Nov 29, 2024
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Youre fucking adorable when you pretend to be mad 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰
You're such a meanie! 😜
You're Something Else
There was something wrong with the coffee.
Agent Parker stared into the dark brown brew in the cardboard cup. Then she took another swig of the bitter swill. Grimaced.
After gulping it down, she wiped her mouth and remarked, “This stuff is cold.”
Agent Wells shrugged without taking his hands out of his pockets.
“I’ll have you know that it’s terrible even when it’s warm. Anyway, you’re the one who’s an hour late. And you’re welcome, by the way.”
Parker gulped down more of the coffee. She drank so much of it at once that it made Wells’ eyebrows shoot up.
She was drinking that stuff like she was dying of thirst.
“Sorry about the—you prefer it with cream, right?” he asked, watching her chug the coffee in huge gulps until emptying the cup.
She shook her head, crumpled the cardboard cup in her fist, then chucked it into the nearest trash can on the sidewalk.
“I don’t really care,” she said. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”
Wells chewed on his lip as he watched her get into the black 1994 Lincoln town car.
He preferred to be the man behind the wheel, and his first instinct was to protest, but he decided to play it cool. Got in on the passenger seat’s side.
The engine roared to life after he slammed the door shut.
Something was bugging him. It eclipsed his urge to talk small, though he couldn’t help but keep casting a sidelong glance at the woman with the short red hair.
There was something painfully methodical about the way she moved and acted. Like an actor rehearsing a play for the first time on stage. She kept her sights trained on the road. Drove with an eerie calm. Never made eye contact with him.
He couldn’t put his finger on what was bothering him—it wasn’t her, but something else, something intangible. His mind raced through everything he had read about her on file.
And the psych eval.
Wells had been hedging his doubts about her. This first meeting wasn’t doing her any favors. She was even more standoffish than he had expected. Myriads of “eccentricities” colored her behavior patterns if he was going to be charitable about describing it. But nothing he considered too wild, nothing unworkable.
What was bothering him, then?
“Why are we driving all the way up to Chicago? After you drove all the way over from the west coast? You afraid of flying, or something?” he asked.
Trying to distract himself. Hoping to jog his mind until something clicked.
She shook her head. Offered no words.
Richmond drifted past them. Traffic and asphalt melted into the sky where they met at the horizon, flanked by tall buildings. Wells sighed, drinking in the beauty of the warm orange light of sunrise bathing every patch of green and gray.
As they left the road and swerved onto the highway, Wells said, “I did my homework on you, you know.”
Parker clicked her tongue.
“Were you authorized to read my files, Special Agent Derek Wells?”
“I—well—uh—”
“I didn’t think so, and I frankly don’t care. I trust it was an entertaining read, yes? Even if mildly unethical of you to do so without authorization.”
Wells sighed.
She added, “I have nothing to dispute. I trust whatever Director Collins may have contributed, even if I can speak less to the opinions of any other agents in the bureau or Doctor Coscarelli. Do you have any questions regarding my character, or would you rather go over the case we’ll be working together?”
“Hm. Yeah.” He crossed his arms.
Still couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe it would occur to him later.
Wells contorted, reached back to retrieve his briefcase from the backseat, flicked the latches, and flipped the case open. He rifled through a manila folder, papers rustling all the while.
“Local P.D. responded to a neighbor’s call regarding a disturbance at house number five on Manor Park Knoll,” he muttered out loud, eyes scanning the file.
Trying not to linger on any terrible pictures.
He had read it all before yet reading up on Parker had distracted him from the case. He welcomed the distraction from the distraction.
“I’m all ears,” she said, still transfixed on the endless stream of asphalt and highway traffic around them. “I haven’t been briefed on the case at all.”
Papers rustled.
“The entire Colliers family—slaughtered in their home. According to the initial report, every family member was stabbed and mutilated by sharp implements from around the home, such as a kitchen knife. No fingerprints anywhere except from the victims themselves. Though grisly, it was almost chalked up to a case of domestic violence gone horribly wrong. What really rose flags at the bureau was that Winston Colliers and his family had been living under witness protection.”
“What for?”
“Unclear. Dates back to the 1980s. Everything on Colliers is redacted or scrubbed clean. My sniff test says it was CIA, DEA, ATF, or some other agency.”
“What else have we got?”
“We’re not the first bureau agents on the case.”
“Hm?”
“Special Agents Bennet and Murphy were first to investigate.”
“It’s highly unusual that Collins would send four people to Chicago to look into this.”
“You’re right. It would be. But it’s just us. Bennet and Murphy are dead.”
“Hm.”
“Another report of a disturbance from the same neighbor later, and local P.D. found our colleagues slaughtered. Same description of carnage, no suspects. Did you know Bennet or Murphy?”
“No.”
Cringing at the crime scene photos that had been faxed over, Wells shut the briefcase. The latches softly clicked. He returned it to the backseat.
“I don’t get it,” Parker said.
“What?”
“I don’t get why we’re being sent there next. Weren’t there any agents from field offices closer to Chicago?”
“Oh,” Wells said. Licking his lips. “There’s a reason Collins picked you out of the whole Virginia office. You’re gonna like this. Oh, do you mind if I smoke?”
Parker shook her head. “Not if you spot me a cigarette.”
Wells smiled at her, finding that she paid no attention to his gestures or expressions. He produced a pack from his inner jacket pocket, lit one up, then handed it to Parker, lighting up another cigarette for himself next.
She rolled down her window a notch, admitting the noise of highway traffic inside. They both raised their voices to continue speaking between puffs of smoke.
“So—why would I like this?” Parker asked.
“There were unidentified symbols etched into the skin of several bodies—the coroner described them as looking like they were occult in nature, and nobody in the bureau recognized them.”
“Could have just been the coded scrawling of a serial killer, though. You know, like the Zodiac Killer?”
“Maybe. But then, there’s another thing. Colliers’ wife looked like someone had tried to jam parts of a grandfather clockwork into her body. Coroner said she was kind of… ‘hollowed out’.”
“Hollowed out?”
“His words, not mine. Organs surgically replaced with spare parts.”
Sharply blowing out another cancerous cloud, Parker said, “That’s very strange. That makes me very uncomfortable to hear. It makes me question existence somewhat.”
“You and me both! Well, I mean, on the uncomfortable and strange parts, that is.”
“Item,” she said in Latin pronunciation. “That explains why Collins selected me, but not why he selected you for the case.”
Wells frowned. “Why, you read up on me, too?”
“No. I’m just not aware of you being involved in any cases involving the occult. Very few people in the bureau share that particular specialization. I vaguely remember seeing your face and hearing your name before, but I barely know you.”
“Sheesh,” he said, punctuated by a sigh. “You’re something else. Way to tell a guy he’s ignorable. Am I that ignorable?”
Traffic drifted by. Silence draped itself over them as they continued to smoke. The awkwardness swelled to unbearable size, as Wells felt like he was owed some sort of apology.
While Parker said nothing.
“Look, Parker—”
“Special Agent Quinn Isabelle Parker,” she corrected him.
His nostrils flared and he bit his lip.
“Special Agent Parker,” he muttered, before fueling the next words with more force. “Think of me as the Yin to your Yang—”
“That’s very funny.”
“Huh?”
“Yin is dark and feminine, while Yang is bright and masculine. But I think I know where you’re going with this.” She stared blankly ahead, focused fully on the highway. “You think that I’m eccentric, or slightly unhinged.”
Drowned out by the noise of traffic, Wells muttered under his breath, “Slightly?”
She continued, “But I’m sure it’s something else. The last special agent I was paired up with ended up in a mental institution. Therefore, I’m assuming that the director either thinks very highly of you, or he has very low hopes for you.”
“Woah, woah, woah—wait—what? Can you rewind that a little bit?”
“I’m sure that wasn’t in the file you read on me. The bureau has disavowed everything about Special Agent Poole. Probably as redacted as anything on Colliers.”
Wells furiously stamped his cigarette out in the ashtray. The words wheezed out with smoke, and his voice cracked as he asked, “Special Agent Poole? Who the hell is that?”
“I’m not authorized to speak on that in any detail. Suffice to say, Special Agent Poole experienced severe trauma of the body and mind, far beyond what any human being should be forced to endure, and he has yet to recover from the event.”
Wells’ face twisted in disbelief and horror.
“Are you serious? You are serious.”
“Dead serious, Special Agent Wells. Now, this is going to be a long ride, and my mouth is dry from that terrible, cold coffee. Unless there’s more to discuss on the Chicago incident, I’m afraid I have little else to say.”
She stamped her cigarette out in the ashtray.
Wells stammered, “W-what? W-well, I mean, uh, this is going to be a long ride, so, we could also get to know—”
Parker flicked the radio on.
“Each other,” he muttered.
She cranked the volume up. “Waterfalls” by TLC blasted from the car’s radio.
Wells sighed. He had grown from loving this song to hating every note of it. It reminded him of his recent breakup and his ex. Aleena. She loved the song and used to play it all the time.
Now he hated it.
It conjured up happy memories, distorted through the lens of shouting in arguments, slammed doors, and general sentiments of upset. Sweet, blurry images turned sour and bleak like gray clouds and rainwater soaking his socks.
He sighed again.
Stomached the silence between them that followed. The music and noise of traffic were so loud that he could barely think, though that growing emptiness was all he had left to occupy his mind.
He wanted to ask about Parker’s mysterious Kentucky case. Then concluded she would only remain evasive about it.
More red tape he couldn’t cut.
More questions. No answers.
Swirling, spiraling distractions, distractions from the distractions from the distractions. The music drew his thoughts from his personal troubles, which distracted him from the highway occupying his horizon, which distracted him from the odd thing about the car he couldn’t figure out, which distracted him from Parker’s jarring and inscrutable presence, which distracted him from—
Many hours and several dead-end conversations later, they had stopped at a gas station. He had learned several things about Parker that he never cared to know. She had raved about different kinds of pie, diner culture, “the great North American countryside”, and talked about her education and professionalism like a robot.
Wells splashed water in his face in the men’s room. He inhaled sharply. Studied his reflection in the mirror.
“Just ask about the Kentucky case,” he said, pointing at himself. “You’re a man! You’re a man, Derek. She’s half your weight and just… eccentric.”
A toilet flushed. A stranger exited from a bathroom stall and gave Wells a funny look, then proceeded to wash his hands at the sink next to his.
Wells averted his gaze. Exited the restroom. Cold air blasted his face, and the sounds of traffic swallowed his groan.
Night had draped itself over the countryside. Trucks rumbled by, cars trailed along, moving lights, all streaking through the dark, all drifting down the highway like flotsam on a rushing river of inky-black shadow.
Parker was still inside the brightly lit gas station shop, standing in line behind several people.
Wells sighed as he waited by her Lincoln. He sat against the side of the warm hood, lit up a cigarette, and puffed away at his cancer stick.
Thump, thud, thump.
There it was.
The thing that felt wrong.
Knocking on the tiny door inside the tiniest part in the farthest reaches in the back of his mind. The thing that was wrong, knocking on that door. Begging for his attention.
He still couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but it was knocking.
Thump, thud, thump.
Knocking, asking for him to open up. To unleash the darkness.
THUD.
Startled, he stood. The car had gently rocked under his rump. He shuffled away from the vehicle, staring at the trunk’s lid in disbelief.
Thump, thump, thump.
Thumping. Coming from inside the trunk. There was someone in there.
He approached with the same apprehension as approaching a corpse at a crime scene.
Finally, he popped the lid.
A short-lived shower of sparks exploded from the cigarette where it crashed onto the asphalt between his feet.
Staring back at him was a pair of pale-blue eyes, piercing into his soul with surprise. A crop of short, red hair, clinging to her forehead in a sheen of sweat. A short woman, dressed in a suit. Her hands were tied behind her back with silver duct tape, her ankles bound the same way. A length of cloth, wrapped around her head, kept her mouth gagged.
She had the same face.
Special Agent Parker.
She struggled to sit up while Wells still grappled with his disbelief, blinking furiously.
“I’m gonna… remove that gag,” Wells announced, nodding along with every syllable.
He reached down to untie the cloth. Parker did not resist. Once the gag was gone, she grimaced and rolled her sore jaw with a gasp.
“I don’t know who that is,” she blurted out. Through gritted teeth, she added, “I’m Special Agent Quinn Isabelle Parker. The real Special Agent Quinn Isabelle Parker, as far as I know.”
The moment Wells looked up to see if the other Parker was still standing in line inside the gas station shop, he found her only steps away from himself. Staring daggers at him.
The moment he reached for the service pistol hidden in its holster, it was too late. The other Parker had already lunged at him, seized his wrist. They shuffled, grunted, groaned. An elbow connected to his belly, knocked the wind out of his lungs. He hurt his knuckles when he struck bone with a fist, a sharp pain he shrugged off. They grappled, slipping out of one another’s grasp, both struggling to gain the upper hand—then she seized his upper hand, twisting it around till his wrist threatened to snap.
He snapped around and snapped a kick at her shins, but she caught the side of his head.
Next thing Wells knew, he was seeing stars, stumbling around in a daze. The pain from smashing his head into a hard metal edge arrived with delay. Something warm trickled down the side of his face, followed by coppery crimson fluid on his fingertips as he explored the source of that sensation.
A kick to the hollow of his knee sent him crashing down into the asphalt, inches away from his still burning cigarette. He saw his service pistol, several steps away, to where it had clattered.
Out of reach.
Parker—whichever one she was—stomped on his back, causing him to wheeze and groan from the blow. He shouted and mustered all his might, scrambling to get back up despite the sting of a sharp pain from his spine.
With the world spinning around him, he saw double. Or he saw double the double—Parker head-butted Parker. The bound Parker fell out of the trunk and collapsed onto the parking lot after having head-butted the other Parker.
Wells lunged at her—unsure which one, really, just aiming in the general direction of the one still standing—and landed a punch in her face.
What started as a groan erupted into howling in pain. His own howl. His fist felt like he had struck a concrete wall.
She returned a punch which sent him flying headfirst into the trunk’s lid, sparking another explosion of stars before his inner eye. The world started spinning even faster.
Reeling and failing to grab hold of anything, he slipped and slid and skidded along the side of the car, hands helplessly squeaking on the paintjob, until he crumpled onto the ground.
Parker approached and tripped—no, the other Parker had kicked her in the back of her legs, defying her bondage—and Parker fell onto Wells.
Face first into the muzzle of his gun. Which he had managed to pick back up off the ground. Its cold business end rested against her forehead.
He pulled the trigger. Time and the world slowed to a halt. The flash of light extended like a big bang, like the birth of a new universe, bright and blinding. The cloud of smoke reminded him of the death he regularly inhaled in form of cigarettes, also slowed to a crawl, devouring all memories.
The bullet from his SIG Sauer P226 entered her forehead and blew the lid off the back of her skull.
He groaned and strained to push the lifeless body off himself. It took him more than one try, even dropping his pistol to use both hands. Parker weighed a ton.
No—really—she felt like she weighed five times what she looked like.
Where the body flopped onto asphalt, no blood nor brains nor bones spilled out of that hole in her skull.
Only a thin stream of translucent fluid. And tiny metal circles. With perfectly shaped teeth.
Gears.
Bent, deformed. Damaged where a bullet had broken them. Cracked in some places.
Something else cracked. In Wells’ mind. How long was he frozen there, staring into the unnatural bowels of her skull, studying it in disbelief? Finding no goopy, wet mass, but something akin to the insides of a clockwork? Myriads of complex pieces, made of brass and steel, suffused with oil, all disrupted by the power of a lucky bullet?
“Help?” asked Parker. The other Parker. “Can you please untie me?”
She was flopping around on the ground like a worm, grunting as she strained to inch closer.
Wells raised a hand, motioning for her to stop.
Something festered in his head. An uncertainty taking root. Unsure if the crack in his mind—that fissure—would ever close again.
Thoughts kept flooding out of the broken dam, all of them flowing out in pieces. Shards.
One surfaced from the flood—the car. The thing that had been wrong.
The heat of the machine. The cold in the air. The car had been cold when they met in Richmond. She could not have arrived in a cold car after having driven cross-country to Virginia.
Some things clicked. Others still made no sense. Like the clockwork in her skull.
“Hello?” Parker asked. “Are you Special Agent Derek Wells?”
He nodded. Switched to autopilot. Two men had emerged from the gas station’s shop, gawking at them across the parking lot. Wells waved at them.
“Nothing to see here, move along,” Wells shouted, finally getting up onto his feet. He produced his badge and held it up high. “FBI.”
They murmured in response, still gawked for several seconds, then backed away with caution. Staring at the pistol.
Wells holstered his firearm and approached Parker—the real Parker? With swift paces, though he failed to walk a straight line. The world was still spinning. And his thoughts kept racing in the opposite direction.
Hunkering down, he groaned while he failed to rip apart the duct tape tied around her wrists. It had twisted and contracted in ways that made it impossible for him to tear it with his bare hands.
“She has a carpet knife on her,” Parker said. “Use that to cut through the tape,”
His gaze swept back to the other Parker. The clockwork parts strewn out on the Tarmac near her skull. His stomach lurched. Wells felt like throwing up. Fought the urge, then moved.
Had to keep moving to stay in control.
He patted down the other Parker, grimacing as he accidentally touched a boob. The boob felt real. Then he noticed she had no holster on her body, nor any service weapon. Another detail he should have spotted earlier.
Finally, his hand found what he was looking for. The carpet knife. It clicked as he protracted the blade, and he proceeded to cut the real Parker loose, first freeing her hands, then her ankles.
She sat up on the asphalt, rubbing her wrists.
The dizziness overwhelmed him all the while.
Moments melted into minutes as Wells sat on the edge of the trunk, still recovering from the harrowing experience. His stomach kept churning, twisting one way, and then the other. Traffic continued to flow by, and gawkers came and went.
The real Parker radiated an eerie calm. Even calmer than the other Parker before her. As disheveled as she looked—with bruises and a blue spot on her neck from what he assumed to have been a prior struggle—she calmly examined the body of her doppelganger.
“Not human,” Parker concluded, rising from the ground where she had crouched beside the other body.
“What the hell is going on here,” Wells mumbled. There was no question hidden in his words. Only disbelief and a muted, helpless despair.
“She must have taken me alive because she wanted me for some unknown goal. A shame we couldn’t capture her and learn anything from an interrogation.”
The taillights of vehicles lazily drifted down the highway.
She continued, “Someone must have known. She asked me questions that only could have come from someone who knew.”
Wells shook his head. “Knew what? What the hell are you talking about? Our case?”
“No. Not our case. I suspect someone in the bureau is involved. Probably not you, though.”
“You’re gonna have to explain,” he muttered.
“You look uninjured,” she said. All up in his face.
He had failed to register her movements. Was he still out of it? Suffering from a concussion? Lost time? The tail lights melted into red streaks around him. A school of lights in the sea of darkness, where his consciousness swam along the surface, with no land in sight.
Parker stood in front of him, studying his face, gazing into his eyes. Her fingertips were cold where they touched upon his skin, examining him with the bedside manners of a butcher.
“How many fingers am I holding up, Special Agent Derek Wells?”
“Fifty,” Wells replied. “Just… call me Derek.”
“Well, if you’ve maintained a sense of humor, I’m sure you’ll be fine. If you’re feeling up to it, can you get us some coffee? I’ll have mine with—”
“Cream, no sugar. That right?”
“How’d you know?”
“Asked around about you. Read your file.”
“Were you authorized to read my file?”
“Uh, well—”
“Mildly unethical.”
He snapped to full attention. The spinning ceased. The urge to throw up grew explosively. He could practically taste the bile already.
She continued, “But I can’t hold it against you. I was going to do my homework on you, too. Just never got around to it because that thing—she—kidnapped me the moment I left Richmond Airport. Like I said, if you’re feeling up to it, I could really use some coffee right now. I’ll load the body into the trunk. Best we keep this under wraps until we know more.”
Parker produced a pack of cigarettes from her jacket pocket, lit one up, and then held it out to Wells.
He grabbed the cancer stick and took a long drag from it.
Then he dropped to his knees and threw up.
You’re Something Else
Part One // Part Two
I ended up getting carried away with the prompt, and the full thing ended up being over 8k words long... heh... so! I’ll be posting this in parts(also as it’s own little fic bc why not?). This’ll be the only part that has my main taglist, however if you want to be tagged in the following parts feel free to ask!
Prompt: Medieval Demus fanfic? Remus and Roman are both princes and with Roman set to inherit the throne their parents desperately want to see Remus married off, however Remus has the tendency to be picky with potential suitors and has turned them all down thus far. That is until Remus’ newest suitor turns out to be Prince Janus. At first Remus is difficult with him as he is with all his suitors but than Janus starts winning him over slowly. Janus also knows sorcery in this.
Overall Story Warnings: Blood and injuries(varies throughout story), kind of a terrible father, lmk if I need to add anything else!
Masterpost
-----------------------
Queen Evelyn huffed lightly as the suitor left the throne room, shooting a glare at her son as he left. Remus just grinned and stuck out his tongue, mocking the poor man before the door swung closed. Evelyn drummed her fingers on her armrest, nails scraping lightly against the wood.
"Remus..." She started, getting to her feet. Remus turned to look at her, crossing his arms over his chest. He had that defiant look in his eyes, and Evelyn approached her son, resting a hand on his shoulder while the other went to his cheek. "Why must you be so picky, darling? These suitors are absolutely perfect, everyone is fumbling over themselves to catch their eye, and yet you don't seem to want to."
Remus rolled his eyes, shrugging off his mother's touch. "They are perfect for Roman. They're all boring, and look flawless, and they are all absolutely full of themselves."
Evelyn rested her hands on her hips, a slight pout gracing her face. "They are not boring, darling. And your father has had to try to negotiate with every other kingdom to get their son to offer marriage to you. You're lucky you even have an option."
Remus didn't say anything, pulling his arms closer to himself and looking away. Evelyn sighed softly, tilting Remus's face back towards her. She traced his cheeks with her thumbs, fingers brushing Remus's mustache that he insisted on keeping. "I just want you to be happy, love."
"And make sure I have no chance of inheriting the throne."
She flinched. "That wasn't my decision, dear. Besides, I thought a new kingdom would excite you since you know ours like the back of your hand."
Remus grumbled something under his breath that suspiciously sounded like "they all look the same" and "no originality or excitement."
Evelyn rolled her eyes. "I promise, your next suitor will be as interesting as a prince can get."
Remus raised a brow. "Aren't I literally the only prince to ever exist that isn't a carbon copy of the expected one, like Roman?"
Evelyn smiled, remembering the next prince who would visit the castle in a week. She pulled Remus closer to press a light kiss to his forehead. "Maybe not, you just have to know where to look. Now," she pulled away, hands resting again on Remus's shoulders. Evelyn grimaced at the dirt that coated Remus's clothes. "Go get washed up for dinner before your father sees you like this, you know how he feels about so much dirt."
Remus huffed and rolled his eyes again. "Yes, mother." He left without another word, and Evelyn crossed her arms, a fond smile remaining on her face as she made her way to the banquet hall.
---
A week went by, and by now Remus was all too familiar with his father's knock on the door. His father entered without Remus giving a response, too. Remus had given up on trying to stop him and just accepted that he should be almost ready for the day before his father even stepped foot in the hall.
Today, Remus was finishing up on his makeup, something his father thought was stupid ("It isn't regal!") and his mother believed to be great ("It brings out your eyes!"). He had done his usual dark purple eyeshadow but this time used this white liner to add little lines to make it look like lightning.
He looked up in his mirror as his father approached, barely reacting as he returned his attention to his makeup.
"Prince Janus is waiting to meet you." His father, King Orion, States simply.
Remus snorted. "What kind of name is Janus?"
His father's eyes narrowed. "Treat him respect, alright? He comes from a kingdom farther away, across the seas even, just to meet you. So behave."
Remus rolled his eyes. "No promises!"
Orion's glare grew harsher but Remus had already looked away, grabbing the morning star he had stolen from one of the guards. "I hope he likes adventure, otherwise he's gonna be pretty lonely all day."
Orion groaned as Remus left the room, following after his son down the grand staircases and to the corridor leading to the throne room. Remus always skipped breakfasts.
-
Janus smiled politely at the queen, standing straight (his posture being the only straight thing about him) and laughing lightly at the jokes she or Prince Roman made. He was a bit disappointed to be here, really, being told to try and woe a prince known for rejecting every suitor. He could have been spending this time in his room, or the library, practicing some new spells he had found. But no, his parents wanted him to at least try.
He glanced toward the large doors as they opened, the two guards it took standing at attention. Janus watched as the second prince bounded in, Prince Remus, the king following close behind.
The Queen smiled warmly at her other son, rising to her feet. "Prince Janus, meet my dear Prince Remus."
The only similarity between the two Janus could see was their eyes, both a brown that looked almost red. Janus still smiled at the prince, eyeing the weapon in his hand with minor worry. Did he always carry that thing around?
Remus looked Janus up and down, taking in the black and golden suit, Janus's cane (he had it mostly for the dramatic effect) the blonde hair curled almost perfectly on Janus's head, and then they locked eyes. Remus looked genuinely surprised, then looked a bit annoyed upon seeing Janus's mismatched eyes and the scars that ran along his face.
"So your goal is to try and find a prince that is just as odd as me?" He asked his parents, and Janus held back his flinch, his smile fell though.
"Remus!" The Queen seemed about to scold him, but Janus just shook his head.
"I'm afraid he's right, your majesty. I'd even go as far as to say that I'm odder. I mean, what prince lets his face be ruined by scars?"
Remus seemed startled by Janus's words. Janus held his gaze, appearing bored. "But whether you like me or not doesn't matter, really. Neither of us had much of a choice in this meeting." Janus tilted his head. "I'm afraid I cannot leave for at least another week, so unless you want to be left alone again today, my prince, whatever it is you were planning to do I would like to join."
Roman couldn't hold back his laugh. Janus glanced at him, mild confusion flashing across his face. "You want to risk your life?"
Remus huffed softly, swinging his morningstar over his shoulder and eyeing Janus. "Fine, come on."
"Now wait, Remus, I don't think taking Prince Janus outside the castle is a-"
"You were going outside the castle?" Janus cut in, already about to follow the other prince. Remus hummed, nodding. "Could I grab something from my ship then first?"
The rest of Remus's family blinked in confusion but Remus shrugged. "Whatever, just don't take too long."
"How about-"
"No guards are coming with us, father!" Remus grinned. "If he really wants to come with me he might as well experience a real adventure."
Before either of his parents could object, Remus was out of the throne room, Janus not far behind. He didn't miss Roman's shout of 'try not to die!'
Remus was true to his word and Janus was able to grab something off his ship- his book bag. If he was lucky, he could finally find some herbs native to this land that could help him in certain spells. He double-checked that the right books were there, smiled to himself, then left. Remus looked puzzled that all Janus had grabbed was a book bag.
"We aren't going on a picnic, you know, no time for reading."
"Didn't expect to."
"Then why the bag and books?"
Janus hesitated, humming thoughtfully as he walked in time with Remus away from the boat. Unlike Remus's guards, Janus's were far more relaxed and willing to let Janus go with Remus. "To find the right souvenirs I suppose."
Remus laughed almost dryly. "If you say so."
Janus followed Remus into the woods at the edge of the kingdom, gripping his cane almost exactly how Remus gripped his morningstar. Janus was tempted to ask about it but decided against it.
They walked along a trail for a while in silence, until Remus finally seemed to get bored of that and also frustrated that Janus had yet to turn back despite the fact that the trail was nearly gone and they were approaching a swamp.
"Why do you have that cane?"
"Reasons."
"Like?"
"Good for hitting others when they're being annoying," Janus stated, coming to a halt beside Remus at the edge of the swamp. "Among other reasons."
"Care sharing?" Remus barely waited for an answer before walking into the shallow water, keeping an eye out. This area was known for its more... hostile creatures. He glanced up in surprise when Janus walked by him, looking around and seeming more confident than even Remus was here.
"It's really nothing you need to worry about."
"Keeping secrets, are we? Do tell!"
Janus shrugged, kneeling down to examine some of the flowers growing out of the water. Janus carefully picked one of the bright green ones, twirling it between his fingers. "I don't see how sharing them would be of any use to you or getting you to actually like me, so I don't think I will."
Remus pouted, watching as Janus carefully placed the flower in his bag. "Can I at least ask what that's for?"
"Nope."
Remus groaned lightly. Janus smirked in return.
"Are we going to continue on or not?"
"Yeah, whatever."
-
A few of Janus's guards were waiting at the castle with the royal family once they returned, muddied and Remus a bit scraped up after they had run into a bear. Janus had just continued on, not seeing any need to trouble the bear but Remus had decided to fight it, for whatever reason.
Remus was surprised when none of Janus's guards seemed angry or annoyed at Janus for getting so dirty. One just rolled his eyes at the princes while the other two ignored the fact that their prince was covered in dirt and a few bug bites.
Remus's parents, on the other hand, looked absolutely livid. Well, Orion did. Evelyn looked more annoyed than anything and shocked that Janus was silent and not currently asking her to make his trip end early.
Remus wouldn't admit that it surprised him too.
"What did I say about treating this young man with respect, Remus?" Orion's voice told them that he was just about ready to snap. Roman excused himself before things could get heated, and Janus's fingers twitched on his cane. Remus crossed his arms.
"I treated him with as much respect as I treat everyone else!"
Evelyn bit her lip, glancing around. She was about to interject but Orion cut her off. "Then why is he all roughed up and covered in grime?"
"He could have left at any time!"
"But it wasn't right for you to take him that deep into the forest."
The first guard looked at Janus, and Remus didn't miss the way he shook his head at the prince. In the corner of his eye, he saw Janus's grip loosen on his cane. Weird.
"Your Majesty, if I may interject?" Janus asked, stepping forward. "It was my idea to keep going further into the woods, not Remus's."
Remus frowned, confused. "What are you-"
"Plus, I am not hurt." Janus sent Remus a look, effectively shutting up the prince. "Remus is the one who has been 'roughed up', not me, mostly because I led us down a path towards something I hadn't realized was hostile. You do not need to get mad at him for anything."
The room was left in mostly silence, until Evelyn cleared her throat, drawing everyone's eyes from Janus to her. "Very well then. Prince Janus, your guards can show you to your room, and you and Remus can get cleaned up. Does that sound alright?"
"It sounds lovely, Queen Evelyn." Janus flashed her that porcelain smile and Remus watched as Janus's guards escorted him out of the room. Remus was still trying to figure out why Janus lied to Orion when the doors to the throne room closed almost too loudly.
"Remus, you should go too," Evelyn said softly, not reaching out to brace her son because of just how dirty he was. "And call if you need help with those cuts, alright?"
"Y... Yes, mother." Remus said, before leaving the room as well. He had to take a deep breath before continuing back to his room to scrub off his ruined makeup and all the mud.
He wasn't too surprised to see that Janus's guest room was just across from his, the two guards from before standing at attention. He assumed the other was inside the room with Janus. The two guards smiled softly at Remus, and he ducked his head as his door slammed closed. Something about guards smiling softly at him like they actually cared for his well being seemed... strange.
Remus shook his head. He shouldn’t dwell on it. Soon enough, Janus would be gone. He’d make sure of it.
-----------------------
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❥ - @house-vexile You saw this coming. I get so immersed when writing with you, I lose track of time but it’s worth suffering the next day. Your style is so much fun, I can’t really get enough of it. That aside, you’re someone I can talk to and, in general, that’s something I greatly appreciate. I hope to get to know you more. As is, you’re a delight and a half.
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I gave Deku my dick for his birthday.
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People are boring But you’re something else completely Damn let’s take our chances
Chateau Lobby #4 // Father Jon Misty
