The Locust Sings Goodnight

"Papa, we gotta sing and beat the bad guys and help save everyone!"

Gregor has been gradually learning the ins and outs of Anya's little moods and whims. He can tell when she's decided she's absolutely going to do something— this girl going to make him go gray before he can blink.

"This isn't a game, Kleine."

…And he isn't exactly 'singing onstage' material, swarming droves of monsters crusading the streets or no.

This is ridiculous.

Gregor rubs his forehead— he can't deal with her running off again, not in the middle of this. Maybe there'll be more people by the stages to help? They're… pretty big and obvious…

Eiden doesn't spare much thought for the broom than he just did, he's just happy to be here and that they're able to get to the treasures.

He does pause on that knee sound though but in the end this is the best shot they have. He offers quick well-wishes to Gregor's knees and slings his legs over his shoulders. With one hand he's holding the broom, the other he's rises up for fist pump.

" Okayyyy! Up we go then Gregs!! "

"Hup!" Gregor slips to his feet in a smooth motion. He's more used to balancing people's weight purely on one shoulder, but it's manageable enough once he finds his center of balance again. They should be just fine as long as Eiden doesn't go swinging that broom around all crazy or anything.

"Bwah..." She looks down and around herself at the mess. "Oh..."

Anya huffs, looking ragged now that she's realizing just how much cleaning she's going to have to help with. It's kind of a miracle whoever his roommates are didn't notice the noise or disaster occurring. Or maybe they did and were just wise enough to not approach. Either way, she's made this mess, so she has to clean it... that's how spies work.

"When spies make messes... they gotta clean up the bodies... Anya can handle messy work."

Maybe she's getting spies mixed up with Yor's work.

But she perks up instantly when Gregor pulls on the apron and stands next to her, beaming up at him happily. "I was gonna use the stove! Duh." She explains like it's the most obvious thing. "Like the lady on TV." She wipes her hands off on her mock apron and ties Gregor's up for him, looking proud of herself despite her momentary lapse into despair.

She makes a sloppy and lopsided bow out of the apron straps, and it's a bit too loose, but at least the apron isn't going too far. She turns her attention back to the bowl, giving it another stir before holding the spoon up to Gregor.

There's a weird green orb in the spoonful she's holding up to him, and through the thick batter, it's hard to make out what exactly it is. Thankfully, she clarifies.

What exactly was this kid's old home life? He still isn't quite sure if she's just really into playing pretend or if this is something he should be paying a little more attention to. Everyone's gonna see someone die at some point in their life, but it's a little bit unfortunate to consider… Or… wait, right. Maybe it's just a kids TV thing? He's not really one for shows, but she's always barking up the walls about her little cartoons.

"You can't use the stove when I'm not here, Anya. You aren't tall enough to use it properly, so, uh… Y'know. You could get hurt. It gets pretty hot." Or burn the apartment down, he opts to not say out loud. Open fires and small children shouldn't mix under any circumstances.

…Honestly, all of her constant spy talk has been making him think quite a lot of that one strange and, frankly, embarrassing man from Hongyuan as of late. Kingtea, or whatever his name was. Outis can be a little much in her own right when it comes to the manager, but it's a hell of a lot more awkward when it's coming from some guy who isn't even an actual part of the group. All that ass-kissing…

Gregor shakes the thought to level the concoction she proffers with an appropriately polite level of utterly dubious regard, quietly weighing the situation in the back of his mind.

To try or not to try…

On one hand, he has no expectation for it being anything even remotely like actual food, and it definitely will not be pleasant. On the other, he'd feel a little bad for just rejecting the whole thing clean out of hand without even giving it a try, and he doesn't want to make her sad.

…Well.

What's the worst that could happen?

Gregor commits and takes an obliging bite from what she has scooped up in her spoon— and don't get him wrong, it is definitely an actual bite. Somehow there's resistance between his teeth despite it being mostly mysterious batter and grapes (and something kind of crunchy?), and it decidedly does not go down easy. It's a little like chewing rubber, and it fills his mouth with a bizarre and noxious flavor.

He thinks she might have somehow made oobleck.

The aftertaste is unspeakable.

"…You're gonna give yourself a bad tummy ache if you eat that," he finally solemnly concludes. He's definitely had worse than a bit of mysterious raw batter with even more mysterious components inside, but he'll survive. "Think we're gonna have to feed it to the trashcan, little buddy."

They… probably ought to get things rolling before any of that mysterious ooze she's created has the chance to cement itself to every surface in the kitchen. He can already feel it gluing itself to his teeth.

So the arm isn't the problem. Well, Tikoh's seen plenty of strange things, so if someone says that's normal for them, then she won't judge.

Well, one of the arms is the problem, just not the one she would've guessed. Tikoh presses her hands to Gregor's shoulder, trying to find that tender spot. After a moment of examination, she gently raises his arm.

"And how does that feel?" she says. "About how far up until it starts hurting? I just want to get see the range of movement you've got."

Gregor very carefully does not grimace when she starts prodding at his shoulder, fingers twitching from the sharp pain that lances like lightning when she gently tries to lift his arm. She doesn't get very far at all. "That— right there. That's too far."

"I've only got the one hand, so. Well. Guess I figured it wasn't gonna be all that simple to just wait out." Nevermind the fact that he's got a kid to be looking after. Kind of hard to make her breakfast when he can't even get his hand high enough to comfortably touch the counter.

He sighs out what's probably the last bit of smoke he was getting from that cigarette. It's almost burned down to the filter. He drops it down onto the patio and stomps it out with his foot. Of course, he can feel it, but the pain is nothing more than a fleeting kiss. He definitely didn't need another. A bit too nostalgic.

"Kids need someone to look up to. You'd better not betray that trust." It's a gentle warning. While it does seem like Gregor's heart is in the right place, he just can't be sure. The situation has too many unknowns.

Thinking on it, he should be making more than just a passive effort to keep an eye on Anya-- to check up on her, if nothing else. If Gregor could make this girl his business, then Jack could, too.

Gregor shakes his head as the feeling abruptly resurfaces, shoulders hiking.

Well.

Not exactly happening as things stand now. He can barely handle a kid sober— going on a bender isn't going to help anyone when she's relying on him. She keeps him so busy that he honestly doesn't have much time to be lamenting over the thoughts and problems that come and go anyways.

"Yeah. I'm doing what I can, bud." Trust isn't exactly something he can fix once it's gone and shattered, even if he'd argue that he really ought to not be anyone's model in the way that he is now. She's just a kid in a scary situation.

He really doesn't want to make her time of it any harder than it has to be.

...

Raiden wants to help?

"You mean that?" Raiden's offer earns him a suspicious look out of both reflex and concern— he's not setting off any particular concerns of Gregor's, but that's hardly a good metric when it comes to people.

"…Yeah. Think that'd be a great help if you've got the time," Gregor finally concedes with a sigh.

If nothing else, it's a distinct relief to not be wholly and utterly alone in this. Apparent measures of trustworthiness aside, he's felt woefully adrift from the moment he touched back down in this place. Literally any help at all is better than the baseless floundering he's been doing until now.

He sort of half-registers Gregor scurrying off somewhere, head turning to the direction. He doesn't even have time to turn his head back before Gregor is already there.

Seeing what he's got has Eiden's eyes instantly light up:

"WHOAAA AWESOME! "

" Where did you snatch that from dude! Obviously I do! Let's get to it then!! On your knees then man!"

Gregor's knees audibly pop and crackle as he kneels down, insectile arm bracing against the cool stone tiles. "C'mon. I won't drop you or anything, bud."

I wonder if new papa will brush my hair like mama does. She might have to ask him to since he might not think about it on his own.

The bacteria description confuses her for a second.

She hums a bit thoughtfully, nodding slowly but not quite believing him about the whole… Bacteria thing. Why would there be bacteria in her mouth? Becky said that spit dissolved stuff, and that people just got bad breath from eating onions and garlic.

Though, Gregor is an adult. He probably knows more than Becky does.

"Wah... so bacteria does that? Mm… I thought it was just garlic and onions and mama's cooking…" Maybe mama's cooking is bacteria and that's why it's so bad. Maybe she should brush her teeth more often… She looks deep in thought as she walks back towards the front register, sticking close to Gregor with her hand gripping the hem of his vest.

But her thoughts immediately vanish when they get up to the register and Gregor starts to unload their haul. Anya holds onto the lip of the counter, standing on the balls of her feet and watching as the Nobody behind the counter rings them up.

Nope… Nothing. No thoughts.at all. Still. It makes her shiver in unease.

Creepy…

Her eyes scan the back wall, noting the packs of cigarettes.

Oh. New papa likes those!

All cool detectives like cigarettes.

…Anya isn't exactly the slickest kid. He openly watches her try to surreptitiously slide candy up underneath the still-damp towel like he isn't standing directly beside her, the other items being scanned through one by one.

"You need to ask before putting things on the counter," Gregor lightly chides as he drops his phone to fish for whatever it was she was trying to sneak only moments after she thinks she's gotten away with it, dragging the little red packets back out from under the towel.

…Candy cigarettes? They make those?

Gregor's brow pinches. Maybe it was just the first thing she felt rustling around down there. Either way he unceremoniously drops them exactly back where she'd nipped them from before picking his phone back up to pay. The tap machine makes a cheery little ding sound and he tucks it away into his back pocket, fishing her juice and one of the peanut packs back out of the bag. Those are set aside where she can get ahold of them.

"Don't think I've got the stuff to make it fried. Could make you some chicken soup, though." He mentally scans through what he remembers being in the cupboards. He knows he'd seen some chicken in the fridge… something nice and warm would probably do her some good after all of that stress and crying. Might take half an hour or so, but it should be easy enough to whip together.

He'd wager people are a little more used to that kind of stuff here - but he can't really promise they won't stare though. Never mind them getting scared he doesn't like his staff getting bad eye on them either.

" Well. I won't force you or anything. "

Eiden laughs a little.

" Yeah? " he responds, face bright from amusement, "wouldn't that be a shame though?"

"…What war?" He squints.

… .. .

"Is that a guy, or…?" He really hopes 'war' is a person.

"Ah, uh, yeah. You could say it is. It's definitely a new experience." There's a distinct fondness that curls warm in his chest despite the ever-ticking worry that looms over most of his waking hours. He worries after Anya a lot— she's such an active kid… "Guess I can say it's not all bad, though."

"Oops."

Anya stands on a stool by the counter, a too-big mixing bowl in front of her and overflowing with what might be chocolate cake batter, or might be an attempt at pancakes. Or it could just be a science experiment, it's hard to tell as she stands there clutching a wooden spoon with batter on the counter, floor, and her apron.

Which is actually just one of Gregor's shirts that she tied on over her dress like an apron since the adult sized one doesn't fit her and would be pointless and useless. Flour is also all over the counter, and there's a few broken eggs on the floor, shell sticking to her hands.

She looks up when she hears Gregor walking in through the front door, smiling brightly. Finally! She isn't sure if he was working or not, but either way, she wants to try and make dinner once! Since... his food isn't exactly great. It's definitely better than anything Yor can make, so she'll never complain about it, but... she's got to be able to do just as well as him, right?

More so even! Especially since she loves pancakes.

Anya's practically an expert at them!

"Papa! You're back! Look, look! I'm making dinner!" Anya exclaims happily, throwing her flour-egg-and-batter covered hands into the air, clutching the spoon she's been dutifully mixing her concoction with. A glob of unknown batter plops off the spoon and onto the floor. "Oops. I saw a lady on the TV making pancakes, and I wanted to make dinner!"

Is that his shirt? And…

Papa. That word again. It makes something squeeze tight in his chest, hard and unforgiving. He bites his tongue.

"Anya. Kleine…" He's genuinely at a loss for words for a moment. The kitchen is an absolute disaster. It looks like a hurricane had knocked through the whole place and turned it upside down.

"You know you're gonna have to help clean up, right? And what were you gonna do when you got to the part where you have to use the stove?" Gregor's mouth twitches. He's tired and really hadn't been in the mood for anything too busy when he was on the way home, but… well. Looks like Anya had other plans.

His work vest is unceremoniously dropped over the back of a couch outside the splash zone as he approaches, the tie quick to follow. He isn't exactly eager to go getting those all filthy with whatever Anya's been up to.

"You should always wait for someone to be here if you want to make something like this, alright? We can do it together, buddy. I don't want you hurting yourself on anything in the kitchen." Gregor fumbles for the actual apron they keep in the kitchen as he leans to peer at the… bowl of mysterious ooze she's prepared. He isn't even sure what she made is going to be edible. He might be able to eat it anyways— his stomach is pretty tough— but he's more worried about her health when it comes to that sort of thing.

Papa! You're back!

Gregor cracks a smile around the sigh that slips from between his teeth. It's not very easy to be annoyed at her when she's just so earnest about it. Even with the eggshells scattered about the floor and batter stuck in her hair.

"Or soap!" She grabs a bottle of body wash that has some sparkles and cookies on it, but can't read the scent on it because of the big CLEARANCE sticker on it. Seems like leftovers from Christmas though, and it doesn't make her nose itch.

She closes her eyes, looking smug and cocky about her "foresight" to "think ahead" about what she needed.

New Papa isn't gonna find out… he's gonna think 'whoa, my daughter's so con-sider-ate!'

Aloud, she says, "I don't have any of this stuff, and mama and papa said it's important, and mama says my teeth will get sweaters if I don't brush them." As she talks, she nods wisely like she's said something deeply profound.

Come on, new papa. Where's the praise for my forward thinking?

Huh. Do kids this age usually have that kind of foresight about their own hygiene? How much of a stickler for it were Anya's parents?

Well. Getting kids to take care of themselves is always important. Good lifelong habits, or something like that.

Gregor cant help but crack another smile at her cocky little expression, chirping on like remembering she'd need a toothbrush in a strange place is one of the greatest acts a person could do. Which, if he's being fair, is pretty great for a young kid. "Oh. Thanks, bud. I was just thinking about that— guess you beat me to it, huh?"

Gregor pauses.

Oh, wait. Conditioner.

"Aaah… all the little bacteria in your mouth will start to eat the food you didn't wash out, and it'll make your breath stink really bad." Among other things. He has no idea what she means by 'sweaters'. Plaque buildup?

That aside, the conditioner completely slipped his mind— he doesn't really usually bother with getting it separate. He stops to squint down at the bottle she presents to him before looking for wherever it's match is at, setting the little bundle of things down for a moment to add it to their growing collection. And, while his hand is free, he takes the opportunity to ruffle her hair again, careful not to shake her funny little hair accessories loose. It's a tiny bit hard to resist when she's standing just tall enough to be at the perfect height for it.

He's grateful to get back on his feet, some tearing of his shirt be damned. He can vaguely feel one of Gregor's spines go through his skin, but that's hardly his biggest problem. Raiden can see why he's so cagey about touching anything with it if it's that sharp, though.

It's easier to stay standing than it was to try and get himself standing, and with one hand on the wall, he's confident that he can at navigate his house. He's still visibly shaking as he uses his free hand to get his keys from his front pocket and unlock the door. He leaves the door open behind him after he pushes it open. It doesn't take him too long to get to the stairs-- dripping all the way-- and he grips onto the railing when he gets there.

Raiden looks back at Gregor on the porch. He wasn't sure if he could expect the man's help. It was a pretty hairy problem to have to solve, whether they could figure out how to repair him or... otherwise.

Gregor pauses at Raiden's word, his good hand resting on the doorknob.

"I already am, aren't I?" Gregor pulls the front door shut behind him as he enters after Raiden, the heavy click sounding final. "C'mon. It doesn't have to be that bad. Neighbors are supposed to be friendly with each other, aren't they?" Gregor isn't fully cognizant of just how skewed his definition of friendly might have been in the grand scheme of things.

He supposes that Gregor just has that... older, casually world-weary veteran thing going on. The idea of not impressing him just feels bad, something Jack doesn't feel like unpacking now, or maybe ever.

He does raise his eyebrows at the man's admission. "You just stole a kid?"

He's not sure what to think about that. Just because he had a good first impression of Gregor doesn't mean he's not he's not still basically a stranger. Jack has no idea if he could take care of a child, or even if he's safe for her to be around. Still, he could see how a little kid thrown into this world would need some kind of guardian. Gregor's actions really could just be that of an altruist who was there at the right time.

His description does strike Jack as a bit amusing. He genuinely has no idea if he could recognize the girl from that-- though he would certainly keep an eye out. And six... or so? The man must not actually be a father himself, if the difference between those years wasn't significant to him. Personally, it seemed like John had grown so much with every year that passed-- coming home after he first started school, it was like seeing a different kid.

"I guess I get it, if she was just dropped in here with no parents. Some kids are just more independent than others, but even then, they still need someone to go to when they need it." He decides. "Let me know if you ever need help with her. I'm okay with children."

…

Oh. Right.

"Ah… uh…" Gregor drops his head, shoulders hiked. "…I guess I did…"

"She was out there just wailing her head off in the middle of the street, and it was raining…" He feels like he's just making excuses— it's not like he'd even given any thought to actually looking to see if her parents happened to follow her here beyond a vague scroll through the contacts list, or if that weird move-in service had some sort of… nanny deal going for her. He'd just up and taken her home with him when she'd begged for him to not ditch her there.

He's already been afraid of fucking this up.

"…Think that might be for the best, if you've ever got the time. Not sure I know what I'm doing."

"Might be a bit late to hand her off to someone else, though. I can't even get her to quit calling me papa." Not that he's tried very hard. He doesn't want to accidentally make her cry over it— it makes him feel weird, but that isn't really enough of a reason for him to start arguing with such a little kid over it. She seems so happy about it…