friend had escaped, because the question of Cass and why she’d forced Ariadne out had come to light. 

She focused on the rocks, pulling each one back, hopeful to see Cass’s face on the other end. “Help me! We can– we can dig her out!” She knew that realistically, Cass would be able to get herself out, but what would happen if she didn’t? Would she think that her friends ran away? Cass had spent so much of her time worrying she wasn’t loved that Van needed to show her she was. “Please, help me.” Exasperated, Van could feel the sweat begin to bead at the back of her neck, and her eyes burned from both the tears and the salt. “We can get her– we can get her out! We have to try!” 

Ariadne disappeared from the cave, into the astral and off to safety. Relief was a palpable thing, a pressure pushing down on her chest hard enough to force all the air from her lungs at once. Ariadne was safe. Van was safe. Metzli was safe. She hadn’t doomed them with her stubbornness, hadn’t been too late to save them from her downward spiral.

She hoped she wouldn’t be too late to save herself, either.

Rocks still fell from the ceiling, from the walls. The safe haven she’d built for herself felt anything but safe now, and she felt a piece of herself crumble with it. She thought of a story she’d read once, years ago, when the public library was her safe haven and she’d picked books off shelves with a desperation built from bricks of wanting to understand and be understood in return. It hadn’t been one of her favorites or anything, but it wasn’t a bad story. 

It was about a chicken, because most children’s stories seemed to star animals in the place of people. He’d gone outside one morning and been so sure that the sky was falling. He’d run through town, warned everyone he saw with a desperate plea: the sky is falling, the sky is falling, the sky is falling. And everyone took shelter, everyone hid away in their homes trembling and afraid because the sky was falling, and no one knew what to do with that.

And then came morning, and the sky was still there. It hung above the Earth the same as it always had, and that silly chicken realized that the piece of the sky he’d been so sure had fallen on his head was a tiny acorn. It must have felt so much bigger in the moment, Cass thought. It must have felt like the world was ending.

It was the kind of thing she realized she could relate to now. All her life, the smallest acorns had convinced her that the world was at its end. The people she loved never loved her back the way she wanted them to, they left when she needed them to stay. Every time she stood staring at someone’s retreating back, she was that stupid chicken running through town, screaming for all to hear. The sky is falling, the sky is falling, the sky is falling. And the next morning, the sky was still there. 

There was another fable, wasn’t there? About the boy who cried wolf. It taught that if you made enough false claims, no one would believe you when the claims were true. If you screamed about a wolf in the bushes over and over again, if you convinced the shepherds to come with their guns and their staffs only to find the bushes empty time and time again, they’d eventually stop coming at all. There would be no one left to save you from the wolf, no one left to keep it from devouring you. 

For years now, Cass had felt as if every acorn that fell on her head was an apocalypse. The sky fell, but only for her. She warned everyone around her, and maybe it meant something the first few times. Maybe it scared them, too. But there had never really been a wolf hiding in the bushes and, sooner or later, the shepherds had stopped coming to save her. 

So what was left for her, now that the sky really was falling? What would Chicken Little have done, had his piece of sky wound up being larger than an acorn?

Hands grabbed her, slamming her against the wall. The cave shook harder, her own fear crumbling the walls the same as her father’s anger. His eyes were glowing a faint orange as he glared at her, rocky face twisted into something rageful. Cass wondered if she looked the same. The thought that she might no longer felt like a comfort.

“Stupid girl,” Makaio snapped. He sounded different than he ever had before; it took Cass a moment to realize that he was afraid. “Do you understand what you’ve done? You ruined everything. For the both of us. Do you truly believe that those… insects you drove from this cave are capable of loving you? Of staying with you? I am the only one who could have done that. I am the only one who could have made you great.”

She thought of all the things she wanted to say, all the things she could tell him. She thought of Metzli, who took her to the zoo and asked her to help them name a baby giraffe. She thought of Van, who ordered takeout while she sat upside down on the couch and played Go Fish. She thought of Ariadne, who saw every movie Cass dragged her to even when she probably had no interest in them. And she thought of other people, too, of people not outside her cave waiting for her. She thought of Kaden, who let her call him her sidekick with only a faint roll of his eyes. She thought of Leila, who had always been willing to fight for her even when Cass wasn’t sure she was willing to fight for herself. She thought of Wynne, who asked for her opinion on things. She thought of Mack, who liked her even after she accidentally threw her down the stairs, or of Thea, who talked about comics with her even after Cass accidentally shaved her head. She thought of Elias and Nora and Regan and Jonas, of Alex and Ren and Luci and Milo. 

She thought of all the people she loved and the ones who loved her back, and she couldn’t find the words to name them all to tell Makaio that he was wrong, but she knew he was, anyway. He held her against the wall, and she stared at him for a moment before her mouth fell open, words tumbling out: “Would you believe me if I said the sky was falling?” Makaio’s expression flickered — rage turned to confusion, but only briefly. Cass decided not to let it stop her. “Everyone believed Chicken Little. I never understood why. He said the sky was falling, and everyone believed him. Would you — Would you believe me?”

Makaio pulled her forward, went to slam her back into the wall again. Cass let her arms shoot out, let them land hot against his chest and shove him back with all her strength, magma surging forward. He grunted, stumbling back. She was stronger than he was; it was the only reason he’d ever wanted her around.

“Because I think… I think that’s what love is. You know? Believing someone when they say the sky is falling, even when it’s right outside the window. And they —” She gestured towards where the mouth of the cave had stood before. It was gone now, buried by rocks and rubble. “They would believe me. If I told them the sky was falling, they’d go into their houses and they’d lock the doors and they’d be afraid, but they’d believe me. I could tell them there was a wolf in the bushes a thousand times, and they’d still come to look.”

Makaio stared at her for a moment, but he made no move to step closer. His face was still twisted in that strange, unfamiliar expression that she now knew to be fear. It wasn’t the rocks he was afraid of anymore, she thought; it was her. She didn’t know if it felt good or not.

“I won’t release you from your promise,” he told her in a low, gravely tone. Cass closed her eyes, nodding her head.

“I know,” she admitted, barely a whisper. She opened her eyes, saw larger pieces of the cave falling now. A chunk came down to Makaio’s left, close enough to shake the ground beneath his feet. He didn’t move. Another landed just behind Cass, so close that she felt the sharp pain of it brushing against her spine. She didn’t move, either. 

Rocks fell between them until she couldn’t see her father anymore. They fell beside her until she couldn’t see the walls of the cave, either. She took a deep breath. She closed her eyes.

The sky was falling. 

—

Metzli held tightly onto Ariadne, careful not to crush her, but enough that it might've been uncomfortable. They didn't let go until the rumbling stopped, only a few smaller rocks tumbling down here and there from the disturbance. Silence surrounded the trio and it was as if an symphony had died, unable to swell into a crescendo and keep rhythm with the pace Metzli's heart would've set if it could leap. 

“Please,” They whispered beneath their breath, as if some higher being above could hear their petition over the billions of others. Closing their eyes, they counted, over and over again, only opening their eyes when something in the wind changed. Their eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and relief at the sight of Cass outside the cave, and without another moment of hesitation, Metzli let go of Ariadne to run to her. They stopped short, restraining themself in case she needed a moment to not be overwhelmed. 

“Y-you did it!” They grinned and blinked, squeezing their fist tightly shut to keep their excitement from bubbling over. “You-I…I am so proud.”

She fought against Metzli’s hold on her as the cave seemed to collapse into itself. She screamed as it did so, falling to the ground the moment that their grip on her loosened even just by a fraction of anything. Ariadne didn’t bother to look down and see if her knees were scraped, if glitter was on them, because she was fine and Cass was the only real priority now. The only priority, full stop.

Then she was outside of the cave and Ariadne ran toward her, with little regard for the concept of personal space. If Cass didn’t want a hug, she’d deal with apologies after. She needed to hug her best friend, she needed to pull her away from the falling rock and hold her and never ever let her go again.

Except as she went to grab Cass, she found that her best friend was intangible and Ariadne screamed again, completely collapsing on the group as she let out a loud sob. “She – she’s not – she’s not here! You – Cass!” She gulped for air, feeling suffocated even though she didn’t need to breathe. “Where are you? You’re there but you’re – where are you? Please – just come over here. Hold my hand. I’ll make sure things are okay.” 

—

Pain was sudden and intense and everywhere. It was an all-consuming kind of thing, and Cass couldn’t bite back the scream that came on its heels but she didn’t think it mattered, anyway. The sound, ripped from her throat against her will, was lost to the deafening boom of falling rocks. The sound of stone hitting stone swallowed up everything else; she couldn’t hear her own thoughts bouncing in her head, couldn’t hear if her father was still trying to speak to her, couldn’t hear anything outside the cave at all. It was is if nothing existed except for her and the rocks falling around her; they were the same. They were a part of her just as much as she was a part of them. 

It was overwhelming, how much it all was. The pain, swallowing her up with gnashing teeth and an acidic burn, knew every part of her. Her head, her shoulders, her legs, her stomach. There was nothing that didn’t hurt. Even the tips of her ears ached in a way she’d never known possible. Her eardrums, too, hurt with the noise of it. The rocks falling, her own hoarse yells, the rumbling and the pounding. Light was swallowed up, until only the faint glow of her own magmic veins remained. And then those, too, disappeared, falling beneath stone that cracked everything open with its weight. She thought of Atlas in the myths and wondered if his shoulders had hurt as much as hers did now. 

It went on forever, somehow. The pain, the sound, the darkness. And then, abruptly, it all stopped. Nothing hurt anymore; silence surrounded her. She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes, but there was the barest hint of light visible from behind her lids. She opened them slowly, afraid of what she might find.

The sky was still there. Hanging above her head, just as blue and endless as it always was. She stared up at it for a moment, heart in her throat as she wondered if, once again, she’d built an apocalypse from an acorn. Something felt strange, felt wrong; she felt different in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on. 

But then, a voice called out her name, and the worry and fear that came with that strangeness seemed to melt away. Metzli was running towards her, Ariadne was calling out. She’d saved them and, impossibly, she’d saved herself, too. Ariadne went to wrap her up in a hug, but she — she missed, somehow. Cass didn’t quite register it as strange, adrenaline making it difficult to focus as she scanned the surrounding area. Ariadne and Metzli were here, were in front of her, but she couldn’t fully relax until she saw —

“Van!” She stepped towards her friend, still crouched by the stones that had once been the cave’s entrance. She was out. Didn’t Van see? She’d promised to meet them outside the cave and, somehow, that fae magic had pulled her out to let her keep it. “Van! I’m here! It’s…” But Van didn’t look up. She was still at the rocks, still looking distraught as if Cass hadn’t spoken at all. “Van…?” 

Dread built up in her stomach, gripped her by the throat. No… 

—

Van only dared a look over her shoulder as Metzli spoke. Their gaze was trained on the nothingness in front of them, and then Ariadne followed suit. She twisted around, watching them, hopeful to see what they could. Cass was out? Cass was– 

But Ariadne was stumbling forward, desperation whistling from her open mouth. Van couldn’t stand. She couldn’t move. She remembered what it was like watching Erin speak to somebody that wasn’t there. She remembered the absent feeling, of being on the outside of something that she couldn’t put together. It was uncomfortable, and it revealed everything that Van needed to know. 

“No, no– no!” She turned back towards the rocks. The majority of what was left were too heavy for Van to lift, so she started to kneel against the ground, arms hugging them as she tried to wedge them from the spots they’d landed in. “Cass!” Van screamed, but not behind her towards the others– of where Cass was presumably at, but to where she’d been left in the wreckage of her father’s doing. “Cass, I’m– I’m going to get you, I’m going to figure it out, I’m going to– we have to–” She turned towards the others, eyes glossy. “We have to get her out of there. She’s not out. She’s not out.” 

Van had lost, and she had lost again, and she would continue losing those she cared deeply about and she knew that she would. It would consume her, twist her insides until she couldn’t breathe, and then over time, she would heal. But at the moment, she wasn’t sure she’d ever heal from the loss of Cass. Of one of the truest friends she ever had. “The necklace,” Van choked out, turning back towards the rocks, “the necklace is in there, too.” But the notebook was there, on the ground a few feet behind her, dropped from when she beelined for the cave’s entrance. She scrambled towards it, still on hands and knees and gathered it to her chest. It was the last thing any of them had of her. She had to keep it safe. 

“She’s– Cass?” Van knew from Erin that the others on this plane of existence could hear her– could see her in a way that she could not see them, and so she hoped Cass was listening. “I’m– I’m sorry.” 

—

“N-no. No!” Metzli shook their head vehemently in disbelief, rejecting the sight of Ariadne passing through Cass. “We-I-I can fix this!” The march of ants became frenzied, each step accompanied with a fierce bite full of venom. It was overwhelming and Metzli feared it would eat away at the beautiful music that Cass had brought into their life. They met that silence with a sorrowful noise, choking on sobs as they leapt into action. 

“I know first aid.” The vampire used their strength to toss aside the larger stones, urgently trying to make an opening. With each reach, their nails dug against the rubble, tearing off when Metzli’s movements became too erratic. 

“Can-does-does my bite–Cass!” They pleaded, building an opening and trying to crawl inside only to find there were more rocks. “No!” Metzli's voice became a scream, the crunch of their knuckles slamming against the wall of stone joining in the noise. There was nothing but a crack left behind with a smear of black ooze, and Metzli quickly turned to Cass and ran back to her. It was no use to panic. Being a ghost couldn't have been easy to realize, and as someone who loved her, Metzli knew they had to set everything aside to provide a safe space for the one they called theirs.

“You should not be dead. You-you…Mija?” Parents weren't supposed to outlive their young, they weren't supposed to put them in a position that led to their death, so maybe, Metzli thought, they were just as bad as Makaio. They had outlived everyone in their bloodline, and now, they had outlived another. 

“I…am sorry.” They sniffled, nearly hovering their damaged hand over Cass's cheek before thinking better of it. “You saved us. You-you…are hero. Our hero.”

Cass was her first real best friend. She’d had friends before but none were quite like Cass. Van couldn’t see her and Van was the only one of the three of them who Cass had forced outside of the cave who was alive, and that had to mean – no. She didn’t want to say it out loud Didn’t want to think it, either, but thoughts had minds of their own (which wasn’t like, physically possible but still, it seemed right, and somebody smart had probably said that before) and so Ariadne couldn’t stop her thoughts from racing – from going ghost ghost ghost.

Which meant Cass was dead and another sob escaped from Ariadne’s mouth, loud and eerie enough that she wasn’t sure if she even recognized it herself. “No!” She looked around, desperate, “Cass, please, please come back. I’ll do anything!” She shook her head, and she kept shaking her head, “we were supposed to be friends for hundreds of years!! Not just – not this short of a time.”

Cass couldn’t be dead. Her best friend, who was so full of life and light and fire (quite literally, as a matter of fact) couldn’t be gone. She’d touched Cass not even ten minutes ago, and now she couldn’t. It seemed impossible. “Please!” She scream again, and she felt like she was going to be sick and she couldn’t think and Cass was dead and she’d known Cass might die before her, but that wasn’t supposed to be a problem she had for like, almost a thousand years. Cass wasn’t supposed to be dead yet.

“There’s so many movies I wanna watch with you, and places we’ve gotta go! You need to take me to the best volcanoes – Cass! I love you. Je t’aime beaucoup, pour toujours.” I love you so much, for always. “You’re the bravest and best person I’ve ever known. You are my superhero. I love you. I love you so much. I’ll never stop.”

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. 

It felt different hearing it this time. She’s dead, they’re dead, he’s dead– they’re all dead. We killed her, it killed him, the fire killed them and others– how many different ways could something be said that made her feel this lost? Suspended in something she couldn’t quite identify. Her muscles felt like jelly as she watched Ariadne plead with the space in front of her. She forced herself to memorize the way Cass felt beneath her arms just moments ago, of how she smelt of ember and pine. Metzli called Cass her their hero and the word echoed, morphing itself into the word dead and can’t. Heroes can’t die. Hadn’t that been what her father had told her time and time again as he lifted his dvd’s up for her to see, X-Men on the cover? 

But that wasn’t true, right? Heroes died all the time. Cass was dead. Behind the rocks, submerged in them– probably an unrecognizable thing. Was it cruel to imagine her in that way? Van imagined her father, Makaio in that way– of his eyes opened and unseeing, of blood trickling from his mouth. Something akin to relief rose in her. It made her feel sick, too. 

Ariadne continued to plead with the ghost of her friend she could no longer see, and Van was left on the ground with the notebook pressed to her chest. Her mouth felt dry. “Have to tell– have to tell Thea, tell Nora.” She needed to tell others before she could completely fall apart. How would she be able to get in contact with Ren? Would Ren care? Her mind raced as she stared at the ground, memorizing the way the rocks she’d managed to carve away from the entrance had gathered at her feet. 

“She’s dead,” Van croaked. It was a confirmation for nobody but herself, because she already knew that. She already knew that Cass was dead and she wouldn’t be coming back. She knew that life would be forever changed. Whatever was in the notebook she held would be her final goodbyes, and that in itself made Van bite the hand of grief, drawing its blood until there was nothing left but skin and sinew. She couldn’t fall apart now, not when others would need to know. When Cass deserved a burial. When– She looked at Ariadne and Metzli, both grief stricken. Van wasn’t sure what to do for either of them, but she would figure it out. 

“I’m sorry, Cass,” Van said again, a small half-sob building in her throat as she got to her feet, legs wobbly. 

—

Van finally looked up and, for the briefest moment, hope was a living thing in her chest. It fluttered and rose and sang until the moment her friend’s eyes looked past her, looked off into the middle distance and then back to the rocks. Van couldn’t see her, even with Metzli and Ariadne looking at her, speaking to her directly. Ariadne’s hands had gone through her, not past her. The rocks had been falling from every direction, the pain had been everywhere. And Cass knew. Cass knew what it meant, what it all added up to. The pieces came together like a puzzle no one wanted solved. Cass knew the answer, and everyone else did, too.

The chaos that came after the realization was an immediate thing. Everyone was yelling, stones were being tossed aside. If there was ever a physical embodiment of love, it was in the way Metzli’s hands gripped at those rocks, the way Van dug at the dirt, the way Ariadne screamed and sobbed. She’d been right, down in that cave when the sky was falling. The people here loved her enough to come to her aid every time she called for them. She’d been stupid not to realize it all along.

There was a certain tragedy that came with a certainness that arrived too late. If she’d known weeks ago what had been proven to her now, she wouldn’t have slipped as far as she had. But what had been proven to her now couldn’t have been made certain without what had preceded it. It was like one of those stupid riddles, the ones with no right answer. If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? If you can only be saved by knowing you’re loved, and you can only believe in the love your friends have for you when they’re mourning your loss, did you ever stand a chance?

They were all apologizing, and Cass wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to shake the Earth with all that she felt. But already, her form was flickering; she’d had a promise to keep, and she’d kept it. She’d met them at the top when it was over. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t finished; she wasn’t meant to stay. 

“I’m sorry,” she choked on a sob, though there was no wetness on her face. Maybe ghosts didn’t cry; maybe they weren’t capable of it. “I’m — Tell Van. Tell her, too. Make sure she knows. I’m sorry. I love you — I love all of you.” She looked to Ariadne and Metzli in turn, looked to Van who was trying to look at where she stood but couldn’t quite find the right position. The ache in her chest wasn’t a physical thing; on some level, she knew it. 

That didn’t make it hurt any less.

The world flickered around her, going from black to golden white before resetting back outside the cave. “It wasn’t your fault. Okay? I need you to know that. It wasn’t any of your faults. It was — It was me. Or it was him. Or — Or maybe it was both of us. I don’t know. But it wasn’t your fault. You were — You were everything to me.”

She looked to Aria, forcing a smile. “You’re — I think you’re the best best friend I could have asked for. When I was a kid, I never could have imagined that I’d find someone like you. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t a good friend to you in the end. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you deserved, what I — what I wanted to be. I’ll still love you for a hundred years, even if I’m not here to do it.”

Turning to Metzli, she swallowed. “And you… You were my family. Not him. I should have seen it sooner, I should have —” She could fill an ocean with should haves now, couldn’t she? She closed her eyes, willing herself to remain a little while longer. “Please don’t… Please don’t hate yourself for this. It wasn’t your fault. You deserve a family. And you have one. With Leila, with Aria, with so many people who love you. Please don’t… Please don’t let me be the thing that ruins that.” 

Van still couldn’t see her. Cass choked on a sob at the realization, looking back to her friend still standing by the ruined mouth of that empty cave. “Tell Van… Tell her I’m glad we were both in the supermarket that night. Tell her that everything that happened, all of it, was worth it just to get to know her. Tell her I wouldn’t change any of it, not for a second. And… and tell her she was right. We would have been friends either way. All of us. The Allgoods were written in the stars, I think.” 

She smiled, looking back to Metzli and Ariadne. The world flickered again. “I’m okay,” she told them. “I need you to know I’m okay. It doesn’t hurt. I’m going to be okay. Whatever’s next… I think we’ll see each other again someday. Just not too soon, okay? I don’t mind waiting.” 

Another flicker, and it was over. The space she’d occupied was empty, without so much as an echo left behind. The final rumblings of the cave silenced as the ground came to settle beneath the remaining three pairs of feet. There was no more cave; there was no more oread.

And the sky was still there, in the end, still hanging above the Earth as it always had. There was just one less person to see it.

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: current LOCATION: owen lundkvist's apartment PARTIES: @technowarden  & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: emilio and eve team up to break into a mutual... something's apartment and figure out just what the fuck is going on with owen. CONTENT WARNINGS: wrspice (implied), mentions of past child death, alcoholism (alluded to)

Which meant just one thing: in the best case scenario, Owen was covering for a hunter-killer. In the worst…. He was one. Tonight they’d found out which.

Well, this felt familiar. Eve sitting in her car, down the street from a target building, waiting for Emilio to join her. Last time they’d done this, it had gone so well! They’d parted on great terms. Eve couldn’t possibly see breaking into the apartment of the guy she suspected was responsible for multiple hunter deaths being any more complicated than releasing some dildos from police custody. 

The same guy that, well, there was some sort of complicated knot in her stomach when she thought about it. There was an equally complicated one at the idea of seeing Emilio again. Eve reached for her coffee, taking a deep gulp. The less her emotions were involved in any of this, the better. She buried the knots so deep she couldn’t feel them. 

While she waited, it was easier to skim through what she’d found on her tablet. Nasir’s body was the obvious one, the canary in the coalmine. When she’d started looking back at other hunter deaths, Eve hadn’t found any that looked too suspicious, general vampire bites or mauled by werewolves were common themes, but then one had stood out. Natasha, who was a fellow fucking Warden, had died at the start of September. She had cuts all over her, and Eve had assumed that sprites were to blame, as they so often were for this kind of warden death, but the more she’d looked, the more the similarities started to glare. The killing blow, for example, was so similar it might have been identical. On the other hand… Eve couldn’t tell if she was finding excuses for it not to be Owen, or if she was right in saying that there were only so many ways to wield a dagger. Only so many fatal blows that a hunter’s body could take. It wasn’t all the same. Natasha had more cuts, far more shallow each one of them, and her own blade had never even touched her assailant; there wasn’t any blood on it but hers. Maybe whatever had killed Nasir had killed Natasha. Owen had killed that vampire, and that was the end of it. Except… 

Here was Maya. From the night Emilio and Eve had last seen each other, in fact. Maya dying had been inevitable a while, she’d crossed fifty a couple years ago, and her injuries had been slowing her down. The night Eve had been called to her body, she’d been so detached from anything hunter related she’d barely absorbed what she was cleaning. It was only after, when she’d looked at the pictures. Same aggressive cuts again. 

Which meant just one thing: in the best case scenario, Owen was covering for a hunter-killer. In the worst…. He was one. Tonight they’d found out which. Eve swiped to a different app, and checked the location of Owen’s phone. He was still on route to a bar, so she figured they had at least a good hour. She looked up, and smiled brightly as she spotted Emilio walking over. 

“Howdy partner,” Eve greeted, leaning over to push the car door open for him, “Great night for some more crime, isn’t it? Looking forward to finding out who is Sus among us?” 

—

Distraction was a thing Emilio was profoundly familiar with. He’d always been far happier fooling his mind into believing his problems didn’t exist than he was acknowledging them, always found it easier to close his eyes as much as he could. It wasn’t always possible — some things seeped through even the most enticing distractions the world had to offer. But it made him feel a little better, at least, to have the illusion of an option when it came to his breakdowns. He could pretend it was feasible to distract himself from the drives Eve had dropped off on his porch, could pretend that planning to see her again now didn’t stir up all the complicated anger and grief she’d left him drowning in the last time they’d spoken face to face. It didn’t ease the hollow pit in his stomach very much. 

(Emilio was a bad liar and a paranoid bastard. It made believing the lies he told himself pretty close to impossible.)

Still, this distraction was a decent one. Whatever the fuck Owen was up to had been crawling under his skin for months now, thrashing and screaming since the moment the other slayer had shown back up in town. After their last encounter, with the vampire who’d mentioned that ‘she’ wouldn’t be pleased with Owen’s actions, the urge to find out more had only grown. He should have known Eve would already be poking around as well. The two of them certainly had different methods and motivations for their snooping, but they did seem to be similar in their nosiness. And as much as their last encounter had left him uncertain he ever wanted to see her again… he could admit that she was good at this kind of stuff. Emilio could break into Owen’s apartment without issue, could find whatever it was he was looking for without help, but Eve could make it so no one ever knew he was there. Staying one step ahead of Owen was the best move he could make, and Eve was better at that than he was. (Sometimes, that was on purpose. Emilio liked to gloat a little too much to be sneaky.) 

He did wonder, though, how their ideas of handling the situation might differ. It was clear that the two of them had different thoughts on a lot of things, and it wasn’t such a stretch to assume their opinions on this wouldn’t line up, either. Emilio wanted to know what Owen was up to, wanted to stop him, but… He also wanted to make Owen feel the way he’d felt when Owen shoved him up against that wall. He wanted Owen to feel small and hopeless, wanted to hurt him. He wasn’t sure how much of that sentiment Eve shared. He didn’t think asking would be very productive.

Her car came into view, familiar to him now even if it wasn’t quite as recognizable as something like the bright yellow Bug Teddy used to drive. He approached it slowly, dreading the awkwardness that was sure to follow their last meeting. They’d been able to exchange information online well enough, but it was easy to remain civil in a conversation where you didn’t have to look the other person in the eye. Things got a lot more complicated when they were sitting right in front of you.

Or… maybe they didn’t. Eve pushed the door open as he approached, greeting him in a tone that made it impossible to discern how tense their last face-to-face conversation had been. Emilio faltered momentarily, uncertain. But… this was what Eve did, wasn’t it? She covered shit up. She mutilated corpses to make sure the truth couldn’t be found in their bones. Carving up the corpse of an awkward conversation to turn it into something friendly was probably easy by comparison.

It was harder for Emilio, of course. He slipped into the passenger's seat stiffly, shutting the door behind him. “I don’t know what that means,” he said flatly. “Let’s just go. What’s the plan?”

—

“It’s a game, I think you’d actually really enjoy it,” Eve replied, but just like last time, he rebuffed any idle banter. Fine. Eve could cut to the chase no problem. She could as easily chatter about murder as she could about video games. When she’d messaged Emilio about her suspicions, he’d mentioned she wasn’t the only one with suspicions. The moment she’d read that, her stomach had dropped. Emilio was emotionally driven, but he was smart as hell. It was confirmation, at least, that Eve’s own frustrations with Owen weren’t being projected onto dead bodies. 

It hadn’t even occurred to her that there was something else to find suspicious to find. 

“The plan is to figure out whether Owen is covering for someone else or if Owen’s just covering for Owen. I’d love to completely absolve him of kin-murder and just find out that he’s still an ass, but that isn’t feeling likely.” She swallowed, hiding it with a mild shrug.  

“I have earbuds so we can keep in touch–” Eve put them on the arm rest— “I can keep an eye on where Owen is so there are no nasty surprises” — she held up her tablet with a security cam of Owen in a dank bar— “and I have these,” Eve pulled out a keyring with a couple keys on them from her dashboard, dropping them in Emilio’s lap. Each key was labelled O.L. along with his address.  “But you’re the actual investigator, this is your hunt. I’ll follow your lead.”

—--

“Don’t usually enjoy games.” Not the kinds everyone else seemed to think were fun, in any case. The things Emilio considered fun didn’t really line up with what most people would make a game of, after all. (Though… axe throwing seemed to be growing in popularity. He’d seen it offered at a few places Downtown while investigating various cases. Part of him wanted to ask Teddy if they’d be interested in a date to one of them, but another part figured that his and Teddy’s competitive relationship mixed together with axe throwing might not be the best thing to take into a public space.) 

Right now, though, he didn’t want to focus on any of that. He didn’t want to make small talk with Eve; he didn’t even particularly want to be in the car with her. In his stomach, there was a knot of complicated feelings. The anger was still alive, still burning. It was a hungry forest fire desperate to devour everything it touched. But there was more there, too. He’d started on the drives, at least a little. He’d seen comments on how she’d ‘edited’ the corpses and the stories they told, and that fueled the fire. But he’d also seen other things. Grocery trips to provide food to people whose livelihood had been affected by the massacre, conversations and interactions with children left alive, small translation notes that spoke of someone trying to better grasp a language. The drives painted Eve as more human than he wanted her to be. And so, the anger wasn’t alone in its bottomless pit. There was guilt, too. Guilt that she’d been there when he hadn’t, guilt that he’d snapped on her, guilt that he was angry, still. And grief sat on top of all of it, because it always did. 

He’d rather focus on Owen than unpack any of the rest of it, because Owen was simple. Maybe things had been complicated between Owen and Emilio once, when they’d first gone from fucking to fighting, when Owen had carved into him with things he’d never wanted to hear and used his words like a weapon designed to scoop out Emilio’s insides and toss them on the dirty floor, but it had simplified over time. Owen was good at making himself easy to hate, good at removing all hints of complexity from whatever thing they’d once had. These days, it was hard to remember that he’d ever liked the guy at all. Instead, he let himself recall how good it felt to shove a stake between his ribs, how satisfactory it was to snatch a victory. This would feel good, too. He was sure of it.

“Found out a bit last time I saw him,” he replied, absently rubbing the ring on his finger. An old habit he wouldn’t call nervous, even if that was exactly what it was. “I ran into him at a bar. Full of undead, and all of them seemed to know him. Managed to talk to a vampire who it seemed like thought Owen was on his side. Got a little bit out of him, but not much. Biggest thing was that he mentioned ‘she’ wouldn’t be happy Owen was with me. He killed the guy before I could get anything else from him. So… I know he’s got someone pulling his strings,” he commented, grabbing one of the earbuds. “A woman. And I know he’s willing — and able — to kill people he’s not supposed to kill to keep us — or me, I guess — from figuring out who that is. Him being willing to stake a vampire doesn’t tell us shit. He’d do that either way. Hell, he does that for fun. But the way he was able to do it? No physical reaction? That tells us more. If he’s bound, it’s a loose bind, which makes me think he isn’t. Bind loose enough to go against in a way that big wouldn’t be able to do much to keep him in it for long, and he’s been at this at least a few months. Not compelled, either, if he’s able to go around killing people he’s meant to be protecting.”

Popping the earbud in his ear — the one that a banshee hadn’t screamed in, since the other was still a little too muffled to do him any good — he moved his attention to the keyring. Seeing the key to Owen’s apartment gave him some pause, and he eyes Eve cautiously out of the corner of his eye. He wondered if she had a key with his initials on it, too. Paranoia creeped in, and he did his best to push past it. He could grill her about that later. After they figured out what Owen was up to. 

“There may be something in his apartment that’ll clue us in on how she — whoever ‘she’ is — has him leashed. Could be some kind of magic with looser terms. Could be blackmail. Though… not sure what Owen cares enough about to be blackmailed with.” His bias blinded him a little here, he knew; it was hard for Emilio to view Owen as a person for the same reason it had been hard for him to find those small details in Eve’s drives: it was easier for him if Owen was a simple kind of evil. But, of course, simple evil didn’t exist. Emilio knew that better than anyone. “I’ll go up and look around. You can come, or you can stay here and play lookout. Might have to go in behind me and clean up to keep him from knowing we’ve been there after.” He bit back a comment about how she ought to be good at that by now, though it was a hard thing to swallow. Emilio wasn’t really one to hold himself back.

—

Eve twisted to listen to Emilio fully, first out of interest, but the more he spoke, the more she began to frown. “What?” The idea of Owen voluntarily associating with vampires was laughable, except apparently it wasn’t, Emilio was dead serious. (He also referred to vampires as people, some part of Eve’s mind registered, which was notable for a Slayer) It made what she’d been suspecting him of seem… not trivial, but predictable. It was a damning reflection of how she saw Owen, Eve realised, that it seemed more likely that he’d murder someone than hang out with a vampire. It was a damning reflection on her, that her first thought had been that something in him had snapped, and not that something could be controlling him. “That's not what I was suspicious about.”

Eve sat there for a moment, twisting back to look at her steering wheel, because Emilio would be able to see every flick of emotion in her eyes if she kept looking at him. If there had been any hope left that she was wrong, it had dissipated with Emilio’s damning testimony. It only sat alongside the sickening dread, the knowledge of what would happen if they found more evidence in his home. 

“It could be a bind that prioritises her protection above any other. If revealing much about her to another slayer were endangering, it might make sense. But a fae bind like that would be complex to word, never mind for other kinds of magic. Probably makes more sense than blackmail.” Eve speculated, but her voice sounded like she was elsewhere. It was easier to twist her mind into warden contortions, and weigh up what a deal like that would take, how experienced a fae would need to be to pull it off. What situation Owen would have needed to find himself in to ever agree to that. It was the season for it, and he wasn’t immune to the charms of a faun. (He wasn’t immune to the charms of anyone.) Never mind the other kinds of binding magics Eve was less familiar with. Spellcasters were terrifying in the range of their abilities and magnitude of their powers. Demons even more so. 

If it was a fae, even the fae’s death might not offer absolution. Even if Owen had made no choice in the matter, he was the weapon. The logical part of her brain offered only one solution in that scenario: a threat that big to hunters had to be put down. What the rest of her thought about that was inconsequential, it always had been. If Eve swallowed and rubbed her face as if she could rub the emotion off of it. She ended the silence she had lapsed them both into, her voice remarkably clear. “I have evidence he killed a slayer. Maybe even three hunters. Which makes slightly more sense if someone's pulling his strings.”

“Here, look. Natasha Freemond, Nasir AlRokh, and Maya De La Costa. They all died of similar knife injuries. Look at how these wounds match up,” Eve pulled up her tablet, handing it to Emilio, where the screen highlight just how similar a couple of these injuries were. “I was called out for Natasha and Maya, their bodies were found a day or two after they died, Natasha had even been moved, but Nasir called me out to work on something else. Whatever happened to him happened after he was confident he’d cleared out all the undead in the area.” 

She slid her tablet over the arm rest to him, with the pictures of the three hunters. Emilio  knew death - slayers probably knew it more than even she did, their hunting grounds being what they were. He probably knew the stages of death and decomposition, the pallow and blood pooling in the two women, the autolytic sheen that the skin collected as it stiffened up. He could probably also see, in contrast, how alive Nasir looked. If it wasn’t for the pool of blood around him and the faint clouding in his eyes, he might not have even been dead in that picture.  If Eve had been a few minutes faster, he might not have been. She wondered if she might have hesitated the way Nasir had. She wondered if she would hesitate now. Her gun felt heavier than usual on her hip. 

“I found Owen on the scene, also injured,” she didn't mention that she had patched him up, that she had wiped Nasir’s blood from his arm.  “He said he’d killed the vampire that had killed Nasir, but his story wasn’t adding up. There was more blood on him than injuries.  Then Maya died after. I’m not a CSI, I can’t read blood spatters that well and say anything conclusive, but it feels pretty fucking damning, especially when taking what you’ve said into account. If he's been associating with vampires, protecting them, maybe that's why. Natasha was a warden, but we all tangle with things outside our duty sometimes.” 

Like, apparently, other hunters. One thought scratched the inside of her mind, jarringly. If Owen was killing hunters in the way of whatever leash he was being dragged by, what was she doing still alive? Eve had been so close to him, seated between his arm and his body, that if he’d stabbed her in the temples Eve wouldn’t have even realised it until she was already dead. She looked at Emilio, whose anger at her was still plain on his face. 

“Well, if Owen is as sloppy with incriminating evidence as he is with his normal hunts, I’m sure the answer will be in there somewhere. Do you really want to be in the same space as me for that long?” She smiled wrily, not giving him a chance to reply before making the decision for him. It was probably good to have a diversion on the outside anyway, just in case Owen caught them off guard somehow. Eve could be ever so distracting when she needed to be. “I’ll check out the exterior and play lookout. Don't you worry!”

—-----

Eve hadn’t known about the company Owen was keeping, then. In a way, Emilio felt accomplished. After all, Eve was typically someone who boasted knowing more than anyone else in any given room. She was smart and resourceful, and that often meant she figured things out before anyone else. And Emilio was fine with that; she was still an ally, even if things had been complicated by that damn book and everything that followed. But… he was also a competitive bastard, and knowing something that she didn’t felt good. It made him feel a little more in control, allowed him to reclaim something he’d lost when those drives had shown him things he’d never thought he’d see. “First time I caught him being un-Owen-like was a few months back, just after he came back to Wicked’s Rest,” he replied. “I was after a vampire. He stopped me from staking it. I thought he was just being a petty ass.” Not a poor assumption, given everything about their relationship.

He watched her digest the news, and he wondered how well she knew Owen. All things considered, Emilio didn’t know him very well at all. They’d fucked around a few times, but they’d never had any particularly deep conversations. That was by design. Emilio tended to avoid conversations like that with most people, didn’t tell anyone anything personal unless he had to. Eve was one of very few people in his life who knew about the massacre, who knew about his daughter, and he hadn’t even told her by choice. Similarly, she hadn’t revealed anything about her past willingly, either. Did Owen know about those kids she’d hung around with, the ones who’d died all at once? He doubted it.

He hummed at her speculation, drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of her voice. “Wouldn’t explain him willingly hanging around undead like that. Wording in that bind would have to be real specific, wouldn’t it? To make him go… against his instincts like that.” It would indicate a fae very skilled in word games, something that made Emilio uncomfortable just to think about. He’d been caught in a few binds through his time in Wicked’s Rest, but most were relatively harmless. (Even if the one Siobhan had trapped him in felt anything but.) 

It was… worrying, to say the least. Emilio didn’t like Owen, didn’t give much of a shit what happened to him at all, but if someone out there was able to make him behave in a way so unlike himself, it could spell trouble for more of them. Emilio had undoubtedly put himself on their radar with his snooping; Eve likely wasn’t far behind. What was the next step, then? What would someone like that do? The not knowing made his palms itch, made him all kinds of uncomfortable. If there was one thing Emilio hated, it was any sense of agency being taken from him. If someone could do it to Owen, could they do it to him, too? To Eve? That was what worried him.

Maybe other things should have worried him more.

He took the tablet as Eve handed it over, looking down at the pictures as she spoke. It was far easier to see this than it had been to look through photos of the massacre in Mexico, far easier to flip through images of dead strangers than it was to look at ones of people he’d once made small talk with on his porch. He could be far more clinical now, could make notes of the injuries that had killed them. Knife wounds, skilled and precise. Eve was right, the injuries on the different bodies shared similarities to one another. They’d either been made by the same person, or by someone with a similar background in style. 

The last one was different, but only in that the body was fresher. It was clear that, in this case, Eve had arrived only just after the hunter’s heartbeat stopped. Emilio glanced at her, wondering if he could find any semblance of emotion on her face. He thought of what he’d said to her the last time they’d seen each other, what he’d called out towards her as she walked out the door: that, one day, it would be his death she was covering up. Would she look just as stoic then as she did now, he wondered? Would she show pictures of his corpse to some other hunter, questioning his cause of death as if it were little more than a mystery to be solved? They didn’t know one another well, but they did know one another. She’d known this man, too, at least well enough for him to call her. How much did that complicate things?

He turned his attention back to the tablet, zooming in on one of the photos. “Whatever killed them, it definitely wasn’t undead,” he commented. “But… you knew that already.” Owen’s story was already full of holes, even without Emilio’s expertise putting the nail in the coffin. Still… “You think he killed them?” It was strange to think about. Typically, the idea of a hunter killing another hunter was something taboo. Emilio had come close to it a time or two, had helped Andy cover it up when she’d crossed that line, but… Emilio wasn’t what anyone would call a model hunter. Neither was Owen, but this was still a big line to cross. It was an especially big line to cross multiple times. There were three that Eve knew about. How many that she didn’t? 

Handing the tablet back to her, he shifted in his seat. He snorted at her mention of Owen’s sloppiness, shrugging a shoulder. “Slayers are used to things turning to dust when we stab them. They don’t exactly teach us how to clean up bodies.” He tensed when Eve asked if he wanted to share a space with her for that long, because the answer was no. But they weren’t talking about what happened last time, weren’t mentioning this canyon of awkwardness sitting between the pair of them. 

She saved him from having to bring it up, from having to think on it any longer, and there was a rush of relief at that. Maybe she was being kind, or maybe she didn’t want to share a space with him, either. Either way, he was glad for it. “If there’s something in there, I’ll find it,” he replied. “But don’t expect a bloody knife or another body. He’s stupid, but he’s not that sloppy. I don’t think.” There was every chance that Owen had fallen far enough to make this easy on them, but… Emilio had never been one for optimism. 

—

“I can’t imagine why the two of you wouldn’t get along at the best of times,” Eve replied jokingly, shaking her head. Emilio and Owen both had the instinct to aim for the raw spots when they could. It would be like a house on fire, in the worst way.  “We argued a lot, but he was much harsher than usual last winter. He fell off my radar after that, I didn’t even know he’d left town.” Arguing was understating it and overstating it. The first few times had been, sure, but then it had almost become a ritual. Instead of hey, how are you, she sent him grainy videos of him fighting, that were only recognisable because she knew him. His replies that at least he was doing something lost their edge. Sometimes, the arguments had still been real, but sometimes it had just been how the two of them spoke to each other at all. 

Eve nodded at Emilio’s comments, oblivious to his discomfort, as focused as she was at hiding her own. “If it was fae, it would have to be a full contract, I would expect. Which would beg the question of why he’d sign one. …Alternatively, do you think he could be possessed?”

As soon as Emilio was holding the tablet, Eve began driving them closer, focusing on the road rather than the growing dread in her stomach. She drove silently as he processes, although now she did spare a couple glances over to him, to judge his reaction. Wondering if Emilio knew any of these hunters, or if she was the exception in not having met him until recently. “I’d like to be wrong, but, yeah. Either he did or he knows who did.” 

When he finally put the tablet down, Eve was just pulling up outside his apartment complex. Eve clenched her jaw, because even hunts with disappearing bodies would sometimes benefit from a bit of a post-hunt cover-up. Now was really not the time, especially if it worked in their favour. “I’d hope he didn’t have a body in there. That’d be gross. Anyway. He’s in apartment 14. Have fun. Keep me updated on what you find, I’ll still be able to help from out here.” She turned on her own earbuds, testing the connection until she was happy with the volume. “Oh, and Emilio? If you could take pictures before you move things around, that would be a huge help.” 

—

He shot her a look at that, expression utterly unamused. “I’m a goddamn delight,” he said dryly. “He’s the one who’s got problems.” But Eve was right in a way Emilio didn’t want to admit. He and Owen were always going to wind up butting heads. Even if Emilio’s morality hadn’t shifted into something most hunters didn’t agree with, even if Owen hadn’t shoved him up against that wall and sliced through him with harsh words that rung a little too true for Emilio’s liking, even if Emilio hadn’t stabbed him with a weapon Owen was far more accustomed to wielding himself, things never would have worked out in a way that would have allowed them to be anything resembling friends in the long term. They were similar, in a lot of ways, and that was the problem. Emilio had never hated anyone more than he hated himself. The fact that Owen shared a few similarities with him was not a point in his favor. 

Eve shared her own timeline, and Emilio wondered how close they’d been before the arguing started. Were they friends? Did Eve have friends? It was a harsh thought, but he thought it was something to consider. She was so purposely detached that it was hard to imagine her allowing herself to consider someone a real friend, especially another hunter. How many corpses of people like Owen, like Emilio had she made disappear? Was it possible to befriend someone while knowing you’d one day desecrate their corpse in order to keep a secret? “Surprised you didn’t find a way to keep tabs on him.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, though the words certainly could be interpreted as such. After all, Eve didn’t seem the type to allow someone to slip between her fingers when she still had questions they might be able to answer. (She and Emilio were alike, in that way.)

The mention of possession caught his attention… though certainly not in a good way. Absently, his hands dropped down to his thighs, fingers prodding the fabric of his jeans. The last time he’d dealt with someone possessed, he’d nearly ended up a human sacrifice. And he was fine with it, really. He didn’t waste much time thinking about how he’d woken up tied to a chair, or remembering Aesil’s blade carving into him in an attempt to bleed him dry. It was over, it was fine. But he didn’t particularly want to repeat the process, either. It was just too much work. That was all. “I think he’s still him. Still knows shit he’d know, still his brand of annoying. Somebody possessed, they’re like a different person. Don’t remember shit that happened to them, don’t act like themselves unless they’re trying to fool somebody. I think we can rule that one out.” He needed that one ruled out. The way his heart was pounding, the way the scars on his wrists and thighs ached — this wasn’t that. He knew this wasn’t that. 

He let the gentle movement of the car distract him, kept staring at the images on the tablet even though he’d already seen as much detail as there was to see. “Hell of an accusation,” he commented, “but I’m not sure you’re wrong. These injuries are from somebody who knows how to use a knife. Doesn’t mean it has to be Owen, but if he was telling you it was a vampire who killed the last one…” He let it hang. The lie was a damning one. Owen would have no reason to tell it if he weren’t covering something up. 

Emilio hoped they’d know exactly what that was soon. He looked up at the familiar apartment building, nodding. “I know which one it is.” He’d been there more than once, albeit not in a long time now. “If he’s killing hunters, I don’t think he’s drawing the line at gross.” He rolled his eyes, grabbing the key from the ring and stepping out of the car. He was just about to step away when Eve called his name again, catching his attention. With a sigh, he nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

Without another word, he turned towards the building, making his way to the door and slipping the key into the lock. Unsurprisingly, it went in without a hitch, unlocking the door just as keys were meant to do. Emilio had never had any doubt that Eve had the correct key for Owen’s apartment. She was resourceful like that. 

Slipping in, he flipped on the light and looked around. It looked a little different than the last time he’d been there, messier. Owen was clean, as far as hunters went. His place had always looked impersonal and eerie, but never messy, like Emilio’s tended to be. It still wasn’t quite on the same level as Emilio’s Worm Row apartment, but… it was certainly not as put together as it had been a year and a half ago. Emilio snapped a few pictures of the space for Eve, then got busy snooping.

“These things work two ways?” He murmured, testing to see if Eve would respond. “No dead bodies, so we’re off to a good start.” He moved through the living room and into the kitchen, opening the cabinet curiously. Mostly snackfood. He snapped a picture of how it was arranged before rifling through it, looking for anything suspicious. When he found nothing, he moved to the drawers. Not much silverware — at the most, it could allow for two people to share a meal. Emilio doubted that was ever the case. A peek in the fridge saw alcoholic beverages and takeout containers, along with largely expired food products. Emilio almost snagged a drink, but he figured Eve wouldn’t be happy about it. He pulled the flask from his pocket instead, taking a healthy swig and letting the fridge swing closed. 

Nothing out of the ordinary in the kitchen, then, though it did offer a clue as to how Owen had been living. It had been a little more functional before, Emilio knew; this shift was enough to make note of. Whatever was going on with Owen, it was affecting more than just the company he kept. If it were anyone else, Emilio might have felt a little bad for him. As it was, though… he moved on to the next room, and he felt nothing at all.

—

Eve merely shook her head. Yup, it was definitely only Owen who was the problem in that relationship. As Emilio explained his reasoning that Owen had to still be Owen, she nodded. Demons weren’t her area of expertise, and Emilio sounded like he was speaking from experience. It would be easier if it wasn’t Owen at all, in many ways, but it didn’t sound like they would get an easy way out. Looking at Emilio, the way he’d reacted to the suggestion, maybe it wouldn’t have been an easy out at all. Just a more morally comfortable villain. As he replied to her accusation, Eve nodded. There was no need to go into the specifics of it, the blood pooling, Owen’s antsiness, the hidden knife, the lack of bragging about his kill. A dozen symptoms in isolation that kept him off the hook, but in that room had painted a horrifying picture. “You don’t get someone else’s blood on you like that unless you killed them or you were holding them as they died. Owen isn’t the cuddly type.” How embarassing, that for a moment she thought he had been. 

Emilio’s parting shot just had Eve rolling her eyes. Sure, Owen’s standards for hygiene when he was in certain moods was low, but he’d always kept a clean home. She couldn’t imagine him bringing someone home, killing them, and then just leaving the body to decompose. Or worse, killing them and then deciding to bring the body home. He was murderous and protecting vampires, but surely he still had some standards? 

She watched Emilio enter the apartment, and checked Owen’s location on her video feed (still drinking, and acquiring a collection of empty glasses in front of him rapidly), then hopped out her car herself, grabbing a small satchel before approaching the building. There was only one CCTV camera that she could see, which had obviously been out of function for a while, the lens cracked and filled with debris. Disappointing that she wouldn’t get any old data off of it, but fine. The bricks of the wall gave her ample edges to start climbing it, her left leg uselessly flagging against the exterior while she pulled herself up to the camera’s height by her finger tips and one leg.

“Yep,” Eve replied, the tension in her voice audible. “I can even hear you rustling around.” She found her balance, standing on a quarter of an inch of brick with one leg and clinging on to another with one arm. Eve pulled a screwdriver out of her satchel, and began to unwire the old camera one handed. “Great. Where are you starting?” She shoved the screwdriver in her mouth, and pulled out a little button camera, small enough to barely be noticeable. She scrape the back of it against the wall until the back peeled off, and she could stick it on the underside of the camera. 

Deciding now was as good a time as any to pick up the conversation they were having int the car, Eve pulled the screwdriver from her mouth and said, “For the record, I don’t obsessively stalk everyone I know. I don’t have that kind of spare time.” If she had, they might not have been caught off guard by the Cortez reveal in that book. If she had, he might not even have ever known she had been in San Augustín Etla. “Normally, when hunters fall off my radar like that, they’re dead.” Screwing wires into sockets wasn’t exactly easy one handed, no matter how nimble you were. Eve grunted as she twisted the old wires into a plastic bracket to pair up with her new camera, and as soon as she was happy with the connection, dropped back to earth. She landed hard enough on one leg that she was sure Emilio could hear the thud through her microphone, and let herself sit down a moment while her muscles burned. 

—

The pieces of the puzzle seemed to be coming together in an obvious way now, but Emilio wasn’t sure he could blame Eve for not solving it sooner. Despite all the animosity between himself and Owen, even Emilio might have doubted, at least at first, that the other slayer was capable of doing something that went so against the ‘rules’ hunters set out for themselves. They didn’t have a lot of unspoken laws as a people. They were a group who killed until they died, who raised children like weapons and taught them to do the same. There were very few lines that the majority of hunters wouldn’t cross, but this was one of them. Emilio had known, for a while now, that he would cross the line if he had to. He would have killed Parker, still swore that he wanted to kill Owen, hadn’t mourned the hunter Andy killed. But Emilio was a shitty hunter, and everyone knew it. Emilio wasn’t what he was supposed to be. It was a little surprising to learn that Owen wasn’t, either.

“Only way he’d hold someone as they died is if he was checking their pockets,” he scoffed, shaking his head. It wasn’t a fair assessment, and deep down he knew that. But his judgment was clouded when it came to Owen. He couldn’t fathom anything good about the man, and it was easier that way. It was how he preferred it. Cases like this one were a lot simpler when you disliked the person whose shit you were riffling through. It allowed you to see things you might have missed if you were giving them the benefit of the doubt. (Of course, it also meant risking seeing things that weren’t there because you wanted the person in question to be guilty. Every pro doubled as a con, with this kind of thing. Detective work was full of double-edged swords.)

“Must have fucking dog ears, then. Not being that loud.” He snorted, rolling his eyes to no one. “Started in the kitchen. Nothing worth mentioning, except that his diet fucking sucks.” As if Emilio had any room to talk. “Seems… messier than it used to be. Food’s gone bad, floor’s dirty.” It was worth mentioning, even if it didn’t tell him much. To Eve, it might mean more. She’d clearly been friendly with Owen more recently than he had; she might be able to pinpoint a cause for that sort of thing a little easier.

With the kitchen clear, Emilio moved into the living room. He snapped a few pictures again, then got to work. The coffee table was more of a mess than it had been the last time he was here, too. Dirty plates that told the story of someone eating on the couch rather than at the table, a few knives left out instead of hidden in nooks and crannies the way they might normally be in a hunter’s house. Emilio flipped the cushions from the couch, raising a brow at the sight of dust bunnies, crumbs, coins, and… a wallet that must have fallen between the cushions. He reached for it, letting out a small hum as Eve spoke. “You stalking me now?” Probably not before, since she hadn’t known his last name before the police station. But after? He’d be surprised if she hadn’t started keeping tabs on him. 

Flipping open the wallet, he glanced down at the contents. Before he could even start riffling properly, something gave him pause. The driver’s license slotted into the small windowed pocket was definitely not Owen’s. “The name Lena Faulkner mean anything to you?” It could have been someone Owen was hooking up with, someone whose wallet had been lost in the couch cushions in the midst of some uncomfortable couch sex, but given the nature of their suspicions against Owen… it was probably worth seeing if Eve knew the name. 

There was a thud through the microphone, and Emilio tensed. “Everything okay out there?” If Owen was back, he trusted that Eve would have warned him… unless she was taken off guard. His eyes moved to the window, his body ready to follow if necessary. 

—

“If you say so. Huh,” Eve frowned, taking that in. It didn’t speak to someone that was thriving and happy with their life, certainly not in the way that Owen had seemed to before (not that that was a high bar, but, you know), but that was all she could glean from that. “You broken into his flat often, then?”

“Not really,” Other than having a read through his public social media, which had given her the tip off that Emilio wasn’t the biggest fan of Owen to begin with. But that was public, it didn’t exactly count. It was like sticking a newsletter to your front door and being upset anyone had bothered to read it. Other than personal curiosity, there wasn’t any reason to be keeping a close tab on Emilio specifically. Eve only really tracked threats to secrecy. Owen had felt watched because he was often the problem in that regard, not specifically because she was watching him. “Why, should I be? If you want to be the center of my attention, you just have to ask.”

Emilio’s question made Eve pause, and frown around the screwdriver in her mouth. She spit it out and dropped it back in her satchel. “Uh, yeah. Ranger, maybe? I’m not sure. Guessing you found something of hers?”

Maybe it would have been worth warning Emilio before she jumped down two stories, especially when she’d never fully met the description of Warden Grace. Oops. “Yep!” Eve exhaled heavily, pushing herself back to her feet. “Just installing some extra security features. Give me a sec, I’ll see what I can find on Lena.” Satisfied the drop hadn’t disrupted her prosthetic’s suction onto her leg, Eve looked around to confirm there wasn’t anyone new watching before hurrying back to her car, reaching for her laptop, and opening up one of her many databases. 

“Okay, Lena Faulkner, right? She specialises in marine monsters. I met her once at the three daggers, but we didn’t really cross paths otherwise. She mentioned she owned a boat. Let me see if I can find her mooring license, give me a few minutes.”  Eve opened up another directory to begin typing in the command line, and started humming a small tune to herself as she did. Only after a few seconds did she remember that they were on a hot line, and Emilio could definitely hear her. “Sorry.” Ironically, that was the first time she’d apologised to Emilio about anything. After a few minutes of accessing directories she definitely shouldn’t have been able to, Eve deflated. “Fuck.”

It could be that Lena had been a one night stand. It could have been that her and Owen had worked a hunt together. It could have been a coincidence. She could have drowned, could have been swallowed by a giant squid or a mermaid. But. Eve swallowed, and spoke. “Her boat was reported as abandoned on the docks after her mooring license expired a month ago. The licenses last for about a year, so that doesn’t tell us how long she hasn’t been back to deal with it.”

It could also mean that after all their arguments, Owen had finally started paying attention to Eve and had started properly hiding his kills. 

—--

“First time breaking in. Didn’t used to have to.” He was hopeful that things could be left at that. Admitting to having slept with Owen — more than once, on a semi-frequent basis — wasn’t something he was looking to do. It definitely wasn’t something he was looking to do via call while snooping around in the guy’s house. It wasn’t as if he was ashamed — Emilio didn’t tend to feel shame for his sexual exploits, despite the Catholicism… probably because there were other things he felt far more ashamed about — but it wasn’t something he was proud of, either. And it wasn’t relevant to the case, since it hadn’t happened in nearly two years.

There was every chance Eve could have figured it out for herself, of course, had she been stalking him. He and Owen hadn’t been private during their brief tryst, and it wouldn’t be hard to uncover evidence of it. The fact that Eve apparently hadn’t meant he was willing to believe her claim that she hadn’t been watching him. He huffed a quiet laugh at her question, rolling his eyes to the empty apartment again. “No, actually, I’d like you out of my business.” He wondered how feasible that was, given Eve’s tendency to keep tabs on hunters in town. Emilio had never been particularly good at keeping the supernatural secret when he felt it was more beneficial for a person to know the truth, and that seemed like a line Eve wasn’t willing to cross.

A ranger. He flipped through the wallet, making note of the contents. Maybe she was someone who’d come by for a hookup, though… it would be a little odd for Owen to bring a hunter back to his place to hook up when he was actively killing hunters. He was stupid, but if he was that stupid, he probably would have been caught much sooner. 

He relaxed a little when Eve reassured him that everything was fine, though he still eyed the window warily. “What kind of security features?” He turned away, carefully placing the cushions back on the couch. He didn’t return the wallet to its place; he doubted Owen knew it was there, so it wasn’t likely he’d know it was missing. In any case, going through it more in depth wouldn’t be a bad idea. Maybe they could find something useful… or at least have an opening to talk to Lena Faulkner and see if she knew anything.

They just had to find out what they were walking into with her first. He moved as Eve got to work, snapping a few more pictures of the space before beginning to search the shelves for anything worth seeing. He listened to Eve hum, an amused expression on his face, but didn’t interrupt her. “No, no, go on. Enjoying the show, really.” Dry, sarcastic, a little teasing. For a moment, he could almost let himself forget about the tension between the two of them, and the tension in this whole situation. But only for a moment.

Eve cursed, and Emilio tensed again. He listened to her report, he looked down at the wallet. Not damning on its own — hunters disappeared all the time, either because they left town without telling anyone or they died in a way that left their body digested instead of rotted — but coupled with what they suspected about Owen so far… “I’ll see what else I can find.” He’d rather have something a little more damning, even if he wasn’t sure Owen deserved any benefit of the doubt.

He moved into the bathroom, doing the obligatory photography necessary to fulfill Eve’s request before starting his snooping. A little too much product on the sink, a few too many options for soap and shampoo in the tub, though some of it looked like it might not have been used in a while. There was a chance Owen was forgoing showering; Emilio chose to believe it as fact, if only because it made it a little easier to make fun of the guy in the privacy of his own mind. The shower was far less interesting than the clothes hamper, of course; there was a reason dirty laundry was a metaphor for secrets, after all.

Emilio began rifling around, pulling out a few garments and inspecting them. Nothing noteworthy on top, but at the bottom… “Got some bloody clothes here. Not exactly unheard of for a hunter, but the shit Owen hunts shouldn’t be bleeding like this.” If you killed them quickly, most undead died bloodless deaths. If you took it slow, they bled something darker than living blood, something close to black. The stains on Owen’s pants were red. Could have been from a shifter — plenty of them died like humans, and Owen wasn’t exactly the kind of guy who’d refuse to hunt outside his ‘specialty’ — but given everything else they’d found… Emilio wasn’t keen on making excuses. When you added everything they’d uncovered so far together, it either painted a clear picture or told a far-fetched story that required a thousand different ‘possible but not the most likely’ excuses in order to work. Emilio was inclined to go with the more obvious answer. That was usually the best bet.

—

“Oh,” Eve replied, so caught up in working her computer that she didn’t quite manage to hide the knowing in her tone. When had Owen ever invited someone over for just a movie night or a meal? No, his home was so impersonal precisely because it was only intended for the bare essential, and for the one thing Owen would certainly have considered essential. Considering how Owen and Emilio argued in public, maybe this was just part of his thing. Not that it was any of her business, and not that she cared. It was just an interesting little snippet. Funny coincidence, too, although from what she knew about Owen’s proclivities, maybe not as big a coincidence as you’d expect. 

Eve grinned as he huffed something sounding almost like a laugh. “Roger, roger. But it’s fine as long as we’re both in someone else’s business, right?” Bonding over a shared enemy was practically a hunter rite of passage. Even if enemy wasn’t the way she wanted to think about Owen just yet. 

“I added a camera that I can access to the broken one they have outside the building. Just gives me another viewpoint on the comings and goings around here,” She replied, like it was the most normal thing in the world to prioritise. Well, she wasn’t going to ask Emilio to put a camera in Owen’s home, was she? Owen might have called her a creepy stalker, that did not mean she had to be one. She smiled at Emilio’s reply, “This is radio FM, playing the top hits all night long.”

Bloody clothes. Great. How many more final nails in the coffin did they need? Eve slumped in her chair. “I think at this point we can stop trying to come up with alternative explanations, right?” Eve sounded a little defeated. How many of the people she hadn’t heard from over the past months were dead at his hands? Were any of the bodies she’d handled actually at his hands, and hidden in the way she did it herself? Owen didn’t hang around for cleans, but he was pretty goddamn smart. “It’d be nice if we found something conclusive, but this all just points to one way. I don’t know how much more evidence we need.” She rubbed her temples. If he was finding laundry, Eve figured he was probably in the bathroom, unless Owen really was letting himself go. “Have you been through the bedroom yet? We really need to find something about this woman.” There was an extra dimension to the idea of finding something in Owen’s bedroom that made her jaw tighten. “He often shoves random shit in his bedside drawers.” 

Eve crossed her arms, flicking back to the CCTV view of Owen, drinking, oblivious to the storm gathering around him. Or perhaps trying to drown himself before it reached them. “So, here’s the million dollar question. If he’s killing hunters, that are, I don’t know, a threat to this mystery woman. Like, for example, the private investigator who knows there’s a woman pulling at his strings, or the person who literally caught him red-handed. Maybe he figured he couldn’t fight you in a full bar, or didn’t feel confident he’d win,” Which felt even less in character for Owen than anything else, “But…. We were alone. I was patching his fucking wounds. Why the fuck didn’t he?” Of course, it was possible he was just biding his time, planning the right moment, although for now Eve couldn’t think why. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and voiced something she had been thinking all evening. “If we can’t find the cause of all this, we’re going to need to treat the symptom. We can’t let him keep doing this.”

—

The oh she let out told him that she knew exactly why Owen had had Emilio in his apartment, and it took everything the slayer had not to let out a groan. So much for keeping that little tidbit on the DL. He scowled in the general direction of the mirror, though it was obvious that the expression was just for him. There was no way for her to see it. If she had any kind of cameras inside Owen’s apartment, she probably wouldn’t have needed him to break in. But, in any case, the scowl made him feel a little better about his dirty laundry being aired out, and that was enough for Emilio. 

It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, at least. This particular brand of irritation was something easier to swallow, something that was almost funny. It let him forget about the heavy shit. For a minute, Eve wasn’t someone who’d shown up in his hometown to mold the corpses of his friends and neighbors into stories easier for strangers to swallow, or one of a very small handful of people left alive who knew what he’d lost in that living room three years ago. For a moment, Eve was just someone who’d puzzled out that Emilio had slept with Owen fucking Lundkvist. She was someone who hummed to herself in his ear, and made a joke when he mentioned it. And that was better, even if it was temporary. He preferred that, even if he was the one who couldn’t let it last.

“Other people’s business is kind of what we both do, isn’t it?” His tone was dry, more clipped than it had been before. He wished it weren’t, wished he were capable of keeping up the lightness and avoiding the elephant in the room. But Emilio was so easily consumed by the dark shadows that lurked in the back of his mind. He’d never been able to outrun them entirely. “Camera’s a good idea. Might help us get eyes on this woman without her figuring it out.” It’d be better to see her in person, of course. Between the two of them, Emilio and Eve would be able to suss out pretty easily if she were undead or fae. If she was neither, it’d narrow things down a lot. But… at this stage, he got the feeling that secrecy was important. Owen already knew Emilio was snooping around, probably knew Eve was, too. Whatever they could keep from him would only work in their favor.

Right now, they knew plenty. Everything was mostly circumstantial — a missing woman’s wallet in your couch cushions and bloody clothes in your laundry might have convinced a human jury of your guilt, but hunters knew those things didn’t always mean anything — but coupled with what they’d known coming in, with the bodies Eve had photographed and the man Owen claimed died due to a vampire who was dust before Eve’s arrival to the scene? It spelled things out plainly. “Obvious answer is usually true, with shit like this,” he agreed. Part of him wanted to say I’m sorry, though he didn’t know why. This kind of behavior wasn’t something Emilio had expected from Owen, but he hated the guy enough to have no problem believing it. Was it different for Eve? Were she and Owen something closer to friends? He remembered how he’d felt when Rhett had crossed one too many lines, how his stomach churned and his chest ached. Was that what Eve was feeling now? Did he care? It wasn’t as if he and Eve were friends, either. They were allied due to a common enemy. How she felt about that — how she felt about anything — had no bearing on him.

But he wanted to say I’m sorry, and he couldn’t put a finger on why, so he didn’t say anything at all. He turned his jaw into a jail cell and locked the words behind his teeth, and he moved into the bedroom in silence. “There now,” he confirmed, snapping more pictures before beginning to dig. He dutifully opened the drawers, sifting through socks and underwear with little fanfare. Emilio was hardly one to care about digging through the underwear drawer of someone he used to fuck; it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen most of these garments before in one way or another. 

He listened as Eve spoke, quietly rifling around. “Not sure he’d care much about getting caught in a bar full of vampires,” he commented. “Doubt anyone there would have given much of a shit. Could have been worried about transferring the body, I guess.” Some might find it strange, the casual nature with which Emilio spoke of his own potential death, or the way he referred to the body as if the corpse in this hypothetical wouldn’t have been his own. To Emilio, it was a simple way of laying out the facts. Why hadn’t Owen killed him? He doubted the other slayer was worried he wouldn’t win a fight, though he’d lost plenty against Emilio before. (Or… one. Which, in Emilio’s mind, was a substantial number.) Why hadn’t he killed Eve when her guard was down and they were alone? “Maybe he’s worried about blowback. You do cleanup. A lot of hunters call on you. You’re not on active hunts, so hard to sell that your death was related to that. Could be he just thought it’d be too much trouble. Or… he thinks he’s still got you fooled, and is hoping you’ll help him clean something up later.” But was Owen someone who planned ahead that much? He wasn’t exactly known for considering the consequences of his actions.

The obvious answer, then, was something more emotional, but that was difficult for Emilio to believe. It was easier to think of Owen as someone who felt nothing for anyone. It was easier to consider him a monster, to imagine him with sharp teeth and no remorse. The fact that he’d spared Emilio was something he could rationalize due to the public nature of their encounter, but sparing Eve? That was harder to explain away, and he hated it. He hated the way it made him pause for just a moment when Eve mentioned treating the symptom if they couldn’t uncover the disease, hated that Owen’s moment of pause gave him one of his own. He clenched his teeth together, silently chastising himself for that moment of hesitation. “We can’t let him keep this up,” he agreed. “You or me could be next.” Or Jade. Or Daiyu. It was lucky Kaden had left town and given him one less person to worry about, lucky Rhett had fucked off months ago. But there were still plenty of hunters in this town and, regardless of how often his morality set him apart from them, Emilio wasn’t sure he could sit back and let Owen keep killing them. 

Closing the drawer, he sighed. “Look… I can do what needs doing. I’ve got no problem with it. He’s not giving us a whole lot of choice here.” Eve seemed to give more of a shit about Owen than Emilio did. It shouldn’t be on her to kill someone she might still consider a friend when Emilio wanted to stab the guy half the time, anyway. Moving across the room to the garbage can, he rubbed his thumb absently against his ring. “It’s not like I haven’t tried it before. Stabbed him a few months back. Nothing fatal, but definitely pissed him off. Won’t pretend it didn’t feel good to…” He trailed off, bending down painfully to pick up a crumpled paper from beside the garbage and smoothing it out. Holding it up to the light, he furrowed his brow. “Huh.”

—

Eve exhaled. Fine, fun moment of banter over. She didn’t deign his sharp tone with a response. There was no point. This alliance would clearly end the moment Owen was dealt with, one way or the other, Emilio had made that perfectly clear. As he commented on her cameras, offered a tiny snippet of praise, she rolled her eyes. “I have those, sometimes.”

“If he’d left you dead in a vampire bar I can’t imagine he’d have needed to worry about your body,” Eve replied idly, as used to speaking about hunter death as the weather, because it only made the question bigger. There was no love lost between Emilio and Owen, their online presence had made that perfectly clear. If he was tasked with protecting a vampire, why not take out the obvious threat? She rolled the thought around in her head, twisting her laptop charging cable around her fingers as a nervous fidget while Emilio spoke. “No hunter will be surprised when I get killed on an interrupted clean, especially if it also killed the hunter who called me. You couldn’t have written a better explanation if you’d planned it.” Eve spoke of her own death in the way Emilio had spoken of his. She bit her lip, thinking of how she’d sat even closer to Owen as she’d made her realisations, kept up her flippant jokes, leant in instead of leant out. “I hope I have him fooled, but if I were him I wouldn’t want any loose ends.”

If Emilio’s hesitation phased her, she didn’t show it. What Eve was suggesting was radical even by her standards, it didn’t feel good, but it was also right. One dead hunter to save several more. The maths just made sense. When he finally agreed with her, she nodded. If little else, at least they had this in common. Curiosity, Etla, and pragmatism. 

Eve’s eyebrows drew close together, more than a little irked at Emilio’s chivalry. Like she’d have a problem with it. Like Eve didn’t lock up her heart behind carbon fibre hulls every single day to do what she did, what he couldn’t stomach. Like whatever affection she had ever felt for anyone had interfered in her work for ten years. Yes, perhaps it was easier to carve up dead humans than living ones, but it wouldn’t be hard. As he kept talking, her eyes widened slightly. Maybe she should consider herself lucky that Emilio hadn’t stabbed her in his living room. Before this, before Owen, hunter threats had been common as muck. Arguments about secrecy rarely went smoothly, and no matter how even keeled Eve could be, few hunters (especially those who weren’t wardens) regularly matched that. Knives held to her throat and even the occasional blows had all felt like bluster. Violence may be their native language, but hunters didn’t damage each other. Except Owen. And Emilio, apparently. “It’ll be whoever encounters him first, if it comes to it. As Owen has so neatly proven, it isn’t hard to kill someone who isn’t expecting it.”

Emilio had fallen quiet. Eve cocked her head, glancing down at the screen with Owen in the bar. His emptied glasses collection had grown absurdly large. “What?”

—

It was a good point, of course. Disposing of a body wasn’t exactly difficult for undead people to accomplish. Sure, Emilio’s blood was no good to them — he always got something of a kick out of watching one of them realize it, of biting into his skin expecting a meal and finding their mouth filled with acid instead — but there were other ways to deal with a corpse. There’d probably been a zombie or two in the crowd who would have gladly taken his body home in a doggy bag, or a vampire old enough to have the necessary contacts to make a corpse disappear in broad daylight without question. No, if Owen had wanted to kill him in that bar, there was little reason Emilio could see for him to avoid it. Just as the reasons he gave Eve to explain her continued heartbeat were flimsy at best. Owen had no problem killing hunters, and Eve and Emilio were both the sort who would almost certainly get in his way. So why leave them alive? 

(Why hadn’t Emilio driven that stake in deeper at the end of his last physical altercation with Owen? Why hadn’t he slit his throat when he’d been laying on the floor of that apartment? Why hadn’t he let the nymph Rhett carted them off on a joint hunt to take care of kill Owen in a way he could have pretended was impossible to prevent? Owen could have killed him in that bar, but he could have killed Owen plenty of times before that. He didn’t know what stopped him, so how could he possibly understand what stopped Owen?) 

“He’s a cocky bastard,” he said, trying to sound more certain than he felt. “Maybe he likes thinking he’s pulling one over on both of us. Maybe it just makes him feel smart.” It wasn’t even a good explanation, because while Eve might have made some attempt at convincing Owen that she was fooled, Emilio had done no such thing. Owen knew he was suspicious of him, knew he was already digging around and snooping in places Owen wanted him out of. Maybe he liked feeling smart at the idea of fooling Eve, but he knew he hadn’t fooled Emilio. There was no explanation that really made sense.

Just as there was no explanation that could fully allow him to understand the tightness in his chest, either. Hadn’t he wanted Owen dead since the moment he’d shoved him against that wall and delivered verbal blows that were impossible to dodge? Hadn’t he threatened it a thousand times now? Eve said that whoever ran into him next would have to do the deed, and Emilio wondered if he ought to make sure that that was him in spite of the way his heart stuttered at the concept. Was it the idea of killing another hunter that made him so uneasy? The concept hadn’t bothered him in the past. Not when Andy killed a ranger to protect her sister, not when he confronted Parker with the full intention of leaving him to rot in the woods. Why was Owen different? Emilio didn’t know. And, as most things did, the not knowing made him angry. “Yeah, well, I can’t say he won’t expect it from me. Doesn’t mean it’ll be any harder.” It was a lie, and he wished it wasn’t. It was a lie, and it shouldn’t have been.

He busied himself with the paper instead, with the feeling of it uncrumpling in his hand and the smudged writing on it. A list of names, both familiar and foreign. Emilio squinted at it, tilting his head to the side. Some seemed like people Owen might want kept safe. The surname Lundkvist appeared frequently enough in the beginning that, at first, he almost assumed it was just a list of family members. But the sixth name on the list broke the pattern. Wyatt Barlow. The lamia with the bad attitude? Emilio hadn’t even known Owen knew the guy. 

That name wasn’t anywhere near as puzzling as what followed. Emilio’s eye caught his own name, with Eve’s right beneath it. The remainder of the list — Jade, Rosemary, Bridie, Conor, the guy who owned the fucking blade shop, Rhett — all seemed secondary. His mind was spinning in circles with attempts to connect the names. A list of enemies? It was possible that Owen was on poor enough terms with his family to consider them as such, but he’d been uncomfortably friendly with Rhett. People who might take note of his recent behavior? He couldn’t imagine someone like Wyatt giving a shit about dead hunters, especially not when paired with the fact that Wyatt had seemed keen on eating him until they’d had something of a bonding experience. If not for his own name on the list, he might have considered the possibility that these were all people Owen cared about, but… Hadn’t Owen made it clear that Emilio was far from his favorite person?

Eve’s voice in his ear startled him from his thoughts. Embarrassingly, he’d almost forgotten she was on the line. He cleared his throat, smoothing out the list a little more and snapping a picture of it. “I found something,” he said. “A list of names. Sending it to you now. I know some of them. Different people from around town, or people who used to live here. Rhett Tangaroa, he’s a warden. Think you know Jade, she’s a slayer. None of the rest are hunters. Most of them aren’t even human. What do you make of this?” Maybe Eve would have more of a clue than he did. As much as he hated to admit it… Emilio was stumped. 

— 

“What, like a hit list?” Eve asked when he finally replied, clicking the notification the moment he sent it. The file opened on her laptop, crumpled paper in handwriting that even Eve knew couldn’t be Owen’s. She mouthed the names, one by one, like reading them would make them real. 

Benjamin Lundkvist

Katarina Lundkvist

Clark Lundkvist

Astrid Lundkvist

Felix Lundkvist

Wyatt Barlow

Emilio Cortez

Eve Farran

Jade Bloodworth

Rosemary Kane

Rhett Tangaroa 

Bridie Dougherty

Conor Kiernan

Chet

Eve sat in silence, letting it stretch between them, staring at her name on the list. Her mind wondered, just as Emilio’s had, if this was enemies, or threats, and dismissed them as out of hand. She looked at Jade’s, who was more playful than any hunter Eve had ever met, at Rosemary, who could brighten up a bloodied alley. People who were so easy to like and let yourself be liked by. And Eve, who tried to be as palatable as possible to everyone, who could pick a fight and sweep it under the rug at the next moment. Emilio didn’t fit in that mold, not in a million fucking years, but he was a a gasoline fire, warm right until it burned you. Eve looked at the other names on the list, the Lundkvists, and reached for her laptop again. It wouldn’t be a thorough search, and it wouldn’t be perfect - it wasn’t like Eve spoke Swedish, and translation apps only got you so far. Anything was better than the growing question in her chest. 

“Okay, at first glance, I can’t find Felix, Astrid or Clark of the Lundkvists online, but I’ve found Benjamin and Katarina. They look… old enough to be his parents. Or maybe aunts and uncles.” Both of them were on facebook, of all places. Katarina had an especially bloated friendslist. Eve idly scrolled through her profile as she sat there and thought. Her mind came back to the zombie, the basement, the fridge she’d locked herself in and the way Owen had held her later, checking for a bite he wouldn’t have been able to do anything about. 

“So, I hate to ask an incredibly awkward question for the both of us,” Eve began cautiously, as once again she had to reveal something about herself that neither of them wanted to know. “When the two of you went from slayers with benefits to threatening to kill each other on the regular, any chance you had that falling out winter of last year? Maybe an argument that he started, when he took every damn thing he knew about you and twisted it to throw it in your face? Where suddenly every teasing insult he’d ever said suddenly sounded like he’d always meant it? Any chance it was the kind of thing someone would say if they really wanted you to hate them?” Eve let the thought linger in the air, knowing how much it implicated her as much as him, how it reflected on both of them. Her joke, when it came, was not meant to be believable. “Hypothetically, obviously.”

It was only in the admitting that she might have the capacity to care that she gave herself the ability to lock that caring away so thoroughly. To hunt a fae, you had to be prepared to be emotionally compromised along the way. You had to be able to feel, and to finish the hunt either way. Not every hunter trained that way. How many humans’ bodies had she found, draped over another corpse as if to protect them? How many humans had she found dead with knives in their hands, ready to fight a threat they could barely understand? How many humans had let themselves become vampires, become werewolves, become monsters just to be strong enough to protect their community, only to be what destroyed it anyway? All the best and worst parts of Hunters were their humanity. Maybe that was true for Owen too.  “What I’m getting at is…. Any chance this is a blackmail list?”

It would be an absurd number of names. It was absurd for hers to be on there at all, yet as soon as she voiced it, it felt like it fit. Maybe just because Eve couldn’t picture having a family you’d want to kill. Maybe because it was on a piece of paper meant to be thrown away. Maybe because if it was, it answered the question they had just asked each other. 

As she spoke, Eve logged into one of her many fake facebook accounts, and sent Katarina a friend request. There were other ways to learn what she wanted to know, but sometimes the easiest was just to let people tell you. The accept came… worryingly quickly. Considering the time difference, but then again Slayers didn’t need to sleep the way Eve did. She scrolled the publicly available likes and groups Katarina was in, just to get some gleam of a hint of something, anything. She liked a lot of memes, apparently. In those Minion Mom groups, and elsewhere. You don’t know tired until you’re chasing a toddler at three am. Share this on your page if you love your kids. Like this if you’ll even go to your kid’s primary school graduation. 

It was kinda sweet, really. Not the vibe Eve expected from someone who was related to, well, Owen. The kind of thing she’d had given him shit for if the circumstances were different. Most of the memes were like that, but the children referenced in many of these memes were… young. Eve looked at the names on the lists again. 

“Emilio. I think Katarina Lundkvist has young children.” Maybe even ones called Astrid, Clark or Felix. 

—-

His eyes remained locked on his own name on that list. If he ignored everything around it, he could twist the situation into one that made more sense. Owen wanting to kill him wouldn’t be a surprise; if anything, Emilio might welcome the concept. If Owen wanted him dead, things could be simpler. He could do what needed doing, and he’d never have to think about it again. It would be as easy as staking a vampire, as simple as removing the head off a reanimated corpse. If this was a hit list, it meant that Owen was little more than another monster that needed to be taken out in order for Emilio to protect his friends.

But he was too good a detective to accept an assumption as fact just because he wanted it to be true. The truth was rarely ever what you wanted it to be. Emilio had learned that over and over and over again. It was a painfully complicated thing that changed with the wind, a shovel that hollowed you out and twisted you up. The truth was obvious, sometimes, like when all the evidence in Owen’s apartment pointed them in a very specific direction, but that didn’t make it simple. There was nothing simple about any of this.

“No,” he said, still staring at the list, “not a hit list.” He kept his voice even, neutral, but if someone knew him well enough… they might have been able to pick up on the hint of disappointment behind the words. There was a list, and it wasn’t a hit list. There was a list, and it wasn’t a hit list, and his name was on it. There was a list, and it wasn’t a hit list, and his name was on it, and he had no goddamn idea what to do with that. The truth was never simple; Emilio wished, just once, it would be.

Eve went quiet long enough to look up the names. Three came back with no results, but two proved more successful. Owen’s parents, maybe, or some other relatives. He tried to slot the information into place, tried to make it tie the story together a little better, but it still didn’t make a whole lot of sense. “All right, so… His parents, us, and a few locals. Plus the others with his last name. Relatives with no online presence?” In 2024? That was a hard sell. Maybe they were people who’d died before the internet became as ingrained in society as it was now, though that made little sense, either. Emilio had to assume that everyone on the list was alive, at least to Owen’s knowledge. But if Eve couldn’t find them…

Her voice pulled him from his thoughts again, asking questions it seemed she already knew the answer to. Emilio grimaced, trying not to remember the moment he and Owen had gone from, as Eve so delicately put it, slayer with benefits to threatening to kill each other on the regular. It was hard not to hear the echo of Owen’s voice in his mind, hard not to recall every syllable he’d flung in Emilio’s direction. You can barely keep yourself alive. Not just in a fight, no. You live like you’re already fucking dead and you’re just waiting for somebody to find your corpse. Except nobody will because you don’t have anyone. You can’t do shit because you’re fucking nothing. 

Hadn’t it done exactly what Eve was insinuating now? Hadn’t it been the only nail he’d ever needed to have driven into the coffin of whatever he and Owen had before? He disliked how familiar Eve’s story sounded, disliked the way it made him feel as if he’d been manipulated into reacting the way he did. If there was one thing Emilio hated, one thing he’d rage against until the end of fucking time, it was the perception of his agency being taken from him. The fact that Owen might have been able to accomplish it without him even being aware it was happening… 

“It was closer to autumn,” he replied, as if that made a difference at all. “Summer, even.” Did it matter if the encounter had taken place in August or October? The end result was the same either way. He scowled down at the list, glared at his own name on the page. He was angry Owen manipulated him; he was angry Owen might give a shit whether he lived or died. He was angry that he was angry, and wasn’t that a shitty way to be? “If it’s a blackmail list, it’s a weird one. Can’t imagine anyone using me as something to hold over his head. Can’t imagine it working.” Maybe Emilio’s name was there as an oversight, an incorrect assumption on the part of whoever had made the list. It was the easiest option to swallow.

(The truth was rarely easy.)

He was left to swallow the unsettling ramifications as Eve typed away on her keyboard, wishing he had something more to do than look at the note in his hands. The apartment had been thoroughly searched; there wasn’t anything more to find. They knew everything they could know. It wasn’t as if Owen would have photos of the mysterious woman pulling his strings laying around somewhere to be uncovered, after all. They’d been lucky he kept the damn list — though, from the looks of things, that was largely due to his lack of motivation when it came to doing simple household chores like taking out the garbage. By the time Eve’s voice chirped in his ear again, it was a relief. 

Until he digested what she said.

Young children. The names on Owen’s list, the ones who weren’t easily found online, were kids. Emilio felt a familiar buildup of rage, a quiet fury that threatened to turn the world red. He didn’t like Owen, no matter what the fucking list implied. He didn’t give a shit if the guy was miserable, didn’t even really care that someone was pulling his strings. (He’d been an ass before someone was pulling his strings, too, after all.) But if this person was threatening kids, if there were children involved in all this…

“We need to find a way to end this.” He crumpled the list back up, tossed it back towards the garbage can and let it fall where it had been before. “One way or another, we need to figure out how to stop him and whoever’s in charge of him.”

—

“Guess that doesn’t match up with a timeline for getting people out of his life if a threat was hanging over his head,” Eve replied as Emilio answered her definite hypothetical. Maybe it didn’t mean anything after all, it was just something Owen did. Maybe only some of the names on this list were right. She didn’t have any more speculation to offer, no answers for herself or for Emilio. But if she was right, that meant a little bit of the blood spilled lined her hands too. Fuck Owen for that part particularly. 

“I agree, and whatever we do, we need to act quickly.” Eve looked at the list. The maths had changed. If she could be certain that taking out Owen would keep other hunters safe and wouldn’t jeopardise the people on the list, it would be one thing. There were complications on that page that didn’t fit in an algorithm. That were more messy than simply closing off her heart. It was a tiny relief, that the only lesson from this was that the first call wasn’t murdering Owen. It was just a much heavier weight that came with it, that there was no easy answer. Like a game of Clue, they had the locations,  the motive, and the murder weapon: Owen. But they weren’t any fucking closer to whodunnit. It was so much easier to be the one making the mystery than solving it. Eve smacked the car dashboard hard enough to leave a dent in it. “I’m fine,” she said lightly but just as quickly into the mic, because Emilio would have heard it. 

“Someone’s been watching Owen enough to put this list together, we have to assume someone’s keeping tabs on us too. We’ll need to be careful.” The thought sent ice down her spine. For a watcher, Eve did not love to be watched. The question lingered: who did Owen fear so much that he genuinely believed could be a threat to everyone on this list. Six confirmed adult hunters, a spellcaster, whatever Emilio meant by some of the names on there being not human. Owen wasn’t one to overestimate a threat. “We have the camera and someone on that list might know something. We’ll find her.” The reassurance was more for herself than for him. 

Eve glanced at her screen, just in time to see Owen starting to argue with what looked to be the dingy bar’s bouncer. Which would likely only go one of a few ways. “Time’s up, he’ll be out of the bar soon. I’ll reset the flat. See you around, Emilio—”

—Unfortunately, for all three of them. 

[muertarte]

TIMING: A few hours after this

PARTIES: @bookofbolden @amonstrousdream @muertarte

SUMMARY: Metzli turns to Eleanor and Leila, and reveals a hard truth. They all mourn together.

WARNINGS: Mentions of child death, self harm (panic attack)

Metzli’s breath trembled as they gasped, and they weren’t sure why their lungs burned with need for air. In fact, they were sure they needed something vastly different than that, and they could call out her name knowing there would be no response. 

There would be no anything anymore. 

The very thought sent the vampire into a frenzy as the two phone calls became a blur. Leila’s voice was filled with concern and she asked some questions, but Metzli didn’t have the heart to answer. Calling Eleanor ended up the same, though they finally had a destination to run off to. 

Their legs moved with haste, heart twisting against the barbed wire of grief. They broke out into sobs, and Metzli was sure they looked a bit crazed as they shoved through a few people on the sidewalk, hand bloodied and a little broken. When they finally made it to Eleanor’s door, Metzli could no longer control where their grief lay. 

It filled them completely, unraveling and piercing into every nerve until they slammed their head against the frame to make it take up space in one area, but it was no use. Grief, it turned out, was the most violent emotion Metzli had ever felt. They continued to sob and slam, sliding against the wall until they were on the floor.

Eleanor had been launched into a panic when she heard Metzli’s frenzied voice on the other end of the phone and had begged them to make their way to her apartment. She had no idea what had happened since none of her questions had been answered but she knew without a doubt that it was something horrific. Her heart sank down into her stomach as her mind went through all of the terrible possibilities: Metzli had been hurt, someone was looking for them again, they’d done something they weren’t happy about. Whatever the reason for the hysteria, the empath vowed that she would be there for her friend no matter what.

When Eleanor heard banging on her front door she ran down the hall and flung it open to find Metzli on the ground. She kneeled down beside them, concern etched into her face, and reached out to touch their arm gently so that she wouldn’t startle them.

“Metzli… Hey, you’re alright, you’re safe, I’m here. We need to get you into the apartment, are you able to do that? I can’t lift you on my own I’ll need your help please.” Eleanor kept her voice low and light and tried her best to swallow back the anxiety that had started to wash over her. She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Leila begging her to come to the apartment to help. “Leila’s gonna be on her way soon, she’s gonna help us. You’re alright, I promise.” She lightly touched their cheek to wipe away some of the tears. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

She could not move fast enough. 

Leila had felt time slow to a near stop when she’d answered the phone, assuming to hear Metzli’s voice fill the static of the line, and instead only heard sobs and heavy gasps. The stardust-like blood that filled her veins had turned to ice. She was fairly certain she had tried to ask what was going on, where they were, if they were hurt. If the mare was being painfully honest, she could not remember. If there were words said, she hardly heard them. Instead, her ears rang. That was all. A text from Eleanor told her where her partner was. Without a second thought, she flung herself into the astral and let the shadows swallow her up.

Usually, a trip through that strange, ether-like world would move fast. If there was a speed for light, then perhaps there was a speed for darkness too, for shadows and shades to flutter through. But each little inch she managed to take felt like swimming in molasses. Were they hurt? Was someone else hurt? A kingdom of worst-case-scenarious constructed herself in her mind, each one worse the further she went. 

Rather than her usual subtle arrival, Leila crashed her way back into the material world, into the hall outside of Eleanore’s apartment. She didn’t knock, didn’t wait to be let in. In she went, trying to swallow down the wail of fear that wanted so desperately to sneak out. “Metzli?? Eleanor are you in here-”

Despite not hearing a word Eleanor said, the two of them managed to get Metzli inside with little issue. They retreated to the floor once they were through the threshold, appreciating the coolness of the linoleum against their cheek. The rest of the room retreated to the back of their senses, but they could feel more than one presence if they focused ever so slightly. “I…” Metzli croaked, curling their body like a fist in protest. The refusal was adamant, vehement in its notion and the sounds that escaped their lungs were nothing more than jumbled pleas that would surely be difficult to decipher. 

“Gone!” In an instant, really. There was no prolonged goodbye, no last words or proclamations to hold onto. Loving as hard as Metzli did, they couldn’t save someone they loved. Cass was gone. Instantly. Gone and never coming back. Gone like the promises that would never be made. Gone, as in, Metzli wouldn’t be able to bring themself to sift through belongings left behind, never to be touched by the same hands again. 

It ached like nothing they’d ever felt before, and they knew it was supposed to be that way. Because heartache was love’s destination, and there was so much love Metzli would have to accept that they would never be able to give. Instead, it would collect in the corner of their eyes and become a lump in their throat, twisting into a hollow void within them that would never be filled. The very thought sent them into another panic, and they wailed holding their injured hand to their chest while they did. 

“Could not save.” And she died. Maybe it was instantly, considering the collapse, but there was hardly a relief in that fact. There was no reprieve or lingering sentiment, like a tragedy set in slow motion, in the arms of people that loved them with no bounds. As if an instant death was what Cass would’ve wanted. Because Metzli was sure more time would’ve been her wish, desire never allowed to be fulfilled with her final breath. The dead could not want. 

All Eleanor could do was sit on the floor beside Mezli and blink back tears of her own. She had no idea why she was crying, she only knew that someone she cared for, someone she loved, was in pain. She wished that she could feel their emotion and take it away from them, she wished that there was something more she could do rather than just sitting there offering them comforting words. Just being is enough. Metzli had once told her that but at the moment it didn’t feel like enough at all.

Eleanor hardly looked up when Leila crashed through the door, she only made a faint noise that sounded something like “we’re here” and kept all of her attention on the vampire before her. Who was gone, what had happened, why and how had it happened? She couldn't get her mind to focus on one question at a time but by some miracle she managed to keep her mouth shut and not bombard her friend with an interrogation. She felt helpless and weak, she wanted to be able to do something but all she was capable of doing was reaching out and lightly rubbing their shoulder.

“I don’t know what’s happened,” Eleanor finally looked at Leila with wide eyes, “I think their hand is hurt but I don’t know how it got that way. They just got here before I texted you.” A fist closed painfully around her heart as Metzli cried out and she winced as though she’d been hit. “Who’s gone?” She asked Leila in a low voice - surely she would know. Eleanor moved over to allow more room for Leila to join them and her gaze fell back onto Metzli. She felt like a little kid, small and helpless as she watched things unfold all around her, unable to change any of it. She would have taken all of Metzli’s pain if she could and she would have endured it without a single complaint so long as they were able to feel better. She would have done it in a heartbeat.

She heard the mournful cries before her eyes settled upon the pair on the floor. It sent her heart plummeting down through the floor. Metzli was curled into a ball on the ground, face on cold linoleum. In a moment, Leila was down beside them, a gentle hand brushing their hair away from their face. “I’m here- we’re here- it’s…” The mare almost said it was okay. But that wouldn’t be true, would it? Someone was gone. Someone was dead and gone and that was the furthest thing from okay. They were safe, yes. But okay? No… not okay. 

Eleanor’s eyes were wide, disquieted with the uncertainty, pained by the heartbroken cries of the person they both cared for so much. There was so much information that was missing. How had their hand gotten hurt? Who was gone? What had happened? Leila had no answers. Only the overwhelming, terrible taste of fear mixed with despair that muddled her senses. “I don’t- I don’t know, who. They called crying- I just…” Her voice cracked, lilting the whispered words up. There was nothing more that she wanted than to pull them both into her arms. To take away the pain of loss from one, the pain of sorrow and concern from the other… She couldn’t, though. That wasn’t what she was made for. And even if it was, it wouldn’t be fair. 

“Metzli?” Her voice was soft. It took all her strength to swallow back the bite of fear as she scanned the vampire over for wounds before gently trying to reach for the wounded hand to look it over. “M’amour, quién se ha ido?” Leila dreaded the question almost as much as she dreaded the answer.

They shook their head vehemently, unable to disclose the answer that lay heavy like lead on their tongue. “N-no!” Metzli tangled their fingers into their hair and yanked, over and over again. They sobbed and hiccuped, replaying the ending of Cass’s life, expecting a next chapter to the story, but all subsequent pages were blank. Metzli tried to write a new ending, expecting to be able to undo her death, but all they managed to do was rip a few nails from their fingers and tear the skin on their knuckles. 

There were still a few remnants of what stones Metzli could break under the nails they had left. Tightening their fist, they embedded them further, hoping to keep them there as a reminder. They just weren't sure what kind it would be just yet. Cass told them how they should live, that there were countless endings they could make for themself and that she wanted for them, but it felt like a betrayal when their death was only a beginning for them. The injustice of that fact made their heart bend until they felt something snap in their chest, and when they locked eyes with Leila, they shook their head again. 

How were they supposed to tell her what had happened? Would it be wrong to keep it from her? Or would withholding the truth be just as bad as a lie? The overwhelming nature of such devastating news rattled violently in Metzli's lungs as more choked sobs, and a continuous thudding against the floor as they tried to force the pain to radiate from one place, instead of stabbing like pins in every pore of their body. 

But the pain made no exodus, amplifying cruelly with each echo against their ribs.  

There was too much going on. Eleanor closed her eyes for a brief moment as she tried to collect her thoughts. Even without the emotions of those around her flying around the air was electrified and she imagined that she could feel it all. Metzli's sobs were thunderous and filled with a kind of pain that couldn't be described in words. Someone she cared for very much was wounded and she didn't know if they would ever be the same again.

Eleanor looked to Leila, hoping that her expression conveyed everything she couldn't find the words to say. She decided that the most pressing issue at the moment wasn't who was gone but how she and Leila were going to get Metzli through the grieving process. When they reached up to yank at their hair she gently grabbed their arm in an attempt to stop them.

"I think I have something we can use to wrap their hand. I can also grab a pillow for their head so they don't hurt themself if you think that would help." Eleanor blinked quickly, refusing to allow the tears to run down her cheeks, and attempted to speak with Metzli one more time. "Hey Metz, I’m gonna take a look at your hand, okay?" She didn't want to bring up the subject of who was gone anymore, not yet. Neither of them would have gotten very far with that line of questioning anyhow.

Death was a cruel thing for those left behind. Whether or not it was expected did not remove pain- it simply made it easier or worse. She had often wondered if her death had been an easy thing for her mother, for her father. They had seen her suffer for months. Maybe it had been easy to accept that one morning her eyes simply remained shut. But death was not the same here. Leila knew. Metzli’s eyes locked with hers, and it told her all she needed to know. Not who it was. Simply that it was, and it should not have been. But her knowing could wait. Needed to wait. 

She tried to pull Metzli into her arms as carefully as she could while Eleanor tried to unwind the vampire’s fingers from their hair. “Pressure helps,” Leila said softly to the woman beside her, trying to force her mind to run through the list of things that might bring some modicum of calm to Metzli. Which was hard, when every sob felt like a dagger to the heart. “Grab a pillow, grab headphones- noise cancelling is better, their headphones are best.” It took every bit of strength to keep her voice steady. It wasn’t what Metzli needed. It certainly wasn’t what Eleanor needed either. She knew Eleanor was different- knew she could feel too much. The mare reached up quickly to brush the tears away from the corner of Eleanor’s eye. “Look at me- okay? We can do this. We have them. I have you.” 

Her body still hurt, not fully mended from the chaos of previous weeks. But that did not stop Leila from holding Metzli, even as the pain of grief tore them apart. “Metz… Metzli, focus on me, okay? Can you hear my voice?” Every word was soft and steady, a wave brushing against the seashore. One hand traced weighted circles up and down their arm, trying to keep in time with the lilting of her own voice. “Eleanor and I are here… we’ve got you.”

Whatever words attempted to reach everyone's ears simply compiled into muddled up hiccups as they sobbed. The truth kept itself rooted in their throat, and despite knowing the two people they loved deserved to know that Cass was dead, Metzli stopped short. 

A choke here and there barely gave the others a chance to begin to decipher who just died, and selfishly, they wanted to keep it that way. Save them from the horror and protect themself from speaking the tragedy into reality. But there was no salvation from it. Any attempt would simply be a lie, and on principle alone, and out of respect, Metzli wouldn’t allow it. Their heart had become too understanding and too attached, growing in the process of being loved and offering it back in return.

They hoped perhaps in doing so, they could love a little more intensely, give it a little more freely. Place it above all else and relief could be the encore of every sigh while they lifted the heavy weight of sorrow from the shoulders of the grieving. When Metzli looked at the bereaved with a little more focus, they saw only Leila and Eleanor in their place. It was going to hurt. Once they said it, there was no turning back. But time could only continue, so Metzli decided they would too. They listened and breathed as Leila helped them, allowing Eleanor to look at their hand with minimal trembling. With every breath, the sobs subsided, and Metzli was finally able to manage an anxious nod. 

“I-I-I can hear y-you. ‘M s-sorry. Sorry.”

Eleanor leaned into Leila’s touch and gave her an appreciative smile but felt guilty for having taken even a moment of attention away from Metzli. She had never seen them in such a state and while it scared her to think of what must have happened to cause it, she tried her best to keep her own emotions in check as well as possible for their sake. “Thank you.” Her voice was low but she hoped that Leila had heard. She used her free hand to reach out and smooth down the hair that Metzli had been pulling at.

She was thankful to have a couple of tasks to complete - keeping her mind and hands busy would help Eleanor collect herself. She gently placed Metzli’s hand into Leila’s and hurried to her feet. She had just the thing to help: Metzli had left a pair of noise-canceling headphones at her apartment and she’d placed them in the drawer of her nightstand for safekeeping. Rushing to return to her friends, Eleanor darted into her bedroom and grabbed the headphones (she was so focused that not a single bad memory terrorized her while in the room) then went into the bathroom to grab the first aid kit from under the sink.

“I’ve had these for a while,” Eleanor explained as she placed the headphones into Leila’s hand. The couch was covered in pillows considering she slept on it every night so she grabbed the most comfortable one she owned before returning to her spot on the floor. She carefully raised Metzli’s head and placed the pillow under them. “Don’t ever apologize for feeling.” She whispered to Metzli, then to Leila, “How quickly will their hand heal? I have compression bandages if that will help.” She didn’t know what she would have done if Leila had not been there and her heart fluttered with gratitude for the love and patience that was shown toward her. Eleanor placed her hand on Metzli’s shoulder just to remind them that she was there.

Right when she was certain her heart couldn’t break any more, Metzli breathed shaky apologies into the air, and the mare’s heart shattered even more. Thank god for Eleanor. The words were a whisper meant for Metzli, but Leila heard and appreciated them all the same. The vampire had been deprived of their emotions for so long. Grief was a strong emotion, even for those who hadn’t been robbed of feeling for god-knew-how-long. To be swallowed up by it after all those years… she could only imagine. “Eleanor’s right, you’ve got nothing to apologize for…” 

She paused her massaging of their arm only to focus on the headphones. “Do you want your headphoneys?” The last thing she wanted to do was force them into silence if that was not what they wanted or needed. The option was there. But to mend their hand… Leila’s gaze flicked from Metzli’s bloodied hand, to Eleanor’s face, to the hand again. Calm. Calm for Metzli, calm for Eleanor, be calm, Leila… 

“They heal faster than you or I. Faster still if we clean and patch their hand up… Dieu merci, ce n’est pas pire…” Her voice trailed off into a hardly audible murmur. While it was a blessing that they healed quickly, it was never easy to see Metzli hurt. Leila’s stomach twisted at the sight of it. “The bandages might come in handy though…”

The frenzied march beneath their skin settled into a sharp but manageable hum. It wasn't the usual silence that came along with Leila's gaze, but Metzli supposed there was no escaping what grief felt like. Death was inevitable, they knew that, had lived through it and returned. They just wished they could mock death for Cass the way they had. There was no body, no chance to give the bite. Though Metzli wasn't completely sure it would've worked for a fae. 

Still, they just wanted a chance to try, and they once again felt robbed by the skeleton with the scythe. How was it fair that they had lived lifetimes and Cass did not? It wasn't, but they doubted death had any bias, any desire to mock them. That was the beauty of death. It stood behind everyone, trailing along like a shadow until it was time to swallow them. 

Metzli sniffled as the image of debris flashed behind their eyes, and they squeezed them shut to will it away until all they saw were the stars in the darkness. Cass was gone, but she wasn't gone. Metzli could still feel her in the sorrow they carried, the love they would keep harbored inside of them until it was their turn to be nothing but a memory. At least that way, Cass would never leave them. At least that way, Metzli could will themself to speak. At least that way, no one would have to walk alone. 

“No phonies.” They shook their head, leaning into Leila and Eleanor a little more. “Want to hear you. It-it is…calming m-me. But pressure is-is good.” Metzli took a breath and with their renewed tranquility, they wiped their index finger carefully before poking Eleanor's nose to alleviate the tension as best they could. “Thank you.” They swallowed, blinking away the tears brimming their eyes. “Have calm now. I-I…” Sorrow threatened to wash over them, but they took a few grounding breaths, finally saying, “I love you both.”

Eleanor knew grief all too well, knew how it had a knack for making someone believe that it was the only thing they would ever feel again. Her own grief swallowed her up day after day and while there was now a light that she was able to walk toward on the good days, the bad days were pitch black and she walked around in circles in hopes of finding just a glimpse of that light. Thinking of how Metzli’s emotional pain must have been that times a thousand due to their inability to feel anything for so long made the empath want to scoop them up into her arms and never let go. She had read something in the book Hazel had given her about people like herself sometimes being able to influence the emotions of those around her. She wished she knew how to do it… but then again, would it even work on someone she couldn’t get a read on? She didn’t want Metzli to ignore their hurt, she just wanted to help alleviate it.

But they were already showing strength by refusing the headphones. It would have been so much easier for them to just accept and go silent, but they once again proved to Eleanor how strong they were. She smiled when her nose was poked and reached out to slowly run her fingers through their hair. “We love you too, don’t ever forget it.” She looked at Leila with a smile, the weight on her chest reduced now that Metzli was able to communicate. It wasn’t completely gone, there was still the issue of understanding the cause of the hurt, of having to hear who they’d lost, but for now them being able to speak was enough for her.

“Your hand is hurt, can Leila and I get you cleaned up a bit?” Eleanor glanced at their hand and frowned. She wanted to ask very badly what had happened but stopped herself just in time. Now wasn’t the time for her to say the wrong thing. “We don’t have to go far, we can use the kitchen sink. And you know it’s squeaky clean because I never use my kitchen.” She joked in an attempt to continue lightening the mood. Keeping one hand in their hair, she held her other out for Leila to take. “We’ll take care of you, I promise.”

An eerie comfort came with Metzli’s easing sobs. Leila felt it creep up on her, like a deer in the woods who knows that a hunter is watching. Dead. The word itself was a churchbell knell ringing in her mind. Dead. Dead. Dead. There was a difference between dead and undead. Undeath, while a terrible thing to go through, at least provided the possibility of life, even if it was a different one. But capital D Dead was different. It wasn’t a momentary blip or a metamorphosis. It was a period. A full stop. An permanent end date with nothing beyond for the person whose soul had been collected. 

Calm for Metzli and Eleanor. It was an order, a commandment that she had to follow. The mare bit the inside of her cheek and forced the welling emotions down as far as she possibly could. Eleanor’s soft smile, Metzli’s softening voice. These were things she should be focused on maintaining. Leila pressed a quick kiss to Metzli’s forehead. It was easier than words. If she spoke, she feared the question would come out again. Who is dead? Who? Who? 

Thank god for Eleanor. For another hand to hold in a storm of a moment. She wasn’t certain if the gesture was for herself or for Leila, but regardless, the mare was grateful for it. Her eyes softened a little as she took in the sight. As scared as she was of her own emotions in that moment, she was more frightened of what laid ahead. She took the woman’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Not alone. At least there was that, for all of them.

It was strange to feel so calm when tragedy was slipping over their tongue. They opened and closed their mouth several times, but nothing reached the surface, and Metzli wasn't sure they were brave enough to do it. “Um…” Eleanor wanted to clean their hand, but in the midst of their contemplation, the fog in their mind cleared enough for them to remember someone needed them to say something. 

“Ariadne!” Metzli shot up with a gasp, turning to Leila urgently. “You-you have to go to her. Find her. She needs you!” In their selfishness, they'd disregarded what the truth would provide for someone else. “I…” Voice trembling, Metzli looked away from both Leila and Eleanor, trying to force down the panic. They didn't need Metzli to repeat what they just fixed. They needed the truth. 

“We-I…we go to talk to Cass.” To keep their composure, Metzli fixated on an invisible point until everything surrounding it blurred. “She was seeing what we see in her father and we…he…she wanted us to believe in her. I do. Always. She was going to beat him and she did.” Their fist balled around the fabric of Metzli's pants and they swallowed back a sob. “She s-stayed in the cave to beat him and tell us to leave because it was-was falling apart. I dig and I punch but nothing. It-it d-did not work!” Hot tears streamed down their cheeks while the world remained blurred and they prolonged speaking the truth. But it was inevitable. 

“She died to save us. I…cannot save her.”

Ariadne?! Panic clutched at Eleanor’s chest when Metzli shouted the name and insisted that Leila go be with her. She loved Ariadne, the woman had started to refer to herself as Eleanor’s younger sister, and the empath couldn’t stand the thought of something horrible having happened to her. But if Leila needed to go check on her that meant she was still alive. Well, undead, but walking and talking and being… Ariadne. In all of her wonderful glory. She made herself calm down as she tried to focus on Metzli’s broken English, trying to piece the words together to make them make sense.

No, Cass. The one Metzli loved dearly. They had spoken about her plenty of times to Eleanor and she’d always thought of how wonderful it would be to meet the person who had made their friend so happy. As Metzli broke down into tears again the full weight of what had happened washed over Eleanor and she found it hard to breathe. Reaching out to lightly rub Metzli’s back, she momentarily looked at Leila with wide eyes then quickly looked away.

“Metzli, I…” There were no words. Eleanor finally understood why Metzli was so panicked and couldn’t hardly get their words out. Cass was gone and they’d tried everything they could to save her. Eleanor bit the inside of her cheek, determined to stay strong, and stared off into the distance as everything sunk in. She was incredibly sad to hear that Cass was gone as well as terrified at the thought of Metzli never being able to fully recover from witnessing it. She looked over their shoulder and at their hand again and she could understand more clearly how desperately they had tried to claw their way to their loved one’s body. “I’m so, so sorry Metzli.”

What was there for her to say? Eleanor closed her eyes and continued to rub Metzli’s back silently, afraid that anything she said would be the wrong thing. She knew what it was like to lose someone but not in this way. She had no idea the storm that brewed within Metzli and that terrified her. How could she possibly comfort them if she didn’t know everything they were feeling? She felt lost and helpless as she tried to think of something that would ease their pain but came up empty handed.

Cass.

It was as if a bomb had just gone off in the space. Everything slowed to a glacial pace as Leila felt the weight of knowledge come crashing down on her. Cass, who Metzli had loved as a daughter. Cass, who she had grown so attached to, who she had grown to love as her own daughter, who had ripped herself away for months, who Leila had hoped despite herself might come back, who she had never stopped loving. Her little ember. Dead. Gone. 

She couldn’t breathe. Where was Cass now? Beneath the rocks and earth she had loved and known so well, now buried in her place of sacrifice? What had her last words been to the girl? Leila wracked her brain to remember, hoping that they were words of love, knowing that even if they were, they were not believed. She didn’t say goodbye. She couldn’t say goodbye. She had hoped- stupid, foolish, useless hope- that Cass would come back to them one day. Had hoped that by giving space and respecting her wishes when she had tried to reach out again, that maybe, stupidly, it would be what Cass needed. That one day she would be able to see her smiling again, laughing, telling her about some superhero or another, sitting at the table next to Metzli again. 

The mare opened her mouth to speak, but found she could not. What words were there? There were no words to describe the pain of the loss of a child. None at all. They might not have been related by blood, but they had been a family in all the ways that mattered. It hurt more than knives, more than glass, more than starving for a hundred years. Worse than any nightmare she had endured. Leila wanted to scream. Wanted to sob. But what good would that do? It would not help Metzli or Ariadne who had witnessed the death, and it would only hurt Eleanor with the sharpness of grief. 

Her chest heaved with a sob that she swallowed down, down, down. Far away. To be felt later, when she was alone, when others were cared for and safe. She pulled Metzli tighter, closer to her. Held Eleanor’s hand like it was a tether in a storm. Gone. Gone. Gone and never coming back.

Of course Leila swallowed down her grief, but Metzli could see how she struggled to push it aside. They could see the resentment building, angry that the world would continue without Cass's existence. 

For years, until they met their end, they would all have to watch the door, waiting for Cass to walk through it. They would stare at a seat at the dinner table, and it would remain empty. They would go to their favorite ice cream parlor and find that it wasn't as sweet. Tomorrow would begin with one less person, and Metzli wasn't sure they wanted to know what that world looked like, but they knew they couldn't be a hostage to their grief. Their life wouldn't become an outline in chalk, especially when Cass specifically requested they keep living. She didn't mind the wait. 

“She say we are her family.” Metzli finally broke the silence, sniffling and moving so that the three of them could embrace each other properly. “She was ghost for a little bit.” They kissed the top of Leila's head, doing the same to Eleanor. Maybe they weren't stable enough to be an anchor before, but they were right then, strength renewed. “And she say she was not hurting. She is okay.” Laying their head atop Leila's, Metzli let out a shaky sigh, “When you are ready, Ariadne will need you, amor, but we can stay here for more time–” They looked toward Eleanor, “If that is okay with you, cariña?”

Eleanor could tell by the way Leila squeezed her hand that she was hurting but did a much better job at hiding it. She squeezed Leila’s hand back and nodded toward Metzli. “Of course, stay as long as you’d like. I invited you in for a reason.” She tried her best to pair her words with a smile but came up short. She couldn’t imagine what moving forward would look like. She knew that nothing would ever go back to being exactly the same but maybe there was something she could do that would help both Metzli and Leila with the grieving process. 

It was unusual for Eleanor to be at a complete loss for words. She felt the urge to say something, anything, but simply couldn’t make her mind work. It felt like all of her thoughts were in another language and didn't make sense even to her. She just kept imagining those last moments and thinking of what Metzli must have felt. It was a terrible thing to have witnessed and she wished that there was something she could change. “I’m here for whatever you need, both of you.” She looked at Leila with a shaky smile. “I mean that.”

And then Eleanor allowed the tears to start streaming down her face because she couldn't possibly hold them in anymore. She of course cried for Cass who she would have loved to get to know, she cried for Leila, and she cried for Metzli for having to witness the death of someone so dear to them. She dropped Leila's hand and stopped rubbing at Metzli's back to cover her face in embarrassment. She shouldn't have been the one crying, that wasn't fair. Just once she needed to be the strong one and she couldn’t do it.

"Sorry!" Eleanor angrily wiped the tears away. "Dammit." She grabbed the pillow that Metzli had previously been using and buried her face in it. "I'm not supposed to be crying." She said more to herself than to either of the other two. She couldn't bring herself to look back up so she continued to speak against the pillow, her voice muffled, "I love you both. So much. You shouldn't be going through this, it isn't fair."

It wasn’t fair. 

It was the only coherent thought Leila had between the waves of grief and rage and pain that threatened to drag her under their current completely. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Cass’s life had been cut short. She was a child, barely an adult. She should have had seventy, eighty, a hundred years longer than she had. She should have been able to live! That sob threatened to escape her again. It hurt, a ball of hot lead in her chest, burning her up from the inside. It wasn’t fair. 

But she wasn’t the only one who was hurting. The wake of Cass’s death reached far- Leila couldn’t help but wonder if the girl knew just how many lives she had impacted in her too-short time in Wicked’s Rest… and on earth. Town would not be the same. Cass would weave her way like a shadow of memory through every place she had ever been, and those who loved her would catch a glimpse and ache for the time they had been robbed of. 

She wasn’t hurting. She was okay. We are her family. Those words- muffled through the screaming of her own mind- should have brought some sort of peace with them. Instead, they brought more pain. Pain that she would not hear the voice that spoke them. Pain that they could not be a family together in life. The only small comfort was that Metzli and Ariadne had gotten one last moment to say goodbye. Leila let herself lean against Metzli, allowing herself that small bit of comfort if only because it could bring comfort to them, too. They deserved more time with their hija. If she could have given a hundred years of her own to stitch onto the thread that the fates had cut, she would have. 

Eleanor’s hand slipped away from hers. The emptiness was a terrible thing. When she looked up, she realized the woman was crying. Apologizing. Without so much as another thought, Leila reached out and pulled Eleanor towards herself and Metzli. She brushed the tears away from her cheeks. Comfort. Care. These were things she could give. Things that could ease the nightmare they had all been thrust into. Her voice was all gravel and smoke when she finally managed to force out a whisper. “It is okay… it is okay to cry… We love you too.” Leila swallowed hard, and a small, shimmering tear rolled down her cheek as she tried to keep the world from falling more. 

Ariadne needed her, too. She was not enough as herself. Leila wished she could be many of herself, there for those who needed her support, and still have one of herself to feel the pain alone without having to burden another. But that wasn’t the way things worked, was it? People loved, people cared, people went through these things together. It was what made life. “I… I’ll go in a few… Get her… bring her to the house, I think…” Each word that left the mare’s mouth was a moment closer to breaking down and crying. But she couldn’t do that, Ariadne needed her, too. 

Eleanor wasn't able to experience either of Leila's or Metzli's pain, but that didn't stop her heart from bending. She called it sympathy crying, though the vampire wasn't so sure that's what was happening. Even if she hadn't been able to meet Cass, Metzli had painted countless pictures for Eleanor to experience with stories. She knew the oread's significance and knew her in her own right. 

Because she weaved stories of her own, so when Metzli did the same, the character in their story was more than that. She became someone Eleanor loved, in her own way. Mix that in with how deeply she cared for Leila and Metzli, and it was a cocktail of pure grief that leaked out of her eyes and flowed into frustration. There was no disputing it; heart was bending along with Metzli's and Leila's. Death was explosive with its effects, but love did well to mend the wounds that would never quite seal, ensuring they wouldn't fester long enough to putrefy.

“Yes,” The vampire agreed, coaxing Eleanor out of the pillow long enough to plant a small kiss to her forehead. Looking at Leila, Metzli continued to speak, hoping their partner would take her own words to heart. “It is okay to cry. We can all cry together. We love each other. We-we…need each other right now.” As the tears rolled down Leila's cheeks, Metzli knew they were moments away from the dam breaking. In moments like those, Leila always chose to remain as composed as she could, even to her detriment, but she was always receptive to Metzli's reasoning.

“Please do not lie to your feelings right now.” They wiped away her tears before bringing her closer to themself and Eleanor. “I love you both. I am sorry it hurts. I-I…” Metzli wanted to apologize for their mistakes, for failing to protect Cass. What good were their abilities if they couldn't save the ones they loved? They thought of a hundred ways they could've done it, even going so far as to compelling her, but it was too late for should have's. It was too late for just about everything, even apologies. “We will be okay again. One day. But we cry and hold each other now.”

Eleanor shouldn’t have been having a hard time expressing her feelings, emotional intelligence was something she was supposed to be an expert in. And hadn’t she not too long ago told Metzli not to apologize for feeling, that feeling grief was okay? Why couldn't she ever take her own advice? She chalked it up to feeling selfish - how dare she be unable to keep her composure when Metzli and Leila needed her the most. They should have been the ones that were being comforted, not her. Frustration mingled with the sadness she felt and in the end more tears escaped her eyes because she was overwhelmed by her own emotions.

Allowing herself to be pulled further into the group hug, Eleanor tried her best to focus on the things that she could control instead of those which were out of her hands. She could offer comforting words to Metzli and Leila, she could be there for them no matter what, any time, any place, as she was sure they would be there for her if the roles were reversed. She wiped the tears from her face and set her mouth into a determined line - she would be strong, at least until she was alone and could cry without feeling guilty about it.

“I’m here for both of you, whatever you need. I’m here. I promise.”

There was pain. So much pain. And for the first time in a week, it didn’t come from wounds that had been stitched closed by a gentle hand. For the first time in ages, there was no remedy to heal it. It was a pain that demanded to be felt. No matter how much Leila tried to fight the tears, to be something strong for the others to cling to in the storm, the knowledge that she would never see Cass again hollowed her out completely. 

Metzli’s gentle touch was all that was needed to make the dam of grief break. The mare crumbled, a figure of cinders turned to dust after the volcano’s heat had long since faded. A broken wail rose up in her chest. Cass was gone. The little ember was gone. She could not stop the tears from falling- though little good they would do. Tears did not bring back the dead. She had learned that long ago. 

She folded in on herself, leaning into Metzli and Eleanor for the strength that had utterly failed her, wishing all the while that she could have stayed strong for them just a moment longer. One day, they would be alright. It didn’t feel like it would. It felt like the world itself had fractured irreparably in the wake of such a loss. 

The pain could not be spoken. All she could do was cry as it lingered on, and on, and on.

[maebys-delivery-service]

Timing: Current Location: Outside Maeby's "Apartment" Feat: @mortemoppetere & @maebys-delivery-service Warnings: None Summary: Emilio's newest case leads him to Maeby's.... fire escape?

Sometimes, people called him about strange occurrences. Emilio wasn’t sure if this was a typical expectation of private investigators or if Axis had gotten something of a reputation for their willingness to work strange cases — could have been either, or some mixture of both — but he didn’t really hate it. People asked interesting questions, and it could be almost fun to search for the answers. He’d never admit it, but it gave him something of a rush. These days, he was closest to happy when he had something worth figuring out.

This particular case seemed to be something in that vein. A client had gotten a package with what turned out to be a cursed artifact inside. They’d managed to remove the curse in question — they were a skilled spellcaster, and someone he hoped to keep in his back pocket as a potential contact if this case played out well — but they wanted to know where the package had come from. If someone was out to get them, they’d reasoned, it was better to know who that someone was. Emilio had been more than happy to take on the case, especially when the spellcaster offered to pay half up front. 

He’d done a bit of digging so far. A few shady business owners who’d been willing to let him take a look at their security cameras in exchange for favors later, a little old fashioned snooping, a couple of stops in the liquor store for mostly unrelated reasons, and here he was, standing outside an abandoned theater that seemed to be the residence of a courier who delivered shit like this. The job market in Wicked’s Rest was a strange one. Propping against the wall, he waited for the kid to appear. It didn’t take long. He’d been there a minute, maybe two when she slipped down a fire escape, package in hand. He approached her with a nod. “Maebelle Knot?” His accent curled uncertainly around the name. “Hoping to ask a few questions.”

— 

Maeby liked when the world was quiet. Hearing aids turned almost off, just the gentle hum of whatever music today felt like. It was a classical sort of day. All cellos and violins. Deep cascading rhythms, charging off and dancing along the melodies. The morning had thus far been a peaceful affair. One delivery, then a big wait until her next pickup. Maeby even had a chance to go home, stock up on road snacks and take a quick cat nap. 

(Lord knows she wasn't sleeping well at night anymore. What with all visions of great monsters, gnashing teeth, hard scales, and terrible things she was to become.) 

It was only on the return, going back from her restful little nest that some stranger broke the placid pleasantness. Maeby scowled at the words she couldn't quite hear, but the lips that looked an awful lot like they were saying their name. She did not know this man. He had not earned the right to call her by her full name. But the fact that he knew it at all wasn't a good one. (Unless he was saying something else entirely, perhaps Bay Hell Nod?) Maeby glanced sidelong towards the end of the alley, a quick consideration on how hard it would be to bolt past a guy like this. 

Why was he here? Who the hell was he? 

She opted for something else, feigned ignorance. “Sorry–” she pointed towards her ears and the matte plastic that stuck out even amongst the piercings and whatnot. “Don't know directions to any sable pond.” Maeby embodied a rather lackluster approximation of apologeticness and stepped to the side, gripping her longboard tighter as she made for the exit. 

—

She was younger than he thought she’d be. He hadn’t been able to get an exact age in his research — given the state of where she was living, he doubted she’d signed a lease for him to pull — but she looked around Nora or Wynne’s age, give or take a few years. She looked about ready to bolt, too, and Emilio really hoped she wouldn’t. There was no way in hell he’d be able to keep up with her. His bad leg flared up with a brief flash of pain at the mere thought of it, like the limb itself was warning him against the concept of anything more intense than a casual stride. If she ran, he’d have to come back another day, stake out the theater over and over and over again until she grew tired enough of his presence to speak to her. 

Luckily, she didn’t run right away. Instead, she pointed to her ear — he didn’t know what the plastic was — and said something that didn’t make sense. It took a moment for him to put two and two together, to connect the thing in her ear to the nonsensical response to his question. He thought of Jonas, who required Emilio to look directly at him and speak slowly, enunciating in ways that often felt unnatural with his accent. He could do that for this kid, too. The problem was, he got the feeling she was intentionally misunderstanding him.

Gritting his teeth, he stepped in front of her again, fishing his phone from his pocket and typing on the screen. Need to talk to you about something. He flipped it around so the words were facing her, expression neutral. “I can talk,” he looked her in the eyes as he would Jonas, spoke slowly and carefully, “or I can type. Typing will take longer. I have plenty of time. Something tells me you have less.”

—

Man, this would have been a wonderful time to turn into a great big man eating monster. Maeby itched at the back of her neck. Shifting uncomfortably as the rough patch there seemed to spread with her unease. More scales, but not enough to do anything with. Still it was kind of dumb to think like that, the kid chastised herself. The monster she was turning into was the one that ruined her life. It was the reason guys like this were probably looking for her. 

He didn't look like a cop. Maybe he was… the guy who owned the theater? Or worse, maybe her parents had somehow figured out where she was. Sent someone to drag her back. And she'd never get a cure before the worst happened. Before she turned into a monster and ate them all. 

Mr. Whoever was talking slowly. Over enunciating and pulling out his phone to type on. Great. Maeby’s scowl turned farther south. Souring more and more as it looked like this was a conversation she might actually have to have. A long sigh rolled from her chest and up and out. She carefully twisted the dial on her aid till the volume of the world matched something like ‘normal’ and the music all but faded away. “What.” Not exactly a question, not an invitation, either. If he had something to say, he better spit it out. 

—

She looked uncomfortable, and Emilio forced himself not to give a shit. If she was out here delivering cursed objects to people, he needed to get to the bottom of it for her sake as much as for the sake of the people who her deliveries were affecting. He knew firsthand what a cursed object could do to someone; memories of the cursed necklace that sent him to the roof of his apartment building gripped him by the throat, reminded him of where he might be now if Teddy hadn’t shown up to drag his drunk ass to their shitty houseboat. Shit like this was no joke. Uncomfortable or no, he needed to make her face it.

Her expression shifted, stormy look clear on her face. She seemed to recognize that Emilio wasn’t going anywhere, and that was good. That would save him a lot of time. He was a stubborn piece of shit, but his life was a lot easier when he didn’t have to be. He preferred being able to get things done without resorting to a shouting match outside an abandoned theater, especially when said shouting match was with a fucking kid. 

So it was a relief, really, when the kid reached up to the hunk of plastic in her ear and did something that seemed to make her hear him a little better. It was a relief when she demanded to know what he wanted. Even her clear irritation came as a relief in its familiarity; Emilio knew what to do with that far better than he did with most other emotions. He pocketed his phone and crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head slightly with a nod. “You deliver things.” He tried to speak clearly, even though he thought whatever she’d done with her ears meant she could hear him now. He didn’t want to give her an excuse to drag this shit out. “Yes? You delivered one to a guy a few blocks from here. A, uh…” He struggled to find the word, fingers tapping against his arm uncertainly. “Box. With uh, dancers.” Hopefully, she’d know what he meant.

—

Mr. Sinclair was going to get a sternly worded letter at this rate. Some kind of big complaint. Possibly even a condemnation. The not-cop was asking about her deliveries, and that sent her mind from concerned to cranky. It was bad enough that the old vampire bossed her around and made her run halfway across the city just to turn around and go to the other side for these special deliveries, now Maeby had to deal with some angry customer or whatever. 

“Don't know what's in them. Not my job. I just put them where the package says. All complaints can go–” Quite suddenly the kid shifted in demeanor. Stopping short of outing her employer. Something she'd promised not to do. 

(Weirdly to Mr. Sinclair's strange assistant, not to him, though. Maeby didn't really understand why that was such a specific distinction he had, or why it was an…exceptionally well kept promise. But then again, she hardly understood half the shit going on since she got to town.) 

“Up your butt and around the corner.” She deflected, crossing her arms and taking up a post leaning against the brick wall behind her. A wrinkle tilted her nose up, like she'd caught a whiff of something rank. “Why do you even care?”

—

Now that was interesting. He caught it, the moment she almost gave away more than she meant to. The way her body stiffened, the way she faltered. It meant there was something more to tell, meant she wasn’t the top of the food chain here. Emilio wasn’t particularly surprised by that; he doubted a kid was the one running an operation sending out cursed objects to people, especially when the kid in question didn’t set off any ‘undead and probably a lot older than they look’ alarm bells in his head. She was hiding something; that meant there was something to hide.

He studied her for a moment, brows raised. She was standoffish, she clearly didn’t want to talk to him. He’d run into kids like her a thousand times in this town, knew most of her act probably was an act. He didn’t think she wanted to hurt anyone. In his experience, most kids didn’t. (On some level, he knew that was a biased way of thinking. There were kids who were shitty, kids who reveled in causing others pain, kids who wanted nothing more than to hurt people. But Emilio had a hard time seeing that, had a hard time accepting it. To him, kids were the only ones ever awarded the benefit of the doubt. Everyone else got the full dose of his paranoia.)

“It hurt somebody,” he commented, idly pulling out a pack of cigarettes and putting one in his mouth. He held it between his teeth as he continued. “The person who wound up with it. They were lucky — they knew how to fix it before it got bad. But the next person might not. Or the one after that, or the one after that. More stuff like this gets delivered, someone could end up real hurt. I don’t think you want that.” He lit the cigarette, taking a long drag. “Or maybe you do. But I don’t.”

—

Maeby bristled. Her heart picked up and she tried to look anywhere that wasn’t at this stranger. Her face felt hot, but it remained in that tight scowl. Trying to look unaffected, and failing quite spectacularly. The cool of the bricks behind her was the only thing grounding her well enough to keep tears from forming. She hated confrontation. The first sign of it usually meant shutting down in one way or another, but this was different. Much much more at stake than someone who potentially might maybe get hurt. 

Exactly what she worried about was true? So what? More people would get hurt, she reminded herself, if she didn’t get the cure. If she followed in the steps of every monster on the silver screen and destroyed whole towns, cities, states. Catastrophizing? Maybe. But Maeby was still a kid. Pretty sheltered one at that. With a mind that tended to take things literally. So when a scary witch tells you quite cryptically that ‘you will destroy everything you care about’ then a week later the first scale appears, well. Maeby believed it. 

“Not my fault.” She lied. Or at least, deflected again. “Maybe they ordered it like that. I’m just delivering them.” Maeby had to keep delivering them. She had to find out everything there was to know about Lamia, and how to stop being one before it got bad. “Why not go bother someone else. I don’t have to talk to you.” 

—

He’d rattled her. She was trying not to show it, but she wasn’t as skilled in keeping a straight face as he was in seeing past them. He took note of the way she leaned back, the way she looked shaken by the bluntness of his words. He’d meant to make her lose her cool, but he still felt a stab of guilt at the success. Emilio took no real pleasure in questioning kids like this, didn’t find it nearly as fun or rewarding as interrogating people a little older, who tended to deserve rougher handling. 

It’d be easier if she just told him what he needed to know. He wasn’t lying about his intentions; his client had managed to break the curse easily enough, but not everyone who got a delivery from this kid would be a powerful spellcaster. Sooner or later, someone was going to get hurt. Irreparably so. Emilio wanted to prevent that for the kid as much as he wanted to prevent it for the potential victim of the next curse she dropped off someplace. Hurting people wasn’t an easy thing to deal with, to stomach. It wasn’t the kind of thing most people came back from. Emilio would know better than most; he was one of the ones who never made it back.

“Maybe it’s not your fault,” he agreed with a shrug. “You didn’t know what it’d do. But I’m telling you now. You know now. So the next one you drop off, if it hurts somebody… Harder to say that’s not your fault. One after that, too. And after that.” He took another drag from the cigarette, turning his head away from her to exhale with a sigh. “You don’t have to talk to me,” he agreed. “But I’m going to find out what I need to know. Could find it out from you. Could find it out from someone else. Doesn’t matter much to me, but might make you feel better if you’re the one helping. Feels better than hurting, sometimes.”

—

“Yeah, well– some of them are good too.” She shot back. Face red hot and steaming. “Life-saving even.” The only other time Maeby had been approached after delivering something, it was pretty much the opposite of this. And only because the person was there when she dropped the package off. And they insisted she stay for its opening. 

Maeby didn't know why but the person was really compelling. Like they couldn't leave if they wanted to. Something about them just pulled her right inside. It all turned out okay, even if it was odd. The package had some great thing the woman had been looking for for ages and she said that she'd just die without it. So, life-saving. Right? Then she just gave Maeby a cookie and sent her on her way. Weird, but she never really thought about it much after. 

“You aren't going around and fucking up regular postman’s days. They deliver shit that could be good or bad or neutral.” The young courier defended her position. It wasn't exactly perfect and she knew that, but it was necessary if she didn't want things to get worse. “Why don't you go find the people sending the packages then huh?? They're the ones who—who– who” She fumbled, tripping over her words as her frustration grew. “who are actually doing the bad things, Mister Tough Guy??” 

—-

“You willing to roll the dice like that?” It was a genuine question. Was she okay with delivering packages that might hurt people if the tradeoff was packages that might help them? There was give and take with everything; Emilio knew that better than most. It was the same with what he did, sometimes. You hurt some people to help others. But how much control did she have? She seemed uncertain, seemed like maybe she didn’t know what was in those packages before she dropped them off. What was the ratio of ones that hurt versus ones that helped? Did she know? Did she want to?

He snorted at her defense, leveling her with a deadpan expression. “If I got a call about a postman’s package nearly killing someone then, yeah, I’d go fuck up their days. But I didn’t. I got a call about yours.” He couldn’t solve every goddamn problem in the world, and there were days when he hated himself for that. There were days when he read about ‘animal attacks’ in cemeteries and figured they were his fault, days when the weight of the world fit pretty snugly on top of his shoulders. He was learning to accept that he needed to do what he could, to save who he could save. This case was one someone had brought to him. This courier was standing in front of him. He could investigate this one. Maybe it’d make up for the ones he couldn’t.

“That’s what I’m trying to do, kid. How do you think this shit works? You start at the bottom, you work your way up. You’re on the bottom. I talk to you, figure out who you work for. Then I talk to them, figure out who paid them to have the package delivered. Then I go to that person, figure out why. If I could start at the top, I’d do it. But people like that are pretty goddamn good at hiding. Easier to find the people who are doing the bad things if the ones who don’t want bad things to happen will help you.”

—

It weighed on her. Of course it did. How could it not? As much as Maeby Knott wanted to pretend she was the aloof unaffected punk who could take the hard knocks and still be cool, she was more the sheepish kid who was scared shitless over all the sudden changes to her life. They had moved out for the first time, had to rig together every scrap to make some manner of home here in Wicked's Rest. 

Part of that was the job. 

Trickling information down from someone who, as the stranger put it, was at the top. Mr. Sinclair was smart and ancient. He was a fucking vampire for real real and he wasn't afraid to flex the strength that gave him even for small bouts of ire. Maeby shuddered to think of what it might look like if he got properly angry. 

Even if that wasn't a problem, Mr. Sinclair was the only hope for a cure. Maeby couldn't jeopardize that. Not even for someone trying to do the right thing. 

“Well, better figure all that out then, huh?” She barked, the heat rising behind her cheeks. She couldn't look at him anymore. Couldn't stand to be here, or anywhere that people's eyes could cast upon her. Whenever things got like this, it felt like the world could read her every thought. Felt like her heartbeat gave away every secret. Almost frantically, she turned to her board. Realizing then she'd been gripping it so tight her knuckles had gone white. Maeby dropped it to the ground and brushed past the man in the leather jacket. Escaping before the tears threatened to well, or god forbid, fall. 

—

It was clear he’d gotten to her, but it was just as clear that she wasn’t going to tell him what he needed to know. It would have been easier for the both of them if she would have, would have meant less trouble in the long run, but it was what it was. Maybe she was afraid of her boss, he reasoned; whoever was in charge of sending cursed objects out to people doubtlessly carried some power, and she was just a kid. Maybe whoever was over her head had her locked into something tight, and her fear clamped her jaw shut tighter than anything else could ever hope. 

Or maybe she believed what she was spouting. Emilio thought of himself at that age, defending the Cortez code so vehemently that anyone who questioned it for a second saw him spitting venom in their direction. It had taken a kid of his own for him to figure out the things he’d been taught hadn’t been entirely true, and even now he sometimes found himself defending the person he didn’t want to be anymore. 

Whatever the reason, though, it was clear that Maebelle Knott was a dead end, that Emilio would need to take the investigation in another direction if he ever hoped to solve it. If she’d been someone else, he might have pushed more. Someone a few years older might have found themselves shoved against the wall, might have felt a blade against their chest in a quiet warning. But this was a kid, and Emilio couldn’t bring himself to threaten her. Instead, he nodded as she dropped her board and brushed by him.

“Probably be seeing you around,” he called after her. This client wouldn’t be the only one who came to him with some kind of problem that led back to her. He was sure of that. “Hope I’m not telling you about someone one of your deliveries killed next time.”

—

Maeby’s mind was a staticky mess. Pushing out and in, in all directions. Fighting a losing war against morals and judgment and whatever the hell the greater good was in this situation. There was no other greater good for her, than stopping this tide of destruction that was heading her way. Who knows how fast. Could be tomorrow, could be a week from now. But whenever that reptilian curse reared its ugly scaly head, the greater good was in more danger than receiving mystery packages from a mildly magical source. 

As the young soon-to-be-monster sped off, away enough that she only barely caught the stranger’s final jab, but it was enough to seal the coffin on her most current breakdown. The guy already knew where she lived, so she didn’t have to go skate around the neighborhood before circling back to the one place she shouldn’t be disturbed. But maybe it helped get out some excess energy. Maybe it took their mind off of the obvious long enough for her to calm down. Maybe it was all an escape, in a way. 

All she knew was tomorrow there would be another package. And she’d have to deliver it. 

[fearhims3lf]

TIMING: Morning After Pretenders

PARTIES: @loftylockjaw @fearhims3lf

SUMMARY: Mateo picks Wyatt up, and the two have a heartfelt conversation on the way home.

WARNINGS: None

Wyatt hadn’t slept well, of course, and his body still ached from the beating it’d taken from those demonic, feathered fuckers. The night with Caleb had been a gentle reminder of all the things they still needed to talk about, and the anxiety that stemmed from having that conversation looming on the horizon had kept him up better than any threats of nightmares could have. Caleb didn’t sleep, just like Mateo, so they’d just spent the night talking about anything other than what had happened, filling the silence between conversations with whatever was on the television. It’d been nice, in its way, even if he was exhausted. And come morning, he’d excused himself to go deal with his disaster of a life — there was no way he was fighting tonight, so he’d need to see if Agnes or someone else could move things around. 

Wandering through the streets of Deersprings and stopping at the first coffee house he passed, Wyatt texted Mateo to let him know where he could find him. He looked tired when the mare arrived, despite the finished coffee he tossed in the garbage bin on the sidewalk before climbing into the passenger’s side seat. Huffing out a weary breath, he leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, brows furrowed. 

“Fuck,” he muttered for no reason in particular other than how shitty he felt. But he wasn’t the only one feeling like crap, so he did roll his head to the side to look at Mateo, flashing him a brief, weak smile before reaching across the console between them to put a hand on his thigh. “Hey.” He felt compelled to apologize, which was stupid — they’d both gone through last night together, and were both hurting in similar ways. There was nothing to apologize for. So he didn’t, instead just giving the man’s leg a squeeze.“Good to see you.”

—

The old truck's engine rumbled and revved under the pressure of the mare's foot. He could smell the small hint of exhaust while he was stopped at a light. The window was down and he could feel the breeze dance on his skin as his arm dangled out the window. Mateo didn't know what to make of everything, but he at least found some comfort in the way Wyatt squeezed his leg and muttered a reassurance. He needed that more than he'd ever admit, though he was sure they way he slid his hand into Wyatt's said it all. 

“Fuck, indeed. You look like shit.” The mare said blatantly, with a hint of humor in his tone. “Still nice to see you too, though.” He offered a languid smile in return, shifting gears as they went up a small hill. They weren't too far from Mateo's place, but the drive felt much longer than it needed to. All the mare wanted to do was get in bed and forget how pathetic he'd been in the last fourteen hours as he moped around his apartment with Angel pacing right behind him. 

He wasn't sure why he'd been so jealous, why Wyatt wouldn't just let him pick him up or visit. Did that Caleb guy matter more? Was…Ah, shit, Mateo thought. He was being pathetic again. It needed to stop, he knew that. But before he could hold his tongue, he asked, “You dating that Caleb guy?”

—

Scoffing at Mateo’s astute observation, Wyatt closed his eyes again and settled in for the ride. The question that broke the silence was one he should have expected, but it made his throat close up all the same. There was no good reason for it — Mateo knew Wyatt had been at least messing around with people outside of their throuple situation, and had expressed to him that it was fine, and yet… well, maybe it was mostly just the guilt of not having had this conversation with Caleb yet. Caleb never really thought they were dating, but then Wyatt used the b-word. Caleb had said more than once now that he wanted to be in Wyatt’s life, no matter what that looked like, but Wyatt still hadn’t been forthcoming with those details. He wanted to, it just seemed like there was never a good fucking time for it. Which was maybe an excuse, but he knew he had to get it over with. He was just afraid that it would be too much for Caleb, which was why he hadn’t wanted Mateo to pop over with hardly any kind of explanation or formal introduction. 

“I… think so,” he answered honestly. “There’s still a lot of things to talk about, you know? Uh. We didn’t really… start off on the most honest footin’. Met about this time last year. Didn’t tell him ‘bout my night job. Didn’t tell ‘im ‘bout the nightmares, when they started. Separated for a while, when he…” Well, that wasn’t exactly Wyatt’s story to tell, at least not without Caleb’s permission. “Anyway. Weren’t his fault. I went off the deep end, n’ we only just reconnected ‘bout a month ago.” The lamia shifted himself in his seat, lifting his head away from the headrest and staring at the road in front of them. “I care ‘bout him, though. A lot. He’s got baggage, same as you n’ me, but he’s a good person.” Probably too good for me, even with that baggage, Wyatt thought. But he didn’t want to insinuate that Mateo was any different by leaving him out of the statement, so it remained in his head. 

—

Mateo gripped the steering wheel tighter, and he chided himself internally for it. He had no right to be jealous, but there was something that felt uncomfortable about not being told about Caleb. Because it likely meant Wyatt hadn't mentioned Mateo either. The very thought made his stomach sink, and he squeezed the steering wheel even harder. 

Why would Wyatt want to mention the mare anyway? All the money in the world couldn't hide the fact that Mateo wasn't good to keep around. He was a lost cause to a life he wasn't even supposed to be living. He was foolish to think he would ever be worthy of long lasting connections. Xóchitl was the first to realize, and it was only a matter of time before Wyatt did too. Mateo figured it would be in his best interest to just rip off the bandaid sooner rather than later, but he was too selfish and weak to do so. 

“That's…nice. Good for you.” He spoke flatly, a bit dejected but he tried his best to sound a little more himself as he continued. “You just can't help yourself, can you, slut?”

—

Wyatt didn’t miss the tone of Mateo’s voice, or… lack thereof. It made his skin prickle uncomfortably and he shifted in his seat, drawing his arms back to himself to scrub his palms over his face, groaning as he leaned forward in his seat. “No, I can’t,” he answered Mateo, though his own inflection wasn’t quite as carefree as he would’ve liked. “... I don’t know what I’m doin’, man. I feel like I gotta fight fuckin’ tooth and nail to get people to stay. And when things seem good, I… I don’t wanna do nothin’ that’ll disrupt that.” But that wasn’t an excuse, and it didn’t mean he could keep Mateo a secret. Not that he was trying to keep him secret, necessarily, but that was a big conversation, and… “I ain’t good with words, in case you hadn’t noticed. Even worse with… everythin’ else. Actions speak louder, or whatever, and I keep screwin’ the pooch.” And to add injury to insult, the world seemed out to target him specifically. First it was the legs, then the beak, and now the birdlike monsters that had attacked them last night. His greatest fears were manifesting outside his nightmares and trying to rip him apart, and it made him jump at every shadow, tense at every squawk and screech and chirp he heard. It made him worry that he might start seeing his mother next, and if something as innocuous as birds had become such a pain point for him, he couldn’t imagine being confronted with some twisted version of his mother that was trying to rip his throat out. That might send him to a place he wouldn’t be able to come back from. 

“Anyway. Gonna talk to him about it. All of it. All of…” Wyatt gestured at Mateo, keeping his tired eyes facing forward. “Maybe when I ain’t bangin’ down death’s door, though.”

—

Whatever was going through Wyatt's head had to be hard for him, and it wasn't fair to him that Mateo was acting like a clingy asshole. The mare couldn't get people to stay either, but there was a good reason for that. Whatever Mateo wanted in life, when he practiced an ounce of selfishness, it always cost him. Always led to tons of regret and disapproval. Not that Wyatt disapproved, but Mateo had experienced that elsewhere. He could hear his father right then. 

You have responsibilities, Mateo. Family is family. People don't love selfish men. 

Filipe wasn't a selfish man, and look at him. A loving wife and five children that respected him and adored him. Sometimes even feared him. But that was a secret Mateo kept to himself. It felt ridiculous to be scared of a man that he could thrust terror onto, and he wasn't going to subject himself to that sort of joke. He'd had enough of that growing up, but it looked like he was a joke again anyway, and the punchline was his own doing. 

“You're doing fine.” Mateo finally managed to say, only just realizing tears were starting to muddy his vision. He quickly blinked them away, ensuring to keep his gaze forward so Wyatt couldn't see. It was probably time to set the man free from deadweight. Mateo knew that's all he was now. Had been for about five years. “Nothing practice can't help, y'know?” He paused for a moment, adding, “And you don't have to say anything. If you wanna be done, be done. I'd get it. Really.” With a languid shrug, Mateo turned at a corner and watched his apartment building grow closer with each roll of his truck’s tires.

—

Well that wasn’t what he’d been expecting to hear. Wyatt lifted his gaze, sitting up straighter as he stared over at Mateo. Be done? “That’s the last thing I want,” he choked out. “No, Mateo — I’m gonna tell him. And if he doesn’t like it, well, then that’s… that’s it, you know?” The truck rolled to a stop at the curb, and the two men sat quietly while the engine still rumbled and filled the silence between them. Only for a few seconds, though, before Wyatt was speaking again. “I can’t go back to… I’d just hurt him eventually, if he ain’t okay with it. That’s all I been doin’ all my life — hurtin’ people. I can’t do that no more. You… you were the first to…” 

He swallowed hard, dropping his gaze to his lap. “You showed me that it’s okay to be the way that I am. That it can work. That’s… that’s huge. I know it probably don’t seem like much to you, but I…” I might not have been this lonely for this long if I’d known I could just lead with that, and find people who were like me. Like us. “Whatever happens with Xó, or with Caleb, I don’t wanna lose you too. You’re important to me. You matter.” He shook his head, glancing back up at Mateo. “Don’t ask me to be done.”

—

It was all so unexpected, the way Wyatt fought for the man next to him. He'd always been expendable, easily tossed aside if he wasn't any use. On days that he felt too tired to function on the farm, Junior was once again the favorite, or Estela skidded into first, or really any one of the Lara children could steal the spot. It wasn't enough to just be for Mateo or his siblings to be. Work gave him value, and if he couldn't provide that, what use was there for him to be around? What use was there in putting in the effort to love him?

You were born for one thing and if you can't do that, what's the point? You're an asshole and you have no right to be. I gave you this life. I sacrificed to get you here. Where is your effort?

Mateo shut his eyes tightly and clung firmly onto the steering wheel, hoping to hold onto some fragment of composure. Because he never needed anyone to be more than they were. No one ever needed to work for his love. He was dumbfounded to find that someone wanted to provide that for him too. “I…I…” Mateo trailed off with a sniffled, croaking, “I love you the way you are. Don't be done. I need you to not be done.” Keeping his eyes shut, he felt his tears trail down his cheeks, sharp and cold. “It does seem like much to me. It's like…everything to me. You and Xó have been everything to me for a while.”

— “Hey. Hey,” he muttered, leaning over the console between them and reaching for Mateo, one hand landing on his neck while the other turned the mare’s head toward him. “I’m not done. I’m here.” His gaze jumped between Mateo’s eyes, thumb wiping away part of the streak of tears on his face. “I’m here. And I love you the way you are, okay? So cut the crap. Stop tellin’ me you ain’t enough. You are.” Wyatt’s lips were pressed into a thin frown as he struggled to keep his own composure, the emotions from the last couple of days feeling absolutely overwhelming in that moment. “Whoever’s been tellin’ you the opposite is a fuckin’ liar and a moron.” His neck felt hot and his vision seemed oddly blurred, making him blink hard a few times as he looked at Mateo, refusing to move away just yet. “You’re enough, and you’re not gettin’ rid of me so easy,” he reiterated with a shaky voice, nodding definitively. And, as if to seal the affirming statement, Wyatt then leaned even closer, his injuries shouting in protest at the strain from this awkward angle, catching Mateo in a careful kiss.

[nicsalazar]

Helping Paw || Felix & Nicole

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Somewhere in Gatlin Fields PARTIES: @recoveringdreamer & @nicsalazar SUMMARY: Amidst the chaos, Nicole finds Felix's jaguar. WARNINGS: Mentions of parental and sibling death.

The columns of fire and smoke rose above tree canopies, tinting the sky with the bright shade of destruction. Preview of what Nicole was to encounter when she reached her destination: An avoidable tragedy, she could only assume. Most times, this was the case. 

When she received the message, Nicole couldn’t stay home. Not while others lost everything. She knew what that felt like all too well. Perhaps, it was why adrenaline ran in her veins as she grabbed her keys and rushed out the door. This time she didn’t have to run, this time she was brave enough to help. Some of her training would have to come in handy, no? 

Her knuckles turned white over the wheel, attempting to maneuver her pickup truck with both speed and caution. Too aware of the wildlife that must be scattered around due to the emergency. With scarce details about the magnitude of the event, it was impossible to know the consequences it could have in the surrounding areas.

She parked where she could find, too far away to get a glimpse of the state of the farm, but picking up on the sirens blaring in the distance. First responders, surely. Or reinforcement, depending on how unrelenting the flames were. Nicole wasn’t an optimist, experience suggested everything but a happy ending for the people who were caught in the fire. 

Nicole trudged through the forest, following the trail of the smoky scent burning her nose, the protective scarf she wore over her face didn't do much. Amidst the chaos, a yowl broke the blaring of distant sirens. At the time, with her senses on high alert, she had no time to pick up on the familiarity. Assumptions were quickly made; Some type of wildcat was running from danger. Nicole froze, reconsidering her path. She knew better than to face a scared feline in her human form. But she could take a detour to the detour she was already taking. Though she couldn’t pinpoint where the sounds were coming from. Between the animal sounds, the sirens, and something else Nicole registered as human screams, she became disoriented. 

—

It had been almost enjoyable, at first. The jaguar was rarely allowed to roam free, especially outside of the strange, uncomfortable building that Felix often trapped them inside, the one filled with little more than violence and pain. The jaguar had enjoyed stretching his legs, enjoyed sinking his teeth into things either not capable of or unwilling to cause damage to him in return. But as the fire raged and the sound of something shrill and unfamiliar filled the air, the feeling of freedom was quickly replaced by an old panic and an instinct to run. 

And so that was what the jaguar did. He turned on his heel, taking off towards the woods, towards the familiarity of the trees. He could find a place to regroup, find a way to get far from all the danger this town had to offer. It hadn’t worked in the past, but perhaps now whatever it was that held him here would disappear. Perhaps now, he’d be allowed his freedom. 

Dirt kicked up behind him as he sprinted away, feeling more and more at ease the further into the trees he retreated. He slowed a little, not quite to a trot but to something below a run. It was difficult to pick up on individual scents; the overwhelming aroma of smoke was overpowering on his sharp senses. He needed to get away from that, too. But… there was something familiar beneath it. Faint, almost hidden, but undeniably present all the same.

Jaguar. 

Not just that, but a jaguar he recognized. The woman, the one he’d met in the woods with the insects. Was she at the farm, too? The jaguar let out a low, uncertain yowl — either a warning or a greeting, depending on who might have been listening.

—

Fuck. She expected the smoke, the flames, the sirens— The echoes of distress too, but adding a feral cat was more than her ears could handle. Logically, Nicole knew how imperative it was to tune out the array of noises attacking her eardrums if she wanted to be able to locate a wild animal ambling around the forest searching for its next meal. In reality, it was a lot fucking harder said than done. She pressed herself against the biggest tree she could find, taking advantage of the low visibility the smoke created to hide herself from what she assumed was a predator. Because she wasn’t the only one being ambushed by stimuli left and right. The sirens became a distant ringing, but the new problem was the blood pounding in her ears. She held her breath, trying to get out of her head, listening for footsteps or the sweep of the animals against the underbrush a snapping twig. Nothing was more unnerving than understanding something was on the prowl without knowing where. 

The spirit within lent a hand. The muscles in her eyes twitched, and Nicole was suddenly capable of taking on the night with supernatural clarity. Thanks, she thought briefly, unsure if that sort of communication worked at all. She looked behind the tree in search of the yowling beast. Amber eyes landed on a shadow, and a familiar cold struck her chest, shutting down the wave of panic oscillating in her chest. The jaguar. Her jaguar. Nicole froze, waiting for a second sign. What did it want? She wasn’t in a situation where she needed to be bailed out yet, she knew her limits. She could handle this. “I got it,” she grunted in annoyance. It probably wasn’t a good excuse to the jaguar, she doubted it was satisfied, but it was hard to sound anything but overwhelmed with the smoke drifting close to the trees, rendering her scarf pointless. 

The inner struggle with the spirit prevented her from focusing on the shadow that brought up her initial reaction. It was there, enveloped in a mist different from the smoke. A second jaguar. Two sets of amber eyes stared at each other and the shoe dropped. It was hard to get any hint of his scent, but… could it be—  “Felix?” She tried, voice muffled. Maybe it was better for her if the jaguar didn’t hear her, though the staring made it obvious that he spotted her as well. She regretted making her presence known. Wasn’t the time to have a conversation with either a hungry jaguar or a scared jaguar. But why was Felix in the woods? Was he hurt? She looked up to the orange sky. Was he involved in the fire? They could be injured— She peeled herself away from the tree and did another stupid, yet brave thing. She faced the jaguar, raising her hands slowly. Cold wrapped around her ribcage again, squeezing air out of her lungs. But this time Nicole understood. Should it become a necessity, the jaguar was ready to come out. No second guessing, they were in agreement.  

—

She said Felix’s name, and the jaguar yowled again, a quiet confirmation. His heart was pounding in his chest, anger and fear forming a dangerous cocktail deep within the belly of the beast. He was… uneasy with the events back at the farm, uncertain what to do now that he was away from them. Certainly, the people there had been a danger to Felix. The jaguar wasn’t sure if they still were. He didn’t know if they were a danger to this other jaguar, either, though he wasn’t sure that that was a thing that concerned him much. If she wanted to run into danger, he didn’t think he’d stop her. But she seemed more interested in him, for the moment.

Cautiously, the jaguar circled her. His eyes scanned the trees around them for threats, searching for anything he might need to dispatch. No one had followed him as he’d fled; he liked to believe it was because they feared them, as they ought to, but perhaps it was a simpler thing. Most people remaining had been wholly concerned with getting themselves free and away from danger. The jaguar wasn’t sure how many were left. He wondered if there was some way to communicate this to the woman before him, to warn her that she’d be walking towards a graveyard if she left here. 

Still seeming uncertain, the animal sat on his haunches, tail curling around his legs as he stared at the woman. Were she human, he would have attacked already, would have torn limb from torso just to see the marvelous explosion of blood as the flesh separated. But the jaguar had been raised among others like himself. He’d played with other cubs at the feet of their mother, protected his siblings when the world stormed the gates of their fortress. Jaguars were solitary creatures, but this one felt some kinship towards others like himself. He wouldn’t attack this balam unless she gave him some reason to do so.

Tilting his head ever so slightly to one side, the jaguar yowled again. Communicating with humans was a difficult plight. The jaguar had never much cared for it.

—

She never liked cats very much. It was somewhat—no, fully ironic, Nicole was aware, given her lineage. But it was no competition, when it came to animals for her: Dogs were vastly superior creatures. Nacho was easy to understand, it wasn’t an exaggeration to say that sometimes, it felt like he understood the world he lived in better than she did. But she was certain, even if she didn’t have the best dog in the world, her feelings on the matter would remain unchanged. Cats, in comparison, were too temperamental for her liking. She appreciated their need for boundaries, but that was it. They were incompatible in every other possible aspect. 

She could never communicate with a cat the way she did with Nacho. Least of all, the balam spirit she carried within. Of course, her shitty luck would have her in the middle of the forest, trying to reach an understanding not with one, but with two at the same time, when everything around them burned to a crisp. She should’ve walked toward the first responders. But she had no time to beat herself up for it when the ground crunched beneath as the jaguar stepped closer. 

The spirit pulsed near her heart, while Nicole didn’t take her eyes off the jaguar circling her. Studying her. Fuck. Despite everything she was confident it wouldn’t attack. Balam were already so rare, she knew the other’s spirit wouldn’t want to bring them closer to extinction. Whether Felix would become a threat or not, there was a more pressing issue; She couldn’t communicate with them like this. She shivered, the scorching heat enveloping the forest contrasting with the cold wrapping around her ribcage. The spirit would know what to do.

Okay. She agreed to this. Right. And with the fire out of control and the flames that threatened to jump in their direction at any moment, the jaguar was the quickest way to safety for her too. 

The jaguar. Would it keep its end of the deal? Just to bring both of them to safety? Or would it seize the opportunity to rip away everything from her again once more? Her body tensed in resistance to the shift. It would only lead to a more painful transformation but— Why would she trust it? She didn’t want to lose four years of her life again. And what if the jaguar released control, but she woke up to a sighting in the news tomorrow? It was an emergency, there would be plenty of witnesses that could come in contact with a tailless jaguar. Rescuers searching for people or animals. Onlookers with morbid curiosity. Would it look to be caught? Did it miss the Zoo? So much for no second-guessing. She should have known it was hard to escape one’s nature. 

It was a matter of communication. And how could Nicole, already painfully flawed at communicating with humans, be any luckier with an animal? She couldn’t do this on her own. She had no time to sit down and decide on the most rational solution. All she felt was the blood pounding in her ears and the cold overtaking her torso. If the jaguar got caught, then at least— It— her friend would be safe from this fire. At least she did something brave before the spirit trapped her in its body again.

She undressed fast, shoving what could be shoved into her backpack. Jacket and pants. On the off chance she was able to return and retrieve it. She needed to come up with a system for the jaguar to carry her shit during shift. Another time—if… if she got one. Her amber gaze focused on Felix, reminding herself why this would be worth it. Through the snap of bones, the tear of flesh and the mist of the spirit seeping past the cracks, Nicole’s jaguar lept to the forest ground. A warming roar cut through the night, conveying what the human counterpart couldn’t: Fire encircled most of the ground, south was the path to safety.

—

This was exactly what he’d wanted. In a sense, the jaguar didn’t realize it until she began to undress, until the faint memory of Felix sometimes doing the same before choosing to shift allowed him to understand the purpose of the woman removing the strange, thin layer of not-quite-fur that humans seemed so fond of. He fell back onto his haunches, sitting and allowing his tail to curl around his body. With the pair of him, he thought, they would be far safer than either individual alone. There were still enemies about, still threats not yet vanquished. The two balam would stand a better chance together. The jaguar knew that.

He lacked the understanding to know that this woman might want him to shift back; in his agitated state, the jaguar had yet to even consider relinquishing control back to Felix. Felix had nearly gotten the pair of them killed, had been on the ground with a knife at their throat when the jaguar took over. If left to their own devices, Felix would likely run back into the fire instead of away from it, their desire to help their friends far greater than any sense of self preservation. The jaguar, for his part, was interested only in saving his skin. Wild animals rarely cared for much else.

The familiar sound of bones snapping filled the air, cutting through sounds of screams and sirens and crackling flames. The jaguar got to his feet once more, the yowl he let loose almost a celebratory thing. One jaguar became two in the clearing, and the one that was Felix’s was pleased with the results.

—

The orange of the night sky reflected on the jaguar’s glimmering gaze as it sprang free. The beast surveyed its unfamiliar surroundings, recognizing it wasn’t back in the zoo, as it longed for. Instead, it found itself in the middle of the forest, where nature welcomed the jaguar back. It wasn’t the comfort of its confinement, but the beast came alive as it felt the wind brush against its fur, ruffling orange and black hues. As it sensed the subtle energy thrumming beneath the ground. As it listened for the sound of birds soaring overhead or the shuffling feet of smaller wildlife. The animal was finally where it always belonged.

The air, however, crackled with a new, ominous energy, and the beast's primal drive kicked in. A threat loomed, cutting its appreciation for nature short. Although not a threat with razor sharp teeth and vicious claws. But with a blaring screech that went on forever, unprecedented lung capacity on display. The scent of smoke filled its senses, and the hot temperature against its fur made Nicole’s jaguar snarl. It was a new kind of danger, but one that would be be unsustainable in the long run. It needed to flee again. The jaguar’s head tilted with curiosity, tail low as its sense of imminent danger declined, because amid the daunting scene, there was Felix’s jaguar. The jaguar let out a small chuff, a greeting for an old friend.

His scent was familiar, even with the burnt foliage around them. The jaguar’s human counterpart cared for them. Her fondness for the other spread warm along its ivory belly. It felt also Nicole’s influence, not yet lulled into dormancy. A fight to get back in control stirring inside, searing hot into its sternum. It wasn’t enough to revert the shift. They had an agreement. 

Feral gaze took on the other jaguar, uncertain despite their familiarity. Nicole was a later bloomer. Never managed a full shift until the fateful night her family was ambushed. The Salazars maintained secrecy regarding their true nature, stifling most of their lineage. She couldn’t recall ever coexisting with the other jaguars in her family out in the open. In hindsight it was all precaution to avoid slaughter. In hindsight, she should’ve fucking asked more questions. Nicole’s jaguar sauntered toward Felix’s without fear of being attacked. Both proud beasts by nature, yet unwilling to harm each other. The zoo was a haven when the world threatened both the human and the beast, but it was missing other balams. It was missing the innate connection between spirits. Kindred despite not sharing the same bloodline. Kindred through a millennia of ancient magic.  

A connection that demanded both remained alive. It demanded the spirit to persevere. Nicole’s jaguar urged the other to run along with it, making it a chase, a playful thing. The jaguar never played with another before. But soon the other beast was roped into the scheme. They ran, past the trees and away from flames, smoke and destruction. Muscles rippling in a blur of dapled colors as they bolted toward safety. 

A creek appeared on their way, and the beast descended toward it. The scent of charred wood barely reached its nostrils anymore. It approached the body of water slowly, vying for the other jaguar’s attention. With the run and the high temperatures, they were parched. Nicole’s jaguar observed, ears pinned back for potential threats lurking, then took the initiative and drank from it. 

—

Woman gave way to beast, and Felix’s jaguar felt some strange relief as it happened. He hadn’t the capacity to recognize his own loneliness in the chaos that befell the farm around him, hadn’t understood the complex emotions swirling within him. He liked to believe that such things were remnants of Felix, the human’s mind still lurking somewhere in the back and causing undue complications. The reality wasn’t quite so simple. The jaguar felt fear, felt doubt, felt anger and loneliness the same way his human host did. 

And he felt comfort, too. It was a quiet thing, not nearly as familiar as the rage, but it was soft and warm and he ached for it. He felt comfort in the presence of another balam, felt better with her here and shifted than he had moments before, when he ran through the woods free and terrified. She approached him, and the warmth that washed over him wasn’t dissimilar to what he’d felt with his siblings as a child. This balam had less experience with shifting than Felix’s jaguar, but it didn’t matter much in the moment. What mattered to the jaguar was that he was no longer alone.

She urged him to run, and he did. He chased her just as he had chased his brother and sisters as a cub, the danger of the burning farm behind them a forgotten thing. The flames couldn’t touch them here, the enemies Felix’s jaguar had torn through a faraway thought. The creek stretched out before them, and he approached it for a much needed drink, calm settling over him as he eased the aching caused by the smoke in his throat.

Felix continued to fight for control from within and, as the adrenaline died down, their jaguar had less and less inclination to fight back. The chaos was far behind, and he was safe with an ally now. The desire to maintain control, to run was still there, but it was a flatter thing now. Another day, perhaps, he’d have clung to it more readily. But right now, he felt tired enough to let it go. The shift was a slow one all the same, a fight from both sides even if the jaguar fought with less passion than he normally might have. Bones snapped into a new form, fur disappeared beneath skin, and Felix took the place of the jaguar once more, terror still gripping their throat.

“Thank you,” they murmured to the other jaguar — to Nicole. They glanced back in the direction of the farm, the smoke still billowing into the sky. The jaguar spirit within them seemed to move around, offering a silent warning against going back.

—

Nicole’s jaguar wouldn’t have known tragedy struck a mile away if it hadn’t run from the danger itself. The creek was the picture of peace and quiet, the stark difference allowing the beast to slowly lower its defenses. Its insistent sniffing ceased, its ears relaxed.  It couldn’t hear the blaring monsters anymore. Only the wind rustling the leaves. An owl, crickets. A croak somewhere distant. It was peace like it hadn’t experienced in a decade. Long before the Zoo. The jaguar turned to observe its companion following, mirroring its action and drinking from the creek. After the smoke and the flames, it was a necessity. 

The other jaguar sensed the lack of threat similarly, and as a result, he looked content to step back and allow the human to come to the surface. Nicole’s jaguar retreated, apprehensive, tail whipping in the air again. A snarl tumbling past sharp teeth. Being in the presence of the human wasn’t what it wanted. It was the other animal who shared its nature. The other jaguar who felt the importance of the spirit. 

And if he turned human—

It was time to relinquish control. As a naked figure appeared on the forest floor, Nicole’s jaguar began its internal battle. The creature deemed it too short of an outing. It needed more time. The agreement was unbalanced, why should the human have the final word? But amber eyes set on them, the human friend —Felix— and it knew it would be a battle hard to win. The sounds Felix made meant nothing to the jaguar, but their tone reached deep. The human within, her presence— her will, it was stronger than before. Pulsing along its ribcage, fighting to free herself with purpose. Was she learning better control? That couldn’t be good for its future. For its survival. The jaguar didn’t let fear show. Too proud for it, and thought it would keep the agreement they reached for the night, the spirit wasn’t pleased. It would demand retribution, at the right time. 

The spirit loosened its hold, but Nicole’s mind, however, struggled to rise to the surface. Escaping from the lifeless void of slumber to settle back into reality she was desperate to cling to. It felt out of reach for moments, a pull tried to drag her back, before she finally seized it. She swam toward conscience. 

Her body fell forward, and she heard the splash before she understood what was happening. She scrambled to stop from diving into the water. Panting, she tried sitting up, absorbing the world around her once more. Eyes widened in terror, darting around, desperately seeking confirmation that time hadn’t jumped. That her last memories — the farm, Felix— were recent. She couldn’t— another leap would end her.    

But Felix was there, by her side, their expression resonating with Nicole. The sky behind them bled orange in the distance. They were by her side— so that meant— The jaguar didn’t cage her for long. Her skin erupted in goosebumps. “Felix—” she rasped, lifting her arm, deciding against the comfort she wished to give her friend. Only to beat herself up for the decision a second later. Indecision paralyzed her movements, but her thoughts swarmed her head. What—How—Why? More importantly, Felix next to her, safe from the fire. “Are you hurt? Why were you in the woods?”

—

Nicole began to shift, the sounds of bones snapping and reforming a familiar one. Felix brought their knees to their chest, wrapping an arm around them and settling into a waiting position. Their throat ached, even after the jaguar’s attempt to soothe it with the water from the stream. Their heart was pounding, even miles away from that billowing smoke. And dread pooled in their stomach, swirling and churning at the thought of what they’d left behind. 

What had the jaguar done to get them out of there? They couldn’t help but wonder. The spirit was fiercely protective, but it never seemed to understand the difference between friends and foes. It clung to violence, doled it out so readily with a rage Felix had never been able to match. The man who’d attacked them was likely dead; the idea of the jaguar letting him live was a far-fetched, impossible thing. But what about Daisy? What about Monty, what about Wynne? What about all the other people who’d been at that party? How much blood was in their mouth? How much visceral would they have to scrub from beneath their nails? 

The panic gripped them, a quiet sob rising from their throat. They tried to push it down, tried not to fall apart, but it was a difficult thing to manage. Something bad had happened, and maybe Felix was a part of it. There was blood in their mouth, and they couldn’t blame it on the Grit Pit or on Leo or on anyone besides themself. They hugged their knees tighter, burying their face against them as the sounds of shuffling beside them became a little more human.

She said their name, and they took a shuddering breath, shaking their head. “I don’t…” Were they hurt? They weren’t sure. Everything always felt so raw after a shift; like every nerve ending was exposed to the world. Adrenaline made it all the more difficult to tell, but they didn’t think it mattered. Their well being wasn’t nearly as important as what the jaguar might have done. “There was — We were at a party. We were at a party. It wasn’t — People came, and — There was a fire, and I don’t — I think —” It was hard to get words to work the way they wanted them to. It was a party. A party. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, wasn’t supposed to end like this. A sob wracked Felix’s frame, rising up and trembling in their shoulders.

—

Felix’s face was coated in blood from the jaguar’s preys. The water stream washed away some of it, but Nicole knew what it was like, to wake up tasting somebody’s blood. To be aware that the beast within sated its hunger by taking a life. The guilt of an act she had no part in eased over the years, perhaps she grew numb to it, but there were remnants. The metallic taste in her mouth as she gained consciousness was one example. Felix grappled with it too. And they tried to get the story out despite their frazzled state. Sympathy pulsed in her chest, the spirit stirring faintly.

“Hey, you’re—” fine, she wanted to say. Okay. But Felix wasn’t fine, they weren’t okay. Their words were fragmented by shock and fear. Sorrow heavy between each breath. Something protected Nicole from locking herself away as Felix recalled the facts, but there was— the familiarity of it left her cold. Felix was at a party too, it was supposed to be safe. Who would think of storming a party? Details were missing, but it was clear Felix watched everything go up in flames, they likely sought their loved desperately, they—

She no longer felt the grass prickling on her knees, nor the gentle splash of the creek near. Her eyes locked far away. Trying to reach the past. She was above her, or— behind, separate from herself, watching, incapable of reacting to Felix’s distress. She was back in Vermont, where the plates crashed against the kitchen floor as the first intruder struck, where her mother’s frenzied screams echoed, gutting Nicole better than a hunter’s knife could, where she didn’t reciprocate her father’s last ‘I love you’, where the blade tore her shoulder blade, where her sister’s grasp slip away despite her best efforts. Where the jaguar stole her youth.

The forest disappeared, it stopped existing. Felix disappeared. She was back in the place where she last left her soul. 

In the aftermath, there was no one. Only the vast wilderness and herself. She never found the clues to uncover what transpired that night. She had no one yet many, too, at the same time. Strangers in a hazy gas station in the middle of nowhere. The old woman who offered a roof and a warm meal. A guy who fixed up a pickup truck for her. The curious kid who talked to her tirelessly, until words were finally comfortable in her tongue again after years exiled from her body and mind. 

A sob came from somewhere— from the backyard—no, next to her. Nicole was dragged back to the present. Felix had someone. But a someone who wasn’t doing fucking shit for them. “I’m here,” she whispered tearfully. It didn’t mean much. It felt empty. A dreadful lie, she was never here. Nicole knew Felix would have been better with somebody else by their side. They’d would’ve preferred it, surely. Someone with a comforting touch and nurturing words and— She wasn't that. Fuck, she was so much less than that. Most days she was nothing. An entity with far less presence than the spirit stirring inside her. Not a day went by when Nicole didn’t wish to be someone else. Someone warmer, wiser, anybody but her. But what else could she do?

If things had been different, if her father didn’t sacrifice himself to give her and her siblings a chance, or if she didn’t let that chance go to waste, if her grip on her sister was stronger as the hunters chased them. If they never came to begin with. Then she would be the big sister who wrangled Yadiel and told him to get his shit together. Would've been the person Nayeli came to share her secrets with. The person who would’ve known how to comfort a friend in need without hesitance.

Perhaps there was still time to be some version of that. Slightly mangled by the past, by the jaguar, by her coping skills. With steep disadvantage, but— She shifted her body, sitting by Felix’s side, shoulder to shoulder. “I’m here,” she repeated, spoken like an apology, because Felix deserved a better somebody. She leaned to touch her temple to theirs, her hand resting on their forearm. It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough. Felix was terrified, but they weren’t alone. No one deserved to be. 

She let them sob for a moment, forcing herself not to dive into her memories again. There was enough tragedy in front of her. As Felix’s breath slowed down, Nicole had already thought of a few things to say. “What went down over there… will be on the news. We’ll know—you’ll know what happened to your friends soon.” It wasn’t comfort. Casualties would come. Some of which Felix would have a hand on. But answers too would come, and answers would cushion their fall.

—    

Nicole went quiet and, in a better state, Felix might have recognized the faraway look in her eyes. Everyone in this town seemed to have something haunting them, some quiet tragedy that carved empty spaces into their lives. Most people didn’t talk about it. Felix, for their part, mentioned their own past rarely, and only to people they thought they could trust with it. The details of their mother’s death were locked behind their ribcage like a prison cell, separate from the rest of them so that they could grow into something softer than what that event demanded of them. Their father’s attitude — towards them, towards humanity, towards everything — lived beside it like a cellmate, knocking against the bars with every beat of their heart.

Later, they might wonder if what happened at that farm would be stuffed into the same cage. Could they swallow the smoke and flames that had burned their lungs, could they separate themself from the blood in their mouth? Was it a disservice to do so? They didn’t know how to live with the things that must have happened, the things they must have done, but they weren’t sure it was fair to ignore them, either. What did you owe to the people you’d hurt when you were not yourself? What did Felix owe to whoever’s blood was on their tongue, or to the fighters in the Grit Pit who probably saw a jaguar in their nightmare? Did he owe it to all of them to remember, to let it suffocate him? Or… was it better to move on, to grow from it? 

There didn’t seem to be a good answer. Nor was there an answer to the question of what they now owed to Nicole for finding them, for bringing them back to themself. They might have been better off in their shifted form, without the pressing weight on their chest or the way their lungs couldn’t seem to draw a full breath, but they were glad to be themself in spite of it. The jaguar was stronger, was faster, was better at both eliminating danger and living with the consequences of it, but Felix wanted to be Felix. More than anything in the world, Felix wanted only to be allowed to be themself the way they couldn’t in their father’s house, the way they couldn’t in the Grit Pit. Maybe this heaving, sobbing thing in the woods was the closest they’d come to it in a long time. Maybe there was nothing good about being who you were when who you were was this. 

“I hurt people,” they gasped quietly, trembling with fear or with grief or with both. (Weren’t the two always interchangeable?) “I think I hurt people.” They leaned into her, feeling guilty for the selfishness of it. This wasn’t her weight to carry, but it was too heavy for Felix to lift on their own. And she was here. She was here, and they were afraid enough to allow themself to believe that that was a good thing, that they deserved to have someone here even with blood on their tongue and a fire raging close enough to smell. 

It would be on the news, she told them. They’d know what happened soon. And Felix wondered, with a desperate gulp, if they wanted to. They thought of all the things they might have been better off not knowing, all the questions they didn’t ask after a shift at the Grit Pit because sometimes, ignorance was the closest thing to bliss that they could manage. Soon, they’d have more answers. It felt more like a gallows they were marching towards than any kind of salvation.

“I’m sorry,” they said quietly, unsure if they were apologizing for whatever had happened at the farm or for leaning on her or for making her carry the weight with them or for all of it. For everything, maybe; for what they were, for what they did with it, for the way they knew she understood the feeling. “I’m sorry. I think — I think we should go. I think we should run. I don’t think we should be here anymore.”

—

Her hand barely grazed Felix’s arm, yet it was all Nicole could pay attention to. All her brain decided she needed to focus on. The gesture was uncomfortable, alien for her in spite of how much she was growing to care for Felix. She wasn’t used to it anymore, the jaguar ripped it from her year by year in the wilderness, then in the zoo. Though she didn’t want to take it back either. That felt plain wrong. She had to settle for the all-encompassing anxiety,  remaining still right where Felix needed her. What would it be like, not to question every action, every word, every feeling? She would’ve liked to comfort Felix in a manner that mattered. A manner that helped. Make sure they were supported through it, but it was too big a weight to pick up. 

Felix admitted to hurting people, rather, they believed it happened. Nicole didn’t flinch. She already assumed something along those lines must’ve occurred. When the jaguar was at large, lives were always at risk. They carried a natural predator within, they carried a monster capable of destruction. “Okay—” she replied, awkwardly. Didn’t everybody hurt others? Intentionally or unintentionally. Didn’t she have jaguar kills to answer for as well? She didn’t know if sinking into her own self-hatred would do them any good. She never thought she would be one to defend what they were, when for the longest time she would’ve loved to be rid of the spirit. “I have too. The jaguar— It…it hurts people. Has to. Needs it to survive,” the beast didn’t see it like that, Nicole mused. The jaguar killed and feasted on its prey till its belly was full and there wasn’t rationale in the act. It was the way of nature. And— it was expected of them to understand how important it was for the jaguar to survive. How blessed they were, chosen to carry such a unique spirit. 

Sitting on the grass, one of them sobbing in uncertainty and fear, the other too stunted to comfort them, Nicole was affronted by all the tales she grew up hearing about. They were not special. Only two unlucky people, there was nothing to be proud of. 

Felix didn’t look relieved to hear answers would soon come, and she cursed herself mentally for what she said. They didn’t need the logical answer, they needed—  Perhaps it would be better for both of them if Nicole didn’t speak again. The air was too heavy with grief for her words to cut through it. Felix continued to sob, a trail of tears dampening her hair. All she did was stay there, as promised. Until the apology made her pull away, confusion etched on her features. What were they sorry for? She didn’t have to understand, she only had to listen to their voice, feel the emotion. It used to be so much easier before she was stripped form her humanity. She nodded curtly, accepting their words.

 A shiver ran down her spine as Felix suggested they go. They meant the forest, of course, she was conscious, but she would be lying if Felix wasn’t voicing a desire she felt during her darkest days. And some days after too, when the rays of sun began warming up her skin again. Wasn’t her only talent to run? Why did she stop? “That’s smart,” she rasped, giving Felix another small nod of encouragement. “Fire’s unpredictable,” and they were far from where it ignited, but flames jumped and the wind could twist its path. The forest wasn't as safe for them as she would like it to be. 

Nicole kneeled, gaze sweeping their surroundings. Though the creek offered a much needed stop, they were supposed to face the world again. She rose from the ground, extending her hand for Felix. “Truck should still be— somewhere,” fuck, she was quite proficient at tracking but without knowing the jaguar’s route— “Won’t risk it, though,” if they couldn’t find it, they would— fuck they were naked. Couldn’t ask for a ride. They… the way home would be by foot. Felix could borrow some of her clothes.

—

She’d hurt people, too. Most of their friends had, hadn’t they? Monty, Anita, Wyatt, Teagan… It was so much easier to forgive their crimes than it was for Felix to absolve himself of his own. Lockjaw killed Razor, and Felix told Wyatt that it wasn’t his fault, that the Pit was the one to blame. Monty spoke of his dark past, and Felix assured him that because he was different now, because he was apologetic, none of it mattered. Samir used to talk about how he hurt people during his shifts, and Felix would remind him that the wolf wasn’t him, that there was a difference between himself and the animal inside of him. Teagan bloodied her hands, and Felix helped her clean them with quiet reassurances. Anita felt no remorse for what she did, and Felix thought she must have been right for it.

Those same certainties were absent when they looked inward. They hurt people in the Grit Pit, but the grace they offered Wyatt felt wrong when they tried to apply it to themself because they should have known better, because they signed up for the Pit knowing what it was and were so blinded by their love for Leo that they hadn’t let it stop them. They were sorry for the terrible things they’d done in their past, but sorry didn’t seem like a strong enough word when it fell from their lips. The jaguar wasn’t Felix, but they took the fall for his crimes all the same, wrapped them around their own throat like a noose waiting to tighten and begged the world to hang them for what the beast had done. Their hands were red and stayed red, no matter how they scrubbed beneath their nails. They’d never once felt they were right for the people they’d hurt, even if some of them might have deserved hurting.

Even now, they wanted to push their feelings aside and reassure Nicole, tell her it was okay that she had hurt people despite not believing the same of themself. The jaguar needed to hurt people to survive, but it felt more true of Nicole than it did of Felix. It felt wrong to try and pretend that the things he’d done needed doing. It felt irredeemable to make excuses when they had no idea whose blood was on their tongue. 

So they said nothing at all. They curled in on themself a little tighter, they registered the quiet aches of injuries they hadn’t yet had time to catalog. There was so much blood sticking to their skin; what did it matter if some of it was their own? Wouldn’t it have been better if all of it was? They wished they were still on the farm, and they wished they were anywhere else in the world. Guilt and grief, when it was this heavy, was always a mess of contradiction. 

Nicole spoke of the fire and its unpredictability; Felix had almost forgotten that anything was burning at all. It wasn’t the fire they wanted to flee, but what was inside of it. They couldn’t run from it forever, they knew; sooner or later, whatever had happened during the jaguar’s run would become clearer than they wanted it to be. Sooner or later, they’d know exactly whose blood they tasted on their tongue. And they couldn’t unknow it once it was clear, couldn’t unburn the barn. That had always been the problem, hadn’t it? 

They shifted their position, straightening themself out and swallowing tightly. Even after the water from the stream, everything tasted like blood. Felix thought it probably would for a very long time. “We can walk,” they said quietly, forcing themself painfully to their feet. “I’m okay to walk. I — It would be better, I think.” After all, when they were finished here, all that was waiting for them was the boiler room at the Grit Pit, where they’d be as alone as they’d ever been. Maybe they could be with Nicole for a little while, but not for long. They wouldn’t be permitted to be away from the Pit for long. But… glancing towards the still rising smoke, Felix thought that this might be exactly what they deserved. 

“Come on,” they said quietly, offering Nicole a hand to help her to her feet. The movement pulled at something that the still-raging adrenaline kept them from feeling in its entirety; they figured that was for the best, too. “Let’s — Let’s get out of here. Please.”

[recoveringdreamer]

TIMING: recent. LOCATION: a baby's day out fan event PARTIES: @banisheed & @recoveringdreamer SUMMARY: felix and siobhan attend an exclusive event for fans of the critically acclaimed film baby's day out (1994). CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

“Adventure. Comedy. Crime.” — Baby’s Day Out IMDB page genre listing

Baby’s Day Out was released on July 1st, 30 years ago. Since the baby bink (the baby of the titular day out) first crawled on screen, a handful of discerning moviegoers knew they had something special on their hands. And thus, the Coalition of Baby’s Day Out Enjoyers was born. Though their numbers have dwindled over the years, they kept studious tabs on anyone that has ever talked positively about this movie or seen it from start to mediocre finish. This was, by Siobhan’s estimation, about three people. Four, if she could be included, but she would sooner turn back into a baby herself than be counted among the ranks of these cretins. She was an idiot for thinking the vague invitation she’d received could’ve been something interesting. She remembered the moment she opened it: the paper smelt like baby powder and the words—”you’ve been chosen”—tugged on a doomed desire. For some unfathomably stupid reason, she’d thought this was from Saol Eile. Yes, of course, that was a bridge she thoroughly burned. But, still, if only…

No. Instead, she was here. Siobhan knew more about the history of the Coalition of Baby’s Day Out Enjoyers (the organizers of this belated anniversary party) than she ever wanted to. Due in large part to the woman in front of her who simply would not shut up, no matter how many threats of violence she was given. Eventually, Siobhan had to admit defeat and let the useless facts rain down on her. She tried to look around the space for something interesting to focus on instead but everything was baby themed: baby decorations, baby balloons, baby food. In lieu of the typical party champagne, there was warm milk served in sippy cups. Siobhan sipped hers slowly. “Do you think he’s coming soon?” the woman asked. Siobhan’s heavy eyes turned to the large sign at the entrance to the room: “SPECIAL GUEST APPEARANCE: JIM FOLEY (OLD SOLDIER #3)”. 

Siobhan slurped her milk. The door creaked. Anticipation vibrated through the room; three bodies snapped to attention like meerkats, their eyes bulging at the door. The door swung open and there was, finally, the reason Siobhan had stayed. But not the reason the rest had. A chorus of disappointment and grumbles echoed as soon as it was clear that Jim Foley was yet to be seen. “Felix Mendoza,” Siobhan cooed, grabbing a blue sippy cup of milk for them. “We finally meet.” Her smile was lopsided, one white, sharp canine sticking out between her lips. She had endured torture just for this moment; just to meet them. When she saw their name on the tiny guest list, it was as if Fate had kissed her. “Milk?”

—

Felix didn’t get a lot of mail delivered to the Grit Pit. They hadn’t gotten a lot of mail delivered to their apartment, either, to be fair — mail was kind of dead, really, and mostly the things they found in their mailbox were thin cardboard postcards advertising car dealerships or coupon books with deals that, when you really looked at them, kind of sucked — but they got even less here. Part of it, they knew, was because they hadn’t really updated their address anywhere. They fully expected (or hoped) to be out of the boiler room in a matter of months, even if the time was passing them by quicker than they’d hoped with no real exit in sight. But, of course, there were other factors at play, too. Any mail they got was ‘inspected’ before it made its way to them, read over and discarded more often than not. Leo said he was doing them a favor. Felix, he claimed, was exactly the type to fall for some stupid scam. Maybe it wasn’t an unfounded accusation, but… there was something a little dehumanizing about it. People got mail, but Felix didn’t. It was just another entry in the long list of ways the Grit Pit made them feel less like someone who mattered.

All this to say, the envelope sitting on the chair in the corner of the boiler room with their name scrawled neatly on the front was… unexpected. Felix had approached it with a furrowed brow, had opened it cautiously as if it was a thing that might bite. But, instead of some cruel prank left by Leo and his friends or some quiet words of encouragement from Thea, the envelope contained an invitation. Better still, it contained an invitation that was of interest to Felix.

Baby’s Day Out was a strange comfort film to have. They’d figured that out pretty quickly, when they’d mentioned it in school one day and been met with a room full of blank stares. It was stranger still for a child to love the movie as much as Felix had, but he’d worn out no fewer than four VHS tapes before the film was rereleased on DVD seven years after its initial home theater release. They’d left the DVD behind when their father packed them all up, of course, and they’d never been able to find another copy. It was on streaming, but it didn’t feel the same. It didn’t have the special features, the director’s commentary, the featurette. Perhaps, they thought, this event would be selling copies.

And they really did want to meet the guy who played Old Soldier #3.

So, with little more thought on the matter, Felix had decided to attend the event. They’d put on their nicest button-up and a pair of khakis, they’d gone to the location specified, and they’d felt a sense of excitement flowing through them as they opened the door. From the way everyone looked at them, they weren’t the anticipated guest that had seen all eyes on the door. Except… there was one woman who was staring a little. It took Felix a moment to recognize her from her icon, and they offered her a small, uncertain smile as they approached. Hadn’t she disliked Baby’s Day Out? Why was she at the party? Maybe she’d changed her mind about it. It was the kind of movie you needed to see more than once to really appreciate, after all. 

Felix glanced down at the cup in her hand, shaking their head. “Oh, um, no thank you. I’m lactose intolerant, actually, so I can’t — Milk’s not really, uh, good for me. Um, did you change your mind? About Baby’s Day Out, I mean. Do you like it now?”

—

Perhaps she had underestimated Felix. Clearly a mastermind, they’d faked lactose intolerance to embarrass her with having to hold two sippy cups. Siobhan smiled, eye twitching. Of course this meeting of small-minded, fictional-baby-adoring people hadn’t opted for dairy-free alternatives; how could she prove Felix was purposefully deceiving her? In the war, they’d already won the first battle. “Yes, of course. So many humans lack the means to digest lactose. And yet, who was it that domesticated the poor cow?” Though it was a small assurance of superiority that she could digest it—she came from generations of cattle farmers, though they preferred more pretentious titles like “yogurt barons” or “cheese sovereigns”—it was an assurance she would take. Then, the second battle: a devastating first move delivered swiftly by Felix. By asserting that her appearance here must mean she liked this horrific movie, they expertly wounded her demeanor of nonchalance. Well played, Felix. “No, this movie was an insult to all of my senses.” Surely they had to know that she was here for them? To kill them? Did they forget the fact that she wanted to kill them? Ignorance was a strategy she hadn’t anticipated. She couldn’t outright say she was going to kill them, not while holding two sippy cups. With one sippy cup, perhaps. But two? Felix had clearly orchestrated this. Siobhan seethed. “I don’t like the film. I’m here for…someone special.” She winked. Obviously, she was referring to Felix, as she was sure they would pick-up on. She wouldn’t tell them that she’d initially mistaken the invitation for something else.

If they moved to a place where she could put down the sippy cups, then the glove could be thrown down. Siobhan gestured to the food table, adorned with baby-themed foods and several jars of baby food. “You must be hungry after all your…” She surveyed Felix’s outfit: disgustingly and disarmingly banal. Was being bland a part of Felix’s plan? “…arrival. Perhaps we should venture to the food table?” There was also a table of merchandise—shirts and the like—but the contents were so unappealing to Siobhan that the table was practically invisible to her attention. The food table, at least, was such an affront that she remembered it. 

—

“Well, not just humans,” they said. Then, realizing that this might threaten to out them as something other than human, they blinked. “I mean, um, cats are lactose intolerant, too. And dogs! A lot of adult animals are. Um, something about enzymes. Your body stops producing them when you get older. I read — I read a paper about it, one time. To figure out why I was lactose intolerant.” That was a thing people did, right? Read papers? Felix felt so supremely out of their depth here. Siobhan was smart. He could tell just by the way she spoke, the way she carried herself. And Felix, as they’d been reliably informed time and time and time again, was not. Siobhan already seemed to dislike them, scorned by their suggestion that she watch a movie she evidently hadn’t enjoyed. Felix didn’t want to make her angrier at them, even if it seemed she’d warmed to Baby’s Day Out. Or… maybe she hadn’t. She was still saying she hated the film, claiming to be here for someone special instead. Felix’s eyes drifted to the poster behind her, the one advertising the event. As things clicked into place, they nodded. “Oooh,” they said, certainty washing over them like a warm ocean wave. “You want to meet Jim Foley. Has he been in other stuff? I’ve only ever seen him as Old Soldier #3, but I thought he did a really good job. He was my favorite of the Old Soldiers.”

Siobhan wanted to find a table, and Felix was a little surprised at the idea that she wanted to find a table with him. Maybe they’d misjudged her dislike of them. It was possible that Siobhan was just bad at making friends. If that was the case, didn’t Felix owe it to her to make things a little easier? They offered her a small smile, nodding their head. “We can go sit down,” they agreed. “I’m not really sure about the food, though. Baby food is so mushy, you know? I don’t really like how it feels in my mouth. Um, but maybe it tastes okay? We can try it! Which one do you want? I can grab you a spoon.”

—

Clearly an intelligent individual, Siobhan noted; reading papers and what not. She did not read papers. She read plenty of books, amalgamations of paper, but never the reported findings in medical and scientific papers themselves. Why was it that she waited until the writing was distilled into a book before she learned it? Felix was ahead of the curve. “Yes, I suppose some animals are lactose intolerant.” She seethed, squishing one of the sippy cups she held as she tried to maintain her thin smile. The plastic creaked in her hand and milk sputtered out, trailing down her arm. “Jim…Foley?” As the insinuation hooked deeper into her, her grip on the sippy cup continued to tighten. “He wasn’t even—Old Soldier #5 was clearly…no…I’m not…” They said it was such certainty that Siobhan almost believed that they believed that she was truly here to see an unknown actor. Of course, she knew better. Felix was playing a game with her, and of that she was extremely certain. Finally, the extra sippy cup burst into shards of thin plastic and splashes of warm milk. Wiping milk out of her eyes, she noticed that the entirety of the mess was on her and not a drop on Felix. That must’ve been the lactose intolerance, she thought bitterly. 

Siobhan continued to drip milk, blinking at Felix. She could fathom only one thing worse than being here, being soaked with milk: eating baby food. Again, Felix had somehow anticipated her. “No, I’m not hungry,” she grumbled. “I don’t eat baby food. I don’t want to eat baby food. I am never going to desire baby food. Do not get me a spoon. Do I look like I need a spoon right now?” She also wasn’t going to admit that some of the fruit flavors sounded tasty; it was essentially applesauce, right? 

—

Siobhan was holding her milk pretty tightly, and Felix wondered if she was worried someone might take it. They’d been later than she was to the event; maybe this was a problem that had been recurring throughout the time she’d been waiting. Felix cast a curious eye around the room, trying to determine if there were any obvious milk thieves among them, but it was hard to decipher based on looks alone. Milk thieves — they’re just like us! They offered Siobhan a smile they hoped was reassuring. “Rats aren’t lactose intolerant,” they offered. “Pigs, either. Oh! And, um, cebus monkeys. That one was really interesting to me. You don’t think about monkeys drinking milk, right?” They shifted their weight uncertainly as Siobhan squeezed the cup hard enough for milk to drip down her arm. “Oh, hey, yeah, Old Soldier #5 was good, too! Um, he was probably my second favorite Old Soldier. Old Soldier #1 is my least favorite, actually, which is kind of funny, but I —” The cup in her hand broke. Felix took a step back instinctively, wincing as it shattered. “Oh, man. I think there’s napkins over there. Well, I mean, they’re cloth diapers, technically, but you can use one as a napkin. Should I grab one for you? I don’t mind.” 

She didn’t seem to be having very much fun. Felix wondered why she’d come, if she wasn’t a Foleyhead. (That was what fans of Jim Foley’s performance as Old Soldier #3 called themselves; Felix had read about it on a Baby’s Day Out fanpage.) Maybe she did like the film and was embarrassed by it, given her extreme insistence to the contrary. Felix tried to find a way to silently communicate that it was okay to like Baby’s Day Out. It was nothing to be embarrassed by, in any case. “That’s okay, too! The texture’s a little weird, I think. And some of the combos, too. Like, you don’t have to mix carrots with so many things, right? It’s bound to taste weird.” They paused. “I think I’m going to try it anyway, though. Just to see why babies like it so much. Are you sure you don’t want any? There’s one with coconut and garlic and, like, I gotta admit, I’m curious. You know?”

—

“Yes, I suppose…rats and pigs….sure.” Why did Felix know so much about milk? Siobhan didn’t care; mammals lactated and the young supped from their mothers. “I…do think about monkeys drinking milk.” Not often, of course. Was Felix trying to get her to admit she was some pervert who thought about mammalian lactation often? The milk drinking of animals wasn’t a consideration. “They are…mammals. Most mammals… All mammals…” She couldn’t say for certain that all mammals lactate; it wasn't a topic she knew much about. It could turn out that there were some species of whale that didn’t or rather, what did those egg-laying mammals do? Siobhan loathed not knowing things; her face burned hot at her own stupidity. Did Felix know that? Is that why they’d brought up lactation? Yes, her own education blind spot had been this and with great shame, once she was freed from this battle, she would have to read some books about lactation. Fates, Felix was a cruel fighter. “Some birds produce ‘crop milk’,” she offered, though it was not truly milk at all—or was it? Siobhan clearly didn’t know. She merely wanted a fact to communicate that she wasn’t stupid; she knew things about milk. “It doesn’t have carbohydrates,” she said. “No milk sugars. So, perhaps the title of ‘milk’ is more colloquial.” Siobhan couldn’t let Felix jump in with a correction and embarrass her. 

Siobhan was rigid with anger, holding back the sharp desire to scream. Her tensed shoulders started to ache and her back—often a source of pain—burned along the spine. Yes, of course, instead of napkins they had cloth diapers. Yes, of course, what was Siobhan to do but accept the cloth diaper? It was there, it was absorbent, Felix knew this. Yet another scheme, she thought. Everything had been so perfectly crafted to infuriate her and only the smartest of minds could’ve facilitated her personal hell so acutely. Felix was a dangerous enemy to have. “Yes, fetch me a…” Siobhan shivered. “…diaper.” At least they were cloth, she thought. That was better for the environment, wasn’t it? She also didn’t know. Anything regarding babies was an additional blind spot. Fates, would she have to read books about them as well? If she had children of her own—as banshees were expected to, not that she wanted them—she would’ve taken her mother’s approach and let the child loose on their own. Yes, she’d turned out fine under her mother’s lack of early supervision, hadn’t she? Once she’d answered Fate’s call and was born anew, her mother’s attitude changed. As a child, in that useless time before the scream, she’d once heard a neighbor use an odd descriptor for it: neglect. Regardless, Siobhan never planned to know anything more about babies. Perhaps she’d simply ask Ingeborg instead of embarrassing herself at a bookstore. 

“Carrots are nutritious,” she said, stiffly following Felix along. “They have fiber and are sweet, and so rather palatable to babies and do not upset their stomachs.” Maybe she didn’t need the baby knowledge after all; she tried to remember the things her grandmother had said, who was far more passionate about child care. She was always babbling some nonsense about how to take care of them. If Siobhan thought about it, that might’ve been a response to being incapable of taking care of her own, as Siobhan’s mother was one of three but never once spoke to her about siblings. But her grandmother was unwell and it was best not to think too long about why. The word ‘neglect’ sprung to mind again. “Yes, I’ll accompany you to the baby food,” Siobhan said, “but I don’t want any.” And she would never admit that coconut and garlic sounded extremely intriguing; that was halfway to a curry, she thought. 

—

“Really?” Maybe Felix was the only one who didn’t think about monkeys drinking milk often. They wondered if they should ask Anita about it, or Wyatt. Maybe this was something they should be thinking about more. They nodded as Siobhan pointed out that most mammals drank milk. “That’s true, yeah! But most mammals lose their ability to tolerate milk after they’re weaned from their moms. It’s kind of interesting, when you think about it — humans are the only mammal that regularly consume lactose as adults! Unless they’re lactose intolerant, like me. But between you and me, sometimes I eat cheese, anyway. It’s good, you know? I like cheese, even if it makes me feel sick after.” Their eyes lit up as Siobhan continued, telling them about birds that apparently produced milk. “Oh, hey, that’s really cool! I didn’t know that. What species? Is it common for birds to do that, or are there just a few outliers out there?” If Siobhan didn’t want to talk about Baby’s Day Out — which was a little strange, considering she’d come to this Baby’s Day Out fan event — maybe they could still salvage the conversation by talking about birds. Felix liked birds, after all.

Offering Siobhan a small smile, Felix lead her towards the table with the cloth diapers. It also featured baby powder and diaper rash cream, though Felix doubted Siobhan would be needing any of that. “That makes sense. I guess babies do throw up a lot. Or, uh, spit up? I’m not sure why it’s called something different when babies do it.” They grabbed a few cloth diapers from the table. One at first, then two, then three. Looking at Siobhan and making note of the amount of milk she’d spilled — as well as the fact that her clothes seemed to be pretty fancy, by Felix’s standards, and perhaps in danger of staining if she didn’t see to the mess quickly — they added two more of the diapers to their grip, bringing the grand total up to five. Even if Siobhan didn’t need them all, Felix was sure they’d require a couple sooner or later. They had a tendency towards messiness, after all. 

With the cloth diapers obtained, they made their way towards the baby food table, pleased that Siobhan seemed to have changed her mind enough to tag along. “You don’t have to eat any,” they assured her, though privately, they hoped she might try some. Their mother had always been adamant about expanding horizons, and wasn’t this a good way to do that? You could eat coconut and garlic separately, but you couldn’t know what they tasted like together without trying it. That was probably important. Stopping in front of the table, Felix grabbed a spoon and began browsing the jars. “The colors are fun,” they acknowledged, glancing towards Siobhan.”They’re all so bright. Do you think it gets like that naturally, or do they add dye to it? I mean, I know peas are pretty green, but this looks, like, super green.” They held up a jar of very green mush, labeled apple, spinach, asparagus, and peas. That was a lot of different components, wasn’t it? Felix popped open the jar. 

—

Siobhan had started to think that Felix was an idiot, perhaps; the impression crawled into her brain between the discussion of lactation and watching them fetch diapers with a bizarrely honest resolve, as if they truly thought it would help. But if that was the case, it meant she had been bested by an idiot several times? No, this idiocracy must’ve been part of the battle; a ruse to have her doubting her senses. Siobhan knew she had too much pride to pretend to be stupid but the fact that Felix did so readily made them an enemy she couldn’t underestimate. “Pigeons,” she said dryly when Felix met her at the baby food table. “Pigeons produce crop milk.” Other birds as well, though she couldn’t name them, and didn’t want to. Surely Felix had no real interest in the lactation of animals, or in birds. Siobhan felt pushed out of her body, expelled from her own mind. “Woodpigeon,” she said. “We had…in Ireland. It’s large.” She mimicked the size with her hands. “There’s…a bird: the great tit. I thought…well, it’s funny, sure. Because…the name.” She felt like she was having a genuine conversation, without games, without meaning. She felt like a child, clumsily stumbling her way through her interests; she wanted to talk about birds, about bones, about plants and the fun things her and Jane had gotten up to all the while nervous that at any moment, interest would wane. A scolding was ever present upon the horizon but worse was the constant apathy. 

But Jane had been dead for decades and this feeling—pathetic, embarrassing and vulnerable—must’ve been a piece of Felix’s plan. As a child, she could never entertain anyone’s interest for long. As an adult, her only goal was to entertain herself. She ought to get back to that. Siobhan straightened up. She took one of the cloth diapers and dabbed herself. She wished Old Soldier #3 would show up so she could run away. An exit now, without distraction, was surely rude, and Felix must’ve known this and used it to torment her. Siobhan paused in her dabbing. Why did she care at all if it was rude? It was the terrible atmosphere Felix had crafted: friendly, polite. “You wouldn’t give a baby food dye,” she grumbled, tossing away her diaper and grabbing another. “It’s just…if you blend enough green things together you get something green.” Why was she explaining this? The jar popped open and a gentle smell wafted around them. There was nothing questionable about baby food; it was by its nature bland but generally nutritious. Yet, the labeling of ‘baby’ turned the act into an oddity. Felix was doing this. Why? A power move? 

Siobhan would not be humiliated like this; as though she was too much of a coward to engage. All this time, Felix had been humiliating her: talking to her about lactation and mammals and Baby’s Day Out and making her forget that she was here to kill them. She reached down and plucked an unappealing brown flavor: chicken and gravy. The ingredients were ground chicken, water and cornstarch. She popped it open, grabbed a spoon, and shoved the baby food into her mouth. With anger, she swallowed. It tasted like watery, unseasoned chicken. Much like her mother’s cooking. She slammed the jar back down. “What do you want?” She asked. “Don’t…” She drew her finger up. “Don’t you dare say you want to meet Jim Foley. We both know that isn’t true. What do you really want? I concede. I give up. You win. What do you want?”

—

“Oh, hey, that’s really cool! Pigeons are neat birds. You know they were one of the first animals domesticated by people? Which is — I mean, domesticating animals is cool and all, because it got us dogs and cats, but you gotta wonder, right, why they chose the animals they chose. Like, if people way back when had domesticated, uh — bears instead of wolves, or bats instead of pigeons, would everything look, like, totally different now?” They were rambling a little, and they knew it. It was hard not to. Sometimes, in moments like this, Felix felt as if they existed outside their own body, as if they were floating just above the conversation watching themself ramble on and on and on as their conversation partner’s interest waned. Siobhan probably didn’t want to hear about the history of domestication, but it was hard for Felix to force themself to stop in the middle of a sentence. They liked hearing her talk about birds, though. They wanted to hear more about the great tit, wanted to know about the woodpigeons. “Are the birds in Ireland really different than the ones here? I’ve never really been out of Maine, much less the United States, so I don’t really know as much about birds in other countries. I mean, I’ve googled, sure, but that’s different than seeing them, right? You can’t really understand a thing like that until you’ve seen it for yourself.

In a way, wasn’t that what it all boiled down to? There were so many things that Felix would never understand because there were so many things that Felix would never see. Their life was stagnant, stuck in Wicked’s Rest until Leo decided to have mercy on them or some other fighter took them out for good. Of the two possibilities, Felix had always known which was more likely. Leo was no more inclined towards mercy than a bear was towards domestication. They knew that. Glancing back to the very, very green goop, they shrugged and shoveled a small spoonful into their mouth. It tasted bland, especially considering how it looked. It didn’t quite taste like peas, or spinach, or asparagus, or apples. It didn’t really taste like all of the above, either. It was a faint, nothing taste. Felix was a little disappointed. “Well, I mean, I know you shouldn’t give babies food dye, but lots of food has dye in it anyway. Like fruit snacks! Babies love fruit snacks.” 

Siobhan opened her own jar — a less pleasant, brown-colored mix — and Felix flashed her an encouraging smile. Maybe she’d like it; maybe the brown was better than the green. They watched as she opened it, watched her dip the spoon inside. Their expression asked a question, even if they didn’t voice it aloud. Is it good? Does it taste nice? But then, Siobhan was slamming the jar on the table, sending small bits of brown mush flying in all directions. Felix’s brow furrowed in quiet confusion as she questioned their intentions. “I mean, I do think it would be neat to meet Jim Foley,” they said uncertainly. “But I thought — We were talking about birds. I just thought we could hang out.”

—

The stupid act that Felix was putting on was surprisingly well-crafted: from all angles it was convincing. Of course, Siobhan knew better; this was all a part of Felix’s plan to put her off-kilter. Everything about them was perfectly designed to irritate her, everything about this event was the same. They’d done it. They were behind all of this. Getting her to watch the damned film in the first place with lies about how the baby would be productive to society and sending the invitation out and crafting a story about a society of fans for a film that could not—in any logical world—have any fans. She could even bet that Jim Foley wouldn’t show up. All of it, everything, was just a game. Of course the birds in Ireland were different from the ones in Maine, everyone knew that; Felix was pretending. “Domestication wasn’t so calculated. Opportunities arose, certain animals showed themselves to be useful and friendly, and domestication proceeded.” But Felix must’ve known that already. “And it is one of the most despicable things humans have done.” The image of the screaming red gash across her first slaughtered cow burst into her mind. Her jaw clenched. She didn’t like this game Felix had crafted. 

But it would only end the moment she knew what they wanted. The mushy baby food obviously wasn’t for the children that progressed to solids, but Felix must’ve known. Their idiotic comment about the dyes… how devious of them. Just enough to wedge under her skin. And the answer, the simple answer she wanted, spat on with a lie: I just thought we could hangout. After her outburst, after admitting she gave up, they still continued. It was obvious—just like everything else—Siobhan was not someone to hangout with. Siobhan laughed. Perhaps she was the idiot for assuming that someone this calculated would let her go. They wanted to break her mind and they had succeeded but she still had a chance to deny them the satisfaction of seeing it through. If she played along, they wouldn’t win. 

Siobhan smiled—not as she usually did with a sharp, lopsided motion—but softly, pleasantly. She searched her mind for an older version of herself, wings on her back and free of scars, who still had the patience to fake amicability. “Sorry,” she said. “Yes, the birds in Ireland are quite different. Different species evolved in different areas, though I suppose the answer to your question also depends on what you find different enough. Some birds’ migratory patterns might have them flying great distances, but I don’t know of any specifically that travel through Maine and Ireland. If I were to hazard a guess…” she continued, as though she cared at all to explain this, as though she believed Felix didn’t know. She could hear her own saccharine voice and hated it. “…perhaps the Arctic Tern? That one, then, would be the same.” She felt wrong. She wondered if that was just the milk she was still soaked with. 

“You could birdwatch,” she suggested, hating every syllable. Friendly meant helpful and Siobhan was neither by nature. “The birds you see around you have traveled long and seen many wonderful things and if you watch them, maybe you’ll see a little of the world in them. Birds come down from Canada, up from Venezuela–for example. It’s possible a bird is not native to Maine at all, or the United States.” Siobhan set down her milky diapers. “Regardless, Felix, I don’t believe it matters how many country lines you personally cross. A home is a place of its own ceaseless wonder and worldliness means nothing if you cannot appreciate your home.” Or return to it. “Maine is a beautiful state and you mustn’t think your life has less value for being contained within it. If it is your desire to travel, you should, but I cannot agree with any notion that suggests your life is inferior for the lack of boxes it has checked, so to speak.” It was inferior for a myriad of other reasons. Siobhan realized she sounded stiff, she felt stiff; another by-product of the milk, she guessed. 

She sighed, now came the part of politeness that she especially loathed: asking someone about themself. “Do you have a favorite bird?” She asked through clenched teeth. “How was your green baby food?” If this was what it took to ensure Felix didn’t get a final victory over her, Siobhan wasn’t sure she could play along for much longer. 

—

Siobhan was smart. It was hard not to be impressed with the library of information she seemed to have such easy access to in her mind. She knew about birds, she knew about domestication, she knew about babies’ dietary restrictions. Felix thought they could probably learn a lot from Siobhan, but it felt a little selfish to ask her to teach them anything more than she was willing to offer offhand, so they only nodded. “That’s cool that you know all that.” They tended to agree that domestication wasn’t great, though mostly because of their own… connection with wildlife. It was far easier to see things from an animal’s point of view when you had one living inside of you, wasn’t it? They wondered where Siobhan’s thoughts stemmed from, wondered if there was more to it than what she was saying aloud. Asking would be rude, so they didn’t. They only nodded, offering their silent agreement.

For a moment, they feared that even doing everything in their power to achieve politeness hadn’t been enough. They said they thought that maybe the two of them could hang out, and Siobhan laughed. Felix frowned, wondering if it was a silly notion to begin with. There were probably far better people here to hang out with than Felix, weren’t there? There was a man in the corner dressed as a giant baby who probably had far better stories to tell, a woman decked out in Baby’s Day Out merchandise, including a giant foam finger with Baby Bink’s face on it, who could certainly offer more fun facts about the movie than Felix themself. And Jim Foley was on his way. Siobhan would probably much rather hang out with Jim Foley than Felix, who had never been in Baby’s Day Out at all. 

They felt self conscious, and prepared to excuse themself to go stand somewhere else until Jim Foley arrived. But then, Siobhan smiled in a way that seemed friendly. She started talking about birds and migratory habits, and Felix felt themself relax. They smiled back, listening as she spoke and making note of every word. Siobhan knew a lot about birds; Felix liked learning more. “The Arctic Tern? That sounds like one that would like more… arctic climates. Do they just fly through Maine and Ireland, or do they actually live here? I never thought of Wicked’s Rest as being cold enough for something like that, even if the winters do kind of suck sometimes.” They were engaged in the conversation fully, eager to know more about birds and what Siobhan might think of them. Did she like Arctic Terns? Did it make her homesick, seeing birds that flew through Ireland fly through Maine, too? Felix felt nostalgic sometimes looking at cardinals, which their mother had loved. Did Siobhan have any birds here that made her feel the same? Or was she cut off from them entirely, free from the bitter ache of nostalgia but unable to access the sweeter parts of it as well?

“I don’t know that I’d be much good at it,” they admitted. “Birdwatching, I mean. I know you’re supposed to be still and quiet for things like that, and neither of those are really my specialty. But maybe I could give it a try. You’re right, those birds have stories to tell. We should all be listening to them a little more closely!” Was watching birds, who had traveled from places they’d never seen and to places they’d never go, comparable to making those journeys themself? Felix was stuck where they were, as grounded as the trees rooted into the ground. The birds could build nests within the branches, but it wasn’t quite the same as the tree seeing what the world had to offer for itself. And Felix longed for that. They wanted freedom, wanted to be able to come and go as they pleased, wanted more. All the things Felix wanted were things they knew they’d never get. That hurt far more than they were willing to admit. “Home,” they repeated quietly. “Yeah.” The boiler room didn’t fit the word; they weren’t even sure Wicked’s Rest did. But what could be done about it? There was nothing else for Felix, who would never be permitted to leave. They knew that.

They didn’t notice the strain of Siobhan’s voice as she asked the question; Felix was, mostly, just happy for a change in subject. They hummed as they considered their answer, thinking of all the birds they knew. “My mom loved cardinals,” they replied. “But I don’t know. I always thought great horned owls were really cool. They just look neat, you know? What about you? Do you have a favorite bird?” Glancing down at the jar of baby food, they shrugged. “A little bland,” they admitted. “How about yours?”

—

Siobhan gave up again. She could tell Felix wanted to say more, or rather, had things they weren’t saying. After everything she said, all her useless prattling about birds—which may not have been accurate at all—she’d expected more. To her wealth of knowledge, Felix only said it was cool. Why were they like this? At what point did they give up and stop taunting her? She shook her head and tried to stay the course. Knowledge was a useful tool; an edge to gain against everyone else. Her mother believed it was necessary to amass as much of it—there were so many things she knew, yet she never once answered Siobhan’s curiosities. She wasn’t so eager to flaunt herself, to preen and be washed by praise. Even though her great-great-grandmother readily offered answers, there was never a hint of arrogance in her voice. Neither of them used their knowledge the way Siobhan did. The only thing left for her to cling to was the simple fact that she could learn more things in her centuries than any human could attempt to. If she was wiser than the person she was speaking to, then she maintained an untouchable value. She could be robbed of her wings, her dignity, her beauty but not her mind. 

Yet, it was still strange to watch someone soak in her knowledge as though filled with genuine curiosity. Siobhan hadn’t sought knowledge with pure intentions since she was a child trying to understand her strange world. If part of Felix’s game involved the chance for her to show-off, then it was probably a ploy. Still, she liked doing it. “Yes, I’m not sure it really lived there but a home is different to a bird. Some birds have many homes, some, just one. In Ireland, you saw it off in the sea. I think they bred there, I’m not sure.” I’m not sure—would she have offered such a confession if Felix wasn’t so skilled at faking interest? She only knew things about the Arctic Tern because she’d desired their bones. If Felix knew more about this than her, they weren’t letting on and they certainly weren’t correcting her and it was agonizing to speak to someone who wasn’t trying to win. Of course they were, but they were good at pretending they weren’t. 

She almost wished she was talking to the man dressed as the baby instead. At least he would be an idiot; she knew how to deal with idiots. Siobhan shook her head again. “Birdwatching doesn’t take anything special.” Or so she thought, at least. The title made it sound simple enough. “I’m sure you could start if you desired.” What more did it take that watching birds and cataloging it? Birds weren’t known for their ability to hide, were they? There certainly were some—the Canada goose—that she wished—Canada goose—would hide more—Canada goose. Certain birds that waddled with authority. Of all the animals that had adapted to living among humans, in human civilizations, she’d never seen one so domineering. The rat, the raccoon, and the coyote all seemed to carry a sense of shame and a desire for secrecy. Her distaste came from the previous year, when one nested on her farm, hissed at the dog and caused the dog to whine at her about it. Every day, the dog complained to her about the geese’s lack of desire to play. Much like her, she supposed. Then the dog was heartbroken when it left with its new family. There was something in the nature of human-adapted birds that made them brazen. …Why was she thinking about this? 

Home seemed like a sore topic for Felix, their quietness about it screamed at her like a flashing alarm, but she didn’t care to know more and so didn’t inquire. “Cardinals,” she repeated. Was that an actual fact or a lie for the game? Why were they actually having a conversation about birds? In this baby-themed room? Siobhan wanted it all to end. When was Jim Foley coming? “Yes, an owl. Wonderful creature, great tufts.” She didn’t have the bones of that one. “I’ve always been fond of magpies. Common and annoying yes but…” She trailed off. She remembered why she didn’t act like this more often: it was horribly boring. “Horrifically bland.” She glanced around, eager for something—anything—that was more interesting. “Look, Felix,” she started, gesturing to the merchandise table. “Maybe we should go there? It’s clear Jim Foley isn’t—”

The doors creaked open. Anticipation coursed through the room. Finally, there was Jim Foley himself, Old Soldier #3. Everyone flocked to him. Siobhan was flooded with relief and she nearly toppled over with the force of it. She clutched the baby food table. “I suppose you’ll want to go to him now.”

—

Curiosity was a thing that had clung to Felix since childhood. Maybe there were jokes that could be made of that — old phrases about curiosity and cats that could be flung around with quiet ease, comparisons to housecats tangled up in yarn as penance for their curious nature — but that did little to stifle the feeling. Felix didn’t consider themself to be particularly intelligent, knew that few would argue against such a claim, but they still liked to learn things. They liked to turn the television to documentaries and consume every word from the narrator’s mouth so that they could regurgitate it later, spitting out half-digested facts just to see where they landed to people who didn’t typically care much. Later, they’d probably do a deep dive on everything Siobhan was saying. They’d learn more and more about the birds’ migratory patterns, about why they roosted where they did and what made them fly in the direction they flew. They might reach back out to her, might tell her what they learned and see if she had any thoughts on it.

But for now, they only listened. They made quiet notes of everything she said, thinking of birds and their nature, thinking of how home meant something different to a bird than it did to Felix and that neither of them were wrong in their thinking. They thought of those birds in Ireland, mating somewhere far from where they’d be in a few months’ time. “Do you think they miss it?” They questioned, fiddling absently with one of the cloth diapers they were still holding. “When they’re not in Ireland, do you think they miss it? And — And when they are in Ireland, do you think they miss wherever it is they’ve left? I think… If more than one place is home, it means you’re never really home at all, doesn’t it? You can’t be. Not unless you can be in more than one place at a time.” And that was tragic, in a sense, wasn’t it? To belong everywhere meant you belonged nowhere, too. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, not knowing where you belonged at all. At least it meant you had a chance to find out someday.

They hummed, thinking it was nice that Siobhan seemed to believe in them. If they wanted to, she said, they could start birdwatching. Wasn’t that a nice thought? Wasn’t it nice to think that the only thing that stood between Felix and certain things was a desire to pursue them? “Maybe I’ll try it,” they said. “Buy some binoculars and a book and go into the woods. Would you want to come with me? We could find the Arctic terns, when they’re here instead of Ireland.” Would it feel like home, for Siobhan? How much familiarity did a thing need to carry for it to come as a comfort instead of a painful feeling of nostalgia? 

Nodding, they thought of the way their mother’s face used to light up with the flash of red that flew through the snow out the window. “The colors are pretty,” they said. They didn’t know much about cardinals beyond that, and they didn’t think their mother had, either. Maybe they didn’t need to. Maybe it was enough for a thing to exist and to be beautiful; maybe some things could be loved just because the brightness of the red against the snow made someone you loved smile once. But they liked owls better. Once, it had seemed a traitorous thing to admit, but they didn’t mind saying it to Siobhan now. “They’re called plumicorns,” they offered. “The tufts. I read that once. And – And they live in a lot of different climates. I don’t think they live in Ireland, but they probably could.” Magpies. It wasn’t the answer they’d expected, but they smiled anyway. A magpie wasn’t exotic or brightly colored or exceptional, and they liked that Siobhan liked them anyway. Not everything had to be. “I like magpies. I think they’re cool.” They glanced towards the merch table, nodding with one last look towards the door. If Jim Foley skipped out, they wouldn’t be too upset.

But then, the door opened. Jim Foley stepped in, looking a lot older than he had in Baby’s Day Out but squeezed into the costume he’d worn in the film all the same. The crowd flocked to him, but Felix hesitated. Maybe Jim Foley wasn’t the coolest person you could talk to at a Baby’s Day Out fan event. They turned back to Siobhan with a small smile and a shrug. “You were right, I think. Old Soldier #5 was cooler, anyway. Do you want more milk?”

—

With a child’s hand, it was easy to reach into the world and question. Why this? How come? Why that? When did? Everything was new then and so many answers were beyond that grasp. Curiosity was the response of living but her hands had grown and she wasn’t a child anymore. She sustained now: she ate, she slept, she obeyed her bodily functions but she didn’t dare nourish them. Siobhan watched Felix’s face, searching it for a hint of deceit. No one could be so charmed. No one could maintain such curiosity. It was beaten out of you, it always was. They told you to shut up. They told you simple lies to quiet the mind. You learned ridicule; you stopped being curious. Where was that inside Felix’s eyes? Or their simple questions? More than anything else, it was this that unnerved her: Felix held something she had lost a long time ago, and could never hope to have again. 

“Of course they miss it,” she said, staring at her warped reflecting in the baby food. “Of course they miss Ireland. They wouldn’t come back, year after year and generation after generation, if they didn’t.” Did the minds of those Arctic Terns nest on the memories of Ireland as she did? Of course she missed it, it was her home. “I think you miss every place that means something. I think you miss every place you go.” She loved the birds here, silly as it was. The birds of North America continued to charm her. The magpies of her home chirped and sang but the gobble of the wild turkey and—yes—the honk of the Canada Goose charmed her still. Wherever her gaze landed, there was life. Such was true of the whole world, she reasoned, but she didn’t live in the whole world, she lived here. Of course she missed this place too, she wouldn’t have returned otherwise. 

Would she want to come? “Yes,” she answered without thinking, robbed of the usual logical rejections that spring out like the quills of a porcupine. “I would like that.” Maybe they would find those damned Arctic Terns, or maybe they’d find a Cardinal. Maybe a turkey. Maybe a Blue Jay. She would like to remind herself of the beauty of the world. It was so easy to forget it. 

She took Felix’s correction with tender grace, unbecoming of her. She met their eyes. She nodded and soaked their knowledge in and repeated the word to herself like a child: “Plumicorn.” Now she knew what it was called and the next time she found the bones of an owl, she’d remember this moment and Felix and know that her life was a little richer for the knowledge that it was a plumicorn. How terrible, Siobhan thought, she really had lost the game Felix was playing; she liked them in an honest way, thinking that this was who they were naturally. Oh, but that wasn’t true. As with everything else, there was the trick: her mother’s volcanic anger; her grandmother’s fragile moods; her great-grandmother’s punitive silence; her great-great-grandmother’s inexplicable laughter; Felix’s lie, waiting for her.  And yet, the dominating thought on her mind was a simple thing: that sounded like ‘unicorn’. Wasn’t that remarkable? 

Siobhan expected them to go—she wanted them to go—but they stayed and she couldn’t find the winning angle there. For the second time today, they won. For the first time today, Siobhan smiled honestly. “I would like more milk,” she said. 

[fromnewashes]

TIMING: current. LOCATION: the apple gathering (gatlin fields). PARTIES: @necrosemancy & @fromnewashes SUMMARY: rosemary throws a palm pomme at an unsuspecting target. kit decides this means war. CONTENT WARNINGS: just a lot of bad puns.

Wicked’s Rest was full of so many strange traditions that Rosemary found utterly delightful. Her favorite discovery this year was the palm pomme. It was part communication, part dodgeball, part snack delivery service, and one hundred percent fun and cathartic. 

Apple in hand, the witch pursed her mouth in concentration as she carved a message into the shiny red fruit. She didn’t have an intended target. The only person she could think of to throw an apple at had already received one that she’d done her level best to throw at his head. It had missed and bounced off his shoulder instead, but it was still cathartic. 

Her current apple was much nicer than that particular one had been. This time she was writing a little poem. On the fruit was inscribed ‘roses are red, the leaves are now, too. This apple sends wishes of happy fall to you!’. With a kiss for good luck, she wound her arm back and threw the fruit as hard she could off into the afternoon. 

_____

Wicked’s Rest was a super weird place. The monsters were whatever — Kit had been dealing with monsters for, like, at least three lifetimes now, probably longer (it got a little hard to remember further back than the last three lives or so; some of that might have been intentional), and they were kind of mundane, at this point. Every moody werewolf and undead whatever thought they were the world’s scariest monster, like there hadn’t been a billion just like them over the centuries. Boring. Tired. Overdone. Kit was over it.

No, it wasn’t the monsters that made Wicked’s Rest notable. It was the apples. At least, at this one very specific moment, it was the apples. Because Kit had traveled all over the world, spent decade after decade hopping on planes and trains and boats to zip around wherever she wanted to go, but she was pretty sure this was the first time she’d ever had an apple with a message written on it hurled at her head. There were a lot of jokes she could make about an apple a day keeping the doctor away, but no one was around to hear them and Kit was so not wasting her best material when no one was listening. 

Instead, she figured she’d return the favor. Grabbing an apple from a nearby vendor — a palm pomme, they told her, like that was a totally normal thing that happened anywhere else in the world, this place was incredible — she carved out a message of her own with a grin. She wasn’t one for quirky well-wishes; she much preferred a more direct line of communication. Things like, “If you were a fruit, I bet you’d be a fine apple.” Satisfied with the corny message, she turned back in the direction the apple had come from and blindly hurled it, hoping it would hit whoever had thrown theirs at her — or at least hit someone fun. 

—

She hadn’t been anticipating an apple to come back to her at all. If anything, Rosemary had expected the target less palm pomme would have only registered as a blip on the radar of her life. And yet, only a few minutes after she’d thrown the apple, another came hurtling back at her. 

The fruit bounced off her shoulder and landed with a soft thud. She picked it up, curious what message the universe could have deigned her worthy of receiving. Rosemary barely stifled an undignified snort of laughter. ‘A fine apple’? She took a bite out of the apple as she pondered what kind of response would be worthy of a pick up line so impossibly corny. 

Not much time had passed before Rosemary found herself with a fresh palm pomme in hand and a new message for whatever unsuspecting victim the apple blessed with its message. ‘I think you’re an apple-solute winner!’ She threw the apple back from whence it came. 

______

This time, the apple didn’t come as quite as much of a surprise. You know the old saying — catch me off guard by hurling an apple at my head once, shame on you. Catch me off guard by hurling an apple at my head twice, shame on me. It applied to all aspects of life, really. It was a very versatile saying. Kit used it every single day. 

All this to say, she was kind of ready for the second apple. She was looking off in the same direction she’d thrown hers, concentrating carefully on the crowd and, sure enough, a second apple came her way just a few minutes after the first. She still hadn’t seen who’d thrown it, but she had a much clearer sense of the direction now. Plus, it didn’t hit her this time. She didn’t catch it — even if she had that kind of coordination, she didn’t want to risk hurting her hand by letting an apple smack into her palm at top speeds; she needed that hand for surgery! — but she side stepped and let it fall on the ground beside her. 

Leaning down, she picked it up and read the message carved into the skin with a faint chuckle. Apple-solute winner. That was a pretty good one. Determined, she grabbed another apple and carved a new message into it: Consider this me giving you a round of appleause. She reared back, tossing this apple in the same direction as the first.

—

One apple coming her way hadn’t been too much of a surprise, but two apples? Now that was a delight! Rosemary snickered at the horrible pun before tucking the second apple into her bag as a snack for later. The pun left her wondering, however, how she could one-up it. 

That need to win the silly game she found herself playing was how Rosemary found herself back in line for yet another palm pomme, all the while trying to think of how best to surpass ‘appleause’ on the scale of bad puns. 

After typing a list of potential contenders out on her phone so as not to waste the apple, she finally settled on a message. ‘It’s apple-rent that you like to joke. Does it peel good to make puns?’ Her handwriting was as tidy as it could be, for a message carved into the small surface of an apple. Letting the palm pomme fly, Rosemary couldn’t help but wonder who the apples were reaching. Was it the same person? Were different people receiving her fun fruit messages? She craned her neck to see if she could spot who it struck, but she couldn’t quite tell. She was throwing it through bushes and trees, so getting a good eye on the end point of her apple’s trajectory was difficult.

_______

This time, Kit was waiting for the apple. She watched the direction the first two had come from intently, eyes scanning the crowd. She had to crane her neck, had to shift her position as much as she could to see around the bushes without leaving her ‘post’ where the apple would come. It was a hard balance to maintain, but Kit was dedicated. And — there it was. A blonde woman bought another apple from the booth before pulling out her phone. For a moment, Kit thought maybe it was a coincidence — lots of people here were buying apples, after all — but the blonde began carving into the apple and, a few moments later, the apple was at her feet.

She had the who now. And maybe that would have been the point where another person would have just… walked up and introduced herself. But Kit was having too much fun with the game. She wanted to see how far she could go, wanted to know how long she could keep this up. At what point would the other woman figure out who she was? Would she give up before that, or was she stubborn? Kit had to know. Call it… scientific curiosity. (She called most things scientific curiosity.) 

Buying another apple, she considered for a moment before carving into it: You really know how to squeeze the day. You’re harvesting a lot of laughs here. Keep it up, and you can be the apple of my eye. Satisfied, she threw the apple — now with the added benefit of knowing where she was actually meant to be aiming.

—

The third apple that came flying Rosemary’s way struck with a lot more accuracy than the previous two had. She’d been busily hunting for more potential puns that incorporated the word ‘apple’ on her phone, and hadn’t seen the palm pomme coming until it struck her solidly in the arm. She smoothed a hand over the spot the apple struck to soothe it before picking the fruit up with greedy fingers to read her new message from her mystery pen pal. 

Whoever was writing the messages on the returning palm pommes was certainly enjoying sending back cheesy pick up lines. Rosemary happily tucked the apple into her bag with the other and made a mental note to test out a pie recipe with all the apples if they weren’t too bruised. As she waited in line for another apple, her eyes scanned the general vicinity of where the apples had been coming from. There were no less than ten different people it might have been, and of course all of them seemed to have an apple or two beside them. 

She hastily scratched out yet another message onto the apple before throwing it again. Then she turned to watch the booth to see who would go to buy an apple next. ‘Pie think at my core, my only down cider is my love for bad jokes.’

_____

She watched as her not-so-mystery apple buddy scanned the crowd, half tempted to give herself away with a wave. But, no — she’d narrowed it down on her own, and it was only fair to allow the apple-hurling blonde to do the same. Plus, the mystery really added to things here, didn’t it? It made the experience more… exciting. Kit pretended to be inspecting the apple cart closest to her as the blonde’s eyes moved around in search of who she was aiming for. Seconds later, the next apple came.

Kit picked it up carefully, turning it over to read the note. She snorted at the words carved into it — down cider, that was a good one. Turning back to the cart she’d been purchasing from, she flashed a grin. “Give me the biggest apple you have, Jonagold,” she said seriously, leaning against the cart. The salesman rolled his eyes, but obliged — the apple he handed Kit was large and juicy. Excellent. 

With the perfect canvas acquired, she began carving her next masterpiece: Well, if it’s bad jokes you want, I’ll apple-y oblige. I can really peel the joy here. Of cores, I enjoy your jokes as well. If you want to talk without the apples, we can. Orchard we keep up the charade? I guess it depends on whether or not you can seed me. She grinned, finishing up the carving and tossing the apple back.

—

What came back was perhaps the single greatest string of bad apple related puns Rosemary had ever seen in her entire life. It was magnificent. Not to mention the apple was huge. It was probably a softball in a prior life. And based on the people she’d seen walk up to the stand for a fresh apple, she had narrowed the pool of suspects down to exactly two people. A man in his fifties who seemed to be with his family, and a woman who didn’t look too much younger than the witch was. 

She scampered up to grab another apple and took her sweet time writing a short reply on the shiny red apple. Now to decide which of the two she would throw it at. She spied on them for a few moments as she weighed her options, before deciding the man and his partner seemed happy together, and were too blissfully in love with one another to be wasting any time throwing punny palm pommes at random strangers. Rosemary threw the apple straight at the young woman and waited. ‘I’ll apple-y concede this match. Tree winner of the pun off is you!’

—

This time, the apple came with much more accuracy. Kit grinned as it bounced off her and onto the ground, fairly certain that her new friend had narrowed down the pool of potential suspects to the proper target. She leaned down, picking up the apple and tossing it into the air before catching it again, turning it over to read the message there. A victory wasn’t really what she’d been going for specifically, but Kit was competitive enough to accept it with a grin, anyway. She tucked the apple into her bag with the others and trotted over to the blonde woman, deciding to forgo the veil of mystery that had already been peeked behind, anyway.

As she approached, she took a small, dramatic bow. “You’re good,” she greeted, “but I’ve had a lot of pun practice.” Multiple lifetimes, to be exact. It was kind of hard to compete with someone who’d been making puns in the days of horse and carriage travel. “I’ll give you props for being willing to con-seed defeat here. Do you have a name? I’ve been calling you Apple, but something tells me that’s not what you prefer.” 

—

Rosemary’s suspicions were confirmed as the other woman walked straight over to her and bowed. The witch hopped to her feet, delighted. “Con-seed! I can’t believe I didn’t think of that one!” She exclaimed, burning her face in her hands. “See, this is why you won the great apple pun-off of twenty-twenty-four.” 

“As for my name”, she held out her hand in greeting. “You were at least in the right category of names since apples are edible. I’m Rosemary. Lovely to meet you, sorry if i accidentally hit you too hard with a palm pomme. I’ve been throwing apples at random, and you’re the first one to send me one back, …?” The woman’s voice trailed off in question, seeking the stranger's name. 

—

It was nice to have her genius appreciated. Sure, people at work were grateful when she saved a life or whatever, but her surgery puns tended to be met with more eye rolls than anything else. Everyone got so worked up in the hospital sometimes; Grey’s Anatomy really undersold how sexy it all was, much to Kit’s dismay. Still, she enjoyed the work more than she enjoyed the puns, so it all worked out in the end. It did make her a little more pleased to have someone compliment her wordplay, though, and she grinned to show her gratitude. “If it’s any consolation, you had a good run. Down cider was really clever.” 

Rosemary. Kit took her hand and gave it a shake, committing the name to memory in a way she rarely did. If Rosemary thought she was funny, her name could be worth remembering… at least for a little while. There was no telling if Kit would remember it by the time she got home that night. “Not too hard, don’t worry. I’m pretty good at dodging if they’re coming too fast.” She flashed another grin. “I’m Kit.”

—

The witch preened at the compliment she’d been paid. “I was proud of that one.” Rosemary said with a grin. “I made a list on my phone of potential candidates. Most of them were bad, but down cider was a really solid one.” She hadn’t had much opportunity for silly things in her youth, and had embraced them wholeheartedly in her adulthood. It seemed unfortunate that the lack of lightheartedness seemed to have returned for a spell with the death of her former teacher. This little game reminded her it was high time she brought some levity back into her life. 

“Well that’s good to hear, though I’m not much of a shot anyway.” She laughed, shaking the woman’s hand. Kit. Rosemary thought the name suited her- she looked like a Kit. “It’s very nice to meet you Kit. And very nice to crown you winner of the apple pun off.”

—

“Oh, I have got to see that list!” Kit grinned, excitement sparking behind her eyes. She liked seeing people like this; light, excited, thoughtful. It was when things got serious that she tended to make a quick getaway, when people wanted to talk about something deeper than surface level that she felt suffocated. Kit didn’t do well with anything real, which meant an apple not-festival full of people hurling apples at one another was exactly the kind of thing that appealed to her. Everything was light and breezy; everything was simple. That was exactly how she wanted it to stay.

She nodded as Rosemary shook her hand, pulling back when the shake was finished and leaning back on her heels. “It’s nice to meet you, too,” she replied. “And I’m happy to award you second place.”

—

Delighted, Rosemary pulled her phone from her pocket and hastily opened up her list before presenting it to Kit as though it were her grand prize. “I can’t just think of them on the fly, so I figured I’d make a list to prepare for any incoming apples. I might have to test them on other unsuspecting victims.” 

The witch curtsied with a laugh. “Glad to see my work was good enough to rank at least.” She said before stashing her phone back in her pocket. “I’m going to have to find a horse or something to feed all these extra apples to so they don’t go to waste. They don’t have a petting zoo around here or anything, so they?” Rosemary looked around for something to do with the fruit. 

_______

Kit plucked the phone out of Rosemary’s hand, scrolling through the puns with a cackle. “Oh, these are good. You should totally use all these on other people, for sure.” She held the phone back out for Rosemary to take again, shaking her head with a grin. As far as people throwing apples at you, Kit figured Rosemary was a ‘best case scenario’ kind of option.

Glancing around, Kit shrugged. “No idea,” she replied, “but never hurts to look. Hey, how about we go on the search for a hungry horse? If there aren’t any here, we can always break into a barn someplace. Plenty of farmers in this town.” She had no idea if there were any farmers in town or not, but it seemed like a good guess. Small towns loved their farms, after all.

_______

Rosemary nodded in agreement. “I’m sure we’d be forgiven for a little breaking and entering if we’re bringing snacks for the animals.” She teased as she began to gather her belongings. Once all her palm pommes were secured, she stood and dusted herself on. She turned to her new acquaintance and gestured forward. “Lead on!” Horses and apple puns- Rosemary could think of no better way to finish her day. 

[closingwaters]

TIMING: Mid June

PARTIES: @felinefrenzies @closingwaters

SUMMARY: Syd sees Teagan is having trouble getting her bracelet back from a lollusc, and they jump in to help.

WARNINGS: Mentions of sibling death and parental death

“Where are you, bugger?” Teagan groaned, stomping around the sand in hopes of luring out the giant clam that had her sister’s bracelet stuck to it. She’d been out at the beach for the better part of four hours, having no luck. “Hm…” She grumbled to herself, watching the sand move erratically. Knowing it was either the sand beast or the clam, Teagan quickly made her way to the pavement that met with the beach, disappointed to find it was only the thing that lurked below. She blew a raspberry at it, dropping to the ground in a crouch as she assessed the situation. 

“What do clams even like? Do you want to be lured with some damned food? Just…just come on out already!” She stood up quickly, stomping her foot and raking her hands in her hair over and over again to keep herself from getting too angry. “Won’t let ya get to me. Won’t let ya…” The sand trembled again, only this time, to Teagan’s relief something rose slowly out of it. “You!” She found the nearest rock and threw it after seeing the telltale spot on the shell. The impact was light, thumping dully against the clam. It chittered curiously, tendrils writhing until a puff of something shot out of it and threw Teagan back a few steps. She began to laugh uncontrollably, eyes widening with surprise as she tried to stop.

Syd had been doing her best to stay outside during the day, that way at night when the inevitable happened, exhaustion loomed over the jaguar in a way that mattered, keeping it tucked away, as if hidden for safe keeping. A change of pace was necessary, as the trails Syd typically frequented did nothing to satiate the constant stirring at the back of her mind. Her nerves had turned into ribbons, constantly on edge, whipping from one edge to the other. 

It was how she found herself on a different path, one that led to the water’s edge. Water lapped at the shore, and at the ankles of a woman who was bent over the sand, hand plunged forward. Then, suddenly, laughter split the distance between them, and her head was thrown back. Syd narrowed her eyes, moving further along the edge. “You good?” Syd called out, nearly jumping out of her skin as something skittered by her foot. “What the fuck–” It was one of those stupid clams, or clam like being, and gas expelled from its narrow gap that kept its shell together. Syd immediately backed away from it, “I thought they got rid of these fuckers last year!” Waving away the gas, Syd kept their head tilted to avoid inhaling any of it. They had had a run in with these in middle school, and they weren’t about to get caught in the laughing misery again. “Hey, you need to back the fuck up or else you won’t stop!” 

Teagan’s abdomen hurt, the muscles unable to catch a moment of reprieve while the clam shoved its gas in the air. Tears streamed down her face, “Huh?” Teagan continued to laugh, a look of horror contorting her features as she did. “O-okay!” There was almost a sense of calm knowing there was a way to stop the laughter, but that meant the possibility of losing the clam completely and losing the chance at obtaining her sister’s bracelet. Her laughter hitched in her throat at the thought, and she had crawled toward the shoreline as an idea sparked in her mind.

Already, the short time of slight distance made the laughter die, if only slightly. Still, Teagan made it to the edge and plunged her hands into the salty water. It shocked her system enough to release her almost fully from the effects of the gas, and despite the excruciating pain, it felt like a small victory.

“Don’t…” She choked slightly, the last remnants of laughter stuck in her chest as she regarded the stranger. “Don’t let it get away! Please!” She swallowed, “It has—the tendrils! The-the damn thing has my—it’s important!” Teagan pleaded, reaching for the knife at her thigh, struggling for a few beats as the burns caused her hand to tremble. She gave herself a few moments to breathe and focus, studying the way the clam moved. When the timing felt right, she readied her knife, cocking her arm back and closing one eye to laser in. “Stop running!” Teagan shot her arm forward, torpedoing the blade straight to one of the clam’s tendrils. It let out a pained screech, and she let a smile curl to her lips as she trotted cautiously up to the stranger.

“Think that’ll slow it down?”

Syd missed the flash of pain that skittered across the blonde’s features as she stuck her hands into the ocean, too distracted by the pleading that came after. “Don’t what– oh, fuck.” They looked down at the sand, watching as the clam in question dug itself deeper into the sand, tendrils slipping through the sand. Suddenly, there was a knife, and the aversion Syd had to such objects showed in the way they recoiled, but it was stuck into the creature instead of her, and so she relaxed ever so slightly. “Fuck, one can hope, I guess.” 

They didn’t remember what had helped the time she and her friends had gotten cornered by a few of them, but there’d been somebody to help, then. Right now, it was just the two of them. “You go that way, I’ll uh, corner it from this side.” They didn’t sound too sure, but the pleading that came with the others’ actions was enough to make Syd stick around. Maybe she could strike it with claws. It’d be more efficient than one knife, she thought. Would the jaguar comply, though? Would it allow her a partial shift, or would it turn its back on her, despite the lack of actual danger? Syd crouched over the clam as it came to the surface again, tendrils striking out opposite sides, and gas leaking into the air ahead. They stuck their nose into their sleeve as they moved forward, shouting for their companion to dive. 

Tears brimmed in the nix’s eyes as victory and hope mixed together in her stomach. Acid coated her throat, but Teagan quickly swallowed it down as she watched the woman cover her face with her sleeve. That was a good idea, and for good measure, she held breath. It was a temporary one, but her lungs were more than capable while she exerted herself only slightly. With renewed enthusiasm, Teagan wrangled what tendrils she could and yanked the clam closer to her. She smiled, the blade’s hilt gleaming under the sun for a moment before being covered with gas. “Hmm…” A grumble escaped Teagan, and she could feel her lungs begin to burn with need for air. 

Coc oen…

If they were going to get anywhere with the clam, they needed something sharp, like her claws. There wasn’t a lot of time to ponder on the variables, but being as the woman was a stranger, it was near impossible to check if she were safe—supernatural. Grumbling again, Teagan figured taking down her glamour and taking a breath was a calculated risk she needed to take. “Pull!” She commanded with a brief chuckle, releasing her hold once the shell was completely out of the sand. As she continued to laugh, Teagan’s flesh turned a pale pink. Claws prepared to swipe, but she was quickly pushed aside by a few unnoticed tendrils, slicing her leg in the process.

Syd watched their company carefully, eyes widening slightly as the once pale skin pulled over itself with a sheen, almost as if in the blink of an eye. Claws appeared, so unlike their own that sometimes split from her fingers, and she opened her mouth to ask what was happening, but the laughter from the woman was distracting enough to make her realize that getting too close to the exposed gas might send her into a fit of her own laughter. Could they really afford that? Probably not. 

The tendrils snapped out, dragging viciously against the ground, and against the woman’s leg. Syd didn’t know what would happen now, if anything good, but they figured that now was as good a time as any. This person clearly wasn’t human, and this was clearly something important, and so Syd decided that it was important for them, too. They dug their own hands into the sand around the clam-like creature, willing their own claws to sprout. They did so on command, and Syd silently thanked the jaguar for having their back at least this once. Maybe it saw the other as a non-threat, thus allowing her control. Or maybe things were returning to normal. While the blonde worked on one side of the clam’s shell, Syd angled their own claws carefully to shove between the opposite side, popping it open finally, but not without some of the gas floating up towards their face. 

Laughter began to bubble in their chest as they shook their head in the direction of where their hands met around the clam, “get it out, quick!” 

Despite her limp, the nix dragged herself back to the clam and shoved her hand inside the thing. She tore aimlessly, feeling a wetness coat her arm and hand as she worked her way through. Several tidbits of weight plopped against Teagan’s limb and she felt laughter building in her belly while the thing screeched. She wasn’t sure if she had cut the right tendril off yet, but she didn’t really have the time to strategize, especially when she and the other were knocked several feet back with the creature’s last ditch effort to get away. 

Teagan latched onto what tendrils she could, taking them with her in the fall. Sand was caked onto her wet skin, and she searched frantically through the oozing coils. Nothing like Efa’s bracelet appeared in her quick check and her shoulders fell. “Fuck. Fuck!” Teagan exclaimed through her laughter, scrambling on her hands and knees to pounce back onto the clam, but it had scurried back into the sand. “No!” Her fist slammed against the sand, and she laughed through her tears, shoving the clam’s limbs away with a distraught yelp. 

Despite the laughter that wrung out between them, this was no actual laughing matter. Syd could tell by the blonde’s body language that she was distressed, and while she thought of herself as the kind of person who could ease somebody into chilling out, she knew that suggesting that kind of thing, especially right now, would be the end of it all. If her company decided to become angry with them for the suggestion, there was no telling how the jaguar would react. So Syd held their tongue, plunging claws after where the last air bubble had broken the surface of the sand.

With their other hand, they began to scoop out the sand, throwing it to the side. Syd couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled from between their lips, but there was no point in trying to stop it. They had jewelry to save. 

Finally, after what felt like a few monotonous minutes, her claw hitched on something. Quickly, Syd yanked their hand backwards, practically flying onto their back. The clam that they had originally been after, missing tendrils and all, flung into the air. Laughter boomed from Syd as they tried to get to their feet, scrambling forward to grab it before it could dive back into the sand. “Got it!” They giggled, swinging it by one of its tendrils, careful to avoid the razor sharp edge. The jewelry was visible, and Syd held it towards their company, allowing her the honors of yanking it free. 

Relief and awe washed over the nix's features, slowly becoming a victorious smile as her new friend presented her with what they had spent so long fighting for. She laughed and laughed, feeling the sensation rumble from a genuine place. Thanks to the stranger, Teagan didn’t have to let go of one of the last things she had of her sister's, and that filled her with a kind of glee she hadn't felt in quite some time. 

“It’s in my hand! Thank you!” And she meant it. She didn't care if her gratitude was taken, if she owed a million favors. All that mattered to the fae in that moment was that she didn't have to lose another piece of her sister again. She hardly remembered Efa’s voice, let go of their home and most of its momentos. If she had lost the bracelet, Teagan didn't think she'd ever forgive herself, but that didn't matter anymore. The creature had suffered enough and it was time to let it scurry away. 

“You can let it go now,” She chuckled, rolling over to her back to take a much needed break in the sand. “Think I…just need…a moment.” Still laughing, Teagan shut her eyes and held Efa's bracelet to her chest, hoping that the laughing gas's effects would fade away soon. 

“Oh, no worries!” Laughter spilled into the air from where they stood, and they were only a little annoyed that they’d let themselves get exposed to the laughing gas the little bastards expelled. She was just glad that she could successfully help somebody without… jagging out. Syd leaned forward, hands on their knees as they tried to even their breaths between the laughter. She knew that they were no joke in reality, and that it was better to… 

Syd blinked at the blonde, looking down at their hand that was still twisted around the weird tentacle structure that had taken the bracelet down with it. They dropped it, wiping their hand against their shin before swallowing in more air. “Me, too. Hope you don’t mind if I join you.” Even if the blonde did mind, was that really fair? It was with her help that she’d gotten what she’d been so frantic over. 

The balam collapsed a few feet away from the blonde on one languid movement, the sand a decent mattress beneath the exhaustion that was already beginning to slip over her frame from the laughter that continued on. They tried to clasp a hand over their mouth in an attempt to quiet it down, but it was no use. “Ah, fuck. This shit sucks, but I’m–” in between were giggles as they spoke to their companion, “glad you got your bracelet back. The name is Syd, by the way. It’s shitty to meet you under these circumstances, but good overall!” At least they had successfully won. 

[eldritchaccident]

Timing: In the early hours of the morning Location: The Jones household basement Feat: @faustianbroker & @eldritchaccident Warnings: None on the list, but a large beast does get stapled back together Summary: What happens when a phone call becomes a visit

The downfall of having a physical form was, of course, the risk of damage.

It was a risk Leviathan had happily taken in stride for centuries, and it had never really bitten the demon in the ass too badly until now. The monstrous, semi-aquatic creature was tucked away in the dark recesses of a damp cave that sat along the coast of another dimension, its sides rising and falling with fluttering irregularity. Every once in a while the silence would be broken by the sound of scales dragging across stone as it repositioned itself, battered body aching and bleeding blue onto the cavern floor. It didn’t have much time to make good on the deal it had been forced into accepting, it knew. It had to move soon, but it was in too much pain to even try. They had cornered it here, a half dozen of them, bearing down upon it with ferocity that it knew came from fear. But they wouldn’t kill it, they wouldn’t stoop to that level. No, they had other ideas. They would still make use of Leviathan yet. There was little sense in wasting the talents of one of their own kind, after all, like Leviathan had wasted Wyvss’Kgorr’s. So, with teeth cutting into its neck and its spine threatening to shatter under the pressure, it had accepted the deal. The other demons left it then, satisfied with the results of this single-use league, and went back to their respective dimensions, likely to never coordinate with one another in such a way again. 

Leviathan would be proud of causing such a reaction once it felt less like it was on the brink of death.

There wasn’t a way to tell how much time had passed here, cut off from the starlight as it was, but every moment that passed stacked an additional brick of unease on the wall that the demon was trying to build around itself. All of this had happened because it cared too much, because it was too curious for its own good. It wouldn’t let such things get in the way again, it told itself, even if it did have to return to Wicked’s Rest. It wouldn’t (it probably would). Laying there in the pitch darkness, Leviathan was acutely aware of a sudden tug in its chest. It lifted that massive head, many eyes blinking out of sync as it focused on nothing but dark. A low growl started in its throat and it shifted lazily before wincing in surprise as a sudden light filled the cavern. It was only a pinprick at first, but it blinded the beast into submission, eyes squeezing shut and head rearing back, away from the offensive glare.

Those eyes remained shut, until it heard a sound. It wasn’t sure what the sound was, but it knew it had not come from itself. Blinking them open again, squinting against the light, Leviathan peered into the space in front of it while its eyes adjusted. That tug in its chest grew stronger, heart hammering against prehistoric ribs. The light was a ring in the air, and in the center of it, a dimmer source of illumination, and… a figure. A person. 

“... Teddy?”

—

Days of non-stop work, weeks of planning, months of research. All boiled down to a pin prick point of focus. Determination. Hope. Teddy’s blood, sweat, and tears ran rivers. But the ritual was working. Energy effused through every vein, every pore. Alight inside, illuminating their skin and the dim basement around them with an eerie blue glow. 

Teddy's breath felt like fire, each labored movement came at cost. This wasn't the kind of magic that naturally flowed through them. Summoning was much more Van’s thing than Teddy's. But there was no way they were going to risk hurting her, or even the possibility of bringing her near something so dangerous. 

Hell, Emilio was supposed to be next to them too, but Teddy wouldn't let that happen. Was supposed to be by their side in case shit went sideways, or they somehow dialed the wrong demon number. But he'd been through too much with Basil or whatever the fuck that demon was called. Still on bedrest. His favorite thing. So no. Teddy had to do this alone. Had to make contact. Had to hear from their father. 

And it was working. 

A hole ripped through the fabric of the universe, tore a portal through to another dimension. The brusk smell of the endless ocean burst through first. Unmistakable and nostalgic. Enough to know Teddy was doing something right. A hazy picture began to form next. A room too dark to see, something that Teddy couldn't allow their heart to race at. At that moment, it was like they were a twelve volt battery channeling a whole power plant through its cells. All while trying to recite the dictionary backwards from memory. 

And then its voice rang through. Rough, rich, and rumbling deep into Teddy's bones. 

“D-dad!” Ted called out, the portal shrank slightly as their focus faulted, their breath hitched until they could catch themself and steady it once more. A sizzle at their fingertips reminded them how little room for error there was, and how dumb of an idea it was to do this alone. 

— 

All those ideals of closing itself off from others crumbled in the hopeful and frightened face of Theodore Jones, who called out to it with a term of familiarity that it hadn’t heard in so long… It groaned, picking itself up off the floor of the cave and dragging that enormous body closer to the portal. Without any care for what might happen if its child lost focus and the portal closed on it, Leviathan stuck one bestial, webbed hand through the opening, gripping the edge of the luminous tear in reality as if it were merely a rung on a ladder. “Teddy,” it repeated slowly, eyes closing again as it hauled itself closer. It wasn’t sure which would be easier—helping Teddy make the portal stronger and larger, or shifting into something smaller. The latter would be advantageous to fitting into the basement of their home, which is what the background behind its child appeared to be. But the former wouldn’t be a bad idea either, so Leviathan summoned the last of its strength to do both at the same time. That handful of eyes snapped open again, glowing a bright ethereal blue as it tried to strengthen the connection with its own power, continuing to pull itself through the portal as seafoam bubbled up around it and sloughed off parts of its body. Shedding its previous form didn’t get rid of the wounds, and the pain of ripping them open drew a long, grating cry from its jaws as it slumped to the floor of the basement, thrashing its body farther into the room and curling its tail around itself. 

The spiny, webbed dorsal fin flattened as the creature let out a long, exhausted sigh. Gills flapped uselessly, but the lungs in its anatomy kept it from being in any immediate peril. Drying out would be unpleasant, but that was a concern for later. Leviathan was still slicked with blue blood, long head swinging around to face Teddy. Even among the perplexing layout of the demon’s features, pride could be seen. “Just… the person I wanted to see,” it rattled.

—

The portal wasn’t necessarily supposed to work like that. Was built to be more of a phone call than a bridge, but— Ahh. Leviathan’s energies pooled into the ritual, like the sea meeting a freshwater spring. A brackish backlash that somehow both soothed and burned with a familiarity that only stood to bolster Teddy’s resolve. It wasn’t expected, but they couldn’t help the elation, that quickly melted away into horror as they realized exactly what shape the beast was in. 

Leviathan slithered through and the gateway snapped shut. A sickening pop and rush of air and energy propelled Teddy backwards, falling into the great creature’s side with a soft thud. A moment of shock left the caster breathless, whirling around to take stock of what just happened. Long distance facetime connections don’t usually end with an instantaneous house call. 

A horrible part of Teddy’s imagination briefly wondered whether it was an improperly done ritual that had marred the Leviathan’s hide in such a vicious manner, that somehow this blood was their fault but the bite marks and claw wounds were more than enough evidence that something else was at play. 

“W-what happened— Dad are you okay??” Teddy’s voice croaked, their hands found its face, or at least what they could hold from such a small state beside it. “What can I do to help?” They were tired, spent from the spell, from the variant magic running through their veins, from the weeks of exhausting research and need to get it just right. But goddamn there wasn’t a fucking thing they wouldn’t jump up and do for Leviathan right then. 

Their dad was home, really properly there, not just on the other end of a half-thought dream. It looked at them with pride and Teddy’s heart soared with all the ache they’d carried these months without their father. Thinking they’d never get to see it again at all. Hell, if Levi wanted a few human sacrifices Teds could think of a few less than pleasant neighbors who hadn’t been so kind during Pride month. “What do you need?” 

—

The demon groaned and shifted its body weight again, but held its head still in the caster’s hands. “Fine, I’m fine,” it breathed, not wanting to worry Teddy more than it inevitably would. “They ah… well. It was as I feared.” The greater demons had taken issue, and had pursued it. “I was found.” It sucked in another long breath, closing its eyes again and just enjoying the feeling of being embraced. “It’s okay. I needed… to come back here. You… made that much easier,” it admitted, closing its eyes. “As for what I need… time. Just time.” It let out one last ragged sigh before blinking and swiveling its gaze to meet Teddy’s. 

The human emotions that had plagued it while it remained tethered to its ward had never fully left. Or rather, they lingered in spite of the involuntary compulsion to experience them having been removed, and now they only existed in the Leviathan’s breast because it wished it so. Hours ago, it had wanted to feel nothing, to return to numbness, but how could it still want that when Teddy was here in front of it, pressing their hands to its scales and asking how they could help? Void above, they’d never wanted anything but to help their father and make it proud of them, and Leviathan could have done much better in showing them just how proud it was. In the end, it had become cold. It told itself this was to spare them both a more painful goodbye, and while that might have been true, it was not the whole truth.

“I am sorry,” came the creature’s low, rumbling apology. “For everything. Please, tell me… how have you been? What’s happened since I had to leave?”

—

Fine wasn’t a word they’d use to describe the gouged flesh and torn hide, but Teddy also knew the beast well enough that it would deny any fussing and worrying unless given forcefully. Years ago, a young Theodore had tried to salve the demon’s wounds with stolen Hello Kitty bandaids, glittery stickers, and ‘healing’ pancakes with extra shrimp. But the Jones house never lacked for those dumb enough to pick a bone with them. So Teds got a lot of practice in. Even shapeshifting demons from before the dawn of time needed a little TLC after a rampage or two. 

This seemed worse, somehow. In a way that Teddy couldn’t put into words but felt deep in their gut. They didn’t want to leave its side, but some of the weeping wounds needed a little more than just time. “Too many— even for you to fight?” They guessed tentatively. A spark of undeniable skepticism lacing their sentence, as if anything in the great vastness of the void above and below could ever come close to the might their father commanded. The question was a good enough segue to step aside for a moment. Grab some tools and tenderly start to work. A needle and thread would do about as well as a kayak in a hurricane, so the next best thing would be a staple gun and duct tape. Emilio would be proud. 

“Made easi— I helped you? Dad I just— It wasn’t supposed to be a physical tear— that was all you.” Mend the big gaps, ignore the sounds of pain, wipe off anything too mucky, sanitize with vodka. Teddy’s brain went all methodical in times like this. An engine built to bring things back to calm, to safety. Even so, the talking was nice. Hearing his voice made them feel a little less alone in the world. Sure, Teddy had a pretty tight family they’d forged for themself here, but Levi was their dad. And that was— a bit of a sore subject. 

“Lots.” They admitted. Their mind flashed back to Canada. To the worst parts first. How many times they’d be injured, only to be saved by Leviathan’s blessing. How many times they nearly died. But it wasn’t all bad. “I uh— I think I’m gonna marry Emilio. That’s a big one. Didn’t really see that coming.” 

—

There was a long pause before Leviathan answered the first question, for the demon disliked the answer. “Yes. Even for me.” They had no natural predators but themselves, and while Leviathan had spent centuries battling ferocious creatures and armies of men, it still could not stand up to the might of six others at once. “But I am alive, so who really won?” it added with a grating sound that was maybe supposed to be a laugh. 

Dying, of course, had never been the true peril of being caught. Leviathan had wondered for a time if they would merely seek revenge, but knowing what it would do if faced with such a crisis of personal security and safety, it knew that it would have used that leverage for more than just death. The scenario with Wynne’s demon had been different—more had been at stake. Or, well, things outside of itself had been at stake. There had been no room for loopholes. But of course, it could not tell Teddy any of this.

The demon hissed softly in response to the staple gun, flinching away from it without wanting to, eyes tightly shut. “Maybe not,” it ground out, “but I didn’t have the strength to even contact you, much less… create a portal from the ground up. So yes. You gave me an anchor. You helped.” 

Lots. That was nondescript. But they’d have plenty of time for talking, it knew, so it didn’t worry too much that the full truth was being withheld for now. It had its own secrets, after all. “Marry?” it piped up, looking up at Teddy again. Humans were really pretty crazy about that kind of thing, weren’t they? It stood to reason that Teddy would be just as susceptible to romanticism. Hm. I suppose my faith in the slayer to look after you was well placed. It would have to thank him later. “That is very good news,” the demon purred, carefully lifting a front leg and brushing the back of a clawed, webbed toe against Teddy’s side. Its teeth were bared in something that was probably supposed to be a smile, though given the beastly form it had taken, it looked more like a grimace. Ah well. “I am… here for you. I’m not leaving again, Teddy.” There was a beat of powerful silence. “I promise.”

—

“Naaaah, I bet you had them all scared. Just a flinch and they’d be quaking in their eldritch boots.” A childish lie, hoping to be true. Teddy nuzzled in closer to the hardened scales and expanse of rough flesh. Worming their way between the folds of its arm into a crook that snugly held the all too human Jones. A body never meant for comfort or its ilk, but to the Leviathan’s ward? It was home. Teddy was home after far too long, even if it wasn’t exactly the same, even if it never would be again. They had their dad and everything seemed just a little more okay. 

From their squished up position, using the big amphibious lizard-thing as both blanket and mattress, Teddy surged with a pride vibrant enough to spur what dregs of energy was left in their system to spark outwards and shatter the one lightbulb in the basement. Leaving just the candles and one very persistent glow-stick from a parade in June to keep the space from total darkness. Thankfully. Teds didn’t exactly want to explain that one just yet, and the Leviathan probably needed some quiet and peace to rest. 

“Better that you’ll be here for it. Who else is gonna give away the blushing bride?” To be fair, most of Teddy’s ideas of what marriage was came from old movies and pop culture. Growing up, Levi had never been shy about multiple partners and enjoying itself whenever the whims arose. The desire to tie their life to Emilio came from somewhere else entirely. All wrapped up in the ways the hunter made them feel so secure and safe, in the respect and admiration they had for him. In the love for his personality and how perfectly it complimented their own. Love in a completely new form, as steady as a stone. 

The wriggling human stilled after the Leviathan’s next statement. Its promise. Teddy’s breath stopped short, they let the weight of what it said sink in, even if they couldn’t fully process immediately what it would mean, the elation and joy sparked up right away. Like a giddy toddler, they pressed themself further into the beast’s side. “Thank you, dad I— I needed you. I think I always will. I love you.” 

—

Teddy was wrong, but Leviathan would let them believe what they liked. It didn’t matter, anyway. What had truly transpired was something the demon would not—and could not—speak of. Eyes flicked up toward the shattered bulb—the beast wanted to ask, it wanted to know what had become of Teddy since it had fled this plane, how the child’s power had truly manifested itself without the demonic runes on their bones overpowering whatever had been dormant all these years… but they would have time. They would have all the time that they needed, and Leviathan would ask every question that rolled across its mind like a cavalry of tumbleweeds across the desert. 

“I am going to make sure I write…” It paused to suck in a tired breath, “a very long and embarrassing toast.” There was another rumble of amusement in its throat as it thought about that day, whenever it came about, and it felt itself warm from the inside out. To see Teddy happy was all it needed, whatever form that came in. 

“I am sorry it was for so long. But I think it was the correct choice.” Leviathan shuddered to think what might have happened to Teddy if the other demons had sensed the bridge between them, had sniffed out their familial bond and chosen to use that against it. “Even so…” A second apology hung silent in the air, felt rather than heard as the demon pulled Teddy closer to itself, if that were possible. “I love you too.” Another short, pained sigh slipped free from its maw. “I think… I need to take a very long nap. Much healing to be done.” It shifted its massive head. “You do not need to stay. I will remain here until I feel I can safely return to my disguised form.” If Teddy was so certain they’d be marrying Emilio, then the return of their father was probably a bit of news worth sharing with him. “When you’re ready, go speak with Emilio. I do not know if he is still as angry with me as he was when I left, but… you’ve always been great at diplomacy.”

[vanoincidence]

I Still Remain // Solo

TIMING: current. SUMMARY: van reads cass's letter for her. CONTENT WARNINGS: emotional manipulation, parental death.

You are my brightest star, but you've been burning out. I am too late, and you're too far.

Van,

It guts her like a fish, and she thinks that for a moment, she can smell the salt in the air. But it dissipates after a moment as her eyes move to the next few lines.

I didn’t really want things to go this way. You know? I think I held onto the idea that things could be different for, like, a really long time. I think that’s what made everything suck so much. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for a lot of things, really. I’m sorry I was so cagey when you came by the cave way back when. My dad was inside, which you probably figured out later. He’d, like, just gotten there, and he said he wasn’t ready to meet anyone else yet, and I didn’t want to lose him. I just wanted him to like me. I was worried if you came in, if I went against his request not to tell people about him yet, he’d get mad. I thought he’d leave. I didn’t want him to leave.

There's something to be said about the love a child has for their parent, even if that parent is undeserving of it. Even if she hated Makaio on Cass's behalf, she knew of her friend's desire to be loved; to be held within arm's reach and chosen. So even though anger blooms from a seed that was since pushed beneath the ground at her feet, it is not directed at her friend. Instead, it's at the world and how it failed her. How Cass could've allowed herself to fall prey to the words he spoke. In the end, his promises, or lack-thereof, got Cass killed, and that's where the anger embeds itself into Van as she stares down at the notebook, already stained with the tears as she flipped through the pages to write out the letters from Cass to the others in the notebook.

But I don’t think that’s a good excuse. You’re my friend, and I was super rude and just… all around weird when all you wanted to do was spend time with me. That was shitty of me! Like, super shitty. You brought me comics! You were trying to be nice! I should have given you a better explanation.

I should have had more faith in you, too. That day when you came by after… what happened with the viewing station, I should have had more faith in you. I think I just hated myself a lot in that moment, so I figured everyone else would hate me, too. I didn’t even, like, give you time to not hate me. And that sucked! That really sucked. I’m sorry I did that. You’re my friend. You’ve always been there for me. I know it wasn’t just because of the promise. I know you care about me, too.

Maybe she should have pushed harder. Maybe she should have dug the dagger of her love in a little hard, hilt pressed to Cass's beating heart. Had looked her in the eye and told her that no matter what, she'd always be there. But Cass knew, right? Based on this letter-- based on the look in Cass's eyes before she was taken out of the cave, she knew that even despite the frustration, despite the falsified anger, Cass knew that Van loved her. She had to hold onto that, had to cling to it in order breathe.

That makes all of this so much harder. I love you. I don’t want you to think I don’t. I love you, and you’re one of my favorite people. But… I don’t think this town is what I need right now. I can’t leave my dad, and I don’t want him to leave me, either, but I don’t think it’s good for me to be here. And I’m sorry that I don’t know if I’ll see you again. I know my dad needs time to adjust, to learn how to be, like, a person again, but I don’t know how much time he’ll need. It could be just a few months, and then I’ll be back and we’ll be totally laughing about this. Or… it could be a hundred years, and you’ll be gone. And if it is, if that’s what happens, I guess I just want you to know how much I care about you.

The moment Cass had walked into Wicked's Rest, it had decided to take her. It took her from all of them-- from Ariadne, Nora, Thea, Metzli. From others, it plunged its fist into her chest, pulling out every small part of her that could have ever allowed her to leave this place alive. Van thought about the anger she would have felt had this letter been left behind for her after Cass's departure. She could feel it even now, trailing along, brushing against her skin. It was Cass who was gone. Those hundreds of years she was supposed to have were now gone, body left to decay against the very thing she had tried to protect. Van was angry now, because what life would she have had had she been able to leave? Would she have succumbed to Makaio's anger, fueling it on his behalf? Bringing down any of those who opposed him? But that thought was cut down the moment it came to her, because Cass had proven she was stronger than his persuasion.

Van just wished it had happened later, to where Cass could come back to them. Where her smile would warm the room, and Van would lay across from her on the ground as they stared up at the ceiling, a bag of chips between them. Instead of this, they would speak of Cass's forever, or as close as she could get. They would guess what the future had in store, and Van would hate that she wouldn't be a part of it, but she would ask Cass to always remember her. Now, Van was the one to remember her-- to put every moment they had together in some kind of flashing reel of memories. She could see Cass's face so clearly, even now. The bright smile, the dark eyes-- the laughter that cut through the air. Van hated that Makaio had taken her laughter, her breath-- everything.

But Cass in turn had sacrificed it for them. The three of them-- her, Metzli, and Ariadne. And so Van knew that she wouldn't give up on Cass, even if she were gone.

It wasn’t your fault. None of it. Not what happened in the supermarket, and not anything that happened after. You were always a good friend, even when you were melting stuff. (Side note: the melting is actually kind of badass. Like, next level comic book hero stuff. You should call yourself Meltdown, tbh.) I’m super lucky to have you. And if I never see you again, I guess I just want to make sure that comes across. I love you. I’m never going to stop thinking about you, and I’m never going to forget you. I hope you don’t forget about me, either.

I hope we see each other again someday, Van. But no matter what, take care of yourself. 

Love, Cass

Van couldn't help but laugh at the superhero name, even if the laughter hurt. It coiled in her chest, weaving around the hurt she felt in response to Cass's untimely demise. Cass's pulse continued even after the end of the letter. It continued with the love that she had for those mentioned on the other pages, and the love she had for those not written in. She thought of the love she had for her cave, for life in general-- for her father, even in the end. How Cass's acceptance had in turn caused Van to live another day.

Van continued to stare down at the letter, the edges of the paper crumpling in her hands as she dented the notebook. Her magic did not lash out in the way she hoped it would, anger blindingly painful. Instead, it soothed her. Because she would find a way to pay Cass back.

She had to, for her friend-- for the memory, for her sacrifice. The only reason any of the three of them were standing here was because of Cass, and Van couldn't let that go.

"I'm sorry," Van whispered as she continued reading over the letter addressed to her, committing the words to memory like she had done with her friend's frame.

[magmahearts]

TIMING: current. PARTIES: @muertarte & @magmahearts LOCATION: the magmacave. SUMMARY: metzli makes another plea for cass to return to her family, and makaio reacts poorly. CONTENT: emotional manipulation

It was another quiet evening, just the two of them. These days, these quiet evenings were Cass’s favorite, much preferred to the nights when Makaio decided they needed to go out and ‘take action’ in one way or another. She preferred sitting in the cave and doing nothing to things like making the rounds throughout town, especially now that her father seemed to believe that the death of that first security guard had graduated her from ‘property damage’ to something a little more concrete. She tried not to think about the bar full of hunters and the way they’d laid in wait outside of it, though it was sometimes hard to think of anything else.

The quiet evenings were almost pleasant. Cass could sit in the cave with Makaio, could pretend not to miss Wynne or Nora or Ariadne or Van or Thea and the way they all used to sit in the cave with her at different times. She could keep her phone locked and in her pocket and pretend not to know that tonight was supposed to be her weekly dinner with Metzli and Leila that she hadn’t shown up to in months now. The distance was a good thing, she told herself; doing it this way allowed it to be her choice instead of someone else’s, and wasn’t that better? Wasn’t that what she wanted? 

Beside her, Makaio shifted. Cass, ever the faithful shadow, shifted with him, straightening her back and turning towards him expectantly. 

“Another visitor,” he rumbled, low and with a hint of distaste to his tone.

“I’ll ask them to go,” she replied quietly, already aching.

“They rarely listen. I suppose they don’t respect you.”

It stung, but he must have been right. Didn’t people accept the decisions of those they respected far easier than those they didn’t? She respected Makaio, and she accepted every decision he made. She looked down at her hands, nodding. 

“I’ll come with you,” he decided. “Perhaps they’ll respect me more.”

It scared her, but she knew better than to argue. He’d never liked it when she disagreed with her, and Cass needed her father to be happy here. She needed him to stay. She didn’t have anyone else anymore, even if it was by choice this time. (It was her choice. It was.) Swallowing around the lump in her throat, she nodded. “Yeah,” she agreed, trying to keep her voice from quaking. “Okay.”

They stood together, heading for the mouth of the cave.

—

Nothing about what was going on with Cass was normal. Everything she enjoyed was turned down for the sake of a man who called himself her father. True or not, he seemed to be using her propensity for pleasing others to his advantage, severing any tie she had with anyone else. He was isolating her, using her, and making her choose him because they supposedly shared blood. His tactics weren’t unfamiliar to Metzli, having been the victim of silent abuse. For what reason, they didn’t know, but they had to get to the bottom of it, for her sake. 

Because when it came down to it, Cass’s father was no dad. Neither were they, but Metzli was convinced that due to their desire coming from a place of love and protection, that it rendered any excuse this man had, moot. They didn’t need Cass isolated, and they didn’t want to ask anything of her that would be to her detriment, but it seemed her heart’s injuries were too severe.

Abandonment was a harsh wound that never healed. Its repetition, a plague that festered and putrefied into fears that could not be treated by normal means. It took a kind of patience so uncommon that it bordered on heroic, making anyone in need tie a cape around a person’s neck. But Metzli was no hero, and there was no tickertape parade for something that should be ordinary, a given. They showed up without being asked, all while knowing they might be met with rejection. Possibly even death, if this man truly wanted Cass to sever her ties with those she loved. Despite being pushed away, Metzli knew they were still loved, and they would fight for her. Even if she wouldn’t fight for herself. Even if she didn’t know she had to.

“Cass.” They breathed, refusing to acknowledge the oread next to her. “I am visiting because people are worried.” A pause, “I am worried.”

Makaio’s presence was a looming thing, hanging over her head like a shadow. Even on the rare occasions where he left the cave without her, Cass could feel him. She told herself it was a comfort, the way he was there even when he wasn’t there. She told herself it was a good thing, a thing she wanted. But her hands shook sometimes, and she swore there was still blood in the cracks of her stony skin even though she’d washed her hands a thousand times now. 

He stood behind her as she made her way to the mouth of the cave, recognizing Metzli’s tall form long before the details of their features came into view. She felt her father stiffen behind her, felt the displeasure rolling off him in waves. Did he recognize them? Cass didn’t think they’d met before, though she’d spoken of Metzli often in the beginning. Maybe in his quest to get to know her friends better by borrowing her phone, he’d read over some of their old messages. 

“It’s Metzli,” she said quietly before they were in the vampire’s earshot, in case Makaio didn’t know.

“The vampire,” he commented. “The one with a penchant for leaving.” 

The description ached, but she nodded anyway. “I can make them go,” she said. She’d done it before — to Van, to Wynne, to Nora, to Leila. Telling Metzli to leave would be just as simple. But…

“I should assist you. You aren’t very good at doing it on your own.”

Cass chewed her lip, pretending the words stung less than they did as she nodded. He was right — she didn’t command respect the way he did. Not yet, though he’d assured her that she someday might. She had to learn from him first. So, she led him the rest of the way to the vampire, closing the physical gap between them in the interest of widening the emotional one.

Metzli spoke to her directly, not looking at Makaio at all. She could tell that it upset him, could feel his anger burning in the magma of his veins. She glanced to him, waiting to see if he wanted her to speak. He didn’t. He stepped forward himself instead, placing a hand on Cass’s shoulder.

“Worried. Why? Because Cassidy knows how to better stand up for herself now? You liked her better meek. That isn’t who she is now.” Cass told herself that he sounded proud, even if she didn’t think it was true. A lie only burned when you said it aloud. 

“Just go, Metzli,” she said quietly, but the grip on her shoulder tightened. 

“No. They’ll only come back later, confuse you more. Perhaps this is a problem that should be solved more permanently.” 

—

“I did not speak to you.” Metzli’s posture stiffened, and they mentally reprimanded themself for responding so poorly. They had a plan to stick to, keeping themself from resorting to violence of any kind. What they just did might as well have been a punch a swing to the man’s face, but Metzli flexed their hand and relaxed again. They took a deep breath and ignored the permanent idea he was trying to offer Cass. She was a lot of things, but she was no killer. 

Without justifiable cause, Cass wouldn’t harm someone. She had a good sense of morality, even if the man behind her, who was gripping her neck too hard for Metzli’s liking, was trying to make her into something he needed. 

“I like you however you want to be.” They swallowed, choosing their words carefully. “We have worry because you are alone with him. Have only him.” Rolling their shoulders, Metzli knelt down to get to Cass’s eye level and couldn’t help but smile at finally being close enough to hug her. That would have to wait though, what with how her father wouldn’t release his grip.

“You want big family before, and-and if he wants to be good father to you then we want that too. He can come to dinner and I will make his favorite food just like I do for you.” Tears of hope began to form, and they had to blink them away to hold some type of composure. “I do not want to go. Will not leave permanently,” They added, almost like a hiss, “You are family, mija.”

Dread built in her chest at her father’s words, the idea of a permanent solution to Metzli’s meddling not one she wanted to entertain. But then, Metzli was snapping at Makaio, and Cass felt defensive of him. That feeling was a more comfortable one, and so she clung to it. “Don’t talk to him like that,” she snapped, and the tightening of her father’s hand on her shoulder was one she had come to know to mean approval. She could salvage this, she thought. She could still salvage this.

“I… I am who I want to be. Right now, here. And you — you’re here telling me to — to change.” Weren’t they? They wanted her to push her father into things he wasn’t comfortable with, wanted her to force him to change when she was the one who’d been put together all wrong before. “Just — Just stop it.”

But Metzli continued, and Makaio stiffened behind her. “Do not presume to know what kind of father I am,” he said, his voice low. The moment Metzli said mija, Cass felt her father’s attention turn to her. “Cassidy. This monster comes to you, pretends to be a parent. Is that really what you want?” She understood what was unsaid beneath it. She could have one, or she could have the other. She couldn’t have both. And Metzli had left her before.

“I… no. No, just — I told you to go. Didn’t I tell you to go?”

Makaio hummed. “Some problems,” he said quietly, “cannot be solved by telling. Haven’t you learned that by now?” She thought of the security guard at the viewing station, of the hunters outside the bar. Her hands trembled, and she clenched them into fists to stop them shaking. “Solve the problem, Cassidy. The right way this time.”

—

“I am not doing that.” Metzli said firmly, “Be whoever you want,” For the briefest of moments, they paused, a much more petty side of them winning out. “Choose what you want, mija. Let me choose what I want, too.” Their chin trembled with a toxic mixture of anger and dread. If they couldn’t get through to Cass, Metzli knew she was in danger of becoming the very thing that plagued her own existence. 

The only thing they couldn’t understand was why her own father was putting her in that harmful position. Why history had to repeat itself no matter how hard you tried to prevent it. Because the hand on Cass’s shoulder looked a lot like the one that still ghosted Metzli’s own, and the sight made nausea twist their insides uncomfortably. They could already feel the ants marching up and down their nerves, biting with every step. Metzli pushed it all aside. Because when there were too many people petitioning their god for an answer, and family gripped you like a snake, love was the next in line. 

Metzli picked up. 

“Let me choose, too.” They croaked, “I choose you. I choose our family.” Taking a breath, they looked hesitantly into Cass’s eyes, allowing vulnerability to cloak them in its unassuming warmth, and they smiled again. No matter how bleak everything looked, there was just something in Cass’s hues that always made Metzli comfortable with being seen. Maybe it was because she knew what it was like to be invisible. Or maybe it was because there was an unmistakable glint of need that matched theirs. Maybe it was because they were always meant to see each other, make one another feel real again. “I can choose him too, if that is what you need. We can be family. We can. All of us. I am not leaving until I know that you know this. That-that a threat,” Metzli growled quietly, “Will not make me leave you. Because you do not have to choose. I want you to have both of us. You deserve to have all options.”

Wasn’t this what she’d wanted? To have both the family she chose and the one she’d been robbed of in birth. Metzli was offering that to her, and Cass wanted desperately to believe them. But… Metzli still didn’t have all the facts. And even if they did, even if they’d somehow known about the bodies she’d dropped without necessity or excuse, Cass wasn’t sure she could believe the claim that they weren’t going to leave again. Wasn’t it still impossible to forget the way Metzli, a year ago, had left to lock themself away despite Cass’s desperate pleas for them to stay? Wouldn’t they still run headfirst into dangerous situations, not caring if they lived or died? 

Her father wouldn’t let her have both. On some level, Cass knew that. And if she had to choose, shouldn’t she choose the person who promised to be a permanent fixture in her life? Shouldn’t she focus her attention on the one who had always wanted her instead of the one who would leave time and time and time again? She felt herself wavering, felt her resolve slipping.

Makaio felt it too.

His grip on her shoulder tightened to something undeniably painful, and she wondered if it would bruise. She felt him tense each time Metzli called her mija, and Cass — Cass understood jealousy better than most. She’d been that kid fighting so hard for a place in other people’s lives that anyone else vying for the same attention had felt like competition. Her father was envious of Metzli’s place in her life, she realized; jealous that they had gotten a chance to slide into a role that would have been his and his alone if he’d found her sooner. 

He wouldn’t let it go. She knew that. If his jealousy was the same as hers, it wouldn’t be enough for her to convince Metzli to go. He already wanted her to prove herself, was already asking for her to find a solution that was permanent. And she knew what he meant, knew what he wanted, but…

She couldn’t hurt Metzli. She knew it as certainly as she knew the ground beneath her feet or the air in her lungs. She’d killed that security guard, she’d hurt hunters, but she could never hurt Metzli. Would Makaio do it if she refused? Metzli swore they wouldn’t leave, and weren’t there only so many ways this could end? 

“Cassidy,” her father said firmly. “You need to take care of this. Solve the problem so that we can move on.”

Makaio couldn’t see her face. He couldn’t see the feelings crossing over it, or the resolve that took their place. For a moment, to an outside observer, it might have looked like she was going to do it. But then, she shook her head. “Actually…” She trailed off, steeling herself. “Don’t you think it’s giving them too much credit?”

Makaio shifted behind her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean — doesn’t killing them imply that they have… an important place in my life?” She was careful. Makaio would know if she was lying, and to say that Metzli didn’t hold an important role in her life was a lie. But phrasing it as a question? That could help her skirt around the rule. “They left me. Multiple times.” That was true. No need to be careful with that one. “And they’ll probably do it again. Killing them would make it seem like I believe them when they say they won’t, like there’s no other way around it. Why would I give them that?”

She didn’t know if Metzli would catch on or not; either way, she thought, the plan should work. Either Metzli would understand what she was doing and go… or they’d think she meant what she was staying and walk away all the same. Either way, Cass could save them. In this moment, it was all she really wanted.

—

Let her go, they wanted to scream, swallowing their anger down and ignoring the acrid taste building on their tongue. Their eyes were widened with fury, betraying whatever composure they wanted to mock. One of the bigger lies that had managed to come out of Metzli. So they held their breath, unsure if Makaio or Cass would call them out on it. They held it, and it hurt, their air sticking at the lining of their lungs and clawing at it to fight its way out. It grew in tandem with what they bore witness to, becoming something feral the moment Cass spoke ill of who Metzli was.

For a moment, they believed what she was saying. Twisting and turning the words into an animal they could hardly recognize, adding pressure from the constriction in their chest until there was an inevitable pop. Eyes never lied like a person’s tongue. Anything could come out of that, but what the vampire read in Cass was the truth. She couldn’t choose what she truly wanted right then, not without losing both Metzli in the process. By her own hands, no less. 

“Please.” They breathed, “I-I-I do not want to leave you.”

They didn’t like it, but in order to ensure they wouldn’t leave Cass alone with her father, in a more permanent way, they were going to have to let her push them out of the cave. In other words, they would have to lie. Lying was wrong and was a coward’s way out, but Metzli swallowed that down and felt their tears begin to sting at the corners of their eyes and at the tip of their nose. 

What better answer was there anyway? When Makaio was wrong and a coward himself.

“You block me and I cannot see you, and now I-I must l-leave?!” They stood up and paced, trembling and tugging at their hair. “You…!” The lie stopped short in their throat, but Metzli’s resolve proved stronger. “Choosing you is not…enough.” Shoulders fell, but their hand remained in their forest of curls. “I…I am-am not enough. Too m-much credit. Okay.” Taking a few steps back, Metzli sniffled, chest aching. They watched Makaio’s hand curl happily on Cass’s shoulder and they had to fight their instinct to pounce. Reluctantly, Metzli had to let the swelling crescendos they created with Cass die, the last of its echoes no longer able to keep rhythm with a heart that no longer had room for them. 

For now.

I do not want to leave you. 

The words seemed to ricochet, Makaio’s hand tightening as they did. Cass chewed her lip, shaking her head slightly. “I don’t think that’s ever been true.” It wasn’t a lie. Maybe it would have been months ago, when the pain of Metzli’s departure the year prior had faded and no one had yet picked at the scab it left behind, but now? Cass couldn’t imagine a world in which Metzli — in which anyone — knew who she was and still wanted to stay. Their friendship had started with a promise, with a bind she’d wrapped around them and anger that had burned through them because of it. How had she ever let herself believe anything real could grow from such rotten soil? 

But she loved them, still. She didn’t want to hurt them, didn’t want to be the person her father wanted her to be. And that hurt, too, in a way; she couldn’t be who her friends wanted, but she couldn’t be who Makaio wanted, either. What was left for her? Who was there that could see what she was now, this twisted hybrid of two different extremes, and love her anyway? Nora had faltered the moment Cass confessed to her crime, and she’d added more to the rap sheet now. The necklace Van gave her hung at her throat, but without the promise that built the Allgoods, how long would Van’s affection hang with it? She’d alienated Wynne, ignored Ariadne. Her isolation was half her own making, and she was digging the hole deeper by necessity. 

For half a heartbeat, she thought that this attempt would fail. Maybe part of her hoped it would, in spite of the consequences; maybe part of her hoped that Metzli would see through the deception. But that was never going to happen, was it? Metzli hated themself too much to allow themself the grace of understanding that Cass was only trying to save them. This method was always going to be successful. She could never love her friends more than they hated themselves. That had always been part of the problem.

Or… maybe not. Could Metzli be lying, too? Cass tried to let herself believe it, tried to cling to the idea that maybe her friend was in on the plan. But Metzli hated dishonesty, didn’t they? They’d probably be angry with Cass for using it now, would probably be upset with the idea of being lied to. It must have been real. She must have succeeded, must have done exactly what she set out to do. 

She wasn’t sure why it hurt so much.

Makaio was smiling; she didn’t have to turn to face him to know it. She could feel his satisfaction in the low hum that vibrated his chest. “You’re right, Cassidy,” he allowed. “To end their life would be to confirm an importance they simply do not carry. They know what they’re worth to you now.” Addressing Metzli, he nodded. “Run along, then. Know that if you return, I won’t be so kind. You may not be worth killing to my daughter, but I’m tired of being disturbed.” 

Cass swallowed, looking at the ground beneath her feet. She hoped Metzli would listen, even if they hated her for it.

—

“Do not lie.” They responded quickly, adamantly. “Not lying about love. Never about love. That is being coward. I have…learned a lot.” Metzli emphasized the last part, hoping Cass would catch on to what they meant. Lying was an awful thing, but they’d utilize the tactic for Cass because they loved her. There was nothing they wouldn’t do for her. 

Even lie.

Taking a few more steps back, the vampire sniffled, and couldn’t help themself as they reached the mouth of the cave. There was no world in which Makaio was a good father, nor was there one in which he had tricked Cass into thinking he was right in that situation. He had hurt her, even if Cass hadn’t really seen it yet. So, they opted to hurt him one last time, letting Cass know they were still themself. “That is…interesting.” Metzli growled at Makaio, repressing a smile to keep what little peace there was in the air. If one could call it that. Not that that mattered. “I am threat to you. Have worth to you.” 

Metzli’s focused returned to Cass, a renewed sense of awareness washing over them as pain and betrayal washed over her. She still wasn’t sure if they would lie for her, likely thinking Metzli would think differently of her for using it then. 

Without hesitation, as they took a final step out of the cave, they recalled a memory. “Remember when you trick me and I bring you all those hotdogs? You requested many. I…” A tear creeped down their cheek, and they smiled softly. “I will never forget that memory.”

“Everyone lies, Cassidy,” Makaio hummed, and Cass knew he was right. Maybe Metzli wasn’t lying on purpose — not everyone did — but didn’t history prove that they wouldn’t stick around forever? The way they hated themself would outweigh everything else someday, just as it had a year ago when they locked themself away. Or maybe Metzli was telling the truth. Maybe they did love Cass.

But maybe it just wasn’t enough.

She wanted them to stay; she’d wanted everyone who had come to speak to her to stay, even when she was the one telling them all to leave. She wanted Ariadne to come over and watch movies, wanted to read comics with Van, wanted to talk to Nora and cry with Leila. She missed them all in a way that ached, but… Makaio’s hand gripped her shoulder still. Wasn’t family the be-all and end-all of everything? Wasn’t it what you could count on the most? Your parents loved you more than anyone; that was what all the movies said. 

But was Metzli family, too?

The two ideas were at war in the oread’s head. On one hand was her father, who swore to her that no one but him could ever love her as she was. On the other were her friends, who had loved her before he came along. She didn’t think she could have both, no matter how much she wanted it. Maybe she had to make a definitive choice, one way or another. She didn’t think she was ready for it. 

Makaio’s grip tightened as Metzli addressed him, beyond the point of bruising now. It hurt, but Cass knew better than to make a sound. She took a breath and held it in her lungs, waiting for the grip to loosen up. “You are no more a threat than a fly swatted for causing persistent irritation,” he replied. “And you have no more worth than one.” 

Cass bit her tongue. She wanted to tell Metzli to stop, to just… accept their safety and go. She didn’t want to break their heart to save them just for them to anger her father and end up as dust, anyway. But she could offer no warning without exposing her dishonesty, and if she did that, Makaio would hate her, too. Despite everything, she couldn’t risk that.

Metzli turned to her, reminiscing about… hot dogs? The furrow of Cass’s brow was hidden to Makaio, her back still to him. Hadn’t it been sandwiches she’d demanded Metzli bring to her a year ago, when she bound them into friendship? Her eyes darted up to meet theirs, a question she didn’t dare ask hanging in the irises. A code, maybe? Hadn’t they watched a few silly spy movies with moments like this? She was supposed to play along.

“Did you really think the hot dogs meant anything to me?” She kept her voice cold, hoping that the fact that she was playing along would tell Metzli more than her tone. “I was hungry. How could I resist making you feed me after you were stupid enough to get bound?” A question isn’t a lie. Please. She hoped they’d understand. 

—

Metzli rolled their eyes at Makaio, no longer interested in his empty words. What he said meant nothing, in the end. Cass was who Metzli needed to focus on, and they did, happy to see the grip on her shoulder loosen when they kept their mouth shut. They would chide at themself later for putting her in more danger. 

For the time being, it looked like Cass had caught on to what they were doing. 

They nodded with a slight bounce of their brows, still keeping the slight ache in their expression. Their nose was surely red at that point, but it didn’t feel so fruitless to have visited anymore. “I am glad I was stupid.” Metzli wiped their tears and turned to head home, saying one last thing. “Knowing you is a gift. I will be happy to be stupid again as many times as possible if I can.”

Metzli turned away, and Cass ached more than she should have. They were glad they were stupid, they said; she wanted to tell them that they weren’t, wanted to argue with her own words, but she knew she couldn’t. Metzli understood; she had to believe that Metzli understood. 

She watched as they walked away, and the grip on their shoulder loosened just a little. She schooled her expression, made herself look neutral and uncaring; it wasn’t as hard as it should have been. After all, she was still made of stone. “Hopefully this will be the end of it,” her father said, sounding irritated. 

“If it’s not…” Cass paused. “I don’t like this town very much, anyway. We can just go somewhere else. Alaska has a lot of active volcanoes. I think… I’d like to start over there.” 

Makaio hummed in acknowledgement. She knew he liked the idea; it didn’t fill her with the same joy it might have weeks ago, but that was okay. If she left with him, she could keep her father… and her friends would be safe.

Maybe that was the closest thing to the best of both worlds that she could have.

“Come,” he said, giving her shoulder one last squeeze. “It’s time for dinner.”

Casting one last mournful look at Metzli’s retreating figure, Cass turned to follow Makaio back into the cave.

[realmackross]

Time: August 13th, 2024 Content Warnings: None!

"Don't you, forget about me. Don't, don't, don't, don't. Don't you, forget about me." - Simple Minds

The feelings that Mackenzie held in her heart were mixed. Though the departure from Wicked’s Rest wouldn’t be permanent, as far as she was currently concerned, the idea of leaving a place that had oddly and painfully become her home over the past year was still hard to wrap her head around. But it hadn’t been a decision she had taken lightly. It was one of self-preservation, because if she didn’t do it, she was sure this town was going to claim another life, even if she was a member of the undead.

But what had been impossible before, when she left no trace and just disappeared, had seemed even harder now that she was doing it the right way. Alerting those she loved that she was leaving. That she was off to temporarily start a new life for herself. At least for as long as this new movie was shooting and the press tour was going. Of course there was still the murder of Brody Stevens lingering, even while he sat right next to her reassuring her that this was for the best. It was still a problem she wasn’t sure how to come to terms with – turn herself in or pray that she would be acquitted if the truth ever came out that she was the one to kill him. She certainly still looked guilty and though the love of her life had reassured her that even he knew it wasn’t intentional, Mackenzie still struggled.

“Hey, Kenz. Your flight leaves soon. Are you ready? Are we doing this? I don’t think Jack can stand this cat-carrier much longer, and we’ve got a long flight ahead.” Taylor held Jack’s carrier in her hands as she looked towards the zombie.

“Yeah, I just…You got enough brains for the flight right? I don’t want to do this if there’s any risk of a plane going down over the Pacific because of a zombie…” It sounded absurd, but if it had been one thing Mackenzie had learned in her time in Wicked’s Rest was that preparation was key, especially when it came to literal life and death.

“Yes, and I’ve already found a supplier in Australia, which means there’s more people out there like you. Outside of Wicked’s Rest. You’re not going to be alone…” She sent a soft, reassuring smile in her friend’s direction, “I’ll be out in the car.”

Nodding softly, Mackenzie turned back around to face the quiet house releasing a heavy sigh. As she looked around, she let her eyes take in all the good memories and even the bad memories with the friends she had made since her arrival. The sleepover and falling off over the upstairs bannister. The time spent with Alex talking about life and watching movies. The zombie movie marathon with Milo. And even the night of drinking with Chai that led to one of the worst mistakes of her life. More recently the relationship with Elora that allowed her a chance to see that love was possible again. And the birthday party of two with Winter, even after the strain on their friendship. She thought about all the nights spent alone watching tv late into the night and all the As Seen On TV stuff that had been dropped off in a box at a local shelter, along with some clothes and a donation check hoping it would do some good, despite all the harm that had seemed to come from her existence.

“This is a good thing, Babe. And I’ll be with you as long as I’m allowed.”

His voice was a reminder of a life when everything felt right. Felt good. And she closed her eyes taking in every word Brody whispered in her ear. God, how she wanted to hold him and kiss him again. But just having him in her presence was more than enough for what she was about to do, “You’re right. I’m just scared.”

Turning around to face him, she refrained from letting her hand run across his face knowing the outcome, “I know I need this. I just don’t want to hurt anybody.”

“You’ve got this. And Winter, she was right. Forgive yourself, Mackenzie Elizabeth Ross. There’s plenty of other times in life to feel guilty. If I can forgive you and still love you, then you can forgive you.” He shot his trademark smirk in her direction as she let her eyes scan over the house one last time.

“Okay, let’s do this. Let’s go make a movie in Australia.”

As the car pulled out of the driveway, Mackenzie thought back on all the people she was leaving. Winter. Monty and Kaden. Cass. Charlie. She thought of Sellama praying she was safe. She thought of Elora, Alex, Milo, Marcus and all the other friends who had come and gone hoping they were happy. She thought of Caleb, who she hadn’t seen, but had even wished him the best, hearing through town gossip that he had been freed of the demon that plagued him. And Jade? Well Jade was just Jade.

Wicked’s Rest had felt like a lifetime, despite it only being a year of her life. But she knew she’d keep the lessons she had learned close to her heart as she went onto bigger and better things. Knowing that even if the time there was brief, it had still made quite the impact.

“Hey, Mackenzie! Look!”

Blinking through the tears in her eyes to clear her vision, she quickly looked out the other side of the window of the car she was in to see Sellama pronking happily through the grass, “She’s alive? She’s alive!!!” Mackenzie rolled down the window and leaned forward screaming out the window, “SELLAMA! I LOVE YOU, GIRL! BE SAFE MY SWEET GIRL! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!”

At that moment, her decision had felt right. She was as free as Sellama was, pronking happily through the fields of Wicked’s Rest, and without second thought, Mack stuck her head out the window and screamed something of relief as the salt laced wind blew through her wavy blond hair. With Brody, Taylor, and even Jack at her side, Mackenzie felt safe. She'd be back eventually, but not until it felt right in her heart.

And as she boarded the plane to Australia knowing that she had people in her corner in all parts of the world, everything felt okay. It felt right. It felt whole.

[muertarte]

TIMING: Halloween

PARTIES: @amonstrousdream @bookofbolden @muertarte

SUMMARY: Leila, Eleanor, and Metzli celebrate their first Halloween together and dress up as the Scooby-Doo gang!

WARNINGS: None!

“Do I have to wear this?” Metzli slouched petulantly as they grumbled in their Scooby-Doo costume. The head bounced forward and nudged Leila in the face while she was busy finishing up the zipper. “I can just be vampire. See?” Letting their vampiric features fade into their face, Metzli snapped their teeth playfully. “No one will know.” 

A small smile tugged at their face, bigger than usual. Because despite how ridiculous they felt, there was a warm and pleasant sensation enveloping their chest at the sight of Leila and Eleanor wearing costumes too. Metzli had never had the opportunity to celebrate silly things like Halloween, and never saw themself as the type to participate even if they had the chance, but there was something about being a part of a celebration with people you loved. They even got Fluffy in on it. He was somewhere in the house, dressed up as Scrappy-Doo. 

“So…” Their eyes scanned over to the giant bowls of candy by the door, along with three drinks Metzli had prepared for everyone to sip on. Hot chocolate with a dash of this creamy alcohol. They could have treats too, couldn't they? “I just…give this candy?”

The Scooby Doo head was certainly something.

If Leila was being completely honest, she had only been vaguely familiar with the cartoon about meddling kids and a talking dog that solved mysteries. But Ellie had suggested the costume idea, she had damn near cackled with laughter, and now there she was, zipping her fiancée into Scooby Dooby Doo while she stood on tiptoe in the perfectly purple pumps she’s managed to find for her own Daphne ensemble. 

“You could, but then it would just be Ellie and I that match…” The mare hummed as she adjusted the suit so it would sit properly atop Metzli’s head. She was trying so desperately to keep her grin at a non-shit-eating level, but the snap of teeth and fangs paired with the bobbling dog head was… Well… amusing to say the least. The corner of Leila’s mouth tugged up in a small grin. To stifle it’s growth, she planted a quick kiss on Metzli’s cheek, careful to avoid the cartoon dog head that had seemingly swallowed them whole. 

“That’s exactly it. The children come up, they say trick or treat- or sometimes they don’t but that’s okay- and we give them candy and compliment their costumes.” It wasn’t a tradition she had ever been able to take part in during life- it hadn’t really been a thing, then. But the mare loved a good excuse to dress up and play pretend more than most- and what was Halloween but a night to dress up and play a bit of pretend?

Eleanor stared at herself through her phone camera and fidgeted with her bangs until they fell just right. She was still shocked that Metzli and Leila had agreed to go with her costume suggestion but excited nonetheless since Scooby Doo had been one of her favorite cartoons growing up. Unfortunately she’d never had a group to actually dress up with and trick-or-treating as Velma alone was too pathetic for her to even consider so her inner child glowed with happiness that the time had finally come - it really was a simple thing but to her it made all the difference.

“You being a vampire on Halloween would be like me dressing up as Sylvia Plath or Jane Austen,” which Eleanor had of course done many years in the past, “A writer dressing up as a writer, a vampire as a vampire… it takes the fun out of it. Part of the appeal of the holiday is that you get to be something or someone you’re not.” She adjusted her glasses before putting her phone away to focus on Leila as she finished getting Metzli into costume. “For the record, I think we look great. I may be biased though.”

While Halloween had never necessarily been Eleanor’s favorite holiday she enjoyed the creativity people put into their costumes and admired the dedication. “It’s also really important that we’re known as the house that gives out the good candy because kids go to school and talk about which houses to hit up or avoid the next year. It’s a whole thing, they take it very seriously.”

“Good candy?” There were so many rules to the holiday. Metzli usually loved rules, but these weren't the kind that they could easily understand. There was no logic or reason behind them. At least, not to Metzli. What did costumes and candy and carving pumpkins have to do with the thinning of the veil? 

Offerings, maybe, but they decided they didn't really care when they saw Leila and Eleanor fully dressed. Their face immediately felt warm. 

“Um, I…” Metzli blinked several times, trying to focus, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door. Their back straightened, “I-I…is this the good candy?” They snatched up the bowl and presented it to the candy experts. It was filled with full sized bars and packages. Metzli figured the more expensive, the better, but they needed confirmation before opening the door. 

“I can confirm there is such a thing as good candy, and we are definitely going to be the house that has the most of it.” If there was one thing that a mare was good for, it was having a nose for finding the best candy within a ten mile radius. Leila had used looking for sweets as a means of distracting herself from less happy things. The result: bags on bags of the best chocolate and sugary confection money could buy. King sized sweets where she could get them. Every child would leave with more candy than they could probably imagine. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Leila spied Eleanor’s phone raising up up up to take a picture of the pair. She couldn’t help but wink at the Velma Dinkly-fied version of the author she’d come to care for so much. “We do look great.” More importantly, it seemed to bringing a little sparkle of joy back into their world.

The door knocked and all eyes swiveled in the direction of the noise. Trick or Treaters. “That’s the good candy, yes- and I have lots extra if we run out, somehow… so don’t worry too much.”

Eleanor felt the trick-or-treaters before the knock came at the door and the overwhelming excitement and curiosity made her smile. She would have a fantastic time since she got to be with the two people she’d grown closest to and would be greeted by happy candy fiends throughout the night. A nice change of pace was needed for the three of them, they deserved it. Most of her time had gone to feeling hopelessly lost without having a project to obsess over and keep her mind busy while she knew the pair in front of her were still grieving their loss. A fun, carefree night was something they could all use.

She quickly snapped her picture and hoped that it hadn’t turned out blurry in her haste and glanced into the bowl. “I can confirm that that is the best candy you could have gotten, well done. We’ll be popular for sure. Also, the fact that we’re actually handing out the candy and not just leaving the bowl on the porch with a ‘take one’ sign is a plus.” Eleanor nodded approvingly and made her way to the door. “Hopefully our Scrappy Doo will decide to grace us with his presence before the night is up, I think he really pulls the whole look together.” She smiled at both of them before opening the door to greet the children on the other side.

The door opened and Metzli sucked in a hasty breath. Not leaving the bowl on the porch was supposed to be a plus, but it felt more like a negative as the door opened to reveal people. But they weren't just any people. They were children. Excited ones. Ones that would surely eat too much sugar that night and keel over from a crash much like the kind that Metzli witnesses with Leila and Eleanor. 

Trick or treat!

Children exclaimed and jumped up in celebration and all the vampire could do was stare for a few moments. They all looked happy and excited and full of wonder. One was dressed as a bear, and another as batman, while a child hidden in the back had a costume that was clearly a homemade dinosaur. 

Metzli remained frozen in their own wonder, smiling faintly. Is that what childhood was supposed to be like? Was that what Cass missed out on? They swallowed harshly and shook their head to move past the thought, kneeling down to offer the bowl. “Take one. Each. Please.”

The door opened, the tiny voices of children rang out from the other side of the door, and Leila’s heart ached. A bear, a Batman, and a dinosaur stared into the foyer with sparkling, expectant eyes, waiting for their well-earned payment of candy. Just visible over the tops of their little heads, waiting at the edge of the path, stood the parents. Watching their children enjoy one of those utterly wonderful childhood moments. 

Cass would have loved the Batman… 

It hurt a little, knowing Cass wouldn’t be sharing in the silly evening. In addition, there was another ache. She wouldn’t be one of those parents, making whatever costumes her child could dream up. Leila forced the thoughts past as she watched Metzli kneel down before three wide eyed children. They saw the bowl of the large candy bars, and looked back up at the vampire like they had met their new god. Peals of excited squealing rang out as little hands reached for candy bars they could barely hold, followed by tiny thank you’s. It was good to see this. Good for Metzli. Good for them all, probably… 

Eleanor smiled as Metzli interacted with the children and peered around the door to get a better look at the costumes. She wished that Metzli and Leila could have felt what she did radiating from their tiny guests because she knew that it would have helped lift their spirits even more. She hadn’t checked in on them like she should have, something she felt guilty about, but she knew that things hadn’t gotten easier for them; maybe it wasn’t the right time to bring it up though so she would ask them how they were feeling at a more appropriate time.

She laughed as the children grabbed their candy and stashed it into their buckets and bags. “You did great, they loved you. I think the parents found you amusing too.” Eleanor lightly touched Metzli’s arm and looked to Leila with raised eyebrows. “I didn’t think we’d actually get them into the costume. Good thing we did though, I think it’s going to be a hit. I would have never guessed that giving out candy might be just as much fun as receiving it.”

The youngest of the three stared a little longer while the other two retreated to show their parents what they had been given. She seemed a little bewildered by the giant head on top of Metzli's, and they gave it a few experimental wiggles in response. 

A flurry of giggles escaped her and Metzli smiled in response, leaning just a bit further to boop her head with the snout of the costume. She couldn't have been no older than three. “Happy Halloween.” Metzli wobbled the head again, earning them a final giggle before the little bear scurried off to her parents. They watched, eyes misted with a mixture of delight and grief, but overall they felt warm. 

“Maybe this is not so bad.” Leaning into Eleanor's touch, Metzli carefully tilted their head to place a gentle kiss on Leila's lips. They hummed with delight, planting an equally soft kiss to Eleanor's and closing the door with their foot. “Do not forget the hot chocolate. It is champurrado. Better than regular kind.” 

Simple little things. A little child’s giggles so bright that they chased all shadows away. The soft sound of Metzli’s voice. The spark in Eleanor’s eyes. The silliness of the costumes. These were all such simple, little things, and yet each one was so precious, so utterly perfect. Each moment burned through the dark ache in Leila’s chest. Soft. Warm. Like a candle fighting its way through the dark. 

A gentle kiss pulled her from her endless circle of dreamy thoughts. In a lazy motion, the mare looped one arm around each of their waists, pulling them closer. Just for one night, she thought, everything could be bright again. Just with those simple little things that filled the moments of the evening.

It was a good night, the first truly enjoyable night that Eleanor had had in a long while and she hoped that more good things were to come not only for herself but for Metzli and Leila as well. As much as she didn’t think it was fair that they had been put through so much undeserved hardship she couldn’t deny that the time they spent together could more than make up for it. Silly costumes, hot chocolate, and candy might not solve their problems but that didn’t mean it couldn’t help distract them for a little while.

Eleanor smiled in response to Metzli and wrapped an arm around Leila. It would be a good night, one that they would look back on fondly for years to come and she would refuse to ruin it by allowing her mind to wander into that dark place it liked to go sometimes. She was with the people she loved and nothing was more important than that.

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: current LOCATION: van's apartment PARTIES: @vanoincidence & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: emilio helps van hang a gay painting. somehow, it manages to become chaotic. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

Van sat on the couch across from where Emilio stood, shaking her head. “No, you need to do like, a little to the left.” It had been like this only for a few minutes, snacks provided forgotten due to Emilio’s inability to take literally anything from her. He wasn’t her first choice when it came to asking for help, but unfortunately for him, he was the only one who answered her call. She could’ve gotten a step ladder, but that would’ve been a whole other thing, so it made more sense to call somebody who had some semblance of… being an adult to help, right? “Yeah, like that! Okay, do you um– I think Regan is like, totally okay with nails in the walls. If not, I’ll do the whole landlord's special thing later.” 

— 

He liked to be useful. It was nice, feeling like things were better with him around instead of worse, though it seemed a rare thing these days. When Van called and asked him for help hanging some decoration in her home, he’d been a little surprised she was asking him, but he hadn’t hesitated in saying yes, anyway. He liked to be useful, and it would be good to get out of the house. Besides, he’d like to see her with his own eyes to make sure she was in one piece after Aesil, anyway.

He’d just forgotten how annoying she was. “I had it a little to the left,” he replied. “And you said to move it to the right. Do you even know where you want this thing?” But, despite his grumbling, Emilio shifted the decoration to the left and Van seemed satisfied. “I think Regan will be fine with it.” He had no idea if that was true, but he also had no idea what the landlord special thing was, and driving a nail into the wall sounded like good stress relief. “Hand me the hammer.” 

—

“Yeah, I want it a little to the left.” Van pulled one of the throw pillows she’d gotten with Regan’s Ikea gift card into her lap, picking at the loose strands of fabric. “I don’t think Regan will care… she’s like, letting me live here and stuff.” She even let Thea live there, even without meeting her. Maybe that’s what being respected was like– being allowed to do things and exist as she wanted to. “I thought you had like, a tool belt. You’re an old guy, don’t old guys have tool belts?” Van tossed the pillow to the side and got up, slinking down to where the hammer was before extending it up towards Emilio. 

“Do you need anything else, Bob?” He probably wouldn’t get the reference, and he would probably remind her that his name was Emilio. Van took a step back and crossed her arms over her chest, nodding in approval. “This is a cool painting, right?” It was just Catradora hugging each other, but she had finally gotten the print framed after being gifted it like… eons ago. It made her feel a little more adult. “You like gay things, right?” 

—

It was hard to say for sure how Regan would about Van hammering nails into the wall of the apartment, but only because it was hard to say for sure how Regan would feel about anything. Emilio didn’t think he’d ever successfully predicted her reaction to any situation. Mostly, he just didn’t want to deal with Van going back and forth about whether or not something was allowed for half an hour, so he nodded. “She’ll be fine with it,” he said, with more confidence than he felt. Still holding the decoration in place, he turned to look at her when she mentioned a tool belt. “Do I have a — Does it look like I’m wearing a fucking tool belt, Van? You are looking right at me. I am not wearing a tool belt. Why would I own that?” The closest thing he owned to a tool belt was a harness for holding weapons, though he rarely wore it. It was a little too clunky for his tastes

He gave her a blank stare, predictably missing the reference entirely. “Who the fuck is Bob?” He’d ask if she’d hit her head or something, but… Van was just like this. Emilio had learned not to question it. Looking to the painting, he shrugged. “I don’t know these people,” he replied. He wasn’t sure why she wanted a painting of two people hugging in her living room, but maybe they were important to her. “Well, I like Teddy, so I guess I must. Is that what this is? A gay thing?”

—

“I think that you should probably own a tool belt if you’re like, oh let me come help you hang things up in your apartment.” The last part was in lower pitch in an attempt to match Emilio’s tone of voice, but Van knew that she totally butchered it. He would get annoyed regardless of how she sounded, and she would laugh it off, because even though she knew his annoyance was… a palpable thing, it was all in good fun. Or, at least she wanted to pretend it was. If she really pissed him off that much, he wouldn’t have shown up when she asked. 

“Bob the builder. I guess you’re not building anything though, so maybe it was a bad reference.” Van sighed, knowing well enough that she’d need to message Teddy later and force them to give Emilio a masterclass on all things child media. They probably would, knowing their love of the bit. Maybe together they could convince Emilio that Bob the Builder was the next Inception or something. The longer she looked at him though, the more she realized he probably didn’t even know or care what Inception was. She wondered what his favorite movie was, and thought about asking, but she snorted in response to the gay thing. “Yeah, Teddy is definitely like, categorically one of the gay things.” She loved them for it, too. “You should know these people, though. It’s a good show. I think you’d like Catra. You share…” She motioned faintly towards him. He wouldn’t get that reference anyway, and he’d probably yell at her for comparing him to a cat. He was more of a badger, anyway. 

—

“You called me to help you hang things in your apartment,” Emilio protested, sounding a little outraged. “And I don’t sound like that. You are bad at trying to sound like me. Are you this annoying to everyone you call for help?” The answer was probably yes. Van seemed to have a singular talent towards being annoying. It was an effective thing, really; his irritation doubled as relief, because it meant that she was all right. Whatever had happened with Aesil, Van was still Van. Emilio would take his victories where he could get them.

“And I’m supposed to know this man? Do you expect me to remember every builder in town?” It was a ridiculous expectation, especially since she was right and he wasn’t building anything. He was hammering one nail into a wall to hang a painting of two people hugging. It wasn’t exactly delicate construction work. He lined the nail up with where it needed to go, shifting to move the painting as he prepared to hammer it into place. “It’s a show?” He pounded the hammer against the nail once, careful to check his strength. If he let himself hit the nail at full slayer strength, there’d probably be a hole in Van’s wall. “Ah, not so sure I’d like it. Never been good at watching the TV.” He pulled back, nail firmly in place with the single tap, and picked the painting back up to hang it. Carefully, he straightened it out before stepping away from the wall to inspect it. “Share what? Because I am gay, I am like this person in the gay painting?” Bi, technically, but he’d learned it all fit under a certain umbrella. “Does that look okay?”

—

“Yeah, and you said you would. I thought that somebody who like, said yes would definitely have a tool belt of some kind.” She knew she was dragging this whole tool belt thing on for way too long, but it was funny to watch Emilio get flustered over things that didn’t actually matter. Although, she felt as though she’d known him long enough to realize that this was just who he was. There wasn’t really anything else to it. Van was kind of glad for it, too. It was something familiar, considering all of the unfamiliarity that’d swarmed around her lately. “I’m not even being as annoying as I could be, Emilio.” She gave him a pointed look, because they both knew that she was right about that, at least. 

“You should really try and meet him. Maybe Teddy can introduce the two of you or something.” Sometimes, Van tried to imagine who Emilio was outside of Wicked’s Rest. She tried to imagine who he was outside of his scowls, but she had seen it in moments with Wynne and with Teddy. With her, too, when she wasn’t pushing him over the edge of annoyance. “Yeah, it’s a show. It was like, an old show– uh, he-man, but then they remade it for she-ra. It’s good.” The older version was… severely outdated, but she knew it still deserved some flowers. She had forced herself to sit through moments where both Adora and Catra showed up, only to be visibly disgusted by the blatant sexualization. “You should watch more t.v, I think. Maybe you’d get like, literally any references.” She figured he’d argue with her that he had better things to do, and maybe he did. As Emilio took a step back and asked for clarification on whether she meant the gay thing, she waved away his question. “It doesn’t matter. That looks like, really good actually. Thanks.” It was probably the most polite she’d been to him. She turned towards the kitchen, back to the wall, and then heard a loud thunk. The painting was already on the ground, and Van looked at Emilio. “I thought you said you knew how to do this.” 

—

“I can say yes without having a tool belt. I came here to help you, because you are too short to hang things on your own. You should be nicer to people who are tall and come over to help you hang things.” He threw his hands up in frustration, the end of the hammer getting dangerously close to her wall but not making contact. Emilio didn’t seem to notice the close call at all. “You are always annoying. It doesn’t matter how annoying you are being, because it is always there. I’m always annoyed when you’re here.” 

Meeting a builder seemed like the last thing that Emilio wanted to do, though he was unsurprised to learn that Teddy was familiar with this ‘Bob.’ He’d learned a long time ago that Teddy knew pretty much everyone. “I do not want to meet him. I know enough people in this town already.” Some days, it felt like he knew too many. There was something a little uncomfortable about knowing how many people would mourn him now. He tried not to think about it. “Are those names supposed to mean things? He-Man. She-Ra. It sounds made up.” Maybe it was. Maybe this show didn’t exist at all, and Van was messing with him. It wouldn’t come as much of a surprise. “Don’t like sitting still for that long. Get, uh… restless, I think.” Stakeouts usually consisted of him getting bored ten minutes in and going for a more hands-on kind of investigation; watching television tended to end with him abruptly getting up halfway through an episode to do something else and forgetting he’d been watching anything at all. He’d resigned himself to not understanding references, at this point. He shrugged when Van said it didn’t matter, relieved that she was happy with the painting’s placement. At least that meant he could leave. 

Leaning down, he set the hammer against the couch. A thunk sounded the moment he turned away, and he looked up to see the painting he’d just hung laying on the floor. His brow furrowed in quiet confusion, and he looked back to the hammer. “I do know how to do this. I hit the nail with the hammer, I hung it up, it was fine. There must be something weird about your walls.” It was Kavanagh’s apartment; that didn’t seem far fetched. “Whatever. I’ll just hang it again.”

—

Van frowned, “I’m not– you aren’t– you’re not that tall.” He was much taller than her, but she had definitely seen taller. She’d seen taller people everywhere, especially compared to Emilio. “You came here, so that means like, you specifically came to help me, knowing you’d be annoyed. That sounds like your problem.” She arched a brow, not totally sure that her argument made any real impact, but she was still kind of annoyed that he’d suggest he was tall. Didn’t he know that other people were way taller? “I could’ve called that French guy who ran around the zoo naked. I think he’s taller than you, actually.” She didn’t know for sure, but based on their public conversations, Emilio seemed annoyed with him, too, and Van was sure that’d hit a sore spot. Wasn’t that what most of their conversations were about? Tearing one another down without any actual psychological damage? “But like, even I have standards. So that’s why you’re here. Not because you’re taller.” She felt the need to clarify, only because… well, she wasn’t sure why. 

In reality, what she would have done was call Jade. But Jade was short like her, and the two still weren’t really talking. So it was Emilio’s problem. “I think you’d like Bob,” Van hummed, not fully believing in her own words. Only because Emilio would never meet Bob, unless this town created a manifestation of children’s shows and made him. “Somebody made it up, yeah. Then it got turned into a show. That’s how like, language works I’m pretty sure. None of what we’re saying even meant anything at one point, I don’t think.” If she thought about language and how it worked, it’d hurt her head, so she quickly ventured off from the subject, “maybe you can do what those like, soccer moms do, you know? Put your phone on Netflix and run on a treadmill.” That probably would’ve gotten her to exercise more, too, but replace it with Mario Kart and she’d be golden. She’d be so fit. 

“They aren’t even my walls, they’re Regan’s walls, and I don’t think you should say that. She might get offended.” Van gave him a pointed look before sighing, walking back over to the painting. The frame wasn’t cracked, at least, and neither was the weird plastic-y glass that covered the photo. She held it up towards Emilio, “I thought you’d need the help ‘cause you’re kind of short and stuff.” He deserved that one, only because he clearly didn’t know how to hang a painting. 

—

“I’m much taller than you.” It wasn’t saying much, but in this town? Emilio had to take height victories where he could get them. Most people in Wicked’s Rest seemed to tower somewhere above six feet, which made Emilio’s respectable height seem so much less impressive than it really was. He shot Van a look, brows raised as she pointed out that he’d come here, even knowing how annoying she was. “That’s because I’m a Saint,” he replied flatly. It was categorically untrue, of course, and there was a hint of white-hot guilt at the mere implication of it — religion was a hard thing to outrun, even if he hadn’t believed in the Church’s teachings in years now — but he thought it was funny and it would probably piss Van off, and that was what was really important here. “Langley? He isn’t tall. He wears special shoes. They make him look taller.” Emilio knew that wasn’t true, but he thought if he said it with enough conviction, Van might believe him and spread it around town.

He snorted at the implication that he might like this Bob, offended without any real reason. “I wouldn’t like Bob. I don’t like anyone.” That wasn’t a complete lie. Emilio did tend to dislike most people, but he could hardly pretend he hated everyone when Van had seen proof of the opposite. “Most of what you’re saying doesn’t make sense to me now,” he replied flatly, though he could admit that she probably had a point. Language was all made up, invented by people who probably had big egos and inflated senses of self importance. “I don’t run on a treadmill.” He didn’t do much running at all, these days. Walking, sure, but running? Attempting it tended to make his knee protest so loudly that he paid for it for days afterwards. 

“Exactly. If they’re Regan’s walls, who knows what kind of weird shit is going on with them.” Maybe the small people from her computer were responsible, the ones she’d said had gone to live in the clouds after their disappearance from Jade’s broken laptop screen. “I do not need help. Shut up.” He lifted the painting again, holding it up and looking back at her. “Here?”

—

“Yeah, that’s like, a lot of people. Do you want a medal?” Van hadn’t ever been super upset by her height, only because her entire family practically stood at her same stature. Maybe if she had some taller cousin who loomed over her or a sibling, it would’ve been different. But it’d always been her, her parents, and her grandma. Now, it was none of them. Now she was left with people taller than her. “Your name is Emilio, not Saint.” She knew what he meant, but she wasn’t going to feed into his delusions. She’d let Teddy do that, or maybe Nora and Wynne. She was supposed to be the challenging annoying one, after all. “Wait, really? That makes like, total sense. I guess a guy who runs around naked in public would wear special shoes, too.” Van knew that Emilio was probably lying to her, but if she could scrounge up more ways to make fun of somebody else (especially somebody unapologetically French), then she’d definitely do it. 

“You like Teddy. Should I tell Teddy you don’t like them?” She never would. If for some odd reason, Emilio came to her with his deepest, darkest secret, she wouldn’t divulge it to anyone. He had kept her secrets intact (or at least hoped so), and so she’d do him the same favor. Van knew it wasn’t true, though– that he didn’t like anyone. He looked at Teddy like they’d hung the moon and stars in every specific spot in the sky, and looked at Nora and Wynne as if they were his own. Maybe he didn’t notice it, but Van definitely had. “Nothing I ever say makes like, any sense to you. Maybe you need to get a dictionary or something. I’ll write you one with things I say so you can translate it.” It wouldn’t be the first time somebody had suggested she do just that, but the idea of actually following through and seeing Emilio trying to parse out what she was trying to say from a book was funny. The knee, right. She knew about the bad knee. “Me either.” Tongue in cheek, she decided to let that one go. “Maybe you can watch it when you’re letting paintings fall to the ground after you were like, all sure you did it right.” There, that was better. 

“I’m going to tell her that you think her walls are weird.” She probably wouldn’t care, and would probably come by the apartment to figure out why he would think such a thing. Van sighed, nodding as Emilio placed the painting back up exactly where it’d been before. The nail was still there, which didn’t make all that much sense as to why it had fallen. “Is the hook on the back messed up or something? Do you see how it fell?” 

—

“I deserve ten, for putting up with you.” Despite the faint irritation that came with being in Van’s presence, Emilio found some relief in the familiar back and forth. It felt as though so many things had changed lately; it was nice to know that this hadn’t. Van was still annoying. Emilio would still bicker with her. There was comfort in the constant. “I said a Saint. Not that my name is Saint. Saint of putting up with annoying people.” Though… that probably wasn’t entirely true. Emilio tended to lose his patience pretty quickly, after all. He wasn’t sure if Van actually believed him about Kaden wearing special shoes, but she seemed interested in it, which would serve his purposes all the same. He nodded. “Yes. Has them on everywhere he goes.” At least making fun of Kaden was something he and Van could agree on.

He huffed a laugh at her threat to tell Teddy, recognizing it as an empty one. “Sure. Tell Teddy I think they’re annoying, too.” It would inspire a back and forth with Teddy that was just as familiar as the one with Van — and just as comforting. There were few people who could make him feel steady with as much ease as Teddy. Emilio figured that made him a sap. He couldn’t bring himself to care about it very much. “Or maybe you should just start saying things that make sense. If you have to write down everything you say so someone can look it up in a book later to understand you, I think you are the problem.” He probably wouldn’t understand any book Van wrote, anyway. Knowing her, her definitions would make as little sense as the terms they were meant to define. He shot her a glare, though there was no heat behind the expression. “It isn’t my fault it fell.” He knew he’d hung it up just fine.

He shrugged off her threat to tattle to Regan on him the same way he’d laughed off the one to tell Teddy. Van really was a little snitch, wasn’t she? “I’ll tell her myself, but then it’ll be your problem.” She’d probably come in with a hammer of her own and knock down the walls looking for bones or something. Turning the painting over, he looked at the back of the frame. The hook was intact, just as the nail was. “I’ll give the nail another hit,” he offered, pounding the hammer against it again to drive it further into the wall. Then, he put the painting back in place and took a step back. It looked stable. “There. Must have just been a fluke, hm?”

—

“Ten is way too much.” Van didn’t put it past Emilio to put in an Amazon order (if he even knew how to do that) and order himself some plastic medals just to prove a point. Maybe he’d figure out another way to do it, or maybe Van would buy them for him herself, and they’d all read I SMELL BAD on the back in some language she knew he wouldn’t bother to translate. Somebody would read it and be able to figure out what it meant. “For putting up with annoying people, you sure act like, really annoyed.” She figured that Emilio’s patience had long since expired a while ago, and it was pretty clear he didn’t actually care about being polite in any capacity. “Do you wear special shoes, too?” She couldn’t let him win entirely, brushing off the whole height argument onto the weird French guy. 

“I’m not the problem. I think there are lots of things that you say that don’t make sense, and I could definitely use a book.” That wasn’t necessarily true, considering Emilio was particularly forward. But really, Van figured he could benefit from a translation on whatever the hell she meant. Maybe Regan could, too. Both of them almost always misunderstood her. Then again, it wasn’t their fault– it was their age, wasn’t it? A generational divide, or maybe some divide between fae, magic users, and … annoyed old men who kind of fell onto the track that Jade did. But she didn’t want to think about that right now, much less the Jade of it all. “I’ll make sure to laminate the book, that way if you spill any coffee on it, it won’t make it unreadable and then I have to re-do the whole thing, okay?” It was an empty offer, but if he agreed, she’d do it just to commit to the bit. “I think it is, since you’re the one who hung it up in the first place,” Van countered with another sigh. 

“How is it my problem? You’re the one being rude.” Van didn’t actually intend on even telling Regan Emilio had been over, mostly because she felt it didn’t matter. Was this even really the woman’s apartment any longer? Sure, some mail got delivered to the address, but for the most part, it was just her, and whoever decided to crash for that night. The noise from the hammer hitting the wall was grating and Van clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “A fluke? Or you just don’t know how to hammer things.” It stayed put for as long as Van looked at it, but as soon as she turned away, it fell again. This time, she caught something out of the corner of her eye scurrying away. “What was THAT!” Van pointed towards it, stepping forward to shove Emilio at the small… she wasn’t even sure what to call it, “there!” She pointed behind one of the drawers at the side of the t.v. “Do you see it? Emilio, what is that?” 

—

“Ten is not enough,” he shot back rolling his eyes. He wasn’t invested enough in the conversation to bother with obtaining the medals, though he could be pushed to change his mind if Van continued irritating him. Emilio was nothing if not petty, after all. “I didn’t say I wasn’t annoyed. Real strength is being annoyed and putting up with you anyway. That’s what makes me a Saint. If I weren’t annoyed at all, putting up with you wouldn’t be hard.” He crossed his arms over his chest, shooting her another half-hearted glare as their brief truce came to an abrupt end. “I do not need special shoes. I’m tall on my own. This is why you called me to hang your gay painting on your weird wall.” Maybe she needed the reminder that she’d already admitted to his impressive height just by inviting him here.

“You are definitely the problem. You are all of my problems.” It wasn’t even remotely true. Emilio had more problems than he could rightly count, and Van wasn’t the source of any of them. (He wondered if she’d feel as though she were, if she knew what had happened with Aesil. It was better, he thought, not to bring it up. He’d rather not know the answer.) Still, this was how the back and forth was supposed to go. Emilio made a bold, sweeping statement. Van argued against it. She made a statement of her own, he argued against that. The script was already written. It was nice to be able to just sit back and read it. “I wouldn’t spill coffee on it. Unless it was on purpose, because you are annoying. Then maybe I would spill coffee on it.” Frustrated, he threw his hands up again. “It’s your weird walls!” 

With the painting hung again, Emilio turned away. And, again, the moment he did, it fell. He turned back too slowly to see what had caused it, but apparently Van had seen something, and she shoved him towards it. Emilio, not expecting the push, stumbled a little as he moved towards the dresser. “Relax. It’s probably a rat or something.” He held the hammer up, preparing to smack whatever it was on the head. “If I kill it, are you going to yell? I’m not going to kill it if you’re going to yell.”

—

Van stared at him, not certain she was even really following his line of logic. Was this how he felt when she spoke to him? Clearly it was, considering he often looked confused every time she opened his mouth. Really, she had chalked it up to him being old. “You sound totally convincing, by the way.” Maybe hanging a comment off of his comment would be the best way to counteract whatever the hell he had meant by his words, right? That way, he’d wonder if she actually thought he was convincing. She wasn’t sure why she cared so much, even though in the back of her head, she knew why. Her conversations with Emilio reminded her of ones with her dad, where they’d bicker back and forth. Of course, he never… no, he had definitely called her annoying a few times. Calling her too much had definitely meant that, right? But Emilio wasn’t her dad. They couldn’t be more different. “Maybe I thought you were taller because you’re wearing special shoes. Ever think about that? I did say I could’ve asked the French guy.” She rose a challenging brow, knowing that both of them knew she wouldn’t actually have asked Kaden to help her with this. 

“Wow, a twenty– I mean, a twenty-one year old is really the source of all your problems? It sounds like you need to get bigger problems.” In this town, he probably already had bigger problems and she knew that, but joking about it was easier than blatantly stating it with a straight face. Van rolled her eyes, “you’d probably spill coffee on it ‘cause you were clumsy or something.” She didn’t actually take him as a clumsy person. Even with the bad knee he complained about a lot, he was actually pretty fluid in his movements. Maybe that was the Jade-adjacent thing. She pushed it from her mind again, the sour taste beginning to coat her tongue. That meant anxiety was on its way. She needed to deflect that for as long as she could. “Not my walls,” she reminded him in a sing-song voice. 

But it didn’t matter whose walls they were, because there was some weird little guy (or what she assumed was a weird little guy) living in them. Or outside of them. Maybe in the drawers, or in the dust bunnies that Van had forgotten about time and time again. “You’re going to kill it? Why don’t you just let it out! It’s not like it can open doors!” She didn’t think it was a rat, or at least she hoped it wasn’t a rat. She knew the “rats” that had eaten the metal at Sly Slice weren’t rats at all, but something else, but she really didn’t need them to be here in Regan’s apartment. “It’s right there! In that corner!” Maybe she should grab a bucket like Jade had. As soon as she moved, though, the little creature scuttled away. Unmistakably, it was wearing a cloth hat– the very one that had disappeared from the top of her Keroppi plush. “Hey! That’s not yours! That’s not a rat! You’re not a rat– Emilio what IS THAT!” She clambered towards it, practically diving at the floor as she tried to move another piece of furniture it was trying to hide behind. Now, eye level with it, she let out a high pitched scream. “IT’S A LITTLE MAN!!!! AND HE IS WEARING A HAT THAT ISN’T HIS! THAT’S MINE! IT’S MINE!” 

—

What was that supposed to mean? He was convincing. And his logic made sense. Maybe he should ask Wynne about it without mentioning Van by name and allow them to weigh in; he was pretty sure they’d agree with him so long as they didn’t know it was Van he was calling annoying. “Maybe you know I am tall because you are short and always need to look up at me.” Not his strongest argument by any stretch of the imagination, but it didn’t much matter where Van was concerned. Emilio thought ridiculous arguments might actually work better on her, given how their conversations often devolved. “Ask the French guy next time, then. Invite a French man into your home to hammer things on your walls. Is that what you really want to do?” The challenge was a bold one, but he knew the answer.

“I have very big problems, actually. You’re just annoying enough to cancel all of them out. People are trying to kill me every day, and still you are so annoying that it means nothing.” It was a blatant lie, which Van would probably pick up on, but that was part of the game. “I am not clumsy. If I spill coffee, it is because I want to spill coffee.” He wasn’t the hunter anyone had wanted him to be, but he still had those old skills firmly in place. Bad leg or no, he moved with purpose. He’d probably still spill coffee on her book just to spite her, though. “I don’t care whose walls they are! They’re stupid.” 

Of course, he knew now that the walls weren’t to blame. There was some kind of something knocking the painting from the wall, and Emilio figured it was his job to take care of it. With a hammer, preferably. “Let it out? If I pick it up, it will probably bite me.” Not that it would hurt, given Emilio’s tolerance for pain, but there was a principle there. He spotted the creature and lunged towards it without thinking, but it was a little too fast. And… decidedly not a rat. And wearing a hat? “I don’t know what it is!” The scene devolved into chaos so quickly. Van fell down to eye level with the creature — the little man in a stolen hat, apparently — and Emilio lunged towards it again. It scurried out of reach, hat still firmly on its head. “I am trying! Why do you have a hat so small? That wouldn’t even fit you!” He threw the hammer at the creature, hoping to startle it into slipping up.

—

“Um, obviously. That’s kind of what being shorter than somebody else means. Having to look up, right? But I could used a step stool, but it’s not like I’m going to just carry one around. That’s stupid.” She would’ve done it, should she need to, but the whole point of this had been so she wouldn’t need to use a step stool. It occurred to her as she looked at Emilio that she could’ve asked Thea for help, but she still wasn’t sure what was going on there given the whole… kiss of it all. The accidental kiss, and the actual kiss that Van hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. But now was not the time to think about the kiss, especially when somebody like Emilio (who was decidedly stinky) was in front of her. It wasn’t like she could ask him for advice, anyway. Only slightly defeated, Van rolled her eyes again. “No, that’s not what I want to do.” She could’ve made a joke about how at least they’d smell the same, but she didn’t actually know what Kaden smelled like, and if he smelled good, then that’d be a compliment in Emilio’s direction. She couldn’t chance that. 

“Maybe you should be less killable. Did you think that maybe people want to kill you because you’re annoying?” She felt as though she had made a good point with that one. It made sense, considering… well, everything. She was sure people had tried to kill her because she was annoying. Van thought about the banshees and grimaced. Yeah, they definitely hadn’t been impressed with her. “Why are you spilling coffee on things? That’s kind of weird. Do you just go around doing that a lot? Spilling things on purpose? That’s weird, and you should like, totally examine that behavior.” She did a lot of things that she should probably examine, but it wasn’t like they were talking about her right now. They were talking about Emilio! Or, at least, she was. 

“it’s Keroppi’s hat! Not my hat, but it is mine!” Van crawled on her hands and knees to where she had last seen the small creature scurry. This time, it was caught in the corner. Its little chest was heaving, and its little arms were in front of its face. DON’T LOOK AT ME! I AM HIDEOUS! Van hadn’t anticipated that, so she froze. “Did you… hear him?” Van looked over her shoulder at Emilio who looked now slightly disheveled. I AM HIDEOUS! USE THY EYE TO LOOK AWAY AND YE SHALL BE SPARED FROM– The little man started to cough, and he tucked the hat further down over his eyes, PLEASE, I AM JUST A HUMBLE… LITTLE MAN, AS YOU CALLED ME, AND I AM ADJUSTING THIS HOME TO THE WAY I KNOW HOW. Van couldn’t quite keep up with the reason as to why he was doing what he was doing, but she stared at him, still close to the ground. Now that she was closer to him, though, she could pick out the parts of him that might make him… well, discouraged by his physique. But Van certainly wasn’t anyone to judge another on their physical appearance, even if he was actually quite terrifying. Her stomach lurched and she forced down the anxiety. “Emilio, tell him he’s handsome.” It was said in a tone that even surprised her, and she looked over her shoulder as she shoved the last item the little man was hiding behind. “Tell him he’s handsome. If he tells you you’re handsome, will you leave?” She looked back at the little man, not quite in disbelief that this was her life now (because of course it was). 

—

“Then get a step stool! Stop inviting me over just to be ungrateful for my help!” There was no real malice to the words; if anything, someone who knew him well enough would be able to pick up on the hint of amusement lurking somewhere in the undertones of the exclamation. But Emilio couldn’t let Van know that he was amused by her, and Van probably didn’t want him to drop the act, either. He flashed a victorious grin as she admitted that, no, she didn’t want to invite Kaden into her house. “Then you have to be quiet and deal with me. Or next time, you get the French guy.”

He huffed at her statement, rolling his eyes. “People do not try to kill me because I am annoying.” Except… that was why Aesil had targeted him, wasn’t it? He swiftly pushed the thought away. Thinking about the demon at all made him feel sweaty and stupid, but thinking about them in Van’s presence seemed like a risk. Like, somehow, she would pull his thoughts from his expression and know what had happened, like she could internalize it from his furrowed brows alone. “Maybe I should try spilling coffee on you.” It was easier to fall back into that, into the bickering. It was simpler.

In a way, even the strange creature scurrying around the floor was a relief. It gave him something else to focus on, another way to be useful. Emilio liked that, even if he got the feeling he shouldn’t admit to it while Van was screaming about a hat belonging to someone named Keroppi, who must have had a very small head. She managed to corner the creature, and Emilio rushed over… only to pause as it spoke. “Uh…” He glanced to Van, wide-eyed as she asked him to… compliment the thing. In a low tone, he said, “Why do I have to tell him he’s handsome? Why can’t you do it? You’re the one who gave him the hat.”

—

“This is like, the only time I invited you over. You broke in the last time, remember? The cat? The cookies?” She would never let him live that down, even if she didn’t exactly think he cared about being reminded. It had been an inconvenience to her, so surely he thought it was funny. “Maybe you should stop saying you know how to do these kinds of things when you don’t even have a tool belt.” Van scowled at him, knowing well enough that having a tool belt or not didn’t really mean anything when it came to hanging paintings. It probably would’ve been different if he had come over with the intention of fixing her sink or something. Which luckily, it didn’t need any fixing. 

“They probably most definitely do. You’re like, threatening to spill coffee on me and you don’t think that’s annoying? That’s weird of you.” Van knew the back and forth would never end, and that was a part of the fun, wasn’t it? There was no thinking about the words that would come out of her mouth. She wouldn’t be reprimanded, and instead met with the same kind of energy. It was kind of nice, all things considered. 

“I didn’t give him the hat, he took the hat, and I think that it coming from you would mean a lot more than it coming from me! You’re both men, right?” The small little man nodded his head in agreement, teeth glaringly obvious the longer that Van looked at him. He was kind of disgusting, and Van felt kind of bad for him. “Tell him he’s handsome.” It was said again with more desperation this time. “If he tells you you’re handsome, will you leave and stop knocking over my painting? I can take you to somebody else’s house you can terrorize.” Janice would hate this, and she’d never find out what was happening, and Van was fine with that. “Not your house,” Van said quickly before Emilio decided that obviously he was the next victim. I WILL LEAVE, YES. LEAVE I WILL, AND I WILL GO WHERE YOU TELL ME. I LOST MY FAMILY.. THE OTHERS, THEY ARE GONE. SWEPT OUT, NOW I AM HERE. I AM NOT HANDSOME, PLEASE TELL ME I AM HANDSOME, TALL MAN. Had the little man heard their conversation? Did he know that Van had told him he wasn’t that tall? God, Van was never going to live it down now. “It’s because he’s also small,” Van quickly commented before Emilio could get any ideas. 

—

“It doesn’t matter how many times you invited me over, it matters that you invited me over to help you and then argued with me. Do you do this to everyone you invite over to help you? It’s very rude.” As if Emilio, of all people, had any room to accuse anyone else of rudeness. “I don’t need a tool belt! Who brings a tool belt to hang a painting? You need one tool. You need to hammer, and that’s all. You don’t need a screwdriver or — or other tools.” It occurred to him that he didn’t know much about tools. He wasn’t much of a handyman; most of his attempts at fixing things were made with makeshift tools rather than formal ones.

“I would only spill coffee on you because you are annoying. That is not weird. Me being annoying in response to you being annoying is fine.” They could do this all day, he knew; this bickering, this easy back and forth. Maybe they would. Maybe it would make things feel a little less heavy to just argue about shit that didn’t matter for a while. 

“How do you know it’s a man? You’re not supposed to just assume that!” Granted, the little creature had referred to itself as a man, but it had only been parroting what Van had said in the first place. Emilio didn’t know if that counted. Van was trying to negotiate with it — and she was right in thinking that if she hadn’t clarified, he would have assumed she planned to release the thing in his house — and Emilio sighed. But the thing went on, talking about its family and how they were gone and — shit. He was not going to empathize with a rat-sized man-thing that stole Van’s tiny hats. He had to draw the fucking line somewhere, didn’t he? He crossed his arms again, shifting his weight uncomfortably. Goddamn it. “Fine,” he grumbled, shooting Van a triumphant look as the creature called him tall. It turned back into a scowl when she immediately pointed out that the creature was also short. “You are very handsome. More handsome without the hat, even.” Anything to make this be over. 

—

“You’re always arguing with me, what do you even mean?” Van could say anything, and she was sure that Emilio would find an issue with it. Although, the same could be said for her. Anything he said, she’d try and one-up, whether in terms of ridiculousness, or out of something  else. “I don’t know. Maybe if you had a tool belt, it could hold your one tool, and then you wouldn’t need to hold it in your hand, you know? Free hand, or whatever. I wouldn’t have to hand you the hammer. You’d have it already. It’d save time.” Maybe she should be a salesman instead of a cashier at a pizza place. She’d do good, she thought. “You could also probably keep duct tape on it. You use that a lot, right?” She swore the last time she was at his old apartment, she’d seen it on one of the walls holding the wallpaper in place. Or maybe it was the actual wall. 

“If it’s hot coffee, I could sue you, you know. I could totally sue you for that.” She would never sue anyone, that’d take way too much effort, and she’d probably cry on the witness stand. The government made her nervous in pretty much any capacity, even if it was supposed to be on her side.

“He literally said he was a little man!” Van splayed a hand out at him, still on the ground, though she didn’t put it near him out of fear that he might actually bite her. His little chest was heaving, and he had his hands still covering most of his face, but Van could see the important parts– the parts that were clearly meant to be… terrifying. Van watched the little man with baited breath as Emilio’s compliment splintered into the space before them. Astonishment rose over the little man’s features and he quickly took off the hat, revealing… Well, Van felt guilty for being disgusted, so she quickly waved at him, “no, you can keep the hat! Parting gift! It’s yours now!” The little man’s eyes widened and he quickly tucked the hat back over his head. FOR GRATITUDE, I HAVE! I HAVE SO MUCH, AND I WILL LEAVE NOW, AS OUR DEAL IS COMPLETE. I AM MORE HANDSOME THAN THE TWO OF YOU, AND THOUGH I WILL NEVER BE AS TALL, I AM BEAUTIFUL. I AM A FLOWER. Van wasn’t entirely certain where he had gotten all of that, but he sauntered off, no longer pressed to the corner of the wall that both Van and Emilio were looming in front of. His little boots that she hadn’t noticed him wearing (were those Polly Pocket rubber boots???) squeaked as he scurried off. THE DOOR, PLEASE. FOR I NEED THE DOOR TO LEAVE. Van quickly got up and half-ran to the door, yanking it open. He hurried over the threshold, disappearing down the stairs in a clunky fashion. “I didn’t even tell him where Janice lives,” Van said quietly as she shut the door. She turned around to look at Emilio. “Are you going to uh, hang the painting now?” 

—

“You know what I mean,” Emilio replied, mostly because he’d forgotten what they were arguing about and figured this would piss Van off the most. “Why is it a problem to hold it in my hand? I have two hands. I don’t need two hands and a belt. It seems like these belts are for people who do not know how to hold things. I know how to hold things.” Though the idea of being able to carry more duct tape did intrigue him, he was careful not to let the interest show on his face. Van would be insufferable if she knew she was even a little right. Emilio wouldn’t be the cause of something like that.

“Sure. Go ahead and sue me.” Emilio wasn’t sure what suing someone did beyond the fact that it ended with you getting their money, and he didn’t have a lot to give in that sense. Most of his money was either stuffed in the mattress of his Worm Row apartment or lining the cabinets of Teddy’s kitchen in the form of cheap whiskey. There wasn’t much to be gained from suing him. 

“He was only copying what you said!” He kept an eye on the creature through the conversation. For all he knew, the thing was just waiting for them to be distracted enough for him to gain the upper hand. He wasn’t about to risk having it attack him or Van, no matter how small and harmless it might have seemed. The compliment seemed to appease it, though, and Van’s offer for it to keep the hat only furthered its excitement. Emilio made a sound of protest as the creature claimed to be more handsome than the two of them. “Now I didn’t say that—” he started, but cut himself off before he could get too much further. They just needed the thing gone, really; let it think whatever it wanted. In any case, it did seem to be leaving. It took off for the door and was gone the moment Van opened it. Emilio stared after it for a moment. “He really was ugly,” he mused, glancing back to the wall. “Yeah,” he agreed, “all right. Let’s get your gay painting up to stay this time.”

[bookofbolden]

TIMING: Early July LOCATION: A Latte to Love PARTIES: Sai ( @saithebatguy ) & Eleanor SUMMARY: Eleanor invites Sai to critique parts of her novel. WARNINGS: Familial death and depression mentions

The whole point of beta readers was to find a group of people unbiased enough to give unfiltered, unexaggerated feedback whenever it came to a writer’s soon-to-be published works. Eleanor had been on the hunt for beta readers in town for a while but everyone she thought would make a great candidate had turned out to be a really good friend of hers which then equaled automatic disqualification from her search. Living in a town where everyone knew everyone it had been hard for her to find someone that didn’t know her enough to hold back - until she’d encountered someone named Sai.

Eleanor had never met him before but they’d spoken online briefly and he seemed like the perfect person to handle the challenge of reading through a few pages and listening to her plotting in order to give a true rating on her progress thus far. He didn’t strike her as someone who would be overly interested in the task but to her that made him even more of a perfect match.

Later that night Eleanor found herself in a booth in the back of A Latte to Love with a few pages of her novel in a folder, two cups of coffee, and her hands folded nervously in her lap. Although she had promised herself that she would try and be more outgoing that didn’t mean that meeting up with strangers in person wouldn’t be any less rattling. She honestly just hoped that Sai would hear her out and not turn her away the moment she began to speak.

Sai had been flattered when the woman online had asked for his opinion, honestly. It hadn’t even really occurred to him to say no to her request, when she asked to meet up and get his feedback on some book she was working on. He did have better things to do, sure. But things were quiet with the Noxferatu this week, or at least in the sense he wasn’t really needed, so he was hardly neglecting his responsibilities there. And surely he could spare 20 minutes from his own projects and business to meet up with this woman and hear about her book.

He was surprised to see so many people in the coffeeshop this late, poring over papers, or tapping on their laptop keyboards. As he looked over the place, he realized they probably should have coordinated better about meeting. He’d had a few false tries of asking people if they were Eleanor, before he finally made it to a booth in the back.

Maybe the forth time was the charm. “Eleanor?” Sai asked, setting a hand on the table where a woman sat. She must be tired, since she had two cups of coffee next to her folder. Something about her did give the air of writer, too. “Great to meet you in person. I’m looking forward to hearing about your project.”

Eleanor looked up when her name was called and she smiled kindly at the man who stood before her. “That’s me! I had just started to message you and ask if everything was alright - I hope you’re doing well, it’s a pleasure to meet you as well, thank you so much for coming.” She was pleased to find that the stranger seemed friendly enough and as though he just might be a good conversationalist. Not that that really mattered much as she had a tendency to talk enough for two people. “Please, sit!” She motioned to the other side of the booth with both hands.

A familiar emptiness crept up her spine and Eleanor took a moment to look over her acquaintance a little closer. No emotions. She knew what that meant but there was no way for her to come out and say it, she’d learned that doing so could be dangerous. She pushed her bangs out of her eyes, a nervous habit she’d picked up ever since she’d gotten them cut just a few weeks earlier. “My publisher wants to have the book on shelves everywhere come autumn so I’ve been searching all over for beta readers, you couldn’t imagine how difficult it's been. I don’t like going the typical route of sending everything online to people, I’ve heard horror stories of other writers having their work stolen that way. I’d rather meet with the person, have them read over a few things, then take the pages back at the end of the appointment. It’s a lot more tedious but I can be sure that my original work remains original.” She nervously picked up her coffee then decided to test her theory. “Oh! I got two because I didn’t know if you’d like one or not, it doesn’t have anything added, but there’s lots of sugar here just in case it’s too bitter for you. If you’d rather skip the caffeine I’m more than happy to drink both.” Not that she needed it. She carefully slid the second cup of coffee over to Sai.

Eleanor took a deep breath before continuing. “So, my book, who’s name is still being thought over, was very much inspired by my move to Wicked’s Rest - the setting, the characters, the monsters, everything within it has been influenced in one way or another by the last year of my life. It’s a horror novel, the first of which I’ve ever written so I’m very nervous of having other people read it, but seeing as that’s the ultimate goal I need to get myself out of my comfort zone and start having it proofread. I brought small excerpts from some of the more ‘important’ and ‘exciting’ chapters, I can explain to you what I’m trying to convey in each before you read it, then you could tell me whether or not that’s how you, the reader, understood it. Or we could do it the other way ‘round, if that’s what you’d prefer. All I ask is that you be completely honest with me. If something isn’t good or doesn’t make sense please let me know, I swear that I take criticism when it comes to my work very well. I’d rather one person tell me they don’t like it than a thousand.”

Sai took a seat across the woman, smiling back at her. “Thank you,” he said, as she slid the coffee over to him. It would probably hurt her feelings if he said he didn’t like coffee or something like that. And it had been thoughtful of her to get it for him. He made a show of adding sugar to it, partly because that’s what humans did, and partly to delay pretending to drink it.

“People steal writing like that?” Sai asked. He hadn’t even considered that might be an issue for writers. Original writing hardly seemed lucrative enough to make theft worthwhile. Unless, maybe this woman was famous, and he just hadn’t heard her name before. “Does it not get copyrighted before it’s published?”

He raised his eyebrows when she started the horror book as being inspired by her time in Wicked’s Rest. Maybe she’d stumbled into the wrong part of town and found something she wasn’t expecting. Although honestly, in that case, it was impressive she was sitting here at all. She did say this was fiction, though, didn’t she? “Were you inspired by local wildlife or something like that?” It did make him a little more curious to hear what exactly was going on in this Wicked’s Rest inspired book.

“Sure, I don’t mind giving you my honest thoughts,” Sai said. It was helpful that she was laying out just what she wanted from him. He’d had no idea what giving feedback on fiction usually involved. But this seemed easy enough. “I don’t read much fiction at all, so I should be pretty free from biases on the subject.” He held out his hands in invitation, “Go ahead and describe it to me. I’m all ears.”

“Of course.” Eleanor pretended to straight up her papers as she continued to watch him add sugar to the coffee. Never before had she been unable to get a reading on someone living and she was interested to know more about Sai and how he had come to be who he was. Of course, people didn’t typically open up about things like that upon their first meeting so she would have to remain patient. That was always the hardest thing for her.

“Unfortunately yes. It isn’t the most common thing when it comes to plagiarism but I’d really rather just do it this way. Like I said, I know that I get to bring my work home with me at the end of the day and don’t have to worry about it being in anyone else’s hands. A lot of the theft happens to newer authors who tend to make the mistake of believing that copyrighting is something that’s done at the very end of the process since it’s advertised that your work doesn’t technically need to be copyrighted in order to submit it for review to an actual publisher. There’s also very intelligent criminals out there who are able to get around the law in writing just like any other field. It’s frustrating for sure.”

Eleanor opened her mouth to respond to his question but closed it again. How much could she state had been truly inspired by the town without her acquaintance being able to pinpoint every single detail and match them up with their true life counterparts? “One of the characters is based on my best friend here, yes they survive, I wouldn’t have written them in if they didn’t.” She smiled to herself before continuing on, “A lot of the setting is inspired by buildings and areas around town, I went walking around a lot when I first got here and took a lot of pictures of everything just to have an idea of how I wanted my gloomy little town to be set up. As far as the monster…” Again she hesitated. Writing about some of her experiences had been very therapeutic to her but that didn’t mean that she wanted to get into her near death experiences with a total stranger. “I suppose the monster in the story is based upon an experience I’ve had here, although it was nothing like it’s described in the book! It’s fiction, I decided to let my imagination run wild. I’ve had some unfortunate run-ins around town with unsavory characters since I’ve been here so I went into writer mode and I embellished a little. Okay, a lot.”

Eleanor couldn’t have been happier to hear his response. “Unbiased is exactly what I need right now. Okay,” she pulled out the first page and cleared her throat, “I want to start somewhere near the end when the remaining characters meet an older gentleman who lost all of his family to the monster, or the Anima as it’s called in the book. He explains to them that the Anima feeds on the souls of the living in order to live indefinitely and the more of a single person’s soul it takes, the better. Therefore his victims hardly ever survive, but he did. He goes into detail about how he would hate to be immortal because after losing his family he could not bear going through life alone forever.”

She began to read. “‘To live forever… it sounds terrible to me.’ The old man stated, his blind eyes settled upon nothing yet seeming to see the past with perfect vision. ‘I didn’t think I’d make it this long without Nancy or the boys. I know no one anymore, everyone I was once close with is gone and the world is changing - I couldn’t live forever this way. But I guess that’s the curse of immortality: to watch the world change, to see everything you know wither.’” Eleanor looked up and slid the page over to Sai so that he could read over the words himself. “I was hoping to capture the old man’s misery while also sort of foreshadowing how the survivor of the book will feel in thirty, forty years. I come back and reference this conversion at the very end.”

“Why would someone want to steal writing?” Sai was more confused now that she mentioned it happened to new writers more often. “No offense, but I didn’t think fiction was that valuable unless you’re a famous author or something.” But maybe authors not making much money was a myth. He didn’t keep up with that sort of thing. 

He nodded along as she described the town. It sounded like she’d run into something, although that could be anything from vampires to giant frogs for all he knew. That wasn’t important to what they were doing here, anyway. He listened as she described her book. He’d sort of expected that she might just give him the pages to read, but this worked well enough. Although she only made it through a short section before turning it over to him. They’d be here all night if they were going paragraph by paragraph. Maybe he should have cleared his schedule. 

Sai deliberated after she finished, tilting his head back and forth for a second, thinking. She had wanted him to be honest, kind or not. Only he hadn’t realized he had missed something, that the man speaking wasn’t speaking about his own immortality. “Well, I just think it’s not that realistic,” he said, finally. “Of course, it’s fiction, so maybe that’s what you’re going for. But being immortal, I mean, I don’t think it would be like this,” he said. 

“Just think, since I was kid,” he tried to configure when that was supposed to have been, based on how old he looked. It was a safe bet to assume that would have been before the Internet, though. “Things were really different. There was no Internet, and now there is. And like everyone’s does eventually, my parents have passed away now.” Mathematically speaking, he assumed that was true, anyway. Although it would have been after he was a vampire. They’d still been living on the last day of his human life. Something about that felt weird to think about, and he tossed the thought away. This was about her book. About her uninspired portrayal of immortality. “So things change. Why can’t this guy just meet new people? That’s what I think of anyway, when I hear that.” 

Eleanor smiled because she understood the confusion. There were a lot of people who didn’t understand the world of authors and she was always happy to try and give an inside view whenever given the opportunity. “There’s a lot of people trying to make it big if you’re able to believe that. Everyone wants to be the next Anne Rice, Stephen King, or Jane Austen. Some people want it so badly that they’re willing to take work from others that they believe will get their name out there. Writing is a very competitive area, it’s hard to get something published, much less have your name become familiar.” She herself knew that the struggle to become a household name was difficult even if her books were doing fairly well.

She leaned closer when Sai explained what he thought immortality would be like. If her hunch had been correct he would know all about being alive forever, wouldn’t he? Eleanor’s mouth fell open when she heard that his parents had passed away and she tried to form some sort of apology but decided against it. He didn’t seem like the kind of person to want her condolences anyhow. “Some people… have a hard time meeting new people.” She’d taken experiences from her own life and added them to the old man’s personality. She certainly wouldn’t have been able to move on easily from her entire family falling victim to a vicious monster. Was that too unrealistic that someone else wouldn’t be able to move on either? “Depression can sometimes, a lot of the time, be a lifelong struggle. That’s where I believed the old man to be coming from, a place of depression.” She smiled again and gently took the page back, took out her red pen, then scribbled down Sai’s feedback and what she could have improved. “When it comes to my surviving character what would you suggest to be their outlook on losing nearly everyone they know and love if not misery?” She tapped the pen against the table as she waited, genuinely interested in his response.

“I guess it seems like such a trivial thing to steal over,” Sai said. Stealing writing hardly seemed like a sustainable path to fame, but what did he know? He was never interested in that sort of thing, but he wondered if this woman was. “Is that what you’re trying to do? Be the next Stephen King or Jane Austen?” 

Sai considered what she said, her perspective on loss, on depression. Of course, he and most of the vampires he knew were pretty well adjusted. At least in the sense they didn’t spare a lot of thought for their human lives, dead and gone. That colored most of his perspective on it. But when he thought about it, he had seen plenty of new vampires who felt differently. Who were torn up with guilt over the people they’d killed and eaten. Or mourned the loss of friends and family. A lot of those vampires didn’t live long. Sometimes they outgrew it. But it didn’t seem unreasonable that there were others out there who didn’t. Ones who maybe didn’t think it wise to share those thoughts with other vampires. 

“No, it makes sense. In the short term at least, I just meant in the longer one. Eternity is a long time, right?” But of course, they weren’t talking about vampires. He heard the story, and laid his own world over the top of it. Which maybe wasn’t the most accurate. But if there was no death, no bloody transformation, to cut your life into discrete pieces, different lives, he could see how that might change things. 

“But maybe you’re right,” Sai said, with a shrug. “Maybe it’s just a different way of looking at it than my own way of thinking. That’s part of the appeal people find in fiction, right? Seeing different perspectives. I’d rather just talk to someone else usually, but I get that,” he said. He faked a sip of the sugar laden coffee, the way a living man might. “Why don’t you keep going with your story and maybe it’ll click for me.” 

Eleanor shook her head. “No, I just want to be Eleanor Bolden and I want to be good at being Eleanor Bolden. I want my name to be up there with theirs, not because we’re similar, but because we’re all damn good writers.” She didn’t want to copy anyone else’s style, what was the fun in that? And she also didn’t want to be known for reminding people of other writers. She wanted to be uniquely herself and she hoped that the world might take an interest in her and that her name might withstand the test of time as all the greats had.

Sitting back in her seat, Eleanor frowned down at the pages. “The old man doesn’t have eternity, in his own words he just has to ‘suffer through until it’s his time’. I think that’s the mindset a lot of people have, at least in my experience with speaking to different people who’ve lost… everything.” She nodded and pulled out the next few pages and handed them to Sai. It was an introduction to her favorite character and how the trip into a strange new town had come about. The character’s friends had all decided that taking a trip out of town would be the best course of action to get their friend’s mind off the recent death of her parents. It detailed how alone she felt and that she doubted she would ever be able to move on. “Here’s one of the main characters, she has a similar story but her parents passed away. I thought that having some similarities between a core character and the old man might help with the bond they eventually build. Other than going through the toughest time of her life at the beginning of the story she’s also very caring and loves her friends and is kind of the ‘mom’ of the group, doing anything she can to make sure those around her are alright even though she’s the one who needs taking care of. Tell me if you think she’s too flat. She’s one of the main focuses of the story, she needs to be well rounded. And this,” she pulled out two more pages with a description and random quotes from throughout the novel, "Is her boyfriend. He’s pretty much the exact opposite of her: boisterous, unconcerned with anything, doesn’t understand how to sympathize with his girlfriend’s grief. He’s kind of that character that every book, movie, or TV show has that the vast majority just kind of doesn’t like but has to put up with for the time being. I wrote him that way on purpose, it’s unrealistic to like everyone you meet, right? He also comes across as annoying as he spends most of his time complaining.”

Another thought had crossed Eleanor’s mind however and she suddenly became less interested in hearing his opinions about her book than she was his opinions on the supernatural. She knew of things that went bump in the night but she didn’t know if she could fully believe that there were monsters out there that gladly made the lives of those around them miserable. Could anyone, even the supernatural, be so cruel like the monster in her book? “Sai, do you…” She wasn’t sure how to get the question out without sounding absolutely ridiculous. “Do you think that it’s possible that monsters like the one in my book are real? I don't mean monsters that are running around causing havoc and making themselves known per se, but just… ones that maybe walk among us undetected? Ones that do horrible things to people in secret? It’s not something I’ve ever considered until I started writing this, but I haven’t been able to shake the thought.” Of course she knew that certain degrees of supernatural existed, her best friend was a vampire! But the thought that some less loving had the same strength and abilities and were free to use them as they pleased made a shiver run down her spine. She sighed and glanced at him then shook her head. “Sorry, I just got caught up in my own thoughts for a moment, I didn’t mean to sound insane.”

“Hm, I think maybe I missed something,” Sai said. “I thought he became the monster or immortal or something.” Projecting, maybe. But of course, that was ridiculous. His life was nothing like this story. Maybe if it was, it’d be more interesting to him. “Following fiction is not usually my thing, sorry.” He nodded, at her next comment. “You might be right about that.” It’d seemed she’d done her research on people’s reactions to similar situations. It wasn’t the type of thing Sai would think to do research on, but she was thorough, clearly. Maybe that gave her fiction an extra edge.

He gathered up the pages as she handed them over. “What would you say makes a flat or rounded character? So I know what to look for.” It felt a little out of his wheelhouse, critiquing how she’d written the character. Weren’t all fictional characters, by definition a little flat? They weren’t real people. They were just going through a story, puppeted by the writer. But he got side tracked by her next question about monsters before he could read through the pages.

“Of course not,” Sai said, almost automatically. He was happy to talk about this book with her, but he wasn’t about to start discussing undead, or similar things, with some human author he’d met off the Internet. Especially when he might be the sort of monster she was talking about. Not that he was evil or anything, not how he saw it, but to some human eyes he might be. Vampires drank human blood. It was a simple fact of life. And sometimes that blood came with a death toll. Another fact of life. Talking about it probably wouldn’t help with her book, anyway.  “It’s just fiction, right?”

Eleanor shook her head. “I apologize if I confused you. No, he doesn’t become immortal. His ‘life sentence’ as he describes it is that he has to live the rest of his life without the ones that he loves. He wishes that the monster would have taken him as well or in the place of his family. Again, sort of foreshadowing for when the survivor at the end of the story has lost everyone they know and love. My other works didn’t have much foreshadowing, everything was pretty straight forward, but I thought that it was as good a time as any to try something new since I’m jumping into an entirely new genre anyhow. Do you think I could do something differently to make it more efficient?”

Eleanor perked up at his question, happy to have a chance to educate someone on writing styles. “Flat characters don’t have anything that makes them pop - they maybe only have one true characteristic or their thinking stays the same throughout the entire story, giving them no kind of character development or growth. Round characters are more complex, they change as the story progresses, they have conflicting traits and sometimes make the wrong decisions that may upset the reader. They’re more human, less two dimensional.” She held her coffee cup between her hands and sat back against the seat. “If a writer has one goal it needs to be that their characters are changed by the story. It’s not interesting if they remain the same throughout the entire thing.”

Somehow she had expected his answer. Eleanor had come to learn that most people didn’t like to accept the fact that monsters very well may walk among them. She nodded and smiled at Sai, hoping that she hadn’t burned any bridges. “You’re right, it’s just fiction. Sometimes my mind wanders and I get to thinking that maybe… I don’t know, maybe some of it might be true. The stories had to come from somewhere, right?” She shrugged. “Anyhow, what do you think of those characters?”

Sai shrugged, “I couldn’t tell you. Do most people find it interesting to read? I think that’s probably what’s important right, instead of making it easier for people to guess.” He was pretty sure that’s what foreshadowing was anyway. “The shorter the better, in my opinion, though, for this sort of thing.” 

Her explanation of the types of characters made enough sense. She seemed to know what she was talking about, when it came to all of this stuff. People were always changing after all, weren’t they? He wasn’t the same person he’d been just a decade earlier, and this woman had given up romance novels for horror. 

“I mean I’m sure there’s real word inspiration for this sort of thing, but that doesn’t mean that it's real,” he said at her speculation on monsters. “Just like how there’s vampire bats, and that’s inspiration for all the stories about humans that do the same thing.” He thought he was making a pretty good case for it, all in all. After all, something like that was probably true, even if there was more to it. 

He turned to the pages and took a few minutes to look them over., And few minutes more after his thoughts had trailed off elsewhere. He really had no idea if they were good characters or not. They mostly seemed like words on a page to him. “I think the characters sound fine,” Sai said finally. “I couldn’t really tell you if they’ve changed or anything based on just a few pages. I’m not sure I get why you would have an annoying character, though. Even if it’s realistic, wouldn’t it make readers want to put the book down?” 

Eleanor nodded. “I love a good foreshadowing moment. It brings everything full circle once I finally get to the part of the story that was hinted at near the beginning. I get excited over that kind of thing, but then again writing is my job and passion so I get easily excited over most things that involve literary devices. I also like when the writer makes the foreshadowing a little obvious because then I’m on my toes waiting for when they tie it all together again.” She tilted her head and observed him for a moment before asking, “Do you really not feel that same sense of joy while reading?”

Eleanor found it interesting that Sai should bring up vampire bats but she didn’t say anything about it. She wondered in silence if the reason for his lack of readable emotions was because he himself just so happened to be the kind of thing vampire bats had inspired so many stories of, but she tried not to let her mind wander too much. She was there to get some unbiased opinions of her novel, not to interrogate the man sitting across from her. Perhaps another time.

“Hm.” Eleanor frowned as she tried to find the best way to describe it. “Whenever I watch a horror movie, and I’ve watched a lot in the past year for inspiration, the annoying character is just kind of expected. It’s a trope that would make the story seem almost lacking if they weren’t there. Also, it’s very possible for a writer to make a character too annoying, I’ve read lots of books where that has happened. There have been times when I absolutely could not stand the main character because they were so annoying, but I hope that I have avoided that.”

Not wanting to waste any time, Eleanor pulled out the last of the pages she hoped to go over with Sai. “These are the last two pages of the book. I know it seems weird that we’ve kind of skipped the entire middle but I was doing that intentionally. While researching I learned that a lot of horror and mystery writers start at the end and work backwards so I did that, something I’ve never done before. The surviving character is leaving town after the most traumatic time of their life. I poured a lot of emotion into it, I just want to make sure that you, the reader, are able to sympathize with them and forgive them for whatever wrong or selfish decisions they may have made while fighting for their life. Of course you don’t know what any of those decisions are since we’ve skipped over that part, but just let me know if you at least feel… something for the character for having made it out alive.”

Sai shrugged at her question. “I mean, sure, I can understand anticipation. But with reading, it always feels like sort of a waste of my time. Fiction, anyway. There’s always more I want to do and learn. To stop and read a book that’s not really relevant to the world around me…” he stopped and swirled his spoon absent-mindedly through the full cup of coffee as he looked for the words. “Well, it just doesn’t capture my interest, since I know it never really happened.” But there was clearly something there. Lots of people loved novels, if the library shelves were anything to go by. “What is it you like about fiction?” 

When Sai took the final pages from her, he already was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to deliver what she was looking for. He’d agreed to this, expecting questions like if the logic of the story made sense, not if it made an impact on him. But here they were. 

He read through the next set of pages carefully. And he tried, he did. He tried to feel something reading through it, but there was still that voice at the back of his head. None of this really happened. “Well, I think you did a good job of showing his emotions and all that,” he said, finally, as he set down the last page. “But reading this, I just know he’s not real, you know. I don’t think that’s really about you or anything. It’s more a fiction thing. Maybe if it was someone really talking about how they got out of this alive. You know, a biography, or something like that. Maybe you could consider that for your next book.” He sat back in his chair, setting down the page. “But the writing’s nice, though, it sounds good.” 

Once again Sai proved to Eleanor why he had been her choice. He was honest but not in a rude way and he didn’t have any bias when it came to her writing. He wasn’t comparing it to others that he’d read and he also didn’t think that she could do no wrong. A nice, open-minded reader. He was just the kind of person she wanted to advertise to, people who would read her story without going in with preconceived notions. “I love it for the same reason you don’t care too much for it. It never happened. Writing and reading were the best two ways for me to get away from… difficult times in my childhood. I was able to be whoever I wanted, go on adventures, and develop superpowers. Whenever tragedy happens you can just close the book and return to life without it affecting you. For a few hours or days or weeks, however long it takes you to read, you’re transported to another world where anything is possible.”

She hadn’t meant to deliver such a monologue but if she was able to share her love for reading with someone she would never miss the opportunity. Reading and writing had in many ways saved her and she was always happy to tell that to anyone who would listen. She was passionate about it and wanted others to be passionate about it as well. Eleanor smiled. It wasn’t what she had hoped to hear but in some ways she had expected it. He’d tried his best and that was all she could ask for. “Maybe one day you’ll be able to get over the fact that it’s not real and just… enjoy it. I’d like for one of my books to be the one that makes you fall in love with fiction. One day. I have lots of years of writing ahead of me, you never know what could happen.” She would send him a copy of the book when it was finished and whether or not he took the time to read it, she would still feel happy that he had it in his possession. “I think my next work is going to be poetry, I need something light and breezy after everything this novel has taken out of me. I’m a little afraid of horror authors now, how in the world do they remain sane?” She gathered up her things, taking the pages back from him, and smiled at him one last time. “I really do appreciate this, you’ve helped me tremendously. If there’s ever anything I can do for you in the future please just message me and let me know. I now owe you.”