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@thegraveyardshifts
thegraveyardshifts ╏╏ a multi-muse blog for ferofoxfm ╏╏ lovingly penned by mina.
chester kowalski ╏intro // musings // interactions
maddox chiang ╏intro // musings // interactions
cleo 'c.c' clément ╏intro // musings // interactions
agathe de beauharnais ╏intro // musings // interactions
dove drennan ╏ intro // musings // interactions
“You’re right about that.” Valerian laughed as they walked, “Oui. Mon atielier.” Or something resembling one- with just two vampires in the old Quarter home some spaces had been repurposed; Valerian’s unneeded kitchen still a lush greenhouse, and his dining room, with tall windows along one wall, had become a painting room. Long gone were Valerie’s days with a pristine parlor in San Francisco, ready to entertain appropriately at any given moment- the painting room was, admittedly, the tidiest space in his home, the rest with bits of life strewn about, and thus it was where Valerie entertained, when drawn to. “My love should be off, oh, doing something. Boy stuff. I’m not sure how he entertains himself these days- I’ve been busy.” He raised her arm gently, nodding to the sweater, “This is nice. How are you dear?”
She was looking forwards to a bar or somewhere upper-class and a little tasteful but, Valerian was to choose the location and Agathe was just the follower. It was surely a much better place than her own home, an overly-sterile place with the only character being an old portrait taken from a private collection and a generous wardrobe. What else did she need? The bedroom was cluttered with books and movies, attempting to absorb ages not her own, and re-live the ones she did live through, their films usually a terrible pastiche of the past.
"Something? Or someone?" Such a statement wasn't a dig, nor sarcasm, genuine curiosity. Agathe occupied much more time with Val than his beau, after all. "I know, I bought it. Good, I have a new plaything. Can't wait to tell you all about them. How are you? You must tell me about your sudden busy-ness"
Maybe some people would say it was nothing, but Mingi will always see it as important. Suresh had no reason to welcome them the first time they'd met and even less welcoming the siren back after disappearing for a whole decade. Feeling like a part of them—even if it's small—belongs somewhere; that means the world to Mingi. Chester has also been helping more than they know with the loneliness they've been feeling with their unrequited love.
They smile brightly at the necromancer, squeezing his hand. "Thank you." They needed that.
Mingi can tell sometimes that Chester doesn't seem to have the best opinion of himself, but the siren thinks the same about themself. So they make quite the pair of best friends.
"I object to you paying anything tonight!" Mingi exclaims, chuckling happily.
It's a similar sort of reasoning for Chester, though the witch lacks a storied and long history, he's always wanted to belong. Maybe that's why he's always been so easily swayed by a kind word and a smile, a child of a broken home that could never fit in. There had been dealers, sleeping on each others couches and sharing keys, there had been the cult where they expressed wonderment at his powers and took it a step further -
Now, there was The Lotus Eaters, and their golden eyed leader. Chester was so easily sucked in at the idea of being more. Of being part of something grander.
"Well, how about we do rounds? You need to be there all the time though for like...discounts? Do you get discounts?" They suggested with a little raise of an eyebrow, beginning to tug Mingi along back inside to the bar.
"Put a little of the ol' siren in your order? Would that work?"
Worry crept into Mathias' heart and mind. Worry over Maddox and of course his friend. What happened to Ricardo that would have caused their bond to break. Was he okay? Did he need help? Mathias wasn't in any shape to help, but maybe if Maddox was feeling up to it, he could send him. Maybe Kaz too.
He wiped the blood from his nose, trying not to look so scared. This wasn't good. None of this felt right. Mathias' mind raced as he tried to think of ways he could get in contact with Ric quickly, or at least get a status on him. There was nothing he could do though.
"I'm alright..." Mathias placed his hands on Maddox's shoulders to keep him from moving too much. "Careful, you gotta be careful. Rest for now, please". He had made Maddox anew, granting him life again. The shackles were broken, and he could now live however he wished. If the undead wanted to leave, no one could stop him. He could do whatever he wanted without asking for permission.
He looked around for a moment, trying to get a sense for what just happened before looking back to the other, "Maddox...I think something happened to Ric. I don't have any way of getting to him though. But I don't want to send you if you're not feeling completely healed up. And I'm not sending you alone either".
The idea of resting was laughable right down, and despite Mathias' ask and gentle coaxing, Maddox wouldn't stay down. They had to act - no, he had to act. "I can't rest," Urgency filled every newly independent cell within his body, bracing himself temporarily on the wall and taking a few deep breaths in to steady himself. There was no bond, the only thing commanding Maddox now was himself. That was something to dwell on later, what freedom truly meant.
"I fear for his safety," That was better than blurting out what a severed connection meant. That the last time it had happened, his witch had nearly died and now -
Mathias didn't need to hear it, not until it was confirmed. Maybe there was another explanation, the undead terrified to cling to such hope in case it was ripped away from him. "No. I need to go," It didn't matter if he was tired, body shaking from the sheer amount of magic that had been used to cut and fully seal away the bond between summoned and summoner.
I'm not sending you alone. He wanted to go alone, he was strong enough to take on any witch, litch, vampire, wolf, anyone that would seek to harm...even if it meant he forfeit life. It would all be worth it for Ric to be safe, and alive.
"Tell whoever to meet me at Ric's place. That's where I felt him last, before..."
Kali's smile broadens. "There you are! How beautiful you are when you let your true self shine." For a moment, the Avatar sounds almost motherly and her shadow darkens. Over time Lightless members will learn that when Kali's shadow darkens, their Goddess' presence lingers. She observes closer. Kali has no needs for liars, cheaters and masks. They can be all that to the outside world, but not within the Lightless.
The Avatar's gaze follows Dove's. It's rare thing to cover oneself that way without purpose. Kali looks through her gardening items and gets two pairs of gloves out; one short and one long. One that will require skin exposure, while the other won't as the length will protect clothes from stains. "I am sure you'd make a great gardener. If you tend to plants half as much as you tend to the dead, it can only make for the most beautiful garden." Kali encourages, but will no force. "We can start can start with cleaning?" The same as Dove would have to prepare a body in some ways. "Maybe you can tell me more about you?"
There is a slight brightening then, at Kali's words, how it's better to be more like herself than who she thinks she should be. If Kali's shadow darkens, Dove doesn't notice it, too pleased with being allowed to be a little quiet and off-putting around their new leader.
"I'm told I need new hobbies I work...too much," Though, Dove wouldn't agree with people's assessment of it. She's just dedicated to the dead, that's all. She's even considered taxidermy but, it doesn't appeal to her...halfway through, she ends up getting too sad. She does take take the longer pair though, still turns for a moment while getting them snug around what she wore.
"That sounds perfect,"
Maybe you can tell me more about you. "Oh. There's not much to tell, really. I work at House of Usher, I drive a motorcycle and I have a cat,"
Mathias had his hand reaching out towards Maddox, a gentle gesture to take the undead's hand in his. "Feel what?" He asked. He didn't feel it, Mathias wasn't blessed with the sense of death nor the sense of life. A terrible fault in his wiring he though. But what he could feel was the slight change in the air. Like a crucial component that made up the molecules of oxygen suddenly went missing. Like the Earth's axis was tilted ever so slightly. It was off.
His eyes went wide as he saw Maddox stumble back, and Mathias swore time slowed down. He ran out from behind his desk and rushed over to the other, placing his hands on him to hopefully keep Maddox from thrashing around too much. That was when he felt it.
Mathias had been taught the ins and outs of necromancy. How to make undead, how to destroy them. He learned of bonds and how they worked. An invisible string that puppeted an undead and connected them to their creator or summoner. A very important string that would make them crumple to the ground, lifeless, if ever cut. When he put his hands on Maddox that was the first thing he felt.
His bond was cut.
There were very few things that could do that. Mathias was quite sure Ric wouldn't have done that on his own, and this didn't feel like a magical interference. It felt too final. A sinking dread filled his heart, but Mathias couldn't focus on that. Right now he needed to help Maddox and fast. "I'm sorry" He said quietly, "I have to do this quickly, it might hurt". It was still exhausting for him to use his magic but this was an emergency. Mathias focused, using his powers to push into Maddox's body, removing the magic that had once reanimated him and replaced it with one much different. One that granted him a freedom he never had. No longer would he need a bond. A free man. It wasn't easy overwriting what was once there, and Mathias felt his nose start to bleed and drip down his face. His fingers dug into Maddox's chest, as if they were trying to break through the skin and muscle.
Something had happened, he needed to help Maddox first. But something had happened.
These were not strings taken and severed individually, each snap felt like a gunshot through the bond a summoned and summoner shared - no, someone held those red strings together and sliced through them all in one fell swoop. The eternal slumber raced towards Maddox, ready to once more feel the cold embrace of stasis death, waiting in Her slumber till another necromancer said the magic words. What would the world be like this time? How different would it be?
Mathias said something yet, they were heard as if thick cotton, his head lolling to the side. The precipice between the two states of existence and not balanced on a knife edge that, for once, Maddox was trying desperately to hold onto - he had to get to his witch, he had to try and fix whatever was happening before it became too late...even if, it already was. Such a thing couldn't be imagined. Not yet.
Blunt nails dug within the skin of his chest, painful, as if keeping him grounded here, within this world and time. A hand on his elbow, pulling him away from the cliff carefully at first but then dragging him back. An electric shock that re-started the heart as Mathias' magic cauterized the sacred bond like forged a hundred years ago. Maddox's eyes rolled back from where they'd stuck behind the sockets, the undead taking a sharp and gasping breath akin to a reverse death rattle, body arching upwards.
Many thoughts happened in rapid succession. Where am I? Swap, it smells humid and fetid. Alive? Yes, breathing. Who is the young man with blood dripping down his pale skin? Summoner - no. No. Mathias. Friend, leader, witch and young god. This is New Orleans, only a brief few moments have occurred between a frightening end and being brought back.
"Mathias?" He voices, as if unsure, chest rising and falling in rapid succession. "What's - what's going on? Your nose - are you alright?"
There is a hollow feeling within his ribcage, where the link between himself and his witch once sat. His witch. Maddox makes a sudden move, trying to stand with all the grace of a newborn fawn, stumbling again as his body readjusts to life.
"Honestly, a good conversation would be better than looking at words on paper right now".
He gestured for Maddox to come closer, "Oh yes your arm. Come let me get a look at it". While Mathias was very familiar with the workings of the undead, as he had made many in his years, he was still so fascinated by their abilities. Being able to regrow limbs was something so spectacular, a feature that one would never consider would be possible for those who had been dead once. Regeneration seemed to be saved for creatures who still had beating hearts, and yet the undead were just as capable. They were just as worthy of life as any one else.
"Hmm, well there are a few tasks I need done, but since things are slowing down, they aren't very intense I'm afraid. It's been quiet, but as the saying goes, it's always quiet before the storm right? What would you like to do?"
There is something akin to excitement bubbling under Maddox's surface at being allowed to show off the new arm, ready to throw off his shirt so Mathias may examine every inch of regenerated skin when such an emotion is quelled within an instant, for something greater begins to set in. Dread, growing dread, so heavy in the air it makes his dead flesh prick into gooseflesh, makes him salivate as if he's going to vomit at any moment from the sheer, crushing anticipation of something bad -
"Do you feel that?"
And yet, he knows that Mathias doesn't, because nothing has changed within this room, between them. There is the low chatter of others outside the office, the constant shrill cry of the cicada and rustle of trees with the breeze - further afoot, the sounds of the city. If it isn't here, then it's coming from within, yet they aren't his emotions. They lay atop the dead flesh like a second skin, each moment an uptick more as whatever's being felt. The moment it hits Maddox - that it's the bond, that these aren't his emotions but them being felt by the witch that summoned him, it's simply too late.
He wants to say Ric yet, cannot speak, for the moment Maddox's own panic sets in, pain erupts within him. The undead stumbles backwards, crashing against furniture as it spreads hot and fast, lighting up every dead cell within his body before leaving them completely burnt out. The problem with that chimera venom, what felt so long ago now had been a slow descent into death's cold embrace, each part of the body shutting down with Maddox awake to feel each moment till he himself was put out of commission but this? It's fast, robbing every sensation from him. The undead convulses where he slides to the floor, unable to voice to Mathias what's truly going on.
Everything was quieting down, which was somewhat common during this time of the year. Gangs seemed to calm themselves around the holidays, and Mathias did find that funny. He didn't use this time of rest to rest though, and instead used it to catch up on work he slacked on.
Piles of paperwork that sat on his desk were starting to slowly decrease, and files got organized and put away. Who would have thought being a gang leader involved so much paperwork. Territory lines, proposals, deals, blank checks, etc. It was everything he had to keep track of to make sure their gang stayed up and running.
He picked his head up from his ledger when Maddox came in, "I'm never too busy for any of you" He said. Mathias always made time for his members. They were his first priority, The undead was also very important. He had helped greatly during the jazz festival, and for that Mathias was very grateful. Also, he held a special place in Ricardo's heart, which Mathias wanted to maintain.
"What can I do for you today, Maddox?"
"I do not wish to disturb," The undead prefaced quickly, noting the sheer amount of papers that stacked neatly upon Mathias' desk, quietly wondering what sort of paperwork had to be done when one was the head of a gang. It was another question for another time, however.
"I just wanted to...say that I am back in action, so to speak," Maddox glanced over at the recently regrown arm that had come back in the exact condition it had left. It did make him wonder about other parts of himself...what would grow back? Everything? How much injury could this body take before it regenerated no more?
"Anything you require of me, I'm now equipped to fulfill,"
Despite being so formal, there was an ease around talking to Mathias - call it the dog, waiting to be told to sit, so it may receive praise. He did respect the young man who, at times, seemed to carry the weight of all their futures on strong shoulders.
The undead felt he owed him something great, that could never be repaid. It was the same feeling he had for Ric, an unpayable debt just for being kind.
“I like it when adrenaline takes over; just delicious what it does to them.” The way it raced through him; tangy with fear. Valerian says it with a shrug, continuing, “Besides: I look good in red. You know.” He looks over her again, grinning- the flip between moods easy.
“I was headed toward the Quarter. With dinner out of the way I was thinking about a drink.” Valerian turns on his heel, flipping blond waves back with the movement, offering his cleaner arm to her in some imitation of a gentleman, “Going my way, madam?”
"There's not much you don't look good in," Agathe points out, coupled with a playful, well timed roll of the eyes - Valerian is almost as handsome as herself, the two are often mistaken for heinous twins when seen walking together. Adrenaline was tangy, that was true but, the unexpected was just a personal favorite. Something about the blood without additives...perhaps she was just too old, and had gone back to simpler preferences.
The offer to join is a generous one, the blonde looking at the offered arm that was at least free from the blood. God forbid any of it get onto the cashmere jumper she wore, getting such a thing dry cleaned wouldn't be worth the hassle. Buying a new one would have to suffice.
"Oui," Agathe linked her own with his. "Somewhere nice, I hope,"
They have yet to know which twins will remind them the most of Kala—their own lost twin. If their Goddess had a soft spot for twins, so does Kali, but some of their reasons are quite different. For Kali, it's more personal; memories of very old days. Though, even if they cannot say yet which is closest to their twin, they can tell them apart. Even their walk is enough to differentiate them.
Kali laughs softly at the strange smile. "Please Dove, if you don't feel like smiling, I can do so for the both of us." They say kindly, hoping their words will help the elemental witch to relax a bit.
"Company would be lovely, thank you. Would you like to help or take a break with me?" Either is fine to them, but they're silently offering paths for Dove to take—whichever makes her the most comfortable Kali will follow.
Her attempts at relaxed and friendly are clearly seen through, though Kali takes it with a soft laugh and a kind word which...Dove appreciates. Dove's face does drop somewhat, its earlier falseness gone and replaced with a more natural frown, shoulders slouching somewhat to.
She looks at what she's wearing, thick boots and a jumper that covers both arms. Would she need to roll them up to help them? Probably. But, Dove knows that she should also be making the effort with the new leader.
"I'd like to help," The blonde confirms with a nod. "Anything you need. I'm not...a great gardener but, I'd like to learn,"
@ascnsionismx
Things have begun to still again, the fervor from the risen dead has become merely a simmer as life returns to New Orleans - though, this doesn't mean things are okay. It seems lately that whenever the dust appears to settle, something more monstrous appears from within its wake. Maddox has a simple, straight-forwards mission today - to find Mathias, show him that the full extent of his injury is healed (what a marvel to, skin smooth and fresh looking...yet, still carrying those little white scars that patchwork him together. Odd, the undead surely thought such things would disappear. It felt slightly hollow, noticing them, knowing that the limb would never truly belong to him). And - that he is ready to receive duties, to help the Deathrunner's restore a tarnished name. "Mathias," The undead has been lingering much more than usual around the HQ, usually due to sulking. No more, however. "Could we speak, please? If you aren't too busy,"
"Well, sure." No use in denying the obvious, is there? Not when the entirety of his face is lit like the first rays of daybreak, or how enthused his voice sings with anticipation for yet another esteemed review.
Serim waits until the guest is past the threshold before closing and locking the door once more. Never know who else might be lurking around at this hour, and he'd rather keep this a private affair between curious minds. "So." Hands clasping before his chest, he takes wide strides back into the depths of his modest establishment. "I've been experimenting— as usual, on something new but in two forms."
The ambient noise of rummaging immediately ensues the moment he sets foot into the kitchen. Then comes a quiet hissing before a flash of orange-red bathes the off-white walls. More clanging. Some clattering of ceramics against the stainless steel. And presto — Serim reemerges with a dish in either hand. "Still can't believe I managed to find some prime cuts of Hirros on the market." For good reason, but just because something is deemed nearly inedible never stopped the likes of him.
Both the plate of scorched ... something and the tall glass of neon red is delicately set before her. "All of the organs have a crazy strong neurotoxin that can fuck up anyone's day real quick, but— and here's how I got this other thing started." A finger taps at the foot of the mysterious drink. "Met someone that's extremely resistant to toxins like this. Dunno how, don't really care why, but we made a deal so I can see if eating enough of the organs can influence the profile of their blood."
A little, bemused smiles flits onto fine features and never leaves, the vampire shrugging off the beautiful fur coat she's adorned herself in this evening and folding it over the chair, settling within the booth she always occupies within the restaurant. She listens to Serim busy himself in the kitchen and clash around, rummaging and pots and pans, the strong and sudden heat, vampiric ears picking up every little noise.
"Hirros?" Agathe calls back, the question there for what that actually is, as it's clearly rare, and she's never heard of it. Her question is answered when the chef comes back in just as chaotically as he left. Neurotoxic organs that cause pain...her dark eyes seem to spark at the idea of such a thing. The only pleasure within such a cold existence is blood, even in a glass its siren song is shrill to only herself.
"You're quite singular in your culinary genius," The vampire hums, impressed clearly by the fare being served. Is it visually striking? Now but, it has been made for her. That's all that matters for Agathe.
As is customary, a little of the food is tried first...yet it brings no pleasure, no any real flavour. Agathe has forgotten how things taste...and how they're supposed to, as well. "Try some,"
As far as they can remember, which ain't event 20 years of their 160 years of life, Knox has always had a thirst for violence. They've been told that prior to being a bodyguard to Sebastian, they were an Enforcer, then Mathias' familiar and bodyguard. Fear. Just like a trapped animal who'll chew on their own leg to get out. Survival instinct can be something. Cause as Mathias rots away, so does the bear that Knox avoids shifting into. There's that, but also something they know has been wrong since the Festival and lastly the fear of the unknown; of what will become of him. And having so lil control over their own life drives him mad and he needs someone else than him to be fearful and in pain.
Knox cannot help themselves and leans into the touch. Fuck he really wants her right now, but keeps himself in check cause they don't really know how far their games used to go when he was still a golem.
The familiar chuckles. "Yeah—a lil. Did you enjoy the show?"
That hand and those damn nails in his scalp—Knox almost kisses her on the spot, but his face moves at the last second to nuzzle her cheek instead.
They played cat and mouse...could it be called such a thing though, when both parties were the cat? A practiced dance to a tune that didn't end, more like became abruptly cut off, leaving Agathe without a partner. She had been teasing and affectionate to a creature who could barely reciprocate, her funny little golem always trying to outsmart her schemes, nothing but a frown on handsome features.
This alligator that occupied a familiar form was not that. This Knox, so far away from the one she knew, is a creature drive by so much emotion. Still plenty of anger but, devotion to. And, something else - desperation. Raw hunger, each one paints a picture of who they are now.
Agathe likes it. All these things she can twist her pretty little fingers around and tug at for fun. Like now, the closeness, her freely given touches and praise. A dog from the pound, the anger and fear bleeding into each other.
"Of course," She says, voice soft, hands that petted hair coming down to carefully rest on muscular arms. "I can't wait to see it again,"
The air is still, quiet around the two yet heavy with the scent of death. Her breath hitches when he leans in and she thinks finally, what she wants before Knox...moves. Just enough to push his face against the cold flesh of her cheek. Agathe turns her head just a fraction, enough so that the two of them can make eye contact, noses brushing. Everything stills. She makes the move, and finally connects to two of them in a kiss.
Truth be told, if he hadn't been kidnapped and tortured, Fior would've been more inclined to quick reaction. Now though, not so much. He's still angry and heart broken at what had been done to Callum, not just as a Leader, but as a human who was defiled in the most despicable ways. And as much as it'd be easy to place all the blame on the Nameless or point the finger at the obvious choice within the Deathrunners, Fior knows that chaos brings nothing but more chaos. Some of them needs to remain calm and try to see what's actually happening and put personal vendetta aside. Though, once they know, he'll be the to encourage a strike.
But first, they must heal, grieve, meet their new Leader and then strategize.
But for now, this here matters and deserves his full attention. Fior knows that see Dove as a surrogate daughter might not be the healthiest, but Nova would've been five years younger than Dove is now. It's also hard to ignore that just like Dove, Nova had been a twin too. That aside, Dove is a perfect replacement at the head of the funeral home. The Emissary also knows that she would respect the foundation he'd laid and not try to turn this place into a cold money making business.
Fior feels the heat and puts a hand at the small of her back carefully. "I'm not sure what is troubling you, but if it's over me, I'm here now." He reassures her.
He stops as she looks away and takes the chance in doing what he'd wanted earlier—he embraces her. "Yes you." He whispers. "The honor is all mine, Dove." He says as he pulls back a little bit.
She's the best she's ever been at controlling her emotions, thanks in part to The Lightless and embracing her fire, instead of considering it something to hide. Nobody in Dove's family had known what to do with such a destructive power, apart from ask her to keep dishes warm during Thanksgiving and Christmas. She could light the fire, and let kids roast marshmallows but, never conjure the naked flame. It had always got out of control fast. It had been better for everyone if she just stayed calm.
That's why the job suited her. A still, serious environment, Dove could keep calm and focused, the fire inside her kept to just a flicker. Large rushes of emotion still sometimes managed to knock the witch of course - like now. Fior's offer, and gentle embrace.
It was like being hugged by your father, she thought, comforting and kind. Dove couldn't remember such a thing, and still gave her mentor a little squeeze. The heat began to die down then, slipping back just as soon as it was conjured.
"This is maybe the best thing to ever happen to me,"
Anger suddenly flares up in his gaze—eyes changing into jaguar ones—and for a moment there's clear murderous intent in them toward Chester. He's killed other young members in the past over Levi and has gotten shit over it. The werejaguar-shifter mix takes a deep breath and reminds himself that this guy is not just a Lotus Eaters, but also a close friend of Levi.
He calms himself, barely.
"I know Levi is strong, but some things are beyond our strength and control. If I say he's safer away from me, it's because it's true and not said lightly." There's bitterness in his voice. A lot of it! He's not about to explain that his father had messed with Levi's head so that he wouldn't take Leto away from New Orleans. Nor that as enraged at his father as he still is, he now understands why he'd done it.
The answer makes him snort; at least, that helps chasing away the anger. "I'm almost 200 years old, Chester, you can bullshit a reply better than that. I don't need to hear people being thirsty over my father." They cannot help but chuckle a bit.
The poke is rewarded with yellowed eyes, all the poise of a cat ready to pounce yet, it never comes. Chester lets out a mad giggle behind the rim of his bottle, going to get another one as Leto bitterly explains that this situation is bigger than both of them. The witch doesn't respond for a while, he has nothing to say. Should he play the bleeding heart? Maybe you don't feel like taking risks when you live forever - mortality means there's a certain aspect of grabbing life by the balls, because it's so limited.
What does Chester know, anyways? He picks off another bottle top with his teeth.
"Suit yourself," If the reality made both parties miserable...then that's on them. Leto and Levi had lifetimes to get back together, after all.
"So weird, how you two don't look alike," The witch comments around a grin, getting a drink out for Levi to. "It's not bullshit! It's 100% the honest truth," Chester jokes with a shrug yet, the reasonings still don't come out. Leto is barely an acquaintance, never mind friend...he isn't about to go spilling his guts out to the guy.
"Look, I just helped Suresh out of a situation during the Jazz Festival, and he offered me membership as thanks. That simple, really,"
"Unless he refuses me, I'll be standing alongside you. I owe a lot to a certain Naga." And that pull that they could never explain. For some reasons, Chester makes Mingi feel like they can tell him everything, but not here out in the open. But their instinct has never failed them, so maybe next time they're in a quiet place together and Chester wants to hear them, Mingi will talk about more serious stuff.
"Knowing you'll try is more than enough. I know better than ask people to promise something impossible." They know though that what they'll say next might bring trouble to them faster than they wanted, but they cannot stop themselves. "If you ever need help, no matter what it is or the time; I'll always be there for you, Chester."
"Nothing wrong with that." They say with fake arrogance.
"So all drama and sappiness aside; guess we need to celebrate you tonight, yeah?!"
He's curious to hear everything that Mingi owes though, figures that's a conversation for another time, somewhere more private. Chester wonders, briefly, if it has something with all those ghosts that linger within the water...he should really go talk to them at some point, if at all possible. Maybe get Mingi asleep in a bath? Or pool...they'll figure it out later.
"That's right back at you. Anything, Mingi,"
It felt odd, and rare, and special to have found such a good friend here. Chester expected...what, from New Orleans? Sex, drugs, dead by 40. Not a real, human connection with anyone. Strange how life continued to be full of surprises, even after all the shit it had flung Chester's way.
"My favourite type of celebration. Come on, baby Guinness are on me,"
Mingi laughs happily, giving Chester a kiss on the cheek. "I was thinking more along the lines of showing the picture to people with our phones. Ass printing is so 1990's." They tease, still smiling brightly. It's always such a joy to be around Chester. "Also, I'd do it if I wasn't terrified of losing my internship!" They admit in jest.
"Perfect!" The intern can totally tell their friend is faking it. They open the box and sone steam comes out from the heating pad inside. "I call them sushi, but it's homemade rolls. And yes, I made them with pieces of fried chicken. I'm sure you'll love them. If not, I'll eat them." They're not lying about eating the other's portion if needed. Sometimes, it feels like Mingi is eating for five people.
"Hm, in that case," He leaned in conspiratorially, eyes looking around for anybody that would blab or be tempted to ease-drop -the two were thankfully quite alone. "Don't drink the green punch. The green-er punch, one on the left. A few swigs of that and you'll lose your internship, as well as sense of pride and dignity," For Chester had spiked it quite heavily with a myriad of good quality tequilas and then covered up the bite with more juice and lime - that was a citrus tang, not agave.
It really does warm the cockles of Chester's heart in a way he's not used to, the way that Mingi always tries. They know he likes fried food, so they added fried food. Nobody in his entire life had done such little, selfless things that made the mailman feel seen. Not in the way he usually wanted to be seen - Chester wanted attention, thrived of spectacle but...this. It was genuine, and real, and if he thought about it too much he got upset.
"I do like your fried chicken," He muses with a little smile. After all, it does smell good. All their cooking does, even if Chester doesn't like it. The product of childhood malnourishment and poverty means only chicken tenders and instant noodles are acceptable fair.
"I'll spot next time for lunch, I promise,"
