#cryptids verse

Amou had noticed the change fairly early on. 

Being a detective helped, but the fact that Kiryak had to look closely at labels when he didn’t need to before was a big give away. He couldn’t help but tease the old man. “Now you’ll have the complete old fart look. Just squinting around at everything as you putter around with your cane. I wonder if you’ll need the big thick glasses already. OH COULD I PUT THEM ON WHEN YOU GET THEM--”

The old man had shoved a spoonful of stew into Amou’s mouth at the time to get him to shut his trap. It didn’t help for long, but the conversation was moot anyway. Kiryak was stubbornly refusing to see a doctor. He’d insisted that he could maneuver just fine without glasses and Russian tenacity was hard to dissuade. 

It was harder to convince Fortunato to drop the subject. 

The occasion when the mob boss had noticed hadn’t been anything special. It was just a planned visit set when both of their schedules had been convenient. A planned visit that included a movie. Kiryak greatly enjoyed movies, and Fortun appreciated the semi-private environment to spend time with his father figure. They had been sitting towards the back of the theater, alone thanks to carefully spread out guards to keep just anyone from getting near the two, when the film reel showcased the name of the next short film to play. Fortun had chuckled at the clever name and turned to comment to Kiryak about it when he spotted the old man squinting at the silver screen in frustration. 

He at least had the manners to wait until after the movie to talk to the old man about it. “If you give me a time when you’re available, I can get you an appointment with the best eye doctor in New York.” Fortunato stared straight ahead as he spoke in French, careful not to look or sound like he was pitying Kiryak. Far from it, as both of them knew, but Fortun was well aware of the old man’s pride.

Predictably, Kiryak bristled about the comment. “I'm fine.” Came his roughly accented voice in French as well. “The problems aren’t so big.”

“Like your legs?” Fortunato raised a dark eyebrow as his gaze fell over the old man’s oak cane. It had taken years for him to finally convince Kiryak to use one, much less the high quality one that Fortun gifted him for his birthday. He really hoped it wouldn’t take more years to get him to wear glasses.

Kiryak scowled and lifted his cane as if to waggle it in his adopted son’s direction. The look that one of the guards gave him changed his mind halfway to trying and instead he gave a snort. “I’ve spent years looking after myself and Amou, and we only had to see a doctor twice while in France and five times while in America.” He was speaking in Russian, like he always did when he needed to make a proper point to his sons. “I haven’t needed the help of some quack--” There wasn’t really a proper Russian word for the slang, so Kiryak just added the English word into his rant. “--to keep me alive. Much less to tell me that I need fucking glasses.”

With a long suffering sigh, Fortun had gotten into all the reasons why that logic was faulty and why his father figure should treat the issue seriously.

He could remember being very small and running out into the cold with careless abandon. With arms out and mouth open wide to catch the candy-like flakes in his mouth, Kiryak would play until his mother would chastise that he would freeze outside. Then would be time for drinking tea from the family’s samovar and eating freshly made soup. The white family cat would purr and rub his head on the legs of anyone standing, not caring if people tripped over him. There was always laughter and stories and song in those memories.

Inevitably the trip to the past within his own mind shifted. Kiryak took a drag of his cigarette to shift pass the less pleasant memories of aromatic white fur and hot tears down his then-young cheeks. Blood and pain also featured heavily in those moments, though he exhaled to dispel both smoke and thoughts. He instead focused on his first winter spent at the DeFleur estate. 

France was never nearly as dangerously cold in those dark months, but that didn’t stop Kiryak from insisting that his charge Fortunato dress well for the weather. After the boy had ceased complaining, it didn’t take long to realize that he just wasn’t well suited for any outdoor activities. Especially when a furry white blur of a cat decided to dash from behind a bush to trip poor little Fortun in his path. Kiryak had to scoop the boy up and head inside, all the while dealing with a temper tantrum the likes of which he’d never seen outside of a toddler. It took a lot of gentle talk and drinking of hot chocolate to calm Fortunato down. Outright bribery convinced the boy to forgive the cat--who had arrogantly followed the two inside. He’d given it a quick pat before he went back to ignoring its existence. The cat did the same for him.

A squawking yell came from inside the apartment and disrupted Kiryak’s thoughts. Taking a quick look inside, he couldn’t help but smile. Inside was his teenage adopted son Amou, trying and failing to dislodge their fat white cat--affectionately called Fatty--from his shirt. Curses that mixed French, English and Russian came from the boy in short order as he complained about the new holes in his shirt.

Kiryak put out the rest of his cigarette on one of the bars of the fire escape before opening the window back into the apartment. He gave Fatty a disapproving squint, though inwardly he was fairly amused at the display. The cat, in typical feline fashion, finally let go of Amou’s shirt and walked off as if he hadn’t done anything wrong. 

The boy straightened up his shirt and glared over at his dad. “Why do we even keep him? He just eats and eats and gets in the way!” 

The old man made the effort to look like he was thinking while he made his way into the window. As he shut it, he responded in English, “Is not phrase, ‘Home is where cat is?’”

“Dad I don’t think that’s the phrase at all.”

“No?” Kiryak feigned ignorance as he walked towards the small kitchen. Fatty immediately rushed over to rub up against the man’s legs. “Always had cat at home, remember?”

Amou followed him, automatically sitting on a tall stool nearby. “I remember there being a wild cat or two, but none of them were this mean.”

The oven clicked a couple of times before Kiryak lit the gas with a match. A mostly full pot of water--already filled to combat the cold--was gently set on the burner to boil. “Is just how they are.” He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Anyway, even is not American phrase, is true for me.” Amou gave his dad a suspicious squint. Kiryak bent over as far as he was able to stroke Fatty’s somehow pristine fur. “Always had cat at home. So since New York is new home, must take care of cat, yes?” 

It wasn’t really a new revelation, but it was one that Kiryak very rarely dared to voice. Fatty purred. It was hard to tell if this was approval for what was said, or if he was begging for bits of meat.

The teenager rolled his eyes with a frustrated sigh. “Fine. If that’s what it’s going to be, that’s what it is.” Kiryak chuckled and reached up to gently pat his son’s head.

The woman chattered in Italian for a while before quickly and firmly gripping the sides of his face and giving him a kiss on each cheek. She gave a hearty chuckle at his shocked expression and the blotchy red that colored his face. Her English was much better than his, though her accent was just as noticeable. “You are a SAINT, signore. Very humble, very kind. Stay that way, sì?” She patted his cheek with a callused hand before releasing him to hobble off to her destination. 

The old man stood there for a moment before someone clapped a hand on each of his shoulders. He spun to face his potential attacker before relaxing. It was just Amou. The wide grin on his face made him tense up again. “What is face for?”

“You sly dog,” Amou’s French accented English made the phrase sound dirtier than it had any right to be. “And here I thought I was the ladies’ man.”

It was hard for Kiryak to hide how red he was turning. Even if he used his cap to hide his face, his bald head would still give him away. “She was having troubles. Had to help.”

Amou gave an exaggerated look in the direction the old woman had gone. “I mean she’s not my type, but if you want to make a good looking old lady your old lady I’m not going to say no. Unless she won’t let you in the kitchen, THEN we might have problems.” 

Kiryak eyed the lanky young man from under the rim of his cap and muttered darkly in Russian, “I may not have brought you into this world, but I can take you out of it.”

The Frenchman rolled his eyes and replied in English. “All bark and no bite, old man. I know you too well.”

Muttering curses in his native language, Kiryak marched down the sidewalk. Amou kept up with him easily enough. “You know you never did tell me why you haven’t gotten hitched yet. Any reason why?”

In English, the old man responded, “Might have something to do with leech in side for over 20 years.”

“Eugh, sorry I--” Amou blinked, then did a double take that ended with glaring at his adoptive father. “HEY!”

Said assignment was busy giving him a wide-eyed stare in between bites of ratatouille. In the space of a few minutes, the five-year-old had managed to get food on what appeared to be everything except for his own mouth. Some vegetables had even gotten stuck in his bright hair in the process. It would have put him off of his own meal if he had any appetite. 

The comparison came to him unbidden: this boy was nothing like the fastidious Fortunato. The two may share a father, but neither of them were at all the same. Light where the other was dark. Energetic where the other was reserved. Dirty where the other was clean. Total opposites. Kiryak felt his heart become heavier with the thought. 

Lisa, the boy’s mother, clucked her tongue as she stood up from her place at the dinner table. “Amou! I know he’s new but that’s no excuse to keep staring. It’s rude!” She licked a cloth napkin and started cleaning Amou’s face. “And you can’t just watch him while you’re eating! Look at the mess you’ve made by doing that!”

Finally breaking the stare, the boy whined and tried to get away from the rough cloth. “But mama--!” 

“No buts.” She kept his skinny chin in her hand as she inspected her work. Letting go with apparent satisfaction, Lisa continued, “Eat your dinner without your eyes on our new friend and I’ll let you go play outside until the sun sets.” 

As if a switch had been flipped, Amou’s attention was fully on his meal. He ate with enough speed that Kiryak found himself wondering if the boy would just throw it all up soon after. Without bothering to ask to be excused, he sprang from his seat as soon as his bowl was empty. “Bye mama! Bye--” Amou paused before he reached the door, turning around to face Kir with a questioning pout. “What’s your name again?”

A stab of pain hit him in the chest at the expression. The boy was much younger than Fortunato had been when Kiryak first was assigned to him, but...he could see the resemblance now. He tried to keep smiling, although he wanted to do anything but. “Kiryak Ivanovitch,” He managed. 

Amou repeated the name several times to himself before beaming up at him. His small, blunt teeth were on display for all to see. They seemed to be slightly cleaner than the rest of his body. “Well then, bye Mister Kiryak!” With that out of the way, the five-year-old finally ran outside.

Quiet overtook the two adults as they finished their own meal at a much more sedate pace. Once his own plate was clear and he refused seconds, Lisa took the dishes and utensils back with her into the kitchen. He made to stand (despite his protesting heel) when she spoke up from the other room. “I know your job is really to look after Amou, but I need some help with the dishes.”

Kiryak’s voice was curt in his reply. “I should join him if he’s playing. A boy like that,” Important, impulsive, innocent, prone to accidents, any one of those excuses could be brought up to her. It wasn’t as if Lisa didn’t know how much of a handful her child was. “Should be looked after. Before peo--” He paused, then settled on, “Before he gets hurt.”

“You can just as easily watch him from this window as you can outside.” He could hear the eye roll in her voice. “But if you want to go out, I’m not going to stop you. Just don’t expect the door to always be unlocked if you’re gonna do that cat thing of wanting out or in every five minutes.”

He took a moment to think over the offer.

Then, the big man joined the much smaller woman in the kitchen. Lisa smiled--nothing nearly as blinding as Amou’s ones--and tucked a lock of her light brown hair behind an ear. “Start with those over there.” She pointed at some pots that were covered in a thick layer of filth, with rust starting to poke through the grime. He nodded and got to work.

It felt nice to be washing dishes again. The DeFleur manor had several cooks and waitstaff on hand, so it made it difficult to come down to the kitchens in his free time to offer to help. Simple, mindless work like dishwashing was already handled on a regular basis. It had made Kiryak mourn for the old days, even as he got more and more used to luxury. This was a nice return to form. And he hadn’t even needed to think about his emotions at all!

“So I’d like to know what’s up with you right now.” A pan slipped from his grip and banged on one of his fingers. He let loose a Russian swear on instinct. Lisa waited until he had recovered before she continued. “You’re so glum and depressed, even while you smile. That’s hardly going to be useful when you’re trying to chase around a five-year-old. Gautier assured me he was sending his best bodyguard.” She folded her arms and rested against a countertop with a hip. “So. Either he lied--which I wouldn’t put past him--or something big is on your mind. If you keep this up and whatever is going on gets in the way of you protecting my son, I won’t need Gautier to help me hide your body.”

Kiryak was speechless for a moment. “...Thought you were just in it for the money.” He knew his words were stupid the minute he spoke them. He was rewarded by a deserved slap to the back of his head.

“Please. I’m not sure what Joselin’s motivation was for marrying Gautier, but money’s not my only reason for doing all of this.” Lisa gestured out the window. “He is.”

He was still processing the idea of talking about Madame DeFleur so casually and by her given name, it took him a moment to see what she was getting at. Outside, Amou was hopping alongside a frog. His mouth was moving rapidly, potentially in song though Kir couldn’t hear it. When the boy got bored of hopping, he spun around in circles until he fell into a mud puddle. The loud laughter was clear, even through the closed window.

“I’m not going to ask you to spill your guts right away,” Lisa said directly into his right ear. “But if you’re just here out of obligation, you should leave. Sooner rather than later.” She pushed herself away from her spot to head to the dining room. 

That heaviness inside his chest still lingered. Kiryak doubted that the feeling would ever go away. Fortunato, towards the end of their time together, had been very much like a son to him. Did he have what it took to watch over another boy, to care and protect and teach him, and to potentially be separated from him at some point in the future…?

Outside, Amou had gotten back up and was searching around the yard. He perked up when he noticed the window and gave a large, two armed wave to Kiryak. Slowly, he raised a hand in return. The boy’s grin overtook his whole face and he shouted something before he ran off.