@frxgments-of-frxgments wanted a sneaky sneak starter
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One of the corridors to a supply room was off-limits and plunged into darkness. Gunther knelt at the top of the corridor with his back to the crew. When the Captain approached, he raised a hand to stop them moving any closer.
“We’re doing some testing at the moment, Cap. Can’t risk anyone who isn’t a member of ADS getting hurt.” Instead of shooing them away, he gestured for them to kneel down beside him; waiting until they had done so before continuing. “Cupid had noticed a batch of turrets were having issues walking, so we’ve set out a mini obstacle course down this darkened corridor.” He pulled out a flashlight the size of a pen out of his hoodie pocket and clicked it on to show that three turrets were slowly staggering down a path blocked with small boxes. Gunther raised the light a fraction to show a glimpse of white at the very end of the corridor which was followed by a distant “Oh, hi Captain!” from the debug expert.
“They’re trying to get to Cupid, but if anyone else goes beyond me, I’d be concerned that they would change their target and attack someone else instead. But if there’s any questions and/or scolding you have, now’s the time.”
Damien threw another glance over his shoulder. No one had noticed the odd behaviour. That was good. He didn’t want another kid getting in trouble because of him. He hitched up the shorts to risk dirtying them before moving a little closer. The stranger sounded like they had a sore throat. Maybe they were ill.
“Are you sure?” He couldn’t offer to help. What could he do when there was a fence between them, and plenty of staff between here and the kitchen? Before he could try and figure out what he should do, Damien was bombarded with questions. “Um... Yes, I live here. No, I’m not a prince. My father is a lawyer, and his father was a lawyer too.” A family tradition, and Damien knew he would also be a lawyer. That’s just the way it would be. “A-and my name is Damien. Why are you in the bushes?”
This event - a fundraiser gala - was nothing but a pompous affair to show how great the rich and wealthy were. Oh, we are so kind and generous, they would say, drinking champagne that cost more than their donations to the cause. We are doing the future generations a favour, they would brag, figuratively patting themselves on the back while doing absolutely nothing to promote changes for the future.
Damien hated them, but this was his world. From the age of five, these were the events he had to go to at the weekends, after days of extra tuition and study. He was forced into a stuffy suit, had his hair combed back with such force that his scalp stung, and then was expected to make pleasantries with the adults. He was nothing more than a mini-adult, struggling to understand the matters that bothered the grown-ups. Little boys should be playing with toys and creating imaginary worlds, not be forced to stand as tall as possible and try to give an answer when asked if he knew where India was on the map.
(At least Celine could slip away after a while. It wouldn’t be fair if both of them were stuck. He’d shoulder the chore for the two of them)
As an adult, that chore became a dread. He was known, he had a title and a reputation. The latest of the Brooks to grace these public events. Oh, you are just as handsome as your father was at that age, aren’t you so lucky. You are a lucky man to have such an esteemed reputation in the city. This time around, Damien had found some patrons of the older generations who were equally tired by the same monotony the wealthy elite prattled on about. But they were few and far between.
Damien had intended to stick by the DA, but got whisked away by a short, portly man with an oversized handlebar moustache who was adamant to get his stake in about the plans to renovate one of the abandoned buildings into accommodation for the lower class.
“You could make a bomb selling it. Imagine the glorious storefront that could take pride of place! I will double whatever has been offered.”
“Thank you, but no thank you. I have plans for that building and I intend to see them through myself.”
It wasn’t that simple to dismiss the conversation, and Damien was lucky someone else happened to join in so he could slip away and find his friend. There was relief to see they were ready to move, and the pair swiftly crossed the hall toward the large glass doors before someone pounced at the opportunity to debate a matter with the mayor and the district attorney! He waited until out of earshot to respond. You had to assume no one could be trusted.
“Really? That’s utterly astounding! I can’t believe my predecessors never thought of that!” Sarcasm dripped from his voice as he accepted the flute. “I had one of the businessmen rant at me for fifteen minutes about why I shouldn’t go ahead with plans to convert an abandoned store into accommodation and should instead sell it for profit to someone to sell... Oh, what was it he said...?” He paused for effect, snapping his fingers like it had genuinely slipped his mind. “Ah yes, of course. High-class fashion.” With the fresh air being a comforting presence, he let out a slow sigh as a hint of a smile appeared at the feeling of the weight being temporarily lifted. “I’m so sorry you have to endure all this, old friend. If you want to leave at any time, you’ve passed the time where it is now socially acceptable to do so. I know how arduous these events can be...”
five times stayed: ( five times the receiver stayed with the sender ) for yancy and his abandonment issues? :3c
@frxgments-of-frxgments
Five Times Drabbles (Accepting, but slow.)
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It seemed like an obligation more than anything at first. Instead of spending time with the Gang, Yancy had instead opted to use his rec time keeping the curious inmate company. Chains, as Yancy had started calling them, was bemused, but never made an active effort to send them off. Did they want his company and refuse to say otherwise?
It didn't matter. Yancy sat with his back to the wall and his hands cushioning the back of his head as he hummed a tune to himself. Eventually, there was a tap on his leg.
Don't you have anything better to do?
"Nope."
Yancy closed his eyes, his hummed tune briefly turning staccato with a brief laughing accompaniment. He didn't need to see the way Chains' expression scrunched up.
-
Two days until their parole hearing.
Chains had their nose in every legal book they could get their hands on. They had been assembling a damn good case to get them out of prison, along with a plan for calling Happy Trails out on their casual use of solitary for unnecessary punishments.
Even if it was rec time, they had taken all their notes outside and single-handedly claimed a picnic bench. The sports-watchers-club who normally took that spot were angry at first, but let it slide when they realised what the topic was. Parole hearings were a big deal for everyone.
Well, everyone except Yancy.
He was sitting on the opposite side of the bench. One foot rested on the ground, while the other was on the seat. This allowed a knee to be high enough to rest his arms and chin on as he looked aside. Chains' eyes were on their notes, but even if they lifted that gaze to check on him, they would be unable to see his face.
"You two wanna take a break and shoot some hoops?" Bam-Bam had the basketball in his hands, holding it as though trying to make it irresistible. Unswayed, Chains simply waved a hand of dismissal in his general direction so they could keep studying.
What got them to stop studying, however, was the low "Nah, thanks though" from the man opposite them. It wasn't like Yancy to refuse that offer.
As curious as the matter was, they didn't have time to dwell on it. There was a more important matter at hand.
-
It wouldn't be long before they could leave this place for good. Chains had already begun to pack their measly possessions while writing Mark a "where the hell are you" letter. They wanted him there on the day they got out. If they hadn't seen him since he was punched through that wall, then he must be a free man by now.
On the top bunk, Yancy stayed. He didn't say a word. He didn't really speak much when it was just the two of them in the cell. Sometimes, he looked as though he was going to speak, only to shake his head and pull back. They had tried getting it out of him, but he was tight-lipped.
They hoped he wasn't sick. He wasn't leaving the cell unless he had to, and he didn't like being there alone.
Their hand hesitated over the pen they were about to lift as their head turned toward the beds. He was lying on his side, his back to them. Maybe he was getting some rest. Maybe they'd ask Shithole Hank to bring Yancy to the nurse.
(They wouldn't see how he held a pillow tight as he tried to hold back the panic of being forgotten about by someone he trusted.)
-
(Panic attack warning)
Go away go away goaWayIdon'twantYouheRE-
Hands shot out, roughly shoving a figure in front of them. It gave enough space for them to drop down and curl into a ball.
Everything was so fragile. It would all break apart in a moment. One moment bled into another, and another, and death and death and death followed them wherever they went.
So much blood on their hands. They could scrub them until their skin was raw but the blood would never lift.
And no one knew the truth of the Captain. They should be stripped of their awards. Disgraced in public. Sent to an execution chamber.
But what would that matter?
They already died. And died. And died. And died. And died.
Would being executed again be any different? What if it all reset? What if that crystal was embedded in their skin again and everyone forgot all over again? Fire on the bridge! No oxygen! Rebelling turrets! Leaking cryo! Burning Reactor! Unstable -
A weight draped over their shoulders and upper back. Warmth. Two smaller pressures on their shoulders.
"Come back to me. Youse is okay."
There was a voice. It was calm and gentle, despite the rough edge to it. Despite the shove and the shouting and screaming... Yancy had stayed in the room? But why? They'd killed him so many times by their own mistakes and blunders. Did none of that matter?
(Of course it didn't. This one didn't know anything!)
"You're okay..." His left hand rested on their cheek so his thumb could rub small circles against their skin. It was something new to focus their scattered thoughts on. "Yeah... That's it. Breathe with me, an' we's is gonna get you back here. Back to the now, where nothing's happening. Youse ain't in space no more. Youse is back home."
Home... They were, weren't they? The energy that had been coursing through their veins in a surge of distress had faded, leaving them feeling weak. But not to worry, Yancy was still there, offering support to keep them together.
They slumped forward into the familiar embrace of the greaser. They were okay.
-
(Bonus AU!)
You can't stay in here.
"Gimme one good reason why I can't!"
This isn't your class.
"And?"
Don't you have class right now?
"Nope. Free period."
The young rebel stuck out his tongue at the music student. He had pulled over a chair so he could watch Jay play the piano. These moments were ones he treasured. After all, no one else amongst the squares saw Yancy as a person. Just Jay. And if he needed to be square to earn everyone else's approval, Yancy would do it - except for the fact Jay say they liked him the way he was.
Their argument was cut short as they both caught the sound of Mark and his friends chatting down the corridor, coming toward the music room.
Window. Open. Go!
"I got a better idea!"
Immediately, he got up and bolted... Away from the window... And into the... Closet?
Oh no.
Of course, it was the one cupboard that wouldn't be opened during the class, but now Yancy was trapped in a small space with no way out for the next hour. He was completely going to regret that but... At least lunch was after this. They could find a reason to hold back and check in on him.
The Assistant Bartender had not been at their best today. It wasn't as though there was any particular work-related stress for it - in fact, it was a little quieter than usual. It only left Wilford scratching his head as he tried to figure out what was wrong. They had arrived on time, no one had said anything mean to them that he had overheard. Unless something had happened in the place they were supposed to be? Maybe there was some incident where -
They caught him staring. They gestured to him and offered a hug. Why yes, he did like hugs! Especially from friends who never gave them! This was a good turn of events!
Wait. WAIT. Don't make a big deal? This was a distraction!!
Immediately, strong arms wrapped around his coworker and pulled them close. They could manage manifesting other hands to communicate, it would be fine.
"I'm not gonna make a big deal outta it, but I'm not gonna sit back an' watch ya be so forlorn an' miserable. We can take a break an' chat fer a bit. Help clear away a little bitta glumness, yeah?"
Christmas has proven to be a much different affair outside of the castle.
It’s the first that Prince Damien and the Knight have had since they became just Damien and Jay, and the adjustment has been… Odd, to say the least.
Damien’s seen little of Jay for the weeks approaching the holiday; they’ve been in high demand to help ensure the village is ready for the harshness of winter. Be it patching drafts in homes to keep the icy chill at bay, keeping the herds stocked with fresh hay, or hacking enough firewood to get every family through many bitter storms, there’s been few moments that haven’t been spent resting or being called to another job.
The distractions are welcome, truthfully. While Damien’s not been exactly slouching either, offering his own talents to the villagers by enchanting the women’s knitting needles and spinning wheels with a charm that threads the warmth of their own hearts and well wishes into the wool, easing the bitter ache of the elder’s bones in the cruel chill with a kind smile and soothing balm, and making the firewood stacking into a fun game for the children, Jay knows the festivities are reminding him of his lost home. They see the sadness that taints his smile when he sees a family embracing. The far off glaze to his eyes as the merriment grows to a crescendo, wishes of cheer and a kind new year being shared over a mug of mulled wine. He tries to hide it, in that agonizingly selfless way that he always keeps his grief and pain hidden close to his chest, but Jay sees it nonetheless.
They can’t stand it.
They spend days thinking of something to strike the melancholy down. Their prince’s (Still their prince, because he always will be, whatever the royal courts say be damned.) face should never be twisted with such misery, not while they still live and breathe to remedy it. But what can they do? The castle and its lavish parties are lost to them. The village has neither the resources nor the space for anything close to the festivities he remembers, and his family is equally out of the question. Though the letters from Celine are cherished, they’re as infrequent as they are dangerous, and few messengers would travel so far in the season, regardless.
Jay doesn’t know what to do. Only that they must do it, for if they see Damien bite back another surge of tears, they’ll surely snap.
The idea comes to them while they’re helping the farmers push a particularly stubborn bull into the barn for winter, and they stop so suddenly in their efforts that the bull stumbles into its pen in alarm. The farmers turn to thank them, but they’re already halfway saddled atop their horse by the time they open their mouths.
When they’re asked later what the purpose of their sudden galloping trip out of the village was about, they’ll claim that it was simply for supplies. And they wouldn’t be lying. At least not fully. They had brought back a hefty sack of candied fruits to be shared amongst the villagers for Yule morning, after all.
Its true purpose wouldn’t be revealed until Yule itself.
Damien’s bundled by the crackling fire, relieved that Jay had found time to fortify their own home against the winter cold as a storm rattles the windows and howls like a wounded animal just outside, when the knight themselves emerges from their room looking almost… Shy? They’re shuffling their gaze oddly as they join him by the fire, sitting with a nervous rigidness that betrays their nerves entirely. It takes them several moments to finally move their hands in sign without thinking better of it and restarting.
My Prince, I… I’m aware that this Yule has been… Difficult for you. As has this entire year. I cannot claim to be capable of bringing you even a fraction of the splendor and comforts of your past celebrations… I can only offer you this.
With shaking hands, they bring a humble parcel from behind their back to be placed in Damien’s hands. The paper it’s wrapped in is scuffed and torn in places from where it’s been left in a saddle bag, but the twine tied to keep it together has done its job surprisingly well. Should Damien open the package, he’ll find a worn looking copy of a tome of spells he’ll recognise from his once extensive library in his once royal study. It’d not been among the few books scavenged and brought with the pair on their escape; a sad thing, as it had been one of the prince’s favourites. He’s long since have likely accepted that such luxury items would never be his again in this new life, and yet… Here one is.
It’s not even close to what you deserve, I know, but… I hope even in its lesser state, it can offer you some sense of home, my liege. Jay’s quick to downplay the gift, cheeks flushing from more than the fire, and while it’s obvious that the tome is second hand and somewhat damaged, it still must’ve cost a considerable amount of gold. Or an insane amount of haggling. Perhaps both!
@frxgments-of-frxgments
-
A life after losing everything you were once familiar with was daunting. Going from a prince, to a disowned son, to a convict, to a wanted criminal, to a supposed nobody in a quiet village in the far corner of the kingdom was something that still took Damien by surprise when he stopped to think about it. He was slowly regaining the strength back in his muscles, and the cane for his damaged leg was being relied on less and less. If it wasn't for his Knight, he would have faded away to nothing in a prison, locked up for crimes he never committed.
His Knight - no, Jay, the only one who believed in him. The only one who ever listened and stayed by his side. The one Damien had loved since they were teenagers and was unable to confess due to fear they would be taken away. Even now, it all seemed very inopportune. Did they even like it here? He saw the way they constantly hopped from one job to another, even before the demand kicked in. Did they miss the safety and structure of life in the barracks? Was that something else the former prince had destroyed?
He needed to keep himself busy. Tutoring the local children and helping the illiterate with their problems only did so much. He began dedicating himself to his magic, refining the skills that he could remember to aid those who had been nothing but kind to the two strangers (surely they all knew the truth about who these two really were). He had to do anything to stop himself from thinking, and he didn't want to burden Jay any more than he already had.
But as the Yule season drew nearer, he was finding constant reminders that he had lived a lie. He had a sister who was kind, but distant, and parents that thought of him as a burden instead of anything useful. They were so sure of this, they saddled him with false charges shortly after they caught wind that Damien was trying to set some matters right amongst the corrupted family's reputation.
If he had never been born into a royal family, would he have been allowed a family like those he walked by? Would he have been granted parents that looked forward to seeing him, a sister who wanted to play games with him, and feel like he belonged? He wasn't jealous or angry at those that knew better; rather, he was mournful for what he would never have. It shouldn't be something that small that knocked him down, but it was merely another link to the chain of troubles and woe that had been pulling him under the surface.
-
He needed to keep himself busy. He had to do something to repay Jay's unwavering selflessness. They had thrown their life away just for him. They were destined for far greater than being a personal knight. Maybe they should never have stayed if they wanted to return to the army. Someone would instantly hire them. Damien could count on one hand the soldiers that were more skilled than his Knight.
And yet, they were helping everyone with jobs to prepare for the bitter cold winter. He needed to repay that favour, and so he set to work. Some of the local women had taken pity on Damien's inability to mend and darn clothing and began teaching him in payment for his magical aids. With their help, he had been able to craft Jay a...
Well, it was supposed to be a cloak made from a heavy, dark brown fabric that was going spare, with an internal lining of wool from the local sheep. Then it turned into a blanket with a hole at the top for the head. He was at an utter loss, until the ladies showed him how to attach a hood around the neck, and cut holes on either side for the arms to come through.
When alone, he would spend the rest of the afternoon casting enchantments on it - protective charms to shield Jay from harm, spells of warmth to keep the cold air out, incantations to make it harder to stain. Let it serve as the warm company that Damien longed to be.
It was awkwardly folded, placed in a reused sack, and tied with rope as neatly as possible. Should he present it to them on Yule? No, that wouldn't be fair. They have been so busy. What if it put them under pressure? What if they didn't want to do anything? It would be wrong of Damien to make assumptions. He stayed by the fire and left the present on the floor beside his feet. He would need to decide what the best option was.
Before he could, Jay emerged from their room, looking oddly shy. It was something that Damien forced himself not to dwell on, instead drawing his eye to the way they refused to show their hands until after they were sitting; and even then it was an awkward looking position. He was about to ask whether something was the matter, only for Jay so fumble and then begin signing.
"I... You don't need to worry about me," he started, a familiar argument after all this time. "We both know that life was..." Whatever he was going to say disappeared on his tongue as Jay revealed a gift. For him. A present.
Had they ever exchanged gifts, officially, while Prince and Knight? Right now, Damien was drawing a blank. He accepted the present with a quiet 'thank you' and placed it on his lap. Even if it would take very little to tear the damaged paper apart, Damien insisted on carefully untying the twine and revealing the present as it was intended to appear. It had been heavy, and he guessed it was a book, but he would not have expected to see the book that was once his trusted reliable when it came to spells. It had been the one book that hadn't been found when the maids were frantically trying to prepare a satchel for the Knight to take on the night of the escape. He knew it wasn't his copy, but that didn't matter. This book... It was here.
Damien was speechless for several long moments. Then, with little warning and tears in his eyes, he threw himself forward to tightly hug Jay. "Thank you."
He couldn't manage to say anything else without his voice cracking, but nothing more needed to be said. One of the few symbols of a happier life was here. He could properly resume his studies, and... Jay must have spent a small fortune on it.
It took nearly a minute before he felt composed enough to pull back to look the solider in the eye. "I... Don't know how you managed this. It's... I didn't think it would exist outside the castle. But I, um, I can't even say how much this means to me, Jay. T-there isn't a lot I can do in return, but I hope my present for you is adequate."
Trembling hands dropped down to lift the bundle on the ground. "I know it - it won't be like anything you would have worn this time of year in the barracks but I, I wanted to make you something to help enduring this freezing weather better." Slowly, the parcel was presented to Jay. "I hope you don't mind the colour. I... didn't really have a choice."
It’s clear that Jay’s distracted early in the day.
It’s a normal day by all accounts; Jay slides into Damien’s office after their morning case, brimming with the quiet satisfaction of a landslide victory, and drags Damien all but kicking and screaming to get some lunch while his secretary tries to pretend she isn’t laughing at the now familiar display. They share the details of the day’s trial as they walk to their favourite café, recounting the prosecutor’s speechless horror as they’d torn their argument to shreds, complete with imitation expressions.
Damien’s breathless laugh echoes through the café as they wait for their already in progress orders. The staff have long since learnt their orders by heart and have started preparing it the moment the pair are spotted through the windows, and Damien makes his usual polite conversation with the servers, while Jay makes their usual amused expressions at the obvious flirting that goes completely over his head. They eat by the window, watching the passers by and making light conversation. Damien shares the twins’ latest exploits, while Jay grins and assures him that James is as unaffected by their mischief as ever, and could honestly stand to take after their example a little more, much to Damien’s feigned horror.
Jay walks him back to his office, as they usually do, and it’s only when they awkwardly linger inside even after they’ve said their goodbye’s that the little details all start to shine in retrospect. Their pride of a job well done being just a little more brittle than normal, their fingers fidgeting and tapping between signs, the tense flex of their jaw in the silences… Unnoticeable to most. But not to Damien.
(Not to Damien, who had once known them better than they had known themselves, in body and soul and everything in between. And while those days were gone, they’d begun to build something else in the gaping wound of its absence. Something more fragile, and hesitant, almost a friendship and almost something more, but not quite either. But whatever it was, it was at least something.)
So, um… I don’t know what your plans for Christmas are, but… Jay finally signs after fiddling aimlessly with the odds and ends on Damien’s desk for much longer than remotely socially acceptable. I was wondering if between all the charity work and events, you’d like to maybe… Have Christmas, uh, together?
They’re suddenly extremely interested in rearranging Damien’s pens. Making sure they’re perfectly straight and equally spaced out, organizing them by colour, then length, then style… It’s James’ first one with just me and him, and you know I’ve never been big on the holidays. He asked if he could get the twins something, and I thought… Well, if it’s just me and him, and just you and the twins, maybe we could…
Why doesn’t Damien have more pens? He should get more. They’ve already finished organizing these ones, and they’re still stuck in this hellscape of a conversation. They wonder which would kill them fastest if they stabbed themselves with it.
If it’s too weird, you don’t—Don’t worry about it. It’s weird. This is weird, right? Forget I asked, it’s—I’ll just see you later, okay?
Oh, god. They’re backtracking hard. Quick, Damien, say something, before they jump out the window to escape their self made hell!
Time is an illusion ( @frxgments-of-frxgments )
-
From the moment they met for their somewhat regular coffee catch-up (also known as 'kidnapping the mayor'), Damien knew something wasn't right. When he tried asking, they evaded the question and shifted to something else. He figured it was likely related to grief, and ultimately decided against pushing the matter further.
Instead, they were bursting with confidence, despite what their carefully constructed facade showed. He encouraged the retelling, relishing how they made poking comments about the case and their sheer satisfaction in adding another grey hair to the collection the prosecutor was amassing.
He might find being dragged out to be at mostly inconvenient times ("I need to finish this email - wait wait don't close the - you closed my laptop"), it was a well-needed break that he would otherwise refuse to take. He had to work harder than everyone else. He had two children to take care of by himself, and the less trouble they landed in because of him, the better. He couldn't afford to be stripped of his position because he got sloppy.
But Jay never really cared about that, reminding him regularly that he deserved to live, and that meeting a friend was important.
(Regret and yearning twisted his heart when they referred to him only as a 'friend', but he had burnt bridges he was sure Jay would never want to consider rebuilding.)
Back at the office, there was a lull before his meeting with the team responsible for upcoming renovations of dilapidated buildings, and Jay's nerves were appearing again. This time, he said nothing, opting to let them find their words in their time while rearranging his pens across the small clean space on the desk.
"My... Christmas plans?" He blinked. He had forgotten there was more to it than the surprise of the morning for the twins. It would be the first Christmas from home since his wife, well... "I, er, hadn't thought about it. There are so many work-related events coming up. But, I think it would do the kids the world of good. All of them. Altair has been stealing money from my wallet in preparation for present shopping, so I would bet they are planning to get you two the perfect presents." Glancing down at the pens, Damien sighed, letting out a small smile. "I think spending it together would be perfect, Jay. It'll make the day more special for the three of them."
