#i did this faster than expected i think ill have it by thursday ?
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up to important stuff
#i did this faster than expected i think ill have it by thursday ?#waugh its turning out nice im happy :)#mar's midnight rambles
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Verstappen reveals how hard virus hit him ahead of Saudi Arabian GP | 2023 Australian Grand Prix
Championship leader Max Verstappen says he is looking forward to the break in racing between the Australian Grand Prix and Baku after admitting his illness before Jeddah affected him more than he expected.
Verstappen missed Thursday media commitments in Saudi Arabia after Red Bull announced he had been battling a stomach bug. He returned to the paddock on Friday and completed the race weekend without incident.
Speaking ahead of the Australian Grand Prix this weekend, Verstappen admitted he has still not completely recovered from the effects of his illness and will use the long gap before the next race in Azerbaijan to recover.
“A couple of weeks ago I would say that I was not looking forward to [the break],” Verstappen said. “But then I got really ill and I’ve just been struggling a bit since that time, especially the last race.
“So for me now those three weeks is just getting back to like full fitness, getting a full programme in. So in a way it’s probably nice now.”
The large break in racing was caused by the cancellation of the Chinese Grand Prix due to ongoing logistical complications over Covid. Verstappen says that if he had not been sick, he would not have welcomed the gap in competition.
“Normally if you just feel well, I think I would also prefer to keep racing,” he said.
“It has nothing to do with looking into the car, trying to make it faster – I think that’s a natural process – but it’s a bit weird to have like three weeks off and especially that early on in the season.”
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After missing media day in Jeddah on Thursday, Verstappen dominated the early weekend in Saudi Arabia, topping all three practice sessions and Q1 before a driveshaft failure dropped him to 15th on the grid. In the race, the Red Bull driver recovered to finish on the podium in second behind team mate Sergio Perez.
Verstappen says he underestimated the impact his illness in the lead up to the race weekend in Saudi Arabia would have on his fitness in Jeddah.
“I refused to believe it myself for a long time, because at home I was really ill – I could barely just walk around,” he explained. “I felt like I was just missing a lung.
“I got to the weekend really believing that it was gone, because normally when when you get sick, like two or three days after, you’re normally alright, you can just do your workouts. But then when I jumped in the car in FP1, even just one performance lap I felt like I had to recover for two laps to be able to breathe normally.
“So it definitely did affect me throughout the weekend, which I didn’t like because it was one of the first races where I just felt like I was physically limited and that’s really frustrating when you’re on the car.”
He says he is in better condition for this weekend’s race. “I’ve been trying to work on it, trying to improve it and I do think that it has improved a lot. So normally this weekend should be alright.
“I think it was just all coming together and Jeddah is quite a tough track in general – when you don’t feel well, it hits hard on you. But these things unfortunately happen, you catch a virus and stuff. So hopefully from now onwards for the rest of the year, I should be okay.”
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August
These days keep moving faster and faster. Thursdays feel like Mondays..the days feel forever off.
i feel like acknowledging how much time has past means im paying attention; i dont really want to care.
ive come to realize maybe i really have been let down by love. my own expectations; medias representation of what love should be, religious garbage of what love ought to be.
Ive written before how love has always been a sore spot of mine. a bruise that wont leave my body.
being adopted my first thoughts of love were...abandonment- (how one can love something so much and still push to let it go?) the virtue of: if you truly love something you let it go. the ultimate sacrifice. that love, had to be a sacrifice...
same with the religious load they shoved down my throat- christ and his undying love for you and his sacrifice.
love sacrifice love sacrifice
i was taught commit to the ONE you love and youll be happy.
i wanted to be happy.
protecting myself from too many people and focusing on THE ONE.
what was i afraid of? (i suppose i was only afraid of letting down the many..the parents- the lookers) afraid they would think of me some sort of way (wtf...)
was i really trying to find true happiness.
i think i was just trying to be loved. experience love.
i wanted more love from my parents
more love from my friends- looked for love in all places. (except within myself- hating myself makes loving myself difficult.)
(hate yourself?!) sometimes im not sure i know who i am unless somethings added to me. HIS GF, HER best friend, HER daughter. HIS wife. HIS mother. but who am i and why dont i like myself.
lately ive been asking myself...
what it is i want.
what is it that i deserve.
what is it that i even like
this next chapter is about what love should be
this next chapter is what im afraid of.
I think at first there are no expectations. just trials and errors. realizing you like it more when someone says or does that verse i hate it when they do that. trial and error though lots of trial and error. but once that trial is over- you deff have a better understanding of even your own needs. what is it that i require to function normally today. to function better, to function.
some need more than others. some need less...
i woke up oneday needing more. feeling as if i wasnt being watered. feeling like i had been walking in a dessert and just woke up. dry mouth. malnourished. like the house plant you forget that sits far away- you admire from a far and yet forget to water consistently.
i felt tired in my soul. i tired id never felt before.
ive felt hurt; used, abandoned. but never so tired before. i felt like i just needed to stop. i wondered why my partner wasnt there to help me or support me. guide me, carry me.
i felt wounded by love. what was happening. hadnt i followed all the rules. why does this hurt so much.
for a min there- in the pain, i thought- well if i could just have more than one person who loved me, this lack of love wouldnt hurt. (but it would...it would still hurt regardless.) it was the thought it self that rooted. why wasnt i getting the love i wanted. needed. what did i have to do to get this love.
i can see my soul radiating its need- its hunger, its hurt and with that; others could see it. she needs something....who is she
im afriad i can not make this next step. i can feel my heart beating out of my chest from anxiety.
i want to be seen. and heard.
im afraid to be hurt. as if im riding a bike for the first griping the handle bars- telling myself to petal- nervously shaking. i cant move.
im afraid that every moment from the this moment ill just continue to let people dictate what i want and how i want it.
Im afraid to fall in love again with someone only to be let down.
the optimist in me tell me what i tell my single friends. that all people are lessons and this ones been learned- onto the next. that the hurt wont last. that you have to try; you have to continue. each person simply teaches us something about ourselves or them and that lesson prepares us for lifes next obstacle. its all just..trial and error
but the realist in me goes. i cant do this again. i cant just lay out all my insecurites and my secrets
this time im feeling more myself that before. im vulnerable all over again. im afraid to get hurt. im afraid to trust someone with my happiness and expect them to keep me happy. (it isnt suppose to be that way- it doesnt work that way)
to keep and be kept.
each of my lovers have taken something me.
one my innocence.
one my dignity
& one my identity.
Im not sure i can trust again. im not sure i can open up. i wanted to be so ready to blossom and the first site of the sun i shriveled away. im afraid to let them down; that they wont like what they see.
im afraid every day and every night the multitude of scenerios will forever haunt me.
what if i could find a lover who doesnt hurt me? who could give and water. what if i could blossom to be the best version of myself. im afraid evrything is at face value these days and that my soul isnt worth much. a pretty face is a pretty face...is...a pretty face.
i deserve the love i want. but im afraid my insecurities have gotten the best of me.
what do i do now.
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Warsaw with Alika
So, here we are again, back in Minsk.
This was quite an important trip for us with Alika – living together in a one room AirBnb for about two weeks, caring for each other, planning, making decisions. It was just one trip that made us a little bit closer.
We arrived in Warsaw on Saturday. The way how we decided to go was also a funny story – we were in sort of a fight, Alika planned to go to Warsaw alone, she got to the tsna house to collect her clothes that were still there. This time we had to wait longer than normal – 8 minutes, so we smoked a cigarette together. During it we got to talk for the first time in the visit. I conveyed I love her and that I’m sorry... One minute left till the taxi arrives and she says: “Pack your stuff and go with me”.
In the taxi she checked when the best flight were. Turned out Saturday was the best option, so we booked a ticket for Saturday. We arrive at the apartment of her parents and start looking for places to stay. I think we got super lucky with this one – a whole apartment for 16 euro a night. It was small, but we didn’t have to share anything with other people, and it was rather big for that price. I would say it was an amazing found.
Getting her work laptop out of the country legally was a whole different story, and she did it.
About the MVV
What turned out was that she would get it faster than expected. Monday was her appointment – Thursday was the next to get her sticker. So really, we were done with our tasks in Warsaw. However we decided to stay because we paid for the accommodation and were already in the city, why not make use of it?
Meeting with Crys and Sasha was also very nice.
Let’s write a conclusion because I realize I am all over the place with writing. I don’t really like how I do it, Ill have to become better.
Travelling to another city because you have something to do there, but then also getting to explore a bit on the side is really amazing. You don’t put pressure on yourself for not being able to experience the city 100%, you don’t really care. You are still working, which means it’s not your vacation time that is so rare, although, I have vacation time all the time.
This post is a mess.
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“and they were in quarantine” [2]
Cao Yuchen // ‘OMG They were quarantined together’ AU
“(y/n)! How dare you hang up on me like that!!”
You had just opened the front door of the company building and was trying to hold it still while dragging your bit suitcase and bag inside, when you heard the voice of your friend Yifei calling you from the other end of the lobby, and the sound of someone running towards you.
“(y/n), I’m so mad I could make a scene right here right now, do you know how worried you made me? I couldn’t sleep last night, thinking about how things turned out… please tell me you are not going to sleep over at Yuchen’s.”
You let out a groan when the box of succulents you were holding almost fell down when your suitcase hit the door and made you lose your balance, “Yi.. Yifei, please, we can talk about this later but can you lend me a hand for a moment?” A pair of businessmen walked beside you and gave you a nasty look: you were trying to stand still, holding paper and boxes with your arms while trying to lift the suitcase with your foot, which also held the handle of your bag. You felt like crawling into a hole and hiding.
Yifei stopped complaining and held the door for you while you pulled yourself together, and then both of you took all of your baggage and placed it next to your office desk, where it would rest until the time you’d leave work.
Feeling like the worst part of the day was already over, you sat down and thanked Yifei, who, even though she had been looking at you with a gaze that kills during the whole process, had done most of the job at moving the heavy boxes and suitcase.
“All set. Can we talk about why I should let my friend sleep over a stranger’s house now? Because I know the answer to that question: I shouldn’t” Yifei sat down abruptly next to you and handed you a can of to-go coffee from the vending machine.
“Yifei… I know it all sounds like a terrible idea, but please… just loosen up a bit. Yuchen is not a stranger” The cold surface of the can made you get goose bumps, and you let it rest on your lap for a minute, enjoying the sensation. Feeling that coldness felt like the only real thing at that moment, everything else was so messed up...
“Oh yeah, not a stranger at all, I almost forgot about the ‘I’d say we are rather acquaintances. I helped him and now he owes me one, but that’s it’ thing… And how can your landlord just send you an email and expect all of you to receive and read it?! she should have made sure everyone was notified!!”
“There’s no way of changing that now… at least it’s thursday, so I will have the whole weekend to look for a new apartment. If I start looking for ads between today and tomorrow, I may have something by Saturday, and I will be able to move between Saturday and Sunday. It’s going to be fine.”
“(y/n), promise me you will call me if anything bad happens… even the smallest and seemingly irrelevant thing…” Your friend looked directly at you, and held your hands between hers.
“I promise…”
“Send me photos of the house and the dog when you are there, and send me a text every time you go to sleep and wake up!” You smiled at the way your friend was behaving, you had never imagined Yifei would be that type of person, “Actually, I have a better idea… I will go and pick you up in the morning so we can come to work together! I’ve always wanted to see Yuchen’s house by myself, and, come on, who wouldn’t want to see a man like him in the morning, that makes anyone’s day!” She kept talking, and you felt like the luckiest girl for having such a great friend, so you pulled her into a hug and rested your head on her shoulder.
“Thank you, Yifei”
She sighed and hugged you closer “Please, don’t mention it… this is what friends are for, dumbass. Now, let’s start working, or else your workaholic brain and our dear superior are going to start shouting at us, and we don’t want that, do we, now?” You laughed, feeling much better than before, and agreed with her, although there was nothing you wanted to do less in that moment than write the reports and sign the documents that awaited you on your desk.
Time went by faster than you thought it would, and in the blink of an eye, it was already time for the lunch break. While walking down the stairs to the canteen, you heard a group of men and women in suits speak hectically while moving their hands up and down and signalling furiously at their phones.
“...they say big companies are already closing up at the other side of the country, and schools and universities are preparing online classes…”
“...that lady who lived three streets above us and her son moved to that city, she definitely was infected last time she visited him…”
“...here, look at what this newspaper says! My husband is already panic-buying too much canned food and toilet paper…”
You didn’t really understand what the fuss was about, so you kept making your way to your friends, who were already sitting at the usual spot, and picked up a tray of food on your way there.
“Hey guys, what’s going on? Is it just me, or are people behaving a bit weirdly today?”
Jiyang smiled at you and slid closer to Yifei so that you could sit by his side.
“Weirdly? What do you mean?”
You put your tray on the table and sat down, “I just walked by a group of really fancy people… but they were all over the place, saying weird things about a virus…”
You felt a cold silence suddenly falling around you, and looked up to meet the eyes of Jiyang, whose smile had disappeared and was now replaced with a weird expression, which matched the one on Yifei’s face.
“(y/n), are you serious right now? do you not now what’s going on about the virus?” Jiyang blinked repeatedly and took a sip of water before continuing, “it’s all over the news right now… It seems very serious.”
“Of course she doesn’t know anything! She has her eyes glued to the reports all day long, and yesterday-” Yifei shut up mid-phrase, wondering if you wanted Jiyang to know about what had happened, but you shook your head slightly, letting her know it was better for her not to say anything about that yet, “what I mean is, do you even know what twitter is, (y/n)?”
“Don’t make fun of me and tell me about it already, Yifei”.
Yifei opened her mouth to say something, but Jiyang was faster, and told you about the mysterious disease that everyone seemed to be talking about, “Apparently a really infectious virus has developed in an area of China, and professionals have estimated that it will spread throughout the whole country in days, so the Government is going to announce the measures that they’re going to take to try to keep it under control.”
You looked at him, holding a spoon full of food in front of your mouth but being incapable of moving your arm, or anything else, for the record.
“You are not being serious.”
“I am being very serious. It mostly affects people who suffer other type of illnesses or respiratory problems, but anyone can catch it, and it’s dangerously contagious.”
You looked at Yifei, expecting a reaction that proved that they were pulling a hidden camera prank on you, but her expression was dead serious, and a frown of concern was starting to form on her forehead.
“Okay… okay, I guess I have to believe this… but come on, guys, we live in the 21st century, a virus is nothing to worry about nowadays.” You played down the situation and resumed eating your meal, which was already starting to cool down, while your friends looked at each other and shrugged.
“That’s true, I’m sure all of this will be forgotten in less than a week, but I can’t help but worry a bit. My grandparents are quite old already, I hope the virus doesn’t arrive here…” Yifei clenched her fists and looked at her lap while speaking up, “Anyway, I agree with you, I don’t think we have to make such a big deal out of it.”
The three of you continued eating, each one lost in their own mind. You didn’t really think again about that virus, as worried as you were about everything else you had to deal with: finding a new apartment, taking all your baggage to Yuchen’s, finishing the reports you had to hand in at the end of the day…
The rest of the day went smoothly after that, excluding the general concern that everyone seemed to have because of the news about the virus. After hours of hard work, the clock stroke eighteen, and it was time to go home. Right You thought to yourself I don’t have a place to call home anymore.
Luckily for you, Yifei had remembered to help you with your bags and boxes, so you picked them up and went to the lobby together. You had to walk slowly and carefully, since the boxes didn’t allow you to see anything in front of you. Because of that, you didn’t notice there was someone standing on your way until you were already on top of him.
“Oh no!” Yifei left the bag she was holding on the floor and quickly caught you before you could fall on the floor, while the boy you had pushed held your other arm to try to steady himself. Fortunately, you hadn’t dropped any of the boxes, and the three of you were still on your feet.
“Ugh! I’m sorry Jiyang! Didn’t see you there!” Jiyang looked at you with a smile on his face and dropped your arm, “I have to be more careful… did I hit you? Does it hurt anywhere?”
“Don’t worry (y/n), it’s nothing! Give me the boxes, I’ll help you…” Jiyang tried to lift a few boxes from your arms, but you pulled them away.
“No!! I mean… it’s okay, don’t worry… I’ll just do it myself.”
“Seriously! Where do you have to take them? I can’t believe they make you carry this much… It’s abusive. Let me help you, please.” He tried to hold the boxes once again, but you turned away and looked a Yifei, asking her to help you.
“Jiyang, leave it, the boxes are hers.”
“Wh… what? Why? What’s all of this?”
You let out a sigh and shrugged, before shooting a reassuring smile towards the boy, “It’s a long story, Jiyang, I will explain everything next time, okay?”
Jiyang looked at both of you and was about to ask something else, but in the last moment decided not to. He didn’t want to be too nosy or make you mad, so he decided to leave things as they were. However, when Yifei left the things she was holding on the floor next to you and proceeded to walk alone to the front door, he looked at you with concern and couldn’t resist inquiring about that, “Wait… Don’t you guys leave together? Why is Yifei leaving alone?”
You stuttered a bit, but managed to seem relaxed and calm, “I have something to do before leaving… Go ahead, Jiyang! I will see you tomorrow! Bye!”
Jiyang wasn’t entirely convinced about leaving you behind, but he glanced once more back to you and waved in farewell before leaving the building. Okay, I’m all alone now. Just waiting for Yuchen, right here, by myself. It’s fine. Hah! This is fine. You kept repeating these words like a mantra, again and again It’s fine, it’s fine…
By the time Yuchen finally arrived in the lobby, you had tried every single couch in the room, had studied every single plant and had discussed everything that could go wrong during the weekend with the photos of the different artists under the company, which were hung all over the walls. You were explaining to Wang Yizhou’s portrait that Yuchen’s dog could possibly have a rare illness that could potentially turn you into a mutant monster that ate green plasma and turned people into goblins, when you heard Yuchen’s footsteps coming out from the elevator. That has to be him. He always walks making sure girls know he is coming, so he can be heard from the other side of the building… Ugh, what a smug.
“Hey, (y/n), were you talking to that picture?” Yuchen lifted one eyebrow and smiled to himself.
“Shut up. Desperate times call for desperate measures”
“Well, then… are you ready to leave?” He looked at you from head to toe and then glanced over the pile of baggage surrounding you.
“Y… Yes… Is your chauffeur taking us?”
“My- what?” Yuchen threw his head back laughing, “Oh, (y/n), come on, is that really the type of person you think I am?”
“Yuchen you are literally a famous actor from a big entertainment company, of course that’s what I think you’re like! Don’t tell me you live in a shack and all those photos online are not really your house…”
“Have you been looking at photos of my house online? Woah, (y/n), you are kind of a stalker, don’t you think?” He ran his hand through his hair and gave you a funny look, “But don’t worry, I do live in that ‘huge ass house’ that’s all over the internet.”
“Hey, hey, don’t brag so much. I know you don’t even have a patio.” You punched him slightly on his arm, and put a box in front of the door so that it wouldn’t close while you moved the rest to Yuchen’s car.
“Hey! I do have one. It’s on the rooftop.” Yuchen picked you bag and suitcase up, and started playing tetris with the different objects so that everything would perfectly fit in the back of his car.
“That’s not a patio, that’s not even a terrace!” You let out a giggle and handed him another pair of boxes. Slowly but diligently, both of you managed to put everything in the car together, and eventually you moved to the front, sat down and plugged in your seatbelts, before Yuchen started the car engine.
“Shut up, that IS a terrace!” You rolled your eyes, tired of the discussion, but also amused.
“Whatever!” Still smiling to yourself, you looked outside and saw people walking on the streets, living a completely regular life. This feels like a movie… But who knows, all of those people could be going through similar things right now, and none of us would now.
#cao yuchen#quarantune au#quarantine scenarios#yuchen scenarios#cao yuchen scenarios#cao yuchen au#slice of life#the untamed boys#TUBS#tubs scenaror#the untamed boys scenarios#cpop#曹煜辰#admin isa
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Rebel With A Cause: Chapter 3
Rebel With A Cause
Sweet Pea x OC (Emma Carter)
Warnings: Emma has very cynical humor so don’t take it too seriously! Also, this is likely going to have some sexual content towards the end so if that’s not your thing I apologize!
About: The summer before one’s senior year in highschool was big. If not one of the most important summers of a young adult’s life. This proved no different in Riverdale. After all of the Gryphons & Gargoyle and gang drama, the town of Riverdale was ready for a quiet summer. However, the incoming senior class of Riverdale had other plans. Sweet Pea, a member of the Southside Serpents, in particular, as the disappearance of his best friend, Fangs, continued to play on his mind, He was determined to raise as much hell as possible to find him. With an unsuspecting Emma Carter falling into Sweet Pea’s life, she helps him through the loss of his best friend. Through investigation and, at times, use of force, Emma and Sweet Pea begin to find that all the drama Riverdale had to offer wasn’t that bad at each other’s side.
After the fight Emma and Gina had shared, Emma was in no mood to be around anyone. So, she sat at home for the rest of the weekend working on anything to distract her. She had found herself in the garage of her home working on motorcycles her dad was hoping to fix up in their free time.
She had made solid progress by the time that Monday came around. She had woken with a newfound sense of commitment to not having the worst summer of her life. Working on the bikes gave her the opportunity to let out the steam that Gina had so kindly helped contribute to.
The bikes were exactly what she needed to do to get her mind off of what was going on. Riverdale’s drama was proving to seep into her own life and it was pretty exhausting for Emma.
So, Emma sat idly at the front desk waiting for something to happen that wasn’t overly boring for her, but not too exciting that she was going to get wrapped up in anything she didn’t want a part in. However, Monday proved to be an incredibly slow day for the shop. Solitaire flicked across her computer as she stacked the cards, mindlessly clicking.
God, she really needed to find something better to do at work.
Maybe she could start reading for fun?
Emma laughed humorlessly at her own thoughts, knowing full-well that she wasn’t about to pick up a book. She enjoyed reading, but her concentration level was little to nothing.
Wasn’t summer supposed to be fun? So far, Emma had proved to herself that was an absolute lie. Fun was the exact opposite of what Emma had been dealing with. Work was boring, Gina and her were in an argument, and she had yet to even find something worth her time.
Summer was anything but fun.
The front door opened, forcing Emma’s eyes from the screen. She saw a pale boy with jet-black hair walk through the door with a pretty blonde girl. She recognized them both from Riverdale, but couldn’t quite place their names.
She truly was an anti-social weirdo. She’d never realized how few people she’d spent the time to learn the name of.
“Hello,” the girl greeted her, a bright smile on her face. She had a tight ponytail in her hair that looked like it was painful. She was also wearing far too much pastel that made Emma want to shield her eyes. She looked odd next to the dark-haired boy next to her. He had a leather jacket on, which Emma could only assume was gang related. Beyond that, he was wearing a grey hat that looked like a crown on the sides. For a nice summer day, he looked like he was living in the dead of winter.
She had a stifle a chuckle on that.
“Hi, how can i help you?” Emma asked, trying her hardest to get better at this whole “customer service” thing. She was beginning to find that asking what they wanted got them out of her hair a lot quicker.
“Uh, looking for Sweet Pea. is he here?” the guy asked. “I’m a friend of his and he’s fixing up my bike.”
Emma nodded her head, “I’ll call into the shop for him.”
Emma grabbed the phone and made the announcement over the shop speaker that someone was there for Sweet Pea. She heard some commotion and, quickly, the door from the shop was opened to reveal the tall Serpent.
“Jughead, what’s up man?” Sweet Pea said, hugging the other guy. Ah, so Jughead was his name. What the hell kind of name was that? Emma had thought Sweet Pea was a weird name. But, Jughead? They had to be kidding.
“Not much, just checking up on the bike. Betty, here, would also love to check it out. She’s convinced she could fix it,” Jughead responded, winking at the blonde next to him.
Sweet Pea chuckled, shaking his head at the couple, “Almost done, man. You guys can go check it out if you want. The guys are taking a lunch break so feel free.”
Betty and Jughead thanked him, walking hand in hand, heading back into the shop leaving Sweet Pea and Emma alone in the lobby. She watched as they leaved, remembering seeing them in the halls of Riverdale High.
“Cute couple,” Emma said, grimacing at the words. She’d never been one that liked couples, mostly due to the excessive PDA and lovey dove-y shit.
Sweet Pea grinned at Emma. That same cocky smile she’d grown used to. He had become one of the few people she sort of tolerated. Sure, he was annoying as hell, but he had a way about himself that Emma respected. He wasn’t trying to prove anything.
“Oh, just the cutest,” he laughed, leaning across the desk in front of her. His uniform was half on, with a grey tank top covering his chest and the arms of the uniform wrapped around his waist. His muscles poked through and Emma couldn’t help but take a peek. His tan skin flexed with each toned muscle and it was borderline drool-worthy if Emma wasn’t who she was.
Emma gave him a solid eye roll and turned back to her computer, closing out of her game of Solitaire.
“So, Emma, what are you doing this Thursday?” he asked her, quirking up his eyebrow.
“Um, probably going to a huge party or something. I have a stocked social calendar,” Emma said to Sweet Pea, her voice dripping in sarcasm. Sweet Pea’s cocky smile returned at her comment, smiling at her.
“Well, how would you feel about going to a little bar-b-que with some of my friends? You could use some social interaction. I mean, you’re basically a recluse,” he said to her.
Emma scoffed, “I am so not a recluse. I just don’t like the company of anyone who is my age. That’s not reclusive, just selective.”
A chuckle erupted from Sweet Pea’s throat and he stood up from the counter, turning towards the shop, “We’ll leave after work, recluse.”
With that, he was in the shop leaving Emma in shock.
What the hell had just happened? Emma had never thought her acquaintance-ship with Sweet Pea would move outside of work and now she was going to BBQ with the guy?
Damn, she was truly bored.
~
The week flew by, with Thursday arriving much faster than Emma would have liked. She had gone back and forth with this whole “BBQ” thing and had decided multiple times she’d fake an illness or claim that she was dying.
But she knew Sweet Pea. He’d never buy it. So, she’d accepted her fate.
BBQ it was.
She contemplated inviting Gina and burying the hatchet. However, she could see her friend’s reaction now. A snort and a look of disgust. Emma, frankly, was not in the mood to deal with her friend’s attitude so the invite was out.
Emma found herself being more thoughtful in the morning as she picked an outfit out and it disgusted her. Who the hell was she trying to impress?
Not Sweet Pea that was for sure. Yet, she still wore her nicer “mom” jeans and a tank top. Even brushing a few swipes of mascara on her lashes.
Who was this person? Because it sure as hell was not Emma.
To Emma’s sadness, work flew by, forcing her to come to terms with the fact that she was about to attend a social event with her peers. She had thought her dad was going to faint when he heard her plans for the evening. But the happy smile on her face was enough to force Emma to go without too many complaints.
As the shop guys closed up, Sweet Pea found himself standing in front of the front desk.
“Ready?” he asked, wiping his hands on his uniform. He had some motor-oil on his shirt and arms, but other than that he didn’t look too worse for wear.
“No,” Emma said, refusing to stand up. “I don’t think I can go, Sweet Pea. You know, big rager tonight and everything.”
Sweet Pea ignored her words and walked around behind the desk, grabbing Emma’s hands and pulling her up with ease, “Come on, kid. It’ll be fun.”
With those words, she was out of the front door, following behind him. He gestured to his bike and motioned for her to put the helmet on. She did and climbed behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
The contact was a lot and Emma wasn’t sure how she felt about it, but she valued her safety and knew it was the best way to ride the motorcycle. So, without further complaint they drove off, Emma’s hair blowing in the wind as her and Sweet Pea drove off.
The sights of the Southside raced past them as they drove towards the farther side of town. She figured they’d be going to the quarry as it was a well-known “Serpent hangout”. So, Emma couldn’t help but assume that was where they were headed.
Unsurprisingly, they finally stopped there, with Sweet Pea slowing down and parking next to another group of motorcycles. Sweet Pea helped Emma off the motorcycle, taking the helmet from her.
“Welcome to the quarry,” Sweet Pea said to her, the typical cocky smirk written all over his phase.
It was basically a huge hole. Nothing too exciting, but Emma could see various bodies down below, all surrounding something that was smoking. A grill she could presume. There was also turquoise blue water that looked refreshing. She saw people running around inside of the water, splashes coming from everywhere.
“Huh, so this is what gang members do on their days off. Not what I expected,” Emma commented, running a hand through her hair and adjusting her tank top. Sweet Pea chuckled at her words.
“We’re more than meets the eye, Cup,” he said to her, winking.
Emma rolled her eyes, “Say the nickname one more time, Sweet Pea. I fucking dare you.”
He ignored her threat and grabbed a bag out of his seat. He motioned for them to start climbing down the rocky edges to meet up with the rest of the group.
All of Emma’s anxieties came into fruition at this very moment. What the hell had she gotten herself into? She was the last person that should be at a “get together” with a gang, yet here she was. On full display with a very member of that gang.
She stopped midway, with Sweet Pea falling ahead of her until he noticed his lack of company. She was shaking her head and looking far too stressed for her own good.
“Emma, come on, it’ll be fun. Plus, your dad would really appreciate if you got out of the house for once in your life,” Sweet Pea said, turning around and facing her. His hands were on his hips and he looked exasperated.
“What, did my dad pay you to hang out with me?” Emma snarled, mirroring his stance. She knew she was being difficult, but she couldn’t help but be completely anxious and uncomfortable with what she’s about to do.
Sweet Pea sighed, “I’m not gonna force you to hang out with me, Cup. But you could actually have fun with us, believe it or not.”
With that, he turned around and continued his climb down. Without another word, Emma’s legs began to drag her down, following in step with Sweet Pea.
Emma could hardly believe herself but, for some odd reason, she trusted Sweet Pea.
#riverdale fanfiction#riverdale fandom#riverdale#riverdale sweet pea#riverdale imagine#sweet pea#sweet pea x reader#sweet pea fanfiction#sweet pea x oc#sweet pea imagine#southside serpents
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Show Time
How Tim was somehow the one that drew the short straw when there was so many other damn people that could have taken the brat, he didn’t know. But somehow, karma for something he must have done, he had the responsibility of bringing the demon to the doctors. Apparently, no one cared that Tim was currently without a spleen.
That’s how he found himself, sitting in a pediatric waiting room, hissing at a sick ten year old to shut up and behave. Leslie’s clinic would have been the first option, but this was an illness Damian had caught from his germ infested elementary school, and they had been forced to keep up appearances.
The meeting with the doctor was short and quick, thank god, and after a quick swab to the back of the nose, it was confirmed Damian had the flu. The strain had been going around for a while and because no one had brought the kid to get his vaccination (Alfred would be furious), he had contracted a rather nasty case.
After setting an order for the antibiotics and popping a few of his own for his spleen, Tim had to literally carry the kid from the office. Not that he would ever admit it, but the action made him nervous, whether the doctor said it was normal for little kids to lose the ability to walk during the flu or not. It scared him even more that according to the pediatrician, Damian still fit under the ‘little kid’ category.
It was late at night, nearly eight on a Thursday (because that’s when the brat deemed it a convenient time to start dying), when they started towards the car. The other bats would be patrolling soon, if they weren’t already, while Alfred manned the coms and Tim got stuck trying to wrangle a kid into a car seat so they could go to the twenty four hour CVS around the corner. It took him longer than he would have liked to admit to finish, but Tim could only be grateful Damian was asleep. If the kid hadn’t been, and was a little more coherent, Tim would not be coming away unscathed.
He shut the back door and moved around the car to driver’s seat, palming his keys in his hand. There was a sudden crunch.
It sounded like feet on gravel, or drying dirt, coming from somewhere beyond the tall bundle of spring flowers that lay, now suspiciously, in front of the car. Tim pauses, ears and eyes alert, body in a ready stance as he listened.
One minute, two, there was nothing. No sound, no movement, no indication that there was anyone other than a zonked our ten year old for company in the abandoned parking lot.
Still cautious, he proceeds to open the door to the driver’s seat and climbs in. The whole process is surprisingly rather anti-climactic. As is the drive to the pharmacy, and the little old lady in the drive through prescription pick up window. The entire ordeal goes without a hitch until they’re on cruise down the interstate home.
A cop car, the only car for a while at this time on night during the week, comes seemingly out of no where, light flashing and siren blaring. The car looks like the typical GCPD car and Tim sighs. There are two options here, either it Jim Gordon, or someone is being really rude about his two day expired inspection sticker.
He pulls over after a quick check in the review mirror. The sirens are loud and Damian’s a light sleeper, he’s beginning to stir and wriggle uncomfortably in his seat. Tim’s growing more annoyed as the night grows on.
The cop slows to a stop behind them, two cops (so not Gordan, then) exit the car and come to the driver’s window.
“ Look guys, I get inspections are important but I’ve got a sick kid in the back-“ Tim starts as soon as he thinks the cops are near enough to hear him. He’s blabbering, he knows, but he’s had enough of sick kids and their bullshit and really just wants to go back to the case he was working on earlier. A fresh cup of some hot coffee sounds terry good too.
The cops are oddly silent, standing so close to the cars open window that Tims view of their heads is cut off. One of them appears male, arms crossed over his chest ass he stands closer to the back door. The other, a women by her build, standing directly infant of Tim window, hand resting near her waist.
it takes longer than he should Tim was being naive and had been giving the cops of the benefit of the doubt, but warning bells begin to blare in the back of his head. The cops are two silent, their GCPD badged look to be made out of plastic instead of metal and the male is too close to Damian for Tim’s comfort.
He feels stupid that he didn’t realize the threat earlier, and his hand immidialaty goes to the panic button on his belt as he hurries to slam his foot back into the gas. the movements are a moment too soon, they are rushed and sloppy. his foots lips over the gas pedal before the car has even moved an inch, he thinks he hit the right button on his belt, but he doesn’t have much time to think about it all before the cop lady reaches for her taser and everything goes black.
***
Waking up in warehouses shouldn’t come as shock anymore. It doesn’t really, if Tim’s being honest with himself its become more of an annoyance. But there’s something almost admirabely creative about pretending to be cops in order to bag a couple rich kids. Tim appreciates the irony, even if only a little bit.
What he does not appreciate, is the literal bag over his head, and the duck tape closed over his mouth thats both itchy making it hard to breathe.
Tim’s body aches, sore from the electricity of the taser. It’s because of this, and his lack of coffee, that it takes Tim a moment to shake the bag off his head. As soon as the musty fabric is finally thrown to the floor, he’s reminded of something very important.
About ten feet away, facing Tim, sits Damian. His wrists and ankles are tied to the chair. The kid doesn’t have bag on his head, or, if he did, he was a lot faster than Tim at removing it. Damian’s eyes are half lidded and his skin is frightfully pale. He’s got sweet dripping from his mussed hair but he’s shivering with fever.
Tim is seething.
Its one thing to kidnap Tim, its even more ballsy to kidnap Damian as well, but to take them while the kid is dying of flu? Thats asking to be pummeled by: Every. Single. Bat. For once, Tim is glad there’s an endless supply of them.
“ Damian.” He attempts to hiss through the duck tape, trying, and somewhat succeeding, in scooting his chair closer to the younger boy.
Damian looks up, and whether it at the mumble of his name or the scraping of the chair on the concrete floors, Tim isn’t sure. What little of the boys eyes he can see are blood red and teary, it makes Tim wince. “How you holding up?” He asks.
Damian opens his mouth to respond, but instead gives a painful, chest rattling cough. The heavy steel door opens at the same moment.
“ Ah, I see you boys are awake.” Its the women again, except this time she’s dressed in all black and doesn’t have any weapons visible. Still, Tim had learned that means exactly jack shit, especially when the way she says ‘boys’ sends an unwanted chill down his spine. Tim screams through the tape, and she smiles as she approaches.
“ Now, now. We’ll have none of that. If you want to speak, you’ll do so as gentleman.” Her nails are long like black talons, and sharp as she reaches to rip the tape from Tims mouth.
“ Let. Us. Go.” Tim growls, licking his chapped lips.
“ Hmm, I thought you were supposed to be a smart boy.” The clicking her heels made on the concrete floor made Tim want to chop her feet off. “Kidnappings don’t work that way, sweetie.”
“ What do you want then?” Tim snips. “Money? Press? What is it?”
“ Well, originally, yes. But now, I’m more interested in watching your family dissolve.”
“ What?”
“ Well you see, after we broadcast some live feed to your father, he’ll offer a ransom. We won’t accept it, there will be no address, no clues, no saving. I’d rather watch those wretched Waynes suffer through the endless footage.” Her logic was sadistic, no doubt psychotic.
“ You expect them to watch us for days and not do anything about it?” Tim said. He gave them thirty seconds before they began tracking the footage. “Not one Wayne kidnapping has ever been successful.”
“ Do you really think the little one has days left in him?” The kidnapper laugh, waving a hand at Damians slumped form. “Doubtful. And don’t think I didn’t look into statistics. I did, and thoroughly at that.”
“ Then you know you won’t succeed.” Tim was shaking, anger boiling like fire in his veins.
“ Thats the thing, Timothy.” The name rolled of her tongue in a sick, and twisted way. “All of those failed kidnappings had one thing in common. They wanted a reward, I want death.” Her heals clicked towards the shutting industrial door, and a tiny camera in the corner of the room lit green.
***
As soon as the door shut Tim began working on his bindings, camera be damned. The ropes were easy to escape, done by an amateur and the fact gave Tim a little more hope for their rescue.
As soon as he was freed he flung himself over to his brothers chair, slipping the boy easily out of the ropes and cradling his small, feverish body.
“ D-drake.” Damian said, voice dry from lack of water and disuse. His eyes were still only half open, and his lips moved sluggishly as he attempted to speak. Tim feared how long they had been unconscious.
“ I’m here Dames, you hanging on for me?” The question almost gets stuck in his throat as Tim realizes what exactly he’s doing. He’s holding Damian. The Demon child of all people, is cradled in his arms. The feeling is foreign, a touch unknown to Tims skin. Who would have thought the kid would be so light and downright tiny?
For Damian, the question takes a moment to process, and another moment to respond to. His throat is thick with soreness and mucus and his lungs on fire with every breath. He vaguely remembers going to the doctors and being thrown into the trunk of a cop car.
“ L-let g-go.” He struggles to say, feeling and weakly pushing at Drake arms. The idiot is insane, holding Damian when he’s this ill. When Drake doesn’t even have a spleen.
“ Dames, stop.” Tim’s confused, and concerned. The response wasn’t even close to an answer to his question and the kid was shoving at him like he didn’t know who was holding him. Damian’s fever wasn’t that high he hoped.
“ S-spleen.” He hears through a wet cough.
They both stop moving. Damian too tired and Tim in a bout of shock. In all honesty, hadn’t thought Damian would care. Actually, he hadn’t even been aware Damian knew about that. Tim had only mentioned it maybe once or twice around the kid, but never directly to him.
“ I took medicine, kiddo, we don’t need to worry about me.” We need to worry about you, hung in the air like a rancid smell. They were both well aware of it’s presence, but neither wanted to mention it. Saying it would make it that much more real.
“ Father will come to us.” Damian rasps. Tim’s heart doesn’t know whether to fill or clench at the childish belief in their dad. Tim wants to believe it too, wants to believe Bruce and the others have already secured their location through the tape they are no doubt receiving through the camera on the ceiling. But theres the other part of him as well. The adult part of him that knows how the world likes to be an unfair place, and Bruce might not even be watching the footage, might already be out on patrol, that Damian might die before they have a real chance at rescue.
Instead, he swallows those thoughts. “ He sure will, Dames.”
The next few hours are excruciating for all parties involved. The live stream came in through the living room Tv, perfectly timed as Alfred was just coming through from the kitchen, a plate of post patrol sandwiched and tea in his arms. The pixels displayed his two youngest grandchildren, crumpled on the ground in a heap of tangled limbs, ripped clothes and untied ropes. The sound of low whispering grabbed the butlers attention, he turned forwards the sound, half expecting a fight..... the silver tray clattered to the ground as he soaked in the projected image.
“ Alfie? Are you okay?” Dick called, footsteps pounding down the grand staircase in response to the loud sound. His focus was on Alfred but seeing as the man was fixating on the large screen, he adjusting his gaze. “ Oh my god.” He said, already turning and running down the hall, a shout of “BRUCE!” falling hastily from his lips.
Not a moment later there were two pairs of large feet thundering down the hall of the manor.
“ Dick, what is it?” Bruce asked, slightly worried at his sons quickened pace. A quick hand gesture at the tv confirmed any suspicions he previously had.
“ Is this live?” He asked, straight to the point. Tim was on the screen, sitting in a concrete room, his nose was bleeding and his hair was wild. He was rocking Damian, who in contrast was sickly pale instead of his usual tan and sweating profusely.
“ Yes, Master Bruce.” Alfred replied, shattered dishes completely forgotten on the floor.
“ Damian’s sick.” Bruce muttered, hand already running through his hair.
“ Tim was bringing him to the doctor.” Dick whispered, his hands were clenched in shaking fists, his teeth grinding.
Almost like the boy had heard his name, Tim looked up into the camera, blue eyes wide and alert.
“ Disguised as cops on interstate 95.” He says. His voice is clear and his words are carefully chosen. He doesn’t whisper, it’s like he doesn’t care if he’s overheard or not. Bruce wonders who his captors are, then wonders whether he really wants to know. “ He’s really sick, Bruce.” The name sent a shiver down Bruce’s
spine. Tim Drake and Damian Wayne, not Red Robin and Robin. Not vigilantes, kids. And one of them was really sick.
“ Hang on boys, I’m coming.” He doubted they could here him.
***
Tracking down his boys proved to be more challenging than Bruce had initially thought. The litter of ropes he has seen around the kids had hinted to him that this was an amateur hostage situation.
He was wrong.
They weren’t in a warehouse, or near the docks in fact, Bruce was starting to lose hope that they were still in Gotham at all. There was no trace, no sigma from the feed continuously sent to his living room, nothing but Tim’s forgotten car on the side of the interstate.
Even with both him and Dick on the case, they were still coming to dead ends with every new lead. A time was running out. It had been nearly twenty four hours. Nearly a day of not sleeping and constantly hunting for his boys while Damian got more and more sick. Any longer and he could lose his youngest son, his baby. Any longer and Tim would need another dose of his antibiotic or he would pick up Damian’s flu.
Dick was the one that made the call for help.
Jason showed in no time, not wasting another moment that could mean his younger brothers safety. Now, the three of them sat around the computer in the cave, pouring themselves into different locations known to host criminal bases.
“ There’s no signal from the stream?” Jason asked, red helmet sitting in his lap.
“ No. It’s different, Tim said the kidnappers don’t want us to find them.” Bruce said, sighing and rubbing his hand through his hair… again…
“ They just want to make us suffer.” Dick growled.
“ Those bastards.” Jason cursed.
“ There’s nothing, not in the city or near the docks. Not even in the surrounding areas.” Bruce said, throwing his head into his hands. Not a lot got to see him do this, it kind of scared Dick and Jason.
They sat there in silence for a few moments, sitting and thinking about the consequences if they kept coming up with nothing.
“ Wait, did you check underground?” Jason suddenly asked.
“ What do you mean, Jay?”
“ Underground, like how the killer crock moves around.” Jason explained. “ Maybe there in a facility beneath the city, where they would be a lot harder to track. I mean, there weren’t any windows in the room, right?” He finished up, looking at Batman expectantly. Bruce stared back dumbfounded.
“ Jay your a genius!” Dick exclaimed.
“ Old man needs to step up his game if we wants to remain the worlds greatest detective.”
“ We should call Clark.” Dick sighed.
“ What? Why would we do that?” Brice asked.
“ He has supervision. Bruce, I know you hate asking for help, especially from him but… this is for Tim and Damian. Where running out of time.” Jason and Dick looked at their father figure, they all knew the decision had been made.
“ Let’s call Clark.”
Thirty minutes later, they were bursting through a manhole just outside of Gothams business center. Stealth and preservation of the city be damned, Bruce was done. So DONE, with having to watch his kids suffer, with not being able to find them no matter what he did.
He had Clark with him- or superman, in this case- he had Jim on his way, ready to arrest the kidnappers. They had Red Hood as back up and Nightwing collecting the ‘hostages’. But most important of all, the had Bruce Wayne waiting to see his kids.
He tugged on the cuffs of his wrinkled sleeves, ran a hand through his greasy and mussed hair. He tapped his foot as he listened to the fight below and the sirens coming closer as the police neared.
He listened to his kids reunite, he listened to the painful coughing and grunts coming through the broken concrete. He listened to the sound of superman’s cape fluttering as he flew back to the surface, and to the retracting grapple lines of his kids following.
He listened until he didn’t have to. Until he could feel. Until he could feel Damian’s pained sobs and Tim’s rushed air. Until he could feel superman’s cape fluttering as his friend laid a comforting had on his shoulder. Until he could finally feel his world stop crumbling.
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What A Time To Be At Home!: The Best And Worst Coronacontent The Internet Has To Offer
Remember that joke that’s been around for ages, but was being told literally everywhere back in 2019? The one that went something like, “I hate it when people ask me where I’ll be in a year’s time - I don’t have 2020 vision!”?
Well, I bloody wish someone did.
In fact, in early January, I wrote out my own predictions for the decade ahead right here on my blog. They were obviously entirely hypothetical and - I thought - ridiculous. They were just a series of daft ideas that I thought I could take the piss out of, in the hope that people might read it and take a second out of their day to do an amused little nose exhale for me. But now, even the post-apocalyptic TV show ideas I pitched in that piece seem less ‘far-off dystopian chaos’, and more like they could be pleasant additions to the BBC Summer schedule.
The world is in the throes of a global pandemic, the likes of which haven’t been seen since… I don’t know, The Black Plague, maybe? As a result of that, the instructions have been clear: stay home, save lives.
At first, the thought of being given a period of Government-sanctioned laziness seemed like a dream to many. We could write our autobiographies! Learn Klingon! Build ourselves a whole new house! But six weeks in, it appears to have started messing with the collective consciousness of the human race. Brains are fried, your Weekly Screen Time is up 103%, stomachs are full to the brim with banana bread and dalgona coffee, and certain celebrities’ egos are in a fight to the death with their common sense. In a time when we’re all supposedly doing nothing, there’s still so much going on.
With that in mind, I thought we could recognise some of the things we’ve seen online that have kept us talking in lockdown, not just because of Coronavirus, but in spite of it.
Welcome to the first (but hopefully not annual) What A Time To Be At Home! awards. The WATTBAH!’s, if you like.
The ‘Why On Earth Did You Think This Was A Good Idea?’ Award
Over the last few weeks, we’ve seen a sizable handful of blunders by the rich and famous that have, at worst, knocked them down a fair few places in our estimations and, at best, have left us scratching our heads, wondering what response they were expecting in the first place.
With that in mind, it’s only right that this title goes to the original celebrity lockdown mistake: Gal Gadot’s ill-advised acapella cover of Imagine, featuring a variety of different Hollywood stars - not one of whom had the foresight to ask “are you sure this doesn’t make us look like complete arseholes?”, which, unfortunately, it absolutely does.
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Between the bizarre and insincere ‘I have a dream’-style speech at the beginning, the boldness of some of those featured to be quite clearly just taking the piss, and the fact everyone appears to be singing ever-so-slightly below the note without ever actually hitting it for the entirety of the song, this was tone-deaf in more ways than one. It’s even worse when you realise that this was posted less than one week into the lockdown, but then what would I know? Maybe madness sets in faster in multi-million dollar mansions. Probably because it echoes louder and bounces off the walls of your massive living room.
The ‘I Had To Suffer Through This, So You Do, Too’ Award
This award recognises content we’ve been witness to over the last few weeks that was so awful, so completely uncomfortable to watch, that after you’d gotten over the initial disbelief at what you’d just seen, you immediately had to send it to somebody you know, so that you can suffer through it together.
Despite how many celebrity lockdown moments have left me with my head in my hands over the last few weeks, this award could only go to a very recent contender - one which isn’t simply an embarrassing piece of celebrity lockdown content, but will likely haunt the inner corners of my brain long after this virus is simply a topic taught about in GCSE History lessons of the future.
I am, of course, talking about Olly Murs. I’m talking about Pringlegate. I’m talking about Olly Murs removing the bottom of a can of Sour Cream and Onion Pringles to trick his own girlfriend into touching his penis. On video, on TikTok.
Twitter: @buckyw1ng
There’s something inherently quite chilling about Pringlegate. It might be something to do with the 10,000 watt grin on Olly’s face as we watch him carefully maneuver a tin opener around the bottom of the can, or perhaps it’s just the question of how long he’d been sat there holding it around his naked penis as he and his girlfriend watched a film, patiently waiting for the moment to strike. Perhaps it’s the way the video freezes as she reaches over for a Pringle, allowing time for Olly Murs’ to add in an audio clip of himself, shouting “SAY HELLO TO MY LITTLE FRIEND”.
Maybe it’s the uncontrollable show of amusement he launches into as she snatches her hand back in shock, laughing away, heartily, as if to say “Ha! You thought it was a normal can of Pringles, but it was actually my PENIS covered in Pringles crumbs! You just got PUNKED!”, like it was all simply a clever ruse.
Above all else, I think the most uncomfortable thing about it is that I can’t help but feel like all bets are off in 2020, and that this is a fairly tame warm-up for things to come.
So, Olly Murs, you are inarguably the rightful winner of the ‘I Had To Suffer Through This, So You Do, Too’ award. Congratulations! Don’t do it again, yeah?
The ‘Are You Actually Aware Of These Words Coming Out Of Your Mouth?’ Award
I’ve said some stupid things since this lockdown started. Personally, I put it down to the lack of social interaction, which I think might be frying my brain a little bit, or at least that’s what the ornament of a turkey that sits on my kitchen windowsill told me the other day. However, I don’t think I or anybody I know has said anything even one fraction-of-an-iota as void of intelligent thought as Vanessa Hudgens’ terrible opinions on social distancing, shared in a now-infamous Instagram live last month.
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“It’s a virus,” she clarified, helpfully, before going on to explain, “I get it. I respect it.”
I’m sure your respect means the world to it, Vanessa, but do you ‘get’ it?
“But even if everybody gets it, like… yeah… people are gonna die,” she explains, in a tone so chirpy that the word ‘die’ might as well be replaced by the phrase ‘have such a bloody lovely old time’, “which is terrible, but, like… inevitable?”
In all fairness, death is inevitable, but I don’t know if suggesting speeding up that process for thousands of people because you were disappointed that Coachella was cancelled is an equally logical take.
After a brief - and probably quite profound - moment of self-reflection, she laughs “I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t be doing this right now”. Oh, you think? Which bit? Just holding these insane ideas, or actually broadcasting them to your 39.1 million Instagram followers?
She did post a video the day after, clarifying that - despite what she said - she is staying at home, and is urging others to do the same. I guess she does respect the virus after all. Now, if everyone could hurry up, catch it and die from it, so that she can go to Coachella 2021, Vanessa Hudgens might respect you, too.
I guess We’re All In This Together, after all.
The Show Of Support Award
I’ve already talked a lot about the rich and famous here, so maybe it’s time to take a break from that madness - although, I get it, I respect it - and have a look at how the rest of our lives look at the moment.
One weekly occurrence that seems to be set to stick around is the weekly round of applause for the NHS. Whilst it’s nothing short of blood-boilingly annoying seeing Boris Johnson absent-mindedly clapping in celebration of a service that he recently admitted he hadn’t even noticed the strain on until he, himself, nearly died of the virus, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the rest of us getting involved. If anything, it’s heart-warming to see the videos of NHS staff being applauded by neighbours as they leave for work, and to hear the cheers echoing through the streets at 8pm every Thursday. There’s a lot of people being quite cynical about it. We obviously know it’s not going to stop Coronavirus in its tracks, but sometimes it’s just nice to be nice, alright?
One thing I’ve noticed recently is how many people have adopted different noise-making strategies, possibly in an effort to effectively boost their support by a factor of 300%. Banging pots and pans together appears to be the most popular, but the winner of this award saw your pots and pans and said “how sweet”, before showing us how it’s really done.
I present to you, a genius. The ultimate hype-man.
Twitter: “a deeply disturbed national psyche” - @willuminare
There’s something so chaotic and angry about the energy in this video, just one man, a cricket bat, and a wheelie bin, banging away to show his gratitude. Just living in the moment. I wish the neighbour who’d captured it on camera had caught more of it, or at least just enough to edit the footage with Electric Youth’s soaring synth anthem ‘A Real Hero’ from the soundtrack of the movie Drive against it.
I’ve been trying to learn to play the keytar in lockdown, to near enough no avail. Maybe at 8pm next Thursday, I’ll just take it outside and smash it against the pavement. You know, for the NHS.
Honourable Mentions: The Very Best In Coronacontent
It’s not all been so questionable - there’s been a lot of uplifting, funny, positive and thoughtful things shared online over the past few weeks. John Krasinski’s YouTube series Some Good News has provided a much-appreciated contrast from the bleakness of traditional current affairs programmes. There’s five weeks worth of episodes on his YouTube channel at the moment, so I would definitely recommend checking it out, especially if you feel like you need a lift!
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Over on Twitter, there’s been a lot to laugh about, as ‘front camera comedians’ are well and truly in their element (my personal favourite recently has been Alistair Green), as well as plenty of other users who are utilising their free time to create some brilliant stuff - this six-part opera based on a 2007 Facebook argument by Archie Henderson is genuinely one of the funniest things I’ve seen in weeks.
Twitter: “I made a six-act opera out of a conversation between some 14 year olds on my Facebook from 2007″ - @jazzemu_
All in all, these are obviously bizarre times that we’re living in. We don’t know how many more weeks of lockdown we’re going to have, when we’ll get back to normal, or even if ‘normal’ will mean something completely different from now on.
What we do know is that the internet, and everyone on it - whoever they are or whatever they’re saying - will continue to surprise us, inform us, entertain us, provide a place for our quizzes and conversations, and keep us together in some sense, when we have no choice but to be apart.
Thanks to anyone who’s read this far. I hope that you and your friends and families are keeping well, and that you took even a slight shred of lockdown enjoyment from even one thing I’ve said over the past couple thousand words!
Finally, before I go, I thought we might share a little song. It goes like this:
Imagine there’s no heaven....
if you like, can follow me on twitter here or instagram here :-)
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( ooc note about why i am the absolute worst ! )
this is such a random note i know, and admittedly i’ve spent the entire day composing this. so if it’s a little disjointed or illogical, i want to apologise in advance ! however i have included this nice gif of luke - it doesn’t have anything to do with the post, just thought it would make it more appealing dkjfgdf. admittedly this is going to be a bit of a Long Boi™, but it is kinda.... relevant if you’ve ever tried to write/plot with me, or are wondering what’s going on with nate. behold, all your answers are below ! i’ll put a tldr at the bottom plus a nifty little vine compilation for anyone that reads this but, please don’t feel pressured to do so ! ya girl is just a Mess dkfjgd.
the first thing i want to address is the elephant in the room; nathaniel ballantyne. i know a lot of people are curious about his fate, his place in the plot drop, why he vanished so much earlier than everyone else. is he actually guilty ? is he a martyr ? is he a red herring ? well, here’s the tea on mr nathaniel ballantyne:
he is on indefinite hiatus.
a lot of people probably wonder why. i will get into the specifics of the why in a little bit (when i said this was a Long Boi i was not kidding lmfao), but basically... he’s a very difficult character to write. i am not a veteran rper, and in all honesty, i can count on my hands the amount of rps i’ve been in. and there are only 5 characters i’ve ever written about and cared enough to remember. one of those is nate. for those of you that know him, he is a strange and eccentric character. entirely up his own ass at times, pretentious as hell. but he, to me, was a character i grew attached to. he was different from people i normally write, and despite how abstract he was, he was.... realistic to me. my deep rooted attachment to him is why it took me so long to see how hard it was for me to write replies with him, to understand the guilt i felt any time i plotted or wrote with him, and the fact he was so mentally taxing it would take five times as much time to write a reply for him than it would any other character. but the sad truth is, even though i only felt guilt related to him, even though i haven’t had muse for him honestly for months now, i kept him. because i love him, even if he isn’t loved by many others. and so part of the reason he is now where he is is the simple fact that i know he didn’t mesh with the group, and that’s okay ! he was a very difficult character to reply to, and now that he is gone, i feel that burden of guilt lifting already.
as for his plot related departure, the truth is i didn’t have the heart to kill him off, hence why he kinda is just out there in a weird in between space dkjfgdf. and ( as i’ll explain below ) if my life ever does even out at any point, i really want to bring him back should there be space for him. so this indefinite hiatus was made for many reasons, and it absolutely broke my heart to have to get to this point. i love nate, and i am going to miss him. and i hope that in due time, i will have the capacity to bring him back soon ! but in case i don’t, i just want everyone to know that i appreciate every second i spent writing with you all on nate, and that the time and effort people poured into him means the world to me. and i’m so, so sorry to the people who are disappointed in me for this, because i know there are probably a few. i have let so many of you down, and honestly this is a burden i am going to carry for a very long time. i am going to message people tomorrow when i am more Coherent so, i promise to do my best to atone for this kgdf.
but to segue into that a little more ( oh look, another elephant in the room ! what is this, dumbo 2: electric boogaloo ), as an admin, i know there are expectations we are supposed to meet. examples we should set. precedents we have to lay down.
and i know i have disappointed every single one of you in this rp.
from my slow ( to non-existent ) dash activity, for the anxiety that has left me unable to reply to dms or reply in the main group chat, to even the fear of godmodding in ask memes on a thursday. i know this seems perfectly illogical to most, and again, i completely understand the disappointment that so many of you feel towards me. and it’s that very disappointment which djkgdf ironically has made it harder for me to get on and be the admin that you all deserve.
the real difficult thing about all of this is, i love veritas. and for those of you who were in veritas 1, would know that this is not who i usually am. this experience is not representative of the person i want to be, nor the rper that i usually present myself as. but as to avoid going into too triggering content and bothering you all with tmi details about my life problems lmfao, please rest assured that these past few months have been. absolutely brutal for me. from almost losing my opa to illness, from ongoing family issues and expectations, being kicked out of home among a list of other shit, my mental health has been as low as gfkdgdf it has ever been in my life tbh, and it’s been the hardest thing in the world to get on. all my attentions with veritas has been in the main, as the main is a very taxing job ( as you know, we are very plot centric ! ) and i would more often than not get so worn out with being an admin, my characters fell by the wayside. not to mention, as sort of dkfgjdf touched on before, i have massive anxiety when it comes to messaging people. why ? i don’t know. especially as i have wanted to plot with all of you extensively and deeply since we opened, and reading every single app made my heart beat a little faster with joy. i am so honoured to be an admin here, and each and every one of you are such an incredible writer and person that i can’t help but feel overwhelmed and guitlty about how much i have let you all down. especially for those who sent me dms that i either forgot about or never replied to because i got so anxious, i feel so guilty every day about it all and i just wish i could go back in time and change it.
and the reality is, if i wasn’t an admin and co-creator of this group, i probably would have dropped out a long time ago, give the space to someone worthy, and i wouldn’t be filled with so much guilt. but the truth is, i am a selfish person dgdgdf. veritas has been that sort of dkfgjdf good, steady thing in my life that i looked forward to, and i couldn’t bear the thought of losing that. each and every one of you create the fabric that is this amazing atmosphere, and even though i’m less seen and heard compared to most others in this group, being part of veritas gives me a sense of belonging. and in a strange sense, a home. yes, i know i was selfish, and yes, i should have handled things much better than i did. but you all need to know from the bottom of my heart how sorry i am for everything that has transpired. ):
but i think the worst part of it all is that, my beautiful co-admin maaria, and my best friend. among letting you all down, i know i have let her down the most. and i just want to take my soapbox moment for a second here and really put light into how much maaria has done for this group. especially when my own life has been in shambles, and knowing she’s going through her own problems, she always provides for you all. she is always here, always online, always around to make you laugh or smile. she provides for all of us, and is honestly a miracle worker. i don’t think i will ever deserve her forgiveness for everything, but i hope she knows how loved she is, and i hope you all show her your sentiments too ! she is the heart of veritas, and fdjg she means the world to me, and i just really want her to know that.
but that was. a lot of emotions and obviously i haven’t talked about everything in my life ( i do not want to bore you and honestly i don’t wanna make y’all sad dkfjghdkfjgdfgdf ) none of this really means anything if things aren’t going to change. so get ready for some Bullet Point Action because here is my proposal:
nEw SkElEtOn: although nate is on hiatus and sorta just gonna, float out there in the void of time, and even though i really want to bring him back soon i don’t know if/when i will, i have felt immense guilt for hoarding his spot in this rp for someone who could be more active. hence, a solution: a new skeleton ! as i am not comfortable with nate’s skeleton being open, we have created a new skeleton with connections to all nate’s old connections, which should hit the main very soon !
new discord: this is probably unnecessary but dfkgjdfg i have a lot of anxiety about discord. when i get a new message i’m always like ??? AAH A GHOST. idk why. and because of that, i skip a message once, and now there are so many unanswered messages i have a heart attack every time i open my app. so, to prevent that, i am going to make a new discord account ! ( lilacrps #i forgot the number lmao ). i will be adding everyone as Friends and if you’ve ever sent me something i never responded to, or for some odd reason you wanna talk to me, a human mess, please know now that with a fresh slate i will ensure i can reply to you. i am not gonna let my anxiety win this time.
schedule: part of my issue is that i dfkjgdf always felt pressure to do everything all the time and then when i couldn’t, i fell under pressure. so dkfgjdf i am now having designated plotting and reply days ! so even though i hope to be far more active in both regards, i just need people to understand things won’t be instant, but i am holding myself accountable not only for myself, but for the rp - as that is what an admin should do.
this got super long and i highly doubt anyone is actually gonna read this lmao BUT. the main point is - i love every single one of you all so much, and i can’t apologise enough for how much i have let you all down. i know we all feel it, and i’m more than happy to accept my flaws and how blatant they’ve been in the past few months. so this is my pledge to every single one of you that i promise to do better (and if i don’t, you can kick me out dkjfgdf).
TLDR: I have been a terrible admin and friend, and I’m here to say sorry. With a new discord and personal plotting schedule, things are going to change.
If I can’t cure my depression, maybe I can cure yours.
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“A little village with a little mystery.”
London, England, United Kingdom – February 1846
~Cloudia~
“How often will you come here again?” asked Arthur Randall, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
When I had wrapped up my Watchdog mission last week, I had been more than ready to return to my manor – but then, a letter from Thomas had arrived in which he informed me that a large part of the manor’s pipe system had broken down and that, thus, the manor was currently uninhabitable. As the remedial maintenance at the townhouse was still ongoing, Newman, Miss Greene, and I kept staying at the Morrow townhouse. The first week I had been with my family, I had my Watchdog work, the gallery opening, and my cousins to keep me busy. This week, I had no Watchdog work, there were no events to attend, and Ceara was ill and Keegan too grumpy and worried to do anything fun with.
Now, all I could do was sit in the Morrows’ library and read or, occasionally, go into the city and accidentally pass by Scotland Yard and overhear some case details.
“This is the eleventh time this week – and it is only Thursday,” he continued and glared at her.
Perhaps, it wasn’t quite “occasionally,” but gruesome murders and thievery entertained me more than gossip over tea.
“It’s also the eleventh time this week that I am passing by the headquarters and you are around to see me,” Cloudia replied. She loosened the scarf around her neck a bit. Last week, it had been devastatingly cold, but now, the temperature had become more bearable – a development Cloudia hoped would last a little while longer. “Don’t you have any work to do, Randall? How does someone like you even become a detective constable? You are barely older than me and only joined the Met three years ago. Could it be that you paid your way up like Police Commissioner Rowan did until he became captain?”
Randall narrowed his eyes. “Says the girl who is only what she is because of her family.”
“You are only partially right, Constable: I am what I am because of my family, yes, but if I was completely useless, I would have been long replaced – or never even instated,” Cloudia said.
I had met Arthur Randall for the first time nearly two years ago, and every time I saw him, I disliked him a bit more. Despite my dislike for him, I had to admit that he also caught my curiosity: The first time we had met, he had immediately known that I was the Queen’s Watchdog. This was especially interesting because, in the last two years, I had learned that there was absolutely nothing special about him to justify Rowan and Mayne’s decision to let Randall know about the Watchdog secret. So, my question was: Why did he know? The Commissioners couldn’t possibly consider to eventually make him their successor – what other reason could there be?
“And will you ever stop rubbing my family history under my nose? In a twisted way, we are, after all, colleagues,” Cloudia added, and Randall chuckled. “Colleagues? With the likes of you? Even if it’s the last thing I do, I will stay here and protect this place from your kind, Lady Phantomhive.”
She smiled. “Oh, is that what you have been doing all week? Well, I wish you all the luck in the world that your feet will not die away in the cold before you are fired for doing nothing. If you may excuse me now: I have an appointment and am running a little bit late.”
***
“Arthur Randall is nobody to lose any brain cells for, Cloudia. I have been telling you this for years,” said Cecelia and raised her cup to her lips.
Scotland Yard was not the only place where I could get my share of crimes: Cecelia was a wonderful source for that too. I had no interest in pointless gossip discussed over tea – crimes discussed over tea, however, was the best form of socialising I knew.
“I know, I know. But you were asking about my day, and, sadly, I didn’t do much except unwillingly meeting His Moronship,” Cloudia replied, leaning back into her sofa’s soft fabric and cushioning. Cecelia’s Blue Drawing Room was her favourite place in her mansion solely because it had the most comfortable furniture in it. “The manor and the townhouse are still in repair and I am getting more and more bored by the minute – so, thank you, for inviting me.”
“You are thanking me for inviting you? Cloudia, dear, you must be feeling worse than expected. I guess that is the curse of those who cannot sit still. You have too much energy to spare, and if you do not find anything to do, you wither away faster than the plants I had to look after for my father.” Cecelia waved with her hand and leaned back as well. “I, on the other hand, am contemplating about never leaving this sofa again. Or would an even more comfortable one be the better choice? Or a more beautiful one? On which sofa would you rather spend the rest of your life, Cloudia? The beautifully embroidered, immensely expensive one that claimed the lives of three decent men during its transportation? Or the ugly olive-coloured one which you did not intend to buy, but still did because your shoes were killing you, you sat down on the wretched thing, and it swallowed you whole, forcing you to purchase it?”
“You have such a sofa?”
“It’s in the boxroom. I believe it’s possessed, but I do not have the heart to get it exorcised. On the one hand, because I can feed especially annoying guests to it; on the other hand, because I do not believe in such superstitions. It is more likely that the sofa fell victim to an extraordinarily enthusiastic upholsterer.”
Cloudia shook her head in an effort to get rid of her grin. It didn’t work. “Do you really want to spend the rest of your life sitting? After the trip to Bristol?”
Cecelia groaned and took a blueberry tartelette. To uphold the drawing rooms’ aesthetic, she had told her cook to only prepare blue food: the muffins, biscuits, and tartelettes had been made with blueberries, blackberries, plums, and black currants. The sandwiches had been spread with blue jam and the tea service had a forget-me-not pattern. It was a surprise that the tea was not blue.
“What you don’t do for gathering intelligence! I should see Quirino to find a way to rename Duchess Adrianne Royceston to Hysteria Royceston! That woman organises a party spanning several days, including a trip to another town, and what does she do? Decide that we should travel to Bristol by carriage because she thinks trains are the ‘devil’s work’!”
“Still, you are thinking about sitting forever.”
“Cloudia, I have no aversion whatsoever to pass my time sitting. If the world was not like it is and dresses would not crinkle so easily, I would have decided to do this – sit until I die – a long, long time ago. I have always said that, in a better world, you would not have to go out and dirty your hands to get what you want, that you would get everything by simply clicking your fingers together instead. Father deemed this one of my worst traits. To be honest, I had no good traits in his eyes.
“To say it clean and concisely: I could sit for hours and hours with no end in sight, just not with any kind of ‘humpy-bumpy’ nonsense.” Cecelia skilfully cut her tartelette into pieces without even looking at it and said, “So, you have come to hear about some grisly crimes?”
“Yes.”
“Over tea?”
“Yes. And some biscuits,” said Cloudia.
“If Adrianne Royceston was here, she would have already sent for the local priest, his mentor, and the holy spirit itself. Are you sure that you know that things like this – being overly interested in murders and thievery – could get you sent to an exorcist at best and to an asylum at worst?”
Cloudia clutched her hands. “Asylums are worse than exorcisms?”
“Of course. If you end up in an asylum, you may never get out of there. During an exorcism, you are restrained and have to listen to a priest reciting all sorts of prayers for hours. When he is done, you pretend to have been successfully purified and do whatever you did to get exorcised for in the first place more secretly than before. I know what I am talking about: I have experienced it thrice and it is always the same.
“Unfortunately, it is easier to get thrown into an asylum than to be sent to the next certified exorcist. To get an exorcism, you either have to live in a place filled with religious hysterics, have a sudden change in personality and voice, an unusually cold room, have to correctly guess the weather for the next three days, be very moody and aggressive, lie down really weirdly, or hate the Church with a passion. To get to an asylum, all it takes is to drink alcohol or distribute bad whiskey. You could be declared a lunatic for having asthma or getting your son married! Pamela Tracey was sent to an asylum because she asked her mother if she could have a rat as a pet.” Cecelia put down her knife and looked at Cloudia. “I know that you know all this, Cloudia, but sometimes I wonder if you are forgetting or deliberately ignoring it. In any case, I want to remind you to be careful. All it takes is for someone to overhear one of your conversations with Randall or even to see you lingering outside the Yard every single day. I know the last few years were rough for you, but you eventually have to stop being so harsh to yourself and move on, Cloudia.” Cecelia wanted to reach out to her, but Cloudia pulled back.
“I would rather get for what I came here,” she stated.
Cecelia looked at her for a while and sighed. “Here I am, giving you advice for once, and you don’t take it! Then, so be it.” She leaned back. The tartelette was left untouched. “The Met is currently searching for a group of bandits known to hide around the area of manor houses. They wait until the inhabitants are wandering about, and then rob and, or abduct them. The last ones to be robbed were the Kents – poor Mary Louise was so terrified! They say that she still hasn’t left her room. Her fiancé Sean is beyond worried. Anyway, where was I? Oh, I remember.
“Our dear officers at the Yard are, of course, doing a wonderful job trying to find them. To their misfortune, Mary Louise’s mother is not allowing them to interrogate her poor, poor baby! Mary Louise is the sole witness in this case as the bandits have robbed her and her maid while they were taking a stroll. They have even tried to kidnap Mary Louise as well. In this moment, her maid proved to be a true loyal soul, intervened, and got killed while defending her protégée. Afterwards, the bandits ran off. But Mary Louise’s best friend’s sister’s best friend, Felicitas Wernholm, was with me in a carriage to Bristol to continue Duchess Royceston’s damned party. This lady could be Quirino’s long-lost sister, I tell you, because she was talking without any pauses for hours. In-between her chitter-chatter salad, she mentioned that she knew from her best friend that Mary Louise has seen the bandits vanish into the direction where the Beaumont and Croft estates are.” Cecelia raised her cup and took a sip of her tea.
Cloudia frowned. “That’s all?”
“That’s classified information for which the Met would pay me very good money. Not that I am interested in such things.”
“No, I meant it like that: ‘That’s all you have for me? A robbery? Where’s the grisly murder?’”
“I promised you a crime. Robbery and attempted kidnapping are crimes, Cloudia.”
“I know that, Cecelia. But murders are more exciting,” Cloudia said.
“Didn’t you listen to me? There was a murder! Mary Louise Kent’s maid was killed.”
“On accident, not on purpose.”
Cecelia sighed. “You are the reason why I am glad that Michael and I never had any children. Without him, I most definitely would not be able to endure them in this phase. And I endured the carriage ride to Bristol with Felicitas Wernholm.” She rubbed her face. “Cloudia, we both know that if you were truly so intent on hearing about grisly murders, you would go and learn about them yourself. Instead, you linger around the Yard and come to me. And why? Perhaps you want to take some of your agency away from it; perhaps you want to eventually point your finger at me and say ‘She made me do it!’ I don’t know. All I know is that, from now on, you will only get your murder case details from me if you stay away from Scotland Yard and take a break.” Cecelia gazed at Cloudia, a stern look in her eyes. “If Barrington visits me one more time crying and complaining, you are going to pay for my dress and carpet, do you understand, young lady?”
Cloudia sighed. “Yes, I understand. I promise to stay away and take a break. Satisfied?”
“Very,” said Cecelia and leaned back. “And now, let us talk about something more fun.”
***
Cloudia’s favourite places to be had always been the little cosy corners, the alcoves lying in the shadows. If the world around her was fast and loud and messy, those places were always there for her, always giving her the time for herself she needed, the order, the calmness, the minute she required to take a deep breath and collect herself. Before Cloudia had learned about the Phantomhive Manor’s intricate system of secret pathways, those little places had been a blessing.
The oriel window in the library of the Morrow townhouse might not be the most hidden, not the most inconspicuous corner, but its comfortableness and feeling reminded Cloudia of all her secret little corners at home, and, for now, in her ongoing boredom, that was all that mattered to her.
I could feel it in my bones: I would die here. Yesterday, my visits to Scotland Yard and Cecelia had kept me busy; today, I had nothing to do. “Died of utter boredom” would be scratched into my tombstone and everyone passing by my grave would wonder if this was even possible. This was my legacy, I knew it.
With a sigh, Cloudia put a finger between the pages of Pictures of Italy and stared randomly in front of her. The library was rather small and the door usually kept open, and from the oriel window Cloudia could see the door and the corridor beyond it – and Keegan walking up and down the floor grumpier than she had ever witnessed him. It was quite a sight, so she kept watching him. She had been unable to concentrate on her book for the last hour anyway.
Lately, he had been slightly grumpier than usual because Ceara was ill, but she had almost fully recovered. What could have caused the sudden increase in his bad mood?
“Keegan,” Cloudia said, leaving Pictures of Italy at her seat and going to her cousin when he walked by for the millionth time today. “What is wrong?”
For a moment, he seemed to struggle whether to answer or not before he sighed and said, “I’ve remembered that Geoffrey Bentley asked Father if I could join his hunting party one day and that Father said yes. I’m supposed to go hunting with him and the rest of his party tomorrow.”
Keegan was an exceptionally good tracker. People would constantly ask if he wanted to join them in a hunt or two, but as he had neither patience, passion, or interest in hunting, Keegan would always turn them down. He only used his skills for more mundane purposes. Growing up, it surely had been no fun playing hide and seek with him.
“Why would Uncle Aiden even do something like that?” Cloudia asked. “After all, he knows how much you hate hunting and Geoffrey Bentley.”
“Because,” Keegan said with clenched teeth, “Bentley cannot be more of an annoying and loud person, and Father did not even listen to what he said: Bentley started talking to him, and Father simply nodded and agreed to whatever he was saying.”
“I have almost forgotten how much of a nuisance Geoffrey Bentley is. My ears still hurt a bit from the last time I heard him – from the other end of a ballroom.”
Keegan rubbed his temples. “It is not only Bentley. Of all the people who could be in Bentley’s hunting party, it’s Falk Flanagan and Cadell Beaumont.”
I could not name a more chaotic trio than Cadell Beaumont, Falk Flanagan, and Geoffrey Bentley. They were a notorious group of troublemakers, and their presence at social events was always met with a wave of annoyed sighs. Separate, they were already an imposition; together, they were unbearable. Different as they were, they would always loudly bicker among one another. Everyone could only wonder why they were even friends.
“No wonder why you are in such a bad mood,” said Cloudia.
“An entire day with those three at Beaumont’s estate… Ramming a fork into my own throat would be more pleasant.”
The Beaumont estate? Hadn’t Cecelia told me that Mary Louise Kent meant to have seen the bandits run to where the Croft and Beaumont estates were?
There was only a fifty per cent chance that the bandits were on Beaumont land – if they had not long moved on.
But I was bored and desperate to find anything I could do: Why should I not go a little bit hunting and, maybe, catch a couple of bandits to taunt the Met on the way? I had only promised Cecelia that I would stay away from Scotland Yard – and none of its members would be at the Beaumonts’ from what she had said. Therefore, I would not even go behind her back. It was foolproof.
Cloudia grinned. “Keegan, cousin dear, I think I have the perfect solution for your problem.”
***
Nanteuil-la-Forêt, Marne, France – June 1848
It was like a dream.
When we had crossed the Channel, had travelled from town to town, it had felt like I hadn’t been me: that my soul had become detached and I had watched someone else on that ship, in that town, in that carriage. When I woke up today, it took me a while to realise that I was not dreaming, that I was just where I was supposed to be.
It didn’t make it less unbelievable though.
Surely, it was quite unfortunate that I was currently stuck in “only” a little village and that we had had to rush a bit through Lille and Creil, but I was still satisfied. I had always longed to see the world beyond the isle. I would not become picky now.
Cloudia kicked away her blanket and walked to the windows. Lisa would be here any second and pull back the curtains with a slightly heartfelt “Good morning,” and Cloudia really wanted to pre-empt her. They had arrived very late yesterday, and the hour and general exhaustion had prevented her from taking in her surroundings. Full of sleepy excitement, Cloudia pulled on the cord. The curtains opened. The high windows appeared behind them, and through them, she saw…
… rain. Nothing but rain. It was pouring buckets, and Cloudia could not see farther than a metre.
I had travelled for so long only to arrive in England again.
She heard the door opening and Lisa coming inside. “Good morning, Lady Cloudia,” she said and closed the door behind her. “You woke up early today. Didn’t you sleep well?”
“I slept surprisingly well. The carriage drive got the best of me. Fourteen hours are far too long,” Cloudia replied, not taking her eyes off the windows. “And you?”
“I slept well too. It is such a pity that still nobody has tried to make carriages faster or to find a good replacement for them. Do you think Baron Salisbury may be interested? After all, his company developed special train engines for the sole purpose of reducing the transportation time for some beetroots,” said Lisa and went to the bathroom. “I’ve prepared a bath,” she announced when she came back a few minutes later.
“Thank you,” Cloudia said, not making a move to step away from the windows.
“Is it really that interesting outside?”
“It’s just a very familiar sight,” Cloudia answered and finally turned away to follow Lisa into the bathroom. “I doubt that Milton would be interested. His company focuses, after all, on food transport and not on developing machinery for the broad public. We might have a chance if we all were to turn into beetroots overnight.”
Cloudia undressed and stepped into the bathtub. A sigh escaped her lips when she sat down and was engulfed by the warm water. There was nothing better than a warm bath to loosen up tense muscles, and hers were certainly tense after yesterday. The carriage ride had been dreadfully exhausting and dinner had been both pleasant and a complete mess: pleasant because most attendees had been too tired to engage in proper conversations; a complete mess because, for example, Cedric had become so sleepy midway through that he had nearly fallen face-first into his soup, and Kamden had tried to eat his soup with a fork.
“Speaking of the Baron,” Lisa began, pouring more hot water into the bathtub. “Now that we are here, how do you feel about him being here as well?”
Cloudia sank a bit deeper into the water.
“Before, it was only an idea, then a fact lying in the distant future you did not have to pay much attention to. Now, we are here because of Her Majesty and there is this unknowing outsider lurking around.”
“You sound like the Duke. Milton is harmless and won’t be a hindrance,” said Cloudia.
Thin-lipped, Lisa put some flowers and herbs into the water to make it smell nice. “Lady Cloudia, I do not believe that the Baron will be a hindrance because he will bother everyone all the time. I believe he will be a hindrance because you got along rather well until he proposed to you and you declined. Then, he left for a few weeks, only to invite you to his crumbling villa and pretend that nothing happened before he vanished for eighteen months. This sounds like one of the ridiculous romance novels Al likes to read.”
Cloudia groaned. “I know you don’t like the Duke, but sometimes I think you could be the best of friends. This is one of those times.”
Lisa rolled her eyes.
“I saw that,” said Cloudia. “Why should Milton’s presence bother me? He misunderstood something, he proposed, I rejected him and never regretted it. And it doesn’t seem as if it hurt him all too much. Now, please let go of this nonsense and go read something for half an hour. You can ask Newman if he can lend you one of his romance novels.”
Lisa leaned against the washbasin. “Very well. One more thing regarding Baron Salisbury: I have never liked him, to be honest –”
“Who would have guessed.”
“– but even to me it seemed very unlike him to stare at Al like that in Dover.”
“I agree. It was odd, but I suppose Milton was simply surprised. If you see someone who looks like Newman, you usually do not expect them to be butlers. Or, in turn, if you imagine a butler, you do not think of someone who looks like him.”
Lisa shrugged. “Until I get some proper reason for his behaviour out of Baron Salisbury, I will dislike him a bit more than before. How’s the water?”
“Fine. How are the rooms in the servants’ tract?”
“They are acceptable. However, while you and the others inhabit the manor’s actual guest rooms, we sleep where the actual servants sleep. As they are going to return by the end of the month, they left quite a bit, and it’s very compelling to look through their stuff. One maid left her diary.”
“Oh, the temptation.”
“I mean: If her diary was so important to her, if what she wrote in it was so secretive, she would not have left it in the open, would she?”
“She may be a very forgetful maid,” Cloudia suggested.
“She left it in the open, Lady Cloudia! The maid meticulously packed all her other belongings and put them away, but the diary was lying on her desk when I came. That does not sound like she’s a very forgetful person.”
“She may have been angry that she had to leave for a month. Perhaps, it’s going to explode when you open it. Or, a less destructive option: Maybe there are ghosts in this house and the diary is her chaos record and warning?”
“Let’s hope nothing is going to explode,” Lisa said and whipped out the diary from her dress pocket.
“Lisa Greene, didn’t you say that you are only intrigued about taking their things?”
“I said that ‘it’s very compelling’ which it is. I have never said that I still haven’t given in to the temptation. To give me the littlest amount of credit, I have not taken a look inside it.”
Cloudia smiled and shook her head. “Because you wanted to share its contents with me? To make me your partner in crime? Your accomplice in this breach of privacy?”
Lisa raised an eyebrow. “So you are not interested?” she asked, flipping open the diary. “That’s good: no explosion.”
“I want to say that I am not interested, but I would be lying. I’ve always thought that pouring your feelings, thoughts, and secrets into a little, easy-to-steal book is a very idiotic thing to do. Of course, I would not want anyone to go through my things,” Cloudia sat up a bit in the bathtub, “but the possibility of this diary being a ghost record is certainly alluring.”
“I knew that you would say this,” Lisa remarked and paged up to the beginning. She opened her mouth to begin reading, but quickly closed it and skimmed through the diary with a frown on her face.
“What’s wrong?”
“It says ‘diary’ on the cover, but…” Lisa flipped back to the first page and showed it to Cloudia. The first page did not start with Dear diary… or Something terrible is going on in this manor. Instead, the very first page had nothing written on it but The Maid’s Manifesto in beautiful cursive.
“It’s a guidebook?” said Cloudia, and Lisa nodded and closed the “diary.”
“This notebook is filled with recipes and instructions on how to make beds and fold serviettes. There are even notes about the food preferences of every member of the de Charbonneau family. Apparently, Baronne de Charbonneau is allergic to strawberries. It’s a bit insulting that the maid left this for me. ‘I do not think that you know how to make beds; therefore, I have written a manual for you, blockhead!’”
“Very anticlimactic,” Cloudia commented and dived back into the water.
“That’s how it is sometimes,” said Lisa and stuffed the notebook back into her pocket. “And now, let us get your hair washed and this bath wrapped up before you get wrinkly.”
***
Nearly an hour later, I descended the stairs to the dining room. I had dismissed Lisa so that she could join Newman – and perhaps, Wentworth and some other servants – for their own breakfast. Although the memories of last night were hidden behind a veil of sleepiness, I hoped that I was still able to find my way through the corridors on my own.
After I had walked down the wrong set of stairs twice and had to ascend them again, I had to think of the Layton Art Gallery: The château was a godawful mess of a place. At least, unlike the gallery, it would cease to be one when I became familiar with it. No matter how often I had gone to the gallery, I had never been able to figure it out.
After a few more wrong turns, Cloudia finally found the right flight of stairs – on which Cedric was sitting. Frowning, she approached him and saw that he was grumpily nibbling on one of his bone-shaped biscuits.
“What are you doing here?” she asked and sat down next to him.
“I have taken a glimpse into hell: It is a mansion with an abundance of stairs and doors and no signs,” said Cedric, staring ahead of him with glassy eyes. “My soul has left my body. Forevermore, it will slumber in room 1046 while my body resides here…”
“The dining room is downstairs and to the right.”
He threw the biscuit down. “Dammit!”
“What did the poor biscuit do to you?”
“Nothing.” He leaned forward and picked it up. “I’m sorry, my friend,” Cedric said to the biscuit and stuffed it into his mouth. Cloudia grimaced.
“Is anything wrong?” he asked after he had swallowed down.
“It was on the ground!”
Cedric shrugged. “I’ve eaten worse. So… downstairs and to the right?” He got up and held out his hand for Cloudia. She took it and let herself be pulled up, and in this instant, Kamden appeared at the foot of the stairs and waved to them before walking up.
“There you are! Everyone is waiting for you,” Kamden told them.
“Then we should hurry,” said Cloudia and linked arms with him.
Cedric frowned. “How did you manage to be punctual, Kamden?”
“I wanted to go to Cloudie first, and on my way, I met Miss Lisa who seemed quite mad. She said that she found a handbook in her room that was not what she expected it to be. I asked her if I could take a look. We inspected it and found out that it is not as useless as she had believed it to be: It turned out that the handbook contains a thorough map of every passage and every room of the château,” Kamden said. “Apparently, Baron Lambert de Charbonneau who commissioned the manor was paranoid and wanted his home to resemble the inner workings of the Pyramids of Giza. For the same reason, he ordered for the manor to be built here where his only neighbours would be the birds and the people in the village nearby. He was ridiculed by other noblemen, but, according to Miss Lisa’s handbook, he must have turned in his grave in joy when the revolution happened. When King Louis XIV had ordered for all nobles to live with him at Versailles, nobody had bothered to make sure that Lambert de Charbonneau and his family would come too as nobody had been eager to search for them in this labyrinth. Thus, the Baron’s descendants were saved when the revolution came.”
This explained the Duponts’ eagerness to get their hands on the château: In the unlikely case that we were attacked, the manor’s architecture would protect us – or work against us if we had not got used to it by then. I should not forget to ask Lisa if she could lend me the Maid’s Manifesto later.
“Very impressive,” Cedric remarked, and Kamden cleared his throat. “I have found you, but Milton still isn’t there. Has any of you seen him?”
“If Milton is not in his room or in the dining hall, I suppose he is in the library,” Cloudia suggested, and Kamden nodded.
“I’ve passed the library earlier,” said Cedric. “I should have taken a look – especially considering that you might have been there as well, Countess.”
Cloudia’s eyes widened as she suddenly remembered something. “Will you be able to find it again?”
“I guess?”
“I hope so because Milton and rain is not a good combination.”
How could I forget this? I should have thought of it when I had pulled back the curtains and seen the rain.
“What do you mean?” Cedric wanted to know.
She looked down the stairs, then back to Kamden and Cedric. “We have no time for explanations. I would like to go with you, but, at least, I have to hurry to breakfast. I need to greet my relatives. And you should hurry to the library to make sure Milton’s all right.”
Gently, Kamden unlinked his and Cloudia’s arms. “I will go with Kristopher.”
She nodded. “Thank you. Now, quick. We have no time to lose.”
***
~Cedric~
What was with Milton and rain for Cloudia to get concerned? It rained so often in England; thus, it could not be something too serious, right? Especially considering that Wentworth was – at least, according to Cecelia – Milton’s “shadow,” and if he had not gone to get him or to attend to him, it really could not be very dramatic, right?
More curious than worried, I traced my way back to the library with Kamden. All the way I hoped that I was not misremembering anything, that I would be able to return to the dining hall, and that Milton was actually in the library. It would be quite a waste if he was not.
I was relieved when I found the door with “Bibliothèque” written above it again. I pushed open the heavy door and was met with yet another labyrinth. That Lambert de Charbonneau had truly been very meticulous with his plans. Rubbing my head, I walked inside – Kamden right by my side –, and after a few turns, I felt something tugging at my jacket and had to sneeze.
Cedric turned around and saw a little girl standing in front of him: She seemed to be between seven and nine years of age, had unruly, red-brown hair, and big blue eyes. She smiled at him, took hold of her lavender-coloured dress, and briefly curtsied.
“Hello, I am Anaïs Dupont,” she said with a slight accent. “Claudette told me that I would find you here.”
“Claudette? Oh, you mean the Countess.” Cedric sneezed again and rubbed his nose. What was wrong with him?
“Bless you,” said Kamden.
“Thank you.”
Anaïs nodded. “Claudette told me that you went to look for Baron Salisbury, Your Grace, Mr Bonham. I offered to help because the library is very confusing, and she said that all I had to do was ‘find the man with the long, weirdly coloured hair.’”
“I want to protest, but I have to admit that she is right.” Cedric tugged at his ponytail. “Anyway, you do not have to be so formal when you are addressing me. ‘Kristopher’ is fine.”
“And ‘Emyr’ is fine to me,” said Kamden.
“Very well, Duke Kristopher, Mr Emyr,” Anaïs said and walked ahead.
“I would say that Baron Salisbury is in the seating area, don’t you think?” she asked, turning her head back to them every now and then.
“I guess so, yes,” Cedric said, trotting after her and sneezing again. Was it so dusty in the library? But if it was, why weren’t Kamden and Anaïs sneezing too? “I have a question, Anaïs: Are you the little sister of that frowning, knife-throwing boy?”
She giggled. “Aurèle? He is my cousin. I have a little brother, Gérard, who is three. There are also Jacques and Arnaud who are Aurèle’s younger brothers. You will meet them at breakfast,” Anaïs told Cedric and Kamden before she jumped up excitedly. “Look, Duke Kristopher, Mr Emyr! Is that Baron Salisbury?”
Cedric followed her gaze to an armchair. It was standing in front of a window; outside, the rain had become even stronger. Milton was sitting on the armchair; there was a pile of papers and a notebook on his lap, but he was not staring at them: He was staring at his left arm while he pressed his right hand to his chest.
Cedric stepped towards him. “Milton? Are you all right?”
Milton flinched and craned his head to him, staring first at him, then at Anaïs for a few seconds; his eyes were wide, his face ghostly pale. When he saw Kamden, Milton shook his head and rubbed his face. When he had put his hands down again, the expression on his face had already eased back to his normal one. “I am sorry if I made you worried, but I am fine,” he said and smiled at Cedric.
He sneezed again and said, “You were not looking fine to me.”
Milton sorted his papers and stuffed them into the notebook. “It’s just… I do not have a very strong heart. It is nothing serious I swear, and nothing has happened since I was a child, but… but the last time something did happen, it rained. And now, every time it rains, the memory of the feeling I had back then returns. It is simply a ‘ghost feeling’ and nothing worrisome,” he informed them, still smiling, but when Milton got up, his notebook in his hand, the movement still visibly strained him. Out of the corner of his eye, Cedric saw Kamden shifting slightly towards Milton, though he did not take any step to him.
“I am sorry to have kept you waiting. The next time I do not arrive on time, you can simply start without me. Also, thank you, Kristopher and Emyr, for still having been so kind to look for me,” Milton continued.
“Well, we did not find you though. The little lady over there did,” said Cedric and looked at Anaïs who stared at Milton with glittering eyes.
Huh? Had I missed something?
Cedric was about to say something when Anaïs blurted out, seemingly incapable of keeping her words within herself any longer, “Baron Salisbury, are you a faerie?”
The confusion within Cedric grew stronger, his understanding of the situation lessened, and in his perplexed state, he did not know what to say; the events had rendered him speechless, and Cedric was certain that if Cloudia was here, she would be thoroughly amused.
Apparently, Milton did not suffer from temporary speech loss as Cedric did. That’s why he was able to kneel in front of Anaïs and say, “I am afraid that we have not been properly introduced to each other. I am Milton, and I suppose you are Miss Anaïs Dupont?”
Anaïs’ eyes widened. “You know my name?”
“Lady Cloudia has given me a list of all your names in advance. Now tell me, Miss Anaïs, why do you believe me to be a faerie?”
“Because you look like one!” she exclaimed. “In my books, faeries are described to look very fair and delicate and sometimes to have green eyes.”
“Uh, well, you see, Miss Anaïs,” Milton began bashfully. “I have to disappoint you: I am not a faerie. I do not even have green eyes – they are hazel. The light here must tint them more green than brown right now. Kristopher has green eyes though. Did you ask him whether he was a faerie?”
“No, I did not because Claudette said that his hair – and I do not mean to be offensive or unkind; I simply recite what she has told me – is not washed very often, and even though faeries are creatures of nature, they are supposed to be impeccable. Also, he does have very striking green eyes, but they look too unnatural to belong to a forester,” Anaïs said, and Cedric groaned. “I do wash my hair. This is its natural colour,” he said and sneezed.
“I am sorry, Miss Anaïs, but neither Kristopher nor I are faeries. We may have disappointed you, but I do wish you all the best in your search – and so does Kristopher and even Emyr, I assume,” said Milton and stood up, still a little bit shaky. “Also, I think we should hurry to the dining hall. We have kept the others waiting long enough, and Kristopher is in dire need of a cup of tea: He seems to have caught a cold.”
“I was fine until a few minutes,” Cedric said, rubbing his nose.
“Colds can be deceitful,” Anaïs stated with a serious face before she turned to Milton. “Well, you may not be a faerie,” she said, boldly taking Milton’s hand, “but you do look like one, Baron Milton. This alone may convince Jacques that faeries may really exist.” She dragged him forward. “Come! I cannot wait to see Jacques’ face! And, of course, to finally have breakfast and get Duke Kristopher his tea!”
With no protest, Milton let himself be dragged through the corridors by Anaïs, and Cedric and Kamden followed them.
Something told me that our stay here would be far from boring.
***
“There you are. We were about to begin to believe that the château swallowed you whole,” said Cloudia when Cedric, Kamden, Milton, and Anaïs entered the dining hall. Silently, Kamden went to occupy the chair to her right.
Last evening, the food displayed on the table had been scarce as their hosts had known that, while they had been undoubtedly hungry, they had also been very, very exhausted. Now, it was richly laid, and seeing all the food made Cedric’s stomach grumble. He sat down on the empty chair to Cloudia’s left and briefly looked around the hall, saw Aurèle scowling at him from the opposite side. He, Anaïs, and the spectacled boy to whom she was dragging Milton and who was sitting to Aurèle’s right, Jacques Cedric assumed, had hair in various shades of brown; however, the little boy to Aurèle’s left, presumably Arnaud, had black hair and piercing blue-green eyes. The instant Cedric and the others had come in, he had turned his head to them and fixed his eyes on Anaïs. He was still watching her, and Cedric followed his gaze to see Anaïs talking rapidly to Jacques in French, he answering her, they taking turns looking at Milton, and Milton looking very out of place and fumbling with his stuffed notebook.
It was quite a sight.
“Why did you even make such a fuss about Milton?” Cedric asked, leaning to Cloudia. “He only gets ‘ghost pain’ from the rain after all. I’ve expected something more dramatic. For example, that he is actually a very confused werewolf, changing to his were-form when it rains and not when there’s a full moon…”
“I think you need to eat something,” she said, handing the butter to him. “You always become more nonsensical when you are hungry.”
Cedric took the butter from her. “Definitely. Where are your ‘aunts and uncles,’ the rest of your distant relatives? The Comte and Comtesse? The Baron and Baronne? Will they come later, or at all? Will the enigmatic Marquis come too? And where is Cecelia?”
“What an awful lot of questions.”
“Apparently, hunger does not only make me more ridiculous but also very noisy.”
Cloudia put a raisin roll on her plate. “Anselme, Sylviane, Amélie, and Firmin have already eaten. They like to get up early, and because they do not want to disturb their children, they eat breakfast separately. If possible, they usually eat lunch and dinner together. About the Marquis… I told you about his condition yesterday, don’t you remember?”
“Frankly, I don’t. I’m not even sure if I was anywhere else but in that damned carriage yesterday.”
She sighed. “The Marquis is eighty-six years old and not in the best condition. Amélie and Anselme were against him coming here, but he did not want to hear any of it. He is the only one who knows where the Clockmaker is, and he does not want anyone to find out as long as it’s not absolutely necessary: He has not even told his own children. The Marquis will entrust the Clockmaker’s location to one of us, presumably me, and that’s it. Considering his state, I doubt he will leave his room during our stay.”
“How unfortunate. I really wanted to meet him even if I think that he is scary. And what about Cecelia?”
“She needs more time to collect herself. Cecelia has a bit of trauma regarding overly long carriage drives,” Cloudia told Cedric who nodded and looked away from her and ahead, seeing Aurèle still staring at him while he layered white cheese on bread.
“Do I have something on my face?” Cedric asked. Aurèle ignored him.
At least at breakfast, I had been free of Miss Greene and her piercing stares; now there was her male French counterpart to irritate me.
Apparently finished with their argument, Jacques returned to his breakfast while Milton hastily sat down next to Kamden, and Anaïs took place next to Arnaud, albeit a little grumpy. Her mood instantly turned around when she sat down. “Gérard!” she exclaimed, jumped up from her chair, and vanished beneath the table.
A few seconds later, she reemerged with a little boy with slightly tousled light brown hair and blue eyes. Anaïs said something to Aurèle that Cedric could not understand before she seated her little brother and a servant came to help her clean his hands and comb his hair. When they were finished, Anaïs clapped her hands together.
“It’s a bit late – you have already started eating after all – but have the others, apart from Aurèle of course, introduced themselves to you, Baron Milton, Duke Kristopher, Mr Kamden? If yes, I have not noticed it.”
“Well, I would have introduced myself to His Grace and Mr Bonham if you had not hindered me with your faerie business, Anaïs,” Jacques pointed out before he briefly bowed. “I am Jacques Beauchene, nice to meet you,” he said. Unlike his brother or cousin, he had no accent at all. “The boy next to Aurèle is my younger brother Arnaud.” Arnaud waved at them.
“And my fiancé,” Anaïs added, beaming. “Finally, that’s” – she pinched Gérard’s cheek – “my little brother Gérard. He is usually with Maman or our governess Josseline, but I begged for him to join us because we were unable to see you yesterday.”
“Hello,” Gérard said in his little voice and waved.
“So, as we are all here,” said Anaïs, her eyes shining with something ill-boding. “How did you all meet Claudette?” She turned to Kamden. “Mr Emyr! Can you start?”
Kamden stopped in his movement and very slowly looked up. In this moment, he reminded Cedric of a fawn that was seeing a train for the first time: scared, shaky, and not knowing what this thing in front of him was and what the hell he was supposed to do with it.
“She came into my bookstore,” Kamden said when he regained his voice.
“That’s everything?”
He nodded.
“Oh. Very well… Baron Milton, what about you? How did you meet Claudette?”
Milton put down his knife and clutched his hands together. “Her aunt is a patron at an art gallery where my father used to be one as well. A few years ago, a new exhibition opened. Lady Cloudia accompanied her aunt, and I attended the opening in my father’s stead,” he told her.
“That’s all?” Anaïs pressed.
He smiled. “That’s all,” Milton said and took up his knife again.
Still hopeful to get a wonderfully long and exciting story, Anaïs turned to Cedric. “And you, Duke Kristopher?”
“She was killing a man in a dark alleyway, and I happened to be there because I had to collect his soul. I told her that I was a Grim Reaper, and she still insisted on starting a partnership with me.”
This was exactly the kind of story Anaïs was seeking – insane and entertaining. Unfortunately, it was not one Cloudia or I could ever tell her.
“Well, it was incredibly unspectacular,” Cedric began instead. “We were at the party of a noblewoman whose name I have already forgotten – that’s how unspectacular it was.”
Anaïs let her shoulders sink. “I see.”
“That story may be wholly uninteresting,” he continued with a grin which earned him a frown and a glare from Cloudia, “but I have better stories about the Lady to tell.”
Anaïs’ eyes glowed. “Oh, please tell them, Duke Kristopher!”
“If I may have a word,” Cloudia said, her voice carrying loudly through the hall. She looked at Cedric. “No.”
“All that build-up for a simple ‘no’?”
“Brevity is the soul of wit. If you want me to elaborate, I will.” She cleared her throat. “No.”
“You did not elaborate on it at all.”
“Of course, I did. I elaborated on the intensity. The stress. The pronunciation.”
Anaïs giggled. “You two get along so well! Claudette, please, one harmless little story?”
“If she does not want to, you should respect her wish and stop pestering her,” Jacques said and stood up. “It’s not very polite. And if you may excuse me for a few minutes, my glasses are slightly dirty and I have forgotten my special handkerchief in my room.”
“I know… but are you not curious?”
“Curiosity should never lead to a breach of privacy, Anaïs,” said Jacques and left the dining hall.
“But…”
Aurèle groaned. “We should let Cloudia decide. If she is fine with one… uh… short harmless story, that will be all we will hear. If she is not… then we will talk about something else. Cloudia?”
Cloudia was silent for a while before she ultimately sighed and said, “Only if he tells me beforehand which one. And only one.”
“That will be enough!” exclaimed Anaïs happily. “Duke Kristopher, which story do you pick?”
Cedric looked at Cloudia who raised an eyebrow at him expectantly. There were many stories he could tell, but most he wanted to share were intersected with Watchdog work – their charade in St Margaret’s Chapel, how they were standing on that ledge outside the Salisbury Villa, how she took him to meet the Queen, how she killed Maven von Brandt… – and, thus, were not ones Cedric could tell in the presence of Milton. Then, there were the ones that were too ridiculous to tell: tracking down Dahlia Duke, how they sneaked into a Christmas party, how they hid zucchinis on the Lincolns’ porch…
Fortunately, Cedric had never intended to share any of those events.
“The picnic in Wales,” he answered, smiling at the memory.
“I hate you very much for this, but please go on.”
His smile widened. “Last year, the Lady and I were in Wales and, one day, I decided that it was the perfect day to go out into the wild and have a picnic. And while we were eating, I managed to make her laugh genuinely – by, you will never believe it, telling her one of the worst jokes possible.”
“What joke was it? Please, please, Duke Kristopher, what joke did you tell Claudette?” begged Anaïs.
“As I have said, we were having a picnic in Wales,” Cedric continued. “I asked the cook of the place where we were staying to prepare a few things for us. One of them was Glamorgan sausage. It is some kind of sausage which is not made out of meat but of cheese. The cook was very talented; therefore, the sausage tasted really delicious – and I jokingly said ‘Ah, I would like to marry him but I can’t.’ The Lady wanted to know why I couldn’t marry him after I told her that it wasn’t for the reason she believed it was – and I answered: ‘Because I found out that he’s a really cheesy guy.’”
Arnaud and Anaïs chuckled. “You made her laugh with that?” she said.
“Only because I had a terrible headache at that time,” Cloudia defended herself.
“No headache in the world can make someone laugh so hysterically at a pun as you did back then,” Cedric countered.
“Of course, it can’t. You may recall that, at that time, I did not only have a headache but was also on the verge of having a sunstroke because of a certain someone who insisted to take me out for a picnic when the sun was at its zenith in the middle of summer – and I hope you haven’t forgotten what happened afterwards.”
“What happened afterwards?” Anaïs wanted to know.
“He nearly got me killed, and I had to spend most of our time in Wales in bed recovering.”
Milton choked on his food, and Kamden clapped him on the back while staring at Cedric. Aurèle scowled at him with an intensity so fierce that it might surpass Lisa’s scowls. Even little Gérard could not believe what he had heard and looked at Cedric with wide eyes.
“What is going on?” Jacques asked when he re-entered the dining room. His glasses were now polished and nicely reflected the light from the chandeliers.
“Duke Kristopher once murdered Claudette!” Anaïs answered.
“You forgot to say ‘almost,’ Anaïs,” Arnaud told his fiancée.
“Oh, yes, right – he almost killed our Claudette!”
Jacques looked at Cedric. “How could you even try to harm our cousin?” Then, he let his gaze wander to Cloudia. “And why are you still talking to someone who almost got you killed?”
“I did not actively try to get her killed,” Cedric protested. “We went picnicking, and she carelessly put down her hat and didn’t put it on for hours – and she neglected her health again by not drinking enough.”
“Are you trying to blame me for what happened?”
“I am trying to defend my honour here. Unlike you, I have to do this all on my own, Lady Phantomhive. After all, I don’t have an army of cousins. To be honest – do you have more cousins hidden somewhere? The next time, you make Milton, Emyr, and me accompany you to Latin America because your great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother’s favourite aunt was Paraguayan, and you have a million more cousins there.”
“He’s ridiculous,” Aurèle said.
“We should get rid of him,” Jacques added.
“I once read a book about how to make murder look like an accident,” Arnaud proudly told them.
“I read it to him!” Anaïs happily exclaimed.
“Murder!” Gérard yelled, raising his fork into the air.
“I am so glad that you don’t have any Phantomhive relatives,” Cedric said to Cloudia who ignored him and chuckled at her cousins. “You are too sweet, but I cannot let you kill the Duke,” she said, taking a sip from her tea. “Because that is my privilege.”
Aurèle grinned. “Of course, Claudette. But if you… if you need help, you can count on us.”
“Always,” Anaïs added.
“Aren’t you forgetting the Earl, Kristopher?” Milton remarked after he could breathe again and had thanked Kamden.
“Hm? Oh, yes, of course, the Earl. His presence is so thin that I keep forgetting that he exists,” Cedric replied and he hoped that his words had not come out of him too hastily.
“Also…” Milton started, paused, opened his mouth, and closed it again.
“What do you want to say, Milton?” asked Kamden.
Milton cleared his throat. “I want to say that it was a really nice story, Kristopher.”
Aurèle raised his eyebrow but did not say anything. “It was?” said Cedric.
“Yes, of course,” Milton replied, fiddling with a serviette. “Sure, it was unfortunate how things turned out in the end, but at the beginning, you looked so happy to tell us about the picnic. You must truly cherish this memory despite its ending, don’t you? I think it’s good that you can still enjoy thinking about that time. Bad things often overshadow the good ones – and you two seemed to have had such a good time in Wales; it would be so sad if you only ever focused on the one bad thing that occurred. Especially as it was not the fault of neither of you.” He made a pause. “No… simply forget that I have ever spoken if it does not bother you too much. I am sorry.”
“Uh… well…” stammered Cedric before he gave up on saying anything. He had no idea what to respond to Milton anyway.
For the rest of the breakfast, Milton did not say a single word although everyone else was talking boisterously and over one another; and every time, Cedric glanced into his direction, he also saw Aurèle scrutinising him.
***
~Cloudia~
“Well, that was probably the most chaotic breakfast of my life,” said Cedric. Right after they had finished eating, Anaïs and Arnaud had gone to bring Gérard to Sylviane, his and Anaïs’ mother, and to see Babette. Jacques had announced that he would head to the library now, and Aurèle had vanished to go outside – presumably to practice throwing in a much safer place than in the corridor. Kamden and Milton had left with Cloudia and Cedric to go to their respective rooms but were walking a few paces behind them because Milton had been the one to close the door.
“That means a lot considering that I am not the youngest anymore,” Cedric continued.
“Really? You have never experienced even more chaotic breakfasts?” Cloudia said. “The bread did not go up in flames? A servant did not triple and spill a whole can of milk over your grandmother? Nobody ever bit into a roll so hard that they lost a tooth? The cook was never so tired that he misunderstood ‘croissants’ as ‘cross’ and ‘saints’ and prepared a very holy breakfast surprise?”
“You cannot tell me that you have actually experienced these things.”
She shrugged. "I don’t have to. Poor John can tell you how he was fired after angering Grandmother Hortense. Clarissa can tell you how she lost a tooth – thankfully it was only a milk tooth – to a centuries-old roll that somehow sneaked its way into the bread basket. If he was still alive, Maynard could tell you how he was fired after he was out with his friends for so long that he was too sleepy to work properly the next morning.”
“You are making this up.”
“I could never. All I said was born out of breakfasts had during the annual three-day family gathering at Grandmother Hortense’s. Do not get me started on stories concerning lunch or dinner!”
“Hah!” Cedric exclaimed and jumped up and down. “You are lying! I have never heard of an annual family reunion of yours! Last year you did not attend such a thing!”
“Grandmother Hortense is not particularly fond of me and only ever invites me every other time. Sometimes I cannot go because I have Watchdog duties to attend to.”
“That does not prove any–”
“Lady Cloudia, there you are,” said Lisa when she approached them. “I guess Mr Emyr has already told you about the Maid’s Manifesto?” She took it out and opened it. “Hah! What I thought to be completely useless and outright insulting ultimately turned out to be very, very helpful. This place is an architectural mess and without a map or having become fully familiar with the building due to haunting its floors for years, you would be lost. I doubt anyone would ever be able to find your corpse in here.” Lisa sighed. “Unfortunately, the Maid’s Manifesto was more of an exception than the starting point of a new surprising rule,” she added with a sideways glance at Cedric.
“Very funny, Miss Greene.”
“How was breakfast with the other servants?” asked Cloudia.
I had already a bit of a headache; I did not need it to become worse.
“It was fine. The servants of the Duponts and Beauchenes do not speak English, though. The only exception is, according to Mr Wentworth, the governess Josseline Manaudou, but she does not eat with us. This creates a bit of a barrier – at least, for me. Still, Al, Mr Wentworth, and I ate together while the others where bundled among themselves.
“Al and Mr Wentworth talked for quite some time and they get along very well. It surprised me a bit as Al usually shies away from conversations, and people shy away from him. Mr Wentworth does not seem to mind though – unlike his charge.”
“This again? Simply ask Milton about it. He is right behind us.”
“Oh, yes. I doubt that he would refuse to answer or that he would give a dishonest response,” Cedric said. “Milton strikes me as the kind of person who would gladly answer all your questions as truthfully as possible. Of course, only if he knows the answer and as long as it’s not too intrusive.”
“Nobody who is in their right mind would answer such questions. This says absolutely nothing about his character.”
“May I interrupt?” Milton suddenly said, having approached them as silently as a cat. “I am afraid, but I involuntarily overheard bits and pieces of your conversation. I am very sorry, but…” He turned to Lisa. “Miss Greene, are you referring to the incident in Dover? I did not mean to stare at Mr Newman; my surprise got the best of me. I am very sorry. I truly did not mean to make him uncomfortable in any way. Being stared at for such things is awful. I know that.” Milton sighed. “I will apologise to Mr Newman as soon as possible. I will definitely do so sometime today. I should have done it sooner. I am very sorry.”
“I… I think Al will appreciate it,” Lisa replied, clearly taken aback by his words.
“I do hope so,” he said. “Now, with the whole day ahead of us…” – Milton put a hand on his chest and smiled – “and the rain ceased, have you already made any plans for today?”
No matter what I had said to Cedric and Lisa, Milton was a bit of a hindrance. Nanteuil-la-Forêt was a small village and every new face would instantly become subject to gossip. We were a large group of people, and if we went there together, it would be even more eyebrow-raising than when only one or two of us go. The same would apply when we took turns going to the village.
And even more, if we went there looking like nobles.
The latter part should not be a problem with Milton – he would certainly be fine with disguising himself. The first part, however, might be tricky. Keeping an eager traveller and explorer away from Nanteuil-la-Forêt could not come without problems.
Under different circumstances, I could not care less if he went to the village or not – but if we caused too much a stir, it might alert Townsend and endanger the mission.
“Have you already made any plans for today?” Cloudia countered.
“Bram and I were contemplating exploring the nature around here a bit. Apart from that, I have a lot of work to do before my meeting in a few days. I thought about doing my paperwork in the salon or library.”
Evidently, I was absolutely wrong. Milton was as easy to handle as I had claimed.
“Are you not afraid of getting lost?” asked Cedric.
“Not quite. Are you interested in coming along?”
“Oh, no. I get lost all the time, and I am not a fan of forest strolls.”
“You could ask Firmin – Baron Beauchene – if he wants to accompany you,” Cloudia suggested. “Amélie said that he is very interested in the wildlife here and that he has been here once before. And I believe Emyr would like to join as well.”
She looked at Kamden, and the gaze he returned to her told her that he had understood: Milton had said that he and Wentworth would only walk around the forest, but if they were to change their minds, it was his job to stop them.
“I would come myself,” Cloudia continued, “but I promised His Grace to pay a visit to Nanteuil-la-Forêt with him. It is a little, unremarkable village, but even such places can have some hidden charms tucked somewhere in their two streets, I suppose.”
Milton smiled. “Villages always do, not only hidden between two streets. Maybe we will head to the village as well later. Until then… Emyr, do you want to ask Baron Beauchene with me whether he is interested in joining us or not?”
“Sure,” Kamden replied. “Let us talk later, Cloudia, Kristopher. Miss Lisa.”
Kamden and Milton said their goodbyes and walked back to a staircase they had passed earlier; Lisa had consulted the Manifesto, and, apparently, that was the best route to get to the Beauchenes’ rooms.
“What a splendidly useful guide you have there, Miss Greene!” Milton had said before he had wished them a good time in Nanteuil-la-Forêt and gone away with Kamden.
“So, my dear Duke,” Cloudia said when they arrived at her room and she pushed open the doors.
“It is time for us to get changed. We will meet here in thirty minutes. Not a second later, you understood?”
***
“Thanks for taking us with you, Mr Cuvier,” Cloudia said in French against the wind when, thirty-five minutes later, they were driving from the château to the village.
“You are welcome, Lady Cloudia!” Denis Cuvier replied. Cloudia had partially anticipated that she and Cedric would have to walk all the way to Nanteuil-la-Forêt. To their luck, Denis had been ordered to go down for shopping by Anselme Dupont – the Marquis’ son, Amélie’s older brother, and the father of Anaïs and Gérard. When Cloudia and Cedric had gone downstairs to head out for their little adventure, they had stumbled over Denis, and he had been so friendly to drive them. At first, he had been unsure whether he should or not as his wagon was not exactly made for the transportation of humans. Cloudia had convinced him that it was fine, and now they were being transported like goods in the back, and Cedric screamed his lungs out, holding on for dear life to the wagon’s side.
“Is His Grace fine?” Denis asked, glancing at Cedric.
“Oh, yes,” said Cloudia. “Undertaker,” she continued in English. “If you do not stop screaming, some passing-by villager may believe that there is a howling monster in the woods and break out a panic. If they catch you, they may try to dissect you.”
Cedric was silent for a moment. Then, he started to whimper.
With a sigh, Cloudia slid down next to him. “What is wrong?”
“This bastard there is driving too damn fast. Why are you fine with it?”
“I had worse carriage drivers. One time, some maniac managed to get me from Quaker Gardens to Soho in twenty minutes. Never tell a hansom driver to go as fast as he can and that he may cross others on the way,” Cloudia told him. “The better question is: Why are you not fine with it? What are you afraid of? You are already dead.”
“First of all, I am very capable of dying again. Second, I would not describe myself as ‘dead.’ I may be a Grim Reaper, but I still have to eat and sleep and do all other essential things humans have to do; I can even get ill – and you know that! If I were dead, I could jump off this damned wagon and come out unscathed. But I am not. I would die again and land before the Great Grim Reaper who would only sigh and say, ‘You again?’”
Cloudia held out her hand. Cedric stared at it.
“Come, take it, and tell me a story. We have already established that you like telling stories after all.”
He glanced one more time at her hand and then at her before he finally took it.
“Wonderful! And now to the story. Tell me whatever you like and what will distract you from Denis’ questionable driving skills.”
Cedric whimpered one more time before he cleared his throat, squeezed her hand, and focused his eyes on Cloudia.
“It started with a desperate man. Once upon a time, that man lived with his wife in a wonderful little cottage. They had wished for a child for a very long time, and when they were finally expecting, they had to face a great problem. As you see, there was a little window at the back of their house which overlooked their neighbour’s garden, and that garden was filled with the most wonderful vegetables and flowers…”
***
“Thank you, Denis,” said Cloudia. They had not quite reached the village now as she thought that it would be better if Cedric and she walked the last few hundred metres on their own. Nobody had to know that they belonged together after all. “Let us meet here in five hours. Is that fine for you?”
“Of course! Goodbye, Lady Cloudia! Your Grace!” And like lightning, Denis was gone.
“What is he feeding his horses?” asked Cedric, leaning against a tree. Her method to distract him had worked – he had gone through the entire fairy-tale without whimpering once –, but now that they were on solid, unmoving ground again, his queasiness had returned.
“I should inquire about it. Thomas may be very interested in it. ‘Power food! Makes your horse run so fast that even Death would rather die than chase it!’”
“I for my part am very interested in keeping my breakfast inside of me. I do like nature, but nobody benefits from it when I share the dozens of croissants I ate with it.” Cedric took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes for a moment before he shoved himself off the tree so that they could resume their journey to the village.
“Do you think Denis will slow down when we have to return?” asked Cedric, circling a puddle. “He has to think of the cargo after all.”
“Earlier, we were the cargo, and you know how it was.”
“But the other cargo, the actual cargo, cannot hold on to something. It would topple out and be ruined.”
“Let’s see what will happen later, okay? Let us focus on our work now.”
“Very well. What do you even mean to do in the village? Question every resident if they are Nicodemus Townsend?”
“Do not be ridiculous, Undertaker,” said Cloudia. “I plan to see the mayor. We say that we were sent from Paris to catch a criminal and that we need his help in this task which will require his absolute discretion. If we are in a particularly bold mood, we may tell him that he will receive a medal if he helps us. People are like magpies – hopelessly attracted to everything that shines.”
“Are you sure that this will work? I don’t think I can pass for a Frenchman if I cannot even speak French.”
“I will say that you are embarrassed about your voice and have to whisper all you want to say into my ear.”
“Cannot we say that I am a foreigner and need a mediator?”
Cloudia looked at him. “The world is slowly shifting together, Undertaker, but villages like Nanteuil-la-Forêt are not very affected by that shift. The people living in such places are not used to foreigners and often do not trust them. If they don’t trust us, how will they aide us in our investigation? Also, Townsend may be a foreigner here too, but it would still seem suspicious if the Parisian police send foreigners to do their job for them. The mayor and nobody else would believe us.”
“But can’t we say that I am… I don’t know… mute? I know a bit of sign language; it might work.”
“I don’t know sign language, though. You need to teach me one day. Until then, we have to push back this charade idea.”
Cedric sighed. “Very well. Then, I will be the detective with the embarrassing voice. Are you happy now?”
“Definitely. How do you want to be called?”
“Hm?”
“Undertaker, we need false names. I don’t want to have to think of ones on the spot. I am, I have to admit, not very good at naming anything, and it will be better if you already know to which name you have to respond when I call you.”
He sighed again and pondered over it for a while. “Jeanne Gauthier for you. Alexandre Vidocq for me.”
“Interesting choices. Wholly unexpected. Why did you choose them?”
Cedric smiled. “I had no particular reason.”
***
After ten minutes, they finally arrived at the village. At first, they kept to alleys, tracing the village more than entering it, but a place like Nanteuil-la-Forêt did not have many dark corners to begin with and soon, Cloudia and Cedric wandered rather openly through the streets.
It was a perfectly ordinary village and every now and then, people stared at them and put their heads together. The gossiping had already begun.
“Do you smell this?” Cedric asked into Cloudia’s ear, sniffing the air. “Cake.”
Cloudia rolled her eyes. Very well. But only because we need to ask someone for the way, she thought, touching her skull pendant necklace.
I followed Cedric’s keen nose. If one of us should be called a dog, he should be it. It fit more.
They entered a little bakery, and Cloudia ordered a piece of cherry crumb cake for Cedric.
“Hello, my companion and I are looking for the townhall,” Cloudia told the baker in French after she had handed the cake to Cedric. “May you be so kind as to tell us the way?”
The baker wiped the counter and narrowed his eyes. “I have meant to ask: Who are you? I have never seen you here before, and I am one of the only three bakers here. I have practically seen everyone.”
She smiled at him. “We are simply two strangers passing by.”
For a moment, the baker scrutinised her, and then, he said, “Follow down the main road; then go left. You cannot miss it.”
“Thank you.” Cloudia gestured for Cedric to come, and they quickly walked down the path to the townhall. There, they had to wait quite a while. Not because the mayor was so busy, but because the staff was wondering who those two persons they had never seen before in their entire lives could be.
Gossip. Cecelia loved it because she could get a lot of information out of it, and I could see its value in this regard, but it was far too tiring for me. Cecelia could handle it. I did not want to have to do anything with it.
“The mayor will see you now,” the secretary Alain Descombes, a tall man in a well-worn suit, told them. “If you may follow me now.”
Cloudia and Cedric followed their guide to the first floor, and in front of the room at the very end of the corridor, he halted and opened the door for them. He bowed when they entered and closed the door behind them.
“Welcome, Monsieur Vidocq. Monsieur Gauthier,” the mayor said. He walked up to them and shook their hands. “I am the mayor of Nanteuil-la-Forêt, Mathieu Guilloux. What can I do for you?”
After we had parted to get changed, I had put on trousers, well aware that with them and my hair up and hidden beneath a cap, I could pass as a man. It was easier to walk through the streets like that: People were already talking about us, and I did not want them to fantasise over the “unmarried pair walking around the streets solely on their own” too. But when I had told the secretary that I was Jeanne Gauthier, I had not put any effort into lowering my voice. The trousers were a disguise for the street; I had not meant to continue the charade here. However, if they saw pants and apparent short hair and instinctively believed me to be a man…
Part of me wanted to continue this masquerade, wanted me to be “Jean” instead of “Jeanne.” I had done this before and it had gone well. Why not do it again? The rest of me, though, had no interest in pretending to be a man. And, for once, this larger part was louder than the smaller one.
“It is Mademoiselle Gauthier,” Cloudia corrected him with a smile.
Mathieu Guilloux frowned. “I knew that you were an odd pair – marching into my village and heading straight to me – but now you have become even stranger. A girl in pants!” He shook his head. “Anyway, please take a seat and tell me what you want.”
Cloudia and Cedric exchanged a glance before they followed Guilloux to his desk and sat down on the chairs in front of it. Guilloux himself sat down behind the desk.
“Monsieur Vidocq, why have you come here?”
“Monsieur Vidocq and I have come to Nanteuil-la-Forêt on order of the Parisian police,” Cloudia answered him, still smiling. “Vidocq is a renowned detective there. Unfortunately, he is very embarrassed by his voice, and because of this, he needs me: I am the only one who is allowed to hear his voice and recite what he is saying.”
“So you are his secretary?”
“We were sent here for a highly important case,” Cloudia continued. “A criminal from England has caused quite a riot in Paris and before we could catch him, he fled. We assume that he is hiding somewhere around here.”
Guilloux frowned. “He is hiding here? In Nanteuil-la-Forêt? Unbelievable!”
Her smile widened. “That’s exactly the reason why he is here. Nobody expects a wanted thief to be here.
“Mayor Guilloux, we have come to inform you of our investigation and to ask for your aide in finding the thief. We are certain that with your help, we will be able to find him in no time. The sooner we find and catch him, the sooner Vidocq and I will be gone.”
Guilloux said nothing for a while before the neutral line of his mouth transformed into a grin Cloudia did not like at all. “Mademoiselle Gauthier, so you are saying that Monsieur Vidocq is a renowned detective in Paris?”
She nodded. “Very famous, very talented. Day after day, his brilliance adorns the title pages.”
Guilloux leaned back. “I see, I see. Mademoiselle Gauthier, you may not have noticed it while coming here, but we have our very own criminal lurking around here. In the last two days, two persons have been killed. It is the first time something like this has happened here and my people are in a panic.
“I will help Monsieur Vidocq in finding his thief if he agrees to help me with my murderer. Is this a deal?”
***
I hated this bastard so much. I had tried to argue with him for a while – I had even told him about the prospect of receiving a medal, but it had not helped –, but soon figured out that it was in vain. Guilloux was one of those people whose mind you could not change no matter what you did. After briefly “consulting” Cedric – he had only whispered into my ear how much he disliked the mayor – I had agreed. However, I had made a condition as well: Under no circumstances should he tell anyone that I was, in fact, a woman. It would ruin my disguise on the streets after all.
Still furious, Cloudia left the mayor’s office with Cedric. Outside, a young woman with light brown hair in a long braid and a gentle face waited for them.
“I am Yvette Guilloux, the mayor’s daughter,” she introduced herself with a curtsy. “I am to guide you through Nanteuil-la-Forêt. Very pleased to meet you, Monsieur Vidocq, Monsieur Gauthier.”
“We are very pleased to meet you as well,” said Cloudia, and Cedric nodded.
“Please follow me down,” Yvette said and led them to the stairs. “I hope Père was not too unfriendly. He can be rather rough sometimes. I hope he did not offend you?”
“Not at all,” Cloudia dryly replied.
Yvette nodded. “Did he tell you something else I have to do? Apart from showing you around?”
“Your father said that you would inform us about the murder case – Vidocq is a detective and agreed to help. What happened?”
She paled. “It is absolutely horrible! Traumatic! Two days ago, Madame Nadia Allemand, an elderly seamstress, was found in her tailor’s shop – with thousands of pins stabbed through her skin! It was an awful sight and nobody knows who it was. It was a shock to all of us. And then, yesterday…” Yvette shuddered. “Dominique Duhamel was found hanging from the church’s roof. He was hanging there with a rope around his head, but his heart had been pierced by a knife…”
She showed them to the backdoor and out. “And, well… We do know who it might have been, but we have no idea who he is exactly.”
Cloudia frowned. “Oh, very interesting. Could you please tell us more?”
“Two days ago, a stranger came here and checked into Maxime Guilbert’s pension. He checked in and vanished on the same day: On the day Madame Allemand’s corpse was found.”
Cloudia leaned towards Cedric so that he could whisper something into her ear.
“What is she saying?” he wanted to know.
“Vidocq would like to see the pension,” said Cloudia, and thought: I will tell you everything later, Undertaker.
***
Maxime Guilbert’s pension was right next to the bakery they had visited earlier. According to Yvette, the baker Basile Duhamel was the father of the second victim.
It was certainly odd for him to continue working after his son’s gruesome death. Was it because he was dependent on the money or because of something else?
Guilbert heartily greeted Yvette and after a row of small talk and introductions, he gave her the key to the apparent murderer’s room and told her, Cloudia, and Cedric its number: 245.
“I am a friend of his daughter Marie-Claire,” Yvette told them while they climbed the stairs to the second floor. “She and I used to run around these halls all the time. Now, all we do is drink tea and converse in the kitchen.”
She put the key into its hole when they arrived in front of Room 245. “Maxime said that he did not touch it: Everything is exactly like the stranger has left it. Maxime was afraid to touch the room after what happened, and he stopped Dominique’s mother from destroying it. Poor Solange. Now that you are here, Maxime is especially happy that he has protected the room. He got a few scratches from the fight. At least, now he knows that they were not for nothing.”
The door swung open, and Cloudia and Cedric stepped inside. They walked around, searching for something useful.
The room was ordinarily decorated: There was a rug, a bed, a small desk, a slender wardrobe. From the window, Cloudia could see the façade from a house, and there was a chamber pot beneath the bed. No manipulated tapestry, no loose floorboards.
The wardrobe was empty. The bed was untouched. There was nothing on the desk, not even faint lines that indicated that the stranger had sat down and written something there. The rug was glued to the floor so masterfully that it was impossible to move.
The window was intact and closed. There were no holes in the ceiling and walls, no cracks as well.
The room was absolutely blank.
***
~Cedric~
On our way back, Cloudia explained everything to me, but it sounded more like she was talking to herself than to me. After we had gone to the pension, Yvette had led us to the church and to the tailor’s shop. At each place, Cloudia’s frown had deepened, and when Yvette had invited us to tea, I had been able to hear the gears turning inside Cloudia’s head over my chewing.
The case was clearly bothering her. Still, in my eyes, this was no excuse for ditching me as soon as we had arrived at the château. Denis had actually driven slower this time, relieving my soul and stomach, but when Cloudia told me that she would retreat to her chambers now, I still had not the strength to protest.
The hours passed and after doing nothing in that time, I decided to go out and find out whether she would like to see me now…
Cedric walked down the corridors, crossing his fingers that he was actually taking the right path when he was promptly grabbed and dragged into an astonishingly beautifully furnished and decorated room.
Wrong way.
Very unceremoniously, Cedric was thrown onto an ottoman.
“I would appreciate it if you were to stop doing this,” he said to Cecelia and shifted into a better seating position.
Cecelia shrugged and sat down on a large sofa opposite him. Today, she was wrapped in black silk. From the exhaustion that had apparently been plaguing her earlier was nothing to be seen.
“Rather, you should consider becoming less lost-in-thought and more observant and cautious. Under widely different circumstances, I might have been an intruder sent to cut off all the heads of the residents here. Imagine it! Someone whose sole talent and purpose in life is cutting off and collecting people’s heads! And he was sent after us! How tragic for the world it would be to lose my lovely countenance!”
“I thought you were talking about my head.”
“I will talk about your head when I want to play ball like the shepherd’s children.”
“Cecelia, why am I here?”
“Do you remember the promise you have given to me? Back in April? Please do not say you don’t: I will be tremendously disappointed.”
“It was not a promise when I said that you could ask me another time whether I would like to drink with you.”
“You remembered!” Cecelia exclaimed. “Wonderful. Splendid. Marvellous. Today will be the day you will redeem your promise.” She stood up, walked to her dresser, and inspected her face and hair which sat perfectly.
“I have asked Newman if he was so kind as to organise some beverages and prepare the salon for us. Of course, he was. A very dutiful man. If he was not so devoted to our dear Cloudia, I would take him for myself.”
Cecelia turned towards Cedric and held out her arm to him. He sighed. “Did I ever have a choice?” he said, taking her arm and guiding her out of the room.
“Did anyone ever have one?”
***
“Is there not something you would like to ask me?” said Cecelia, leaning towards him and speaking in a low voice, while she led him to the salon.
“How are you able to navigate through the château so confidently even though you have spent the entire day in your room? This place is a mess!” Cedric replied, shuddering at the hundreds of different staircases they passed. Who was the architect Lambert Charbonneau had employed? Had he gone wild when the Baron had said to create “the most dazzling building” or had he been insane?
Cecelia laughed. “I may have spent my day in my chambers, but I talked to Newman, don’t you remember? I ask him about the way to the salon, and he went to ask Lisa about it. Apparently, the one whose room she currently occupies left her a very remarkable little book. I keep saying this to Cloudia, and now I will say it to you too: I could very well spend the rest of my life in a single room or stitched to a bed or sofa and still be able to acquire all the information I want.
“Now, when I asked whether you have a question or not, I did not prompt you to give me this question. While entertaining, I doubt it is all you have in mind.”
Cedric was silent for a while. “While we were travelling, why were you being so weird towards Milton? For example, why did you make the Countess withhold from him that you would accompany us as well?”
Cecelia tugged on his arm to make him bend down and poked his nose. “I am slowly training you to ask the right questions, and it is working fantastically!
“Well, you have to know, dearest Not-Kristopher, that I do not travel with anyone I have not researched before. When I had to cross the Irish Sea to get to England and marry Michael, I requested him to find out every man’s name who would be on the ship. I had never been on one before, and I did not want to take any risks. Michael gave me all the names and I spent an afternoon finding out everything I could about them. One of them was a wanted axe-murderer who planned to kill everyone on board and steal the ship to escape to mainland Europe. Michael and I reported him, he was arrested, and we could calmly take our journey. Never trust anyone – that incident cemented this for me.
“When Cloudia first began to meet with Milton, I was very eager to dig out everything concerning him. She was not very happy about my plans though and made me promise that I would, as long as they would keep meeting at least, not research Milton. Now, their relationship has not exactly soured, but it took quite a turn after his failed proposal – a very fortunate circumstance because it allowed me to research him now when it became important. I would have never set foot on his damned ship if I had not dipped into the waters of his past and secrets before.”
“So… and why exactly were you being weird towards Milton?”
“How impatient! Is it because I am not Cloudia that you cannot listen to me for more than two sentences?” Cecelia shook her head. “Anyway, while I conducted my research I came across a tiny, but highly interesting rumour.
“As you know, Milton owns a trading company which is primarily focused on food and whose profits significantly increased upon him inheriting it. The other heads of trading companies despise him for that; this hatred infamously peaked in Flavian Hunt conspiring to kill Milton. A few people believe Milton’s success is founded in some dark business.”
Cecelia inspected her fingernails. “He is a weapons smuggler.”
Cedric stared at her. “What?”
“Milton’s innocent, overly friendly aura could not be real; not a second, I believed his little act. Surely, it is only a rumour, a very tiny ember which seems to be going around for a little while now, but still has not sparked a fire.”
“What if it is only a rumour? A rumour planted by some envious rival?” Cedric suggested.
“Of course, this is a possibility. But what sounds more plausible? Nobody has a white soul, and I doubt that Milton has one. If only I could get anything out of Baroness Salisbury…”
“Baroness?! What Baroness…” Cedric interjected, but Cecelia kept on going.
“… and then there are all the other highly suspicious things about Milton and… Oh, look! We have arrived!”
A servant opened the door for them, and they stepped into the salon. Apart from them, only Milton – of all people – was there, hunched over piles and piles of papers in a corner. Cedric had almost missed him.
“Speaking of the devil,” Cecelia whispered to Cedric before she let go of him and headed straight to the table and seating area Newman had prepared for them.
There was no reason for me to believe Cecelia. Still, I hesitated before I approached Milton.
Cedric had made only one step towards him when Milton lifted his head. From the door, he had looked far more submerged in his work.
“Hello, Kristopher,” Milton greeted him with a smile when Cedric sat down on a chair opposite him. “I am sorry for the mess.”
“It’s no problem,” Cedric said, glancing at the “mess” he was referring to: There were many large piles of documents, but each pile had been neatly put together. The only thing that was “messy” about them was the fact that they were covering the entire table.
“What brings you here?” Milton wanted to know.
“Cecelia is forcing me to have some drinks with her.”
“I see. I hope you will enjoy yourselves.”
“She certainly will; I, on the other hand, am not sure I…” Cedric glanced at the paper on the very top of the pile closest to him, and for a moment he was confused because of it and did not know why before it dawned upon him that he could not read anything written on it. Not only wasn’t it in English – it did not seem to be any other language.
“Uh… Milton? What is this gibberish?”
“Oh, that…” Milton fumbled with the pen in his hand. “These documents contain classified information. Only those who concerns them should be able to read them, and to make sure that really only the right people can do something with these papers, they are written in code."
Dammit, Milton. I did not want to believe in Cecelia’s words – I wanted to trust you, but you were not making it easy for me.
“It is only a silly little security measurement. I guess everyone could break the code if they were dedicated enough…” Milton trailed off.
“Well, I certainly am not. In the end, all I would get would be boring numbers, right?”
“Oh, yes. They are not exactly interesting to everyone…”
Cedric nodded. "So if anyone ever tells you I was stealing your corporate information, you know that they are lying and only want me to look bad.”
Milton chuckled, and to Cedric, it sounded genuine. If he was really a weapons smuggler, shouldn’t his laughs be more pressed? “I will keep that in mind.”
“Very well.” Cedric stood up. “I think I will leave you alone now. You seem to have a lot of paperwork ahead of you…”
Milton looked down on his lap and twisted his pen in his hands. “Uh, not exactly…”
Cedric frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well… I am almost finished for today.” Milton picked up the single piece of paper that he had been balancing on his lap.
Cedric stared at him. “When did you come back from your stroll?”
“Two hours ago.”
“These are like a million papers! And you have worked through them in two hours? How did you even get them in here?”
Milton shyly smiled at him. “A butler, Alphonse Batteux, was so kind as to help me. I think the next time I will work in my room…”
“This is insane. Don’t you have a secretary to help you?”
“No. Even if I had, they would not be here anyway, right? Also…” Milton looked down at his last file. “I like doing paperwork. It’s very calming.”
“Baron, as you are free in a minute, do you want to join us?” Cecelia asked, coming over to them with a grin on her face.
Her words reminded me of something Milton had said after breakfast: that he would either work in the library or the salon. Who had Cecelia made spy on us for her? Or how had she found the random passing-by servant who had overheard exactly this crucial piece of information on which she could base her entire crazy plan of making me redeem my “promise” to elevate her chances of getting Milton to agree to have some drinks with her so that it would be easier for her to get the pieces of information she wants out of him?
A spy it had been. Definitely a spy.
We were here for barely a day, and Cecelia Williams had already wrapped the staff around her finger.
“Friendly afternoon drinking does always sound marvellous, and, as we will be having dinner soon, the drinking will not become too heavy. It’s unfortunate, but we have to be presentable after all. The Comte and Comtesse, and the Baron and Baronne will join us, I have heard. We would not want to leave a bad impression, would we? And, Baron, as far as I remember, we have never really talked, and like this, you can continue your conversation with His Grace as well!” Cecelia said without making any pauses to breathe that could allow Milton or Cedric to protest.
Milton put his pen down and clutched his hands together. “Very well. I am not much of a drinker, but if it is only a little bit…”
Rest in peace, Milton. It was good to have known you.
Cecelia’s grin widened. “Oh, how wonderful.”
***
“It has come to my ears that you, Mr Bonham, Baron Beauchene, and Wentworth went out into the forest today,” Cecelia said when they were all seated and the butler Batteux had poured each of them a glass of wine.
“Yes, we did,” Milton replied, taking up his glass. “Aurèle joined us as well. Baron B… Firmin was quite happy about this development because, seemingly until now, Aurèle never wanted to accompany his father to one of his nature studying trips. Firmin studies wildlife and plants, you see; he is especially interested in birds.”
How did someone like Firmin even manage to marry a Dupont? From all Cloudia had told me, it would have made more sense to me if Firmin had been rejected. Or, perhaps, bird-watching was just his hobby?
“How very interesting.” Cecelia raised her glass to her lips and took a sip. “Your Grace, what are you saying about it?”
“It must have been very nice to have an expert in your group,” Cedric said and glanced at his damned glass.
“It definitely was. Firmin was able to continue filling out his notebook on the nature of Nanteuil-la-Forêt, and we were able to get a university-level lecture on it.”
“Have you ever been to university, Baron?” Cecelia asked.
“I would have loved to, but I could not. I had to help with the company and this took up all my time.”
“How unfortunate. Don’t you think it’s unfortunate, Your Grace?”
Cedric numbly nodded.
“However, with your title and company, a degree would be superfluous. Why should you do something you do not need to do?”
Milton nodded briefly and after twirling the glass in his hand for a while, most likely he was debating whether to drink the wine or not, he raised it to his lips – and drank everything at once.
Cedric stared at him. Even Cecelia was baffled.
Bashfully, Milton put the glass down and clutched his hands. “I am not very fond of the taste of wine – or any kind of alcohol – and prefer to finish it all at once so that I do not have to endure the taste for too long…”
“Are you not hurting yourself in the process?” Cecelia said. “Drinking an entire glass of wine at once is no easy task for many because of this.”
“It does hurt. Like with the taste, I prefer to have to withstand the pain for only a short while though…” Milton paused. “I can drink it normally if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“Oh, no, do not bother. It is tremendously fascinating. Can you do this with something stronger as well?” Cecelia inquired while pouring whiskey into his glass.
“Uhm… I suppose I could, but I thought we were only drinking lightly?” Milton remarked.
“Oh, one or two glasses of something stronger will be fine! Trust me.” She held his glass to him.
Milton stared at his glass before he hesitantly took it and drank everything at once again.
“Milton… are you fine?” Cedric asked when Milton had put down his glass again. He itched to throw it out. Part of him did want to get closure on the question whether or not Milton was involved in some illegal dealings, but he did not approve of Cecelia’s method of getting this piece of information out of him. Cedric was still sure that Milton would answer that question normally, but how could you embed “Are you an arms smuggler?” into a casual conversation without it becoming awkward?
“I’m very well,” Milton replied, and judging from the look on his face, he was telling the truth. “Thank you for asking. I have just remembered something: How did your visit to Nanteuil-la-Forêt go, Kristopher?”
“It was fine. The Lady and I have not found its inherent magical component, though we did have some cake.”
Milton smiled at him. “You still have time. I hope you will find it eventually.”
Cecelia handed Milton his refilled glass. This time, Cedric had not seen what she had poured into it – and to be honest, he did not want to know.
“It seems as if you are greatly amused by my drinking habits, Marchioness,” Milton said, taking his glass.
“It is a truly fascinating talent and gift. A gift I would love to have to amaze the Ladies of the Gossip Table,” said Cecelia. “Have you shown this talent of yours to others as well, Baron?”
“Please call me ‘Milton,’ Marchioness. And while there are others who know about it, I have never put it on public display.”
“You should! It would stir quite the talk at parties.”
“I do not doubt that it would, though I am afraid that this is not something I would ever do,” he stated and gulped down his glass of unidentified liquid.
Again, when he put it down, he still seemed completely unaffected.
I had no idea what Cecelia had put into that drink, but she seemed to have had great hopes for it because her face fell momentarily. Something told me that her mixture would have even knocked me out – and I was a Grim Reaper! What was Milton then?
Cedric stood up. “I think this was enough. Cecelia…” However, before he could get any further, a footman entered the room and bowed. He said something in French that Cedric could not understand, but part of it had sounded like his name…
Whatever the footman had said, it managed to surprise Cecelia for the second time today.
“What did he say?” Cedric wanted to know.
“He said,” Milton told him, “‘Duke Underwood, The Most Honourable Marquis Dupont would like to see you.’”
***
I asked the footman if I could speak to Cloudia first. He said no.
I asked him if he had made a mistake. Again, a no.
I asked if it could wait – the Marquis was an old man, and it was so late. Surely, he would rather rest? No.
I asked if he knew why he wanted me and not Cloudia, his grand-niece? He said no.
I asked if he knew what the Marquis wanted to tell me. No, again.
And then, he stopped answering any of my questions.
It was highly unnerving. Over and over again, I recalled all the bits and pieces Cloudia had told me about him because I wanted to know who I was about to meet. It did nothing to ease my nerves; instead, it only made everything worse. When the footman opened the door to the Marquis’ rooms and shoved me through it, my nerves were frazzled.
I whispered to the footman that I would refuse the meeting – why had I not done this before? – but he only closed the door behind me.
The Marquis’ room was decorated like all the others. All was ordinary; only he was not.
He might have been lying on his bed, multiple cushions lifting up his upper body and head, but he might as well have sat on a throne.
“What is your name?” the Marquis asked. Despite his age and ill countenance, his eyes and his voice were still full of strength and subtle malice.
Thank God, Cloudia did not inherit this.
I hoped.
“Not the one you use to introduce yourself to others,” he continued. “I do not want the lie; I want the truth. The one you gave to my sister’s granddaughter.”
Cedric could not help himself and flinched.
“My servants are my ears and eyes in a world I cannot explore on my own anymore. However, they can only see and hear, not observe and listen. They also do not speak a single word of English; I always make sure they do not. Certain words are not meant for the ears of many.
“So, tell me, what is your name?”
“How do you know that ‘Kristopher Underwood’ is not my real name? Why don’t you assume Cecelia Williams is lying about her name?”
“I do not have to assume anything: I know that both your names are not your real ones. In her case, she changed it upon marriage. You have never officially changed your name; you illegally bear a name that is not yours. ‘Cecelia Williams’ is her name now; ‘Kristopher Underwood’ has never been yours.
“I know the names of all who have arrived yesterday except yours. I know that Wallace Underwood never had an heir, but I do not know who you are. However, seeing you in front of me now, I have a suspicion. My servants described your appearance to me. Say, when was the last time you have washed your hair?”
Cedric groaned.
Yes, he was definitely related to Cloudia.
“It is such a pity,” the Marquis said, “that you are neglecting it so much – your impressive silver hair.”
“What do you want with me?”
“I want your name. I already know enough – why are you still hesitating, son?”
Cedric took a deep breath and looked him into the eyes, but the Marquis did not look into his. “And what is yours?”
“I,” he spoke, “am the Marquis.”
He was giving me an aneurysm.
“I am not quite sure why I am even here – don’t you want to speak to Cloudia? She is your sister’s granddaughter, as you have said, and you have never met her before. Don’t you want to talk to her?”
“I have told you what I want.”
Cedric sighed. “Marquis, why are you so fixated on names?”
“Names hold power, son. They hold power and contain stories: of marriages, of favouritisms, of adoptions, of great tragedies, of love and joy and sadness and many more. I have always had an interest in stories. ‘Duke Kristopher Underwood’ tells me the story of how you met my grand-niece and came to work with her. What does your real one tell?”
Something told me that, if I were to try to escape, I would find the door locked or the corridor full of ready servants – or both. The windows would be unbreakable; the walls impenetrable.
This château had been built to protect its inhabitants from the outside world, and what was to be a safe haven could easily become a prison.
“My name is…” His heartbeat grew faster. “Cedric Kristopher Rossdale.”
The Marquis smiled. “As I have expected: another tragedy. And such a sad one. Rossdale is such an old name.”
Cedric sucked in his breath. “Now that you got what you wanted, tell me where the Clockmaker is. That’s the main reason why you have called me, isn’t it?”
“I have never said such a thing.”
“But that’s the reason why we are even here!”
“But not the one why you are here. You have come to tell me your name.”
Cedric clenched his fists. “Can’t you give me the location anyway? We do not have much time, and I am already here.”
“I will give out this piece of information when the time is right and I will only give it to the right person. This is not now. This will not be you.”
“If this is all, can I go now?”
“Nobody shall hinder you, son.”
Cedric turned around and when his hand touched the doorknob, the Marquis spoke again.
“People grow into the names they are given or take. I have not always been ‘the Marquis.’ For a brief time, I had been someone else. ‘The Clockmaker’ has not always been his name either: He grew into it when it was given to him.
“Amélie told me that my grand-niece is calling you ‘Undertaker.’ When do you think you will grow into that name?”
***
I could not stop thinking about my conversation with the Marquis.
Dinner had passed and, afterwards, we had all retreated to our rooms. Most were already asleep. Only I turned back and forth, unable to fall asleep myself.
Cloudia had still been pondering over the murder case at dinner; if she had not, she surely would have noticed that something was wrong with me. Of course, I would talk to her about it – just not now. Now, it was time for me to process the conversation myself. Now, it was time for it to haunt me.
Something greatly unnerved me when I thought back to the meeting, but I could not put my finger on it. It was on the tip of my tongue but I could not taste it.
It was horrible.
With a sigh, Cedric rolled out of his bed. This night, sleep would not find him, and he would not find sleep. At least, he hoped to find some peace while wandering through the silent corridors.
Cedric lit a candle and grabbed the clothes he had worn during the day, and when he shrugged on his jacket, a bundle of papers fell out of it. Frowning, Cedric picked them up and unfolded them. My dearest Not-Kristopher… it began and he cursed under his breath. When had Cecelia put the papers in his pocket?
Cedric was about to scrunch them up and throw them away when the word Milton caught his eye. His heart beat faster.
This was the summary of what Cecelia had learned about Milton.
I should not read it. It was a breach of privacy. I liked Milton, did not believe that he could hurt a fly, let alone be a smuggler. And still, there was his file in my hands…
No, it was not right. Who knew what was written in there? Nonsense, I guessed. It came from Cecelia after all. And still…
And still…
Cedric shook his head and put the papers on his desk. He adjusted his jacket and went to the door, but right in front of it, he stopped.
For a minute, Cedric lingered there, staring into nothingness, and then, he turned around. With sure steps, he walked to the desk, sat down, and smoothed out the papers.
My dearest, Not-Kristopher, I hope that you are aware that after you have read these papers, you have to tear them apart and burn them in different fireplaces…
***
Somewhere, United Kingdom – May 1843
~Cloudia~
A chuckle came from behind the door. “How amusing for Simon’s daughter to come to visit me,” said Oscar Livingstone, former Met detective, now incarcerated Yard Ripper.
My heart beat louder in my chest. So I had been right; it had been true.
Cloudia took a deep breath to slow her heart again; in the empty corridor, it sounded so loud in her ears, and she did not want her excitement to be so obvious.
“How exactly do you know my father?”
“Is that all you came for?”
“No, but it is a beginning.”
“I have no reason to answer any of your questions.”
“You would not even do it for the sake of friendly conversation? Your voice sounds rough – nobody talks to you, right? I must be the first one in about six years to start a conversation with you.”
For a while, it was completely silent behind the door, and then, Oscar said, “Simon and I worked on multiple cases together. His partner was gone for two years, and during that time, I was Simon’s primary aide. We worked together later as well, but not as frequently.”
“That was a surprisingly long answer,” Cloudia remarked.
“Is that everything?”
Now or never, Cloudia.
“As you know, my father died nine years ago,” she recited the words she had rehearsed all the way to the asylum. “He died under very mysterious and perplexing circumstances. Until today, nobody knows what happened, and Scotland Yard has long ceased its investigation.
“I was there when my father died, but I lost all my memories of it under similarly perplexing circumstances. This is haunting me every single day – this uncertainty. Barrington does not want to tell me anything, and Father’s other Aristocrat of Evil is in America where I cannot reach her. There are not many people who were close to my father, and when I found your portrait in Father’s sketchbook” – Cloudia held it out even though Oscar could not see it – “I worked to find out who you were.”
“And it did not stop you from coming here when you did.”
She nodded. “It did not. It only added yet another riddle for me to solve. And now, I have found you. You were friends with my father…”
“I would rather describe our relationship as ‘close acquaintances’ or ‘colleagues,’” Oscar interjected. Apparently, it had not taken much to revive his joy for talking.
“… You knew him better than many others, and I thought that because of this you could help me find out what happened.”
“I am not exactly capable of helping you right now,” Oscar said.
“This is not a problem: If you agree to help me, I will get you out of here. I have a letter personally written by the Queen which says that, if I want to take you with me, you are free to go. Even your servants will be released.”
Again, silence fell inside the cell.
“If I am to help you, you will help me as well.”
Cloudia frowned. “I will already help you get out of the asylum.”
“But does it not benefit you as well? Finding out the truth about Simon’s death is a part of the bargain that is solely for you. I want one as well.”
“Wasn’t Father your… your close acquaintance? Are you not eager to learn the truth too?”
“Curious I am, but I am neither as haunted by it nor as invested in this matter as you are. Not finding out the truth will not steal my sleep.
“Don’t you believe in balanced deals? Why should anyone agree to a deal from which only one party benefits?”
He was not in a position to discuss this with me. By any means, I should be leading this conversation, but I did not. He was right. Who was I to demand something and not be willing to return the favour? Who was I to assume that anyone would agree to this?
But was it really wise to have to owe a favour to the Yard Ripper?
Cloudia took a deep breath and pressed the sketchbook close to her, holding on to it as if it was her anchor.
I hoped this would be worth it.
“Very well. If you agree to help me, I will help you too.”
“You will not ask any questions or back out?”
“I will not ask any questions or back out. I promise.”
When Oscar spoke again, Cloudia could hear the smile in his voice and she wondered how it looked like.
“Then the deal is done, Lady Phantomhive.”
“Then the deal is done, Captain Livingstone,” she replied, uncertainty and utter relief and joy warring inside of her.
“I will go and tell the warden to release you,” Cloudia said, but right after she had taken the first step back to where her guide had left her, she halted. There was a question she should ask; one she should have asked before and had to do it now even though it did not matter anymore. She had already given her word.
“What is it that I have to help you with?”
“Do not worry about it. I will tell you when the right time has come.”
#Watchdog of the Queen#main chapters#please tell me all is working well#i feel like puking#edited all day#where is the damn line you could add tumblr???#fanfiction#kuroshitsuji#undertaker#cloudia phantomhive
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An Ordinary Evening
@empresstress13 decided to be the sweetest friend and surprise @wardsarefunctioning with a commissioned drabble, and of course that meant I had to continue the modern AU we’ve developed with Elizabeth Trevelyan and Solas! So glad you both loved this, my friends <3
My Ko-Fi || My Commissions
Pairing: Elizabeth Trevelyan x Solas, modern AU
Rating: Teen for drinking
********
Elizabeth Trevelyan entered the Haven Bar and Grill late, and in a flurry of frustration, and with snowflakes on her eyelashes, and it was this last detail that Solas found himself fixated on. The tiny perfect crystals, and the soft sweep of the lashes that framed her eyes. Some people would call them narrow or small, but he found them utterly lovely, full of depth and spark. They were the first thing that attracted him to her, in fact.
“I am so sorry,” Elizabeth said, wedging herself onto the seat next to him. “A train broke down, and we all had to get out, and I had to walk to the next station I could catch the right train from, and it’s snowing, and I’m cold, and I’m wet, and I really want a drink. How are we doing?”
Her face was red from the cold and she was clearly not in an amorous mood, and he really should have been paying attention to the master of ceremonies who was directing the trivia night, and yet Solas found himself looking at Elizabeth and thinking I love this woman.
It was not the first time he had thought it, but all the other times the thought had been idle and ill-formed. This time it hit him with the clarity of a struck bell. They were different people from different walks of life - he, an elf who had long hemmed himself up in the cloister of high academia, studying esoteric mathematics and maintaining few connections to the outside world - her, a human with a sprawling, maddening family, dozens of connections from her days at Circle College, and her daily tales of her high school mathematics students. They had the math in common, but they came at it from such different angles, with such different histories and expectations. And they had been together for such a short while - only six months now, after over a year of acquaintance. And somehow, still, Solas found himself in love.
“Hello? Solas?”
He shook himself free of his reverie. He covered her cold hand with his own, rubbing it idly to warm it.
“Apologies. I was quite distracted by you for a moment.”
Elizabeth froze, horrified. “Is there something on my face?” She caught the server’s attention. “Pinot noir, please.”
Solas could not help but laugh. He curled his fingers around hers now. Elizabeth eyed him, still suspicious.
“No. You are simply quite beautiful.”
As she so often did, Elizabeth took a moment to bloom under the influence of that praise. She had a suspicious, exacting mind. He loved that about her too.
“Oy,” Krem said from his place at Solas’s left. “Are you two going to canoodle or help us? We all know I’m just here to look pretty. You’re the brains of the Chargers, Trevelyan.”
“What’s the category?” Elizabeth asked.
“Chantry history,” Solas said, not bothering to hide his distaste.
“Well, my Sunday school education has to count for something,” Elizabeth said, settling now. She squeezed his hand, and it was a nearly imperceptible thing, but it made his heart beat faster.
I love you, he thought as he watched her argue with Bull about the order of Divines who presided over the Chantry in the Towers Age. She dropped his hand in order to scribble down her answer and carry it up to the judge. But she took it again when she returned. Her thumb traced the back of his hand. She was not often given to public displays of affection. This meant something. He knew she could not read his mind - if their history together, full of misunderstandings and miscommunications, proved anything, it was that - but it almost felt like an acknowledgement of his own internal realization.
It was an ordinary evening. It was their Thursday night tradition, after all. Fereldan inspired pub food, thick with grease and salt and more delicious than he wanted to admit. Cheap beer for Bull and Krem, Elizabeth and her pinot noir, and his own whiskey sliding smooth down his throat. But everything seemed rosier than it had in many years, because Elizabeth was holding his hand, and because she was brilliant, fiery, hellbent on getting them as many points as she could, triumphant when the two of them arrived at the same answer at the same time.
They left together, and that was when he couldn’t stand to wait any longer. He kissed her there, just outside the bar, and the world fell away from him when she returned the kiss without a moment’s hesitation.
“It’s cold,” Elizabeth said. “Do you want to come back to my place for hot chocolate?”
“Miss Trevelyan, if I did not know better, I would say that was a proposition.”
“Darn. You caught me.” She smirked, and she leaned in and kissed him again, and then turned to hail a cab, and the streetlights shone on the snowflakes that were trapped in her golden hair now, and Solas fell in love all over again.
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Live Forever - Chapter 1 (Group Fic)
a/n: A self-indulgent Grey’s Anatomy AU ft. literally everyone.
I’ve got a fair few ships in mind but this will be pretty Shalaska-centric, with sprinklings of other ships that I won’t spoil. This chapter is pretty short (I did it for you mobile users) but, GCSE workload permitting, they should get longer. Also, this is my first fic here so if you have anything at all to say about this clusterfuck of queens-as-doctors, teach me how to use tumblr so I can know!
Enjoy, lovelies!
The first thing that crossed Alaska’s mind when she woke up is that she was screwed. Honest to god, abso-fucking-lutely, no way out of it, screwed. The second thing she thought was that great surgeons are never late. Especially not when they’re starting their first day as an intern at one of the best surgical programs in the country.
Which is why opening her eyes on the living room floor, with a pounding headache and a naked stranger lying next to her, was a complete and utter disaster.
Cursing her nearby bar and their stupid Tequila Thursdays, Alaska hauled herself to her feet. Light streamed in through the open window, not a good sign, and so Alaska took a deep breath, said a quick prayer to the patron saint of ill-advised sexual encounters, and checked her watch. “Fuck me!”
“I mean sure. I’ll go for round two.” Even better. Drunk bar hook-up whose name Alaska couldn’t remember except that it might have possibly been Karen, was awake. Just what she needed.
Alaska sighed heavily, spinning around to look for the bra that she was sure had been there last night, amidst the piles of boxes and stacks of clothes and books. “Look, you need to go.”
“Is this yours?” The girl, although still sprawled out naked on top of Alaska’s favourite rug, was holding her black bralette aloft in one pale hand. How humiliating.
She snatched it from the girl’s grip, trying to ignore the flush rising on her cheeks. “Thanks.” Alaska stared pointedly at the door, but Erin, or whoever, didn’t move. “Seriously, can you leave. I’m late, which isn’t a good idea on your first day of work, so….”
“Nice place you’ve got here.” Shannon smirked, letting the pointless small talk roll off her tongue so slowly that Alaska wanted to strangle her. “Is it yours?”
“Yes, kind of. It’s my mothers. But I’m selling it.” Manon opened her mouth as if to speak again, but Alaska cut her off. “We don’t have to do the thing.” At her blank look, Alaska elaborated, reciting off the spiel that she’d used on every one night stand since her second year of college. “You know, exchange details, pretend to care, all that stuff. It’s been really great but I’m gonna go upstairs and have a shower and when I get back down here you won’t be here. So, goodbye, um–?”
“Sharon.”
“Right. Alaska.”
“Alaska?” The corner of Sharon’s mouth crooked up and that time it seemed less mocking, more genuine somehow. Alaska got a look at her properly for the first time that morning. Platinum blonde hair falling messily around high cheekbones, plump lips, icy blue eyes - Shit. She was even more attractive than Alaska remembered her being last night, which, God knows, is a fucking rarity. “Nice meeting you, Alaska.”
“Bye, Sharon.” Alaska dashed up the stairs, her heart beating a mile a minute and a familiar warmth pooling in her stomach.
Great. This was all she needed.
Alaska arrived at the hospital sooner than she’d expected and she reached the designated O.R just as Chief Visage was working her way through an introductory speech. The chief caught Alaska’s eye, but a brief purse of her bright red lips was the only punishment she got.
The twenty or so interns were left to eye each other up, circling around the operating table like vultures. Alaska knew that not all of them would make it through their internships and she couldn’t help but wonder which of them would be gone come two years time.
Maybe the petite blonde, practically bouncing around the room in excitement. Or the redhead across from her, a wide, lazy grin on her face. Perhaps the thin, modelesque girl with the bitchy expression on her perfect face or the handsome guy smirking in the corner, or–
It could be her.
Alaska might be one of the eight that switch to an easier speciality, part of the five that crack under the pressure, a member of the two that get asked to leave. And as much as that scared the shit out of her, Alaska knew that she wouldn’t let it happen. She was a good surgeon, and nothing, nothing, would distract her from playing the game she knew that she needed to play to win.
“Right, Coulee, Velour, Taylor, Moore, with me.” Names were called across the already loud locker room and Alaska strained her ears to try and catch her own. She’d been sitting and waiting for her resident for what felt like hours, and there were only so many times that she could adjust her stethoscope or re-button her lab coat.
The numbers dwindled until there were five of them left, sitting on the wooden bench in the now-quiet room.
“Got Del Rio?” The girl closest to her asked, her voice a strong Aussie twang. Alaska nodded wordlessly, nerves clogging up her throat, but the Australian just beamed back, apparently completely at ease.
“Hey, so do I.” It was the gorgeous brunette, striding across the room towards the two blondes. She walked like she owned the place, head held high, and Alaska couldn’t help but feel intimidated. “They call him the Nazi.”
“I’ve got him too. At least we’ll be tortured together, right?” The ginger woman opposite them offered, stuffing a hoodie back into her locker. She had kind eyes and Alaska immediately felt more comfortable. “I’m Jinkx Monsoon.”
“Act, Chachki, Belli, Monsoon, Thunder.” At the sound of their names the group of interns rose tentatively, making their way down the hallway that the doctor gestured to. A woman stood at the end of it, short and unassuming in stature, her caramel hair twisted into a glossy updo.
Chachki sniffed, and Alaska could practically hear the disappointment in her voice. “That’s the Nazi? I thought she’d be more…”
“Terrifying? Yeah. But that’s good right, having a nice resident?” The Aussie offered hopefully, earning a withering glare from the brunette and a scoff from the curly haired man.
“Nice usually equals incompetent. So no, blondie, we don’t want a resident that’s all sunshine and fucking rainbows. We want a good surgeon.”
Act sniffed, obviously put out by Belli’s dismissiveness. “Well, it never hurts to be nice.” She approached the Nazi, extending a dainty, manicured hand. “Hi, I’m Dr Act. But you can call me Courtney, or Court, or whatever. I don’t mind.”
Del Rio turned, looking at Courtney’s dainty hand like she’d been performing rectal exams all day. “I have five rules,” she barked, her voice loud and harsh, and Courtney jumped back like she’d been shot.
“Rule Number One. Don’t try to kiss my arse, I don’t want you there. Whatever you think it’s gonna get you, it won’t. Me hating you, it’s not going to change. Two, answer every page at a run.”
She shoved a pager into each of their hands, the black metal cold and unfamiliar between Alaska’s fingers. Jinkx leaned in towards Alaska as they followed Del Rio down countless identical, sterilised corridors.
“Looks like Belli and Chachki got their wish, huh?” Alaska allowed a small smile to play on her lips before focusing again, trying to take in the information that their resident was shouting at them.
The hospital flashed by Alaska in a blur, and she could only catch brief snapshots: a burn victim being rushed past on a gurney, nurses surrounding a hospital bed, a glimpse of peroxide blonde hair. Almost immediately Alaska was transported back to last night at the bar, her cloudy memories suddenly crystal clear. She saw herself, throwing back shots until the room spun and her heart beat faster in her chest. Catching the eyes of the woman across the room, her mauve lips stretching into a wide grin as Alaska waved. The girl, no, Sharon, walking over with a can of PBR in her hand and talking together for what must have been hours, before making their way back to Alaska’s house.
But then came the harsh reality of morning, the knowledge that no matter how funny or charismatic Sharon had been, Alaska was a surgical intern. She had to work, eat, sleep repeat. Even if she did have time for someone other than a patient in her life, what was the chance that this beautiful woman would be able to understand the demands of her job. What sane person would agree to a girlfriend whose time was not her own, who worked ridiculous hours, who had to be on call day and night? Certainly not Shar-
“Thunder? Watch where you’re going.” Alaska stumbled back, recoiling from the impact of crashing into Dr Del Rio and trying to ignore Belli and Chachki’s muffled giggles. “What was Rule Number Four.”
“Four, uhm…” Alaska stuttered, desperately hoping that whatever information Del Rio had been spouting had somehow absorbed into her brain via osmosis. “I’m sorry, I don’t- I don’t know.”
“Well, Dr Thunder,” Del Rio hissed, “Maybe you’d like to get your head out of your pretty blonde arse, and listen to what I’m trying to teach you. Unless you think you’re too good for us?” Alaska shook her head hurriedly, staring down at the white tiled floor. “No? Good. Rule Number Four is to always do what I tell you to do. Answer my pages immediately, take the patient I assign you, and, Thunder, listen to me when I speak. Clear?”
They pulled to a stop at the main nurses station, where a folder was shoved into each of their hands by an exhausted-looking nurse. Alaska could hear Jinkx’s heaving breaths beside her as they flicked through their files, and even her own heart was pounding in her chest. If every day was like this she’d have to invest in some running shoes.
“Excuse me, Dr Del Rio?” Chachki raised an a hand tentatively in the air. God, if even that stone-cold bitch was afraid of their resident, Alaska knew that Del Rio was legitimately terrifying. Even in the face of Del Rio’s arched, perfectly-plucked eyebrow raising in a way that was somehow threatening, Chachki continued, “Didn’t you say that there were five rules?”
The resident’s brow shot up even higher, and Alaska made a mental note to find out who her beautician was.
“Well, Dr Chachki, since you’re dying to know - Number Five. Do not wake me when I am sleeping, unless your patient is on the brink of death. Speaking of, I have to make it through 48 hours with you fucking imbeciles, so I am taking a nap. All the information you need is in those packs. Try not to kill too many people.”
With that piece of advice, she strode off, the harsh white lights glinting off her honey highlights. Alaska looked at the four interns next to her, suddenly realising how alone and incompetent they were in a massive hospital, full of busy professionals who actually had a single clue about what they were doing. They all looked at each other, and Alaska could see her own insecurities reflected clearly in their eyes.
“Well,” Jinkx murmured, splitting the nervous silence in two. “She’s a fucking delight.”
Willam scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, real sweetheart. What’re you guys assigned too?”
“Dr Michaels, pediatrics. Oh, that’ll be so fun, I love kids!” Courtney squealed, her green eyes lighting up as she scanned the page in her hands.
“You practically are one. Did Mummy give you too much go-go juice this morning?”
Courtney furrowed her brows at Willam’s comment. “Why d’you have to be such a dick? Just because I’m trying to stay positive and not complain like a certain person I could mention doesn’t mean I’m a child.”
“Sorry that we can’t all be happy-go-lucky balls of fucking energy, blondie-”
“Do not call me blondie!” Courtney stepped forward so that she was nose to nose with Willam, both of their faces hard and stony with anger. The tension in the air was so thick that Alaska could have sliced it with a 10-blade.
Willam was the first to move back, spitting out another insult. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re exhausting?”
“Oh, I’m exhausting? Well you’re an insufferable prick with a penis the size of a-”
“Shut up! I’ll go insane if I have to listen to your little lover’s quarrel for the next two days.” Violet raised her hand, stopping Willam and Courtney’s vehement protests. “I’m on cardio with Dr Liaison, and if anyone has any idea which direction it’s in, I would be very grateful.”
Alaska tucked her folder under her arm and pointed down the main corridor. “I think it’s down here. I’m on neuro, and I’m pretty sure cardio’s on the way.”
“Great let’s go.” Violet hooked her wrist around Alaska’s bony forearm, dragging her away from the still fuming Willam and Courtney.
“Jesus, they really hate each other,” Alaska commented after a few moments of silence between them. No matter how intimidating this girl was, they’d be spending 100 hours a week together, so Alaska might as well make an effort to get along.
Violet stopped outside a door clearly marked ‘CARDIO’, a vixen-like smile lighting up her sharp face. “Nah. I guarantee they’ll be fucking each other’s brains out in a week. Anyways, enjoy neuro.”
“Yeah, you have fun with cardio,” Alaska replied, but the door had already swung shut behind Violet.
Throngs of scrub-clad people swarmed around her, and for one second, Alaska felt completely lost. It was the first time that she’d been alone in this hospital, this huge building full of sick and dying patients, of people that could make or break her career. She was frozen, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, all she wanted to was to just leave-
Then her pager buzzed.
The small noise broke Alaska from her reverie, and she checked the device, the small screen displaying a short series of numbers.
4679, a room number. At least whoever the Dr Needles written in Alaska’s file was had thought about the fact that Alaska would have no clue where to go. The room was just off the next corridor, and, standing before it, Alaska couldn’t help but pinch herself.
Whatever was behind the door to room 4679 was the beginning of the rest of her life.
Steeling her nerves, Alaska pushed open the door…
“Hi Dr Needles, sorry for-”
…And was greeted by platinum blonde hair falling messily around high cheekbones, plump lips, icy blue eyes - Shit. Alaska stopped dead in her tracks.
Oh, she was so fucking screwed.
#shalaska#doctors au#cisgirl au#group fic#sharon needles#alaska thunderfuck#courtney act#willam belli#bianca del rio#violet chachki#jinkx monsoon#rpdr fanfiction#submission#lesbian au#live forever
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Single Mom Au! Nayeon
Requested: Hello! Just came by to say that your single mom twice au is great! I'm lowkey obsessed and I wanted to see if you could maybe write more of them?
Sorry I know you get a lot of twice requests but can you do a single mom nayeon and Sana? Thank you <333
A/N: Im living for these single mom au requests, can you tell?
Admin: Mirae
Sorry for any spelling or grammar issues
Nayeon was who you'd least expect to be a single mom, she looked like she would have a spouse, a kid, and some type of family pet
After all, she was a successful lawyer who never lost a case, she lived in a really nice house that was too big for anyone, and she never once showed any sign of struggle
So it came as a shock to you when you learned that the successful lawyer was the single mom of twin boys, but not just any twin boys, the same twin boys that put gum in your daughter's hair
How were you supposed to convince the principle that it was her sons doing and not your daughters? Nayeon was a lawyer for christ's sake, she specialized in bullshitting out of problems
You, you worked at the local aquarium as a receptionist, you didn't have the nicest house and sometimes you were struggling to make ends meet
“Mr. Lee ill have you know that my sons have never once acted out before, so why would they start now? Its so sudden, such a dramatic change from their normal behavior,” Nayeon spoke, her voice was full of determination and bitterness, no doubt towards you and your daughter
Even if it was something as small as her sons put gum in a little girls hair, she could lose some major reputation, there would surely be someone out there who thought of that as a serious issue and would write a heavily worded article
“Miss Im, while I do agree with what you're saying to a point, Y/D/N has never acted out either, in fact, out of all the students she is the one with the least behavioral problems. The damage to Y/DNs hair has already been done, all I'm asking is that you pay for a haircut and styling,” Mr. Lee did his best to keep his voice calm but he was covered in sweat, it had looked like he ran a marathon
While you wholeheartedly thought that her sons did it, you didn't want someone to make a big deal out of the situation, besides, one of the students in your kid's classes happened to be the daughter of the biggest gossip writer in the area
“Mr. Lee I hope you understand that while I'm very happy you tried to do something with this situation, id rather just leave and schedule my daughter's hair appointment, I don't need Miss Im to give us anything,” you said while carefully standing up and grabbing your things
Nayen and the principle widened their eyes, neither of them were expecting to hear that
“O,, oh,, Are you sure about that? We can always make Miss I'm pay?” you laughed softly at his words
“No its fine, kids will be kids, in fact I'm pretty sure I put gum in someone hair when I was their age,” you joked trying to lighten the mood
Now what you didn't expect was to hear Nayeon laugh genuinely, she fished around in his purse for something before handing you a business card
“How about you fax me over the receipt for the haircut and styling after it's done and ill have some money wired to your account,” you looked down at the card before shaking your head
“No, its fine, really,” you said bere bowing and exiting the room, once you were out you made your way to the classroom where your daughter would be waiting
“L/N!” Nayeon shouted from behind you, you heard her heels hurriedly tapping the ground, you turned around and looked at her with a confused face
“Thank you for what you did back there. If word had gotten out that my sons put gum in someone's hair I would lose rep. I just,,,, I don't know why they did it? Their always good kids around me? But I'm not around them enough, being a single parent is a lot harder than I thought,” her voice was low and filled with sadness
You never once stopped to think, she was a single mom of twin boys, yeah she had a great job and a big house but that did mean anything, she worked a lot so she wasn't around her boys as often and surely living in that big house made it pretty lonely when you don't have someone to enjoy it with
“ I can kinda get where you're coming from. When I had my daughter, I was in college studying marine biology, I couldn't afford to have her and college so I had to drop one. Its been really lonely and hard ever since I'm always working so we can make ends meet so I don't get to spend as much time with her as I should. I'm worried that she is going to hate me in the future for that, ya know,” you stared intensely at the ground, you had just confessed a big thing to Nayeon
“I have this Thursday off and while I was going to stay at home and do paperwork,,,how about you and I take our kids to the carnival that just opened downtown?” you were certainly surprised to hear her words, thee Im Nayeon just invited you to hang out at the carnival with your kids?
“Id love too,” you said smiling over at her, it was like a relief had been lifted from Nayeon's chest
“That's wonderful,” she said, the look in her eyes made your heart beat faster than it had in years, you didn't know what Nayeon was going to call your outing but you secretly hoped it was a date
#kpopwritingnet#kgirlsquad#flowergirlsnet#kpop fluff#kpop imagines#kpop scenarios#kpop au#kpop twice#twice imagines#twice scenarios#twice fluff#twice au#twice nayeo#nayeon imagines#nayeon scenarios#nayeon fluff#nayeon au
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Turning the T.V. off, he let out a loud sigh and set his guitar to the side then strolled into the kitchen to grab a beer and some chips. “Brain food” as he liked to call it. Back on the couch his phone let out a loud tone alerting him that it was time to head to work. He groaned and went to snooze the alarm. Walking to his room he continued to mess around with the song in his head, tapping his fingers on his leg just trying to find the right beat. He glances in the mirror as he changes and frowns.
“Man I really need to go to the gym again…” he said to himself, “maybe this weekend.”
Soon he is on his way out grabbing his keys to his car and heads to work. Music fills the car relaxing his mind a little before arriving to his shift.
“About time you got here!” his manager Nora said from behind the bar.
“What are you on about? I’m on time as always!” Niall chuckled as he joined her in cleaning off the counter.
“You finish that one song yet?”
He groaned, “Not yet. Don’t know why it’s takin’ me so long to get it. Usually finish a song in a few days max.”
“Well, you’re talented. I’m sure it’ll be your best song so far,” she gave him a smile and walked over to take the order of some people that had just walked in.
Keeping his head down Niall focused on his work, filling orders and soon he was near the end of his shift. Nora came over and gave him an order of someone at the end of the bar. He was filling the order when someone spoke up, “That’s a nice song. Where’d you hear that?”
Niall looked up to see a cute brunette with the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen. By her American accent he could tell she wasn’t from around Dublin, probably here on vacation. He shook his head a little, slightly confused, “Excuse me?”
“The song you were just humming? It’s nice. You hear that from somewhere?”
He could feel his cheeks flush a little, “Oh, didn’t realize I was humming. But uh, I actually wrote it-” he corrects himself and hands her the drink, “well, I’m trying to write it. I’m a bit stuck on this one.”
“You write a lot of songs? Moonlight as a musician?” she laughs a bit and sips her drink, “and you’re a great bartender. You must be making someone very happy.”
Niall shakes his head and laughs. “Not exactly. Haven’t had any luck finding a girl to stick around.” He grabs a rag and starts to clean the counter. “But if you ever want to hear me play, I have small gigs here on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
She gives him a small smile and nods “Guess I’ll be back tomorrow then. Better put on a great show for me on my few days here then.” She finishes her drink and sets her empty glass to the side, “could I get another?”
He nods and starts making her next drink. “So what brings you to the wonderful city of Dublin?” he asks, grabbing the garnish for the glass.
“Pleasure,” she responds as he hands her the drink, “for sure. I have been traveling around different countries: England, Italy, France, Spain, Portugal, and now, I’m here in Ireland. Just been traveling on my savings and seeing the sights, learning about the different cultures,” a slight smirk appears on her face, “meeting new people.” Niall felt himself blush more and looked down at a bit. “But sadly I have to return to reality and go back home on Saturday, so I am trying to the most in the last few days I’m here.”
“Niall we need you to cover a table over here!” Nora’s voice tore his attention away from conversation.
“Alright!” he answered. He mouthed a quick sorry and headed over to take care of the group of guys that surrounded a small booth in the back of the pub.
He was gone for no more than five minutes but when he came back to the bar, all he found was a paid check and a finished drink. Niall looked around but he didn’t see the girl anywhere. He sighed grabbing the money off the counter to close out the tab. A small slip of torn paper fell from the pile of cash and onto the counter. He smiled to himself when he saw she left her number for him and slipped the paper into his pocket before getting back to finishing his shift.
* * *
Tossing his keys on the counter and relaxing on to the couch with a beer in hand, Niall flips the T.V. on to some movie that was already half way over. He fished the piece of paper out of his pocket and typed a message out to her.
Hey , it’s Niall , the bartender from tonight . I didn’t want to be too forward with ya , but you did leave your number so I figured id see where ya snuck off to .
He set his phone down on his knee and grabbed his guitar, strumming lightly. His heart was beating faster with each minute that passed without a response. Every few minutes he found himself needing to pull his attention back to his strumming. Soon the light message tone rang from his phone making Niall’s head snap up to attention.
Sorry I didn’t get back sooner! I was on the phone with my family.
Glad to see you got my note though.
No worries , sooooo I have to ask
Am I gonna get a name from ya ?
My name’s Elena. Nice to officially meet you, Niall.(:
Elena. He leaned his head back and smiled. The name fit her so well. He wasn’t sure what made him think that, but he definitely saw it. And he liked it. He looked at his phone again and typed out a new message
Delighted to officially meet you as well , Elena .
Sorry about leaving with no warning btw it wasn’t because of you
In case you were wondering that. I just have an early day tomorrow.
That’s actually a relief ! thought I scared ya off or something .
Not in the slightest. Actually wish I could have stayed longer.
Niall’s heart stopped racing. It felt so easy to talk to her. So easy in fact they ended up talking for hours. Soon it was the middle of the night and he could feel the exhaustion taking over him. Her as well considering the amount of time between messages was starting to vary. He lay in bed and typed out one last question to her before he felt himself dozing off.
So , Elena .. can I expect to see you tomorrow at the gig ?
He set his phone to the side and curled into his blankets and closed his eyes, his TV playing softly while its sleep timer counted down. He was nearly asleep when his phone went off a few minutes later.
I would love to be at your gig.
Can’t miss a chance to hear some Niall originals. (:
A smile spread across his sleepy face as he finally drifted off to sleep thinking of the day to come.
* * *
Niall woke up early and decided to get a quick golf game in after breakfast. He ate a quick bowl of cereal and threw together a protein shake before heading to the course. Golfing usually gave him a clear head, which he was hoping would get past this writers block. He felt so relaxed when he played, just like with his guitar. All his worries left his mind for even a brief period of time, but it always made him feel so much better. He wasn’t sure what it was about golfing that put him so at ease, the peace and quiet, the fresh air, the satisfying feeling of playing a good game. It all made him think clearer.
He was just about to start the next hole when he felt his phone go off.
Hope you’re working on that song! Cant wait to hear it (:
Just clearing my head and ill be getting right back to work on it .
Been driving me absolutely nuts .
Awe.. I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll get it though. And it’s going to be amazing
He smiled and put his phone back in his pocket to keep playing his game. After a few more holes, he finished playing and headed back to his house to relax a bit before the gig. Settling into his usual spot on the couch and grabbing his guitar he pulled up his voice memos on his phone. After about the tenth listen, he groaned and leaned his head back in frustration.
‘Never have this much trouble writing a fuckin song..’ he thought to himself, ‘why is this so hard?’
Mindlessly strumming the tune for the thousandth time, he closed his eyes and hummed what he already had. He decided to give up and talk to Elena till he had to get ready.
Don’t think the song is gonna be done by tonight .. really stuck.
How was your sight seeing today ?
I’m sorry to hear that ): but the sightseeing went great!
Got to see some pretty cool stuff
Dublin is quite the city. Ill definitely have to be back
Yeah ? Let me know next time you’re here maybe I can give ya a tour .
Show you all the best places to go .
I’d love that!
And if you’re ever in America, I can give you a tour!
Which should be easy, things never change in that town
Things never change in that town. Those words repeated in his head while he strummed when something finally clicked. Moving quickly he grabbed his phone and typed in his notes before he forgot. Words started pouring out of his mind and the song was finally starting to make sense. Line after line, he typed until a rough draft of lyrics finally sat in front of his eyes and he had never felt so relieved. A huge smile spread across his face as he read them through. He grabbed his guitar and strummed lightly as he tried the words out so see how it sounded. He played about thirty seconds and then listened back to the voice memo. It was perfect. It was exactly what he wanted it to sound like. He started the recording and played the whole way through. Still perfect.
“It’s fucking done,” he chuckled to him self, “ its finally fucking done.”
* * *
“Want a beer while you set up?” Nora asked as she walked by Niall setting up on the small stage in the back.
He glanced up for a second and nodded, “Yeah, Guinness would be great thanks!” he said before going back to making sure everything was in order for the show.
His phone sat next to him, not a notification for hours. He was getting a little worried that Elena may not show up; maybe she forgot, or maybe she never actually wanted to come in the first place. He shook his head. Of course that’s not why she wasn’t here yet. She wouldn’t have left her number if she didn’t want to come see him. He looked around at the people that were slowly starting to come in. Some regulars sat closer to the table and gave him a small greeting, which he returned. Other people that were probably just there for a drink or two filled in the empty tables everywhere else. He sat on the small stool in front of the microphone, resting his guitar in his lap.
“Hi everyone, I’m Niall Horan and I’m gonna play a few songs for ya tonight. I hope you enjoy,” he smiled and began to play, getting lost in the music and closing his eyes. The whole pub melted away and he felt like he was alone just doing what he loves to do without a care in the world. After what felt like forever, his eyes opened to the sound of clapping and light cheers from the people watching. That’s when he saw her sitting at a small table by herself off to the side. His smile widened as she waved at him slightly. He took a sip of his beer and moved along to the next song in his set. He played through a few more songs before taking a break. Soon Elena was walking toward him clapping lightly.
“So what did ya think?” he raised an eyebrow and looked over at her.
“Niall those songs are amazing! I can’t believe you wrote all those!” she beamed and sat on the edge of the stage, careful not to knock anything over.
“I’m glad I delivered then! Are ya able to stay for the rest of the set? I only have about 5 songs left.” He drank more of his beer and looked at her.
She nodded, “I’m all yours for the night.” Niall felt a slight blush rise to his cheeks at her words, which by her slight laugh, she definitely noticed.
“That’s actually good to hear, because I was wondering if you would wanna stick around after? Want your opinion on something. If that’s okay?
“More than okay. I can’t wait,” she smiled and got up, “I’ll let you get back to it then.” She returned to her table and Niall brought his attention back to the audience to play the remainder of the set.
He finished his last song at about 11:00PM and began to pack up the equipment and one of his coworkers helped him carry it out to his car. He went back in to grab his jacket from the lounge and saw Elena waiting for him by the door.
“Ready?” he asked opening the door for her.
“Lead the way.”
Together they walked to his car and got in. The drive back to his place seemed so fast compared to when he drove alone. Conversation flowed so naturally between them, he couldn’t believe they already had been in the car for thirty minutes till he saw the familiar street signs in the close distance in front of them. He parked the car and helped her out, leading her inside. “Have a seat on the couch, make yourself at home,” he said walking to the kitchen, “would you like anything to drink? Water, beer, wine?”
“A beer sounds great, thanks!” She set her bag on the floor and glanced around, taking in her new surroundings. Niall’s home looked very similar to what she expected, with a few surprises. Family pictures, a college degree, small trinkets all adorned the shelves along the white walls. His TV was mounted above a small fireplace. A small rug lay under his coffee table in front of the couch. She smiled to herself at how much his house matched the small portion of his personality she had seen in the last day. It was sleek and modern, but still felt very comfortable. A beautiful vintage guitar sat off to the side and she walked over to it, running her fingers gently down the neck as she admired it.
“Nice isn’t it?”
His voice made her jump and look at him, “S-sorry,” she stepped back and grabbed the beer he handed to her.
He smiled a bit. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.”
“You have a really nice place. Very you,” she pointed at the pictures on the shelves of Niall when he was younger. “Those are adorable by the way.”
His head tilted back in a loud laugh and the smile on Elena’s face grew even bigger. “Thaaanks. Was a good lookin’ lad I’d say!” he responded making his way to sit on the couch. She followed and sat next to him leaning against the back of the couch.
“So you wanted my opinion on something?” she raised here eyebrow at him. “ How can I help you out?”
“Right!” He set his bottle down on the table and reached for his guitar. “I wanted you to be the first one to hear the song that took me fuckin ages to write.
Elena sits up a little and smiles “You finished it! How’d you do it?”
“Actually it was what you texted me earlier about your home town. Something about the words ‘things never change in that town’ made something click in me head and the words just came pretty easily after that and,” he started playing the beginning of the song, “ since you helped me finish the song I wanted you to hear it first.”
He looks down at his hands and starts to sing. His eyes slowly started to close as he focused on playing, but her never left his face. She was absolutely mesmerized by how soft he looked singing. Even more so with the sweet, folksy tune that was being played on his acoustic guitar. He got so into his music that he looked like he had not a care in the entire world. She propped her arm up on the back of the couch and leaned against her hand as her eyes watched his lips and she took in every word that came out of them. She was pulled out of her gaze as the song came to an end and the room fell silent. He opened his eyes and looked at her.
“So how’s it sound? Do I need to work on it at all?” his hands rested on the top of his guitar and played with them anxiously as he waited for her answer.
“Niall, that was… wow…” she looked at his hands and then up at him again.
“I-I know it’s not that great.. It needs work or maybe I should just toss it.” He looked down and set his guitar to the side.
“What are you talking about? Niall that was so sweet. I loved it,” she rested her hand on his, “I promise. You don’t need to work on it or scrap it. You wrote a fucking amazing song.
He blushed and looked at her, “Thanks, Elena. But you helped me write it. Never could’ve done it without ya.” This time she was the one blushing at his words as she looked away and drank more from her bottle. “You wanna hang out for a bit? Could play you some more songs, or we can just watch something on TV. Whatever you want.”
“I wouldn’t say no to a movie. You have any popcorn or snacks?” He nodded at her and they walked to the kitchen grabbing almost every snack Niall had in his cupboards before returning to the couch. Niall turned the TV on and they flipped through the guide to find a movie to watch.
They stayed that way for hours just laughing and joking around with each other, stealing glances every now and then. Niall looked at Elena near the end of their third movie and his eyes took in everything about her. How her beautiful brown eyes focused on the screen and how her they lit up at the lighthearted parts of the movies. Her hair framed her face and she had freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose. His eyes glanced at her lips and all he could think about was how he wanted to kiss her. She looked over and he blushed knowing he had been caught. But Elena just smiled a little and raised an eyebrow at him. He leaned towards her slightly not knowing if she wanted him to do anything or not. He didn’t have to wonder much longer because soon he felt his lips press against his. She kissed him slowly at first until she felt him kiss back. He cupped her face and they shifted to face each other more. He moved his hands to her hips and pulled her closer to him while she wrapped her arms around his neck. They kissed harder and she moved to straddle his hips.
She pulled back slightly, “I-Is this okay?” she asked looking at him.
He nodded and brought his lips back to hers; kissing her gently, “Whatever you’re comfortable with, love.”
She nodded and leaned back in kissing him slowly again. Her hands made their way up to his hair pulling at his little curls slightly causing a soft moan against her lips. Niall knew he needed to pace himself but he felt like he couldn’t it. Kissing her felt so good, he never wanted to stop. He kissed her harder and he felt her pull his hair again making him moan again. His lips moved to her neck and she gasped softly as kissed down it. His hands gently moved her hips to press down against them causing a moan from both of them. He started to lift her shirt slightly but stopped when he felt her hands on his.
He dropped her shirt and leaned back to look at her, “S-Sorry, I thought maybe you wanted to…?”
She shook her head, “No, no, trust me I-I do… but tonight can we just take this a little slower?” He felt her fingers run through his hair and he nodded.
“Of course… like I said, whatever you’re comfortable with, love.”
She smiled slightly and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. Her hands slid to his cheeks as she rested her forehead against his. “Sorry to leave you hanging like that,” they both laughed.
“Don’t worry about it. We can stick to this if that’s what you’re okay with. Or we can stop and just watch another movie.” He rubbed his hand gently on her lower back.
“We can watch one more movie and cuddle or something?” she lifted herself off him and sat next to him. He held her close while she leaned her head on his shoulder as another movie played on TV. They stayed that way till they both fell asleep.
* * *
Niall woke up kind of late the next day on his couch covered with a blanket. He sat up and looked around, but seemed to be alone.
“Elena? You still here?” No answer. He sighed and grabbed his phone unlocking it to see a few messages from her waiting.
Slipped out pretty early and didn’t want to wake you
Last night was great btw
But since I still feel bad for leaving you hanging I hope this will help.
His eyes went wide as he saw the picture she sent him. She lay in the bed of her hotel in just her bra and a pair of shorts. The ends of her hair covered her shoulders and one hand rested on her ribs. Niall stared at the picture for a few minutes before he could type a response back to her.
Well that’s a nice surprise to wake up to !
And don’t feel bad about it , it was still great .
Thought you’d enjoy that!
Maybe we can see each other again before I leave?
Maybe we can actually…
You know…
Elena , I think this is about to be the start of a lovely friendship !
* * *
Over the next year, they had kept up a routine of being a relief for each other when it was needed. There was no romantic commitment, but it was consistent and that’s all they needed. They always found a way back to visit one another. He would visit her, she would visit him, and sometimes they’d meet in the middle. When none of that worked out they survived on video chats and pictures. For the first time in months, Niall was back on his way to see her. His plane touched down and as soon as he could he texted her to let her know he was here. His knee was shaking waiting for people to get all their bags and exit the plane. He had traveled with as little items as he could so he would just have to grab his luggage from baggage claim. Soon Niall was off the plane, had his bag, and was in a car to see her. Getting to her house he brought his stuff to the front door and knocked only once before it swung open.
“Finally!” Elena wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in for a hug, practically dragging him inside.
“Easy now, ya don’t wanna knock me over!” He laughed and hugged her back kicking the door shut behind him.
She pulled him close and pressed her lips against his, “can you blame me?” her hands slid down his chest and pulled his shirt off. “I’ve missed my favorite friend.”
He smirked and kissed back, “I missed ya too, love.”
#niall horan#niall#horan#fanfic#one direction#fan fiction#au#fluff#musician!niall#boyfriend niall#friends with benefits niall
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you aren’t like him
Lukas sits in the purple chair and feels his cheeks heat up under Rachel’s last question. He’s been seeing her since they got back from Vegas, though now that Fall classes have started he has to go on Thursdays instead of Tuesdays. He doesn’t know how much it’s helping him—he’s never been the biggest fan of therapy, but she did remind Lukas that they needed to sign up for graduation when they’d completely forgotten to do it. Philip claimed he hadn’t forgotten, but Lukas knows he totally did.
They’re really distracted lately. It’s their goddamn senior year of college and Lukas can hardly believe it. Gabe is still recovering and they try to get to Tivoli as much as possible to check up on him. Philip is starting to deal with the assault case with that fucking asshole and it’s giving Lukas more anxiety than he usually has. They’re trying to figure out when the hell they’re gonna have their wedding, how to deal with all the things they have to plan for. And—they’re still actually married. They’re going to remain actually married. Which both thrills and terrifies Lukas to death because he keeps feeling like he needs to tell people.
“Lukas?” Rachel says.
He zones back in and gets flustered by the question all over again. “Uh,” he says, shifting a little bit. “I mean. Yeah. I do—I worry about protecting him. A lot, uh—all the time.”
“And you think the whole thing with the assault case—it’s drawing the memories of the kidnapping and murders back to the surface?”
Lukas’s heart is beating really fast. They’ve been sorta tip-toeing around this subject for weeks now, and he only told her the whole story last visit. She seemed horrified, almost looked at him like he was making it up until he started crying. He hates doing this shit without Philip, talking about the worst parts of his life, but then again questions like this one come up and he’s happy Philip isn’t here to see him lay out his insecurities. Lukas knows he knows them, that Philip knows every little detail about every inch of his life. But he hates how he sounds when he says it out loud.
“Yeah,” Lukas says, nodding. “It just, uh—reminds me of what I couldn’t do. And it makes me nervous, like—when he, uh—when he took us I was just—fucking paralyzed with fear and then it just—all happened.” He feels a little dizzy and he wonders if Philip is waiting outside for him already. He’ll always remember the moment when Ryan took them. The gun, the threatening, the way he advanced. Lukas had tried to shield Philip but he was too afraid. Too vulnerable. And with the darkness came the guilt. He knew he was leaving him alone. Leaving him alone with the biggest danger in their lives. He couldn’t do enough. He wasn’t strong. He couldn’t save him.
“Remember to throw away all blame,” Rachel says. “There are certain things you can’t control, and dwelling on something that is in the past, already set in stone, only adds to your anxiety. Try to remember that the assault that happened to Philip is not the same as what happened to the two of you, as much as you’re correlating the memories. You said the man—his name was Ryan?”
Lukas swallows hard, nodding. He hates even hearing it, like saying it out loud might conjure him back up again.
“You said you don’t want him to be your boogeyman,” she says. “You need to stop demonizing his name. I see how you tense up when I say it.”
He hates how she knows him, already, some fucking how. He wonders how transparent he fucking is.
“Make it your mantra. Something you remember, that you say in times of difficulty or fear. Ryan is dead. Ryan cannot hurt me. Ryan cannot touch Philip. Ryan is gone.”
Lukas blows out a breath and nods.
“If you say it like that, in times of doubt, it’ll become commonplace. As will his name. As far as this new situation, you seem to be taking it so far as to worry about every moment when you and Philip are apart, is that correct?”
He shifts his lips to the side. “Yeah,” he says.
“As soon as you disengage this situation from your past trauma, it’ll be easier to realize it isn’t something that’s going to be the norm, in any capacity. You said you haven’t encountered much homophobia here, since you started college?”
“Yeah,” Lukas says, in a rush of breath. “Yeah, thank—thank God, this guy has been the only real issue. I was expecting more but I guess that’s…that’s…”
“How you were raised,” she says, sympathetically. “But you can look at that and this—it was a fluke. This man, this—this Dour, he’s gone now too. Not in the same way Ryan is gone, but he’s removed from you, removed from Philip. This situation in no way calls you out as inadequate.”
Lukas chews on his lower lip and traces the lines of Philip’s heartbeat on his wrist.
“Would you think of Philip as inadequate if the situation were reversed? If the assault had happened to you when he was out of town?”
Lukas tenses up again. “No, no. Absolutely not.”
“How is it different?” Rachel asks.
“Because—because it’s like—” His heart is beating a little faster and he feels stupid.
“Do you believe you’re still blaming yourself for how you treated Philip in high school?” Rachel asks. “All these years later? And it’s bleeding over to every situation in which Philip gets hurt?”
Lukas sighs. “Sounds pretty spot on.” The tears are prickling in his eyes now and he looks at his watch. “Yeah, I—yeah, I mean. Yeah.”
“And you said you had that situation where you almost tracked this Dour down,” she says, clinically. “And Philip wasn’t happy about it.”
“Yeah,” Lukas says, feeling dumber and dumber with every passing moment.
“Why do you think you felt the need to track him down?” she asks.
Lukas shakes his head. “I wanted to defend Philip. But Philip, uh—said that it was more about defending my own pride. Territory. Which made me feel gross, but he’s right.”
“Do you think that it’s possible that you see some of your past self in Dour?” Rachel asks, a question that sends ice through his veins. “That you’re so intent to exact revenge because you’re still attempting to make amends for how you behaved towards Philip in high school? And this seemed, subconsciously, like the perfect opportunity?”
It makes him feel fucking ill. He hates Dour. He hates him. “No, like...that guy is an asshole.”
“You’ve called yourself that exact same word when we talk about high school.”
He squirms a little bit. “Yeah, but...”
“It’s interesting that the assault took place in the form of a kiss instead of a punch,” she says. “It could very well be an indicator of the same sort of person. Violently closeted and lashing out.”
“But,” Lukas says, stammering. “But I, I mean...” He scoffs, his ears going hot.
“The guilt still eats you up,” she says.
“Yeah,” he says.
“And you’d do anything to change how you acted,” she says. “Anything to right those wrongs.”
He feels sick. He doesn’t want to be anything like that fucker. And yet when he thinks about it, the sense it makes...he feels fucking sick. He doesn’t want to think about it. He hates everything about it. He hates that it feels right, true, and he can almost feel how he hit Philip in the hallway. How he pushed him away at the party, at the lake. How many times he’d hurt him. Then kiss him.
Fuck.
He briefly looks at Rachel and feels really, really resentful. She seems like she knows.
“Lukas,” she says. “You two are in a very healthy relationship. You’ve grown, you’re getting married, you’re in a completely different space than you were then, in every capacity. You have to forgive yourself. I know without meeting him that Philip has absolutely forgiven you.”
Lukas shakes his head. “He’s like…he’s like, the best. And I just—Jesus, I don’t know. My mind is so messed up when it comes to him because he’s the kind of perfect that makes me feel like nothing is ever gonna be good enough.”
“Right there, that’s where you need to start,” Rachel says, scooting forward in her seat. “He loves you for who you are. He does not see you as inadequate, no matter what’s transpired between you and in your lives, separate and together. You need to learn to love yourself, too.”
“Yeah,” Lukas says, at a loss.
“And when you leave here—Philip is gonna be waiting for you, right?”
“Probably,” Lukas says, nodding.
“So think about it, take a good look at him, and realize that it’s more often than not that he’s safe, even when he isn’t with you. He’s okay when he’s alone. Something bad is something rare.”
~
He’s always hated therapy. Sometimes the clarity makes him ten times more confused than he was to begin with. He walks down the hallway and types out a message to Philip. He’s more eager to see him than he usually is.
You outside? <3
He barely takes a breath before his phone buzzes in his hand. Just got here :)
Lukas picks up the pace a little bit, turning the corner and heading for the door. He sees him sitting on the bench across the sidewalk—Lukas immediately feels lighter, less tense, the strange vulnerable feeling therapy drapes over him sliding off his shoulders. He wishes nothing would happen to them ever. He wishes they could erase all the Ryan and Dour bullshit like that weird Jim Carrey movie. He wishes he’d stop being so fucking insecure about his own damn self because he knows Rachel is right. Philip does love him.
He can see it in his beautiful face when he lights up. Just like he’s doing right now when he notices Lukas come out of the building.
“Hey,” Philip says, getting to his feet. “How’d it go?”
Lukas shrugs, walking over and meeting him in a kiss. He tugs him into a hug, holds him close and breathes him in. “You know. I hate it,” Lukas says, swaying back and forth a little bit before he pulls back.
Philip’s brows furrow and they start walking leisurely alongside the line of bikes hooked up beside them, Philip taking Lukas’s hand in his own. “Like worse today?”
“I just like—I don’t know, sometimes it feels like therapists are superheroes that can read my mind and it makes me feel weird.” The Dour thing is hanging with him, but he doesn’t want to mention it, at least not yet.
Philip snorts, shaking his head. “Is she making you feel any better about everything?”
Lukas shrugs again. “Yeah, I guess. Sometimes it’s just hard to like, face it all. Think about everything all at once and how it fits together. Our life is fucking weird.”
Philip nods, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But we made it, huh? We’re here.” He leans in and kisses Lukas’s shoulder. “And we’re fucking married,” he whispers, like there might be someone around here to spill their secret, but he just can’t keep himself from mentioning it.
Lukas knows they have to go to court day after tomorrow and face Dour again, but he doesn’t want to bring that up. He knows the case should be pretty fucking open and shut, especially with Helen and Nathan helping him, and the cops that responded to the call. He hopes it’s done by the end of the month, so that’ll be one less thing on their plate. He knows Helen will be getting in tomorrow sometime, but he isn’t sure yet if Gabe has convinced her to let him come with. Lukas hopes he does get to come, if only for the fact that having both of them there will make Philip feel safer.
But he definitely, definitely doesn’t want to talk about that until tonight, when they’re calm and warm and sated in their own bed, Izzy and Samson snoring somewhere nearby. He wants to talk about something else, and then head to the little surprise he has planned for the two of them.
“Speaking of married,” he says, the two of them crossing the street a little slower than the crowd around them. “Our second wedding is on the horizon—”
Philip snorts, leaning into him.
“Are we, uh—still thinking the December after we graduate? That gives us a little over a year to get all ready. Plenty of time.”
“Might be a little hard to get people to come, if you’re talking around Christmastime?” Philip says.
Lukas scoffs. “Well, if they love us, they’ll show up.”
“You’re terrible,” Philip says, laughing. But Lukas knows he’s got him with the aesthetics of that time of year, especially back in Tivoli. December has been something they’ve both sorta known for a while now. “Yeah,” Philip says. “Yeah, that’s—a good time.”
Lukas looks down at him, and even though they’re already married this still feels like a big deal. It’s their real wedding, for all intents and purposes. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Philip says. “We can nail down the date later but I have a feeling you’re aiming for a couple days before Christmas.”
Lukas grins. “Guess you can read my mind too,” he says.
Philip shakes his head, clicking his tongue.
“So since we decided on that,” Lukas says, turning onto 30th street, “I planned a little thing for us to do. A little wedding thing.”
“Oh yeah?” Philip asks, and he’s got that tone where the excitement is rising in his voice, which Lukas loves.
“Yeah,” Lukas says, forgetting all the things he’s been worried about so he can enjoy this experience with Philip. “You’re gonna like it.”
~
They sit in the back room of City Sweets in front of their long lace table, watching as the girls bring them piece of cake after piece of cake after piece of cake. Lukas looks at Philip out of the corner of his eye and feels his heart swell with warmth when he sees the happiness on his face, the smile plastered there. There are beautiful tiered cakes on display to their right and to their left, all around them, and Lukas is like, freaked out by how all of them look like edible pieces of art.
The last girl brings in their tenth piece of cake and smiles at them. “Enjoy!” she says. “Make sure you write down your rankings and then we can see if you want to do any combinations.”
“Awesome,” Lukas says. “We will.”
“Thank you!” Philip says, and the girl nods happily at them, closing the door and leaving them alone. Philip turns to Lukas and beams at him. “This was a great idea, babe.”
“Knew you’d be excited,” Lukas says, almost getting overwhelmed as he looks over their options.
“I don’t know what the hell to try first,” Philip says. “Champagne and three berry? Red velvet and cream cheese? Chocolate stout and passion fruit? I’m gonna die. Let’s just get them all. We have that casino money, we can just use it all on cake.”
Lukas snorts, smiling hard. “Oh,” he says, remembering what he got and shoved in his pocket before therapy. He shifts to the side just as Philip is pulling the milk chocolate and hazelnut ganache towards him, and yanks the ring pop out of his pocket. He holds it out towards Philip. “Happy one month wedding anniversary, angel face.”
“Oh my God,” Philip says, laughing. “I didn’t even realize, with all the shit going on.” He grabs the ring pop out of Lukas’s hand and grins at him, tugging him in for a kiss. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Lukas says, kissing him again.
Philip pulls back and runs his thumb back and forth across Lukas’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re going to therapy. But if you hate it you can stop.”
Lukas looks at him and shakes his head. “No, it’s, uh...putting some things into perspective. Maybe it’ll make me a better person.”
“Impossible,” Philip says. “You’re already the best.”
Lukas grins and kisses him again. He’s very much interested in never being separated from Philip again, but maybe if he keeps listening to Rachel he’ll eventually figure out that danger isn’t exactly lurking around every corner anymore. He and Philip are married now. He isn’t like Dour anymore. He’s changed, Philip has helped him change. He needs to accept himself. Love himself.
And Ryan is gone. Ryan can’t hurt them. Ryan won’t ever touch Philip again.
Lukas kisses him one more time. “Eat that ring pop,” he whispers. “Then we gotta choose which cake we’re gonna smash into each other’s faces.”
Philip grins. “Sounds like a very good plan.”
~
Later on that night when they’re in bed, Lukas clears his throat in the darkness, and feels Philip shift towards him.
“Do you think I was like him?” Lukas asks, voice low.
“Who?” Philip asks.
“Uh—Dour,” Lukas says. “Was, I—uh—like him, in high school?”
Philip is quiet and Lukas can’t see his face and he almost wonders if he fell asleep. “Is that what Rachel said?” Philip asks.
“Sorta, yeah,” Lukas says.
Philip shifts even closer, the comforter bunching up between them. “No, I don’t really—agree with that.”
“She thinks he might be closeted too,” Lukas says, reaching down and smoothing his hand over Philip’s shoulder. “Maybe, like—lashing out, like I was—”
“You were under intense stress,” Philip says, a little louder. “You were being hunted by a fucking murderer. You kissed me because you loved me, not because you were trying to have power over me like he did. He did it to hurt me, to intimidate me. He’s fucking gross and you were never gross. You had intentions, you were scared and trying to find yourself, and even if this guy is gay he’s a fucking dick. He’s purposefully nasty and rude to people and you—you just wanted to be who you were. You needed help.”
Lukas thinks about it, sighing.
Philip cups his face in his hands. “You weren’t like him,” he says, sure. “You weren’t then and you sure as hell aren’t now.”
“You don’t think I wanted revenge on him because I want to right my own wrongs?” Lukas asks.
“Maybe,” Philip says. “Doesn’t mean you’re like him. You could decide to throw our toaster out the window to right your own wrongs because I burned my hand on your toaster that time.”
Lukas laughs, resting his hand on Philip’s waist.
“You aren’t like him, baby,” Philip whispers. “You should tell her that. You have a good heart, you always have. You just needed to find the right path, find your confidence. Find some peace. Coming out and being chased by a lunatic who wants to kill you don’t really work well together.”
“You’re right about that, for sure,” Lukas says.
“You’re good,” Philip says. “You’re a good, good person. Nothing like him.” Whenever he puts emphasis on that, on Lukas’s goodness, it makes his face flood with heat. He can’t believe someone so kind can think of him as good. If Philip thinks it, it must be true. It has to be.
“Okay,” Lukas says. “I believe you.”
Philip leans in, pressing their lips together. And Lukas thanks God that he has him.
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“If you die, I’m gonna kill you.” - SilverFlint but make it fluffffff.
I wrote some ridiculously fluffy illness hurt/comfort for you @beneaththeblacksails! I hope this is something like what you had in mind. 💕
This is set in a modern universe of my own creation, which I call Hawaii verse or No Ka Oi (loosely ‘the best’ or ‘none better’ in Hawaiian) verse. Flint is a writer who lives in North Shore, Silver is a masseur who lives in a rundown apartment with Max. Our two Gross heroes met on the beach because of course they did.
Silver tries to deny it for a few days, but by the time Thursday night rolls around, he just can't deny it anymore: he's sick. Fever, chills, a cough, the sniffles, he's got it all. That's not the worst of it, either - he'd planned to have a date with Flint tonight and now he'll have to cancel.
A few hours before Flint’s supposed to pick him up, he texts him, reluctant: ‘so I thought I could fight it off but I have a bad cold, I can't go out w/you tonight. I'm really sorry :(‘
He sighs and puts his phone aside immediately after sending the text, lying prone on the couch in a state of sadness and deep, syrupy self-pity. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the screen light up with a new message.
‘I’d still like to see you. How about I pick you up, bring you back here, and make you some soup?’
Silver beams when he reads Flint’s message, not quite believing his luck.
‘that sounds perfect, I'm sure Max would like a break from me and my germs (and my whining, lbr, I’m not a good sick person)’ he texts back.
‘Great, I'll be there at 7,’ Flint replies, and Silver definitely doesn't hug his phone to his chest or anything because that would be ridiculous. Instead he heaves himself up from the couch and packs an overnight bag, hopeful that Flint will invite him to spend the night. They've only had a handful of sleepovers so far - all at Flint's house, since he lives alone and Silver does not - but they've all gone very, very well.
He texts Max, who's out with Anne, so she won't be surprised if he doesn't come home that night. Then he showers and changes into a fresh set of pajamas - lime green ones with pineapples printed all over, because he knows Flint will be amused by them. He settles on the couch to wait for Flint to come rescue him, and without meaning to, he falls asleep there.
He wakes a short while later to someone knocking on the apartment’s door. He hurries to answer the door, opening it and smiling when he sees Flint.
“Hi,” he says. All he wants to do is fling himself into his boyfriend’s arms, but he holds back, not wanting to share his germs right off the bat.
“Hello there. You look better than I expected, I think you're the prettiest sick person I've ever seen,” Flint says with a little grin. “Nice pajamas, too.”
“Flatterer,” Silver says, grinning back. “Shall we?” he asks, then steps out and shuts the door behind himself. He locks it, then follows Flint to his car, overnight bag in hand. “I hope this isn’t presumptuous of me...I brought my toothbrush and a change of clothes, and some other things, just in case.”
“Not at all. I’ll gladly have you for as long as you want,” Flint says.
“Careful, I might just want to stay forever,” Silver jokes, easing himself into Flint’s sleek car. It’s much fancier than his own island beater of a pickup truck, that’s for sure.
“Well, I’m certainly not opposed to that idea,” Flint says, and then he’s starting the car and driving off toward his house in North Shore while Silver seriously ponders moving in with him, even though they’ve only been dating a little while.
They arrive at Flint’s gorgeous seaside villa a short time later and Silver climbs out of the car, following Flint inside and whistling a jaunty (if somewhat congested) tune. He sets his bag down inside the door, standing still when Flint’s ornery cat Kapena saunters over to sniff at him curiously.
“He’s coming around. He doesn’t hiss at you anymore,” Flint observes as the cat circles Silver once, then trots away. “That’s progress,” he says. “Now, let’s get you set up on the couch and I’ll start making soup.”
That evening finds Silver curled up on the couch with Flint, enjoying delicious homemade chicken soup and watching a TV series they’ve been waiting to watch together. Once he’s through with dinner, Silver rests his head in Flint’s lap and falls asleep there, despite it being barely 9 PM.
He wakes a few hours later to Flint gently rubbing his back. “John,” he murmurs, “it’s time for bed. I’ll help you up. Do you want some cold medicine first?”
“Yeah,” Silver says drowsily, more than willing to let Flint stand him up from the couch and half-carry him to the huge, welcoming bed in the master bedroom. He drinks down the little cup of foul-tasting cough syrup Flint brings him afterward, and then he’s out like a light.
—-
When he wakes the next morning, despite the soup and the cough syrup, he feels even worse than before. He groans and buries his face in the pillow, whimpering.
“What’s wrong?” comes Flint’s voice, and then a big, warm hand is on the back of his neck, rubbing gently just the way he likes.
“I think I’m dying,” Silver mumbles into the pillow, turning his head so he can squint dubiously at his boyfriend.
“If you die, I’m gonna kill you,” Flint says tenderly, then leans in to kiss Silver’s forehead. “Hm, you are a bit feverish. I prescribe a day of rest with a handsome older gentleman catering to your every whim.”
“Sounds good to me,” Silver says, rolling over onto his back and stretching his arms over his head.
“Cough syrup makes you really weird to sleep with, by the way. You woke me up and pointed at the wall, then said ‘can you see it?’ I asked you what you were seeing and you said ‘all the barbed wire, and the demogorgon,’ then went back to sleep,” Flint says.
“Sorry,” Silver mutters sheepishly, feeling himself blush.
“I’m not done,” Flint says, smirking. “Around 2 in the morning you woke me up again, saying that I knew nothing about the swamp because I hadn’t lived in it and you had. You were pretty incensed,” he says, laughing. “Then for your grand finale, just before dawn you grabbed me, gave me a big kiss, told me to have an excellent day at sea, and pushed me out of bed to the floor. Then you stole all the covers.”
“Wow, I am apparently a dick when I take cough syrup. Lesson learned. I am really sorry,” Silver says, reaching out for Flint’s hand.
“It’s okay,” Flint says, taking his hand gently and kissing his knuckles. “I still love you.”
“I love you, too,” Silver says, feeling his heart beating a little faster.
Flint beams at him, and Silver feels that smile all the way down to his toes. “Can I make you breakfast? What do you feel up to eating?”
“Pancakes?” Silver asks hopefully, shuffling closer to Flint in bed when he reaches for him. Together they leave the bed and Flint walks Silver to the living room, getting him set up on the couch with cartoons and a box of tissues before disappearing into the kitchen.
They have breakfast together - pancakes, fresh fruit, and coffee - and then Flint makes sure Silver has everything he needs, fussing over him.
“Let me know if I can get you anything. I’ll be in my study, I have to get some work done today. But you can text me if there’s anything at all you need, I’ll have my phone,” Flint says, kissing Silver’s forehead. He shouldn’t like that as much as he does, he thinks. “You get some rest, and recover.”
“You got it,” Silver says, smiling wearily up at Flint. He watches Flint’s cute butt as he walks away, thinking about how very lucky he is that said butt is his to enjoy.
He falls asleep again and wakes a little before lunch, feeling restless. He gets up from his nest on the couch, ambling to the bookshelf to find something to read. To his great surprise, he finds a few titles he recognizes - J.E. McGraw gay romance novels. Who knew that a literary, educated man like Flint would even read such a thing, let alone apparently enjoy them so much that he’d buy hard copies to keep forever?
Silver reaches for one of his personal favorites - Captain & Quartermaster - and is shocked to realize he’s holding a first edition. All he can think is that Flint must really, really like McGraw’s work. He takes the book with him back to the couch and settles in for a comforting reread, slowly shutting out the world around him, carried away as he is by the beauty of McGraw’s undeniably erotic prose.
He doesn’t surface from the story until a shadow falls across him and he hears a pointed throat-clearing noise. He starts, nearly dropping the book, and looks up at Flint, chagrined.
“Uh, hey. Sorry. How long have you been there? I got really absorbed in the book,” Silver says.
“Not long. I just wanted to see if you were hungry, I’m going to order something for lunch,” Flint says, a curiously self-satisfied smirk playing around his lips. “So you enjoy that one, hm?” he asks, gesturing to Captain & Quartermaster.
“Yeah. I’ve been reading McGraw since— well, since I found a copy of his first book shelved in the wrong section of the library as a teenager, actually. It was a big part of my sexual awakening,” he murmurs. “You must really like him too, I noticed this isn’t the only first edition you have of his on the shelf,” Silver says, gently putting the book aside on the coffee table.
“...you don’t know, do you?” Flint asks, a strange expression crossing his face. He looks bewildered and amused all at once.
“Know what?” Silver asks. He’s normally pretty quick on the uptake, but being sick makes him slow and sleepy, and he’s not getting what Flint is implying.
“I am him. I wrote those books, I’m J.E. McGraw,” Flint says, folding his freckled arms across the enticing expanse of his chest.
“No fucking way!” Silver blurts out before he can stop himself.
“Yes fucking way,” Flint replies, laughing. “Really, I swear. I could call my publicist now and prove it. That’s why I have all those first editions - I wrote the books.”
“I can’t believe I’m meeting one of my favorite authors,” Silver says, rising slowly from the couch, feeling a huge grin threatening to overtake his whole face. “I can’t believe I’ve been dating one of my favorite authors. I’ve had sex with J.E. McGraw!” he crows, slightly delirious with both fever and excitement.
“Easy, there. You’re still sick, I can’t have you getting all worked up,” Flint says, easing Silver back down onto the couch and sitting next to him. “Let’s order something to eat and then I’ll let you ask me whatever you want about my books.”
“Okay,” Silver says, nuzzling Flint’s shoulder and grinning some more, his eyes closing. “Can we make out, too?”
“Hmm...I would be worried about getting your germs, but I probably already have them from letting you sleep in my bed. Sure, if you can stay awake, we can make out,” Flint says, slipping one arm around Silver and drawing him in close.
Five minutes later Silver is asleep again, his head on Flint’s shoulder, drooling and snoring. In his fevered dreams, he and Flint are a dread pirate captain and his beloved quartermaster.
#prompt a lurker why not#prompt fills#silverflint#no ka oi verse#hawaii verse#my fic#black sails fic#beneaththeblacksails
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