Shade

Hiding Out part two (Part four of A & S's adventure series)

(This is cooperative writing between myself and Audemus. Just a reminder that no information found in this story can be used by any other player other than those involved in each scene. Thank you and enjoy ~) 

She looked up from where she’d been crouched between two of the children, and smiled, “I think I can find something..” she said, standing. She gave the one child a gentle stroke of their hair before going to root around in the chest of drawers at the foot of her bed. She found a pair of drawstring sweatpants that would probably be a little short on him but would fit his hips, and a shirt she was pretty sure was left over from a boyfriend or three ago. She handed them to him through the door before leaving him to it. The children helped her clean up the table of their own volition, with the eldest sort of urging the others – save the youngest who went and curled up on the bed and passed out – to wash and dry and stack the plates carefully. She put everything away as they finished, wrapping up leftover waffles and capping compotes before tucking those all back into the cold storage. Shade ushered them all to the bed and tucked their little puppy pile in. She sat beside them, stroking clean heads of silken hair, singing softly to lull them to sleep.

The sweatpants were a slim fit that left most of his calves bared, but he cared not at all – at least they were clean. He didn’t bother with the shirt – slung it over his (good) shoulder and left the bathroom. He padded silently over towards the lounge, moving the bottle of whiskey (after a final nightcap in the form of a sip) and the book from the cushions to sit onto a nearby end-table and arranged himself in their place. He reclined delicately into a semi-upright position – propped along by a few of the throw pillows – and crossed his feet at the ankles, studying the row of sleeping heads, blankets drawn up around their cheeks. “Night.” He murmured quietly into the encroaching darkness as Shade moved around, turning off various light sources. He felt drunk, fatigued, but not especially sleepy. Leaning his head back against the pillow, he closed his eyes regardless, attempting to willfully force his body to rest.

She brought a small vial of deep violet liquid and a cup of milk to him, setting them beside him so he could drink the painkiller and the milk under her stern stare. She took the empty glass and vial back and smoothed his hair, covering him with the blanket and standing. “Good night,” she murmured before putting the dirty empties away in the sink and padding quietly out to the tiny balcony. She climbed into the hammock there and wrapped herself up in the blanket already waiting for her, staring up at the sky. She needed sleep. The coughing she’d suppressed via potions would go away. In the morning she wouldn’t feel like one aching bruise. Hopefully.

He did drift off to sleep, eventually, but it didn’t last very long – he stirred due to a full bladder, and the pain in his shoulder kept him from getting comfortable again after he had taken care of it. Still dark, he fumbled for the whiskey, nearly toppling the bottle over. The children didn’t stir from the noise, and he downed the rest of the contents quietly. For what felt like an eternity he tossed and turned on the couch, finally growing restless enough to kick off his thin blanket with a disgruntled curse and find something to occupy his time with. In the kitchen, he consumed a triangle fourth of a leftover waffle – cold, eaten in three bites – and rummaged through the cabinets. Another dusty, forgotten bottle of liquor (a decently aged spice rum – what a shame to let rot away, but he supposed he could take care of that) that he appropriated and a storage container of oat cereal that he set to munching on.

Seating himself at the table, he began to construct a single, extremely tall tower of cereal. Sometime around the time he had taken to standing on a chair to reach the top, he noticed that he had a companion: the littlest elfling who had seated herself across from him and watched in rapt fascination. They shared in the cereal, and eventually, the single spire in the center was joined by several smaller ones (fourteen) in a circle around its base. The two of them ran out of cereal by the time the moonlit interior was bleeding over into more dusky purple and orange morning light. She dragged him over to the bookshelf, and after a short argument in which he found himself losing to a child a third his size who hadn’t even uttered a word, he tucked back into the couch with the babe at his side, reading from a trite novel that involved a rat protagonist who had somehow managed to secure a squireship. Unrealistic. The sound of his voice gradually woke the rest, and they gathered around him to his left – mindful of his injury and the bottle of liquor perched at his side. If they minded the slur of his S’s, they made no comment.

Her sleep came in fits and starts, unable to find true rest with so many breathing bodies close by and her own symptoms of painful withdrawal. Magical core deprivation was not something someone simply bounced back from with a little sleep, and her potion was wearing off. She could hear him, his heartbeat steady against her shoulder still, in there with the children and it drew a smile from her. When the stars began to wash out in the orange-purple creeping of sunrise she swung out of the hammock with the blanket wrapped around herself and settled at his feet inside. The youngest child crawled into her lap and she wrapped the blanket around them both as she tipped her head against his knee and dozed a bit more. When the sunlight started to spill inside Shade untangled herself from the blanket and now sleeping child, placing her on the bed before yawning and padding over to the stove where she started to make breakfast. Stuffed egg-toast and fresh fruit sounded good. She hummed quietly to herself as she worked, chopping fruit and whisking egg into milk and cream with spices. Thick slices of bread soaked in it before being layered in a pan with slabs of butter and chocolate. She stuck the toast into the oven then started on coffee.

Audemus took the opportunity of Shade’s awakening to finally allow himself a trip to the restroom, extracting himself from the gaggle of children who had been enraptured by his oration. Eyeing himself in the mirror, he concluded that he had definitely seen better days. His skin looked a bit clammy, having lost it’s customary flush, and the curls that had escaped from their tie lay dampened and flat against his too-hot flesh. He ran the tap – all the way cold – and scrubbed his face in the sink. He didn’t bother to towel himself dry, letting the cool water run rivulets down his heated skin, and idly wondered it was the booze, fatigue, or a fever setting in that had him feeling so off-kilter. He knew it was likely a combination of all of the above, but it was the last bullet point in that list that had him the most discomfited. A few swallows of water straight from the tap also did little to assuage the feeling, so he cut it off, motioning with the tiniest bit of magic to float a dry handcloth towards him. His stomach churned with the attempt, so he settled for walking and using his hand like some sort of mundane soul. As if to remind him of his place, the same organ growled, low and hungry, at him in warning. Leaving the overly-lit bathroom behind, he stalked towards the kitchen, displeased to have to succumb to the whims of such banal things like sustenance. He watched Shade, silently, for a long moment as she cooked, before arranging the plates – one-handed, balanced slightly precariously considering his inebriated state – to help set the table for their group of six. He was very mindful of the cereal.

Shade arranged the fruit on a platter then turned to find Audemus carefully setting the table .. around what looked to be a fortress made of cereal. She blinked, squinted a bit at it, then shook her head. She set the platter down and lifted her hands – two circular runes appeared beneath her palms, the black crackling with an electric hiss as a matching black glow surrounded the masterpiece. She gently set the creation to float above the table – so they could marvel but so she could also put food down. The spell set, she shook the smoke from her hands, rubbing singed fingers against her thighs. Ravenous, she turned and popped a few pieces of fruit into her mouth before setting the platter on the table. Syrup and butter followed, along with reheated potatoes from the night before. She hummed weakly, toddering around in a bit of a daze as she finished prepping everything and finally pulling the baked toast from the oven. She set it on the table then beckoned everyone to sit down before rummaging in the cupboard. She found potion for herself – luridly blue – and more painkiller for Audemus, an equally lurid pink and a new formula that might take the edge off his pain. She offered the vial to him while downing her own, shaking under the rush of it working through her system. She offered the children a soft, wan grin. “We’ll be okay,” she assured them quietly, nudging the nearest one into digging in. She watched them help each other get food before all digging in, before serving herself.

He accepted the potion with a terse nod of his head, swallowing down the thick liquid and was pleased to note the near-immediate cessation of some of the pain, but not enough to provide anywhere near the amount of relief he’d like. He supposed this was his due for his long-lasting love affair with illicit substances – a tolerance built up with recreational usage that tempered the effects of opiates when you actually needed them, as well as not lasting nearly as long. Whatever. He wasn’t in the mood for introspection. He smeared some of the salted cream butter onto a thick piece of french toast and folded it akin to a hot dog bun, used his hands to eat it. It was consumed mechanically, with no outward show of any enjoyment. Audemus took the barest amount of effort to wipe his fingers on a napkin before pushing himself away from the table, snatching up the bottle of rum from the couch and stalking outside to the balcony without a word.

Shade watched him carefully, saying nothing as she quietly devoured her own stuffed toast and fruit. He was in pain, and it didn’t look like she’d caught whatever infection he’d picked up in time. So she would leave him to his mulish drinking – and as long as he drank that rum outside then she’d be fine. She’d forgotten she’d even had that in this place. The thought of the smell of it made her shudder, going cold and clammy for a moment before she shook the rush of remembered horror. It’d been years but the smell of it still made her ill. She continued to eat – she was starving, barely remembering to use manners in front of the children who were also consuming their meals as if they’d never be fed again. She remembered how that felt too. She rubbed her wrists, unglamoured still. The drain of maintaining it wasn’t worth it. She reached out and touched the downy head of the child beside her, grinning when he offered her a shy smile. Returning to her food, her third helping, she wondered what exactly they were going to to be able to do with these children. She could guess they were plucked off the streets as she’d been, homeless and without family – she didn’t know if she had it in her to just let them go to an orphanage after all they’d been through. She glanced out toward the balcony tiredly and hoped someone came soon.

The next several hours proved to be absolutely maddening. Claiming the vacated balcony as his own, away from Shade and the children, he spent a long time people-watching from the obscurity of his perch. Boring. A few palettes being moved around here or there, a small plague of grackles that fought over a soggy pile of food-waste brought out from a doorway, a surly likely-drunk-as-well elf who gave him a rude gesture after relieving himself on the side of one brick wall when noticing that Audemus had been staring at him from above. That had actually been the high-point of his day thus far: a profanity-laced argument where the other elf threatened to knock his head off his shoulders and the mage had invited him to come try. This went on until another shouter from another balcony had told the both of them to knock it off, and then the two of them had yelled at her. Unfortunately, the other two had lost the wind in their sails quite shortly after and retreated back to wherever they had originally come.

Shade had popped out once, shortly after, and he’d been just as churlish to her. “I hate being confined.” He had lamented (whined), driving his good-hand stubbornly into the wall with a too-forceful punch. She only gave his bloodied knuckles a single exasperated look before leaving him alone, again, but he couldn’t blame her. Not that it meant he didn’t. The hammock was too uncomfortable for him to attempt to lay in — too much movement was required and the jostling of his shoulder in the single agonizing attempt made sure that it would be the last time he tried. He dozed, fitfully, against the wall instead. It was not especially restful and left him with a pounding headache on top of his other maladies. He had tracked the time by the level of rum contained in the bottle: there was a fourth of it left by the time the daylight hours were waning and evening was creeping up. No desire to be around the children in his sodden state, so he waited outside still until night had firmly set in before entering the abode once again, heading straight towards the bathroom. There, the mage drew a half-full bath — slowly, barely a drip of water as to not disturb — that was frigid in temperature and sat in it for a very long time. Despite the chilly bath, he felt as though someone had turned up the heat inside. Toweling off his lower body, he retched in the toilet, and fell asleep with his inflamed head resting against the porcelain.

END (for now)