._Lavender Hue's Raevan

[Lavender Hues]

What Is a Guardian?
(Oliver. Oliver is a Guardian)

It was a boring February morning and Oliver hadn't bothered to get much done. The laundry sat in it's basket at the end of the stairs, some of it folded, some of it crumpled, and the dishes from last night's dinner lingered in a cold, food laden bath. However, the professor himself was stretched along on the couch, his cat, Barrel, looming above him. The perfect picture of a bachelor, from his messy hair to his loose striped pajamas, all tied together with an open laptop on his chest and a hearty bowl of frosted mini-wheats at his side. It was clear with each spoonful and finished video that he wasn't thinking of getting up any time soon, much like the cat, who'd moved to nap between Oliver and the cushions next to him. Oliver gave him a pat, wiggled against the pillow behind him, and let out a long, contented sigh.

And then, the doorbell rang.

Izzie, who's been having a snooze herself, was first to barrel toward the door as if it were the end of the world as she knew it. She sprinted, skidded, and barked at the man on the porch before whining as Oliver hurried to pull her away. He'd had an creeping feeling that something would interrupt his lazy morning, be it one of his siblings or a problem with the house, but it hadn't made him any less unprepared. After all, even if it happened to be his family, he still liked to look presentable for them. He sighed, wiped the crumbs from his shirt, and opened the door.

"Hello, can I help you?" He asked, leaning out into the winter chill. When no one answered, he nudged to door open farther and stepped forward to look around. There were footprints and car tracks in the snow outside his door, but no one that he could see to account for them. Had Izzie scared them off? He glanced to Izzie, who wagged her tail anxiously, and shook his head. Nah, he hadn't been fast enough to answer. Oh well. He turned, aiming to go back inside and continue lazing, only to catch the form of something leaning against the side of his house. Curious, he dragged it inside.

"God, this thing is heavy." He heaved, hoisting the package into his arms so he could carry it better. "It's probably something from Thatcher, though. What could it be this time?"

He plopped the package on the living room table and quickly tore it open, only to pause when it revealed a metal briefcase. This didn't seem like something his bumbling brother would send, it was far too serious. He furrowed his brow and flicked the case open. The first thing that caught his attention, thankfully, was the handwritten note addressed to him.

Quote:

Greetings, Oliver!

I hope you remember me; I'm Zeke! You met me and my Raevan Anastacia last year at the mall! Let me be the first to congratulate you on becoming a Guardian! Out of numerous applications to our program, we felt that you were best fitted to become the newest addition to our family! So welcome and congratulations!

In this briefcase you will find your Soul Glass, Fel Essence, and a couple of documents - one of which needs your signature and must be returned to the Lab with your Glass and Essence upon your capture of a soul. The other is a list of contact information of every Guardian and Raevan pairing in the Lab. I've taken the liberty of highlighting the names of staff for you, but you will find us at the top of the first sheet!

I know this must be rather surprising for you, so before I go any further let me just state that if you have any questions at any time, please feel free to call, text, or email me and I will be more than happy to provide answers or guidance in general. That being said, let's get on with the show!

As I wrote above, you will find your Soul Glass and Fel Essence inside the briefcase. You are the Guardian to the Heavy Feather Essence, which has already been written down on the legal documents you will have to date and sign. Your Soul Glass is that big glass and metal contraption to the left of your Essence Jar, and will be the thing you need to use in order to help us make your future Raevan. Please take note of the cloth between the metal and glass parts as it is important. Souls have colors and the cloth acts as a limiter and something of a fail-safe so that the bottle will not suck up just anything around it. As yours is yellow, brown, and black, it will only activate around things (be they animal, plant, mineral, metal, etc) that fit one or all of these colors.

When you capture a soul, the glass bulb will appear to have a smoke-like gas inside of it. When this happens simply return the filled Glass, the Essence, your signed documents, and the case to the Lab. There is a business card tucked in alongside this note for our carrier service. Contact them when you are ready to return your items and they will pick them up from your home. As soon as we get them back we will begin the process of making them into your Raevan!

Whew! I hope I covered everything well enough in this note as far as what you need to do now that you are a Guardian! If not, and as before, please do not hesitate to get in contact with me. My phone is always on and I'm always happy to talk with members of the Lab family!

Hope to hear from you soon and congratulations again!

Sincerely,

Zeke Farris

He had to read it over about ten more times before it started to make sense, but the familiar name helped make it feel more personal. He remembered Zeke and Anastacia fondly, even if he'd made a bit of a fool of himself during that meeting. However, it obviously hadn't left a negative impression on either of them if he'd been selected as a guardian! A smile crept to his features as he set the letter down and gave everything else a once over. Everything seemed to be in order! He had his soul bottle, the essence, and all of the documents Zeke had mentioned... He let out a laugh.

"Well then, this was unexpected!" He cheered, taking a breath. "I guess this means I'm going to be a father!"

Of course, this realization didn't hit him until a second or so later, at which point he allowed himself to squeal like a ten year old. He knew he wasn't supposed to get too excited just yet, though. After all, he had to figure out what soul belonged in his bottle and send it back to Lab. It would be a while yet before he would be bringing anyone home. Still, he couldn't help but do a little dance in celebration! No matter how long the wait was, he was going to be a guardian!

"... I suppose I have to let everyone else know, huh?" He continued, rubbing his chin. "... Maybe just Sherwood and Rosie for now. I don't know if mom and dad would understand all of this just yet."

He rose from the table and closed the case again, before tugging it upstairs into his room. It was time to get dressed and call his siblings for a meet up! Hopefully they would be just as excited about this as he was!

 

[Lavender Hues]

Poetic Impossibilities
(Oliver tolerates Sherwood and Rose Marie while they suggest things)

Sherwood and Rose Marie arrived four hours later and ferried themselves into the kitchen for a cup of tea. Oliver let them chat about themselves for a while, both of them seeming to vie for who had the busiest schedule, before showing them the briefcase he'd received. It didn't seem too hard of a thing to explain when he'd thought about it earlier and was embarrassed when he found himself without words to answer a few questions. However, after repeating himself a few times and changing a word here or there, they finally seemed to get the gist... Or at least he hoped.

"So, if you'll humor me one last time," Sherwood mused, waving his hand about as he thought. "what I'm getting from all of this is that you're going to find a soul to combine with... These feathers, mail them back to some strange laboratory you've never been to, and they'll make a living being from them?"

"That's the gist of it, I suppose." Oliver replied, taking a sip of tea. "It a long process from what I've heard, so we won't have anyone new joining us anytime soon, but it's worth getting prepared for."

He leaned against the counter and smiled, only to watch as Sherwood's face seemed to twist between amusement and confusion. "What's that face for?" He asked.

"Bah, well it just seems like a load of nonsense!" Sherwood laughed, shaking his head. "Honestly, Oliver, do you even know these people? Are you sure they even create these... What did you say they were called again?"

"Raevans, and they're real, Sher. I've met some." Oliver retorted, crossing his arms. "They're amazing creations, too. You'd be amazed by the beauty of the one I met at the mall. Lavender hair, striking eyes... Even her name was beautiful."

He sighed as Sherwood looked away, a sign that he didn't completely buy everything yet, and turned his attention to Rose Marie. His sister had gone oddly quiet but seemed pensive. Hopefully she wasn't thinking he was out of his mind...

"Rosie, are you alright?" He asked, tilting toward her. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Rose Marie's gaze broke away from her teacup as Oliver spoke and furrowed slightly. However, soon enough, her trademark smile spread across her cheeks, and Oliver knew that she had something creative in mind.

"Oh, sorry, I got lost in thought." She said, tapping the side of her cup. "... Have you started to consider any soul possibilities?"

Oliver pursed his lips. ... No, not yet. He'd only just got the bottle a few hours ago, and there were a few stipulations as to what he could choose according to Zeke's letter. Of course, there were plenty of things that could match that bottle's cloth, but it still felt a little limiting. He rubbed at his chin.

"No, but I do know that I have limitations to what I can or can't choose." He replied, reaching for the briefcase. "For instance, the cloth on this bottle keeps the bottle from sucking up everything it comes in contact with. It also means that I need a soul that matches one or all of the colors on this cloth. So, it could be yellow, black, orange, brown, or all of the above."

He held the bottle out so both of them could see and placed it back in it's spot carefully. Then, he noticed Rose Marie's cheeky grin.

"Whatever it is you're thinking, it better not be outlandish."

"Hardly." Rose Marie laughed, swatting at Oliver's shoulder. "I just thought that maybe, you'd be interested in something like..."

She placed her tea cup down and raised her hands up in double pointer fingers, before reaching into her purse. Oliver allowed his head to roll to the side as she rummaged and smirked along with Sherwood when he mocked her mannerisms, until Rose Marie lunged forward with a brochure from a flower shop.

"One of these flowers!" She chirped, waving the paper about. "Maybe a sunflower? Or a foxglove? Oh, oh, or a daffodil! I'm sure those would create somethi-er, someone, lovely!"

"Oh please, Rose." Sherwood interjected, waving dismissively at the brochure. "If he honestly has to go through with this project, he has to find something that matches his interests."

The elder blonde raised his hand and ran it through his hair, before swaying it slowly toward Oliver.

"Obviously, because our brother thrives in libraries, he should pick the soul of a famous author." He continued, looking quite proud of himself. "In fact, I believe there's someone buried here in Barton that you'd find delightful. Why don't you see if you can't catch them with that bottle of yours?"

Oliver, though he liked flowers and thought Rose Marie's suggestion was nice, couldn't help but be miffed by the logo on the brochure she was waving around. It was the same one that she bought most of her supplies from and he really didn't feel like shelling out money for a flower soul was the right way to go about this, After all, he wanted the connection to be special to him. Buying the soul felt, well, lazy and boring, as well as a little rude. He acknowledged the offer with a nod and turned to address Sherwood. Like Rose Marie, Sherwood's heart was in the right place, just not much else. He shook his head.

"Sherwood, it's so unethical and immoral to steal the soul of another human being that Lab 305 doesn't allow it." He explained, clasping his hands and looking to Rose Marie. "And, while I know you mean well by showing me this brochure, Rosie, I'd rather not buy a flower just to use it for a soul. I'd rather the experience be personal, you know? More of an emotional thing."

"Well, I never said you had to buy it, I'm sure you could find one on your own." Rose Marie replied, folding her arms. "But, I suppose you're right. An emotional connection is important and this isn't something you should rush into."

"Then maybe you should wait a while, really think it over Ollie." Sherwood added, furrowing his brow. "I mean, have you told mom and dad? Or are we the first to know about this?"

"... No." Oliver replied, rubbing the back of his head. "I thought it would be better to practice on you two, just to gauge the reactions. I'll tell them next time I visit, and hopefully they'll understand."

There was a period of awkward silence that followed this with Oliver glancing about and Sherwood tapping his fingers, until the grandfather clock in the hall clanged for the hour. This, to no surprise, caused both of his siblings to lean for the door.

"Is it that late already? I've got to fetch Anna from the bus!" Rose Marie cried, glancing to her watch. "... Could I drop her back here with you, Ollie? I've got four appointments and Peter's not home until late."

"Of course, I've got nothing else going on." Oliver said, looking to Sherwood. "And what about you? Any shows, big plans?"

"Nah, no shows, but I've got a late rehearsal." Sherwood replied, straightening his tie as he crossed the room. "I'll call you tomorrow, maybe for coffee?"

"Sure, coffee sounds good." Oliver said. "You two have a safe drive, alright?"

He walked both of them to the door and saw them off with a wave, before turning back to the kitchen again. He knew he had about twenty minutes until Rose came back with his niece so he didn't have time to do a full clean up, but he could at least start on the dishes. However, as he bent to load the dishwasher, his hands found their way up to the soul bottle again. He turned it over, pursed his lips, and held it to the light.

"I can't help but feel that I'm in for quite a journey with you, little bottle." He muttered, placing it back in it's space. "And whatever that journey might be, I hope it leads me to something good."

 

[Lavender Hues]

Fairy Tales
(In which a seven year old envisions her ideal cousin)

Just as he thought, Oliver had only had just enough time to fill and start the dishwasher before Anna Sage came bursting through his front door. Still clad in her school uniform, she had the sense to kick off her red Mary Janes and toss her coat on a rack before hopping into her uncle's arms. Of course, the first thing that came out of her mouth was a request for cookies and milk rather than a hello, but Oliver didn't mind. He could tell by the smile stretched across her face that she was more than happy to see him, as she always was.

After stuffing their faces with cookies and chatting about school, they pulled her homework from the mess that was her bag and started working on it. Nothing too difficult came up, except for a few science questions she admitted to not paying attention to, but it was nothing Oliver couldn't help her with. Once that was finished, it was time for a quick walk around to check on all the "fairy houses" that dotted Oliver's property. Sure, Oliver had made each and every little house just to humor his niece, but their upkeep had become very serious business to Anna Sage over the years. No tiny table could be left turned over and not a single hole would be left unpatched while she was on the job! Oliver did all of the repair work, though, because he'd learned the hard way about letting a seven year old handle a hammer.

Fairy houses checked, the pair hustled inside for dinner. Because Oliver's dishwasher had yet to finish it's run and the food in the fridge didn't appeal to his niece's palate, they settled for a large pepperoni and extra cheese pie from their favorite pizza place. This lead to the need to improvise for the lack of clean plates to eat on and both decided that Tupperware covers worked just fine. Somewhere along the early evening hours, a Studio Ghibli movie was turned on and a phone call from Rose Marie came in, and Anna Sage was informed that her father's flight home had been cancelled and she would be staying the night with Oliver instead. It was no surprise, really, but no less disappointing to Anna. Her father had been on one of his trips for two weeks now and she was really looking forward to seeing him. Oliver, though he'd never say so in front of his niece, was more than eager to give his brother-in-law a good stare down for being away from his wife and daughter so long.

Before they knew it, it was bedtime, at least for Anna Sage. Because of how often his niece stayed with him, Oliver always kept and extra set of night clothes for her to wear. Tonight, it was her favorite periwinkle snowflake patterned pajamas, the ones that she swore made her into a ice princess when she fell asleep. Oliver humored her fantasy, of course, and grabbed the largest book of fairy tales he could find from the top shelf as she snuggled under the blankets.

"Which one tonight, Anna?" He asked, settling at the foot of the bed. "The Twelve Dancing Princesses? Snow White?"

Anna Sage, looking as though she'd been swallowed up by the vast amount of covers she was under, waved what could be seen of her hands in denial.

"No story yet! I forgot about something important!" She said, pursing her lips and smiling. "Something mommy told me about in the car before I got here!"

"Oh? And what's that?" Oliver asked, tilting his head to the side.

He watched, amused, as his niece fussed with the blankets until she was able to crawl out of them and make a scramble for his side. This child and her mannerisms were just too adorable... It reminded him of when Rose Marie and he were little.

"Mama said, uh... Mama said..." Anna Sage murmured, her face contorting. "Uh, something about you catching flowers in a bottle and making me a new cousin! Are you a secret wizard uncle Ollie?"

Oliver's head leaned back in a throw of laughter. Oh, that was it! Well, hopefully his sister had retained more information than that, or else he wasn't good at explaining things. He shook his head and patted Anna Sage on the back.

"No, no, I'm not a secret wizard, I promise." He replied, rolling his eyes. "However, the rest of what she told you is... Kind of true."

"So I am gonna have a new cousin?" Anna Sage gasped, grabbing onto Oliver's arm. "When? Soon? Where are they? Do they like fairies?"

Oliver couldn't help but laugh again. All this child cared about was fairies, it was adorable! However, it was obvious that he needed to calm her down.

"I don't know, Anna, but it all depends on me right now." He said, pausing. He wondered if she would be able to comprehend the idea of a soul bottle, the Lab, and how her new cousin would be made. Then again, not even Sherwood and Rose Marie fully understood, so why would it make sense to a seven year old? He pursed his lips and quickly thought of an idea.

"You see... Your cousin is going to be made by someone like a wizard." He explained, rubbing at his chin. "But, they need my help to get them something they can use to make them. They already have one of the things your cousin will be made of, but they don't have the other. This is where I need to make a big decision."

He paused again and watched his niece for any sign of a question before continuing

"That decision is what that other thing should be, but the reason it's so hard is because it can only be something that matches the colors on the bottle I was given. So, it can be anything yellow, black, or brown, but not anything else."

"Ooooh! That's super tricky!" Anna Sage agreed, tapping her lip. "... But I know something that would be perfect!"

She released her hold on Oliver's arm and flipped the book of fairy tales open. It took her a few back and forths to remember what page she was looking for until, triumphantly, she pointed to a picture from the story Peter Pan.

"Tinkerbell's fairy dust is yellow! You could borrow some from her! Plus, fairy dust can make you fly! That would be so cool!"

Oliver gave the picture a once over and held back another laugh. He knew very well that he couldn't use fairy dust, even if it did exist, because he was sure it didn't have a soul. However, Anna Sage's view of how Raevans worked was combining two random things together, not capturing a soul and studying how Fel Essences worked. She didn't need to understand all of that just yet.

"That's a lovely thought, Anna, but I don't think Tinkerbell would appreciate me taking some of her fairy dust." He said. "Also, since I'm far too old to be a lost boy, how do you think I'd even get to meet Tinkerbell? I'd be captured by Captain Hook and turned into a nasty pirate before I could! You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"No! I'd miss you!" Anna Sage giggled, wrinkling her nose. "... But I don't think you're old uncle Ollie! You don't have dark circles under your eyes like daddy and uncle Woody do!"

Oliver nearly slipped off the bed because of how hard he laughed. She had to have learned to be this blunt from her cousin, Devin, because it certainly wasn't from the adults in her life!

"Don't you ever say that to Sherwood, he'd go blue in the face faster than you could blink." He chuckled, wiping at his eye. "Now, enough chit-chat, it's time for all fairy ice princesses to get their beauty sleep."

He motioned toward the pillows and watched Anna Sage scramble back under the covers before picking the book up again. There was a small fuss over which story to read but, ultimately, the choice was The Twelve Dancing Princesses. Then, after a quick hug and a kiss goodnight, Oliver moved to turn out the light.

"Uncle Ollie?" Anna Sage peeped, a yawn quickly following.

"Yes sweetie?" Oliver asked, pausing at the light switch.

"... You'll at least try to ask Tinkerbell, right?" Anna Sage said.

"Yes, I'll try." Oliver chuckled, flicking the switch and stepping out of the room. "Sleep tight, princess. I'll see you in the morning."

 

[Lavender Hues]

Pulling Muscles
(Thatcher avoids the truth while Oliver drops everything)

Two days later, Oliver was finally making headway with his laundry pile. He always cursed himself for letting it get to high and honestly didn't know why he kept adding to it when he knew it was getting out of hand. This time, he had four full baskets of clean clothes to schlep upstairs and put away, and he hated carrying things upstairs. Not because of the effort needed, but because of how dangerous it was. No one was around to help him up if he fell, after all. Still, it was something that needed doing, or else it would never get done.

He'd taken the first two up and scooped up the third when a familiar ringtone started playing from his desktop computer in his office. Someone was calling him with Skype, and he had a good hunch to who it could be! He plopped the basket down and hurried upstairs to answer the call.

"Hey, Thatcher! Good to see you!" He cheered, plopping himself into his office chair. "How's the wild outdoors treating you lately? You miss us yet?"

Thatcher, though the video was slightly unsteady, grinned back to Oliver from under his wide brimmed hat.

"Ayeee, I thought you'd be home!" He replied, laughing heartily. "It treats me well as always, and of course I miss you! How goes things in good ol' Barton? Heard there was some pretty gnarly snows!"

"Ah, yeah, there were some, but it's nothing we couldn't handle!" Oliver replied, leaning back in his chair. "I lost a shovel to the ice, though. Chipped the metal right off! You would've laughed your head off, I'm sure."

He listened to Thatcher laugh, only to furrow his brow as something on his brother's wrist caught his attention.

"... Is that a hospital bracelet, Thatch?" He asked.

Thatcher abruptly paused at Oliver's question and looked to his wrist. After a few rushed mutters, he looked off screen and sighed.

"Forgot to cut it off, but it's nothing you need to worry abou-"

"The hell it is!" Oliver interjected, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You've been hospitalized at least three times this past year! When will it be enough, Thatcher? You're giving us all heart attacks!"

He sucked in a breath and watched his brother from across the screen. Thatcher looked nonchalant, unphased, like it didn't matter! Oliver opened his internet browser.

"You know what? I'm coming to take you home." He grumbled, quickly rummaging for his wallet. "It's time you saw your physicians and had a few months of rest with us."

"Come on, Ollie!" Thatcher shouted, flailing his hands about. "It was only for a night or two, I swear! I'm back at home now and resting, really, I am! There's no need to come all the way out for thi-"

"Too late, made up my mind." Oliver retorted, typing his information into the required fields. "I'm booking myself for the flight out tomorrow evening, and once I get there, we're getting you a return ticket home with me. There's no way you're getting out of this."

He eyed Thatcher as he submitted the forms and leaned back in his chair again, this time with a huff.

"... Look, I know it's hard, but at least try not to look so sad." He added, folding his arms. "You're also overdue for a visit with Devin, you know. He misses you like hell, Thatcher. At least come home for his sake if not for mine."

Thatcher paused his pouting for a moment to consider Oliver's words and nodded.

"A'ight. For my boy, I'll consent to some mothering." He teased, puckering his lips. "I'll see you sometime Tuesday then. Have a safe flight down."

"I will, Thatch. See you then." Oliver replied, sighing as Thatcher closed the call from his end. It wasn't often that Thatcher called, but when he did, they always ended up yelling at each other about something. However, this time, he wasn't going to let Thatcher continue sitting about without someone there with him. It didn't sit well with him to know that his brother was still having these seizures and being sent to the hospital far from his family. The fact that the amount of seizures that Thatcher was having in a year seemed to be increasing wasn't comforting, either. It was time for his brother to come home for a while, no matter how much of a fuss he put up about it.

 

[Lavender Hues]

On the Horizon
(Oliver arrives in South Africa and a long drive awaits)

The moment that the plane touched ground, Oliver found his breath again. He never liked travelling by plane for any amount of time, it was far too cramped and often smelled awful, but getting to Thatcher was foremost on his mind. He grabbed his carry on luggage, his messenger bag holding the soul bottle, and shuffled off the plane with a sigh.

"I hope the ride Thatcher arranged isn't late." He muttered, yawning as he walked to baggage claim. "The last thing I need now is to wait another two hours in an airport..."

His bags swiveled around the belt once or twice before he finally recognized them and hastily shoved them onto a cart. Then, he turned for the exit to the pick up area outside. The heat of the air came as a bit of a shock at first and he paused to unbutton the top of his shirt. It was probably a dumb idea to have worn long sleeves, but he always found planes to be chilly. However, he really could've changed in the bathroom before baggage claim, couldn't he? He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Why did travelling have to be such a hassle?

BEEP! BEEP!

"Ah!" He shouted, jarred from his thoughts. He turned and squinted at the dark colored Jeep that had beeped at him and shook his head. That couldn't be Thatcher, right? His brother hadn't driven all this way to pick him up himself after spending two days in the hospital. That wasn't logical.

Then again, Thatcher didn't make a lot of logical choices in his life.

"Oi! Ollie! Over here!" Thatcher called, leaning out of the car. "We can't park here forever, get a move on!"

We? Oliver arched a brow and shuffled toward the car. Who'd Thatcher bring with him? He peered into the passenger side window and let out a laugh. Oh, right! People drove on the opposite side of the road in South Africa, so the driver's side of the car was on the right side of the car, not the left! Thatcher wasn't driving the car after all!

"Sorry for the wait!" He said, pausing as Thatcher hopped over to give him a hug. "I thought you'd driven out here yourself for a minute! I was going to pop you upside the head!"

"Ha! I knew you would, so I asked one of the volunteers to drive me!" Thatcher replied, poking at the window. "He's got his earbuds in, though. Probably hasn't noticed you yet."

The pair nestled all of Oliver's belongings into the trunk and hopped into the back. Then Thatcher tapped on the driver's shoulder.

"Hey, Stephen, we're all set!" He said, waving toward the road. "Take those out and pay attention, will you?"

Stephen, as though woken from some sort of trance, flailed and said a hurried hello to Oliver before starting the car again. As soon as they were safely out of the airport and onto the highway, Thatcher leaned back and wrapped an arm around Oliver.

"Been a while since I've seen you in person, huh?" He beamed, rustling Oliver's hair. "Was your flight alright? Did they feed you?"

Oliver wiggled as his hair was ruffled and smiled up to Thatcher. He looked well, honestly, but that was because his brother's health concerns weren't necessarily physically apparent. His warm, tanned skin and bright eyes could fool anyone into thinking he was the picture of health...

"Yes, it's been too long. I've missed you." He admitted, reaching up to pat Thatcher's back. "Uh, if you call the packaged junk they serve food, then I suppose they did. It was two hours ago, though, at least. Did you bring any snacks for the trip?"

"Mmm, not really. We've got water, though." Thatcher replied, patting the middle section between them. "We can stop at a drive through on the way. I've got the cash and it's the closest thing to a meal until we get back to the preserve."

"How far is the preserve from here?" Oliver asked.

"Three hours, pending we don't hit traffic." Thatcher said, making a face. "I wish they'd built the airport a little closer, but there were some zoning and noise issues. People didn't want to put up with it."

Oliver leaned back and huffed. Well, three hours in a car was better than being on a plane, he supposed. He'd also settle for a quick bite to eat at a rest stop and a bottle of water. He pursed his lips, looked out the window, and smiled.

"At least it's a nice day out. The view of the horizon's lovely." He said.

"Beats Gambino by a mile, doesn't it?" Thatcher replied, smiling. "But wait until you see the animals! You're going to fall in love with them, I know it."

 

[Lavender Hues]

Q, For Courage
(Meeting Qudamah, the Cheetah)

Three hours in the car proved to be just about all Oliver could handle, and when the car finally came to a halt outside of Thatcher's home on the preserve, his feet couldn't hit the ground fast enough. He took a long, deep breath and stretched his legs, before circling around to the trunk to get his things.

"Thank goodness we didn't hit any traffic!" He exclaimed, slinging his messenger bag around his arms. "If we had, I might've just lost my mind."

"Ha! We wouldn't have wanted that!" Thatcher laughed, taking a moment for a stretch of his own. "Oh, wait here a sec! Just need to talk to Stephen about my trip back to Barton."

"Sure thing!" Oliver replied, placing his suitcase on the ground. He watched Thatcher walk after Stephen and wave his hands about, as though he were having a hard time explaining something, and sighed. Maybe it was asking too much of Thatcher to leave so abruptly, he probably hadn't had time to talk to his co-workers yet. He turned, puckered his lips, and looked off into the distance. ... He had to admit that it was a nice area, but he wouldn't want to live out here himself, it was far too dusty and warm.

"Alright, he's got the news, let's move on in!" Thatcher announced, waving Oliver toward the house.

Oliver grasped his suitcase again and followed Thatcher toward the house. It wasn't something he'd call a home, really. It looked windblown and scuffed, like it had seen a few storms, and certainly needed some love. However, Oliver supposed that the worn look was because of the area. Sand did wear things down over time.

The inside of the house was a slightly different story. The first thing you noticed was the sitting area, with a few retro seats and a couch, and then the kitchen off from that. Then there were the patterned rugs and paintings on the wall, one of which Oliver recognized from his grandparent's house. It was a rather odd painting of a dog and two little kids with hoops around their waists in what looked like an overcast garden scene. He arched a brow toward it, as if questioning it's place in all of this, and placed his suitcase down.

"Sooo, I see you haven't changed your aesthetic since you left Barton." He said, smirking.

Thatcher scoffed and rolled his eyes, which caused Oliver to break out into a grin. Then, a strange jingling sound caught his attention.

"What's that noise?" He asked.

"Ah, good, he's home!" Thatcher laughed, before puckering his lips and whistling. "Here Qudamah! Come see who I've brought!"

There was a brief period of silence until Thatcher whistled again, this time with a pair of claps, before the jingling started up again. It grew closer and closer until, finally, a cheetah came barreling around the corner and into Thatcher's waiting arms.

"There's my boy! Did you miss me?" He cheered, giving the animal a scratch or two. "Yes you did! Yes you did!"

Oliver, who had been expecting a dog of some sort, pressed himself against a wall. There was a full grown cheetah right in front of him, and it was nuzzling his brother like some sort of house pet! He almost couldn't process it, it didn't seem real!

"T-Thatcher, tell me what I'm seeing isn't real!" He stuttered, pointing toward the cheetah. "That's not a real, live, cheetah in front of me, is it? You seriously haven't gone that insane, have you?"

Thatcher raised his head and pouted.

"Of course he's real, you snot." He retorted, nudging the cheetah gently toward Oliver. "Go on, Q, say hello to uncle Ollie! Show him how sweet you are."

"N-no! It's okay, he can stay th-" Oliver squeaked, his voice cutting off as Qudamah approached. Surprisingly, the animal's movements were slow and curious, as though he could feel that Oliver was nervous, and gently sniffed at his pant leg. This gave Oliver a chance to breathe and look him over, but not necessarily calm down. In fact, all he could really think to do was glare at Thatcher, who looked as though this was completely normal. A wild animal, prancing around the house, sniffing at his pants, this wasn't what he thought he'd find at his brother's house!

"Thatcher, really! I'm not sure I like him sniffing at me like th-"

"Alright, alright." Thatcher heaved, taking Qudamah by the collar. "I thought I told you about him, maybe it slipped my mind. But he lives here with me and the other volunteers."

He scooted around Oliver, all while tugging a reluctant Qudamah, and opened the front door.

"Go get Stephen, Q! Go get him!" He shouted, allowing Qudamah to bolt from his grasp and tackle the other man to the ground before turning to Oliver again. "There, he's gone, for now. Let's put your stuff away."

"Wait a second! Aren't you worried he'll get mauled?" Oliver gasped, grasping toward the door in shock.

"What? No!" Thatcher laughed, patting Oliver's shoulder. "Trust me, I've known Q for years. He's not a risk to anyone."

He bent down to pick Oliver's suitcase up and started down the hall.

"Room's this way, hurry before he gets let back in!"

"You're kidding me! He's a wild animal!" Oliver exclaimed, rushing to keep up with his brother. "How can you tell me that he's not a risk to anyone?"

"Because he's like a dog, Oliver. A dopey one at that." Thatcher replied, rolling his eyes. "It's not an exaggeration, either. He was raised with a litter of puppies. He really does think he's some kind of giant dog."

The pair reached an open door at the end of the hall where an already made bed was waiting. Thatcher placed Oliver's suitcase down and made a sweeping gesture across the entire room.

"I hope you like it, it's the best I could do at such a short notice." He said, pointing to the closet. "There are towels in there and the shower's down the hall. Let me know if you need a wash cloth or something."

Oliver, still trying to comprehend Thatcher's explanation for Qudamah, only nodded slowly and moved to drop his bags on the bed. However, the second that he heard the jingle of the collar coming toward them again, he leaned out of the way. Qudamah, not missing a single beat, took up whatever space was left on the bed and proudly sat across from Oliver's line of sight.

"D-down!" Oliver commanded snapping his fingers. "That's not yours to lie on!"

Qudamah watched Oliver curiously and promptly laid down, to which the man met with a groan.

"Not lie down, get down!" He shouted, glaring to Thatcher as he laughed. "I can't see why this is funny!"

"Aw, can't you share?" Thatcher teased. "You're only here for a few days anyway. I swear, if he bothers you, I'll take him in with me."

Oliver frowned and turned to look at Qudamah. ... He supposed he could deal with him for a few days. After all, he had other people to fuss over. It wasn't like he'd be spending the whole visit with him, right?

 

[Lavender Hues]

Cat Dog
(Qudamah follows Oliver everywhere)

Oliver didn't really know what to think when he woke up to an empty house the next morning. Thatcher had the decency to leave him a note detailing where he'd be with the other volunteers, but it still left Oliver feeling cold. However, he wasn't about to get upset about it. After all, it was a nice sunny day with a slight breeze, a perfect lazy morning, even if the heat wasn't what he was used to.

"Ah, good thing I brought a few of these." He mused, slipping a tank top over his head. "Now, let's see where Thatcher keeps the tea..."

The kitchen was in need of some repair here and there, espescially on the floor where the tiles were cracked, but most of the appliances seemed to be in good order. He found the kettle easily on the counter and a mug near the fridge, but when it came to finding himself a tea bag to brew, all he could find was instant coffee. He frowned as he poured the water and took a quick sip, before the rest of the mug was dumped out. Far too bitter, even with two sugars! What kind of gunk was Thatcher drinking?

He turned away from the sink and slumped against it, a sigh billowing from his lips. It was times like this where he felt the urge to reach for a cigarette, but he knew that he couldn't give in. He'd have to find another way to cope, even if it meant going back to bed until the craving subsided. However, the idea of sleeping the day away drew a low growl from his throat, and a sudden jingling sound made him press further against the counter. His brother hadn't taken Qudamah with him?

"Uh... Nice kitty?" He said, leaning forward. "... Oh God, where are you hiding? Please don't jump out and maul m-"

A loud rumbling sound to his right caused him to jump, and sure enough, Qudamah was sitting on the counter looking rather pleased with himself. Oliver, needless to say, was less than amused.

"Get down from there, the counter isn't for sitting on." He stammered, leaning against the opposite counter. "I... I mean, get down, please?"

Qudamah's ears twitched attentively, but Oliver wasn't quite sure if he'd fully understood the command. Then, as though replying to the startled man, he chirped.

"What was that? Are you back talking to me?"

There was a pause, before another chirp.

"You are, you're sassing me. Just like Thatcher." Oliver sighed, moving slowly away from the kitchen. "Alright, I'm going outside. You stay and... Do whatever it is that you do."

He scooted toward the front door in a ridiculous fashion and exited the house. However, as he moved to shut the door, Qudamah's muzzle was right behind him.

"Don't do that, you'll get a sore nose." He said, allowing Qudamah to follow him outside. He eyed the animal carefully as he moved to sit in a deck chair, only to pause when he realized he'd forgotten his book inside. He sighed and wandered into the house again.

However, it became apparent that Qudamah wasn't going to let Oliver wander about on his own. The animal followed him all through the house, into his room, and back out again as though they were going somewhere incredibly exciting. It almost felt as though Qudamah were related to Izzie, his puppy back at home, and he recalled Thatcher's words from the night before. Was Qudamah really like a giant dog? It didn't seem like that sort of thing was possible. Cats were cats, dogs were dogs, and wild animals were wild animals. You couldn't change that.

"Alright, go lie down. I'm going to read." He said, once seated on the porch.

Qudamah, sitting with his head slightly tilted, panted and stared at Oliver. Then, after a minute of silence, he chirped.

"No, not chirp, lie down." Oliver repeated.

Another chirp.

"Really?" Oliver asked, arching a brow. "If you're truly like a dog, you should know some basic commands..."

They seemed to study one another for a while, as though they were both seeking answers, before Oliver shook his head and went back to his book. This action, however, cause Qudamah to chirp again. Oliver, fed up, said the only thing he could think of next.

"What? Do you want to come up here with me?"

To his shock, Qudamah hopped up onto the seat next to him and laid his head on Oliver's shoulder. Only when he started to purr did Oliver relax enough to go back to reading.

"... You're the weirdest cat I've ever met, Q. I hope you know that." He said.

Q only purred.

 

[Lavender Hues]

Not a Toy
(Sometimes, even the most innocent of temptations are lethal)

One in the afternoon rolled around and Oliver's urge to smoke had put a damper on his mood. He'd finished the book, tried to make another cup of coffee, and even played a little fetch with Qudamah in the yard, but the feeling was starting to weigh on him more and more. His "tics" had started to show, such as grabbing at his hair, playing with his shirt, and picking at his skin, which only made it harder to distract himself. He'd made it a week now, he couldn't undo all of his progress! He had to keep trying!

"I'm just... Going to get my cell phone." He said, nodding to himself as he walked to his room. "It's in my messenger bag, and I'm getting nothing else."

Qudamah followed him close behind with the ball that Oliver had been throwing in his mouth and chewed at it from the doorway. Oliver rolled his eyes and couldn't help but smile, before turning to rummage through his bag. His cellphone had to be in here somewhere, if he could just find where! He flipped the bag about and turned it upside down, only to jump when something round and shiny rolled off the bed and onto the floor. What was that? He peered over, just as Qudamah rushed forward.

"Whoa, hey! I'll play with you in a minute, just let me get what fel-" He said, his breath catching in his throat as he made eye contact with Qudamah.

The soul bottle. It was in his mouth!

"Drop it! Drop it right now!" He screamed, throwing his arms out to pry it from Qudamah's jaws.

However, Qudamah, knowing that he'd gotten something better than his squeaky ball, raced out of the room and dropped into a playful stance. Oliver gave chase, which lead them both into a bit of a circular dance around the house for a while, until Qudamah started to skid around. Then, his tail drooped and he came to a full stop in the living room. Oliver took this chance to bring him to the ground.

"I said give it! I don't even care if you rip my face off!" He growled, then slowly rising to his knees. "... Oh-no, no. No, no, no, no, no!"

But it was too late. Qudamah's once playful form was now breathless and still. Oliver reached out and shook him again and again, before looking to the animal's mouth for the soul bottle. The force of Oliver's shove had launched the bottle a few feet away and lodged it underneath the couch, but even before retrieving it, Oliver could see that it was filled. He sat on the floor and stared at it.

"... I'm sorry, Q." He muttered, shaken. "... Oh, God, wait! What the hell am I going to tell Thatcher?"

He threw himself up from the ground and grabbed at the sides of his head.

"Gee, I'm sorry I killed your favorite pet, Thatcher!" He cried, heaving a breath. "Oh, no, it's quite alright Oliver! I'm just never going to talk to you again and probably die from the stress of loss!"

He proceeded to kick around the house for a while until sliding to the floor again, his hand still keeping a tight grip on the bottle.

"You just had to grab the bottle, didn't you?" He grumbled. "No, it's my fault, why did I even bring the bottle? ... Why did I think coming here was a good idea in the first place?"

"Because you love me and you wanted to make sure I'm okay."

Oliver turned his head up toward the front door and leaned away when he saw Thatcher walking across the room. His brother bent and studied Q somberly, before moving to sit next to him on the floor. It was silent for a minute or two until Oliver finally spoke.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for this to happen!"

"Oi, oi, calm down!" Thatcher exclaimed, tugging Oliver toward him. "... Look, Ollie, I'm kind of... Relieved that this happened."

He paused, noting Oliver's bug-eyed expression, and sighed.

"Q was an idiot. A blissful, loving one, but an idiot just the same. He was raised for years without anyone to teach him how to be a cheetah, and it made him really scared to be around them." He continued. "Like I said, Q believed he was a dog, a giant lap-dog, and those kind of animals thrive on human contact. No breeding program, ambassador program, rehabilitation program, zoo, or other sanctuary wanted him because of how much attention he craved. Hell, the first time we tried to put him in an enclosure, he acted like we'd abandoned him."

He ruffled Oliver's hair and gave his shoulder a nudge.

"So, stop blubbering, alright? As much as we loved that dumb cat, he wasn't living the life he was born to have. You're giving him a second chance with that bottle."

Oliver listened to Thatcher's explanation and gradually relaxed, only to tense up again at the end.

"Hold on, do you know about Lab 305?" He asked, prodding at Thatcher's arm. "Because I haven't told you about any of this! Did Sherwood and Rose Marie tell you before I got here?"

"What? You think I only keep in touch with you?" Thatcher cackled, dodging a swipe from Oliver. "Rose Marie couldn't keep her mouth shut! She went on and on about how you were going to pick some fancy flower and how beautiful they'd be. Nearly gave me a headache!"

"God, I can't tell her anything without it getting around town twice." Oliver sighed, shaking his head and looking to the soul bottle. "... Well, I guess she'll have to settle for a wild cat then, won't she?"

Thatcher and he shared another laugh before they both looked to Q's body on the ground in front of them. Though neither of them had expected to get dirty or emotional that day, Q's burial was an odd way for them to bond and look forward to the good things coming in the future. Thatcher was coming home for a few months and Qudamah would have a new life as a Kipling in Oliver's house. Both brothers could agree that this was not only a bitter-sweet ending, but a rosy beginning as well.

 

[Lavender Hues]

Homecoming
(Oliver brings Thatcher home to a warm welcome)

Oliver's car pulled up to the house early in the morning and the two brothers staggered out. The journey back from South Africa had been long, arduous one, leaving both Oliver and Thatcher stiff, tired, and more than just craving a cup of tea. They decided to forgo carrying anything into the house, except for the filled soul bottle which Oliver kept tucked in his messenger bag, and shuffled up the stairs.

"Well, we're home." Oliver chuckled, looking to Thatcher with a smile. "Only took us a day's worth of travelling, but we made it in one piece."

He watched Thatcher smile and yawn before turning the key and opening the front door. Everything was as he'd left it, thankfully, even if it was still a bit of a mess. However, he was sure Thatcher didn't mind. They were both pretty good at letting laundry pile up and dishes go undone. He slipped his coat off and clapped his hands.

"Izzie! Here girl!" He called, whistling. "Come see uncle Thatcher!"

It didn't take long before Izzie barreled her way down the stairs and straight to Oliver's arms, before making a beeline for Thatcher. However, while she whined and licked at both their faces, a series of hurried steps from the ceiling above caught their attention. Oliver, noticing Thatcher's arched brow, only grinned as his nephew, Devin, came racing down the hall.

"Dad!" The redhead shouted, pausing at the top of the stairs. He hesitated a moment more, as though he couldn't believe that Thatcher was in front of him, before rushing down and throwing his arms around his father. "I can't believe it, you're really home! I missed you so much!"

Whether from sheer emotion or not, the pair slid down to the ground and started crying. All Oliver could do was watch and smile, his own eyes tearing up, until another set of hurried footsteps had him looking to the stairs again.

"Uncle Thatch! Uncle Ollie!" Anna Sage screamed, nearly slipping down the stairs as she ran. "You're home, you're home!"

She wasted no time careening into the hugging session that Thatcher and Devin were in and seemed to cling on for dear life. Oliver considered joining the trio, but as he moved to do so, two more figures appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Oh, thank God!" Sherwood exclaimed, rushing down to join the group hug with Rose Marie close behind. "I had the worst dream that your plane crashed and I couldn't get back to sleep!"

"And I couldn't sleep after Sherwood told me about it!" Rose Marie added, practically burying her face in Thatcher's shoulder. "God, it's so good to see you. I'm relieved, thankful, and just... I don't know, blessed! We've been so worried about you!"

"Well, I'm home now. You all can stop worrying." Thatcher replied, wiggling against the clinging arms around him. "Have any of you thought to make tea for us? We've had a long journey and I'm dying for a nice hot cup of te-"

His voice cut off as Oliver joined the hug, to which he rolled his eyes.

"Really? I've only just got in, let me have some air for God's sake."

"Welcome home, Thatcher." Oliver sighed, shaking his head. "I'll start the kettle and everyone else can help me unpack the car while you get settled."

And for once, no one in his family seemed to mind helping him out, even if they were still in their pajamas and robes. Oliver knew that there were bound to be at least one or two arguments over the course of Thatcher's stay, but it was nice to know that for now, everyone was just happy to see them return home safe and sound.

 

[Lavender Hues]

PRP

Resurrect My Rat! ... Please? [Oliver/Lorenzo/Vesna]

 

[Lavender Hues]

Handle With Care
(Sending the bottle and essence back to Lab
Note: This takes place before the rp with Lorenzo and Vesna)

It wasn't until Valentines' Day rolled around that Oliver started to think about sending the bottle and essence back to Lab. He'd wanted some time to talk to his family and tell those that knew about what had happened, but started to feel as though he was stalling after a while. He didn't know why he'd want to stall the process, but assumed that it was probably last minute nerves. His soul wasn't something he'd chosen or probably would have chosen even if he had to pick one from a list. He was handing this all in blindly and with such little connection. Still, he didn't want to release Qudamah's soul and go searching all over again. It felt cruel to abandon a creature that had wanted nothing more to do than to play with him all day.

The more he dwelled on the subject, the more he felt the pull to procrastinate. He had to push himself to do this because he'd wanted it for so long. Lab 305 didn't just select random people off the street. It was a process of applications, interviews, and waiting, like with any adoption agency. He'd been chosen as the perfect fit for this essence, and he couldn't let them down. He had his soul, he had his essence, all he needed to do was send it back and wait. All this stalling was making that process even longer!

"Okay, Oliver. Today's the day." He said, staring himself down in the bathroom mirror. "You're going to get yourself a box, some bubble wrap, and send that bottle and vial back to Lab. No more stalling."

He left the bathroom and shuffled himself up to the attic for a box and a pile of left over bubble wrap before heading into his bedroom where the bottle and vial were waiting. Even after a few days, he still couldn't believe how bright and happy Qudamah's soul was. What was even harder for him to comprehend was how it behaved within the glass, as though the daft cat himself were trying to communicate with him. The way the colors swirled seemed situational, too. Holding the bottle made the soul swirl slowly, but leaving it close by caused it to swirl faster. Oliver wondered, as he observed this for the fiftieth time, if Qudamah's soul understood when it was being held and prefered that closeness rather than being left on an inanimate surface... But he'd never know for sure.

"There, the bottle's in the box, now for the vial." He muttered, reaching out for the vial and carefully placing it in next to the bottle. However, when he moved to close the box, he remembered the briefcase that they'd arrived in. It was probably wiser to put the bottle and vial in the case and then in the box, right? He sighed, unpacked the box, and placed the items in the briefcase. Then, he wrapped the briefcase in four layers of bubble wrap, carefully placed it in the box, and breathed. Now, if there was still room left for it to fit, it was time to write a letter to Zeke.

He figured the best place to write the letter would be upstairs in his office and wiggled back to the attic to do so. There, he found some fancy looking paper and a pen, before quickly finding himself without words. How did you write a letter like this? Actually, wait, what did you write in a letter like this? It wasn't an easy subject, or was it? Zeke was probably seasoned in this process by now, he'd probably been working at Lab 305 for quite some time before they met. There wasn't any reason to be nervous, but yet, he was. Minutes of pen tapping came and went until, finally, Oliver put it to paper.

Letter To Zeke

Dear Zeke,

I hope this package arrived in one piece! After all, I did wrap in bubble wrap about... Four times? Maybe less, I'm not quite sure.

Anyway, if you've opened the briefcase before opening this letter, there's my filled soul bottle and the essence you sent me! The soul, though something I didn't exactly choose, is a cheetah. ... Specifically a cheetah called Qudamah that my brother owned on a preserve in South Africa. In his own words (My brother's, not Q's, of course), Qudamah was raised by dogs and, as a result, thought he was a giant dog instead of cheetah. I didn't spend that much time with him, as his capture was a bit of an... Accident, but I can say that he wasn't your typical cheetah! He followed me everywhere like I was the best thing he'd ever seen! ... It was kind of overwhelming.

Oh, I don't know if you like to observe the souls before you make them into Raevans, but I found something interesting with Q's. He seems to like being held more than being left alone on a counter. The soul swirls faster if it's not in your hand or pocket, like it's fussing or something. I'm not sure if that's of any significance, but I felt it was worth mentioning.

Ah, well, I'm looking forward to any updates you have! Please don't hesitate to write to me or call! I know I left my number on my application somewhere...

Sincerely,

Oliver Kipling

P.S. Please take care of Q! (Even if he's nothing more than a colorful swirl in a bottle now) We, my brother and I, look forward to seeing him again!

After a few checks and re-checks, Oliver placed the pen down and found a matching envelope for the letter before heading back to his room. There was a feeling of finality now that he'd finished the letter and saw the box sitting there all ready to go. It wasn't a sad or dreadful feeling, but a nervous one. Just enough to make his heart skip and his eyes flutter wider than usual. It was done. This was it. There was no turning back now. He held the letter out, took a deep breath, and slipped it carefully between the box and the over-wrapped briefcase.

"Time to seal you up, put a stamp on you, and call the courier service to come pick you up." He said as he hoisted the box into his arms. "Let's hope they do pick ups on holidays, because I don't think I could hold onto you for another day. ... Not that I don't want to keep you, Q. It's quite the opposite."

He rolled his eyes at himself. Great, he was talking to a soul that was trapped in a bottle, which was fastened in a metal briefcase that was wrapped in a mound of bubble wrap, which was in a cardboard box about to be sealed up with extra-strong duct tape. If that strange cat had anything to communicate in return, it wouldn't be able to if it tried.

An hour later, the box had been sealed up and handed off to the capable hands of the Lab's courier service. Oliver watched the man load the box up and hop into the driver's seat, before moving across the house as they drove away. When the car was out of sight and Oliver's heart had stopped beating so hard, he allowed himself to slump against the couch. Barrel, who had been mildly interested in what his owner was doing, hopped up and brushed his forehead against Oliver's chin. Oliver, tired but relieved, scratched him behind the ears.

"Well, he's gone, for now." He sighed, laughing as Barrel curled up on his chest and purred. "I wonder how you're going to react to another cat longing around the house. You think you'll like them, aye Barrel?"

Barrel rolled onto his back and mewed. Oliver took that as a yes.

 

[Lavender Hues]

Looking Back
(Oliver reflects on his soul capture with his parents
Note: This takes place before the rp with Lorenzo and Vesna)

There was something about going back to your childhood home that stirred up a plethora of feelings. Be it seeing the street sign or the scent of a chimney smoking in the distance, no matter how old you got, you couldn't deny yourself a reaction. For Oliver, travelling to Orville and Theodora's home in the woods brought feelings of nostalgia from all walks of his life. From piling in the car to go to dinner on Saturday evenings to the day he came home with his college degree, anything and everything waved through his mind as he navigated through the winding forest roads. It seemed no matter where he looked, there was something for him to remember and acknowledge as a part of his old home.

He pulled up alongside the front gate around noon, right when he knew his father would be finished with his morning television, and surveyed the walkway as he made his way to the door. The snow had all but vanished with the rain the night before, leaving clumps of fresh ice and dirty slush around the picket fence and yard behind it, but the walkway was clear enough to be safe. He'd hoped that his father, with his weak knees and troubled back, wasn't trying to clear the path of snow this year, but judging by the shovel leaned up against the side of the house, there was no use warning him against it. Like Thatcher, their father always took on more work than he could handle and seemed to enjoy giving their loved ones heart attacks. Oliver supposed that he got his sensibility from his mother's side of the family.

"Hello? Anybody home?" He called, after giving the door a knock. "Ha, this time they actually locked the door. I won't have to remind them this time, finally."

There was a decent pause before Oliver heard someone shuffling toward the door and found himself grinning. Judging by how rushed the steps were, they were excited to see him.

"Well, if it isn't my Oliver, home for a spell!" Orville chimed, nudging the door open slowly. Oliver had to stifle a laugh, his father was covered in flour! His mother and father were probably baking pie and got into one of their silly ingredient fights. "Come in, and don't mind the mess! Your mother's on another baking trip!"

"Ah-ha, I can see that!" Oliver laughed, pushing the door closed behind him. He hung his coat up in the closet and followed his father into the kitchen, where his mother was fussing with what looked like peaches and oats, undoubtedly for a warm peach cobbler. He watched his father nestle his head against her shoulder and give her a peck on the cheek, before turning and pointing to him standing in the doorway.

"Our little author's home, Thea." Orville said, laughing as his wife spun around. "No need to be so hasty, put the tins down before you hug him!"

Theodora flailed a moment, as though the tins of sugar and flour were fused to her hands, and dropped them on the counter before rushing to wrap Oliver in a hug.

"Oooh, my Ollie-baby! So good to see you!" She exclaimed, squeezing him tightly. "Come give me a hand, won't you? I'm working on a lovely cobbler for tonight's supper!"

"Of course, mom." Oliver replied, undoing his scarf and rolling his sleeves up. His mother had made her usual fine mess of the kitchen, with flour and various fruit juices littered about the counter, but it was all in good fun. He took hold of a pair of peaches and a knife to cut them with while Theodora worked on kneading the dough just the way she liked it. She had a specific way of kneading that you could almost whistle to because of the rhythm of which the dough hit the counter. Years of baking and practicing technique after technique seemed to be the way she liked to do things, and he supposed that's where he got his work ethic as well. Patience and persistence were the keys to success.

Once she was ready to lay the dough out in the pan, Oliver brought her the slices he'd made. They were of varying sizes, just as she'd shown him ages ago, which made it easier to slide a few extra bits between the spaces. The oats were added last, along with a scattering of walnuts and a half-cup of peach preserves, before the pie was placed in the oven to bake. Then, the mother-son duo cleaned the counters and washed themselves up.

"I have a feeling this is going to be another winner." Oliver laughed as he dried his hands. "Especially with Thatcher. You know how much he loves his cobbler."

"Yes, I can't wait to see the look on his face!" Theodora replied, patting the remains of dough and flour from her apron. "It's been so long since we've seen him, it's almost like we're celebrating a hero's return!"

Oliver nodded and turned toward the oven, the smell of the cobbler already starting to pull at his nose. However, as his eyes lingered along the handle to the oven door, his mind travelled back to a scene only days prior. His soul bottle, Qudamah, and the deep sense of gratitude he had for Thatcher's understanding. He moved, slightly, to look at his mother and then his father seated at the table, and took a deep breath in.

"I know that this dinner is about Thatcher tonight, but..." He began, clasping his hands together. "I have something worth celebrating, too."

He paused, his gaze first moving to his father who had set his newspaper down and then to his mother who had practically spun around, and continued.

"Do either of you... Happen to remember me talking about a place called Lab 305? Perhaps back in December?"

"Ah, the place with the people you spent New Year's Eve with, yes?" Orville asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Yes, that's the one." Oliver replied, nodding. "You see, Lab 305 creates humanoid beings called Raevans, and they're extraordinary. I've been going to meet ups with them for quite some time now, and, well... I got selected to be an official Lab 305 guardian."

"A guardian? Does that mean..." Theodora gasped, allowing the towel she'd been holding to drop to the ground. "You're adopting?"

"Well, yes! I'll be taking care of a Raevan from their facility in the near future." Oliver said, beaming. "It's a long process, so it won't be within the next two months, but I thought I should give you the news earlier than later!"

"Now, wait, Oliver." Orville interjected, his brows furrowing. "... What exactly is a Raevan? Are they robotic? Made of slime?"

"No, no, they're not anything like that, dad." Oliver replied. "They're... Erm."

He paused, his thoughts flashing back to the soul bottle and South Africa, and felt his shoulders sink. This was the tricky part. How would he convey what a Raevan was made from without scaring his parents? He couldn't, in good conscience, lie to them. They'd find out the truth from one of his siblings eventually, so there was no use hiding it. He pursed his lips and faced them confidently.

"A Raevan is made from two things, a predetermined Fel Essence, and a soul that the guardian catches themselves." He explained, looking to them both for a reaction. "The device used to capture a soul is called as soul bottle, and a soul bottle can only catch a soul that matches a color already present on the cloth that it's wrapped in."

He fidgeted a moment and cleared his throat.

"I've already captured my soul, with the help of Thatcher." He continued, rubbing his arm. "A cheetah that he'd been keeping as a pet got a hold of my soul bottle. The silly thing thought it was a ball that he could play with and I couldn't get it away from him fast enough. I felt terrible of course, but Thatcher told me that it was going to be the cheetah's second chance, like a rebirth. ... I couldn't go back after that."

A long period of silence hung in the air after Oliver finished speaking, and it left him feeling judged. He still hadn't dealt with all the guilt from the capture itself, even if it was an accident. However, he'd expected his parents to have an awkward reaction. Capturing a soul and using it to create a new life sounded strange, even crazy, and he wouldn't have found it odd if his mother and father started questioning his sanity right then and there.

But, instead, all he got after minutes of silence was laughter.

"... Thatcher told you all about this already, didn't he?"

"Oh, honey, we didn't want to spoil the surprise!" Theodora replied, moving to wrap Oliver in another hug. "... Though I must say, it still sounds strange coming from you."

"Yes, but I think the pamphlets I managed to nab will help us with that." Orville added, joining the embrace. "I haven't read too far into any of it yet, but all I can say is... I'm very excited to meet whoever they turn out to be."

"Ha-ha, me too, dad." Oliver replied, hugging them both. "Me too."

 

[Lavender Hues]

Making Room
(Preparing a bedroom can be just as fun as it is messy)

What remained of winter had gone calmly for Oliver and his family. Thatcher had settled back into his old home and was seeing his doctor, Arthur hadn't taken another fall since the first, and Gibbon was doing fine after his resurrection. Life was finally looking like it was settling back into a rhythm, something that the professor welcomed with open arms.

Still, in this new period of spring calm, the anticipation of fatherhood kept him on his toes. He couldn't help but check his e-mail and prod his cell phone once every few hours just to make sure he hadn't missed an update from Lab. He blamed his nerves, of course, being as jumpy as they always were, and tried to distract himself with whatever he could until they calmed down. Tea, a smoke on the porch, a new book... Just anything to keep his mind off the future. It didn't do him any good to be excited so early on, he had months of waiting left to do. But even his usual methods of coping with these jitters didn't seem to be keeping him down for long. He needed something long term, something he could focus on for a few hours at a time each day, maybe even plan out and stage...

It dawned on him one early morning over his usual steamy Earl Grey. A bedroom, his Raevan would need a bedroom. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it sooner, but now that the idea was there, he could hardly wait to get it started. There were three guest rooms upstairs just waiting to be designated, he just needed to figure out which one to renovate!

That first question took a good chunk of the week to figure out, but he ended up picking the one closest to his bedroom. It was the largest of the three guest rooms, one with plenty of space and a window the looked out toward the backyard and forest. He could imagine his Raevan pulling themselves out of bed, yawning, and hovering to the window just to see what the day was like outside. It seemed like the perfect choice.

From there he moved onto colors and furniture, and the stark white walls of the room were painted a nice earthy brown. Accents of yellow, tan, and black were added as the days went by, and some of the appliances were simply repainted to match. If his Raevan wanted anything new, like a music player or a cushion, he was sure they'd ask him. It didn't make sense to him to go out and buy new things before they arrived. ... Hell, he couldn't be sure if they'd even like the colors he'd put down for the room, but he'd be willing to change it if they really disliked it.

By the fourth week of April, the room had been largely completed and refurbished. He'd bought a brand new bed, four-post canopy style, and plenty of little knick-knacks to set along the dressers and shelves. Most of these things were gifts from Thatcher that he'd never had a place for, espescially some of the more obscure things, but if his Raevan still hung onto any feeling for their place of origin... It couldn't hurt to have them there.

"I think they're going to like it here." He said, taking a good sweeping look around the room. "Nice and cozy, warm hues... If this were me moving in again, I'd probably take this room over my own."

He laughed to himself, before pausing to consider the thought. It had been a while since his room had a makeover of it's own... Maybe he could find the time to spruce that up too? He had plenty of time to do so. ... But then again, if he did his room, wouldn't he want to redo the entire house afterward? He took a deep breath.

Well, any distraction was good enough for him.

 

[Lavender Hues]

The Laurel Tree
(While preparing for summer fun, Oliver finds the perfect name for his Raevan)

As April moved along toward May and the weather started warming up, Oliver started to think about getting the summer things down from storage in the attic. He didn't want to have to rush to set up the tables in mid-May when it would start getting more humid and, honestly, it was probably best just to get it over with. The sooner he had things ready for summer, the better.

"Ooof..." He huffed, moving to place one of the last boxes down. "Maybe I should've waited, I did just redecorate the entire house..."

Well, maybe not the entire house, but he had updated almost every room upstairs and still had plans for a few more projects. He'd spent quite a bit of time carrying boxes to and from the attic already, like he was doing now, as well as paint cans and other supplies. Plus, if he overworked himself too much, he wouldn't be fit enough to do anything this summer...

Wait. Why was he so worried about being unfit for summer? He scrunched his nose up at himself. He was fit as a fiddle! His mind was only looking for a way to procrastinate assembling furniture, which he hated doing. He shook his head and started unpacking boxes.

"Okay, let's see here..." He mumbled, pulling parts of things from the box. "Chair legs, check, chair arms, check, chair bases, check... Wait, what's this?"

He nudged his hand forward and tugged out a small, rather worn book and turned it over. However, once he saw the glinting leaf designs on the cover, his eyes flew open in shock.

"I've been looking everywhere for this book!" He gasped, quickly rising to his feet. "I must've been reading it to Anna Sage last summer and just shoved it in! God, I hope it isn't too damaged!"

The professor scurried up to his office and carefully placed the book down on his desk while he fetched some cleaning supplies. Luckily, he had everything he needed close by and was able to rub most of the residue away from the book's cover with a dampened cloth. It wasn't perfect, but when held to the light from the attic window, you could still make out the title.

"The Laurel Tree." He sighed, tilting the book about in the sunlight. "Honestly, how could I let such a favorite of mine get lost like this? I hope the pages are still intact."

He flipped the book open to the first page and gently flipped through the remaining pages, before returning to the beginning. ... Would it hurt to take a short break to take a walk through memory lane? He glanced around, as though he were being judged, and wandered back downstairs and straight into his armchair. The book was short enough for him to read within the hour, so it wouldn't take that much time away from what he needed to get done. He smiled started to read.

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I'm re-writing the story to be simpler, give me a bit