#petegraham

This was the Wasteland, and a waste of time. No one was ever truly here. An unmitigated realm of atrocities immortalized well before his existence. Before the existence of his mother, and a thousand generations before her. The realm was every Catholic’s nightmare. Every appalling torment and passive suffering man could fathom made its way here. Not to punish, not to dwell, but to teach. The Shadowlands were south of here. Battlegrounds lie beyond the rain. Wraiths were not interested in this place. They had an entire universe to themselves, and their own private Hells.

This was a beast in and of itself, and he must have walked here for a reason.

Rune lowered his hand from his ear. The small scars on the left side of his face warmed and his body stilled as the man screamed again.

He wasn’t real. This was just… a memory. That’s all this place was. If he kept his eyes forward, focused on just the one, the others could fade from his periphery. A woman in a chained box begging for food; a man crawling on his belly, dragging his dead and mangled feet by the sinew.

First come first serve. This man had screamed first. Must mean something.

“Ben je nog in leven?”

Rune: The stench of smoke hit his nostrils hard, but it was the stink of burning hair and flesh that slowed his pace. He tried again. Called out in his native tongue. Called out in Japanese. In hesitant Spanish.

“Are you still alive?”

Why couldn’t he find the carnage? There were memories here he didn’t want to see, and this one, the only one he wanted, he couldn’t.

The air had become hot and viscous. The Gauntlet. His hands rubbed vigorously together, warmed by primal static, he rubbed his palms against the brown gummy surface. The depth of color, the black at its core, reminded him of obsidian.

Harder and harder he rubbed. Like body heat against cold oil. Eventually, after what felt like an hour of diligence, a slit had been made just wide enough to squeeze through.

The sooner the better. He couldn’t have shimmied fast enough through the already tightening exit. This realm preferred its solitude, and couldn’t be bothered remaining open to the realm of its creation.

Autumn trees and cold grass. The threat of honest rain above and the scent of nearby hydrangeas. This wasn’t London. This... wasn’t London at all. Not where he had fallen asleep, anyway. Something in his gut told him he wasn’t anywhere in England.

But that could wait. Just five minutes. Covered in a sticky residue, having fallen out of – ah yes, a tree. Of course a tree. Just give him five minutes.

Kelly: Kelly Rose dug the heel of his hand into his hip and closed his eyes, cursing the coming rain for all he was worth. The bath he’d taken to ease the myriad aches in his body had helped but not enough.

Nothing was ever goddamn enough.

He limped into his kitchen for a bottle of water. It was darker now than it had been when he’d gotten into the bath. It was only afternoon, but the thick layer of storm clouds hanging over Edenton gave the appearance of late evening.

“Probably gonna rain all fucking night,” he sighed to himself, popping a couple of Vicodin. Just his luck.

He glanced out the window, vaguely wondering if it was dark enough for the light above his shed to have turned on, only to frown.

“What the f…”

He grabbed his cane and stepped out of the kitchen door and onto the back porch, staring at the man who had appeared in his yard.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing on my property?”

Rune: Despite the steam rising from his clothes, the prone man was shivering, hand hovering over his left ear, but it was all he could manage for movement. Stepping sideways to and fro through the Gauntlet was an arduous task. Exhausting despite a century of practice.

But what he had heard was English, and having the authorities called would be a pain in his ass. He had no excuse for the primal slime covering his body, and couldn't think of anything better to do than raise a shaking finger. The index, for starters.

Kelly: Kelly’s eyes narrowed as he studied the man before him, his head at an ever so slight inquisitive tilt.

Something was…off. Besides the fact that a man in a suit was in the middle of his yard, of course. There was the steam sure, and the presence of some kind of something all over him that was visible even from his distance. But there was also a scent in the air beneath the humidity that seemed at once foreign and familiar, and with it a niggling sensation that he should know what it was.

Unfortunately for the stranger, this was the wrong man to ask for patience in a situation like this.

“Are you drunk? High? How’d you get into my yard?”

Rune: With a groan and a sigh, Rune rolled onto his back, eyes forced open despite the rain. What kind of luck had him sidestepping into even more rain?

But that voice... he tried to focus his gaze.

"I'd like to be."

The stranger's face was young, but that cane added years. He didn't mind the scar. Had some of his own. He was no Verbena.

"You wouldn't believe me."

Kelly: Both the rain and a healthy sense of survival kept Kelly firmly rooted to the porch. He’d already had one experience with being caught off guard recently and he wasn’t looking for a second one.

Just because this man looked harmless laying on the dying grass and being pelted with cold rain didn’t mean he was harmless.

“Try me,” he said, eyes still narrowed in suspicion. There wasn’t any hostility in his gaze or in his voice (for now), just a heavy and palpable caution.

Rune: "Prima," the mage took a breath, tried to sit up, and managed to lean on his elbows. "I fell through that tree, I think. I was at a friend's house in London, then I was sleepwalking, and then ik - I think I heard your voice."

Let's just leave out it was the Atrocities Realm, and I think I know why you sound like a walking pack of cigarettes.

This had to be the screaming man. The scars, the cane, the voice; he just didn't know why. And it was nearly impossible to concentrate in this cold.

Kelly: An ordinary person, having heard the explanation this stranger gave, would have gone back inside with a quickness and called the cops.

A person like Kelly, by contrast, gave the tree in his yard a long, speculative look.

The man said he’d fallen through the tree, not out of it. Now, as far as Kelly knew, the tree wasn’t a portal, and certainly not a portal to London. For someone to have entered his yard through it, a portal would’ve had to be created.

Then there was the matter of his voice…

“You think you heard my voice,” he repeated in a neutral tone. “What makes you think it was me?”

Rune: Rune was just hoping his luck would rear its head in a minute. He didn't want some persuasive spell between them, tainting this acquaintance so soon.

"I'll freeze to death before I can explain," was his throwing a baited line.

Kelly: “Don’t be dramatic. Worst you’ll get is pneumonia.”

That being said, it was annoying having to talk across the yard and through the rain, however wise it was to do so. But he wasn’t about to let this man in his house just because he supposedly heard his disembodied voice in London and decided to trespass about it.

Kelly nodded toward a bench beneath one side of the porch. The stranger could have shelter from the rain if he so wished.

Rune: Ah. There was his luck. Still, his arms were heavy, and his legs were like jelly. Too much adrenaline in thinning the Gauntlet without previous existing tears in the rift. He felt his age when hobbling to his feet, taking a moment to rest, hunched over with his hands on his knees.

You play poker to not feel this way, he thought. And people looked forward to that? Idiots!

The closer his approach, the stronger the scent of mint and pine cut through the tar-like stench left behind by the Umbra. His invitation was taken before an objection could be made, leaving behind the sticky residue without so much as a warning as he dropped his full weight on the bench.

Kelly: Man, if Kelly didn’t know any better he would assume this man really was just drunk. Going through a portal didn’t normally cause the sort of fatigue he was seeing on display here.

Normally being the operative word there. With every passing second, it became more and more apparent that exactly nothing about this was normal.

Only the substance clinging to his visitor and the scent he assumed it was emanating were of interest to Kelly. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that he should know what it was.

“You’re out of the rain. Start talking.”

Rune: Dark eyes roamed his host from toes to eyes. Lingered on his angry scar, not bothering to pretend otherwise. He was in the middle of an internal debate, about how to even explain knowing someone's voice based on their scream. He'd lived long enough to know.

What he decided to go with felt just a little too intimate.

"I know your scream."

Kelly: His host, standing with his arms crossed, was dressed comfortably in sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt that covered the majority of the scars on his body. His hair was still damp from his bath and smelled of some sort of citrusy shampoo.

He would almost seem cozy and relaxed if not for cold skepticism in his eyes.

“You know my scream,” he repeated, perhaps a bit more sarcastically than he intended. “And apparently heard it all the way in London. Do you know what I’m about to say to you?”

Rune: Sarcasm or not, skepticism or not, the man was... pretty to look at. He needed some eye candy after his night.

"Know what not calling the police says about you?" The mage squinted. "You know screams have accents? You know what fire does to a voice?" That should confirm, shouldn't it?

Kelly: “I don’t scream.” It wasn’t an answer to any of the questions posed to him and positively reeked of layers and layers of defense mechanisms but intimate comments should always expect to meet a wall of resistance.

“You can’t identify someone based on a scream and even if you could, that still doesn’t explain how you ended up in my yard or why. Don’t be so quick to think I won’t call the cops.”

Rune: This wasn't a duel. Couldn't be called a battle of wits or any dispute. This was a trial, and a trial required evidence. He could have hobbled away by now. Could have forced himself back through the Gauntlet and hoped to keep his sanity, but he wanted to see how far this could go. Morbid curiosity.

"I followed your scream until I smelled smoke, extra crispy skin and hair. I followed until I hit a wall."

He scoffed and shook his head, droplets of water and muck flying every which way.

"I didn't hear you in London. I heard you in the Wasteland."

Kelly: The lightbulb finally went off in his head, prompting a very long, supremely exhausted sigh.

“You came out of the fucking Umbra. Of course you goddamn did.” Out of the Umbra and for his rotten luck, into his life.

The allusions to smoke and burning flesh would simply not be acknowledged, just like the comment about what fire did to voices. Acknowledging it would more than likely be interpreted as a willingness to answer questions or talk about it, which was most definitely not happening.

“Well, you found me. Consider your curiosity sated.”

Rune: "Hey, no fucking blasphemy."

Fingers combed through his hair, only to wince with surprise. Surprise out of plain forgetfulness. Now that he had found his man, he was finally aware of his body. More than adrenaline, he felt suffocated.

"I need a shower."

Kelly: “This is my house. I can blaspheme all I want. If god has a problem, he’s got a storm already brewing. He can strike me with fucking lightning.”

Kelly uncrossed his arms and leaned on his cane, nodding toward the side of the house as he opened the door.

“Hose is over there.”

Rune: Reckonings came in many forms, he almost said. He wanted to stay in whatever graces this was, so he kept his mouth shut. Maybe for an hour longer.

Fine. Guaranteed Umbra tar-jelly would make something interesting out of his grass. He'd call this probably-not-bluff and walk back into the rain. There was already a human-shaped darkness where he had landed.

At least it was never boring. The Mirror Zone made puddles surrounded by various mushrooms. The Null Zone caused sinkholes and enough tunnels to impress a gopher. What would the Wasteland create?

Kelly: A human-shaped darkness and weird happenings with the grass wouldn’t be out of place among everything else this particular yard had endured in the time Kelly had been living here.

Anything short of the house being swallowed up by the ground could be dealt with.

He had more important things to consider right now, like whether to call Leslie.

Leslie would probably get a wet stranger in his yard a towel…

Fine.

Rune: His host would return to a grumbling half-naked mage, muttering about the cotton fabric of his suit and never being able to recover his precious clothing. Soaked from head to toe with hair over his eyes and a puddle of unfortunate grime at his feet as he soaked his suit jacket with the hose. His shoes, his only salvageable possessions, sat neatly on the porch.

Kelly: While Kelly had been getting the towel, it had occurred to him to grab a garbage bag as well. He seriously doubted there was a single item the man had been wearing that hadn’t been ruined.

The bag was offered first. “There ain’t a hose in the world that’s gonna be able to save that suit.”

Rune: Where the hell was that accent from? he wondered. He looked from the hose to his precious suit to the bag with contempt.

"Did you bring me a shirt?"

Kelly: Kelly had to fight not to roll his eyes. Was this man really about to get precious about throwing his clothes away?

“You can borrow one after you shower.”

Rune: While one fought rolling his eyes the other was fighting a smile. Hello again, Lady Luck.

"Bedankt knapperd," he winked, stuffing his wallet into his shoes and stripping then and there what remained of his clothes, hesitating on his equally precious Calvin Klein boxers.

Those could wait.

Kelly: Kelly picked a spot above the stranger’s head and kept his eyes fixed there as he held out the towel, feeling distinctly like he’d just lost somehow.

He blamed Leslie Issott.

“Dry off before you step inside so you don’t drip all over the floor.”

Rune: "Aye aye, Captain." He had no name to give, so he couldn't be blamed. He'd make his way back around to dry off, otherwise that towel was useless.

Kelly: As soon as the towel changed hands, Kelly pushed the door open with his cane and pointed toward a corridor to the left of the kitchen.

“Bathroom is the first door on the right.”

Rune: A salute later, Rune made his way inside, as casual as he pleased. Wanting to take in his surroundings and anything outwardly unwelcoming.

Kelly: To say the surroundings were sparse was putting it generously.

There wasn’t much in the way of decor and the furniture had been chosen with an eye toward practicality rather than style, but the house was clean enough to pass a military inspection.

The only personal touches—if they could even be called that—were the grab bars around the bathtub in the bathroom.

Rune: Either he was ready to leave at a moment's notice, or hadn't the energy to try. Not at all colorful like his house in Curaçao. Not that he was ever there. The house had probably collected all the dust on the island.

He made his way to the bathroom and locked the door.

Kelly: With the click of the lock, Kelly finally felt like he was able to breathe out. Just what the hell had his life become in the last half hour?

First order of business.

He went into his bedroom and selected a plain black shirt he didn’t care if he ever got back and a pair of joggers. They were too big for his visitor but they had a drawstring. He could deal.

He grabbed a chair from the kitchen, set it outside the bathroom door, and put the clothes on it.

Second order of business.

{Text to Leslie} There’s a stranger in my shower and it’s your fault

Rune: Leslie stared at his phone for an entire sixty seconds of consternation.

{Text} What did I do?

Kelly: {Text} You got inside my head and made me be nice

Rune: {Text} Ok so you made a friend?

Kelly: {Text} Not exactly

{Text} Some guy fell through a portal in the tree in my backyard I didn’t know even existed

Rune: {Text} Since when did we have portals this close?!

Kelly: {Text} I don’t fucking know! But I’ll tell you what, it wasn’t there before

Rune: {Text} Sure it was a portal? Heard a loud thunderclap kinda noise?

Kelly: {Text} Man I don’t know, he was laying in my yard when I got out of the bath and said he fell through the tree

{Text} He was covered in umbra gloop, what else would it be if not a portal

Rune: Ohhhh. Oh. Leslie stared for another sixty seconds before calling Kelly's phone.

Kelly: “I only have a few minutes,” Kelly greeted in a low voice. “I don’t know how long he’s gonna be in the shower.”

Rune: "Kelly, I love you to death but why are - you don't think he's dangerous?"

Kelly: “He isn’t armed and if he was going to do something, he would’ve done it as soon as he saw my cane.”

Rune: Leslie wanted to protest the last remark but refrained.

"You said goop? Gloop. You're familiar with it?"

Kelly: "Familiar enough to know what it is and where it comes from."

Rune: Not a vampire, given the hour. Could have been anything else. What was he supposed to say?

"Never had a porter take me anywhere and wind up with gloop."

The word had put a smile in his voice.

"Glad you're safe, but the moment you're not, you know the song, ain't no mountain high enough. Have fun I guess." Something about those parting words hit his ear wrong. He rubbed at an itch on his chest.

Kelly: "If the tree wasn't a portal then he had to have created one right? Or fucking something, people don't just pop out of the Umbra and into people's yards." Kelly cast a glance toward the bathroom. Just what kind of power did the stranger in his house have?

"Have--Les, there's a rando in my house who's probably a mage! I want him out!"

Rune: Oh, he couldn't help the snort Kelly heard. Leslie squeezed at his nose and that helped a little. That was the response he was hoping for. This was still his Kelly.

"Mhm."

Kelly: Would Leslie be able to hear his frown? "What, you think this is funny? I should've left him outside to get pneumonia."

Rune: "That's not you. Wouldn't do that to me."

Kelly: "And you have the nerve to ask me what you did. This is your fault!"

Rune: "I didn't make you be nice!"

Kelly: "Yes you did! Your voice in my head told me to get him a towel and let him shower!"

Rune: "If you really thought he was dangerous you woulda covered my mouth!"

Kelly: "He was all pathetic and wet and you would've gotten him a goddamn towel! I wasn't thinking about danger, I thought he was just drunk."

Rune: "A drunk mage from the Umbra covered in gloop?"

Kelly: "He's not drunk, that was just the most plausible explanation at the time. Tell me how to get him out."

Rune: "How would you kick me out?"

Kelly: "He's not you, I wouldn't kick you out."

Rune: Leslie scratched vigorously at his chest and rubbed the back of his head, trying to think quickly. About to ask what had been said when the bathroom door creaked open. Brown eyes looking around and landing on the chair.

Kelly: Fuck, time was up.

"Gotta go, bye," he said in a hurried whisper, hanging up the phone. Now to switch back to text.

{Text} He finished showering

{Text} Tell me what to do

Rune: {Text} What has he said?

Rune had used most of his time washing his shoes and boxers. He would be damned walking around naked in a stranger's house. That's what this man still was. Names had to be exchanged at some point, but he didn't feel compelled to rush.

Shoes lined the edge of the tub. Boxers wrung and hung over the sink.

And an arm was reaching desperately for the clothes, fingers flailing before catching the sweatpants, slipping back between the gap.

Kelly: Now it was Kelly who felt something uncomfortable itch at his chest. In the moment he'd been able to dismiss what the stranger said because saving face was vital, but that didn't mean he didn't understand the implications of what he'd been told. He did.

And he hated that someone else did too.

{Text} He said he heard my scream in the Umbra

Rune: {Text} That's a whole thing I'm not familiar with. I just know the name.

Leslie bit his lip and leaned against his kitchen counter. Debated on telling Tristan, but his merman would have no answer, either.

{Text} Not in a menacing "I want more!" kinda way?

Kelly: {Text} It was the answer he gave when I asked him why he was in my yard

A far from satisfactory answer at that.

{Text} I don't know. But he's sure it was me and was curious enough about it to end up here

Rune: {Text} If he's telling the truth, it must mean something. I wouldn't kick someone out knowing something like that about me without knowing more. Aren't you curious?

This coming from the same witch that found a former angel vessel and invited him home for eggs and tea.

Kelly: Kelly sighed. It did mean something. It meant that no matter how much time had passed or what he did or where he went, god still fucking hated him and wouldn't ever stop reminding him.

{Text} I'm pissed is what I am

{Text} A stranger has no business knowing something about me that I wouldn't voluntarily choose to share

Rune: Ever the optimist, Leslie texted back with his own perspective.

{Text} Maybe he didn't want to know either and wants answers.

The bathroom door opened fully this time. Dark brown hair with black roots towel dried to chaos. Warm skin dry and bare from the waist up. A black and brown crucifix hung around his neck.

At least now he could walk out and grab the shirt. Had this been a friend's home he would have been just fine with his nudity, but not today.

Kelly: {Text} Well then he's gonna be disappointed because I have none to give

Kelly looked up and immediately looked back down at his phone, and there his eyes would remain until he was spoken to. Why the hell hadn't the man put on the shirt at the same time as the pants?

Rune: Since he wasn't looking at his guest, he wouldn't see him make himself at home on the couch. Knees brought to his chest with a tired sigh. Like a cat allowed in a stranger's home, one might think this was his domicile.

Kelly: He waited a moment longer to see if Leslie would reply. When he didn't, Kelly slipped his phone in his pocket and went to plant himself at the entrance to his living room, arms crossed.

What the hell should he do with this intruder?

"I let you shower and gave you something to wear. You indulged your curiosity. I think you know what comes next."

Rune: Let's subvert those expectations a bit and pat the other side of the couch.

"We... listen to the news and complain about how the world's gone to shit."

Kelly: Let's not and say we did.

"'We' don't do anything. I get back to my life and you go back to London or wherever it is you came from and we pretend none of this happened."

Rune: "I can't just pop back to London. That's not how it works."

Kelly: "We both know that's exactly how it works."

Kelly pulled out his phone again.

{Text} Les, can I have your porter's contact info?

Rune: "Captain Cane, I was sleepwalking. I'm tired. I'm fucking drained. You're the only thing that woke me up."

{Text} I can see if he's available but he doesn't like me giving him out like that.

He'd already gotten an earful when giving his information to Bo without his permission.

Kelly: "Not my problem. I didn't wake you up because I didn't scream. Feel free to go back to sleep anywhere that isn't here."

{Text} If he needs to be bribed I will pay him whatever he wants

Rune: {Text} Is he threatening you or something?

Rune just sighed. Planted his forehead on his knees. This man wasn't getting it. He really, really didn't want to talk about this. Understandable, but the last time he'd ignored an obvious sign, people had gotten hurt. He didn't know why he was here, and he didn't enjoy it either.

But he wasn't young and willfully blind.

He had an idea.

His head popped back up.

"Name's Rune, from Amsterdam. Yes, I am a mage." He tapped his good ear. "You get me out by talking to me. No, I don't bite. Not in the mood."

Kelly: Kelly took a deep breath and tried to summon some patience from somewhere. Anywhere.

"I have nothing to say to you, Rune from Amsterdam. I don't know you, I didn't tell you to come here, and I'm not playing this game. I have to go to work soon and if I have to call the cops to get you to leave, then that's what I'm gonna do."

Rune: "What are you afraid is gonna happen if we talk?" Too strong of a question out the gate, but it was his way. He held his hands out, arms resting in his knees, as though he could catch his question.

"Look, I'm... " he sighed, "I'm... an exorcist." He never liked the title, but it hadn't rubbed off in a century. "Just... tell me you're okay."

Kelly: It was the wrong think to ask. The wall that slammed between them at Rune's question was almost palpable.

A fucking exorcist? Was this guy serious or just grasping at straws to get him to talk?

"Then let me save you some time. I'm not possessed. I'm not yakking up pea soup and my head doesn't spin 360 degrees. I don't need an exorcism."

Rune: All this bait and no catch. He had better luck with Russian roulette than he had with this man. He tried not to make this a matter of pride, but it was tempting.

He had been awoken by fire. Could have been anything. A house fire. An explosion. He looked around the room while his host bricked his wall. A photograph. A plaque of honor. A uniform. Something.

The room was impeccably neat, but anything?

Kelly: There was nothing in the room save for the cleanliness of it that gave away anything about the man who owned it. There was a couch, a coffee table, a lamp, and a rather nice television, but no personal effects. No personality reflected anywhere that was currently visible to Rune.

There wasn’t even a plant.

In fact, the only indicators that his host had a personality were his carved cane and the small hoops in his ears.

Kelly sighed. This wasn’t working. “Look, if you don’t believe me you can press that cross you’re wearing to my forehead.”

Rune: Dark eyes returned to his host. Now that was an idea. Actually, what it was, was progress. He didn't have a framed photo to go by, but he did have that cane, and more confusion than he'd started with.

But he was intrigued.

Rune got to his feet and tugged at the crucifix buried deep in his shirt. Every stranger underestimated him. He didn't look at all as one would expect from an exorcist. Everyone wanted the stereotype.

But with a cross in his hand, it might as well have been a witch's wand. A gentle warmth would wash over Kelly's body as he neared. His movements slow, wanting to avoid having the cane broken over his spine.

His right hand laid flat over his host's heart. The cross to his forehead. Host might have expected nothing, but that warmth had become a comforting blanket over his being. Tension lessening in his muscles, as though experiencing the aftermath of a massage.

Kelly: Really? Kelly hadn’t been expecting him to actually do it but if that’s what it took to convince him and get him to leave then fine.

Kelly’s eyes flashed with warning when he was touched and if possible, he stood even straighter and stiffer than he had been already.

Rune was correct in thinking that his host hadn’t been expecting anything to happen, so when something did—benign though it was—it made him flinch. Not exactly what he wanted to have happen when he was trying to convince someone he wasn’t possessed but he couldn’t help it.

Shying away from comfort was second nature. It had taken years for him to be okay with it from Leslie and this man wasn’t Leslie.

Kelly leaned away.

“See? No sizzle, no burn mark. I’m not possessed. Satisfied?”

Rune: Heading towards 162 years of age, and the only benign creatures to ever flinch were those reliving trauma. He had tried to avoid touching his skin, but holding an object so close, it was bound to happen.

The cane had been an obvious sign but seemed a little on the nose. Now that he knew, he didn't know what to think. Standing there, watching dumbfounded as the wolf retreated.

He was healthy, and not healthy at all. Their connection hadn't been long enough to feel anything beyond the conspicuous, and it was fucking irritating.

The cross was squeezed in his fist. He didn't know how to approach this any other way than his own. He was a blunt object at best. This was a strike on his confidence, despite miniscule gains.

This discovery had awakened the insatiable. He needed some time to think.

"Okay."

Still holding his necklace, he turned his back on the Garou, retreating to the bathroom for his shoes, wallet, and underwear.

Kelly: Kelly was fully aware that in their world, a touch could betray just as much as a confession, if not more.

That wasn’t why he broke it. His knowledge of the Umbra had already given away that he wasn’t a mere mortal and Rune himself had confessed to being a mage. They were on a fairly even playing field.

What difference did it make if the man knew he was a wolf?

Kelly watched Rune with a frown. Okay? Had it worked? Had he actually managed to convince this man to leave him be?

It appeared that way but he wasn’t counting his chickens just yet.

Rune: Rune made his way into the kitchen, looking around for any sort of rag or towel to dry the inside of his shoes. A fruitless endeavor, seeing as he was about to walk back into the rain. What a shame this man was going to just allow that to happen. The world outside was howling, and as tempting as it was to play pitiful, he had said okay, and he was a man of his word.

Kelly: There was a dish towel hanging by the sink and a roll of paper towels on the counter, beside which sat Kelly’s forgotten water and a half-empty prescription bottle of Vicodin.

As for the man himself? Rather than follow his guest into the kitchen, he was rooting around in the coat closet for a stupid umbrella because he could still hear Leslie’s voice in his head.

Rune: Rune lowered to read the name. Considering the day he'd had, he could have this. Did he look like a Kelly? Maybe if he smiled.

His loafers were as dry as he could manage and still he winced from the cold.

Kelly: Kelly finally came into the kitchen, looking from Rune to the pill bottle without a single word.

He offered a clear umbrella handle first.

Rune: And Kelly was looked at with fresh eyes. Kelly Rose. And this Kelly didn't even have his full name.

He took the umbrella with a small bow of his head, and made an attempt at civility, just to see, offering his hand.

Kelly: It was safe to assume that the cat was already out of the bag. Rune probably knew what he was and now he also knew his name. There wasn’t much more that a handshake could give him that he didn’t already have.

Kelly took his hand and shook it.

Rune: The same handshake Leslie gave, pressing his index finger into his pulse. The mage shuddered, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from flinching.

Kelly: Kelly pulled his hand away as quickly as he could but it was too late. He noticed Rune’s shudder and it told him that, brief though the contact had been, it hadn’t been brief enough.

Something had been felt or seen that Kelly probably didn’t want to be felt or seen.

Rune: The same familiar gesture, but the old mage witnessed more than the young Verbena could. More than Rune had intended, and he had intended to pry. He needed something. Anything. Kelly had a stranger in his yard, but it was Rune who had traveled across an ocean, away from the comforting acrid haze of cigarettes and rotting wood, two-hundred-year-old playing cards and dirty carpets. Away from the sanctuary of a centuries-old hole in the wall, for this.

That scream began to replay. The sensation of torn muscles and charred skin.

This was why he drank. Was this why they both drank? Something to drown.

"Why are you afraid of being seen?"

Kelly: This man was determined to ask impossible questions, determined to open doors he had no right to open and that had been shut for a reason.

And for what? What exactly did he think he was going to change by doing it?

“Tell me where it’s written that I have to be,” he muttered, taking the pill bottle and tossing it back in its drawer. “I don’t owe anybody a damn thing.”

Rune: "You thought you did?" was all he could think to ask, taking a deep breath from his nostrils and out his mouth. Slow, so as not to draw attention. Probably didn't matter.

Kelly: “You asked a question and I answered it. There’s nothing that says I have to be ‘seen’ and I don’t owe anyone my indulgence while they try.”

Rune: "You don't have to do anything," he echoed. "It's so easy. You don't have to look in the mirror. You don't have to look back. You don't have to think about anything. It's so easy! You can just exist. Yeah... so easy," he said to himself, shuffling towards the door feeling more like Kelly than Rune.

Kelly: Sure, Kelly thought, shaking his head. Judge the cripple for trying to make it through the fuckin’ day.

“Facile, mon cul.” He snatched his water bottle from the counter and went into his bedroom to change for work. He trusted Rune could and would see himself out.

Rune: The hours rolled by, and the mage named Rune was nowhere to be found. Leslie text back well after his departure, explaining his porter's refusal to work with any changing breed. The paragraph of apology that followed was rushed and dripping with Leslie's tone.

Rune had walked and walked, managing a mile from Kelly's doorstep before squatting down to breathe. Feeling as though he'd been holding his breath with every step, lungs burning and skin hot.

The umbrella was planted against his back, forehead to knees as he collected himself. What a strange fucking afternoon. What a broken creature. What a waste of time.

The thoughts that had followed him out the door hadn't tapped his shoulder since his youth. A broken creature, but a powerful one. Power granted by torment was especially potent. Might as well have been a sorcerer.

Rune rose to his feet and continued. Not nearly strong enough to hunt for rifts or attempt one of his own. A hotel would have to suffice.

But he could only last so long, lying on the top covers, hands on his stomach, staring at a popcorn ceiling. At least he had somewhere to return. A pub would do just fine.

Kelly: Kelly couldn’t even find it in him to be annoyed at Leslie’s porter. Not now that there wasn’t a need for him anymore.

He reassured Leslie that everything was fine and that he didn’t have anything to apologize for. He told him that the stranger had left on his own but made sure to leave out what had transpired.

That was for Kelly to overthink as he donned his black button-down and dark jeans and made himself presentable.

Why are you afraid of being seen? Why the hell did it matter? And what did Rune from Amsterdam care anyway? It wasn’t like he could actually do anything. Talking about the past never changed or fixed anything, all it did was tear open wounds and let people indulge their curiosity about things that weren’t any of their business. He didn’t need some nosy pretty boy mage coming in and poking at him just because—

Kelly paused with one arm in his jacket. Pretty boy mage? Where the hell had that come from?

He shook his head and finished putting on his jacket. “Don’t go there, Rose,” he told himself, grabbing his keys.

Strictly speaking he still had some time before his shift, but he was hungry, and he remembered Bobby saying something about making clam chowder for the dinner special today.

He’d go in, have himself a good meal, and he wasn’t going to think about Rune or the look on his face when he’d pressed his cross to Kelly’s forehead one second fucking longer.

Rune: His name was becoming a mantra. Kelly Rose. Kelly Rose the werewolf. The werewolf with burns he could not heal. With a scream so sharp he was never the same.

He almost blasphemed, sighing through his nose as he entered Pete's Pub. Not at all like a dive in London, but it had its charms. Very... American. The music especially.

Still dressed in Calvin Klein loafers and Kelly's rags, his shoulders wide and confident, Rune took a seat at the bar.

If only he could have a cigarette. He'd sell a year of his life for a proper Elysium.

His new umbrella was hung from the bar, leaning forward on his elbows, only to plant his forehead on the cold wooden surface.

Pete: This time of year and this time of day, Pete’s pub was filled with mostly locals having dinner and a post-work drink. With the storm still raging outside, the fire roaring in the hearth, and the mix of blues-rock and conversation, the atmosphere was positively cozy.

And with Kelly Rose the werewolf tucked away in the pub’s kitchen having his dinner and talking to Bobby, it was Pete who approached this new forlorn-looking patron.

“You all right there?” he asked.

Rune: "Jet lag," sighed his customer.

Shit, how much money did he have left? He sat up and smiled, reaching carefully between his legs, opening his wallet and losing his hand beneath a portal the exact width of the leather. Blindly he felt around his dresser in Willemstad. He needed to remedy this before having to resort to gold coins.

The texture felt right. He pulled from the dresser, through the portal and - fuck. Why did he still have yen?!

A slew of Dutch curses left his lips as he lined his money on the table. Yen, euros, pesos - why pesos? When was he in Mexico? - zloty - thank you, Lord! Thank you for one last Benjamin Franklin.

"What'll this get me?"

Pete: Pete looked on in amusement as currency after currency appeared on the bar, much to his customer’s apparent dismay. He couldn’t place the language he was speaking but the sound of swearing was universal.

“You weren’t kidding about that jet lag,” he chuckled. “Looks like you’ve done a full lap around the planet.”

He smiled at the hundred-dollar bill. “In here? Just about everything. Pick your poison. If you’re hungry, I’ve got a menu you can look at. Special today is homemade clam chowder.”

Rune: The bartender's amusement was contagious, and for a moment he felt just a margin improved. Money was stacked alphabetically and stuffed back in his wallet - the actual wallet this time.

"Don't think my stomach can handle milk."

Rune perked. "You have genever?"

Pete: At least he looks a little less depressed, Pete thought. It was the gift of the small town bartender to put people at ease and he was very good at it.

“You’re in luck.” He turned to the shelves of bottles behind him and took the one he needed after a quick scan.

“Want it straight or you in the mood for a cocktail?”

Rune: "Just nectar in a glass. Stop me when we've reached Benjamin."

He was hungry, but right now he was also poor, and this wasn't the kind of pub with gambling, from the looks of it.

"Where can someone play poker around here?"

Pete: “You got it,” said Pete, pouring a healthy measure into a glass and placing it in front of his customer.

He gave him a curious look at that question. Not something he got asked every day.

“For pleasure or profit? If it’s the former, I can point you in the right direction. If it’s the latter, you’ll have better luck with pool.”

Rune: Rune stared for a moment, taking a little longer than usual to translate back to Dutch before raising his chin in understanding.

"Not snooker?"

Pete: “Not here, but there’s a place the next town over if pool’s not your thing. But…” Pete thought for a moment. “My bartender can probably give you better answers than I can.”

Rune: Next town over without a car. So pool it would be.

"Okay," he said into his glass.

Kelly/Pete: Pete looked toward the door that led to the back and smiled. “There he is. Hey, Kell, any places in town to play snooker?”

Kelly shook his head as he made his way over, distracted by the apron he was in the process of tying. “Nope, just pool and just at the Brig right now. Charlie’s table is still being re-felted and it’ll be another…few…weeks…”

As he finally looked up and saw who was sitting across from his boss, he could swear he heard god laughing at him.

“You cannot be fuckin’ serious…”

Rune: Rune was staring as well, lips still on his glass and unsure whether or not to be confused or pleased. What was it? Former or latter? Was this destiny his captain loved to go on about, or was this luck?

He would just ignore that last comment, looking at what he assumed was the owner, given his comment.

"Where's - you have a brig?"

Pete: “Uh…” Pete looked between the two of them, more than a little surprised at Kelly’s reaction to who Pete thought was some random tourist.

“No, um, The Brig is another bar here in Edenton. They have pool tables. Do ya’ll know each other?”

Rune: Well, Kelly's reaction had let it slip, might as well have fun before he finished his drink.

"One wild summer. Married in Vegas. Divorced the next day." He leaned his head toward Kelly, eyes playful. "He's a wild one."

But his smile was quick to fade. The Benjamin was placed on the table and slid across.

"Where's this Brig?" he said to just one, not even casting a glance.

Kelly/Pete: “Is that right,” Pete chuckled. Something weird was going on here. He couldn’t remember seeing Kelly like this with anyone in all the years he’d known him.

The wolf didn’t look hostile or anything, but he had the face of a man begging for the earth to swallow him whole.

“I’ll let Kelly tell you where it is while I get your change.” He took the money and disappeared over to the register before his bartender could protest. A perfectly reasonable thing to do but just for a second there he’d felt a June-like urge to meddle.

Telling himself to be professional, Kelly took a deep breath.

“Gimme your phone.”

Rune: "You've seen me half-naked," he said into his drink. "I don't have it." He could reach through his wallet or create a spontaneous portal, but the truth of the matter was he'd be feeling around blindly and with the potential of his London host finding a floating arm in the middle of the day. That wasn't going to happen.

Kelly: As if mocking him, a flash of that very image came unbidden into his mind before it was viciously chased away.

“Right.”

Kelly reached into his apron pocket for a pen and his notepad and began drawing Rune a map. He told himself it was just to get him out of here faster, but he was also going to the trouble of adding some landmarks and other useful places in town just in case.

In case of what? He refused to think about it.

“You’ll hear it before you see it,” said Kelly, ripping the page off the pad and offering it. Because the sleeves of his button-up were rolled up, more of the scarring on his hand and arm were visible, no longer hidden beneath the T-shirt he’d worn earlier.

At his chest, the couple of buttons he’d left undone revealed more of the same.

Rune: He must have been comfortable at this job, Rune thought, having finally looked up from his empty glass. It wasn't like him to avoid a glance, or even sound the retreat, but he knew staring would only summon his curiosity. He wanted to touch those scars. Abstract art they were.

And he wasn't ashamed of that thought.

"Lot of gambling?" he asked, taking the map between his index and middle finger, keeping his touch strictly to paper.

Kelly/Pete: “It’s very present, let’s just say that.” Most people went for the dancing but there were a good few who lived at the pool tables. “Just don’t piss off the bouncers and you’ll be fine. And if you know what’s good for you stay away from the preppy asshole and his friends, you’ll spot them right away.”

“They have a second home in one of the holding cells in the sheriff’s station,” Pete said as he returned, handing Rune his change. “They play dirty and when it doesn’t work they like to wait for people outside to gang up on them.”

Rune: "Preppy people? Sweaters over shoulders preppy?"

And why was Kelly telling him any of this? Made more sense coming from the other man. Seemed well-intentioned enough.

And looking at the map, he had quite a bit more walking to do. And once more curious why the extra details.

"How many miles?"

Kelly/Pete: “Couple miles.” Hell if Kelly knew why he was bothering to tell Rune all this. Wasn’t like a mage couldn’t take care of themselves. Maybe he was feeling a little guilty.

Or maybe he was just getting soft.

Pete nodded. “Yep. Polos, sweaters, boat shoes. The type that look like their life is just one long brunch.”

Rune: "That's half the men in Amsterdam," he smirked.

It was something to do. He was ready to turn what he had left into profit. It would suffice until he had the strength to riffle through all of his caches.

"Thanks for the drink. Time to walk."

Pete: “Walk?” Pete repeated, turning to look out the windows. The storm that had begun earlier that afternoon showed no signs of letting up. “In this? You don’t have a car?”

Rune: "I just dropped out of the sky." He shrugged. "Seen worse."

Kelly/Pete: Kelly threw Rune a pointed look as he pulled a beer for a customer who’d just approached the bar, as if telling him to mind his comments.

They were in public, after all.

“You’ll get sick if you go walking in this mess. I can give you a ride. It’ll be a lot quicker.”

Rune: Rune just tilted his head in return. The wilder the story the less he was taken seriously. Fine in most aspects of his life. Saved him a lot of trouble.

Unless a certain wolf gave him away with that grave look, he was in the clear.

What did he care, anyway? The question was becoming as much of a mantra as his name.

"You're a prince if you do."

Kelly/Pete: Pete shook his head. “Hardly. Just don’t want you to have to deal with a cold on top of the jet lag. Hold the fort for me?” he added to Kelly as he took off his apron.

“You got it.”

“Thanks. I’ll bring my car around. Gimme two shakes.” And with that, their buffer disappeared through the door behind the bar.

Rune: Rune was willing to let the silence stretch. Fingers traveled up his shirt - Kelly's shirt - feeling for his necklace, his crucifix just below his chest.

He didn't have to look directly at him to watch from his peripheral.

Kelly: In watching Kelly—and the people he interacted with by extension—it would become obvious very quickly which patrons were locals and which were tourists. The locals called Kelly by his name, asked for their regular orders knowing they were remembered, but otherwise didn’t really treat the bartender any particularly noteworthy way.

The tourists stared. They looked at Kelly’s facial scar instead of his eyes when they spoke to him and when they weren’t speaking to him, they stared at the scars on his arm, neck, and chest. It wasn’t uncommon for him to have to repeat things because they simply weren’t listening.

It got old real fast but fortunately for him, there weren’t too many tourists tonight. Some good came from the rain after all, even if it had also dumped a mage in his yard that he could feel looking at him.

Rune: One of the men staring Kelly down was being watched in return. Two fingers tapped at his cross as his lips thinned tight.

He could say something. Do something. He wanted to, and it hadn't crossed his mind to question reason.

He could stare. All he pleased. He wasn't staring in horror. He was admiring. It was his right.

A corner of Kelly's map was torn. His pen swiftly borrowed to sketch a little symbol.

Rune made his way over to the stranger, leaning over, he made a show of bowing.

"Sorry. Sorry. You look familiar. Do you know Marco?" Putting on his best Japanese accent, he played the role of confused tourist, and slipped the piece of paper into the stranger's pocket. The accent, the question, the bowing, all distractions, and no one, save Kelly, the wiser.

"So sorry, so sorry." Dumbass.

Kelly/Pete: Kelly’s brow furrowed ever so slightly as Rune put on his little song and dance with the tourist and slipped him something. Where had that accent come from? And why?

He watched from the corner of his eye just like Rune had done with him as the guy confusedly brushed the mage off and said he didn’t know any Marco, then moved away from the bar entirely in favor of a table.

Kelly was almost smiling to himself when Pete came through the front door and waved Rune over.

Rune: No more avoiding his gaze. Kelly was looked in the eyes, given a wink. "Good luck."

His map was gently folded. It was useless now but pocketed regardless. Just like admiring Kelly's scars, it was his, and his right.

And back into the rain, leaving his umbrella behind.

Peter's ride was given a whistle of approval before slipping in.

Kelly/Pete: The wink only made Kelly more curious about what Rune has done. So much so that for a second he even forgot to look annoyed at him.

But then Rune was going out the door and Kelly was distracted by a patron and the moment was gone.

“You like?” Pete said, beaming with pride as he gripped the steering wheel of his car. “It’s my pride and joy.”

Rune: "It's really nice!" His smile lingered, awkward, and then, "What is it?"

He hadn't bothered with a seat belt, but knew better than to raise his knee and rest his foot on the seat.

Pete: “Cadillac,” Pete chuckled as they got on their way, immediately glad he’d offered this man a ride. Rain was really coming down.

“So how long you been in town? Enjoying your stay so far?”

Rune: "Cadillac." The word just didn't fit his accent. Sat heavy on the base of his tongue.

Rune fought a smile. "Just a day. Had my clothes stolen."

Pete: "Stolen? Damn." Pete was silent for a moment, head tilting curiously after a beat or two. "That why you're wearing Kelly's clothes?"

Rune: "Hmm." He held the shirt again, to what was hidden underneath.

Kelly was about to have some entertainment. Not seven years of bad luck, but one horrific evening was going to unfold before him.

"You memorized his wardrobe?"

Pete: "You smell like him." Which, when he'd initially noticed, Pete had taken to mean that the two of them knew each other on a very personal level. He'd never seen Kelly with anyone but that didn't mean the man was a monk.

Rune: "I pity your nose."

Might as well see. He offered his hand, eyes on the road.

"Rune."

Pete: He laughed and reached over to shake Rune's hand. "Pete. That's just what happens when you spend a long time in proximity to someone."

Rune: Rune hummed again. Like with Kelly, his finger pressed into the driver's pulse. Natural age. Healthy. Not... Garou. A bear! That was a first.

He shouldn't say anything. Self-preservation demanded silence, but he wasn't concerned.

"A bear and a wolf walk into a bar..." he shook his head. "Are there no vampires in this place?"

Pete: If Rune had picked literally any other two animals, Pete would've thought nothing of it. He would've laughed it off and chalked it up to small talk. But it was just too specific a comment, especially once the vampires were brought into the fold.

Still, his smile remained easy and casual. He trusted that if this man was close to Kelly Rose--close enough to let him borrow his clothes--and meant any harm, then Kelly never would've let Pete give him a ride, much less be alone with him.

"Oh, Edenton's practically a storybook," he chuckled. "Everyone lives in harmony."

Rune: "Storybooks I read usually end with hunters." Some people just loved to tack that title to his collar, but it just wouldn't stick. He didn't care what Kelly was, or Pete, or the vampire down the street. He had only one rule: don't be an unhinged psychopath.

"You don't want to purge them?"

Pete: He shook his head. "Nothing like that, no. Everyone who lives here understands that it's best not to cause any trouble and keep to themselves. Edenton and its surroundings are an Elysium, you might say." For everyone and everything that lived within its borders.

Rune: Ah. He knew that word very well.

"Everything but the humans," he said, leaning against the car door and his forehead to the chilly window.

"No judgment," he sighed, suddenly feeling tired.

Pete: "It extends to them, too," Pete said thoughtfully, thinking of his youth and how very normal and safe he had felt growing up here. He knew now that back then there had already been vampires in his hometown but he'd been an adult before he realized it. Maybe it was inexperience or naivete, but he thought that was a sign that the Elysium was functioning as it should.

"Granted, people are gonna be people. Take the wannabe Heathers at the Brig for instance."

Rune: "You know this?" It was curious for a changing breed to know as much as this one. To sit cozy with a vampire and not feel compelled to rip the body in two.

"Heathers?"

Pete: Pete nodded. "I do."

Even though they were speaking relatively openly, just coming out and saying 'oh, I thought I was human for most of my life and a vampire and a Druid taught me the ways of the supernatural world' was a bit much to be sharing with someone he didn't know.

"The movie. Ever seen it?"

Rune: Rune had his doubts, but only because in all his years, it was difficult to fathom every recipient of a vampire's bite to be consenting. Then again he had no room to judge, given his proclivity for gambling. There were mortals walking around with shaved years because of him, and he felt no shred of remorse.

"I don't watch TV. Not interesting after Technicolor."

Pete: Technicolor? Just how old was the man sitting next to him?

“There’s a lot of great stuff that’s come out since then. Might be worth giving it a shot one day if you’re bored.”

Rune: He placed his hand on his chest. "Not to sound like an old man, but there are better things to do. Games, music, books, fucking."

Pete: Pete laughed. “You don’t sound like an old man. There’s no single thing that’s gonna be for everyone. As long as you’re enjoying yourself, who cares.”

Rune: "You're a hippie, aren't you?"

Pete: He laughed again and shook his head. “Not really, I just calmed down like we all do as we go through life.”

Rune: "Says the bear."

Rune bit his lip and sat up. There was a question on his tongue, but it could make or break his plans.

He decided to make a play with casual.

"How long's Kelly been here?"

Pete: “Hey, being a bear is a very peaceful existence.” At least it had been for him, minus the first couple months.

“Uh…around about three years now, I think. Give or take six months. Why do you ask?”

Rune: Just a noncommittal sound and a shrug. Better to stay vague in this instance. His chin in hand, he looked back out the window again.

"Are you taking the scenic route?" This ride felt so long. He'd blame the rain, or maybe this Pete was up to something.

Pete: “This whole town is one big scenic route.”

There was no stalling or anything underhanded afoot. Pete’s speed was in deference to the rain but even so, it was only another moment or two before the bass pumping out of the Brig would start to be felt and the building came into view.

“We’re here. This is The Brig.”

Rune: The map was referred to, making a mental note of where Kelly's house was and the distance to Wayside Inn. He could make a night of this place and ignore the rain, if he was determined.

"I owe you, Pete," he smiled, getting out of the car before he could refuse.

Pete: “Don’t worry about it,” Pete called after him. “Just watch out for the Heathers!”

The rain might have been slowing things down over at Pete’s pub, but it was the opposite at The Brig. The bar was as packed as usual with locals and tourists alike, drinking and dancing and shooting pool under the watchful eye of the bouncers.

Rune/Q: This wasn't the worst fashion Rune had ever endured, but he certainly missed his comfortable suit when he walked through the door. A few lingering faces were expected. This was a small town and his face was nothing familiar. The hair, the shoes, the sweats, he looked nothing short of homeless.

He hardly noticed the curly-haired bartender staring him down, looking at the bouncer behind him with a raised eager brow.

"He's pretty," Q mouthed, smiling across the room at his best friend.

Tane: The town may have been small and Rune's outfit may have been unusual, but this was an environment accustomed to the unusual and whatever attention he garnered would soon shift in favor of something else. No one ever looked twice at a place like The Brig.

At least, not the patrons. The employees were a different story.

Tane smiled back at Q and followed the newcomer with his gaze, giving his bartender a nod of agreement. He was pretty. Tane just hoped he wouldn't be one of the ones to cause trouble tonight.

The group at the pool tables was already forcing him away from Q and the bar just so he could keep an eye on them.

Rune/Q: Q flipped a bottle of vodka and set about making a dirty martini for a local. He could and would stare as he pleased, but only after orders. The job came first.

Rune argued with wants vs needs, standing at the end of the bar, watching a game of pool happening between a biker and what looked like a living breathing fisherman stereotype. He couldn't come off too eager, begging for a waged match.

So he forced himself to sit at the bar, counting what was left of his money. He needed a drink in his hand, at the very least.

Kelly/Tane: Tane didn't like the look of that biker one bit but so far all there had been nothing that required interference. Trouble was more likely to come from the Abercrombie crew at the next table if they kept knocking drinks back at the same pace they had been for the past half hour.

Wouldn't be the first time, Tane thought to himself, recalling the last time he'd had to haul them out. They hadn't gone quietly then and they wouldn't now, he was sure of it.

Those same boys were on Kelly's mind as he stared at the umbrella that had been hanging on the bar, though it wasn't them so much as someone who was now in proximity to them.

All that bellyaching about not wanting to freeze to death and the damn mage had forgotten the umbrella. If he got pneumonia he'd have no one to blame but himself.

So why the hell did Kelly keep thinking about taking it to him?

Rune: He was shit out of luck for a glass of Holland's best. The cheapest strongest drink would have to do. Smelled like rubbing alcohol and didn't taste much better, but it was something to have on hand as he approached the tall round table between the two groups. One of the Heathers, as they were not-so-affectionately called, seemed to have taken notice of his clash of fashion.

For now he would watch, sizing up east and west for the most favorable option. Eventually holding out fifty dollars, taunting who was ready to lose their money and their jacket to a tourist.

Kelly/Tane: Well, well, well. It looked like their pretty newcomer was going to join the crowd at the pool tables, which meant that Tane got to have a nice long look at him. It made a good consolation prize since he couldn’t be within flirting range of Q.

Whether there was going to be trouble was yet to be been, but the second money started being waved around, the potential for it went way up. Those Abercrombie boys were never ones to back down from a challenge and it was clear even at this distance that they’d already written off the pretty boy as an easy mark.

Moving it out of sight hadn’t helped.

Even though he couldn’t see it anymore, Kelly was still thinking about the stupid umbrella and about whether or not he should do anything with the stupid umbrella and about that damn mage by extension and it was all starting to annoy the daylights out of him.

When the annoyance reached a fever pitch, he pulled out his phone and sent a message to his dealer asking him to meet. He needed a top up.

Rune/Q: Q couldn't help but look. It was his way, his drive, and he enjoyed watching Tane work up his appetite. Their understanding of each other had spanned years. No conversation needed to be had; no hint of jealousy.

Nothing but luck. Rune agreed to a game with the Heathers, checking the table for roll-off before a lag shot against his opponent.

Card games were more his speed, but the Noble Game of Billiards had been a part of his life since childhood. Underneath a table was where he would often find his father after days of neglect.

Pocketing half the balls on his first break might have silenced the Heathers, but disallowing his opponent even one turn at a stripe was perhaps a bit too petty. He had been warned, and taking his money, thought it best to turn his attention to the laughing biker and his fisherman friend.

Kelly/Pete/Tane: Tane exhaled a laugh and shook his head, silently glad for the pretty boy. Although if looks could kill, those Abercrombie boys would be nailing his ass to the wall.

The biker and his buddy would probably be better sports and maybe more enjoyable company, but Tane doubted the others were going to take their defeat and walk away.

Oh well. That’s what he was for. He’d keep his eye on them and hope for the best.

It was half an hour before Tony got back to Kelly and it would be another hour on top of that before he’d be able to meet him.

And that was assuming Tony wasn’t late which he always fucking was. At least this time Kelly wasn’t desperate.

Near the appointed hour, Kelly took off his apron. “Got an errand to run. Shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

Pete nodded and gave him the go ahead. “Drive safe, it’s still pouring.”

“Yep.”

Kelly grabbed his jacket and the umbrella and headed out the back.

Rune: The Heathers had been about pocketing their money. The biker and fisherman were going to be much more enjoyable company, given their good-natured humor. Rather than fifty, Rune slammed down a quarter and earned another laugh.

Of course, he wouldn't call himself an exorcist. As far as anyone here was concerned, he was a professional gambler. The biker, Eagle, and his best friend Jerry didn't give two shits, and their conversation was much more stimulating.

Didn't stop the hard looks from the next table over, but it wasn't their money anymore, now was it?

Kelly: He was just going to meet his dealer. No other reason, no ulterior motive. He was halfway through his Vicodin and needed a refill, that was all.

That was what Kelly told himself the whole drive to the Brig. He was running an errand, not rushing off to give some mage he didn’t even know an umbrella, because that would be an insane thing to do and he was not an insane person. He was just being practical.

And a champion of denial like him could tell himself he believed that and almost manage to do it.

He didn’t look for Rune as he entered the Brig, instead making a beeline for the quietest side of the bar and immediately flagging down Q.

“Club soda when you get the chance.”

Rune/Q: Rune had every intention of allowing himself to lose a game or two. Though he hadn't walked in with a cue in hand, he doubted an Elysium as Peter had described harbored no other mage. There were some things you just didn't do around other mages. Gambling was one of them.

So far, he hadn't found an opening. Skill was to blame. Eight-ball was just a little too easy once the law of reflection was understood.

That was, until Rune heard a familiar voice, looking up as he took his shot, not even bothering to call out the pocket. Eagle threw his head back and cackled as the cue ball fell into a corner pocket.

"'Bout goddamn time!"

"Don't blaspheme," Rune sighed.

Q slid Kelly his drink. On the rocks without even asking. There was another interesting specimen. Reminded him of Tane. Apparently, he smiled to himself, he had a type.

"Thought you were at work tonight," Q greeted, looking back over at the opposite pool table.

Kelly: No one could appreciate a small town bartender like another small town bartender. There was a strange comfort in having someone just know what you wanted without having to ask.

Kelly gave Q a grateful nod and took a sip. “I am. That’s why I’m not ordering bourbon. Just came in to catch up with our mutual friend.” Who, as expected, was late.

There were too many competing scents in here to be able to distinguish any single one, so he’d have to rely on casual scans of the crowd unless he got lucky and was able to pick out a voice above the music.

Not that he wanted to, of course.

Rune/Q: At least... he thought he had heard - the man was working. Two miles away or whatever at some other pub. Between the crowd back and forth from the dance floor and the patrons sitting at the bar... must have been his bum ear playing tricks on him.

Q leaned forward on his forearms. He knew exactly how much time he had for a quick little chat.

"Thought you just got some." But his smile was devilish. "Want some pain relief, can give you that in the bathroom. Have you all better in five minutes."

Kelly: Q’s smile was met with a gently amused look. The suggestion wasn’t entirely unappealing.

“Unless a quickie in the bathroom is gonna stop the rain, I still need that refill. The cold doesn’t like me.” And it was only going to get worse as the autumn wore on and turned into winter.

Had he left? Where the hell—there. At the pool tables.

Kelly sighed into his glass.

Rune/Q: "Babe, you need, like, Utah or Arizona or some shit." He gave a quick pat to his cheek and turned back to clean a few glasses.

Skin-to-skin touch affected more than one this evening. That simple touch was enough to warm Q's skin, causing a sigh of his own. The look he gave Tane was one he had received before. Many times. His bartender was aching for stimulation.

Rune hadn't taken notice of the fact that he was being watched. Not only by Kelly, but the blond behind the trio. Jerry had, sitting at the table with his beer, waiting patiently for his turn against whomever won.

"What chu want, son?"

Rune looked up at Jerry and behind at - he didn't catch his name.

"You. Let's go again."

Rune looked around the bar, assessing the square footage before sighing. A lot of that going around tonight.

"With my arm behind my back? Let you go first? What about with my eyes closed?"

Kelly/Tane: In this whole town there were only a few people Kelly was okay being touched by, and Q was one of them.

“Mormons and the desert are depressing as fuck. I’d rather be in pain and perpetually waiting for Tony to learn how to read a clock.”

Tane had only looked away from the pool tables for a second to wink at Q and somehow in that split second, trouble had managed to brew from at least one party.

“Don’t take the bait,” he said under his breath as, unnoticed by him, Kelly Rose’s attention zeroed in on the same scene.

Rune: Rune wouldn't say he was at the end of his patience, but when his thoughts began to filter in his father's language, he knew he was reaching his limit. He reached for his drink on Jerry's table, only to be stopped by a pool cue. The sharp thwack cause several to jump.

"I want my money back. Let's go, goddammit."

What was it with Americans and this word?

"Don't fucking blaspheme."

Just two fingers, a quick, harsh flick to the tourist's scalp.

"Do somethin'."

Kelly/Tane: Oh hell.

Before Kelly could debate with himself about interfering, Tane was already doing it. The man could cross distances and cut through crowds with remarkable speed, especially when he was prepared.

And, since Kelly had seen him watching the tables, he knew he had been.

Tane grabbed the blond kid’s arm and shook his head. He was bigger and stronger and one flick was all the kid was going to be able to do.

“What did I tell you the last time about fucking around and finding out?” He pulled the kid away from the pretty boy. “You gonna cool it or you gonna get the hell out of my bar?”

Rune: "Don't fuckin' touch me!" Phones were coming out, as expected, and Rune put another foot of distance between himself and the ordeal.

"He's cool, man," said the only Heather without his phone at the ready.

"Hey, he can't touch me!"

Tane: “Get your pal under control or I’m tossing him out,” he said to the calmer of the Abercrombie boys, releasing the kid for now. Glenn had long ago given him permission to ban troublemakers at his own discretion and tonight could very well be the night to break that particular camel’s back.

But whether it was or not, he wasn’t going far. Maybe the silent threat of his presence would be enough deterrent.

Rune: Of course he wanted to stay. He had a bone to pick with the skinny Asian prick. He faked a toothy grin and threw a peace sign at his target. The last man to be given a peace sign, it didn't end well.

"Still want my money."

"Oh, shut up, kid," Eagle frowned.

Kelly/Tane: Tane didn’t like that taunting bullshit one bit but unless the kid tried to pull something else, there was nothing he could do. His hands were tied.

The singular silver lining was that the pretty boy knew how to show some restraint.

Kelly felt every bit as annoyed as Tane as he watched things settle at the pool tables. Hadn’t he told that damn mage not to go near the Heathers? Hell had he been thinking?

Before his mood really got a chance to simmer, Tony finally showed up.

“Do I need to buy you a watch?” Kelly muttered, shaking his head. “I told you I was working, I need to go back soon.”

“Stop riding my dick, I’m here aren’t I?”

And thus began the usual song and dance. They’d play their part, just two friends catching up over a drink while under the table, their exchange was made. There’d be no negotiating from Kelly over the amount he was given this time since this was really just an excuse, which Tony was grateful for.

Kelly was barely listening to his hushed lecture about having to be cautious. Most of his attention was at the pool tables. That preppy bastard was cooking something up, no doubt about it.

Rune: There was a part of Rune that wished the voice he had heard was real. But then again, he wondered why, and why he had followed that voice through the Umbra to begin with. First come first serve was usually the policy, but why? One incident some hundred years ago he could barely remember. Traditions made from nothing more than a single unique experience.

Rune looked at the money he had earned. He wanted to call this a night, but he wasn't yet finished. The stupid American succeeded in sucking the energy out of his eyes.

Rune turned back to the Heathers. What was one more game?

The only one with sense stepped forward, tried to smile.

"Look, man, he didn't mean nothin' by it."

Rune placed a quarter on their table. Another quarter, and another. Then every dollar in his possession.

"Match it. Let's go."

Kelly/Tane: “Goddammit,” Kelly hissed under his breath as Rune placed his money on the table. Hadn’t he told him to steer clear? Why hadn’t he fucking listened?

“What’s that?”

He turned back to Tony and shook his head. “Nothing, don’t worry about it. We square?”

The dealer nodded. “Yep. Pleasure doing business.”

“Great, thanks. Quin.” Kelly flagged Q down again and paid for his drink before he made his way closer to the pool tables, keeping a low profile.

Tane didn’t notice Kelly’s approach. He had the sheriff’s station’s number pulled up on his phone, finger on the metaphorical trigger in case this pool game ended the way he feared it would.

Rune/Q: Q didn't think he'd ever be accustomed to hearing that name. Back home he was Quintin. With his brother and the rest of the world, he was Q. That hybrid in-between had turned his legs to jelly the first time Kelly had ever said it. A warm feeling lingered in the pit of his stomach with its utterance ever since.

One of those clients he would miss when no longer required.

Rune pointed to the rack. By now he was bitter, petty, and tired. He would have the insufferable jackass choose his cue for him. Of course, the blond would choose the lightest stick. Out of his own spite, he insisted Rune break again, believing wholeheartedly lightning couldn't strike the same place twice.

Rune rubbed one of his many rings. A gold ring with an onyx center as he stared a hole into the green felt.

The mage chalked the tip of his cue, lowered, and lined his shot. The sharp snap of cue stick to cue ball succeeded by the pocket of every last stipe and solid. The cue ball slowly rolled back to position, and there Rune stood, staring the blond down as he leaned against the table.

"Your turn?"

Q kept busy, wiping down the length of the counter and watching for Tane's reaction, scoffing.

"Guy's about to get his ass whooped."

Kelly/Tane: Knowing something was caused by magic didn’t take away any of the wonder of seeing it, but Kelly couldn’t even feel it over the profound sense of foreboding.

If Rune knew what was good for him, he’d grab that money fast and get out. The lead Heather wasn’t going to take another humiliation well but he wasn’t going to get the chance to do more than yell if Kelly had anything to say about it.

He could do a lot more damage with his cane than some preppy blowhard could do with a pool cue.

Tane was in a similar boat as Kelly, looking absolutely floored as he pressed the call button on his phone and looked from the pretty boy to Q with an incredulous shake of his head.

Who the hell was this guy?

Rune: The look on everyone's faces was quite similar. Shock, confused, impressed, and furious. All save the blond. His cue stick was placed on the table. Hands up. He just laughed. Everyone was waiting for something and he knew they were. He was seeing red, but managed to fathom a plan in his drunk haze. There was no way this smuggle little asshole had taken his money twice.

"Kay." He finished his drink, raised his hands again, and headed for the door.

Rune remained perfectly still as he watched and waited. That wasn't the outcome he'd expected, and he hated being wrong.

His money was gathered and stuffed in his oversized sweats. At least now he could afford some decent clothes. Maybe a meal. His arms were feeling rather weak.

"Eagle, Jerry, been a pleasure."

Rune turned towards the door and stopped in his tracks.

Oh.

Kelly/Tane: No way that little punk had miraculously found some common sense and was actually walking away. Tane didn’t believe it for one fucking second.

He followed him to the door at a distance, ignoring the looks from the crowd as he spoke to the sheriff. It was better to be safe than sorry, especially when dealing with people that didn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt.

Yeah. Oh.

Kelly didn’t pause. He simply kept walking toward Rune and as soon as he reached him, he would place his hand on Rune’s shoulder with surprising gentleness with the intent to lead the mage toward the door.

Rune: Had it been Kelly's voice all along, or a vague whisper between minds? He stood there, staring, until finally moved by that massive scarred paw.

One question at a time.

"What are you doing here?"

Kelly: Good. Rune wasn’t resisting Kelly’s efforts to get them both out of the bar. That made things a lot easier.

People were quickly losing interest now the show was over, but a few curious souls still threw some looks their way as they made their exit. Like Tane, Kelly ignored them.

“Running an errand.” He nudged the door open with his shoulder and made for his truck.

Rune/Q: Q was certainly watching. The last he had expected was for Kelly to know some random foreign tourist. Evident in the look given to Tane. They could be confused together. He certainly was.

A figure stood in the shadows, leaning against the wall of The Brig with a cigarette between his lips. Of course the blond hadn't left, but he'd expected to catch this man alone. At the very least with one of those fat old fucks.

He knew Kelly Rose. He had enough sense to know he'd be fingered for his retaliation.

The broken-off tree branch he'd been holding was dropped.

Rune was oblivious to the sound, but something had dawned on him in almost the same instant.

"Where the fuck are we going?"

Kelly/Tane: Tane shrugged and shook his head. ‘What the fuck?’ he mouthed.

Kelly wasn’t.

Despite the rain, he managed to catch the soft thud of the branch hitting the ground and turned toward it, immediately spotting the human shape in the darkness.

The blond Heather was well-hidden from most, but not from Kelly. He pinned him there with a look of warning, eyes seeming to glint in the low light for just a moment before he turned away to unlock his truck.

He ignored Rune’s question until they were both inside the truck and the engine was rumbling to life.

“One thing,” he muttered. “I asked you to do one thing and you just couldn’t help it.”

Rune: The figure froze against the wall, pressing his back against the brick as his mind tried to make sense of what he had just witnessed. Delirium came into play long enough for Kelly to throw his truck into drive and put their backs to the bar.

So long as Rune remained in Edenton, this wasn't over. But it was over tonight.

"Tell me where it's written that I have to obey." Knees were brought to chest. "You have nothing to say to me, remember?"

Over a day of fasting, only alcohol in his system was taking its toll. His head lulled back against the seat, refusing to look in Kelly's direction.

"Got my money. Geld maakt mij gelukkig," he snorted.

Kelly: Kelly’s jaw twitched as Rune threw his words back in his face. He knew this had been a mistake. He should’ve ignored the stupid umbrella and left well enough alone. If the damn mage had forgotten it and got sick as a result, that was his problem. He was an adult.

Why the hell did Kelly even care?

“Where are you staying?” He would drive Rune there and wash his hands of this situation once and for all.

Rune: His eyes were closed. He tried to keep his hands at his knees, but they were simply too weak. Seeing Kelly this soon hadn't been his plan. There was no plan. He didn't know what he would have done differently. Might have made an effort to eat. Prevent this pathetic trembling.

"Water," he said, managing to maintain his smile.

"I was fine."

Kelly: That gave him zero helpful information. They were in a goddamn fishing village; everything was near the water.

But rather than play twenty questions, Kelly was just going to take them back to Pete’s. He needed to get back to work anyway.

“Fine, my ass. Your blood sugar’s in hell.”

Rune: "More genever helps." He motioned to the world outside of the truck, but forgot what he was going to say. Something about a wayside. Kelly was a nice distraction.

"My what?"

Kelly: “Your blood sugar. You’re shaking.” Bobby could make him something for dinner if he didn’t want clam chowder. Bobby was good like that.

Rune: "Don't let it go to your head." Another snort. His smile was quick to fade, staring out the window again.

"Wayside," he sighed.

Kelly: Ah, an actual answer. Well, it was too late. Kelly wasn’t turning around so Rune would just have to deal. Eating at Pete’s was cheaper anyway.

“Why would I do that? You’re the one who didn’t eat until your body started to complain.”

Rune: "I had no fucking money, Kelly."

Kelly: “Bullshit. Managed to pay for two drinks just fine.”

Rune: "Had a reason to drink."

Kelly: With no room to comment on that, Kelly chose to keep his mouth shut. It was for the best. Absolutely nothing he was saying was making any damn sense to him and he was starting to get sick of himself because of it.

The rest of the drive back to the pub would be made in silence. If Rune wanted to fuck off once they got there, Kelly wouldn’t stop him. If Rune chose to follow him inside, Kelly would lead him in through the back and to the kitchen.

Rune: The silence was uncomfortable. Downright unbearable and he couldn't think of anything worthwhile to say that wouldn't be met with another denial, another flinch. The same flinch that hadn't left his thoughts since leaving Kelly's house.

The mage sighed, felt for his wallet and sighed again. He should eat. He was here... for some reason. Why didn't Kelly take him to the inn? Why had he taken him at all, and why had he just complied without complaint?

Questions left at the door as he followed quietly into the kitchen.

Kelly/Bobby: “Oh hey,” Bobby greeted as Kelly stepped into the kitchen. He was at the counter putting potatoes through his fry cutter. “Where’d you go?”

“Errand,” said Kelly, gesturing behind him. “This is Rune.”

“Oh!” Bobby’s brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before giving Rune a smile and a nod. “Good to meet you, man.”

“He hasn’t eaten. Mind if he eats in here with you?”

The cook shook his head. “It’s cool. What’ll you have, Rune?”

Kelly excused himself.

Rune: Rune managed a smile, and as with Kelly and Peter, offered his hand to figure out what exactly he was talking to.

Sometimes he wished he hadn't memorized this rote.

"I'm a stray off the streets." In this case, the truth was adjacent. A glance was given to the wolf before dropping his gaze entirely.

"Potato sounds good."

Bobby: Unlike with Kelly and Pete, Rune would find nothing out of the ordinary. Bobby was an ordinary human, in both good health and good spirits.

“Well then you’re in luck! About to fry these up. What you want with them? Got some fish I can fry up for you, got clam chowder, got some leftover clams I can make into a po boy. What are you craving?”

Rune: Rune could have hugged the man had he been more familiar. Nothing against Kelly, but against him completely. A sweet oblivious human was rare in his circles, and to be treasured. Perhaps he was in the wrong for his manner of thinking; little different from a human petting an adorable animal in a pet store.

He wiped at his mouth at the mention of milk. God, please no.

"Salt, pepper, vinegar. How much?"

Bobby: “Ah, worry about that later. Just the fries though, you sure?” Bobby asked as he walked over to the sink and gave his hands a quick wash.

“Not to brag or anything but my po boy making talents are coveted by more than one in this town. Got people trying to steal me away from this place every day.” He nodded toward one of the stools at the counter. “Take a load off.”

Rune: "I'm," he scoffed, shook his head, "so hungry I'm not hungry." That had to make sense to someone who wasn't tortured for the knowledge, surely.

Kelly was right. He needed to eat. Had he gone back to the inn, he would have raided the mini fridge and passed out on the edge of the bed. This was arguably better. Arguably.

Bobby: Bobby nodded sagely. “Dude, I’ve been there. Feels like your stomach is digesting itself. Sucks. But I tell you what. I’m gonna make you these fries and start prep on this sandwich. Guarantee it’ll sound more appealing once your system gets going.”

Rune: "I can take it with me." If he remembered. That is, if he didn't sleepwalk away from his leftovers. Fuck... that might very well be the case.

Rune leaned against the counter, looking around the room as though his solution was somewhere in here. A sigh.

A sense of dread washed over him. Stomach and throat tight and hot. That wasn't the alcohol. An attempt was made to clear his throat.

"Talk to me." Shit. "Um... about this town. Where am I?" he tried to laugh the question off.

Bobby: “Perfect.” He dropped the potatoes in the fryer for their first round, chuckling at Rune’s question.

It wasn’t his first time hearing it by a long shot. Hell, he’d asked it himself more than once.

“You are in Edenton, North Carolina, my friend. It’s not much, just a fishing town, but we’ve got good food and nice beaches.”

Rune: "I saw some... Wayside." Seemed the prettiest place in town, but he was biased for anything nautical-themed.

He looked up, watching the door where Kelly had disappeared. Wondered if he could hear them.

"How long has he been here?"

Kelly/Bobby: “Oh, you staying at the Wayside? Good choice. It’s a real nice place, restaurant’s good too.”

Bobby looked up from the fryer. “Hm? Who?”

Pete’s wasn’t as packed as the Brig, but it was busy enough to keep Kelly occupied and as was his custom, he tuned out everything but the patrons in front of him.

Rune: He had that going for him and had no idea.

"The," knappe mannen beest, "big... fellow. Kelly."

Rune stared at the many bits of linen and paper in his wallet, pulling out the newest crisp twenty, looking to Bobby for confirmation.

Bobby: “Oh, gotcha. Kelly’s been working here about…three years-ish? Somewhere around there.”

Bobby shook his head at the money. “That’s way too much. Wait.” He gave Rune a curious look. “I thought you knew Kelly.”

Rune: So, Peter and Bobby had a consistent timeline. Helped hearing from more than one. Asking the same question again only served as an opening to ask something else.

"Word gets around fast," he scoffed.

Bobby: He shook his head. “It does in a town this size but that’s not why I mention it. Kelly isn’t really what you’d call the social type. He doesn’t have a lot of friends.”

Rune: "That answers if he's always this cheerful."

Rune stared off into space for a moment. The twenty was placed on the counter despite Bobby's protest. He was paying for information. Cheaply.

"Goes hand-in-hand."

Bobby: Bobby chuckled. Rune hadn’t really answered his question but it was fair to assume there was some connection between him and Kelly. Otherwise Kelly wouldn’t have brought him here.

“Pretty much, yeah. He’s prickly but don’t let that fool you. He’s a good guy.”

Rune: He had him hose down in the rain. Brought him into his house. Took care of his clothes. Allowed him a shower. Indulged his persistence. Followed him from one bar to another just to bring him back.

Saying it like that, saying it all together, he was... nice.

Still a prick.

He was staring off into space again.

"Tin man has a heart. Just needs some oil."

But to change the subject, "Smells good."

Bobby: “Believe it or not, what you’re seeing is the Tin Man already oiled. He used to be even pricklier. Downright surly even.”

Bobby beamed with pride as he seasoned the fries and poured them into a basket for Rune. “Damn right it does. Best in town. Eat up.”

Rune: English wasn't his first language. Not even his third, but a few seconds of buffering and Rune smiled, nodding his gratitude for something to eat. The fries could have been absolute trash and he would have moaned.

But what luck, they were perfect.

"What fixed the Tin Man?"

Bobby: “Same thing that fixes everything. Time.” With fries done, Bobby started preparing the clams for Rune’s sandwich.

“Wouldn’t really say he’s fixed though. People aren’t leaky pipes, no one ever gets fixed. He’s just less prickly and speaks in complete sentences now.”

Rune: "I thought therapy and sex fixed everything."

This man, this mortal, he was special, wasn't he? He was... wholesome. Must be the small town mentality.

"Mm."

Bobby: Bobby snorted. “Yeah, those help, too. Doubt someone like Kelly would ever go to therapy though. Doesn’t seem like his thing.”

Rune: "Someone with the same experiences will always be better." But that was just his opinion.

Bobby: “Probably true for a lot of people.” But Kelly? Who could tell, honestly. Man was an enigma and about as forthcoming as a clam.

“Anything you don’t like on your sandwich?”

Rune: "Milk," he snorted. Another glance at the door. This was probably a lost cause. He should head back to the inn and fall asleep with his head over the tub. Maybe a bottle of something strong. He'd certainly earned it.

Bobby: “No milk, copy that,” Bobby chuckled. “I won’t put milk on this. How you feel about mayo and mustard?”

He gave Rune a curious look. Why’d he keep looking at the door? Was he waiting for Kelly to come back?

“Missing someone?”

Rune: "Hmm?" Annoyingly perceptive. Wait, no. He was just thinking. He wasn't missing anything. Or anyone.

"Just mayo." He pointed to a nearby lemon. "And that. You don't have Joppiesaus?"

Bobby: “Dude, I gotta be real, I have no idea what that is.”

But mayo? That he could work with, as well as some lemon juice on the clams as soon as he got them out of the fryer and started to put the sandwich together.

Rune: Bobby was just given an exasperated sigh. Not his fault, but didn't make the cultural differences any less frustrating when it hadn't been his idea.

"Thanks."

Rune crossed the room to the back door to assess the rain.

Kelly/Bobby: The rain had yet to let up, just as Kelly had feared. Calling Tony had been an excuse but he was starting to feel very glad he had as the painkillers he’d taken earlier began wearing off.

When he went to go grab a couple more, he noticed the umbrella still with the rest of his things and realized he hadn’t given it back to Rune like he’d intended. Was the mage even still here? Had to be. No way Bobby was letting him leave without a meal.

Sighing, Kelly entered the kitchen just as the cook was wrapping a sandwich.

“Oh hey,” Bobby greeted.

Rune: Sonofabitch, why had he left the umbrella? Because he thought the rain wouldn't last this long. Just... that. It wasn't his. Maybe hoping Kelly would do exactly what he did.

That was saying too much. That was thinking too much.

But why, of all of the voices in the Wasteland, had he first heard the sound of someone still alive.

Rune was off in his own little world, staring out the door when Kelly returned.

Kelly/Bobby: “Hey,” said Kelly, watching Rune’s back for a moment before crossing to the counter and placing the umbrella on one of the stools without a word.

“There any Gatorade in the fridge?”

Bobby nodded. “Yep and to answer your next question, I did get blue ones. Want a sandwich?”

“Maybe on my break.”

Rune: It was the sound of the umbrella that stole Rune's attention, standing straighter with a soft flinch, looking from the umbrella to its owner.

"What's blue supposed to taste like?"

Kelly/Bobby: Bobby just smiled and shook his head. “They didn’t even bother coming up with a flavor to put on the label. It’s just called ‘cool blue’.”

Whatever it was, it appealed to Kelly. He grabbed a couple of pills from his pocket and downed them.

Rune: "This is where I insert an "Oh, America" joke."

Bobby: “And you’d be right,” Bobby laughed. “We love our artificially colored and flavored beverages. They hit the spot.”

Rune: Rune was staring at Kelly, at where he'd placed his pills, and back to the rain.

"Thanks for the sandwich."

Kelly/Bobby: Kelly, meanwhile, was focusing very intently on the drink in his hand. He didn’t want to catch Rune’s eye lest either he or the umbrella be questioned.

And although the pills had come from Kelly’s pocket, neither he nor Bobby seemed to think very much of it. Casually taking pills in the kitchen seemed rather a common occurrence.

Bobby nodded. “You’re welcome, man. Guarantee you’ll be back for more after trying it.”

Rune: "We'll see."

He looked at the umbrella and back to its owner. Took his wrapped sandwich and tucked under his arm.

The umbrella was taken with some reluctance, unwilling to open indoors. For the last time, he looked at Kelly, wanted to say something... but couldn't imagine anything profound with an audience.

"Goodnight."

Kelly: Only when Rune made to leave did Kelly finally look at him again. The lack of privacy prevented them from speaking openly but would they even if they could?

He didn’t know what to say or if he should say anything at all. A part of him almost resented thinking about that to begin with. He’d done enough, hadn’t he? Rune wasn’t being tossed out with nothing and besides, he could take care of himself.

So why did Kelly feel oddly responsible for him? Just because Rune happened to appear in his yard? That didn’t mean anything.

It didn’t, Kelly repeated in his head as he nodded.

Pete/Abel: Pete snorted as he looked over. "Well good morning to you, too."

Abel grinned at MJ's choice in attire and attempted to discreetly take a photo. "We were talking about how Petey won't stop showering to get to Umbra lube off even though it was off after the first shower."

MJ: "How many fuckin' showers ya had, man?" He spotted that phone going up, but said nothing. Too busy scratching random itches in his unwashed hair.

Pete: "Just finished number four. That stuff got everywhere and I have a lot of hair now."

MJ: Only a passing thought - one drowned purposefully with banging cymbals and snares to keep Abel out.

Best not to say anything out loud.

"Anyone heard from Guildias - or yelled at from Callum?"

Pete/Abel: Abel didn't have to peek into MJ's head or hear him say anything to know where that brain of his was; MJ's expression was more than enough.

Pete nodded. "Yep, heard from Callum this morning. He's got lots of questions and steaks he's grilling for us."

MJ: "We get steaks? Shit. Should chop the other arm off."

Pete: Another nod. "File that under things we are not going to say to the man whose husband we returned missing a crucial limb. I'm guessing the dinner offer was so he'd have something to do with his hands while we talked."

MJ: "How'd he sound? They both gonna be there?"

Pete: "Frazzled, and yeah, I think so."

MJ: "Guess I'll take a shower. Be back in five."

Abel: “Enjoy!” Abel called after him, grinning to himself. “Oh, all these are keepers.” He sent off the photos to their group chat with Xavier.

MJ: There would be some all caps in that room soon enough, but for now the group chat would be spared. That is until after his hair had partially dried. Didn't have to ask where the towels were; this had once been his second home.

{Text} I FUCKING KNEW IT

Pete/Abel: Abel would be heard dissolving into laughter downstairs.

{Text from Abel} I HAD TO

{Text from Xavier} Very dashing, Aquaman

Pete, meanwhile, had gone into his room to dress and run a comb through his hair. Jeans, sweater, spritz of his usual cologne, and he was ready to go.

MJ: Wasn't long before the bathroom door opened, steam escaping. Hair still damp and spiked; clothes sticking to his body. The scent of Peter's shampoo and soap would cling for days. No complaint. And certainly nothing to protest, catching Peter's cologne in the air. Like a magnet; had to clutch the sink as he finger-brushed his teeth.

{Text} You're goddamn right

"Y'all ready?"

Pete/Abel: "Ready!" Pete called from his room. "We need to stop by the bakery first though. I ordered a pie to take over to Callum's for dessert."

"We're bribing Callum for forgiveness!" Abel shouted.

MJ: "N'here I was thinkin' liquor would be Scottish approved."

Just needed to find his boots and he would actually be ready.

"Guess you're drivin', Peter."

Pete/Abel: "Planning on it," he said, grabbing his keys and wallet. "I give Cal liquor all the time. A pie holds more meaning and goes really great with steak and potatoes."

"It does!" Abel agreed. "Hurryyyyyyyyyyyy, I'm starviiiiiiiing."

MJ: "Don't that bird say the same thing? Are all familiars just starvin' t'death?"

Abel: "I barely ate lunch in anticipation of stuffing my face with steak and pie!"

MJ: He wished he could relate. Just not the same, anymore.

"Pie it is. I'll get him a bear claw." A grin and a wink later, he was out the door - bootlace untied three feet later. Time to hop on one foot to remedy.

Pete: Pete just smiled and shook his head. “You’re gonna fall over,” he said to MJ. “We have enough time for you to stop and tie your shoe. Abel’s just rushing because he’s hungry.”

He slid into the car and started the engine. “Who’s got shotgun?”

MJ: One more hop and he was making a run for the passenger seat.

"I do. Abel can hang his head out the window. Ya know, like a dog."

Abel: Abel’s face lit with quick and brilliant delight. “Dude, you’re right. I never get a chance to do that!”

He jumped in the back seat and quickly rolled down the window before transforming into his animal form and sticking his head out. He was ready.

MJ: "He really fuckin' did it," he muttered. "Kay, well, we're ready." And unlike usual road rules, MJ assumed the prestigious role of DJ. Country music, of course.

Pete: “He’s a dog,” Pete chuckled. “It’s in his doggie DNA, like when I scratch my back against a tree trunk.”

Country would never be his favorite but he didn’t mind it so much when MJ played it. Maybe because he knew how much MJ liked it.

Instead of turning toward the river, he turned toward the center of town. “Is there anything else we wanna pick up?”

MJ: "'Sides bear claws 'n pie? What's really, really Scottish? 'Sides, ya know, scotch?"

Pete: “Kilts? Haggis? Bagpipes?”

MJ: "Can't get any of that shit here."

Pete: “Well, he already has the kilt and he probably has stuff to make haggis.”

MJ: "Ya tellin' me he ain't got bagpipes?"

Pete: “His cousin Donal’s the piper, not him.”

MJ: "We should get him some, anyway."

Pete: “Where are we supposed to get bagpipes in Edenton?” he laughed.

MJ: "Abel can poof away n'get one," he laughed.

Abel: ‘But piiiiiiie!’ Abel thought to him.

MJ: "You'll still get your pie!" MJ returned out loud.

Abel: ‘Where in Scotland do I even get bagpipes?’

MJ: "A music store, bro."

Abel: ‘Google one that has bagpipes and think the address to me.’

MJ: 'Why ya quiet all sudden?'

Abel: ‘I’m in dog form, remember?’

MJ: 'Fuckin',' MJ glanced back and laughed. 'Fuckin' forgot. Ya know what, we'll get him bagpipes for his birthday. Ya ain't even met him, have ya?'

Abel: ‘Wow, rude.’ Abel pulled his head back inside the car and scrambled into the front seat and into MJ’s lap.

‘Nope, not yet, which only makes it more awkward that I chopped Gil’s arm off.’

MJ: 'Yeah, leave that out when ya shake his hand. We'll see what "Gil" said when we get there.'

Pete/Abel: ‘Good call.’ Abel made himself comfortable and nudged MJ to roll down his window so the head-sticking-out could continue.

Pete was just smiling to himself as he pulled up in front of the bakery. He was learning that telepathic conversations were very amusing.

MJ: Fine. The window was rolled, and some head scritches as well. The act was an unspoken comfort.

Not a word from Peter in some time, but still he asked, "What cha laughin' at?"

Pete: “I’m not laughing,” said Pete. Although he did have a grin on his face. “Forgot how expressive you are.”

MJ: "What I do?"

Pete: “Emoted during your silent mind conversation with the pup.”

MJ: "Know everything 'bout everything, huh?"

Pete: “You were laughing and asking questions out loud,” he chuckled.

MJ: "Didn't notice." Not at first. He was too relaxed. "Figured he told ya what we do."

Pete: "Yep, he did. He thought a couple things to me and it's super weird and also super cool."

MJ: "Still think y'all talked 80 miles an hour. Was gone for like, ten minutes!" Not at all, but it had felt that way.

Pete: “We’ve had all day today, too,” Pete chuckled. “Most of the day, anyway.”

MJ: "Y'all bein' up late did nothin' t'y'all."

Abel: ‘We slept in!’ Abel thought to him. ‘And had lots of coffee.’

MJ: "Mm. No wonder you're hyper."

Abel: ‘Just a little bit. Most of it is excitement for dinner.’

MJ: "Listen here, Peter. The way t'a familiar's heart is food. Any familiar. All of em."

Pete: Pete snorted. "I'll keep that in mind if I ever need to bribe Abel."

MJ: "Mmhmm. He'll just eat that shit up." Have some more scritches.

Pete/Abel: The only thing Abel was currently eating up was pets from MJ, something he would’ve pointed out if he weren’t enjoying them quite so much.

“Well, we’ll get him fed soon enough,” Pete said as he pulled into a parking spot in front of the bakery. “I’ll be quick.”

MJ: "Wait wait wait, comin' with." Abel was carried as he got out, placed in the passenger seat. "Bear claw n'shit. Want somethin'?" He looked to the dog expectantly.

Pete/Abel: ‘A cream puff!’ Abel all but mentally yelled, tail wagging madly. ‘Or three.’

Pete came around to the passenger’s side and reached in through the window to pat Abel’s head. “We won’t be long. Be good and don’t talk to strangers.”

MJ: "Think he'd give em trauma if he did." Peter was bumped shoulders with, grinning from ear-to-ear. "Ya know what I miss? Apple fritters."

Pete: Pete laughed and poked MJ in the ribs. “He would not. They’d be won over in seconds flat.”

He hummed as he opened the bakery door. “Oh man, and Laura makes a great one. Wanna get one so you can smell?”

MJ: "I might try n'eat it. Worth the up chuck? I miss churros, too." His mother's, specifically. No one had her beat. Not while he was alive. Now he'd never be able to tell.

Pete: “I would dare go so far as to say that Laura’s apple fritters are worth just about everything. Ask Bobby, they’re his hangover food.”

Laura was nowhere to be found when they entered, so Pete rang the bell on the counter to summon her. “What did Abel want?”

MJ: "Oh! Uh, he wanted - ya fuckin' - yeah, he wants a cream puff...sss."

Pete: “More than one, got it,” Pete chuckled. He rang the bell again. “Laura! You back there?”

“Pete?” came a woman’s voice from somewhere in the kitchen. “Is that you?”

“Yeah.”

“Just a sec, I’ve got your pie ready.”

“‘Kay. Got any cream puffs left?”

“I think there’s a few left in the case!”

Pete scanned the array of delicate pastries and cakes in the case and found what he was looking for.

“Abel’s in luck,” he said to MJ. “There’s five left.”

MJ: "Those'll be gone in thirty seconds." Didn't feel like an exaggeration, either. In truth, there had been no need to get out of the car; the excuse had been to help, but all he was doing was staring, pretending to be helpful, and pretending that this wasn't what it obviously was; it was about company.

Pete: Pete didn't mind the company one bit, nor did he mind going along with the excuse that it was all to be helpful. He enjoyed it and it was as simple as that.

"We'll take them!" he called to Laura. "What about bear claws?"

"How many?"

He looked expectantly to MJ.

MJ: Two fingers. One for an attempt and one as a gift for somebody. Anybody.

"Laura, got any churros?"

Pete: "Two bear claws!"

"Today's your lucky day." There were more sounds from the kitchen before Laura finally poked her head out. "Whose voice is--MJ Calloway! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!"

MJ: "Sore? Why them eyes sore?" She was friendly enough and casual enough for a one-armed hug. A squeeze for added measure. She was good people.

"Churros, Laura? Pleeease?"

Laura: “I iced sugar cookies most of the day,” she chuckled, squeezing back. “You’re as handsome as ever, which is why it breaks my heart to tell you I haven’t got any. But I can make you some tomorrow, how’s that?”

MJ: MJ just smiled, the same he would have given his mother. She had that kind of energy.

"I'll try n'be here tomorrow."

Pete: "I'll make you the best damn churros you've ever had, just you wait." She gave him one more squeeze. "Okay, so what all were we wanting besides the pie?"

"All the cream puffs you've got and the bearclaws," said Pete.

"Let me box it all up for ya'll."

MJ: "Thanks, Laura." Months apart felt like mere days with people in this town. It was a comfort and a mild annoyance. "I got it," said into Peter's ear. No trickery tonight. Laura would be getting a crisp bill in that kitchy tip jar.

Pete: "You're welcome, sweetie. What time are you coming by for those churros?"

Pete just smiled. At MJ, at the tip in the jar. Everything. "You're sweet," he whispered, accepting the bag full of goodies from Laura.

MJ: Yeah, he saw that smile, but what could he do about it? Just staring was loony, so he looked back to Laura. Had to calculate sunset. "When y'all close?"

Laura: "You don't worry about that. Just give me a window, come by, and knock on the door."

MJ: "How's nine sound?"

Laura: "Perfect. I'll have them ready for you at nine tomorrow night. Already looking forward to making them instead of being hunched over more cookies."

MJ: "These friggin' counters are way too low for ya. Gotta hire someone, I dunno, this tall?" he gestured.

Laura: “I do have someone,” she chuckled. “For now, anyway. She’s icing the other half of the ten billion cookies.”

MJ: "Makin' your daughter ice cookies is free labor, ma'am."

Pete: “I’ve got my daughter cutting out the cookies and someone else icing them.”

“Logan?” Pete asked.

“Yep. She’s good at the fiddly detail stuff.”

MJ: "Do I know Logan?"

Pete: Pete considered any situations where the two of them could've crossed paths. "Maybe...? She works here with Laura, at the church, babysitting around town. She lives in one of the rental cabins out in the woods."

MJ: MJ had to temper a look of disgust. Church? Babysitter? But he knew the rental cabins. Lived right next to them.

"Maybe." He left it at that. Smiled warmly at Laura.

"Be seein' ya, Laura!"

Pete/Abel: "Tomorrow at nine!" she said, smiling back. "Ya'll drive safely and enjoy that pie!"

Pete just laughed. "Some of us are dying to eat it. Thanks again, Laura."

And back to the car, where a very eager Abel was half-hanging out the window waiting for them.

MJ/Guildias: "Who's a good boy?!" Abel was given some obnoxious petting before opening the door. A cream puff for the road before parking at Callum MacGillivray's front yard.

Guildias was all but flat against the couch, enjoying the various scents of Callum's cooking. Already several inches had added length to his shoulder, still hidden underneath clothing.

"Come here and sit in my lap." A hand came up from behind the couch. "I feel you."

Callum: Only three of the five people that would be eating dinner in his house tonight were actually going to eat, but Callum was cooking as if all five would be eating. The process, which he normally enjoyed for its own sake, was distracting him from thinking about his husband’s arm.

And he very much needed that distraction right now.

Callum did a quick check of everything in the stove and went over to the couch.

“Do you feel me or do you feel the wheels turnin’ in my head?” he wondered as he took his husband’s hand.

Guildias: "Palpably," he answered. "Choose whichever." Callum was tugged closer, kissed softly and lingered.

"Tell me why and I'll help you."

Callum: Callum dissolved into the kiss and into the offered lap. “Do you have to ask? This is the first time in my entire life ye’re no’ reachin’ for me with both hands because you have no choice.”

Guildias: The druid's face was caressed, chin gently pinched.

"Because I made a choice. A simpler choice by comparison. It'll grow back, Daisy."

Callum: He nuzzled into Guildias’ hand. “I know but it’s still a shock. You left with both arms and came home missing one.”

Guildias: The shoulder moved subconsciously. Invisible hand intent on cupping his husband's face. Phantom movement, he realized in silent humor.

"I apologize for shocking you."

Callum: Guildias might not have been able to cup Callum's face, but Callum could cup his. And he did. "You don't have to apologize. I believe you when you say you made the best choice you could in that situation."

Guildias: "Best and simplest are hand-in-hand. I could have ripped the child from the roots, and the tree could have snapped his neck. My actions could have destroyed everything."

Callum: “And instead, that poor wee lad is back with his family where he belongs.”

He kissed his vampire’s cheek. “Better the tree have yer arm than you or Pete or the familiar.”

Guildias: "Then I'm forgiven?" he smirked.

Callum: “We’ll see how it goes when yer arm grows back.”

Callum laughed softly and shook his head. “Just had to go and be a bunch of cowboys.”

Guildias: "I'll sup on you every night before sunrise." One last kiss, hearing an approach on the road. "Next time we might bring you."

Callum: "Aye, do that." Callum let himself get lost in the moment for as long as he could before getting to his feet. "Next time you better hope there isn't a next time. I don't know what too many trips into the Veil does to a person but I can't imagine it's anythin' good."

Guildias: "Witches and fera seem to know more. More welcome. Have to ask one of them."

Callum: He thought for a moment. “How did you feel when you were in there, minus the obvious and the slime?”

Guildias: "Have you ever walked into a room disallowed to you? Say, as a child?"

Callum: Callum nodded. "Aye, my uncle's weapon room. Lightly touched one o' the blades, cut my hand like he always said I would, and to this day I haven't told him."

Guildias: "The same feeling. Unwelcome. Peter might have nightmares, but without him, I doubt the outcome would have been the same."

Callum: "I can't imagine how it could've been worse." Although he supposed the tree could've eaten them outright or the portal could've simply rejected them, forbade them entry.

From that perspective, a missing arm was a very small price to pay.

"Well, we're goin' to feed him comfort food so hopefully that doesn't happen."

Guildias: "I'm sure there's science behind that."

Callum was fastened by his waist as he rose into a sitting position.

"Did you invite Rosmond?"

Callum: "I'm invitin' him tomorrow. I've got some silk flowers I want to scent for him." Peonies and lilacs. Just because Rosmond couldn't have real flowers didn't mean he couldn't have any flowers.

Callum chuckled. "Ye've got to let me up, husband mine."

Guildias: "When they knock on the door," he insisted. "One more kiss." Not at all a question. He would take what he desired and smile before doing it.

Callum: Callum grinned against his husband’s lips. He could take all the kisses he wanted. “Have as many as you like but have them while walking with me to the stove so my gravy doesn’t burn.”

Guildias: "We can't have that." Callum was lifted with Guildias to his feet. Legs dangling as he continued to carry the druid until parked at the stove.

"He would have been awkward. Stoic in his corner, watching everyone, saying nothing. You made the right choice," Guildias smirked.

Callum: He clung to his husband like a koala, fully confident Guildias would be able to carry him even with his missing arm.

“He’s no’ one for crowds, is Rosmond. He’s a man of few words, like my great uncle Roderick.”

Guildias: Callum was a kind, idiosyncratic soul. To have kept such a good rapport with someone like Rosmond was not as much surprising as it was curious.

"Have you kept in contact with Mason Atlas?"

Callum: It was like flipping a switch. His smile fell and his face set in grim lines.

“No,” he said as he stirred the gravy. “I have nothin’ to say to or about him.”

Guildias: "Have you kept the ring?"

Callum: “I gave it back to Dahlia.”

Guildias: "I don't recall you flying to England."

Callum: “I didn’t. I planted a dahlia for her by the river and buried the ring beside it in a wooden box.”

Guildias: "You're not curious at all of the life that was once yours?"

Callum: “No. I already know how that story ends.”

Guildias: "You've quite literally buried it."

Callum: “It’s her ring. She should have it back. She and her family are buried in sterile boxes in a sterile graveyard where nature can’t find them. That’s no’ the way Druids do things.”

Guildias: "Were you, Dahlia, a druid?"

Callum: “Dahlia wasn’t a Druid, I am, and I don’t like the way she was buried or this conversation. Can we please drop it?”

Preferably for the rest of my life, he added silently to himself.

Guildias: Ah. The button had been pressed. Guildias adjusted his shades and nodded his submission. Opposing points-of-view were nothing new in this relationship. Just as quietly, he headed to the front door.

Pete/Callum: Callum disliked the subject of Dahlia, disliked the subject of her husband even more, and he absolutely hated being ambushed with either.

He gathered up the platter of marinated steaks and went out to put them on the grill, not quite slamming the back door but coming close.

Around front, Pete was just pulling up to the house.

“We’re here,” he said. “Remember to look contrite and apologetic, everyone.”

MJ/Guildias: "Hey, I didn't do shit!" MJ laughed. But he had enough reason to play respectful. Head bow and all.

Guildias took to the porch swing; lit cigarette between his fingers.

Pete/Abel: ‘I should change back,’ Abel thought to MJ, crossing back over to the backseat. It was easier to get into someone’s good graces as a dog, but it was far more polite to show up to dinner for the first time at someone’s house as a person.

“Still,” Pete said with a smile, getting out of the car and shooting Guildias a wave. “We come bearing pie!”

MJ/Guildias: MJ turned with Abel and watched, turned back to Peter and - forgot what he was going to say again. A shrug would do.

"To soothe the beast?" Guildias asked from his lounge.

MJ made an opening for Abel's escape.

Pete/Abel: "For dessert, but also for that. Is he really that upset?" Hell, maybe they should've brought the scotch.

Abel, back in human form, eased himself out of the car. He gave his hair a finger comb, straightened his clothes, and gave a wave to Guildias. "Hey, Gil! How's the arm?"

Guildias: "Nothing a best friend can't resolve." Which was where he intended to leave the subject. Just the right amount of vague. The stub of his humerus was waved in their direction. Bigger than yesterday.

Pete/Abel: "I think you growing your arm back will do that better than I can." Pete grabbed the bakery boxes and headed inside to take them into the kitchen.

While he did that, Abel came closer to examine Guildias' shoulder. "Damn, that's not bad for one day. Can you feel it grow? Does it hurt? Did you feel any weird effects from the lube?"

Guildias: "Always admired curiosity. Keep feeding it." Abel was allowed to touch; the sleeve of his shirt was rolled for better examination.

"Growing pains are indeed real. It's an itch, rather than discomfort."

Abel: “The world feeds it for me, my guy. I feel like an itch would drive me crazier than pain. Have you asked Callum if he’s got anything to help?” Druid magic was all about healing; surely there was something.

Guildias: "I'm outside of his area of expertise. Besides, my heart does not beat."

Abel: “Still, couldn’t hurt to ask. Speaking of which.” Abel did a twirl. “Do I look presentable to meet your husband and apologize for removing your arm?”

Guildias: "As far as he's concerned, this was self-inflicted." Based on an umbrella retelling of the entire ordeal, and having been his idea, this was his to own.

Abel: “Sooo, do you want me to not tell him?”

Guildias: "You were brave. You rescued the child; you're a clever hero." Concise and clean.

Abel: “You wanna spare the gory details, okay fair enough. I’m still going to apologize though, in a general sort of way, because we did bring you back without an arm and I feel bad about that. Also, do your animals like other animals?”

Guildias: "Callum's pets play well - if they don't, they'll let you know." Guildias gestured inside. "Allow Peter to introduce you."

Abel: “Good to know.” He was making lots of first impressions today and he wanted to make them all count.

“You’re not coming in?”

Guildias: He gestured the cigarette between his fingers. "I won't be long. Please. Make yourself at home."

Abel: “All right then.”

Abel’s first impression upon entering the house was that it smelled fucking amazing. Something beautiful was happening in the kitchen and he needed to get in on it. Unfortunately, he only made it a couple of steps inside before he was stopped by a long-haired white cat.

Abel crouched to be closer to eye level and held out a hand for sniffing. This guy lived with another dog, so surely the scent of one wouldn’t bother him too much. And his owner was someone with magic, so surely the scent of that wouldn’t bother him too much either.

Apparently he was right on both counts, because he was allowed to pet and to pass after being inspected.

He repeated the process a few steps later with the dog (to the dog’s utter delight) before finally making it into the kitchen for introductions.

Guildias: Callum could be kind when required by social norms. Being in the presence of Peter would ice the heat administered by their conversation. The last of his cigarette was allowed to die a cold death before returning inside.

"I should hate to have missed much," he greeted.

Pete/Abel: Callum had gone out to check on the steaks but everyone else was gathered around the counter.

Abel turned to Guildias with an armful of cat and a giant smile. “I went through the Gauntlet of Pets and was accepted into the fold.”

Pete was grinning as well. “The one leg up he has on Jolly is that Jolly can’t scratch behind Prospero’s ears.”

Guildias: "So I see. Have you been offered a drink?"

Pete/Abel/Callum: “Yep, we have.” Pete nodded toward the beers on the counter. He gave Guildias a look that said there was something on his mind, but he wouldn’t bring it up. Not right now.

Callum came back in looking perfectly and determinedly pleasant. “He’ll never let you put him down if he has his way,” he said to Abel. “He likes bein’ held.”

“I don’t mind holding him. He’s so soft. How are you so soft?” he asked the cat. “Tell me, I must know.”

MJ/Guildias: Guildias locked eyes. A second-long stare of silence. Whatever Peter felt or knew, now was neither the time nor the place for verbalizing.

MJ had taken to the kitchen counter. Legs dangling with dead weight, beer between his hands as though it was a viable option for his stomach. He found himself too quiet. He couldn't seem to help it. Right now he was just observing.

"When you tire of him, he'll find a home on my shoulders," said Guildias.

Abel/Callum: Abel gasped. “He’s a shoulder cat?!”

Callum laughed. “Shoulder, arm, lap. He’s a clingy cat is what he is.”

“You’re clingy and soft!” Abel told Prospero. “You’re a clingy, soft boy and I love you. Ahhh, he’s purring!”

Callum laughed again. His mood seemed to be improving. “Steaks won’t be too long.”

MJ: "Puss puss," MJ tisked at the elegant cat. A big of blue string materialized from his fingertip, dangled just shy of the cat's face.

Prospero: MJ instantly got Prospero’s attention. Ears and eyes were on full alert as he watched the string move back and forth for a few moments before making a grab at it with his paws.

MJ: "Nope! Gotta be faster than that, lil man." Just out of reach again. Dangled low enough afterward to touch the tip of his pink nose.

Pete/Callum: Prospero wiggled out of Abel's hold to better pursue the string, batting at it like a kitten.

"So easy to entertain," Callum chuckled, checking all the pots he had on the stove. "Pete, you want to help me set the table?"

"You got it."

Guildias: Guildias would keep his distance, watching the Ravnos with only mild entertainment. One string eventually became two. A cream-colored feather suddenly tied to the end of the little yarn.

Abel: The cat was over the moon with wide-eyed excitement, and completely distracted from all the enticing smells in the kitchen. He had many dangling things to chase and hunt and play with! His full attention was on them and on MJ by extension.

Abel was grinning like a loon. "Wish you could hear his inner monologue," he said to Guildias, giggling. "Such a happy boy."

Guildias: "I didn't expect your telepathy to extend to animals."

Abel: "Yep!" Abel confirmed cheerfully. "I'm an animal, after all. Doesn't work on every animal though. Tried talking to some ants and worms and other bugs. Nothing."

Guildias: "I can't say I'm well versed in your kind. I had assumed your power only to reach your master."

Abel: "Nope, most familiars can communicate with other animals, with the greatest success obviously being with their own kind. Me, I'm a dog, so I can have full conversations with other dogs. Communicating with other animals takes more work and concentration."

Guildias: "You would make an excellent spy. Though I can only guess how many of you are under the protection and rule of a Tremere."

Abel: "Oh! That's one of the clans, right?" His knowledge, though greater than it had been prior to having a vampiric best friend, was limited at best. "Which ones are they?"

MJ/Guildias: "Mages, in simplest terms. Their secrets are more guarded than their loved ones."

"More like a damn cult," MJ muttered.

Abel: Abel nodded sagely. "Makes sense that mages would have familiars, and that familiars would be drawn to them. Most people think we only gravitate to witches but that's just not true. It's magic that calls to us. Anyone who has it is pretty much fair game."

Guildias: "That's beautiful," Guildias said with pure sincerity.

Abel: His smile was as sincere as Guildias' words. He should've figured that someone like this vampire wouldn't find it odd that a familiar would choose anyone with magic.

Abel had a feeling Gil had appreciation for all sorts of things most people thought were weird.

"You're a peach, Gil, don't ever forget it. I think it's beautiful, too."

Guildias: "You're giving me many firsts, and perhaps more before we part ways." But now he had to excuse himself, see to his husband and whatever help he could offer with a single hand.

Callum: Callum's attention was split several ways at the moment. Setting the table, keeping an eye on the steaks and the rest of the food, watching Prospero play, and listening to Guildias' and Abel's conversation.

Cute as his cat was, the conversation was the most intriguing. But not just because of the subject matter.

"Gil?" he said when his husband was close enough.

Guildias: "You found us out," said Guildias, in gentle humor. "I've been given many nicknames, including peach. Will you forgive me?"

Callum: "They suit you." Casual looked good on his vampire. "Will I forgive you for what?"

Guildias: "For earlier," he whispered, kissed Callum's temple.

Callum: Callum smiled softly at the affection. The irritation had passed and he wasn’t about to force it back just to hold onto it.

“Ye’re forgiven. Gil.”

Guildias: "Now, if you keep that up, I might have something to say to you," he purred.

Callum: He chuckled and turned to kiss Guildias’ cheek. “Remind me to say it again later.”

Guildias: "We shall see. For now, where can I assist?"

Callum: “Can you grab the wine from the counter? Already opened it to let it breathe.”

MJ/Guildias: "How accommodating." Their little dinner party would feel smoother from this moment forward.

"Hey, I gotta question for ya," MJ called to Callum.

Callum: Callum turned to MJ. "What is it? If it's about Prospero starin' mournfully at you from his food bowl, he's already eaten and wants seconds, don't fall for it."

MJ: "He just wants a live fish like what ya caught - I dunno when. But I wanna know 'bout somethin' else."

Callum: “I’ll take him fishin’ tomorrow. What do you want to know about?”

MJ: "What makes a druid?"

Callum: “What makes a Druid in the abstract or what makes one literally?”

MJ: "First one then the other."

Callum: “What makes a Druid is Fae magic. We are essentially the halfway point between Faerie and human. They created us.”

MJ: MJ looked off at nothing, nodding. He opened his mouth - closed. Not quite sure where to take his question next.

Callum: Callum studied him for a moment. “You don’t look satisfied with my answer. Were you expectin’ somethin’ more?”

MJ: "Guess I could ask why they made ya, but how'd ya fuckin' know."

Callum: “We all know. We’re taught from a verra early age that we were created to heal, nurture, and protect the earth and those who live here.”

MJ: "What are ya, Guardians of the Galaxy?"

Callum: “Just healers, mate,” he chuckled. “A few gifted among us are Seers as well.”

MJ: "Fae give a shit enough t'do all that?"

Callum: “They gave us the Legos, we do the buildin’.”

MJ: "Sounds chaotic like em, I guess."

Callum: “Aye, it is at that. Every once in a great while, they’ll pay us a visit and offer one of us immortality. In my tribe, the last time it happened was over three hundred years ago.”

MJ: "Huh. I'll throw your name n'the hat next visit." But he was avoiding the question he intended to ask. Let this peter off, for now. Maybe after dinner he'd try again, in private.

Pete/Callum: Callum smiled. "Appreciate the vote of confidence." Although he doubted he'd ever be offered that particular gift and even if he was, he didn't think he'd be inclined to accept.

But that was something to mull another time, perhaps along with whatever was really on MJ's mind.

"Steaks are ready!" Pete called.

MJ: MJ would leave it there, then, so long as Callum followed along. The vampires would dine discreetly, participating in their own way. The Ravnos would sandwich himself between Abel and Peter.

Abel/Callum: To go with the steak, Callum had put together a salad, garlic mashed potatoes, sautéed green beans, and even some mac and cheese. He’d even made some dinner rolls.

Like his aunt Kenna, he cooked when there was a lot on his mind.

Needless to say, Abel was in absolute heaven. “Oh man, Cal,” he said around a bite of steak. “You outdid yourself, this steak is unstoppable.”

Guildias: "You've fed a puppy. He'll never go home to his master again," Guildias smiled. A subtle wink to said puppy.

Abel/Callum: "Hey, they feed me at home, too!" But rarely did Christine prepare so much pure comfort food for one meal, unless Xavier wanted pastry of course.

Callum chuckled. "Ye're welcome any time, mate. Can't promise I'll always have a spread like this though."

"No one ever does," Abel said sadly, taking a huge bite of mac and cheese. "Something about health or whatever."

MJ: "S'called soul food for a reason," said MJ. "What's good for the body ain't necessarily good for the soul n'vice versa. But, if I recollect, BBQ's good for the soul, too. Should do that next time." If there would be a next time.

Abel: Abel nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! Petey also told me about Carolina hot dogs and I wanna try those, too. Who needs health, I have magic.”

MJ: "Who cares 'bout health when ya live forever," MJ chuckled.

Pete/Abel: "Exactly."

Pete just shook his head. "Anything to eat mac and cheese and steak every day, huh?"

"...Maybe," said Abel. "What about you, Gil? Back when you ate food what did you like?"

Guildias: "Ceviche," Guildias replied without hesitation. "My father was no cook; Argentinian cuisine took priority over my mother's German heritage."

Pete: “You know who makes really good ceviche?” said Pete. “June. Maybe I should do that thing Abel does and ask her to make some so you can smell it.”

Guildias: "You really needn't bother. I haven't made attempt with seafood in decades. I would rather leave it to memory, or forever have it spoiled by current reality."

Abel: Abel reached over to pat Guildias’ arm. “Don’t worry, I’ll eat some in your honor. You can live vicariously.”

Guildias: "How gracious of you, pup."

Abel/Callum: "We're friends now, Gil! That's what friends do." Abel toasted Guildias with a bite of steak. "This one's for you, buddy."

Callum ducked his head to hide a grin. It was strange--and lovely--to see someone being so relentlessly cheerful and casual with his husband.

Guildias: "Be sure that is an especially bloody piece, or it would be a waste." Guildias didn't mind, truly. He was nothing if not adaptable.

"You all seemed to have recovered well since the incident," he continued.

Pete/Abel: "This one wasn't but the next one will be."

Pete shook his head at Abel. "We're no worse for the wear," he said to Guildias. "Got the slime scrubbed off and a little boy back where he belongs. You don't look so bad yourself for a man with one arm."

Guildias: What remained of his arm moved with the other, as though present and accounted for.

"See me again next week and I might be in condition for a warm embrace."

Pete: Pete studied the remnants of Guildias’ arm. “Does it…how does it feel? Regrowing a limb. Does it hurt or itch?”

Guildias: "An itch I refuse to scratch."

Pete/Callum: "Is there anything you can do?" he asked, turning to Callum.

Callum shook his head. "Nothin' that would help much. I could maybe give him some relief for the itchin' but it would only last a little while since the arm is growin' continuously. If it grew in stages then maybe."

Guildias: The entirety of a body, two, perhaps, might advance his healing significantly. Not something he wanted this band of misfits to consider.

"I'll be fine. Just give me time."

Abel: "Shame it isn't Halloween any time soon," Abel mused. "You would make a great Captain Hook. You even have a dog named Jolly Roger!"

Guildias: "Are you suggesting I rip my hand off in October, Abel?"

Abel: “No, absolutely not. I just wish it was October now. But that’s okay, we’ve got lots of time to figure out costumes.”

Guildias: "I met a Nosferatu that could lose his limbs on will. Did so as a practical joke."

Abel/Callum: “Could he grow them back just as easily?” Callum wondered while the mental image made Abel go into a laughing fit.

Guildias: "Just as easily, that we were aware. Shook the hand of a ghoul once just to lose his hand. The shock, I believe, never quite wore off."

Pete/Abel: Imagining that happening to him had Pete shuddering and wanting to never shake another hand again. “I don’t think it would for me either. It would scare the fuck out of me.”

Abel tried to compose himself. “Did the vampire laugh his ass off?”

Guildias: "Of course he did. This is a Nosferatu we speak of. There was no higher form of comedy."

Abel/Callum: “Oh man, I bet it was. That poor ghoul but I mean…” He dissolved into more laughter. It was horrible but it was so fucking funny.

“What happened to the Nosferatu?” Callum asked. “Do you keep in touch?”

Guildias: "Somewhere in Chicago still, I imagine. His sect frowns upon modern technology. A cell phone would be out of the question."

Pete: “Could he have one if he wanted?” Pete asked. “Or is it against the rules in addition to being frowned upon?”

Guildias: "The Camarilla is a headache of contradictions. I imagine he would have a laptop, or disposable phone - hidden. Well hidden. If not, a reason which might keep his head."

Abel: Abel made a face. “Bureaucracy’s always a headache. For humans, for vampires, for everyone. Why does anyone put up with it? Are they allowed to just…leave it?”

Guildias: "Perhaps it is not to your attention, Abel, that the majority of vampires in Edenton are not Camarilla. We're known as Independents. The intricacies of their politics are of little interest to me. I cannot answer your questions."

Abel: “Good for you,” Abel said with a sage nod. “You don’t need to put up with all that. I’m sure it’s a hot mess. It’s like that thing Isabel says about having your party in peace. Sounds better in Spanish.”

MJ/Guildias: "Another familiar?"

MJ glanced at Abel, scrolled through his phone for a funny meme for Peter.

Abel: Abel caught the glance and remembered himself before he gave away more than he should.

“She’s a friend of ours. Human but knows a little about the supernatural. She’s helping MJ learn Spanish.”

MJ: "Fuck you 'learn Spanish' she's helping me improve."

Pete/Abel: Abel snorted. “My bad, she’s helping MJ improve his Spanish.”

Pete chuckled. “Yeah? How much has it improved?”

MJ: "I don't sound Mexican anymore." Much to the distaste of the majority of Spanish speakers in America, but oh well. His mother was from Spain. He wanted to honor that.

Abel: “Isabel is Mexican,” Abel explained at Pete and Callum’s confused looks. “She was hoping he’d get in the habit of speaking Mexican Spanish instead of Spain Spanish.”

MJ: "¡No, ni por pienso!" Her determination only aided his own. He looked absolutely offended at the very idea.

Pete/Abel: “MJ’s sticking to his Spanish guns. I only know the swear words but I’m impressed either way.”

“It’s very impressive,” Pete said with a smile. “Learning another language is hard. At least you have someone close at hand to practice with.”

MJ: "Aren't you practically French now?"

Pete: “Let’s call it honorary French. After all, I do make a mean omelette.”

MJ: "Oh wait I know this one! From Dexter's Laboratory. Omelette du fromage!" MJ laughed.

Pete/Abel: Now it was Pete who snorted. “I completely forgot about that show! But yes, du fromage and everything else.”

Abel cleared his throat. “Since MJ can’t eat I bravely volunteer on his behalf to try this mean omelette you make, Petey.”

MJ/Guildias: "Yeah. Make him somethin' French," the vampire grinned.

Guildias looked to Callum. "Will you allow this now? Might be entertaining."

Callum: Callum just laughed. “If Abel thinks he can fit an omelette as well as this feast and the pies then by all means. Pete can have the run o’ the kitchen.”

MJ/Guildias: "So it's true then," Guildias said to himself.

"If you're gonna demand an omelette, ya better help him make it," said MJ, gesturing to the kitchen.

Pete/Abel: “I’ll help!” Abel said brightly. After today he would have no defense if anyone called him a bottomless pit but he couldn’t say he minded all that much.

“All right,” Pete laughed. “But I’m finishing my dinner first. Then we can entertain the peanut gallery here.”

MJ: MJ just smiled and stretched back. Another meal he'd be avoiding, wondering if the scent would either appeal or nauseate.

"Y'all with stomachs done?"

Pete/Abel/Callum: “You have a stomach, too,” Pete laughed. “Just doesn’t get a whole lot of use. But yes, just about.” He could go for some more potatoes but he wanted to save some room for dessert whenever he got to it.

“What do you want in your omelette, Abe?”

“Cheese!”

“Got any gruyere?” Pete asked Callum.

“I might do. Have a look in the fridge.”

MJ: "Just cheese?" A brow arched. "Oh, hey, ya could but some o'the dinner in it," MJ grinned.

Pete/Abel: "I'd explode!" Abel laughed. "Eggs are like jello, always room for them."

Pete just shook his head. "French omelettes are a lot simpler than American ones, anyway."

MJ: MJ made a face. Couldn't eat it; could still judge it. "I've seen em. Lil rolled up things with a single chive on top."

Pete/Abel: “Abel can have as many chives as he likes,” Pete said with a grin.

The familiar beamed. “Abel would like them mixed into the egg, please.”

“We better get going then. You grate cheese and I’ll deal with the eggs.”

MJ/Guildias: Kindred were left with empty hands by design. MJ watched from a comfortable seat, leaning towards Guildias' shoulder, thoughtful of the idea of a vampiric chef. A notion which amused both. Concepts such as this often came to mind on long stretches of road. Professional surfers, hematologist, and firefighter had also crossed his mind.

Pete/Abel: Having made this so for so many crack-of-dawn breakfasts, Pete made quick and easy work of the omelette. He finished whisking up the eggs long before Abel finished doing battle with the cheese, even after chopping up the chives Abel had requested.

“What are ya’ll thinking over there?” He asked over his shoulder.

MJ/Guildias: "Nothin'," said MJ.

"Contemplating the poetry of irony," said Guildias.

Pete/Abel: “The poetry of French omelette making?”

Abel snorted. “I feel like the French would appreciate that.”

Guildias: "If there is irony to be found," Guildias smiled.

Abel/Callum: “Tell you what there is to be found, Gil.” Abel stepped back to reveal a small mountain of shredded gruyere. “A whole lotta cheese.”

Callum laughed. “Ye’re goin’ to be so sick.”

Guildias: "It's been so long I can't say I recall the taste."

Pete/Abel: “Melty and creamy and delicious. I’ll enjoy it for MJ and for you.”

“So noble,” Pete chuckled, pouring the eggs into a pan and gently stirring in the cheese.

Just a few minutes later he was moving it onto a plate, carefully rolling it up, and placing that single chive on top.

“And done. How’s it look?” he asked Abel.

“Perfect! We could be in Paris. Where’s a fork, I need a bite of this.”

MJ/Guildias: Guildias felt at his arm, squeezing rather than scratching the healing itch. More interested in observing his husband than Peter's culinary skills.

The opposite of MJ, eventually. Watching with arms on his knees, as though this had been his obsession all along.

"Needs ketchup," said MJ with a grin.

Abel/Callum: Guildias’ husband was watching the proceedings with great amusement and laughing at MJ’s comment.

“That is by far the most American thing you’ve ever said, mate.”

Abel was less amused but that quickly melted away as he took a bite of omelette. “Petey.” Another bite. “Well fucking done, sir.”

MJ: Sad to think all he would have of food such as this, eventually, would be memory. MJ wasn't about to let an omelette depress his evening, but still, the thought was there, and had been there for months. Something which Guildias had accepted years ago.

"Stick around, I got plenty more," MJ winked.

Pete/Abel/Callum: “Of that I have no doubt.”

Pete looked rather proud of himself watching Abel devour his creation, and boy did he ever.

The omelette was gone in less time than it took to make it.

“Does it pass muster then?” he chuckled.

Abel gave him a one-armed hug. “You’re my favorite.”

MJ: "Hey!" MJ laughed, caught off guard by the statement and how it made him feel. Multi-faceted jealousy is what it was.

Abel: “You got to be my favorite earlier when you let me ride with you and got me cream puffs! Then Cal had a turn when he made dinner. Now it’s Petey’s turn.”

MJ/Guildias: "Did Gil get a turn?" To which Guildias frowned at MJ. This nickname seemed designated to Abel.

Abel: “The night is young, my guy, the night is young. Oh! That story about the vampire dropping limbs like a lizard? Favorite person level story.”

Guildias: "If you've never seen a Nosferatu, they are especially gruesome. One could compare him to a lizard."

Abel: “Like in the movie or even more?”

Guildias: "Movie?"

Abel: “Yeah! You’ve never seen it? Came out in the 20s.”

Guildias: "I was rather busy in the 20s."

Abel: “I bet,” he chuckled. “It’s a silent horror film, you’ll love it.”

Guildias: "Perhaps I might find the time now."

Abel: “It’s not super long. Cal can find it on YouTube and you guys can make a date night out of it.”

Guildias: Guildias' watched the familiar with humor. Said something about the man, suggesting a romantic evening.

"I'm afraid I'm poor company at this time. Another time."

Abel/Callum: “Aye, another time,” said Callum, smiling at his husband. What a lovely idea. Already his mind was coming up with ideas to make the evening complete.

Abel nodded sagely. “Sure, gotta let all the weird Umbra energy dissipate. I myself am feeling very suspicious of trees still.”

MJ/Guildias: "Still ain't got shit idea on what the fuck y'all are talkin' about," MJ said.

Pete: Even had MJ not insisted, Pete still would've set him up in the guest room. They were starting fresh and that meant a romantic relationship between the two of them didn't currently exist. As such, the guest room was the only option.

He'd looked on in amusement as MJ gave Midas a talking to with Abel's silent but very present assistance, pleased that it seemed to have worked.

The next day when Midas wanted attention, he only knocked over what he was allowed to and was rewarded handsomely with treats and affection.

Pete was in the middle of doling out said affection when the SUV pulled up.

"Looks like a goddamn mafia lieutenant," he muttered to himself, turning away from the window so his glare wouldn't be seen.

MJ/Guildias/Rosmond: MJ and Guildias came to the door as one. No Callum in sight. The SUV remained warm and rumbling. Rosmond's first field operation since the Embrace. Waylon Dahlberg and Leslie Issott a few taps on his antiquated cellphone, should the expertise of a witch be required.

There he would wait, as Peter and the familiar named Abel were gathered for their expedition.

"Gertrude insisted," MJ explained. "Said it would be good for him. Probably t'keep an eye on us."

Guildias leaned against the doorway. "We represent Edenton, whether we like it or lump it. If something catastrophic were to happen, Raleigh mustn't be privy to the embarrassment."

Pete/Abel: Pete opened the door with a frown that was matched by Abel's as he appeared behind him.

"Dude, come on," said Abel, his tone heartily disapproving. "I thought we agreed you were gonna go in, observe the niceties, and get out. Why'd you go and tell her? She's not the boss of the Umbra!"

A sentiment Pete echoed. "The only catastrophe will be if we fail to get that kid, I couldn't care less about Gertrude's potential embarrassment. Like Raleigh gives one single shit about a human child, they probably didn't even notice."

MJ: "Since when did the two of ya start parroting each other? This be a sewin' circle while we were out?"

Abel: "He fed me chicken and rice casserole," said Abel. "We bonded. But still! Now some goon is gonna watch us the whole time and learn shit about us. It's like taking a cop on a heist."

Guildias: "More akin to taking a bodyguard and former assassin," said Guildias. "Trust me, Mr. Harrington, the man has no personality to speak of."

Abel: Abel peeked around Guildias at the SUV and turned to Pete. “You’re right, it does look like a mafia lieutenant car.” The windows were so dark he couldn’t even see the goon.

“All right, so. Is Mr. No Personality coming in or what?”

MJ/Guildias: MJ just snickered. "If it weren't for ya breakin' physics we'd have a Scooby-doo van. Ya know, for work."

"We have hours of drive ahead of us and little night. Rosmond encourages you to bring water," Guildias smirked at Peter.

Pete/Abel: “If we did have a Scooby-doo van, it would have to break physics, too, so we wouldn't have to drive around for hours. Does the mafia lieutenant really want to drive?”

Pete just sighed and went to the kitchen to fill up a water bottle.

MJ/Guildias: "Expect the unexpected." And a lack of trust for a familiar's magic from both Setite and Giovanni. Being backed by a Ravnos did little for confidence; less post-merge.

"Stopped by the RV for some shit. Should have everything," said MJ. "Let's go, Abe. Come meet the mafia."

Abel: "You said yourself we only have a little bit of night to do this and he wants to spend a chunk of it driving." Abel shook his head and grabbed his jacket. "This is why you don't bring a cop." He heaved a great sigh. "All right, let's go meet the mafia."

MJ/Guildias: "We got gear. Got shit if the kid needs moved. Can't just show up at a place ya ain't even seen. Can ya even move five people n'gear t'some place ya ain't even been, dude?" Asked while tugging him by the shirt. No standing and talking. Movement.

Guildias waited quietly for Peter.

Pete/Abel: "I can move four people and gear thanks to the booster spell and talismans I got from X and Ramsay. You know, like we planned. The news reported on it, pictures of the house and the kid are everywhere and the address wasn't hard to find. How do you think I grabbed your ass from that scary place with the giant glass tank? Magic, my guy."

Pete returned a few moments later wearing a jacket and carrying a small pack. "What are my chances of not having to ride with the prince's goon and just following behind in my own car?"

MJ/Guildias: "Magic - ya read my mind! Kinda different from pictures on a screen." Or in Rosmond's case, a printed map to a craftsman foursquare a few miles outside of Raleigh. The route was simple enough and already memorized.

MJ pulled from his inner jacket pocket a long enticing stick of LaffyTaffy. A peace offering handed over without word.

"Let's not over-complicate matters," said Guildias. "Has he outwardly wronged you?"

Pete/Abel: Abel opened his mouth, fully prepared to say more, but the appearance of the candy had it closing again. He accepted it with a smile. "Okay, I love you again. Let's meet Mr. Wet Blanket. Does he actually have no personality or was Guildias exaggerating?"

"Matters are already complicated," said Pete. "We're dipping into the Veil. I'd just rather not have Gertrude's ears and eyes adding to the tension. But I guess it doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done and we have shit to do."

MJ/Guildias: "Ya tell me," MJ smirked, opening one of the doors for Abel. Black interior and spacious, which was the point. Easy to label safety measures as cliche, but there they were.

"That still doesn't answer my question. Seems to be the one area you and Callum disagree."

Pete/Abel: Abel poked his head into the car and looked around. 'Woowwwww,' he thought to MJ. 'It's very la cosa nostra in here.' Out loud, he greeted the driver. "Hey, man."

"You of all people should know why I don't think fondly of the prince. Isn't that reason enough to not want him to be part of this?" He was almost certain telling Gertrude had been Guildias' idea, or maybe even his doing. "Let's just go."

Pete locked the door behind him and walked to the car, hearing his mentor's voice in his head telling him to take things in stride.

MJ/Guildias/Rosmond: Abel was gently shoved forward. He wasn't going to bother reminding him to mind his manners.

A youngish-looking man, blond, eyes like dying grass, observed from the rear-view mirror. Chiseled from some other era. Stoic as a garden statue.

"Mr. Harrington," he greeted. Something in those two words was not quite North Carolina. Something more melodic and silky than one might expect from that face.

"For the man he once was," said Guildias, waiting to fall into step with the Fera. The door was opened for Peter, and it was Guildias climbing into the backseat. A choice made so MJ didn't have to. Rosmond watched expectedly as MJ took his place in the front passenger seat.

"I'll be y'all's DJ for the next hour(sss). We start our adventure with some Reba."

Pete/Abel: Having spent so long in the company of an alias-loving demon, it was more than a little unsettling to be called by his actual name, especially by someone that looked so...stony. Abel wasn't entirely sure he liked it. "Yep, that's me. You don't have to call me mister. And your name...?"

"Rosmond," said Pete, settling in between Abel and Guildias. "His name is Rosmond."

MJ/Guildias: The drive would have been quiet if not for MJ's music. Their driver offered nothing by means of conversation. Neither did Guildias, content with tilting back in his seat and adjusting large gold and brown hexagonal Ray-Bans.

MJ took initiative to sing. Juggling lemons which disappeared randomly, forced back with a bit of concentration. Minutes before arrival, Abel was finally given attention by the Setite.

"Is he always like this?"

Pete/Abel: While Pete didn't normally go for country, MJ's singing provided both distraction and entertainment. The ride was giving him way too much time to think.

Abel shook his head. "Nope. Sometimes he juggles oranges."

MJ/Guildias: "An improvement, then. It's time you upgrade to grapefruit."

"Ha. Easy." But what materialized in his hands looked too yellow. One looked more like Jupiter with various rings of decay. Not quite. He stared for some time, trying to find the appropriate color of a citrus he'd forgotten.

Abel: Abel leaned forward in his seat for a better view.

"Too yellow. Go for a slightly bigger orange that's a yellowy orange color."

MJ/Rosmond: Bigger than this? Roughly the size of both fists, then, and now a rotten lemon in shade.

"Too brown," said Rosmond.

Abel: "Slightly smaller. Think softball or....yeah no, just think softball."

MJ/Guildias: Guildias pulled his phone from pocket. Many years out of date. Complete with keyboard. He leaned forward and presented a stock photo.

"Huh," MJ sighed, trying one more time with Abel's advice and Guildias' image.

The texture wasn't quite there, but an improvement.

Abel: "Ah, you got it! Well done, well done. We're gonna have you juggling citrus of all persuasions before you know it."

To Guildias he said, "I thought your people hated tech?"

Guildias: "We're not part of the ivory tower; but it comes with its own set of rules."

Abel: The hell was the ivory tower? Something to ask MJ later on.

"Gotta live the burner phone life, man."

Guildias/Rosmond: "What makes you think I'm not?"

Rosmond had nothing to add. With the same silence, he drove the SUV quietly onto a dirt road and into a snug patch of forest. The engine was killed, keys stuffed in his pocket.

"Mr. Harrington, I would appreciate your assistance." A brief look back to Guildias. Both men climbed out of the vehicle.

Abel: "That phone you have has internet access. I'm talking the circa-2004-Nokia-phone-that-only-has-Snake-on-it burner phone life."

He peered out the windows at their destination, metaphorical antenna up for anything out of the ordinary.

"I'm all ears, but really, please call me Abel."

MJ/Guildias/Rosmond: The driver's side door was shutting. Guildias gestured for Abel to follow him. Meanwhile, MJ climbed into the back with Peter.

"Stake out shit," he sighed. Normally his forte in the duo, and normally Xavier's forte in the trio. For now, grapefruit had been replaced by pink and blue golf balls, rolled in a single hand.

"You won't be getting a first name from our acquaintance, my friend," Guildias whispered. "That is not a hill to die on."

"Cameras and other security systems need to first be addressed. By any means." Rosmond looked expectedly to the snake, already stepping deeper into the woods where Rosmond pointed. To the house hidden behind a near quarter mile of bracken and sagging branches.

Pete/Abel: Pete nodded, peering out the window as Abel had. "Kinda wanna roll the window down and see if I can smell anything else that might be out there. It occurred to me about fifty miles ago that we might not be the only ones with an interest in this."

Abel looked from Guildias to the man called Rosmond. Did the guy ever crack a smile? Or a joke? Or blink? "I'm annoyingly persistent," he whispered back. "But I'll take your word for it."

He was itching to turn into his animal form but that wasn't wise for two reasons: one, he felt uncomfortable doing so without MJ around. Two, he wouldn't be able to communicate with them.

"There's a few spells for that. Glamours that could hide us while we do what we need to do without being seen."

MJ/Guildias/Rosmond: "What, like fae? Ain't that their thing, stealin' children n'shit?" MJ reached over Peter's lap for the door, opening it a crack. He wanted to take his rebirth behind the masquerade seriously.

Rosmond followed behind by a few feet. "Observation," he reminded. "Mr. Calloway and Graham will utilize your information."

"Still the bodyguard?" Guildias looked over his shoulder, smirk in his eyes.

"Supervision." With Gertrude's insistence. Field work with new capacity. A test of responsibility he would not take lightly.

The same craftsman foursquare from the printed page. New paint job. Manicured lawn. A plastic colorful play set in the backyard. A silver truck and red sedan in the front yard. Porch light on. Lights off save for the second floor in two rooms.

Pete/Abel: "Some of them, yeah. Could be anyone though, including some weirdo human." It was never a good idea to underestimate the weirdos.

Pete scooted close enough to the door to where he could stick his nose out and scented the air.

Well, Abel thought, these two seemed fairly uninterested in magic. Which begged the question of why Rosmond had asked for his assistance.

He looked at the house with a frown. It looked so normal. Nothing about it gave away what had happened inside.

"Poor souls," he sighed to himself.

MJ/Guildias: "You were called 'pup' last night. We'll need that right now, if you're willing to oblige," said Guildias, softly for the semblance of privacy.

Meanwhile, MJ watched Peter with fascination. "What can ya smell?"

Pete/Abel: Abel turned to Guildias, ignoring the knot in his gut. Although whether it was more to do with the impending journey into the Umbra or the thought of transforming without MJ, he couldn't say for sure. "I am--" sort of, "--but I won't be able to communicate with you. Unless you practice telepathy?"

Pete inhaled deeply. "You. Soil. Some sort of body of water nearby. Vampire."

MJ/Guildias: "We'll be right here. You see what you see and come back to us. Door cams, police surveillance. Do not put yourself in unnecessary danger. I'll be right behind you."

MJ smiled privately. "That all? Lions, tigers, bears, oh my?"

Pete/Abel: "I'm not putting myself in any danger at all," Abel said with a grin, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a little silver pendant. It was small, about the size of a nickel, and inscribed with what appeared to be several runic symbols.

Abel clipped it on the necklace he was already wearing so it rested beside his 'A' pendant.

"Okay, so this is gonna hide me from view and muffle any sounds I make, but you should still be able to hear my footsteps if you listen close."

Pete chuckled. "None of them around, only us. Good sign I guess."

MJ/Guildias/Rosmond: "A little more elaborate than a stray dog wandering about," said Guildias. "If the task is completed, then by all means."

Rosmond remained nearby a tree, hands to his sides, observing like the statue Abel imagined him as.

Guildias took a step forward, disappearing behind a tree and then altogether.

"The more borin' the better," MJ nodded. "Ain't supposed t'be a heist."

Pete/Abel: "People tend to approach small dogs, to either pet them or to try and help them. Sometimes I'll get a treat out of the deal but we've gotta be stealthier today." Abel took one more second to make sure the necklace was secure before chanting a small incantation.

He hadn't quite finished when he slowly started to fade from view, his voice growing fainter and fainter as if he were moving far away. A moment later he was gone completely, and only once he was hidden did he feel safe enough to transform.

'I'm in dog form,' he thought to MJ, chain and pendants jingling as he shook himself off. 'Also invisible. Just wanted to give you the head's up.'

Pete nodded as well. "Yeah. Sure feels like one though. Still can't quite believe we're gonna do what we're about to do. It's like my brain can't process it."

MJ/Guildias: Guildias remained on the outskirts, watchful of sinking grass under invisible feet that would be Abel. Watchful for a police car, something. After a bout of silence, he pulled from his coat various colored loupes, bringing each to his eye as he searched for an outward sign of entry. Some indication of where to begin.

MJ sat up straight, looking off to nowhere as though suddenly lost in thought. And then like that, it was over.

"This is sorta been my thing for a while now. Not rescuin' kids, but I mean, the weird shit it comes with."

Pete/Abel: The movement in the sinking grass would indicate a methodical survey around the house. Abel slowly circled it, alternating between sniffing around and watching and listening for any movement or sign that something was amiss. Aside from the obvious, of course.

Since he couldn't speak to Guildias, he thought his observations at MJ. 'Everything's pretty quiet. I smell new paint but I can still smell two kids. One scent is stronger than the other. There's another scent too, can't identify it just yet.' A few beats of silence. 'It's so frustratingly normal.'

"You're sounding more like Robin Hood by the second. Does your demon friend help too?" Pete looked over at MJ. "You okay?"

MJ/Guildias: Every image given to MJ was filed away. This would be vital later. One thing to look out for. That new trend.

'Check the door for one of them cams. I don't think they'll have anything else.'

After a wide circle of the entire property, Guildias returned to Rosmond's side. Reappeared as easily as a blink, and waited for the familiar.

"Yeah," MJ smiled. "N'yeah, m'good. We can start headin' over."

Pete/Abel: 'Copy that.'

Abel looped around again to check out the back door. That's where people tended to have cameras and other security measures, since it couldn't be seen from the street. Of course, humans didn't realize the real threats didn't need cover to attack.

'I see it. Small camera pointed at the back door. Simple, the kind an alarm company would offer to their customers. Fixed position, probably connects to their Wi-Fi network.'

Pete took a deep breath. "All right, let's do this, Robin Hood."

MJ: 'To zap the power lines or do my cloak shit.' To fuck the power lines would bring someone out and shorten their window further. 'Keep sendin' me a view. Check the front door, too. We're headin' that way.'

MJ looked back for Peter, a look on his face as though surprised to see him. Telepathy was disorienting.

"What's your plan?"

Pete/Abel: 'Cutting power attracts attention and utility people. I think cloaking is the way to go.'

Back again to the front of the house. A few of the windows had stickers with a company logo on them; probably the same company that had supplied the camera.

Moving as silently as he could, Abel climbed the front steps and inspected the porch. 'They have a doorbell camera too. Movement usually triggers the censor on those.'

Pete sighed as he zipped up his jacket and adjusted his bag on his shoulder. "Honestly? I don't fuckin' know, man. Abel's got this spell to turn me into a beacon or a lighthouse so this kid can find me but what if it doesn't work?"

MJ: "He's got a what now?" MJ laughed. "I'll bet ya real money that light freaks out the snake."

Which reminded him, speaking with Abel, to find a path with the least amount of trees.

'We'll focus on the backyard. I need the cam's perspective real quick and I got it.'

Pete/Abel: "I only understood about half his explanation but basically it's going to make it easier for us to find the kid in the Umbra so we're not there longer than we absolutely have to be. Time's already fucky over there."

'Good call. Tread lightly,' Abel added before rejoining the two vampires. A quick incantation to reverse the spell and he slowly blinked back into existence, once again in human form.

MJ/Guildias/Rosmond: "I wouldn't know." They came upon two figures. Guildias handing over the various colored loupes to Rosmond. Green glass was brought to his eye.

"Ya get the cam's perspective?" whispered to Abel, not the least bit surprised by his sudden appearance.

Rosmond looked back for Peter. He offered the glass by its brass handle. Pointed towards the furthest wall of the back of the house. A small opening like smears on the glass broken by some nonexistent void light. The glass of course was spotless.

"That is where you will breach."

Pete/Abel: ‘It’s pointed at the back door,’ Abel thought to him. ‘At most it’s getting a tiny bit of the backyard and the back porch. It’s not super sophisticated.’

Pete accepted the glass and held it to his eye.

So that was what a portal into the Veil looked like. It was nothing like he would’ve expected. Didn’t even look sinister.

MJ/Guildias/Rosmond: The telepathy put another smile on his face. "Ros ain't so fast t'kill us all." Two different expressions turned their attention upon the pair. One of bored neutrality, the other a smirk.

"Which of you can lure the occupants inoffensively?" asked Rosmond.

"I got that," said MJ. "Goin' in." Rosmond waited several steps before following behind. Watched as the trickster honed in on the small white device near the ceiling of the small back porch. His hands came together. Middle fingers wrapped over index fingers and touched. A halved orb, no bigger than a snow globe, attached itself to the camera.

'Actually, I ain't got that. Busy here. Can ya bark?'

Pete/Abel: "Hey!" Abel gave MJ a smack on the arm. "Be an agent of chaos after we finish our mission," he whisper yelled, though there was amusement in his eyes.

Pete studied the portal a moment longer and handed the glass back. He felt like starting at it too long would make him lose his nerve or fry his brain or something. Everything about this felt completely out of his depth.

Abel, who had made his way over to stand by Pete, suddenly seemed to lose himself in thought.

'Do you just want me to bark or should I make myself known and distract them?'

MJ: 'Nothin' human. We need sweet lost animal.'

Abel: 'Invisible innocent barking, gotcha.'

"Be back in a sec," Abel announced out loud before activating his spell again and transforming back into a dog.

He wanted to stay close enough to the house to be heard while also not drawing attention toward any of them, so he moved a few feet away in the opposite direction of everything before letting out the most pitiful little bark anyone ever did hear.

MJ/Rosmond: A sound which worked almost instantly to stir the house. Another bark and the porch light switched on. MJ knelt in place, focused on the camera as Rosmond waited around the corner. A woman with deep warm skin and tired eyes first looked out the window before opening the back door. She clicked her tongue.

Abel: Gotcha, Abel thought to himself.

He changed locations to give the illusion that he was wandering around lost and barked again, even adding a whine for good measure and shaking himself so his pendants would jingle.

He sort of felt like the pied piper but not sinister.

MJ/Rosmond: It was enough for her to descend the steps. She turned her head this way and that in search of what sounded like a little dog, to be greeted instead by a blond figure twice her size, hand clasped firmly over her mouth.

"You didn't see my face. You're exhausted. You deserve to sleep. Dream of your son."

Her expression softened, and Rosmond removed his hand. Her arms fell to her sides, and she turned, walking slowly back inside with the vampire at her heels.

MJ, caught up in what he'd just witnessed, damn near dropped his glamour.

Abel: It caught Abel by surprise as well. He very nearly barked for real and ran toward the woman and whatever the hell Rosmond was doing to her until she calmly walked back inside.

'What the fuck was that!?' he thought to MJ. 'Did you know he was going to do that?'

MJ/Guildias: 'Knew he was gonna do somethin'. Didn't know it was fuckin' that.' How the fuck did he do that? It felt familiar. Something he knew, or seen, or experienced. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

One by one, the upstairs bedrooms darkened.

Guildias took to the porch, patting MJ's shoulder along the way.

"It's your time to shine, Peter."

Pete/Abel: 'Well shit, that's an important detail to keep to himself. Is he always this bad at communicating?' Abel returned to where Pete was, making himself human and visible again.

"Oh no it's not," he said, reaching back into his pockets and pulling out even more pendants. Some were round, some polygonal, but all were made of perfectly clear crystal. The ones that were on short strings were placed on Pete's wrist and the one on the longer string was put around his neck. "Can't go walking in there without activating you first."

MJ/Guildias: 'He's the boss right now. Ain't gotta tell us shit.' It was still jarring, watching a mere ghoul rank before his very eyes. Someone he'd been forced to steal from Guildias' basement years ago under Victoria Harrak's orders, now working in tandem. Felt less real than what they were about to do.

"Activating him?" asked Guildias.

Pete/Abel: 'Says who? We're all bringing something to the table. He's being withholding, plain and simple.' It was just the sort of behavior he expected from someone with the demeanor of a statue.

Abel focused back on the task at hand, nodding at Guildias' question. "Yep. Sending him into the Umbra blind is a suicide mission, so I found something to help." The origin of which he would keep to himself. Wouldn't do to go revealing privileged information willy-nilly.

"These crystals are gonna turn our Petey boy into a lighthouse so he can find the little boy, or so the little boy can find him. Petey, did you bring your flashlight like I told you?"

Pete nodded.

"And a weapon?"

"I have a pocketknife?"

"That'll do. Extra sweater?"

Another nod.

"Snack?"

Yet another nod.

"Good man."

Guildias: Guildias took Peter's wrist in three fingers, gently, to examine the crystals. Sunglasses resting on his head, hair now in a bun.

"If the Umbra will have me, I intend to go with him," he said. "Whatever you face will not be alone."

Pete: The crystals, though beautiful, looked completely innocuous. Indeed, it was hard to tell how something so unremarkable could serve as anything but an adornment.

But then that was the beauty of magic.

That caught Pete by surprise. "You want to come with me?"

Guildias: "Did you think you were walking into the unknown alone? That I or anyone here would allow that?"

Pete/Abel: Rosmond would certainly allow it, Pete thought.

"I mean, I assumed Abel might join me."

"Which I will," said Abel.

Guildias: "That will leave what remains to guard in our absence. Shall we?" Guildias opened his hand towards the still open door.

Abel: "Not so fast there. If the Umbra does let you in, you'll need this."

Abel reached into another pocket for yet another pendant, or rather three. These were again shaped like coins and each was on a silver chain. He put one on and offered the other two to Pete and Guildias respectively.

"From what I understand, it's very easy to get lost in there. These will help us find each other if we get separated. They feel warm when we're together and colder the farther away we get from each other. Magical buddy system."

MJ/Guildias/Rosmond: "And you just happened to have three." Guildias smiled.

Rosmond filled the doorway, looked between the three and their shared necklaces. That answered his intended question.

"This way." To the laundry room just behind the kitchen.

"Don't y'all come back armless n'shit," called MJ in whisper, watching Peter for as long as he was able.

The small room was unassuming, plain white, and saturated in the scent of fabric softener. Two cat dishes sat atop of the dryer, already opened by Rosmond.

"It's the wall itself," he explained. "Spills outside." The green loupe was offered to Peter. "Keep it with you to find your way back."

Pete/Abel: "I have five actually!" Abel produced another two from his pocket. "One for MJ if he wanted to come and one for the kid so we don't lose him once we manage to get him."

Pete made to follow Rosmond, but not before shooting MJ a smile. "I'll do my best," he whispered back, finally following Rosmond to the laundry room.

God, it looked so normal. Unsettlingly so. Why of all places had a portal opened here?

He accepted the glass. "Thanks. Guess there's nothing left but to do it."

Guildias/Rosmond: "Manage your breathing. Keep calm. Do not separate." Words of advice Gertrude had given to pass along, and while sound, still seemed hollow coming from inexperienced lips. This would not always be the case, but Rosmond's experience would not begin tonight.

There was no sense in asking which would be the first to enter. The choice was only one to Guildias' knowledge. Quietly, he took a knee near the wall, looking up expectantly to Peter.

Pete/Abel: "Just focus on the necklace, Petey," said Abel. "Warm is good, warm is safe."

Pete nodded and tucked the buddy system pendant into his shirt. "Warm is safe. Okay."

Manage his breathing and stay calm. Pretty much what his mentor had told him over and over when he was struggling. He tried to hear Gaetan's voice now, tried to feel as centered as he had in Gaetan's presence.

Like stepping into the river, he told himself, taking a few deep breaths. This was just stepping into cool rushing water.

He entered the portal.

Guildias: A stench like primordial soup thick enough to taste. A heavy, cold, gel-like substance clung to Peter's entire being. Underneath his clothes and against his scalp. In his teeth, wet on his tongue, and seeped between fingers, toes, and thighs. The sensation threatened his nostrils and stung at his eyes.

Behind, someone grabbed his foot. Their only line into the Penumbra. That place where walking serpents were not welcome, and those covered in the dust of demonic ash were shunned.

Guildias held useless breath. Pupils slit in the limited light, finding their scenery drastically changed. They were outside. Outside somewhere else, but not. The same number of trees. The same three trees in a near perfect triangle. These trees were larger, older. Almost touched. The plastic playground, once colorful and clean, now covered in moss and mounds of dirt. Aged many years. Half swallowed by the earth.

Guildias got to his feet, reached for Peter and felt for Abel.

The ground was soft. Grass rich and healthy. The world saturated in color, though still blanketed in the same darkness of night.

"Come here," Guildias whispered to Peter, removing his scarf from around his neck.

Pete/Abel: What had he been expecting the Veil to be? Pete couldn't even begin to imagine.

But he did know that whatever slimy reek was covering him head to toe was most certainly not water and boy, did he want to fucking panic.

Would panicking help? No. Did it ever? No. So what was he to do?

Suck it up and pretend it was water. This first and hopefully only foray into the in-between was not about comfort.

Abel felt similarly. This place stunk like nothing had ever stunk before and every single cell that made up his being was absolutely screaming with protest at being here. God, he really hoped the Umbra didn't bounce them out. Could it even do that? Probably.

It was certainly unsettling being here, with everything looking the same but not. Felt like an episode of the Twilight Zone.

"Buddy system," he said, whispering as well. He grasped Guildias' searching hand and reached out for Pete's.

Meanwhile, Pete was moving closer to Guildias.

Guildias: Abel's hand was stuffed in the vampire's jacket. He then proceeded to wrap his black scarf around Peter's neck, careful around his mouth and nose to aid his breathing. Not a concern of his, and Peter was better use to them conscious.

Pete/Abel: Pete gave Guildias a grateful nod and focused on his breathing. He didn't want to speak just yet and tempt fate on the panic attack front, so he just tried to get his bearings and re-center himself.

Abel wasn't faring too much better, but he had the advantage of more magical experience.

"Wonder if I can make a barrier around us," he wondered aloud. "X does it all the time for privacy. Maybe it can work for Umbra lube."

Guildias: "I think the word we're looking for is Gauntlet." That uncomfortable veil which deterred most, but Peter was stronger than that. At least, so far.

"Slowly," he whispered. "Slow and shallow." A thick brown curl was pushed from between his eyes. "When you're ready, you lead."

Pete/Abel: "Gauntlet? Nah. That may be the technical term but this shit has the consistency of lube with none of the fun implications. So, Umbra lube. How we doing over there, Petey?"

Pete gestured with his hand to indicate 'so-so'. The scarf was helping the breathing situation, though. He was massively uncomfortable but no longer in danger of passing out from lack of oxygen.

"Hang in there, champ," said Abel. "We need to wipe his face so he can see."

Guildias: "Keep your eyes closed." The end of the scarf, the side which had been hidden during transition, was used to wipe at his eyelids and around his sockets. The substance was thin, and wiped away relatively easy.

"I assume for your kind this becomes easier."

Finally, Guildias looked back. "How are your eyes?" he asked Abel.

Pete/Abel: Pete didn't have to be told twice; he could barely open his eyes as it was.

"Thank you," he managed, sounding slightly breathless, like he was recovering from a workout.

Abel took a second to assess. "They're good, not great. Tried to duck my head as much as possible when we passed through, so only a little lube got in them."

Pete snorted. "Lube?"

"What else would you call this?"

Guildias: "Indulge the pup. Now, let's assume the child underwent the same treatment. Frightened, cold, in a broken mirror image of a familiar world. Where do you assume a child would go? I have but one theory."

Pete/Abel: Pete slowly blinked while he let his eyes adjust. They didn't sting or anything, but they very badly wanted to water.

"Uh...well. If I was a kid and I was lost, I'd try to find my house. Or at least something that looked familiar and safe."

Guildias: Guildias turned from whence they came. To a house without paint. Sagging with the weight of a tree growing on its roof. Its roots pierced through the ceiling and out through various windows. Spilled out from all sides of the roof and into the ground below. Only one window had stood the test of weight. Opened just wide enough for a little body to wriggle through.

"My assumption went through there."

Pete/Abel: Abel looked uneasily upon the tree. "There's no telling what the inside of that place looks like if this is what the outside looks like. Got your beacons out, Pete?"

Pete looked down at the crystals around his neck. Despite being covered in the same substance as the rest of him, he could swear they were glowing. "Apparently."

"Okay. Time to squeeze through the window. Hold on tight to Gil. I'll hold on tight to him too. Absolutely do not let go of each other."

Guildias: "Do you intend to each claim a foot as some golden prize?" His smile was brief but genuine. The window - kitchen window, from the looks of things - was pushed up until resistant. A tight squeeze, but manageable. They would only need to do this once. Assuming their way home was also in the sham of a laundry room here.

The vampire turned himself into a sitting position halfway through, body shifting in a manner almost unnaturally smooth. The house was blanketed in a dust thick enough to scrape away. Floating in the air in a kind of stasis. The handprint of a child on the fractured marble counter-top. Not a footprint in sight.

Pete/Abel: "In this world it might as well be," said Abel. Contact was the absolute name of the game right now; if they had that, they had a maybe decent chance of getting out of this okay.

Pete grunted as he squeezed through the window, the complete opposite of Guildias' inhuman grace. How'd he get here? How was squeezing through a window in the Veil something he was actually doing?

"Already sick of this place," he muttered in a whisper as he looked around. The handprint was a good indication that they were on the right track; the lack of footprint was not. "What, did this kid fly through here? Does anything look remotely disturbed to either of ya'll?"

Guildias: Guildias took a false breath. The air was stale, and thick with musk. The scent of rust and toiled earth blended almost seamlessly. His olfactory wasn't nearly as keen as he knew the Ravnos' to be. Might have come in handy, but he was otherwise occupied.

"That," he said. His tone suddenly quiet, as the only disturbance was that of roots. Roots which seemed to be breathing.

Pete/Abel: Abel looked uneasily to the tree. Other than the handprint and the open window, there were zero signs of life in here. Except, of course, for the tree. "Normally I'd say no way, buuuuut...."

Pete turned the tree as well. "What, you think the tree grabbed him? Wouldn't there be signs of that?"

"Not necessarily," said Abel. "Should we start hacking away at it? That seems like a bad move. It might attack us."

Guildias: "I think the best course of action would be to explore it. From bottom to top. We know he came in here, so I doubt he'd be on the roof. We can make that our last stop if we haven't found him."

Pete/Abel: Abel nodded. It seemed like a solid enough plan even though they weren't exactly spoiled for choice on how to proceed.

"Okay. So. Who's gonna be the first to touch the tree?"

"I'll do it," said Pete. "Any advice?"

"Uh...don't hurt it. Maybe--would it be weird to ask it for permission? I feel like it can definitely hear us."

Guildias: "No option is off the table. We'll see how it reacts to your nearness."

Guildias considered a moment before stepping down from his counter perch.

"I'll stand behind you. Follow Abel's idea. Hover your hand and ask."

Pete: Pete nodded and took a deep breath. "All right, here goes nothing."

He stepped closer to the tree, moving as cautiously and non-threateningly as he possibly could. If Abel was right and the tree was...sentient? somehow, then it couldn't hurt to be careful and respectful.

"Hello," he said softly, stopping just a couple steps away from the roots. "I'm looking for someone. Could you help me?"

Guildias: Guildias remained just behind, hand hovering over Peter's shoulder the same as Peter to the root. Ready to snatch at the first violent response.

The breathing root recessed from his presence. The tip of the root coiling defensively. A sound like a long hot exhale from within. A sickly-sweet stench blended with the scent of toiled earth.

Pete: So the tree was sentient. Good to have confirmation of that; gave him some idea of how to proceed.

"We're not here to hurt you," he said gently. "We won't hurt you. We just want to take this child home. He doesn't belong in this world. He belongs in our world."

Guildias: Guildias wanted to look back to Abel, but refused to remove his gaze. He would much rather have been wrong. Defense meant the capability of offense. Having any sense of emotion included anger and fear and worse.

A smaller root, hanging uselessly from the middle of the dining room ceiling began to lengthen, coiling away and tightening.

"Get away from it."

Pete/Abel: Pete didn't have to be told twice.

He took a few giant steps back from the tree, instinctively reaching for Abel and Guildias' hands.

Abel, meanwhile, had all his senses on high alert, trying to detect any hint of the little boy beneath the scent of dirt and decay.

Maybe the tree just smelled like that, or maybe they were already too late.

"Is he alive?" he asked the tree.

Guildias: Peter's elbow was gripped firmly, pushed just behind Guildias' arm. The tree his only attention.

The roots breathed again. As the one defensive coil relaxed by an inch, more roots curled. The thickest, larger than their combined mass, seemed to suck in a giant reluctant breath. Its exhale exuded more rotted stench. A low octave sound with humming vibrato. Words, but unintelligible.

Pete/Abel: A few beats of silence followed the...response? After which Pete said, "Either of you happen to speak tree?"

Abel shook his head. His face was set in serious lines, a rare display. "No. But that smell? It's either the tree itself or decomp," he said softly. It didn't necessarily mean it was the kid, but it was definitely something. That smell was unmistakable.

"Gil, any ideas on communication with sentient trees?"

Guildias: Guildias watched the root expand with every alien syllable, becoming impossibly large, beyond any tree of their world to his knowledge. It appeared wet. He suspected its surface sticky. The stench had remained consistent, but there was no conspicuous sign of a struggle, torn clothes, nor smears blood.

"Another time. Up the stairs."

Pete/Abel: Abel nodded. "All right. Come on, Petey, you heard the man."

He grabbed onto each of them and started backing out of the room, not taking his eyes off the tree until they were well clear of it. That wasn't to say one of those freakish roots couldn't stretch out and grab them but Abel felt better being away from it and the smell of death.

"Should we look in the kid's room?" Pete asked, compelled to whisper. "Might be worth a shot. There's no footprints leading this way but maybe...?"

Guildias: "Exactly why we're going upstairs." Through the kitchen, to the stairs separating the living room and kitchen. Stairs partially destroyed by roots and patched by the same. Caked dust on each step but that between the roots. Without disturbance to any of the floor, no area of the house could be overruled.

"Do you wish to sweep what remains of the first floor?" he asked Abel. "I'm more concerned with Peter's respiratory."

Pete/Abel: "Sweeping this much dust is gonna kick it up," said Abel. "I'd need to vacuum and I doubt the Umbra has power, but I'll have a looksee."

Pete shook his head. "I'm fine. Dust is the least of my worries right now. Let's just go to the kid's room. Together." This place was giving him the creeps. He spent a lot of time in the woods, surrounded by trees, but seeing all the branches holding everything together was just...unsettling.

Guildias: "Sweep - surveillance, searching, pup." He supposed his military background had caught the familiar, or this was just a familiar being idiosyncratic as usual. His tone remained patient just the same.

Pete/Abel: "Oh! You soldier types and your jargon." He gave a light smack to Guildias' arm. "In my defense, you mentioned breath--never mind. I'll give the place a once over."

"Abel, maybe you shouldn't--"

"Relax, buddy." Abel smiled. "Ain't going anywhere." He had magic; he didn't need to walk around to sweep the first floor.

He just had to listen, scent the air, put his feelers out for auras and energy signatures and other minds besides theirs. He wasn't looking to go poking around inside anyone's thoughts, he just wanted to get a feel.

For other people and for magic, and hopefully, for the little boy.

Guildias: What he sought would not be found on the first floor, but there was something. A sensation like static from the tree, damp with sentience, and if Abel were to consider above his head, where the static worsened...

Abel: Abel's brow furrowed. He turned his head to the left, waited. To the right, waited again. It wasn't coming from either direction. Then he looked up.

"We're not alone," he whispered after a moment. "I can feel something else here with us besides the tree. Up there somewhere." He pointed up the stairs. "We need to get into that room, it might be the kid. I can't quite make it out."

But first he needed to put out one more feeler so they wouldn't get a nasty surprise.

'Is anybody up there?' he thought in the direction of the second floor.

Guildias: A sleeping mind. That of a dream state. Alive, buzzing as youth often did. Peter's hand was directed to Guildias' jacket, heading up the stairs slowly, lingering on each step for a beat before attempting the next, pausing at the smallest groan of wood. The roots were no hurdle, only a humped bridge of breathing bark.

Abel: There was no response but that could be for any number of reasons. "I'm trying to talk to whoever it is," he told his companions, grabbing Pete's other hand. "They aren't saying anything back. I'll keep trying."

'We're coming up the stairs. It's okay, we aren't here to cause any harm. You're safe.' He reached out with his mind, letting the person or being's energy guide him to where they needed to go.

"This way."

Guildias: "I doubt they'd find much comfort in an invasive thought," Guildias muttered, looking back to inspect Peter's aversion of the root.

Pete/Abel: "Not barging in, Gil. Just ringing the doorbell."

Pete was trying very hard not to step on any bit that looked like it was made of tree root and being only partially successful. For all he knew the tree could feel all of them stepping on it and was waiting for the right time to strike. Maybe it was making Abel believe there was something upstairs when it was really just a trap designed to keep them all here, or worse, devour them whole.

"Are you ringing the doorbell on a person or another tree thing?"

"Jury's still out."

Guildias: "I think hearing a voice not your own in your mind is quite more than a doorbell." Had been his opinion since his most important murder.

The bedroom to the right, above the living room and kitchen, had long ago caved under the immense pressure. The bathroom visible by just a few feet. Its tile shattered and resigned from the walls. To the left, a small bedroom. The blue paint of the door crackled and chipped away. The breathing of the mother root, its stench, louder and more prominent.

Pete/Abel: "Not directly in it, just gently brushing against it. A whisper, like hearing something from far away."

Guildias probably didn't need a thorough explanation but Abel's babbling was more for his benefit than anyone else's. Anything to distract from the ruined house and smell of rotting flesh and the possibility that they were about to come upon a small little decomposing body.

"Guessing that's the one?" Pete asked, making an effort to breathe through his mouth. "Should we knock or just walk in?"

Guildias: "I'll go." Of those present, to his knowledge and current experience, Peter was most welcome in this umbral reality, but he'd risked enough.

His steps remained careful and deliberate, checking noisy floorboards as though hunting, mindful that the wrong step would dissolve their efforts.

The child's bedroom was as dust laden as the rest of the house. The roof collapsed by an enormous mother root.

Guildias reached behind for Peter. If ever there was a moment in which to keep a close grasp on the man, it was in seeing a boy, barely out of his toddling years, curled against the breathing black root, cradled between giant arm-like appendages. Eyes closed, breathing, suckling on a smaller thumb-like finger from one of the wrapped arms. This was not an appropriate moment for reflex action; perhaps his grasp of Peter was for himself.

Pete/Abel: Pete nodded. "Carefully, okay?" With the floors and everything else in the state they were in, he didn't like their odds of coming out of another altercation with those branches unscathed. Hell, he didn't like their odds of successfully walking across this floor without falling through.

He could see sky through the ceiling of the little boy's room. It had the same stench, the same lack of any sort of life apart from those damn--

"Oh..." he said softly. There he was. The little boy. Seemingly unharmed and sleeping peacefully as anything among the sentient roots.

Pete squeezed Guildias' hand just as Abel squeezed his. Much as he'd hoped this is what they would find, it was still a shock to see the kid safe. And alive.

He took a deep breath. "Thank God. We should..."

Abel nodded. "It should be you that goes and gets him."

Guildias: Abel was right, of course. Peter was the key to this going smoothly, whether he realized his capability or not. He would keep his mouth shut, being so near the entity. He hadn't realized how deep into the room he had stepped until needing Peter to take front and center.

Pete: "Guildias?" Pete barely whispered, squeezing the vampire's hand again. "How are we gonna do this?" Because he seriously doubted the tree was just going to let them take the little boy. For all that it was creepy and sentient and smelled like a rotting corpse, it seemed to be protecting him.

Guildias: "As you would... relieve an exhausted mother." The hold of the child was not hostile. There was no way to determine what was being fed to the boy, if anything. Something had rendered the child unconscious, evident by the gentle rise and fall of his stomach.

Pete: "I usually relieve an exhausted mother by taking her kids and watching them for a few hours so she can shower and sleep. But she doesn't have roots that'll kill us all for attempting to take him."

Guildias: "She's fallen asleep with her baby in her arms. I'm right behind you."

Pete/Abel: Pete took a deep breath. "Abel, any ideas?"

"Approach as non-threateningly as you can," Abel whispered. "Gil's right, the tree is protecting him. Look. It's cradling him, like a parent does. I don't think we're the only beings down here who care about that kid. Maybe that's why the tree tried to attack us downstairs. Here, let me--"

Abel took off his jacket and gave it to Pete to hold so he could take off his shirt. It was cleaner than the jacket and it would do to keep the little boy warm until they could get out of here.

Guildias: Guildias remained between them, kept his eyes on the root, studied its breathing, location of every hung and piled root, its grip on the child. He considered every possible angle, every reaction. They were in the heart of this house. Magic was unpredictable here. All of this on the suggestion of a Ravnos. He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity.

Pete/Abel: Abel handed his shirt to Pete and put his jacket back on. "Remember, Petey, non-threatening. Come from a gentle, caring place, not a 'rescuing a tiny prince from a dragon' kind of place. The tree's kept that little kid safe down here and for that, I think it deserves our respect."

Pete nodded. Abel was right; whatever the circumstances, the tree was caring for that child. He turned to Guildias. "You have any advice?"

Guildias: Guildias forced half of his attention back to the pair, gestured with his free hand to keep their voices low. One of the reasons he was of few words.

"No. Fall back if something happens."

Pete: Another nod. "Okay," he whispered, taking a silent deep breath. Despite his apprehension, it didn't take much effort to approach the tree from a caring, gentle place. All he could see when he looked at that little boy was Graham. He couldn't begin to imagine how he'd feel if it were his nephew down here, lost and scared and away from everyone who loved him.

He had to bring this kid back to his parents.

Pete approached as slowly as he could, intending to crouch down when he was close enough and bundle up the kid.

Guildias: Still and silent he watched, ready to snatch for whatever bit of clothing he could fist. The surface objective was this child, but for the sake of others it was the well-being of the man in front of him. A promise not only to Callum, but the avoidance of Ravnos ire.

The tree exhaled a familiar musky odor. Contempt in its shiver for Peter's nearness. The child was lifted to a standing height, roughly shy of Peter's shoulders, and bundled with thin wispy black roots. The frequency of its rattling hiss turned Guildias' head in mild discomfort. Reminded him of a rattle snake. It was almost language, but the intent was clear.

Pete: Pete didn't let himself get agitated or make any sudden movements; he imagined he was in the serenity garden in the woods and forced himself to stay calm.

"I know you care about him," he said softly. "I know you've kept him safe and warm while he's been down here with you. If his mother knew that, she'd be grateful for it. She'd be grateful you kept her baby safe. She and his father miss him, they love him. He belongs up there with them, on the other side. I'm not here to hurt you, or him. I just want to take him back to his family."

Guildias: Peter's phrasing left him wondering. Was this, in fact, down or parallel to their reality? The association of down with Hell gave him pause. This was extrinsic, but nothing he could associate with the nightmares of Hell itself. Those of this reality must find their own as alien.

The sentient tree exhaled vibrations akin to words. Watching thin dark roots slowly covering the child's face and neck, a curious realization began to dawn on him.

Peter was slowly released; Abel pulled to replace him. He began to circle the enormous girth.

Pete/Abel: Both Pete and Abel looked to Guildias with identical looks of confusion.

"Gil, what are you doing?" Abel whispered, trying to move his lips as little as possible. It didn't seem like a good idea to draw attention to themselves when Pete was trying to reason with the tree. "We're at a delicate point in the process."

Guildias: "Hush." He placed his hand on the wall as a guide. The air between them thick enough to lose sight of all but their outline. He looked behind the tree, then turned towards the door, intent on inspecting the next set of sagging sleeping roots.

Pete: All right, okay, Guildias was doing this. Whatever the hell this was. Abel very much wanted to ask him what he was doing again but decided against it. He could always think it at him, but they probably wouldn’t be well received.

He’d just go with what was happening and keep one eye on Pete and the other on Guildias and keep his supernatural senses on the tree and the kid.

Guildias: There was a connection between what was happening to the child and the unpleasant lingering odor. He would not yet voice suspicions without evidence. He'd keep his hand to the wall, ribbed along a curtain of inky roots shivering from his dead touch. They recoiled, dissatisfied with what little they could learn from him. He watched, touched again, and then breathed life into his body. The shivers and low frequency hisses calmed with his growing warmth.

Guildias continued down the hallway, brushed his fingers along where a window should be, long since broken, dust covered, mostly replaced by the same living root.

The bathroom near the stairs. The same stench. He peered inside and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, irises becoming pale.

He almost missed it. A thin gray hoof peeking from a massive swallowing root. All that remained of an ungulate mammal.

Keeping his movements calm, Guildias turned, replaced his right hand to the wall and began the short journey back.

Pete/Abel: While Guildias did his thing, Pete debated his own next move. He'd said his piece to the tree and the tree hadn't seemed particularly receptive. It didn't seem particularly receptive to Guildias either, so saying more would only risk pissing it off and making it attack one of them or worse, hurt that little boy.

So...all he could do was wait.

He was doing a much better job of that than Abel, who was starting to feel antsy. Should he mentally ask Guildias what was happening? Probably not. He hadn't seemed thrilled with the idea of mental communication earlier.

Guildias: For a moment, Guildias wondered if the rooms had changed. The hallway felt longer than his initial roam. By at least twenty feet. The floor was layered by a thick blanket of roots. They breathed, reaching like long skeletal fingers for his boots, gripping with anemic strength to his clothes.

He reached down to brush away a particularly curious root. A gambler's knife, wrapped tightly in black tape, was pulled from his boot.

"Get away from it," he called, keeping his voice above a whisper.

Abel: Abel didn't need telling twice. He barely needed telling once, already on edge and itching to do something when he heard Guildias' voice. A voice that was absolutely not whispering like it had been before which meant something bad had happened.

He grabbed Pete's arm and yanked him a few giant steps back. "What?! What is it!?"

Guildias: "Follow my voice." He reached out into the mist, his knife-hand to the wall to continue guiding him back to the little bedroom.

Pete/Abel: "Follow--okay." Abel wouldn't question or hesitate, he just grabbed Pete's arm and held it tight. "Okay, okay. Come on, Petey."

Any hesitation was on Pete's part. It didn't feel right leaving the little boy behind, even if it was only for a short while. At least he hoped so. He also hoped to God that Guildias had an actual plan because what they had tried thus far just wasn't going to cut it. The Umbra might have accepted them, the tree might be standing down, but no way in hell was it going to let them leave with the kid just like that. They weren't that lucky.

Still, he'd do as he was asked; holding onto Abel with one hand and reaching out for Guildias with the other. "Keep talking so we can find you."

Guildias: What he grabbed was warmer than root, and fleshy. He assumed Abel for no reason. He pulled. Keeping close to the wall, he pulled his foot, breaking several clingy bits of brittle bark.

"Have you two remained in each other's sights?"

Pete/Abel: It was Pete’s hand, and it squeezed Guildias’ and held tight.

“Yes,” said Pete.

Abel nodded whether Guildias could see him for not. “The whole time, scout’s honor. What have you been doing? Are you okay?”

“What was that noise?” Pete looked around at the walls, the ceiling, the floor.

Guildias: He would answer all questions with a single-minded explanation. "I've regarded it as Mother of this house. If so, it's the kind of mother that eats her children. Loves them to death. What was it doing to the child last you saw?"

Pete/Abel: “Fucking fantastic,” Abel muttered under his breath.

Pete felt his heart leap into his throat. “It was covering him in more roots. Little ones, like it was trying to hide him. I thought it was trying t—we have to go back in there. We have to go, right now!”

Guildias: "I'm thinking we will be its next children if we don't act soon."

Pete: “Great, what do we do? Got a hatchet so we can cut the kid free?”

Guildias: "Can you conjure a hatchet?" Another root was pulled from his shoe. He lowered to give similar treatment to the pair.

Pete/Abel: “Magic works differently here but I can try,” said Abel. “Pete, you got anything hatchet-like?”

“I’ve got a pocketknife.”

Abel turned to Guildias. “Do you need the hatchet for the roots or for something else?” He needed to know how strong the blade needed to be. Altering was easier than conjuring; there was a slightly better chance of being able to magically alter Pete’s knife than conjuring up something else entirely.

Guildias: "It's for you... and what you're going to do to me." Guildias sat up again. "Don't remain stagnant." He began to remove his jacket, handed to Peter to wear or hold.

"If you're going to make attempt, do so now."

Pete/Abel: “Don’t remain—?” Right, the creepy fucking roots trying to mother them to death. Couldn’t stay still and let them.

“What exactly are we going to do?” Pete asked, accepting the jacket while Abel rooted around in his bag for the knife.

Guildias: "You're going to be quick taking the child. It should be occupied by mine and Abel's efforts. When he takes the child, Abel," he paused to make sure he was heard, "you need to be the leader back to the exit. Understood?"

Abel: Abel gave Guildias his full attention right up until he nodded that he understood. He didn't know what the vampire planned to do but he had to trust him; there was no room for hesitation or uncertainty on this side of the Veil.

"Pete, give me your wrist. I put three beacon crystals on you, there are three of us, and I'm not leaving anything to chance." He took the crystal from one of Pete's wrist and put it on Guildias'. The crystal on the chain was taken for himself. "Remember we have our other pendants that are warm when we're together. Tuck those into your shirts so you can feel them." He held up the knife. "Gil, I need you to tell me exactly what this is going to cut so I can make it strong enough."

Guildias: Guildias felt for Abel's gifts and nodded. He told himself this was an irrational leap, but the alternative was failure and it would haunt Peter for too long. If they tried to snatch the child, it could be as mothered as the unfortunate in the bathroom. Their efforts already brought the child closer to his death.

This was arduous no matter the plan. Efficiency was key.

Guildias began rolling the sleeve of his left arm. Two thin scars peeked from his shoulder.

"You're going to remove all of this. It'll be easier as you go along."

Pete/Abel: Pete's eyes widened. "Your arm? You want Abel to cut off your whole arm?!"

Abel blew out a long breath and tried to concentrate on the magic and not on the fact that he was pretty sure Pete was right and Guildias meant for him to lop off his arm. What he planned to do with the arm, Abel had no earthly or godly idea but dammit, this knife was going to do the job. No hesitation, no uncertainty.

He'd just hurl later.

Guildias: "Compose yourself. It'll grow back. We don't have time to be repulsed."

Pete: There was so much wrong with that statement Pete didn't know where to even begin. But Guildias was right, they were up against the clock at the moment.

"Fine, fine. What exactly are we going to do with you down an arm?"

Guildias: "You won't do anything. Your focus is the child, and ignoring everything else. Look away if you need to."

Pete: "Dude, we've gotta stop doing things that scar me for life when we hang out."

Guildias: "I'll always disturb you. We're on opposite sides of the page."

His gaze returned to Abel. "Are you ready?"

Pete/Abel: "You're a lot less disturbing when you've got all your parts attached."

Abel was deep in concentration and thus didn't answer. A hatchet sure as hell would've made the task easier and if he wanted to avoid carving that arm off like a butcher with a turkey, he knew he had to do his best to get this knife as close to one as possible.

He closed his eyes and held the blade in both hands, silently moving his lips as he recited a spell. The blade would lengthen, grow stronger, and fall heavier. Not a hatchet, but as close as he trusted himself to get. He was just grateful it seemed to work in this unpredictable environment.

"At the shoulder or the elbow?" he asked at long last.

Guildias: Guildias had intended shoulder, but he looked one last time to reconsider.

"Shoulder," he affirmed. He needed something he knew would be a worthy distraction. A little smaller than the child, but formidable.

"Ignore what I do next." He had to concentrate on his own spell. One he had to pull from memories from another body. A spell deliverable in every language, more potent in its original form, but tonight, spoken in the tongue of a former devoted student.

He reached for Peter, ignored his hand and squeezed his jacket. When the edge of the blade dug into dead flesh, he began to whisper in hissed, stuttered Hindi.

Pete/Abel: "Copy that," Abel sighed, steeling his nerve. He had to put some distance between himself and what he was about to do or he'd never be able to do it. "Petey, close your eyes and cover your ears, okay?"

This was venison. He was carving into venison, not the flesh of a friend. He'd done it a hundred times with his grandma and with his old mistress. He was just preparing dinner and definitely not separating this man's arm from his body with a magically enhanced blade.

Thankfully, the lack of blood helped that particular delusion.

Pete was way ahead of him. He was being flooded by deja vu, thinking back to the Draegan house and the last time he'd had to shield himself against something awful. The last time Guildias had tried to shield him from something awful.

Guildias: The Setite refused to scream. Forced his prayer to continue, stumbling from Hindi to Coptic and back with a slam of his fist to the living wall. The roots shivered and lashed defensively, retreated by an inch to avoid another bashing.

The drooped frozen fingers began to move, twisting backward and forward in sharp unnatural convulses.

"raakshason kee maata. raakshason kee maata."

His head bowed, loose strands hiding his face as he dry-heaved. Words hissed and spat as dead flesh mangled itself and reshaped, thickening as it gurgled like a monstrous coo of a child.

"Get the child." Blindly, he offered his knife to Peter. "Move."

Pete/Abel: "You're okay, Gil. You're okay, promise."

God, the noises. It was like when he'd gone hunting with Callum's family only a million times worse knowing it was Callum's husband and not an animal.

Pete only dared open his eyes when he was certain the cutting noises had stopped but he still didn't look. There were other noises happening and he really didn't want to know what was making them. He just kept his head turned and his feet moving and told himself there was nothing out of the ordinary.

He was off like a shot when Guildias gave him the word, just barely managing to take the knife from him in his haste to get back into the room and back to the kid. Pete had no fucking idea what was happening but what he did know was that he was going to cut that child free of those creepy fucking branches and take him back to family come hell or high water.

You can't have him. I won't let you. I'm taking him back.

Guildias: Peter was not alone. Guildias stumbled behind, keeping Abel within sight, but it was not the vampire trailing at the Gurahl's heels. The screech of what followed rang through the desolate house and down the Setite's throat. His intent woven into its resolute action. A hideous taupe creature a quarter Peter's height slithered on its thick lepidote tail and two bony hand-like appendages. Fangs curved and so large it could not close its mouth. Its tiny claws dug and splintered the hardwood floor to propel itself. Torso violently undulating with every snatch of the floor. Its breathing came rapid, chittering with sanguineous excitement.

It waited impatiently for Peter to attempt for the child before throwing itself upon the sagging mother root with a scream so shrill Guildias would swear hurt his eyes. It tore at the smaller surrounding roots. Sunk its fangs into fleshy bark and clawed like a rabid animal. The tree reacted quickly. Exhaling a stench so foul the air became thick and acrid. Desperate roots from above and below whipped at the creature, tried to grab its unruly tail. Its new insolent child was enough to occupy its conscious.

Pete/Abel: Ungodly. That was the only way Pete could describe the noises and the screeching and the sensations creeping over his skin as surely as if whatever was behind him were crawling all over him. It didn't matter what horrible magic Guildias had done to help him and he sure as hell wasn't about to look and find out.

Not when it gave that blood-curdling shriek that threatened to scramble his brain or tore at the roots and made the tree release a stench that could be nothing but the smell of rotting, burning Hell itself. Pete just kept his eyes on that little boy, wrapping him in Abel's shirt and tucking him close to protect him from the stench and the screaming and the few remaining roots that clung desperately to any part of him that they could before Abel stepped in to slice them away.

"We're going now! NOW!"

Guildias: Guildias swallowed down the false effort of breathing. He wanted no part of that stench. The guardianship of his monster was relinquished to the tree. Whatever it intended to do was or no consequence, so long as they reached the way out.

Don't stop. Not for the clingy roots or the noises upstairs. Keep moving.

Abel: That's exactly what Abel planned to do. He wanted out of this upside down, creepy ass Alice in Wonderland nightmarish hellscape and the smell of decomposing flesh and god only knew what else.

"GIL, HOLD ON TO PETE WITH YOUR ONLY HAND, PETE HOLD ON TO ME WITH YOUR FREE ONE LET'S GO!"

Down the crumbly stairs and over all the holes and rotting wood and dust to the gate. If a tiny part of him wondered if that fucking tree had the power to close the entrance it was quickly and viciously tramped down. He had even less time to dwell on that than he'd had to dwell on Guildias' missing arm.

Guildias: When this was finished, Guildias intended to have a laugh at Abel's choice of words. Seemed quite appropriate for a familiar. Just a little too obnoxious.

He held to the back of Peter's clothing, glanced back to observe the shriveling roots, reflecting the upstairs turmoil.

Abel: This couldn't be over soon enough. It almost seemed like the house had grown somehow while they'd been upstairs, no doubt having intended to trap them all here until it could absorb them into its maw. Made perfect sense now why this place smelled like decomp.

It wasn't like decomp, it was decomp, from what were probably untold masses of beings from their realm and countless others who'd had the misfortune of getting trapped here with that tree since time immemorial.

But not them.

They had arrived at the exit. Abel climbed through as quickly as he could, shouting for whoever was near to help him pull out Pete and Guildias and the little boy.

MJ/Rosmond: MJ looked back towards the sound, hesitant to move due to the camera. Rosmond was Abel's first responder, grabbing hold of what he could see and pulling with calculated strength. Now was not the time to begin questioning the strange sticky substance covering their bodies from head-to-toe.

Pete/Abel: Having known what to expect the second time around, Pete did his best to shield his face and the kid’s from the Umbra lube, as Abel had proclaimed it. If he couldn’t shield himself completely, then at least he could for the kid, who was safely bundled in Abel’s shirt and half tucked into Pete’s jacket.

The first thing Pete did as soon as they were free—after wiping his face as best he could—was check to make sure the kid was breathing and okay.

Guildias/Rosmond: Guildias' eyes remained closed as he emerged. His missing limb went unnoticed as Rosmond inspected the child, only taking pause when he caught the Setite holding an empty space at his shoulder.

He would ask later.

"We were not here. Leave the child in the grass. Don't touch anything on the way out."

Pete: Pete was only half paying attention to Rosmond.

He needed to see that tiny little chest moving up and down with each breath, needed to feel the reassuring thump of a pulse in that tiny little wrist.

“You’re okay, buddy,” he whispered, using the shirt to clean off any goop that had managed to cover the boy. He wasn’t sure if this was why Abel had asked him to bring an extra sweater, but this was as good a reason as any to finally take it out of his bag.

Spring was right around the corner but it was still chilly at night and in the mornings. Too chilly for a little boy to just be out here in his pajamas. He’d survived the Umbra and a sentient tree; Pete wasn’t about to let the elements get him.

Guildias/Rosmond: Guildias turned to check the wall for residue. Rosmond was right of course; there could be no suspicion. They'd covered most of their tracks; the last mile was the most arduous.

Rosmond studied the child and Peter's worried brow, assessed their quiet acquaintance and turned back.

"A message to Charon and an anonymous phone call will be made. None of us are doctors. You must trust the plan."

A gentler, less chilly approach was required. This much Guildias understood, placing his hand on Peter's shoulder.

"Calloway or I can stay and watch from the woods, but the child is not under Rosmond's influence."

Pete: “I’m not leaving him,” Pete said softly, bundling the little boy into the sweater as gently as if he were a newborn. “I’m not going anywhere until this child is back in his mother’s arms. I’ll watch from the woods.”

Guildias: "They will search these woods. I'm at no strength to conceal you."

Abel: "I am," Abel finally piped up. "I can hide us with magic, we don't even have to rely on the cover of the trees."

MJ/Rosmond: "That FBI SUV's gotta go," said MJ.

"I can trust you to keep them safe, Mr. Harrington?" Rosmond stared forwardly.

Abel: "You can bet your life on it, Rosmond. I have all kinds of tricks up my sleeve." And demonic backup just a thought away as well as in his pockets.

MJ/Guildias/Rosmond: Rosmond studied those eyes, finding nothing of fault, he nodded. Turned his expression on Guildias.

"You're coming with me. Mr. Calloway-"

"I got em. I'll text ya."

Another nod. The two began to retrace their steps back to the SUV. Only a glance back from the Setite.

Abel: Abel gave Guildias a smile and a wave. “See you soon, Gil. Sorry about the whole...” He gestured at where the vampire’s arm was supposed to be. “I’ll make it up to you after I get very drunk and repress that memory.”

MJ: "Told y'all not t'come back armless. What the fuck happ - after. After. We gotta put him down somewhere noticeable."

Pete/Abel: "You had to go and put it out there," Abel muttered, digging in his pockets. After would have to wait for both the boy to be found, Abel to get drunk, and several days to pass. He needed time to process what the hell kind of night he was having.

Pete was already carrying the little boy to the front porch. He couldn't bring himself to leave him on the lawn; made more sense that he'd fall asleep on the porch after wandering out of the woods. That's the story he assumed Rosmond and Prince were going to go with, and as far as mysteries went, it was the simplest.

MJ/Rosmond: The point, Rosmond believed, was not to implement the family and have the child taken away on suspicions. Whatever the intention, in truth he did not care. The call would be made by Charon saying a child had been spotted. From there it was out of their hands. This mission had been about the people within, not the child in Peter's arms. His assessment found him impressed with Guildias' willingness of both life and limb. Everyone in some capacity played their role well.

MJ gently tugged on Peter's sleeve, encouraging him from the slumbering little boy. The sweater had to go. Fuck if he could tell if any hair had transferred from Peter. A last minute thought.

"You're probably leavin' trace." He looked to Abel. "Is there anything ya can do?"

Pete/Abel: Pete didn't move. He couldn't. He was frozen to the spot, imagining all the ways this could've gone so much worse than it did, seemingly unable to keep from picturing Mary and Graham in the clutches of that tree.

Abel nodded at MJ. "I'll cut the labels from the sweater so it can't be ID'ed. Feel like slipping in and seeing if they have tape or a lint roller? I'll keep Petey company."

MJ: "Easier t'just take the damn thing. I dunno how long them people are gonna stay asleep."

Abel: Abel subtly nodded toward Pete and gave MJ a look that said that wasn’t going to happen.

“Be fast. Most people keep lint rollers in the laundry room.”

MJ: "I can't magic away a hair of yours in his own. They'll comb it, Peter. Don't hover over him."

Abel: “Wait, I can—ugh, this night.” For a moment he’d forgotten he could teleport. “I’ll go, you stay.”

And he was gone.

MJ: "Well no shit!" The fuck happened, he thought. All three of them with flies and haze in their head. Faraway looks in their eyes. Lack of critical thinking.

"Y'all were only in there five minutes. What was it?"

Pete: Pete finally looked up, brow furrowed slightly, as though deep in thought.

“It was five minutes for you?”

MJ: "Yeah... So how long was it?"

Pete: “I don’t know. Longer.”

MJ: "Kay. Where was it?"

Pete: “Here, but different. Wrong.”

MJ: "God y'all are rubbin' off on me. Where was he?"

Pete/Abel: “In his room with the tree.”

Abel reappeared in almost the exact same spot he’d disappeared from with lint roller in hand.

“Back! Okay okay okay.” He began gently—and quickly—going over the sweater, paying close attention to the areas most likely to have any stray Pete hairs. Chances were that any hairs would come up very bear-like when examined but even so, it paid to be on the safe side.

MJ: "In a room with the tree. Okay. We gotta move him to the front of the house. I'll finish with the cam here. Wait for me 'round the corner. Don't go t'the front yet."

Abel: Abel nodded. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Just let me...” He carefully cut the label off the neck of the sweater. “Okay, done. Come on, Petey, let’s go wait for MJ.”

MJ: The backyard was untouched. No one had been there. The final bit of illusion belonged to the front yard, moving carefully to the next camera for the same treatment. The child was given a once over. Something of his likeness needed to walk from the eastern woods to the porch and lay in the most natural position Peter could place him. Had to be natural, he reminded. Not swaddled.

Pete/Abel: Pulling the sweater over the little boy's head--after Abel had smeared some dirt on it to make it seem like it had been found in the woods--was as natural as Pete could make it. On his side, with the too-long sleeves providing some cushion for his head.

"How's that?"

MJ: It would have to do. "Kay. Let's go." With little consideration, he took hold of Peter's hand and tugged. Free hand still directed towards the last camera, praying to no one that he'd maintained concentration enough.

Pete/Abel: Pete was still reluctant to go but he knew it would do no good to linger. What that kid needed more than anything else in the world was to be back with his family and if all went well, he would be before long.

"Come on, Petey," said Abel. "He'll be okay. Let's head for those bushes there so I can hide us until he's found."

MJ: MJ was last to follow, walking backwards carefully until reaching the woods. Certain that Abel could shield him when the moment was right. Finally dropping his hand, he took an unneeded breath and made the text to Rosmond.

Abel: Of course Abel could shield them; he was Xavier Atlas' familiar. Half his time was spent breaking into some house or private collection or another with his master. Pulling one over on human cops? Just another day.

When they were all settled, he took a talisman from his pocket and began murmuring a chant. He'd done it without the talisman before but it was a good safety net just in case. If anyone were to look in their direction once he was finished, all they would see would be shadows.

"And now we wait."

MJ: Not his first time observing Abel's magic. He made it look so effortless. So real. Far better than his version of concealment, having to memorize surroundings in order to mimic. Superior magic. For now.

Still waiting. And would wait for some time. After Rosmond had made certain to place distance between his vehicle and the house.

"Ya good, Peter?"

Pete: Pete shrugged, only half paying attention to what Abel was doing or how much time had passed. His eyes and his brain were glued to the porch.

“Been worse.”

MJ: "The call's been made. Just a little longer."

Abel: Abel wrapped an arm around Pete’s shoulder and squeezed. “Hear that? Won’t be long now. Then we can get a huge bottle of tequila and process our PTSD.”

MJ: "Y'all make it sound like y'all came outta Hell."

Abel: “We didn’t not not go to Hell, at least that’s what it felt like. I cut off a man’s arm. It’s been a stressful night.”

MJ: "You cut Guildias up?"

Abel: Abel gave a single nod. "He asked me to."

MJ: "Fuckin' why?"

Abel: "To save the kid from a horrifying sentient tree."

MJ: "Just threw his fuckin' arm at it?"

Abel: He shook his head. “Not exactly. It—he did...something and his arm wasn’t...an arm anymore. It was something else and that—something distracted the tree so we could grab the kid and get the hell out of that creepy Alice in Wonderland hellscape.”

MJ: "Huh." Maybe that was why Rosmond spoke the way he did, and why he'd been suggested for the mission. Another reason, he thought.

Abel: “Then there was the Umbra lube and the dust that didn’t behave like dust should behave and the smell of the decomposing flesh of the other unfortunate beings who’d found themselves in the clutches of the tree and been mothered to death by it.”

MJ: "Sounds like a Tool video." He tried to laugh. Came more as a cough.

Abel: “God I wish. That would’ve been easier to deal with. And less scarring.”

MJ: "Since when'd ya ever watch -" Hands clasped down on Peter and Abel's shoulders. Tires. Old, terrible oil. Had to be the oldest damn squad car he'd ever seen. He braced himself between the two men, half-standing and ready to react.

Abel: "In that dive bar in Colorado with that dude with the skunk stripes in his hair."

Abel turned toward the sound of the car and sighed. Finally. "Don't worry, they won't be able to hear us. We'll sound like wind to them."

MJ: "Baby boy's been found. So we should..." MJ considered a moment, dropped his hand from Peter's shoulder. "Mafia gave ya lookin' glass. The loupe. Check it."

Pete/Abel: Pete seemed to stir from a trance that broke the moment MJ moved his hand. His attention was still focused on the boy and the house, and he wasn't ready to move until he saw the parents come out and hug their child.

"Looking glass? Oh, right." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the loupe.

"Want to check the portal?" Abel asked.

MJ: "Yeah. Or this'll just start again."

Pete: Pete held up the loupe and turned in the direction from which they'd come, holding there for a moment before scanning the rest of the house.

"I don't see anything. Does that mean it closed?"

MJ: "Guess so. Rosmond would know more. S'why I went t'them. We make our money differently."

Pete: Some of the tension drained from Pete's shoulders. He still wasn't thrilled about how much information the prince had, but knowing that damn portal had closed made him feel a lot better about this whole situation.

"You made the right call. On Rosmond and on going in to save the kid. Thank you."

MJ: "Ya hate him, right? Rosmond. Gertrude. Ya hate em on my behalf or some shit." He watched the cop as he continued to bang on the front door. Lights upstairs switching on. Sirens in the distance.

Pete: Pete shook his head. “I don’t hate them. I dislike what they represent and I resent it, but I don’t hate them. Hating takes energy I’d rather spend on something else.”

Some more tension eased as the house started waking up. Soon, very soon.

MJ: "I know a little thing 'bout artful wordin'." His eyes fell to the bracken. "Part of the job. I don't hate any of em, either."

Abel was given a pat. "Let's start backin' out."

Pete/Abel: “I know it sounds like bull,” Pete sighed. “But it’s the truth. I have no beef with the mafia lieutenant or with the don.”

Abel shook his head. “Not yet. We haven’t gotten our emotional resolution yet.”

MJ: "Then read a book! Probably gonna put em on an ambulance, first."

Abel: "They better," said Abel. "No telling what he went through before we got there." He caught MJ's eye and gave him a look. 'Petey needs this,' he thought to him. 'All this struck close to home.'

MJ: 'Why though?' He didn't mean to seem callous, but their priorities were going in separate directions. His job had been the outside of the house, their mission finished in five minutes from his perspective. His urgency was in leaving, and the safety of the crouching men.

Abel: 'He's got a nephew and a little baby niece. Their photos are all over his house, they've got their own room for when they stay over. I saw his face in there. He was looking at the little boy but he was seeing his family.'

MJ: 'Too long.' A thought for himself, projected accidentally. Peter's reaction solidified his reason for being so adamant about renewing their relationship. A few years and circumstances had changed them into different men. The fumbling angry boys at a carnival were ghosts.

MJ took a step back, slowly retreating in their initial direction.

Abel: 'What's too long? Hey, don't move! This spell's got a range and it's not that big!'

MJ: MJ took to crouching a ways away, where Abel began his mental shout. Still watchful, ready to protect, but from here he felt more perceptive.

Pete: Pete was completely unaware of the silent conversation happening around him. He was too busy watching the house and the lights from the police cars, listening for the approach of an ambulance.

Despite the presence of help, he still didn't feel completely at ease. That wouldn't happen until that little boy's mother finally came out of the house. Pete watched the confusion and delight and relief play over her face as she was briefed by the officers and finally, finally got to hold her baby again. He heard her grateful prayers and thanks through her sobs and finally breathed a sigh of relief.

"We can go now," he said.

MJ: Peter was ready, at last. His willingness to engage loosened a knot in MJ's shoulder. He wanted to reach for him again. Take his hand and pull him under his arm and back them way they came. They would do all of that, but not hand-in-hand. He wanted to, but the gesture in the moment felt empty.

"Come on, then."

Abel: "And that has made this all worth it," Abel said cheerfully, getting to his feet and helping Pete do the same. "Okay, everyone grab a hand. We going back to Pete's?"

MJ: "Sure." What he really wanted was a large rock in the middle of a lake to lay on. Smoke a cigarette and listen to stories of the world he'd been denied. He wanted to watch Guildias grow his arm back. Listen to Peter's voice and fall asleep with Abel's head in his lap.

Pete/Abel: “Actually...” Pete looked between them. “Can we go to the river? I want a swim.”

Abel nodded. “Sure. You and MJ can swim and I’ll get us some supplies and we can get really drunk.”

MJ: "Y'all get really drunk." He shouldn't have been surprised by Peter's request, but its lost familiarity took him from his guard. "Let's do it. Behind Callum's place is safe."

Abel: “We’ll get drunk for us and for Gil and for you.” Abel took their hands and gave them each a squeeze.

“Brace yourselves.”

He gave them a moment and in an instant, the burgeoning crime scene was replaced by Callum’s dock and the tranquility of the river.

MJ: Not a moment after his feet landed upon soft grass did he begin to strip of his heavy jacket and boots. Hopping on one foot to remove socks and waddle towards the dock while arguing with his old belt. A trail of evidence left behind without once looking back towards the house.

Pete/Abel: Pete followed soon after, but not without taking a moment for the world (and his stomach) to settle. Impossible to get used to that feeling.

“You okay, Petey?”

Pete nodded. “Yep, I’m good. I’m gonna...” He gestured toward the river.

“Yes, swim. I’ll be back.”

And Abel disappeared again.

MJ: MJ remained crouched at the very edge of the dock. Arms against his knees as he watched the water. Waited for Peter to join him, looking over his shoulder to smile.

Pete: Finally being able to take off clothes covered in Umbra slime was the best Pete had felt all night. There was no way in hell a wash was going to save these. They needed burning.

He sighed in relief as he went to join MJ. “What?” he chuckled.

MJ: "Ya ever seen that film, uh, Poltergeist?"

Pete: “Yep, and I’ve hated clowns ever since.”

MJ: "That's you right now, with the shit all over ya."

Pete: “Goddamn Umbra lube. Felt like I was being waterboarded when we first went in. Ready to get it off.”

Without ceremony, he leapt into the water.

MJ: MJ watched a moment, as though waiting for something to happen. Some unforeseen reaction. Only when Peter emerged did he drop with dead weight into the water.

Pete: Pete’s entire body seemed to sigh in relief. The river felt just as good as any shower, maybe even better. Cold be damned.

“Fucking—it’s in my chest hair!”

MJ: "It sure is." He reached for his chest and flinched back - tried to play his retreat back by combing his own hair.

Pete: “Ugh...” He scrubbed at his skin, trying to get it off and trying not to notice that MJ had wanted to touch him.

“My skin and the water around me aren’t reacting, right?”

MJ: "Can't tell, honestly. Ain't got that sweet ass night vision like ya."

Pete: He scrubbed some more. “Well, no itching, burning, or glowing so far. I’ll take that as a good sign.”

MJ: "Guildias'll probably keep some, or Rosmond'll make him keep some. For science n'shit."

Pete: Pete squeezed some slime out of his facial hair and examined it closely. "I wonder what actual science would come up with if this stuff was tested. I'm guessing the kind of science they would do is actually magic."

MJ: "The kinda shit Giovanni do is like Frankenstein's madhouse. Science n'magic sorta become the same shit."

Pete: "I've been to Frankenstein's madhouse, it sucks."

MJ: "Talkin' 'bout Umbra?"

Pete: He nodded. "Yeah. Worse place I've ever been and I was in a microscopic part of it."

MJ: "I can't say from experience it's better or worse. It reflects. That's all I got."

Pete: "Sure does, like a funhouse mirror from hell." Some more scrubbing at his skin and hair and back below the surface he went.

MJ: "Ya know-" He'd wait for his return. "If ya feel that gross just go take a shower. His place is right there."

Pete: Pete shook the water from his head. “I’ll get around to it. I wanted a swim first. You know my thing with the river, always helps clear my head.”

MJ: "Yeah. Got a love-hate relationship with em."

Pete: “You currently on the love side or the hate side?”

MJ: "Got love for it right now."

Pete: “Glad to hear it.” Pete shifted to float on his back and heaved a long, content sigh.

“....So this whole time Guildias has been able grow limbs back like a lizard?”

MJ: Peter was watched for a moment before joining, staring at the sky. "We call can."

Pete: “Wait, seriously?! Is it magic or?”

MJ: "I mean, it's the blood. Takes a bunch, but he'll be his old cobra-self in no time."

Pete: “It’s crazy isn’t it? All blood does for the living is get oxygen everywhere so tissue and organs stay alive. Give some to a vampire and limbs grow back.”

MJ: "The moon's a rock in outer space n'ya become a fuckin' bear."

Pete/Abel: He snorted. "Touche. Never thought life would be so goddamn weird."

The rustle of plastic bags and clinking of bottles signaled Abel's return. "I'm back! I've got tequila and snacks and a snack for MJ!"

MJ: MJ looked towards the sound and smiled again.

"Your wrist? Fuckin' delicious."

Abel: "Nope, not mine, although good to know I have the appeal to you that a cheeseburger does to me. How would you feel about a taste of our own lovely Isabel, who was all moony-eyed over you going into the netherworld on a rescue mission? Don't worry, I didn't tell her you didn't actually go in."

MJ: "Mm, moon-y blood. Probably tastes better. I mean way better. It's Isabel."

A wink to Peter. Harmless teasing, he swears.

"Hey, I kept y'all from gettin' caught. The mafia and I are essential workers!"

Pete/Abel: Pete gave a good-natured chuckle. “I’m gonna go ahead and guess that Isabel is cute?”

Abel nodded. “Oh yeah, super cute with an adorable accent. She’s from Mexico.” He grinned over at MJ as he started unpacking the bags. “Damn right, Aquaman. You earned this moony blood and Petey earned his tequila. Come and get it.”

MJ: MJ climbed back onto the docks, allowing his feet to dangle.

"Ya know the whole 'if ya don't use it ya lose it'? She keeps me honest with my Spanish." He didn't have his mother and sister to speak to anymore. Not like that. The quick texts he could manage in good conscience with Kenna were in English. No phone call in years now.

"So what ya do with all the uh... goo?" he pointed over Abel's body.

Pete/Abel: After allowing himself one more dunk, Pete followed suit. It wasn't a shower and it was cold as fuck but the water felt great.

"We all need someone like that," he said as he hoisted himself up. "My mentor and his family still help me with my French." He accepted the bottle of tequila from Abel with a grateful nod.

Abel looked down at his chest. Most of the slime was gone but some still remained. "Isabel sprayed me off with the hose in the garden after Xavier took a sample."

MJ: "Of course he did." MJ smiled privately to Peter. "Sprayed ya down with a fuckin' hose. I love our life."

MJ glanced back to the house one last time, expecting a light; expecting to see Rosmond's SUV round the corner. Too soon. Abel had taken advantage of fewer numbers and now they'd have some explaining to do to Callum should he spot them first.

He kept those thoughts to himself and enjoyed a bit of Isabel.

Pete/Abel: Pete chuckled to himself. 'Took a sample' sounded like Rosmond and Gertrude weren't going to be the only ones doing some magic-science.

"Hey, it did the job. Petey, I got us some goldfish and hot fries and nachos. And stuff to turn the tequila into margaritas!"

A laugh this time. "You brought margarita supplies?"

"Hells yeah! Want one?"

"Hit me."

MJ: "Fuck, how much did ya fuckin' buy?" It all smelled... interesting. Food but not food. Familiar but unwholesome. A scent of memories and nothing more.

Abel: "A good bit. We've earned it." The only thing he hadn't bought was ice but that was no problem for someone with magic; as long as he had the essentials, they were golden. "Some lime juice, some salt, some tequila, and a dash of magic combined in the finest cocktail shaker the liquor store could offer. We shake it up." He shook it. "And we've got some much-earned catharsis. Hand me a solo cup."

MJ: MJ handed the cup over, watching the river as he supped. He could smell everything described and then some. Still smell the moisture of Umbra over Abel's skin and hair; could smell Xavier's cologne. Something about it was peaceful.

"Xavier ask 101 questions?"

Abel: Abel poured Pete’s margarita and handed it over. “Only a few,” he said, pouring his own. “Told him we would answer the rest tomorrow after I got really drunk. He’s probably coming up with more now that he has the lube.”

MJ: "We didn't not tell him what we were doin'," he felt the need to remind.

Abel: “We gave him a general idea. He’s a detail kinda guy, an exhaustive detail kinda guy. We basically went to Disneyland and didn’t take him, he’s curious.”

MJ: "Wonder where the fuck that comes from." A quick look back to his clothes before remembering he was fresh out of cigarettes. He missed pot. Alcohol was also acceptable, but he had no intention to bite either of them if offered. Teasing was one thing.

"He'd probably want a piece of your hair, too."

Pete/Abel: “This is the same man who breaks into places for fun. He likes to get into locked places and learn their secrets.”

Pete downed half his margarita and hummed thoughtfully. “So he’s a cat.”

MJ: "Ya know, if he were any animal... I imagine, like... a German shepherd, or Doberman. Somethin' overly groomed n'got that stance at dog shows."

Pete/Abel: “A show dog with the curiosity of a cat.”

“I’d say Doberman for sure,” Abel said, nodding sagely. “They always look intimidating.”

MJ: "He doesn't scare me." Maybe he should have. The night of merge, it was not MJ's body curled in a corner, shivering and mumbling, awaiting for capture. It was a handful of salt and a determination to flee no matter the cost. A chapter in his life more surreal than memory could recount.

Abel: “Well of course he doesn’t. He loves you. Scary people don’t look scary to their families and friends.”

MJ: "Isn't that what God's supposed t'be?"

Abel: “Which one?” Abel asked around a handful of goldfish.

MJ: "Respect is fear or some shit."

Pete: Pete shook his head. “They’re not. Fearing someone and respecting them are two different things but there are always people who think they’re one and the same.”

MJ: "Depends on the person. Not the one lookin', but the one they're lookin' at." He thoughtfully stared at the half-empty blood bag.

Abel: Abel shook his head. “This is too deep a conversation after the night we’ve had. We need more booze.”

MJ: "Right. So how 'bout them Knicks?"

Pete/Abel: “Which sport do they play?”

Pete chuckled. “Basketball.”

“Ah, the tall sport!”

MJ: "Yeah. The that," he laughed.

Pete/Abel: “Either of you ever play?”

“Nope.” Pete shook his head. “I play soccer.”

MJ: "Baseball."

Abel: “Look at you two, so athletic.” Abel mixed another round of margaritas, refilled their cups. “That must be why Xavier gets you that primo Olympian blood.”

MJ: "Never gonna be an athlete." It was a nice gesture, though. "Just get t'keep the body of it."

Abel: “And you don’t have to be sweaty and sore! That’s gotta be a nice bonus. Speaking of, are you still hungry? I’ve got more Isabel.”

MJ: "She a fuckin' mummy now? How much did ya take?"

Abel: “Nah, she’s fine. Did you see that the bag is smaller than normal? She gave a couple small ones, not two normal size ones.”

MJ: "All this for the kid?"

Abel: “All the nice girls like an Indiana Jones type.”

MJ: "Just wait 'til she hears 'bout Peter."

Pete/Abel: “I’m an Indiana Jones type now?”

Abel clapped him on the back. “Of course you are! Sure you can’t ever tell anyone and have them buy you drinks because of it but it still counts.”

MJ: "I'll buy ya a drink," he grinned.

Pete: Pete grinned right back. “Imma hold you to that. Getting covered in Umbra slime’s gotta be worth something.”

MJ: "Your real prize is a job well done," he laughed.

Pete/Abel: "You're absolutely right. Slime's a small price to pay for getting that kid back safely. With any luck he's not horribly scarred for life."

Abel shook his head. "Don't worry, Petey. Chances are if he does remember and does tell someone, they won't believe him. They'll chalk it up to a nightmare or to trauma, like humans always do, and if he hears it enough he'll start to believe it."

MJ: "That's how it goes," sighed MJ. "For their own good." For the most part, he believed that. More than he had initially. He didn't care to dwell on the why.

Pete: "In this case, I'd say that's the best case scenario," Pete sighed. "What we managed to see was horrible. Imagine what he saw before we got there."

MJ: "Well I can't. Y'all won't tell me."

Pete: "Did you miss the part where Abel told you about the sentient tree and having to cut off Guildias' arm?"

MJ: "I want the juicy details, goddammit."

Abel: "They're such gross details," said Abel, making a face. "I used to hunt with my dad, I can prep an elk or a bird but a person? That was fucked up."

MJ: "It's Guildias though. Bet he didn't even whimper."

Abel: "I don't fucking know how he managed to stay quiet. I know he wanted to scream. Man's got an iron will."

MJ: "Could the tree, ya know, hear y'all?"

Pete: Pete nodded. "Yeah. It could talk too, in some weird tree language that barely sounded like a language."

MJ: "Did y'all fight a fuckin' Ent?"

Abel: Abel shook his head. “It didn’t move around or have a face. It was rooted to one spot like a normal tree and the creepy roots extended everywhere.”

MJ: "Mmkay. Scratch one off of Ent." Another sip of sweet-metallic vitae, staring out across the river.

"I think we've earned a four-day weekend."

Pete/Abel: Pete polished off his second margarita. “I also wouldn’t call it much of a fight. Guildias distracted it and I just moved fast.”

“We have,” said Abel. “We’re starting on it right now.”

MJ: "Could it have gone without Guildias loppin' an arm off?"

Pete: They both shook their heads but it was Pete who said, “I don’t see how. We didn’t have any bargaining chips.”

MJ: "That bad, huh? Shit..."

Abel: Abel shrugged. “Maybe we would’ve had a chance under different circumstances but the tree was getting ready to kill the kid. We didn’t have time to think up an alternative, and we weren’t armed for a sentient tree.”

MJ: "I'll keep that in mind for the next Umbral mission." He watched the two of them a moment, suddenly taken by gratitude to find them in one piece.

Abel: "I am not getting covered in lube again unless it's for a damn good reason," said Abel, mixing yet another round of margaritas. "We need to find a rescue mission in like...Hawaii."

MJ: "I ain't ever been," MJ said. "Ain't crossed my mind."

Abel: "We should go! Petey and I will drink rum out a coconut and you can drink blood out of a coconut and we'll all sit on the beach for days on end doing nothing."

MJ: "Y'all do days, I'll do nights. But coconuts yes. N'Peter can get lost in the mountains on the full moon."

Pete: Pete snorted. "Or we could go when it's not a full moon. All that fur in that heat? I'd spend the full moon hiding in the ocean."

MJ: MJ looked to Abel. "Know any were-peeps Peter can hang out with on the full moon?"

Abel: "In Hawaii? No. But I can hang out with Pete on the full moon."

MJ: "You're hardly a were-anything."

Abel: “Neither is Callum and he hangs out with Pete on the full moon. It’s about companionship.”

MJ: "How d'ya know so much?"

Pete: “I told him,” Pete chimed in, devouring a handful of Goldfish. “We had time to talk before ya’ll came to pick us up.”

MJ: "A shit ton." Apparently.

Abel: “We talk fast,” Abel said cheerfully. “We needed to bond. Plus ya’ll took forever.”

MJ: "I like that." He wasn't surprised; this was Abel, after all. The man befriended a snake just because he could.

"I don't think I've ever heard ya talk fast," he smiled at Peter.

Pete/Abel: Pete chuckled. “I usually don’t. Didn’t think I could. I blame Abel, I was just trying to keep up.”

“Very few can.” Abel poured them another round and toasted Pete with his. “Here’s to you, Petey. L’chaim.”

MJ: "Ya've joined the club. Welcome. We don't have tee shirts or hats; we got loyalty and free arguments."

Pete/Abel: “I’ll take both.” He clicked solo cups with Abel and downed the contents. The world was beginning to take on a very pleasant haze. His head had started to feel lighter, more floaty. The perfect place to be after the night they’d had.

“What if we got T-shirts? Everyone lives a T-shirt.”

Abel nodded. “They do.”

MJ: "Shirts just for us, or the whole crew?" He couldn't imagine Rosmond wearing one, nor Guildias for that matter.

Pete: “For everyone!” Pete said cheerfully. “I’d pay good money to see Guildias in a T-shirt.”

MJ: "Ya'd know more than me at this point. I ain't seen it."

Pete: “I bet Cal’s seen him in a T-shirt since they’re married.”

MJ: "I don't think 'bout that shit." Not for some years now. Didn't seem fair to even consider.

Pete/Abel: Pete giggled to himself imagining Guildias in something as casual as a T-shirt. It seemed way too normal a thing for Mr. GQ.

“Oooh! I know what we should put on the shirts!” Abel announced. “How about, ‘I went to the Umbra and all I got was lube and this lousy T-shirt’?”

MJ: "Ha. Hell yeah. Xavier'll have t'wait for the next mission, then. He ain't gettin' shit this time."

Abel: Abel snorted. “There’s a man who would never wear a T-shirt. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in any shirt without buttons and a collar.”

MJ: "I think s'time we steal his clothes."

Pete/Abel: He gave a dramatic gasp. “That’s so sneaky! He’d be so pissed,” Abel laughed. “We should steal everything and only leave him the T-shirt, some jeans, and tennis shoes so he has no choice but to wear it.”

Pete snorted. “Or he’ll just be naked until ya’ll give them back.”

MJ: "Wouldn't put it past him t'just walk 'round naked. He'd make some artistic excuse for it. Pretend the clothes aren't missin'."

Abel: “Or, or!” Abel laughed again. “He’d make us go suit shopping with him as punishment and stick you in another tie.”

MJ: "He'd still have t'walk 'round in a tee shirt. Worth the punishment."

Pete/Abel: “Say the word and we’ll raid his closet.”

Pete turned his attention toward the hot fries. “What if ya’ll just ask him to wear it? Pretty please with extra sugar on top?”

Abel waved the notion away. “That’s not nearly as chaotic and potentially hilarious.”

MJ: "Nah. Fuck that," MJ laughed, overlapping Abel's retort. "Gotta make your own fun, man!"

Abel: “Exactly! And trust me, this is going to be a lot of fun. Oh, we can’t forget his robes,” Abel added to MJ. “He’s got a bunch and if he doesn’t have his clothes he’ll try to just wear those. Should we also steal his underwear and make him wear American flag boxers?”

MJ: "Oh fuck, you're right. I'll get the boxers. Walmart's on the city limits."

Peter was given a grin. "Want a way-too expensive robe?"

Pete/Abel: Pete snorted and just decided to roll with it. He'd blame the tequila, which he was just drinking in shots now. "Why the hell not. Take his socks, too. Walmart's got novelty socks."

Abel's face lit up. "Yes!"

MJ: "Ain't there a shop here that got em? Ones that say, 'fuck this shit'?"

Pete: Pete nodded. “Yep, that gift shop on the way out of town.”

MJ: "Let's go tomorrow. Oh! Ya know, Guildias'll be next."

Pete: “You’re gonna steal poor armless Guildias’ clothes?” Pete chuckled.

MJ: "Maybe talk Callum into it - when he's, ya know, whole."

Pete: “We might be able to get him to get Guildias to wear a T-shirt. Stealing his clothes not so much.”

MJ: "Maybe m'just in a stealin' mood."

Abel: Abel shoved a handful of chips in his mouth. “You can help Devlin steal cookies from the kitchen when Christine isn’t looking. Or break into a fancy museum with Xavier.”

MJ: "Both. I'll do both. Maybe the underwear at Walmart, too."

Pete: Pete squinted. "I feel like I should be discouraging this, but Walmart's a giant corporation, so..." He shrugged and downed more tequila.

MJ: "Now you're gettin' it," MJ chuckled into his bag of blood.

Pete: "I'll scold you tomorrow if I remember. Gotta keep up them good and righteous publican appearances."

MJ: "Good n'righteous I guess is your MO now. Maybe it always was, but ya ain't punchin' people anymore."

Pete: "Got lectured by the law. Then the law's boss. I still punch people though. Aren't enough lectures in all the world to keep assholes from being assholes."

MJ: "Was wonderin' when ya were gonna get canned."

Pete: “Last time I got close was when I got the lecture. Around here it’s considered a miracle that I don’t have a lengthy rap sheet and a couple lawsuits under my belt.”

MJ: "S'part of your charm! I fell for it," he winked.

Pete: Pete laughed. "Next time there's an asshole in the pub, I'll call you before I punch their lights out."

MJ: "Hell yeah. So sexy." A glance was given to Abel, his smile fading a bit at the link between Abel and a certain witch in California. His mind wasn't made up one way or another, but little reminders tickled an annoying sense of guilt behind his neck.

"Y'all ready t'go home?"

Pete/Abel: Abel was just gonna keep eating his chips and let them flirt. Any opinions he had in any particular direction about any particular situation would be kept to himself.

Pete nodded after taking another drink. "Yeah, we probably should. Still gotta shower, and work tomorrow. Or...later today. Is it today?"

Abel nodded. "Yep, it's today."

MJ: "Let's get ya home, then. Ya damn near drank a whole bottle. I mean ya earned it, but s'way past your bedtime, old man."

Pete: Pete’s dramatically offended gasp lost some of its effectiveness when he just barely avoided falling into the river as he staggered to his feet.

“I am a great and mighty bear! Bedtimes are the stuff of mere mortals!”

MJ: "Mighty bear gonna go down river if he keeps stumblin'." MJ got to his feet and began gathering Peter's things. Offered his hand to keep the bear upright.

Pete/Abel: Pete laughed again, taking MJ’s hand. “Thanks very much. Been a loooong time since I had that much tequila. Come on, Abel!”

“Yep, I’m here, I’m up.” He took the hand that Pete offered and smiled at all of them. “Look at us, a drunken daisy chain and a sober vampire. Onward to Petey’s! Petey, be a champ and try not to hurl, okay?”

“Copy that.”

MJ: MJ watched. Didn't think to look back if they'd gathered every bit of trash. Callum could yell at them later. Probably would, given Guildias' condition. Right now, Peter was the only priority.

"Want us t'stay?"

Pete/Abel: “Yeah, stay! I have blackout shades and stuff to make French toast for breakfast.”

“Sold!” Abel said cheerfully. “Okay, everyone gird your loins.”