the darker the night, the brighter the stars.

who are you, his eyes finally lifted again. brighter under the low light, but just as steady as before, that same measured attention settling back into place like it had never left.

“just someone who learned the hard way not to trust what’s written about this place.” the answer came without weight, like a fact he wasn’t particularly interested in defending. “you learn a lot when you are out on the field. besides..” his gaze dipped briefly to the book again, then to ichabod’s hand where it held the page open. he added a bit quieter now. “history reads better when you take out the parts that don’t make people uncomfortable.”

his posture shifted, leaning back enough to give the space between them back. not retreating. but…adjusting. “the section you’re on talks about what survived.” his eyes flicked once toward the window again, toward the narrow streets folding into shadow. “not what was buried.”

“…figures,” he murmured.

His eyes lifted, sharper now, studying him like he’d just stopped being background noise. “Most people read this and walk away feeling more capable,” he added, tapping the cover once. “You read it and start subtracting… quite an interesting habit.”

He leaned back slightly, gaze flicking once to the window, then back.

“And yet you’re still here,” he said. Not a question, just noted. The corner of his mouth twitched, something between amusement and interest. “Which means you either didn’t find what you were looking for…”

“…or you found exactly enough.” A brief pause. His gaze held, more intent now.

“So what does that make you?”

so, here he was, awkwardly standing to the side of ichabod and clearing his throat, internally wincing at himself once the other finally looked up at him.

"sorry," he started, nodding in the direction of the people around them. "there weren't many spaces left, i was wondering if you wouldn't mind me taking this seat? it's just you seemed like the quietest place to be, and i promise i'll be quiet as a mouse, too. you won't even notice me being here, i won't even ask about the book." milo offered a hopeful smile, lifting up his cup and plate in his best version of a mock-surrender he could manage with his hands full.

A pause.

“Did you rehearse that, or do you panic this eloquently on instinct?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, just slightly. His gaze dropped to the brownie, then back up again. “You can sit,” he added, nudging the chair out with his foot. “But I don’t believe for a second you’ll be quiet.” A small tilt of his head. “People who say that always have something to say five minutes later.”

He leaned back, studying him now, more curious than bothered. “So,” he continued, tapping the table once, “let’s skip ahead.”

“What were you actually going to talk about?”

——— luz was still buzzing from the adrenaline rush of being on stage. it felt as though her body was vibrating with all the excitement she was trying so hard to contain. she knew that karaoke wasn't exactly everyone's cup of tea, but this was supposed to be about fun. if there was one thing luz prided herself on, it was knowing how to have fun.

"yes, sing!" she repeated as if it were obvious. she hadn't seen the man before, which made her interest pique even more. the chance to make a new friend! how exciting! the apprehension was evident on his features but luz wasn't one to back down so easily. she could be persistent. others may call it annoying.

"oh come on, it'll be fun!" well, it would be fun for someone. that someone most likely was her but luz knew that with a little encouragement, others could also enjoy.

"don't be so hard on yourself. no takes karaoke seriously. it's supposed to be fun. the other night there was a guy here who sounded like a frog but it was still fun to watch him enjoy himself!"

His gaze flicked to the stage—someone was absolutely destroying a ballad—then back to her, all energy and zero shame. “People like you are why these places exist,” he muttered, leaning in slightly. “People like me avoid them.”

He watched her a second longer, something in his expression shifting despite himself. “You’re not even trying to convince me I’ll be good,” he added. “You’ve skipped straight to I’ll survive the humiliation.”

Another glance at the stage. A painfully missed note. Ichabod winced. “…that man should’ve been stopped.” He sighed, took a long pull from his drink, then stood. “This is coercion,” he said, pointing at her. “You know that, right?”

A pause. “…fine.” He took a step toward the stage, then paused, glancing back at her. “You’re coming with me.”

mavis hummed happily as she took a seat across from him. she began sitting her papers out carefully. trying to make sure she wasn't making too much noise to disturb his reading. she looked up at him and nodded.

"yes. looking, applying, getting turned down." she sighed, "the usual." the vampire shrugged. "i've only had one real job before as a waitress... and i wasn't very good at it." she did try her hardest. and she didn't want to put dancer at snake eyes on her resume... people weren't too kind about the underland "i'm working on my resume to try and make it sound better."

“Everyone’s bad at their first job, no one just admits it” he said simply. “It’s not really a measure of anything.” His gaze flicked back to her, then down to the resume again.

He reached forward, tapping lightly on the page. “This is… very honest,” he added, almost carefully. “But it reads like you’re trying to make yourself smaller than you are.”

“You’ve been around longer than most people in this city, haven’t you?” he continued, his tone more thoughtful now. “That usually means you’ve seen things. Learned things. Adapted.” His eyes lifted to hers.

“That’s experience, even if it doesn’t come from a tidy job title.” He slid the paper slightly back toward her. “Write what you’re capable of doing.” A small pause. “What are you good at, miss? Not what fits on a resume, what’s actually true, with you?” He leaned in, more curious this time.

——— jasper waited for a response from ichabod. he remained perfectly still, eerily, some might argue. a smile graced his features when a reply finally came. the skeleton nodded at the other, a thank you of sorts, and took a sip of his coffee.

"i suppose they don't. although, some do reserve spots for friends if they know they're coming," there have been a few times jasper had attempted to sit at tables and was kingly (or not, depending on the person) that the seat was taken. whether it was true or not, he didn't care to know. "thank you, i appreciate it."

he returned to his book. the peace finally settled into his bones. jasper was more than content to spend the rest of his morning here. he could sense ichabod's eyes on him and lifted his own to meet.

"something like that," he smiled, easily. "would you believe if i said it's also reading for fun?" he laughed. "what is that you're reading?"

He turned the book slightly, enough for Jasper to catch the worn spine. “Old records,” he said. “Burial logs, mostly. Names, dates, causes… patterns, if you stare at them long enough.” A small pause. “Not exactly entertaining. I think I’d prefer yours.”

His gaze lingered on Jasper for a moment longer, thoughtful.

“I want to leave this place,” he admitted suddenly, the words coming out quieter than expected. He looked back down at the table, fingers tapping lightly against the cover of his book. “But I’m… stuck here. For now.” A faint exhale. “And somewhere along the way,” he added, almost to himself, “I think I forgot how to live.”

"well every place has a history, i'd think. even if there aren't people, the trees, the plant life, the dirt, they all have a history." obviously not everyone thought like that, but sylvie did. elias was a place with development, so she'd known there was some sort of rich history here. "like people history?" she asked, wondering if someone had recorded a history of this place before people showed up.

"well, i mean i do have a home here. it's not mine, but some lovely people are letting me stay with them." in exchange for meals and keeping the place clean. she was talking about more than that. "i'm not from here. i fell through a portal and ended up here. the sky was angry and i can't remember much from that night." she remembered the huntsman and the storm, but other than that, completely blank. she was too nervous to ask her second question. "i guess i need books on magic." sylvie didn't have any magic, but her step mother did.

“That’s… a nice way of thinking about it,” he said, a little softer than before. “Elias does have its history written down, though I wouldn’t trust all of it.”

He rested his arm lightly on the table, studying her for a moment. “The place you’re staying at… do you like it? The people, are they treating you well?” he asked, more out of curiosity than politeness.

But then he caught it.

“A portal?” His brows lifted slightly, curiosity slipping through more openly now. “Do you remember anything before that? Where you came from?” A small pause, then, almost as an afterthought, “I’m not from here either.”

His gaze lingered, more careful now. “And magic?” he added, quieter. “What do you need it for?”

"well, i don't have a couple," she said plainly. "so, yes."

mandy was aware that the scene was strange - it wasn't every day people went around asking strangers to lunch. but uncertain times called for equal measure and this was the most bang for her buck she was going to get today. she could afford to be judged, even if - for just this week - she couldn't afford a burger.

tomorrow was payday, anyway. she was almost in the clear.

still, with his offer, she was happy to hold on to the money - a nod of her head acting as thanks as she slipped the bill back into her pocket, trying and failing to utter the word. she wasn't too proud to appreciate a quiet gesture in a moment where she needed one, but she did have a hard time saying thank you.

The moment they crossed the threshold, he could feel it, the subtle shift in attention. Staff glancing up, eyes lingering just a second too long, quietly assessing. It made something in him tighten, a flicker of unease crawling up his spine. But they had a goal. And for once, he decided to lean into it rather than retreat.

“Hello,” he began, offering a smile that felt just a bit too practiced to be natural. “This is my lovely girlfriend,” he added, his hand settling lightly at the small of her back as he guided her a step forward, not forceful, just enough to sell the illusion. There was something almost theatrical in the way he presented her, like unveiling a rare exhibit.

“We were, ah…” he cleared his throat, faltering for half a second before pressing on. “Actually hoping to try your burger promo.” His fingers lingered a moment longer at her back before he pulled away, glancing sideways at her with the faintest hint of amusement.

“After ten minutes of my indecision, apparently,” he added under his breath.

"and you'd be correct." though she quickly added— "well, partially correct. i didn't track you down, this just so happens to be a chance meeting. so if you believe in fate, that means you have to help me..."

she reached for her pocket notebook. the pages were all almost filled. after flipping through the book for a while, she found a page with just enough space for a few sentences. "i'm wondering if you've come upon any cases from the underland. say, if somebody die, do you handle the bodies?" she asked. "i'm curious as to how the hell barons dispose of bodies. maybe if i can see them, i can understand whatever schemes those people have."

As she fumbled through her notebook, flipping to what looked like the last few remaining pages, he leaned back slightly in his seat. “Yes, I do handle the bodies,” he said, almost casually. “Make sure they’re dead and all that.” A soft chuckle followed, the kind that lingered just a bit too long for comfort. Ichabod had always had a strange relationship with humor, one that lived somewhere in the darker corners most people preferred to avoid.

“And no,” he added, more firmly this time, “you can’t see them.”

He pressed his lips together briefly, glancing at her with something close to sympathy before giving a small shrug. “I appreciate the attempt—truly. Coffee’s a compelling offer.” He lifted his cup slightly, as if in acknowledgment, before taking a slow sip. “But this isn’t about incentives. It’s a matter of principle.”

Setting the cup down, he continued, his tone quieter now but resolute. “The dead still deserve dignity. And the last thing I’m going to do is let a stranger prod at them while I’m meant to be giving them their final sendoff.”

mandy lingered outside the café, arms wrapped tight around her body to combat the cold as a five-dollar bill sat crinkled in her palm. it was the last of her money until tomorrow and she knew without looking that this would be the most filling meal she’d get for how much she had, if only she had a friend. she watched as groups drifted in, laughter trailing behind them, and tried to ignore the persistent ache in her stomach. she could, like, go to the store and stretch this five way easier – but her sights were set.

she watched as people slowly filtered out, trying to settle on what she would say as someone new walked up. “hey,” she said simply, her mind immediately going blank as she thought maybe this plan was crazy. she decided to be direct. “look, I’m looking for someone to go halves on this deal. you need to be a couple and, well, I only have five dollars.”

it was dine-in only, too. that was the real kicker. "what do you say?"

“You need…” he began slowly, “…a couple.”

His gaze drifted toward the window of the café where the sign advertising the promotion hung rather enthusiastically. Then back to her again. “And your solution,” he continued carefully, “is to recruit a stranger.”

Crane adjusted the scarf around his neck, clearly unsure whether he’d just been invited into a scam or something far stranger. Still, the way she held the five-dollar bill—like it mattered more than she wanted it to—didn’t go unnoticed. He exhaled lightly through his nose.

“…Alright.”

He stepped closer to her and, before he could overthink it, gently took her hand—the one holding the five dollars—and folded her fingers around the bill again like it was something she shouldn’t have to present as proof. “Put that away,” he said quietly. “You’ll need it tomorrow. We’ll split the meal. I’ll cover the rest.”

He started toward the café entrance, still holding the door open for her as though this had been the plan all along. “If anyone asks,” he continued matter-of-factly, “we’ve been arguing about where to eat for the last ten minutes.”

violet twiddled her thumbs as people walked past. this wasn't so bad. a nice table set up in a cosy part of the library, papers and nice pens set out. her laptop, too, was set up, fully charged and ready to go. she'd even brought her typewriter.

'the art of the love letter - need help writing?' took space on a poster standing up on the edge of the table.

it was an awful lot of effort, and violet was awfully nervous. a writing position that wasn't journalistic or made her want to throw her laptop into the ocean? wild. and yet, the nervousness was a thin veil to conceal her giddiness. she was itching to help someone write something. to put together words, to say what they really wanted to.

when she caught someone's eyes, she found herself smiling (if a little awkwardly) as a greeting. "hi. happy valentine's week — got any, uh, love letters you've been wanting to send?"

The art of the love letter — need help writing?

Crane stood there a moment longer than most people probably did, as if carefully evaluating whether approaching the table would be a mistake. The quiet of the library wrapped around the space—soft footsteps, pages turning somewhere deeper in the stacks, the occasional cough from someone studying too long.

When Violet greeted him, he seemed mildly startled to realize he’d already been caught looking. “Ah.”

He adjusted the book tucked beneath his arm, glancing briefly at the neatly arranged pens, the typewriter, the laptop—all the tools laid out with almost ceremonial readiness.

“Love letters? ” He asked, His gaze flicked back to the sign again, curiosity lingering. "Do I have to be in love to write one?" He added, casually.

——— striking her most popstar worthy pose, luz had just finished belting to her heart's content. the other patrons in the place were happy the performance was over. one too many microphone screeches had pierced their ears. she jumped on the stage a huge smile on her face and slightly panting from the adrenaline coursing through her. "come on you have to go up and sing!" she told the person she was standing in front of. "it's so much fun i promise."

“Sing?” he repeated slowly, as if confirming he’d heard her correctly.

His gaze drifted toward the stage she had just abandoned. The microphone still swayed gently on its stand, catching the colored lights above it like a trap waiting for its next victim.

“…Oh no.” He immediately reached for his glass and took a long drink, the sort of swallow that suggested he was reconsidering several life choices at once. When he lowered it again, he shook his head firmly.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the stage, “but I assure you that placing me near a microphone would qualify as a public safety concern."

——— rituals were important to jasper. it gave him some semblance of normality in the midst of the chaos that was his life. the same morning routine offered guidance each morning. it was the same baristas who greeted him with a smile on their face. they knew his order by heart and even left silly doodles here and there. they brightened the skeleton's features each time he saw one. this was the one time the mundane didn't bother him.

this morning was different. there were no meetings to rush to. in fact, jasper had time to himself until the afternoon. the hours would have been spent with his fiancée had donnie not been busy. it left jasper to his own devices, which could be a good or bad thing depending on what was stirring in his mind. not wanting to break the pattern he had created, jasper was here getting his usual coffee. instead of leaving, he decided to linger a bit before venturing off into the city. the tables were starting to fill as usuals took their spots, talking amongst half eaten scones and laughing spilling between old friends. one spot caught his eye and he made a beeline for it before it could be taken.

he had come prepared with his own book, this one of course on different scientific methods. magic was untapped territory but science was home. jasper wondered if there was something here that could help aid in the council's endeavors. he was taken from his well-loved pages by the sound of another's voice. his tunnel vision is one of his greatest flaws. jasper often failed to see the world around him until it was staring him the face. hence why he didn't notice the other individual at the table. "oh, no." he replied simply, closing his book. "is this uh, entire table reserved?"

“…No,” he said after a brief pause. His gaze drifted across the rest of the café—the scattered cups, the steady murmur of conversation, the chairs slowly filling as the crowd thickened. Then he looked back at Jasper.

“I don’t believe cafés usually operate on reservation systems." The comment was delivered without bite, more dry observation than sarcasm. He shifted the book slightly closer to himself to make room, the gesture quiet but deliberate. “You’re welcome to it,” he added.

Crane’s eyes dropped briefly to the book Jasper had just closed, catching the glimpse of diagrams and formulas before returning to the page in his own hands. Scientific methods. That wasn’t the sort of reading most people brought to a coffee shop.

After a moment, curiosity slipped in despite himself.

“…Research?” he asked, nodding faintly toward Jasper’s book.

Castor had taken the seat without asking. He hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t ordered coffee. Hadn’t even pretended to look at the menu board. Instead, he had watched the man read with the sort of patience most people only managed when studying constellations. When he finally looked up, Castor’s expression brightened faintly, as though a small experiment had reached its expected conclusion.

“Help me?” he echoed, voice light but thoughtful. “Not particularly.” He leaned back in the chair, glancing briefly at the book in Ichabod’s hands before returning his gaze to the man himself. “I was curious.”

His tone suggested that curiosity was justification enough for most actions. “You chose the least comfortable seat in the room, the dimmest light available, and a book no one reads unless they’re looking for something specific.” His fingers tapped once on the tabletop, absent rhythm. He gestured lightly toward the book. “So,” he said, settling in like the conversation had already been mutually agreed upon, “what exactly are you hoping to find buried under the city?”

For a moment he said nothing. His fingers rested along the spine of the book, his thumb idly brushing the worn edge of the page as though weighing whether answering truthfully would be worth the trouble.

“Well,” he said at last, his voice calm, almost absent-minded, “I wouldn’t call this seat uncomfortable.” His eyes flicked briefly toward the lamp overhead before returning to Castor. “Just… less popular.” He gave a small shrug.

He closed the book partway, keeping a finger tucked between the pages. “As for the lighting,” he added, glancing toward the dim glow above them, “it has quite the ambiance, don’t you think?” The answer clearly sidestepped the question.

After a moment, Crane turned the book slightly on the table, revealing the page he’d been reading, old diagrams of the early districts and the structures beneath them. He slid it just enough for Castor to see. “What do you think?”

His eyes lifted again, settling on the man with a quiet curiosity of his own now. “Do you think I’ve got something to hide?”

the uncertainty was gnawing on her.

sometimes, she wondered if she should have been more compliant. if that was the case, maybe she'd be able to keep her job at elias chronicle. one less thing to stress about. but she also knew she wouldn't be happy there. there was no way she could continue doing those fluff pieces, she wanted to use her voice for more.

and there were cases she needed to work on.

by chance, she saw a familiar-ish face. not that she ever interacted with him, but she'd seen him around the chronicle office. she didn't think twice about approaching him. she sat opposite him, waiting for him to respond, but when he didn't, she let out a rough cough.

"yes! you can help me indeed," agnes said. "i'm agnes hollow. i've seen you around in the elias chronicle office. you're ichabod crane? the forensic examiner? some reporters brought you to interview you?"

Crane looked mildly surprised by her sudden introduction. He closed the book he had been reading and set it carefully on the table, fingers lingering on the worn cover for a moment as he studied her face, trying to place it. The name didn’t immediately ring a bell, but the mention of the Elias Chronicle did.

“Yes, that’s me.” He gave a small nod and reached for the black coffee beside him, taking a measured sip before setting the cup back down. His eyes drifted back to her, a little more attentive now. “Pleasure to meet you, Agnes.”

There was a brief pause while he considered his next words. Then, with a faint attempt at humor, he gestured lightly with the cup in his hand.

“But talking about dead people to random strangers isn’t exactly my cup of—uh…” He glanced down at the mug, realizing what he was holding. “…coffee.”

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly at the awkwardness of it. After a moment, he leaned back a little in his chair, folding his hands loosely together. “That said,” he continued, his tone settling into something more curious than dismissive, “people usually don’t track down a forensic examiner unless they want something specific.” His eyes studied her for a second longer. “So I assume you didn’t just come over to confirm my name." A small tilt of his head followed.

“What exactly do you need help with?”

Elias. Its foundations. of course. when ichabod finally looked up, riku was already watching him. not out of confrontation. just attentive in that unnervingly calm way he had…like someone used to studying people the same way others studied maps or books.

riiku’s eyes flicked briefly to the page Ichabod had just turned, then back to his face. “maybe” voice low, steady, carrying none of the tension someone might expect from interrupting a stranger’s quiet study session. he reached forward and gently turned the book a few degrees so the streetlamp caught the text better. “you’re reading the wrong section.”

Ichabod’s brows drew together, confusion settling across his face as he tried to follow what had just happened. The last thing he’d expected was for a stranger to sit down uninvited—let alone begin correcting his reading. He studied the man across from him for a moment. The calm way he watched him felt almost clinical, as if Ichabod were some specimen placed carefully beneath glass.

Strange, perhaps. Yet it didn’t unsettle him as much as it probably should have. When the man reached out and turned the book slightly, Ichabod simply watched, curiosity quietly replacing the initial surprise. The shift caught the lamplight better now, the faded text was suddenly easier to make out. He glanced down at the page, then back up at him.

“What do you mean?” he asked. His voice carried a cautious curiosity.

Ichabod adjusted the book in his hands, eyes moving across the paragraph again as if searching for whatever the other man had seen. After a moment he looked up once more, tilting his head slightly.

“You’ve read this before?”

His gaze flicked briefly toward the window where the older streets stretched out beyond the glass, dim under the streetlamps, then returned to the stranger’s black hair catching the yellow glow of the café light. “Why?” It was an odd question to ask, but he did so anyway. "Who are you?"

mavis wove through the crowded café, clutching her papers a little tighter as she searched for an open seat. the place buzzed with conversation and clinking cups, but all she really needed was a small corner to sit and go over this resume. logan had told her a dozen times she didn’t have to work, that she could take all the time she needed but the thought of doing nothing made her restless.

she just needed to feel useful. normal. and after everything she’d been through, normal felt like the most important thing in the world.

besides, she was still getting used to their new place. the quiet of it sometimes felt too big, too unfamiliar. so she’d decided to venture out into the city instead, hoping that somewhere between the noise of the café and the scratch of her pen on paper, things might start to feel a little more like herself again.

“oh! i’m sorry.” she said cheeks warming with embarrassment. “it was the only open spot… is someone sitting here? would you mind if not?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head lightly. “You can stay.”

He returned to his book, though the words didn’t hold his focus the way they had a moment ago. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the stack of papers she was spreading across the table, the careful way she smoothed them down like they mattered more than she wanted anyone to see.

After a short pause, he lifted his gaze again, tapping the edge of the page with his thumb.

“…Resume?” he asked quietly, nodding toward the papers. “Looking for work?”