Half-Light, Still Standing

it was the end of the day and sylvie was about to lock up for the night. she liked working at the bakery because it reminded her of all the work that she did when she was in the castle. when her step mother forced her to work instead of getting to spend time learning how to rule. getting covered in flour, baking bread, being around an oven was so familiar and comforting to her. plus if she worked at the bakery she could take home any of the pastries at the end of the night. she occasionally was too tired to cook dinner when she got home, relying on whatever she could find. she wasn't going to go home just yet today, wanting to socialize in town for a bit or walk home slowly.

today there was plenty of left from today. she gathered a basket of the leftover pastries. it was far too much for everyone at the cottage to get through, even the eight of them. maybe someone outside would want something. sylvie locked the door to the bakery up and flagged down the nearest person. "excuse me. i hope you don't find this too odd, but i have a bunch of leftover pastries from today. would you like to try something? i'll never get through all of this basket."

his gaze flicked to the basket first. then to her.”…not odd” he said after a moment, a faint exhale leaving him, as if  he’d been pulled out of a thought he hadn’t realized he was still in.“actually… kind of good timing.”his hand lifted, rubbing briefly at the back of his neck as if deciding how much to say, before settling again.

“someone asked me to bring something sweet back home,” he added, quieter now. “unfortunately.. he didn’t specify what.”there was the slightest shift in his expression then, something softer yet amused under the surface.

“so I was just going to guess.” he stepped a little closer, careful not to crowd her, eyes scanning the pastries with more intention this time.“guess this saves me from making a bad call?” his fingers hovered for a second before glancing back up at her. “you’re sure?” he asked

"hmm," was all agnes could manage in response. "carrying it alone?" she pondered over the statement. "do you think i'm carrying it alone?" she asked. because she did feel like that sometimes. "are you talking from experience?"

a small faint controlled breath left him, shoulders lifting before settling back again..as if the weight there was not gone..just shifted..different.  “you know..it’s easier to keep moving,” he continued, eyes drifting back to the river. “to stay useful. if you’re fixing something, protecting something…you don’t have to stop long enough to feel how much you’re actually carrying.”

his jaw tightened just slightly as he placed his hands in the pocket of his hoddie “and if you do it long enough,” he added, “people stop asking. they assume you’ve got it handled.”

“sometimes it’s better that way.” gaze flicking back to her  “but it doesn’t mean it’s not heavy.”

the words settled between them, simple and unembellished, as he let out a faint breath through his nose. an almost tired huff, before his expression eased just a fraction. “so yeah,” he said, softer now. “i recognize it.”

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?"

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.”

Ichabod occupies the farthest seat in the café, where the light thins and conversation blurs into something indistinct. The dimness suits him. It allows him to observe without being observed. The low hum of chatter settles into white noise, though he does not truly tune it out. He listens, selectively, sifting through fragments of dialogue in the faint hope that some careless remark might prove useful to his case.

Most of it is intolerably mundane. With quiet resignation, he withdraws a book borrowed from the library — a historical account of Elias, its older districts and half-forgotten foundations. The spine is stiff, as though rarely opened, yet the pages are browned with age, touched by time if not by readers. He studies it with measured attention, one leg crossed neatly over the other. The only light he permits himself is the pale spill of a streetlamp through the window beside him.

A chair scrapes across the floor. Someone sits opposite him. A controlled, steady breath follows.

Ichabod does not look up immediately. He turns a page instead, allowing the silence to stretch. It is unusual for anyone to approach him uninvited — more unusual still to do so without speaking. But human motives are rarely worth premature speculation. If they intend something, they will reveal it.

He continues reading. An artificial clearing of the throat breaks the quiet. That, apparently, is his cue. Only then does he lift his gaze — calm, composed, analytical. “Can I help you?” he asks evenly.

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.”

open starter for anyone. location: the underland, near the locust fight club.

the neon signs of the undersland buzzed overhead, flickering pink and blue against the cracked brick buildings and rain-slick pavement. music spilled out of open bar doors, mixing with the smell of fried food and cigarette smoke, the whole street alive in that messy, electric way it always is. eric stood just beneath a broken streetlamp, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, watching the crowd like he was waiting for something bad to happen.

he spotted a familiar face across the street and felt something twist low in his chest, sharp and familiar. like they knew he wasn't meant to be there. for a second, he thought about turning around, letting the night carry him somewhere else. instead, he pushed off the wall and crossed toward you, boots splashing through shallow puddles. “didn’t think you hung out down here..."

——— jasper felt as though he had been running around like a mad man all day. the idea of flowergrams had come to him in hopes to make people's day brighter. teaming up with minnie had been intimidating at first but the councilwoman had been more than thrilled to help jasper's vision come true. everything curated to perfection - a minnie mouse speciality.

currently, his arms were full of a variety of different colored roses with notes wrapped around each of them with beautiful white, laced ribbon. for someone so tall and moved with the grace of dancing shadows, jasper was trying his best not to run into someone at the moment.

"oh, did you have a flowergram?" he asked, looking down at the tags to see if the name rang a bell. "if you don't have one are you interested in helping deliver some?"

dark eyes lifted and landed on jasper, who looked dangerously close to being swallowed whole by an armful of roses, the ribbons fluttered in the breeze, white lace catching the light. for someone who moved like a shadow most days, riku paused a moment, just watching the careful balancing act. 

riku stepped closer, gaze drifting down toward the cluster of tags tied around the stems.  reaching forward and gently lifting one of the tags that had slipped sideways between the roses. the name written there made his brow knit slightly. sora.

he stayed in the shadow, eyes sweeping the street first. old habit. the locust’s door breathed violence behind him with laughter sharp, magic humming low but his attention kept snagging back to the hero hunched over ink and responsibility.

strongest man in the city. drowning in paperwork. there was something almost beautiful about it.

he pulled the chair out, careful not to disturb the precarious towers of plans, and settled across from him. "you know there are easier ways to suffer."

Hercules huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand over his face before leaning back in his chair, which protested under the shift of his weight. “Oh, trust me, I tried the easier ways,” he said, tapping a stack of papers that immediately threatened to slide. “Turns out none of them come with zoning maps and contingency flowcharts.”

His eyes lifted to Riku properly now, sharp in that calm, assessing way that came from years of battle, even if the fight in front of him was mostly red tape. He followed Riku’s earlier glance toward the street without comment, filing it away. “Funny thing is,” he went on, quieter, “I can wrestle monsters all day. This?” He gestured vaguely at the mess. “This is the part that actually scares people. Or keeps them safe.”

He nudged a chair leg with his boot, grounding himself, then offered a crooked smile. “So if you’re offering commentary, I’ll take it. If you’re offering backup, ” his brow lifted, hopeful but not expectant, “I could use another set of eyes that knows how to watch the shadows and the exits.”

cold air tore through his lungs as his footsteps echoed along the quiet streets of elias. the city was still wrapped in that soft gray hour where night hadn’t fully let go yet. streetlights buzzed overhead but his breath came out in sharp clouds.

movement helped drown the noise, for a while. he slowed near the river path, hands braced on his thighs as his heart hammered against his ribs. the water rolled dark and calm beside him, reflecting the pale glow of early morning when he heard the slow steps behind him come to a stop.

he rolled his shoulders, posture casual but alert as he turned around towards the approaching presence. "morning,” he called out, voice steady despite the tension in his chest.

agnes stopped by the river path, hands on her knees, panting heavily as she tried to regain some semblance of strength to continue, but she couldn't run anymore. she was too tired, too out-of-breath. she'd have to walk the rest of the way—which was exactly what she did.

on her path, in the distance, she spotted a figure (who she hoped meant no harm). as she stepped closer, the figure became clearer. riku.

"morning," she greeted quietly. their last encounter was heated, to say the least, on agnes' part. she wasn't able to control her anger then and she let her emotions get the best of her when she stormed the council building. "out for a morning walk?" she didn't know why she asked that; of course he was out for a walk.

"sorry, for last time," she said before she could stop herself. "i could've handled my emotions better."

Hercules sat half-buried beneath a chaotic spread of papers, city maps, and half-crumpled napkins covered in hurried notes. He figured the coffee shop would be a nice change of scenery from the cramped office. He leaned over the table, squinting at a draft of the latest Guardian Initiative proposal. A force in the city not to enforce laws but to protect the citizens. That was the idea, anyway. He ran a hand through his curls and let out a long, slow breath as he stared down at the city schematics, one elbow perched next to a cup that had long gone cold. He was strong. Everyone knew that. But this was a different kind of heavy lifting.

Another page slid off the table. “Ugh, come on,” Hercules muttered, bending down to snatch it up before it was trampled by the shoes of a passing barista. It wasn’t the monsters or the magic that overwhelmed him, it was the paperwork. The fact that every line he drew here would change how people lived and felt safe. Still… he was glad to be doing something that mattered.

He straightened up and caught someone glancing his way, maybe at the mess, maybe at the title “GUARDIAN ZONES – PUBLIC SAFETY DRAFT 2C” in bold at the top of a sheet. He smiled faintly and gestured to the seat across from him. "If you need the seat please, take it. ” he said, “I can move my things.”

he stayed in the shadow, eyes sweeping the street first. old habit. the locust’s door breathed violence behind him with laughter sharp, magic humming low but his attention kept snagging back to the hero hunched over ink and responsibility.

strongest man in the city. drowning in paperwork. there was something almost beautiful about it.

he pulled the chair out, careful not to disturb the precarious towers of plans, and settled across from him. "you know there are easier ways to suffer."

———  the  last  time  jasper  had  a  giant  sack  of  presents  trailing  behind  him  he  had  hijacked  santa's  entire  holiday.  an  ambitious  yet  very  lost  sixteen  year  old  had  managed  to  do  the  unthinkable.  he  had  meant  well,  thinking  he  had  found  a  new  purpose  in  life  but  jasper  soon  realized  that  christmas  was  never  going  to  fill  the  void  he  had  in  his  chest.  still,  something  had  ignited  in  his  heart  the  first  time  he  stepped  foot  into  christmas  town.  a  warmth  that  felt  like  coming  home.  it  was  a  high  he  still  chased  and  wished  others  could  feel. elias  was  in  need  of  joy.  the  councilors  were  doing  all  they  could  to  make  the  citizens  feel  safe.  truthfully,  jasper  felt  like  he  wasn't  doing  enough  at  times.  if  he  could  snap  his  fingers  and  fix  everything  he  would.  however,  that's  not  how  reality  worked.  as  far  he  knew,  there  was  no  magic  spell  to  make  everything  go  back  to  normal.  so,  he  called  upon  a  favor.  one  that  sandy  claws  was  happy  to  oblige  to. the  giant  red  sack  dragged  along  the  cobblestone  path  of  mainstreet.  snow  had  begun  to  blanket  the  city.  soft  crystals  pillowing  on  the  land  to  signify  that  winter  was  here  and  the  earth  once  more  matched  the  holiday  season.  jasper  had  no  idea  what  presents  the  bag  held.  sandy  had  told  him  that  the  gifts  would  transform  into  the  gift  the  children's  heart  desired  once  they  held  it.   ❛   does  anyone  mind  helping  me  distributing  gifts  ?  ❜

"you really don’t know how to do anything halfway, do you," he glanced around mainstreet at the lights, cautious smiles and the way people were trying so hard to believe things could still be gentle. elias was hungry for joy..and everyone..even him. was desperate for it. he stepped closer and reached down, taking hold of the sack without hesitation. it was heavier than it looked..but he will manage. "yeah, i’ll help."

violet had been in a daze since her sudden, though expected, unemployment. this would be her first christmas out of home, out of municiberg, and in a time where she needed comfort and cosiness the most…in elias she still had to find it, not return to it. build a safe space from the ground up.

the festivities had been cheery, but today she was pacing herself. she had time to see everything, after all.

her wanderings took her to the guardian demonstration. the training square was not a place she frequented, so finally being able to soak it all in was enthralling to say the least. the word 'guardian' held such importance, so archaic and meaningful. it was on par with words like 'sorceror' and 'enchantment' and all others that were part of an arcane language she'd never encountered before.

she watched as the man performed his piece, looking as wrung-out as she felt. violet hesitated. well…he was here to demonstrate and to help with their enquiries…right?

she was standing in line at the coffee stand when he, miraculously, started heading her way. violet figured he was going to line up for coffee too.

clearing her throat, she waved her hand in his peripheral vision to try and catch his attention. when he spoke up first though, it caught her off guard. "no, uh, it's okay…" she gestured around them feebly, "i mean — i did want to talk with you but are you on your break right now, or something? you should totally take that, i am so not getting in your way, who knows when you'll get another one, am i right?" violet snorted softly.

looking over him once more, she felt a pang of empathy. "what are you gonna order? it's on me. i insist."

"you’re fine," he said gently, the edge in his voice smoothing "really. i was heading for the same place." he followed her glance toward the coffee stand, the peppermint scent curling closer. merciful and sharp. he exhaled, some of the tension finally draining from his shoulders. a tired smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "this is the closest thing to a break i’m getting today.” when she offered to pay, he huffed out a quiet laugh "that’s a dangerous offer to make to someone running on fumes." he stepped a little closer to the stand, keeping his posture open "peppermint mocha. hot. no tricks." a pause, then he glanced back at her. "but only if you let me return the favor next time. deal?"