#and in the case of my venus fly trap that seems to be some fresh special soil mix suitable for venus fly traps and maybe a bigger pot

[tea-understands]

tfw you want to find out if it is possible to over water your MASSIVE ufo plant bc it seems to be thirsty all the time and you wonder if maybe splashing some water in its general direction one time a week might not be enough after all (then again it did perfectly fine when you forgot to water it for three weeks so who knows) and every other article you come across expects you to own a moisture meter. Like. Guys. As much as I love my honestly impressive monstrosity of a houseplant that's not the kind of relationship we have.

[tornrose24]

My Lordsona’s letters, diary entries, and journal entry in Mother Miranda’s Lab.

I remembered that in each of the lords’ areas, there tends to be letters/journal entries/notes that are either about them or that they wrote themselves in addition to what Mother Miranda wrote about each one in her lab. I thought it would be fun to make some for my lordsona as a way to add additional information (including what could have lead to getting a cadou in the first place, because I don’t think those are given out so freely).

There is mentions of  @artistcaptainbendy‘s lordsona Bendypants and their OC Benjamin.

TW: Mentions of gore

(All journal entries located in personal studio in the gallery. Some would hold clues to solving certain puzzles.)

Journal 1

May 3rd, 1968

(page 1)

I would rather swim in Moreau’s lake and be subjected to whatever goes on in Donna’s estate than give another art lesson to Alcina’s girls. She hoped I could cultivate some talent in the three of them, and there was some promise in both Cassandra and Daniela. Bela seemed disinterested and wanted to go to the piano instead. There was some frustration over the past few weeks and it made me thankful I’m their ‘aunt’ or else it wouldn’t have ended well for me.

Weeks later, they presented me with some abominable displays. That one ‘statue’ looked like one of the maids... or what was left of the poor woman. And I doubt that was red paint used on that canvas.

I don’t mind speaking with Alcina herself once in awhile when I want a bit of class and elegance. There’s certainly no denying her sense of taste in decor and her collection of artwork is incredible. But her daughters are too much for me and I don’t agree on her views of all men. She certainly never met my father or my...

(page 2)

Father....

Sorry, I got lost in my memories there for a bit. Tomorrow I am meeting with some of the village children and will give them an art lesson. They are more of a delight compared to those poor excuses for children in that castle.

They admire the other lords, but its possibly for the best that they aren’t allowed to get too close to them.

Reminder to self: Check to see if the Duke has any works of art to add to the gallery when he comes back.

Journal 2

September 2nd 1975

(Page 1)

It appears I finally have a new security guard. The bastard and a friend of his thought he could sneak into MY gallery and steal a painting that I said would cost a fortune. They fell victim to the Escher trap (clearly they didn’t pay attention to his surroundings) and the painting was destroyed.

All that trouble for a Van Gough replica that’d be worth not even a fraction of the true painting.

But then again, what should I have expected from the son of the drunkard who nearly paralyzed me for life with a bullet to the spine and sent me into Mother Miranda?

The man was completely brain dead. The friend was a bloodied mess, but I stitched his arms to the thief, added some details of my own, did a bit of fixing up, and used a Cadou. He’s dull as a rock and doesn’t recall his past life, but he’ll be good at protecting my gallery from other idiots. 

I call him David after the famous statue.

September 5th, 1975

(Page 2)

Unsurprisingly, Heisenberg thought my creation was, and I quote ‘a hunk of shit and dumbassery mixed together’ and said he could have done so much better. Unlike him, MY creations ARE true works of art. Of course I’m not interested in getting into an argument with him as he enjoys doing so with Alcina.

I brought David to someone else who’d be fascinated with him. Bendypants seemed intrigued and wondered if I could lend David to them to help build a set.

I’m deeply disturbed that I’ve sunk as low as the others. I didn’t think I’d actually use a cadou but I try to tell myself that what I’ve done was a fitting punishment. Besides, it keeps Mother Miranda off my back for a bit.

Note to self: Need to do something about the additional arms on David. They don’t look like they are as secure as I would like them to be.

October 10th, 1975

(Page 3)

It turns out David developed a soft spot for Benjamin. As in Bendypants’ favorite lycan. He’s been looking at him like a girl harboring a secret crush.

That was.... rather unexpected. I guess David isn’t as dull as I thought. I need to keep an eye on him in case he remembers anything about his former life.

Journal 3

January 20th, 2004

(Page 1)

Karl is crude and a bit much at times. But there’s no denying that he’s rather handsome and I finally was able to convince him to pose for some sketches for a painting after all these years. It took the finest bottle of whiskey the Duke had on hand to convince him.

Bendypants will be so envious of me. They too have a certain soft spot for our fellow lord. Perhaps I can gift them with a replica painting as a present in the future.

I admire that Heisenberg doesn’t bother putting on airs like Alcina and his.... extraverted nature is a breath of fresh air. However the whiskey caused him to spill something rather concerning. He seemed unusually interested in my family’s plot of land in the graveyard.

I’m very concerned about what his intentions are.

(Page 2)

I just paid the gravekeeper to unearth the remains of my family so I can burn them and bury them under the oak tree.

I am NOT letting any of the lords use my family’s remains for whatever they are planning.

March 15th, 2010

(Page 3)

Bendypants invited me to one of their plays. It was ‘A Midsummer Nights Dream.’ It was a delight and helped me take my mind off things. The idea of making some of the characters not quite fit into certain norms that are expected in the village would have made Mother Miranda squirm.

I showed them that painting of Ophelia drowning when we discussed Shakespeare the next day. Sometimes I wonder why the cadou didn’t make me lose my mind like Ophelia–would I have been happier without my sanity in the village, amongst the others? At least I wouldn’t have been aware of what sins I would be committing across the years.

I have deeply cherished my friendship with them. They were there at the funerals for each family member of mine who died. Their condolences were honest compared to the other lords and those who were trying to kiss up to me. Like me, they too have somehow defied time’s cruelty to the body, and have known the loss of a loved one. 

(Page 4)

The children are the only others in the village that I am fond of and would protect. Such innocence to the violence hidden in the corners. Sometimes I wish to give into the desire of motherhood, but that would have been the greatest pain I could experience....

(letter hidden in Lord Bendypants’ theater) 

Dearest B,

Regardless of what Miranda tells us lords, you are the only true family I have left in this forsaken village. I would have never imagined that wild, mud covered child of the woods would be the one person I could trust.

That woman never was and will NEVER be my mother. Regardless of what she gave to me, I had to watch my family succumb to old age and sickness while I still remain as I am–a Venus forever frozen in youth and beauty. I hope she burns in hell for her sins and for what she has turned me into across the years.

I suspect that whatever she wants with the infant she kept mentioning is not going to end well for us or the village. She is charismatic, but her lack of true warmth makes me uneasy. I get the feeling that death is certain, but as to who for is not clear yet. I have two requests for you if my suspicions are correct.

First, I am going to see if I can hide any children I can find. They were one of the few things that made me happy here and do not deserve whatever Miranda has planned, so I shall sneak them in a room within my gallery. Please do not let any of your lycans harm the children or attack me tomorrow night. Should things go according to plan, they will be able to have the true freedom that was denied to all of us.

Secondly, should I perish from whatever Miranda has in store, retrieve my body, burn it, and bury it under THAT oak tree where I placed the ashes of my family. I think I finally know for sure who was getting into the graves lately, but I will be damned if I let that asshole take my body too.

I will never forget our times together, or the visits to your wonderful theater. Thank you for being there when I needed it the most.

Your friend,

-R

(Journal in Miranda’s lab)

Subject Name: _______ Rose

Cadou Affinity: Somewhat Favorable

Brain Function: Normal

Subject’s spinal chord was damaged by a gunshot wound three days before procedure. Subject has regained full mobility after cadou implantation. Six horn like protrusions have grown out of subject’s skull, yet subject hasn’t suffered any damage to the brain.

Subject’s arms mutate into an armor and bone fragments extend out of limbs like thorns that are strong enough to tear through flesh when provoked. These abilities are somewhat similar to Alcina’s but pales in comparison to what she is capable of.

Insect-like wings extend right out of subject’s backside when the subject wills them to, yet immense pain makes this a rarity. The placement of the wings is exactly where a small piece of cadou was implanted to repair the damaged spine. Additional procedures were required to ensure that the subject could not be able to fly beyond the village borders.

Further mutation turns the subject into something resembling a fae, yet behaves and moves like an insect. However it takes the subject four hours to change back. Subject also becomes predatory in this state.

An unfit vessel for Eva.

[the-melting-world]

Gibraltar | A Jacqui Tale

~ In which a quiet quartermaster encounters a humble gardener, a secretive barhand, a cheerful mage, and a tenacious bounty hunter…

Music: “Gibraltar” by Beirut

I instantly fell in love with Dani’s @apprenticealec​ gentle giant quartermaster at first glance of his bio. Dani said that Jacqui was looking for something soft and romantic. So... after many, many days and nights of silence, he finally gave me this! Dani, thank you for making so many beautiful ocs for us to admire 💖

~ 3.9k words

Jacqui wasn’t sure why he chose to walk the streets of Vesuvia. It might have been a place he could have seen himself settling down in if he had continued on as a scholar. Plus he needed some fresh air, and by the gods – some blessed space from Rodrigo for one afternoon. He didn’t think that was too much to ask...

***

The streets that tunneled through the marketplace were charged with their typical morning rush. Jacqui, while he didn’t mind the congestion, didn’t like the feeling of getting in everyone’s way. He was, after all, well over six feet and solidly built. So as soon as he came across a sidestreet that twisted out of traffic and towards a line of trees, he followed it. 

The street narrowed as the buildings pressed in around him. Eventually, the walls relented and the path opened up again to a place that was green and gated. 

The gate was open and the garden on the other side looked inviting and semi-public in the very least. Jacqui let himself inside and tentatively made his way onto the property. He took a seat on a stone bench that was decorated in pale yellow petals. They continued to drift down from the trees overhead, catching every so often onto his braided locs.

The quartermaster made himself comfortable in the silent garden, content to wait another hour before he sought out some breakfast. He started musing over whether he wanted something baked and cheesy or something smoked and tender when he picked up on some new activity near the garden’s rusty fountain.

Jacqui sat up a little straighter, automatically coming up with a lie in case the person at the inactive fountain tried to run him off the property. 

The gardener (he assumed that’s what she was) did no such thing. In fact, she seemed too absorbed in her task, which at the moment, involved tending to an outcrop of what appeared to be weeds along the lip of the fountain. Jacqui tasted a light spark on his tongue – most likely the gardener activating her plant magic. 

The delicate yellow petals from above were falling more heavily now. They peppered Jacqui’s crown, his shoulders, catching against his beard. They landed right on top of his lashes, spilling over into his eyes and mouth, almost relentlessly.

The pirate stood up and stepped away from the bench. He did his best to quietly sputter what had caught onto his lips and dust himself off.

That’s when he heard a noise coming from the direction of the fountain.

Was that… giggling that he was hearing?

When Jacqui brushed the last of the petals out of his eyes, he approached the gardener. 

“I was wondering when you would finally come over here and talk to me.” The gardener looked up at him. Under the dappled sunshine, her brown irises made Jacqui think of homemade syrup. Most of her dark, thick curls cascaded down her back and over her shoulders, while the rest was gathered into two, small messy buns and an assortment of braids and turquoise beads. The beads matched the stone ring in her nose, all of which complimented the warm brown of her skin.

“I would have come over sooner,” Jacqui explained as he knelt beside her, “but I didn’t want to interrupt your work.”

The gardener took her time coming up with a reply, no doubt to take in Jacqui’s appearance. Her cloying gaze lingered on the loop of silver hugging his lower lip.

“I was just saying good morning to my friends.” She gestured to the little polyp-shaped weeds. Upon closer inspection, Jacqui realized that they were venus fly traps.

“Oh.” He leaned in to get a better look. “That’s right. I had forgotten that they’re such a small species. They always appear so much larger in illustrations. But it makes sense.” He glanced sideways at the gardener to see that she was watching him. “Since they only need to be large enough to catch flies.”

She shifted a little closer. “You said you’ve seen illustrations? Where?”

Something inside Jacqui fluttered. “While I was a student.” No one ever asked him about that part of his life. Once upon a time, it had played such an integral role in who he was. “I studied botany, but very briefly.”

The gardener tilted her head, her beads clicking against the cowrie shell choker around her neck.

“What else did you study?”

“Um... dead languages, architecture, magic…” The pirate was suddenly transported back to a time when he would pore over tomes of detailed illustrations with notes. Not just in the area of botany, but astronomy, aerodynamics, alchemy, zoology–

“Forgive me. I don’t mean to ramble.” 

The gardener shook her head. “You’re not. Besides, I like listening to you, um…” she faltered for a name.

Jacqui swore inwardly. He never properly introduced himself. 

“It’s Jacqui.”

He was tempted to hold out his hand, but he noticed that the gardener’s were busy at the moment. She was deftly working vines and an assortment of flowers along a circular path.

“Kipling.” She said without slowing down her craft. Kipling did, however, meet his gaze and hold it longer than he expected. Her voice softened. “Jacqui, if I tell you something, you have to promise not to laugh.”

Maybe it was the way she said his name or her natural ability to put him at ease. As if they had known each other for years and this was just one of many mornings they had spent in the garden. Whatever it was about Kipling, the pirate was happy to relax into it. A bold thought even crossed his mind. He acted on it, sweeping her hair off her shoulder and testing her shea-scented skin with a soft kiss.

“Tell me that thing.”

He kissed the curve of her shoulder again. 

Kipling gave a low contented hum. “Your eyes. They remind me of pirate gold.”

Jacqui had been a part of Rodrigo’s crew for so long that the stigma attached to his occupation had faded ages ago. Still, as he sat in the presence of this beautiful gardener in such a tranquil pocket of the city, watching her spin vines and flowers together, he caught a glimpse of a future that was not one of high seas and shiny blades. Rather, he saw a private courtyard splashed with sunlight and potted plants. He saw young children chasing each other barefoot across the mosaic tiles. 

Jacqui took a moment to swallow and blink a few times. A crease formed between Kipling’s brows, but before she could ask him what was wrong, he gestured towards her hands.

“What are you making?”

Kipling lifted the project off her lap. “It’s done actually.” Once again, her syrupy brown eyes met Jacqui’s brass-toned ones. “And it’s for you. May I?”

Jacqui didn’t hesitate to lower himself in order to make it easier for her to fit what he realized now was a crown of flowers around his head. As she adjusted the crown, her pierced navel hovered close to his chest. Jacqui was tempted to take hold of her waist, to steady her, he told himself. The pirate almost talked himself out of it, but changed his mind when the gardener lingered long after she had adorned him with the crown. Now she was letting her fingers graze the intricate grooves of his braided locs down to his broad shoulders.

Jacqui took the hint and fitted his hands about her uncovered waist, ever aware of how much pressure he was applying. But Kipling made it easy for him to hold her sweetly, gently. Because of how sweetly she tilted his head up by his chin and how gently she whispered, “Let’s have a look,” before coasting her thumb over the silver in his lower lip.

“What a treasure,” Kipling mused under her breath as she drank in more of his dark, dignified features. The pirate flexed his fingers about her waist in what might have been eagerness, but in the end, he tore his gaze away. He wasn’t sure if it was right to keep looking at the gardener and wanting the things a future with her could possibly promise.

“My shop,” Kipling said after a beat, “is located in South End. It’s called The Empress’ Door.”

She carefully brought her hands over Jacqui’s and unfolded them from her waist. Jacqui read her cues and helped her to her feet. Kipling’s hand lingered in his as she looked up at him expectantly. When Jacqui didn’t move at all, a soft light of understanding dawned on her face.

She let go of his hand.

“Goodbye, Jacqui.”

***

Jacqui enjoyed his warm bread roll infused with asiago cheese while he wandered the streets of Goldgrave. Passerby admired his fresh crown of lavender and yellow flowers as well as his impressive height. 

Jacqui was finishing the last of his roll when a poster plastered to a door caught his eye. Apparently the door belonged to a community theatre that was putting on a production for that afternoon. The prices were cheap and the entertainment looked worthwhile.

“Hey. Do you mind?”

At the sound of the raspy, slightly agitated voice, Jacqui turned around. At first all he could see was a hill of stacked crates stocked with bottles of red wine. But then a wild mop of brown, sun-flecked curls poked out from the side. The curls framed a strong set of features and a generous constellation of freckles.

“Can you move over? I need to get inside the building.”

Jacqui stepped aside for who he assumed was some sort of wine and spirits courier. He tried not to stare too much at the way they had their sleeves rolled up over their biceps, which were… difficult to ignore.

Jacqui’s eyes drifted to the nametag pinned to the brown strap of their suspenders.

Khlee.

“Sorry about that, uh…” He made an attempt at reading their name aloud.

The courier glanced down at their chest and rolled their eyes. “That’s not how you say it. Look here. It’s clay.” They softly kicked their boot against the dusty cobblestones. “Like the earth?”

Jacqui nodded. “I get it now. Khlee.”

Khlee’s harsh features softened in gratitude. Instead of carrying on with their delivery, they took their sweet time checking Jacqui up and down with their intense brown eyes. 

“And what about you?”

Jacqui didn’t know what to make of Khlee’s deliberate assessment, but he decided to humor them anyway.

“I’m Jacqui... Do you need some help with that?”

Khlee pulled out a key from their back pocket. “I don’t really need the help.” They stepped up to the door and started to unlock it. With a shrug, they added, “But I wouldn’t mind it.”

Jacqui helped Khleo – as they later told him they’d rather be called – unload the crates and stock the shelves of the basement under the community theatre. While the two of them worked, Jacqui asked about the imported wine. Khleo was well versed in the different brands and blends. Even for a barhand, they seemed to really know their stuff. 

Because they were underground, Jacqui easily lost track of the time. When everything had been unloaded and organized, he felt that he could easily lie down for a nap. Jacqui had the barhand to thank for that. Khleo’s attention to detail had been quite strict while they were organizing. Somehow they had convinced Jacqui that he wasn’t allowed to rest until all the shelves were up to their code.

When the pirate finally took a seat on one of the dusty sofas, he was pleasantly surprised that Khleo joined him with a bottle of cabernet. Jacqui, who was no stranger to theft, only smiled. His smile grew as Khleo uncorked the bottle and offered him the first swig. The barhand and the pirate swapped opinions on the taste as they passed the wine back and forth. When the bottle was empty, Khleo brought over another.

It wasn’t long before the barhand’s freckled features were coated in a boozy blush. They had taken a few risks and made some passes at Jacqui, however subtle Khleo thought they were going about it. Maybe it was the wine settling in or the barhand’s easy company, but Jacqui did not mind the attention. In fact, he rather liked the idea of getting to know Khleo more. 

The pirate allowed himself another daydream, this time one in which he had his own wine cellar. He imagined coming home to Khleo after a long, hard day of back to back academic lectures. He thought of unwinding with the barhand much like he was doing now.

Khleo stretched out their muscular arm along the backrest of the couch, wet their lips, and fixed Jacqui with a lazy, arched look. Once again, Jacqui recognized the invitation, but he hesitated.

The silence between them stretched on.

“Do I have something on my face?” Khleo blurted, their voice hollow for some reason.

Jacqui almost laughed. “No, Khleo. Your face is fine.” He shifted forward, resting his arms on his legs. “I should go. The show’s probably going to start soon.”

Khleo, to Jacqui’s relief, didn’t appear too offended. But he wondered if he had read them incorrectly when they said, “Just like that, huh?”

Jacqui opened his mouth to speak, but the barhand was already on their feet, collecting the empty bottles and repeatedly clearing their throat. They gathered up the empty crates and stacked them onto the cart.

“I work the graveyard shift at the Chandrian. It’s a tavern hall up by the north side of Center City.”

Jacqui stood up. “Khlee, hold on.”

“The play is about to start.” Khleo pointed up at the ceiling. “And I’ve got a dozen more deliveries to make. So... see you around.” 

With that, the barhand wheeled the cart down a dark corridor and out of sight.

***

What the hell is wrong with me?

The question played over and over again in Jacqui’s head as he shut his eyes and massaged his temples. By this time, he was seated and waiting for the play to start. Jacqui had liberated himself of the flower crown before entering the hall. The crown was a painful reminder that he had blown it with the cute gardener and then again with the fiery barhand.

“Excuse me, but is this seat taken?”

Jacqui opened his eyes and looked to the left. He expected someone to be hovering awkwardly over the unoccupied seat until he said otherwise. Instead, the stranger was already seated and leaning back, his long legs comfortably crossed and his hands folded over his abdomen. 

Though the theatre was dark, the stranger’s eyes cut through the dim light. They were on the green spectrum and incredibly alive for reasons that seemed beyond the capacity of this entertainment hall.

Jacqui blinked, suspicious that this man had been watching him this whole time and making jokes to himself over Jacqui’s internal torment.

“No,” the pirate grumbled. “It’s free.”

Usually, Jacqui wouldn’t come off so chilly, but quite frankly, he was tired of making friends. It didn’t help that this man was very handsome despite the craggy scar crossing the bridge of his nose. Like Jacqui, he wore his hair in locs, but his were thinner, free roaming, and chirping with colorful beads. 

Jacqui did his best to ignore his grinning companion and just focus on the show.

“Are you a fan of commedia dell'arte?” The stranger asked barely seconds after the curtain went up. “I find it predictable, but safe, you know? You can sit down and know what you paid for before anything even happens.”

Jacqui cut his eyes to the left. “I don’t really care.”

The stranger laughed louder than was appropriate for the occasion. 

“I agree. It’s better that way!” He inclined his head and met Jacqui’s gaze. “But you know, there are too many people out there that can’t handle the suspense. They want to be told exactly what to feel. When and how to feel it. That’s no fun.”

Jacqui couldn’t help it. The stranger’s game amused him. He was suddenly struck with the urge to play. He gestured to the stage. “How to effectively murder the authentic human experience. Act one.”

The stranger laughed more naturally this time. “Right! By the way, my name is Oz.”

Jacqui snorted. “Like the wizard?”

“No. He came on a balloon. While I…” Oz smiled, his gold lip ring glinting under the stage lights. “Come and go as I please.”

Jacqui didn’t know what to make of this Oz. His expression was innocent enough. Delightful even. He reminded Jacqui so much of his contemporaries when he was a scholar. Mostly because of that fast, direct way of speaking, always with a touch of careless hauteur. 

Jacqui and Oz talked over the entire play. Some of what they discussed was fair commentary, but most of it was other things, wrapped up in the illusion of artistic criticism. Well, Oz did most of the talking. Jacqui kept up with him just fine, but only interjected when it was clear that his companion needed yet another tangent off which to cheerfully toss himself. 

After the play was over and Jacqui and Oz were leaving the hall together, they did receive a few dirty looks for their poor manners in the audience. Oz seemed completely oblivious to the sidelong glances. That or he was very good at not caring.

It was dark enough now for the streets to be lit. Jacqui suddenly noticed that he was standing very close to his new companion. Oz stopped walking when they reached the bottom of the theatre steps and turned to Jacqui.

“Would you care to join me for the rest of the evening?” He held out his hand. “I think it would be a shame to part ways now. I’d like to get to know you better.”

Once again, Jacqui struggled to get a read on Oz. He couldn’t tell if his invitation was laced with innuendo. Based on his open, hopeful smile, Jacqui would have to say no.

“Where would we go?” Jacqui asked, testing the waters. He reached for Oz’s hand, who clasped it firmly in his.

“My place of course.” Oz said brightly. “I can promise you that it’s much more interesting than what you saw just now. Lots of games we can play. Books filled with all the things we were just talking about.” Then Oz’s smile faltered a little as he dragged his thumb along the back of Jacqui’s hand. “They’re not exciting to me anymore. Not when it’s just me.”

Jacqui wanted to say yes. When he looked at Oz, he felt something different than he had all day. The promise of some kind of higher pursuit. When Jacqui touched Oz, he felt all that restless energy, the man’s unchecked ambition – as if it was striving to burn a hole right through his palm.

And yet...

“I can’t tonight.” Jacqui pulled his hand away before whatever was burning inside of Oz had a chance to drag the former into its orbit. 

“Tell me where I can find you. For next time.”

Oz smiled gently and shook his head. “I could tell you, but you would never be able to find me.” He turned on his heel and started off down the street. “Thank you!”

Jacqui wanted to go after him, but he was rooted. “What are you thanking me for, Oz?”

The man looked over his shoulder, grinning and… glowing it seemed. 

“For giving me the gift of an authentic human experience!”

***

Jacqui walked the length of Ash Beach. He knew where the Bleeding Heart was docked, but he didn’t want to go there. Not yet.

Kipling. Khlee. Oz. 

The pirate still didn’t know why he turned them all down. If he thought about it too much, his mind would only take him in circles. He needed a distraction. So he looked up at the moon.

It was low, heavy on the horizon and it glowed like melted butter. 

Jacqui stopped.

The moon was merely a backdrop for an even better distraction. For now it was only a silhouette. Lithe, strong and fast. They moved like a snake.

No.

Jacqui took a step closer.

Like an eagle. 

But that didn’t seem right either. There was too much twisting and pausing. Raptorial hands grasping and holding at odd, elegant angles. The stance the fighter took was low, spine straight, chin level. Their movements silky, yet sharp.

Like an insect balancing on a blade of grass. 

Jacqui suddenly knew who he was looking at. He recognized the white hair. 

The bounty hunter ended his wushu set much like grass, swaying with the breeze, yet rooted to the earth.

Jacqui, lacking the hesitant feeling he had with his previous companions that day, walked within speaking distance of the fighter.

He almost called out Mantis, but changed his mind at the last second.

“Sun Bai.”

The bounty hunter freed himself of his upper layers in order to cool off. Without looking in Jacqui’s direction, he said, “Jacqui. You remember me.”

The pirate’s gold gaze coasted over Bai’s lean muscles beaded with sweat. He noticed where the headhunter’s dark skirts sat low on his slender waist.

Jacqui folded his arms over his powerful chest and replied, “We take a lot of hostages, but it’s hard to forget the one that gets into your head.”

Now Bai looked at him.

[So you like it when I’m in your head, huh?]

Despite the strange sensation brought on by the telepathic jab, Jacqui didn’t flinch. He did his best to look unamused under Bai’s careful scrutiny.

[You were wrong about me by the way. I can read minds just fine.]

Jacqui lifted his chin. “Then prove it.”

Even in the moonlight, Jacqui could see Bai smirking and it bothered him that he missed the sight. The bounty hunter started working on untying his kilted pants.

[You had a nice time today. Met some interesting people, I see. Spent a little time weighing the...]

Bai pushed everything down to his ankles.

[… possibilities.]

Jacqui grimaced. “You can stop now.”

He suppressed the urge to reveal his gratitude when he felt Bai’s invasive presence leaving his mind, taking the scent of fresh highland grass along with him.

Before entering the sea, Bai let down his hair. Then he turned his back on Jacqui.

“What are you doing?” Jacqui asked, as if he didn’t already know.

Bai spoke normally now. “I’m about to go cool off. You’re welcome to join me.”

Jacqui looked over his shoulder towards the city of Vesuvia.

“What’s wrong?” Bai called from the water, the waves muffling some of his words. “Are you scared?”

No. It wasn’t the sea or Sun Bai that scared Jacqui. It was the land. The futures that he could have should he choose them. He didn’t want to admit it until now, but they were all too unpredictable. Too many choices. Too many loose ends to pick up back on. 

The sea was safer. Jacqui knew what to expect. He knew how much people like Rodrigo and Bai had to give. He could measure his days, his experiences with precision. He didn’t have to worry about the possibility of disappointing someone. Including himself.

So Jacqui turned his back on all that unpredictability and set his sights on Bai and the dark waters. Then he began unbuttoning his jacket. 

When all of his clothes were down by his ankles, he stepped out of them, walked across the sand, through the shallows to where Sun Bai was treading water, watching Jacqui with those shattered gunmetal eyes.  

Jacqui didn’t look back. Only forward. 

The pirate dived into the darkness, into all that he knew and all that he could trust to keep him safe.

[howardlinkedin]

Group Project: Part 3

Running Title: Group Project. Part 3 Part 2: Here Part 4: Here Sequel to Shelter Summary: Timothy goes on a wild clown case, Neah may as well be the family security system, and we get to witness the day and the life of a barista. 

Here is what Chaoji learned:

Alma Karma was slowly, but surely, taking on the fashion world by storm. Their name had appeared in magazines, and benefactors had started looking, interested in what they had to offer in that brilliant, creative mind of theirs. (The fact that a certain famous friend of theirs continued to sport their designs on stage helped, immensely.)

They liked large, caramel-vanilla blended coffees with whipped cream and chocolate chips, and Mahoja’s lemon cupcakes.

They had married Kanda Yuu mere months after graduating high school.

The same Kanda who hates anything sweet, and only ever drinks herbal teas (preference: white tea), and always scowls at Alma’s frou frou drinks when picking up their order, but diligently delivers it anyway.

Kanda was also working his way through his college degree online, as the man would often hole himself up in the cafe corner, typing away at his laptop. Anita seemed to adore him, and always made a point to keep that particular corner reserved for when she knew his study days were.

He also wore glasses when on the computer, and apparently had a side job as a dog walker, which Chaoji was honored to witness one early morning. The long haired man toting an armful of leashes and happy canines from across the street. A smiling corgi harnessed at his front.

To see people he thought he knew from his past in a different light was somewhat exhilarating.

---

Chaoji had tried college.

He honest to God, really did try.

The dream was to head off right after graduation, and make a way himself. He wanted to make Anita proud. Proud that she even bothered to take in his lonesome and arrogant self. He wanted the world to see him successful and know that he was raised by someone worth knowing.

That she hadn’t wasted her time on him.

He lasted until his second year away, and he felt himself slipping.

I can’t do this. He thought, troubled. But don’t I have to? What a waste! His mind argued.

He couldn’t just waste Anita’s money like this! College was important, wasn’t it?

But he couldn’t keep up. It felt as though he was trapped by dark gray, looming walls and lost in the open sea at the same time. His feet were heavy but his nerves told him to run!

He can’t run! He’s an adult now! He was supposed to be a man!

Unconsciously, he dialed his aunt’s number, and cried. “Can I come home?”

Faster than flipping a light switch, Anita was there holding his sad, sad face and wiping away the salt water. “Come help me run the cafe.” She said.

His aunt truly was a superhero.

---

Komui’s phone chimed and he instantly recognised the ring tone. “Ah! It’s Lenalee!” He cheered and ran to connect the phone to the lab’s bluetooth.

On the overhead, the facetime was projected and Lenalee appeared. “Hello!”

The entire forensics team chorused their own greetings, enthusiastic and rambunctious.

She was smiling and safe and sound and beautiful and Komui suddenly felt blessed.

“My dear, darling, little sister how are you?” He gushed.

Lenalee watched as her brother seemed to lose control of his limbs, as he often did when excited, a mixture of exasperation and joy on her face. “I’m fine brother. I just wanted to check in like I promised. We just landed in Bar- is that a dead body?!”

Komui, and the rest of the forensics team looked in unison, like a hive mind, at the cadaver on the table.  “Yes.” He said, because. Well, it was.

There was a young and persistent voice over the connection where no one on their end could see. “A body?! I wanna see!”

“Tim no.” Lenalee held down a blue head of hair that was trying to hop into the camera’s view.

---

There were probably at least eleven codes of conduct and rules broken that day, because Lenalee was pretty sure that facetiming someone in the middle of a biopsy wasn’t on the list of “Okay Things To Do In A Forensics Lab.”

---

After Timothy, came Lala.

The first night of Allen’s concert in Barcelona, little Timothy learned that his father was kind of amazing. On stage at least.

Usually, Allen was about as mature as he was, which Timothy though was weird, because last he checked, he was the ten year old and Allen was the old man. The singer had white hair even!

It was obvious that Papa was the man in charge, even if Allen were the famous one. Papa was also cool, like Aunt Lenalee, because he helped make sure everything was safe and good. Papa also was wicked fantastic at baking, and Timothy was all about being a taste tester.

The boy decided that his new parents were great. Even though they liked to hold hands and cuddle in Timothy’s line of sight, and kiss and do other gross parent-couple things he only thought were in movies. But whatever.

Currently, it was the middle of the day, and Allen was at his scheduled practice in the new concert hall he was to perform his second concert at. Later, he was to also have an interview. Leaving his husband in the care of the family security, Link took Timothy out to the streets. Barcelona was preparing for its Carnival, and the populace had begun decorating.

Link observed the line of food stands with a keen eye, while his son marveled at the bright colors that were cascading the city walls.

The blue haired boy spotted bags of gummy candy at one vendor and tugged his father’s arm. “I want that.”

“Which one?” Inquired the young father. “All of them?”

“No.”

At this moment, the moment when the father went about buying his son a sweet treat, Timothy spotted a vibrant red ball fly overhead. It was rather large, and probably used as a prop of some sort for one of the entertainers.

“Oh my!” Startled a voice. Timothy glanced and saw a clown waving their arms in the air. “Young man, do you think you can fetch that for me?”

The boy shrugged. “Okay!” and went after the ball.

“Timothy!” Link called after his son and followed. He quickly looked behind them, trying to find who on earth the boy had spoken to.

He saw no one.

---

Working as a barista at a popular city cafe allowed one to become privy to very interesting individuals.

Chaoji had already catalogued the regulars and their times.

Every morning, no earlier than seven or later than eight, the tall red haired Colonel would saunter in for a large black coffee. Anita also had a soft spot for this customer, as there was always a to-go mug by the coffee press, with his name scrawled along the side. She also liked adding little designs around the rim. (Obviously, his aunt was more than a little fond of this man.) He would usually have his ear to his phone, mumbling and griping at someone he often called “Brat.”

Lately, it seemed that the Colonel had someone else to talk to, as he also began calling someone a “Little Goblin.”

(“I should just start calling you and that idiot father of yours Thing One and Thing Two.” snarked the Colonel. “Which one am I?” Demanded the boy.

“Thing One, obviously.” “Yeah, because I’m the best one!”

“Sure, let’s go with that.” )

The officer would set exact change on the counter, grab his cup and salute with it over his wide-brimmed hat and leave without a word to Chaoji, or a tip. The barista wondered what his aunt saw in this rude man.

---

Timothy chased after the bouncing and rolling ball, until he couldn’t anymore. Because it had disappeared. Somehow, with all the bouncing and twisting around the streets, the ten year old found himself lost, standing in front of an old church.

Turning in a quick circle, hoping he could spot anywhere he recognized, Timothy began to panic.

He had just gotten parents and now he’s lost them?!

“Hello!” There was a pat to his head.

“AH!” The boy yelled swung a wild punch at the strange voice.

There was an OOF and the sound of someone falling. Looking over his shoulder, Timothy saw it was the clown. “Ah! Clown!” He announced.

Said clown was grinning (Or was it the face paint?) and patted his belly. “Goodness, you have a strong arm on you!”

“How did you get here?!” Demanded Timothy, immediately suspicious. He didn’t notice anyone following him, did he?

“I knew you would be here.” Chirruped the Clown, standing and dusting off his balloon pants.

The blue haired boy squinted. “How?” The Clown posed, trying to look serious and regal. “I’m a detective.” Timothy looked unimpressed. (He never did like clowns.)

---

At ten o’clock, on the dot, the handywoman from across the street would enter the cafe and order a small mocha. Sometimes, when her mood seemed to be anxious, she would get three chocolate chip cookies along with her drink.

Chaoji found it interesting that whenever Kanda was there, the woman would go over and greet him, and that his past peer (the prickliest man he knew!) would acknowledge her. Sometimes she would even sit at his table in companionable silence until her drink was done.

Every Monday, just before the cafe opened, the florist in the same venue as them would deliver a fresh bouquet to replace the wilting ones in the window. Chaoji at first thought he was a vampire, with his pointed teeth and pale skin. The florist never ordered drinks, but boy did he like the donuts.

Once or twice, the eccentric looking florist would come in with a serious blonde officer, and order lunch.

Then there came a rather memorable incident, when a man with a computer and overcoat ordered a caffe latte, and answered his ringing phone with a hard “What?”

Startled, Chaoji almost dropped the customer’s change. “What am I, your personal satellite?” He hissed into the receiver.

The man then proceeded to crowd his way to a table and began typing furiously, and fast, cursing up a storm. Chaoji tried not to be nosey and pretended not to notice anything, especially when the man slapped his cell phone not five minutes later and announced that he had “found the kid, now stop losing my nephew you just got him!” There was also the threat of eye gouging, but again.

Chaoji was definitely not listening.

---

Before Timothy could question the Clown more, or even begin yelling, because stranger danger - The said stranger put his big goofy, gloved clown hands behind his ears and said, “Listen.”

Unwittingly, Timothy listened and he heard singing. It was a a very pretty voice, and it was coming from inside the church. Being ten years old and curious, Timothy momentarily forgot about the weird clown and made his way to the entrance and slowly pop open the door.

Inside was a girl, older than himself, with tanned skin, and tangled bright hair.

La, la, la she sang. The boy couldn’t make out any words, only the sound of her voice which was something right out of a fairy tale. Entranced, Timothy leaned a little too much on the door, and it creaked, disrupting the girl’s song, and startling her to stop.  

“Sorry!” the boy pronounced, looking embarrassed at having been caught staring. “I got lost and I-”

Remembering the Clown, Timothy looked back. Only to find that they were nowhere to be seen.

Now that’s plain creepy, he thought.

---

Every afternoon, at two-fifteen, an intimidating young officer would take a table near the entrance, without ordering. Precisely three minutes after, another redhead would enter the cafe, this one loud and boisterous.

“Madds!” He would bellow, pleased to see the officer, and then flounce to the counter to order. Chaoji had learned early on this one was named Lavi, if only because the other man had introduced himself right away and proceeded to order one of the most complicated drinks the barista ever had to make.

Lavi never did order the same thing twice, which gave Chaoji a little enjoyable challenge every day. The officer though, “Madds,” himself would never order himself anything, and would only ever sit at the table and wait for his apparent friend.

After getting his complicated drink of the day, Lavi would sit with the other man and Chaoji swore the redhead never stopped talking.

Once the coffee was finished, both would always leave together.

Chaoji thought they made an odd match.

---

Link shoved his cellphone back into his pocket and rounded the last set of corners to where his son seemed to have ended up. The moment he lost sight of the boy, the father contacted the one person he knew would be able to find the boy in seconds.

“What am I, your personal satellite?” Neah had hissed.

Unbothered by the threats to his life, Link listened to the map of directions given to him. (Link had learned that ignoring Neah’s nonsense was the best course of action than to ever outright believe him. The blonde knew very well, were he not married to the man’s nephew, the risk of actually getting his eyes gouged out and shoved down his throat would have been real.

As it stood, Link knew that all Allen had to do was frown and Neah would backpedal so fast, the uncle would fall off a cliff and land in the lost city of Atlantis.)

Opening the church doors, Link ran into the foyer and called out his son’s name. “Timothy!”

“Papa!” The boy jumped from a pew, and waved. “I knew you’d find me!”

Before the father could scold his son for running away, and drag the boy into his arms, Link noticed the other presence in the room.

“Ah.”

His dark eyes made contact with a pair of weary, equally dark ones, and he swore he heard a piano in the air.

“This is Lala!” Timothy introduced, waving his arms with flare. “She likes to sing like Allen.”

“...Hello.” Remembering himself, Link stood straight and held out his hand. “I am Howard Link. Thank you for keeping my son company.”

The girl, who couldn’t be older than thirteen, only stared at the hand and huffed. “Next time, keep him from running off. The Carnival can get dangerous when it starts.” She warned, her voice was clear and sounded much older than she should.

Right, Link thought. He was the one being scolded instead.

By a child.

Timothy tugged his father’s arm. “Papa. She wants to meet Allen.” Of course she does.

---

Setting his sheet music down, Allen answered his phone. “Hello Mister Papa!”

He heard his husband clear his throat. “Are you still at the studio?”

“Yup!”

Allen could hear Timothy chattering away as giddy background noise.

“I’m bringing over a guest.”

Grey eyes blinked, surprised. “Oh?” ---

Three o’clock seemed to be when the last handful of interesting fellows entered the cafe.

First, a duo of more young officers would chime in. The young man (who looked an awful like the previous young officer with Lavi) would order a large Cafe Americano, with three shots of hazelnut, medium caramel latte and a medium regular coffee with a shot of mocha - rapid fire as though he had this order long memorized before Chaoji even started working the counter.

The other besides him would stare at the barista with her hawk like gaze that made Chaoji nervous. After ordering, the officer would give his friend’s long hair a tug and leave to wait at the pick up counter. The female officer would huff, flick her hair, give Chaoji one last meaningful look and follow.

On this particular evening, after setting the ordered drinks on the counter, and handing his female friend her latte, the officer says, “Her name is Tewaku and she stares because she thinks you’re cute.”

Silence.

Then, “Tokusa, I will obliterate you.” the woman says, clear as day as though she were mentioning the weather, and left the cafe.

Chaoji, too stunned to say anything, gaped like a fish.

The other, Tokusa, cackled and followed after.

After the duo, in came Mister Marie, who Chaoji learned was a high school music teacher. He was also Kanda’s brother.

He would order a green tea, and if Kanda was still tucked away in the corner, a tea for him as well and coerce his brother into human interaction. Sometimes another man would join them, with sarcasm rolling off him in waves and pester the other two.

(Chaoji would later learn this was Kanda’s other brother, and the barista wondered just how much family did he have?)

---

The girl hesitated at the door, which Link announced lead to where Allen was currently waiting on them. Judging by the sound in the air, he was on the piano the hall had provided for him.

Lala made a motion to open the door, only to stop short and shrink back on herself, and toyed with her tangled hair.

Deciding that he could just barge the door open for her, Timothy almost did just that when his father sighed and stepped forward. Taking out his braid and stretched the freed hair band in his hand, Link said, “Hold still.” 

Lala scowled, not liking being given orders from a stranger. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Helping.”

---

The door opened, and Allen greeted the young girl, whose hair had just been detangled and braided, and looked for all the world nervous.

“Hello Miss Lala! Come have a seat.”  

The young teen stiffly sat at the piano bench beside the singer. “Th-thank you. I’m a. Fan.” She mumbled, face red and hands clutched.

Allen grinned, pleased. “Want to hear a song?”

The girl, wide eyed, nodded.

---

“Me too, me too!” Timothy ran in, and clambered up into his father’s lap, refusing to be left out.

Link blew an errant strand of hair from his face and figured he’d better go and find a fax machine.

---

After closing, his aunt would ask, “How was business?”

Chaoji would smile, proud, because he could say, “Good!”