#tcf cale

OKOK SOSOSOSOSOOOO

I don't have any backstory BUT I do have a few thoughts on Scylla og!cale and og!choi han as Odysseus and crew<(not really anything on the crew because they'll just be canon fodder sooo)

When they're in the cave of Scylla or maybe just Cylla? Because Cale would be his name as a sea fairy<(I forgot how to spell the proper name... A nimf or something idk)

Uh

Oh right

I feel like cale(when the song kind of stops for the 6((or 5 I don't remember)) heads to hiss and appear and stuff if ykyk) would grab some gills that are right on his chest and pull them away to show his insides with like, idk ruby crystal dragon head to leave from, and all of his innards like his heart, lungs, and everything else is ruby, showing how his heart kind of turned to stone when he was transformed by Circe and he left guilt behind in order to survive

So like cale pulls his gills, and with them, his ribs follow and he just opens up his chest and stomach area!!

I think that's all... anyway the brain worms got me

I hope brain worms get you more often because I'M SAT

AND ALSO CRYSTAL DRAGONS AS THE SIX HEADS!?

that would be so cool to see~

Young master puppy and painter kitten

Next part and let see what Ron think of you 😏

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Ron found you… interesting.

When young master Cale suddenly marched you into the mansion like a proudly captured prize, Ron already sensed something was off about you. You weren’t what everyone would assume at first glance—yet he couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. A strange presence, a strange aura, a strange… everything.

At the same time, you were still undeniably a child.

And Ron—cold-blooded assassin, elegant butler, professional observer of human flaws—found himself mildly amused as you stared at him and his son with the widest, sparkliest eyes he had ever seen.

You looked like a tiny pilgrim meeting two holy relics.

Sketchbook hugged to your chest, pencil in hand, smudges of graphite already painting your fingers. Your other hand—currently trapped in Cale’s determined grip—was dirty as well, likely from all the rushing, drawing, and chaotic life decisions you’d made in the past 24 hours.

Ron made a mental note 'Clean both the young master hand… and yours. Thoroughly.'

Still, despite your starstruck expression and stained fingers, Ron did not overlook the details that truly mattered.

The sword at your side—small, but real, Your posture—straight, steady, practiced, Your steps—light, silent, trained, Your eyes—too observant for a normal noble child.

Everything about you was a contradiction: a messy-handed, awe-struck, artistic little gremlin… with the bearing of someone who had been taught to fight.

Ron smiled his usual gentle one. 

He was already wondering who you were—and whether you were dangerous.

Meanwhile, you were giving h glance once or twice at him thinking 'ohmygod he’s even hotter and scarier in person ohmygoddddd—'

.  .  . 

But you are not lying either about being an artist. The moment young master Cale dragged you into his room—still clutching your wrist like a tiny tyrant—he immediately demanded proof.

And oh, you delivered.

You plopped down on the floor, unrolling your sketchbook with the kind of reverence usually given to royal treasures. Cale practically vibrated in place, leaning so close his red hair brushed your arm.

“Let me see the next!” Cale ordered, eyes sparkling with raw, unfiltered eight–year–old excitement.

“Okay, okay—this one I just finished before you came,” you said, flipping the page with equal eagerness.

“Oooohhh!!! The scar is there!” Cale gasped, pointing at the detailed portrait of one of the guards you’d sketched along the way.

“Yup! Cool, right? (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)”

“HEY—that’s Lana! The bakery aunty!” he exclaimed, stabbing a finger at the next sketch.

“Oh? You know her?”

“Yeah! She makes—”

Cale immediately launched into a rant about pastries, cakes, and how Lana always gave him extra samples because he was “a respectable child”—you bit back the urge to laugh at that—while you flipped through more of your artwork.

Meanwhile, Ron, who had silently followed the two of you inside, watched the exchange from the doorway.

He said nothing, but his eyes took in everything.

He was impressed. Truly impressed. The clean, confident strokes, The accurate details from just single glances or The way your weirdly expressive hands moved—still slightly dirty from earlier travel, smudged with graphite yet holding the pencil with familiarity.

You were a curious case.

A child—yes.

But a child who hid something but also openly laughed and chatted with young master Cale like any ordinary kid.

And right now, both of you were sprawled on the carpet, flipping through page after page. 

“That’s the tailor who fixed my buttons!”

“That one is the nice old guy who sells apples!”

“Ooh! That man looks cool—where did you find him?”

Each comment from Cale only made you beam, and each drawing only deepened Ron silent curiosity.

When another butler came to the door, he bowed politely, voice soft but carrying through the room.

“Young Master, the Count and Countess have been informed. They would be delighted to have their portraits drawn. However, since it is nearly evening, they request the session be held tomorrow. They also hope to schedule a full family portrait.”

You blink, startled out of your art-nerd focus.

“Oh! Sure—yes, of course!” You hop to your feet, brushing stray pencil shavings off your clothes. “I should return to my inn then—”

Cale head snaps toward you. 

“What? You’re leaving already?” He looks genuinely offende. 

You freeze, hands halfway to your sketchbook.

‘Oh no. No no no— not the pout. I am weak to small red-haired children—’

The butler then continue " The count said that  you could stay here to as a guest. "

“Ron” Cale insists, tugging at Ron sleeve, “he’s staying here, right? He’s my painter.”

Ron lips curl into a mild, polite benign smile… which somehow feels like a threat and a gentle shove at the same time for you. 

'Is this how Cale (Kim Roksoo) feels every time Ron serve him lemon tea? ' you shiver a bit. 

“Young Master Cale is correct,” Ron says smoothly. “It would be inconvenient for you to travel back and forth. The Count and Countess would be pleased if you stayed in the mansion as a guest during this time.”

You panic a little.

“Oh—um—I already have a place to stay, actually—”

Ron cuts in instantly.

“We insist.”

That is NOT a suggestion. That is an assassin-butler decree from the heavens.

Cale turns those wide, sparkling brown eyes on you.

His hands clasp together. His lower lip wobbles.

“Stay. We haven’t even finished the rest of your drawings.”

‘I. AM. WEAK.’

You crumble like a sandcastle hit by a tsunami.

“…Okay.”

Cale shoots both arms up like he just won a kingdom. “YES!”

Ron, satisfied, nods approvingly.

“Excellent. But before dinner, both of you must wash your hands. Especially you, Young Master Cale.” Ron gives him that look—the ‘you’ve already touched dirt’ look. Then he turns to you. “You as well, young guest.”

You glance at your graphite-stained fingers and smudge-covered wrists.

“…Fair.”

The other butler quietly excuses himself after delivering the message, leaving Ron in charge. The assassin-butler gives one last glance between you and Cale—judging the dynamic, calculating the chaos potential—and seems deeming both of you manageable enough to leave unsupervised for a moment.

“I will fetch water,” Ron says. “Please wait here.”

He steps closer to you, surprisingly gentle.

“And allow me to take your belongings to your guest room.”

You hesitate, clutching your things like a traveling gremlin protecting its hoard.

“…Uh… are you sure? I—uh— some things are fragile.”

Ron smiles. Too smoothly for your liking. 

“I assure you, they will be safe.”

Well....If anyone could carry your stuff and protect it, it’s that scary butler. You breathe out, then carefully place your sword in his hands, followed by your spatial bag—after hurriedly stuffing all the scattered pencils, erasers, and papers back inside.

But one small pouch remains slung across your shoulder.

Ron notices.

“And that one?”

You hug it protectively.

“This one has… very important things. Personal. I’d rather keep it with me.” (It holds snacks. And maybe a few emergency potions and teleportation scrolls. But mostly snacks.)

Ron eyes glint with amusement, but he nods.

“Of course. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

With that, he gracefully leaves the room—your gear in hand—while Cale wiggles excitedly beside you, already chattering about which room he hopes you get because “the morning sunlight is best for drawing.”

You let out a deep breath

.

 . 

. 

Ron come back to and wash young master Cale hands before asking yours, the butler really found you amusing. You are scared of him despite didn't show it, but that little jump before doing as he told is enough for Ron. yet you still look at him with trust that he won't hurt you or that you seems like him. 

If Young master Cale is like a puppy, to Ron you are like a kitten. 

He's just so freaking adorable!!