#our first argument

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

The Motorcyle Mishap (or, Our First and Second Six-Way Fight)

~ set in a modern Vesuvia and not-so-subtly based off my accident last week, have a fic with my self-insert "Drue" and his motley friend group! xD written for @vesuviaweekly ~

My hands are shaking in the damp, misty air as I type out my next message to the group chat, my right fingers already swelling as a car drives by and shatters one of my lost taillights behind me.

Drue: hey, can somebody come pick me up? i'm okay i promise

I sigh and look down at my discarded helmet on the sidewalk, right next to my crumpled gloves and the absolute beauty that was my motorcycle currently laid out on the pavement. A well-meaning stranger pauses and calls out from the other side of the street.

"Hey, you okay? Can I get you anything?"

I smile and wave, hoping they can't see the shake in my arm or the grimace I'm fighting back. "I'm good, thanks though!"

"You sure?"

They look ready to cross the street. I don't have it in me to talk to strangers right now - "Yep! I've already got friends on the way!"

At least, I think I do. Judging by the incessant buzzing of texts flooding my phone, I'm almost certain I do.

Asra: omw, where r u

Portia: what happened??

Julian: Are you okay? What do you need? Are you hurt? Where are you?

Lucio: he said he's okay guys wtf

Nadia: Drue saying "I'm okay I promise" is precisely why I know he's probably not. Does anyone have his location yet? I expect to finish this early morning meeting in another ten minutes.

Drue: i'm at the corner of -

My keyboard is cut off by a new call screen, which quickly splits into two and then three incoming calls. I pick up on the one that I haven't heard from yet.

"Heyyy, Muriel, what's up?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm at the intersection of Gladiator Ave and Market St, just past the canal. You know, where the cobblestones have the old tram tracks in them?"

"Good. That's close. What happened?"

"Uhm - okay - so, I'm okay ..."

"You bold liar ~"

I pause at the second, considerably airier voice on the line. "Muriel is - is Asra with you?"

"Yep!" I can hear the engine of his hippie van hitch as he shifts gears. There's a moment of eerie silence broken by nothing but the clinking of their mirror hangings and their quiet hum of turning right here until Muriel pipes up again.

"I asked him to drive me. Keep talking."

"Oh - yeah - right, so I - I think I crashed my bike."

I hear a sharp inhale and the engine protesting as Asra slams on the gas. Muriel grunts out a quiet "don't speed" before turning back to the speakerphone.

"Continue."

I try to replay the events of ten minutes ago, taking a deep, calming breath and ordering my thoughts. "I was taking a sharp turn uphill from a standstill, and the roads are pretty slippery right now, and I think I rushed myself trying not to hold up any cars. My back wheel slid out from under me -"

The gears churn on the other end of the line again and I swear I can feel Asra's tense attempt at not coming across too concerned. "Did you hit anything?"

I rub my throbbing shoulder. "Just a lamppost. Thankfully I was able to stay upright long enough to get out of the intersection."

Two slow exhales on the other end of the line. And then there's Asra's classic relieved chuckle, mixed with the near-silent scrape of Muriel rubbing his hand over his stubble in anxious thought.

"Well, it sounds like you handled that really well! Faust would be proud."

"Where are you hurt?"

"I'm not seriously -"

"Hmph. Better hope you're right."

Sure enough, I glance up in time to see the yellow beams of Asra's headlights in the early morning fog. The next thing I know they're pulling up next to me and hopping out of the van. I'm ambushed in a flurry of white curls and a warm, relieved hug before Muriel gets close enough to lay a cautious hand on my shoulder.

"You're wearing armored leather. Good."

"You don't look hurt either, but - oh Drue, your hands are shaking."

I nod, suddenly tempted to choke up now that I'm not the only one facing the problem. "My fingers got mashed between the handlebar and the lamppost, but otherwise I think I'm okay. I'm more worried about Bonnie."

"Muriel will help with it," Asra interjects, earning a grudging don't volunteer me like that but also you're right look from him before turning back to me, "and Ilya should be here any minute now."

"Thanks." I sit down on the nearest curb and give my friends a once-over. Muriel's already hefting the 500-pound machine back onto its wheels, not minding the smudges of grease that wind up on his hiking boots and trousers. Asra, on the other hand, is proudly standing in the middle of the sidewalk in rainbow crocs, fluffy leopard print socks, paisley-printed boxers, a shredded second-hand sex pistols band tee with old paint splatters on it, and a starry purple bathrobe. They turn back to me quizzically as if they can feel my stare.

"Hm?"

"Did you just wake up?"

Muriel grunts as he finishes maneuvering my battered motorcycle into a proper parking spot. "Do you ever see him awake this early?"

"Only when it's because he hasn't fallen asleep yet ..."

"Exactly."

"Oh, speaking of sleep deprivation -" I point with my right hand out of habit and immediately wince and grimace at the pain that shoots up my arm. "It looks like Julian's -"

"I'm here! Where is he?"

Two car doors slam shut a little ways up the street and the Devorak siblings come running down the sidewalk with their characteristic enthusiasm. Julian looks about as disheveled as usual, with his younger sister already dressed and done up for the day and carrying several large bags on her shoulders. He drops to a crouch in front of me and reaches straight for my eyebrows.

"No immediate signs of a concussion, that's a promising start - where does it hurt?"

I squirm at the focused attention as he checks my pupils for a good response, suddenly aware of all the parts of me that really want to lie down, and seized with the need to seem like I've got it all together.

"It doesn't hurt anywhe -"

One stern look from Portia over his shoulder and my mouth clicks shut. "Drue I swear to all that is good and holy if you dare to keep us from helping you I will make you regret it."

I nod and turn back to the doctor gently tugging my leather jacket off my shoulders for a better look. "I hit the lamppost on my right side, but the only thing that really hurts right now is my hand."

"Let's have a look then, shall we?"

I can see a familiar brow furrow and chin wobble appear on Portia's face when Julian gently lifts my hand in his and everyone present sees the way my knuckles are slowly disappearing into the swelling, reddish-purple bruise. He slowly bends my wrist this way and that.

"Does this hurt?"

"Nope. Just my fingers."

He nods and sets my hand back down. "An X-ray might be a good idea, but in my professional opinion, you're going to be right as rain. Given that you - ah, take proper care of it."

"As if." Portia rolls her eyes and holds out an instant cold compress, fishing in her bag again for what turns out to be a hand wrap. "You don't have a great track record with doing things the 'proper' way."

"Hey -"

"Seriously though!" She crouches down next to me and shoves a pastry against my chest. "You just got your bike, and you took your first trip out in weather like this?!"

She gestures to the hanging fog and slick roads and I feel my face flush with embarrassment. Asra steps in, still on high alert from seeing me injured and trying to lighten the mood.

"What, do you expect him to control the weather now?"

"Pasha's right," Julian cuts in with an afflicted sigh, "riding a motorcycle is already taking a risk. Perhaps I should've warned you better when you were planning to buy one. If only I'd -"

Asra bristles. "Perhaps you should let Drue make his own decisions, Ilya -"

"Don't you talk to my brother like that!" Portia squares up to the bathrobe-clad DJ, shaking off her older brother's feeble attempts to tug her back. "At least he has something helpful to offer here!"

Asra snickers. "And you're doing ... what, exactly? Shaming him when he needs help?"

"Enough." Nadia climbs out of the sleek towncar none of us noticed pulling up. "Is an ambulance needed?"

"No -"

"Can you secure your bike?"

"Yes -"

"Then get in."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sit back on the plush sofa in Nadia's penthouse, watching sheepishly as she clicks back and forth in her heels. Portia hands her phone back to her with a playful smile.

"Your schedule's cleared, milady."

"Thank you, Portia." The city mayor graciously extends her manicured hand to accept it, and then turns back to face me with her polished nails tapping thoughtfully on the dark glass. "Now then, about the bike. Portia tells me it's currently enroute to the mechanic's, but whether or not you should ride that beast again is my greatest concern."

I look at her in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Julian clears his throat from where he's seated next to me on the couch, readjusting the cold compress he's currently holding against my hand. "We're not sure a motorcycle is - ah - wise."

"Ha! Do you think he cares about 'wise'?" Lucio appears from where he's somehow successfully invaded Nadia's liquor closet, an obscenely large amount of liquid sloshing in the glass he extends to me. I eye it cautiously.

"What kind of alcohol is that?"

"Does it matter? It looked like whiskey to me ..."

"Drue," Portia interjects worriedly, "what if it had been worse?"

I accept the glass with my good hand and take a hearty sip to avoid thinking about it. This tastes like a single malt. I'll have to remember to ask Nadia which bottle this is -

"C'mon, you're all overreacting!" Lucio flops onto the couch on my other side, flinging an arm casually around my shoulder. Asra and Muriel both stiffen slightly where they're occupying the nearby armchairs. "Everybody's gonna crash at some point! He just got it out of the way early, right? Besides, you gotta admit having one of those things is cool as fu-"

"'Cool', perhaps, but not safe." Nadia's eyebrows draw closer together the longer she ruminates on what's happened. "If he hadn't been able to keep the bike upright those extra seconds - if he hadn't been able to react in time - I fear to speak such things aloud, but he could have been trapped underneath it with a broken leg in the middle of an intersection. I don't take that scenario lightly."

Asra looks slightly queasy. Muriel, in typical fashion, goes right for the point.

"You could be dead."

"But he's not!" Lucio spreads his hands wide, grinning at his own truthful point. "He's fine! All he needs is some ice and he'll be zooming around town again in no time!"

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I agree with Lucio." Asra drags his hand through his hair, the curls practically standing on end. "Life is full of risks. I'm not going to stop him from living ... especially when, all things considered, he handled it really well." They finish their thought with a reassuring smile in my direction. I start to smile back, and then wince when Julian crushes the compress against my hand in protest.

"I see motorcyclists come into the hospital every day -"

"Exactly!" Portia interrupts, "It's one thing if you want to live on the edge, but something that dangerous is just stupid."

"Portia says it with more fervor than I would, but I must agree with her." Nadia sits at Julian's other side with a thoughtful hum. "You're inviting a level of risk you could be avoiding with a different vehicle. If it's a matter of purchasing power, I do have a vehicle or two that need a new owner."

I avoid saying anything out loud with another hearty sip of what's quickly becoming my new favorite liquor. Knowing Nadia, if I took her up on her offer, I'd be getting a brand-new car delivered to my basement apartment with a singular obligatory scratch somewhere on the back and a charge of five dollars for the transportation fee. Julian, getting antsy from the pause in conversation, turns to the one person who's barely spoken since he showed up.

"What, ah, what do you think, Muriel? You're - er - quiet."

Muriel's hum sounds suspiciously like a grumble as he shifts in his seat. "I'm not making his choices for him."

Portia, dissatisfied, fixes him with her blue-eyed stare. "And?"

"And ..." he shifts again, uneasy, "And if this is the riskiest choice he's making in his life right now ... I'm okay with that."

That leads to a longer, heavier pause. I can feel several pairs of eyes on the different set of faded, old scars further up the arm Julian's treating, and I hear a few quiet hums. Lucio squirms from the abrupt seriousness.

"I can drink to that, Scourge!"

"Don't. Call me that."

"Okay!" I jump to my feet, reeling from two six-way arguments in a row and what could easily be considered a triple shot of whiskey. Julian catches my wrist in protest and reapplies the compress. I swivel slowly to look my gathered friends in the face. "I appreciate all your thoughts and opinions and I will think about them seriously - as soon as thinking is easy again."

Julian stands to check my pupils again, smells the alcohol on my breath, and sits back down with an amused snort. I collect my thoughts and continue.

"Thank you - all of you - for rushing to help me. You've each helped me today in ways I wouldn't have been able to help myself."

There's a round of murmured "your welcome"s and one disbelieving "is he sober or isn't he?". I ignore the last remark.

"That said, I am ready to go home and lie down. I'll decide what to do with the bike while it's at the mechanic, so ... can someone drive me home?"

Asra's already rolling out of their seat, a collection of keychains jangling in their hand. Lucio holds up my empty glass.

"Want another?"

"No," I turn to Nadia, "but I would love to know which bottle that came out of."

She tuts graciously and stands up to walk me out. "I'll send you one of your own. You may need it as you recover."

Portia walks over with a kitchen towel to tie the compress to my hand. "Ooh, save me a sip!"

"And make sure not to mix it with any painkillers!" Julian calls from the couch.

"Let me know if you get the good prescription stuff, I'll buy some off you!" Lucio smirks at his unsubtle dealing request, earning a scolding look from Muriel as he escorts me out.

"Pretty sure that's illegal..."

Asra playfully holds out his keys with a teasing grin, waggling their eyebrows when I sway slightly on my feet. "So. Wanna drive?"

[vesuviaweekly]

Vesuvia Weekly: Prompt for August 28th - September 11th

You voted, so here it is!

Our First Argument

With that, the "What Nobody Else Knows" prompt is officially closed!

The tags are the usual #vesuvia weekly and for this specific prompt, #our first argument. The masterlist for all works submitted for this prompt will be under the poll for next week :D

Next week's prompt

Culinary Adventures

A Date with Disaster

Choice Wording

I want to see the votes o.o

Voting ended onSep 4, 2024

MASTERLIST

See You Soon (Not Soon Enough) by @e1i-neverrests

The First Argument by @sweetestlittledarling

The First Petty Disagreements by @mermaidchan05

The Motorcyle Mishap (or, Our First and Second Six-Way Fight) by @iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia

Our First Argument by @slightlyirritable

[sweetestlittledarling]

The First Argument

Rating: PG

Summary: Asra has a traumatic flashback as he remembers his and Robin's first fight.

Note: Written for @vesuviaweekly 's prompt 'First Argument'. Been a bit since I have written anything but trying to get back in.

...

“Fudge!”

              Asra stopped almost instantly. He had just been gathering some things knowing that he would soon have to leave again and then, just as he was coming down the stairs, he heard the sound of Robin’s voice, and he froze. It wasn’t so much the word that Robin spoke, especially given that Asra found Robin’s inability to actually curse rather endearing. It was the tone that made Asra’s heart begin to race. It was not a tone he was used to hearing come Robin. Even before…well, the before, Robin rarely was angry, or at least to the point of allowing it to show outside. He had always been gentle and good-natured. How ever at that moment, looking into Robin’s face Asra could only see the down turned eyebrows, the gritted teeth, and…Asra’s mind was instantly taken back to the only time he had ever seen Robin angry. It felt so long ago and yet so clear in his mind.

              They had both said things they didn’t mean.

              “We lost our home once and you are expecting us to just leave this one?”

              Asra’s heart began to pound as his eyes grew wide. Up until then they had never had a fight like that before. Asra could still feel the sting of the words as they came back to him.

              “Go then, runaway! It’s what you do best isn’t it?”

              It’s what you do best isn’t it?

              Isn’t it?

              ISN’T IT?

              “Asra!”

              Asra jumped back to reality as he found Robin’s attention had turned to him any trace of rage gone. It took a moment for Asra to swallow past the lump that had formed in his throat. He couldn’t even think how long he might have been standing there.

              Robin took a step forward. “Are you o- “

              “I’m fine,” Arsa said quickly, doing his best to push down the sudden panic in favor for a look of calm control. It took a lot of focus which he knew he was going to pay for later, but he managed.

              Robin stepped back hesitantly. “Okay,” he said, still looking unsure, “I am sorry if I startled you or anything just now. I mean I was being rather loud and using some not so cool language.” He then let out a little laugh. “Though if Sparrow were here, I’m sure she’d say otherwise.”

              “Probably,” Asra agreed. Though the air was starting to ease, he couldn’t seem to shake the chill running through him, nor the thoughts in his mind. He needed to get out of there before he broke down. He put on his best smile as he gripped the strap of his bag. “I’m going away for a bit.”

              “Oh?” Robin asked, the hurt look returning to his eyes, “Do you know when you will be- “

              “Soon,” Asra assured, though it wasn’t like his usual assurances which would have tried to calm Robin’s hurt as best he could. His mind was a jumble, and it didn’t help that every moment he stood there it was getting worse. “I will be back soon. A few days at most. You will hardly know I was gone.” He knew that was a lie, Robin always noticed.

              Run away, it’s what you do best isn’t it?

              Asra moved quickly to the door, hoping to be beyond it before he lost control. He needed to leave, not be in this space anymore, not with all these memories- His thoughts stopped suddenly as he felt a hand grab his wrist. He was about to reach door, it was within his reach. But first he looked down and found Robin holding his wrist firmly. Asra turned in surprise to see Robin looking at him with both concern and a little bit of panic.

              “Sorry!” Robin said, quickly letting go and rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “I saw that you were upset, and I think I panicked. I mean, I panicked mostly because all I could think about was that you were clearly upset and I couldn’t let you leave upset and…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have grabbed you.”

              Does he remember? Asra asked himself. Looking at Robin’s apologetic face now another memory came to him, this one a bit sadder.  

              “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any of it. I said cruel things and I regretted them the minute you left. I wish I could take it all back and have you back with me.”

              It would be so easy to run away at that moment but at that moment Asra instead reached out a hand and touched Robin’s arm. “Thank you,” he said, smile coming easy now as tenseness faded leaving behind actual calm. “You are right, one should never leave upset nor angry, especially when one never knows if they can come back or not. I often forget that, but I am glad you have reminded me.” He felt a small surge of happiness as Robin blushed at his words.

              “Well, you are welcome,” Robin said, smiling a little, “and I am really sorry about before. I wasn’t angry I swear. I was more frustrated.”

              “Frustrated?”

              “Yeah, I was practicing that spell you were teaching us the other day. I was noticing how Lark and Sparrow caught on rather quickly and I wanted to practice a little and maybe show you my progress, but I was having trouble remembering some of the hand movements and I kept messing up, and then I lost my cool which as you know is not something I like to do. I am always telling Lark and Sparrow, there are better ways of dealing with being upset then losing your temper and snapping.” Robin blushed more as he realized what he just said. “Man, I just sounded like a dad, didn’t I?”

              Robin’s face was so sweet that Asra couldn’t help but laugh. It was a happy laugh as he felt the warmth come rushing back to him in only the way Robin could do. “Maybe a little,” Asra said, as his laughter calmed, “but I think it’s more that you sound like someone with his heart in the right place and I have liked that about you.” He gave Robin a gentle smile. “Now, it wouldn’t be right if I left you here frustrated over something I taught you, so I think a bit of a private tutoring lesson is in order don’t you agree?”

              Robin’s smile was brilliant. “Yes, I would like that.”

              And that night Asra didn’t runaway.

…

Author notes:

This takes place probably sometime before the game (probably early on as the relationship is still building). I imagine Robin doesn’t ever remember the fight that took place that night though he has apologized for it. He’s actually done this twice since before death, he came to Asra in a dream apologizing as he couldn’t leave the living world without saying goodbye. This sends Asra back to Vesuvia and starts the whole thing that brings about the story in the game.

I have also started thinking Robin might be a little softer in this life then his first, probably because he doesn’t remember what came before that forced him and his family to leave. He also has lost a great deal of his magic which is the reason he isn't as strong at this point.

Lark is like his brother where he doesn’t often lose his temper. It’s not so much that he doesn’t get angry though, more like he either lets it wash off him because he doesn’t care (like water off a duck’s back kind of thing) or he lets off his anger by pulling a prank or two. In recent years it’s been more the first but as a young man some bullies got some epic comeback.

Sparrow is probably the most likely member of the family to actually be in an argument given that she is the ‘Spirited ‘one and can hold her own in a fight. She has punched a man before (defending Lark) and is the person to most likely get physical if need be. She and Julian rarely fight (both too anxious to do so) though they have had disagreements about the Leeches and where they stay. Sparrow is also the queen if of ‘The Look’ which has ended many an argument.

I had an earlier version of this making more fun of Robin’s inability to curse that didn’t work out, but I think it’s really funny that he’s been such a dad so long he’s basically just physically blocked the idea of cursing from his mind. He has come up with some creative alternatives though.

[e1i-neverrests]

Vesuvia Weekly: See You Soon (Not Soon Enough)

Some hurt/no comfort dialogue for Vesuvia Weekly prompt “Our First Argument” exploring pre-plague lore! Featuring Lys and Asra, with mentions of the aunt who originally owns the magic shop!

Content warnings: Referenced/Implied abuse, and depictions of toxic familial relationships

Please read with caution and remember to take care of yourselves!

“Why don't you run away?”

“What?”

“Your aunt is awful, wouldn't it be better for you to leave?”

“There's a lot more to it than you think, Asra.”

“What possible reason do you have to willingly subject yourself to her?”

“When I came to Vesuvia, I had nothing. Tita Lori* took me in and gave me everything I have today. I owe it to her, and to everyone else in my family who made the necessary sacrifices to give me a better life.”

“A better life? I didn't know providing for a family member included giving them bruises and making them hate themself.”

“That’s not the point-”

“Maybe it should be, Lys! I can't continue to sit back and watch you suffer. I don't want to see you getting hurt like this.”

“Then don't see me.”

“...What?”

“I know you think it's easy —coming and going as you please, running from your problems— but it's not like that for me. I've told you already, I need to stay. I don't… I don't want to, but I have no choice. And if that's a truth you can't bear… Maybe I shouldn't have trusted you with it in the first place. You said you can't see me hurt? Then you don't have to see me at all.”

“It’s not like that! You’re my friend and I care about you, is it so wrong for me to want you safe? Every time you go back to her, I worry I'll never see you again! I fear that one day your aunt will go too far and I'll lose you forever. My heart can't take it anymore.”

The two stand in tense silence. A moment passes. Then another. And another.

Distantly, Lys' name is being called.

“...I have to go.”

“This isn't over.”

“We… We’ll talk about this more when I see you again.”

“Don't keep her waiting.”

“I'm sorry.”

*A/N her name is Gloria, "Lori" is her family nickname and "Tita" (meaning aunt) is her title.

[slightlyirritable]

Our First Argument

Muriel and Ione's literal first little dustup, pre-plague. It's not much of an argument since, let's face it, Muriel does not words

It was the beginning of another beautiful summer day, Ione realized, looking out of her window as she yawned herself awake. Asra would be gone for another day, at least, and she had accomplished most of what she wanted to do before he got back. Right on track, she thought, knotting the belt on her robe as she carried her breakfast downstairs. Approaching the table, she made a face at the stained cloth covering it. Setting her bowl aside, she pulled the cloth off, carefully so as to contain any crumbs it had accumulated, and carried it to the back door for the washerwoman. She dropped the wadded-up cloth into the empty basket and as she bent to pick up the full one, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She gasped, straightening up and summoning a nasty surprise for whomever it was. “Who’s back here?” she barked, trying to sound meaner than she was.

To her astonishment, a head of shaggy black hair rose from behind the fence, followed by shoulders that should’ve been too broad to hide. “Muriel?” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

His face was comically red but he met her eyes, if briefly. “I – A-Asra asked me to come. To keep - an eye out.”

“Asra asked you to – wait!” she cried, as he was turning to go. Mindful of her housecoat and sleep-braided hair, she dashed a few paces into the alley. “Asra asked you to come?”

Muriel turned halfway around and nodded. “He always does, when he’s gonna be away.”

Ione stood, barefoot in the dewy grass, surprised to silence by this revelation. “He sends you to watch the shop?”

The giant’s face flushed again. “Well, to watch over – you. Make sure you’re okay.”

Ione couldn’t decide whether to be warmed or exasperated by this, so she didn’t decide. “Okay. Well, since you’re here, you hungry? I just fixed breakfast.” She truly didn’t expect him to accept, but after a pause, he turned back toward her.

“Okay. If – if you’re sure.”

“Of course! Come on in,” she said, and as he approached, “What do you like?”

“Whatever you’re having will be fine.” He entered the shop and stood awkwardly in the small space. “I’m not picky.”

“Sit down there and I’ll be right back.” She dashed up the stairs and returned with a bowl and mug identical to her own. “We got half a grapefruit, some good cottage cheese I get at the market, bread and butter, and coffee. Sound all right?” He shrugged as she set his breakfast down and retrieved her own. She settled cross-legged in a chair across from his. She reached for the pepper pot in the middle of the table and he startled at the sudden motion. He saw that she had noticed and flushed deeper. “I-is that a possum?” he asked, gesturing toward her arm. Smiling, she stretched her arm out to show him her tattoo, a sleeping possum with its tail wrapped around her wrist.

“It is! Good eye,” she said. “This is Nox; I had him as a pet when I was a kid. My auntie didn’t really like him, but she put up with him for my sake.” Muriel nodded at this but didn’t reply and Ione observed, discreetly, that he ate like it was an assignment. A variety of seasonings were within reach, but he didn’t use any, and he ate one item at a time until his bowl was empty. Like feeding a fire, she thought. “Would you like seconds? I have plenty.” He hesitated, and she added, “I have other stuff too; eggs, ham, cheese?” He looked from his bowl to her, fixing her with a gaze halfway between curiosity and suspicion.

“Why are you feeding me?”

Caught off guard, first by the look and then by the question, Ione didn’t know how to reply. “Because,” she said, thinking, “it’s the friendly thing to do?” When he didn’t respond she admitted, “I don’t know! I just – I was about to eat, and you were here, and I didn’t know if you had eaten yet and I have plenty. I – I guess I just feed people. It seemed like the thing to do.”

He stared at her as she wound down, and it was her turn to blush. “You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to. I just – I want you to feel welcome here.”

Silence stretched, and she got up to gather the dishes, just for something to do. As she was carrying them away, he said, “Do you have any more of that fruit? I – I think I liked that.”

“Sure do! I’ll be right back,” she said. “Would you like anything else?” Flushing, he shook his head, and she returned with a fresh grapefruit, halved.

“This is too much –“

“Nah, I have half a dozen of them up there. I’ll send a couple home with you if you like them.”

He dug his spoon into the fleshy fruit. “What are these?”

“Grapefruit, and you’re the only person I know who eats them by themselves. They’re too tart for me; I have to have something else with them.”

“I think I like them.”

This statement, and others like it, puzzled Ione. “Do you not – know?”

Muriel shook his head. “Never had them before today. I never think much about it, whether I like a thing or not. Food’s food.”

“Oh.” Ione sat with that thought for a moment. The mysteries kept piling up around this man. “Well, if you ever want to explore what you like, we usually have –“

“I don’t need you to feed me. I can take care of myself.”

Stung, Ione stammered, “I – I didn’t say you couldn’t -? I was just -“

“You do too much. You’re too much.” He stood up suddenly, rocking the table. “I shouldn’t have come in here. Just - leave me alone.” He steadied the table to stop it rocking before he turned toward the door.

Ione froze in her chair, watching Muriel stalk out, blood pounding in her ears. She expected him to slam the door, but he didn’t. After awhile, she rose and collected the dishes, took them upstairs to wash, and got dressed. As she finished up the organizing she never could seem to accomplish with Asra underfoot, she puzzled over the incident that morning. From any angle, she couldn’t see what she had done or said that was wrong. She tried to put it past her, but she kept returning to it. Mostly she just regretted that her attempt at friendship had gone so badly. She didn’t like upsetting people, even accidentally, and it had cast a cloud over the morning. She found herself missing Asra as she locked and sealed the door of the shop. She ate her supper upstairs, sitting cross-legged on one of the floor cushions, and wandered back downstairs as the last of the light drained from the sky. She opened the back door to put the day’s linens out for the washerwoman, and was surprised to see a large pair of feet sticking out from the other side of the fence.

As quietly as possible, she crept through the alley and peeked around the fence. Muriel sat, his hood drawn up over his head, with his back to the fence. She would have thought he was asleep except that his hands were moving, and the last of the sunlight glinted off of something. A knife?

Not wanting to startle him, she rattled one of the bamboo wind chimes dangling from the fence post. As it caught his attention, she stepped out. “Hey,” she said.

Muriel looked up at her, then cast his face back down. She squatted down and sat on her heels, facing him but giving him plenty of room to escape.

“I didn’t expect you to come back,” she said, and he didn’t reply for awhile.

“I promised Asra.”

“Aah.” She glanced around, but the streets surrounding them were deserted. It was the supper hour, but she had learned her lesson about offering food. “Well, I won’t bother you,” she said. “I just wanted to say hello.” She rose and returned to the shop.

The next morning, Ione opened the back door to retrieve the clean linens. As she lifted the lid from the basket, the woven handle felt funny in her hand. Tied around it with a leather cord, she found an object of a size she could fit in her closed hand. It was a possum, carved of wood.

[mermaidchan05]

The First Petty Disagreements

Apparently I am forever cursed to turn fluffy prompts into angst and angsty prompts into silly fluff lol.

Here we have the first silly, completely pointless, perfectly healthy little arguments between my MC's and all their LI's.

Asra and Meleia

Asra always leaves his sandwiches and snacks on the shop counter

Meleia always insists the shop counter needs to stay clean to ensure a good experience for the customers.

In Asra’s opinion, no one is going to care if there is food around.

Meleia very much cares that there is food around.

Asra can and will mercilessly tease her for being so insistent that the storefront stays clean when their shared bedroom is organized chaos at best.

It’s all done out of love, though.

And Meleia will forgive Asra for his counter-sandwich crimes.

Most of the time.

Julian and Damian

Their first petty argument happened right after seeing a play together.

Someone had brought in a magician to do some of the special effects

Oddly enough, the argument went in the opposite direction of what one might expect

Julian loved the magic effects. He thought they made the whole thing more immersive.

Plus, dangerous-looking stunts done with complete safety? Genius!

Damian was unimpressed.

It was all just party magic. And it didn’t take as much effort or creativity as practical effects.

That, and he’s an alchemist, so he appreciates the work it takes to actually physically create something.

Julian argued that sometimes the puppets and prop swords and such look silly.

Damian argued that the silliness is part of the charm.

This exact argument happens over and over again, after nearly every show they see.

By now they’ve both agreed that each method has its own pros and cons, and both can be great if used well. They just enjoy bantering about it, honestly.

Nadia and Chimalus

Chimalus knows basically nothing about tea. Or wine. Or fine drinks in general.

Nadia always responds as though this is a vast oversight that must be corrected immediately.

Chimalus was not prepared for the lecture they got upon the discovery of that lack of knowledge. .

To this day, they still don’t know the difference between darjeeling and hōjicha

Nor, as they often point out, do they see why that difference matters in the first place.

But that will not stop Nadia from doing her best to educate her partner.

Chimalus just sort of lets it happen at this point. Even if they simply don’t get it.

The two of them can bond over wine sampling, though. Eventually.

Portia and Chimalus

(because yay for polycules!)

Portia, Nadia, and Chimalus all have a book club together.

And with that book club comes drama.

Portia and Chimalus will spend over an hour at a time playfully arguing about the book they just finished.

And they will argue about anything.

The best scene. The most interesting character. Which book is the best in any ongoing series. Which books were well written, and which books were absolute trash.

It’s all fair game in the art of love, war, and book club.

Nadia just lets them go at it… and grabs some snacks while she enjoys the entertainment.