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[veryvirginvirgil]

Deceit

Deceit is the doctor's office lollipop. He's the distraction for the pickpocket. He's the comfort before the abandonment. He's the counterfeit one dollar bill.

Deceit is the empty cookie jar. He's the nervous laugh of a parent who's child wishes to catch Santa. He's the campaign promise.

Deceit is the agreement of the ignorant, or those who wish not to cause a scene. He's the demands for violence from an undercover cop. He's the trick of the light.

Deceit is an oatmeal raisin cookie amongst the chocolate chip. He's the weightloss promise of "negative calories". He's your mother. Swearing she'll never do it again, as long as you tell these strange men on the porch that she never did it in the first place.

You never really thought you'd have a use for him. That you'd want him. Or need him. But you forgot something important, and to admit to it... You don him quickly, a little white lie to save face. He's light and breezy on your shoulders. An easy and flexible little shawl. You'll take him off soon, you just need to get everything sorted first. He agrees.

It's been a week, you've made no attempt to remove him. After all, to admit you doned him in the first place would cause more trouble than it's worth. It wasn't that important they knew anyhow. But to conceal that he was there you've had to use him more. He's a little heavier now. The breeze doesn't fly through him anymore. You are glad for this extra warmth. He tells you that soon you won't need him.

Deceit is Gray and heavier. You've used him so much, now it's hard not to. You should have backed out earlier but it's too late now. You're so close to getting away with him, you just can't give up. Was he away so lumpy? He tells you he was, petting your hair in a manner that made your skin crawl.

It's later. So much later. Deceit is so heavy now you feel crushed. He's dark and sharp, a weighted blanket built with glass and nails. He digs into you, reminding you that you did this. You are the one that suffocated yourself. His fingers snag your hair and his mouth whispers in your ear about how you've almost gotten away with him. Just a little more.

You're tired. You're sore and bleeding beneath the brick laden black blanket. He asks if you're tried. As you lay beneath him motionless and barely breathing. His nails scrape at the tracks on your face. His bones dig into you like cleats and you shake beneath him. He tells you that it's society. You wouldn't have used him if it wasn't for society. That the expectations laid upon you forced you to do this.

He's lying. He's always been lying. You gather what little strength you have and dial your friend. You tell them how it all started and apologize. As you explain your mistakes Deceit fades. When you're done he's vanished into thin air. Moving without him is like drinking for the first time after a drought. You swear to never pick him up again.

Months later, your partner asks how they look. Before you reply you pick up a perfectly white scarf.

What he is, is Deceit.

(But you aren't sure if he is.)

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Master post

[veryvirginvirgil]

Logan

Logan is the quiet tapping of a library keyboard. He's the turning of pages that smell old yet new. The empty shelves slowly filling with books, journal, trinkets. He's the dust in the attic, settling over forgotten treasures.

Logan is the same story your grandpa told you, over and over hoping you avoid his mistakes. He's the excited whispering of school children about the fun fact on the chocolate milk cartons. He's the raven, exchanging beads and sequins for a bite of your sandwich.

Logan is the turning of leaves, the cutting loses. He's the gas stove your mom demands so she could cook for you when the powerlines went down. He's the circuits and binary humming before your eyes.

Logan is the half finished sudoku puzzles in the doctor's waiting room, done with a pen, not an error. He's the glass suspended on top of degrees and awards. He's the lightbulb in your lamp, reading along with you before bed.

You put your hands to his chest, and feel the cool steel exterior, unmoving beneath your touch. You push aside the clothes, finding all the spots where there was a flaw in his metal, that he had to tear himself apart and forge what remained just to remedy this one over sight. You put your ear to his chest and here the quietest mechanical whirl, the fliping pages of books and the soft ticking of a clock, almost as if the inside of him was a library that he spent all his time reading through.

You trail fingers down his arms and to his hands, grasping gently and slowly lifting them around you. When they settle around you the knowledge that they belong there is so obvious to you it forces out a dull laugh. It was stupid for you to haven't realised that before.

You glance up, looking into eyes that have seen everything, too much of everything. His eyes are old, they know more than any you've seen before. Yet as you stare you recognise something else in them to. You see the awe at the world, the fascination with what is and what could be. His eyes are the father teaching his child, and the child learning from his father at the same time. You close your eyes, leaning heavily into his embrace, knowing logically he'd support you.

What he is, is Logan.

_______________________

Master post

[veryvirginvirgil]

Patton

Patton is the chocolate chip cookies you helped grandma make. He's the bedtime story book your mother read to you every night. He's the old pictures of beloved cartoon characters.

Patton is the ball in the front yard. He's the open arms of your mother. He's the empty park on a warm summer day.

Patton is also the tears clinging to your lashes at grandpa's grave. He's the dawn to blind eyes. He's the grinding teeth at someone who won't leave well enough alone. He's the silver crescents that swiftly turn purple on your palms.

Patton is the dawn of a new day, the soft vibrance to break through your monochrome night. He's the broken swing set on your elementary school play ground. He's the fist sized whole in your wall.

Patton is the recipe for Nana's naner bread. He's the black and white photo of people no longer. He's the crackling fire at the first camping trip the entire family could attend in years. He's the empty stockings on Christmas morning.

You wrap your arms around him, velvet soft skin greets you. You take hold of the back of his shirt, hugging him as the cotton beneath he's skin moves at your urging. At his center is something hard and solid. You press your ear as tightly to his chest as you can but hear nothing from him.

You back away, taking from you pocket the wind up key to a broken music box from the smashed remains of youth. You take this key, and put in in his hand, watching as he brings it up and swallows. You did not need the key back anyway.

You hug him again, unsure whether the act is for you of for him. Pressing your ear against him you hear it, his music box core. It's humming a song the brings tears to your eyes and fire in your bones. His song is infuriating and depressing, and you find yourself tearing at Patton's seems trying to turn it off but you only success in unbalancing yourself.

You look up into his eyes, shaking with years of bottled emotions. His eyes are the emotionless buttons that you give to any hand made stuffed animal. You cry, knowing that it isn't his fault he was made to remind you. And as you weep you cling to him, smiling and knowing that while he reminds you of the pain, he also reminds you of the beauty.

What he is, is Patton.

________________

Master post

[veryvirginvirgil]

Roman

Roman is the Grim brother's book of fairy tales you have stored away in some corner of your phone. He's the calligraphy pen on your messy desk. He is your messy desk.

Roman is the hand crafted birthday invites that never produced attendees. He's the half filled sketchbook, pages kept pristine. He's the empty Copic markers, waiting for commision sales to fill them up again. He's the imaginary dagger you'd love to have.

Roman is the local Renaissance festival. He's the blinking line on a blank Google doc. He's Merida, shooting for her own hand. He's the paint stuck in your hair. He's the box of restaurant napkins with half baked story ideas scribbled all over them.

Roman is the crown atop every royal's head. He's the thesaurus tab open on your browser while you write, understanding that the word "better" can be replaced with something better. He's the coffee brewed with red bull on mornings were the end result was more important than the journey.

Roman is the fariy lights on top of your four-poster bed. He's the free wifi at the coffee shop. He's the flash of white teeth at media cameras. He's the fariy ring at the park.

You press a kiss to his jaw, flowers blooming from where your lipes brushed against him. You run a hand down his arm just to watch a garden erupt from his skin. You fill him up with flowers, and soon he isn't anything else. You hastily gather him up, as petals fly in the wind you jump to put them back, to put him back.

You crush him together until you have him again. You cry, flinging yourself into his arms from the relief of finally getting him back. You feel bitter cold nipping at your skin, so you look back to him. You've turned him to ice. The sun is beating down and shield him the best you can, keeping him frozen until you can have him back again.

When he returns he's smiles at you, pressing his lips to the back of your hand. You whisper to him, wishing that you could have him forever. As you tell him of this he turns to stone; smiling in a way that tells you that he's done what you wanted.

You cry, and try for months before you abandon him. Years later you return, and you cannot find him. He's gone, leaving you to question if he ever really exsited. You find him later, so much later. He isn't Roman, but he is.

When you find him he's got a crown of narcissus flowers and ice in his eyes. His expression seems set in stone. You light him on fire, hoping to melt the ice in him. This does not happen, but it put a passion in his movements that feel illusionary. You let him leave, and he returns. You never know for certain if it's truly him or you that's changed. Somehow it no longer matters.

What he is, is Roman.

________________

Master post

[veryvirginvirgil]

From The Ground Up 7

Dinner, breakfast, and then the boys finally gets some clothes.

Master post of chapters

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Dinner was delicious as it was the previous day. The lasagna was amazing, cheesy layers on-top of pasta that absolutely melted on the mouth. Patton and Roman called it a night, as everyone was fairly tired from the eventful day of gardening. Logan hovered about until Virgil walked into his room. He heard the click at the door again, signaling that the only way out of the room was from the window.

He spent the night investigating the room. The fluffy bed was barren underneath, but it was tall enough that he could hide underneath the bed with room to spare, completely obscured by the fabric overflowing from the bed. He investigated the drawers, they weren’t very interesting so he moved onto the bookshelf. There where a few books, the covers mostly solid colours. The symbols on them seemed to shift and waiver before his very eyes. He was confused, how did people gather meaning from these, when they changed constantly. The longer he stared the more his head hurt. He stopped, not wanting to continue hurting his head. Instead he watched the woods, and the headache dissipated a little by the time the sun rose.

He changed his clothes, ending up with the blue sweat pants and a yellow shirt, keeping on the jacket. The door clicked, so he left and went to the kitchen. Logan was there, sipping a dark brown almost black drink from a mug.

“Hi Virgil!” Said Patton, flipping an egg.

“Salutations,” Logan said.

“Hey guys,” Virgil said, sinking into a chair. He glanced at the book in Logan’s hand, the symbols on the side changing. He looked away from it before it could hurt his eyes.

“Are you excited to go shopping?” Patton asked.

“I mean sure, it sounds like fun,” he said.

“It sure will be!” Patton smiled. Virgil tried to smile back, but it was rather shaky. He had no idea what to expect. What would happen when they were there? They had explained so much, but would he be able to remember it when the time came?

They had french toast for breakfast with syrup. In addition to that they had bacon and orange juice as well.

After breakfast they headed out to the car. It was gray and very shiny. Logan got into the seat that Roman referred to as the driver’s seat, and patton in the front passenger’s. Roman and virgil were in the back, and “buckled up” which was a bit more uncomfortable than he had anticipated. The seat belt bit into the skin of his neck and was hard to ignore after a while.

Roman was as good a distraction as any, regaling him with stories about being a kid and driving around with their mother. He talked briefly of the town they passed through, a place called Pagan Springs, but raised more questions than answers. After awhile they arrived at a large building, a “mall”. The mall was huge, made of stone and glass, with colours and pictures everywhere, writing was crammed almost everywhere, and the strange symbols danced dizzyingly.  So he was a little overwhelmed.

It turned out that shopping itself wasn’t nearly as stressful as he thought it could be. He actually rather liked the simplicity of the racks, most of the stores had specific colors for different sizes of clothes, and once he tried some on he was able to easily figure out what would fit him that way. The signs and their symbols still gave him headaches but the process got easier as time moved on.

Roman and Patton seemed to love helping him with it, and Logan still seemed very disgruntled about the process. His style seemed to be lots of black and purple, and they found various shops that had clothes that virgil loved.

He left with armfulls of various types of clothes and accessories, along with a feeling of accomplishment for conquering the cloth jungle. At the end of the day they brought all of his clothes to the car, putting the bags in the trunk. On their way back they passed through the buildings again.

“Why does this place feel… so empty?” Virgil asked

“The town? Pagan springs was a tourist trap a while ago.” Patton started

“And by a while ago he means like… twenty years,”

“Thanks Ro, yeah. They had hot water springs all around here. But eventually the springs dried up because people didn’t take care of them. When they dried up the tourists did too. The town started dying off and people moved out. There’s only a handful of folks left.”

Virgil hummed while looking at the town. The air seemed to buzz with hopelessness.

He hoped that wasn’t indicative of what was to come.

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Part 8

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[veryvirginvirgil]

From the ground up Z1

Welcome to the z chapters, featuring.... Remy!

Master post of chapters

Remy spread his wings, playing with his phone and sipping on his Starbucks frappe. He usually didn't have time to indulge in coffee, so this moment or rest was well appreciated. As one of a handful of guardians responsible for sleep he spent most of his time rushing about, making sure that the humans slept proper.

The number of rest guardians had risen suspiciously these past few years. He had been responsible for training two himself. The number of rest guardians had risen from ten to thirty, and the new recruits where certainly doing thier jobs. This is why Remy had the time to purchase a phone and develop a love of Starbucks.

Of course his moment of peace was soon ruined.

"Remy." Another guardian came to him, alighting softly on the cloud next to him as he folded his Gray wings behind him.

"Was up, girl?" Remy replied, barely glancing up.

"The assigners requested your presence," he said. Remy glanced up and the messenger. He looked serious.

"K, I'll be there," He said, putting his phone away and flapping to his feet with his soft white wings.

"I'm to escort you to the entrance," The messanger said.

"Clingy much? Whatever let's get out of here," he said taking flight to the assigners office. The messanger followed behind, stopping at the entrance when Remy went in.

Remy was nervous. The assigners assigned guardians to significant humans on occasion, but mostly they all chose who they protected. Only a few guardians had stable jobs, and Remy was one. But protecting a mortal paid well if you did it well enough.

"Emanuel," a hooded assigner stated as he entered a dark, scone light, circular chamber.

"That's me," he said, sitting in the only available chair.

"The Lord has spoken, listen to what he has to say," another stated, directing his attention to an assigner, hood down and eyes glowing a soft pale yellow.

"The rest giver, the youngest of the ten," the assigneer's mouth moved, speeking not with his voice, but a voice Remy distantly recognised as The Lord's. "Emanuel. Remy, I have an important assignment for you. There is one beyond my sight, whose well being I wish to ensure. I have reason to believe he is risen."

"Oh wow," Remy said, sipping quietly on the coffee afterwards.

"I know not what he looks like, nor where he is. I remember where he went. This assignment is a challenge, but one that I know you are the most prepared for. Do you accept?" The Lord spoke. Remy thought for a moment. Was this the cause of more rest givers? Why him? What made him the best guardian for the job?

"My Lord, if I may, why me? A rest giver? I've never been a protector, and freelance work isn't really my style..." He said, finishing up his Starbucks.

"This case, I know, is best to give a rest giver. You know sleep, and that is closely tied to the person. They must learn to dream before they can wake. They must learn to sleep before they may dream. You can help with that in ways others cannot. Do you accept?"

"I..." He paused. He would admit, being a rest giver got boring after he'd been doing it for so long. This was new, and exciting. "Yes My Lord, I accept."

"Good. My assigners have the details. You have time to get you affairs in order before you set off. There are people here to help you. Good luck, Emanuel." The Lord said fading slowly from the assigner.

"Thank you, My lord," Remy said.

"And Emanuel? Do not neglect to dream," The Lord said, fading from the assigner. There was a moment of silence before they where offered water, and drank greedily. The assigner coughed, before leaving the room, pulling the hood of the cloak up. Remy glanced at the assigners, putting his empty cup on the on the table. The assigners pulled papers onto the table, opening folders and pushing thing onto the table.

"Emanuel, you will venture to Pagan springs, and search the woods. You will look for the one whose name begins with a "v". This is the individual The Lord spoke of. You will guard him. Before that you will be training with Gaberial," one assigner spoke

"The morning star?" He asked.

"The current morning star, yes. Your underlings will take up your duties, while you work on the case. The pay, is hefty," another said.

"How much is it?"

"5 times your current net worth," said another.

"Gurl..." Remy said in disbelief. He was already very well off, this could easily make him as rich as Gaberial himself.

"You will be provided with the vast majority of what you will require in order to live as a human convincingly, and you will be taught everything you need to know," the first said.

"When do I leave out?" He asked.

"We have a month. You start training immediately. Go to the back entrance, there Gaberial awaits with a messenger. Tell them you have accepted, and follow Gaberial from there. These papers will be delivered to your apartment, you will review them later," said the second.

"Gaberial will guide you through much of the process," the third said.

"Only engage with those relevant to your assignment. You will most likely have little trouble with them. There is normally no point in socialising," said the last. One of them, Remy lost track of which, ushered him out. He left, heading to the back entrance. There stood Gaberial, handsome and ethereal with the largest and most silver wings Remy had ever seen. The messanger stood with him, both looking to him expectantly.

"I- I've accepted." He said. The messanger flew off, and Gaberial smirked.

"Come on then, youngling, you've got a lot to learn," he said, taking flight. Remy followed, following the guardian as best as he could. Gaberial was naturally very fast, and while Remy was too, Gaberial's wings where easily five times the size of his.

They alighted on large marble steps, leading to a building that Remy had previously no cause to enter.

"The equipment building for high rank missions. This place has basically anything and everything you could need or have want for." Gaberial said, walking to the entrance.

"Starbucks?" Remy said, following.

"I mean, yes? That's normally not the first thing people come up with, but there's all forms of currency so there's gift cards for that," Gabriel said. "But first things first, to the east wing, housing division."

"Sounds lit," Remy said.

"Welcome to the housing division, morning star Gaberial! What can I do for you?" Said a young, pepy gaurdian. She ignored Remy, focusing on Gaberial.

"Thank you, Mary. This is Emanuel, we need to select mobile housing for his upcoming mission," Gaberial said, motioning at Remy. The attendants face fell slightly before she pulled out some paperwork and pens.

"What rank of importance was he assigned? I can get him a rank 10, but any lower than that and you need another building." She said.

"Rank one, we're looking at rank one housing," Gaberial said. Remy, despite being surprised about the rank was smug with her disbelief.

"You almost had me there Gaberial! They don't give anyone but you the rank ones, everyone here knows that," she laughed. "But no, for real, what's his importance rank?" Gaberial said nothing, but pulled out a rank card, it had a photo of Remy, some information, and on the back and the front where both the number one, showing the rank.

"I see, my apologies, morning star Gaberial," she said, filling out some of her paperwork with the card. She hurridly picked up all her papers before leading them down a hall. Gaberial passed the card to Remy, who put it in his pocket to look at later.

"We have a somewhat narrow variety of Rank one apartments, but they are highly functional," she began. "They all have dimensional capacity, item summoning, storage for centuries! Will you be needing a filling cabinet?"

Gaberial raised an eyebrow at Remy.

"Uh... Yeah that'd be cool, or whatever," Remy said.

"We'll make sure you have that. All of out styles are fully stocked, and self cleaning. Let's take a look at modle 1A," she said. They went from apartment to appartment, the attendent giving a brief tour of each. Remy settled on 1D, a clean and creamy apartment that had lower lightning and the fluffiest furniture. It felt similar to the rest givers headquarters.

"Now that we've got that settled, onto the wardrobe department!" Gaberial said. They walked over to the west wing. They passed through large double doors, into a seemingly never-ending warehouse of clothing.

"Oh my gursh," Remy said.

"Hello, Hello!" Out came a young gaurdian, a measuring tape around his shoulders, and scraps of fabric pooring from his pockets. "Welcome to wardrobe! Do you know the duration of your earthy venture?"

"Lengthy, possibly eternal," Gaberial said. "Emanuel here's just been given a high rank assignment, and he'll need a bit of everything."

"Of course! Let me just get some measurements here, find your size, and we'll talk about style in a jiffy!" The gaurdian said, pulling off the tape measure and going to work. Remy's style as it turns out was "sleepy teenage rebellion" as the gaurdian put it. He chose comfortable clothes in mainly blacks, prefering fluffy jackets, soft skinny jeans, and thin shirts that where just as much nightwear as they where daywear.

"You'll definitely be getting a lot of these, but I'll also include a bit of everything! Until you file your final report we'll keep the wardrobe updated for you. Stop on by every once and a while so I can update your measurements."

"Dope," Remy said. still letting his eyes wander over the assortment of clothes. Gabriel pulled him to the next section, the kitchens. The gaurdian there was plump and joyous. He shoved bite sized sample after sample at Remy while another guardian, probably an intern, kept trying to handle paperwork. He found that all the food was delicious, but he definitely had a bit of a sweet tooth. Gabriel pulled him to another side of the building after he complained about getting fat for the fifth time.

"We're heading to the currency section. We don't know exactly where you'll be, so we're gonna fill your wallet when we get it from the dressing department. Right now, we're talking monetary systems and spending." He dragged Remy to a room.

The currency guardian was large and grayed. He was looking older than any guardian, but he tuaght Remy about money with all the youth and vigour of a teen. Remy knew that he was amounghts the 100 oldest guardians, and that this guardian wasn't, but the way he talked and carried himself planted doubt into thousands of years of certainty. He left there will more knowledge about human currency than he thought was possible and a minor exsitantal crisis.

"He was just, too old!" Remy said.

"He's barely even 4,000 years old," Gabriel replied, walking with purpose.

"I know but he's just, like. Really old."

"You're more than twice his age!"

"Girl, I wear it better."

"It doesn't matter. We're approaching the armory," Gabriel lead him in. The walls where glistening with the metallic light of thought of weapons. Wooden weapons and other unique weapons where on smaller racks throughout the room and sheilds hung from wooden rafters, filtering the outdoor light that served at the only source of light. In the center of it all, on a pile of sheilds sat a small guardian, half Remy's height, polishing a knife. Gabriel walked quietly towards her, stopping within her feild of vision, not speaking. Remy followed, eying up and down the shelves and walls.

There was a lot to take in.

_____________

I'm not dead. :)

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Ask Remy anything at @fromthegrounduprp

[veryvirginvirgil]

From the ground up 6

It's breakfast time, Yay! The garden gets done and society is explained. Somewhere in between threats are made.

Tw: threats

Masterpost of chapters

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Virgil scrambled up and tries the door. It opened this time, and he felt a sense of relief flood through him as he peeked into the hall. He saw what was either Logan or Patton walking away, it was hard to tell from behind. Virgil shut the door as silently as he could, following behind. The man walked into the kitchen.

Virgil followed to see Roman sitting at the table with a cup in hand, and Patton cooking. Logan sat down next to Roman. Virgil remained silent but walked over to where Patton was.

"Are you making breakfast?" Virgil asked. Patton jumped a little before laughing and nodding. "Want any help?" Patton pauses for a moment.

"That bowl of pankacke batter over there needs mixing, I was just heating up the pan and working on the bacon." He said, turning back to his pans. Virgil walked over to the bowl, grabbing a wooden spoon from the jar on the counter. He mixed it in, not quite sure what the individual parts where, but content in the knowledge that together they would make "pancake batter". He looked up to see Logan glaring at him, he looked back down at his work.

"Thanks for mixing Virgil, you can go get dressed now. Breakfast will be up in a few minutes," Patton said, grabbing the bowl and pouring the batter into the pan. Virgil walked back to his room, careful to keep the door open. He still didn't have his original clothes that the body came in, but the closet had two top most layers, one was back and the other red.

He took out the black one, placing in on his bed. He opened up the drawer to the tops, seeing three long sleeved and two short sleeved tops. He pulled out the grey short sleeved top, abandoning the yellow one. The bottoms where all various shades of blue, except two that where black and grey. He pulled out the black bottom, before grabbing a under garment, which where all white. There where some garments that where foot shaped that he abandoned all together. He changed quickly before getting back to the kitchen.

"I'm telling you that we need to head to town anyway!" Patton said, talking to the other two.

"I think we ought to finish the marathon! Come on, P!" Roman said, leaning dangerously far back in his chair. He had one had holding onto the table for support, and the other gesturing wildly in attempt to support his point.

"Stop leaning, Roman. I told you two that if we started a garden we'd have to finish it an maintain it." Logan said. Virgil walked around to behind Roman. Fairly certain that him falling back wouldn't be benifitual.

"Let's ask Virgil, what do you think we should do?" Patton said, turning towards him.

"What are the options?" Virgil asked.

"Patton wants to go shopping to get you some clothes and more food," Roman said throwing his hand towards him and then at Logan. "Logan wants to finish the garden, and I-" Roman let go of the table to place both hands on his chest. Virgil quickly caught the back of the chair to stop it from falling. He paused a moment, blinking, before he sat up and stopped leaning back in the chair with a sheepish smile. "Well I wanted to finish the marathonarathon and none of us can agree on what to do first."

"Well, the shopping can probably wait a day, I've got enough clothes and from what I gather we do still have enough food for it to wait. The garden would do well to be planted today, and after we finish up on that we can continue with the Disney." He said, letting go of Roman's chair to sit in another next to it. Logan eyed him silently.

"Why the garden? It's just as good today as tomorrow." Patton said, bringing over some plates covered in foods to the table.

"All your plants are in little boxes, they have tight roots so they can't eat the soil. The sooner they are free the more fruitful they will be." Virgil replied, before thanking Pattton for the food and pulling some of the breakfast on to his plate. Through the conversation of the meal he learned that the bacon was the meat, the eggs where the yellow bits of fluff, and the pancakes where the breadlike rounds. The orange juice was delightfully self explanatory.

After breakfast they all went out and began planting. Virgil did his best to help, as gardening was something he'd done before it wasn't very difficult. He knew the soil, and suggested where each plant would do best. He wasn't very familiar with all the plants, but he knew the soil and where it was richest.

"Are you sure we won't dig up anything else? I don't want more house guests to deal with," Logan asked at one point.

"Unless you plan on collecting worms, you'll be fine," was Virgil's reply.

It took a while, and. By the end all of them where sweaty and dirty, but the garden was complete. It was beautiful, the lush wildflowers complemented the new plants and crawling plant's where placed close to trees, as to one day grow up them.

As Roman finished the last plant he grinned at the others.

"It's so beautiful guys!" He said.

"I concur," Logan replied.

"All thanks to Virgil, helping us out!" Patton said, patting his back. Virgil grinned in response. The others glanced at each other before nodding.

"I'm sick of dirt, let's go wash up," Roman said, leading the way back to the house. Patton and Virgil chatted more about the garden, both of them think about how to get it watered properly. Roman and Patton both went to take showers first, leaving Virgil alone with Logan.

Virgil studied the bowl of fruits on the counter intently, a dense feeling of akwardness and worry enveloping him. He didn't particularly want to be alone with Logan, concerned that he'd trap him in his room again. Virgil could feel his eyes bearing into him, an intense and angry stare that chilled him.

"I don't know what you want with my family, but if you hurt them I will end you," Logan said, crossing his arms over his chest. Virgil continued to stare at the bowl in silence, not wanting to bother with a fight. They continued to wait in silence. When Patton walked in freshly dressed and only slightly damp Virgil dated look away from the fruit.

"Alright Virgil, you can use my bathroom while Logan uses the one closest to you guys. I already put your clothes from yesterday in there, so you'll be good. Just put your dirty clothes in the basket and wash up," Patton said, smiling.

"Thank you," he said, leaving the room quickly. He took his shower quickly, eger to get back into his original clothes. The monochromatic outfit wasn't bad, but he prefered his patchy purple jacket instead. It was softer, and smelled like his woods, with a hint of something Virgil couldn't identify. He wandered back to the kitchen, seeing Roman and Patton chatting. As he walked in Roman caught his eye and smiled. Patton turned and saw Virgil come in.

"Hey Virgil!" Patton said.

"Hello," Virgil said, sitting at the table.

"So, we were talking..." Roman said.

"And we were wondering," Patton said, sitting down across from Virgil.

"If you've ever been shopping before," Roman leaned onto the table.

"Or out in public in general?" Patton smiled.

"Umm... No? I don't think so?" Virgil replied. The way they asked mad him nervous.

"Well, it's time to learn!" Patton said.

"Disney can wait, we must explain the entirety of society to you!" Roman said.

"Alright?" Virgil said. The two then proceed to talk about society. Things like saying please and thank you and bless you at the proper times. What somethings are called, and connotations around certain words. It was a dizzying whirlwind of information.

"What's all this?" Logan asked, eyeing Virgil suspiciously.

"Just going over some stuff," Roman said, pulling out what was earlier refered to as a "phone".

"I think now's a wonderful time for a break. I need to check on my lasagnsa. Roman try not to overwhelm him. Logan, would you be a dear and peel those cucumbers on the counter? You know how Roman hates the skin of those in the salads!" Patton said, already rushing about the kitchen.

Roamn sat back, fiddling with his phone. While Patton and Logan worked Virgil sat back. His head was swimming with all the knowledge he'd learned. For once he was grateful for Logan's bluntness, as it gave him time to process.

If this was the basics, he didn't know how he'd handle the shopping trip.

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Part 7

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Ok so, pretty soon I'm gonna be changing the formatting on these when it comes to linking all the parts, because I expect there to be alot more! I haven't decided on a style yet but there will be change. Along with the new formatting, there will be a kinda b plot introduced once I hit 1,500 followers. The b plot will introduce a new character for you to interact with on the ask blog @fromthegrounduprp . I hope you look forward to what's up and coming as much as I am.

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