#gwenbrooks

[walkingshcdow-a]

@gwenbrooks | liked for a starter (2/??)

“This place reminds me of when I took a roadtrip across America,” said Eric conversationally as Gwen Brooks poured him another cup of coffee before he had to dash back to his place. 

Truthfully, it was nice to have a business rival who wasn’t likely to poison his coffee or attempt to detonate him via cherry bomb. A little friendly rivalry never killed anyone. Emphasis on “friendly”. She was a pretty woman and she had a sugar-sweet accent that even made the most meanly meant “bless your heart” feel... well, better than talking to the Funns across the square. He smiled at her. Chapman’s cafe was already open and operational for the day, but Eric wanted to walk around the village, mingle with his neighbors, before he had to get on the Verlow funeral that afternoon. 

“Of course, that was a long time ago,” he said, shrugging. “How’s your day going so far, Gwen? Business going all right?”

[inthegroundontime]

@gwenbrooks

Gwendolyn Brooks’ arrival to Piffling Vale had been as baffling as anything else to happen in the village in the last year. Rudyard had, for those of you who aren’t keeping score, been accused of murder, rescued his archnemesis from an altogether different would-be murderer (and no one could convince Rudyard it had happened any other way), been severely injured multiple times, and had to gird his loins as he went into battle for Piffling Vale’s funerary business as he squared off against Eric “Enjoy Yourselves!” Chapman. One would think that Miss Brooks’ arrival to the island would be a mere blip on Rudyard’s radar. Indeed, it had been until her little bakery opened up. Often, Rudyard was the only customer, though the occasional nervous patron sidled in to place a covert order. After all, most everyone in the town already had a fierce loyalty to Eric “Enjoy Yourselves!” Chapman and his gimmicky multi-story business, which was ostensibly a funeral home, but also contained a pub, bookstore, bowling alley, hospital, and - of course - a bakery.

Rudyard bloody hated him. So too, it seemed, did Miss Gwendolyn Brooks. And so, when Rudyard needed a break from... well... everything, he’d taken to treating himself to a cookie instead of his preferred sherbert dip-dab. (They might not be “preferred” anymore, but Rudyard was a stickler for consistency and so he would insist for some months that it was only Miss Brooks’ reasonable prices that drove him to buy baked goods instead of sweets from Agatha Doyle’s confectionary.) 

And, really, it was good business to get in Gwendolyn Brooks’ good books. Some day, she would need to book a funeral, after all...

Rudyard wrapped his hands around his mug of warm water. Tea seemed a splurge and he didn’t like the sound of what Gwendolyn called “sweet tea”. For one thing, it was iced. On a rainy day like this, who would want that? Besides, the warm water filled up his stomach so he didn’t overspend in the bakery. It was really very tempting. 

“So,” he said conversationally, “how’s business going? I’ve noticed you’re poaching a couple of Chapman’s patrons. I admire that.” 

How do you do it? he really wanted to ask. How do you do that and still have people like you?

Because he hadn’t a clue.

[messrtender]

“If you look like this, I’d hate to see the other guy.”

   The other man in question was hardly fit to be viewed by anyone, let alone the young woman. A mess of broken limbs and blood, but it was what he’d deserved.

   “Looks worse than it really is, miss.” 

[walkingshcdow-a]

@gwenbrooks | liked for a starter call

As the rain spat down, Cordelia stumbled up the steps of Gwen’s bakery, cursing under her breath and thankful that it was during the workday and the weather was so poor. She didn’t doubt that other villagers had watched her this morning as she walked Calliope to school. It had not been a good walk. Her daughter, now seven years old, had already decided that she was “too old” to be seen with her mum walking her to school. If this had been a private conversation, it would have been the kind of blow Cordelia could take squarely on the chin. Instead, Calliope had blown up at her on the pavement. 

“The other kids think I’m weird enough without my weird mother walking me to school!” she’d shouted, already half in tears. “With my weird name and weird lunches and-”

Cordelia had tried to console Calliope to no avail. She’d finally said tightly, “I’m sorry. I had no idea you felt that way. If you would like to walk yourself home today, I understand.” and let her go. What else could she do? She didn’t reward temper tantrums as a rule. She never had. And, as a rule, Calliope was a well-behaved and mature young lady. Something must have happened. Cordelia wanted to make whatever it was easier for her daughter. She’d watched Calliope trudge to the schoolyard alone. Cordelia had tried to do the shopping, but at the market, she ran into Rudyard Funn and he’d tried to make conversation. Today was not the day to see her child’s clueless and estranged father, even though it was a small island and she saw him often enough. They’d started talking - a little light small talk about the funeral home and the music shop. For a moment, it felt easy and normal and she almost felt better. She almost felt like asking him to go for coffee. They pushed their trolleys in tandem. When he mentioned the Smithson funeral he was doing during the solar eclipse coming up on Friday, she’d made the mistake of saying -

“Oh, Calliope would love to see that.” 

“Who?”

Instead of telling him the truth, she’d blurted out angrily that he didn’t deserve to know. They’d had a row, he’d followed her out of the shop, bellowing, both of their trolleys abandoned, and it had started to rain. He’d followed her halfway to Gwen’s shop before remembering his groceries and scuttling back across the street. 

“I hope it rains at your sodding eclipse funeral!” Cordelia shouted at his back, a little meanly, before ducking into Gwen’s familiar shop. Ringing out her hair on the mat, she looked over at Gwen. Her shoulders sagged and she offered Gwen a weak excuse for a smile. “I’m going to need a whole pot of your strongest coffee and an even stronger argument against homicide.” 

Whether she wanted to kill the kids who made fun of Calliope or to kill Rudyard was anyone’s guess. The itchy heat under Cordelia’s skin made her sure that being able to kill anybody would make her feel better.

[walkingshcdow-a]

@gwenbrooks | (3/??)

If you asked Georgie Crusoe, she was great at setting up blind dates.

If you asked Antigone Funn, Georgie Crusoe was great at sending her into utter panic. She hadn’t known tonight was a “date”. She thought Georgie really was going to introduce her to a book club. When Georgie revealed that the “book club” was actually just going to be Antigone and the new man who had started to build a miniature cabin on the edge of the Piffling Woods, Antigone had foamed or frothed and begged Georgie to stay but now she was alone in Chapman’s cafe with a cup of decaf coffee and the horrific prospect that when she inevitably died of embarrassment, Eric Chapman would get the funeral and not give Antigone the bespoke care she gave her funerals. No one would mourn her passing - especially not her brother and apparently not Georgie, the Judas, who would bungle everything without her anyway. Otherwise no one else would note her passing. And-

She was getting ahead of herself.

“It’s just coffee,” she reminded herself shakily, aloud, “with a man who likes books. As long as you don’t tell him the only books you read are filthy, smutty, raunchy-”

She took a long sip of coffee to shut herself up.

“Maybe he won’t come,” she reassured herself. Then, horrified, she said, “Maybe he’s  already come and seen it was you and left and-”

When she got home, she’d murder Georgie if she didn’t die of shame first. 

[walkingshcdow-a]

@gwenbrooks | liked my starter call (1/??)

“Don’t you mean Chapman?” Rudyard asks, perhaps snidely as he eyes the newcomer. 

No one looked at Rudyard and asked “Aren’t you that funeral director?” because everyone on Piffling knew he was a funeral director and that his family had been funeral directors on the island since the fifteenth century. Chapman, though... He was the famous one. The one who’d traveled the globe and explored its farthest corners and who still settled here of all places, specifically to ruin Rudyard’s life. Rudyard leaned heavily against his shopping trolley and examined tins of beans for their expiration dates. 

The stranger hadn’t gone away. He had been on the island for approximately a week and Rudyard had done a good enough job avoiding him, but if the man was taking up permanent residence in Piffling Vale, there’d be no avoiding him forever. One day, the American man might keel over and die and when he did, Rudyard had better hope he got the funeral. He wouldn’t be getting it by plugging Chapman’s now. 

“I mean... What do you mean?” he asked, putting one of the tins in his cart and the other back on the shelf. He gripped the handle of the trolley. “When you say ‘that funeral director’... What have you heard?”

[walkingshcdow-a]

@gwenbrooks gets a plotted starter | Diaval

Diaval shifted uncomfortably in the back of the classroom. He watched the other parents at Aurora’s kindergarten with defensive suspicion. He knew how they looked at him. Fingers stained with tobacco, black coat with an upturned collar that accentuated his pale and angular face, dark eyes rimmed with scars; he wasn’t quite human. He wondered who else here wasn’t. It wasn’t something one talked about in polite society. Certainly not at your daughter’s first open house. Not for the first time, Diaval wondered how he, by his very nature, jeopardized his daughter’s future. 

Of course, no one would guess that Aurora was Diaval de Ravin’s daughter. Where he was dark-eyed and dark haired, she was blue-eyed and blonde. Rosy. What they lacked in physical similarity, they made up for in spiritual similarities. Anyone who knew them, could see that. But while everyone was eager to know Aurora - and who could blame them? - the other parents at the open house seemed eager to distance themselves from Diaval. He perched against the windowsill after five minutes of trying to sit with other moms and dads and he took out his cellphone. He sent one message to Mal - a fourth thank you for watching Aurora - and spent the rest of the time jotting down everything the teacher, Miss Brooks, had to say. Goals for the year. Activities to support in classroom learning. Upcoming due dates, volunteer opportunities. And then, after she said her piece, Diaval expected the parents to stay with questions or to socialize with one another. But they meandered out the door - other children’s teachers to meet and happy hours to make. Diaval was a raven with one egg, though. He had no where else to be and Maleficent would be watching Aurora until eight... He pushed off the sill and crossed to Miss Brooks’ desk. 

“Are we allowed t’ stay ‘n ask questions, or d’you want us t’ get out of your hair? I can understand if y’do,” he said. His voice was low and raspy, more a raven’s croak than a man’s voice, accented softly with an Irish brogue he’d never quite managed to lose. “I just wanted t’ thank you for all you’ve done for Aurora. Maybe see if there’s a way I can get that volunteer sign up sheet t’ pay back the debt I owe you, or pay if forward.” 

[walkingshcdow-a]

((Thank you @wakecp & @gwenbrooks for letting me play around with modern Erik’s criminal past! I’m STOKED. I’m so used to starting him after he’s made a proper, healthier life for himself in modern (which is weird, given how often I try to write Persia Era canon Erik..?), so it’s a blast!

Also thank you to @fictioncoxnt for taking a chance on a plotline with me that I know a lot of other RPers would leap to make romantic. Thank you for understanding me when I say that I think Erik and Christine can reach a deep, soulmate-level platonic relationship under different circumstances and that I recoil at shipping them. Thank you for understanding.

Also, huge shout-out to @exitiumparit for the gift of Dad Verse. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, Haley for taking a chance on an out-there AU that has been one of the greatest joys in my career of writing Erik (and Nadir). You bring me such joy and I love you.

Thank you to everyone who RPs with my Erik and makes me feel safe, secure and loved, even though my source material isn’t the most popular and my shipping preferences are unorthodox. Your support is what makes me feel at home on my dashboard and in this fandom. I love you  all.))