#please enjoy!!

For now, he’s here— in his hotel room’s stupid deep and wide bathtub, covered up to his collarbones in suds with you, resting against his front. Your cheek is pressed against his chest, just above the line of rainbow, fragrant bubbles that he insisted on. You hardly seem upset about it. The scented epsom salts and off-world, floral-scented bubble bath do have you relaxed. Pliant and, for once, seemingly calm. 

Seemingly.

You’re never really calm, he realizes. You’re always looking over your shoulder, on the lookout for the next catastrophe (read: daily occurrence) you have to deal with. It leaves you jittery sometimes, sick to your stomach with a casual sort of dread that you carry around like a load of stones, tethered to your shoulders and back.

He can’t... really blame you. Kalaki Ios is not a kind planet. It probably won’t be much kinder now that the IPC’s acquisition has been completed, but before he leaves, he’ll make sure you’re set up well. He has plans. Schemes.

As he must. 

He could take you from here, he knows. He hasn’t pitched the idea to you, but it lingers in his mind. You have a contract, a difficult one to disentangle you from, but Jade is particularly good at cracking them if she has sufficient enough incentive. She can’t be bribed with credits like the other Stonehearts, but Aventurine could try something more enticing. It may involve you being under her employ for a time, which is unpleasant to think about, but working under Jade would be safer employment than here, on this cruel planet. 

(He wouldn’t want to offer you to Jade for employment, but he knows that she may ask. Perhaps that’s why he is avoiding speaking to Jade in the first place.)

(It makes his stomach turn, thinking about the negotiations in the context of you. He has developed a thick skin for the dealings necessary to be a Stoneheart and be respected the way that he is.)

He has a few days to mull things over and plan.

In the meantime, he has this. There’s just stillness here, a momentary pause from the danger you’re so used to. There’s only fragrant bathwater and the heat of each other. The steam rolling off the bathwater, and the sweat from both of you that mingles where your skin touches. It’s easy to be comfortable, like this. Maybe it’s making him greedy and stupid.

Maybe.

“You’re quiet.”

You break the stillness with a scratching voice, worn from the intimacy earlier. Aventurine has enjoyed drawing each and every sound out of you that he can, even at the cost of your pretty voice. He intends to make you more hoarse by the morning. 

He glances down at you. You peer up at him from under your lashes, the bridge of your nose brushing his chin.

“I’m feeling contemplative.”

“About?”

“Oh, you know,” he sighs, a bravado that he’ll never really be able to shake. Liar, liar, liar. “My dealings. Things should close in the next few days—”

You frown, huff, “I am right here— and you’re thinking about business?”

“I’m sorry— are you feeling needy?”

“Mildly,” you huff, leaning into him. “You leave in a few days then, right?”

Thirty-seven hours system hours from now, to be exact. Days on Kalaki Ios are short. It’s all you know. Pier Point’s are longer, inorganic, designed to be more optimal for the humanoid. Kalaki Ios isn’t that kind, and certainly not to humankind. Maybe the IPC will put in place measures to make it more hospitable to humans than it is now. A longer day-night cycle set with a false sun rather than relying on the dying white dwarf that the planet orbits, maybe. The soil, what little of it there is, could be fortified. They’ll probably import some from a more lush planet. 

Aventurine knows that it will be a difficult transition. You’re smart enough to know that, too.

There’s been a quiet dread in you over the past several days— Ios days, not system days. The lucid knowledge that he’ll be departing, and you will lose the comfort that you’ve grown accustomed to over the past several months. It’s not about the gaudy things. Though the luxe hotel suite that he’s been living in, with its massive bathtub, Kalakian onyx fixtures, and plush mattress, has surely been a plus. 

He knows it’s more than that.

It’s that Aventurine, for better or worse, is the most stable thing you’ve been around in moons. Aventurine is inherently not stable. He doesn’t stay in one place long, trailing from assignment to assignment. And the Blessing that he carries around with him tends to leave scars in his wake without regard to others. But, compared to Kalaki Ios and the shit lot in life that you have, it’s been better. Good, even. 

Aventurine has also been trying to make it good— whether that was serving the deal that he was winding with the Kalakian corporate bodies or not in the beginning, who is to say— but now, he wants it to be good for you. The idea that his parting will place you back at the bottom of the heap, left to rot with all the organic material on this dead planet, makes him feel sick to his stomach.

He wonders if you’d leave. 

You probably would, but he couldn’t force you to come with him. It would probably be best to set you up in a nice apartment on Pier Point and secure you a stable job. Pad a savings account for you and let you have some free will in a place that wasn’t being torn apart by cosmic levels of greed over turbo petroleum and diamond deposits. It would be the least he’d do for you, probably. Maybe.

The most he’d do for you is drag you around with him, from planet to planet. A companion— what a concept. What a cruel fate to resign you to.

It’s a lot to think about now, but Aventurine can’t help but dwell on it. Things will move quickly from here, and it would be best to sort this now, rather than later. But the idea of extracting himself from this lovely bath and the warmth of your embrace to work on paperwork makes him want to kill himself, honestly. 

So, for now, he indulges. For better or for worse.

...

The bath ends with his hands between your thighs. 

From the start, the contact isn’t chaste. Both of you know that. The hitch in your breath and the way your legs fall open tell him that much. His fingertips creep up the softness of your inner thighs, nails dragging over the flesh there. 

“W-We just fucked.” You huff, not all that mad. 

And you did— that’s why you’re in the bath in the first place. But Aventurine has been one to indulge for a while now, and you are an indulgence that he simply can’t keep himself from.

You’re still open and loose as he prods around your cunt. Gentle, because you like it that way, but not coy as he could be. He already played coy earlier, anyway, when you first woke up from your earlier nap while he had been doing paperwork. He’d slipped next to you and kissed your neck and shoulders until you were squirming and practically begging for him.

It’s a fun game, sometimes. But, now, he’s much more inclined to simply give. There’s not much time left for it as things stand. 

He circles your clit with the pads of two of his fingers. Slow, relaxed, but not teasing. The pressure is firm, but not too rough or insistent. Enough contact to have your hips rolling into his touch. Your breath catches, a shattering little sound fluttering past your lips. Aventurine is half-sure that he’s the only one to ever have heard such noises from you. He avoids sentimentality, but the idea of that type of exclusivity makes something in him ache.

He chases the feeling off by nipping at your neck, tugging you, somehow, even more snuggly to his body with his hold around your waist. Bathwater sloshes around you, almost careening over the lip of the tub.

“Be careful,” he chides, lightly, with a laugh that gets you squirming and mildly indignant. It’s cute. “Don’t want to spill, do we?”

“You wouldn’t care.” He really wouldn’t. Losing the deposit on the hotel room hardly mattered; a little water damage is more than worth it to see you writhing and in pleasure (and so, so close to him. So warm and present and almost cloying in proximity.)

There are more practical places for intimacy, but Aventurine has found he has favored the bath with you most of all. 

He’s dissected his preference for this type of romp in the quiet that follows your coupling, once you’ve either dozed off or aren’t lucid enough to do more than accept whatever petting he provides you. He thinks it’s the tile. It’s some igneous rock from the south pole of Kalaki Ios that reflects the sounds of your gasps, whines, and the splash of bathwater perfectly. He read that it’s a stone formed from volcanic activity under the crust, slowly cooled, far under the planet’s surface. It’s a dense rock, perfect for reflecting back sound. 

The tiles are what Aventurine tells himself that he likes most about this space. 

(And not the fact that it’s only ever been just you and him in this room, in the whole suite. No other Stonehearts or associates, no trailing ghosts of the past that have a habit of breathing down his neck when he is comfortable for a moment too long. It hasn’t— it hasn’t been like that in this bath or the suite.)

(It’s just been the scent of you— the cheap perfume that you buy from one of your coworkers. She makes it in her kitchen with herbs that her mother grows.) 

(It’s just been the sound of your shifting clothing, mingling with his. In the beginning, the stiff uniform that the hotel kept you in, though now it’s more often than not the sounds of satin-on-satin. Garments so liquid, they may as well roll off of you in waves when he’s helping you disrobe.)

(It’s only been the heat of your skin over his own and the shared view of the city skyline, soon to be mangled and dismantled, though you don’t know that yet.)

Aventurine— he should probably take you away from here. It would be good for you to owe him a favor. 

He presses a finger into you, sliding his lips down the side of your neck as he does. Your pulse jumps between his teeth. A little sound jolts from your throat, and he can’t help but be pleased with himself. His hand slips lower, to the core of you, playing with the softness of your thighs, dragging his fingers up to the petal seam of your cunt. It’s a slow move, one meant to be coy. Aventurine doesn’t know any differently.

(Oh, the man he’d be if he were an earnest lover.)

Though perhaps, he wouldn’t be himself.

He toys with your clit slowly. Not lazily, but there’s no haste in his motion, despite the looming countdown that hasn’t stopped ticking in the back of his mind. Despite how there’s a feral little animal that lives in his brainstem that keeps shouting and swiveling its poor head, looking for the next danger, terrified of the moment this (this thing he has become so attached to) ends, Aventurine still moves slowly. 

He has learned to savor some things, after all. 

It took time to learn how to truly taste delicacies, luxuriate in the fineries, and enjoy the things in life that he can now affordand finds opulent. It’s extravagance, sure, but he has, in fact, learned how to relish in the pleasure of pleasure when the opportunity presents itself. 

And what an opportunity— you, between his legs, thighs trembling in the bath water, and the smell of your shared, perfumed soak sitting over him like a pleasantly lustful cloud. It’s heady, it’s wonderful, and a gripping distraction from the subtle, back of the mind ‘tick, tick, tick’ of your time together seemingly ending.

You throw your head back against his shoulder, painting, open-mouthed with spit slick lips. Sweat beads between your breasts, over your sternum, dripping into the bathwater as he strokes your softest parts. You’re so tense against him, wound, and he really does hope that making you feel so good will crack open some of that. Catharsis and all. 

Aventurine slips a finger into you, relishing the moan you can’t suppress and the way your hands shoot out to brace against his thighs and the edge of the tub. You breathe his name, thin and reedy, eyes half-lidded. You’re a vision. If you were less skittish, he’d ask to take photos of you for the journey home. 

You are, however, much more like a stray cat with a shock collar than an emotionally-regulated lover (you’re the same in that way, really), so he abstains. Instead, he kisses your neck, down the line of your throat, teething a mark that, for a normal romp, he wouldn’t deign to leave. He’s pretty anti-hickey, given necessary professionalism, but you are his greatest indulgence, and the small part of him that begs and pleads for enough without knowing what that even means— wants, wants, wants to leave his mark on you.

You are truly an indulgence. 

A gasp tumbles from your lips, unrestricted as he sinks his teeth into you. Over the bruise, a bite mark will be indented in your skin, surely. A parting gift, maybe, if Aventurine can’t sort how to break your contract with the damned family that owns you and seven eighths of his planet. At least they’ll be in the Stonehearts’ pocket— it’s a leg up in getting you the fuck out of here. 

Details, details, details. He focuses on slipping another finger into you, curling the two in the heat of you, and stroking the most pleasure-sensitive parts of your insides. 

...

Sex moves to the bed at some point.

Bath sex is impractical, after all, much more impractical than bath foreplay (which the two of you enjoy very much).

You barely towel off enough to be considered damp before sliding into the stupidly large bed of the suite, tangled in each other in a way that’s too close, too close, too close. Aventurine thinks that part of both of you, the small part cut from the same cloth but on different worlds, must feel the same about it. Sex feels good, sure, yeah, but god, there’s something so terrifying about it.

(It’s the proximity, isn’t it? The endorphin rush of skin-on-skin contact really does compete with prey animal-like fear of being so unendingly close to another being.)

It’s easier to calm that part, he supposes, with you. 

He sits over your hips, kissing you stupid and breathless, his cock hard with want between you. You’re just as needy, rolling your hips up into him, seeking friction as you fervently kiss him back. Your hands tangle in his hair, never tugging too hard, but gripping enough so that he can feel it just right. It’s a starburst of pain, the perfect amount— that scratches that itch in his brainstem without being too much. 

He moans against your lips, and you swallow the sound up greedily.

You, at your core, are a greedy person. Well— greedy perhaps isn’t an apt enough word. You’re hungry, which has made you greedy. Hunger and greed are so close to each other. Aventurine knows this well, feels it in his bones when he indulges in his occasional but nearly scheduled, neon-lit benders. 

An indulgence, a penance for him for all of the shit that he’s had to crawl through to breathe. 

He thinks that your time together, for you, is a little like that.

Aventurine lets you be hungry, lets you devour him, nipping at his lips and licking into his mouth, only for him to mirror the action and give you more, more, more. 

His hands hook under your knees, hoisting them around his hips. He presses his weight into you, folding you a little. Your whine, squirm, want. Aventurine flashes you a smile, one that’s probably a little too earnest. Too honest. A crack.

“Almost there,” he says, coos, voice too soft to feel familiar. It startles him a little, even if it’s not the first time that he’s used that tone with you. 

You’re so perceptive; you notice immediately. The edge of discomfort on him, you quell it with a kiss to his cheek, then one to the bridge of his nose, under each eye. 

His cock nudges your cunt, parting your slick folds. The contact is heavenly, scalding, and lovely. You both moan in tandem.

“I’ll put it in now,” he breathes, still soft around his edges. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you swallow. He kisses the column of your throat.

You’re stretched out from the foreplay in the bath, not too loose but soaking. You get even slicker as he rubs the head of his cock up and down your cunt. Your slick and his pre mix, sticky and almost luminous around cunt in the warm light of the chandelier nearby. A divine thing, maybe, if Aventurine (Kakavasha) believed in those sorts of gods of pleasure. Maybe he should start believing, he thinks, as he pushes into your cunt with a sweet kind of pressure that has your nails digging into his forearms, back already arching. It’s good, so good. Aventurine kisses you, hard on the lips. 

He used to not do this. Kissing is intimate, sex is not— at least that’s the impression he had before he was first assigned to Kalaki Ios and you were just the supposedly-suspicious bartender/handyman/bellhop/jack-of-all-trades that served him his first drink of many at the hotel bar. He’d been told you were suspect number one of espionage. He’s not sure who the fuck gave Jade that intel because it took all of three days to put together that you were being framed. It took all of three days of Aventurine watching you closely to realize you were truly, genuinely harmless. It took all of three days for Aventurine to cajole you into his bed and fully synthesize that you were, in fact, not a spy for a local counter-agency but an under an indenture to the corporate entity and family that owned (past tense) 90% of Kalaki Ios’s habitable land. It made him sad. You were, actually, very pitiable. Especially at the time.

He didn’t kiss you then. It took a few nights of pleasure and Aventurine cracking open to finally press his lips to yours. It was scary, scarier than most of the acts he has had to commit as a Stoneheart, but the way you melted into him when he did made it worth it. 

Kissing you now isn’t easy, but it isn’t hard. It’s good— so good, how you curl up into him for more. You gasp against his lips when he cants his hips forward, burying himself further inside of you. 

By the time you’re truly full of him, his hips flush to the backs of your thighs, you’re both panting, little moans leak from the back of his throat. You’re so good, so hot and wet and cracked open. It’s so terrifying, and yet Aventurine wants to glut himself on it. He tempers his hunger so well these days, but by the Amber Lord, he wants to take a bite of you. 

So, he does.

He sinks his teeth into your neck, muffling his own sounds as he pulls nearly entirely out of your cunt, before slamming back in. A sound tears from your throat, ragged and thin, warbling off as he sucks a dark mark onto you. It’s too high for your hotel uniform to cover, but Aventurine is getting increasingly committed to shredding your contract up with his own two hands. So it’s fine. No more uniform for you. He can mar your neck as he pleases. With that thought, and the squeeze of your cunt so wonderfully around his cock, he drags his tongue across the center of your throat, marking even higher on the other side. You keen, shatter, arch beneath him. 

The rhythm of his thrusts is careful; he wants to fuck you deep. Deep so you feel him where no one else can. It’s a tempting thought, one that feels too possessive and hungry to indulge, but he does anyway. He feels a little desperate, maybe. 

You moan into his ear, nip at it as he raises your hips for an even deeper angle. A sound punches out of your chest as he slides back into you. He imagines that your eyes are rolling back into your head. The thought makes him dangerously close for a moment, and he has to pause for a half second, collect himself, before fucking you with even more vigor than before. 

Your breath syncs. When you both inhale, your chests touch. You’re so, so close. Aventurine draws away from the hollow of your throat so he can look at you. He removes his hands from the backs of your knees and instead brackets his forearms around your head. 

It’s too vulnerable, too gut-turning to be this close and to be seen. He can practically see the blessed hues of his own eyes reflected in your glassy irises. Your lips are bitten, kiss-bruised, and slick. Rivulets of sweat collect around your collarbones and sternum. 

Your slick has drenched between your thighs, mixing with his pre too. A mix of you wets his cock, each slide so fucking hot and good.

He’s quite close, actually. The muscles in his abdomen tense. 

You can tell; his expression must change. Your hand dips between you, and he bats it away and touches you himself. He bears all of his weight on one arm and, in the slap of his hips against you, circles your soaked clit with shaking fingers. You tense up around him, your insides pulsing— you’re so close too—

It’s romantic to come at the same time, isn’t it?

It’s a half-formed thought as your cunt clenches around his cock, spasming, so, so wet and slick, he feels dizzy. He chases his release with a single thrust, buries himself to the hilt, as deep as he can go. A cry cracks from his lips, muffled into the side of your head. It sounds more like a sob than a moan. You shakily card your fingers through his hair, pressing your lips into his hair, over and over, smothering your sounds and hot breath into his undoubtedly mussed-up curls. 

Your cunt squeezes around him, and he gasps. The afterburn of orgasm has you both so sensitive.

Your fingertips skate almost his cheekbones, turning him to look at you, knocking your forehead against his own. It’s sweet, cat-like. It’s the sticky kind of affection that makes Aventurine feel out of his skin and cherish in tandem. It’s a lot. It’s too much. It makes his bones ache. He wants to vault out of bed, track down your scumlord of a boss, and slam down however many credits will break you from the invisible shackles of Kalaki Ios and its dense-metal core. 

There’s time for that later, he surmises. Not much, there are maybe thirty-two system hours left until he is set to leave. He has other business to wrap up, too. He’ll do it. He’ll do it all and gamble whatever he needs to drag you out of this place. 

For now, the quiet light of the hotel room lulls you both. You keep petting his head, holding him so hard that you’re shaking. You love putting on a tough act, but Aventurine has worried for a while about what would happen if he left. You’re strong, you’d be fine— but you would suffer. 

How dangerous it is to care about someone this way.

“We’ll need another bath,” you say.

Aventurine tilts you both, so you’re both lying your sides against the expensively fragranced bedsheets. He rubs over the marks he left you, already so dark with dottings of popped blood vessels. 

“We will,” he agrees. Probably a shower, this time. He can already see that you’re struggling to stay awake. He’ll clean you up if you doze. One cursory look between your legs confirms that spent is leaking out between your thighs. He’s certain that it’s getting cold.

For now, it’s just this, lingering close to each other, catching your breath, your pupils still blown and full of something that makes the core of Aventurine tremble.

...

Thirty system hours later, Aventurine is standing on a pier (ha) at Kalaki Ios' main astral hub. His usual vessel is idling for some brief refueling and maintenance checks. After that, he’ll board, and he’ll return home to the halls and board rooms of the Amber Lord and provide his long, wordy report about the successful acquisition of Kalaki Ios to Diamond and the others Stonhearts.

“Any luck?” he says, the tip of his index finger pressed into his earpiece.

Jade laughs, shimmery and curling from the earpiece, directly into his ear. It's a little unnerving, but familiar. “Who do you take me for? Little Kakavasha, please have more faith in me.”

Aventurine’s stomach turns at her casual usage of a name belonging to a dead child. He doesn’t say anything; silence speaks volumes. And Jade is familiar with such language. 

She can be very cruel, he knows. But today, she isn’t.

“The Nastani Corporation is in disarray after your masterful, albeit unsurprisingly masochistic, moves in the acquiring of Kalaki Ios. It wasn’t hard to make a few calls.”

“And?”

“Your catch is free to leave the planet,” Jade tells him. “I’d suggest that they do so hastily. I learned that they’re quite favored by a few of the inner Nastani family.” 

“Noted.” He figured. Aventurine pauses. “Thank you.”

“Why, of course, dear Aventurine,” she says. “I’m very happy to have a favor from you in my pocket to use at my leisure. It's quite the rarity, flower.”

A problem for later, he decides. Jade does nothing for free and is a burning soul sadist. But, future danger of it is worth it. To get you out of here is worth it.

Aventurine had confided his plan to you this morning, early, as the white dwarf dawn rose. He’d already spoken to Jade several times in the last day. She was pulling strings for him, and Aventurine was guarding them. Telling you was the final step—

There was a knot in his belly as he did. He hoped the extra fiber of his gloves hid the slight tremor of his hands.

(Because there was, of course, the reality where, despite the fact that you fucking hate this place, you’d still want to stay. And Aventurine could never, would never, force you away from your home if you didn’t want to leave.)

(Even if this place is a shithole, a lump of rock that’s being hollowed out for interests so much larger than your own, it’s still your home. You’ve lived here for so long; you grew here. You assumed that you’d die here. Even if it’s horrible, it’s still home to you.) 

It was terrifying to tell you. To keep his voice steady, his body calm as he told you— “One of my contacts nullified your contract.”

There was a beat or two of silence. A thump, thump of his heart that felt like cardiac arrest as your eyes widened. Your lips fell open, the fork that you had been holding clattered down onto your room service plate. Syrup from your pancake sticks in strings from the cakes to the metal of the utensil. 

It’s an easier thing to focus on than the cracking of your expression. The shaking in your voice, the disbelief, then the fucking elation. You launched yourself at him, breakfast forgotten. 

Everything from there had been... rushed, but easy. Your apartment is packed up into a comically small number of boxes by a service he had prepaid for the night before. You’re back at the hotel, briefly, to pick up a few things and say goodbye to a handful of coworkers. 

It all worked out as it so often does for him in the end. 

He gambled on Jade being able to break your contract so swiftly. He gambled on you wanting to leave Kalaki Ios and journey to Pier Point with him.

And, blessed be the Mother Goddess thrice, he placed his bets well. 

Fortune treats him differently; it always will, until he finally loses his last gamble and ends up in the bottom of a ditch somewhere, furs discolored and clothes muddied and tarnished. However, now, that ever-constant feeling of an impending disaster feels a little farther away as you jog up the pier, smiling at him so brightly. He returns it. He hopes the crew doesn't see it. The confirmation laced between his teeth that you're getting out of here— that's just for you and him.

(Allow him to covet it, Mother Goddess. The joy of it, shared.)

It’s so simple to catch you, only stumbling a little, and let you bury your face in his neck. An effervescent sound echoes from your throat into his own. It’s a happy thing, unbidden.

Aventurine squeezes you around your middle, hiding his expression in your hair.

He'll enjoy his winnings while he can.

Dominating the end of a block in one of the city's more historic districts loomed an enormous library. It was privately owned, but it was known that for the right price, its curator would sometimes allow the lucky visitor in to peruse its stacks. Those visitors were often academics, researchers and the like, and the price of entry was often some addition to the library's massive collection, be it some intriguing new research publication or some rare ancient text. 

Ateya had no such texts. 

All the same, she desperately wanted to see inside, and had wanted to for some years now. The place was grand enough to be imposing and yet it was shrouded in secrecy. It taunted her every time she walked by it, which was near every day with her workplace being in the same district. She could scarcely imagine what it must be like within the library's giant wooden double doors. And it wasn't as if Ateya didn't like books. 

Of course those big front doors wouldn't be Ateya's point of entry. After visiting hours they were locked, and it didn't seem like they opened again until morning.

But there were windows along the sides and back of the wedge-shaped building, some six or seven feet off the ground. Too high to see in, and too low to be second-story. Just high enough to climb into, if Ateya could mount the irregular shape of the building's bricks in the alleyway along the library's north side, in the back.  

It wasn't the best day, or night as it were, to attempt such a feat. It was spitting down rain, and had been on and off for days. The stone of the building was cold and wet, and Ateya's hair kept dripping in her face. It really would have been wiser to wait until the weather dried out and the going was less treacherous. But Ateya was feeling eager, and restless, and she'd finally made up her mind to get a real look at the place, so here she was, grappling with wet bricks and sniffling, frozen fingertips prying open a window that was likely installed before she was even born. 

Old as it was, and not meant to be opened from the outdoors, the window kept sticking and was difficult to move, but Ateya finally managed to budge it just far enough to slip through sideways, hang down from the sill, and drop the remaining two or three feet to the floor. 

The hallway she landed in was bare, but stately. Marble floor, stone chair rail, ornately carved pilasters throughout, and well lit with a series of recess lighting along the high ceiling. Having dropped in, Ateya wasn't able to close the window she'd entered through, but despite the chill, damp evening air blowing in, and despite the prevalence of stone in the decor, the library was warm and comfortable. The entire place smelled of books.

Glancing about quietly, it seemed the hall went on for some ways to either side, with stairs upward at the end of the hall to her left, and stairs downward or an opening to another first level hallway to her right. Not wanting to linger on the first level, or potentially draw nearer any lobbies or front desks, Ateya turned left, and began quietly making her way up the steps.

The stair landing opened onto a catwalk that stretched on around the entire second level and overlooked the main lobby. Not ideal for evading detection... There was a spiral stair at the end, but getting to it and even climbing it would put her in plain view of anyone on the floor below, not to mention it looked to be metal and would certainly not be very quiet to climb in an echoing space like this, even if Ateya was as lightfooted as she could be. 

The hall was lined with high arched doorways, though. If she was sneaky enough she might be able to hide out behind one, snoop around for a bit, and maybe hop from one room to the next once the lights actually went out in the place. 

It was strange that they were still on, actually. But then, it wasn't too long after hours. Maybe somebody was working late?

Hopefully they weren't working in the first room on the left... 

Empty. 

Ateya breathed a sigh of relief, a wave of giddiness close on its heels. Ah the thrills of breaking and entry. Technically, just entry this time, she hadn't actually broken anything... 

She mused over this as she surveyed the contents of the room. Stately, like the hall she'd landed in, but not unwelcoming. Around a low coffee table, with plenty of space for comfort, there was a large, ornate, light green sofa and two matching chairs, each with a side table of their own, and tiffany lamps on each side table. The walls were lined floor-to-ceiling with dark wooden bookshelves save for a small fireplace across from the door, and free-standing shelves filled the far end of the room. The floor featured a nice, ornate throw rug. 

All the shelves Ateya could see were near completely full of books, which she supposed made a sort of sense. From what she knew, this wasn't the sort of library people borrowed from. All of the books in it were for on-site use only. 

Curious about what kind of books the room she'd landed in held, and needing to kill some time until the lights went off (they had to turn off at some point, right?), Ateya went to search through some of the free-standing shelves, away from the door. 

She hadn't yet been able to piece together a theme amongst the titles, other than it being a non-fiction area of some kind, when she heard the softest fluttering sound behind her. It might have been a piece of paper falling to the ground on the light breeze she felt blow strangely past despite the room's distance from the window she'd crept in from.

“You shouldn't be here.” 

Ateya jumped, nearly dropping the book she was holding at the sound of a dark, resonant voice close behind her. She tripped over herself and fell trying to back away when she saw its source. 

Looming over her as she attempted and failed to scamper backwards across the floor was a huge creature of some kind. The way their form obscured the light as they entered the aisle shrouded them in shadow and made it hard to tell what they were beyond that, other than large, and imposing, and advancing on her slowly. 

The creature reached for her, and she whimpered and flinched away.

“I don't want to hurt you. Get up. It's time to go,” they said. 

Ateya remained frozen in fear, braced for some kind of blow or swipe. When none came, she slowly opened her eyes. The creature's large hand remained extended towards her. She blinked at it, shaking.

“You're... helping me up?” she asked.

“You fell,” they replied simply. Ateya stared at their hand in disbelief. She wasn't sure she could feel her legs anymore from the sheer panic that had flooded her system. 

“I can carry you out, if you prefer,” the figure said. 

“No,” she mumbled, shaking her head and shakily getting to her feet on her own, not wanting to take the hand of something so unknown and so much larger than her.

Now that her eyes had begun to adjust to the dim light, she started to be able to make out the beast's features.

They were predominantly animalistic, but not of any one type of animal in particular. Their nose resembled that of a bat, but the snout it belonged to was more like a boar's snout. So were the creature's legs, their ears, and their short mane of hair. They had multiple short horns like a goat would, and a long, spade-tipped tail like a devil. Giant bat-like wings sprouted from their shoulder blades. The rest of them, it seemed, was vaguely humanoid and extremely well-muscled, and... it wasn't a trick of the light, they were completely slate grey from tip to tail.

She'd seen them before, she realized. Just never up close. 

“You're a lot larger than you look from the street,” she said. 

“I imagine that to be true,” the gargoyle replied, before swiftly moving on. “Did you take anything?” 

“No,” Ateya said.

Now that she could see them, she couldn't stop staring. She watched their face move when they spoke. They were surprisingly expressive for a creature made of stone. The expression they bore now was a stern one, all heavy brow and set jaw. The way their nostrils flared whenever they spoke made them look much angrier than their behavior would lead someone to believe. 

“The book you were holding when I came in?” they prompted. 

“Dropped it,” she said, pointing vaguely at the floor behind them.

Eyeing her suspiciously all the while, the gargoyle stooped with startling gracefulness to pick the book up and reshelve it. They gave one, single, profoundly wet sniffle as they did so, the sound snorting in its insistency. 

Ateya blinked, and tilted her head. That was odd. Maybe they weren't actually all that angry. Their snout could just be bothering them. She wouldn't have expected that a gargoyle could be affected by something like that.

“Anything else?” they asked her. She shook her head.

“Good,” they said, “Then I won't find anything when I search you for stolen books.” 

Ateya took another step or two backwards, shaking her head.

“I didn't take anything,” she said.

“My boss would be greatly disappointed in me if I took everyone at their word,” they said, grasping her arm in a manner that could only be described as immovable. Not tight, not even painful, but a living stone manacle closed around her forearm and would not let her go. She struggled against them. 

“Hey! I said I didn't take anything!” she protested, trying to tug herself free as they reached to try and start patting down her sides. Before she could think about whether it might really hurt, Ateya reached up and flicked hard at the center of their nose. 

The good news was that it didn't hurt. The gargoyle's flesh was surprisingly pliant, if tough and rough textured. It wasn't like flicking solid rock. What did hurt, a little, was their grip tightening slightly around her arm as their eyes fluttered shut, their nostrils now pulsing and flaring restlessly with their breath. 

“Hhuh...! hhuH...!”

There was a sound of rushing water and they looked straight up, the wrist of their other hand coming up to press against the end of their snout. They clumsily started backing blindly and urgently to the door, snorting and panting all the while and dragging a protesting Ateya along with them. A shelf or two may have gotten bumped and fallen over in the process, and as their snorting became heavier and even more urgent, they backed clear into the doorway on their way out through it.

Their strength broke on a desperate, gasping inhale as soon as they made the catwalk, and they threw themself at the railing to release a desperate—

“HUAAAEGH'SHIEWHH!!” 

—over the side. Ateya's eyes widened at the torrent of water that flooded forth from their snout, cascading down to the marble floor of the lobby below. 

“Geez!” she exclaimed, flinching back. The gargoyle's eyes remained closed, and they snuffled aqueously, their breaths still labored and uncertain. 

“hhuh- hh! H'YAAASHHUE!!”

They lurched forward again with another resounding sneeze, another deluge pouring from their snout as they did so. They snuffled again, rubbing at the end of their snout with their wrist.

“Why would you do that?” they asked, just as another voice rose up from beyond the lobby below. 

“Ava? What the devil are you doing up there? I thought I told you I didn't want you patrolling while—Oh hello... Who do we have here?”

A tall, thin man with neat waves of bright red hair stepped out from the hallway at the back of the lobby. He wore a very fancy red and gold waistcoat, and small, thin gold wire spectacles perched atop his prominent, bridgey nose. As he stepped into view and spotted Ateya his eyes narrowed irritably. 

“An uninvited guest, boss. I was just checking her over before showing her out,” the gargoyle, Ava, said. The bespectacled man continued squinting, and tilted his head accusingly. 

“It seems like you were just sneezing all over my nice marble floor. I trust you didn't get any on the shelves?” he said.

Ava made a small noise somewhere between a snort and a grunt, his snout giving a twitch. They looked almost self-conscious for a moment. It was a strange look to see cross the features of something so stony and large. 

“No, I... The shelves are dry,” they said. “I may just need to right some of them. They... tipped over.” 

The man's eyes alit with a sudden temper at this information. 

“They what?” he hissed, one hand coming to pinch the space between his eyes. 

Ava remained absolutely silent while his boss seethed on the level below. 

“And the books? Were any of them damaged? Or haven't you checked?” said the man.

“It just happened,” they said. 

The man took an exceedingly deep breath and swallowed before letting it out and letting his hand drop to his side. He turned his gaze to Ateya then.

“And I suppose you had nothing to do with this?” he accused.

“What!? I was just-??? They grabbed me– I was just– I was trying to get away,” she said. 

Ava's boss crossed his arms and glared at her nastily.

“And you would not have had to try to get away if you had come during regular business hours and paid the requisite entry fee, now would you? What exactly did you do?” he said. 

Without breaking eye contact, she demonstrated, quickly slipping her hand up and flicking again at Ava's nose before they could pull away. 

The effect was immediate this time, their eyes slamming shut as they wrenched aside with a streaming—

“hAAUH'SHHOO!!”

—that their boss narrowly dodged below, visibly shivering when some of the water splashed back at him on impact with the floor.

“Saints alive, Ava, that's cold!” he admonished. 

“Sorry, boss. -snfgh!-” Ava snuffled, scrubbing at their snout with their wrist.

“Watch where you aim that thing,” their boss continued, peevishly. 

“I didn't have much choice, boss,” they said. 

Ateya couldn't help but be amused by the chaos she'd wrought, the feeling egged on by a quiet sense of defiance.

“Yeah, this thing seems pretty sensitive,” she taunted, reaching up and tapping at the side of Ava's snout. They gave a profusely wet snort and turned their head, leaning away from her as much as they could without releasing her arm. 

“And you, stop menacing my gargoyle,” the figure below demanded testily. “How did you even get in here anyway? I know I locked the door.”

Ava snorted and kept their face turned, presumably not trusting that Ateya really would stop menacing them despite her momentary cooperation. Maybe they were smarter than they looked. 

“She came in through a backfacing window,” they reported. “I found it ajar on my way to escort her from the premises.” 

Their boss crossed his arms and took a deep breath, holding it and swallowing hard before letting it back out in a huff.

“Here's what we are going to do,” he said, turning to Ateya, still terse despite his overt efforts to calm his temper. 

“You are going to come down here and help clean this mess, and then you are going to go back. up. there. and help reshelve all the books that were displaced because of your. actions,” he said, pinching irritably again at the space between his eyes. “I'm not going to charge you for any damages,—”

“Good, because I didn't—” Ateya attempted to interject. 

“—but you still owe me your entry fee,” he continued, not allowing the interruption, “and I intend to collect. Further, you will submit to a search at the door before you leave.”

Ateya looked from the massive gargoyle still holding her by the arm to the snippy man they seemed to be genuinely deferent to. He was probably the eccentric who owned the place. The gargoyle could probably break her in half if they wanted. 

“What if I don't want to do any of that,” she said, “I didn't tip your shelves, or dent your doorway, and if this stone goliath hadn't grabbed me I wouldn't have had to flick at their face in the first place!” 

“And remind me why my gargoyle grabbed you again? Was it because you broke in and were attempting to peruse my collection free of charge?” the man asked simply.

“It's not optional,” Ava added. 

“You can't keep me here, that's kidnapping!” Ateya protested.

“Oh really?” the curator said, a sardonic grin spreading across his face. “Are you going to go to the police? And what do you think they'll do, exactly? With the breaking and entering, and the tresspassing, and the destruction of property, and the harassment? Does that all end well for you?”

Ateya grumbled beneath her breath.

“You need to submit to the search,” Ava responded. “That's standard procedure.” 

She stared at them blinkingly. How the fuck did they hear that? There was no way. Could they read minds? Were they hearing her thoughts this whole time? 

“Ava, get a bucket. I'm going to assess the damages. So help me if any pages have been torn,” the curator said, stalking towards a staircase at the opposite end of the room. 

“What should I do with our visitor?” Ava asked. 

“You can release her for now, but don't let her leave until she's made up for her transgressions,” he responded, barely raising his voice enough to call over his shoulder. 

Ava, at long last, released Ateya's arm. She rubbed at her wrist and stretched her shoulder.

“You've got a firm grip,” she said. 

Ava did not respond. Taking a few steps away, with a strong beat of their wings, they rose into the air as if made of paper and just as quietly, and in a moment they were gone. Their flight was so fast Ateya could barely track the shape of them diving over the rail, swooping back through the entryway, and turning through a door someplace beneath the catwalk where she stood. 

She stared after them for a moment in awe.

By the time Ateya looked up again, the curator had just reached the side of the building she was standing in. 

He looked even more sour up close. His thin lips were perpetually pressed into a line, his eyes forever holding a leer of disdain. He glanced at her wordlessly as he slipped by, making his way into the room she had sneaked into, and as he passed there were daggers in his gaze. 

He didn't seem to even care about the damage to the doorway, passing it without giving it any inspection whatsoever. 

“Piss and daggers,” she heard him utter in dismay upon entering the room.

With the curator thus occupied, and the gargoyle off who knows where searching for a bucket, Ateya saw no reason she couldn't just quietly slip away.

Backtracking, she passed by the disrupted library room to see the curator inside, righting the shelves by himself as if they weighed nothing. 

She didn't stay to watch for long. This place was weirder than they say, and she was ready to leave. 

Maybe she would come back another day, if she could find a better way in. There was more she wanted to see, afterall. 

She crept down the steps and back into the hall she'd dropped into when she had first arrived. The window was still open wide enough for her to fit through, if she could climb back up into it. There was no uneven brick to climb here though, and even the nearest pilaster was too far away to push off from if she tried to leap for the sill. Besides, her forearm was still sore... even if she could reach the window ledge, she didn't think she could climb into it like this. 

She glanced further down the hall, to the other set of stairs and the hallway that presumably led out into the lobby itself. The curator had locked the front door, but? Surely it could unlock from the inside. 

Ateya hesitated at the fork in the path, deeply curious about what might be on the library's lower levels... but ultimately decided to check another time. She had to leave while both known stewards were distracted and before any unknown others had the chance to show up. 

She made it halfway through the entryway before the soft fluttering sound behind her alerted her again to the gargoyle's presence. 

“Nice try,” they said, setting down a large metal pail. They held out a mop. Defeated, Ateya came and collected it. 

“I'm going to go and check on my boss. Don't try to leave,” Ava said, flying up then to the second story and disappearing into the room the curator was in. As soon as they were out of sight, Ateya very quietly set down the mop and turned for the door. 

Ava swooped down in front of her before she got three steps of the way there.

“What did I just say?” they admonished. 

Ateya grumbled and turned back to get the mop. She guessed helping clean up wouldn't be so bad. She did make the poor brute sneeze after all. Not like it was her fault he sneezes in torrents though.

The curator of the library came to join her after not too long, taking up the other mop his gargoyle had brought and pitching in to get the floor dry.

“So about my fee...” he said, sopping up a mop's worth of water and wringing it into the bucket with a shiver. It barely made a dent in the small pond the gargoyle's sneezing had made of the floor. 

Ateya continued mopping, and didn't make eye contact as she shook her head. 

“I don't have any rare books,” she said. The curator shook his head in response. 

“Doesn't matter. I'll accept a story in its place,” he said.

Ateya paused in her mopping.

“What?” she said. The curator paused as well, looking at her incredulously.

“A story. A personal tale. Something you've experienced or witnessed, explained in a narrative format. Surely I don't need to go on,” he said. 

A story? All this prick needed for entry was a story? 

“Does it have to be mine?” she asked.

“Yes,” the curator replied, without missing a beat.

“I-I don't even know your name! And you want a personal story from me?” she stammered. 

That aside, she wasn't sure she even had any good stories to tell. Her life wasn't interesting.

“Leonidas,” he offered. “Leonidas Khrƴsídēs. And yours?”

Ateya blinked. She had expected more resistance than this.

“Ateya Ríoahdse," she said. Leonidas set his mop down, drying his hands on his trousers and giving another shiver as he made his way to a podium near the back of the room.

“And how do you spell that?” he asked, picking up a pen there and holding it poised over a ledger of some kind. 

“What's that for?” she asked.

“It's a guestbook. Spell your name please,” Leonidas repeated impatiently. 

“A-t-e-y-a, R-i–there's an accent on the i—o-a-h-d-s-e,” she said. “I know, it sounds like it should be R-o-a-d-s. You can just... put that, if it's easier. Most people do.”

Leonidas scoffed at the idea, giving an indignant snort. 

“I would never. There's history in a name,” he said. To his credit, the length of time he took to finish writing her name, he must have been true to his word. When he finished, he set the pen down and considered the entry thoughtfully.

“Ríoahdse... are you Schyrse?” he asked.

Ateya shook her head. 

“Czyrkish, but both my parents are Easterlan,” she said. The curator raised his brow and nodded, stepping away from his guest book once more. 

“Now that makes sense,” he said. He came to pick up his mop again and get back to work.

“So what brought your family to Czyrk, then? The culture? The history?” he asked. Ateya gave kind of half a shrug. 

“Kind of, maybe a little bit of both,” she said, wringing another mop-full of icy water into the pail which was nearing full. Despite this, the floor was only close to half dry at best. 

“My parents met at the University of Praglyn, when they were both students there. They were both so culture shocked that finding another Easterlan was a relief,” she went on, sopping at another corner of sneeze puddle. She supposed she should be grateful it was only water. 

“They got along well, and they kind of fell in love with the city at the same time that they fell in love with each other,” she said, continuing to work as she spoke. "At least that's how they always tell it. Once they graduated, the original plan was to move back east, but they both loved it so much here they decided to stay, instead. They moved in together, and eventually got married, and then they had me a few years later.” 

Wringing out her mop again, she bent to take the pail and empty it.

“Uh, where...?” she asked.

“Just outside the front door will be fine, beside the steps please,” Leonidas directed. 

Taking the pail to the door, she found the locking mechanism and undid it, then shoving the large wooden door open with quite a bit of force. It was far thicker and heavier than it looked, she wouldn't have been able to open it quickly even if one of her arms wasn't sore. 

She looked outside. She could just... leave. Slip neatly out the open door and make a break for it, maybe even get inside another business before anyone caught up to her. 

She hefted the pail up and splashed about three gallons of water into the hedges beside the steps. 

The longer she spent with the library's odd curator the more curious she became, not only about the library itself but also about those who kept it. 

How was Leonidas so strong that he could effortlessly lift a bookcase that must've weighed as much as a house, despite looking like he'd weigh maybe 150 lbs himself if he was sopping wet? And, turning to come back to the task at hand and catching him swiping at his nose and sniffling, probably catch a cold from it too. 

Ateya could tell he was trying to hide it, but he was shivering pretty constantly now. He snorted lightly and cleared his throat as she approached and set the pail back down, affecting an unbothered composure until in wringing out his own mop again he was unable to suppress a violent shiver from coursing through his frame.

“You chill easily, don't you?” Ateya asked. He fully glowered at her from behind his spectacles. 

“And how is that any of your concern?” he snipped. Ateya raised her hands placatingly.

“No, I just... thought that might be why you keep it so warm in here, that's all,” she said, not trying to offend 

“Why I.....?” he hesitated, seemingly puzzled for a moment before quickly covering for it and changing the subject. “Oh. Yes. It is, now can we move on? You were telling me about your parents. -skff!-”

Was there another reason that he kept it so warm? Something he was embarrassed by, judging by how quickly he wanted to drop the topic. It was Ateya's turn to be puzzled now. What on earth could he be so embarrassed by about keeping the heat turned up? 

“Yeah, sorry,” she said, allowing for it and returning to her work mopping the floor. “What else is there to say really? They moved in, they had me. Now I'm here.”

Leonidas sniffled again, budging at the tip of his nose with one wrist. He had more or less stopped mopping the place, not that Ateya could blame him. He looked near frozen just from having his hands in cold water for a few minutes. 

“You skipped over the middle bits,” he directed. “The parts between your being born and now.”

Ateya shrugged one shoulder.

“Nothing interesting,” she said, not looking up from her task. “My life is normally pretty boring. If it wasn't I would probably be off doing something else right now, and not...sneaking into forbidden libraries and getting apprehended by sniffly gargoyles.” 

Leonidas tilted his head and squinted, considering her carefully. 

“Nothing? Not a single story?” he challenged. “I find that hard to believe... Have you never accomplished anything? Studied anything? Gotten a scar, broken a bone? Was mine the first building you've ever broken into, am I just that lucky?” 

“Well–No? But– None of that's interesting,” she said. “I don't have any major accomplishments. I studied contract law, and now I'm a glorified secretary. I've never broken anything, and the only scars I have are from stupid stuff I did as a kid. Mostly climbing on things I wasn't supposed to and falling off them. And... No? But technically yes?”

Leonidas shook his head and crossed his arms.

“What do you mean, ‘no, but technically yes?’ Which is it?” he asked. 

“Well, mostly the buildings I've taken a look around in have been abandoned,” Ateya said, frustrated that this nosybody just wasn't getting it. There was nothing special about her. 

“Did you think the library was an abandoned building?” he accused, his eyes narrowing in offense.

“No! I just thought it looked cool!” Ateya defended. 

Leonidas snorted out a huffed breath, seemingly placated by the assessment. 

“Fine,” he said. “Fine, but there must be something you're interested in telling.”

“Telling you how my parents met wasn't enough?” she protested in response. 

“No. I want your story, how you'd tell it,” the snippy librarian insisted. “A secondhand, personal story told and heard a million times isn't the same thing. It's going to be missing details. It's going to be missing context. It is not of commensurate value to a personal first hand account told by you, to me, in person.” 

“Geez, okay,” Ateya said. This guy was passionate about stories. 

She thought over his prompts again, attempting to wring anything even minutely entertaining out of them. To Leonidas's credit, he let her think.

“I have a scar on my right elbow that I got trying to learn to parkour off my mother's couch when I was twelve,” she offered after a few moment's silence. 

“What happened?” the curator asked, suddenly calm and attentive. Ateya supposed this was an acceptable offering.

“I wasn't very good at parkour,” she answered. Leonidas did not seem very amused by her attempt at humor.

“Come now, what happened?” he prompted again. She sighed, and resigned herself to actually telling him. 

“Well, I was twelve, and I hadn't really learned how to judge distances yet. Or how to jump very hard,” she explained. 

“I wasn't like, being taught by anyone. I just tried whatever trick I thought would be cool to try next, you know?

One day, while my parents were out shopping, I was trying to master the fine art of leaping onto the back of the couch from the corner of the coffee table. 

I didn't jump high enough. 

The coffee table was like, behind the couch and off to the side for some reason? I don't remember why. But when I jumped I landed with my chest about a centimeter below where my feet were supposed to be. 

I bounced off like a rubber chicken, and I somehow lost all rubbery qualities seconds later when I hit the floor.”

Ateya paused, then, coming closer to bend and angle her arm in such a way that might allow Leonidas to actually see the scar that stretched over the flat space in front of her elbow. The scar was roughly the width and shape of a strawberry that had a large bite missing.

“I scraped most of the skin off on the carpet. I never told them how I got hurt. I just said I was playing and I fell,” she said. She paused, glancing up at the prissy librarian then as a realization dawned on her. “Actually, I don't think I've told anyone else about this. You're the only one who knows.” 

Leonidas's eyes sparkled with quiet delight in this knowledge, and he grinned in satisfaction. 

“Perfect,” he said. “And now that story lives here, with me. Thank you, that wasn't so hard now was it?” 

Ateya gave Leonidas a flat stare, and turned to go back to drying the floors. Leonidas disappeared back to his podium, flicking leisurely through the most recent few pages of his guest book while she worked. 

While she mopped, she would occasionally hear a series of snorts and snuffles from the room upstairs that made her worry about an encore performance undoing all the work she'd already done, but Ava seemed to be keeping decent control over themself for now. It probably helped that they were no longer being actively flicked in the nose. 

If Ateya felt at all bad about that, the feeling vanished every time she moved the wrong way and it pulled on how tender her arm still felt. 

About two and a half buckets of water later, and the mop she had was mostly just pushing loose droplets around the marble floor. 

“I think that's as good as I'm going to get this without a towel or something dry,” she said. The curator looked up from his guest book, peering at the work she'd done, assessing it. He flipped back to today's entries and gave a nod, coming out from behind his podium. 

“I'll take it from here,” he said. 

“So... do I go? Story told, floor mostly dry?” she asked. He leveled her with a flat look.

“No, you still need to go help Ava reshelve what you caused him to knock over, and then there's the matter of the search at the door before you leave,” he said.

“Fine,” Ateya submitted, handing the mop back to him. She grumbled quietly about not needing to be searched, and made her way for the nearest stairs to the catwalk. 

Ava was reshelving books with surprising grace and gentleness for someone so large and stony. They didn't look up from their work when Ateya came in, instead offering simple instructions while they worked.

“They're organized by subsection, then alphabetically by author last name,” they explained. “Start looking for author names beginning with K in that stack of books there. I've already taken care of A through J.” 

The displaced books were stacked neatly and carefully together by subsection on the various tables present in the room. Leonidas's work, most likely, the man seemed to take his collection very seriously. 

Ateya grabbed as many as she could with last name K from the stack indicated, only flinching and grunting a little when she forgot herself and nestled them in her left arm to carry back with her. 

Ava's gaze flicked to her, then back to the shelving. She stepped up beside them to start organizing alphabetically. 

“...I'm... sorry about your arm,” Ava said, after a few moments’ uncomfortable silence. “I wasn't trying to hurt you. I only meant to keep you from leaving before I could perform my duties.”

Ateya hadn't been expecting the unyielding gargoyle to apologize to her. They seemed sincere in it. She allowed the apology to sink in for a moment so she could accept it before replying. 

“You two take your jobs really seriously, don't you?” she said, hazarding a glance up at them. 

They hummed thoughtfully in response, giving a nod in consideration. 

“One might say that,” they allowed. 

A silence fell between them again as they worked, but it was more comfortable, almost companionable now. Occasionally it was punctuated by a wet snuffle from Ava, or some small direction when switching between subsections. 

It was hard not to stare at them between putting books back on shelves. 

Ateya had never beheld an actual, live gargoyle before. She felt a kind of awed curiosity over the way their stony form and features came to life with their movement; the quick twitch of their snout, the give and bob of their adam's apple when they swallowed, the shift of their muscles as they raised and lowered their arms. 

Then there were also their features, themselves. The way their snout smoothly transitioned into their cheek and the corner of their mouth. Both their horns and their pointed ears sat naturally on their head despite owing to two completely different animals. By all rights, Ava should have been grotesque with all the parts and pieces of various beasts combined together on them, but somehow everything worked together seamlessly, almost artfully. Nothing was haphazard or seemed out of place. 

If Ava noticed her staring, they didn't acknowledge it, too set on the task at hand. 

They did seem to be struggling with their snout though, and a pattern began to emerge as they worked, their snuffling increasing every time they needed to look down.

“If you want I can get the lower shelves,” Ateya offered, noticing this and taking mercy on them. 

Ava gave a small, grunting snort, that same oddly self-conscious look crossing their face momentarily. 

“If you wouldn't mind,” they said, carefully passing her an armful of books.

Getting everything back into place didn't take too long with both of them working  on it, the room wasn't cavernous and Ava hadn't knocked into every shelf on their way through. Ateya was surprised when the last book was placed and it was time to leave. 

“I'll see you to the door,” Ava said, gesturing back towards it. 

She looked around at the room one more time before leaving it. It was a shame she hadn't gotten to see more of the place. 

As Ava escorted her through the entryway, to the door, Ateya noticed the floor had been completely dried, and it was much warmer in the lobby than it had been before. Whatever secret reason the librarian kept the heat raised so high that definitely had nothing to do with the chill he'd taken on must have been responsible for that. 

As for the librarian himself, he was in one of the large sitting chairs in the lobby, reading one of the books usually shelved there. He glanced up as Ateya tried to say her goodbyes.

“Well, it's been nice meeting you,” she said, reaching for the door. 

“Search first,” Leonidas said, his eyes flicking back to the book he was reading as Ava helpfully kept a hand on the door to keep it shut.

Ateya's lips pressed into a line and she took a deep breath, sighing it out through her nose as she resigned herself to it. Rolling her eyes, she raised her arms out to her sides to allow Ava to inspect her.

She snorted, and coughed, and cleared her throat as the gargoyle patted down her sides.

Leonidas glanced up again.

“Are you hurting her, Ava?” he accused, an edge of surprised disapproval lurking behind the question.

“I'm being very gentle,” they assured him, pausing in their search nonetheless. 

Ateya chose not to be forthcoming. If these two could be cryptic and mysterious then she should be allowed as much, too.

“Just get the rest of it overwith,” she grouched, avoiding eye contact.

Hesitantly, Ava returned to their search, patting down Ateya's legs while she coughed and snorted and huffed.

Leonidas watched her carefully, squinting at her as the search completed.

“Did you find anything?” he asked Ava as soon as they were done.

“-sngffh!- No, boss, -sngkfh!- she's clear,” they confirmed, snuffling and snorting as they stood up.

Leonidas rose, setting his book down and stalking over to the two of them, eyeing Ateya curiously the entire way.

“What?” she demanded, crossing her arms as her cheeks grew hot under the scrutiny.

Leonidas said nothing. He circled her, appraisingly, and once he was out of her line of sight he reached out and pinched her side.

An unsuppressable giggle burst from her lips, and she smacked a hand over her mouth, stepping away as if the man was made of fire. 

He grinned, the same self-satisfied grin that had crossed his face when he'd finally gotten a story out of her earlier.

“She's ticklish,” he concluded, looking to Ava. “That's why she's been avoiding being searched.”

If Ava had any thoughts or judgements about this, it was impossible to read on their face. He gave Leonidas a single nod of acknowledgement. 

“Anyway, while I thank you for your story and your assistance in righting the mess you'd made of the place, it is still after hours, and I believe this marks your time to go,” the librarian said then, turning his attention back to Ateya. “You're free to leave.”

Ava helpfully opened one of the large wooden doors, as if to show her out.

Fuming and embarrassed, Ateya made for the door directly, but before passing through it she hesitated. 

Somehow, despite the chaos and the strangeness of the place, or maybe because of that, she didn't feel done with it yet. 

“Can I come back?” she asked, turning to Leonidas. “If I think of better stories to tell?” 

Leonidas tilted his head, considering.

“Why? What is it you're interested in seeing?” he asked in return.

Ateya opened her mouth to respond and closed it again, shaking her head.

“I don't know. This place just...” she said, glancing back and staring up at the many rooms and other floors she hadn't had the chance to see. “It intrigues me. I'd like to take a look around, if you'd accept me as an actual guest.”

Leonidas's lips pressed into a line as he considered this, his own arms crossing now over his chest as he hummed impatiently. 

“I don't usually allow free-roaming guests, much less ones who have a history of breaking the rules,” he said, squinting peevishly. “Most people approach with a specific topic in mind at least, if not an actual book they'd like to study or read.” 

To Ateya's surprise, Ava cleared their throat to interject, getting the librarian's attention. 

“Boss, if I could speak with you,” they requested. Leonidas looked at least as surprised as Ateya felt, but he acquiesced.

“One moment, please,” he said, stepping away with his gargoyle, the latter letting the door they'd been holding slowly close as they walked away. 

Ateya leaned against it while the two of them had a hushed conversation on the opposite side of the room, until she eventually got distracted and sneaked over to the librarian's guest book to snoop through it.

Her name was spelled right. Leonidas actually had really beautiful handwriting for someone as stuck up and tightly wound—

“Put that down,” he said. Ateya jumped and did as she was told. She hadn't even noticed him approach. 

He continued.

“Ava tells me you took very quickly to the classification system we've been employing here recently, and that you were quite respectful with the books,” he said.

“Okay...? and?” Ateya said, not sure what this had to do with anything. 

“And, we're still switching over from our old methods of cataloguing in many of the library's upper levels,” he continued, obviously perturbed at having been interrupted. He pushed on regardless. 

“You want to see more of the library. We could use the help. 

Frankly, most of our patrons don't take such an interest in the collection itself as a whole, most are here to study or read something in particular, as mentioned. 

Anyway, I propose something of a deal:

Your admittance, legitimate, only in the evenings and once Ava is present, on the grounds that you take nothing and submit to regular searches until proven trustworthy; in exchange for your assistance in reorganizing the stacks in the upper levels of the library's collection. 

In this way, you are permitted to see much of the rest of the building and gain an intimate familiarity with its contents, and we get an extra set of hands to make quicker work of an ongoing and extensive project.” 

Leonidas seemed quite pleased with his proposal, though Ateya had a few reservations. Just one, really. 

“If I have to be chaperoned by tall dark and minerals the whole time then why do I need to be searched so regularly?” she said. Leonidas's lips pressed back into a line and he huffed an irritable sigh through his nose.

“Ava may need to step away or have their back turned from time to time. They are a gargoyle, not a babysitter,” he said. “If you required such constant supervision as to render a period of regular searches unnecessary, then we'd likely fare better without your aid. Unless you don't believe you can go longer than ten minutes without getting yourself into trouble?” 

Ateya crossed her arms and thought it over. She didn't need to think very long. 

She really wanted to see the rest of this building, and she was now extremely curious about its two stewards. Being searched hadn't been too bad, anyway. She was ticklish, which was embarrassing and stupid, but Ava had kept it respectful and the entire search was done in less than two minutes. 

“Alright, fine. But I get to read anything I want,” she said. 

Leonidas sighed once more through his nose, exasperated. 

“You may read whatever you come across while reorganizing. Some areas of the library remain off limits and you may not read anything found there,” he specified. 

“And I get to pick which nights I come,” she added.

“Naturally,” was his response. 

Ateya's first inclination was to keep pushing for more, just to see what else she could get out of it, but she realized that there wasn't really anything else that she wanted that hadn't explicitly been addressed already to one degree or another. 

She stuck out her hand to shake. 

“You've got a deal,” she said. 

Leonidas shook on it. 

His hand was startlingly warm for a person who'd been so chilled so recently, and Ateya wondered if he hadn't in fact already gotten a cold from it—but he wouldn't have spiked a fever so suddenly, would he? 

“Good. I'll be seeing you whenever it is that you see it fit to return,” he said. “In the meanwhile, it has gotten quite late, and if I don't get some rest I'm going to be quite impossible to speak with tomorrow. Goodnight! Ava?” 

The gargoyle flew lightly back over and resumed their post at the door, opening it for Ateya to leave through. 

She paused once more just before stepping through the doorway, looking at them, briefly scanning their face for any inkling of why they'd stepped in and spoken up for her. 

She found nothing. They were completely unreadable. 

I JUST LOVE WHEN CHARS WENT MISERABLE/j. I think Sonic deserved to feel that way at some point, he went through literally alot--

Anyways! Check out the fict! Worth the read, its a fun ride each chapters. We hope you enjoy what we can present!!!!

Of course last but not least, biggg shoutout to my awsome partners in the work of fanfict! You guys are awsome with each talent, kind, and im glad to do this with you guys :D YALL SHOULD CHECK THEIR PARTS TOO!!!!

@bittydragon -> the awsome author of "Daylight Cycle" fict! To write such longg paragraph with lots of characters included too? Very admireable. Glad that i can make smthn for ur fict, ive always loved the idea RAHHH >>READ DAYLIGHT CYCLE<<