A vibrant spectrum of magic energies moved through the air, brushing against each other, and sometimes merging together to create something new, only to dissipate before anything could manifest. The dance of auras emanating from each attendee mesmerized Ryn, but his fascination did not stop there. He also noticed the traces of magical imprints left behind on some surfaces and, in fewer cases, people. Though he knew not what that indicated exactly. Wayra once explained to him that magicae were like magical signatures, unique to each individual and ever-changing. While two people may possess the same color of magical energy, how the aura presented themselves differed from each other. Magicae told tales of their bearersā innermost qualitiesāa blend of their experiences, emotions, and aspirations. Although he had the knowledge, Ryn did not quite fully grasp what Wayra meant until he actually saw it through the lens that was crafted using the knowledge gained from examining a magical spyglass.
Ryn & Peter
Ryn slid the last book into place with a soft thump and adjusted the lamp until the light speared through the holes in the orderly row of bookmarks. Peter let out a low whistle as the bookcase swung aside to reveal a dark passage beyond. But the excitement slid from his face as they crossed the threshold into a modest room. āThatāsā¦ only, slightly, very, extremely disappointing.ā The redhead turned in a slow circle, gaze sweeping the area. āWhereās the treasure? The deep dark secrets? The big revelation? I expected more from a hidden room that has a puzzle for a lock.ā
āDonāt dismiss it just yet. It was hidden for a reason.ā Ryn crossed to the bookshelf and trailed his fingers along the spines until he found the one he sought. He eased a familiar embossed spellbook from its place on the shelf, just far enough to reveal the cover. āStarcatcher. Amongst other things of value.ā
āLike this?ā
Ryn turned his head at the question. Peter was peering through a spyglass, the end pointed directly at him. āThatā¦ wasnāt here yesterday.ā
āYou should check it out then.ā Peter held out the spyglass.
Ryn lifted it to his eye, breath catching as the value of the artifact became clear.
What might he have seen if the spyglass had found its way to him sooner? Could Ryn have changed the course of events or was Udoās fate sealed the moment he and Wayra cursed Ryn?
Ryn & Udo & Wayra
āWhat?ā was all Ryn could say as he stared into the blue expanse that was Udoās unfathomably calm eyes.
Udo regarded him with the infinite patience of a father striving to impart wisdom to a child not yet ready to grasp it. He rephrased, speaking slowly, clearly. āI will be dead before this day is done.ā
The repetition brought no further enlightenment. āWhat...do you mean?ā
Udo smiled, pitying the poor child. āNnenne came while we slept and revealed to me what is to come. The powers that be are angry and they demand blood as payment for myāā Here he paused, reconsidering the accuracy of the word before continuing on, āāour, offense.ā
āAnd Nnenne has granted her blessing.ā At this, Udoās eyes took on a feverish glint, his smile stretched wider in naked joy, and his voice infused with a strange euphoria. āNnenne will allow me to die.ā The rapturous delight in his own impending demise was a knife to Rynās heart. He looked away, unable to bear witness.
A large, warm hand settled on Rynās head, tousling the inky strands. Just as he did when they first met, all those years ago. āDo not despair for me, Fritz.ā Udo whispered, voice as familiar and comforting as his touch. āYou know I have long awaited this day.ā
Indeed, Ryn understood it all too well.
Ever since the day a mighty wave swallowed the Eastern Islandsāand Nnenne claimed a handful of āchosenā isles as her ownā, reunion with his family, claimed by the depths, had been his long-held desire. His faith, the tenets of Nnenneās doctrine, forbade him from seeking them out himself. Only an honorable death would reunite them. For Nnenne taught her Grandchildren to never squander oneās life, unless it was spent to preserve anotherās.
Who was Ryn to deny Udoās deepest wish? Though it grieved himāCreators how it grieved himāto let Udo go, would it not be the blackest selfishness to beg him to remain? The warrior was tired, so bone-deep tired, weary of livingā¦ Ryn must let him free.
Restless, biting sadness spread within.
Sensing the shift in Ryn, Udo traced patterns in the air and prayed. āFritz Hendrix of Erwynn. May you one day be free of your chains and find true happiness.ā Ryn closed his eyes, savoring the cadence of Udoās baritone while they shared their last moments together. āIf you cannot free yourself, I pray that you meet someone who can.ā
Udoās breath was warm against Ryn's skin as he brushed featherlight kisses to each closed eyelid, and then to the center of his furrowed brow, bestowing Nnenneās blessing. Suddenly his arms were around him.
Ryn caught the scent of the salty sea, felt the heat of the tropical sun, heard the hush of waves breaking on distant shores and the siren song of that place Ryn could not follow, calling Udo home. Just as quickly, the sensations slipped away.
āForgive me for not seeing your journey to its end.ā Udo murmured.
Ryn shook his head, sinking into the solidity of the embrace one last time. āYouāve done plenty. Thank you for sticking with us as long as you did. Weāll miss youā¦ā His voice hitched, āCreators, I miss you already.ā The two held each other tightly, wordlessly, before finally letting go.
āLive long and well, Fritz. If Nnenne wills it, we will meet again in my next life. Maybe by then itāll be a safer world where you can tell me your true name.ā
āWhy wait till then?ā If reincarnation was possible, it was this Udo who wanted to know Fritzās real name. Ryn had no desire to tether Udoās new life to him again just to learn his name. No. Ryn would not have that. Udo should be free. Unburdened and unbound, ready to embrace whatever new life awaited him.
The wind whipped across the castle parapets, stirring Rynās dark hair and coat. āLike the rest of my family, I was given two names. One is Fritz Hendrix,ā he began slowly, āthe other isāā
A sudden cacophony of wings interrupted him as a shadow burst between the two men in a flutter of inky feathers. One of them brushed against Rynās throat, soft as a whisper. Hush, it seemed to say.
The raven alighted on the nearby merlon, fixing the pair with polished jets that glittered with uncanny intelligence.
āWayra,ā he breathed. They cocked their head to one side in response.
Of what, ā³ā³ā³ did not know until he attempted to reveal his name once more and found that he was unable.
He tried to speak, to give voice to the name on his tongue, but nothing came out. Even thinking it felt strangely muffled, the syllables jumbling in his mind. Both the names ā³ā³ā³ and āāāāā sat just out of reach, hazy shapes behind the veil the spell had drawn across his thoughts. In fact, he realized with dawning unease that he could not so much as think of a single word or detail that would identify himā¦ only the vagueness of their presence.
ā³ā³ā³ās mouth opened and closed mutely. He could say nothing to reveal who and what he was. Wayra and Udo had sealed them all away, just as they had hoped.
Udo gave a satisfied nod to the raven. āIt worked.ā Wayra shook their feathers, clearly pleased with their handiwork.
ā³ā³ā³ raised his eyes to Udo questioningly, āWhy?ā
āIf my death was ordained because of those men I eliminated, thereās no doubt Black Rose is involved in magic. Considering the extent of their influence, we must assume they have access to powerful, dangerous magic. Including spells that can invade your mind.ā
āWe cannot risk your identity being revealedāā Udo grimaced as the curse took hold. When the moment passed, he looked at ā³ā³ā³, resolute. āI am a proud Grandson of Nnenne. I will honor the oath sworn, as you have yours. Your adversaries will gain nothing from me, in life or death.ā
āWhatever happens, I will protect you.ā And ā³ā³ā³ knew Udo meant it with every fiber of his being.
The magicae surrounding the attendees flickered and guttered like a dying candle before vanishing entirely from view as the enchantment of the lenses wore off. Ryn lifted the spectacles from his face then lowered it into his handkerchief. With a subtle sleight of hand, he replaced the ruined lens for a new one, the motion hidden behind the pretense of polishing.
The spectacles were ordinary in appearanceāsimple wire-rimmed glasses with circular lenses. However, there was more to them than met the eye. An extra slot on each side of the frames allowed for a secondary, bespelled lens to be swapped in and out. It was these additional lenses that gave Ryn the ability to see what normally went unseen. The two-lensed spectacles were crafted by studying the spyglass they discreetly borrowed from the hidden room tucked away in the castle library.
Ryn and Wayra spent hours analyzing the spyglassās magical components before attempting to recreate the effect in a wearable form. Their efforts proved successful, if imperfect: the spell burnt out quickly, especially when exposed to strong magicae.
Still, the glimpses were worth it. Once the newest lens settled into place, the garden erupted into kaleidoscopic brilliance once more. Ryn spared a glance at the case that held the remaining lenses, mentally tallying the few left. He would have to use them sparingly if he wanted to keep observing the hidden energies that moved through this place. Until Wayra made more, that is. For now, he drank in the temporary sight. Soon this lens, too, would fade.
Ryn lifted the porcelain teacup to his lips, the surface smooth and cool against his fingers. Steam wisped up to curl around his cheek as he surveyed the auras of the Danrose members from over the rim, reading their magicae. He noted the variations in the auras of the Danroses present. Each colorāblue, green, red, and orangeāand the intensity in which each glowed, spoke volumes about the nature of each Danrose, betraying truths its owner never intended to reveal to others and perhaps even to themself.
When he saw King Edinās magicae, Ryn hid his surprise behind another sip of tea. He had his suspicions, but he was still unprepared for the confirmation. Though it did not absolve King Edin of the atrocities committed against Rynās family or Caesoniaās people, Ryn pitied him. He wondered when the kingās magicae had first begun to take on such a coloration. Then another, arguably more ludicrous, idea surfaced: If Ryn uncoveredāpossibly even remedyāthe cause, was there hope for a peaceful resolution? Could they all find salvation?
Ryn took another long sip of tea, turning away from the king. Across the garden, Lord Smithwood stood off to the side, not mingling with the guests as much as Ryn expected him to. The aura around the lord was predominantly white with a yellowish tinge. It pulsed slowly, rhythmically, reminding Ryn of the steady beat of a heart. The tempo was disrupted only when someone tried to converse with him. At which point, the pulse spiked and fluttered like a flock of sparrows startled into flight.
That was not, however, what disturbed Ryn.
At the fringes of Lord Smithwoodās magicae clung the faint imprints of someone elseās magical energy. The shadow writhed and twisted, shifting into anguished visages that opened their mouths in silent screams, eyes hollow. Even from a distance, their torment was evident.
Feeling his gaze, Ryn felt an odd sensation of the faces shifting their attention onto him. One after another they sharpened their focus untilā
Nothing. The colors. The faces. All gone. The enchanted lens rendered into mere glass.
Ryn removed his spectacles from the bridge of his nose and placed them into their velvet-lined case with care. He should keep a close eye on Lord Smithwood.
Time: MORNING Location: INT. MAMA MALACHI'S SUMMERHOUSE - RIVER PORT / EXT. WOODS - RIVER PORT Interactions/Mentions: The golden lion furry @Helo; The lady in a purple dress @Tae; The guy cosplaying as an elf @princess; Giant spider(s) @Alivefalling Equipment:
ā Attire from Earth ā Backpack ā Smartphone ā Wallet and key ā Computer ā Headphones ā Spare eyeglasses ā Plastic bag ā Letter
For a blink, Zion's guilt trip worked on Jun. Then renewed frustration replaced the torrent of shame. Why was he suddenly the bad guy here? Why should he owe Malachi anything for appointing himself group leader? How did having the human decency to feed his teammates and captive negate how the man judged Jun at every turn, patronized him, and ignored his wish to leave? On top of all that, he was supposed to be grateful? Being a pessimist didn't make him a masochist!
"Not from my perspective." His voice sounded as frosty as he felt. "I'm not part of your pride. I'm your captive." Jun jabbed his food with a fork. "You guys go. If there's any real danger, you're better off without me. What's the point of dragging around someone useless and unwilling?" He jabbed again. "Unless you want cannon fodder." And again.
The lady's "new friends," comment rang hollow in his ears.
If anyone spoke to him after that, Jun didn't hear it. He was only vaguely aware of shapes moving around as the others prepared to leave.
Suddenly, without warning, he felt a pair of large, very hairy, hands grab him. Before Jun could react, he was lifted up out of his chair and hoisted into the air. He let out an involuntary yelp as his view shifted, and Jun found himself being slung over Zion's broad shoulder. His feet dangled helplessly midair and his face was smushed into the lion's back. "I'm not going!" Jun protested, voice muffled by fur. He squirmed and wiggled, in an attempt to break freeāhe even pounded his fists against Zion but he just laughed, completely unfazed.
It wasn't long before Jun tired himself out, resigning to being lugged around like a sack of potatoes.
Save for one mumbled sentence ("Wherever the green stuff is," when totally-just-a-friendly-neighbor-who-can-hold-her-own-in-a-fight asked which direction Malachi headed), Jun stayed silent and limp as a rag doll after they left the house.
His ears pricked at the sound of crying. Jun pushed himself up and twisted his upper body into an Eschergirl pose, straining to get a better look at what was going onā¦. and saw the spider. Either that was the best animatronic money could buy, or climate change had whipped up extra large giant spiders down south. Or was this what they meant by island gigantism?
Kenia, Zion, and dead weight Jun head into the woods where they find Malachi and a child surrounded by giant spiders. While Kenia jumps in, Jun is dumbstruck by the size of the spider.
Time: MORNING Location: INT. MAMA MALACHI'S SUMMERHOUSE - RIVER PORT Interactions/Mentions: The golden lion furry @Helo; The lady in a purple dress @Tae; The other guy whoās also cosplaying as an elf @GingerBobOh; The guy cosplaying as an elf @princess Equipment:
ā Attire from Earth ā Backpack ā Smartphone ā Wallet and key ā Computer ā Headphones ā Spare eyeglasses ā Plastic bag ā Letter
Jun raised his head from his breakfast. He kept his gaze fixed on the snout, afraid of getting burnt by the disappointment in Zion's eyes.
"Why wouldn't I?" What about the past week gave the impression that Jun wanted to hang out with his captors (at the risk of Stockholm syndrome setting in)? And really, "It's not like I'd be any help."
When the new lady spoke, he stared at her toned arms to avoid eye-contact. The "random-friendly-neighbor-who-dropped-by-to-say-hello" was better built than he wasānot that that was saying much. Anything, even a leaf blowing in the gentle breeze, could easily take Jun down. Honestly, a dying man had better odds of survival than he did.
He nodded at the lady's suggestion. "Iām sure he'd appreciate the extra help." Glancing around at the group, he considered the composition of their team for the first time. They hadn't encountered combat yet, but their party build seemed decent enough. "You got a heavy hitting warrior, two magesāone focused on defense, one on offenseā, and now a rogue who can switch roles ifā¦" He paused and looked at the purple dress lady again. "Actually, are you a bard? Or maybe you're more of an assassin?" If the latter, they had a DPS heavy party. That would mean Enstille was their primary source for party buffs. "You'll have to make sure no one targets Enstilleā¦ but I think it should be fine if you guys stick together." Especially if the GMs were level scaling. Jun's stats alone should tank the enemy's level to 1. Unless they scale based on the strongest player. Then he'd be screwed. But, he'd also be the only liability. The fight should go smoothly for the others.
His mind drifted as he wondered how combat mechanics worked in Avalia compared to MMOs.
Jun agreed that the others should go help Malachi.
Time: MORNING Location: RIVER PORT Interactions/Mentions: Zion @Helo; Enstille@GingerBobOh; Kenia @Tae
"... Would you accompany me for a stroll?"
Jun tensed. Malachi was trying to separate him from the others. Why? What did he have to say or do to Jun that he couldn't say or do in front of them? Better yet, what was Malachi planning to do if he refused?
He clutched his backpack closer. Who was he kidding? There was never a choice. He could either prolong the inevitable or face whatever "Malachi" (the character Malachi or the guy roleplaying him) had planned now. Best case scenario, he wouldn't hurt him. Even better case scenario, Jun would be allowed to go home. Though, with his luck, Jun doubted either of those outcomes. If anything, the gamer in him told him that this was the best setup for a battle encounter, the perfect distraction to shove his concerns and wishes aside and advance the story campaign to the juicy bits that the others were itching for. "... Sure."
The spicy sweetness of the ginger candy invigorated him to rise to his feet, but didn't give him the courage to put his glasses back on. If this ended up being the worst case scenario, Jun rather not see it coming. Literally.
With the grace and elegance of a blind bat that couldn't echolocate, Jun navigated through the house. He stumbled over almost every piece of furniture in his path, bumped into what he thought was one of the LARPers, broke something he prayed was nothing valuable, and smacked into the pillar before he finally managed to shuffle out the door.
Unfazed by the spectacle, Malachi rose in tandem with Jun, briefly glancing at the others around them. "Don't do anything stupid," he commanded with an air of authority before following Jun. He watched nonchalantly as the young man navigated through the house with, at best, half a functioning brain cell. Determined to remain patient, Malachi gracefully maneuvered after him, biting on the inside of his cheek to keep from yelling.
Stay calm. Donāt say anything. Donāt do itā¦
Malachi's breath caught in his throat as a portrait tumbled off the wall thanks to Jun bumping into it, and he hurried over to the fallen frame. His usual grace abandoned him as he crashed to his knees and cradled the broken frame in his hands. The broken glass was shattered over the floor beneath him, poking into his skin. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at it, his normally composed gaze darkening with emotions he struggled to conceal. His expression became inscrutable as he hung his head There was a long pause before he set it down and rose to his feet, the glass crackling audibly under his boots.
He moved after Jun and shut the door once outside. The bustling noise of the town filled the awkward silence finally. With the most unnatural, forced smile, Malachi spoke softly, āLovely weather for a walk, isnāt it?ā
Although Malachi controlled his voice, every syllable sounded strained through gritted teeth. Jun's head bobbed, "But... That's not what you want to say." The thought leapt from his mind to his lips before he could stop it. Jun's bottom lip shrank into his mouth. "S-sorry," he stammered for the tenth time since he broke the unknown object.
āNo.ā Malachi agreed, his eyes meeting his with unwavering resolve. āItās not.ā He paused at the sidewalk to allow Jun to catch up. The elf took a deep breath before continuing, his tone earnest and sincere. āBut I would like to get along with you. I was thinkingā¦ perhaps you could explain to me your point of view. What you remember before you and I started this journey and how itās made you feel.ā
His gaze remained steady and serious. ā Then Iād like to also make you understand mine.ā
Jun stared at the ground in silence for a good long time. "What's there to say?" he finally muttered. "I'm just some pathetic guy who fell down the stairs because he couldn't get a plastic bag off his face. You people found me and took me hereā¦ to 'Avalia'." His tongue fiddled with the ginger candy in his mouth. "Don't know why any of you thought that was a good ideaā¦ Whatever it is you want from me, you got the wrong guy. I'm no one and I've nothing valuable. I want toā¦ have to go back home."
Malachi frowned. He paused before asking simply, ā...Do you understand where Avalia is, Jun?ā
"In a different dimension from Earth," Jun said to Malachi the character and paraphrased GM Vaeril's welcoming speech, "where 'magic pulses and the land is beautiful beyond comprehension.' It's ruled by the evil dark elves and you're on team good guys."
To the player playing Malachi, Jun said, "I understand the setting, it's a classic. Easy for newbies to get into and flexible enough to add details later. I like it, I do. A-and I know you guys put a lot of effort into this. I justāI have to go." He sighed, "Got adulting to do." Familiar faces filled his mind, making his chest tighten. "ā¦ People I missā¦"
Malachiās brows lifted. He folded his arms. Though the words did not exactly add up in his brain, he felt he was perhaps on a route to understanding his perspective. However, instead of commenting, he decided heād hear out Jun as much as he could first. With a wave of his hand, he gestured for them to begin walking down toward the beach as he asked, āWhat do you mean by the setting, exactly? Andā¦ What are newbies?ā
The weight on Jun's chest grew heavier as his heart sank at the realization that this conversation was a farce; "Malachi" wasn't listening, he was just pretending to be. This thought left Jun feeling more isolated and unheard than before.
Exhaustion suddenly washed over him.
Jun dragged his feet over to the closest structure and slumped against it. "Setting as inā¦ where all this takes place," he explained to no one who actually needed the clarification. "Newbie, meaning newcomer."
Since this wasn't going to be about leaving the campaign, and not remotely brave enough to test his luck with the cranky team leader, Jun switched to the other topic mentioned. "Uhā¦ soā¦ What's your story, 'Malachi Elowyn'?"
āSetting.ā Malachi repeated as if tasting the word. ā...Like a chosen setting for a novelā¦ā
He fell silent as he took a moment to mentally work out what was occurring here. In combination of the strange things Jun had uttered over the last week and what he had just said, he was starting to get a decent idea that Jun thought this entire situation was not real.
āJunā¦ā He paused to stare down at him. For a moment, he saw young elven child with long blonde ringlets and a pout on her face as she swore allegiance to her unique way of thinking. At first, he thought he had conjured her vision in his mind because Jun had requested his story, but he slowly realized that had not been the reason.
Regardless, It hurt to see her. He didnāt want to, yet there she was intruding in his memory even when he tried his hardest to push all of them away.
However, he could not push her away. He knew he needed to see her. Perhaps Rosamira would have been able to understand Jun in a way he could not. No matter what anyone had told her, she had always been determined to see the world in her own way. It had been difficult to get through to her, but when he had, it had been because he had been short and sweet. āThis isnāt a fabricated scenarioā¦ This is real. ā He took a step back and opened his palm. Flickers of light appeared in small flashes as energy began to conjure above. A small ball of light energy began to grow from nothing, growing in size and brightness. āI have a feeling you may tell me you believe this is a illusion, but I ask that you hover your hands near it and feel the heatā¦ From what I understand, no one on earth harnesses such ability. I need you to understand, for your safety, that you are not on earth anymore, Jun. You are in an entirely different place.ā The light that danced in his hands reflected in his still blue eyes. Allowing a bit more intensity to fall into his gentle tone, he added, āI implore you to tell me what it is I need to do to make you believe me.ā
Jun flinched as the figure he assumed was Malachi approached. Instinctively, he raised his backpack as a shield. However, whatever the other man had planned, he stopped short. Instead, a bright light illuminated the area. Without his glasses he couldn't tell, but Malachi was probably performing a pretty cool magic trick.
Believe me.
The sincerity in Malachi's voice took Jun back to the day he witnessed a patient having a psychotic episode in the middle of the ER. They ranted about the evil forces being upon them, urging everyone to unite and wield long-lost magical powers to fend off the impending doom. It had taken a team of nurses and a security guard to restrain them.
Was Malachi like that patient? Or was Jun the one losing touch with reality?
A long pause stretched out as Jun stared into the luminous display. "I don't know. There isn't much I think you can do," he finally admitted.
"Earth might not have real magic, but there are magicians and illusionists who do that kind of trick. With enough money and time, anyone can build a theme park like this. There's even communities that dress up like the people here and have fun playing pretend."
Jun looked up at the blurry shape above the bright orb. "ā¦ No one's given me a reason to believe any of this is 'real'." He hesitated. Just when he was ready to add further, the ginger candy made a surprise appearance in his windpipe, causing him to cough and splutter uncontrollably.
Once the coughing subsided, Jun, his eyes teary and voice raspy, managed to croak one question, "W-why should I trust my kid-kidnappers?"
Malachiās face remained stoic throughout Junās words. He shut his hand, the orb dissipating, and then folded his arms. āThereās been reasons to believe itās real Jun. Itās just easier not toā¦ Itās easier to believe this is all a game and everything here is an illusion than to accept that your reality has changedā¦ And perhaps you have lost everything. Believe I know.ā He chewed the inside of his lip a moment.
The way Malachi said all that rubbed Jun the wrong way. This is starting to feel like an Asch Conformity Experiment, he thought.
āYou canāt go home, Jun, because then-ā
āSOMEBODY HELP ME!ā A shrill voice suddenly filled the air. It was obviously coming from behind the homes and in the thick of the woods, but it was close enough to pierce through the air and cause several folks walking by to pause.
On cue. His gamer instincts were right: this "heart-to-heart" was the best setup for a battle encounter. Jun sighed and turned to the direction they came from."That's that then. Good talk. Time to save the day, hero."
āCome with me.ā Malachi said without hesitation.
"No thank you. Go have fun." Jun kept walking. "I'll tell the others about the encounter so they won't miss out on loot and EXP. I don't want to participate." Even though he saw it coming from a mile away, he still felt salty for being used like this.
Not like they needed him anyways.
āItās not an encounter, Junā¦.ā He sighed with frustration. āFine. Go inside.ā He waved him off and waited to see Jun go back inside the house before running off on his own.
It took some effort to backtrack and find the door handle. Still, Jun managed to get back inside the right house and walk toward the voices. "Hey guys. So you know, Malachi ran off into the woods." Or, at least, that's what he thought the green mass was.
Having escaped the grouch's clutches, Jun relaxed. His stomach, which had been tied in knots, now roared for sustenance. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, he hastily put his glasses on before getting himself some breakfast.
Malachi and Jun took a walk outside to try to reach an understanding. Their conversation was cut short by a cry for help. Malachi rushed to the woods to investigate while Jun returned to the house to have breakfast. He let the others know where Malachi went.
Date: Sola, 23rd Time: Early morning Rynās gaze remained fixed on the prince, eyes following his every move with a sense of silent fascination. Positioned at a comfortable distance, the count stood nearby, an ever-present shadow that faded into the periphery.
The princeās bewildered expression and clumsy movements were a stark contrast to his regal demeanor. His lack of culinary prowess could not have been more evident. Every attempt was met with tiny missteps, transforming the task of cooking an egg into an insurmountable challenge for him. Yet, despite the adversity, the prince persisted. Never once voicing a complaint, plunging headlong into uncharted territory.
Judging purely from the state of his office, Prince Wulfric appeared to be a high-achiever who was both self-reliant and self-demandingāqualities capable of shaping him into a king who could create a better kingdom for the people or a tyrant, thus perpetuating the cycle.
In the kitchen, Prince Wulfric only reinforced this impression. After explicitly stating what his skills were, Prince Wulfric challenged himself by choosing a meal that did not utilize those skills. He did not bother to ask what Rynās skills were; he simply decided to take on the task of cooking all by himself. What stood out the most was that, from start to finishāfrom the moment he scoured the kitchen for tools and ingredients, to the moment he extricated the overcooked, unseasoned, and excessively oily scrambled eggs from the skilletā, the prince never asked for assistance or advice from anyone. āYouāre not used to asking for help, are you?ā
Despite Wulfricās lack of cooking skills, and the eggs heād cooked being what they were, he arched an eyebrow at the count. āWhy would I need help?ā It was a simple dish - or so heād been convinced.
āDid you not? Correct me if I am wrong, because it seemed like you were struggling from step one. Thereās no harm in asking where the tools and ingredients are, or how to cook a sunny-side up.ā
Though his countenance was of one who would very much like to stubbornly deny it, the prince remained silent; they both knew he had been. It would be strange to say that he shouldnāt have struggled or needed help, but that was closer to his sentiments. It was also true that asking hadnāt occurred to him, since people usually either offered their help (freely or for a price), gave critique unprompted, or he simply ordered them to do what needed to be done.
Ryn took a bite of the scrambled egg. Contrary to its creatorās grim silence, the dish was palatable. āItās a wonderful first attempt, Adel! We can certainly make use of this.ā Ignoring the princeās skeptical glare, Ryn took another bite, his mind already exploring recipes that could incorporate the princeās eggs. When he found the one, he turned to Prince Wulfric, āI have an idea. Why donāt we work together this time?ā
āI assumed you would make the ābaconā part of eggs and bacon,ā he informed the count dryly. Thatās about the level of working together heād expected. But by the way he spoke, Hendrix appeared to possess some cooking proficiency. Still, the prince remained unconvinced. āYou want to incorporate that,ā with his fork, he pointed at the overcooked offender, āinto your idea?ā
āIn which case, you must learn to articulate your thoughts more clearly, Adel.ā Ryn replied with lighthearted frankness. āWe, the common folk, lack the ability to read minds.ā
Wulfric huffed, because this was about reading intentions, not minds. āI stated the goal,and proceeded to pursue it in part. Is it not clear enough that the remainder should be done by someone else?ā That someone else in question had been entirely content to study him, earnest and zealously intent. Had it been someone else, he might have thought it was for personal entertainment. But while Hendrix obviously wanted something, he wasnāt yet sure what that was.
āNo, it is not clear.ā The count gave a quick smile. āThatās what makes assumptions so dangerousā¦ and why communication is vital if you want people to work at top efficiency.ā
Ryn regarded the plate of eggs resting on the table. Unseasoned meant that they possessed the potential to be transformed into something extraordinary with the addition of the right ingredients. Overcooked did not mean burnt or rotten. There was still room for improvement, a chance for change. āItās not too late.ā He said to the next king of the Danrose bloodline. āThereās still hope for you.ā For a prolonged instant, the black pools of Rynās eyes remained locked on grayish blue before turning away.
Wulfric wasnāt aware of all the implications of those words, but he could very well tell when he was being judged. So, for that moment, as they locked gazes, he stared down at Hendrix, a sense of pride exuding from the royal. There was an air of cold, haughty superiority about the prince while the count formed whatever opinions about him that he would.
He stood there; unmoving, unflinching, unapproachable.
But perhaps, not truly unchangeable.
When the count moved onto their cooking mission, Wulfric eased his imposing demeanour. He was resolved to follow through, and wasnāt opposed to heeding Hendrix, since he was obviously the more experienced cook of the two. Thus, the two men began anew, this time with a more cooperative approach.
āWe wonāt be skinning anything, but I require your expertise in cutting, dicing, and slicing.ā
Together, they gathered additional ingredients and neatly organized the kaleidoscope of colors on the countertop. At the heart of the culinary stage sprawled a slab of uncut bacon, its marbled fat glistening in the play of light. Beside it, a block of cheese displayed its proud golden rind and rich, creamy hue. A procession of produce encircled the central duo, each one a burst of life and flavor. Plump, sun-kissed tomatoes shared space with onions cloaked in delicate papery layers. Glossy bell peppers spanned a spectrum from vibrant green to fiery red, adding vivacious energy to the ensemble. While the verdant bundle of spinach and cilantro cascaded like elegant emerald ribbons. Amidst this medley, a cluster of mushrooms added an earthy touch to the composition. On the sideline, the quartetāthe flour canister, oil cruet, salt cellar, and pepper castorāstood in unity, awaiting their moment to join the symphony of flavors.
Throughout the entire process, he injected abridged lessons about the economic and business aspects of agriculture in the Northern Kingdoms, using the ingredients as examples and highlighting the distinctive practices that set Caesonia apart from other countriesāfor better and for worse. Pausing in the middle of a lesson on occasion to share tidbits of trivia about the ingredients they were using or to impart advice on how to cook them properly.
Here and there, the countās lessons turned into surprisingly in-depth discussions, since Wulfric was well-versed in economics. The prince argued the merits and demerits of particular models and practices. However, he also interjected with an idea or three on possible improvements pertaining to economy, business, and agriculture. Too, he shared the rare tidbit of his own experiences of coming across ā to him ā unusual meals, ingredients, or customs.
Abruptly, Ryn asked. āWhat did you notice when watching the kitchen staff?ā
āTheyāre better skilled, and more used to working with each other,ā he replied with a shrug, because that much was obvious. He turned half-way in their direction to regard them once more. They had advanced in their meal preparations; they werenāt making only the usual breakfast, brunch, and/or lunch. Today, they were tasked with supplying the Tea Party event as well.
āThere is a particular order which I appreciateā¦ā Wulfric gestured at the process unfolding in front of them. He expounded upon what, to him, was key: that each person acted in accordance to their role and skills; that those who could do more strived to prove themselves yet that the whole remained unimpeded by excessive, self-sabotaging competitiveness; that if there was a lack, someone else stepped in; the existent hierarchy; the efficiency of their operations, and the wondrous final products which emerged as a result of it.
It was unnecessary to follow Prince Wulfricās gaze; Ryn already witnessed the seamless collaboration among these individuals the day before. Their livelihood and well-being depended on it. Although the princeās acknowledgment of the servantsā efforts was appreciated, there were other matters the count wished him to take note of. ā... Is there anything else you noticed or thought?ā
āEach individual and their quirks,ā Wulfric sighed. āIs that your point?ā He guessed.
āLetās seeā¦ā He tracked each of them, analyzing. He didnāt know any of them, but discerning peopleās habits, traits, and motives was a common practice for him.
āThe head chef,ā he first settled on the older man with close-cropped graying hair and short trimmed mutton chops. āHis work is very much a matter of pride to him.ā That was apparent by how he regarded each meal, from its conception to its conclusion. Each success served as a testament to his expertise. āHeās confident, and feels secure in his position.ā He was aware of the few talents surrounding him, yet was unthreatened by them. āBut heās somewhat rigid, and - how did Zarai term that? - a sexist.ā In the few interactions heād witnessed, the chef was attentive to his most immediate male underlings, but ranged from dismissive to denigrating of the female staff.
With the exception of one. āSheās the one he can respect, possibly due to her seniority.ā That woman was old; thinned silver hair tied into a bun, face wrinkled, weathered, and dry. āSheās also the type of person for whom this is her lifeās work.ā Yet she wasnāt even the underchef. āShe is more concerned with cultivating the next generation. Kindly, but can keep them in line. Knows how to conserve her strength, howeverā¦ā She was tired, strained, and with a certain heaviness about her. Focusing visibly posed her a challenge. āThe ailments of old age, I suppose,ā he concluded.
Wulfric went on, picking and selecting a few people to focus on. āHe likes to experiment, and is familiar with foreign cuisine. Thereās some strife with his more traditional superior.ā An energetic youth from Felipina with a warm brown complexion, his black hair pinned up and covered.
āShe is meticulous and exacting.ā A woman with a heart-shaped face and braided wheat hair, whose portly appearance and soft features were belied by her intense, singular concentration on a given task. āGood for fine, delicate work. Though, she struggles where speed is preferred over finesse.ā
āHe is evidently enamored with swords, and fantasizes of adventure,ā he nodded at a young boy. Even after one of his overseers had already twisted his ear for the distraction, the small brunette still snuck an occasional glance over his way, marveling at his sheathed sabre.
āShe is skittish, wary of the two strangers hereā¦ā The willowy, black haired woman happened to catch his gaze, and he immediately realized it wasnāt quite fear that was causing her furtive glances. āNo, never mind.ā He promptly went on to ignore her, lest she get the fanciful notion that she had a chance, here.
Wulfric fell silent then, because heād frankly had enough of this exercise. While he had been attentive for the duration of it, he hadnāt exhibited much enthusiasm; now, he was simply bored. He was still idly watching the servants, more so for something to do, but wasnāt interested in attempting to dissect any more of them.
Prince Wulfricās astuteness for discerning the characteristics of the staff solely based on their actions in the kitchen was truly impressiveāa skill that held great promise for future business endeavors. Although he showed little enthusiasm and harbored a noticeable reluctance towards the task, he carried out what he assumed Ryn had asked of him. The longer he continued, however, his momentum waned, and he gradually abandoned his observations, descending into silence.
A laugh cut through the stillness that had settled between them. āI must confess, I did not anticipate you to delve into character analysisā¦ though, I suppose itās an essential skill in this treacherous terrain we call court life.ā He extended the plate of scrambled eggs back to its visibly bored maker. āCould you season this with a pinch of salt and pepper, and then mix it with the other ingredients? Weāre nearly finished.ā
āOh, it wasn't that?ā But if not analyzing, Wulfric didnāt know what Hendrix had meant him to do. He laughed shortly at a part of his comment, however. āThis treacherous terrain is called life,ā he remarked, darkly humorous. At the following request, he inclined his head. With exceeding caution, he seasoned the eggs, then mixed them in with the rest. He was rather looking forward to being done with thisā¦cooking.
Ryn carefully transferred the dough disk onto a hot, cast-iron skillet, where it sizzled and blistered, creating pockets of golden-brown and the scent of toasting flour filled the air. āOne might think one would have a clearer view of the world from the ivory tower, but the truth is, when youāre so distant from it all, it becomes challenging to see and hear whatās happening. ā¦ Unfortunately, when you venture too close, scrutinizing every detail, you risk overlooking other crucial pieces of the puzzle.ā
āPerhaps,ā was as far as the prince was willing to concede him on that one.
The tortilla somersaulted through the air and landed back onto the skillet. āWhen the staff came to talk to me, how much were you paying attention to what they were saying?ā
āTo the general thread of the conversation, andā¦ā
āConcerns about security? Rest assured, Adel.ā Without diverting his gaze from the sizzling skillet, he pointed the spatula in a seemingly arbitrary direction. Beyond the flurry of activity, near one of the exits, a sentinel stood watchāa knight belonging to Lady Morriganās retinue. āMy āfreedomā here is an illusion. Your cousin has taken great pains to ensure that. From what I could gather, she has taken it upon herself to be the vigilant eye in places that often go unnoticed by those upstairs.ā A brief, subtle nod of acknowledgement passed between the prince and the knight before the knight withdrew deeper into the shadows. āā¦ Word has it that she doesnāt shy away from employing brutal methods if it means safeguarding her family.ā Though the same rumors suggested less noble motivations were at play as well.
That last sentence, in and of itself, didnāt mean much to the prince. For one, violence in the name of safety (and other such lofty goals) was very much in line with how his family, and to an extent the country - nay, even humanity as a whole - operated. āYou might want to be more specific,ā Wulfric noted.
āAhā¦ so you are not awareā¦ I see.ā For the first time there was a hint of disappointment in the countās voice.
As Ryn continued to cook the tortillas, he started to list the names of the servants who approached him and what merchandise they sampled or requested. On the surface, the goods were mundane, spanning from kitchen utensils to an assortment of remedies. To the casual observer, there was nothing amiss. That is, until one paused to reflect. Why were these servants having to rely on a foreign merchant for the provision of essential items?
At first, Wulfric simply memorized what he was told. Eventually, a pattern emerged. Remedies for various ailments, from cuts, to bruises, burns, even torn or otherwise damaged flesh, and the like. āHmm.ā A frown marred his expression. It took him a bit to even begin to try and figure out the purpose of servants purchasing kitchen utensils - items which should be available to them at their workplace. Could it be they were being made to āreplaceā somethingā¦? In a similar vein, they had to get treatment from outside sources, and in a seemingly secretive manner to boot. Combining all Hendrix had said and implied while accounting for Morriganās other profession painted a rather grim picture.
āI can see how that would be a problem,ā the prince stated softly. His expression was tight, though his gaze was distant and indiscernible as he stared at nothing. He had witnessed Morriganās expertise several times. On criminals. If she was expanding her pursuits outside of those boundariesā¦
At one point, Wulfricās hand had found its way onto the countertop, fingers tapping away while he was lost in thought. So, quite possibly, Morrigan was tormenting their servants. If so, shouldnāt she be stopped?
But even as a part of him thought of the possible solutions: remove her, convince her, find someone else, run interferenceā
āAnother part of his mind conjured the innumerable senseless brutalities he was aware of.
A maid fainted? Execute her. Looked the wrong way at someone? Gouge their eyes out. Broke a vase? Off with the hand, and be grateful itās not worse. Declared a heretic? What else but the stake. Petty criminal? Flay them alive. They didnāt show reverence? Hang them. Bored of someone? Throw them away. Oh, but if theyāre useless, best send them to the afterworld! Why would it matter? Theyāre roaches, the lot of them.
Care? What care? Oh, one got too close? You let? No, no, itās a delusion, a trick! That filth, it must be cleared, it should be expunged, you will understand this one day.
Just what is this?! Treason! Treason! To the guillotine with that traitor! And donāt you dare everā
Sometimes, it felt like multiple voices were whispering, Kill. Kill him.
Wulfricās restless fingers had long come to a stop. Even as storm clouds gathered in his gaze, overcasting the crystalline blue, there was no change whatsoever in his countenance.
Yet It could sense it, even from the depths of the abyss. The nascent stirrings of a storm charged the air with tension. An electric current hummed and crackled, causing every hair to rise on end. The breeze twisted and turned with increasing vigor as it carried the unmistakable scent of petrichor and anticipation. Wisps of dark shades swirled together to merge into an ever-growing mass that swallowed the once grayish blue expanse. Thunder rumbled, a deep and primal growl that reverberated through It. As It inhaled the thickened air, It savored the tingling sensation that teased Its tongue. And grinned.
Suddenly, he affixed the count with a look. āAh, not to worry,ā there was quiet intensity in his words. āI happen to believe there is a difference between discipline and torture.ā He smiled. āI will inquire into thisā¦and deal with it appropriately.ā If there was a hint of menace, it was as fleeting as a mirage. āThank you, Count Hendrix.ā His smile was still edged with sharpness, but heād gentled his voice as much as he could.
Assuming this was the true matter the count had been leading up to all along, the prince made to take his leave.
āAh-ah-aah.ā A hand grabbed the princeās belt, preventing him from taking another step. āAre you not forgetting something?ā Rynās eyes twinkled as he pointed at the fresh tortilla stack, shredded cheese, and bowl of filling, waiting to be rolled into neat, tightly wrapped bundles.
The countās hand was captured before it could make proper contact, his wrist held in a firm grip. There was a clear warning there as Wulfric turned around. However, a look of amusement soon overtook his features, and he released the offending appendage. āAre we still doing that?ā he questioned. At Hendrixās prompt, he went on to help finish their breakfast burritos.
Nonplussed, Ryn demonstrated how to assemble a burrito. āOf course we are. Itās said that breakfast is the most important meal of the day!ā Each tortilla received a generous spoonful of the filling, followed by a sprinkle of shredded cheese. He folded the warm tortilla over the filling, then rolled it to ensure all melded harmoniously.
āThank you for indulging me. Iāve learned more about you in this hour than I have the past 28 years.ā
If that hadnāt been phrased so strangely, Wulfric might have said the same. āWell, there is something to be said about learning via interaction,ā he retorted, ever so dryly. āSince we have only met the other day, I have to question what you thought youāve been ālearning about meā from around the time we both happened to be born.ā Though he was sure he also knew far more about the count now, it was equally true that he had even more questions. The uncomfortable sensation that Hendrix had managed to get more out of this conversation, even after Wulfric had gone along with something as ridiculous as cooking to try and figure out the other man, left him feeling slightly grumpy.
However, the surprisingly delicious breakfast did make up for the princeās troubles.
āThatās precisely why I believe itās important to see some things firsthand and not rely solely on the words of othersā¦ that can lead to assumptions.ā Ryn watched the prince enjoy the burrito that contained the scrambled eggs he initially deemed a failure. āIt would be a shame to discard a potential future based on assumptions alone. Wouldnāt you say?ā
His mouth being too full to answer immediately, Wulfric allowed a minimal eye roll. He had expected Hendrix to turn his words against him; after all, the prince had done the very same to the count with his own point about learning. When it was polite to speak, he met Fritzās gaze. āYes,ā he stated. āAfter all, it does seem that my assumptions about you have also proven wrong.ā
āOh? For the better, I hope.ā Ryn took a hearty bite out of the burrito and made no effort to conceal how delicious he thought it tasted.
Wulfric, who had done the same, simply gave a curt nod. He was hungrier than heād realized.
The answer caused the count to beam. āThen we should do this again, Adel. Next time Iāll take you outside. Maybe youāll discover something that Prince Wulfric wouldnāt be able to.ā He took another mouthful of the burrito when he noticed a yellow clump on the prince. Ryn offered a napkin to him after making a wiping gesture.
A gesture he ignored, because he wasnāt finished with his breakfast yet. āIf we must,ā he sighed lightly. āBut give me more room to plan for it,ā he advised.
With his mouth preoccupied, Ryn could only nod in response. Meanwhile, his gaze clung to the stray scrambled egg with the same stubbornness as the egg clung to the prince. Retrieving the napkin, he attempted to remove it.
Wulfric had been peacefully eating, when that damned interfering man reached out much too far into his personal space - only to find the air in front of his hand obstructed by the business side of the princeās dagger. Wulfricās expression, for once, fully encapsulated the phrase what the fuck.
A juxtaposition to the countās impassiveness. His stoic countenance turned into one of pity, then eased into affable nonchalance. He swallowed what he had been chewing. āApologies, I didnāt mean to startle you. You have some egg on you.ā Ryn pointed at it.
Slowly, Wulfric sheathed his weapon, and with equal care, removed the napkin from Hendrixās grasp. He took a moment to finish his meal, watching the other man all the while, clearly bewildered. When he was done eating, he used the napkin himself, thank you very much.
ā...Try not to get killed before then.ā With that final warning, the prince departed.
āIāll do my best.ā Ryn cheerfully waved the prince off until he disappeared from view.
When his fingers brushed against the belt, Ryn sensed he had grazed something deep within Prince Wulfric. Of course there was discomfort, few welcomed the intrusion of strangers into their personal space, and the first prince seemed disinclined to tolerate such behavior even from acquaintances. Within that fleeting instant, Ryn detected something that went beyond unease. It was a feeling he had since their encounter in the entrance hall on the morning of the solstice, and grew stronger when the prince decided to equip an array of weapons and continued to wear them even within the safety of the castle. The feeling solidified as the princeās mask shattered, revealing what had been there all along. A deeply ingrained paranoia, passed down from father to son. If King Edin was hiding behind peacock feathers, then Prince Wulfric was hiding behind weapons to protect themselves from āthis treacherous terrainā¦ called life,ā where āenemiesā lurked around every corner and oneās own shadow could betray them at any given time.
Ryn released a heavy sigh, contemplating whether this was what their forefathers had envisioned for their lineage. A prince who did not feel safe in his own home, another who loathed his own blood so much he punished himself for it, and a king who indulged in excess as if to fill a void. After all the sacrifices made to keep the Danroses in power, were any of these people content with their lives?
He wrapped the fork Prince Wulfric left behind in a cloth, minimizing any risk of contamination. Now he had two samples from the Danrose bloodline. Yet, instead of a sense of accomplishment, only guilt remained.
āAs far as I can.ā Cal answered, it was the most he could offer without accidentally lying. āThe wall is for me, to look at and remember. Last night, was also mostly for me, to teach myself my own lessons in a way I wonāt forget.ā There was nothing left of his fingernails to chew at, he picked and scratched at the wound on his hand as he thought of how to explain it.
āYesterday in that room with Darryn, it wasnāt Edin in charge, that was all Alibeth. Cold and twisted and ugly; that was her real face. I have spent my whole life letting myself think that because Alibeth did not hate me as Edin does, that she loved me. That I owed her something for that. So I had to know whether she could even try to care about the things I care about. Show her that every time she, or my family, hurts other people, it hurts me too. But if she has any love for me it is only in the same way that Edin loves mirrors, with the hope that Iāll reflect something back at her that she wants to see, assure her that she is a good mother. She is not and Iāve wasted too much of my life wishing for monsters and parasites to love me back.ā Cal hadnāt needed to do anything to know he hated Edin, it had taken root long before his earliest memories, a natural instinct to reciprocate everything he saw behind Edinās eyes when Edin looked at him. But severing himself from Alibeth had been like carving out something malignant, painful and messy, and if it hadnāt been like that he wouldāve probably found a way to forget what she really was.
āThere is something dark in my family, itās in all of us, not just Edin and Alibeth and dozens of dead kings, itās in me too. They like making other people suffer, and I like making myself suffer, but either way, someone has to suffer. And if Iām not suffering, what if I wake up one day, and Iām just like Edin, not caring about anyone else? So I canāt say Iām not going to do something stupid again, but it is not because I think Iām some righteous martyr. I donāt want to forget to care.ā He stopped as his voice faltered, waiting for the tightening of his chest to relax. It was true, but it wasnāt the whole truth, and it was tempting to try and just leave that as his answer. Except if he was going to accept that they were friends, and he already had, he couldnāt just try and sneak by with half-truths.
āI care, I do, but itās not enough to make me a good person. Iām not scared of them anymore, but I am scared of me. I am not built for fixing things, I am built for ruining them. Doing better, for me, I think that looks like doing whatever I can to tear apart the Danrose reign. But if you want change for the better, something good that will last, thatās not gonna come from me. But I would like to help clear the road for it.ā
Riona slipped her hand into Callumās, effectively intercepting his handāsāhis mindāsārelentless endeavor to tamper with the woundā¦ his wounds. āStop.ā She said firmly. They stood there for a few seconds in silence before she smirked. āIf you start bleeding again, youāre going to contaminate the ingredients.ā
With a tender squeeze, she released his hand, the warmth lingering momentarily. Her steps carried her back to the table where she started removing a few objects from its surface. āI think we should try the lozenge next time. The process is too sensitive to certain chemicals. And if that burnt sugar smell on you is anything besides actual sugar, Iād rather we not risk blowing up the house.ā
āI would not blow up a house, well, unless itās my house.ā He joked back, it just seemed the better way to respond to that statement. āAnd I wouldnāt come here too far gone and fool around with magic. I am not that stupid. But I am tired and another night is not a bad idea.ā If Riona didnāt trust his current state, he wouldnāt argue about it, not when came to magic.
āI said we should try the lozenge next time. I didnāt say we shouldnāt try anything tonight. But if you really are tired we can just hang out. Donāt want your effort getting here to be a total waste.ā
It was obvious this time Riona was the one diverting the conversation. She wanted to lighten the mood, but she was also buying herself time to mull over Callumās words. His admission that his actions werenāt entirely selfless or selfish brought both a sense of relief and worry. His answer confirmed and denied Lady Morriganās claims. That meant that the scales could swing in any direction. If Riona told him, would he help her or would he ruin her?
āThe shaking, is it because you drank too much or you didnāt drink at all?ā An unfamiliar jar caught her attention, her hands picked it up for closer scrutiny. Rionaās eyebrows shot up in surprise as she swiveled to Callum, the beginnings of a smile filled with excitement spreading across her face. āIs this what I think it is?ā She raised the jar of geshrow root.
āSee, I pay attention.ā He could tell from her reaction heād at least gotten something right yesterday. āIf you ever need anything, I can do that. Just think of it as misappropriating Edinās money towards his own downfall.ā He offered, phrasing it more as an act of treachery than a favor.
āThe best use of taxpayer money.ā
āYou donāt need to worry about me, Iām good. Probably just didnāt drink enough is all. I was at the tavern earlier, but just to pay something off, and then I ran into Farim there. Heās from Alidasht and yesterday I think I made a pretty bad impression, fighting with Ana, so I had to make a better one. I had a few drinks with him and we might even be friends soon. You should hear about his dad, really rivaling Edin for being the worst. Anyway, I am expanding my social circle, and seeing things more clearly now. ā Callum wasnāt sure if he was trying to convince Riona or himself, but he knew he should try not to drag everyone elseās mood down to his. It was a better day than yesterday and that was good enough.
As Callum talked about how he was actively making friends and broadening his horizons through them, her smile grew wider. āThatās great. Maybe heāll be able to convince you to leave Sorian and see the world while youāre at it.ā
āLeave Sorian? Drink around the world, a thousand different taverns in a thousand different cities, running away from all my problems. Stopping by every now and then to remind my family I hate them before continuing a life that is one long indulgent vacation. Would you still be friends with that guy?ā Cal asked, not that he needed an answer to know it wasnāt an option. The guilt, with his tendencies, heād only rot away faster like that. The palace didnāt feel like a home but Sorian was home. He owed something to Sorian, even if it was just trying and failing, that was better than giving up.
āIf you donāt tell me what the best taverns are in each place after visiting so many, then no, probably not. Stingy,ā she joked. āBut I know your other vice thatās stronger: learning. Once you get out of here, you wonāt be able to resist the temptation of knowledge. Youāll be too busy learning things that being in Sorian could never teach youā¦ You might even discover solutions to problems this place has.ā
Riona rolled the jar in her hands before placing it, and all the other stuff in her arms, back on the table. āNow that we actually have the root,ā she leafed through the pile of notes, āwe have a better chance at the spells you said you wanted to do,ā Riona pulled out the notes mentioning geshrow root and handed them over to Callum. āWe can try one of these tonight or, if you are tired, choose which ones you want to do later. Just remember we donāt have that much root.ā
āIām going to make tea. You got two options.ā Riona said as she started toward the back of the house. āOne tastes Gods awful, but itāll help with the shakingāuseful if you want to work on the spells. The other is some fancy tea Sadie bought for me during her shopping spree. I want to find out if itās worth the price or overpriced leaf juice. Which one do you want?ā
He looked at the jar and back at Riona, who had suggested making lozenges to aid hungry people. Heād have never thought up something like that, all the good heād ever attempted was really just a byproduct of something selfish. Even now with a powerful root within his reach, he could only think of things that protected his space and his secrets from prying eyes, or quick fixes for his own problems, or ways to send havoc through his world without a desire to predict consequences. What did other people need that he didnāt? He looked over the notes, trying to find something that wasnāt a selfish whim.
āMost tea is just overpriced leaf juice, but useful with a bad taste seems fitting, it is what I aspire to be.ā He answered wondering why people even drank tea over just about anything else. Maybe his taste bud were all just shot from drinking, puking, and biting into raw onions.
He studied a page on purification, his frantic handwriting dragged out the memory of now abandoned hope that he could purify his own blood and erase the lifetimes of guilt, pain, and history that ran through him. But there was no clean slate for him, not if he wanted to avoid repeating the crimes in his family history. Stupid Callum, he thought. Stupid Callum, with stupid plans who gets to drink gross tea since I canāt be trusted with my own hands. Pretty sure people only drink tea because itās slightly better than water.
He looked up from the notes. Water. Cal didnāt like drinking water but he knew he could without worrying about getting sick. He had that, anyone with enough money had that, but not everyone. They could change some things around, make the purification work on water instead of blood. Clean up some of the water supply and even though it wouldnāt last, it might help for a while. He put the notes down on the table, he didnāt trust his own ideas, but Riona had gone to make tea and heād have to wait to hear her thoughts about it. Wouldnāt be doable tonight anyway, but a possibility. He tried not to get excited about the idea while he waited.
And he decided he shouldnāt be standing around waiting for Riona to serve him tea either.
Time: MORNING Location: INT. MAMA MALACHI'S SUMMERHOUSE - RIVER PORT Interactions/Mentions: The guy cosplaying as an elf @princess; the other guy whoās also cosplaying as an elf @GingerBobOh Equipment:
ā Attire from Earth ā Backpack ā Smartphone ā Wallet and key ā Computer ā Headphones ā Spare eyeglasses ā Plastic bag ā Letter
"Jun... Can we talk?"
Jun jerked at the sound of Malachi's voice. With a cautious slowness, he twisted his head to the source. Well, sort of the source. Technically, he was staring straight at Malachi's feet, but that was the best they were getting out of Jun. After all, when facing the armed and dangerous man, any sudden movements might be reason enough for Elrond 2.0 to bust some caps.
"Lookā¦ I come unarmed."
Tentatively lifting his line of sight, Jun confirmed that the spray bottle was, in fact, out of Malachi's hands. Still not out of reach, though. If he wanted, Malachi could snatch it back in a heartbeat.
Jun returned his gaze back to the bunny stain on the table, tracing its outline as he waited for Malachi to start talking. An awkward silence stretched between them. Malachi was expecting some kind of response. Jun shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"You can do it!" The blotch bunny, and definitely not Jun talking to himself in a high-pitched voice, cheered. "Even if you embarrass yourself, what's the worst that can possibly happen?"
He can blast me with a real gun and dump my body somewhere, never to be found again.
"Damn, June-bug, that's real messed up! You wanna dial that negativity down just a skosh? Ha-ha!" The bunny's chipper laugh sounded suspiciously like Mickey Mouse.
Jun heaved a weary sigh and removed his glasses to rub his eyes. It didn't matter whether he dialed it down or cranked it up to the max. As long as these people refused to free him, there was no chance of escape. This could very well be his last chance to persuade them.
The sound of something sliding across the table and a loud "THIS HELPS" startled Jun. He squinted and scanned the blurry surroundings, but without his glasses, his world was just shapeless colors. His hands explored the table's surface until his fingers brushed against a small object. Bringing it close enough to poke his eye out, Jun discovered it to be a piece of candy.
Unable to identify which colorful blur gave him the gift, Jun just nodded his thanks to the space in front of him, then popped the candy into his mouth. The familiar taste of sweet ginger flooded his mouth, conjuring memories of grandma's can of mystery treat assortments. It was always a gamble what you'd pull out of the can. Last time, he got a packet of roasted crickets. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt. Emboldened by the ginger candy, Jun found his voice at last. "I want to go home."
Silence. "Please let me go." Jun braced himself, fully expecting a torrent of words or water to attack him. When nothing came, he hesitantly continued. "I-if this week proved anything, it's that you need someone to replace me. Someone who can actually do what you want them to do. You know, someone competent and has time to wā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ adventure?"
With the power of sugary ginger goodness, Jun mustered the courage to try to persuade Malachi.
When ā³ā³ā³ and the self-proclaimed snake detector made eye contact, he posed the question, āBut you know Mr. Delronzoās allegiances?ā He tilted his head. āDo you think Mr. Delronzo isnāt working for or with one or more of the Danroses?ā
āDunno anyoneās allegiance. Not really. Why you really asking about this Mr. Del-fonzi? He ever do anything to you?ā Cal asked, but he wasnāt going to betray Marek, he didnāt know or care to know Marekās loyalties. Cal liked the parties, he liked forgetting, and he felt welcomed there. āYou think the worst thing going on in Sorian is secret parties?ā He asked, shaking his head and trying to keep from making too much eye contact with the man. He didnāt like these questions, didnāt like how focused the other man got when he was asking them, and he especially didnāt like feeling like he was being studied. āOr just mad you didnāt get invited.ā
His eyes softened at the princeās attempt to protect his safe place, if not his āfriend,ā from ā³ā³ā³, but also from himself by turning a blind eye to questions he was too scared to hear the answers to. āOh Bob, I really wish that was the caseā¦ but no. Iām not mad, Iām terrified,ā he admitted, āIf Black Rose is involved inā¦ some very shady, very dangerous activitiesā¦ I,ā His throat and grip on Prince Callum tightened, āI fear I sent Udo to his death.ā A raindrop trailed down his cheek. He lifted his gaze, only to discover a night sky barren of rain clouds. ā³ā³ā³ sucked in the air through his teeth, hoping it would clear his mind as it did the sky.
Though Cal didnāt understand what the man was talking about, or who Udo was; the signs of grief and guilt were familiar enough. āHope your friendās alright.ā He patted the manās shoulder, who simply nodded.
āI can tell how much you like this party that you canāt rememberā¦ā The next part was based purely on a hunch. āNo, maybe itās because it always makes you forget, without fail, that Mr. Delronzoās parties are so appealing to you. It unburdens you, makes you empty. Itās your safe haven and anyone who questions it is a threat to that comfort. So you become defensive. That, I can understand.
But you do realize what the real problem is, right? Itās not the party itself. The real problem is that anythingākidnapping, theft, assault, torture, rape, murder, you name itāabsolutely anything couldāve happened during the partyā¦ and no one would be none the wiser. Because conveniently, everyone loses their memories. As if the amnesia is induced on purpose.ā
āThose not born protected, maybe gotta make their own protection. Maybe itās not anything bad, just, self-preservation. Been to a lot of forgotten parties, always been fine.ā Callum had his own guesses about the memory loss, he could see why it might be necessary. A few hours of escape and the price was only some lost memories; it didnāt seem a bad trade either. He knew how it all sounded, knew he couldnāt really make it sound any other way but selfish. Even if Marek was dangerous, heād been kind to Cal and made him feel welcomed somewhere. Marek had never let him down because he didnāt remember most of their encounters. It made it very easy for Cal to stay loyal.
āSo even if all that happened during the party, you think thatās perfectly acceptable? As long as you get to enjoy yourself and itās happening to someone you don't know?ā ā³ā³ā³ knew that people did what they had to do for survival and he could never truly hold that against them, but if Black Rose was providing torture, rape, or murder as a form of entertainmentā¦ that was an entirely different story.
āBeen to a lot of forgotten parties, always been fine.ā So, the prince did go to more than one of these parties. His lack of shock at the possibility that the host intentionally caused amnesia in the attendees was also very telling.
āAre you absolutely sure about that? You just said you have no memory of what happened during the party.ā
āThink I wouldāve noticed if I had been kidnapped, raped, tortured, or murdered. Even without memories.ā Callum pointed out in a tone that made it clear he found it ridiculous to think such things were happening at Marekās parties. āYou assume the worst. Itās alight, I do that a lot too.ā
āCan you say the same for the other partygoers? Not just the friends you invited, but everyone who went to that party. How do you know if none of those things happened to the other people when you have no memories? It also doesnāt rule out that something had been done to you during that time either.ā Prince Callumās loyalty to Mr. Delronzo was so blind that it bordered on fanatical. ā³ā³ā³ had to question whether it was genuine or if it was magically induced like the amnesia.
āBad things happen here all the time. Party or no party. Canāt just betray someone on a maybe. Alibeth had our carriage driver beaten, almost executed. What do you think theyāll do, with someone to pin the whole thing on? Canāt let that happen to a friend. Wonāt bring anyone next time, if that makes you feel better. Iāll try and keep Zarai out of it.ā He offered.
Finally, the prince let it slip that he knew the host, one he regarded as a friendāeven with the lack of memory. It made ā³ā³ā³ wonder if their encounters went beyond the secret Black Rose parties.
āTell me, Bob. How often do powerful and wealthy people actually face severe retribution for a crime, real or fake, in Caesonia?ā ā³ā³ā³ paused in case Prince Callum had an answer to the rhetorical question. They both knew that it was not nearly as often in comparison to the common folk. Caesonia law heavily favored the higher echelons of society, which included successful merchants.
āHow much do you think wealth buys, when the crown has you marked as an enemy?ā Cal returned the question with his own. āMaybe time. My house always wins. When they want retribution, they get it. Iād like to see them lose.ā The other man was right about one thing, Marek had some power, power Callum didnāt fully understand or know the extent of, but it was there. If it could rival Danrose power, it was worth the risk to bet on it.
āA lot more than you think.ā Much more than he could ever imagine. āYou think someone who can host a party of that caliber, with that wide range of guests, likely uses magic, doesnāt have the knowledge or resources to protect himself?ā He emphasized the word magic to gauge the other manās reaction as he tried to ignore Udoās prophetic dream. The island warrior had been marked, but how? If those men were under Mr. Delronzoās employment, and there were no witnesses, the most plausible explanation involved magic.
āMore than that, what makes you so sure he isnāt working with any member of your family? King Edin, for example.ā
At the mention of the word, Callum stumbled and briefly became nothing but dead weight draped across the other manās shoulders. āShhh, thatās a dangerous word.ā He whispered, placing a finger to his lips, as he struggled to get his footing back.
The supporting hand resting on Prince Callumās back reflexively wrapped around his waist. ā³ā³ā³ās fingers gripped the fabric of the princeās shirt, preventing any further descent. He remained motionless, watching the man try to stand up properly.
Callum was a Danrose, a name steeped in a history of enmity and bloodshed. ā³ā³ā³ tried imaging Edin, George, or Julian, in his arm, but could not. There was only Callum, as an individual and not a mere representative of his lineage. Yet, at the same time, ā³ā³ā³ could not dismiss the unmistakable resemblances, which went beyond physical appearances.
The princeās reaction to the taboo word suggested that he acknowledged the existence of magic or, at the very least, it showed his understanding of the gravity with which the Caesonian crown regarded such matters. Surprisingly, though, Prince Callum displayed no signs of heightened caution or mistrust towards ā³ā³ā³, unlike the overt wariness demonstrated by Dr. Williamson or Miss Delilah when the topic of magic arose.
On the contrary, he showed concern.
āI hope anyone my family goes after finds means for protection in spades, Mr. Mysterious. You, your family, our party thrower, and anyone else. The enemy of my enemy is a friend.ā Callum made the last statement with full confidence and with a troubled grin. He didnāt know why the man seemed so convinced Marek worked for Edin or anyone other Danrose.
The enemy of an enemy is a friend. ā³ā³ā³ smiled. He wondered if the prince was trying to tell him that people like him and Mr. Delronzo were not snakes, but mongooses. Little did he know that some snakes devoured other snakes. āBarry. You named me Barry, Bob.ā ā³ā³ā³ paused. Mr. Berry Mysteriousā¦ Mr. Very Mysterious. āUnless it was set up for a pun all along?ā
āEdin, Alibeth, Wulfric, none of them seemed happy about these parties this morning. Would be quite the twist if they were in on it, And Edin, oh if this was an Edin plot, heād have had the perfect chance to get rid of me, all stealthy too, donāt think heād pass that up.ā
Prince Callum did not hide his disdain for the Danrose bloodline, including himself, but ā³ā³ā³ got the feeling that it centered strongly around specific members of the family. The prince had brought up Queen Alibeth and Prince Wulfric on his own volition. So ā³ā³ā³ brought up King Edinās name to confirm that his disdain towards his parents were not limited to just his mother. It was not. Arguably, it was much stronger. Perhaps it was even the epicenter of his hatred for the bloodline.
That did not, however, eliminate the possibility that King Edināor any of the Danroses for that matterāutilized Black Rose in some capacity. Especially with the kingās proclivity for decadence and the familyās need to make inconveniences vanish.
āHe doesnāt seem like the type to need a valid reason to get rid of you. Heāll get rid of you when he needs to.ā ā³ā³ā³ās hand reached up to toward Prince Callumās, King Georgeās, face. āMaybe thereās a part of him that still cares for āyouā in his own broken way.ā His hand lowered before he touched anything. āOr maybe heās trying to prove āyouā wrong.ā He would never know for sure.
āHe could. Anyday, anytime, no more Callum. If you stop seeing me around, maybe I hit the right button.ā He tried to say it as if it didnāt bother him, like heād never spent hours laying awake thinking about it. āEdin cares about Edin. No one else, Not really.ā He didnāt understand what the man had meant by his last statement, and couldnāt think of anything Edin would try and prove him wrong about. He didnāt care to ask either, he didnāt want to understand Edin.
Realizing how close they were to each other, ā³ā³ā³ chuckled. āYou know what? I think you were right, it really does seem like I canāt keep my hands off you. Youāre too irresistible.ā He reclaimed his previous position before resuming their walk.
āIf I havenāt ruined my chances entirely yet, Iād like to hang out with you again. Next time Iāll be sure I bring some booze.ā
Callum snorted at that. āSounds like you have bad taste. But if you want trouble, Iām sure you can find me. Donāt have to bring anything, I kinda like you, Barry.ā He said, fake Barry wasnāt so bad, and other than the name, didnāt seem all that fake either. āBarry the Mysterious. Oh, I get it. Barry Mysterious. Iām not that clever.ā He admitted.
āFor now, a word of advice, as an enemy of an enemyā¦ā He moved his mouth closer to the princeās ear, āYou donāt need me to tell you this, but forgetting your problems wonāt actually solve them. If you truly want to punish yourself, Bob. You must carry the burden. Forgetting so that you can feel betterā¦ kind of defeats the purpose of punishing yourself, donāt you think? It also happens to be what Danroses do best. Forget. Make others forget.ā He pulled away a bit to give Prince Callum a soft smile. āI hope all of you choose a different path than your forebears.ā
āLot of burden to carry, sometimes I set it down, so it doesnāt crush me. Always pick it back up. Just donāt know what else to do with it.ā Callum spoke quietly and it was close enough to the truth. He shrugged himself off the other man and took a couple of unsteady steps away.
But Barry who was probably not called Barry was right. It wasnāt good punishment if he still got anything that made him feel better. It was also too late to change tonightās plans anyway; he was practically at his destination, where else was he going to go? Not home, not yet. One more time, a little self-indulgence, he could do better tomorrow. That seemed like a good plan. āThanks for your help, owe you one.ā
āAny time, Bob. See you later.ā
ā³ā³ā³ raised his arm and stretched his fingers out in a gesture of farewell to Callum until he vanished beyond the threshold of the brothelās entrance. His smile dimmed like the retreating lights that spilled onto the desolate streets, as the weighty door slammed shut. As the stillness settled around him, ā³ā³ā³ reached into the depths of his coat, hands brushed against the touch of the bloodstained handkerchief. The blood of a Danrose.
The atmosphere inside the brothel hung heavy with a potent blend of smoke and perfume, barely concealing the desires pursued by its clientele. The promise of various pleasures, attainable at a cost, lured lost souls seeking temporary respite. Amidst the decadence and debauchery, few heads turned when the entrance door creaked open, too accustomed to the peculiarities of the establishmentās visitors; too lost in their own intoxicating indulgences.
Cutting through the haze, a figure navigated its way to the madam, who greeted it with the same warmth as any other potential patron. The beastās lips parted, revealing a gleaming set of teeth that shimmered like the coins that spilled from its hands, cascading onto the table with musical clinks. āCan we talk business?ā
From the moment Lady Morrigan swept into the guesthouse, the Alidasht servant found themselves captivated by her presence. The allure of her movements commanded their unwavering attention. Their eyes traced the contours of her body, acutely aware of how her garments artfully accentuated her every asset, as she approached servants who had been present for the Alidasht dinner party. While most didnāt seem to mind talking to her, some eager to engage in gossip, a select few Danrose servants avoided eye contact.
Lady Morrigan bloomed with delight when she spotted a dinner guest. She trotted over to Lord Smithwood and brushed his arm with her fingertips, drawing his attention to her. He, though momentarily taken aback by the Ladyās sudden appearance, soon composed himself into a polite smile.
As members of the aristocracy in the Northern Kingdoms, they exchanged customary pleasantries. Foreign protocols guided the ensuing conversation. Distance between the two nobles and the Alidasht servant muffled their voices, but the occasional melodious laughter that spilled from the Lady traveled through the air easily enough.
However, as the conversation progressed, a subtle shift tugged at the corners of Lady Morriganās face, transforming her once-joyful expression into one of grave concern. Suddenly, her hands flew over her mouth, aghast at the Lordās words. Based on how focused she was on the Lordās feet, the source of her distress had to do with his shoes. How this, in turn, warranted her profuse apologies, remained an enigma in its own right. Footwear must be serious business in the North.
For the first time since they started talking, a hush fell between them. Lady Morriganās eyes fell, her cheeks tinged pink. The servant thought they detected a shimmer of moisture in her eyes. After a solemn reflection, she summoned the strength to lift her gaze and revealed her thoughts, which caught Lord Smithwood off guard once again.
Initially, Lord Smithwood appeared reluctant about what she said. In the end, when the Ladyās face clouded at his response, he relented, either accepting her request or promising to consider it. Whichever the case, her face brightened upon hearing his answer. She clasped his hands and shook them.
With a decision reached, the nobles bid each other farewell. Lady Morrigan, accompanied by her loyal knight, who clung to her like a shadow, drew close enough for the servant to eavesdrop on the latter half of their conversation.
āAre you sure that was wise?ā he asked.
āWell, darling, we shall see how much the cub takes after his dear old daddy, wonāt we?ā she replied with a hint of amusement.
āBesides, as long as sheās breathing when allās said and done, he can go on ahead and do as he pleasesāchop her into pieces, sizzle her over a grill, earn extra coin as her procurer for the rest of the season. Gods knows, itās none of my concern.ā
She spoke her next words with chilling clarity, the cold steel of an executionerās ax. āDead men do not sufferā¦ and she still has much to atone for.ā
Time: MORNING Location: EXT./INT. MAMA MALACHI'S SUMMERHOUSE - RIVER PORT Interactions/Mentions: The guy cosplaying as an elf @princess; the lady in a purple dress @Tae; the golden lion furry @Helo; the other guy whoās also cosplaying as an elf @GingerBobOh Equipment:
ā Attire from Earth ā Backpack ā Smartphone ā Wallet and key ā Computer ā Headphones ā Spare eyeglasses ā Plastic bag ā Letter
Eyes, being the window to the soul and all, were a constant challenge for Jun. His weak soul made every gaze feel like staring into the scorching sun. Anger, disappointment, or shame transformed the sunrays into sharp chisels, chipping away at his spirit.
Encountering those kinds of gazes wasn't new. Malachi never missed a chance to shoot him a look filled with some flavor of anger or disappointment. Now, the purple-dressed stranger mirrored that all-too-familiar glint.
She hid it well under that smile, but that's what most socially competent people did, wasn't it? Tolerate people like Jun.
They all tolerated him because they needed a human for the story campaign. LARPing was supposed to be escapism. Why would anyone want to be a vanilla human, when that only reminded players of reality? And here was this damn idiot ruining their fun. Why can't he just play along? Inconsiderate ass. What a waste of space, a waste of time. Useless, even in a world of make-believe. Pathetic.
The surrounding conversation buried the whispered, "... I'm sorry."
A cancerous ball, the size of a marble, lodged somewhere between his heart and throat, began to spread. His breathing picked up speed as his body made a head start to that dark place where his mind always went.
"I'm sorry." He should've listed what he was apologizing for, but he could barely squeeze out two simple words before he rushed back into the house. He didn't even dare look at Zion or Enstille, too afraid to see what he might find reflected in their eyes.
When he reached the dining table, Jun was wheezing like he completed a marathon as an asthmatic. He slumped into the chair at the farthest end, clutching his backpack against his chest as negative thoughts continued their invasion.
Such a drama queen. It's not that big of a deal. Come on dude, man up. What kind of adult couldn't handle a little eye contact? There are people out there who dealt with a lot worse than you ever have or ever will. Get over it. Why does it always end up being about you? Snowflake. Stop wallowing in your own self-pity. People donāt have time for your fragile ego and your constant need for reassurance. You're such a disappointment. So worthless. You know they don't actually need you, specifically, right? You're replaceable. Nobody will miss you when you're gone. Not here, not back home. They probably haven't noticed you've been missing the entire weekā...
A violent clatter jerked Jun out of the quicksand. The wind hammered against the window, demanding entry. He held his breath. When nothing else happened, he exhaled sharply, releasing the pent-up tension, and inhaled deeply, surrendering to his body's need for oxygen. The sensation of his lungs expanding and contracting grounded him.
As his breathing settled into a steady rhythm, Jun's attention drifted from the window and landed on a bunny-shaped stain on the table. He chose the cute blotch as his point of focus.
Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. With each breath, the window-rattling and invasive voices quieted down, until both faded into silence.
Lost in his task, Jun remained oblivious to the fact that the wind knocked only the window nearest to himāwhile all others stood silent.
Jun goes back inside the house and sits at the dining table, just to stare at a stain like a weirdo.
High Moon
Snowdrops
Charley
SilverPaw
Tpartywithzombi
CitrusArms
PapaOso
Tlaloc
Vixere
Festive
