Realistic or Modern ˗ˏˋ TRUST FALL. | ( *starboob & ellarose. )

[starboob]

“Pleasedon’twakeuppleasedon’twakeuppleasedon’twakeup…” Miro holds Sir Chompalot at arm’s length in front of them as they bolt from Clifford (not the big red dog). The vicious teddy bear snores gently, dead to the world. Whatever magic Valentine used to lull him into slumber is holding (for now) and though he shows no sign of waking, Miro does not trust this vicious little monster to remain peaceful. He has already betrayed them and ruined their precious cargo pants. “It’s a good thing you’re so cute, ‘else I would have left you somewhere.”

Sir Chompalot does little more than snore in response. “Honk mimimi…”

Miro rolls their eyes and tucks the vicious teddy bear under their armpit like a rugby ball, scanning the path ahead for the orb.

The forbidden section of the antique shop is less of a maze and more of an endless passageway that seems to go nowhere. It’s cluttered with more haunted and cursed junk that borders the edges and occasionally spills out in their path, as if testing their reflexes. They jump, hurl themself forward and wind down a sharp turn. Wind whips and whistles in their ears. Their breath fogs into icy clouds, the particles freezing and tinkling as they hit the ground. Distant chattering follows behind them, though they guess that it might be Valentine or perhaps just a strange echo. (Never mind that Valentine is the blip witch.)

Tinkling, chattering, and hissing whispers circle the shell of their ears. The whispers turn to roars as green scratches glitch on the walls, sparking like the collision of blades.

“Hadeon!”​

“You don’t have to do this.”​

“My mind is made, Anara. I’m truly sorry, Jareth. ​

You both deserve a different end, but you stand in my path​

and so my hands are thusly tied.”​

“Huh?” Miro shoots a look over their shoulder, scanning for signs of others. Nothing other than small glowing dots, swirling around like a cinnamon roll, follow behind them. The glowing vortex steadily gains on them, the chattering growing and drowning out the argument entirely. The leading dot in the vortex pushes forward, then sails like a bullet into Miro’s shoulder, cutting through skin and sinew, and stops once it hits bone, unable to go any further. Miro knocks back, flying briefly through the air before they hit the ground, still managing their rugby hold around Sir Chompalot.

The bullet in their shoulder writhes. Another launches towards them. They turn letting it – a tooth??? – take the skin off their nose. “Fuck, shit, dammit,” they mutter, scrambling back up to their feet, their right shoulder hanging limp as the bullet – tooth moves through the muscle before it can heal.

“Val – !!” A ghost tooth lodges in their mouth, attaching itself to one of their incisors. It pulls, tugs. They clamp their jaw shut. Another tooth slashes through their cheek, embedding itself in a molar. ‘These are my teeth! Get out!’ They muffle their screams, fear building as more come for them. The ghost teeth swarm them like angry hornets. And not an emblem appear to save them.

 

[ellarose]

Valentine slows her pace when the endless hall ahead is suffused with mist. When she glances over her shoulder, she finds it creeping behind her as well, closing her in. Frigid air buffets her from both sides, breathing a fine lacework of frost over the shoulders of Miro's jacket and snow peppers her like powdered sugar atop a pastry. Gooseflesh rises, her eyelashes freeze. It doesn't bother her. There are other things to worry about, voices to be listened to.

"Valentine!"
"You don't have to do this."

"I do, though. We both know there's no other way.
He'll kill again. He'll kill you. I can feel it. There's no other way."

The Seam sinks invisible hooks into her, piercing so deep it almost hurts, luring her into the unknown. Valentine sees silhouettes wobbling in the haze like reflections in a rippling pool of water. The intensity of her gaze irons the figures out, sharpening their features and filling in the rest of the scene at a remarkable speed when--

"Don't go wandering off in places you don't belong, little witch." A familiar, silken voice hisses. A heavy curtain of darkness falls over the scene before Valentine can watch it unfold, before she can see what becomes of Anara and Jareth. "You might get lost."

"I'm not the one who's lost." Valentine says, balling her hands into fists. Of course she belongs. Bellwick Springs is her town. Hadeon-- if this is in fact Hadeon-- is the outsider. Impatient sparks fly all around her, scorching the frost from her shoulders. "You washed up old creeper."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" The voice breezes past Valentine's taunts, cold and unaffected. An invisible hand closes around her jaw. She tenses, unable to shake this mysterious opponent she can't see, and resists the urge to squrim and swallow. No way is she going to lose her nerve now.

"Let go of me." Valentine grits out, holding tight to her dignity. Her locket is delicate and sparkling against her neck. It's right there, like a fresh apple waiting to be picked. Her pulse thunders in her throat. Don't touch it, don't reach for it, don't even look at it-- Instead of going for the locket, snapping her neck, choking her, or anything quite as grotesque as that, the invisible hand turns her chin to the left in a shockingly gentle gesture. This directs her attention to a materializing crystal ball. And within, she finds--

"Miro!" Valentine cries, finally wrenching free at the sight of them. Their shoulder is torn, a flower of blood blooms over their shirt. She focuses on her full name, printed on the shirt in big block letters, willing herself to Miro's side. As she disappears, she promises one last thing. "This isn't over, Hadeon."

In a blinding flash, Valentine appears in front of Miro. She lifts her hand, sweeping the swarm of ghost teeth into a furious vortex. With the push of her hand, she hurls the teeth backward, with such force that every antique in the vicinity is thrown back along with them, crashing and breaking and scattering into debris. In the chaos, a bookshelf hiding a secret passage is also pushed aside. There. Taking Miro by their left arm, Valentine leads them to it-- wordlessly instructing them to sit against the wall.

"I'm sorry." Valentine says shakily, hovering her hands over the gruesome wound in their shoulder. "It's going to be okay, Miro." Warmth builds behind her eyes, but she ignores it. Examining them closely, she notices their clamped jaw-- the different wounds-- and her stomach clenches. They might not be hurting, but it ain't a pretty sight. She extracts the tooth in their shoulder with care, her magic acting as invisible tweezers, and she pops it into her mouth like a hard candy. That's one down. But there are a few more.

Gingerly, Valentine pulls Miro towards her and presses her lips to theirs in an urgent kiss. When their lips part to allow her entrance, she breathes in the ghosts nestled in their mouth. Once she's sure she's captured them all, she pulls back, seals her lips shut, and swallows them all down. Her eyes glaze over with a ghostly veil for an instant and then fade back to blue. She leans back against the opposite side of the secret passageway, shoulders slumping. She's winded. It's-- uh-- the magic. It has nothing to do with the kiss or anything.

Sir Chompalot rouses and glances between the two of them with his jaw on the ground.

"I learned the demon's name. Or at least I think I did." Valentine pipes up. Warm sparks dance over her lips. They tasted like blood... blood and apple juice. Ahem. That kiss was just-- well, isn't it self explanitory, now that the ghosts are gone? Yeah! Exactly. "Hadeon. That-- that might be enough to work with. I mean, we might learn more if we stay, but I understand if you want to leave now. Your shoulder..." She babbles, staring at Miro's shoulder to avoid their gaze. The red stain is still there, but the wound itself seems to be healing now that the tooth is gone. "Then again, if we go back the way we came we'll have those angry ghosts to deal with. And Clifford." She shakes her head. The staircase vanished, too. "Or maybe the only way out is forward. We probably need to take a right at the bleeding heart, like the twins said." Come to think of it-- the bloodstain on Miro's shirt looks a bit like a heart, doesn't it? And the bookshelf passage is on the right side of the hall. "No, maybe this is it. This passage. Do you see what I'm seeing right now?"

 

[starboob]

Soft. Like how they used to imagine the clouds as a child.
Warm. Like the sun in autumn, the complement to its frigid air.

Miro sits dazedly against the wall, staring at Valentine without processing the words coming out of her mouth. It’s only when she mentions Hadeon that something in them bristles, like hearing a nickname that just doesn’t fit. The gold in their eyes simmers for the briefest second, then dims back to their (in)ordinary cat-like glow. They test their right shoulder, lifting their hand to the lip where the only ghost is the feel of Valentine’s lips.

“I-I-” they stammer, cheeks flushing bright red. Do they say something? Do they acknowledge it? (Sir Chompalot attempts to raise his hands to his face in a scandalized fashion, but the nubs are far too short to reach.) “That was – um. Cool. Thanks?”

'Cool? Thanks? What the hell, man. Have you lost your rizz?’ They tilt their head back, mentally groaning as they look up for some semblance of a distraction. No green slashes now. No voices, only the memory of the trio. ‘Hadeon. Anara. Jareth.’ When their brain finally boots back up, they tilt their chin forward and worm their way back up to their feet. The teddy bear jumps up and down for liftsys and Miro begrudgingly obliges, then offers Valentine their hand.

“So, um, so you heard that, too?” Miro coughs awkwardly, trying to think of literally anything else to talk about. (How do they address that? Are they making this weird? Wouldn’t it be weirder to talk about it? That was obviously just. Surgical. Like CPR.) “That was… weird.”

This new passageway they walk is just as the last one except it lacks all the clutter. It’s clear, narrow and makes it so that they walk practically shoulder to shoulder. Miro doesn’t question Valentine’s direction. They don’t get where she saw a bleeding heart, but they trust her and so they follow.

“You think it’s a demon?” Maybe they should sound more surprised or shocked or fearful, but somehow this just makes sense. It’s the green lightning that flashes in their mind, a constant. It’s the new powers. It’s the circumstances that led to their condition. It’s the weird marks that show up. It just makes sense. “It doesn’t like being called Hadeon.”

Even just the name on their tongue causes them to shiver. Their mouth dries, the back of their throat prickling, forcing them to clear it. “But I am glad you heard it, too, and I think you’re right… It feels right.” They tilt their head, taking a sideways glance at Valentine. “Do you always hear voices?”

 

[ellarose]

"Yup, I'm ninety-nine percent sure it's a demon. It's a simple process of elimination. Based on everything you've told me so far, plus my notes, among other things. I think you've been possessed. Not by a ghost. I know ghosts... saying that as someone who just ate three of them." Valentine says matter-of-factly, nodding to herself. She knows demons too, of course. Of course.

"We spoke for a bit. I sensed it then. Pure demonic energy." Valentine's skin crawls when she remembers the feel of the hand on her face, her ignored taunts, the idea that this demon sees her as a lost little witch. Knowing it's listening-- that it doesn't like it's name-- she proceeds to do what any rational young lady in her position would do. She disparages the demon's name in a chipper, singsong tone. "Hadeon, Hadeon, Hadeon! What are we gonna do with you, Hadeon?"

Is Hadeon a painful reminder of someone who is long gone? Of a past self this demon slayed to make a selfish choice? Anara, Jareth... what became of them?

"If it doesn't like it, then tough titty said the kitty." Valentine adds sagely, frolicking a few paces ahead so she has the space to turn a pirouette. "I couldn't care less." She won't let Hadeon forget now that she knows. Walking backward to face Miro, she raises a brow. Do they see an emblem on her now? Maybe if she makes the demon mad enough... but she gets distracted staring at Miro's face before she can ask. Her eyes betray her thoughts, flitting down to their lips, her cheeks dusting pink. Ah. What was their question again?

Do you always hear voices? They don't know the half of it.

"Sort of. It depends. My hearing can be finicky sometimes." Valentine says, careful and slow. She whirls around to walk at Miro's side again, gaze fixed pointedly ahead. There's no need to elaborate beyond that, is there? "...You've used up all your questions for today, remember? Now I'm asking the questions. Demons are serious business."

Sir Chomalot nods to agree with her, crossing his little nubs.

"You were going to say something about your wish, weren't you? Before we got interrupted in the field of prophecies." Valentine says gravely. "What happened, Miro? Did you make a deal with Hadeon?"

 

[starboob]

Possessed.

A chill slips down their spin, causing them to shiver. They look down at their bandaged hands, then touch the one on their cheek. Is this body not just theirs? (Has it ever been?)

Each time that name is spoken, they flinch as something in them crawls over their bones and squeezes. “Shut her up.”

They want to laugh or at least smile over Valentine’s jokes, but their head feels light. Their gut clenches, an invisible hand stirring through their intestines. Sweat breaks over their brow while the world spins them around like a merry-go-round.

Sir Chompalot bumps his nubs against their chest as if to say, “Hey, hey! What’s going on?”

Miro slumps against the wall, their legs refusing to cooperate. “I should get more questions,” they croak out, refusing to let this bout of illness get to them. It’s nothing. “Five is cruel – are you cruel, Valentine?”

Their eyes flash dangerously bright, gold searing into the blonde.
He wants to burn her to a crisp. If only she weren’t the key.

They squeeze their eyes shut, bowing their head to pour out the intrusive thoughts. (Or, rather, the intruder’s thoughts.) They grit their jaw, groaning as they seize their body back. “I don’t remember,” they say, breathless. “I don’t remember there being a deal. Not really.”

The green lightning happened first. Then everything changed. Then they made their wish. But maybe it was already too late? Maybe it…

“I was crying. And bleeding a little.” The smell of charred flesh fills their nose and each time they blink, the scene flips from this passageway to the old reactor site. “I don’t really remember what I said, not exactly, but it would have been to the effect of wanting things to go back.” It’s a blur after that. “Then I woke up. Alone. And I thought everything was normal, but it wasn't.” It wasn't. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. Can we just focus on getting out of here?"

 

[ellarose]

Valentine stares unflinchingly into those golden eyes, feeling nothing if not vindicated. Is she cruel? That's another question she won't answer. All she gives is the inquisitive tilt of her head. There you are.

Maybe Valentine's jumping the gun, assuming Miro wouldn't ask her that dagger of a question, but there's a damn good chance they just proved her theory right. It's a bittersweet revelation. It's another step forward and a crucial one at that. And yet it sandwiches Miro in the middle of a confrontation they're only just now appearing to process. No, not just that. All of it.

It's a lot. It's got to be. Valentine twists away when Miro closes their eyes, squinting at the faint rectangle of light flickering in the distance. The way out, opening as if at their request.

And as the walls of Miro's world cave in, so too do the walls in the narrow hall they're walking. Rumbling like thunder, pressing them closer together. The exit is in sight, but they're not going to make it in time. Fiddlesticks.

"Fine." Valentine says, narrowly slipping behind Miro to ensure they've got a clear path forward. She stretches her arms open wide, holding both sides of the wall apart. The thunderous rumble raises to a roar as she fights to keep them apart. Before concentration can render her speechless, she breathes, "Go, Miro. Hurry."

 

[starboob]

Miro bolts. They aren’t sure if they’re running from the impending doom or trying to escape themself – if they run fast enough, will the demon be left behind? Unable to keep up to the tether they’ve created within their borrowed suit of meat and bones?

Tears burn Miro’s eyes. It’s the wind, obviously, and nothing more than that. Ignoring that when they burst back into sunlight, all they want to do is curl up and squeeze out every last tear they have, dipping into future reserves, just to let it all out. It’s nothing. They’re still Miro. Right? ‘What have I done?’

“You hadn’t a choice, little ripper,” Hadeon coos. His hands brush through their hair, a cold consolation. “You want to go back to normal? I’ve shown you the way.”

Miro whimpers, biting down on their lower lip. New blood pools in their mouth, coating their tongue. ‘I don’t trust you.’

“Our deal is done. You’ve no choice, no say in the matter.”

The presence lifts from them like a weight soon after the demon has said his piece, though Miro doesn’t feel any lighter. Even when they straighten out their posture, scrub their eyes clean, and search for Valentine Thorne, it’s a Herculean task. When she isn't immediately visible, they whisper, “Valentine Thorne.”

And since she isn’t here just yet, they fix their face into a smile. They needn’t worry the local good witch.

 

[ellarose]

When Valentine reappears in front of Normal Oddities fifteen minutes later, she's soaked from head to toe, her sneakers waterlogged and heavy. Crinkling her nose, she flicks a straggling anchovy out of her hair. It flops frantically on the sidewalk and she sighs, quickly coming to the poor creature's rescue. With the twirl of her finger, she forms a bubble around the anchovy that pops and disappears it back into the sea where it belongs.

"There was a reverse mermaid situation over by the lighthouse." Valentine says with a wince. "It was urgent."

Yeah. It's always urgent because old man Barnabas is too damned stubborn to call for her help. 'A lass can't handle the fish in my waters', he's always ranting and raving at the pub, 'Especially not the legged ones!'

The fool was practically half-drowned already when Marney reached out. 'I thought I'd let his hubris catch up to him...' She shrugged, 'But I don't want him joining me in the afterlife any time soon.'

...Fair.

"I'll wash your jacket and return it to you." Valentine adds with a blush, wringing her hair out in her hands. Admittedly, she forgot she was still wearing it when she charged into the ocean. It's soaked, just like the rest of her, with stray pieces of seaweed stuck to it. "How are you holding up? I... figured you could probably use a break from me and my questions. And all of my..." She vaguely gestures at herself as a whole. "Me?"

Valentine fishes around in her pocket for her car keys-- which thankfully weren't lost at sea-- and unlocks her car with a 'beep-beep'.

"Do you want me to take you back to the inn? We could do a do-over tomorrow. A normal tour of Bellwick Springs. Or as normal as it can get, anyway. Unless..." Valentine shrugs, feeling strangely awkward. They kissed. Then the demon flared up, Miro seemed pretty sick, and... "What do you want to do, Miro? What do you need right now?"

 

[starboob]

It would not have been so surprising if Valentine had chosen to leave them behind, reluctant as she was to help them in the first place — telling them to run off after trying the pie — so when she turns up again, Miro can’t help their golden retriever beam. No need to fake that or the way they rush to her from the stoop of Normal Old Titties to greet her. Sir Chompalot joins in, running straight into Valentine's shins by way of hug.

“No worries, dude,” they grin, giving the witch a once over. “I’m just glad you’re all in one piece – that was weird back there.” What with the passageway closing in on them like a trash compactor. They hadn’t necessarily been concerned that Valentine wouldn’t be able to make it out alive – she is the blip witch, after all – and it’s still a relief to see her whole. Intact. Unscathed. Unburnt.

Without much thought, they untangle a bit of seaweed from her blonde tresses and fling it into the bushes. "What?" They screw their face funny when she tries to offer them space. "No, I like hanging out with you. You're rad as hell. Let's get some pie. I'm half starved."

꧁ ● ꧂​

The pair of them (and Sir Chompalot) end up back at the inn, squirreled away in Miro’s room. Between them on the bed sits a still warm pie with neatly cut slices that have been dutifully and willfully ignored. Miro's photographs hang suspended in the air, moving gently as if carried by the current of a lazy river.

Miro takes another stab of pie, barely chewing before they forcefully swallow another too large bite. (They've moaned half a dozen times already and know that this pie will not survive the next hour. It truly is worth writing home about.) They point to a photograph at the corner of the room. It’s blank – they all are, save for a few that capture the glare of a camera flash. “Took that one in Cutwater.” They then point to the one right next to it. “That’s from Mercy Falls.” And another. “Bear Paw.” Then they point to the one they accidentally took of Holly Pinkett. "Bellwick Springs, duh."

All of them are useless. And yet all of them Miro has decided to keep, if only for posterity. "Handful of them I was trying to get the emblem. Other handful I was trying to capture cryptids." They shovel another forkful of pie into their mouth. "Suppose I keep doing it to sate my followers. They like my live streams, 'cause I get pretty animated with it, but I know even they'll tire without enough proof. Can only get away with being a goof for so long, y'know?" They sigh, wistful. "I thought switching from digital to film would help, but not really." Miro pulls out their portable C.A.T. and tosses it over to Valentine. "Feel free to go through my reels, maybe you'll see what I was seeing."

 

[ellarose]

Valentine stares at Miro's photographs with rapt attention. The fluttering little squares of them are like windows, allowing glimpses into places forbidden to her. She can imagine the sound of rushing water when she gazes at the falls, she can try to guess what the wildlife might sound like among those lush trees she'll never get to climb... but there's no point to it, is there?

She takes her time-- savors it the same way Miro savors the pie-- with Cutwater, Mercy Falls and Bear Paw. An observer could easily take her interest for dedication. There's truth in that, certainly, she is searching for fragments of what Miro might have been striving to capture in these photographs. Just because she's indulging a longing to see more of the world doesn't mean she's going to forget her responsibilities, her promises.

Then it gets to be too much. She sits on the bed, feeling dizzy, and shakes her head. No dice.

"I'm hopeless with technology." Valentine admits. She holds their camera the way someone might hold a newborn baby for the very first time, with a gentle sort of uncertainty. (She's holding it upside down.) Truth be told, looking through their reels might invite more heartache than she can handle right now. "I'll look through them in a minute." She sets the camera down and tries to chase her blues away with a bite of apple pie. The familiar sweetness dissolves on her tongue and she sighs resignedly. There are worse places she could be trapped.

"Sounds like the web is getting pretty big these days." Or is it more appropriate to say the net? The internet? Either way, she's forced to confront the fact that she has no clue how to talk about it. The fast-paced world beyond Bellwick Springs is more of a mystery to her than the cryptids are. "...I could ask the woodland cryptids if any of them are interested in taking a modeling gig. Most of them prefer to stay hidden, but there are a few aspiring actors in book club who might agree to have their picture taken." She bites her lower lip. "Though some of them might have ulterior motives."

Valentine pauses, tossing Sir Chompalot a slice of apple pie when he gestures cutely towards his open mouth.

"You hiked a long way to get here. Are you used to that? I mean--" She gestures to the photos hanging all around them, cataloging every step of the way. "Do you travel a lot?"

 

[starboob]

That Valentine Thorne has a book club with her local crypitds is wholly unsurprising, yet the stars in their eyes probably suggest astonishment that borders on disbelief. It’d be more accurate to say that Valentine Thorne is, simple put, unbelievable.

“I’ll do their headshots,” Miro quickly volunteers, not even thinking about the experiment behind her suggestion. “Won’t even post them.” They trace an ‘X’ right over their heart, recalling the other’s earlier concern that the photographer would make a spectacle of Bellwick Springs. “It’s the least I can do for all the help you’ve given – hell, you’ve already saved my ass, like, twice already.”

Granted, neither instance was wholly necessary. But this doesn’t stop them from feeling indebted to the blonde or maybe that’s their flimsy excuse to spend more time with her. What’s an adventure without a few side quests, after all?

“Nah, not really.” They shake their head, scooping up another bite of pie. Truthfully, Miro never traveled much outside of Undersky. They had little reason to. The city had everything they could ever want or need. “I mean, I had a few family trips here and there as a kid. Parents wanted me to get exposed to a little culture, but those stopped sometime after elementary school.” Then summers became long days at various educational camps, none that ever held their attention. None that ever helped them get ahead in school. If anything, they only incubated their disdain for school. “I haven’t really had the time, even if I wanted to.”

They lean back against the wall and pan their gaze over to Valentine. The shape of a shadow sitting cross legged on the desk materializes. Miro ignores him. It’s easy around others. Around Valentine.

They reach over for their CAT, slide their thumb over the glass screen, and open up Indiegram. They switch from their paranormal account to their personal one and tilt the screen over to show Valentine the scroll of pictures – goofy ones of them and their friends. They tap through their friends’ profiles. “We’d always talk about starting up a gay commune – make farming gay again and all that – but I think we’d all suffer without the convenience of the web.” No one actually calls it that, but they entertain Valentine’s quirk. It’s cute, part of her charm.

“This is Daphne and Sage.” They show her a picture of a couple, one giving the other a piggyback ride through a rain soaked street. It’s lit only by the streetlights and faint glow of neon signs, and their teeth gleam like twin crescents. “Sage and I dated back in high school, briefly. Then I dated Daphne, also brief. I ended up introducing them.” Miro grins, proud to have been a matchmaker, then picks another profile. “Carter. Daphne and them were neighbors growing up – they also dated at some point. Riot at parties and a helluva DJ. I think they’re gonna be big someday soon.”

The next profile they share is one of a slight woman with dark hair and an even darker style. She’s covered to the neck in tattoos. The pictures on her profile are sparse and few actually show the woman herself, adding to her mystery. Miro clicks on the most recent picture of their friend, half her face covered by the heart she makes with her hands. “This is my best friend, Vega. Met her through John-Jon almost a decade ago.” Their grin widens. They’ve been damn near inseparable ever since – hell, she would have gone with them on this quest if circumstances and schedule permitted. “She’s an architect. Super fucking busy. Like, I’m pretty sure her blood is seventy-five percent espresso at this point.”

Their hand slips absently into their pocket, smoothing over the scales of their knife. “You need to look out for yourself. You’re too precious. It's disgusting.” The grin on their lips softens. Their head lulls towards Valentine, gold speckled eyes roving over their Bellwick companion. “What about your friends, Val? Aside from chickens and cryptids. And don’t get on me about my questions, just put it on my tab.”

 

[ellarose]

Miro glows from the inside out when they talk about their friends. That warmth radiates from them and wraps itself around her, drawing her in. As they thumb through the photos and introduce her to people she'll never meet through the screen, it's clear that they love them. Just as she loved... Valentine realizes a moment too late that she lost herself in it, that she asked one personal question too many and now she's found herself in this smashing situation.

"Your tab?" Valentine repeats, incredulous. She can't help but breathe a laugh at that. They're impossible. "Now, now. There's no need to discount the chickens or the cryptids. They make marvelous friends once you get to know them!" She squints playfully and taps her temple. "I understand them, just like I understand Sir Chompalot over there."

Sir Chompalot hops on the bed, pointing hopefully to his mouth. Valentine smiles fondly and tosses him another scrap of pie. "Yes, you."

Valentine rises from the bed, stepping over to the window to look outside. The setting sun gives her a marvelous excuse to avert her eyes. What to say and how to say it? She steels herself, she's had plenty of practice-- small town living and all-- and she's not going to be weird and cagey about this.

"You've met Mist, Kehlani and Tally." Valentine says, folding her arms on the windowsill. "Mist and Kehlani are like my big sisters. I go to them for advice. Mist taught me how to throw a killer left hook and Kehlani taught me how to swim." She purses her lips. "...Talen and I didn't get along in school, like at all. We were total opposites. Academic rivals. Or at least that's how I saw it. I don't think they cared." Meanwhile, she cared too much. That was the problem. "They were a total delinquent, always getting into trouble, and yet we were neck in neck when it came to our grades."

And then they trauma bonded. But Valentine's not going to get into that.

"What can I say... we left high school behind, we grew up. You know how it is. Turns out we had more in common than we thought. Now they let me rent out the cafe for chicken parties. We trade baking tips." Valentine shrugs. "Then there's Marney. She's a ghost, died in 89. Slipped off the plank while she was working her shift at the Kraken. We dated for a minute... ultimately decided we were better as friends."

The clouds look like flaming marshmallows now as the sky turns gold. Valentine turns to Miro.

"Want to go to the roof to watch the sunset? It's the golden hour." Valentine suggests. "You're gonna want to bring your camera for this."

 

[starboob]

Something isn’t quite right about Valentine’s story. She speaks only of four people — one of whom is a ghost — and of those four, only one is from high school. Maybe it’s presumptuous to assume that high school politics span across county lines, but girls with blonde hair and blue eyes usually aren’t at the bottom of the social totem pole — even the less attractive ones get some clout and Valentine Thorne is, by no means, unattractive. So something isn't adding up. And while Bellwick Springs is no boasting Undersky where population is concerned, even Miro knows that a graduating class of two students would be shockingly small. (Come to think of it, have they even seen that many people within their age cohort?) It's just impossible for them to imagine that she doesn't have more friends — she's the blip witch, she makes dorky little schedules and delicious treats! Who wouldn't want to be her friend? ‘What's going on here?'

The question immediately wracks them with guilt, the metaphoric skeletons knocking on the closet door. Well, one skeleton and piles of ash. They’d never be the type to needle or prod (too much), and they’re certainly in no position to challenge her now. Hadeon doesn’t even need to whisper in their ear that she wouldn’t understand. She’d definitely think they’ve lost it if she knew.

“Yeah, sure.” Miro smiles as if a war hasn’t been waging itself in their mind for the past few seconds. “Maybe I can get a few shots of the local witch? I think your picture in the town pamphlet could use an update.”

They throw a hoodie over their bloody shirt and grab their camera. Sir Chompalot climbs up their arm and clings to their shoulder, hitching a ride. (Or maybe he’s still hungry and wants to snack on their hoodie.)

As they leave their cramped room and head for the stairs leading up to roof, Mrs. Mulberry catches them from the front desk and waggles her brow. Miro goes immediately red and pretends they didn’t see.

On the rooftop that only sits two stories high, Miro sees Undersky – the late night rooftop parties and deep conversations between social cigarettes. They spin, taking it all in. This is nothing like the Undersky roofs, and it still brings them back home.

Speaking of, their CAT angrily purrs in their pocket. “Ah, finally,” they mutter, pulling it out and briefly checking the flood of notifications. Several missed calls and texts from their parents. Many more texts from their friends.

Miro, you okay?​

answer me dude​

ik its hard but u have –

Miro silences the purr and shoves it away. “Geez, guess that’s what happens when you’re in a dead zone.” They say nothing more of the messages, shrugging them off as they do most things. They'll reply later. Let everyone know they're safe and sane. “Alright, Val, let’s get you set up for your headshots – I can get the trees in if you just shimmy over a little.”

 

[ellarose]

Valentine breathes in the fresh air, breathes out the melancholy left by the question she couldn't answer. Wouldn't answer. The wind flutters through the woody apple fragrance of her hair, hurriedly washed after her adventure in the ocean, and hits her with a satisfying chill. It helps, being outside. Being closer to the sky. The wind is a friend to her and it carries her sadness away with the leaves.

...It'll be back eventually. Always is. What matters, though, is this moment.

As Miro checks their messages, their friends no doubt, Valentine turns her attention towards the stone courtyard. It's been a while. Tufts of grass and wildflowers grow between the cracks in the path. There's a fountain centerpiece with contemplative angels perched on the lips of each tier, overgrown ivy sprawled around their legs and wings. The water within is a hypnotic shade of green, enchanting and deep enough to drown in, faintly mirroring the trees that shade the area. Stray twigs and leaves float on the surface, still and unmoved as the angels expressions. Surrounding the fountain are dusty white garden tables, which were clean enough to resemble lace a decade ago, each topped with a decorative plant. One of them is overturned, spilling a tiny hill of dirt. Mom used to play violin out here sometimes, during important breakfasts or dinners for the guests.

No one's been out there for years.

Bellwick Springs is full of tiny, abandoned corners like this. Valentine magics the overturned plant upright, fluttering her fingers to collect all the dirt. If she has time later, she'll offer to help Mrs. Mulberry renovate the courtyard. One thing at a time.

"Hm?" Valentine says, looking up to find Miro looking at her. They've already put their web device away. She smiles at them, stepping to the side as they instruct, but waves her sun-drenched fingers out in front of her like claws just before they can snap her picture-- determined to make herself as blurry and unfocused as possible. "I don't know how to pose for pictures." She spins and dances from one foot to the other, playfully staying in motion to make Miro's life harder. "It's weird when it's just me."

Valentine whistles sweetly, summoning a cloud of butterflies-- one which may or may not look familiar to Miro-- their gossamer wings tinted a dusky pink. One perches on her finger. Others land on her shoulders, her arms, or on the crown of her head. Another decides to plant itself on the bridge of her nose. She giggles when she's cloaked in them, their tiny legs tickling her skin. That's better.

"Why don't you get in one, too?" Valentine offers, tilting her head. Then, thinking of the device they pocketed-- of the pictures-- she adds, "...Don't post these anywhere, okay? I don't want my face on the web."

 

[starboob]

Most subjects of Miro’s photography are blurred, moving phantoms of the city that’s never still. It felt fitting when they settled on their style, using long exposure to capture the rush of everything. It felt even better when they started moving their camera in slow swirls to create a blurry trail their subjects might have (but never did) follow; then to overlay those with other shots, toy with the exposure and contrasts using their downloaded web applications, that’s when it felt right.

“This doesn’t make sense.”

It shouldn’t matter so much that their parents, family will never understand. They wish it meant more that their friends do. And most of all they wish they could block out all the noise, positive and negative, and focus on the bloom of joy whenever they get a shot just right.

All that to say, if Valentine Thorne thinks she can be a thorn in their side by moving, refusing to stay still, then she has another thing coming – this is Miro’s jam, jelly, bread, and butter. Even if they had promised to do her headshot, and even if they might want an unobstructed souvenir of their time in Bellwick Springs, of their companion, guide, and lifesaver, that all is quickly forgotten with the sweep of her smile.

“Think you’re clever?” They grin behind their camera, winding and clicking as she moves, creating the blurs for them. “I live for this shit, dude.”

When she suggests they get in one of the photos, they easily step over and sling an arm around the butterfly covered witch. (Yes, those butterflies do look familiar, but they’re friendly right now so Miro doesn’t think much of it at present.) “Aw, okay – I get that. Can I show my friends when I get back? I’ll want to tell them about the legendary Valentine Thorne, blip witch and picnic planner extraordinaire.” They flip the camera around, angle it, knowing by heart how to get them both centered in the frame, and click. “I’ll make you a little scrapbook of what I capture here, if you’d like.”

Without much warning, Miro hops onto Valentine’s back, knowing full well she can carry them. The butterflies flutter and then resettle around them, some of them choosing to perch on Miro as well as Sir Chompalot. He snaps his mouth, trying to eat them. Click. “That’s gonna be a cute one,” they grin, unhooking their legs from around Valentine's waist and hopping off her back.

The sky starts to change with burning oranges and pinks as the sun dips towards the horizon. Though it’s ill-advised, Miro stares. “Sunset’s beautiful everywhere.” Their eyes might be screaming, but if there is one thing about them, they’ll always try to catch the sunset. They squint, the color taking on an unfamiliar hue. “Hey... does it always turn the sky green in Bellwick?” They don't remember that about yesterday...

 

[ellarose]

"I told you, I'm not a blip witch. I don't blip." Valentine says through her teeth, holding a pleasant expression for the photos. Miro talks of taking these memories home with them, of sharing her name with their friends, and it sinks dagger after dagger in her. They can't do that. Even if the thought charms her, even if she doesn't mind it at all, she has no say in this matter and neither do they. They simply can't. And yet she can't bring herself to tell them exactly what's going to happen when they leave Bellwick Springs, either. "All right... sure. That's fine."

Humoring Miro is easier than the alternative. For now, anyway. In the end, when they're long gone from here, it's not going to hurt them. Ignorance is bliss... right? No need to complicate things with melodrama. When it's over, it'll simply be over, and that's that. Valentine's fate is inevitable. They don't have to worry unnecessarily about it, about her, when they have so much to worry about as is.

Mhm. Simple as pie. Unless... she considers the field of prophecies and the sight of her bloodstained dress. What if--? What if Miro's here to change the unchangable?

"Yeah, sometimes, but something's not right. Green skies-- strange nature magic and the like-- is beckoned by the stroke of midnight in Bellwick Springs. No sooner." Valentine narrows her eyes, anchoring herself firmly in the present as shadows of fast approaching green clouds fall over the rooftop. Businesses down the street are shutting early, pulling down their protective window shutters and locking their doors. Good. As they should in times of unforeseen supernatural crisis.

Threads of unusual energy twirl around Valentine's fingertips and grip her hands tight. Out, out, out. Bellwick's frenzied breeze whispers in her ears. Get it out! It's a tidal wave of sensory overload, the imploring of the town, the magic pounding like a million different heartbeats. She should've seen this coming. The instant she even thinks of dreaming outside the lines...

There's the sound of stone scraping against stone. The angels sitting on the fountain tear free of their ivy chains, dismount and take to the skies. They encircle Valentine and Miro on the rooftop, their eyes glowing with a punishing silver light. Ugh, angels.

"Miro, go back inside." Valentine steps in front of them in attempt to shield them from view. There's little point to it. They've already been spotted and surrounded. "Shit."

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Rose's little cambion." The largest and most pretentious of the angels taunts. Valentine glares up at him. "What brings you here? Have you brought us a poor, lost soul to cleanse?"

"What are you? Another halfling? I smell human and demon. Blood, too. Gallons of blood." A small, pudgy cupid titters and swoops down to inspect Miro. His truth-seeking eyes squint, studying the flecks of gold in their eyes. "What a pity, such a pity! No amount of scrubbing will ever make you clean!"

Sir Chompalot stretches himself out quietly, trying to munch on the cupid's stone bow and arrow from Miro's shoulder.

"Knock it off. Your water wouldn't make anyone clean." Valentine says, gesturing to the abandoned fountain. As much as she loathes to ask anything of these pricks, she can't help herself. They might know something-- but she'll have to bargain for it. "How about this... I'll see to your fountain's repair in exchange for information. Have you ever heard of Hadeon?"

 

[starboob]

Demons and angels mix as well as oil and water and, to be quite honest, Miro never did well in church to begin with. (Too much sitting still.) Their guts coil, twist around into Gordian knots. The glimmer in their eyes brightens; their mouth screws into a snarl. Miro reaches for Valentine’s shoulder, unsure of whether it's them or the demon trying to reach her. Whether it’s for help or to hurt.

Even if they wanted to run, their legs refuse to obey. They remain rooted in place, a helpless observer in their own body.

The cupid in front of Miro cocks his head to the side, then turns towards Valentine. “Hmm?” He flutters backward, but only by a few inches; at least enough that they don’t have to smell his stone and moss breath. His eyes narrow, sounding like a pebble scraping against concrete before he turns to consult with the other two. It’s a rapid exchange of blinks and subtle gestures that would have been hard to read if the creatures were made of flesh; it’s outright impossible with their stone. Finally, the cupid turns back to the pair of them and nods. “Certainly. Who in Bellwick of a certain age hasn’t?”

“Arrogant little prick he was,” the tallest one continues. His silver eyes gleam, looking over Miro like they’re nothing more than the algae congealing in the fountain. Miro’s jaw clicks. “Hadeon Bellwickson could not have been cleansed even if he had wanted it.”

The third in their group remains quiet, hanging back while her brothers prattle on. Her eyes stay fixed, unblinking on Miro. When Miro makes the mistake of locking eyes with her, the silver burns and pierces through them. It bleeds away the layer of charcoal, unveiling the brilliant gold beneath. Their hands curl to fists and it’s an effort to forcibly remove theirs from Valentine’s shoulder, worried – despite all of this – that they might be hurting her. Sweat beads over their lip as the shadows dance and swallow their vision.

“Bastard would have swallowed this whole town –”

“The world,” his sister corrects.

“The world,” the tall one agrees, “had his siblings not stopped him. What were their names again?”

“Silence, you miserable piles of rock.” Miro’s mouth moves, but it’s not Miro’s voice. This one is full of volcanic thunder that loosens a few tiles from the rooftop. Sir Chompalot even falls from Miro’s shoulder. He flails his little nubs to get up, but his head is too big to achieve this on his own. Miro doesn’t notice. Miro – the actual conscience of Miro – sits somewhere in the far back of their own skull, pacified and enjoying a fleet of memories, of the before they are so desperately trying to get back.

The demon moves all at once, like carding through the air more than exercising fluidity. His hand clutches the little stone baby’s face, fingers digging into his skull with disturbing cracks. His other hand bursts into green flames, stopping the other two angels mid-flight. “Angels ought to know better than to speak ill of the dead.”

The little baby paws at the demon’s borrowed hand and then he’s up in green flames.

 

[ellarose]

Bellwickson? Valentine's mind pounces on this clue like a starved fox on a chicken. Bellwickson, Bellwickson... She studied this godforsaken town for years and never came across that name. She's certain she'd have remembered it. Bellwick Springs has claim over her, it's buried inside of her-- or she inside of it-- and she thought she exhausted all of her efforts in studying it, devising ways to escape. Perhaps a door unlocked when Miro brought Hadeon Bellwickson back to the town he used to call home. Who is to say Hadeon Bellwickson hadn't disappeared from the minds for all who knew him-- or of him-- until his return?

Such magic is not unheard of. After all, isn't it the same as Valentine disappearing from the minds of anyone who leaves Bellwick Springs...? There's got to be a connection there. She considers her attempts to see Miro before she met them, the shadows obscuring her vision and pushing her out. That's precisely what made her so suspicious, so intensely focused on their presence when they first arrived.

Bastard would have swallowed this whole town... Bellwick Springs itself is panicking, sending shocks of magic through her with every breath she takes. Valentine shudders. She sees him. Not Hadeon Bellwickson, but... someone like him. Someone just like him.

This is why Valentine's here. This is why she's not allowed to leave-- not ever. Green flames flash in the reflections of her eyes as their whites turn red.

"Stop it." Valentine summons a blanket with the sweep of her arm, dropping it over the flaming angel. She wrenches it free from Hadeon's grasp (that is not Miro, not anymore) and sends the bundle rolling across the rooftop. While the other angels swoop down to check on their brethren, writhing to put out the fire, she places herself in front of them and faces the demon. "I'm the one who asked. If you're going to be mad, be mad at me." She points out. "You've got to be old as hell... and yet here you are, throwing a tantrum like a child."

Please, Miro... Valentine searches Hadeon's gold eyes desperately for a trace of Miro's warmth. This can't be over. She thinks of their grin as they took her picture, the snuggly feeling of their arm around her just moments ago. They can't be snuffed out just like that. Not yet, not so soon. Please come back.

"You are the child, Valentine Thorne. Move aside, lest you get caught in the crossfire." An enraged angel's voice booms behind her, sending more tiles skittering from the roof. Silver light pours through cracking stone, breaking apart to reveal the angel's true form-- reminescent of a butchered blueberry pancake, in Valentine's opinion-- a round shape dotted with unnatural eyes that swirl and bleed. It has four silvery scythes for arms and spears for legs. Giant feathery wings fan out behind it, stretching so high that the tips disappear into the green skies above. "Justice will be done."

"Wait, wait, wait. You can't!" Valentine whirls around. She refuses to move, not even an inch. "Miro's still in there," She's hoping, "They don't deserve to--"

"Silence." The angel hears nothing of it. With the blunt end of one of his scythe-like arms, Valentine is knocked aside and sent skidding across the rooftop, right towards the edge. Pain blooms bright against the side of her skull. Though her vision whirls, she can vaguely see the angel drawing closer and closer to Miro, raising all four scythes in the air. Sir Chompalot makes a valiant effort to stand, waddling to take Valentine's place in front of Miro, but he too is tossed aside without a second thought. He crashes into a nearby tree, startling a couple of birds in the branches.

How dare... Valentine claws her hands against the rooftop, leaving deep scratches behind. Her head pounds, she can barely stand, and so she concentrates her energy on raising shingles from the roof, using them like legos to build a giant pair of hands that take hold of the angel's legs-- yanking him backward and holding him in place.

 

[starboob]

“You dare interrupt!” The angel’s voice bellows, shaking the roof tiles enough to lift them. They fall back into place like sliding down the keys of a piano. All of his enraged eyes flit towards the scion of evil. Each gleams with silvery flames, threatening to incinerate the witch on the spot. He struggles, lurching up only to be brought back down. “What is the cost of one tainted human to the preservation of this earth? This soul has spoken and they have given themself over to evil.”

꧁ ● ꧂​

Miro blinks. A knife in the shape of a fish sits in the palm of their friend’s tattooed hand. It’s familiar in a way they know it shouldn’t be, in a way that’s more than simple déjà vu. They furrow their brow, picking up the offering in the way they know they should. They even speak the words they know fit the script. “I don’t get it?”

“It’s a knife.” Vega taps the back of the blade, pointing out the thumb stud near the hinge. “You need to look out for yourself. You’re too precious. It's disgusting.” She wraps an arm around Miro’s neck, pulling them down so that she can rub her knuckles over their shaggy, unkempt hair. “D’you like it?”

That’s not it. Miro loves it. Miro knows they should feel ecstatic over the brass fish in their palm. They should be turning it over and flipping it open. They should be cutting their thumb on accident. Vega should be driving them to the hospital for stitches. But they don’t – none of that happens, because this has already happened and they don’t know what they’re doing here. Again.

“Yeah.” The crease in their brow deepens. “Haven’t we done this before?”

When they look up at Vega, she’s scowling. Her usually dark eyes are a bright gold that burns Miro’s retinas, filling their head with images of angry angels and a witch. “Why are you being so difficult?” A voice that is not Vega’s, but is familiar, hisses. “Just stay down.”

꧁ ● ꧂​

The veins at the side of Hadeon’s neck throb as a flow of power surges through this human. Thick, sap-like blood leaks from his gums though neither angel or witch has managed to lay a finger on him – the witch, for her part, seems far too preoccupied with saving the host. This works well for his purposes. Perhaps it is not the curse he once thought to have fallen into the palms of Miro Syke.

“Little witches really should listen to their elders,” he chides, cracking his neck. Sparks dance up his fingers, then spring into flames that soon engulf his arms. With careless yet measured aim, he lifts his arm and unleashes a torrent of green at the captured angel, reveling in the shrill cry to heaven. His grin stretches from ear to ear as the thing writhes, the shriek pitching higher until the inn windows crack into spiderwebs. “But I suppose I should be thanking you.” His head lulls over to Valentine, now lazily taking aim at the witch. “For making this so much eas– Leave me alone,” Miro grits out. The flames along their arms waver. The gold in their eyes recedes, shrinking to make room for Miro’s charcoal hue. They fold their arms over their chest, then clutch their hands beneath their armpits as their body racks with a fierce quake. “Leave me alone, leave me alone! Get out.”

"You insolent brat," Hadeon howls, making it appear as though Miro is fighting with themself. One eye rips into gold, locking immediately onto Valentine as his grasp on the insolent brat slips through his fingers. "I will rend everything you love if you continue this, little witch. You shall rue this!"

"I said, get out!" Miro jerks their body like they're trying to shake something off their back. They heave and cry out, sweet tart blood coating their tongue as they push Hadeon away. "Don't threaten my friend," they whisper as a wave of exhaustion crashes over them, knocking them to their knees, then their side as they fight to remain conscious. "Don't."

 

[ellarose]

Two thoughts pass through Valentine's mind. The first is that Miro Syke has not given up yet.

Try it. Valentine watches the flames aimed at her, slithering around Hadeon's arm like a snake in slow motion. Strange green shadows flicker across the determined expression on her face. She can and will vanish if she must. However, she takes a chance on Miro-- endures the heat-- to spurn them into wresting control of their body back. A little danger can go a long way. I dare you.

Despite her bravado, Valentine deflates with relief when Miro resurfaces. There they are. If she's learned anything from their time together thus far, it's that there's more to them than meets the eye. They're sweet, full of life, and want more than anything to be rid of the magic Hadeon's presence has offered them. It'd be different if they embraced it, if they felt no guilt whatsoever whilst describing the fairy they killed. (And they trembled with it, she could feel each convulsion against her shoulder when she carried them to the stream.) They haven't given up.

The distinctly human desire to reclaim a peaceful life brought Miro to Bellwick Springs-- to her.

If Valentine weren't positively knackered, she'd be doing a 'told you so' jig. Speaking of... boy does she need to dance this magic off. Windows succumb to their spiderweb cracks and shatter. One of the letters off the inn's sign crashes to the ground and sizzles. "Oopsie daisy."

Staring into Hadeon's golden eye, Valentine's second thought is that the word 'rue'-- hands down the silliest synonym for regret-- sounds a lot sillier coming from Miro Syke. It doesn't suit them at all. Rue. Sounds like Scooby-Doo saying the name Sue. She cranks up the volume of that one silly word loud enough to tune out the rest of Hadeon Bellwickson's threat. Hasn't she heard it all before, lived it all before, back when her oversights and mistakes accumulated a body count? Do these big bad angels and demons think they can diminish her experiences with grief and sacrifice by calling her a little witch and casting her aside?

He underestimated her, too.

"Vallie, are you hurt?" A familiar voice asks. A pair of arms wrap around her, lifting her up to her feet, and she's promptly fussed over. "Mrs. Mulberry called, then I saw the sky and--"

"I'm fine." Valentine sighs, taking a defiant step backward. Oh jeepers, not him. Not now. She sways and nearly topples off the roof before she's caught around the waist. "I said I'm fine, Garrett."

"Yeah, you seem perfectly fine," Garrett, her dad, could not look less impressed. The crinkles around his kindly blue eyes deepen, his grip on her shoulders tightening as he steers her away from the edge. "Valentine."

"Don't rhyme at me."

"I'm not--" Garrett scrubs his hands over his face. There's no winning with her, especially not when she's like this. "The hell happened here?" He glances back at Miro. "That's the newcomer, ain't it? Why'd you go and get yourself mixed up with them? After..."

"This is different. They need my help." Valentine says. Her lower lip juts out in a pout she knows he can't resist. "...Will you carry them inside for me? I'm all loosey goosey."

༻✧༺​

When Miro wakes, they're tucked safely back into their room at the inn. A steaming cup of tea sits on the beside table, next to a note in Valentine's handwriting that reads: 'Drink this. It'll help with the headache! If Garrett's still there, tell him to get lost. Be back soon.' There are chickens stationed everywhere-- one stands on the window sill, another mills around by the door, and two more are perched on the foot of the bed. The man sitting at the desk gives off the impression of a retired detective who has seen too much in his career, with stubble on his face and shadows under his eyes. He turns around when he hears the photographer stir.

"Valentine's off rescuing some damn kindergarteners from a cave." Garrett informs them gruffly. "Mrs. Mulberry asked me to keep an eye on you in the meantime. You really did a number on this place." He pauses, narrows his eyes. One of the chickens starts pecking at his shoe laces. "...I've heard about you, Miro Syke. Let me cut to the chase. What are your intentions with my daughter?"

 

[starboob]

“Ngh.” Miro groans as they come back to life. They blink slowly, eyelids fluttering with the effort of keeping them open. The burning green slit has imprinted itself in their vision, floating around like fairies from a camera flash. When they go to rub their eyes of the imprint, they find they can do little more than stir their limbs, their arms weighted with invisible lead. With a resigned sigh, they sink further into the mattress and sort through their last memories. They open their mouth, tasting the leftover of something slightly sweet on their tongue, though they cannot place it specifically.

It’s only when a man’s voice saws through the air that they notice their company. Miro jerks, pulling the covers closer to themself as if the soft fabric will harden into a shield. They relax only when Sharona flaps her wings from the end of the bed and hops over into their lap, providing them with some assurance of their safety. This is also when they notice the tea beside the bed and the note in Valentine’s neat script.

Finding it easier to move now that they’ve been startled, they reach for the cup and sip. “Valentine says that I should tell you to get lost.” Miro’s eyes – charcoal with only flecks of gold – point to the note. Garrett doesn’t appear surprised or amused by this.

They take another slow sip of tea, not feeling particularly conversational. (Perhaps that’s a side effect of Hadeon’s most recent show of influence.) On some level they recognize the importance of meeting Valentine’s father and on another level, Valentine’s own annoyance with him shows in her note. Should they care about this jabroni’s opinion?

“We’re a duo.” This isn’t strictly true, but Miro still sees the possibility. “The blip witch and the green wizard, you might have heard of us.” Unlikely. Miro is the only one who refers to them as such and has only been referring to them as such for under twenty-four hours. “She’s just helping me sort myself out. I’d consider her a new friend, but I’m not certain the feeling is entirely mutual.” Valentine is a hard person to read – while she’s been open with them, she always emphasizes that her focus is on them and the new mystery she has to chew on. She’s such a nerd. “We only met yesterday and I’m not a U-Haul type, if that’s what you’re trying to get at, sir. We only just kissed and it’s too soon to say what will happen from there.” All chickens turn their heads at that. Sharona opens her beak in shock. Sir Chompalot crawls from his spot next to Miro and nods, confirming he saw the entire event. “I think it was platonic anyway, so probably doesn't matter... Which I guess means that my intentions are being her friend. And helping her out.” Miro struggles to push themself up further. "You said she was helping kindergarteners in a cave? I ought to be there with her." They fall unceremoniously back down on the bed. "Just gimme a minute, sir."

 

[ellarose]

"Blip witch..." Garrett mutters under his breath, incredulous and openly unconvinced of this 'duo' dynamic Miro describes. "She really let you get away with calling her that?"

If he knows his daughter, she's the sort to nip a silly nickname in the bud. Especially silly nicknames of the likes of blip witch. Or maybe, Garrett deflates with the thought, it's just the silly nicknames coming from him specifically that she despises. After all, Mist Terry gets away with calling her Tiny. Damn...

There's little time to ruminate on the subject, though, as Miro Syke continues to explain their situation. The first bit checks out. Valentine said it herself; they need her help. And now they want to be a friend to her, huh. Yeah, sure. Sounds innocent enough. The problem is that it started the same way when that other kid-- that bastard-- rolled into town-- and the type to U-what-now?

Kissed!?

"W-wait a damn second--" Garrett can't be entirely certain how long he blacked out after getting smacked with that sledgehammer of a statement. Before he knows it, Miro Syke is trying to stand. Everything needs to slow the hell down. "Sit your ass back down, kid. You need to rest." He massages his temples. Criminy, he's too old for this. "She can handle herself just fine. She'll be back before you know it."

This is the type of information Garrett would never get from Valentine herself. It takes him a second to wrap his mind around it. It is a damn shame, the girl could use more friends in this town, but... ah, poor thing. She's got rotten luck.

"Not sure if you saw it back there... but she let an angel burn for you." He muses. "I'd say she's taken a shine to you."

And Valentine's only known this person for, what? A day? A day and a half at most? What's gotten into her? She's strong, resourceful, a smart cookie, but she's wearing her heart on her sleeve here. Either she's crushing on them hard or she's been hexed. Garrett doesn't sense anything, not at all like last time, but still...

"Now... you seem like a good kid, but I know trouble when I see it. You're going to hurt her." Garrett says like it's a rock-solid fact and not just an assumption. "I've seen it happen before. I won't stand idly by and let it happen again." He closes his hands into fists on his thighs. "You brought some kind of evil with you when you came to this town." It's written all over the green skies outside. "So what have you gotten yourself into? What are you getting her into?"

 

[starboob]

It takes a minute, but after more of them wakes up they realize just exactly what it is that they don’t like about Garrett. Valentine’s obvious distaste for the man aside, he’s got the energy of a goddamn cop. This should have been more obvious from the start, but in their fugue following a demonic takeover of their body they missed the signs – his stubble, gruff demeanor, and entitled attitude.

Miro decides rather quickly that they definitely do not fuck with Garrett.

Still, in their current state they’re bedbound and have no way of defying him. It’s the only reason they begrudgingly stay put while the man insults them. (A small part of them twists, wishing an emblem would appear right over his worn out face.) They focus on the chicken in their lap, gently preening her feathers. “So you either believe in your daughter or you don’t – you can’t have it both ways, guy.”

Because if in one breath he says that Valentine is capable and strong and in the next makes a devastating accusation and assessment of Miro’s character, he clearly has some doubts about Valentine’s ability to take care of herself. “If she can chuck the spawn of Mothra into the ocean without so much as breaking a sweat, I think she can handle me.” They gesture over their body. “I’m not very big.”

They know that’s not what he’s referencing – he even calls it outright – but Miro thinks he ought to consider his own incongruence; ought to consider the doubt he's placing in his own daughter. So what if he's right in the sense that Miro's body will be used to try and harm her? Valentine Thorne killed a guy once. She'll do what she needs to do and she'll do what she can to protect Miro in the process. They trust that; the whole town of Bellwick does. Seems insulting that this guy doesn't. Fatherly instinct aside and all that.

“Anyway, I don’t answer questions from cops. You got the first couple for free, because I hadn’t figured it out yet, but I’m pleading the fifth until my lawyer is present.” More or less, they mean Valentine. “But, like, let the record show I'm not the one trying to hurt her and I won't ever be." They might not know how long their body will remain theirs or if they'll always be able to fight off Hadeon – he seems to be getting stronger by the day – but they know it won't ever be them attacking Valentine. “It’s not very punk rock of you to make assumptions. I can see why Valentine told me to tell you to get lost. Soooo...” They gesture with their eyes toward the door, nodding their chin. "Maybe do that?"

 

[ellarose]

"I believe in her... but the girl's carrying this whole damn town on her shoulders." Garrett says, pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the impending headache. "Won't accept my help, either. I've got to do what I can. Who else is gonna look after her, otherwise? What kinda father would I be to sit on my hands at the first sign of danger?" No, he won't wait to act until it's too late. Not this time.

He failed her once.
He won't fail again.

"Am I making assumptions, kid? 'Cause if I'm not mistaken, I saw you pointing flames right at her." Garrett presses, but ultimately holds himself back. There are lines he can't cross, not until he knows exactly what he's dealing with. Because he also saw the kid fighting with themself, he saw them extinguish the flames before they could touch her. They're green hellfire in a friendly package and that's a problem. Either way, looks like he won't be getting any answers now. He grumbles under his breath. "Now you're the one making assumptions. I'm not a cop."

Not anymore. Garrett sighs resignedly and brings himself to his feet, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

"Listen, just..." Garrett scribbles something down on the inn's complimentary stationery and pats it twice. "Get in touch if you sense you're starting to lose control, alright? If you're in over your head. Valentine's lost too many friends. There are some things she shouldn't have to do, if you catch my drift."

༻✧༺​

"...Dustin and his gang were at it again. Those kids have me running in circles." Valentine arrives twenty minutes later with a handful of glowing blue stones. She sets them down on the desk, watching the soothing way they pulse and illuminate the wood underneath. "I brought you a souvenir from the cave. I thought you might like them, since they're shiny. Like your dream." She turns around. "How are you fe--"

The chickens rush Valentine all at once-- urgently clucking and bok-boking at her-- and her cheeks blush cherry red as she registers what they're saying. Her eyes dart from the chickens to Miro and back again.

"I-- I was going to tell you guys." Valentine stammers, flustered. No, she wasn't. She's still trying to process it herself! "I've been busy." She clears her throat, glancing back at Miro. "You told them about the kiss?"

 

[starboob]

Miro has not moved much since Garrett departed. They sit on the bed in deep contemplation, mulling over their conversation and considering it with great gravity. Though the air in the room might lighter, fresher without the cop’s presence, a new weightiness starts to blanket over them as they consider Valentine's position in this small town. While they can’t reasonably commit to staying in Bellwick Springs, maybe they can help her while she’s here – they meant it earlier when they told Garrett they thought of them as a duo; they meant it when they tried to get to help her out in those caves. No one should have to shoulder this alone. Incredible as she is, she deserves a life that's more than just climbing tall trees and carving in her initials when she gets to the top. She deserves more friends, too.

They'll help her. They'll figure out a way to keep Bellwick safe so that she can leave, if she wants.

When Valentine comes back, their tea has gone cold and the chickens are gently clucking amongst themselves. Though that last bit only lasts for an extra second before they’re all crowding around her. “Oh…” Miro chuckles, somewhat bashful now. “Garrett asked about my intentions with you, so it came up. Then I think he offered to kill me? I’m not sure.”

The note he scribbled is still on the desk, now just under some of the blue glowing stones. “But it was a very chill offer, at least coming from a cop.” Yeah, he might not claim cop, but in that case he’s just doing their work for free with how he conducts himself. They roll their eyes. “Dads are the worst.”

Just always trying to come in at the last possible minute after years of standing on the sidelines. Ugh.

Miro sighs, unable to hold onto their annoyance for long as their thoughts sink back towards Valentine and Garrett's harsh words. Even if they don't care about a cop's opinion, he wasn't exactly wrong to assume that something might happen to her because of whatever it is they've gotten themself into. How long will they be able to keep wresting control from Hadeon? When is he going to get strong enough that Miro will cease to exist? “You didn’t get hurt, did you? Garrett said he saw me point flames at you. I was trying to stop... you know, but it's all a little fuzzy in my brain.” Their eyes flicker over to the cracked window. "Do you think Mrs. Mulberry is going to be mad?"