#Technically he didn’t have the walking cane or the top hat but I thought it was cute

[blackcherryvelvet0909]

Feathered Good (Crowley x GN!Reader)

Content Warning: Alcohol (no intoxication), implied depression, implied unhealthy coping mechanisms, mild angst

Note: Reader is an adult NRC staff member

A pleased hum vibrated along your lips and rumbled through your throat as a soft breeze kissed your skin. It smelt of sand and sea, beneath that the delectable scent of various dishes cooking in the restaurant kitchen. You took another sip of your drink, the taste of [favorite fruit] wonderfully flooding your taste buds once again. You savored the flavor as your gaze lingered on the view before you, out towards the vast body of saltwater beyond. It was an excellent idea, coming out here; you’d have to thank Divus for the recommendation later. This was exactly what you needed. 

You were tucked into a nice little corner as well. Your table was situated on the lower deck of the restaurant - you thought it too nice an evening to remain inside. The spot wasn’t too far from the kitchens, either, so your food and drink didn’t take long to reach you. There was only one thing missing: company. When you first planned to eat out here, you thought Divus and Trein would come with you. However, as usual, their duties as professors got them into a bit of trouble, and a little injury. Thank goodness it wasn’t too bad of a fall; even so, the men had been in no mood to walk two to three flights of stairs, whether short or long. 

So, here you were, split between happiness for the alone time and disappointed in the lack of friendly conversation. Your eyes made another once over of your surroundings, watching the other patrons chat and laugh amongst themselves. Just as you were about to focus back on the waning sunset, your gaze settled on a familiar figure on the floor above. You could scarcely make out his frame, but you knew that mask from anywhere. What was Crowley doing here? Well, that was a dumb question. When was the headmage not making the most of the trip - either on or off the clock, to you and your coworkers’ misfortune. 

You couldn’t try and scold him, since it was technically both your off times. There was no reason to go and talk to him. Still…you found yourself rising from your seat. You placed a few madol on the table for your waiter; as you passed by the person at the register, you mentioned you were moving up to the top floor. That way they wouldn’t try and chase you, thinking you were trying to skip paying your bill. When the cashier gave you a nod and a smile, you headed up the long flight of stairs. It was a bit of a struggle to not spill your drink in your ascension, but you managed. Within minutes you reached the top - the view was even better from this height. 

Crowley faced away from you, the rim of his glass pressed to his lips as he took a sip of the liquid within. You couldn’t tell if it was alcoholic or not - did he even drink? Guess it was time to find out. “I’m surprised to see you here,” were the words you greeted him with. He turned to you as you rested your glass on the wooden edge of the balcony, wide enough for patrons to settle small plates of food or beverages. 

The headmage greeted you with a smile as he straightened his posture. “I make a point to visit this restaurant whenever I get the chance to travel here.” Crowley leaned against the railing, arm rested atop it, clawed hands almost folded in front of him. He looked more casual than usual - relaxed, even. If he were not a man who constantly plucked at your nerves, you’d think him rather dashing, especially since, this evening, he was not clad in that gaudy tropical shirt and khakis. Aside from his cloak, top hat, and cane, he was dressed in his usual ensemble. “Is this your first time here?” he asked. 

“The restaurant or this beach in general?” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “Either.” 

“Yes, to both,” you answered. Your body relaxed as you rested your arms against the wooden railing, glass placed next to you. “This is my first vacation in forever, I think. Usually, when I’m not working, I just hang out at home.” You chuckled, “I wouldn’t exactly call this a vacation, anyway; it’s basically a work trip.” 

“True,” Crowley agreed, “but I have done my best to work some ample time for you and the other staff to enjoy yourselves as well.” You seriously questioned that, with the way the man would sometimes outright abandon you and the students in favor of some other unknown activity. He picked up his small glass with his fingertips, swirling the brown liquid within as his eyes cast back out at the waves beyond. “This is truly a charming place, despite the hustle and bustle of the tourists.” Crowley lifted the glass to take another sip of his beverage. Feeling a bit mischievous, you decided to ask him another question. 

“Is that why Royal Sword and Noble Bell also chose this place to hold their field trips?” You held back a laugh as the headmage nearly choked on the drink. Patiently, you waited for him to regain himself before he answered. 

“Well…I suppose that is the reason.” You could almost picture the sweat that surely beaded under his shirt collar. “As I said, this is a wondrous place! What better destination for students to learn and play?” 

“It is, indeed, a place to do both - for all ages.” A little smirk played on your lips as you pried more. “It’s just strange we arrived right as the other schools did.” You lifted your drink to your lips as you added, “Coincidence, perhaps?” 

The headmage now avoided your gaze - a clear sign he was nervous. “Ah…yes!” Crowley let out a nervous laugh. “Quite so! Us three headmasters must be in sync with one another. As they say, great minds think alike!” 

Or a certain one didn’t want to look bad in front of his peers, you thought to yourself. For now, you decided to keep that thought to yourself. After all, there was no proof to that…yet. Divus said he would keep you posted.

“While it does allow our students to mingle with ones from other schools, it is a little chaotic.” You sighed as you placed your drink back down on the space next to you, the taste of [drink of choice] fresh upon your tongue. “I’m surprised there haven't been that many fights. Aside from Spade’s confrontation with those Royal Sword boys, there hasn’t been much of an incident. It’s either we finally have peace in the valley,” another sigh left your lips, “or all will come crashing down in the final days of the trip.” 

“Come now,” Crowley chuckled. “Do you have such little faith in our flock?” You sent him a look - without words, he seemed to get the point. He nodded his head, “Yes, our students are a rowdy bunch, to be sure. But perhaps this change of scenery will calm those rebellious natures enough for them to put away their fists.” 

“Hopefully,” you wished, with all of your being. You really didn’t get paid enough for the hassle sometimes. 

A silence fell between you two for a few moments, nothing but the sound of distant chatter and ocean waves filling your ears. Crowley was the one to break that hush. “[Y/n]?” You perked up at the sound of your name - your first name. It was odd for him not to address you formerly, even when off duty. With your attention back on him, he continued. “What do you think makes a good person?” 

“I didn’t know you partook in philosophy,” you said, perplexed by the question. Where did this come from?

“I read up on the subject from time to time,” Crowley mentioned. “Will you humor me?” 

Well, you didn’t see why you couldn’t. You did yearn for conversation earlier - now you had it. For a few seconds, you thought his question over, tossed and turned it in your mind. What made a good person? “I guess it depends on the person,” you finally replied. “No one will answer the same; it all weighs on someone’s life experience, I think.” 

“That was not what I asked.” Crowley’s expression was different, you realized. He looked sincere - more serious than you’d ever seen him. Even when a certain group of students overblotted in the past year, he hadn’t appeared this way. “I am asking you what makes a good person. In your eyes, what makes a good person?” 

You rarely ever experienced this man look directly into your eyes. It was almost like he wanted to peer into your very soul to find the answer. The tone of his voice had shifted as well, you noticed. Has Crowley ever been so earnest? You couldn’t answer that. You said you would humor him, so humor him you would. After a bit more contemplation, you explained to him what, to you, made a good person. 

The man listened intently, hung on your every word. He gave a slight nod of his head from time to time, truly taking in your beliefs. You secretly wished he’d take his work as seriously as this opinion of yours. Once you said your piece, he nodded once more, and then another long moment of silence washed over you both. That yellow gaze, obscured behind Crowley’s dark mask, was cast down to the ground. The rest of his expression, along with his body language, was almost…solemn, you thought. Did he find your answer disappointing? 

Before you could ask, he raised his head and smiled at you. Though it looked a little strained, he sounded genuine. “Thank you, [Y/n]. I will keep your words in mind for the future.” You watched as he picked up his glass once more, clasped a little tightly in his palm as he held it up to his lips. He then tilted his head back and drank the entirety of his beverage in a few short gulps. 

Your eyes must have widened at the display, for he let out a small laugh. “What’s that look for?” 

“What was that?” you asked, pointing at his now empty glass. 

“My drink?” Crowley shook the glass and the remaining ice clinked around within. “Scotch.” 

“You chugged it that quickly?!” The audacity of this man. “Will you even be able to walk back to the hotel?” It wasn’t too far away, the restaurant was located just outside the resort, but…

Crowley let out another laugh, much louder than the last. “Aww, you worry for me? I’m flattered!” Who wouldn’t worry? “But I assure you I’m quite alright. It takes a lot more than that to get me tipsy.” 

That was a pretty sizable amount of liquor though. Even Trein, someone who himself partook in scotch from time to time, would get a little blitzed after such a chug. How…how much did it take to get Crowley drunk? How much had he drunk in the past to build that high of a tolerance? Your expression must have revealed your inner thoughts, for Crowley let out another chuckle. 

“It has been my friend on many a late night,” he explained. Crowley eyed the glass in his hand almost as though it were an old friend. He appeared…almost sad, for the way he smiled. “This evening is one of few where it is not required.” 

Your heart sank. Not required? Sure, you knew Crowley was probably the type to drink a good bit, like Divus, but…that sounded rather ominous. Crowley appeared no different than the depressed protagonist in a movie. What exactly did he have to be depressed about? You thought back to the odd question he asked you minutes before. ‘What makes a good person?’ 

You thought about all the times Crowley praised himself. How kind he claimed to be with every little thing he did. Always out of arrogance, narcissism, maybe. Now, in light of the question he gave you, how he reacted and mulled over your answer. It now seemed those praises were affirmations to himself…assurances he was doing good. The confidence he showed when he made such claims always fueled the frustration within you. When put in this light though, it sounded like…like a man desperate to be a good person, when he didn’t know how to be. 

“Dire-” 

Your elbow hit something as you adjusted your position: Your glass. You gasped as it fell over the railing; you were just in time to watch it fall down to the sand three flights of stairs away. Thankfully it didn’t hit anyone on the way. A few guests and servers looked up in confusion - you suddenly felt embarrassed. You nearly jumped out of your skin when Crowley belted out in laughter. “It happens to the best of us!” he reassured. “I can’t count how many times I’ve made such a blunder.” 

With a wave of his hand, he called a waiter over. “Would you get my companion here another -” he glanced over at you “ - what were you having?” 

“[Drink of choice],” you mumbled, still flustered beyond belief. 

“[Drink of choice]!” Crowley repeated to the waiter. He handed them his empty glass as he added, “And another glass of scotch for me, if you wouldn’t mind.” Crowley slipped the waiter a several madol as a tip - or as a way to get your drinks quicker. Either way, the waiter uttered a ‘yes, sir’ before they headed down to the bar. As they went out of sight, Crowley turned back to you. “Where is that smile from before? You’re not the first to knock over a glass, you know.” 

“I know…” You shied away as you rubbed your arm. “I just hate someone has to pick it up.” 

“I’m sure that isn’t the worst thing they’ve ever done.” Crowley sat himself in a cushioned chair at the corner of the floor. You followed suit and took the one across from him. “If it broke, I will pay for that as well.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t I have to pay for it?” 

“Usually,” he rested his chin against the back of his hand, “if I were not treating you.” 

Dire Crowley, the stingy headmage of Night Raven College, treating you? You couldn’t hold back the small laugh that escaped your throat. “I didn’t know you had a sense of humor,” you quipped. 

He scoffed, taken aback by your statement. “Whatever do you mean? I have a great sense of humor! And that was not a joke: I intend to pay for the drinks you may have in my presence.” 

Who clocked him over the head? “You’re serious?” you questioned with a skeptical raise of your brow. “Not going to take this out of my paycheck or something?”

“You think me that cruel?” He seemed to flinch by the look that crossed your face. “No no, I’m not going to take it out of your check - or any thereafter.” Another smile twitched at his lips. “Consider this my thanks for your company - and for answering my question.”

You wanted to ask more - more than him treating you. Yet something told you to hold back for now. Apparently this man was more cryptic, held more mysteries than you ever thought him to. There likely wouldn’t be anything to garner from his question - tonight, at least. Might as well take your good luck and accept the offer, before he changed his mind. You put your skepticism aside and smiled. “Thank you - I really appreciate it.”

Those masked eyes seemed to brighten a little at your gratitude. His posture straightened a bit more, his characteristic confidence back in full force. “Of course! I cherish the opportunity to reward one of my fellow peers for their hard work. After all,” his smile wavered into what looked like a smirk, “I am ever so kind~” 

Another reassurance…to you, or to himself? You seriously would question that from now on. 

If only you knew just how much Dire Crowley valued your opinion.

[whatsorryiwasntlistening]

I did some little drawings of Plug and the Cannon from Rolling with Difficulty (a dnd podcast you should definitely check out). I just love these little guys. I’m gonna do more.

@incorrectrwdquotes @comicaurora

[southslates]

you are lost without the waiting

for the @grishaversebigbang mini bang 2021!

lovely art was done for this piece by amethyst @amethystmoonart [here!] and door @doorhandle16 [here] ! these two were absolutely amazing to work with <3

Summary:

Inej made a deal with the devil. She had faith in him, for whatever reason. His eyes were black as dirt. They were cold. They were home.

In which Inej is Persephone, Kaz is Hades, and she chooses to stay.

ao3 link!

“Tell me you loved to destroy.

Tell me you need me. Please. You are the bones

of my spine. You are the ground beneath my feet.

You are made of deeper stuff than the earth

can give. Admit it: you are lost without the waiting.

― clementine von radics, letter from hades to persephone

Can you even imagine yourself in paradise?

Even the daughter of gods must know loneliness,

must sometimes want nothing more than to be

trapped in a hell of forevers. Thank me, you queen.

I’ve given you forever.”

/

Inej had been a wind spirit.

Technically, she still was. She didn’t feel like one anymore. She used to dance across rooftops and skies—her parents said she was a  gravity-defier. That there was no place in the world—no land, nor ocean—that could bind her feet—or her—to anything.

They were wrong. She had been taken when flying through the skies, swept away into a deep sleep until she woke up in a bed at the Menagerie. There she met Tante Heleen, purveyor of lost spirits. Heleen had told Inej that she saved the girl from a fiery fate, and that now she owed her an indenture. An indenture Inej paid by tending the lands the goddess reigned over and touching the men who let Heleen carry out her whims.

Inej had been a wind spirit, but she did not think she was one anymore. She could not break free. If she left the grassy fields of Heleen’s island world she would be caught and subjugated to an even darker fate. 

She stayed. She tended to the fields. She danced in front of gods with long teeth. She belonged to the Menagerie, the girls with lost spirits. She distanced the innocent who breezed through the flower fields from the one who balanced on rope. She felt like two people. She wanted to leave but had nowhere to go.

One day, airing out a field of daisies, she stopped. She could see a flash of color between the deathly white blooms, and held her breath as she reached out to thumb bright orange petals. It was a geranium. It had been her mother’s favorite flower.

In a moment of weakness and pain and longing, she reached for the stem and tugged it out of the earth. And then the ground opened, and Inej fell.

/

Inej felt as though she fell for days. She thought she would shatter into a thousand pieces when she finally hit the bottom of this well. She thought she would fall forever.

When she reached the bottom of the hole, it was an ocean. She found herself submerged in water and darkness, and pulled herself up until she felt dry air. The darkness stayed omnipresent. She couldn’t see anything. “Hello?” she called into a void.

For a minute, nothing happened. She could almost believe that she was nonexistent. And then something, a bullet, whizzed past her. She barely dodged it.

A light flicked on, and she saw a man in a bright orange waistcoat holding a . . . small cannon in her direction. She assumed it had dislodged the bullet that had almost torn her immortal life. The light disturbed Inej for a moment, but she found her balance quickly. She anticipated another attack, but the man just frowned in her direction. “Who are you?”

“Where am I?” Inej countered.

The man took in her silk dress and the painted spots on her face, and he seemed to come to his own conclusion. “Not anywhere you should be, goddess. Your kind are not welcome here.”

“Where is here?”

The man sighed. “My name is Jesper,” he said, then gestured to his side. “Welcome to the land of greed. I suppose I’ll have to take you to the boss.”

/

Jesper took Inej to a large black palace in the middle of . . . absolutely nothing. It wasn’t particularly enchanting, unlike the gilded arches of the Menagerie. The building seemed to speak to her, to warn her away from its obsidian glare. She wanted to turn back when Jesper gestured for her to enter, but she had nowhere else to go. Even if she could find her way to the surface, she would land in Hell that was simply more discreet.

And she was certain that she was in Hell. The land of greed, Jesper had said. The land of greed, of rocks and riches and death. What lay under the fanciful pretenses of the land Tante Heleen and men such as Pekka Rollins claimed to rule.

Inej didn’t know who ruled this land, but she was certain she was about to find out. She took one last look around the landscape, blank and dead and black, before stepping into the palace. The stone of the entrance cracked under her feet.

Jesper led her around dilapidated columns and stairs and walls, human architecture, until they reached a large room at the top of the palace. Even up here, Inej was distinctly aware of the stillness of the air. She felt as though a part of her was missing. She felt like a wind spirit again. When she looked down, she could almost see through herself. She required air to stay formed. This place was sucking out her lifeblood, and she could not find it in herself to care.

“Kaz!” he yelled. Inej startled at the sudden noise, but stayed deft on her feet as they approached a tall, lank, pale figure, sitting at a throne that almost seemed like a desk. There was a hat on the man’s head and a cane next to him. Inej frowned at it. She had met many gods and spirits, and none needed aids such as that. “We’ve got a four-hundred-sixty-three.”

The man looked up, and his searing brown eyes met hers. He didn’t break that contact as he stood up from his seat and gripped his cane. “I don’t know what your asinine numbers mean, Jesper. Speak proper. We have a guest.”

Jesper almost blushed at Inej’s side. She found herself entranced by this man she knew nothing about. “She fell from above.”

“Indeed,” Kaz said. He was unnaturally still. “So? Take her back up.”

“No!” Inej shouted. Jesper’s gaze fixed on her too, and he seemed a bit scared.

“No?” Kaz questioned. “Why would a wind spirit not want to go back to the lands above?”

“I’m indentured to Tante Heleen,” she murmured. “Please, I can help you.”

“Can you?” Kaz asked. She couldn’t let her eyes off him, either. His voice was a salty rasp, dead but safe. They stood in that silence for a moment, looking at each other, until Jesper cleared his throat.

“Kaz?”

“Put her in a guest bedroom,” he said easily. “Always fine to piss on darling Heleen.”

/

His name was Kaz Brekker, and he was greed’s guardian. Truly, he was the guardian of Hell, but few called him that. “Death does not bow to me,” he told her at breakfast the next day, a table length apart. He wore leather gloves and kept his cane close to him. It was topped by a crow’s head. Late at night, Inej had heard them flying around the palace. They were the only form of life she’d seen so far, though no wind followed. She was the faintest bit translucent. “Death bows to no man. But greed? It is my servant and my lever.”

Inej was a bit overwhelmed by it all. She was frightened of this new world, one of death and decay. She knew she did not belong. But she knew it was better than what awaited her above.

“How do you intend to help me, Inej Ghafa?”

“How do you know my name?”

“I make it my business to know all things,” Kaz said. “There is unrest in my fields, those of the deceased. You will learn why.”

“Why—”

“Yesterday,” he said, “you came with Jesper, bells on your ankles, bracelets on your wrists. I could hear my enforcer from a mile away, but not you.” He leaned close to her, several bodies apart. “Spy for me, won’t you?”

Inej made a deal with the devil. She had faith in him, for whatever reason. His eyes were black as dirt. They were cold. They were home.

Inej saw Jesper occasionally. He ensured that she had basic necessities, and he toured her around the land of greed. She saw rubies growing on trees, diamonds blooming from the ground. She met shades, those who had died centuries ago and entered the land crying for the saints she knew were above. The more days and weeks she spent here, the more see-through she became. She was almost afraid she would become one of them.

She made herself silent and danced through them. And when she knew what they spoke, she went back to the palace. She went to the river. She went to valleys and canyons, and she learned of the guardian of this Hell. She found peace in the darkness, in the stillness.

Kaz Brekker was a true  demjin, she was told. She was told he started wars himself, when he grew tired. She heard he controlled all the riches and corruptness above her.

She believed it, too. She ate twice a day with him, and then he did whatever demons did as she wandered the terrain of his domain. They spoke only occasionally. He tended to stare into her soul, and those looks always said more than words. Inej was a wraith, a ghost, but Kaz made her feel solid and seen.

One day Kaz Brekker asked her if she would like him to take her to the shadow fold. “You’re curious,” he told her, as though he could see inside her and also right through her. She wondered if he could. “It’s intriguing.”

So they’d gone on a walk through something dark and damp, sapphire-studded weeds carpeting the ground under their feet. The air was moist and still. The fold was somehow darker than the rest of this world, and it frightened Inej. As they stood at its precipice, she grabbed Kaz Brekker’s gloved hand.

She had seen him shy away from Jesper’s touch, seen him stay feet away from her. But when she held his hand that day, he didn’t let go. The next day he was not at breakfast, but there was a bouquet of flowers in front of her, studded with orange opal. Inej had never mentioned to Kaz her favorite flower.

/

The walks became a daily occurrence, and she slowly started to wring fragments of humanity from this immortal. Kaz Brekker enjoyed drinking wine and his work, the guardian of the souls of the worst kind of men. He was sure of himself as a monster. He asked her twice as many questions as she asked him.

If she wrung humanity from a demon, he wrung personality from a shadow. He brought her up into what she once was—until she remembered the wind spirit again. Inej talked of flowers and her friend Nina and how she loved dancing across rooftops. She talked of her parents and her siblings and the freedom of the air. Kaz seemed to drink her in, with his menacing, freeing gaze. He knew her. He saw her.

Once, she asked him why he wore gloves, why he avoided the river at the entrance of his realm, and why he used a cane. He only explained the latter, only said there was strength in being broken.

They didn’t touch. Inej grew used to the feeling of leather around her palm. Kaz seemed aloof, but he grasped her translucent hand through his clothing as though he never wanted to let her go. And yet she never felt stuck, or alone, until—

Until one day she woke up to Jesper forcing her back into her rooms. He seemed frenzied, and Inej went back to bed only to crawl out through her window when she heard loud sounds in Kaz’s throne room. She sat at his window and heard a voice which seared her invisible soul. Pekka Rollins, indeed.

“You must return her. She is indentured—”

“And you would think that something I would consider? I am your safes and vaults personified. It’s meaningless.”

“The girl belongs to—”

“The girl belongs to no one,” Inej heard Kaz hiss. “Go tell your Tante Heleen that Inej Ghafa belongs to nobody.”

Inej slipped a little at that admission, right into Rollins’ eyesight. He looked at her slight, ghost-like body with his eyebrows afloat—as though he’d won something. “Come, little lynx,” he cooed at her. “You don’t have to stay in this land anymore, with this demon.”

“She doesn’t want to come with you,” said Kaz. Rollins laughed.

“Found a new master already, have you?”

“I belong to no one,” Inej repeated what Kaz had said.

“Little girl,” Rollins said. “You would stay here? In a land of no sky, of death and decay and greed? You are a free spirit. Come to the world above.” His eyes traced her figure. “You are nothing here.” 

She knew he was referring to her barely corporeal form. His words still stung deeply.

“I am freer here than I could ever be,” Inej said. And yet she knew the hard skies of Kaz’s world were dulling her sensibilities. She didn’t want to leave; but she would have to soon, if she didn’t want to fade into the fold itself.

Pekka appeared as though he had more to say, but Kaz stood up in protest to his unsaid words, ghosts in the air, leaning on his cane, something truly—truly  demonic in his eyes. “If you do not leave now, Pekka Rollins,” he said, “it is your mortal son who will suffer. Kaelish, isn’t he?”

The man left. His words stayed in the air. Inej was in a nightgown and Kaz was dressed like a monster, but she felt as though she had the power in the room. His gaze did not fall away from her. “He was right,” she said. She was fading. 

“I know,” he said. He stared at her enough to know that she did not have much time left before she became invisible. “You would never be able to pay off your indenture.”

Inej knew this. She knew that he could give her all the riches of his realm, and she would never pay off her indenture. “I have no choice.”

He walked across the room and pressed a gloved hand to her cheek. “Greed is my servant,” he said. “And my lever.”

The walls started shaking, and Inej fell away from Kaz. She could feel leather on her face. 

Then she saw darkness, and nothing more.

/

Inej woke up in a field of flowers. They were jeweled, and they were orange. They smelled like dirt and decay. She wanted to spend the rest of her life in that field. She lifted her hand and saw herself, all of herself.

When she stepped forward, she was back home. She heard the news soon afterward, that the entire Menagerie had fallen into Hell. That the guardian of greed had taken the woman who loved it above. That the girls forced to be animals were free.

Inej was home, and yet she was not home; how did she explain to her people of the air that she yearned for a place with croaking birds, cloaked in darkness? She did not—Kaz Brekker made it his business to know all things. It was six months later that she found a fresh geranium in a field of flowers outside of her cottage.

She fell again. This time she didn’t fall into water, but the open embrace of a demon without armor. She thought she would fall forever. She thought she could find peace.

[seasonsofeverlark]

Spreading Christmas Cheer

Author: @mega-aulover​

Prompt: Everlark the movie Elf [submitted by @alliswell21​]

Rating: G

Author’s Note: This is a story based off of the movie Elf as requested by @alliswell21​ It’s from “Jovie” i.e. Katniss POV, what she would have seen and fell in love with one Peeta ‘Buddy’ Mellark. 

Special thanks to @norbertsmom​ for her betaing skill and for the name of the story. Parts 3 and 4 will post separately.

_____________

Pt 1

I watch Peeta gently kiss the top of our first born’s head. Holly’s dark hair is braided into two plaits; her blue eyes closing softly. 

“And Papa Elf said, grandpa was on the naughty list…” his voice is soft.

Suddenly Holly’s eyes widen as she remembers something. Her blue eyes are laser focused on Peeta. “Papá, es verdad que mamá estaba en la  lista de los niños malos?”   

“Y quien te dijo esto?” I ask from the door. We never discuss my role in Peeta’s adventure, or the fact that I was on the naughty list. Ever. 

“Santa,” Holly says.

Ese gordo, Santa has loose lips. I think about teaching him about keeping secrets until it’s time to explain to our child about the past. But before I can say anything, Peeta gives me a look. He always knows when I’m having evil thoughts. I sigh, and redirect my thoughts, because Peeta made me believe in love, joy, and Christmas.    

“Your papa saved more than grandpa that Christmas. He saved me too.”

Holly’s eyes lit up like her father’s before the sleepiness creeps back into their depths.

“Now go to sleep so Santa can come down the chimney.”

“Night, mama, night papa,” Holly whispers right before she drifts off to sleep. 

Together we walk out of our daughters bedroom. Peeta slides an arm around my shoulders. He dips down and nuzzles my cheek. He steers me to the living room. I drag my feet. Peeta is up to something.

“Okay, spill it, Mellark.”

He gives me a wide eyed smile.

The hair at the back of my neck stands up straight. 

He’s got that look, that please tell me a bedtime story stare, and not just any story. 

“No.”

Peeta pauses and gives me a puppy dog look with a full lip pout.

“No.”

“Come on, Sweetums, my li’l sugar plum,” Peeta says in an excited whisper.

“No…no don’t waggle your eyebrows at me, Peeta. Buddy. Mellark.” I pronounce each one of his names.

Peeta’s grins so brightly; his eyes shine brighter than Christmas lights. His hat is slightly crooked as he hops and does that stupid little dance of his that makes me want to tear off his green tights. Yep, I said tights. My husband was raised as an elf, a six foot two, blond, wavy haired, giant with broad shoulders, washboard abs, and is genuinely sweet. Sweeter than eggnog.

He grabs me by the waist. “You know you wanna,” he says in that sexy time voice of his that’s reserved only for me. 

Canasto! 

I should clarify for everyone listening to my tale; you should know canasto isn’t a vulgar or bad word. It means basket. But I like the way it sounds in Spanish. So I say it with real vehemence. It’s like peaches in Spanish sounds like a curse word. Melocotón! Tu eres un Melocotón! Which translates into you’re a peach. 

I digress.

I let out a big sigh. There’s no way I can say no to him and he knows it! Canasto!

“I love it when you tell the story of how we met from your point of view.“ 

"You’re an evil gremlin,” I say with no heat in my voice. It’s my personal nickname for him. As in the gremlins when they ate after midnight. However to be fair, if you see Peeta, he’s not scary at all, he’s more like a big teddy bear.  

Peeta laughs and my heart flip flops. Because he is anything but; he is so congenial.

Peeta puts his hands on my belly, my very big belly. It’s baby number 2; actually it’s baby number two and three. They are counted as one until they’re born. I know what he’s doing, the evil gremlin! He’s trying to distract me because I’m due to give birth. I have mild pangs because I’m carrying twins and I’m nearing my due date.

He carries me and sits me on his lap. “Now start from the beginning.”

“From the candy cane forest?” I ask.

“No from your point of view,” his eyes dance gently as he rests me against his chest, rubbing my bulging belly.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“Don’t forget to start with once upon a time,” Peeta insists, trying to contain his excitement.

“Once upon a time.”

“This is going to be good,” Peeta whispers.

“Are you going to let me tell the story?”

“Oh yea,” Peeta placed a kiss on my nose. “Go ahead.”

Closing my eyes I picture the year things changed. Because everything in my life was about others and never myself. I was always trying to be someone else, what everyone expected of me. 

It’s hard being a foster kid, and getting out of the system is kind of like getting out of jail. Suddenly you have all this freedom, but you’ve been conditioned to follow all of these rules, so when you are free, you do one of two things. You get in trouble, and try to get sent into an institution; some of us call it the iron college. Or you try to keep your nose clean and learn in the school of hard knocks. In my case, I kept my head above the water for my sister’s sake.  

“I love my family,” I muttered underneath my breath. 

I muttered it again as my sister destroyed, no scratch that, mutilated Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas."  

Did I forget to mention that I love my family?   

I do. I love my family and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them, but at that moment I wanted to scratch my ears out with dull spoons.  

My perfect baby sister is a smoking hot blonde runway model and the muse for Karl Lagerfeld, but she has the worst singing voice known to man. You want to torture someone, hire my sister, and have her sing to the person you want to torture. Within 3 seconds flat, she can have even the most hardened of spies spilling their guts like a canary.

The one thing I could not stand beside my sister’s singing was Christmas. 

I loathed Christmas.

I was not ashamed to say it.  Every fiber of my body I hated Christmas!   If I had ever met the real Santa back then, he had better hoped that I was not holding my bow and arrow, because I would have shot him through the eye. Not that I believed in Santa then, but if I had known there was a real life Santa Claus, I’d have hunted him down, and burned the fat man’s jolly red outfit. I would then gleefully take a joy ride in his sleigh into his workshop like Bill Murray did in Groundhog Day when he allowed the groundhog to drive him off the cliff into a fiery death.

At this point you are wondering why I hated Christmas so much.

There were many reasons why the holiday was so contemptible to me. One, my father died on Christmas day. Two, my mother checked out on us that same Christmas day. The next Christmas Eve was when my sister and I were separated into different foster homes.  It took me a few months to find my six-year-old baby sister. I had been sent to a foster family who used foster kids for slave labor, to have them wipe and clean their floors while the Mrs. of the family spent the whole day in luxurious spas and getting Botox treatments, as if that was going to improve her mug. 

My baby sister was luckier. Primrose was placed in a foster home in the middle of suburbia with a 2 story house with a picket fence. A woman named Cecilia and her husband Ronald had never been able to have kids, and they doted on my sister. They brought her up to be the princess she always said she was. Honestly, they were rather shocked when my twelve-year-old cynical self rolled up into their home screaming for my baby sister, Primrose. Prim came running out of nowhere and latched herself on to my leg like an octopus. Best Spring ever, so I do love the Spring. 

But before you think we were reunited, we weren’t. The family that had Primrose never wanted me. And even if they did, we technically didn’t have the same last name. Primrose carried my mom’s last name while I carried my dad’s. My sister was Primrose Emmerson and I was Katniss Everdeen. Our parents had a silly agreement. They were also foster kids, so they decided that I would take dad’s name and the next one born would take our mothers name. 

They didn’t have family, and her parents lived a common law marriage. Their childish decision caused havoc. There was a mix up and we weren’t processed as sisters. Plus, I never stayed in the same foster home for long so even if they wanted me, they never knew where I was, but no matter where I was, I found a way to talk to Primrose, because as long as Prim was loved and cared for, my situation didn’t matter.

After our brief reunion, I had to go back to the family that I was placed in, and my sister stayed with her family. I didn’t stay with mine for very long; I became a statistic. A rolling number on someone’s computer screen. I was bounced around from one family to another in all sorts of seedy homes. 

So you can see why I’m so jaded. Every bad thing that ever happened to me, has happened on that freakin’ holiday. And there was one more reason I disliked that holly jolly holiday so immensely. For some reason, the universe hated me. 

No matter where I went, what city, what town within the state, I could guarantee you that it was a racket, a billion dollar racket to make parents crazy and buy things for their kids they didn’t need. For some reason, it pleased people to take my olive skin, dark hair, scowling self and put me into a sparkly Christmas cheer, “gag” pointy eared elf costume.

So with a week until Christmas, I was listening to my sister butcher another holiday favorite song. Then Prim screeched. And I sighed in relief.

"Katniss,” Prim said, coming out of the bathroom. “The water is cold!”

I looked heavenward. “The pipes. I forgot they’re working on the water main outside. They said there would be interruption to service.”

“Oh, you know I can get us a hotel room,” Prim said toweling dry her pale blonde locks. 

My studio apartment wasn’t what my sister was used to. She was a freaking couture runway model, six foot one, so slim nothing off the rack fit her. “I’m sorry Prim, I was so excited to see you.”

Prim smiled. “Look, I only have a few hours left. How about I treat you to lunch before I go back up to Connecticut to spend Christmas with Cecillia and Ron.” Prim smiled at me. “You know you’re more than welcome to come. They always ask about you.”

I loved my baby sister. She was amazing. And I was damned glad that the Henderson's were an amazing couple, but I knew the score. They didn’t know what to do with me. “As long as you don’t mind me wearing my elf costume.”

Primrose chuckled. “You make the cutest elf though.” She patted me on the head using a baby tone with me. Prim was taller than me by a foot. I was tiny, or as Prim said, compact size.

“I could still put you over my knee, little duck,” I growled. “Así que mira ver.”

My sister laughed and she delighted in taunting me. Prim no longer spoke Spanish, but she understood the language. “You’re adorable when you’re angry, an angry little elf, aren’t you?”

“Primrose,” I said in Spanish. I rounded my ‘r’s’ when I said her name. 

“Awe, I don’t don’t get why you hate Christmas so much.” Primrose winked going to the screen divider to get dressed. My sister was used to dressing and undressing in front of dozens of people. I, on the other hand, was not so free with nudity. Primrose said I was a prude. If I hadn’t I told her to use the screen, she would have changed right in front of me. 

“Did you know there are only three jobs an elf can have,” Prim said from over the screen. 

I sighed. Unlike me, Primrose loved Christmas. Hell, she even suggested that there might be a real Santa Claus. I told her the only people who look for ways to sneak into people’s houses were criminals. 

Prim continued her story about elves. “The type of elves that live in trees and make cookies, the types that make shoes, and the best type.”

“Let me guess, Christmas elves,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Prim grinned. She came around the screen wearing thigh high red boots, jeans and a camel tunic sweater that looked like cashmere. “Come on sis, let me treat you to breakfast so that you can go terrorize the children of Macy’s toy department.”

  Pt 2 

Peeta grins excitedly, breaking the narration. “You know she’s right. Papa says the cookie elves have high insurance premiums because their tree catches fire all of the time.” 

“Peeta,” I huff. “Do you want me to finish the story?” 

“Absolutely,” he hugs me closer. “I’m so sad you and Prim never got to grow up at the North Pole with me.”

I can’t help but smile at his sincere wish. “Oh Peeta,” I kiss his cheek.

“The only thing I would never let you do was toy testing,” Peeta whispers.

I chuckled. Peeta hated Jack-In-The-Box’s. They scare the dickens out of him. I lay my head on his shoulders. “Are you going to let me finish the story?”

“You know,” he says, blue eyes twinkling. “I’d spotted you in the city that first day.” 

“You were jumping across the lines of the cross walk, “ I grin at the memory. 

“I followed you until I saw the Empire State Building. Then I went to see my father.”

“I know,” I caress his face.

“Start from that point.”

“Okay, you ready now.” My babies were moving in my belly.

“Right, you were in your father’s office delivering the most awkward Christmas gram.” 

Peeta chuckles. “I don’t have your pretty voice.”

I sigh. “Peeta.”

“Right, I’ll be quiet.”

I give him a look. 

“But just so you know, when those guards told me to go back to Macy’s, I was curious as to why you were dressed as an elf.“

I roll my eyes. Did I forget to mention my husband is a talker. He is a chatterbox. I swear Peeta is the type who’d make friends with a paper bag.

"I thought your elf name was so pretty,” he sighs happily.

“Peeta, if you want me to tell the story. You have to hush!” I admonish, if I didn’t we would be here until tomorrow.

“Oh,” he gushes. “Yes, tell the story.” 

“So, there I was in the middle of New York, like a morsel in shark infested waters. I.E….”

“That passion fruit spray is horrible,” Peeta grumbles. “I do not know how women drink that stuff.” 

I want to laugh. There are still things that Peeta doesn’t understand about human society; perfume was one of them, and that fact endeared him to me.

“Can you start at the moment our eyes met?” Peeta gives me a wobbly smile. 

Ah, now I know why he’s interrupting so much. “Okay.”

Sighing I recall that day. Prim and I were out to breakfast. She was harping on me to find someone. Did I fall to mention Primrose was only twenty years old at the time, and at that age I was ancient at the tender age of twenty six. Seriously twenty-six. So what if I had never dated, never had a boyfriend, and never kissed anyone. My sister was right. I was a prude, but I’d seen how love could screw you over. My mom never recovered and she died alone in some home of a broken heart. All I had in the world was my sister. My Prim, and she was the only person I would love. Until that afternoon. 

“Seriously Katniss, you’re twenty-six,” Prim said. 

Eye rolling was a national pastime when speaking to a glamazon who thought I needed to date.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Prim said, removing my sunglasses. “And also, sunglasses in the middle of December, so not tre chique.” 

Eye roll, eye roll, eye roll. Fake smile. CANASTO!

“You are the worst,” Prim hissed.

I knew my sister wasn’t mad at me. Annoyed, yes. Mad, no. “Prim, it’s just I’m not interested in dating anyone.” 

“Katniss, I just don’t want you to impersonate elves for the rest of your life, and when you’re like forty-six, you’ll realize you’re alone with a cat, who pisses in your shoes, and scratches your furniture.” 

I moved to pay our bill.

“No way,” Prim said, slamming her hand on the bill. “I make what you make in a month in two hours of work. This is on me.”

“Fine,” I grumbled. 

“Also, stop closing yourself to Christmas. Santa isn’t going to leave you anything under the tree.”

“Like Santa exists,” I snorted.

Prim gasped. “You take that back. Santa Claus is real Katniss, just like the rainbows, and pigs and frogs having a long term, caring relationship, and love exists.” 

My sister’s wide eyed passionate confession shook me, but the only words that came out of my mouth were, “a frog and a pig?” 

“Miss Piggy and Kermit are together, and if they can make it, no matter what the media says, anything is possible.”

“Huh,” I said, leaving the luncheonette near Penn Station. We walked to the corner, where she’d take the stairs to the lower level. 

I took a look at the stairs, knowing this was the moment I would say goodbye to my sister once again. My eyes filled with unwanted tears. I could still recall the little girl with the untucked shirt that looked like a duck tail. It’s where the nickname li’l duck came from.

“Don’t cry,” Prim whispered. “Quack, quack.”

“I hate it when we have to say goodbye,” I said quietly.

“It’s not goodbye, Katniss; it’s until the next time.” Prim grinned then she took my elf hat and put it on my head. “Go on, terrify the poor children of the city with your menacing scowl. But you better watch out, better not cry.”

I groaned. “Prim, I would rather hear seagulls squawking then you singing.” 

“I know, that’s why I do it,” Prim said.

“You’re a brat.”

“Brat, I’m on Santa’s nice list. You’re the one on the naughty list.”

“There’s no such thing as Santa…” the words died on my lips as I saw a huge man dressed in an elaborate elf outfit jumping on the lines of the crosswalk gleefully. I was struck by the joy on his face.

He looked like an angel with wavy blond hair and innocent blue eyes. It was one thing to see a six-year-old child with that wide eyed innocence, but a tall, broad shouldered man with large hands made me think perhaps he’d escaped his caretakers. His elf outfit wasn’t like the cheap one I had to wear. It was made from a rich fabric with elaborately embroidered gold thread. 

If there was something I knew about, it was fabric. I never had soft fabrics growing up and I was obsessed over soft materials. I dreamed of cashmere, Egyptian cotton, mulberry silks, and linens. His green tunic was made from merino wool, like the ones they made in England in those bespoke shops.  Even his hat, although a ridiculous cone shape, was not some cheap fabric covered cardboard that you’d find in a costume shop. It was made from genuine thick green wool felt with a yellow satin ribbon wrapped around it. A red feather bobbed up and down as he jumped.

He was so happy. He looked up, as if sensing my presence. Our eyes met and he smiled jovially and waved at me. My mouth went dry, because, gaw, Canasto!

This man-child was gorgeous. 

“Earth to Katniss.” Prim snapped her fingers in my face.

“Sorry.” I looked back to my sister.

Prim looked over her shoulder. “Are you okay.”

I dipped out of my sister’s way. “I think I saw an elf.”

Prim laughed. “It’s Christmas, Katniss. Santa’s elves are everywhere.” Prim gave me a hug before descending the stairs to the lower level of the station. 

Seeing my sister go was difficult, but I couldn’t shake the tall man dressed as an elf. He even had on yellow tights with black elf shoes. 

I made my way to Macy’s. I could see the Empire State building in the background as I took a left to head to the employee’s entrance. 

When I arrived, the floor manager Brutus headed straight to me. He was a ridiculous man with muscles in his neck and a bald head. His meaty fingers held a tiny clipboard. 

Brutus did not believe in technology. He refused to use a tablet. He said the muckety-mucks, as he called them, were out to get him. He wore dark brown pants that were too small for his large frame and even when he stood you could see his white socks. He wore a sweater vest with various pens in his front pocket and a cheap plastic necklace that was supposed to look like tree lights.  

“Jovie,” Brutus said looking over his shoulder.

“Yes, Brutus,” I smiled. Jovie was my elf name.

“Our last Santa quit, and we have no one, so until then I need you to help out in gift wrapping. Don’t forget to make sure the ribbon curl is six inches.”

“But you need more than six inches, to make a good curl.”

“Six inches.”

Sighing I walked to the station and nodded to the girls who were at the gift-wrapping station. I sat there trying to make six inch curls. People were insane at Christmas; they were stressed out to buy things, and things never made anyone happy. Things were just things.  

The line of people got shorter and I noticed the tree in the center of the sales floor was looking a little sad. So getting the ladder, I rearranged the ornaments and noticed one of the lights was out. From this vantage point I saw Brutus drag him in, the elf I saw on the street.

Heat rushed to my cheeks and I focused on the tree, eavesdropping the entire time. 

“Buddy, you need to remember you get a half-hour break when you work under six hours and a one hour break when you work over six hours. If I catch you on the floor again I’ll have to write you up.” 

His name was Buddy. My lips formed a goofy smile at his name. Up close he was prettier, his wavy hair curled up at the ends. A shiver ran up my spine at all of those curls. I could picture little boys with blond ringlets and a little girl with dark tresses in green colored elf clothing. I held on to the ladder as I swayed. 

“Wow, what’s this?” HIs eyes quickly darted to the crowded sales floor. 

“This is the north pole,” Brutus said looking at his precious clipboard.

“No it’s not,” Buddy waved at a pair of babies inside of a stroller. 

“Yes it is,” Brutus said.

“No it’s not,” Buddy eye’s traveled to the tree and I hid behind it so that he didn’t see me.

“Yes it is,” Brutus put his hands on his wide hips.

“No it’s not,” Buddy said smiling. “Where’s the snow?”

“He’s right, there’s no snow,” a six-year old girl said. She’d been listening to the conversation.  

I nearly snorted. 

“Why are you smiling like that?” Brutus brows knit together.

“I just like to smile, smiling’s my favorite thing,” he said. Bouncing to the Christmas music that was being pumped through the speakers. 

“Well stop smiling, and make work your favorite thing to do. And who gave you that outfit?”

“It’s mine,” Buddy said, splaying those large hands on his chest looking down at his elf outfit. 

Brutus looked at the intricate gold embroidery. “Fine, if that’s your story. You should make work your priority instead of shopping.” Brutus sighed, looking at his clipboard again. “I have to make the announcement.”

Buddy nodded, but once more was looking around. 

I was working on the tree lights by now and really didn’t want to get down because I wanted to keep staring at him. At his great legs. Normally tall guys had spindly legs. Not his, yum. 

“Okay I’ve got an announcement. Santa will be here tomorrow at 10AM. Keep your receipts so you can see Santa.” 

“SANTA!” Buddy yelled. He jumped, clasped his hands and a little girl next to him joined him. Soon there was a flock of kids doing the same thing, all speaking at once and he was nodding and speaking to them as if he knew Santa. 

I chuckled cause I’ve never seen Brutus look so stunned and speechless. He was carried away by Chaff, his second in command. 

Buddy turned and focused on me. I pretended that he wasn’t just a few feet away from me. I could feel his gaze as I fixed the bulb that was not letting the string of lights to turn on. The tree lit up and I swear his eyes seemed to glow brighter than the lights on the tree.

My stomach did a little flip-flop. “What!” I said defensively. I turned and saw how big his eyes were and the genuine smile. “Are you enjoying the view?”

“I love Christmas trees,” he said hesitantly. “It’s nice to see someone else who enjoys elf culture as much as I do.” 

Of course the guy that would make butterflies dance in my stomach was a wackadoo. I scowled. This wasn’t happening. Getting down from the tree, I quickly walk away, grabbing a few stuffed animals that were discarded and putting them back on the display.

“Looks like someone needs Christmas cheer and the best way to do it is to sing.”

“I don’t sing,” I muttered.

“Of course you can.” He chased after me.

“No,” I said trying to get him to stop, but liking that he’s walking after me like a wide eyed puppy-dog.

“Anyone can. All you have to do is put a group of words together in a tune,” he said sweetly.

I hopped on up on the stage where the guy in the red suit would be seated tomorrow. I turned to look at him. As I spoke to him, I couldn’t keep the hurt from my voice. Because the last time I sang a Christmas song it was with my dad, hours before he died.  “I know that, I can sing, but I choose not to sing.”

“Look, I’ll do it for you maybe it will make you smile,” Buddy said. He takes a deep breath, “I”M SINGING. I’M IN A STORE AND I AM…”

It was horrible, but I couldn’t help but smile. 

“THERE’S NO SINGING IN THE NORTH POLE!” Brutus comes running out from behind the registrar.

“Yes there is,” Buddy says grinning at me. “I’m Peeta.”

“Wait I thought your name was Buddy?”

“That’s my middle name,” Peeta said. “Is Jovie your name?”

“No,” my voice sounds breathy. “Jovie is my elf name.”

“So what’s your real name?” His voice sounded deeper and I swear I could see nothing else but his big blue eyes tenderly gazing at me.

“Katniss,” I said, wondering why my knees were so wobbly. I couldn’t fall for a guy who thought he was an elf. A very good looking, broad shouldered guy with the face of an angel, but nonetheless, a complete wakadoo.    

The ten minute warning came on letting people know they needed to go home.

“Oh I’ve got to get ready for Santa,” Peeta muttered under his breath. But before he could move Brutus appears. 

“Buddy,” Brutus grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away. I was left standing on that stage with a big old goofy grin on my face.

[pastelbrachypelma]

Blind Date

Requested by @swampythesweetsketch ! Thank you for your suggestion and I hope you like it!

~

“I’m so nervous,” Murray admitted, sitting in front of the mirror and staring at himself. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Dude, c’mon!” Sly retorted, barely looking up from where he was putting a top coat over Murray’s nail polish. “If he doesn’t like you, then I’m Santa Claus!”

“That can be arranged,” Bentley teased. “Seriously, though, Murray. Just be yourself. That’s how to be the most attractive.”

“Yeah,” Murray looked away. “I guess. But…”

“Hey,” Sly slid onto the vanity, gently pushing aside a makeup palette with his tail as he sat directly in front of his friend. “Stop worrying, okay?” He grinned. “You know this guy is into you. You’ve been talking for ages. It’s worth a shot at least, right?”

“Right!” Murray squared his shoulders like he was going into battle, and wasn’t wearing holographic nails and a smokey eye. “Thanks for doin my topcoat for me, Sly. And thanks for helping me with my suit, Bentley.”

“No problem,” his brothers said simultaneously.

Sly patted Murray’s shoulder. “Go get ‘im, pal.”

“We’ll be waiting,” Bentley promised.

Murray smiled, and headed out the door.

“All right, Sly,” Bentley said, “you know what to do.”

Sly grabbed his binocucom and cane. “On it!”

~

Murray was already nervous enough being in a sizable crowd with bounty on his head, but, just as Sly had assured him, Murray was the best at disguises out of all of them, and nobody would recognize “The Murray” with makeup on.

He liked his makeup look; just a foundation to match his skin tone, a little contour, blush, and a smokey eye. Sly had helped with his nails, and they looked good. It wasn’t like Murray couldn’t have done it on his own, but Sly wanted to help, and he was better at nails than at eyeliner. Murray chuckled to himself, thinking of the last time Sly tried to do a winged liner. He’d looked even more like a raccoon than usual!

He was sitting alone at the table, waiting for his date, like he had been for the better part of an hour. Every time the door opened, he would look up, expecting to see a handsome man looking for his table. But, it was just couples or families. He sighed. He was sure a blind date would’ve been better, seeing as nobody could turn him down just because of his weight, but maybe the guy had guessed, judging by how much Murray talked about recipes. Or maybe he thought Murray was a sissy, or…

The door opened again, to someone by themselves. Except Murray could recognize that tail in his sleep. Sly had a satin jacket over a button-down shirt, hair slicked back. He was wearing the dance shoes they’d stolen from India, and was looking a little lost. Murray was a bit worried for two reasons. The first was that Sly was here at all; had something happened? The second was that Sly could only handle big crowds if he was at a social event. Parties, he liked. There were excuses to mingle in small groups. He had never liked large throngs of people. If Sly has a panic attack…

But instead, Sly found him (after pretending to have been looking for him) and waved. Murray waved back, confused, as Sly strode forward confidently through the crowd.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Sly said, brushing dust off his lapels. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“You didn’t,” Murray said, a bit confused. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Sly demurred, giggling shyly. “Oh, don’t be silly! How could I ever turn down a hunk like you?”

Murray wanted to laugh. Sly liked playing the effeminate gay. The question was, why was he doing that in the first place? At that moment, the door to the restaurant opened again, and Bentley rolled his wheelchair inside. People who were waiting for a table stepped aside to give him room. He was disguised as well, a cloth hat matching the more casual dark wash denim jacket he was wearing over a black necktie. Murray could appreciate the aesthetic...but he was still confused.

Bentley made his way towards the table. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, pitching his voice deeper in contrast to the way Sly’s had been more high-pitched. “Hey! What’re you doing here?” He glared at Sly.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” Sly pointed an accusing finger at Bentley. “I’m here for my date!”

“So am I,” Bentley said, and Murray smiled, starting to catch on. “One of us has the wrong table and you, buddy,” the turtle wheeled into Sly’s space, making the raccoon step back, hand splayed on his heart in dramatic offense, “are definitely at the wrong table. This gentleman is far too handsome for you!”

“I think he’s just the right amount of handsome,” Sly argues. “Just look at those bulging muscles,” he gestured, and Murray flexed, having a bit of fun now that he was in on the joke. “A man like that deserves the world!”

“Guys, you’re gonna make me blush,” Murray grumbled under his breath. Sly winked before sliding back into character as Bentley charged further.

“And? You still kept this gorgeous man waiting! Look at the poor guy’s makeup! All smudged because you were off…” Bentley waved his hand as he searched for an insult, “vaping!”

Sly gasped. “Do you think I would smoke around such a deceptively delicate flower?! The nerve!”

Murray looked over again as the restaurant doors opened. It was his real date, a buck with gold chains draped artfully around his antlers, dressed to the nines in a slimming suit to complement his slender body. Murray recognized the designer logo on his tie, and felt shame creep up his throat as he thought of his thrifted jacket and pilfered shirt. Even the silk skirt he was so proud of made him feel like a freak next to this guy.

“What’s going on here?” The buck spoke, his voice like molten chocolate, as he approached the table. “Which of you is Murray?” His eyes slid approvingly over Sly, and Murray hid his face. “I hope it’s you, handsome.”

“Sorry,” Sly slid in beside Murray, hooking his arm through the hippo’s. “I’m taken. Happily.”

“Me too.” Bentley took Murray’s hand, glaring at the buck.

The deer narrowed his eyes, then laughed. “Oh, thank god,” he said, relieved. “I could never be seen with such a,” he waved his hand derisively, “hideous beast.”

“Hey,” Sly said, voice sharp despite the different pitch. Murray recognized it as the raccoon’s “don’t fuck with me” voice, a rarely seen anger flashing in his eyes. “Murray is amazing! He’s funny and kind and always knows what to say!”

“His strength and skill can’t be matched!” Bentley agreed.

“And tonight, he’s my date.” Sly declared. “So fuck off.”

“No, he’s my date,” Bentley argued. “You fuck off!”

As his two friends bickered, Murray watched the deer walk away. He felt a little bit upset at the rejection, but his friends were nearby, defending him on what was technically their night off. He felt warm inside even so. It was good to be with his brothers again.

Once the deer was out of sight, Sly deflated. “Ack, my throat,” he complained. “I don’t know how you do those high-pitches voices, Murray. I feel like I’ll be raspy by tomorrow!”

Murray chuckled. “It takes practice.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Bentley suggested. “I think we’ve caused enough of a scene.” He glanced at the table. “Nothing needs to be paid for, right?”

“Nope. I didn’t order yet.” Murray replied.

“Let’s get Chinese,” Sly said, stretching as Murray got to his feet. “I saw a great place on the way over.” He locked his arm through Murray’s, hiding a yawn in the hippo’s bicep.

“Do you mean you saw it or smelled it?” Bentley asked, guiding Murray to the handles of his chair. That was about equivalent to hand-holding, Murray knew.

Sly laughed. “Both!”

“Chinese sounds fantastic,” Murray said, sighing in the fresh air. He was still upset about being stood up. He was glad for his friends, but…

“That guy was a complete jerk,” Bentley grumbled, going back to controlling his own chair as Sly let go of Murray. It wasn’t a sudden “no homo” sort of thing, though. It was more of a natural progression as they walked together on the sidewalk, with Bentley’s chair a half-step ahead. “What didjya day his name was?”

“Pierce Monogram,” Murray said. “Trust fund baby, I think. Works in the family business selling shoes.”

“That’s ironic,” Sly mused, swinging his arms up to rest behind his head as he walked. “He wasn’t wearing shoes.”

Murray laughed. “No, I guess he wasn’t. That’s a dealbreaker for me.”

“Murray, you don’t wear shoes either,” Bentley said.

“Exactly!” Murray went on, still laughing. “Somebody has to wear the shoes in the relationship!”

All three of them laughed, and couldn’t stop laughing until they reached the Chinese.

~

“Ah, the smell of sweet, sweet MSG,” Sly licked his lips as he set out the various cartons and bowls.

“This isn’t going to give me indigestion, is it?” Bentley asked skeptically, wrinkling his nose.

“No, no, I got your egg rolls and plain rice here,” Sly set out the food separately for Bentley before using a set of chopsticks to serve himself liberal amount of pork fried rice and vegetable lo mein, claiming one of the containers of scallion pancakes for himself.

“Man,” Murray grinned, slurping his hot and sour soup, “I forgot how good Chinese food actually is.”

“Right?!” Sly beamed. “Glad I thought of it. I haven’t had a good Chinese in months!”

“It’s delicious, I agree. Pass the wonton soup, Murray?” Bentley asked.

“What’re we watchin?” Sly asked between shoveling noodles into his mouth.

Murray blushed. “Are you guys gonna kill me if I say I wanna watch “Pitch Perfect” again?”

Sly swallowed noisily. “Nah, I like that one all right. It’s funny.”

“I’ve no objection,” Bentley said, taking off his glasses momentarily to clean them of the fog from his soup. “It’s date night, after all. You always pick the films for date night.”

“You guys still wanna call it date night?” Murray asked.

The gang had always jokingly held “date nights” for self care, movies, and video games. But that had been before Murray was officially out of the closet. His friends were straight. He thought they hadn’t had a date night in a while because his friends didn’t want to do that sort of this with him now that he was out as gay.

Sly leaned forward. “You okay, big guy?”

Murray sniffled. “I...I dunno, I thought you guys...didn’t wanna do this with me anymore.”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Bentley asked.

“I’m gay,” Murray confessed. “I like guys.”

“So?” Sly twitched his tail in confusion. “You’re still my brother. My friend.” He waved his tail in Murray’s face, making the hippo sneeze. “In case I haven’t made it abundantly clear,” the raccoon snuggled up properly against Murray’s side, chittering quietly, “I love you, pal.”

“So do I,” Bentley affirmed. “And...not to be too blunt about it, but...it was pretty obvious to me that you weren’t straight. But,” he cleared his throat, smiling. “That never mattered to me. You’re still my brother. And I still love you.”

Murray rubbed the tears out of his eyes. “Thanks, guys.”

“Sure thing, Murray,” Sly replied, butting his head against Murray’s shoulder before sitting up to properly shovel more food down his throat.

“I’ll get the DVD,” Bentley abandoned his food momentarily and rolled his chair over to set up the TV. Once he was done, he took his food and rolled closer to the couch, so Murray could enjoy his comfort, too.

Murray smiled warmly, happily chowing down on Chinese food and shouting all the words to the songs at the top of his lungs.

That was the best part about being home, Murray decided as he laughed at Sly nearly choking on a wonton and Bentley snorting soup out his nose. Being with the people who loved you unconditionally.

[thelittleredheadedmusician]

Sunrise Shadows

Rating: G 1,882 Gen AO3

It was late, or early depending on your perspective, and Steph was that bone deep tired that came after a fight to save the fate of the world. Which was fine, they’d won, but she didn’t really know where in the world she was and Steph really just wanted to crawl into bed. Maybe take her suit off first. Possibly slap some Neosporin on her cuts and scrapes. But mostly sleep.

She flicked through the channels on her comm, trying to find one not already filled with chatter. The all clear had been called about ten minutes ago now and clean up was well underway. But Steph was a Bat so it’s not like she could be much help clearing rubble or relocating displaced civilians. Her skills lay in kicks to the face, sassy remarks, and boots on the ground interpersonal interactions. Heck, not to mention she was only sixty percent sure she was currently standing in Prague. It might be Vienna. All Steph could do now was sit on the rooftop and wait.

The sun was rising on her left and she had lost track of time at some point but Steph was fairly certain it’d been dark in Gotham when she left. Taking a zeta from the Batcave to the Watchtower and stomping down the glee she still got whenever the computer announced her arrival as Batgirl.

Oracle was coordinating everything from the Clocktower which was lucky because the chaos on the comms made it sound like the Watchtower’s tech was down. No wonder she was still sitting here watching the sun rise over Eastern Europe. No Watchtower, no teleporting back to Gotham. Plus, the speedsters and, well, everyone else sounded a little busy. Making Steph with her super minor injuries, minimal destruction of public property, and... blondeness? (She was really tired; her brain was running out of battery and the internal monologue was losing steam) very low on the list of priorities.

Kicking her feet a bit, Steph allowed herself to get comfy on the edge of the roof. Thankfully, her thigh belt made it through today’s encounter meaning her snack supply did too. Steph pulled a chocolate chip granola bar out and tore it open with relish. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she started chewing. Then her stomach growled.

Steph was on her third granola bar and making a physical note in her phone to restock once she slept when she heard her name as part of the litany of sound that floated across the main channel.

“Batgirl? Batgirl this is Oracle, please respond.”

“This is Batgirl,” she said quickly, before someone could interrupt. The Flashes had been narrating rescues without realizing it seemed.

“I’m pinging your location as still in Prague, is this correct?”

Huh, Steph had been right the first time. “Uh, yeah O. I’m just waiting for retrieval.”

“Noted. Sorry about the delay. Dispatching a pickup to your current location.” Babs was all business as the abrupt cut of her switching to a different channel echoed over the line.

Steph waited, check ins and confirmations filling the empty space Oracle had left. She was still listening in, they all knew, just having a private conversation with whoever was playing ferry. Which honestly was kind of weird. Who wasn’t on the main channel right now? And what made them so special the almighty Oracle deigned to give them their own channel in the middle of all this? Ok, end of all this, but still. Steph was Babs’s friend, protege, pain in the ass, and she didn’t even get a private page.

“Oracle to Batgirl,” Babs came back, brusque. Though Steph thought it was just a mix of exhaustion and the voice modulator.

“This is Batgirl,” Steph tried for chipper and landed somewhere decidedly south of it. Honestly, she was just glad everyone else on the line had gone silent at the word ‘Oracle.’

“Please keep your current location, pickup will be arriving soon.”

Steph didn’t even get the chance to say thanks before Babs was moving on to the next thing, which was apparently sending Blue Beetle to help with a fire in San Antonio.

Turning her mic off, Steph settled in. Soon meant anywhere from five minutes to an hour in these types of things. At least she had a nice view and some snacks left in the meantime.

Movement out of the corner of her eye had her turning away from the sunrise. A shadow on the rooftop behind her seemed to shift. Steph blamed her growing exhaustion for making her see things but the shadows seemed to deepen, darken even as the sun climbed.

Instincts kicked in, Steph swung her legs around and scrambled from the edge of the roof. She flicked her bo staff out. Stepping lightly, Steph crept towards the spreading darkness. It was off, the kind of weird that put her on high alert. And it was getting impossibly darker.

Something seemed to be taking shape in the blackness, moving towards her from the depths. Steph was reminded suddenly of Peter Pan as a lone figure of shadow separated itself from the rest.

In a blink, Steph wasn’t looking at a man made of shadow, but a man. An impeccably dressed man with a top hat, dark glasses, and a silver topped cane that glinted in the morning light.

He smiled at her, but Steph didn’t change her stance. “You must be Batgirl,” he said in an accent Beryl would describe as posh. Steph suddenly missed Beryl and hoped that Knight and Squire made it out of today unscathed.

“And you are?” Steph tried for snarky as she lowered her bo staff to point at him. If he knew who she was then maybe he’d know better than to pick a fight with her. Steph was so tired she didn’t actually think she could win. She feared she wouldn’t even be able to hold him off until her pickup got here.

“The Shade,” he smiled as he said it and there was something more than pride.

Steph narrowed her eyes, but otherwise didn’t move. “I’ve heard of you. Whose side are you on today?”

“Always my own,” the smile twisted into a smirk at his joke. “Though currently I am assisting your Justice League.”

Cautiously, Steph collapsed her staff and straightened. “Technically, I’m also a private contractor. I’m guessing you’re my ride?”

He hummed and Steph couldn’t tell if he was annoyed and hiding it with amusement or amused and hiding it with annoyance. “I apologize for the wait. There was a bit of a misunderstanding between myself, a Mr. Constantine, and a, uh, Phantom Stranger about who was to come here and who was to fetch the Teen Titans from South America. Apparently, their jet was rendered inoperable.”

Steph laughed to herself at Tim and his team getting stuck. She could just imagine Rose and Cassie arguing. The demigoddess and ex-assassin both too worn out to do anything but snipe at each other. Or maybe Cassie and Kon were doing cleanup, leaving the rest to wait like Steph had.

The beginning of The Shade’s apology came back around to the forefront of Steph’s mind. It explained why Babs had switched to another line, that was a list of some relatively antisocial/social to only very specific people magic users. They probably weren’t too thrilled to be used as a superhero ride share either. So, their own line? Made sense.

“Totally understandable,” Steph waved off. “It’s not like I have anywhere else to be.”

The Shade smiled and inclined his head. “Thank you, Miss Batgirl. Now, if you would?” He held out a gloved hand, though his gloves were silk compared to her own reinforced leather with proprietary Wayne Tech rubber grips.

Still a tad leery, Steph’s desire to go home and fall asleep far outweighed any concern over going anywhere with The Shade. He wasn’t a Gotham villain, arguably wasn’t a villain at all, and she did kind of have a monthly midnight brunch with Harley and Ivy. And Selina seemed to have permanently moved into the Manor. Not to mention Steph started her crimefighting career stopping Cluemaster, her dad. So, Steph took his hand.

He took a step back into the shadows and Steph went with him. She caught him glance at her out of the corner of her eye as the shadows rose up and began twisting around her ankles first. He seemed surprised, but Steph was just as at home in the shadows as him. Granted, the inky darkness that was consuming them faster by the moment was darker and much much colder than the ones she was used to. Not to mention sentient.

Soon, Steph was surrounded by the darkness. She no longer felt entirely real. The only way Steph was even sure she existed was the weight of another hand holding hers. Her thoughts came and went before she could even register them. Suddenly, it all came back to her: Steph was being taken back to Gotham courtesy of The Shade and his shadows. She couldn’t see him but the grip on her hand told her he was there, somewhere in the black. That grip began tugging her forward and Steph walked.

One step.

Two step.

Three step.

The world around her seemed to lighten incrementally, though Steph had no idea how she was able to tell.

Four step.

Five step.

On the sixth step the darkness lifted, uncurling from around her until she was left standing on the rooftop of the GCPD in the shadow of the Batsignal. An inky puddle under her feet and a few tendrils still slipping off her calves.

The Shade lifted their linked hands, almost as if he was passing her off at a ball in a period film. Steph took her cue, walking towards the floodlight that shone in the still night sky. She let go of his hand once she was firmly in its glow.

Steph turned back to him though, wanting to thank him before he disappeared. What came out of her mouth instead was “That was so strange.”

He chuckled, “That generally is the sentiment when I accompany someone.”

“What’s the sentiment when you don’t?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“Abject terror.”

“Ah.” Well she did ask. His smile flickered somewhere in the direction of sly. “Right,” Steph sighed. “I just wanted to thank you for this. I know you’d rather not do this-”

“Understatement.”

“-but I really appreciated it. So, thanks.”

He tipped his hat in an absurdly gentlemanly way. “You’re very welcome. Just, don’t expect it to happen again.”

“Noted.” And then Steph did something that could only be chalked up to extreme exhaustion.

Steph shot finger guns at The Shade.

He smirked and the shadows gathered around him. The Shade stepped backwards into the growing darkness. Then he was gone.

Smacking her head, Steph turned towards her apartment. She flicked on her mic as she pulled out her grapple. The voices in her ear had disappeared when she went into the shadows but came back as soon as she stepped out of them.

“Batgirl to Oracle,” she cut in and swung out over Gotham.

“Go for Oracle.”

“Consider me home and signing off for... Signing off.”

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Chat Log, Sept 28-ish - New York

Remember when Valera, Sir P, and Alastor went to a Broadway show? Sure you do, here’s the link. Anyway after that they hung out in New York. Like a bunch of frigging tourists, doing normal tourist things. Seeing Time Square. Checking out a local club. Singing musical numbers in the subway. Normal tourist things.

Valera

Wheeling Pentious out of the theatre is a simple matter, especially when he's too busy being.. Well. Probably horny, judging by his face, to kick up a fuss. With record, beau, and a murderous demon in tow, Valera exits the building, and the three of them are left blinking in the afternoon sun over 1960s New York City. Where to even begin?

Sir Pentious

The fresh(?) air hitting his face was definitely helping already. Sir Pentious is no longer biting his glove, having sat back in his seat, squinting up at the skyscrapers. Hmm. What to do with themselves now. He clears his throat, looking to the Radio Demon, "WERE YOU GOING TO TAKE US TO ONE OF YOUR HOT SPOTS, ALASTOR?"

Alastor

Give him a moment. It's been almost a century since he's been to New York City. About forty years from this particular New York City's temporal perspective, but for HIM, almost a century. The moment he steps outside, he's completely distracted by the street and buildings outside the theater, looking up and up. He'd forgotten what blue skies look like. "... What?"

Valera

Valera cocks her head, looking mAlastor up and down. Oh. "Nothing, dear fellow. Take a second, breathe in the air, the sights, the sounds. Let your memories come back. We've got all the time in the world to see the sights." She comes around to crouch in front of Pentious, fussing over his blanket as a cover for squeezing his hands. Plus a little forehead smooch, to distract him.

Sir Pentious

Oh, that was true, wasn't it. He had gotten so distracted with his red facedness that he'd somehow forgotten about the blue sky. That's why everything looked wrong to him. It was like Pentagram City was no longer bathed in blood red hues. It hurt his eyes, too. Still, seeing the Radio demon look so... well. Pentious couldn't think of a word to describe it. Soft and gentle words did not suit Alastor, not at all. The victorian gentleman's eyes squeeze shut at the forehead smooch, and his attention is brought solely on Valera once more. Well, he can give her actual eye contact now and... he risks a little smile, brow creased. "Hello," he whispers.

Alastor

No, such words don't suit him, but for a split second they're almost fitting. But he shakes himself out of it quickly. He's playing host to these two right now, he can't get distracted! He spins to face the two of them. "I just need a moment to orient myself! Can't see a street sign, there's so many theaters around I'm not even sure which one we've just come out of—do you happen to know which way Times Square is from here?"

Valera

She offers Pentious a soft smile in turn, smoothing the hand not holding his over his cheek. So pale, so fair. She could almost see the individual veins under his skin. He looked... Delicate? Delicate, like this. "Hello, dearest." A last bump, nose to nose, and she rights herself to turn to Alastor. "If we go southwest we can reach it in five, my good man! Hang a right and just go straight down 52nd!"

Sir Pentious

He breathes her in--how could he not? That would have to carry him through the rest of the evening, but Pentious is looking much more relaxed now. He's got a very bright smile on his face as he looks up at the two of them. Hmmm! These buildings were very tall, taller than they would have been when he would have been alive back in the late 80s. Not that he was in America, but still! Ever higher, theyd be able to reach a passing blimp!

Alastor

"52nd! Why, not far at all!" He slides his Record That Has Been Officially Autographed "Best Wishes To Alastor From Louis Armstrong" into another dimension, summons up his microphone cane—and if any passersby see these minor magics, that's THEIR problem—and points the way. "What sad excuses for tourists would we be if we didn't start off with Times Square? Onward!"

Valera

They could never live with themselves if they were stuck with the label of sad tourists, now could they? No, never them! If they're going to see the sights, they're going to do it well! Valera tucks their own record into the pocket attached to Pentious' wheelchair, moves behind, and trots after Alastor with Pentious in tow. Sure, he COULD push himself, but this is the perfect angle to dip down and give his hat a little smooch from. You can't take that from her.

Sir Pentious

He's not going to complain, he'd rather it be her behind him than Alastor. Pentious was trying to adjust to not having eyes all over himself, although if that counts as one of his abilities, he wonders if he could just grow eyes. Hmm. Pentious is marveling at the sheer size of the buildings, and the various machines driving around. Look at that! Getting excited over cars like some kind of TOURIST. "LOOK AT THAT ONE," he's gesturing at what appears to be a classic Dodge. Seats two, has space in the back, and top down! What a bright red. Pentious' eyes are SHINING. "I COULD MAKE MULTIPLE IMPROVEMENTS UPON IT!"

Alastor

They barely hit Broadway before Alastor recognizes his surroundings. If his heart was still beating, it would be trying to thump its way out of his chest. Sure, a few buildings replaced, billboards and signs trying to cover up the familiar facades, all the clothing and cars updated, yes—but he knows exactly where he is. It's hardly changed at all. He could walk from here to his old apartment with his eyes closed. And, in the process, run into a thousand people and get hit by a dozen taxis, but whatever. "Oh, I'm sure you could!" He drops back to walk alongside Sir Pentious and Valera—they're going to be walking in a straight line for several blocks, he doesn't need to lead the way—and claps a hand on Sir Pentious's shoulder. "I've always loved your cars, you know." It does not occur to him to stop and wonder whether this Sir Pentious also designed cars postmortem the way his own did.

Valera

Valera can appreciate the look of a classic car, even if her first few experiences with the four wheeled machines of anxiety-torture were, in a word, terrifying. Nicer from a distance, suffice to say. Seeing Pentious so excited was a surprise. Pleasant, but a surprise. Then Alastor, too! It was impossible to be anything but sunny with both her guests in such high spirits. All three of them, grinning away like fools as they stroll along. What a sight they must be. And come to think of it.. "When were cars invented?" More musing aloud than a true question, but she voices it anyway.

Sir Pentious

There's a hand on his shoulder, and Pentious looks up, closing his eyes as he puffs his chest out. "OHO, YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT! YES, I DIDN'T KEEP AT IT AFTER A CERTAIN POINT, BUT THE TECHNOLOGICAL ADVANCES IN HELL WERE EVEN WORSE THAN IN THE LIVING WORLD. I FIGURED BETTER TRANSPORTATION WAS A NECESSITY. A DESIRE TO IMPROVE MODES OF TRANSPORTATION WAS HOW I GOT INTO THE WHOLE AIRSHIP IDEA, YOU KNOW. IT WAS ONLY FITTING THAT I'D BE DOING IT AGAIN IN HELL." He's still beaming with pride, "I WAS APPROACHED BY THE MAGNE FAMILY, ACTUALLY. IN LETTERS, MIND, BUT APPARENTLY MY ENTRY INTO HELL, WITH THE EXPLOSIONS AND FIRE AND FLYING AROUND, THAT CAUGHT THEIR ATTENTION AND THEY WANTED ME TO BUILD SOME THINGS AROUND.... IMPROVE UPON THE GENERAL ARCHITECTURE OF THE PLACE! EVERYTHING WAS RUBBISH. I INITIALLY THOUGHT TO SAY NO, BUT HE WAS LUCIFER. HA! IF ONLY MY MOTHER HAD SEEN THAT, SHE WOULD HAVE DISOWNED ME AND HAD ME COMMITTED, HAD I NOT BEEN DEAD ALREADY." He's really just excitedly yammering on. It's like listening to one's exceptionally English grandmother talk about meeting the Queen. He pauses, to tap the side of his head, "INVENTED? OH, RIGHT, RIGHT. WELL, IN THE LATE 80s, MY LOVE. BUT PEOPLE WERE ALREADY THINKING ABOUT MAKING SOMETHING LIKE THAT FOR A WHILE, EVER SINCE THE STEAM LOCOMOTIVE'S SUCCESS, IT, IT REALLY DIDN'T TAKE LONG AT ALL. THOUGH TO ME, THAT WAS EASY. IF I'D TOLD YOU THAT I'D DESIGNED THE FIRST CAR, YOU WOULDN'T BELIEVE ME, SO I'LL LEAVE IT UP TO YOU!"

Alastor

Alastor nods along as he listens, unconsciously tilting his cane in Sir Pentious's direction as though he's presenting a microphone toward an interviewee. He's heard most of this explanation before, years and years ago—but the details vary slightly, just enough to be intriguing. What he wouldn't give for two biographies of Sir Pentious from two different universes, laid out side-by-side for him to compare them. "Approached by the Magne family?! Now, there's an honor! As infamous as I am, even I've never been contacted by the royal family. I had to go and introduce myself to the princess." Alastor actually wouldn't have guessed the late eighties. "I don't think I knew a single person who owned a car until I was well into my teens. They were luxuries before then."

Valera

Valera hums, focusing on rolling Pentious through the crowds more than the actual conversation at hand. Still what she does pick up at least SOUNDS impressive. Lucifer was part of the Mange family. So... Charlie Magne. Oh, that's funny. Right. Plus being approached by the king of hell to improve the infrastructure of an entire kingdom, plus allegedly inventing the modern deathtrap that is a car. That's also impressive, yes. "I don't see why I wouldn't, you've certainly got the technical know-how to build any car you please. In fact, knowing they were built while you were alive, I'd be surprised if you didn't at least have some prototypes in the works before you died!" Mwah, another dip down to reach over one side and peck his cheek. Good work, Penny.

Sir Pentious

Oh he's being praised from both sides, he's going to bask in this for quite some time. "I NEVER FORMALLY DROVE ONE AROUND TOWN UNTIL AFTER I'D DIED. IT WAS MORE REASONABLE TO STAY OUT IN THE COUNTRYSIDE, UNLESS I WERE GOING TO MAKE A STATEMENT IN MY VESSEL."

Alastor

"Of course! You figured out how to get a steamer out of the ocean and into the SKY—who am I to question it if you say you got a train off its tracks too?" The praise train won't stop chugging. "I mainly rode them out in the countryside, too. Having them in cities just seems..." He gestures at the cars clogging Broadway and preventing each other from getting anywhere.

Valera

She coughs, a bit embarrassed. "I don't have much experience with cars, personally. Mostly riding in them and being incredibly confused about why I had to sit in the little fast noisy box instead of teleporting like a civilized being. Nevermind that most species aren't capable of such luxuries. Cars certainly look sleek though, and they're really not that bad. I prefer the convertibles though." Luckily, or unluckily, she can't do the full air quotes around Little Fast Noisy Box. But she shrugs, and it's close enough.

Sir Pentious

"IF THEY'RE BUILT WRONG, THEN THEY ARE BASICALLY LIKE DRIVING AROUND IN A COFFIN! JUST WAITING TO CATCH FIRE!" He even points out a car when he says that, "BUT YES, COULDN'T REALLY SIT IN ONE NOW. MY BODY IS A LITTLE LONG FOR THAT. I COULD MAKE A CAR THAT FITS MY NEEDS, BUT I DO NOT NEED ONE. I PREFER THE AIR."

Alastor

"Unfortunately, around our neighborhood, most civilized beings don't know how to teleport! It's a pity, you'd think they'd make that a requirement. Alastor glances Sir Pentious up and down. "You don't look too long now, we could go for a joyride before we go home. Know how to hot wire a car?" He's 100% not joking. Oh, they've made it to Times Square. Alastor's got to stop dead for a moment, just staring around at all the buildings. "Would you look at that." He's got that look on his face again. "It's exactly how I remember it." Minus the billboards etc., of course.

Valera

"I do. But I'm more familiar with modern cars. I doubt the design has changed too much though." Oh good, Alastor's distracted again. That gives Val time to drape herself over the back of Pentious' chair, propping her chin on top of his head in a lazy sort of hug. Maybe get a little hair stroking in there as she watches Alastor take in the scenery. He certainly did seem attached to this city, maybe she should offer him the same Deal she did his alternate someday..

Sir Pentious

Hey, hot wiring a vehicle does sound fun! Excellent with his wheelchair predicament, not so much. Pentious smiles up at his beloved, removing his hat to give her a bit more room for the moment. "CAREFUL YOU DO NOT CRUMPLE MY ACCESSORY, MY LADY."

Alastor

Okay, all right. He's had his moment. He's basked in the confusing glory that is somehow, impossibly, being back in NYC. Back to being a good host. He whirls back to Sir Pentious and Valera. "So! My old stomping grounds were in Harlem; if you want jazz, that's the place for it. We can take a taxi, take the subway—or hoof it, if we want to be elegant." He winks. "But I never have been an elegant man."

Valera

Valera doesn't bother pulling away this time, setting her cheek down on all the new space Pentious has opened up for her. Mwah, a kiss for the top of his head. He's to blame, surely. The reference gets a snort, but then she thinks about the question. A frown, and she lifts a hand to brush through Pentious' hair. Comforting? Maybe self soothing. "Perhaps the subway? I don't know how many wheelchair accessible taxis are around here."

Sir Pentious

The reference definitely is caught and Pentious makes a face. "YES, I AM NOT VERY ELEGANT EITHER, AT LEAST NOT ENOUGH FOR A JAUNT." He pats his immobile legs, "HOW IS THE RAPID TRANSIT IN NEW YORK ANYWAY? I'M AFRAID I AM UNFAMILIAR, I KNOW HOW IT SHOULD FEEL IN THEORY."

Alastor

"I'm sure that for a taxi ride we could teleport your chariot away and back"—he obviously isn't terribly concerned with subtlety—"but the subway will probably be more convenient anyway." He gets on his toes, looking around for the nearest subway station—he feels so short—then points and leads the way. "Wonderfully efficient, except when it isn't. But that was almost a hundred—er—forty years ago! No doubt the basics are the same, at least..."

Valera

Ugh, more moving? Awful. She has to stop her ridiculous draping over Pentious like some overly affectionate feather boa and go back to actually responsibly pushing him around! A last peck for the road, and she extricates herself to grip the handles and follow after Alastor's spritely steps. Wasn't HE energetic? "Ah, the subway. Never been, but I assume we'll need..." A glance around, and she adjusts the purse she for sure had this whole time. "...Currency to purchase tickets? Where would one go for that?"

Sir Pentious

That energy wasn't new to Pentious, but it did seem like Alastor was solar powered after all. He can recognize a clear difference--he looks like a man mere seconds from bursting into song. People are passing by, it IS New York after all, and some looks are being cast Alastor and Pentious' way--Valera's, too. She's quite the looker! Sir Pentious readjusts his hat on his head, and he drags his fingertips against his lips as he watches the scenery pass ever so slowly, "THIS CITY IS SO BOISTEROUS--WE ARE LIKELY TO BE PACKED INTO THAT TRAIN LIKE SARDINES. NO OFFENSE, MY LOVE."

Alastor

"Getting up close and personal with other commuters' body odor is all part of the busy city experience!" If he wasn't busy navigating/narrating, he probably WOULD burst into song. Watch out for humming. "There should be a ticket window downstairs! I'm sure you can cover the fare, can't you? You covered the theater tickets quite handily—" He stops dead at the top of the stairs down to the subway. Emphasis on "stairs." "Hm." Well, he's completely ready to carry Sir Pentious down the stairs. The question is how to say so without sounding eager about it.

Valera

The sardine comment earns Pentious a snicker. She'd do move, but alas, they must move. "Oh, yes of course I can. Now, 'scuse me, dear. Need to get down there!" Alas, poor Alastor. He'd set a precedent with all his summonings and minor magics. Valera saw no issue with swerving around their tour give and making an invisible (to any normal human) ramp straight down the stairs like it was the most natural thing in the world. Who's going to complain if Pentious isn't getting jostled around? Perhaps she simply has superb upper arm strength!

Sir Pentious

Oh. Stairs. Hmm. He's about to make a comment, only to notice the ramp. Ah! How handy. Sir Pentious beams as he's not being bumped around like a sack of potatoes. "YOU KNOW, ALASTOR, IT'S REALLY RATHER ODD TO HEAR YOUR VOICE WITHOUT ALL THAT RADIO STATIC IN THE WAY! IT MAKES YOU KIND OF FADE INTO THE BACKGROUND?" And it's probably weird not hearing Pentious hiss every time he says an S, although apparently he just naturally drags out his S's. He might have done that in life.

Alastor

"Fade into the background! You insult me, Sir." Tone of joking faux offense aside, he is insulted. Him? Fade into the background? THE Radio Demon? Broadcaster extraordinaire, voice that can command the attention of a million pairs of ears at once? How would Sir Pentious like being told the Wright brothers did it better? He brushes off the insult. He's been resting on his laurels for decades, he knows that. Maybe he should work on his presentation some more. "You think that's weird, try listening to a snake suddenly start talking like a human." A ramp works too. Maybe Alastor doesn't get to carry Sir Pentious, but he DOES get to kick a bit of flat rubbish onto the ramp and see if he can stand on it and sled to the bottom. He can. He trips at the bottom.

Valera

"Boys, boys, you're both pretty." Valera will do nothing to save Alastor from his own hubris. But she WILL make sure Pentious gets to see his antics before she moves along to purchase tickets for the three of them. A miserable affair, but all that's left is to wait for their.. train? Subway? Ride? She hums. "Is there any meaningful difference between a train and a subway? Surely not, right?"

Sir Pentious

"OH, I CAN'T IMAGINE WHAT THAT SOUNDS LIKE!" Smooth. Pentious snorts against his glove, watching him trip--it was always fun to watch Alastor prance about. He's going to look over at Valera, reaching for her hand to pet it gently in his, "A QUICK TRIP FROM ONE AREA TO THE NEXT! ALTHOUGH, FROM THE SOUND OF IT..." He can hear a train leaving, probably they were going to catch the next one. How the station fills with noise! "FASTER."

Alastor

Alastor picks himself up, brushes himself off with great dignity, and answers without acknowledging his spill, "Sure, it's for when the rail-way is sub-terranean!" He trots after Valera and Sir Pentious. "Actually, maybe we don't need tickets." He'd just seen the turnstiles and had his memory jogged. "We also might be able to put our nickels in at the turnstile. That was a new feature when I moved here, don't know if they kept—twenty cents?!" He gapes at the price card on the turnstile asking for tokens; and then, turning toward the other two, repeats indignantly, "TWENTY cents?!" Better buy some tokens after all. Once they're through the turnstiles and Alastor has recovered from this fresh scandal, he notices a route map on the wall—oh good lord, they multiplied—and starts studying it for a route. He puts one finger on Times Square, one near his old apartment in Harlem, and—oh, all right, there's the old line he used to use, buried beneath all the others. "Now, hold on! There's a lot more lines now, we don't know if that's the right—" He squints at the sign on the train that just pulled up, squints at the map, and yells, "It's the right one!" He books it for the train, half-breathlessly humming "New York, New York" as he goes.

Valera

Pentious' pats are appreciated, but all too soon she's distracted once more by Alastor's frantic energy. Mostly the offended outburst at the, apparently, ludicrous pricing. She blinks, uncomprehending. "Twenty cents..?" Is that a lot for this era? Surely she can find enough change in her purse-- Oh he's off again. Dear gods, are subways always so terrifyingly hectic, or is this just a perk of being here with Alastor? Valera swears under her breath, grabs the wheelchair, and starts chasing Alastor down. Hopefully he's as confident as he sounds with his choices, otherwise it's the blind leading the blind here, and Pentious is stuck along for the ride.

Sir Pentious

Twenty cents!!!!!!! Though he had used a different currency, his father had been american and he had been educated in such things. That was a lot. Couldn't be to maintain the train, right? Likely, that was the reason given, but in actuality, taxing people based on quantity alone was just good business. Local Villain Here. He'd charge twenty cents if it were him. Actually, he'd probably charge an arm and a l--EEEEEEEGHHHHHHHHHH!!! Quite suddenly, he's being RUSHED along in his wheelchair, holding onto his hat while his eyes are wide as saucers!!! "ALASTOR, YOU BETTER NOT BE WRONG OR YOU'LL BE MEETING THE TRACKS SOONER THAN THE TRAIN!"

Alastor

"If I'm wrong, we'll have an adventure somewhere else in the city!" But he's probably right. There's a lot less wood in these subway cars. Pity, they used to look nicer. He takes a seat with enough room next to it for Sir Pentious's wheelchair, crosses an ankle over his knee, and hums cheerily.

Valera

It's tempting to take a seat as well, but Valera will stand. SOMEONE needs to keep Pentious from rolling around the whole trip, and she's not going to leave her beau to defend himself against the crowds. And oh, dear gods, she hadn't thought about the crowding. It's fine. A few minutes of unpleasantness will be well worth it. Backing into the aforementioned space with fiance in tow, she scoots his chair as close to Alastor as she can manage, already on the lookout for any unpleasant sorts. With a face like murder and a voice like she was discussing the weather, she begins combing her fingers through Pentious' hair once more. "Wow, sure are a lot of people around here. We aren't likely to run into trouble, are we?"

Sir Pentious

Okay, he's not as jostled anymore, and with Valera and Alastor here, he wants to assume he won't get trampled. Well. Can't be sure of that from Alastor. He'd probably encourage a stampede, knowing him. Sir Pentious rolls his neck some, frowning at the lack of flexibility he'd become so accustomed to. Feeling hands in his hair, the former-snake quickly turns to look at Valera, and his briefly tense expression softens. Time to look back at Alastor, "YES, ONE CAN ONLY IMAGINE. YOU ARE IN THE COMPANY OF TWO DEMONS, VALERA. IF TROUBLE DOESN'T COME TO US, WELL, IT'S LIKELY TO MANIFEST FROM OUR GENERAL VICINITY!"

Alastor

"Three of us together, this time of day? Surely nobody would try to bother us!" He smiles innocently and bats his eyelashes. "If we want trouble, we'll just have to start it ourselves." On the other hand, one of them a woman, one of them in a wheelchair, and one of them using a cane—and the latter two dressed like they'd come from a costume party. If anyone wants to cause trouble, they might be targeted. But if they were, whoever bothers them is in for a series of rude surprises. He starts humming again as the train rolls along, this time wordlessly singing under his breath, "Da da-di-da dah~" The musical number danger zone has been breached, they are near the point of no return.

Valera

Oh no... She knows that tune, turning to raise an eyebrow at the musical strawberry himself. Really, Alastor? Right now? In the middle of a subway ride? Well, then again. He'd surely missed Earth, and the city life, and... Ah, what the hell, not like anyone here could STOP them. She grins, snickers, and starts humming along as her fingers start twiddling to the beat. There's never a bad time for a musical number when nobody can beat you in a fight, now is there?

Sir Pentious

........... WAIT, WHAT'S HAPPENING. Sir Pentious looks alarmed, glancing between Valera and Alastor. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHAT IS THAT TUNE? I DO NOT RECALL IT FROM THE PRODUCTION!"

Alastor

"Oh, this tune won't be written for another decade or so! But you might be able to catch the chorus after a round or two." He's gotten too used to Hell, where the musically-inclined (and dangerous) can burst into song any time they want and nobody can do a thing about it but grumble and maybe laugh mockingly. Today, New York gets to experience true Hell on Earth: some tourist singing loudly on the train when you're just trying to get through your daily commute. Alastor stands, adjusts his monocle, winks at Valera—you know this one, right?—grabs a pole with one hand for support, and starts singing into his microphone cane: "Staaart spreading the news~" And he will keep singing until they reach their destination or one of the two people he actually knows tells him to stop.

Valera

Ah, could be worse. At least this subway car, Pentious included, gets to enjoy a LOVELY (allegedly) pair of voices on the trip over. Valera lets Alastor have his moment in the spotlight, harmonizing when appropriate and sticking to an acapella backing. So much harder to carry a tune without a band behind you, and she's perfectly happy to play the part. When they finally arrive at Harlem, she just. Wheels Pentious out like that was a perfectly normal thing they just did.

Sir Pentious

, Pentious can only stare at the two of them in abject horror. What are they doing!! Singing in public like this! It makes sense in a production, but this was real life! OH just... Hide his face...... Until they're off the train.....

Alastor

He's in the zone, he's having a good time. He doesn't even notice the horror he's causing until they reach their stop and he stops singing. As they get off, he wryly asks, "Too much?"

Valera

Valera snorts, rolling to a stop in an open area so she can pat her beau. "Oh don't worry my good fellow. Penny gets flustered over anything. Did you not enjoy our singing, love?"

Sir Pentious

He's so huffy, looking at the two of them with the reddest cheeks!!! "YOU TWO ARE INSANE. SINGING LIKE THAT IN PUBLIC! NO ONE ELSE CONSENTED TO BEING PART OF YOUR LUNACY." Says the Supervillain who Murders People.

Alastor

If he gets flustered that easily, that means they ought to be putting MORE effort into not flustering him, doesn't it? "Frankly, I don't care what any of those people consented to!" He gestures back at the subway car drawing away. "But VERY WELL! If you'd rather your regal reputation not be besmirched by your association with a couple of accompanying bards, then I'll simply have to resist the temptation in public." Alastor can sing any other time he wants. Like hell is he going to let a couple of musical numbers be a reason for Sir Pentious not to call on him to hang out again.

Valera

"Oh, Alastor! So considerate!" Valera titters, coming round the front of the wheelchair to look Pentious something akin to head on. Talking from behind him was getting weird! "If that is the bar you're setting, my love, so be it! But why is it alright to murder them, and not serenade them? Do you simply want us to... Reserve our voices for you alone?" A flutter of her lashes, first at Penny, and then at Stick. She's connected the dots. She's connected them. "Why darling, why didn't you say so? If I'd have only known!"

Sir Pentious

.............................. Sir Pentious is looking absolutely mortified.

"WHAT???? NO! THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT AT ALL!!!" Do not LOOK at him!! He scowls, pointing at Valera, "YOU ARE TWISTING MY WORDS!!! YOU ARE SINGING A SONG I DO NOT EVEN KNOW!"

Alastor

Goodness, Valera, don't say things that make Alastor's dead heart jump into his throat, it just hurts when he has to swallow it back down. And it leaves a funny aftertaste. "Don't you worry, my friend—no songs but the ones our listener calls up to request! Otherwise, the station will be playing nothing but John Cage's 4'33"!" He pantomimes zipping his mouth. It feels kind of weird without being able to add a zipper sound effect.

Valera

"Alright, alright. Message received, dearest." Pointing at your fiance is rude, Pentious. But Val can forgive him, this time. By taking his accusatory gesture in her dainty little human hands and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Mwah. "Oh, 4'33"? I love that one! Though they keep copyright claiming and muting the audio on the websites I frequent. It's the damndest thing." A wink is thrown to Alastor, and she lifts herself up into a good stretch. "Alright, enough of our nonsense. Alastor, my dear fellow? Lets hunt down a jazz club for dearest Penny. Perhaps he'll enjoy a good trumpet more than our nonsensical crooning."

Sir Pentious

Oh SHIT she's kissing his hand again--well, fine whatever! He huffs. Pentious probably wouldn't have MINDED a musical number, but he is clearly the type to want a lot of ... warning. Or maybe to not be trapped in a wheelchair. Or maybe............. a slew of YEAH BUTs. You never know with this guy. (You do know. He's grumpy.) "I JUST WOULD PREFER SOME WARNING..."

Alastor

Alastor doesn't have the slightest idea what copyright claiming is, but he understands the concept of muted audio just fine. "I tried to watch a live performance, but I was so far back I couldn't even hear the song! What a disappointment." Asking for warning is quite a step down from asking for them to hold off on the musical numbers altogether, and Alastor doesn't trust this abrupt deescalation at all. Sir Pentious is probably proposing a compromise that will just inspire further irritation if Alastor actually goes along with it. Oh no. Alastor's playing it safe. "Don't you worry, I won't be subjecting you to any more musical embarrassments," Alastor reassures him. "Now! Most of the clubs I went to only operated at night, but that was back when booze was illegal! Let's see if we can't find one that's still open and has daylight hours!"

Valera

Or! Or he's had his ruffled scales smoothed by Valera's affections! She's good at that! But she doubts there'll be any more musical numbers anyway, it'd be rude to take over a jazz club for a number, and they already made an elegance joke on their commute. Another kiss to his knuckles, and she drops Penny's hand to go take up the handles of his chair again. You never know, with Alastor. He might start sprinting away again. "Oh? Are we going to have to go door to door then?"

Sir Pentious

Pentious leans back in his seat, looking around at the people passing by. "ILLEGAL! WHAT DID AMERICANS DO FOR FUN? OR TO DROWN THEIR SORROWS?"

Alastor

Sure, like Alastor hasn't seen enough lovestruck men to know how willing they are to say things they don't really mean when a lady they find pretty coos at them. The fact that Valera's here to smooth his ruffled scales is half the reason Alastor doesn't buy a word of the retraction. "Why, what do you think we did? We broke the law! Yessir, America drank more during Prohibition than it did before! We bribed the officials trying to crack down on bootlegging with whiskey! One story goes—at least, the way I heard it—that when a Mabelman came to Chicago to see how hard it was to find an establishment selling illegal alcohol, it took him twenty minutes! In Detroit, fifteen! In New Orleans—my beloved New Orleans—it took him five seconds! He got into a taxi, asked the driver if he knew where a man could get a drink, and the driver said 'right here' and pulled a bottle out from under his seat!" Door-to-door it is. While he waxes dramatic on the abysmal failure of America's dumbest amendment, he leads them down a street toward what had once been a hotbed of speakeasies where jazz played.

Valera

Ah, and there's Alastor, prattling on like the chatterbox he is. Valera doesn't even need to say a word, just humming at the interesting parts and rolling after the stoplight red radio host. Gods did he stand out, maybe she SHOULD have put him in a different outfit.. Ho hum.

Sir Pentious

The story gets Pentious grinning wide again--it's probably very weird seeing him without those sharp teeth of his. He slaps a hand down on one of the armrests as he laughs. "HAAAA HA HAHA!! OF COURSE IT WOULD BE THAT EASY!!! YOU CAN'T KEEP A MAN FROM HIS LIQUOR!!! THE MORE YOU HIDE SOMETHING FROM SOMEONE, THE MORE THEY WILL GO OUT OF THEIR WAY TO TAKE IT."

Alastor

"And trying to get it is just more fun that way." Like treats stuck inside toys as enrichment for a cat. It's weird seeing clearly-visible bars and clubs advertising their drinks freely. Alastor's used to it in Hell, but in this place, a place he remembers, it seems wrong. Several places advertise live jazz; he searches for one that's live right now,not in a few hours.

Valera

Venues, venues everywhere, and not a club to-- Oh, there's one with a few people coming out of it. And not JUST white people, at that. That's significant, for reasons Val doesn't quite remember off the top of her head, but she jerks to a halt anyway, giving the building a closer look. A flashy, lit up sign casting bright white light down onto the streets of Harlem. A strange little overhanging structure over the door. A.. Marquee? Yes, a marquee, advertising names she didn't recognize, declaring they were playing THAT NIGHT! People going in and out, lights on display... Surely it must be open? She moves closer, glancing over to see if Alastor's noticed the same thing she has.

Sir Pentious

Pentious doesn't really have anything to say, he's still watching people pass to and fro. People from all walks of life, it seemed.

Alastor

He certainly has noticed what she has, and he's delighted at the sight. "Well! Look who's still in business! I used to come here when I was alive!" The fact that not JUST white people were coming out of it was probably a contributing factor to that. "I even played here once or twice. You know—when they let the amateurs get on stage. Ha!" Tonight doesn't look like an amateur night—he doesn't recognize the names on the marquee either, but they certainly suggest the stage isn't free for casual jam sessions. Well, he doesn't think he's going to be performing any more today, anyway. He gestures grandly toward the entrance. "Shall we?"

Valera

"Oh good! You're familiar with the establishment, then? Perfect! Hope nobody recognizes you, they'll be hounding you for your beauty secrets the whole time!" A snort, and she pushes through the doors to reveal.. Well now, wasn't this lovely? A standalone bar, well spaced tables with lovely linen cloths, an open space for dancing in front of the modest stage. Open, accessible, and not a stair in sight! With the music already crooning and the smell of food from the kitchens, it was hard not to feel right at home despite never having been here.

Sir Pentious

Oh, now this is a venue indeed. Sir Pentious tilts his head as they head inside... What an atmosphere! He smiles, relaxing a little more. "AH, THIS WILL DO NICELY." Food.... Yes, he was getting peckish but he's not sure what would be on the menu.

Alastor

"If I run into anybody I recognize, I'll claim to be Al Junior and ask who knew my dad. Hah!" He idly wonders if his duplicate had ever even visited here. They can figure food out once they're seated—although, once they are, Alastor almost immediately forgets about the menu to pay attention to the music.

Valera

If only they could all be so easily distracted from the siren song of food! Valera fixates on the menu the second they're seated, tapping a few options before she looks up at her guests. "If it wasn't obvious, dears, I'm paying. Get as much as you want of anything you want." SHE is going to get an appetizer and a drink. It's only the afternoon, but an old fashioned and a shrimp cocktail are calling her name.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious looks at the menu, and... He makes a face, as he usually does when he's met with something he doesn't like or understand. He brings the paper closer to try to read out these items.... But then he just sits back, dropping the menu itself and drumming his fingertips upon the table. "WELL SO FAR NOTHING SOUNDS APPETIZING. I'LL HAVE A POT OF TEA." Scowl. It might be better to let him see what he'd be getting, since he's barely got any idea about many of these, "THEY LIKELY WON'T PREPARE IT THE WAY I LIKE." Big Fussy!

Alastor

"Oh, you'll regret that." Alastor is not known to be considerate when other people are paying for him. The music sounds like what he hear in jazz clubs in the—let's see, he remembers being incredibly drunk—the 70s? That must be the lag between mortal world innovations and how long they take to reach Hell. He finally picks up the menu—oh, ooh, he's probably going to order half of this.

Valera

"MAKE me regret it, my dear! I dare you." She's making money out of pocket lint and wishes, deer boy. You can't break this bank with a big appetite. A pause, and she glances at her beau in his huffy glory. Oh, Penny's texture aversion, right.. A closer look at the menu, and she leans in to point a few of the softer choices out to him. "Maybe the gumbo? That should be soft enough.. Or the steak? I hear they've got nice steaks. And just ask them to make the tea a certain way! I'm sure they'll cooperate."

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious tends to expect others to disappoint him, but he'll try to be somewhat less pessimistic. He's having dinner with Alastor and Valera, after all. "THEN I'LL HAVE A GUMBO. SURPRISE ME." which probably just meant choose the type for him. "THE TEA SHOULD BE FINE, UNLESS AMERICANS DO NOT KNOW HOW TO BOIL WATER."

Alastor

"I'm never introducing you to iced tea." He taps the menu. "They've got sandwiches, too." Alastor isn't sure what Sir Pentious's issue with the food is—although now Alastor's heard the both of them mention that Sir Pentious is particular a few times—but Sir Pentious brought sandwiches to their indoor picnic, so that ought to work, right? "I think I'll get gumbo, too." He remembers being sorely disappointed the last time he tried it, but he wonders if forty years have changed that. "... And maybe the oxtail soup." To cover up the inevitable disappointment from the gumbo. And the filet mignon with mushrooms. And the live lobster, like hell is he passing up a chance to get fresh shellfish while he's in the mortal realm. And— He can take leftovers home, right?

Valera

"Who knows? As far as I'm aware, Americans are mostly known for throwing their tea into harbors, not preparing it." Perfect, here comes the waiter now. Valera orders their appetizers and drinks, then wave the poor human away before they hear anything they shouldn't. The last thing these three need is even more attention than the two demons are drawing with their looks alone. And now, while they wait for these brief minutes.. She leans back in her chair and sighs. This is nice, all things considered. Being able to relax to any degree around Alastor AND Pentious? Not something she'd expected to ever achieve.

Sir Pentious

ICED TEA??? He looks at Alastor with abject HORROR at the implication. The waiter coming and going was a fine moment of Sir Pentious just staring at people when they address him, rather than. Being casual about it. It was impolite to not face someone when speaking to them, his mother had explained, and apparently he'd gotten back at her for this by pointedly staring at anyone who spoke to him to the point of making them uncomfortable. HE WINS THE SOCIETAL ETIQUETTE CHALLENGE. HE IS THE VICTOR!!! Holy shit though, that was a LOT of food that Alastor ordered. Pentious can't help the grin that spreads on his face as he leans towards the deerman, "STORING FOR WINTER, ARE YOU?"

Alastor

"Sure, if I get through all this I'll need to hibernate for a month!" He also threw in a couple of sandwiches, a crab salad, an order of golden buck, and Roquefort cheese. When is he going to get this easy access to fresh mortal food next? "You're both welcome to steal off my feast, I plan to sample everything and take the rest home with me anyway."

Valera

Damn, she gives him a blank check and Alastor does his best to order everything on the menu. Guess he really doesn't like the food in hell! Valera stretches and leans back into the conversation, propping her elbows on the table to support her head. A lazy glance around to ensure nobody's looking too closely.. Good. A little attention was inevitable, but it would be a shame to play cleanup in such a nice establishment. A hum.. "Why thank you! But my goodness, if I'd known you were so desperate for proper food, poor dear, I'd have invited you to use my kitchens while you were over last."

Sir Pentious

Now there's an idea. Pentious thinks about the three of them in the kitchen and he can't help but snicker, "AND ALASTOR MIGHT HAVE COOKED ONE OF YOUR CITIZENS! NYA HA HA!" Very funny. He's started paying attention to the musicians now, turning to watch them with interest. The gentle crooning was pleasing.

Alastor

"I wouldn't say desperate! I would say incurable gluttonous and absolutely shameless about taking advantage of those who offer me kindness without putting boundaries on it!" The sweetest smile. "Plus, I'm fairly sure none of the money you're paying with is real." Now there's an idea. "Well, if you happen to have any citizens you wouldn't miss..."

Valera

"It's real enough!" A pause, assessing her statement, and she amends with a mutter of "It wont disadvantage the establishment any, at least. I'm not that heartless..". Cough. And how convenient, a subject change! She beams at the two of them, showing off those weird flat teeth humans have. "Oh, if you're interested in trying Veci, we have PLENTY of undesirables! Though I'd warn you that the different breeds give a wide variety of flavor profiles, so you'd have to plan accordingly."

Sir Pentious

Oh they are actually taking it seriously. He snickers at that!! "I DOUBT THAT KIND OF THING WOULD DISSUADE ALASssTOR. AS YOU CAN TELL FROM WHAT HE'S ORDERED, HE IS A BIT OF A FOODIE!!"

Alastor

"There's the understatement of the century." He leans toward Valera, arms crossed on the table. "Give me the menu! Fair warning, at times I'm a bit of a food snob. My tastes skew toward the upper class." Perhaps more honest to say that his tastes skew away from the lower class until he learns why, exactly, they were deemed "undesirable."

Valera

She blinks at Alastor, keeping a carefully neutral smile as she turns that over in her head. Was that a threat? No, that was silly. He wasn't stupid, he must believe status made a difference. And didn't it? Higher quality foods, higher quality meats. Yes, that makes sense. She clears her throat and nods, casting her mind back to what she recalled. Ahem. "Well! A coastal veci like myself has very tender, buttery flesh. Melts in your mouth, so they say. A more open ocean type like, say, my friend Istoph, has much firmer, strongly flavored meat. Very much the game of the Veci world. I'd avoid the deeper sea Veci, their meat tends to be..." She grimaces. "It tends to be either rubbery, or gelatinous. And they're scavengers, so they taste like the fermented meat they live off of."

Sir Pentious

This is a very weird conversation to be in the middle of. Sir Pentious is looking at Valera the entire time they're describing what the meat of her species is like. He has bitten into her before, he RECALLS the tender flesh. ............... Oh probably shouldn't think of that right now. "AND VERY POISONOUS, ALSO. THE LOT OF YOU, CORRECT?"

Alastor

And now Alastor is thinking of biting her, but for completely different reasons. Sounds delicious. "I'm sure you must have recipes to get around the poison issue!"

Valera

Valera reaches over, taking Pentious' hand to give it a gentle squeeze. "It's not uncommon for coastals to have some form of venom, but the flesh itself is safe. My toxins are the result of some clever genetic tampering." A proud little head waggle! "Oh, and yes. The toxins break down in heat, so fully cooking the flesh is enough. Or you can be immunized against them, like Penny was!"

Sir Pentious

He smiles, holding her hand in his and stroking over it with a gloved thumb. "DIDN'T YOU SAY THAT YOUR TAIL WAS TORN OFF AND DEVOURED BY SOMEONE BEFORE?"

Alastor

Alastor's eyebrows shoot up and he leans around to try to see Valera's tail before remembering that, in their disguises, she doesn't have one. "That's a fair amount of flesh to grow back!" Like a lizard.

Valera

"Hah! You remembered that? Yes it was, my love!" She snorts, pulling his hand up to kiss his gloved knuckles. Mwah. It's nice having things she mentioned so casually be remembered. Even if they're weird things. "Oh yes, my body repairs itself quickly. My tail was back to normal in an hour or two. Could have been faster, but I was burning energy helping him with meal prep."

Sir Pentious

They are Very Weird things but Sir Pentious is just that kind of guy. He's looking over at Alastor like do not try to Catch my Wife's Booty with Your Gaze, Sir.

Alastor

"An hour or two! With magic, I trust?" If it had been by devouring enough food to rebuild the missing flesh, she wouldn't have been worried about meal prep. Anything raw would do. It takes him a moment to notice Sir Pentious's Look. It takes him another moment to figure out what it's for. He decides to play dumb, props his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, and leans toward Sir Pentious. "Listen to me, jabbering away with the lady and ignoring the gentleman completely! My apologies!"

Valera

"Magic! Plus the energy reserves in my.." She gestures at her chest. "..Body fat." FINALLY their food arrives. Or as much of it as the waiters dare try to fit on the table. Drinks, dinner, and the cannibalistic conversation conveniently avoided around any human ears.

Sir Pentious

Penny's

looking at Alastor. About to say something when their food arrives! Finally. That's... A LOT, DEAR SATAN.

Alastor

Oh. Oh that really is a lot. What consequences hath his careless words wrought. For a moment he stares in horror at the covered table. Then he says chipperly, "Well, like I said! Feel free to taste anything you want!" He's gonna go for... ooh, what's first... how about the lobster.

Valera

So much for a low profile. She looks over the table... Then to the cart the waiters have parked near the table with the rest of their food. Then to Alastor, eyebrows raising as she whistles. "Goodness, my dear fellow. We'll have to use poor Pentious as a tray to get these leftovers out the door." She reaches over to pluck Pentious' gumbo out of the chaos and put it in front of him, then tries to puzzle out her own meal. Steaks, steaks, everywhere... Ah, there were two filet mignons, one of those must be hers. Come to mama, beautiful.

Sir Pentious

"MOST CERTAINLY NOT!" Do not stack food on him, he would hate it!!! But he looks over at Alastor with a squint as he begins tucking a handkerchief into his collar, like a bib. "YOUR STOMACH IS GOING TO BE DISTENDED BY THE TIME THIS IS OVER, ALASTOR."

Alastor

Alastor tugs at the front of his coat to test its give. "Not much room for that. Good thing I plan on taking most of it home!" The lobster passes muster. Time to try something else. Where's that rabbit? "Tell me what you think of the gumbo—I'm wary of it anywhere outside Louisiana, I want to know what to brace myself for."

Valera

She's going to stack food on him. She's going to stack SO much food on him. Or she'll just make the staff conveniently ignore the fact that their doggy bags are suddenly gone to some pocket dimension. But threatening to turn Pentious into a cart is funnier. "Mmrph." Sorry, her mouth is full of approximately half her meal.

Sir Pentious

NOOOOOO Oh. He looks over his gumbo, stirring the pieces of chicken and veggies around with a spoon... like a particularly thick stew. It smells good, anyway... some of the meat doesn't appear to be as squishy as he wants, so he shoves them aside, instead looking at the veggies. Big Fussy. "ARE YOU GOING TO ATTEMPT TO HAVE SOME OF MINE? YOU ARE NOT TO PUT YOUR SPOON IN MY SOUP!" Rabbit's a bit left of Pentious' gumbo. He's looking at Valera, "....QUITE A LADY! HAHA!"

Alastor

"I ordered my own, thank you." The fact that Sir Pentious is already pushing aside bits of food is a dangerous sign, but Alastor will reserve judgment until he sees him actually taste it. Oh, there it is. He snags his next dish, glances at Valera, and laughs. "I take it the filet mignon meets your approval!"

Valera

She gets her meal, she starts eating, and now! She's the center of attention! She swallows with a bit of struggle, clears her throat, and picks up her napkin to daintily dab her mouth clean. She's got manners, sometimes. Deep inhale.. "It's good! Though I'd prefer it rarer next time." And now SHE can stare at Pentious. Try your gumbo, Penny. The audience is waiting.

Sir Pentious

Oh no they are both looking at him. He hates this. Time to go on a face journey while filling his spoon up with broth. He brings the reddish brownish liquid to his lips, flicking his tongue against it. Yes. He is human. But he has spent the last one hundred and thirty two year as a snake. Leave him alone. Okay... the taste isn't atrocious. Sir Pentious sips it up, smacking his lips a little. Beer tasting tik tok. Aaaaaaand he finally speaks, "YOU KNOW, IT ISN'T BAD. THE BROTH ANYWAY, I COULD GET BEHIND. THOUGH I AM NOT YET CERTAIN ABOUT THE VEGETABLES OR THE MEAT."

Alastor

"Do you prefer your meat raw, by chance?" No judgment, it's a fine culinary choice. Look at Sir Pentious. Going about it like a connoisseur. A connoisseur who sticks his tongue into spoons before sipping. Alastor can tell exactlywhat he's doing, which makes it even funnier to see with a human tongue. "Sounds like a recommendation to me!" Now for that rabbit.

Valera

The spell is broken, the table can breathe a collective sigh of relief. Pentious can enjoy at least ONE thing at the table. Crisis averted! Val can return to her meal, taking much more respectable portions of steak now that she knows she's APPARENTLY got an audience watching. They wave for a second old fashioned, and tuck in. There, much better. Civilized fish.

Sir Pentious

Very civilized. Maybe Sir Pentious just likes watching you eat food, Valera. HE'S NOT WEIRD, YOU'RE WEIRD.He's going to try the vegetables now... They're much softer inside the brother, and they kind of melt in a buttery fashion. Hmm... Not bad. The chicken is next... It looks tough, and he's not excited about it. Scooping the meat into a spoon, he brings it to his mouth and bites down on the spoon. .... A frown... And he unbites, putting the chicken piece back into the bowl. "NO. NOT A FAN."

Alastor

From the corner of his eye, Alastor is watching Sir Pentious's slow analysis with fascination. Oh, he's going to be a challenge for Alastor to cook for, isn't he? Good—no one else ever holds Alastor to any standards, he's going to have to actually improve his work. His face falls as much as it can when Sir Pentious... spits out? a bit of chicken. Alastor tisks. "We should have known better than to trust gumbo in New York."

Valera

"Hang on, I can fix this." Without missing a beat, Valera reaches over the table with their fork, rapid fire skewering a few pieces of chicken to steal away from Pentious. Down the hatch, and look. Nobody has to deal with them anymore! Isn't she generous.

Sir Pentious

............................ He wonders how that must have looked to literally anyone else.

[

11:41 AM

]

AND THEN HE PUTS HIS ARM AROUND HIS BOWL, AND LOOKS SO OFFENDED.

Alastor

"Well, if you don't like the gumbo..." He gestures around at the table. And the cart. "There's a couple of sandwiches on the cart if you want to try those." He got the sandwiches for Sir Pentious, because Sir Pentious eats sandwiches. He really did order this feast with the intent to share it with the table.

Valera

Val's completely focused on their own meal, smug as can be. Mm, yes, the mushrooms are so soft and lovely, mmm. Pairs so nicely with this steak. Better eat a little faster before anyone gets any funny ideas.

Sir Pentious

Oh sandwiches. He does like sandwiches... generally. Sir Pentious lifts his nose, looking over at the cart before he gestures, "I WILL TAKE A SANDWICH." And he is going to eat vegetables and this broth, because it is tasty, even if the chicken was TERRIBLE!

Alastor

"Have at it!" There should be some kind of meat sandwich, he forgets which one he finally ordered, and a jelly and cream cheese one he ordered mainly out of morbid curiosity. Okay, he's tried the rabbit, time to switch out the plate for his own filet mignon, Valera's making him jealous. "You know, I've been so distracted by this feast here, I've hardly glanced at the stage! After we came all this way to hear the music." He's gonna. Try to focus on that.

Valera

He's done with the rabbit? Perfect timing, Val's just about done with her own meal, and Alastor DID say she was free to sample. A few slices of lagomorph shouldn't be missed. Music? Right, yeah. Music. She'll worry about that when her stomach is done threatening to start dissolving.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious smirks, "WELL WHAT WOULD YOU EXPECT? IT IS NOT AS THOUGH WE NORMALLY HAVE ACCESS TO FOOD FRESHLY PREPARED IN THE LIVING WORLD." He's going to take a bite of this meat sandwich... That's a happy Penny. He's going to delight in this soft bread.

Alastor

"True!" He pauses a moment to listen. Hmm. "If anything, I think the music in Hell is better. More time to practice, I suppose! Better music, worse food—not a trade off I would have expected, would you?" He's finally gonna try that filet mignon—oh, good God, this must be what they serve in Heaven.

Valera

She snickers into her food, moving on to the lobster now. She can't comment on the workings of hell, but she can appreciate a good meal on her own dime. Let the boys have their talk.

Sir Pentious

"I WAS THINKING SIMILARLY, ALTHOUGH, YOU WOULDN'T HAVE THIS PROBLEM IF WE WERE ATTENDING A FULL ORCHESTRA SHOW. TOUGH LUCK, ALASTOR." He grins, "STILL, IT ISN'T BAD. I FIND THE RAW, SOMEWHAT FLAWED STYLE OF PLAYING RATHER CHARMING. REMINDS YOU THEY ARE ONLY HUMAN, NYA HA!"

Alastor

Give him a moment. Give him a moment, he's gotta bask in the meat. Oh, that's superb. He makes a mental note to ask Valera to leave an exorbitant tip. "I think an orchestra that's been playing together for over a century, give or take a few exterminated cellists, is going to be able to show a thing or two to an orchestra whose members have only been playing their instruments for a few decades!" He glances at the stage. "But—you're right. Jazz is at its best when it's raw. Maybe we damned fools have gotten a little too refined in our playing."

Valera

Valera is picking away at the meals, humming idly but mostly ignoring the two.

Sir Pentious

IGNORING....

Sir Pentious sips more of the broth, then finishes off a sandwich before pouring himself some tea. "TOO TRUE. WE'VE GROWN ACCUSTOMED TO OUR UNLIVES. WHO COULD BLAME US? THE DEAD SHOULD NOT USUALLY RISE AGAIN."

Alastor

"And if they do rise, I'm given to understand the living expect we'd start eating their brains! Ha!" He pauses thoughtfully. "Actually, brain doesn't taste bad. Although it's got nothing on the filet mignon."

Valera

She waves the waiter over to take her empty plates and cups, then props her chin up on her hands. The music is nice. She'll just close her eyes for a second and listen..

Sir Pentious

Hopefully the waiter didn't hear that. Penny snickers, and sips the tea. Actually not bad. And then he's looking at Valera. ... He smiles, wide. She isn't looking at him, so he gets to admire them!

Alastor

Oh, Sir Pentious is distracted. They're both distracted. Alastor swallows down the urge to constantly be making sound so as not to distract them from their distraction. He'll watch the show and switch to trying his own bowl of gumbo. If it sucks, he can cleanse his palate with more of his steak.

Valera

It takes SEVERAL seconds before Valera realizes the two have fallen silent, brows furrowing before she cracks an eye open to make sure they aren't moments away from going for each other's throats. Does she need to step in? No, Alastor's eating, and Pentious is.. Watching her, it seems. She smiles and gives him a little wink, then blows a kiss. "Hey handsome."

Sir Pentious

Color reaches his cheeks, and he can't help the grin, avoiding eye contact now... One hand reaches for hers, and he squeezes it. Listening to decently played Jazz Music, sitting with his good friend, and the love of his unlife. And more food than they knew what to do with. Pentious feels.... Good.

Alastor

The gumbo isn't bad. It isn't great gumbo, but it's an okay soup. Maybe he should ask if Sir Pe—oh, he's having a moment. They're both having a moment, the two of them. Alastor will keep suppressing the urge to speak. BOY THAT SURE IS A BAND UP ON STAGE THAT ALASTOR IS LOOKING AT. RIGHT NOW. WITH HIS EYES.

Valera

Try not to break your neck, radio demon! Pentious' hand is squeezed back, and Val scoots her chair a bit closer with the excuse of messing with the blanket draped across his legs with her free hand. If she doesn't move away afterwards, well. She's just being cautious. What if it falls? "Enjoying yourselves, boys?"

Sir Pentious

C: He is very smiley. Sir Pentious turns around to look at Alastor, and then he closes his eyes, raising a declamatory finger. "ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, YES! I RATHER ENJOYED THIS EXCURSION."

Alastor

Oh thank god they're talking again. "Why, a show, a signature, another show, a feast fit for a king, and such fine company besides—I'm enjoying myself enormously! And will continue to do so for another few days at least!" Yeah he's hardly made a dent in the food. He's gonna have hella leftovers. If they're talking again he can ask the question he's been holding back. He leans toward Sir Pentious and elbows an edge on his wheelchair. "I'll trade you the vegetables out of my gumbo if you trade me the chicken out of yours." If the veggies were all of it that met Sir Pentious's tastes, Alastor was at least going to make sure he got a full serving of it.

Valera

"Glad to hear it, my dears! We'll have to arrange a second excursion at some point. Penny needs more broadway, and poor Alastor needs regular access to Earth food. Speaking of, how is that okra plant doing? Should I arrange for a replacement sometime soon, my fine fellow?" She snorts, eyeing the leftovers scattered around them. This had to be a week's worth of food for a single deer, right? Surely! But it's a fine compromise he offers. Hopefully Pentious wont be overly stubborn about it.

Sir Pentious

In terms of deals that Alastor could be offering him, this was by far the mildest compromise. Sir Pentious looks at him with his usual big eyes, raising a brow.... "OH THAT'S RIGHT, THE VEGETABLES THING. YES, GO AHEAD, ALASTOR." He slides his bowl over. Whatever remains of the chicken within!

Alastor

Vegetables thing? Did his duplicate have a vegetables thing? Well, whatever—he scoops out what's left of his veggies (farewell, dear okra) and claims the chicken. Speaking of dear okra—"The plant's doing marvelously so far!" So far. "I found a spot for it and that bell pepper plant I won under a nice sunny window in that ship embedded in the hotel, you know the one."

Valera

She DOES know the one, in fact. Even if she doesn't know how a boat wound up not only in hell, but somehow being used as part of the architecture for what seemed to be one of Lucifer's estates turned rehab facility? Hell was a STRANGE place. A puzzle for another day. Maybe Charlie would know. "Ah! Wonderful! Okra is such a hardy plant, if anything could survive in Hell it would be that little beastie. Maybe I'll bring you some other plant next time I visit? Sounds like you need some fresh tomatoes and you'll be set for a fine side."

Sir Pentious

Once the swap is finished, Sir Pentious slides his own bowl back towards himself and returns to eating. AH, this was MUCH better. He didn't eat all that much and seemed to be used to that fact. Hard to be overwhelmingly hungry when you already knew your texture issues would make it difficult to actually eat something. But he's smiling away as he consumes the veggie gumbo. He didn't think he'd like it, but the added flavor of the now removed chicken did good things for this.

Alastor

"You'd be surprised. It's harder than you'd think to find fresh okra in Hell! Probably some local blight that wipes them out, that would be the kind of thing Hell does." But tomatoes... it's easy enough to get jarred tomato sauce and canned tomato paste in Hell—albeit at exorbitant prices—but when was the last time he'd had simple, plain, fresh tomatoes? "Let's see if I've got a green thumb or two hidden under these gloves"—he wiggles his fingers—"before subjecting another poor plant to my tender mercies—but if the okra lasts long enough to give me a crop, tomatoes would be a fine addition to my little garden!"

Valera

She snorts, sudden visions of Alastor in overalls over his suit, wearing a straw hat with holes for his antlers invading her mind. Ah, and he would fertilize his bountiful crops with the corpses of his victims, and put a hoe head on his mic's staff. Behold his new show, Farm Talk Radio.. May the gods have mercy on her for these evil thoughts. AHEM. Back to reality, no farmer deer here, just a man with wiggly hands who hasn't managed to kill an Okra plant yet. "Of course! Now, do either of you want dessert, or should I flag down the waiter for our bill?"

Sir Pentious

"DESSERT? SHOULD YOU OFFER HIM MORE FOOD?" Pentious scoffed, still working on his soup. Dipp.... The sandwich.... IN THE SOUP. What a rebel. OH it's delicious.

Alastor

"He has a point. If I get any more plates, I'm going to have to start holding them in my lap!" He considers the offer anyway. The problem with ordering dessert is that, generally, you only get dessert foods. Anyway, he was pretty full. Surprise surprise. "I think I'm taken care of!"

Valera

"Alright, thank you Alastor." Valera raises a very pointed eyebrow at Pentious. Answer for yourself, fool. But he hadn't said yes, so she'll wave down the waiter.. and watch them put the bill in front of Pentious. Right, this is the sixties. She's just going to take that and pay, thanks.

Sir Pentious

He fucking gave it the STINK EYE like No fuckin waY. Still finishing off his soup... "I SUPPOSE AFTER THIS WE HEAD BACK?"

Alastor

Sir Pentious is over here reinventing the au jus sandwich, it's a wonder he registered the dessert question at all. "Tip them very well." Does Alastor want to see what the bill is? Probably not. "We could! Or you could put up with me while I drag you halfway around Manhattan seeing what's still standing! But you'd probably want to re-kill me by the end of that." He looks around, do they have doggy bags? Or is he going to have to slide this food into a pocket dimension as they are, plates and all? He wouldn't mind stealing the plates, but...

Valera

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe we'll have to make another day trip closer to your own time, Alastor! That sounds fun." Valera hums, looks at the food, looks at the pathetic little waxed paper bags covered in pictures of dogs the waiter gave her.. Then reaches into her purse and pulls out extremely not period accurate takeout boxes that CERTAINLY didn't fit in there to hand off to Alastor. "Here, dear. Don't worry, they won't see anything."

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious is just like. Looking, but mostly after he's done his soup (finally) he sits back and cleans up his face, pulling the handkerchief out and setting it down on the table. "HA HA HA HA!!! OH, WHAT AN ENJOYABLE LITTLE TRIP THIS HAS BEEN!"

Alastor

His own time. He isn't sure if he even wants that. A question for later. He takes the boxes and starts loading one up. "Is that a reassurance, or are you planning on creating a distraction across the room? Because if you weren't, I was ready to ignite something on the table by the stage." He beams at Sir Pentious. "We must do this again! And sooner rather than later!"

Valera

"I don't need to make a distraction, I just suggested to the population of this establishment that they care more about their own business at the current moment. The guests are enjoying their meals, and the waitstaff don't need to come tidy up here for another ten or so minutes." Valera raises an eyebrow at Alastor, slides her gaze from him to Pentious and back again, and smirks. "Perhaps next time we'll have to visit a museum, those are always good fun. I'd be interested in seeing one of the exhibits on Pentious for myself, and I'm sure at least one of you would be over the moon as well."

Sir Pentious

Pentious glances over at Valera, and his smile falters somewhat. Thinking about it... Would he be featured in a Museum? Of course, he must be in some history books, but... Why hadn't he heard so much about it when he was in Hell? Was it just because he mostly met a lot of Americans? "ER, YES. QUITE! I WOULD LIKE TO SEE SOMETHING LIKE THAT--THOUGH I IMAGINE THEY WOULD ATTEMPT TO PSYCHO-ANALYIZE ME OR SOMETHING. IT WOULD BE EMBARRASSING WATCHING THEM ATTEMPT TO CRACK MY GENIUS MIND!"

Alastor

“Oh, we can go laugh at everything they got wrong, then! You can look at the artifacts and we’ll read the plaques for you and tell you which ones are the most wrong.” Sir Pentious’s lack of enthusiasm has been noted; but Alastor’s too excited by the prospect of the trip to focus on that at the moment. He wants to see a Sir Pentious museum display and by god, he’s gonna. “It sounds like a spectacular trip! And I’ve been dying to find out how your history differs from my local version of you!”

Valera

"It's one thing to know the man himself, but quite another to see how the world at large remembers their villains." She reaches over to take Pentious' hand, giving it a squeeze. It's alright. "I did cheat a little, I'll admit. I've been to this reality at least once before, so I did some research to find the museums that had the BEST exhibits dedicated to my beau. I've already got one picked out for the three of us, schedules permitting."

Sir Pentious

He looks up at her, eyes wide. There are a great number of thoughts buzzing around in his head. Why didn't you tell me? being one of them, but... Would he want to be told? It was hard even for himself to predict his own reaction sometimes. Still, the fact that there are exhibits dedicated to him..... Sir Pentious turns back round, settling in his wheelchair and adjusting his blanket. "VERY GOOD THEN! WE WILL MAKE IT A TRIP. I WILL MAKE A POINT OF POINTING OUT ANY AND ALL INACCURACIES."

Alastor

“Who could ask for a better tour guide!” That’s the last of the leftovers loaded into boxes. Alastor glances around to make sure everyone still seems to be paying them no attention, then quietly opens up a neat little square-shaped portal on the table and drops the boxes through. “Depending on what’s in the museum, maybe we could steal back some of your possessions. You know, if there happens to be anything you want to retrieve.”

Valera

"Is it really stealing if they're going back to their rightful owner? I would think not!" The conveniences of demon magic are not to be underestimated. Food no longer crowding the table and plates stacked for the busboys, Valera stands, reaches into her purse, hesitates a moment, then drops a pair of twenty dollar bills on the table. Is that a generous enough tip? She has no idea. But it's more than twenty percent and that's what matters. Probably. Hopefully. Alastor will probably say something if it isn't. Maybe. Gods help her.

Sir Pentious

TWENTY DOLLARS---oh right, Penny is from the late 19th century. He clears his throat. Sometimes he forgets that money is ridiculous in one hundred years. Though he does chuckle, "NOW YOU ARE A TRUE NOBLEMAN, VALERA. YOU HANDLE YOUR MONEY LIKE YOU'VE NO IDEA WHAT TO DO WITH IT!"

Alastor

“I would think not either! I doubt the museum will see it that way, but that’s their problem, isn’t it?” TWENTY DOLLARS—oh right, the money is imaginary and capitalism is made up. They’re going to be making some waiter’s night.

Valera

She looks at Pentious, glancing at the money on the table before clearing her throat and striking a dramatic pose, complete with fluttering lashes and her hands clasped together under her chin. "Money is like manure. It's not worth a thing unless it's spread around, encouraging young things to grow." Nice save.

Sir Pentious

Ohhh, he sees what you did there. Clap, clap, clap. "FROM THE GOODNESS OF YOUR HEARTS? NYA HA HA!"

Alastor

Alastor cracks up. It was a good reference! Applause from him too. “I did say we should tip generously!”

Valera

Oh thank the gods, they bought it. She takes a bow, then props her hands on her hips and squints down at the table in thought. Food was sorted, tip was sorted.. That was everything, right? A nod, and she retrieves her compact and begins reapplying her lipstick. She can't walk out of here looking like she ate or anything, goodness. "You did indeed, my dear fellow. Are you both ready to go, then?"

Sir Pentious

"YES, LET US BE OFF. I SHOULD LIKE TO RETURN TO MY TRUE FORM--IT IS A PAIN TO NOT BE ABLE TO MOVE AS EFFICIENTLY ON MY OWN. I SHOULD DESIGN A BETTER CHAIR FOR THE FUTURE ENDEAVORS."

Alastor

“And I’m missing my studio audience and sound effects department. The world’s entirely too quiet!” He says in the middle of a jazz performance. Quiet is relative. (It really is too quiet, though. For a moment, in the subway, he even lost the signals from New York’s radio stations. He’d forgotten the inside of his head could ever be so silent—and he can’t stand it.) Alastor gets to his feet, ready to go. “Let’s!”

Valera

Wonderful. Another tick off the checklist, then. Valera hops up, takes one last look around the club, and goes around to take the handles of Pentious' chair. "That sounds like a fantastic idea, love. If we really do plan on this being a regular occurrence, you're going to need a lot more freedom of movement." And with that, she pushes him towards the exit. It'll be a small matter to transport them back to her room as they walk through the doors, as seamless an exit as could be asked for.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer Chapter 5: Blood Rage

The sun was only hours from rising but I hadn’t slept at all. No matter what I did, I couldn’t contact anyone outside the college. 

Nono explained that Johann had taken well to me. He wasn’t normally a talker. She wasn’t sure that we would get along. She was happy we did.

She encouraged me to log into social media and find some more friends that way. After she dropped me off I got into my comfortable pajamas and set up an account. The longest terms and conditions page I’d ever seen appeared as soon as I did. There was also a complete rules page written by a Mr. Manstein of the Disciplinary committee.

Once I got by that, I added a photo. “Hey, I’m new here. Kinda nervous. Please don’t be weird.” I typed into the blurb box under my name.

Within minutes, I had more followers than I could count and had to block my direct messages because they wouldn’t stop. I had so many friend requests I had to block those too.

I went back to my text messages and the string of messages that were marked as not sent. I could feel myself getting upset. I started to suspect this was no accident.

I soon got a text message from Caesar Gattuso. “Nice to see you’ve found our social media page! Don’t worry about the rules too much. I can vouch for any mistakes. So you like ballet? I’d like to invite you to our Dancing Society here at the Student Council. You’ll fit in well there.”

It was tempting but all I could think about was contacting my family. “Why can’t I contact Robbie?”

“The people at the foster home? Well, according to our records, you're sixteen, technically, a minor, and that makes you a ward of the College.”

“WHAT?!” I both typed and yelled out loud.

“It was in the paperwork you signed when you enrolled. You didn’t read it? That’s unfortunate. You’re restricted outside access until your 18th birthday.”

“This sucks!”

“Only until you settle in. Which you will. Don’t worry. In the meantime, why not get to know some of the people online?”

I put the phone away, furious. They couldn’t do this!

The next morning, I rehearsed in the mirror what I was going to say. Robbie and Mom were my family. It didn’t matter that I was here and that they thought I was special. That was my family! My phone buzzed. It was Nono. “I’m downstairs.” She wrote.

“I hope you slept well? Ate breakfast?” She grinned at me with a confidence I did not share.

“Yes.” I said, trying to sound upbeat. “You?”

Nono appraised my effort. “Good attitude. At least better than Ricardo when he first got here.”

“Ricardo?” She started to walk and I followed her.

“Yes, my last recruit was this close to rejecting our offer for a full scholarship before he even set foot on campus. After a night like yesterday, I was worried you’d be the same way.” She gazed down at me with a teasing and mischievous glint in her eye.

“No way! I just want to be able to talk to Robbie and Mom. It’s not right that I can’t say anything to the people who raised me. They’re probably worried sick!”

“Ah… that. Hmm.” She gave a resigned shrug. “Well, we can discuss that after you’ve taken the exam. If you fail, you’ll be sent back to the foster home anyway.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder.

“I…” I stammered, "I don't want to be sent home… I just… Alright." I wondered if that was a threat. “Johann said not to worry about the test."

“Oh, he said that?” Her eyebrows raised. “He does have a good eye.”

“So, I’m okay then?”

“Hm… Well, I’m not sure about you, but he correctly guessed that Ricardo was going to pass. Take that however you want.”

She led me to another brick building that looked more like a church with a clock on its facade and a weather vane on top of a tall steeple. Young people from every walk of life filed into the open double doors.. Nono led me to a man in a brown pinstripe suit and a cane topped with a large jewel. “Mr. Manstein, I’m here to register my recruit for the E3.”

I smiled and waved at him, but he ignored me. He barely acknowledged Nono, pressing an ink stamp onto a small paper card without looking up and handing it to her.

Giving the card to me, she said. “Alright, here you are.” She pointed. “Walk straight down that hallway and give this card to the attendant.”

‘Cassel E3 admission approval’ was written on the card. The same was the school logo. “You’re not coming?” I asked, looking up.

“Oh no, this is something you’ll have to do on your own. I’ll be waiting for you outside.” She turned and walked back out the door.

Unsure of myself, I glanced at the other students. I observed how the attendant, an older lady with dark narrow eyes and a severe expression, curtly cut off any greetings or questions. She directed the students to sit quietly and wait for the exam to begin. I handed her the card and entered without a word.

Desks were arranged in neat rows. There were no seating arrangements so I picked one next to the windows. A girl approached me. She looked my age with long dark hair and eyes. “Hey, I’m Rebecca, do you know what we’re supposed to do?”

I shook my head. “No, sorry. This school is weird okay. I… I knew that going in.”

She gives me a sad nod and takes a seat next to mine.

The attendant walked in and put a piece of blank white paper on everyone’s desk as well as a sharp pencil. Then she walked out. The door clicked locked.

I looked at the paper. It was blank on both sides. “Okay…”

All around me, confusion rippled through the room. I looked over at Rebecca who had also turned her paper over. “No questions?” She looked at me for confirmation.

Sudden loud music blasted from speakers in the ceiling, startling me. In an instant the classroom was in an uproar.

“Hey turn that off? How are we supposed to take a test with this noise?” Someone shouted.

“Are there no questions? Where’s the professor?” asked one of the boys, clearly outraged.

One student tried to open the door. He banged on it. “Hey! What is this?”

My eyes turned to the girl who had approached me before. She was not standing or shouting. Instead, she was hunched over the paper, scribbling furiously. Her eyes didn’t lift from the page. I got up to go look at her work.

It was just swirling lines. She, however, was sweating with concentration.

In the front of the classroom, a boy jumped up from his seat and yelled. “I got it! I got it! I got it!” He too began to take his paper and write, his face wreathed in an ecstatic smile.

That boy banging on the door stopped, grabbed his paper from the desk and started scribbling on it while lying on the floor.

Feeling lost, I called out. “Can someone please tell me what I’m supposed to do?”

No one looked at me. The music blared on. I was the only one not writing. I could feel myself getting upset, the frustration and sorrow rising in my chest. I was going to fail. They were going to send me home. I watched everyone, feeling lost and small and alone.

This moment, these feelings. Something about them took me back to the last time I stood in a classroom just like this one, only I was much smaller. It was time for a roll call. The teacher called a name, but it wasn’t my name. My whole life I was only Jane Doe, the girl with a missing mom.  At home, I was Babydoll, until they could find my real parents.

The school didn’t accept those names and the name I wanted wasn’t acceptable either. The teacher called the name I had no choice to accept. Even though she looked straight at me, I still don’t answer. I could see her getting frustrated, waiting for me to acknowledge it.

Instead, I told her what my name really was. Everyone in the classroom laughed, even the teacher.

That pain of rejection haunted me now. The name that I wanted when I was little was on the tip of my tongue. I but no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t remember it.

I went to my desk and sat, staring at the paper. One by one, tears fell, dotting the blank white sheet. I was going to fail. I was going to go back home.

The music ended. The students looked around like they were waking up from a dream. The attendant collected the students drawings and placed them in a black box. She still wasn’t taking questions, shepherding confused students out of the room with firm authority. I was resting my head on my arms, looking out the window.

“You. Out.” The attendant grabbed my paper from under my arms and put it in the box.

I was too despondent to argue.

When Nono saw me coming out of the building with the other students, tears still drying on my cheeks, her confidence turned to worry. “What happened?” She asked softly.

“I couldn’t write anything.” I said miserably. “I’m sorry, Nono.”

For the first time, Nono appeared uncertain. “Nothing at all?” She realized she was speechless and quickly tried to comfort me. “Well, we’ll see what the analysis says when it comes back. The E3 is a tough test. Why don’t you go lay down? You look exhausted.”

She took me back to my apartment. I laid in bed and I didn’t get up for the rest of the day.

By the evening, I desperately wanted to talk to Robbie and Mom. I know Nono wanted to be my friend but I missed them. The memory of my first awful days at school made that longing all the more intense.

At midnight, I bundled up for the cold and checked out the window pane of the dorm’s front door, checking to make sure no one was out there. A light snow dusted the ground but there were no prints. I left my building, heading for Cassell’s front gates, threading my way through the campus buildings as fast as I could.

A scattering of people stood next to buildings and in intersections. They were all in Navy blue uniforms and carrying weapons. “Security?” I wondered aloud.

“Hey! Who goes there?” A young voice growled. Someone had walked around the corner and spotted me!

“Miss Important? Sneaking out already?” The campus cop lifted his hat, revealing Isaac's crimson eyes. Seeing how upset I was, his smile vanished. “What’s wrong?”

“I want to talk to my family! But I can’t do it here! Can you get me on the other side of the gate?” I whispered, desperately hoping he’d say yes.

Much to my relief, he nodded. I didn’t like that it was him, but I didn’t have much of a choice. “Let’s go inside the Library.”

The Library was one of the biggest buildings on campus. The hexagonal building soared seven stories, ending on a flat roof that served as a veranda. Isaac punched in a security code and the door unlocked. The lobby lit up as we entered but kept the bookcases in a dark cavernous space.

"Wait here." He let me sit on one of the cloth couches, before going off, further inside the building. When he returned, it was with a cup of hot tea. “Care to tell me what’s going on?”

“I just want to talk to my family...” Tears rolled down my face. "If I'd known I'd be cut off… I don't think I would have…" Sobs overtook speech. His light touch on my arm stilled them.

“The opportunity to come here is only once, Important... If you refuse or break the rules, that’s it… forever. They can even make you forget everything you saw and everyone you meet here. Are you sure you want that?” He asked me quietly.

I shivered and sniffled, hanging my head, gathering my coat about myself.

He was pleased I didn’t say yes. “I didn’t take you as a quitter. You're just a little overwhelmed. That's normal.”

“Well, I failed my exam so… It doesn’t matter.” I said, my voice hoarse.

“What?” He whispered.

The shock in his voice was gratifying. Like Johann, he must have believed in me. “I said I failed. I failed the E3. I was supposed to draw something but. I just sat at my desk and cried. Okay?” I lowered my head.

“That’s impossible. I don’t believe it.” He shook his head. Then, after a moment’s consideration, he added. “There’s a place where I can test you. It’s technically not allowed but… if you really want to see your family again, I can make that happen if you let me.” As he spoke, he kept his eyes on me, watching my reaction.

“You’d… do that for me?” I asked, lowering my voice to a whisper. “Why?”

“Because you’re Miss Important.” He huffed a laugh, “No questions asked, no strings attached. Watching you grow your abilities will be a reward in itself. You don’t know it yet, but you’re here because you have a very strong dragon bloodline and that comes with special talents beyond dancing.”

“But what if there was a mistake…?”

"If it wasn't true, you wouldn't be here! That's a fact!" He was still trying to convince me so I gave in. Maybe he could get me out of here and I could bail without facing Nono’s disappointment.

“Now, here in this library, in one of the empty conference rooms, there’s something called a Nibelungen gate. You don’t know what that means but, basically, it’s a tear in the fabric of this reality. I’ve been using it as a door to the outside."

"I can see my family?" I asked. My eagerness to get away overruled my desire to ask questions.

He gave a kind laugh. "If you come with me, I can show you. But you have to come with me. The gate won’t take you to where you want to go otherwise.”

He stood and helped me up. "Thank you. This means a lot." I said to him.

He sighed. "If those professors fail you, then they’re idiots.”

I followed him into one of the empty rooms. It was too dark to see but he didn't turn on a light. He reached into his uniform jacket pocket. I watched as he pulled out a small star shaped object and held it up to a painted landscape hanging on the wall. A brilliant purple matrix lit up like a laser and a sudden rumble rattled the room. What appeared to be a dark star erupted into a pulsating fountain.

“The rift will only remain for a short time. We have to go now.” He held out his hand to me and I took it. Together, we walked through.

Blackness descended like a cloth in every direction. The world around me turned dark and cold. I lost sight of Isaac. I couldn’t even see my own hand. When the world returned, the library was replaced by a high curving stone ceiling. The paneled room turned to stone walls and a stone floor. His bodyguard friends were here, but without their uniforms. They dressed in Japanese style clothing. “This is a training area.” Isaac explained. “We can go all-out here. Not worry about destroying anything or hurting anyone with our abilities.”

He let go of my hand and approached the the group. They nodded approvingly while he said something in Japanese I didn’t understand.

“Cassell relies on simulations and tests to train students, but they don’t work for everyone.” He said to me.

“Why are they here?” I asked, eying the other men warily.

“They’re here to help.” Isaac was shrugging off his uniform jacket and undoing the cuffs on his shirt. “You’re a hybrid. There are things you can do that no one else can. You just need help to express it.” He took a glass flask from one of his friends and handed it to me. “...drink this.”

I leaned away. “Again with the mystery cocktails?”

He tried to stifle a laugh but gave in when the other guys chuckled. “I tell you truthfully, you’re easily the most charming woman I’ve ever met.” He sobered. “You want to pass, don’t you? This will bring out of you what you need to see. Once you experience it, there will be no more questions about whether or not you belong here.”

I chewed my lip. “Have you taken it?”

He nodded once. “I wouldn’t ask you to take it, if I hadn’t.”

I took the glass. “And… After this I can go home?”

“Yes. I promise.”

The liquid inside was black and thick. I unscrewed the top. I forced myself to swallow against the bitter taste. It slid down my throat, burning my insides, blurring my vision.

Someone said, “Get ready. This is the first time we’ve been up against an S-Class hybrid. Anything could happen.”

My heart began racing out of control. My lungs strained to keep up. Someone was speaking to me and the voice in my ears was intolerable! I lashed out with my fist and I hit him. I couldn’t stop hitting him.

Strong hands grappled me. I kicked and screamed. Unable to move, I squeezed my eyes shut against a growing pressure in my head.

That was when I saw the vision for the first time: I was surrounded by a vast sea of stars and flying toward me was a beam of light streaming like a comet out of the dark. I reached for it. My eyes snapped open.

The rod of light was in my hand, longer than I was tall and sharpened at both ends. It hissed like an angry serpent. The person holding that hand stumbled back at its fearsome appearance.  I flung it at him, dropping him in an instant. It reappeared in my hand. I turned and plunged it through the body of the man holding my other side. 

I backed away, eyes wild. I was being surrounded. They were going to attack me. A mad energy drove me. I wanted to kill all of them. Panting, I raised the weapon above my head. I spoke the word that I’d wanted to remember, the word I knew when I was young.

I called it by my name.

My doppleganger appeared next to me, a spear in her hand as well, and together, we painted the walls with their blood.

When the frenzy subsided, I stood still in the middle of the room, gasping for air, in shock. It felt like my body was shaking itself apart, I was so fatigued.

I turned to look for Isaac and felt someone push me from behind.  I couldn't breathe anymore through the intense pain. I turned to see one of the men I had injured stumbling away, clutching at a deep wound in his side. He held a long bloody knife.

My shadow clone dove to my rescue, mouth open in an enraged silent scream. Her spear struck my attacker and he leaned over, propped up by the bright shaft through his back.

I wouldn’t remember falling to the floor, but I would remember the spear in my last victim disappearing. The man’s body landed in a twisted heap on the ground next to me, his sightless eyes staring into mine.

Isaac’s voice sounded far away, muffled, like he was talking through a tightly closed window.  He told me not to look as he cradled me to his chest, my blood soaking us both.

His hand pressed against my back and I began to choke, gasping for air. My wound began stitching shut. As it did, I could sense the life draining out of him.  When I pushed away to see what was happening, he held me still with my face in his shirt.

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine.” His voice was hoarse in my ear. He coughed. “We have to get you back.”

My bones felt itchy. My skin burned. When I looked at my hand, a dark rash was appearing on my wrist.

He picked me up, staggering through the puddles of blood to a strange mark on the wall. It was a circle, cut through by geometric shapes and strange writing. He held the blood-smeared medallion up to it with one shaking hand and the rift reopened. When we reappeared in the library conference room, he collapsed, dropping me with him.

I pushed him upright as I tried to stand but he didn't have the strength to get up. His eyes were flickering from red to yellow to red and he was groaning and clutching at his head. “I’m sorry. Run. Get away from here.” He said, his voice sounding in a low growl.

I was dizzy, having trouble forming a coherent thought. I knew I needed to get help. People were hurt. I hurt them.

He grunted in pain, curling in on himself.  His flesh crawled under his clothes. My feet pushed under me and I turned and ran in sheer primordial terror. I had just shut the door to the conference room when I heard him let out a howling scream.  Claws crashed through the wood.

I ran.  I stumbled. I fell. I screamed. A beast with a human face and animal fangs overshot me in its pounce. It skidded around to attack again, leaving gouges in the floor. I recognized that face as Isaac’s, but the eyes were no longer his. They were glowing and empty. A serpent’s tongue flicked from his mouth, veins popped from his bulging muscles as he pawed the ground.

I got to my feet to run again. The creature that had been Isaac leaped, claws extended, fangs bared. I threw out my hands in a desperate attempt to protect myself and that spear of light flashed from them. It shot right through him. His body fell to the floor with a heavy thud. The glowing eyes darkened.

I turned to stagger towards the entrance and someone grabbed hold of me. It was Johann. He unsheathed his sword and held it against my throat,  golden eyes intent. I clung to him in recognition, even as he glared at me. “Johann… help...”

The world tilted. The ground rushed up to meet me. He held onto me, laying down his sword. He then pressed a syringe into my arm, saying. “Hope it's not too late for you.”

Chapter 4

Chapter 6

Back to the Beginning

[peggydoodles]

Run! - Ducktales OC drabble

Completely self indulgent fic about Beatrice, my Ducktales OC, meeting Scrooge McDuck for the first time.

Plot: When the Beagle Boys break into her bookshop, Beatrice makes an unlikely, unexpected acquaintance in Scrooge McDuck, who comes to the “rescue”

Words: 1943

Characters: Beatrice (oc), Scrooge McDuck, Beagle Boys.

Grammer errors: idk, this is for me so I really didn’t care.

Beatrice isn’t exactly sure why her shop was being broken into. She doesn’t know what the Beagle Boys would want with a store with shelves nearly overflowing with books. It’s not like anything in the store was worth more than what was in the cash register, which they had thrown into a green sack when they barged in. Well – nothing in the store, the back room though.

But she tried not to focus on that and was more focused on keeping her back pressed up against a turned over long table. Beatrice held a baseball bat (kept for emergencies because you ALWAYS had emergencies in Duckburg) tightly in her hands, listening closely. In the chaos of the Beagles turning over her shelves and tearing apart books, she had quickly grabbed the bat and dashed into the second room of her shop.

It was away from the entrance, but was hopefully safer.

The duck took a deep breath, pushing her strawberry blonde feathers out of her face as she tried to listen. There was suddenly a commotion in the first room, but it didn’t sound like the destructive actions as before. It was different. And then it was silent.

Then there was a creek. Beatrice knew every bit of her shop, she knew which floorboards creaked when you stepped on them, and this one was in the small hallway. It was coming right towards her.

Deep breaths, she took silent, deep breaths as her grip tightened around her bat. This was her shop. She wasn’t about to let these Beagle Boys destroy another of her rooms. Getting into a crouching position, Beatrice brought the weapon backwards, waited until the figure was next to the table, let out a furious roar -

And hit the richest duck in town – no – in the WORLD with her baseball bat, clear across the jaw.

“GAH!”

“Oh!” The bat fell with a clatter, almost in synch with the other duck’s cane. “Oh my gods! Mr. McDuck! OH! Oh goodness! I’m so sorry!” Beatrice ran over and crouched next to him but held up her hands. She wasn’t exactly sure what to do. She just HIT SCROOGE MCDUCK IN THE BEAK WITH A BASEBALL BAT!!

“I am – SO SORRY!” She said again as he groaned. Scrooge McDuck held a hand on his chin, stumbling upwards to a standing position. He turned to her and looked her up and down. She smiled nervously as his eyes fell on the bat at her feet.

“Was that ye?!” He asked, sounding much less hurt and much more annoyed.

“Wha – well, you shouldn’t have snuck up on me!” Beatrice replied, now just as equally put off. She placed her hands on her hips.

“Curse me kilts, woman. Ah think ye broke my beak!”

“Oh, don’t be such a baby.” The ‘woman’ bent down and picked up her bat, then turned to look to her front room. All of her beautiful books and shelves were more tumbled over and ripped apart than before, but all the Beagles were on the ground. She blinked and turned to Scrooge McDuck, where she promptly punched his shoulder.

“OW! Wot ye do that for!?” He practically squeaked.

“Did you do that to my shop!?” Beatrice demanded.

“They were already ruinin’ it! So sorry for savin’ yer life!”

“Oh yeah! What a great job ya did.” She yelled back at him, turning away to the front. “Do you have any idea what this will cost me? Oh, right. You’re rich! You probably don’t ca –“ She stopped talking.

The Beagles were standing up and looking right at her.

She felt her hand being grabbed tightly. Beatrice spun around to see McDuck, not fearful, but smiling.

“RUN!!” He told her, with some sense of glee that she couldn’t even imagine having at the moment, but soon she found herself being tugged along behind him into a door marked ‘employees only.’

Scrooge McDuck quickly shut the door behind her, almost catching it on her heels, which earned him an annoyed ‘Oi!’ that he ignored in favor of pushing a heavy desk in front of the door. A feat that he made look effortless, considering the head injury.

“Are they here because of you?” Beatrice demanded, hands returning to her hips. “Because if you’re the cause of them destroying my shop I have half a mind to – OI!” She shouted. Scrooge had been dashing about the room, seemingly not even lending her an ear. He had been pacing about the backroom before he walked over to a bookshelf --- and then started to toss book after book off of it.

“Oi! Adventure man!” Beatrice dodged a flying book or two before grabbing one of Scrooge’ McDuck’s wrists. “What the blazes are you doing?” He just blinked at her in response (and surprise) so she kept going. “You can’t just tear about my shop.”

“Technically this isn’t yer shop.”

“What?”

“Well it – technically it’s the back of your shop. Ye don’t sell these books do ye?”

“That’s not the point! –“

“No, of course not, th’ point is –“ Scrooge turned back. “It’s that Ma Beagle wants something in yer shop.”

A BANG hit the door, Scrooge continued.

“Which means ye have somethin’ valuable.” Another BANG, McDuck threw a few more books over his shoulder. “It wasn’t in th’ front rooms, so it must be back here, aye?” Another BANG.

Beatrice grabbed his arm before he could throw away another book. Her brows were narrowed, but not angrily. Scrooge smirked smugly.

“Ah’m right aren’t Ah?”

“You shut it.” She pointed a finger up at him, then directed it to the floor. “Basement.”

Scrooge looked down. “Wot?”

“NOW!” The female duck ran over the desk he had moved over, grabbed a key from her pocket and unlocked on of the drawers, in which she retrieved a small, paper wrapped package from. She then rushed to the center of the room and stomped her foot down. Part of the floor sprang up. It wasn’t exactly a hidden trap door, it looked more like she made it herself.

“Go on, rich boy!” She practically commanded, and Scrooge McDuck ran over and hopped right in, with her following suit.

The floor boards shut behind her. There was a quiet pause.

“Rich boy?”

“Shh!” Beatrice whipped around, finding herself nearly beak to beak with the richest duck in the world. This space was obviously made for one person. She shoved him back to the wall with her hand. “Back up, will ya?”

“Ye call this a basement?”

“Saferoom. Whatever you want to call it.”

“Why on earth would a bookshop owner need a saferoom?” Scrooge hissed, but quietly.

“This is exactly the reason.” And she pointed above them. “With you galavanting about and bringing back all manner of Hades back to Duckburg, I need a place to hide.”

“Hardly a saferoom.” He grumbled, not at all enjoying the confined area. “Ye’ve hardly got more than a few water bottles.”

“I don’t need a lot; you usually save the day.” She mumbled and the conversation fell to silence again. Beatrice peered down at the package in her hands and sighed. “This is it, right? What they’re after? I collect old books; first editions, limited covers, you name it. I thought this one was interesting, but it didn’t seem all that important.”

Scrooge held out his hands, she went to go hand it to him, but the banging up top finally banged through the door. Thundering footsteps of the Beagle Boys filled the room above them. Beatrice scrunched down clutching the parasol to her chest. Her hand was grabbed again and she looked across to the very close Scrooge McDuck looking up, almost in a leaping position and ready for a fight.

Who knows how much time passed, it felt like forever until the Beagle Boys filed out of her shop at the command of their mother. The two ducks both gave relieved sighs.

Then Beatrice ripped her hand out of his and smacked him with the package. Scrooge McDuck yelped as his top hat was smooshed down.

“Oi!”

“Oi!” Beatrice snapped back, pushing open the door, and using Scrooge as a footstool, climbed back. “Everything. Everything is ruined!” She proclaimed her arms flopping to her sides. “And it’s all your fault!”

“My fault?!” Scrooge said, climbing out of the so called saferoom. “Ye’re th’ one that has – Ah don’t even know what it is!”

“This?!” Beatrice said through her teeth. “Is a collector’s item!” She tore the package off, revealing a book underneath. “King Arthur! First print! 1485! 15th century!” She was practically yelling now. “And they tore through my shop looking for it? Why on earth would – wh – why are you looking at me like that?” She asked, as Scrooge McDuck was staring, just not at her.

“What year did ye say?”

“1485? I was gonna put it in a display case. I mean, it was expensive so I can see why they would want to steal it.”

“Does it have a map?”

“Pardon?”

“A – A map! Does it have a map in it?” He walked towards her, making her take a cautious step backwards because he was smiling again.

“Um, I haven’t opened it yet.”

“Well, let me see!” His hand reached forward, but was stopped when Beatrice grabbed it.

“Me? Let you man handle one of my books!? Not a chance.” She pushed him back, but walked back over to the pushed over desk. She picked back up the chair and sat down, gingerly opening the book. She began gently turning page after page, a bit curious herself to see what she would find.

“Can ye turn any faster?” said Scrooge McDuck, who was practically breathing over her shoulder.

“If you don’t back up, I’m going to club you again.” A statement that got him to step back a few feet, hands in the air and him giggling nervously. Beatrice rolled her eyes and continued. When he said ‘map’, she assumed it would be printed in the book, like in the Hobbit or something.

She didn’t expect a full, yellowed by aged map to fall out of the middle of the book.

“HAHA! Yes! Yes!” Scrooge dove for it before she could grab it. He spun around, kissed it, and practically hugged it to his chest. “Oh, it’s beautiful! Ah’m gonna find it, Ah’m gonna find it!” He gleefully giggled, dancing about in a circle.

Beatrice stood up, walking over to him. “Whoa whoa, find what?”

“Excalibur! Th’ sword! Look!” He opened the map in front of her, showing the picture of a lake she hadn’t seen before and a train on how to get to it.

“The sword?”

“Yes!”

“King Arthur’s sword!”

“Yes!”

“And that map was just sitting in that book!? My book!?”

“Ah know! Can ye believe it?!”

And his smile disappeared as the map was yanked from his hands. Beatrice wore a smug smile as she folded it up and placed it back in the book.

“Wha – wot ye doin’?” Scrooge said, still breathless from laughing.

“Well, it was in my book. The book I bought. The book those Beagles broke into my shop for. Therefore, the treasure is mine.” Beatrice stated, walking to the entrance of her shop with the book in hand.

“But – but – but! This is could be the greatest discovery of our lifetime!” Scrooge stumbled over torn down bookshelves and over scattered books. “Proof that King Arthur and his stories are true! This could be the greatest adventure of all time!”

“I know.” Beatrice turned to him, place a finger on his chest and pushed. “And you’re going to take me.”

[killiantaylorua]

Chap 2 The Start Line, And a Skill Gap

Chap 2 The Start Line, And a Skill Gap

The Names Jaqueline Roberts, but I have already thought about my hero name. JaqRabbit. I used to tell my friends everyday, that I would be one of the best pros in America. Fame and fortune, and a large record of saving lives. Oh, my quirk, well technically i have two. Rabbit, all the gifts that entails, that includes super jump, incredible speed, exceptional hearing and smell, and finally powerful claws that aid in combat and digging, exceptional for those caught in mudslides. Thanks mom for an awesome quirk! My secondary quirk is JackHammer, my legs have a motor that vibrates up and down, striking the ground or whatever surface I am standing on and smashing it apart. However, if im not careful and I overuse the motor, I get the shakes in my legs. I cant move them till they stop moving from the recoil. Thanks Dad, for something. His quirk ended up pairing up with my rabbit quirk, providing my legs a passive boost that causes my jumps to shatter the surfaces i jump from unintentionally. Makes trying to be a QBall player very difficult.

What! You have never heard of QBall! So normal sports became hard to regulate, so a new one was created. Q ball, or Quirk ball, based around soccer, an indestructible ball is put in the middle of the field. The teams using their quirks have to get the ball from the center into the enemies net. The net is similar to a soccer net but with tough metal chains instead of the regular netting. You can do anything to get the ball into the other teams net, however, teleport quirks and others that are far beyond everyone else ability, blitz type runners specifically. You know, cause no one can stop because they are so fast. The teams are made up of a brute, one runner, two offenders, two defenders, and one net guardian. UA America has one of the best QBall teams, and i Intend on getting on that team. As well as become a hero. Wouldn't it be awesome if i became a hero and a Qball Athlete. I could do both!

The start of my dream though. It's the spring UA America Entrance Exam, which is today. I left my house in a hurry, excited and ready to begin an awesome adventure. I ran there and i came upon the opening gate. I walked forward headed toward the entrance. As I walked, I noticed two guys that made the news but i couldn't remember who they were.. One a shaved head, red skinned guy, covered in muscle wearing sneakers, a wife beater, and some khaki shorts. He had a big stupid grin as he stared at the entrance to the school.

“This School, think it'll be useful Corvus? Give us some experience we haven't seen in the field, haha?” His voice was slightly higher, he spoke with some cockiness, oozing with pride.

“Careful Thermite, this may bore you, but we could use the exposure. Imagine, if we showed how strong we are, we might get some interesting villains to hunt us.” This one was drastically different. A black turtleneck, black jeans, black socks, black sneakers, even a weird black mask covering the top half of his head. It gave his head a dome like appearance. He had a shy voice, but intelligence and curiosity seemed to sprout from his voice. Also hunger. He was also muscular but the turtleneck and jeans were a little big so his body was mostly hidden. He seemed to be much more humble. I tried to walk over to say hi and listen to their conversation, but…

“Ooh i'm so sorry!” I ran directly into the strangest person I have ever met. He wore a forest green hoodie, black gloves, blue jeans, white socks and some gray sneakers. He wore a mask that covered his entire head and seemed to go under his hoodie. It was black, skin tight and had a weird hypnotizing effect. When you moved it switched from black to crimson constantly, it was… calming.

“Oh, no, I'm so sorry, i… I didn't see you, just oh i'm nervous I didn't see you, I oh!” He had a kind voice, nervous, scared, high energy. Yet oddly, i dunno cute.

“No it’s alright, I walked in front of you, it's my fault.”

“Oh…” Suddenly he ran off. Way too terrified. I looked at my watch and nearly fainted. The orientation was about to begin. I ran into the building, following the signs to the orientation room. I made my way to the back of the room. And stared out over the crowds of people. The lights blacked out, and on a stage in the center of the room, a square of the stage fell out, and a man rose out. He was dressed in some nice brown slacks, shoes, socks, and a brown coat over a yellow button up with a crimson ascot. He wore a brown top hat, and a smile from ear to ear. He seemed to be constantly bouncing, spinning around on a solid brown cane with a mic on the top. Speakers came down from the ceiling, and screens with old timey black and white backgrounds came down. Swing music, played primarily by sax and jazz played through the room. Suddenly an old time radio voice, accompanied with what we thought was an old radio filter but was just his voice.

“Hello, hello, wannabe heroes! Welcome to the hardest test you will ever have. HaHa!”

Suddenly his voice changed, it went from jovial to serious. “Its been over 6 months since we lost the symbol of peace. So.. we altered the test! You will be fighting robots in different fake cities. Each robot has different points, except for one, the strongest, as it has 0! Get the most points and the top 40 of you will officially be added into our hero program. However a twist has been added. Normally we have something called rescue points and that usually is related to helping your fellow heroes, however, thanks to HUC or the Help us Company have volunteered to be some civilians. Simply bring them to the safe zones and you get your points. There is also a surprise, But I can't ruin My fun! HaHa!”

“In front of you cards have been given, they tell you what cities you will be battling at. We made sure to split you up, so you would have to team up with other heroes if you want to buddy up. Oh beforehand, you have a written test, but now the pressure of the fighting will disrupt you brains! Heroes have to be able to think with stressful situations! Have fun!”

We were ushered out to a similar room and had the written test. I gotta admit, i'm a very physical person, don't care much for education. But I did practice. After 6 hours, it was time for the combat. We were bused out to different cities. I got city E along with Thermite. As we approached the city, we saw huge concrete walls and an equally large door. It completely shielded the city from sight so we never got a good idea of what we were entering.

We hopped out of the bus and I limbered up. Gotta stretch before crushing some, and what the hell is happening? An explosion ripped through the walls of the city. As the smoke cleared, we saw a burning city and sidekicks of some of the Pros.. The sidekicks met us at the entrance, wearing numbers, points, wait.

“So trainees, there might have been a slight lie. Instead of robots, sidekicks will be your targets! And we begin in , 3, 2, 1! Sorry kids but this year is…”

Before he could finish Thermite jumped in. He was covered in flames, white flames! He swung out and the pro hero was sprawling on his back. Thermite was giving off so much heat that when he got close the sidekicks were burned and had to fall back to avoid 3rd degree burns. Thermite removed his flames, and put his foot on the sidekicks and they surrendered immediately. Thermite turned back to face the others.

“Ok heroes,” Thermite called. “Outta my way, if you get burned, know you idiots were warned. I'm gonna take down every villain i see. Time to show these sidekicks who the true best hero is! Now get Lost! He turned and ran into the city. It was at that moment The conversation he had earlier made more sense. He was cocky because he knew how good he was and had the strength to dominate the competition. Suddenly I remembered who he was. He was part of the duo of villain hunters in Anderson. Thermite and Corvus, captured 30 villains on their own. Corvus never takes credit, saying Thermite did everything, but Thermite gives him credit anyway, though no one knows why.

Two more Sidekicks came out, but known of us knew how to proceed. “They’re wearing weights, slowing them down, making them easier to defeat.” A powerful voice tore through the air coming from the back. A man wearing a suit with a Black vest, white button up with white gloves, black dress pants, and black dress socks, and black dress shoes. His eyes were a ruby red, he looked young, and highly analytical, though he seemed to be focused. Black metal started leaking from his mouth, before he suddenly through his head back. He opened his mouth and it coming pouring out covering his face, hands and shoes. It hardened looking like knights armor on those parts. Yet more poured out of his face, falling on the ground. It formed a battleaxe that he picked up and swung it at the heroes. 

“Let me eviscerate you!” He shouted. He moved with extreme speed and knocked the two sidekicks too the ground with the flat side of the battleaxe. They didn't get up absolutely terrified. 

“Surrender weakling heroes,” This man start laughing hysterically, insanely.

“If you weaklings are gonna stand out here, then I'm going to have so much fun,” He tried to regain his exposure. His voice Cracked, “Sorry, battle lets some, emotions out. Come on, let's clear this City.” He ran into the city, and I looked at the others. It was time to take the courage and step forward. I'm going to be on that Qball team, and a hero. Whatever. I run forward into the city ready for anything, or so i hope!

[scientifthicc]

From Studying To Snowstorms

to @notsoscarylemonblueberry. i’m your secret santa! i made a tyrus fic, and i hope it doesn’t suck and i hope you like it :)). i had a lot of fun writing this.

“You don’t think it’s gonna snow too bad, right?” TJ asked, turning away from the window to Cyrus.

Cyrus shrugged. “I dunno, but there’s not much we can do about it.”

TJ had come over earlier that afternoon for a study session. They both had a history test tomorrow, on Monday (being in the same class), and since TJ was a natural when it came to history, Cyrus asked him to help out a little — history was not his best subject. What they hadn’t considered, though, was the weather and the light flurry of snow that had started right before TJ arrived, and they decided to take a short break to make sure the weather wasn't too bad yet.

TJ padded back over to where they were sitting. ”Ready?” he asked.

”Ready as I'll ever be,” he mumbled, just loud enough for TJ to overhear.

At that, TJ chuckled, unable to stop himself from smiling at Cyrus fondly. He didn’t understand how Cyrus always managed to be so cute even when, no, especially when, he was disgruntled.

Realizing he had been staring for a little too long, TJ awkwardly cleared his throat and turned to the history textbook they were reading.

“So, uh,” TJ started, beginning to explain the part they had just read in somewhat simpler terms. “Napoleon was exiled for the second time when he came back to rule France for 100 days, and after finally being defeated at the Battle of Waterloo, the Congress of Vienna—“ TJ was talking quickly, easily excited about history — and especially the French Revolution.

“Wait, what?” Cyrus said, blinking. “I’m already lost.” Cyrus shook his head, leaning back in his seat and running his hands through his hair. “Why does the French Revolution have to be so confusing?”

“Well technically, this is right after the revolu—“ TJ was cut off by a couch pillow that was flung towards his face.

“Oh shut up, TJ,” Cyrus said, grinning.

TJ and Cyrus didn’t move for at least an hour from their studying, only remembering the outside world when the house phone suddenly rang, making them both jump, and Cyrus stood up to answer it. Cyrus’s parents had gone out for the day, and it seemed that they were calling to check up on him. They told him that they wouldn’t be home until tomorrow and would be staying at a nearby hotel, because it was too dangerous at this point to drive home in the snow.

“The snow?” Cyrus asked. He had pretty much forgotten all about it at that point, and when he turned to glance outside, he was completely taken aback. “Oh wow... you’re right. Thanks for telling me Mom.” After confirming to his parents that TJ was still at the house, he bid them goodbye and walked back to the living room, where TJ still sat, now flipping and reading random pages in the textbook.

Cyrus smiled widely at the sight of TJ being such a history nerd. “You should look outside, TJ,” he started, beckoning with his hand. “The snow’s gotten pretty bad.”

Stretching, TJ stood up, following Cyrus to the window (and standing really close to him). “You’re right. There is a lot of snow.” He turned to Cyrus with a mysterious glimmer in his eyes.

Cyrus squinted his eyes. “What are you suggesting?”

——————

12 minutes later, they were outside in the snow, disturbing the brilliant white blanket that covered the ground. TJ had suggested they go outside (even though it was still snowing), and although Cyrus was reluctant at first, given how bad the weather was and the fact that it was already about 6 pm and dark, TJ managed to persuade Cyrus to get in the snow.

“Fine,” Cyrus had said. “But if I get sick, it’s all your fault,” he threatened.

“I’ll get you muffin if I do, Underdog,” he had responded, ruffling his hair.

Now outside, they weren’t doing much more than making a mess of the snow, and Cyrus was complaining about being cold. Then, while Cyrus was facing away from TJ, a snowball hit his back when he least expected it. Slowly, Cyrus turned around. “What was that?” he said slowly.

“What was what?” TJ said, looking around innocently, with his hands behind his back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Smirking, TJ suddenly produced one from behind his back and catapulted it at him.

“Oh, it is on!” Cyrus exclaimed, making a snowball as quickly as he could and launching it.

They didn’t last very long, hurling snowballs back and forth, because of how bad it was starting to get outside. Instead of improving, the snow was coming down steadily harder.

Laughing, Cyrus stumbled towards TJ. “I suggest we go inside now. It’s slightly too cold.”

TJ sighed. “I’m tired now.” He rested his head on Cyrus’s shoulder, causing Cyrus’s breath to hitch.

Even though Cyrus was internally freaking out, he managed to keep a calm exterior and responded, “Y-yeah. Me too.”

Once they were inside, TJ shook off his boots. “I vote for hot chocolate. If you have any, of course.” He shrugged off his coat, shooting Cyrus a look that said “you better have hot chocolate.”

Cyrus laughed. “Of course we do,” he said, rolling his eyes. “But before we do that, I think you should call your parents and tell them you’re staying over. Assuming you’re staying the night of course. Because it’s snowing, not because I want you to. Wait! Not that I don’t want you to! I do! I mean— uh— I just—” Cyrus cut himself off before he made it worse, blushing furiously. God, if only I would think before I speak, Cyrus thought to himself.

“Shit, you’re right,” TJ said, completely forgetting he needed to talk to his parents. “I— I’ll go do that now.” Stumbling backwards out of the room, TJ was slightly freaking out inside. Sleep over? With just the two of them? It’s not that he minded being just them two, it’s just that there were too many possibilities. What if he fucked up somehow? He had never slept over at Cyrus’s house before. Too many things could go wrong. He didn’t know how he could keep his already obvious crush a secret if he was around Cyrus for that long.

Taking a breath, TJ decided to try and put that all out of his mind and just call his parents so he could hang out with Cyrus and enjoy it to the fullest.

TJ walked back into the kitchen to see two mugs on the counter, both filled with rich hot chocolate, a million mini marshmallows sitting on the top, and a candy cane in each winter-themed mug. Cyrus picked up the mug that was decorated with kittens in Santa hats and handed it to TJ.

“That has got to be the best mug I’ve ever seen,” TJ grinned. “How’d you know I would love it?’

Cyrus shrugged. “I had a feeling.”

“Wow. You know me so well.” Before TJ could even think about stopping himself, he pulled Cyrus into a hug. Too late, he realized what a risky decision he had made and mentally punched himself. What if Cyrus was uncomfortable with hugs?

Cyrus froze momentarily, not expecting the hug. But then he melted into it, appreciating the hug.

Ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom.

Both of their hearts were beating hard enough to burst out of their ribcages.

Suddenly realizing the hug was quickly becoming a long one, they pulled away at the same time, staring at each other awkwardly and furiously blushing.

Finally breaking the silence, Cyrus suggested they move to the living room to watch a movie. TJ agreed, but then paused. “Wait. Shouldn’t we, uh, change our clothes?” Both of them had forgotten that they were still wearing wet clothes from being outside.

Cyrus nodded. “Might as well put on PJs, since we’ll be in for the night.”

“Oh uh... I don’t have any pyjamas though.”

“You can borrow some! I have a ton that I don’t use because my relatives give me gifts that are 4 sizes too big. They never seem to remember that I’m never gonna grow that big.”

TJ chuckled. “You’re short, but you’re still cute.”

Cyrus’s choked slightly.

TJ’s eyes widened, suddenly realizing what he just said. Not knowing what to do, he tried unsuccessfully to play it off as joke by laughing. Wow. I really am a fucking idiot, aren’t I, he thought to himself.

“Let’s, uh, go upstairs.”

“Y-yeah,” TJ chuckled nervously, following him up the stairs (and bringing their hot chocolates).

After changing (Cyrus was right about the clothes. They were even big on TJ.), they headed back downstairs, Cyrus clutching blankets to stay warm (their heater didn’t work above a certain temperature, and it became cold easily). TJ carried some pillows so they could get comfortable.

Once they were huddled closely together under the blanket, they spent about 20 minutes deciding on a movie. Apparently neither of them could come up with anything, so they chose a random movie that had just started playing.

About 16 minutes into the movie, when they were just starting to get into it, the power shut off. Both of them were surprised, as they hadn’t realized how bad the weather had gotten, how much it was snowing, and how hard the wind was blowing. Now that his focus was pulled away from the movie, he realized they were really close. Like, so close their sides were pressed up against each other.

“Well,” Cyrus said, turning in TJ’s direction, even though he couldn’t see him.

“Just our luck,” TJ chuckled. “What should we do now?”

Cyrus thought to himself. “Okay. I know this totally sounds like a cliche sleepover thing to do, but hear me out.” He could practically hear TJ rolling his eyes. “What about... truth or dare?”

TJ considered this for a moment. “What do I have to lose?” Well, a lot of things actually. For example, Cyrus. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind.

“Ok.... I’ll start then. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you...” he paused, thinking. “I dare you to call Andi and tell her you have a crush on her!”

“Oh my god, Cyrus,” TJ shook his head. “You’re crazy, but I’ll do it.”

TJ called Andi, but when he told her, all she said was, “Sure. And tell Cyrus I said hi.” This was most likely because Cyrus was collapsing in laughter in the background at TJ’s embarrasement, which sort of ruined the dare.

They went back and forth like this for a while, with TJ choosing mostly dares and Cyrus choosing mostly truths.

“Ugh,” Cyrus said. “You have to choose truth at some point!” He threw his arms up exasperatedly.

“Fine. Truth.” TJ’s heart pounded. He wasn’t a fan of truths, because anything and any truth could come out.

Cyrus looked surprised that he had chosen truth. “Let me think. What about... oh! I have one. Since your first dare was about a crush, I’ll bring the topic back over there. Do you have a crush on Andi?”

TJ snorted. “A crush on Andi? You can’t be serious. Why would I have a crush on Andi?” TJ was wheezing. “I guess I’ll ask the same thing. Do you have a crush on Andi?”

“Funny story,” he responded. “But, no.”

TJ raised his eyebrows. “Funny story?”

“Uh... it seems we’ve abandoned truth or dare,” Cyrus said hastily, trying to change the topic.

“Cyrus, I promise you can trust me.” TJ looked into his eyes (as much as he could in the dark, anyways), and Cyrus knew he really could trust him just by hearing his voice.

Cyrus sighed, his hands shaking slightly. Was this really how he would come out to TJ? Mustering the confidence to spit it out, Cyrus finally spoke. “Well its a funny story because it wasn’t Andi I liked, but her uh, her... her boyfriend,” he finally whispered. “In fact, I don’t.. I don’t like girls at all.” He wrung his hands, anxiously awaiting TJ’s response.

“Oh. That’s chill man,” TJ tried to reply smoothly, but his voice cracked. He couldn’t believe Cyrus, the boy he was crushing on, was gay. Did he have a chance after all?

Wait. He just said he liked Andi’s boyfriend. “So do you still like Jonah?” His heart pounded, and he prayed that he didn’t get his hopes up for nothing.

“Pfft!” Cyrus scoffed at that. “That ended a while ago. I finally realized that I was idolizing him instead of seeing him for his true self. I eventually realized the stress of trying to be good enough for him wasn’t worth it and wasn’t good for either of us, and we finally became good, real friends. We’re definitely better off like that.”

“Oh, ok,” TJ responded calmly, but his heart soared. “So, Underdog, what about now?”

“Hm?”

“Do you have a crush on anyone now?”

Cyrus’s breath hitched. “Uh, y-yes.”

“Really? Who?” TJ asked, leaning in slightly look at him better in the dark.

“Hey, this is truth or dare! One question at a time,” he said, not able to look into TJ’s eyes as he got closer, but not able to lean away either. “Truth or dare?”

“Okay, fine. I choose truth.” TJ said, deciding to play along.

“Do you have a crush on anyone?” Cyrus was pretty much dying to know at this point.

“I do. And you know him, too,” said TJ, feeling a little more confident now that he knew Cyrus liked boys too and because he felt the darkness was protecting him.

Know him? Cyrus pushed the possibility that it could be himself out of his mind so he wouldn’t be disappointed. “Who?”

“It’s truth or dare!” He reminded Cyrus, giving him a cheeky grin.

Cyrus scowled, giving up. “I’ll describe mine a little if you describe yours.”

“Fine. He’s shorter than me, with deep brown eyes I could get lost in forever. I can tell him anything and everything, even things I’m ashamed of telling everyone else. He’s brought out the best in me and inspired me to want to become a better person. He’s everything I could ever hope for and more, and I never want to lose him.”

Cyrus was speechless. Could it be? Could it really be him? He knew he was TJ’s closest friend (the description matched, too); he heard the words from TJ himself. But he never could imagine that in a million years TJ could his feelings, and he had to make sure.

“TJ?” Cyrus asked, so quietly that TJ had to lean in close to hear him.

“Yeah?”

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Cyrus breathed out, heart pounding at how close TJ was. “Is it me?”

“Yes, Cyrus. It’s you.” TJ’s eyes flickered down to Cyrus’s lips, now inches apart from his, and Cyrus’s breath hitched, his heart soaring again for the second time.

Cyrus leaned in.

They both closed the distance at the same time, their eyes fluttering closed. The rest of the world seized to exist. Everything was perfect, like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly, and nothing had ever felt more right in their lives.

This was how it was supposed to feel.

TJ brought his hand up to caress Cyrus’s cheek, deepening the kiss, and when they broke apart, they pressed their foreheads against each others, looking into one another’s eyes and smiling warmly.

“It’s always been you.”

[fresh-outta-jams]

All I Want for Christmas

All I Want for Christmas

Taehyung x Reader

Author: Admin Mo Word Count: ~1.5k Genre: Fluff, Fantasy!AU, Elf!Taehyung x Reader, Christmas

Christmas had finally made its way to Magus. Snow covered the campus, glittering on the branches of the trees in the courtyards and crunching under the boots of students as they walked from building to building.

You shivered in the cold, pulling your jacket a bit tighter around your trembling form. The holes in the back of the jacket made it difficult to keep warm, but there was no other way to wear jackets at all without accommodating for the large feathery wings that protruded from between your shoulderblades.

Finally, after trekking through the cold, snowy winter wonderland outside, you made it to the dorm building you called home and walked through the commons, where several students were wearing ugly christmas sweaters, santa hats, and drinking from red and green mugs. You walked past them and retreated to your room, desperate to get back to the safety of your nest of pillows and blankets and your laptop. It was much too cold for your liking. Too cold to fly. And therefore, too cold to be happy.

So instead, you put some cheesy Christmas movie on Netflix and settled in for a long, but warm night.

Until someone knocked on the door. Reluctantly, you grumbled and got out of your warm nest to open it. Standing there with a look in his eyes like a lost puppy dog was none other than Kim Taehyung, your favorite elf.

Tae wasn’t a moon elf. Nor was he a forest elf or a southern elf. No. Kim Taehyung was what you considered to be the best kind of elf: the kind that lived at the North Pole. And boy did it show. There was barely a time you found him humming something that wasn’t a Christmas song or drinking something other than hot chocolate. His pointed ears always stuck up out of the soft fluff that was his hair and his cheeks were eternally sparkling like fresh fallen snow.

He was rather tall for an elf though, standing taller than you and most of your friends, except for your werewolf friend named Namjoon and another northern elf named Sanha.

“(Y/N)...” He looked down at what you were wearing. Pajamas. “Do you have a Christmas sweater?”

“I might. Why?”

“We’re having a Christmas party in the commons.” He pointed back down the hall, where they were playing Christmas songs and singing. A playful grin snuck onto his face. “Besides, we need an angel on top of the tree.”

“Don’t you have a shelf to go sit on?” You chuckled and gave the tall elf a shove. “And besides, I may look like an angel, but the horns say otherwise.”

“Some angels have horns.” Tae tilted his head to the side, his warm brown eyes pleading you to follow him to the party, and try as you might, you couldn’t resist. “Please?”

“Fiiiiiiiine…” You exhaled. He smiled a happy boxy smile and jumped excitedly.

“Yaaaay!”

“I’ll be out in a minute. I just have to dig out my sweater.” You told him and closed the door. It didn’t take as long as you thought it would. The cold weather had brought all of your warm clothes to the front of your wardrobe. You changed into it, carefully pulling your wings through the fitted stretchy holes in the back and making sure not to get it caught in your large horns.

It was something simple. Something with a Christmas tree and a sky full of stars. But it looked nice nonetheless, complimenting your feathery brown wings. You adjusted the hair around your horns and threw on a few spritzes of perfume before opening the door to find Taehyung standing there waiting, a smile finding his face as you walked into the hallway.

“You didn’t have to wait for me.” You smirked, giving him a nudge.

“I wanted to.” He shrugged, smiling. He followed you down the hall, back to where the party was. You sat on the couch, beside Yoongi, your warlock friend who looked like he had been dragged here like you. Not entirely enthused to be there, but having a good time.

“So he found you after all.” Yoongi grinned sleepily and took a sip of cocoa you assumed wasn’t cocoa. The tired warlock hardly drank anything except coffee these days. “Welcome to the excitement.”

Tae had wandered off to the coffee machine they were using to make hot cocoa and returned a few minutes later with two mugs filled with so many marshmallows, you doubted there could be any cocoa hiding underneath. A candy cane stuck out of each one, the red stripes starting to melt onto the warm sugary fluff surrounding it.

“I like mine sweet. I’m sorry.” The elf apologized, sitting next to you on the couch.

“No, it’s fine.” You smiled, taking the mug from him and taking a sip of the very chocolatey cocoa. “Thank you, Tae.”

“Thank you for coming. I didn’t expect you to.”

“What, and say no to my favorite elf? I could never.” You gave him a little nudge with one of your wings. He smiled, cocoa whipped cream and marshmallow clinging to his top lip like a mustache. You couldn’t help but laugh. “Cute.”

He licked the cream off and grinned, cheeks flushing pinker than usual. They were always rosy. It was a northern elf thing. But something about you made him warm inside even when there were icicles hanging just outside the window.

“So why don’t you like Christmas?” He asked, taking you by surprise.

“It’s...it’s not that I don’t like Christmas. I DO like Christmas.” You struggled to put it into words. “When it gets cold out, my wings tense up and I can’t really fly outside. But I want to. I’m itching to. But I can’t.”

“Ohhh.” Taehyung sighed, finally understanding. “That makes sense.”

“So I get a little down in the winter, but it gets better in the spring. I promise.” You smiled and set the cocoa on the coffee table. “So, don’t you get homesick around Christmas time? I mean, you literally live at the North Pole.”

“A little bit.” He admitted. “It’s Christmas all the time there, so Christmas here definitely reminds me of home. But I have plenty of friends to have fun with here. And besides, the only angels back home are the tree-topper kind.”

“So you’ve never met a real one, then?”

“You’d be the first.” He said with a soft smile, despite the protests you always used when he called you that. You were not an angel. Not technically, anyway. But he insisted on using the nickname.

“Oh, hush.” You nudged him. “You’re cheesy.”

“Yeah, but you like it, though.” He pinched your cheek playfully. “Angel.”

“Shut up, Legolas.” You hit his arm and he laughed the happiest laugh you had ever heard. “I’ve got more where that comes from, Elfis Presley.”

“Are you sure I’m the cheesy one?”

“Oh come on, it took me like a week to think of that.”

“Yeah?” Tae laughed again, but his face went blank. His thinking face, you recognized. But what was he thinking about?

“You okay?”

“I just had the best idea for your Christmas present.” He smiled, taking your hands and pulling you up from the couch. He tugged you through the halls, away from the party, through the buildings, out into the courtyard, and across the moonlit paths. It was freezing cold, and snowing up a storm, but where he was taking you was warm. And he knew you would like it.

“The greenhouse?” You asked, looking around the tall glass building. Humidity hugged you, fluffing your feathers and chasing the goosebumps and shivers far away.

“So you can fly.” He said quietly, his deep whisper barely reaching your ears. Taehyung’s fingertips brushed over your shoulders, sending a pleasant chill up your spine. “Is...is it warm enough?”

“It’s perfect.” You spun around quickly, taking him by surprise. Because he was so tall, you had to stand on your toes to kiss his cheek, letting your wings finally, FINALLY spread themselves, stretching and preparing for flight.

You gave them a few practice flaps, powerful rushes of wind surging from your steadily rising form. Your legs relaxed as your wings took on your weight instead, propelling you further in the air. Oh, how you had missed this. Why hadn’t you thought of this sooner?

After giving your wings some practice and taking a lap or two through the warm, flower-filled paradise sitting in the middle of the dead of winter, you swooped back down and grabbed Taehyung, lifting him into the air. He let out a little yelp, going from watching you in awe to gripping you for dear life in a matter of seconds.

That’s right. He was afraid of heights. You deposited him on a large branch of the huge Merlin Tree sitting in the center of the greenhouse. He hugged the trunk of the tree.

“Woah.” Tae exhaled a shaky breath.

“Do you want me to put you back on the ground?” You asked. He turned to look at you, his brown eyes skimming up the tiniest bit. You thought, perhaps, that he was staring at your horns, but instead, he was looking at what was caught between them. Mistletoe.

“Do you know what I want for Christmas?” He asked quietly, taking a few shaky steps across the branch towards you.

“What?” You asked, looking up at him.

He smiled and tilted his head down, capturing your lips with his in a soft kiss. Snow continued to drift down, covering the world outside. But as long as you were in the arms of your favorite elf, the cold didn’t seem to bother you.

Link to sequel in Masterlist

[if-i-want-to-dance]

Dance with Devils Imagines for “Decorating the Christmas Tree”

Going to be completely honest here.

I really, really miss @dwdshit and @dancewithdevilsimagines. And all of the other headcanon blogs that used to be active. If there are any anyone knows of, could they please tell me?

Before anyone gets excited, I am not accepting head canons or anything like that. I don’t have the time or sufficient passion to maintain a constantly updating headcanon blog. I’m a busy girl and they take ages to write.

But seriously, I have so much respect for them now. Not that I didn’t before or anything. But yeah, I’m going to try writing some headcanons and see how they turn out.

Anyway, here are some headcanons for what decorating the tree with your boy of choice is like!

Rem:

-Enjoys decorating for Christmas with your family. It’s not like Glax was planning family holiday events and Rem likes being involved with your family.

-If you’re the type for a real tree, he likes going with your family to pick it out. You get to walk around the lot in the snow, holding hands.

-Finds the homemade ornaments from when you were a kid or whatever to be kind of fascinating. Like those ones that have little hand prints or the snowmen or angels that you make at Sunday School or Kindergarten or whatever.

-He really likes traditional trees. Would probably go for real candles on the tree. If your family does this (I know a lot of people don’t do real candles, but I understand there are still some who do), you’ll probably turn your back for a moment and then discover that they’re all somehow lit. Don’t worry, he’s in control, the tree won’t catch fire.

-Enjoys putting the star on top of the tree and stepping back to look at your work.

-You both unwind by having hot chocolate and candy canes by the tree once you’re finished.

Urie:

-Loves decorating the tree with you. Probably prefers a real one because he likes the plant smell.

-May want one of those couples pictures where you and him kiss with strings of Christmas lights wrapped around you.

-You suddenly have more poinsettias than you ever thought you could find a place for. Garland? Where did it come from? Holly and ivy both full grown? Everywhere. It’s the best smelling Christmas you’ve ever had.

-Speaking of plants. One word: mistletoe. He finds a quiet moment to put it to good use once you’re done.

-After the house has been decorated, you two watch a Christmas movie, accompanied by hot chocolate and Christmas cookies.

Mage:

-Doesn’t understand this human tradition. He knows what it is, he just doesn’t really get the point.

-He finds him enjoying it after a while. He puts up the lights outside the house, but ignores the ladder.

”Mage! I don’t want my parents or the neighbors to see you floating in midair!”

“But it’s faster.”

“No!”

-He carries the tree in past everyone else like it’s no big deal and enjoys basking in the praise of “Wow! You’re so strong!” from your siblings and the wary stare of your father.

-Doesn’t understand Christmas trees until he starts helping your family put everything on the tree. Then he gets really into it and is disappointed when there’s nothing more to put on the tree.

-Santa hats. He wants both of you to wear Santa hats while you decorate the tree. Just do it.

-If your family is into gingerbread houses, he’ll totally love putting one together. It’ll probably look a little clumsy and he may have eaten the door and part of the roof already but he has a blast doing it.

-Another mistletoe guy. Gets some mistletoe from somewhere and holds it above your head for a kiss when your family isn’t looking. This is another human tradition he doesn’t understand, but he could get used to it.

-After you’re done, the two of you go sledding in the snow.

-Hot chocolate and Christmas cookies to finish!!!!!!

Shiki:

-There are so many ways I can see this being a disaster. Given what Shiki is, I doubt he has any fondness for a holiday that celebrates God. Not that the others would exactly, but I think he’d like it far less than them.

-If you have an angel tree topper, you’ll probably see him holding it for a moment and looking at it with a far off look in his eyes. At the very least, he’ll hide it so he doesn’t have to see it while he’s decorating.

-Still, there’s a ton of sharp stuff, so he doesn’t completely dislike the whole Christmas tree thing.

-Tries to prick himself on the wire hooks you use for hanging glass balls.

-Get him away from the lights, he’ll electrocute himself.

-Shiki NO WE WEREN’T GOING TO HAVE REAL CANDLES ON THE TREE DROP THAT MATCH

-I DIDN’T MEAN DROP IT ON YOUR BARE FOOT

-Yeah. I imagine it would be pretty... invigorating.

-After that, the two of you decorate Christmas cookies. You get a little icing on your face and he licks it off.

Lindo:

-1000% down for decorating the tree with you.

-Insists on setting up the tree himself because it’s heavy. He gets you to untangle the lights instead.

-Like Rem, if you’ve got any ornaments that you made when you were a kid, he’ll definitely want to see them. He thinks they’re adorable.

-He’ll want Christmas carols playing while you get the tree ready. I feel like he’d like pretty much any Christmas carol, but more modern ones would probably be more his thing.

-Lindo and you make Christmas cookies afterwards. Yes, he wears the apron. You race to see who can decorate them the fastest and the fanciest.

Roen:

-I’m imaging Roen in puppy form with a bow on his head in a dark room underneath a traditional Christmas tree with all the lights lit up and I am trying not to squeal aloud at how adorable it is. Please stand by due to technical difficulties due to my brain shorting out.

Ahem. Anyway.

-Roen doesn’t quite get why the humans are so into this whole Christmas thing. Still, you’re cute when you’re so enthusiastic.

-Likes the tree to look simple but elegant. Likes those glass balls and ornaments, not so big on garland and tons of tinsel and whatnot.

-You attempt to get Roen to pose for one of those “dog wrapped up in Christmas lights” pictures. You are quickly shut down by a very unamused Roen.

-He wouldn’t say no to listening to carols while you two work. I don’t think he’d much like modern ones, but I can see him liking traditional Latin or Old English carols (which are also my favorite, by the way).

-Cuddles with you in pom form by the tree afterwards.

[sunken-standard]

Yet Another Drabble Ask Meme Fill

Requested by @mychakk [I'm sorry I forgot] : Ok, I think I'll go with those numbers, feel free to combine them or do them alone or just pick one that fits your fancy anything for sure will make my day :) 9 (Is a chicken really a bird if they can’t fly?), 14 (Fire! Fire! Fire!), 15 (You watched 4 seasons today?), 42 (This cost a thousand dollars?!), 43 (Foreigners…pffft), 102 (Buy me chocolates and tell me everything’s going to be okay), 107 (This house isn’t even haunted) My top favourite 'verse is the Holmes Family Function (the best), Tom-verse and Vegas. But I'll love anyhting ;) Huge thank you :) looking forward to them :)

This is the list for round 3: https://prompt-bank.tumblr.com/post/146525402053/drabble-challenge

Filled: 17, 95, 72, 84, 105, 41, 28, 69, 90, 95, 46, 100, 104, 81, 18, 24, 108, 99, 25, 61, 66, 52, 80, 73, 54, 89, 26, 32, 71, 16, 20, 27, 45, 57, 89, 32, 44, 64, 102, 27, 57, 6, 2, 70, 5, 7, 93, 9, 14, 15, 42, 43, 102, 107 Yet to be filled: 86, 96, 2, 14, 20, 21, 22, 94

"Is a chicken really a bird if they can’t fly?"/ "Fire! Fire! Fire!"/ "You watched 4 seasons today?"/ "This cost a thousand dollars?!"/ "Foreigners…pffft"/ "Buy me chocolates and tell me everything’s going to be okay"/ "This house isn’t even haunted"

Molly walked into her lounge and screamed.

It wasn't as common an occurrence as one might think, even when taking into account that Sherlock Holmes had taken over her flat as an annex of his own a few years before; she was used to all manner of things greeting her at the door when she returned home from work.  Two dogs (on separate occasions), a monitor lizard, a pathetic Sherlock covered in fly paper, a pathetic Sherlock covered in bee stings, a pathetic Sherlock covered in marmalade (as was half her kitchen that time, though she'd got a much nicer kettle and a new blender out of the deal, so she hadn't complained much), a shirtless Wiggins and Sherlock with a tattoo gun, The Night King himself (okay, yeah, just Mycroft, but with a codename like Iceman [which she wasn't supposed to know, but Sherlock also used her brain as an annex for things he didn't want to keep in his own] the comparison was just begging to be made), and now the corpse of Sherlock's ex-girlfriend in rigor on her sofa.

Except, no, that wasn't a corpse.  It was a sex doll.  Wearing one of Molly's cardigans and a pair of her pyjama bottoms.

She supposed it could be worse.  It could be a sex doll that looked like one of her exes.  

"You're out of Fairy and if you have to use the loo, which you always do because apparently riding the bus is just too much excitement for you, don't look in the bathtub," Sherlock greeted as he tramped down the stairs to the kitchen.  She added Marigolds to her mental shopping list as well, because he was wearing hers (and goggles, oh lovely) and she was sure she didn't want that pair to ever be near anything that would ever be near food again.

"So, um...  Why?  And why is she wearing my clothing?"

"Really more of an 'it.'  I had to put something on it, it was—" he wiggled his fingers "—weird, and wrapping it in a blanket made it weirder.  If it makes you feel better, I used clean clothing so none of your DNA will accidentally be transferred."

"Wait, is this evidence? We talked about evidence in my flat."

"It's not evidence per se, at least not in a criminal capacity.  Well, it could be, should my client choose to press charges, but she won't, considering she's technically dead—"

"Your client," she said flatly.

"Whose name I can't reveal because I adhere to the strictest professional standards of confidentiality—"

"Oh for shit's sake, I know who it is.  Why is it here?"

"Mrs. Hudson would evict me if she saw it.  And it is rather creepy in an uncanny valley sort of way. Its eyes close when you tilt it past a thirty degree angle and the mouth is, ah, motorized.  Wiggins accidentally bumped the 'on' switch when we were carrying it inside and I've actually never heard a grown man scream like that before."

She narrowed her eyes at him.  "You're not keeping it here."

"It's only a few days, she's making shipping arrangements."

"Shipping arrangements."

"She said it would be a waste of a prop to destroy it entirely.  She's ah, left me with the task of disposing of the... peripherals, though."

"Peripherals.  Going to go out on a limb and guess that's what's in my bathtub."

"Yes."

"And you're cleaning them because...?"

"DNA," he said as though she were daft.

"Uh huh.  I'm going upstairs because yes, fine, I actually do have to wee and it's not because the bus is exciting, it's because I time my last cup of coffee so I don't fall asleep on the way home and miss my stop and a side-effect is having a full bladder by the time I walk through the door.  Whatever. When I come downstairs, you're explaining this to me from the beginning and leaving out no detail.  Then we'll figure out what to do with your Stepford Girlfriend."  

*

"So she has her face trademarked and copyrighted and all that stuff, and she sent you to fetch her intellectual property."

"More or less.  There may or may not be multiple blackmail components."

"Oh even better.  Did you shatter a few kneecaps just for fun, too?"

"What are you implying?"

"Nothing.  I mean, I'm sure pimpin' ain't easy."

"So because I took on a case for someone in the sex industry I'm a pimp?" he asked slowly.

"You're actively helping a whore blackmail one of her clients, from whom you just stole a sex doll."

"That bears the exact likeness of my client and falls well outside the scope of her contract with the party I reclaimed the property from.  Honestly, you're a feminist, you should be championing this.  Imagine if Tom had a sex doll made that looked just like you."

Ugh, he had a point.  Of course he had to go and humanize Irene Adler.

"Fine," she relented.  "But you really should wear the fur collar for your coat more often. Maybe put some bling on John's cane and start carrying that around when you wear the hat."

At least she could still amuse herself with that image.

*

"You're actually logging these?"

"She wants to know what he's been—ahem—using it for so she can charge him accordingly."

"I can think of a pretty short list of what he's been using it for," Molly said, fishing yet another of the doll's vagina inserts out of her tub.  Which Sherlock was going to sanitize repeatedly before her next bath (the tub, not the vagina; those were about as clean as they'd ever get thanks to the boiling water and bleach).

"And I'll thank you to keep that list to yourself," Sherlock said, taking the insert and turning it around to look for the serial number.  He was really putting on a good show of not being flustered, but the colour in his cheeks gave him away.  

"Is this real human hair?" Molly asked, squinting down at the next piece.  She was tempted to take her gloves off just to feel it, but then they'd have to re-sanitize it because he had some weird hang-up about DNA all of a sudden.  

"Mmhmm.  That one costs fourteen thousand Yen.  A thousand pounds, give or take."

"This cost a thousand pounds?!  A fake fanny?  Wh—oh.  Oh God, it's moving.  It's moving and I don't know how I turned it on."

"How—?" he began, side-eyeing her.  He rolled his eyes and shook his head, then put down the insert he'd been holding.  "Oh for—give it here, there's got to be a switch somewhere."

She watched as he examined it from all angles, then started poking and prodding at it with his gloved fingers; she wasn't sure if it was sexy, absurd, or just weird, but she knew she was the one blushing now, too (which was ridiculous, considering how often she examined actual genitals belonging to an actual person in any given week).  She thought she was going to choke on her own saliva when he used two fingers to check inside.  She really hoped he didn't make that face when there was a real woman involved.

"I can't...  I can't turn this off.  I have no idea how to turn this off," he said, sounding like he couldn't believe what he was even saying.

"Batteries!  Just take the batteries out!"

"I don't know where the compartment is."

"Google it."

"You google it, I've got my hands full of—thing."

"Maybe it's on a timer.  Just put it in the box and maybe it'll stop on its own."

Sherlock shrugged and withdrew his fingers, then set the insert into the box.

"Oh God," he said, staring down into the box.

"What?"

"It set another one off.  And there goes another, it's a chain reaction."

"It's just like in The China Syndrome," she said peering around him to look into the box, which had begun to vibrate its way across her bathroom floor.

"The what?"

"Have you never watched a film?"

He didn't dignify that with a response.

*

"I can still hear them," she said, looking up at the ceiling.

"I'm sure the batteries will die soon," he said, eyes on his phone as it moaned another text.  It was beginning to sound like a bad porno soundtrack.  "Ah, good. Her people will be here on Monday to properly crate it for its trip to Hong Kong.  Which is not where she is, so just completely forget I said that."

"Today is Tuesday.  This thing is going to be here a week?"

"Six days, yes."

"It's so creepy."

Sherlock tipped his head in agreement. "Trust me, it was worse when it was naked."

"Can't you at least move it somewhere?"

"It weighs eight stone, it's like moving a water heater."

"I want to watch telly and I don't want to sit next to it."

"Fine, I'll sit next to it, you sit on the other side."

*

"Maybe if we just put a bag over its head," she said, leaning forward to look past Sherlock at the doll.  He'd inched his way nearly into her lap, pressing her into the corner of the sofa like they were on a Twister ride over the course of the last half hour.  She didn't mind, really, except for the doll being there.

*

"No, that's worse, take it off, it looks like a murder."

"You like murders," Sherlock said from just behind her.

"No, you like murders.  I like my job, which is only tangential to actual murder."

"Potato, potato," he said. "What about a mask?  You have one in the spare room from Mary's hen do."

"The one with the willy on it?"

"The one with the feathers," he said flatly.  "It's bigger, it'll cover more of the face."

*

"Oh my God, that's horrifying. Why is that so horrifying?  Take it off.  Take it off."

"You take it off, you brought it into our house!"  She realized too late the slip she'd just made.  Thankfully, Sherlock didn't seem to notice, as he was tentatively sliding closer to the doll again to remove the mask.  She didn't know why, but she kept expecting it to turn its head in her direction and start singing 'Non, je ne regrette rien' or some Marlene Dietrich song or something equally and unexpectedly creepy.

Sherlock used the back of a pen to flick the mask off the doll's face and they both relaxed a bit.  

"Okay," he said.  "I have an idea.  What if we just put it in the corner where the lamp is that you never use?  That entire corner is an oubliette, we'll just put it in your desk chair and wheel her over there for the rest of the week."

*

"Nope," she said simply, her hair standing on end.  

"To be fair, I didn't say it was a good idea."

Sherlock's phone moaned a text and they both jumped.

"I'm never going to sleep again. This house isn’t even haunted!  Or, it wasn't, until that thing showed up."

"You don't believe in ghosts."

"And you don't believe in wearing pants under pyjamas.  What's your point?" she snapped.  She wanted that thing gone.

Sherlock simply narrowed his eyes at her while pulling out his phone.

*

Molly hefted her overnight bag on her shoulder and Sherlock shifted the still-vibrating box of fannies as they waited by the kerb.

"Least it's not raining," Sherlock said conversationally.

*

"Is a chicken really a bird if they can’t fly?" Wiggins said, one hand on the wheel and the other out the window doing that uppy-downy swimmy thing people usually stopped doing once they were old enough to drive.  "They're closer 'a dinosaurs anyway, I saw it on telly."

"They have feathers and beaks—taxonomically, they're birds.  And chickens can fly, only not very far," Sherlock said, bored.  They were both stuffed into the back seat because there was a suspicious stain on the front passenger seat and neither of them wanted to sit there. The box of fannies was secure in the trunk.

"Did you know—"

"Oh God, here we go," Sherlock muttered.

"—some paleontologists stuck plungers on chickens' bums ta figure out how T. Rex walked?"

"I did not not know that," Molly said, because how else does one respond to that?  It wouldn't be very polite to ask their driver, 'how many mushrooms have you ingested today?'

"Spent'a day watchin' Natural World, din't I?  Last four series."

"You watched four series today?" Molly asked incredulously.  

"Well, only'a ones wi' Sir David Attenborough.  He's'a only one I really like."

Fair enough, she thought.

*

"I'm going to be deleting useless trivia of dubious accuracy for hours," Sherlock grumped while Wiggins filled the tank with petrol.  "I'm going inside to get...  Something, anything, I don't really care, I just don't want to be in the car any longer."

"Buy me chocolates.  And tell me everything’s going to be okay.  I mean, we're halfway to Slough with a box of sex toys in the boot and it's almost midnight and I'm pretty sure Wiggins is high."

"And somehow I'm the dramatic one.  Wiggins isn't high, that's just how he is.  Everything is going to be fine, it's just a quick trip to an abandoned brickyard, we'll be back at Baker Street where there are no bloodthirsty Maschinenmenschen waiting for us to fall asleep to murder us before you know it."

"Maschinenmenschen?"

"Now who's the one who's never seen a film?"

"Just go and buy me a bloody chocolate bar."

*

"So you keep an arsonist on retainer for special occasions?" she asked, watching as Sherlock situated the box in the centre of the hastily-constructed pyre.

"Former arsonist.  It was only once and he's a very successful builder now.  Care to do the honours?" he asked, holding out a disposable lighter and a rolled-up copy of The Sun.

She took the newspaper and let Sherlock light it.  "Oh!  Fire!  Fire!  Fire!" she chanted as she bustled around the pile of cast-off wooden pallets and construction scraps, lighting the bits of cardboard sticking out here and there.

"So if we were just going to burn them, why did you bother cleaning them?"

"I was actually going to sell them on eBay.  It seems he had some 'limited editions' and you wouldn't believe what they're worth.  We're burning potentially £8000 or so."

"Are you serious?  Why are we burning them?  Is this some kind of ridiculously expensive catharsis?"

"Wh—catharsis?"

"Like, burning them in effigy. She was your ex-girlfriend.  Or is this some kind of noble gesture, like, protecting her honour or something?  So no one can defile her silicone bits."

"Noooo," Sherlock said slowly.  "They're just extremely unsettling and I didn't want to leave them to roam about the flat like... demonic caterpillars in case they escaped their box.  I'm beginning to suspect they're powered by nuclear fuel rods.  Really, we should probably step back, actually.  Or leave, and rather quickly, since the fire department is on its way.  Run."

*

"I'll get Wiggins to help me move it tomorrow," Sherlock said after they were settled in his bed.

She'd never slept in his bed before. It was weird.  He'd slept in hers dozens of times, and often those times overlapped with her own occupancy, but this was... weird. "Though you could just stay here for the rest of the week."

His suggestion was a bit too casual.

"You don't actually want to move it, do you?"

"It's very heavy.  And unnerving. And I will deny that with my dying breath if you ever tell anyone I said that."

She couldn't help herself, she giggled. "Perish the thought.  No one would ever believe me, anyway. Just like that time I met Bill Murray.  Not John's friend Murray, the Bill Murray.  It was in an Indian takeaway in Hackney and he knew I recognized him and he just leaned into me and said, 'No one will ever believe you.'  No one did, either.  But it was him."

"Who's Bill Murray?"

"An American actor.  Caddyshack, Ghostbus—"

"Foreigners…pffft.  Boring."

"We really need to work on your cultural literacy," she said, then yawned.

"I've seen every film I'll ever need to, and for the rest, there's Wikipedia."

"We're watching Groundhog Day tomorrow night."

"It's a punishment, isn't it?"

"Yes.  You'll take it and you'll like it.  Now go to sleep, I need to be up in four hours."

"Make it five.  We'll take a cab. I need some teeth for an experiment I've been thinking about, tomorrow is as good a day as any to start it."

"I won't argue.  Still can't believe we burned £8000 worth of fake fannies."

"I still can't believe they exploded like that.  I should hope they come with warning labels on the package."

"Maybe that's part of the allure. Like playing penis Russian roulette."

"Molly."

"Hmm?"

"Go to sleep.  And please never utter the phrase 'penis Russian roulette' again."

"You're no fun."

"I'm lots of fun.  Tonight was fun."

"Yeah, it kind of was.  Night."

"Night."  

"Sherlock..."

"Hmm?"

"Are you sure we got rid of all of them?  Did you, ah, remove whatever was in the doll before you dressed it?"

There was a beat of silence, then, "Bollocks."

[shadesumbra]

Chapter 11

It had been a month ago when he read about it in the newspaper. Bruce Wayne bought three first edition books worth one million each.

Three books he didn't have in his collection.

Of course he couldn’t go after them right away, as much as he wanted to. He had to wait until the buzz settled down and the spotlight was somewhere far different. Now, one month after the books were purchased, and the news now focused on Superman’s latest battle, he would strike.

Metaphorically speaking, actually striking would probably cause some damage to the books.

It was past midnight as Shade stands at the Wayne manor gates. From the darkness his eyes scan the grounds. By the looks of it, most everyone was asleep, or at least in their room. He knew kids didn’t go to bed on time. The only lights that were on were minor lights on the upper floors of the mansion. Perfect.

He whisks himself through the shadows inside to the foyer. Going straight into the library could risk him getting caught. His footsteps were silent as he walks into the library, and really, he has to take a moment to appreciate it all. Bruce Wayne may be an air-headed dolt, but he knew how to collect. Shade ran his hand gently over the spines of some of the nearby books. They’re in practically perfect condition.

Kudos Wayne. Give credit where credit is due.

Eventually he makes his way over to where the newest first editions are. A small smile comes across his face. They are beautiful. His shadows pick the lock and open the glass case.

However, just as he reaches in a fire poker blocks his hand.

“Most cat burglars around here tend to dress the part sir.”

Shade’s attention was instantly drawn to the person who had blocked him.

Ah, the butler. This he wasn’t expecting. An easy problem to fix.

Though…

“Oh. So you want a joust?” He lifted his cane in a an offensive pose, as if daring the other man to strike.

And he did.

It was quick and precise, but Shade was quick to defend. And then it was his turn. He made a quick strike, which his opponent was just as quick to defend. Even in the man’s old age, he was still quick with his movements. Quicker than what Shade was expecting from someone this man’s age. With age comes experience he supposed.

A smile crept onto Shade’s face. Oh, he could definitely have fun with this.

The two made their way around the room. The attacks becoming more and more advanced and the maneuvers more complicated. For the first time in a long while, Shade was having the time of his life. And he couldn’t help himself, he was grinning like an idiot because of it. And even though he knew the other man was just protecting property, he could see the faint, wry smile on the other man as well.

The two continued for a little while long, and Shade briefly wondered why no one else had come down to check on what was going on. Especially with all the noise they were making. They were all probably out, Wayne was a party boy. He wouldn’t doubt that all Wayne’s kids were too.  

He was pulled out of his thoughts when his opponent bumped into a nearby side table, the vase falling to the floor. The man reached for it, bit just barely missed grabbing it. Shade’s hand shot out before he really knew what he was doing and his shadows saved the pottery.

He brought it to him. “I should keep this, just as a thank you for saving it.”

“I think not.”

Shade laughed and the man gently took it from Shade’s arms and put it back into its place.

“I can see that this is getting either of us nowhere, so may I suggest we talk it over with a cup of tea?” The man suggested.

Shade didn’t think his smile could get any wider. Oh but he was wrong. “I’d love to.”

The man led Shade down to the kitchen, and he quickly put a kettle on the stove.

“So is there any particular reason why you skipped over hundreds of priceless books for three first editions?”

“Simple. I don’t have them.”

“Oh, and I suppose breaking in and stealing them from a highly guarded billionaire is the easiest way to get them?”

“It is when you’re a criminal.”

The man let out a small laugh. “There’s a vendor who goes by the name of Penskili who makes it his business to find and restore old books. It would be much easier to talk to him.”

The kettle began to whistle and the man wasted no time in getting the tea ready. He was about to pour the two cups when Shade interjected.

“I’d prefer to make my own if that’s okay.”

The man nodded, leaving the teapot and milk on the counter for Shade. He watched as Shade poured in the milk first, then the tea.

“That’s a very old fashioned way to prepare your tea, I’d say you were trying too hard if it were my place.”

“I suppose it is your place to say it, considering I’m still technically breaking and entering. Though, old habits die hard,” he took a sip. Oolong, and expensive too.

“Oh? And when did you develop such old fashioned habits?”

“It was common place as a child as to not break the cup.”

“Heavens, you must of grown up with quite frail crockery.”

Shade let out a “mh” as he took a sip. “So, do I get the pleasure of a name, or do I just call you ‘Butler’?”

“Alfred, and how about you?”

“Shade.”

“Ah, so I don’t get the honor of your actual name.”

“Very few people get that honor.”

“I suppose for a criminal, that is fair.”

The two sat in a comfortable silence while they drank their tea. This was the last thing Shade had expected when he had come to Wayne manor to steal those first editions. Oh but he was having such a delightful time. He supposed he could leave these copies. He made a mental note to find Penskili at a later date.

He stayed a while longer and the two had a surprisingly enjoyable chat. Alfred had quite the wit to him, and he did love battling wits.

"Congratulations bu- Alfred, you've significantly charmed me enough to leave your books alone for the time being,” He stood up and placed his hat back on top of his head that was previously sitting on the table. “This was the most fun I’ve had in quite awhile. I may have to return just for another jousting match. Pip pip.” And with that he walked through a shadow door and disappeared.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alfred watched as the man, Shade, left in a swift of smokey shadows. He wasn’t quite sure if he should be worried or not. The man did say he might return. But in the end he hadn’t really taken anything. Everything about their interaction screamed that Shade was doing what he was doing out of both boredom and a collector’s will.

Alfred stood up and quickly cleaned up the dishes the two of them had used. Adding in the milk first, the man must either be trying too hard or really must be that old. And considering what goes on in Gotham, he wouldn’t doubt that Shade really could be that old.

After cleaning the cups, Alfred was quick to make his way downstairs to the batcave. If there was anything about Shade in the world, the batcomputer would find it. He was sure that Master Bruce wouldn’t mind him using it for such a task, after all, Master Drake did download quite a few games onto it.

The only sound in the batcave was the clicking of keys and the small clicking of bats. It didn’t take long for the batcomputer to find what Alfred was looking for.

Shade used to be a criminal in Keystone fighting Jay Garrick before the worlds merged. He retired shortly before the event, and came out of retirement to battle with the other Flashes that popped up. There is no known birth record, but Opal City records show of him buying property in the city during its development.

So Shade was that old. Possibly older than he lets on. Yes, Alfred could see how living that long could get boring. And how it would be easier for Shade to just steal rather than go through people. People could be quite a hassle.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a week later that Alfred saw Shade again. Alfred, doing his typical butler duties, was standing in the lobby while he waited for Bruce Wayne to come out of the theatre. It wasn’t a show Wayne particularly wanted to go to, but he had to keep his social standing up. It was there that a glimpse of black caught Alfred’s eye.

Oh, it was Shade. What an unexpected meetup.

“Come to steal some priceless stage prop? Or perhaps take an actor for ransom?”

Shade turned on his heel toward the direction of the voice, and gave a laugh. “As strange as it may seem I do delight in the occasional show without causing mayhem or pulling off a crime.”

"Why, how fortunate to meet in better circumstances, Mr. Thief."

"I could say the same, Butler."

"But did you come alone?"

"...Yes"

Alfred noticed the split second of hesitation, but didn’t push it. If Shade was going to try anything, there’d be someone there to stop him. Besides, Alfred had read up on Shade as much as he could. Shade like to make a show out of his crimes to attract the attention of the hero he intended to fight. Usually, he only did the crime just to attract the hero, if Shade had plans to try anything he would of already of done them.

It’s not like Shade ever fought with anyone other than the Flash anyway.

For a criminal, Shade certainly did have a lot of honor. Which was something that surprised him, considering most of the Gotham Rogues and Metropolis villains.

“I must thank you before I forget. That vendor was able to retrieve me those books I was after. Though stealing them would of been much cheaper.”

“I’m sure it would have, but you’d also have your face on wanted posters in Gotham. Then how would you be able to enjoy your casual nights out without crime?”

“Touché.”

At that moment Bruce Wayne came out. Shade tipped his hat to Alfred and moved away.

“Who was that Alfred?”

“Just someone I sparked a conversation with to pass the time.”

The two left, and the doors closed just in time for Alfred to miss the breath that Shade was holding.

[nicolabarth]

Clockwork Wings

Samifer Steampunk AU

Sam is the best inventor in the city. Lucifer is a war hero whose wings were damaged during his last fight. He asks Sam to make him new wings.

Read it on AO3

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings: Description of hurt wings, porn (though not very explicit and not very much of it), wing!kink

AN: I wrote this because of this post. That’s where the gif is from, too. @i-bleed-salt made a picture of Luci with steampunk wings to go along with it. Check it out here.

Tagging: @brieflymaximumprincess @annechuu @sassysupernaturalsweetheart @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell @coplins

The man had shown up in his workshop unannounced, and Sam was half in his mind to throw him out again. People that expected him to be available at any time were the worst kind of client. There were two things that held him back, though.

First, everything about the man screamed money. The well tailored black suit, the top hat that was adorned with a silver gleaming feather, the cane with it’s silver knob, his shoes that were barely dusty, which meant he must have come here in a steam carriage. Sam needed money right now.

Second, there was the way the man held himself. Like the world belonged to him, like he was used to getting what he wanted. Like it meant trouble to deny him anything.

And if Sam was honest with himself, there was a third reason, too. Those icy blue eyes that seemed to look right into his soul. Their gaze was always on Sam, even when Sam led the man into his workshop with all it’s chaos and half finished projects. All of a sudden Sam felt very inadequately dressed with his dirt stained shirt and pants with holes in them, protection goggles still hanging around his neck.

“Tea?“ Sam asked. He wasn’t sure, if there still was any left, but it would’ve been rude not to offer something.

“No,“ his guest said. “I’m not here for your tea, I’m here, because tales of your inventions are told all over the city. Do you know, who I am?“

Sam shook his head and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. I don’t get out much.“

“Name’s Lucifer.“

Sam couldn’t help himself, he gasped. Of course he’d heard about Lucifer. Second oldest of Emperor Chuck the Benevolent, who’d fought in the angel wars and come back severely wounded. Rumors had it that Lucifer’s wings were ruined, but he hadn’t let anyone see them since.

A small less than friendly smile tugged at Lucifer’s lips. “So you have at least heard of me.“

Sam lowered his gaze and shrugged. “Everyone has. And I feel very honored that you seek me out. How can I be of service?“

“I want you to make me new wings.“

So it was true. Sam swallowed. “I don’t know, if I –“

“Are you the best inventor in this city or did I waste my time coming here?“

Now that appealed directly to Sam’s pride. “I am.“ Technically Dean was better, when it came to actually building things, but he wasn’t in the city any more.

“Then tell me what you need. I can provide anything.“

That sounded almost too good to be true. “Well, I can certainly make wings. It’ll be a challenge to make them light and at the same time durable enough to carry your weight, but I think it can be done. I’ve been working on a new alloy, that –“

“I don’t need to know the details,“ Lucifer interrupted him again.

Sam licked his dry lips. “Yes, of course. There’s one problem though.“

The other man lifted an eyebrow in question.

“I can’t make them ... stowable. You know, the way you angels manage to hide them away completely? As far as I know, that’s magic. I’m not capable of –“

“Don’t bother yourself with that. Make the wings, I’ll do the rest.“

Sam nodded eagerly. “Good. In that case, I can do it. The only thing I need is money to buy materials. And then of course ...“ He wasn’t quite sure how to continue.

“Yes?“ Lucifer asked.

“Well ...“ Sam took a deep breath. “It’s basically a prosthetic, so I need to know what to work with. You know ... what’s left ...“

He prepared himself for anger, but it didn’t come. Instead, Lucifer sighed and handed his cane and his hat to Sam. “Hold this.“

Automatically Sam did as he was told. He watched Lucifer shrug out of his overcoat and west, then unbutton his shirt. There was a well build body underneath all those layers of clothing, and he only realized that he was staring, when Lucifer paused for a moment.

“Your mouth is hanging open, Sam.“ Still no anger, instead Lucifer sounded almost amused.

Still, Sam blushed furiously and looked away hastily. “Sorry.“

A low chuckle made him glad he didn’t have to meet Lucifer’s eyes at the moment. “The point of this exercise is for you to look, so look. Just try not to catch flies while doing so.“

When Sam managed to look up again, Lucifer was already putting aside his shirt. Then there was the rustle of feather.

Sam had always wondered how it worked. He had theories about it, about how to manage the folding of space that was required to hide something with the span of twelve feet under normal clothes. But all theories were forgotten, when he looked at Lucifer’s wings.

Or what was left of them.

There were still feathers, at least at the base of them. They were a silvery white and must have looked beautiful once. Now they were tattered and frayed. At the tips of the wings there were no feathers left at all, just scorched bones, a framework for something that wasn’t there any more.

Even that framework looked magnificent though. Angels didn’t show their wings often.

“So ...“ Lucifer’s voice made him snap out of his awe. “Can you work with that?“

Sam swallowed again and nodded. “Can you still move them?“

“The shoulder joints work best.“ Lucifer flapped his wings a bit to show Sam, what he meant. “I can barely fold the rest of them.“

Another nod, and now that he had a problem in front of him that he could solve, Sam got more confident. He walked around Lucifer, only half aware that blue eyes were following his every movement. “So you need your new wings to help with that.“

“I heard you make clockwork that rivals magic.“

“I wouldn’t go that far, but it shouldn’t be a problem. Can the bones still support anything?“ Sam reached out and stopped himself at the last second before touching the remains of Lucifer’s wings. Hastily he drew his hand back.

“They should be able to.“

“Good ... good ... I need to take measurement.“

Lucifer nodded. By now he watched Sam with something that almost resembled fascination.

Sam rummaged around for a tape measure for a while. When he turned back to Lucifer, the blue eyes were still on him. He felt like he should say something.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying not to be disrespectful, but I’ve never seen angel wings up close before.“

Lucifer huffed. “Mine are a poor example.“

“Well, I find them fascinating nonetheless.“

That put a small grin on Lucifer’s face for a moment. “Happy I can provide some form of entertainment.“

Oh shit. Sam knew he should probably just stop talking, before he made it worse, but he couldn’t. “No, I didn’t mean –“

Lucifer held up a hand. “I’m happy to have someone look at them without disgust. Now, measurements.“

“Yes, of course.“

For a while Sam busied himself with measuring every part of the wings and taking notes. He was kind of glad that Lucifer apparently wasn’t one for smalltalk, because Sam would have probably just looked like a bumbling idiot again.

When Sam got to the long bone that ended at Lucifer’s shoulder blades, his fingers brushed feathers. They felt so soft it was almost like he was touching nothing at all. Curious, he took some of the downs between his fingers. A shudder went through Lucifer’s body. “Careful, Sam.“

Sam pulled his hand back at once. “Sorry, did I hurt you?“

“No, but there’s a reason we don’t have our wings on display often. Touching them is somewhat intimate.“

Great, even without talking he’d made a fool out of himself. “I’m so sorry.“

“Oh, don’t be.“ There was that hint of amusement in Lucifer’s voice again. “I just thought you might want a warning.“

What was that supposed to mean? Sam tried to get a look at Lucifer’s face from where he was standing behind the angel, but all he could see is a slight upwards quirk of the corner of Lucifer’s lips.

“Are you done?“ Lucifer asked.

“Oh ... uhm ... yes ...“

“Good. Step back.“

Sam did as he was told, and with the rustle of feathers Lucifer’s wings folded into themselves again. It was confusing to watch, because it shouldn’t be possible, but after a moment there was only a faint outline of feathers and bones on Lucifer’s skin left.

“Hand me my clothes, will you?“

Sam hurried to comply.

What followed were days of almost feverish work, first drawing a design, then building parts. It became obvious pretty fast that this would be the most demanding but also most satisfying project Sam had ever done. After a week a first prototype was done and Sam sent a message to Lucifer.

The angel showed up at his workshop only hours later.

“It’s just a framework so far,“ Sam explained, while Lucifer examined the delicately arched beams of metal that were held together by clockwork and leather stripes. “I need to see, if it fits.“

“Of course.“ Lucifer was already shrugging out of his overcoat again.

A while later Sam was struggling to fit the framework to Lucifer’s wings without touching any feathers. It wasn’t going well. Finally, Lucifer growled in frustration. “Sam, I have to eat dinner at Lady Lilith’s at seven, and my brother will kill me, if I’m late. So don’t be shy, touch them.“

“But I thought it was –“

“You’re a good looking man, Sam. I don’t mind, if you don’t.“

“Oh.“ This time the heat didn’t go into Sam’s cheeks. He met Lucifer’s eyes and found them dark and dangerous. Oh. “Well then ...“

It went better after that. Sam fastened his framework with leather stripes to the remains of Lucifer’s wings and tried to ignore the shudders that went through Lucifer’s body occasionally. There were almost now reactions, when he was working near the tips of the wings, but they got more obvious the more Sam moved to the base of them, where there were still feathers.

“Won’t a prosthetic like that be ... somewhat irritating?“ he asked after a while.

“It’s only the touch of something living that does it.“ Lucifer sounded a bit hoarse. The thought of burying his hands in the downs near Lucifer’s shoulders and making the angel sound even more wrecked flitted through Sam’s brain, and he hastily shoved it away.

“I’ll be done in a minute.“

“Take as much time as you need.“

“Oh, do you like being teased?“ Sam knew he shouldn’t have said that. He regretted it almost instantly. He regretted it even more, when a hand closed around his wrist, and Lucifer pulled him in front of him. For a moment, blue eyes stared into Sam’s as if searching for something. Sam was completely transfixed.

There was still no anger in Lucifer’s face though, he looked more like he was debating something. Then he leaned forward and kissed Sam.

It was more of a questioning meeting of lips at first, as if he wanted to test, if Sam was okay with it. After a few seconds Lucifer drew away, but Sam grabbed his neck and pressed their lips together again.

Lucifer chuckled into the kiss, then he slowly licked Sam’s mouth open, carefully exploring it.

When they separated again, they were both panting.

Lucifer grinned. “Now back to work.“

Sam groaned. “Are you serious?“

“This needs to be done. At least now you’re sharing my frustration.“

“I don’t want to be bold, but there is something I could do about that later.“

Lucifer watched Sam through heavy lidded eyes. “I like you bold, but you’re forgetting  the dinner invitation I told you about. Let’s keep it in mind for next time, though, shall we?“

The framework needed to be adjusted a bit, but after that it was mostly work on the feathers. They needed to be able to turn and move like real feathers did. Never before had Sam made so many tiny clockwork parts. Never before had he build something so complex.

It wasn’t made easier by the fact that Lucifer’s smirk and his blue eyes were following Sam into his dreams, from which he woke up hard and wanting more than once. He was half in his mind to find some kind of excuse to call on Lucifer again, but the angel probably wouldn’t have appreciated Sam wasting his time.

Finally the wings were done.

Sam sent for Lucifer. This time it only took an hour for him to show up.

The best part was to see the way the angel struggled to keep his features unimpressed, when he looked at Sam’s work. The wings were a silvery white all over, the color of that new extra light alloy Sam had used. There was clockwork on every joint and partly hidden between the feathers.

“If you start a movement,“ Sam explained, “the clockwork will amplify it. It’ll take a bit of practice to use them right, but ...“

He stopped talking, when he realized Lucifer wasn’t listening. The angel was pulling off his clothes already.

It took less time to fit the wings on now that Sam had a bit of practice. Still, when he was done, Lucifer’s pupils were lust blown, cheeks rosy. Sam fought the urge to kiss him right then and there and stepped back. If the son of the Emperor had meant what he’d said last time, he had to be the one to start it. Overstepping would get Sam into real trouble.

“Try it.“

Lucifer moved his new wings. They folded themselves forward with the slight whirr of clockwork. An eyebrow shot up. Carefully Lucier flapped them, spread the feathers. Sam had to make minor adjustments a few times, but he knew he was grinning like mad. They worked. They actually worked.

The next moment he found himself pinned between Lucifer and his work table, the angel’s face only inches from his own. “They work.“

Sam smiled. “I am the best inventor in this city.“

“Don’t get cocky.“

“I thought you liked it.“

“I said I like you bold.“

“Fine.“ Sam leaned forward for a kiss.

This time it was fierce and passionate, all the happiness about the success poured into the touching of lips and tongues. Lucifer’s hand moved to the small of Sam’s back, pulling him closer until their hips touched. Sam gasped as Lucifer ground against him.

The whirr of clockwork made Sam open his eyes that had fallen shut at some point. Lucifer’s new wings were spread above them, tips almost touching the high ceiling of the workshop. The metal feathers rustled almost imperceptible with small involuntary movements that took Sam’s breath away. He hadn’t expected his own creation to look so alive.

“Admiring your own work is a true sign of vanity.“ Lucifer kissed down Sam’s neck.

“I’m admiring how it looks on you.“

Lucifer lifted him up, until he was sitting on the table, and Sam wrapped his legs around the angel’s hips. One of Sam’s arms went around Lucifer’s neck, the other reached out and grabbed a handful of feathers.

Lucifer groaned. He ground against Sam harder, then fumbled with his pants. After a moment Sam helped, freeing them both. Lucifer slapped Sam’s hand away, when he reached out, taking them both in hand himself.

The angel jerked them off with precise movements that had Sam moaning and gasping in seconds. He couldn’t do much more than hang on, head falling against Lucifer’s shoulder. It didn’t take long until bliss blocked everything else out and Sam threw his head back and came with a long groan.

When Sam opened his eyes again, it was to the sight of Lucifer licking come from his hand. At once heat surged into Sam’s groin again. “Are you trying to kill me?“

Lucifer chuckled. “Yes, one small death at the time.“ He pulled Sam’s pants up, then his own. “I think I have another project in mind for you. You should come to the palace soon so we can discuss it in detail.“

Sam nodded dizzily. “Your wish is my command.“

That lit a dark spark in Lucifer’s eyes. “I think, next time you say that I want you on your knees.“

Sam shuddered. He wasn’t quite sure yet what he’d gotten himself into, but he knew it wasn’t going to be boring.

He slid down from the table. “There’s one thing you haven’t tried yet.“

Lucifer lifts an eyebrow.

“Fold them.“ Sam nodded towards the wings. “Let’s see, if it works.“

“I like the way your mind bounces right back to curiosity.“ Lucifer turned to give Sam a better view, then his wings folded in that way that made Sam questioning everything he knew about physics. Only seconds later the metal wings were gone. There was only the faint outline of feathers and clockwork left on Lucifer’s skin.