#twstinginthewind

Marshall slid into the booth first, gently nudging the tabletop so he had space to move and breathe without an issue, and Mac promptly hopped in next to him on his left side, while his twin Wesson slid in to sit at Marshall's right. The diner was still relatively new, but recently it had made an addition with an arcade room, resulting in another boom in business. The trio had wanted to make it out for some time now, but through whatever combination of their collective absentmindedness, the diner's business boom, and the general tendency to just forget something when it wasn't in front of you, they hadn't. It was only their third time there, and it was entirely at PJ's and Hester's insistence they wanted to try it out.

"I dunno, boss, I gotta feeling the owner won't be too happy seein' us in our uniforms and them in theirs," Wesson remarked, his tone tense as he slowly glanced around them at the rest of the diner's interior. "Maybe this was a bad idea."

Wes had a valid point. The founder and owner of C&D was a Night Raven College alumnus, and while he certainly had nothing against serving students from Royal Sword Academy (money was still money, after all,) the generational hatred of RSA still ran deep. And given the trio hailed from NRC while PJ and Hester attended RSA…

"They might not be thrilled if they see," Marshall agreed quietly, "But it's not as if they can really afford to alienate their customer base for who they choose to sit with. They just dumped a bunch of money into the expanded space and the arcade games in it. Even if they get a slight boom to business for a handful of weeks, that's probably not gonna be enough to cover the cost of all that. Plus, if I have reason to complain about discriminatory treatment…"

He let his words trail off and it clicked for Wes, whose shoulders eased up…somewhat.

"Right, your dad can make life hard for 'em," he said, breath huffing out a little. "Good point."

Pleased, Marshall crossed his arms.

"And besides," he went on, "don't think anyone who sees us talking with them would assume we're friends, y'know. D'ya even think of them as friends, Wes?" Sensing Mac about to make a comment, Marshall's hand shot out and clamped over the vulture beastman's mouth. "Button your beak."

Wesson gave the question some thought, his expression uncertain and a touch conflicted. Eventually he gave a massive forward shrug with his slouched shoulders and said "'s complicated."

"Precisely," Marshall agreed, his ears giving a slight flick as he removed his hand from Mac's mouth. "Go ahead."

"Well I think of 'em as friends!"

This received nods from his twin and the wolf, but before either could offer comment, a server approached their table with a stack of menus.

"Ah, there'll be five of us in total," Marshall told them after they'd greeted the trio and started handing out the glossy menus. "We're just waiting on the other two members of our party to arrive."

"So just drinks for now?" the server asked, placing down two additional menus and retrieving a pad and pen from their waist apron.

When the server left again, the boys sat back and resorted to their usual activity of people-watching. One vulture stared at nothing and nobody in particular, his gaze somewhat dreamy in a pleasantly content way as he bobbed his head on occasion to some rhythm only he knew. His twin opposite scrutinized every inch of the diner he could see with a slow, careful sweep of the eyes, and the wolf's attention seemed to jump around in a bored fashion that was belied by the shifting motions of his ears. There was never any prior discussion to this activity when it occurred; the three had simply been on a wavelength for so long with one another that the people-watching was something near-automatic.

And when PJ and Hester arrived, they knew at once.

Granted, it did help somewhat that the Royal Sword Academy uniform stood out with glaring dazzle. The crisp whiteness of it was hard to miss, even from their secluded spot.

"They made it!" Mac exclaimed. He stood slightly, waving an arm to get their attention, though it was a moment or two before they caught sight of the table. Unsurprisingly, PJ's eyes narrowed and he barely managed to put on a dignified air as he all but stomped over to them. Hester, expression unreadable, slithered behind him dutifully.

"You could have waited and let me have first choice of seating," he snapped, crossing his arms.

"Get here first next time, Percy~," Marshall returned in a poisoned-honey voice.

PJ glowered at the nickname but any correction he was used to giving was forestalled by Hester patiently offering, "You can always choose which of these two seats you'd like, sir."

"Mmnnh." The noise was audible even through a closed mouth as PJ dropped into the seat nearest Mac. Hester had barely settled herself in the chair next to him when PJ started reaching across the table and grabbing numerous objects, pulling them towards him and setting them up like he was forming a blockade wall.

"Sir?" Hester prompted, tone puzzled.

"A necessary precaution," he insisted, throwing a suspicious glance at Mac, who only smiled back at him in the oblivious way he had.

Hester raised a brow but didn't press the issue. Silently, the trio shared a mutual thought that she must already have gotten used to some of PJ's quirks if she accepted this so quickly. That was good; this was the first time they were really getting to actually see how she was around PJ in a more relaxed fashion, and the way she was rolling with what he threw at her hopefully meant she'd gel well enough with them all as a unit.

The server came by again, having spotted them taking the chairs, and took their drink order before hurrying off to fill it. PJ immediately went for the menu, but Hester took a moment to look around, her brow furrowing. When the server returned in seconds with their drinks and asked if they needed a moment or so to order, she finally picked up a menu and started to study it.

"It seems they have quite a variety of options to choose from," she remarked, in the tone one might use when politely describing something as alarmingly haphazard.

"Oh, we ain't picky!" Mac volunteered.

"Food is food," Wes agreed.

Hester's brow furrowed even deeper as she glanced from one twin to the other before looking over the menu again.

"Eugh, they serve coffee here twenty-four-seven? And they dare to call it artisanal?" PJ said, curling his upper lip in disgust.

"It's not," Marshall declared. "The quality isn't the worst I've had but apparently you can buy high-end cold brew and espresso machines and claim that makes the coffee better or artisanal or whatever."

"Your sacrifice for the rest of us is noted Eton, though I'm not sure I respect it in this case."

"Watch it Percy, I can still take you outside and hunt you for sport."

"Are you two always sniping at each other like this?" Hester asked in a too-pleasant voice, lowering her menu so her eyes could flick between the lion and the wolf.

"Since the day we met," Wesson confirmed, setting down his own menu.

"Yeah, 's how they show they're friends!" Mac chimed in, getting very mild but immediate denials from both PJ and Marshall.

"Hardly."

"Never in my entire life!"

Mac then beamed at Hester, clearly feeling his point had been proved. She only winced back at him like she'd suddenly had a headache come on.

The server returned abruptly to take their orders, prompting Mac and Wes to speak up and give the others time to finish deciding. Marshall was right behind them with his order, and the twins watched him closely before their eyes zeroed in on Hester as she ordered, then PJ. For once, the young lion didn't seem bothered to be served last, and took his time asking a few questions and being particular about his choice and how he wanted it made.

The Nightwatch twins didn't stop staring at him the entire time, eyes gleaming as he described the food he wanted.

As the server collected their menus and prepared to leave, Marshall spoke up again, his voice sweet and apologetic.

"I'm so sorry, is it possible for us to also get an additional large basket of the steak fries and jalapeño cheese dip?"

"Of course, sir. Would you like that as an appetizer or with—"

"With the rest of the food, please. Thank you!"

The server left again, and Hester turned a quirked eyebrow to the wolf.

"An extra large basket of fries?" she prompted.

"It's absolutely necessary," he insisted. "You'll see."

There was a low hum from PJ, who was finally looking around with a blatant expression of disdain. His eyes were half-lidded, unimpressed, as his nose started to crinkle in the middle.

"I didn't think it would be so…" He paused, lip curling up again. "Squirrel-themed. There are squirrels and chipmunks everywhere."

Hester took the opportunity to glance around them as well, taking in the patterns on the ceiling, floor and the various chairs and tables. "And acorns and leaves and fur patterns," she added. "I knew there were the mascots outside but this is somewhat overboard."

"Can't focus on it too much or my skin crawls," Wesson remarked. "Not to mention it gets hard on the eyes, it's too colorful."

"Really??" Mac looked at his brother in open surprise. "I think it's fun."

The phrase "of course you do" was chorused around the table between Wes, Marshall and PJ, at once expressed with exasperation and yet a sort of long-term, well-cultivated patience. Hester noted this, then looked up at the ceiling once again, a pensive frown on her face.

"Well, clearly there's some sort of reason behind the theme," she began.

"Children's story," Wes supplied.

"'Boutta coupla squirrels who go on adventures and get upta mischief!" Mac added. "Pretty sure we read it as kids. Those mascots sure do look an awful lot like some o' the pictures in book, don't they, Wes'n?"

His twin shrugged. "Don't remember the book too well, just the cartoon. But I guess so, yeah." He seemed distracted, and just as quickly as he'd answered, he went back to looking around suspiciously, like he was waiting for someone or something to cause a problem.

"Of all the things for a diner theme…" PJ scoffed. "And from a Night Raven College alumn? Strange choice."

"I don't disagree, sir," Hester said, picking up a straw wrapper and starting to fold it absently as she looked at him. "If you're dissatisfied, we could leave."

"We just ordered, we can't leave now."

"As you say, sir."

Both vultures looked at them with unusual focus and anticipation when they'd said that, but resumed their usual postures with rapidity, and Mac even looked a little crestfallen.

"You don't like Crisp 'n' Dips?" he asked in a wounded voice, like this was personally on the verge of breaking his heart. Surprisingly, PJ did seem a bit awkward at that, and focused on swirling the ice in his glass with his straw.

"I- no, I'm not- I don't…" he stopped himself, inhaled deeply through his nose, and let it back out as he said, "It's just new, that's all."

Marshall hummed a little at that, nodding his assent. "Takes a bit of getting used-to," he said. "Food's not bad though."

"It better be decent," PJ said warningly, before glancing back at one of the larger decorations of the squirrels. "At least there's no animatronics… I'm not sure I'd have come here if there were."

"Me either," Marshall agreed.

"Of course not," Hester said primly, holding her chin a little higher. "I think we can all agree that we're all a little too old for that sort of thing." When none of them made a move to agree, she squinted at them. The silence stretched a little further, and she said somewhat testily, "We're all a little too old for restaurants with animatronic mascots, aren't we?"

"We're plenty too old," Marshall agreed quickly, folding his arms. "And we're plenty too used to breaking them."

"Exactly, we're all— Wait, breaking them?"

"It's a long story."

"We got banned for life!" Mac said, absolutely delighted. "Ain't that somethin'?"

"From where?" Hester asked in alarm.

"How was I s'posed to know the skee ball would go kamikaze?" Wesson grumbled.

"That was impressive, to be fair," PJ mused. "I've never seen a skee ball fly like that."

"Where were you all banned from?!"

"Hey, I didn't throw the second one, that was all boss!" Wesson said, pointing a fast finger at Marshall.

"Put that hand down, it's a lethal weapon," Marshall huffed, pushing the accusing finger away. "An' anyhow, I only threw one to keep the other damn mascot from fallin' on Mac. Didn't have an impressive flight path like yours."

"But where—"

"Far more destructive though," PJ said.

"Wuz only tryin' t' help the poor thing after Wes'n hit it," Mac explained. "I don't think those ma'tronics should go crunch like that."

"I'm never getting the answers to this, am I," Hester muttered, pulling at her face.

"Our dads took care of the mess afterwards," Marshall said. "So it's fine, doesn't matter."

"Yeah, but now I can't touch a skee ball without wonderin' if I'm gonna hit a person this time," Wes grumbled. "The stupid robot was bad enough."

"Eh, as long as you stay away from the skee ball here, I think we'll be fine." Marshall punctuated this with a pat on Wesson's back that didn't seem to reassure him all that much.

Hester, having recovered with incredible speed, shook her head and waved a hand dismissively. "I suppose the details are unimportant, given we'll never go to the place," she said mostly to herself, before looking between all the boys. "Are there any other ill-fated escapades of yours I should know about?"

They all exchanged a look, and eventually Marshall asked, "Uuhhhh…which one you want us to start with?"

Nothing could have prepared the naga for this, and as she struggled to come up with any sort of response, the server returned with a massive tray of food.

"Alright everyone, we have our new limited time chicken piccata pasta—"

"Ooh, yes, that's mine, thank you," PJ said, eyes lighting up as he gently took the plate and settled it behind his blockade.

"One of our signature Crisp 'n' Dips burgers with smoky honey mustard sauce for the onion rings—"

"Well thanks!" Mac said, beaming as he happily accepted his plate.

"A Reuben with extra fries—"

Hester lifted her hand, then offered a sincere thanks as she accepted the plate, set it before her, and immediately started reaching for the hot sauce.

"The honey bourbon gourmet burger—"

"Ah, wonderful, thank you!" Marshall reached for his plate, ears going right up in excited anticipation.

"And the second C&D burger, with no sauce for the onion rings—"

"Thanks, 'preciate it," Wes said as the plate was handed to him.

"And," the server finished triumphantly, lifting a large basket off the massive tray and setting it neatly on the table before Marshall, "the extra fries with jalapeño cheese sauce."

"Oh, perfect!" The wolf's eyes lit up then as he clapped his hands together and turned a broad smile on the server. "This is great, we're all set!"

Dismissed, the server left, and Marshall immediately lunged, hands closing over the handles of the large, serated knives stuck in each of the twins' burgers. "I'll just be taking these, thanks."

Each of them squawked, defensively reaching to protect their burgers as the knives were pulled free and carefully wiped off and set aside. There was little other ceremony as the party began to dig in, each eager to finally have the late lunch they'd planned.

"Whew, the onion rings are fresh!" Wes said on an exhale, waving a hand in front of his mouth. "Good mix of crunchy outside 'n' tender inside though."

"Yer missin' out, Wes," Mac said, waving an onion ring he'd already taken a bite out of before dipping it back into the sauce. "This's some pretty tangy stuff, real savory-like!"

"I'm good," Wes said, before biting into the massive burger he had and letting out a sound of approval. It took him a moment to chew and swallow before letting out another exhale, the corners of his mouth giving the slightest upward curve, and he declared, "Gotta be the best burger I've had in a while."

"Did you not get that the last time you were here?" PJ asked, only mildly surprised when both twins shook their heads. "Ah, I suppose I should have expected you two would be working your way through the entire menu gradually."

"Speakin' o' workin' our way through the menu," Mac said, leaning around a little bit to try to catch a glimpse of PJ's plate, "how's that fancy-soundin' pasta?"

Having finished cutting bite-sized pieces, PJ speared one with a fork, wrapped some of the pasta around it with a twirl, and popped it into his mouth. As he took several chews, the lines of his face relaxed into something content, and the hint of a smile started to form.

"Perfect balance of acidity from the lemon and the smoothness of the butter," he announced. "The chicken's tender but not undercooked; perfectly juicy."

Hester, apparently relieved at this declaration, turned to look at the sudden movement in her peripherals, and saw Marshall completely ignoring the fries on his own plate to grab one from the additional basket.

"What's the point of that?" she asked with a frown, and as Marshall blinked at her, she saw two wiry arms on either side of the wolf slip in and steal fries off his plate.

"What's the point of what?" he said, before biting into the fry, seeming to notice something wasn't quite right…

And then going "Ah, right, I should try the cheese dip."

He turned the fry around, reached to scoop it into the cheese, and those wandering hands shot out to steal more fries off his plate. Marshall seemingly didn't notice a thing, and he sat back and popped the rest of his fry, now with a light coating of the sauce, into his mouth and chewed, ears twitching. Hester looked from him to one twin and then the other, both of them making deer-in-headlights eye contact as the ends of stolen fries disappeared into their mouths.

Realizing now that the remark earlier had been in total sincerity and struggling to decide whether Marshall was clever or just complacent enough to work around the fact the twins would steal off his plate, she quickly grabbed the hot sauce again and resumed slathering her fries in it. Perhaps it would be a deterrent.

She made eye contact with Wes, who deliberately looked at her fries, then back at her with a wry expression.

Perhaps not.

Squinting, she didn't take her eyes from him as she lifted the Reuben and took a bite, then let out a hum. "Ah…that does hit the spot."

A hand started to inch towards one of her drowned fries and she primly swatted at it, not entirely surprised that next to her, PJ was giving Mac a death glare that had him retreating with the fork he'd somehow found and was wielding. Both the twins were preparing to regroup, and glanced towards Marshall's plate again, but were forced to wait as he bit into his burger and started to chew. His eyes fluttered shut and he let out a sound of immense satisfaction as he chewed, and the twins found their opening to snatch more fries off his plate. He was just swallowing the bite when Wes leaned a little closer to him.

"Hey boss, uh, how's— how's the burger?"

Marshall's eyes cracked open and he let out a low, closed-mouth growl of warning.

"I assume that means it's good," PJ remarked, tone just a touch snide.

"It's amazing," Marshall corrected, his face a brief portrait of bliss before he glared again. "And if you wanna try it, get your own."

"Alright, okay," Wes said, holding up a hand to show he was no threat, while across from him Mac proceeded to steal another four fries from Marshall's plate. "We'll try it next time."

Marshall huffed through his nose, apparently content to leave it at that, before taking another fry from the extra basket. The late lunch proceeded this way for a handful of minutes, the talking kept to a minimum as the five ate at a relatively moderate pace, and vulture hands were either disregarded or warded away depending on what direction they snuck in. Eventually it was PJ who, having finished the majority of his plate by that point, slowed down and brought up serious conversation again.

"Now, as I'm sure the three of you know, it's crucial that despite the strained relations between our schools, we maintain our allyship as much as possible," he began.

Hester turned to him, evidently curious to hear his reasoning, but didn't miss the way Marshall's eyes flashed and locked onto them. He offered no commentary however, and the lion proceeded as though entirely unaware of the reaction.

"Presently, my major focus is going to be elevating my status and social standing at Royal Sword, which Hester will be assisting me with." He paused for a moment and a dark look came over his face that the other four had come to learn was often associated with thoughts of his older half-brother and the resulting inferiority complex. "It is…far more difficult to make and maintain friendships and useful connections than I anticipated."

"Oh I dunno 'bout that," Mac said, kicking his feet back and forth beneath the table. "I got plenty o' friends! Makin' friends is pretty easy!"

"Is it?" his twin asked dryly, and PJ threw him an appreciative glance.

"Not for everyone," the lion beastman said, and beneath the undercurrent of frustration and jealousy, was perhaps the barest hint of vulnerability there as well. Hester nodded along, both for him and for herself. Being a naga came with a number of disadvantages, and among them was a degree of prejudice worse than what was usually aimed at snake beastfolk.

Another attempted sneak attack with a fork broke the tension, and PJ yanked his plate out of reach, then proceeded to clear his throat and continue, "Which is why I want you three to use your connections in Night Raven to potentially secure me additional allies as I make my way up in the world." He punctuated this by setting his plate back down and resuming eating.

If either of the twins had any thoughts about this, they didn't get a chance to voice them before Marshall let out a pointed hum, the sound indicating he was thinking about it and heavily considering shutting down the possibility. As Wes and Mac looked to their de facto leader, Marshall was examining his nails and not even bothering to look in PJ's direction as he replied curtly, "And what if I say no~?"

Hester blinked, not having expected this response from what little she'd seen and heard of the Pomefiore junior so far, and PJ's expression turned dark as he looked at Marshall.

"Eton…"

Marshall turned his hand around, still examining his nails without looking at either of the RSA students. "Don't get me wrong, Percy," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "I know how much you stand to gain if you can get a foot in and make more connections by proxy at NRC, and wouldn't that just be somethin', that, doing what big brother never could." His eyes finally flicked to PJ, who gave a slight squirm, and he went on, "Why I bet you could easily gain better respect 'n' notoriety than him if you did."

Mac nodded enthusiastically at this, and even Wes seemed to consider it and silently agree.

"But the real trouble with this is," Marshall sighed dramatically, sitting back in his seat and plucking up his drink again, idly tilting it in one hand before he looked pointedly across the table and cooed, "I still haven't heard…what's in this…for Marshall and the boys~."

PJ choked, his face turning an interesting myriad of colors as he appeared to process that he hadn't thought about leading with an incentive for the trio, and now he would be scrambling to find a way to entice them.

"He can pay you, of course," Hester began, trying hard to insert herself and smooth this out, but PJ was already shaking his head and muttering "That won't work" even as Marshall struggled to hold back a laugh, his face lighting up with amused mockery.

"Please! Pay us?" he said, a few laughs slipping free despite his attempts to hold it in. "What a pedestrian answer! Come on now, I know you can do better'n that!"

Hester frowned, leaning back in her chair, and PJ started to massage his temples, letting out a quiet groan.

"Ya gotta be creative!"

"Thank you, Macadamia, for the reminder," PJ muttered.

"Hard to be creative without a direction to work in," Hester pointed out as Marshall took another bite of his burger, and the wolf gave her a flat, unimpressed look.

"'M not gonna hold your hand through this one," he said, covering his mouth as he spoke around his food, before chewing some more and taking another tremendous swallow. "You want us to flex any connections we have for your benefit, you gotta make it worth our time. Quid pro quo. An' don't start with the whole 'oh we'll all share in the glory when PJ's made it big' angle, that's no more appealin' than it was every time he's brought it up in the last several years."

Hester glanced at PJ, who winced and looked at her sheepishly for the briefest instant, and she realized exactly why he insisted she would handle negotiations better. Talk about having set himself up with the odds not in his favor. And these were supposed to be some of his childhood friends. How much worse would it be if they didn't have that connection?

The naga glanced between the bird beastmen, trying to calculate, and PJ immediately let out a sigh, adding, "I can see what you're thinking, Hester, and that won't work either."

"I haven't even said anything, sir."

"You didn't need to. Unfortunately, these two nimrods answer to him before anything and anyone else. Assuming they ever answer to anything and anyone else."

Marshall's expression grew more and more smug and self-assured, as Mac let out a chipper, "Ayup! Sure do!" and Wes shrugged and said, "He's the boss", before leaning a little closer to Marshall and whispering, "Nimrod's an insult, right boss?"

Hester let out a groan of exasperation. "Come on, gentleman, surely there's something you want that we can help provide."

Marshall only let out snort and leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. Wes gave another shrug, apparently unbothered or genuinely unable to think of anything. Mac actually seemed to give it a moment's consideration, which apparently was a very difficult thing to do, judging by the confusion on his face, before he bounced his shoulders in a much lighter shrug than his brother's and announced, "Nope! Couldn't think of a thing!"

Other customers were moving about in the diner, and as the NRC trio continued to work on their food and the RSA duo put their heads together to try to brainstorm anything, the conversation lulled a minute. And then suddenly Marshall's posture changed and his face settled into something wary and suspicious as he started to sniff.

"Boss?" Wes asked, looking to him in mild alarm.

"I smell a fox," Marshall said in a low voice.

"A fox?" Hester asked, and even PJ locked in, eyes narrowing.

"Yeah, somewhere near," Marshall said, taking another sniff as he proceeded to glare in a slow pan around the place. "Familiar, too…"

The Nightwatch twins turned from him to one another, and they proceeded to follow his lead, clearly taking this as indication of some manner of threat. The whole thing seemed ridiculous enough to be laughable, but as even PJ scooted his chair back a few inches to get a better vantage point, Hester found herself taking this more seriously. Clearly there was something happening, and they had to be ready for it.

A sudden commotion at the front of the restaurant startled them and drew their collective attention, and they tried to lean in that direction to get a better look. But the more they tried to listen, the more they just heard a few people arguing about squirrels. The tension broke again.

"What about the squirrels?" PJ muttered. "Yes, it's a bit garish and gaudy and overly cute, but it's not as if they're real."

"People often lay the blame in odd places when they overreact to things, sir."

They all turned back to their table…and paused, staring at the sudden gap.

"Mac," Marshall said carefully, not looking up from the now-vacant spot dead center in the tabletop. "What did you do with the extra fries?"

The basket was, undeniably, gone.

"Well gee, sir," Mac said, looking baffled. "I'm not sure. I don't even know what I dun with 'em."

Marshall let out a tired, grumbling sigh and shook his head. "It's fine," he declared. "I've heard rumors before that this place has dealt with food vanishing off the tables without warning. Guess they're still dealing with it."

None of them noticed, now several tables away and free of getting sussed out by the wolf he had beef with, a fox beastman curling into a corner booth out of sight. A broad grin on his face as he glanced back at their table, Bobbi St. Robins was careful to angle himself out of sight so nobody spotted his C&D uniform while he was still waiting around for his shift to start. Phone in one hand to text his friend Jax, Bobbi dipped one of the fries generously into the cheese sauce, savoring the bite as he snacked.

This part-time job was proving to be better by the day.

Stolen food always tasted better, and some part of him hoped those five would come by again and bring their inattentiveness and distractability along. Marshall Eton, after all, owed him a stolen lunch with years of accumulated interest, and the others had a variety of taste in their orders that maybe he could try the entire menu without ever having to pay a sorcent. Mood vastly improved, he whistled merrily between bites.

Dividers used found here and here

Taglist: @elenauaurs @inmateofthemind @ramshacklerumble @tixdixl @winterweary

@distant-velleity @rainesol @thehollowwriter @theleechyskrunkly @twst-migraine

@ceruleancattail @squidwen @thecosmicjackalope @vaporvipermedia @writing-heiress

@oya-oya-okay @k-looking-glass-house @thehollowwriter @rainesol @cyn-write

@heartscrypt @br3adtoasty @jackiecronefield @ruggiethethuggie

@hoboyherewego @achy-boo @oreoskys @oseathepebble @oathofoaks

@tunabesimpin @hamstergal @fumikomiyasaki @valse-a-mille-temps

@hallowed-delights @kimikitti @cyanide-latte @thetwstwildcard @atwstedstory

@comingyourlugubriousness @ice-cweam-sod4 @twst-the-night-away @nammanarin @scint1llat3

Feat. Joker Carder, @twstinginthewind 's OC

When trying to come up with an OC for the Lover's card, I honestly couldn't think of a better OC to depict the card than the Lover herself- Joker Carder. Those who know Joker knows this girl is shipped to everyone under the sun and wants nothing more than to put a smile on everyone's face around her. Though she has massive imposter syndrome, if there is one thing she does better than anyone in NRC, it's connecting with people. And for a card all about connection? Joker just makes sense.

And additional transparency, this was the card Nette also picked for her when I asked about OCs and tarot months ago. So it truly was a win-win situation. I reached out to Nette and asked her who she would prefer I depict Joker with of her ships, and she said that the OG would make the most sense. I then asked what they did together to bond with each other, and I immediately had this mental image when she told me that the two of them love cooking together.

While this card is far lighter in rendering than my previous tarot cards, I'm still happy to see this done and ready.

🎶🎶🎶

Tag list: @ramshacklerumble @the-trinket-witch @cyanide-latte @inmateofthemind @elenauaurs

@twst-the-night-away @sunsmilu @theleechyskrunkly @thehollowwriter @twistedwonderlandshenanigans

@oseathepebble @cyn-write @twstchaos @starry-night-rose @tinyvirgodoodle

As expected, PJ looked up at him, eyes still wide with alarm even as his brows narrowed.

"Don't be ridiculous," the lion beastman huffed, crossing his arms. "There was obviously a small mistake made, the twins can have that…that goop."

"Oh! Well, don't mind if I—" Mac Nightwatch began, only for Marshall to give him a quick rap on the knuckles without looking away from PJ.

"No, I don't think so," the wolf beastman cooed. "Mighty generous of you, sure, but I wanna see you show a little nerve, Percy."

"It's PJ, and absolutely not!" The RSA sophomore snapped. "I won't eat that!"

Wesson Nightwatch glanced at Marshall, then carefully attempted to reach out a hand for the green paste, only to get rapped on his knuckles as well.

"What's stopping you~?" Marshall asked, tone poisonously sweet in that way he adopted when he was up to no good. "It's just a little bit of horseradish, mustard oil and green food coloring. It's not actual wasabi. The real stuff is way more intense."

"Every ingredient you listed is still disgusting."

"Why, 'cause it has a flavor?"

"Pain isn't a flavor, Eton!"

"Ffftt, not with that attitude!"

This last retort gave PJ a moment of pause, prompting him to pull a face, and eventually he let out a hissing whisper of "You, have, issues." Drawing himself up regally in his seat, he said at a normal volume, "You cannot make me."

The Nightwatch twins both lifted their eyebrows at this, then turned to the wolf, waiting to see how he responded. It was only natural, really; they were vultures, and this was headed very quickly towards someone dying in hyperbole. Marshall's grin returned, broader now.

"I dare you to eat it. On the nigiri."

Already PJ was rolling his eyes and letting out another scoff, unimpressed.

"Please, you think something so childish is going to make me more inclined to put that unholy vileness in my mouth? No. Come on now, Eton," he added, his withering expression edged with mock pity, "I gave you credit for being smarter than that."

This wasn't a deterrent, PJ realized almost immediately. He'd spent enough years (and misadventures) around Marshall now to recognize that particular glint in the wolf's eye.

"Oh? Is our marvelous up-and-coming young leader scared of a little horseradish?" Marshall challenged, tilting his head to better look down on his childhood playmate. "Too chicken to do a harmless little dare from his ol' buddy? Why, I thought one of those tenets they value over at your fancy, glittering school was bravery. Wes, Mac, did I hear that wrong?"

"Nope," Wesson said quickly. "That's one of their big ones."

"Bravery in the face of any situation!" Mac happily clarified, earning a scowl of betrayal from PJ.

"Ooh!" A sense of fiendish glee danced in Marshall's chest. Trust Mac to have picked up the perfect little tidbit to use against PJ in this exact moment. Just a liiiiittle more pressure on that front… "What would your classmates think if they saw you afraid of a little bit of food~?"

PJ opened his mouth to respond, probably to refute the possibility, when Hester surprised them all by finally speaking up and answering, "Why, they'd all offer some very well-meaning encouragement to try it."

The lion bristled slightly, clearly feeling a little bitter. "And it'd be pointless," he hissed, "because I won't do it."

Marshall started clicking his tongue, disappointed. "Oh Percival-Percival-Percival, no wonder you've had so much trouble making friends and connections at Castle Spit-shine."

That landed a blow. The wince on PJ's face said plenty about how he didn't stop to think about the way his spoiled standoffishness might turn away the very people he wanted to connect with. Really, he should have been with them at NRC. But, true nature notwithstanding, he was still sitting there in his perfectly crisp, blindingly dove-white uniform, and it was begging Marshall to just keep twisting the screws until PJ broke.

"Maybe we should get some of 'em to cheer you on," Wes suggested, snatching a spring roll from Marshall's plate that he pretended he didn't see.

"We already got Hester!" Mac pointed out, grabbing what had to be his third egg roll so far.

"Oh, swell! Good job boys!" Marshall said, delighted the twins were already singing backup for him before he could utter a word. PJ looked at them all with revulsion, then turned to Hester as they watched.

"Hester, please, you wouldn't—"

"It wouldn't kill you," the naga said acidly, "to try something new. To have any variety in your diet. It could even make you more impressive. Look, even the twins have variety in their diets."

"They're walking garbage disposals, they don't count," PJ retorted, despite Mac and Wes straightening in pride.

"You say that, but they're still more impressive than you, so who's really winning here?" Marshall said in a fast mutter, and as PJ glared at him again, he gave the lion his most innocent look and continued, "Ah-hum, what's it really gonna hurt, Percy, trying a little bit of horseradish? You don't even have to eat the whole thing, just take some and spread it on the nigiri, give it a try. You'll get to save face in that perfect pretty white uniform~."

The glare eased a bit as PJ glanced down somewhat doubtfully, and Marshall leaned forward, propping his chin on his fist.

"Go on," he said. "Try it."

"Can't hurt, right?" Wes added.

"We believe in you!" Mac said cheerfully, and it was clearly working well enough that Marshall didn't bother to contradict the statement.

PJ's ears had slumped down as he looked at the horseradish, his mouth a quivering, anxious line. His hands gripped the edge of the table, his nails just starting to worry at the tabletop, and his shoulders hunched a little higher.

"I could recite the Royal Sword tenets and values," Hester murmured, but PJ was tilting his chin to the side. Seeing something like the light of impending defeat in those eyes, Marshall glanced at Hester, hoping she caught the significance of his expression, before he looked back at PJ and decided to give those screws one last really good twist.

"Ricky can't do it."

The words had the effect of a silent shockwave at the table as Marshall felt three pairs of spectating eyes lock onto him in surprise, and PJ's gaze flicked up and met his.

"What." PJ said, the word a flat thing in his mouth as something flickered in his expression.

"You heard me," Marshall said, planting his other fist on his hip for emphasis and willing his face into an utterly unimpressed look. "Last Yuletide where all our families got together, I heard the moms talking again. Guess your perfect big brother gets all squeamish and dodgy around dips and condiments."

This was complete and almost total bullshit, of course, as the exact discussion had been Marshall's mom gently pouting that Ricky wouldn't try the chili dip she'd made, which Marshall figured was actually a fair move, given that his mother didn't seem to grasp the concept of chili, much less how to make dip of any kind, forget something that combined the two. And the conversation had briefly turned to the fact Ricky Plantagenet was a bit selective with his choice of condiments and dips, though it had moved on quickly. Still, the best lies had a ring of the truth to them, and when something crackled in PJ's gaze as he looked at the plate again, Marshall could sense that there was enough truth their old playmate was filling in on his own. Perfect! Let him do the rest of the work to sell himself the lie~.

The wolf turned to the naga then, making deliberate eye contact and lifting a brow, and Hester turned to PJ with such a snapping movement it set her bobbed hair swinging, her face darkening with an intense look that seemed to mask a vicious glee. It made the fur along Marshall's spine bristle, and he was suddenly, immensely grateful Hester was a friend.

"You don't have to make big, grand gestures to compete with your brother, sir," she said, voice frighteningly smooth and encouraging, offering him a small knife hilt-first. "Sometimes it's best to start with the smaller things."

They were all leaning in now, and PJ looked from the knife to Wesson, to Mac nodding excitedly, to Marshall. He offered him an expectant, patient smile.

"Nobody's sayin' you gotta like it, Percy," he pointed out. "You just gotta try it."

Inhaling sharply, PJ grabbed the knife, dipped it into the horseradish, and proceeded to slather a surprisingly generous amount on the smallest piece of nigiri on his plate. And then before any of them could so much as consider remarking on that small miracle, he snatched it off the plate, squinched his eyes shut, and popped the entire thing in his mouth, prompting a chorus of "Whoa!"

And then his eyes opened as he started to chew, blinking in some surprise. He even forgot his manners long enough that he tried to speak around the mouthful, saying, "Hey, this isn't so—"

Only to immediately freeze as his eyes widened and he made a sharp exhale through his nose.

"Ooh, there it is!" Marshall couldn't hold the comemnt back as he watched with no small amount of amazement as PJ, the intensity of the horseradish finally hitting him, managed to actually not spit the food out. In fact, the lion boy continued to impress his companions as he began frantically chewing amid small whimpers of distress, eventually reaching a point where he was able to swallow some of the nigiri.

"He did it!" Wesson exclaimed, looking fairly impressed.

"Here," Mac said, pushing one of the sweeter drinks to PJ as they watched him continue to work on chewing and swallowing without choking in the process. "They say sweet drinks are s'posed to help. Right, sir?"

This last was addressed to Marshall, who beamed and clapped his hands as PJ seized the drink and started to guzzle it. "Alright, PJ! Nice one, man, you did it!"

He received a glare in response to this as PJ finished off the drink and set the glass down with a heavy thump. But whatever furious remarks he might have made vanished from the lines of his face as he seemed to consider what Marshall had said.

"I- I did?" Face beginning to light up with a hesitant joy, PJ let out a weak little titter and gave a wobbly smile. "H-hey! I did! I actually did!"

Mac, staring at the glass that'd been drained, asked "Gee, you sure polished that off. So what did you think?"

"It was vile," PJ said with a brief snarl, before brightening again and going on, "But I did it! I can't believe I actually did it! Ooohh, just wait 'till I tell Mummy!"

Marshall resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but as the twins leaned forward to see if they could convince PJ to try a couple more things (and attempt to snatch some of his unguarded meal,) a delicate tap on the arm got the wolf's attention. Blinking, he turned his head and saw Hester had somehow slipped out of her seat and swung around Wesson to approach him. Curious, he leaned back slightly in his chair and Hester, expression searching, leaned in and cupped a hand around her mouth. Marshall took the hint and swung one ear towards her to give her the go-ahead.

"You were lying through your teeth, weren't you?"

At that whisper, Marshall turned up The Smile at her, answering, "What, these teeth~? My magnificent pearly-whites, let a lie slip through?"

Hester's pupils went slimmer as she mouthed "I knew it."

"Prove it," Marshall whispered back. "You can't~."

"I have no need to," she retorted. "You're going to help me keep this circus in line."

Marshall had to hold back a snicker, but it turned into a snort he couldn't entirely hide, and it drew the attention of the other three, PJ squinting in slow-dawning suspicion.

"What are you two whispering about?"

"I was thanking Mr. Eton for his thoughtfulness in prompting you to step outside your comfort zone when I've been unable to thus far," Hester said smoothly, her face a calm, pleasant mask again as she slithered back to her seat.

At this, PJ had the good grace to look embarrassed, and mumbled a small, "Er, yes, thank you," that he aimed at the center of the table rather than directly at Marshall. Eh, close enough. The wolf gave a casual shrug.

"Wouldn't want our buddy to be anything less than tough when it counts, eh?" he said.

"You betcha!" Mac threw in. "'S'why we're here!"

Wes, having successfully snatched a piece of PJ's nigiri, added, "Gotta supportcha."

PJ, belatedly realizing a piece of his food has gotten away, shot Wes a withering look but finally started in on his beef bowl, relaxing and letting a small smile slip onto his face. "Really, you're right. I do need a proper support system."

Marshall looked at Hester, who flicked him a glance in return, and they both let the unspoken sentiment pass between them in barely restrained winces. 'Support system' was certainly one way to stretch the definition of this event.

"D'you know," PJ continued, "I think maybe I'll try something else new next time. Perhaps it'll be better than that ghastly horseradish."

"Why not now~?" Marshall suggested sweetly, brandishing his own bowl of spicy barbecue, pleased when PJ reared back and covered his nose at the smell of it, eyes watering. "Go on, give it a little taste~. Don't be shy."

"I told you," PJ hissed, smacking at the air near Marshall's hand to ward him off, "pain isn't a flavor!"

Mentally declaring this day more fun than he'd expected, Marshall deliberately ate a sizeable bite of the barbecue and hummed his delight, the spicy-sweet burn filling his mouth and setting his tail wagging.

"Like I said," he answered, "not with that attitude."

Final notes: I'm not used to the focus being on a back-and-forth between mostly Marshall and PJ, I'm used to Marshall and the twins playing off each other, so this felt a little strange at first but I had fun with it. Also, just because you're a friend(?), doesn't make you exempt from the ribbing and peer pressure, PJ. You chose to keep these dinguses around, so you get the consequences, and Marshall is a consequence in his own right.

Dividers used found here!

Taglist: @elenauaurs @inmateofthemind @ramshacklerumble @tixdixl @winterweary

@distant-velleity @rainesol @thehollowwriter @theleechyskrunkly @twst-migraine

Vacancy filled the history classroom. Not even the designated professor occupied the space. The desk in a state of slumber as the neat piles of paper remained untouched. As the Scarabian freshman poked his head in, his gaze swept around the room. The light from the hallway behind him washed out the darkness immediately in front of him, though only dimly illuminating the space as it dispersed. Yet, while Xiáng searched, he didn’t dare turn a light on, or cast his magic. If his target knew of his presence, it would likely flee the moment it spotted him. And if his target was sleeping, then any alerts would put it in a panicked state. Either consequence, he recognized, would likely result in failure- a failure he couldn’t risk.

He stepped carefully into the room. The thought occurred to him briefly to check around the desks and benches. Sometimes cats curled up in the seat of a bench, forming into perfect little croissants. Perhaps, Lucius could have been taking the deepest of snoozes on one of the firm seats.

Gingerly, the cricket ascended up the stairs. His gaze passed over every bench and under all the legs - both bench and table. Searching every crack and crevace, but refusing to touch anything unless absolutely necessary, he scrounged for what he assumed was the sleeping cat. Yet, there were no signs of any such creature.

After a moment, he caught himself zoning out into the darkness. Time escaped him once again, and he didn’t think to bring his phone, having left it back in the dormroom. It wasn’t like he needed a phone to catch a cat. He blinked twice, allowing his eyes to refocus on the room around him. And once he’d regained his position in space, he wasted no more time in resuming his search.

✨️✨️✨️

Sitting on the archway balcony, a trio of beastman lounged about, with a box of snacks passed between the three of them. Wesson slouched against the frame of the arch, dangling one leg over the side. The crunch of apple preceding its crisp, juicy taste. And the peanut butter spread he dunked the slice in only complimented the fruit with a sweet yet salty, earthy flavor. To no one’s surprise, Mac began to gorge himself on the macadamia nut cookies, freshly made and gifted from the Heartslabyul kitchen. A jug of cold milk accompanied his rich, buttery snack. Meanwhile, Marshall kept popping freshly ripe red grapes into his mouth, crunching them between his fangs with satisfaction. They shared no words between them, content to crunch and people-watch in silence.

But as the three of them stared out into the courtyard, a strange sound interrupted the silence. A squeak. No, a series of subtle squeaks echoed down the smooth stone of the expansive corridor. For a moment, the noises stopped, as if pensive. Then, like releasing a held breath, the squeaking started again.

“Hold up,” Marshall commanded quietly. His ears perked attentively. When Mac didn’t stop chewing, he reached over and gently bapped his arm. Mac whined softly, but Marshall held a finger toward his mouth and shushed him.

“Can you hear it?” he asked, now only interrupting the squeaking with no chorus of chewing.

“Hear what?” inquired Wesson, unsure what the wolf was referencing.

“The squeaking…” the wolf pointed out. And as if on cue, said squeaking grew a bit louder, as if drawing closer.

“Yeah, I hear it,” affirmed the slouching vulture, “what do you think it is?”

The wolf beastman leaned back, in toward the hallway, as if trying to get closer to the sound. His ears turned, following the direction of the squeaking. The three of them remained silent, not even moving as the junior listened.

“A pair of… size 9… mens… mid grade… slip on sneakers…” described the wolf.

“Are you sure they ain’t a pair of 12.5, wide, mens hiking boots, with a leather finish and rubber soles?” Mac asked, genuinely and earnestly.

“No, no,” Marshall immediately waved him off, “No, those are completely different. Plus they’re expensive, so they’d make a totally different sound from the quality of the leather and the rubber.”

“What’s the wear on the runners, boss?” inquired Wes.

“Light. Sounds like the kind of shoes with little actual wear on them. The wearer likely only recently started wearing them,” the wolf described.

“What color are they, sir?” asked the other vulture earnestly.

Marshall began to reply, “Oh, well, they're–” he paused, realizing exactly what was being asked, “NOW HOW WOULD I KNOW THAT!?”

Another bap on the top of the head. This time he swatted Mac with a little more force. Not enough to hurt him, but enough to signal the warning.

“Was just askin’” shrugged the dopey vulture.

Before the wolf could respond, the slouching vulture piped up, “Do you think you can identify the culprit? How’re they walkin’?”

“Well, they’re certainly snooping,” answered Marshall, “They seem to be taking slow, hesitant steps, like they are trying to hide the squeaking. But it’s a bit hard to tell who specifically it is. Lots of folks wear sneakers like that, and this school is full of suspicious characters.”

"Gee, sir, I kinda figured you’d know who is was,” Mac commented without a thought, “We've changed shoes before but you always know it's us."

"Literally nobody else walks like you two do. You wrap your damn claws,” snapped the wolf in mild annoyance.

Despite aiming the dig at both birds, only Wesson winced. Mac seemed completely unaffected by the unsolicited commentary.

“You sure it ain’t just some cricket?” Wesson asked, seemingly out of the blue, “I got this weird feelin’, like we might be misplacing the sound. I ain’t seen no one in the halls, and sometimes lil’ bugs make weird sounds.”

“You always get weird feelings,” countered Marshall.

“Yeah, but I’m sure of it this time,” insisted the bird.

His brother piped up, “I didn’t see your Unique Magic go off though.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure of it this time. I don’t think it’s a pair of shoes.”

“What bug makes a squeaky sound like that?” the wolf pressed, not buying it for a second.

“I said! A cricket,” Wesson growled, fully sitting up. He leaned forward, refusing to back down from his own theory.

“Crickets chirp, they don’t squeak!” the wolf met his tone, also refusing to back down. He leaned back, glaring down at Wes while still keeping an ear quirked toward the sound.

The sound by this point stopped once again. This time however, it stayed silent. Or, potentially, it might have also been so muffled by distance that they just couldn’t hear it.

Wesson, not admitting defeat but aeeing no reason to continue, slumped back down into a slouch. Pressing his back into the stone, he turned his gaze back to the courtyard below.

“I still say it was a cricket,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, well I’m the one with the excellent hearing, so I’ll determine what it was,” Marshall intentionally overstepped.

For another moment, the trio fell silent. Yet unlike before, no noise nor squeaking interrupted them. Not even the sound of the wind sweeping over the campus interrupted their dispute. Mac didn’t even twitch somehow. But as the tension seemed to settle, and then gradually dissipate, Marshall turned his own gaze away from the squeaking and toward the courtyard.

“Maybe it was just a cricket.”

As if on cue, a sneeze echoed from inside the nearby history classroom.

“Bless you,” called out Marshall, though he wasn’t expecting a reply.

To his surprise though, a clanging of thin metal met his call. Like the sound of a tiny bell or a set of keys, it grew exponentially louder. Until suddenly, the clattering grew accompanied by the sound of claws scraping against the stone. Marshall glanced over his shoulder, now bearing witness to Professor Trein’s cat Lucius bolting down the hall with bottle brushed fur and an arched tail.

“Hm…” mused the wolf, “Looks like someone was on cat hunting duty.”

“No wonder they were sneaking,” commented Mac, before biting back into another cookie.

As he crunched, a slimey smile tugged at Marshall’s lips. With an arched brow, and a smug posture, he leaned toward Wesson.

“...what?”

“You still think it’s a cricket?” taunted Marshall.

Another sneeze echoed from down the hall.

“Shut up!” growled Wes, popping another apple slice into his mouth. As he avoided eye contact with the wolf, he glanced over at his brother, who continued to eat what must have been a full dozen of cookies.

“Hey, Mac?”

“Yuh?”

"How did you even get those cookies?" Wes asked, attempting to change the subject.

"Pretty lil lady was makin' em. Said I could have one," his brother answered matter-of-factly.

"So you took the pan?" he accused half-heartedly, his own brow now raised in mild amusement.

"She wasn’t usin’ it.”

✨️✨️✨️

“...and so you lost the cat?”

Xiáng’s roommate, Cusi Capác, stood, looming over him with arms planted firmly at her hips. Her thick brows furrowed, creating deep creases into her mug, almost as deep as the scowl on her mouth. He stared up at her with wide, innocent doe eyes. The expression normally could disarm anyone, but clearly, she wasn’t buying it.

“I… don’t know what happened,” he failed to explain, “I couldn’t stop sneezing, and by the time I could focus again, Lucius was gone.”

“And you didn’t think to look after?” she challenged him, completely done with him, “Do you even want the extra credit? You’re actively failing that class, and Trein was willing to offer you a boost if you could find Lucius… like it’s hard.”

The Emperor popped her gum. The sarcasm oozed from her words with a sharp bite of poisonous frustration.

“I mean…” he lowered his gaze. It was genuinely difficult for him to remember what all happened during the haze, “I tried?”

The groan that left the Emperor could have collapsed an entire tower. She pushed two fingers against her forehead. And as she mumbled to herself, she turned and left the Scarabian common area. Heading toward their shared room, Cusi continued to lament seemingly down the entire stretch as the acoustics of the halls amplified her voice.

Xiáng looked down at his hands. He really didn’t know what happened.

✨️✨️✨️

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