38. Graveyard

The trio make their way to the manor house through the rain. Few people are out and about in this weather. Cutting across the hillside, they approach through the stables, and find a servants' entrance.   Mirage lets the winds lift her, drifting up the siding to the window, and letting the currents of air flow through the room and back to her ear, an aural map.   The room's empty; it's some kind of parlour, there's nothing big-and-muffling enough to be a bed, or broad-and-echoey enough to be a table. She turns her attention to the lock on the shutter, and finding it an ordinary latch, flips it without leaving a scratch.   Letting herself in, Mirage floats through a room full of taxidermied trophies - most of which are not particularly impressive kills - ordinary beasts like foxes and deer. She makes her way down the stairs and to the front door, where she quickly lets Mika and Rochelle inside.   Rochelle kneels down to let her "friends" out from under her hood, and they immediately run off along the walls, dispersing into the house.   Mika did not put on a coat or hood because it's summer and it's warm and he's "not made of sugar" so he's soaked to the bone and has no compunctions about tracking mud across the expensive-looking rug as he looks around.   Mirage sends a little wind to blow-dry him, it poofs his hair a bit. He gives a startled chuckle as he makes an attempt at fixing it.   "Thanks?"   Marwa gives him finger-guns and a grin, the latter of which he returns.   "So, any ideas?" He's kinda keyed up, more energetic than usual.   "Yeah. Let's find this fucker's personal office. Or his journal, we seem to have luck with those lately."   "Hell yeah. I'm guessing from your voice it's empty in here?"   "Ahuh. We have free reign of the place."   Mika's smug smile is positively devilish. "Excellent." He takes in the place you're in with a glance then heads for the stairs. Rochelle lingers, unsure who to go with. In the silence, she flinches, then frowns, and Mika glances over his shoulder.   "Hey, look who learned to knock. Ask Mirage, she's the rogue."   She looks down. "What should I do?" it's a mumble.   "Why don't you come with me, we'll see what trouble we can cause while Mika's got his back turned." Nods, looks past you, eyes faded. "There's a closet under the stairs"   I look at her, eyebrows raised. "Well aren't you handy to have around. Let's go check it out."   Rochelle's not quite sure what to make of that comment, she seems surprised by it, but heads around the side of the stairs where, indeed, there's a closet door. Mirage lets her lead the way, casually keeping her in line-of-sight. The closet door is the kind that's slatted instead of solid wood. The bottom of the door is a good few inches above the floor, and as you approach it, a rat squeezes out from underneath. It takes a second to sniff at Rochelle's bag, but then skitters off.   "Friend of yours?" Mirage murmurs, looking for locks and/or traps.   Rochelle nods, watches it run along the corner of the hall toward the kitchen.   There's not much here, it's all household stuff; there's a broom in here with its dustpan, shelves with folded towels and other linens on one, and some parlour accoutrements on another; a chessboard with ivory pieces, a deck of playing cards, etc.   "Meh. Boring. Let's keep looking." Mirage pockets one of the ivory chess pieces, just to be an annoyance next time he tries to play. And one of the cards, so he doesn't have a full deck. Looking around, she rules out the kitchen and leaves upstairs to Mika for the moment, heading toward the only other interior door. It's an office, and the lock is trivial to pick.   "I should be charging you for the masterclass you're getting out of me right now," Mirage mutters.   Rochelle squints like for a second she can't tell if she's serious or not, then Mirage smirks, and she relaxes a little.   Heading inside, it's a simple office. Rochelle wanders in behind her, looking around. There's a desk, a bookshelf that doesn't have that many books, populated mostly by spaced out knickknacks, small plants, etc. There's also a stand of some kind on the desk, empty. Also, something's been moved from the north wall at the centre of the window. The floor's a smidge dusty except in that spot, where something once sat there and got bumped into, moved for cleaning, etc enough times to scuff the floor a little bit.   "Huh." Mirage looks at it, makes a mental note, then pops the desk drawer.   The bookcases feature a handful of books on Norish law here, like, reference books. A couple of histories, criminology stuff, Mirage skims the shelves and sighs.   "Boring, boring, boring."   The desk drawers are locked and one of them is also trapped; a simple thing that breaks picks, but extra security nonetheless. She takes a moment to pick it, then slides it open. It has a ledger in it, also a pen. The writing's neat but whoever does it presses their pen too hard. It's a record of arrests, crimes, fees, and recompense.   The one that's locked and trapped takes a moment longer; it requires subtlety, nimbleness. "Gotta be delicate. It's an art, really." Boasts Mirage   Mirage tunes the rest of the room out, including the skittering of one of Rochelle's "friends" reentering the room. Sets the pins carefully, one at a time, and when the last one settles into place, the lock turns smooth as butter.   Within is another ledger, but this one unlabelled. This one is a record of bribes received and owed. It includes monetary payoffs as well as favours and material gifts, most of the material gifts are booze; imported wines and liquors, decent shit for the boonies.   Mirage wrinkles her nose, and tilts the open book Rochelle's way.   "A corrupt city official," she drawls, "shocking."   Rochelle wanders over, looks at the ledger, unsurprised. "Should take that one," she says.   Mirage is already pocketing it. "Agreed. I also want at least one bottle of this stuff. Are you underage? Or are you like Mika, not a drinker?"   Rochelle squints, tilting her head before backtracking to answer the question. "I'm not a kid," she says, with some annoyance, "I'm eighteen. I'd be okay with a glass if it fucks over this asshole."   "Huh." Mirage replies, with the inflection of "interesting," and gives Rochelle a small smile. "Well. Let's finish up here and then make our selections, shall we?"   "Sure."   At that moment, they hear footsteps. A second later, Mika leans into the doorway and knocks twice on the frame, grinning ear to ear.   "Somebody requested a vanity piece to deface?"   Mirage lights up.   "Fuck yes. You a good artist, Rochelle? I can draw a pretty decent dick when the situation calls for it, but I'm willing to step back and let you have this one if it's one of your talents."   Rochelle's eyes widen.   "N-no, you go ahead," she says, but her voice is smaller than before.   "C'mon," Mika jerks his head in the direction, "its upstairs"   They follow him up. The hallway curves around the top of the stairs, there's a few doors off it. On the way up, Mirage tells him about the notebook we found in the journal.   "You sure know how to pick ‘em, Mika."   He looks at the notebook and distaste covers his face. "You'd think- ugh, man, some shit's the same everywhere, isn't it?"   "Yup," Mirage agrees, "Can't wait to ruin this guy's career later."   He gives her a sidelong smile.   One door is hanging open, looks into a bedroom with a wide double-bed, small table with two chairs, there's a smaller desk in there too, it's a respectable suite if relatively simply appointed. Mika leads them past it to a bedroom that's only slightly smaller.   The shape of the room is such that when they enter, the first thing they see is a heavy armour rack whose base matches the shape Mirage saw scuffed in the office. The armour is ceremonial, lightweight and ornamented steel. There's a similarly ceremonial-not-for-combat longsword leaning against the wall beside it.   Mika picks it up and looks it over, "How much you wanna bet he doesn't even know how to use it?"   "No bet." Mirage replies, immediate. She moves closer to the armour, peering at it. It's new, decently made, immaculately clean. It's got a full helm, plumed. Mirage grins.   "Watch my back," she says, positioning the helmet with one hand and forming a cutting whirl of personal winds over the other.   "Com prazer," Mika says, stepping back to watch the window for incoming residents from a position just beside it. But he's still watching you work out the corner of his eye. Rochelle drifts to the doorway, looking down toward the stairs. The rat that joined you in the office is riding on her shoulder. The other two file into the room as you're working. She kneels down to give them lil bits of the cheese she offered earlier.   "So, Rochelle. This is your first b&e?" Mirage keeps her eyes on her work as she speaks.   "Depends."   "I'm not sure how to respond to that, to be honest. Depends on what?"   "What counts"   "Describe the incident in question," Mirage says, "and we can help clarify."   Mika spares her an appreciative side glance, recognizing a deferral he often uses, himself. Marwa could not be more in her element right now and is feeling smug as hell, so she gives him a grin back before turning back to the helmet   Rochelle says she's snuck into places before, but never took or damaged anything and, with a one-finger pat on one of the rats' heads, that it wasn't her actually doing the sneaking.   "Ah." I glance up at Nimbus. "I mean I feel like it kind of counts, right? Mika, what do you think."   He shrugs, "What's a spy if not a thief grabbing information? Yeah, counts."   Finishing her work, Mirage dismisses her wind blade and reviews the result.   She has drawn a dick. Unmistakable, and deep enough that it cannot be easily buffed out. It requires REPAIRS, or to be scrapped and for someone to design an entirely new helmet. She hacks off the feathers to finish it off, leaving them visible but obviously ruined - pathetic, even.   She holds the helmet up for inspection. "Not my best work," she admits, "But not my worst."   Mika guffaws, gives her a thumbs-up. Rochelle still looks mildly uncomfortable with the selected iconography but the absolute mess Marwa has made out of this helm is universally funny, so she can't help a giggle as she copies the thumbs-up.   "Apologies for the vulgarity, I just really think it'll grate on this guy's nerves. So. Are we ready to head back? Grab a bottle on our way out first?"   Rochelle nods. Mika raises an eyebrow at her, surprised.   The three of them head downstairs and toward the kitchen, visiting a mini wine rack in the master suite on the way. Mirage grabs a fancy bottle of wine for herself, and I want a fancy whiskey for Ta'lok when he arrives. Spoils of war. Her mood has significantly improved since the tavern, she's moving quickly, a smile on her face.   There's a sizeable liquor cabinet in the kitchen, with a lock that barely needs picking. Rochelle systematically opens every single bottle they're not taking, just leaves the corks on the floor.   "Excellent," Mirage approves, looking up from examining the reds.   While Mirage is perusing the labels, Rochelle takes a silent side glance at Mika. For a second, he looks annoyed. Then he abruptly announces that he'll stand lookout; they've been here a minute already and it's late. He heads out into the front area.   Mirage looks after him. She knows he's not bothered by other people drinking or being drunk, even if he insists on sobriety for himself. Doesn't feel left out or anything like that. It takes more than peer pressure or jabs about his constitution to ruffle him on the alcohol topic. Meanwhile, Rochelle's smug, unremorseful for whatever put that "oh fuck off" look on his face.   "I'm ready to go." she says, neutral, "You ready, Rochelle?"   As they exit the kitchen, Mika's stepping away from the window.   "Incoming. There was a backdoor in the kitchen, right?"   "Yep. Let's go." Mirage drops into a crouch and backtracks. The other two are right behind her, with Mika taking up rearguard. There's a door in the back of the kitchen that leads into a walk-in pantry, and a door in the back of that that leads into the back garden. The back door’s locked, but from inside, so they can flip the latch the normal way.   The house is built against and a little into the hillside, so the backyard is on a steep grade. There's a little veggie garden with some chicken wire around it to keep critters out, and a little path leading around the corner of the house toward the stables. It’s narrow, but they scooch behind the house and cut cross-country toward town; the open grassy space has no cover but that of the clouded night and thinning rain.   They move quickly, hearts in throats. Mirage glances backward to make sure the others are following. Mika distorts just in case. Rochelle is just moving fast. Mika murmurs an offer to distort her and she declines.   They get a good distance away when the lights start coming on in the house behind them, and faint sounds of distress drift down from the house. The trio joins the road a reasonable distance away from the street that house was on. Mika drops distortion. They round a corner, officially out of sight, and breathe a collective breath of relief that turns into a laugh halfway through.   The rain's starting to let up as they relax their pace and start walking normally. Mika increases his pace to walk next to Mirage.   "If you're not thinking of turning in just yet," he says, "there's more interesting places to enjoy your spoils than a rented room."   Mirage lifts an eyebrow at that. "Such as?"   "There's a boneyard couple blocks thattaway," Mika says, pointing by tipping his head. His volume is lowered; he's not whispering, but it's unlikely that Rochelle can hear him clearly from her position a few paces behind, and it's clearly not meant for her.   At the suggestion, Mirage looks intrigued, considering. Interested.   Mika glances back at Rochelle, who clocked a question but is trying to look like she's not paying attention to it.   "You staying at the Inn," he asks, "or...?"   She shrugs. "I guess. Gotta sleep somewhere. Assuming the next imperative waits until morning, anyway."   Mika cringes, but recovers pretty quick. Mirage hears "gotta sleep somewhere." and her smile drops.   "You're done for the day, then?" Mika asks, casual despite his visible dread a moment ago.   "Yeah. Long day."   "Think I'm staying up a while."   "Well don't go too far. There won't be time-"   "I know. I'd say sleep well, but."   Rochelle shrugs. "Silence, right?"   He nods. "Silence. Later, then."   Mika has been slowing his pace as they approach a side street that leads away from the Inn, making as if to turn. As Rochelle passes them, Mirage calls out to her.   "Hey, Rochelle. As long as you don't give this guy-" jerking her thumb in Mika's direction "- any shit, you and I won't have problems. Cool?"   Rochelle paused to listen, half-turned. She listens to the statement with a face so neutral it's almost disdainful.   "I'm not going to give him shit. I need him."   "Don't care, statement stands."   Rochelle shrugs "Sure. Cool."   Mika watches the exchange, looking back and forth between you, a distressed furrow growing on his face.   Mirage glances at him with a 'shall we?' face and he hesitates a second before shrugging and starting off down the side street.   After a moment, Marwa asks,   "Did she give you shit about drinking?"   Mika glances at her, startled. Maybe at the question, maybe at her tense tone.   "Not directly," he says, slow, careful, considering. "She's um, got kind of a better handle on things." he taps his temple. "Wanted to know why I don't. I don't think she was trying to be mean.”   "Oh." Marwa drops her gaze, "Oops."   "You're fine, reasonable assumption." He glances aside at her. "She's... she's scared, that's all. And frankly, she should be."   "Yeah," Marwa agrees, "I clocked that too. She seems okay, I guess. She just... made us all a little nervous, back in the tavern. Did you bring us out here so I could bond with her over a b&e?"   Mika blinks, then ducks his head, laughs quietly.   "Maybe I brought you out here just to get you alone," he says, glancing at her with a chagrined smile. His emphasis is just too strong for sincerity.   Marwa rolls her eyes but gives him a fond smile. She appreciates the smoothness of the deflection, but clocks it as a deflection nonetheless.   “Well, show me this more interesting place. Can we burn stuff?”   He grins, "didn't figure you for an arsonist"   "I am a saboteur at heart, friend."   Mika's answering smile has an air of practiced readiness. The title is mildly painful to hear, a reminder of all that's unsaid and quite possibly unreturned, but he's steeled.   "No wonder you and Shiv got along," he remarks, "You know we lit up a whole house once? Abandoned, went up like fuckin' kindling. Was a goddamn eyesore anyway. City was supposed to tear it down ages ago but tack it up with permanent housing in Nor'town for shit that never got 'round to."   "Disappointing, but unsurprising." Mirage muses, "Wish I could have seen it. Thought about torching Amir's place, too, but it's better served as housing for those Ignean refugees. Serving a purpose AND sticking it to that racist asshole at the same time."   He's got a growing smile as she reminisces over the reallocation of Amir's assets.   "You are just- just impossibly cool, you know that, right?" he asks, watching her with a smile.   "'Course I am, thank you for noticing."   "And humble, to boot."   "The humblest."   "Utterly meek."   "Dainty, even."   The boneyard has a low fence but no gate. They hop it easily. Mirage can clock a shed near the entrance, but it doesn't look big enough to have a bunk in it, so probably no on-site gravekeeper.   They wander further in among the headstones, find a corner where ornamental trees and hillside shield them from town's view for the most part, and Mika takes a seat on one of the tombstones, a big, horizontal slab. He glances at the inscription as Marwa takes up a seat on a nearby headstone, pulls her prize bottle out of her pack and pops the cork.   The sound draws his eye. "What'd you get, anyway?"   "I don't know," Marwa squints at the label, but it's pretty dark with the exhausted rainclouds still covering most of the sky. "Some red that looked halfway decent. Want to try it?"   Mika looks like he's debating for a moment, then shakes his head.   "Best not. You go ahead though."   "Mkay."   She takes a swig, her face pinches. "Smart choice, it's shit."   He laughs. "Figures. Never cared much for wines to start with. Headache, every goddamn time. Fine for anything else, I swear."   "Well see, some of them are really good, heady and sweet. This one, not so much." Marwa takes a second sip, but it's not much better. There is a little sweetness under the desert of bitter, though.   "Anyway, this evening has been a lot. What do you think of Rochelle?"   Mika studies her a moment, then shrugs, relaxing.   "Well," he leans back on his arms, talking as much to the cloudy sky as to Marwa, "She's young, scared, in over her head, aggressive, rude, proud, and keeps trying to set fire to every bridge that's offered. So. Y'know." Strained smile, "familiar."   “Sure," Marwa says, "You've never met someone else like you, right?”   He shakes his head. His mouth's closed but his jaw's working like he's chewing his cheek or something. Fidgeting.   "Makes sense, I guess," Marwa muses, watching him carefully, "Whatever this thing is...trying to get their goals met no matter how many people it hurts."   He looks up, matching her careful scrutiny.   "Yeah."   He hesitates.   "...I kind of hate how much you already know, can I say that?" There's an alto strain in his tenor, his brows pressed into a distressed furrow. "I should've known better, you're... you're very good at getting in places you're not supposed to be. But still. I'm going to go actually crazy if this thing gets a hold of you, you know that, right?"   She smiles big at that last line and takes a big swig of her wine.   "Cool, so you understand why I want its claws out of you so bad then, yeah?"   His mouth presses into a line, conflicted. His eyes pull to one side, his jaw tight, conflicted.   No, I don't, because you've got my head in such a spin that I can't tell what's a game and what's sincerity hiding behind a game, I know you worry, but I don't know if your worry drives a nail through your chest like mine does. Does yours feel survivable? Mine doesn't.   "Look, Mika," Marwa says, interrupting his rumination and bringing his eyes back to her face, attentive, "It's very simple. Truth number one - this thing has you. Agreed?"   He shuts his eyes for a moment longer than is normal for a blink. When he speaks, it's on an exhale.   "Yeah."   "Truth number two - we are important to each other, all of us. You're not going to run to figure this shit out on your own, we're working as a team to do what we need to do to free you. Right?"   "Wait, really? I must've missed that memo. Yes. Obviously. Gratefully, despite reservations"   Marwa smirks. "You're such a shit. Okay, truth number three - because of truth one and truth two, SOME amount of knowledge must be acquired. Minimal, but still. Gotta know a thing is there in order to get it off you, right?"   "Wrong," He says immediately, but then hedges, "Well, right in that you can't address a problem you're unaware of, but- okay, ugh, yes. Emphasis on minimal."   "Great. So, we agree that truths one through three are a thing. The rest is just details. We're gonna win, we'll free you and Rochelle and everybody else this thing has in its clutches, and that'll be that." She shrugs, takes another pull from the bottle. "Or we die trying," she adds, tapping the gravestone she's sitting on.   Mika smiles. Shakes his head, but smiles.   "você é merta imparável," he murmurs.   "Merta...that's shit, right? Or fuck? What's the last word?"   "Kinda both, depending. Merta can stand in for fuck unless you want it as a verb, then it's porro. imparável is Unstoppable. But another translation could honestly just be your name." He's still leaned back on his arms, looking up and back at her. "I can't think of many forces of nature more relentless than you are."   "I'll take that as a compliment." Marwa says, conscious of a warm blush tinging her cheeks. Wine? Embarrassment? Both?   Mika's looking at her, unwavering. She can see the wheels behind his eyes turning.   "It's been a hell of a year, huh," he says, quiet, tentative.   "Understatement," she agrees, "but yeah. You feeling any more hope about this thing?"   "Compared to back then?" He looks skyward a moment. "I mean yeah, but y'know. Low fuckin' bar." He pauses. When he speaks again, his words are slow, careful. “I don't know if 'hope's the right word, honestly. It's more like... the alternative's unacceptable." He exhales, looking back at her. "Unfortunately, so are most of the exits."   "Well. That's something, at least." Marwa offers a small smile, raising the bottle slightly, "Future us will figure something out, probably."   "Have to," he agrees. "Future problem, though. Anyway I don't know that I love the "lost cause" label. Think I'd prefer to think of myself as a long shot." There's a little smirk playing across his features.   "Pff I got a cousin that always says, 'Never tell me the odds,'" Mirage says, grinning.   "Oh, yeah?"   "Yeah he's kind of a douche, but he's got good hair, you know? Doesn't even put anything in it, just wakes up in the morning like BAM, good hair day. Unfair. Anyway he's always up to crazy shit and you'll tell him he's gonna die in a fireball and it won't even be a COOL fireball and he's just like "Never tell me the odds!" and does it anyway and it's always Awesome."   "Yeah?" Mika gives a chuckle at her buzzed rambling that's incongruously nervous for the topic, "Maybe I should take a page outta their book. Save me some stress."   "See? Now you're getting it." Marwa points at him for emphasis, uncurling one finger from the winebottle, leaning on the other hand. "Books equal stress."   Mika laughs, not sure how she got there, but amused all the same.   "Goooods, I read so many in Dad's library, you know? About mind palaces, although mine is a mind SHIP. I've been practicing but I'm still not great."   He looks appreciative. "Your dad has some... interesting reading, for sure."   "For sure. Did he tell you about Isaac? I met one of their former party mates after you all left, a woman named Kit." He blinks, startled, "Wait, really?"   "Dads brought her in to warn me off of warlocks and I was like FIRST OF ALL, FUCK OFF. But I overreacted so we had a big group hug about it, but then Kit told me everything and we had a big group cry."   Mika is staring, aghast.   "So yeah. One, I think Isaac is still alive, underwater somewhere obviously. But two, we're not going to let that happen to you, so don't you worry."   Mika is shaking himself out of his shock before she finishes her second point, horrified at the first one. "Gods, I hope for his sake he's not, honestly."   "It's fine I think he can breathe down there? Maybe not, but probably."   "Marwa."   Marwa's eyes are sliding a little, but his stare calls them back.   "Do you remember the tower?" he asks.   "Of course. Why?"   "That person you threw out the window."   She cackles. "Fuck yeah, kicked that thing's ASS."   "Before that." He's looking at her steadily, dead serious.   "...yeah?"   "I said it's like a door for me. Doors need frames. walls, structures to be in. That... that poor fucker. He had nothing left. Nothing. Thing wasn't just stuck open, it was the whole damn space. Loud doesn't start to describe it. I don't know if he couldn't hear his own thoughts over it, or if he just didn't have any left. I couldn't find any traces of a person in there. That is not a way anyone - anyone - should have to live. Not for a day, not for a year, not for five minutes." The tension in his voice is equal parts fear and grim conviction   Her expression sobered up the more he explained, and she looks down at the ground   "Marwa."   "What."   "I don't say that to scare you," he says, gentler, "I just..." he exhales. "I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't second-guess you. You say you trust me, but I just keep thinking about that and. I don't know. There's so much you don't know. So much I can't ever tell you. I don't know if anything with that many unknowns hanging over it can be called trust. Certainly not informed trust."   He's looking away, studying the weeds, which means he can’t see the furious expression that comes over her face. “For such a smart guy, you are so dumb sometimes.”   He exhales a laugh. "Cosigned."   "I have faith in you because I know you, Mika," Mirage continues, straightening, dropping the mostly-empty wine-bottle to punctuate each point with her hands.   "You're sarcastic and clever and kind and you care so much for people. You care about your home, your family, so much that you stayed away for years to protect them. You let me hold a knife to your throat because you could see how scared I was, that I needed to feel in control. And you didn't blame me at all for mistrusting you, although you've literally never done anything to earn that mistrust. You've stood by me in some of my worst moments and never judged me for any of it. I trust you because you are a good man and because I love you. So fuck this informed trust bullshit, I’m still here because I choose to be. Respect that or don’t, but it’s the truth."   She stands up, turns on her heel, stomach lurching, head spinning, intent on storming away fast enough to outrun her own words.   Mika was wearing a "yeah, but" kind of expression on for most of that, but then it stopped being about him not posing a threat and just generally being her calling out admirable things about him as a person and his expression changed to tentative incredulity, and then she said that and all the air leaft his lungs.   Marwa stands and he tries to inhale and can't. She turns to leave and he tries to stand but his legs aren't fully cooperating. She takes a step and he forces a long step, grabbing her hand on the backswing.   "Marwa," His voice is so strained it barely works, "wait."   "Go away."   He can hear the tears in her voice. He has a split second of debating between, well first the general decency of going when someone tells you someone says they want you gone, but also all the everything else about this situation, and also that he's not going to leave her crying in a graveyard alone.   He drops her hand. She stays still.   He steps very carefully forward to be, not in front of her, not blocking her exit, but on a diagonal, in view. Her head is bowed, chin on chest, but the clouds are clearing and the shining streaks on her cheeks arenot the starry glitter of her freckles. He starts to reach for her, but catches himself.   "If you really want me to, I will," he says, so quiet. "But you can't ask me to leave you miserable. I won't, I can't. Marwa, I-"   He hesitates, but there's not a word of a lie in what he said, so he takes a breath and reaches forward to gently raise her face, tilting her chin with the corner of a loose fist to see her face.   She lets him, but she's crying and trembling.   "I'm sorry," she says, watery, "I didn't mean to say that. I know... that was dumb. We can pretend I didn't say anything, right? Just forget. Still be friends."   He shakes his head, but Marwa can barely see the motion through the blur. She feels the fingers under her chin drift up over her cheek, a thumb brush softly over her cheekbone, sweeping her tears aside.   "Marwa, I have forgotten my own name," The smile is strained, tense, but present, "but I don't think I could forget you saying that if every force in the Realms willed it so."   He lets that sit a second, still brushing her tears aside as they come, still looking into her tear-streaked face in the wonderment of fragile hope.   "Your friendship is a treasure, Marwa. It really is," he says, soft, earnest, "And if... if that's really all you want, then I'm honoured. Truly. But. Gods help me, Marwa I love you so goddamn much." The last comes out in a rush, a torrent from a broken dam.   Simultaneously, she’s babbling. "I didn't want to push, I always push. I know you're not interested, you said last winter, and that's totally fine - wait what?" Her expression turns nonplussed.   He's being really good at eye contact at the moment, but he has the face of someone who is so afraid she'll affirm that friendship's the choice. As she stares, he gives a tense, exhale laugh, smiling through the tension. "Hey Marwa. You trust me?"   "Fuck you, I'm not saying it again," Marwa says, managing a half smile.   Mika smiles wide, so relieved to see her smile even a little.   "Marwa, you are the only star in my entire sky," he says, unsure when her hand drifted to grab his, but even the thrill that sends through him can't divert the river he's wanted to pour out for so long.   "You're impossible. You're beautiful. And funny, and dazzlingly clever, and dear sweet gods but I love your foul mouth. You've broken all my idiotic rules to shambles and I do not want them back. And I'll go if you want me to, but I want you to know that if you'll let me, I will spend my whole damn life chasing off your rainclouds, because your smile lights my life like nothing else, meu sol e estrala."   She puts her hands on either side of his face. He's not sure who stepped first, or how they got that close, and he doesn't care. He can see the flecks of blue in her grey eyes.   "I don't know what that means," Marwa whispers, and then she kisses him.   Mika returns it, ignites it. His hand that's been near her cheek slides to tangle in her hair. She lets him go for a breath and asks, breathless, "Really? You mean it? I didn't just ruin everything?"   "I mean it." He's smiling, but like he still can't quite believe what's happening.   She looks scared and hopeful and confused and elated. He's a mirror.   "...Really?"   He rolls his eyes at her question but he's smiling. He puts his other arm around her waist and draws her closer to kiss her again, slow, gentle, tipping her, just for a moment, but a lingering one, before he lets her go again.   "Really."   Marwa's knees have melted. She's gripping his shoulders hard for balance. He tastes like woodsmoke and smells like cinnamon, his forehead is warm against hers, his breath humid and soft against her chin.   "...Okay."   She opens and closes her mouth several times to say something, then laughs because she doesn't know what to say.   He watches, amused, delighted, entranced.   "Quite a year, huh?"   "Yeah."   Marwa steps back, only a half-step, hands loose on his shoulders. She looks aside, eyes lingering on a spreading elm whose roots rise up around a smooth hollow in the lawn.   "Can we sit? Just for a minute?"   Mika huffs a short laugh through his nose, smiles. "Sure."   They head over. The lawn is cold, but dry. Mika plunks himself down and Mirage leans her head on his shoulder, which relaxes under a happy sigh. He hasn't let go of her hand.   The adrenaline and alcohol are wearing off, leaving her loose, happy, tired even as her mind spins faster than thought. She shuts her eyes, focuses on the rise and fall of breath under her arm, the sensation of fingers combing through her hair, the echo of words that still ring in her ears.   "Hm, that's twice."   There's the cadence of snark in his voice, though the tone is quiet. She looks up, to a half-smile that's too soft to be smug.   "Rendering you speechless," he says, answering the question in her face. "Once at the party, before, and then just now. It's not an easy thing to pull off, you know."   Marwa scoff-laughs, "I'm just compensating for the Vacuum of Silence that is Mika Oliviera, thank you very much."   He smiles, shaking his head. But Marwa pauses, slowed by memory.   "You know I thought you hated my guts there for a while?" She asks.   "Gettin' some real mixed messages."   "Not recently, I mean like. Before Ignia. Just strange, how things happen."   "Oh. I mean, if you told me then I'd be here now I'd never believe you. I kind of thought you hated me, to be honest. But to be fair I kind of hated me, too."   She gives his arm a gentle smack. "I never hated you. Oh wait - there was that one time on the road." She looks up at him and smirks, "where we skipped coffee because of you."   He smiles but it's kind of strained. "To be fair, I didn't know I was going with you."   "Okay and that time I thought you got me imprisoned, but that wasn't true and I was being dumb, so I don't think that should count."   "Definitely not." He presses a fond kiss on the side of her head. She cuddles closer in response.   He sighs, happy. Then he pauses like he thought of something and she can feel him shake his head. "If literally any part of this night turns out to be my head fucking with me again, I am going to burn. Everything."   "It's real. I promise." She goes in for a prove-this-is-real-smooch. He apparently needs a bit of convincing, combing fingers through her hair, drawing her close until she can feel his heartbeat through her own chest. When they break apart, he's looking at her in dizzy wonderment.   "Would dream-me do this?" She flicks his nose. He blinks, laughs as she continues.   "No, she wouldn't. Proof that you're here, and all of this is happening. You said you loved me and that you would for the rest of your life, which I hope you're thinking will last a long time because I will accept nothing less, sir."   "Gods you're perfect," he breathes. "Yes, of course. You asked me if I have hope, I have more than that. I have a reason, miha vidha, there's nothing you can ask of me that I won't gladly give."   At some point she crashes on his shoulder accidentally. Drools on him, very unladylike.   He thinks she's stunning, but he gently nudges her awake and suggest they get her in a bed that won't fuck up her back.   She yawns. "God, I hope Saeldor and Cri aren't back at the inn worried about us. We've been gone for so long." "Well, you can hope for that. Hope's free." He says it like he thinks the odds are slim but he's unbothered by it. Or rather, any bad feeling over the worrying is being pretty heavily counterbalanced.   He keeps hold of her hand as they exit the graveyard, and she spends most of the walk back with both her arms wrapped around one of his, resting her head on his shoulder with no objection.   Saeldor's sitting on the porch steps, sees them approach, holding hands. Marwa rouses herself, glances at their hands, and then at Mika's face. He offers a smile. Squeezes her hand. Her smile lights the street.   "Hey Saeldor," she says as they approach, "Sorry, didn't mean to worry you."   The firbolg exhales a long stream of smoke through a smile.   "Glad to see you kids are doing okay" The last said with a glance at their hands.   Saeldor tells them which room is hers and Cri's, and Mika walks her to her door and gives her goodnight kiss gladly returned.   Mika is wired. He doesn't think he would sleep even if his eldritch bullshit didn't prevent it. He feels like he could run a mile and have energy leftover. He wanders back to the step and sends Saeldor back to bed because there's not any particular need for a watch, and then goes for a walk because WOW can he not sit still right now. Marwa smiled at the ceiling for a while and screamed into her pillow, but eventually she sleeps.

---

When Mirage wakes up, she finds the others in the common room downstairs. Cri and Saeldor are having coffee and tea at a table near the window, probably keeping an eye out for Ta'lok, who should be there by early afternoon, by Mika's estimate.   Mika and Rochelle are at one end of the bar, silent but unmistakably conversing, their eyes pale, their faces flickering through expressions too fast for speech. Rochelle's back is to her, a half-wall of white-blond hair, but Mika sees her when she comes downstairs and looks up immediately, dark eyes fading back in as she marches over to him.   "Morning," He says with a smile that's so tentative it’s almost shy. His eyes are searching her face, his brows tilted under a worried slope, slight but unmistakable.   She is not awake yet, this is pre-coffee, but she made a plan for this morning and she’s gonna stick to it.   She goes over to him, stoops, plants a kiss on the corner of his mouth, gently brushes the side of his face with her hand, and, still a conspiratorial distance, says, “Still real.”   Then she straightens and heads over to get coffee.   Mika is just staring wordlessly, helplessly after her when he clocks Ta'lok in the doorway.   Ta'lok pauses, letting this development sink in, but only for a second.   "Gang's all here. Good."   Ta'lok strides forward to get himself a coffee before taking a seat at the table with Saeldor and Cri. The meeting call is unspoken. Mika clocks it and slides off his stool. Mirage heads over with her coffee, as well. She sits next to Mika, who reaches for her hand, gives her a "you-got-this" squeeze.   Rochelle trails over behind Mika, sitting on his other side and drawing the boss' focus immediately.   "Who's this?"   Rochelle looks at Mika, who raises his eyebrows and takes a drink of coffee like 'you can answer that, come on now.'   "Rochelle," she says, looking down at the tabletop.   Ta'lok waits, but she says nothing else.   Mika's also waiting. After a minute, he gives an exasperated huff. "If I might be permitted to belabour the - again, inaccurate - employment metaphor," he supplies, "she's a coworker. We're both kind of 'on call' at the moment. On that note, I'll probably have to run an errand at some point, not sure when, but in the meanwhile yes, found work. Innkeeper's put together a bit of a coin reward to clear up whatever's fucking up the manor outside town, it's deterring visitors. Rumours of haunting, curses, etcetera."   Ta'lok notes his skimming right past the introduction of another warlock, and lets the topic go. Dangerous secrets and all, he'll get whatever information is safe after the meeting.   “Okay, sounds doable so far. Any other details?”   "Don't hold me to it, but the word around this place reeks of chaos magic. Creatures growing or shrinking or appearing out of thin air. Stuff lifting itself up and moving around, voices coming from nowhere, and the master of the house was some kind of wizard before he disappeared. Common theory is either he died naturally and is haunting the place to protect his arcane secrets, or he fucked with something he shouldn't've and the whole place is under a persistent spell, or spells."   Mirage grimaces at that.   "My money's on the latter. Or will be once we get paid. The chaos magic dovetails with a lot of solutions for yours truly, but there is also that the last job didn't pay much, so even if it's nothing, easy work, easy coin."   "What's the payout?"   "When it's split between everyone present," Mika says, with a glance at Rochelle as if to solidify that he is only in if she is, "it's..." he pauses, calculating, "17 coins each."   Ta'lok can also do math and can tell it was probably closer to a less-random figure of 20 each for the normal party size. Rochelle's a new addition to the plan.   "Chatted with a bard who went over thinking it'd make a good story. Hard to get much objective out of her, though. Said she kept hearing a voice telling her to leave. Opened a door and saw nothing but black. Guess that doesn't make much of a story cause she left at that point. Locals avoid the place."   Ta’lok looks uneasy.   "Hard to get much objective out of her" Mika continues with the mildest annoyance for bards and their dramatic embellishments - which is ironic, coming from someone as evasive as himself.   (No one will EVER get him to admit that his evasion and deflection is FUNCTIONALLY IDENTICAL to a bard putting layers of gloss over a story until you can't tell which parts are real anymore)   Ta’lok clenches his jaw when he asks, “Any mention of possession?”   "No, just general antagonism. Throwing furniture, saying ominous shit." Mika pauses, the history behind the question sinking in. He pales a little, kicking himself for not thinking of this earlier. "Listen," he adds, "I'm not insisting. We get there and you or anyone else says we should cut and go, we can."   Ta’lok looks over at Saeldor. “Magic is not my area, but this sounds like something a cleric would address. You got anything to deal with wayward spirits, Saeldor?”   Paladin thinks, strokes his beard a minute. "If we can find the body, possibly. Do you know how many therapists it takes to change a lightbulb?"   “…”   "Just one. But it has to want to change. It's like that with spirits. If they're not ready to move on, you can't force them. Gotta meet them where they're at. Sometimes they just need someone to listen - don't wanna be forgotten. Other times it's more complicated."   Cri is nodding along. “Sometimes the place, the land holds them here.”   “Is there something we can do to prepare, in case any of these spirits do want to hop in any of us for a quick drive?” Marwa croaks.   Mika feels like such a dick for not having clocked what a huge red flag the presence of ghosts would be for the others. He's had mental bullwarks up on passive for a long time. It's one of the first things he actively tried to figure out how to do once he figured out the contagion aspect of the stuff in his head to the point where, unless there's something special about it, he doesn't super worry about anything trying to get in there uninvited. He'd pity the fool who did manage to slip past, doubts they'd last long against the shit in his mind, but the others don't have that kind of warding.   "Holy water's the standard," Mika says, but his tone's less flippant as he clocks the growing concern around the table. "Saeldor, you ran a check on me last night; if you found something, could you have done anything about it with that?"   "For a magical spell, sure, that's simple cleansing. But a ghost is a being. In a case like that, with no other option, if it refused to leave willingly, I could try to command it," Saeldor considers, "and I have a few ideas to protect against it getting in in the first place, but the best way to handle a ghost is to lay it to rest. Some of them can be talked around, if we can find out what it wants. Depends on the spirit."   Cri offers, “The moon. I can call the power of the moon to shine in moments of darkness, and destroy spirits who wish us harm.”   “Damn.” Marwa mutters, impressed.   Mika can't not glance at Marwa with a warm smile when Cri talks about the moon bringing light to darkness.   “I also have some tea that can help fortify our spirits. It’s not much, but every little bit helps.” Cri adds.   Saeldor nods in a satisfied "good enough for me" way, but is looking at Ta'lok. Given the boss' experience previously, he absolutely gets to make the call here.   Ta’lok is staring at his drink, thinking.   Marwa speaks up, sounding more alert, “Boss. We could have a code word.”   “A code word?”   “Yeah. Something we say, a passphrase, so we can check in with each other. A possessing entity probably wouldn’t know the right phrase, so we’d have some warning.”   He shakes his head, inhales, looks up at the others and says. “Do it. Prepare yourselves as much as possible for whatever you may encounter.” He glances at Cri and says. “I’ll sit this one out.”   "You sure, boss?" Mika asks, looking every ounce of the guilt he feels for suggesting this mission.   “My skills don’t lend themselves to this kind of fight, and that’s fine. Watch each other’s backs, I’ll gather information out here.”   "We can skip this one," Mika offers, "I mean I feel bad dragging you all out here but, I don't know, nothing's signed yet, you know?"   “No. This is a good lead, and I’m trusting you to get the job done. Come back with whatever you can find on the kind of magic causing this. Start putting the pieces together.” He looks at Nimbus hovering over Mirage. “You can always call me if you need me.” Half grin.   "Yessir." The word is a joke, but Mika’s voice is sincere.   Once Ta'lok gives his ruling, there's some brief wrap-up talk on logistics, such as when to head out, to which Mika exchanges glances with Rochelle and say if it's all the same to the others, not right away. Maybe in the morning. They can use the day to gather supplies, brew that anti-possession tea, gather intel.   He's still holding Marwa's hand under the table, and she can clock literal and figurative tension. He's got an iron knot in his stomach.   As they disperse to do their parts of getting ready, Ta’lok taps Mirage on the shoulder, asks for a second to talk. She nods, following him to an end of the bar for moderate privacy.   “So. You and Mika are together, I’m assuming?”   “You assume correctly.”   “Hmm. When did this happen?”   “Yesterday. Or early this morning, technically?”   “I’m not going to ask you if you know what you’re doing, because I’m pretty sure you don’t. But if you could try to not let it affect the work, I’d appreciate it.”   “Do my best, but no guarantees.”   “Yeah, that’s what I figured. I’m also going to ask you specifically if you two got together last night or if it was this morning.”   “…What, why?”   “Answer the question.”   Mirage squints at him. “It’s kind of a fucking weird question boss, I wasn’t looking at the clock when I blurted out my undying love for my coworker.”   “So it was you who said it first?" Ta'lok's expression is smug. "Guessed that part right, at least.”   Mirage's jaw drops.   “Oh my GOD, did you and Saeldor bet on us? Is this about money!?”   “Of course not, that would be rude. If you’ll excuse me.” He walks over to Saeldor and starts talking animatedly.   Mirage grumbles. “Un-fucking-believable.”