Hi everyone! It's me, Eden the mod of calix and a few other ocs again.
[TW. SA, strong language, read at your own discretion and risk]
After a lot of consideration, I thought it would be best to follow up with a clearer and more detailed account of the situation with the Circe Blog. I did not initially want to make this statement but I owe it to people to give my point of view, in hopes that others can understand a little more context.
Let's start from the beginning, when I was first alerted to this situation by my friend Lilly @unhinged-waterlilly on 14th of September. [She has explained more in her own post, I strongly recommend checking it out, it is tagged at the bottom of her intro]
I was still pretty confused about the finer details and decided to ask Jack about it. I expressed my concern at the switch of Odysseus from a victim of sexual assault to a rapist. They told me that it was an AU and that it wasn't canon.
And at that point of time, I did not think too much about it, I just hid my disagreements and let the conversation end.
Jack reopened the topic by telling me about a strongly worded ask they got. And after looking through it, I agreed with the overall sentiment but did not agree with the way it was delivered.
The person who wrote the ask has since apologized to Jack and made it clear that they do not agree with the way they've worded the ask.
But after watching how jack reacted to getting this criticism, I made the decision to recommend them to write the apology.
At first I wanted Jack to write it by themselves, as it was more genuine but after hearing
some of their concerns with writing apologies regarding these important and serious issues
Seeing their plans for how they would write the apology
It was clear that if I let Jack write the apology alone, it would not have been an apology. It would have been a hole filled statement which did not address key issues. It would have done harm to others and to them. And as someone who truly considered them a close friend, I didn't want to see anyone hurt.
this is the link to my apology for writing the jack’s statement
And so, l asked Jack to blurt out everything they wanted me to reword.
And it pissed me off that in all of their rants, the word sorry did not appear once.
The context did not make an appearance as well.
At that point of time I thought it was reasonable until I caught the number of times I needed to add "I'm sorry" and "Remorseful" in the apology.
Initially they wanted to delete the Circe blog immediately, but I convinced them that it should be done AFTER the
statement/apology was up, as it would only be right because it was mentioned in the apology.
I also advised them to stay off rp for a while, to let everyone breathe and they proceeded to tell me that they were addicted to p but again, because I had no context, I did not think much of it.
Maybe I should have probed further, maybe I should have asked.
But at that point, I had just written a long, long statement and I was drained, emotionally and physically. The past is the past, I will no longer keep thinkin about the what ifs and could haves of this situation.
Then came the post Jack made after me, Lilly and Skh had made our statements. His boyfriend had come online with the intention to understand the situation.
But this whole fucking post read to me like it was made with the intention to villainise our statements. And the sheer fact that I can pick up on that is concerning to me, doesn’t matter if it’s on purpose. As soon as your question post starts sounding accusatory, something is WRONG.
What's the harm in such a post? Well.
People who see that post THEN read our statements have a filter on.
Suddenly our concerns become twisted into scathing judgment.
Our opinions and thoughts get distorted to hurtful and hateful messages.
None of us. Me, Lilly or Skh said the phrase 'I hate Jack' in any of our statements.
What drove me to make this statement is to share my side of the story, so it could be valuable to anyone who needs it.
Onto my feelings and views on the situation, I was sympathetic and supportive for most of the time period of this shitshow.
But I am upset and angry that my friend Lilly needed to make a statement that she shouldn't have to make.
I am disappointed at the management of this situation by Jack
And I am sorry that this got out of hand. This situation that should and could have been resolved so so long ago got this widespread and hurtful.
I'd like to add that i do not hate Jack. I don't hate people.
I get disappointed in people. I hate ACTIONS.
Right now, I'm feeling an immense amount of burnout, hurt and stress from this situation.
This is going to be my plan of action:
I don't think I am going to be interacting or talking to Jack. At least not in the way we used to talk. My trust has been compromised and I need time.
I am going to be less active in my main for awhile. I need time.
I am open to queries or anything, just please be respectful.
have my own views and opinions about some other things that I will not disclose right now.
I am tired.
@that-girl-cupid
@goddess-of-bubblegum
@unhinged-waterlilly
@love-lightning-forethought
@iceweavercatlover / @debacleofdaemons
@chaos-pers0nified
@stephen-the-spider
@bambi-the-dummy
@emdabitchass
@i-was-never-sane
@athenas-weirdo-daughter
@divine-wine-daughter
@kaiaalwayswins
@smileyalater
@daonedaonlyskh
@bast-the-best26
@kiaradaughterofselene
@pink-koi-lovejoy
@itsyourboyezra
@hispanic-child-of-hermes
@mireya-the-awkward-extrovert
@gellyhelio
@ariathemortal
@arisdaughter
@syd-the-nerd
@steve-the-union-man
@psychicbluebirdmiracle
@madson-of-hermes-notluke
@thegroovydaughterofhestia
@the-olympus-assassin
@heraaaaaaaa
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How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have
It was halfway through his shift the next day, just after he'd come back from lunch, that the anonymous tip came through. Dick had frozen when he heard it, but only slightly because the others were brushing it off as a prank call.
"'Blockbuster's after someone named Oracle,'" Officer Diaz had scoffed, "What a joke. Aren't kids supposed to know that their stupid prank calls clog the system? What if someone who actually had useful information had needed to call, huh?"
Dick didn't mention that that isn't how the tip system works, nor did he eve attempt to scold the officer for brushing it off, no matter how stupid it seemed. No, instead, he was stuck in his thoughts.
Blockbuster is after Oracle. Why is he after Oracle? It doesn't make sense! No one in Bludhaven, save for himself, should no who she is! Besides, he'd kept all of the attention on himself. No one was able to even think about the heroes or rogues in Gotham without him knowing! Or, so he'd thought. How does Blockbuster know Oracle's name? More importantly at the moment was who sent the tip.
There was another scoff from one of the others. Did he say that out loud? "Look, I know you're new and everything, but shouldn't you know the mean of 'anonymous'?"
He forced himself out of his head, rubbing his neck with his left hand with a fake smile. "Yeah, I do. I guess I'm just a bit out of it today."
"Well, get your head back in the game," Detective Soames snapped, hitting a file on the back of Dick's head, "File that for me, then file the rest on my desk."
"Yes, sir," Dick took the file, ignoring the snickers and snide remarks from his coworkers.
He knows he's not going to be able to fully focus on anything for the rest of the day, possibly not even until after he finds out who sent that tip and how Blockbuster knows Oracle's name.
Oracle. Dick knows she can handle herself, but he doesn't like the fact that anyone knows her name. Not even B knows about Oracle! Babs had spent so much time and energy keeping her online persona from B so that she could have at least something of her own that Dick had taken it upon himself to erase traces connecting him to Oracle. She didn't deserve to have Batman on her ass, nor did she deserve to have Nightwing's enemies go after her!
He shook himself back into the present with a soft sigh. He'll call Barbra as soon as he gets home.
***
"Danny!" Dick calls into the apartment, knowing full well that the kid is in the kitchen, "I'm home!"
"Welcome back," Danny responds from where he's standing at the stove. He, Dick realizes, does not sound happy.
He hangs his coat up on the hooks he installed beside the door, his shoes going on the rack below them. "You good? You sound a bit upset?"
"I am upset." Danny, after getting comfortable around him, has stopped sugar-coating his words, being brutally honest. Dick blinks. "I was going to message Tim, but I saw a lack of apologies from you."
Oh. Dick had meant to do what Danny said last night and apologise to that Tim kid for snapping at him, but he had been a lot more tired than usual and it had slipped his mind. "I was going to use my phone?"
"You don't have his number."
Another thing Dick had come to learn about Danny in the few weeks they'd been living together was that he can't be lied to. He somehow picks up on lies, so even Dick's best efforts - that have fooled even Batman! - are always thwarted.
"I meant to," Dick said, sitting on one of the new barstools at he island counter, "But I was really tired last night."
Danny sighed. "Because you were out longer than you're now used to." He turned the burner off, moving the pan to sit on the hotpad beside it. "You're body's gotten used to only being out for eight hours during the day and six hours at night. You going out for eight hours last night wore you out more than usual because you're no longer used to your seventeen hour work days."
Dick tilted his head, accepting the bowl of soup he was given. "But it's only been a few weeks?"
"It only takes eighteen days for your body to get used to a routine." He said, placing a bowl of homemade rolls on the island. "After about sixty-six days, it becomes habitual."
"But it hasn't been sixty-six days."
"No, but it has been twenty-one days."
He hesitated for a moment. "Has it really been only that long?" Then, "Have you been counting?"
Danny blushed, sitting beside Dick with his own bowl of soup. "I've been keeping track of your schedule, which means I gotta keep a calendar. I haven't been counting on purpose."
Dick smiled, eating the soup. As usual, it was really good. The first week of Danny's stay, he'd asked where he'd learned to cook, but Danny had given a non-answer, saying only that his parents couldn't make anything edible that wasn't fudge or cookies.
After they had both finished eating, Dick's portions and appetite being larger than Danny's because of the calories he burns as Nightwing, they settled into a nice quiet. Dick had changed from his uniform into sweats and a T-shirt while Danny had chosen a movie. Then, Dick cleaned up dinner and Danny changed into a hoodie and sweats.
"We still need to take you shopping," Dick pointed out when they were both sitting on the couch, ready to start the movie.
Danny shook his head. "Letting me stay here is already enough. Besides, your old clothes work perfectly fine."
"But you're room's so empty! And my clothes don't even fit you!"
There was a pause like Danny was thinking. Dick had the feeling he might not like whatever was going to be said next.
He was right.
"I'll let you take me shopping next week," Danny agreed, "if we go to Gotham tomorrow so that you can apologise to Tim in person."
Dick's jaw twitched. He didn't want to go to Gotham. Going to Gotham meant that he'd inevitably run into Bruce. He wanted to stay far away from that man.
Then again, he'd promised Alfred to come by some time. And, it'd be nice to see Barbra and Jim again. Maybe he could have Alfred make sure Bruce wouldn't be in the Manor?
"So?" Danny promted.
He sighed. "You're evil, y'know that?"
His grin said it all. "I could be so much worse."
"Please don't."
"Don't give me a reason."
Part 9 Part 11
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I voted to marry the boy, could you write him being incredibly smitten with one Emmy Altava? (I would take any Clemmy really, but Clive MUST be head over heels for her)
SORRY FOR THE DELAY !! My sincerest apologies, this week has been kicking my ass-
This was hard to write, because I'm bad at shipping and also I don't know the first thing about Emmy ? She works with Layton and is gorgeous, that's it :'D I did ask some friends who told me about a camera ?? So I tried to like. Work from there
ANYWAY !! AU where Emmy works at Clive's newspaper as a part-job on top of her adventures with Layton ! She is a photographer and 20-year-old Clive is a writer. Also this is Unwound Future Canon-compliant (kinda ? It works from Clive's perspective). This is teen, comfort no hurt, fluff, and entirely written from clive's POV
Emmy fans I apologize in advance if I didn't do your girl justice, she is gorgeous and I want to get to know her
Clive remembered that fateful day- not the day it had all started, of course, but the day his whole plan had been thrown off the rails.
It was a day just like the others- or rather, it would have been, had his article not been rejected. He had been working at the newspaper for two years now, ever since he'd graduated at age 18 : two years, and not once had one of his articles been refused. All of his work had always been met with approval at worst, congratulations at best- nothing less.
But not this time. The direction hadn't said much about this outrageous event, simply something about his article needing more work, apparently. This usually wouldn't bother Clive : failure was a part of life, and he forgave those poor souls for failing to perceive the greatness of his work.
And yet- this was a problem. Clive had asked to be granted access to informations about the Incident ever since he started working here, and his request had been denied every time. He had to prove his reliability first, they said, show them that he hadn't taken the job just to get his hands on classified files. It was annoying, truly : of course he had, but proving otherwise was tiresome.
But now, with this failure... Was his progress going to fade away ? Could he still hope to get these documents soon ? Or was this the faux pas that would cost him his prize entirely ?
Clive sighed, putting that traitorous piece of paper back on his desk : he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment.
What should he do now ?
"Well, that's a sad face if I've ever seen one," a voice commented in an extremely helpful way. He didn't recognize it, mostly because he couldn't be bothered to learn his colleagues' voices or names- mostly because they kept coming to annoy him at the worst possible time. Which was all the time.
"Could you please leave me alone for once or is it really too much to ask ?" Clive knew that he didn't sound very pleasant or respectful, but that was literally the last of his problems. Besides, he had isolated his desk from the rest specifically because he didn't want others to come bother him.
"Pretty sure this is the first time we meet. At least, I don't remember seeing you before. Are you new too ?" She replied, and she really wasn't leaving, was she ? Then again, if she was new here, she probably didn't know that he wasn't here to make friends.
He opened his eyes.
The first thing to catch his gaze was the odd yellow dress, a strange outfit to wear in a place like this : she looked like an adventurer, not a journalist. There wasn't any dress code to meet in order to work here, but still...
Then again, she did have a bow tie.
"I've been here for two years," he deadpanned. She seemed nice and that was good for her, really, but he wasn't in the mood for chit-chat. "Welcome to the team, I suppose."
She smiled. It wasn't bright like a sun or sweet like chocolate, but it was rather something authentic, that she had worked hard to obtain and preserve. This was the kind of smile that would inspire tons of stories and articles- at least to someone really passionate about this job.
Clive wasn't. He wasn't here to change the world or make friends, he was here to get these classified files that would hopefully help him move on.
"Thank you," she said, before putting one hand on his desk and leaning forward : Clive pushed his chair back a little. "Say, since we're a team now, do you mind telling me why I've never seen you hang out with the others ?"
Oh wow. Alright, no little mind games- just straight to the point.
That really was new.
"Well," Clive muttered, looking away, "I have work to do."
She tilted her head slightly, his answer only making her more curious. "And they don't ?"
Was this some kind of test ? Clive couldn't perceive any ill intentions behind this question, but it didn't sound all that mundane either. What was she at ?
"Of course they do," he explained himself, "But this is important to me, and-" Actually- why was he even telling her that ? She probably didn't care, he didn't care, this whole discussion was useless : he had no reason to keep it going. "And my article just got refused, so I have even more work to do." He said abruptly, hoping to end the conversation.
She didn't go away. "Oh really ? That sucks. Want me to take a look ?" She offered, as if she wasn't new here.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not sure you can help much," Clive said coldly. He wasn't in the mood for this. "I mean, you're new, and a photographer, so this may not be your-"
"Nonsense !" She put her hands on her hips, the same smile on her face. She had listened to approximately none of his reasoning. Stubborn, Clive thought. Stubborn and very confident.
"I may not write the articles, but I know how they work," she said. "Also, I have learned a thing or two from Layton."
Clive froze. Layton. The professor Layton ? The one who had saved him as a kid, the man who was his model, his inspiration, his-
"Hey, this article is about him !" Quick as a fox, she had leaned over his desk and grabbed the piece of paper : her eyes were done scanning through the first few paragraphs before Clive could even react.
"Wh- where are your manners ?!" He yelled at her, blushing furiously. Alright, that was it-
Pushing his chair back, he quickly made his way around his desk, reaching for his sorry excuse of an article.
She dodged his poor attempt at taking back his sheet of paper with no effort whatsoever. "This is pretty good," she said, talking about the paper rather than his embarrassing fight.
Clive was a clever man- that's why he decided after yet another vain attempt that he couldn't win. Somewhere in his mind, he noted that she had to truly be an adventurer of some kind : she was surprisingly strong, agile and terribly efficient, unbothered by someone like him.
He reluctantly gave up his useless fight, taking a few steps back and crossing his arms instead. "Not good enough, apparently," he spat, glaring at her. She had no shame, no hesitation, no weakness- who even was she ?!
"Yeah, I can see why," she nodded, and Clive was once again baffled by her ability to say honest things without any hard feelings behind it.
"Your article is good, but you forgot the presentation," she explained, stepping closer to better show him : this proximity made Clive agitated, although he wasn't sure why. "You talk like everyone knows Layton, but that's just not true- especially since you're dealing with his first ever adventure. You have to keep everyone in mind, not just the readers who are as knowledgeable about this subject as you are."
Clive choked. "I-I'm not-"
"Hey, I could give you a good photo of Layton !" She interrupted him with a smile. "That way, everyone would know who we're talking about."
"Yeah, about that- do you actually know the professor ?" He narrowed his eyes at her, looking her up and down. She didn't seem like the kind of person the professor would frequent, bow tie or no bow tie.
"Of course !" She said, before her voice took a challenging intonation, "What, wanna bet ?"
Clive scoffed. She was being ridiculous- this was probably all an elaborate plan to make fun of him. He could absolutely picture his colleagues telling her to prank him as some sort of initiation ritual, actually. She certainly was almost as annoying as they all were.
But she may know the professor. "Sure," he finally said. "If you can take this photo and bring it to me, I'll buy you a coffee tomorrow."
"Wow, hey, don't ruin yourself for me Tiger," she sarcastically said. Tiger ??
"Wha-"
"Alright, I'll come tomorrow by your sad and isolated desk to give you the picture," she decided. "I love proving I'm right, almost as much as I love drinking terrible coffees with rude co-workers."
"Are you serious-"
"See you!" She cut him off with a provocative grin, again, and left without listening to another word he had to say, again.
Clive watched her go in silence, furious. Who did she think she was ?! She had been here for what, a couple hours, and she just came up to him like that ? He hoped she had annoyed everyone else too : that way, she'd get fired sooner rather than later.
The thought did make him feel better, and he sat back in his chair, enjoying the calm of the small room where stood his isolated desk. If he focused hard enough, he could hear her laugh with others in the next room- but he couldn't, because he didn't care enough to pay attention.
So since he wasn't listening to the sound of her voice, it was silent. And enjoyable. And lonely- which was good, because he hated having to deal with others. Especially her -what was her name again ? Not that it mattered-, because she was so rude and straight-forward and confident. Really confident.
Nevermind.
He picked up the article, looking at it thoughtfully. He needed this article to be accepted, and he needed it to be his best work yet : it was the only way to prove he was worthy of the reputation he had built for himself, and, most importantly- the only way to get what he wanted, the Truth.
...Presentation, uh ?
-_-_-_-
Surely enough, the very next day, Emmy came back to his desk with a brand new picture.
Professor Layton, sitting at a table, enjoying a nice cup of tea. He was smiling serenely, and his face held a bit of warmth, of comfort, of home.
"There you go !" Emmy said with a very satisfied smile, one that Clive wasn't ready to see this early in the morning.
He took the photo she was handing him. It felt recent and authentic : in fact, he could see yesterday's newspaper on the table, next to Layton's hand. It was crazy. There was no way they actually knew each other.
"Are you a paparazzi ?" He asked before he could stop himself. He shouldn't throw accusations her way in case she really was close to the professor, but what else could it be ?
"What ? No !" Emmy didn't seem to get offended- on the contrary, she stood proudly, hands on her hips. "I'm his associate !"
Oh.
Clive fell silent, his gaze wandering back to the picture. The professor was facing whoever had taken the photography : he was fully aware someone was here, taking this very picture. Had she asked him to smile ? Or was he just that happy to help his associate win a stupid bet and make a name for herself at her new job ?
Why would someone like the professor choose her as an associate ?
"That's odd," Emmy said with feigned naivety. "I recall you being a real Layton fan, and yet you didn't recognize the one and only Emmy Altava, associate of the great professor Layton ? Surely someone as knowledgeable as you should know this. I mean, it'd be pretty humiliating if you didn't, right ?"
He looked up, staring at her, and she stared him down with a provocative smirk, waiting for his answer.
Somehow, he... he wasn't mad. He didn't feel like angrily answering or starting a fight, which was relatively rare : maybe this was due to the fact that he knew she could easily destroy him.
Or maybe this was due to the fact that he really wanted to know what Layton had seen in her, now. "I'm not a Layton fan, and I didn't know he had an associate."
Emmy's smirk disappeared quickly at his admission, replaced with something that was almost disappointment. She hummed, looking at him strangely. "...This is really not as satisfying as you had me believe it would be. I was looking forward to crushing your little ego under my boot."
Alright- forget that. Clive scoffed. "Don't forget I have to buy you a disgusting coffee now, so we're stuck together for a few more painful minutes."
"Ah- I had indeed forgotten about that part," She admitted, scratching the top of her head. All of the antagonizing and taunting was gone, just like that, Clive noticed : how did she move on so quickly ? He never ever missed an opportunity to rightfully put people in their places. But she was already over it ??
Emmy -she did say her name was Emmy, right ? Emmy Altava- shrugged, coming to a decision. "Disgusting coffee is better than no coffee. Lead the way, Tiger."
He groaned. "Stop calling me that."
"Wait," she paused, and he stared at her while waiting for whatever nonsense she was about to spit. "...What is your name ?"
...You know what- that was fair. He hadn't told her, after all. "I'm Clive Dove."
She snapped her fingers, that same confident grin on her lips. "Great. Lead the way, Clivey."
Clive groaned before leaving the room without a word. Emmy followed him with a satisfied grin, very proud and amused by his pointless anger.
Clive walked faster, trying to hide the blush that crept on his face.
-_-_-_-
They didn't interact much after the coffee : in fact, they didn't talk at all for the next few days.
Clive would see her sometimes, or hear her. He heard her a lot : she had a booming voice, full of life and passion. Whenever she talked to another one of their colleagues, Clive would hear her contagious laugh, listen to her stories from the loneliness of his small isolated desk.
She was a great storyteller. Managing her effects, adding plenty of details, adapting to her audience- it felt real. Clive could picture her stories, her adventures at the professor's side.
This was exactly what gave him a new idea, bright like always.
He came across her in the corridor, while she was heading to get herself a coffee. "Oh- Clivey ! It's been some time, hasn't it ?"
He gritted his teeth. This was a bright idea. He only had bright ideas. "Ignoring that first part. I wanted to tell you something."
She didn't seem all that excited, merely eyeing him up and down like they were in a box ring. "What- you want me to prove you wrong again ? Cuz I can do that-"
"No, no," he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why was she always so impulsive ? "I wanted to tell you that I submitted my article again, and the direction as well as the audience were really enthusiastic this time."
She seemed to relax, smiling instead. "That's great ! I'm happy for you."
"Also I added your name to it."
She... stopped smiling. In fact, she remained uncharacteristically silent, staring at him as if she was trying to see beyond his calm expression.
It was unsettling- deeply, extremely unsettling. It felt as though she could look at him and see everything he was hiding : his dead parents, his need for answers, his plan to get these files, his... his dead parents. There was nothing else he was hiding.
And yet, he felt his face go red under her scrutinizing gaze. Stupid, embarrassing shame.
"You helped me with the photography and the structure of the article, so it's only fair," he explained in a small voice, crossing his arms. He was not going to look at her. He was not going to meet her gaze and help her find whatever she was looking for. "And that's also why I'm here. I would like to offer you to- to work on a series of articles about the professor."
Clive still refused to watch her reaction, and it took another couple of seconds for Emmy to react : but when she did, she put her hands on her hips, leaning forward with a wide grin. Clive hated when she did that, it made him feel so small compared to her. She was also closer to him, which made him feel really... uncomfortable. And hot. "You want me to work on these ? With you, I suppose ?"
"Obviously," he scoffed, shrugging nonchalantly- or so he tried.
"...Why ?" She sounded concerned- curious too. There was something in her that wasn't sure about this project, and yet there was an even bigger part of her who wanted to get more out of this, to explore all the possibilities.
Clive couldn't care less about possibilities, or colleagues, or success : there was only one success that mattered to him, and it was getting these classified informations.
Which was exactly why he wanted to work with Emmy. Her proximity with Layton and, he'll admit it, her set of skills were perfect to help him reach his own goal. "Because you know a lot about the professor, and your stories are good material. Also, you could provide with pictures and- and presentation advices, I suppose. Probably," he muttered. She was still so close- should he step back ?
No, she would probably get offended. Oh well- he just had to keep standing inches from her, then.
She seemed amused. "I thought you weren't a Layton fan. Why are you asking me to tell you about him ?"
"He's a good inspiration for articles," he said, trying to sound professional- and why was he even trying ? This was professional. It was a professional setting. "Only an idiot would let this opportunity go."
"And you're not an idiot." She thought about it for a minute, before she shrugged : "Why not ! I'm here to create articles, after all. But first I need my coffee." She stretched her back before taking a few steps away, heading for her long-awaited beverage.
Clive felt... almost disappointed to see her leaving, but the unusual joy overcame it easily. She had accepted to work with him, they were gonna be a team- which meant that he was getting closer to achieving his goal. "Wait- want me to buy you a coffee ?"
She chuckled. "Don't ruin yourself for me, Clivey."
He didn't make any comment on the name.
-_-_-_-
Getting to work with Emmy was just delightful. She was as efficient as he was, both straight-forward in their criticism, always looking for ways to improve, listening to the other's suggestions before making up their minds. They made an exceptional team with perfect cohesion and excellent results.
Of course, the direction had noticed it too. Their articles were a hit among the newspaper's audience, even bringing in new customers : everyone was curious about this duo who wrote entertaining articles about some professor. It almost felt like fiction, and people liked to read these improbable stories that stood out from the rest of the usual news coverage.
The audience wanted more, the direction wanted more, and so Emmy and Clive logically decided to make more articles : day after day, week after week, they kept creating more and more stories, to the point that they would spend most of the day together- even the sacred coffee break.
"And that's how we found out that Descole really was behind all of this," Emmy finished her story, taking her cup of coffee in one hand. "I mean, I had my suspicions- but without the professor, I never would have guessed what was truly going on."
Clive nodded, absent-mindedly scribbling a few notes. His own cup had been left completely untouched, his coffee cold by now.
This detail didn't go unnoticed. "Cold coffee won't taste better, you know," Emmy joked.
Clive stopped writing, looking at his cup in silence.
Emmy frowned. "Hey, are you okay ?"
Clive looked at her, then at his notes. They were precise and neatly written at first, like always, before suddenly going... messy. Which was weird, because Clive hated messy.
"I just thought about something," he explained.
"Oh ?" She leaned forward on the table : her curious eyes were scanning Clive's face, waiting for any piece of information. Her coffee was left forgotten- it was disgusting anyway.
Clive brought his own cup to his lips, a poor attempt at hiding the blush on his face- because he was blushing, he knew that.
After all, this was exactly the something he had been thinking about.
It had taken him weeks to realize it. But surely enough, at some point, he had stopped listening to the stories and started listening solely to the voice telling them. He had stopped seeing work as a means to an end and started to look forward to seeing her in the morning, to sharing a coffee with her day after day.
He had even stopped caring about these stupid classified files. He would never stop being curious about the truth, wanting deep down to know what truly went down- but he could also portray his life in a world where he wouldn't get to know. Maybe he could never know, and still be okay, as long as he had another source of motivation.
Emmy. His work with her- scratch that. Just Emmy. He knew it was her and not these pointless articles : even the professor, his childhood hero, seemed to pale in comparison to her, recently.
He had wondered why the professor had made her his associate : now he knew, maybe even more than Layton himself.
"I was just- just thinking," he said, before taking a sip of coffee. It was cold, and bitter, and frankly disgusting : this newspaper should be able to afford better coffees, especially with all the records in sells recently. But this disgusting coffee allowed him to share a moment with Emmy, so maybe it was a bit okay. "About stuff."
"Very specific," Emmy mocked him, "Come on, spit it out !"
Oh, there was no way he was telling her. Admitting it -partly- to himself was already a big enough challenge. "I was- well, I was wondering if the professor was okay with us writing about his life."
Emmy rose an eyebrow, settling back in her chair. It really was just a game of getting closer and away, wasn't it ? "The professor doesn't mind. He is flattered someone is that invested in his adventures. He said he'd like to meet you, one day," Emmy simply answered, looking at him funny. There it was, that scrutinizing gaze that was looking for secrets, trying to uncover everything he wasn't saying- "But really, Clivey, we've been doing that for weeks. You only wonder about that now ?"
"I guess I didn't want this to stop, in case he was bothered," he simply said.
If Emmy noticed the way he passed up the opportunity to meet Layton himself, she didn't say a thing. "Ah, right. You're not an idiot, and you're not passing up any opportunities."
"Exactly," Clive said. He wasn't blushing anymore, so he put his coffee down- it was really too disgusting, anyway.
Emmy nodded. "We have enough for our next article. We should get back to work- you know, so you keep getting opportunities." She said this with a touch of humor, and Clive chuckled at it. It wasn't even that funny, but she had a way of making him happy that only worked with her : another colleague would have him rolling his eyes and spitting a distateful comment.
"Alright- I just need to go back to my desk first," he said, standing up and gathering his stuff.
In a fraction of second, Emmy was next to him. "Go get it, Tiger," she gently punched him in the shoulder. Uh, it'd been some time since she used that one.
"And Clive ?" She added. "I'm glad we took this opportunity. Together." And with that, she winked at him.
Clive stared dumbly at her, her words taking a minute to register : when they did however, he felt his whole face heating up in a way he couldn't possibly hide.
"I- uh- I mean-" He stuttered like an idiot, unable to form any thought. What did she mean by that ? Was this a friendly remark ? Or did she- did she also-
Was she also in love with him ? Because he was in love, madly. And maybe he hoped she was too.
He didn't know what miracle happened, but she left without any comments and he remained alone, his stuff in his hands and his heartbeat racing. He must look pathetic, being so red in the face and trembling because of a single remark. He was weak, weak for her, and what was left to be done ?
Luckily -a second miracle-, he didn't see any colleagues as he rushed back to his desk : if any of them had seen him like this, a trembling blushing mess, he probably would have no choice but to kill them.
Putting his stuff on one side of the desk, he himself dropped onto his chair, palms pressed against his face. Even now, even with his eyes closed, he could still see her beautiful smile, the way she winked at him-
No. No no no- he had to stop imagining stuff. There was no way she saw him as more than a colleague -a friend, maybe, emphasis on the maybe- and he would ruin everything if he couldn't respect her feelings on the matter. He didn't- he didn't actually need to- to date her- dating her, he was thinking about dating her and it sounded so wonderful, everything he could ask for, and-
No ! No, alright ? She wasn't interested, and he respected that. And he didn't need to date her, just getting to talk to her, to see her being so vibrant and passionate and confident, a real force of nature- just that was enough. He didn't need more.
He was happy with just getting to see her.
He dropped his hands, taking a deep breath. His heartbeat was still a bit fast, but it was returning to normal : even the red on his face was gone. It was alright. He would be alright, as long as he could keep things as they were.
And if he wasn't entirely satisfied with the way things were, if he kept longing for more, then it was his problem.
He opened his eyes, only to notice a white envelope on the middle of his desk. It... hadn't been there before. Who had put this here ?
Curious if not wary, he got closer and took the sheet of paper, turning it around in his hand.
On the front, he could read "Access to classified files granted"
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