#Ballantine Ruggaboor

[stargazerlillian]

Ballantine at age 5, in an outfit her grandmother chose for her. She’s not a fan of it. At all.

Ballantine Ruggaboor belongs to @yoel-o-fellow.

[yoel-o-fellow]

Maybe it’s time to bring in the dybbuk exterminator. 💀

Characters: Ballantine & Notoriah (her great, great (x30) grandfather).

Story: The Ruggaboors.

[stargazerlillian]

“How (Not) To Be a Vampire” (for Yoel)

The night of All Hallow’s Eve is a time for tricks, treats, and all-around merriment for the children of Stoke and their families. In the Ruggaboor household, however, it’s just another night for a certain to go out on the prowl for “treats” of his own. But before he can do that, he has to put a couple of kids – and a few misconceptions – to bed.

Serves as a written companion piece to these images.

Sebastian, Hunter, and Ballantine Ruggaboor belong to @yoel-o-fellow.

Content warning: Mild language, drug usage (smoking), and some suggestive dialogue regarding Sebastian’s “evening plans”.

——————–

October 31st, 1972

Stoke-on-Trent, England

The Ruggaboor Residence

8:42 PM

Magic mirror on the wall, who’s the scariest one of all?

Ballantine beamed as she took yet another twirl in front of her bedroom mirror. Her cape cascaded in around her in black silky waves before settling down flat on her back again.

“BOO!” she screeched, scrunching her nose and wriggling her fingers. Her eyes seemed to flash with intensity, and her false fangs seemed to glimmer before the glass. She couldn’t help but smile proudly at her display. She looked positively horrifying. Bela Lugosi would eat his heart out at this perfect act of scariness.

 “Pfft, you’ll never scare ‘im, sis!” Hunter sneered, back leaned against the doorframe. “Dad’s twice as big as ye, an’ he’d be as keen as mustard to scare ye back even harder!”

“Tha’s not gonna stop me,” Ballantine retorted. “An’ I will too scare ‘im!”

“Will not,” Hunter quipped, folding his arms.

“Will too!” Ballantine snapped, hands balled into fists.

“Will not!”

“Will too!”

“Will not!”

“Will too!”

“Look, Ballty, jus’ accept it. Yer not scary. I only got ye tha’ costume to humor ye.” Hunter huffed. “An’ also because ye suck the life out o’ me,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Oh yeh? I’ll show you who’s not scary!”

With the edges of her cape firmly grasped in her tiny hands, she took off down the stairs, where her target lied in wait.

“I’m gonna give ‘im the scare of his life!”

———

Sebastian hummed ponderously as he gave himself one last look-over in the living room mirror.

Eyes? Yellow and a bit bloodshot. He was only a few weeks away from turning thirty-one, and yet his jaundice had already dealt him an unfair amount of unkindness. But he at least still had his enticing dark brown irises. Women go crazy for dark brown eyes.

Teeth? Yellow, and framed by red inflamed gums. His breath probably didn’t smell that great either, but that’s nothing a little spritz of breath spray won’t fix.

Hair? Oily, and a little itchy if he were to be honest. But it was combed out, and that’s better than nothing, right?

Sebastian sighed.

Whatever. It would have to do. Stoke birds were always easy to snatch up. The fact that it was Halloween would only be a plus. He was bound to catch more than just a few eyes out at the pubs tonight.

But first, a quick smoke.

Sebastian popped a cigarette between his lips and rummaged through his pocket for a lighter. After a few unsuccessful clicks, a steady flame finally ignited. But before he could bring it up to singe the tip, a loud high-pitched voice pierced through the dead air.

“BOO!”

Sebastian sharply inhaled and quickly turned to face the source of the disturbance. Standing at the foot of the stairs was his six-year-old daughter, dressed in her smiley-face pajamas – along with something extra he did not remember her having before. He grit his teeth tightly.

“Ballantine, wha’ in the bloody hell are ye doin’ down ‘ere? I though’ I told ye to go to bed! An’ where did ye get tha’ costume from?!”

“BOO!” Ballantine shouted again, fluttering her cape and baring her false fangs. “I said BOO, Daddy!”

Sebastian’s eyes widened for a brief second, before settling into an amused half-lidded expression. “Is tha’ supposed to scare me?” he rasped, unlit cigarette tightly gripped between his teeth.

“I’m a vampire, Daddy! BOO! Fear me! BOOO!”

Sebastian blinked twice in bewilderment as the child continued pushing her charade. She looked just like how her mother did when she tried to be scary as a kid – not scary at all. Only cute. A hearty giggle began to bubble up at the back of his throat.

In the many Halloweens gone by, when he snuck out of the house to meet her and pull some tricks on the other children together, his reaction to her progressively scarier costumes were always the same – laughter. First, she was the bride of Frankenstein. Then she was a witch. Then she was a vampiress. It didn’t matter how much she contorted her face or how “frightening” she dressed – she always turned out adorable. 

And her frustration at not scaring him only made him laugh harder. God, he loved her – she always tried so hard for him. And now their daughter was following in her mother’s footsteps. He clapped a gloved palm tightly over his mouth as a humored smile threatened to show itself, and a losing battle with his laughter raged within.

First came a snicker. Then came a chuckle. Then came an eruption of guffaws the likes of which neither he nor the child in front of him could never have imagined.

“Hoohoohahahahahaha! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Ballantine’s eyes widened. Why was her father laughing all of a sudden?

“Wh-wha’s so funny? Why ain’t ye scared, Daddy?”

Sebastian folded his arms over his abdomen as he bent forward, the sudden force of his laughter already wreaking havoc on his nerves.

“Ooh hoo hoo hoo hoooo, oooooh ‘m sorry, Ballantine, ‘s jus’ tha’ – tha’ ye look so – so cute! Ahahahaha!” He knelt down to Ballantine’s level and ruffled her hair.

Ballantine’s lips tightened. Why was he being so… playful? And more importantly, why wasn’t he scared? She pouted as an embarrassed flush flooded her cheeks.

“’m not cute, ‘m scary!”

“Righ-ha-ha-igh’, su-hure ye are, hahahahaha!” Sebastian chuckled, discreetly wiping a tear from his left eye. He rose back up to his feet and turned back to the mirror to try and light his cigarette again.

“Hoooo... yer too much, hahahaha.” 

Ballantine huffed, crossing her arms tightly to her chest. “’s not fair… I was tryin’ t’ be jus’ like you!”

Sebastian froze. His eyes shot wide open. He whirled his head back around to face his daughter.

“You wha’?”

“Well, yer a vampire, an’ yer pretty scary, so I thought I’d try to do the same things you do.”

A pause. Sebastian couldn’t help but raise both eyebrows at those words. Was this kid serious right now?

“I don’ know where ye got tha’ idea, bu’ ‘m not a vampire.”

Another pause. Ballantine suddenly felt her insides twist into knots. “Y-you’re not?”

Her father shook his head. “No. ‘m not. An’ neither are you. Tell me… where did ye ‘ear tha’?”

Ballantine swallowed. “Um… Hunter told me tha’, Daddy. H-he said that we had to be vampires to… look the way we do.”

Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose as an irritated huff escaped his nostrils. Perhaps reading Bram Stoker’s “Dracula” to him a couple of years back wasn’t the best idea after all.

He got back down to his daughter’s level, placing his clawed hands on her tiny shoulders. She held her breath as his face grew closer.

“Look, Ballantine – yer brother’s full of it, alrigh’? Imaginative lad, sure, bu’ he’s got me aaaaall wrong.”

“Bu’, bu’, you dress all in black, an’ drink blood from a glass, an’ only seem to be awake at nigh’. Hunter also told me tha’ he saw ye bitin’ some o’ the women ye bring home. He says ye do it to suck their blood.”

The man snorted.

“Look, Ballantine, all these things I do ‘ave a reason, alrigh’? And it ain’t because ‘m a bloody vampire. Fer instance,” he began, holding out part of his long black cape, “I dress in black because I jus’ like to. I like the color black – tha’s it. Tha’s all there is to it. As fer the ‘blood’ ye say I drink, well…”

He strolled over to the refrigerator and pulled out a tall green bottle, half full with a deep red liquid.

“I ‘ate to break it to ye, bu’ it’s not blood at all. It’s wine. It’s a grown-up drink. Comes in red or white, an’ is made from grapes.”

Ballantine raised and eyebrow thoughtfully. “So… it’s grown-up grape juice?”

Sebastian shrugged. “Yeh, sure, I guess ye can call it tha’.” He slid the bottle back in the fridge.

“Oh,” Ballantine murmured. So black is just her dad’s favorite color, and he just likes to drink red wine a lot. In hindsight, it all made a lot of sense. Maybe she should have thought of that beforehand.

“Then… wha’ abou’ the fact tha’ ye sleep all day an’ only go out at nigh’?”

“Well, fer one, there’s not much fer a bloke like me to do in the daytime.” he stated, adjusting his sleeves. “Not without th’ coppers gettin’ involved, anyway,” he thought. “Nighttime is jus’… more convenient an’ excitin’ fer me.”

“Bu’ wha’ about the women bitin’? Is Hunter wrong about tha’ too?”

Sebastian’s throat tightened. He took a deep breath and cleared it before giving his answer.

“Well… tha’s the only thing yer brother got righ’ about me. I do sometimes bite them. Bu’ not fer their blood.”

Ballantine raised an eyebrow curiously. “Then… why do ye do it?”

Sebastian’s eyes darted about the room for a second. “Let’s jus’ say tha’ it’s… somethin’ they like.”

Ballantine tilted her head. “Why do they like it? Doesn’t it hurt?”

“I’ll… explain tha’ another time,” Sebastian murmured, a flush of heat threatening to show itself on his face. “The point is tha’ all these things I do ‘ave a logical explanation – many things do.”

“They do?”

“Indeed they do, m’ dear. In fact,” Sebastian began as he glided back to the mirror, “look ‘ere – do ye see my reflection?”

“Y-yeh?”

“Well, if I were a vampire, I wouldn’t even ‘ave a reflection. There’d be nothin’ at all. An’ on top o’ tha’ …”

Before Ballantine could blink, her father had scooped her up into his arms and brought her back to the mirror.

“Oh, lookie there – you ‘ave a reflection, too. So, yer not a vampire either.”

The girl’s eyes became almost as large as her grandmother’s china saucers. What was happening right now?

“Vampires also despise garlic and things made of silver. I, however, love both of those things. I mean look, m’ cloak’s clasps are made of silver, fer Christ’s sake!” He pinched the skull-shaped clasps holding his cape’s collar together and brought them closer to his daughter’s face.

The girl looked closely at them. She didn’t feel the least bit ill. Perhaps her dad was right. “So… we’re not vampires?”

“No, Ballantine – we’re not. We’re Ruggaboors. We’re our own kind o’ beast.”

“Then... why do we ‘ave sharp teeth, an’, an’ pointy ears, an’ black hair?”

Sebastian averted his eyes for a quick second in the direction of the main hallway where a certain painting of a certain ancestor was hanging. Is now the time to tell her that story?

He took a deep breath. No. Not yet.

“Those are all jus’ coincidences, Ballantine.”

“Co-in-cidences?” Ballantine asked, tilting her head.

“’s a great big fancy word fer similar things tha’ happen tha’ aren’t connected. Like me ‘avin’ all these vampiric traits while not bein’ a vampire. Ye get wha’ I’m sayin’?”

“Y-yeh, I guess so,” Ballantine replied with a shrug.

“Good then. ‘m glad we’re in agreement on tha’”, Sebastian said with a surprisingly gentle smile.

Just then, the grandfather clock in the main hall began to chime. It was now 9:00 P.M.

“Alrigh’ wee child. Time fer bed now,” the man said, bringing his child close to his left shoulder.

The girl swallowed dryly yet again. Wee child? She didn’t remember ever being called that before.

Carefully, the man took his first step on the stairs, and began his ascent to the attic, making sure to keep the girl in his arms secure the whole way.

“Um... daddy?” Ballantine murmured.

Sebastian stopped. “Yes?”

A pause.

“‘m... sorry tha’ I thought ye were a vampire. I jus’ though’ tha’ this was what we really are. We don’t look like most people, so, I though’ we had to be a monster of some kind. Ye know?”

Sebastian clamped his mouth tightly. An apology? From his daughter? He found himself putting his brain into overdrive as he tried to encode a proper response to this... unexpected verbal gesture.

“Aw, well. Jus’… don’ believe everythin’ yer brother tells ye, alrigh’? Yer far smarter than tha’. I know ye are.”

“Okay…” Ballantine replied meekly, unsure of the strange feeling settling into her stomach as her father continued to carry her gently upstairs. What was up with him tonight? He didn’t usually act like… however he was acting now. Kind, perhaps? She didn’t really know.

Once they reached the top of the stairs and entered the attic, Hunter’s eyes instantly lit up seeing a confused Ballantine being carried in by a not-so-frightened Sebastian. She had failed her mission.

“Aha! I knew ye couldn’t scare ‘im!” he jeered, pointing a stubby finger at his sister. Ballantine stuck her tongue out in response.

“I’ll talk with you later, Hunter. But fer now, you an’ yer sister need to go to sleep. I’ve got some very important business to tend to tonight, and I’m already runnin’ late as is.”

Hunter’s eyes widened. “Wha’? So yer jus’ gonna leave us ‘ere alone all nigh’?”

Sebastian sighed and rolled his eyes. How much more dramatic can this boy get?

“No, Hunter – ‘m not leavin’ ye all by yerself. I called yer mum earlier today to let her know tha’ I was goin’ to need someone to watch you. I’m leavin’ the door unlocked so tha’ she can let herself in and watch the place while I’m gone.”

“W-when will ye be back, Daddy?” Ballantine asked.

“I should be back before sunrise tomorrow. I highly advise both you an’ yer brother stay in bed and not bother Miss Zelia for the duration of her stay. She’s… had a real long day, an’ she really doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”

“Dis-turbed?”

“’s jus’ another way of sayin’ ‘bothered’, Ballantine,” Sebastian huffed as he set her down on her bed and shoved the covers over her.

“Aw, c’mon Dad, ‘s not tha’ late. ‘m not even tired! Why can’t my sis an’ I go trick-or-treatin’ tonight? All the other kids in town are doin’ it, so why can’t we?”

“You’ll both get to ‘trick or treat’ when I say ye can, an’ this year, it’s out o’ the question. I need someone to watch ye while I’m gone.” Sebastian rasped. “Normally, I’d ‘ave yer granny do tha’, but she’s still in th’ hospital,” he added.

“Well, why can’t Miss Zelia take us trick-or-treatin’?” Ballantine chirped. “She can watch us while we go to each house an’-”

Sebastian cut her off. “I told ye, Ballantine, she’s tired. She cannot be disturbed – er, bothered tonight. Yer not goin’ anywhere, an’ tha’s the end of it. Understand?”

Ballantine’s smile and eyes fell. “Oh, right.” She did not like it when he roughened his tone like that.

“Good, then,” he said, his smile returning. “You two sleep well, now. I’ll see ye both in th’ mornin’~”

With that, he slid out of the room and shut the door behind him.

For what felt like the longest time after his departure, there was no sound in the dark attic. The children could only stare up at the musty ceiling in pure bewilderment. Once the echo of booted footsteps faded from hearing range, Hunter took his chance to whisper what was on his mind.

“Blimey… wha’s his deal? He’s actin’ so… weird.”

Ballantine clamped her mouth and pulled her sheets close to her chin, still trying to ease the unfamiliar flutter in her belly. “I… I don’ really know, big brother. I… jus’ don’ know.”

Hunter uttered a sigh as he lied back and pulled his covers up to his chest.

“Well… wha’ever it is, I guess we shoul’ feel lucky he’s not mad – he gets real nasty when he’s mad.”

“Yeh,” Ballantine trailed off. She turned over to face the window. 

All the houses were aglow with hand-carved jack-o-lanterns, and she could faintly hear the sounds of rustling leaves and children’s laughter carrying on the wind. She pressed a tiny palm longingly on the cold glass. She found it so strange and unfair that their dad wouldn’t let her and her brother trick-or-treat with the other kids. But she found it even stranger that her father – her own father – was capable of smiling so many times in one night.

This had been one bizarre evening.

She sighed and pulled the covers snuggly over her shoulder. Maybe November will start out a little less strange.

“Well... nigh’, sis.”

“Nigh’, bro-bro.”

———

Sebastian’s smirk spread from ear to ear as he made his way down the block, buckled boots jingling, silver tipped cane twirling, and cigarette lit at last.

Finally. Time for him to get down to the “important business” he had been planning all evening for. First stop – the Burgundy Sky Lounge.

He chuckled to himself. Such silly little ones. To think – him, a vampire!

He had to admit though – it was a little flattering. Perhaps he could use that as part of a pick-up line. He wasn’t entirely sure how well it would work, but one thing was for certain – from here on out, he was going to do all his lady biting away from home.

[stargazerlillian]

My take on how Ballantine would look if she were femme. 

Ballantine Ruggaboor belongs to @yoel-o-fellow

[yoel-o-fellow]

A lil Ballty boop to get me in the mood for le spooky season. 👻🧛‍♂️

[stargazerlillian]

“Day of the Paper Sun” (for Yoel)

Ballantine discovers a life-changing secret.

Serves as a written companion piece to these images.

Ballantine Ruggaboor belongs to @yoel-o-fellow

Content warning: Mild language, themes of family trauma, mentions of death, and a whole lot of angst.

——————–

August 31, 1982

The Ruggaboor Residence

Stoke-on-Trent, England

7:50 PM

One glance.

That was all it took for the war in her head to ignite once more. 

When Ballantine went rummaging through the drawers of her father’s nightstand one golden evening, all she really expected to find amid all the bits and bobs was the pack of cigarettes he confiscated earlier.

What she did not expect to find was the missing piece of an incomplete puzzle that occupied its own little place in her mind for all her life.

This missing piece came in the form of a small bent black and white photograph found in an old shoebox, covered in dust, in the bottom drawer. On it was a young woman in bed, tenderly holding an eerily familiar dark-haired infant in her arms. She had flowing light hair, glasses, full lips, and a long pointed nose - just like her own. 

Written on it in the most elegant cursive writing were five simple words.

“I’ll always love you.

-Mum”

Ballantine instantly felt all of her insides plummet.

The woman in the picture... was her deceased mother. 

The one her father had been hiding away from her for over sixteen years.

The one he mercilessly killed in cold blood one cloudy late autumn night. 

And the infant in her arms… was her as a baby.

For several minutes, Ballantine could do nothing but stare at the photograph. The world around her seemed to freeze completely, not uttering a single sound. Even her breathing fell silent. 

This was her mother. Her actual mother. She had to be the most beautiful woman Ballantine had ever seen – far more beautiful than Glinda could ever be.

Her head swam as the reality contained in this artifact of her life began to sink in. If it weren’t for the fact that the date the picture was taken was written on the back, she wouldn’t have believed that what she was holding in her hands was the least bit authentic. 

But her moment of truth was far from over.

Also in the shoebox was a neatly tri-folded letter, written in the same cursive handwriting as the photograph. What it contained made Ballantine’s eyes widen and stomach tighten with every word.

“Dearest Sebastian,

This is the little one I first told you about all those months ago. She was born at 7:06 PM on the 6th of June, 1966, and weighs 3 kg. As of this letter, she is barely over a week old, and does not have a name. I’m leaving it up to you to decide on one for her.

The reason I have sent her to you is because you are my only hope in ensuring she is raised and cared for under the roof of a proper home. As much as I want to keep her, nurture her, and love her, the doctors at the ward say that I am in no condition to care for a newborn child - that my mind is ‘too unstable’ for such a task. So now, I am putting all my faith and trust in you. 

I don’t know when - or if - I’ll ever be well enough to be released back into society, but if that day ever comes, the first thing I will do is come visit you and the children. And perhaps, just perhaps - we can try to make things work out together - as a family.

In the meantime, all I ask of you is that you please take good care of my, no, OUR baby girl.

All my love,

Your lifelong companion, J.

P.S. Along with this letter, you will find enclosed a photograph of me with our daughter from earlier today. If I am not released by the time she comes of age, show it to her, and tell her that no matter what happens to me, I want her to know in her heart that I will always love her. Always and always. Even if I never get to see her grow up. Even if I never get to hear her voice. I will love her until the Earth’s skies fall dark forever, and even beyond that. For always, and always, and always.”

The words continued to play on an endless loop in her mind for what seemed like ages after her eyes crossed over the last sentence. By the time she finally had the strength to put the letter down, she found her knees trembling and heart racing.

These words sounded nothing like the woman her father described to her growing up. There was no way a mere “whore” could have written something like this.

These were the words of a woman who had so much to give, and so much to live for, only for all of it to be taken away from her by the cruel hands of fate.

She huffed and roughly turned around, barely pinching the photograph in her trembling fingers. An overwhelming wave of heat rose to her face, and the back of her eyes burned intensely as she at last came to a horrible conclusion.

Everything her father had said about her mother was a lie. Who she was, where she was, why she couldn’t be there with them – all of it had been a lie.

It hurt learning that her father lied to her face about her mother all her life. It hurt learning that her mother could have been her last chance at a decent family. It hurt learning that she was mentally ill and stuck in a sanitorium for years on end. It hurt learning that she loved her and never knew until this very moment.

But what truly hurt the most was that her mother referred to her father as her “dearest” and referred to herself as his “lifelong companion”.

This meant that she had known him for most, if not all of her life. She likely got to grow up and experience life in a time when her father was probably not so terrible. There was friendship, tenderness, vulnerability, and even love shared between them once. There had to be for Ballantine to even exist at all, let alone for her mother to trust her father enough to look after her.

And yet... he killed her.

He. Killed. Her.

In the shadow of the golden sun setting beyond the bedroom window, Ballantine tilted her head down and grit her teeth tightly as tears finally began to fall from the eyes her mother gave her. She wanted so much to scream, to cry, to unleash to the heavens all the pain she had been holding inside the past sixteen summers.

But out of her mouth, only one word managed to escape.

“Dammit...”

[yoel-o-fellow]

what would ballty’s nose look like from the front

Like a regular blob.

[yoel-o-fellow]

I think @stevies-characters once asked me what the Ruggaboors would look like wearing masks...and...well... their noses are too cursed to wear regular masks. 

[stargazerlillian]

Spruced up some old headshot sketches I found in my sketchbook and colored them. Just some ill-conditioned growling fellow and his two scheming offspring~

Sebastian, Hunter, and Ballantine Ruggaboor belong to @yoel-o-fellow

EDIT (4/3/2022): Redid Ballantine’s pearl earrings.

[stargazerlillian]

I once heard that if Ballantine had long hair and glasses, she would basically look like a “mini emo J”... well, consider it done.👌

Ballantine Ruggaboor belongs to @yoel-o-fellow

EDIT (4/3/2022): Redid Ballantine’s pearl earrings.

[yoel-o-fellow]

For all you kiddies who want to get out of doing homework, Ballantine’s got ya covered. 👊

[yoel-o-fellow]

Watch Ballantine adopt a kid ten years later.  👻

[yoel-o-fellow]

The whole family~  Plus a bonus sketch of Ballty and Hunter just to show you how far the apples have fallen from the tree-

[yoel-o-fellow]

Ballty knows where it’s at.

[yoel-o-fellow]

It’s not exactly a canon encounter, but it didn’t stop me from drawing it anyway~

[stargazerlillian]

“Parent-Teacher Night” (for Yoel)

An innocent inquiry from his young daughter takes Sebastian back to a place he believed only existed in memory.

Serves as a written companion piece to this image.

Sebastian and Ballantine Ruggaboor belong to @yoel-o-fellow

Content warning: Drug usage (alcohol), mild verbal abuse, and a whole lot of angst.

——————–

September 14th, 1971

Stoke-on-Trent, England

5:37 PM

“Daddy?”

Sebastian sharply inhaled as he was suddenly awakened from his whiskey-induced slumber by a familiar tiny voice and a slight tug on his cape. He sluggishly tilted his head to the right and lifted the brim of his top hat to see the wide baby blue eyes of his five-year-old daughter staring up at him. He hummed irritatedly before murmuring his slurred reply.

“Wha’ is it?"

Ballantine’s nervous eyes flickered back and forth between the floor and her father as she struggled to find her reply.

“W-well daddy… Friday night is comin’ up… an’… I was jus’ wonderin’… if you…”

“Yeh?”

“Wanna come to Parent-Teacher Night?”

Sebastian huffed and rolled his eyes. That is what she woke him up for? He pulled the brim of his hat back over his eyes and folded his gloved hands over his stomach.

“So I can be evaluated by yer teacher? Tch – not a chance.”

Ballantine flinched, taken aback by the scent of whiskey on her father’s breath. It was a scent that was all too familiar to her at this point in her life, yet still had quite a gripping hold on her gag reflex. It didn’t matter, though - her desire to get her inquiry across proved far stronger than her desire to regurgitate what little food she had in her stomach. She tugged on his cape again as she repeated her plea.

“Please, daddy?”

“No, Ballantine.”

“Pleeeeease? I promise I’ll be really, really good! Please, daddy!”

“I said no!” Sebastian growled, forcefully yanking his cape out of his daughter’s grip.

“Bu’… bu’ why?” The girl whined.

“Because I said so,” Sebastian replied, turning away from her. “Now go away.”

“Aw, that’s a real shame. I was really hoping you’d come. I heard that there’d be all sorts of fun activities there, along with many tasty snack foods.”

He froze. That voice…

When he turned back over to look at Ballantine, she was no longer there. Instead, there stood a different girl, illuminated from behind by the golden aura of the setting sun. She had the same pointed nose and pale blue eyes as Ballantine, along with silky blonde hair that fell to the small of her back, and large, round-lensed glasses that perfectly complimented the shape of her face. She was dressed in the secondary school colors of deep blue and gold, signifying she was too old to be a small child, but too young to be a woman.

Sebastian’s eyes grew enormous. “No,” he thought. “It can’t be...”

But it was. It was his late beloved, then best friend - the mother of his daughter.

He swallowed and looked down, only to see that not only was he now standing up, but he was also dressed differently. He was wearing his off-white button-up shirt and black trousers from his own uniform, but his jacket appeared to be absent. He reached his hands up to his face, feeling around for stubble or his signature cheekbones. He found neither. It was like he was thirteen years younger all over again. 

What was going on? Why was he here? Why was SHE here for that matter? Wasn’t she-

Before he could even try to deduce the situation, Sebastian suddenly felt a series of words being pulled out of his lips from beyond his control – as if he were a puppet reciting lines in a stage show he never asked to be a part of.

“I… I’m sorry, bu’ I really can’t,” he muttered. “M’ mum n’ dad ain’t really interested in stuff like tha’. They don’ really like to leave th’ house unless they absolutely ‘ave to. Mum only leaves to get groceries, an’ dad only leaves to go to work or the pub. An’ even if they did want to go, I can’t guarantee that they’ll be the most pleasant people. They migh’ jus’ make an awful mess of things an’ ruin it fer ev’rybody. Plus, the teachers don’t really like me tha’ much either, so…”

The girl’s hopeful smile faded as her gaze fell to her feet. “Oh, I see… well, that’s… understandable. I’m... real sorry to hear about that.”

“Don’t be,” Sebastian huffed, waving her words of concern away casually. “It’s nothin’. It’s jus’… one o’ those things, y’know?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she replied, bashfully tucking some hair behind her right ear. “I’ll, um... I’ll be sure to save some biscuits and cucumber sandwiches for you the next time we meet, then.”

Sebastian eyes widened, blinking twice in shock. “W-wha’ now?”

His companion’s eyes darted in all directions for a second before landing back on him. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat as she laid out her explanation.

“I mean... I know you don’t get to eat very much at home, and your parents never pack a lunch for you, so I... I thought maybe I’d salvage some snacks for you to eat when you don’t get to eat properly.”

Sebastian swallowed dryly. Did he hear her words correctly?

“Y-ye… Ye’d do tha’… f-fer me?”

His friend froze for a second. She then rolled her eyes back and shook her head as a new smile crossed her face. She placed her hands gently on Sebastian’s shoulders. “Of course, silly. You’re my friend. Friends do things for each other… you know? Besides, I made lunch and brought it to you many times now – you really shouldn’t be so surprised that I’d do something like that, haha!”

Sebastian could only stand there in stunned silence as he tried to process her words. This girl - this admittedly beautiful girl - had just outright called him his friend. His FRIEND. Even after all the pranks he pulled, the taunts he threw, and the names he called her, she still found it in herself to consider him a FRIEND. And not only that - she was TOUCHING him. HER hands were on HIS shoulders - and it felt... nice. His heart started pounding harder as he pondered placing his hands on top of hers.

But before the slightest hint of a blush could rise to his face, and before he could utter a syllable in reply, something would occur that would stick to the threads of his memory for the rest of his days.

“Come here, you!”

Faster than his racing thoughts could ever predict, he was pulled down close to the girl, her lithe arms holding him snug against her chest. His splayed fingers tingled in the evening breeze as his young mind struggled to process what had just occurred.

“Oi! Wha’s this then?”

“It’s called a hug, you daft fool.”

“Oh…”

Sebastian paused. A… hug? Is this what a… proper hug felt like? He wasn’t sure – he couldn’t remember being hugged in the past by anyone, let alone like this. But if it was, he was all for it.

Gently, he wrapped his trembling arms around his friend’s back, returning the embrace. The sound of her breathing and heartbeat filled his ears as he held on to her, his body now awash with a sense of calm that he had not felt in years.

“I quite like it.”

Having her hands on his shoulders felt nice, but having her arms around him felt even better. Hell, he was willing to believe that it felt the BEST. Unlike any other person’s touch, hers felt soft, warm, and comforting, like a fleece blanket fresh out of the dryer, but somehow even better. He took a deep breath as he nuzzled himself deeper into her chest, the scent of old books and freshly laundered linen filling his lungs. He didn’t want to admit it, but he could have sworn his heart was on the verge of stopping from all the joy building up inside him. How he wished this moment with her would never end. Just him, her, and this moment - this perfect, perfect moment.

Just then, he heard the girl utter a sharp gasp.

“Wha’? Wha’ is it?”

“Daddy…”

“Come again?”

“Daddy,” she repeated, this time with a tone of urgency.

Sebastian struggled to pull himself free from her grasp as he looked around frantically for the man in question. “Wha’ do ye mean ‘daddy?’ I-is he ‘ere? Where is he? Where is he?!”

“Daddy!”

Sebastian gasped as he jolted out of his vision, a hand tightly pressed to his heaving chest as he attempted to calm down his startled heart.

“D-daddy? Are you alrigh’? You - you were talkin’ in yer sleep again...”

Sebastian’s jaundiced sable eyes flared at the sound of that voice. 

No. He couldn’t have - not again. 

He slowly turned to face the girl once more - only to be met by the uncanny face of their child. 

He had. It had all been a vision. His chest and face grew hot as he stared deep into Ballantine for what seemed like forever.

“Daddy?”

No answer.

The young girl gulped as the tense silence persisted. She saw the right side of her father’s mouth begin to twitch. That was never a good sign.

She took a tiny step back before calling to him one more time.

“D-d-daddy?”

Sebastian shut his eyes and sharply took a breath through his nose before turning his head forward, away from his daughter. The words that finally did come out were uttered in a chilling monotone.

“Ballantine… go up to yer room. Now.”

Ballantine blinked twice in concern. She ran up to the man, grasping at his cape as she pleaded.

“B-but... daddy, aren’t you goin’ to tell me – “

Before she could finish her sentence, Sebastian rapidly turned back and lunged his face as close to hers as he could, causing her to almost fall backwards in total shock.

“Now!” he repeated, this time through gritted teeth. “An’ I don’ want to see ye down ‘ere again fer the rest of the day, d’ye ‘ear me?!” he hissed, jabbing an overgrown talon into her sternum.

Ballantine swallowed dryly yet again as she felt a sudden, uncomfortable rush of heat flow to her face. Did she do something wrong? She didn’t think so. All she did was ask if her father was okay. She still really wanted to know if he was… but perhaps now was not a good time to pry for an answer.

She stepped back from him and wiped her dewy eyes on her sleeve before uttering a tiny sniffle.

“Y-yes, daddy… I’m... I’m sorry.” She tilted her head back up to look at her father one last time, hoping at the back of her mind that somehow, somehow he’d notice her pain and change his mind. What she got was yet another poisonous scowl, along with him flinging a tapered finger in the direction of the stairs. 

No - not this time.

Defeated, she turned away and left, slowly making her way back upstairs to the attic, her father’s cold glare piercing into her back the whole way.

Once Ballantine was out of sight, Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose and took a shuttered breath as he laid himself back on the red velvet couch.

Why did these… these things keep happening to him? He didn’t even do it – so why was he being haunted? Was it because he…

He shook his head rapidly. No. He was not going to focus on that again. If he ever did, it would be too soon.

Trembling, he reached a clawed hand over to the side table and grabbed his half-full whiskey glass, promptly bringing it to his lips and finishing off the rest of the brown liquor in only a few gulps.

As the burn at the back of his throat subsided and the warm buzz in his head returned, he turned back onto his left side and pulled his cape over his exhausted form to shield himself from any further distractions, physical or otherwise.

As far as he knew, none of that happened. None of it. None whatsoever.

A pause.

No intruding thoughts came. All the chatter in his head had ceased.

Finally.

Satisfied that his mind was no longer arguing with him, he fluttered his eyes shut and drifted off once more.