TRICKSTER.

“This is nothing. I used to set my mother’s hedges on fire for fun.” And the curtains, the occasional dust ruffle, and atrocious decorative pillow. “Just protective sigils. Nothing too extreme.” Wiping his hands on his jeans, the ash hidden against the black denim, Lucian offered a wry smile. His own apartment was like a fucking fortress and he’d admit it. Sound proofing spells, sigils etched into corners of windows, onto candles, mirrors, under carpets, fucking everywhere. That felt too far to do to a place that wasn’t his without permission. “Kind of a habit. Put one on the door of the bedroom but that’s as far as I went.” His gaze moved from Mal to the notebook he’d left open on the coffee table beside him. Various runes compiled together to make the sigils as aesthetically pleasing as possible were spread across the page, a couple crossed out. They weren’t anything anyone was going to see, but it was the principle of the thing. “I could soundproof the place if you want. Doesn’t take too long.” He gave a casual shrug of his shoulders as he reached for the cup of coffee he’d set aside. The cup was cold to the touch and he didn’t think much of tapping his fingers against the side of it to warm it up a little, the too familiar rush of warmth at his fingertips, before taking a sip from it.

“I didn’t think you’d be home so early.” A lie, a light one. He’d let himself into the apartment on a whim and maybe, just maybe to impress the shifter a little bit. But he wouldn’t admit that out loud, thought it’d ruin the fun if it was pointed out that they had a ‘thing’ for mischief. It’d been on his mind too much, the apartment in general. The more time he spent there the more he realized he hadn’t given the place his usual once over of protective sigils. It didn’t seem like he was going to be spending any less time at the place and he didn’t think Mal would particularly object to further protection. That didn’t mean it wasn’t still somewhat awkward to be sitting in his living room, the television playing reruns of crime shows, with ash on his fingers and his shirt unbuttoned completely. Fire magic was warm work in general and the apartment, even with the windows open, was stuffy. After that one night, he never really wanted Mal to catch him in a state of undress ever again but it was a little late for that now.

       “If.” She corrected lightly. If they ended up in the dog awful situation again they’d know to keep their paws off suspicious, ancient looking, hand carved boxes. Her hand jumped out to meet his, grasping it for a brief few seconds in agreement. She supposed one good thing came of a chance meeting with the stranger.

Cassie actually began to laugh, “Of course I am, but all the best people in this city are so I’m not worried about it,” she raised her glass as though to drink to that before knocking back the rest of her drink before signalling for another.

“What kind of accent is that?” It was Sheamus’ attempt at small talk – he could smell the shapeshifter on the kid, he’d just yet to figure out if he was friend or foe.

“Is that so? Are you saying that just because you know I have a thing for bad boys?” Elijah teased, resting his head on his chin to idly stare at Mal. “Well, it could be alluring for some. Just depends on who you tell it to.” Finishing off his brunch, the Tallis witch set down his fork. “Alright, here’s what we’ll do then. You’re welcome to ask me anything you’d like, and I’ll answer as honestly as I can. But any question you ask means I’m allowed to ask you one of my own, same conditions. That’s the settlement,” he mused with a sly wink.

“Well, this is New York,” Shira agreed with a light laugh. She pulled the bandage out and began, smoothing the wrinkles out of the fabric as she went. “So do tell me, what is the strangest thing you’ve been asked then? Or one of the strangest things?”

Lucian actually stared at the door upon Mal’s retreat, mouth poised to offer some snark back to him. But it didn’t come and he was just stuck trying to process the audacity. The sly grin, the casual touching that had him shivering at the contact, and then it was gone and in its place was genuine softness, as if the whole thing had never taken place. He blamed the concussion he’d been sure he’d had a few hours ago on how he was just rendered completely dumbfounded. Closing his mouth and swallowing, he gave a shake of his head before sighing and reaching down to dig through his bag. Carefully shedding his jeans and taking notice of a few more scrapes here and there, he changed and shoved his previous outfit into the depths of his bag. He’d repair whatever he had to when his magic wasn’t drained. Or burn it, he’d see how he felt about it later. His attention turned back to the mirror, he picked the ice pack back up and pressed it to the still present throb at the back of his skull as he sucked in a breath. Clad in a black tshirt that proclaimed ‘Practice Safe Hex’ and the only pair of sweatpants he owned, he realized this was the most casual he’d ever been around the shifter.

It was only after practically giving himself a nosebleed from getting rid of the cut on his cheek and managing to ease the throb at the back of his head, did Lucian consider himself officially maxed out of magic. With great hesitance, he dragged his bag from the bathroom to the living room and left it beside the couch before padding barefoot to the kitchen, where he paused in the entryway. “Are you okay with me crashing on the couch?” It was over, all this fucking shit finally felt over for the moment and feelings of vulnerability be damned, he wanted nothing more than to revel in the warmth that filled his chest when Mal gave him that look he had earlier. But he stayed put beside the wall, didn’t actually enter the same space as the shifter, feeling more than a little out of place. “I mean, I can catch a cab back to my parents. It’s not a problem.” He leant against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest to keep from fidgeting, eyes set towards the floor. Stupid, he felt fucking stupid for even asking in the first place and he felt heat rising in his cheeks. “I just don’t want to-” Be alone right now. No, he wasn’t going to admit that out loud. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“Why protecting your eyes from the sunlight, of course.”

“Simply really… I think I have a much stronger stomach than you do… that mixed with getting more enjoyment from violence and you have your answer,” she replied to him as though it was the easiest response in the world.

“I think it’s been for almost two years. I’m not saying I want it to get worse, but I’m ready for the worst to happen so we can move on and fix it” Harrison mused as he glanced over. He was shocked he hadn’t relapsed in a big way since this whole ordeal started, but he knew he might struggle without Rosalie around. He was in for a world of a struggle if thing’s got even worse. “ I’m considering it. I have my sibling’s though so I don’t know if I could just up and leave”

“That and potentially a broken nose… either are going to be a pretty damn expensive medical bill,” she mused, chuckling a little.

She raised an eyebrow at the nickname (assuming he wasn’t saying that peaches were something to hide a man’s face). “You know, I do believe sunglasses have other uses as well,” she mused, smirking.

“Okay, I know this is going to sound super, super weird. But I need to practice wrapping bandages for a class and I know you’re probably busy and all, but you look nice enough and would you please, please, please let me wrap your wrist? Just really quickly, I promise! I just have a test this afternoon.”

Leaning across the table, the older man peered at Mal with a curious glimmer in his eyes, watching as the younger man snagged a piece of his food. Elijah didn’t bother stopping him or protesting about it. “Is it such a bad thing, to know about your secrets?” he hummed softly, smiling back at the shapeshifter with an unwavering gaze. He couldn’t help himself but laugh lightly at Mal’s remark though. Cheeky and clever. Elijah liked that. “Oh, very therapeutic indeed. Though I’m sure I sleep just fine at night without the confessions,” he mused. Not one to just leave it at that though, the Tallis witch snagged one of the pieces of food from Mal’s fingers in turn. “I’m not just an open book for you to read, sweetheart. It’s a two-way street, or we’re not going anywhere.”