Chapter Text
"Tell us about Caleb."
"Caleb? Right, that would, well, he's..." The camera adjusts, softened focus sharpening to her glinting yellow eyes as they lift earnestly. "He's... amazing. Just amazing."
"Amazing. That's a pretty big word."
"It's only six letters..."
"That's not what I-- never mind. Can you tell us how he's amazing?"
"He's very smart. Probably the smartest person you've ever met. Just so you know. But he's also kind, and talented, and well, he's a good person. Really he is. Even if he doesn't always know it. He could be doing anything, anything he wanted to and, well, I suppose he's not... which is fine, but if he wanted to, he really could do anything, just anything at all!"
"When you say he's a 'good person' what do you mean?"
"I mean he's--"
"If you could just work the question into your answer, you know like we talked about?"
"Oh shit, right I--"
"And try not to swear?"
"Fuck, I mean, oops, I mean-- When I say Caleb is a good person I guess I mean just that he, well... he takes care of me in a lot of ways. We take care of each other, really. But he makes sure I'm safe and have what I need, and he tries to help me when I get, well, when I want to do things, things that I shouldn't do."
"What sort of things?"
"I'd rather not talk about that."
"If you don't want to that's fine."
"Good. I said I don't want to."
"Alright... what about how you met? Could you tell us about that? How long have you known each other?"
"Oh, let's see... it would be about ten years now."
"That's quite a while."
"I suppose... It's funny. I don't really feel like there was too much before him. Well, there were things, plenty of things, but none of it... I like to think we both sort of started again, when we met each other. But I guess a lot of people feel that way about prison."
"Wait... Prison? Did you--"
"We met when it was my, let's see, my fourth month. He'd been there longer of course, but that's--"
"Hold on! Just, one sec, can we cut? Let's just--" The camera jostles, focus shifting out once more.
"What? Do you need to put more makeup on me. I don't think it did much good if I'm being honest."
"Cut, please. Cut!"
------
Molly stared at the ceiling of his small room in the town's quaintest bed and breakfast.
He'd been staring at it for awhile now. That wasn't like him. Usually Fjord had to bang on his door and bribe him with croissants just to coax him from plush unconsciousness into languid stretches and grumpy mumbles. But he'd just woken up on his own this morning, at some ungodly hour. And he hadn't slept particularly well either...
The room waited patiently for him to start his day. The four poster bed was still delightful, complete with a mountain of pillows, silken bedspread, and gauzy curtains that shifted in the breeze from the window. The ceiling was accented by ornate molding and there was a large cream-colored fan in the middle that was designed to look like some sort of large whirling flower. Nearly everything in the room that wasn't stained wood or white plaster was a patterned vibrant orange scattered with warm pink: the upholstery, the carpet over the wooden floors, even the wallpaper. It was aggressively bright and mysteriously comforting at the same time. It rather made him feel like he'd been swallowed by a very hospitable dragon. On the mantle of the sealed off fireplace no less than six porcelain kitten figurines stared back at him placidly.
Molly groaned and rolled over. Maybe it was still early enough that he could fall back asleep. The sunlight cutting through his window, dappled from the willow tree out front begged to differ, but he could ignore that. He plopped a crisp lavender smelling pillow over his head, trying to maneuver it without catching on his horns. What was going on with him? Was he nervous? He was never nervous about filming. He loved his job and he was fantastic at it. So what was the problem?
"You're sure I'll feel better? Why should I believe that?"
Molly pushed the pillow tighter over his head, grumbling. So the guest was a bit of a dick. So what? They'd had worse people on, hadn't they? There was that episode in season one where the guy asked Jester far too many very specific questions about her tail. There were those two children in season two who locked Beau in a bathroom for four hours. That was actually hilarious...
Then what was it? Was it that he, Caleb, didn't want to be on the show? That certainly was different. They'd of course had people who were hesitant to change: they were nervous, or talked too much or too little, or were simple afraid to do something they'd never done before. But they were all still... excited, interested, intrigued. There was something about showing up in someone's life with four cameras and a moderately well known face that sparked a thrill in people, nerves aside. But that hadn't happened this time. In fact, the cameras, the attention, the glitz of it all seemed to make it worse rather than better.
And so what? Here he was, lying around restless, just because someone didn't immediately light up with a camera pointed in their face? Wasn't that the entire point of the show: to give people that confidence, to help them find that light within themselves?
Molly pushed the pillow back to the other side of the bed. He was being absurd. Moping? Over a challenge? He felt himself snort into the pillows, already starting to smile. It's more than a challenge: it's an opportunity. He sat up a little straighter, mind already starting to whirl. They just needed a plan. Yesterday he'd wanted to minimize the risk, cut down on all footage of Caleb looking like he'd rather be eating hot coals than bothering with their nonsense, but really he ought to be doing the opposite: capture it, all of it, and then get a plan together that would make this the biggest transformation yet! It was so clear. All he had to do was trust in himself-- no, not just himself, the rest as well, and that he had plenty of practice with.
That was it, the new vision: embrace the fear and run full tilt into the fabulous.
A muffled laugh pressed through the disturbingly thin walls, followed by swallowed groan. At least he wasn't the only one up.
Molly rapped two knuckles on the wall. "Hey, Beau!"
The laughter vanished into a swear and quick ruffling of blankets.
"Fuck off!" came back through the wall.
"You know, I think I'll take that bet. Mark me down for a ‘yes’ afterall."
More shuffling, Yasha's quiet laughter, a sudden yelp from Beau, "stopitstopit-- gods, just one sec-- Uh, okay..."
Molly leaned back against the princess bed-frame, gazing at the porcelain cats. Well, now that he was up...
He knocked again. "Want to go to the diner?"
"Molly, Fuck Off!"
Another pause. Then, Yasha's deathly morning voice smothered by something on the other side of the wall: "...Pancakes?"
Molly grinned "I'll get dressed."
---
The pancakes as it turned out were fluffy perfection. Jester finished hers first, with a slathering of whipped cream and maple syrup. She was currently busy wiggling her fork like a snake over to Molly's plate.
He slapped it with his own. "Paws off."
"You're eating to slow!"
"I'm eating like a person and not a vortex. Just get more if you're still hungry."
"Anyhow," Fjord broke in neatly, "we should get a schedule together for the week."
"Ah, yes!" Molly took out a neat journalist-style notepad from his pocket, the cover emblazoned with the tarot Hanged Man. "I've been considering things this morning, and I've decided I want to do everything possible to make sure this is absolutely the best episode we've shot yet."
"Bold," Fjord sniffed. "But there's a lot of good material to work with. It's possible..."
Molly felt Caleb's judgmental gaze ooze across his memory for a moment, but he pushed it away. "We're missing a piece. We need an event, some sort of big finale moment. Something tells me Mr. Widogast doesn't exactly lead a life riddled in PTA meetings, engagements, birthday parties..."
"I don't know," Beau stole some of Yasha's hash browns, "We could just set up the goblin girl on the couch, walk him in, spin him around, let her clap a lot."
"Beau," Fjord chided.
"Nah, it'll be good. I mean we could get them a cake, then film them going to throw rocks at a train. Best party ever."
"Don't worry, Molly," Jester said snidely, arcing her arms up above her head as she stretched. "I've already solved allllll your problems."
Molly blinked. "You do know how ominous that sounds, don't you?"
"Don't be silly." She fumbled in the pocket of her dress for a moment before pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. "You shouldn't be so mean to me, you know I'm very, very helpful."
Fjord smoothed the paper out so it was legible. "'Midsummer Gala'?" he read.
"It's perfect. You're welcome."
"Let me see that," Molly snatched it off the counter. It was hard to make out in its current condition but it seemed to be an annual festival of some sort held in the town center. The picture was charming: the gazebo in the park serving as a centerpiece, those large fairy lights strung between the top of it and all the trees surrounding. There was a dance floor and food and a number of tipsy laughing faces, even a brass band. It boasted fireworks, homemade ice-cream, face painting for the kids-- "It does look very good... would be a miracle though if the timing was right--" he let his gaze scan the page searching for a date and-- "Friday?!"
Jester grinned. "See, I'm perfect."
"You're a goddess."
"I know. Now give me the rest of your pancakes."
"Well earned," Molly slid them over, leaning back and snapping the paper as he continued to read. "Perfect, it will make for a great shoot: dancing, socialization, meals that don't come out of cans, everything he's been avoiding."
"Might be a hard sell..." Fjord said.
"I'll sell it," Molly's confidence said for him as images blossomed in his mind: a perfectly trimmed and tailored Caleb spinning his little friend around the dance floor with a genuine smile and fireworks in the background. It was as good as gold.
"If you think you can... it would make for a peachy finale episode," Fjord noted. "We can maybe call in some favors, make sure it's a real proper shindig."
"I don't know..." Yasha said.
Molly lowered the advert, narrowing his eyes at her. "I know that voice. You're going to ruin my fun. What is it?"
Yasha took a big bite of her pancakes. "The house is a wreck," she managed through her breakfast. "It's got decent bones but it would take a lot of work to fix it up properly."
"Can't we just throw some cheap decent looking shit in there and call it good? You know like we normally do?" Beau asked. Yasha elbowed her. "Hey!"
"How much are we talking?" Molly asked. "I mean to do it right, like really truly fabulously perfect?"
Yasha sighed, leaning back and turning her eyes to the ceiling as she let her mental math take over. "More than we have..."
"Forget that for a minute, what would it take to do it right?"
She shrugged. "Five times our usual budget? I think. It's hard to know. I might smash a wall down and run into termites or black mold or gods knows what else."
"The dead wives," Beau said into her coffee.
Molly ignored her. "Do you think you could do it?"
"I could do it." Yasha said. "It would take the whole week and I'd need some help. But I could do it."
"Leave that to me then."
"Molly," Fjord said warningly, "it's all well and good to be ambitious about the thing, but I don't want you backing yourself into a corner you can't get out of."
"I'm very good in corners actually," Molly winked, "plenty of leverage."
Fjord opened his mouth again but Molly interrupted before those earnest eyes bored too deep, bringing his sleepless night of uncertainty right back to the surface. "We'll do the standard schedule, sound good? Jester tomorrow, then me, then Beau, then Fjord. Yasha gets to work today, once I sweet talk the one-percent, and we do the big reveal on Friday. Good?"
Fjord looked skeptical. "It's going to be a lot..."
"It’s going to be literally what we do every time, Fjord," Jester teased, making short work of Molly's pancakes. "It's going to be fine."
"What I mean is he's going to be a lot," Fjord clarified.
"He's going to be a lot of nothing," Beau noted, sipping the end of her coffee. "He's not going to give us shit to work with. It's going to be like pulling teeth."
"As in feasible and high paying," Molly said.
Beau stared at him deadpan. "As in fucking painful."
"Life's fucking painful Beauregard, so better learn to turn it into a living sooner or later," Molly smacked the paper back down on the table. "Everyone on board?"
"I think it sounds like fun," Jester grinned. "He's so handsome, it's going to go very well."
Molly felt his smile go rather wooden for a moment. He shoved it away easily. "Exactly, most of the work's done already."
"That's always the most important part," Jester preached, dragging a strawberry through whipped cream and making swirling trails around her plate. "I mean it's good they end up happy, most of the time, but that's what everyone likes the most: getting to see someone gross get to be so handsome."
"Jester, that's not exactly alright," Fjord said with a frown.
Her eyes widened. "What? It's true! That's all anyone cares about."
"People like to see other people make their lives better," Fjord said.
"People like thinking they're better than other people, and people like seeing pretty things," Jester said, popping the strawberry in her mouth. "I don't know why you're upset, it makes the whole thing much more easy."
Molly opened his mouth but just as he did his phone suddenly sprung to life in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced down. The ominous title "Mr. G" stared back at him. Molly swallowed.
"Who is it?" Beau asked.
"I'm taking it outside," Molly answered, sliding out of the booth and dodging a waitress on his way to the exit.
"Molly? That you, dear?" The smooth voice asked through the phone.
Molly ran a hand through his hair, forcing his smile on straight. "Yes! Good morning."
"How's the weather down there? Balmy?"
That was what Molly always found particularly obnoxious about Mr. G, no matter how irritated, or disappointed, or downright furious he was with you, he always sounded as smooth as a sea breeze and polite as politics.
"It's lovely," Molly said, doing his best to match the carefree pleasantries. "Brimming with the best kind of charm."
"Charm, gods. Small towns..." Mr. G's said, giving an audible shiver, "I don't know why but I always hated small towns. Quaint parks and chipper locals, give me a city any day. At least in the city the grim is right on the surface. You have my condolences."
Molly took a deep breath. "Did you call to check in on the filming?"
"Oh no, I already checked in with Sasha this morning."
"Sasha?"
"Oh yes, she let me know that the guest you're working with was apparently in prison for five years."
Molly's stomach dropped. "Pardon me?"
"I believe you heard me. I'm surprised this didn't come up in your diligent research phase, aren't you?"
Molly opened his mouth then shut it again along with his eyes, tightly. "How did she, I mean... where did this information come from?"
"Oh well that's the really amusing part, his nominator just let her know during the interview this morning. It's where they met apparently, isn't that just... what was your phrase? Oh yes, brimming with the best kind of charm."
Molly took a deep breath. This was fine, he was going to make this fine. He was good in corners.
"I know," Molly heard himself say.
Mr. G paused, before sarcastically drawling: "Pardon me?"
"I know he was in prison, that they both were. Why do you think I was so eager to take this one?"
Mr. G paused, Molly could almost feel the curiosity prickling through the phone. "Interesting choice..."
"I thought so. It's the perfect set up really. He was in prison, a while ago now, and here he finds himself, struggling to find a place in society again, when in we come with a helping hand. We take an ex-con and polish him up into a pillar of society, complete with the pocket-square. It's a bit of an oversell admittedly, but honestly it will be a new angle, and with his potential we can turn him out perfectly. I thought it would make a perfect premiere, or finale, either way it's got the possibility to headline the season."
There was a long pause. Molly could almost hear his heart beating in his throat.
"And... you think you can -- how shall I put this -- stick the landing?"
"Tens across the board," Molly grinned cheekily.
There was a huff of a laugh through the phone. "You're cocky. I do like that about you."
"Most people do."
"Alright. I'm intrigued. 'Convict to Classic', no that's not quite right... well, I'll have to writer's work on it. Do let us know if you need anything else, Tealeaf."
"Actually--" Molly broke in before he could second guess.
"Mm?"
"The house."
"What about it?"
"It's a big project. Yasha says she can make it the best yet, but it needs a bigger budget."
"... Are you honestly asking me for more money?"
"I'm asking you to invest in pinnacle of the season. If I'm being honest, think it's the pivot we really need, and a remodeled house would be the cherry on top. You know the houses are always the part when it really clicks for them."
"It sounds..." Mr. G took a smooth breath, "risky."
"And since when do you not love a good gamble?"
The voice laughed. "Oh, I do like you. Fine, you've got it. Just have her send the budget to the office, I'll sign off."
"Wonderful, it's going to be perfect."
"Good, because Tealeaf," the voice chimed, "you know how I hate to be disappointed."
-------
Caleb stared at the porcelain owl on the mantle. It gazed back at him, massive painted eyes glaring into his soul.
"There's free soap!" Nott called from the bathroom. "Ooo, and look," she popped out again, with a little plastic cap over her head. "What's this for?"
Caleb stared back at the owl. "So you don't get your hair wet."
"What? In the shower?"
"Ja."
"Why the hell am I taking a shower if I don't want my hair to get wet? That's absurd. Rich people are idiots."
Caleb hugged his little bag closer to his chest. It didn't have much, but it was most of the clothing they'd left him with after yesterday. He tapped a toe against the floor where Frumpkin batted at it playfully. He felt, well... restless was putting it absurdly lightly. He didn't want to stand, he didn't want to sit, he didn't want to put down his things. He didn't want any of it.
"Come in here!" Nott said. "This lotion smells like that place downtown that sells the overpriced lamps made out of old milk bottles!"
Caleb didn't answer.
She popped back out, eyeing him finally with a frown. "What's wrong?"
Caleb smothered a groan. "What isn't wrong?"
She shuffled out of the bathroom. She was wearing one of the monogrammed bathrobes which trailed behind her a good two feet. "You don't like it here?"
"It's all--" Caleb tried, looking around to gesture at something and not being able to choose between the linen curtains and the antique chairs and the damned owl, which turned the gesture into more of a whole body flap. "It's just... it's so much!"
"It's nice!" Nott grinned hopefully. "Don't you think it's nice?"
"We don't exactly do nice."
"Why not?" she shrugged. She tried to wave her little hand but the bathrobe was still smothering it, "That's sort of the point you know of all this, the whole thing. We could do things... nice."
"I know, I know, but I just--" he trailed, squeezing his small bag of relics closer to his chest. Frumpkin gazed up at him with golden eyes. "It doesn't feel right."
"It feels different."
"Ja."
"Well... maybe different isn't so bad."
Caleb finally let out the sigh he'd been holding deep in his chest, collapsing backwards onto the bed.
"Here," Nott said, stepping closer. She took his bag away and leant it against his bed, then did a frantic little motion to knock the long bathrobe sleeves away from her hands. Once she freed them she wrapped both of hers around his and gently pulled them away from the clutched position close to his chest. She smiled. "It's going to be okay."
Caleb stared back at her, trying to find some way to believe it. "I suppose it's just a few days. Then back to normal."
Nott's expression wavered only slightly. "Sure, normal. Or, you know... new normal."
"What's that?"
There was a knock on the door.
"Hide!" Nott whispered instantly.
"What? No--"
"Oh gods, right, sorry," she laughed, "we're supposed to be here." She headed for the door radiating confidence.
"Nott, wait--"
She pulled it open. "Oh. It's you."
"Hello to you too," the glib voice answered.
Caleb felt his stomach twist. Perfect, just perfect.
"What'd you want?"
"You're very charming Nott, has anyone ever told you that?"
"Never."
"Shocking. May I come in?"
"Why not?" She stepped back, opening the way for the purple tiefling to step into the room.
Caleb looked at him for a moment before letting his eyes drop like weights back to the floor. He was a lot to take in.
"Hello, Caleb," he said in the cheerful voice that sounded like it saw all the dark thoughts a person had and instead of being rightfully horrified was delighted by them.
Caleb managed a weak wave. "Ja, hello. Um..."
"Molly. Mollymauk."
"Right."
"Enjoying the accommodations?" he asked, penetrating red gaze swiveling back to Nott. Caleb realized she was still wearing the shower cap.
"Oh just fine," Nott said with a flick of the wrist, hand still smothered in the bathrobe, "very, uh, adequate."
Molly grinned toothily, and gods his teeth were white. Caleb supposed that was contractually required for television. "Well, I'm glad to hear it, that's exactly what we aim for: adequacy."
He looked back to Caleb. Caleb looked away instantly. The owl on the mantle glared back at him with bulbous eyes.
"Fancy an ice cream?" Molly asked.
Caleb blinked. "What?"
"I came to see if you'd like to go get an ice cream."
"Oh, I--" Nott started.
"Actually dear, just Caleb. If you don't mind. At least for now, I'd love to go again with you sometime very soon."
"I, well, I suppose..." Nott trailed.
"I don't understand." Caleb tried again.
"I saw this darling little place on our way in. Across from the park? Little metal garden tables, black and white tiled floors- I've got to try it. I wanted to know if you'd come with me, show me around the town a bit."
"I," Caleb suddenly didn't know what to do with his hands, he jammed them under his thighs. "I don't know the town."
"You know it better than I do."
"That's less likely than you think."
Molly took a deep breath and tilted his head a bit to the side. The jewelry on his horns jingled. "Caleb. Come get an ice cream. I want to have a chat."
The knot in Caleb's stomach tightened. "We can 'chat' here. If we have to."
"Or we can chat with rainbow sprinkles and cherries on top," Molly turned towards the door with a jerk of his head. "Come on, it'll be fun."
Nott was giving Caleb a meaningful look.
He took a deep breath. It was only a few days. That's all. He just had to make it through, and then everything would be back to normal.
"You'll make sure he's happy?" Caleb asked Nott, looking to where Frumpkin was puddled near his feet. As if he needed it, Frumpkin was insultingly far more at east than he felt.
"Of course," Nott shrugged.
"Come on," Molly smiled, and gods, that wasn't supposed to be a way actual people smiled. Smiles like that were supposed to sell toothpaste and waltz through obnoxiously flavored liquor commercials, not pop into your hotel room and ask you to go for an ice-cream.
Caleb swallowed, trying to convince his stomach to uncurl. "Ja, that's... ja, fine."
"Wunderbar," Molly winked.
The place wasn't far. Caleb had never been there himself but he'd seen it in passing plenty. It was hardly a five minute walk from the Inn, but it felt long all the same.
Mollymauk kept pointing to things and asking about them as if he were genuinely interested. "Have you ever been there?" "What's that place?" "Where do people go for fun?" He didn't seem to mind that Caleb hardly knew more than he did. He was even waving at people which made Caleb wish he could dissolve inward at the speed of a blackhole. And he did it so easily! As if it were nothing. Smiling that absurdly easy smile and waving and saying hello, and what made it worse was how everyone said it back. There was something infectious about his general energy, people seemed so eager to reflect it. Bemused grins lit up their faces as they beamed at Molly, their eyes eventually turning to his own downturned expression with curiosity. He didn't blame them. What a picture they must make. He was sure they all thought it was some sort of social requirement on Mollymauk's part, like a coworker taking another out after a bad day. Little did they realize the truth was even more pathetic.
Molly pulled open the door to the ice-cream shop for him and Caleb slunk inside. It was blessedly cool compared to the temperature on the street, and the place was pleasant and small, just a little counter in a tall rectangular shaped storefront, three metal tables behind the glass garage door that served as the front window.
Molly sauntered up to the counter. Caleb saw the dwarf girl behind the bar elbow her human friend hard in the side with a meaningful look as he approached. Caleb dropped his head again, trying to feel as inconspicuous as possible.
"Oh, hello!" the human chimed, a younger looking man with frizzy dark hair.
Molly leaned on the counter in the most entitled and yet easy way Caleb had ever seen, his tail swishing lazily behind him. "Hello, hello. Now, who's going to tell me what I absolutely can't miss on this menu?"
The two of them fought for at least ten minutes to get sample spoons into his ringed fingers, utterly hanging on his reactions which were full of enough groans and exclamations to leave Caleb kicking his shoes with intense focus against the tiled floor. Molly finally settled on black raspberry with rainbow sprinkles. Caleb insisted he didn't need anything, prompting the two behind the counter to notice him for the first time since they entered. But Molly pushed, and rather than argue he got a single scoop of coffee.
They sat at the table closest to the window, and Caleb scooted the ice-cream around with his spoon as Molly investigated his own.
"You know," Molly said, "I love sprinkles, but they're really just a curse."
"What's that?"
"You have to lick them all off first thing, at least to properly manage the drip factor, and then they're gone. It's a necessity, and a damned shame. You are forced to choose between savoring something and getting messy. Now I tend to always savor and enjoy the mess, but ice cream’s a bit too messy for even me. They should find a way to get the sprinkles on the inside as well, problem solved."
"Ice cream engineering," Caleb murmured, having a small bite with his spoon.
"Exactly. More of that please."
It was quiet for a moment. Caleb adjusted in his seat, gazing down at the ice-cream as it started to melt. He knew the people behind the counter were staring at them, or rather at Molly, maybe wondering what they were doing there together. He could feel Molly watching him, but he didn't want to try and digest the technicolor image of the purple tiefling in his gaping pastel pink shirt licking up rainbow sprinkles.
"How's the room?" Molly asked.
Caleb glanced back at him for a moment instinctively before he could stop himself, and ah yes, that was exactly as overwhelming as he thought it would be. His eyes crashed back down to his saucer. "Fine. It's fine."
"Good. Just let us know if you need anything at all."
Caleb couldn't help letting out a bitter little laugh.
"What?" Molly asked.
Caleb changed the subject. "No cameras today? I thought that was rather the point."
"They're filming Yasha as she starts on the house."
"Oh. Good." A stab of anxiety shot through him as he imagined the burly stranger throwing around his books, knocking down walls, chucking all of Frumpkin's things out into their yard... He tried to push the picture away, watching the camel-toned ice cream trail lazily under his spoon.
"Anyways, I didn't want them here." Molly's ringed finger tapped against the cool metal tabletop. "I wanted to talk to you."
"Ja, so you say."
"...Caleb?" Molly said.
Caleb knew what he was expecting, it was the tone people always used when they wanted just the same, all kindness and curiosity with just a touch of pity. Caleb sighed and looked at him.
Molly smiled back brilliantly from behind his ice-cream. He'd gotten most of the rainbow sprinkles off, but there were still some stuck to the pale purple ridges.
"Are you happy?" Molly asked.
Caleb blinked. "I, uh... I don't understand."
Molly tilted his head a bit to the side, the long silver chain that hung down to his chest slipped to a different spot on his collarbone. "It's not a trick question. Are you happy? With your life, with yourself?"
There was that bitter huff of laughter again, sneaking out before he could catch it. "My life is my life. We do just fine."
"We?"
"Nott and me."
"Right." Molly tapped his finger again, eyes focusing. "Can you tell me why you laughed just then?"
"When?"
"When I asked if you were happy with yourself?"
Caleb shrugged, leaning back in the little metal chair. "It's funny to me."
"Why?"
"Of course I'm not happy with myself."
"And why's that? Why 'of course'?"
"Because there's nothing to be happy with."
Molly's eyes widened for a moment. "That seems harsh, don't you think?"
Caleb narrowed his eyes. "I've been selected to appear as an attraction on a show that's all about taking pathetic people and making them palatable. I don't think it's too harsh."
Molly's face twisted for a moment, but it was gone just as fast. He took another lick off his ice-cream. "That's not what the show's about."
"Of course not," Caleb said sarcastically.
"It's about helping people feel better about themselves," Molly said, his voice sounding almost stern for the first time. "It's about giving people a way to recognize they can value themselves, and helping them do just that."
Caleb let the corner of his mouth tug into a crooked half-smile. "Not everyone has value."
Molly stared back at him, unflinching. "I don't believe that."
"Then you're naive."
"Maybe I'm just the opposite."
"I don't think so."
"I don't know," Molly said, the easy smile sliding right back across his lips as he shrugged loosely and turned his attention back to his cone. "I happen to have a lot of experience in this sort of thing."
Caleb took a bite of his ice-cream, mostly to have anything to focus on besides the person across from him.
"Look, Caleb," Molly's voice continued, all smooth syllables and deep edges. "I'm not here to destroy your life, I'm not even here to ruin your day. I'm really here to do my honest to gods’ best to make you happy with your life, with yourself even."
"You just assume," Caleb heard himself say, "you assume you know what's best, you assume you know me."
"I don't know you," Molly said, "but I'd like to. If you'd let me."
I don't trust you, I don't believe you. Caleb swallowed, staring at his hands were they held the spoon.
Molly sighed. "Look, I'm not asking you to walk out of here ready to throw away every hang-up you've ever had, and show up eager peppy in the morning."
"Then what are you asking?" Caleb said, glancing up at him.
Molly held his eye easily, naturally. "Your friend cared enough about you to make this effort, to ask us to come. I'm just asking you to try. For her, even if not for yourself. At least at first."
Caleb sighed, letting his spoon fall against the edge of the paper dish. My friend cared enough to get a free sofa.
Molly gazed back at him. "Is that so hard?"
"Nein. I suppose not."
"Grand!" Molly buoyed back, taking another lick. "We'll start with the food stuff tomorrow, that's usually pretty easy just so you know. And we'll tell you some more about the week's plans, but we'll want the crew around for that."
"Oh, good."
"Try to contain that excitement for the cameras," Molly winked. As he did, a bit of melted purple ice-cream weighed down by sprinkles plopped off the side of the cone and onto the strikingly similar color of Molly's chest.
Caleb wanted to dissolve into the earth.
"What?" Molly asked, noticing his expression.
"You've-- you got, there's a tropft, drips, uh I mean, on your--" Don't say cleavage, don't say cleavage --
"Oh!" Molly reacted, following Caleb's look himself. "See," he said, swiping the ice-cream away from his lavender skin with an index finger. "Cursed." He popped his finger into his mouth.
Caleb dropped his eyes to his melted mess of a saucer, cheeks heating up despite his best efforts. "Ja... cursed."