Chapter Text
Somewhere in a dingy and stinky deportation cell sits two men. Two men who are currently tense and awkward with each other. The only things they have in common are the fact that they came from Oletus Manor, are in the same team, and that they were both reported by the same person: Orpheus. Both of them are quiet, sitting five feet apart as they let the silence suffocate them. They have no true reason to talk to each other in the manor, even less here. Their only comfort is the fact that their other teammates (excluding Orpheus) did not get deported. Even though Orpheus is in deep need of therapy, both women should be fine. Melly is, well, Melly. Alice is also smart and alert all the time. Besides, both women have each other. If they got deported alongside them, it would be too crowded. They hate the situation either way, so both men let their thoughts distract them. It makes it easier to ignore one another after all.
Norton and Frederick were both taken during breakfast. It was 7 in the morning to be exact. Just as both men came into the dining room and sat down the main door burst open. Orpheus led a group of officers and pointed toward the two men. The officers rushed towards them. Frederick downed his glass of wine and Norton tried to make a run for it. Alice was asking questions while trying to de-escalate the situation. Melly sat in her chair, mouth slightly open trying to process the situation. Looking in Norton’s general direction. She would have looked calm and collected if her veil also covered her mouth. The room was full of commotion and confusion as both men were roughly dragged out. The last thing they saw was the butler’s passive expression, Orpheus with a determined look on his face, Alice’s worried expression, and Melly standing beside her, a protective hand on the smaller woman’s arm. That was all that happened at seven in the morning. As a result of that, both men weren’t able to eat their breakfast. Consequently, both Norton and Frederick were hungry. It’ll be a long time before either of them gets deported too. There’s a storm outside which is currently delaying their deportation. The guard who was supposed to be watching them ran to the bathroom down the hall about 30 minutes ago. The faint sounds of explosive diarrhea suggest that he is currently terror-shocking the toilet.
Annoyed but resigned at the situation, Norton thinks about what he's going to do. He’ll probably still be a prospector. Who knows if there’s a job opening back home or nearby? If the mines over there can barely pay a miner they won't even be able to pay a prospector. He knows there isn’t any chance for him back home, but still, hope and dreams are what keep him going. Hope and dream is the only thing he can do and he hates it. Hates it because he needs it. The only good thing waiting for him is Benny’s and his father’s grave. He doesn't regret leaving, not when greed blinded and guided him, and not now. Norton only regrets leaving the way he did. He betrayed Benny. Poor old Benny. He could imagine him in his dying moments. Alone in a dark and dusty room asking what he did to deserve this and cursing Norton. Fraudster, rascal, traitor, ingrate. Norton could see Iron Chisel Benny like that clearly. He wonders what his dad would think of him. He could never tell what that man thought. The times he did see him he was always serious. With a far-off look in his eyes. His posture was that of a bone-weary man who never experienced the true meaning of rest. He sat on that small uneven stool before the small fire as he coughed away. Norton in the bed tucked and watching his father. Eventually, Norton would fall asleep and his father would get up and pat his head, taking his place in the same bed. Mutter an apology to his son for not being able to give him a nicer life. It was like that every night.
The only time he saw his father express emotion was when he got sick. Severely so. It was winter. And as always with the last season, the snow was bound to outlast the weak. Norton fell ill one day. Waking up with the sniffles. That wasn’t out of place. It was winter after all. Then came a small cough that became worse, making his body shake with every spasm by the evening. By nightfall, he was lying in bed lethargic. Burning and shaking, unresponsive to his father's pleas. The only noises he made were wheezing breaths and whimpers. Norton remembers his father’s face clearly in that memory. His father stood over him telling him everything was going to be alright. The deep lines on his face were more prominent from the worry and lack of sleep.
During that time, his father wouldn't go to work. He stayed in their little hovel tending to Norton as best as he could. For warmth, he covered him in their thin scratchy blankets, whatever clothes that they had, and held him close. Wiping away Norton’s sweat to prevent the cold of winter from harming him even more. In the small moments of lucidness Norton would cry out for his father. Norton always referred to his father as 'sir' or when talking to others as 'father'. But at this moment…Norton called him Papa. That's what he was after all. Even if he was a serious man, Norton still loved him. He wanted his papa right now, needed him. Whenever Norton called out to him, his father would shush him and reassure him that he was there. Provide what little comfort he was able to give. For comfort, he would tell Norton stories if that's what he asked. He was terrible at telling stories. It was painfully obvious. Norton still liked them either way. In adulthood, he still liked those stories, even though he forgot them. If not a story then he would tell him a joke one of his coworkers told him. He was also terrible at telling jokes, but his son didn't mind. Norton was happy knowing that his dad was there, and found comfort in his deep and raspy voice. He gave Norton whatever food they had. Even if Norton was too weak to eat or didn't want to, he still made sure his son was fed. That was a difficult time. Norton cried in protest, clenching his teeth shut and moving his head. His father trying to reason with him, torn from the hurt he's causing despite it being best for Norton. The wives he encountered told him to starve the fever. However, he couldn't wrap his head around that logic. If he didn't feed his son then he would die of hunger, not the fever. The fever is already taking away too much of his strength. The food would do him good. He would get him to eat after a long fight. He still felt sorry though and would always apologize to his son. Cradling him in his arms and making rocking motions. He was harshly reminded of how fragile children were. Every winter at least one child would die. He just never imagined the possibility with Norton. This was the second period in his life that his father felt overprotective of his son. The first time was when he was born. Looking at him now, cradling him in his arms, he still looks like that baby who didn't know the bad hand he was dealt with in life. He can't help but cry, he feels utterly selfish. Selfish for wanting a child in the first place. For not being able to provide for him. Selfish for everything.
His sickness faded with the snow’s melting. Each day he got better. And each day his father was more relieved. A week after he recovered his father took him to the woods. Carrying him when he suspected his son was getting tired. Putting him down when he got restless. It took a while for them to make it to their destination. It was his father’s secret spot. A clearing in the woods. Full of flowers in full bloom. The first bloom of spring to be exact. The air was fresh and fragrant. Even more, since Norton survived.
“Breathe it in as much as you can boy, it’ll do ya good.”
So Norton stood there, gulping in deep breaths. To an outsider, he might have looked like an idiotic seven-year-old pretending to be a fish. But to his dad, Norton was his greatest treasure. Norton reminded him of the fragility and resilience of life. So there they stood. Norton gulped air and giggled in between. His father standing next to him looking down at him with a small smile and a proud look in his eyes. And in that moment he didn't regret being selfish. Norton was the only good thing in his life.
In the summer, two years later, his father’s black lung got the upper hand. He still worked but much less. His breath was wheezing audibly. Violent coughing fits would disturb the silence of the house. The rag he used to cover his mouth became stained from the black mucus he coughed up. Eventually, he became bedridden from how weak he became. This time it was Norton watching over his dad. Propping his head on the hard pillows so he wouldn't choke on his sputum. Help him eat because his hands are almost giving out. Up until this moment, Norton didn't realize the mortality of his father. He knows the concept of death. Knows some kids whose parents died. But that didn't apply to his papa. Right? His papa is always supposed to be there. Papa can’t die, he just can't. But he can…and he will. His legs gave out first. His breaths became much more laboured. His coughing and sputum were more frequent. Death was at the doorstep. His father had no choice but to accept his fate.
That night, the sky was filled with twice as many stars, and the crickets were serenading the moon. At that moment he was lying in bed and Norton was by the lamp playing with some rocks he’d been collecting prior to his illness. He remembers Norton running up to him to show him his new rocks whenever he came back from work. He smiles fondly at the memory. His little Norton, his precious son. He pushes himself to a sitting position and positions himself to sit at the edge.
“Norton,” He motioned his head to the stool in front of him. Norton’s head turns towards his voice and he gets up. Walking over to the stool hands on the sides to move it out of the way.
“Sit.”
“Yes papa.”
His heart squeezes at this. He takes off his faded tie and places it around Norton's neck. “Pay attention,” Tying it and untying it over and over again. Showing him the proper way to knot it. He then made Norton tie it himself. Over and over again. Until finally he got it right three times in a row.
“Well look at you boy. From this moment on forward you’re a man now Norton, you hear?”
“Yes papa.”
“That's a good boy…” placing his hand on top of his son’s head and smiling, “...that's my good boy.”
He didn't wake up the next morning.
Norton doesn’t want to rethink those memories anymore. In that moment he feels so achingly lonely once more. Just like the morning he found out. No–he can't think about that right now. But it reminds him harshly that there’s nothing and no one waiting for him back home. He has nowhere to go back to. He’ll just have to go where there's a job offering. Even if it's just enough to sustain him he’s willing. He’s so tired of his greed. It's what landed him in this mess after all. He still blames Orpheus though. That stupid twink with the arrogant air about him. Back at the manor it's only him and the two women. Will they be safe being left alone with him? He doesn't seem the violent type. Just the scheming type. But Melly and Alice can easily counter that. Both of them are smart and capable. Melly’s also strong emotionally, mentally, and physically. Alice is highly observant. As long as they have each other’s backs then they’ll be fine.
Only an idiot would choose to mess with Melly. He kind of misses her…he has no reason to though! They hate each other’s guts after all! But…people who hate each other don’t open up to each other right? Sharing secrets and...Norton blushes at the memory of yesterday.
They were in the study and the sun was filling the room. Sitting on the floor. Melly interacting with a beetle sketching it in her research notebook. Norton with his back towards her polishing his magnets. Their bickering filled in the silence. The conversation somehow led to the topic of them growing up poor. How it went from asking for donuts to that is a bit of a mystery. Norton pestering Melly to make donuts. Then about growing up poor, and then meeting snobby rich people and how annoying they are.
“You know, you’re not in a place to speak about that. You’re rather arrogant Mrs. Plinius.”
She turns her head back at this, “Is that so? I wasn't aware my actions were arrogant. What is it about me that screams arrogance?” a demand more than a question. Her tone challenged him to prove his point. One she won’t let him back out of.
He feels her eyes on the back of his head. Burning his skull to see how his mind functions. He won’t back down though. Not with that stubborn personality of his.
“You hold people with disdain. Avoiding others with any excuse. You see and assume the worst in people. I know you do. I saw it in your demeanor and coldness towards me. Making your contempt easily and readily known the moment we set eyes on each other. Open yet veiled hostility towards Orpheus. Refusing to submit towards his mental games. Reminding him that you have teeth. Using Mr. Kreiburg to deflect whatever attention is brought to you. Knowing he’s the type to walk out which further takes the attention off of you or gives you an opening to escape. But now that I think about it, it's not arrogance. Far from it. It's the way you protect yourself. Just like that veil and helmet of yours,” he turns around just in time to see her lunging at him. Her fist ready to strike. He grabs her hands just in time but they both topple to the floor. Silently struggling, muffled and strangled noises escaping their throats. Rolling alternatively on each other trying to take control. Melly trying to strike him and Norton trying to subdue her. She already looks strong, but she's stronger than she looks. It feels like hours but in reality only a few minutes have passed. Melly finally gets on top of Norton, breathless and red in the face. Teeth bared in silent rage. Her hat askew and veiled wrinkled. At this angle Norton realizes something that makes his heart stop. Something sitting heavier than her weight on his chest. She's crying. Tears of anger and rage. Tears of shame for being told the truth. He pointed out the truth she didn't want to hear. The one she tried her damn hardest to hide. She's scared and she hates it, and he knows that feeling all too well. They sit there, panting. Until finally Melly raises her fist once more ready to strike. Norton catches it one more and reaches his free hand to her face. Gently placing it on her birthmark. Gently rubbing his thumb on the wine stain. His other hand no longer restrained her.
“It's ok to be scared. We can’t be strong all the time.”
Her hand drops and she falls on him. Silently sobbing and screaming. Finally letting all her repressed emotions show. Burying her face in his chest to muffle any sounds that do escape her. Clawing at his shoulder and side. Norton wraps his arms around her.
“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you…” she whispers, but they both know this isn't true. At least towards him not anymore. It's directed at her ex-husband. Who even in death she couldn’t truly shake his grip off of her.
They stay like this long after she's finished crying. Long after Norton’s heart calms down. He wasn’t supposed to see her like this. She wasn’t supposed to break like this. But he’ll damn himself if the heavens don't if he ever left her hanging. Norton moves to sit up but Melly digs her fingers into his skin in silent protest. So he stays there, holding her a bit tighter. She speaks up. Her voice was tired and raw, raspy from all the crying. Vulnerable…
“I didn't always have control. Growing up I was told that by marrying well my future would be secure. I became a manor servant. Just like many girls in my village. That's where I met him. He was the master of the manor. With his personality and knowledge with insects and botany it was difficult to not fall for him. And it was foolish to love him. I already had a love and fascination for insects, but when I found out about the books in his study and his interest in them, I devoured every material readily. Even if I didn't love him, I would have still read those books. But still…anything to have something to talk to him about. I was enamored with him. Even more when he didn’t see me as his servant but rather as his equal of sorts. Or so I thought...the marriage didn’t go as planned.
We were too blinded by the concept of love to realize that we were only living a fantasy. When he showed his true colors that rose tinted view was shattered. Whatever happiness we embraced was an illusion. It was too much to bear. I resorted to sleeping pills. This seemed to anger and disgust him though. There was nothing I could do to please him. Ironic how the moment I became his true equal, he only looked down on me.
He eventually looked elsewhere for his happiness. Leaving me alone to stare at his seat as the food became cold. I would imagine different scenarios. One’s where we were the couple living happily ever after. Other times I imagined that I was the actual mistress of the house, not some poor man and woman’s daughter who managed to be ‘lucky’. I imagined lots of things to bring me some sort of solace. It became too much though so we divorced. It was a silent affair. Only us and the church knew of it. This didn’t make him happy though. He was pissed…to say the least. He had no right to be so. But I think what set him off was the realization that I had the upper hand now. No. I know it set him off.
Despite being separated, for the sake of appearances we were still ‘married’. It was freeing. Being able to do as I please, seeking new opportunities, having them presented to me. All with the benefits from being ‘married’ to him but without the obligation to obey him. I had control. I found control. After years of letting him take so much from my life. Sometimes I felt like the obligate parasite in the relationship, other times it was him. However, I knew we had to separate in more ways than one. I had control now, and it was going to be used. Despite being separated we still lived together. Being alone and in the woods made it easier for him to hurt me. I only felt safe with the insects. Especially the bees who seemed to have some sort of understanding. They were the ones that aided me in more ways than one. In order to finally feel safe and free I did what I had to do. With rebirth comes a sacrifice…I felt such peace afterwards…
Norton…I'm scared of having that control being taken away. I don’t want to be weak again…and this cursed manor is slowly making me realize that. I hate it. I hate it so much.”
They lay in silence together, the suffocating veil of the atmosphere becoming light and gauzy until only the gentle sunlight is present. They sit in silence as Norton takes in Melly's scent: honey, a mixture of flora, and fresh air. It makes him forget the suffocating stench of darkness, smoke and blood plaguing the back of his mind. If only a moment. She smells of freedom and dreams to him. To Melly he smells like grass, dirt, and something faintly metallic. A small part of her finds comfort in that. She brushes it aside though.
As they lay in silence he puts his pinky under hers. A silent invitation and reassurance. Giving her the choice of wrapping her finger around his. Wordlessly telling her he won't hurt her. He opens his mouth to lay his heart before her. Trust goes both ways.
"Not all of us are saints,” The confessional atmosphere returns once more. Even if he can only muster being vague at best in the moment, he’ll still be vulnerable for her.
“I also have blood on my hands. It was my greed and impatience that killed them. Those that didn't immediately die from being crushed died from suffocation or hunger. Maybe they died of thirst too. But I lived. Woke up in hell. Just as I deserve. We weren’t meant to be pure of heart...not everyone can be a saint.”
They sit in silence. And at that moment they were just two people. Just a man and woman with scars and hurt. Just a man and woman holding pinkies and holding onto each other in the light. Sitting in silence…with their hearts beating in sync. All is right in the world.
Norton blushes at this memory. Glad that the cell is dark. He secretly wonders what her lips would feel like. Are they as soft as they look? Would she be open to a relationship? Would she accept him? And further down and down Norton goes down that path of thought. Fantasizing about their future together…
In the meantime Frederick is also in his own thoughts. If he gets deported he’ll be taken back to Austria. If his family hears about that, who knows what they’ll do. Even though they disowned him he still has to keep up appearances. He still has to uphold the family name. Even if they deemed him unworthy of it. How childish is he for still trying to get his family's attention and approval even when he's the age of thirty? He's thirty and he still wants his parents' love. How childish, how utterly childish. He'll be ridiculed once more. Except this time it’ll be worse. The voices in his head are getting louder. Confirming that he’ll be made the laughing stock once more. That his father will still refuse to see him. That his mother will burst into tears once again at the sight of him. If there was an even low chance that he would once again see his mother and father’s proud look once again now it is impossible. The only other person who still cared and loved him was his cousin Mary, but she's dead…and he sometimes wonders if it's his fault.
He remembers being a little boy. Still clinging on to his father’s pants or mother’s dress. He remembers being a little boy and looking up with wide scared eyes up to his father. How his father would stop what he was doing and would look down with an adoring look and stoop down. Carry Frederick in his arms and smile at him and try to make him laugh. Making faces at Frederick and letting him play with his glasses. How he would run down the halls bouncing him. Both their laughter would fill the mansion. It didn’t get rid of the voices, but it was a nice distraction. He remembers how his father would sit him in his lap and compose. Telling Frederick about music theory and explaining what he's doing as he's composing. Frederick didn't understand what he was talking about at that time. But he understood that he was loved. He understood that his father loved him. He understood that he loved his father back. And at that time…that was all that mattered to Frederick and his father.
He remembers his mother’s warmth. How when she saw his scared look she would kneel down and hold him too. If not standing, then hold her in his lap. Sitting on the chair or chaise. Kiss him over and over reassuring him that there was nothing to be worried about. Hum to him soothingly as well. Rocking him back and forth gently. Stroking and brushing his hair the way she knew he liked it. Telling him the plot lines of the operas she's seen or performed in. When he sought her comfort, even if they were in the presence of other people, she would give it to him. No hesitation. The ladies would coo at how precious he was for being so attached to his mother. They would get close and he would nuzzle his face further into his mother. Her perfume enveloping him more. He disliked their voices, just like the ones in his head. He also disliked their perfume. Heavy and powdered, offensive to the nose. He much preferred his mother’s, how her perfume would embrace him instead of suffocate. She always smelled floral with hints of rosemary. His mother didn't mind him being seen. While the other ladies with children would only show their offspring to show off, his mother would treat him like a mother is meant to treat her child, with love and attention. How attentive she was.
Frederick realized how silver spoon fed he was when he couldn't give up the fine food and clothes. How useless and defenseless he was in the real world. How he was never truly independent. Frederick was like a child learning how to walk. Except there was no one to hold him up. Pick him up after a fall. There was nothing he could grab onto to help him stand. He was alone in this. There was no one he could rely on to help him learn. Though that was a bit of a lie he realizes. There were a few people here and there who helped him out a bit. There was that one kind widower who taught him how to choose his produce when buying in the market. How to cook. How to clean his pots and pans and whatnot, kitchen safety, how to make the best with what he's got. Teaching him how to properly hold a knife and how to cut, slice, and chop. If it wasn't for him Frederick might be missing a finger or two at best, buried in a mass grave at worst. There was also that spinster washerwoman with the red rough hands and broad red face. The one who taught him how to wash his clothes and how to make soap. How to mend his clothes when she saw the condition it was in. His coat has some stitching as a result. Without that lesson his coat would be visibly torn. He remembers pricking his fingers repeatedly from the needle. He was lucky to have stumbled into them. The once proud son was readily accepting any help. Oh how the masses would laugh if they ever found out.
Even if he was coddled. Fed with a silver spoon. Incapable of surviving in the real world, is it a crime to be loved and to want to be loved? Is it a crime to secretly hope to be embraced by his parents once more? To be held and be told it was going to be alright even if he was a man of nearly 30? Was it a crime all this time to desire parental love and validation? Frederick may have never experienced romantic love. He was never a true subject to it. But he knows what love is. He knows the warmth and comfort. Love was never a crime. He was just unlucky to be born into a family of conditional love. Love that was bound to fade with time. Left with only the memory while he was dumped in a cold corner like a wretched child. He feels like one, especially in this cell. He says that he wants to rise once more in order for his family to accept him. To lift his exile. To be the Kreiburg that the family is proud of. To be the Kreiburg that everyone expected him to be. To do the family name justice. But the truth is…he just wants his mother and father to love him again. Just wants them to call him their son. He doesn't care about his other relatives, minus Mary. He just wants his mom and dad. He wants to be that happy family once more. Going on morning and afternoon strolls with his mother. With her teaching him how to be a gentleman or telling each other about their day. His father patting his head and smiling at him even if he was a young man practically the same height as him. Laughing at each other's musical jokes. In public they were serious people. Like father, like son. In private they were always jesting with each other. Like father, like son.
Some days when the weather was pleasant all three, even better when it was four with Mary, would be in the garden having tea, or coffee in his father’s case. They would bird watch. They always played a little game. Whoever could identify the most songbirds and correctly would get the last tea treat. He still remembers the score from the last time they played. It was two months before Mary got married. The last time they played as four. Mother: 6, father: 3, Mary: 4, him: 2. That day his mother got the last slice of cake. It was Sachertorte, his mother’s favorite. He still remembers the laughter from that day. Do they still play without him? They certainly still played without Mary. he sees no reason why they wouldn’t play with him out of the game. That prospect and image brings him more hurt than he would have liked.
He always sought his parents' approval. Always strove to be the best son, even if he was their only child…or at least the only one alive. Despite wanting their validation, he never realized that it was conditional. Did his parents know their love was conditional? Frederick had no time to be sad about his downfall he never did, he must continue forward. It's the only direction he can go. But still…he wishes they were that happy family again. Even if it was just one day…
Unbeknownst to Frederick himself he began to cry. What started out as a silent stream of tears led to sniffling and hiccupy breaths. Norton at the sound of this was interrupted from his thoughts of the gifts he would love to shower Melly with. He turns to Frederick’s direction alarmed. The only men he's witnessed cry are drunkards, those in hospice, and himself when he's alone. Norton is confused and shocked. Of all the people, he never expected the composer to cry. The composer realizes his state and quickly clamps a hand over his mouth. Trying to steady his breaths. Unaware that he’s been discovered.
So now there are two men sitting five feet apart. One in alarm and confusion. The other in embarrassment and shame. Norton has a million thoughts going through his head while he tries to figure out what to do. Frederick has a million voices in his head and doesn’t know what to do.
“Hey…it's going to be alright…” though it's said in a tone of uncertainty and a slight confusion. The prospector places a hand on the composer's back. Norton didn't expect many things from today, comforting someone included. From the words and the awkward hand on his back Frederick suddenly bursts into sobs, holding his head in his hands. Norton sits closer and wraps his arm around the other’s shoulder. After a while, Norton reminds and encourages Frederick to take deep breaths, helping him along the way. The last thing he needs is a passed out man, especially in a jail cell where it might look like he committed a crime in the eyes of the officer still terror shocking the toilet.
They’re going to hate me so much for embarrassing them even more.”
“Who?”
“My family. After they exiled me I've been trying to win their favor once more so they would accept back.”
“Wait-exiled? Why?!” he wasn't aware that Frederick committed crimes against his home country. He didn't think the delicate looking man had it in him. He also didn't know that he came from a family of government officials. Though he supposes that it somewhat explains his personality. Despite being a straightforward man, Frederick isn't the type to pick or start fights.
“My music isn’t up to standard. I only produce trash and as a result bring shame to the Kreiburgs. I already brought them embarrassment due to the voices in my head that I've had since childhood. My psychasthenia was a taboo subject within my family. Though sometimes my cousins, sans one, would poke fun at it to get to me. I don't have thick skin even after all these years. When I realized that music was my salvation I immersed myself into it making it my whole life. It was then that I realized that being on the path of music was my purpose. I can't live without it. Yet, I lost my touch as music no longer calls out to me. Euterpe no longer favors me as she once did. No matter how hard I try to let the melody steer me in a direction it fades away. In order to keep my status or at least live decently I used my looks and speech to make the women swoon in order to win their favor. By doing this I would be invited and commissioned to play and compose for their functions,” a scoff, “but I hate it. Hate how no one understands music. To them it is only noise to keep their ears occupied. They only look at me but no one sees me. I hate how much I was fed with a silver spoon because I can barely take care of myself. But most of all I hate myself for coming to this state. In a way it sometimes feels like I'm prostituting myself somehow. What will happen when I turn old and the aroma of talent doesn't come back? What will I do?” He begins to sob albeit not as hysterical as before.
“That’s nonsense! I may not be a man of culture and hardly know anything about your style of music but I know for a fact that you are not below standard by any means. So what if others don’t like your music? It's their loss. Compose for yourself, stop composing for the happiness of other people. Live for your own satisfaction and not for the approval of others. Listen Frederick, I have no idea how to compliment someone much less how to make your worries vanish, but rest assured in this, I think you are an amazing composer and pianist and I'm glad that your music helps keep my nightmares away at night.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
After the composer fully calms down the jail is once again filled with only the faint sounds of grunting and an unfortunate digestive system left to the merciless torture of last nights cold and poorly cooked chicken. The sounds of a man fighting for his life where the only position he can fight is sitting down and his only weapons in his trying time being endurance and a bottle of rapidly depleting water to combat dehydration. The prospector’s and composers' thoughts and prayers went towards this man. After a few moments the man's grunts became sobs and wailing as the diarrhea turned more violent…
Both men shudder at this. Grateful they aren't in his position. Norton takes his arm away from Frederick but doesn't move away. Likewise Frederick doesn't push him away. Though, Norton wishes he didn't because hugging someone also brought him some comfort. He hates the dark. The only thing keeping him from breaking down was appearances and the memory of Melly’s pinky holding his…
“Thank you Mr. Campbell.”
“No need Mr. Kreiburg.”
"It's been a long time since I've been comforted like this.”
“How long?” He's genuinely surprised by this.
“The last time was when I was 24.”
“I imagined that you would have women readily available to comfort you. Women throwing themselves at your feet begging to let you be held by them.”
The other man scoffs at this. A mirthless sound really. “I have no interest in their empty words and offensive perfume. Things like this are meant to be genuine. I've no interest in fake people. Especially ones that are ready to spread any gossip and rumours.”
Norton nods his head in agreement to this. “Mmh. I've never liked arrogant rich people. They always think they're better than you. Always look down and have a disgusted expression.”
“I admit…I can be–am arrogant myself. I have a tendency to be proud. But after this I really need to change.”
“You’re not alone in that. I think we all need to change. When I was younger, before the accident, I would visit elderly miners who lived alone. Keeping them company. Comfort and distract those who were in hospice. Bring food and blankets to the homeless ones. The truth is though, I wasn't extending an olive branch. I was using them to my advantage. I thought that if I got close to them while they were in a vulnerable state they would tell me of locations that were sure to have value. Recommend employers who were sure to pay well. Using them for my own advantage instead of being genuine about it.”
“It seems like we are alike in that matter. Using what we’ve got to take advantage of others for the sake of reaching our goals. Even if it means that we aren’t proud of our methods.”
It seems like both men reached a small understanding of each other. How strange it was that two people who were not alike should have a similarity. It might have been laughable if the shame didn't eat at them. At that moment even though no more words and deep confessions were exchanged they had a deeper understanding of each other. along with a sort of respect and kindred for the vulnerability. It was like the beginning of a friendship. From that realization a happiness settled in their hearts. Friends…those were hard to come by. Friends…it's been a long time since either one of them had one. Finally the silence they sit in is a content one. Both men gently smile from the comfort of each other’s company.
However, that silence is abruptly interrupted once more by a scream full of pain. The diarrhea from the guard now turning explosive. What was once a faint sound is now filling the jail with very much audible struggling. Disturbed and concerned by the guard’s now even worse outcome they decide to go back to talking to avoid hearing the crying, screaming, cursing and wet noises.
“Uhh-those magnets of yours are very powerful.”
“They are, though it can be difficult sometimes. Metal tends to get attracted. It also makes decoding the cipher machines difficult.”
“How so?”
“It's like the magnets trigger the calibrations faster and leave a smaller window to hit the calibration correctly.”
“That makes sense especially since they are strong magnets.”
“How's decoding for you?”
“Ah!”he blushes at this, a bit embarrassed at what he's about to admit, “to be honest I don't exactly get calibrations…it's like music to me. I never thought that a machine like that would have such a lovely voice…it's such a lovely instrument.”
“...You musicians and artists are a strange lot.”
“Implying that you aren’t strange yourself as well?”
“Oh really?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Standing at Mrs. Plinius’ door knocking repeatedly to ask for donuts. Following her to the woods to ask for donuts. Stalking her and making eye contact with her silently asking for donuts. If you didn't verbalize what you wanted I would have mistook you for a stupid pervert trying to mess with Mrs. Plinius. Messing with her doesn’t seem like the wisest action.”
“PERVERT?!. I can assure you Mr. Kreiburg I am no such thing. IN my defense to me stalking her. She made donuts the other day. And they were delicious. Donuts are delicious overall but hers are the best. And I agree with you on Melly, she is not a woman to be messed with. She could take me in a fight.”
“I can only take your word for it on the donuts and agree with you on Mrs. Plinius. Personally though I wouldn't want to get in a fight with her because she would most definitely snap my back in two the moment she gets my hands on me. I would not complain because she would not give me a chance to do so,” he didn't acknowledge the first name basis that Norton seemed to be on with her. He refuses to dwell on it too.
“Good to know we both fear and respect her. Also, you’ve never had a donut!?”
“Never.”
“When we get out of here I need to take you to a bakery to get some donuts. You’ll be paying for both our donuts of course.”
“Me?!”
“Of course you! Who else?”
“You of course! You were the one that made the invitation.”
“I'm broke and the experience will be worth your money.”
“I'm broke as well.”
“Not as broke as me.”
“I have one less penny to my name than you.”
“I have two less pennies than you.”
“10.”
“25.”
“20 dollars.”
“I need government assistance.”
“So do I, and I need to beg on the side as well to get by.”
“I can’t get by.”
“Neither can I.”
“I only eat once a week.”
“I can only afford stale moldy crumbs once every 3 weeks. That's why I'm so thin.”
“For a thin malnourished man you sure are built in a really delicate way.”
“Because I'm dying of hunger.”
“No you aren’t.”
“Yes I am.”
“You are the one with the biggest appetite at the dining table. Melly eats like a rabbit, I think she's vegetarian. Orpheus has a bigger appetite than her but eats so little like the twink he is. His diet is more liquid than solid. Then it's Alice who says she's a vegetarian but she's not. Then it's YOU. You who eats a bowl of eggs. One glass of wine?! In the morning?! 1 cup of juice, 5 rolls of bread? 3 croissants?! And four lamb chops! You are far from starving Mr. Kreiburg you have a big appetite for such a dainty man.”
“You forget that I am tall! I need a little extra calories! Besides why haven't you included yourself to the list hm? Because you have the biggest appetite!”
“I don't!”
“One massive plate with half eggs and the other half potatoes. Two cups of coffee. 5 slices of toast. A side plate of bacon at least 10 pieces. A rather large omelet with who knows how many toppings. A bowl of oatmeal. And another plate of 10 sausages.”
“Because I'm taller and have more muscle Mr. Kreiburg!”
“Then why didn’t you beat that twink when you arm-wrestled with him?”
“Because!”
“Because why?”
“Because!”
“wHY!?”
“BECAUSE!!!’
“MR. CAMPBELL”
“MR. KREIBURG”
“WHY DID THAT TWINK BEAT YOU? HOW?”
“I WANTED TO GET IT OVER WITH QUICKLY BECAUSE I HAD WHAT HES HAVING!” Pointing in front of them to the closed door they can’t see. The closed door with the war behind it. At this confession and image of Norton going through it the composer laughs hysterically at this. Well, not exactly because of this. This situation has gotten absurd. First they get sent to the deportation center. They can't convince the guard to let them out free. They both confess about what terrible people they are and bond over that. They become friends. They talked about donuts and then about everyone’s diet and now Norton made an embarrassing admission. This isn't what he imagined what his life would turn out to be like. But he'd be a liar if he said he hated every moment.
Norton begins to laugh as well at Frederick's hysterics. He didn't expect the weird man to have a weird laugh. So now there are two men, one with a strange laugh and the other with a raspy wheezing laugh. Laughing hysterically like the world’s funniest joke was told. In reality though…they’re just both entering the last stage of insanity. At least they’re having a good time about it. After a while they somewhat calm down, giggling like school girls and kicking their feet until one of them snorts and then they go back to laughing like maniacs stomping their feet and holding their stomachs bent over in pain. As a result of this Norton gets an asthma attack and instead of panicking as sane people would do, they proceed to laugh harder at the realization that this might be how Norton dies. This lasts for about 5 seconds until they both finally panic. Norton especially. He's brought back harshly to the realization that he's in a dark and cramped space without a way out. His hyperventilating becomes more erratic and he begins to cry.
“Norton. Norton! Deep breaths! Deep Breaths! Look at me!” placing his hands on the other’s shoulders he tries to bring his attention to him.
“Breath with me!”
One deep breath in. He holds it for 4 seconds. Deep breath out for 4 seconds. Frederick continues this while maintaining whatever eye contact they could have in the dark space. After a few moments Norton follows along. Taking shuddering breaths at first which gives way to another bout of erratic breathing. This continues with each breath becoming more controlled bit by bit until both men are copying each other. Norton’s breathing finally calms down. With a low noise deep within his chest he begins to cry. He leans into his new friend and cries in the crook of his neck as he clings to him the way he wishes he had someone to hold onto back in the cave. His scars burn once more feeling fresh like the day he got them. The air is suffocating once more with the stench of blood, rot, and smoke. And the moaning and screaming of his coworkers as they either gradually became quiet or stopped suddenly.
“They had families. Rupert had a sick wife with a baby on the way. Franklin was a father of five. Jerry was newly married. Klein wanted to pay off his parent’s debt. One ear George wanted to make enough money to get educated. Grayson had a little brother to care for. He always made sure to give his brother 3 meals a day and send him to school even if it meant he barely ate and had to work long hours. Oh what did I do, what did I do. I'm a monster. I deserve to go to hell. It should have been me that died in that mining accident. It was my fault! Illegal explosives and impatience. If only I listened to Benny. But I didn't and now I have all their blood on my hands. All 64 of them died. I made widows and orphans that day. Parents became childrenless. I hate myself. I hate myself more than anything. I hate myself more than anyone. I wish I was dead. I wish I had to guts to kill myself but I’m a coward. A coward who's afraid of the dark like some child,” after this Norton’s speech became unintelligible. Blubbering and stuttering words as he held on tightly. Finally letting his guilt and regrets out after suppressing it for so long. Crying and crying because he was inconsolable and didn't want comfort. Screaming at himself and for all the sins he's committed because of his greed. Having no shame of being in this state because when you've lived every waking moment in that state one forgets what it feels like. He holds on tight and shuts his eyes tightly hoping the screams and stench would somehow go away. Tries to pretend he's out in that sunny forest clearing, and when Frederick holds him tighter and rubs his back he pretends it's his papa.
They stay like that even after Norton calms down and his tears dry up. The vulnerable man still keeps his eyes shut.
“Can we stay like this?”
“Yes.”
“I'm sorry I ruined your clothes.”
“It's alright, it can be cleaned.”
He sniffled in response.
“You’ll be the one cleaning it of course.”
They both smile at this.
“I'm afraid of the dark and tight spaces.”
A hum in response.
“After the incident I had to sleep with some source of light. I would buy the big fat candles so they could last all night and so that way when I woke up in the morning I wouldn't have to go out and buy more. In order to prevent myself from being in tight spaces I became a prospector. It paid more and there's no need to go underground. People didn't approach me for details of the incident. They only gave some words of comfort out of courtesy. I thought they would have helped me but after they gave their few words of consolation they left in more ways than one. I was left with only guilt and regret for company…the memories plague me almost every night. Sometimes I feel like my usual reserved and gloomy demeanor became even more reserved and gloomy. I'm still stubborn too, but with more caution. I don't jump headfirst into situations anymore. Can't afford to do that, don't want another accident. If it even counts as an accident…”
They sit in silence still holding each other. After a while the composer speaks up.
“You know…I think it's quite brave of you to admit to all that. You aren’t a monster Mr. Campbell, if you were then you wouldn't have cared about your actions…”
“...Can we stay like this?”
The other hums in response.
“Does this make us friends?” They both said this at the same time. They giggle and hug each other tighter before letting go and holding each other with one arm as they sit side by side. Frederick takes out a handkerchief and hands it towards Norton who proceeds to blow his nose with it. The guard has stopped screaming but his crying is still one of pain. He’s begun to pray…poor man.
Desperate for a change in topic and other noise to fill their room Norton speaks the first thing that comes to mind. “Mr. Kreiburg–”
“Frederick.”
“Frederick. Why do you drink wine in the morning? Every morning too. Are you by any chance a functioning alcoholic?”
“Goodness no. It's just one glass each day and only in the morning. It tastes better in the morning in my opinion. It also makes the dinner table antics much more bearable.”
“Tastes better?”
“Mhm.”
“Then why do you keep aerating it?”
“The more I aerate it, the less alcohol I taste.”
“Mhmm..”
“Oh?”
“I feel like there's more to that.”
“...”
“Well?”
“It's fun…”
“What?”
“It's fun..”
“Say it louder, you're too quiet.”
“It's fun!”
“fun?”
“The way it just swishes and twirls around. And as I spin it I think inside my head ‘swish swish swish’.”
“...”
“...”
“So this whole time, whenever the table got tense, you were only paying attention to your wine thinking ‘swish swish swish’ as you were spinning it?”
“Yes.”
“...what type of game is that?”
“One that keeps me entertained.”
“...”
“Swish swish swish.”
“Can I play that with you next time?”
“Swishing buddies?”
“Swishing buddies”
They then proceed to pretend to aerate wine and drink it. Making swishing and swooshing sounds the entire time. Occasionally clinking their imaginary glasses and saying cheers. This goes on for too long. But for two men who are losing their sanity they could go on for as long as they wanted to. Time is but an illusion in this deportation cell.
After a while though, Frederick looks more and more uncomfortable as more and more time passes. Until he looks slightly distressed.. Which probably means that he's in so much inner turmoil and distress. Norton can't help but be concerned about this.
“Frederick, is everything all right?”
“No...when Orpheus burst in the room I quickly drank my wine before we got dragged out. But that might have been a terrible idea because now I really have to go.”
“Alcoholic. How long have you been holding it in?”
“When we were laughing hysterically.”
“There's a bucket in the corner.”
“Disgusting.”
“You’ll have to make do with that unless you want to soil your pants.”
“Hmph.”
“I wont judge.”
“It's not that, it's just undignified. Also rude.”
“We did our needs in the mines all the time. Sometimes we talked while we were doing our business. Just bury it or get a nice empty box that you found randomly lying around. I'll pee with you if that takes away your shyness.”
“No!”
“Ah I see, you’re the type that likes having his hand held.”
“NO!” This man was making him show more emotion than he was used to. He may be a straightforward man, but still it was improper to be so emotional. They already didn't like how he didn't bother to hide his emotions most of the time. However, a bucket is at stake here. A bucket that might be pissed in. The aristocracy would disapprove. Screw them! With this he gets up and stumbles over a few steps to get to the bucket. Slightly kicking out his feet in search of it. When he finally finds it in the corner after 3 seconds he rethinks his whole life, debating his possible action.
“Mr. Campbell-”
“Norton. We’re friends, remember? Besides since we're going to be in the same room while you piss we might as well be on a first name basis. I also call you by your first name too so it's only fair I extend the same thing.”
“Very well then. Norton, do you have soap or hand sanitizer?”
“Why would I?”
“Because why would one want to walk around with dirty hands?”
“That's why sinks exist.”
“Yes, but what about when there isn't a sink like this situation?”
“Then you live life praying you don't get typhoid or spread it.”
“How helpful,” rolling his eyes.
He takes off his gloves and puts them in his coat pocket. He then overthinks for about 5 seconds and takes off his coat, throwing it at Nortons head.
“Why are you getting undressed? Don't tell me you’re the type that gets naked to do their business. I know you’re strange but I didn't think you were that type of weird person.”
“I beg pardon!? What type of person does that Norton? Norton, such people don't exist!”
“Then why are you undressing? And such people do exist. I had five co-workers that did that. I witnessed them. Multiple times in fact. They would always give a warning that they had to go but if you were unfortunate to not be there when they announced it there would be a chance of you walking in on them.”
“They were probably in a cult. Besides, I'm not exactly undressing. I just took off my gloves because I'm not going to pee with them on. And I took off my coat so I can roll my sleeves easier. Now I'm starting to second guess your intentions with Mrs. Plinius. You're starting to seem like a pervert, Norton. Mr. Peeping Tom”
“I am no peeping Tom. I have never seen a naked woman in my life.”
“But you've certainly seen naked men several times.”
“On accident.”
“Hmm, liar. It was probably intentional.”
“What are you two idiots on!? Cocaine!?”
“AAAHHHH!!!”
“WAAHHHH!!!”
Both men scream at this new voice. Frederick cowers in the corner and Norton jumps up standing on the bench. A lantern illuminates the cell showing two strange screaming men who looked like baby owls standing up. When their eyes adjust to the light they see before them a pudgy man with red rimmed eyes coated in sweat. The light shining off of the sweat makes his sickly pale skin look like it's glowing, giving off the appearance of a ghost. It doesn't help that the newcomer is shaking and his voice is hoarse. At the sight of this the prospector and composer scream even more, eyes tearing up thinking that this was how they were going to die. They run to each other and cling on close. If they were going to die at least they had each other. They were going to die as friends even though they've only just become so in like an hour or so.
“IDIOTS! WHY ARE YOU SCREAMING?!”
“YOU’RE GOING TO KILL US!”
“WE DON'T WANT TO BECOME GHOSTS LIKE YOU!”
“I'M HUMAN I'M ALIVE!. STUPID CHILDREN! ”
“PROVE IT!”
“HOW?!?!”
“I DON'T KNOW!”
“I LITERALLY JUST CAME BACK FROM FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE I DON'T NEED THIS NONSENSE I DON'T GET PAID ENOUGH!”
The guard realizes that it's hopeless trying to reason with them so he just stands there, sick and tired of his life. After their screams stop and they catch their breaths Norton speaks up with an accusatory tone.
“Who are you? How long have you been standing there?”
“I'm the one who was at the desk you dimwit!”
“Oh…you look…different…”
“A changed man…” adds Frederick.
“I feel different!” he grumbles, waddling over to the fixed lamps around the room lighting them up with the lantern he's holding. Insulting them as he's lighting up the dingy room.
“Officer, you didn't answer my second question!”
“Why should i?”
“Because it’ll make you look like a creep if you don’t. We’ll be forced to think that you’ve been there the whole time.”
“Hmph if you must know I got out of the bathroom when that one,” pointing his chin towards Frederick “,was taking off his gloves and coat. When I arrived here you two were talking about your,” nodding his head towards Norton “,co-workers. I intervened when the conversation became more strange because I don't want to deal with your nonsense.”
“It's not nonsense, it was a very important discussion.”
“Discussing your perverted tendencies is important?”
“I. am. Not. a. Pervert.”
“Pardon sir, but is there a sink I can use?” seeing this as a chance to not piss in some bucket in the corner.
“What for?”
“To wash my hands sir,” it takes a lot in him to not snap at him.
“Why do you want to wash your hands?”
“To prevent the spread of typhoid.”
“Hmph” he leads him right in front of the cell and shows him into a small bathroom. A sink and toilet. Just what he needed. Frederick nearly cries at the sight of this. It may be dingy just like the cell once was, and with questionable piping, but in the moment it looks like paradise. Even more so since it isn't the same bathroom the guard just came out of. He nods his head in thanks and closes the door. Washing his hands with the cold water after relieving himself and drying them on his pants he walks out feeling much better.
“You seem a changed man.”
“I feel a changed man,” Frederick says while adjusting his sleeve cuffs.
“He is a changed man,” includes Norton.
The guard then roughly grabs the back of the composer’s shirt and shoves him back in the cell. Frederick side eyes him and he walks over to the bench while he fixes his shirt. Grabbing his crimson coat from Norton’s head. Thanking him for taking care of it.
“Officer, may I use the bathroom too?”
The guard looks at him with an annoyed expression and opens the bars once more and leads him to the bathroom even though it's just 8 paces. After a minute he comes out looking a changed man as well.
“You also had to pee the whole time?”
“That's why I asked if you wanted to hold hands. We could have been pissing buddies Frederick. Your loss.”
“I beg to differ”
“Then beg”
The guard rolls his eyes at this realizing that he was going to be stuck with these people for a long time. Despite his butthole burning due to it being the battleground he finds that more pleasant than the antics from the two men he’ll have to endure. He should have prayed for something else in that bathroom.
“Frederick..?”
“Norton.”
“If I was actually a pervert that was stalking Melly…”
“I wouldn't want to associate myself with you. You weren't being one were you?”
“I'm no pervert. But if I was. Was!” noticing the side eye Frederick was giving him “Not that I am; just a hypothetical question. IF i was being one towards her what would you have done?”
“Even though I trust Mrs. Plinius to hold out on her own, I would call you out and keep my eye on you. But if there was a sign of even the slightest distress or if you start to make her uncomfortable then I wouldn't hesitate to physically intervene. I would beat you with my cane and then give the cane to her. Me taking the first hit would be to stun you and to get you off of her whether that be literally or figuratively.”
“What a gentleman.”
“What else would I be. Besides, why are you asking that?”
“Just curious.”
“Liar!”
“What?”
“That is not a natural question. There is more to that question. It's not just curiosity, there's some intention behind it.”
“...”
“Well?”
“Hmph.”
“Your blushing…why are you blushing?”
Norton mumbles something and ducks his head.
“Norton…”
More mumbling.
A gasp of horror “You are a pervert!”
“NO!!! Can we leave this pervert business behind? I'm not one!” he says this nearly in tears.
“With the way you're acting all dodgy…” interjects the guard.
“It's not that! It's just–well–” the accusation and embarrassment along with the nervousness to what he's going to confess make him stumble over his words.
“Norton, breathe.”
A deep breath and he turns to look towards his new friend.
“You promise not to tell anyone?”
“I promise.”
“You swear!”
“Absolutely!”
Norton holds out his pinky towards Frederick. Both of them silently promise. Even if it seemed childish, for them it was a sacred act. To open up and willingly be vulnerable should always be taken seriously.
“Norton..?”
The one in question looks down and bites his lip. The silence stifling. Frederick places his hand on Norton’s shoulder giving him a reassuring look.
“Melly…she…” whatever he was going to confess fades into the air. With how Norton is acting, Frederick is starting to get nervous. Did she do something to him? Say something? He knows all too well that women are just as capable as men when it comes to certain…actions….He can only hope that nothing of that sort happened to Norton. At this thought he begins to become worried.
“Norton, you can trust me. I won’t judge you. Here, if it helps you can spell each letter on my hand,” he gives his hands towards him palm up. Norton, not breaking eye contact with him, begins to spell.
I
Frederick mouths “I” looking at Norton for approval. Using his free hand to cover the side of his mouth.
Norton nods in confirmation.
L
“L” and another nod.
I
Another “I” and nod. The prospectors finger slightly shaking and clammy.
K
“K…” at this his eyes widened. It all clicks and he says in a softer tone than usual “you're infatuated with her.”
Norton nods his head and hangs it, face turning red as he fiddles with his fingers. Frederick places his arm over his shoulder and gives him a reassuring squeeze. “I won’t tell anyone, don't worry.”
“Promise?” in a weak and vulnerable tone that wasn’t known to be associated with him.
“Yes. We are friends after all, no?”
“Thank you.”
He smiles in response.
“So? Is he a pervert or not?”
“Shut up! We’re having a moment!” propriety be damned, this idiot ruined the moment! The pudgy man lifts his hands in defeat and goes back to grumbling at his desk. Frederick not bothering to conceal his disdain and side-eye towards the man.
“Is she aware of your feelings towards her?”
“I'm not sure to be honest. Yesterday we kind of told each other about our past. We didn't go too far into detail but we sort of bonded through that.”
“I see.”
“Will you be my wingman?”
“Naturlich.”
"Natürlich..natürlich….Natürlich? I thought you were French."
“...You dimwit. I'm Austrian.”
“Then why did you say that you were French?”
“Do you not know how to apply context? Besides, you weren’t there when it happened, who told you?”
“Melly told me you said you were French”
“Did she tell you the context?”
“Just that she said that she pointed out that you and Mary had the same last name and–oooh…not French…”
“Yeah, not French.”
“Wait! Your parents are government officials right?”
“I-m-wh-huh! Norton! Where did you get this? No one in my family is a government official! All the Kreiburgs follow the path of music.”
“Well I'm sorry! I thought they were because you mentioned being exiled.”
“That doesn't mean that they’re government officials.”
“Well you made it seem like they were.”
“I said I was exiled because I was disowned and kicked out of Vienna. They forced me to go live in Paris. That's what I meant by exile. Besides, even if my family consisted of government officials, why would you want to know that?”
“Because if they were then maybe they could have helped us out.”
“How?”
“Negotiating of course!”
“Even if they were, they wouldn't have helped because they disowned me and I embarrassed them. So why would they help out someone who would only embarrass them?”
“Let me have a good idea for once!”
“Then have a good idea for once!”
“Will you two shut up!”
The victims of Orpheus give the guard an annoyed look. Whatever sympathies they had for him vanished.
“Hope you suffer the same way again,” mutters Norton.
Frederick chokes at this. Trying to suppress a laugh.
“What are you doing?”
“Can the man not cough in peace? Leave my friend alone!”
“The place isn't even dusty, there's no reason for him to choke!”
“This place stinks and he's choking on the stench!”
“You can't choke on stench!”
“Well he can!”
“How so?”
“He is a very delicately built man if you can't see. He has the face of an abandoned cat left in the rain to top it off as well. He can barely hold up a cup to his lips without spilling the whole thing. His hands are so shaky when he lifts it up that he needs to use a straw.”
“That's not true at all!”
“Then why were you choking?”
“I was choking on the stench as you said. But my hands are not shaky. I'm a pianist. I require strong hands and have strong hands as a result of that. Hmph!” he crosses his arms and turns away from Norton.
“Aw, did I hurt your feelings? Did I hurt your pride?” he pokes and prods at the man with the wounded pride. Trying desperately to find his tickle spot.
The guard sighs once more resigned to his poopy fate. He hopes the storm ends soon.