Mayfair Manor

[Okimiyage]

Rynn was wearing the clothes he'd worn on the first day that he arrived in Mayfair Manor, when Alistair entered the room. He'd been in the process of neatly folding his borrowed clothes on the bed when he heard the door creak, and abruptly--guiltily--dropped his shirt in a startled heap.
But he didn't look around, at least not at first. If Alistair had been paying attention, he would have been able to see Rynn's shoulders squaring up before he turned around. Whatever expression had been on his face before, it was masked, now.
He waited politely until it seemed like the other boy had gotten everything he wanted to say out, although by the time he was through, Rynn had an look on his face like he was something that had been dragged up from the prehistoric sea bed, about a million years too old to be watching Alistair from the body of a sixteen-year-old. "I'm not running away," he said, feeling tired enough to fall over and croak, that was how much effort the sentence took to get out. He knew that he'd have to explain this, but he hadn't expected it to be so soon. Then again, Alistair had his sister's instincts. "I ran away last time. I'm going back to finish it." And for most, that's all he would have given them. Hell, it would have only made Rynn all the happier if he could just let this conversation drop to the floor and twitch like a dying fish. But he figured that Alistair deserved something else, and it wasn't like there was anyone around who cared to listen or would even bother to ask, what with everything else going on in the house. Not that Alistair was asking, either, but Rynn could stand being berated. It wasn't like he hadn't already been doing the same thing in his own head.
"You wanted me to man up, right? Start making my own decisions."
Rynn settled on the edge of the bed, about a foot from Alistair, with a sigh that sounded like it'd been dragged right up from the prehistoric sea along with the look on his face. "I can't do that, not here. I can hardly open my mouth without pissing someone off, let alone act on anything like I think I ought to. I've tried to play diplomat, but--if Antha doesn't want to listen, then nobody else will, either. If I tried to go against her wishes, all it's going to do is piss her off-- and Cian and the cousins and anyone else who has an interest, so it's not like it'd be exactly pleasant to stick around afterwards. And, I mean, it's not just about that." He wound down into silence, then, and it seemed like for a second that he wouldn't start again, on account of being too busy watching his clasped hands, like you'd watch a coiled rattlesnake.
"It's alright for Liesse and Cian. They fit in here, and they're happy. I don't think either of them ever really wanted anything to do with our...heritage. But me, I-- I can't stop thinking about the maze, and the tombs, and all those dead people sitting in the rubble and the dark with no place to go. I ran away from that, first--" because you failed them, said a bored, nasty little voice in his head, "--and if I don't go back to set things right, how am I supposed to call myself a man?" There was a hard, angry kind of light in Rynn's eyes, like he wasn't talking to Alistair anymore so much as himself. But he remembered his audience, after a second, and kind of scrubbed at his face before he glanced up with a wry little half-grin, and the light was gone. "It'll really be much better, for everyone involved. I'm not a people-pleaser, and I'm not ever going to be, but at least I could be less trouble for everyone else. And I'm not going to go hauling off until Antha--" The words snagged on his mouth before they could escape. He'd almost said 'until Antha's dead', and wasn't that exactly the sort of half-wit comment that made people hate him?
"--well, until I keep my promise to her."
Carefully, after a second, he added, "It's not like I'm going to bar the gates and hide away like a hermit. I don't think I could keep Liesse out if I tried, and...I'll visit, you know? If I'm allowed."

Outside, Liesse had found Malakai, stretched out on the grass like a sunning cat.
There was a carved stone bench nearby, on which she settled, ever-conscientious of grass stains. If he’d noticed her approach, he hadn’t said anything. It was up to her to start the conversation.
“Rynn wants to go back.” she said, softly. Then, realizing that needed some context: “To Llyr’s Court.”
The moment of silence stretched out into a minute. Liesse dueled against blades of grass with her toes.
“He’s—“ she sighed. She didn’t know how to explain her brother’s mind. “I can feel him thinking about it even now, not what, exactly, but…the shape of it, at least. He’s happy. It’s like he’s obsessed, Mal. Just when I think he’s starting to settle in and forget, up the topic comes again. I’d use the word, ‘haunted’, except it’d be too close to the truth.”
She was careful to keep her hands neatly folded within the iridescent petals of her skirt—wringing them wouldn’t be ladylike—but right at the moment, she felt like wrenching something apart.
“It’s like he’s trying to punish himself,” she muttered. Of course, to her, being apart from Mayfair Manor—and Malakai, and all the rest of the wonderful people she’d come to know here—would have been a punishment. She didn’t realize that to Rynn, it was a relief.
Liesse didn’t have Malakai’s knack for seeing the ‘future’ of souls, but she sometimes had very good instincts. “I’m sure he’d come back,” she said, as if reassuring herself. “He’s improved so much in the time that he’s been here. I’m sure he’d want to see Vanessa and Sebastien grow up, and check up on Cian and all.”
The truth was, she didn’t know. Rynn had improved tremendously while he was staying with the Mayfairs—he very nearly was on the verge of making friends, even. But her brother wasn’t a typical sixteen-year-old boy, and Liesse’s priorities—being ‘normal’, enjoying her high school years, going on dates and dancing at the prom—were not his.
But at the same time, Liesse wanted to trust him. To pretend, at least to herself, that he knew what he was doing, and that he’d be able to come back from it afterwards.
Struck by a horrible curiosity, Liesse gave Malakai a sidelong glance. “I know what I’m scared of, but I have to admit…I didn’t think that you would be concerned.” A pause, and then quietly, “What’s the worst that could happen, Mal? What do you see?”  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Malakai gave the smallest start when Liesse began to speak, startled out of a half-nap and rising quietly on his elbows, rubbing his hazy eyes. It didn’t take long to realize that she was upset, at which point he slid over silently, resting his back against her legs as his head lulled back onto her knees. It was the way a cat would comfort someone---pet me, you’ll feel better---the same sort of reassuring silence as she poured out her problems, listening without judging.
Eventually, she asked him a question and his eyes fluttered uncertainly, his fingers idly rubbing a bright, fresh grass stain on the knee of his jeans. “It doesn’t really work like that,” he murmured uncertainly, his voice as gentle as the breeze on a petal, “I only see the paths, not really what sets them off. We all have dozens of paths that end every day---falling down the stairs, choking, getting hit by a car, things like that. But…” He lifted his head, cocking it slightly as his eyes automatically sought at the light in the upstairs window. “The worst thing I can see…is he could end up alone. Your path never strays from his, but...” He wasn’t sure if he should explain, for a moment. Liesse’s feeings were delicate, where Rynn was concerned. But, because Malakai was an unwaveringly honest boy, he continued. “There’s one path that worries me. He’ll always have you, and in most of them, Alistair’s path connects with his until the end, even in the ones where all the others have disconnected from his. But there’s one branch, one series of paths, where he and Airi are severed. In that instance, his fate just kind of…withers. If you want to know the worst-case scenario, that’s probably it.” Leaning his head back, cradled in her lap, his eyes narrowed and locked with hers, their mottled green-gold hue taking on silvery hints in the dark. “Do you remember I told you that Antha and Rynn baffled me, because they were supposed to be connected and they just sort of bypassed it? It wasn’t Antha---they have their own connection, and it’s on course. It was Alistair, because he was part of Antha at the time. Rynn will be fine in the end, as long as he has Airi, so if you want to protect him…don’t let him push him away.”
Well…that wasn’t the compete truth. He could see the ends of the paths, but more and more he was realizing that peoples’ paths were becoming blurred in the middle, dark spots in the flow of time. This was particularly true in Rynn and Alistair’s cases, but he had no idea why and he couldn’t really explain it, so he didn’t mention it. He wouldn’t worry her or anyone else until he had a better idea of what he was seeing.

“You…” Alistair made a sound of futile frustration, his eyes flashing conflictingly as he abruptly gave up and dropped down onto the side of the bed beside Rynn. “At the very least, let me set the record straight. You’re not going to get kicked out. The only way out of this family is to actively not be a part of it. Do you really think anything you could do would be any worse than the things Julien has done? But nobody’s kicked him out, because…I mean, that’s just not what we do. No matter what he does to us, he’s still family. And look at Dorian. He---” Alistair sighed derisively, laughing despite himself beneath his breath. “Dorian is just an awful person, through and through. He always has been. But the only reason anyone ever even thought to disown him was because he was trying not to be part of the family. Even then…well, look at us now. In the end, despite everything he does, we’re still here for him. And you’re family, too. No matter what you do or who you piss off, you’re still family. We’ll still be here for you.”
Sighing, the boy turned and abruptly dropped his forehead onto Rynn’s shoulder, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and this entire conversation had utterly drained the life out of him. “If this is your idea of being a man…” He shook his head, pityingly. “What are you going to do, Rynn? Wait until Antha dies and then leave your brother when he needs you most?” He stilled for the space of a single breath, briefly losing himself, the murmur unconsciously falling from his lips before he even realized it, “Leave me when I need you the most?”
He was interrupted with, to his mind, perfect timing by a knock, preceding Antha appearing in the doorway without waiting to be invited. “Dinner’s ready,” she said, quietly, giving the boys a calm glance. Shrewdly, she made no comment on their suspicious appearance or the decidedly intimate atmosphere, instead pretending that it didn’t even exist. Alistair left without a word, because really he didn’t want to have to admit to what he’d let slip. Antha, on the other hand, lingered in the door, thoughtfully watching Rynn with those unfathomable eyes that knew all. “It was a given that at some point, you were going to try to rebuild your family legacy,” she said finally, very calmly, and then after a moment of consideration, put up two fingers. “Two years. Give it two years to decide what you want, how you want to go about your life. Graduate from school, grow up, figure out how to be a functional adult. If you can do that...I’ll give you whatever you need to restore the house, the legacy, whatever. Just two years, to get your head on straight.” Her gaze briefly narrowed, imploring, before she turned on her heel, heading downstairs. “Just consider it. You have time.”

All things considered, the Mayfairs did a fairly good job of pretending nothing was amiss during dinner. For the most part, they teased Pierce about his flurry of life-altering decisions over the course of the day. On his end, Pierce showed absolutely no remorse or second-thoughts, happily chattering away about the improvements he wanted to make to the house before they moved in. “I’m thinking fire pole in the stairwell.”
“No fire poles,” Lucy said abruptly, leaving no room for argument, “We’re going to have a child in this house. Not to mention you’ll kill yourself on it the first time you get drunk.”
“What about the extra space?” Jack purred thoughtfully, his eyes flashing teasingly at Alistair.
The boy smiled, as blindingly sweet as possible, and yet somehow frightening. “I dare anyone to try and move into my room when he’s gone.” As he spoke, he picked apart a piece of bread and buried them surreptitiously in his soup. Out of the group, only Antha and Michael were sharp-eyed enough and not too preoccupied to notice that he wasn’t eating. But Antha could hardly say anything, she had barely touched her food, only slipped some of it to Ginsberg when no one was looking. Neither of the twins had much of an appetite, but admitting to it would bring up questions they would rather not answer. “It’ll be nice to have a little privacy.”
“If Pierce is moving out,” Julien noted aloud meanwhile, ignoring Alistair’s threats, “Perhaps Rynn should room with Alistair. Even if they are twins, Liesse is a young lady, I’m not sure it’s proper for them to share a room.”
“I was planning on letting Rynn take Vittorio and Dolly Jean’s room, when they move out,” Antha interrupted while Alistair quietly focused his gaze on his plate, pushing his food around with a fork, “Speaking of, I’ve discussed it with a contractor and he’s going to get to work repairing the old slave quarters out back this week.”
Julien’s eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing. “Whatever for?”
“Because it’s foolish to let it fall to ruins when we could use the space,” she said shortly, rolling her eyes at Julien, “Dorian could move in there when it’s finished and have at least some degree of independence. Or if he needs more help with the children, he can move into Vittorio’s room and Rynn could move out there, or Courtland and Jack.”
Courtland glanced up from his food, briefly startled. “I don’t want to move out of the house.”
“However it works out,” Antha sighed, pressing on, “It’s better than everyone doubling up on rooms.”  

[Okimiyage]

Rynn didn’t have words for a moment, which was unusual for him. Alistair’s question had caught him flat-footed. But Antha was there, and his tongue tangled around the ‘wait—‘ in his lungs, and the word escaped instead as a breathless kind of sigh. <********.” he said, after a moment, very quietly and without much passion.
Alistair was right, after all. It would be selfish, as much as he wanted it, to immediately abandon the Mayfair Manor as soon as his promise was fulfilled. He had obligations here, too; not just to Antha, and Airi, but to Cian.
He thought for a moment, trying to recall if he’d ever really seen Cian grieve before. The closest he could imagine was that horrible day, when Erin and Aedan had been buried in whatever rubble remained of the catacombs beneath the maze. Even then, Cian’s defense mechanism had been to withdraw into a kind of mute state, rather than scream or weep or—or blame Rynn, like Rynn had blamed himself. It would have been his right.
But he had to admit that Cian had never been attached to his brothers, especially, save by their heritage. Rynn couldn’t calculate how Antha’s death might affect him now.
Alistair and Antha were too much alike sometimes, he thought ruefully, watching her turn and exit down the hall. Neither of them had given him a chance to respond, but maybe that was intentional. Rynn’s stubbornness was well-known, and it usually took him a long time to change his mind once he’d decided on a course of action. Antha was right; he needed to think it over. They couldn’t change his mind on one point: he was going back to Llyr’s Court, if he had to sneak out of the house in the middle of the night with all his earthly possessions in a satchel. But he had to choose his exit strategy with a little more care. He owed that much—to Cian, to Liesse, to Antha—to Alistair his mind supplied, but he quickly set that thought aside. Alistair…confused him. Whenever he was around, Rynn wanted to—to pick a fight, to snap and growl like a cornered animal—to push him down and kiss him savagely until his mouth bled, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself.
But if anyone had suggested to Rynn that these were symptoms of a crush, he probably would have hit them.
After a few minutes of contemplative silence, Rynn muttered, “********,” again, this time in self-disgust. It was almost time for dinner. He pulled himself together again, one stitch at a time, and rose to join the others.

The table conversation was stilted, though the cousins did their best to liven it up. Each of them could tell that there was something else going on. The elephants in the room might have been cramped into a corner, but they were still there.
Dorian was pacing around the kitchen, impatiently jiggling a bundle of fabric that contained a muffled but inconsolable Lily. “I think she misses her mom,” he muttered. “But what the hell am I supposed to do about it? Give her a sock monkey?” The idea sounded ludicrous even to him.
At the end of the table, Liesse was regaling Malakai with the tale of their excursion. She’d never been to a mall before, and couldn’t help but be excited. “—and there was a store that had all black walls, some kind of…I don’t know, it looked a bit like a portal to hell, and their music was tremendously loud—the staff were all very polite, though, when we could hear them—“
Rynn picked slowly over his plate, a ruminative expression on his face. He almost missed his own name when it came up in conversation.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Cian said thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. After the afternoon that he’d had, he was one of the few members of the family who seemed to retain their appetite. “It was beginning to feel like bunkers in here,” Rynn pointed out. “If anyone else moved in, we’d have to start doubling up in bed with one another—“ which wasn’t too far-fetched of an idea, knowing how close the Mayfairs were, “—or start putting people on the couches.”
Cian chuckled at the idea. “I wouldn’t dare. If any house in the city is going to carry on the tradition of Southern hospitality, it’d be Mayfair Manor.” Rynn made a face at his soup, and dunked a wedge of bread into it. Cian hadn’t been privy to Rynn’s plans this afternoon, but he wasn’t blind. He eyed his little brother thoughtfully. “There was some mention of buying out one of the houses down the street, if we need additional space,” he said, as though testing the waters. “Of course, it’s natural for the family to want to be close to one another—“
Rynn thought is it?, remembering how keen Cian had been to get away from the rest of his siblings during his adolescence, but refrained from commenting. They didn’t need to start a row in the middle of a meal. “—but this house is something of a hub of activity, and it’d certainly be convenient to have the extra space.”
Dorian seemed to finally have found the proper way to hold Lily without causing her to go into hysterics. Now that he could hear the conversation properly (instead of his daughter’s mewling) he chimed in. “And the nursery isn’t going to be big enough for these—seven?—if we count Henry and Olivier—for much longer. Speaking of which…I mean, Olivier isn’t an issue, at least, but…have we made any inquiries?” Dorian made a point not to look at Henry for more than a second, but the whip-flick of his gaze was enough to make it clear. Sooner or later, they’d need to make the legal arrangements to adopt Henry into the family. In the eyes of the State, they’d simply absconded with the boy from a reputable, church-sanctioned orphanage. And furthermore, who amongst them would take on the responsibility of a child? “Hey, Courtland, you’ve always wanted to be a dad, right?” Dorian said, teasingly. “Plus, you get to skip all the diaper-changing and sleepless nights--and Jack would make a great mother, he nags like one anyways.” Lily gurgled, and cooed at the mention, pushing her tiny hands through the folds of fabric to reach up and grab at strands of Dorian’s long, blonde hair.
When it was clear that no ‘mother’ was forthcoming, she began to grunt in irritation. “Oh, hellfire,” muttered her dad, immediately distracted from his ribbing. "You can't last thirty seconds without attention, can you?" At least Briar and Bella were sleeping. For now. He'd noticed a pattern: Briar was the quietest child, good as gold, and on more than one occasion his uncharacteristic silence had caused Dorian to rush to the crib to check that he wasn't dead, just because it was so uncanny compared to his sisters. Lily and Bella were much more typical infants, but at least they seemed to work in a kind of cycle. When Bella was sleeping, Lily was crying, and vice versa. How Dorian was going to get any sleep for the next six months was hard to imagine.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

At Dorian’s statement (complaints, a little voice in the back of Jack’s head supplied irritably), Dolly Jean glanced up from her food, all wide, innocent eyes. “Olivier will stay with Vittorio and me, won’t he?” she asked Antha hesitantly, “Until he finds a house?”
Antha nodded, distractedly. “Mm…sounds reasonable enough, if you don’t mind. He sleeps through the night, so it should be fine.”
“Dorian’s right, though,” Julien mused, begrudgingly, his eyes flashing at the door as Vittorio entered and made straight for his room, “What about Henry? Legally, we need to have this settled.”
“Tori ran the tests, but…” Antha glanced towards the hallway where, in the makeshift bedroom they’d fashioned of the sitting room, Henry was down for a nap. “As expected, he has the tangle of Mayfair DNA, there’s no telling specifically where it came from. So we need to decide who’s going to adopt him. I took all of the appropriate papers from the orphanage, we can take care of it without going through them or the state. But, as to that…” Her gaze flickered back at her untouched food, darkly. “It’s probably better if someone outside of the house adopts him.”
Her cousins looked up, curious. “Why’s that?”
“It’s terribly busy around here as it is,” she murmured, thoughtfully, “And with all of these newborns growing up here…the best thing for Henry will be to put him in a more normal family unit, with people who can give him adequate attention. If he stays here, no matter how good all of your intentions are, he’s going to end up getting brushed aside for the younger children, because they need more looking after.”
While the cousins were still mulling that over---she was right, they knew it even if they hated to admit it---Vittorio entered the dining room, freshly divested of his medical supplies and bearing a few miniscule blood spatters on the cuffs of his shirt as normally as Malakai wore grass stains. The cousins didn’t even pay attention to it anymore, Vittorio cut people open for a living, it was just the way things were. They certainly had no idea that it was Antha’s blood. “If that’s the case,” he began, taking his seat beside Dolly Jean as she quietly fussed over his poor complexion, “Why don’t Dolly and I adopt him?”
The room went still and silent, only the unintentional drop of Jack’s fork and the scrape of Vittorio’s as he set intently upon his food, as straight-faced and calm as ever. “Do you even hear yourself?” Julien murmured uncertainly, glancing back to his plate as if to brush the subject aside.
But Vittorio glanced up at him, all serious eyes and stoic expression, and questioned simply, “Why not?”
Another moment of silence before Antha, regarding him thoughtfully, sat back in her seat, asking calmly, “Are you serious, Tori?”
He nodded, swallowing a particularly large mouthful. “Can you name a moment in my entire life when I wasn’t serious?” Begrudgingly, his cousins gave him that one, so he continued easily, “Dolly and I can’t have our own children---” Because of the genetic issues which had rendered her weak-minded, which of course she couldn’t risk passing on to children of her own, but not mentioning that out loud had become an art in the Mayfair family at this point. “---and we can hardly adopt a normal child into this family. Besides, with the way things are, it’ll be better to have an older child, who can at least take care of the basics himself.”
While the others considered his proposal, Dolly Jean had lit up as happily as a kid on Christmas morning, tugging on Vittorio’s arm and whispering hopefully, “Can we really, Tori…?”
Vittorio looked at her, her sparkling eyes as big as saucers, and flashed one of his painfully rare, disconcertingly gentle smiles. “You always wanted a big family, right?” Her face flushed happily, pressing her fingertips together and covering her mouth before, unable to bear her own excitement, she jumped up and fled into the kitchen, squeaking out an excuse about helping Jacob with dessert.
“Vittorio…” Julien began tentatively, eyes narrowing, “I don’t know about this. To trust a child with Dolly Jean when you’re busy working---”
But the doctor’s own eyes narrowed viciously, darkening with the promise of a threat. “You don’t give her enough credit,” he said flatly, leaving no room for argument, and then said nothing more on the subject.
“You know Tori, we never did ask you,” Courtland hummed thoughtfully, resting his chin in his palm and flashing curious eyes, “Why Dolly Jean? None of us expected it. And I mean, the way she is…doesn’t it feel a little like taking advantage of a Care Bear?”
At first, Vittorio only blinked at him in response, like he didn’t understand why the question had been posed. And then, quietly, shrugging just a little, he answered, “She’s pure.” When they continued to stare at him, he gave a little sigh of irritation, sitting back in his seat and elaborating quietly, “When we were kids…she couldn’t kill bugs.”
“Bugs…?” Pierce repeated unsurely.
“She couldn’t stand to hurt anything, even bugs. And once, when she saw me kill a spider, she cried hysterically.” He paused, eyes flashing darkly as he remembered it. “That was…probably the first time in my life that I ever felt bad about anything. It might have been the first time I ever really felt anything at all. So I gave her a really cool rock, to apologize, but I knew as soon as I did that she didn’t understand why I was giving her a rock. But then, even if she didn’t understand it…she smiled, and said she was happy that I had given her a present. And then…I was happy.” All of a sudden, Vittorio stiffened, the faintest hint of a blush creeping to his cheeks as he retreated from his haze of nostalgia. “I don’t know, how does it ever happen? Quit bothering me,” he hissed defensively, focusing back on his food and intently not looking at anyone.
Snickering, Courtland elbowed Jack, murmuring teasingly, “Tori’s just a big, mushy romantic after all, huh?”
“I have ready access to powerful tranquilizers and sharp surgical equipment, Court,” the doctor reminded him darkly, but could not quite stop him from snickering behind his hand.
Changing the subject, Antha quietly cleared her throat, casting a decisive gaze over Vittorio before finally taking up her fork again. “It’s decided, then.”
“Is it?” Julien grumbled, irritated at being ignored.
“It’s the best thing for Henry,” she pointed out firmly, “And Tori’s right…you’re not giving Dolly Jean enough credit. She might have some trouble, but her heart’s in the right place.” Effectively, Antha’s word was the end-all, be-all and the others dropped the subject, acquiescing.
When dinner was finished, Pierce and Lucy excused themselves with the hasty excuse that they were going to go take a look at the house and then probably stay at a hotel for the night. Antha, knowing that it would raise an alarm if she left before dessert, begrudgingly lingered.
“What does ‘cat, arrow, smiley face, heart’ mean?” Alistair asked meanwhile, scrolling through his phone while idly cutting his cake apart with no intention of eating it.
“Flirting, probably,” Jack answered with a mild degree of certainty, “Since it’s you, you can probably just always assume it’s flirting.
“Then what’s Tinder?” he continued curiously, “Everyone keeps asking if I’m on it.”
Immediately, Courtland and Jack both sputtered and very nearly burst into laughter, only managing to contain it due to the look Antha shot them. “You won’t need it,” Courtland assured him sweetly, making a vague dismissive gesture, “It takes all the sport out of it anyways. If someone’s not willing to properly confess their interest in person, it’s probably not worth it. That’s the danger of the internet, everybody wants to take the easy way out.”
Ultimately, Alistair just ended up frowning at his phone, perplexed. “Girls are really strange…” But in the end he just shook his head, quietly excusing himself and rising from his seat. “Oh…” Idly brushing a stray curl behind his ear, his gaze locked on Michael as he paused in the doorway, explaining quietly, “From tomorrow on, I’ll be coming home from school late.”
“Oh?” the man questioned curiously, Julien’s attention likewise shifting to the boy.
He nodded. “I joined the soccer team, so I’ll have practice after school.” His eyes flickered oh-so-briefly in Julien’s direction as he spoke, refusing to ask his permission but also making sure he wouldn’t object.
On the contrary, though he didn’t say anything, Julien’s expression was briefly startled and then seemingly somewhat pleased before he turned back to the evening paper in his hand, offering no comment. “That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Michael replied enthusiastically, all pleased sparkles, every bit the proud surrogate father. Turning to Liesse, he added, “You should go cheer him on. It would be a great way to make friends, with the fan club he has.”
“Uncle Michael…” Alistair muttered uncomfortably.
“Fan clubs always gather at this sort of thing,” Courtland agreed with a little amused nod, “Remember when Nicolae played soccer? There were always at least twenty girls on the sidelines intently watching him run and get all sweaty. They go crazy for that sort of thing.”
“They tried, at least,” Jack pointed out, snickering, “Don’t you remember? Antha always scared them off.”
“Hey,” the girl in questioned hissed, throwing them a threatening glance.
“No, it was great,” Courtland laughed, waving away her concerns, “She’d show up in her little middle school uniform, all tiny and adorable with absolute murder in her eyes, and entire flocks of older girls would run away literally screaming. It was hilarious.”
“They were annoying,” she murmured uncomfortably, “If I had to sit around and wait, I didn’t want to listen to them.”
“It’ll probably be even worse with Alistair, don’t you think?” Courtland continued heedlessly, pointedly ignoring the fact that he was risking getting punched for not shutting up, “He’s at least as pretty and charming as Nikki, but without the bad attitude.”
“It’ll be fine,” the boy in question sighed, shaking his head, “Gretchen hangs out during practice to wait for Tyler and Holt, and she’s even more likely than Evie to punch anyone that annoys her. Anyway…” He shrugged, turning back towards the hall. “I have homework to do.”
Afterwards, when everyone had quit the dining room and Jacob was cleaning up, Antha paused in the hall just outside of the nursery, pinching Cian’s sleeve to stop him. “I can probably handle feeding the twins and getting them down for bed myself,” she murmured, thoughtfully, “For tonight, at least…it’s probably more important that you do the big brother thing.” She gave a fleeting smile, her eyes flashing wryly. “Even if Rynn would never admit it.” Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss to his lips before turning towards the nursery. “I’ll meet you in the shower.”

Malakai, meanwhile, had likewise paused in the downstairs hall after dinner, going quiet with thought. “Hey…” he called, very softly, after Liesse. “Tomorrow night, there’s this flower…” Abruptly, his cheeks flushed, his gaze turning towards the floor. “At the botanical gardens I work at…it only blooms at night, for a couple of weeks a year. If you wanted to see it…I could take you.”
Back in the dining room, hiding and peeping curiously around the frame, Courtland and Jack snickered very quietly to one another. Malakai’s attempts to cheer her up were really quite adorably awkward.
Upstairs, something clattered, followed seconds later by Olivier’s high-pitched little voice declaring, very loudly, “Uh-oh!” Vittorio was a blur, appearing from the kitchen and clattering like lightning up the stairs towards the nursery. Distantly, Antha reassured him in an unusually high, panicky voice, “It’s fine! Everyone’s fine! Let’s all just stop freaking out, it was just a lamp!”
“They’ve got it tough…” Jack murmured, glancing up the stairs.
“Yeah,” Courtland sighed, and then abruptly pointed towards the parlor. “Wanna’ get drunk?”
“Already there.”  

[Okimiyage]

Outside, in the garden, Liesse inhaled the scent of gardenia and muggy summer nights.
“A night-blooming flower?” she repeated, doubtfully. if Malakai had wanted to get her attention, he’d picked the right tool for the job. Liesse’s own garden, although lavished with care, had been full of rather mundane blooms—roses and petunias, chrysanthemum and iris, hydrangea hanging low with flowers as white and large as snowballs.
“I’d like that very much.” Her heart felt lifted, all of a sudden, distracted from the problems of the day by something far more brilliant. Then, a thought occurred to her. “Will we have to break in?” she asked, anxiously. “I mean, surely the Botanical Gardens doesn’t stay open all night, does it?”

In the hall, Cian did not protest too much when Antha shouldered the burden of caring for the children. God knew she’d been gallivanting around all afternoon having fun, or so he thought. And Rynn had been in a strange temper at dinner—not belligerent, exactly, but…agitated.
“You may have a point, my dear,” he acknowledged, leaning over slightly to lay a kiss tenderly upon Antha’s forehead. “Don’t exert yourself too much, alright? Save some energy for me.” He winked, and added, “I’ll be up shortly.”
Rynn had adjourned to the gardens. He liked the rows of neat, orderly hedges just as much as they irritated him, reminding him of his own thorny labyrinth at home. His smart shoes crunched over the gravel as he strode up and down.
He sensed Cian’s presence before his brother came into view, stepping out onto the veranda and settling with languid, cat-like nonchalance against one of the porch posts.
He knew what his brother was going to say, and it was his intent to make the first move. He wasn’t going to be caught on the defensive.
“Don’t try to change my mind.” He swiveled on his heel, and gave Cian a sharp look. Taken aback, the older man waited to see what would come out next.
“I expect Liesse’s told you all about it, then.” Rynn continued, tromping back down the rut he’d worn in the stones. “I expect she’s sent you here to make me see reason.” Cian did not correct him. Rynn would most likely be more amenable the less he knew that Antha had to do with this. But then, his little brother surprised him:
“It’s alright, you know. I’ve already talked with Antha. She said she’d endow something to the extent of a fund for Llyr’s Court—for its restoration, whatever that calls for.” Cian raised an eyebrow. He suspected that Rynn’s idea of ‘restoration’ would cost a pretty penny. “Generous of her.” he commented, lightly. “Well, I’ll need something to live on, too.” Rynn laughed, shortly, and in a poor imitation of humor. “You know, I was honestly thinking that I’d have to start selling the family silver. Or go to the Talamasca for a job, god knows they’re probably salivating over the day they can convince a witch to join their ranks…”
“You know we’d take care of you,” Cian protested, waving a hand as if to brush the matter aside. “That’s the thing, though—“ Rynn halted, briefly, as though he’d been waiting for this question. “I don’t want to just be taken care of. I want to earn my keep. To repay all the kindness that I’ve been shown. I can’t give Erin or Aedan back, but at least maybe I can make up for what—what happened to them, if I can—if I can fix what caused it.”
“Rynn…”
Rynn’s frenetic pacing stopped. There was something in Cian’s tone that halted him in his tracks. His older brother sounded—tired, and older than Rynn had ever thought of him as. “…I don’t blame you for what happened. Maybe—“ he sighed. “Maybe I did, at first. For a little while. I hated how things turned out, certainly, but I knew what you were planning, going in there, and…I went along with it.
“But that’s in the past, now. I’ve forgiven you, and so has Liesse. You don’t have to go back to the ******** dungeon we grew up in. Don’t you see how much better things are, here? How much better they could be, if you’d only let them?”
Rynn turned, and did not look at Cian. He was watching the clouds, purple and gold in the reflected light of the sunset. “Just because things are easier doesn’t mean they’re better, Cain.” he said, quietly. “And nothing’s going to get better there unless someone fixes it, no matter how hard that might be. And I’m the only one who cares.”
Cian couldn’t deny that. He would have been only too delighted if Antha had brought the whole mansion down into rubble, when she last left it.
“I’m not going to demand that you help me. I know you have a lot on your plate. But at least—allow me to try.”
Cian stood, and went to his brother. A gentle hand found his shoulder. “I’m not going to stop you. I just want you to know…there’s always a place for you here, ok?” Although Rynn did not look up, his brother’s words brought a lift to the corners of his mouth. “Cian…” He reached up, clasping his brother’s hand.
“That’s not all.”
Rynn gave him a shy flicker of a glance.
“There’s something I have to tell you.”

When Cian climbed the stairs again, it was with slow and thoughtful steps. He could hear the hiss of the water through the pipes already, making the aged metal clank with exertion. Undressing in their rooms, his clothes were laboriously shucked upon the floor, before he opened the door to their bathroom. The small room was thick with steam, cloying white clouds of it. Pushing aside the curtain, he entered the shower with Antha.
He knew what to look for, now, although he was not sure that he would have noticed if Rynn had not said anything, and that disturbed him. But it was there, just as his little brother had described: the thin, white scrawl of a long-ago incision upon her flesh, bisecting her belly. If he hadn’t known Antha, and how quickly she healed, he would have never suspected that it happened this afternoon.
His hands traced the blades of her shoulders, lingering upon her hips before gently wrapping around her waist. His long fingers brushed gently against the scar tissue.
“This is new,” he said, softly.
There was part of him that wanted—well, to pretend, at least for a little longer. If Antha had concealed something like this from him, he wanted to believe that it had been for a good reason, or that maybe she just hadn’t figured out how to tell him yet. Maybe she just needed the opportunity to begin. No matter what Rynn had said, he couldn’t believe all of it—not just yet—and certainly not without hearing her side of the story, first.

Afterwards, Rynn stayed out in the garden for a long time, until the sun had gone down and its light had all but faded from the sky, watching the water slosh along the edge of the pool.
He was waiting for a scream, possibly. Or to be slapped, if not struck by lightening. But the only disturbances, for now, was Bella’s tiny cries from the open window of the nursery overhead, and Dorian’s soothingly-voiced expletives as he cursed his luck and begged her to be quiet.
After about fifteen minutes, he decided it was time to look for Alistair. He’d been ruminating on their discussion before dinner since it finished, and it was time to clarify a few things.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Antha had hardly stepped into the shower when she heard the click of the door. Vanessa and Sebastien had fussed for a while after they were fed---Vanessa, in particular, was disgruntled at being without her daddy’s attention---spurred on by Bella’s cries until their mother finally appeased them with soothing words and the sparkle of the Mayfair emerald. Bella had been drastically less impressed with the shiny trinket when she had tried to help Dorian, and eventually Antha had simply given him an apologetic flash of her eyes and fled. Sometimes, there was just no consoling a crying baby.
More or less, she had been able to keep it together until this point. She had pushed it to the far corner of her mind and pushed through, but the moment that Cian touched the scar…
Her hand went automatically to his, wrenching it away from the scar and then holding it just short of crushing his fingers. For a moment, Antha didn’t think about Cian, or Ciel. Instead she saw Courtland, flitting around the lab, murmuring lovingly to nearly half a dozen mangled corpses as if they were still alive, as if he couldn’t even process that they were dead and so he just…hadn’t. She saw Nicolae with his fingers tentatively touching a black metal box, refusing to look at what was inside, a heartbreakingly complex look on his face as his eyes flashed darkly. She heard his hoarse voice, piercing directly into the c***k in her armor with cruel precision---Why couldn’t you save him?
She saw the mangled little squirming heap of flesh that was Tristan, cradled in her arms, his exposed spine cutting into her hand, watched him fumble weakly to clutch at her while he struggled for breath until, eventually, he stopped and she physically felt a piece of her heart seize up and die.
“So he told you.” There was a notable lack of surprise in her half-hearted murmur, standing very, very still while the water dripped off of her eyelashes, wet strands of hair plastered against her cheek, running down her neck and shoulders. She was staring very hard at a little crack in one of the porcelain tiles through the vague haze of the steam, and didn’t seem completely aware of it when she spoke next, lowly. “I told you not to ask, remember? Because then I’d have to lie, and I didn’t want to do that. But that’s not the case anymore. If you ask, I’ll have to say it, and I…I can’t handle that, Cian. I can’t handle failing our child, I can’t handle failing you, and if you make me say it, I’ll break.”
But she compromised, in her own way. Her hand closed over his, gently now, and she gave him what little she could---
Courtland’s dream, and the astonishingly pretty, quiet boy with his remarkable eyes. Who knows? The way he’d run his hand back through his tousled brown and red and gold curls and reminded Courtland so strongly of Cian for a split second, though he hadn’t been able to place the likeness at the time. Nothing’s set in stone until it happens, Uncle Court.
Alistair’s flickering vision, of the same boy blank-faced and calm as Vanessa threw her arms around him, assaulting him with affectionate kisses. They can be as wicked as they want---who needs them!---I have the most darling baby brother in the world. And the same vision, without Ciel, because the boy didn’t exist, he’d never been born, and either outcome was as likely as the other.
The memory of the little blue plus sign that had formed on the test and how her heart had just stopped, her mind going painfully blank, and the helpless, pitying look that Alistair had given her in that moment. The baffled way Vittorio had looked at her in the lab, as if she was utterly mad and he was only playing along. It’s never been done, Antha. It’s science fiction. This plan is impressive, and I’ll do everything I can, but…this child is probably going to die.
And then that nagging flicker of Nicolae with his hand brushing Ezra’s makeshift coffin, the dark and excruciating pain in his eyes, the brief glimpse of that broken and helpless part of him. All of that ******** power of yours…how could it not be enough to save one tiny little life? The look in Courtland’s impossibly wide eyes when Tristan had gone still in her arms, like a man haunted, his breath shallow behind his fingers. This isn’t real…right? It can’t be real, Evie. Can it? He’s not…Evie, tell me he’s not---
The vast amount of anesthesia Vittorio had given her and her hazy consciousness in the hospital, those terrible words---We don’t have time to wait. If we’re going to do this, it has to be now.---and the agonizing pain that followed as he cut her open, the feeling for the first time in ten years that she’d rather die than have to go through this.
Finally, she released him, running her hands back through her wet hair. “Honesty isn’t always the best course, Cian. It’s very noble, of course, but sometimes it just does too much harm. I made a choice not to tell you, knowing you might never forgive me, because it was more important to protect you.”

Despite everything else, Alistair was, at least for a minute, content. With the room to himself for at least one night, for the first time in his life, he had turned his music up all the way, safe in the fact that very little sound got through these walls. Usually, Pierce would pout and whine and throw him dirty looks until he put his headphones on. Even then, he had to put up with his cousin making fun of his thick-rimmed glasses, which didn’t serve a terribly practical purpose because his eyesight was perfect, but he thought helped him focus more. But this…this was nice, laying back on his bed with the music swelling in the room around him, a copy of Tales from Underground propped over his face because there was actually no point in studying it, he’d read it half a dozen times with Antha.
Though he didn’t hear it, he felt Rynn come in, hooking one finger on the cover of the book and lifting it to peek out at him. Pausing briefly to adjust his glasses with the crook of his finger, Alistair reached for the notebook discarded on the bed beside him and began scrawling large letters across it, instead of turning down the music, turning it around to show it to Rynn. ‘I am extraordinarily busy studying and cannot possibly talk at the present moment. Please try again later. If you’re here for my candy stash, you’ll never find it.’ And then, casting the notebook aside, he plopped back down onto his colorful bedspread, drawing his book back over his face.
Alistair didn’t really want to talk. He felt…a little abandoned, honestly. Pierce was moving out, which was ultimately a good thing but seemed a little lonely, Antha was going to be gone, and then Rynn was going to leave. The others were all otherwise caught up in their relationships or children, he couldn’t be completely open with his school friends because they didn’t know what he really was, and Alistair was genuinely beginning to worry that he was only going to be left with Julien, which was unthinkable. He’d have to start visiting Armand and listen to his drivel about the craft of ‘romance’ novels, the very thought of which made his eye twitch, and---oh god. What if he started to appreciate Armand’s awful smut?
He was going to have to run away and join the circus, that’s all there was to it. Nicholas would probably take him in, he could read fortunes or be a pet or something.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

When Cian’s hand fell away, Antha automatically snatched it back up, gently this time, softly stretching his fingers out straight and staring hard at his reddened knuckles. “It wasn’t you…” she murmured, oh-so-softly, laying a lingering kiss across the back of his hand where she’d hurt it, “I didn’t want anyone to know. But it wasn’t because of anyone else, it was…” She turned very abruptly, burying her face in the crook of his neck, slick with water, her arms latching firmly around his chest. “I don’t know how to fail. And to fail our child---” Antha shook her head, a strangled little sound dropping from her lips. “I know how strong you are…strong enough to keep me together even when you don’t know what’s wrong. No one else in the whole world can do that. Just you. And I know it’s unfair, and I’m sorry, but…”
All of a sudden, her tightly tensed shoulders dropped, her entire body softening against his, a moment before she shoved a bottle of shampoo in his uninjured hand, announcing stubbornly, “I’m not moving. N'essaye même pas. Wash my hair for me, okay?”

When the music was shut off, Alistair gave a little disappointed groan, peeking out from beneath his book with a slight pout. “Just when I finally got rid of Pierce, always complaining about my music…” He stopped when the book was snatched away, giving a little ‘ack!’ of surprise and lifting his head, idly rubbing his forehead. “Papercuts! Geez…” Snatching the book back and laying it on the bedside table, he mumbled, “Not your reading list, but I have AP English. I have a book report due next week, thankyouverymuch.”
Sighing in disappointment, he lifted himself upright, leaning back on his outstretched arms and giving his stereo a rueful glance. “Music is the only thing you can really hear, you know? When you’re---” He paused, making gestures at the air around them, grasping for the words, “---out there. Everything else is a jumbled whisper, the voices are garbled and the colors are dim, the thoughts all mixed up---it’s like living in an M.C. Escher picture---but you can hear music. It’s the only thing you can focus on. Eventually, it’s the only thing that makes sense.” He sighed to himself, as if there was no help for, idly scrolling through his phone until another song came out from it, quietly now, and then tossed it aside.
His head tilted then, curiously, the lenses of his glasses briefly flashing in the light as he moved. And then, surprisingly, he gave a laugh. “You really think we didn’t know, don’t you?” he murmured, equally startled and amused. And then, sitting up straight, his entire demeanor changed, clearly mimicking Courtland’s mannerisms down to the thoughtful, uneasy way he rubbed his chin. “‘He’s going to spill it. You know that, right? Rynn couldn’t keep a secret if we threatened to dress him up in neko cosplay for telling.’”
Alistair shifted again, this time mimicking Antha, the way her eyes narrowed and she brushed her hair behind her shoulder, brows furrowing scornfully. “’What the hell are you imagining, Court…?’” He shook his head the way she did, as if to dismiss the subject, eyes darkening as he anchored his fist thoughtfully against his chin. “‘He’s lasted longer than I thought…I might not be able to smack him for it after all…’”
Another shift, back into Courtland, giving one of his airy, amused little half-laughs, “‘But Evie, how else is he going to learn…?’”
And then Alistair was himself again, shrugging indifferently. “Your loyalty is to Cian before Antha. It’s to be expected. Besides, Courtland’s right…you can’t keep a secret.” He gave a little smile, affectionately teasing. “He might be onto something with the neko cosplay, though.” Grinning, his entire demeanor shifting effortlessly into mischievous, he seized Rynn’s wrist and yanked him towards himself, all the way into his lap. “Ah…no, I couldn’t do that. Courtland would sense it and come running and I’d have to stab him through the face if he saw…” He released him then, sighing at his foiled plans, and then gave his usual easy smile, as if he hadn’t just mentioned murdering his cousin in a particularly gruesome manner, falling back onto the mattress and gazing up at the soft yellow glow of his hanging star lamps.
“It’s lonely, you know?” he whispered, half to himself, “Everyone moving on like this. I’m happy for everyone, but…I was alone for twenty years. I don’t want it to be like that again.” He shook his head, the same way that Antha did when she wanted to change the subject, his usual smile spreading across his lips. “Ah, right. I believe you were just desperately pleading for my help, n’est-ce pas? It must be terribly important if you’d wander into my room all alone with me, knowing what I could do to you.” He grinned, his eyes flashing dangerously behind his glasses as he gently touched the dark mark beneath Rynn's collar, lovingly, the beast coming out to play. “I’ll help you with anything. You just have to ask very, very nicely.”  

[Okimiyage]

Quote:

Cian gave her a funny look, although he knew she couldn’t see it, and let his head tilt quizzically. He’d felt Antha stiffen against him, and wondered if, had she been facing him, he would have been able to watch the reflection of her memories, flashing before her eyes.
When her hand dropped away, his remained. He’d have a spectacular set of bruises flourishing along his knuckles by morning, doubtless. He tried to ignore the throbbing in his fingers.
“I won’t ask.” he said, quietly, and his mellow tone would have been almost inaudible against the sharp hiss of the shower, had he not been so close that she could feel the rumble of his voice against her back. “I agreed to that. But I want you to understand something, Antha— I don’t want to be protected. I knew, coming into this, that our marriage was never going to be traditional, but…at its most fundamental level…it still means being partners, not just lovers. I’m here for the good times and the bad, whatever you need. And I mean—“ here he laughed, trying to lift the tense atmosphere up a notch. “—I know I’ll never be half the witch that you are, but I can be strong in other ways.” He almost added, Just give me a chance to prove it, but decided Antha might take that as criticism. And that was not what he wanted to do, here. Instead, he chose, “I want to have your back in any situation. I know that full disclosure isn’t your style—I knew that when we got hitched, so nobody can say I didn’t ask for this. But I said ‘whatever you need’, and I meant it. If that means you need me to shut up and—and give you space, well, I can do that, too. You don’t need to ask for forgiveness—if anything, I’m sorry—sorry that I wasn’t…” he trailed off. Sorry that he wasn’t enough. Sorry that he hadn’t shown her that he could be strong, that he hadn’t given her enough reason to trust him. “…there.” Cian said, finally, trusting that she would understand.
With that, he finally let his hand drop. His fingers felt like someone was playing a xylophone on his joints, and he tried not to hiss through his teeth as the movement made them jangle with pain. “For what it’s worth—“ he added, “Rynn is just worried about you. Everyone is, I think. Don’t be too upset with him. Pass the soap?”
And that was the brilliant thing about Cian. Just like that, he could let it drop. Rynn worried issues like a terrier with a rat, passionate to a fault, but Cian had a gift for dismissing a tense consversation as easily as one might discard a coat.

Rynn stopped in the doorway, reading Airi’s sign apprehensively. The last line made him snort with a laugh that he could not quite stifle. Trust Alistair to have a candy stash, just like a little kid.
Then again, you could say that Alistair’s childhood had been more deprived than most. Maybe it was his due.

“You are not—“ he tried, at the top of his lungs, then sighed. Crossing over to the stereo, he hit the power button and continued. “You are clearly not studying.” he pointed out. “You’re using that poor book as a sleep mask.”
Cocking his head to the side, he read the spine and grimaced. Aedan had liked Dostoevsky, too. “I don’t even think that one’s on our reading list.” It wasn’t. Parents had complained that it was too depressing and the characters were of questionable morality, besides, wasn't it a little 'difficult' for high schoolers?
Rynn had been betting that turning off the stereo would provoke some kind of reaction, and was fully expecting to defend himself from any projectiles—such as, for example, the book over Alistair’s face. When none seemed to be forthcoming, though, he cautiously inched towards the edge of the bed, and perched on the corner.
“I told Cian.” He wasn’t sure if he was saying it simply to brag, or because he needed to get it off his chest. Saying it to someone else made the act feel more real, now. Cian hadn’t shouted or gotten upset, only sighed, patted Rynn on the shoulder, and gone back inside. “I don’t suppose you’ll hide me when the angry mob comes?—no, I didn’t think so.”
Rynn sighed. “Look, I expect that you’re annoyed with me right now. I’ll be here for a while, you know?” A tragic attempt at a smile was made. “Liesse would never let me hear the end of it if I failed to graduate alongside the rest of y’all. Besides, I…” His voice trailed off, then got very small and came out all in one word. “…needtoaskyouforhelp.” Rynn waited, apprehensively, then risked a sideways glance. “Are you even listening?” he demanded, climbing forward from the foot of the bed and snatching the book impetuously from Alistair’s stupidly pretty mug.

((ergh i'm an idiot))

Cian laughed when she nuzzled into him, like a cat hiding its eyes from the world in the crook of a beloved human's arm. But, "Alright, alright," he conceded, pushing her hair back in a tangled garnet heap so as not to get suds in her eyes. He loved doing this for her; digging his fingers into the mass of wet, red curls, down to the roots, massaging her scalp...If she'd wanted to distract him, she picked a good tactic. "We don't have to talk about it anymore," he added, almost absently. "But for what it's worth, I have faith in you. Like you said--you don't know how to fail, right? It's terribly late to start learning now." He almost leant down to kiss her head, then reconsidered when he thought about it. The lingering taste of shampoo was probably not worth it. Setting the bottle aside on one of the little porcelain shelves, he reached for the shower head and redirected its cascading spray upon her spine. "Now, tilt your head back."

Rynn slumped in a defeated pose, his hands tucked like paws between his knees. "I can keep a secret! Just not...not from Cian. He deserved to know!" Despite his justifications, Rynn seemed to be on the defensive for a second. Uncomfortably, he switched the subject. "Anyways, what's...a neko...cosplay?"
The answer didn't exactly matter, did it?
He shook his head stubbornly. Alistair was just trying to distract him, and he didn't plan on falling for it again.
"You can bluff all you want, but you don't scare me, Airi." he said, feigning boldness where it was not felt. Besides, there were too many people around. Surely if he screamed, one of them would come running. He really didn't want to try his luck, though. "Besides," he added, "you'll barely have to do anything. I could use Liesse, but it might be a bit much for her." He looked around, then belligerently muttered, "I feel as though I should have a map full of battle tactics to explain this, but okay." He leaned forward in a conspiratorial fashion. "I want to dismantle the maze. It shouldn't be too difficult, I think--at this point, it's already falling apart, and the decay will be even more advanced by the time I have it all--er--figured out. But I think it'll take at least two witches; one to redirect the channels of power from inside the heart of the maze, and one to make sure that that the departing current, well, 'sticks' to the world of the dead, instead of just all leaking out into our world as it has been. Like--like one of those screwcap things that they use to connect hoses together." This probably didn't make sense to anyone except Rynn, but he plowed on regardless. "All we need is a conduit." And you've crossed between those worlds before. If anyone was attuned to the world of the dead, it would be Alistair. Liesse was Rynn's back-up plan, but he had no idea whether she'd even stand for it. His sister hadn't exactly been supportive so far.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Begrudgingly, Antha parted from Cian to step under the water, quietly handing him the soap. She was just finishing rinsing the conditioner from her hair when she spoke again, quietly, her fingers tangled in her hair and her gaze focused on the swirl of water in the drain. “I don’t want you to give me space,” she murmured finally, “But I don’t want to talk about it. Not to you, or Airi, or Tori---I don’t even want the words in my head. It’s not because---” She paused, sighing with frustration, a hand raking back through her wet, soft tresses. “That’s not how real life works, you know? People don’t just change like that, or if they do, it takes a hell of a lot longer than this. I wanted to keep this to myself. That’s just how I am. It has nothing to do with not trusting you, not relying on you, it doesn’t mean I didn’t think you were strong enough. I don’t want you to think that, because none of it’s true. And it hurts me that you’re hurt from thinking that so just…stop, okay?”
Really, it was all she could do to keep from panicking. Antha wasn’t used to having to explain herself---she’d never really cared to before, it was never important enough---but she couldn’t let him think that way. She was going to be gone soon, and she couldn’t let him think that way.
“You know---” She spoke like the thought had just occurred to her, blinking with mild surprise. “We don’t ever really fight, do we? I’m not used to that. I’m always so quick to yell or pick a fight, I don’t even think about it. But my first instinct with you is always just to…talk. You’re probably the only person that it matters with. With everyone else, I’ll always get my way and they’ll either understand in the end or they won’t, and if they don’t, it’s not really a big deal. But with you…I want you to understand why. And…I want to know how you feel, and what you think. I don’t want us to be just lovers---and when you say it that way, it sounds like you think I’m just using you for your body, so stop it---I want us to be partners.” Unusually, Antha’s cheeks flushed the faintest bit pink. Feeling the prickle of heat, she flicked a few suds from her fingertips onto his shoulder to distract him. “I don’t like it when we don’t understand each other, Cian. It makes me feel all knotted-up and anxious. You’re the only person in the world I get that way about, so…it’s fundamentally against my nature, but…I’ll try to rely on you more, instead of keeping everything to myself. Because I love you, and I know you’re more than strong enough to handle it.”

Smirking to himself, Alistair took up his phone and immediately did an image search for ‘neko cosplay,’ turning the phone around to show Rynn. “The internet’s awesome,” he sighed with deep, amused satisfaction, withdrawing the phone as it flashed that he had a new message, “No matter what Courtland says. Or…how these strange girls keep getting my number.” He frowned quizzically with the last part, staring oddly at the picture on his phone. “Seriously, is someone selling my phone number or something?” It was the fourth time just that day, but he didn’t mention that to Rynn. Or show him the less than appropriate picture. Instead he typed out a quick text to Gretchen to ask if she’d given anyone his number.
The response came mere seconds later. 'Yeah, so? I made a killing and you’ve got tons of ‘offers’, right? Nobody loses.' Alistair rolled his eyes and sighed to himself, mentally exhausted. There was no help for it, Gretchen was Gretchen. And then his phone dinged again and he glanced at her second message, fighting the urge to react to it even as the very tips of his ears prickled hotly. 'Or is Rynn accusing you of cheating on him? I can set him straight.'
His response was short and directly to the point. 'DON’T.' Rynn might never recover from such a talk, particularly from Gretchen. She was too blunt, too aggressive, always casually disregarding people’s moods and feelings, and anyways, Rynn didn’t want anyone to know what had happened.
Tossing the phone back aside, a little too aggressively to pretend that nothing had just happened, he gave a little sigh and, without warning, flicked Rynn on the forehead. “You have no patience,” he sighed, cocking his head, “The minute something comes into your head, you have to act on it---do all things and ask all the questions. Just slow down for once, Rynn. At the risk of sounding grossly insensitive…your entire family legacy already came crumbling down once. That literally just happened. It’s not your fault, the whole Calais system was intensely flawed, from what I can tell. But if you’re going to rebuild it, you have to stop and think. Plan. The tiniest flaw or oversight is going to bring it down all over again one day. You want to build something that’ll last, right? A family legacy that you can be proud of? You can’t rush into something like that. Sebastien would never forgive you if you didn’t put proper care into it. There’s a reason for that pendant of his, you know, the one he’s going to make with the Mayfair crest on one side and the Calais crest on the other. If you’re going to go rebuild the house, the legacy…it’s not just for you and your ancestors, the ghosts in that crypt. Vanessa and Sebastien are Calais too, and Ciel, and any children you or Liesse will have. In other words…” He pursed his lips, glancing off towards the clutter of pictures on his wall. “I’ll help,” he agreed after a moment, nodding as if he’d just made his mind up, “Whatever I can do…I’ll do it. But you really need to stop and give yourself some time to seriously think this through. All of it.” And then, laughing a little sardonically, “Or as Evie would say it, Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
He paused then, pursing his lips like he didn’t want to say anything. But then he did anyway, quietly and reluctantly. “You can’t use Liesse,” he murmured, shaking his head, “She’s not as strong as me, she’ll get snatched for sure. See, the thing with us…” He laughed, almost idly, as if to diffuse any potential tension. “It’s like ripping out the hem of a shirt and trying to stitch it back together, I suppose. You can never get it back the way those industrial machines make it, it’s weaker. We’re the same way. Once you die and your soul detaches from your body, no matter what you do, it never attaches that securely again. It’s usually not really an issue, but exposing yourself to spirits like that…it is possible to get snatched away again.” Despite that (and really, they were harrowing words), Alistair gave his usual cheerful smile. “It’ll be fine if it’s me, so I don’t mind. But you were probably thinking that Liesse could do it if I wouldn’t, and she would probably get snatched. Even if she would do it, Malakai would find some way to keep her from doing it. He knows how these things work even better than the rest of us, and I don’t think he’d ever take a chance at losing her.” He laughed, his eyes flickering towards the door. His poor, sweet brother, struggling so hard to cheer Liesse up when he didn’t totally understand what ‘normal’ people liked to do. Malakai was practically a cat, all he ever wanted to do was paw at the pretty flowers and take naps where it was warm. Really, Alistair was proud of his efforts today.
Without warning, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Rynn’s until their lips were hardly a breath away. “So if I help you, you have to protect me, alright? Because I don’t think you could bear to lose me, Rynn.”  

[Okimiyage]

Cian was in the middle of pushing his hair, foaming with shampoo, back from his face when he paused to consider this. Shaking the water out of his ear, he gave a weighty sigh. “I don’t like it when we don’t understand each other, either. But I know there are some things—some experiences—that I don’t even know where to start. Like…being a mom. But I figure that at the very least, even if I don’t understand, I can be understanding.” He stopped talking to duck his head under the spray of the jets, rinsing the white crown of lather away before he reached for the conditioner. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to protect me from anything, though—at least not to the extent that I can’t even know about it. It’s like—“
He stopped, his hands combing halfway through his hair in a ruminative fashion.
“—I’m already going to worry about you, no matter what. But what scares me is the thought that—if something had gone wrong today, really wrong, I wouldn’t have…
He put his head under the shower, the last of the hair product sheeting away around his shoulders. “I mean…there’s some part of me that wakes up, every day, wondering if today is going to be the last day that I get to—“ His voice broke. He made a half-hearted attempt to pretend that the water in his eyes was from the shower head, tilting his face back so that any of the tears stuck in his eyes were indistinguishable from the spray. “That I get to spend with you. Every time you go out the door, I have to wonder whether you’ll come back. And yeah, it feels awful, but what would feel worse is if I never saw it coming. If I snapped at you over—over something stupid and petty, and then never got to say ‘I’m sorry’ or, ‘I love you’. Maybe I couldn’t have done anything even if I had known, but I—I hate the thought that you’d have to come here and pretend that everything was alright, even if it wasn’t. I want to make ‘home’ a place where you feel safe—a place where we don’t have to put on an act, where we don’t hide anything about ourselves.” Withdrawing from the shower, he stuck his hand out and groped through the clouds of steam for the towel rack. “God, that sounds corny as hell. But it’s true.” His fingers closed around terrycloth. “I know people don’t change overnight, and I don’t expect it now, either. I guess—if I could get anything out of this conversation—I’d just ask that next time, get to me first before Rynn breaks the news. Boy’s got no tact.” He winked at her, to show that he was joking, before stepping out onto the plush rug next to the tub. Besides, he'd much rather hear, ‘I went to the hospital today, honey’, than ‘Antha almost died in the ER!’

Rynn stared at the screen for a second, then turned a bewildered look on Alistair.
“So it’s like a cat costume. Like a halloween thing? Why would anyone want—“ Rynn thought about it, then looked at the screen again. “…never mind. Look, I’m asking now because I need to do research. This is all theoretical at the moment, especially since I don’t have access to any of the old library, but I’m pretty sure there’s a lot more work that’s going to have to be done. I’ve…” he seemed to realize how close Alistair had gotten, all of a sudden— close enough to trade breath with. Jerking a half-inch back, Rynn looked away, suddenly abashed. “…I’ve never written a ritual like this before, ok? I’m going off mostly family lore and what scraps of info that my brothers were willing to share with me. And that’s—um—that’s the second half of the favor.” His eyes lowered, the long fringe of his lashes falling demurely against his cheek. He didn’t quite dare to glance at Alistair, knowing what kind of skeptical expression that he’d find on his face. “Before I start planning, I was thinking…there has to be something in the library, some kind of text on thaumaturgical constructs, or—necromantic architecture, or magic ******** hedges, for all I know. Witches just don’t do things like the maze on the spur of the moment, right? There has to be some kind of map, or ‘user’s manual’, or something—I dunno. At the very least, I could recover Aedan’s journals.” That was what made it clear, suddenly, that he wasn’t just talking about the Mayfair library—he was talking about Llyr’s Court again, the old, half-burnt archive of all their traditions and teachings. “If I have two years to plan this out, I might as well get started now, right?” He said, half as though convincing himself. “But, um. I don’t…I don’t have a car. Or the money for a taxi.” Not that any taxi was likely to take him out there after dark, anyways. Suddenly, his eyes jolted up to meet Airi’s again, ignoring the slow creep of a blush rising from his collar. The words came out in a last-ditch, frantic effort: “But it’s not dangerous, really, not right now. We could go tomorrow if you felt better about doing it in sunlight—I mean, I’d protect you no matter what, they’re sworn not to do harm to members of the family, but we wouldn’t even be going in the maze, just the house, it would only take a few minutes to grab the journals and leave, you could just stay in the car if you wanted. Please?”  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

For a moment as he dried off, Antha just blinked at her husband, wide-eyed. And then, very abruptly, she threw herself at him---very nearly tackled him---her arms clamping tightly around him. “Is that what you were worried about?” she exclaimed suddenly in exasperation. “Ah, goddamn it, Rynn…” She shook her head, clicking her tongue with irritation. “Cian…there was never any chance of that. Vittorio may not seem like it, being the way he is, but he’s actually a remarkable surgeon. He’s kind of famous for it, I’m always having to beat hospital directors off of him, they think they can poach him off of me. And that procedure…it was nothing, two little incisions, I barely lost blood. I take larger risks with my health every time I go to hang out at the circus. I was never going to die from this. If there was any risk of that, I would have told you. Whatever else I’m lacking in, I always tell you when I’m waltzing into actual danger.”
Reluctantly, Antha released her husband, taking a towel to her damp hair and pulling on her (well, Cian’s, technically) sweater. Mentally, Antha cursed Rynn as she dressed and continued rubbing a towel against her thick, damp hair. Leave it to him to overreact so grossly, and at the absolute worst time, too. “I wouldn’t take any serious risks with my life before Nero gets here,” she elaborated when they had returned to the bedroom proper, dropping onto the foot of the bed with her hands folded in her lap, her gaze downcast and voice unusually low. “There’s too much on the line for that. And I’ll tell you…before it happens.” Her voice wavered, her pale fingers wringing the hem of her sweater. “It’s going to be…so, so difficult, and I’m utterly terrified, but when he gets here, when I have to go face him…even if I don’t know what to say, I don’t think I could ever just walk out without saying something to you. So I don’t want you to worry about that, because it’s not going to happen. The day I walk out that door and never come back, you’ll know. As terrible as it’s going to be, we can at least say goodbye when the time comes.”
Swallowing past her discomfort, Antha reached out to grab his hand, quietly lacing their fingers together. “I’m sorry…” she murmured, “I’m sorry that I made you worry. But really, this wasn’t dangerous, just…upsetting.” She shook her head, her gaze dropping again and her jaw clenching with abstract frustration. “Having my child taken from me, given to a stranger. Never knowing if, by some miracle, he survives. I wish we’d had more time, that I could’ve made a more thorough plan, but once Tori found a proper match for a surrogate there was such a short window of opportunity, and we might not have found another candidate if we passed on this one. I’m…I’m not used to this. Not being in control, not being able to manage everything. It’s not even in Tori’s hands, all he can do is monitor the situation and hope nothing goes wrong, or that if it does, he can fix it in time. It’s more or less left up to nature and chance right now, and I’ve never trusted nature. Nature is too arbitrary, it…it ******** things up. It did with Alistair, and my mother, and Dolly Jean, and Ezra and Tristan and their poor brothers and sister. And now, at the single most important moment---when our son is on the line---it’s won. It has control, and there’s nothing I can do to tamper with it. It just pisses me off.” She gave a heavy, frustrated sigh, her fingers idly touching her temple as if to calm herself as she regained control of her rapidly accelerating tone. “I know it sounds ridiculous, talking like it’s a competition, but that’s how it feels. Nature is a tidal wave and I’m scrambling around on the ground, trying to build something to keep from drowning in it before it’s too late.”

At first, Alistair seemed mildly disgruntled. He shifted his gaze sidelong and clamped his lips down hard together, but was given away by the burning pink of his ears. “There’s no way you’re not doing that on purpose…” he murmured, and was oddly bashful about it considering his usual straightforward manner.
His eyes flickered once across the room, his rare and coveted privacy from his roommate, before he gave a little defeated sigh, looking Rynn directly in the eye again. “How do you even think I could say no when you act that cute?” For the sake of revenge, he stole a fleeting kiss, too quickly for Rynn to jerk back again, pausing to whisper in his ear. “But you’re not allowed to exploit anyone else like this. Only me. ‘kay?”
Climbing gracefully off the bed, he stepped into his shoes and grabbed his jacket, speaking normally now as he shrugged into it. “The magic’s different, but you might find something useful in all the various schematics for this house. It’s surprisingly elaborate, the plans took generations to finish.” Crossing over to his desk, he took up a folder outrageously thick with crinkled, yellowed pieces of paper and a particularly battered old tome, tossing them onto the chest at the foot of the bed beside Rynn. “Coincidentally, that happens to be everything we have on magical architecture from when they were doing research for this house. A little light reading, you know? Most of it was already gathered together anyways.” That was a lie, but Rynn didn’t need to know that. Alistair had gone to the library right after dinner and put it all together, and even dragged out Lestan’s old journal concerning the house’s construction from its protective iron box in the attic.
“Come on, let’s go before it gets too late,” he said to Rynn, heading out into the hallway where he brushed his fingers curiously along his cheek, murmuring aloud to himself, “So I don’t blush, huh?” He probably could, in extreme circumstances, but it seemed now like his body’s first reaction was for his ears to turn red. It was the first significant difference from Antha that he could really count about himself, except for his gender, which was…odd. It was an odd, unsettling, and lonely, yet happy feeling. Sometimes he liked to remember that they weren’t perfectly the same.
“Where are you off to?”
Startled, Alistair looked up at Courtland standing on the stairs, scrambling to brush the question aside with his usual carefree smile. “Field trip.”
“Oh?” Courtland was too sharp, as always, but said nothing about it. He just gave that maddening little knowing grin of his and changed the subject. “I need your Pop Rocks.”
“You stay away from my candy stash,” Alistair hissed, suddenly on the defensive.
“But I neeeeed them!” his cousin whined, pouting pitifully, “I had the greatest idea, but I need Pop Rocks and sooner or later, Jackie’s going to get out of his restraints, so I don’t have time to go to the store, so hand them over.”
For a moment, Alistair was very still, his face going slowly stiff and blank. “…what kind of perversion are you trying to get my candy involved in?” Shaking his head, Alistair hurriedly seized Rynn by the wrist, tromping away from Courtland and hissing a warning as they headed through the door. “Stay away from my stash!”
Courtland sighed, leaning heavily against the banister and flashing a sharp gaze in their direction, grinning like he knew every secret they had ever carried. But all he said, in an amused murmur, was, “So stingy, Airi…”
They had nearly reached the door when Courtland called out after them. “Oi.” Looking back, Alistair was a little surprised to see him standing straight on the stairs with his hands in his pockets, his expression unusually (and therefore worryingly) serious, narrowing a concerned gaze on Rynn. “You saw, right? My children up there.” He held one finger up, pointing at the laboratory above their heads where he and Antha had taken those suspicious black boxes. “Antha didn’t bring them home for the hell of it. It’s because when she’s not here anymore, us and the Talamasca…it’s going to be war again, like it’s always been. I mean verbal fights, spies, spilled blood, corpses, the whole nine yards. And once that line gets drawn---” His eyes flashed with dark concern. Despite his usual devil-may-care attitude, he was genuinely concerned for Rynn, and it showed in this moment. “Nothing on the other side of it can cross back over. The Talamascans might be witches, but…they’re not like us, Rynn, the Mayfairs or the Calais. We have our secrets, our ways of life, but they don’t have any of their own. They collect ours instead, aggressively. They’re not our friends---they’re not even our allies, they only behave because they know that Antha could and absolutely would bring their entire headquarters and everything they’ve spent centuries collecting down to ashes around their heads. If you ever try to get involved with them, you’re going to end up in too deep.” And just like that, with a little shake of his head, Courtland gave a weary sigh and turned on his heel, idly rubbing the back of his neck. “And for such a trite thing as money, too…” he murmured ruefully to himself as he climbed the stairs, purposefully loud enough for Rynn to hear, “What the hell else would we spend ours on anyway?”
Watching him vanish, Alistair cocked his head curiously to the side for a moment before turning back to look at Rynn. “He is right,” he agreed quietly, nodding slightly, “About the matter of money of course, but more importantly about the Talamasca. Evie has them under control, but they are dangerous. It’s probably a good choice for a witch alone in the world, with nothing much to lose, but for a witch like you, with bloodlines and history and secrets…they’ll try to take it all from you. And if they can’t, or if they think you’re holding back, they’ll make you disappear. It’s just…best to stay away from them. At least until one shows up intent on kidnapping you or trying to force you to talk. They do that. They do that a lot. At that point, it’s usually best to kill them.”
But the boy shook his head, as if it was a conversation best had at another time, turning and heading out the door. “You’ll have to remind me of the way,” he said, climbing into the car, “Evie was only out there once, I don’t remember it that well. And, well, it’s not like she was paying a lot of attention on the way back.”  

[Okimiyage]

Cian smiled, faintly, rubbing the towel through his sun-kissed hair so that it stuck up, tousled and wild, by the end of it. He crossed to the bed and settled down beside her, making the frame creak under their combined weight. “It doesn’t sound ridiculous,” he reassured her, but his gaze was focused, unseeing, upon a framed painting across the room.
“Very few of us ever have a real say in these kinds of situations, Antha. You’re…exceptional in that sense. The rest of us, we hardly have a snowflake’s chance in hell of fighting back against any of nature’s imperatives. For the rest of us…” He shut his eyes, and his hand found hers, slowly but with surety. “…all we can do is hope.”
His soft chuckle was devoid of humor. “I know that’s not in your nature. You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. But if you tell me what you do want, I’ll help—whatever it takes, however I can. Really, I guess, that’s all I’ve wanted since I’ve met you.”
Slowly, he opened his eyes. “I got used to seeing people come and go a long time ago. I thought— I got used to letting go, too. But you’re the one person in this world that I can’t stop myself from worrying about, no matter how trivial the danger may seem. If you get a stubbed toe, I want to be there to bandage it up and kiss it better.” Finally, there was that familiar, crooked grin, baring the sharp, white point of a tooth. His exhalation came out half-laugh, but at least there was genuine amusement in it—if only directed at himself. “And even if you’re up against a god, I want to fight at your side. Even if we’re on the losing side, it’s—it’s alright, as long as I’m with you.”
“And that’s the funny thing, I guess. Because I know—I can see it—what victory will cost. And no matter how much I’d rather let the whole world burn, if it meant keeping you and our children safe…I can’t. Neither can you. I know what you’re dying for is worth it, even if it’s only a slim chance, and…in the same sense, suffering though all the grief and fear is worth it, if this works. And even if it doesn’t…”
Finally, Cian looked at her. His hand slowly relaxed, the bruised tendons aching with tension. His gaze fell like a lead bar. “…well, at this point, worry is useless. All we can do is wait, and see, and—and hope. Even if I reckon that’s about as counterintuitive to you as flying is to a fish.”

Below, Rynn felt heat rise so quickly to his face that it could have blistered.
He wanted to scowl, and snark back with something mean and clever and—selfish, he thought.
Instead, he rubbed the back of his head ruminatively as Courtland spoke, digging his fingers into his scalp so that the hair stuck up rakishly by the time he was done.
“Look,” he said, finally. “I don’t know where you got this from, but I’ll give you my two cents. As far as I know, the Talamasca and the Mayfairs have been at each other’s throats for generations, right? This is the first truce, however uneasy, that either side has seen for a long time. But…” Quite frankly, if it came to all-out war, the Talamasca would be decimated within a week. No matter how good their intelligence network was, they didn’t have the manpower to hold out against a clan of pissed-off witches. And if they made any move against Courtland or Antha’s children, Rynn felt fairly certain that was what they would get. “…when Antha is gone, we’re going to have to make a choice. We can either try for diplomacy, or we can raise your children—and Antha’s—telling them bedtime stories about the Talamasca boogeyman. If there’s even a chance that the latter might succeed, whatever it takes, isn’t it worth trying, first?”
It wasn’t Courtland’s little speech that made his hands knot at his side, though, and his shoulders tense. It was the last words that made Rynn want to spit venom. Only a Mayfair, who’d never been hungry, who’d never been homeless, would call money ‘trite’.
But after a moment, by sheer dint of effort—and also because Rynn didn’t care to yell after Courtland’s vanishing back—the boy dug his nails out from his palm and turned to Alistair. “Let’s go.”
But even after they left the house, Rynn kept muttering to himself, clearly annoyed. It was only when the both of them had thumped into the car seats and the doors were slammed that the stream of conscious stopped, too close now to grumble without Airi’s ear catching some of the more colorful expletives.
“I know it sounds stupid to everyone else, ok?” he said, finally. “But I want to be independent. I want to make my own money, have my own home, to not have to rely on anyone’s goodwill or pander to anyone’s expectations. And, hell—at least investigating the tattered remnants of the Calais heritage won’t hurt anyone, if I did go through with it. They can’t kill what’s already dead, and if—“ he thumped the sheaf of papers in his hand with the flat of his palm, “—if all this goes according to plan, whatever they could learn wouldn’t be an asset, anyways.” Rynn’s mouth twisted, as though he was swallowing more bitter words before they could surface. Then, he sighed, and the tension drained from his features. “It’s on the outskirts of town. The road isn’t marked. We can take the highway out that far, and I’ll direct you from there.”  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Once safely in the garage, Alistair quickly cut the engine, intent on not getting caught, and let a long sigh drag through his lips. “Hey…” He leaned the side of his forehead against the steering wheel, his short curls stirring as his gaze settled on Rynn. It wasn’t a seductive look, particularly, rather it was dark and hazy. Instead, it was the low, hesitant rumble of his voice that made the suggestion crystal clear. “Pierce won’t be back until tomorrow…you should stay in my room tonight.” Like Rynn, he had his own way of being unintentionally seductive.
He was barely through the door with the stack of books before he felt a dull blow to the back of his head, and then heard a similar slap sounding against Rynn’s. He flinched guiltily, turning to find his sister had appeared from thin air with a quietly fussing Sebastien on her shoulder, her eyes fearfully narrowed. “What’s the matte] with you two?!” she hissed in an incongruent whisper, shifting her attention rapidly back and forth between the boys and her baby, gently bouncing him on her shoulder, “Running around ruins in the middle of the night…could have fallen through the floor and broken every bone in your damn body!” And then, turning her glare softly onto Sebastien as he gave a little upset murmur, whispered sweetly, “I know, mon petit, I know, your stupid uncles don’t have a single care in the world for their well-being. I know, precious.” Gaze back on the teenage boys, as furious as before, smacking them both in the back of the head again for good measure. “Idiots! The next time you do something this reckless, I’ll lock you in your rooms and board them up---separate rooms.” Attention back on Sebastien, quietly shushing him as her fingers soothingly stroked his wispy curls. “It’s alright, love, no, go back to sleep.”
She half-turned, as if she would head back up the stairs, but then paused, her gaze narrowing at Rynn. She smacked him a third time in the back of the head and then lightly poked his forehead, announcing flatly, “Don’t throw any more live grenades into my marriage.” And then she spun back around, heading for the stairs in the dark as Sebastien whined against her shoulder, his pudgy little fingers clutching her sweater and tears glittering in his eyes. “Back to sleep, Bash, please. You want mommy to sing you a lullaby? Let’s see…” Her voice faded upstairs, singing very softly, and Alistair released a long sigh, his head cocking to the side. Briefly, he was overcome with the sudden realization that his sister---his little sister, technically, he'd been born half an hour before her---was legitimately a mother. It was one thing that she was a 'mother', she had children, but when she was wandering around in the dark in the middle of the night, disheveled, lecturing them and cajoling her infant son back to sleep, she was suddenly a mother. Maybe it was because Alistair had never had one, but it was disconcerting and comforting all at once.
Meanwhile, he was playing a teenager. He didn't think he'd ever felt such a distance between himself and his twin.
“That went over better than I thought.” He shrugged. “At least it wasn’t Julien.” And then, without much fuss, continued on and to his room, letting Rynn decide what he would do. The worst thing he could do was pressure him, Rynn liked being contrary too much.But he did leave the door open, in plain view of the hall, as he tossed his jacket aside and peeled his shirt off like it was any other night and he was getting ready for bed, idly ruffling his hair with one hand as he cast Rynn a questioning glance through the open doorway. In the quiet lamp light, one corner of his lips turned up in a wry grin, an honest invitation if there ever was one.  

[Okimiyage]

Rynn had held still under Antha’s blows, knowing that he deserved them. He’d tried not to flinch, keeping his arms crossed tight over the books stacked against his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he groaned. “We won’t do it again. At least, probably not soon—don’t hit me again—“
Finally, Antha seemed to be willing to call off her assault. Rynn hoped she had gotten it all out of her system, although they were probably due for a lecture in the morning. He didn’t trust Antha to let go of this so easily.
The Calais boy was as eager as Alistair to get inside and to bed, although in a very different sense of the word. His clothes were covered in grime and cobwebs, his sleeves in tatters, but as soon as Antha had turned away, Rynn couldn’t stop grinning. They’d done it. Stolen the car, invaded a haunted mansion, stolen the treasure. It was the stuff teenage legends started out with. All they would have needed was a six-pack of beer and a bonfire in the back yard, along with whatever left-over drugs they could scrounge from Cian’s old hiding stash.

But then again, there was time to go back later.
“I don’t understand what she was so excited about,” he grumbled, following Alistair almost unthinkingly into his room. The books in his arms were dumped in an unceremonious pile atop the bed, next to Alistair’s own hastily wrapped bundle. The dim yellow light caught the threads of gold in his hair as he leant over them, like a dragon regarding his own hoard. “I mean, no harm, no foul, right? We came back all in one piece.”
The book of watercolors had flapped open on the bed, to a double-page spread of delicately rendered peonies and bergamot oranges. “We had flowers like these in the garden. I wonder if each of these was drawn from life. It would certainly explain why he spent so much time out there…” Studying it for a moment, Rynn was caught quite unprepared when he turned around and found a shirtless Airi looking rather expectantly at him. Heat flooded his face, and Rynn found he didn’t quite know where to put his eyes that didn’t seem—er—stimulating. Least of all, Airi’s face. Not with that expression anyways. “What are you smiling like that for?” he snapped. Despite himself, it was difficult to keep his gaze from drifting. Airi had picked some very flattering lighting for his own bedroom, and now the amber glow caught every sculpted curve of his shoulders, the shadows in his throat, the fine, pale hairs that covered the backs of his arms and layered his chest like invisible down. Rynn found himself trying to imagine what it would feel like under his hands, heat and yielding skin, hard flesh. <******** just thought you could help me get these open,” he announced, crossing his arms defensively. “You said you could pick locks, right? I do listen to you. Sometimes. Occasionally.”
He felt like Alistair could see his heart pounding through his clothes, like in one of the old cartoons where it would jackhammer out of one of the animated character’s chests. And the blush had spread to full coverage of his face. Airi seemed to be standing much too close, although Rynn hadn’t seen him move once.
“Anyways, it’s either that or bash them open like that hideous roll-top desk.” He picked up a book, turning it over in his hands so that the brass lock was exposed. It gave him somewhere to divert his gaze as well as something to do with his suddenly awkward hands. “You’re not going to go to sleep yet, are you?”  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

For a moment, Alistair just laughed to himself, light as air, running his hands back through his hair. “Ah, he murmured in a sigh, standing behind Rynn and leaning over his shoulder, keeping a painstakingly maintained centimeter between their bodies, just enough for the heat of their bodies to mingle, his lips barely brushing his earlobe as he purred, “Is that all?” Chuckling to himself---he was clearly enjoying teasing him---Alistair abruptly withdrew, innocently. “Hm...no. I won't.”
And then he went back about his business, shutting the door and rustling around in a drawer until he pulled out a t-shirt and pajama pants. “You should stay down here anyways, Evie’s wandering around upstairs and if you run into her after she gets Bastien back to sleep, she’s really going to let you have it. This room is sanctuary. You can use Pierce’s bed if you want, he won’t mind.” When he’d changed, he went and plopped down on his bed, stretching out like a lazy cat. “Don’t stay up too late reading,” he warned, taking up his phone and idly perusing Facebook, “We have school tomorrow, you don’t want to look like a zombie. Assuming you can get the books open to begin with.” Honestly, Airi wanted to punish him a little. As cute as it was watching him get flustered and turn away in a fit of nerves, it was also a little like rejection and Alistair didn’t like it. He particularly didn’t like that Rynn was more interested in the books than him, but he kept that bit of childishness to himself. Mostly.
The phone gave a little jolt in his hands, buzzing, and Alistair sighed, simultaneously throwing an arm over his eyes and the phone to his ear. “Oi, Ty, I was just lecturing Rynn about staying up late on a school night. You’re undermining my point here.” He paused, pursing his lips as the arm slid away from his eyes, and then ultimately heaved a sigh. “Ty, you’re drunk. Go to bed. It’s---” He sighed, cut off as Tyler babbled rapidly on the other end of the line, sitting up and ruffling his hair as if he was at a loss. “No, I’m not---ahh. Ty…you’re in the dormitory. Just sneak into the girls’ wing if you need it that bad. You’re British, it can’t possibly be that hard.” He paused, face-palming as laughter rang wildly out of the receiver. “Difficult. I meant it can’t be difficult. God, you’re like a kid. Now just---no, Ty. Hey! Right here, listen to me! Ty, do not break into Gretch’s room. Do you hear me? She will beat you until you are dead, okay? Okay?” He groaned, exhaustedly. “But when you sober up, I really wish you would just admit you want to sleep with her.” The receiver immediately blew up with sound, aggravated and defensive shouting, and Alistair winced. “Ah, right, right…no, totally not. I’m just making things up. What do you mean, of course I’m serious. Rynn, don’t I look serious?” He didn’t, not one bit, glancing up at Rynn with an amused grin and deviously sparkling eyes. “Hm? Ah, calm down, I’m not cheating on you. How do you know? We’re not involved, how can I even cheat on you? Hey---no, do not come over here. Julien will call the police and they’ll charge you as an adult. Ah, yes, that’s right, my sister will totally set you on fire. You have no idea how strung-out she is with these babies, she’ll set fires first and ask questions later, or never. So we’re agreed, you’ll stay in the dorm and seduce one of the girls who is not Gretchen, right? Alright, see you tomorrow, Ty. I’ll bring you something for your hangover. Night.”
The moment he hung up the phone, he let out the heaviest sigh, laughing faintly beneath his breath. “What do you think?” he purred, leaning back on his arms and looking up at Rynn with mischievously glittering eyes, “Should we sneak back out and watch him get the hell beaten out of him for sneaking into Gretchen’s room?” Because of course that was where he was going. Even if he could still lie, his actions at this point of inebriation were automatic.
Alistair chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Some people just aren’t honest unless they’re drunk. Pitiful, isn’t it?” As usual, Alistair was very clear in his own way, without being overly direct. It was in his straightforward gaze directed at Rynn and the lilt of his voice, the depreciative little half-smile that flickered across his lips.