#when are you gonna dance with her again widogast!

[illiaccrest]

I just...think these two are neat...

Practicing using symmetry tools in clip studio to make patterns. Its really nice for making nouveau elements.

[ollie-ollie-oxenfreee]

reverie

The empire siblings have a chat about notebooks, feelings, weird smut and memories.

It takes a while for you to get up the courage to talk to her. Quite a while. You’ve spent the last hour pacing and fidgeting and giving Frumpkin half-hearted speeches about why this is a terrible idea, you should very much not do it and you are going to return to your book now, thank you very much. The cat - little instigator that he is - blocks off this method of avoidance halfway through your latest monologue by hopping up onto your desk, curling up into a ball on the worn cover of your spellbook, giving you a pointed look and shutting his eyes.

“That - that is very unfair,” you protest, waving a hand indignantly. A wave of sly mischievousness floods your bond in response. Problem solved, it seems to say, rumbling with a soundless, satisfied purr.

You hover in the doorway a moment longer, wondering faintly how your own familiar could have betrayed you like this, before another mental nudge - like the tap of a paw against your shoulder - pushes you forward a step. Go. You’ll be just fine.

“I will be just fine,” you repeat, soft, like a mantra. Like the prayers the clerics whisper on the battlefield. “I will be fine. She has been my - my traveling companion for some time now. I can share things with her if I so choose.”

You close your hand around the tiny, precious journal in your pocket, take a deep breath and knock three times on Beauregard’s door.

A grumbled, sleepy “the fuck?,” then silence.

You come so close to taking the gods-granted opportunity to run back down the hallway and escape into your room before steeling yourself and knocking again. One, two, three. Clean and measured and precise.

“Door’s open, Jessie. You don’t have to knock.” “No - nein, Jester is not - Jester is downstairs.”

A pause. A shuffle of quiet footsteps. You flinch back a bit as the door swings open, revealing a thoroughly rumpled Beauregard. She blinks at you for a moment, her expression softening just a fraction as she takes in your obvious unease. “You okay?”

“More or less.”

“You’ve gotta know by now that I’m gonna call bullshit on that.”

“That may be wise.”

She raises an eyebrow and gestures for you to continue.

“I, ah, I have something that I would like to discuss with you. Something of some importance.”

“‘Of some importance?’ So like, quest stuff?”

You swallow thickly, shake your head. “No, not exactly. Nothing quite so urgent. Memories. Of my past… education.. Since you were so open as to share your history, I thought it was only right to unveil a bit more of mine. Is that something you would be comfortable -”

To your faint shock she nods immediately, opening the door a crack for you to step through. “Yeah, yeah, absolutely. Do you want Nott to be here for this, or -”

“No, no, she is with Yeza.”

“Alright.” She knows you well enough by now not to push. Thank Ioun for small miracles. “You can sit wherever,” she says, gesturing widely around the room as she flops back on her bed. You instinctively scan the unfamiliar space as you hover in the threshold - Jester’s art desk, covered in paint splotches and far too realistically rendered genitalia; Beauregard’s teetering stack of books, their blue leather spines stamped with the Cobalt Soul insignia; an expensive half-melted candle spilling warm yellow light across the floor and filling the air with the scent of sugar and flowers. You spot a rickety wooden chair in the far shadowed corner of the room and make for it before Beau rolls her eyes - not unkindly - and pats the foot of the bed.

“C’mon, Widogast. We’re gonna be adults about this. Gonna have feelings out in the open.”

“Is that what makes one an adult where you come from?”

“Yeah. Real important milestone.”

“In that case, I had not realized we were still traveling with a child. It puts so much in perspective.”

“Get over here and sit your ass down already.” You smile wryly in spite of yourself and do as she says, inching over to perch on the very edge of the soft pile of blankets.

“So,” she says after a moment of painfully awkward silence. “Feelings.”

“Yes.”

“Any in particular you’ve been feelin’?”

“Quite a few.”

“Can you be a little more specific than that?” She lifts one bandaged hand to jab you gently in the shoulder. “Show me what the important thing is. Lay it on me.”

I will be just fine. I will be just fine. I trust her. Nerve slipping away bit by tenuous bit, you reach into your coat pocket and withdraw your journal. It looks so innocent, laying there on the bed. Its oiled leather cover dark as coal against the starched white blankets, its ragged pages translucent in the pale light. Just as damnably unassuming as it’s always been.

You clear your throat thickly, finding the words. “Has Nott told you about my notebook? My, ah, other notebook. I would just like to gauge how much you know. Before we take this deep dive into ‘feelings.’”

She nods. “One night after you went to bed. Back at that open bar place in Zadash. Didn’t tell me what it was or what’s in it, just that you had a ‘secret book.’ Then Jester asked if it was porn and the conversation kinda stopped.”

You smile ruefully. “That is about what I expected, I suppose. It is not porn. To everyone’s great disappointment, I’m sure.”

“Yours included?”

“Mine included. I imagine I’d have to be much less secretive if it were.”

“That depends, man. Who knows what kind of weird shit you’re into.” She pauses and hums a bit, thinking. “Do you think wizard sex is like, a thing? Like Essek or whoever uses his arcane powers to bone down? Are people into that?”

This rampant train of thought startles a laugh out of you. “I cannot say that I have much knowledge of wizard sex, but I don’t doubt that there are some. Jester seems to be an expert on this sort of thing - perhaps you should ask her?”

You don’t miss the tiny, wistful smile that ghosts across her face at the name. “Yeah. Maybe she’d know. Anyway -” She shakes herself out of the daydream with a roll of her shoulders and fixes you with a pointed if not unkind look. “Back to feelings.”

“Back to feelings.” You pick the notebook up and ruffle gently through the pages, the flood of memories crashing over you as it always does. The sketches, the notes, the scraps of paper and snippets of old books, the coffee stains and ink splashes. Closing your eyes, you find your way to the proper page. The drawing of both of them.

“These were my - well, I suppose they were more than friends. We studied together. This was Astrid -” you trace your finger over the sketchy rendering of the girl, standing proud and tall with her nightingale on her shoulder, that familiar crinkle to the corner of her eyes. “She was always the ambitious one. Brighter than any of us. She made her mission to learn everything the world had to offer. Nothing was ever out of her reach. Once, when she learned that our other friend and I hadn’t learned to dance, she spent the rest of the night teaching us how. I would not have known how to waltz if not for her. That and - many other things.” Your scars pulse dully, and a tiny flicker of flame dances across your fingertips before guttering into a wisp of smoke. No. No bad memories now. This is not the time.

“What happened to her?”

“That I am not sure of. I haven’t heard from her since - since things went wrong. I can only hope that she found her way out intact. She deserves that much.” You sigh, trace your still gently smouldering fingertip along the worn out page. “She had a wicked sense of humor as well, you know. Coarse as a sailor, and clever. She’d figure out what made you tick, what made you laugh, within moments of knowing you. Always was good at reading people. And Eodwulf -'' you look at the drawing of the young man beside her, tall and strong, that little smile on his face - “he was kind. Big and tough and strong, but so kind. Gentlest soul I knew for quite some time. He told us stories about his farm back in Blumenthal, his little garden. How he’d tend the plants every day and make sure they reached the sun.”

“So he was kinda like Cad?”

“I suppose he was. He was good. I miss them both very much.”

She reaches a hand out and rests it with surprising gentleness on your shoulder. “Yeah, I get that. They sound like they were good.” She pauses for a moment. “You know that you didn’t deserve the shit you went through, right? None of you did. If you can think of them as being nice kids who were manipulated by a fucked up monster, you can think of yourself that way too.”

“I was not a nice kid, Beauregard.”

“Doesn’t change anything. No kid deserves to be treated like that.”

“Would you say the same for yourself?”

The silence is heavy for a long, long moment. “If I did, would you try? Make it a part of our hold - each - other - accountable deal?” She lifts the hand off of your shoulder and holds it out for you to shake on it.

You take a deep breath and take her hand in your own. “I will try.”

She nods, just a little, and gives a proper businessman’s handshake. “Alright. Cool.”

“Cool.” Still holding her hand, you give it a little squeeze. “You did deserve better than the way your father treated you, Beauregard. He was a dick, and he was wrong. You deserved a family that loved you as you were. And our little group, I believe you may have one.”

“Thanks, Caleb,” she says at last, her eyes watery as she smiles at you and pops you gently on the shoulder.

“Of course.”

The two of you sit like that for a while, watching as the moonlight filters in narrow silver bars through the window, and for the first time in a long, long time, your mind is quiet.

[grimmseye]

A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Nine

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: M

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual),

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss, Jester Lavorre

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, Acrophobia, Violence, Tarot, Bed-sharing

— — —

Essek goes silent in the days leading up to the peace talks. It's an affair Mollymauk only faintly understands, static-filled memories informing him of something, some tension in the air of impending violence and fear. There's a memory of his own voice urging them to get out, there's a reason he doesn't want a Name, attention is fine but being known is not.

This is going to determine the immediate fate of two countries. The lives of their soldiers, thrown to the slaughter for a cause Mollymauk could not comprehend, could be saved. And that was good, yes, in a distant and grand sort of way. It was too big for him to fit it into a scope he could understand.

Essek, he was sure, knew that scope, and yet Mollymauk doubted that was the source of his stress. There was something else under the surface, that connected to the way his ears started to droop when the conversation swung to the Mighty Nein. More concerning, though,was the fact that Essek had started to disappear. Where Mollymauk had previously heard a muffled voice from the tower's door, there was now silence, the kind that emerged from an absence of a person to be quiet. By the time Mollymauk took notice of it, the absences were regular enough to be timed.

Let the world feel a shudder wrack its spine when Mollymauk Tealeaf produced the beginnings of a plan.

It would never go beyond those beginnings — he wasn't the planning sort. Essek disappeared, which meant that his room was empty and unguarded, which meant that if Mollymauk was going to break into his space, it would have to be now.

He didn't even wait to be sure. A minute spent double checking was a minute sooner Essek would return, so the moment that silence made itself known, Mollymauk was already crossing the tower's bridge. He checked the lock for anything that would explode if he tried to pick it, found nothing, and grinned to himself as he slipped a homemade set of thieves tools into the slot.

Molly's triumph was short-lived. The hook found nothing, no tumblers to leverage into place. It was like the inside was perfectly smooth, but when he tried the knob, it refused to turn.

A grimace stole his face. "Wizards," he growled. A vague sense of someone disappearing in the middle of a fight, off to who the fuck knows where — but that hadn't been a wizard, had it, no, that was the odd drawling voice that asked after Molly's swords and he didn't feel a lick of guilt spinning a lie on the spot because it made relief light in Fjord's eyes and wasn't that a good thing, better to comfort someone with a lie than torment them with a meaningless truth.

Fjord. Taller than Molly with a frame that suggested a strength he really didn't have. Sneaking up behind him and dunking his head under the water and laughing as the man began to sputter, that'll show him. Warmth in the chest as — that was the wizard, yes, the one who froze amid fire and didn't even know how to skim off the top — as someone offered a gorgeous sword to him that let him flit out of one space and into another. "Mister Mollymauk."

"Mister Caleb."

The words fell from his lips, thick as honey. His hand slipped from the doorknob, and he felt a soreness in his palm. How long had he been gripping it?

Mollymauk shook his head to clear it, grinding his thumb against his temple. Door was locked, so —

Windows. He could always get in through a window.

The brick of the towers were uneven enough to climb, though falling from that height without a net to catch him would not end well. Right about now he would kill for a sword that let him teleport. Or Nott's feather spell to catch his fall. Yasha, who he knew would throw herself off a ledge to catch him, and be just fine when she hit the ground.

His chest felt tight, the aching loneliness clawing to the surface. Suddenly he regretted not telling them, these people who were blurred in his mind but make the space beneath his ribs feel hollow.

He drew a sharp breath. The Nein meant something to him. Essek, no matter how much Molly liked the man, was doing something to harm them.

The first brick was cold under his hand. He wasn't the strongest individual, but he knew how to climb. Molly kept himself level with the bridge so if he did lose his grip, he wouldn't fall all the way to the ground below. His muscles ached far sooner than he would prefer. He might have to start doing strength training on top of his stretches. But his hooves took to the narrow brick, his tail working as a counterbalance, and it was only in the moments where he had to ease away from the safety net of the bridge that his pulse really began to race.

The window was positioned where a drop would send him directly to the ground. Much as Molly wanted to stop and catch his breath, freezing now wasn't an option. He dragged in slow breaths to try to calm his palpitating heart. Hand then foot then hand then foot. Sweat on his fingers made his grip slide, panic washing cold over his back as he seized the brick and panted against it. The pitching sensation continued, his body screaming at him for this foolishness. He'd dug himself out of the dirt twice only to break himself from a fall. It likely wouldn't even kill him, just crush his bones, sternum crunched into his lungs for him to bleed out his mouth until he either expired or Essek returned to find him.

He nearly sobbed when he felt the cold of the window against his fingertips. Molly braced his hand against it, palm sliding over the glass with a squeak. Nausea rose in his throat. Did the window even open? Was it locked, or just stuck from disuse?

Grinding his teeth, Mollymauk braced as much weight as he dared against that hand, trying to muster the leverage to force the window up — gods he'd break it it necessary —

A loud crack split the air. Molly's hand slipped.

He watched the tower fall away and blur, too quick to feel anything but shock as he hit empty air. And then something else hit him, knocking the wind out of him as he tumbled, stars spinning to earth before coming to a halt clutched in Essek's arms.

Molly wheezed and clung to him, the position awkward — Essek's shoulder dug just between his ribs, but he was more than happy to sling legs around his waist and claw at his mantel for a handful of material. In the haze of his manic vision, he saw branches of light — spectral wings that extended from Essek's shoulder blades, flapping periodically to keep them aloft.

The descent made Molly squeak and cling tighter. Sweat was dripping from his temples, shaking violently as Essek stooped down to force his hooves onto solid earth with a grunt of exertion. Even then, Mollymauk didn't let go of him, just clinging to his arms instead.

Essek yanked himself away. Molly let him go, wrapping his arms around himself. He forced a grin, saying, "Good — g-good save, Mister Thelyss."

Molly had never seen anger on Essek's face before. It was a quiet thing, simmering beneath a frigid surface. The pin of his ears, the tremor in his hands, the clench of his jaw, those were the things that tipped Molly off to just how badly he'd fucked up here.

"What were you doing?" Essek asked, voice dangerously steady.

Mollymauk even considered telling the truth. Then he remembered how Essek had physically crushed a person's body into an unrecognizable mash, and said, "Well — let me tell you — that was not worth it." It let his brain race ahead as he lifted a finger and played up his breathless state. Not snooping, not spying, just — "I even forgot to actually bring the paints with me."

"The —" Essek's anger faltered. "Paints?"

Molly gave him a grin, rubbing the back of his neck. His legs were trembling too violently to remain upright, and he let himself collapse into the grass instead. Play up the pity angle. He's just a frightened, helpless tiefling, nothing to see here. "I was gonna paint a dick on your window."

Blue, blue, blue. Blue skin, blue hair, but she danced with every other color. A streak of mischief that Mollymauk adored, and he'd snarl in infernal just to delight in her laughter, the best audience he could ask for.

Essek's eyes took on the same hopeless adoration that Mollymauk felt. His shoulders slumped, and he ran his fingers through his hair. Then again. On the third time, his fingers caught, and he tugged at the white strands, for Molly to push himself upright with a "Whoa, hey —" and then to pitch forward as black spots flitted in his vision.

He landed against Essek again, and wheezed a laugh. "I need to sit down. Like, now. Come on."

Molly grabbed Esseks arm and fell back onto the grass, yanking the drow with him to bully him into lying down. It was tempting to just burrow against his side, bask in pressure and warmth. Instead he just let their arms brush where they splayed in the grass.

"These are expensive clothes," Essek said.

"And you can magic the dirt off them, can't you?" Mollymauk looked to the stars. He wasn't sure if they were different here than in the Empire. He thought he remembered somebody pointing shapes out to him, an art not unlike the cards he dealt. You could be born under certain stars, but Molly didn't know them. No matter how many times the lines were traced, he only saw a field of pinprick lights.

"That was stupid, you know," Essek murmured. "Climbing the tower. At least Jester can catch herself if she falls."

Mollymauk scoffed. "Who needs magic? Well, their own magic, anyway. Apparently I've got a wizard at my beck and call."

"Oh, gods," Essek rasped, and Molly cackled. "I should have let you hit the ground."

"It was your fault I lost my grip, anyway," Molly snorted. "Is teleporting always that loud?"

"Yes. Something to do with the displacement of air." Essek raised a hand, curling his fingers through the air. "If you had not been scaling my tower, you would not have fallen."

"Now let's not go pointing fingers." Molly smirked as he grabbed Essek's hand to force it back down to the grass.

The moon smiled down at them, lopsided and thin. A cloud skimmed past it, stealing away the light that bathed them. Mollymauk wasn't particularly devout, but he had to wonder if it wasn't Her blessing.

The Peace Talks arrived almost without Mollymauk's awareness. They were only heralded but the shift in Essek's attitude, from a quiet that was uncharacteristic even for him to snappish remarks, banishing Mollymauk from any space the two of them just happened to end up in together. That was only when he made himself visible at all, still shutting himself away in his towers, shielded from prying eyes.

Mollymauk still wished he'd managed to get in, but whatever was coming, he would have no say in it. And really, that was just fine. Molly really wasn't one to interfere, only to react.

Just waiting had his nerves twisting up, and he found himself slipping things into a bag throughout the day. Swords in their scabbards, the sturdier outfits Essek bought him, gold pieces stolen unabashedly from a cloak left hanging up to be washed later. He hardly realized he was doing it until there was no more room, and he was having to stretch the chord to fit it around the button.

A sigh pushed from his chest. Mollymauk set the bag aside and reached for his supplies. He had a card to make.

The Eclipse was joined with Fractures. Upright, it meant convergence, the joining of multiple parts. Reversed, it was separation, a breaking point. One of the more straightforward symbols, and one that felt right as he began to sketch the pieces.

The sun, and the two moons, overlapping in a line of three. At the edges where they met, they shattered.

Molly, Molly, what does that one mean, is that you?

He was smiling before he looked up. Jester was practically sprawled over his back, her hands falling on his shoulders as she peered at the cards he'd laid out.

"Naw," he grinned. "It's us."

He was being facetious, but there was a sliver of truth tucked into it. Jester gasped, "Us? Us like you and me or like all of us?" A grin spread across her face as she pressed her cheek to his. "Molly," she giggled, saying his name like Mawl-ee with that curling accent of hers, "do you have a crush on me?"

Her giggling said it was a joke but he purred, "You know I do, dear." And again, he sort of meant it. Not really, not like how she obviously pined over Mister Fjord, but Mollymauk gave his heart easily, and if almost anyone of this ragtag group wanted to hold his hand or take him to bed, he'd be happy to follow along.

"Okay okay okay, but you only have one," Jester points out. "What are the rest?"

"You want a full reading?"

He was already reaching for his cards as Jester swept a chair to his side and threw herself into it, tail curling with excitement. "Of course," she scoffed, and then perked up. "But first, what's that one?"

"The Eclipse," Mollymauk told her. "So if you take this as the past for the Mighty Nein, this is very literally just our meeting. It's the convergence of multiple parts into a singular whole, see? Now, for present..."

He spread the remainder of his deck on the table. Molly reached for her, saying, "Here, take my hand. Since this is for all of us, the more guiding our hands, the better." And if maybe he nudged them to his own pick, all that mattered was that Jester didn't realize.

He guided her hand to the middle of the arc, then drew and flipped a card. This one was an image of two coins, one gold and one silver, balanced on opposite ends of a scale. "The Coin," he announced. "Reversed. Also known as Risk. Things are uncertain right now. We may be headed for misfortune — but it's not defined just yet."

"What kind of misfortune?" Jester asked.

"Well, they're not exact," Molly chuckled. "But maybe the Future will tell us?"

"Oh!" Jester perked up. "Can I pick it?"

Molly laughed and leaned back, offering her the table. With Eclipse out of the way — and more importantly, Fractures — there wasn't much that could give her a terrible reading —

Jester pulled a card towards the end of the deck, flipping it with a "Hah!" and all but slamming the card on the table.

Even though he was the one to make it, Mollymauk felt his gut twist at the sight.

"The Broken," he announced. The image looked like a web, twisted, jagged spokes of a wheel that ran into one another. "Upright, this card calls for..." Tragedy, specifically. Not always, but often. "Harrowing times. Loss. It looks like we've got our work cut out for us, Jes."

Molly looked at her, feeling his heart skip at the crestfallen expression on her face. He reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze. "So it's good we're together, yeah?" He cajoled, bumping his shoulder into hers until she started giggling.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Thanks, Molly." She stood up and, sensing the cue, Molly went with her. It was entirely unsurprising when she wrapped her arms around him. Their tails twined together, mutual purrs rumbling in their chests as they swayed back and forth. Then she stepped back, going, "Okay okay okay. Do me, now!"

"I already gave you a reading."

"Yeah but that was age-s ago!"

"Alright, alright, but it'll cost you."

The cracking sound of a teleportation spell snapped Molly out of his reverie. He gasped, sitting bolt upright and gouging into his work. His face was wet. The card was ruined.

Cussing, Molly wiped at his eyes. He tossed the card aside, not the least bit satisfied by its tap against the wall as he headed for the door.

Night had long since fallen, keeping the halls dark as he nudged the door open. From below, a sound made his heart skip: a heavy thud, and rasping breath.

Molly froze for just a second, then grabbed one sword before rushing downstairs. The moment he hit them, he could make out Essek's collapsed form, small and shaking. Snippets of his voice were muffled by the curl of his own body, unintelligible muttering between panting breaths.

"Essek," Molly started, "what the hell —"

"Leave me alone, Mollymauk." His voice was a whisper. Essek draw a sharp breath and started to force himself to his feet, the legs quaking so violently they threatened to give out.

"You're a wreck," he shot back, reaching for Essek's arm. "You —"

Essek snarled. Gravity impacted Molly's chest, spots flying in his eyes as he was clawed away from Essek. He collided with a table, the panel of glass screaming against its metal stand, the sound of a crunch as pressure fractured it down the middle. A hot, throbbing pain settled in his back where he'd impacted.

Molly stared at Essek, where the drow stood, a hand still outstretched. His eyes were wide, pupils blown and ears pinned back. A croaking down dragged from his throat.

Molly groaned and staggered to his hooves. His hand dipped to the handle of his scimitar, lips peeling back as he glared at Essek through narrowed eyes.

"Mollymauk," Essek panted, a tinge of shock in his voice. His hand wavered and then fell, he took an aborted step forward.

Molly prowled towards him. Essek gave no fight as Molly drew his sword and walked him back against the door. Essek's feet were flat on the tile, putting him low enough for Molly to crane his head up into his face.

"Are you done," he asked, voice dripping with derision. "Or do you have to break something else to feel better?"

It was satisfying to watch the shame drip into Essek's face, a horrified light behind his eyes. He didn't speak, only stared, chest heaving.

It was a testament to how rattled Essek had to be that he didn't put up a fight. Molly didn't think he could take him one on one. The man could skip through the air, twist his mind like puddy, turn his body into a puppet on strings if he needed to. But he only shrank against the wall, lips trembling, looking an inch away from crying.

Molly could push him that extra inch.

"Answer the question."

"I'm — sorry —"

Molly cut off his gulping with a, "I didn't ask if you were sorry. I asked if you were done with your tantrum." He pressed a hand to Essek's sternum, intentionally trapping him against the wall. "Well?"

Embarrassment flooded Essek's cheeks, staining his ears as he looked away. "Yes," he rasped. "I... I am done. And I am sorry."

"Care to explain what the fuck that was about?"

Essek took another breath, sharp and shallow. A second. A third. Molly could feel his heart pounding under his palm.

"I..." His voice faltered, and he licked his lips. "I. Today. The Nein discovered my betrayal. That... that I stole one of the Beacons of the Dynasty, and handed it over to the Empire to be studied."

Mollymauk studied his face, Essek's pale moon pupils. There was a sheen to them, not yet crying, but close. He could hear each breath, pulling in and hissing out, feel the heaving us his pulse. He eased up on the pressure, letting Essek stagger away from the wall.

"Alright," Molly said, "that certainly sounds like a lot."

Essek glowered. "You don't even know what that means," he sneered.

Mollymauk bared his teeth in return. "Enlighten me, then."

It didn't take much. He remembered what the Dynasty had done to retrieve their Beacon, the collapse and the panic, the call to war. Essek just drew the line between the dots Molly already had.

As they spoke, more and more of that brief spark of life drained out of Essek. He sagged against the wall, cheek turned away from Mollymauk to speak to the air beside him.

It was bad. It was really, really bad. Worse than anything Mollymauk had forgiven before. Still, he listened, as Essek's voice shook through each word, until they broke into a sharp sound and lapsed into silence. And then it was just Essek, eyes squeezed shut, hands clutching at the wall as he gasped for breath.

Mollymauk drank the image in, and let out a sigh. "Okay," he murmured. "C'mere." He cupped Essek's jaw, drawing him down to press his lips to his forehead. A gasped wrenched from Essek's throat, and Molly hushed him. "Shhhh," he soothed. "Shhhh-shhhh-shhhh. Come on."

Mollymauk took him by the arm, guiding him up the steps. It was slow going with how Essek trembled, and when they reached his bedroom door, Molly had to remind him to open it. Whatever enchantment kept Molly from breaking in parted the way for Essek.

His room was exquisite. Four-poster bed, large enough to comfortably fit two, maybe three. Satin pillows, dramatic curtains framing the window, a shelf of organized components, the rest heavy with books. A bathroom was attached, and gods did Molly want to spy on what was in there.

That was a good idea, actually.

"Have you eaten anything?" Molly asked, unsurprised when Essek shook his head. He didn't say anything else for the next few minutes. Instead, it was spent figuring out how to undo his mantel. First the material, falling away heavier than expected. The metal that guarded his neck came apart in two pieces. Then earrings, Essek's ears twitching away from his touch. Essek stood still, letting him do as he pleased.

"Can you get the rest?" Molly asked, tugging his shirt for emphasis.

Essek took a solid moment to process it, and gave a single nod. He reached slowly for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

"Great," Molly smiled. He cupped Essek's face, making sure their gazes met. "You take a shower. Just rinse off, you don't have to do anything else. I'll be back up with dinner for you. Alright?"

"... Alright."

"Wonderful." Molly gave his cheek a solid pat and pushed him towards the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He didn't wait to head down the stairs, but listened for the spray of water as he scrapped a meal together.

He made two trips, one for a pitcher of water and glasses, the other for two bowls of soup. By that point, Essek had emerged from the shower, dressed in a long robe and seated on the bed, staring at the floor. He was mostly dry, but his hair was messier, so Mollymauk had to assume he'd magicked the water off. That was a good sign.

Molly set one bowl down on a dresser to click his fingers. "Hey," he said, voice sharp in a way that wasn't meant to snap, just to catch his attention. Essek glanced up, and Molly handed the bowl over. "That's yours. Eat as much as you can."

It was good soup. Simple, but good. That was most of what Molly knew how to make.

The first few bites were a visible effort, but they seemed to awaken Essek's hunger, as he hurried through the bowl, only breaking to take sips of water. When their bowls were empty, Molly set them aside and banished Essek to the sink to brush his teeth, vanishing to do his own.

He ended up having to pull Essek away from the mirror with a huff of, "Come on, no getting existential before bed."

When he pulled the covers back, Essek only stared at him. A raised eyebrow got an explanation: "I do not need to sleep."

Mollymauk squinted at him. "Right." He drew the word out. "You meditate. Well. Can you meditate laying down? Like, you have a bed. If you're not using it, then you will give it to me. Capiche?"

Essek stared through him for another few moments before absently nodding, and climbing into the bed, letting Molly pull the covers up around him.

"There we go," Molly smiled. "Snug as a bug in a rug."

"A bug in a rug would likely be hopelessly lost," Essek murmured. His eyelids were already drooping.

"Oh hush," Molly snorted. He hesitated for only a moment before saying, "Now, I'm gonna ask you a question here. No judgement, alright?"

Essek heaved a sigh. "That is always a good start."

"I said hush, no more sass." Molly flapped a hand. "Do you want me to stay here tonight?"

That got his attention. He looked more alert than he'd been since leaving this morning, just gazing at Mollymauk without saying a word.

Molly gave a faint smile. "Let's make this easier. Do you want me to leave?"

A moment's pause, and then Essek shook his head.

"Great. Will you flip out if I get in the bed next to you?"

Another shake, this one with an eye-roll to boot.

"Excellent," Molly purred, and wasted no time in sliding into the bed. He immediately seized a pillow to bunch under his head, stretching out with pleased sound. "Oh, fuck, this is wasted on you. Wasted." What was the nicest bed Molly had ever slept on? It didn't matter, this won.

Essek gave a quiet, breathy sort of laugh. "Your turn to hush," he murmured. "I... am exhausted." And it showed.

Molly made a show of theatrical offense, before settling back down and tucking just one lock of loose white hair back into place. "Alright, then. Goodnight, Mister Thelyss."

The sounds of their breaths became the ambience of the room, amid the cool breeze outside, nighttime dwellers singing their songs. Amid it all, Molly very nearly missed Essek's whisper, muffled and half-slurred as it was: "Goodnight, Mister Tealeaf."

[sockablock]

Widomauk Week 2k19 | Day 2: Urban Fantasy

That afternoon, there came a knock at the door.

It flew open before Caleb could even rise from his chair.

“Coming through, coming through!” hollered Nott the Brave as she strode across the welcome mat like she owned the place. Which, to be fair, was basically true. The faded sofa by the window was her favorite place to sleep, and at this point she even had her own set of keys. 

“You are here today early,” Caleb chuckled, standing and giving his closest friend a smile. Then it faded slightly as more people marched into view.

Two of them he recognized. Two he did not.

“Caleb!” Jester beamed, sprinting across the floor and practically leaping into his arms. “Caleb, how are you? Long time no see!”

“Ah, Jester, what a surprise. You are—oh, my ribs—yes, yes, hello—”     

Beau stepped around a stack of books. This apartment was always cluttered.

“What’s up, Widogast? Still a nerd?”

“Still needlessly cruel, Beauregard?” Then he raised an eyebrow, and glanced at the other two.

“Who are the newcomers?” he asked through the pain. Then he added, “Well, come on in, do not be shy.”

A woman taller than his doorframe ducked inside. A tornado of glitter and jewelry blew in after her.

“Ah, the mysterious Mr. Widogast!” the whirlwind shouted. Caleb had to pray that his neighbors were already awake. “It’s a pleasure, dear, an absolute pleasure!” Then the twister paused, and there was a flicker of hesitation. 

“Well. It, er...yes, well. A pleasure indeed.”

Caleb matched the stranger’s measured expression. Now that he had finally stopped moving, he could see that this force of nature was just a tiefling. Lavender skin and technicolor jacket, dwarfed by the enormous figure standing next to him.

“And you are?” Caleb turned to the woman. He completely missed the way the tiefling suddenly deflated. “I do not think that we have met.”

“That is because we have not.” Her accent was soft, though also a bit rough. Caleb had never heard anything quite like it. “I am Yasha. I am a new client.”

“That’s right!” Jester finally set Caleb down. He took the opportunity to un-ruffle his pajamas. “We’re helping her and her friend with a case.”

“With my case, actually, hello.” The tiefling waved his hands around. “Mollymauk Tealeaf is the name, dear. Since you so rudely forgot to ask.”

“Ah. Apologies,” Caleb absently nodded. Then he turned around and gestured to the kitchen. “Would you any of you like some tea or coffee? Do you have a preference?”

“Tea,” said Beau.

"Same here,” sighed Nott. “I already had four cups today.”

“Here, don’t worry, Caleb, I can make it,” Jester grinned. “That way, you guys can go over the case.” She leaned in towards Caleb and gave him a huge wink. “You’re definitely gonna like it,” she said. “It’s all about magic. Right up your alley.”

Caleb’s eyebrow rose again. “Really? Is that so?” he asked.

She giggled and nudged Nott in the shoulder. “Tell him,” she said. “He’s gonna lose his mind.”

Then she danced off to the kitchenette, leaving the rest of the group to be seated.

“Ja, ja, alright then,” Caleb said, pulling his chair up to face the sofa. “In that case, let’s hear what’s going on. It has been a while since last time,” he added, giving Nott a small smile. “I was wondering if you had replaced me, spatz.”

Her grin was jagged, and could’ve drawn blood. This was a goblin’s cheerful face.

“This is the best one yet,” she promised, flopping down onto the armrest. The others followed her lead and sat down.

“Go ahead, Molly, Yasha, when you’re ready.”

The newcomers briefly exchanged glances. Yasha gave Molly an encouraging nod.

“Well, alright, I suppose it’s like this.” The tiefling leaned forward and planted his elbows on his knees. “Some people are trying to fucking kill me, and I hired the detectives to figure out why.”

“So we can find them and kill them,” Yasha added.

“Well, I haven’t fully committed there,” Molly leaned back and crossed his legs. “Their motive is what I’d really like to know. At least, for now. I’m not afraid to get my hands...dirty.”

He made eye contact with Caleb and enunciated the word. Caleb plucked his notebook from the table.

“Okay,” he said flatly, and flipped to the first page. “Do you have any leads, so far?”

“None,” said Nott, when Molly failed to answer. “Nothing really good, anyway. I’m guessing it has to do with this guy—”

“Not a guy, dear.”

“—sorry, with Molly’s past. The people after him are definitely magic-users, which is why I came to you,” Nott finished.

Caleb nodded slowly. “Ja, okay, that is all very good to know.” He turned to Molly. “Did you used to know any wizards? Sorcerers? Any who were angry?”

“Yeah, well, that’s the kicker,” Beau muttered. She had taken the other end of the couch and was sitting on the back with her feet on the cushion. “We’ve kind of hit a dead end, there.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “And that is because...?”

All eyes turned to Molly. He gave a sigh and crossed his arms.

“Gods, I really hate telling this story. Especially when it’s the first time I meet someone,”

“Your life is in danger,” Yasha said sternly. “You will tell the story as much as required.”

He rolled his eyes, but it was more fond than anything. “Very well,” he relented, and nodded at Caleb. “I’m an amnesiac,” he said. “Woke up two years ago without a care in the world. Without a single memory to my name. Actually, I didn’t even have one of those. ‘Mollymauk’ is just what they call me at work.”

Caleb wrote this down. “Work?” he prompted.

“I do stuff at a bar. Nothing untoward, just backstage support.” He waggled his eyebrows, as if that would make it better. “Sometimes I post flyers, and sometimes I juggle swords.”

In the privacy of his notebook, Caleb wrote: unemployed.

“I see,” he said, laying down his pen. “And do you suspect your memory loss is magical? Have you spoken to any other arcanists about this?”

“Ha! No, fuck that,” Molly said. “I never gave a shit about my past. Not until it tried to burn me alive, that is.”

Caleb fell silent for just a beat. He schooled his expression. 

“It tried to burn you?”

Molly noticed nothing. Nott definitely did, but elected not to say anything. For now.

“Metaphorically,” the tiefling explained. “It actually threw these bolts of, like, energy at me, but I managed to run into an alley and up the fire escape and through a window. I lost the attackers, after that, but not without getting a bit singed, first.”

“Do you remember anything about these people? Anything memorable?”

“Other than the blasts of magic?” Molly shrugged. “I dunno, maybe? Yeah, I think...at one point, I think they called me something, a...an insurgent? Oh, and they seemed to think my name was Luke, or Luce, or something. It was a bit hard to hear over the explosions, and all.”

“I see.” Caleb turned to Nott. “Have you already looked into that?”

“We’re working on it,” she confirmed. “My best people are knee-deep in the records.”

“Not currently,” Beau said, “but we will be, when we get back.”

At that moment, Jester returned, bearing mugs. After setting all of them down, she perched atop a stack of books, teetering slightly, but not really caring. 

“Did we talk about the tattoos, yet?” she asked. “Isn’t this exciting, you guys?”

“Tattoos?” Caleb reached for a mug. “What tattoos?”

“I was getting there,” said Nott. “The main reason we came is because we wanted to you to take a look at Molly’s tattoos. It’s the only thing we haven’t fully investigated, yet. We think they might be magic, and we think it might be the key to all this. It was Jester’s idea, actually.”

“Aw, it was nothing,” she beamed and waved a hand. “I just suggested that we let Caleb check it out.”

“I’m personally delighted that you did,” Molly chuckled. “After all, I would never turn down a chance to let a handsome man examine my body. What do you say to that, Mister Caleb?”

There was a beat of silence. 

And then, Caleb’s whole face went red. It was amazing, the way his cheeks suddenly matched his hair.

“I-I...wie bitte?”

“I don’t speak dwarvish,” Molly said cheerfully, elated to finally get a reaction from this man. “But yes, I’m offering a full tour. All for the sake of the case, of course.”

Caleb’s mind was lodged against the word ‘handsome.’ It had been years since someone had called him tha—

Beau coughed. Then she coughed again. Then she gave one final hack and produced a glare that declared: this is awful. 

Yes, Caleb agreed in his head. This had suddenly become very awful. He tried to stand up and knocked over his chair.

“I...ah, er...right. Oh, right. Yes. Tattoo.”

He approached Mollymauk like a man walking to his death. The tiefling’s eyes glittered like rubies.

“Where...” Caleb muttered, dreading the answer, “...where is this marking...”

“Well, since you asked—”

Thankfully, before he could be teased any further, Beau one again spoke up.

“It’s on his left palm,” she said matter-of-factly. “Looks like an eye. It’s fucking creepy.”

Molly shot her a glare, which she returned. Caleb thanked every god he could think of, then gingerly took the tielfling by the hand.

He turned it over.

The electricity of the moment instantly vanished. Caleb’s mind abruptly shifted gears and without hesitation, he sank down on his knees, poured his gaze and his fingers across the lines. This symbol...this eye...he’d seen it before...

And in that second, above him, Molly privately unraveled. Oh, yes, it was always just fun and games, until they took you by the hand, until your palms touched, your fingers brushed; also, this angle was simply unfair. Caleb’s intense, thoughtful blue eyes, unfair—

Molly liked a certain amount of attention. Now that he’d finally gotten it, well.

Unfair.

“Have any of you ever heard of ‘bloodhunters’?” Caleb muttered, tracing the shape of the eye once again. “I believe...ja, I believe I have seen almost this exact pattern before, in a book that briefly touched upon the subject. This is...it was part of a ritual, I think, to unlock a certain kind of magic.”

“Mmhm?” Molly said, which was about all he could manage. 

Beau’s grin had reached astronomical sizes. She leaned her chin into her palm. “Good magic, or bad?” she asked conversationally.

“Many say that there is no such thing as either.” Caleb absently turned the hand again. “It depends on the user, really.”

“Does the tattoo give any hints about his background?” Nott had produced her own notebook and primed her pen. “Any clues about the kind of people that’re after him?”

“Er...unfortunately, I am afraid so.”

He let go, and Molly immediately sank. Behind him, his tail did an unhappy swish, though not because of what Caleb had said.

“Who are they?” Jester asked, leaning in. “Are they bad guys?”

“Are they dangerous?” Yasha narrowed her eyes. “Should we expect more trouble?”

“Well...” Caleb sighed, “I would certainly need to check my books again. I do not want to cause undue concern—”

“A bit late for that,” Molly mumbled. He had finally regained control of his arms, and crossed them pointedly against his chest. “Spit it out, Mister Caleb. What’s coming for me?”

Caleb stood and returned to his chair.

“Danger,” he murmured. “Indescribable danger. Brought on by the kind of people unfraid of dabbling in that which they do not understand. The kind of people who break reality and are willing to take power from anywhere they can.” 

He sat back down. He picked up his mug.

“I said earlier that magic is what you make of it, Mister Mollymauk, and I stand by that statement,” he murmured. “But if your tattoo is anything to go off of, then that means the people coming after you are not people to be trifled with. They are...the magic that they practice walks a very fine line along the border of what we would call madness and abomination. You are very lucky to have escaped them, Mollymauk. Though, I am certain, they will come for you again.”

As Caleb finished speaking, silence filled the room. Everyone quietly watched him drink some tea.

And then, very slowly, their eyes turned to Molly. He was still staring at his hand, though now his dreamy expression was gone.

He turned his palm over. He stared at the center. A dark, inky pupil, matched his shaky gaze.

“Well,” he said eventually. “...well.”

A pause—

“Fuck.”

— — — — — —

(✨Ko-fi link in my bio, if you’re feeling generous!✨)

[ladywritesthings]

Welcome to Burlesque, ch5

AO3

---

“He did what?”

“He took the job, Molly,” said Jester. “Weren’t you listening? He’s gonna come live here, isn’t that cool?”

“Caleb Widogast? My Caleb Widogast?” Molly’s tail flicked through the air, draped over her couch as he was. “Skinny introvert, cat-lady extraordinaire, offered to come work here, just… out of the blue? And not only did your mother then offer him an actual job, but he accepted the apartment as part of the deal? Are you sure we’re talking about the same man?”

“Yes, Molly.”

“That bastard,” said Molly. “No wonder he’s been avoiding me.”

“Why would he avoid you?” She bumped his legs with her hip and he lifted them so she could sit down. “You introduced us in the first place. This wouldn’t have happened at all if you hadn’t brought him here.”

“That’s exactly why,” he said, settling his feet back in her lap. “If he doesn’t see me, he doesn’t have to grovel at my feet for this incredible turn of luck as he so clearly should. Ungrateful bastard,” he added mildly.

Jester hummed thoughtfully as she sipped her tea. “It’s been so long since anyone new moved in here,” she said.

She could feel Molly’s gaze flick over her and her stomach clenched as she fought to keep a neutral expression. “It has,” he agreed. “Looking forward to it, are you?”

She shrugged. “It’ll be pretty cool,” she said casually. “He’s bringing his cat, you know. I’ve never met a real cat before.”

“I would hardly call Frumpkin a ‘real cat,’ but…” He cocked his head, the corners of his mouth curling up into a sly grin. “So,” he said. “What do you think of him?”

“The cat?”

Molly prodded her with his toe. “The man,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t play coy with me. You’re not as slick as you think you are, darling.”

“I don’t think I’m slick,” Jester protested. “What do I have to be slick about, anyway? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Did you know you babble when you’re nervous?” he said.

“Do not,” she mumbled into her tea.

“You do, and it’s adorable.” His eyes glinted. “Now, what on earth could you possibly be nervous about?”

“Nothing!”

“Then answer the question.”

“He’s…” She chewed her lip, mulling her words. ‘Handsome,’ her mind supplied unhelpfully. “…Nice,” she said carefully. “He seems really nice, yeah.”

“And…?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she huffed. “It’s not like I know him that well, we’ve only met a couple of times. But he seems nice. And his cat is, like, really cute.”

“And that’s all?”

“Stop staring at me!”

“I’ll stop staring when you start sharing, love.” His eyebrows were raised in that infuriating way he did when he was feeling smug. Although what he could possibly have to feel smug about, Jester certainly had no idea. “You’re hiding something,” he said in a sing-song voice.

“Am not.”

“It only gets worse the longer you deny it, you know,” he said. “You can’t lie to me. I know you far too well for that.”

“What did I lie about? I said he was nice!”

“Yes, and?” He sat up finally, curling his legs under him to rest his chin expectantly on his hands. “Come on, out with it,” he wheedled. “Nothing you say could possibly shock me.”

“He’s just… nice,” she insisted. “And he seems really smart and stuff. I don’t know what you want me to say!”

“Oh, but your face is saying plenty.”

“Is not!”

“It’s alright,” he said, shrugging. “I already know.”

Know…? He couldn’t possibly know… what? That she thought he was good-looking? That was hardly a crime. So why did the thought of Molly pulling it out of her make her heart do that nervous stutter of embarrassment? “Know what?” she asked, as nonchalantly as she could into her mug.

“That you want to fuck him.”

Jester choked on her tea.

“Oh, come on, you want to bang that wizard like a drum,” said Molly. “Just admit it, we’re all adults here.”

“I do not,” said Jester hotly, “want to fuck him. I don’t even know him!”

He raised an eyebrow. “And?” he said. “When has that ever stopped anyone? You think I know the whole life story of everyone I’ve ever—”

“Yeah, but I’m not like you, Molly,” she said. Her face was burning now. “I couldn’t… Even if I wanted to, I—” She was digging herself a very deep hole, she realized, if Molly’s growing grin was any indication, and she trailed instead into a flustered silence. “I guess,” she confessed finally, quietly, when his gaze didn’t waver, “I just think he’s… kind of cute, maybe? I guess?”

He tilted his head, that shit-eating grin still dimpling one side of his face. “He’s got nice hands, hasn’t he?” he said conspiratorially.

The faint memory of his hands on her hips, fingers gripping her like a vice as those icy blue eyes bored into hers, had her blushing again. “I guess,” she said, as noncommittally as she could.

“Nice arms, too.”

Images of Caleb shrugging off his coat by the bar, the vague implication of muscles working under the thin cotton of his shirtsleeves as he folded it methodically, danced across her mind. “Yeah,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Perfect, really,” he said slyly. “Long fingers. Nimble. Dexterous.”

“Yeah…”

“Now,” he continued, “just imagine… Those arms around you, holding you tight… Pinning you to the bed while he slips those hands between your—”

“Stop it, Molly,” she said, smacking his shoulder, although her ears felt very hot all of a sudden. “Don’t be mean.”

“‘Mean’? How is that ‘mean’? I’m basically implying he’s a sex god, that’s hardly mean.”

“He’s your friend,” she said indignantly, trying very hard not to think about… that. “You’re — you’re objectifying him!”

He raised another eyebrow. “Jester,” he said seriously. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but… we’re strippers, darling. Getting objectified is our job.”

She smacked his arm again, although with less venom this time. “Yeah, well… It’s not his,” she said haltingly.

“And yet I’m sure you wish it was.” Jester stuck her tongue out at him. “Oh, come now, don’t be like that. Save that tongue for—” The pillow she shoved in his laughing face cut off the rest of that entirely unnecessary thought.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she mumbled, ducking her head to hide her furiously blushing face. “He wouldn’t — I mean, that’s just stupid, I… Anyway, I don’t even want—”

“And why not?” he asked, tossing the pillow aside, where it tumbled off the couch onto the floor by her feet. “He’s handsome, I suppose. For a human. And a bookish one, at that.”

She glanced sideways at him. “You just called him a skinny cat-lady,” she said.

“True, but that’s because I happen to know him as a person,” he said. “You, my dear, have the advantage of not knowing what an absolute stick in the mud he is on the inside.”

“Now you’re being mean,” she said crossly. “He can’t be that bad. And besides, magic is, like, really cool! I bet he knows all sorts of interesting things.”

“Yes, like how to use those hands to make you scream all night—”

“Molly!”

He shrugged. “I’m just saying. He could use a good fuck, anyway.”

“Is that all I am?” she said, a little facetiously in spite of her embarrassment.

“Of course not. But you know what I mean. The way he looked that night when you were done with him was the most alive I’ve seen him in—” He paused a moment, looking thoughtful. “Well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that.” He eyed her shrewdly. “You’re not holding out on me, are you? You didn’t fuck him already, did you?”

“What — no!” Her face was burning now, and she hunched again over her teacup, letting her hair fall forward to hide her probably mortified expression.

He gasped delightedly. “You did!” he exclaimed, tail twitching. “You saucy little minx! What was it like?”

“I didn’t—”

“Oh, I’m dying to know what he’s like under that ridiculous coat. Was he loud? Did he bite? Because I’ve always thought he looked like a biter—”

“I don’t do that!” she interrupted loudly. “It was just a lapdance, that’s all.”

“Oh.” He paused again, seeming to deflate a little in disappointment, but recovered quickly. “Well, what happened, then? He still won’t talk about it, you know. It’s infuriating.”

“Nothing happened.” She stared at her cooling tea, at the soft steam curling off the surface. “I just… danced, really. I let him… touch me a little, but—”

“Oho,” he said, perking up again. “You were holding out on me.” His eyes glinted. “Already intimately familiar with those hands, are we? Naughty.”

“It wasn’t like that,” she said. “He just… held my waist a little, really, he didn’t even touch any skin! And then he got really weird and left.”

He cocked his head quizzically. “Weird how?”

“Well, he pulled out a picture of his cat…”

Molly sagged against the couch again disinterestedly. “That’s not weird, that’s just Caleb,” he said. “He won’t shut up about the stupid thing. Told you he was boring.”

“Frumpkin is very cute, though.”

He snorted. “Sure,” he said sarcastically.

Jester settled back into the cushions. She didn’t know how to convey the change she’d seen that night, from stuttering and red-faced, to intense and hungry, to babbling and closed off again — and, more importantly, did she really want to? She supposed Molly of all people would know best; after all, he and Caleb were friends, as odd a mashup as that might be, and he had so much more experience than her. He’d probably be able to dissect Caleb’s strange behavior better than she could ever hope to. But then again, he seemed to be of a singular mind on this topic, having already apparently decided the best course of action would be for her to simply strip down and jump into bed with the man, and then continue on with her life as though nothing had happened.

Maybe she wanted to get to know him better. Figure him out on her own.

At least when it came to that.

Not sex, of course — that was silly; she barely knew him. Just the lapdance. That was all.

“Do you know what those sigils mean?” she asked finally. “The ones in his wallet?”

Molly waved his hand dismissively. “Who knows?” he said. “He’s always scribbling down notes like that. I think he gets them from those manuscripts he translates. Bit useless, if you ask me.”

“Magic is useful.”

“Your magic, yes. His?” He pursed his lips. “I don’t see why he could possibly need some of the spells he’s talked about — walls of fire and magical armor and such. He’s not even in the military. Maybe that sort of thing was useful a few hundred years ago, but…”

The thought of Caleb in a dungeon, or perhaps an underground cavern of some sort, clad in battle-weary adventuring garb from those old storybooks she used to read as a child — all historical settings, with ancient heroes and terrifying monsters — flames licking up his arms as he conjured a wall of fire between him and faceless enemies, eyes hard and hair in disarray… Gosh, why was she drinking tea right now? It was much too hot for tea; it was practically summertime, for Traveler’s sake. She set the mug down quickly.

He was looking at her again. “Think of something pleasant?” he teased.

She flushed. “N-no, I just…” She shook her head to clear it, staring down at her hands. “Do you think he’d tell me about them? If I asked?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you don’t want to fuck him?” he said. “Because that’s an excellent way to get into his pants. He probably won’t stop telling you about them once he gets started.”

At least they’d have something to talk about, then; that was a nice thought. She smiled a little in spite of herself. “What’s he like?” she asked.

He considered this for a moment. “Boring,” he said finally.

She poked him. “I’m serious, Molly,” she said.

“So am I,” he said. “I told you, all he cares about are his stupid books and his stupid cat. Which is a menace, by the way. I don’t understand why you’re so excited to meet it.”

“I like cats,” she said. “At least, I think I do. Or would, I guess.”

“I almost feel bad that he’s going to be your first experience with one, then.”

“I’m sure he’s lovely,” she said firmly, picking up her mug of tea again. “You’re just being a dick.”

“And why do you want to learn about magic, anyway?” He squinted at her. “You’re not trying to become a wizard too, are you? Because one is quite enough, thank you.”

“No, I just…” She struggled to find the words to express herself — at least in a way that wouldn’t make her sound completely pathetic. “I think it would be interesting, that’s all. I like learning new things. And magic is cool, you know? Like, my magic is really cool and stuff, but it’s all just… healing, you know? Simple. Mine just happens. Wizards have to use… stuff for their spells. Ooh,” she said, struck by sudden inspiration, “does he have, like, a secret spell cupboard or something? Or maybe like a — a belt with pouches where he keeps, like, his newt eyes and stuff.”

“That would get rather smelly, I think,” he said blandly.

“I guess you’re right,” she said, and brightened again. “Oh, oh, do you think he has a spellbook? Wizards have spellbooks, right?”

“I have no idea, you’ll have to ask one.”

“You know what? I think I will,” she said. “Since you’re no help.”

He merely grinned lazily at her. “You know, for someone who definitely isn’t interested,” he said, “you’re asking an awful lot of questions, darling.”

“I am interested,” she said, and oh dear, that didn’t come out right at all. “I mean,” she said, backpedaling madly, “he seems interesting. I want to get to know him, you know? Since we’re going to be neighbors and all. I just don’t want to fuck him.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, in a tone that definitely didn’t sound convinced, and grinned again. “Mark my words, you’ll be going at it like rabbits in no time.”

“Will not,” she said. “Don’t be gross, Molly.”

“You say that now,” he said. “But you’ll change your tune soon enough.” The grin turned wicked. “Especially when he gets those lovely hands of his around your—”

The pillow she grabbed off the floor and ground in his face almost drowned out his sniggering.

It was another two days until she saw Caleb again. It was an accident, really; it wasn’t like he’d told her when he was moving or anything. They hadn’t spoken since Mama had offered him the job — a whole nine days ago. That wasn’t very long, not really, but it still felt like forever somehow.

A part of her started to worry again — had something happened? Had he reconsidered? Maybe he’d died or something, like, got hit by a bus or something; that would really suck — but she reminded herself that he had a life of his own; there was probably lots to do to prepare for the move, and he did have another job… She remembered what it had been like, moving from hers and Mama’s — now just Mama’s — apartment to her own place a few months ago; that process had taken nearly three whole weeks, and she’d only been moving down the hall. Caleb’s move could take three months.

Plus, it wasn’t like they were really friends, exactly. Not yet, anyway. She couldn’t expect him to update her on every little thing he did before he came back. Even if she was his landlord by proxy. Landlady. Landperson. Very pretty and funny and overall great lady who collected rent. By proxy. Even though there technically wasn’t any rent to collect, but that didn’t really matter. It was symbolic.

She was thinking all of these things as she trotted down the stairs to look for Mama, who was supposed to have been locked in her office again — she was locked in there most days, really; had been ever since the last accountant had been… ahem, removed, trying to clean up the mess he’d left behind — and nearly ran into someone on the way down.

“Oh,” she said, a little startled by the sudden person in her way, whose face was blocked by the tall cardboard box carried by lean, brown arms. “Sorry.”

“You wanna move?” said the gruff voice behind the box. “This thing is pretty heavy…”

“Oh, sorry,” she said again, sheepishly this time, and as she stepped aside she squinted at the woman as she trudged past. “Wait… You’re Beau, right? Molly’s friend!”

“Oh,” said Beau, pausing again. “Sorry. Hi. Yeah, that’s me.”

“It’s so nice to see you!”

“Uh, likewise. Hey, uh, you mind giving me a hand real quick?” There was a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead, and the box shifted uncomfortably in her arms. “It’s slipping a little…”

“Oh, of course!” said Jester hurriedly, taking the box from Beau’s grasp. It had a heft to it, like it was full of bricks.

“Uh, I didn’t mean — it’s really heavy—” Beau stopped when Jester adjusted her grip to the left, balancing the box on her hip and supporting it with her other hand, so as not to block her view. “Jesus.”

“What?” Beau was staring at her oddly, like she’d done something remarkable. Her brow furrowed.

“You just… Never mind.” Beau rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly, seemingly unsure of where to look. “You’re… stronger than you look, that’s all.”

Jester blinked. “Oh,” she said, and grinned. “Yeah, I am pretty strong.” She gestured to the box. “So… where’s this going? I don’t mind taking it, if your arms need a break or something.”

Beau looked momentarily conflicted, but swallowed when Jester bounced the box a little higher on her hip. “Uh, third floor. On the end, I think.” She shrugged lopsidedly, an apologetic half-grin quirking her mouth. “I’ve only been here twice,” she explained.

“Third floor…” Jester brightened instantly, an odd fluttering beginning somewhere deep in her chest. “Of course! You’re Caleb’s friend too! You’re helping him move? Is he here?” She glanced hopefully down the stairs, but the landing between the first and second floors was disappointingly empty.

“He should be around here somewhere,” said Beau. “Probably getting stuff out of Fjord’s truck or something.”

“That’s cool,” said Jester. Casually. Of course he was here. He was moving here. Today, apparently. Her spine tingled pleasantly.

“So… you know the way, right?” Beau paused, and her cheeks reddened slightly. “Oh, wait, shit, never mind. You live here, of course you — never mind, I’ll just shut up now.”

Jester giggled and hefted the box a little higher. “You’re funny,” she said, inclining her head. “Come on, this way.” She adjusted the massive box again and trotted back up the way she came.

Beau trailed along behind her, panting slightly as they came finally reached the third floor and continued down the hall. “How are you not exhausted right now?” she said, wiping the sweat from her brow. “God, you’re fuckin’ fast. Can you even see where you’re going?”

Jester shrugged. “Not really,” she said. “But I’ve lived here my whole life, you know, I know my way around pretty well. And this—” She jiggled the box, which rattled slightly, “—isn’t really that heavy. Did you know this hallway is seventy-eight steps long?”

“I… didn’t,” said Beau.

“Well, it was when I was seven, anyway,” said Jester conversationally. “And I took really long steps on purpose because, you know, my legs were really short and I wanted to see how far I could stretch. I should probably measure again… Oh, here we are,” she continued, stopping and glancing behind her at her companion. “Do you have the key?”

“Uh,” said Beau.

“Oh, never mind,” said Jester, glancing around the box to see the door was slightly ajar. “Do you think he’d mind if I—?”

“Jester?”

Oh, his voice was even nicer than she remembered. Her name in that accent… She beamed, even though he couldn’t see her behind the cardboard. “Hi, Caleb! I brought you a present.”

“What are you — you didn’t have to do that,” he said, sounding bewildered.

“Speak for yourself,” muttered Beau. “My back is killing me.”

“You should lift with your legs,” said Jester earnestly. “That’s way better for your back.”

“Noted,” said Beau. To Caleb, she continued, “I thought you were downstairs.”

“I was, but you were taking so long I came back up without you.”

“Can I come in?” said Jester.

“Oh — ja, yes, of course.” His feet shifted to stand aside and she marched past him through the door, elbow just barely brushing his chest on the way past. The heat of him sent a shiver up her arm.

“Where do you want it…?”

“Oh, ah, there is fine.”

She let the box down gently on the floor, though it still let out an audible thud as it hit wood. “Geeze, Caleb, what do you have in this thing?” she said. “It’s pretty big.”

Beau let out a strangled half-snort that Caleb ignored as Jester turned back to them, leaning lightly on the box. “Books,” he said. “And things.”

“Magic things?” she asked.

“And non-magic things.”

“Cool,” she said. There was a pause, in which she looked around her, taking in the blank walls and wide, empty spaces that were a mirror and simultaneously the polar opposite of her own apartment, mere feet above their heads. “There’s not much in here yet,” she observed. “Did you guys just get here or something?”

“Ah, yes,” he said awkwardly.

She grinned. “Guess I got here just in time, then,” she said. “You guys need any more help? I don’t mind carrying more stuff if you need.” She flexed a bicep, waggling her eyebrows at them. Beau and Caleb exchanged glances and quickly looked away, each of them slightly redder than before. Her grin widened.

“Ja, well, thank you for offering, but we have a few errands to run first,” said Caleb to the wall, clearing his throat with a cough.

“We’ll definitely hit you up later, though,” added Beau, stepping on his foot in a way that was clearly supposed to be surreptitious, but didn’t account for the accompanying wince that crossed his face. “If the offer still stands.”

Jester almost felt the corners of her smile fall a little, but she shoved her slight disappointment down deep and instead shrugged lightly. “Alright,” she said, straightening. “Of course, Beau! I’ll just… be in my apartment.” She cocked her head at Caleb. “You remember where it is, right?” she said sweetly. “Right… up… there?” She pointed to the ceiling and smiled.

Both Caleb and Beau swallowed at that, she noticed with some small satisfaction. “Uh,” said Beau.

“Great! Well, guess I’ll see you later then!” She brushed past them and glanced over her shoulder to waggle her fingers. “Bye!”

She could hear Beau spluttering behind her as she headed back down the hall. “Dude,” she was stage-whispering, and Jester heard a muted smacking sound and a hiss of pain, as though Caleb had just been punched in the shoulder. “You didn’t tell me you’d been to her place. What the hell, man?”

She suppressed a small smile.

The fun, it seemed, was just getting started.

She knew they wouldn’t call her back for another few hours at least, but as the afternoon came and went without so much as a text, she began to feel a little… what? Upset? No, that was too strong a word. Miffed? Maybe. Either way, the quality of her drawings was rapidly dwindling, the floor around her littered with crumpled scraps of sketchbook paper, and her patience with watercolors as a whole was running laughably thin.

She swore loudly in Infernal as a sudden buzzing in the very early evening made her jump, her brush skidding across the paper. Where was her fucking phone? She spent a good five minutes hunting around before she remembered; shoved between couch cushions, naturally — she’d stuffed it there when the blank screen seemed to be taunting her with its blankness — but her heart swooped suddenly when she saw the contact name.

Caleb.

She felt jittery as she unlocked the phone, read the few short words there in black and white. Their first text.

‘Could you come downstairs? If you’re still available. — Caleb’

She only realized she was grinning like a lunatic when her cheeks started feeling sore. He signed his texts. Like a dork. Or did he just sign it now, for her, just in case she’d… what? Deleted his number? That was adorable.

She was almost skipping as she went down the stairs.

His door was open again; the gap between it and the doorframe widened slightly as she rapped out a quick little beat with two knuckles. “Cay-leb,” she sang. “Are you home? I got your text!”

“Ja, come in,” came the muffled reply, followed by an equally muffled, “Scheisse.” He sounded like he had a mouth full of… something. She gently pushed the door open.

The apartment was considerably more crowded than it had been before — sparse, still, compared to her own, but mainly because there was no real furniture; only boxes and bags of varying sizes, organized in neat little rows and piles, grouped together in an orderly fashion that created precise pathways through the systematic chaos. Behind it all stood Caleb, struggling with a towering, slightly wobbling bookshelf.

She hurried over, grabbing the other side as he steadied it and straightened. “Ah, danke,” he said, taking a small collection of screws out from between his lips. “That could have gone… poorly.”

“Why were you trying to move it, silly?” she said, nudging him playfully in the ribs as he placed the screws carefully on one of the shelves. “You usually build stuff where you want it to end up, so it doesn’t, like, fall on your head when you try to shove it around.”

“I did build it where I wanted it.” He sighed and ran a hand over his face, the faintest hint of a sheepish grin playing around his lips. “And then I changed my mind.”

A small flicker of warmth spread through her chest at that grin. “Why’re you doing this by yourself, anyway?” she said. “Where’s Beau?”

“Out,” he said. “We didn’t have the space in the truck for everything in one go, she and Fjord have been going back and forth to pick things up in batches. I thought I could get started here while they were gone.”

“You could have called me sooner, you know,” she chided, not unkindly. “I could have helped with these boxes.”

“Ah, no, Fjord could probably use the exercise.” He waved his hand dismissively, but she caught the slight pink in his cheeks with a pleasant twist in her stomach. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Cay-leb,” she said, drawing out his name again with a smack of her lips, and the pink of his ears deepened just a touch. “I wanted to help. You wouldn’t have bothered me. I thought you didn’t want my help at all and were just trying to be polite.”

His gaze flicked over her and stuttered away. “Well,” he said. “I appreciated the offer.”

She smiled at him, shoving her hands in the pockets of her skinny jeans. Mostly to hide the sudden nervous jitter in her fingers. “So,” she said brightly. “What do you need me for first?”

Most of their conversation for the next half-hour or so consisted mainly of confusion over assembly directions and muttered curses over squashed fingers, but as the clock ticked closer to the next hour, they’d assembled another bookshelf and a half — assembled precisely where he wanted them this time. She spied several more of the flat packages containing shelving; she supposed that was why he hadn’t bothered to paint over the boring white of the walls first. No point in having a fun color if it was just going to be covered in books anyway.

“You read a lot, huh?” she commented, as they finished the second — technically third — shelving unit.

“Ja, I — ah, fick mich,” he swore, shoving his pinched finger in his mouth for a moment. “These verdammte shelves might make me reconsider, though.”

“What language is that?”

“Hmm?”

“That language,” she said, gesturing vaguely at nothing. “Your accent. I’ve never heard it before. What’s it from?”

“Oh,” he said, settling back on his heels. “It’s Zemnian. Empire. Up north.”

“Really? That’s so cool!” She put down her screwdriver. “You’re a long way from home, then,” she said.

He was silent for a long moment. “This is my home now,” he said finally. Carefully.

She hummed thoughtfully. “Must be different,” she said. “I’ve never been to the Empire.”

“Never?”

She shook her head. “Been here all my life,” she said. “Is it cold up there? I’ve heard it’s cold.”

“Sometimes,” he said.

Dead end. A part of her wanted to push, wanted to hear all about the Empire, about snow, about proper mountains and endless fields with no ocean in sight, but… She let out a puff of air, glancing around at the boxes and bags and clean hardwood floors. “Where’s your cat?”

He blinked at her.

“Well, he’s not here,” she said. “Obviously. But you’re going to bring him, right? You said you would.” No, that sounded too accusatory. Too demanding. She chewed her lip and batted her eyelashes ridiculously to lighten her statement. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Cay-leb?” she said in an exaggerated pout.

Success — his ears went pink. “He’s here,” he said.

Jester’s eyes widened with excitement. “Really?” she said eagerly, shelves forgotten. “Where is he? I haven’t seen him.”

“Oh, he’s, ah, not here, exactly—” He cut himself off, exhaled. “Here, I’ll show you.” And with a snap of his fingers and a small pop, there was a cat, suddenly — miraculously, a gorgeous orange tabby with luminous amber eyes.

“Oh,” said Jester. “My. Gosh.”

The cat — Frumpkin, of course — seemed entirely unconcerned with being materialized into sudden existence, and barely looked at her as he washed his paws with a small pink tongue. He was smaller than she thought he’d be; and yet, bigger. And sleeker, yet fluffier. His long whiskers twitched as he ignored her presence entirely.

Cats. She decided she loved them.

“C-can I…?” Her hand hovered in space above him before she even realized she’d begun to ask the question, and the corner of Caleb’s mouth twitched upwards.

“Go ahead.”

Frumpkin paused his washing as her hand lowered tentatively towards that sweet little head, fixing her with those large, alien eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she assured him automatically. “I’ve never met a cat before. I-is it okay if I pet you a little bit?”

Three long, agonizing seconds passed in silence. She didn’t know, entirely, what she was waiting for — permission? From a cat? It sounded ridiculous, certainly, when she thought about it like that, but something about this particular cat made her feel like she should.

He blinked once, slowly. She took that as a good sign.

From the first tentative touch of her fingertips, she knew she was in love — he was so soft, like what she imagined petting a cloud would feel like. She was entranced, letting her fingers, then her palm run over the smooth, soft fur in gentle strokes. It felt like she could do this forever, honestly, just kneeling on the empty hardwood floor of Caleb’s apartment until her legs fell off from lack of circulation, just petting and petting until she couldn’t feel her hand anymore.

“He likes to be scratched,” suggested Caleb’s voice, distantly from some far-off place. She’d nearly forgotten he was there at all. “Here.” He leaned forward and scratched just behind Frumpkin’s jaw, his long fingers nearly brushing her own in the process. Frumpkin’s whole head shifted at the touch, and for a moment she wanted to shout at Caleb, certain he was pushing too hard — but no, Frumpkin was merely stretching his neck to give him better access, leaning into his fingers. “You can try it, if you want,” said Caleb.

Jester moved her hand hesitantly to the spot on the other side of Frumpkin’s exposed neck, fingers gentle at first, but gradually gaining confidence as Frumpkin started leaning towards her instead. “He likes me!” she whispered elatedly.

“He does,” agreed Caleb.

Frumpkin was rubbing against her hand, and she was pretty sure she was in heaven. “Wait, what’s he—?” She paused her scratching, slightly alarmed, as a strange, low rumbling sound began emanating from beneath her hand.

Caleb was smiling softly, a little crookedly. Her heart jumped. “He’s purring.”

She looked down again, and Frumpkin flopped down on his side, halfway on her lap. “Purring,” she breathed. “So that’s what that feels like.”

She almost didn’t look up when the door banged open suddenly, revealing a grumpy-looking Beau and a heavily-laden half-orc — Fjord, she remembered — trailing behind her. “The couch is downstairs,” she was saying loudly. “And I swear to Ioun, Caleb Widogast, if you don’t get your skinny wizard ass—” She broke off as she took in the sight before her, at an enchanted Jester and a smiling Caleb, a happily purring Frumpkin between them. “Oh, what the fuck, Caleb?” she complained, throwing her hands exasperatedly in the air. “I’ve — we’ve been running all over the goddamn coast for your stupid furniture, and you just — just shack up with your girlfriend while we’re gone? Thanks a whole bunch, buddy.”

Jester mostly ignored the girlfriend comment — for now — if only because Frumpkin chose that exact moment to roll over lazily onto his back. She let out a soft gasp. “Beau,” she murmured, “he’s purring.”

“I — what?” Beau’s expression slipped momentarily into confusion. “Well, yeah, he’s a cat. That’s what they do.”

“She’s never met a cat before,” Caleb explained.

“What, seriously?” Beau blinked as Fjord trudged past her, depositing his many bags in an unceremonious heap on the kitchen floor. “Never?”

“How’ve you never met a cat?” said Fjord. His voice was deep, a lazy, rolling accent she couldn’t place creating a pleasant lilt to his words.

“We’ve never had pets here,” said Jester distractedly, and gasped again. “Oh, oh Caleb, did you see? His little tongue—” The tip of Frumpkin’s tongue, rough and pink, barely poked out of his sweet little mouth, his eyes half-closed in bliss as she continued to scratch and pet. She never wanted to get up from this spot.

“Okay, so, like, as much as I’m dying to let you experience all the wonders cats have to offer,” said Beau, “and believe me, I do — I’m gonna have to insist we get this show on the road, ‘cause, like, I got shit to do? Places to be?”

“Oh,” said Jester, heart sinking. “Oh, yes, of course, I’m sorry.” She looked down again at Frumpkin, at that little fuzzy tummy and his outstretched paws, and patted him again, a little sadly this time. “I’m sorry,” she told him, very sincerely, “but I have to get up now.”

“He doesn’t mind,” said Caleb reassuringly.

“I do,” mumbled Jester.

Caleb snapped his fingers again and with another small pop the weight and warmth vanished from her knee, and in its place she felt a brief, but sharp sense of loss. She definitely, really, super-liked cats now.

Beau put them to work — she was a fantastic coordinator, if a little brusque — and Jester worked diligently, if a little glumly. The phantom feeling of Frumpkin’s soft fur on her fingertips lingered even as time marched on, even as shelves were built and the final bits of furniture and such were brought up, and she was flattening boxes absently when Caleb came up with a large garbage bag. “So,” he said. “How was your first cat experience?”

“It was wonderful,” she sighed. “He’s so soft, Caleb! And his little paws…”

“Ja, he’s a pretty good cat.”

“How’d you get him to — y’know, poof like that? Cats can’t usually do that, right?”

“Frumpkin — well, he’s not really a cat.” He paused. “Well, he is, but he… isn’t? He is Fey. I can summon him from the Feywild when I choose.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?” she breathed.

“He is my familiar,” he nodded. “He prefers the cat shape, athough I could change him to something else.”

“You can do that?”

“It is expensive, but yes.”

“So you could have like — like…” Her mind scrambled to catch up with the torrent of ideas all striking her at once. “Like a hamster-Frumpkin? Or a unicorn? No, wait. A unicorn-hamster-Frumpkin?”

He paused, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I will admit,” he said, “that particular thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but… theoretically, I suppose.”

She gasped, wide-eyed. “That’s so cool,” she said. “You’re so cool, Caleb.”

“Ah,” he said. His ears were pink again. They cleaned in silence for a while, Beau rattling around in the walk-in closet and Fjord cursing over the bedframe, the building of which was apparently stumping him. “You know,” said Caleb eventually, ears still slightly flushed when she glanced at him. “You could always come back, you know. To see Frumpkin.”

Her chest was fluttering again, as she met those ridiculously blue eyes. “You really mean it?”

“I mean, ja, we’re neighbors. You might see him around anyway, he tends to come and go sometimes. But he likes you, I think he’d enjoy the visit.”

There was a hidden implication here, and that fluttering was rapidly turning into full-blown butterflies as he held her gaze. “And you?” she heard herself ask softly, heart pounding in her ears.

That crooked smile again — only the briefest of flashes, really, but it had been there — before he turned away, bending to pick up some discarded plastic. “Nein,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind either.”

She left a couple of productive hours later — it was late, and Beau had eventually announced that she had plans, goddammit, they could pick this up again tomorrow — but when she crawled into bed that night, the cheerful jingle of her text message alert kept her from immediately passing out.

It was a picture text — from Caleb. A lounging Frumpkin, lying spread-eagled on dark sheets, the very ones spread out over the bed she’d eventually wrestled into submission after Fjord had threatened to throw the whole fuckin’ thing out the fuckin’ window out of sheer frustration. The bed currently almost directly beneath her, at this very moment.

There was no accompanying message, but it didn’t need one. Pictures being worth a thousand words and all that.

She fell asleep smiling.

[smokeandjollyranchers]

Have some more widojest cuz I’ve lost control of my life.

Caleb Widogast is familiar with addiction.

He’s addicted to the flame at his fingertips. He hates it, hates the way it’s burned off his fingerprints and blacked the tips of his fingers. Each spell he casts, fire flowing from the simple utterance of a few words, the blackness travels farther up his fingers. Soon, the blackness will consume his hands, his arms, until he’s nothing but crumbling ashes. It’s a fate well deserved, but he’s rather keen on facing it later rather than sooner. Yet when he holds the fire in his hands, feels the heat of his own power, he can’t help but still be enthralled by the way fire dances. No matter how badly the flames hurt him, he can’t seem to let them go.

Hate is just as addicting. Hatred for Ikathon pulls his eyelids awake every morning. Hatred for the Empire, and everything he had once swore to protect with his very breath. Hatred for himself kept him alive. If he were a kinder man, he would have killed himself long ago, and let himself stop this horrific suffering.

No one has ever considered Caleb Widogast a kinder man.

His self preservation is key in righting his true wrong, and he has to breathe to fix his one mistake. So he keeps his hatred alive inside him. He’s knows he has to let this happen as it does, he can’t push something like this. He lets himself be sidetracked and lets himself have nights with his group. After all, reality won’t bend to him in a day, he has many, many, many more days of suffering ahead of him.

He remembers this thought as his eyes open against two full moons in the sky, a blanket of stars around them. It’s beautiful for the three seconds it takes for the pain to set in. A low dull ache spreads through his body and he sucks in a breath from his teeth. He knows this feeling well, and he looks to his left to see Jester kneeling next to him, finishing her spell, a green glow escaping her lips as she whispers in Infernal. Her eyes look down on him as he hisses, and she smiles at him, eyes flashing unnaturally in the darkness.

“Cayyyyylebb, you passed out again~” she sing-songs to him, booping him on the nose. “You have a really smart mouth for such a squishy guy!”

He actually smiles at that, and he feels a long-cold pit of his stomach ignite, if only slightly. Jester helps him up, all of his muscles ache, but that’s the price he pays for curing magic. It’ll take a day before he’s back to himself, but it’s alright. Jester pulls his arm over her shoulder, supporting him easily.

“Come on, our friends are back this way. They packed up the cart and we’re just gonna keep going. Man, what are the odds we’d run into those bandits again. Are they the only bandits in the Empire or what?” Jester talks to him easily, chattering on about the rest of the fight and how Caduceus made the bandits some tea, and Fjord spent a couple minutes fixing their stances. Nott even picked a few gold off them when they weren’t looking.

There’s something calming about Jester. Caleb can’t figure out exactly what it is, perhaps it’s just because she’s a really good cleric, but he thinks it’s something else. She reminds him of the past, of better times, sure, but it isn’t just that either. He almost thinks it’s because Jester can be happy, despite her well hidden sadness. He knows she fakes it sometimes, more lately, but he also knows she’s genuinely happy too. It’s in her eyes when she play fights with Beau, or pesters him to keep changing Frumpkin into different animals so she can find the funniest transition between animals.

He leans a little bit heavier into her and she doesn’t even notice. He allows himself this one moment, where Jester supports him before he picks himself back up, and stumbles along with her. It’s another addiction he’s picked up, allowing himself a few precious seconds near Jester. He knows he’s already taking advantage of them, his friends, and he tries not to do it more than he has to. But sometimes there’s just something about Jester, and it makes him want to know more. He cares about her. There’s something in the joy she brings to the world that he knows needs to be protected, by her most of all.

They catch up with their friends, and Jester helps him into the cart. He settles himself in the back, waving off Notts immediate offer of a health potion. Nott narrows her eyes at him, but backs down, crawling up to sit next to Caduceus as he flicks the reigns. Jester catches up with Beau, bragging about her great healing skills and how buff she was that she could carry Caleb with only one hand!

A small smile stretches across Caleb’s face again, and he looks over at his fingers, where the blackness has spread. He’s never going to give up the feeling of the flame, he’s never going to give up the heat from his hatred. Jester’s smile causes a warmth in him without any of the pain, and he’s horrified by how badly he wants to feel it again. Jester deserves better than he’ll ever be able to give her, and he knows this intimately.

But Caleb Widogast is good at being an addict. He’s good at suffering, and he’s good at pain. His friendship with her is grounding, and he wouldn’t do anything to cost him that. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to that smile.