Chrysalis Ch20: Barriers (pt2) (Patreon)

<- previous

          "The doorway isn't going to bite you on the way out, you know," L says, lifting an eyebrow.
          "I knoo! I knoo!” Madeline breathes out a big huff. “Don't rush me, nymph girl! Yous got no idea ‘ow weird this is for a fae like I!”
          Madeline stands at the threshold of the Glade, a hood pulled over her head. There’s a bag slung over her shoulder, which she clings to fiercely. She stares at the open cobbles of the streets beyond like they're made of lava.
          “Well it won’t get any less weird by gawking at it!”
          “Shut oop!” Madeline shouts, clasping L’s shoulders and bringing her forward. “C’mere…” She looks at the street, brow furrowing. “Closer ‘an that! I need…”
          Ignoring her grasp, L scoots closer to the threshold, angling herself to not block the door the brownie is putzing around. “Sure you don’t want to just… I dunno, leap from a window?”
          The poor brownie is too shaken to hear the joke.
          “Ya! Okay, okay, okay.” Madeline nods her head with the repetition. “... Okay. Cah’mon Mads. Le’s just…”
          She makes a big show of sticking her toe through the door first, then gingerly presses her foot onto the cobbles. There's an electricity in the air as she does, and as she hops off her other foot, L’s antennae pick up a slight shift in pressure. The nymph lunges as the brownie nearly stumbles into her, her face so filled with terror one would think she fell from the roof.
          "Th-thanks, love,” Madeline murmurs, flustered and probably more than a little humiliated. The brownie bolts up and straightens her dress. She relaxes her feet in the cobbles, slowly taking the air in, releasing a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. The goosebumps along her pale skin fade.
          “You good?” L asks, a bit out of breath. The brownie curtly nods.
          "Yea. Yea, jes’ grand. Arreet. Le's start in the Grand Bazaar. ‘Ere’s got wares, dresses. Some scran, too, if yer hungry." Madeline pats her satchel. It jingles with every tap. "An’ don’t worry none about bars.”
          “Bars?” L tilts her antennae.
          “Bangers an’ mash, clams or paper? Honk, moolah, spoondoolies?” Madeline rolls her eyes, shaking the bag. “Yer hooman friends keep changin’ the ploughin’ name, it’s hard to catch oop.”
          “... Uh huh,” L nods along, completely lost in Madeline’s accent. If the brownie’s been bound to the Glade by magic, how does she manage to speak like she’s from ‘oop Norf’?
          A mystery L doubts she’ll ever solve.
          “I'll feel better covering the diff’rence, simple as.” Madeline almost smiles. It’s a start. “Keeps us closer to squares."
          "You did let me out of the salt." L points out quietly, before it dwindles into the air. Why bother fighting over it? Madeline's satchel looks a lot heavier than the nymph’s own sad little stack of ‘spoondoolies’. Either Mads is a great little saver, or Hedrick’s seriously undercutting L’s pay.
          … It’s probably both. Madeline doesn’t get outside, and Hedrick is… well, Hedrick.
          L’s antennae twitch, and she watches the eerie lights flicker overhead. "Is there anything in particular you're looking for?" She asks, trying to change the subject. "Something she would have liked? I dunno, flowers?"
          "Selkie liked hooman things." The brownie states curtly, skipping her way along the street. No matter how far her bounce, the brownie manages to stay rigidly close to L.  "Movie stars. Posters. Compact discs."
          “CDs?” L chuckles. “Grab some VHS tapes while we’re at it?”
          “Well Grady promised her he’d fix the player,” the brownie unleashes a raspberry as she rummages through her bag. Eventually, she pries a small, silver rectangle. L squints. An old iPod Touch, its screen bright despite the dirt and cracks clung to it. Madeline scrolls through the catalogue, staring at it wistfully. “See? CDs? ‘Eir little songs ‘ere, innit? I think this ‘un plays the moosic.”
          “That’s not a-” L is interrupted by a furious series of taps. Each button press is harder than the last.
          Madeline huffs, rocking the device with the force of her hand. "I’s swear this is... s’posed to play…"
          "... You press the triangle." L smiles wistfully at her when she looks up. “I owned one of these as a kid. Heh, Christ, that old thing’s probably still sitting in my flat-” L’s eyes go wide. “Oh, shite.”
          “Wuzzah?” Madeline glares at L’s increasingly anxious face.
          “Rent,” L is clutching her hands to her temples. “I… totally forgot to move, the landlady’s gonna kill me.” It was still the same month, right? Could she clean it out? Get her parents to help? Maybe borrow Spencer’s car?
          … No. No no no. Not Spencer. Definitely not.
          Her reverie is interrupted by the brownie. “Oh. That rent. The one Hedrick’s always whingin’ ‘bout. Thought you’s was talkin’ ‘bout Blockbuster.”
          L blinks. “... Blockbuster?”
          Madeline nods sincerely. “‘At’s where ye rent moovies. ‘Be kind, rewind,’ innit?”
          “Blockbuster’s been out of…” L shakes her head. “Pardon my asking, Madeline, and I don’t mean offense, but…”
          “But…” Madeline lowers her pitch to match L’s intonation.
          “... When was the last time you were in London?”
          Madeline smirks. “Whatsa brownie got to do there? I’s never been.”
          “Well, there are brownies in London,” L points out. “Somewhere, somehow, or there wouldn’t be stories about them.”
          “Yea, but they’s weirdos,” Madeline holds up the phone. “I’m not weird.”
          L brushes her thoughts away, focusing instead on the small device. "Oh, you need headphones for that kind to work. Have any?" L tries to mime using earbuds. "Little things that you can put in… er..."
          She looks awkwardly at Madeline's large, floppy ears.
          "...well… humans stick them in their-"
          "RIGHT!" Madeline claps her hands together, digging back into her satchel. She quickly reveals a hand wrapped in long white wire, with two little plastic pieces attached to the ends. L smiles encouragingly.
          Madeline quickly plugs them into the jack, passing one bud to the nymph and tucking the other beneath her ear. Their shoulders press together.
          "Like this, innit? Then triangle?" Her smile reaches her eyes.
          "Mhm," L smiles and nods, wiggling the earbud into place and hearing the nostalgic crack. Suddenly, she stiffens, a horrible thought striking her. "Wait! Check the volume before - "
          Too late.
          Both girls jolt as the music blares through their eardrums. Madeline fumbles with the device, frantically mashing buttons.
          "Stoop!” she shouts, panic in her voice. “HOW D’YE-"
          “Pass it! Pass it!” L yanks the earbud out as her antennae shriek.
          Madeline practically throws. "M-make it diff’rent! Make it work!"
          L nearly drops the iPod when it’s tossed to her. After her fumble, she mashes on the pause button, steadying herself with a few wingbeats. They both sigh in relief.
          "Okay. Okay. Look,” L makes a display of the buttons. “These lines next to the triangle? That… freezes the song. And this…" She smirks, unable to contain herself at the look of Madeline’s confused face. What a contrast from her usual self-assured hostility.
          Finally, L isn't the one who's out of her depth.
          "... This is how you change the volume." L adjusts it to a more comfortable level, popping her earbud back in and offering the other. When Madeline recoils from it, her smirk widens. "C’mon. Just like the door, it’s not gonna bite. You can do it."
          Madeline looks to the earbud, then back at L. Her cheeks are puffy, trying to hide the impression the nymph has left on her. Taking the bud gently, she tucks it back into the hood. "Bein’ smug’s my job," she mutters.
          L chuckles as she flips through the songs. They’re all about as old as Blockbuster Video, but it’s not like Madeline would know the difference. L closes her eyes and presses ‘Shuffle.’ Her wings flick back and forth to the beat of the Blink-182 song. She remembers fluttering to the same back in secondary school.
          … In her own room, of course.

          "Where'd you two even get this?" L asks, face brightening.
          "Hooman vendor. Boyo’s got all kindsa things." Madeline puffs up with pride. "I’s found him, if ye can believe it. Selkie had us ratchin’ through his shop every time he hyuked a new shipment.” Her body rises as she speaks the strange word.
          "Regulars, were you?" L grins, tapping at the screen. “So, really, why not go to London if you’re gonna buy the same?”
          “It’s… jes’ a thing most fae don’t do,” Madeline skips along, a bit confused. “Unless, I dunno, yer an Otherworlder.”
          “‘Otherworlder?’” L asks.
          “Like yerself. Someone who lives in the hooman world, the other world. Not the Wilds like the rest of us. Lots of those hooman lovers, they’s come from there.”
          … The Wilds. Why does the name sound familiar?
          “Speakin’ of,” Madeline’s voice lilts with the song. “How’d ‘at call go with whatsyerfass,” she snaps her fingers, trying to jog her memory. “‘Arcourt. ‘Spence.’ Yer wee hooman lover.”
          L gives an awkward laugh, her eyes sliding away at the question. "He is not my lover. We're meeting, that's all. Just a nice night." Her wings flutter a little more, missing a beat. Spencer had sounded… Well, delighted. Very delighted. The kind of delighted that still shot butterflies through L’s stomach, pun intended.
          “Mmm,” Madeline pushes her face a little closer, smirking.
          "I think I've earned one." L bobs her head back, smirking the same. "He's got some event he’d like me to attend. Tonight, actually. Seems a bit convenient, innit, but… an MP’s bound to be juggling his social calendar, you know?"
          L's antennae dip. It's convenient for her, too. It would take more than a shopping trip for her to find scurrying up the attic to feel… appealing. Or, ironically, safe.
          "Tonight?" Madeline breaks her skip to walk more in cadence. "Sure Ian's gonna 'ave feelin's ‘bout that. Whenever he finds out."
          “Oh, he will,” L says. She’s not able to smother that hint of angry satisfaction in her voice. “I really hope he will.”
          Madeline’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Lucky thing you’s be gone.”
          L smirks impishly back. "It’s not gonna take him long. I imagine he'll get the idea when he gets back and I'm not stuck in the corner he plopped me in." Her anger is even more prominent.
          They pass by a hunched figure donning the Market's dark robes, three glowing eyes blinking in turns as it stops to quizzically study the headphone cord. The sight almost brings L to laughter.
Laughter. She dips her antennae again, thinking back on the phone call. L's eyes slide to the side. "Mads, um… it’s not weird that he has a dress for me, right?  He said he'd provide my ‘attire’ for the evening like I should expect it."
          Madeline cocks her head, one ear going up as she considers. “Just means the laddo’s learned.”
          “Pardon?”
          "It’s like a Keeper courting a Kept."  Madeline starts slowly, turning the words over like a spit roast.  "Really, it’s standard fae if ye wanna be… traditional. Considered neglectful, disrespectful not ta. He’s some diplomat, right? Prolly just bein’ mindful of yer heritage, innit?"
          L sputters, her wings flickering. “I’m… I’m not… uh, I mean…” She makes a face. “He knows I’m an… ‘otherworlder’... but I guess the changeling thing never came up. Not sure it’s going to, either.”
          Madeline nods, their conversation dying beneath the sight of the Grand Bazaar.
          The two pass under an arch that mimics a castle gate. Lurching over them are metal bars suspended by chains, none of it smelling of iron.
          A tremendous fountain of carved marble rests in the centre of the Bazaar’s courtyard, several tiers of faucets finding their way to a wishing pond. The bottom is littered with every kind of coin imaginable: Hapennies, florins, silver shillings and golden crowns. L swears she even sees Roman denarii, straight out of the British Museum.
          Colourful stalls turn the rest of the space into a whirling maze of curtained canvases, corridors spun of every pattern, dye, and fabric.
          L looks around, swivelling her antennae this way and that. There's a low, constant hum of ambience and conversation between the rows of stalls, dozens of customers picking through the wares. It's impossible to track it all, but she still feels obligated to try, to keep as much of the beautiful sensation with her before the moment was spoiled.
          L lifts her head, breathing in the spray from the fountain. "Anyway, I'm not looking for Harcourt to be my… Keeper.” The word still sounds foreign, rigid. Cold. "I suppose I’ll have to make that known. Anyway, what are we searching for? Your ‘hooman vendor?’"
          Madeline's eyes glimmer as something catches in her sight. "’Ere, ‘ere! See it? ‘Ere it is!" She takes L by the hand and dashes ahead. The brownie's hood falls back, her ears bursting free.
          L can’t help but smile; it feels like something in Madeline has... woken up. Come alive, in a way that L hasn't seen in all the weeks she’s known her.
          And, really, she feels much the same.
          Madeline stops in front of the shop, raising her hand in presentation, like it’s a secret treasure. A sign hangs on the stony facade, rattling in the breeze:
          ‘London Arbour
Keeps, Makes, and Miscellany’
          Without delay, Madeline pulls back the curtain and ducks inside.

+++

          L had been to rummage sales before, when she lived in a neighbourhood with garages to house them. London Arbour captured that essence, and expanded it tenfold. Broken 8-Tracks. A plastic rocking horse. Leaning towers of VCRs. An oscillating fan ‘circulating’ the air inside, colourful little streamers spewing before it.
          A cat cleans itself on the counter, perched next to a bell labelled: ‘Ring for Service’. Whatever magic was tying Madeline to L seems to lax, and she leaps into the rubble with the enthusiasm of a child let loose on a hapless candy store.
          L scrambles after her anyway, unwilling to chance fae magic she barely grasps. She ducks below the curtain, looking around with a certain bemused scepticism, until she settles on the cat. It pays her no mind, but the nymph still offers a nervous smile as she backs away, nearly tripping over a cardboard box.
          For some reason, she doubts the feline would want pets.
          The nymph catches herself on a table, peering curiously inside the cardboard’s contents. There's a stack of battered, old-model roombas. She picks one up, snickering to herself. “Ooooh, look Mads. These as frightening as the hoovers?”
          “Don’t push it,” the brownie puffs up. “They’s so loud.”
          “Perhaps I’ll buy the whole set,” L smirks impishly. “Unleash them in the attic, keep you and your assault brooms at bay.”
          “I’ll climb the walls,” Madeline chuckles, punching L lightly in the arm. The laughter is cut when something catches the brownie’s eye, and she ducks again around the corner.
          She reemerges in triumph. “How’s ‘is, then? Who do I’s remind ye of?”
          Madeline has strapped on a pair of off-brand Tinkerbell wings. They loop over her shoulders like a backpack, wire frames accented with sparkling pink netting. Madeline gives them a strange little shake, waltzing up to L like she’s in heels. She holds up an imaginary microphone, smiling daggers.
          “Uh, um, h-hi,” the brownie makes a mock nervous face. “Think anyone could tell if I’s took the little moff’s spot on stage?”
          “Oh, please,” L crosses her arms, huffing. She gives an occasional furtive glance to the wings. “How do they even allow people to sell that? It’s offensive.”
          “Cuz it’s only offensive to ye,” Madeline mimics a glamorous pose. “An’ ‘at just makes it funny.”
          “Yeah, ha ha, I’m really laughing, good one.” L turns away in a mock sulk. So much for her brief moment of pride.
          She searches around the space instead. A few fish tanks line the walls, all functioning. To her amusement, they’re filled with standard, carnival-variety goldfish. And, um… black ones, with bulbous prominent eyes. And blues and greens and even a red. She didn’t really know. There was only enough time in the world to nerd over one animal phylum.
          L starts rifling through the other boxes. Plastic bricks and charging cables, souvenir snow globes and dogeared paperbacks. It was all second-hand bric-a-brac, the sort one’d never expect fae to have interest in-
          "Wait, hold on." L stops, slowly turning back to the box filled with books. A familiar cover catches her eye. She delves into the haphazard pile, pulling out...
          "... I-I gave this to the King!" she exclaims excitedly, holding up the saucy novel in triumph. "I mean, not this copy but… but my copy! I didn't think I'd find another!"
          "Treasure?" Madeline hops forward, completely forgetting the wings strapped to her back as they knock around old t-shirts. She scans the cover with her eyes, gives it a whiff. “‘Is one’s got two owners. Lookin’ to be its third?”
          L gives her an odd look. “What?” ‘Two owners’?
          "I dunno,” Madeline rolls her eyes. “Three’s a pretty lucky number."
          L raises her hand. "How does… how can you all… nevermind." The hand limply lowers. She flicks her antennae up and down, curious to know if they’d work as a magic bar-code reader, but all she gets to detect is the sensation of musty paper. She sighs and brushes through the pages.
          "I guess three is a lucky number. Comes up a lot in fairy stories," L laughs awkwardly. "But this was just a comfort read. Not a big loss, all things considered, but I-” she pauses. She feels… detached. Distant. Disconnected.
          The pages rub against her fingers.
          She’s in a kitchen. Somebody’s kitchen, an old kettle hissing, warmth emanating from the stove. She’s felt this sensation before, through Trystan’s neon liqueurs. More experience than memory. But, this… the book seems to be pulling her deeper.
          And she sinks right into it. Relaxes her muscles, lets her feelings loose, and giggle at the something that courses right through her blood.
          She sees a young woman, hair pinned into a loose bun. The scent of coffee wafts from a chipped cup at her side. Her backpack is bursting with binders and textbooks. The woman feels familiar, just a step beyond, a name caught at the tip of L’s tongue.
          Then she vanishes as quickly as she came.
          Another shop, small and cramped like this one. But here, the musty scent of old books is intractable, pillars of tomes and volumes stacked high. Motes of dust glide by in the haze of old, flickering lamps.
          An older woman sits behind the counter, holding the very same paperback. Her glasses are perched on her nose as she thumbs through the pages. Another name one step removed, dwindling on the margins of memory.
          Madeline snatches the novel from L’s hands.
          L blinks, shaking her head. The shop snaps back into her focus. She hasn’t moved, thank goodness, but it’s hard to remove the eeriness she feels around her.
          It's also a bit worrying how low her bar has become for blackout experiences.
          "Oh. I guess… yeah. Got it, sorry," she gives an embarrassed smile, slowly clawing over the book’s cover. “I, uh, I think I’m going to take this.”
          Madeline’s smile seems to erupt into form. She thwaps L with her fake wings as she skips to the counter, slamming her palm into the bell.
          “Oi, Conor!” she shouts anyway. “Bring ‘at fat arse out so I’s can shoove some coins oop it! Ye’d favour gettin’ nicked!?”
          There's a rustling from the back, as a goblin’s head pokes through the curtain.
          "... Mads? Lil Mads, the Wayward Brownie, back again on me threshold?" His eyes dart to L, lips creasing into a shark-toothed smile.
          “Um, hi,” L waves.
          "Don’t,” Madeline lifts a finger to the smirking shopkeep, puffing up. “It’s nowt what ye think. We’s just-”
          “Friends,” L offers.
          “-Coworkers,” Madeline answers. She turns to L, sneering at the nymph’s pout.
          "As ya like,” Conor seems more concerned about getting into place, rising from the curtain with a grunt. His head goes up… up… up…
          L’s eyes widen. Conor’s not a goblin at all.
          He’s a troll.
          Said troll finally lumbers over to the counter, his smile metres above them.
          L cranes her neck up, her wings flicking behind her back by reflex. How the hell does Conor even get in this store?
          "It’s a… cozy space, Conor" L smiles. Honestly, it looks like it might have served as inspiration for Selkie’s erratic decorating hand. L flutters over to the fish tanks. "These are a nice touch. Bet they're a popular watch."
          She winks at the cat and hopes it won’t cut her head off.
          Conor’s still smiling at Madeline. “Funny. Thought Selkie was a coworker, too.”
          The brownie growls in reply. “Coin’s right ‘ere, Conor. I’ll stoof it in whichever hole is bein’ less cheeky.”
          "Woah there, lil babbit,” Conor’s smile hasn’t waned. “No need for inhospitality.  Can’t fault a man fer his observations.”
          As the two grumble at one another, the cat leaps down, winding its way over to an utterly frightened L.  It takes a seat near, tilting its head up, watching her with a stare that could hide ten thousand eyes.
          Then it makes a little chattering noise at the fish tank, pawing at the glass.
          Madeline swipes the book into her hand even as she pulls items from her satchel. A moment later, and it's already wrapped in a sheet of parchment and a ribbon of twine. She hands it to a bewildered L before Madeline presses her nose to the fishtank glass.
          “Conor’s ‘ad ‘ese for a minute now. Funny trick, right? Pretendin’ ‘eir hooman feesh.”
          “They’s are human fish!” Conor shouts.
          "Look at the fookin’ feesh, Conor!" Madeline snaps back at him. “‘Ey’re eyes are fookin’ huge! No hooman’s feesh got eyes like ‘at, I swears! I knows a fae when I see ‘un.”
          L is focused entirely on the wrapped little package, pawing it between her hands. She can still feel a hint of it. A link, however tenuous, to something…
          … Familiar.
          She looks back and forth between Madeline and the goldfish, eying both with uncertainly. The nearest watery denizen stares back at her vacantly, gulping a small, smooth pebble.
          She opts for the diplomatic approach
          "Well, I don't think they like salt very much, so we all have common ground." L tucks the book under her elbow. "Thanks, Madeline. This… It was really kind of you.”
          “Mmm,” Madeline gives her signature nod, smiling up past the ceiling. “I jes’ like me fookin’ gifts.”

+++

          Their return to the Glade is marked by the chime of several bells, echoing across the Market. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Seven on the hour.
          L swings the parcel as she walks, feeling the weight of it. There’s a familiar comfort in walking with a book again, especially an old one. If they could, her antennae would salivate over the page’s scent.
          "So,” Madeline is already smirking. “What kinda glamour ye got? Bet ye picked some wee mousy girl, innit?"
          L chuckles, about to dispel the image when her eyes widen. "Glamour?" L frowns. "I don't have - oh. Oh. Oh, crap.”
          She halts in the middle of the street, craning her neck around as she helplessly stares at her wings
          Madeline smirk only grows as she whistles. “Oh, crap, indeed.”
          "I can… uh… I used to bind these…" L trails off. Will that even work with whatever dress Spence chose?
          “Ye sure?” Madeline points to the bobbing antennae, giggling.
          L’s face turns wild anew. "Um… m-maybe I can pin these down..." she whispers, her antennae cringing. "...y-you know, with a hairband? O-or something?"
          Madeline’s giggle becomes a roar of laughter.
          "You din' even... ye were jes’ gonna go like THIS??" she howls, gesturing wildly to the nymph in front of her.
          "Look, i-it's - " L starts, devolving into sputtering as Madeline's laughter cuts her off. She can't help herself. Her wings flare out in frustration, which only makes the brownie laugh more.
          "Hehehehe, do ye… do you’s ever make a plan?” Madeline’s hunching over her, pressing into her chest. “Make-up, salt, makin’ ‘at fookin’ mess outta Trystan’s closet?”
          “Please don’t tell me you know about that,” L begs.
          “Really, did you’s spend yer whole human life runnin’ ‘round this FOOKIN’ BLIND!?” Madeline starts to wheeze.
          "It's been a long day, OKAY?" L has to bite back an exasperated growl, hovering around the cruel brownie, desperate for mercy. "Dammit! So… fuck, where do I get a glamour?"
          Madeline wipes tears from her eyes as she lifts a hand, which she promptly digs into her satchel. “Hold on, ye fookin’ dumbarse, think I’s got summa in me room…” Madeline grimaces and shoves her arm further in, until she’s shoulder-deep into the foot-long satchel.
          “Are you serious?” L groans into the neon-lit sky. “The BAG, too!? How much more magic could there possibly be-”
          “FOUND IT!” A gilded hair clip shimmers in Madeline’s fingers, flipping through the air as she throws it towards the nymph. L catches it with a yelp, letting the light of a little star-shaped inset glint.
          "Gotsta say,” Madeline heaves a heavy, exerted breath. “Selkie woulda loved everythin’ ‘bout this lil plan o’ yers. So be sure an’ take care o’ ‘at. Was her’s."
          L’s still watching the ornament. It feels both strangely weightless and… comfortably warm. Like she’s holding a little beam of sunlight. “That’s it?” she asks, looking at the brownie. “Do I just… put it on?”
          Madeline makes a horrified face. “‘ERE?” She frantically scans around the street. “Not in the open! What’s gottin’ into ye?”
          “Well, I dunno,” L walks forward, despondent. “This is - wait!” The nymph lurches forward as Madeline grasps her hand and shoots into an alley.
          “This is common fookin’ sense!” Madeline shouts from ahead. “What, do hoomans walk into the street to change their fookin’ knickers?”
          “No!” L shouts behind.
          “Then why would ye?” As quickly as she started, Madeline’s steps slow to a trickle. Her ears shoot up as she looks around. L clutches her knees, catching her breath.
          “Shite, look,” Madeline points into a nearby pile of rubbish. “Sumun’s even left a mirror out.”
          “Oh, lovely find.” L peers into the foggy glass before looking back to Madeline. “Lemme guess, are these magic, too?”
          The brownie cocks an eyebrow and smiles conspiratorially.
          “Please, no,” L mockingly covers her own ears. “We can save that lesson for the next trip.”
          “Mmm,” Madeline winks. “Lookin’ forward to it. Now, put ‘is on, an’ I’ll keep me eye out fer passersby and… I dunno, sore ex-totally-not-me-boyfriends.”
          L sticks her tongue out at her when she turns away, taking whatever victories she can muster. She looks warily at the glint of the hair-clip in her hand. Something about the light. It’s a little too much like…
          Well, like the seeds.
          L closes her eyes, takes a few deep breaths, and tucks it into her hair. A soft breeze wafts over her, warm and inviting. Her clothes begin to flutter, her skin tingles, and then… Nothing.
          It’s gone.
          She blinks, opening her eyes again. It doesn't feel like her wings have disappeared, precisely. She just… really doesn’t feel like moving them. The alley looks the same. Madeline still has her back turned, keeping watch. No blackout this time, that’s refreshing. She can feel the mirror at her side, inviting her to turn, to peer, to ponder…
          L releases a slow, shaky breath and takes a step closer. Her hair tickles her shoulders - that, too, is different. It’s longer, its shade a rich chestnut. "Well?" she clears her throat. Her voice is lower-pitched, almost husky. "How do I look?"
          Madeline turns, and her expression goes a little pale. Her eyes mist at the corners as she smiles.
          “It looks like I’s seein’ a fookin’ ghost.”

+++

          Ring-studded fingers thrum against the leather armrest, cascading down like a waterfall. A single pinkie presses into a sleek metal button, watching the smooth glass of the car window slowly recede, releasing a pocket of the night air. A moment passes before the digit flicks to the other side, and its owner is again sealed in a sterile world of cushiony seats, rich colognes, and fine wood dashboards.
          Spencer Harcourt sighs, betraying the boredom behind his fidgeting. He turns his head, peering into the rear-view mirror that would give him a glimpse of his driver.
          "How much longer, Reg?" the MP asks with a short chuckle. "I bet you're counting the seconds."
          The driver, Reg, doesn't turn around, but the crease of his smile reaches the mirror. "Two more minutes, sir."
          Spencer huffs, playing again with the controls of the window. "Fuck me. Another bet lost." He leans back into the seat of his Rolls Royce, staring into the overhead lights.
          “Frustrated?” his driver asks.
          “Heh.” Spencer’s chuckle is mirthless. "With how these last few dates have gone, you’ll soon be a richer man than I."
          Reg chuckles in turn. "I doubt that, sir. You could always stop betting."
          Spencer giggles at the notion. "Still that tongue, Reg, I know it’s really my father’s. Gonna leash me to the Party desk again? No. The bets will continue, and fun will be had. I refuse to become as boorish as my peers. There’s still time. I've got another decade or two under my sleeve."
          Reg taps the car's display. "One minute now, sir."
          Spencer sighs, fishing out his wallet. "... Or maybe I don't."
          There's a brief movement beyond the glass - a woman working her way through the sidewalk crowd and stepping hesitantly toward the car. She looks around, a bit confused, before hurrying over to the Rolls Royce from the driver's side.
          "E-excuse me?" The woman asks, ducking her head down. She's built like a swimmer, and hunches forward as she moves. There's something odd about the way she walks, as if she isn't quite sure her feet will go in the right place. She looks young - younger than Spencer, at least - and a light flickers in her pale eyes as she notices Reg’s attention.
          “Evenin’,” Reg tips his hat, but his eyes are firmly set on his employer.
          "Sorry, excuse me,” she giggles nervously, her voice rich and low. “Do you work for Spencer Harcourt?"
          "Shit," Spencer leans into his seat, bringing a politician's smile forward. "Janet, was it? You look great, must be keeping well. Look, it was a splendid evening last time, really, but I’m actually seeing somebody right now. So, you know," he bobs his head. "'No solicitors' and all that."
          The MP seems ready to erupt into another giggling fit, before he catches the confused woman's face. Promptly, he sits straight, hand on his lap. "Sorry, reflexes and all. I'm Harcourt," a quick laugh as he makes a finger gun. "Spencer Harcourt. Uh, have we met?"
          The woman offers him an uncertain grin. "We have, actually. It's, erm… It's L."
          Spencer lifts an eyebrow and hesitantly withdraws his imaginary firearm.
          She spreads her arms out, turning slightly to show her wingless back. "You know… incognito. Surprise! Are we still on for tonight?"
          “Incognito?” He sounds disappointed.
          “Like a spy movie, remember?” L raises her eyebrows, a hint of her smile twitching across her glamoured face. "Or do you want to go pick up Janet instead?"
          Spencer’s face goes completely blank, piercing blue eyes turning a rare dull. Then… a bark of laughter. The MP starts howling like a jackal. “L! Holy fuck!” He waves his arm like a visor across her face. “This is all magic, right? A glimmer?”
          “Glamour,” she corrects.
          “Glummer,” his smirk brings dimples to his cheeks. “Well, trust me, L, this evening is going to be so much better than anything Janet could offer, whoever the hell she is. Get in! Quickly! I’ve got fifteen seconds before I’m down twenty quid!”
          L peels back, smirking mischievously. “Oh, really?” She lets the question hang.
          “Really, really,” Spencer smushes his face. “Do I have to beg?”
          “I’m waiting for the dress,” L waves a hand, smiling with a hint of cruelty.
          His eyes go wide, and he flashes his other arm before her. “Right! Here!” She can see a thin, white fabric draped over his arm. “I’ve got a spot we can change in. Five seconds, pleeeeaase?!”
          L, her eyes sparkling, makes sure to wait three more before she hops in next to him.
          Slamming the door behind her.


continue reading ->

+++

What do ya'll think about Spence x L?  Is this the blossoming of the fresh step outside of the market, her past, and Ian like L has been wanting?   A new friend to give L the much needed perspective?  Or something else?  Leave a comment below <3

New posts every other Friday at 12p EST!
The first part of Chapter 21: The Gala will be posted  Friday December 9th.  

Until then, thanks for reading!
And thanks for stopping by!