They were huddled in an alley, hiding behind trash cans and haphazard optical magic, with multiple heating charms keeping the area habitable. While, theoretically, they could have approached someone official-looking and tried to make some arrangement to reclaim their belongings, the fact that Milo had launched a police officer an unknown distance — with an unknown result — made the very idea a nonstarter. As soon as General D’Iver returned from her attempt to summon the suitcase off the train, they scurried away to regroup in relative safety.
Unfortunately…
Well, there were a lot of unfortunate things. Since the B-team already had an activity — they were busy trying to fix Erik’s leaky brain with a shiny object and a little light mind control, they’d be fine — Maggie dragged her mother aside to deal with the latest one.
“So this is obviously not our suitcase,” she muttered. It was grey fabric with an iron-on patch of a kitten, but that was where the similarities ended. The fabric wasn’t even the same pattern. Calliope’s Fermé suitcase, and all the matching pieces that had been divided among her siblings, had a subtle crosshatching of darker grey and faint red stripes.
The General sighed. “I made my best effort. It is difficult to summon an object in motion that one cannot see. Nevertheless, the error is mine alone and we cannot make another attempt. I left my purse and wallet and do not have my passport. Clearly, Hyacinth does not have hers…”
The blonde woman was in a green and blue plaid flannel nightgown and a set of fluffy socks, the least dressed of all of them.
“…and I can only hope there is some item among this cat-loving stranger’s belongings that will fit her.”
Maggie patted down her coat pockets and came out with a dark purple billfold with a gold imperial seal on the front — Lady Victory, holding up a wreath of cherry blossoms. The document inside was somewhat more complicated, she had dual citizenship, but it was all there. “I bet Milo has his, and we’ve both got a working Fyver. We probably look sane enough to get a room somewhere.”
The General held up her left hand, showing the dark ring on her finger. “The question is, once we have some privacy, will we be calling your father for a rescue, potentially risking his job and pension, or will we make an attempt to salvage the situation on our own, potentially risking our lives.”
“I don’t like yelling for help any more than you do, Mom, but I think getting Dad fired is the safer bet.”
“Then we have a preliminary plan and an objective.” The General turned to go back to the others, but Maggie stopped her with a hand.
“Mom… You couldn’t say ‘Fermé suitcase’ because we pried off the logo and did everything we could to hide the magic, I get that, but, the stripes…”
The General blinked. She shook her head. “I failed to specify. There was a time constraint, but this is no excuse, and no change to our situation.”
Maggie looked pained. “Mom, you didn’t see that guy had a Derringer.”
The General scowled. “Is my competence under discussion?”
Maggie pointed at the glasses. Her mom had a serious thing about people touching her glasses, even the kids at home. “Only by way of your pride.” She planted a hand on her hip. “We don’t hide our weaknesses from our allies. You know that. How bad is it really?”
“I have lost some acuity and can no longer wield a ranged weapon,” the General said mildly. “My bird form has become strategically useless. You know that.”
“Yeah. So is there anything I don’t know?” No further information was forthcoming, only an impatient frown. Maggie sighed. “You can’t see fine stripes or tell the difference between a Derringer and a real gun — but somehow you did see a gun. What kind of acuity are we talking about?”
“Demonstrably, that kind,” said the General, with a sniff. “Reading is also difficult for me. I have developed a spell to enlarge text when necessary.”
“Mom! I know that! You’ve said it a million times. You keep coughing up the same answers about this like an adding machine…”
The General had turned away again. She paused only briefly. “An adding machine cannot tell lies. If you want a different answer, you must request a different sum, Magnificent. Mr. Rose?” She held up her hand, but thought better of drawing Milo aside, perhaps in response to his murderous expression, but perhaps not. “We are marshalling our resources. Do you have your wallet and passport?”
Milo gave a low gasp. He patted down his pockets and shakily drew out a passport, and then the wallet, both of which he dropped.
“And how much is in your Fyver?” Maggie added.
Milo shrugged and shook his head. He opened his wallet and showed two five-sinq notes and a ten, which had been there since they left Marsellia. This was physical money that could not be spent, only exchanged, and it did not respond to verbal commands.
The General growled. “You are incapable of requesting your account information! Haven’t you developed some kind of nonverbal workaround? The banks are certainly not going to accommodate you — if you wish to function independently, you must force these broken systems to adapt to your needs!”
Milo signed at her, given that she’d finally let it slip that she could understand him: FYVER YOU HAVE [NO].
“I do not trust it,” said the General. “That is different. If you want to use the damn thing, figure it out.” She turned away, sprang the lock on the stolen suitcase, and began sorting its contents.
Maggie raised a hand. “You could shoot me a few transfers. We’ll know when you run out.”
Milo shook his head. OVER [PAY]. LIMIT [MONTH, PAY].
She snickered. “Yeah, but it’s worth a few sinqs so we know what’s in our war chest. It might be a while before Dad can get us any help.”
“Wait, what’re we doing?” Erik said.
“Dear one,” said Mordecai.
Erik shooed him away. “No. I’m not freaking out anymore and someone’ll catch me if I do it again. I can operate on vibes only, I’m used to it.”
“Don’t you need to wake him up?” hissed Hyacinth.
Mordecai flung a gesture. “I don’t know! Apparently not!”
“Hey, Mags, do we need money? Or what?”
“We have enough for right now,” she said quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”
He grinned at her. “Don’t worry about that.” He spread his arms and spun around once, as if displaying one of those weird new concept cars that’s an obvious, unmarketable fiasco. “S’long as I have any say in it, I won’t waste my mind. If brain cells were cooking spray, I couldn’t flip a pancake.” He glanced around, checked his T-shirt, noticed he had decided to pair it with pyjama pants for some reason, dismissed it with a shrug, and lit upon the violin case. “But this leaky bucket can carry a tune, so let’s… Ugh. What?” He had just noticed the bandage on his hand, and seemed to be lacking context for it.
“Are you carrying your papers?” Maggie shot back. “Because…”
Erik pulled off the bandage and stuffed it in a pocket.
“Fool, is that even healed?”
Mordecai rifled his coat pockets and came up with all three fake passports — his, Erik’s, and Erik-as-David. “Yes!”
“Yes,” Erik echoed mildly. “I’m magical.” He blinked at his left hand and poked at the broken nail on the index finger. He laughed. “Ahh, and I’m a disaster!” He evened the nail with a bite.
Hyacinth pressed a hand to her nightgown, where the hip pocket would be if she had clothes or a coat. “Oh, shit.”
“Okay! So let’s get paid!” Erik said. He strolled out of the alley with the violin in tow.
Maggie went after him, but Mordecai stopped her. “No. It’s safe and he’s out of the way.” He smiled. “And it might be helpful.”
“We are lacking in dresses, but there is a button-down shirt and a set of trousers,” the General offered, regarding Mordecai’s bare legs.
Hyacinth elbowed past him. “Gimme.”
Maggie, Mordecai, and Milo crept out of the alley to watch Erik set up. This was a series of simple tasks he’d been doing since he was seven — only now in a hostile foreign land, with pyjama pants, a smashed hat, a torn frock coat, and mild brainwash residue.
He seemed to be managing all right, although he did pause and peer through the f-hole of the violin with a groan. “Aw, Milo, you were gonna fix this.”
Milo shrugged helplessly. His best effort to fix it was back on the train, headed to Marsellia with their clothes, the evidence, the wad of money from the Rainbow Alliance, and the smart paper and cat that could’ve been used to contact them in an emergency. Erik didn’t seem to have access to that information at this time.
“Darn stone-age violin,” Erik muttered. He tucked it under his chin with a sigh. “I’ll make it work.”
He began to play — soft, plaintive and subtle, with an instinctive grasp of the hour and the venue. Sleepy people on their way to work didn’t need glitter and fireworks, they wanted some ambience. The subtlety would pique curiosity and draw them over — his appearance was loud enough to indicate a performance was in progress.
After a prolonged introduction, including snatches of artificial birdsong and the sound of a breeze which ruffled Erik’s coattails and blew a swirl of gold leaves past him that didn’t technically exist, Mordecai discerned the melody. “Mother Nature’s Son.” He’d seen it once or twice in full, and many times under production, but Erik didn’t play it often. Too understated, not good for getting the attention of tourists at rush hour. He had an idea Erik only bothered to develop the routine in full because his Beatles-loving uncle thought it was cute.
When he began producing the vocals — as the Voice from Music process was originally intended — and the mountain stream was under discussion, a glistening, storybook-like stream wound past his feet, with grass and flowers springing up at the edges. It wouldn’t have passed for real under any circumstances. Misty and insubstantial, it shed flecks of illusory light like fairydust — really the result of the optical effect reaching the end of the atmospheric effect, a low cloud of mist, with no attempt to hide the loss of cohesion. Maggie found that almost intolerably sloppy and amateurish. Erik had responded quite sensibly when she tried to fix it for him, with a swat on her arm. Turn off your brain and use your eyes, Mags. It’s pretty!
Lacking the necessary intervention to produce a drum beat with VFM, he kept time by stamping his boots on the pavement and modulated by clicking the stacked heels. This also drew attention to the magic show in progress.
It wasn’t a packed venue, but passersby were already approaching, with smiles and willing hands touching pockets and purses.
Mordecai nudged Maggie and pointed. He’s brilliant, was on his tongue, but it didn’t get any farther. Somehow, it didn’t seem appropriate to interrupt.
The growing crowd began dropping notes in the open case — almost no coins at all, only folding money. And they didn’t walk off and go on about their business, they backed away and kept listening, smiling quietly and bobbing their heads to the beat.
Maggie’s mouth went, Wow, silently.
Mordecai observed the growing pile of cash with wide eyes and amazement bordering on horror. That was too much… Okay, now that was definitely too much… That was clearly too much money! It was falling out of the case and piling up on the sidewalk. Nobody would put money in a case that full. Erik ought to wrap it up and scurry off before somebody in the crowd got the idea to grab a handful and run.
But he didn’t. He didn’t even acknowledge it with a glance. And they didn’t. They just kept giving him more.
By the time the daisies made an appearance, in the lyrics and bobbing beside the illusory river, the case was too full to close, even if Erik did want to run off with it.
He added a single shimmering daisy to the top of his crooked hat, with a wink. The response was muted laughter, some applause, and more money.
Milo wandered over and dumped his entire wallet in the case. He backed off to listen too.
Maggie’s mouth went, What the fuck?
The General startled them with a sniff. She pushed up her glasses and wiped her eyes with a hand.
Hyacinth tugged Mordecai by the sleeve and pointed at Erik. She was wearing ill-fitting trousers and an oversized shirt, only half-buttoned, still with fluffy socks. She mouthed, What’s happening?
He shook his head. I don’t know.
He liked the song, though. It was a shame he didn’t have any money.
The music wound to a close with a brief, playfully discordant burst of brass — unlike drums, this was easily doable in VFM. The optical effect vanished in a swirl of green light, and the low mist shredded and blew away. Erik bowed to thunderous applause, some cheering, and yet more money. The case was nowhere to be seen under the pile of it.
Erik looked over and saluted his uncle. “One-and-a-half very good albums! Hey…”
A gentleman was observing with an open bottle of purple soda in one hand, untouched and forgotten.
“You gonna drink that? Wait…” Erik plucked off the flower he’d pinned to the coat. “Trade ya?”
The man handed over the soda and accepted the wilted daisy. He wandered off with a bemused smile, similar to the rest of the departing crowd, and paid no heed to the heap of filthy lucre on the ground.
Erik finally looked down and blinked at it. He toed at the edge, as one might investigate a pile of raked leaves. “Uh.” He glanced back at his family with a smile. “Guess they liked that one?”
Maggie ran out and scooped up an armful of notes, storing them all in slipspace after a suspicious glare at the crowd. They didn’t slow or protest in the least.
“Oh, my gods,” Hyacinth managed.
“That was unnatural,” the General said hoarsely.
And Erik sipped the soda.
Hyacinth was on him in an instant, her hand trying to tug the bottle out of his. He pulled away and held it over her head with a laugh.
She tried to climb him. “Erik, you can’t drink that! You don’t know where it’s been!”
“Sure I do. That guy had it.” He sipped again, holding her away at violin-point.
“Germ theory, Erik!” Her stolen trousers had fallen to her knees and she retrieved them. “Viruses! Bacteria!”
Erik paused, considering. “Immune system.” He drank again.
Mordecai covered a laugh, then allowed it anyway, shaking his head. “Too damn smart…”
Maggie had squirrelled away most of the money. She paused and beamed at Erik. “Play another one! Keep playing! When we get home, we’ll rewire the house! We’ll get an electric stove and an onda!”
Erik shrugged, nodded, and handed her the soda. He waggled the violin. “Drop the needle on some ‘Blackbird’?”
She grinned. “That’s my jam!”
Mordecai put a hand on the instrument and forced it back down. “No, it’s not.” Maggie scowled at him. “No,” he reiterated. “That’s enough. We have enough. People are giving more than they can afford. ”
“You don’t know that!” she said hotly.
“Yes I do. Milo dumped his whole wallet in there and right now we have nothing.”
She grinned. “Like hell we do.”
“No more music, dear one.” Mordecai said gently. “But thank you. That helps a lot.”
Erik nodded with a smile. The smile faded and he tucked the violin under his arm. “I freaked out and we lost the suitcase, huh?”
“Yeah,” Maggie allowed, looking pained. She offered the soda. He finished it in a swallow and handed back the bottle. “You okay?”
He sighed. “That poor cat.”
“He’s asleep,” she said. “He’s not scared or hurt.” She tried a smile. “And there’s a tag with our address on there, maybe…”
He brightened, a little. “You guys hid the magic so good they won’t notice he’s in there and they’ll ship him home for us? You think maybe he’ll be there when we get back?”
Maggie tried to keep anything too apocalyptic out of her thoughts, and she hoped everyone else was too. Cute kitty aside, the best thing for humanity might be if Prokovia threw the whole suitcase in an incinerator, unopened. They didn’t even have a safe way to warn the Rainbows about what had happened — and what might happen — to the envelope.
She smiled weakly and offered a shrug. “Yeah, maybe.”
He grinned and tried to sling his arm around her, but she pushed him off with her gloved hands and backed away. He wobbled and stepped back with a puzzled expression. “You mad at me?”
She shoved all the bad thoughts to the back of her mind like the expired crap in a refrigerator and put an arm around him. “Nah. It wasn’t your fault. We’re gonna be okay.”
“It was the window,” he muttered. He looked up. “You know? It wouldn’t stop being the same window. I wanted it to move and it wouldn’t and… and…” He dropped his head and shook it. “I got mixed up. I had to get out. I didn’t remember you, any of you. I’m sorry.”
“It was a smoke break,” Maggie said. “People were outside drinking coffee and smoking. They shop, too, at the station. Trains do that.” She straightened and clapped her hands. “Hot damn! If that’s all it is, we don’t have a problem at all!”
“What? They have a train that doesn’t stop for smoke breaks?”
“Yes!” Her smile had improved considerably. “It’s called a boat!”
◆◆◆
They procured a fabulous top floor suite with plush carpeting, parquet floors, a whirlpool tub in the living room, and a picture window with a spectacular view of the distant Silk Sea. The upholstery was red velvet. The wallpaper had red and gold stripes. The champagne and chocolate were complimentary.
“Oh, hell yes!” cried Hyacinth. Without so much as an “excuse me,” she stripped off the ill-fitting shirt, followed by the trousers. The bellhop fled in terror, unimpeded by the total lack of luggage, without even explaining how the gas fireplace worked.
Hyacinth leapt into the tub and turned on both taps. “I haven’t had one like this since I was a kid! They quit doing this in Marsellia — it’s tacky or some shit. Can you believe it?”
The rest of her family observed with variously pained expressions. Only Milo had the good grace to turn his back, though the lip of the tub was high enough to keep her decent — in a manner of speaking.
Most of them had seen a naked Hyacinth at some point. She had a known ambivalence towards clothes, which she usually expressed by dressing plainly, practically, and hideously. It was probably a lingering effect of her childhood brain injury, but one couldn’t discount the lingering effect of being dumped into the custody of an emotionally-stunted, fashion-obsessed buffoon in the aftermath.
“That guy is totally calling the cops on us right now,” Maggie muttered aside. “Right?”
“No,” Mordecai replied. “We’re rich.” He smiled at her and brushed past to assess the composition of the chocolates. “We’re eccentric now.”
“Dibs on the tub when you’re done,” Erik said.
Hyacinth hissed at him. “I live here. I’m a mermaid. I’m venomous. I bite!” She examined the various available toiletries, clattering through them with both hands. “Oo. Bubble bath…”
The General commandeered the table, shoving Mordecai, the chocolates, the champagne, and the vase of roses aside. “Travel arrangements and papers, my fellow fugitives. Travel arrangements and papers. Please focus!”
And Erik fell over and hit his head on the lavish sofa.
Half an hour later, panic-attacks panicked and altered states stated, Erik blinked back awake and put a hand on his uncle’s arm. “Don’t say F-O-C-U-S, or I will. The damn room is too shiny. My brain’s trying to walk in spiked heels, jostle me and I’ll break my damn ankles. For the purpose of this metaphor, my brain has ankles. What’re we doing?”
“Travel arrangements and papers,” the General said contritely.
Mordecai began scampering around, closing drapes and turning off lights.
“Papers?” Erik groaned and fell backwards again. “Oh, gods!”
Mordecai scampered back. “Dear one? Wake up!”
“No,” Erik muttered. “Don’t wanna. Go ‘way.”
“How’s your head?” said Hyacinth. She had consented to put on a bathrobe — also lavish and included in the ridiculous price. “Are you concussed? Let me see your eyes!”
He pulled out the metal one and handed it to her. “I’d rather be concussed. Damn it, I thought we chased that guy off for good, and now I’ve gotta ask him back in!”
“You can’t call David,” Maggie said.
“…he works for the Rainbows,” Erik said with her. He sat up, shaking his head. He took his eye from Hyacinth and pressed it back in. “Except he doesn’t. He’s not like Greg. He works for himself, and he likes me. Anyway, I don’t know what you think he’s going to tell them. We don’t have an animal, they can’t come here. If they try to go to Misha, they’re going to end up on Altair 4 in the suitcase.”
“Altair-what?” Maggie said.
He was frowning. “Is it Altair 4 or Rheton?”
Maggie had her mouth open to ask Hyacinth if she was sure Erik wasn’t concussed.
“It’s the Forbidden Planet,” Mordecai told her. “Rheton is the Phantom Planet. Watch a classic movie once in a while. They play them at La Stella. Stop being so young.”
“I think I want the storage planet, but I don’t know,” Erik said. He shook his head. “Damn spiked heels. What’re we doing?”
Maggie sighed. “Apparently, we’re calling David.” She lifted a hand. “Just to compare. If he can replace our papers faster than the Marselline Consulate…”
“He can,” Erik said, frowning.
She frowned too. “Alright, dammit. Then drag his ass back here. He said he’d fix this for us. He owes you.”
“Tell him we have champagne and chocolates,” Hyacinth added.
Erik glanced at his uncle. Mordecai was willing to grant permission, but Erik didn’t ask for permission: “Are you gonna hold up okay if David does something stupid that gets me hurt? I don’t mean killed, I don’t think he would do that, just damaged in some way because he’s not paying attention?”
Maggie narrowed her eyes and spoke over Mordecai’s truncated affirmative. “Wait. Damaged like how?”
Erik rolled his eyes and turned to address her. “Like, one time, I wouldn’t stop playing ‘Seagulls, Stop It Now’ in my room, and he broke off a bunch of my fingernails climbing the walls.”
“Fucker,” Maggie said.
“This is a known issue,” Hyacinth said dully.
“Playing what?” said Mordecai. And now he had his mouth open to ask Hyacinth about a possible concussion.
“It’s novelty music,” Maggie told him. “It’s a gag dub. They do those at La Stella too. Stop being so old.”
Erik looked down and away. “And another time, he was having such a fun time making bombs, he wet my pants.”
“Bombs?” said Maggie. She caught herself with a gasp and covered her mouth with a hand, shaking her head. It made sense to her, but Erik didn’t need to know why. Mordecai put an arm around her and nodded, silently. It made sense to him too.
Hyacinth blinked. “Also a known issue, according to Barnaby, but I never saw it in person.”
“Gods have different priorities,” Mordecai said, finally. “I’ll watch him, dear one. I’ve worked with worse.” He winced. “I think.”
Milo signed sternly: MUSIC [NO] ANNOY [NO] NIICHAN [TALL, BAKA].
Erik breathed a weak laugh. “But he’s so annoyable, little big brother.” He dragged back to his feet, with help from all sides, which he brushed gently away. “Alright, lemme get my insurance…” He wandered towards the desk and frowned at the many drawers. “Dammit, I need stickers.”
“What for?” Maggie said.
“I have no idea.”
Mordecai sighed. He thought — maybe — there had been something about drawers and doors and flowers, on the list that he no longer had, which was incomplete with unknown errors in the first place. He was going to have to watch Erik and guess what he needed help with, from now on.
“You got a pen?” Erik asked.
Maggie pulled a gold fountain pen out of her pocket — she’d noticed a shiny object near the hotel’s guest book, she needed a pen, and no one was going to stop her from walking off with it.
Erik echoed the sentiment, “Souvenirs!” He wrote “David Valentine” on the palm of his hand, insulting quote marks included, pocketed the pen, and sat down in the desk chair. “Ladies and gentlemen, please brace for impact…”
A few tense, silent moments later, he spun back around in the desk chair to face them, frowning. “Okay, that has literally never happened before.”
“Erik?” Maggie said.
“Yeah, uh…” He sat forward, rubbing the back of his neck. “He told me to go fuck myself. He went off about how you don’t love him anymore…” He pointed at Hyacinth.
She groaned and collapsed on the velvet sofa, splayed dramatically in all directions. “I should’ve known!”
Erik frowned. “…and I told him to drop the goddamn act already, and he told me…”
She sat up. “Drop what act?”
He bent double, pleading with both hands. “C’mon, Auntie Hyacinth. You do not buy that’s really him!”
“Uh…”
“Oh, fool,” Maggie said. “You’re missing some context…”
He scowled at her. “Well? What?”
“It’s complicated,” said Hyacinth. “Depends on the nature of the beast. But we either reminded him of who he used to be, or we brainwashed him so bad he forgot everything he ever was. Bottom line, he doesn’t think it’s an act and he’s stuck with it.”
Erik stood up and stared at her. “You inflicted David’s identity on him? For eternity?” He touched a hand to his head. “Memories? His memories? David’s memories are his memories now?”
“Or they always were,” Hyacinth said painfully. “Yeah.”
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy!” Erik thumped into the desk chair, cackling. “Oh, that’s awesomesauce! Oh, my gods, he has to exist with, with…” The laughter and smile dried up suddenly and completely. “Oh, shit, that’s terrible. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Wasn’t there some other way?”
“Kid, do you know something about him I don’t?”
Erik’s frown was tiny and concerned. “Yes.” He shook his head. “But he will wig out if I tell you. He didn’t tell you because he didn’t want you to know…” He winced. “He’s really sorry about the vase.”
Hyacinth gazed at the vase of roses on the table, but that couldn’t be it. “What vase?”
“Oooh. Wow.” Erik pressed a hand to his brow. “That… That is quite some disparity. He did not, in fact, scar you for life with that. Uh…” He leaned forward and addressed her. “He feels things hard, you know that?”
She nodded.
“…so much so that he may be completely divorced from reality and what we would, as human beings, call insane. Okay?”
Everyone other than Hyacinth looked disturbed, but she took it mildly. “Preaching to the choir, kiddo.”
He nodded. “Okay. Yeah. Do you remember anything about a vase?”
She considered, staring at the vase of roses. At last, she pointed at it. “I put two dozen roses in it to annoy him. He bought me two dozen roses. Because he threw it at me and I caught it.” She grinned. “Not that vase?”
“He nailed you in the face with it,” Erik said.
She shrugged. “Okay, but he wasn’t aiming for me. Honestly, it bothered me way more when he cut off all his hair…”
Erik put up both hands. “I don’t think I want to talk to him about stuff he did that bothered you.” He turned to his uncle. “Can gods kill themselves, do you know?”
Mordecai slowly shook his head.
“He’s probably not in a super good place right now,” Erik said. “Anyone got any ideas on what I should say?”
Hyacinth blew out a breath. “Back on the train, I basically told him I hate him in David-ese, which must really sting, but I was lying to fuck with him. I learned that from him, so you might tell him that. He’d like that.”
Milo knocked on an end table for attention. He signed: [D]RED NAME [OLD] [D]RED [NO]. [D]RED [D]RED [STATE] CAUSE… He trailed off with a wobbly frown. Shaking his head, he approached Erik and reached past him to sort through the desk drawers. He selected a pencil and a pad of hotel stationary. He drew a faceless figure with short, wavy hair and a short, poofy dress. He wrote, D V.1 = Mom, and showed Erik.
Erik nodded. “Dave likes that name because Hyacinth said David’s her mom.” He paused. “We got two Daves and you don’t want to fingerspell one of ‘em, huh?”
Milo nodded weakly.
Erik signed, D[OTHER]. He shook his head. “That’ll piss him off.” [D]BLACK. [D]ARK. He tried it with both hands, like how they signed “wallpaper” for Barnaby. [DD]ARK. “One with red hair, one with black hair. That good?”
Milo nodded. He signed it a few times.
Hyacinth groaned and clutched her fingers in her hair. “We’re bribing him, aren’t we? We’re flattering the crazy man and this is a bribe, correct?”
Erik nodded.
MEET [D]RED [ASK]? Milo signed.
Erik pointed and nodded. “I bet he would.”
“What?” said Hyacinth.
“He’d like to meet Dave, later. I could promise him that.”
“Yeah,” said Hyacinth. “But the guy isn’t fond of delayed gratification.” She spread her arms and presented her bathrobed self like a volcano sacrifice. “I have no clothes. We lost them. Tell him I need him to dress me.” She winced. “And I’ll let him do my hair.” She shook her head. “No. Not ‘let.’ I need him to dress me and do my hair. I’m begging.” She shuddered. “Damn it.”
Erik hugged her. “You’re very brave, Auntie Hyacinth.”
She sniffed and raked back her unruly blonde and grey mop. “I’m taking one for the team. Run get him before I change my mind.”
Erik sat in the chair with a grin and spun back around to the desk. “Okay! Round two! Ding!”
A few moments later, he turned back with a frown.
“Alrighty. So the guy says you’ve, uh, ‘wounded his soul’ — either he’s decided he has one of those or he’d like us to pretend — and there aren’t any houses or roofs where he is, but he’s still gonna find one and jump off.” He peered at her. “Unless you feel, like, super guilty for what you said. Can I tell him that?”
She growled. “Of course you can! It’s not even a lie! I did! Right away! Why are you asking my permission?”
He tapped the side of his head. “He can sort through my memories however the hell he wants. It’d be super hard to lie to him anyway, and he’d probably like to see you. Got anything else for the highlight reel?”
“Ugh. Does he want me to do the bit?” She crouched on the plush carpet, tested its pile with a hand, and knelt down. “I will do the whole bit. It doesn’t put me out any more than it did him. That man murdered my sense of shame, if I had any left…”
Erik broke in, “Should I tell him that?”
She swept a hand at him. “Sure. Hand him a thrill. It’s not like you’ll kill him. Go nuts. And also…”
She stretched out on the rug as if she were about to do a set of pushups, but she splayed her arms to both sides instead and went totally flat. “Tell him I’m devastated!” she said, muffled.
She looked up at him with a gasp and began dragging herself forward, digging her fingers into the carpet pile. “Oh! I can’t bear it!” She gasped again and curled up, grovelling like a dog. “The isolation! The shame! The… The disapproval! …of the only man who ever meant anything to me! Ah!” She rolled onto her back and laid the back of her hand across her brow. “If he doesn’t forgive me, I shall perish — I really shall!”
She patted the rug with a hand and spoke conversationally, “Thank goodness the carpet is ultra-plush. I would hate to depart this mortal coil uncomfy…”
She drew another gasp and flopped onto her belly. “Oh, you MUST tell him I made CERTAIN the carpet was ultra-plush, in remembrance of HIM!”
Erik leaned down with a grin. “Wow. Déjà vu. You must’ve really been paying attention.”
She spoke into the carpeting, face down. “It’s not like a person could help paying attention.” She lifted her head with a frown. “I mean, look at this shit.”
The others were staring at her with expressions ranging from boredom to horror, but they were all looking.
“Well, it’s just not possible to ignore a person when you really care about them,” Erik said, “and you’ve inflicted untold suffering.”
Hyacinth pulled her knees under her and sat up. “Erik?” she said suspiciously.
He sat on the rug and drew up his legs. “Do the bit with the sharp object! Do you have a sharp object? Even a cocktail fork?”
“Oh, you ASSHOLE!” she shrieked.
David laughed. “April Fool!” He leapt back to Erik’s feet and lay a hand on his borrowed chest. “Alice knows me better than Er-rik!” he sang out. “Alice likes me better than yooou! Ha!” He spun around and offered her a hand with a smile, as if inviting her to dance. “My dear little progeny — my serpent’s tooth!” He snatched her and cried out, “Santa’s here, and he’s going to get you everything you need to save Narnia! Yaaay!”
Hyacinth flopped like a ragdoll full of alum. “Yay.”