if you told my 15 year old self that the Story Thieves character I would have the most thoughts about the most regularly years after reading the series was Fowen I absolutely would not have believed you.
Fowen could barely keep up with Moira’s brisk walk. He was still limping from his time prison escape, and Moira had the advantage of her heart not being on the verge of breaking down. Not just her heart- on top of the limp and cardiovascular tech issue, Fowen felt like he’d cry if he let go of himself too much. He hated that feeling, and he hated himself more for letting himself feel that way.
“What did you need me for?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level.
Moira glanced back at him, then frowned. “Not yet. We’re not far enough away.” She looked him up and down. “Are you hurt? I’m not walking that fast.”
“My heart isn’t…” he started, then grimaced as another wave of pain hit. He stopped in the path, clutching his chest and waiting for it to subside to a more manageable level. “My heart isn’t in the best condition right now.”
Moira, for her part, looked way too concerned for him, considering he had repeatedly attacked her and her friends when he had been pretending to be Doyle- and in the aftermath of his reveal.
“I’m fine,” he said, gritting his teeth and wishing he didn’t feel- or look- so weak right now. This was the last situation he wanted to be in. There was no chance she wouldn’t take advantage of his broken state to get what she wanted.
“Don’t worry, we don’t have to go much farther,” she says, obviously not believing him. He wouldn’t believe himself either, to be fair.
He did his best to keep up. Moira was ahead, but every few seconds she would check her pace and make sure she wasn’t too far away. As they moved through the woods, he heard a rushing, crashing noise growing louder with each step. Eventually, she grabbed his hand and pulled him just a bit farther ahead. They entered a clearing with a river and a waterfall, the source of the crashing noise. Moira led him to the water and sat on a rock. He practically collapsed to the ground, grateful for the break. He opened his mouth to ask what she wanted him for, but she waved him off. “Rest now. You look like you need it.”
He nodded, too tired to argue. Laying back, he stared into the sky, placing a hand on his chest and feeling his heart’s strained beating.
Finally, he tried to sit up. A stabbing pain stopped him from being able to, so he laid back down and just asked the question. “What did you need me for?”
“I was wondering if you could help me.”
He managed a small chuckle which caused him to cough, sending small waves of pain across his chest. “You wouldn’t rather ask No… Owen, or any of his friends?” He shook his head. “Did you forget what I did to you guys?”
She frowned. “Of course I didn’t forget. Should it matter, though?”
He shook his head incredulously. “I tried to kill all of you. Bethany was way too close to dying.” He shuddered at the thought, then nearly began crying. He forced himself to hold it back. He had almost killed Bethany.
“If you could see your face right now,” she said with a slight smile, although her tone was more than a bit sad. “You’re sorry, aren’t you?”
“Lot of good that does me.” He snorted. “I still did it.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment, analyzing him, looking him up and down. She wordlessly removed her shoes and socks, then rolled her pant legs up. She gestured for him to do the same, and he complied, albeit with a bit more pain than she had. As soon as he was finished, she offered a hand to him. He took it, and she hoisted him to his feet. The two of them slowly wandered toward the water. Moira waded farther in, but Fowen stayed on the edge. She looked at him curiously again. She waded back to him, then stood face-to-face with him for a couple seconds without saying anything. He shifted uncomfortably, wincing under her gaze.
Her tight hug nearly knocked him over. She supported his weight, though, preventing him from falling. Her hug wasn’t so tight as to cause him pain- or at least any more pain than he was already in- but it was tight enough to show that she cared. That alone sent a knife into Fowen’s chest. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this. She shouldn’t care about him. She should hate him with every fiber of her being.
But she didn’t.
His mind was screaming at him to push her away. Somehow, though, his body– touch-starved and longing for any kind of affirmation, clinging to any form of love he could attain– refused to obey.
They stood there far too long. Fowen’s body refused to listen to him and pull away, and Moira seemed to understand that he wanted, or quite possibly needed, to have someone there with him. Fowen knew he had to end it, though, because they couldn’t stand there forever. He disentangled himself from Moira’s arms. She immediately took his hands and led him farther in, where the water was up to their knees. The waterfall’s spray left moisture on their faces as Moira faced him directly.
“I was just curious…” she started, shuffling awkwardly just as he had done just a bit earlier. “I wanted to know if you could help me find my mom.”
Ah. So that was why she was being nice. Of course. Fowen felt his chest tighten, and he clenched his fists. She didn’t really care; she just wanted to suck up to him so he would help her. Along with that realization came a stab of pain, but not a physical one. This was a stab in the back, a betrayal. He didn’t know why he cared so much, though. It didn’t change anything. This was exactly what he had expected.
“Why me and not Owen and his friends?” he all but spat, feeling bitter. “They’re much better at everything than I am, aren’t they?”
She blinked. “You managed to pretend to be Doyle Holmes, and were very convincing about it, by the way.” She shook her head, smiling slightly. “You managed to trick me for a good long while, which is something most people can’t say they did. No one figured out who you really were until you actually told Sad Panda your story and all, while being very forward and blunt about it.” She grinned at this, placing her hand on his chest. “If anyone is smart enough to figure out how to find my mom, I think it’s you.”
Fowen weighed his options. Physically, he was in no shape to argue, and he didn’t really have any reason to say no. He tried in vain to think of an argument, and then he relented. “Fine. I’ll do my best. I can’t promise anything, though,” he warned.
Moira gave him a small, sad smile. “I know. I just want you to know that I trust you enough to believe you can do this.”
He sighed. This girl was persistent, if nothing else. She knew how to get Fowen to do what she wanted. Something about the way her wide, curious eyes gazed at him made Fowen just want to make her happy. He didn’t know why, but he did know that the fact would make him feel all the more guilty over the fact that he was almost 100% sure he wouldn’t be able to find her mother.
He suddenly became acutely aware of how close their faces were. Moira didn’t seem to notice, smiling at him with her crooked grin. He felt like it was an invasion of her privacy, but he couldn’t help noticing how soft of a look her face had, how easily he could reach out and squeeze her cheeks. She managed to rein in her wide grin, which morphed into a more subdued, but no less playful, smile. The way the edges of her smirk twitched upward drew his attention to her mouth, and he tried to stop himself from noticing how soft her lips looked, how much he wanted to just…
He jolted himself backwards and looked away from her, sure that his cheeks were turning a very obvious red. “Fine, you win. But you’ll have to give me something to start from.”
If Moira noticed his embarrassment, she didn’t point it out, although Fowen thought it’d be impossible not to notice. He appreciated her ignorance, though.
“Thanks again. We should probably get out of this oversized puddle.” She glanced down at their submerged legs and laughed. Fowen’s face flushed. He had forgotten that they were wading in knee-deep water.
The pair slogged back to shore and sat on the rocks for a bit, Moira humming a tune to herself. Fowen sat a bit farther off, not wanting to intrude on her personal space- although she didn’t seem to care, given how close they’d gotten earlier.
What was that, anyway? It seemed like she’d wanted to tell him something, or was at least trying to send a message. What message, though? It didn’t seem threatening, a challenge or a non-verbal “stay away.” Instead, it had a playful kind of feeling to it, or seemed to be an invitation to come closer. Fowen felt both drawn to her by it and apprehensive of it. On the one hand, she was a sweet girl– she just happened to be an expert at committing crimes. On the other hand, her almost instinctual ability to break any rule possible made him almost certain that there was some ulterior motive– intentional or otherwise– in her actions.
“C’mon, Conners,” she sang. “We gotta go!”
“Why?”
“Why do you think? I’m not letting you fall asleep on your feet out here in the middle of the forest. That’d just be rude.”
Groaning, he stood and followed her back to the path. “So where exactly are we headed?”
She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Buckle up, Buttercup, ‘cause we’re headed to my place! You need some rest.”
Well. Despite his skepticism about her true intentions, he wasn’t going to protest if she wanted to show some hospitality, and he was pretty tired. He started to say something snarky, then bit his tongue. He should be nice, at least while her friendliness lasted. “Thanks. I’m really… I haven’t slept in a while.”
“I noticed,” she said, completely serious. He frowned, not detecting any sarcasm in her words. She didn’t sound cheerful anymore. She sounded genuinely concerned.
Then she turned back to him, a smile back on her face once more. “Are you going to stay back there the whole time? C’mon, I’ll help you walk. You don’t have to do everything on your own.”
Fowen didn’t say anything this time, instead limping forward. She waited, then wrapped one arm around him and kept pace as they walked, slower than she had been before, but not showing any sign of irritation at the delay. He had to admit, it felt nice to be this close to someone.
He couldn’t help but wonder when all this kindness was going to end, because he knew it wouldn’t last forever.
He knew that. Ever since he decided to take over Nowen’s story, he knew he would be called the bad guy. At the time, he didn’t care. He knew that he wanted to take over the story, since Nowen wouldn’t do it on his own. He didn’t care what he had to do in order to take his story for himself.
Spending time in the Jules Verne Memorial time prison gave him a long while to think about why he decided to take over the story in the first place. Was it because he felt like he was being controlled and wanted to create his own path? When he put it that way, it seemed really stupid. After everything he went through, it was obvious that he was already in control- that idiot Nobody just didn’t realize it. Fowen liked to think he was better than Nobody, since he turned against him in the end and he had moved past the knowledge that he was fictional, being able to deal with the reality of it rather well.
That’s what he liked to tell himself.
In reality, he hated himself. He always refused to acknowledge it, constantly boasting more confidence than he really had, hoping his feelings of self-loathing would go away. They never did. Instead, it seemed to grow greater. What Bethany kept saying- what all of them kept saying- was true. The only Owen of the two that mattered was Nowen- no, Owen. He needed to keep reminding himself to call his counterpart Owen instead of Nowen. He deserved the real name, not some insulting nickname.
But Fowen, despite these constant reminders, didn’t want to tell anyone about it. Who would he even tell? The Countess and Dolores, who were already mad at him about who he looked like? No, he was their prisoner, despite helping them escape. He was just trying to survive, and they were his only way out. Even if he got away from them, would he tell anyone else about how he felt? Of course not. None of them would accept or forgive him after everything. He regretted all of it, but they’d never believe that. No, the best way to deal with it was to just laugh and pretend he was happy and confident in himself, no matter how wrong he had been.
As much as he hated the reminders, though, he had to rely on Owen and his friends to get him away from the Countess and her daughter. If he messed up even the slightest bit, they’d kill him; he knew that full well. No, he couldn’t turn against them until rescue came, as much as he hated the idea. He couldn’t use his time powers either, since Owen’s body that he had borrowed was far too fragile, not that it’d do any good. It was all Fowen could do to even run from dinosaurs. To Fowen, this was another indication of how much better Owen was than him; if he managed to put up with this for however long he did, he deserved Fowen’s body now. That shouldn’t give him any problems.
This was a thought process Fowen had many times a day. Whenever he wasn’t fighting for his life, he was trapped in his mind with reminders of what he had done. When he looked back now, it all seemed so cruel and stupid. He had burned his own mother’s library down, the place that he had spent the most time apart from his own home. How could he have done that? The thought made him sick to his stomach.
“Come on,” he heard Dolores snarl. He sighed and rolled his eyes, turning back to them.
“What’s the rush?” he couldn’t help snapping. “Don’t you guys have all the time in the world with your powers?” He looked around at the trees around them. “We’re in a forest in the middle of nowhere. No one’s going to see us.”
“Don’t patronize me,” the Countess growled from ahead of him, not turning around. “You will follow our orders or you will die.”
“Believe me, I know,” he muttered under his breath as he limped forward.
He hoped help would come soon. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand following them and pushing himself. His body was about ready to give out, since they hadn’t stopped walking since the escape from the prison.
Dolores paused. “I think I heard something.”
The Countess didn’t stop moving forward. “You’re being paranoid.”
Dolores glared at her mother’s back. “I’m certain I heard a noise.”
“Just a bird, then. Don’t be ridiculous. No one could have found us.”
Fowen hoped that his rescue party had come to save him. He expected a surprise attack on his captors at any moment.
What he didn’t expect, though, was a jolting, horrible burning sensation from behind. He cried out, getting the attention of both the Countess and Dolores. He nearly collapsed, but a body supported his weight from behind him. Something jabbed into his back, and someone’s arm was wrapped around his neck. His robotic heart couldn’t take the stress, and his chest felt like it was on fire.
“Move an inch, and my backup attacks. You’re surrounded,” a voice growled from behind him. A girl’s voice.
The Countess seemed unconcerned with this prospect. “Don’t attempt to bluff me,” she said, looking bored. “Give me the boy, and I’ll let you go.”
“You think I’m bluffing?” Fowen’s unseen captor replied in a singsong voice, a slight edge betrayed by the tone. “That’s cute.”
Fowen began to recognize the voice, and he didn’t like it one bit.
The Countess nodded at her daughter. “Take care of it.”
Dolores stepped toward Fowen and his would-be attacker, unconcerned, as made evident by the lack of use from her time powers. Fowen knew better. If he was right about who was behind him, he knew she wouldn’t bluff.
Sure enough, Dolores didn’t get two steps before she gasped in shock and fell to the ground, unconscious.
The Countess’s face quickly morphed from surprised to outraged. She whirled to face the invisible assailants, most likely hiding in the trees, but it was too late. She didn’t get the chance to move before she was also sprawled in the dirt.
The person behind Fowen released him, letting him fall to his hands and knees, not strong enough to stand after the shock he received.
“Aw, did I hurt you? Sorry. I just love my Taser!”
He managed to roll onto his back, staring up apprehensively at his apparent rescuer.
“I knew I’d find you again, Sad Panda!” Moira Gonzales sang, dancing in a circle over him. “I just knew it would happen!”
This was bad. Of all the people he had to be rescued by, it was the one who was quite possibly as much of a criminal as him, maybe more. He didn’t know how she remembered him, but regardless, this wouldn’t end well.
“I thought you’d forgotten,” he croaked, his robotic heart still weak after her attack on him with the Taser.
“I thought I did too,” she said, suddenly stopping her dance to lean over him. “But now I remember. And you know what else I remember?”
He shook his head, not wanting to know the answer.
“I remember that you aren’t my real Sad Panda.” Her face suddenly becoming serious, she reached a hand out to him and helped him up. “Come on. I need to talk to you.”
I can’t help but laugh when Fowen tells Bethany that Fowen isn’t his name, because all I can hear is Snotlout’s “UUGGHHH THAT’S NOT MY NAAAME!!!” when Dagur got his name wrong in “Something Rotten On Berserker Island”😂
