#and the other lads would find a bundle of fabric on the ground

[cryptidzatitagain]

A comic I made about the spooky lads AU by @alittlesliceofcucumber that was inspired by a conversation on the discord.

[spoon-writes]

Ends of the Earth | Chapter 2

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mando x OC

Read on FFN or AO3

Summary: When Sinead's husband is ripped from her, she escapes the Hutt Empire and goes on a quest to find him. Since being a runaway slave in the Outer Rim isn't exactly easy, she makes the Mandalorian an offer he can't refuse and soon they travel across the galaxy, looking for her missing husband.

Chapter index

Chapter 2 - The Deal

“There we were, cruising over Utapau, waiting for orders from those kriffin’ bastards. The boys were gettin’ restless, but I say to them, I say, you lads have been beggin’ me for a break for months, and now you turn tetchy for a little downtime? I told ‘em just kick back ‘n relax, n’ rake in the creds while the client figured out what to do ‘bout us.”

Sinead rested her elbows on the bar top, watching the Zabrak slam back the remainder of her mug, slamming it on the table. “And did you?”

“Kiff no. Those rhukis tried to stiff us until we caught ‘em, that is. They went on sayin’ that on account of ‘em not needing us after all, they shouldn’t ‘ave to pay us.”

“Can’t imagine that went over well with the boys.”

The Zabrak barked out a laugh and slammed her fist on the bar between them hard enough to make the crockery rattle. “The lads don’t like it much when clients don’t keep their promises. As I see it, we was just getting some justice.”

“Balance in the galaxy, and all that,” Sinead said, filling up the Zabrak’s mug with a frothy green concoction.

“Knew you’d get it.” The Zabrak grinned, flashing a row of yellowing teeth filed to a point.

It was late at night, or as late as it could be on a space station that used artificial light all hours of the day. The star it orbited hung almost dead in the vacuum, a white dwarf, gone before the first sentients even started dreaming about space travel. Its cold light did nothing to warm up the planets left circling it.

Sinead had been on the space station for almost a month. Not long after gaining her freedom, she’d discovered that while convictions were all well and good, it wouldn’t keep her from starving, and she’d found herself working in one of the two cantinas aboard the station. This one was less frequented, which suited Sinead just fine. Sometimes, when a big starship docked, the place would flood with spacers, but curiously they rarely came back.

“What’s next for you and your boys?”

“Eh, some rich fella from the Core wants us to lug his cargo halfway ‘cross the galaxy. All perfectly legal, of course.”

“Of course. I’m sure all your other stories were perfectly legal too, right?”

“That’s right.” The Zabrak tapped her nose. “You’re a smart one.”

Sinead winked at the captain, before cleaning up the bar and discarding the empty bowls in the kitchen.

When she came back, the Zabrak got up and tossed a couple of credits on the table. “Thanks for listening to an old spacer’s stories,” she said. “Really warms a girl’s hearts.”

“My pleasure. You’re quite the storyteller, you know that?”

The Zabrak barked out a laugh and reached over to slap Sinead on the shoulder. “Always knew I picked the wrong line of work.” She grabbed the rifle that leaned against the bar. “See ya around, kid.”

The Zabrak left, her long coat swinging behind her, and Sinead was left to her own devices. Two Niktos were the only patrons left in the bar and they sat together at a small table, heads bent low over their meals, and only muttering a few words between bites.

The station was originally a scientific vessel, orbiting the very star it was surveying. Sometimes before the fall of the Empire, the scientists left and not soon after enterprising spacers moved in, turning the station into a decent halfway point between nowhere and nothing.

Once Sinead grew adequately bored staring into thin air, she grabbed a broom from a cupboard and started sweeping. The maintenance droid was down something that happened surprisingly often in a place frequented by mechanics and pilots.

Five years she’d been free. Five years and every clue, every lead on Kyen fizzed out before she had the chance to grab it. The last one in a long line of disappointments ended with her nearly getting caught by a band of privateers, and now it hovered just out of reach.

She wondered if she had made a mistake breaking away from the rebels. Their attack on the Imps saved her life, but fear of retaliation made her split as fast as she could, although a few months later, that wasn’t a concern anymore; the Empire shattered, and whatever was left was too preoccupied picking up the pieces. That left the Hutts, but as far as she knew, they thought she was dead, and she wanted to keep it that way. Now she just hovered in place, waiting for a new opportunity to-

The door swished open, and a cold blast of air hit her. She turned around to face the new patron.

His armor glinted in the harsh light.

Bounty hunter.

Mandalorian.

Her body reacted without input from her brain. She swung the broom at his head.

The Mandalorian ducked, and the broom sailed over his head; as it came around again, he grabbed it and wrenched it out of Sinead's hands, and it clattered on the ground.

The Niktos jumped up so quickly that their chairs fell backward, blasters pointed at the Mandalorian, with his own blaster trained at them.

Reason clawed its way through the fog of fear.  "Are you a bounty hunter?" Her voice sounded loud in the tense room.

The Mandalorian cocked his head to the side and looked from Sinead to the Niktos. "Not right now." His voice was hoarse and sounded exhausted, but that could just be the voice modulator.

Sinead took a step back and sent a look over her shoulder at the Niktos, begging them to stand down. They shared a look, yellow teeth bared but lowered their blasters slowly.

She looked back at the Mandalorian, his blaster aimed directly at her. "I'm sorry about that," she said, giving him a weak smile. "We've had some problems with bounty hunters."

The Mandalorian kept staring at her, or rather, she assumed he kept staring at her, as his helmet gave absolutely no indication. Eventually, he lowered his blaster, but kept it at hand, presumably in case she started swinging the broom again.

He looked like he was about to leave when the bundle tucked safely into the crook of his arm started moving, and a small green hand appeared from between two folds.

Sinead watched in wonder as some fabric was pushed to the side, and two big, dark eyes looked out at the world.

The Mandalorian sighed and finally returned his blaster to its holster. "You got any food?"

Sinead tore her eyes away from the little creature. "Uh, yes. There’s yvum soup on the boiler."

"One bowl then." He sat down at the table nearest the door, keeping his back against the wall where he could see the entire room.

The Niktos sat back down, but their food remained untouched as they looked warily at the Mandalorian, whispering among themselves.

Sparing one last look at the little creature, Sinead went into the tiny kitchen attached to the cantina and filled a bowl with yvum soup, a gelatinous substance made from boiling the hell out of whatever meat was available. Thick and brown, it looked like mud and smelled like it too, but the few people brave enough to frequent the cantina weren’t the kind to complain.

When Sinead returned to the Mandalorian, he had removed the little creature from its cocoon and placed it on his lap so its little green head could see over the table.

Sinead left the bowl in the middle of the table, and the Mandalorian pulled it toward him. It didn’t take long for the child to start slurping down soup.

"Thank you," the Mandalorian grunted and tossed a couple of credits on the table.

That surprised her a bit as most cantina patrons didn't seem to know basic manners if it hit them with a broom.

Sinead was putting the credits away in a strongbox beneath the counter when she heard the kid coo softly. Looking over the rim of the counter, she saw it sit up in the Mandalorian’s lap. It looked like nothing she'd ever seen before, so small and soft in the Mandalorian's arms. Its floppy ears lifted curiously whenever the old station made a sound.

Grabbing the broom from the floor, Sinead started sweeping again as an excuse to get a better look at the odd pair. The little one's eyes followed her movements around the room as it slurped the remaining soup. It looked young and old at the same time; its head was covered in fine white hair.

The Niktos left, staring at the Mandalorian as they walked out, and he looked right back, his body shifting slightly, ready to spring into action.

When it became clear that Sinead couldn't continue sweeping a clean floor, she moved to the counter and grabbed the lockbox to count out the credits for her shift.

The kid slowed down eating and was looking around the room with curious eyes. Sinead burned to ask what species it was, but it was clear that its guardian wasn't in a talkative mood.

He said he wasn't a bounty hunter right now. Could he become one again for the right price? She’d met a Mandalorian once, a long time ago, and it was clear they were capable warriors. Plus, she had an ace up her sleeve.

Besides, she was curious about the little green guy.

Sinead's shift ended just as the Mandalorian was about to leave. She watched as he swaddled the child and left the cantina, moving surprisingly quiet for a guy in heavy armor. She waited until he was out of sight before hurrying after him, keeping close to the wall.

The space station was as dead as it was going to get with only a few ships docked. The Niktos were sitting around what looked like an unholy fusion between a Y-wing and a B-73. Sinead's steps sounded loud in the relative quiet.

The Mandalorian disappeared through the door leading to the docking bay.

She slipped through the door and almost collided with the Mandalorian, who stood tall and intimidating, the lighting behind him making him look like a shadow.

"Why are you following me?"

It took Sinead a second to find her voice. "You said you were a bounty hunter, right?"

His voice modulator rustled when he sighed. "I'm not after anyone in the station if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm not," Sinead said. "I want to hire you."

"What?"

"I want to hire you."

The Mandalorian paused, then shook his head and started walking. "Not interested."

Sinead hurried to keep up with him. "I can pay you."

"I'm not with the Guild."

"Wonderful, I'm not asking the Guild, I'm asking you."

"And my answer is no. Stop following me."

They were close to what Sinead assumed was the Mandalorian’s ship. She didn’t recognize the model, but it looked old. It had definitely seen better days.

Sinead bit her lower lip and jumped in front of the Mandalorian, forcing him to stop.

"Move." The command came out harsh and uncompromising.

She moved, and the Mandalorian passed her, his cloak fluttering behind him. She watched as he neared the ship, and she rubbed her jaw as thoughts fell over themselves to get to the forefront of her mind.

She took a chance.

"Does the Nau'orar mean anything to you?"

He stopped in his tracks, his shoulders tensing as the seconds passed by.

"How do you know about that?" He turned to look at her.

"Maybe we should take this somewhere more private."

... ... ... ... ...

Since there were no proper seats in the ship, except for the bunk, which seemed like a bad choice for prefect strangers, Sinead was left standing awkwardly near the bay door.

The Mandalorian stood by a small cot that looked so out of place on the ship. He'd put the child down to sleep, but the little guy evidently knew something was happening because he stayed wide awake, looking from one human to the other.

"Speak."

Sinead resisted running a hand through her hair. The Mandalorian stood unmoving, watching her.

"I need you to find a man who-"

"How do you know about the Nau'orar?"

Straight to the point, then.

Sinead paused and gave the Mandalorian a searching look. Maybe this was a huge mistake.

With a sigh, she produced a small holoprojector from her pocket and threw it to him.

He caught it and turned it on. A blurred hologram of the whip appeared above it, turning slowly on its axis. Even with a cheap holoprojector, the whip looked beautiful.

"I acquired it some years ago-"

"How did you get it?"

Sinead’s jaw clenched, and it took everything in her not to snap at him. Still, she figured that the truth might speed things along. The Mandalorians and the Empire were hardly friends.

"I stole it from the Empire five years ago. The details aren't important, what is, is that I have it in my possession, in a safe place. It's yours if you help me find someone."

"It belongs to the Mandalorians."

Sinead shrugged. "Look, I agree with you, and I would've given it back to its rightful owners if it didn't happen to be an excellent bargaining chip." She gave him a small smile, hoping that he wasn't about to throw her off the ship.

On the bunk, the kid cooed softly, and Sinead smiled at it.

The Mandalorian looked at the hologram for a long moment, his hands clenching and releasing. At last, he sighed deeply. "Who do I need to find?"

"His name is Kyen Beck. He was a slave on Sriluur until they moved him off-world, possibly to a facility on Siskeen.”

The Mandalorian cocked his head to the side. "It's a long way to go for a maybe."

Sinead ignored him. "This isn't a Guild job. I have no puck or fob, or whatever it is they use, but if you do this, the whip is yours."

The Mandalorian still didn't seem convinced. "He's a runaway slave?"

For one dizzying moment, Sinead’s chest felt too tight to breathe.

"He's my husband."

The Mandalorian stiffened and looked away, down at the child who watched their conversation in fascinated silence. He sighed deeply. "I'll look for him, but I can't make any promises."

Sinead let out a deep breath, her knees going weak with relief. Finally, she was doing something.

"Where was his last known location?"

Sinead wet her lips and swallowed. "I talked with someone who escaped from Sriluur two years ago, told me that he'd been shipped to Siskeen with some other slaves, but she doesn’t know exactly what happened."

"And you trust this information?"

"More or less."

The Mandalorian fell silent for some time. "You said she escaped two years ago. Why didn't you just go by yourself?"

"I'm not exactly welcome in Hutt space at the moment." She smiled bitterly. "I tried other bounty hunters, but they didn't really ... work out."¨

He was going to ask her if she used to be a slave. Would he take her back to the Hutt’s instead, taking the easy payment? While her bounty was void, she was sure whoever inherited Slezza’s throne would be glad to see her.

The Mandalorian, to Sinead’s surprise, nodded curtly and moved to the side, effectively ending the conversation. Sinead wasn't done, though.

"When do we leave?"

The Mandalorian froze. "When do we-"

"We leave? I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not. I work alone." He crossed his arms across his chest.

"Not this time. He's my husband."

"You can't-"

"I can read star charts, I can fly, I know how to fight-"

"A broom doesn't count."

Sinead huffed and narrowed her eyes. "There isn't much to go on. I know my husband, I know what he'd do, I know how he looks. Sooner or later, you're going to need me."

"No. Deal's off."

Shaking her head, Sinead took a deep breath and grit her teeth. "Fine." She started toward the door. "You're making a mistake. The Nau'orar does belong with the Mandalorians, but I can't force you."

The kid made a whining sound as the door opened, and its big floppy ears drooped down.

She had made it down the ramp when the Mandalorian appeared in the doorway.

"The ship leaves at 0700." He sounded unsure even as he said it.

Warmth radiated through Sinead's body and she felt weak in the knees. "0700. I'll be there."

The Mandalorian nodded curtly and started to raise the ramp.

"My name is Sinead, by the way," she yelled, just as the ramp closed.

Finally, after 5 years, she was doing something. She had a good feeling about this.

<- Previous chapter - Next chapter ->

[elenatria]

Pacho- comfort after the puppy scene( you know which one)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20407543

Bacho took a sharp breath in as he struck the spark wheel.

“Shit…” he slurred squeezing the smoke between his lips, cursing his luck as he fingered blindly inside his Meteor pack to find nothing but dry leaves.

He let the soothing dry heat slip out of his lips slowly; only one cigarette before going to bed when he thought he had two.

Fucking hell.

How could he fall asleep with just one smoke. He couldn’t even take a shit without them in that hellhole where they had been stacked up like pigs, where healthy young men would come in flocks to find their place in history and be rewarded with vodka crates, only to be sent back to their mamas puking their guts out, castrated, crippled for life. Walking ashes, he thought clicking his tongue. They clung to their precious medals and certificates of merit proudly even as their irradiated bodies shriveled up and died, melting away in a puddle of shit, never to be seen, never to be heard of again.

Most guys didn’t last more than a week or two whereas Bacho had been there for two months already. His chest filled with pride whenever he made the morbid comparison. Maybe his body was resistant to radiation, not that there were blood tests to prove that. Something like Superman, he thought chuckling to himself.

He winced watching the cigarette burn away between his fingers; this Superman felt weak without his Lady Nicotine. For a moment he considered going back to their shelter to steal Garo’s pack. That ugly Armenian didn’t need his smokes in the middle of the night, he always slept like a fucking baby as soon as he shut his eyes. Should he wake up and complain Bacho would knock his teeth out.

He removed a tiny leaf from the tip of his tongue, reconsidering: okay, not his teeth, maybe kick him in the balls or something. He didn’t want the Boy to wake up to an ugly toothless mug, he was scared enough as it was.

The swarthy Georgian paced up and down the muddy wooden corridor between tents, listening to the snoring and the grunts, the cry babies and the sleep talkers, the drunken mumbling, the prayers. Since Afghanistan he had developed the nose and ears of a hound - each shelter had its own sound, its own smell, and he could easily find his way in the dark. There were distinguishable traits, the stench of puke that would soak one tent for days or a lad jacking off in another. Like when he was at home with his brothers, crawling under the nose of his sleeping mother to have his first smoke in the vegetable plot, among cabbages and snails. No need for light, he had his ears, his hands, his nose. He had the moon.

He threw a glance around hoping he’d spot another soldier with a bad case of insomnia just like him, a smoker preferably, but no: only silent tents and the moon staring back at him with a mocking grin on its face.

“Fucker…” he spat at the round-faced ghost over his head and walked around tent 181, squishing the cigarette butt with his boot. Even without a smoke he didn’t want to go to bed yet. Sleep was overrated.

He sat on the ground with his back against the lamp pole looking up at the night sky, counting the few stars he could spot. He considered for a while going back in but he hated the smell of Garo’s armpits. He hated his face, his teeth, his moustache, he hated how he could remain silent for days on end, never giving him a good reason to smash his face.

He didn’t hate the Boy though.

The soldier cringed as Pavel creeped into his thoughts again. Remorse was biting at his chest. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken him on a hunt the first day he arrived, look at his baby cheeks, just a kid. He should have handed him over to someone else, the cooks maybe. Would have been nicer there, just cooking animals that were already dead, not killing them.

He was digging into the mud with the tip of his shoe when he heard something through the thick fabric of the tent. A soft sniveling sound, a choked sob, then a whimper. It wouldn’t stop. It went on and on and on like the burbling whisper of a stream.

Bacho cursed through his teeth and pulled his weight up with a reluctant grunt. Was he supposed to baby sit now? Maybe they should have sent them jars of baby food, he reckoned, not vodka. What the fuck.

He pulled the wooden door open and peered across the tent where he spotted Pavel’s bunk in the dark, at the far end of the shelter: a bundle of covers with a lonely sniffling infant underneath.

Great.

What the hell was he thinking crying like that? Of course Bacho had seen men twice Pavel’s age crying like babies as they witnessed poodles trying to escape the pits where they were being buried. A TV cameraman, yeah, that was the worst, couldn’t pull himself together for days. For all the things he’d seen and done, he never thought he’d have to sweet talk someone out of his nightmares.

This was war and Bacho had seen enough men crying for no reason. Pavel might as well grow a pair.

He walked through his comrades’ beds and the sniveling came to a sudden stop. The Boy was holding his breath.

Proud little soldier, aren’t you.

“Hey Pavel…” he breathed as he took light steps towards the bunk. “You’re not sleeping?”

Pavel coughed, choking on his own snot.

“No…” he mewled.

“What is it?” the older man whispered making his voice as mellow as he could. He leaned over the bed.

“…Nothing…” came the answer through the covers.

“Nothing?…” Bacho mimicked Pavel’s whine. “That doesn’t sound like ‘nothing’ to me. I could hear you through the fucking tent.”

“Sorry…” Pavel sniffled.

“You all right?”

“Y-yes. Missing home…” came the quick excuse. “I guess.”

“Missing home…” Bacho teased.

It dawned on him he had almost forgotten what that meant, missing a place, a person - so weird to not remember that sweet pain in his chest. It must have felt better than feeling nothing at all, he thought bitterly.

“Do you have a sweetheart waiting for you?” A feeble attempt at conversation, a memory long forgotten gnawing at him.

“…No…” Pavel replied wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

“You missing your mom?” Bacho insisted. “Your old man? Brothers and sisters?”

“I-I don’t have brothers and sisters…” Pavel mumbled almost apologetically.

Bacho turned to him arching a brow. “An only child,” he marveled. “That’s modern life for you.”

“No…” Pavel replied. “My mom couldn’t have any more babies after me…”

“Ah,” Bacho said and bit his lip in regret. “I see. Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay…” Pavel said lifting the covers over his head. “I keep her enough company, she says.”

“Yeah that’s nice,” Bacho nodded trying to remember his own mother’s eyes.

They were the easiest to remember, big and blue, like lakes. The rest he had forgotten. He had convinced himself he didn’t miss her - not her rare smiles, not her pain, not her last days of agony.

“Maybe you should write to her,” he proposed as he pushed clear topaz eyes out of his memory. “Make you feel better.”

Pavel sat up on the mattress. “No,” he muttered. “She wouldn’t understand.”  

“Understand what, that her boy is missing her? Of course she would understand, she’s your mom.”

Pavel shook his head repeatedly. “No, she wouldn’t. She’s not… like me. She has never hurt another God’s creature in her entire life.”

Bacho huffed and shoved a hand into his pocket for a pack that wasn’t there. He cursed again, his salvation was long gone. He’d steal Garo’s if he hadn’t heard him shifting under the sheets, agitated by their whispers.

“I hope you’re not one of those religious freaks,” he joked. “God died a long time ago, haven’t you heard?”

“G-God has nothing to do with it…” Pavel stuttered, his jaw clenched, his eyes as cold as ice. “I swore I’d protect them, I’d never let another animal die in my hands again, I–”

“What, you mean Saint Francis and all that Catholic crap?” Bacho scoffed. “Catholics and their tales, man, they’re the worst of the worst…”

“No…” Pavel insisted. “You don’t understand…”

Bacho opened his mouth in protest but all that came out was an exasperated sigh. He was no expert on psychology or religion, they didn’t teach those in schools or in the army. Was he supposed to “understand” now, was he supposed to be good at pep talks? Next thing he knew they’d be crying on each other’s shoulders.

“What is there to understand?” he shrugged. “Animals live and fuck and die like the rest of us, that’s all there is to it.”

Pavel’s stony stare kept cutting through the dark searching for something Bacho couldn’t see. He curled his knees under his chin wrapping his arms around himself. “I read in a book my teacher lent me once,” he muttered, “that our ancestors would ask for forgiveness from the animals and birds they killed for food. When the ancient Egyptians were dying, they would say a prayer: ‘I hurt no creature, deprived no animal of grain or grass.’”

Bacho smacked his lips with an array of excuses hanging at the tip of his tongue. “It’s about killing those pets today, right? We have no choice, boy, and if it wasn’t us, someone else would be killing them. Radiation will give them pain and still births and deformed fetuses, it’s going to be ugly for generations to come. They’re not pets anymore, they’re reactors.”

Pavel rocked back and forth on his bed squeezing his knees tighter. “They don’t know why we’re killing them,” he said blankly. “We were supposed to protect them from this, from… us. They’re only good enough to save when we use them. Their meat, their fur, their company. They’re just useful to us, nothing more.”

Bacho cocked a brow at the young philosopher. He never thought he’d be talking about the facts of life at this ungodly hour.

“I don’t know many things a man would do out of mercy, out of the goodness of his heart,” he growled. “That’s not how the world works. Even to humans we’re just as bad: we lie to each other, use each other, kill each other. Did you honestly think we’d be any better to animals?”

Pavel turned to face him for the first time, his tear-stained eyes as clear as lakes. “No,” he said, unblinking. “But we don’t even try.”

The wrinkle between Bacho’s brows deepened at the Boy’s honesty.

What was he doing talking to a child? Children were idealists, children spoke the truth, children could hurt you with their desperate need for justice. He had made his peace with the truth ages ago, when he was a boy too killing deer with his father, watching them bleed to death as they looked straight into his eyes, desperate for one last breath, yearning to know why. Back then he had tucked away the truth in a drawer he never intended to open again.

“I did try… once,” Pavel’s voice trailed off. “Back in Kiev, our block had a storage room, in the basement. I found a cat with her newborn kittens there, she had crept through the broken window. My mother and I knew the other residents would either drown her kittens or throw her rat poison, so we assumed she’d be better off living in Kaniv with my cousin, Alina. Her husband didn’t like cats but there was an abandoned cottage near her house where the cat could raise her kitties peacefully. Alina would bring her food and water every morning, until one day she found her dead in the street, run over by a car. And to think it was a peaceful street, only three families lived there.” Pavel was scratching his knees over the fabric of his pajamas, trying to focus on a different kind of pain.

He took a deep shaky breath. “Her orphans were less than two weeks old and they needed to be fed every three hours, even during the night. My cousin couldn’t do that, she was working, so she drove to Kiev and brought them back to me. I was a student then, I would wake during the night and feed them.”

Pavel took a long breath in, clasping his knees harder. “I bought them milk, I would warm it in a pot that I sterilized myself every three hours, then wait for it to cool down. I used an eyedropper to feed them, all four of them, as they mewed and whined for my attention, pissing themselves right after. I would wipe them with a cloth dipped in chamomile tea to keep them clean. They wouldn’t sleep at night, they needed their mama, and I couldn’t take them in my bed so I would wrap a towel around a hot water bottle and place a ticking clock in its folds to simulate their mother’s warmth and heartbeat, just to keep them calm, put them to sleep. I thought I did everything right, Bacho…”

The Georgian’s mouth parted at the soft-spoken mention of his name but the Boy wasn’t looking at him anymore.

“I didn’t sleep for days and days, I skipped school, and when I did go I would fall asleep on my desk.” Pavel’s eyes were shining in the dark, welling up with fresh tears that started streaming down his cheeks. “My mother couldn’t take care of them, she was working, so I was the only one. They started having diarrhea. The vet said they wouldn’t last long but they were getting dehydrated so I kept giving them milk and water. I think the milk was making it worse. The biggest, most playful one started losing weight. She would crawl behind their makeshift bed, hiding from the others, looking for solitude, for the last traces of warmth. I gave her a separate hot bottle, just for her. She looked like a dirty mop. I would push the eyedropper into her mouth and she would suck and suck even as her jaw went limp. She knew she was dying but she would suck out of reflex, out of instinct, until her tiny body started getting cold. That night I held her against my chest, trying to keep her warm. ‘Breathe,’ I whispered through her fur, “keep breathing”. She was so still. So… still.”

Pavel’s lips were trembling. When he opened his mouth again his voice had weakened to a whimper. “I wish animals understood our language as they die, you know?…”

A child’s wish, Bacho thought clenching his fist in his pocket until his knuckles went white.

Pavel shook his head, his eyes two slits of regret as he squeezed his lips together. “I don’t know if she knew that I wanted to keep her alive. She didn’t understand what was happening, she didn’t complain, she didn’t make a sound. She just died.”

Pavel bit down on his fist to choke a whimper. “H-her siblings followed,” he stuttered blinking away the tears, “dying one after the other. All of them turned cold in my hands. Little balls of fur, no bigger than my palm. They didn’t know what death was. Too young. Babies.”

Bacho watched the Boy as a wave of sobs swept through his body making him look even younger, even more helpless than he was.

“I swore I would protect animals when that happened,” Pavel swallowed hard. “I swore I’d do my best. Is that…” he gestured around hopelessly. “Is that what ‘doing my best’ looks like?…”

Bacho played aimlessly with his lighter striking sparks out of it, realizing what had kept him from sleeping that night. It was the sin of sending an innocent to kill other innocents that was weighing down on him, and he didn’t even believe in God.

“We betrayed them all,” he stated monotonously. “We keep betraying them every day.”

He gave a bitter chuckle. “You’d think keeping those kitties out of sight and out of mind would help you, right? Keep them out of the basement, away from rat poison… Yeah. Cities are not meant for them. We domesticate them only to abandon them, to watch them die in our own traps.”

He peered through the dark as if his memories were being projected like a film on the shelter’s wall. “I knew a girl once, Natela… We dated for a couple of years,” he murmured, a ghost of a smile brushing over his aquiline features. “She loved dogs, she loved them so much. I think she loved dogs more than she loved babies,” he said scratching his curly head. “I told her once that I wanted to have babies with her but she refused, she said she was too young, wanted to travel, live her life. I shrugged, I didn’t mind, I took life as it was. So Natela… She couldn’t have a dog, it wasn’t allowed in her mother’s apartment plus she didn’t have the money for it. We resorted to going to the park once a week to feed the strays. Natela loved one stray in particular, Mimi.” He mouthed the name like it was the cutest thing in the world, warm and fluffy in his mouth. “Like in the opera, ‘La Boheme’ you know?”

He inspected his fingers, the sticky black dirt under his nails he couldn’t get rid of, and from the corner of his eye he noticed Pavel’s drying eyes - he was sitting up, alert, hanging from every word. It was better to listen to someone else’s suffering, Bacho pondered, better for the soul. He didn’t have one but Pavel did. Maybe that was a thing to fight for after all.

“Mimi was a mongrel,” he continued. “She would yap with joy whenever she saw us approaching with our paper bags full of bones and leftovers. She had been adopted by the kiosk owner working in the park who would raise money from customers to get her vaccinated. He would even decorate her dog house with ornaments during New Year’s holidays. When it wasn’t too cold Natela and I would cross the busy road separating the park from her apartment block. I’d whistle and Mimi would jump out of the bushes to run into Natela’s arms. The one day—” Bacho paused.

He looked around, desperate for a drink.

Finding nothing he opened his arms, shrugging. “One day Natela fell out of love,” he said casually snapping his fingers, “just like that. I guess it was my fault for never asking too much. Always going where she went. Always following. The coldness between us had been building up for months. One day she said she wanted to visit Poland alone, said she had friends there. We had our breakfast in silence, toasted bread with butter, drank our coffee, when I just couldn’t stand the silence anymore. I said ‘Maybe I should leave’ and got up. ‘…Then leave’ was all she said. Simple as that.” He rubbed his temple, trying to remember everything before he could forget it all again. “As I was packing my things, my briefs, my toothbrush, she started crying. Instead of saying some mawkish shit about farewells she said… she said she hadn’t seen Mimi in weeks, months, but she didn’t dare ask the kiosk owner what had happened to her.”

Bacho played with his lighter making it slide and disappear between his fingers like an old conjurer who had grown tired of his own tricks. “I left her apartment with my bag under my arm, feeling empty and used up. Almost unconsciously I crossed the busy road and reached the kiosk where we would always go together, where we would visit Mimi, our Mimi, our one constant. The kiosk owner wasn’t there anymore. There was another guy. I looked at the empty dog house and asked him what had happened to her. He said—”

He tried his next words in his mind again and again until his tongue went stiff as a plank. “He said… Mimi had been run over by a car crossing the busy road months before we even noticed her absence. The same road Natela would cross to go to the park, to go to work, to visit her friends. Just a road Mimi had crossed hundreds of times before.”

Bacho rubbed his lip repeatedly avoiding Pavel’s shocked gaze. “Dogs get run over by cars every day, don’t they?” he said. “Human streets, human cities, human power plants… They’re not meant for dogs, boy. Nobody cares if another stray gets its skull smashed crossing the street or if it gets contaminated. Nobody cares if we’re shooting pets in abandoned villages or people, no difference to them. Fuck, nobody cares about us.”

Pavel’s cheeks were glistening with the last traces of tears when he finally opened his mouth, breaking the silence.

“I do,” he said, his words almost a whisper.

“You do what?”

“Care.”

Bacho lifted his head, chuckling. He knew he wasn’t supposed to feel anything for anyone after that day in the park but Pavel was different; he had started growing on him, infesting him, like measles. He laughed at his own joke, a baby joke he would never tell the Boy.

He patted Pavlunya on the shoulder.

(nicknames already popping in his head - a bad sign)

“Go to sleep now. No more crying.”

He got up slowly and Pavel followed him with his eyes as his warm calloused hand dragged across the young man’s shoulder blades.

“I—cannot sleep,” Pavel said.

“Well I can’t either,” Bacho agreed opening his arms. “Maybe come smoke with me?”

Pavel shook his head. “No. It would be better if – if you stayed here.”

“Stay here? Stay here where?” the older man asked glancing around, baffled.

Pavel lowered his eyes in shame as his cheeks took on a redder hue and he promptly sank under his covers turning his back on the veteran.

Bacho rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms, wincing, trying to resist the urge to comfort this useless puppy with a hug and a few belly rubs. What the hell did he want now?

With a resigned grunt he removed his fatigue jacket, tossed it on the floor and sat next to Pavel.

“Move over, will ya?” he urged him giving his arm a light squeeze.

As he lied down without taking his boots off he thought he heard a content hum, certain that his imagination and sleeplessness were playing tricks on him. He enveloped Pavel’s small frame and wrapped his free arm around him, bracketing him with his whole body like twins in a womb.

It never occurred to Bacho that he’d have to do this when he enlisted. Comforting an innocent seemed to be that night’s unexpected task but, for now, it seemed to be the only task to have any meaning in this madness.

A second peaceful hum confirmed that he hadn’t imagined the first one. He hadn’t experienced fatherhood before, maybe he never would, yet he knew Pavlunya was already falling asleep, going limp in his arms as his breath grew deeper.

He smiled into the young man’s chestnut hair.

 Yeah, he really liked this Boy.

His Boy.

[thesschesthair]

She’s waiting.

So it’s probably already been done but i’m wallowing deep in the Wish hook junkyard and this attacked me out of nowhere. 

So I thought i’d share lol. Tagging @queen-mabs-revenge cos she’s mah Santiago. 

Detective Rogers has a lot of things on his mind that he can’t explain. 

He’s great at zoning out. He’s not sure if it’s something he’s learnt to do with the job or if he’s just always been a patient man, but it certainly comes in handy at times like this.

There’s an irritating fellow in front of him doing his best to order the most complicated of drinks, possibly only to get the satisfaction of making the barista’s life a misery. He seems the type of arrogant man that would sue the poor lad for getting the wrong texture of foam on his drink but… he doesn’t want to assume.

He stands with his arms meeting neatly behind his back, a firm and upright stance that resembles something out of the military. He’s not sure if it was something taught at the academy or if it again is just something that came naturally to him over the years.

As the arse in front who’s most certainly suffering from ‘little man syndrome’ continues to dictate to the young barista, he finds his gaze wandering aimlessly around the establishment.

Light wood chairs with the barest hint of fabric on the seat to make them at least appear comfortable to sit on. Plain walls with a mixture of painted stripes in shades of cream and brown he’s sure have names like ‘cream tea’, ‘hazelnut’ and ‘mocha’.

The display cooler is a mix of bottled sodas and plastic wrapped sandwiches that look both unappetising and stone cold. He’s sure they’ve been sitting there a while.

His eyes then land on the glass display that acts half as the service counter. An array of sweet treats litter the glowing glass container. Walnut cake, brownies, apple tarts, iced buns.

Iced buns.

He hasn’t seen one of those in-

“Daddy!” the little girl gushed, careful to keep her voice as quiet as possible but unable to hide the excitement exploding from her.

“There’s my girl.” he chuckled as he swept her up in his arms.

“You’ve something in your coat.”

He feigns confusion, playing the role of innocence to tease her. She’s her father’s double; always able to sniff out treasure when it’s nearby.

“I’ve no idea what you mean.”

“Dad.” she whined as she stuffed her hands into his coat.

He places her back on the ground and steps back.

“It can wait, but first, my little doubloon, tell me. Have you eaten today?”

“Aye.” she nodded. “I’ve had oatmeal.”

He’s relieved that they aren’t cruel enough to starve her in this wretched place.

“Then I guess you’ve no need for these.”

He pulls a cloth wrapped bundle from inside his coat and holds it out for her to take.

She wastes no time in unwrapping it to find two large iced buns, still soft and fresh from the bakery. His smile is bittersweet as he watches his daughter’s eyes light up at the mere sight of such a common delicacy.

He leans forward as if to tell her a huge secret to which she eagerly awaits his words.

“I’ve been told these also have a surprise inside.”

“Raisins?!”

“Raisins.” he nods.

She takes his hand and drags him to sit with her on her makeshift cot. His heart breaks as he watches her place the bundle of cakes between them and shares the two. He wonders how it’s possible he managed to be gifted such a selfless treasure as this angel before him, even in the most bleakest of situations she thinks of others.

“No, no, my love.” he gently protests, pushing the treat back to her. “They’re all for you.”

“Really?”

“Aye. Now don’t go making yourself poorly. And I promise you.” he vows, cupping her small rosy cheek in his palm. “When i’m able to take you with me, we’ll feast on all the cakes and roast dinners you wish for.”

Her beaming smile makes the pain worth it.

-he hasn’t see one in… well, he doesn’t remember really.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by a very stressed voice, fidning the irritating man has gone and the young lad is waiting for his order.

“Just a small black coffee please.” he smiles, watching the relief fall over the young man as he scribbles his drink onto the side of a cup.

“Excuse me?” he points to the display cabinet, unable to help himself. “Do those iced buns have raisins?”

They’re not his favourite cases to work but robberies are easy enough. They’re always the same. Forced entry, vandalised security cameras, and just enough bread crumbs left behind to lead him to the culprit.

Weaver is all too happy to take charge and question the meek old shop owner who’s apparently more useless than the pathetic cash register that’s been torn open with what he suspects was your average crowbar.

He listens to the man’s stuttered explanations as Weaver dishes out query upon query… he’s happy to browse the scene, searching for their first batch of bread crumbs.

Wires hand limp over the brightly lit shelving, now empty where majority of the electronics used to sit on display. It’s next to the rows of home furnishings such as throw rugs, cushions, ghastly ornaments that are a combination of the words LIVE, LAUGH, LOVE.

He gets to a small collection of decanters and ashtrays when he spots a beautiful dark wooden chessboard; a gorgeous set of marble pieces stand proud on their squares looking regal and inviting.

He picks up a dark marble piece that resembles a tower… he’s not even sure why he’s drawn to such a thing but he rolls it between his fingers all the same, observing the smooth surface-

“Checkmate!” she announces triumphantly.

He feels the surge of pride fill his chest at her win.

“You’re getting good at this.” he observes. “Quite the expert opponent.”

He sees her face drop at his words and worry replaces him.

“What’s wrong, little one?”

“I don’t want our games to stop, papa. If I become an expert, you won’t want to play anymore and I don’t want that.”

“Hey now. None of that.”

He gets an idea as to how to remove the glumness consuming her. He picks up his knight she’d defeated to win the game and places it in her palm, curling her hand around it.

“As long as you hold on to this.” he begins, turning back to the board to pick up her winning rook. “And as long as I hold onto this, we’ll have a piece of each other’s army. It means no matter what, we’ll always play.”

“You promise?”

“Aye, my darling.”

Her smile returns for a short blessed moment before a distant boom thunders throughout the room.

“I have to go.” he informs her, sorrow filling his heart.

She surges forward and grips his hook, staring up at him with large eyes, boring into his very soul.

“You’ll come back tomorrow? Please come back tomorrow.”

“You have my knight?”

She nods and holds it out for him to see.

“Than i’ll be back, darling.” he assures her, kissing the top of her head. “I promise.”

It tears him apart as he makes his way to the door, watching her clutch the marble steed to her chest.

“Fan of chess, are we?”

He spins to find Weaver watching him with that judgemental glare he can never get a read on.

“I erm… I wouldn’t know.” he mumbles, somewhat embarrassed. “Never played.”

He places the chess piece back on the display and turns to his partner.

“Game of logic, chess. Always have to be one step ahead.”

Weaver’s words always have a cryptic tone to them which irritates him beyond belief but he remains silent.

“We’re done here.” he informs him, not even bothering to see if he’s following.

He follows.

Research can be calming. He’s in the comfort of the bullpen, coffee just in reach, and not stuck out in the cold questioning reluctant civilians. The only downside is it can be mind numbingly boring at times. He sometimes finds his mind wanders when the search takes its time.

Today is one of those days.

He’s scouring Ebay for specific stolen jewellery items matching the photographs in the file beside him. It’s time consuming but they have to cover all their options. It’s been known to work in his favour a surprising amount of times.

He’s all but ready to whizz the mouse up and down the page until the screen becomes a blur, when an image catches his attention.

They don’t match the stolen items, not by a long shot but he clicks the advertisement anyway, bringing up a larger image of what’s caught his eye.

A simple pair of ladies gold drop earrings with some sort of gold discs that dangle down. He’s no idea why they seem familiar… he’s mentally going through old open cases, wondering where he’s seen them before-

She stands on his feet, holds his hook in one hand and braces herself on his right arm with the other, struggling to keep upright as she giggles uncontrollably. He waltzes her around the room, humming a tune and holding her firmly as not to let her fall.

These are the moments he loves most. The sadness that lingers behind her too youthful eyes is completely vanquished and all he can see- can feel, is her joy.

Her laugh encourages him and he vows to spend an eternity making that heavenly sound escape her.

He slows them to a stop when he finally fatigues and lets her hop off his feet as he catches his breath.

She nestles into his side on the small cot as he pulls out a small velvet box.

“Your gift.”

“Another?” she asks in surprise.

“You can never have too many.” he balks.

She opens it to find a set of small gold doubloons nestled on a cushion of silk, both discs with an earring attachment looped through a hole at the top.

“Many years ago, before you were even a twinkle in this pirate’s eye.” he explains. “I ventured to a place called Agrabah. I found many treasures in that exotic realm and among them, these two doubloons remained.”

“But dad, my ears are not pierced.” she worries.

“Not yet.” he insists. “These are a promise, my little cherub. Soon we’ll be free, and you can pierce your ears, become the proper little pirate warrior I know you’ll be.” he tells her as he brushes her hair idly with his hand. “And once we are, we’ll be home on the Jolly Roger. I’ll teach you to captain and we can waltz under the stars… the world will be at our fingertips.”

“And we can go to Agrabah?”

“Wherever you wish to go.”

“I can’t wait.” she mutters wistfully as she wraps herself around his neck, nestling her head further under his stubbly chin and holding on as if he would disappear if she let go. “This has been the best birthday.”

“Nonsense.” he scoffs. “They’ll only get better. Believe me.”

And as he pulls her tighter to him, he hopes and prays she does believe in him, because once he finds a way to free her from this hell, he’s got the world ready to give her.

His tiny little sparkle that lights up his life.

A crude snort has him turning to find Officer Morden leaning over him.

“Keep dreaming, eagle scout. Not on your salary.”

It’s only when he spies the asking price on the earrings that had enchanted him does he realise what the other man is talking about.

He closes the tab and goes back to his search, hoping he’d leave.

“I’m kind of surprised, a lot of us were betting on you batting for the other team.” Morden continues. “So who is she?”

“Excuse me?”

“The broad who’s legs you’re hoping to get between with those things.”

He keeps his temper from flaring barely as he holds up the file he’s working, and shakes it at the vile officer.

“No one. I’m searching for these.”

The man just shrugs at him and waddles off after muttering about it being a shame as he seems to need a good lay.

He knows the fellow officer is probably on his way to inform the others and have a good laugh about the ‘one handed boy scout with a badge’, but he’d given up caring what they thought of him long ago.

He reaches for his cup to find it empty and it puts him on his last nerve. He can feel the tension forming a migraine behind his eyes and it’s the last thing he needs right now.

He’s tired, frustrated… and is sick of losing himself in things that have no meaning to him whatsoever.

Maybe he should look into taking some of that holiday time he’s saved up finally.

A break away might be just what he needs.

Clear his head.

Get away for a while where the likes of Weaver and Morden and countless horrid crimes can’t follow.

He’s suddenly hit with flashes of that little girl’s mugshot, the bold red letters ‘MISSING’ jumping off the page and the countless dead ends that haunt him daily....

And he remembers why he can’t walk away.

He can’t take time for himself.

Somewhere out there that little girl needs him.

She’s waiting for him to find her and he can’t give up until he does.

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Shirts and Science Teachers

Based on an imagine from @imaginexhobbit submitted by @hiccuplovver: Imagine the Dwarves giving you a spare shirt to sleep in and them being different sizes.

Word Count: 1632

Well, you got past the screaming in terror – it took a while, but you were proud that you hadn’t passed out like the poor unfortunate Dwarf you’d landed on. Yes, Dwarf. You had rather given up on making sense of where you were, but these small people were definitely not humans. You’d landed on one who looked a bit like the very unfortunate pictures you’d once seen of your dad – complete with bowl-cut hair and decked out in knitwear.

He had braids and a beard, which your 8-year-old father had not sported, but otherwise the resemblance was uncanny. At least he had provided a soft landing, your thoughts informed you, in that sort of detached way you can talk to yourself when you’re in shock. For instance, if you had landed on the bald Dwarf, your thoughts continued as you stared dumbly at the collection of – you wished you could believe they were cosplayers­ – Dwarves, you’d probably have gotten badly hurt. On the other hand, he looked capable enough that he might have caught you, another thought piped up. You winced, rubbing your bum. As if it wasn’t bad enough that you’d landed on a Dwarf, when you missed a step on your run, they were all staring at you in a way that made you feel naked. Scowling at the blonde one who was closest – with a braided moustache he definitely didn’t have grounds to judge anyone’s attire… though he was a bit cute – you really wished it had been autumn instead of high summer this morning. A sports bra and shorts did not seem like adequate protection against the elements when the people around you – oh, god, look at the feet on that one! – were wearing several layers of clothes plus fur collars and massive boots – except the one with the feet, your brain wailed. Shivering, you rubbed your arms.

“Where you attacked, lass?” One of them looked like a non-Coca-Cola version of Santa Claus and smiled kindly at you. Your mouth opened and closed a few times, as you wondered whether you’d fallen and hit your head or perhaps someone had maced you with a hallucinogenic?

“You speak?” you asked, because your filter had taken a hiatus at the moment. The Dwarves frowned. You weren’t quite sure which one to watch, given that they all seemed armed – except the one with hairy feet, your brain piped up helpfully. Unfortunately, the Dwarves seemed to take offense, the bald one’s axes springing into his hands so quickly you wondered if it was magic. Taking two steps back, you bumped against someone a good bit taller than you were. A whimper escaped you. There were Dwarves here… who’s to say this dream wouldn’t also have giants? Craning you head back, you caught sight of grey cloth, following the fabric up up up to a long grey beard and a wrinkly face that seemed oddly familiar.

“There you are!” the very tall man – made no smaller by the pointy hat and, oh god, this was a bleedin' wizard! – smiled at you. Oddly enough, you relaxed slightly. Frowning quizzically, the wizard – you felt more than a little hysterical by now – moved you around to face him. “What are you wearing, child?” he asked. Suddenly, something in your mind went ding!

“Mr. Grey?” you boggled up at him. The wizard – Mr. Grey, your erstwhile science teacher– smiled.

“They call me Gandalf, here,” he said conspiratorially. An involuntary giggle escaped you.

“Where is here?” You idly wondered why you weren’t freaking out yet, but maybe this calm was simply the one that came before an epic storm. “Who are they,” you gestured at the collected Dwarves, who were still staring at you. You felt quite sure that cheeky blonde from before had been checking out your arse.

“This is a small project I’d like your help with,” Mr. Grey intoned solemnly as if that would avert the major eruption of temper you could feel building. “I remember you being quite good at track and field, and they need a guide as I am needed elsewhere.” Wait, what?! “Here’s the map, and I see you’re wearing your compass already,” he continued blithely. You were now regretting the unbreakable habit of strapping the small compass to your person every time you left the house. “Good luck!”

You could only stand there, frozen – figuratively and soon-to-be-literally you realised as night was coming fast – while Mr. Grey – Gandalf?? – mounted a large horse and rode off before you could manage any protest. Whirling, you stared at the group, who were staring back even as they had begun to make camp.

You fainted.

  “Think she’s dead?” Someone said, while a thick finger prodded your side.

“Nah, just overwhelmed. The wizard did say the magic stuff was taxing, Fee,” someone else replied. Your hand snapped out, catching the fingers that had been poking you. Someone drew in a surprised breath. Feeling like your captive only remained so to humour you – he felt like he could have snapped your wrist with ease – you opened your eyes in a harsh glare. The blonde smiled at you, revealing dimples. You groaned. Of course, he had dimples too, as if the hair and the eyes weren’t enough. Then you caught sight of the braided beard again and you finally lost it.

“Oy, lads, let me through,” you heard, though the Dwarf hardly managed to drown out the sound of your own laughter. More thick hands probed, but this one was obviously just checking that you didn’t have a cracked skull, so you let him do as he pleased. The laughing fit eventually subsided. “How do you feel?” the Medic Dwarf asked, his voice gruff but kind. He felt trustworthy.

“Cold,” you admitted, slightly sheepish when you realised you were still holding the blonde’s hand, making him bend awkwardly over Medic-Dwarf’s shoulder, “sleepy.” You let go of blondie, who seemed far too relieved for your self-confidence. You hadn’t been running long enough to smell, and, again, these people had definitely gone a few days or more without soap, so he couldn’t judge. You scowled in his direction again, on principle, even though he didn’t see it, having turned away to speak with the dark-haired Curly-Dwarf.

“Right,” Medic-Dwarf got to his feet, the ear trumpet falling away from an ear that seemed larger than ears rightfully should be. His grey and white beard was even more fantastically braided than blondie’s, but medic-Dwarf could carry it off, you decided, feeling lethargic. “We need to find her something to wear before she gets hypothermia,” Medic-Dwarf continued. You nodded sleepily. That sounded like a plan.

“Anyone got a spare shirt?” a new voice barked, obviously used to having its questions treated as commands. The bustling told you he was being obeyed with alacrity, as you watched bemusedly as the Dwarves rooted through packs. “A clean shirt,” General-Dwarf barked, exasperated. You almost wanted to laugh again. Trying to sit up was a bad plan, you discovered, swaying dizzily. Santa-Dwarf caught your shoulder, effortlessly picking you up, which was a little impressive. He put you down on a collection of fur, which looked a lot like the cloak General-Dwarf had been wearing when you landed on Knitting-Dwarf.

A throat was cleared above your head. Looking up, you noticed Bald-Dwarf’s scowl as he held out a green shirt, a match to his own if you remembered right. Daylight was rapidly fading, making it hard to see. Smiling thankfully – it didn’t hurt to be polite, even if the Dwarf hadn’t been scary – you pulled the shirt over your head. The Dwarf laughed. Looking down at yourself, you joined him with a chuckle. Not only was the shirt big enough to be considered a dress on you, but the neck opening was so wide you wondered if you could get both shoulders through it.

“Not really my size,” you admitted. The temptation was too strong, and with a small wiggle, both your arms popped out of the shirt-cum-skirt.

“Aye, yer a wee lassie,” he rumbled. You blushed, feeling underdressed beneath his stare. Straightening your spine, you returned his measuring gaze with one of your own. Bald-Dwarf laughed again. “Keep it, lassie, can’t have you walking around in your underwear.” With a shrug, Bald-Dwarf went to sit beside Santa-Dwarf, who elbowed him none-too-gently and hissed something you didn’t catch. Obviously, Santa-Dwarf was his older brother, you thought, recognizing that combination of fondness and exasperation on his face common to all older siblings.

“Maybe one of mine?” Blondie was back. You resisted the urge to blush again when he smiled at you like you were pretty. Pretty naked, perhaps, your brain hissed, grabbing the blue shirt he was holding towards you. “I’m Fíli, by the way,” he said, with a slight bow. It looked so practiced you didn’t think he was mocking you.

“Y/N” you replied. He smiled, holding the bundle of fabric towards you once more. With a shrug, you pulled the shirt over your head, getting yourself tangled in the laces. Feeling overwhelmed by the events of the day, you wanted to cry, yanking at the fabric. “Hey, hey, relax,” Blondie – no, Fíli – said, and suddenly your head popped through the right opening. The shoulders were still too wide for your frame, but at least this shirt couldn’t double as a sleeved skirt. “There, all better.” He murmured. You nodded tiredly. Swaying on your feet, you yawned.

“Put her in one of the bedrolls, Fíli,” Medic-Dwarf said, passing by on his way to the fire. “I don’t like the blue tinge to her lips.”

“Yes, Óin,” Fíli acquiesced and suddenly you found yourself being carried again, until he had put you down on some sinfully warm furs, covering you with the equally warm cloak.

Your eyes closed.

Follow-up: Names

[apollos-favourite-bastard]

Alright, here’s roughly the first 10k of the thing I’ve been working on. I never intended to publish any of it originally, so I’ve not got a title for it. I’ve just been calling it the magic thing. It’s below the read more, so I’m sorry if you’re a mobile user.

The thing is – Niall really loves books. He loves the smell of them, leather and paper mixing together to create a scent finer than any perfume or cologne out there. He loves the feeling in the turn of a page, rigid and flexible at the same time. He loves the way an entire world can be contained between the binding – the universes, the experiences, the lives – It’s a miracle, pure and simple.

A real miracle, mind you. Not one of the manufactured miracles that have become so commonplace since the Rupture. The kind that any neighbor or coworker with a bit of magic can unleash on the world. Real miracles are pressed between pages, written in ink, transcribing souls into a way that can be consumed and layered over the reader’s, transporting them into another existence. A real miracle lets someone be a hero, no matter who they are, or how they were born, or how they’ve been classed.

No matter if they work part time in a book shop, and in a café, and in a pub, and sometimes as an odd jobs man if someone in the village needs their hob or telly repaired.

That’s why, despite the fact that he can hear Ashton wrapping up his call with Calum, and knowing what it means, Niall’s body is reluctant to unfold itself from the way he’s become wedged into the corner of a couch that sags into the ground at the slightest hint of weight and groans angrily with even a breath’s worth of movement. It’s his little hidden away bit of paradise, a place where he can put his responsibilities on hold for a little bit and sink into someone else’s miracle.

“Your girl is getting impatient.” is what Ashton says as he comes around the corner, not bothering to hide the roll of his eyes at finding Niall reading instead of doing anything that resembles actually working. “If you don’t get home soon, Cal’s going to run away with her.”

“She’d eat him alive.” Niall hums, filing away the last bit of the chapter as he slips the book in his hands shut and places it back on the shelf where someone will probably see and buy it before he gets the chance to finish it proper. “He wouldn’t stand a chance with her in anything more than little spurts.”

“I know that, and you know that, but he just refuses to know that.” Ashton snorts. “Stubbornly optimistic, that one.”

“Better get home before he learns better then, yeah?” Niall chuckles, dusting off the back of his trousers. If he’d properly cleaned, like he was supposed to have done, then it wouldn’t be a problem. The look Ashton shoots him tells him as much. In Niall’s opinion though, a good book shop should be properly dusty. It adds an air of history and mystery that just feels right.

“That would probably be best for everyone involved.” Ashton says absentmindedly, focused on filing away some new acquisitions. “I don’t think I’d like seeing how that would turn out.”

“You gonna be okay if I head out early?” Niall asks, grabbing his bag out from behind the counter.

“Not sure there’d be much difference.” Ashton scoffs. “When’s the last time you did any work around here?”

“Who came in on Sunday and sorted that big shipment you got in from that estate sale while you sat and ogled your piano player next door?” Niall asks flatly. “Two hundred books I went through, with no help from you.”

“And how many did you nick for yourself before anyone else could go through them?” Ashton fires back, not missing a beat or the empty slot on the shelf he was slipping a book into.

“The list is on your desk.” Niall shrugs. “And you know they’re mostly for Molly, not me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go get home to your pretty, little thing and leave me to get some real work done.” Ashton waves him off.

“See you tomorrow.” Niall tosses over his shoulder as he heads towards the door.

He doesn’t hear Ashton’s likely sarcastic response, too distracted by the body he just barely manages to avoid colliding with as he steps out onto the street. It nearly sends his knee out of joint, twisting away and slipping under the arm of the tall, brunet bloke who had opened the door at the same time Niall had reached for the knob. He narrowly avoids falling face-first into the cobblestones, stopped only by a precarious grip on the handle and the quick reaction of the stranger who’d caused the incident in the first place.

Niall mumbles out a quick apology, sheepishly darting his eyes away from the sharp angles of the bloke’s face, hearing a slurred together acceptance in a deep, gravelly voice that goes in one ear and out the other as Niall turns his attention towards the path home. The stranger disappears into Ashton’s shop and out of Niall’s head, so as to spare him any further thought of his embarrassment.

It’s unusual to see someone around the village that Niall doesn’t know once they reach this time of year, but not unheard of. It’s not so unusual as to merit any consideration. After all, the town’s main source of revenue is in tourism, a bank of cabins dotted along the coastline attracting the sort of people who want to believe they like the country, because they only spend a couple of weeks there during the summer hols, in fully furnished cottages, cooing at the locals who play along with the condescension because an arsehole’s money is as good as the next person’s.

Most of the tourists have gone, though, disappearing as quickly as the leaves from the rowan trees that litter the lanes in the commercial district of the village with the first chills of autumn. Some people like that, though. There’s always a few stragglers or latecomers that like to avoid the clutter of a crowded village when they take a break for themselves from the chaos of their daily lives. People who like the solitude, who like the grey in the sky and the rush of a chilly wind pressing, cold and insistent, on the fabric of the jumpers and scarves they bundle up in.

Niall thinks, under different circumstances from the ones he’s found himself in over the course of the years in his life that have felt too few and too many all at the same time, that probably would have been him too. The sun is nice, and he’s never been one to shy away from crowds, but there’s something so free and open about a small seaside village like this once summer has faded into fall. Like the rest of the world doesn’t have to exist if you don’t think too hard about it.

Green sparks flare to life when Niall rounds a corner a few blocks from his house, quickly twisting themselves into the form of a dragon as some young bloke spots him with a grin and a bright sparkle in his eyes. A performer, trying to prolong his days of profitability in this little place before he has to move on to a bigger town, somewhere with more competition and fewer unexposed people who might be awed by his parlor tricks. He clearly thinks he can draw Niall in, the mandated beige color of his jumper a giveaway of his status and possibility as a mark.

Niall has stepped into the street before the wings can even unfurl on the creature, crossing to the other side of the road without a second thought. He has no intention of contributing to the lad’s delusions of grandeur, or encouraging him to stay in the village any longer than necessary.

“Well, fuck you too.” the lad calls after him, making Niall’s eye twitch, but eliciting no other outward response, until the added, “Fucking non-magicals.”

“You got a problem, mate?” Niall spits out harshly across the empty street, his body going rigid as he turns to glare at the lad.

“Yeah, actually, I do.” the lad says, stalking across the street. “I just tried to put on a nice show for you, and you can’t even be bothered to look. You cross the street, like I’m some kind of menace, out to hurt you. I’m just trying to make a living here, and the least you could do is appreciate it and drop a few pounds in the box.”

“I’m not interested in your show, and I don’t owe you anything.” Niall bites out.

“You say that, but I think you owe us a lot.” the lad smirks. “After all, this isn’t the S.E. You don’t live in a labor camp. We let you roam around freely. I think that deserves a bit of a tax.”

“You’re, what, nineteen? Twenty?” Niall asks, looking the guy over. “You’re young. Stupid. But I’m going to give you a chance to take that back and reform your opinion before you regret it.”

“And what’ll you do if I don’t?” the lad asks, stepping forward while the green sparks flare up again in both of his hands this time. They don’t take form, just jump around in electric arcs between his fingers, a simple shock spell. His mistake.

“Make you regret it.” Niall answers firmly, eyes locked with the kid’s.

A typical magician, the lad thinks with his magic before his head. He’s too cocky, reaching for Niall’s arm to remind him of his place, painfully. He doesn’t expect Niall to know anything about anything, because non-magicals don’t know anything in his mind. They’re laborers, commoners, inferiors. How could Niall possibly comprehend anything when he doesn’t have a spark of magic in his veins?

The real question, though, is how could this lad have survived this long while being so dense?

His hands are coated in sparks, but his clothes aren’t. His wrists and arms are covered in expensive fabric that he likely doesn’t want to char just to protect himself from someone he sees as beneath him, and that leaves him open. Niall is quick, years of training kicking his reflexes into gear as soon as he sees something coming at him. He grabs the lad’s arm after ducking under it, bringing his leg forward to sweep the kid’s out from under him.

In one fluid movement, he turns the magician’s weapon in on his own chest, connecting with the skin there and sending an electric pulse through him. He shrieks and collapses to the ground, not two seconds having passed since he decided he would teach Niall a lesson.

Niall crouches down, voice dropping low as he says, “A low-level magic user like you hasn’t got the brains or talent to be a threat to anyone. Remember that before you decide you deserve anything. And remember that there are a lot more of us than there are of you.”

The kid doesn’t respond, can’t, in his state. He’s too busy twitching and literally pissing his pants to have even heard a word Niall said. He doesn’t need to, though. Niall’s message got across just fine.

“Oh, look who decided to come home sometime tonight.” Calum scoffs as Niall makes his way into the sitting room.

“Sorry. Got a little caught up on the way home.” Niall says quietly. “Got you some muffins to take back to the shop, though.”

“You know the way to my heart.” Calum grins, catching the brown, paper sack that Niall tosses to him. “But you only get sweets when you’ve done something bad.”

“Just got into a little scuffle.” Niall shrugs, setting the bag with Molly’s favorite orange and cranberry scones on the table and toeing off his boots. “Reminded some arse that not all of us are livestock.”

“Niall.” Calum sighs out his name in a quiet reprimand. “You can’t just go around assaulting magicals.”

“’t was self-defense.” Niall mutters. “Bloke said I should pay him a tax just because I’m not in a labor camp, and tried to attack me when I told him to back off.”

“Well- I have nothing to say to that, then.” Calum hums. “We don’t all think that way, I promise.”

“I know.” Niall sighs. “I do know that. He just- Fuck, he pissed me off. But he also made the first move.”

“I’m sure he did.” Calum nods. “Let me guess, magician?”

“That bloke doing parlor tricks on Rose and Vine.” Niall tells him.

“Oh, I’ve wanted to teach him a thing or two before.” Calum smirks. “He’s gotten mouthy with Luke and Ash as well.”

“Well he’s probably waking up right about now, if you want to add in your thoughts.” Niall tells him. “I’ve got it from here. Give Luke my love. Not Ash, though. He’s been right grumpy.”

“He dropped Luke’s favorite teacup, so Luke’s been withholding contact.” Calum giggles in explanation, pushing himself up off the couch and heading for the door. “Drawn me in on it just so we can watch him twitch and take the piss out of him for it.”

“Not something I needed to know.” Niall scoffs, wrinkling his nose up.

“Don’t be bitter.” Calum hums, slipping his shoes on. “Your celibacy is showing. You know you’ve got an open invitation.”

“Shut it.” Niall groans, halfheartedly chucking a wadded up napkin from the table at him, only to watch it flutter uselessly to the ground halfway there. “Innocent ears.”

“She’s asleep.” Calum says with a roll of his eyes.

“No you aren’t, are you, lovebug?” Niall asks into the air, turning to look at the chunk of wall that hides the hallway from view. “You’re awake and listening to conversations you shouldn’t be, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” comes a drawn out, high-pitched giggling response, accompanied by a head of messy hair and bright blue eyes peeking around. “How’d you know, da?”

“I always know when you’re up to no good.” Niall chuckles, opening up his arms. “Got a sense for it, I do.”

“Shit!” Calum hisses out, making Molly shriek out another giggle as she tears across the room into Niall’s waiting arms.

“Get going.” Niall says, shooting Calum a withering glare. Calum, thankfully, gives a sheepish wave to both of them and then disappears out the door, closing it behind himself. Molly settles into Niall’s lap, head resting against his chest, and he asks, “How much of that did you hear, then?”

“Just the last bit.” Molly admits, eyes already half-lidded now that she’s got her favorite pillow in the form of Niall’s body. “I have to move slow to get over there without you hearing.”

“Slowly.” Niall corrects her, shaking his head and pressing a kiss to the top of hers. “You have to move slowly.”

“What’s cell-busy?” Molly asks, grabbing the arm Niall hasn’t got around her back and pulling it closer to ask for a hug, to which Niall gladly obliges her.

“Nothing important, lovebug.” Niall chuckles. “Did you have fun with Cal?”

“Yeah.” Molly says around a yawn, fighting the steady increase of weight on her eyelids. “He helped me draw some pictures, and then we did a puzzle.”

“You’ll have to show me tomorrow.” Niall murmurs, hiding his smile in her frizzed-out hair, already a tangled mess from the ten minutes or so she spent in bed before she decided to sneak out and eavesdrop.

“Do you work tomorrow?” Molly asks, the words muffled by her own fist in front of her mouth, her go-to comfort position, even after Niall finally got her to break her thumb-sucking habit a couple years ago.

“Not until nighttime.” Niall tells her.

“Can we go to the shop and get a new book?” Molly begs.

“I just got you three new books.” Niall points out.

“I finished ‘em.” Molly tells him, making his smile grow even larger.

“Suppose we have to, then.” Niall agrees. “But now it’s time to get you to bed, lovebug.”

“I wanna sleep with you, da.” Molly says, breaking the spell of drowsiness just enough to look up at him with pleading eyes.

“How could I say no to that face?” Niall gives in, the urge to fight never crossing his mind.

“Molls.” Niall sighs, seeing the flutter of motion out of the corner of his eye while he stands at the hob, cooking eggs for their breakfast.

“I want juice.” Molly says simply, ignoring the disapproving look Niall shoots at her over his shoulder to focus on levitating her favorite teacup through the air towards herself. She hates tea, very like her mother that way, but she loves teacups, particularly the pink and gold floral one she’s got steadily moving through the open space between herself and the cabinet.

“Molls.” Niall repeats, more firmly this time. “If you want juice, you ask. You know better.”

“Nobody can see, da.” Molly replies stubbornly, fishing the teacup out of the air.

“Molly Elizabeth Horan, that’s not the point, and you know it.” Niall says through a sharp inhale. “You need to be more careful. You can’t just do whatever you want. If you do that in public-”

“Cal does it.” Molly cuts in. “Why can he do it, and I can’t?”

“Because you’ll be taken away!” Niall snaps, shoving the pan of eggs to the back of the hob before gripping the counter to keep himself from turning around and scaring Molly with what he’s sure is a wild look in his eyes.

He can’t help it when it comes to Molly’s magic, when it comes to the possibility of her forced removal and education in some government run academy. Ever since her powers started manifesting, it’s been a constant fear, thrumming in the back of his mind and growing stronger with every display she puts on.

It has him cursing her mother nightly like a prayer, damning her magical genes for passing on, damning her for running off as soon as she could and leaving him alone, with no preparation for raising a child, let alone a magical one.

They were supposed to be in this together. That’s what they decided when a fling a few weeks old, between a first year uni student and a professor’s assistant, turned into a stick with a little pink plus on it.

Niall decided to do the right thing. Niall decided to drop out of university and get a job to support their child and try to make a proper go of it with Barbara. Things hadn’t been easy during the pregnancy, what with his parents disowning him and them not even really knowing each other at first. But they’d fallen in love over the course of those months leading up to the birth. They’d fallen in love.

That’s what Niall thought, anyways, until he woke up in the middle of the night to a screaming baby, an empty spot where Barbara was supposed to be sleeping, and a letter on her pillow that was shorter than the notes she’d leave in the margins on the papers she’d graded, explaining why she’d abandoned Niall and Molly.

It hadn’t been perfect. Niall knew it wasn’t perfect. He was young, but he wasn’t stupid. They hadn’t meant to turn into anything more than some occasional sex for stress relief. They fought pretty hard after she’d told Niall that she was pregnant, and at the same time telling him that she didn’t need for him to be involved.

Those memories haunt Niall to this day, the question of if she would still have abandoned Molly if she’d gotten what she said she wanted and Niall hadn’t been involved. That Molly could have grown up in some orphanage with nobody to love her, nobody to protect her.

She would have been adopted, without question. That’s a no brainer, considering she’s magical, and more than just a magician. Molly is a witch, and would have been taken in by a family shortly after her powers manifested around two.

Niall remembers the day clearly, couldn’t forget it if he tried.

He’d been in a mood, out of diapers and out of money and out of sanity.

When Barbara had left, she’d given one present to Molly. There was a necklace that she’d been wearing ever since Niall met her. A gold feather medallion on the end of a leather cord. She’d worn it in the class he’d accidentally sat in on for a full lesson before realizing it wasn’t even his course, too mesmerized by the girl behind the professor, eyes sharp and smart without any questions of who really knew more, to care about the content of the lecture.

She’d worn it through their first date, when Niall had bumbled through the conversation until it became obvious that she thought he was about as bright as a blown out lightbulb, and he’d decided to prove that, despite his non-magical status, he wasn’t a fool. She’d worn it the first time they slept together, hanging on her naked chest while Niall quaked with nerves from the first time he’d ever done more than kiss someone else.

She’d worn it through the labor, squeezing it in one hand while she nearly fractured Niall’s fingers with the other until the doctor had said that Molly would need to come out surgically.

Apparently she’d thought it was funny to spell cast a spell on the necklace to make it the same for their daughter as it was for her. It couldn’t be removed from Molly’s person, at least not permanently. It could be taken off over her head, but would return to her instantly, teleporting itself onto her neck again. Niall had tried over the years to find some way to get rid of the thing, worried that it could choke her in her sleep, and also not wanting the painful reminder every day of Barbara’s disappearance, but nothing had worked.

Calum, the only magical person that Niall let know about Molly’s existence, hadn’t been able to do anything more than Niall had.

That hadn’t mattered that day, though. The necklace, dangling from Molly’s neck as Niall carried her around the room, trying to find anything he could wrap around her bum long enough to take her to the shop and beg Ashton for an advance on his pay, had caught on his arm and scratched him so hard he’d nearly dropped Molly.

He hadn’t slept in days, and hadn’t thought about the fact that the necklace would just pop back into place when he’d taken it off over her head and thrown it at the wall. He hadn’t thought about the fact that Molly wasn’t a baby anymore, and had a tenuous grasp on understanding emotions, both hers and Niall’s.

She’d started wailing, and Niall had set her down to give himself a moment to calm down, handing her a stuffed bear, her favorite toy. The necklace had popped back into existence around her neck before he could even put her down.

He’d been turned away from her, standing in the corner with the heels of his hands digging into his eyes and a wail of his own trapped in his throat, when he felt something soft rub against his back. He’d nearly jumped out of his skin at the contact, and only managed not to sprint away in complete panic because his knees had given out at the sight when he’d turned around.

Molly’s bear was nudging up against him, hovering in the air while she waved her hand at it while making the same face she had as a baby when she was letting out a particularly hard poop.

When she’d managed to grunt out, “Da, burr,” he’d known that she knew exactly what she was doing, that she had meant to do it, and that his entire world was changed with no way back.

It’s been four years since then. Four years of panicking over every use of her powers. Four years of dread coiling in his stomach at every question she had. Four years of hiding her so that she isn’t taken away from him.

“Da?” Molly asks, her voice quiet, but close, pulling Niall out of his head as a tiny hand curls into the hem of his shirt. “What do you mean?”

Niall sighs and crouches down next to her, taking her hands in his own while he looks her in the eyes and says, “If people know you have magic, they’ll take you away to somewhere I’m not allowed to go so that they can put you in a special school.”

“Why?” Molly questions, her eyes going wide.

“Because your magic makes you very special.” Niall murmurs, giving her hand a slight squeeze. “But that means that the other people who have magic too want you to think like they do. They want you to be just like them, and that means they won’t want you near me, because I’m not like them. I don’t have magic. I’m not special, and that means that they don’t think I’m good enough to be your da.”

“You’re special to me.” Molly mumbles, taking her hands out of Niall’s and slipping them around his neck to hug him tight. “And they’re stupid, because you’re the best da.”

“You can use magic here in the house, lovebug.” Niall says softly into her hair. “I won’t – I won’t yell at you for it again. I promise. I’m sorry that I did. I just need you to be careful about using it. Don’t do it when the windows are open, because someone could see. You can’t let anyone know except me, Cal, Luke and Ash. We love you, and we’ll keep you safe.”

“Okay.” Molly says, nodding against Niall’s chest. “Da?”

“Yes, lovebug?” Niall questions.

“I want to go to the café for breakfast.” Molly says, pulling back and pressing a kiss to Niall’s cheek. “Your eggs are rubbish.”

Niall can’t help but laugh before he digs his fingers into Molly’s sides and wriggles them around, making her shriek in his revenge before he agrees that muffins and cocoa would be a much better breakfast.

“Why do I bother getting you muffins if you’re only going to eat the top?” Niall sighs, swapping one of his muffins for Molly’s so she can get a decent breakfast by eating two.

“Because you like eating the bottoms.” Molly says with a shrug, knocking Niall’s muffin on its side and using her fork to separate the top from the bottom.

Niall hears Calum snort out a laugh from behind the counter as he puts the finishing touches on their drinks, and shoots him a sharp glare.

“I like eating the whole muffin.” Niall corrects her. “I eat the bottoms that you don’t so that they don’t go to waste.”

“So you’re a versatile muffin eater?” Calum asks with a shit-eating grin, setting down a cup of cocoa in front of Molly and a cup of tea in front of Niall.

“Sure.” Niall says dryly, rolling his eyes. “I eat it all.”

“Well, as much as I’d love to dive into the specifics of that right now, it’s going to have to wait.” Calum shrugs.

“You think?” Niall scoffs, waving his hand at Molly.

“I mean- There’s that.” Calum nods. “But actually it’s because I need you to stand watch behind the counter while I run over to the shop and pick something up from Ash.”

“Why couldn’t all your places be right next to each other?” Niall asks with a grunt.

“Because moguls have to diversify.” Calum chuckles. “I buy what I can get. If it’s spread out, that’s fine by me.”

“How about diversifying into more employees than just me and your boyfriends then?” Niall mutters, pushing his chair back from the table and dropping a kiss to the crown of Molly’s head before he stands up. “Ten minutes, and I’m not wearing the apron.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” Calum hums, pressing a kiss to Niall’s cheek and darting out the door.

“Ten minutes!” Niall repeats, shouting it after Calum before the door can close. He turns back to Molly and asks, “You alright with this, lovebug?”

“I wish Calum didn’t go.” Molly pouts, picking at her muffin top with her fork.

“I know.” Niall snorts, running his hand over the top of her head and getting a huffy glare in response. “He’ll be back soon enough, and we can stay with him as long as you like today, as long as we don’t get in the way when he has to work. I know he’s your favorite.”

“You’re my favorite, da.” Molly says with a roll of her eyes. “Calum’s just my second favorite.”

“And what about us?” a voice asks behind Niall, making him whirl around and ball his hands into fists before the familiarity of it strikes him and he drops his guard again. Ashton’s smile is easy, but the hand he has on Luke’s shoulder tells Niall that his defensiveness hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Calum undoubtedly told them about Niall’s misadventure with the magician last night, so they were probably expecting it. They’ve seen him through worse. They’ve seen him when that kind of thing wasn’t an uncommon experience, when they’d have to drag him inside off the stoop and clean his bloodied face and use Calum’s salves to heal the wounds on his body.

They’ve taken care of Molly when Niall was too banged up or angry to be around her.

They’ve known him better than he ever wants to know himself, so he’s not surprised when Ashton’s hand comes off Luke’s shoulder and pulls Niall in to peck a kiss next to his lips and whisper, “You did a good thing, love. But it’s time to uncoil.”

His hand finds Niall’s hip, and Niall leans into the touch, sagging against Ashton’s chest and letting out a shaky breath while he murmurs, “Sorry. Shit- I- Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Ashton says gently, butting his forehead against Niall’s and rubbing their noses together. “I know how you get. We shouldn’t have snuck up on you today.”

“Could relieve some of that tension for you, if you want to.” Luke grins, throwing a cheeky wink at Niall before he strides over to Molly, crouching down and asking, “So, Molls, what’s your answer to Ash’s question?”

“Ashton is third.” Molly says with a bright smile, waving over at him.

“And what about me?” Luke pouts.

“Eh.” Molly says with a shrug, taking a bite of her muffin. Niall knows she’s only doing it to hide a smile, though. Luke is one of Molly’s favorite people in the world, and she absolutely adores him. He gets all needy for her love when she denies it to him, though, and that means she gets presents.

“Calum just left going to the shop to come get something from you.” Niall tells Ash, not bothering to save Luke from Molly’s manipulations. Every time he’s tried, Luke ignores him and presses on anyways. He’s the perfect mark for Molly and her charms.

“Idiot.” Ashton snorts, shaking his head. “I told him we’d bring it over when we could.”

“What is it he couldn’t wait on, then?” Niall questions.

“A present for the little bird.” Ashton tells him, pressing a book into Niall’s hands. “A collection of the original Grimm’s fairytales. He found it last night when he was doing the dusting, and forgot it this morning.”

“Let him give it to her.” Niall chuckles, nodding at Luke. “You know she’ll keep this up for days, otherwise.”

“Cal’s gonna be jealous.” Ashton smirks. “Which works just fine for me. Might break their little alliance.”

“Shouldn’t have broken his porcelain.” Niall hums, bumping his hip into Ashton’s. “You know the princess doesn’t like you nearly as much as he likes his things.”

“I can hear you, you know.” Luke huffs, giving them both a stern look over his shoulder.

“And what are you going to do about it?” Niall counters. “Can’t withhold anything from me like with this one. Besides, I already know you love being called that, don’t you, princess?”

“You only get to call me that if you sleep in the same bed as me, and you keep turning us down, so – Shut it.” Luke grumbles. “And give me that.”

He reaches out with one of his absurdly long arms and snatches the book out of Niall’s hands before turning back to Molly with a look on his face that a puppy would have trouble matching.

“About that-” Ashton says, trailing off, but making his intentions perfectly clear in the way his fingers slide over the back of Niall’s neck.

“Not now.” Niall cuts him off, shaking his head. “Even if this wouldn’t end up being a repeat of a conversation we’ve had a dozen times before, now isn’t the time for it. Not while she’s here.”

“Niall-” Ashton murmurs, but he’s cut off again, this time by the little bell over the door announcing a customer entering the shop.

Niall turns to look at him, and feels his heart stop in his chest. It’s the same stranger from last night, the one who’d nearly knocked him off of his feet. It’s not anything about the bloke, though. He’s got a nice face, sure, and he’s tall and well-muscled with big hands and long legs and a dozen other things that would be eye-catching in different circumstances. It’s something that Niall hadn’t noticed last night that catches him off guard, though; his clothes.

He doesn’t have a single bit of beige on him. They wear black and white too, brought it into their fashions a few years ago like it was a joke between them, dressing like non-magicals, but they never wear the beige. That’s what sets the two groups apart in the empire.

And that means he’s magical.

“This, um – This is a café, right?” the stranger asks. “Because I’m pretty sure you run the bookstore? We met last night?”

“It is.” Luke says with a genial smile but a tension in his shoulders that Niall recognizes instantly. “You’ll see us and our mate Calum in a lot of places. We run a few things here in the village. This place, the bookstore, the pub, and a piano studio. We also own most of the cabins over by the shore and the cliffs, and a few of the houses here in the village.”

“But I can get a cup of coffee and a pastry here?” the guy asks carefully.

“Yeah.” Ashton nods, stepping forward in between Niall and the stranger. He turns back to Niall and says, “You go on and get out of here. We’ll take over until Cal gets back. Can’t have you working and eating into our profit margin.”

Niall knows what it really means, though. Get out. Get Molly out. This guy is no low-level, full of himself magician. He’s got more power and more brains than the guy Niall took out last night.

There’s a scar on his cheek, a burn. There’s a rigidity in the way he holds himself. A sharpness to the eyes Niall knows are taking in more than just the surface of things, despite the easy look on his face as he moves to the counter that Luke goes behind. All of it together means only one thing.

Military, or, worse, an agent.

“Come on, lovebug.” Niall says gently, reaching down and taking Molly’ hand in his own.

“But you said-” Molly starts with a whine.

“We’ll see Cal and the lads later.” Niall says firmly. “Right now we need to get home, get you changed out of that dress, because you’ve got cocoa spots on your sleeves, and we’ll find something fun to do until Cal is free, okay?”

“Fine.” Molly grumbles, grabbing her book in her other hand and sliding out of her seat.

She comes along with Niall without any further protest, and Niall thanks the heavens for it as he passes the stranger, keeping his head down until they’ve gotten out the door and turned down the next street. It’s not until then that his heart stops trying to beat out of his chest, either.

“If you don’t lose that tension soon, I’m going to have Calum spike your drink with one of his little potions to make you relax.” Luke murmurs, running his fingers lightly over the hairs at the nape of Niall’s neck.

“I get to be tense.” Niall mutters, turning his head to bite at Luke’s wrist. “There’s a fucking agent in the village.”

“We don’t know that he’s an agent.” Luke points out with a roll of his eyes, pushing Niall’s face back around so she can keep watch over Molly, and so the blond can resume his attempts at relaxing Niall.

“Military, then. Whatever.” Niall huffs. “Whatever he is, he’s dangerous.”

“I don’t get that sense from him.” Luke says quietly. “He doesn’t strike me as a threat.”

“Because it’s not you he’s a threat to.” Niall breathes out, watching as Molly pushes her face into a cluster of daisies with a bright smile. “It’s us. It’s me and Molly.”

“Niall.” Luke says sharply, making Niall shrink just a bit.

He knew better before he said it. He wouldn’t dream of saying it normally, would never think to imply that Molly isn’t just as important to them as she is to him. But this stranger is a threat, and if they don’t put their walls up around themselves and Molly, then Niall is going to have to build his four times as high to protect her.

“Sorry.” Niall mumbles out, leaning into Luke’s shoulder and tucking his head under Luke’s chin. He curls his fingers into Luke’s shirt and says it again, “I’m sorry.”

“You can’t let every witch that comes into town get you this wound up.” Luke murmurs, tightening his grip on Niall. “That’s the threat. He’s on holiday. He’s not here for you, or for her. He’ll be here for a couple weeks, then go back to what he’d call ‘the real world’. He’ll go back to where he came from and never blink twice at you or Molly if you just manage not to give him a reason to. You have to act like there’s no reason for him to be a threat.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.” Niall whispers. “I don’t think I can let my guard down.”

“You don’t have to let it down.” Luke tells him, lacing their fingers together. “You just have to learn to hide your walls better. You have to remember that we’re all here for you, and we all know what to watch for. We’ve all been preparing for this for as long as you have, and we’re ready. We can hide the two of you. Just let us handle him, but, if you have to be around him, then pretend like nothing is wrong.”

“I’m not that good at pretending.” Niall says softly.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Luke says, the chuckle afterwards sounding incredibly forced. “I’ve been watching you pretend for years.”

“What is it with you three today?” Niall asks, pulling back and taking his eyes away from Molly, who’s trying to chain together daisies to make a crown like Ashton normally does for her, to meet Luke’s. “Is there something I’m missing? Some signal that I gave you three that’s made you all decide to try this again, despite every one of the times I’ve said no to it?”

“Molly’s birthday is in three days.” Luke says simply.

“Yeah, and that’s when I’ll legally be a fugitive.” Niall bites out. “So, again, why now? I’ve got enough on my plate already, don’t you think?”

“Do you remember what happened five years ago today?” Luke asks.

“Five years ago today, I was probably changing a dozen nappies and drinking a fifth of whiskey with each meal that I could afford.” Niall mutters, breaking the eye contact. He can’t bear to look at Luke like this for too long. He’s always so damn soft and pretty and has every bit of his heart’s contents written over his face.

“Five years ago today, we found you on the doorstep of the pub, looking for a place to stay.” Luke murmurs, reaching down and folding his hand over Niall’s. “Five years ago, we met you and Molly. You came into our lives and grew our little family.”

“Shit.” Niall sighs. “I didn’t- I didn’t realize.”

“We know we shouldn’t be pushing, but- Five years, Niall. We’ve been waiting five years.” Luke whispers.

“She has to be my first concern.” Niall tells him, like he’s told them all so many times before. It’s his blanket excuse, the way his daughter protects him, like he’s protected her. Attachment as a means of detachment. “Sex, romantic love- All of that is irrelevant next to her.”

“It’s not us or her, Niall.” Luke grunts out, leaning forward next to Niall. “You don’t have to give anything up to be with us.”

“I would, though.” Niall says, dropping his head down. “I’d have to give up my focus. Frankly, don’t know how you lot do it. I can barely keep up with just her. Adding all of you three in- I’d never get a moment’s rest.”

“We get plenty of rest, thank you very much.” Luke snorts. “And I think you’d handle it pretty well. You already juggle all of us in almost every way you would if we were together. There’s really only one or two things missing, and they’re the fun ones.”

“And, as fun as those might be, they’d be a distraction.” Niall sighs. “I get it, okay? I do. And, maybe someday- Maybe I’ll stop saying no. Maybe I’ll be ready. But I’m not right now, and I need the three of you to be okay with that.”

“Okay.” Luke says gently, laying his head on Niall’s shoulder and lacing their fingers together. “But don’t expect the flirting to stop. Can’t really help ourselves there. You’re proper attractive.”

“Back at you, princess.” Niall snickers, moving back slowly, so Luke doesn’t dislodge, until they’re leaned back against the bench and folded in on each other while they watch Molly.

“Don’t play with your food, darling.” Niall says absentmindedly, eyes still locked on his book as he notices some rather dramatic motion out of his peripheral.

“It’s not me, da. It’s Cal.” Molly giggles.

“I know.” Niall says dryly, looking sideways over at Calum, who’s blushing sheepishly. Niall rolls his eyes and goes back to his adventure, adding, “He should behave himself better.”

“But what’s the fun in that, darling?” Calum says dramatically, pulling a giggle out of Molly. What she doesn’t see, and what keeps Niall from smiling, is the hand Calum slips onto Niall’s thigh before adding, “Ashton and Luke say I’m much more fun when I don’t behave myself.”

“I’m sure.” Niall scoffs, shaking his head. “But I’ll thank you to be a good example for Molly.”

“I think he’s more fun when he misbehaves too, da.” Molly says with a sly grin.

“Certainly got the talents for making things awkward and sucking the fun out of things from you.” Calum mutters under his breath, taking his hand back from Niall’s leg.

“That’s cause she’s her da’s girl, aren’t you, lovebug?” Niall smirks.

“Did I miss something?” Molly asks, drawing her eyebrows together and poking her bottom lip in a pout.

“Nothing important.” Niall tells her. “Just Cal running his mouth.”

“What did you say?” Molly questions, directing her eyes towards Calum instead of Niall now.

“Just that it’s time for me to take your da behind the counter. I’ve been waiting a while now.” Calum hums, the innuendo in his voice making Niall’s cheeks heat up. “It’s opening time, which means this place is no longer suitable for good girls like you.”

“Who’s my sitter tonight?” Molly asks, cocking her head. “Ashton or Luke?”

“Both of them.” Calum chuckles.

“What about the bookshop?” Molly continues, always so inquisitive.

“For a little while, they’re going to watch you in pairs as often as they can.” Niall tells her.

“But why?” Molly asks, more curiously than ever.

“Because we get jealous when only one of us gets to hang out with you.” Calum says, grinning conspiratorially when Molly’s brows crinkle up in delight instead. “So we decided that two of us will stay with you, and the other gets your da as a consolation prize.”

“Hey!” Niall squawks, pinching at Calum’s side so he jumps out of the booth and onto his feet. “Rude!”

“Don’t worry. I quite like the consolation prize.” Calum smirks, blowing Niall a kiss before he strides over to unlock the door, smiling ear to ear like he always does when he manages to get Molly to burst into a fit of giggles.

“Stop encouraging him, lovebug.” Niall sighs, climbing out of the booth and pressing a kiss to Molly’s head. “Finish your food before Luke and Ashton get here. I don’t want you tricking them into giving you anything sugary just because you didn’t eat your dinner.”

“But, da-” Molly whines.

“No arguing.” Niall cuts her off. “You were already up late last night, and if you get any sugar now, you’ll still be bouncing off the walls when I come pick you up. Ashton and Luke will hate me.”

“Doubt that, darling.” Calum hums, passing behind Niall and getting his revenge for Niall’s earlier pinch with a mirroring action, only it’s on Niall’s arse. It takes a lot not to react, but Niall knows that’s exactly what Calum wants, and he doesn’t get to have the satisfaction.

“The darling thing isn’t funny anymore.” Niall throws over his shoulder.

“Who said I’m trying to be funny, cuddle-bug?” Calum laughs, disappearing into the double-doors that lead to the kitchen.

“Why are they really watching me together?” Molly asks quietly, pulling Niall’s attention back to her with a hand settling on top of his.

“Do you remember what we talked about this morning?” Niall asks her, crouching down to her height and settling his chin on his arms.

“About the people who want to take me away?” Molly questions.

“Yeah.” Niall nods. “Well, there’s a man visiting the village, and he- He’s like you. He has magic. And we’re not sure, but he might work for the people who would want to take you if they found out about you, so we’re trying to be careful. Two people protecting you is better than one, so that’s what we’re doing.”

“Why don’t you need anyone to help you watch me?” Molly asks.

“Because I- I know how to protect you better than the lads do.” Niall says quietly. “I’m not magical, like you and Cal, but I know how to do things that they don’t, and that means that I’m enough when it’s just us.”

“Couldn’t we stay with them?” Molly offers, her smile brightening right back up, like the sun peeking through clouds. “Then we’d always be safe, right?”

“Molly-” Niall snorts, shaking his head.

“I have my own room there.” Molly points out. “And you can sleep with them. I’ve heard them all say their bed is big enough for you too.”

Niall’s eye twitches, and he tries again with, “Molly-”

“Please, da?” Molly begs. “Then you can stop worrying so much. You’ve not been sleeping well in the last couple weeks.”

“Molly, I’m fine.” Niall assures her.

“No, you’re not.” Molly whispers. “You’re tired, you’re grumpy, and it’s because of me.”

“Oh, lovebug.” Niall says softly, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her fingers. “No, it isn’t.”

“Yes it is.” Molly chokes out, the sound of a sob trapped underneath it. “You’re worried about me and it’s doing bad things to you.”

“Okay, we can stay with the lads, if it’s alright with them.” Niall tells her, leaning forward and kissing her forehead. “Not because you’re right, but because I don’t want you worrying.”

“I’ll get an extra pillow from the closet.” comes an amused chuckle in a familiar voice from the door.

“Thanks.” Niall says with a roll of his eyes before looking over at Luke and Ashton in the doorway. “But I’ll stop by ours and grab some things before I come over, including a set of sheets and a pillow for the couch.”

“Spoilsport.” Luke pouts.

“Go on, then.” Niall says, nodding at them. “And, you two- If you give her any more food tonight, make sure it’s healthy. No sugar.”

“Come on, little bird.” Ashton says with a chuckle, holding his hand out towards them. “Luke’s been making something special for you for tonight.”

“Luke has?” Molly asks warily. Niall’s not sure if it’s his imagination, but she looks a bit green as well. She must be remembering the last time Luke cooked her breakfast. He really shouldn’t be allowed in the kitchen. Niall had to spend ages cleaning the sick from her dress and hair.

“Be brave, lovebug.” Niall hums, pecking one final kiss to her cheek before he stands up. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Molly nods and grabs her bun off of the plate and shoving it in her mouth before she grabs her book. Niall barely manages to bite back a laugh before he sets off to get behind the bar while they leave with her, each taking her one of her hands and nodding to Niall.

“They didn’t even bother to stay long enough to say anything to me?” Calum pouts when he returns to the bar with a crate of clean glasses for Niall.

“What can I say?” Niall snorts. “She’s got my charm.”

He shows up a little after eleven, stumbling in the door disheveled, like he’s only just woken up.

It’s like Niall knows that he’s going to walk through the door before he does it, because his body tightens like a spring. He feels it in the air, something shattering in the calm stillness the night has laid over him by means of a couple drinks with his friends in the village, water for him and beer for them, and an ever-present Calum, soothing away his worries with touches and smiles and laughs. He’s always been good at that.

But nothing is going to soothe Niall once the door opens and the stranger steps through.

Niall feels Calum’s eyes turn to him from across the room, but his own are locked on the stranger ambling towards him, rubbing at his pinkened cheek with a balled up fist. He trips, over his own feet, if Niall saw it right, and barely manages to catch himself on the bar.

“This is the only place in the village to get a drink, so do you mind telling me how you’re already drunk?” Niall asks shortly, setting down the glass in his hands before he can shatter it and cut himself, or, more importantly, give away how he’s actually feeling and cause problems for himself, Molly or the boys.

“Not drunk.” the stranger grunts out before sliding into the stool in front of Niall with an embarrassed smile. His voice is deeper than earlier, gravelly and slow. “Fell asleep. Woke up and realized I didn’t have any food in the cabin, so I came here.”

“And the chill didn’t manage to wake you up on the walk?” Niall questions.

“I pride myself on being a very heavy sleeper.” the stranger says with a lopsided smile that Niall doesn’t return. “It takes a while for me to like- Adjust to being conscious. I’m not too late, am I? You’re not about to shut down?”

“This may be a small village, but we don’t turn the lights out at eleven.” Niall says dryly.

“It’s still that early?” the bloke asks, blinking bewilderedly.

“You’ve got a watch on your wrist. Why don’t you take a look?” Niall says with a roll of his eyes.

“Doesn’t work.” the guy says, dropping his eyes down towards the piece of hardware on his wrist. “Hasn’t for a while. Only really keep it for sentimental value.”

“Well, the clock up there’ll tell you what that won’t, then.” Niall grunts out, jabbing his thumb back over his shoulder. “We’re only open until one, now that summer’s over. Got a couple hours. So, even if you keep talking at the pace you do, you still might make it in under the wire.”

“Wish I could blame that on still waking up, but this is just how I talk.” the stranger drawls out. “Might speed it up a bit if I ask for a menu, yeah?”

“This ain’t a fancy London restaurant, mate.” Niall scoffs, jabbing his other thumb towards the board behind his left shoulder. “We’ve got what’s on the board. An X next to it means we’re out of that at the moment and it’ll take a bit, or we just won’t have it in again tonight.”

“The only thing that hasn’t got an X next to it is the fish and chips?” the stranger says like a question, tilting his head a bit.

“Then that’s what we have.” Niall says with an even harder roll of his eyes. “The meatloaf, mash and peas will be ready in about twenty minutes, if you want to wait on that.”

“Is it worth waiting on?” the stranger inquires with a hum in his voice, leaning forward onto the counter and fitting his chin into his palm.

“It’s bloody terrible.” Niall informs him. “Have to drown it in ketchup to make it edible.”

“Not much of a salesman, are you?” the stranger chuckles, his amusement written all over his face, making Niall struggle all the more to keep his temper in check.

He can feel Calum watching him from the front of the house, begging him silently to keep calm and follow Luke’s advice. Stay calm and pretend like nothing is wrong. But how can Niall pretend like there isn’t a threat right in front of him? How can he pretend like this man with the sly grin couldn’t bring down his entire life in minutes if he found Molly?

How can he pretend he’s not a hairsbreadth from vomiting being this close to a real, live governmental witch?

It’s not hard to tell the bloke is someone important, the silk of his shirt, patterned with flowers, and the silver of the jewelry he has on his hands and wrist and neck a dead giveaway. He’s either powerful or rich, both of which lead to a conclusion of government involvement. He’s clumsy, doesn’t appear to be particularly bright, so that means Niall’s guess about him being an agent might be off, but he was right in assuming this man is a threat, and he can’t relax in the face of that danger.

“Don’t need to be.” Niall says flatly, placing his palms on the bar. “Like you said, you haven’t got any food in your cottage, and you walked here. You wouldn’t have walked here if you were worried about time and had a car or had the kind of innate magic that gets you from place to place quickly like flight or porting. There’s a village with an all-night diner about twenty-k from here, but you wouldn’t make it there on foot for a few hours. Same with a marketplace. So, it’s either this place, you muster up the energy for a spell that’ll get you where you want to go, or you go hungry tonight.

“You asked a question, and I answered honestly. I wouldn’t wait on the meatloaf, because it’s vile. Selling you a meal isn’t my job. My job is giving you what you decide on from the options available here, should you decide on any of them.”

“You’re clever.” the stranger grins, stretching out his lips even further in his amusement. “What’s a boy as clever as you doing in a sleepy, little village like this? You’d do well in a city.”

“It’s a good place for a family.” Niall says gruffly. “‘M not interested in city life.”

“But what about adventure?” the guy asks. “You seem like the kind of boy who likes a bit of adventure.”

“Adventures are for people with more adrenaline than sense.” Niall replies coldly. “I’m good right here in my sleepy, little village.”

Niall sees Calum coming towards him out of the corner of his eye, but he refuses to look away from the bright green and steel grey of the eyes in front of him. He refuses to let go of this game of cat and mouse, because he’s sure that the stranger thinks he’s the cat. He’s misjudged the game, though. Niall isn’t the mouse or the cat.

He’s the wolf waiting for the cat to be distracted by the hunt enough that it never senses him coming.

A strong hand wraps around his jaw, turning his head away from the stranger and towards someone much more familiar. Calum’s lips are on his before Niall can even process what’s happening, and after a brief moment of shock, he lets out a shuddering breath and gives into it.

It’s not the first time that he’s kissed any of the lads, probably won’t be the last. It’s never been quite like this, though. It’s never been more of a distraction than an enticement, never been something to break his concentration and force his body to relax.

There’s none of the pleading in it that normally comes when his lips touch one of theirs, none of the ‘please’ that reverberates through his bones from theirs, asking him to give up his stupid fears and give them a chance. But that’s because that’s not what this is. It’s only happening to stop Niall’s brain from barreling down a dangerous path before it’s too late to stop him.

“Darling-” Calum says breathlessly against Niall’s mouth when he breaks the kiss just a moment after it’s begun. “You’re going to scare the poor man away. Quit being the village grouch, and go make yourself useful by checking the food that’s in the oven.”

“Yes, darling.” Niall says with a roll of his eyes, wincing when Calum pinches him hard on the hip to show he’s not joking about Niall walking away now.

“And what’ll you have?” Calum asks, pushing Niall out of the way and directing the question towards the stranger.

“The meatloaf.” the guy smirks, throwing a look at Niall. “I’m feeling adventurous.”

Niall just scoffs and turns towards the kitchen, barely managing to keep himself from stomping away.

They switch after that, Calum charming the stranger and Niall keeping watch on the kitchen and the tables occupied by the villagers. Niall’s more grateful for it than he’d like to admit. He keeps himself busy with idle small-talk and cleaning, doing more around the pub than he usually does in a week, just to keep his attentions on anything except the stranger.

Not that it works perfectly. Niall can only loosen himself up so much, his eyes occasionally darting to the two of them at the bar. And, every time he does look over, he finds that same set of green and grey looking back at him, trying to unravel him, and only manages to keep the shudders trapped in his spine out of pure spite.

[justicewinged]

Despite being a mock mission, no holds are barred for the young rangers attempting it.

Their instructor for drill, Sir Craig, calls them to action early. All five, including Quinn, are ready at first light for this job, animals and all. This will be their first taste of their assigned duty for the crown, though albeit in a condensed, safe environment. Valor is excited, he can taste the petricite forests' air and ambiance, and they haven't even stepped a single foot outside the farmland surrounding the citadel. His feathers ruffle against every breeze, though he remains perched upon Quinn's glove with no intent to leave. This will be his first try at hunting something other than wildlife, and it worries Quinn. What if he's not receptive to this? He's never stalked a human before... at least, not really. Since coming, he's attacked their falconry instructor thrice. Though there was ultimately no harm done, Quinn doesn't know if that's an improvement or not.

"I have all the information here," begins Sir Craig, passing a small folder to the girl with the hound, who takes it and folds it under her armpit as if she might suddenly lose it. "You will be tracking a man you have never seen before, though his face has been dutifully drawn for you on page two. He is one of our knights. Fear not hurting him, he is in full plate. There is a hamlet housing him who we have informed of your mission. This is slated to take three days."

"If any of you neglect your duties here, there is no leeway. You must pull your weight. This is an official operation, and you are expected to all have something to contribute. If you do not, then this will be your final exam as a ranger." He gives a firm look to the strapping lad of their group, who has already passed most of the strenuous requirements of endurance and strength, and glances back at the group. "The lot of you may discuss plans here, though recall that time is of the utmost. You will earn a bonus for completing this before the three-day period is up." He dips his head. "Go as you might."

The girl with the hound holds her head up high, and gestures for all to surround her. Valor peeps rudely as Quinn approaches, though the girl makes no comment.

"I suppose we'd best learn each other's names. I don't think I've spoken to one of you of yet, and we all sleep in the same bunk room." Without much ceremony, she points first to the biggest of them. "Just tell me your name as I point to you."

"Oh! Um, my name is Colin."

"Savan," says the fair-haired lad.

The littlest boy dips his head. "Hirand," he mumbles.

"Quinn."

"And I'm Patronia. I don't think surnames have much purpose here. We're comrades, not strangers. We'll be fighting with the same blood and sleeping in the same tents our whole lives. Class means nothing."

Quinn nods slightly. While she doesn't particularly like Patronia's constantly haughty tone, she likes the way this girl thinks.

"Let's see that file, then," Quinn says, ready to get to business. "There's no time to waste."

Patronia passes the file to her, and she opens it up to rifle through the pieces. There's a small chunk of blue fabric emblazoned with the Demacian insignia, several sketches of where he was last seen, a sketch of his face, though crude, and a file listing his rank and title before listing his known contacts, at least for sake of this exercise, and likely places of hiding. Immediately, Quinn takes out the scrap of fabric and passes it to Patronia. "That will be helpful for your hound to know the scent of.

She grips it in her palm. "Yes, that's true," she says evenly. It's impossible to read her expression, though it seems annoyed.

Hirand peeks up over the pages. "I know where that is, it's a meadow near my parents' estate."

"And that's closer to High Silvermere," Savan remarks.

Colin pulls aside the map, tries to make sense of it for a moment before he spreads it out on their table and circles a portion with his index finger. "The hamlet would likely be somewhere in this radius, if nothing else."

Both Savan and Hirand cast him looks, but Patronia rolls her eyes.

"Just because Colin is a simple woodcutter's son doesn't mean anything. He may be less apt to sneaking, but he is here for a reason, boys."

Quinn nods vigorously. "I'm a farmer's daughter, and I brought an Azurite eagle with me. Our histories don't matter when we're tracking."

"But that's --" Savan begins to protest.

Patronia gives him a good whack at the base of his skull. "Unimportant to the task at hand," she finishes. "What is important is that Colin has knowledge of cartography, woodcutter's son or not. We have a solid day's journey just to reach that area on foot. We'd best get started, if we would like jobs other than our parents' professions." She rolls up the map and bundles up the file once more. "Come on, now."

* * *

The path of scent runs out at the first river. Patronia's hound snuffles around its banks, overturning leaves and bushes in search of the other end of the trail, though it turns up barren. Patronia casts her sharp gaze around the area, examining for any signs of anything that could lead them to their mark for a moment, and shakes her head.

"There's nothing," she remarks, rolling back on her heels with a look of solemn defeat. "When Borun can't find something, I can't find it. That's just the way things are."

Quinn shook her head. "There's a reason we're together. Not one of us can do this alone. We have to do it together. That's the intent of this." She threw Valor up into the air, and he quickly climbed updrafts to rise above the trees. He let out single noted whistles, which Quinn responds to in turn. "We can continue looking on the ground, but having an aerial view could help us out a lot. He'll screech should he see anything strange, that's how I keep track of him."

Savan scratches his chin slightly, cradling his compass in one hand and the other half of the map that Colin held in his other. "Well, if we're right about the whole High Silvermere thing, then the path would run to the northeast, which follows a tributary of the Crown River, here. If we follow the river, we should be able to follow the tributary, and then with any luck your hound will pick the scent back up."

"I'd rather not go off on a lark like that. We don't know if it's the case or not. We aren't sure, and I would prefer to be completely sure. We've only got three days. It'll take us two to get to High Silvermere on the regular roads," says Patronia, shaking her head.

"The fastest way between two points is a straight line," Hirand replies in a chipper tone. "He probably just took the fastest way."

Quinn nods in agreement. "He probably shedded his boots and his greaves, and waded the river. We don't know if he had a pack or not, but we can go along the bank and if we find it anywhere, we'll probably find the scent trail not far off."

The group wanders along the banks with the hound dashing around the banks and dancing in and out of trees. He reminds Quinn of her own Valor, his readiness to rush into battle and his excitement for just being around his master. Patronia, however, seems indifferent to this. Soon enough, dusk is upon them, and while they approach the meadow sketched with one of his most recent sightings, there is nothing of note. They set up camp, the five young rangers all tired and mildly concerned for the hunt they had embarked on.