Courage, dear heart

It's been a few year since Bishop arrived on Earth. He isn't sure how many exactly, they've all blended together in the haze of grief that his mind has become.

He lives with an elderly Earth couple in one of the rooms that they rent out above their small shop. They're kind, never asking questions about where he came from or why he didn't bring any belongings with him. They don't prompt him to speak often and don't ask where his accent is from when they do. They let him keep Brook, his little bird and only companion, in his room with him and don't complain about the occasional sound she makes.

They probably pity him, the blind stranger without a cent or a possession to his name. Why else would they pay him what they do to descend from his den to the shop to keep watch and ring out the rare customer that comes in past sundown?

Bishop was sick. Maybe he was dying. He didn’t know exactly, but he did know that everything ached. His body grew stiffer and more difficult to move each day, like molasses ran through his veins in place of blood. His vision was blurry and warped whenever he opened his eyes, though maybe that was for the best. It was easier to look up at the swimming blankness of the ceiling than the worried faces of his parents, his sister, his friends. There was only so much he could take of the grief and worry he saw there, barely concealed, like their expressions were hiding behind gossamer curtains. 

Rubbish immediately crawled into Bishop’s lap with more grace and poise than one would expect from a toddler. Jesseth, politely, hunkered down next to them to see as well, pulling out little glasses to get a better look. They both listened with rapt attention as Bishop explained their backstory, while Grubby continued to focus his whole world around the tiny bird he had in his hands.

While even in glamour Jesseth’s face had difficulty expressing, a gentle, slight frown appeared at hearing someone was terrified of reptiles. He would likely never meet this child out of glamour, if ever, and so it was moot. Only stung a little to be feared irrationally, yet his house was entirely made of glass on that point.

“How do you know it isn’t haunted?” Rubbish asked, gently spinning the bracelets on her wrist and holding them up to the light.

“Ah, well I wouldn’t usually reveal my secrets, but you seem trustworthy.” 

He swung his head back and forth, feigning a glance around the shop before leaning forward and speaking in a low voice. 

“You see, Brook is terribly allergic to ghosts. They make her sneeze.” 

Seemingly on cue, the tiny bird let out as violent of a sneeze as a little yellow ball of feathers could, jostling in Grubby’s hands and fluffing up. She looked back and forth from Grubby to Bishop as the former laughed. 

“Huh? Oh, sure.” Logan placed a light hand on the man’s elbow and led the way.

The exhibit itself had been set up a very specific way, one that concealed the centerpiece of it until you were right beside it. Which, first off, was impressive, considering. So when they came to a stop in front of the pipe organ, Logan let out an impressed breath. (He’d watched as it was set up, even poked his head in to look at the different stages during his night shifts, but he hadn’t seen it assembled yet.)

Which, second, was exactly the goal. However bad the name of the exhibit was (Logan would not let that one go), the organizers had gotten this part perfect.

Like the piano and harp, the pipe organ had its own embellishments in the form of elaborate metal lacing bordering the pipes. Not that they needed them to stand out. The pipes themselves were the highlights, polished silver that gleamed under the (very specifically selected for this purpose) lights and stood out against the dark wood grain. 

“I’d say I’m not sure how they got this thing in here, but that’d be a lie. Doubt that’s going to be on the audio, if you’re interested in that part, too.”

Bishop let out a quiet laugh and nodded. “Oh I would love to hear that story. I’m sure it’s quite dramatic, seeing as I’ve heard that this piece is rather large. Though first, I’d like to get an idea of what we’re looking at.” 

He pressed play on the recording, occasionally nodding along as the recording described the piece in a way that was just the right amount of flowery, the right amount of professional. Perhaps a bit clinical, but perfectly serviceable in it’s explanations. He paused it again before it could go into the organ’s backstory, slipping it back into his pocket and turning his head in Logan’s direction. 

Logan hesitated. Technically, he was busy. Technically, he was supposed to be doing rounds, popping in and providing extra information, encouraging discussion and questions.

If asked (which he doubted he would be, come on), he could rationalize it. This encouraged discussion. It also filled a gap in his knowledge about the exhibits. See? Initiative.

He also hadn’t missed the shakiness in the other man’s tone. Logan got that. Sometimes exhibits dredged up one’s own past, made you think about your own history and what you’d missed. Happened to him plenty.

“Yeah, I have time.” The softer smile that appeared this time was far from the awkward, forced customer-service face of a minute ago. “Which haven’t you heard yet?”

Bishop smiled at Logan, scrolling through the entries and listening to the title of each one until he landed on one he hadn’t listened to all the way through just yet. It was apparently a fairly large display, a giant pipe organ that required a large chunk of space for itself.

“What about this one?” Bishop asked, listening to the name again before pausing, “It sounds rather exciting.” 

Jesseth knew as soon as he saw those jewelry pieces they weren’t leaving without them. Was that fair to the rest of the Commune? No, perhaps not. But they weren’t the ones coming into the city all the time to run errands, so, perhaps it was alright anyway.

Rubbish held out a hand to carefully take one of the bracelets, holding it up to her eyes and then gently sniffing them. Ratkin were never much for pretense. Grubby was still captivated by Brook, but spared a glance to give a soft, childish “Wow.”

Rubbish tried to crawl into Bishop’s lap now that he was down on her level and Jess cleared his throat.

“May I sit with you?” Rubbish asked immediately, giggling. “And you can tell me about the pieces?” She wanted storytime, clearly.

“Of course.” Bishop said with a quiet laugh of his own, repositioning his cane to be at his side instead and patting his leg. “To both questions.” 

Bishop continued to rifle through the box, pulling out a few more snake themed pieces of jewelry and alternating between slipping rings onto his fingers and more bracelets into Rubbish’s hands. 

“The woman who these belonged to brought them to me directly. She collected snake-like jewelry for most of her life. She intended to sell some and leave some to her decedents, but her only grandchild is apparently quite terrified of reptiles.” Bishop explained while untangling a thin golden chain, “She didn’t want the pieces to be put in storage somewhere and forgotten, and she didn’t quite trust a pawn shop, so she asked me to buy them.” 

Logan decided not to mention that he could touch it, with gloves and after hours. He understood the desire, to feel the history under his fingertips. He’d gotten the same feeling in the Paris catacombs with Skipper, prodding forgotten loculi and long-since abandoned film reels. When the patron gestured, he followed, casting one more glance at the piano. He’d grab the photo later…

“Oh,” Logan whispered, seeing where they’d come to a stop. He took in the instrument—the worn, shining gold, especially. Fitting that the brass had worn to that color; there was love in those marks. Maybe he should get some instruments like that for the house. Something that, the longer their eternity went, the more they’d shine. 

He stepped to the side and skimmed the plaque next to it. 

“The audio tour must be more detailed. This,” he tapped the sign, “doesn’t go a whole lot into her life. It does mention she liked to play for a ‘friend,’ though.” Ah, history. Who the hell wrote this sign. Coward. “It’s a very romantic way to show devotion, I think. Learning a craft for someone and having a special instrument that you share the most with them.”

Hm. He smiled to himself again.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to not be the most invasive guest in the museum and ask the young man about his love life. Bishop had to actively fighting his curiosity, he was a weak willed sap of a man who couldn’t help but adore the idea of meeting one’s soulmate. 

It didn’t help his curiosity to see the gold streaks in Logan’s soul glow brighter for a moment. Goodness, he really needed to get outside more often if just knowing that someone was thinking about a loved one was nearly enough to make him tear up. 

Some of the overwhelming emotion could at least be blamed on the fact that he knew, he had an overwhelming hunch, that Logan’s soulmate was Sybil. He could be wrong, of course; judging someone by the colors of their soul wasn’t an exact science. But Sybil’s had such a strong grasp on their fate, that their colors tended to show brighter, to interweave themselves into those they were destined to. 

Perhaps his interest was selfish as well. It had been so long since Bishop had been able to have a conversation with a Sybil or Esurian. Both sides of his family were few and far between on Earth, as well adept at making themselves scarce. He missed them. He missed his family. 

Grubby, gently and carefully, spoiled Brook with pets. Rubbish giggled and reached all the way up to take Bishop’s arm, barely more than three feet tall herself. If it looked as if it wouldn’t knock him off balance she might have started hanging off of him.

“We love snakes! Right, Jess?” She asked, winking at their ‘guardian.’ He wasn’t used to smiling, but there was a flicker of amusement at the very corner of his mouth.

“Yess, we do. Mosst, anyway.”

“I’d certainly hope so.” Bishop chuckled and led Rubbish further into the shop, letting the others follow behind. Hmm... what would be the best thing to show off to these three? He had a fair amount of items that could be considered snake-like, but he doubted that they’d be interested in looking at old purses. He was having a hard time guessing their age. The voices of the smallest two were certainly youthful, but they had a presence of mind beyond that. 

Well, everyone liked jewelry, right? 

Bishop made his way over to a large glass cabinet, reached into his pocket for a key so he could unlock it and pull out a small jewelry box. When he turned around again, he lowered himself to sit on the floor, legs crossed carefully in front of him and cane balanced across his lap. This would be easier if he was at the little ones’ height. 

He opened the box with and ran his fingers over the top of each piece of jewelry with a careful hand until he found a bracelet for each of them, little chain links of metal wound together to make semi flexible snakes. Each eye had its own brightly colored gemstone, and though the pieces were worn with age, they were still wonderful little pieces of craftsmanship. 

Logan’s eyes dropped momentarily to the man’s hands. Were they both hand worriers? (A joke about idle hands came to mind. Not one he could share, but one that did help him relax and smile more genuinely.)

“A subjective description, huh?” he asked, circling the piano. “The painting on the lid’s what caught my eye.” Logan gave the painting another look over. “It looks like the outlines are carved into the lid, but if you step back, or to the side, you can tell it’s actually the paint job. There’s highlights and shadows painted on. It makes you wonder why the artist did that instead of carving—if it was commissioned like that or if they just didn’t want to mess around with three-dimensional art.”

Maybe they just hadn’t had a soulmate to collaborate with. Logan smiled to himself.

“What’s stood out in the audio tour?” he asked. This exhibit, being temporary, wasn’t familiar like the others, where he’d taken one of the devices for his own walk around the museum until he had the entire narration memorized. “If you don’t mind sharing.”

“Mm... I wonder what it would feel like to touch...” Bishop wondered out loud, trailing after Logan as he talked. “Though I promise I won’t jump the railing while you aren’t looking. I’m not nearly nimble enough for that.” 

He considered Logan’s question for a moment, twirling the rings on his fingers as he thought. After a beat he hummed and gestured for Logan to follow him, trailing past exhibits, his fingers gliding over the braille descriptions in front of each until he slowly came to a stop. 

The instrument on display wasn’t particularly glamourous to look at, an old harp with delicate blue flowers painted on its soundbox and across the neck. The pedals were worn from use, shining a brighter gold than the slightly tarnished accents on the crown and feet. 

That wasn’t what drew Bishop to it, of course. He was more content to watch the souls that sat behind it. One watching in curiosity while another delicately plucked at its strings. The phantom fingers couldn’t make a sound, of course, but the spirit seemed content to simply play out the well practiced motions for their audience of one. 

I will take it but you do not have to pay.

Hmm.

What is it?

Thank you,

“Grubby, ask nicely.” Rubbish murmured in her little brother’s ear. He nodded enthusiastically as she added, loudly, “We’d love a tour! Right, Jess?”

“If it’ss not an inconveniensce.” Jesseth casually signed shy, more out of habit than the assumption Bishop could see it. He had caught on to the other man being blind when he was not looking at Jess’s face when he spoke.

“May I pet the bird?” Grubby asked, one little hand extended all the way.

“Oh, not at all! I’m happy to show off, actually.” He said to Jesseth, offering him a small smile. “And you’re welcome to pet her, just be gentle.”