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 Posted: Sun Apr 27, 2014 2:58 pm
✖ PRP: For the Right Occassion ✖
Although they are set to meet soon, Melisande decides to take initiative and take Vivi out dress shopping instead of waiting. * [ongoing]
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Posted: Fri May 23, 2014 2:05 pm
✖ PRP: A Lunch... Date? ✖
Shepard gets an unexpected call from Cruz, trying to set up a meeting.
*
It was nice to have a friend, Shepard thought.
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Posted: Fri May 23, 2014 2:30 pm
✖ Solo: White Stag ✖
Some nights she dreamt about hoofbeats. She dreamt about running through mud, barefoot, her hair streaking across her face, her arms flailing before her to tear back brush and leaves as she went.
Four years it had been since she chased the stag. Four years since she saw its light receding, since she reached it too late to offer anything but her arms. Four years since she let it die in the dirt, so that it could be reborn. So that she could have Rhedefre.
It had been so long since she’d had the dream. Months. Maybe a year. She thought, after Cesc returned, broken and bloodied, from the jungle, that she would have it again – that she would dream of chasing Cesc, trying to protect him from the humid heat and the hunter’s arrows, and whatever blackness that plagued him until he whimpered in the night. She was certain she would.
But the dream did not come.
How strange was the unconscious mind, Vivi thought. Now that Cesc was well again, it came. And how strange it was to have the dream again! His smile returned, but how different it was now. Just like the dream. Familiar, but changed.
How changed he was, her sweet deer. He had grown, matured, become more a man. She was proud of him and distantly concerned for him. It made it easier in some ways – easier to trust him with responsibility, easier to relax when he went out alone for hours. She had never worried before, not a single time. She was cognizant of that now, how little time she had spent in her first year with Rhedefre worrying. Now that he was better equipped to deal with what life threw at him, she worried more for him.
It was not in her nature to worry. She did not know how to do it properly. She imagined catastrophes and then enjoyed and dismissed them. And yet when he would leave, she would feel a tensing in her shoulders that did not name itself.
Why should he not be well? She had passed catastrophe without crumbling. He could do the same, she knew. She believed.
So, why the dream? What purpose did it serve her?
She would watch herself, her consciousness a disembodied and floating camera, curl around the body of the white stag.
Only in these new dreams, she did not apologize to the stag, as she had done in real life and for months after it passed. She said nothing. She curled around it, her arms around its massive neck, her face buried in its mighty forehead, her black hair snaking around its jaw, over its closed eyes.
And then, it apologized to her.
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Posted: Wed May 28, 2014 3:33 pm
✖ Solo: An Email ✖
Dearest Vivi,
It's been a hell of a time
finding you and the shepherd.
Almost four years now?
Maybe more.
I can't believe it.
Now that I know where you guys are
With Grandmere, to boot!
Do you mind if I come visit and stay a while?
Things have been hard since Augustine. I've just about run out of options to couch surf.
I hear Jamie and Michel are close by as well. It'll be a grand reunion.
Be there on the sixth.
If your couch is occupied
or you don't want me
I'll stay with J & M
But I've missed you and the shepherd the most.
And you owe me for 1,460-plus days without you.
Best,
Cerise
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Posted: Wed May 28, 2014 3:40 pm
✖ Solo: Cherry ✖
There was rain.
There were twelve petit fours on the counter, the first layer of chocolate ganache drying. Beside Vivi’s resting hand was a small bowl of gold leaf, and in her hand, a pair of tweezers. But she was not moving, not placing the glittering paper atop the petit fours as her pink-haired companion was doing. She stood, looking out the bakery’s high kitchen window at the rain.
It streamed down the panes in sheets, droplets snaking down, looking for cracks to let themselves into the dry.
Cesc’s line of petit fours was almost done. He bent over them with a singular focus, his eyebrows knit. He looked up to bring his bowl closer and then paused, his hand half-outstretched, as he saw Vivi.
Her face was carved of stone, her eyes quiet, as she watched the rain. The flurry of movement that always was her aura had stilled.
There was something dreamlike and unrealistic about the picture. The Frenchwoman standing still, staring at the rain as if called by it.
Cesc straightened. “Vivi?”
Vivi’s eyes peeled from the rain to him. She smiled, a subdued expression. She lifted one hand and reached across the table to him, tucking a pink curl behind another.
“Mm? Forgive me," she said. "I slipped away somewhere."
Rhedefre inclined his head, gentle. "Where did you go?"
Vivi shrugged.
"I thought,” she said. “... what did I linger on? A dream I had once. That you would be all white, you know, when you would be born. Porcelain white.”
Cesc’s mouth tipped just barely upward. She said nothing in continuation. Her eyes found the rain again.
“Are you alright, Vivi?” he asked, quiet.
“Your birthday is coming soon,” Vivi said. She twicked her tweezer tips together twice and dipped them into the gold leaf. She worked expertly and quickly, one, two, three petit fours decorated in a flash. “What is it that we should do for it? A party, do you think?”
The stag shook his head. “Maybe just a nice evening at home.”
"Mm." She worked, more talented than his hand, even distracted. He watched her movements, her deft fingers, and sought to imitate her.
"We have a friend coming," she said, more to the petit fours than to Cesc. "On the sixth. Her name is Cerise."
"Like a cherry?" Cesc repeated, his smile returning.
"Mm..." Vivi's smile was sphinx-like, distant, soft as sand. She looked up to the rain, the snake-like movement of the water, and then down to the petit fours, hardened drips of chocolate that glued them gently to the parchment. She shrugged again, and bent over her work.
At length, she replied. "Perhaps only in name."
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Posted: Fri Jun 06, 2014 5:56 pm
✖ Solo: Counting ✖
Shepard hummed a song as he smoothed out the fitted sheet on the futon. It was an old French children’s song, a counting song:
”Un, deux, trois,” he sang under his breath, ”nous allons au bois.”
Vivi stood next to him, stuffing a pillow into a fresh pillowcase. Cesc floated at the other side of the landing, moving aside furniture to make more room for the opened futon. He worked as though his placements would be inspected, setting things at attractive angles from each other, pulling back and checking his handiwork and starting again.
Really, no one would care. Cerise, he was sure, would not, even though he had never met the woman. Who cared about such things when visiting old friends? It was all pure and persnickety perfectionism. Like passing a finger over the tables to look for dust. What guest really cared?
Not that he knew, he realized suddenly. Perhaps she would care.
He didn’t really know anything about her, despite asking. Shepard said that she was fine, high-spirited, dramatic as most circus-folk were. Vivi, despite her usual proclivity for exclaiming endlessly about her friends, only told Cesc that she was a trapeze artist – a fellow aerialist – from the circus. The rest of her answers were somewhere around the ‘mm’ persuasion.
”Quatre, cinq, six,” sang Shepard, quietly ”Cueillir des cerises,”
“Do you think,” Vivi said suddenly, setting the pillow down upon the futon, “that she will want to talk about Clive?”
The song slipped from Shepard’s lips. He looked up at Vivi and then straightened. Cesc turned his head but not too sharply, trying not to look interested.
Clive, he knew, was Clive Kensington. An old friend from the circus, a ringleader, the handsome dark-skinned man with bright, clever eyes from photographs.
Shepard shrugged. “I don’t know. She may want to.”
Vivi screwed her mouth toward one side of her face.
“Why wouldn’t we talk about him?” said Shepard, undoing the loose sheet and unfurling it over the futon. “He was close with all of us. And anyway, it’s been, what? Something – five years, yeh? Too much time to get all awkward about it.”
“What happened?” Cesc asked, terribly busy with shifting a lamp’s angle on the coffee table. He looked up after a moment, and Shepard and Vivi looked at each other, as un-awkwardly as possible.
“Our friend, Clive, you know,” said Vivi, “He – died.”
“Yes,” said Cesc, nodding. He smiled. This had never been a secret, sad as it was. Oftentimes his guardians had spoken to him of Clive, both of the friendship they'd shared and of the grief they'd faced after his death. “I know. That’s why you left the circus and opened the bakery here.”
“Yes,” continued Vivi. “We simply – well, we haven’t seen Cerise since his death, that is all. It is that we never – we never really – spoke of what happened.”
Shepard tucked the sheet as best he could under the futon. He shrugged, patting the folded blanket he left atop it. “It’s been a really long time. I’m sure Cerise has gotten on with her life, like we have. Like Jamie and Michel have, too.”
Vivi’s smile was thin. “Mm.”
Shepard shrugged. “And anyway, how awkward is it going to be? We talk about Clive plenty.”
Vivi shrugged. “You are right, I suppose.”
She leaned forward and undid the blanket that Shepard left behind, undoing it and shaking it open with a flick of her wrists. The unease melted from her face as Shepard began to hum again.
“Sept, huit, neuf,
dans un panier neuf,
Dix, onze, douze,
elles seront toutes rouges.”
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Posted: Thu Jul 24, 2014 8:39 pm
✖ Solo: Arrival ✖
Cerise was in the house a full week before Cesc knew what to make of her.
He was in the bakery the day she arrived, his hands wet with ganache as he glazed cookies. They sat on wire trivets and dripped excess chocolate onto parchment paper, their tops glossy and thick, and he went about the work with a sort of ritual. He dipped them in, wiped the bottom on the rim of the bowl, and set them in rows, none touching, straight as soldiers. Dip, wipe, set. Dip, wipe, set.
Behind him, he heard commotion. The door unlocked, and Shepard and Vivi’s voice floated in, unintelligible at first in their distance – and then a new sound, a new voice, higher in pitch than Vivi’s, strong and clear. His ear twitched and swiveled toward the door. A smile slowly lit his face.
That must be Cerise, he thought.
She was laughing. That, he thought, was an excellent sign. He looked quickly at his remaining cookies. Chocolate did not stay in dipping-form long – it would become mealy if it waited on the double-boiler, and it would harden quickly if he took it off. Only ten left! Maybe if he hurried, he could get them done before they all came into the kitchen.
“Holy s**t! Listen to you! You haven’t changed. Not a centimeter. Not a tiny bit. I would have thought Vivi’d try.”
Cesc kept his ear toward the door. Dip, wipe, set. Dip, wipe, set. The quality of Cerise’s voice was fascinating. Her speech seemed telegraphic, staccato, but there was still a melodic, almost poetic sort of rhythm to her speech.
He lifted his eyes, peering through the front doorway. Cerise stood, a bag slung around her shoulder, her eyes lifted to Shepard. She swayed back and forth on her feet like her body wasn’t finished moving, although she’d reached her destination. She fell between Shepard and Vivi in height, and her hair tried its best to fill in the height gaps, reaching spastically in both directions. The color was as her name, a deep, living, cherry red.
There was something strange about her, Cesc thought as he stole glances at her, his eyes darting up and down from his work to the woman. She was not beautiful, but there was a quality to her that commanded attention. She seemed put together as if sewn from spare parts. Her smile was too big for her face. Her shoulders were broad and powerful, her curves stretching her contours, but her hands were surprisingly dainty and small. She smacked Shepard with the back of one hand and threw back her head and laughed.
“This place! You guys. It’s practically the circus. I see it! You couldn’t leave it behind? Well. I get it. I get it. Me, neither.” She turned toward Vivi and squeezed the Frenchwoman’s shoulder. “It’s funny how none of us really did.”
Vivi smiled but said nothing, slowly moving toward the back of the bakery, angling Cerise to walk in the same direction. Cerise, for her part, stayed looking up, smiling at the little metal birds that dangled from the ceiling.
“Shepard’s work? Seriously. I’m not surprised. Always was your forte,” she said, standing on her tiptoes and trying to nudge one with her finger. She prodded only air.
“Cerise,” said Vivi, her voice slow, almost halting. Cesc’s ears swiveled toward the door. He had never heard her sound unsure. “There is someone else, of course, that you must see.”
“Granny M, I know. Absolutely.” Cerise snapped her heels back onto the ground and laughed brightly, touching Shepard’s shoulder. “Old thing! She must be a million. She’s not close? She’d curse me if she heard me say that. Can’t be caught.”
“N—o,” said Vivi. “She is at her own home.”
“Lucky!” said Cerise. “I’ll see her later for sure. Is it J and M? Already?”
“No,” said Vivi again.
“That’s right,” said Shepard. “You’ve got to meet Rhede.”
Dip, wipe, set. Cesc finished the last cookie and floated quickly to the sink, splashing the chocolate from his hands. That was his cue.
He floated to the doorframe, a smile ready on his face.
Outside, Cerise was looking at Shepard as though he’d grown a second head. Her movement stopped. Her small hands were flared open, fingers splayed, by her side. He saw her blink twice.
“Rhede?” she repeated, careful, as though the name would cut her mouth.
“Yes,” said Vivi. Her shoulders were tight and high. “Rhedefre – or Cesc – he is part of the family – oh! Rhede, there you are.”
Cesc was still in the doorway. He suddenly forgot what it meant to stand normally, his hands feeling awkward and too large at the end of his arms, his elbows suddenly cutting into space – what did one do with arms, usually? His ears twitched and bent forward. The tension in the room was one he could not place. Only Shepard seemed oblivious to it, his hands in his pockets, his eyes quiet.
“Ah – hello,” he said, just as carefully, to Cerise. She whirled toward him, her too-large smile now looking painted on her face, unmoveable. She let out a strange laugh.
“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m so rude! I don’t know why I was surprised. We all get new friends. Of course. Yes. Rhede. Rhede. I’m Cerise.” She put out a hand and grabbed his, shaking it thoroughly. She looked him over without concern, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Wow! Yes.”
“Cerise, it’s a pleasure,” said the stag. “Sorry to have startled you.”
“Oh, no!” The woman waved a hand dismissively. The tension left her, but also something of her previous excitement. She said nothing further, asked nothing of his origin or his species. Her shoulders dropped and her cheeks softened. “I’m so sorry. It’s lovely to meet you. Rhede.”
* * *
"I didn't freak you out earlier, did I?"
Cerise folded her arms and leaned over the top of a chair. It was night, and downstairs Shepard and Vivi cleaned up the bakery for close, the vacuum humming and the c***k of plates and glasses like chimes in the background. Cesc floated up first, done with his work, and found Cerise lounging in the living room, her bare feet on the coffee table, a picture album in her lap.
She was dressed comfortably, pajamas, a too-large tee and a pair of cotton shorts, threadbare and old. The shirt, Cesc thought, was not her's -- a man's fit.
He smiled at her, more comfortably this time. "I'm sorry I surprised you," he said. "I do that the first time people meet me sometimes."
"I could see that," said Cerise. She shrugged. "But. You can't blame me. We're circus folk. We're kind of closed off. Just our own people, you know. That's what we live for."
She held up the album. "These guys."
Cesc nodded. "Yes, I hear a lot of stories ---"
Cerise went on, unimpeded by his interruption. "But I guess we're not really circus people anymore. Not really. This bakery. You." She shrugged. "Life goes on. Just surprised me."
The stag paused. He was unsure what to say, how to explain himself. He had never considered it before -- that he would ever need to do so, that anyone would question his being there with Vivi and Shepard. He had not been yet born to see them decide on his placement in the family. He had never thought of their family having been complete before his arrival.
He was not, he thought, extra.
But Cerise, who looked at him without any compulsion to know him or his story, whose eyes were plain and unreadable, seemed to think so.
"I'm sorry to have done so," he ventured again. "But I'm very glad they took me in, and I'm very happy here."
"Oh, no, no," said Cerise. "Don't apologize! This is your house. No need. Besides, you could have been in the circus if you'd wanted." She laughed. "You're just Vivi's type."
Cesc retained his smile but said nothing else. He was not certain if her comment was a compliment or a slight.
* * *
They went out almost every night after close. Cerise demanded it, demanded to be sandwiched between Shepard and Vivi at every moment she could. She stood by the counter as they worked, lounged in the kitchen when they did not. She spouted endless stories with brilliant timing and infectious laughter.
Cesc, he thought, felt terribly valuable as her mobile audience. He was the only one who had not heard the stories from her mouth, and could laugh without artifice or politeness as she told them. She seemed, he was sure, to be getting more fond of him as time went on.
A rough patch. An uncomfortable beginning.
That's all it was.
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Posted: Fri Jul 25, 2014 8:47 pm
✖ Solo: Nightclub ✖
The music was too loud.
There were bodies everywhere, sound pulsing from speakers, strobe lights flashing between moving arms and legs. Cesc squinted his eyes and tried to concentrate on his drink. He floated at a booth and kept his ears close to his head, trying to keep the volume of the music manageable. He didn’t enjoy nightclubs, he decided, taking his fourth sip of a too-alcoholic drink that was bright enough to look radioactive. He wasn’t tipsy. He didn’t want to be.
He took a drink of what looked like water in one of the left cups at the table. He grimaced and swallowed too hard – vodka.
Cerise was easy to spot on the dance floor. Her hair bounced and made itself known, and anyway she always danced beside Shepard, who hated dancing and stood drinking a whiskey-and-soda like a column stuck immovably amongst the writhing throngs. He, too, disliked nightclubs.
How were they there? Again? It was the third time this week, and none of them other than Cerise even seemed to like it. How had they even gotten in? Cesc, by all accounts, should have been tossed out for being too young, but Cerise made a novelty of him to the bouncer and so he’d been waved in with a shrug.
“He’s just made that way!” Cerise yelled up at the bouncer amiably, flashing her smile. “You gonna discriminate for how he looks?”
They’d gone in.
Cesc wondered how Cerise knew anything about how he was made. She’d never asked – at least, she’d never asked HIM.
He scanned the crowd for Vivi. She danced elsewhere, but she was always hard to spot, moving as often as she did. He didn’t see her near Jamie or Michel, and definitely not near Cerise or Shepard.
They called him the same thing, didn’t they?
‘The Shepard,” Vivi called him.
‘The shepherd,” Cerise had written it out.
He looked at Cerise, her body nudging Shepard’s, trying to pry it into motion. Shepard’s cup jostled.
A figure came through the crowd, the blonde-haired Jamie, her face shining with sweat. She squeezed into the booth and took the not-water, taking a long drink and then pressing the glass to her face. Cesc gaped and tried to stop her -- I just tried to drink that and it didn't work so we -- ah, nevermind! -- but was too late.
“You should come out and dance!” she yelled over the music, motioning to the floor.
“I’m okay!” Cesc called back. “Don’t worry about me!”
“You shouldn’t be worried about it!” she said, poking her fingers on her head to mimic his antlers. “You’ll be fine!”
The stag shook his head, and Jamie held up a finger to hold his response. She stood, circling the booth and sliding in next to him. She leaned in, her voice close.
“How are you holding up? I know Cerise is a handful,” she said, her hand hovering over Cesc’s wing. “It’s nice to see her, but she’s a hurricane.”
The words brought a grin to the stag’s face, unchecked. He’d known Jamie since he was born, the first of the Cirque Augustine friends that Vivi and Shepard had introduced him to. She was tall and lithe, with long blonde hair and good sense in her face. Her mouth was thin and long and somehow pleasant. “It IS a little strange. I’m not sure if she likes me!”
“Don’t worry about it!” Jamie leaned down and took another sip of her drink, shaking the glass to settle the ice. “Cerise is like that. She only likes Cirque Augustine people.”
“So she said!” replied Cesc, smiling crookedly. “But I think she may be getting used to me.”
Jamie laughed, the sound inaudible as she drew away, patting Cesc on the shoulder. She shook her head. “That would be something, wouldn’t it? You know – after the whole --- THING – I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, even Michel – just Vivi. It took me a while to be okay with seeing everyone again.” Jamie shrugged. “But Cerise, she’s the opposite. She’s been looking for us forever! This is all she wants!”
Cesc inclined his head, his ears tipped forward, trying to listen as best he could as the music pounded around them. He flicked his eyes to the crowd, alighting on Cerise, her arms above her head, her hips swaying.
He looked back down at Jamie, who raked a hand through her damp hair.
“What whole thing?” he asked, before he could stop himself.
Jamie’s eyebrows went up. “What?”
“I know – I know your friend, Clive, he passed away,” said Cesc. His voice was strained and his throat felt raw. It was hard to be polite and gentle when having to yell. “But – why – I don’t mean to pry, but why didn’t you want support from everyone? I know Vivi cares a lot about you, and Michel, and Shepard, of course…”
A strange expression swept over Jamie’s face, like a cloud passing over the sun. She blinked, shook her head, opened her mouth, and then held up a finger. Cesc was suddenly aware of the absurdity of the location he’d asked the question, of the drunk people grinding on each other not a foot away from their table, of the bad music and the selfies and the complete ridiculousness of it all.
“You don’t know?” asked Jamie, leaning close. “Really, they don’t talk about Clive?”
“They do!” Cesc assured. “Just stories, though, about being friends?”
Jamie paused. She tilted her head, her brow furrowed. There was no room in the beats that pulsed relentlessly for her to be anything but blunt. She took a drink of her vodka and yelled back: “They never told you that he was murdered?”
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Posted: Sat Jul 26, 2014 12:26 pm
✖ Solo: Nightclub II ✖
The air was thick and humid outside the nightclub. Cesc felt like he’d been misted, like his face was sticky with sweat, like he’d never be clean. He felt like he’d rolled in honey, the way his clothes stuck to him. But he needed air, and humid air was still better than the music that still played within.
The bouncer who’d waved him through took another look at him as he floated out, shaking his head. Cesc passed him without returning the glance.
Murdered.
He didn’t want to think about it. He could picture Clive in his head from the photographs, the center of so many circles, his arms around his friends. A pleasant, outgoing smile.
Cesc wiped his face with his hands It felt like he rubbed the grime into his pores instead of off of his skin. How had he never really thought of Clive in the past, anyhow? He heard stories, he enjoyed them. The man who invited Shepard into the circus. The one who’d engaged in prank wars with Vivi. The man who loved beer and once gotten drunk with Shepard in China and woken up on a rooftop without any knowledge of how he’d gotten there.
They’d told him he died. Just that he died, and his absence sparked the end of the circus as they’d known it. That they’d folded months later.
That they went to Gambino afterward, to figure everything out.
He never asked them how he died.
Had he?
Cesc furrowed his brow and tried to remember. How had he never asked? Not once, how it happened. How their friend had been taken from them.
“Rheeeeeede!”
Cesc looked up, startled.
Cerise poured herself out of the bar, slinking past the door, her step unsure without the door or Shepard to hang on to.
“Have you seen Vivi? The shepherd wants to go. Can’t find her. He saw you go out, I thought maybe she came with.”
Cesc shook his head. His heart was still racing, although there was no real, logical reason for it. “She’s not out here.”
Cerise shrugged languidly and dropped down to sit on the curb. She was smiling like a cat, her eyes half-closed. She hung her hands on her neck, her fingers laden with rings. They gleamed in the streetlight, reflecting spots of light in every direction. “He’ll find her,” she said. “He always does.”
Cesc nodded. They stood for a moment in a silence, the bass pumping, muffled, behind them. He could hear conversations of those waiting in line – this is taking forever, should we invite so-and-so, let’s get a picture – and somehow it made the silence between him and Cerise more unbearable.
He could ask her about Clive, couldn’t he?
No – they did not know each other well enough yet. He wasn’t part of the circle.
“This was how it was s’posed to be,” Cerise slurred suddenly. “Me and him. Vivi and J and Michel – this was how it used to be. All the time.”
Cesc said nothing.
“Are you ever worried?” asked Cerise. Her voice was not concerned, but lilting and pleasant, like she was contemplating something lovely. A bath, a dessert.
“What do you mean?” asked the stag.
“That she’ll get sick of you,” continued Cerise, humming through her words. She slid her fingers into her hair, then began untangling her rings from it clumsily, laughing. “She does that. She gets sick of things. And now she has her real family back, anyway.”
“You mean Vivi.” It wasn’t a question. The blood was cold in Cesc’s fingers, but he did not allow the feeling to creep into his expression. He’d heard that before somewhere, but it meant nothing – nothing – “I’m not a thing, anyway.”
“Oh, you are,” assured Cerise. She pulled one of the rings off, a diamond on a plain gold band, that was stubbornly stuck to her hair. She yanked it, snapping hairs off, and slid it back onto her finger. “But you’re ******** weird. You’re so weird! Just strange enough that I’m sure she’ll keep you around anyway.”
Cesc grit his teeth, his jaw tight. The cold feeling sank into the pit of his stomach and rolled there, but he still refused, steadfast and angry, to grant it any purchase on his face.
Slowly, he cranked out a smile.
“I’m sure that’ll be enough,” he said.
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Posted: Sat Jul 26, 2014 12:55 pm
✖ Solo: Nightclub III ✖
They smelled bad, the lot of them, as they trudged up the bakery stairs. They smelled like sweat and alcohol and smoke, like humidity and a hundred other people. Cesc brought up the rear as they went, watching Cerise grabbing hold of Shepard’s hips from the back to pull herself up, stair by stair. She was giggling. Vivi went behind her, pressing the small of her back to help her go.
Rhedefre watched Vivi move, her black hair swaying, her movements graceful and purposeful and not at all drunk. Where had she gone all night?
His mind skipped. He thought of her, outside in the marsh, the day he was born. Hugging him tightly, her eyes wet. She spoke to him with such kindness. When was that kindness not part of their relationship? She stayed beside him after the jungle, stroking his hair, murmuring sweet things in his ears. Helped him even out his hair when he tried to snip it all off. Laughed without restraint when he began to joke again.
She’ll get sick of you, something whispered.
No.
When had he seen her do that before? It was impossible. She retained friends from the circus. Jamie. Michel. Shepard. Granny Maplethorpe. She still had Grumpaws. She’d never left them.
And yet, there had been a time, two summers ago, when she and Shepard stopped speaking for what felt like weeks.
She never held on to boyfriends, either. A week or two and they were gone.
But that was how she was. Who she was. A little mercurial. Nothing more. And friends had fights, it was normal. Wasn’t it?
Why did she want you in the first place? his brain hissed. Just another strange thing to collect? With this bakery and her ancient cat and her collection of costumes and oddities--
Shut up, Cesc. Shut up.
At the first landing, they parted, like the links on a necklace breaking.
“G’nigh’,” Cerise slurred, dragging herself up to her room on the third floor with Shepard’s help. Cesc could hear a squeak of springs as she flopped down on her futon a moment later, her shoes and clothes still on from the club. Shepard came down instantly after, yawning.
“What a wreck,” he murmured, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. “We’ve got to say no next time.”
Vivi laughed. “Good luck, cheri.”
There’s Cerise, Cesc’s brain continued. She moved on from Cerise, didn’t she? She never mentioned her, not in any of the stories…
Cesc lingered in the middle of the room. He stared around himself as though he didn’t recognize the place. The space suddenly felt strange to him, out of perspective. The red overstuffed couch with the ebony wood, the flea market coffee table Shepard refurbished. The pictures on the walls. The knick-knacks. All familiar but not-quite-right, like a stranger had come in and moved everything two inches to the left without telling him.
“Did you have fun?” Vivi asked, breaking into his thoughts. She touched him gently as she swept by, stopping beside the staircase up. “I did not see that you danced this time! A pity.”
Cesc smiled, but the expression was awkward and misaligned. “It was fine – hey, though, where were you all night?”
“Mm?” Vivi tilted her head.
“Why didn’t you come and sit with me?”
Rhedefre regretted the words immediately as he said them – childish, plaintive. He closed his wings awkwardly. Vivi’s brows went together, a furrow just appearing between them, and then relaxing.
“I am sorry, cheri, I did not think it! I was dancing, that is all. Perhaps the next time?”
Cesc nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt very young and annoyed with himself – he wasn’t an infant, he didn’t need to be babysitted, he hadn’t even felt lonely until…
“If you don’t wanna next time, fine with me,” said Shepard. He pulled off his shirt from the back, balling it in his hands and mopping his chest with it. “I’ll stay home. I hate that s**t. My ******** ears.”
“No, it’s fine,” amended Cesc. “That’s not – I don’t even know why I said that.”
Shepard shrugged. “It’s late.”
Vivi continued looking at Cesc, her dark eyes distant. She made a soft noise of assent. Cesc broke his gaze with her, looking intently at the wall over her head. He was being stupid and she knew it.
There was a headache growing behind his eyes.
“Yeah,” he agreed, nodding. “Yeah, let’s go to bed.”
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Posted: Sat Jul 26, 2014 1:14 pm
✖ Solo: All's Well ✖
Rhedefre didn’t sleep well. He showered but still felt hot, and the feeling reminded him of the year prior, when he suffered for weeks to get the jungle’s humidity out of his brain. He awoke randomly during the night with a feeling of unease, his palms sweating and his brain muddy.
Everything was fine, he assured himself. His room was fine. The apartment was fine. The bakery was fine. The street, the shops, the trees, the night – everything was all right, all in place.
Raevans had been rehomed before, though, hadn’t they?
There were people who relinquished their guardianship over them. Who decided they were finished, for whatever reason.
Eth, it happened to Eth.
Cesc sat up, pressing his fingertips into his eyes. Why on earth was he being such an idiot? Because of the insinuations of one drunk girl who had known his family five years ago and never shown up in the interim? What was he, an idiot? A child?
A child, maybe, Cesc thought ruefully. His head still ached, a lingering pain at the base of his skull. The price of stupidity, perhaps.
I’m not as old as I want to be, that’s for sure. He snorted at himself and lay back down, staring at the ceiling. Nobody was going anywhere. Nobody was being rehomed. His family was strong. He was going to be just fine. He closed his eyes listened to the hum of the refrigerator downstairs, to the sound of the not-so-far-off ocean.
His eyes split back open.
There was an extra sound.
He sat up again, frowning, his ears swiveling as he tried to place it. It was muffled, just outside his door. Laughter?
He floated up silently, taking off his covers. Holding his breath, he made his way across the room and slipped open his door. The lights in the landing were still off, illuminated only by a sliver of moonlight that came through the single window.
Vivi sat alone on the couch with the picture album on her lap. She had a hand over her mouth, the fingers of her other tracing one of the pictures. Cesc could see the erratic rise and fall of her chest as she moved. He did not budge, made no noise. A coldness pushed down his shoulders, the corners of his mouth, and burrowed in his thudding heart.
She drew in a ragged breath and put both her hands over her eyes. He sank back from the door and hid behind it, his eyes wide.
Vivi was not laughing.
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Posted: Sat Jul 26, 2014 9:30 pm
✖ Solo: All's Well II ✖
“Geezus, what is this, the third day? Where is she?” Shepard mopped down the counter with a snort of annoyance, his eyes snapping back and forth from it to the bakery door. He spoke low enough that he did not bother the bakery’s patrons, but loud enough for Cerise and Cesc to hear. It was no shock that Cerise could hear – she sat on a stool behind the counter, just beside Shepard, lazily spinning back and forth as she read a magazine.
Rhedefre, meanwhile, stood beside a display case, restocking cookies. He half-turned toward the door, although he knew nobody was there.
He had not seen Vivi that morning, although he’d hoped to. He did not know when she left the landing, but she had not been there when he left to feed on dawn. Her shift at the bakery was from afternoon to close, but here came afternoon and she was late.
As she had been for three days, on all her shifts.
Cesc frowned. Where was she going?
“Don’t worry about it. Probably nothing.” Cerise flipped a page in the magazine. She reached out with her foot and prodded the back of Shepard’s leg, playful. “Or did she start being punctual before? Weird. Impossible.”
“More punctual than this,” said Shepard with a snort. “I’ve got to get to baseball.”
“Ooohhh. That sounds fun.” Cerise shut her magazine. “Can I come?”
Shepard shrugged. “If you want. It’s just practice, grounders, throwin’ the ball around a bit.”
Cerise grinned, leaning on the counter with both her elbows. “Better than hanging around here. Let’s do it.”
“After Vivi gets here,” said Shepard.
“Come onnnnnnn, Vivi! We got baseball to get to!” Cerise called, cupping a hand around her mouth. A few bakery patrons turned toward her momentarily, then returned to their treats and companions. She grinned at them, the expression roguish and almost sweet.
Cesc shut the display case door gently. Cerise and Shepard seemed to get on well together, he thought. Or did it just seem that way? She was always with him, within arm’s reach. And Shepard, for all his general discomfort around those who wanted physical closeness with him, seemed to deal with it just fine. He took Cerise with him on his days off, allowed her to follow him about, humored her and listened to her stories and reminisces and complaints.
The shepherd.
The back door of the bakery opened, the service entrance, and Rhedefre floated quietly to the back. His heart rate began to accelerate in anticipation. He entered the kitchen and there she was, Vivi, looking --- looking –
“Cheri! Why, it is that you look concerned. Is all well?” Vivi smiled brilliantly as she shut the door, her hands filled with shopping bags. Her hair was swept back and her eyes were bright and cheerful, cheerful as they ever were. She set the bags down by the counter and pulled on her apron, tying it behind her back.
Cesc paused, finding words in his stunned mouth. “You – just a little late –“
“Ahhh, it is that I am late, so late, is the Shepard angry with me? I feel he must be. But I could not but help it, there were bakery supplies I saw with Grandmere, and they needed to be purchased. Adorable things! A little pan for tea cakes that makes shapes – oh! – they are too lovely. I want to make a thousand tiny cakes immediately! All pink, with a lovely white chocolate glaze, will that not be perfect?”
She kissed his cheek and swept by him like a whirlwind. Cesc gaped as she went by, although part of him implored him not to: this was Vivi, at any rate, wasn’t it? Vivi as she always was.
He stared after her with confusion as she went by him, watching her as she laughed an apology to Shepard and waved him and Cerise out the door. There was nothing wrong with her, nothing wrong with her laugh or her smile or her manner, even as the others left. She chatted with customers and made recommendations.
There was nothing different. Only the memory of her the night before. And the return of the headache, thrumming in his head, as Cesc watched her.
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Posted: Sat Jul 26, 2014 9:31 pm
✖ Solo: Sugar ✖
Cesc opened the bakery the next day. He came in from feeding and began to work immediately after, not even stopping upstairs before he tied on his apron and set about working. He had been awake long before dawn, policing the landing, opening his door and quietly looking out at the picture album. More than once, he floated out and opened it, looking through pictures that made little sense to him.
Pictures of a past life, something that was long gone. Vivi and Shepard and all the rest, looking the same and yet different, younger and fresher and carefree. Pictures of parties and of shows, arms twined around each other and hands cradling drinks.
Maybe she did miss her past family. Or her past. Maybe that was it. Everyone had a right to a bad night now and again.
He baked baguettes. Croissants. Decorated cookies. Made coffee. Opened the bakery and let the patrons come in. The hours of his shift ticked slowly by.
Cerise and Shepard left together in the morning to lay on the beach a while. Vivi came down soon after and went to visit Granny M. Cesc waved at them and continued his work.
“Excuse me.”
An accented voice filtered through his thoughts as Cesc put away coffee mugs, somewhere around the noon hour. He turned to the voice’s owner quickly, smiling.
Looking at him was a handsome young man, his skin the color of caramel and his eyes yellow-green, impossibly bright in the light. He had dark hair, nearly black. His hands were in the pockets of loose cargo pants, and he wore green and yellow flip-flops and a shirt to match. His eyes, and his smile, radiated a pleasant sense of calm.
“Hi,” he said. “Sorry to bother.”
“Don’t mention it,” replied Cesc, smiling. His shoulders relaxed under the stranger’s gaze. It was like, he thought with a touch of amusement, being near his own power. “What can I help you with?”
“I would’ve waited until you were done,” the man continued. “I know there’s usually a girl here, or a guy, helping you out? Are you alone today?”
Cesc nodded, and his smile became less polite and more genuine. An admirer, perhaps, of Vivi or Shepard? They’d had them before. “We have lone shifts sometime, yeah. Are you looking for one of them?”
The man laughed, an easy sound. “Oh, no, no. Just asking. I’d just like an iced coffee.”
“Coming right up.” Cesc turned, taking a cup and filling it with ice. He spoke over the rattle, half-turned to see the man. “So you’ve been here before?”
The stranger grinned, his bright eyes squinting. “Absolutely. You don’t come around this beach and not go to the bakery everyone talks about.”
His voice, Cesc realized suddenly, was not unlike his own. The accents were similar, the soft ‘th’s and the quiet rolled r’s – someone who spoke Spanish natively. The sound strengthened Cesc’s smile. He did not want the stranger to leave.
“Really!” Rhedefre poured the coffee over the ice, letting the cubes shift in the glass as the liquid snaked around them. “It’s nice to hear we have a good reputation.”
“I think you are being disingenuous, my friend,” said the man. “You have to know that you are well-liked here.”
Cesc laughed. He put the cup on the counter. “It’s a nice thing to be reminded of, then. Sugar? Cream?”
“Much better. Oh – no, this is fine. But I’m sorry, I misspoke. Can I get that to go?”
“Of course, one second.” Cesc ducked under the counter and brought out a cardboard cup. As he changed the order, he felt a sort of disappointment blooming in his chest – he liked the stranger. He felt natural and normal and right in the space, and he chased away the anxiety that had fogged up the stag’s mind.
“Here you are,” said Cesc. “No charge.”
“Oh?” The man’s eyebrows went up. “Are you sure?”
The stag shrugged. “We have to keep those happy mouths talking somehow, I think.”
The man laughed. “You’re a better marketer than I thought!” He took out a small, plastic wallet from his shorts, unfolded a bill, and stuffed it in the tip jar. “Here, then. And I’ll get you next time.”
He took his coffee, waved, and walked out of the bakery.
* * *
“Mmm…”
Vivi leaned on the counter and twirled her hair around her finger. It was two days later, and for once they were all together, stuffed behind the counter like sardines. Even for Cesc, it was a little cramped. He took to floating back and forth from the kitchen and wiping down clean tables to get a little space.
“What?” Cerise, perched on her stool, looked over her shoulder.
“That man there,” said Vivi, gesturing surreptitiously with one hand. “He is lovely, do you not think?”
“He’s okay,” said Cerise, shrugging. She slid her elbow across the counter, to where Shepard’s arm lay. He was engrossed in his phone, his eyes distant, but he did not move his arm when she touched it. “Not really my type.”
Cesc lifted his head, following her gaze. He let out a soft sound of recognition, of pleasure.
“Ah!” he said. “He’s back!”
“Back?” Vivi turned her head toward Rhedefre, but as she did, the stranger lifted his own gaze to the Raevan.
“Oh, hello!” the man said, lifting one hand in a wave. He lifted up his coffee and pastry with a grin. “I paid for them this time!”
“This time?” Vivi called back. “Did you swindle our poor Cesc before?”
“Cesc? What a nice name!” said the man, agreeable. He did not stand, content to make his conversation across the bakery. Nobody seemed to mind, and his voice, even raised, was pleasing and musical. “I promise you, though, I am a recipient of his kindness, and he is no victim.”
“He tipped me basically the same price as the coffee, anyway,” added Cesc. “It’s nice to see you again, sir.”
“Sir, oh, don’t. Not sir. I hate being ‘sir’,” said the man with a laugh.
“We could call you your name, if you prefer,” said Vivi. “Or make one up for you, if you’d rather.”
The man paused, his mouth half-open, and then lifted up his hands. “I would tell you, but now I am curious as to what you would give me. Go ahead!”
Cerise tilted her head. She looked briefly at Shepard, waiting for him to chime in, but he did nothing but continue to read his phone, bent over the device. He could have been asleep for all he reacted.
“I think you look like a Spencer. Or we could be mean and just name you Sir,” she said. “Or we could force you, tell you no names, no business.”
Cesc shook his head. “That would be messy for us, with every person who comes in.”
“Let me think,” said Vivi, tapping the counter. “What did you get last time? Are you a regular sort of man? I have a few customers I call by their regular orders.”
“I would just be Coffee, then, and that is not too interesting, I think,” said the man.
“Do you take cream? Sugar?” ventured Cesc. He liked the exchange. It was the first time in weeks, he realized, that he felt totally normal with Vivi and Shepard and Cerise all in the same room.
“Alas. Neither!” He lifted his hands. He leaned back in his chair, his hands folded over his stomach, looking contented. His eyes sparked with a mischievous intelligence. “I am sorry to be making this so difficult for you.”
“Neither? What, you like the bitter? So few people seem to,” said Vivi. She put her chin on her hand, looking at him.
“My mother assures me I am sweet enough on my own,” he replied sagely, bobbing his head in a solemn avowal.
Cesc laughed despite himself. “Very kind of her.”
“I thought!” replied the man.
“Ah, my Spanish, it is not so good,” said Vivi. “Azucar? That is the word for sugar, yes? I think – yes, I think this is what I will call you.”
“Azucar!” the man replied, laughing. His eyebrows were raised, and his smile showed a cheerful sort of surprise. “That – I must protest –“
“Not until you relinquish your name,” said Vivi.
“Really, Cesc, are you going to let this happen to me?” Azucar turned plaintively toward his first ally, but the stag simply shrugged his shoulders.
“Sorry, Azucar,” he said. “The lady calls the shots.”
“Does she!” He smiled over the distance, then held up his hands in defeat. “Then I suppose I must obey.”
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Posted: Sat Jul 26, 2014 9:58 pm
✖ Solo: Sugar II ✖
Cerise drummed her fingers on the counter, flat-handed, her rings clinking on the surface as she went. She sat with Shepard, looking up at him several times as he served a line of customers. She wriggled on the stool, fidgeted, and continued looking out into the bakery proper. It was raining outside and the beach was wet, and those caught in the sudden storm came in to the dry and the bakery goods.
Cesc floated back to the counter, a tray in his hands.
“That guy comes in here a lot now, doesn’t he?” Cerise said, more to the space between them than to Cesc himself, her eyes not leaving Azucar’s table. He sat in the same chair he had nearly every day that week, bent over a newspaper, his coffee cradled in one hand. Cerise’s mouth tipped downward, more on one side than the other, and let out a faint noise of discontentment.
“Yes, he seems to like it here,” said Cesc soothingly.
“Just reads the paper. Leaves.” Cerise propped her head up with one hand. “I don’t like it.”
“That he reads the paper?” asked Cesc. “Print is a dying medium, I suppose—”
“Don’t be an imbecile,” Cerise interrupted. “He’s casing the joint.”
Cesc’s eyebrows lifted. “By reading a newspaper?!”
Shepard, now free from his customers, snorted his entrance into the conversation. “Cerise, we aren’t in an 80s mafia movie, eh? Guy’s having a coffee and a read.”
“I don’t think so,” said Cerise. “I think he’s here for something.”
Shepard shrugged. “Probably Vivi, then.” He amended himself quickly as Cerise slid her eyes up to him, narrowed. “Or you!”
“Shut up,” she snapped, shoving him with one hand. “Would’ve made move by now. Or told his name.”
“He could be shy,” said Cesc.
Cerise rolled her eyes. “Real shy.”
Shepard leaned back against the table, looking over at Azucar. The man took a sip of his coffee, turned the page in his paper, and continued to read without any interest in any bakery patron. He seemed thoroughly, and completely, normal. “You might be reading a bit into this, yeah? We’ve had some nutters, and he doesn’t seem like that.”
“Maybe he likes the scenery, anyway,” said Cesc. “You can come for the scenery and not want to take it home with you.”
Cerise looked at Cesc, flat. There was a beat of silence before she replied, as though she had expected her look to do all the talking for her. “Really. What the hell would you even know about that, anyway?”
Cesc blinked. “What?”
Cerise gestured to his ribbon. “You aren’t. You know. Equipped.”
“Hey now,” Shepard said, his voice low and warning. Cerise turned to him with a coy sort of smile, pinching his arm gently.
“I’m not being an a*****e,” she promised. “Just calling him out. Got to keep a man on his toes.” She looked back at Cesc, her smile ironing itself out to a perfect line. “Metaphorically.”
Rhedefre opened his mouth, but there was little for him to say. She was, he realized, not exactly wrong. He didn’t exactly know anything about sex, or lust, not really. He appreciated beauty when he saw it: Zurine, Melisande, Ethiriel. Aesthetics, at least, he did understand. He'd had a few kisses, chaste and innocent ones, ones that seemed to convey fondness more than desire.
He'd seen kisses, of course. At nightclubs. In the bakery. Even upstairs, when he was meant to be asleep, when he'd look out of his door -- one night stands, brief relationships, that sort of thing. That, no. That was foreign.
“Well, still,” he said lamely.
“Still,” Cerise echoed. She stared at him, still flat, until he took his tray and retreated back into the kitchen, chastened by her gaze. As he went, he heard her speak again: “I don’t know, I just don’t like it…”
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Posted: Sat Jul 26, 2014 10:27 pm
✖ Solo: Unknowns ✖
Cesc looked at his bedroom ceiling in the darkness, his eyes trying to focus. He felt warm and uncomfortable.
He thought of Valentine’s Day. Of Zurine. Of Melisande. Of Ethiriel. Of soft hair against slender necks, eyelashes pressed against cheeks. Full, beautiful lips, speaking, smiling. Slender fingers that touched his arm, gentle. Beautiful curves and angles that made them. The lines of their throats that dipped into the hollows of collar bones and then further…
If he could, would he –
He closed his eyes. It wasn’t right to think of your friends that way, was it? It couldn’t be right. It couldn’t. They had no say in his mind, no way of telling him what was right or what was wanted.
What if –
Cesc put his pillow over his face, trying to keep his mind from thinking it.
What if he could be wanted?
Stop. Nope.
Cesc lifted himself from his bed, pressing the backs of his hands to his cheeks. Wrong, this was not right, this was wrong. He had no way of knowing those things.
His mind crackled with a foggy memory. A drunken scene he was not meant to see, long ago once, outside on the landing -- bodies pressed together, quiet moaning, steps toward Shepard’s bedroom while still intertwined. A woman’s hands on Shepard’s neck, her fingers deep in his hair, her mouth on his. Her legs around his waist, so long and lithe and smooth.
If he could, would he –
He focused on the memory, and the woman’s face blurred, her body changed, changed to be…
Shut up, shut up, shut up.
Sweet Melisande, kind Ethiriel, adored Zurine. He couldn’t – shouldn’t –
“I need some ******** water,” he whispered, putting his face in his hands. “I need some ******** water and to never think again.”
He opened the door to his room and floated into the bathroom. He cupped his hand under the faucet and turned it on, then drank slowly from it. The water was cool and refreshing, but the heat was still in his brain. He turned the water back on, filling his hand, and then splashed himself in the face.
That was better. Much better.
He floated there, motionless, as the water snaked down his face. He waited until his heart rate slowed.
Outside, he heard a noise. The door to a room opening.
”Hey,” he heard a loud whisper in the darkness. His heart leapt in his throat. Nobody could know what he had been thinking, right?! He turned toward the doorway, looking outside, but the open door was Shepard’s and not his own.
Cerise was just outside it, looking in, her sleeping tee just to the end of her buttocks. She leaned forward and Cesc observed that she had nothing on underneath. She moved and the shirt moved with her, around her, sliding off one shoulder. She slid into Shepard’s room and closed the door behind her.
Cesc held his breath, his heartbeat loud in his ears. What the ******** was that? What in the hell was that? Had he somehow awoken her, summoned her down? Sent out some kind of seed into the universe that flowered into –
He didn’t know why, but he floated across the landing and put his ear against Shepard’s door.
He didn’t know why, but he wanted to be wrong.
The voices were low and hard to decipher.
“Come on,” Cerise’s voice was urging. “Come on. You used to be such a slut.”
“Geezus,” murmured Shepard. “Are you serious?”
“Shh, come on. I haven’t seen you in a million years. Why not?”
There were the sounds of motion, and for a moment, Cesc’s brain caught up with him, firing randomly and suddenly – YOU ARE ABOUT TO GET CAUGHT, YOU IDIOT DEER, YOU MAY WANT TO LEAVE – but he held fast.
“Good geezus ********, I am really tired. What time is it?”
Cerise’s voice raised from the whisper. There was a true and living anger in it. “It’s because Vivi is upstairs. Isn’t it?”
“Cerise, stop it.”
“You’ve been leading me on.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“You have. You have.” Her voice cracked. There was more rustling, more movement. A bump, followed by unintelligible whispers.
“Cerise, geezus.”
“Come on. Come on. You have to be over it by now. You have to.” Cerise’s voice lowered again, nearly a hiss. “Come on!”
Cesc drew away from the door. He looked around the landing area, still startled, his hand over his chest. He looked at Shepard's door, guilty, and then floated back to his room, quietly shutting himself in.
Cerise was right. He really did know nothing.
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