Chapter Text
As the clouds part, a flock of gulls fly over the Marigold River, heading down to an area of wealth and expansive taste. Downtown Elmville is full of mansions and manors, but it is also home to a colossal man o'war; a gilded pirate ship. Great and mighty and far from the water, it had been dragged ashore, turned into a grandoise manor.
Fabian Aramais Seacaster sits on the edge of his messy bed, the bitter chords of his electric guitar the only sound in the empty halls. A room that used to be full of memorabilia, trophies and awards and weaponry, is now laid bare.
Technically, it's his second first day of school. The year prior, he had been gunning for captain of the swim team at a preppy high school. He had assumed he was a half-elf; the strangest thing about him had been that his dad was the notorious Captain William Seacaster.
And then his horns had grown in. Fabian had been told, in no uncertain terms, that he was no longer a Seacaster. The patch over his eye is the only reminder he keeps of the captain.
It's lonely without all of the pirates, without his Papa. Well, not his Papa anymore. William Seacaster. It wasn't like his Mama was fluttering about to fill the silence, either; since Papa— Seacaster had left, she had hardly left her egg. Cathilda was the only person keeping the Manor afloat.
Speaking of. "Master Fabian, I hear you're awake," the halfling murmurs, carefully nudging the door open. "I've brought your shake, and some kippers to get the day started."
"Thank you, Cathilda," Fabian murmurs. Part of him wants to keep up the appearances with her— to be bitter and angry and fierce— but the rest of him can respect the only adult that's in his corner right now. He takes the green sludge. He used to love it, but now it just turns to ash on his tongue.
Sol, and the kippers. Such a pirate-y fucking snack. He sets them aside.
"Would you like a ride to school, dear boy?"
He sighs, adjusting his jacket. Fabian Aramais Seacaster would have hated it, red leather and vaguely uncomfortable and really not 'popular'-looking at all. Just Fabian loves it. "No, thank you, Cathilda."
She always looks so profoundly sad when she looks at him. Fabian can't decide if he wants to be angry about it or not. She takes his unoccupied hand, squeezing it gently. "I never had much in the way of book learning, myself," she murmurs, "and neither did my children. But I have seen you, Fabian, and I am certain—" She reaches up to hold his cheek like he's still a little boy, even though he has to lean down and she has to stretch upward— "that you will be just fine, dear."
Not darling. Never darling. Fabian sighs through his nose. "Of course, Cathilda."
—
The neighborhood of Elm Valley is mostly filled with conservative human families, with one exception: the Applebees, a family of goblins. They had done their best to fit in and had fallen unfortunately short; their eldest daughter had been sent to and kicked out of every summer camp around.
Said eldest daughter, Kristen Applebees, is already awake when her alarm goes off. Her morning coffee trembles in her hands and her pastel sweater vest is already on. Her best friend— well, and technically her and her brothers' babysitter, but mostly her best friend— had gone missing over the summer. She had thrown herself headfirst into the case, despite what her parents thought.
Goblins weren't the most well-liked species of Elmville, so her parents could be a little... protective. And slightly racist. But they meant well, so Kristen just tried to redirect and prove them wrong. That had been why she was so insistent on going to Aguefort. So many different kinds of people rubbed shoulders at the Aguefort Adventuring Academy. She would find a party of elves and orcs and all sorts of folks, and show her parents that being goblins didn't mean they needed to be bitter.
"I swear to God, Bricker, if you don't give your dad back his halberd, you're not gonna be able to play when you get home!" Kristen shoves her clue board away at the sound of her mom's shouting. Across the hall in the living room, she can hear her energetic little brothers. They didn't start school for another hour after she did, but they got up just as early; for them, that meant another hour of playtime. The yelling continues, closer to her room now, "Now go wash your hands and get ready to get to school!"
Kristen packs up her briefcase: color-coded folders, stickers, pencils and silly erasers, coffee thermos— she even made business cards. She's going to make so many friends.
Her mom knocks thrice and steps into the room, asking, "Kristen, you up in there? You almost ready to go, sweetheart?"
"Sure am!" She bounds to the door, swinging her case in her hand. Her mom makes a face when she sees it, but doesn't comment. "I just finished packing my bag."
"Okay, sweetie," Donna responds slowly. "Kiddo, I know you like being professional, but don't you think this is a bit... much?" Kristen stares at her, oblivious. "Y'know, it's not too late for us to send you to Mumple. You'll fit right in there," she says.
"No, Mom! I wanna rub shoulders with real people!"
"Look, kiddo, I just— you're gonna be going to school with elves, and—"
"—Mom, I think your and Dad's stance is racist," Kristen interrupts, sliding past her to start for the car. Donna sputters before she runs after, but doesn't continue the argument. Kristen picks up on the fact that she's sulking, though. "I love you, and I think you're really smart, but I think you pretend not to be so you don't have to think about it."
Mac, her dad, glances between them. "Everything alright, kiddo? Donna?"
"We're fine, Dad!" Kristen Applebees is already out the door. "Just gonna go meet my elf friends!"
"What the hell— you have elf friends already?!"
"I hope so! I hope I don't even have one goblin friend!" She jumps into the car, claiming the coveted window seat, and closes the door. It's gonna be a good day.
—
It's a misty morning in Little Branch, the area of town where the small folks live. There's lots of miniature houses, but one in particular sticks out: a tree on a corner, home to the Thistlesprings. It's covered in clever Gnomish contraptions, levers and pulleys and all sorts of things. In one of the windows, looking too big to be there, sits a lanky half-elf.
Gorgug Thistlespring's room takes up a good chunk of the trunk he lives in. He's quite a lot bigger than the house he's in, knees drawn to his chest. From his headphones ring a steady melody; he doodles, he keeps to himself, he doesn't make a lot of friends.
His bed is broken where a spell had hit it; he had a lot of nightmares, and sometimes he lashed out while he slept.
When Digby and Wilma Thistlespring enter, they're already set for the day. Goggles, tools, instruments (as in, literal instruments), even down to pointy shoes and aprons.
"Well, hey there, sweetie!" Wilma beams, "You're already up!"
"Yeah, I got up pretty early," Gorgug sheepishly shrugs, reaching out to nudge the broken bedframe with his foot. "I broke my bed again."
"Oh, sweetheart. Aw, on the first day of school!" Digby darts over and immediately sets to mending it, saying, "Hey, y'know what? Sometimes a thing gets broken, and when you rebuild it, it's stronger for it! Breaking things isn't bad, bud!"
"You keep saying that, but I keep breaking it," Gorgug mumbles. "Maybe I need a focus."
"Oh! We've got just the thing, bud!" Digby darts off deeper into the house, returning a moment later with a tin flower in her hand. "Here, buddy! I know it's not a typical big ol' crystal ball, or anything, but your mom and I made sure it would still channel magic like a champ!"
It's definitely going to get him made fun of by the other wizards, but he takes it anyway. It feels like being loved; he can't turn that down, no matter how embarrassing it is.
"Now, kiddo," his mom says gently, "I know back at Oakshield that it was a bit of a hurdle trying to... trying to make pals, right? But making pals is just like making a flower!"
"It's just like making a flower?" Gorgug echoes, uncertain. His hand twitches toward the door handle, ready to leave— he loves his parents, but they could be a little much sometimes...
"Sure, everything's just like something else!"
Somehow, he doubts that. "Please don't sing a song." (His dad puts the ukulele away.)
"Well, with a flower," Wilma continues, resting a hand on his elbow, "you think, 'hey, what should that thing look like? How would I make it, what would I do?'" She leans around him to open the door, unphased by the mist. They step onto the lawn together. "And you're thoughtful, and you're real careful with it, and you put the elbow grease in, and you do it with love the whole time."
Gorgug's parents always look at him like he's their pride and joy, but this morning especially they smile like the sun. Digby cuts in, "If you just go be yourself, your great good self with your great big heart, I know you'll make some friends."
"Thanks," he whispers, shoving his hands in his pockets. The flower fits almost perfectly. "I'll go to school and try to make a friend today."
—
Clearbrook is a neighborhood that's further north, surrounded by lofty woods. The shady street leads up to the gated Abernant residence, where the family within gathers at their breakfast nook.
Angwyn and Arianwen Abernant are both high elves; a diplomat and a professor at the prestigious Hudol college, respectively. Miss Adaine Abernant, therefore, sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the elven energy and unseen servants.
Adaine is a half-orc, adopted as a "good-natured" publicity stunt. It had earned the Abernants a place among the good-hearted people of Elmville, when Angwyn and Arianwen were really anything but.
"Ghastly business, that," Angwyn says, rustling the paper in his hands. "I'm sure this will come up at the next meeting of the council. Truly dreadful."
Adaine looks up from her breakfast for a moment, soaking in the silence. "I hate it when you do that," she whispers. Her father quirks an eyebrow at her. "You say something is dreadful, but you don't say what it is."
"Do you want to know?"
"I don't know!"
"Adaine," he sighs, always so disappointed, "an inquiring mind is one that sees before it the opportunity for knowledge and strives to move forward."
"If you really wanted me to know things," she retorts, voice thin, "you would get me a paper, too! But instead you sit here and you say 'oh gosh, terrible, drat, what a thing,'" She pitches her voice down, a terrible impression of her father; she doesn't have it in her to care. "Instead of saying 'oh look, here's some actual practical information that you might want to know.'"
Arianwen glances up from her papers. "I believe you should get the paper on your crystal, Adaine dear," she murmurs, unaware of the way her daughter's fists curl into the tablecloth.
"I'm not allowed a crystal because I failed the entrance exam," Adaine hisses, fighting back her rage.
"That's right," Arianwen hums. "I'm sorry, dear, I'm rather busy. I'm trying to get this curriculum today."
"Yes, you're always rather busy for me," Adaine grumbles.
Her mother doesn't respond to her pointed comment, instead glancing up to Angwyn. "Dear, do tell me what you see in the news."
"Well, the elven oracle has died in a shipwreck," he explains, "Very dreadful business. On her way from Fallinel to Bastion City, it looks like her ship, the Cerulean, just went down." He flips the page, sighing. "I'm sure the art magi have no end of talking about what's to be done."
Under her breath, Adaine whispers, "She couldn't have been that good an oracle if she didn't see the storm coming."
Both of her parents glare at her. She fights not to wince under their gazes, picking at an egg with her fork. "Adaine," Angwyn starts, eyes narrowed. "I understand that, as a barbarian," he says it like a foreign word, disdainful, "you expirience rages. But you mustn't have them at the breakfast nook. Perhaps you could try some sort of coping mechanism— perhaps singing a song, or something."
"May I be excused?" Adaine repeats, fighting to keep her voice even. "I have to catch the bus."
Arianwen nods and waves her away, and she stomps out the door.
"Mom and Dad are always mad," Adaine grumbles, scuffing a shoe against the cement. "Why am I not allowed to be? 'Sing a song'? What am I, a toddler?!" She groans, flattening her hands over her mouth.
She boards the bus to Aguefort in a school uniform that doesn't belong.
—
Ballaster is a much more run-down part of Elmville; a seedy, bad part of town. Strongtower Luxury Apartments lie at the heart of Ballaster, arcano-crystals blinking ominously. A small one-bedroom apartment is home to the human Gukgak family.
Before the summer, Riz Gukgak had been gunning to follow in his father's footsteps. His mother had made a desperate prayer. Now, Riz Gukgak is the chosen one of Helio. It had been a rough transition, but Riz was managing. Healing was a useful skill.
Sklonda Gukgak is the chief of the Elmville Police; she works strange, long hours, and gets a lot of shit for a lot of reasons. Riz is in the living room praying when she walks in. "Oh, Riz, sweetie, you're up?" She sighs. "What are you doing?"
"Praying," Riz responds immediately. "I got some sleep— four hours, we said four hours was the minimum, so."
"Four hours is the minimum," she concedes. She marches to the kitchen, carefully ruffling Riz's hair on the way by. He had taken to being a cleric like he had taken to anything else: obsessively. "You hungry, sweetie, you want something to eat?"
He winces. "Yeah, something to eat would be great," he mumbles, popping up onto a stool at the counter.
The fridge smells like mold and mildew and expired food. Sklonda sighs heavily again, "Okay, I gotta go to the store." She fixes them two bowls of cereal, and inspects the milk carefully before pouring it into one bowl. She fills the other one with water, trying to keep it hidden from Riz (Riz sees it anyway).
"Alright." She sets the bowl with milk in front of him. "Eat up, sweetie. I'll find some time to go to the store. Hey, first day, right?"
"Right," Riz says through a mouthful.
"And this Saturday," Sklonda says carefully, "it's the five year anniversary. So if you wanna head over to the cemetary, we can go visit Dad and—" Riz makes a face, and she stumbles over her words, "I mean, we can go in the morning, if you've got stuff to do. 'Cause I know you're going to make friends at school."
"Yeah, yeah, the morning works," Riz says, fidgeting with the hem of his tie-dye tee.
Sklonda takes a breath and takes their dishes into her hands. She sets them in the sink— Riz notices a gash on her arm, scabbed over but not healed.
"Oh— Mom, let me—" a golden light flicks out from his fingers; it shivers in the air before it reaches Sklonda's arm. "Still gettin' used to that. Good as new!"
She gives him a soft smile. "Thanks, kiddo. I'm gonna get some sleep, okay?" She kisses him on the head, continuing, "I love you. Have a great day at school. Tell me all about it when you get home, okay?"
"Okay," Riz says, hugging his mom on the way out. "Thanks, Mom! Bye, love you!"
—
The attic of the elven Faeth home— a quaint place out by the highway, without a lot of foot traffic— is covered in a mismash of posters. Old middle school pink and unicorns, newer rock bands and tour lists.
Figueroth Faeth used to be captain of the cheer team, but now, she's decided she wants to play. She gets invited to every party and wins every heart, and she's sick of being tossed around. It's time for her to do some tossing.
"I've been knocking up a storm, sweetheart!" Sandralynn— Fig's mother— calls. "You're gonna miss the bus!"
"Coming, Mom! I was just stretching!" She takes off down the stairs. Her skirt collection has been gathering dust all summer, now replaced with athletic sweatpants and ripped jeans. Figueroth has been growing into her punk phase like she belongs in it. "Hi, Dad!"
"Hello, darling daughter," Gilear greets her warmly, dressed in a smart button down. "Are you excited for your first day?"
"Oh yeah," Fig responds, bouncing on her heels. She glances between her parents, snatching up a plate of toast. Muffled through her mouthful, she asks, "What was your first day like, Mom?"
Sandralynn sighs fondly. "Well," she draws out, nibbling on toast of her own, "I walked right up to the toughest person I could see, and I socked him." She shakes her head. "I got in so much trouble, but I wanted to prove that I wasn't gonna get pushed around. Me and that kid wound up friends, actually..." she trails off, nostalgic.
"Cool," says Fig, swooshing the leftover crumbs into the trash.
"Please do not do that," Gilear intercedes, taking her plate to the sink along with his own. "Dearest daughter, you should run along," he says, glancing up at the clock, "I'm sure the bus will be here—"
The bus revs by.
"...Dammit," Sandralynn sighs, reaching over to rustle Fig's hair. She looks torn between mortified and amused. "Okay, well. I gotta get to work. Gil, do you want to..?"
"Come along, Figueroth."
"Have a good day at school, sweetie!" Sandralynn calls, stepping out onto the front lawn. Baxter, the humungous griffin, lands before her, caw-cawing into the open air. She climbs atop him, scratching him above the beak. "I love you!"
"Love you too, Mom!"
Figueroth follows Gilear out to the car, piling into the passenger seat. Her backpack is adorned with pastels and punk pins. "Do I have to go?" She asks.
"Yes, dear," Gilear murmurs, smiling fondly. "You must go to school. I understand it isn't the sirt of 'real life expirience' you want, but—"
"There's beans on your shirt," Fig interrupts teasingly. He makes a face at her, and they both burst into laughter.