pass me some chalk.

“So that was cool. That little slip and switch back there.”

“You been doing that for a long time?”  

   He looks the kid over, a smile that won’t fade stuck on his face - an irresistible curse, if he ever had one ‘cause he can’t help but warm up to any of the lost boys. 

[image]

“like i don’t know anybody who can ACTUALLY call themself her kin. that’s really cool, bub! don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“i mean -she’s everywhere, right? 

@wicaria & the castle

Spotted along the castle wall was a peculiar object—— a grappling hook. 

Now, why a grappling hook would be placed at the edge of a window inside the castle, Diaval had only one guess. Intruders. It was with this thought that he took flight in raven form, wings flapping hard and steady as he approached the ground where one man stood. His hands wrapped around the rope, it seemed he was readied to climb the castle without a single clue as to Stefan’s wrathful actions. Not good.

❛ra-caw!❜ the bird cried to the other, tiny legs perched upon a nearby tree.

in all fairness, he should learned better than this. to think he learned from the best! to think a grapple hook and eight stories worth of rope extending would last him, when the edges were fraying just from trekking the castle’s stone cold he inches down on a chafing rope and -- for the briefest flicker of a moment, he thinks he might understand what a thief must feel. 

getting up was one in without getting noticed by one stranger. 

he’d never live to see another day ! not if his luck ran out today. say he were to reappear as a friendly visitation, he wouldn’t not be able to face his quote-unquote mastery “mentor” - what an embarrassing afterlife. 

ide mulls over the possibilities while he counts the pieces of silverware on the table that seats at least ten on each side, chewing the inside of his cheek when he startles at the frightful call of the doom caller above him. 

seriously!  this was not! his! day. advancing just so he can wedge himself in the window opening, he sighs and wipes sweat from his brow -- peering up at his newly acquired friend. 

   “hey, ssh! i just got here.” he digs around in his pocket, opening up his palm with a wrapped morsel he hopes, won’t get his hand pecked through. his friend didn’t sound particularly vicious. just a lookout. “you want a bite before we try for the silver downstairs?” 

   ide offers, one last time, peering into the castle. “i’m kidding, i’m not a low grade. -- But there’s...” he slumps, arm extending the peace offering between the two. “There’s something that’s troubled inside that can’t sleep. kinda like you? kinda like me.” he nudges the bite on the ledge near his witness. “you fill your stomach first and think it over,”

“Remember to appreciate your mothers for giving birth to you and raising you to be a good kid. If they didn’t raise you to be a good kid, were negligent as hell, and genuinely awful people? Fuck ‘em. They don’t deserve your appreciation! But don’t be an ass if they did their best to raise ya!”

“Just chill man I know this city’s full of bad kids, and when I say bad I mean terrible.

   But you can’t be telling me that there’s a single kid out there that you couldn’t place them in of their mother and say I love you, man.” Ide’s delivery is as real as his passion for the subject but he probably shouldn’t be quoting that to the dude in front of him. 

“Wait no, that’s not right. It’d be more like. Man, mom, I love you so much like you don’t know.”  

Ide looks up back at Wade Wilsonsus for guidance, anonymous bodybuilder whose mask makes him look a lot like a luchadores. “Hey, upgrade -- take on whatever, whoever you are. 

How would you go about it? I have one day left on earth to tell my mama I love her.” He claps in on Wade’s cue, as loud and in his face like his autorifle voice.

Is that Maxwell, proud owner of the fine entertainment establishment the Theater of Shadows in Sector 003 that’s currently here?

“Say pal, do you pick up what I’m laying down? Do you dig what I’m burying?”

Why yes… why yes it is indeed.

What’s he got to show for himself, loitering around the shoddy establishment like that? He’s got a snide smirk on his face that could saw through marrow, cut clear through butter. 

Ian short circuits when the man right away picks up the casual banter, face plastered with the dense but obvious message, ‘I don’t get it’. 

“I’m a pal.” His face lights up, as if Maxwell had addressed him straight by name. “If you’re burying something that’s alive I’m. Going to walk away, but. I can probably help you if it requires digging something up.”  

Holding his index finger up, he confides in the stale air of the theater’s lot - signaling on Max to Wait, - tuning into the frigid atmosphere of the site. There doesn’t seem to be dormant bloodlust waiting there, ...yet. Nothing Ian can hear.

He saunters over to where the man is, just barely scuffing on his polished shoes. 

“Are you trying to haul this dingy place into a functional den?” He fixes his cloudy vision on Max’s slit, snakelike smile, dishonest from a mile away. “You’re going to need more than money to breathe life into that thing.” Ide suggests as if he’s in the know-how, kicking up dirt. “Starting with the right kind of page you ask people to sign.”

It’s been a while. 

There’s no grand announcement, no rustle in the crowd that tells him about the tell-tale return. 

Of a friend, a comrade, a whisper on the wind, really. That’s not why he snuck in, no way, no-how, but he’s sure glad he did.   Ide sighs relief when the ice reaches the bottom of his glass, marking the end to his breach of entry, pulling him out of his seat. 

It’s just a hunch, but he’ll act on it -- since he’s done everything there is to do here tonight, but dance. He’s scoped selective areas barred off to check which ones can be pried and picked open, and he’s already spotted the deeper pockets of the crowd, too into their prize, too all over their girl.

It’s just no fun alone, to have nobody at the end of the night to divide loot with.

But when the life of the party returns, the whole atmosphere changes, as he pauses, smirking proudly to himself while palming at the top of the banister. 

He wasn’t wrong about it this time. 

He’s one of the sharpest dressed, you’d never take him as a lowkey felon. Girl dangling on his arm? Not really, when you have to be quick on your feet, but she seems to be enjoying his company greatly. He blends right in, and that’s what defines a great thief. 

Ide secures his escape tools on the inside of his dress-jacket, shrugging his way into it. 

It’s not entirely on either as he heels the polished floor, but it’ll do. Snatching two of the last drinks clean off a silver tray -- he wilts at the pair he narrowly beat to them with a smile, skimming over to where his friend stands.

“Mr. Ryder!” 

Squints. 

Is it just him or did HIve City get a little manlier? 

And handsomer. Look out, ladies, if you don’t have a date already handsome has a new face. 

That’s how she knows she’s welcome. 

If he had to describe it. It’s an explicit hoax, a harmless prank --hardly, an exploit to get to know her. 

It’s what he’d done all day. Stash a few loose receipts he hasn’t cashed in into the hands of those that look like they need the extra payment - deliberate them not to ask questions, but just to point the young gal in the next direction tacked up to lead her in a misleading circle, to the safer outskirts where no one should hassle her.

It all started. when he passed the quiet book study where the tranquil melody would slip across the pavement of the streets, a nook he was sure there was no life of music, so it’d have to be a new installment. He’d browsed, tucked himself into shelves, scoped the whole place -- when all that walked out was that sound a squarely placed step in front of another step. 

stanza :|| as she clacks out of the store. All the music disappears. The coziness, the forgiving cove turns something drab when that melody leaves and all happiness leaves with it.

Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? - When you come across a lost demoiselle, wandering around without a place, an adult, a someone special, a treasured item, to her name.  Ian puts 6-timed beats to a 3-4 time signature,  ♪

She’s here. Shes here, she’s here, she’s here. The distinct clack that comes to a stammering stop as she tries to knock, the hammering behind his ribs that decides whether his diminishing petals that drop, one by one would fabricate the glass case that wasn’t there at all.

@melodiousmemory But he did want to meet her. Just this once.

He’s lit and re-lit, them a stubborn seven, eight times so he knows what it takes, to make them flicker back on again. 

♫ and takes a breath between before he dismisses the gust of wind that blows the doors wide open, -- compromising the wavering candle light. -- so he lets her heels clip, yanking her to a stop on the demanding ninth dot. 

stanza :|| to intercept one of her hands.  He reaches in his pocket to supply a thin set of silk gloves, trimmed with revealing lacy collar - hastily collecting both before she pulls away, and tugs the easy fabric all the way up to scooch it onto her wrist.

“Now, um.” He bends down to place a kiss on her wrist, “I know what it’s like meeting strangers.” 

“And what it’s like accepting gifts.” 

He tilts his head to the side in search of doubt, “But there’s something I’d like to ask you first. And manners are, you have to give gifts before a favor is asked.” He smiles and drops on one knee with some ceremony to the floor, “There’s a melody I wanted to hear again.”

“...Do you ...” He hesitates, “Like. the scent of new books? There’s something unearthly about them.” He smiles at her, expecting her to understand. The smile isn’t demanding, it’s not menacing, but it does have a tinge of expectation that makes his appeal look like desperation.