#i want to preserve that joy happiness and wonder he exudes

[professoryaoi]

My partner got really excited when he found a random sticker in the mail truck the other day so I know what I'm going to periodically do with my random stickers, now

[out-there-so-it-isnt-just-me]

Hey guys...I have an idea if you aren't sad enough yet. I was struck by a painful comparison sort of crossover idea. It would never be canon, but  I'm mourning the end of Campaign Two, and I want to be sad and over-dramatic. Essek, but as Eliza from Hamilton in “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story.” But, it’s for the entire Mighty Nien. Some of the lyrics are so on point for a poor Essek who will probably outlive all of his friends (Elves still generally live longer than Firbolgs by a good 200 years). Anyway, enjoy.

MN

Every other founding father's story gets told

It occurs to Essek, during one of the many periods without one of the Mighty Nein (the time that he dwells on them the most), how unfair their whole situation is. They saved all of Exandria, and no one knows. They are amazing, and odd, and frustrating, and no one knows. They will die loved deeply, but not widely. He knows they prefer it that way, all things considered. But, everyone else who saves all of Exandria becomes legends, while the people he loves best will be forgotten, remembered only by him.

And that. That sounds unbearable. 

So, in-between the times he sees the Mighty Nein, he begins to gather accounts. He writes down stories from those they helped, or simply left an impression on.  The people who have met the Mighty Nein have an air about them that he gets good at detecting. They attracted the oddballs and the outcasts. And if they're entirely normal (whatever that means), then they usually get a certain twitch if you ask for stories about interesting strangers. About half the time, a certain blue tiefling pops up in them. He almost has a heart attack when he hears  “go fuck yourself,” in Jester’s cheerful voice, when he knows Jester isn’t anywhere near there. He ends up getting the kenku’s story, and the voices of his friends are weaved into it. Essek thinks the Mighty Nein are the best people in the world, in their own rambunctious way. Part of him wants the world to love them as he does, or at least have the option to. Everyone should have a chance to get to know them, even if it's just through tales. The world would be a better place for it.

...And when you're gone, who remembers your name?

Who keeps your flame? 

Who tells your story?

Who tells your story?

Who tells your story?

Once there is only him and Caduceus left, this becomes a more prominent part of how he spends his time. After...after a long, long period of mourning. He has so much life left to live without most of the people who made it worth living.

I put myself back in the narrative

I stop wasting time on tears

I live another 50(0) years

He stops hiding his past and bears his sins and his story to the world. Essek tells his story so their story can be appreciated to the fullest; his part in their story emphasizes the depth of their compassion and chaos. He tells his story, but not as himself. Essek continues to drift from town to town under a vast number of aliases. Everywhere he goes, he spreads his stories of his friends, some serious, most silly. He disguises himself so he can stay alive to do a little more good, tell a few more stories, to truly live the life his friends wanted for him.

...I try to make sense of your thousands of pages of writings

You really do write like you're running out of time.

Eventually, he gets his hands on some of Beau’s journals, Jester’s diaries, and Caleb’s research. Well, he always had the research, but he gets to the point where he can share it with the world. He slowly begins to share and explain their thoughts and personalities with excerpts from those. Maybe he also has letters that he shares parts of (though most of those, those words specifically for him, he keeps to himself, for himself). He wonders if they'd be angry at him for spilling their private thoughts. But neither Beau nor Jester filtered their thoughts very much in the first place, and he keeps anything truly painful out of the public eye. Caleb, well, Caleb was always about sharing his knowledge and research, provided it wasn't dangerous. And they were all dead anyway.  One of the last things they told him was to be happy. And talking about his friends, learning more about his friends even after they were long dead, that made him the happiest he'd been in a while. So he hoped they wouldn’t begrudge him this small joy he’d managed to grasp and forgive him, should it be necessary.

I rely on Angelica

While she's alive, we tell your story

She is buried in Trinity Church near you

When I needed her most, she was right on time

Caduceus isn’t particularly interested in being well known or famous, but he never shies away from telling a story about any of his friends. Plus, he thinks it’s a good project for Essek. It's a way to continue to show his love for them and keep them alive in the only way they can be now. When Caduceus eventually passes away, he joins the eight other graves (Veth refused to be buried apart from Yeza) that lay in a tucked-away corner of the Blooming Grove. There is one space left, nestled between where Caleb and Jester lay, but it will be empty for a long time yet.

And I'm still not through

I ask myself, what would you do if you had more time...

...You could have done so much more if you only had time

And when my time is up, have I done enough?

Will they tell your story?

He keeps adding to his tale; he stretches it longer and longer with every shred he can remember. But, even his memory, as long as it is, runs out eventually. And their story finally ends, but he doesn't. He throws himself into activities that remind him of them. He does a lot of gardening ( mostly tea, poisonous plants, and flowers). He teaches children some rudimentary dunamancy in his spare time, for Caleb. He messes around with alchemy a little. Eventually, he publishes the last of the research that he and Caleb worked on together; ones that took him decades to solve by himself. He even finds himself drawing a surprising amount of dicks on random surfaces near the very end.

Oh, can I show you what I'm proudest of?

...I help to raise hundreds of children

I get to see them growing up

The time that doesn’t go towards his now worrying amount of hobbies, he spends doing what he has done since the beginning: caring for the Mighty Nien’s true legacy. He looks after and visits their children. He takes care of descendants of Luc, of Jester and Fjord, of the random teenager that Beau and Yasha seemed to adopt completely on accident, of TJ, of the Clays, and of a lovechild of Kingsley’s that found out who his father was and then somehow found Essek himself to learn about him. In an embarrassing show of sentimentality, Essek always keeps at least one offspring of Caleb's very first cat. There is a very funny story about Caleb thinking the animal was spayed when it was, in fact, not. He visits the different generations every couple of years or so (he has a schedule). The drow makes sure they know the stories of their ancestors, the adventures of the Mighty Nien; he tells them it's all real. He gives them ways to contact him if they’re in danger, or need any kind of help really ( he has funds to spare at this point). Every once in a while, a few of them will get it in their heads to write him yearly updates. It’s nice.

In their eyes, I see you, Alexander

I see you every time

And when my time is up

Have I done enough?

Will they tell your story?

It is strange and painful to see the attitude and mannerisms of the Nein in the descendants who have never met them. It is wonderful too. His stories of the Mighty Nein have become well-known tales that no one can decide how much is truth and how much is fiction (it’s true, it’s all somehow, hilariously true). He preserved them in his own way, in the right way (time travel is something he thinks of with a growing hunger the more years pass between when he last laid eyes on his friends). But in these men, these women, these children, they are truly alive.

One little half-orc girl has Jester’s mischievous eyes and infectious joy. Another halfling man squints just like Veth when she's trying to figure out if someone is bullshitting her. There’s a boy who charmingly bumbles his way through most social encounters, as Fjord did. A firbolg woman who has Caduceus gentle smile. A tiefling girl with all the audacious bravado of Kingsley. A man with eyes just as piercing as Beau’s, and a tongue just as sharp. Even Yasha’s kind and gentle demeanor somehow shines through in one small boy, despite her having no direct descendants. He gets to see these flashes of his friends in those who survive them, and it thrills him as much as it cuts him. (Sometimes, when the current cat has ruined some item of his, the pleased look it wears resembles the quiet glee Caleb exuded after he pulled a successful prank, but he’s pretty sure that’s just fanciful thinking.)

One of the last things Essek does before he dies is fully publish, in print, the entire tale of the Mighty Nein. How they came together, every person they helped along the way. The love, the loss, the kindness, the chaos, every moment he could recall or record was put into this one account (necessarily stretched out into several separate books). There is only one set, and he hands it over to the Library of the Cobalt Soul in Rexxentrum. Then he goes on his lonely way.

Oh, I can't wait to see you again

It's only a matter of time

There are now ten graves, each one as unique as its owner, nestled in a small corner of the Blooming Grove. One grave has the dirt still fresh around it. And somewhere, beyond the Divine Gate, there are cheers and laughs and cries of joy as the Mighty Nien become the Mighty Nine once more.

fin.

MN

It’s my head-canon that by the time Essek dies he’s practically a mythical figure among the select families he looks after. It's  to the point that in certain locations ( that have a lot of Nein remnants) he becomes a local legend, the guardian angel of nien (no spelling specified and with no real distinction of what that means), with skin like the night sky who drifts (literally) through towns and helps those who meet a certain requirement, unknown to the general populus. There are rumors that certain people have bestowed upon them a token they could use to call upon the angel’s aid. Of course, the people who have the tokens (sending stones or something similar. IDK how he would get that many wondrous items, but I focus on satisfying narrative not, like, plausibility) know Essek and know that he has died and that the tokens no longer work, but for a while they keep them as heirlooms, to show the love of one drow wizard for the friends he had long, long ago. Eventually, one of Veth’s descendants sells off their set because sending stones are worth A LOT, and the money seemed more practical. They have their stories; those are enough. 

And before anyone complains about the Kingsley bit, I felt compelled to add a smidgen of Kingsley content because Essek loves Jester and Jester’s with Fjord and Kingsley is with both of them for years. I’m sure they get to know each other well enough that seeing traits of Kingsley is vaguely nostalgic and warming, even if it lacks the depth and love he feels for everyone else. Also, there’s no convincing me that Molly/Kingsley doesn’t have at least one illegitimate child running around from various trysts, he was basically the Scanlan of this campaign. It goes with the hedonistic vibe he gives off.

Also, is it normal that I completely designed the Nein’s burial site in my head because I did? Like I imagine they’re all spaced out in a circle. It’s almost like a stone gazebo but there’s not really a roof; it’s just a group of nine pillars that support a stone circle. The entrance is the Traveler’s door with dicks around the edge, and each of the nine pillars/supports is designed to look the knowing mistresses staff. The stone circle is covered in carvings of storm clouds and lightning. Wires are strung across the center of the stone circle to form the symbol of the Cobalt Soul. Not that you can see the wires, because vines have been grown all around them. Once you step through the Traveler’s gate, you’ll find yourself on some kind of rough mosaic floor, with depictions of a peacock, a pyramid, a snake, a sun, a moon, and (oddly) a pirate ship. The mosaic is made up of buttons of various materials and shapes. In the center is a saltwater pool/spring (depending on how magical we can get idk) and floating above it is an eternal flame encased in some sort of dunamancy magic that doesn’t  actually exist that keeps it floating and eternal. Look I'm running out of ideas.

I can’t imagine what everyone’s grave marker would be, but I’m pretty sure Yasha’s is a simple stone that says "YASHA NYDOORIN: wife of Zuella and Beauregard Lionette," and the place where’s she’s buried is just covered in wildflowers that spread outside of the gazebo to encircle the structure entirely up to the gate. Also, everyone has a stone tarot card by their grave with the picture and designation that Molly gave them. Beyond that grows a weirdly dense thicket of trees and bushes that make finding the Nein's resting place rather hard. It’s said only the descendants of the Nein’s family or those favored by the Wildmother (or Traveler, Or Ioun, or Storm Lord) can find their way to them. And one tree, directly behind Yasha, is dead, struck by lightning who knows how long ago. 

And they’re buried in this order: Yeza/Veth, Caleb, Essek, Jester, Ford, Kingsley, Yasha, Beau, Cad. I know there’s a good chance that a) Kingsley would just eff off and die somewhere unknown and b) Cad would probably want to be buried with the rest of his family, but shhh let me dream.

[xiolaperry]

The Piano - Chapter 3

Notes: My Camp NaNoWriMo Project for April 2020.  A Rumbelling of the 1993 movie ‘The Piano’. Has 14 chapters, all are written. I’ll post one every few days. Some dialogue is taken directly from the film and from ‘Once Upon a Time’. No copyright infringement intended - I’m just having fun. The film is gorgeous, if you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend that you watch it.

Summary:  Belle French and her daughter arrive in New Zealand to an arranged marriage with Gaston LeGume.  Gaston shows little interest in her or her piano and books. However, Mr. Gold is fascinated…

Rating: E (for smut, dark subject matter and violence in future chapters)

Also available on AO3

--

Tilly and Belle awoke to find the house empty. While they ate bread with apple preserves, Belle noticed a woman's touch about the place: a crocheted doily, ornate china cups with gaudy red roses, lace trimmed curtains at the windows. Who chose them?

Bursting with curiosity, Tilly opened every cabinet and pulled out every drawer. Belle's first inclination was to scold her daughter for being nosy and going through someone else’s possessions. Then she laughed at herself, remembering this was Tilly's home now too. These were now their possessions. So she joined her instead.

They found a washtub, and she had Tilly scrub the mud from yesterday's dresses. If the trek from the beach was any indication, mud would be their constant companion.

Her restless hands tapped snatches of music in accompaniment to the unceasing rain on the roof. A melody expressing her current uneasiness filled her mind, and she ached to play it. She couldn't even read a book to relax.

Midday, she saw Gaston exit the barn. Perhaps she ought to have gone out there to see him earlier, but she had needed the time alone with Tilly to adjust to the new surroundings. And going out in the rain again was just too daunting.

There was a knock at the door. Why would Gaston knock at his own home? She was surprised when she opened the door, not to find her husband, but two women and a red-haired man. Gaston appeared behind the strangers, and she stood aside to let them all enter.

“May I present my Aunt Cora, her daughter Regina, and Reverend Hopper. Everyone, this is Belle and her daughter Tilly.”

Belle bowed her head and curtsied, and prompted Tilly to do so as well. Her first impression of the women was one of overwhelming coldness. Their faces were beautiful but severe. They were the source of the feminine touches. Reverend Hopper was the opposite. His face and manner exuded warmth and welcome. She saw in him a potential friend.

“They're here to join us for a mid-day meal. I forgot to tell you.”

Belle had a moment of panic. What would she serve them? Gaston hadn't given her any time to prepare.

“Don't worry, we brought food with us,” said Cora, indicating Regina's raised basket. Belle motioned to Tilly to set the table.

Fresh bread, cheese, a meat pie, and delicate cookies appeared from the basket. They looked delicious and skillfully prepared. But the uncomfortable conversation soon caused them to sour in her stomach.

“You must be so grateful to have found a man as wonderful as my nephew to marry you,” stated Cora. “Did you despair of ever finding a husband considering your... circumstances?”

Tilly conveyed her mother's answer. “Mama says her circumstances were quite lovely, thank you. And there was no despair, she simply fancied an adventure.”

“I'm sure she did,” replied Cora, raising an eyebrow while stirring her tea.

Belle knew she had to get along with these women. She told Tilly to compliment the tea set, even though she found the large red roses garish and ugly.

“Thank you. That was a gift from us,” answered Regina. “Mother had hoped Gaston would find a woman of quality to take care of them. Oh, well.”

Belle bristled. Would there be no end to their innuendo that she was somehow lacking? Gaston, enjoying his food, was oblivious to the cattiness.

Reverend Hopper attempted to steer the conversation to safer ground. “Would you like me to take a wedding photograph of the two of you? I'm an amateur photographer and always enjoy a chance to indulge in my hobby. You didn't get a ceremony, but you could at least have a picture.”

Gaston brightened. “We do make a very attractive couple. Yes, Reverend, we'd like that.”

“I agree,” interjected Cora, as if they required her agreement. “We shall all return on a nicer day and have it done. Something to show your future children, Gaston.” She patted his cheek, smiling.

Gaston tensed and changed the subject, asking about Regina's latest projects. His aunt told them all about her daughter's accomplishments, how well she could sing, her proficiency as a cook and gardener, and her talent as a seamstress. Belle wanted to ask how such a talented, quality woman was still unmarried but did not want to stoop to their level of petty barbs.

Reverand Hopper stood. “We must be going. Belle and Tilly, it was wonderful to meet you both,” he said. “I hope you will be happy here.” At last, the ordeal was over. After a series of goodbyes, Cora and her entourage departed. Gaston returned to the barn.

When Belle finished clearing the table and washing the dishes, there was nothing left to distract her. She stared out the window at the sullen rain. Her piano and books were alone on the beach, waiting for her to rescue them.

The rain ceased during the night. Sunlight streamed in the windows, cheering Belle and Tilly as they discussed potential adventures. Gaston observed Belle and her daughter at the table, irritated. Their hands danced in silent conversation. It was unnerving. At least she would be useful around the house, someone to watch over things when he wasn't there.

“I have to go away for a few days. There is some business I need to conduct and it can’t wait. Will you be all right here tending to the chickens and other chores?”

Belle smiled and nodded. Tilly replied, “Yes, we will be.”

“We can get to know each other better when I return.” Another nod. “If you have any problems, Mr. Gold lives a relatively short distance away. I'll leave a map.”

Gaston left on horseback. As Belle tidied up, all she could think about were her piano and books. Her life was silent without her instrument. Music filled everything with color. She missed the comfort and adventure of her books.

Household tasks complete, Belle and Tilly dressed in boots and jackets. Mr. Gold had not been friendly, but she had glimpsed something kind in his brown eyes. She was sure of it. He would take them to the beach.

Planks served as makeshift paths through the mud. It was a frustrating and messy business navigating them. The planks, not always close enough, often left too big of a gap to jump. They sank into the mire. At last, they left the cleared area of Gaston's property.

Mr. Gold's house was smaller than Gaston's, but it complemented its surroundings. He had not removed the native plants and trees, instead he had worked with them. It gave the effect of finding an enchanted cottage in the woods.

She knocked at the door and Mr. Gold answered. He had a cane in his hand. She hadn't noticed him using one the other day. “Mrs. Legume. What can I do for you?”

Belle wrote him a quick note. He looked at the paper and stated, “I can't read.” He was not embarrassed to tell her this. His father had abandoned him as a child with his two “aunties.” They were spinners and taught him the trade. School was a luxury he’d not had time for.

Belle was taken aback. She turned to Tilly and signed to her.

“Please take us to the beach.”

“No. I can't. Sorry.” He did not want to get involved. He closed the door.

Belle would not be dissuaded. He had to help her. She plopped down on the porch with Tilly and told her a story to pass the time. It was about an evil sorcerer who lived in a castle he had enchanted to look like a tiny house in the woods. He hunted children and skinned them for their pelts.

Tilly watched, rapt. The more fanciful and gruesome the story, the better. Belle embellished the tale with all sorts of fantastical details, wondering how long it would take Mr. Gold to emerge.

It surprised Gold when he came out to sparkling blue eyes and smiles. Their calmness disarmed him.

“I can't do it.”

They said nothing.

“I have other plans.”

Silence.

It was difficult to argue when the other party would not engage. Gold did not relish them sitting on the porch, staring at him for the rest of the day. This was the easiest way to get rid of them, he told himself as he traded his cane for a walking stick and put on his jacket. He was just removing an annoyance from his property and satisfying his curiosity.

Feigning impatience, he started down the trail. “Aren't you coming?”

The trip down to the beach progressed faster than Belle expected. Since it was only the three of them and they had nothing heavy to carry, Gold took them a different way.

This time she could enjoy the scenery. Instead of focusing on the mud at her feet, her gaze turned upward. The canopy of trees was a lush green against the clear blue sky. Birds fluttered and sang, and Belle imagined their chatter to be cheering her along.

Gold cast an occasional furtive glance behind him to make sure they kept up. When they reached the cliff and Belle caught sight of her things, her face transformed with joy. She and Tilly scampered down the steep incline as fast as they could, overtaking his careful descent. The change in her was amazing.

Belle ran to the piano. She tore at the slats of the crate covering the keys. It took Gold longer to make his way down to the beach. By the time he reached them, Belle was playing music and Tilly was dancing with childish abandon.

Gold watched and told himself the glow he saw in her was just the warmth of the sun. Had he thought her beautiful before? He was wrong. She was exquisite. Her eyes were animated and her dark hair came loose from its braid, whipping in the wind, red highlights flashing in the day’s brightness.

It was a moment he would always remember. Standing in the sand, the waves crashing, birds in the sky. Gold did not have experience with music. Like schooling, it was a luxury he had not enjoyed as a child and he hadn't had time for as he worked to make his fortune. He hadn’t known what he was missing. It was passion, longing, radiance. He was enthralled.

Tilly tired of her dance and made creatures out of shells in the sand. Gold found himself helping, drawing large outlines of seahorses and starfish with his cane. In return, Tilly told him stories of their voyage.

Too soon, their shadows lengthened across the sand. The tone of her composition changed. It sped up, as though the player was trying to cram in as many notes as possible before reaching the end. Tense, staccato sounds slowed into sad, lonely chords. Tilly sat down next to her mother and they played a brief, simple duet in farewell.

Gold helped Belle re-secure her piano. Before he thought better of it, he spoke. “Would you like to bring some books back with you? We can put some in my satchel.”

Belle opened a trunk, carefully peeling back the waterproof canvas. She looked at the books like a woman forced to choose between her children. She handed him a heavy botanical tome and a book of plays to put into his bag. Tilly was given a slim book of poems that she could easily carry, and Belle took a larger book of poetry for herself. She wished she could teleport all the books by magic and reminded herself to be grateful to have these four returning with her. It was better than nothing. She closed the lid on the rest.

It was time to leave. On their way back, Gold missed the Belle from the beach, the one who was lit from within with joy. Each step took them further away from the beautiful day on the shore. She wilted when the house came into sight. Reality returned.

Through Tilly, she thanked him.

“It was no matter. I simply wanted you off my porch.”

She laughed soundlessly, her expressive eyes appearing to see straight through him. He rubbed his fingers, uneasy from the scrutiny.

“Mama would like to know if you would care to come in.”

“Now why would I want to do that? Here, take these heavy things,” he said. Uncomfortable, he thrust the books towards Belle. And with that, he spun around and trudged home, his ears still hearing the music from the beach, his vision full of Belle's hands dancing on the black and white keys, and the memory of Tilly twirling in the sun.

--

Link to music Belle played on the beach -  (Composed by Michael Nyman for the film "The Piano".)

[mowulf]

How to Train your Downer: CH5

<–|Start|—>  (Next Week!)

Here’s this weeks chapter!  In which everything goes really well! Right up until it doesn't. As always, you can read the whole thing (so far) over here!

The door opened and Green looked up from his mug of coffee expecting Davies to walk through the door. Curfew was in a few moments and even officers weren’t exempt (unless they were working the night shift, of course). Instead, Arthur entered and shut the door carefully behind him. He had a new mask - of course he would. Green expected nothing less - and wore an expression of vague confusion.

Green knit his brows. “You’re back?”

Arthur startled but quickly recovered. His face blanked and he feigned disinterest as he moved to join the doctor in the kitchen. “Yeah, guess I am,” he said as he opened the fridge. A moment of silence, then he shut the door.

Green watched in idle curiosity before he finally sighed and pulled out an empty notebook. Seemed Davies was right after all. With that in mind, he would need to retake all of his notes. The knowledge that Davies was right was irritating, if only because Arthur should have followed all of the pre established rules. Also, Davies would never let him live this down.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked suddenly.

Green looked up in time to see Arthur carefully peel the mask off his face with a relieved sigh. How much should he say? At what point would Arthur decide he’d had enough and just fuck off back outside? With a shrug, Green answered, “Keeping notes for work. You aren’t the only one we’ve got our eyes on.”

Oh that caught Arthur’s interest. He tried to feign disinterest, but Green specialized in reading people. Any good Joy doctor worth his salt had to be an absolute pro at body language, so he caught the way Arthur’s head cocked as he stood a bit taller.

Perhaps…?

No. It would never work. And Davies would almost certainly shut the idea down.

But maybe?

With proper training, perhaps he could use Arthur to sniff out other downers. Provide enough incentive and surely the lad wouldn’t object. If nothing else, self preservation would win out. No, Davies would absolutely not allow it if that were the case. Fine. He’d just have to find something else he could use. How food-motivated was Arthur?

“Stop that.”

Green blinked. He must have been thinking too loud - as Davies put it - because Arthur had hunched defensively and was shooting daggers his way. “Sorry,” he muttered without thinking as he quickly wrote down his thoughts in the notebook. Perhaps Arthur could be more useful than previously anticipated. And whatever Davies was doing was working. Surely-

The door opened again, bringing with it a cacophony of laughter and yelling. Lord. Green snapped the notebook shut and turned to see who had followed Davies home this time. Oddly enough, Arthur approached Davies with a smile despite his apprehensive body language and the way he regarded the other two officers with obvious suspicion and distrust.

Green watched with interest as Arthur greeted them with a cheerful smile only to have Davies - drunk as a skunk - grab either side of his face and rub like he would a pet. Arthur tried to bat him away initially but quickly gave up while Davies cooed this and that. There was too much noise to pick out exactly what was being said, but Green could tell Arthur was conflicted about the attention he was receiving.

Finally, Arthur extricated himself and absconded upstairs to the privacy and relative quiet of his own room. The door was slammed for emphasis, though Green wondered how much was intent and how much was from nervous tension. Either way, Davies bid his fellows farewell and finally quiet descended and he could return his attention to his coffee.

A pair of hands pressed into his shoulders and Green smiled as he reached up to knock Davies’ cap off and run fingers through his hair. “Told you he’d come back,” Davies said smugly.

“So you did,” Green conceded at last. “So you did.”

------

Arthur reclined in the seat as he enjoyed the sun on his face. Since his first adventure he’d made a point of getting out every day regardless of the weather. (Once, Green had tried to keep him inside. He’d waited for an opportunity and then slipped out the kitchen window.) The novelty of the collar still brought attention, but by pretending it didn’t exist - and by virtue of having a new mask - people quickly picked up on the fact that it just wasn’t that big of a deal and would typically go about their own business.

Not that the attention was unwanted. Arthur had quickly learned that a year of isolation left him starved for company. Even idle pleasantries provided little doses of serotonin that he craved.

Now, though, was the time to people watch. Turned out, another side effect of isolation was not being able to keep up with the changing trends which left him far behind the times. So he sat and watched and listened.

“Arthur?”

He looked over. “Valerie?” He flushed and silently thanked whatever powers that be that he was wearing a mask to hide the worst of it. He motioned for her to join him and smile as she took a seat. “Lovely day for it.”

“That it is!” She stretched her legs out before he tucked them under the bench somewhat and crossed her ankles. They enjoyed a moment of peace until she broke it with a soft, “Thanks for coming to see me. I was beginning to think you weren’t interested.”

Arthur flushed harder and nodded. “It was… fun.”

Valerie covered her mouth as she chuckled before placing a hand on his knee. “I had a lot of fun, and I’d really like to get together with you again. If you’re okay with that.”

Arthur hummed thoughtfully. At last he said, “I don’t know. I mean, I had a lot of fun, don’t get me wrong! But… I just… I don’t know…”

“You want something more than just a ‘casual encounter’?”

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a bit longer. Arthur watched people pass by and picked up snippets of conversations here and there while Valerie mulled over the conversation.

“You know,” she said at last, “I wouldn’t mind getting tea sometime. I know a nice cafe nearby. We could chat and get to know each other better.” She looked over at him and watched as it was his turn to mull over the offer. Finally he nodded.

“That does sound nice.” He smiled at her. “I’d really like that.”

“Afternoon tea?”

“Sounds lovely.”

With a final farewell, she stood up and trotted off. Arthur watched her go with a small smile. Her energy was infectious and having the opportunity to go on a date with her? A happy tingle ran up his spine.

He’d have to be careful, though. Valerie rivaled the Joy doctors when it came to reading people and he didn’t need her figuring out that he wasn’t on Joy. Out of everyone, she was the last person he wanted to find out.

Largely because he really liked her.

He stretched his legs out with a sigh and tilted his head back. He was ready to close his eyes and get lost in his thoughts when a familiar face caught his eye. Was that Marcum? Arthur cocked his head to get a better look. Yup, it most certainly was.

Marcum was absurdly tall, even compared to the other officers. But what really stood out to Arthur was just how approachable the man was. Perhaps it was habit and conditioning, but every constable he’d run across exuded an air of aggression. Marcum, on the other hand, just felt friendlier. Like he’d actually help even if he knew Arthur was a downer.

He watched as Marcum and another officer strolled along, chatting about who knows what. They traded playful shoves periodically and Arthur snorted. Guess even officers were prone to horsing around periodically.

Arthur leaned forward to prop his head in his chin as he watched. It was odd just how personable Marcum was. Surely he would have known such an outlier of an officer. His brows knit as he tried to shuffle through the names and faces of the officers that he did know, only to draw a blank. Had new officers been hired while he’d been locked up? Or maybe there’d been some kind of reorganization. That would make sense, considering Arthur knew the names and basic personalities of every officer that patrolled the Parade District. It was useful knowledge for when he had to schmooze his way out of trouble or beg a favor (or convince someone to look the other way while he did something particularly illegal).

But he didn’t know anything about Marcum. This was dangerous territory now, and begged the question of how many other officers were now patrolling that he had no history with.

“Hey there.”

If anyone ever asked, Arthur would vehemently deny the high pitched noise of distress he’d clearly never made. He would, however, admit that he had slid off the bench intending to stand up, only to have his hip choose that moment to give out and send him tumbling to the ground. Marcum laughed and stepped around the bench to help Arthur back to his feet. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you so badly. I thought you saw me coming since you were watching so intently.”

Arthur flushed and quickly looked away because wow, he did not mean to give off that impression. With a small wave, he said, “It’s fine. I should have been paying more attention to my surroundings. Shouldn’t you be patrolling, though?”

Marcum shrugged. “It’s fine. There’s two others patrolling for situations like this.”

“You mean so you can flirt around?”

Now it was Marcum’s turn to blush, though he didn’t deny anything. Arthur gave him a smug look for a minute before his survival instinct finally caught up and he realized that he’d basically accused a person of power.

Maybe a look of panic had flashed across his face, or maybe it was the shift in his body language, but Marcum was quick to say, “Woah, hey. What’s wrong.”

“Nothing.” Arthur forced on a too bright smile and glanced around nervously. He needed to get home. Now. He wasn’t sure he could keep up the facade for much longer.

Marcum slung an arm around Arthur’s shoulder and angled them, Arthur noticed, so as to hide Arthur in such a way that he was out of immediate view. That was… considerate? Kind? And also a sign of a much more pressing issue. “What are you doing?” he hissed, making sure no one else overheard.

“Listen,” the arm around his shoulders tightened and Arthur found himself gently pressed into Marcum’s chest, “every Joy doctor and constable in the area knows you aren’t on Joy and that you aren’t allowed to take any for the foreseeable future, but no one else knows this.” Fear spiked through Arthur. Old hurts and phantom pains shot through his body, a reminder of every beating he’d been on the receiving end of. “Hey.” He couldn’t breathe. He had to get home. “Arthur.” Davies would protect him. Davies would keep him safe. He’d promised. He’d promised. “Arthur!”

The distressed whisper pulled Arthur somewhat back to the moment. He didn’t realize he was hyperventilating until he was suddenly acutely aware of it. Marcum was still pressed against him and, judging by the concerned expression he wore and the rapid beating of his heart, had no idea what to do. Taking a gulp of air, he wrapped his arms around Marcum and hissed, “Shut up. Just, for once in your goddamned life shut up.”

Deep breaths. Slow down. Stop. Think. What did he see? His gaze darted around until it locked on a colorful shop sign. That was one thing. And the cobblestones of the road. Oh, and people. A few had paused as they passed by to get a look at him, but Marcum’s presence seemed to assure them that the situation was under control.

Okay. Okay, yes. Good start.

Uh…

Right, okay. Next step: feel. He flexed his fingers against the surprisingly rough texture of the uniform. He’d never really noticed because he’d always avoided physical contact with officers. Even with Davies, his main interactions had involved a lot of biting and screaming. Didn’t exactly leave a whole lot of time for fondling fabrics. As he pressed further into Marcum, his face found a smooth button and he allowed himself a moment to marvel at the drastic difference in textures. There wasn’t really anything else to run his fingers over without making an already uncomfortable situation even worse, so he moved on to the final step.

Taking in a deep breath, Arthur allowed himself to close his eyes and focus on his nose. Marcum smelled of sweat and spice, with a hint of some kind of perfume. He took another deep breath. He recognized that perfume. Why? Where had he smelled it?

Valerie.

His brain rocketed back to that night in the club, when she had pressed herself against him. She’d worn a unique perfume. Floral with a hint of spice. He blinked and leaned back to pull Marcum down to his level, pressed his nose into the crook of Marcum’s neck and inhaled. It seemed more concentrated on the uniform’s lapels.

Interesting.

“Arth-”

“You wouldn’t happen to know a Valerie, would you?”

“You mean my wife?”

If he weren't still standing, Arthur would swear that his heart had stopped. The blood drained from his face and he was vaguely aware of Marcum’s rapidly growing distress. “What,” he grabbed Marum’s lapels and pulled so that they were face-to-face, “do you mean you’re married to her? I am not some cheap fling you can use to cheat on your wife!” He let go and made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. Oh god, what had he gotten himself into this time?

Was this going to be his life from now on? A tragicomedy of mistakes?

“Woah, hey, no. Okay.” Marcum grabbed Arthur by the shoulders to pull his attention back. “I am not cheating on her. She is fully aware that I see other people. We both do. It’s… complicated.” He glanced around quickly. “And definitely a conversation for somewhere a bit more private.”

“I have a date with her!” A pause. “I think.” Oh lord, he’d forgotten to ask when she wanted to get afternoon tea.

Marcum practically lit up with excitement at the panicked statement. “You do? That’s wonderful! I don’t think we’ve ever fancied the same person before! Everyone’s always going after one or the other.”

“Now is not the time!” Arthur pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes with a low growl. “I need to get home, now, or I am going to lose my shit right fucking here.”

“Okay. Yeah. Let’s- yeah. That’s probably a good idea.” Marcum let Arthur take the lead, though he kept himself close just in case. Arthur managed to barely keep himself together for the agonizingly long trip back to Davies’ home. He was reaching for the door when Marcum grabbed his other wrist and said, “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you, but I barely know you. I just… I’m sorry.”

Arthur gave him a quick, pained look before he finally twisted out of the man’s grip and disappeared inside and slammed the door shut. The solid wood of the door pressed against his back provided a level of security that he desperately needed. He sank to the floor slowly and curled into a tight ball. Grabbing fistfulls of hair, he finally, finally allowed himself to fall apart into a panicked, sobbing mess.