Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“...Fran?” 

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Um… How did you turn your fingernails green? You aren’t sick, are you?”

“No, silly. It’s called nail varnish. I got it from the third reality. It’s very pretty, right?” 

“Yes. That green reminds me of your eyes.”

“Oh! Well, aren’t you sweet? I should paint them gold next. Like your eyes.”

“Hmmm.”

“And then, whenever I had to go away, I’d look at my hand and see the color of your eyes, and I would feel better. It’d be like I had your eyes with me.” 

“Ooooor I could pluck my eyes out and give them to you. Then you really would always have them. You could look at them whenever you wanted.” 

“Hmm. Well, that’s a thoughtful suggestion, but I think I prefer to see your eyes… in your head. Where they should be. Your face just wouldn’t be the same without them.” 

“You’re right. If I didn’t have my eyes, I wouldn’t be able to see you.”

“Oh, that would be sad, wouldn’t it? I like to look at you.”

“Well… I like to look at you, too.”

…

“...Fran?”

“Mhmm?” 

“...”

“Remor?”

“...”

“Remor, would you like me to paint your fingernails, too?” 

“YES.”

X-X-X-X-X

“Remor?” 

“I’m convening with the darkness.” 

“Oh. That’s unique. ...I did have a question. It can wait, though. If you’re busy.” 

“No, it’s fine. I’m always talking to the darkness, in a way. Part of its beauty is that it cannot be interrupted.”

“Fascinating! But, Remor…”

“Yes?”

“Where did that bite mark come from?” 

“Uh…”

“The bite mark on your wrist?”

“Hmm…” 

“The one that’s still bleeding?”

“...”

“Remor?”

“The darkness is being very loud today. Sorry. I can’t hear you.” 

“Remor, please.” 

“Um… My wrist was bitten because something bit it.” 

“Yes. I can see that. I’m asking how.”

“How?”

“Yes, how.” 

“Oh! Easy. My wrist was bitten because something opened its mouth, like this- and closed it like this- on the object of its focus. And the object of its focus in question was my wrist.” 

“...Let me rephrase. Why was your wrist bitten?”

“Because my wrist was in the way of a creature's mouth.” 

“I’m going to try again. Who bit your wrist?”

“A creature that possessed the mouth to do it.” 

“Remor, did you bite your own wrist?”

“What?! What? No. I wouldn’t do that. I would slit my palm open if I were conducting a sacred ritual, but I hardly do those anymore.”

“And yet your wrist is bleeding.” 

“...A kamala did it.” 

“What?! Why would a kamala do that?”

“It wasn’t xer fault. Don’t be angry with xem.”

“...Was it the one on your lap who did it?”

“Yes… But, it was technically because of me.”

“Why?” 

“Well, I shouldn’t have put my hand in front of xer face right when xe were eating. It was instinctual. I bet the same thing could have happened to Mr. Midnight and you.” 

“...I suppose so. Why did you put your hand in front of xer mouth when xe were eating anway?” 

“Well, xe were going for the best part, and I wanted it for myself.” 

“...Remor?” 

“I shouldn’t have put my hand in front of your face when you were eating, should I, little friend? No, probably not. But it’s not my fault you were going to take the best despair all for yourself. Survival of the foolish, or something.” 

“Remor.” 

“I’m listening to you!” 

“I am going to get some bandages from Palontras. For you. Please wait here, and don’t acquire any more bite marks in the time I’m gone.” 

“I don’t know… This kamala is eyeing my fingers, and it’s almost xer lunchtime. You might want to hurry, or I’ll be playing the piano nine-fingered.” 

“Nooo!” 

X-X-X-X-X

“Remor, there is a spider in the teapot.” 

“Congratulations! I think that’s a very good omen for you.” 

“I’m happy to hear that. I have no issue with spiders, but I would like you to go put this one in the garden.” 

“Hmmm… Has she paid rent yet? I can’t evict without rightful cause. It’s not legal.” 

“...You know, I think I’ll have lemonade instead.” 

X-X-X-X-X

“You’re growing flowers through your head.”

“It’s a flower crown, for the summer festive.”

“Festive? Like a party?” 

“Yes, it’s very fun. We dance in a ring and hold hands, and we wear flowers on our clothes, and on our heads.” 

“I thought Itherstian’s don’t wear clothing.”

“Well, normally they don’t. But the summer festive is different. It’s ceremonial, as well as celebration.” 

“Well, what are you celebrating?” 

“Life! Summer! Flowers, ourselves, lemons, and dancing.”

“Sounds… dazzling.” 

“It is, want to come?”

“...I don’t think I should.”

“You might like it! I’ll make you a flower crown.”

“It doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

“It would be a lot of fun. You’re welcome. The Itherstian’s don’t mind anything. They’re accepting people.”

“They wouldn’t accept any of my people.”

“...Remor…”

“I’m not arguing. I’m not being argumentative. I only mean that if any of my people wouldn’t be welcome, I don’t want to go.” 

“...I understand. But maybe… Maybe you could come and sit for a while? Just a little bit? And when the Itherstian’s see you’re not scary, maybe in the future…”

“What?” 

“It’s only a thought, nothing more. But maybe, one day, now that there’s no more wars, maybe we could try to get along.”

“Fran, I don’t know if that could ever happen.”

“Well, did you ever think the Valokas would willingly relinquish your freedom?”

“...Good point.”

“So you’ll come?”

“Yes, alright. But, in the future, I want you to come to one of our celebrations.”

“Wait, Apollonians have celebrations too?”

“Of course! The Danse Macabre, where everyone dances until they drop, or their feet bleed. Or the festival of masks, or the feast of hives.” 

“Well, Remor, those sound wonderful. I will go to each of them.”

“Hooray.” 

“And I’m making you a flower crown.”

“...Hoooraaay.” 

X-X-X-X-X

“What are you holding?” 

“It’s a camera. It’s very special.” 

“What does it- DON’T POINT IT AT ME!” 

“Relax, relax! It’s alright. It’s harmless.”

“Is it- is it like a… a gun?” 

“Oh no, no no no! It isn’t a weapon. Remor, it takes your picture.” 

“My… picture?” 

“Yes, an image. Like a painting.”

“Where does it take it?” 

“I- you know, let me show you. You see this picture, here?” 

“It’s you!” 

“Yes! It took a picture of me, and you can see I’m completely fine.” 

“Hmmm… Third reality technology is very interesting. It’s fascinating how humans make their own magic.” 

“It is, isn’t it? Ok. Do you want your picture taken?”

“Ok. But if it shoots me, I’ll be annoyed.” 

“I’ll be pretty annoyed too, since that’s not what a camera is supposed to do. Hold still, look this way, good- now smile!”

“Argh!” 

“Oops! I’m sorry, I should have warned you about that.”

“Right in my eyes..! I think the Valokas would like that a lot.” 

“I don’t think the Valokas would show up in a picture, he’s so bright. Are your eyes ok?” 

“Yes, better now. It surprised me.” 

“Well, look at this! Your picture is coming out! We have to wait for it to finish…”

“It’s taking a long time.” 

“It’s worth it, I swear. Look! There you are!” 

“Hmm…”

“Oh, this is a really nice picture. What do you think?”

“Well… I think I like yours better, since it’s got you in it.”

“Awww. Well, here’s an idea. You can have my picture, I’ll have yours!”

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to look at your own picture over mine, but I do like your picture a lot. This is a good trade.” 

“Well, there we go!” 

“Hmmm… I think next I’ll take a picture of the Valokas, hang it up on the wall, and throw darts at it.” 

“...Don’t repeat this, but I might join you.” 

X-X-X-X-X

“So what did the Valokas say to you in the garden?” 

X-X-X-X-X

“Remor, why is there a giant boot print on your robe?”

X-X-X-X-X

“Well, would you look at that!” 

“Huh?”

“Mr. Midnight is playing with those two kamalas.”

“They seem to be getting along- Hey, be civil! No biting, you two!”

“Mr. Midnight! Spit them out right now!” 

“Oh damn. You’ll never get that out of his fur…”

X-X-X-X-X

“Fran, what’s all that?” 

“I’m going to set up. Here, I need this space free. Be useful and put that on the table for me.” 

“What for? ...It’s not my birthday again, is it?” 

“No, your birthday will be the same day next year.”

“So… you just have birthdays all the time, every single year?”

“We do!” 

“That sounds like you’d get tired of it after a while.” 

“Well, some people don’t like their birthdays. But most people look forward to it.”

“Still.. Every year. Maybe I should have mine less often. I have so many years, after all…”

“No. You look forward to them. They make life special.” 

“...I don’t think it’s the birthdays that do that.” 

“Well, you’re right. Now if you please, sprinkle this lamb's blood on the edges so I can draw the star on the ground. This fish isn’t going to get any less slimy, I need to set the lemon out, and I still have to recite the incantation. The moon is rising, and I don’t have all night, darling.” 

“Yes, ma’am .”

X-X-X-X-X

“Remor, please do not disembowel any more rats while I’m around. It’s bad enough with Mr. Midnight.”

“I thought you liked me!”

X-X-X-X-X

“You know... I like you whether or not you’re wearing a mask.” 

X-X-X-X-X

“It isn’t that I feel like him-”

“Remor.”

“And it isn’t that I think I’m going to become like him-”

“Remor.” 

“But when I look in the mirror, for a split second, his face is all I see. And when I speak, I hear his voice. And sometimes-”

“Remor…”

“-And sometimes, I feel like a… like a copy of him.” 

“Remor, please…”

“Nobody but you and the council, and a few others know. But I still feel… I still feel defined by it. When I look at my mother, for a moment, she always looks at me with this… nameless expression in her eyes. A flash, and then it’s gone, and she sees me as she always does. But before that, before the flash… she sees him. I know it.” 

“Remor-”

“And I feel as though you- as though you-” 

“Remor.” 

“...As though you’re the only one who sees me.”

“Remor…”

“...”

“Remor... I see you. I do.” 

“...”

“I see you.” 

X-X-X-X-X

But it isn’t always about the conversation. It isn’t always the talking that connects them so well.

Sometimes it’s him listening intently when she talks. Paying attention like no one else. Devoted to every word she says.

Sometimes it’s Fran, reaching out and holding Remor’s hand.

Sometimes it’s just the silence the two of them share.

Sometimes, it’s the quiet she likes the best.

Chapter Text

Alright. Two cups of flour. And of course, no flour can compare to Itherstian flour.”

“Itherstian flower?”

“Yes, Itherstian flour.”

Remor drew back, a crease between his eyebrows. “If you say so.”

“Have you ever tasted Itherstian bread?”

“No, but I have tasted Itherstian dread.”

“Forget I asked, silly.”

Remor shrugged. “That hot metal box is making me nervous.”

“Oven. It shouldn’t, it’s just a small box with fire in it. You light the fire to bake what you want. Simple.”

“Well, it reminds me of a candle. Candles make me nervous.”

“What..? Why?”

“Hmm… I don’t know. Portable light in manmade form always sounded wrong to me.”

“You are going to lose your mind when I tell you about flashlights.”

“See, I don’t like that name right there. Flash, and light. Both things I do not have good experience with.”

“Well, now seems a good time to change the subject.”

Fran stood and pulled her hair back from her face, fastening it tightly with ribbon. Remor watched in interest. Finally, she turned to him.

“You have to keep your hair out of your face when you cook,” she explained. “Otherwise the hair will get in your food.”

“Putting hair in someone’s food can be a good spell, too. It can make someone fall in love with you.” Remor noted. 

Fran wondered to herself for a moment if there had ever been any hair in the food she had eaten, and then wisely decided to change her mind to other things.

“Right. Noted. Well, get me the eggs, please.”

“I have them here. They were not easy to get. The mother was not happy.”

Fran stared down into Remor’s outstretched hand, looked up searchingly into his eyes, then back at his palm. She took in a deep, composing breath, readied her patience, and looked up at remors face.

“Remor.” She said carefully. “Do you know what an egg is?” 

“Yes. A shell built to carry unborn life.”

“Remor.” 

“Yes?”

“What kind of eggs are these?”

“They are spider eggs. I worked very hard to get them.”

Fran ran a hand through her hair. “Remor.” She said finally, “I understand the confusion. Let me be clearer. I need chicken or duck eggs.”

“Ohhh. I understand now.”

“So will you please get me a chicken or duck egg?”

“Yes. Absolutely.” Remor turned for the door, then stopped and turned back.

“Fran, by the way, is a chicken larger or smaller than a spider?”

Fran sighed. “I have a coop out back. The little house.”

“Wait… you mean the loud scary dogs that scream all the time?”

“I don’t- what?”

“Those things are angry. I don’t understand why.”

“They’re not- ok. Never mind, I’ll go back and get them. Please get me some flour out of the pantry. That’s the smaller door on the right.”

“I know where the pantry is! You must think I’m so stupid.”

“Well, let me just say I rely on the masked Remor to do the problem solving, and I rely on the unmasked Remor when I want something nice to look at.”

“I’m ignoring that. Oh, and Fran…”

“Remor, I am begging you.”

“No, no. I wanted to ask… what kind of flower?”

“Oh, regular. All purpose.”

Remors brow furrowed. “So… any old flower you’ve got lying around?”

“Yes, whatever flour you find.”

“Alright. Any flower. Ok.”

Fran nodded and smiled, and walked out the back door. Remor turned towards the pantry.

“I think roses are a good flower.” He said to himself. “But I would think a recipe would want a specific flower. Still, she knows best…”

Fran came back, a basket full of eggs draped over her arm. She smiled brightly to an empty kitchen. Her smile dropped.

“Remor?” She said. No answer. Then…

“Here you are!” Remor said, entering through a portal that opened behind her, making her jump. In his bare, dirt coated hands was a fistful of Itherstian roses.

Fran stared in slight confusion. “Um… Remor, that’s very sweet. Thank you.” 

Remor looked at her tersely. “I didn’t get them to be sweet. I got them because you asked me to.”

Fran sat the basket on the table. “I didn’t ask you to get me roses…”

“Itherstian flower. That’s exactly what you said.”

Fran stared open mouthed for a moment, then she began to giggle. Giggling wildly, she dropped her head into her palm, then fell laughing into a chair.

“What? I don’t understand why you’re laughing.” Remor said, annoyed now.

“Oh, Remor. I think I should read more to you. From the library. You don’t have much experience with food, do you?”

Remor scowled. “Obviously not.”

“Oh, it’s alright. Don’t be embarrassed, you tried your best. Let’s get back to work, shall we?”

“Sure. By the way, the hot metal box is on fire.”

Fran whipped around, and let out a shriek. Sure enough, the oven, left to burn by itself, had caught alight, and the flame had spread to the curtains. Fran shrieked again, a little helpless.

Remor, ever the calm savior, snapped his fingers, and the flames dissipated. 

No saving the curtains, though.

Remor came to stand by Fran, and set a hand on her shoulder. 

“It’s alright. I never liked the curtains anyway.” Fran said.

“I think you probably shouldn’t make any more bread in there. Maybe itward could make you a heatless oven.” Remor supplied helpfully

Fran hung her head, and let out a chuckle. “I’m sure he could.”

X-X-X

Later, a handful of dirty roses on the table, and cushions laid out on the floor, with the smoldering remains of the curtain tucked neatly away for Fran to remake into something useful, she holds a book propped open against her chest.

The both of them were very lucky to have the powers they did. Perhaps they’d have suffered more, or suffered less. However, if Remor knew how to do anything, it was fix a situation he’d inadvertently created.

“Ok, here’s the next chapter. The baker added one teaspoon of salt-“

“Salt?!”

“…maybe not. We’ll say… in your case it would be…”

“Ground up teeth?”

“Sure. Ground up teeth. But for me, it would be salt.”

“That’s fair.”

“It is. Next, you add one fourth cup of sugar-“

“…Fran?”

“Yes, Remor?”

Remor raised his head from her lap to look up at her. “Do you think I still did alright? Helping you, I mean?”

Fran smiled. “I think you did fine.”

Chapter Text

“Remor… what’s going on?”

Remor looked up. He sat braced on his knees in the middle of a pentagram drawn in blood on the floor. Splatters of blood painted in runic symbols adorned his bare chest and arms. Soot coated his maskless face. His palm had been slit open, and he grasped the ritual knife in his other unmarked hand. He stared at Fran with wide, unblinking eyes. There were bones adoring the pentagram, and a necklace of bones and teeth and jagged glass adorned his neck. His hair was wet with blood. 

“I swear,” he said. “It’s not what it looks like.”