Chapter Text
The man catches her eye right away. Vex is placing an orange in her basket, trading coin for grapes and spices to make dinner for her brother, when she spots him. There, just out of the corner of her eye. A shock of white hair, crooked glasses – lanky, but coordinated. Tall, standing proud, buying pears. He doesn’t see her, because most people in this world do not, unless Vex decides they should. So it is easy to follow, to inspect and determine that, yes, this time – this time – she has found him.
She runs home.
“You’re absolutely sure?”
“I am,” Vex calls out from the living room, where her head is under the sofa. She hears her brother sigh, but she keeps reaching, finally pulling out the rolled up canvas and tossing it behind her. “Scoff all you want, but I know what I saw.”
“Yes,” Vax says dryly. “Just like the last eleven times.”
Vex shakes her head. “This is different. You didn’t see him, Vax. Tomorrow,” she adds. “You and I will go out. I’m sure he’ll be there, he looked quite comfortable with the market.”
“Ah yes, I forgot that, in addition to being desperate, you are also psychic.” Vax tugs a few grapes off the bunch and pops them into his mouth. “Forgive me for doubting you.”
“Brother.” Vex spreads the canvas out on the floor of their living room, hands ghosting over the edges. “You might think me insane, or perhaps on the cusp of it—” (“The former,” Vax interjects.) “But I know precisely what I saw. And even if I am wrong, which I am not, he is as close to the real thing as you or I will ever get.”
“Vex.” Her brother comes to kneel beside her, looking over the painting. “I think it may be time for us to let this go. For you to let this go. We’ve tried a dozen times almost, and we have failed just as many.” He puts a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t want to see you disappointed all over again.”
Vex shakes her head. “No. I am right about this. Come to the market with me tomorrow.” She looks down at the ripped canvas, her gaze falling on her favorite subject. “You’ll see what I saw.”
In the morning, Vax begrudgingly agrees to accompany her, following at a distance. Vex had described the white-haired man in as much detail as she could, and Vax would be able to spot him at any distance. They peruse, keeping an eye out for that tell-tale head. Vex sees him after an hour, making his way toward the date seller. She moves closer, pretends to look at the fruit that’s come in from Marquette, keeping him in her peripheral. He moves on, she follows. Vax spots him as well, she can see her brother coming up on the other side, keeping his distance. He gives her a nod, and Vex makes her move.
A calculated hip-check sends him and his dates scattering across the ground as Vex tumbles to her knees.
“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”
The man sits up, righting his glasses and looking at his lost purchase. He sighs. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, I’m fine. Are you?” He looks her over as she tries to pick up the dates and put them back into his basket. “No, no, don’t do that. They’re gone now.” He picks up the basket and stands, reaching out to help her up. “I’ll get more later.”
“Please let me buy them for you.”
He shakes his head. “No, that’s quite alright.”
“I have some at home!” Vex says quickly. “You could follow me and I could give them to you.”
“I’m not taking your food.”
“They’re only snacks, it’s perfectly alright. I feel terrible, you’d just bought them.” She winks, shifting her stance and gesturing with her chin back the way she came. “It’s hardly a walk, just a few minutes and you can have your dates again.”
The man sighs. “You’re not going to give this up, are you?”
Vex laughs. “Darling, I never give up.”
He chuckles. “Alright. Lead the way.” He gives her a little bow and Vex smiles. “May I have your name, though, at least? Before I’m lead to what could potentially be my doom?”
“Have you no faith, darling?”
“Not much, no. It’s a curse.”
She smiles. “Understandable. It’s Vex’ahlia, but you can call me Vex, of course.”
“Well that’s not ominous at all.” They turn a corner and he looks at her. “You can call me Percy.”
Vex nearly drops her basket.
The story of the painting is this: it was acquired by a certain gnome who was not as good at card games as he liked to claim, particularly when Vex’ahlia and money were involved. It was a painting of the de Rolo’s, the ruling family of Whitestone, and had been smuggled from the castle after the family’s death. It was valued at a high price, but Vex only needed part of it. Not to sell, but to compare. The going price for the painting was coppers compared to what was being offered for something even more valuable than portraits.
Years ago, an uprising in Whitestone killed the de Rolo’s, except for one: Cassandra,the youngest de Rolo and a toddler at the time, had been spared, and the uprising squashed. But, according to local tale, the third son of the family, the second eldest son, had survived. Cassandra de Rolo apparently believed it, too, because she was offering quite a sum for the return of her brother.
Vex had heard and even told the story hundreds of times, to men she had thought could either be Percival or at least pass for him. But each one had failed the test, run away, or been otherwise flawed.
And none of them had even claimed for a moment to be called Percy.
So when Vex hears it, when she sees this man who looks so much like the young boy in the half of the painting she won from Scanlan – when he tells her to call him Percy – she nearly chokes.
But she is a professional. Vex and her brother have been running scams and spinning stories for years. So she doesn’t flinch but for a moment, and smiles.
“A lovely name. Haven’t heard that one before, actually.”
“Neither have I,” Percy admits. “But it was the one given to me.” He looks at his boots, seemingly lost for a moment, before he looks back at her. “I don’t even hear it from myself too often. You’re the first person outside of my flatmate I’ve spoken to in a while.”
“I’m terribly glad to be one of your firsts, then.” Vex leads him up a set of rickety outdoor stairs toward the third floor of her and her brother’s little apartment building. Inside, she turns on a light – “New addition,” she says, pleased. – and gestures toward the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll just grab those dates.” She vanishes into the kitchen, keeping an eye on him. He doesn’t sit, of course, instead glancing around and putting his hands on little parts of the flat – a very old photo, the dusty curtains, the rudimentary light switch. He reaches up and touches the bulb, for just a moment, before putting his hands behind his back and standing perfectly still.
He doesn’t look like nobility. His hair is poorly cut, glasses bent and scratched, coat patched and worn. The scarf is knitted with a few different yarns, and his boots haven’t been changed out in years, probably, judging by the clever repair on the heels. He looks like anyone else Vex has lived around in Emon, but he is not from here, that is for sure, and there is a certain…aura about him. That’s what keeps nagging at her, telling her that she’s right, that she’s finally found him.
And, blessedly, she does have dates in the kitchen.
“Here you are!” She brings them out and spills them into his basket.
“Oh that’s too much.”
“Nonsense. I made you walk here, I knocked you down.” Vex waves a hand. “It’s fine.”
Percy smiles. “Well. Thank you.” He glances up at the bulb. “This is broken, you know. It’s going to go out soon.”
Vex frowns. “What?” She looks up, trying to see what he sees.
“There’s burning here. The wires inside aren’t working properly. I could fix it if you’ve got some basic tools. I have a few of my own, too.”
Vex blinks. “Um. Alright.” She takes the basket when he hands it to her and watches as he shrugs off his coat. Under it he’s wearing a soft green sweater, knitted like the scarf, and poorly fitted slacks. Vex sets the basket to the side and goes to fetch their meager tool kit. “It’s not much.”
Percy smiles. “That’s alright.” He pulls a little device from his coat pocket. “I’ve got a few things. Can you turn out the light?” Vex nods and does as she’s asked. She watches as he unscrews the bulb and reaches up with long, clever arms and hands, fiddling with a few wires. It sparks once, and he swears, but continues. Eventually, he asks for the bulb, and for Vex to turn the light back on. “There. You should be rid of that awful burning smell, too.”
Vex sniffs. “Impressive. I wouldn’t have taken you for a tinkerer, Percy.”
“It’s how I make my money around here.” He replaces the little tool and looks at her. “Things always need to be fixed, even the smallest of light bulbs.”
“What a lovely sentiment.”
“I’m not quite full of them, but I try to make them count.” He sighs, picking up his coat. “Makes me feel like I’m meant for a bit more in this world. Perhaps you can understand.”
Vex nods, looking at the bit of canvas sticking out from under the couch. “You know.” She moves toward it. “I do, Percy.” She tugs out the canvas and turns to him. “I have something to confess.” He stands a bit straighter. “I did this on purpose.” She unrolls the painting on the floor between them. “I wanted you to see this.”
“The dates were a lie, then?”
“Only my brother likes dates,” she says. “And you, apparently. Look here.” Vex spreads her hands over the canvas. “These are the de Rolo’s. They led Whitestone for centuries, but seventeen years ago, almost all of them were killed in an uprising. Only the youngest still lives.” She lets her hand wander to the bottom right corner, where Percival de Rolo stands perfectly straight, looking away from them both. “This is their third child, the second-eldest son. They say he escaped the uprising and disappeared. No one knows where he went.” Vex stands up straight. “His name was Percival.”
To his credit, Percy only nods, as if expecting Vex to go on with the story. But that’s all there is. The other men she’d told this story to had usually given her a strange look, or jumped right to the you think it could be me step.
Not this one.
“Percy.”
“Yes?”
“Do you…understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
“I suppose.” He leans back. “You think that because I share a name with the painting of this eight year old boy, we could possibly be the same person.” He shrugs. “It’s a nice thought, but not possible.”
Vex frowns. “Why not?”
“Because these sorts of things don’t happen to people. That family is gone, each of them in turn, and you expect me to think that one escaped and has somehow grown up to be me?”
“How old are you?” she asks.
“That hardly matters.”
“How old are you?”
Percy sighs. “I’m twenty-five.”
“So that would put you at exactly eight, seventeen years ago.”
“Yes, but I don’t remember any childhood like this.”
“What do you remember, then?” This is the question that finally gets a reaction. His neck goes pink, and he turns away from her and the painting, fumbling with his jacket. “Percy—”
“I’m leaving. This is ridiculous. Completely insane.”
“And why exactly?”
“Because something like this doesn’t just happen to someone.” He points at the painting. “You don’t live the life I have and then one day find out you’re the son of dead nobility, or some long-lost sister is out there looking for you. Something like this is too good to be true.”
“And what if it isn’t? What if it is good enough to be true? What if this is exactly what you’ve been waiting for?”
Percy scowls. “I wait for nothing,” he snarls. “And we are finished.”
Vex huffs. “Then I’m keeping the dates!”
“Fine! They weren’t for me anyway.”
“Well…well good! Go on then. Go be miserable and alone.”
“I will!” he snaps, and slams the door behind him.
To his credit, Vax waits a good minute and a half before appearing from the back of the flat. Vex is staring at the canvas, wondering if the desire to burn it is real or not. His hand comes to rest on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, stubby.”
“It’s fine.”
“If it makes you feel better, I thought he might have been the real deal for a minute there, too.”
Vex sighs. “That doesn’t make me feel better at all. Ass,” she adds, and turns to let him wrap his arms around her.