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sustainably-du-mortain · 8 months

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Campfire woes

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles Characters: Adam du Mortain & detective (Raziela Jakowlewna) Word count: 2k A/N: here's my contribution to the @wayhavenficexchange. @hypnostanatos I had so much fun trying to figure out Raziela and hope I did them justice. I couldn't resist going with implied polyam Adam x Raziela x Mason, so I hope you'll enjoy this!

Raziela has only been away for a few minutes, yet when she steps back into Tina’s garden, the scene she gazes upon is completely different from the one she had witnessed all evening.

Earlier this week, the newly appointed detective invited Raziela and the team for a dinner around the campfire. Surprisingly, it didn’t take much to convince Adam to let the team attend the party.

Their host is currently in the kitchen, clearing up the dishes, with Verda and Agent Pierson, whom Raziela had barely managed to avoid when coming out of the bathroom. Nat is sitting across from her, on the other side of the bonfire, speaking with Verda’s husband. She can’t hear what they’re talking about over the crackling of the fire, but judging by the way Eric’s hands are moving as he speaks, and knowing Nat’s enthusiasm for all kinds of subjects, this must be an interesting conversation. Farah is nowhere to be seen, but judging by the fits of laughter and screams following the sounds of water splashing, Raziela can easily guess that she has taken Verda and Eric’s daughters to the lake. Mason has also disappeared. She saw him walk away into the surrounding woods, the red glow of a cigarette hanging upon his lips following him. He hasn’t reappeared since.

Seeing that she has some time left before the rest of the party gathers back around the campfire, Raziela takes out the book she brought along - a collection of horror short-stories she had been saving for a gloomy autumn day. Yet, when Adam sits next to her a few minutes later, she hasn’t made it past the first sentence of the first short-story, reading it over and over again without being able to focus on it.

“Where have you been?” She asks without looking up.

“I was just making sure Farah is not letting your friends’ children too close to the water…”

Raziela snorts. “You know, you should give her a little more credit. She’s great at looking after me, and I’m way more insufferable than Verda’s kids.”

She’s not sure whether or not she should be offended over the fact that Adam takes a moment to debate whether he should agree or pretend that he doesn’t but, in true Adam fashion, he doesn’t spare her feelings. “You really are insufferable”

At least he has the decency to hold back a laugh when she gasps, feigning to be offended. She cannot resist teasing him back.

“She’s better with kids than you are, anyways-” she quips, deliberately marking a pause to gauge his reaction. He barely manages to hide a frown before she adds, “-so, leave her be.”

“I also went to look for Mason but couldn’t find him.” Adam says before silence can settle between them. She replies with a nod.

She can understand why Mason left. This whole party. The noises and scents coming from the bonfire. The smell of grilled meat and vegetables tainting the air. The mingled conversations and Verda’s daughters being their noisy selves. This can be a lot to deal with. She’s already struggling with it, so she can’t imagine what it must be like with heightened senses. So, she assumed he needed a break and would come back when he was ready.

Adam’s voice breaks her out of her own thoughts. “Horror stories? Really?”

“This is Tina’s doing. According to her, ‘campfire parties suck without scary stories’. I think she forgot to take into account the fact that there would be kids at her party.”

Adam laughs. It’s an actual laugh, not a repressed one, nor a snort. She cannot help but chuckle at the unexpected reaction.

Noticing that he seems to be in a good mood, she ventures to ask the question that’s been eating her up all evening. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you eat actual human food. I thought Nat was the only one who liked it.”

“She is, but we can’t risk your friends getting suspicious over our behavior. So we had to eat.”

“You say this as if your daily behavior isn’t the most suspicious thing ever.”

“We are not suspicious. We are professionals!” Raziela watches as Adam tries not to lose his cool.

“Professionals who often let a ‘you, humans’ slip in a conversation. Not to mention that one of us is absolutely shit with technology. Come on, I’m bad with it, but Nat is on another level. Even the local elders do better than her with a computer.” Seeing Adam’s frown deepen, she decides to stop before her comments actually get on his nerves. “Anyways, I really appreciate the effort you all put in, coming to dinner with me. You didn’t have to.”

“Of course, we did.” For a moment, she lets herself hope that he really did this for her, but then he adds: “We have to spend time with your friends if we do not want our cover to be blown away.”

She feels so stupid. It was obvious that was the sole reason they came. She should have known when he immediately agreed to come. They can’t risk having their secret uncovered because of her.

“You know I could have covered for you to, at least, avoid the dinner.” She says, trying her best to conceal her disappointment. “Although, it would have meant missing out on the hilarious grimaces you and Farah made, trying to act like this was the best food you’ve ever had. You’re lucky Tina knows about you, or she would have been offended. You’ll also have to thank Nat because she managed to keep Verda and Eric distracted long enough for them not to notice what was going on.”

“Cover for us?” Adam ignores the whole part about him and Farah making faces and asks, “What lie could you have possibly told them that would have given us a pass on this dinner?”

“That you guys were on patrol and would join later.” Raziela has to hold back a laugh as Adam’s mouth opens and closes multiple times without a single word coming out. Tears well in her eyes at his dumbfounded expressions when he realizes that this simple lie could have gotten them out of the awful dinner they had to go through. This is the most hilarious thing she has seen in a while. “It looked like you guys drew straws before coming to decide who would get to use the ‘I’m feeling sick’ card Mason played tonight.”

The loud silence that follows her observation tells her she is spot on and she has to pinch herself not to bark out a laugh.

“You guys really are bad liars for people who work in a secret agency.”

“We wouldn’t have to lie if it weren’t for you.” Adam retorts. His words feel like knives and she winces at his sharp tone. As he doesn’t seem to notice how cutting his words are, she can’t help but wonder if he’s doing it on purpose.

For a moment, she thinks that he’s going to walk away, just like he has been doing for the past weeks anytime he throws a hurtful jab her way. Yet, this time, he stays and a tense silence settles between them. She doesn’t know how to bring up the conversation, damn, she doesn’t even know what this is about.

So, she just sits there and considers picking her book back up, but that would only set back whatever discussion they need to have. Instead, she chooses to glare at Adam, realizing that this might be the only way to get him to talk.

He stares back and she wonders if she opted for the wrong option until, after a long silence, he finally speaks.

“I’m sorry…”

She waits for something more. She waits for him to explain why they can’t seem to spend more than five minutes in the same room without him spewing scorching comments her way. She waits for him to explain what has changed between them. But only silence meets her.

“No…” she sighs. “You don’t get to do that! You don’t get to apologize and leave me hanging there without a single clue as to why you’re acting that way!” She stops. Her voice had come out a little louder than she expected, catching Nat and Eric’s attention. “I thought we were past that. I thought that our lengthy bickering session had brought us closer…I thought we were friends.” She confesses under her breath, ignoring Nat and Eric’s gaze still turned towards them.

“We are.”

“Are we, really? Because, lately, you’ve been making it sound like hanging out with me is nothing more than some sort of work obligation, Adam!”

“Raziela…”

He has that pitiful look on his face, which she rarely sees, and she hates being on the receiving end of it. Not sure she wants to have that conversation after all, she makes to leave, when he grabs onto her wrist.

“I like you.”

“What!?” She flops down on her seat, thinking she misunderstood.

“I like you.” He repeats, before quickly adding, “Not romantically. There’s nothing like that between us, but I do really like you. As a friend. The same way I like Nat; although it seems to be a little different this time.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish, not a word she ever thought of using to describe Adam.

“Wait a minute. I need to make sure I understand. You’re saying that you like me as a friend?” He nods. “Okay, now I’m lost. Why have you been acting like an asshole then?”

“It’s just that people don’t usually grow on me that fast.” He doesn’t even seem to notice the fact that Raziela called him an asshole.

“So, what? You panicked?”

“Yes… Not even Nat has ever managed to chip away at me this fast, so I guess I got scared, in a way.”

“Why? I mean, we’re just friends.” There’s a hint of hesitation in her voice as she says those words, because even she knows that the bond they’ve managed to create, over so little time, goes beyond that. She just never took the time to think about it.

“Because I’ve grown to care for you. Deeply.”

She thinks about all the little things she pretended not to notice, like the way he often seemed almost as worried as Mason whenever she got hurt. How he started looking for her approval, even for mundane things. The way they stopped arguing as often as they did in the beginning. How their quiet hanging out session had turned less boring and became moments to unwind in each other’s presence.

A sense of quiet overtakes Raziela as she reminisces about all the time they’ve spent together and how their relationship has evolved and, suddenly, she understands what he means because she feels the same way towards him. She enjoys the way they understand each other without having to talk. She loves knowing that she can confide in Adam without fearing like he’s going to judge her for anything she says and she loves that he feels comfortable enough around her to do the same.

So, she understands when he says that he likes her and that there isn’t anything romantic between them. He’s not attracted to her and neither is she attracted to him. Oh, he’s good looking, there’s no denying that. Tina would call her a fool if she did. He’s very dear to her, and with his confession, she now also knows that he has a soft spot for her. It’s just that those things don’t come into play when she thinks about Adam and the relationship they share and that is the main difference from what she shares with Mason.

Before she can say anything, Verda’s voice echoes from the kitchen.

“Tina, please be careful!” He’s following her closely as steps out of the French doors, carrying a cake which precariously slides on the glass stand Verda lent her.

Adam quickly moves to another seat, resuming their conversation but that might be for the best.

Right now, she feels like he has opened Pandora's box and she’s not quite sure she’s ready to deal with it, just yet. So, in the meantime, she’ll keep calling Adam her best friend.

#the wayhaven chronicles #adam du mortain #a du mortain #twc detective #if: twc #twc fanfic #wayhavenficexchange #ali's writing

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her-devils-advocate · 10 months

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Snippets from a domestic summer. (Part 3)

♥. Genre: Fluff

♥. pairings: Nate Sewell / Female Detective (Named)

♥. content warnings: None

♥. notes: (Part 1) (Part 2)

An attempt at a water fight, which only goes as well as one would expect when Unit Bravo and Detective Michaelis are involved

♥. Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47590726/chapters/121202698

♥. Word count: 940

Adam stands beside the crumbling facade of the warehouse, arms crossed with a less than charming scowl on his face as his eyes remain locked onto the detective. The detective who was currently making it her mission to single-handedly drag the huge tub of water out into the forest clearing. The large tub roughly came up to Val’s knees, holding more water than what was needed for her little scheme.

"You could help instead of watching me like a hawk, you know?" She huffs up at him, blowing aside a stray lock of hair that was tickling her nose in the process.

"I believe it was your idea in the first place. As well as your idea to fill up the tub in the warehouse, rather than out here with the hose where it would have been easier for you to move around."

"Yeah yeah, easier to point out the flaws in my plan when it's already in motion." She deadpans before smiling at him, her nose scrunching slightly as she does. The lovely day makes it hard to be annoyed at him, even in jest.

She plonks down the large tub, gasping slightly as the cold water sloshes over the edges, soaking her legs in the process. Dropping to the ground beside it, she lays down on the soft, verdant grass to look up at the clear sky.

Not a single cloud dares to invade the blue scene above her.

The birds chirp happily up in their homes within the forest trees surrounding them, their song drifting around the clearing. One which could easily lull her to sleep, should she close her eyes. The peaceful atmosphere around them is broken by the rapid footsteps approaching, Felix's bright smile appearing above her line of sight, surrounded by a clear blue backdrop that makes the amber of his eyes sparkle.

"Got everything?"

"Of course! There's no way this would be ruined by a lack of equipment...Though I did catch Mason trying to hide one of these earlier." He shifts one of the large water pistols within his arms before passing one over to her, watching intensely as she gives it a once over, making sure all the parts are still intact.

"Hmm, well we are just going to have to team up against him as punishment then, right?"

"Like fuck you are." As if summoned by their shenanigans, Mason comes to stand beside Adam, mirroring the blonde's stance in annoyance as he glares at the offending item in their hands.

"Language Mason..." Nate chastises as he approaches the group, smiling warily at them all before his gaze joins Mason’s. “Where did you get those?”

“Oh, these little things?” She pops off the cap before dunking one of the water pistols into the tub, letting it fill before making sure the cap is secured once more, watching with a fond smile as Felix follows her example and begins to do the same to the remaining guns. “Verda was kind enough to let us borrow them for a little while. After being ambushed by his girls all weekend…Well, Eric and Verda didn’t need much convincing to pass them over to us to enjoy for a bit!”

“I’m sure he didn’t,” Adam mutters with a sigh before moving to head back into the safety of the warehouse. “I want nothing to do with this.”

Before Mason gets the chance to follow their leader indoors, a cold stream of water flies through the warm air, almost as if time had slowed, hitting him in the back of the head. He swings around with a growl, eyes narrowing in on the water pistol hanging limply between Val’s fingers, her eyes widening before she shoots off to hide behind Nate, who is currently trying -and failing- to not show any signs of humour on his face.

“Ok…In my defence, I didn’t think that would actually hit you!” Her meek voice is muffled by Nate’s shirt as she clings to his back for salvation.

Nate loses the battle of composure, sputtering out a small laugh, one that is quickly disguised as a cough once Mason’s glare swaps to settle upon him instead. “Sorry love, I don’t think that will hold up in court. Though I’m sure you know that all too well.” Mason slowly prowls over to the tub of water, picking it up effortlessly with a single hand before turning back around to approach the pair, a mischievous smile on his face that sends a chill through Felix, who is currently slinking away to safety.

“Nate…You have 5 seconds to move before you share Val’s punishment with her.” “5….4…”

“Punishment… what punishment?” Before she can fully register the situation, a cold gust of wind brushes past her as she stares up at Mason in confusion, slowly realising that her vampiric defence had vanished from in front of her. “Wait… Et tu, Nate?”

Nate, now standing a safe distance away with Felix, gives a small, amused shrug at the smaller woman. The pair winces slightly as they hear the loud splash, followed by her sharp squeal mixing with Mason’s cackles. His cackles rapidly turn to swears as she throws herself at the man, trapping him in a damp hug, making sure to get him as soaked as possible before he manages to push her off without hurting her in the process.

“So much for a normal water fight.” Felix mourns before eyeing the spare pistol sitting upon the grass near his feet, flicking his eyes up at Nate, only to shrink away at the stern look the older vampire gives him.

“Don’t even think about it.”

#♥. writing #♥. Valerie #twc #the wayhaven chronicles #nate sewell #detective x nate #female detective x nate #twc mason #twc felix #twc adam #unit bravo

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fauville · 1 month

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i'm so curious what happens with the whole eric/verda thing, i really thought he was going to tell verda about himself at the dinner lol

#i mean i guess it makes sense that he didn't do it yet but i was so disappointed lmao #i wanna know what happens #💬 chatter

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seraphinitegames · 1 year

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hello! hope you're having a good day :) two B3-related Qs: 1) we know Eric's supernatural. is he veiled, or is the form we see his actual appearance? 2) in the dinner party scene, the MC notices an...unusual number of mirrors in Eric + Verda's dining room. Is this purely an aesthetic choice or somehow related to Eric's supernatural race? (and/or a hint about future dealings with the actual loml, Falk??)

Eric's appearance is his actually appearance. No veil needed.

2. It's purely aesthetic :D When I was looking up inspiration for their house, I noticed that a lot of the 'posh' houses interiors had SO many mirrors. Plus it was a nod to Verda's cleanliness streak that even though they have kids, they still manage to keep the mirrors clean and free of smears, hehe!

Thank you so much for the asks! Hope you're have an amazing day too <3

#the wayhaven chronicles #asks #interactive fiction #twc eric #eric verda #solomon verda #twc book 3 #supernaturals #twc lore #lore #twc book 3 spoliers #the wayhaven chronicles spoilers #the wayhaven chronicles book 3 spoilers

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utterlyinevitable · 11 months

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I saw these really great prompts by @choiceschallenge-may2023 and got real inspired to answer these for my non-oph/choices mc’s that currently live rent-free in my head 😶‍🌫️ infinite thanks for coming up with these!

Penelope Featherington (Bridgerton modern au - x Colin)

Detective Emma Gunstone (The Wayhaven Chronicles - x Mason)

Detective Gwen Sousa (The Wayhaven Chronicles - x Adam)

First Kiss

Pen: George Townsend. She was 16 and it was a dare. It didn’t last more than seven seconds and both their lips were pulled tight.

Emma: Anthony Acaster. Prom. Too much tongue and he must’ve taken a sour altoid beforehand.

Gwen Sousa (my tiny new detective): Bobby.

Dream School

Pen: Cambridge. She was waitlisted, but her family couldn't afford it anyway. Even if she was a legacy.

Emma: Anywhere far from Wayhaven. But when the time came she got a basic degree in the Big City and chose the academy instead of a further education.

Gwen: Big City University. She wanted to stay close to home, just in case. She was planning on getting a masters in political science part time whilst working at the station but then the supernatural world just had to consume her life...

Dream Job

Pen: Published author, ofc. Even though she tells everyone she wants to be an editor. Hiding her biggest aspiration makes her feel like her spoken dreams are actually attainable.

Emma: Well, it seems she's living it. Even if this isn't what she thought being a detective would be.

Gwen: Politician. She had dreams of working her way through the civil service and become mayor.

Dream Vacation

Pen: She lived it. She got to travel the med by boat (with Colin). The only thing that could have topped it would have been visiting elephants in Thailand.

Emma: A cabin in the woods and it's raining the whole time. Or a glass hotel in the arctic circle to see the northern lights.

Gwen: Any beach with soft sand.

Last Goodbye

Pen: Leaving home had no fanfare or even much of a goodbye. Her mother wasn’t even around the fat Pen left for uni and neither were her older sisters. So she had an emotional moment with the home she’s live in the past decade. She hasn’t been back since.

Emma: Splitting with Bobby was her most satisfying goodbye.

Gwen: the death of her granddaddy will forever be on her mind. It came slow and she got time to say goodbye but even then it didn’t feel like enough.

Hardest Goodbye

Pen: Ghosting Colin. Having to pretend like all was okay between them before decidedly blocking him tore her to bits.

Emma: Splitting with Verda after he finds out about UB/supernatural's and wants nothing to do with this situation. (He comes around because of Eric’s persistence but MONTHS later)

Gwen: Her grandaddy.

First & Last Love Before RO

Pen: she's only ever loved Colin, romantically that is. But maybe her friendship with Eloise has always been her biggest love.

Emma: .....Bobby.... she's only done love once and regrets it. Now she knows it was never actually love at all.

Gwen: Bobby. They were practically high school sweethearts.

First Job

Pen: she babysat the neighborhood terrors. her first actual job was at Waterstones.

Emma: Bagger in the wayhaven mart

Gwen: never had a job before being a policewoman

Home(s)

Pen: Went from living in Knightsbridge to Norwich (uni) to Birmingham (work) then a quick stint in Edinburgh (work / ghost duties) and then unfortunately having to move back to Knightsbridge

Emma: Rebecca's house. The only person around was her elderly neighbor after her grandma died when she was 11. She moved to the City for two years to get her associates degree, then rented the apartment she lives in now. She did seriously consider moving into the warehouse but... it's not a good idea.

Gwen: With her grandparents. Gran passed when she was 17 and (Grand)Daddy when she was 28. They left their house to her but she couldn't live in it just yet, so she rents it out. She lived in a small apartment in the City, then with Bobby in the City, and now her current place.

An Old Friend/Love That Affects them the most

Pen: Eloise. She can handle Colin - has for years - but nothing could prepare her for facing Eloise after all this time and drama, and Pen has purposefully run away so she never would.

Emma: Bobby. She hates him. Wants to tear his face off. Would let Mason do it too if it wasn’t for all the paperwork involved.

Gwen: She really can't stand the mayor, though they're not anything but colleagues. She's made her peace with Bobby even if she tries to be civil and ignore his existence. The people of wayhaven to this day don't understand why... or maybe they're hoping for entertainment in the drama between B&G.

Marriage?

Pen: She’s not getting her hopes up. There’s a mix of emotions in regards to marriage and relationships and she just thinks it’s better if she doesn’t even entertain the idea.

Emma: Absolutely not.

Gwen: Yes. She wants it all.

Babies?

Pen: she'd like them but doesn't think it's in the cards for her. not in this economy.

Emma: no. never.

Gwen: she wants the white picket fence dream. maybe with her connections at the agency they'll freeze her eggs for free......

An event that's stayed with them (twc pre-agency)

Pen: she could never forget new years eve when she was sixteen.

Emma: she went to a festival in a field and it was transcendent. the noise, the people, the comradery. even security was vibin'.

Gwen: her sweet 16th. it wasn't much of a big affair but her grandparents did what they could and she will cherish the dance with both her grandparents for the rest of her life. as well as the speech. she cries thinking of it still.

Relationship with parents

Pen: Her father is a crook and a drunk and up ended all theirs lives when she was young, but as the only ‘good’ daughter Pen kept in contact with the only man she ever knew to love. Her mother is condescending and stretched thin and never pays much attention to her youngest daughter save for handing out critiques.

Emma: Vaguely remembers her dad as he died when she was a toddler. Rebecca was never there and Emma resents her hard for it.

Gwen: Doesn’t know her dad at all, and although she respects Rebecca and Gwen chooses to forgive and forget that she was never there growing up. Her grandparents were more her parents than Rebecca and Rook.

Childhood memento they keep close

Pen: She has a stuffed elephant that she’s had since she was a youngin’ and lives in a box in her closet.

Emma: The only thing from her childhood she still has is a few pieces of jewelry.

Gwen: A box full of scrapbooks her grandparents and she made.

Piece of meaningful jewelry

Pen: Portia sold anything remotely of value ages ago. Pen still has the braided bracelets she and Eloise made for each other one summer in their youth.

Emma: Has a gold necklace she wears every day, she’s had it for longer than she can remember. She likes to think it was an heirloom from Rook’s side of the family. If Rebecca ever owned up to giving it to her Emma has a feeling she’d never wear it again - and just the thought of never wearing it again feels like losing an extension of herself. So very complicated.

Gwen: The pair of diamond earrings and her grandparents wedding rings.

Won any awards?

Pen: No, Penelope is painfully average and prefers to fly under the radar.

Emma: She received an award for service from the station a few months before they promoted her.

Gwen: Always. She won scholarships and scholarly contests in school, employee of the month seven times at the station too.

Texts, Calls, Emails or Snail Mail?

Pen: Emails.

Emma: Texts.

Gwen: Calls, though she appreciates the thought behind penning a letter.

#polin #twc #meet my detective

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jointhepartypod · 1 year

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your setting, verda stello. the name seems to be in esperanto yeah? like one letter off, keeps all the -a and -o suffixes and everything

was it intentional when you chose the name to reference the verda stelo? a green star a lot of esperantists use as a symbol. or was that a coincidence?

oh hey, it's eric the dm!

yes, it is from Esperanto. And the green star felt appropriate for a plant-based pirate campaign where you're navigating by the stars.

Esperanto is something I'm just incredibly fascinated by. An optometrist in Poland was like, "hey what if I undid the tower of babel???" Someone tried to fix the world, inspire peace and bridge the wide gaps between folks worldwide! Just cause he cool!

ALSO it's an inside joke with myself because a podcast company was almost named orello, "ear" in esperanto, but it was laughed out of the room.

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grapecaseschoices · 1 year

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honey is for bees, not leggy brunettes

@plasticdodecagon as requested: 02. honey.

who kendis, tina, verda what just chilling and ribbing. some lamenting when some distant time after book three. so spoilers!! where kendis' office. warnings: light cussin, strange comparisons, kendis' accent; unbeta’d. we die like men, this is sparta, etc.

wordcount: 700

She set her stack of post-its and her office supplies holder near the phone on the opposite side of the desk, before easily folding her long legs over the top of the flat surface. With one tucked beneath the other, Kendis sat and bit into one of the brownies she’d brought from home. They had made them for Eric and Verda’s girls - it was Cara’s birthday this weekend - but she’d snuck two pieces for herself.

“Oh my — mrphngh.” A joyous moan sounded itself from behind Kendis.

Two pieces for herself, and three pieces for Tina.

“You better not be dirtyin’ up my desk.” Kendis’ voice dipped low in warning, even as she rocked slightly on the desk in a happy wiggle – there was no hiding how pleased they were by how satisfied Tina sounded. Kendis knew they were a great baker. But who didn’t love praises? Especially when they came from someone you wanted to make happy.

“Then you should have reconsidered handing Tina a huge chunk of sweets in your office.” Verda chided. Like Kendis, the sharpness of his words was in contrast to the soft emotion on his face. It was difficult to miss the fondness, even when he continued, “You know well enough Tina’s eating habits and manners are only a step above Lacey’s.”

Instead of being insulted at the comparison to someone who hadn’t even hit the double digits in age, Tina grinned, “You mean with style and enthusiasm?”

Kendis let out a sharp snort. It cracked through the air like a broken branch through a silent forest and it was so very sudden that it was a surprise that the piece of brownie that they’d been swallowing hadn’t slipped down the wrong windpipe.

Now Tina chose to look indignant. Verda’s amusement grew.

They leaned back slightly, their head tossed backward and causing Tina, who was sitting in the seat behind their desk, to appear upside down. “Girl, you’re my day one, so believe me when I say I’ve seen pigs at dinner bell eat neater’en you.” Indignation took on a physical form as Tina lightly shoved at Kendis’ back, causing the young detective to return to their previous position with a soft chuckle, “When it comes to your faves, godzilla wouldn’t dare wrestle.”

“You’re one to talk, Kendis. Felix told me all about your first breakfast at Unit Bravo den of hotness.”

“Tina!”

“Wow, real Brutus move there, Fee.” Kendis muttered to herself. They’d known that letting Felix and Tina chat afterhours was would lead to trouble. But at the time it had seemed more like fun trouble and less trouble for her.

They wiggled again, like a seesaw, one knee tilting down before the other did, as they shrugged unaffectedly and sniffed imperiously, “I was hungry. An’ my apartment flooded.”

“What does the last part got to do with anything?”

“Figure it out Tina.”

Verda looked between the two the way a spectator might in a tennis match. His brows raised and his focus intent. Not solely because watching the two ‘bicker’ was a reflection of his future with his children but because Kendis often avoided speaking about things he’d missed out on when they were — ah, when he had distanced himself from them.

Things were clearly better now and Kendis refused to lament the past; nevertheless, he still felt a sting of guilt as well as regret. She thankfully didn’t begrudge him his upset, and they both were of the mind that he’d been in his right to take time to reflect on such world-shattering news … But he didn’t like there were moments they might have reached out to him yet were unable to do so.

“Well, what I figure is that if I was eating for the first time at my honey’s place –”

Alas, there really was no time for lamenting with Kendis and Tina around.

“Oh my fuckin’ granola, no you wouldn’t’ve you lyin’ liar. An’ he ain’t my hone – Who even calls people ‘their honey’ these days?”

Verda’s lips twitched as he raised a finger, “Eric calls me honey all the time.”

The look Kendis threw in his direction could have peeled paint and rusted an entire car.

#twc: kendis crawford louel #grapecase writes #twc fanfic #twc mc #fanfiction #oc: kendis crawford louel #to answer your asked question: i wasnt on planning to take requests but im not against them #(i know i still owe you one from way back)#i enjoyed this #to answer your unasked question: ewrdwq i accidentally deleted your ask #idk what my brain was processing but it was half asleep and not functioning on full cylinders #so sorry hun!#plasticdodecagon #the wayhaven chronicles #answered prompts

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kirnet · 1 year

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Don’t Wake the Ancients - Chapter 2

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Two hours.

Dorotea and Verda were in that lab for two hours, frantically pouring over whatever evidence they had, checking and checking and triple checking the blood to see if exhaustion was just taking its toll. Verda had taken the news well at first, his jaw set, but over time he paled, his hands beginning to shake. He excused himself to the corner and pulled out his phone, quietly shushing the person on the other end as Dorotea politely pretended that she couldn’t hear.

“I love you, Eric,” he whispered, “and I love the girls.”

“No, no, don't come over. Yes, the captain knows. Yes, the detective-” he glanced up. “Dorotea is working hard. I’ll speak to you soon. Yes, I will.”

Captain Sung had been the first to know, and he assured Dorotea when he called back that a hazmat unit was on the way from the city. Protocol was being followed. Keep your head down and do your job.

God, Tina had been down here, too. And where had she gone? Haley’s? The bar? What was the incubation period? Was it even contagious? She ground her teeth as she meticulously reviewed every centimeter of every slide they had collected, bracing for the moment where she found the missing element and everything would click into place. Some sort of equipment error, obviously, or a possible chemical reaction with the film developer. Perhaps extreme shock had damaged the cells? But she had never seen anything to this extent.

In two hours, nothing.

Verda leaned back against the wall, his head in his hands.

Who would she even call in her final moments? Tina and the captain were already informed, and Lord knew that they had their hands full with their own worries at the moment. Calling anyone in the town would be unwise, their collective psyche on edge and ready to stampede after the discovery of the murder this morning. Maybe Rosa, her old nanny, who used to wash her hair and sing her to sleep?

Had she always felt this feverish, or was she just panicking?

“When I first started here,” Verda mumbled after a long silence, “I was convinced that you hated me. You just glared at everything.” He let out a strained laugh. “Now I know that it’s just your face.”

Dorotea’s brows pulled up. “Verda…”

“Even after knowing you for years, knowing your tells, you still seem so calm to me. Frankly, I’m jealous.” He sighed, removing his glasses and wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “Out of everyone to be stuck in this situation with, I’m glad it’s you.”

“This ain’t over yet,” Dorotea announced, a new fire in her veins. “The hospital has all of the information that we have. If anyone can figure out what’s happening, the team from the city can. We just have to hang tight and wait for them to get here.”

Verda’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “So we’re not curing this? No Langford-Verda vaccine?”

Dorotea shook her head, her dirty blond hair finally dry. “You’re a coroner, I only have my bachelor’s degree. If we do, then I’m expecting a six figure salary.”

Whatever reply Verda had died on his tongue as Dorotea’s phone rang. She snatched it up. “Langford.”

“Detective.” Captain Sung’s voice was clipped. “We are on the way to the station now. I wanted to give you as much warning as I could. The health concerns have been cleared.”

“Cleared?” Dorotea and Verda shared a glance, aghast. “Cleared by who?”

There was a pause. “By Rebecca.”

Verda’s eyes widened. “That Rebecca?”

But Dorotea didn’t hear him. All air had left her lungs, left the room, filling them with disinfectant and dust.

“Detective?”

Her teeth were bound together, muzzled. She could not separate them, could not even move a finger.

“Dorotea?”

A knock at the door.

Everything adrift in Dorotea snapped back into place, giving her vertigo. Still, she stood, straightened her back and adjusted her lab coat. “Captain, I need to note that I strongly disagree with this course of action and still recommend quarantine of the station.”

“Your opinion is noted. Open the door.”

Verda just shrugged at her look.

Dorotea shuffled over and unlocked the deadbolt.

Multiple figures crowded the narrow stairwell before her, all uncomfortably shuffling for space, but Dorotea looked past them, her gaze finding Captain Sung in the back. “Apologies, Captain,” she started before the woman in front could move forward. “I was the one who broke lab protocol and therefore am at fault. Verda is blameless.”

“Oh, Dorotea.”

Rebecca’s voice was oh so soft, cutting Dorotea like a fine blade. She finally shifted her gaze to her, Rebecca’s heels clacking with every step. She placed a well-manicured hand on Dorotea’s shoulder. “It’s been so long.”

Rebecca was tall, about Dorotea’s height, though she towered over her with the added inches from her shoes. Her pantsuit was perfectly tailored, emphasizing the lean tone of her body. Straight nose, stern brow, full lips and cheeks, all on full display, her long summer blond hair braided neatly over her shoulder.

Almost the spitting image of Dorotea.

Dorotea stiffened. “Yes, it has.” She stepped back, Rebecca’s hand falling away. “You cleared this? What is it, then? I’ve never heard of anything like it.”

“We- my team and I-” Rebecca gestured to the four strangers behind her, “-have encountered this a few times before. To our best knowledge, it's the aftermath of a rare mutation that increases the amount of enzymes in the bloodstream, leading to a faster rate of cell death than normal. While incredibly confusing to come across, it is completely harmless and completely localized to the individual.” The corner of her lip quirked up. “Your instincts were good, though. Had it been something dangerous, you would have maximized everyone’s safety.”

Verda and Dorotea locked eyes. She glanced back at Rebecca, mouth open, before snapping it shut. “I thought you worked in security?” she finally asked, lips pursed.

Rebecca nodded. “I do.”

“And that involves encountering rare blood mutations?”

“Yes,” the man behind Rebecca snapped in a distinctly British accent. “It does.”

Dorotea finally spared him a glare. He was broad as a barn, tall, the strength of his limbs clear even under a pea coat and a pair of cargo pants. The harsh lighting did him no favors, bleaching his already pallid skin and short-cropped blond hair. Whatever look he was giving her was obscured by the rusty tint of aviator glasses perched atop a proud aquiline nose.

“Well, then we’ll need a full write-up of whatever you can offer about this mutation,” Dorotea eventually grunted, fingers balled in her lab coat. “If it affects other parts of the body, we don’t want our results-”

“Langford.”

Two pairs of brown eyes snapped to the captain.

“I think Doctor Verda would like to go home.”

“I-” Verda had removed his glasses, his red-rimmed eyes fully visible now. Dorotea’s heart fell somewhere into her abdomen. She placed a firm hand on his back. “Yes, of course. Can you get home by yourself?”

Verda nodded, the relief instant on his face. “Yes, yes I can. We can discuss this later, I just need- I-”

“It’s alright.” Captain Sung pointed his square chin up the stairs. “And take tomorrow off, too.”

Wasting no time, Verda threw his belongings together and scurried up the stairs, the glasses askew on his face.

Heavy air settled on Dorotea’s shoulders. She was then acutely aware of Janet’s corpse to the side of her, still waiting forever patiently on the table. “I should clean this up,” she murmured. “We can continue this later?”

“Yes, of course,” Rebecca sighed, taking another step forward. “Though, if you need anything…”

Whatever she had planned to say was halted by Dorotea’s withering glare.

Dorotea was sure her staircase didn’t used to be this long.

She trudged up the steps to her apartment, her boots knocking against the edges as the light flickered above her. Built a little unevenly on top of Mr. Brian’s hardware store, the one bedroom was a steal, Brian offering her the place for dirt cheap. The pipes groaned in the colder weather, but they never leaked, and she had to light the back burner of her stove with a match, but Mr. Brian was always quick with any repairs that she couldn’t manage by herself.

The whole unit might have been smaller than her bedroom as a child, but it was hers, all hers.

It took a few tries to get her lock unstuck (push in, then up, then turn the key). She shambled in, hung her dripping hat on the hook by the door, and kicked it closed. Idly, her eyes roamed over her collection of photos and frames that covered almost every available inch of wall. A fine layer of dust covered all of the knick-knacks gathered up on her scratched wooden furniture, all bought second-hand from rummage sales or gifted by a kindly neighbor. She brushed her finger over the five remaining strings on her father’s guitar propped up against the couch, the sixth long since snapped.

Her boots were the next to go, kicked off into some corner, then her jacket and shirt, until she was wriggling out of her damp jeans in the bathroom, the shower head coughing as it tried to bring up warm water. She carded a hand through her hair- short and choppy, cut by her own hands in this very bathroom- a deep sigh growing in her rib cage.

No, that was impossible.

She had barely been able to hide her shaking hand when the man spoke, his deep voice immediately putting her on edge.

There was no way that the man she maced in the forest was currently walking around with working eyesight, and there was certainly no way that he was a part of her mother’s team.

Steam rolled out of the shower, fogging up the mirror. Dorotea stepped in, scalding water rolling down her bony body. There was a logical explanation for this. She was exhausted, her emotions were running high. That, mixed with the memories from the witch’s cabin, were a recipe for jumping to conclusions. She needed sleep, a square breakfast when she awoke, and maybe a new habit of mindful breathing.

Feeling slowly returned to her numb toes. No, she was just accusatory because Rebecca had shown up unannounced. Everything would be sorted out in the morning.

Water burned her back.

She stepped out, skin now pink, and blindly fumbled for a towel before realizing that she had never grabbed one. She picked her shirt off from the floor, dried herself, and shambled over to her bed, not even bothering to turn off the light before climbing under the quilts.

The pattering rain pulled her into sleep instantly.

A square meal turned into a packet of instant oatmeal and a reheated cup of yesterday’s coffee, but Dorotea had made sure to take a few deep breaths as she lumbered down the stairs, Mr. Brian’s ruddy face greeting her from behind the store counter as he unlocked the register. Her windshield wipers worked overtime as her truck inched towards the station, water sloshing against her tires. Usually the other side of the road would be packed with cars, their headlights blinding her as they headed out of town. But the rains made it too dangerous to handle coal, so the majority of Wayhaven’s men remained in bed, at least for the time being.

Len was still at the front desk when she entered the station, some thick book about World War I open in front of him. He greeted her with a tired smile.

“Any trouble last night?” Dorotea asked, shaking her hat off as she went to unlock her office.

“A few calls of people thinking that they saw some stranger outside their window, but they all seemed to realize that it was just the wind or a neighbor taking their dog out.” Len shook his head. “And Miss Benedict called. She wants to know when’s a good time to come in and present her, uh, theories.”

Dorotea deflated. “Christ, doesn’t that woman ever sleep? Thanks, Len. I can hold down the fort until Douglas gets here.”

They said their goodbyes. Dorotea combed through the inbox on her desk. She hadn’t been able to go through the statements Tina took yesterday. No one heard anything, no one saw anything. Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy both confirmed that they were asleep in bed for the whole night. Lance Huttle, the Abernathy’s farm hand, said he had spent his whole night at his house. Though he lived alone, one of the neighbor’s kids claimed that his truck had remained in the driveway when she went to bed around 2 a.m.

Dorotea walked to the corner of her office with the statements in hand. Her whiteboard was usually reserved for help with Garret’s homework or Tina’s doodles (one of Dorotea permanently lived in the upper corner, absurdly big cattleman hat and under eye bags the source of much teasing), but today it would have an actual use. Careful to preserve her portrait, she wiped it clean and started fresh. The farmhouse door was found ajar, and according to Abernathy it was always chained and padlocked at night. She’d have to track down the chain to see if it was cut or if the lock were somehow picked. She’d get Tina to- no, Tina was heading into the city now. Dorotea would do it after visiting Janet’s apartment-

“Dorotea?”

The whiteboard marker squeaked as her hand suddenly stilled. She squared her shoulders. “Good morning, Rebecca.”

Rebecca frowned at the formal tone, but it was quickly schooled back into a neutral expression as four familiar shapes entered behind her. “How are you after last night?”

“Able to work.” Dorotea crossed her arms. “Did Mayor Friedman ever contact the city, or were you contacted instead?”

“We were already in Wayhaven. The city contacted us, actually. We have experience with savage killings such as this.” Rebecca stepped to the side, fully revealing the people behind her. “Dorotea, I would like you to meet my team, Unit Bravo. They will be assisting you on this case. Bravo, meet my daughter.”

Dorotea bit her cheek at the pride dripping from her mother’s voice. “I assume you already went above my head and got the mayor and captain to sign off on this?”

Straightening the braid over her shoulder, Rebecca sighed. “Both of them encouraged this union. This killer is top priority for us, and Wayhaven is out of practice dealing with something like this. Working together is the safest option for the town.”

Before Dorotea could answer, she gestured a man forward, one that had been subtly shifting his weight from foot to foot. He was absurdly tall, handsome, a charming smile lifting his graceful cheeks as he stepped towards her. His dark hair was swept into a bun, loose waves falling around his face in a way that Dorotea would usually think was done painstakingly in front of a mirror, though she believed that they really were effortless. His leather jacket rustled as he reached a tan hand out. “Nathaniel Sewell. But please, call me Nate.”

Nate’s grip was firm but gentle as Dorotea took his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

A woman bounded forward as Nate receded. She flashed an easy smile as she grabbed Dorotea’s hand, her pearl teeth almost glowing against her warm dark skin. Easily the shortest of the bunch, she wore a bright outfit of a purple scarf, patterned raincoat, and a lemon yellow beanie that hid most of her coiled hair. “Farah Hauville. Charmed,” she purred as she brought her lips down to Dorotea’s skin, her thick New Orleans accent dripping from every word.

“Less pleased.” Dorotea snatched her hand away, though it was hard to tear her gaze from Farah’s glimmering amber eyes.

To her credit, the rejection rolled right off Farah’s back. She shrugged, smile still gracing her full lips.

The next two refused to stop glowering, so Rebecca stepped in. “This is Agent Morgan,” she announced, gesturing to a woman with tan skin and a smattering of freckles. She had a wolfish look to her, angular, the steel-glint of her gray eyes and the sharpness of her cheeks at odds with the curvaceous build of the rest of her body. Her hair fell in thick layers around her face, some of them ending at the chord of leather that loosely hung from her neck, a heavy crystal pulling it down. Morgan tucked it into her shirt before Dorotea could examine it.

“Just Morgan?” Dorotea asked when she made no move to greet her. “Or is Agent your name?”

Cold hard silence.

Dorotea sucked in a breath, counting down in her head. “No disrespect meant, ma’am.” When Morgan just scoffed, she turned to the last man.

She didn’t need to consider him for long. Mostly, she was just wondering if he always wore those aviators during the darkest parts of the day. “Commanding Agent du Mortain,” the man from the lab boomed, arms crossed.

Nate shook his head, obviously embarrassed. “Adam…”

“Have we met before, Commanding Agent?” Dorotea asked, enunciating his title clearly through her drawl.

The agent- Adam, according to Nate- peered at her over his aviators. “Obviously not. This is my first time in Wayhaven.”

Dorotea frowned. “Guess you got one of them voices, then. Could have sworn I heard you before.”

“Your kind tends to have trouble with any type of nuance. It is not surprising that my accent would confuse you.”

“I have other matters to attend to,” Rebecca announced before Dorotea could snap back. She glided over to the door, resting her hand on the knob as she turned back. “I expect you to perform your duties to the best of your abilities.”

She left as Douglas shuffled into the station, barely looking up from his phone to avoid colliding with her.

The five stood in silence, wearily eyeing each other. Eventually, Dorotea cleared her throat. “Well, let’s get right to it, then. Our victim is Janet-“

Adam raised a hand. “We already have all of the most recent details of the case. Going over them again would be a waste of time.”

The stack of papers under Dorotea’s arm grew heavier. “I don’t even have all of the most recent info.”

“Hence why we were brought in.” Adam fully removed his glasses now, his glaring green eyes as pale as everything else about him. “Our specialty is succeeding where others fail.”

Dorotea’s nostrils flared. “Excuse me?”

“What Adam means,” Nate quickly added, waving his hands apologetically, “is that we have more experience on these cases-“

“No, I understand perfectly well what he meant.” Dorotea, only a few inches shorter than Adam, stepped into his personal space, her hat making up the difference. He raised a brow at her. “It has barely been 24 hours and you want to question my competence? I don’t know what- what on God’s green Earth do you think you’re doing?” She whipped around to Morgan, who didn’t even spare her a glance as she lit a cigarette with a silvery lighter.

“Smoking.” Farah cackled, gleefully watching the exchange.

“You can’t- Hold it!” Whatever lasting thread of composure Dorotea had managed to keep snapped as Adam reached for the door knob. “Where are you going?”

“To perform a duty you obviously can’t,” Adam grunted. “I grow weary of this. Each of us will go out and canvas the town. You may stay here and continue to make excuses.”

Nicotine stung Dorotea’s nose as she inhaled sharply. “Look,” she started, removing her hat to run a hand through her choppy hair. “I apologize. I am acting unprofessionally, and you’re right, I am making excuses.” Her voice softened. “I’m out of my depth. I have no experience with solving murders, as a cop or a medical examiner. Your expertise will be invaluable, and I am grateful to have you as a resource. But you admitted yourself that you don’t know Wayhaven.” She gestured to the row of buildings across the street, windows aglow in the dark morning. “You don’t know her people, her history, her rhythm. If you try to go out there as you are now, no one will give you the time of day.

“But I know her,” she continued. “And I want to keep her safe. You are welcome to your opinions on me and this station, but the fact remains that we both want this killer put away. You need me as much as I need you. Command your team, but you will treat me as an equal.”

To her surprise, Adam removed his hand from the door. Nate straightened, his relief obvious. “You’re right, Detective. Where would you recommend we start?”

“Janet’s apartment,” she answered in a breath. “So far, we’re flying blind. We need any insights we can glean from her life. Barring that, we need to wait for Verda to come back tomorrow to finish some lab work.”

“Take Farah and Morgan,” Adam grumbled as he put his shades back on. “If the ��rhythm’ of this place is so important, then Nate can spend the morning finding it.”

Farah cheered, kicking her legs as she perched on the edge of Dorotea’s desk. Morgan’s scowl deepened. “Wonderful,” she growled, smoke curling around her lips.

With a hop, Farah took Morgan’s and Dorotea’s arms in hers. “Looks like we have a girl’s trip.”

“Is it always so fucking freezing here?” Morgan chattered around her cigarette, arms wrapped tightly around her body as the trio followed Mrs. Giles down the hall. Farah mumbled an agreement, her scarf covering her nose.

Dorotea chuckled as Mrs. Giles unlocked the door labeled 203. “Then let’s solve this case before the snow comes. That would outright kill you.”

Wayhaven may be small, but she was sprawling. Plenty of people had land to farm, orchards of apples and cherries and space for livestock and horses that Dorotea sometimes took along the forest paths. Some families had been here as settlers, their old log cabins replaced piece by piece into what they lived in now. If you had money, like Rebecca or Mayor Friedman, you lived at the north end of town, far away from the meager bustle of the town square. Those folk had lawns, manicured rose bushes, sprawling driveways that came to an end at a well-insulated house, though the rain didn’t discriminate.

And if you didn’t have money, you lived here. Most of the miners, the handful of school teachers, farm hands, and those relying on government assistance stuck to the apartment complexes just outside the center of town. Rent was affordable, usually, though lately Mrs. Giles had made a habit of raising it annually. Her only income since her poor husband died, she had cried at a town hall when her tenants complained. How else was she supposed to afford to live with the mortgage of three complexes?

“She was curious,” Mrs. Giles started as Dorotea entered the bare apartment. No couch, no table, no furniture save for a sleeping bag against the far wall and a pile of paper dishes in the kitchen trash. The bathroom door was open, and from where she stood Dorotea could see toiletries on the sink and clothes draped atop the shower curtain. The door to the bedroom was closed. “She only came here to sleep, according to the neighbors. Didn’t make an effort to get to know anyone.”

Ah, the good old rumor mill. “Anything else they might have told you?”

“Not to speak ill of the dead, but she was a bit of a-“ she glanced over at a shivering Morgan. “Well, let’s say that she didn’t dress for the weather, bless her heart.”

Dorotea rolled her eyes as she snapped on her gloves. “Thank you, ma’am. We can take it from here.”

Mrs. Giles huffed at the obvious dismissal, though she hovered around the front door for a bit before finally closing it. “This place stinks,” Morgan growled, nose pressed into her black leather jacket.

“I can open the window if you want.”

Morgan scoffed. “Hilarious. What are we doing here?”

“This place has a definite serial killer vibe,” Farah attempted to whisper as she poked at the sleeping bag with her foot.

“I don’t see any signs of struggle.” Morgan glanced at the door knob- intact- and around the bare walls. “I doubt she was taken from here.”

“Please try to avoid touching anything if you’re not wearing gloves.” Dorotea walked straight over to the closed door and pulled it open. She narrowed her eyes as light fumes wafted past her into the rest of the apartment.

Before she could look into the room, Morgan gasped. Dorotea swung around, quickly closing the distance and putting a hand on her back as she gagged. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s just sensitive to smells,” Farah tried to explain as she frantically looked around the room. Eventually she settled on the window. She raced over and lifted it up, allowing fine mist to blow into the room.

Morgan’s coughing died down, enough that she could stand and slam the window shut, almost cutting off Farah’s fingers in the process. “I think I have a mask in my glovebox if you need it,” Dorotea said, sliding her jacket off and holding it out.

“I’m fine.” Morgan slapped it away. “What the hell is in that room?”

“Janet had traces of film developer on her fingers,” Dorotea explained as she walked back to the room. Morgan and Farah stayed where they were.

She stepped fully into the room, careful to keep the door half-open behind her. Red light bathed her, turning everything into a bloody monochrome. The sole window in the room was covered with cardboard and tape, and the only sign that it was even there was the faint sound of rain hitting the glass. Two folding tables were set up on either wall, each covered in a variety of equipment and containers. “It’s a dark room. Where you develop camera film,” she called out after inspecting the set up.

“So our victim is a photographer,” she continued as she came into the living room. Her eyes snapped to Farah. “So, what’s missing?”

Farah tilted her head, almost cat-like. “What?”

“I thought you agents had all the facts. Quickly, now.” Dorotea snapped her fingers.

Morgan fished for a cigarette as Farah thought for a moment. Her eyes exploded into saucers. “There’s no camera!”

Dorotea nodded. “Good. No camera, no backpack, no laptop. There’s no film in the dark room, so I don’t think she’s developed any of it yet. My guess? We find the camera, then we find where Janet was killed.”

Smoke drifted towards the stained ceiling. “And how do we go about finding a single camera in hundreds of miles of woods?”

When the rain stopped, dogs could be called in. There might even be a lingering scent to follow. Maybe they would be lucky and find it in a clearing before the first snowfall. Dust it for prints, prints that were already in the system, and bring a bastard to justice. Janet Greenland could rest peacefully.

Sometimes miracles like that happened in Wayhaven.

But Dorotea, optimistic as she could be, was a woman of logic. Hope had its uses. Hope was necessary. Someone could stumble across the camera and possibly solve the case within a day. But the only newcomers she had heard of in Wayhaven were Janet and Unit Bravo. Statistically, the murderer was from the community, her community, the very people she would do anything to pay back the kindness they had shown her her whole life.

“I don’t know,” she answered instead, staring blankly at her reflection in the window.

Morgan and Farah were already back at the station when Dorotea arrived, just like they had been at Dorotea’s apartment. “Our agency has better cars,” Morgan had grumbled after Dorotea offered them a ride in her truck. “They don’t smell like wet dog.”

Their jackets drip-dried on the coat pegs in Dorotea’s office as they milled about, waiting for their other half to return. Nate eventually trailed in, shaking the rain from his arms. “How did it go?” he asked.

“The detective’s only lead is maybe hidden somewhere in the woods, if it’s not in someone else’s possession or washed halfway out to sea.” Morgan leaned against the wall, a healthy distance from where Farah curled up in a spare chair Dorotea had stolen from Tina’s desk.

When Nate made a confused face, Dorotea explained. “How did you find the town?”

“It’s nice. Quiet.” Nate pulled up a chair and sat across from Dorotea, his hands steepled in his lap. “I stopped by, what was it, Haley’s? She only had good things to say about you,” he added with a smile.

“Haley’s only got good things to say about everyone,” Dorotea said, cheek resting on her fist. Her notepad sat in front of her, scribbled with anything her ever-tiring brain could cough up. She could try to talk the mayor into offering up a reward for finding any other evidence, but sending everyone out into weather like this seemed like it would cause her more headache than anything else. Verda and Tina would be back tomorrow, hopefully with new leads of their own. Until then…

Dorotea sighed. Tina always had her nose in one of those god-awful detective books. They had even formed a bit of a book club over the years, cackling with wine glasses in hand as they read the smut scenes aloud. They were terrible, yes, but they had a way of compressing time into an exciting spectacle, not a slog of awkward waiting.

“You’re doing well, Detective.” She looked up at the sound of Nate’s honeyed voice. “And you have all of us right behind you.”

She attempted a weak smile. “Thanks. But I’ll believe you when I have this jackass in my holding cell.”

Morgan opened her mouth for a quip but suddenly stopped, her nose wrinkling. A few seconds later, Nate and Farah followed, their heads snapping to look through the window in Dorotea’s office to the welcome desk.

Lance Huttle trudged in, the hood of his raincoat drawn low over his face, but there was no mistaking him. A man accustomed to years of hard labor, Lance was massive, giving the Commanding Agent a run for his money. His lopsided shoulders moved under his coat as he removed the hood, his other arm busy protecting a plastic container from the elements. Blue eyes brighter than the lake on a summer day twinkled as Dorotea stood from her desk.

“Hey, missy,” he greeted in his gruff voice, giving Dorotea a side hug. Douglas spared the interaction a glance before turning back to his computer.

“What brings you out here?” Dorotea asked.

Lance scratched his scruffy neck. “Mrs. Abernathy made these just for you. She wants you to know how much we appreciate all of your hard work.”

Wayhaven had a hard time forgetting and an even harder time forgiving. The sins, or the boons, of your father were yours to carry, something both Lance and Dorotea had in common. It was long before Dorotea’s time- and hell, even Lance’s- when Wayhaven went on strike, refusing to work in the Friedman’s mines until their demands for higher wages were met. They weren’t, and the scabs started rolling in, most of them too desperate for a paycheck to even pay attention from the animosity from the town. Lance’s father had been among them, and while he might have once been a union man himself, he had a new wife with a new child growing inside her and what wouldn’t a father do for his young family? So he tolerated the abuse, and Lance grew up and became a miner just like his daddy, the strike long since over.

But when the layoffs started, the coal company claiming that the new safety equipment was simply too expensive to keep everyone on board, the town still remembered. Only Abernathy had offered him a job, and that was grudgingly, not that he would never admit that now. Dorotea’s generation mostly rolled their eyes when hearing the series of events, but they all still knew the tale well.

Dorotea took the container with a smile. “You know I can’t talk about the case.”

“I know,” Lance chuckled. “But Mrs. Abernathy thought it was worth a try.”

She popped it open. An ocean of thumbprint cookies filled it, each with a center of apple preserves. Douglas’s head snapped up as the aroma of shortbread filled the office. Dorotea held the container out to him, and Douglas wasted no time grabbing a handful, chipmunk-cheeks straining against the sheer volume he stuffed into his mouth. The memory of last night slammed into her as she stared at the sweets, and she set them on Douglas’s desk without taking one. “Thanks. You wouldn’t have anything more to offer as a statement, would you?”

Lance’s smile fell a tad. “Sorry, Tea, but no. I know the Abernathys are real shaken up about the whole thing, but if you ask me-” his voice lowered, and he leaned down to Dorotea’s ear- “Mrs. Abernathy is enjoying all of the attention. You should’ve seen how many casseroles came in through her door this morning.”

The door opened in Garret slid in, his red hair dark against his forehead. After getting a nod from Dorotea, he settled into Tina’s desk, though he grabbed a handful of cookies on the way.

“Well, give her my best.” She patted Lance’s solid back. “And keep an eye out for me, would ya?”

“Anything for you, missy.”

“Uh, Detective?” Douglas called as Lance excused himself. “You’ve got a call.”

She frowned at his prominent wince. “Who?”

“Miss Benedict.”

#dont wake the ancients #twc #dorotea langford #my writing #heeheehee im putting her in situations

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