FIRE / BROKEN *

     A choked sob masquerades as a laugh, and he leans his back against the bed to look up past the roof of the dim-lit hut. He wants to forget. He wants to scream. To lash out at something, anything – but of course not Caleb. Caleb has said simply what’s true. Anger is building up inside of him fit to burst, but he refuses it. All he wants is to cut out the parts of him that are Lucian.

     But what would be left? What would he have been without his past?

     Happy, he decides. He needs to push those thoughts back. Smother them again. Keep them quiet and ignore these dreams until he’s back and he’s Molly and we forget everything that happened before.

     “I don’t want… anything to do with it,” he says, his voice forced through as he still struggles to breathe through clenched teeth. “I’m not…” He can’t even say the damned name. He hates it with every fibre of his being. “He threw… everything away… I don’t want… I don’t…”

     When he realizes he’s saying too much, he curls inward on himself again, head lowered. Talking about those surfacing memories just give them more credence. It’s not important. Not now, not ever. Especially not now. They’ve got the present and future to deal with. The past is dead. 

     “I just want to be me,” he insists. “I don’t want anything he’s left behind. He’s dead. That’s it. This… dream… it doesn’t change anything. I’m me. I’m Molly.” He still can’t look at Caleb. He’s speaking to himself, spiraling and re-righting himself with every utterance. Has he cracked? Maybe. No. He’s fine.

With his head cocked to one side, Caleb simply observes. Once upon a time, he was a student. Though he never learned healing magics, as he wasn’t interested in the Bardic route, they sometimes studied living things and they sometimes studied experiments. Rarely, the two were mixed – until he was acquainted with Trent, of course, after which the two became inseparable, indistinguishable. Caleb observes Mollymauk now like one of those experiments.

He reads the line of Mollymauk’s jaw, until it is hidden from view, and then he analyzes the paling skin around Mollymauk’s knuckles as his hands tighten. The deep frown in his brow. The exact pattern of his wildly-flickering eyes, which is only visible to Caleb through months of familiarization with their seemingly monochrome surface.

He wonders. Most of the time, Mollymauk seems confident – truthfully, he errs on arrogant. Which isn’t necessarily as bad as some other people might find it, Caleb certainly is guilty of some arrogance here and there, but he wonders if it’s a sort of ... front. If perhaps Mollymauk doubts his own words, the same way that Caleb is confident in his arcane abilities but barely considers himself a person.

I don’t want to be anything he’s left behind.

Before tonight, Caleb would’ve said Mollymauk Tealeaf is the least lonely person he has met his entire life. Now, he is not so sure.

But it is not a revelation yet, it is just the cusp of one, so uncertainty still pervades his mind as he balances his weight on his toes and thinks of something else to say.

     He flinches at the sound of his name, but he knows that name. He knows that voice. It’s not Hers. What would he have done if it was? Nothing. He could do nothing. Just like before. No. He refused to remember. It was gone. It wasn’t him. It never was. Mollymauk. His name is Mollymauk.

     When he hears the nickname, he shifts his arms to look up. The sight of Caleb brings a wave of guilt. There was absolutely nothing there to be afraid of. He’s sobbing, sobbing, in front of Caleb over memories of someone dead twice over. He shouldn’t be like this. It’s fine. There’s nothing there. There’s more important things to worry about. The past didn’t matter. 

     The gentle kiss brings forth fresh tears, but strained laughter bubbles up. He rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands, breathy laughter in between sniffs and coughs as he struggled to keep his breaths slow. “T-That was– hoooo… Ha! Wow! That was just– Mm!” He struggles to find words that could push aside his emotions and Caleb’s concerned look. Once he finds them, they come out rapid-fire and absolutely frantic. “Nothing happened! Just a dream! Just a godawful dream, and I’ve had plenty of those before. Everyone has awful dreams, right? No different. Should be expected, considering our situation. Just an awful dream! Absolutely nothing to worry about!”

     He can’t look at Caleb. Instead, he furiously rubs at his face to wipe away tears that won’t stop. He needs to pull it together. He needs to forget again. But he absentmindedly traces marks on his upper arms worn bloody by his claws, and knows he’ll have to explain. He doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to dwell on it. Doesn’t want to think of Her face, still burned in his vision where Caleb now knelt.

     “Just a dream…” he repeats, though he has no doubt Caleb can see right through that.

As soon as words bubble out of Mollymauk like water out of a geyser, Caleb leans back on his heels to avoid the spray. Nightmares, Mollymauk says, and Caleb knows he is lying, because he knows nightmares. They’re foul creatures that steal away sanity during the night, but come morning, they don’t leave you seeing things that aren’t there, they don’t lie to you, they only tell you what you already know. This is something much worse, it’s dark and it’s filthy and it’s probably in the shape of a glaive or of a cocked grin in a bald head.

Caleb wants to crack that bald head like an egg. He wants to see the brain slide out like a yolk.

No matter how much Nott tries to make him say that he cares, he will not, because he doesn’t, but no one gets away with stealing three members of the Mighty Nein and chipping away at a fourth. No one.

The anger keeps him afloat. It gives him direction in this strange hour where Mollymauk tries not to cry and they are on the dirty floor of a stranger’s house.

He wishes he had Frumpkin in his cat form still, then he would call him forth and tell him to settle on Mollymauk’s shoulder or around his feet. Frumpkin has become Caleb’s way of comforting others without needing to involve himself in the process. It is a perfect solution. But Caleb doubts a bird would bring Mollymauk the same amount of comfort.

Then again, Mollymauk is a strange man.

An exaggerated laugh funnels out of his mouth as he puts the book back down on his lap, crossing his legs in turn.  ❝ You embarrassed, Caleb? ❞ he teases, fingers lacing together and eyes carefully examining the redhead.  ❝ Can’t blame someone for being… curious, can you? ❞ Molly had always been a lover of games, card games especially, but toying with people… now that was on a whole other level of fun. And it didn’t take long till teasing and taunting the wizard became one of his many hobbies.  ❝ It’s not a bad read though, I highly recommend it, I’m pretty sure you’ll like it, ❞  he shrugs,  ❝ I think it’s the same author as that one Jester was reading. And she’s still swooning over Oskar. ❞

Keyleth watches Caleb make…a muff??…with the loaf of bread. A mixture of curiosity and confusion slowly crosses her face as she glances between him and the bread she holds in her own hands.

“But…I’m hungry…” She protests slowly. “And…I can do this–” Keyleth holds up one hand and lights it aflame with ease, dousing it not a moment after. “My hands don’t really get cold…”

The abrupt flame causes him to jump back. Caleb is familiar with flame and magic, but the spontaneous fire nevertheless manages to spook him enough to stumble a step backwards, and the flash of light feels blinding.

          ‘ about the group of rowdy, colorful folk taking on sewer spiders & spouting a name like ‘ the mighty nein ‘ as they travel ? ‘ they peer at the man curiously for a moment, one brow quirked as crown cants slightly to the left, a neutral expression quickly splitting open into a lopsided cheshire grin. ‘ yes, i’d say i’ve heard a tale or two muttered here & there in my own travels. ‘

     mismatched eyes look caleb over from top to bottom, then back to top, staring intently at his face & hair. andry pauses a short moment, index finger pressed against closed lips before they remove it, pointing towards caleb. ‘ you know, you’re not as dirty as some would make you sound. ‘

Scheiße. Not only are their name known, but his is as well, or at least he is mentioned in some capacity –– unless this stranger thinks it is funny to make jokes like these to see a reaction, which could also be an option, as Caleb doesn’t know them. But just in case they aren’t engaged in a bit of guessing, Caleb must make some sort of peace with the fact that he is known.

that alone is enough to make her stand, palms flat against her desk. there’s a flare from within her, a flare of anger, of pain. none of them know; how could they? fischer and junior both made sure that only those she wanted to know did. but that didn’t stop the years from coming back, the century’s worth of memories and love she shared with each of them.

“magnus burnsides is the bravest man i have ever met. taako taaco acts selfish, but he will kill anyone who comes near his team and his family. merle highchurch communes directly with pan and has more FAITH in his team and in this world than i have ever seen. in case you have forgotten, they have already retrieved THREE grand relics where everyone else has failed.” her head pulses as the staff whispers out, trying to soothe her rage. “you may not have faith in them, but last time i checked, i was the director.”

While his eyes lower to the desk where he watches her hands, Caleb cannot say that he agrees with her confidence in this team that, having seen them from afar, seems like a bunch of idiots. Powerful idiots, vielleicht, but idiots nonetheless. 

❝ For a second there I though we were gonna do something else, ❞ he jokes, winking and grinning at the wizard. At the mention of blood, it takes Molly but a second to slide his sword against his palm, blood pooling out immediately and he’s quick it to Caleb.   ❝ There you go. ❞.

A decade and a half has passed like nothing, a long blur of blood very little regret to temper it; she’s done what’s necessary, and she is not one to get lost in sentimentality. So it’s no great loss, this corpse between them — she won’t miss him, to be sure. But it’s almost laughably familiar: the two of them standing over a body like nothing’s changed. Except they’re not children anymore ( if they ever were ) and this body doesn’t belong to a traitor. There’s a long, long pause. Astrid can practically hear Trent’s voice in her head, barking instruction — raise the alarm, take him down. She curses, instead, low and ugly under her breath; grabs Caleb’s arm and starts pulling him with her. Familiar, indeed. “—— This way.”

     Though he isn’t quite content with the answer, he can’t expect anything more than that. They’re talking in circles, and it seems they’ve both run out of steam. It’s a conversation to revisit at a later time. One that he hopes hasn’t created a rift between them. It’s a stressing, complicated thing. Caleb will need some space.

     “Of course. I… Yeah.” He nods in agreement, the baubles chiming. “It stays between us…” There’s an awkward pause as he tries to figure out where to go from here. Did last night really happen? Did this happen? At least his hangover seems to have faded a bit. 

     “Thank you, Caleb,” he says finally, gaze drifting to the side, then the floor, then to Caleb. “It’s… a lot to sort through. I hope you do, in time. And in the meantime… I’m here for you. However you need me, I’m here for you. I won’t turn my back.” He gives a warm smile, then reaches out to put a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. Though it will likely be shrugged off again, he doesn’t know any other way to really show his affection and understanding.

     “I will, however, head downstairs for the rest of my meal. I hope you will join me. And bring your coat. If we don’t want questions, we shouldn’t give Jester a reason to pull the truth out of us.”

     Ikithon. He keeps in mind to look out for that name.

The mention of Jester somewhat sours the moment. It turns his small, careful smile into a pained grimace. It isn’t the girl herself that Caleb has a problem with ( and she is a girl in his mind, despite her dirty jokes and promised experience, because Caleb feels ancient standing next to her ), but the piece of information she now holds.

Before Mollymauk can exit the room and leave him, Caleb reaches out with his hand to grasp Mollymauk around the wrist. It is the first physical contact he has initiated between the two of them since last night. “Just one second,” he pleads, his voice now silent and depleted, altogether emptied out from his lengthy confession.

“Jester... Their names were Eodwulf and Astrid. The other students. Last night, Jester heard me say her name... I don’t want anybody speculating. If you hear her asking around, would you please encourage her to stop? She is a lovely person but my business is my business.”

    Mollymauk can’t remember where he is or how he got there. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end, a dull prickling sensation spreading over his skin. It’s dark. Very dark. The prickling becomes a sharp pain, as if he’s laid down on something sharp. Looking down, he sees unmarked skin. No scars. No tattoos. Confused, he trails clawed fingers down his arm.

    There’s a sharper pain as crimson eyes open along the skin. They split wider, become mouths. Fiendish faces and claws appear after, wriggling out of the rends in his skin. He cries out in pain and horror as a dozen creatures pull themselves from his flesh. Clawing the skin raw, he tumbles out of bed head first.     The harsh crack against the floor stuns him momentarily. Everything spins. The bed linens are tangled around his legs, and he thrashes to free himself. When his vision focuses, he thinks he sees Her standing over him. Book in one hand. Ornate goblet in the other. The blade is next. He can already feel it in his gut, ripping.

    He manages to get his tangle of limbs to cooperate, though only enough to turn around and press himself against the bed. As if having his back against something would help. Words fail him, a tangled mess of common and Infernal, unsure whether to beg or lash out. Instead, he curls up into himself, arms covering his head and shoulders shaking from sobs.

    It isn’t real. None of it is real.

What wakes Caleb up is a scream. It is the sound of someone being murdered, right next to him, in the bed. Before he even knows who he is, he readies a Fire Bolt on his palm. However, as his sleep-bleary eyes blink him back into existence and remind him of his mother’s maiden name, he sees the lowly lit alcove ( Aldor has left a fire burning in the fireplace downstairs while he himself sleeps upstairs ) and the complete lack of enemies.

However, on the floor is only the shape of a feral-looking Mollymauk. Half of his body is wrapped in sheets, until he wiggles out, and his eyes are wide and frightened. Acting out of instinct, Caleb pushes himself to the edge of the bed and stumbles out to stand in front of Mollymauk, confused and worried brows meeting on his forehead.

Mollymauk’s response is that of a cornered animal’s: he presses himself up against the bed frame. Caleb thinks that if Mollymauk had any fur on his tail, it would be poofed out like a cat when threatened. It’s disturbing, and even more-so when he tries for speech and Caleb only understands half – and that barely, with how the Infernal pronunciation drips into it. What he hears doesn’t make any sense, aside from a simple word that is repeated once or twice: ‘ no ‘.

And then Mollymauk cries.

While the rest has already been overwhelming, this is what truly stuns Caleb. He hasn’t ever seen Mollymauk cry before. An ashamed part of him didn’t believe Mollymauk could. Swallowing, Caleb thinks of what to do. Okay, okay, okay, first of all: be less of a threat.

Slowly, he lets himself fall down to his knees. Then he holds out his hands, palms facing the ceiling. “Mollymauk,” he tries, in the softest voice he knows. It still comes out raspy and hoarse. “Molly. Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real.” Something rings in the back of his mind, and he suddenly recalls the aftermath of their fight against the gnolls. Hesitantly, he places his hands on the ground and leans forward. Slowly, slowly. Soon, he’s close enough to smell the cold sweat.

“your assistance is needed here.” it’s short, clipped, and the director doesn’t even look up from her work. there’s a quill in each hand, recording the previous day’s findings. brows furrow as she hesitates, then scratches out a line on both journals. “i don’t believe i need to remind you that the thrall of these relics have already corrupted seven of our strongest regulators over the years, and three reclaimers. i won’t lose anymore to these weapons.”

she pauses, then finally glances up. there’s a softness in her eyes, “the boys have this under control. if anyone can control the temporal chalice, it’s them.”

Disappointment immediately settles over him like an old, worn cloak: a companion through many years. The Director’s answer isn’t a surprise to him at all. In fact, he would’ve been downright shocked it she had simply let him go. He’s not certain the Bureau would still be standing if she agreed to let anyone, who cared to do so, go on these missions.

[reply] 

              Her  eyebrows  knit  together,  eyes  glancing  around  for  a  moment.  Well,  that’s  a  bummer.  Not  that  she  has  the  best  of  times  hanging  out  at  shops  for  hours  while  Caleb  buys  enough  parchment  and  ink  for what,  in  her  opinion  at  least,  feels  like  it  should  last  an  eternity,  but—  well,  at  least  she  gets  to  look  around  and  mess  with  some  new  shop  owners  she  hasn’t  gotten  into  trouble  with  before.  That’s  something.  “ Oh,  uh…”  Jester  blinks,  head  shaking  as  the  realization  settles  in  her  mind,  “ I–  I  could  buy  it  for  you!  I’ve  got  money,  and  that stuff  helps  us  all  when  we’re  in  a  fight,  so  it’s  kind  of,  like..  an  investment,  right? ”  Technically  she  doesn’t  have  to  save  money,  technically.  

   “ Tell  you  what,  I  buy  you  the  magic  stuff  we  need,  and  you  teach  me  something  cool  that  I  don’t  already  know,  how  about  that? ”  A  perfect  deal.  Molly’s  going  to  be  so  proud  of  her  when  he  finds  out,  her  mom  will  too.  Even  Nott  and  Fjord  might  be  impressed,  but  she  probably  shouldn’t  brag  about  it.  Kinda  loses  the  effect.  “ Maybe  you  can  teach  me  that  thing  Nott  does  when  she  wants  to  talk  to  you!  That  would  be  helpful,  right? ”

For all that Caleb is broke like a promise made by a drunk man, he doesn’t take joy in taking the money of others. He quietly lets them pay for food, their rooms, and any activities they join together ( like when he asked Beauregard to pay his fee for the arena fight and was forced to be announced as ‘ Caleb Nbeauregard ‘ ). However, outright taking money for his supplies feels ... bad. It’s not like Caleb is a good man, so he isn’t sure why it feels so unforgivable.

Perhaps it is because of his and Jester’s history with discussions of money. One time, he pointedly smeared mud in his face, simply because she ( accidentally ) insulted his family. At the time, it seemed like a good idea, but now he knows her better, and he knows she doesn’t mean anything by it. She is spoiled, but she has heart. For all that he will use her to reach his end goal, he will not take her money.

     Mollymauk sets aside the coat on the bed, then leans in to wipe away the blood on Caleb’s face and neck. There’s more on his shirt, and Molly feels immensely guilty despite how dirty Caleb’s clothes were to begin with. “I think I’m suggesting we sleep together, but that’s entirely up to you.” It was a rushed thought, and as soon as he says it aloud, Mollymauk knows the phrasing is very off. He passes it off as a witty joke, forcing a smile.

     He retreats a fraction, ears laying back against his neck. “No, in all honesty – I don’t think I’d be able to rest comfortably on my own. I… saw some things that I still can’t quite wrap my head around. And, if it’s alright with you… I want to share the bed. With you. Nothing… funny or anything, just… I don’t know what I’m asking.”

     He’s not used to being this guarded about asking for intimacy, sexual or otherwise. But he knows Caleb is reluctant when it comes to things like this, and he doesn’t want to chase him away. The others are off at an inn, and the thought of being alone in an unfamiliar place is unnerving. An intense fear shows in his eyes briefly before he looks down at his hands. He can’t be alone. Before, it had been a matter of comfort or sleepless nights. He had always feared the dark and the quiet as far and as briefly as he could remember. Now he had reason. Any shadow could contain her porcelain face. Any breath could be his last.

     Don’t think about that. He had never thought about it before. Why should that change now? “I’m fine either way,” he says quickly, though that’s probably the most obvious lie he’s told.

Once again, he stiffens to Mollymauk's touch, spine freezing him in place and lungs only pulling in air at half capacity. But he stays. It's… it's not too bad. The water has been cooled by the air and on his skin it cools even quicker, which results in goosebumps on his neck and even down his chest, but the touches are matter-of-fact, and that helps.

Mollymauk's words don't shock him like they perhaps ought to. Anybody with half an eye can tell that Mollymauk is somebody who craves intimacy. Despite Caleb's joke with Fjord, calling Mollymauk a coyote, he knows this intimacy more often than not isn't about fucking. What Mollymauk is so fond of is that sort of closeness between two living beings, huddled together for warmth against a cold world.

There have been nights in Caleb’s life where he needed the same. He remembers plenty, especially towards the end, where he and Astrid held onto each other for dear life throughout the night, waking up with numb limbs and aching backs. And, to be quite frank, he’s sometimes needed that while with the other Nein, and sometimes Nott’s weight against his legs has been enough. Other times, the stress of the battle seeped into his nightmares.

So, he understands. And, more importantly, he doesn’t mind. ( And, if he is to be honest with himself, which isn’t something he practices very often, he needs it, too. )

Instead of saying anything, he just takes off his dirty, ratty boots, throws his coat down onto them on the floor, and crawls towards the wall, where he then plops down. The entire right side of his body cools as the cold wall snuggles right up to him, but he knows the left side of him ( as a consequence of Mollymauk’s devil blood and the tight space ) will be hot, so perhaps it will even out.