#Got a lot I wanted to finish and a very low patience or grace for myself. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jaz-xedarix · 3 years

Text

The Return of the Star

Thank you so much for your patience and your nice words. I really appreciated them too much.

So finally I have finished part II, and things are starting to get really interesting.

As I promised there’s a new coloring among the text, I really hope you like it, and I put another one, but a bit older, since I couldn’t resist to post it in this part XD

Thanks so much to @buffaloborgine and @trinity-blood-translations for helping me correct this text, your effort is valuable to me. Send you lots of love my friends.

Let’s get started.

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The Istvan Opera House was located on Andrássy Street, the main avenue of the city. It was an old style building that had survived Armageddon. After the liberation battle, it was the first place restored by the archbishop, to serve as a public building for the citizens.

The building was built in a magnificent and delicate Neo-Renaissance style. It was an imposing work that could be compared to the Scala in Milan, the Opernhaus in Vienna or the Státní in Prague. The facade had a secluded air, but once inside the decorations in gold and purple colors overwhelmed the visitor with their luxury.

The “guest of honor” entrance that Esther passed through was no exception. In the boxes facing the wide stage, the rugs were so thick that they reached to the ankles, as if she were in a lavish palace. The walls were lined with works of art and all the furniture had been expressly imported from Rome or Florence.

However, everything paled when compared to the beauty of the woman who was waiting for her sitting on the sofa.

“Welcome, Sister Esther. You may be exhausted after the trip...”

The Cardinal Caterina Sforza, Duchess of Milan, Secretary of State of the Vatican and head of its foreign policy, gave a friendly welcome to the nun. Telling her to sit on the couch that was in front, where the two priests was already sitting, she laid her cup of tea on the table.

“I've was told you've had a difficult time with the media at the station. I am glad that you are well.” “Nothing happened… More than anything, it was a surprise that…”

Looking into the gray eyes that smiled at her behind the monocle, the nun awkwardly shook her head like a puppet. For Esther, the Cardinal was a person almost as sacred as the Virgin. Every time she presented herself to her, she couldn't help but get nervous and tense. She brushed off the sweat she didn't have and continued in an uneasy voice:

“Your Eminence, the journalists called me Saint… what kind of joke is this? And why am I the protagonist of the play that is going to be performed here tonight?” “We'll talk about all that later...” Adjusting her monocle, the beautiful woman looked up at the stage, the curtain still closed, and sighed. “His Holiness will be here shortly. He is accompanied by the Minister of Information, who is the one who has organized all this. I myself know only part of the story. It will be better if he tell us all about it in person… What I want to hear now is what news you bring me from the Empire.”

The cardinal spoke with the usual serenity. However, her voice had hardened slightly as she turned her gaze back to the nun and priest, as she crossed her legs under her habit.

“Were you able to contact the empress?” “Yes, we have to inform you about it.” Esther steadied herself and her voice changed as she began to recite the report that she had been rehearsing mentally in the way: “We were fortunate enough to have direct contact with the Empress in...” “Well, the truth is that we couldn't speak to her directly…”

Everything Esther had prepared came to nothing when the other voice interrupted her, preventing her from speaking.

“Eh!?” She didn't even have time to stop him. As he turned to the voice, she saw that Abel was still speaking with an irrepressible verbiage, which did not leave her a space to intervene.

“We did our best to deliver Her Eminence's message in person, but, of course, meeting the Empress in person was beyond our means. Even so, you need not worry, because we asked a local noblewoman, the Marquise of Kiev, Astharoshe Asran, whom I already knew before, to serve as an intermediary. The message will have reached its destination; you can be sure of it.” “Ah? Bu... Father... Wait a minute...” But what was he saying!? Esther nervously adjusted her habit as if to signal him, but Abel did not stop chattering for an instant, gesturing exaggeratedly with his hands. “Yes, we suffered the unspeakable to achieve it. Abroad, right? One does not know how things are done... To fulfill our mission we spend our days without stopping running up and down... tears come to my eyes just remembering it now that I tell you, and without doubt, you will cry too... Imagine, I lost three kilograms!”

Where did all this nonsense come from? Esther managed to come to herself and resist the curiosity to see how far the priest would be able to go.

“Wait... wait, father! Stop speaking nonsense!” She did not know what this foolishness was about, but if it continued like this, Caterina would end up thinking that they had not seen the Empress. Covering Abel's mouth with her hand, Esther yelled in the direction of the Cardinal:

“Ignore him, Your Eminence! We do…”

«We did speak directly to the Empress!» Just when Esther, red with exertion, was about to shout that phrase...

“Cardinal Sforza, I beg your pardon...” An elegant male voice echoed out as the door opened. Looking up, the Cardinal met a man who was greeting her respectfully and who was leading a group of three people. He was middle-aged and wore the purple sash on his habit that indicated his status as archbishop.

“Forgive us for interrupting your conversation, Your Eminence. His Holiness and Cardinal Borgia have arrived.” “Hello Beautiful!” The second voice would seem to have been made up of a frivolous shake spiced with kitsch. It was hard to imagine anyone less suited to wear the Cardinal habit than the young man with long dyed hair and a nasal voice who had just entered. This was Antonio Borgia, the Minister of Information. “How long, right?! Makes sooo much that I did not see how fantastic you are that seems that my aesthetic sense have atrophied, you know? How are we doing?” “Good afternoon, Cardinal Borgia. I see you are very happy. If I'm not mistaken, we met the day before yesterday in Rome, right?”

Responding sharply to the young man, Caterina turned her gaze to the third figure in the group. Seeing the face of the teenager coming up behind the two men, her cold gaze softened.

“Ah, Alec…! How was the flight? Are you dizzy again?” “Y..., y... yes, sister...” Dressed with beautiful white clothes, the Pope Alessandro XVIII spoke with a low voice. In addition to being extremely shy around people, to the point of bordering on autism, get out of Rome or even out of the Papal Palace supposed one horrible adventure for him. Anyways, the face of his sister seemed to calm him a bit, because he went on, stammering:

“I..., I got dizzy a b..., a little... b... but now I'm fi... I'm fine...” “Really? But you don't have very good color. I'll make someone to prepare some medicine for you... Wait, I'll take the opportunity to make the introductions, since we're all here. This is Sister Esther from the Secretary of State. She is the Saint of Istvan”

Exhorted by Caterina, the nun saluted respectfully. “Nice to meet you. It is an honor to be in your presence, Holiness.”All Vatican employees knew of the reserved character of the pope. In order not to startle him, Esther spoke in a calm voice as she placed a light kiss on his hand.“I am not worthy of you granting me the grace to kneel before you... “ “Ah...! N..., no...” At the touch of the young woman's lips, the pope went from pale to flushed. His breathing quickened, as if he were going to have a heart attack, and he withdrew his hand in embarrassment. ”And…, and…, I… And…, and…, I…, I…”

“Holiness, you must be tired...” said the first man who had entered, placing his hand on the shoulder of the babbling teenager. Maybe half a century of his life had already passed, but his face had manly features that surely wreaked havoc on the opposite sex when he was young. With an attentive expression, he made the young Pope sit on the sofa.

“The show will take a while to start. Get some rest here. If you allow me, I will handle the speech.” “Thank you, Archbishop D'Annunzio...”

Before Esther's eyes, the Pope was panting hard, as if he were going to have a panic attack or something. The one who wiped the sweat from his forehead to reassure him was Caterina.

“Forgive me for putting you through something like this, but this ceremony took so much effort that...” “Oh, does not matter! It is an honor to be able to do our bit to the work of her eminence and the Vatican.”

Emanuele D'Annunzio, Archbishop of Istvan, smiled kindly as he took Caterina’s hand. After kissing her like a gentleman kisses a lady, he turned his serene green eyes to her beautiful face. “I wrote the script for tonight's play myself. I am afraid that it will not be up to the refined taste of Her Eminence, but it will be my honor that you listen to it... I do not know how the representation will turn out, but...” “It'll be great, you know? Sure: super, super good.”

The one who responded in this way to the humble words of the archbishop was not Caterina, but the other cardinal present. Antonio, adjusting his bangs, continued with a slightly annoyed voice. “Because, hey, haven't we helped you with production from the Ministry? I mean, the stage, and the direction, and the actors... Aaaaall of it it’s super mega first class. So if it goes wrong, it will be because of the script, you know?” “We will be forever grateful for your support, Cardinal Borgia. It is an honor that you have dedicated your valuable time to our representation...”

D'Annunzio's words were kind, but there was a hint of provocation in his tone. His green gaze was fixed on the young man, like an adult lion facing the cub that wants to take his place.

“Today's ceremony is very important to us, because our recovery will serve to show it to the world. Its success will also serve to show the power of the Vatican… We hope to continue having the support of the Ministry of Information from now on.” “...”

Although the tone was defiant, it could not be said that there was anything really wrong from the archbishop's words. Antonio was silent, something strange in him, as if not knowing what to answer, clearly feeling the difference in maturity that existed between him and his interlocutor.

In his fifties, Archbishop D'Annunzio was an experienced man who had played a crucial role in the Vatican since the time of the previous Pope Gregorio XXX. As the right hand of Alfonso d'Este, who was then head of the College of Cardinals, he had held important positions as Director of the Holy Inquisition and Chief Secretary of the Vatican. In his spare time he had written dozens of novels and more than two hundred plays, and was considered one of the literary geniuses of his time. However, his brilliance had provoked the envy of Alfonso, who ended up moving him away from the center. His fame was surpassed only by Cardinals Medici and Sforza, the Pope's stepsiblings. No one but a skilled politician would have gotten Istvan city reborn from its ruins just a year after the catastrophe of The Star of Sorrow.

“Ah, but I have not yet greeted the main guest...”

After silencing the young man, the archbishop turned quickly to Esther, who was silently observing the dialectical combat between the two high religious positions.

“This is the first time we met, but I know you very well, Sister Esther. I beg your pardon for having you come from so far away.” “Ple…pleased to meet you, Your Excellency...” Esther rose, embarrassed, from the sofa at the friendly smile of the priest and lowered her head, blushing at his manly features.“I am much honored that you invited me. It is an honor to meet you personally.” “Not at all, the honor is mine for being able to greet the Saint in person. I did extensive research on you to write this script. I've been dreaming of meeting you for a long time, but... the truth is that you have surprised me. I didn't think you were so beautiful...” “I… beautiful? Not at all…”

At the Archbishop's compliments, Esther buried her head deeply and turned even more red. Half confused, half flustered, she looked around for Abel to come to her aid. “It's the first time I've been invited to a box of honor at the opera, but hey, what a sight! Heh heh, I feel like God...”

The priest was lost in his thoughts, observing the theater, and did not realize that the nun was looking at him. In her imagination, Esther kicked him on the back, while scratching her head, wondering how to respond to the archbishop.

“May I ask you not to call me Saint? It's a too important word that I don't deserve at all...” “You don't deserve it? You are too modest, sister… ” D'Annunzio replied, still smiling, as if enjoying the young woman's bewilderment. Extending his hand to fix her cap, the archbishop looked at her with mischievous face “You are the holy maiden who protected the people and killed the evil demon... As Archbishop of Istvan I cannot be grateful enough. Tonight's performance is my humble attempt to help your feat remain in the memory of future generations.” “I am very grateful to you, but...”

With a tight smile, Esther awkwardly shook her head. Her face had suddenly lost its rosy color. Saint Esther? What all that was about?

She murmured that inside her with downcast eyes, it wasn't just because the name disgusted her.

A year ago a man had expired in her arms. He was someone who had loved his human wife, someone who had decided to fight the world as revenge because the humans themselves had taken the woman he loved from him.

The “evil demon” that D'Annunzio referred to was that being. Esther had been elevated to the category of Saint for the "feat" of having killed him, but there was something that did not convince her. All this seemed like a farce in which she did not want to be involved...

“Ah, by the way, Your Eminence, what about Cardinal Medici? I thought he was also going to be present at the ceremony for the fallen...” “Unfortunately, his commitments do not allow him to leave Rome. He said he would send a representative, but… still not arrived?”

D'Annunzio and Caterina began to talk about practical matters. Relieved that she was no longer the center of the conversation, Esther turned her eyes to the audience.

More than a thousand spectators filled the theater. They were all famous people from the city, but Esther didn't recognize any faces. During the reconstruction of Istvan, D'Annunzio had given preferential treatment to the industrialists of Rome and Venice to install their factories and banks in the city. The attendees were all rich people of that kind. The echoes of the conversations that were heard were not in Hungarian, but mainly in the official language of Rome.

The curtain was still down, but the actors could be seen waiting behind the scenes, probably to come out to say hello before the performance. Among them was a smiling young nun, the heroine portrayed in the flier. The hunchback next to her would be the Marquis of Hungary. The sinister makeup highlighted his monstrous appearance and showed long predator fangs. It couldn't be clearer that he was the bad guy in the story.

The fragile and beautiful heroine would go through many difficulties, but in the end she would defeat the monster and bring peace to the city. It was such a predictable story that just by seeing the actors you could already imagine.

But…

«But the fight end was much more complex», thought Esther, grabbing unconsciously the rosary that hung from her neck. «It’s not the urge to kill. I don't have such bad taste as to enjoy killing others. This is a fight for life»

The man who had said those words was not a mere “evil demon”, nor had Esther fought him for strictly holy motives. There were still many things that she did not fully understand, but it was clear that this had been a struggle for survival. If she had lost, it would have been Esther and her companions who would have died. Yet the young girl couldn't get a question out of her head: «Was it really an inevitable conflict?»

A nun like her couldn't ask such a question out loud. As long as she worked for the Vatican, a doubt like that was tantamount to questioning her own identity...

“Eh?”

Esther was lost in her thoughts for one moment, but at once came back to herself. Among the actors who had gathered in one corner of the stage, a figure that had gone out discreetly from behind the curtain of the opposite corner had called her attention.

It was one girl more or less of the same age of Esther, she had brown skin, an unusual color in the region, and her hair of a raven black. The combination of the daring opening of her dress with the long gloves decorated with precious stones gave her an extremely dramatical air. But what attracted the interest of Esther was neither her figure nor the clothes she wore. Those purple eyes that glowed in the well-proportioned face... she had seen them before somewhere.

“That girl looks familiar to me...” “Is there something wrong, Esther?”

The voice that echoed behind her was of the lanky priest, who was wandering absent-mindedly around the royal box. As he devoured with his eyes the plate of tea pastries next to the young woman, he asked:

“Suddenly you were silent, doing that face… Oh, do you have a stomach ache? Do you want me to eat those pastries? I don't mind doing you that favor...” “No,” Esther replied dryly, cutting off the priest and added, pointing at the girl with her finger: “Doesn't that girl looks like someone familiar to you, father? I've seen that face already... and not long ago.” “Eh, what girl?” The priest asked in an intrigued voice, and looking where Esther was pointing, he looked confused. “I don't see any girl… Ah, you mean that actress over there?” “No, I mean, the one that has come from the other si... Huh?”

When she looked back to the stage, Esther furrowed her brow, as well as Abel. The female figure that she had seen an instant before had disappeared. “But how strange... she was there a moment ago...” “Wow! Is that the actress who plays your role? I had seen her in the flyer, but in live she is even more beautiful!” Abel had already lost all interest in Esther and was absorbed in watching the group of actors. He made no effort to hide the drool from looking at the actress. "But what a beauty! Both in style and in attractive it is much better than the original… Ah, but don't be angry, Esther. It is undeniable that she is much more beautiful, elegant and seductive than you, but you have your special appeal. You don't have to worry.” “I have to take that as a compliment!?”

Esther put the cup of tea on the plate, ready to answer the priest as he deserved, but...

“Ah! The representation is about to begin...” murmured the Archbishop, raising the eyes to the clock and got up to say goodbye to the Pope and the Cardinals. “Holiness, Eminences, I hope you enjoy with the performance. Excuse me, I will give the welcome the public... Come on, Sister Esther.” “What!? Me?”

Esther was stunned, pointing her finger at herself as she blinked in surprise.Why did she have to accompany the archbishop to greet those people?Seeing the nun's confusion, the archbishop smiled and in a sweet voice, he dropped the bomb: “Let's greet the audience together… I suppose you have prepared a little speech.” “Sa... say hello to...? A speech!?”

At those completely unexpected words, Esther was dumbfounded. It was a joke? He couldn't expect for her to just come out on stage in front of the crowd and improvise a speech!

“Wait ... wait! It's a bit hasty...” “But haven't you come prepared? How clueless my Saint is... Well, what can we do? As I assumed something like this could happen, I have allowed myself the freedom to prepare a small draft. You just have to read it.” “Eh…? But…”

The archbishop seemed to be completely serious and handed her a pile of papers. Esther received them without knowing very well what to do and looked doubtfully to the priest, looking for his help...

“Ah, Esther! If you go on stage, can you ask that actress to sign an autograph for me?” Let it say,«To Father Nightroad, sweetheart» or something like that, okay? Heh heh heh...!” “!”

Saving her killer instinct for later Esther heaved a deep breath.There was no way out of it.

"Ugh, I'm late!"

Although it was still early November, the winter cold had already fallen on Istvan. Gloomy clouds covered the sky, and although the building was supposed to be equipped with heating, the white breath of the people walking through the lobby of the Opera House could be seen.

However, the male figure that rushed into the hall seemed immune to all of it. From the gigantic man who crossed the room devastating the carpet emanated a suffocating sensation of summer heat. It goes without saying that such a figure attracted all eyes, as if a monster from another world had suddenly appeared in the room; but the man seemed oblivious to it and advanced with a hard look, as if he were entering enemy territory.

“What a misery to have suffered a setback precisely when I am representing Cardinal Medici! This mistake can be very expensive, Petros!”

Dressed in the uniform of a secret police officer, Brother Petros looked up at the clock as if observing an ancient enemy. Although there were still twenty minutes until the start of the performance, he had committed a very serious fault by not having arrived before His Holiness made his entrance.

Anyway, he had only arrived in the city a few minutes ago, sent by his superior, who had too many business holding him back in Rome. He had not arrived by air, like the Pope, but had taken the land route. The planned inspection of the military facilities had taken him longer than planned, and that had caused the delay.

Although the inspection had been satisfactory, it was scandalous that the director of the Holy Inquisition arrived after the papal retinue. No doubt a severe reprimand from Francesco awaited him when he returned. If it was just a row that awaited him... There was one other thing that Petros had to worry about...

“Where will the honor box be? Eh…? Where the hell am I?”

As soon as he went through the lobby, Petros stopped. He had to accept that he was lost and began to look around, but none of the doors he saw were the ones he was looking for.

Indeed, he did not know where he was. He had stormed across the lobby, but had no idea how to get to the honor box. Resigned to search blindly, he began to scan the surroundings with a fierce grin, to see if he could find any sign, but could do nothing more than make a passing child cry.

The issue was that the box of honor was not accessible from the general entrance but it had its own access, but Il Ruinante had no way of knowing that. He gritted his teeth and prepared to undo his way when...

“Oh!”

Behind the intrepid warrior monk came a small cry of pain.

Turning around, Petros had collided head-on with a girl who was walking behind him. The girl fell on her back to the carpet, dropping what she was carrying.

“Aaah! Forgive me, sister! How clumsy you are, Petros!”

The man tried to apologize as he picked up the papers, which had been strewn down the hall. The nun was still moaning on the floor, clutching her bonnet.

“Excuse my ineptitude! Are you OK? Eh? You!?” As he helped the nun to stand up, Petros' face changed as he roared in surprise at his interlocutor, who was still reeling: “You are Esther Blanchett!” “Ah, brother… Petros, right?” Moved by the violence with which the inquisitor had spoken her name, the young woman stepped back, raising her tearful gaze to Il Ruinante, and bowed to him. “We haven't seen each other for a long time… Ah, thanks again for your support in Carthage.” “No, please, I'm the one who owes you... But what am I saying?!” Petros began to respond to the greeting automatically, but quickly came back to himself. This was not the time to chat! “Esther Blanchett! What are you doing here!? This is not the place for you!”

Finally the nun straightened with surprise in her eyes. “Well, I was getting ready for the speech. Archbishop D'Annunzio has ordered me to greet the audience with a few words and was reviewing the script...” “Has the archbishop ordered it? Impossible. How can it be that...?” Laughing like if he was talking to a little girl, Petros glanced at the script, his expression suddenly turning from skepticism to surprise. Topping the sheets was… the archbishop's seal!? The inquisitor began hastily reading the text. “Wha... but what...?! «Before all of you gathered here I want to raise my voice to denounce...»”

«Before all of you gathered here, I want to raise my voice to denounce that there is pure Evil in the world. I want to raise my voice to say that as long as that Evil is not exterminated, we will have no future. We must unite to fight and defend everything we love, everything we respect. It will be a difficult and tough fight, but all united in our Faith we must face…».

It was unbelievable, but it seemed to be, indeed, the script of a speech. And it took up almost fifty pages. The tone was a bit affected and overly dramatic, but the closing archbishop's signature seemed authentic.

“Hmmm! And the archbishop signed it... But I can't believe it! Why did he ask you to…!?” He said, looking at the nun with suspicious eyes. “Are you plotting against me!? Tell me the truth or you will regret it!” “Eh? The truth is that I have no idea what you are talking about for a while now...”

The young woman scratched her head, honestly confused. It was like talking to a drunk who did nothing but repeat the same story.

“It's not that I don't find it strange to be here, really. First I receive a notice from the Duchess of Milan to come to Istvan, then they ask me to give a speech... The truth is that the...” “The Duchess of Milan… Cardinal Sforza!?” Petros reacted quickly to the young woman's words. The Cardinal... what was that viper up to?

Actually, Petros was most concerned about what the Pope's stepsister might do during the visit. Taking advantage of the absence of Cardinal Medici, she could try to manipulate His Holiness or do some strange maneuver... He had to be prepared for anything, and the facts gave him reasons to suspect. So the viper had already set off... But he would not trip over the same stone of Carthage again. This time they would not escape from him!

Staring at the nun, who was staring at him in bewilderment, Petros clenched his fist. That witch had played with him in Carthage. Just when he was about to uncover her plot, all evidence had been destroyed. He knew with certainty that she had had contact with the vampires, although it had escaped him at the last moment. But this time he would catch her. He would discover what is she plotting around the Pope and would denounce it to the world!

“Ah, there you are, Sister Esther...”

A cold voice roused the inquisitor from his inflamed musings. It was an elegant male voice, interrupting him as if to protect the nun.

“I've been looking for you for a while. Eh? I think we've met before… What brings the Inquisition here, Brother Pietro Orsini?” “Yo... Your Excellence!” Hearing his secular name after so long, Petros turned as if an electric current had passed through his body. Seeing the archbishop approaching, he gave a forced salute. “How long! What a joy to see you again!” “Yes, a long time, Orsini. The last time we saw each other was when I left my charge as Director of the Inquisition, right? You were just a kid and look at you now. How time flies!” “I will never be grateful enough for your advice and your attention back then!” Said Petros, bowing deeply, as if he were a spring doll.

Il Ruinante’s sword was feared inside and outside the Vatican, but there were four people he bowed his head to. One of them was Archbishop D'Annunzio.

“Please excuse my delay. The review of the troops has taken me longer than I had calculated and the roads were collapsed...” “You can tell me that later...” the archbishop cut him immediately, turning around and say with sweet voice to Esther, who was watching them in astonishment. “Sister Esther, have you had a chance to read the script? It’s almost time for your speech. Let's go up on stage.” “Yes, I have read the text…” replied the nun, embarrassed, taking the papers that the inquisitor had returned to her with an impetuous gesture. “But, Your Excellence, am I really supposed to read that speech?” “Eh? What do you mean, sister?”

The archbishop was surprised to see the dark light that had covered the young woman's eyes, and asked with a cautious expression: “You don't like the parliament I have prepared for you? Does it not meet your literary expectations?” “No, is not that. It is wonderfully written and conveys the ideas very well… But the message…” The nun choked with her words… After hesitating and stammering for a few seconds, she looked up, determined. “Why make such a clear call to war? A year ago we fought the Marquis of Hungary, it is true. But it was a pure struggle for survival. We did not think of pretty phrases like «divine glory» or «security of human society»...” “Ah, that's what you mean...” D'Annunzio interrupted the young woman's fiery voice with great serenity. The archbishop's smile keep its charm, but his tone had a certain inhuman echo. “You don't have to take it so seriously, Sister Esther. The public gathered here tonight have not come to hear the truth. What they expect is a dramatic and exciting story… They want the story of the heroic maiden who struck down the evil vampire. Isn't it our obligation to meet those expectations?” “B... but...” “Listen to me, Saint...” D'Annunzio silenced Esther with a gesture and shook his head. The hallway had begun to fill up, and the archbishop lowered his voice, returning greetings to passing guests. “You are a very sweet girl, Esther. I fully understand that you don't like harsh words. But think about it for a moment. Although it has recovered a lot this year, Istvan is still going through difficult times. The life of the citizens, your compatriots, is still very hard. Think how important it would be for them to have a heroine...”

The archbishop placed a very white hand on her shoulder as he looked deeply into her eyes. “Esther Blanchett, you must be their Saint. You must be the image that encourage their hearts. You must be the strength and the hope of all those you love, of all humanity. I will show you how.” “...”

Esther was doubtful at the powerful words of the archbishop, after opening and closing her lips as if not knowing what to say, the girl sighed deeply.

“Good. I'll try.” “Good girl.” Nodding with satisfaction, D'Annunzio opened the door that led to the stage.“Sister Esther, it's time to go on stage. The public awaits you.” “OK…”

«The public awaits you». She would have felt joyful, but the worried expression of the girl did not changed. Even it could be said that the suffering is evident in her face. Anyways, Esther began to walk dragging her feet. She went through the door the archbishop had opened for her and disappeared down the dark corridor.

After closing the door, D'Annunzio made a sarcastic face.

“What a difficult Saint to handle... one breaks one's back to turn her it into a star, and she, in return, complains...” “Ah?” At the archbishop's cold laugh, Petros looked up in surprise. Opening the door again, D'Annunzio said in a clear voice, to the surprise of his former subordinate: “I never know how to treat smart ass girls. It's so boring having to lecture them like that… The tools should be quiet and just do what they are asked to do…” “A tool...? Your Excellence, when you say «tool» do you mean that girl? And what does it mean to «turn her into a star»?”

Petros asked in astonishment. So he didn't really think she was a Saint?

“Ah! So the director of the Inquisition is still there...”

The Archbishop of Istvan turned as if he was seeing a stranger and responded with the tone of someone who had just discovered a stain on his clothing.

“You heard me perfectly. Saint Esther is nothing more than an image created by the Vatican. It is a huge fiction promoted through the management of the media and the investment of large amounts of money...”

The bishop spoke confidently in the dark corridor, as if explaining everything to a tough-minded subordinate. “As you know, the Vatican is losing power over the secular states. To stop this trend, it is necessary to regain the center of social attention. Creating a Saint is part of that project. Esther Blanchett is nothing more than a tool for our plans...”

«You shall not worship idols», the Bible made it very clear. Didn't the archbishop know? D'Annunzio spoke as if he did not feel any apprehension or guilt for playing with the life of a girl and the faith of millions of people like that. “Besides, as a tool, it's first class. Her past is impeccable, and it doesn't hurt that she's so pretty… She has a very cute face, don't you think, Orsini?” “Eh? Well, I wouldn't know...” At the knight's embarrassment, the archbishop looked at him with mocking eyes. “You don't know about that? Well, it doesn't matter… I have to introduce my Saint to the public. Orsini, you can go to the box of honor. Then we will talk about your delay. Get ready.”

D'Annunzio turned, dropping those cold words, and reached for the door that led to the stage.

“Ah!?”

Frightened, Petros started to run away from his former superior, but just as he was about to give a farewell bow, he remembered that he still had something to ask him about. “Your Excellence... I really have a question to ask you before I present myself before His Holiness.” Half-closing the door, the archbishop turned with an annoyed gesture at the voice of his exasperating interlocutor. “What?”

D'Annunzio's voice was reminiscent of a teacher announcing to a student that he had failed. Petros barely repressed his desire to flee and ran from the archbishop just to ask: “I have just reviewed the City Guard, but… Your Excellence, what does this deployment mean? I have seen a complete division or even more. What about those tanks and aircraft!?” D'Annunzio continued walking as if he was unaware of the alarm that echoed in Il Ruinante's words. “I admire how you have managed to reform in just one year an organization that had been completely destroyed. But for a public order force it is a bit out of proportion. Is there something going wrong?” “Eh? What is going to go wrong?” The archbishop stopped for the first time.

Twisting his mouth, he answered coldly to Petros’ puzzled gaze. “Certainly the Guard's strength now exceeds what it was a year ago. Nobody hides it. But if the situation of the city is taken into consideration, it cannot be said that they are sufficient. After all, Istvan is the central column of the Vatican's eastern defense line. Their defensive potential has to be as great as possible... don't you think?” “If you will allow me to speak frankly, I think there is a problem of magnitude! The Second Division of the Vatican Army is deployed in this area, which is responsible of the defense work. The City Guard should only perform police functions. What is the point of equipping the police as if it were an army?”

The only response Petros' fiery speech got was a cold smile. “Well, well, I see that you still don't understand anything, Orsini...”

The archbishop made no effort to hide the malice and contempt on his face. As if he felt sorry for the stupidity of his interlocutor, he made a face, laughing through his nose. “Yes, there is an army division stationed here. But in the event of war, those troops will leave the region. Won't Istvan have to defend itself, then? That is why we have increased the strength of the Guard... Of course it costs us a lot of resources, but that is why we can’t afford to reduce it.” “But that dismantles all the plans of Rome and Cardinal Medici! Also, you speak of war, but now that the region has stabilized, where is the risk of war going to come from? Neighboring countries respect the authority of the Vatican and there is no sign of any disturbance to happen so...” “Brother Petros!!!”

The scream echoed like an ice whip. Throwing a defiant look at the inquisitor, the archbishop harshly carved his words into the dark air of the hall. “Are you the Director of the Holy Inquisition and you don't understand something like that!? Have you forgotten who the mortal enemy of humanity is!? Have you forgotten that this Empire of terrible devils is next to us!? If you've forgotten, I'll remind you. Never forget: this is Istvan, the front line of the battle against vampires!” “Ah…? But...”

Anyone who had attended their dialogue would have been frozen in surprise.Il Ruinante, known as the most implacable man in the Vatican, had fallen silent.

When he noticed Petros is not going to reply, the archbishop softened his expression. “Well, I don't want to lecture you anymore. Go back to the lobby. Didn't you come to escort His Holiness? That's all you're worth for. At least accomplish the mission you've been given.” “Y... yes! With your permission...” Gritting his teeth, Petros bowed.

He was not at all convinced by the reasons given by his former superior, but he had no proper reply at the time. He didn't have time either. He turned towards the exit when... Just then the door closed in front of him. And, as if they were waiting for that moment, the guards locked the door from outside.

“Hey…”

Had they locked him up!? Petros looked around him, bewildered. The doors that led to the stalls were all closed with bolt. The lighting in the hall began to dim as the lighting on the stage took hold. The warrior priest then heard the sound of the presenter's voice through the microphone:

“Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the Istvan Opera House! In a few moments the Star of Sorrow will begin before all of you.”

“Petros, you are so clumsy!”

The inquisitor began to get nervous. He had to find a way to get to the Pope's box as soon as possible! However, as much as he searched everywhere he was not able to find an open door. Apparently the security measures were meant to keep the public effectively locked inside the theater.

He actually couldn’t make someone to open one of the doors invoking his authority as head of the Inquisition, if he did it, that would divert the attention of the speech that was about to start on the stage, and when they found out, the archbishop would scold him again some more.

“Before we start, the author of the script will say a few words of welcome… His Excellene the Archbishop of Istvan, Emanuele D'Annunzio!” “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.”

While Il Ruinante was sweating while desperately looking for a way out, the welcome speech had begun on stage. Taking the microphone, the Archbishop smiled with all his virile charm. However, the voice that began to echo through the room had the serenity of a servant of God.

“Welcome everyone. It has been a year since I received my appointment as Archbishop of this city. The road has not been easy, but with the help of the Lord and the collaboration of all of you, we have managed to happily overcome all the difficulties that have been presented to us so far. During this year we have defended in Istvan the glory of the Lord, who brought us a girl. I think we can be proud of it.”

After uttering those phrases almost without breathing, the archbishop was silent for a moment. He closed his eyes as if he were remembering all the efforts of that year and raised his face to the ceiling. Petros realized that this was not more than a theatrical gesture, but the audience seemed to understand it as one reaction of sincere religious piety. Some mature women even began to sob quietly in the excitement. Then, after checking that the entire room had gone completely silent, the archbishop opened his eyes again. Still smiling serenely, he raised his right arm to point to the small figure waiting at the base of the stage.

“Tonight I am moved to have the opportunity to express our appreciation to the person who made the rebirth of this city possible. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to the heroine who freed Istvan from the evil monster! Our hope before the devils that threaten us! Sister Esther Blanchett, Saint of Istvan!”

As thunderous applause rose, the hesitant figure of the nun appeared, equipped with a microphone. Blinking because of the bright spotlights and shrugging, the girl looked tiny in the middle of the huge stage, as if she were just a child.

«She's just a poor kid…» Petros thought as he watched Esther walk across the stage. Come to think of it, the poor girl deserved his compassion for many reasons.First, because she belonged to the Ministry of Vatican Foreign Affairs, which was the lair of that witch, Caterina Sforza. Besides, she had to work with those agents, who had a horrible reputation of being sacrilegious. He couldn't imagine how she could lead a pious life as a nun between them.

Above all, the entire show that night had not been sought by her, but had been implicated by the surroundings of D'Annunzio. At her young age, being worshiped as a Saint and being commissioned to make a speech to such an audience could only be considered a misfortune.

“Uh... uh... Go... good night to every... Oh, no...! Good evening, la… ladies and gentlemen. It is an honor to introduce myself to you. I am Esther Blanchett. I do not have words to express my gratitude for this opera to be performed in my honor...”

While Il Ruinante looked at her with compassionate eyes, the nun had started babbling. The inquisitor’s heart cringed just to see how her forehead was beaded in sweat and how her blue eyes were moving full of insecurity. Trying to smile faintly, the young lady put on the table the script that the archbishop had given to her before. Just when she deployed the first pages and prepared to start reading... the tragedy happened.

“Ah!?”

The first thing that echoed through the speakers was a small groan. The pages of the script Esther was going to read flew across the stage.

“No!” Cried Petros, as the papers fluttered like leaves blown up in the wind.Had she forgotten to re-tie the rope that held the pages together? The nun was trying to pick them up in haste, but many had already fallen off the stage. The girl's tensed face had lost all traces of color. But Petros and the rest of the audience didn't have to hold their breath for long.

At first, the nun was so stunned that she couldn't even speak, it was natural.

Having to improvise a speech in front of such a crowd, and also being people of such power in society… Even a veteran politician would have found it difficult. How could it cost to a girl who had just turned eighteen?

In view of the events, no one would have criticized her if she had fled the stage. But the Saint did not.Biting her lip as if she had made up her mind, she rose to her feet, adjusting the hem of her habit. She was still a little pale, but a powerful light shone in her blue eyes. As if attracted by that look, the audience's attention was concentrated on the girl's face when she began to speak...

“I beg your pardon for my clumsiness… The fear of speaking in front of so many people has left me a little stunned…” Esther began in a vigorous, almost savage voice. “A play will be performed in my honor tonight and I want to express my enormous gratitude to you for taking the time to attend the performance”.

Was this the same nervous nun who had trembled a few minutes earlier? Esther addressed the audience with her head up, as if all the perplexity of before had disappeared.

“Well, to be improvising she does it very well...” Petros said to himself with admiration, as he looked for the archbishop with his eyes. At the backstage, D'Annunzio seemed to be more tense than before, but he was still looking at the young woman with a satisfied smile. As the nun had read the script before, a few as she remembered, things would go more or less as he had planned. Petros expected the same when he looked back at the girl. She would probably invoke God and the Vatican, would praise the courage of the combatants a year ago and call those present to remain united. If she said that, nothing would be noticed...

“Thank you all. That was my intention... But now I have changed my mind...”

It would take a long time for Petros to forget how the atmosphere in the room changed with just that short sentence.What she’s going to tell them!? Glancing to the backstage, he saw how the archbishop had stiffened, staring at the nun in amazement, as if observing a ceramic doll that had suddenly begun to speak.

Esther was not looking at the archbishop, but at the room full of spectators. In her pupils were reflected the innumerable puzzled faces that had been nailed to her. The audience seemed hypnotized by the words of the Saint, who whispered slowly: “I have come to pray with all of you for the souls of those who shed their blood in battle a year ago. For that I have returned here, to my city.” The voice was not overly powerful, but it completely dominated the room, where not a cough was heard. Without being too high or too low, it filled the air with a clean and serene feeling. It was the perfect example of a pleasant voice. As proof of this, when hearing her, Petros had completely forgotten that he had to go to the royal box, nothing further from his mind at the moment than to get away from there.

Il Ruinante had been lost in thought, listening to the flow of that voice.

“A year ago, we got a lot of blood flowing. Blood of our comrades, blood of our enemies… It was a horrible battle. But then I thought there was no other option. To survive you had to fight. We couldn't help but spilling that blood. In those moments it seemed that we were at a crossroads between life and death. Yes, that was really the situation. That's why we took up the sword... But now, a year later, I have the feeling that «there was no other option» is not a sufficient explanation for that fight...”

Esther was silent for a moment after the long speech. At the view of the girl closing briefly her eyelids to soak in those memories, Petros thought that this nun did not seem at all like the girl that he knew. More than someone alive, it recalled to the images of Saints that appeared in the murals and religious paintings of the cathedrals. When she opened her eyes again, a sweet but intense light shone on them. Looking at the audience, which was in absolute silence, she continued with a calm voice.

“During that battle I met one person... one person who back then was my enemy. He was the man I was trying to kill. But he also believed he had to kill to me to survive.”

Her expression could not be said to be very refined, nor the sound of the words to be very beautiful. In spite of this, there was nobody in the room that was not captivated by the voice of the Saint. None of those celebrities and distinguished people uttered a single word. They were all focused, listening to the girl, who kept talking as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“But it wasn't true, no one should have died; However, due to a misunderstanding, at first, both he and I thought that we had to kill ourselves to survive… And not only him. I believe that among those we killed and who killed us there were many like him. Many who laughed like us, cried like us. Many who we hated. All possibilities were destroyed by a misunderstanding.”

Perhaps it was the memory of that man that made a trace of suffering appear in the serene voice of the girl. The audience also felt the sting of that painful memory in their chest. Looking ahead, Esther spoke without hurrying, without forcing the words, penetrating every corner of the hearts of the attendees.

“Ladies and gentlemen, distrust yourselves. Be suspicious of justice. Maybe we are too simple. Be suspicious of your ideas about justice in the world. Are they really correct? Aren't they often just what we want to believe? Don't we impose them on our neighbor many times? Be suspicious. Mistrusting these issues is not bad.”

«Be suspicious of justice».

Hearing those words, the audience felt a slight shudder. Since the nun had started her speech, that was the first moment of doubt. The audience had been rapt with her until then, but little by little the audience began to come to their senses. Esther was not flustered by the change in the audience, so she pushed herself even harder in her speech, expressively moving her arms.

“It may be that these words make you sad. You may think that everything is false and that nothing is certain. God and justice are nothing more than mirages… But they are not. We can distrust, distrust and distrust, but something will always remain. There is always something that cannot be denied… For example, on a winter night like this, meeting with the whole family in front of the stove and feeling the warmth in the heart…” The families in the audience exchanged glances, as if encouraged by the girl's words.“Or look at the starry sky from a deserted meadow and feel how precious our little existence is...”

As to embrace to all those present, the nun extended the arms and continued talking, pretending this time caress the soul with the voice.

“Love of oneself and of neighbor ... that's what remains in the end. That is what makes me believe in God. Because God loves us and has given us these gifts. So let's pray together. Let us pray for all the blood that was shed and the souls of all the fallen… Amen.” “Amen.” “Amen.” “Amen.”

Although they had wanted to rehearse it before, the response of those present would not have come out more conjoined. It seemed they had coordinated not only the breathing, but even the pulse. The echo of those words had scarcely been consumed when a thunderous round of applause went up. The ovation did not diminish after the nun finished bowing in thanks. After the archbishop's speech, the audience had remained seated, but Esther's words made everyone in attendance stand up to cheer her on. Even Petros, seeing the reaction from the room, was unable to suppress a cry of admiration.

“And she's just a little girl… What a charisma!”

N: A very old Petros’s coloring ;)

Just with the dubious name of Saint, the girl had managed to move more than a thousand people. This was not normal. Thinking ahead, Petros felt a slight concern.

If the artificial Saint that D'Annunzio and Borgia wanted to make was added that ability to attract the public, the potential of the girl was not negligible. If she developed her career under Sforza's guidance, she would be a formidable opponent for Cardinal Medici and his followers...

“Hey you! Where do you think you are going!? This is not the time for that yet!”

Those reproachful words that came from the base of the stage brought the warrior monk to his senses. Turning, he saw a Guard soldier in his gray-blue uniform arguing with someone carrying a huge bouquet of flowers. Probably wanted to give it to the Saint. The one who carried the bouquet was a young adolescent. From the daring evening dress she was wearing, she seemed to be the daughter of one of the attendees. However, her dark skin and pronounced features were a rare combination in these lands. Her eyes were slanted and her pupils a stunning amethyst color.The soldier holding her in the gray gloves began to speak in an increasingly harsh voice.

“Didn't you hear me? If you want to give the Saint a bouquet of flowers, you have to wait for her to come down from the stage. Go back to your seat and stay still.” “Stand aside,Terran!”

The young woman slightly moved the arm that the other was holding, It seemed a only symbolic gesture, but what happened then was anything but that.

The soldier, who was six feet tall and weighed a hundred kilos, flew off incredibly and slammed his face against the wall. The impact must have made him pass out. The horrible noise of his nose breaking was the only thing that accompanied his collapse to the ground.

The scene did not go unnoticed. Muffled shouts of astonishment began to be heard from the audience, and in the box of honor the cardinals had risen with tense faces. However, Petros wasted no time in observing the reactions of the attendees, because he had noticed that the young woman had too long canines between her lips...

“No! Get away from her you all!” Shouted Il Ruinante, wielding with each hand the screamers that he wore on his waist. “She is not human! Is a…!” “Nice to meet you, Terrans. My name is Shahrazad and I come from the True Human Empire…” said the girl, with a voice as beautiful as a bell, but at the same time full of defiant force.

As the bouquet of flowers was dropped, the long jeweled gloves she wore began to glow. Leaning them against the wall, the girl, or rather the vampire, looked directly at Esther, who made no sign of wanting to flee.

“This evening I come to see the killer who you call the Saint... and to kill her!”

With a thud, the wall began to crumble, looking like a spiderweb.

════════════╠☆╣════════════

And this is it my dear friends, I hope you have enjoyed this and the new Petros’ coloring I added. I tried hard not to include personal notes in the translation, because I love Petros so much and I was like reacting to everything that happened to him. Maybe that’s the reason I love this arc so much XD I want to thank you a lot for your patience, for those who still support this and help me out with it, and to those who share the love by rebloging and liking this. I truly apreciate that. See you soon on the next part, stay tunned because the best part is next to come. Please stay safe and healthy <3

#TrinityBlood #TrinityBloodNovels #fan translation #fan coloring #manga panel coloring #abel nightroad #esther blanchett #caterina sforza #brother petros #ROM IV #chapter 1 #part 2

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kelseaaa · 4 years

Note

Can I request a little something for Levi x mc? 🥺Idk if you take requests, if not, that's ok you don't have to!! I just miss him 😭

Thank you for your patience @simp-for-villains!! I miss Levi, too! Hope you don’t mind that a little nsfw action ;) It’s almost 2k, kind of got away from me lol.

Book: Mother of the Year

Pairing: Levi Schuler x MC (Tara Day)

Warnings: very nsfw

~~~~~

Rare Moments

“I can’t believe we live 10 feet from each other and I can’t even see you,” Levi grumbled through the phone.

“Well, you’re the one who decided to go grocery shopping in the middle of a pandemic,” she countered. Levi couldn’t see it, but he knew she was rolling her eyes.

When news hit about a deadly virus and a global pandemic, Tara had been on the ball with everything. Quickly stocking up on essentials without going overboard. Ensuring that Zoey got all her homeschool materials from Eiko so she could stay on top of things. Even figuring out a way to work from home through everything.

Levi had not been so lucky.

He knew to take things seriously but he had not been as serious as Tara. Causing him to still go out every few weeks to buy food and supplies - if there was anything left to buy.

“I know, I know. I should have listened to you,” he conceded before plopping down on his couch. “But I still don’t get why I can’t come over.”

He listened as she let out an exasperated sigh. “You know I can’t risk anything happening to Zoey.”

She was right, like always. Levi wouldn’t do anything to put either Tara or Zoey at risk. He still didn’t like it, though.

He decided to drop that conversation for the night. “So, how was Rocket, today?” he asked with genuine sincerity. Levi could hear the creak of Tara’s bed on the other side of the phone.

“She’s loving this,” Tara replied cooly. “She misses her friends but she’s already finished all the schoolwork the Academy gave out. She’s been doing all kinds of projects and research. And she loves to fill me in on every detail.”

Levi could hear the strain in her voice. It made his lips quirk into a knowing smirk. “And how are you handling all this?” he asked with amusement.

“Let’s just say today was a ‘two glasses of wine’ kind of day,” she huffed out.

Levi laughed. “You’re doing great, Tara.” He grew serious for a second before speaking again. “I wish I could help you. Help with all this. I wish I could be there.”

There was silence for a moment on the other line. “I know, Levi. Me too. That really means a lot.”

This was one of the rare moments in their crazy lives. One where they took the time for each other. It was serious and meaningful. It made Levi reflect on what he wanted. Who he wanted. The life he wanted with these two extraordinary girls that lived next door. The future they could have.

“Hey,” Tara said, breaking Levi from his wandering thoughts which was probably for the best at the moment. “What are you doing right now?”

He could hear the playfulness in her voice which made his brow raise slightly in delight. “Just chillin’ here all by my lonesome. Why you ask, Miss Day?”

She didn’t respond, instead he heard the familiar alert of a video call coming through his phone. He pulled it away from his ear and hit the accept button. He was quickly met by a smiling face and stunning green eyes.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greeted and took pleasure in the slight blush that blossomed across her cheeks. She was laying down on her bed, auburn hair fanned out across her pillows.

“Hello, handsome,” she responded back. He probably should have been more embarrassed by the dopey grin that was on his face, but seeing her - even if it was through video - made everything feel right in the world.

“Is that my shirt?” he asked, taking in the oversized, black band tee he realized several days ago that he was missing.

She looked down at the shirt then back to the camera. “Maybe,” she responded with a mischievous smile.

“Well it looks better on you, that’s for sure,” he commented with a laugh. “Is Rocket asleep?”

Tara nodded her head and Levi couldn’t help but notice the way she slowly ran the tips of her fingers across her bottom lip. His body shuddered and he silently cursed to himself for not being more careful during this pandemic. He would give anything to be in bed with her instead of alone on his couch.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Tara asked, her voice dropping an octave lower.

Levi liked where this was heading.

“You,” he responded earnestly. The smile that she gave him made his chest constrict and his stomach flip.

Then she had the nerve to bite the tip of her finger. “What about me?”

“I’m thinking about all the things I would do to you if you were here with me right now,” he began. “Or if I was in that bed with you.”

“Tell me,” she urged and Levi swallowed hard as the hand that was on her face slowly slid down and out of frame.

Levi’s own hand trailed down his bare chest and stomach, landing on the outside of his sweatpants to palm himself. “I would make you feel so good, Tara.”

“Yes,” she responded breathlessly as she closed her eyes. “Tell me more. Tell me what you want.”

Levi felt hot all over. The sounds coming from his phone - near-silent pants and almost inaudible moans - were making his head spin.

“Pull up your shirt,” he directed. She did, pulling the fabric up until it bunched up under her chin, leaving the silky skin of her chest exposed to him. He all but groaned when her hand traced circles around her pert skin. “That’s it, Tara. How does that feel?”

Her only response was a moan causing him to twitch against his leg. Levi’s hand found it’s way beneath his pants and boxers where he started to stroke languidly.

This wasn’t their first time. Over the past few weeks with nowhere to go and nothing to do, they had found themselves on similar calls. A way to relieve the built-up frustration of not being able to see, kiss, and touch each other.

Levi had usually been the one to follow directions, letting Tara lead. He did everything to make her happy and satisfied, letting her take charge during their late-night calls. But tonight was different. Tonight he was in control.

“Touch yourself,” he demanded. His voice was firm but full of affection and need.

He could tell by the way her eyes widened that she was pleasantly surprised at the directions. He watched her hand that had previously been rubbing over her chest move back down out of frame. A moment later there was a slight gasp from her parted lips and Levi’s quickened his own pace.

“Show me, Tara.” He watched as the screen shifted and soon he was staring at the bow of her hips and the delicious skin of her bare thighs. His tongue ran along his lower lip as he watched her fingers moving delicately under the black, cotton fabric covering her sex. “Take them off.”

He heard her huff before she set the phone down, the screen going black. He heard the sound of fabric rustling and then a moment later she picked the phone back up and positioned it back towards her lower half. She was fully exposed now, her fingers working deftly against her sensitive skin.

Using one hand, Levi shifted to pull down his sweatpants and boxers slightly, freeing himself to the open air. He continued to stroke himself, picturing her instead of his hand. “Talk to me, Tara. Tell me what you want.”

There was an audible gasp of his name followed by a low moan escaping her throat. The sounds only made him harder.

“I wish you were here,” Tara replied, her voice barely above of whisper.

Levi groaned. “Me too, baby.”

“I wish this was you,” she began, her fingers slowly dipping into her folds. “Your fingers, your mouth, your cock.”

Levi muttered a curse at her words. He loved it when her pretty mouth spouted off such vulgar things. This was a side a Tara reserved for only him. And now he was already dangerously close to finishing.

“Faster, Tara,” he instructed and reveled in the way her fingers moved deeper inside her at a delicious pace. His thoughts were moving a mile a minute now. “Just like that. God, I want to fuck you so bad. Are you close?”

“Yes, Levi, I’m so close,” she whimpered.

“I want to watch you as you come, baby.”

A moment later the camera had switched back to her face. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly as breathless moans and wanton sounds left her mouth. Her cheeks were flushed heavily and the slight crinkle across her brow let him know that she was almost there.

His eyes trailed over the curve of her lips, the definition of her collarbone, and the softness of her breasts. She panted his name and he whispered words of encouragement and praise.

“Levi… I’m… I…”

“That’s it, Tara. Let go,” he soothed and soon she was chorusing his name through her heavy breath. Her shoulders trembled and she arched slightly from the bed. She was a vision and soon Levi followed. Closing his eyes, he jerked his hips upwards and spilled out across his hand and stomach. Both lines grew quiet, save for the sounds of shallow breaths escaping both their lips.

When Levi finally opened his eyes, he saw Tara staring back at him, a huge, wicked smile gracing her lips. Levi returned the grin - all teeth. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he asked rhetorically. The way she blushed made his heart stutter in his chest.

“Yeah, I do,” she sighed dreamily, making Levi snort and roll his eyes. He shot her a pointed look through the screen before they both broke out into laughter. After a few more minutes of laughter and easy conversation, the pair said their goodbyes and got off the call.

After a quick shower, Levi laid in bed - alone - scrolling through his phone. He was just about to set it down on his nightstand when a familiar ding sounded through the room. He smiled as he opened the text from his neighbor who should have most definitely been asleep by now.

T: Miss you

L: Miss you too

There was a pause as Levi stared at the three little dots appearing then disappearing on the screen until finally-

T: If you promise to stay home and self-quarantine for the next two weeks, I’ll let you come over. Think you can do that?

Levi smiled to himself. He pretended to weigh the idea in his idea before responding back right away. Even though he knew exactly what his answer would be.

L: Sounds good to me :)

T: Great! See you in two weeks ;) Goodnight

L: Night Tara. Love you

T: I love you too

Levi plugged in his phone and laid it on the nightstand. It wasn’t hard to fall asleep. The promise of being able to see - actually see - the love of his life in two weeks made things much easier and soon he was out.

~~~~~

#levi schuler #levi schuler x mc #levi x mc #moty #mother of the year #fic #my writing #my asks

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pumpkinpaix · 4 years

Text

I don’t know how into NieYao you are but I can really see NieYao working with the hand job at the Renaissance Faire one. Alternatively, Wangxian.

prompted by @three–rings get ready for more shenanigans

(crossposted to ao3)

—

“Speed dating?” Nie Mingjue repeats dubiously. “At a Ren Faire?”

“It’s for a good cause,” Lan Xichen says with a laugh. “The Chinese Cultural Association is running it as a way to raise funds and awareness for local Asian diaspora resources and projects.”

“Mm,” Nie Mingjue says, unconvinced. “This is an awfully convenient scenario for you, the head of the CCA.”

Lan Xichen tips his head, all wide-eyed innocence. “And whatever do you mean by that, Mingjue?”

“This is just an elaborate con to get Wangji and that Wei kid to fuck,” he accuses.

“Mingjue!” Lan Xichen admonishes, but his eyebrow twitches, and the corner of his mouth is quirked, the way that Nie Mingjue has known since childhood belies something just a little devious.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, fine.” He rolls his eyes. “Is any of the money going towards improving the Chinese School curriculum?”

Lan Xichen winces. Nie Mingjue grimaces back.

“I’m afraid… well, I think the Chinese School needs more than just its curriculum overhauled,” Lan Xichen says delicately. “And it’s not exactly something money is going to fix.”

“It’s been bad since we were kids, and it’s going to be bad for all of our kids as well at this rate,” Nie Mingjue says with a sigh of resignation. “Rite of passage, I guess.”

“Isn’t it a rite of passage for all ABC kids?” Lan Xichen points out.

“It wouldn’t be if it were run properly, by people who understood what we actually needed!” It’s an old conversation, and a familiar one. They run along the grooves of it with a comforting, cantankerous grumbling, Lan Xichen disappointed, but placating; Nie Mingjue frustrated and heated. It’s nice, in its way.

“Whatever, fine, I’ll do it,” Nie Mingjue says. “Good cause, etc. Did you rope your new boyfriend into it as well?”

Lan Xichen positively lights up at that, and Nie Mingjue can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face. What a precious man. “Yes, I did, actually! I thought—well, I thought this might be fun way for the two of you to meet,” Lan Xichen says with another little laugh. “Low stakes, and if it turns out you hate each other, you only need to spend three minutes in each other’s company.”

“That’s true,” Nie Mingjue says. Lan Xichen—precious, but practical, as always. “All right, fine. I’ll be there, I’ll meet your new man, and I’ll even promise not to take his head off if you take me out to dinner after.”

Lan Xichen rolls his eyes fondly. “You say that like we haven’t been planning that dinner for weeks.”

“Yes, well, I’m being generous,” Nie Mingjue says with a shrug. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Nie Mingjue regrets it.

Like, not totally. Lan Xichen has gathered a rather impressive number of participants, and maybe if he were in a better mood, Nie Mingjue might actually be kind of interested in a few of them. As it is though, he’s barely had a chance to see Xichen the entire day, and he was roped into a horrible conversation with Jin Guangshan for nearly an hour when all he really wanted to do was hang out at the smithy tent and ask questions about their demonstration on Damascus steel. So it’s fine that he’s now stuck at this speed dating gimmick that is definitely, no matter what Xichen says, a very transparent setup for the most disastrous couple of their generation, but. Well. He’d have felt better about it if he knew how to forge Damascus steel. At least the weather is nice.

Lan Xichen taps a small gong on the table. “Hello, everyone,” he calls out with a smile. “Welcome to our speed dating event. As you know, all proceeds will be going to various projects supporting local Asian diaspora interests, so I’d like to start by thanking you all for your generosity.”

Nie Mingjue tunes out the rest of his speech because he’s heard it before in various iterations. Lan Xichen is good at what he does, speaks with clear, eloquent diction and a gentle demeanor. Just the sound of his voice is enough for Nie Mingjue, who spends the time eyeing the participants and trying to guess which one is Xichen’s new boyfriend. There are a few potential candidates he picks out, but Xichen has never really had a type, so to speak, so it’s actually rather challenging.

The first few people are pleasant enough conversation partners, but not much more. Nie Mingjue keeps himself at a polite distance from them, and he expects he won’t be seeing them again. He sits through five minutes of mutually agreed-upon silence across from Wangji. They saw each other yesterday, and neither of them are particularly good at forced small talk. He sits through a distinctly more chatty five minutes across from Wei Wuxian, who spends the whole time shooting distracted glances at Lan Wangji a few tables over, speaking softly to a young woman who seems obviously very taken with his manners.

“Hey, Wei,” Nie Mingjue says, interrupting his stream of consciousness rambling with about a minute left on the clock.

“Huh? Yeah?”

“Just fucking take Wangji and leave.” Nie Mingjue jerks his head at the exit.

“Seriously. This is painful to watch.”

Wei Wuxian looks caught out, a deer in the headlights. “What do you mean?”

Nie Mingjue leans forward, putting on his most intense expression—the one he reserves for special occasions and threatening his brother’s bullies. “I mean that Xichen might believe in gentle nudges, but I, for one, am sick of you two making sad cow eyes at each other at every fucking family event. It’s unbearable. Either tell him how you feel or get over yourself. Please. For the love of god.”

Wei Wuxian gapes at him like a fish a few times before leaning in and hissing, “Mingjue-ge!! You can’t just say shit like that!”

Nie Mingjue raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Don’t you want to?”

“I—!”

The gong rings.

“I’m serious, Wei,” Nie Mingjue says, standing up with a scrape of his chair. “I know neither of you want to be here. Take him before someone else pressures him into a date he doesn’t want to go on.”

“Lan Zhan would never—”

“Snag him before the change finishes,” Nie Mingjue interrupts, then whisks himself away before Wei Wuxian can protest again.

The next man he sits before is dressed in a delicate costume of pale gold and a plain black hat. “Hello,” he says, voice soft-spoken and musical.

“Hello,” Nie Mingjue says.

“Your saber is very fine,” the man says without preamble, tilting his head to get a better look. “I’ve been eyeing it since you arrived.”

Nie Mingjue opens his mouth automatically to thank him, but then notices the mischievous arch to his eyebrow, the slant to his smile. He frowns instead.

“If that was supposed to be an innuendo, it wasn’t a very good one.”

“Oh no,” the man deflects with just the right pitch of mild scandal and innocence. “Not at all! I was merely admiring the… craftsmanship. It’s hard to get a blade that large of such high quality.”

Nie Mingjue leans back, crossing his arms. He doesn’t have patience for word games. “You’re just fucking with me now.”

The man laughs. “Well, I’ve only got three minutes to make an impression.”

“And you chose ‘talk about his sword like it’s his penis’ as a tactic?”

The man hums, but doesn’t stop smiling. “Put like that, it does sound rather crass.”

“Is this what you do with all your dates?” Nie Mingjue asks.

“Oh, of course not. What sort of date would I be if I didn’t tailor my approaches?” He widens his eyes just slightly, leans in.

“What’s your name?” Nie Mingjue asks, because it’s only polite.

“What’s yours?” the man counters.

“Nie Mingjue,” he replies bluntly and without hesitation. “I’m not interested in playing.”

The man throws his head back with an elegant laugh. “I see that. Jin Guangyao, at your disposal.”

Nie Mingjjue squints. “Jin?”

“Indeed,” Jin Guangyao says with a tragic, self-deprecating little sigh. “Son of Jin Guangshan.”

“Oh god,” Nie Mingjue says before he can help himself. “Another one?”

“I know, we’re all crawling out of the woodwork, clamoring for the inheritance,” Jin Guangyao says without shame. “Zixuan has been a very good sport about it all.”

Nie Mingjue huffs out a disbelieving breath. Jin Guangshan’s bastards have all been asserting themselves in recent years, much to the chagrin of his wife. Nie Mingjue can’t really blame the woman. She’s put up with a lot.

He doesn’t keep up with the gossip and is only vaguely familiar with the situation. As far as he knows, this man is maybe the third? fourth? of Jin Guangshan’s illegitimate children to make their appearance. Nie Mingjue wracks his brains, not very hard. There was that Mo kid maybe last year, and the entire scandal involving the Qin girl a year or two before that, but he can’t place any others.

“You’ve got his name,” Nie Mingjue remarks.

“Oh yes, he decided to grace me with recognition,” Jin Guangyao says. “Much good that it’ll do me. He’s currently trying to bribe me off with an allowance, hoping I won’t make any more trouble for him. My birth name is Meng.”

“Is that how you paid for that costume of yours?” Nie Mingjue asks, not without humor. This bastard’s got balls, he’ll admit. The cloth has a lovely weft to it and a flattering cut. He can smell how much it costs.

Jin Guangyao laughs again, ducking his head and averting his eyes, and then quite suddenly, Nie Mingjue recognizes him.

“Oh fuck, it’s you,” he curses. He’s seen those eyelashes before, those eyes glancing up through them, glinting with a dangerous, daring edge.

“Excuse me?” Jin Guangyao asks, blinking.

“It’s—it’s you, the—last year,” Nie Mingjue splutters, very articulately. “Behind the—the smithy tent. On the last night. After—”

The memory is a bit of a blur for Nie Mingjue—he’d been drunk on several glasses of wine, shared swigs of baijiu with his brother, and a singular horn of mead that someone had passed him halfway through the after-hours revelry, but he remembers an unfamiliar young man in Nie colors stumbling against him, face obscured by the chiaroscuro of night and firelight, remembers the slender frame of him in his arms, and the wet heat of his lips around his cock in the cool darkness.

Nie Mingjue remembers the elegance with which he sunk to his knees, the way his moans vibrated against him, and his expression when he glanced up—there had been quite a bit of kissing too, Nie Mingjue thinks. Before and after. And then the young man had pulled away and vanished with a cutting smile, leaving Nie Mingjue breathless and a little stunned in his wake.

“Ah,” Jin Guangyao says, and everything about him is familiar now that Nie Mingjue knows what to look for—that smile, for one. Jin Guangyao props his head up on his elbow and gives him that smile, the one that cuts. “Now, which one were you?”

“Which one?” Nie Mingjue demands. “How many people did you go down on at the Ren Faire last year?”

Jin Guangyao shrugs. “I admit I’m not sure. The party was long, and there was quite a lot of alcohol, if memory serves. And the space behind the smithy tent is very convenient.” His eyes crinkle sweetly. “Why, do you think you were prodigious enough for me to remember? I might, if we go for round two this year. I admit I wasn’t ah, exactly looking at faces. You understand.”

Nie Mingjue feels his face color. “That’s not—” He doesn’t like feeling off-balance, doesn’t like conversations that aren’t forthright, doesn’t like any of this, but he does, heavens help him, very much like the idea of fucking Jin Guangyao’s mouth again.

“Not… what? Not what you want?” Jin Guangyao asks smoothly before Nie Mingjue can continue to flounder. “Was my performance not to your liking?” His voice is embellished with a hint of wounded disappointment, which Nie Mingjue finds extremely suspect.

“No, it was—” Nie Mingjue can feel his flush darkening as his tongue slips. —excellent, he stops himself from saying. It would appear the man’s tongue is talented in more ways than one.

Nie Minjue wants to hit him, he’s so infuriated.

The gong rings.

Jin Guangyao stands, all smiles once more, and reaches over to stroke Nie Mingjue’s cheek. “It was very nice to meet you properly this time, Mingjue. Perhaps you’ll give me another chance to prove myself later.” He winks, so quickly Nie Mingjue isn’t sure he saw it at all, and then sweeps himself to a new partner.

Nie Mingjue is distracted and irritable for the rest of the event, which is hardly fair to his remaining dates, but he’s agitated and angry and it’s not like he really cared about making connections—he barely remembers to try and figure out who Xichen’s mystery boyfriend is—there’s a nice man with a pleasant personality and a lovely smile that he vaguely wonders about, but the whole time he’s conversing and making nice, he’s thinking about how much he wants to throttle Jin Guangyao. And maybe other things.

It’s very difficult to focus.

When the gong rings out for the last time, Nie Mingjue can’t throw himself out the seat fast enough. Lan Xichen collects everyone’s scorecards (Nie Mingjue’s had a total of one number on it, unsurprisingly), and gives another small speech thanking everyone for their participation and encouraging them to enjoy the rest of what the Faire has to offer. Matchlists are expected to be sent out tomorrow evening at the latest. There’s polite clapping before general dispersal. It doesn’t escape Nie Mingjue’s attention that neither Wei Wuxian nor Lan Wangji are among the crowd. He hopes they’re not sharing blowjobs behind the smithy tent.

Nie Mingjue stalks towards Lan Xichen as the final dregs of the participants trickle out, fully intent on venting his frustration to Lan Xichen’s willing ear, only to see that the subject of his ire is, in fact, already standing beside Lan Xichen. Standing very close beside Lan Xichen.

Nie Mingjue stops dead.

“Mingjue!” Lan Xichen calls, waving him over.

“Him?” Nie Mingjue accuses. The temptation to draw Baxia and point it for extra effect is unreal. He restrains himself, but only just.

Lan Xichen laughs. “I see A’Yao made an impression.”

Jin Guangyao smiles at Lan Xichen, and—the fuck, it’s totally different than the way he smiles at Nie Mingjue! It’s soft and genuine and smitten and overwhelmed all at once, like he can’t believe he’s lucky enough to have this—and it’s not like Nie Mingjue doesn’t agree, because that is, in fact, the only acceptable way to think about Lan Xichen, but then Jin Guangyao turns that smile towards him and it goes all sharp and clever around the edges, and it sets his blood boiling.

“So you’re Mingjue,” Jin Guangyao says. “I thought you must be.”

“I introduced myself,” Nie Mingjue snaps. “It doesn’t take a genius.”

“Oh dear, I really riled you up, didn’t I?” Jin Guangyao laughs. “Forgive me. I couldn’t help it. You just seemed like you’d be a fun tease, and I was right.”

“Your new boyfriend is this little snake?” Nie Mingjue demands.

“Snake?” Lan Xichen repeats, surprised. “A’Yao, what did you do?”

“It was my fault,” Jin Guangyao says with sheepish contrition. “He seemed like such an honorable man, so I pushed a little.”

It isn’t actually Jin Guangyao’s fault—not really. Nie Mingjue was the one caught out unawares by a memory, but Jin Guangyao is really selling this performance to Xichen—to what end, Nie Mingjue couldn’t say. Nie Mingjue wants to drag him away and shove him up against a wall, bite at his lips. He wants him away from Xichen, but not for jealousy. It’s something else.

“I see you still matched with me, though,” Jin Guangyao says, leaning over Lan Xichen’s shoulder to peer at the scorecards.

“A’Yao,” Lan Xichen chastises, moving his arm to cover them. “Don’t pry.”

“Sorry,” Jin Guangyao says, stepping back immediately, and Nie Mingjue can almost believe him. “Old habits.”

“Well, the secret’s already out,” Lan Xichen says with a small huff of chuckle. “I still have to put the rest of these into spreadsheets and crossreference them, so why don’t the two of you go participate in the Faire for a little while? Since you matched and all.”

“I think that would be lovely,” Jin Guangyao says before Nie Mingjue can protest. He smiles beatifically. “We could get… something to eat.” His tongue darts out between his lips.

“I’m having dinner with Xichen,” Nie Mingjue growls.

Jin Guangyao’s smile only grows more wicked. “Just a quickie, then.”

—

* jgy is 100% lying about not remembering nmj because he’s a little shit. he DID give more than one blowjob behind the smithy tent, but just one, and it was lxc :D

* didn’t get around to this, but jgs is definitely the chair of the chinese school and also the reason why it’s so terrible bc it’s hating jgs hours all the time in this house

* all of these characters are part of some larger xianxia RP group that have a presence at the ren faire, and the sects exist kind of nominally as like…. factions?? or something??? vaguely split along the original families that decided to start participating—so meng yao was wearing nie colors, but nmj didn’t recognize him bc he was a new recruit or whatever. don’t ask me. I don’t know what goes on at a ren faire. i’ve been to woefully few in my life :(

(prompt list || other ficlets || ko-fi)

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chaoticneutralwriter · 5 years

Text

The Extent of Happiness

Jimin thinks he’s a perfect demon, given the centuries of work he’s done and now he dare say he makes for a pretty decent temp-guardian too — he even has the papers to prove it. So with a good clean record, he’s well on his way to getting into the good graces of heaven again to pardon his mischief, only he never realized in his long years of living until now that there is one short-coming he had — as both a demon and a guardian.

guardian demon!Jimin x reader

word count: 18.6k (lord)

genre: slow-burn, supernatural, comedy, fluff, romance, a little angst, slice of life

warning: brief talk of some ill-intentions towards another character

Related works: see masterlist under guardian demon! Jimin

A/N: THIS TOOK FOREVERR.... ;_; tfw the chapter is pretty straight forward but didn’t realize the scenes would take so much planning XD Lots of time skips-ish but it at least takes over the course of two days. Hope you enjoy it, thank you so much for all the patience and love once again! 😚😚💖💖

It’s over.

It’s finally over.

You collapse onto your bed, exhausted but victorious in a way. You’ve just finished your last exam, gone in with a fuck-all attitude that made it go by in a blur and now that it’s out of your hands, you’re finally allowed to be numb to it all. The stress of it is over and though you would be elated if you passed with a pretty good grade, you honestly don’t care if you scraped by or even fail one (you’ve done the math, that's how much you've given up). All you want to do now is to sleep for three years….and maybe have a glass of wine, or a whole bottle you’re not sure.

You’ll have to think on that. But right now, you just want to do nothing for a while.

Unfortunately, your body interpreted ‘do nothing’ as straight up passing out. You’re disoriented by the time you wake up, having not realized you fell into a coma-like sleep in the first place. Jaehee’s the one who knocks on your door to come check on you.

“Fam, you good?” She asks, half-jokingly but you can still hear the tinge of worry slipping through her tone.

You only let out a low, half-dying groan, shifting so that your face is not entirely smushed into your mattress.

“I don’t even remember falling asleep….”

If you had turned over more, you would’ve seen Jaehee giving you a wry smile. “Yeah…. You were out cold when I got home and I didn’t have the heart to wake you, but then I got really worried because you were seriously like out.”

That got a snort out of you, however groggy you might feel as your mind takes its time to become more alert.

“But congrats on finishing your last exam today!” Jaehee cheers, coming over to sit at the end of your bed where your body is draped over in a horizontal fashion. “We should celebrate.”

You let out a whining noise of protest because although you do want to go celebrate (read: drink yourself into an oblivion while stuffing your face with the fattiest, greasiest foods you could find), you also really don’t feel like moving yet. Jaehee laughs, patting your head in a very motherly way that has you nearly dozing off again.

“Okay, okay how about we order pizza and we crack open some cold ones over Netflix?”

That gets a short bark of laughter from you and that’s all that Jaehee needs before she’s getting up again to place the order. During that time, you roll around on your bed some more, scroll through your social media for a while before finally mustering up the strength to get up with a stretch. You loudly let out a drawn out groan as your joints pop and your muscles unwind from being in the same position for so long before you stand, grabbing a new set of PJs as you head to the bathroom.

After a refreshing shower that leaves you more awake now and ready to devour some serious carbs, you saunter into the living room where Jaehee is setting up the extra large pizza box on the coffee table. Your mouth instantly waters at the smell of melted cheese, pepperoni, bacon and mushrooms. Beside the box is a case of Somersby cider, the cans still chilled with condensation so when you crack it open to take a sip, it sends a pleasant chill down your throat.

Taking a seat next to Jaehee on the couch, you reach for a slice of pizza and the first bite has you moaning loudly. “Let me stay like this forever.”

Your friend giggles at your overdramatic comment but nevertheless starts scrolling through the Netflix account to find a series to watch.

“Well, you can now that you’re done for the semester.”

“Thank God for that.”

As Jaehee settles on a show, she reaches for her own can of alcohol, bringing it up towards you and you instantly respond by grabbing yours.

“Cheers to finishing that semester.”

You clink cans, grinning as you take a hefty sip, sighing out contently as you already feel your nerves dissipate with the sweet promise of long restful days of sleeping, eating, and lounging.

Yeah right.

It’s like the universe had decided for you that you’ve had your fill of living out your best life as a human sloth and now you need to get back to being a useful member of society. And since you’re always in need for those few extra dollars, it’s no surprise you find yourself taking on more work shifts, no matter how soul draining it all is.

Do it for the money, you tell yourself, just do it for the money.

Besides, you further reason, you need a distraction or you’ll just find yourself perusing your social media threads which would lead to you being caught up in the hype for BTS’ first day of their North American leg of the tour. It’s fast approaching but at this point, you feel like you’ve gone through your stages of grief and had reached the inevitable acceptance — you’re not going to any of the stops and your only hope rests in the four small words at the very bottom of the official touring website.

You cash out the last of the customer standing in line, grateful to have a moment of peace where you can do something other than force a smile on your face and be overly polite and friendly. You walk over to the end of the cash counter where off to the side is a cart full of items that needed to be ticketed for clearance. It’s not the most exciting job, but after spending majority of your shifts on cash and nothing but cash you’re willing to take any job. So with a label gun in hand, you set to work on scanning the items and adjusting the numbers appropriately to make the correct price tags.

You’re halfway through the cart when you feel a sudden chill, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand and automatically you already know who this is. Your gaze whips around, trying to be subtle about it until a voice calls out to you from above.

“Right over here poppet.”

Your eyes land on the shelves behind you and situated at the very top on a sewing machine box, you find Jungkook peering down at you with his signature bunny grin. His mop of brown hair is a little unruly, leaving his front bangs to sweep over his forehead and he’s still dressed like one of the international students at your college — comfy but bougie as hell. Sighing, you continue with the task at hand, pretending he’s not there just so you won’t look crazy on camera.

“Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He rebuttals, jumping down gracefully next to you despite those clumpy looking Balenciaga shoes he’s wearing (you swear you could kill someone if you threw it at them hard enough). You roll your eyes, already knowing what he’s insinuating when he says that.

“For the billionth time I’m not going; I thought we had this conversation already.”

“Well you can’t blame me for thinking you’ve got such a weak will.”

That causes you to shoot a glare his way and all he does is raise an eyebrow back at you, almost challengingly. It makes you let out a huff of frustration, going back to slapping the items with their pricing stickers a little too aggressively.

“Then what do you suggest I do? Summon another demon so they could be my doppleganger?”

“What? Oh no, that won’t do. Your soul is bound to Jimin so there’s possibly nothing you could offer in exchange for another demon’s service.” Jungkook brushes off your sarcastic rhetorical as if you had seriously asked. “Although you possibly could ask an incubus in exchange for sex….but I don’t think Jimin would be too happy with that…”

Jungkook successfully makes you blush at his offhanded comment, mind reeling and going off in places that they most definitely shouldn’t be going. You have to shake your head to rid of those thoughts, but that doesn’t stop your cheeks from burning still. Forcefully, you think about puppies and kittens and BT— No, no, the one time to not think of them.

Your hand pauses briefly and you turn to pin the brunette sitting on the counter beside you a hard stare. He’s lost in thought, actually considering all the ways that can possibly help you play hooky with your job. You’re a slight bit touched that he seems to care so much but at the same time, you think this is all completely unnecessary. Finally, after a few more minutes of pondering, he sighs out in a defeated manner.

“The only other option I can think of is finding a witch to clone you. But I heard their methods are highly unstable, usually a fifty-fifty chance in death or your clone going on a rampage to actually steal your identity so I don’t know if you’d be down with those odds.” Turning to you, he nods in serious affirmation. “I think the sex demon is your best bet, even if it’ll make Jimin a little mad.”

You choke on the air you harshly inhale, hand coming up to try and smother your coughing fit. By the time you’re able to breathe again without losing a lung, you have tears in your eyes from the exertion but that doesn’t stop you from throwing a narrowed eyed glare at Jungkook who’s watching on with an obviously amused smile.

“I am not doing that.” You wheeze.

“Why not? If it’s because of Jimin, then I’ll handle him for you.”

“No Jungkook, it’s not— “ You pause to kiss your teeth, agitated. “I’m not that desperate. Besides, I’ve already put my money on them adding additional dates after their first leg is over.”

It’s true, you’re not about to resort to shadier means to get what you want; point proven when you turned down even Jimin when he offered (and his method had way less strings attached than the one Jungkook is suggesting). Furthermore, what logic would that be if you refuse help from your own guardian demon only to turn around and accept help from someone else, much less another demon? He’s insufferable, the bane of your existence at times sure, but you can never imagine doing something like that to him, especially after all he’s done. The very suggestion makes your stomach churn unpleasantly — he doesn’t deserve that.

The young demon doesn’t say anything afterwards, just quietly stares at you in utter disbelief for what you think is an uncomfortably long amount of time before —

“You seriously would rather subject yourself to this capitalist slavery than take the chance of getting good demon di—“

The package you’re holding goes flying out of your hand before you can think about it (you think it’s a Disney Princess pink foam crown from the kids section). Jungkook narrowly dodges it with a swift lean of his head, impeccably wide eyes indicating that even he was caught off guard from your sudden display of speed. The item merely smacks against the edge of the computer monitor of the register, lightweight enough that you didn’t need to worry about getting fired for property damage but it didn’t go unnoticed by your manager on duty as not even a minute passes before your headset crackles with her concerned voice.

“Woah what happened there, Y/N? You okay?”

You fumble with your mic, face a raging inferno as you press down on the button to laugh nervously into. “Y-Yeah, no I just saw a spider and it freaked me out. That’s all!”

You get a laugh in return, “Oh yikes. Okay, understandable. Carry on!”

Jungkook’s snickering brings your attention back to him and you could only petulantly glare at him. Luckily, you didn’t have to continue bickering uselessly with him as over his shoulder, you see a few customers begin to stream into the queue line. With one last pointed look, you mutter quickly through gritted teeth.

“I am not going to the concert and I don’t need any of your scheming ways to make it happen otherwise.”

You see him roll his eyes before swiftly, you turn on your heels and scurry back over to your designated register to wave down the approaching customer to ring them up.

It’s just past three o’clock and noticeably the cafe starts to pick up with an influx of patrons. Evidently, being situated near the downtown area didn’t help either as every which street, the establishment is surrounded by towering office buildings. Whether it be just a single elevator trip down or just a walk across the street, everyone flocked to this cafe to get their caffeine fix or a quick bite to eat. The place drew in all sorts of people, which made for a very interesting place to people watch.

Now normally, Jimin wouldn’t be out so early in the day, preferring to wander the streets at night. That’s when all the greatest likes of people come out — well, ‘great’ in demon standards; the perfect hunting ground to secure more poor souls doomed to hell with all their scheming, ill-intent, self-destructive ways.

But, he thinks, a slow smile barely contained behind the rim of his coffee cup, it doesn’t take much to spot a potential victim, even with the rose-tinted glasses of daylight on. All you had to do was stop and look.

His dark eyes lock onto the figure seated in the far corner of the cafe, hunched over the laptop in front of her. From his vantage point, he could make out her features clearly — long dark hair falling in loose curls around her shoulders, framing a heart-shaped face, straight nose, full lips with a dainty cupid’s bow, and porcelain skin all make up this young face. She looked to be mid-twenties if Jimin had to guess and by the way she dressed so casually amongst the sea of business suits and blazers suggests she might possibly be a student or someone who just got out of school. At first glance, this girl was like any other face in the crowd — unassuming and made an effort to sticking to themselves, just like everybody else in this cafe.

Except Jimin can spot something shady going on a mile away, and this one was only a few tables.

Now as to exactly what, he’ll have to get a closer look to find out. So with one last sip from his cup, he uncrosses his legs and gets up to make his way over to the young lady’s table. He approaches with just a few long strides and though it takes her a moment to notice his presence, she still had to do a double take once her wide eyes landed on his face. It makes him smile, eyes creasing and when he sees her face flush pink, he knows he’s got her.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin starts, coming off bashful as he brings a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “This might seem really creepy but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around this cafe before and I’m a regular here.”

The girl barely recovers from her flustered state, shaky hands also coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s having a hard time maintaining eye contact with him and it only goads him on further, keeping his eyes on her and the ever sweet smile still present in an almost purposefully teasing way.

“O-Oh, uh, um yeah. I usually like to hang out in this other place but, I had errands to do around here so I just stopped here for a bit….” Her voice wavers with nerves but she clears her throat, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

“Ah, I see.” Jimin replies, feigning interest as he idly runs a hand through his new ash brown hair. “I’m glad you did, it’s a really nice place to come by — amazing coffee and in-house pastry. Have you tried them?”

The small talk continues with Jimin effortlessly getting her to let her guard down more and more until after an empty pastry plate and a latte later, he’s managed to settle himself comfortably in the seat in front of her sharing chuckles and names (Kim), her laptop long forgotten. Here, Jimin can really take in the details of her person; the Chanel t-shirt peeking out from underneath her windbreaker that’s definitely not a knockoff, the Cartier necklace with it’s dainty charm sitting at the base of her throat, the Hermes bangle that gives off a lustrous shine whenever she brings her slender hand up to cover her mouth as she laughs along with the rose gold diamond Rolex watch.

Either she’s got a nice honest paying job, or she’s getting her funds by….other means.

“That’s a really nice watch you have there; Rolex?” Jimin asks, smoothly taking Kim’s hand into his to inspect the watch clasped onto her wrist. He pretends to admire it, completely ignoring the way she blushes.

“Yeah, got it not too long ago.”

“Lovely taste.” He lets go, making sure to linger in his touch. Kim appreciates the gesture, smiling coyly as she slowly takes her hand back. Amidst the chatter of the cafe, a chime followed by a buzz draws the girl’s attention to her phone placed off on the side. Kim takes it into her hand, unlocking before scrolling through it with hasty fingers. She looks up after a few moments later, regret reflecting in her brown irises.

“Hey, I gotta get going. Maybe we could grab coffee again some other time….?”

Jimin hears the way she lets the question hang and it only makes him grin. Regardless, he takes out his phone and Kim eagerly exchanges numbers with him (even sending him a text to make sure it goes through correctly). Once she’s satisfied, she packs her laptop into a sleeve and puts on her Gucci crossbody over her shoulder.

“I’ll see you around Julien.” Kim beams, walking off with a noticeable pep in her step. He watches her go with an easy smile and to onlookers, they might’ve pinned him for a poor sap who’s become infatuated by the girl he’s just met in his favourite coffee shop — a plot straight out of a romance novel. Oh, if only they knew; how funny would it be when they realize that this angelic smile hid a demon who’s just found his next prey.

Glancing down at his phone, his eyes read over the name of the poor girl who’s about to have karma bite her in the ass. Kim, he thinks with a dark chuckle, just what kind of dark secret are you hiding behind your own innocent smile?

He’ll look forward to finding out.

“Hey, are you working tomorrow?”

You’re in the break room, pulled out from your reveries (what you actually mean is dissociating) by the small chime of your phone signalling a text message. It’s Jaehee and you take a pause on reading her question to think of your answer, mentally going through your work schedule that you’ve gleaned over earlier today before coming into your shift. You don’t remember much but you do know you are working, just not sure whether it would be a short early shift or a closing one again. You hope that it’s not the latter. The very thought makes you shudder.

“Yeah I am. Why what’s up?” You shoot back and no sooner had the message been sent, you get one in return.

“Uhh? Your birthday….??”

Oh shit really? You think to yourself, shocked. You pull up the calendar on your phone and see that yes, your birthday is indeed tomorrow. The revelation has you dazed for a second, wondering where the time went.

“Oh wow, LOL. I didn’t even realize….”

“Girl…. We need to do something for your birthday!

We could do something like head out for dinner and a couple of drinks.”

“That sounds good, but I can’t remember if I’m closing or not :|

I’ll have to double check to make sure.”

“Okay, either way, let me know what the plan is and we work something out!”

“Yeah, will do :)” 

You say that but honestly, planning something for your birthday was the last thing on your mind. You would even go as far as to say that you don’t really care anymore. It sounds a lot more depressing than it really is because you think that most people reach that point about certain ages don’t they? When all of your friends’ schedules match up only once in a blue moon, too busy with the grind or other commitments that meeting up at all, let alone for someone’s birthday, is good enough.

Ugh.

You unconsciously frown, wanting to shake your thoughts off on the topic by pulling up your social media apps. Out of instincts, your thumb taps onto Twitter and you’re only greeted by your feed being filled up by huge banners and pictures of the BTS tour and how tickets for their next stop will promptly go on sale tomorrow at 3PM.

Wow.

It’s like the universe just said ‘fuck you’ to your face; tickets are going on sale on your birthday and you can’t even go. You must be the most unluckiest fan alive right now. What’s worse is that it’s for the next neighbouring city to you, and theoretically, your last chance to cave in.

No, no, you shake your head. You need to stop doing that — you’ve made your peace with this already, and the wanting feeling just resurfaced because you’ve been smacked in the face with it. You exit out of the app quickly and stand, shoving your mobile into your back pocket as you start to head back out of the break room to continue your shift. You dread every step of the way because today, you’re part of the closing team and with the warming weekend weather, people tend to want to hang out longer.

Which is, much to you and your co-workers chagrin, what ends up happening. You spend the next five to ten precious minutes past closing urging straggler shoppers to get the fuck out in the most politest way so that you could all finally start cleaning. So of course by the time you’re done and with no mischievous demon by the name of Jungkook around this time to cause any excuse to leaving early otherwise, you all get out way past the appointed end shift time.

You hurry to the bus stop after a hasty goodnight, eager to get home. Thankfully, you only wait around five minutes before the bus shows up and you get on, not bothering to take a seat for the short three stop ride even though there were plenty of empty seats for your picking. You can’t deny that you’re a little bit antsy, commuting at night alone always manages to do that for you even when you make it to your stop without any incident.

It’s okay, you think as you hastily make your way down the street, you’re nearly there and it’ll be fine the rest of the way.

You don’t stop to think about the logic of your thought just now because by no means are you anywhere near your house yet, let alone your street. You still had about a block left before you meet —

Oh.

You slow your power walking down to let out a huff of disbelief at yourself. You did not just seriously….

You sigh deeply, too tired to mentally battle it out with yourself about denying the fact that you find Jimin’s routine meet up on your night shifts gave you comfort and security on the trip home — that extra peace of mind. Not saying that you’d be completely crippled if he wasn’t there but… It's nice to have him walking beside you like a shadow that shielded you from any creeps way scarier than any demon you’ve met so far and… he makes the night a lot more enjoyable to be in.

Holy shit, you must be tired as hell because you did not just think that into existence. Your cheeks are heating up on their own and you had to give yourself a light smack to dispel any further thoughts of that nature from developing. At least there was one saving grace about it all; no one was around to witness any of this.

With that, you focus back on trucking along, heart hammering from your exertion or your anticipation, you’re not quite sure. Either way, your pace picks up when you see the beginnings of your street corner come into view. Usually, Jimin would be there just before you make the turn and from there, you’d both walk back the rest of the way, past the convenience store with the dumpster and flickering street light.

So when you round the corner —

Your feet falter, finding no one.

You slow until you stop completely, more concentrated on trying to spot his familiar lean figure that’s always dressed to the nines but somehow always look effortless but after double checking (triple checking, in case your eyes are really that bad) you find no one; not a single soul.

A weight suddenly drops into the pit of your stomach and for a moment, you’re at a loss of what to do. Should you wait around to see if he shows up with the off chance that he's late today? Or should you just power on through? Your gaze shifts to the street ahead of you and it’s like the darkness and the scattering of lights elongate to an endless pathway leading into an inky abyss. You lick your lips that had gone dry, taking in a shaky breath in an attempts to gather yourself but with one glance around your surroundings, you decide firmly that there was no way you were gonna hang around here longer than you need to, not when you know how notorious the store corner could get with its less-than-savoury visitors. You feel a bubble of irritation begin to swell inside you but you crush it in favour of wanting to get home as fast as you can.

So with a swallow, you take off in a power walk, shoulders hunched and legs burning with the strain you put with how quick of a pace you’ve set for yourself. Your hammering heart only accelerates once you come upon the twenty-four hour convenience store, the same one you got harassed by before Jimin showed up in the nick of time. The grip you have on your bag strap tightens as with a quick flit of your eyes, you find that the corner with the dumpster just behind the store is not occupied for once by anyone, at least from what you can see. You don’t bother to confirm if it’s true or not, taking full advantage of this bit of luck as you practically barrel past it, almost breaking out into a run just to get by. Once you do, you race the rest of the way up your front door steps and with a few fumbles of the keys in shaky, adrenaline-filled hands you fall through the doorway, the breath you didn’t realize you were holding comes out in one big whoosh.

You take a moment to stand there, breathing in deeply to calm yourself before eventually, move away from your threshold, locking the door and slipping off your shoes. Trudging to your bedroom, you don’t bother to flick the lights on as you blindly move about to grab your pyjamas, flinging your bag and heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

You hit the bed with a thump, thankful to be in its warm sheets but still feeling slightly miffed, mind racing to try and come up with some logical reason as to why Jimin wasn’t there tonight. You toss and turn for a bit but then come to a screeching halt halfway through it; he never explicitly said he would walk you home whenever you had a night shift, he sort of…started doing it on his own and you just never questioned it. Then somewhere along the way, you assumed it became an unspoken promise between you two — something that didn’t need an explanation and something that you grew to look forward to so to have it come to an abrupt stop…

You sigh out, flipping to your side and curling up on yourself, feeling ridiculous and still very much restless; guess you’re not going to sleep tonight and you hate how it’s because of how fixated you are on your guardian demon. Since when did you become someone who got so hung up on stupid small things like this? He’s his own being, a demon who roams the night freely and without fear doing what he does best; get people to make stupid decisions.

But he could’ve at least sent you a text.

You actually grab your own mobile, the light blinding you for a second as you pull up his message thread. The last text you sent each other was during your house viewing with Jaehee. Confronted with the option now, your fingers itch to send off a passive-aggressive text to him, letting him know that you made it home safely without his help thanks for asking—

You blink and suddenly the message is typed out in the box, ready for you to hit send. It takes you a second to register what you had done and it makes you backspace immediately in horror. No, you won’t be like this, can’t be like this, because does it even make sense for you to?

You grab the calico plushie with more strength than you mean to and smash your face against its soft body to drown a groan and the sinking feeling in your chest. That’s it, you’re stopping right there and you are going to sleep and forget about this all because if you don’t you’ll just give yourself a headache and lose out on sleep needlessly. You fling your phone to the ends of your bed for good measures.

Who cares about Jimin, you certainly don’t.

The girl in front of him throws her head back to laugh, hand covering her mouth to retain some modesty and keep up her appearances as being a ‘proper lady’. He doesn’t entirely care in that, nor the high spun tale he’s conjured up that caused her to laugh; it’s all pretences to him. Still, he plays his part, smiling behind the rim of his whiskey glass as he watches her with twinkling eyes full of mischief until she calms down, fanning herself lightly.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe that happened to you — on your first trip to Bali too.”

Jimin could only offer her a bemused shrug, placing his glass down on the table to cross his legs. “Guess that’s what you call life huh?”

Kim giggles, taking a sip of her own drink as well too before reclining back into the plush black leather booth seat. When she had suggested that they grab coffee again some time, this wasn’t exactly the first thing that Jimin had in mind. Though to be fair, he should’ve figured with the text she sent him, asking if he was free two days later from their initial meeting to come out at a time that’s way too late to be having coffee and at an establishment he swears didn’t exactly serve coffee. A ritzy place, dimly lit by warm lights from the crystal chandeliers hanging above each round table with a colour scheme of black, white and dark cherry wood. Not exactly a place your average Joe would pick for a date, not unless he wanted his wallet to bleed dry but luckily neither of them need to bother looking at the menu in the first place.

She makes show of that by refilling her glass of expensive wine, not caring how her dulled senses manhandles the bottle slightly, putting it down with a little too much added force. It makes her giggle sheepishly, ducking her head because the noise seems to rattle the entirety of the upscale bar, the soft jazz music no way helping to mask it. Jimin chortles and Kim flushes pinker than she already is under her foundation.

“So,” Jimin starts coolly, “How about yourself? Got any juicy stories you wanna share?”

Kim places her glass after sip down gently this time, licking her painted lips that had the slightest tinge of the darker berry colour to them now. She tilts her head to ponder, pouting but then smiles with a shrug.

“I don’t think any of mine would top yours to be honest.”

“Oh really? Nothing at all?”

“I’m positive.” She laughs, “I feel like all I do on trips is lay around, sun bathe, and eat and drink expensive wine.”

Jimin nods in understanding, reaching out to take a swig of his whiskey again. Throughout the night, he and Kim had talked about things that one typical does during a ‘date’ — work, hobbies, friends, families, the likes. Very mundane and nothing to be too concerned about, only what Kim doesn’t know is that the more she talks about herself, the more Jimin is beginning to get a good idea as to what sort of secret life she’s hiding. From what he gathered, she’s a recent college graduate majoring in marketing, lived alone in an apartment, and worked for a company that was getting their big break-through in expanding.

Doesn’t seem at all suspicious but considering the state of the economy, either Kim is one lucky girl or she’s obviously getting her funds somewhere else. No student straight out of college would be able to afford the luxury items Kim seems to so whole-heartedly indulge in, even with a decent paying job. Perhaps a sugar daddy? No, she’s out here seeing him isn’t she? A wealthy family then who funds everything for her?

There are still pieces missing to this puzzle and Jimin needs to find out more. Unfortunately for him, Kim downs the rest of her wine with a sense of finality and he already knows before she opens her mouth that she was planning on calling it a night.

“I think I’m done with my fill of merlot. Any more and I feel like you would have to carry me out and that’s not exactly how I want to end my night with you.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Jimin grins wolfishly and that causes a bout of giggles to bubble from Kim’s lips. As she’s distracted, Jimin waves down the waiter to pay the bill, swiping his card and signing off the receipt before getting up from his seat. He waits patiently as Kim gathers her things but as she gets up, she tips a little too heavily to one side that Jimin had to steady her by the shoulder. The brunette laughs breathlessly, leaning into him as Jimin smiles while guiding her out of the upscale bar with a hand on the small of her back.

The night is a lot warmer compared to the last few, but of course that doesn’t stop Kim from clinging to Jimin’s arms like there was a biting breeze nipping at her skin, heeled footsteps echoing loudly against the asphalt. She also takes the liberty to direct him to round the side of the building where a small space reserved for parking was. Jimin’s quick to catch on as he glances down at Kim’s still flushed and smiley face with a quirked eyebrow.

“Do you intend to drive home like this?”

Immediately, she whips her glazed eyes upwards, widened in shock and pouts petulantly at him, seemingly offended by his assumptions. “Julien! I’m not that stupid. I just wanna make sure I didn’t leave anything important in there before I call an Uber.”

Jimin chuckles good-heartedly, bringing up a hand in a placating manner. “Sorry, sorry. People tend to be a poor of judge under the influence but it’s good to see that you’re one of the smarter ones.”

Unfortunately.

It would be so easy for Jimin to just whisper into her ear and convince her that she’s totally fine to drive home. Then, all he had to do was watch her drive off and not even a block down, she’d run a red light, get T-boned and he can dust his hands off with another job well done. The idea is tantalizing but no, he’s long since been tired of a successful hunt that lacked any thrill. Which is why when they both reach Kim’s car (a sleek black BMW M5), Jimin turns to her with a well-placed charming smile.

“How about I make it up to you on that last comment? I’ll drive you home.”

Kim pauses mid-push of unlocking her car, throwing a rather dubious look over her shoulder at him. Jimin holds his ground, steadfast in keeping up the non-threatening facade, posture relaxed even as she turns to face him squarely, leaning back heavily against her ride with an impressive piercing gaze. He senses the cogs in her head working, no doubt weighing the pros and cons of accepting his offer. Before he could let the doubts fester, Jimin speaks, voice lilting with an irresistibly smooth velvet finish.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to say yes. I just wanted to make sure you got home safe is all.”

His eyes flare a deep crimson so quickly that to Kim’s slightly muddled mind, it appeared to only be the trick of the light. Jimin sees the effects of his words take hold of her, and after a few minutes, Kim loses the tenseness of her shoulders, looking at him in a new light.

“I mean, if it won’t be too much trouble for you…”

And like that, she’s entangled herself more into his spider’s web. Jimin smiles, eyes creasing up in a very pleased way. It makes Kim smile in return for all the wrong reasons as she her keys off to him. He strides towards her, taking it from her grasp before unlocking the doors and opening the passenger one for her. She ducks into her seat and Jimin shuts it firmly once she’s settled in before rounding around the car to get into the driver’s seat.

As expected, the interior of the car was black, crisp leather interlaid with dark burgundy polished wood for the dashboard and for a second, he could pick up the faintest whiff of the new car smell still lingering around. The smile widens on Jimin’s lips as he glances over at the owner who’s buckling in her seatbelt. She feels his eyes on her and when she turns, she grins coquettishly.

“What?”

“It’s a very nice car.”

Kim preens at the compliment, leaning over to whisper, “I know.”

It makes Jimin chuckle, adjusting his seat and the steering wheel before fastening his own seatbelt. Once he’s comfortable, he hits the start-push button and the car hums to life.

The drive to Kim’s place was filled with more small talk about the passing neighbourhoods and other fancy eating places she hints at for potential future ‘dates’ — none of which interests Jimin. What does however, is the directions she’s giving him albeit in her now drunken sleepy state. She leads him out of the upscale part of the city where all the new high-rises and penthouse suite condos were gathered in favour of an older looking neighbourhood. The apartment buildings begin to look visibly aged, the colour scheme falling into the more rustic ash brown and not as lustrous or modern as the others they had just passed. It reminds him of where you live; modest, not-as-flashy but still well kept neighbourhood. They’re still in way better shape than some of the neighbourhoods Jimin has seen that’s for sure but in this case, it was not a place Jimin had pictured a someone like Kim who seems to live and breathe luxury to be living in.

But Kim only confirms her residencies here when she directs Jimin to an underground parking garage that was connected to one of these bricked apartment buildings. He can’t help quirking an eyebrow at her as he pulls up to the yellow plastic gate right next to the security speaker box.

“We’re at the right place right?” The teasing overtone of his question hides the backhandedness of it (but he thinks Kim wouldn’t notice anyways, given her state).

“Hm?” Kim turns from staring out her window, dazed for a moment at his remark before she seems to realize where she is. She flushes pink, clearly flustered as she stutters. “O-Oh! It’s just temporary….I’m actually moving soon.”

Jimin hums noncommittally, rolling down the window in order to speak to the building security to let them through the gate with Kim telling him that all he needs to say is that he’s a visitor, her full name and floor she’s living on. It works because the yellow gate lifts and he’s allowed to drive the rest of the way in, entering the garage as it opens and after more instructions, finds her designated parking spot. Jimin parks the car, shutting the engine off as he unfastens himself to exit, making quick work of rounding to Kim’s side to open her door. He even offers her his hand.

She smiles at the gesture, gladly taking it to haul herself up and out of her seat.

“And here I thought chivalry was dead.”

Jimin shrugs, “Guess I’m pretty old-fashioned.”

Kim tilts back with a bubbly laugh, swaying too much to where Jimin had to hold her hand a little more firmly to keep her from tipping back and falling over. In doing so though, Kim laces her fingers through his and brings herself closer, pressing up against his chest and forcing him to tilt his head down in order to look her in the face.

“I had a really great time tonight Julien.” Her voice rasps, the proximity lets her lips brush slightly against his own whenever she speaks. “And thank you so much for driving me home when you didn’t have to….”

Ah, here it comes.

“Is there anything I can do? Get you an Uber or maybe….?”

Jimin can’t stifle the smirk that creeps up on his lips, amusement dancing in his dark eyes as he slowly turns the tables on Kim. He brings up their joined hands, only to release himself from her grip to press her back against her car, letting his freed hand cage her instead. She doesn’t resist, so pliant under Jimin’s manipulation that he swears she’s enjoying the attention she’s getting from him. Does she think that she’s got him right where she wanted?

Cute….but not quite.

No, right now, Jimin’s motives are far from aligning with Kim’s despite her thinking otherwise. His plan is simple; get her to invite him up to her apartment, maybe let her have her way for a bit before he puts her out, snoop around to his heart’s content and when he’s found what he needs, disappear like a shadow in the night and let a demon’s karma do its part.

So he takes the bait.

“I think that whiskey is starting to get into my head a little….”

And that’s all Kim needs.

In a fitting whirlwind romance (Jimin uses that term very ironically), the steps of his plans were enacted and Kim is out like a light before she could even finish unbuttoning his shirt — using pressure points is one way to spice things up in the bedroom he supposes. A lot of other demons would give Jimin flak for not indulging in some added bonus fun while on a ‘hunt’ but he’s a demon of taste, and there’s something else hot and steamy that he’s after.

With Kim knocked out into a deep sleep, it makes for rifling through her stuff easy as pie. In the darkness of her room, he spies numerous amounts of name brand clothing strewn about on her dresser and floor. On the handle of her door and even by the foot of her bed, there were bags of different sizes, shapes and colour. Everything seems so disorganized and just thrown about that Jimin thinks the only clean space is her queen size bed and to a certain degree, vanity table which is where he heads towards as he spots her MacBook. It sits asleep on the counter surrounded by various bottles of perfume and lipsticks, organized by colour and brand.

He wastes no time opening the laptop, bypassing her password with ease, immediately diving into the most recent folders. It doesn’t take long for Jimin to start finding some….interesting things. First off was a folder, simply named ‘E-Pics’ that was dedicated to, of all things, concert e-tickets. There were around five of them, all from two shows that had played recently in the city. Jimin doesn’t recognize the names of the artist but he thinks it’s rather strange for someone to have saved pictures of e-tickets when there’s an app for that. Was Kim a secretly sentimental type of person….?

Highly unlikely, Jimin thinks so he continues digging, clicking away until….

A slow smile hooks at the corner of his mouth as his eyes scan over these newly discovered files. At a glance, they look exactly like the tickets in the previous folder but when Jimin fiddles around with the image a bit more, he spots the alterations in them, hidden in plain sight.

Forgery, and good enough that Jimin’s mildly impressed. If they had a course in college for that, he would’ve believed Kim would graduate at the top of her class.

This new information sends a newfound thrum of giddiness running through him and he wonders gleefully what other incriminating things Kim is hiding in other places. Perhaps her phone? Without a second thought, he closes the laptop and then heads out of her room.

He slinks out into Kim’s open space apartment with soundless footsteps. It’s on the small side and not much goes into these spaces other than her bedroom. There was an attempt though, hints of times Jimin could imagine the young woman would spontaneously have in trying to decorate her home from the colour coordinated throw cushions. It’s like she tried to go for a colour scheme but then quickly realized that she’d rather invest in her money in name brand handbags and shoes.

He picks one of them up on the couch; her clutch from tonight tossed aside carelessly in favour of trying to ravish him as soon as they made it through the doorway. Pretty thing, but the worth of the clutch doesn’t interest him so much as what’s inside it and reaching in, he easily pulls out her mobile phone. It lights up as soon as he hits the home button but when he goes to bypass her lock, he hesitates.

Blaring in his face is the time — 2:43AM.

Was it really that late already? The phone lays momentarily forgotten in his hand as he wonders how he hadn’t noticed the time flying by so fast. Unconsciously, he furrows his brows as another thought crosses his mind.

You should be home by now….right? Wait, you had a closing shift today didn’t you?

Shit.

Jimin reaches a hand into his pocket to pull out his own phone, bringing up your message thread to not find a single peep from you since your open house visit with Jaehee. Of course you wouldn’t, he knows you — stubborn as a mule and he swears if you had gotten stabbed, you would convince yourself that it’s not that serious only because you wouldn’t want to trouble anyone.

….Shit.

His hand travels to linger over his chest as if it had a mind of its own as his becomes completely lost in thought. Jimin didn’t feel any disturbances or distress that usually comes when your emotions flare, so it should mean that you were okay. But what are the possibilities that you simply didn’t have the time to react, too caught off guard to call out to him if you needed help?

Jimin exhales heavily through his nose in frustration, a hand combing through his hair as he glances down at Kim’s phone to see a few more minutes have passed and that now he had a choice to make; continue his search here for more information to blackmail Kim or abandon that possibility altogether. Fingers tap idly as the demon weighs his options and the more he stares at the phone, the more his mind screams at him to take just one peek, she’s fine.

….

Damn it.

He shoves Kim’s phone and all it’s garish pink glittery case glory back into her clutch before flinging it back onto the couch as if it were a dollar store pencil case. With long strides, he heads to the door but instead of going through it, he feels the familiar tug of apparating to another location and he finds himself at the head of your street. It’s relatively quiet when his senses readjust to his surroundings, the only sounds he picks up are the faint chirps of crickets and the occasional passing of a car way down at the other end of the road. He doesn’t see you nor anyone for that matter and he’s not sure whether that’s a good sign or a bad one. Still, he holds out on the belief that you’ve made it home all right.

So methodically, Jimin stalks forward, dark eyes narrowed to scan even the darkest corners for anything that might seem amiss, things that ordinary human beings don’t see. When he doesn’t pick up anything that raises any concerns, he makes another leap in location and this time, he ends up directly in your bedroom. The soft carpeted floor helps muffle his black Chelsea boots as he lands, but his attention immediately goes to your bed and without meaning to, he sighs, a tenseness he wasn’t even aware of dissipating from within him.

He sees the clear outline of your form under the covers, the rhythmic rise and fall of your breathing as you slumber and as he steps closer, almost feels the warmth of your body. The tops of your head just pokes out from where its rests on your pillow, hair spilling over messily but overall, you do not appear hurt. But as he continues to assess you, he notices the way you’ve curled in on yourself in spite of not having any shortage of room on your mattress, making you appear small and clutched to your chest was your beloved plush cat. Its face is squished by how hard you hold it against yourself but nevertheless, its cartoonish cat smile still peeked through its distorted face.

There’s a twinge that erupts in his chest, so sudden that he exhales sharply out of surprise. He reaches a hand up to his chest again, brows furrowed, where his heart beats and wonders in mild disbelief if something was wrong with it. Its never done something like that before, the only thing coming close was when you felt intense fear or anger. But you’re sound asleep, as quiet as a mouse. He stands there for a good minute trying to decipher this anomaly before he huffs, tearing his gaze away from you as he runs a hand through his hair frustrated.

Maybe he’d just imagined it, or there’s a glitch with this vessel. Either way, he pushes it to the back of his mind, focusing his attention to your discarded phone at the ends of your bed. He chortles under his breath, shaking his head — what is he going to do with you? Grabbing the phone, he gently places it on your bedside table (where it belongs) and settles himself into your desk chair, eyes sliding shut in a semi-meditative state. He’s lost out on one curiosity for the night, but at least the satisfaction of this one has made up for it.

You wake with an ache in your lower back that leaves you taking an extra fifteen minutes just to get out of bed without groaning or joints cracking. Doesn’t help that your phone goes off incessantly with messages from your friends wishing you a happy birthday. You smile to yourself though, thanking them each and even commenting how you woke up with a sore back, really feeling the aging kick in already.

Eventually, you drag yourself to the bathroom in a half daze and even after washing up you feel like you want to lie back down again, the comforter looks so invitingly warm still. But you resist the urge, knowing well that if you do give in, you’ll not get back up and that’s not something you want to do before going to your shift later on in the day.

What you didn’t know when you stepped into the kitchen is that it was already occupied by a certain demon that you had expected to see last night but didn’t. You visibly jerk at his appearance, taken aback at how casual he looks leaning against the counter, a mug of black coffee resting in his hand as he scrolls through his phone, the natural light of the afternoon sun highlighting the strands of hair falling in messy coordination over his forehead in a newly dyed ashen brown colour. The level of nonchalant coolness that he so effortlessly exudes is infuriating the more you stare at him because it’s so not fair for him to look this good, in fact, the only reason why he’s able to look this good is because he’s wearing another attractive person’s face but what’s really bullshit is that he’s still able to make your heart trip over itself when he’s only just pretending!

“You know you’ll see yourself to an early grave if you wake up already stressed like that darling.”

And the nerve!

You scoff, brushing past him to grab your own mug for a morning (technically afternoon now) tea. You move about to get your teabag, sugar and cream, all the while something starts to fester inside of you, instantly souring whatever good mood you had earlier. It leaves you slowly feeling irritated, restless and its not because of your earlier grievances with the demon. No, you know it’s that old wound you’re trying to stubbornly ignore from last night until the early hours of morning and it seems like now, in the presence of its cause, it's begun to itch again. Doesn’t help that when you glance over at your guardian demon, he’s busy once again with his phone, typing away and just the barest hint of a smile on his face. You scowl before you can help yourself, turning away to angrily sip on your tea in hopes of letting the warm liquid calm you down — it doesn’t. So you resort to placing down your mug, deciding on making peanut butter toast in order to distract yourself, even if you weren’t particularly hungry for it.

“Why so quiet cherub?”

You shoot him a look but brush off your underlying annoyance with an indifferent shrug, going back to opening the fridge to grab bread. “Just tired.” He shifts his weight from one hip to the other when you pull out a slice to pop into the toaster and you fight your hardest to ignore his eyes on you.

“Got home late from your shift…?”

The mention of last night pricks a nerve in you and you nearly throw the bag of bread back into the fridge with an unnecessary amount of force, only holding back by opting to grip the handle of the fridge until your hands are straining instead. You draw in a heaving breath under your nose as you slam the fridge door shut, not trusting yourself in speaking because you won’t be able to keep the seething out of your words. So you choose to hum — a short and clipped sound.

You hear the toaster spring up and you’re bustling about again in order to ignore him. In doing so, you miss the way he’s still watching you and the faint curl of his lips. Oh how tempting you look to tease, his natural instincts threatening to overtake him and he actually gives in to some experimental prodding. Jimin sidles up to your side as you’re scraping generous amounts of peanut butter onto your toast and his proximity catches your attention briefly, eyes flitting to him before they stubbornly fixate back onto your task. He cocks his head at you but you refuse to acknowledge him and it makes his smile creep wider. Then, he decides to lean in, past your comfort zone until you’re hunching your shoulders up, no longer able to keep him bay with how he’s literally breathing down your neck.

“What do you want?” You snap, stepping back to distance yourself. He only gives you a Cheshire grin in return, making you bristle.

“Just say you missed me darling and I’ll make it up to you I promise.” His teasing lilt drifts through the small kitchen and you blanche, screwing the lid of the peanut butter jar violently back on.

“I think you need to get your head out of your ass.” You retort through gritted teeth. He throws his head back to laugh, clearly amused and unfazed by your sour mood. When you swiftly turn on your heels away from him to toss the butter knife into the sink, toast shoved into your mouth, he steps in front of you, almost causing you to bump into him. You glower, a passing thought of wanting to smear the excess peanut butter into his stupidly expensive Saint Laurent t-shirt but he’s caught your hand in his like he’s read your mind.

“Don’t be such a sourpuss cherub, you could’ve called me if you wanted to see me that badly.”

Your cheeks redden traitorously at the suggestion, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his pillowy lips and you have no choice but to tear your toast from your mouth with your free hand to chew on a piece unless you wanted to choke, mumbling incoherently and refusing to make eye contact. As you try to pull your other hand away from him, his grip tightens a fraction to hold you in place but at this point, you’re quickly growing tired of this mental game. You honestly don’t know yourself why you’re choosing to be so petty when Jimin didn’t even violate the contract of keeping you out of harms way because there was no harm to begin with. God, what are you doing….

Your shoulders slump, drained as you deflate and your sudden withdrawal takes even Jimin by surprise.

“It’s fine Jimin; I got home alright so just forget it.” This time, your hand slips away from his easily and he lets you slink by him after depositing the dirtied knife into the sink. Even after you’ve pattered off into your room again, Jimin remains in the kitchen, silently watching you go, that peculiar twinge coming back again.

“Julien?….Julien?”

He blinks, knocked out of his stupor but he recovers so seamlessly that it’s as if he hadn’t been spacing out at all. Jimin turns his gaze back to the girl in front of him then, a benign smile gracing his handsome features.

“Sorry, I just had a thought…. You were saying Kim?”

The pretty brunette giggles breathlessly. “I was just saying how you have an impressive….recovery rate but I feel like I might’ve spoken too soon. Anyways,” She places her coffee cup back down on the saucer, “who am I to talk when I passed out on you last night — again, I’m so sorry about that.”

Subtly, Jimin’s jaw ticks though he conceals it with another smile and a carefully placed hand. “Not at all Kim, though at the time it was worrisome…. Like you just died on me.”

That pulls another bout of giggles from Kim, “Oh, it’ll take more than that. I’ll make it up to you I promise.” She throws in a playful wink to which Jimin accepts in feigned interest.

“I look forward to it.”

The rest of the ‘date’ is too boring for Jimin to recall as he spends most of his time drowning Kim’s ramblings and more focused on how he’s going to get her drunk again so he could rifle through her phone, get what he needs and then let karma do its thing. But more over, his thoughts keep straying back to you. You’re probably at work right now, an afternoon shift that had started maybe an hour or so after he’d left the house although he knows for sure you don’t close today which means he doesn’t have to worry about getting too carried away with this little project of his but at this rate, he doesn’t think he can bear a moment longer with this bland, materialistic woman any—

“Oh my God, is it already that time?”

His monotonous hum comes out automatically in response before the words can register but as soon as they do, his eyes finally focus on Kim for the first time in an hour. She’s scrolling through her phone, brows furrowed in concentration and then furiously typing away on it. Jimin’s curiosity piques with a raised eyebrow and he leans over the table in between them.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh no, it’s just…” Kim’s struggles with focusing on Jimin while still trying to do whatever it is on her phone that’s got her so frantic. Her body rises as if to get up and it makes Jimin follow suit. She shoots him an apologetic look, glancing down one last time at her phone and Jimin barely catches a glimpse of a countdown. “There’s something really important I have to do.”

“Oh, what is it if I may ask?”

“There’s a concert happening soon and I really want to get tickets for.”

Oh?

A serpentine smile pulls at the corners of his lips and Jimin’s eyes seem to come to life — now she’s speaking his language. He draws his face in to play the part; concerned and eager to help.

“Oh really? Are they hard to get?”

She takes the bait beautifully, rolling her eyes with a ragged sigh as she settles back into her chair. “Oh my God, you have no idea. It’s like winning the lottery I swear.”

“Wow, sounds impossible….” Jimin comments offhandedly, lowering himself back into his seat again. “Maybe I could…help?”

Kim perks up at the idea, the hopeful gleam in her eyes palpable that it nearly makes Jimin snort. She chews on her bottom lip, conflicted and right when Jimin’s about to sway her into temptation, her eyes meet the ticking timer on her phone browser reaching to t-minus three minutes. It’s enough to make her hasty decision and Kim wastes no time instructing Jimin to take his phone out, download the appropriate app and search for the show that she so desperately wants to get tickets for — enough to seal her fate with a demon out of her own volition at that!

So you could only imagine the surprise Jimin had when her directed search lands on—

“Love Yourself Tour? By BTS?”

“Yes that one.”

Seven hells there was no way.

Oh this was just too good.

The laughter starts bubbling rapidly in his chest, so much so that when he tries to lower his head to quell it it doesn’t work. It ruptures into a chuckle, shoulders shaking and before he knew it, he’s sinking back into his chair, head thrown back and a poor attempt to cover up the sounds of his cackling with his hand over his mouth. No doubt the entire cafe has eyes on their table but Jimin doesn’t care because his sides are killing him and he’s about to cry literal tears from trying to reel himself in — he only succeeds in folding in on himself and emitting occasional squeaks.

When he rights himself finally, wiping away at the corners of his eyes he catches sight of Kim who’s giving him a look that nearly sends him into another fit again. He barely manages by clearing his throat and glancing away, breathing deeply before answering her unspoken question.

“Sorry, just— I’ve actually heard of them before so it explains why it’s so hard to get tickets for their show.”

Kim’s face breaks into a smile, still nonplussed by his outburst but nodding in solidarity. “Yeah, so if you manage to get tickets — good ones — I might just think you’re a God.”

Satan, this girl might actually kill him instead.

He waves her off, cheeks aching and Jimin is actually thankful when the countdown on his phone reaches zero and Kim reverts back into a rather serious demeanour, eyes lasering in on her phone as she furiously taps away at it. She lets out a loud gasp within the next few minutes, causing Jimin to look up.

“I’m behind 105 people! I think I might be able to do this! What about you?”

With a quick glance, Jimin reads, “100.”

The brunette’s eyes alight instantly, mouth falling open. “Oh my God, you might actually get in!”

He shrugs in return, feigning indifference. Secretly, however, Jimin knows very well that his chances of getting these golden tickets were high — way higher than Kim’s and not just because he’s ahead of her by five people but more importantly…..

As the agonizing wait of watching the little man run at a glacier pace, Jimin takes the opportunity to strike up a conversation.

“So, I didn’t think you were a fan of BTS.”

Kim tears her away from her phone momentarily, the wrinkle in her nose is all the answer Jimin needs. “Oh no, I don’t even know them like that — I just heard they were a huge deal, like really popular right now.”

Jimin already figures because Kim would’ve at least recognized him or remarked on how eerily similar he looks to one of the band members but this is just a segue to what Jimin really wants to get at from her. “Oh, then why are you trying to get tickets for their show?”

He catches the way she swallows nervously, eyes flitting to him briefly and there’s that bout of hesitation again. The smile is back on his face, disarming and with just enough sincerity that it convinces Kim that he won't judge. She glances around as if to make sure they weren’t being heard in their little booth corner before leaning towards him, voice coming out in a hush.

“Okay so, me and a friend have been doing this thing on the side where we buy tickets to really high demand shows and reselling them for higher prices. It’s honestly such good money when you come across big name artists that have crazy huge fanbases — like BTS.” She pauses to look down at her phone, keeping track of her little running man. “My friend got two P1 tickets to their show last year for $250 each and she resold them for $1,110, each!”

Jimin leans back as if impressed, throwing in a low whistle for effect. “Wow — that’s…pretty good.”

“I know right? The only problem is is that they’re so hard to get. Even though the average seats will still bring in good money, you get way better profit with GA or P1 seats.”

He nods along, looking contemplative but Kim’s gone back to her phone once again, this time, looking rather excited. It makes Jimin turn back to his own as well too and lo and behold, they’re finally in.

“Okay Julien just pick two tickets and do a run search for best seating until you find a pair. When you do, buy them because literally trying to find anything better would just mean you won’t get tickets at all. I'll owe you back the money afterwards.” Kim says it all in one breath, too into her own operation to notice the way the demon smirks and leisurely taps away as she had instructed him to do.

After what felt like hours of nail-biting suspense (on Kim’s end, Jimin had ordered himself a cappuccino in between that time), she finally pulls away with an exasperated groan.

“Damn it, I only managed to snag P3 tickets. Did you have any luck?”

He takes the time to uncross his legs, showing her the screen of his phone and grins boyishly when her eyes balks at what she reads.

“Two GA tickets?!” Kim almost screams it before she catches herself, slapping a hand over her mouth and ducking her head. When she’s sure no ones comes over to kick them out of the cafe for being a disturbance, she practically rounds on Jimin with unbidden elation. “Oh my God Julien! You’re amazing!” Her hands moves faster than her own words as she hastily pulls up her email. “You can send them over to me through my email. Honestly thank you so much for your help Julien, I’ll treat you to dinner tonight.”

When he makes no move to do as she says, Kim finally focuses on Jimin and her smile falters slightly. Jimin tilts his head almost too innocently, withdrawing his phone to blink wide, dark eyes at the brunette.

“What, did you think I was really going to hand these tickets over so easily after telling me all of that?”

He sees the way his words were not something Kim expected but she tries to play it off with a forced laugh. “You’re so funny Julien. Okay, how much?”

“$1,120.” A pause. “Each.”

She laughs again, the sound shrill and her face contorts into a mask of hollow mirth. Jimin watches on, only the barest of smiles ghosting his lips but he doesn’t join in on the joke. Well, not like there is one to begin with and Kim quickly realizes that as she calms down, all traces of a smile however fake, gone. Disbelief takes over her and that’s what almost makes Jimin laugh — he can literally see all the preconceptions she had of him disappear from her eyes. But he’s ever so charming; an amalgamation of soft and sharp, boyish and manly, chivalrous and a cunning wickedness underneath it all.

So it’s no surprise that he hasn’t completely lost her yet.

Kim takes the time to regard him, trying to gauge him and what’s going on in that pretty head of his only to come away, stumped. She’s contemplative, arms crossed before suddenly she cocks her head a little to one side, mouth tugging upwards into a half scoff, half smirk like she can’t believe Jimin’s about to try and play her at her own game.

“I’m gonna be honest — I never would’ve thought you would have the guts to do that.” She admits after a while, leaning back into her seat. “Usually all the guys I date would do whatever I ask them because they want to try and impress me.”

Figures.

Jimin didn’t need her to tell him that to know.

“But then again, I don't think you’re not quite like the other guys I’ve ever dated before.” Kim adds, voice dropping into a huskier tone right at the end. He goads her on, his expression darkens with the slightest hints of a promise she can’t refuse.

“Then how about I show what you’re missing out on?”

The sultry way in which he says it sends shivers down her spine, no doubt this new side she’s not aware of that could come from a face like his has her wanting more. With one last bite of her lip, she bites the bullet too.

“$1,000 each.”

“$1,115.”

“$1,100 each — And I’ll pay it in cash, only,” Jimin’s parted mouth stops halfway, his words falling short as Kim stops him with a coy smile. “We split it on some good dinner and Moet to celebrate tonight.”

Slowly, plush lips quirk upwards as an incredulous exhale escapes the demon; he hates to admit it, but Kim’s got spunk and unwittingly she’s been doing a good job at entertaining him. For a second, he considers, toys with the idea — she’s the perfect type to fuck around with, to string along on a wild and impulsive ride that would’ve involved a lot of money, sex, perhaps drugs until it left her breathless, addicted and drained to the very last penny. He would wrap her around his fingers so tightly, she would think it’s him that was under her spell. And right at the peak of it all, he would leave, disappear from her life as if he were nothing more than a self-indulgent dream she’d dreamt up, only for reality to come crashing down on her hard and the rest would’ve been history.

Tempting….

But…

He’s already been down that road, had more than his fair share of leaving women broken in more than one ways, tires of this game because no matter the centuries he’s lived in —

“Alright, how about we meet at The Red Muse later in the evening? You can take the time to go doll yourself up for me and we’ll go to town with this, yes?”

Kim grins, absolutely vibrating from his proposal as she bites her lower lip in an attempt to quell the salacious smile stretching her lips.

“Deal.”

They never learn.

Soon after, Jimin leaves to go off his separate ways with no particular plan in mind. He’s got a lot of time to kill before meeting Kim and he’s not particularly interested in seeking out another easy target to influence — he doesn’t get paid nearly enough to be working overtime. Jimin eventually settles on heading to his favourite upscale bar (one that even with Kim’s caliber couldn’t dream of affording) to do a bit of pregaming. As he was nursing a glass of single malt whiskey, the demon is interrupted by probably the only other thorn on his side.

“I suppose some things don’t end up changing after all.”

“I’m offended you would ever think there’s a time where I’ve lost an ounce of class at all.”

Silence.

Jimin’s gaze whips to the younger demon who’s thin lips are slightly downturned in disagreement, eyes rolled to the far corner with the recalling of some fabricated memory.

“Well there was that one time — “

“Shut it if you don’t want me to singe off that face you’re so proud of.”

Jungkook snickers, eyes crinkling up as if Jimin had just made a joke instead of a threat. The older demon rolls his eyes, waving down the bartender for another refill of his drink in hopes of numbing the headache he feels creeping up on him, only to have the younger obnoxiously steal his glass for a sip once he does.

“Still, I would’ve thought you’d be off lurking around poppet like a shadow right about now.” Jungkook comments offhandedly, wrinkling his nose when the hard liquor rolls down his throat. His momentary distraction lets Jimin swipe his drink back.

“I’m not her personal caretaker, and as long as she’s looking both ways before crossing the street, she’ll be fine.”

“Really?” Jungkook’s skepticism bleeds through. “Last I checked, poppet was pretty down in the dumps about the concert thing — swear she could conjure a cloud above her head at the rate she’s going.”

His statement causes Jimin to straighten up a bit, thoughts spinning for a few seconds before coming to a conclusion. A slow smirk makes its way onto his lips, barely contained over the rim of his glass. Jimin doesn’t need to look over to know that Jungkook’s probably blinking big doe eyes at him, gauging his reaction but Jimin’s onto him, already knows what he’s after, so he’s going to drag this out until the younger is losing his mind.

“She’ll be fine.” He replies indifferently and that already leaves Jungkook feeling miffed.

“Wow…that’s….” The younger starts, struggling to find words for this unexpected blasé attitude. “Surprisingly cold of you.”

Jimin shrugs, unconcerned about it all and as he continues to sip on his whiskey, leaving Jungkook to become visibly more and more antsy. He shifts in his seat, like a little kid who can’t keep still.

“So, you’re just gonna….leave her like that?”

“She’s already accepted that she’s not going so what’s there to do?”

“Well — !” Jungkook doesn’t know how to proceed, face pinched into one of utter confusion and it’s difficult to keep a straight face on when Jimin can literally see him questioning everything he believed up until this point. He continues to flounder for words, on the cusp of saying something but then stopping himself. It goes on for a few more minutes before Jungkook gives up with an exasperated huff. “So much for being a guardian…”

“Exactly; I’m a guardian, not a miracle worker.”

The words slip so easily past his lips and he’s so thankful for Jungkook finally leaving him alone so that he can let out the loud, snorting laugh he’s been keeping in the entire time. He probably looks crazy but he really could care less, muttering under his breath about how he can’t believe the irony of it all. This entire ordeal with Kim turned out to be a way better investment than he had initially thought; it almost made him feel sorry for the poor girl he’s about to drop off at hell’s doorsteps.

Almost.

He downs the rest of his drink in one go, savouring the smokey whiskey taste as it leaves a pleasant burn when he swallows. He wonders idly what the sensation of being drunk is like, trying to compare it to any other feelings he must’ve felt in his lifetime….

Jimin’s thoughts continue to wander for quite some time, thinking about this and that until belatedly, he realizes that the appointed time to meet Kim had passed nearly more than two hours. When he checks his phone, there is no trace of a text from the girl in question, not even one berating him for being stood up. At this point, any sensible person would be rather concerned, alarmed even. They would immediately call to see if everything was alright but for Jimin, the thought never crosses his mind. He merely humphs, like this is all an inconvenience to him, downs the rest of his drink and gets up after paying.

It’s late when he steps out of the bar, the sun having long since set and the city is alight, teeming with people enjoying dinner on patios, heading out for events or just strolling the streets. Instead of joining in on the hubbub, he strides off with the intention of heading to a more…peaceful place. But first, he thinks, he might pay you a visit. After all, he’s got a pair of BTS tickets on hand and now with Kim going MIA, he figured they could be put to better use, like making you admit that you miss him when he’s gone.

Either way, he can’t wait to see the look on your face.

He makes it back to your place faster than he expected, body thrumming with a feeling that he swears can’t be from the alcohol he’s consumed but nonetheless welcomes anyways. He’s in such a good mood that he almost rings your doorbell, catching himself last minute. Jimin laughs to himself, maybe it really is the alcohol after all? He shrugs if off and apparates to your room, only to find that it’s empty of you. He double takes, making sure he hasn’t accidentally overlooked you in the darkness but nope, there’s no signs of you anywhere.

Maybe you were in the living room or kitchen?

Jimin pads on over to your door, carefully listening in case any one other than you might be out there as well. When he hears nothing, he phases through the walls. He’s a bit caught off guard for a moment at how dark everything is, as if no one was home. It wasn’t until he catches sight of the faint warm glow of the living room lamp does he spot you, sitting alone on the couch.

You lock eyes, dazed and blinking in surprise from clearly not expecting him. You think it’s all in your head, an illusion thought up in your inebriated state but then he steps forward into the light and suddenly, you’re overwhelmed by his sheer presence, breath catching in your throat as you swallow. The black jeans he’s wearing hugs the shape of his legs so well and with his shirt tucked in, the silver YSL buckle glinting in the light, it looks as if his legs just go on for days. He’s dressed so simply and you’re appraising him like you’re seeing him for the first time until now instead of earlier today, yet your initial thought doesn’t change at all — it’s not fair that he looks this good.

He stops just short of the couch, head cocking to one side with a subtle shift of the hips to lean his weight on one foot, dainty earrings twinkling as well as his dark eyes as they gaze at you. The mere gesture makes you huff out, agitated.

“Someone’s home early.” Your voice comes out more nasally sounding than Jimin remembers it and he chokes back a snort.

“Someone’s been drinking.” He teases back, nodding to the wine glass in your hand before shifting his sight to the coffee table in front of you, taking in the two bottles and the little 6-inch, half eaten cake. Another tilt of his head, this time he raises one shapely eyebrow too. “That, or you’ve had a really rough day.”

“Har. Har.” You say sarcastically, swirling your wine before taking another hardy sip. “I’m not that bougie or impulsive to get a whole cake to binge on myself — not yet at least.”

“Then….” Jimin stops to think, trying to come up with answers for the sudden appearance of the confectionery treat, only to come up with, “A celebration? Someone’s birthday? Jaehee’s?”

You giggle half-heartedly, downing the rest of your glass and Jimin is quick to pick up your lack of confirmation. Now he’s blinking owlishly in astonishment, stunned into brief silence until the words slip out in an uncharacteristically soft murmur, “It’s your birthday…”

“Ding ding ding.” You sing-song, leaning over to refill your glass. The effort of it makes you nearly tip over but you hold out, retrieving your drink and anchoring yourself back onto the couch again. You should probably stop right about now since the pounding in your head is making you both simultaneously nauseous and sleepy. Or at the very least, go back to pacing yourself better but that would mean risking getting into your feelings and you’d rather die of alcohol poisoning than get in your feelings. So you drink.

“Well,” You hear Jimin huff, “I’m rather hurt you didn’t invite me to the party cherub.”

You snort, letting your head loll onto the back of the couch and shutting your eyes, cradling your glass to your chest like it’s a lifeline. “Don’t worry, you didn’t miss out much — just me and Jaehee, t’s all. Well, Jaehee’s sleeping now….work tomorrow…”

You trail off, the sound of your heartbeat ringing loudly in your ears that it might as well be beating inside your head than in your chest right now. You’re trying really hard to steady it but it only seems to make your breathing sound more laboured and doing no help to subside the killer wine buzz you have. Maybe you really should stop drinking after all, put down the glass you’re holding and call it a night before you do something mortifying, like throw up all the birthday cake you ate in front of Jimin. No, no, that is absolutely not happening. It would be disgusting and totally not cute. But then what are you going to do with the wine you just poured?

So caught up in your own inner ramblings, you failed to notice the quiet, pensive look marring Jimin’s face; eyebrows furrowed and the slightest downturn of his lips as he too becomes lost in his own thoughts. Clearly, he didn’t prepare himself for any of this — not like it would matter because he didn’t think anything would happen when he waltzed into your living room anyways. The most he had expected was to poke his head in, tease you about how obviously mopey you are about not going to the concert even when you had already decided not to go before dramatically brandishing the tickets with the promise of giving it to you after you dance a little for him. Instead, he’s caught in a conundrum of his own emotions, a jumbled mess that of course, only you could cause because you seem to be doing that a lot lately.

You’ve just about made up your mind, convinced to siphon the poured wine back into the bottle and then take your ass to bed when you nearly vault out of your own skin as soon as your eyes open.

“Jesus Jimin! What’re you—“

“Let’s go.”

You sputter, taken aback from the declaration before you blurt out, “Wha- Now? W-Where?” Your voice cracking as you lean away from Jimin’s imposing figure suddenly hovering over you to the point where you’re practically at a ninety-degree angle to the couch. He inhales deeply, one hand tousling through his hair while the other rests on his hip. He turns away from you briefly, allowing you the time to watch him go at war with himself, utterly confused and wondering what brought on such a spontaneous suggestion because, now that you think about it, you don’t think Jimin has ever invited you to go out anywhere before….

He rounds on you again and you’re forced back out of your thoughts to stare wide eyed up at him as he gathers himself.

“It’s just— just somewhere nice….As a…birthday present.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, bewildered at what you hear. If you were any more sober, you’d swear that that was the most you’ve heard Jimin fumble with his words. It’s….cute. Your heart’s still beating too loudly in your ear for your liking, you’ve still got a pulsing headache and your eyes are slowly becoming a little blurred, yet you still had the inkling thought of agreeing to go along with Jimin’s plan because how can you say no when he looks like that?

Well…. He might have to carry you but if he doesn’t mind then why the hell not?

You must’ve been staring for too long because Jimin starts to fidget in his spot, hand scratching the back of his neck. Oh, right; you gotta say yes you’re cool with it but might need some mobility assistance (this could get awkward).

“Uh…Well, that’s….cool. So like….where though?”

“That would ruin the surprise of it.” He laughs breathlessly and the sound itches to pull a smile on your own face.

“Do we gotta drive?”

“No driving cherub, you don’t even have a license.”

“Hey…I resent that.” You huff, limply pointing an accusatory finger at him before dropping your arm with a heavy thump. “So we walkin’? Cuz I’m telling ya now I can’t walk.”

“Clearly.” Jimin gracefully moves over towards your prone form again and with a dramatic sigh, he offers a hand to you. “C’mon get up, I’ll carry you.”

You blink hard, not believing your ears or luck. Here you thought you were gonna have to prostrate yourself to get him to carry you but he’s offering it willingly. Your heart squeezes inappropriately because this is touching you way more than it should and it’s probably showing on your face because Jimin gives you a weird look.

“Don’t make this weird, let’s just go before I change my mind.”

You only respond by holding out both your arms in the same manner a toddler wants to be picked up by their mother. Jimin exhales loudly through his nose, biting his bottom lip in order to school his face. When he’s composed himself again, he grabs onto you and hauls you up with effortless strength. Without meaning to, you fall against his broad chest with a yelp, clutching his biceps for dear life and trying very hard to stop your vision from swimming.

“You good cherub?” You hear him ask and even through your mantra of ‘don’t throw up’, you can still hear the restrained amusement seeping through.

“Just…Give me a sec.”

He gives you that courtesy, patiently waiting while holding you up from your unsteady legs, inhaling and exhaling until you think you’ve got most of your bearings back. You finally straighten, pulling back enough to be able to look up at him but when you do, you start to feel self-conscious. You probably look like a mess as much as you feel like one, or at least standing so close to Jimin you do. You’re still wearing your bare minimum ‘work clothes’ from earlier today that consists of a t-shirt you’ve had since high school and a pair of black yoga pants that has more or less faded to a dark grey from all the washes its been through.

“Ready?” Jimin asks, voice low that it gives off a slightly gravelly tone and pleasantly washes over you. You always liked the sound of his voice, could listen to him talk forever but it’s so soothing that it never fails to lull to sleep every time. When you swallow, mustering a nod of your head, he shifts you in his arms to have you looping yours around his neck and shoulder, startling you and igniting a heat that travels from the ends of your toes all the way up to your face. You immediately avert your gaze to your sock clad feet.

“Just hold onto me and,” He pauses, shooting you a roguish smirk. “You might want to close your eyes.”

That’s all the warning you get before you feel a pull so strong the air gets knocked out of you. All at once, you feel weightless with no sense of what’s up or down and instinctively, you huddle closer to the only other body mass that will indefinitely ensure you won’t fly away but before you can even emit a single shout, the powerful force vanishes and you feel solid ground.

“You can open your eyes now.” You feel Jimin’s chuckle rather than hear it and it takes you a whole hot second to realize you’ve actually had your eyes shut the entire time; when that happened you have no idea. Slowly, your eyes peel open as you release a shuddering breath, your senses having yet to fully catch up with you. They start to when you finally realize you’ve got a faceful of Jimin’s shirt, having practically squished into his chest, so much so that when you inhale you get a whiff of his cologne. It’s so subtle and almost undetectable but with you being this close, it overtakes you with ease. Next, your skin prickles as you feel a gentle breeze pass by, caressing the loose strands of your hair and tickling your cheeks and nose before finally you hear…. The humming of cars driving through the city with the occasional honks and sirens echoing off into the distant.

Wait, why do they sound so far away? Like…you’re above it all?

You flinch, alarmed and when you turn your head to look around you, your legs nearly give out. It’s only thanks to Jimin, who you’re still clutching onto with a vice grip that keeps you upright as you gaze out at the city horizon, illuminated by the multitudes of lights coming from the windows of buildings in front of you that stretch out as far as you can see. You double take, not believing if what you’re seeing is actually real until you feel Jimin move which makes you snap your bleary gaze up to him, searching for answers. He lets out a melodic laugh when he sees your expression.

“Never seen the city at night like this before huh?”

You could only open and close your mouth, gaping like a fish out of water as you look from him to the skyscrapers in front of you. Eventually, you gather enough courage to tentatively step away from Jimin since you’ve stepped foot onto this roof, but at the the first wave of vertigo, you instinctively sink down on your knees and remain fixed there. You must look ridiculous but like hell do you trust yourself right now to walk around on the flat roof of 6-story building with a system full of alcohol. Still, it doesn’t stop you from taking in the sights before you. It’s a clear night, not a single cloud lining the sky which leaves it so much more clear and vast, and with the glow from the lights below, you see the rich deep blues that peek through, reminding you of the depths of the open ocean. The view is beautiful and mesmerizing, like something you’d only see on the back of a postcard or in movies. You hadn’t noticed you’ve been swivelling around in your spot, head craned upwards in an attempt to take everything in until your world tilts once you’ve stopped long enough. You catch yourself on time from tipping over completely, hands shooting out as your heart leaps into your throat and you let out a shaky giggle.

“Slow down cherub, you’ll lose your head that way.” Jimin chides playfully, coming down to sit beside you. “If you think this is a view, wait till you get closer to the edge.”

“Oh ho ho, no, no, no.” You laugh, holding up a finger. “I refuse to go anywhere near it. Here is just fine.”

A snort, “I’ll catch you if that’s what you’re so worried about.”

You smile, “I had expect you to anyways.” And after a brief pause, you add quietly with your eyes fixated onto the city. “It’s still pretty — real pretty.”

You don’t catch the way he smiles softly in turn, the both of you lapsing into a companionable silence as you watch the city life continue to flow along. The ambient noise lets your mind drift freely, almost in a meditative state.

“This is nice.” You think aloud though your voice barely comes above a murmur, “Just watching the world go by like this, not having much to think on. Is this where you usually go off to when you’re not causing trouble?”

You side eye Jimin and hear him release air through his nose. “I’m much less of a menace than you think you know, but yes, I do come out here when I want to get away for a bit.”

You nod in understanding, letting your gaze wander over the landscape in front of you once more. You’re not sure what part of the city you’re in right now but you could imagine it being downtown, the faint bustling of traffic if you listen closely enough carrying over the gentle breeze and it doesn’t take much to picture the people down below, enjoying their night out in town with friends or families over dinner, a drink, or just by themselves, heading out or heading home. From the buildings, sometimes you catch the flicker of a light going out only for another one to come on in a different spot and you begin to wonder the lives these people might have.

“I wish I could stay up here.” You say, suddenly feeling melancholy. “Get away from it all too….”

Tired, you lean back until you’re lying down with your arms behind your head, facing towards the sky. Even from this high up and the sky as clear as it is, you don’t see a single star glimmering and you think it’s a pity; this would’ve been a perfect night to see them.

“It must be nice to be someone like you.” You continue to muse, “Not having to worry about insignificant mortal problems, like time or money…..”

You don’t hear a response from him and for a moment, you think he’s not even listening. It’s only when you think about backtracking do you hear his reply.

“Yeah, it’s kinda great when you start off but when you’ve been doing it for as long as I have….” He sighs, “It’s not what it’s cooked up to be….”

“Is it because it gets lonely?”

“More like boring…”

You laugh quietly under your breath, thinking to yourself that it’s so like him to think that; it’s evidence enough with him being here. Then another thought crosses your mind and you ask, “Do you think God judges you on the time you spend on earth?”

“….What makes you think that?” Jimin asks, sounding genuinely confused but also curious. You shrug, examining your nails listlessly.

“I saw it in a movie once. Apparently, when you die you go through seven levels of hell and each one has a trial you have to pass if you want to get reincarnated. If you fail one of the trials, you spend the rest of eternity getting punished there — one of them being called the Hell of Indolence, where they judge you on how well you’ve spent your time on earth and if they deem you’ve whiled away your life in laziness and inaction, you’ll be punished by running on a spinning disk while a spinning stone windmill chases you.”

“Sounds like a weekend on spring break.”

The wheeze comes out without you meaning to and you throw your hand out to the side to give him a reprimanding smack, trying to subdue your laughter. As usual, it hits his thigh but you’re too caught up in his punchline to care.

“I’m serious Jimin.” You say after collecting yourself. “It might’ve been fiction….Or maybe it really is real at this point who knows, but it really made me think — what if I had to go through those trials, like,” You take a moment, picturing the scene you’ve seen in the movie, imagining yourself before those trials, “how awful would it be to get told by a deity that you’ve basically failed at your life and you don’t deserve to get a second chance? Because you’ve done nothing with it….”

“….Do you think you would be told that?”

He knows it’s a loaded question, could hear the morose way in which you speak about life, death and the beyond, things he’s most familiar with. To him, it all means nothing but to you, it’s something that hangs above your head as a constant reminder that your time here is limited and it’s so precarious that it could end before you know it. He watches you shrug, too caught up in staring at the starless sky to notice.

“….Maybe….A small part of me does, and that’s what scares me.” You admit in a small voice. “Every year I feel like I haven’t moved forward at all with my life, just stuck doing the same thing while everyone else is getting that job they always wanted, traveling the world, getting engaged, doing what they love….” A humourless laugh expels along with the breath you exhale. “I don’t even know what I want to do beyond tomorrow, much less in two years… ten years from now? And it’s like any day, I’ll be left behind….”

The confession spills from you with unadulterated honesty, the most honest you’ve ever been in forever, it surprises even yourself. You think it’s the alcohol talking but you also think it’s mixed in conjunction with the coming of your birthday; another year tacked onto your life and along with it, the painstaking realization that time is passing by you way faster than you had fooled yourself to think otherwise. It’s something you’re not prepared to face.

Or ever will be.

So that’s why you choose to run, push it back to the farthest corners of your mind and even as it festers and grows, you vehemently ignore it. You drown yourself in school and work, meaningless distractions that lead to no self-satisfaction. It’s something to fill your time, nothing more or less. In those time, you yearned for an escape and that’s how you found your way through music, had found voices that called out to you with comforting words and made the uncertainties of the future seem less daunting.

“You won’t be left behind.”

His voice pierces above the white noise of the city below, clear as day even when it comes out no more than a quiet rasp. It rips you out from wallowing in the thoughts that you keep in the darker parts of your mind, almost startling you. Jimin’s eyes are locked on the horizon in front of him, even as you crane your neck up, you can’t discern any expression on his face but it seems you don’t need to as his words were more than enough to make up for it.

“If God judges you on your time spent on earth, then it is time where you’ve truly done nothing in the face of being able to do something.” Jimin says, unwavering. “And you’ve done something — have been doing something, because you’re somewhere different than where you were two years….ten years ago.

Life is many things darling, and everyone is too caught up with other people’s versions of it half the time. So even if you don’t know where you’re going, I think you owe it to yourself to at least make yours about you because no one else will.”

He finally turns his head to face you and if you thought you had trouble suppressing the swell of emotions in your chest before, you sure are screwed now. The lights of the buildings around you cast a warm glow to his profile, letting you see the slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips, the curve of his cheek that has you itching to stroke just to see if they’re as soft as they look, and the wispy way the strands of hair falls over his forehead, shorter than you had remembered; you wonder idly if he had it cut (it looks good). He’s beautiful — heartbreakingly so, like a statue carved in the finest of ivory but in that moment, it’s his eyes that makes your heart ache.

Endless pools of the deepest amber that hold so much history, seen so much history, perhaps the worst of mankind. They know of suffering, of loss, of betrayals and deceit, had even been the cause of them. You see the many emotions that had been reflected in those eyes, like gazing at an iridescent gem — pain, hatred, sadness, regret and at times, simply nothing at all. Time has both wisened and jaded them, but it is not a hardened glare that meets your own.

It’s tenderness.

“I know it may not seem like it, but if it’s worth anything,” Though it is only the two of you on this rooftop, he speaks in a way where he’s about to tell you the secrets to the world, something that only he wants you to hear and no one else. He takes a breath, never breaking your gaze as he says, “I think you’re doing just fine cherub, I really mean it.”

It’s so self-assured, so sincere, like he truly does believe in what he says that you think you don’t deserve this kind of faith, but perhaps it’s because he’s the one who said it that you find yourself believing it too.

A small smile breaks out onto your lips for the first time in a while. “You’re not saying that just because it’s my birthday right?” You tease in hopes to swallow past the lump that’s formed in your throat but your voice comes out sounding tight regardless. If Jimin notices, he doesn’t comment, instead shoots his own smile back at you, lips stretched until the tiniest hints of teeth are showing and eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I don’t think I need to tell you that I’ve seen some shit as a demon who’s lived way longer than you’ve been on earth. Besides,” He turns back to the city view before him, leisurely reclining back so that he leans his weight on his hands placed behind him. “No place worth going has any shortcuts and those that do would most likely lead to hell.”

You chuff a laugh with a shake of your head, turning your gaze back towards the dark sky that is still void of any stars. This time, you don’t mind that there aren’t because if not tonight, then maybe another night you’ll be able to see one.

And a part of you hopes it’ll be with him too.

“Thank you.” You say softly. “For everything until now…”

“….Don’t mention it cherub.”

It’s a heartfelt thanks that echoes in the quiet night, a rare display of vulnerability from you and shockingly, from himself. Even if your confession was acted upon by liquid courage, he knows that it had been something that weighed heavily on your mind for who knows how long but now, you’ve finally calmed that turmoil that threatens to break you and however temporary it may be, you’re genuinely grateful to have confided in him and walk away with a lighter heart.

It’s gratitude that he’s more than happy to revel in, if only it didn’t sound like this would be the first and last time.

“What time is it?” You ask, voice breaking through Jimin’s troubling thoughts and he belatedly reaches into his pocket to check his phone. You don’t see the way he raises an eyebrow at all the missed calls he’s got.

“Almost four.” He says, swiping away the notifications to clear the screen before his fingers tap away to pull up an app.

“Oh wow,” You breathe, getting up with a stretch. “Think we should head back? I’m definitely ready for bed.”

“When are you not?” Jimin snorts, “Is the age catching up to you already?”

“Stop, my back was killing me when I woke up today too.” You retort through a smile. You give your neck a roll and another stretch of your arms from having laid on a hard surface for a long period. Just when you’re about to muster up the strength to finally stand, Jimin stops you.

“There’s one more thing I have to show you.”

That catches your attention, whipping your eyes to him in mild surprise. He doesn’t have to — whatever it is that he has planned because this was more than enough. And you’re about to express that much when he suddenly shoves his phone into your face, startling you. You have to blink a couple of times in order to adjust to the brightness of the screen but when you do —

“What is this?” You dare to ask, heart beating quicker without meaning to as your eyes scan over the words, reading and then re-reading them but failing to register them all the same. Your eyes dart to Jimin who watches in quiet amusement from beside you, searching for any sort of answers for what you’re seeing.

“What does it look like?”

You’re left speechless and the only thing you could do is glance back and forth between the phone and Jimin, shaking your head in disbelief while trying to formulate words to your mess of thoughts.

“I — I don’t understand. How…?”

“….Guess you can call it a little demonic miracle of my own…” He says it as a light-hearted joke but unconsciously he brings a hand up to run through his hair, suddenly feeling bashful. Well, not like he could help it when you’re staring at him with wide, sparkly eyes. When he can’t handle your Bambi eyes any longer, he hurriedly blurts out the words you dare not speak yourself into existence for fear that it’s all just one hell of a good dream. “I got you tickets to go see BTS in the next city over alright?”

“But what about—?”

“I’ll take care of it all, don't worry about it.”

“Jimin that’s—!”

“Cherub, do you want to go or not?”

“I-I do! It’s just—“

“Then you’re going, no ifs, ands, or buts.” Jimin says it with finality, stern and in a way where you know he’ll ship you in a box if he has to. With no room left for arguing, you’re reduced to an overwhelming mess of emotion that has you struggling to contain it, leaving your hands to shake instead. Your quietness concerns Jimin for a minute before he lets out a grunt in surprise as he abruptly finds himself at the other end of your body slamming hug. He goes rigid, not knowing what to do with his hands as he lets you wrap yourself around him in a rather snug embrace that he thinks he can actually feel how fast your heart is beating against his chest. Or is that perhaps…his own?

“Thank you.” Your voice comes out as a hush warble against his ears. Two words and yet the amount of happiness Jimin hears coming from it is palpable, it makes him think that this is the happiest he’s ever seen you. He softens at that, tentatively wrapping his own arms around your waist to hold you steady and he thinks it’s nice to hold you for once without the context of having escaped a rather sticky situation beforehand.

And there it is again, that wretched twinge in his chest only this time it’s so obtrusive that he can no longer brush it off or ignore it. It comes with a realization of many things, but among them was something that he never would’ve expected to ever come into terms with, shocking him like an ice cold plunge in the middle of winter.

That as both a powerful demon and as a decent but temporary guardian, this is the extent of happiness that he'll ever be able to give you.

389 notes · View notes

vin-taege · 5 years

Text

low expectations

summary: after disappearing for six years to pursue law, you come back to Seoul, only to be hired by Jeon Jungkook, tattoo artist on the rise, and your high school ex

genre: angst, eventual smut, l2e2l (lovers to enemies [kinda?] to lovers)

pairing: tattoo artist!jungkook x lawyer!reader

words: 4 700+

Scattered boxes lay on your newly bought apartment. Some opened, most of them unopened. The only decent room as of now was your bedroom, and even that looked plain. Considering how organized you usually were, this was a severely chaotic. Even though the move to Seoul has been rough - some of your belongings even ending up in Daegu, but thankfully back where they belong now - you were ecstatic. Mainly because you were now far away from your overbearing mother. The increase in salary remained as a mere bonus. To say things between you and your mother were rocky was a bit of an understatement. She was heartless, manipulative, the perfect CEO. You had lived with your father after the divorce, and appreciated his company more. Life wasn't as luxuries as it was with your mom, but he cares for you more than anything. She did her part in paying for child support, funding most of your needs, compared to your father's salary as a small cafe owner. Going back to Korea has always been on your mind, ever since you graduated law school. If it weren't for the aforementioned salary increase, your mother would've never let you get that plane ticket. The new firm you transferred to was more than welcoming. They gave you a three week grace period so you can settle down, and even assigned you an assistant. It was just your luck that person happened to be Namjoon, your best friend since college. After graduating, you split ways. It was ironic how your reasons for going back to Seoul were direct opposites - him to return to his family, and you to escape from yours. He was probably the only person who had his shit together more than you. Not even two days after you landed, he already had your schedule organized for the next month. Even you didn't have enough patience to do that. Admittedly, you were a bit scared to go back. The last memory you had here was one in Busan, and it was far from pleasant.

You refreshed your emails again, not used to the absence of the usual influx of "urgent" files. The first thing you unpacked was of course the coffee machine. The other labeled boxes still had packing tape on, and you were dreading to open them up. Your phone has been on silent mode ever since midnight. You'd rather deal with your mother later than answering all her pressing texts now. Thank God she didn't know your Skype account.

Sluggish from the jet lag, you began picking at the packing tape, finding the edge of it and ripping the package open. In all honesty, you could’ve finished all the rooms in one day, and even have time for a manicure and pedicure afterwards. But this day just seemed so slow.

You never were used to a non-busy schedule.

Box after box, you made your way through your belongings. Throw pillows, small vases, the succulent collection you had. You didn’t have time for a pet, but your cacti were the perfect substitute. They made you feel needed on a deeper level, even though they only needed you to water them once a week.

Lofi music played in the background, giving you a more relaxing atmosphere. You slowly got in the zone, not noticing the hours pass by until you finally decided to take a break and check your phone.

Immediately, you were bombarded with six phone calls from Namjoon. Panicked, you quickly called him back. “Hey, Joon! I’m sorry, my phone was on silent. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” In contrary to what he said, his voice sounded distressed. “I know it’s your week off, but there’s just this really pushy client. He’s demanding a meeting with you as soon as possible. I told him I’d give you a call, and here I am.”

You grimaced. This client was already leaving a bad impression on you. If anything, you hated unprofessional clients and often turned them down, but you felt sorry for Namjoon. “Does he want to meet today?”

“I can schedule him for next week if you want. Put him on the priority list. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” You considered it for a moment. You didn’t have anything to do tonight except to unpack, and your body was itching for work. “No, I’m free tonight. Did he give a time or a place.”

“He left me an address. Told me to come whenever. I looked the place up, and it’s a tattoo parlor. The customer reviews were nice, and it’s pretty popular here in Seoul too.” Here comes the unprofessionalism again.

“Wanna go at seven and have dinner after?”

“Sure. As your best friend, I wouldn’t mind catching up. As your assistant, I couldn’t let you die unless I want to get fired,” you both laughed. You heard typing in the background, followed by a few mouse clicks. “-And his case file’s done. Pick you up at six?”

“Damn, how long has this guy been bothering you? Case files take hours.”

“Ever since 7 am. This better be some god-tier dinner to make up for it,” he chuckled on the other line.

Somehow, the tattoo parlor reminded you of him again. He always wanted to run one, and you wondered if he ended up doing so. The call ended, and you started to get ready. Surely the client wouldn’t mind you dressing casually, it was a week off after all.

Namjoon picked you up exactly at six, pulling over in his freshly car-washed Mercedes Benz. He was donning a black turtleneck and jeans, mirroring your casual style. It was clear you both just didn’t give a shit anymore. A pair of black glasses sat atop his nose.

“Nice car. When did you start being a popular kid?” He scoffed at your teasing, remembering his skewed fashion choices back in college.

"Ever since I started hauling your drunk ass home after parties. Ever since I started making you nachos on thesis nights. Ever since-"

"Okay Namjoon, I get it. College ___ was a hot mess," you conceded. "You got that case file ready?" "Yeah. I forwarded it to your email," You checked your inbox, and indeed received the file from him. You browsed through it quickly, skipping client details and diving straight into the case. False accusations of tax evasion and illegal substance import. The case seemed simple enough, could be handled with a few counter-suits here and there. Just as you finished the case details, you decided to finally check the client info. "You know what makes this case so complicated?" Namjoon spoke up, ripping your attention away from the file. "What?" "Evidence tampering. From the rival tattoo shop, I think," You scoffed. Typical behavior from two business trying to climb to the top. "They, what, planted cocaine packets under the ink refills or something?" Outside, the sun started to set. It's been a while since you've last seen a sunset, long work hours demanding you to be in your office more. It was one of the things you missed in Korea, especially from Busan. "Yeah, something like that. The guy seems too young to be the head of the shop. Must be very good at what he does." You opened the file again, checking the client info. Jeon- "We're here." Sighing, you closed the file again, getting out of the car. You'll have to read up more on him later. Not even a month back in Seoul and you already have a possibly big case on your hands. This could really make or break your career. However, that name sounded familiar. Familiar enough to leave a bittersweet taste in your mouth. Jeon. The memory of soft brown hair came back to you, long enough to frame his big brown eyes. The same eyes that would crinkle each time he showed his bunny smile. There was a pained twinge in your heart. Namjoon knocked on the glass door. There was a purple neon sign hooked on it, blaring a bright "open" to entice customers to come in. On top of the building was a huge sign, lit up by LED lights. "Seoul Ink." The shop had a large glass pane next to the door, resembling a barbershop style. The inside was dimly lit with light pink, giving the shop a retro vibe. You could faintly hear music blaring from the inside. Not long after, the door was opened, revealing a short, yet muscular man. His hair was a vibrant pink, in contrast to the dark tattoo sleeve spanning his left arm. A worn tank top draped from his torso, not doing much to hide his skin. The man looked like the shop personified. "Good evening, we're here for Mr. Jeon. He told my assistant to set an appointment for today." "Oh, you're the lawyer he hired? Come in, please," He stepped aside, making way for you. "Jungkook! Our lawyer's here!" You froze. No, this can't be the same Jeon Jungkook from high school. Who knew how many Jeon Jungkooks were out here in Seoul? You were hoping, praying, he wasn’t the Jungkook you knew. "Wait. Goddammit, Jimin I told you to sterilise the needles." A lean, young man came out from the curtain-covered hallway. His hair was black, swept back to show his forehead. Sharp, doe eyes stared straight at you. His features became more angular, but it was clear he was the same boy you knew all those years ago. "___?" His eyes widened, expression hardening. "___. Pleasure." "You two know each other?" Namjoon whispered to you, loud enough for Jungkook to hear. "We went to high school together," He dead-panned, leaving it at that. Your cheeks heated up, the atmosphere soon turning awkward. "Come inside. We have a lot to discuss." He led you through the same hallway, pink lighting kept uniform throughout the whole building. Tattoo designs were plastered on the walls; Designs of the same motif grouped together on each tattoo booth. Each door had a different feel to it; one monochromatic, another one clipped with Polaroids and fairy lights. They really brought out each tattoo artist's identity, gave you an idea of their style and aesthetic. You counted four of them in total, including Jungkook and Jimin. Jungkook stopped at the last door. Just one look at it and you knew it was his. Lush roses were stuck to the black-painted wood. At the very center of it was a small, golden bell with two red ribbons tied to it. You were too busy staring at it, not noticing the rest of the boys come inside. "___," Namjoon called you. "Yes. Sorry," Jungkook stared at you, eyes glassy. You were the first to break eye contact, shutting the door. °°° 6 years ago "You told me it was my turn to pick the movie!" You whined, Jungkook only laughing at your annoyance. It was your annual Friday movie night. You usually took turns picking the movie, but Jungkook already had one prepared when you came to his dorm. "But this one's really good, I promise," he pouted. "I'll let you pick two movies next time. His offer sounded tempting enough, prompting you to begrudgingly accept it. It was another anime rom-com. You recognized it, seeing enough pictures of the poster saved in Jungkook's phone gallery. He'd talk about it a lot, the mere existence of it shaping his entire understanding of true love. "Your Name?" He grunted, arm wrapped around your waist. You were cuddling on the couch, body on top of him. The popcorn bowl was neatly balanced on your back. "I've always wanted to watch this with you," he whispered, fingers threading through your hair. "Accidentally downloaded a shit-ton of viruses on Tae's laptop just trying to pirate this." "Hey, support artists. Pay for art," You repeated his motto. He rolled his eyes, bringing you closer to his chest. "I want to. I just wish I didn't fall in the stereotypical broke art student category," His tone was sharp. You knew better than to push it, knew this conversation would only lead back to his unsupportive parents. The moment Jungkook told his parents he wanted to open up a tattoo parlor, they shut him out. He didn't talk about them much, but you knew enough to know he didn't exactly have the best relationship with them. His brother helped him pay his high school fees, but only up to that point. Once Jungkook hits college, he'll have to support himself. He's picked up a few commissions here and there to save up, but it was nowhere near the money he needed to take an arts course. "Hey," you brought your shifted, bringing your hand to his chest. "My mom's offering me a part-time job in her firm. She could get you a spot if-" "I don't want to," His eyes were on the screen, though you felt him tense up. "Leave it, ___." "The pay is good. I'm just saying, you should look into it, Kookie," you frowned. It was always difficult to talk to him when money or jobs were involved. You couldn’t even recall how many times you fought over either college or job-related problems. He was so hell-bent on taking an arts course, but too stubborn to accept any help, especially from your mother. He exhaled deeply, dropping his arm from your hair. "Leave it." You watched almost half the movie in silence. He was right next to you, but sometimes he just felt so unreachable. You felt his soft lips against the crown of your head. "I'm sorry, I'm just not in the best mood to talk about that stuff." You reached over, pausing the movie. He sat up, mirroring you. "What's wrong?" His eyes were dull, refusing to look back at you. "Jungkook." "Nothing," he rubbed his eyes, running both hands through his hair. "It's nothing." "Tell me," you placed your hand over his, him enveloping it immediately in his large ones. His thumb drew small circles on your knuckles, just like he did when he was nervous. "My dad is signing me up for a med college in Seoul. I don't want to leave Busan. I don't want to leave you," he lowered his voice in the last part. You cupped his cheek with one hand. "You won't. We'll be together until college, and until after college. You'll always be my own Da Vinci, I'll always be your-" "Muse," he finished, lovingly meeting your gaze. "You'll always be my muse." °°° "So they did plant cocaine packets in the ink refills!" Namjoon burst out. You facepalmed a little, gaining weird looks from the boys. "Ignore him. Where did you say you got your refills from?" "California," Jimin responded. So far, over the course of the discussion, Jungkook remained silent, arms folded as he stared at the table. Jimin was more than enthusiastic to cooperate with you, answering your questions as detailed as he could. "We've been getting our refills from there for three years now. Taehyung knows the dealer, and we're all positive there's no way in hell he shipped us that." "Taehyung?" you glanced at Jungkook, whose mouth remained pinched in a thin line. You were relieved to find out they remained best friends after everything that happened. You knew Jungkook needed a strong support system, and Taehyung was more than enough for that. "Yeah. He just finished his shift today, but if you need to talk to him, I can give him a call," Jimin offered. "No, it's fine. I talk to him in personal some other time," you scribbled some notes on a scrap piece of paper. "The drugs must've been planted here in Korea. If it were from abroad, it wouldn't get pass customs." "That's exactly what we've been telling the police, but they wouldn't listen to us without a lawyer," he rolled his eyes. "Any suspects?" "Minho. Jung Minho," Jungkook's voice surprised you. He sat up, placing his hands on the table. "He runs the tattoo parlor down the street, that sleazy son of a bitch." "Must've gotten a hold of the package before we did," he continued. He was twiddling with his thumbs, a habit you recognized he never got rid off. "Don't jump to conclusions." "I'm not, but sometimes we have to make decisions, ___." He spat, voice raising slightly. He noticed the everyone staring at him uneasily and slid back down on his chair. "I mean, no one else would've done it aside from them." "Do you have any evidence, at least?" you passed Namjoon the notes so far from your hour-long discussion. He took his laptop out to summarize everything in a single document. "No. But we got the coke bags out. Made sure to use gloves so we won't leave prints behind and give the police the wrong idea," Oh so now he wanted to talk. Though you felt guilty for everything that happened in the past, you can’t help but get annoyed at his attitude right now. He was the one who wanted your help in the first place. "I see. I'll take a look at them after this," you looked over to Namjoon, who returned a curt nod. He was still focused on his laptop. "We appreciate your cooperation," your sarcasm directed to Jungkook. He scoffed, abruptly standing to rustle at his desk. He aimlessly picked up pencils and markers, putting them in their respective holders. "We'd appreciate it more if you won this case." With just one statement, Jungkook managed to push all your buttons. You stood up as well, Namjoon holding your arm down. "Why don't you check on the cocaine bags while I interrogate Jungkook more? Mr. Park-" "Jimin's just fine," The pink-haired boy offered a kind smile. "Jimin, please guide the way." One of Namjoon's winning traits was being calm under pressure. He was the one to hold you back before fights erupted, or the one to retrieve deleted files whenever the computer crashed and you had a presentation in two hours. Basically the one to keep you impulsiveness and short temper on watch. You followed Jimin out Jungkook's workplace. He led you back into the waiting area, and into the employees only room. The room itself resembled more of a hangout than an employee lounge. They had all their stocks and spare equipment neatly placed in cabinets off to one side. The center had a round table covered in sketch designs and discarded pencils. Those were about the only things that made the room look professional. The other side of the room was a whole different world. On the opposite side was a small vending machine next to an arcade game of Tekken. You recognized a D.Va styled jacket slung on one of the chairs. The walls had video game labels and band posters plastered all around. "Oh wow, how you did you get all this?" You blushed, immediately realizing how arrogant you must have sounded. Jimin didn't mind though, even laughing at your awe-struck expression. "The tattoo shop burst in popularity two years ago. We had money to spare, so Jungkook thought he'd pamper the employee lounge a bit," He put a black glove on and reached into one of the drawers, bringing a small sealable bag out. You picked up a stray glove, wearing it before picking the baggie up. It looked about five grams. You crinkled your nose in disgust. After finding some tissue, you carefully wrapped it up and placed it in your bag. Jimin let you check the lounge once more, patiently giving you space. "I'm Jimin, by the way," you looked at him questioningly. "I mean, I know you already know my name, but I wanted to give you a proper introduction." "Hello, Jimin. I'm ___," you smiled. "I'm a lawyer who used to be America-based, but as you can see, I moved here to escape from my insufferable mother." He laughed again, eyes crinkling. You never truly got a good look at him. His cheeks were full, like his plump lips. Although he was shorter than Jungkook, he looked older. It was clear he worked out, but you soon found out he was also very open as a person. "I'm a tattoo artist who specializes in traditional and blackwork styles. We each have our own thing here in Seoul Ink. Tae's good in watercolor and illustrative styles. If you like monochromatic designs, the right person to go to is Yoongi hyung." "How about Jungkook?" you told yourself you were asking out of curiosity, and only curiosity. You were to remain professional, to not get involved with your ex. "He's a well-rounded guy, but likes realism and new-school designs more. Not to pry, but is everything okay with you guys?" he gestured for you to sit on one of the chairs. "Well, I suppose we do need to be open with our clients." Jimin waited for you to continue, the pink light making his features softer. "We used to date in high school. It ended right before college, and I'm pretty sure it ended badly." "I'm pretty sure it ended badly too." You gave him a pointed look, to which he held his hands up in defense. "I mean, you looked like you were gonna tear his throat off a while ago." "I was trying to be civil. I guess I didn't know any better and thought he'd grown out of his childishness or something." "Maybe he didn't get over the breakup? That usually happens when it ends badly." He didn't know, but Jimin got it straight on. Even you haven't gotten over it yourself. You always wished the best for him. A selfish part of you even wanted to get him back, even after all those years. But you weren't here to get him back. You were here to finish the job. You had to push your feelings away. Jimin noticed your silence. "Do you believe in fate?" "I think?" Truthfully, you used to a dreamer, like Jungkook. Law school beat it out of you, giving you a cold facade to put on. "I want to believe in fate." "Maybe fate brought you here so you two could have a second chance then." he smirked. You glared at him, wiping the smile off his face. "At least make up a little. We couldn't get through this if you're constantly at each other's throats." "I'll talk to him." "Great! He already gave Namjoon his number, but here's mine for when you can't contact him," You gave him your phone, his fingers tapping away to input his number. "Thanks for putting up with us," His eyes were filled with sincerity, and you couldn't help but give him a small grin. "Of course." It's my job, you wanted to say, but couldn't find the heart to. You met Namjoon in the waiting area, laptop tucked away in his satchel. He was checking out one of the designs - a man wearing a suit, a bouquet of roses sprouting from his neck instead of a head. "Do you wanna get one or...?" He jolted at your voice. "Jesus Christ, ___." He never really grew out of his nerdy persona. Maybe people never truly change. "Jungkook seems like a nice guy. Lay off him a little, okay?" "I was actually planning to talk to him real quick, thank you very much." With that, you disappeared behind the hallway curtain again, leaving Namjoon with Jimin. You quickly found his room, knocking thrice before opening the door. You gasped, shutting it quickly again. Jungkook was sitting by his desk, shirt off and tattoos on full display. You didn't see much aside from a blur of black and splashes of reds and blues. Your cheeks were heating over, and you guess you must've surprised him as well. There was a thud behind the door, along with rapid footsteps. Slowly, the door opened slightly, enough to reveal a shirted Jungkook "Can I talk to you for a second?" you murmured. He stepped aside, opening the door wider. Wordlessly, you let yourself in, awkwardly standing behind him when he sat back on the swivel chair. "Hey." "Hey," he replied plainly. He always got this difficult sometimes, even back then. "How are you?" You settled for the customer seat, attached to a tray holding needles and a tattoo gun. You took a closer look around his workplace, recognizing messy sketches pinned on a corkboard. The same designs he used to draw back then. He fidgeted for a bit, eyes downcast on the floor. "Good. Been running the shop for a while. My brother calls me twice every month now." He looked up at you, eyes dark. You couldn't tell whether was anger or pain. Or both. He let out a long sigh. "I made it, ___." "I'm sorry," you choked out. You didn't know what else to say. You cursed yourself for not asking Namjoon for more information on the client before accepting the case. But did you really want to give this away? "I never stopped thinking of you." "Do you expect a thank you?" he folded his arms again. Why did he have to act so difficult? You shamed yourself for having these thoughts. It was your fault after all. He had every right to be angry at you. "Jungkook, I'm sorry," you tried again, tone softer this time. He blinked back what looked like tears, or he could've had something in his eye. The light made it hard to see. "Let's just act like adults, okay? Finish the case. And if you want to talk about more personal things, we can do that after." "You never did change, huh? As goal-oriented as ever," he smiled bitterly. “Job over everything else.” "You're still as stubborn as before," you grimaced at him. He chuckled, leaning back, tilting his chin up to the ceiling. He hummed, stretching his back. "I miss you," He opened an eye, peering at you. Your facade has crumpled, and you felt like the same girl six years ago after the breakup. He didn't say anything. Jungkook had so many thing running through his mind. Out of all the lawyers in Seoul, he just had to get you. Even after all those years, he still wanted to see you. But now that you were right in front of him, he felt nothing but pain and sadness. He loved you so much, but now that you were here, the only thing he could remember was the day you ran away from him. The day you left him. He shifted in his seat. Jungkook knew he had to get himself together for the tattoo parlor, for his friends. He thought he cut you off already a long time ago. "You can win this thing, right? I worked too hard for too long just to lose this. I crawled my way up here. I’m finally doing something I love," His voice was low, masking his wavering tone. You nodded determinedly. You weren't going to disappoint him again. "I know you can, ___. I've always believed in you. Would've appreciated it if you believed in me too," The way he said it was so quiet, you almost didn't hear it. But you did. It felt like he wanted to say something else, like he was ready to tell you everything that happened after the day you left, but he stopped himself. He spun the chair, facing away from you. "I have a full schedule tomorrow. I should finish the rest of these designs." You slowly got up. Your chest felt heavy, heart in your throat. All the pent-up emotion hit you all at once. "It's good to see you again," he lightly said. You looked back, seeing a sad smile on his lips. The second you got in the car, Namjoon was looking at you worriedly. "Are you okay? You look like you're about to cry." "The lighting was too much for me," you lied. You've made your mind up. Case or no case, you were glad to see Jungkook again. And you weren't willing to let him go this time. “Let’s get that god-tier dinner.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #bts smut #bangtan smut #bts #bts scenarios #jungkook imagines #bts imagines #bangtan scenarios #bts au #bts angst

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honorfallen · 4 years

Text

The need for a draught

A few swings of his broom and the goose finally began to vacate the doorway of the haberdashery, giving a final rebellious honk until another tap from the brush warded it off for good. Duard cleared his throat as the white-feathered beast waddled away towards the Lion’s Rest or wherever it saw fit.

The door slammed behind him after he re-entered the small shop. He shoved the broom next to the doorway, the loud wooden thump sounding off the man’s frustration knowing that he would need to fetch it again because of that goose. His fingers scratched at the side of his face, agitated. There was no itching feeling, but he just needed to scratch--

The damned thing is just going to come back. I should just kill it. Just grab the knife next time... or better yet, the daggers~

Duard’s left hand tilted towards his face and he glared carefully at his palm. Fingers began to flex a few times to estimate the strength of his grip. He brushed his palm with his right finger to feel where the calluses would be: softening up. These hands were forgetting what it felt like to hold daggers. They quivered, begging for the action once more. Please, for old time’s sake--

No. Now in place of the daggers were quills and paper, cloth and leather. The careful precision that once targeted hearts, spines, throats, and arteries now focused on more delicate crafts. More productivity and legitimate work, but the distractions were worsening. A tiresome issue, but one he shouldn’t have to deal with for long. He would receive his much-delayed draughts soon enough, and then things would be better, again. Until then, just deal with it...

Duard approached the counter, leather furs, and buckles strewed into several messy piles. In the middle of the table was a half-assembled handbag; it’s partially sewn edge patiently waiting to be finished, hopefully with no further disturbances. Taking the crafting awl into his hand, he ran the needled tip across the bag, browsing for the ideal place to puncture...

A bead of sweat began to form on the side of his forehead as he readied himself to cleanly gouge a vital area-- just like a kill spot.

Hmm.. the Jugular, heart, or the kidney...?

With a quick thrust, the pop from piercing the leather was satisfying. Lips turned into a frown.

The memory of the taste of blood made him wince. It was guilt.

The sweet buttery flavor. The nectarous scent.

This awl would still do great for a single jab in a throat; a fountain of candied red is so easy to create. All that also came with the melody of adrenaline-filled hearts beating faster combined with the wailing screams of the poor creature: music to his ears.

Prestissimo. Prestissimo.

His own heart beat harder and faster as it sank into his chest. The bead of sweat finally sliding down his cheek. His hands first clenched the side of his head to squeeze the horrible thoughts away, then they moved to cover his face in shame for having them in the first place.

This is not me. I’m better, now. I’m better.

Suddenly, a footstep creaked the store’s old floorboards-- a change in the air snapped him from his suffering. The smell of someone else was in the room. But where? His back tightened, feeling the presence of the intruder directly behind him.

Duard twisted backwards and grabbed the shirt collar of the intruder, slamming him into the wall. He held the awl at the man’s throat.

An angry voice yelled out. “Firelord’s flaming farts-- what are ye doin’?! Put me down!” Large beard, weird expletives being shouted about, bald as sin-- it was not just any man or stranger. Oddly enough, a friend; one he was waiting for who was very, very late.

Duard took a deep breath and held it, trying to kill his adrenaline by suffocating it. With one hand, he realized had his associate lifted up entirely off the ground, pinned to the wall. The other hand was ready to take another life.

Human-limited strength returned to Duard at the same rate as his clarity, dropping Bordus onto the ground.

“You know not to sneak up on me,” Duard said and he rolled his eyes.

“Sneakin’?!” The dwarf clenched both of his fists and released them into the air as he exclaimed, “How coulda ye missed me walkin’ in, even if ye been screwin’ around chasin’ that bird I’m nae that small that ye dinna see m--”

“Do you have it?” Duard interrupted. Pacing the floor helped continue recollecting himself. Patience was a virtue that was becoming unaffordable.

“-- if ya told me ya were good as huntin’ as ya claim, I’d never believe ye! Ye got tha instincts of a thousand year ol’ geriatric swine whose senses ben dulled from smellin’ Deathwin’s arse all day!” It felt like at least a minute of Bordus going on with a performative outrage.

“For fuck’s sake!” Such vulgarity rarely spilled from Duard’s lips. He turned around and swung his arm in a wide arc, throwing the awl across the room. The needle burrowed into the side of the wall, inches from the dwarf’s face, humming like a spring doorstop before slowly quieting down.

Now that he had his attention Duard marched towards Bordus, feet eerily quiet on the wooden floor. His suppressed anger was hidden by a polite grace. Face to face, his eyes seeming more amber than usual, Duard spoke. “Do you have it?” Each syllable was heavily accentuated so there would be no misunderstanding.

Anger, and some color, drained from Bordus’s face, but the dwarf managed to speak out. “Yer a fool tae doubt Bordus!” He shouted. The dwarf’s tone quickly changed to whimsically talkative. “‘Bout tha timin’, though. Tha witch says she’s been strugglin’ tae make tha stuff. Not much supplies since tha night elves lost everythin’. Not like we can go beggin’ door tae door fer poisons n’ crap.”

From his pack, Bordus drew one small phial from the batch and handed it to the man. “Best tae keep that on yer mind. Might want tae consider talkin’ to her about it. ‘Specially if this is how yer going tae act when yer low-- let me guess: ‘ol’ habits’?”

“Maybe.” Duard’s answer should have been ‘If it wasn’t obvious enough, no shit’.

With his precious draught in hand, had Duard lost any more of his senses he would have bitten through the glass to get to the precious concoction. Instead, though still with desperation, he bit down on the cork and yanked it out, spit it off to the side, and took a large sip of the contents.

The effect was immediate, the anger was melting away... as was his vision. Duard stepped backward and had to lean on the counter to balance himself but he slowly slid down and keeled over on the floorboards. He was unmoving for a good ten seconds. Apparently still conscious, he reached out with his index finger and pointed it at Bordus. “You-- stay the hell away... from the money drawer...”

Bordus looked quite offended at the accusation. “Fine, fine, lad.” He folded his arms as if he needed the extra security against temptation.

Another minute passed. Eventually, Duard leaned upward and grabbed his forehead after getting over his brush with clinical death. “I... am fine.” He remarked nonchalantly. “Just too much too soon. Have not had a proper dosage for too long... Ugh.” His hand reached upward and grabbed the counter and he hoisted himself back to his feet. Dusting himself off, he sighed. “I apologize for my previous behavior. That was not like me.”

A familiar dull look returned to his hazel eyes: the boring man was reborn, plagued no longer by pointless urges or troublesome thoughts.

“Sober you is not tha real you, huh.” Bordus scoffed. “Ya sure it ain’t tha other way around?”

“Of course not.” Duard’s eyes glanced over and focused onto the awl still buried in the wall. It took a strong pull, but he managed to get the tool out in a single try. His thumb brushed over the hole left in the wall, and his face drooped with concern at the damage. Shoulders lifted in a dismissive oh well, he turned to the dwarf. “You can leave the rest of the phials on the counter. I will pay you when everything is done, here. Right now I... I need to finish my work.” He waved the dwarf away.

No more distractions. No more anything. Emptiness.

Just the work at hand, now.

---

Author’s Note:

Just ideas I had because I never addressed a lot of stuff I have about my merc boys and their stuff going on. Still working on the dwarf accent btw

#duard patternost #bordus burlybrow #writing

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justjessame · 4 years

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Dr. Tali Sullivan Chapter 5: Choices

“Tali,” Dean’s voice followed me to the kitchen, but I was intent on ignoring him and whatever awkward bullshit that would come from what he’d woken up to. “Damn it, Tali.” He was standing in the doorway of the room, still in just a t-shirt and his underwear.

“Put some pants on, Dean.” I growled back as I started opening cabinets. The issue with making breakfast was that I didn’t usually eat breakfast. I had Pop tarts. I had some cereal that I didn’t remember buying. But that was pretty much it. Wait, I had bread and butter, so toast.

"You’re in your pajamas,” his voice was closer than I expected or wanted. “Besides, all my important parts are decent.”

I snorted. Dean Winchester didn’t have any decent parts, no matter how toned he’d felt when I woke up pressed against him. Fuck. “My house, my rules.” I offered, but knew he hadn’t left, he couldn’t have, since I could feel his body heat closing in. I sighed, pulling out the Pop-tarts and bread. “Dean, whatever you’re thinking, it isn’t a good idea.”

I felt his chuckle, just like I felt the breath he’d let out during it flutter my hair. “Good ideas aren’t really what I’m known for, Tali.” I closed my eyes, begging for a patience that I’m not sure I ever possessed. His body was close enough to feel the burn from, to smell that same familiar scent of his dad rolling off of him. His hands were on my shoulders and I sighed again. “Please, just talk to me for a minute.”

I turned with the same type of grace that I’d shown the first time my mom wanted to parade me through our family telling them about my choice to go away to school and become a teacher. Heavy on the martyrdom, low on the enthusiasm. “Pop-tarts? Or-”

I never got another word out, because Dean Winchester decided that ‘talking’ involved mouths, but not words. His lips touched mine, and my mind was screaming to push him, to pull away, to do a hell of a lot of not what I did. I dropped the Pop-tarts, the bread fell from my hand and then my now empty hands were on his shoulders. My nails were digging into his skin through his t-shirt, but as much as my mind was telling me to use them to get him away, my body seemed to disagree, because I was pulling him closer.

Dean’s hands were sliding up my back and then they were tangled in my hair and my mouth opened under his and we both moaned at the touch of the other’s tongue. I was wrong. He and John were nothing alike. John took what he knew we both wanted. The fires of hell were jealous the night we first kissed. And then it slowed once we ended up in my bedroom. Dean wasn't sure, he left me room to push him away, to take a moment to decide if I wanted what he was asking for. Dean was a slow burn, building as we got to know the dips and curves of one another’s mouths. There wasn’t a rush, even if it had seemed like there would have been in how he'd taken the first step.

He pulled away first, or pulled back a bit so we could catch our breaths. Giving me and my brain a moment to reflect, to think about what I was doing. What was I doing? I saw Dean swallow, the uncertainty of how I was going to react clear on his face, in his green eyes that were so dark. I licked my lips, wondering how he could taste good in the morning? “Shit, Tali, I didn’t mean to-” He started to pull away further, but my hands stayed on his shoulders stopping him. “I know you need time, I do, but Tali I,” he huffed out a breath. “When I saw your name in Dad’s journal. When I saw what he wrote-” His eyes pinched and I waited, Dean needed to get whatever he’d been holding in off his chest before he exploded. “I was pissed. Not only did he just fucking go off on his own without a word, but he took-” Dean’s eyes locked on mine. “He knew how I felt about you, Tali, he had to have.” His hand left my hair and brushed through his own. “You were supposed to be MY first everything Tali Sullivan.” Wait, what?!

“Dean.” I tried, but the look he shot me stopped me.

“I know you didn’t-” he sighed. “I know that we got pushed together all the time as kids. I know that wasn’t your choice, but those visits to your house? Between those and Bobby’s? That made the rest of it worth it.” His hand came back to my cheek, and he was brushing the skin under my eye. “I wanted to take time, Tali, when Dad-” He saw my flinch at the memory of John again. Another sigh. “When he died, when I knew what you felt for HIM, I couldn’t come here. Not at first, I couldn’t see YOU grieving for HIM.” His thumb touched my lips and I stayed quiet. “You were right, Tali, my dad was a master at shitty communication and you told me NOT to follow him in that. This is me not being John Winchester. I want you to give me a chance. Give us a chance. Give me something to come back to after the hunt?”

We both heard Sam stumbling down the hallway. Dean pulled all the way away. I looked down at my bare feet and took a beat. “Later.” It was quiet, it was simple, but it was a promise. We would talk later. We would sit down, alone, and discuss it. I looked up and met his eyes again where he’d moved to the table in the kitchen nook. A smile, a nod, and we were back to as normal as it would get between me and a Winchester. “Pop-tarts or toast?” I asked as Sam loomed in the doorway, blinking sleep out of his eyes.

After our ‘meal’, I took them into the living room to hand off the research packet I’d put together, then headed back to my bedroom. Dean, clearly assuming that Sam was nice and diverted by the new information, followed me.

“When I said ‘later’,” I shot him a look as I pulled clothes out of my dresser. “I meant, after I took a long hot shower. When my hair looked more like hair and less like a clutch of shredded wheat.” He chuckled. “We will talk, Dean,” I turned and leaned against my dresser. “Just give me a few minutes alone, to process, please.”

Dean was still in his boxers and t-shirt and I shook my head. “I should probably-” He gestured behind him.

“I have a huge hot water tank,” I smiled as he shot me a look. “You can get a shower in the other bathroom, it won’t take anything away from mine.” I went back to pulling clothes out for me to change into, when I felt him against my back again. “Dean-”

“I know, Tali,” his lips brushed the back of my neck and I swallowed hard. “I just, I had to-” And then he was gone. His heat, his scent less like John now, heavier on the leather scent less smoke and mirrors, gone. I shut my eyes and took a breath. Damn it.

I took my time in the shower. I needed to think about John. Really think about John Winchester and the ONE weekend we’d had physically versus the calls and texts. I needed to think about what might have been, or would there have been anything at all?

I could still see him sitting on the top row of seats in my classroom. Him standing over me by my desk. The bright silver of his wedding band catching the overhead lights. The band he wore for longer than I’d been alive. A band that he wore to his funeral pyre. A band that he never took off. Not once, not during the nights and days we’d shared. Not before or after we shared them.

My back pressed against the cool tiles of my shower, my head finding purchase too, and I considered that. Would he ever really have been done? Has any hunter ever finished the hunt? How many hunters had I met, first timers who came in with a vengeance and needed to kill whatever had brought darkness and loss into their regularly scheduled life, that stopped after they met it? None. Hunters ended when they took their last breath. That was a truth that I’d known my entire life.

It’s what happened to my grandparents. It was how my parents will die. It was our universally known truth. Hunters didn’t retire. They died. At the very hands, claws, paws, or teeth of the monsters they hunted. I turned off the water and sat down on the bench in my shower and thought about what that meant.

Dean was just as much of a hunter as John had been. He’d been raised in the life, reluctantly when John had become just as obsessed with avenging Mary’s death as any other newbie hunter would. He’d followed John around like a puppy. Looking up to him, beaming at any soft or kind word, any sweet moment that he could tuck away. Not that John was a bad man, but he’d been a difficult father. Maybe any man who lost his wife that way, who took up a mantle that he wasn’t prepared to, would have had the same reaction.

I hadn’t lied when I told John that Dean idolized him. He did. But he also took every damn word that John Winchester ever said to him all the way down to his fucking marrow. He would protect Sam. He would save him come hell or high water, and he’d do that with or without me. Would he have to? Would he have to do it without me?

When I suffer a loss, and as a kid in a hunting family I’d suffered plenty, my first knee jerk reaction is to shove it down. Deep deep down and away. I’d deal with it, eventually, but not now. I hadn’t done that with John. I’d let it overtake me. I’d wallowed. I’d felt the loss down to my bones and I let it overwhelm me in so many ways.

I dried off and pulled on my clothes without noticing. I brushed my hair, my mind still working through the Winchesters and what they meant to me. My fingers worked my untangled and still wet hair into a long braid as I thought about where John and I may have been right now if he hadn’t made the deal. Would we still be texting and calling? Would he make time to visit? Would I go to him?

What would have been enough or too much? Would killing this demon, the same one that Sam and Dean were now focused on, have let him move on? Would Mary finally be laid to rest in his mind? Would the ring have come off? Or would he still pine? Was I a delusional little girl that fell into bed with him over a crush that he’d shared, a diversion and nothing more? I'd never know. John wasn't available to answer and I had wasted the time I had to get those answers.

I pushed my glasses up my face and contemplated hiding in the bathroom until Dean and Sam gave up and left on the next hunt. Because I knew one thing was more than certain. There would always be another monster to hunt. Another call, another trail. They were hunters, and I had given it up willingly to be this version of helpful.

#supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester #dean winchester x ofc

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timeinabottle · 5 years

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Danse Macabre | Jopper AU | Stranger Things

William Byers disappears into thin air in 1883. His distraught mother, Joyce must put aside her differences with the only man that can help her now. In their desperate search for her son, they uncover the dark world of the occult, a terrible haunting and something the Witch's daughter calls... the Other Side.

Stranger things have happened...

Read on AO3 {X}

Listen to the soundtrack on spotify {X}

Chapter One: The Vanishing of William Byers

Hawkins, Indiana October 26,1883 Sleep riddled James Hopper’s head like a dense cloud, letting him forget where he was for the foggy moment between dreams. He reached across the bed for the warmth a woman who was not there. His hands grasped at thin air instead, and the cold, twisted sheets that wrapped around him like a tourniquet.

When he finally stumbled out of bed and shook the cobwebs off, he caught a glimpse of the clock and cursed. He was late for work again.

He hastily made his way to the medicine cabinet and took a swig off a dark glass bottle. The bitter tincture burned on the way down, but he didn’t care. He looked forward to the sting every morning. And periodically throughout the day... And twice again before bed. Initially prescribed by a physician for a chronic case of melancholy and fever three years earlier, Hopper reasoned it was the only thing keeping him going at this point.

As he got dressed, he chased the tonic with a nip or three of whiskey and half a cigarette leftover from the night before. A touch of cologne was the finishing touch to mask the scent of his morning routine. He strapped his sidearm and fixed the crooked badge on his uniform before stepping out into the low autumn sun.

Fall had swept through the Midwest with a cold fury that year, turning the trees into an ocean of fiery yellows and reds as far as the eye could see. The clear cornflower-blue skies of summer had given way to brooding clouds. They hung over the town like a death shroud, a shadow veil hiding the sun, and bringing with it the acrid perfume of decay.

As the days grew shorter, so did Hopper’s patience. Once a loving and devoted husband and father, he felt dead inside now. Utterly devoid of human emotion. His wife Diane and his darling little Sara were taken within days of each other by a nasty bout of consumption almost four years previous. It wiped out half of Manhattan’s Eleventh Ward before he realized New York had left him with nothing, and he retreated to the comforting arms of his hometown.

Looking up from rock bottom, sleepy little Hawkins seemed like the only choice left for him. It was somewhere he felt safe enough to collapse; to mend a shattered heart and ride out the rest of his years in relative ease. After all he fought for during the war and carried with him still, the tragedy of losing his girls was too much to bear. It left him feeling empty.

More than empty; like a dark star, ready to collapse in on itself.

He found as the years passed by, and despite his best efforts, the broken pieces of his heart would not fit back together, no matter how hard he tried to make it work. He was watching himself turn into a lonely and embittered man in the mirror. He was slowly becoming his father and couldn’t think of a worse fate.

Just like his father, he only had a small circle of people who he could trust. His closest friends were former soldiers in the war, now his deputy officers, Callahan and Powell. He could barely admit it to himself, but he spent most of his time with those two fools either at work or at the tavern after work. His friends had their own young families to focus on though, so after he sent them home for the day, Hopper would spend the latter half of his evenings closing down the bar and chasing after the available women in town, breaking their hearts before they could barely get attached.

He was alone in this world and was starting to think that nothing would ever change. It was his lot in life. Eventually, he accepted his fate and stopped caring. He became lazy. Mid-morning arrivals to work had become the norm, but no one seemed to notice or care.

No one, except Florence.

The police department’s secretary was all but tapping her foot at his late arrival, waiting for him when he arrived. She took his coat from his arms and the still burning cigarette from his mouth disapprovingly. He nodded to the boys in the bullpen as he made his grand, yet fashionably late entrance.

Callahan piped up, “You look miserable, Chief.”

“Funny, your wife hardly looked any better when I left this morning,” Hopper didn’t skip a beat, smiling snidely to the young officer as he walked by his desk. Powell hid his chuckle behind his cup of coffee and watched Callahan struggle to find a suitable response for his superior.

“Thank you very much for gracing us with your presence, James,” Florence interrupted, handing him his day's work and a cup of steaming black coffee as he passed by her desk. A schoolmarm in her younger days, she played the part well enough around the office, making sure all of Hawkins finest were running on time. Her only problem child now… was the chief.

Her hands found her hips when he didn’t acknowledge her, “You have a visitor this morning.”

Hopper grumbled into his cup, “Already? It’s only… half past ten. Did I not make myself clear before? No appointments before noon; my mornings are for coffee... and contemplation.”

Yes, that sounded about right.

“I didn’t have a choice in the matter,” Florence explained with a huff, handing him the paperwork she had already started and following him through the bullpen to his office in the back of the building. “The young lady insisted she speak with you immediately and pushed right through to your office. She won’t budge until she sees you, and only you — stubborn thing. Of course, I’ve been keeping her calm while you took your time getting here this morning,” the older woman’s voice dripped with sarcasm. Hopper would have told her that particular tone didn’t suit a woman of her age… if only he were a braver man.

“Please tell me the pushy little lady that’s waiting for me is beautiful, or at the very least, eligible,” he grunted as he stuffed the paperwork in his uniform pocket, not able to muster enough care to look it over. He was confident the matter was a stolen purse or a civil disagreement, something that didn't require his personal attention — that's what he had the two buffoons sitting in the bullpen for.

“It’s Joyce Byers, Chief. She says her son is missing.”

That stopped him in his tracks. It felt like a lifetime since he had heard that name, and it sounded so foreign to him now as his secretary said it. A pang of nostalgia caught his attention, which quickly turned to hurt, remembering how much heartache that confounded woman had caused him in a previous life. He felt a burning agitation growing in his chest at the parting memory he had of her… or perhaps that was the laudanum finally kicking in.

“Did you ask the Widow Byers if she remembers where she left him?”

“That’s not appropriate James,” Florence tutted at him, giving him a stern look over her spectacles. “She’s rather upset.”

Hopper took a deep breath before opening the door to his office, preparing himself for a maddening interaction. His guard dropped slightly when he saw her sitting there, looking lost and forlorn. A small nagging thought played at him, a reminder that she had played this game with him before, and he was the one who lost; she could always play the victim so well.

As the door closed behind him and he stepped into the room, he got a better look at her under the dim light from the window. Her hair was a matted, frizzy mess tucked under the net of her fascinator, a futile attempt to look put together. Her hollow eyes stood out against the sharp pallor of her skin, betraying her weak constitution. She was so far removed from the young, vibrant woman he once knew. It was if a stranger was standing across the room from him now.

“Police Chief Hopper,” she curtsied as he walked around her to his desk, much to his chagrin. Her tone was polite, but he could hear an underlying hint of irritation as she spoke. No doubt for having to wait over an hour to see him. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“We can drop the formalities, Joyce. You know damn well you didn’t give me a choice in the matter. Safe to say we’re beyond pleasantries now,” he was stern, not wanting to play games with her, just wanting to get this over with and move on with his day. Yet, despite everything that had gone on between them in their formative years — and the resentment he felt thinking about it again — seeing her looking like this was pulling at a small part of him he thought was long buried.

“Oh, well. My apologies... Hop,” her head dipped at her slight and his correction, but she made a point of saying his name as only she knew it.

Joyce looked like an awkward little bird with a broken wing that needed mending. As he sat down behind his desk, she followed suit, and he observed her nervously plucking at her wrinkled skirts while she waited for him to get settled. It looked to him like she had been wearing the same dress for days and Hopper supposed that was very likely the case if her son was indeed missing. If he knew anything about Joyce, it was that she loved her sons more than life itself. He also knew her to be flighty and forgetful too, so it was hard to say if Will was truly missing or she had just lost track of his whereabouts in this state she was in. Regardless, he could tell that whatever had happened was clearly impeding her mental faculties — she was a vibrating, nervous wreck. Gazing at her pitiful form, he supposed he could give her the benefit of the doubt, one last time.

“All right then, why don’t you tell me what happened. From the start,” Hopper set out a pen and ink, and some paper to take notes as Joyce spoke.

She took a trembling breath, looking down at a small cabinet card with her son’s image on it, and held it tight in her hand as if in prayer. Steadying herself, she began, “My son, William -- Will was out visiting friends two days ago after school. He never made it back home.”

“Did he tell you when he would be back?”

She nodded, elaborating, “He said that morning he would be home for dinner. It’s not like him, but he’s getting older now. When he didn’t make it back, I just assumed he stayed with friends. I called on all of them yesterday, and all they could tell me was they had been at the river that afternoon, and he had left an hour before I expected him home.” Her words were clipped. She was trying her best not to cry.

He wrote down her answers languidly as he continued the inquisition, “And you’ve searched the property for him? Your house is at the edge of Mirkwood, isn’t it?”

“Yes. My oldest and I have torn the forest apart. It’s as if Will disappeared into thin air…” she wrung her hands in worry and bit her bottom lip hard as if willing herself not to think such things.

Hopper paused for a long moment to light a cigarette and offer another to Joyce, who took it as if she had been starving for one. Watching as she brought it to her lips with a shaky hand, he bided his time before he spoke again, wanting to choose his words with particular delicacy.

“Have you considered that he might have run away? Boys of his age will do that, you know. Do you still have relatives in Illinois? Is it possible he went to visit them?”

“No,” she couldn’t help but raise her voice at the underlying suggestion that she was a bad mother and couldn’t keep track of her boy. “I know my son; he wouldn’t do something like that without telling me. It’s been almost two full days! Even if he did, he would have contacted me by now,” she cast her eyes to the floor, the uncertainty starting to creep in. ”I’m sure of it.”

“I stole away when I was a teenager to go fight in the war, Joyce. I didn’t tell anyone until I had to,” Hopper spoke gently, confident she didn’t need the reminder of the abrupt end to the trysts of their youth.

“The war is over if you recall, and… and he’s not like you!" Joyce snapped at him and her face twisted, vexed at his words. He could tell she was holding her tongue to keep from insulting him.

She took a deep breath before she continued. Hopper was her only hope now, and he could tell she was desperate for his help.

“And he’s not like me. He’s not like most. He’s a sensitive soul, creative… and smart… the other children tease him and call him awful names.” She went back to wringing her hands, getting lost in her thoughts, “Something is wrong, I just know it.”

Her eyes locked onto his from across the desk, imploring. Hopper sighed. There was no getting out of this, was there?

“Well, the first thing we should do is organize a search party and get his image in front of as many people as we can. You have that picture card of him?”

She looked down to the card in her hands, tracing the grey image of Will with her fingertips; likely the only memento she had of her beloved son. Hopper only wished he had the same of his sweet Sara.

“Take that to the printers on the way home and have them draft up some posters with his vital information.” Hopper wrote down what she would need to give to the pressman and passed it to her. “I will organize the rest, but I have to be honest with you Joyce… Your reputation around town won’t help us much.”

Joyce’s set her jaw at his words and heaved a drawn-out sigh as if she had been expecting him to say it.

“I can certainly pay your department for the time if that is what it’s going to take to get this process started.” She stuck the cigarette in her mouth in a very un-lady-like fashion to open her coin purse with both hands, as if expecting his outstretched palm, but Hopper waved her off.

“That won’t be necessary. You’re entitled to public services as much as anyone. I’m just uncertain how many volunteers we can muster up for someone who’s known as the Widowed Witch of Mirkwood…” his voice trailed off, regretting the words, as he watched her face cloud over.

Joyce frowned at the ridiculous name the townsfolk had given her. She knew it all too well.

Her husband had died a mysterious and sudden death the year previous. Joyce never spoke of it to anyone, but they all knew. His body wasn’t even in the ground before she took advantage of the life insurance policy in his name at the factory. It seemed that dying had been the one and only good thing Lonnie Byers ever did for his family. And despite being given every opportunity to mourn, Joyce had refused her social obligation. How could she possibly be expected to grieve for the drunken brute of a man she had married? Someone who beat her and her sons if they stepped out of line. Someone who treated her like a dog when they were out in public and didn’t even bother to hide his frequent visits to the bawdy house. From the outside looking in, Hopper could understand why she couldn’t bring herself to mourn that monster of a man, but the community couldn’t ignore her disregard for societal norms, and she was quickly shunned.

Joyce only fanned the flames. Instead of indulging the proper grieving period, she splurged on a new wardrobe. She wore jewel-toned velvets and pastel chantilly lace loudly around town, just to make sure her true feelings toward her dead husband were well known. It didn’t take long for the townsfolk to start talking after that.

Did you hear? Joyce Byers murdered her husband. She only did it for the money.

Hawkins ran wild with whispers and lies: She went crazy and poisoned him. She cut his body up and buried him in the woods behind their house. A secret lover helped her do it, and they danced naked under the full moon… on his grave!

Soon, rumor had it she had summoned a demon to do her bidding. She was labeled an outcast. A scarlet letter. A particular kind of witch.

Of course, Hopper didn’t believe any of the rumors… but he did think that maybe she had it coming. After all, it was Lonnie’s arms she ran to when Hopper didn’t court her fast enough for her liking in the summer of 1863. It wasn’t soon after she broke his heart, Hopper left her and Hawkins behind to fight for the Union, severing any remaining threads that kept them bound together.

“Those rumors are completely unfounded,” she started, trying her best to contain the rage bubbling up inside of her. “And they have nothing to do with my Will.”

“I know they are, Joyce,” Hopper rubbed his tired eyes. “You’re right, it has nothing to do with Will. I’m just saying this might be a bit of an uphill battle for us if we want any information on the whereabouts of your son.”

Her face clouded over at the realization sunk in. Even though he was six feet under, Lonnie Byers’ was still causing her trouble in this life. That son of a bitch.

“I was awfully sorry to hear about your husband,” Hopper cleared his throat, though his voice betrayed him; Joyce picked up on his lack of sincerity immediately.

“Please, spare me your condolences,” she held her hand up to him to stop right there and save them both the discomfort of going through the motions. “We both know what type of man my husband was. My sons and I are much better off now…” she trailed off, a look of distress adorning her delicate, worn features. “Or rather, we were, until my poor b-” she choked on a sob, clutching the picture to her chest. Hopper passed her his handkerchief and gave her a quiet moment to lament her missing child.

He was all too familiar with the pain she was going through, and as she wept, he resolved to put the past aside. He felt compelled to help this broken little bird, despite himself and their history. At least there was still hope for her that Will would return home safely. He’d be damned if he let her lose the fleeting chance to bring him back; something he never had.

When she composed herself again and looked back at him, it was with glassy, pleading eyes, “I need you to find him, Hop.”

“We will find him,” Hopper hoped she would see the truth in his eyes, even if he didn’t feel it himself. “I promise.”

There was nothing more he could do right then but comfort her with a pledge that he prayed he could keep.

For the first time since he laid eyes on her that morning, a small smile graced Joyce’s delicate features. “Thank you,” she extinguished her forgotten cigarette out in the ashtray on his desk and stood up to shake his hand. The gesture felt strange coming from her.

He took her proffered hand with both of his and watched as her lips parted with the shock of his touch. He waited for her to say something more, but she never did; the space between them heavy with everything that would remain unsaid. He couldn’t shake the sudden feeling that they had done this all before. Déjà vu.

When the strange moment passed, he was the first to let go, and he guided her to the door, giving her brief instructions on her next steps.

“Take that picture to the printing press and then go home straight away. I’ll take care of everything else. Get some rest. I will stop by as soon as I have more information for you.”

She paused before leaving, her hand clutching his forearm. Her eyes searched his, one more time.

“You’ll find him for me?”

He nodded, “I swear.” That time it felt like the God’s honest truth.

She nodded solemnly, holding the slip of paper and image of Will tight to her chest, taking his promise and her orders with her as he escorted her out of his office. She seemed to float down the dark hall towards the station’s front door, and as he watched her exit, he wondered how he would manage this mess. Just when he thought he had enough of his own problems to deal with, she had to show up at his doorstep with a doozy.

How could he expect anything less from Joyce Byers?

As Joyce stepped out onto Main Street, the gravity of the situation finally hit her, along with the heavy door to the Police Department. It slammed shut behind her, clanging like a gong, waking her up to the sudden realization that this was all too real, and the dark, dreaded feeling, that nothing would ever be the same again. A horse tied to the hitching post outside the building whinnied, startling her once more, just as a young man walked by. He gawked at her until he rounded the corner, out of sight, as if he saw a ghost. It took all her strength not to break down right then and there. She couldn’t, not yet. Her heart was heavy with the weight of the tasks laid out for her: Visit the printing press, then home to rest. Miles to go before she could sleep.

Joyce felt like she was drifting above herself, tethered to her body, as she glided down Main Street like a ghost. Another woman caught her eye, her face twisted into a disgusted sneer. She imagined she was a sight to be seen, practically un-dead; a shell of the woman she was the day before last. Her reputation was preceding, and her current appearance didn’t help, but she didn’t give a damn about any of that anymore. If they only knew…

She could feel the townsfolk eyes on her. She could even hear them whispering. Her cheeks burned red from resisting the urge to lash out at the next person to point at her or titter to their acquaintance. Joyce bit her tongue, knowing that she would need these people on her side if she wanted even the slightest chance to find her boy. She kept her eyes down and focused on her steps, one foot in front of the other.

Printing press. Home. Sleep. Press. Home. Sleep.

It became her mantra as she made her way through the center of town. It was taking everything not to collapse on the street under the righteous scrutiny and the unbearable burden she carried. There was nothing else left to do but carry on.

When she got to the printers, the Pressman was waiting for her. She never thought she would say it in her lifetime, but thank goodness for James Hopper and his keen foresight to have the operator call ahead. Joyce was grateful for the small gesture saving her from having to relive the nightmare and explain herself again. It only took a quick moment to get the information organized for the poster and an estimate on when the prints would be ready. She left with the Pressman's kind word that the photo would be returned to her within the day in the same condition she gave it to him.

Once again, she found herself standing alone and feeling lost on Main Street in her hometown — a place she knew like the back of her hand. She was restless with the urge to do something, anything to help find Will. It felt wrong to head home to idly stand-by while others held her son’s life in their hands, but Hop was right. What good would she be to the cause when she was such a mess? His word's ringing in her ears, she turned around and began the long walk home.

#stranger things fanfiction #jopper #joyce byers #jim hopper #au #joyce byers x jim hopper #victorian pulp #danse macabre

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kurahieiritrjio · 3 years

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Original Story draft

Playing around in the swords and sorcery fantasy branch realm with this story line. Trying to decide if this needs a huge overhaul and if so what needs to be chopped out. Knowing me, a lot needs to be shredded. LOL

Demon Hunters Campaign/Crystal Guardian Chronicles

Synopsis: Equinox company find themselves taking on a feral child who has an innate magic needed to wield a legendary Crystal weapon forged by the Elder Gods for sealing away demon kind from their world. Demon kind seeks her extermination so the Evil Kings may return to devour the lands of Gyeteras. Equinox must protect the young girl plus find the Tiger’s Eye Scales of Judgment. The magical scales become a double half moon axe capable of stopping hordes of evil from overwhelming their world.

Tiger’s Eye Trail (Temp title)

Sparkles of silver light ricocheted off mismatched buildings slipping in and out of Betlic Jetren’s feverish sight. Glimpses of Clear Brooke River and community flashed between trees like a heart felt greeting. Thick tree trunks of hickory, oak, red maple, and paper birch shaded the wide stone road of Caravan Highway. Betlic ignored alarmed calls from wagon teamsters and outriders moving in the other direction. This stretch of highway was well maintained so underbrush hindering Betlic’s sight was thinning the closer Equinox Company got to the Clear Brooke Station entrance.

The growing clamor tickled his ears with promises of medical aid. Light gusts brought delicious stomach rumbling scents into his sweat, dust, old blood, and beast musk numbed nostrils. Large stable shed complexes full of activity was flashing between trunks. All of Betlic’s remaining focus sharpened on the promise of safety and aide for the remnant of his hunting group.

Familiarity with Clear Brooke Station had Betlic envisioning throngs of gnomes, humans, dwarves, the odd troll, lesser giants, and elves bustling around multitudes of cornicuses with diverse horn configurations and foot types. His ears could hear people shouting, most likely from the open air market surrounding the merchant’s guild. It was the time of day when the market was most crowded. Behind the city loomed the deep shadows of ancient Brackenveil Forest’s mighty towering trees.

Soon long overdue medical care would be had. Better yet Clear Brooke Station was well known to Equinox Company. Betlic hoped their long standing reputation would save their lives. Unusual circumstances, broken contracts, unwanted bartered goods for payment, and time crunches continued plaguing Betlic’s demon hunting team. However, he hoped Equinox’s dubious luck was improving. Having Master Inek Copperwell hire them to escort his cart with Seth Grace and Gillian Stockton’s unconscious bodies inside his wagon was one stroke of much needed luck. If only their luck would hold long enough to get Seth and Gillian back on their feet!

Strands of saturated lentil hair flopped into his eyes. Betlic yanked it out of the way and used his tunic sleeve to swipe away sweat. The motion of his arm resulted in pulling and burning needles through his stitches, leaving him wincing. How was it so hot when the sun had not been up very long? Were his wounds causing this fever? He needed to focus on the road and his surroundings since it was his temporary job. He, Dreng, and Eldwyn only agreed to be cargo guards to get Seth and Gill the help they needed from the witches in Clear Brooke.

Betlic turned his head and felt a fluttering buzz erupt through his skull and sluice down his body like a building wave crashing on a beach. The odd sensation had him swaying in his saddle. Getting light headed was a very bad sign. Almost there. He would hold on as long as needed.

“Ho there! Looks like you’re the group needing emergency aide.” A gnome teamster bellowed from his perch on a massive eight wheeled stock wagon. He and a pair of outriders pulled the twelve ram head heavy drafts to a stop. “Did bandits do this to you and your beasts?”

Refocusing, Betlic noted accumulating guards and outriders were staring and muttering to each other. No doubt they were looking at the sorry sight of the last of Equinox Demon Hunter Company stationed around Inek’s cart or trailing behind. Vallin was on foot pulling along their remaining cornicus mounts. Betlic did not have to look back to know several beasts were stumbling under the rocking motion of huge loads.

Betlic shook his head trying to clear his mind and almost fell off Squirrel’s back as thrums of cold electric current swirled and cascaded the length of his body a second time. Was the man talking to him?

Eldwyn’s mellow voice carried over the jangle of harness, heavy clopping hooves and quadcorn talons. “No. We ran afoul of a demon troop. Equinox Company won the fight at heavy cost. Trying to get to Crone Nelda to deal with the magic taint. We also crossed swords with three bandit groups since leaving Cryslatta. We handed them over to the magistrates in Resin Town and Lofty Oaks respectively.”

Someone yelled, “By the Thrice blasted tree! All know Equinox is the best demon fighting group in the lands, but don’t you think fighting a war troop is a bit extreme?” Must be an elf in the crowd.

“We were lied to about the job we took. We found ourselves under surprise attack and surrounded. You try facing several greater demons determined to get even some time and then say we were being extreme.” Dreng’s guttural voice thundered over the babble of onlookers.

The buzz of many voices began to swell as the news was digested by everyone within hearing range. Anger began to suffuse the babbling swell. Betlic was tired of having to defend his companions. At least when told the truth most caravan owners moved out of the way so they could jog their beasts around the slower wagon trains to reach Clear Brooke quicker. Let his co founders deal with the chatter this round. Betlic simply wanted to be done with this trip and sleep for a week. Not that he would get to slow down before arranging everything his group needed. The idea of a bath and long sleep in a real bed was all he craved.

“We were sent by a concerned outrider. You look to sore need us.” A tanned gnome with her hair in a bun jumped in front of Squirrel reaching for his hackamore nose band. Betlic clung like a bur to Squirrel’s back as the big buckskin shied from being caught.

“Thank you for the offer, Matron. We’re almost there, and short of funds.” Betlic answered once he found his balance.

“What do you think emergency aide means, young man? You won’t make it without us. Your cornicuses are bad injured and failing. They need to be brought in and tended. We will get you into town. You need the witches because you’re about to fall out of your saddle.” The older woman chastised him in a fearful voice. Betlic struggled to remain focused.

“Infuriating to hear, but all too true. In our defense, Equinox has never had thirty companions and half our combat trained mounts killed in a single fight before now, Ma’am. The Overseer Guild in Cryslatta mistook a war troop of sixty odd demons for a nest. To the best of my knowledge, such has never before happened.” Several knife and low horn riders were clustering around them, intent to hear the tale, growing anger suffusing their faces. “Then the guild refused to make good on the outstanding debt after failing to give us accurate information. Never mind their idea of a healing guild which denies magical taint exists so we lost even more of our number while getting stripped of our funds.”

Eldwyn’s voice interrupted Betlic before he could vent more of his simmering ire. “Ignore Betlic’s sharp tongue, good people. He looks like a poorly sewn patchwork quilt under his clothes and maille. Master Inek Copperwell is helping us get our worst wounded to Clear Brooke before they die of demon taint. So please forgive him any cruel tones this morning.”

“Let them take your over burdened animals and gent Vallin in. All know your reputation, Mister Jetren. Equinox Demon Hunter Company keeps it’s word and all who know you will vouch for you.” One of the outriders yelled.

Betlic argued “we’re tight of purse at this time. We are without choice but to move forward with what strength we have left. I’ll not incur debts I cannot be certain of repaying promptly.”

The big buckskin tricorn lurched around the gnome woman still trying to grab his nose band or reins and pitched into a jog toward the city despite heavy billowing sides.

“Stop, Betlic. Our beasts are failing. They can’t finish the distance.” Eldwyn yelled at his back.

Betlic pulled on Squirrel’s reins. A deep groan bordering an offended whistle pulsed through Squirrel’s triad of horns as he slowed to a walk but refused to stop. A hard shake of the buckskin’s head rattled his ridge bones beneath thick cream hide.

“Looking forward to a big bin of ground meat and diced vegetable aren’t you, Squirrel?” Betlic gave his mount an affectionate rub above a seeping gash on the animal’s shoulder. Squirrel’s long ears wagged back and forth. Using brute in his good arm, Betlic tried to swing Squirrel back around to face his group.Tired as Squirrel was he knew their location and was eager to arrive. “You need more patience. We can’t abandon our team.”

Needle sharp throbs of pain tore along his torso as Betlic's arm lifted so he could use his tunic sleeve to mop runnels of sweat from his eyes. His vision wavered again. Blinking rapidly to clear his sight, Betlic wondered whether grand master wizard Aulon would still send funds if Seth died. Would the protection oath ever be given by Aulon to new members of Equinox? Could Equinox even recover from this insidious blunder?

Squirrel jerking to a stop managed to almost topple Betlic from his saddle yet again. “Bet, yer not a’right. Squirrel’s taking ya fer a ride. T’others dun stop’d.” Lance’s voice chided. Three long and wicked sharp horns growing out of Hobb’s dark brown forehead and face were too close to his own as Lance’s tricorn blocked their path. “Ven’m dun gett’n ya. Fev’r gett’n worse.”

Leathery pitted skin, shocking blue eyes, and shaggy molasses hair. A very familiar looking long knife and sword sheath pair strapped to opposing hips swam into focus. Sheathed daggers strapped to biceps and forearms gave silent warning to avoid conflict. More throwing knives, darts, slim throwing axes on each side, and bolts for a Brownie sized crossbow which was palm sized for a man were confined in neat rows down the length of matching bandoleer straps hanging from each shoulder to opposing hip. Two cases of arrows for a full crossbow and a recurve bow hung off the saddle pommel. Such a deadly rogue. Betlic blinked faster. It was Lance Bullard he was facing alright.

“Sorry. Need to get things done as soon as we arrive.” Betlic responded when his eyes registered Lance waving a hand inches from his nose. “I’ll be fine, Lance.”

Lance snorted. “No ya won’. Yer see’n de witches firs’ thing. Beauty n Velvet ‘er down. Lightfoot’s bad too. Figg’r Drum ’ead ‘n Cast’way’s near ’s bad. Firebran’ gun’ drop ina minute. Eld, Dreng, ‘n Val’s mov’n der packs.”

“Shit. We can’t afford the stop.” Betlic squeezed his eyes shut and gulped air to try and stop the spinning sensation.

“Yer sick, Bet.” Lance growled. “Yer blotchy wit fev’r. Way yer sway’n, yer gun’a fall off Squir’l soon. Yer push’n too ‘ard.”

“Your fringe’s too fast to follow. Tells me you’re in a panic. Seems I've made too many bad calls. My stupidity got most of our company killed.” Betlic gripped his saddle pommel and eased back onto the two saddle rigs tied together and lashed on the back of his own. He hoped the new position would counter his increasing lightheadedness.

Lance heaved a disgusted sounding sigh. “M tak’n lead. Yer doin' de bes’ ye can widda bad mess. Eld got at bad job. As to de talk, mos’ de old tim’rs dead is wha’ gots me shook, Bet. Know’d ‘em since I join’d. Ev’n Seth ‘n Gill’s dyin' slow. De was all tuff as you ‘n me. Don’ seem righ’.”

Lance’s rapid fire garble was still sorting itself out in Betlic’s mind as Hobb backed up and slid along Squirrel’s side. Betlic felt his reins getting yanked from his grasp. “New blood dyin’s nutt’n. But de old fight’rs? A’s summin’ differnt. I got ya, Bet. Jes hang on yer rig, n I’ll keep ya steady.”

Dreng’s deep rasp reached Betlic’s ears over the increasing babble of onlookers. “Watch it, man. Bad enough I feel like a shin guard standing next to you. You don’t need to stomp me into these paving stones while I’m trying to loose Beauty’s girth band for you.”

“Sorry, Grump. Can’t see you . . . round the rigs. Not my fault . . . your so short.” Vallin’s response was breathy and panting.

“Oh sure, pick on the dwarf why don’t you? You giants need to learn how to look down.” Dreng always grumbled when distressed. Betlic’s ears took over. He heard a weak wail from two or more horns followed by heavy thudding. “By the blazing forge, who else is going to keel over in the middle of the road? Firebrand, on your feet! Get up so I can get the saddles off you and put you in the beast wagon.”

A fiery hued chestnut tricorn with his top horns and mid nose knife stuck halfway through a pasty demon’s upper body, dual hooves pulled back to free long talon pairs for slashing the demon’s grasping arms. Firebrand’s fangs were snapping at the demon’s stomach.

Kuruk was whirling his basket hilt claymore as fast as it could be swung along both of Firebrand’s sides to maim and kill any demons he could reach. No matter how fast he moved his blade, he was being overwhelmed. Three more demons were closing from the rear as Firebrand’s whip tail cracked and lashed. A furry, feline were beast resembling demon leapt over the slashing bony flat tip of the cornicus’s tail and landed on the top of Firebrand’s rump. Betlic caught a glimpse of the demon sinking black fangs into Kuruk’s thigh, claws digging into his chest and waist, thick hind legs bulging to leap off Firebrand’s haunches. Squirrel could not disengage with the demons they were fighting. Betlic felt white hot embers slide down his back and across his side as his own hand and half pair of blades met considerable resistance. Scalding heat seeped into his leather breeches. Another demon down.

“I’ve got him.” Vallin’s straining voice drew Betlic’s attention. Considering how muscular and tall Vallin Skorr was he could probably pick the injured tricorn off the ground. Though it was likely Firebrand would lift his dual hollow hoof sheaths and rake him with lethal talons over the attempt. At least Vallin could pick Firebrand up if the beast cooperated and he removed his mace and deck cleaner axe. “Eld, get Lightfoot and Thunderhead’s saddles loose. I’ll be there in a minute to fetch their packs to load.”

“Sure thing, Val.”

Dreng slapped his booted foot to get his attention. “Betlic, take Lance, Kite, Katinka, and Marcus with Master Inek into Clear Brooke to get Seth, Gill, and yourself treated. I’ll handle things here with Val and Ears help.”

A shout from the rear which sounded like Marcus had Betlic turning his head back toward the disaster behind them. “Watch out for that strawberry dappled roan quad heading this way. He’s unpredictable and might attack you beast carters. Now that his Templar’s dead, Rhapsody won’t let any of us near him. Wrath and I will deflect him.”

“Stay back. Let Vallin, Dreng, and myself handle getting Beauty, Velvet, and Firebrand in that contraption. I will deflect Rhapsody if he charges.” Eldwyn also bellowed.

“If he charges he’ll break his forelegs in that tattered mess of rags hanging from his breast band and saddle cinches.” The woman from before was arguing.

Betlic’s mind tossed the image of Rhapsody’s torn up metal chest band harness to the forefront of his memory. Half the chain linkage padding was torn from the thick metal links. Covered in old blood and trailing near the ground between Rhapsody’s fore legs. The fluttering fabric was catching on some of Rhapsody’s shin claws to make the big predator stumble. Impatient fangs and his lower jaw blades made short work of tearing the heavy fabric free from pressure pulled claws. Four horns resonated a chest deep growl as Rhapsody tore the remaining metal link protection loose. Straightening up, the chain lengths caught the edge of torn flesh and ripped another chunk of Rhapsody’s hide and muscle loose.

“I have enough magic to deal with Rhapsody if he gets surly, Marcus. I can still build barriers that he isn’t immune to.” Eldwyn’s voice drew Betlic’s mind back again. “Get Seth, Bet, and Gill into town, Inek. Go with them, Marcus.”

“Sound plan. Bet sore needs medical attention. He’s losing focus due to high wound fever. Take the twins. We’ll get these mounts sorted out.” Dreng was rumbling next to his leg.

“S’why I got ‘im.” Lance said.

Squirrel groaned through his three horns and shook his whole body which jarred Betlic’s stitches and balance. He gave his restless mount a couple affectionate slaps on the bony ridge crest even as pain scalded his senses. The buckskin had worrisome chest injuries which Betlic knew were hurting. His own bandaged torso, shoulder, lower back, and legs throbbed plus burned in a staccato beat.

Although Squirrel’s natural plating prevented deadly organ wounds, carrying weight with a slashed up chest had to hurt. The padded links of Squirrel’s own chest harness was abrading rows of claw marks last Betlic checked.

“Bet, can you make it or are your wits too addled by fever to function?” Dreng’s rumbling snapped Betlic’s eyes down to his friend and partner.

“Everyone was butchered because I noticed the danger too late, Dreng. I got too many of our friends killed.”

“Bordering delirious I see. Damned head is harder than a forge anvil today. Stayed level headed through the fight. Anyone else would have panicked and we’d all be dead right now.”

“Yeah right. I should have. . .”

“Stop with the should haves. They don’t matter. Things are grim and we all know it. We’ve a strong reputation at Clear Brooke and many a favor owed which we can collect. What we fail to sell to cover expenses can be made up soon enough by a fast courier bringing us the coin we need to settle accounts. Running Stag’s bill and the healer fees for all of us will get worked out, Bet. I swear it. Master Inek offered to cover our meals, laundry, and baths while he’s here.”

“You know best how to bargain, Dreng. Hope they don’t need to kill Rhapsody”

Dreng shook his head which made his shoulder length, mahogany braided mane slide like a pendulum. “Once your mind’s clear, we’ll talk. The gnomes will catch and cure Rhapsody, Betlic. We won’t fail him or Cliff’s memory. Get yourself, Seth, and Gill to the witches. Long Ears can keep Rhapsody calm enough until we reach Clear Brooke.”

“They’ll kill him because he’s acting so crazed. He’s hurting.”

“We’ll save him. We may have to muzzle him and boot his claws to manage it, but we will get Rhapsody home to Grace Manor, Bet.”

“The temple will enslave him again once we reach Prosperity. A shame because Rhapsody is one of the finest war steeds in Gyeteras.” Betlic felt his throat tighten as he spoke.

“We’ll face it when the time comes, Bet.” Dreng announced with steel underlying his words. “Focus on getting to the witches. I’ll take care of our mounts since you aren’t in any shape to do much right now. Whatever I don’t get done, Ears will finish.”

“Fine. I’ll see Seth and Gill bedded down in Running Stag, and the witches called. You handle the parcel selling and mount care. I’ll send a message to Aulon. We’ll get done faster if we divide the labor.”

Dreng shot Lance a concerned glare which spoke volumes Bet could not decipher. His shoulders rose and fell. “Hickory Haven for our meeting place?”

“Soun’ plan.” Lance gave a sharp nod.

Dreng slapped Squirrel’s shoulder. “Get him to town in one piece.”

Squirrel was moving so Betlic called over his shoulder, “See you at the tavern.”

“Save us a table at the Haven.” Vallin called as Hobb sidled Squirrel up to Maple’s nose. Betlic trusted Squirrel would stay with the massive draft without him having to interfere. So long as Marcus and Lance stayed close to do the actual guarding, Betlic could sort out a plan of action to keep Equinox’s honor intact.

Rough timbered long houses came abreast of their group as the trees vanished to grant access to town. Several hitching posts in front of the long houses were already half filled. Hickory Haven Tavern served hundreds per meal rush each day as best Betlic could recall. Hickory Haven was the main meal stop for most caravans for midday meal before pushing onward to Castle Ring. Or they got so far as Apple Grove Station if they left early enough. The tavern was the closest to the stone paved highway, and therefore the most convenient. Troughs and hitching posts stood five rows deep before the complex. It boasted of being the largest eating establishment outside of major metropolitan areas.

Blurring eyes made out two tall roofs which served as kitchens. Famed pit ovens and outdoor grills were protected by sturdy, sloping verandas nestled between the two kitchen buildings. Aromatic smoke coiled and whirled on a soft breeze. His stomach clenched from a whiff of roasting venison. Verandas also connected the other buildings together so that inclement weather did not spoil anyone’s meal. Serving staff were scurrying back and forth between the pit and grills, plus the kitchens. Most were laden with large trays stacked high with food, pitchers, and tankards.

The largest pair of split log long houses beckoned. A smaller building set back to the side was reserved for traders and merchants who wished to eat separate from mercenaries and guards. Best of all, Hickory Haven had a decent sized bathhouse attachment replete with private laundry service and changing quarters around back. The only establishment on the highway where travelers got a hot bath plus their clothes cleaned.

Master Inek seemed eager to reach their destination. He clucked to increase Maple’s pace. The trader would likely wish to push onward after a hot meal. If so, Betlic would forgo the bath so he could place Seth and Gill under the witches care.

Sending word to Aulon that Seth was stuck in Clear Brooke Station and needed funds came hard second. Push come to shove, Betlic could eat a meat pie in the saddle. It was possible that Dreng could arrange a storage space so that Seth and Gill could bring the tack, seeds, and farming tools home at a later date.

“Master Inek, do we head out after midday meal?”

Inek side eyed him with a deep frown. With a sweep of his hand in the direction of the long beast sheds on the other side of the entry lane. “Cornicus Master Uric Hawthorne will be furious if I don’t bring Maple in for an overnight visit. You’re in need of a break, and the witches care as well, Betlic. So Maple and I will stay put. We’re well ahead of my delivery schedule so you can get some rest and take care of your group. I’ll get the nagas quartered in Evergreen Stable for up to three days. They are in sturdy cages so Thorne won’t bicker too much about it.”

Betlic cocked his head as he looked up at the dark haired trader in his rich turquoise tunic and chocolate leather breeches. “Did not know you were on friendly terms with the Evergreen Stable Master. We usually work with Rook Ardith since most of our cornicuses come from his ranch and stable.”

“I’ve known Hawthorne since we were both clumsy youths. Maple here comes from Hawthorne’s elite heavy draft breeding program.” Inek boasted.

“A valuable beast then.” Betlic answered, trying to keep his mind focused.

“Indeed she is. Master Hawthorne breeds the finest beasts for long hauling without suffering joint fatigue syndrome. As I’m sure you noticed with how long Maple has continued to high step along despite the heavy cart she’s pulling.”

“So your mare came from his pasture lots? They say he demands a one time breeding right out of each sale. Does he truly do such?” Marcus butted into their conversation.

A side glance at the knight had Betlic lifting an eyebrow. Marcus wiggled his with a sly grin. Perhaps he had also picked up on Inek’s penchant for lecturing, fawning, or bragging so was distracting the merchant.

Master Inek was prattling away. “He does demand a spawn if the beast sold is from his elite stock. When Maple reaches ten I’ll need to pasture her for a year since she is one of his elites. Thorne and I go back a long ways as I was saying, Sir Marcus. I used to be a rein man on one one of my parents wagons. They ran nine wagons in the string. Hawthorne and I would sit in the tack shed and eat together every time my family wagons came in for the night. Hence I could buy this mare. Maple is one of the finest trained draft rams on the highways, and Hawthorne wouldn’t have sold her except she took a shine to me. You can’t go wrong with a draft ram from Beast and Stable Master Uric Hawthorne’s breeding program.”

Marcus responded, “If one has the funds to spare, the finest stock can be bought during the fairs. Most of our mounts come from the stock yards here. Most of our longest lasting mounts are Ardith Ranch trained.”

“I believe it. Your mounts have excellent conformation and heart, despite being injured. They kept a brisk pace even with terrible wounds sapping their strength. Only a truly fine trained and well bred cornicus can do such. Ardith does have the best reputation for training fighting stock from all four breeds.” Inek said. “Your quadcorn war steed is well behaved considering everything. Ardith has a knack with quadcorns. Or so I’ve heard tell.”

“Wrath was foaled in the Borderlands. Lord Garth’s breeding program before he was murdered by the treacherous Duke Bryce. So my war steed is older and well settled with me. Given time and a good partner, young Rhapsody should likewise mellow.”

“I’m not familiar with the Borderlands or Fringe cornicus breeders. Too dangerous for such as myself to ply trade out there. Need too many guards to make it worth the effort. Only twenty plus wagons in a train can expect to scratch out a profit. But I will say Wrath is impressive. He’s the largest quad I’ve ever seen.”

“Since joining Equinox, I’ve come to appreciate the Clear Brooke gnomes reputation for breeding tough fighting mounts. The quads bred here are longer bodied and not so bulky boned plated as Borderland quads. Wrath’s kin are the largest of the blood because they have to survive demon attacks and still carry riders to safety despite injuries. I noticed our riding injured beasts sits wrong with those we’ve passed on the road. Border and Fringe cornicuses are used to such trials. They are asked to carry burdens out of necessity. So I hope the stable masters here can back their rumored miracle healing as well as any Border man.”

Inek gave a sage nod. “Not just rumor, Sir knight. Hawthorne and his staff are the best beast healers in these parts. I dare say your mounts will benefit from a couple hours of Thorne’s attention. Not to mention he consults the witches as needed. Hawthorne gets help with the worst injured beasts from Crone Hilda or Dame Galiana if he believes a beast will be lost without magic reinforcement.”

Betlic interrupted, “good to know. We often use Rook Ardith’s stable, but I’m willing to try Hawthorne’s. I’ll do my best to arrange for Seth and Gill to have care, then finalize arrangements for our stock. I expect you will wish to continue our trip soon though it may mean changing out our own mounts for rented ones to see you to Prosperity.”

Taking a deep breath, he continued, “It would be nice if we could lodge at Running Stag for two nights to make sure the witches can tend all our wounds so injuries don’t render us useless later. It would grant Dreng time to possibly unload the farm goods to cover our companions and mounts care. We can send for funds to pay for everything. We can get the process started for Seth and Gill to have everything extra shipped to us once they recover enough to travel home.”

“As I said before, already planning on it, Betlic. I stay to visit with Hawthorne whenever I come through here. We can remain a full two or three days to help you settle things if you wish to continue working with me. Your companions both look worse than this morning when Vallin loaded them into the hollow beneath my bench.” Inek explained.

“Thank you. The extra time will allow me to settle things.” Betlic answered as his shoulders began to sag.

Don’t mention it, Betlic. I’d like to help get Equinox Company back on solid ground. I can do some poking around to find buyers for your unwanted farming wares or anything else you and Dreng deem necessary to sell.”

“We cannot thank you enough for caring about our welfare considering Seth’s magic and staff plus Gill’s bow, war hammer, and mace are useless to you, Master Inek.” Marcus replied.

Dreng would be unhappy if Master Inek took over selling their goods. It was a matter of pride to the dwarf that he control the Company’s funds and bartering for supplies. However, Marcus might be onto something equally vital. They might have to convince Dreng to accept aide. Well known traders had more connections than fighting forces.

“Equinox’s demon hunters are respected. Your company has done an excellent job of protecting my freight since we met in Cryslatta. You’ve fought hard despite all your injuries. More importantly you’ve done a great service to all traders and merchants across this land for near a decade.”

“It will take time to find the right people to resume such a task. I fear the demons may get a dangerous toehold again thanks to this last job.” Marcus said.

“Shame you were crippled by nefarious folks.” Inek answered in a quieter tone. “The tale of you getting double crossed spreads far and wide. People are getting angry. Equinox Company has earned everyone’s gratitude on the trade lanes. Sunny Vale is fortunate it perished. Cryslatta will feel many a merchant’s wrath soon enough. Assuming I get this particular shipment to Prosperity under the given schedule, I will take control of my family’s business. Once in control, I plan to move the family warehouses away from Cryslatta’s tax men’s clutches.”

“Sound plan. Sunny Vale’s chief lied to the Overseer Guild about the number of demons according to Cryslatta’s guild. From what we saw during our time there, I doubt the chief lied.” Marcus growled.

“Twas te poor look’n a haml’t. Fig’r de Crys Guil’ stripp’d em o der coin afor de sent out de ‘quest.” Lance added. “So Bet n Grump git seed n plow parts te sell af’er we did de job. De lies ‘n lack o hon’r is bad der.”

“Agreed, Lance. I smell deception same as you. Had we known we were facing a troop, Betlic, Dreng, and Eldwyn would have brought funds enough to hire extra fighters and still done the cleansing despite the community being so poor. We have company funds set aside to hire extra fighters when we learn about demon numbers that high.” Marcus echoed Betlic’s thoughts.

“I’ve heard said that you do charitable cleansings each year. Few mercenary bands would bother since they don’t profit.” Inek swept blue black hair away from his eyes as he spoke.

Betlic responded through clenched teeth. “Demons destroy everything, so cleansings need to be done with or without pay. Greed needs to come second to saving villages. Cryslatta Overseer’s Guild is the new epitome of greed. They forced Sunny Vale’s survivors to part with their seeds and farming equipment. We did not want their last livelihood goods, but the ten survivors have been put in chains anyway. Then the same Guild told us we could not sell anything in their city to add insult to injury.

“Dey was all fer loot’n dat town. Seem’d to be loot’n ever’ body purses round de city. Din’t find a dec’n size meal whole time we’z der.” Lance added.

A nod showed Betlic agreed with Lance. “The poor need not fear Equinox will refuse aid when demons are haunting their fields and streets. They can speak truth and expect aide no matter their situation. The message must become common knowledge for the day when Equinox has filled it’s roster nigh to forty again.”

“Don’t forget that the Overseer’s Guilds in each City Kingdom sets prices, my friends. The Cryslatta Guild most certainly demanded an impossible fortune of them long before the work came to your attention.” Inek added in a grim tone.

Marcus growled, “which is wrong. Perhaps we should ask the temples and holy orders to inform us of villages in need if they cannot afford to post a cleansing job through their Overseer’s Guild because of a kingdom’s increasing greed. People could come to us directly if they are strained of purse.”

“We are fortunate you employed our sorry remnant to get home at all.” Betlic interrupted Marcus’s tirade.

Inek waved off the comment. “Equinox badges are the best deterrent for thieves a man can secure for himself. Even injured as your members be, accosting this cargo cart has already proven deadly,” Inek answered in a conspiratorial tone. “Bandits can’t see bandages beneath clothes and maille, but you’ve done your duty better than most whole mercenaries. Plus your loose war steed has shown his fangs, claws, and talons quick enough to ensure the word’s spreading like wildfire to leave my cart alone.”

Squirrel turned into the largest stable complex’s courtyard alongside Inek’s cart. The trader’s words were true enough, but it galled Betlic that his group’s crossed sword and sorcerer staff over a demon’s skull was reduced to a ploy. As dire as some of their injuries were, their clashes with bandits could have resulted in death. He had no chance to say as much as gnomes, elves, and humans came surging forward to take their mounts.

“Where is Master Hawthorne’s Evergreen?” Inek bellowed which brought various stable hands up short. All the hands who stalled were wearing various blue, yellow, burnt orange, forest green, flame red, oak brown, or crimson dominant tunics. Burnt orange with black trim was Ardith Stable’s colors.

Betlic wavered. He knew Rook’s stable hands and prices. Yet he also owed Inek Copperwell his loyalty since he and Eldwyn accepted the emergency job. Master Inek pushed his poor ram head hard to arrive here for Equinox’s sake.

A weathered faced, bandy legged man with salt and pepper hair stalked into the courtyard with employees wearing silver and grass green tunics following at his heels. With a wave to Inek the man snapped orders and gnomes scattered to obey. The middle aged man walked closer to appraise the animals over which he was to take charge.

“Well I see you brought Maple in for a reunion, Inek.” The middle aged stable master called as he sauntered closer. “It isn’t like you to push her so hard that she’s lathered and her sides heaving like this. Your guards look like they’ve near killed their mounts defending your cargo.”

“We’ve two badly injured men laying beneath my bench seat, Thorne. A string of injured cornicuses are being brought in by foot and a beast wagon. They belong to my acquaintances here. They sore need your medical expertise. I believe you’re best able to handle demon tainted wounds.”

“What happened?” Hawthorne demanded as Inek climbed down the ladder steps he rolled out of his cart. Betlic also swung off Squirrel’s back to cling to the saddle until his head stopped spinning. Lance had a hand between his shoulder blades until he steadied. Lance crowded Betlic’s periphery as he shuffled over to Inek and Evergreen’s Stable Master.

He started evaluating the man who would take care of Equinox’s beasts. Master Hawthorne was perhaps five foot three inches, a big man for the gnome race. His longish face and deep set craggy features did not hide shrewd and concerned glints flashing in the depths of red spoked yellow eyes.

“Captain Betlic Jetren, Lance Bullard, and Sir Marcus Farcrest of Equinox Demon Hunters Company meet Beast and Stable Master Uric Hawthorne of Evergreen Stables.” Inek intoned with a hand flourish.

Hawthorne’s brows beetled as looked up at Betlic and his companions. “Rumors claim Equinox was butchered by a nest of demons. Some say Equinox is done for. But I recognize you three well enough. Same with your cornicuses. Seen them in Rook’s stalls many a times.”

Marcus growled, “try a war troop of sixty odd demons led by several greater demons and your rumors would be true. Equinox Company routed and slaughtered the troop, but paid a heavy price in the doing.”

Inek placed a hand on Hawthorne’s broad shoulder. “Old friend, their beasts have demon tainted wounds, and are in need of a true expert healer. Nineteen bad wounded cornicuses with more heart than I’ve ever witnessed outside of Maple’s. Pressing hard and fast to reach here was the only option Equinox has after enduring the unsavory business that befell them in Cryslatta. These men are proof that heart still drives Equinox. They will rebuild and keep their oaths to save lives.”

Hawthorne heaved a sigh and nodded. He pivoted on his heels and bellowed at his employees, “Get these cornicuses unsaddled and blanketed. Cool them down slow and easy. Get nineteen stalls prepped for emergency wound care. We need long shaft canvas cots to move two severely injured warriors. Move it.”

Betlic put a hand on Marcus’s shoulder to bring him back to a calmer state. “Please forgive our foul moods. We lost dear comrades, and many fine beasts because of lies.”

Hawthorne shoved his index fingers of each hand through belt loops on either side of his waist, and rocked back on his heels. “Wish I could say you were the first having such problems. Cryslatta Kingdom has gone to rot of late.”

As Hawthorne spoke a small gnome girl reached for Squirrel’s reins. She crooned as Squirrel’s long ears swiveled up, down, back, forward, and then down hard against his cheeks. “Go on, Squirrel. Let them take care of you.” The tricorn gave a short horn growl before obeying the unfamiliar stable worker.

Wrath’s talons were digging into the ground and near yanking his stable hand off his feet to get inside the stable. Epoch, Ginger, and Hobb were moving at slower paces without a fuss.

“Can we get my cart unloaded. I’ve got a live shipment this round, and two near dead men to get to the healers.”

“Yes. But I would like to know what exotic pets your moving before my stable hands go near your cart. Well, Inek?”

“Not pets. Guardian Nagas some sea faring ship captains hired for treasure escort.” Inek protested.

“Only you, Inek.” Hawthorne shook his head. “Saul, Mica, Ox! Get the cage lift and clear space in the second harness room for venomous exotics. Meet me at the North Wall.” Hawthorne gave Maple’s halter a light tug and the lumbering beast began to follow. “Lets get Maple’s cart situated where I can keep an eye on it easier.”

“Thank you, Thorne.” Inek breathed.

“Let us unload Seth and Gill before you take the cart.” Betlic stepped in the way.

“We’ll unload them, Betlic. You’re ready to drop.” Marcus growled as his palm slammed into Betlic’s chest.

“E’s right. Yer wobbl’n so migh’ drop ‘em.” Lance urged.

Rook Ardith startled Betlic by gripping his elbow. “By all the Gods of light it’s good to see you alive, Betlic!”

“We’re with Master Inek this time or I would have called for you, Rook.” Betlic felt compelled to explain.

“I’ll do what I can to help Thorne. You don’t need to worry about it. Most of your stock comes from my pastures and schooling so we will help no matter which stable holds them.” Rook’s lime and gray eyes searched his face. “You look ready to drop, man.”

Betlic turned to watch Lance and Marcus unload Seth as gently as possible. By the time they were out of the wagon the first time, two unrolled canvas carry cots were in place to rest Seth and Gillian’s bodies.

“No nest could have done this much damage to any of you!” Rook snarled as he bent over Seth.

“We were caught unaware by a full demon troop led by five greater immortal demons. Got surrounded and cut to pieces, Rook.” Betlic responded by rote.

“So I heard Marcus bellowing. Foul deeds are happening in Cryslatta these days, Betlic. It wounds my heart to see you ran afoul of the misbegotten curs now in command of that kingdom.”

One of the stable hands came to take Maple around the side of the stables so her cart could be unloaded once Lance and Marcus got Gillian onto the second stretcher.

“I’ll help get them to the witches.” Rook offered as he clasped onto Betlic’s arm even tighter.

A familiar voice cut through the air. “Slow down, Obstinate. Your going to yank Scrapper and Shadow Stalker off their feet you loony fool.”

Hawthorne headed toward the limping beasts. Eldwyn was sitting on the seat beside the team handler instead of riding Breeze. Headbutt was trotting beside Vallin with Dreng in his saddle.

The beast master held himself rigid as he watched the animals bumble closer. As Vallin reached their group, Hawthorne called his employees to take over unloading the beast wagon and walking each cornicus past him. Hawthorne scratched his chin as he appraised their injuries. The stable master’s owlish red spoked yellow eyes missed nothing, going so far as to measure how wide some of the wounds were with splayed hands. He poked his head into the front hatch of the beast hauler for several moments.

Hawthorne returned from his examination.“Some may die no matter all my skill or any others, Mister Jetren. The poison looks to have run deep in the four downed in the wagon. You will lose at least three. They were hit quite hard by foul magic, claws, and fangs it looks like.”

“Indeed. We buried most of our magic users, and fighters who rode them on the old consecrated hill overlooking Sunny Vale while the others tried to reach the medical guild in Cryslatta.” Dreng rasped. “Good to see you, Rook.”

Rook’s hawkish nose lifted as his head tilted at an angle. “Glad you’re still breathing, Dreng. I’m assisting Beast Master Hawthorne here with your animals. It’ll take two stables worth of hands and expertise to put these cornicuses back together. Even pooling our skills, Thorne’s right about some being too far gone.”

“We’re low on funds, Rook. Unless we can get in touch with Aulon and he fast couriers coin, we’re going to have to sell enough excess equipment to afford their care.” Dreng rumbled as he dismounted from Headbutt.

“Muzzle it, old friend.” Rook answered as he clasped Dreng’s forearm. “I know your beasts as well as my kin. Raised and trained almost all of them over the years.”

“Fair. We are deeply shamed over them looking such a sorry mess, Rook.”

“Hard won victories are messy, Dreng.”

Dreng held out his hand, palm facing the sky toward Master Hawthorne. “What say you we discuss the price of getting these poor steeds proper treatment? Names Dreng Ironclasp.”

Hawthorne nodded and gripped Dreng’s meaty forearm. “Beast Master Uric Hawthorne, but my friends all call me Thorne. I’ll give you a good bargain since Rook’s determined to help, Mister Dreng. Never fear Evergreen would gouge your purse. If even a fraction of the new rumors racing along this stretch of road are true, your men were sore cheated and abused by the Guilds in Cryslatta. The adventurers will no doubt make the city’s guilds wish they had done their duty by you once the truth circulates.”

Dreng nodded his assent. “By the beard of the first smith I’ll not deny it. Dreng’s fine, Thorne. Be there any farms around these parts looking for tools of their trade?”

Hawthorne blinked, brows furrowing as he side eyed Dreng. “We’ve farms a plenty in these parts. They keep Clear Brooke’s many kitchens and stables well supplied. Why do you ask?”

Dreng scratched his short trimmed beard. “In the beast wagon are huge packs which Equinox beasts were unfairly carrying. They contain dismantled farming tools, nuts and bolts to assemble them, and a variety of seeds. Such was the poor payment we were forced to accept. We cannot use any of it. I’d see our mounts rid of the weight when they head for home again. Perhaps your local farmers need or desire plow parts, hoes, rakes, and seeds if there still be time for the planting. I’m willing to haggle. Are you willing to work with me?”

“I’ll send for Squire Lister. She’ll know who needs what right enough. Some farms are still sowing crops around here. Will be for another two weeks best I know.” Hawthorne agreed. “Squire Lister does all the major trade and supply ordering for this area, so she can find homes for your wares if anyone can. With Lister’s help, I will give you fair trade, Dreng.”

“Anything which doesn’t sell to Lister, I can inquire about this evening at Hearth Shield’s main lobby.” Master Inek volunteered. “The open market tomorrow might also prove profitable to move weapons and the rest of your excess.”

“Much obliged to you both.” Dreng responded. He shifted to face their gathering team. “I’ll see to things here. Why haven’t you gotten Gill, Seth, and Betlic into beds so they can be looked after? I’ll meet you in Haven’s first long house for food once I get things sorted here.”

Eldwyn huffed, a look of disbelief loosening his jaw. “You can’t . . .”

Betlic gripped the elf’s shoulder and gave a hard shake to silence Eldwyn. The shocked look downgraded several notches but Eldwyn’s passionflower eyes remained wide. “Want us to send you some breakfast while you’re haggling, Dreng?”

Rook spoke up, “a fine idea, Bet. I’ll get things in order with speed so Squire Lister and her men won’t take up too much of Dreng’s time. I’ve enough stable hands to spare three for unpacking under Dreng’s supervision.”

Eldwyn executed a small hop and twist out from under Betlic’s grip and clapped his hands as he settled eyes on the dour looking dwarf. “Many thanks, Rook, and Beat Master Hawthorne. Let’s get Seth and Gill sorted. Dreng can manage with a good hand and face scrubbing before he eats. We’ll send him a hearty meat pie with trimmings as soon as Vallin can place the order.”

“Be sure to take all our saddlebags with you, Long Ears. Be quicker to get clean when I’m done here.” Dreng snapped the saddle bags off his shoulder and hurled them into Eldwyn’s gut.

“You got it it, Grumpy.” Eldwyn joked as he straightened back to full height.

“Vallin, get us a bathing room. You’ve been loping on and off for days. You deserve first bathing rights. See if they have something to soak your feet. Take the twins with you. They can carry our saddle bags to the bathing rooms.” Betlic suggested as he snatched Dreng’s saddle bags out of Eldwyn’s hands to hand over to Kite. He pulled too thicker silver rods from his pouch and then tossed it to Vallin. “Eldwyn, Marcus, Lance, and I will get Gill and Seth settled at Stag, and send for the healers before joining you.”

Inek lifted a hand as if to argue, but Eldwyn gave him a sharp head shake as they bent their heads closer together and whispered to each other.

“Sound plan.” Vallin croaked in his cavernous voice. “Come along twins. We’ve gear to gather.”

Instead of obeying Vallin, Katinka tapped Betlic’s arm. “Bet, don’t forget Rhapsody. Shall I bespell him to be caught easier?”

He glared down at the girl. “First of all, only sworn companions of at least three years get to use my nickname. Secondly; Vallin already has a job for you to complete. So why aren’t you following mine and Vallin’s orders, young lady?”

“I’ve got spell training. And Rhapsody’s dangerous enough to need me to offer my magic to help stop him.” Katinka snapped.

“You aren’t capable of undoing the necessary spells, you little fool. Furthermore you accepted Seth’s offer of training. Your acceptance makes you an Equinox recruit. So do your part and help Kite with the saddle bags.”

One of the Evergreen stable hands stopped beside them. “If you’ve a mount gone feral, Cleric Sedric can catch them for you.”

“Get a grasp on that strawberry dapple roan quadcorn’s hackamore to strip his war saddle to doctor his wounds, and Equinox will be eternally grateful. He’s bespelled by the Justice Templars of Prosperity. You’ll need a cleric familiar with the Order’s spells to undo the enslavement.” Betlic explained.

“If you have the Knight’s amulet, Holy Sedric can work the needed magic. We’ll catch your war steed quick as a blink,” the youthful gnome promised.

“Now there’s a show I’d love to stay and watch.” Eldwyn’s laughing voice merged with a light elbow to Betlic’s injured side.

“Let’s hope Rhapsody doesn’t kill anyone because he’s crazed by pain.” Betlic grumbled as he reached into his jerkin’s inner pocket and withdrew Sir Cliffton’s holy badge. “Will this do?

“Yes, Sedric should be able to make the proper link with this.” The stable boy snatched the necklace and raced around the stable building.

An older stable hand shaking her head stepped closer. “We’ve plenty of experience catching half feral war steeds without partners. I recognize the strawberry dappled bleeding mess near the beast wagon. With Master Rook and Holy Sedric’s help, he will be caught and doctored by midday.”

“Thank you. Rhapsody has saved all of our lives on many occasions. Failing to aide a member of Equinox is breaking our oaths to each another.” Eldwyn spoke while shoving Headbutt’s reins in her hands.

The gnome girl looked dumbfounded as she led the spiral horned pacer into the stables. Dreng was back at the wagon directing a pair of brawny humans to remove the heavy packs and saddles from the beast wagon and stow them into a pair of two wheeled barrows.

Hawthorne was working with three other men and a wheeled contraption involving a net sling to get their fallen animals out. Lightfoot was hanging in the netting. The three men pulled the hoist backwards and began rolling it to the stable doors.

“Let’s get out of their way.” Betlic said while bending over to grab the handles of Seth’s cot.

Rook pushed him aside and grabbed the handles. “Enclave or Stag? You lead the way and we’ll bring the cots, Betlic.”

“Sound plan.” Lance grabbed the other end and with a nod he and Rook lifted at the same speed.

“Stag. It’s closer.” Eldwyn answered as he and Marcus picked up Gillian’s stretcher. With Betlic leading, they wove between buildings to avoid most of the heavy foot traffic. Jaw clenching against intermittent dizziness, Betlic hurried toward the Running Stag Inn.

Although the place resembled a military barracks due to the number of men and women who needed beds each night, Running Stag was divided into rooms housing side by side beds, or different sets of bunks for each room. Some bunk rooms had as many as fourteen beds stacked along both walls. Others had as few as four to six stacked beds. Stag featured a male wing and a female bunk wing.

As they reached the stairs, Matron Matilda Everard pushed open the double doors with help from her youngest son Riley.

“Thank the Elder Gods own light you’re alive, Betlic.” The round cheeked gnome woman gushed while looking around him to see who followed in his wake. “Oh dear me, get the wounded into room six. I’ll send for the witches.” The older woman dry rung her hands on top of her apron. “Clover, fetch linen protectors to room six.”

Matilda’s slender nutmeg haired daughter leapt from behind the counter, yanking two bundles off the long shelves at her back, keys jingling in her apron pocket as she fled down the hall.

“We’re on tight funds this time, Matty. We’ll take one of your ten man bunk quarters if you have any open.”

“Bunk quarters will make it harder to care for your injured, Betlic. They will go in room six unless the Witches decide they need to be housed at the Enclave. Don’t argue.” The portly gnome’s jaw jutted forward as she glared up at him with a pointed finger ready to jab him in the abdomen.

Eldwyn intervened before he could challenge her decision. “We would appreciate it if Riley would request a witch who knows diverse demon venoms, Matty. Cryslatta’s healer guild has naught but pompous wind bags spouting nonsense. They killed several of us before we understood we wasted a fortune trying to save our own lives. We moved fast as possible to get here before the taint kills Gillian and Seth. Betlic’s bad off too. We hope we aren’t already too late.”

Matilda slapped her palms together, “Riley, fetch Crone Nelda. Tell her to bring all her demon cures with her. It’s a dire emergency.” She grabbed the second massive key ring off the side hooks attached to the counter and hurried down the hall before them. “How many do you still need to house beyond Gill and Seth?” Matilda side eyed Eldwyn as she spoke.

“Six more companions total and two recruits. So eight beyond Seth and Gill. One is Vallin. We brought a teen aged orphan girl and her twin brother.” Eldwyn answered as he followed her into the Stag with Gillian’s cot.

“Heard tell all of you were dead three days past. Word is that the Cryslatta Healer’s Hall was shipping out the last of you for burn rites. Fools were claiming Equinox got eradicated by a demon nest. Sounded queer to me since you’ve not lost to a dozen or so demons since nine years past before you got enough magic users signed on.” The buxom woman hustled behind Clover to swing room six’s door wide.

Betlic replied. “We will need time to find new members. If Seth lives, he will have to forge new mage groups into tight teams.”

“Magic flingers are competitive, Betlic. I’ll put Vallin up at Hailwick’s place. They have beds his size seeing as they cater to giants.” Matron Matilda motioned the group into the room.

Betlic had no idea how much coin and rods Dreng would bring in, or whether Aulon could get funds shipped to Clear Brooke with Prosperity’s morning couriers. It felt wrong to ask for special accommodations considering how strapped their funds were at the moment. A side by side bed arrangement was a greater silver rod and two greater silver coins per night. An eight man bunk room was three silver rods and a lesser gold coin per night. To house Vallin was a lesser gold rod and five greater silver coins per night. Even assuming Aulon would go to Grace Manor and collect the funds, it would take at least three to four days by chain stabled cornicus runners for the sum to arrive.

Matilda poked him hard enough he doubled up from pain. “Muzzle your pride, Betlic Jetren. I know you’re good for the funds so I will cover any tabs for you. Bring me the balance whenever you come this way again. Including Hailwick’s fees. The girl you brought can bunk with you in room ten since it has enough beds. Or I’ve got a trundle cot I’ll put in here if you’d rather she keep watch over Seth and Gill which is covered in the rules. You run a tight outfit and always have, so I’ll not worry about her in Equinox quarters.”

“Thanks, Matty. We’re humbled by your good faith. She can sleep in a bunk room with us.” Eldwyn inserted as he passed into the room bearing the head of Gill’s stretcher with Marcus bringing up the rear.

“You were just here with nigh on forty men and women wearing your colors and badge. Your misfortune is one of the foulest things I’ve ever heard tell. Honored Seth might as well be dressed in a blood soaked death shroud. Gill don’t look much better. I’ve no doubt you lot are bandaged under your clothes by the pain on your faces. I see you come through here several times a year injured. But you, Betlic, look the worst. Should put you in here with Seth and Gill on a trundle.”

Rook and Lance settled Seth onto the other bed as Betlic shrugged his broad shoulders and fought down a wince. “I’ll be fine in the bunk room, Matty. Got a lot to get done today so we can pay our accounts off sooner instead of later.”

Rook shook his shaggy head. “You need a bed, Betlic. Eld and Dreng look alert enough to handle things. Trust them.”

Marcus chuckled as he straightened from helping settle Gill. “You know us well, Widow Matty. Same with you, Rook. We sent Vallin to reserve a bathing room at Hickory. Master Inek insists on covering our meals, baths, and our laundry. Once we’re cleaned up, we’ll tend each other’s wounds and eat on our employer’s tab.”

“I was going to send Wulfgar to open tavern tabs for you. So tell me, where’s the sourpuss?” Matron Matilda demanded as she gripped Eldwyn’s sleeve.

“No need for a tab, Matty.” Marcus said. “But, we thank you all the same.”

“Dreng’s with Beast Master Hawthorne bartering farming goods we got stuck with for our clawed up mounts care.” Eldwyn was answering while patting her clenched fist. “Surely you didn’t think demons could kill our favorite grouch?”

Rook stepped close and beckoned Betlic to lean down. “You do know Widow Matty’s sweet on Dreng, don’t you?”

“Everyone knows but Dreng. He can’t see it, Rook.” Bet whispered.

The older cornicus breeder grinned, eyes crinkling with wrinkles. “Why am I not surprised he’s blind, Bet?” He whispered back.

“Never seen a wizard as strong as Honored Seth looking so near dead. Made me wonder if Dreng met a bad end.” Matty pulled back and smoothed her apron down. “Sir Cliffton?”

“Dead on the battlefield, Matty.” Marcus answered.

“Victoria, Handell, and Regina?”

“All ‘em ‘er dead, Wida’. Vallin ‘n Dreng er only ones missin’. De’s fine, jes busy.” Lance answered as he rolled a heavy canvas stretcher around it’s poles for easy carry. “De demons ev’n got Hellion. Ne’er knew I’d see de day she’d die. She wen’ down fight’n. Took ‘er fair share o’ dem’ns wit er.”

Marcus lifted his hand to end Matron Matilda’s interrogation. “Matty, we brought two teenage part trained magic users with us. Seth has decided to train them as a sorcerer and wizardess respectively.”

Matilda swiped her left hand across her face as she absorbed the situation described. “We faced a full war troop led by greater demons and won. The reason Equinox still won is because we’ve gained so much experience fighting nests with well ordered mixed teams. When we arrived at Sunnyvale we were caught between greater demons leading the charge from behind and in front of us. In the end, we killed a full war troop with inferior numbers. Nobody has ever done that before. The only ones not dead are a couple of the greater immortals who managed to escape once Regina and Orva were killed while Seth was drug off Epoch’s back. We found pieces enough to identify Liehdrel, but nobody knows for sure when she got torn apart. We would appreciate it if you would spread the truth to anyone who tells you our company was destroyed by a mere nest of demons, Matty. The truth needs to be shared.”

Matilda shook her head as she bent closer and smoothed back sweat drenched locks from Seth’s brow while contemplating everything revealed.

“Nobody has ever claimed to have killed greater immortals outside old legends. Honor has limits, you fools. Too many died for your lofty ideals.”

Raking his fingers through his thigh length ponytail to pull it across his chest, Eldwyn leaned against the dresser. “Seth, Regina, Liehdrel, Orva, and Abrecan combined forces and did bring down three greater demons. And they were definitely immortals, Matty. The ones to escape were in as bad a shape as Seth and Gill. I’ve never seen so much magic power piggy backed and entwined together to create a single battering ram of force such as I witnessed in Sunnyvale. If we can find more wizards and sorcerers like the ones we lost, we might even turn the tables before demons can slaughter more villages on our side of the borderlands.”

Marcus took up the tale.“He speaks the truth, Widow Matty. I saw the five form a wedge and fight the greater demons while the rest of us fought for our lives against superior numbers. We were surrounded before we understood what was happening. Even if we had known the real numbers in time, none of us can leave helpless villagers to getting tortured and eaten alive. We would have paid extra fighters and still helped Sunnyvale no matter the numbers. Equinox has always put saving lives as our first priority in the Pledge of Companions.”

“We fough’ ‘n won. None ‘zerves at kind a twisted death. Nev’r will let folk die at way if we c’n stop it.” Lance agreed as he took both wound up cloth stretchers in hand.

Matilda shrugged. “Demon hunters see how demons kill first hand. No wonder you survivors become the fiercest yet queerest brained warriors alive. Seems you lot can’t let go the hatreds and heal.”

Lance shook his head. “Twas born in de fringe, near de great’r gates. I seen dem’n kill’n as a yung’n. Can’t ne’er not hear de scream’n when I sleep, Wida.’ Got nuttin’ ta do wit hate. Jes cann’a sleep if’n I don’ try sav’n ‘em all.”

Rook spoke up. “He’s right. One in a hundred survivors become a demon hunter, Matilda. Few survivors can face demons after seeing them kill someone they know.” He pointed out. “It’s why I broadened my training program for fighting cornicuses and diversified into all four breeds instead of only focusing on tricorns and quads. I started breeding knives with the sharpest natural horns I could get my hands on. Started looking for the thickest based low horns I could find for the same reason. What they lack in natural bone armor, they make up for with speed and agility to help keep the magic users alive through evading the worst attacks. I’ve already got the best tricorn and quadcorns around these parts. I’ve redoubled my efforts to get newborn quads gentled enough to fight beside the men and women with guts enough to face demon kind without flinching.”

“I don’t understand, Rook.”

“Equinox’s determination to protect those who cannot hope to save their lives is why I’ve expanded so much over the last ten years. Betlic, Eldwyn, Seth, and Dreng’s starting vision impressed me when I first met them. Their dream isn’t about seeking glory, Matilda. Their objective is ensuring villages don’t continue to vanish from maps. Or get labeled badlands or cursed ground. They were lied to so this massacre is not about pride at all. It is about how much rot is to be found in Cryslatta and how the various Guilds in that kingdom have forsaken all honor. They have forgotten they are separate from the new rulers and their advisors.”

Matilda heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry if I jumped to the wrong conclusion. Let me open bunk room ten and get a trundle rolled in here. I’ll see to it that the witches get to Seth and Gill the moment they arrive. Strip out of your armor as soon as you get in your room, Sir Marcus. No need to wear what’s left of it around town.” Matilda tossed over her shoulder as she headed to the next room.

“Yes, Ma’am,” He answered while following her from the room and deeper into the building’s male wing. Lance headed the opposite direction, toward the front doors with Rook. Eldwyn closed the door behind himself. Betlic leaned against the wall to wait for the witches to arrive.

#Original writing #rough draft #my writing

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