It's been a few year since Bishop arrived on Earth. He isn't sure how many exactly, they've all blended together in the haze of grief that his mind has become.
He lives with an elderly Earth couple in one of the rooms that they rent out above their small shop. They're kind, never asking questions about where he came from or why he didn't bring any belongings with him. They don't prompt him to speak often and don't ask where his accent is from when they do. They let him keep Brook, his little bird and only companion, in his room with him and don't complain about the occasional sound she makes.
They probably pity him, the blind stranger without a cent or a possession to his name. Why else would they pay him what they do to descend from his den to the shop to keep watch and ring out the rare customer that comes in past sundown?
He's not working now, despite it being late. It's an Earth holiday, apparently, a celebration of a new year. Bishop can't bring himself to join, even though his hosts offered to bring him along to their own get together. The sounds of joy are universal, at least, and if Bishop cracks open the window he can at least pretend the foreign cheering and elation outside is that of home.
Bishop was sick. Maybe he was dying. He didn’t know exactly, but he did know that everything ached. His body grew stiffer and more difficult to move each day, like molasses ran through his veins in place of blood. His vision was blurry and warped whenever he opened his eyes, though maybe that was for the best. It was easier to look up at the swimming blankness of the ceiling than the worried faces of his parents, his sister, his friends. There was only so much he could take of the grief and worry he saw there, barely concealed, like their expressions were hiding behind gossamer curtains.
He could still see their souls clearly at least, flares of color, walking light shows that danced over his vision and calmed him. They were healthy and they were safe. If he really was dying, at least he was leaving them behind full of life.
“Bishop.” Babble spoke quietly from his side, squeezing his hand where it was wrapped tightly in both of hers. “What are you thinking about?”
“Mm…” Bishop thought for a moment, giving a pathetically weak squeeze back. Answering with ‘dying’ felt a little crude. “You. And our parents.”
“Are you worried about us?” She asked, after a long pause and Bishop held back a sigh. It was a real chore keeping up a strong face when she was so adept at reading him. He supposed that there wasn’t really a point in lying, she could feel his emotions just as he could feel hers, the pain and the grief that emanated from her heart.
“I am.” He said back, freeing his hand to trace it up her arm and to her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze and turning his head until he could see her outline and offer her a smile. “But… you’ll be fine. You’re all safe, and I know that you’ll take care of our parents when I’m gone.”
“Stop- don’t talk like that alright?” She said, taking the hand from her shoulder and squeezing it again, desperate, as if she could keep him with her simply by holding tight enough. “You’re gonna be fine! Once you get better, we’ll look after them together.”
Bishop hummed and flexed his fingers in her hands. There were plenty of things he could say, he could argue that there was no saving him now, remind her that they’d see eachother again, promise that he’d still look after them even when his body was gone and his soul was free to roam, but it all seemed trite at this point. She wasn’t going to let go of him that easily, just like he wouldn’t let go of her if their positions were reversed.
He hardly wanted to think about it, losing his family, they were his everything. Maybe there was some selfish part of him that was glad to be the first to go, so he wouldn’t be the one to feel that pain.
“Will you read me something?” He asked Babble, giving her hand another squeeze, “I haven't been able to read like we used to.”
There was a hesitancy in the way that Babble slowly let go of his hand and peeled herself from the chair at his bedside to wander over to the bookshelf along his wall. Her gaze was heavy each time she turned to look at him, as if leaving him for a few moments to find a book was too much. He laughed quietly and raised a hand to wave.
“I’m not dead yet.” He said, voice light with a smile. Babble apparently didn’t find it as funny if her petulant silence was anything to go by. Seconds ticked by without so much as a rustle of clothes or annoyed sigh, Bishop’s easy smile growing more exasperated. “Oh come now, Babble, it was just a joke.”
Seconds turned to minutes and Bishop’s smile dropped further. Was she crying? He couldn’t hear any sniffling or even her breaths anymore. “Babble? Dear, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”
He couldn’t… Come to think of it, he couldn’t feel her anymore.
“Babble? Are you still there?”
Bishop’s arms were impossibly heavy as he tried to push himself up, refusing to move the way he wanted to, stiff at his sides. His chest was heavy as his breathing grew faster, panic rising from his lungs to his throat when he realized he could barely move at all. Where had she gone? He had to find her. He had to… get out of this bed, and find her.
He fell out of bed more than anything, the pain as he hit the ground shooting through his shoulder, fiery and intense for a moment before it numbed altogether and faded, like the presence of his sister had. Bishop was panicked now, desperately trying to make his body obey as he reached out and dug his nails into the floor to drag himself to where Babble’s energy had once been. He couldn’t see her colors anymore, the bright refracted rainbows of her being gone, leaving his vision purely black.
When had he fully lost his vision? When had he gotten off the floor? He couldn’t feel the wood under his hands anymore, just empty space. He couldn’t even feel his hands.
Oh, gods, he couldn’t feel anything.
Where was he? Bishop frantically felt around for something, anything to hold onto as it all faded out of existence. Was he floating? Where was he going? Why couldn’t he find his tether, his sister?
He reached out in the unending black that surrounded him, throat choked by cries as he desperately searched for anything to keep him from floating endlessly in this terrifying emptiness.
His fingers brushed against something, soft and barely there. But it was enough to tether him, just barely, like a spider’s thread holding onto a balloon.
It tugged him back to the ground.
And he woke up with a start, Brook biting at his fingers and chirping like mad. His fingers were stiff, uncooperative as he clenched them briefly. They moved, at least. His lungs gulped down oxygen in a useless panic, but they worked.
He weakly pushed himself up from his desk, brushing against scattered papers and trinkets. Ah, he must have fallen asleep. How careless of him, he shouldn’t have let his exhaustion grow to such a point. A hand rose to his face to scrub harshly at his eyes, pressing hard into them until static filled his vision. Brook’s little fleeting kaleidoscope of colors shined in front of him, patient while he regained his bearings.
“I… fell asleep.” He offered her.
“𝓦𝑒𝓻𝓮 𝔂𝑜𝓾 𝓭𝓻𝑒𝓪𝓶𝒾𝓃𝓰?” She asked, her voice quiet and rippling.
Bishop sighed, reaching forward and running a finger over her back lightly. “I was.”
“𝓦𝒽𝒶𝓽 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓾 𝒹𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓂𝓲𝓃𝓰 𝓪𝒷𝓸𝓾𝓉?” She asked, feathers ruffling under his touch.
Bishop paused for a moment, his movements and his thoughts stalled.
Both of his parents made sure to teach him that he didn’t have to be afraid of being different. They made sure to nail home the fact that even if he was a mutation of the two families he belonged to, both families loved him dearly and would support whatever he decided to do with his abilities. When they died, they taught him a valuable lesson in mourning the loss of people he loved, but not letting himself get buried in his grief.
Rubbish immediately crawled into Bishop’s lap with more grace and poise than one would expect from a toddler. Jesseth, politely, hunkered down next to them to see as well, pulling out little glasses to get a better look. They both listened with rapt attention as Bishop explained their backstory, while Grubby continued to focus his whole world around the tiny bird he had in his hands.
While even in glamour Jesseth’s face had difficulty expressing, a gentle, slight frown appeared at hearing someone was terrified of reptiles. He would likely never meet this child out of glamour, if ever, and so it was moot. Only stung a little to be feared irrationally, yet his house was entirely made of glass on that point.
“How do you know it isn’t haunted?” Rubbish asked, gently spinning the bracelets on her wrist and holding them up to the light.
“Ah, well I wouldn’t usually reveal my secrets, but you seem trustworthy.”
He swung his head back and forth, feigning a glance around the shop before leaning forward and speaking in a low voice.
“You see, Brook is terribly allergic to ghosts. They make her sneeze.”
Seemingly on cue, the tiny bird let out as violent of a sneeze as a little yellow ball of feathers could, jostling in Grubby’s hands and fluffing up. She looked back and forth from Grubby to Bishop as the former laughed.
“Huh? Oh, sure.” Logan placed a light hand on the man’s elbow and led the way.
The exhibit itself had been set up a very specific way, one that concealed the centerpiece of it until you were right beside it. Which, first off, was impressive, considering. So when they came to a stop in front of the pipe organ, Logan let out an impressed breath. (He’d watched as it was set up, even poked his head in to look at the different stages during his night shifts, but he hadn’t seen it assembled yet.)
Which, second, was exactly the goal. However bad the name of the exhibit was (Logan would not let that one go), the organizers had gotten this part perfect.
Like the piano and harp, the pipe organ had its own embellishments in the form of elaborate metal lacing bordering the pipes. Not that they needed them to stand out. The pipes themselves were the highlights, polished silver that gleamed under the (very specifically selected for this purpose) lights and stood out against the dark wood grain.
“I’d say I’m not sure how they got this thing in here, but that’d be a lie. Doubt that’s going to be on the audio, if you’re interested in that part, too.”
Bishop let out a quiet laugh and nodded. “Oh I would love to hear that story. I’m sure it’s quite dramatic, seeing as I’ve heard that this piece is rather large. Though first, I’d like to get an idea of what we’re looking at.”
He pressed play on the recording, occasionally nodding along as the recording described the piece in a way that was just the right amount of flowery, the right amount of professional. Perhaps a bit clinical, but perfectly serviceable in it’s explanations. He paused it again before it could go into the organ’s backstory, slipping it back into his pocket and turning his head in Logan’s direction.
“Now tell me, what do you enjoy about this particular exhibit? And how did they get it in here?”
Logan hesitated. Technically, he was busy. Technically, he was supposed to be doing rounds, popping in and providing extra information, encouraging discussion and questions.
If asked (which he doubted he would be, come on), he could rationalize it. This encouraged discussion. It also filled a gap in his knowledge about the exhibits. See? Initiative.
He also hadn’t missed the shakiness in the other man’s tone. Logan got that. Sometimes exhibits dredged up one’s own past, made you think about your own history and what you’d missed. Happened to him plenty.
“Yeah, I have time.” The softer smile that appeared this time was far from the awkward, forced customer-service face of a minute ago. “Which haven’t you heard yet?”
Bishop smiled at Logan, scrolling through the entries and listening to the title of each one until he landed on one he hadn’t listened to all the way through just yet. It was apparently a fairly large display, a giant pipe organ that required a large chunk of space for itself.
“What about this one?” Bishop asked, listening to the name again before pausing, “It sounds rather exciting.”
He pocketed the phone then extended an elbow to Logan, “Would you mind terribly?”
Jesseth knew as soon as he saw those jewelry pieces they weren’t leaving without them. Was that fair to the rest of the Commune? No, perhaps not. But they weren’t the ones coming into the city all the time to run errands, so, perhaps it was alright anyway.
Rubbish held out a hand to carefully take one of the bracelets, holding it up to her eyes and then gently sniffing them. Ratkin were never much for pretense. Grubby was still captivated by Brook, but spared a glance to give a soft, childish “Wow.”
Rubbish tried to crawl into Bishop’s lap now that he was down on her level and Jess cleared his throat.
“May I sit with you?” Rubbish asked immediately, giggling. “And you can tell me about the pieces?” She wanted storytime, clearly.
“Of course.” Bishop said with a quiet laugh of his own, repositioning his cane to be at his side instead and patting his leg. “To both questions.”
Bishop continued to rifle through the box, pulling out a few more snake themed pieces of jewelry and alternating between slipping rings onto his fingers and more bracelets into Rubbish’s hands.
“The woman who these belonged to brought them to me directly. She collected snake-like jewelry for most of her life. She intended to sell some and leave some to her decedents, but her only grandchild is apparently quite terrified of reptiles.” Bishop explained while untangling a thin golden chain, “She didn’t want the pieces to be put in storage somewhere and forgotten, and she didn’t quite trust a pawn shop, so she asked me to buy them.”
Once the necklace was untangled, Bishop held it up, letting the delicately carved pendant swing and catch the light. “She insisted that this one was haunted, but as far as I can tell, it’s not.”
Logan decided not to mention that he could touch it, with gloves and after hours. He understood the desire, to feel the history under his fingertips. He’d gotten the same feeling in the Paris catacombs with Skipper, prodding forgotten loculi and long-since abandoned film reels. When the patron gestured, he followed, casting one more glance at the piano. He’d grab the photo later…
“Oh,” Logan whispered, seeing where they’d come to a stop. He took in the instrument—the worn, shining gold, especially. Fitting that the brass had worn to that color; there was love in those marks. Maybe he should get some instruments like that for the house. Something that, the longer their eternity went, the more they’d shine.
He stepped to the side and skimmed the plaque next to it.
“The audio tour must be more detailed. This,” he tapped the sign, “doesn’t go a whole lot into her life. It does mention she liked to play for a ‘friend,’ though.” Ah, history. Who the hell wrote this sign. Coward. “It’s a very romantic way to show devotion, I think. Learning a craft for someone and having a special instrument that you share the most with them.”
Hm. He smiled to himself again.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to not be the most invasive guest in the museum and ask the young man about his love life. Bishop had to actively fighting his curiosity, he was a weak willed sap of a man who couldn’t help but adore the idea of meeting one’s soulmate.
It didn’t help his curiosity to see the gold streaks in Logan’s soul glow brighter for a moment. Goodness, he really needed to get outside more often if just knowing that someone was thinking about a loved one was nearly enough to make him tear up.
Some of the overwhelming emotion could at least be blamed on the fact that he knew, he had an overwhelming hunch, that Logan’s soulmate was Sybil. He could be wrong, of course; judging someone by the colors of their soul wasn’t an exact science. But Sybil’s had such a strong grasp on their fate, that their colors tended to show brighter, to interweave themselves into those they were destined to.
Perhaps his interest was selfish as well. It had been so long since Bishop had been able to have a conversation with a Sybil or Esurian. Both sides of his family were few and far between on Earth, as well adept at making themselves scarce. He missed them. He missed his family.
“Would you like to listen to a few entries with me?” Bishop asked, his voice wobblier than he’d like it to be. He cleared his throat and unplugged his headphones from his phone, the audiobook already keyed up and ready to play. “There’s a few that I have yet to listen to. If you aren’t busy, of course.”
Grubby, gently and carefully, spoiled Brook with pets. Rubbish giggled and reached all the way up to take Bishop’s arm, barely more than three feet tall herself. If it looked as if it wouldn’t knock him off balance she might have started hanging off of him.
“We love snakes! Right, Jess?” She asked, winking at their ‘guardian.’ He wasn’t used to smiling, but there was a flicker of amusement at the very corner of his mouth.
“Yess, we do. Mosst, anyway.”
“I’d certainly hope so.” Bishop chuckled and led Rubbish further into the shop, letting the others follow behind. Hmm... what would be the best thing to show off to these three? He had a fair amount of items that could be considered snake-like, but he doubted that they’d be interested in looking at old purses. He was having a hard time guessing their age. The voices of the smallest two were certainly youthful, but they had a presence of mind beyond that.
Well, everyone liked jewelry, right?
Bishop made his way over to a large glass cabinet, reached into his pocket for a key so he could unlock it and pull out a small jewelry box. When he turned around again, he lowered himself to sit on the floor, legs crossed carefully in front of him and cane balanced across his lap. This would be easier if he was at the little ones’ height.
He opened the box with and ran his fingers over the top of each piece of jewelry with a careful hand until he found a bracelet for each of them, little chain links of metal wound together to make semi flexible snakes. Each eye had its own brightly colored gemstone, and though the pieces were worn with age, they were still wonderful little pieces of craftsmanship.
“Oh, not at all! I’m happy to show off, actually.” He said to Jesseth, offering him a small smile. “And you’re welcome to pet her, just be gentle.”
Brook hopped forward on his hand slightly with a curious chirp, tilting her head downward like she was inviting Grubby to pat her head. “Her name is Brook, she’s quite fond of children. Or really, anyone she considers short. Would you like to hold her?”
“Lucky, Grubby’s both.” Rubbish said fondly about her little brother. The young rat made careful, practiced pets across Brook’s tiny head, probably more dextrous and precise than one would expect from such a small child.
At the offer, he plaintively looked up at Bishop. “Please. I’d like to hold her.”
Brook seemed one step ahead of the request, she flapped a few times to land on Grubby’s outstretched arm then hopped a few times to rest just below his elbow. Her little eyes were locked onto him as she chirped loud and insistent on more attention.
Bishop chuckled at the sound, twisting his cane in his hand as he considered what he could show them. His head turned quickly to Jesseth again, glancing quickly up and down at the long serpentine shape his soul took.
“Why don’t we start our tour?” He asked, offering his arm to Rubbish for her to take. “How do we feel about snakes?”
Logan’s eyes dropped momentarily to the man’s hands. Were they both hand worriers? (A joke about idle hands came to mind. Not one he could share, but one that did help him relax and smile more genuinely.)
“A subjective description, huh?” he asked, circling the piano. “The painting on the lid’s what caught my eye.” Logan gave the painting another look over. “It looks like the outlines are carved into the lid, but if you step back, or to the side, you can tell it’s actually the paint job. There’s highlights and shadows painted on. It makes you wonder why the artist did that instead of carving—if it was commissioned like that or if they just didn’t want to mess around with three-dimensional art.”
Maybe they just hadn’t had a soulmate to collaborate with. Logan smiled to himself.
“What’s stood out in the audio tour?” he asked. This exhibit, being temporary, wasn’t familiar like the others, where he’d taken one of the devices for his own walk around the museum until he had the entire narration memorized. “If you don’t mind sharing.”
“Mm... I wonder what it would feel like to touch...” Bishop wondered out loud, trailing after Logan as he talked. “Though I promise I won’t jump the railing while you aren’t looking. I’m not nearly nimble enough for that.”
He considered Logan’s question for a moment, twirling the rings on his fingers as he thought. After a beat he hummed and gestured for Logan to follow him, trailing past exhibits, his fingers gliding over the braille descriptions in front of each until he slowly came to a stop.
The instrument on display wasn’t particularly glamourous to look at, an old harp with delicate blue flowers painted on its soundbox and across the neck. The pedals were worn from use, shining a brighter gold than the slightly tarnished accents on the crown and feet.
That wasn’t what drew Bishop to it, of course. He was more content to watch the souls that sat behind it. One watching in curiosity while another delicately plucked at its strings. The phantom fingers couldn’t make a sound, of course, but the spirit seemed content to simply play out the well practiced motions for their audience of one.
“I like this one. The audio tour goes into the history of the artist that used it more than some of the others. She had a very interesting life and she clearly adored her craft.”
I have taken in an extremely awful item at my shop and I would like someone to come take it immediately. I will pay someone who is able to give it a good home. Please.
“Grubby, ask nicely.” Rubbish murmured in her little brother’s ear. He nodded enthusiastically as she added, loudly, “We’d love a tour! Right, Jess?”
“If it’ss not an inconveniensce.” Jesseth casually signed shy, more out of habit than the assumption Bishop could see it. He had caught on to the other man being blind when he was not looking at Jess’s face when he spoke.
“May I pet the bird?” Grubby asked, one little hand extended all the way.
“Oh, not at all! I’m happy to show off, actually.” He said to Jesseth, offering him a small smile. “And you’re welcome to pet her, just be gentle.”
Brook hopped forward on his hand slightly with a curious chirp, tilting her head downward like she was inviting Grubby to pat her head. “Her name is Brook, she’s quite fond of children. Or really, anyone she considers short. Would you like to hold her?”
