this bites.

"Okay, so the game is this," Hilda said, sat across from Fenrik at the high table in the local wing dive. It was dingy and grimy, but shouldn't all good wing places be? "We start with the least spicy wing and work our way up. First one to crack and need milk to cool their mouth down loses. You in?" She didn't offer any sort of reward, she couldn't afford to pay a bet, but that wasn't the fun for her.

“Ah, of course. How could I forget about the seduction of alcohol,” said Fenrik. He watched Hilda reach out to refill her glass. Once she had done that, he took it for himself to add more to his own cup. It smelled like rubbing alcohol, but it would do the trick just fine. Not that Fenrik made a habit of getting drunk. 

“Sure,” he nodded. “Might just be like people. Depends on the cat and depends on the wolf and sometimes it works out and sometimes it doesn’t. Just get one of those cats that are outdoor cats. It’ll hang out outside if it doesn’t want to be around and wander back when it’s hungry or thirsty.” Or so Fenrik assumed. He’d never had a cat. There were plenty of strays, though.

Tipping his cup back so he could drain half of it, he looked at Hilda. “We good, then?” he asked. “You and me? You and the gang?” 

Hilda used to be good at bearing a grudge. She’d store them up inside her, unwilling to let them go. She could hold one now for the last few months, just as she had held many before for lesser indiscretions. But she found she didn’t want to. Perhaps her loss had taught her something about life, something awfully trite like it was too fucking short. The thing was though, as trite as it was, it was true. Over the last few years she had lost so much. Her life as she’d known it, everyone she had counted as a friend, her family, Sebastian. Not that she had lost him, no. People who died weren’t lost, just waiting to be found; he was dead. It had been Fenrik who had picked her up when she’d been her lowest. Fenrik who had given her place to belong and family of her own again. And what losing her own family had taught her more than anything was that family was meant to unconditional. She wouldn’t put a condition on it now, turning her back and doing what had been so brutally done to her. 

“We’re okay,” she confirmed. “Just remember that I’m doing what you asked. I’m trying to live.” That was the only thing that mattered in all of this with Priscilla.

Fenrik nodded his head as she spoke. “I know.” He let her explain it, though Fenrik knew what living meant. He knew that for most it was having multiple people surround you. His own experiences were in sharp contrast to most, having grown up on his own, never really sharing himself with anyone. Never having parents or siblings to bother with until he’d settled down with his own wife and kids only to move onto a different sort of family. Fenrik’s circle had always remained small and closed off. 

He held up a hand as he counted off on his fingers, his lips moving subtly as he put each finger up. “Who’s the fifth?” he asked.

With a grin that seemed as big as it was sudden, Hilda held up her now empty glass, tilting it emphatically in Fenrik’s direction. “Vodka, of course.” She reached forward for the bottle that she’d thought to put in a bowl of ice on the table in front of her sofa, so they wouldn’t have to keep getting up and down to refill their glasses. Ice cold liquid splashed into the glass and she took a long gulp before she spoke again. 

“I was thinking about getting a cat, but I’m not sure how cats and wolves get along so vodka will have to do for now.” If this was living, she could get used to it, she thought. It might have been a fake marriage, but without it, Hilda would not be surrounded by her friends - by her family - now, her small cabin filled with laughter. That was Priscilla’s doing and that was real. 

“Yes,” said Fenrik with a nod, “it would. Anything where it’s a bit of give and take.” He shrugged. “It’s not that you wouldn’t want her to meet us. It’s just whether you do it like this, a gathering, or individually, in a less crowded setting.” Then again, it was probably less pressure to do it as a gathering. It allowed the focus to spread out between all of them, rather than awkwardly sit between two people. 

Fenrik didn’t say anything immediately. Instead, he took a moment to form his thoughts. “I dunno. I just– I get so used to this idea of us all as a unit. I– got thrown off when you brought this news. This new person.” Because it didn’t matter whether or not Priscilla was an official member of whatever gang they had formed here, she was officially part of Hilda’s life. “I was in a bad place at the time.” When wasn’t he? “And I think, I just didn’t take well to it, because you had finally come back after all those months and then you drop this news and now it’s like we– I– have to share that with her–” he gestured towards Priscilla, “–and I think I forgot that eventually you may all end up in that place where you’re setting down roots elsewhere and that was just a stark reminder and that eventually I’ll have to compromise by allowing other people to share you– all of you– and I dunno. I was being selfish,” he concluded. Admitting all of that was one of the hardest things Fenrik had ever had to do, he realized. He raised the glass of liquor he had been holding and downed it quickly. 

It had felt this past week, really, had been a culmination of that selfishness and allowing himself to be selfish. But it had also reset him, like he understood what had been brewing just beneath the surface, the lashing he had given Hilda on top of the several fights he’d had with Elba. “Point is, I’m sorry. I really am.”

Hilda was quiet a long time, to the point it could have seemed she was ignoring Fenrik or didn’t have a response. She stared into her glass, taking a sip here and there, silent. The truth was she had too many responses. The time taken was to allow them to form into one coherent one so that she could say what she wanted to. 

“I want to be shared,” she finally said, honest. “I lost everybody I had when I turned. Not just my entire family,” - her parents, her many siblings, - “but so many more in the circus. That’s sort of like a gang. A really, really big gang. A really big family.” Not the performers who came in and out of the circus from other parts of the island; they changed too frequently and would not be swayed by the hatred redcaps held for vampires. But those redcaps who had been with the circus for generations too, who were born and raised within it like she had been; they were her family too. But now they hated her. If she passed them by in the street, they crossed to the other side. That was the deepest ache of all. 

“It means I’ve got more people to love me.” Hilda felt a burning shame admitting that; she hated to be vulnerable. But she was so now, with the admission that just like anyone else did, she needed people to love her. And okay, maybe Priscilla wouldn’t ever love her really, but the pretence was nice. And even so, so was their commitment to help each other. The world had got a little less lonely. Even if in the mornings before she’d had at least two cups of coffee she needed to pretend Priscilla didn’t exist and she had no one to share her tiny cabin with. “There’s still only five of you though, much less than most people have and plenty to go around. It might seem sudden, but I want to try to be happy, instead of festering alone in here,” she finished. Even before her brother had been killed she hadn’t much been happy, merely going through the motions. This was her chance. 

Fenrik didn’t offer much in the way of words as Hilda spoke. He nodded or shrugged every now and again to indicate that he was still listening, but he had a feeling whatever the intent of the marriage was for, he’d have little insight to give. “You don’t have to put on a show for me,” he added to her, though as she tried to assure him the difference was good. “Or convince me.” It didn’t matter, really. People married all the time for various reasons and Fenrik wasn’t about to get involved. “I’m not here to out you or bust you. I’m here to support you. And I do mean support you. I’ve already met her,” he said as he gestured towards Priscilla. 

“You know, marriage is about compromise,” said Fenrik. “Regardless of why you’re married. In fact, I’ll amend that to say relationships are about compromise.” He didn’t say this because he was trying to offer friendly advice, either. He tried to avoid giving it out, anyway, when he wasn’t prompted. Not everything was about people looking for solutions. However, it had stood out to him that Hilda seemed ready to reassure him that she had wanted this too. “You know, no matter the type of relationship, relationships are usually about getting something out of someone. Whether it’s a professional relationship or intimate or friendly one– you’re still in it for a reason. So, usually, at some point people compromise. That’s okay, you know. Just because it was her idea, doesn’t mean you have to want it or even like it.” And maybe Hilda did want it. Though that still wasn’t the point.  

“I’m sorry,” he went on, “I guess is what I’m getting at. I haven’t been so great at compromising myself in these last few months, and it doesn’t hurt to be reminded.” He glanced over at her before he looked back at Priscilla. “Why would I ask you about that? You didn’t get her pregnant.” Even if, in this world of fae and vampires it were somehow possible, Fenrik could do the math, and while he couldn’t say precisely when Hilda and Priscilla had met, he did know that Priscilla hadn’t actually been around for that long, because she had said as much when he had met her. “I do plan on asking her, though.”

Hilda’s brow rose. “Don’t I?” She wasn’t trying to be difficult or petty, even if that’s how it seemed. Part of the deal she had made with Fenrik had been that she needed to live her life before he’d end it; convincing him she was living it instead of hiding away seemed necessary, especially in the face of what she perceived as cynicism from him the last time they had seen each other. Maybe that was her fault. Maybe her own general attitude to life had fostered it and made it natural that Fenrik might express doubts about her motivations. It was only natural then too that she might be trying to compensate now. She’d never be a shiny, happy, excited person, her enthusiasm level would always remain low, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to be here. 

Hilda didn’t mind the marriage advice. Of all the people in her life now, she didn’t know anyone else who was married. Her eyes went to the ring Fenrik still wore on his finger. It was the first time she felt real guilt about her marriage to Priscilla, not for the reason behind it still, because it really was her honest attempt to actually live, that was as true as ever, but because one day she’d have to fake the grief that Fenrik had felt for real. That would make her feel pretty damn awful, she already knew. She had to look away from the ring. “Does compromise include sharing my cabin? That’s harder than I thought it would be,” she admitted. It eased her guilt a little to offer some truth and to allow herself, once again, to look up to Fenrik in the way she always had done before. “I don’t mind this though. I did want it. Why wouldn’t I want my wife,” - that sounded weird to say aloud - “to meet my friends?” In truth, her quietness that evening had not been because she hadn’t wanted to have this gathering, but because it wasn’t really real. In a way she wished it was, if only for that anchor.

A hand waved away the apology, mostly because it confused her. “What did we need to compromise on?” Hilda wondered. If she knew, maybe she could compromise too. 

Fenrik smoothly took a seat besides Hilda, sliding in beside her as if he had been there the whole time. She seemed very detached from the celebrations. He supposed it was as good a time as any to go ahead and apologize. 

“How’s married life treating you?” he asked. Of course, it was mostly said in jest given her withdrawn stance at tonight’s current festivities. Not that he had ever taken her for the sort to get overly celebratory or into get togethers, small or large. Fenrik himself typically sat on the sidelines, much like he had been today, letting everyone else mingle. In a way, he wondered why tonight was even happening, especially since one half of the married couple seemed very much disinterested. However, he wasn’t there to question motives. He was simply there for support. “This all her idea?” he went on, gesturing to the room at large. 

Vampire senses meant she’d heard Fenrik coming, smooth as he managed to make it. She hadn’t even moved her head a fraction to take note of him, yet didn’t flinch when he spoke. It would be difficult to try to jump-scare a vampire, she thought, mouth twitching slightly, if only for a second or two. “I didn’t know how different I’d feel, being attached to someone like that. I didn’t think I’d feel any different at all really.” This was the honest truth, not the spiel of someone trying to tell people what she thought they wanted to hear. Since Hilda had signed her name next to Priscilla’s at the registry office, she had felt different. More anchored in a way; perhaps not in the traditional sense, since this arrangement had an end date, it wasn’t until death we do part, but still there was a responsibility there. A commitment. Priscilla was bound to her now, and she to Priscilla. Gone were the days she only had herself to consider. Now she had something else to bear in mind. Someone else. Decisions had to be made thinking of Priscilla too, her wellbeing, keeping her safe. She could not be late with rent because she’d blown all her money on booze and drugs, because it wasn’t only her who’d end up homeless now. She had promised Priscilla she would keep her safe and she would. 

“A good different though,” Hilda thought to assure Fenrik, aware of his scrutiny in the context of their argument. This also was the truth. Before she thought she’d hate that feeling; being beholden to someone. But, actually, she rather thought she liked it. That word flashed again in her mind; anchored. She hated Priscilla in her space all the time, missed the peace and quiet of the cabin before, thought the woman was a giggly, simpering fool, and yet she felt less lonely than she had before. Less alone. Besides, she’d had some glimpses that perhaps a lot of what Priscilla seemed on the surface was an act. Why the act, she hadn’t worked out why yet and maybe she never would but regardless, she still thought Priscilla wasn’t as awful as she had once seemed. 

Hilda’s eyes found Priscilla now, where she was chatting with Yseult and Elba. “Of course it was her idea,” she laughed. “I’m not really a planner. I prefer my parties in a bar where no one knows me. Or, I did. I’m not sure how Priscilla would feel about it if I tried that now. She suggested it. She wanted to meet you all. It was a good idea, but I’ve been nervous, that’s all. I wanted to do this too, even if it wasn’t my idea.” Everything she said was to stave off fresh judgement. She was sure it was coming. It was why she also said, “Ask me about the baby then.” Perhaps she should have forewarned them of it, but what was done was done. 

With her hand clenched around a cold glass of vodka — on the rocks, of course — Hilda stared across her cabin, watching her friends interact with Priscilla. Even Fenrik had come, which she hadn’t been sure of. They hadn’t spoken since their argument, when he’d said he didn’t care about her personal life. That’s what had made her unsure he’d come to meet Priscilla. There wasn’t anything more personal than that. 

It was maybe the hit of the ethereum she had taken when she’d “gone to the toilet” fifteen minutes ago, but, for whatever reason, Hilda felt a strange warmth. For one night, she could pretend this was her real life. Married. Surrounded by friends. She could pretend she had a sense of belonging and happiness she hadn’t since she’d left the circus. She could pretend she’d found contentedness. The only thing she couldn’t do, was get used to the feeling. None of it was real. Priscilla wasn’t real. She and Fenrik were fighting. It was all a house of cards, even if it was one she liked the feeling of it, for now. 

They were just as lost as each other, weren’t they? For so long, the wolf had believed the vampire had everything and more figured out. It had taken Elba too long to find the common ground to stand on with Hilda. It would’ve been humiliating to admit now, but she needed to remember those embarrassing notions were also laced with love. Only with someone you held so close, could you believe the impossible. And while Elba would never doubt Hilda could forge a path for every impossible act (because she was simply that cool), they were meant to lean on each other to pass the time. Their maps towards a semblance of happiness were always in the making, so long as they stayed at each other’s sides. Elba meant it. Priscilla had her as much as Hilda did.

“It’s your ghost outfit. You know, only the most important outfit in the world, so it’s very, very fitting.” Absently, she twirled a digit into a silky piece of Hilda’s hair, making a ringlet with it. That was an easy agreement to make, Elba’s head nodding eagerly, “I’ve got just the style in mind.” Having watched the late Astoria style her hair, her twin daughters’, and Elba’s over the years, a trick or two had been picked up. Elba wasn’t sure why she’d never taken the time to express admiration towards her fallen friend through a hairstyle, but today she could do this for Hilda. Today, Astoria would be present with them. “Let’s see if I can do it without burning your hair off,” she attempted to deadpan, but she was too giddy today.

Elba had promised not to candy-coat any longer, but the feeling which settled into her tummy and settled any anxieties told her everybody was coming home. They were a family forever. Beginning again.

For a second she thought about getting defensive about getting defensive. Surely there had to be something wrong with it, because it didn’t make you likable. But she huffed instead and bit her tongue, because it was a stupid argument to get into. “You wouldn’t have to be that good, I could believably be targeted and murdered on my walk home from work,” she pointed out. Over the last few months she’d had to conceive of a lot of believable ways she could die, so by now she was used to the topic, morbid as it was. It almost didn’t seem real.

If only Priscilla could have read the instagram therapy infographics, she might have been able to answer that the reason she was so quick to dismiss her own capabilities was because they’d always been dismissed for her, and because the only real skills it had ever mattered she possess were laying down and rolling over on command. She was both cursed and blessed with illiteracy in this regard.

Instead she decided to swing in the other direction, “If anything I’m doing too much for him. My momma never worked three jobs for me.” The ghost of a Carynthian twang haunted her voice as she said it, without her realizing. The paved road became more and more like dirt the closer they rode to home. Not home, the cabin. Hilda’s cabin. It wasn’t really home, she reminded herself. “Thanks,” she said after a pause, with some reluctance. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” —neither did Priscilla— “but, thanks.” For the cab. The cracked window. The offer. The unexpected boost of confidence. 

It was a nice day, for a fake wedding. 

A time or two prior, Fenrik had also spoken Elba down from steep and rather inviting ledges. He’d do it for any of them and it’s how her gut had known the deal that’d been stricken without hearing it explicitly from either side. It was not lost upon her that she could predict what he’d say at most moments now. Her stomach even did nauseatingly sweet flips as she thought further into it, a grin playing at her lips. It was going absolutely nowhere today, especially once Priscilla being a werewolf had been revealed. “God, I bet!” her hands had folded over her heart, stacked right on top of the other, the news tickling Elba to her very core. “I still have days where Bloodhearth and I don’t get along,” she put it lightly, with a chuckle. There was something so spectacular that called to wolves about Carynthia. And Elba had never even lived there. She couldn’t wait to ask Priscilla if she had. Undoubtedly, she would put her foot into her mouth. But an eager foot was better than an uninterested one, right?

“We’re here completely and totally for the both of you. What’s she like to do? Oh, wait- I’ll talk her ear off later about all of that.” Elba had to bite her lip, before her brain wandered off the tracks of Hilda. A long arm found it’s way around Hilda’s shoulders, “You want help getting ready today? Are we a business casual affair?”

It wasn’t a sentiment Hilda could relate to. When she’d been homeless, she’d been so in the city; it had made sense. There was more foot traffic to increase the chances of a tossed coin or two. There were more homeless people about, making it slightly safer. There were places where they congregated to sleep. Hilda valued her space, but it had felt easier to sleep surrounded by others in their sleeping bags and, if they were lucky, tents. It had been necessary, but being away from Bloodhearth had made her heart, dead as it was, hurt. Like there was a bruise on it that wouldn’t heal. Coming back really had been coming home. There was a peace here she didn’t find elsewhere. Perhaps it was something in her bones, in the very make up of her, and Elba had the same thing but about Carynthia. Bones that called out to home. “Home is home,” she agreed, “and it’s different for us all. But I hope she can settle in here all the same, and that you’ll help. It’s lonely enough feeling far away from home, without also not having any friends nearby.” 

Hilda twisted the new ring on her finger as Elba’s arm came around her shoulders. She hadn’t told anyone what it did; that it allowed her to walk outside in the sun drug free. Ostensibly, this was to not give ammo to the idea she was only in the marriage for the ring. Really it was so she couldn’t be questioned as to why she was still taking drugs the way she did if she didn’t need them. The truth was, she did need them, just in a different way. “I was thinking I’d go all out tonight and do, uhhh, black jeans and my leather jacket,” she laughed. It was what she always wore. “But maybe you could do my hair for me?” 

“Do what?” Priscilla pouted, brows folding into one another in blatant confusion. In her lap her hands folded to stillness and she sat up a little straighter, trying on some subconscious level to right whatever it was she’d been caught doing wrong. She didn’t think she’d been doing anything at all.

Whether intentional on Hilda’s part or not, it had been a smart move to focus Priscilla’s attention on herself. Otherwise, she might have noticed the slow shift in Hilda’s demeanor as the drugs took their intended effect. “Get defensive? Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes and huffed. “If I brought up something you were sensitive about, you’d probably snap my neck.” It wasn’t said with the fear or disdain it probably should have been.

Hilda didn’t try to stop the snort that came. It said better what she then tried to. “Everyone gets fucking defensive, that’s not a weird trait to have. It’s normal. I couldn’t care less that you get defensive. Probably think you were weirder if you didn’t get defensive.” Her head rolled slowly so she could look at Priscilla again. “I’m not sure I can cash in a life insurance cheque if I’m the one who’s killed you.” This she said low so the driver couldn’t hear them over his loud music. “I’d have to be really fucking good at covering my tracks.” Now it was her turn to roll her eyes, even if everything she’d said had been lazily done so, giving the impression she didn’t much care for any of the conversation at all, when actually she was just high, as she’d intended to be for their journey home. With the ring nestled on her finger, it would be impossible to pretend it was for the logistics of travelling home during daylight. She’d have to pretend to be really stupid. 

“I mean,” Hilda waved a hand, “why do you dismiss what you can do so easily? You think drawing pictures and making up stories isn’t the same thing as reading a book? That’s exactly what a book is. It’s the result of someone sitting down and drawing up pictures and making up words to go along with them. And even if it wasn’t that, it’s still enough. You should still learn to read for other reasons, but it’s still enough. Some people barely pay any attention to their kids. Or only love them conditionally.” Like her own parents. “But you will be an awful mother if you’ve decided that’s all you can be and what you offer isn’t good enough.”