#bdrperic

BDRPwrimo -- Day 12

Plot a thread with two characters who do not know each other where they have to solve a problem.

Midnight Snack 🎵 [Mick]

@maritimeericandersen​, @kion-kimani​

Miguel had never been known in his family as a good sleeper. However, since sharing his brain with a bunch of dead people, his sleep schedule had gotten even more fucked. To avoid keeping Ian awake (even though Ian usually stayed up pretty late too, so maybe it was more about just...avoiding Ian in general at these hours, when the ghosts were so loud they gave him a headache), he often wandered campus.

The cafeteria was one of his favorite places. They always had hot coffee, kept warm in magical thermoses, and warm baked goods and fresh fruit (not that Miguel ever ate the fresh fruit.) He would often stay in the cafeteria until four am, doing homework in the quiet. (Well, quiet except for the ghosts.)

When he entered the cafeteria around 3am on Monday morning, he was expecting to be alone, but not this alone. As soon as he stepped into the room, the ghosts fell back. Their voices went silent. It was like a weight had lifted off his shoulders and he actually smiled as he went to grab a coffee.

There were three other people in the cafeteria already. Miguel gave them cursory nods as he made his way to a seat far away from the rest. Since it was only the four of them, they could spread out.

He sat down with his coffee and his warm blueberry muffin and a book for class, settling in. He didn’t even question the peace of the ghosts.

Not until it was broken by the sound of a cafeteria tray slamming onto the floor. Miguel jumped slightly, turning to look at the guy whose tray had dropped. He didn’t seem to notice, he was just staring at the place where it had been, as a few grapes continued to roll across the floor.

@maritimeericandersen

It was almost opening night of the show and things were very busy. The set was much more complicated than many of the others that Toulouse had worked on in his time as Set Director. He liked the business of it. It kept him from thinking too much about other things: like the dream. The dream and all that had come with it: a place of belonging, a contentment that Toulouse didn’t think he had ever felt in his entire life. 

Thinking about it burned like a wound that might not ever heal and there were only two things to do: never leave bed and do his best to sink into the mattress or busy himself to the point of exhaustion. 

There was also the matter of his brother, but Toulouse was more confident about the outcome of that scenario. He felt sturdy when he thought about his brother. A pillar. Someone that Berlioz could lean on, which is what he had always wanted to be. No, he had never in his life imagined it happening quite like this, but there was a part of him that was...happy that the tables had finally turned. Toulouse knowing once more the place in their relationship. 

So--it was Hades and Belle he was trying to avoid in his thoughts. And Hades and Belle he kept thinking about, as he looked over the near-empty auditorium seating, wondering if they would come to opening night. If they would admire his creations and if they would mention it to one another. Or if they would pretend the set pieces had materialized miraculously. Or if they would come at all, Belle perhaps too tired...she must be nearing the midway point of her pregnancy, if she had not passed it...either way, he tried to imagine them sitting there and wondered if he wanted it or not--

Wait, was there someone out there, hiding in the shadows? His head turned towards where he thought he had seen movement, worrying they were about to be infected with another poltergeist. There it was again--

Toulouse glided down the stairs from the stage to the auditorium floor and stalked towards the shadowy figure. “You!” he barked, “what are you doing, lurking in the shadows? These are closed practices.” 

@maritimeericandersen​

There was a boy in the lobby.

InterPride was a big place and even after working there for six months, and making a considerable effort, Hercules still didn’t know everyone. He did, however, know when someone looked out of place. 

And this boy certainly looked that. 

Curious, more than anything, he wasn’t security, obviously. He wasn’t the receptionist either, that was Martin’s job. Still, he approached the kid with his head tilted slightly. 

“Hey,” he called when he was near enough to be heard. He pitched his voice to be as nonthreatening as possible. Something he’d gotten very good at after years of being looked at in fear. “Can I help you with something?” 

@lostatsea-eric

Golden boy Eric Andersen had just moved into town.

This annoyed Phoebus, if only because he had gotten here first. He’d heard the rumor about the dragon and the demons and the Gates of Hell. These were his specialties. If Eric-fucking-Andersen managed to locate the Gates before him, or pinpointed who was in control of them (because there was always someone in control of them), he was going to be pissed. This was supposed to be his moment of glory. His last shot before the King’s tourney to prove himself. He would be chosen for the melee, of course, if only because he was the only boy left to choose from, but he wanted to impress his father. He wanted to make his father not regret choosing him.

And that meant taking down a bloody dragon and finding the Gates of Hell and attempting to close them--permanently.

Eric Andersen was going to get in the way of that.

But, Phoebus would play nice, because it was better to play nice and know whatever Eric knew, than be a dick and be in the dark. If he cozied up to Eric, they could “work together”, and then, when the time came, he could swoop in on his own and take the glory for himself.

Also, if Merida turned out to be a dud, maybe Phoebus could shove her onto Eric. He was the soft, bleeding heart type. Merida’s passionate call to arms for training probably would’ve made him cry, he’d be so moved.

What really had Phoebus walking to Eric’s door, though, was obligation.

The Order was supposed to work together when the time called for it. They were supposed to help each other. Despite the competition for the King Family, they all married each other and helped train each other. Hell, Eric was practically family. His sister had married Phoebus’ cousin and their children might as well be his niece and nephew. He’d grown up with Eric too, just a few years younger than he and Clemens were.

Once upon a time, he’d even liked Eric. He didn’t dislike him now, he was just not exactly happy about having his territory encroached upon by an actual, competent Prince. (Jury was still out on whether Florian fell under that category.)

So, he knocked on the man’s door and when he opened it, Phoebus smiled.

@castawayeric

Attina was druuuuunk.

Which was fine by her. That was the way she’d wanted to be. She’d slipped out of her apartment after hearing Andy making plans to go to the next town over with Britt--and while those plans were always Subject to Change, she figured it was a pretty good bet she would not be at Pixie’s. Aquata had a swimmeet. Alana was a little AWOL but the person Attina was least worried about running into while absolutely trashed.

Which was what she would need to be to do what she wanted to. 

And what she wanted to do was have sex. 

She was about three tequila shots in, the alcohol like fire through her veins as she danced on the dance floor, underneath the flashing lights. Bless mermaid’s low-alcohol-tolerance because those tequila shots had gone down rough. There was a man too, but he’d disappeared--for more drinks? To pay the tab? Attina didn’t really care. As long as he came back. As long as he took her home. Well, not to her home--his home. Wherever that was.

@maritimeericandersen

Of course, Lou had heard about the petitions that had begun circulating around town. And, of course, he had heard about the vampires that apparently owned the bed and breakfast (the bed and breakfast, itself, had hardly appeared on Lou’s radar until now--why would it have?) He did not know what to think about any of it, to be frank. 

Part of him wished he did not have to think about it at all. That was--impossible, considering that two of them directly attacked what he was. The moniker was still taking getting used to. Sometimes, Lou forgot that he was a werewolf at all for how normal he felt. Which, he supposed, was an argument towards the ridiculousness of calling werewolves monsters, but he digressed. The thing was: Toulouse was still who he had always been, which meant an aristocrat raised for the foundational years of his life in Paris, to a mother and father of slightly liberal, but mostly centrist views on magic.

He did believe there were some Magicks that were inherently evil: demons, for one; vampires, for another. But if that petition passed, Lou would struggle even more than he already did to find a job, which was--not excellent news, considering the longer he went without proper work, the more he could feel his mania growing, like the true monster, feeding on his idleness until it drove him mad. More importantly: Hades could be out of a job, and while the Bonfamilles, of course, would support him if necessary--it was not a long term solution, if only for Hades’ own sanity. 

So, yes, he could not ignore it, but that did not mean he believed in the utopia that Miss Vee Hauntley was spouting either. And he found it very presumptuous that she had declared herself as speaking on behalf of “all Magicks in Swynlake.” He was a Magick in Swynlake. She hadn’t spoken to him.

These thoughts chased themselves around in his head as he sat on the grass in the park, rolling a ball for Opal to chase after. In his distraction, he had rolled the ball a bit too hard, a bit too far away for Opal’s toddling legs to catch up to it quickly enough. It bounced against a stranger’s shoe who was walking by, Opal giggling as she ran after it.

Toulouse stood at once. “Opal,” he called, causing her to stop and look back at him with her wide, bright eyes.

“Ba!” she told him, pointing at the ball. 

@castawayeric

Attina had gone down to the lake. It was early in the morning, the sky a dusky pink and purple, orange just barely starting to bleed into the palette as she stood on the bank, stripping off her clothes and tucking them behind a rock. There was no one around this early, Attina made sure of it, before she dove into the water, transforming as soon as she it the water.

She needed the release, and the secret pool in the house wasn’t going to do it. She needed the murky waters, the smell of algae in her nose, the particles in the water brushing against her skin--she wanted to say hello to the fish and the otters and the turtles. 

It felt wonderful, and she swam the length of the lake once, and then again. By the time she finished her second lap, heading back towards the place she’d stashed her clothes, the sun was more orange than pink, and it glinted off her lovely orange scales. 

And then, there was a figure standing on the bank--and it looked like, to her, from this distance, that he was going through her purse. Her credit card was in there and her social security card! And her entire life, basically. Daddy would kill her if she lost those.

“Hey!” she called, “put those down!” Her cheeks were a lovely dark red as she hovered with just her collarbone showing above the water, staying transformed for the moment because it was easier to tread the water that way.