Hey, I'm not sure what's going on, but there's no donation button for your Ko-fi, and it looks like Tumblr didn't add your PayPal link to your post?
AH-
You see that's my fault actually, I wasn't thinking straight and accidently linked the supporter account and not the creator account. I haven't used kofi in a long time :(
I am sorry about that! HERE is the kofi!!!
I've also edited the OG post.
Stifling what felt like the hundredth yawn since waking up just an hour ago, Beau trudged her way up the stairs of her university’s campus library. Her footsteps echoed heavily in the empty stairwell, and Beau tried not to wince as the reverberations assaulted her overtired senses. She hated to admit that Amber was right when she said Beau worked too much, so Beau shook herself and pushed the doors open to one of the quieter floors. The library had seven floors, and the higher one went, the quieter it was—both by circumstance and unwritten campus rules. Floor five was Beau’s favorite, and there was a secluded corner near a window she had dubbed as her official unofficial spot.
As she began winding through the mazes of shelves, Beau breathed in the musty smell of pages and wood and dirtier than it seemed carpet. Something coiled unwound in her chest and she sighed. Beau truly hated studying for her major, but there was something about the library that brought her a much-needed sense of peace.
Rounding the corner, looking forward to curling up in her corner, Beau came to an abrupt halt.
Someone was already there. And Beau really did not harbor the patience to deal with this today.
“Hey,” she said, snapping a little more than she meant to. “You’re in my spot, dude.”
The guy looked up, his eye bags impressive even to Beau, and narrowed his eyes her way. It took her a moment to place his face. But Beau recognized him as the guy who had been sitting in the corner of Molly’s bar a week and a half ago with his nose in a book for hours. He hadn’t seen her then though, as far as Beau knew, so she kept that revelation to herself. They stared each other down, both with narrowed eyes and no small degree of obvious displeasure at the interruption to respective routines.
“I was…unaware this spot was claimed,” the guy murmured after a few moments, appearing not to care about Beau’s annoyance. His accent tripped thickly through his syllables, and Beau’s natural curiosity distracted her momentarily. But she shoved it down and crossed her arms over her chest, jutting one hip sideways to appear more intimidating.
“Well, it is. So I’d appreciate it if I could have my spot back. I’ve got a massive paper to work on today.”
“As do I,” the guy countered back.
Beau huffed, figuring out rather quickly that she was more than likely going to lose this battle. Or at the very least, not gain any ground. With a huff, she looked around and spotted a chair near similar to the one already here. Beau figured that was good enough. Walking over to it, she dragged the chair across the floor and planted herself in it across from the guy. As she unpacked her bag, she noticed his eye twitch with displeasure, but he said nothing.
Smirking as she unearthed her laptop from her bag, Beau counted it as a win.
Pulling up the document for her paper killed that feeling. With a disgruntled twist of her lips, Beau settled a little more into her seat and scanned over her outline. She had already done most of the research she needed on stocks and their effect on entrepreneurial pursuits. The outline was all but complete after weeks of work. Now she just needed to flesh it out—make it sound like a paper and less like her sleep-deprived three in the morning ramblings.
She hated it, but she got to work. Beau tossed her one leg over the armrest of the chair, tucked the other under her, and balanced her laptop precariously on her lap. Now that she had made herself more comfortable, she began typing.
She wasn’t sure how much time passed before her workflow got interrupted. The guy across from her had been stretching, his arm knocking over the haphazard pile of books beside him. The tomes went tumbling noisily to the floor, drawing a quiet, panicked curse from him. Marking his page and setting aside the book he had been reading, the guy crouched to assess the damage and re-stack the books. Beau chuckled quietly at first. But then she set aside her laptop and crouched down with a groan to help—more out of nosiness than anything else.
The first book she picked up had a title in a language she couldn’t read. The second one was about the history of their world and cultures, nearly as thick as the biology textbook Beau used her freshman year. She looked up to hand the books off and found him already staring at her, his blue eyes intense and guarded.
Beau wanted to pick him apart. He had been at the bar; he was here too, and every instinct was yelling at her to find out everything she could. If he was going to frequent her haunts, she needed to know if he was worth her attention.
As she held out the books to him, Beau made a vague gesture in the form of jerking her head toward the stairs.
“Want to get a coffee? I need a break and it looks like you do, too.”
The man hesitated, and Beau made a mental note about his reservations and suspicion of her. But after a few seconds, she got a nod.
Shoving to her feet with grace, Beau saved her half finished document and tucked her things into her bag. It was between hours, which meant that not only would the line in the coffee shop likely be shorter, but their stuff would probably remain undisturbed. Swiping up her wallet, Beau shoved her hands into her pockets and waited for the guy to finish fussing over his things.
They took the stairs in silence, and it was only once they were halfway down that Beau spoke up.
“I’m Beau.”
“Caleb,” he offered in that quiet voice, casting her a sideways look.
“I’ve never seen you around campus before,” Beau said when they descended yet another flight of stairs in silence. “You new or somethin’?”
“Ah…no,” Caleb muttered, pushing open the door to the floor that had the coffee shop. Beau ducked out after him, trying to needle him into more than monosyllabic answers.
“What are you studying? Like, what’s your major?”
“Library studies,” Caleb said almost immediately, eyes lighting up as he spared Beau a glance. Bingo. “I would like to work in a research library some day, like the one in the capital.”
Beau nodded, refraining from wincing or rolling her eyes. “That’s cool, man.”
They continued on in silence from there, standing in the short line at the shop, ordering their drinks, and then waiting off on the side. It was only as they stood there, Beau fiddling absently with the zipper on her wallet, that Caleb spoke up again.
“What uh…” Beau looked his way, raising an eyebrow at him. “What are you studying?”
She was getting the sense that this guy was just as bad at talking to people as Beau was. Passing conversation and business talks were easy enough, but when it came to small talk—personal connections—Beau fumbled. Caleb seemed to do the same.
“Business,” Beau said with a weary sigh. At Caleb’s strange look, Beau shrugged and folded her arms across her chest. “Family trade.”
“You did not choose business?”
“Not willingly,” Beau muttered, scuffing her foot against the tile. “But it’s fine.”
“What uh…” Caleb hesitated again, and Beau let him. “What would you be studying if you got to pick?”
Huffing a laugh as she rubbed a hand against her neck, Beau shook her head with a shrug. “See, that’s the stupidity of it all. I don’t know.”
The barista called Beau’s name as they slid a cup onto the counter, and Caleb’s cup appeared beside her own as she approached. Beau swiped both of them up, turning to hold out Caleb’s drink to him. He took the drink with a silent nod of thanks, and they began their trip back up to their floor.
“No one has ever asked me what I wanted to study before,” Beau said, running a finger along the underside of her lid. “So I never thought about it.”
“Well,” Caleb said, sounding contemplative as he cradled his steaming cup in both hands. “There’s still time to change.”
Beau mulled over his words as they pushed the doors open to the fifth floor, the studious silence soothing something frazzled in Beau’s stomach. They wove their way through the stacks, eventually finding their sheltered corner once again, and taking up their respective chairs. Before they settled too deeply, and Beau could get lost in either her paper or Caleb’s suggestion, she reached out and tapped the cover of the foreign book.
“What language is this? I’ve never seen it.”
“Zemnian,” Caleb murmured after a moment, something flickering in his eyes. “It’s an old language from up north. Few still speak it.”
“Huh,” Beau picked up the book and leafed through a few pages, skimming the strange words curiously. “Would you teach me?”
When Caleb didn’t answer her right away, Beau looked up from the book to find him studying her. She couldn’t figure out if that light in his eyes was suspicion or excitement. But when she cocked a pierced eyebrow his way, he nodded.
“If you would like, I can.”
Beau snapped the book shut with a grin and set it back on the precarious pile between them.
“Great,” Beau said as she dug out her laptop to continue her paper. “Thanks.”
They settled into their papers, Beau’s fingers clicking away at the keys of her laptop as Caleb read across from her. The sound of pages turning was interspersed among Beau’s typing, a studious melody that put Beau strangely at ease with this near stranger. One look at him, and she knew he was a walking depiction of a complex lie. But he seemed harmless enough, and now she had him somewhat under her thumb just in case things went awry.
There was more than one way to protect her claim and her people from this stranger. She could learn from him as she kept him in line, and no one had to get hurt.
--
Jester waved to the tall figure at the end of the alley, the man’s hoodie pulled over his face to obscure his features. He waved back to her and disappeared around the corner, leaving Jester to finish her painting. The brick wasn’t the most forgiving of canvases, but the little Tiefling was nothing if not an expert at improvising. Sticking her tongue between her lips as she studied the expansive mural she had created, Jester swapped out her yellow paint for a charming neon blue.
Her newest piece consisted of flowers and geometric shapes, paisley patterns interwoven with humanoid anatomy, and an immaculate ratio of hidden dicks. It was perfect. She used the neon blue to add some drop shadow to one of her geometric patterns before nodding with satisfaction.
Another piece completed, she scooped up her favorite shade of rich blue paint and tagged the piece on the side as “the little sapphire”. Jester hummed to herself as she scooped her paints into her bag, admiring her work once more before turning to leave. Jester poked her head out of the alley, clinging to shadows to make sure the coast was clear, before scrambling onto the sidewalk. This area of Queens hardly saw any nightlife, so the foot traffic was slim to none at this time of day. It never hurt to be extra cautious, though. She had had one too many close calls with the authorities when she moved her and her artistic career here. The patrols and officers here walked a different beat than back home, so it took time to figure them out. Thankfully, Jester made a friend who helped her find her footing much faster than if she had been on her own.
As she skipped down the sidewalk, paint cans clattering in her bag, she checked her phone with a wince. Jester had promised Caduceus she would be home around midnight, but it was now going on one in the morning. He didn’t worry about her, because he knew she could take care of herself. But the lovely Firbolg always stayed up to see her home, and she hated to keep him waiting.
Picking up the pace, Jester scurried along toward the approaching intersection. She had the walk symbol still, so she could make it if she sprinted.
Jester slammed into someone’s shoulder and stumbled back a few steps with a noise of surprise.
“Sorry,” a uniquely accent voice drawled. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Jester waved off the stranger’s concern. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”
Jester looked up and promptly froze. A half-Orc stood before her, looking rather concerned and very handsome in the dim street lighting. She stuck out one hand with a cheerful grin, watching the half-Orc blink at her in surprise at the sudden gesture.
“Hi,” she chirped. “I’m Jester. Sorry I ran in to you, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“Fjord,” the half-Orc drawled, reaching out to shake her hand. “Don’t worry about it, I wasn’t either.”
“Where are you coming from, Fjord?” Jester asked, beaming as she did. The walk signal over his shoulder switched to red, and the Tiefling barely spared it a glance.
“I just got off work,” he said, giving a vague gesture over his shoulder. “Night shift. Same for you?”
“Oh, something like that,” Jester giggled as she tightened the strap of her bag. Fjord passed it a curious glance, but cordially did not question.
“You headin’ home? I’ve got a bus to catch, but I can walk ya’ wherever ya’ need to get, if you’d like.” Fjord’s eyes flit over Jester’s shoulder and she tipped her head to one side curiously.
“There’s someone who’s been starin’ at ya’ for a while now,” Fjord murmured in a lower tone. “I can walk ya’ home if you’d like.”
“Oh,” Jester cooed sweetly. “I can take care of myself, but I wouldn’t mind the company!”
Looping her arm through Fjord’s, Jester tugged him over to stand at the intersection, waiting for the walk signal to switch again. He blinked down at her, stunned, and Jester beamed back up at the half-Orc.
“So, Fjord,” Jester said as they waited. “Where do you work?”
“Oh, uh,” Fjord glanced over their shoulders and Jester tugged him along when they had the right of way. “Down at the docks in College Point. How about you?”
“I’m an artist!” Jester said, patting her bag. “I always take the latest ‘studio time’ though, so I’m usually out pretty late.” The lie came easy enough, and she added an extra cheerful grin for good measure. “I didn’t know you could work at the docks so late at night. What do you do down there?”
“Mostly just cleaning and moving supplies and equipment around. But it pays, and I’m at school most days.”
“That sounds like a lot!” Jester looked up at Fjord with wide eyes. “You must be pretty busy.”
“Sometimes, yeah,” Fjord shrugged. “But it’s not a big deal.”
“Well,” Jester said in a very matter-of-fact tone. “I think it’s pretty amazing.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Fjord rub the side of his neck and grin, seeming bashful. Jester gave herself an imaginary pat on the back for making her new friend feel good. They continued on in relative quiet for about another block and a half before Fjord spoke up again.
“Oh, that’s my bus,” Fjord said, watching as a bus groaned to a halt at the stop about half a block ahead of them. He looked down at Jester, conflicted. Jester smiled, touched by his sweet thoughtfulness. She patted his arm where it still linked with her own and gave him a nudge.
“My apartment is, like, a block from here. I’ll be okay, Fjord,” she promised.
“If yer sure,” Fjord hesitated, but unlinked their arms.
“Totally sure,” Jester shooed him off, grinning.
“Get home safe!” Fjord called over his shoulder as he dashed off. Jester waved, watching as he just barely swung himself through the doors of the bus in time. Giggling, she clasped her hands behind her back and turned to the figure that had followed them all this way. As the hooded figure approach at a leisurely stroll, Jester exaggerated a pout of her lips.
“I thought you went home,” she said. “You scared him, Traveller.”
“Well,” the Traveller drawled beneath his hood. “I had to make sure my favorite student got home safe. And I wanted to test that lad’s character.”
“He seemed really nice,” Jester gushed as the pair headed for her apartment. “I think you’d like him a lot.”
“I don’t doubt it,” the Traveller chuckled. They stopped in front of Jester’s building and he reached out a slender hand to pat her once on the head. “Sleep well, Jester.”
Jester waved as the Traveller left, pulling her keys from her pocket and prancing up the stairs to her apartment. Pushing open the door into the colorful, homey space, Jester found Caduceus sitting up on the sofa, a blanket over his legs and two steaming mugs on the coffee table. He smiled sleepily at her when she walked in, offering a greeting through a yawn.
“Oh Caduceus,” Jester said, guilt bubbling in her chest. She had forgotten her haste to get home after bumping into Fjord. “I’m so sorry I’m back so late.”
“No trouble at all,” he reassured her with ease. “I made cocoa.”
“Caduceus!” Jester squealed, dropping her bag inside the door and bounding over to curl up on the sofa beside him. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
Caduceus chuckled and shared his blanket with her, handing over a cup as well. The Firbolg pat her knee as they settled into the sofa together, content.
--
The keys fumbled from her sore fingers and clattered noisily to the ground, knocking against the door as they did. Yasha winced and bent slowly to pick them up, every smarting wound and bruise screaming with protest. She had barely straightened up again when the door’s lock clicked from the inside and flung open. Molly stood framed in the doorway, red eyes wide as they swept a look up and down Yasha’s form.
Something in Yasha’s chest broke a little when their tail drooped behind them with disappointment.
Molly reached out a careful hand, icy fingers circling Yasha’s wrist and tugging her into the warm interior of their apartment.
“Go take a shower, dear,” Molly instructed. “I’ll meet you out here with the first aid kit after.”
Lacking the energy to argue, Yasha trudged off to the bathroom, her guilt a heavy weight on her chest.
A painful fifteen minutes later, after watching the water run from red to pink to clear in the shower, Yasha sat sideways on the sofa. Molly perched in front of her, dabbing antiseptic with clumsy care over her bruised, split knuckles. They didn’t ask questions, but Yasha could sense the inquiries bubbling beneath Molly’s calm facade. A game show played quietly on the television across from them, the screen illuminating the living room with strange color and shadow.
Yasha broke first.
“It’s not what you think,” she murmured, tracking Molly’s fingers as they applied a bandage to Yasha’s bruised wrist.
“Then what was the reason this time?” They asked without malice, but the question still stung.
“We weren’t going to make rent at the end of the week,” Yasha whispered. With her free hand, she pulled a wad of cash from her pocket, dropping it on the coffee table. “That’s the only reason, I promise.”
Molly’s shoulders deflated, and they finally looked up at Yasha, solid eyes sad.
“Yasha, my love,” Molly sighed, not even sparing the money a glance. “You do realize that rent is a shared responsibility, right? It’s not your job to support us both. I could have made sure we were covered.”
“That would have affected the bar and you know it,” Yasha countered, flexing and curling her fingers to test the sturdiness of the bandages. Molly watched the motion with silent attention, lighting nerves on fire in Yasha. It was rarely good when Molly was quiet.
“Maybe it would have,” Molly agreed, looking back up at the Aasimar. Regret and sadness lined the skin around their eyes, and Yasha hated herself a little more for putting that there.
“But I hate to see you like this, Yasha.” Molly reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing gently. “It makes me nervous and scared for you. I know you can handle yourself, but even still.”
“It was just one night, Molly,” Yasha reassured them, managing a tiny smile. She wasn’t sure it fooled her friend, but Yasha pushed forward regardless. “Just one night to make sure ends meet. Nothing more.”
Molly bit their lower lip between their teeth, nervousness still plain on their face, but Yasha smiled and pushed to her feet.
“I’m going to get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”
Molly nodded near imperceptibly, watching Yasha round the couch before calling out a quiet, “Yasha.”
The Aasimar turned, watching as Molly pushed up to their knees and leaned over the back of the sofa to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead. Their lips were cold and slightly chapped, but the warm gesture softened the frazzled edges of Yasha’s nerves. She hugged Molly as tight as her bruises would allow over the back of the sofa before heading off to her room. Not bothering to get beneath her blankets, Yasha stretched out on her bed and stared at the picture on her bedside table. Her apologies to both Molly and the photo were silent and ringing with guilt as Yasha slipped into painful sleep.
