the True Sequelâą to "chivalry is dead," colloquially and lovingly called "beliefs"
HERE IS THE BLOG I MADE FOR THIS AU
HERE IS CHIVALRY IS DEAD, THE FIRST FIC IN THIS SERIES
this series is very long, but i hope that doesn't deter you from checking it out! i can promise: dlamp, angst, witty humor, Shakespeare puns, sword fighting, hurt/comfort, and happy endings. eventually.
Summary: Roman is, understandably, a mess. One of his boyfriends played him like a fiddle in front of Thomas, which accidentally ended up creating a rift in their polycule big enough to tear it in half. And seven of his advisors are angry with him. Roman doesn't know where to begin fixing this situation but if it has to start anywhere, it'll likely start with himself. He just has to believe in himself, right?
But it's hard to hold beliefs when you don't know who to trust. He doesn't trust Janus. Doesn't trust Patton. Not Virgil, not Logan. Great Hades, Roman barely even trusts himself.
Long-term warnings: self-deprication, manipulation, paranoia, self-hatred, implication of self-harm (i mean, all of the advisors are semi-parts of Roman, right?), graphic depiction of violence, amnesia, swords, guns, swearing, depiction of death (place your bets for which one dies hehe. haha.)
every chapter will have their own chapter-specific warnings, too, but these are the big ones that either will be in every chapter or will appear eventually. if you're coming from AO3, you might notice that i don't warn about the death there. that is because i didn't know which warning to pick so i chose the most ominous one.
Long-term ships: DLAMP BABEYYYY YOU KNOW IT also OCxOC
Main Story Word Count: 28,243
HERE IT IS ON AO3
here are the chapters on tumblr:
1 (i wanna be like you)
2 (love is an open door)
3 (one jump ahead)
4 (whistle while you work)
5 (mother knows best)
6 (you're welcome)
7 (the mob song)
8 (prince ali)
9 (gaston)
10 (lost in the woods)
even have some floating one-shots that are....going to be VERY important to this story, so here they are
Bad Things Happen: The Most Dangerous Game (before MtB)
Scumble (takes place between chapters 5 and 6)
more to come, of course, and excited to be back on this journey with y'all!
i realize....i've posted art of everyone of course, but i don't know that i've ever made clear what everyone looks like by the time more than beliefs is happening? so here's a bit of an updated design look! some of these have been posted i think but i'm not certain.
from right to left, we have draco "the dragon," phillip "the damsel" or "the prince," eric "the thief," gavin "the child," cadence "the bard," macbeth "the director," david "the artist," and marlowe "the playwright."
the style is a bit inconsistent because i drew everyone's outfits and such on different docs. i was compiling what they looked like in different aus, then i pulled all of the same au ones into a doc together, but i didn't like. size match or make sure the line coloring was consistent.
A/N: well, howdy :^) long wait, i lost my job and got a new one in between, but im glad to be back on this! i finally finished a future chapter, so now i get to publish this one <3 and i get to write the real drama lol
WARNINGS: i think there's one injury but beyond that, there's just a lot of tension and some of the consequences of violence in previous chapters. honestly not much that warrants warnings for in this one.
Words: 6,424
here it is on Ao3!
here are the MtB masterpost and the full Chivalry series masterpost!
hope you enjoy :)
It should have been nearing daybreak, Logan thought, watching the sky. He was holding onto Pattonâs waist, Virgil holding his arm and one of the Dragon Witchâs back spines. The Thief and the Bard were seated in front of them, both holding onto one of the Dragon Witchâs spines as well. Before them, the Dragon himself was carrying the Damsel and the Artist, who had made himself a shotgun. It kept shifting into a 30âs style Tommy-gun, though. Logan had a hunch he couldnât decide on which weapon.Â
âHere,â the Dragon Witch hissed.Â
She gestured her head towards a patch of land, right at the ledge. Near the end of the river, actually.Â
The Dragon grunted in agreement and landed first, letting the Damsel and the Artist slide off before changing and hustling out of the way to give her a landing spot. While she let them off her back, the Damsel peered over the edge. The Dragon kept his hand on the Damselâs shoulder, bracing him in case.Â
They were creations, after all. It wasnât clear what would happen to the Sides if they were to fall into the Subconscious, the terrifying rift beneath even the Imagination, far enough from Thomasâ mind that he couldnât ever reach it (hence the name) but all creations that Thomas thought less about were swept below. Thatâs what Remus had explained.Â
Remus had elected to just meet them there, and thatâs what he did, appearing around the Dragonâs back near the edge. It was likely he hadnât known about the border dweller either, since they lived on Romanâs side. Just barely.Â
âHow did you meet this person again, Vi?â the Thief asked, gently wiping his sword on his leg.Â
The Dragon Witch changed back into her human form, hands folding neatly in front of herself. âI had been cleaning my wounds after one of Roman and Iâs scuffles when I saw him. He has an entrance below the cliff.â She pointed down.
âYou and Roman fight?â Logan asked.Â
âHeâs got an entrance where?â the Bard asked.Â
The Bard blinked, stepping back and gesturing forward for Logan to ask his question. Acquiescing to him.Â
The advisors had been doing that more. Asking him things. Giving him room to talk.Â
Last Logan remembered, the advisors were usually reflective of how Roman perceived him. Logan pocketed the analysis but he was still surprised to be deferred to so many times. It was like Roman listened to him. But that couldnât be right. Especially not after this morningâs argument, when Roman sprinted out rather than let him finish.Â
Or â and Logan hadnât considered this at first, but the more he thought of it, the more it seemed plausible â Roman was so upset because he took Loganâs word seriously. So Logan telling him that his ego was too bigâŠmeant something to him. And Logan didnât know how to feel about that, knowing that his words held that much weight. He wasnât really used to it.Â
âSorry,â Logan still said, and the Bard waved his hand.Â
âNope, no worries!â he hummed, and when the Thief called the Bard closer to the edge, he followed.Â
Hm.Â
Logan cleared his throat and looked back at the Dragon Witch, who nodded slowly. She was still somewhat difficult to read. She reminded him, a little, of Patton.Â
âYes. Someone has to train the Prince and the Duke in their ways.â She clicked her claws together. âI was made to help guide them. Made to be a guide, by them. And sometimes that involves a spar or two.â
Remus interrupted now, patting the Dragon Witchâs arm in a familiar way. She reached over, gently rubbing his shoulder. Her size meant her hand nearly engulfed his entire upper arm, though. A little intimidating.Â
âBrother dearest and I have made a lovely little family ever since we Split,â he chirped, grinning ear to ear. âIn here, itâs just been Roman, me, and Mommy here.â
Patton cringed and the Dragon Witch herself sighed. âRemus,â she snapped.
After the fourth âMommy,â Virgil shoved Remusâ arm, and he laughed even louder. At least Virgil was chuckling, too, and the Dragon Witch was hiding a grin behind her hand. With her other hand, she gestured toward the ledge, and the advisors hurried toward it. Logan followed quickly, not wanting to follow Remusâ shenanigans, and once Remus followed Logan, Virgil was close behind.Â
Patton hung back, one hand gripping either end of his cardigan in a nervous way. This whole situationship was nerve wracking and he had a few questions for the Dragon Witch. But he didnât really know where to start.
He cleared his throat and tried, though. âSo youâre pretty familiar with Roman and Remus, yeah?â
âI am,â she seemedâŠnot cold, but guarded. Patton wondered what she thought of him. Both of the twins had pretty strong feelings about him, after all, in completely opposite ways.Â
Patton scratched the back of his neck, watching Logan talk quietly with the Damsel as they looked over the edge. The Bard approached and the Dragon wrapped his tail around the Bardâs waist as he, too, leaned over the edge to look for the entrance. They were all careful and not at the same time.Â
Suddenly, Pattonâs stomach felt tight. There was a lot he could have done to be more careful. Should have done. Should do. He wanted Thomas to be the best person he could be and he knew that, because that was one of Thomasâ wants, it was something Roman pushed himself to do, too. But he didnât even know what made someone a good person.Â
Roman staked his whole good-twin-evil-twin dynamic on Pattonâs rights and wrongs. But Patton didnât know what was right. What was wrong.Â
And Remus seemedâŠRemus cared. A lot! About Roman.Â
Patton wanted to ask the Dragon Witch about what Roman and Remus were like. About what heâd missed. But there must not be enough time right now for that conversation.Â
No wonder no one took him too seriously. He didnât think he could handle it, in all honesty. To be taken too seriously.Â
So now Patton was here.Â
Standing in front of his ex-boyfriendâs actual self-made mom.Â
Surrounded by his other ex-boyfriends.Â
Wondering if he was even good enough at his job to be worth it, let alone a good enough person.Â
Golly gee. He hadnât meant to get that deep!
âSo,â he started. And stopped again.Â
This must be awkward. He knew what he wanted to say but he didnât know how to put it into words. He swallowed and began again. âYou did a good job. Raising them and all. Roman isâŠa very good person.â
The Dragon Witch huffed, shaking her head. âI taught them how to fight. And gave them a place to keep talking to each other. What makes Roman a good person is his desire to be one, and thatâs all,â she argued softly.Â
âMhm.â Roman did just want to be a good person, right. âBut thanks forâŠthanks for taking care of him. And Remus.âÂ
There was a lump in Pattonâs throat stopping him from admitting the final thing. The final part that really, really made it hurt. The part he failed at.Â
The unspoken words must have gotten through somehow, because the Dragon Witch chuckled. Her smile was slight, but the sound she made was guttural, like it came from deep within her stomach. She lifted a claw and lightly dragged it along Pattonâs forehead, brushing some of his hair out of his face, and with one click of her claws again, pushed his glasses up for him.Â
âYouâre too hard on yourself, Morality,â she hummed.Â
Well⊠âGolly,â Patton smiled a bit, and it must have been more of a grimace, because hers tightened ever so slightly, too. âIâve never been told Iâm too hard on myself, more of a softie and all.â
He patted his chest to enunciate the joke and she sighed â maybe he laid it on too thick.Â
âButâŠthanks. In all truth, I donâtâŠeveryoneâs all mad at Janus and, well. Heâs been a bit of a spoilsport while trying to make his points. But I feel likeâŠI donât know. I let Roman down,â Patton fixed his glasses again slowly, watching everyone examine the border.Â
The Bard gestured for the Dragon to hold his waist, said something Patton was a little too far to make out, and then the Artist created a rope. They got to tying the rope to the Bardâs waist so he could be lowered down. As tall as he was, he was still the lightest of them all, it seemed.Â
Logan was directing the group, explaining how to make a pulley for the Artist, while Virgil fussed over making the Bard the best harness.Â
The Dragon Witch hummed beside him. When Patton looked up, he saw her watching the group as well, idle thought written across her face. The ends of her scarf were dancing in the breeze behind her and it must have been pinned impeccably for it to not come undone in the whipping wind.Â
âPerhaps you did. Perhaps everyone did. But disappointment is not the end of the world. In fact,â she glanced back down at him with a shrug. âIt can turn into a new opportunity, if taken wisely.â
âLikeâŠa second chance?â Patton asked.Â
The Dragon Witch grinned. âYou could call it that.â
It hurt. Disappointing people, upsetting people, making the people he loved sad always hurt. But it was just as important for him to not forget that he had another opportunity.Â
Patton nodded, turning her words around in his head. âThank you, Vi. That was really nice to hear,â he said.
All sincerity. No jokes to be had.Â
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile, too.Â
âHoly fuckâEric!â the Bard shouted.Â
The duo turned their full attention back to the group as the Thiefâs cloak flapped once more, falling over the edge. Patton yelped, hurrying forward. The Dragon lunged forward, too, almost letting go of the rope holding onto the Bard.Â
Still, the Thief seemed to have jumped with a purpose. He landed on a ledge, skillfully. Knowingly?
He was looking all around the cliff face, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Virgil bent down, kneeling on the ground to watch him. He quickly leaned back when a bit of the ground crumbled beneath one of his hands, but the Damsel grabbed the back of his hoodie with an open hand.Â
âWhat the fuck are you doing?!â Virgil shouted at him.Â
The Thief looked up. There was terror in his eyes for sure, but not just of the cliff.Â
âIâve been here,â he shouted in response.Â
The Bard made a face, eyebrows pinching in confusion and anger. âHow the hell have you been here?âÂ
âIâve â here,â the Thief slid to the side, gripping onto the wall on holds and stabbing his feet into holes thatâŠ.he must have known were there. âJump where I just was. The entrance is on that platform.â
With one of his legs, he pointed down, toward a platform that was just far enough down to seem like ground. To not seem like a platform at all, other than how the Thief had called it.Â
This was risky. Patton glanced at the Dragon Witch, who watched the advisors move with her lip bitten. He wished theyâd all had more time together. If sheâs important to Roman and Remus, then sheâs important to her, a member of the family, and he wished he got to catch up some more. He wonders what the advisors are, to her. This must seem extra dangerous.Â
âHere,â the Dragon took the rope from the Artist with both of his hands, tail leaning back as a counter weight, as did his wings. âIâll hold on, Cadence. You get onto the ledge and once youâre on the platform, untie yourself. I can fly myself and Philly down but everyone elseâs gotta climb. The platformâs too small for me to be full dragon.â
âI wonder if thatâs on purpose,â Logan murmured. âVi, you said this advisor, thisâŠDirector. He seemed paranoid?â
The Dragon Witch nodded. âYesââ
âSorry, Scary Godmother, but can I ask for a bit of quiet? I need to focus,â the Bard called out.Â
He was already climbing down to the other platform that the Thief had just jumped to. And he wasnât the most acrobatic of the advisors, not known for literal parkour like the Thief was, so these were some tricky maneuvers.Â
It got the Dragon Witch to quiet up and there was a brief moment of tense silence as the Bard climbed onto the first platform. He brushed himself down and watched the Thief â whoâd waited, holding onto the cliff as the Bard reached solid ground â as he shuffled to the side and then literally, again, jumped. Onto the final platform.Â
Once on the final platform, the Thief walked forward, disappearing briefly into what must be a cave before walking back out. âItâs right here, and thereâs enough room once everyoneâs on. Itâs just a hard jump,â the Thief lifted his arms, pointing to the holds he had just been on. âGrab there and shuffle to the side. Iâll tell you when to jump.â
The Bard shifted his ukulele behind himself and puffed up his cheeks. They were both stressed about this. He was trying to focus and the Thief was just stressed, point blank.Â
âYouâve got this, Cadence,â the Artist called from the top. âIâll go after you.â
The Bard looked up at them, giving a quick thumbs up to the Artist before reaching for the first hold.Â
He tried not to think of how far the fall would be as he shimmied, keeping on the front of his heeled shoes. The Subconscious looked like nothing because it was nothing, it was a pitch dark void of nothing and it was every color imaginable. It was everything and nothing all at once because thatâs exactly what it was, the lack of thought.Â
He tried not to think about how actually slippery the dirt was under his hands. How there was dirt that was going to get under his nails. Heâd just done them a few days ago, gotten them done at some place in the cityscape daydream with the Playwright and the Damsel.Â
Oh, fuck, he just tried to think about the Thief below him.Â
âYouâre good there, Den. Jump and you should be good,â the Thief shouted.Â
The Bard didnât hesitate another second before jumping. The holds werenât exactly over the platform so he was jumping sideways, beneath the waterfall created by the river flowing over.
He had one leg on the platform and that was enough for the Thief to grab his shirt, then his arm, and yank him fully on.Â
The Thiefâs arms wrapped around his waist and the Bard pressed his face into the Thiefâs hood.Â
Oh, god.Â
The Thief pressed his lips against the Bardâs head, kissing him messily and whispering, âYou did it, Den. You got it.â
âHow the fuck do you do that every day,â the Bard hissed into his neck, letting out quick, adrenaline-filled breathes.Â
The Thief laughed, and the Bard held him tighter.Â
âAre you two good?â the Dragon shouted.Â
They should get up. The Thief helped the Bard up, gently helping brush the dirt off his dress before signaling up. âWeâre good! Gonna untie the rope and step back.â
The Artist climbed down next, realizing halfway through that he could create a slightly bigger platform for himself. He couldnât redirect the water too much and he didnât want the platform hitting the waterfall, but it was just big enough that his jump was much easier. He scrambled up besides the Bard, hugging his arm, and the Thief threw the rope back up for Logan.Â
âThis is so fucked up,â Virgil groaned. âOh my god.â
âAre you coming with us?â Patton asked the Dragon Witch, who put her hand on her chest.Â
âMe? Oh, no, I donât think I should. I imagine youâd want someone watching from up here,â she said.Â
She brushed her dress down and stretched her wrists, watching Logan slowly and methodically climb down.Â
âCouldnât you just create stairs?â he asked the Artist.
There was a pause, and then a laugh. âShit, you right.â
âDAVID! YOU MADE ME CLIMB THAT SHIT!âÂ
âHEY-HEY, I CLIMBED IT TOO! DONâT HIT ME!â
âHit him harder.â
âWHAT THE FUCK!â
Logan sighed. The Bard had smacked the Artist over the head as he laughed, a small delay before he waved his hand and a stairwell popped itself out of the stone cliff face. He even made a railing on the other side, boxing Logan in so he wouldnât fall. It was at a weird angle to get to the platform, but at least it was safe.Â
The stress must be taking the edge off his critical thinking. That would make sense. Once he reached the platform, Logan gently patted the Artistâs shoulder, and the Artist waved him off with a tired grin.Â
âSorry about that,â he said.
âItâs alright. I should have suggested it earlier,â Logan countered, but the Artist shook his head.Â
âNah. Glad you brought it up now. I canât even imagine Pops trying to make that jump.â
True to form, Patton managed to trip on the safe stairs, and Virgil kept him upright until they were on the platform.Â
With stairs present, the Dragon and the Damsel just followed last. The Dragon opened his wings near the back for the cliffside wind to buffet. Once they had descended, the Artist handed everyone flashlights heâd made and he flicked his own on the entrance.Â
The light shone on the Thief, whoâd moved closest to the caveâs entrance. Despite being carved into the side of a cliff, the cave itself looked very unnatural. The walls were uncharacteristically smooth, dark grey with cuts of white quartz sparkling in the light. At some point further within, the Artistâs flashlight illuminated a wall at the back of the cave with two directions splitting off. On the wall were cuts in the stone, barely visible. Two arrows pointing either direction. One, the one on the right, had a slash through it.Â
âIâve been here,â the Thief repeated, pointing toward the cave. âI made those cuts.â
The Bard was besides him, holding his shoulder with one arm. It must be grounding in some way, because the Thief was still shaking in his arm.Â
âWhen?â the Bard asked.Â
âInâŠIâd have nightmares. I thought they were nightmares. Of a maze. Sometimes there was a guy telling me to get out. But there was always a maze. And Iâd solve it, and itâd change,â the Thief explained. âThatâŠI thought they were dreams, but it must have been the Director.â
âItâs beyond weird to have a maze as your foyer,â Virgil grunted. âWhatâs the point?â
âWe didnât try any other method of getting in. Itâs possible other entrances are laden with traps and the only way to truly enter is the maze,â Logan suggested, gesturing toward the maze. âI assume thereâs no light inside?â
The Thief shook his head. âNo. I sleep with a short sword, thatâs how I made the marks, butâŠwell, sometimes there are torches. ButâŠâ
Now, he tilts his head, rubs his forehead.Â
None of them had slept. The Dragon, Bard, and Artist had searched through the night. The Damsel had been thinking. Virgil and the Thief had been looking for the Child, and Logan, Janus, and Patton had waited for them at the Tree. Suffice to say they were all tired.Â
And the sun was just breaking. Logan could see the sky changing color, a bright glow coming from the east. After they settled here, they should regroup and rest.Â
âI met him. Heâd come and taunt me,â the Thief explained with a sigh. âBut it alsoâŠfelt like he was afraid of me. Even though like, he was the one bringing me here, making me run this circuit. I donât know.â
The Bard squeezed him tighter and the Thief gently patted his arm. He leaned his head against the Bardâs shoulder with a slow exhale. To the Thiefâs other side was Virgil, who was staring into the lit cavern, eyes trailing over the rock.Â
It was manipulative. Felt pretty stereotypically evil to have a rock maze, but Virgil had learned that no one here was really a stereotype.
âDid he ever introduce himself?â he asked.Â
Maybe it wasnât just the Director they were going toward.Â
The Thief nodded. âYeah, but not by the Director. He said his name was Macbeth.â
âMaybe thatâs his name,â Patton suggested.
âHe said he was one of us, but IâŠI always thought it was a dream. So I didnât take it seriously.â The Thief gestured forward. âMacbeth would make me find my way out. Maybe he was dropping me in the center.â
âIt would be very-very opportune of him to have dropped you at h-at his own house,â the Damsel warned. âAnd this is a labry-lab-laâŠlabyrinth. I imagine there are traps inside.â
The Thief snorted. âCrazy shit, if thatâs his security system. Why me?â
To that, the Damsel just shrugged. Hard to know for sure without knowing more about him, but if the Director is that paranoidâŠhm.Â
Logan did enjoy puzzles and mazes were no exception, but this was more dire than he could normally stomach. There was one more option, though if thisâŠDirector were making sure every counter was accounted for, then it might not work. But it was worth a try nonetheless.Â
âBefore we truly enter,â Logan interrupted, holding a hand out as the Damsel tried to enter the maze. âDavid?â
The Artist had been staring into the darkness of the entrance, face set in a slight scowl. Otherwise blank. For such an animated man, the lack of reaction was harrowing at best.Â
âYeah?â he sounded tired.Â
âIs there any way for you to manipulate the maze?âÂ
Patton gasped. âOh! Yes!âÂ
The Thief perked up, too, and all eyes quickly turned to the Artist. Who just sighed.Â
His disappointment was obvious in his tone, waving his hand, fingers tense. âIâve been trying. Since we got to the platform, realized it was a maze. But none of the changes are sticking. ItâsâŠâ
Now he rubbed the back of his neck, tugging a little at the fabric of his hoodie. âIt feels like thereâs someone else resetting all the changes. I think this guy can manipulate the environment.âÂ
Inopportune and unideal.Â
âThat makes sense,â the Bard murmured. âI donât imagine he carved out a whole maze by hand. Thisâ gonna be a whole heck of a rabbit hole.â
âWell!â The Artist snapped and waved both his hands, as if to cut off any other conversation, then pointed back into the cave. âThisâ the only thing weâve got. And if this dudeâs crazy enough to have kidnapped Roman, Marlâ, and Gavin, and he makes a habit of kidnapping Eric of any of us, then we really have to get in there. None of us are happy with Janus and I donât think this Director Macbeth guyâs gonna be any nicer to him.â
His outburst quieted the Bard, though the Thief and Virgil both glared at him for it. Patton held Virgilâs arm in surprise as well. Logan simply crossed his arms; displays of aggression like this werenât going to phase him. The Damselâs lips were pursed but the Dragonâs tail wrapped around his hand with a tight squeeze. He looked back, to make sure the Sides were accompanying them before motioning forward.Â
âWell, Eric. You seem to know this place the most. Lead the way,â the Damsel suggested.
And the Thief did, starting into the maze slowly. It was much easier to navigate with flashlights and especially easier since the Thief had already navigated it a few times. Some of his markings were gone, and he used his sword to carve in more arrows, cross out paths that were deadends or led in circles. Logan suggested the lack of markings meant the paths had been changed in those locations, because there were still some turns where arrows and âXâs were present.Â
It was a circle, Logan noticed. He was keeping a mental map of the maze and path that theyâd been taking, holding Patton with one arm (Patton was clinging to his arm like no other, shying away from the dark) while the other kept up a flashlight. At some point, he took out the Playwrightâs blank notebook and began writing what he thought the maze was, based on the routes they were taking.Â
They had been wandering for about five minutes when they triggered their first trap. The hall looked the same as the others, but the Dragonâs wing scraped against both sides of the wall as they walked. One side pushed inward with his wing â he recoiled them back but it was too late, and dozens of openings opened on both walls.Â
âDarts!â the Damsel called out, hand slamming against Loganâs back to shove him down.Â
Logan pulled Patton down, and the Thief grabbed the Bard and Virgil, pulling both down. He threw his cloak over both of them as well and, as the darts hit, they just bounced off. Whatever the cloak was made of, it was puncture proof.Â
In front of them, the Dragon grabbed the Damsel, but the Damsel drew his sword and swiped at some of the darts coming toward them. Somehow, he cut a flurry in half. The pieces bounced off Loganâs back and rolled down. One went through the edge of the Dragonâs wing and he growled in pain, but the Damsel had prevented any from hitting his body.Â
âWell,â Virgil said, poking his head out.Â
No more darts were flying at least. It must be the end of the trap.Â
The Damsel re-sheathed his sword, the solid coating returning as he leaned against it as his cane again. He turned to the Dragon and motioned to see his wing; as the Dragon opened it, more careful now of the walls, they could see trickles of blood from a small hole.Â
âIt isnât that bad,â the Dragon mumbled, but the Bard cut him off with a small scoff.Â
âDonât even worry, Dragon Tale, Iâve got you,â the Bard promised, taking out his ukulele as he did.Â
He strummed once, twice, just getting a feel for the tuning, before he began humming a small melody. And once he did, the Damsel nodded forward. âLetâs keep going, while the Bard works.â
The Bardâs song echoed around the stony corridor as the group marched onward, the Thief leading the way with his flashlight and sword raised. There were some walls with tick marks, arrows cut into the stone. Each one reminded him of having run the gambit around this place in his pajamas.Â
It had felt like a vivid nightmare, but he was prone to those. Roman himself didnât produce many nightmares, and those he did make sure as fuck didnât come from the Artist or Playwright. The Thief was worried that it was abnormal to be making nightmares, but it was never something he actually made. More like something he experienced. He usually chocked it up to living near Remusâ side.Â
Remus himself was fine. He actually hadnât followed into the maze with them, electing to stay on the surface with the Dragon Witch. It was nice to have back-up like that. The concept of what Remus represented put the Thief on edge, though. He was glad Remus wasnât here because he knew Remus could instigate with Roman sometimes, when Roman wasnât feeling too good. And this whole situation reeked of Roman feeling not great.Â
They didnât spring another trap, though the Thief found a few. A trip wire that he shone his light on and warned everyone about. A crack in the ground that looked like it would open up beneath them, if too much weight was on it. They crossed that one at a time, until the next seam in the floor.Â
It was maybe twenty minutes of walking before things changed. And that thing was the humming.Â
The Bard heard it first. He stopped walking, shushing the Thief as he began to ask what was wrong.Â
âStop,â he whispered, and everyone did.
Everyone was quiet for a beat. Then, Virgil heard it. And Logan.Â
âSomeoneâs singing?â Patton asked, frowning at the Bard as he nodded forward again.Â
âI think itâs coming from the left?â the Bard suggested.Â
The Thief shone his light toward the fork in the maze, looking down the left path. There wasnât any arrow so it must be a new addition. And they didnât have much else to go on.
âI agree. Itâs definitely coming from the left,â Logan murmured.Â
He had his eyes closed, focusing on the sound. It was familiar. But was it Roman? Or some other sound? Was it the Playwright?Â
The Thief led them left, the Bard close behind him, peeking around the walls, just in case. And the humming got louder and louder. Until it stopped abruptly near another fork in the road.Â
Inopportune. They were vehemently against splitting up, that felt like itâd fuck them up horrendously. Logan had suggested they not at the beginning, when Patton and the Artist wanted to take separate routes on a fork. It would be best that they face the unknown as a unit in this situation. If they found the Child, for example, the Thief would want to be there. They would all want to be there if they found Janus or Roman.Â
âThief? Eric?â
The Thief whipped around toward the right-hand of the fork, shining his flashlight. His eyes were wide in surprise.Â
Janus was sitting on the ground, legs crossed. He was missing his hat, cape, and gloves â ah, the gloves were just on the ground beside him â slowly, he stood up. Between him and the group was a set of metal bars, like a cage. Like this part of the maze had been caged off just for him, because it had been.Â
âJanus?â Patton hurried forward, past the Thief.Â
He put his hands on two of the bars, pressing his face against one. Virgil hurried beside him, inspecting Janus with his flashlight.Â
âAre you hurt?â Virgil asked. âDid he hurt you?âÂ
Janus shook his head. His eyes were wide in surprise and fear. Something must have happened.Â
âNo. No, he didnâtâhe has a gun. And I donât know how to get out, I-he dropped me from the ceiling. Itâs the Director,â Janus scooted closer, gripping one of the bars with his hand. âHe has everyone here.â
âDid you see them? Did you see Roman?â Virgil asked, and Janus shook his head again.Â
âNo, the Director-He got rid of me as soon as he could.â
The Thief whistled, and the Damsel elbowed him in the side.Â
âPar for the course. You donât have a lot of fans this side of the Imagination,â the Artist mumbled, looking around at the bars. âI think-Eric, how much farther do you think weâve gotta go?â
âI donât know. Weâre right near the middle, I think.â The Thief glanced at the wall inside the cage, then frowned. âHang on. That mark on the wallâŠâÂ
Janus looked backward at a deep, single divot in the wall beside him. Patton and Logan turned too, while the Thief pointed at it.Â
âThatâs the end. I did that one, heâd been standing there and I went with my sword,â the Thief explained.Â
âYouâve been here before?â Janus asked, for clarity, but Logan waved his hand before more exposition could be given.Â
âThatâs a very long story, and if this is the end of the maze â David,â he straightened up when Logan called his name. âDo you think you can you get rid of the bars?âÂ
The Artist grimaced, but with a wave of his hand, the bars sank back into the ground. They must not be as permanent as the rest of the maze. But stillâŠit might be alerting him. With that barrier gone, Patton leaned in and scooped Janus into a hug. They both shimmied out, closer into the group, as the Bard and Damsel peeked in the other direction.Â
For the first time in a long time, Janus returned the hug, hands gripping the back of his jacket. Getting shot wasnât high on his list of things heâd wanted to experience and he had a brush with it today, having a gun pointed at him and all. It was easy to shelve the fear in the moment, lying through his teeth about not being afraid, but now that he was here, now that he wasnât going to die, he was with everyone elseâŠ
Virgil also put a hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing him as Logan continued to direct. He leaned to look at Janusâ face, only to find his eyes closed tight. A few of his scales near his eye wereâŠhis eye was swollen. That entire side of his face was swollen, like someone had hit him. Hard.Â
His stomach tightened in anger, pure fury. Of course Janus lied about it.
The bars rose back up like a claw only a few moments after Janus vacated. Whoever this Director was, he seemed to have control of the environments here, and the Artist scoffed angrily when it moved.
âAre you going to be able to take down the wall?â Logan asked, gesturing to the wall before them, right outside the bars.Â
âI should, but I donât know how deep in it goes. I donât know whatâs like, around here or anything, thatâs stuff Marlâ would know,â the Artist explained. âBut like, we could demo it. I can make a bomb. If we do something that actively breaks it rather than justâŠâÂ
âA bomb might cause a cave in. Could you make a mallet? Something to break down the rock.â
There was a soft popping noise. Janus had come to recognize that was the sound of creation.Â
Interestingly, the Director hadnât made anything, not from what Janus could see. Heâd changed the terrain. Janus had slammed his head into part of the stone tube while sliding into his rocky cell and he was developing a headache. Heâd also landed hard on one of his arms, he didnât know how mobile his wrist was. Last time, when he got out unscathed, was seeming like a fluke.
A part of him had hoped that heâd get to talk to Roman, even fleetingly.Â
Apologize without anyone else there. Where they could talk. It was becoming very obvious that no part of Roman wanted to talk with him, though. Maybe heâd burned the bridge too far. Too much ash.Â
âDraco, youâve got a meaner swing. Think you can take it down?âÂ
A barking laugh. âIâd fuckinâ love to. Give it here.âÂ
Virgilâs hand tugged backward and Janus opened his eye again. His other eye was swollen too much to be very useful. It might be smart to ask the Bard for merciful help but he couldnât stomach it right now. âGet out of the way,â Virgil murmured. âOver here.âÂ
Janus stumbled after him, held up by Pattonâs tight, surprisingly strong arms. He felt a little ragdoll-esque.Â
Logan had taken command and it was surprising, just how much everyone listened to him. It was validating, in a way, and worrying. Roman listened to him, despite everything. That must be what got them in this mess, at a deeper level, but it meant he could be given an explanation. He could take space to explain and maybe that might help. Roman could maybe hear it from him.Â
For the time being, Logan just stepped toward the mark in the wall, denoting the end. âI think we should start directly on the mark,â he said, gesturing to it. âDavid, can you bring the bars down again, please?âÂ
The Artist hummed, waving his hand again. The bars sank down.Â
âI can probably hold them down while we do this, but he might notice weâre holding them,â he suggested, and Logan nodded.Â
âThat shouldnât matter too much after Draco knocks the wall down,â he explained.
The Artist and the Dragon followed, with the Thief nearby. The Damsel was the one leaning closest to the other Sides while the Bard idly plucked one of the strings of his ukulele, watching cautiously. If anything were to go wrong, he could block with a shield, maybe. Janus didnât look in any real condition for a fight and none of them wanted the Sides in an altercation.Â
âWhy on the mark?â the Thief asked. âItâs just where I swung.âÂ
Logan was happy to explain. âIf Janus did indeed go straight into the Directorâs room, then it stands to reason that the Director would spit him out besides his room. If he can change the terrain, he would just have to morph the wall into a door.âÂ
He leaned over, knocking on the wall, and pursed his lips. If he was wrong, they might indeed need dynamite, but for right nowâŠ
âIf this is where the end of the maze is and where he chose to house Janus, it may be the closest point to his actual house. He likely has another hidden front door that he hides using his terrain-adjusting abilities, but it would be easier to adjust as little terrain as possible, to conserve energy, act fast and make maintaining all of this space more efficient,â Logan rubbed his jaw as he spoke, finishing with a shrug. âThatâs my hypothesis right now. If Iâm wrong, then we may need dynamite, but we should start with the mallet first.âÂ
The Dragon grinned, a little wild and angry, and he lifted the hammer with both hands. âIf you say so, Logan. Yâ might wanna take a step back.âÂ
Ah, right. The Artist and Logan both took a few steps back, Logan putting an arm out in front of the Thief. They all kept backing up as the Dragon wound up, one hand near the middle of the hammer, the other choking up the handle.Â
He squared his stance and reeled back.Â
As he swung, he beat his wings, too, to increase momentum. And the hammer pushed straight through the wall.Â
There was a scream from the other side of it.Â
A very familiar scream.Â
And then the Artist screamed, too, rushing toward the new hole.
i posted the full note on Ao3, but i got some very kind comments in the past few months and it's made me emboldened to actually post... i hope you enjoy <3
WARNINGS: suicidal ideation, general violence, illness (migraines), gun violence
Words: 8,258
here it is on Ao3!
here are the MtB masterpost and the full Chivalry series masterpost!
enjoy!!
âIs there anything we should prepare? For Gavinâs arrival,â the Director asked.Â
Heâd made a new room, empty, with tiled flooring and normal limestone walls. It was an offshoot from the living room, but he hadnât known what to put inside it. What tools do you need to kill an advisor?
Roman was standing in the doorway and he didnât know, either, frankly. Heâd never thought heâd have to kill someone.Â
âProbably a bed. Or like, a table,â Roman didnât know what he was doing. All imagination and all creation was doing something that felt right. He was the authority on it, yeah, but he was just winging it.Â
If he was going to sever his connection with the Child, it felt like it had to happen on a table. It felt medical, almost. Like surgery. Cutting a tumor out of someone, removing something.Â
Plus, if he fought back, then itâd make it easier to hold him down.Â
Roman hoped he wouldnât fight back, but he didnât know. He couldnât predict how the Child would react to the news. He could predict how he felt about it and could only hope that that was how the Child would feel, too.
There was the sound of a door closing out in the living room. Roman jumped, but the Director just hurried out toward the door. It was the sound of the Playwrightâs trapdoor closing; they must be back.Â
Sure enough, the Child and the Playwright were standing in the living room. The Childâs hand was balled up in the Playwrightâs sweater, the Playwrightâs hand on his shoulder, almost comfortingly. While he waved at the Director upon entry, the Child was too busy looking around to see him for a little.Â
âWhere is this?â he asked. âIs this where youâve been hiding?â
âNot really hiding, I donât think.â The Playwright patted the Childâs shoulder. âHere is the Director.â
That got the kidâs attention.Â
The Director. The Childâs head snapped forward, and he squinted at the Director. Slicked back blonde hair, piercing green eyes. Gloves. Who wears gloves, other than Deceit and the Thief? The Thief wore them to keep his touch light, though, and to hide the scars on his hands.Â
He was new. The Child had never heard of the Director before, had never met him, and thus didnât really know what to think of him. He hid behind the Playwrightâs leg a bit, inching away out of shyness more than fear. New people have had a history of disliking him and he did want to be liked.Â
âHi, Mr. Director,â he greeted quietly.Â
The Playwright tilted his head. The Child looked up at him, hand balled up in the side of his sweater, and explained quickly, âIâve never met him.â
âOh,â the Playwright said. âHe said he wanted to meet you.â
The Child nodded.Â
Too trusting. Clearly. The Director pursed his lips â the Child grinned a little.Â
âYou look kinda like Princey,â he said. âYouâre one of us, right?âÂ
The Director, whose gloved hand was rubbing at his jaw, slowly sank his hands back into his pockets. He stood with his back straight, eyes hard and brow pinched. To him, he was thinking, but to the Child, he was confused, too.Â
âItâs okay. We were all kind of worried, when we first got made,â the Child stepped out a bit. âDid you get made when we got made?â
He was trying to get the Director to keep talking with him, which seemed to work. He blinked a bit at something the Child said but nodded all the same.Â
âYep. Iâve been around since the beginning. But after what happened with the Dragon and Damsel, I wasnât about to put up with getting stabbed. Much less flayed,â the Director scoffed at the idea.Â
The Child giggled. He even made sounds like the Playwright! Maybe they were friends. âNone of us wanted to get stabbed. But Draco and Phillip donât stab people much anymore. Sometimes they stab Eric, but, like. Eric kinda asks for it. Eric gets Draco more, too, itâs their like. Thing. Like how some people play football?â
âHow can stabbing be their thing?â the Playwright asked.Â
The Child shrugged. His shoulders loosened, hand let go of the Playwrightâs sweater, but when he picked up talking, he tugged at the ends of his shirt. It was making him uncomfortable to be here without the Thief or the Bard. The Playwrightâs head being messed up was unnerving, to the Child. The big bandage across his head worried the Child, but the Director didnât look like the kind of guy who would do that. Or maybe he did; the Thief, to the Child, didnât seem like the stabbing type, but he knew that that guy definitely did stab a lot.Â
Maybe the Playwright had a bandage because the Director couldnât heal, though, and the Child understood that. He couldnât heal, either. The Bard was special for that, because he could heal the best. The Playwright could heal, but if heâd been the one who was hurt, and if heâd forgotten a bunch, then maybe he forgot how to heal. The Child certainly didnât know.
âTheyâre good friends, though, so I think they like it,â the Child said. âYou and David paint a lot. I donât know how to paint.â
The understanding was not mutual, as the Playwright frowned in confusion. It was drawing them off-topic, though, and as soon as the Artist was mentioned, the Director knew he had to redirect conversation.
He waved his hand to try dissuading the Playwrightâs worries, then he gestured to the living room couch.Â
Behind all of them, in the shadows of the new room, was Roman. Just watching.Â
The Child sat on the couch and crossed his legs. He looked around the room again â Roman was shrouded enough that the Childâs eyes missed him â and he clapped his hands. âIs this your house? Itâs very nice,â he told the Director.Â
The Director looked around, too, quickly. He had more things he wanted to ask. Heâd never gotten to sit down with the Child and talk to him; the opportunity was rare. âThank you. I made most of it myself, but Playwright helped, when heâd stop by.â
âDid you bandage the Playwrightâs head?â the Child asked.Â
When the Director nodded, it was almost all suspicions confirmed, so the Child nodded too. He looked down at the couch and began running the crease of the cushionâs leather beneath his nail, picking at its fibers.Â
âI get that. I bandage Thief sometimes, if heâs hurt and Bard isnât around. It sucks not being able to heal people.â
âMhm,â the Director agreed, not wanting to give any further information.Â
He kept watching the Child. The kid was nervous, but the Director didnât know what was causing that. He was still quite talkative.Â
âHave you been alone since the beginning?â the Child asked.Â
A weird question. The Director frowned in thought, then nodded. âSort of. Iâve only spent time with the Playwright, and he didnât stop by often. Romanâs come by more.â
The Childâs eyes widened at the mention of Roman. Before the Director could make assumptions, though, he blurted out, âIs he here?â
Ah. The Directorâs eyes flicked up, and he turned around toward the new room. There wasnât much point in not answering honestly. âYes, actually. He and the Sides had an argument, not sure if youââ
âThe other Sides are looking for him. They broke into Remusâ room!â The Child turned around with the Director, following his line of sight into the darkened room.Â
There was still no furniture inside, Roman would decide on it later, but he felt the Child lock eyes with him. Even in the darkness.Â
The Child pointed.Â
âHi Roman!â he waved a hand. âI see you! Are you okay? Do you need a hug?â
Roman took a few steps out, only enough to be seen in the light, but not enough to come out of the room. He waved back tiredly and leaned on the door frame. From the Childâs angle, he looked like a parent. Tired. Disappointed. âIâm okay,â he responded, voice soft.Â
âYou donât sound okay,â the Child retorted with a scowl.Â
Roman shook his head. âIâm very tired, and the others and I had an argument. I talked it over with the Director. He wanted to meet you.â
Hm. If the Directorâs one of them, then heâs probably trying to help Roman, too. The Child turned slowly back toward him, hands picking still at the fabric of the couch. There was somethingâŠunnerving, though. Romanâs voice made his stomach do backflips, with how hollow his tone was. It was probably because he was upset, though. Arguments were upsetting, the Child knew that.Â
The Director looked like he didnât know what to do with him, which was pretty fair, since most of the others didnât know how to treat him. The Thief was kind of overbearing sometimes, but he was the nicest. And the Damsel wasâŠthe Damsel listened to him the most. He didnât know why. The Child glanced down at his gloves, then back up at the Director. None of the others liked him much.
âDo those help you lift things quietly?â he asked.Â
The Director blinked in surprise. Apparently not.Â
âNo. No, they just keep my hands warm,â he said, flexing out his hand. âIâm no robber.â
The Child grinned. âIs that âcause you donât like stealing, or are you not good at being quiet?âÂ
He could understand that, not wanting to steal and not being good at being quiet. The Dragonâs not that good at being too quiet and he doesnât like stealing! None of them like stealing, really. Theyâll do it, like how the Artist sometimes appears to steal the Thiefâs food, but the Thiefâs the only one who actually likes it. Itâs his thing? Itâs in the name, the Child thinks.Â
The Director doesnât seem to understand the question, with how heâs not answering. The Playwright had walked over to Roman and they were talking quietly in the other room, which left the Child with the Director, and that was fine. The Director didnât lookâŠ.mean.Â
Still, being in a strange room with a stranger who wasnât asking questions was weird. The Child kept picking at the couch, eyes trailing around the room. There was a kitchen behind a corner in the wall, like an open floor plan, kinda like the Tree. You could see the entire living space. It made things feel safer. Maybe it helped the Director feel safe, too, to be able to see everything. He must feel scared a lot, then.Â
âSo.âÂ
The Child turned immediately. The Director was watching him.Â
Under his gaze, the Child felt even more awkward than he had initially.Â
The Director crossed his arms, watching the Child intently. âFrom what Iâve gathered, we all haveâŠat the highest level, the same goal,â he began.Â
The Child squirmed a little, hands balling up in the edge of his shirt. He kicked his shoes off and put his feet up on the couch, pulling his shirt over his knees. Curling up into a ball while he returned the Directorâs stare. Something in his expression made the Child worried, like he was being scolded, but he didnât know what for.Â
âProbably? What do you mean,â he asked.Â
The Directorâs eyebrow twitched.
The Child didnât know why the Director didnât like him already. Theyâd only just met. But it seemed to be a trend, with people not liking him. The Child didnât understand.
âYou and IâŠand everyone else, want Roman to be happy. Right?â the Director asked. âWe all have that goal. We want him to reach his dreams and be happy.â
Oh, oh yes. That made sense. The Child nodded.Â
If the Director lived in solitude out here, that meant heâd never been to any of their meetings. The Damsel ran most of them when Roman wasnât there, but the Child sometimes directed conversation. Through everything â caring, acting, dreaming, hoping, dating, loving â all of them tried to keep Roman and, by relation Thomas, happy. Maybe the Director was just trying to confirm what he knew, the advisor instinct that they all had.Â
He nodded along with the Child, at least. âAnd thereâs a lot thatâs been getting in the way of that,â the Director continued, voice darker, quieter.Â
Now, THAT was a sentiment the Child understood. He pressed his lips tightly together, shaking his head. âYeah,â he grumbled. âStupid Janus. And then-and then Patton gave us that look that was likeâŠit was like we ruined everything or something.â
The Child wrung his hands, then pulled them into his sleeves to wrap around his knees. It was probably weird to look at him sitting like this, but it made him feel comfortable, being able to tuck into himself and hold onto himself like this. New places and new things and new people made him scared, but he was trying not to be.Â
At least the Director didnât say anything about it.Â
âBut thenâŠRoman was trying to be mean to Janus, by laughing, and he got mad at Thomas,â the Child murmured, nails rubbing against his forearm as he held his arms.Â
That was the part he found hard to understand. Why did Roman want to be mean? Sure, maybe Janus hurt him, butâŠbeing mean right back to him wasnât the answer. Roman wasnât mean. Not intentionally, at least.Â
The Director glanced over his shoulder at the darkened room, but saw that the door was closed still. Hopefully Roman and the Playwright werenât hearing the conversation, because he was sure that analysis of what had occurred would piss off at least Roman, if not both.Â
One quick glance, and he turned back around with a sigh.Â
âWell. Youâve heard the saying that hurt people hurt people, right?â the Director mused.Â
He tried to keep his voice level, light. The Child was a child, after all. You had to explain these concepts slowly.Â
It must not have been a new concept, as the Child threw his head back and rolled his eyes. âLike, sure, butâŠbut we DONâT want to hurt people, thatâs the point. He knew it was hurtful.â
One of the Childâs hands popped out of his shirt and he rubbed his face, glaring hard at the sofaâs cushion. He and the Damsel had talked a lot about this, actually. Roman didnât want to hurt people. He wanted to please. He wanted to make people happy. The Child had wanted that for him, heâd wanted Roman to be happy and to be able to keep his head up, so why was it so hard?Â
The Damsel had said he was doing good, that this was a lapse, but the Child didnât get it. Wasnât Roman done being a villain? When were the others going to stop toying with him and when were they just going to let him be happy? Wasnât he ever going to be rewarded for believing in them? It stung, at first, but now it was just starting to piss the Child off.Â
The Director was quietly watching him, the Child noticed, and he wrapped his arm back into his shirt. He hated seeming like such a child. Especially in front of new people like this, it reminded him of when theyâd first formed. When things were at the worst. âIâm sorry,â he mumbled.Â
âDonât worry,â the Director promised, waving his hand flippantly. âI understand, the others have been acting prettyâŠ.well. Stupid. But I have to disagree with you on one thing.â
The Child blinked, watching the Director as he added, âSometimes, we do have to hurt people.â
Oh.
The Childâs lips pressed together again as he made a noncommittal whining sound. âI donâtâŠknow. I donât think we do.â
âOh, come on. Everyone else gets to hurt us. Even Patton. Logan. Virgil, hell, even Thomas takes jabs. And we donât get to do anything back?â the Director opened an arm out, gesturing widely, as if they were all present.Â
âDamsel says revenge isnât always good,â the Child argued quietly, but even that was weak.Â
âOh, like the Damselâs never gotten revenge,â the Director tutted.Â
The Child giggled a little at that. The Director was right, the Damsel did have a knack for flipping like a coin and going for the throat. He liked a little revenge himself sometimes. And it made sense, what the Director said about getting back at the others when they hurt Roman. It just wasnât something the Child thought was necessary. But maybe it was.Â
âMaybe I just donât focus on that,â the Child said. âIâm notâŠI donât like thinking a lot about who gets hit with what. I justâŠâ
His voice trailed off, and he shrugged.Â
They were quiet for a few moments, silence more welcome than more confusing words, but the Director broke it with a huff. âListen, kid. Iâm sure youâre looking out for Roman how you can. But while heâs been here, weâve been talking about the things you tell him about.â
Weird. The Child frowned. âWhatâs that mean?âÂ
He glanced up and, for the first time, the Director lookedâŠsad. No. Not sad. Disappointed. âYou trusted Janus. Way back when. In the courtroom,â the Directorâs voice was gentle, but it didnât help how much the words stung. âTrust is a really powerful thing.â
The Childâs stomach curled and he looked back down at his lap. His grip on himself tensed. His back was starting to hurt, actually, from just how tense heâd been for the conversation. It was taking a turn he didnât like, though, and he wasnât able to loosen up.Â
âI was. I did,â he hid his face on his knees. âIâm-I shouldnât have. It was stupid.â
He remembers being berated for it by the Artist, before the Dragon threw the Artist out the window. All of them had fallen for it, to some extent, but he was the one who had the final say. They were all upset over it. He remembers being devastated, even though the Damsel tried to warn them that Janus â the guy named Deceit â was probably lying. And the Damsel and the Thief had tried to not make him feel bad but, wellâŠ.even the Thief hadnât looked him in the eyes when he said it was going to be okay.Â
âIt was, a little,â the Director sounded sad still. âAnd thatâs what really started us on this snowball, wasnât it.â
It was. That made sense. Things led into each other and now Thomas didnâtâŠ
The Child bit his lip hard. He didnât want to cry, but his throat was tight. He just hummed in agreement.Â
There was shifting on the couch. Something touched his back. He jumped, looked up, but it was just the Director. Heâd slid closer and was gently rubbing the Childâs back, squeezing his shoulder. Trying to comfort, the Child assumed, and he leaned into the Directorâs side.
The Director wrapped his arm around the Childâs back, hugging him tenderly.Â
âI-I thought he loved us,â the Child whispered, and his voice broke into a tiny sob. âI thought they-I thought they all loved us. And if you-if you love someone, you wouldnâtâŠI thought you wouldnât do this to someone you loved.â
What a nice sentiment, eh? The Director sniffed, then he cleared his throat. No use dwelling on it. He squeezed the Childâs shoulder again, too. âI did, too. Itâs okay,â he whispered.
This was a new person. Not the Thief, not the Bard, and not someone the Child felt comfortable with, so he did his best not to cry on the Directorâs trenchcoat. He leaned away, wiping his face with his hand as he slowly let his limbs untangle from being balled-up.Â
It was a knot of guilt and depression heâd been trying to swallow since the break-up. The Bard led the relationship most, suggesting ways to improve communication and things they could do on dates and all the actual day to day, but all of them had some kind of hand in it. The Child believed in it. He thought they loved Roman, and so Roman loved them, and so Roman believed in them. And things unraveled. Maybe he held on too tight. The Child didnât know, he justâŠ
He had really wanted to believe.Â
âIâm really sorry,â he said.Â
The Director shrugged beside him. âItâs not something that we canât learn from.â
The Child nodded in agreement.Â
âWeâll just have to be better. Improve from this. You understand that, right?â the Director asked, and the Child nodded again.Â
âYeah.â
âDo you know how youâd want to improve?â the Director asked.Â
The Child looked at him, then back at the space in front of him. There was a rectangular coffee table.Â
âNo,â he said. âNo, I donât.â
The Director hummed once in understanding. And the Child had a thought. His name was the Director â as in, someone who directs. Maybe he had an idea. âDo you know?â he added on, turning to the Director.Â
His smile seemed warmer. âSort of. I talked it out with Roman, but the big thing is you and Roman need to reallyâŠchange your attitudes, going into these things. We canât trust everyone with Romanâs heart.â
That made sense. The Child nodded. âYeah. Like, we canât trust Mister Deceit. Heâs a fucking liar.â His nose scrunched at the thought.Â
Immediately, though, the Director laughed. He rubbed the Childâs hair; it was comforting, and the Child leaned into his hand. âHoly shit, kid, language,â his tone was so much lighter.Â
The Child laughed along, too, albeit quieter. âMister Deceitâs worth using some language at!âÂ
âI canât argue with that one,â the Directorâs chuckles died out into a beat of quiet, before he added. âRoman and I want toâŠwe were thinking. About things that might help him, in the future. And a big one is changing you.â
The Director said that earlier, so the Child nodded. He didnât know what they were going to change, butâŠwellâŠ
Heâd gotten them into this mess, didnât he? The Child shrugged slightly again, a tight, wry smile on his face. âSure. I get that. JustâŠ.Just tell me what you want to change.â
Bullseye. The Director smiled back, a bit warmer. âThatâs something Roman might break down better. But Iâm glad I got to meet you, kid.â
The Child leaned over, wrapping his arms quickly around the Directorâs waist. It was a move so quick, so sudden, that the Director jumped in surprise. Then, carefully, he hugged the Child in return.Â
He didnât understand why the kid was so nice. Maybe he was just a polite little fuck. That didnât explain why this feltâŠwrong, though. Â
âIt was nice meeting you, too, Mister Director. Iâll go get Roman,â the Child scurried up and over the back of the sofa.Â
The Director let him knock on the door.Â
Roman opened it and the Child â without any ceremony â hugged him around the waist. The Director flinched in surprise and he wasnât even the one being hugged, but Roman took it in stride. He knew the Child better, he was probably accustomed to this.Â
He slowly put his hands on the Childâs shoulders, then around his back, leaning down slightly to hug him.Â
âHi, Roman,â the Childâs voice was muffled against Romanâs stomach. âThe Director said youâŠIâŠIâm sorry. Iâm really sorry.â
Poor kid.Â
It would be merciful to separate him. He could keep the Child â Gavin, the character â around. Heâd toss their connection into the subconscious but Gavin was a sweetheart. He was kind. Thoughtful. A good kid. Roman almost felt bad about what heâd have to do but maybe it would be good for Gavin to not have to bear his responsibilities.Â
Roman tried desperately to think that true, because it was a good way to fight against the lump in his throat. âFor what?â he asked gently, rubbing the Childâs back.
The Child shook his head. âI thought Mister Deceit was actually being nice to us,â his voice was croaky and he sounded tired. It was pretty late at night, after all. âAnd that he loved you. That everyone loved you, and thought you were cool and a hero. AndâŠand I was wrong.â
Roman sighed.Â
Behind him, the Playwright had been shifting his weight between both legs, but the explanation the Child gives makes him look up in surprise.Â
HeâŠthinking back on it, he couldnât really remember where they stood with the other Sides. He knew Roman loved them. But Roman also was the embodiment of Thomasâ love, so it was hard to say Roman âlovedâ anything in specific, since he was pretty consistently full of it.
That was part of the Playwrightâs charges. He loved the art of love, the romance and wooing. The act of proving love.Â
Deceit had turned that on them?Â
He cleared his throat, too. âIâm so sorry to interrupt, but Iâm quite confused. What the hell do you mean?â
On the couch, the Director waved a hand toward his neck, as if signaling the Playwright to stop. But the question had already been asked.
âOh,â the Child must not have known the extent of his memory loss, because he leaned up from Romanâs chest, rubbing his blotchy eyes tiredly. âYou, uhâŠâ
He looked up at Roman, who also had turned toward the Playwright. He provided a better answer. âYour head injury is part of this all. We had an incredibly messy break up with the others. Lines were drawn.â Romanâs voice was tight and it was hard to tell whether it was from crying slightly with the Child or being reminded of the breakup. âEveryone picked a side.â
âEveryoneâŠâ the Child piped up again, letting go of Roman to wring the hem of his shirt. âEveryone kinda chose Deceit. Over us.â
That sounded quite catastrophic.
âAnd weâreâŠ.now weâre alone,â the Childâs voice cracked and he looked down. âThomas thinks weâre bad. We are bad. Weâre-Weâre no better than any Dark Side.â
Very catastrophic.Â
So Deceit weaponized him in some way, against himself. The Playwright knew Roman had an ego by virtue of being the ego, but there were a lot of ways he could have been played. But to know thatâŠTo have that done unto him by someone he loved.Â
Line drawn in front of love, to have that done unto him by someone he looked up to. He had villainized Deceit but he still wanted his approval, heâd wanted all of his crushesâ approval.Â
âOh,â the Playwright whispered.
It was interesting to watch the machinations roll through his mind. Roman watched his face drop, the Playwrightâs eyes glaze over as he thought hard about what may have happened. If he could remember the scenario, then heâdâve had his own opinions about it already, probably. The Playwright was full of opinions. But now, he was a little easier to manage.Â
One part of Roman really wanted to keep him like this. It wasâŠcathartic. That was the right word. Cathartic, to watch the Playwright, usually so intelligent and so knowledgeable, stumble blindly through this spidersâ web of a problem. For him to come to the conclusions leagues after everyone else. No one knew what was going on, none of them. He didnât know what was going on, why should any part of him pretend to?Â
It was cruel. The other part of Roman hammered on, disgusted at having done this to a part of himself.
Monster.
Power-tripping, selfish, egotistical idiot.
A quiet, third part wanted to do it to everyone else, because they were part of him. They should suffer the consequences of his failures. Just like he should.Â
âGavin, I want to talk with you,â Roman ran a hand through the Childâs hair, trying to keep steady as he did so. âAbout what weâre going to do. Itâs going to be really big. But itâll fix everything, and we need your help for it.â
The Child leaned into his hand still, rolling his head to the side so Romanâs hand pressed against his cheek. He stared at the wall for a bit and Roman could not have fathomed what he may have been thinking.Â
âOkay.â
Roman hummed in approval, then gently nudged the Playwrightâs side. âGive me a moment with the Child, please.â
The Playwright nodded, and the Child shuffled besides Roman, pressing into his side as the Playwright slipped out of the room and back into the living room.Â
The door closed quickly behind him and he jumped at the sound.Â
This whole situation feltâŠhe knew he was missing his memories. Roman must have removed them. Blunt force trauma wouldnât last this long without Imaginative interventions, no wounds do, really. But that didnât make him feel any better.
That meant the Playwright had known something and Roman, specifically, had decided that he should not be allowed to know it. Not only that, heâd taken out everything. The Director and, fuck, even the Child knew more than him. There was a lot of context that the Playwright was missing. Why was he even here? He should ask to leave but if heâd left, who knew what the Director and Roman would do? And it wasnât like they were telling him to leave. Would they let him leave? Was he a prisoner or something?
The Director was sitting on the couch, staring at the wall. There was no window and beyond this was a labyrinth, the Playwright knew. It was very intricate. The Director must have made it but the Playwright didnât know what for.Â
Was the Director the Minotaur, trapped at the center for being a monster? Or was he Alice, lost in Wonderland, a world he didnât understand? Was he in charge? There was no way he was in charge, not with Roman around. But Roman deferred to him on certain things, as if Roman wanted him to be in charge. But didnât Roman recognize that the Director, the parts of him that Roman wanted to rule, were also parts of himself?Â
This felt so familiar. Where did the Playwright fit into this, where did Roman fit into this? What did they want out of this? His head hurt just thinking of it.
The Director was on edge. As much as he was reclining on a couch, he was staring daggers into the wall, jaw set and brow creased ever so slightly, enough to be stressed. His leg was bouncing, too, and his finger was scratching into the couch. What had him so tense?
And the Child. It was literally a Child. Heâd been running in the woods when the Playwright approached, and heâd initially flinched. He said people were searching for the Playwright, that heâs been missing. Why wouldnât he have told anyone where he was going? Was the Director a secret? Why?Â
He was just a child.
The Playwright winced. They had a headache growing strong, had one since they woke up, but it was swelling now. The pressure built behind their eyes.
They sat quietly for only a moment before the Playwright began. âIâm afraid for the Child.â
âWhy?â The Director didnât look up.
âWhat do you have planned?â Knowing might put the Playwright more at ease, but the Director just shook his head.
âYou donât have to worry about that.â
A misdirect, and a weak one at that. The Director didnât sound very confident in and of himself.Â
âI feel like I have to,â the Playwright crossed their arms, sitting upright enough to crack their back. âYour plans are justâŠto change him. How much?â
How much can you simply change someone? They werenât as malleable as characters. Roman probably knew that, though.Â
Did the Director? Maybe. He glanced up at the Playwright, eyes tired, and he rolled them slightly. Like explaining this plan would be a chore. âAs much as is needed,â a non-answer. âPlaywright, the planning part is my job. Your brainâs probably still fried.â
At the reminder, the Playwright felt a throb of pain in his forehead, just behind his eyes. He scrunched his nose and lifted his glasses, gently massaging his forehead and pressing on his eyes. It was as if he had a migraine. He shouldnât be capable of those, though.Â
Likely another symptom of Romanâs memory removal. It could be his mind trying to remember things and finding the blockade.Â
In any case, the stress had been exacerbating the pain in his temples, and there seemed to be little he was going to accomplish by talking with the Director.Â
In fact, thinking was getting harder.Â
Maybe he was a captive here, and maybe that was his chain, the Playwright thought angrily. Maybe this is part of whatever âplanâ the Director has.
âMm. My head does hurt.â Rat bastard probably knew why, too, and wasnât telling him. Maybe the Child was right. âI would have hoped thatâŠoh, nevermind.â
The Director tutted once and the Playwright, in a show of patience, did not kill him. âIf your head hurts, you should go lay down. Take a nap.â
A nap did sound nice. It was night time anyway and he wasnât meant to sleep, he didnât technically need it, but now his body felt as if it should.
He stood, and then he leaned back, holding the top of the couch, as the world violently lurched around him. Dizzy, he thought dimly.
âShit, are you okay?â the Director asked.Â
There was a hand on his side, holding him steady. The Playwright nodded, covering his mouth. Suddenly, the lights in the room were too bright and the sound of the Director breathing beside him was too loud.Â
âIâve developed a migraine,â he stated. âDo you have pajamas? Iâm going to take you up on that-â oh, the nausea. âOn the nap.â
âUh, yes. Yeah, lemme grab them.â
He felt the Directorâs hand leave. While the Director gathered him a pajama set, he slowly stood upright, squinting into the room without his glasses on. It helped alleviate the tension slightly, but he should still rest his eyes. And his brain.
The Director returned, gently nudging him with a stack of clothing. âHere. These should work.â
The Playwright took them with a nod. âThank you. If you or Roman or the Child need me, feel free to wake me up.â
He shuffled out from around the couch, slowly making his way back toward the room heâd woken up in. At least he knew there was a bed there.
Behind him, the Director said, âSleep well, Playwright. Iâll call if we need you.â
The Director was pretty sure, before this, the Playwright didnât need sleep.
They fuckinâ broke the Playwright.
They were supposed to regenerate back up to whatever state they were in before injury. After getting his head bashed in, the Director had expected the Playwright to make a full recovery. Thatâs what happened to the Damsel after getting fucking flayed by the Dragon, right? Why the fuck was the Playwright needing sleep and having headaches, then?
He waited until he heard the soft closing door before turning around to stare at the wall.Â
One hand dragged slowly through his hair.Â
The Director closed his eyes.Â
It felt like things were wrong. Ever since heâd told Roman his theory, heâd had a nagging suspicion that things were going wrong. Like they werenât supposed to happen. This all wasnât supposed to happen, maybe he was wrong. But if his theories were right, then this should be how they fix Romanâs relationship with the others. This should be how they win the other Sidesâ affection, attention, and assurance back.Â
An hour passed. Then another.Â
It seemed like Roman was staying in the room with the Child. After the third hour, the Director dimmed the lights in the living room and retired himself to his room. Unlike the Playwright, he needed sleep, and heâd always needed sleep.Â
Sleep likely wouldnât be coming tonight, though. The Director sat upright in his bed, staring out the window besides it. Heâd made himself a bed in his windowâs nook, staring out at the waterfall. A while ago, the Playwright had told him that there was a river that ran through the kingdom, that it fell off into the Subconscious here. It was beautiful to watch the water run down, slipping into the misty nothingness below, sunlight and moonlight bouncing off its course. And at least it was something to look at.Â
The Director was a master of scenery. He controlled the outcomes and the place. It bothered him that he didnât control more, but thinking of what the others could do, there wasnât much option to control people. He couldnât just control the Playwright, make him into a yes-man for his plans. He couldnât control the Child enough to fix him, thatâs why the kid had to die. But Roman could. Roman snapped his fingers and erased the Playwrightâs entire fuckinâ history. The Director didnât know why they were killing the Child when Roman could just make the changes he needed to.Â
It was scraping so close to the inevitable and the Director didnât want to.Â
He needed to be confident. If he wasnât confident in himself, then what was he confident in? What could he do?Â
He didnât sleep much. There was so much to think about. He managed to go to sleep eventually, only to be awoken early in the morning, before even daybreak. Anxiety wasnât an unusual emotion. Heâd been apprehensive about talking with the Playwright, way back when.Â
Before making any decisions, the Director had followed the other advisors. Heâd seen what the Dragon did to the Damsel. Heâd been at the ball â or, rather, the outskirts of it, straying closer and closer to the castle until he saw fire raining from the ceiling. Heâd seen the thunderstorm and decided that was the last straw, when he stood beneath the Tree and closed his eyes and expected, silently, to die. Only to live again. To hide in the forest again and return to the home heâd made for himself. And when the Playwright approached himâŠ.well. Lets just say he didnât necessarily trust whatever âchangeâ the others had undergone. And whatever it did change, it certainly didnât help Roman, did it?
Still, though, he couldnât get over a nagging feeling that he was missing something.Â
The Child had been so earnest. It was a little scary, really. How easily heâd trusted the Director. And how clearly heâd seen that the Child justâŠwanted Roman to be happy. Plain. Simple.Â
The Child is simple, yes. It made sense.Â
Maybe everyone was much more simple than the Director had made them out to be.Â
Maybe all of this was for naught.
The Director got himself a late night drink, a black coffee mixed with Irish cream liqueur, hoping it might be warm enough to sedate his worries and alcoholic enough that it would knock him out. While he made it, there wasnât any sound from the room with Roman and the Child. It felt like he was alone againâŠpeaceful, in a way.
Cradling the mug served to warm his hands but he couldnât silence the quarrels in his head. He had to commit. As much as he was afraid, he had to commit. He wasnât wrong. He couldnât be.Â
âThis isâŠâ the Director exhaled slowly. âFine.â
He took a sip of his coffee mixture.
The water outside continued to fall. The window was so cold.Â
âRoman thinks itâs going to work. He said Iâm right.â
The Director didnât know who he was talking to. He could see his own reflection in the window, so maybe it was just himself.Â
âItâs going to work. I trust him.â
Did he? Did he, though?
He was a part of Roman â or, he used to be, at least â and if he wasnât sure of this, then what universe was there where Roman was sure?
Oh, if the Director didnât trust Roman, who would he have?
âIf he thinks itâs going to work, then itâs gonna fucking work.â
He set the glass down once he realized how hard his hands were shaking. âI know what Iâm doing,â he repeated, like they were lines to a play. âRoman knows what heâs doing. Itâs going to be perfect. Thisâll fix everything, itâll fix everything, itâll be fine, fine.
âThe kidâll go away and-and Romanâll be okay. Itâll be fine. Itâll be better than fine.âÂ
The Directorâs hands wrung through his hair, then he yanked them away. He couldnât get the blood off his hands; heâd washed them of course, but he could keep seeing his hands coated red. Thick, red, drippingâŠ
That was the first time heâd met any of them that wasnât the Playwright. And kudos to the Playwright, but he was kind of cynical, kind of judgemental. The Director was, too, but the Playwright had a lot more conviction and a lot harder of a time shutting up. The Director liked keeping his cards close.Â
Heâd had a lot of opinions on the Child but actually meeting the kidâŠhe hadnât meant to make a mess of things. And he wasnât nearly as stupid as the Director had thought heâd be.Â
The Director couldnât afford all this second-guessing.Â
âRomanâll be that much better without the kid. We donât fucking need the kid. We donât.â
If he was wrong, heâdâve killed part of Roman for no reason.
Heâdâve killed the most optimistic, the happiest, maybe the most Roman part of Roman based on a hunch and bias.Â
âWe donât. We donât.â
The Director shook his head and curled his legs up to his chest, staring out the window. He should go take a melatonin pill or something. Maybe he can trouble the Playwright to make him something to quell the anxiety so he can fucking sleep.Â
Tomorrow, they were going to do something, fix the Child, something. Get rid of him, who knows. The Director didnât. He had ideas and hunches but he didnât know for sure if the Child needed to die. But Roman seemed like he knew. But maybe Roman only knew because the Director knew. Maybe the Director knew because he thought Roman knew but Roman knew because he thought the Director knew.Â
No, they had to be confident. No second-guessing.
âWe donât. We donât fucking need him.â
God, he was so stressed.
When a hand rested on his shoulder, the Director didnât hesitate to grab the gun stowed behind his pillow and whip the person in front of him with the handle.
He reached into the drawer beside his window bed, throwing his blanket out at the person and launching himself upright. His door hadnât opened â ostensibly it could be Roman, but Roman knew better, and the Playwright and him were both more inclined to use the door. The Director knew the Thief, however, could get wherever he needed to in a pinch.Â
He grabbed the ammunition out of his bedside drawer and loaded it as quick as could be. It wasnât until heâd cocked the gun and had its muzzle toward the person, standing over them, when he realized who it was.Â
Janusâ bowler hat had been knocked over in the attack, sitting on the ground besides himself. He was rubbing his face with a hiss, the Directorâs blanket thrown off on the ground in front of him.Â
A real Side.Â
How had Deceit, of all of them, get in here�
âJanus,â the Director grunted.Â
Janus looked up at him, red and dislodged scales around his left eye, and he winced. âWho are you?â he asked.Â
âNone of your concern,â the Director held his gun with both bloodied hands, glare hard and guarded. âHow did you get here?âÂ
He should shoot him. Put a bullet through his head and while the Imagination fixed him â you canât kill a Side, same as trying to kill the advisors, and the Imagination would heal them the same way â he could get Roman and they could figure out what to do. But he also didnât know if Roman would want to deal with Janus right now. Fuck, the Director barely wanted to deal with him.Â
Theyâd never met and, yet, the Director fucking hated him.Â
But the idea of more bloodshed in his homeâŠfuck. He didnât realize he was going to be such a baby about violence.
âYou were lying. To yourself,â Janus explained, slowly raising his hands as he noticed the gun pointed at himself. âWhy do you have a gun?â
âTo get rid of intrusive snakes,â the Director snapped.Â
Janusâ lips pressed tighter.Â
They needed to move him. Get him out of here. They could bother Roman. The Director didnât feel comfortable making this kind of decision without him.Â
With one hand, he reached down and grabbed Janus by the shoulder, hoisting him onto his legs. Janus hissed again at the motion but the Director, about his height and a little brawnier, just shoved him forward toward the door.Â
âI imagine youâre looking for Roman,â the Director asked.Â
âWho are you?â Janus asked.Â
The Director clicked his tongue against his teeth in disdain. âOut,â he said, opening the door and pushing his gun against Janusâ back.Â
He usually practiced shooting above ground, but heâd fired it into the stone maze before, so he knew how loud it could be. If he had to shoot, itâd wake everyone. But he didnât actually want to shoot Janus. He didnât want to hurt the other Sides. If it were necessary, he could, but he didnât want to. Everything could be fixed just by fixing Roman.Â
That didnât mean he hadnât half a mind to beat the shit out of Janus for what heâd done. That didnât mean the Director, like all the other advisors, wasnât fuming at him. If he did do something drastic to Janus, then itâdâve served him right.Â
The Director pointed toward the couch. âSit down. Iâm going to try getting Roman.â
Dutifully, Janus sat.Â
The Director kept his gun out but lowered it, more worried about not shooting Roman or the Child. And he knocked on the door both had gone into earlier.Â
âRoman?â he called. âJanus is here.âÂ
No response.Â
The Director knocked harder. âRoman,â he almost shouted before trying to handle.Â
Locked.Â
Damnit. Well, alright.Â
He could throw Janus out into the maze. Itâd take him a while. It usually took the Thief a few hours before getting out and, much credit to the Thief, the Director was confident that he was smarter than Janus.Â
The Director sighed. This was unideal. He didnât have a dungeon or anything to chuck Janus into. Maybe he should consider one.Â
Not for this, though. Tomorrow, once Roman woke up, theyâd figure out what to do with him.Â
âAlright,â the Director grunted. âUp.â
âAre you the Director?â Janus was looking at him, snake-eye swelling a bit from the blow.Â
The Director stared at him for a few seconds.Â
Janus knew heâd hit the mark. His face stung, but this blonde person leveling a gun at him had all the makings of an advisor.Â
He was stunned by Janusâ appearance. He was holding a whole fucking gun. And Roman was here. Heâd made a good call on transporting to wherever this liar was but maybe it was a little too soon, a little too late, because now, he was realizing, he hadnât the faintest clue on how to get the other Sidesâ attention. How was he supposed to let them know heâd found the Director?Â
âWhen Roman wakes up, weâre going to talk about what to do with you,â the Director hissed. âUntil then. Youâre going in the maze.â
The maze?
Before Janus could ask any questions about it, the couch split open beneath him. Janus fell straight down into a tube, blown and suctioned by strong winds as he went down and looped back up a different tube. The sides were smooth marble, painful to slam against, and he protected his head.Â
The ride only lasted maybe a minute before he was spat out onto hard stone. Janus stayed curled on the ground for a few more moments after being deposited, hands curled around his head. He had no idea if he would be moving again and he didnât know what in godâs name the âmazeâ meant.
Once he was confident heâd be staying here, he looked around, blinking at the pitch dark.Â
For anyone else, it would be impossible to see. For Janus, however, with his snake eye, he could slightly see in the dark. It wasnât perfect, especially with absolutely no light sources â his phone. Janus reached into his pocket and turned on his phoneâs flashlight.Â
He was in a corridor surrounded on all sides by stone. The corridor extended forward in front of him as well as backwards. And it looked like there was a turn somewhere forward.Â
The maze, huh.Â
There was a dent in the wall in front of himself, like someone had struck the wall with a weapon, and the dents formed a crude arrow pointing right. There was another arrow pointing left that had been slashed through. Someone else had been in this maze before.
Janus exhaled and hoped the others would arrive soon.Â
He took a step forward.Â
A series of bars sprang up from the ground and into the ceiling, trapping him into one corner.Â
WARNINGS: a bit of a scuffle and a black eye â i don't think there's much else but, as usual, if you spot something and think it should be flagged, please let me know!
Words: 5,884
here it is on AO3!
here are the MtB masterpost and the full Chivalry series masterpost!
enjoy!!
As much as Roman had mentioned her, none of them really thought the Dragon Witch would be a real person. Or, rather, real character. Someone this real. A house. A role.Â
She was draped in very regal, medieval clothing. A scarf was wrapped around her hair, so long that the ends billowed and glittered above her cape. When she walked, it was hard to tell if her legs were moving down there or if she was just hovering in a line. Logan watched to see. He was impressed by the accuracy of her clothing. Sure, her dress was much closer to the fourteenth century than the fifth, when King Arthur allegedly ruled, but Roman must have put in a lot of thought to make her as accurate as he did to a time period, at least. And Logan was pretty sure that was an accurate way of pinning a headscarf. Roman must have done his research. Or Remus, because he seemed familiar with her.
Remus was chatting away in answer of her questions. Given that her home was on his side, it was probably safe to assume he knew her. Maybe they were friendly, even. That made her seem a little less of a stranger, like he were following the connected threads between them, though it still made her seem hostile. Someone that was friendly toward Roman and Remus both. Everyone was still trying to wrap their heads around the idea that the twins were friendly toward each other. Remus had seemed so concerned about his brother.Â
Out of all of them, Janus just wanted to talk with Roman. Thatâs all.Â
There hasnât exactly been opportunity for it given Romans hatred of him now. But it was warranted somewhat. But if only Roman could understand that it was for Thomasâ good, that it was for the best.
If only heâd allow Janus to make his case. This was just so frustrating.Â
And none of these advisors WERE Roman. Yes, it was good to talk with them, to hear bits and pieces of what Roman thought of him. The Damselâs assertion (or, rather, laughter) over how little Roman liked him was enough to fully convince him that he needed to talk with Roman specifically. Not any part of him. No fragmented communication was as useful or as thorough as a direct conversation. But, well. Thomas nor Roman were known for their abilities of confrontation.
As they walked deeper into the cave, the sides began straightening and smoothing out, jagged red surfaces turning into carved walls. At some point, the torches and lanterns shifted into chandelier lights, and the scorched rock beneath their feet turned into a thick gray rug.Â
The Damsel and the Thief were following closely after her as well. Janus brought up the rear, continuing to hide from view, but he wanted to get a better view. Virgil was next up at the front, eyeing everything with an air of distrust. This was technically Remusâ side, thatâs where she lived. But this newcomer, the Witch, seemed to be influenced by both Creativities. Virgil was trying to size her up.Â
âShould we introduce ourselves?â Patton whispered to Logan while they walked.Â
It must not have been quiet enough because she turned to look over her shoulder at them. Patton let out a small âmeep,â but she chuckled warmly.Â
âYou donât have to, but you can if you would like. I know who you are, Morality,â the Witch had a cackle in her voice, just a little foreboding.Â
âMakes sense. Did Roman tell you about us?â Virgil asked.Â
She nodded. âA lot more than you would think. And Remus. Iâve heard a lot about you all over the years.â
Logan tilted his head at the phrasing. âOver the years?â he repeated. âHow long have you existed?â
To that, the Dragon Witch just grinned. It was hard to tell if she meant it to be intimidating or if that happened accidentally, because she had rows of jagged dragon teeth. âLonger than you would expect, Logic.â
He glanced to the side, swallowing the excess water in his mouth. The motion made her laugh, at least, and she waved her hand.
âI was among the first forms that the Imagination made. Back whenâŠBefore Roman and Remus,â she sighed, looking back down the hall. âCome. The others are waiting for us.â
The Witch continued walking down the hall and, now, Remus was quiet. He was skipping, but he looked back at all of them with some kind of smugness.Â
Happy that they understood. Or, rather, were going to understand. Maybe they understood nothing. These fuckers were SO confident in their everythings that when things like this, people like Vi and things like the Tree, evidence of their depth, whenever that was displayed, they all seemed to lose it. And Remus kind of reveled in it? He loved throwing them off, surprising them. It wasnât that hard. But it felt fulfilling.Â
Roman needed their help, though. Remus scowled at the thought, but that didnât change how true it was. Thatâs half what he was, he was the truth-teller, he was the one without secrets. Without things to hide. He was an open book and the writing on the pages. Roman was the actor, the one who wanted no one to know anything about the reality of him. Remus was only ever a secret because no one, not Janus, not Thomas, no one ever wanted to ask.
Oh, he was going to beat the ever loving shit out of Roman for making him be responsible like this. Oh! The fucking nerve!Â
At the end of the hall was an ornate door and a very normal looking shoe rack, almost homely, almost intimidating. Vi didnât take off any shoes but Remus immediately dropped to the floor, one leg kicking out in a death drop, and then began trying to pull his knee-length boots off.Â
Virgil, out of everyone, snorted at the motion. Heâd been digging his nails into his palms for the whole walk, trying to size the Dragon Witch up. Unlike the Dragon or even the Damsel, it was hard. She was nothing like how she looked. Like, right now she just looked really pristine. But when she was a dragon, she was bigger than THE Dragon. Virgil had felt her nails. And she had Remus batting for her.Â
It was enough of a threat that she was friends with Remus. But she was also with Roman.Â
That was important, all of them were thinking.Â
What did it mean, sheâd known Remus and Roman before they were two separates? They could barely remember Creativity, when he was around. The split had happened when they were so young, when they first started daydreaming, really. Patton remembered him the most, butâŠonly the wonder and the horror.Â
They all had slowly taken off their shoes, dropping them near the shoe rack. Once everyoneâs shoes were off, the Dragon Witch waved a hand toward the door, and its lock clicked unceremoniously. Inside was a homely foyer, like the inside of a Victorian house. Not much like a cave.Â
Patton was the first in, as usual, looking around with less apprehension and more curiosity. He was followed almost immediately by Remus, who barged in and shouted, âHEY FUCKOS, GUESS WHOâS HOME!â
Logan took a moment to organize the shoes in a row out of the way of the hall, the last one into the house. Once he was in, the door snapped shut, with the Dragon Witch still standing by it.Â
âThank you,â she hummed. âYouâre very organized.â
Logan didnât know how to feel about that. He tried not to. âI do appreciate order,â he agreed.Â
At that, she chuckled.
âAYOOOOOO REMUS,â they heard the Dragon shout from around an opening forward. It looked like it led to a kitchen of sorts.Â
âYouâre very afraid of disorder. I donât know why. It doesnât bite,â the Dragon Witch continued with Logan, and then she gestured toward the opening, saying louder for everyone, âEveryoneâs in the dining room.â
The Sides didnât seem very ready to move on. The foyer was huge, photos lining the walls, a coatrack with some cloaks and jackets that could belong to either of the twins. Patton was looking over the photos, many of which looked like paintings. Virgil was to one of his sides, eyeing Janus, who was at the other.Â
The twins had managed to hide all of this. Janusâ eyes were glued to a photo, an old one, a polaroid that was framed. It was of Roman and Remus, both maybe ten years old. They were holding foam swords and standing on top of a dragon, looking proud â the very same Dragon Witch who was ushering them into the dining area.
âEveryoneâs here. They bring updates, so Iâve heard,â the Dragon Witch explained as she drifted into the dining area.
The Thief and the Damsel were first to lead the pack in, but their departure drew Logan. The room was an interesting look into a past that none of them were privy to. Remus followed close behind, familiar with these things.
Around the room were mementos of the past. Family photos of Remus and Roman as children. As teenagers. The Dragon Witch in the background and holding hands with both, her hands curling over both of their shoulders like a proud mother. There were a few paintings and decor on the walls, too. One of Remus and Roman standing over her dragon form, as if having won a fight, and even she looked happy about it.
Patton stayed by the wall, eyes turned upward at everything. There was so much history here, so much he hadnât known. They hadnât even known Roman and Remus were friends, really. They seemed to not like each other quite a bit. So this was interesting. Even hearing the Damsel was calling Remus in to help was unexpected. ButâŠwell. He shouldnât assume to know everything about Roman, right, after all of this.Â
It was settling in, how much theyâd all assumed. How much heâd assumed, Patton specifically. He thought he knew enough about Roman to be able to guess what he might be thinking or what he might wantâŠbut if he didnât even know what Romanâs relationship to Remus looked likeâŠ
How much was Roman hiding? How much of his own feelings was he hiding?Â
Had he been hiding them at all? Had Patton just not been looking, not been paying attention? Had none of them been paying enough attention?Â
Had none of them asked? Even Virgil seemed surprised by everything, and Virgil had been on Romanâs side.
The Bard was helping bandage something on the Artistâs shoulder, his paint-covered hoodie sitting on the ground by his feet. It looks like theyâd gotten into a scuffle with one of Remusâ creations, to which Remus acknowledged with a loud snort. The Artist shot him a glare.Â
âDonât hate the player,â Remus put his hands up in mock surrender.Â
At least the playful sentiment got the Artist to roll his eyes. It must be a familiar argument.Â
The Thief shuffled besides the Bard, who looked up to him with a wan grin.Â
âHey, hey,â he greeted, voice soft, but the smile dropped as he saw the Thiefâs expression. âWhatâs wrong?â
The Thief, jaw firmly set, looked away.Â
The Damsel, too, grimaced. Neither of them seemed to want to say anything about it.Â
Janus would have been fine breaking the news had he not been wary of the other advisors being upset with him. Logan opened his mouth to explain, but the Dragon interrupted.Â
âWait,â the Dragon asked, wings falling to his sides with a scowl. âWhereâs Gavin?âÂ
The Artist perked up, brow furrowing, and the Bard blinked in surprise. His eyes scanned through the crowd again â Virgil shoved his hands further into his pockets, dreading the upcoming confrontation â before he turned around to the Thief again.Â
â....Eric, Iâm so sorry,â the Bard whispered, tucking the final bit of bandage around the Artistâs arm quickly. âEric, baby.â
The Artist stood, stepping away from the Bard and the Thief as he put his clothing back on. When he moved away, the Thief all but collapsed into his vacant seat, and the Bard quickly wrapped his arms around the Thiefâs cloaked figure.
They pressed into each other, the Bard biting his lip worriedly, and the Thief justâŠcurled up. His arms pressed into his chest and he fought against the safety of the Bardâs embrace, trying to keep himself from crying, because if he thought too hard about how heâd failed the ChildâŠ
âThe Child has gone missing,â Logan explained, voice more gentle, now.Â
No one interrupted. The Dragon nodded, mouth pressed into a firm line. The Damsel had shuffled to sit at the table beside him and he knocked his crowned head against the Dragonâs hip.Â
âDo you have any-any theories, Logan? I have one, but I would-I am interested in-in your analysis,â the Damsel invited.Â
Oh. Logan tried to keep his surprise to a minimum, but it was difficult. He hadnât anticipated being called on like that.Â
Patton wrapped his arm around Loganâs, though kept quiet, as if he understood how big this moment was. As if it were anything at all. Virgil sat down; Janus elected to stand closer to the Dragon Witch. The animosity was lowest here.Â
âWell,â Logan began, clearing his throat. âEvidence tells us that something happened to the Playwright. And regardless of if heâd gone willingly to his assailant, it would stand to reason that, should they attack again, they would expect your guards to be up. Two is unlikely to be a coincidence, in this situation. I would hazardâŠthat it could be three. That perhaps the Playwright and the Child are in the same place as Roman.â
The Damsel nodded in agreement, lips pursed. Janus, too, hummed softly. They were all on the same wavelength. They didnât know where Roman went, but with advisors being kidnapped, it was all the more reason to believe either Roman too was kidnapped, or RomanâŠmight be doing the kidnapping. To what ends, though? And is he alone?
âHey, Eric,â the Artist asked.Â
Heâd put his jacket back on and was rotating the shoulder that the Bard had just bandaged. He wasnât as much of a tactical fighter as he was a no-holds-barred-anything-goes fighter. He was struck and heâd live with that injury, since the Bard was trying to conserve energy. And his arms were full of the Thief. If only the Playwright were here, thoughâŠ.
The Thief turned ever so slightly toward the Artist, and Virgil got the sinking suspicion that no matter what the Artist asked, it wouldnât end well. The Artist must have had a similar understanding, because he put his hands up in as nonthreatening a way as he could.
âI donât mean this in like, a judgemental way, butâŠwhat happened?âÂ
Oh, god. No.Â
Janus winced at the question, and Virgil hunched more in on himself. He was sitting by the Damsel, almost hidden behind him, with Patton to his other side. Hopefully this wouldnât be too explosive.Â
Whatever contrarian energy the Thief may have had earlier dissipated, though, as his shoulders slumped. Maybe it was the precursor that the Artist wasnât trying to accuse, and maybe it was because they were searching for the same thing.
âGav and I had an argument. HeâŠHe wanted to go out, help find Playwright with you all. I said we had to stay safe, stay home, keep everyone else out of trouble,â the Thiefâs voice was heavy with grief as he explained. âIâŠwhen I was washing the dishes, I lost track of him. Or maybe even before that. I didnât even hear the door open.â
He shook his head. The Artist winced at the explanation, as did the Dragon. And the Bard gave the Thief a squeeze.Â
It seemed that everyone knew how harsh this blow was to him. Logan wondered, what did this mean for everyone, that they were so intertwined. What was the impact on Roman. Youâd hope that it meant Roman was at ease with himself.Â
After all, everyone was working together here. But Roman was the only outlier, he seemed to be in disagreement with all of them.Â
There were rarely moments where Thomas was in disagreement with all of the Sides. Considering how these advisors were like Sides to RomanâŠLogan rubbed his jaw a little in thought.Â
Thomas would turn on most of them if he was listening to one specifically. Similar to the play years ago, the one Deceit disguised as Patton had them put on, Thomas was only paying attention to one Side.Â
Perhaps Roman was listening to only one of them.Â
But all seven were here, in agreement, and Roman was nowhere to be found.
Were there seven?
âWe didnât find much over here,â the Artist confessed. âJust got here, actually, a few minutes before yâall.â
It felt like an effort to change to a more productive topic. The Artist blew out a long exhale before shaking his head. âIâm sorry, man. Weâre going to find them.â
âI donât know whoâŠâ the Thiefâs voice trailed off.Â
âIâm telling you, I didnât do anything with anyone, and no one Iâve madeâd really do that. Everyone with a brain knows not to meddle with you meddlesome kids!â Remus squeaked in dismay, and then he cocked his head to the side in thought. Then, he shook his head again. âNope, noneâve themâd.â
âThemâd?â the Damsel asked, and Remus snorted at him.Â
âI havenât noticed anyone traversing too oddly, other than the border dweller. And even heâs been more reclusive lately,â the Dragon Witch agreed with a hum.Â
âOh, a new border dweller? Youâve got a neighbor?â Remus asked.Â
Logan looked up immediately. That would make sense.
âWe should stay onââ the Damsel tried to interrupt, but the Dragon Witch let out a small chuckle in continuation. His authority meant less here, anyway. And meant less to the Dragon Witch.
For good reason, too. âNo, no, Romanâs border. The advisor,â the Dragon Witch waved a clawed hand. âHeâs been lovely the few times weâve spoken, but heâs a bit paranoid. He might know something.â
The word advisor sat with everyone for a long while. It took some understanding at the insinuation.Â
An advisor, who lived near the border between Roman and Remusâ edges of the Imagination. The Damsel frowned in confusion at the Dragon Witch, mouthing âborder?â to himself. The Dragon must not have caught the insinuation at all, because he seemed even more confused by everyone elseâs silence.Â
Slowly, the Thief peeled off the Bard with a squinted, teary-eyed face to stare at the Dragon Witch. Even the Artist was watching her, brow pinched but mouth hanging open.Â
âExcuse me?â the Bard asked, teeth gritted. He seemed to have made the connection first. âSorry, advisor like. Like us, advisor?â
âThatâs who Roman has been listening to,â Logan said.Â
Patton frowned, nudging his side gently. âWhat do you mean?â
âIf the advisors are Romanâs SidesâŠ.well, weâve seen what happens when Thomas only considers the opinions of one of us. He acts drastically and without much forethought. Roman seems to be acting the same way,â Logan explained, though he kept his gaze on the agitated advisors watching him. âIt means he could be solely listening to another advisor.â
The Dragon Witch must not have known this border dweller was new, because she looked worried. She put a hand over her mouth and turned aside, breaking eye contact with the Bard.
He winced, waving his hand and approaching. âHey. Hey, Vi. Do you mean advisor like us?â
â....Yes. No wonder heâs not here,â she responded. âI thought you knew of him. He mentioned heâs met some of you.â
The other advisors were missing something. Some sort of crucial information, some epiphany, some kind of connection, because it looked like something was happening in the brains of all of Romanâs advisors. The Dragonâs confused frown turned angry, the Damselâs hardened into a scowl. The Bard was helpless, frown tight and nostrils flared as he glanced at the Artist, whose eyes were wide. His mouth was slightly open still, but now from breathing.Â
Virgil reached over and held his hand. At the very least, the Artist gripped back tight. All this tension was going to make the search later a lot harder, no oneâd be able to focus.
The only person who seemed to not be angry was the Thief, who had been staring idly at the Dragon Witchâs feet, eyebrows raising. He must have been making some kind of realization, though, because his hand shot up to his mouth.Â
âOh my god,â the Thief mumbled, voice muffled. âOh my god, I think Iâve met him.â
The Artist turned so hard his back cracked, and he winced in pain, though he was undeterred from shouting, âYOU HAVE?â
The Thief nodded, eyes closing tight. He hadnât thought it was real, but if this was someone new, someone who lived by the edge, and was going to start kidnapping them allâŠ.well. He always thought he was just good at escaping things. âIâŠI thought he wasâŠIâve-I probably have. Maybe Iâm going insane. I donât know. But I think Iâve been-Iâve had dreams where I wake up at the edge. And if thereâs one of us that lives there, thatâs on the border into the Subconscious normally, then itâs him. It has to be. It canât not be.â
A dream. It sounded less plausible the more they turned it over in their minds. Janus scoffed â a dream â and Logan bit his tongue to not say anything, but the reality of their situation was damning.Â
It didnât sound likely that a dream was where this mysterious eighth would introduce themselves, though dreams were as real as reality here. More than just the other Sides must have drawn this conclusion, because the Damsel pointedly put his hands behind his back, shoulders stiff and hiked. Guarding his own thoughts, as always. Or maybe guarding himself from the riling Artist, whose hands were pulling through his hair hard enough to pull his bun out of order.
âIâdâve thought the one of us who knew him was Playwright,â the Artist shouted finally. âThat fucker was always knowing more than he ever fucking said. He fucking-God DAMNIT.â
The Dragon leaned over, putting his hands on the Artistâs back in as comforting a way as he could, but the Artist just let go of Virgilâs hand and shrugged the Dragonâs hands off of himself. He jumped to his feet, pacing with his fists curled. Anger dripped off him.Â
The colors on his sweater, swirling and abstract, tinged orange. âHe fucking-He promised Roman heâd find all of us. He probably fucking found this other guyâVi, whatâs his name?âÂ
Everyoneâs eyes returned to the Dragon Witch, whoâd backed up a step. Her hands smoothed down the front of her shirt and she cleared her throat softly. It was something more painful than fear that danced in her expression as she played with the hem of her cape.
âHe called himself the Director,â she confessed. âIâm so sorry, IâŠwhen I met him, he seemed level-headed. I didnât expect this of him.â
The Director. As ominous a name as the Damsel, or the Dragon, or the Thief. Their titles were telling.Â
The Damsel turned the name over in his head. Director. Someone who sees themselves as a leader. But not in the same way as a Prince, no. They see it as fake. As a facade that they run and, well, more than lead. Direct. They have opinions. Strong ones.Â
Immediately, he likens the Director to himself. AndâŠwhen he was formed, he had some pretty objectionable goals. With the disappearance of the Playwright and the Child goneâŠwith Roman goneâŠcould this Director be a catalyst of some sort? Some other conflict-resolution member? Why would he be hiding in the woods? Why would he have waited all this time?
Had he been alone, holed up by himself, when the likeness to Roman faded away? Had the brown hair and brown eyes, charming voice and sturdy posture, faded away into something else without him understanding why? It had ostensibly been years since then, though the Sides only experienced it in mere months. Did Roman know about him? Or had Roman happened upon him?Â
Did he get Roman to do this?Â
Logan met his eyes in a quick glance. They must be thinking similar questions.Â
They should get going. With a new player, thereâs no telling what this Director would have Roman do. Even a name like thatâŠgave implications.
âIt sounds like a fair assumption, that Marlowe would know and wouldnât say anything. He does seem the type to keep things close to his chest,â Janus quipped, shaking his head. âIn any case, we shouldââ
The Artistâs fist collided with his snake eye before he could finish the sentence.
Janus was so surprised and there was so much energy rolled into the attack that he was knocked off his feet, stumbling backward and scooting away. Everyone was surprised; the Thief jumped to his feet, sword drawn immediately, while the Dragonâs tail wrapped around the Artistâs arm without warning. The Bard shouted, âDAVID!â in a scandalized way, just behind the Dragon while he pulled the Artist back.Â
In a quick move, Janus was blocked by Virgil, whose arms were spread out in front of him. He leveled a glare at the Artist, panic and anger matched in tandem. Immediately, too, Patton hurried to Janusâ side, holding his arm and pulling him back even more into his own grip.Â
The Artistâs eyes were wide, teeth grit in an angry, glaring grimace.
Virgilâs eyes were wider. His hands dropped in front of himself, preparing for the worst. If there were a fight, Virgil knew he could win. He wasnât a fighter. Thomas wasnât a fighter. But to protect one of them, heâd do fucking anything.Â
âDonât you fucking dare,â Virgil hissed, voice dipping lower in panic.Â
Logan stood by the Damsel, who was watching the scene play out. He glanced at the stoic prince, shoulders and back straight as he surveyed the turmoil, and stood solidly besides him. There wasnât much they needed to do.Â
Even while he got yanked away, the Artistâs fists were shaking, and when the Dragon wrapped him in his arms, the Artist tried pulling himself out.Â
âLet me go, you stupid fuckingâfuck,â he snarled. The Artist pointed rough at Janus, who was doing his best to not look over. âKeep Marloweâs name out of your manipulative fuckinâ mouth, snake!â
The Dragon just sighed, holding him a little tighter. He cast Virgil a look that was bordering on apologetic, and Virgil didnât move a bit.Â
Behind him, Patton held Janusâ shoulders gently. Janus hadnât expected to be attacked, no sir. He knew Roman was pissed at him, so the advisors must be mad with him, but this was out of left field. This was unexpected. Heâd messed up, sure, but this was uncalled for.Â
Roman was insane. He wasnât in his right mind. Janus was fine to just say sorry and move on. Roman just had to stop being a dramatic baby, pushing him away, LITERALLY PUNCHING HIM.Â
âOh,â Patton tutted, and his thumb brushed over Janusâ cheekbone as he cupped his face.Â
It was a soft hold, and Janus couldnât help but lean into it ever so slightly. His eye was puffing up already, he could feel it.Â
âThatâs gonna be a black eye,â Patton assessed. âHey, Logie, can you take a look?âÂ
God fucking damnit. Patton was always so gentle, so caring.Â
They werenât dating anymore. That was behind them all now.Â
Patton leaned into a squat, looking back at Logan for advice, and Logan blinked as if he were surprised. An opportunity to be helpful and dispense some information wasnât going underutilized, however, so Logan knelt down beside them and inspected Janusâ face as well. While he moved â while the Artistâs struggling in the Dragonâs arms grew weaker â while the Damsel and the Dragon Witch watched â the Bard pulled out his ukulele.Â
âWeâre getting a little too riled up here, eh?â he asked the Thief, who was now hiding his face in his hands, head leant against the Bardâs shoulder.Â
âThereâs a lot to get riled up over, Denny,â the Thiefâs voice was muffled in his hands.Â
The Bard tutted and began to play his ukulele. The sound that escaped was smooth, resonating around the room, soothing like calm waves over everyone in the area. It pushed and pulled attention. He didnât sing, but the ukuleleâs tune did its own work, though a soft pink light danced between the strings and the Bardâs fingers. Maybe it was just his painted nails. Maybe it was something else altogether. He hummed along to the tune.Â
It was easy to forget the Bardâs healing magic when you werenât paying attention to him. He swayed side to side as the song loosened the Thiefâs shoulders and alleviated the tension behind Janusâ cheek, lifting some of the pain. He waved his hand at Logan and Patton, trying to dissuade worry, but Patton held his hand.Â
Patton just held his hand.Â
Janus held back.Â
Logan stood, reaching down to help pull Janus up as well. Once he was standing, Janus fixed his hat and rubbed the scales by his eye gently. It was going to swell and bruise, but whatever.
In the Dragonâs arms, the Artistâs pushing turned to shaking, body pressed against the Dragonâs broad chest. He rubbed the Artistâs back tenderly before just stranding there, swaying to the Bardâs music as well. He smiled weakly at Janus when they made eye contact.Â
Maybe the music wasnât even magic. Maybe it was just the power of a pause in the action, a break in the narrative, giving everyone a moment to collect their thoughts and feelings. The Artist had even begun to cry.Â
The song began to slow, until the Bard plucked the final string. His humming lasted a little longer, but not by much, and he finally gave the Damsel a smile and a wink.Â
The Damsel returned the smile warmly. âThank you, Bard. Your-Your calming nature is always welcomed.â
The Bard attempted a curtsy in his seat, and the Thief snorted at his attempt. âMy pleasure, Princey. I hope your eye feels alright, Janey, wouldnât want that pretty face getting too hurt.â
So forward. But maybe he should expect that from the Bard. Heâs not exactly the most subtle one, and heâs often one of the more forgiving, understanding, and kind ones. Janus was still a bit afraid to make eye contact as he stood behind Virgil.Â
âI do,â he said, staring at the back of Virgilâs hoodie. âThank you.â
âThis isâŠfine.â
What?
Janus frowned, turning around. Patton and Logan to his either side, flanking him while Virgil still stood in front. While the threat of the Artist was gone, Virgil still seemed hesitant to let Janus and the other advisors talk face to face.Â
âIâm glad,â the Damsel responded.Â
His fingers drummed against his cane briefly before he pointed toward the Dragon Witch. âGuinevere. Are you able to take-to take us where you saw the other advisor?âÂ
âItâs going to work. I trust him. If he thinks itâs going to work, then itâs gonna fucking work.â
Janus turned around again. Someone was talking, almost begging something to be real. It wasnât. It was a lie.Â
He could hear someone lying to themselves, but everyone else was in front of him. It was so loud. They were lying about something very, very big, so big it was echoing.Â
âI should be able to, but I donât know where he lives,â the Dragon Witch explained, still planning with the others. âI can take you to the part of the edge where I saw him.â
Sometimes, he could hear it, when the other Sides told a lie. They were basically incapable of lying to him, he could hear that all the time, but when they were telling huge lies, he could hear it through walls. It was like a beacon drawing him closer. It was something to protect, for him. Something to hide.
He could hear someone lying to themselves. It wasnât Roman, but it felt like Roman. He didnât think he could hear the advisors like this, but it had been a long time since heâd been in the Imagination. And if the advisors had a part of Romanâs essence within them, then it stood to reasonâŠ
âRoman knows what heâs doing.â
Janus didnât want to interrupt. Heâd caused a lot of problems, and maybe he couldnât identify them, but he knew they were problems.Â
âThatâs all we need,â the Damsel murmured. âIf we poke around enough, weâre sure to find an-to find an entrance.â
âI hear someone,â Janus whispered, soft enough that only the other Sides around him could hear.
âItâs going to be perfect. ThisâllâŠ.itâll fix everything.âÂ
âWhat?â Virgil asked.Â
âOh, fuck off,â the Artist scoffed, and the Dragon shushed him harshly.
Janusâ brow furrowed. This plan. The person was trusting Roman and talking about a plan. This had been planned?
âSomeone,â his voice was drawn out as he tried to focus on the voice. âIs lying.â
A brief pause floated over the group while they traded looks. Patton was the first to gesture around the room and ask, âHere?âÂ
Janus shook his head. âNo,â he frowned at the ground.
âThe kidâll go away and-and Romanâll be okay. Itâll be fine. Itâll be better than fine, Romanâll be that much better. Without. The kid.â
Janusâ eyebrows raised.Â
The implications were staggering, and the weight of the lie was getting stronger. Janus might be able toâŠ.
âI think the Director is lying to themself,â Janus stated, eyes wide enough to make his bruised one throb.Â
âCan you hear it?â Logan asked. After Janusâ ability to hear and appear during heightened deceit was revealed during Romanâs previous breakdown, Logan had wondered how far reaching the ability went, and if it followed into the Imagination. It seemed as though it did.Â
Janus nodded, then closed his eyes. He had to focus.Â
âWe donât fucking need the kid. We donât. We donât, we donât, we donât, we donât fucking need him.â
âIâm going,â Janus muttered.Â
Then, he disappeared with a soft popping sound. Virgil flinched, turning around all the way, as if to confirm there was no one behind him now. âJANIE?!â Remus shouted in similar surprise, looking around.Â
He hadnât been very privy to the conversation, it seemed. Patton reached over, the lack of a hand in his making him search for Logan's. Luckily, Logan seemed aware, or at least he didn't seem to mind when Patton latched onto him. Virgil let out a long exhale and when he looked up at the other two, his determined gaze found two of the same.
The Damsel stood. With one hand, he patted Remusâ shoulder, and the other he used to lean on his cane. âWe have to-We have to go, too, then,â he said, glancing at the Dragon Witch. âPlease take us, Vi.â
ID: drawing of Gavin poking both of his cheeks with his fingers and winking at the camera, with his tongue sticking out. There's a star coming off of him. It looks vaguely mischievous.
A/N: me: oh no, AO3 is getting DDoS'ed :( and i just finished a chapter of beliefs so I can post another chapter! damn
me:
me: wait i can post another human chapter
anyways, please stay off AO3 for the time being and here's a post with more information, but they're facing extreme server overloading and opening AO3 pages makes it harder apparently. i don't know, i'm a communicator, not a programmer, so i'm just passing along what i know.
anywho! here's another snippet of the human au i'd been writing. if you would like to read the first part, here is the first snippet, which also has some more background on the au. check here for descriptions of the human au.
this is likely to be the last of this big story i'll be posting. i might post some of the oneshots i have in this au, as i have a few that are sorta unrelated to the plot that i'm comfortable with posting, but...well. we'll see. i finished chapter 13 of more than beliefs so i've 1) begun writing chapter 14 finally and 2) might post chapter 11 soon :D not having anything to do with my life right now is good for catching up on sleep debt and writing fanfiction! yipee!
i hope you enjoy!
Words: 7,265
WARNINGS: having a panic attack and being sad, not much more i don't think but if there is, let me know and i'll make note of it!
(in lieu of a diving image, please take this human au meme LOL)
âSo. Bartender. Your nameâs Eric, right? Thatâs what Marlâ said.â
âMhm,â Eric hummed.Â
âThanks for driving them home. Marlowe wouldâve flipped tomorrow if he woke up and realized heâd left the car somewhere else. Heâs gonna flip either way, though, since the idiot teaches tomorrow morning,â David snickered a little, leaning against the car door in a casual manner.Â
At the very least, the flippance was making it more evident that David wasnât, like. Mad at him. Or something. Eric nodded again before remembering that David was now driving. âUh. Yeah. Would have been a kinda problem.â
âMm,â David hummed. After a few beats of silence, he added. âYou got anything to do tomorrow?â
Tomorrow? Why was he asking? âI, uh, have work at four. At the bar. Other than that, no,â because truthfully, he was only scheduled five days a week at the restaurant.
He tried to get his shifts at the restaurant and his shifts at the bar to not line up, but five days a week at both jobs meant there wasnât ever a chance of that happening. When he did need a full day off, though, for parent-teacher conferences especially now that Gavin was going to school, he managed to get the exact days precisely. Which was probably because he was so punctual and dependable. Which was what he tried to be. But sometimes, he worried that wouldnât be enough, so he always clocked the days heâd need two months in advance.Â
Tomorrow was just a lucky day though, to just have one job and not both. Often they stacked. Sometimes they didnât.Â
âWanna meet up for lunch?â Davidâs proposition cut through Ericâs tangential thoughts.Â
He turned to David again now, a slight frown on his lips, before asking, âFor lunch?â as if he hadnât heard properly.Â
David nodded. âYep. My treat, for bringing my boys home safe,â he shot Eric another grin. âAlso you like, havenât at all told me where the fuck to go. Iâm assuming itâs closer to downtown but unless you just wanna keep driving in circlesâŠ.â
Fuck. Eric looked out the window for real now, trying to figure out where they were. It was the highway going into town. âYouâre going to want to take the Concord exit,â he said.Â
âOkay,â David said. âBut, yeah. Lunch.â
âLunch,â Eric repeated, quickly averting his eyes back to the dashboard. âYou and me and lunch?â
He didnât really want to look directly at David, but just in case David like. Grabbed him. Or something. Eric wanted to see him in his peripheral. He saw David shrug.Â
âI mean, yeah. You ever been to Lucyâs on Main? Such a great diner, I used to go with an old girlfriend every night almost,â David pulled off the exit.Â
âRight. And then left at the, uhâŠ.fourth light.â
âGotcha. Lunch. At Lucyâs on Main?âÂ
Lucyâs on Main wasnât the fanciest place, but Eric had only been once, and that was for Gavinâs fourth birthday. He liked their theming, even though it wasnât an actual childrenâs diner or anything, and Eric was never one to deny his brother when he asked for something achievable.Â
If he could, heâd get Gavin the world. Snatch it right out of Godâs hand
Going there with a stranger, thoughâŠ.if David wasnât dating like, at least two other people, Eric would be worried this was a flirt attempt. And he wasnât really in the mood to be romantic. He kinda wanted therapy first? And he hadnât thought about romance in a while, not since his boyfriend in high school. Now he was an adult with responsibilities, he couldnât just ditch school and smoke weed by the train station with Schmidt.Â
This was just some guy being thankful, though, right? And he wasnât doing anything tomorrowâŠ.and the idea of food, especially free food, was pretty enticing. A guaranteed meal would be nice. And at this point, he didnât think this was going to be a trap. He knew Lucyâs on Main. He wasnât...this was awkward, but it wasnât like he was going to get mugged or anything.
The silence dragged, just a bit, and David sighed. âIf you wanna say no, you can. I just know thisâ probably way outta your ways, and you seem like youâre not gonna kill me and steal my car, so itâd be nice to hang out once and say thanks.â David sounded tired, too.Â
Though that explanation was pretty straight forward. Eric nodded slowly in something like understanding. If David was worried Eric was going to be mugging him, and Eric was worried that David was going to be mugging himâŠ.well, he could just be saying this to get his guard down. Eric knew he consistently looked like his guard was up, more often willing to fight than he wasnât, but maybe that was off-putting here. Maybe he was the scary one, here.Â
Ah, the mom friend override.Â
âNo, I, uh. Thatâd be cool,â Eric said, then cleared his throat and continued. âThanks for the offer. Would noon work?âÂ
âYeah, sure,â David smiled as he took the turn onto Concord Avenue. âMeet you there?â
âSure,â Eric said. âYou can pull over anywhere on this block.â
He gestured out the window. His building was maybe two blocks down, but, well. He didnât want to take this dude all the way to his apartment.Â
Did he?
No, no he didnât. Also, his days of one night stands were like, two years long gone. Eric wasnât about to bring a whole adult (WITH TWO BOYFRIENDS, MIND YOU, AT LEAST TWO) to his tiny apartment at almost four in the morning with his kid brother sleeping in the same bedroom. Like, sure as fuck that wasnât happening. Regardless of how pretty David looked in the moonlight.Â
Yeah, he was tired as fuck if he was just going to start mentally waxing poetic about how pretty these boys were. Eric looked around at the car, out the window, then back at David. Who was watching him with a smile ever so slight, almost knowing, almost cocky.Â
âWhat, you want a goodnightâs kiss too?â he joked.Â
Eric snorted, shaking his head. âNah, Iâm justâŠ.â Confused.Â
This was all so much, in one night.Â
He had a hundred fuckinâ dollars in his pocket?Â
And Davidâs boyfriendâs phone number? This dude just drove him home, too, for nothing, and was going to take him out to lunch tomorrow?Â
âThisâ a lot more social interaction in one day than I get most months,â Eric joked, almost confessed really, and shrugged. âItâs also four in the morning.â
âHuh, would you look at that,â David looked at the clock and pulled a face, as if heâd just noticed the time.Â
Wouldnât that be a riot? What the fuck was he doing awake, even? Eric snorted, hiding his eyes behind a hand as he laughed. âStop no, itâs too-itâs too early for this,â he said between laughs as David began to chuckle a little himself.Â
âDamn right. You head home, get to bed, and make sure youâre up at at LEAST noon!â David waved at Eric as he got out of the car, into the night air.Â
It nipped at his nose, much colder than he thought itâd be. Granted, he thought heâd still be warm from the bar, too. Eric turned around, waving at David as he whipped a completely not-legal U-turn in the middle of the road, then headed back where he came. It looked like David was going to wait until Eric got into a building, which was kind of nice of him, but once Eric stood still and waved, he hit the reverse. Which was also fair. And also part of Ericâs plan.Â
He didnât exactlyâŠ.Now okay, tomorrow morning this was all going to register as flirting. Eric was going to take off his shirts and lay down in his bed and watch Gavin sleep for maybe fifteen minutes before passing out himself out of just exhaustion while wearing his bartending slacks and without actually being beneath his pillows. He was going to not think about the implications behind the three menâs actions until tomorrow morning, while making breakfast, and he was going to be quiet enough in thought for Gavin to ask if heâd done something wrong while they were on their drive to school.Â
âNo, Gav, youâre fine. Peachy, actually, sweet pea,â Eric said, while he and Gavin waited at a stop light.Â
Gavin was supposed to hold the motorcycleâs safety restraints while they drove, but more often than not he ended up holding Eric. He had his own safety jacket and belt buckles, which Eric installed as soon as he found out they were a thing. Heâd gotten the bike before heâd gotten Gavin, and he wasnât giving the bike away.Â
âWhatâre you sad about?â the kid asked.Â
The light was still red, so Eric leaned one arm back and gave Gavin one of their bike hugs. Positioning was always awful, but Gavin knew the drill, so he snuggled his helmeted head beneath Ericâs arm for a moment and hugged him tighter.Â
Now, though, how to like. Explain this to the four year old.
âA friend asked to go to lunch together today,â was what Eric landed on.
Gavin gasped, excitement filling his voice in a way that almost made Eric feel bad. âA friend?! Yay!â
âYeah, a friend. Iâve got those,â Eric joked.Â
âDaddyâs got one friend,â Gavin said with his own snicker, and Eric laughed, too.Â
âDaddyâs got more than one friend,â he said, and for a moment, thinking about the phone number written on the bill at home, he meant it.Â
Gavin seemed happy with that explanation and with those jokes, and Eric was as happy as heâd let himself be. He dropped Gavin off and promised to pick him up later, told him to have a good day, that he loved him.Â
Kidâs school got out at 1:38, which would be a fair reason to leave lunch, if it got like. Unbearably awkward. Which was a real possibility, if you asked Eric. Wasnât last night awkward enough? This dude really saw Eric at his normal messiest states at four in the morning and decided that the best decision was to spend even more time with him. Granted, he was in his pajamas last night, and he seemed pretty out of it, too. It might be nice to have a real conversation outside of being ground into dust levels of tired.
Also, it wasnât Ericâs worst, and he thought heâd held it together pretty well considering the outlandish circumstances. In nearly any other case, he would have gone running for the hills at the mention of having lunch alone together with a stranger, or even being handed a bill with a fucking phone number on it. Heâd been hit on at the bar before; everyone likes the stoic type bartender, until he starts rejecting advances. Then he gets the drink thrown on him and slurs thrown his way, which like, really? The ownerâs queer and they think itâs going to be okay to say slurs? Idiots. Eric knew it was a situation better than that kind of shit, but he didnât know what made him say yes to these advances. Something about the genuine-ness of it all, maybe.Â
And these like. Were definitely advances. There were no ifs, ands, or buts. He didnât process it fully last night, but now that the lunch date was starring him in the face, he could see it for what it was: a date.Â
Three people, though. That was three extra people to disappoint. And, if he really thought about it, Eric didnât know if he could, likeâŠ.handle that. On an emotional level but also on an anxiety level.Â
Still, to not show up to lunch and flake would be rude, and he may be a coward but he was anything but rude.Â
Eric took some time between dropping off Gavin and heading to the date to prepare. He had tried while putting his hair up, a looser ponytail rather than the pinned bun he had for either of his jobs. Usually, heâdâve preferred to keep it down, but. Well. It got everywhere. It was kinda scraggly, probably 90% split ends. Good to have it out of the way.
He threw on a quick t-shirt, a pair of black jeans, and his regular leather jacket. If this was really just lunch, then it was a one and done kind of situation. Not much else for him to do, other than lay down and try to nap for an hour before heading out.
Lucyâs on Main was fairly crowded for lunch on a weekday, in Ericâs opinion. People were waiting outside when he got there. And he didnât see David waiting amongst them, so he put his own name down for a table and went to go stand outside. There was a couple sitting on the bus stop bench, though. Smoking. Itâd been a few years since he managed to kick his nicotine addiction, but he wasnât exactly fond of the scent of smoke anymore, so after a moment of taking in the wind and hyping himself up to talk to a stranger, a whole ass stranger, he went back in.Â
And that was when he heard a âYO! ERIC!â
Eric jumped, turning around towards the inside of the diner. Most of the tables were filled, and one had a guy with his arms up, waving him down. Literally. Waving him down.
âHEY!â David called out.Â
Eric saw him crack a smile as he recognized him, as Eric waved back just a little. They were turning heads a bit. Just a bit.Â
He told the host that he was with âthat guyâ and made his way over, sliding into the seat opposite David. And he tried to kind of avoid looking at him, because being yelled at across a public space was never something Eric was too fond of. As soon as he sat down, though, David waved in his face.Â
ââSup, Harley,â David said. âNice bike.â
âThanks.â Eric looked up, briefly, then froze. And looked up again.
Davidâs hair was down, though itâd been brushed and was pinned back with a bobby pin or two. He was wearing a puffy varsity jacket and a t-shirt underneath, the varsity jacket covered in patches that seemed to be hand-sewn on. There was a pin, too, on the jacketâs collar, with the inclusive rainbow. Cute. His glasses were cute, too, framing his face in a way that made his smile look a bit wider as he also looked over eric.
HeâŠ.Well. In last nightâs dark, he hadnât really caught what David actually looked like. He was smaller than Eric but they had similar styles almost. There was something comforting casual about Davidâs posture, though, and in the way he leaned back against the boothâs seat.Â
Surrounded by hot men. Eric turned away as the waitress came over, hoping he wasnât blushing as much as he thought he was, and ordered himself a plate of fries. Before she left, David interrupted.
âNah, you can order more, dude. Iâm paying,â he reached over and motioned towards the waitress. âGet a milkshake at least, Lucyâs shakesâre the fucking best.â
Now, Eric didnât really want to be wasting someone elseâs money, and the plate of fries was definitely more than heâd been planning on having today. But David was watching him. And Eric couldnât really say no. Not when he was being watched like this. A burger did sound good, too, butâŠ.
God, he didnât want to make David spend money on him. Eric stuffed his hands into his pockets slowly, playing with the edge of his phoneâs case. âCan I, uh. Can I get a chocolate shake, too?â he asked.Â
âMâkay,â the waitress said with a knowing smile.Â
âAnd make his fries the bigger size! Iâll steal some,â David grinned at the waitress, who chuckled at his antics but wrote down the change.Â
And then she left.Â
Eric leaned back in the seat, and he didnât really know what to feel. In a weird way, it was good that David just started to converse, then and there.
âLike I said, cool bike. What kind is it?â he said, as if he knew of it.Â
âUh,â oh, jeez, the bike. âItâs a 2005 Night Train.â
âSheesh, a Night Train! And sheâs still running? Do you do your own maintenance?âÂ
âI, uh. Yeah. Yeah, I do. Maintenance and modifications.â
And that got him talking. Which, like. Was hard. On standard, getting him to converse was hard. But then David mentioned his old bike, how he used to have a 2002 Softail Deuce, how he always found it hard to maintain. Well, âcourse itâs hard to maintain if you donât keep checking on it, especially after not riding it for a bit. Eric installed the second seat and had to buy her new brakes, just in case and to help with smoother rides.Â
He talked about how he kept his parts and mechanical tools in a case in his apartment. Usually heâd keep it stuffed under the coffee table, better than leaving it out in the garage.Â
David said it was cool, that he knew enough to maintain the bike himself. Yeah, Eric just liked keeping up with it and making sure he knew enough about it. He didnât know any mechanics in the area well enough to trust them to actually take care of it as well as he could. Plus, if anything went wrong, heâd know what the situation was. He liked knowing that.Â
It was nice, to talk to someone about these things. Eric didnât notice his tension easing up with David. It was almost natural.
David mentioned having a bike. What did he do with it? He had to get rid of it, he didnât take good enough care of it. Sold it to someone before he moved out here. Heâs originally from Michigan but relocated for work, since itâs better to be near a lot of galleries. Selling the bike helped pay for life after college.Â
What did he work in? Art. He worked most in oils, something like a modern impressionist kind of painting. The big one was sculpting. He liked to chisel, but marble was kind of hard to come by. Heâd gotten into wood carving, though, since the house was nearby a forest. Heâd take down a tree somewhere on their property, replant a few saplings, then bring it in pieces into his workshop to carve. It was in the basement, but theyâd set up a ventilation system well enough. He did like painting realism sometimes, as a hobby, though.
Eric didnât know anything about art. He would love to see his works, one day.Â
Well you could swing by. I donât think anyoneâd be home to mind. If you wanna hang out some more.
âWhoâs home?â Eric asked then, almost confused.Â
David blinked at him a few times, trying to process what was confusing, before realization entered his face and he snapped his fingers. âShit, yeah. Iâm supposed toâŠ.yeah. So, uh. Me and the boys wanted to get to know you more. âS why Princey and Marlâ were at your bar.â
âOh.â What? Who the fuck are the boys? âWhoâre the boys?â
âYouâre gay, right? Just want to clear that up, âcause this is about to be so fuckinâ awkward if youâre straight.â David sipped his milkshake expectantly while Eric made a face, and before Eric even answered, David snickered. âSorry, dumb question, you donât need to be gay to like, get this. I dunno if anyone told you directly, but Phillip and Marlowe and I, and Cadence, and another dude you havenât met named Draco, weâre all in a relationship. Poly, gay, all that. Weâre all in a relationship.
âAnd like, we arenât gonna reel you into a relationship with all of us. Cadence just said you were nice, soâd Marlowe and Phillip,â David put his hands upâEricâs face must have been some kind of slack jawed, but he was more trying to decipher what David was saying than paying attention to himself. âWe thought itâd be cool to meet you. Well. I thought itâd be cool. Like, as friends and stuff. And like, we move like a pack. I donât wanna speak for the others on what theyâre thinking, but I just wanted to make sure you knew like, this isnât a date, not for me. But like, I dunno. Youâve got everyoneâs interest now.
âSo if youâre like, wondering why a bunch of randosâre meeting up with you out of nowhere, itâs because you seem cool and we all share one braincell that befriends people at the same time. We all wanna meet you. I dunno what everyoneâs specific desires are past that, I just kinda wanna get to know you, but I think we could be friends. Thatâd be cool.â David leaned back, indicating the end of his explanation, and picked up his almost empty milkshake to sip from as Eric digested all of that new information.
âOh. Okay,â Ericâs voice sounded hollow, even to himself.Â
Was that like getting stalked? Was he just getting stalked now, but a frat house of gay dudes? Was that what was happening? He didnât know. His ears were kind of ringing a little as he tried to process that.Â
So heâd run into a gaggle of dudes who wanted to be his friend. All of them? Theyâd talked about himâof course theyâd talked about him.
One of them was fucking famous? Eric didnât know what being friends with a famous person was like, but he didnât want cameras in his face all the time if thatâs what it meant.Â
Was he even good enough for that? Eric wouldnât have considered himself friendship material for any regular person, not to mention multiple people at once, one of whom was famous.
He had a lot of concerns, off the bat.Â
âItâs kinda a lot to explain. Mostly, weâre just gonna be annoying, since you seem cool and we wanna be friends. If thatâs okay,â David said. âThat okay?â
What would they want out of him? He didnât have money. He barely had a personality, if you asked him. There wasnât anything really to gain from being his friend.Â
Why the fuck were these people interested in him?Â
Eric barely heard him. He just. Starred. For a moment.
That was when Eric became acutely aware of where they were. Of who he was talking to. That this was...well, it was a casual conversation, but a proposition to come home. He had toâhe checked his phone, it was 1:10, holy fuck. He had to pick up Gavin soon. Like, now even. He had to go.Â
He had to go.
He just had to.Â
âOkay. I,â what was he doing here, what did they want out of him? There was no wayâ âI need to go.â
David raised his eyebrows but said nothing of it. His smile faded. âOkay. Go ahead, Iâm handling the bill,â his voice was a lot more gentle now, as if the fervor heâd spoken with earlier had been sapped out of his bones.Â
Eric almost missed it.Â
Heâd been lulled into a false sense of security, out of talking about fucking motorcycles and art. He stood, one fast motion that is more abrupt than he should be, and turned down the hall. He could apologize. David seemed nice. So did Phillip. Marlowe. Cadence maybe even. It might be nice, to talk to some more people, to get to know them.Â
Gavin had said earlier that he had a friend. He could stick his neck out there. Reach out to people. He had a phone number. He could turn around and talk to David right now.Â
David had looked real sad when Eric left.
Instead, he walked down the hall and out the door. He tried his best to breathe evenly, because panic driving the bike was never smart, and in doing so he just. Swallowed. His feelings.Â
Eric took a big gulp of air, actually, and grabbed his bikeâs helmet. Already, he was just zoning out. He was going to go pick up Gavin! Then, he was gonna make sure the kid was doing his homework. And then he had a shift at the bar.Â
What would they even say about Gavin?Â
He revved the bikeâs engine and pulled out of the parking lot without looking back.Â
His brain was static empty by the time he pulled into the parking lot at Gavinâs school, a whole ten minutes early. He didnât have to leave that fast. But he couldnât just stay there. What would he do? Go back and talk to David? Face that kind of unknown? He...he couldnât. Heâd stormed out like something was wrong, and wouldnât David be mad for that? He didnât know him much anyways. He didnât owe him anything, either.Â
If only he could convince the guilt weighing in his stomach the same thing.Â
When the school bell rang, Eric perked up, taking Gavinâs helmet out from where it gets hooked and clipped onto the back seat. He drummed his fingers against the top.Â
His kid came bursting out from around the portables, running around to where Eric usually parked. Gavin threw his arms up in the air when he saw Eric, so Eric threw his arms up as well. He climbed off the bike and squatted down, holding his arms open enough for Gavin to launch himself into a hug.Â
They did this just about every day and Eric didnât see himself ever getting tired of it. Gavin snuggled his face against Ericâs shoulder and shouted âHI THIEF!â
âHey, kiddo,â Eric said with a sigh. The nickname was a dour one, but it was hard to train Gavin out of it. Heâd gotten upset about enough things, today, and he was waiting until they got home to do something about the rising panic he was literally just barely tamping down.Â
He helped Gavin onto the motorcycleâs seat, strapping him in while he asked how school had gone. It was a Thursday. Gavin had math tests on Thursday, which he loved. They were doing fifty in a minute with addition, which the teacher said Gavin was really good at. Better than reading time, since he was bad at focusing. The teacher suggested he get Gavin checked for reading disorders or attention disorders. But Eric didnât have the money for something like that.Â
Still, it was nice hearing Gavin talk about how happy he was to finish the fifty. He was the first one done. âYouâre such a smarty pants,â Eric joked, patting his hand on Gavinâs helmet once he got it strapped on.Â
âMm,â Gavin frowned at that one, then shrugged. âNot really. I just like the numbers.â
âYouâre good at the numbers, too,â Eric reminded him as he sat himself back down, too. âWhat homework do you have tonight?â
âWait wait, but I wanted to know,â Gavin grabbed Ericâs sides, balling his hands up around him. âHow did lunch go?â
Lunch.Â
Gavin was asking about. About how lunch went. Eric was really glad he wasnât looking at him, because thereâs no way he could have hidden how much his face fucking fell at the question.Â
âIt, uh. Went alright.â Eric put his own helmet on, not turning around to see Gavin. âIâve got work tonight, so Iâm going to cook dinner when we get home, and youâve gotta do your homework. Okay?âÂ
He didnât want to talk to his four year old brother, of all people, about that travesty of a date. It wasnât even a date. It fucking felt like a date.Â
He didnât want to hang out with anyone. He didnât even want to have to talk to any of them, not if they were going to all pile up on him and what if anyone ever started taking offense to him? He didnât want to join their group. And he probably wasnât even good enough for it.Â
He didnât want to think about how heâd walked out on David.
Shut the fuck up about it, Eric. Youâve gotta go for a bit of a drive. Then you get to panic about this.
âOkay,â Gavinâs voice was quiet, a little sad. Probably because Eric wasnât answering his question. Usually Eric gave him an explanation before a nonanswer. But he didnât need to. And Gavin wouldnât understand. Eric could think of a thousand reasons why not to talk to Gavin about that.Â
âItâs fine,â Eric said, as if he could comfort Gavin with that harsh statement. And he revved his engine before he could hear Gavinâs response, if any.
The drive was quick. Some kinda force must have been on Ericâs side because every light was coming up green. He parked the bike in his unitâs garage and Gavin hopped off fast, beating Eric to the door, and disappeared inside.Â
Usually that was a surefire sign the kid was upset, but at the moment, Eric couldnât really find it in himself to care. Nor fault him, really. Eric was on edge, was being pretty unreasonable.Â
On the flip side, he had to make dinner. It was 2 p.m. and he had to be at work at 4, so he had to leave at 3:30, and he had to make sure Gavin was doing homework. A conversation like this could take hours. He didnât have that kind of time. And heâd have to understand himself why this was all happening. Why he was doing this. What was so terrifying.Â
Eric didnât have the time nor the energy to confront that. So he wasnât going to.Â
Quietly, he trudged into the kitchen, jumping when the door to the bedroom slams closed. Gavin, most likely. He usually did his homework in the kitchen, but, wellâŠ
Eric slung his jacket over one of the kitchen chairs and went to work cooking. It was always a tossup, leaving Gavin home alone. He was a smart kid. Eric told him not to touch the stove or the oven or touch any of the knives on their stand, and Gavin had never done anything like that. Eric also would punch in his phone number on the landline phone and colored in the âcallâ button with green sharpie. If anything happened, Gavin knew to just hit the green button. Thatâd call Eric, and he could always get home within ten minutes. If anything super bad happened, Gavin knew to hide in the closet. All of the neighbors on their floor had been asked, please, to call him if something happened to the building or his unit.Â
That was the best he could do, really. He didnât have the money nor knew anyone well enough to let them watch Gavin. Once, he tried to leave Gavin with the neighbors, but heâd somehow escaped their apartment and gone back to Ericâs. The kid was attached, the neighbor had explained. And Eric didnât really want anyone watching him in their apartment, when he wouldnât be there.Â
Sometimes, the kid will do the dishes for him. Once, Eric was pretty sure Gavin cut his hand while trying to wash a knife, but Gavin said a bully got his arm caught on a door hinge in a fight. That was a specific enough lie that worried Eric that maybe both had happened. Poor kid had to deal with living with him, bullies on top of that?
He made pasta with some marinara sauce. It was a solid batch, and if Gavin didnât finish it, then Eric would have some. Heâd already eaten more than enough at lunch, though. And he was used to being hungry by now.Â
He stared at the cooking pasta with a blank expression.Â
Once dinner was ready, Eric checked the clock. Twenty minutes before he had to leave. Which was pretty standard for him, save for how he now had to go into the room where Gavin was hiding so he could change. He wasnât about to go out in what heâd consider his nice clothes, to a bar where he could get thrown up on.
He stopped in front of the door. And took a breath.Â
âDinnerâs ready whenever you want it, Gav,â Eric said, voice soft as he also knocked on the door. âCan I come in? Iâve gotta get changed to go to work.â
âSure,â came the soft reply.
Eric braced himself internally, pursing his lips a bit as he pushed open the door and peeked in. Gavin was curled up in his bed, backpack and shoes kicked off on the ground besides it. The blanket was pulled over his head, probably curled up into a ball under the sheets.Â
He could just throw off his clothes and change real fast. But Eric only got his shirt off before Gavinâs head popped out.Â
âDid your lunch make you sad?â he asked.Â
The question made Eric freeze. Part of him wanted to turn around, growl at the child to shut the fuck up and stop asking. It would be easier, to be cruel. But he could never...he didnât want to be his parents, and when the kid was worried about him? That kind of idiotâd do that.Â
âA little,â Eric responded, trying to swallow the guilt that arose when he was reminded of how sad David had looked, how his smile had disappeared in the instant Eric stood up.Â
âDoes Thief not have any more friends?âÂ
Eric put on a black t-shirt and started taking off his jeans. âMy name isnât Thief, baby,â he tried to keep his tone level.
Gavin wilted a little. He hated it when Eric reminded him, but Eric hated that name, and it was going to be better to train Gavin out of it now rather than later. âSorry, Daddy. But did your friend make you sad?â
He sighed. Persistent fucking kid.Â
Too good for Eric, always worried about him. Sometimes, Eric wondered if Gavin got that from him, too. Always just a little too worried for it to be healthy.
He heard Gavin flinch back into the sheets, so he turned back around. Gently, Eric scooped Gavin up, blankets and sheets and all, and kissed his forehead. âA little,â he answered. âHe was a new friend. I donât think he meant to make me sad.â
âOkay.â Gavin snuggled a little more into Ericâs arms, and he felt Gavin hold onto his shirt. âDid you make him sad?â
Heh. âA little. We were both a little sad,â Eric gave him a squeeze, rocking slowly. âItâs okay, though. Sometimes you make yourself sad. Sometimes other people get sad. Being sad is okay. Itâsââ
âItâs about what you do after youâre sad,â Gavin finished. Probably excited he remembered it. Kidâs always been bad at focusing, anyway.Â
Itâs something Ericâs told him before, quite a few times. He wished he could hide his panic and depression and honest despair from Gavin, but in a two room apartment? He didnât want to leave the kid alone in the apartment, too. As little as he could. Gavin had seen him panic and Eric had pulled himself together to stop Gavin from worrying too much. The three year old kid had too big of a heart in him for Eric to keep making him sad, too. And now he was four.Â
âYep, youâve got it. Smart baby.â Eric lifted him as Gavin reached his arms up, giving him a tight hug around his neck and shoulders.Â
Gavinâs arm went around his head at that weird angle, where it was the only place where his arms could feasibly wrap around. âAre you gonna make it better?â
âIâm gonna try.âÂ
That seemed to be good enough for Gavin, because he gave Eric a kiss on the forehead, too, and then made a motion to go down. So Eric set him back down on the bed, ruffled his hair, and went back to changing his pants.Â
âI set up dinner on the table, itâs noodles.â He always tried to get the ones that looked like sea shells, because Gavin thought they were fun. âAfter dinner, you can leave your plate on the kitchen counter and do homework at the table. Iâll be back before bed time, okay?â
Shift was supposed to be shorter today; heâd be off at 9, and it wasnât like it was that long of a walk.
âOkay!â Gavin waved his hands. âHave fun! I love you!â
Eric, clothes changed and keys in hand, waved back. âI love you too!âÂ
He closed the door to the apartment, locked it from the outside, and hurried down the stairs. âIâm gonna try,â he mumbled again, quiet to himself.
The phone number.Â
Eric still had the bill in his other pantsâ pocket. He never took it out.Â
Itâd been a while since he, like. Had friends. And had to socialize.Â
David likely told all of them that Eric had just walked out on him. He didnât know what they thought of him.Â
But he had to try. Right?Â
At the very least, Phillip had seemed nice. Phillip had seemed like he knew what Ericâs anxiety looked like. And maybe thatâd beâŠ.
Eric could try. There wasnât a harm in that.Â
Work went smoothly, both works. No one went too crazy at the bar and Eric left when the next shift lead came, just in time to catch Gavin brushing his teeth before bed. Heâd managed to tuck the kid in, clean the kitchen, and even managed to fall asleep at a reasonable time. When he woke up, he took Gavin to school, then immediately went to his second job. Things were going well and, when he dropped off Gavin, the kid had wished him good luck in calling his friend.
Eric held onto that until his lunch break at his other job. During lunch break, he went across the street to a coffee shop, ordered a dirty chai, and took his phone out. Heâd taken a photo of the billâs phone number, wasnât about to wave a hundred dollar bill around in public, but the picture was good enough.Â
Here goes...well. Nothing, really. Everything. And nothing.Â
Just call the damn number.
His finger hit the call button before he could think any more about it, and he waited.Â
It took two rings for Phillip to pick up.Â
âHello?â he asked.Â
âHi.âÂ
That was when Eric realized he had no fucking idea what he was going to say. What, was he calling to say sorry? This was Phillipâs number, not Davidâs. Did he want to hang out with Phillip? What do adults do when they quote hang out unquote. He didnât want to do anything thatâd involve money too much, he wasnât able to pay for a dinner or something. Did he even want to meet up with him, in person? And he had so many questions about the arrangement, of the what, five men in a relationship thing. Did all of them want to talk to him? Why?Â
âOh, Eric. Hello! I ha-I hadnât expected you to call,â Phillip laughed a little, a sound that eased the tension off his shoulders. âAre you...What did you want to ta-to talk about?â
His voice sounded light. That was good. He didnât sound mad.Â
âI, uh. I just wanted toâŠ.âÂ
There was a pause. So Eric just took another sip of his coffee and said, quickly, âDid you want to go to a museum? Or hang out or something?âÂ
A museum.Â
Eric hadnât been to a single museum in the whole fucking city.Â
What the fuck was he thinking.Â
Phillip must have either pitied him or was picking up what he was trying to suggest, because that was when he responded, âOh! If you want to-to walk around and ta-talk, we could go to the-the universityâs botanical gardens.âÂ
Botanical gardens? And walking around might be nice. Ericâs never been to the gardens. To be honest, he didnât know they existed, and also didnât go to the cityâs university. It was a little farther away from the downtown and it wasnât like he got an education past high school level anyway.Â
Heâd always wanted to go into mechanics, what with working on the bike and all. It just never worked out.Â
Flowers seemed nice.Â
âSure! That, uh, Iâve never been but that sounds nice,â he said.
âThey are qui-quite pleasant,â Phillip hummed quietly, then added. âIf you donât mind, would it be alright if I exte-ex-ex-if I invited Cadence as well?â
Cadence. Cadence, the famous one?
âIs he, uhâŠ.is he allowed to likeâŠ.â Eric, frankly, had no idea what protocol was around famous people. âSure?â
Phillip chuckled quietly, just quiet enough for the phone to pick it up, and said, âHeâs definitely allowed to be in publi-public, if thatâs your worry. Being famous doesnât make it illegal to be in places. Heâd wanted to see you again, but, well. Bars are cro-cro-crowded. If you want, I wonât.â
âNo, no, itâs okay. Sure. Iâd, uh. Thatâs cool.âÂ
Why did he sound like an awkward teen? Why did this sound like asking someone out to prom? Eric was going to lose his mind.Â
Thankfully and graciously, Phillip seemed to understand his plight. David must have spread the word of him being an anxious mess because, to some extent, Phillip was planning this date for him.
Not a date. Just hanging out. Still weird for him, but markedly less weird.
âWhenâs the next weekday youâre free?â Phillip asked.Â
It wasnât that hard of a question. âMonday,â Eric responded.
He didnât have either job. Well, that was a lie, but he was picking up another late shift at the bar. He didnât have to be there until eleven.Â
âGreat. Monday at ten?âÂ
âWorks for me,â Eric said.Â
Phillip hummed in approval.Â
Eric almost wanted to ask about David. If Phillip heard. Things had been going well, for the most part, until David explained the polycule situation. And something about that had just made Ericâs chest seize.Â
That was so many people to disappoint. Theyâd discussed him. Eric never liked being the point of discussion, for any people. So the idea that this group of people who were all dating had talked about him to the point that the others wanted to meet him was surreal.Â
Plus, he couldnât help but be wary of the insinuation that they just wanted to be friends with him. Phillip was very regal, pretty and polished. Cadence was so fucking handsome it was unfair. David had been handsome as well, beautiful in a casual way. Eric was too fucking gay for this. He hadnât seen Marlowe in much other than lowlight, and while the dude was drunk, but even then Eric could tell the dude was adorable. It was un-fucking-fair.
There was aâŠ.worry, deeper down. That while they might not want him in a romantic way, heâs just going to be a nervous gay wreck the whole time.Â
âSee you then, then, Eric,â Phillipâs voice held something of a smirk, and then he hung up.Â
Eric lowered the phone, starred at the call screen for a moment or two before things began to click on his head. He was going to hang out with Phillip. And Cadence.Â
A/N: the way in which i didn't expect to be updating this ., before thomas' next sanders sides video.,., anyway like i keep saying, life is crazy. i now have a masters degree.
also ! im going to post., another snippet of the human au .,., a little later today,.,.., i am getting Bolder lol
i'm going to try to be more proactive with responding to comments, especially on ao3! if you have any questions about anything, feel free to ask, and enjoy the read <3 !
WARNINGS: death threats, a kidnapping, and a very, very long fall â i don't know if there's much to tag on this one but if you think i've missed anything, please let me know!
Words: 5,248
here it is on AO3!
here are the MtB masterpost and the full Chivalry series masterpost!
enjoy! <3
Tonightâs only stroke of luck was that none of Remusâ beasts had made it to their side of the Imagination. The Thief was still out, combing through the woods.Â
It had been hours. The sun had yet to rise, and searching rarely went well in the dead of night.
Virgil was following him around, from the ground. Sometimes, the Thief scaled a tree, which didnât feel like something he should be able to do. It must be the upper body strength. Why didnât Logan work that extra gym time into Thomasâ schedule, damnit.Â
Janus stayed outside. He didnât want to be inside, and it was good to keep the door open. It helped him think.Â
Plus, being inside meant waiting around with Logan and Patton, and as much as they were all fighting on the same side, it wasnât as though they werenât fighting each other as well. And he couldnât put up with Pattonâs faux fatherly friendship. He knew it was fake. It had to be.Â
It was early morning when Janus saw someone approaching the Tree. He stood, squinting into the distance. The person was much too tall to be the Child. They were moving slowly, too, and had an amorphously red shape. Janus could barely make them out in the moonlight.
âWhoâs there?â he called out.Â
âItâs me,â the Damselâs voice echoed back.Â
Oh.Â
Maybe he was just getting paranoid. Janus sat back down on the doorway, holding the tree bark door open with a leg.Â
âGood morning, Phillip,â he called.Â
He didnât receive a response until the Damsel, much closer, sighed. He leaned on his cane and looked around up at the Tree, the surrounding forests, before returning his gaze to Janus. He seemed out of breath. It must have been a long walk, or he must not be used to walking the distance.Â
âCould you spare some room,â the Damsel asked.Â
Oh, huh. Janus scooted to the side, opening space for the Damsel to sit, and he did. He rested his cane against the side of the Tree and grunted as he sank down, leaning on the doorframeâs side. One of his legs extended forward, straightened out, while the other pulled beneath it.Â
âSorry,â he hummed, voice muffled slightly by his scarf. âIâm not the best with distances. Usually the Playwright or the Dragon help me travel, butâŠ.but theyâre not accessible.â
Right. The Damselâs leg. âThereâs no need to apologize. Iâm sorry you had to come out here,â Janus waved at the forest while leaning his chin onto his other hand. âDid the Thief call you?â
âVirgil did, off of Ericâs-the Thiefâs phone.âÂ
He let out a sigh as he cracked his back in both directions, then he leaned back onto his hands. Virgil had called in a panic; the Thief had unlocked his phone and dropped it to Virgil. The Child was missing. They were coming back to the Tree but they hadnât found the Child. The Thief had combed every part of the woods faster than the Child could have traveled, so it was likely heâd been kidnapped. Did he get kidnapped out of the Tree? No, he ran after he and the Thief had an argument. Inopportune, but tensions were high, even between them, if the Artistâs anger was anything to go off of.Â
First the Playwright, now the Child? Something must be picking them off. Could it be one by one? Luckily, the other trio was together, and the Damsel and Thief were with the other Sides. They would have to stay together. But what could be trying to capture them like this?Â
And for what purpose? The DamselâsâŠdarker tones had never left. Never been removed. So a part of him wonderedâŠperhaps Roman was trying to finish the deed. But no. That would be foolish, after everything theyâd been through.
The Damsel shook his head, clearing the thoughts, before sighing again. He didnât want to look at Janus but who else was there for conversation â mirthlessly, the Damsel chuckled. Maybe that was why Roman would try to finish things.
Janus didnât know what to make of him. Ever since their first escapade and then some, even when they started actually getting to know the guy, he just couldnât understand. What were the implications of a part of Roman being almost as cut throat, as ruthless, as ends justify the means, as himself. What did that mean for Roman, for something like the Damsel to exist inside him.
There were few and far between opportunities for him to be alone with the former Prince, and heâd been the one to unravel Janus in the very beginning. This might be untradeable time. He should take the chance.Â
But for what? He wanted to understand more about Romanâs psyche, what could be causing all of this, butâŠfor what? What part did he want to know? Heâd thought he had a strong profile of the prince on lock, until Roman went against that, went against everything heâd known about him, just to prove him wrong. Out of pure spite. What did that say about him, and what didnât it say that Janus needed to understand?
âWhen did the Chil-the Child run away?â the Damsel asked.Â
âQuite late at night. Maybe eleven. Itâs been hours,â Janus responded. âVirgil and Thief must have been walking for miles and they hadnât found him.â
The Damsel nodded slowly. âTwo out of sevenâs more than just a coincidence.â
Hypothesizing, and reserved.Â
âIâm surprised you followed them in here,â the Damsel continued. âI wouldnât have-I didnât expect you to care as much.â
Janus flinched, shooting the Damsel a glare. In response, though, the Damsel just cocked an eyebrow back to him, challenging him to argue.Â
âWeâŠIâm on good terms with Roman,â Janus said. âWeâve had our disagreements, butââ
The Damsel laughed. He laughed so hard he leaned forward, holding his hand over his mouth like Janus had done to the other Sides so many times, as if he could stifle the sound. It grated on Janusâ ears. It sounded too much like Roman to be comforting and it was harsher in the way it was different.
âThe only terms you think you-you think you have Roman are on the terms and conditions, because of how often you use him. A âfunny, wholesome prankâ you enjoyed,â the Damsel turned so fast his scarf brushed Janusâ arm and he jumped at the sudden tonal change as the Damsel hissed angrily at him. âPlaying into his love of theater, being right, AND desire to be a good person? Thatâs sinking low. Even for the leg-less snake.â
âI wouldnât have toâthe *leg-less snake?!â Janus couldnât wrap his head around the Damselâs report of his being.Â
âItâs a metaphor. You know, as you so enjoy. Speaking in tongues rather than-rather than play your cards openly, and I thought we-I thought-I thought you would have learned,â the Damsel growled in response. âYou are the reason we-we didnât go to the callback. You are the reason Romanâs self-love has been eradicated. And you are the reason Roman is missing. And I have no qualms with saying it, even if others-others do..â
Janus stared at him with wide, undilated eyes. He hadnât noticed, but heâd pressed himself against the wall, one hand gripping the step into the Tree while the other scratched at the Treeâs wall, trying to find purchase. One more bout and he might run.Â
Good. The Damsel reveled in it, Janusâ fear. He knew he had to stay level headed â someone had to â but it felt good to finally unveil the source of everyoneâs hostility. As much or as little as everyone knew. Heâd spoken with the Child about it a few times, who was disappointed. Heâd hoped that he could trust Janus, only to be proven wrong. It broke the kidâs heart. The Damsel hoped that that was all it had broken.
Slowly, he pushed himself up again, grabbing his cane with another sigh. Rougher this time. In the distance were more figures. Two, to be precise.
âGet inside before Thief sees you. Heâs-Heâs not as good at holding back his sword when anxious, and he wonât make your death as painless,â the Damsel warned, the growl never leaving, and Janus wasnât willing to argue that point.Â
He hurried back up the stairs, trying to wrap his mind around what the Damsel had accused him of. That basically meant Roman felt that way. Or was it a third party perspective. Or was it both. Could it be both?Â
Did it even matter?
Logan was in the kitchen, a mug in his hands as he leaned on the counter and checked his phone. He was typing something. Patton, too, was in the living room, also typing on his phone. Something else. Janus didnât even want to ask what it could be or what was happening; he just wanted to get on with it. Who knew if either of them had similar feelings.Â
âTheyâre back,â he said. âAnd Damselâs here, too.â
Logan looked up first, pocketing his phone in an instant. âOh, good,â he nodded toward the stairs.Â
They hurried down in time to see the Damsel catch the Thief in his arms with a grunt, cane still propped up against the Treeâs side. Patton strayed near the back, but even he could see the Thief tuck himself into the Damselâs chest, arms curled around his head and fingers raking through his own hair. Virgil, behind them both, waved a hand to the others, signaling that they stay put. The Thiefâs anxiety had only gone up, skyrocketing in a way that worried him. Sure, everything worried him, and even that much worrying was a bit worrisome, but this was another level kind of worry.Â
The ThiefâŠworried Virgil. Every time he looked at Roman, knowing that he literally had an Anxiety was somewhere at the top of mind. That theyâd torn him down so far that he had multiples of that, he had parts of himself that were willing to kill and fight and live in fear of every day. Had Thomas done that? Or had they? Did the things that he and the others say contribute to that? Last time he was here, everyone was able to quote back things at them, as if those quotes were what had built them. And the Thief was built on wanting to leave Thomas.Â
Virgil carefully approached them both, but the Damsel shook his head at him. One of his hands reached up, rubbing the Thiefâs back in patterned circles.Â
âEric. We need to-We need to get going. Reunite with the others,â the Damsel suggested.
âIâm so fucking stupid,â the Thiefâs voice cracked on the swear, and his arms closed on himself tighter. âI donât-I donât know if he ran or if-Phillip, we were arguing, he-If he got taken, I wouldnât know, I didnât-I shouldnât have let him out of-out of my sight.â
âWe can find him again, we just need to re-reunite with the people who can travel easiest,â the Damsel murmured, a sharp and gentle contrast to how heâd threatened Janus. âI reached out to Remus, he should be here soon.â
The Thief nodded but made no moves to relocate himself. It felt a little awkward.Â
If Remus was coming, though, that must mean that theyâre going somewhere else. Janus stepped back into the alcove at the front of the Tree and pulled out his shoes. Logan did the same, after a second. Better get going soon.Â
Behind them both, Patton stepped out, feet already crammed into his loafers. âHey, Eric,â he whispered, right behind the Damsel.
The Thief flinched at the sound, but still lifted his head. His eyes were red, bright and tired. He hadnât slept a wink, while at least Virgil got an hour or two earlier. His head hurt from the shouting and crying. And he stared at Patton with as much of a glare as he could muster. It wasnât much.Â
âWhat,â he asked.Â
Patton glanced at the Damsel, who was also watching him curiously, before opening his arms. âIâve heard I give Patton-tedly good hugs,â he offered with a soft voice, warm as the hearth.Â
That was Patton. Always full of love, at the end of the day and the worst of times. It was a very high-stress situation, and he didnât want to not help. He wanted to comfort.Â
The Damsel let go ever so slightly and let the Thief lean to the other side. He pressed himself into Pattonâs arms and curled up tight again, and Patton rested his arms on the top of his back, pulling him in just as close. After a beat, the Thief began shivering again, and Patton hummed softly. He could tell that the Thief was crying again.Â
âBeing a dad is so FUCKING hard,â the Thief grumbled into his shirt.Â
âHey, take it from me, it sure isnât easy,â Patton said with a chuckle.
âYou know, youâre not actually a father,â Logan interrupted, fixing his tie as he approached.Â
âOh, no, no, Iâve only got a father figure,â Patton joked right back, giving the Thief a squeeze. âAmirite?âÂ
The Thief snorted quietly, and even Virgil shook his head with a grin behind him. A bit of comedy to lighten the mood did wonders, in Pattonâs eyes, especially when the Thief began to uncurl from his hug.Â
âThanks, Patton,â he muttered.
âNo problem, kiddo. Iâm always here to help cheer you up,â Patton looped his arm around the Thiefâs for a quick side-hug, which the Thief returned with a lean.
It was good timing, too, as a horn sounded behind them. Everyone turned, facing up as another horn went off. It was difficult to see without sunlight, but the moon and thick coat of stars cast just enough light for them to see the floating barge.Â
It was an old-timey sailboat, painted black, with green trims and a face of horror at the bow. The shipâs sails had been let down, displaying lime green splatters across their formerly-white surfaces. It was a wieldy vessel indeed.Â
Only one person could be driving it.Â
âWelcome aboard!â Remus shouted, and everyone stumbled as they were unceremoniously teleported onto the shipâs deck, above the treeline.Â
The Damsel was first to regain his footing, reaching out with an arm toward their new captain. Remus, wearing a black tricorn hat, greeted him by yanking him into a tight hug. And squeaking. Like a squeaky toy. The Damsel laughed at the gesture, hugging him back quickly.Â
Their camaraderie was noted. Once again, everyone was surprised about the relationship they had. Didnât Roman hate Remus, and didnât Remus terrorize him?Â
On the other end, the Thief pulled back, helping up the other Sides. He made sure Janus was stably standing last and shot him another angry look before turning away.Â
Janus brushed himself down. He didnât understand.Â
He was warranted anger toward Roman all the same, so what the fuck was all of this animosity?Â
âGood to see you all in one piece again, and glad weâre gonna be playing One Piece again,â Remus shouted at them all.Â
The Damsel meandered toward the side of the boat, looking around. The dusty wall of fog that separated their sides was so close, here. This was closer to the the Imaginationâs natural form, with the kingdom worldâs edges all being clouded in fog that you could only really see at this height. Beyond the fog was more worlds that theyâd invented, like the city seen previously. Even other kingdoms technically existed, with different rules and plotlines, but this one was home. It was the oldest setting, based on Thomasâ slew of Disney knowledge as he grew up. Others were more mature. One was based on the Game of Thronesâ settings, though it was more a daydream than a fleshed out world. There were alternate paths for their lives, even, with duplicates of Thomasâ home abound in every universe. They were all daydreams.Â
So nice, to see the world again, especially from such height. They were higher up than even the Tree. The setting was designed to not show any of the too obvious spaces between the worlds, so even the highest point wouldnât show off the bounds. Only the Dragon, Dragon Witch, or something like this, a flying boat, could give a good vantage over the whole of the kingdom. It wasnât a sight the Damsel got to see often.Â
Oh, he remembered sometimes, like this, what it was like to rule it all. To be Roman.Â
The self-loathing often mellowed out into melancholy, grieving a power he was technically never granted and was absolutely never promised. And the knowledge that he had to cultivate the rest of his Round Table. Especially his heir.Â
The Damsel, once the Prince, gripped his cane tighter. Oh, Child.Â
After heâd mellowed out, as the others put it, he tried to manage the actual town around the castle. And it became clear that the responsibility he was overburdened by was almost also visible in the Child. No one else seemed to handily understand how their perspectives impacted Roman â from the Thiefâs judgements to the Artistâs drive and motivation, only the Child seemed to care about how his input impacted Roman and Thomas. And that responsibility was something the Damsel had been hoping to cultivate.Â
Of course, the Thief and the Bard were reluctant to like. Co-parent with a known murderer and the Dragon. But the Damsel appreciated the Childâs input, when he was allowed to receive it, and he did his best to respect the Childâs opinion.Â
âWhich of you wants to walk the plank first!â Remus exclaimed, gesturing around with a rapier.Â
He poked it against Loganâs chest a few times, enough for Logan to see the tiny morning star affixed at its end, and the gesture was returned by a withering glance over. Janus snorted, at least, and Patton cooâed at how tiny Remusâ weapon now was.Â
âAwh, itâs so cute!â Patton praised.Â
Virgil, on the other hand, waved his hand at the weapon. âGet that off his chest. Weâve gotta get to the Dragon Witch, with the others. Youâre taking us there, right?âÂ
Remusâs lips upturned, pouting as he leaned over closer. âAwh, boo! All work and no play makes Virgil a dull, dull boy,â he flicked his finger against Virgilâs nose and, before Virgil could retaliate any more than a growl, turned around quickly. âYes, weâre on route for that. Shouldnât be too long before we get there and drop trou.â
âI believe weâd be dropping anchor, when we arrive,â Logan corrected, following Remus first up the deck.Â
The whole troupe moved after him. Around them, the sails were being managed, ropes pulled, and steering wheel turned by invisible forces. It was like the ship were being manned by invisible people, but it was likely only run by Remus, who was hopping up the stairs.Â
âOh, sure, whatever you want, Nerdy Nummy,â Remus said with a grin, gesturing over the side of the boat. âIâll sure be dropping trou, at least.â
âHow are the others?â the Thief asked quickly, trying to ignore Loganâs quizzical look.Â
Once again, Remus waved his hand. âOh, you know!â he barked out a laugh.Â
Well. What did the Thief expect, with that one. He scowled at Remusâ back, a few ideas on how to get him to talk dancing through his mind before he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Behind him, Janus shook his head.
And before the Thief could grapple with the snake and throw him overboard, as if sensing the imminent danger, Virgil yanked Janus back in a quick, sharp motion.Â
Behind both of them, Patton stumbled into the Damsel, who held onto the railing and caught Patton around the midsection. Virgil held Janus steady off by the side, watching as the Thief slowly brushed his cloak down. The air was tense around the whole party, even though Remus was skipping his way up at the top of the stairwell.Â
âEric,â the Damsel murmured, trying to break the tension. âEric, come-come on.â
The Thiefâs eyes moved from Janus to the Damsel, squinting a little harder at him.Â
The Damsel let go of Patton to gesture forward, as if tired. Condescending.Â
Janus took it in quietly, eyes flitting between both, before Virgil shoved him up toward â past â the Thief. âCâmon, guys,â he grunted.Â
That shattered the tension. The Thief hopped off the steps in one vertical leap, landing on the railing and hurrying up the rest of the rail as if it were a balance beam.Â
At least they werenât fighting. Thatâs what Patton was most afraid of, any more big fighting. Theyâd done that earlier today and they had to stop, really. It was going to start hurting Thomas at some point.Â
There was so much hurting. Who hurt you, who hurt me, hurting, revenge, and Patton didnât agree with any of it! They just needed to sit down. Take a breather. Talk things out. But everyone was so tense and no one was willing to just breathe.
âDonât worry, kiddos, weâre doinâ great,â he mumbled to himself. âIâm all good.â
The Damsel snorted behind him â Patton completely forgot he was there, too. He helped Patton upright, which he thanked him for, and they both began up again. The Damsel had a slower gait, holding the cane with one hand while he gripped the railing with the other, so Patton let his stride slow to keep pace.Â
âHowâre you doing, Philly boy,â Patton bobbed his head as he spoke.
It was a silly nickname, sure, but the Damsel stopped fully again, squinting his eye at Patton with so much vitriol that he almost flinched. Almost.Â
âPhilly boy,â he repeated.Â
âMmmmmhm,â Patton glanced up the stairs with his eyes before stopping himself.Â
âIâm doing alright, Patty boy,â the Damsel responded with a small smile, shaking his head as he continued to climb. âHow are you?â
Oh. Thank heavens. Patton laughed, clapping. âWow, Iâm glad you liked that one. I was about to start crying.â
As they got toward the top, the Damsel patted Pattonâs shoulder gently. They were closer to the stern, going toward the wheel, which Remus approached himself. He waved his hands away at whatever was controlling it and gripped it tight himself.Â
âONWARDS!â he screeched.
Somewhere, seagulls screeched, and the Thief jumped at the sound.Â
The ship turned quickly, careening to the side, though it didnât throw off anyoneâs balance too much. Remus was nice enough to think about that, at least. They faced the wall of mist that Virgil had crossed prior, the one that cut the Imagination in half, and began drifting toward it. The wind caught the sails in ways that defied logic and gravity, given that there was next to no wind blowing against them on the deck. Logan looked around at the world, approaching the railed edge slowly.Â
It was beautiful. He didnât think he told Roman that enough, when they were together. It was hard to call something beautiful objectively, since it was, by definition, subjective. But the beauty of these creations, even at night, as the moonâs faint glow trawled over the edges of each tree. It faintly glittered on the river that cut through the forest and the town, dull light emanating off the terracotta roofs in townâŠ
He missed Roman. Logan didnât know what to feel about everyone else here, the arguing theyâd been going through, but at the very least. Well. Roman did listen to part of what heâd said.Â
They should be able to discuss this like people.Â
God, fucking, and also damnit.Â
He ran his hand through his hair and took off his glasses slowly. It was giving him a headache and not because of his aid of the Imaginationâs creating.
âIt sure is pretty out here,â Patton sighed.
âItâs about to get even better, Daddy-o. Hold onto your pants!â Remus shouted.
Before any of them could ask what the fuck that meant, the fog of the split approached and engulfed the ship. It was impossible to see the hands in front of their faces, let alone the world around them. A whole shift.Â
And in almost an instant, it was gone. The fog swiped past them, drifting off the ship in slow rolls. Logan watched it drift back into a wall behind them, smoothing back down, before glancing over the world before them.Â
It was less dark than heâd expected. It was day, in a way, the other half of the sun glowing red more than the gold of Romanâs side, bathing the world in a bloody glow. The lighting poked holes between the pitch dark trees and between the tangles of brambles that surrounded the grounds of Remusâ world. In the distance was another castle. It was much taller. Much less clear how physics worked here, if Remus kept it in mind or if he pointedly discarded it. Logan had a hunch it was the later, building things that he knew wouldnât work, because the largest tower of the castle had a full 90Âș bend in the middle. There was a bend, then another bend, then it continued upward, like someone had pushed it over a chunk.Â
To Virgil, it was a little familiar. Heâd traversed both sides, though Remusâ far less. Back when he had to make nightmares more often, heâd have to go in through Remusâ mirror rather than Romanâs door. He also leaned over the railing besides Logan with a sigh.
âHello everyone, this is your captain speaking.â Everyone jumped, Virgil nearly a foot off the ground. They whipped around to see Remus in a captainâs outfit â all green, of course â holding a radio speaker whose chord seemed to disappear into thin air above him.Â
He waved his fingers at the group and only the Damsel waved back, as per usual. âWe are hovering above our destination now, and I hope youâve enjoyed your flight. Beginning our descent into the Dragon Witchâs lair in t-minus five. Four. Three.â
âOh, fuck,â the Thief groaned, holding onto the Damselâs arm.
âTwo.â
âWhat?â Virgil asked.
âOne.â
The boat disappeared, as did Remus. For everyone else?Â
They began their descent.Â
For a moment, just a brief moment, it reminded Janus of the last time they visited. What, with trap door falls and all that.Â
Below them was the Subconscious, just besides the ground of Remusâ side. Virgil screamed â words can barely explain the stress he was under â as did Patton. The Thief had curled around the Damselâs waist, cloak shielding them both and actually breaking some of their descent. It gave them a wider surface area, especially as the Damselâs scarf undid itself. He kicked one of his legs out as well to increase surface area. Logan, at the furthest to the bottom, had his back to the fall as he watched everyone else.Â
It really felt like they were going to die here.Â
Until the shadow passed above, blocking out the little light they had. Logan could see it, it was a dragon. The Dragon? No, it looked larger. He couldnât remember the Dragonâs actual dragon formâs size and length. Maybe he should take measurements.Â
âWHAT THE FUCK,â Janus managed to choke out through the air that was surging past them.
The dragon passed by again, closer this time. It dove and, with one claw, grabbed the two Roman figments. The Damsel wrapped his arms around its claw as it dove beneath them again. In this movement, it swiped Patton straight out of the air.Â
Somehow, Virgil screamed louder.Â
Then even he was silenced by the dragonâs tail coiling around them.Â
Impact must be coming soon. They were getting close to the tree tops at least, and while the Subconscious was an impossibly further drop below, even Logan was getting worried. He couldnât see how far they were falling but itâd been about eleven seconds. That felt like quite a bit.Â
Claws wrapped around Janus in front of him then, quickly, himself as well. The dragon wasted no time in reaching up with its front arms and depositing them both onto its back, which was much wider than Logan remembered Dracoâs being. And much more purple.Â
This must be the Dragon Witch, then. He patted her back with a sigh.Â
Virgil was still hyperventilating, holding one of the Witchâs protruding spikes with both of his arms. Also his legs. Patton was too stunned to make sounds, jaw hung open, and Janus, as soon as he was deposited, scrambled over to hold a spike himself. That was probably wise. Logan grabbed one.Â
They were safe.Â
âThat was fun,â the Damsel said, coughing a few times. âWow.âÂ
âShut the fuck up,â the Thief croaked.Â
He was just as pale as Virgil, almost moreso, as he held onto the Damsel and as the Damsel held one of the spikes. The Damsel laughed a little at the Thiefâs anger.
âThat was AWFUL,â Patton cried.Â
Logan blinked a few times, only to find his vision clouding. Oh. He took off his glasses, making sure to grip them tight as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Wetness. Ah.Â
âNo, it was fucking great,â Janus snapped, jaw closing so quickly it made a biting sound, only for him to let out another small scream as the Witch ducked into the side of the cliff, into a dark opening.Â
They held on for the bumpy landing, wincing as they rolled a little on her scales. Slowly, though, she leaned to the side and stilled.Â
An opportunity to get off. No one was unhappy to oblige, and the Damsel, remembering how, slid off first. One by one, they disembarked, looking around the cave.Â
It was large. Red clay and brown limestone walls were illuminated by hanging fire lanterns and columns of fire within, ones that seemed to spin flame into itself but not anywhere outside. It was as big as an airplane hangar, expansive and echoey. At the very least, it had to be large enough for her to fit, didnât it.Â
Once Patton descended, the last person off, the dragon began to shift. Her expansive golden wings coiled in on herself, pressing into her body, compacting her. They managed to cover the entirety of her magenta and forest green form, tail wrapping in all the same as she kept shrinking.
âDraco?â Virgil asked, and Logan shook his head.Â
It seemed everyone else had made the incorrect assumption. âNo, no, she was much too big to be the Dragon,â Logan explained.
âShe?â Janus asked.Â
âShe indeed,â the Witch hummed, voice booming from her giant form.Â
The gold wings peeled off then drifted back into two long, billowing ends of a shawl. It was wrapped around her shoulders and trailed behind her, punctuated by the thick, swirling gold cape over her shoulders. She was still an imposing presence in her human form, standing taller than even the Dragon, shoulders squared further by her thick coat. A horned headless, somewhat accurate to medieval style, saw on her head like a crown.Â
She opened her arms in one dramatic bow.Â
âWelcome in, everyone, itâs so good to finally meet you. My boysâve told me so much,â she held out a hand, first to Janus, and her glowing eyes were striking.Â
Slitted and golden. Like him. âMy name is Guinevere, but you can call me Vi.â
another series of human au pics but this time, itâs CADENCE!!!!! who is my angel!!!! i love him so dearly!!!! heâs so good and also the best <3 <3 <3 <3 <3Â
IDs: Pic 1 [Cadence posing with his hands folded beneath his chin, smiling excitedly. He is wearing a fur coat and shimmering black dress with lots of gold jewelry, and his make-up has gold eyeliner. There are soft-glowing string lights behind him.] Pic 2 [Cadence posing in a field of lavender in a big, poofy, shimmering pink dress. He is wearing a flower crown made of lavender and smiling joyfully.] Pic 3 [Cadence is coming in to hit you with his ukulele. He looks very mad. He is wearing a short pink pleated skirt and a pink sweater with black knee-high boots. His ukulele has many stickers on it.]
A/N: so....i actually have...... maybe 100,000k words unpublished with the boys in human au.,.... and since the human au infodump, i've been wondering if i should post things from the spinoff au. i asked a friend and she suggested i post at least a bit since there Were Folks who enjoyed these characters. im hugging everyone who has been keeping up :') thank you and i love you and you don't know how much this means to me, that people like my work.
i do plan on updating more than beliefs, though as you can probably tell, updates are pretty slow. i've had big weird life changes over the past three or so years, which is kinda sad, since i used to be able to update chivalry literally once a week :'D but thank you all for sticking with me through it!! i'm hoping, once i'm done writing my thesis, i can get back to updating MTB more often. i've had the whole thing plotted in my head for a while and you all deserve to see more of macbeth, along with where he was during like. all of chivalry.
heads up that this is NOT going on AO3 â it's a bit far from the actual fandom space so I'm really hesitant to put it up there. it'll only be here! somewhat related, but i might spruce up this blog layout. the banner image is kind of old/i don't like the anatomy, and same with the icon. and i just took a look at the blog and went "wow the text is smaller than i remember it being..." so that's a sign that it's Too Small! time for a change probably.
Words: 7,615
WARNINGS: descriptions of anxiety disorder, descriptions of past child abuse, suicidal/depressive thoughts, someone's ankle breaks (don't run in heels, kids!), alcohol and drunkenness
if i forgot anything, please let me know! this is only one chapter of a longer thing (i'm still on the fence about posting all of it but frankly, if i do revamp this blog, i straight fuckin might. i don't plan on publishing these novels for market consumption, but i would be happy to know if folks out there enjoyed them :') )
enjoy the snippet! <3
Eric Yuan hadn't considered himself lovable in a long, long time.
The anxiety disorder was just scraping the surface. There was the legal battle he'd gone into against his parents for custody over Gavin. He was so responsible it was irresponsible, sleeping odd hours, sometimes none at all, and living off of the cheapest coffee he could find to keep himself awake. There was the lack of time, the long hours of work to pay for the apartment and his and Gavin's lives, between working at the bar and at the restaurant, trying to pull together something to keep them afloat. He survived off of lunch and, when tips were good, the occasional dinner.Â
Gavin had noticed, of course, but he was nice enough to not say anything. Eric tried to be as honest as he could about how sometimes they couldn't get new games or new things, how he would have to stay late at night at work. If Eric was thankful for anything, it was how understanding Gavin was. That kid rolled with as many punches as were thrown and while Eric knew he shouldn't have to, knew that his brother deserved a better upbringing than the shit that their parents and now the world were putting them through, he also recognized that this was the best he could do.Â
He tried to hide himself in work, two jobs that provided enough money to keep them going. Honestly, if heâd talked with his managers and budgeted hours differently, he could get by with just the bartending job. But the days without work were spent taking Gavin to school, watching Gavin at home, laying on the couch and staring at the ceiling. He had to have something to bury himself in so he wouldnât be stuck with his thoughts, the ones that promised danger, contempt, building paranoia and anxiety until he choked on his own breath. Thoughts that promised a kinder world. On the other side.
If he killed himself, Gavin would go right back to their parents, and Eric had to stay alive if only to prevent that. That wasâŠ.that was the only reason.Â
Sometimes, he wondered if Gavin knew, because on nights like that the kid always managed to find his way into Eric's bed. He'd crawl in and snuggle between Eric's arms and tell him he had a nightmare. Eric never knew how honest he was being, but he never turned the offer down.
He had to keep alive. So he did.Â
And like, man worked a lot. Often, too much. How the fuck was he supposed to keep up with the world around him if he barely used his social media, didn't watch any of the new content put out in recent years, didn't engage with new platforms. Well, he had a Twitter, but that was just to look at funny memes. Those were his favorite development in recent years. Twitter also helped keep up with the news somewhat, but he didnât exactly pay attention to that. Also, cat videos, those were important to him.Â
Yeah, he was fairly disconnected, but what else was new and what could you do.
Eric Yuan's life flipped when he was opening the bar at 4 p.m. on a Wednesday. He wasn't an owner or manager, but he was a shift lead. The most dependable shift lead, if you asked his manager, and while he often told Eric that he was pretty reliable, it wasnât as though Eric processed that kind of praise. He did know that he got the most done, and was the most efficient, because he could take that kind of metric comparison. But, like. Most reliable? He didnât know how true that was. Eric liked to take the opening shifts, helped get home at a reasonable enough hour to see Gavin to sleep and for him to sleep enough to take the lunch shifts at his other job.Â
The opening shift consisted of a few things. Making sure dishes were racked for the night, that the trash was all arranged and the bins were out in the alley, that bottles that looked like they were going to go empty had restocks close by. It was slow and quiet, for shift leads, but it was perfect for Eric. He liked to turn on some music and walk around, working efficient and quick enough usually to have a few minutes of quiet before the bartenders started showing up.Â
The alley behind his bar was more like a driveway than anything, wide enough just for one car. Most of the time, the neighboring businesses would just put their bins back here during work hours.Â
While opening on this day, though, Eric noticed a man running. He'd turned the sharp corner near the bar and hurried partway down the block, panting as if he'd been running a while. Eric actually pulled his own bins back as the man passed him. Then promptly tripped. What idiot runs in heels, anyway?
The man tried to get back up, but a few steps proved his ankle injured enough for him to collapse again. And that's when he looked up, frantically looking around for help, and his eyes locked with Eric's.Â
Eric waved, ever so slightly. And, well. He's always been the type to help someone who needed it. He didn't know what the man was running from, but it seemed that time was of the essence. He jogged over and picked the man up easily, making sure he didn't grab the man's dreadlocks accidentally beneath his arm, and hurried him into the bar. At least the dude was pretty light, and he let Eric pick him up, wrapping his arms around Ericâs shoulders.Â
The first and only real thing Eric noticed was that he smelt a little floral. Must have been perfume or something. The man wasnât wearing clothes that Eric would have called casual, especially with the heels. A fall like that must have hurt his ankle.
"Thank you," the man whispered, and Eric noticed how gentle his voice was, how lofty and warm. "Close the door, please, they can't see me."
Eric didn't know who the fuck "They" was, but Eric kicked the door closed on his way in. Just as he did, too, he heard the sound of footsteps at the end of the alley. Eric helped the man hide behind the bar, out of view of the door, and shushed him quietly as a knock sounded on the door.Â
He wiped his hands on his apron, stepping back towards the door. He paused before opening it only to prepare his face, so he could open it with the deadliest glare. And there were. People. There. Were many people. Many with cameras. All looking fairly out of breath.Â
How did that guy outrun a whole ass crowd?Â
The man who had knocked was haggard, taller than Eric but with an obviously lankier build, wheezing as he asked, âHave you seen anyone come up this road?â
He sounded kinda desperate. Eric shook his head slowly, cogs working in his head as he put together a cover story. âNo, Iâve just been trying to open up shop. I took the bins out,â he gestured to the trash bins, set alongside the wall. âBut I didnât see anyone then. If someone was out there, they could have run past while I was stocking.â
The man nodded, either willing to accept that lie or too frantic to look too deep into it. Eric watched with sharp eyes as he and the group looked up and down the street. He didnât think this concerned him, though, and he wanted to check back in on the absolute randoâ heâd just let into the bar. So he nudged the guyâs hand.Â
âI think the candy shop over thereâs open, around that corner.â Eric pointed to the end of the alley. âIf someone ran past, they could have seen them. Other than that though, I donât have anything, and Iâve gotta get back to opening.â
Just a few well-placed white lies. The man at the door nodded and motioned the group to leave without another word. Eric let the door slam behind them.Â
Well. Then. He exhaled slow, a breath he hadnât realized he was holding, then turned to the bar counter.Â
The way the bar was arranged was such that there was a peninsula counter, sticking out of the wall with seats arranged on all sides. On one side, too, was a small stage. Often, they would just play music. Sometimes they had performers, live musicians, and every Thursday was comedy night for local comedians. In June, they have a small drag show every Friday, and in December, they have a run of charity shows. There are still fliers and decorations up from the last one; Eric should take them down while heâs opening.Â
The man who heâd snuck in slowly peeks his head around the counter. There was something awfully familiar about him, like Eric had definitely seen this dude before, but he isnât attuned to the daily gossip. Maybe it was just because the man was pretty as could be, eyes a warm brown that lingered around Eric before darting back at the door. His brows were perfectly shaped. Eric could see a little heart on his cheek, too, and silver decorations in his dreadlocks. Very, very pretty.
The man scan the area, see Eric going around to take the chairs out from where theyâve been stacked in the corner. And he asks, in a voice almost more delicate than Eric could have imagined, âAre they gone?â
âYeah,â Eric said, setting down the barstools as he went around the barâs lounge area. âThey stalkers or something?â
As soon as Eric said the people chasing him were gone, the man sighed, standing up all the way and cracking his neck. He scooted to the sink behind the counter to wash his hands, which was fair. It wasnât like the bar ground was the cleanest, even just before opening.Â
Someone like this dude, this put together and manicured and astoundingly beautiful, shouldnât have had to put his hands on the barâs fuckinâ ground.
âBasically stalkers. Paparazzi,â the man sighed.Â
âPaparazzi?â Eric asked, looking back at the man.
Was this dude fucking famous? Eric couldnât recognize him. Damn, he was that far removed from things, that he couldnât recognize an entire celebrity.
The man must have realized now that Eric hadnât known who he was, because his grin turned sheepish as he wiped his hands on a towel. âYep! Iâm, uh. Songbird? Thatâs my stage name. And my YouTube channel.âÂ
That name rang, like, literally no bells in Ericâs head. Figures, though. He rarely watched Youtube.Â
They stood in relative silence for a few beats before the man tried again. âCadence? Cadence Beaulieu?âÂ
âOh,â Eric said, and it must have been obvious how he didnât know who the fuck this Cadence dude was, because Cadence laughed a little in his face.Â
âYouâre cute,â Cadence said, limping out around the bar, holding onto the barâs side. âI donât get that much anymore.âÂ
âCool.â Eric instinctually hurried over, holding Cadenceâs arm and waist as he helped him onto one of the barâs seats, but his head was reeling from the idea of a famous celebrity calling him cute. Like? That didnât just happen. Did it? This guy was fucking famous?Â
What the fuck was he supposed to say? How do you talk to famous people? Eric helped him settle into the seat before asking, âDo you want water or something?â
âNo, Iâm good,â Cadence smiled at him.
Eric was going to loose his mind, he got called cute by a famous dude and now heâs looking at the famous dude and realizing how cute the famous guy was. He hadnât paid attention to that earlier, too preoccupied with getting the guys at the door to leave, but now that he was actually looking at this guyâhis anxiety was about to start kicking in, hard, he could tell. What if he made an ass of himself in front of the famous dude? The incredibly pretty famous dude.Â
âCool,â Eric looked down, at the bar, and whistled a little. âIf you want, you can, uh, stay here for a bit, until your car comes?â
He figured the famous dude isnât driving around himself.Â
Cadence nodded. âIf thatâs okay,â he murmured, taking out his phone. âI can stay outta your way, then.â
Slowly, Eric nodded, too. He had to get the extra drinks ready. Finish opening up. And. He couldnât really. Process? What was happening. He just thought he was helping someone up off the street, having tripped, andâŠ.Wait.
âWait, howâs your ankle?â he tried to swallow his anxiety, looking back at Cadence, who seemed to be idling on his phone.Â
Cadence looked back up at him, then at his ankle. He was wearing strappy heels, flowy pants, a tight shirt, and an old oversized jacket, and none of these looked like clothes that were good to be running around in. Especially those heels. Eric didnât know much about heels but he figured they might be an inch? And that was probably enough to fucking break a leg. Rude to stare, though. So he just. Averted his eyes back to the glasses he was stacking for later.
This guy was so fucking pretty. Eric was holding him earlier. Heâd carried himâEric had deadlift carried a whole ass celebrity.Â
âProbably sprained,â Cadence said with a sigh. âWhen I get home, I can ice it. I donât think itâs fully broken, though, I could put a little weight on it.â
Now, they had ice in the box. Eric grabbed one of the spare bags for their limes and filled one with ice, part of their protocol for when drunkards would hurt themselves. He wrapped it in one of the clean towels and, once the Grey Goose was restocked, brought it over to Cadence. Who took it. Gratefully. It seemed.Â
âThanks,â Cadence gave him a smile, which like. Eric still didnât really know how to feel about this.Â
âNo problem,â he said. âSorry, uh. For, uh, being quiet. And not knowing who you were.â
Because like, that felt like something he should apologize for, you know? If Cadence is used to people recognizing him on the streets and some level of respect because of it, then maybe Eric treating him like a regular person (maybe even ignoring him, since heâs just sitting in the corner) might be rude? He doesnât know. He doesnât know the fucking etiquette for talking to famous people, this isnât a problem heâs ever had!
âItâs okay, no, donât even worry,â Cadence giggledâthat sound, that fucking sound was so soft, what the hell?âand waved his hand dismissively.Â
âOkay,â Eric nodded. And he didnât have much to. Like. Add?Â
So he turned around and went back to restocking the bar. And he didnât say anything about how he could feel Cadence watching him. He didnât say anything, but he could feel Cadenceâs eyes on his back every so often, when heâd look up from his phone.Â
Maybe he was tweeting something about him. Eric didnât know much about social media so if he did get tweeted about, he definitely wasnât going to be able to find it. Or maybe he was texting his famous friends about the weirdo bartender whoâs just ignoring him as he lifts the crates out of the storage room and cracks them open.Â
Thereâs no way this dude would be bullying him over shit like this for no reason, right?Â
Regardless, Eric wasnât about to start a conversation and ask. He just knew that the guy was staring at him. For what felt like an hour. Realistically, only like, half an hour. But for fucking forever, man.
At some point, though, it had to end. After about twenty minutes, Cadence stood up, wobbling a little on his hurt ankle. Eric, whoâd been restocking the limes, looked up, then stood up.Â
âYour car here?â he asked.Â
âYep,â Cadence smiled a little at him. âWhen does this place open, anyway?â
âUh,â Eric frowned, checking the clock on the wall. âIn ten.â
Where the fuck are his bartenders, anyway? Theyâre supposed to get here at around now. Fuckers.Â
Cadence nodded, though, noting the time. âGlad this all happened before hours, then. Wouldnât want it to get too crazy in here for you,â he looked at the clock on the wall, then back at Eric, with a small smile that made Ericâs already quick-beating heart skip a beat thinking of how his eyes creased with gentle happiness.Â
âUh. Yeah,â Eric tried to smile, too, but something told him it looked a little more like a grimace.Â
Cadence waved, Eric waved. Then Cadence left. And the door closed behind him.
And that was the that. On that.Â
Eric was fairly zoned out for the whole shift. He was mixing drinks on autopilot, not so much as handling customers. Some drunkard got rowdy, Eric wasted no time to tell them to fuck off. His patience was zilch.Â
He got home and Gavinâs already put himself to bed, tucked in and in his PJâs, though Eric heard him get up when he closed the front door. Eric picked him up, tucked him back in again, and kissed him on the head. Poor kid hated being alone late at night, especially when he had to put himself to bed. Eric laid on the bed with him, one foot off to hold himself steady, and made sure Gavin was all the way asleep before he stood up to change his own clothes.Â
Only once he was sure Gavinâs not getting out of bed again does he check his phone, too.Â
âCadence Beaulieuâ had over four million followers on Twitter, over fifteen million subscribers on Youtube, and an Instagram account that makes Eric blush almost inappropriately. And this is the guy who was. In his bar. Talking to him. Eric picked this man up earlier and didnât even notice that the heart on his face was made up of three moles. It looked like a tattoo almost, but no, apparently.Â
He spent almost too much time binging Cadenceâs content before he managed to pass out to the sound of one of his beauty tutorials. Interesting, that this is the guy he met. This is the guy who he picked up, carried into his bar, hid in the corner.
Interesting.Â
But not every day is so interesting. So Eric goes back to work and expects nothing to change. He tries to put this rare celebrity encounter behind him. Tries not to think of how much of an idiot he must have been, seeming to just fade into the background and ignore what could have been a real moment had he asked more questions, became something more memorable perhaps. He could have asked Cadence how he was doing, at least. How his day had been. Anything, really.Â
Instead, Eric just has the memory of the prettiest man on the planet sitting in the corner of the bar, of his bar. Alone together. A stranger, sure, and maybe Eric understood somewhere that that was part of why the anxiety was so strong? But câmon. Man was pretty. Nice, too.Â
Damn. This is why heâs single, he joked bitterly to himself. Lonely, the joke in his head twisted. He didnât have the gall to actually talk to anyone, what was he supposed to do.
He had been cleaning out glasses at the bar, late one night. Heâd picked up a later shift, after Gavin had already gone to sleep. Usually, Eric liked to be home while the kid slept, but sometimes the scheduling didnât work out like that and heâd need to pick up extra hours for other bartenders who had to tap out. He was a very strong cover, apparently. And on the spectrum of âthank god that lucky ass thing happened,â this was right below Cadenceâs accident.Â
About two weeks after Eric meets a whole ass celebrity, two men sit down at the bar during one of the live musical performances. It was Ericâs time working behind the bar, and he saw the one with the eyepatch wave him over. Which, like. Okay, sure, he was getting there. But customer service and you never know how many drinks theyâve had before they walk in at one in the morning and you definitely donât want to get mad at the dude giving you the tip and maybe this dudeâs never been to a bar, who the fuck wears soft cashmere at a bar, and his buddy there was in a bowtie and suspenders like this was some kind of book club and not remarkably past midnight on a Thursday.Â
Like, okay, nerds, maybe theyâve just never been to this kinda bar. Sure. Fine.
âWhat can I get started for you boys,â Eric said, slinging his washcloth over his shoulder on his approach.Â
âTwo cosmopolitans, please,â the one with the eyepatch said, giving Eric a smile that read polite.Â
Eric looked at the one with curly hair and glasses, who nodded in confirmation. âOne shot in both? You got any vodka preferences?â he asked, taking out the house vodka and two tumblers.Â
Before the eyepatchâed one could reply, the one with glasses butted in, saying, âOne with one shot, a double in the other, please. And if you have Ketel One, that would be grand.â
âA double shot? Marlowe!â
âWhat, itâs been a good day! I think I deserve a double shot. And you know two shots isnât enough to do much.â This Marlowe guy sounded pretty cocky, if you were to ask Eric, but no one ever asks the bartender. So he didnât say anything about it.Â
He tuned out of the argument there, as soft as it turned. Much less of an argument, more aggressive flirting, and that was something that was easy for him to zone out of until he set the two cocktails down. âDouble shot,â he said, setting the double in front of Marlowe. âAnd a single. If you boys need anything else, my nameâs Eric and Iâll be at the bar all night.âÂ
âEric,â the one with the eyepatch smiled, and it was kind of pretty in that controlled, poised way that some models do. âThank you. If we need anything, Iâll-Iâll call.â
âThank you, Eric,â Marlowe said, raising his glass and taking a long sip.Â
Eric just nodded and went around, checking on others. Earlier, heâd seen some dude try to roofie a girl, and had taken the drink back. She had left with a friend she trusted, and heâd kicked the guy out pretty forcefully, but the moment still left quite the imprint. He was always on edge whenever that happened, hoping to prevent it from happening again.Â
He did a few rounds before he ended up in front of Marlowe and his friend again, maybe half an hour later. This friend was on his phone, typing something out, while Marlowe flagged Eric down, with an empty glass before him.Â
âHello, Eric,â Marlowe raised the glass. âWould you be a dime and make me a Long Island Iced Tea?âÂ
Okay. This dude had to be a heavier drinker, if he was going to be calling out drinks by name. And it wasnât necessarily Ericâs job to know how much someone could drink, especially strangers. The guy didnât, likeâŠ.he didnât look drunk just yet. You know? So Eric nodded.Â
âSure thing. You got any preferences?â he asked, taking the cup back and pulling out a tall glass.Â
Now that seemed to be the right question, or at least one the man hadnât thought of. Marlowe reached up, cupping his chin in thought, and spared a few glances at his friend still typing. Hopefully this wasnât, like, for the friend. Eric would have to watch for that. But after a bit of time, Marlowe nods. âYes. Ketel One again for the vodka.âÂ
âSure.â They had Ketel One under the vodka cabinet, but people rarely ordered it. It was one of their premium vodkaâs and house vodka was Smirnoff.Â
âDo you have PatrĂłn for tequila?âÂ
âYeah, IâmâŠ.pretty sure,â Eric, before he could be made to swallow his words, took a stride to the tequila cabinet and checked. âYep, Iâve got PatrĂłn for you.âÂ
âExcellent. I donât know enough about the other three alcohols to have preferences, but if you could tell me what you put in, Iâd love to start learning.â
AnâŠ.interesting request. But Eric knew the house drinks like the back of his hand (and he might not be able to hold his liquor like the best of them, but heâd still tried all of the standard drinks. For posterity.) so he pulled out the Bacardi first. âThisâ the rum. In house, we use Bacardi. Pretty light for a rum, but it does have a better taste than Captain Morgan. A lot better to mix with,â he explained.Â
Marlowe had turned himself toward the counter, watching Eric pour in the Bacardi first, then the Ketel One, then the PatrĂłn. Then, he put those three down. The triple sec was all out on the shelf, since they were common enough and the bar stocked a small enough range to have the whole selection out for viewing. Eric pulled down a bottle of Bols to add, then Henrickâs gin from the shelf below. They were running out behind the bar anyways. âBols is the triple sec,â Eric said as he poured. âItâs really good for mixing with multiple alcohols. Sometimes a drinkâll play nice with other alcohols and sometimes itâll only play nice with, like. Coke.â
âThat makes sense. The consistencies are very different,â Marlowe hummed.Â
Sounded like this dude was the analytical type. Which might explain why he had some of his preferences on hand. If you donât go to bars often, youâre going to be scared of the unknown. Eric was almost proud of the guy for that, if this was him trying new things.Â
He just hoped Marlowe wouldnât throw up in the bathroom or something. That would fuckinâ suck. Always a situation when the patrons didnât know their own limits.
âHenrickâs is the gin, and itâs just a easy gin to use,â he said with a shrug. âAnd then we justâŠ.â
He pulled out the cola spritzer, topped the glass off with cola, and put the slice of lemon in. And then he slid it over to Marlowe, who took the drink in one hand with a fascinated look. Dude even pushed his glasses up.Â
âInteresting. Iâm excited to try it,â Marlowe said, glancing back up to Eric with a smile.Â
And before Eric could even warn him about how strong of a gut punch it was about to be, Marlowe picked up the glass and took a swig about a third of the cup. âWoah, buddy,â Eric couldnât stop himself from jumping at that. âYou alright?â
âMarlowe, what the fuck are you doing?â dudeâs friend finally looked up from his phone to see Marlowe slam the glass down and cough into his arm.Â
âHoly shit,â Marlowe said, fixing his glasses with a smile that seemed a little too wide to be sober. âThatâs quite strong, but very, very good. Thank you, Eric!âÂ
His glasses were still crooked. Eric almost leaned forward to fix them, before the guyâs friend got to it first, and that was all for the better. Itâs not like Eric knew these people, after all.Â
Marlowe took out his phone and Eric took the chance to lean towards his companion. âHe asked for a pretty strong drink,â Eric warned. âIf you need a hand taking care of him, it wouldnât be the first time Iâve held a dudeâs hair back in the bathroom.â
His friend must have been surprised at the suggestion, but it canât have been an uncommon thing considering how quickly he got over the possibility. âThank you, thatâs very k-very kind. Heâs not usually one to drink a lot,â the friend sighed, then nodded to Eric. âThank you for your service tonight, Eric. My name is Phillip.â
Phillip, alright. âGood to meet you, Phillip,â Eric said, and he went back around the bar to do rounds.
It was another hour and half before the bar closed, though. Eric wasnât technically the shift lead for closing, but he was on the shift. When it got close enough to three, he turned on Semisonicâs song âClosing Time.â Most of the people had left by then, quick to leave on their rides or to new bars.Â
But still sitting at the bar were the two people Eric had pegged as nerds earlier, Marlowe and Phillip. After Marlowe finished the Long Island Iced Tea, Eric had poured a water, but the man still ordered a margarita on top of it. And now it looked like he was paying for it, given how he was literally leaning on Phillipâs shoulder, arms wrapped around his waist. Phillip didnât look all too pleased, however.Â
âDavid is going to be worried si-worried si-sick when we get home.â Eric could hear Phillip chide Marlowe as he got close.
âItâs-Itâs all dandy. I love David,â Marlowe hiccupped into Phillipâs shoulder, then leaned around and pressed his face into the base of his neck. âI love YOU, Prince.â
Phillip tutted, reaching back to run his hand through Marloweâs curled hair. âI love you-love you too, you idiot.â
Cute. Really gay, and cute. Eric put away the cups heâd just washed and approached the pair, noting how theyâd slowly but surely become the last people at the bar.Â
âHey,â he said, waving slightly. âPhillip, right?â
âMhm. Eric,â Phillip greeted. âSorry to still be here. I can see youâre closing up.â
âEh. Marloweâs falling asleep on you, I get it. Do you two have a ride home?âÂ
At that, Phillip winced. And Eric could have guessed the follow up, honestly. âActually, Marlowe was supposed to be the driver,â Phillip confessed, patting Marloweâs hand. âI think he overshot how much he could drink, though. As per usual.â
âI only had three drinks!â Marlowe interrupted, all too proud of himself for having three drinks that had the alcoholic consistency of a freight train.Â
Phillip and Eric both seemed to be on the same page, though, because neither acknowledged him. Save for a few gentle pats from Phillip as Marlowe buried himself more in Phillipâs back.Â
âOkay. Do you need to call someone?â Eric asked.Â
Phillip rubbed the back of his neck, thinking for a moment before nodding. âYes. I know someone whoâll be awake who can come help, butâŠ.well. Marloweâs car is still in the parking lot. It has a parking limit in the morning, which will quickly become an issue.â
Fuckinâ city parking. Eric had definitely gotten a ticket or two before, parking his motorcycle in the wrong place. He usually just walked to work, though, since he was two blocks away. So he didnât have a vehicle to worry aboutâŠ.
A drunk man and a man with a cane could get picked up real easy this late at night by some unfavorable people. Maybe that worry was what made Eric offer. Maybe it was because Phillip and Marlowe had been fairly kind to him throughout the night. It could also have had something to do with how nice Phillip seemed to be taking it now, how calm he was handling the situation. And maybe, too, how Phillip himself didnât ask.Â
There was something nice about being able to offer help, rather than having it asked of him always.Â
âIf you want, I can drive you home,â Eric suggested. âIâll catch an Uber back to my house from yours.â
Phillip blinked, and Marlowe giggled. Eric didnât know what was so funny. He thought it was probably pretty shady to offer. He knew he wouldnât let just any stranger drive his bike, after all. But heâd gotten to the point where he could do a solid vibe check just by looking and interacting with someone, and these two seemed nice. He could see himself accepting this kind offer, under similar circumstances, from either of them.Â
Still, kinda scary to think heâd be driving someone elseâs car to their own house. He wouldnât know where it was, Phillip would have to direct him. But Phillip legally couldnât drive, not with the one eye gone, and Marlowe definitely couldnât drive if he tried. Which he shouldnât.Â
âThat would be so-so lovely, thank you,â Phillip said.Â
Getting clearance to drive some drunk patrons home was a breeze, knowing it was Eric âworkaholic glad youâre getting out earlyâ Yuan. Soon enough, he had his arm looped around Marloweâs waist, helping him up as Phillip led them to the car, which was parked about half a block away. Phillip also used a cane, which would have been a pretty difficult thing to work around if he needed to carry Marlowe himself. All the more reason Eric was glad to help them home.Â
They walked up to a nice sedan, likely a newer model judging by the built in navigation. Phillip helped Eric lay Marlowe in the back seat as he mumbled something about a pony, and Phillip himself climbed into the shotgun. The car wasnât that hard to drive, now that Eric looked around at the controls. Same as any. The break was a little more tense than he was used to, but once he got it onto the road, he could manage.Â
Phillip, in shotgun, turned on a jazzy, late night radio station. And directed Eric gently towards their home, probably. Neither of them made conversation much but, to some extent, it didnât seem like it was necessary. And that was kind of nice, to Eric. He didnât always like conversing, especially with patrons and folks who didnât know him. Which accounted for most people. But Phillipâs presence was nice, calming almost, which was rich for a guy who Eric had just met. He was tense, like he usually was, but for a stranger? In this kind of precarious circumstance?
Itâs when the drive took them onto a small, two-lane road at the edges of the city and beginnings of the forest that Eric starts to worry. Was Marlowe actually a heavy-weight? Maybe he was pretending to be drunk back there so they could mug him? Take his kindness for granted and leave him in a ditch? He didnât think he looked like he was worth mugging, but likeâŠ.maybe. Was that a necessary cane or was it a weapon?
âItâs this-this house here,â Phillip said, pointing to a gravel driveway, and Eric swallowed despite the dryness of his mouth.Â
âSure,â he murmured, pulling onto the gravel.Â
As he did, the houseâs porch light turned on, front door thrown open as someone else jogged out. Eric stopped, threw the car into park immediately, but Phillip didnât seem too phased by the newcomer. Instead, he turned to Eric and held out a one hundred dollar bill. âThank you so much for all your help this evening,â he said with a smile.
Eric looked at the bill, then up at Phillip. He hadnât really expected to be tipped for this, in all honesty. But it made sense. You know, if heâs going to drive you home, tip him. Heâs done over the top enough. But a hundred fucking dollars? This dude just whipped a hundred dollars out on a tip? How loaded were these gay dudes, and then they didnât have someone to drive them home?
âThatâs a hundred dollars,â he said, unthinking.Â
He blushed a little, stuttering on words to add on and say he didnât mean to sound ungrateful, but Phillip just laughed. His laugh was breezy, like leaves in the wind. âYes, itâs a hundred dollars. I think itâs-itâs warranted, considering you drove me and my idiot home,â Phillip put the bill on Ericâs lap and undid his seatbelt. âItâs a hundred dollars plus something-something extra.â
Eric looked down at the bill, picked it up, and there was. A whole ass phone number written on the side. With the âPhillip & Marloweâ written on the side.Â
Before he can ask what the fuck is happening and if heâs been dreaming this whole time, the backseat door opens. âDavy,â Marloweâs voice is so slurred itâs almost incomprehensible, but the person whoâd come out of the house, this âDavy,â unbuckles Marlowe swiftly.Â
âJesus, Marlâ, how much did you drink?â Davy grumbles, pulling Marlowe out by his arms.Â
Instead of setting him on the ground, though, Davy just wrapped them around his shoulders and then slowly, steadily, lifted Marlowe into his arms. Marlowe let him, swinging his own legs up to make it easier for Davy to catch them. Once he had some semblance of a grip, Marlowe leaned forward and pressed his face against Davyâs, kissing him rough enough for Phillip to laugh at, Eric to stare confusedly at.Â
âHe gets like this, when heâs-when heâs drunk,â Phillip leaned over to explain, though it does nothing to clear up Ericâs questions.Â
At this point? Heâs a lot more willing to walk home. Just get out of the car and walk.Â
âAlright, yâ sap,â Davy grumbles, pulling Marlowe off of himself and nestling him into more of a hold.Â
Eric was still sitting in the driver seat, just watching through the passenger window as Phillip opens his own door and climbs out. Davy leans his head towards Phillip, who pats his shoulder warmly and looks down at Eric.Â
All three of them are looking at him now.Â
The odd one out.Â
And, like, fair. He didnât know what the fuck he was doing here, either.Â
âUh,â he said. âI can just, uh. I can call myself an Uber now.â
âWho the fuckâre you?â Davy asked, almost at exactly the same time.
Eric put his hands up and slowly climbed out of the car. This Davy person didnât really look madâPhillip leaned over, whispering something to him, and Davy nodded along. And Eric didnât know what the fuck that was about really, but he didnât feel in the mood to test anything. Not at three in the morning, in someone elseâs driveway. He had to get back home.Â
âI can justâŠ.â Eric gestured to the road again, taking a few steps back.Â
Davy shook his head. âNo fuckinâ way, dude,â he was much more abrasive than the other two, and something in the sturdiness of his tone got Eric to shut up. âIâll drive you.â
On literally any other day, Eric would probably have started running right then and there. His palms were sweaty still, from gripping the steering wheel tighter than ever and from the mounting panic of driving someone elseâs car to a house he didnât know. In a car with a bunch of strangers.Â
But, to be frank, Eric was just starting to believe this wasnât real.Â
He was probably just tired. He didnât usually work shifts this late, and this was a whirlwind of a night already, and heâd already swallowed whatever panic arose earlier, which usually left him without the energy to worry about semi-tense situations. It was a kinda numb feeling. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? He dies and Gavin goes back with their parents? Bit too late in the night for Eric to care about something as trivial as dying.Â
So he nodded slowly to Davyâs suggestion. âThat would be nice,â he said.Â
Davy grinned. He lifted Marlowe a little and said, âIâll put this one to bed and come back out, âight?âÂ
Eric just nodded again, which must have been good enough for Davy, because he just turned around and marched himself back into the house. Phillip stayed outside, though, leaning on his cane with both of his hands. Eric shuffled around the car, now feeling a little more awkward, and Phillip gave him a small shrug as if to say he sympathized.
âIâm sure this is-this is strange,â Phillip added on.Â
It sure as fuck was. But Eric was like, almost too out of it to properly acknowledge that. âYeah,â he mumbled. âThisâ gonna be one hell of a dream to wake up from.â
Phillip chuckled at that one, laugh light like air. He leaned over and rested a hand on Ericâs shoulderâEric flinched, hands reaching up into a defensive stance, and Phillip pulled back quick.Â
It was. A little out of his comfort zone.Â
Just a little. He didnât like people touching him, especially people he didnât know, because for the longest time heâd been used to sudden motions as a threat. And while he used to take it, Eric had long since trained himself to fight over flight. So it did take self-control to not just deck this dude.
He turned back around to Phillip, shoulders hiked enough for his neck to stiffen just a bit, and he tried to lower his own hands. They were shaking, much to his chagrin, so he stuffed them into the pockets of his jeans.Â
âSorry,â he fumbled over his words. âSorry, I, uh. Iâm kinda...itâs late, and I donât really like, uh. People touching me.â
âNo need to apologize, that-that was on me,â Phillip responded. âNo need at all. I should-I should have known better, but Iâm ti-I guess Iâm tired my-myself. Iâm very sorry for touching.â
Eric smoothed himself out slowly, as best he could, and Phillip rested himself against the side of the car. He glanced over, watching Phillip as the man looked up at the tree line. In the moonlight, Eric could see him smile, ever so slightly. He looked weirdly regal, with how prim he was, even after being at a dive bar for three hours. His hair was still brushed to the side like itâd been gelled, though Eric had seen him run his hand through it a few times. And although it was dark, he could still make out the freckles that dotted Phillipâs face, like stars in their own right.
He turned away, looking at his feet, and hoped Phillip didnât feel too badly. It wasnât his fault Eric was a nervous fuckinâ wreck. But he didnât say anything. Getting a little too tired to hold proper conversation.
They both look up as the front door opens and closes again, as that Davy guy jogs out. Heâd changed out of his clothes into other pajama looking clothes, or maybe heâd just thrown on a jacket.Â
âAlright, nerdâs been sung a lullaby and is all tucked into bed.â He clapped his hands, rubbing them together slowly. âYou gonna be able to get yourself in bed okay, Princey?â
âOh, Iâll be okay. Just-Just sad my favorite artist wonât be there to kiss me goodnight,â Phillip said, and Eric did a double take at how flippantly the flirt was doled out.
Wasnât Phillip dating that Marlowe guy? Eric glanced between Davy and Phillip as Davy scoffed and grabbed Phillip by the shoulder of his sweater, yanking him close and kissing him for a second. Were they like, all dating? Was that what was happening here?Â
Eric was more confused than anything else. He knew of polyamory. Heâd just never seen it. Then again, he didnât know about a lot in the queer community. Once, one of the queens who came in for drag night called him âgnc as hellâ and he had to get an explanation from one of the girls sitting at the bar. Polyamory, though, was a new kind of fear for him. That was just more people to disappoint.Â
He looked back at the car and climbed into the passenger seat while Davy pulled back from Phillip and mussed up his hair. Eric very intentionally ignored eye contact while Davy climbed into the driverâs seat and rolled down Ericâs window, though he did wave at Phillip while Davy pulled away.
âDrive safely, David!â Phillip called out, waving a hand.Â
âBe back in a sec, baby!â David must have been his name proper, because he blew Phillip a kiss through the window and then rolled it back up.Â
Eric just kept sitting. Quietly. He almost wanted to pull his knees up, but this was someone elseâs car and he didnât really want to put his shoes on the leather seats. He put his hands on his knees, though, and tensed his knuckles a little.Â
Whereas the ride to the house was quiet in a calm manner, Eric felt a lot more tense now. He didnât know this David. And this David dude seemed a lot less poised than Phillip or Marlowe, given how he just turned off the radio and mumbled music lyrics, off-key and without any actual tune. And Eric could recognize that only because, at some point, David was singing some Shinedown song he knew. âState of My Head?â Probably.Â
Would David be mad? If this was a polyamory situation, would it be like encroaching on territory to have driven Phillip and Marlowe home? Eric didnât know. He didnât want it to seem like that; he just didnât want them to have to call an Uber and get a ticket. Shit was expensive.Â
At the first red light off the one-lane road, David glanced at him, and Eric caught the sight of a birthmark near his neck. It looked faded but it was still a recognizable shade of red. Eric looked away almost immediately, so David wouldnât notice him staring. He must not have been too successful, though, because David chose that moment to start a conversation.
i don't know if i wanna do these in like, big dumps, but i definitely knew i had to post these two. i thought i'd already posted them both :'D
IDs: Picture 1 [Gavin wearing a yellow shirt and white overalls, excitedly waving and shouting "DAD!"] Picture 2 [Eric and Gavin sitting in a car on the way home from school, with Eric driving. Gavin asks "why does Cadence call you 'babygirl'?" and Eric responds "how about we stop talking for a bit." Like the meme.]