Chapter Text
Cellos and violins gently woke Adrian. Dreams of catacombs filled with fish bones and blue torches faded, replaced by eccentrically painted furniture and cool sunlight. They lay still for a few moments, until the music resounded through their body. Sometimes they were alright with breathing physics instead of air.
As they entered the kitchen, they pressed a light switch on the wall; the electric kettle turned on. Using a small panel next to it, they picked a podcast playlist. Voices and sound effects gave the living room quiet life.
Their working desk stood snug against a window, crowded with books and papers illustrating their recent fixation, spilling from the top to neat piles on the sides. The wide underside drawer of it hid their computer and other technical tools.
Only after two cups of coffee were they willing to even look at their watch.
They were meeting Anathema today. At Mr. Fell’s and Anthony’s place.
Knowing they’d be okay, Adrian panicked a little anyway. Attributes that people misinterpreted went through their head…
Eyes weren’t a suitable looking place if you wanted to be informed. Even though, when they made an effort out of courtesy, they saw a picture they didn’t understand. Somebody looked away first.
Then there’s tone of voice. Entire philosophies and experiences in a sentence and a little movement.
Nuances. Nuances were exhausting. They couldn’t keep track of everything, all the time, just to be able to communicate without consequence. So, mostly, they schooled their speech into something easier. Clean-sounding. Concise.
They tried not to think about time. In general, but, it was never really general, was it.
For a moment, Adrian’s chest blanked on not having better options… to, y’know, exist.
Was it worth going out today?
They finished their third cup of coffee. It couldn’t hurt to meet a potential friend.
They set a reminder to prepare to leave on their watch, and resolved to get some program sketching done. Life was half improv, half sports, carried by persistent imagination.
—
Hidden down a long, curving lane, the house eventually came into view. It wasn’t hard to miss, though, on a regular bicycle.
A pristine, 1920’s black Bentley noticed them as they walked around it to the porch.
“Um.. Can the bike be here?” Adrian pointed to the shade.
The Bentley beamed, briefly. Adrian smiled, and flipped the kickstand down.
They forgot they had headphones in when Mr. Fell opened the door. The volume was quiet enough to hear them, so it took a bit longer for Adrian to remember that it was impolite.
Breathe…
—
Comfortable, as a warm breeze was comfortable, heavy with centuries of stewardship. Each house item had its own nature. Adrian heard their conversations with each other, gossiping about trees on the other side of the estate. Wide bookshelves and an impressive collection of plants made up the main decor. All those paintings and statues, though, were windows into memories, looked upon over, and over again. Layers and layers of stories and secrets.
Adrian couldn’t feel their middle. A gigantic, airy space replaced it.
But Mr. Fell was speaking. “…How do you like lamb?”
The Human gazed at Mr. Fell, unsure. Yet in the kitchen wafted scents so enticing, they could hardly turn away.
“Almost done.”
“Excellent. Now if you could help me finish the sauce, while I fetch some wine? Or would you prefer another drink?”
Adrian’s brain started working again. “I can do that. And, wine is okay. Thanks.”
Mr. Fell whisked themself away somewhere, and Adrian approached the simmering concoction on the stove. This was something they were known for doing. A few times, anyway.
Face in the light steam, Adrian inhaled every particle they could handle. Bone stock. Fig. Pepper. To make a whole picture, they added cardamom and bay leaf. Automatically, they then whipped up a sweet cream mixture, with dashes of cinnamon and anise. It was in a nice serving bowl with a silver spoon by the time Mr. Fell returned. Adrian finished stirring and covered the pan as the Keeper happily placed three different bottles on the bar counter. Adrian could now breathe easily, thank Somebody.
“What is that amazing smell?!” A new voice rolled through, aided by soft footsteps. It had an excited, yet easy edge to it. They’d been long and happy friends, here. One of those friendships that was proven and sealed by slow events, no more than a handful over time.
“I believe Adrian made a lovely show of the lamb sauce, if you don’t mind me saying. Hello, Anathema dear.” Mr. Fell and Anathema kissed both cheeks in greeting.
Anathema put her bread bag on the counter and held out a hand to Adrian. “Anathema Device, Local Occultist.”
Adrian took it and said, decidedly, “Yes, I know who you are.” They waited. After a moment, though, “Sorry, that’s..”
“Doctor Who! I love that show!” Anathema smirked. “You can sit by me. …Not that there was a choice. I’m gonna say hey to Crowley.” She pointed out the back. The woman sidestepped, then turned to go outside.
Adrian gazed after her for a moment, in hope. They turned, and again leaned near the steam.
“Status?” Mr. Fell sipped his glass of wine.
“I agree. Oh, I mean…” Calculation. “Three minutes.” They put the lid back, though had to ask, “Is Crowley, um…?”
Mr. Fell smiled. “That’s Anthony. I’m sure either is fine, dear, but you may ask. They’re tending to the garden just now.”
A nod. “Thank you.” For so many things, for this, for existing. But they shouldn’t get too deep at the moment.
Mr. Fell seemed to sense it nonetheless. They really thought about it. “And the same to you.”
They didn’t know what was happening with their own face, but eventually something coherent crossed Adrian’s brain. It turned out to be a monologue, so they let it run somewhere else, while outwardly they nodded and left for the garden.
-
“It’s because you snapped at it, Crowley. You could, perhaps, apologize?”
“Easy for you to say, witch. What’s to say it just climbs anything it wants to, hm?”
“It’s a pot of morning glories.”
“What’s your point?”
Sudden silence caught Adrian off guard. Pressure in their head increased with the echos of ‘eyes’. They made themself look at the plants in Crowley’s or Anthony’s hands. Although the name, they didn’t know enough about the being if they didn’t know what to call them. The need to communicate outweighed a runaway pulse.
“So um, what do I call you?”
The being almost changed shape, and seemed to take a lot of will to remain human-looking.
“Oh, right. W-I mean, Anthony’s alright. This one just like surnames, s’all.”
“It’s really not that weird.”
“Okay.” Adrian nodded, satisfied. “Plants don’t have much energy. They can’t run amok because they can’t… They can’t run. Everything they have is just to process. Or… moral support. Like in my school library.”
Something ran behind Anthony’s face. Adrian couldn’t tell what it was, but Anathema looked justified and grinned.
Finally, Anthony looked down at the cluster of morning glories. A string of noncommittal sounds fell out of their mouth. “I suppose… well, that’s alright then.”
“A+ apology,” Anathema patted them on the shoulder, a bit consoling.
Anthony held the pot protectively and hissed, but gently placed it back on the table with the others. Then they sniffed. “Who brought the bazaar?”
-
Riding home, as if swimming at night, purple sky diffused in air, Adrian’s chest breathed life. On their bicycle swung a charm Anathema gifted them, a promise of safety in travel. They hadn’t lived here long, but now their feet were just a little more solid.
Anything could come. They’d be ready.