The B A T m o b i l e s & ElegantlyLuminous (private)

[The B A T m o b i l e s]

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“A body to hide?” Posey said, but her voice was so quiet that she might as well have been mouthing the words rather than saying them aloud. Rastus didn’t notice. Posey decided that it would be best if she kept it to herself… for now. Now was not the time to ask about murders that Rastus may-or-may-not have committed, once upon a time. That, and in the end it didn’t matter. Mages did what they had to when their secrets were in danger of getting out. Posey knew that as well as anyone else, though… maybe not as well as Rastus, if he was a murderer. ‘Don’t associate that word with him, stupid. Rastus could never be a murderer.’ she thought, and with those words let out a breath she hadn’t even meant to hold.

“Okay, that’s a lie- I am a little bit ashamed of them. They always make me think those stupid ‘if only’ thoughts that only lead to troubled sleep. If only I’d been stronger, faster, smarter, better- maybe he wouldn’t have died and I wouldn’t have been injured.” She didn’t trust her mouth to say anything helpful because she was almost positive that saying something along the lines of well now you have me for when you can’t sleep would be taken badly. She didn’t even feel like she was reading too much into it. She did, however, choose this moment to lean her head against his shoulder. And while this gesture could be taken badly, too, Posey reasoned that he had been the one to wrap his arm around her shoulders in the first place so he wouldn’t be too quick to jump on to the whole ‘she had a thing for me’ boat.

He concluded his talk with, “Do you want to yell some more?” to which Posey laughed, though softly, and there was something bitter behind the sound. “I… didn’t want to yell in the first place. It reminds me of my mother, and I- I don’t exactly want to be anything like her.”



Posey was eleven. She was walking down the hall, having just cme home from a walk in the woods behind the house. She humming to herself, fumbling with the buttons on her jacket on her way to the bathing room, when she heard voices. Loud, familiar ones coming through the closed door of the kitchen. The kitchen door was never closed, not for as long as she could remember. But it was closed now, and she slowed her pace, wondering why.

“You’re not to see that boy, Fernanda. Never again, am I clear?”

‘That’s mother’, Posey thought. ‘Is she yelling at a servant, again?’

“Do you hear yourself, mother? Honestly?” Posey pressed her ear against the door, pursing her lips to keep herself from breathing too loudly. Not that her breath could be heard over the raised voices. “I’m a grown woman, you can’t tell me who I can and can’t see.”

‘Fern?’ Posey wondered, ‘When did she get home? I thought she was still in Thisbe, visiting Grandfather… Or was she visiting Uncle-’

“I am your mother.” Posey’s thoughts cut off abruptly at her mother’s tone. She felt the familiar pull in chest of guilt-and-helplessness that she felt whenever her mother used that tone, even though Posey wasn’t the one being yelled at, currently.

“Giving birth to me doesn’t mean that you have absolute power. Even pawns of the Crown rebel, you hear about it all the time in-” Fern tried to argue, but their mother cut her off.

“Not in this house! There will be no talk of rebellion under this room, not while I’m here! And while you are living under this roof, you will obey my word.”

“Will I?” Fern laughed, a sound that resonated more with anger than with humor or joy. “Mother dearest, I think you are sorely mistaken when you think I will allow you to play God when it comes to those I love.”

“Love? What do you know of love? Why, you’re but a chil-”

“I’ll reach my nineteenth summer in just a month, mother. The same age that you married father. You always wanted me to be married by the time I was twenty, or has that changed? Would you rather I burdened you into my forties?”

Posey blinked, pulling away from the door just a tad to process what she had heard. ‘Fern wants to get married? Since when? To who? He must be really awful if mother’s so angry about it...’

“I want you to marry up, Fernanda, and I won’t see you married off to some poor, carpentry boy. Why, it would be a scandal! Besides, we don’t need any more dirty blood in this family-” Fern cut her off.

“Dirty blood? If that wasn’t a slip of the tongue, mother, I swear to the Gods I’ll-”

“Is it not the case? I’ve birthed a mage, myself, and I’m not proud of it. Your father is the only normal man out of a family of ten brothers! Ten!” Posey felt cold, and she wanted to walk away. Not proud of it? Posey knew she got on her mother’s nerves sometimes, but wishing she wasn’t born was… something else. ‘Mother doesn’t hate me, though.’ Posey thought quickly, ‘She just… she just wishes I didn’t have the magic, that’s all.’ The chill remained under her skin, however, a knot formed in her throat. She couldn’t shake that awful feeling…

“If Posey is ‘dirty blood’, then let the Void swallow us all.” Fern’s voice was so low, so fierce, that she could have been growling, “And I’ve decided I don’t need your blessing. I’ll marry whomever I choose, and I’ve chosen Rupert. Have a good life without me, Tilia, this will be the last you hear of me.”

“Fern- Fernanda? Where are you going? Come back here! We’re not yet finished speaking-” The back door slammed. “Fernanda!”


Posey chewed on her bottom lip, the memory passing quickly. “I guess I’m just a daddy’s girl? Dad never yelled. The only time his voice was ever louder than usual was because he was laughing, which I suppose he did often. He thought everything was funny, the whole world was a joke. I’ve always thought that was because he had so many brothers. Somehow he had to cope with the fighting and wrestling and such. And he was so scrawny compared to my uncles! I’m surprised he lived long enough to marry my mother.” Posey glanced at Rastus (causing a few strands of hair to fall into her eyes, which she brushed away with an irritated-bordering-frustrated sigh) but didn’t really want to move away just yet. She liked sitting there with him, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her… It felt better than walking down the road anyhow. “Can you imagine having nine brothers? I wonder if my grandparents kept trying for a girl or something… Not that women are much better. You have all sisters, too, don’t you?” she giggled, “I can imagine them trying to paint your face, or forcing you to have a tea party with them. Did they make you wear a bonnet?” Posey laughed the last question

A sudden breeze rushed past them, kicking the water up the shore toward the tips of Posey’s shoes, which were worn but not yet falling to pieces (which, as far as she was concerned, meant these were the best shoes she’d ever owned period – any other pair would have her toes sticking out of the front or the sole would be pulling apart from the body). “You said your leg was acting up?” Posey asked, once the breeze had passed and the two of them had been left in a brief silence. “Er- If you don’t mind, I mean.”

She smiled sheepishly, pulling away from his arm with an obvious reluctance. With his permission, she pressed a delicate hand to his bruised ribs (probably a little harder than she should of, but not enough to actually harm him), her eyes fluttering shut.

It felt so good to use magic that Posey almost lost track of what she was doing. She’d been suppressing her healing since they arrived at the rebel mage camp, and she’d gotten so used to keeping the magic at bay—forcing herself to coat her nicks and scratches with herbs instead of moving them along faster with magic—that it was becoming second nature. It was almost frightening to think that she’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to heal, really heal.

‘Focus, Posey.’

Posey’s thoughts brought her back to the task at hand. Rastus was more important, after all.

She felt the wire-like energies that twisted themselves through Rastus’ body, differing in their widths and lengths and the paths they took through each limb. Her Uncle had once tried to explain what it meant for each thread to be thicker or shorter or whatever they were, but Posey had never tried to understand it. It had been a poor decision on her part, and she desperately wanted to understand, now that it was too late to learn. She could feel the knots in his legs, though they weren’t the focus. Instead, she looked to his ribs where some of the threads were snapped or stretched extremely thin. She focused, there, and did what she could to mend the damage. It was very nearly back to normal (not perfect, but damn close if she did say so herself) and she might have smiled to herself, if she weren’t so withdrawn from her body. Maybe she did, anyway, just without realizing it…

The world felt incredibly far away, years and oceans and miles and miles and miles away. But when she let go of the magic, she was sitting in front of Rastus, again, on the shore of the lake. She wasn’t sure how long had passed. ‘Probably not very long.’ She opened her eyes, then scrunched them shut against the sunlight. “Oh, ouch. I might have overdone that a bit.” she said quietly, a hand coming up to cradle her forehead, which ached only slightly. “Or maybe It’s just been too long.” she added, thoughtfully. She dared to try and open her eyes again, and with better results. “Did that… help? I think you should feel relatively normal, actually. It didn’t hurt did it? I’m so sorry if it hurt. I swear I didn’t mean it too! It just sort of- it’s different per person, I think? But it didn’t hurt you last time and I… Did it hurt?”



T I M E__S K I P


It was nearly dusk, but the sky still held its blue hue over the reds and pinks of sunset. It felt a lot earlier than it actually was thanks to that, actually.

Bluebell wasn’t a very large city, and it wasn’t a port city, but it was still one of the major cities in Thalia. The upper-class liked to have summer homes, there. All of the King’s bastards lived here with their mothers. It was probably the country that did it, or at least Posey always thought so. There were hills and hills of lime-colored grasses and flowers looking like they fell out of a rainbow. She’d visited once or twice as a child, but it wasn’t until she went on the run that she really saw Bluebell and appreciated it. Before that, she had always been more in love with the stores and the people in their overly expensive clothing.

They weren’t headed for the nice side of Bluebell, of course. They were headed for Cheap Side. Beggars and dirty bricks and dust in the air – a drastic change when compared to the vibrancy of the rest of the city.

Posey and Rastus were on the road, at the top of a steep-ish hill overlooking the city. Posey could make out the grassy fields on the other side of the city, though not in any detail thanks to the distance. “Well, that didn’t take long.” Posey said, then paused, “Well, I guess it did take long since we ran into a few weeks worth of distraction. But I mean, if we pretend like that didn’t happen then it didn’t take long at all, huh?” she smiled cheerily, reaching for Rastus’ hand. “Come on, then. I bet you a silver—a silver that I don’t have, come to think of it—that I’ll trip somewhere down this hill once or twice.” She tripped four times, and it was very nearly made five at the very bottom of the hill. Only once did she Rastus down with her, which she was almost proud of. ‘I’d have a bit more pride if I hadn’t taken him down at all.’

“Um. When we get into the city, we should probably lay low? Avoid guards? In case we do have a bounty. I mean- I mean, I didn’t think you were about to run into the city stark naked or something, but… Wow, interesting mental image. Um. And I said that out loud and everything, didn’t I? Alright, then, let’s just ignore Mary—Posey. Dammit. Now I’m mixing up my own name?” She took a deep breath, let it out, retaking Rastus’ hand (she’d let go of it somewhere down the hill… probably between falls). “Alright, come on. It’ll be weird enough that we’re walking into a brothel, together.” She thought this over before retracting the statement, “Actually I don’t think that would be odd at all.”

Posey led Rastus into the city, and they weaved through the crowd. There were shops open all down the road, some in stands and some working from the buildings themselves. It reminded Posey of the day Rastus had saved her from Laran’s lecherous gaze, somehow, though Bluebell was very different aesthetically. She wondered if Rastus was thinking of the same day or if his mind was wandering elsewhere.

Something that didn’t escape her was the sheer number of guards in Bluebell. There were nearly double the amount she remembered seeing on the streets, all traveling in groups of four. ‘Something must have happened.’ she thought. Posey tried to eavesdrop a little on the passing conversations, hoping to pick up something useful, but instead all she figured out was that the baker’s son, Jusco, was sleeping with Ysolde, a made in Lord Barnaby’s household. Ysolde was also sleeping with Lord Barnaby some people said. One man tried to say Ysolde was his wife, not a maid at all, but everyone else in his group of gossips contradicted him. ‘Apparently Ysolde’s love life is more important that whatever brought on the extra guard… unless it happened quite a while ago and people have lost interest already…’

“I think it was down this way, and then left on the avenue that has a yellow church on the corner. And then we can follow that all the way down to Cheap Side and I can find anything you like from Cheap Side. Not because I’m cheap or something, but… Well, I’m not so much cheap as I’m broke. Always. Perpetually. Even when I worked for you I was basically broke. Not that you paid badly, come to think of it. Actually, how did you manage to stay afloat with how much you paid- Oh, nevermind. You watered down the ale. I guess my real question should be something along the lines of how did you manage to stay afloat when your ale didn't take?” Her smile was a cheeky one.

Her smile faltered when a guard started walking toward them. It wasn’t that he looked like he was coming at them, per se, but he was still coming nearer, and as far as Posey was concerned she didn’t want anyone to recognize their faces. Especially not a guard.

There weren’t as many people in this part of the market, so there was a good chance the guard would notice them, how out of place they were. The worn look of their clothes, the muted colors from sun exposure, the hair that looked like it pretty badly needed a cut (just thinking about it made her brush it back behind her ear, again). There could possibly even be eye contact between the guard and them, which occasionally lead to a smile or a greeting – all of which would make Rastus and Posey more and more memorable, which is exactly what they needed to avoid being at the moment.

She glanced at Rastus, a small smile on her lips, right before she yanked him into the first right turn they happened across. Which, as it happened, was an alley. ‘Yes, because too people standing awkwardly in an alley isn’t sus- Oh, no. Not that. Gods, please, anything but that.’ Seeing that returning to the street would be just as suspicious as two people in an alley, however, Posey clenched her jaw, really hating herself for being such an idiot at the moment.

“Er, could you do me a favor and pretend to kiss me? Or actually kiss me, if you suck at faking, I’m not all that picky.” ‘If he kisses me… Oh, dear, I need to stop thinking about him kissing me.’ “Just for a moment, while that pesky guard passes by and hurry because he was sort of close when I pulled you in here and I don’t want him remembering our faces…”

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[ElegantlyLuminous]

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Innkeeper. Fugitive. Mage. "Digger". Bad Liar.
All in a day’s work.

Rastus never answered Posey. He’d instead suggested getting up and moving on, that it was going to get dark soon and that they probably didn’t want to end up stuck in the forest for yet another night. And, besides, he wouldn’t know if anything felt better until he started moving. Or that was the excuse that he offered up to her, at any rate. Sure, it was all true. But all of the answers were avoiding the question at hand. They probably didn’t even count as answers but instead as evasions. The truth was that it had hurt, again. It had been those same pleasantly warm to outright searing and scalding hot sensations, the ones that had sometimes been dulled by ice when his own magic had risen up in an attempt to reassert its dominance over his body and soul.

For something that, technically speaking, didn’t have a consciousness or emotions, his magic was awfully possessive. It didn’t like Posey’s magic interfering, even if it was for the greater good. And so her healing hurt him. It wasn’t necessarily a bad hurt. Parts of it actually felt good. That probably made him one sick son of a b***h that he could find some parts of that healing pain enjoyable. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that it hurt and that hurt was all that Posey would think about if he told her the truth. Since he couldn’t lie convincingly, well, that left evading as the only viable choice he had. So he evaded. He wanted to think that he was doing it well. The reality was that Posey had probably moved onto other topics because she knew he was nearly lying to her and she didn’t want to bring it up because she didn’t like yelling and she didn’t like fighting, or so she said. Did that make him a mean person for pulling tricks on her that forced to retreat, for using those bits of her past that he knew to push her away from him?

Skies, he hoped not. They needed each other too much for him to become a cruel person. He liked her too much to become the kind of person who was mean to her twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. If this was the way that the changes he’d previously noted where heading, he didn’t like it. And he’d do everything in his admittedly limited power that he could to stop it.

Rather than think about it and risk depressing himself further, Rastus turned his mind towards the line of inquiry directed by Posey: his sisters. None of them had ever tried to make him wear a bonnet. All of them had known where the boundaries lay. They had, however, made him play tea party. Well, it had been less that they had “made” him and more that his father would have beaten him had he been “mean” and refused to play games with his tormenting sisters. So he’d played their girl games every once in a while. Whenever he could, he’d raced off to be with John, to spend hours roaming the countryside and enjoying every minute that he could without being trapped beneath the gaze of his father’s judging eyes. And when he’d have to trudge home, he’d come inside like a good little boy. Then he’d wait until the house was quiet and would sneak out to sleep in the fields.

Of course, that habit had earned him the now nearly invisible scars on his lower hips and buttocks from the belt whippings his father had given him for putting himself in danger. In Rastus’ opinion (past and present), the danger at home had always been more of a concern than anything else. His mother had loved him, he’d never doubted that. And so had his sisters. They said “I love you” as often as they insulted him. But his father was a force of nature whose will was not to be denied. Neither his mother nor his sisters had ever fought Father or his will. Rastus did with most every breath and that had angered his father enough that he lost control and ended up beating his only son and legal heir.

Rastus hadn’t worn or bought a belt since his early years. He couldn’t bear to look at them some days. Just thinking about them made his inner child cringe. So he, again, steered his thoughts away from the unpleasant topic at hand to his sisters. They always made him smile. They might well have been connected to that big bad evil of his childhood but he could think about them in little bits without the man and monster intruding.

Diyana, the oldest, was the most like their mother. She lived for children and loved each and every one of them with all her heart. The other girls in the family referred to her as a breeding machine. At twenty-eight, she’d already given birth to five kids and, last he heard, had another on the way. Her youngest was only eight months old and, there she was, pregnant again. Her husband, Ferdinand, was a good man. He bred horses. They were some of the fastest, or so the man claimed, horses in a three country radius. They lived on a great big farm that was, Rastus supposed, perfect for all of the breeding (human and horse) that went on there.

Becky, his next oldest sister, was and had always been an odd girl. Even at a young age, she’d been obsessed with death and suffering. Not with righting the wrongs or seeking justice, but with understanding death and attempting to minimize the suffering. When she discovered her magic, she shaped and used it to commune with the Gods. She acted as a Prophet, interpreting the mysterious words of the Gods, and as a conduit for concerns from man to a god or goddess. Rastus had never guessed what kind of magic she’d had originally. As far as he knew, the only person who did truly know was Becky. The way that she’d warped it had defined her and so he’d never questioned her. Needless to say, no one in the family had been surprised when she entered into an alliance with Aeron, the Goddess of Death and Retribution, and became a Priestess. And when her normally green eyes became an eerie, vibrant shade of purple, they all knew that that was the moment they needed to leave the room or face the wrath of a death goddess.

Adreanna and Nadine were both younger than he, with Adrenna being less than a year older than Nadine. The two looked enough like twins that they called themselves such, no matter what anyone else said. It alternately amused and frustrated their mother. Adreanna was a teacher and had married in recent years. Rastus had never met her husband, Alexander, and would never have the chance. The man had died in a tragic carriage accident, leaving behind his son from a past wife and he and Adreanna’s newborn child. Nadine was a weapon smith, one of few women in a men’s profession. Her metal magic made it easier for her to make her weapons, her skill and years of training allowed her to make those weapons into works of art. Her husband was easily one of Rastus’ favorite people. He was the most unaware, head-in-the-clouds person that Rastus had ever met. Of course, he was a Seer and no one, least of all him, was ever sure if Isaac was in the past, present or future at any given moment. Add in the fact that he adored Rastus’ sister’s weapons fixation and, well, it seemed like a perfect match.

Simone, his youngest sister, was a fire mage. She’d never quite embraced her magic and so used it only rarely. Rastus and the family had lost track of her a few years back. She was an adventurous girl with endless wander lust. The last that Rastus had heard (and that, admittedly, was about the time that Lucy had died) was that she had somehow taken over a pirate ship and was off terrorizing the world and stealing treasure from the rich with a crew that both loved and hated her with equal passion.

Rastus hadn’t seen his parents or sisters since they’d left the country more than five years past. All they’d had in those years were letters and even those were few and far between given that the relationship between the two countries could be called “rocky”, at best.

Before he knew it, he and Posey were nearing Bluebell and his mind was being drawn out of the past and near-present by Posey. They were there. He felt his breath catch in his newly-healed chest. It was hard to find the words, even just in his head, to describe the trepidation that he felt. How did these people feel about mages? Did they know about the “crimes” he and Posey had “committed” during their time in Thalia? Was there a bounty on their heads? Was Laran here? Would they be safe here? Would they even find Posey’s friends or colleagues or was this portion of their quest for a new home, a safe place, a doomed one from the start? Did anyone know how to make him stop talking to himself?

The questions, the fears, the hopes- they were endless and kept circling round and round in his head, leaving him with a mild headache but no real answers. So he instead just followed Posey down the hill and into a city he had never before visited but that might well hold their future within the gates. Of course, he didn’t have too much of a choice. Posey was holding his hand. He could’ve broken the grip. But that would have caused Posey pain and that was something that he avoided doing. That choice, then, wasn’t even an option. That left following as the option of choice and that, well, that he could do with some degree of ease. It was made difficult when Posey fell, and kept repeatedly falling, and even more so when she dragged him down with her the one time.

It was about that time that she let go of his hand. Suddenly that was what consumed his attention. Were his hands clammy, revealing his nerves about this whole, ridiculous endeavor of theirs? His hands were roughened from years of hard work. The dirt that he loved and worked with sometimes dried out his palms. He hadn’t bathed in who knows how long. Was he really that disgusting that she couldn’t bear to touch him anymore? This was a girl who liked to touch and yet she wasn’t touching him.

Then she took his hand again and all was right in the world, a fact that he chose to ignore and revel in all at once.

When they entered the gates into Bluebell, he found himself thinking that there was so much more color than he’d seen in one place before, the rebel’s hideout set aside for the moment. On the surface, it wasn’t too different from Thalia. The buildings were all of a similar size and the roads were those same cobbled stone as those he’d spent the last few years hobbling over. There were still masses of people wandering the streets, despite the looming and quickly upcoming presence of night. Busybodies were scattered here and there in groups, some whispering and some outright yelling the day’s gossip. Apparently someone’s maid or wife was sleeping around. It didn’t sound real important. But the biggest difference was that there was so much color. In Thalia, the buildings were all whitewashed or wood brown or stone gray. Here the buildings were painted in pale pastels and intermingled with bright spots that must have taken weeks to paint and re-paint so that the shade was on the side of brilliant rather than gaudy. It was different. He couldn’t decide if he liked all of the color or not.

It was then that Rastus noted the guards’ presence. Their armor stood out in stark contrast to the colored houses and businesses surrounding them. Perhaps that was why the buildings in Thalia were all colored so similarly: to better hide the guards from passersby. Rastus could easily see Laran whispering the idea into some bureaucrat’s ear and then that little idea becoming a city-wide policy that put more people in Laran’s prison and more money in said bureaucrat’s pocket. The point, however, was that there were far too many guards for his personal comfort. No one seemed overly concerned or vigilant, neither the guards nor the busybodies. It could be a ploy, he supposed, one designed to lure us into a similar state of negligence and better allow a different set of guards to sneak up on us.

Great. Now he was getting paranoid. He thought back for a moment. Okay, maybe he’d always been paranoid. And it was certainly understandable in this context. Alright, he wouldn’t worry about the paranoia. Or, he thought as a guard broke from the grouping and began heading in he and Posey’s general direction, maybe I’ll just become more paranoid. It would probably serve us better in the long run than my becoming less paranoid.

Posey was talking, saying something along the lines of how what he paid his staff- his former staff- seemed like overkill in comparison to what little he had to have been making off of the bad ale. He knew when she noticed the guard because her chatter stopped. He watched her watch the guard with a wariness that reminded him that Posey had lived on the streets. He’d almost forgotten. Then she pulled him into an alley with a sudden movement that would have startled him if he’d have allowed it to.

And then there was a suggestion that just about made his heart stop before it began racing faster and faster, beating so hard that it almost hurt.

“Er, could you do me a favor and pretend to kiss me? Or actually kiss me, if you suck at faking, I’m not all that picky. Just for a moment, while that pesky guard passes by and hurry because he was sort of close when I pulled you in here and I don’t want him remembering our faces…” she said in a rush, her words almost blurring together. He watched her grind her teeth, jaw clenching. It was nice to know that the thought of the two of them kissing angered her or frustrated her so much and that, yes, he really was that unappealing. Fabulous. But she was the one who knew what they were doing. She was the one with experience at being on the run. So he’d trust her in this, even if her reaction hurt him on levels that he didn’t want to understand and hardly dared to analyze. He’d play along.

“You know,” he whispered as he leaned closer, voice more teasing than critical, “We could have just stumbled right back out and laughed about having taken a wrong turn. We would have been memorable, I guess, but more as hopeless country bumpkins than as potential criminals.”

They stood there for a moment, then, just breathing at each other. It was silent. Rastus wasn’t exactly sure if he should be celebrating the rarity or dreading what would come after the silence was broken. So he didn’t think about it either way. He just stood there, waiting for… actually; he didn’t know what he was waiting for. But he waited nonetheless. And then suddenly it came.

“Welcome to Bluebell, folks!” called someone, presumably the guard, down the alleyway. He had a young voice, an overly cheerful one. Something about him jarred Rastus’ memory but he couldn’t place the voice, not quite. He set it aside to ponder later. Then there was the distinctive sound of chainmail rattling away, one that Rastus realized he was now unfortunately too familiar with. He held still, remaining in that “fake kiss” position just in case the man happened to come back.

He didn’t know exactly when the fake kiss became a real one. It was definitely after the guard had disappeared around the bend, after the young man had delivered his chipper greeting. But how long after that departure? Not a clue. Maybe subconsciously he wanted Posey to know that he was kissing her because he wanted to, not because she had told him to or because they were mutually using one another to hide from the guards. It was because he, the man, wanted to kiss her, the woman, and for no other reason than that. He liked her as a person. He was attracted to her. Something about her made his conscience scream Mine!, which it did as he finally leaned forward all of the way and took her lips with his.

Maybe it was time that he stopped denying all of that: the liking, the attraction, that thought of “mine” that occurred so often and even how right she felt in his arms or at his side. Never behind him. She’d never feel right behind him. She wasn’t that submissive. She’d never be content to follow along behind him like a well-trained dog. She’d be right by his side all the way, even when it wasn’t the best idea for her to be there. It was that fire, that stubbornness that attracted him to her. Her looks didn’t hurt how he felt, especially not once she had filled out a bit after having weeks of good, hearty food. Sure, after this journey that was likely going to go away and they’d both be left looking like scrawny, underfed waifs… but he knew what she looked like anyway. No, it wasn’t just that. It was who she was in general.

So he’d stop denying. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, no. She’d made it clear when she’d pulled him into the alley that she didn’t feel the same. There in the alley, he finally let himself think that one thought that he’d been avoiding since meeting the young woman he’d known then as “Bambi”: I, Rastus Brunelli, am attracted to Bambi Posey Flick. And then a “worse” one that had been harder to deny in the last couple of days: I, Rastus Brunelli, am well on my way to falling in love with Posey Flick. Damn it.

Using a strength of will that he was, at that moment, unhappy to possess, he pulled his head back from hers and stepped away. He resisted an urge to let out a deep, ragged breath that might let her know that he cared more than he should for the healer. It hurt. But he did it. Then he gave a strained smile and said, “He’s gone. Left by the yellow church, right?”

He took her hand as if nothing was wrong, though much was, and led the way out. Someone sniggered as they left the alley. A quick, pointed glare made the person re-snort that laugh back up, made the man look away. It made Rastus feel better. He started walking in the direction that Posey had indicated earlier was the correct way. He kept walking. He didn’t dare take a look at the woman by his side. Thoughts of her reaction, her expression, were driving him crazy. And that part was just in his head, in his imagination. So he didn’t dare look over and see what was in reality. He didn’t think that he could bear to.

Deep in his mind, his conscience hummed merrily. Rastus and Posey sittin’ in a tree…

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[The B A T m o b i l e s]

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“You know, we could have just stumbled right back out and laughed about having taken a wrong turn. We would have been memorable, I guess, but more a hopeless country bumpkins than as potential criminals.” his tone was light and amused, not really critical, and there was something unbearably attractive about that smile of his that kept Posey blinking for a moment before she realized how very wrong she felt, standing her.

Think of it like this: Have you ever had a thousand things to say but each and every one of them was glued to the tip-top of your tongue because you’re so focused on something completely unrelated to the words that you should be saying but just can’t seem to because your throat has decided to tie itself into a knot? Posey was experiencing something similar, in this moment, with Ratsus hovering right there, just a few inches away from her, leaning down so as to look like he was kissing her (and a very large part of her was wishing he would do so – possibly all of her, even while her mind was telling her they were better off faking because then feelings wouldn’t get involved in their weird little on-the-run relationship and she shouldn’t want to endanger what they have). He was so close she could feel his breath on her lips, if she would just lean forward and close the space… ‘No, Posey, stop. Stopstopstop. Stop thinking about him kissing you because that will end badly or awkwardly, probably badly and awkwardly, and you don’t want it to be either one because he’s your best friend and dear Gods is he close right now-’ she forced her thoughts to come to a stop, speaking somewhat carefully so as not to make herself out to be a fool in his eyes… the words still came out a bit awkwardly, however. “Um… could’ve? We could have. But… uh… I’d rather we weren’t even slightly memorable. I mean, I guess kissing in an alley is memorably, but all he’d have it heights and hair colors, which isn’t much to go on. And, well, I mean… I mean, is the idea of kissing me to keep a secret so-” she winced, her words stopping suddenly when someone yelled “Welcome to Bluebell, folks!”

She pursed her lips, looking up at Rastus, but he didn’t move, choosing to keep up their illusion for a moment longer. She wondered, briefly, what it would be like to step forward and close the gap between her and Rastus. She’d kissed men before, but… not because she cared about them. Maybe she found one or two of them attractive, but… ‘None of them were Rastus… Gods, what a cliché. I’m such a mess right now and… there’s green in his eyes. I never noticed tha- Focus, Posey!’ And besides, it wasn’t as if there were that many men in her life, to be perfectly frank. Being on the run prevented long-standing relationships outside of other fugitives, and fugitives that kept on the move tended to prefer being solitary. You could trust yourself to be quiet when you were hiding in the shadows, but you could never trust the person next to you.

Posey liked the company, though. She was tired of-

‘Oh, my- Did I- Is he- I- He-’

Her thoughts melted right along with her heart when their lips met. Posey wasn’t sure who started it—was it her moving of her own accord as her thoughts trailed off? was it Rastus deciding to make their fake kiss more authentic?—and she wasn’t sure why it was happening, come to think of it. Just that it was happening. And whether it was true love’s first kiss (less likely) or a means to keep the guards from knowing their faces (more likely), Posey kissed back.

She stepped into the small space between them, one hand resting on his shoulder, the other curving to the back of his neck, curling into his hair, which had been so much shorter when she met him a few months ago. Months that felt like years.

Rastus pulled back as quickly as the kiss began, taking up her hand once more and guiding her into the streets of Bluebell as if nothing had happened at all. “Left at the yellow Church, right?” Rastus asked, and Posey blinked. “Er… yes. Left. Church. Cheap side. Right. I mean, not right as in turn right but right as in correct as in… I’m going to stop talking now, if you don’t mind.” She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, but it did nothing to calm her. ‘How can you act like nothing just happened? I can’t act like nothing just happened. I’m sort of freaking out over here and you’re… not. You’re not because you’re not interested in me that way. You’re not interested. Oh.’ Logically, she’d known this to be the case beforehand. However, finding something to solidly back up her belief was something she hadn’t exactly been ready for. But Rastus was interested in her, romantically. ‘Probably still loves Lucinda…’ the thought was small, soft, like an echo in the back of her mind. ‘And because he does I should… try and stop having these thoughts… about… Is it even possible to stop thinking about someone? Watch it not be possible, just watch.’



slightly later


One left at a yellow Church later (and a couple of other turns, really, though not too many so as to be unable to retrace their steps) and Posey was falling into the door of “House of the Rising Sun”. Literally. Falling in the door. Fortunately, she was able to use the frame to keep herself from hitting the floor, ignoring the amused smile from the woman behind the counter. “Am I helpin’ you?” she asked, and Posey pursed her lips, glancing at Rastus before turning back to the woman and nodding. “I’m here to speak with Aimee.”

“Speak. Right. Do you got an appointment?”

“Will you just tell her Flick is here? I can wait.” Posey said, and the look on the woman’s face said she recognized the name. Posey wasn’t sure whether to start running or see if she was reading too much into…

“Flick. Right. Follow me.” the woman said, stepping around the counter. She smiled briefly at Posey, her smile turning coy when she looked to Rastus. “She’s with a client, so if you’ll wait in the lounge while I retrieve her, it would be very thoughtful of you.” ‘Why do I feel like she’s mocking us? And why does she keep addressing Rastus instead of both of us? We came together, didn’t we? I mean… Yeah. We came together! Oh… that must seem odd. Would that be odd? I wonder if couples ever show up at brothels and- Nevermind. I’m done thinking now.’

The lounge was empty, and… not exactly tastefully decorated, but it was colorful, at least. The furniture was a shocking shade of bright green suede, the curtains in a similar shade of green velvet. The wood was all dark mahogany, the floor granite tile. Posey suddenly felt extremely unclean, in comparison to the magazine-quality of the room. She shifted when the woman left, crossing her arms over her chest. “Um… this is very… uh… green. Last time I was here it was done in pinks. And oranges. And yellows.” she chewed on her bottom lip, “Sorry. Mumbling. And rambling. And I’ll stop, now… Probably… Most likely…… Possibly not because I can’t seem to stop talking right at this moment.” She still felt awkward about the kiss, about being around Rastus. And then there was also the fact that they were standing in the middle of a brothel together, waiting for a particularly suspicious employee to bring Aimee to them.

Posey glanced behind at the door, as it closed behind the suspicious woman. The door didn’t lock behind her, which made the moment slightly less ominous. She crossed the room to the window, peeking out of the curtains. ‘If we need to, we can get through this window to the next rooftop. If there are any guards posted there, though…’ she sighed, thoughts trailing off as she released the curtain and let it fall before the glass. She looked to Rastus, “I don’t think this is a trap. Just an... extremely omnious situation, which this brothel tends to be good at.” she said quietly, “In case you’re over thinking things like I just was?” She seemed almost apologetic in tone.

The door opened for a second time, revealing a short—shorter than Posey, anyhow—round woman in her mid-forties, with chin-short and bone-straight black hair, matching her choice of clothes. She peered curiously into the room, her eyes finding and focusing on Rastus as well as Posey before her thin lips curved into a smooth smile. “I didn’t think to see you so soon, Posey Flick.” She shut the door behind her, leaving against it with her hands behind her back. “Who is the other one, with the strapping shoulders?”

Posey didn’t say his name, instead choosing to ask, “Why are there so many guards in the city?”

“The Queen, of course.” Aimee said, “There’s to be a festival in honor of her thirtieth year. Flick, why is it that you’re here? You never come here without need. Are you short on work once again? I can always use your… services.”

Posey made a face. “You make it sound like I was one of your ladies.”

Aimee smiled in a way that made Posey think that Aimee had intended the room for misinterpretation, “You know very well I meant your stunning healing properties. Of course, you do have the face for our work, as I’ve told you. You would draw in plenty of new clients in the same way I’m sure you’ve charmed this young bloke you’ve brought here." She turned her attention on Rastus temporarily, "You’re simply fascinating, you know. Posey has never brought a companion here with her. I hope you know how very curious that makes me of you.” Posey frowned, but didn’t comment on this.

“Aimee, I need to know about bounties… and the ones who’ve claimed them…” Posey said, attempting to keep on-topic and off Rastus.

“Posey, sweet, you know I shouldn’t tell you that.”

“But-”

“I said shouldn’t, not wouldn’t.” Aimee said, laughing softly – it sounded almost raspy, like a woman who’d kept a pipe on her for too many years. She smelled like pipe smoke as well, so it was an easy enough assumption. “What alias were you going by?”

“Bambi.” she said, “But there’s also Rastus Brunelli.” Aimee’s eyes flickered from Posey to Rastus before shaking her head.

“None have confided those names to my girls. You are safe, here, for the time being.” Aimee said, and the weight of a thousand worlds fell from Posey’s shoulders in that moment. “Will will stay for long? I was sincere when I said your services would be appreciated.”

Posey pursed her lips, “I can try and come back, if I… I can try.”

“That is all I ask.” Aimee said, pushing off from the door to open it, “And when you do, bring Rastus along with you, as I assume that would be the name of your companion. I would be interested to converse with him while you heal.” She opened the door and left, then, leaving it open for Posey and Rastus to leave when they so chose.

Posey turned to Rastus and grinned. “Well, then. How’d you like them apples?”

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[ElegantlyLuminous]

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Innkeeper. Fugitive. Mage. "Digger". Bad Liar.
All in a day’s work.

He’d kissed Posey. Why had he kissed Posey? Beyond the whole “I wanted to” bit. Frankly, Rastus was a full-grown man. He was beyond petty little actions completed simply based on want. Those actions were for children. Adults had long since realized that need came before want. Want was well and good. Achieving a want, whenever possible, was equally good. But if a want came at the expense of need, well, that just wouldn’t do. And right now, Rastus needed Posey. She knew where they were going. She knew these people. She had the experience of being on the run. Rastus had none of that. Instead, he had vague contacts and colleagues whose faces he had never seen. He knew their names and their voices and their hometowns. He didn’t know exactly where they lived, what they looked like, if they would help him.

Posey knew those things. So… ergo, he needed her. And what if he’d ruined that by giving in to a base want that he should have said “no” to?

Maybe he should apologize. No, he couldn’t see that working. It would make things awkward. Well, more awkward. But staying silent didn’t sit right. Was there anything that he could say?

He chanced a look over. She looked scattered, uncertain. Maybe he’d better think on it awhile before he said anything, if he said anything.


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Rastus Brunelli was in a brothel. He’d never been in a brothel before. He’d never had a desire to be in one, to be quite honest. Too much of his father’s influence, he supposed. “Dirty, filthy whores” his father would sneer whenever they passed a brothel on the way to this store or that store, for this supply or that supply for the then tavern-less Inn.

The man would then spend the rest of the evening complaining about the ladies until, finally, Rastus’ grandfather would look his son directly in the eye and say,” Those women have to eat, too, boy, so you leave them be now, hear?”

And then Rastus’ grandmother with a wink and a slow, crooked smile: “And if they get a little bit of pleasure out of it now and then, no harm has been done.” His father would calm down, would be quiet for a little while. But then he’d later pull Rastus aside and give a lecture on how real men had wives and how real men didn’t need whores or temporary liaisons.

Maybe that was why he and Lucy had…

But, no, he’d fixed that. They would’ve gotten married. Besides, to finish that thought would be to rewrite his history in a significantly less pleasant light. Worse, it would paint Lucy in a bad light, a truly horrible light. And what it would say about him as a person? Perhaps the worst yet.

Bad thoughts. What was it with him and bad thoughts? Life would have been a hell of a lot simpler without the bad thoughts that he tended to attract. Of course, life in general would be better all around given a lot of “what ifs”. But that wasn’t real life. This was. Here, now, on the run with Posey and currently attempting to solicit information out of the “mistress” of a brothel called “House of the Rising Sun”. It was an innocent enough name and the décor equally so. The moans that came from behind a few doors, however, quickly and easily belied that initial impression. Rastus chose to attempt to ignore the sounds… with “attempt” being the key, and ultimately failing, word.

And then they were noticed. Well, it was more that they drew attention when Posey fell through the door. Then again, this was Posey. He shouldn’t have expected anything less than a grandly accidental entrance. The reception that met them was more on the amused side than anything else. It certainly wasn’t overly helpful, at least not towards Posey. The woman directed most of her attention towards Rastus.

It couldn’t have been because he was attractive. Like he’d thought before that stupid moment where he’d kissed his traveling companion and had probably violated some typical but unknown-to-him fugitive rule, he was dirty. He hadn’t had a bath in he didn’t even know how long. His hair was growing out and it was currently more on the side of scruffy than anything else. It certainly didn’t fit the professional, cropped cut that he’d favored while running his Inn. And his beard was starting to grow in. The stubble was starting to itch, too, but that bit was beside the point. He dared a quick glance at Posey. No burn. It’d been a short enough kiss to spare her the embarrassment of beard burn. He glanced back towards his fingernails. Covered in dirt on the topside. Dirt underneath the bed of the nail. Yeah, he was a mess and that wasn’t even considering the scars or any of the scabbed over injuries from that ridiculous duel with the rebels.

Then it came to him: this was her job. She wasn’t doing anything wrong; she was only doing what she was supposed to do. And that was to draw in male customers and to earn the money she needed for, well, whatever she needed. That helped him to calm down. But then again, Posey wasn’t interested in him. So why was it a bother if other women were? Lucy was dead. He’d come to terms with that. He was capable of moving on. It certainly seemed as if he was ready to move on. And if it couldn’t be Posey, why couldn’t it be someone else? Not necessarily this woman, no. As he’d thought previously, he was too much of his father’s son (at least in this case), to be comfortable with the idea of being intimate with or married to sexually experienced, highly promiscuous woman.

His eyes darted back to Posey. Then again, maybe he wasn’t quite ready to move on just yet. Maybe he would have to get over the inevitable heartbreak that would come after Posey before he decided to find someone to spend his life with.

Posey started talking. Rastus didn’t really hear what she said. He just recognized that she was speaking. And then a woman entered the room. She was… less attractive than Rastus had imagined the owner of a brothel would be. Then again, maybe her talents were in “other” areas. Certainly, her straight, severe black hair was off-putting. She was short and rounded- not necessarily curved, but rounded. Her lips were thin, though not in a crabby schoolmarm sort of way. She was average. And then she spoke and he understood. That kind of husky voice could only be associated with one thing: sex.

She looked at Rastus curiously and, as like before, it briefly raised his metaphorical hackles. This time, rather than standing there uncomfortably, he opted to play the Mole. He stood there silently, crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall. He and John had watched the Guard often enough as boys to know that the ones who leaned back and looked unconcerned were the ones to watch out for. They were brutal, merciless… dangerous. It was everything a young country boy wanted to be. And Rastus had gotten good at it over the years. Well, parts of it. Projecting menace and competence, yes. Projecting tempered laziness? Not so much. But he could try.

That didn’t, of course, mean that he wasn’t listening very, very carefully. And he paid even more attention to the mistress’ insinuation that Posey had been and then, later, could be one of her “ladies”. She complimented him, sort of, but he did no more than give a blank, blah nod of acknowledgement. Her curiosity was a bit more alarming. It was better if no one here knew much about him.

And then when the mistress coyly said, “Posey, sweet, you know I shouldn’t tell you that,” Rastus found himself hiding a smiling by ducking his head down. She was funny. It was obvious by the expression on the woman’s face that she adored Posey. In a different way than Rastus did, sure, but there was still a fondness there.

He still couldn’t help but cringe when Posey mentioned his name. Blind trust wasn’t in his nature. Then the woman mentioned that there were no bounties and he let out a barely audible sigh of relief. It was a stupid moment and his mental shields were back up in a moment. Just because there was no bounty now didn’t mean that it wasn’t still on the way to Bluebell or that there wouldn’t be a bounty for either of them in the future. It could well have been that one of the officials in charge of posting ads about criminals hadn’t visited recently and so the women here didn’t have all of the information. It was nice to know that the women here didn’t believe that there was a bounty, but there was no need to celebrate just yet.

Posey, however, looked happy and that, for some perverse reason, made him happy. It made him want to kiss her again, this time with nothing bad looming over them that she could mistake the kiss for something else. Of course, she wasn’t interested in him. And with no looming threat, she might well injure him for taking liberties. She had broken one man’s rib back at the Inn for touching Cecelia. His hand crept up to rest on his ribcage. His ribs had just been healed. Having them re-broken didn’t sound like a fun plan.

She said, pleased, “Well, then. How’d you like them apples?”

He pushed up off the wall and came closer. He didn’t want to burst her bubble, but all the same… “You like apples more than I do. But at least these apples aren’t sour or rotten- not yet. With the Queen’s birthday festival coming up that means that she and the King will be coming here. And they wouldn’t come without right-hand man Laran. Who better to protect them than their favorite- and our least favorite- Guard Captain? It is good news, but I hope you won’t be upset if I focus more on the potential bad?”

The last part hadn’t been intended as a question. But it came out sounding as one. He shrugged it off. He’d be a paranoid pessimist whether Posey said yes or no. Maybe if they were involved more intimately, he’d be more willing to change… but, no, he wouldn’t hold her disinterest in him against her. That wouldn’t be fair. They were in this together. They’d have to work together or separate and he couldn’t imagine separation going well. So they’d get past this hurdle. Somehow. Even with her still looking so adorable and with his hormones still begging him to give in and kiss her until she understood that he wasn’t mad at her, that he was mad at himself for feeling something that he had no business feeling.

And, with hope, she’d mistake that glint in his eye for relief and not lust or attraction, both of which it was.

So in a sad attempt to prevent her from really looking into his eyes and seeing that he thought her special, he again took her hand (he didn’t know when they’d mutually released one another) and began leading the way out of the brothel. He felt eyes watch them and couldn’t shake the odd feeling. As they left, he looked behind him. Sure enough, a man was leaving a room, mouth open, and watching the two of them exit the brothel. He mouthed lucky b*****d before turning back to whoever’s room he was leaving. And then there was the same woman who’d led them to the back. She winked before mouthing come back anytime.

The male in him- the small, small part that wasn’t obsessed with Posey Flick- preened a bit. He didn’t wink back, he didn’t smile, he didn’t swagger… but something in him felt an absurd amount of pride. It was mildly disturbing to feel his libido come to life after so many years in hibernation. It was a feeling that, briefly, made him clench Posey’s hand a little tighter before he loosed his grip with a barely muttered “sorry”. Then, with a mental “screw it”, he tucked Posey into his side and walked with his hand holding her hip so that she stayed tucked in. It was the way a couple would walk. And given that there were more eyes watching them, male eyes, he wanted people to know that she was his. His only in theory and in pretend, sure, but his in some way. It was enough. For now.

More disturbing thoughts. More bad thoughts. To distract from them, he began telling a story about John as a boy and how he had, once while trying to impress Rastus’ sister Nadine, set an entire field on fire while wielding a lit stick as a pretend weapon. The fire had lasted hours and had resulted in John spending weeks replanting that field. Replanting that field was what had caused John to become interested in cooking in the first place. It was innocent stuff, stuff designed to keep anyone who might be listening to conversations from even guessing that they were fugitives. And, maybe, part of him was simply taking an opportunity to enjoy having her in his arms. But when half an hour had passed and he didn’t see any of the same faces and didn’t feel anyone following them, he changed the topic.

“Which way to your friends’ home?”

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