#but i think he hugs his family and the kids at the slum very lovingly

[fragmentedshards]

The Voices, Chapter Two: Dolcezza, Tesoro

~*~ eleven years later ~*~

Snow had fallen in the night and now covered the city in a thick white blanket, even as it continued to fall. Cameras flashed in the faces of the two Largo brothers, eagerly awaiting the arrival of Amber Sweet. Rumors of what happened to Amber had circulated through the city within hours, and now everyone with the ability to come see for themselves had flocked to the steps of the GeneCo. building. Knowing that Amber was not going to appear for quite a while, Luigi Largo stepped forward and spoke into the nearest microphone.

“The rumors are true,” Luigi said, glaring across the sea of people. “My sister Amber Sweet has been attacked by a rogue RepoMan, and her vocal cords have been cut out.” Amid all the horrified gasps and mixed yelling, Luigi continued. “She is currently getting the best medical care available and she will survive, but she will never speak again. As her career as GeneCo.’s spokeswoman and soprano has now ended, my sister also wishes to revert back to her family name, Carmela Ambra Largo. My brother Paviche - better known to you as Pavi - and I will continue to keep you updated on her condition and how this will affect GeneCo. from here on out.”

Luigi paused to look at his brother, who was wearing yet another new face. Pavi, always a diva, was busy posing in front of the myriad of cameras and dancing in the falling snow, and may well have not been listening at all. The eldest Largo rolled his eyes at his brother and then returned to the microphone. “On a slightly more personal note, I’d like to add;” he growled as he whipped out one of his many knives. “If and when I find who did this, I’ll be sure to carry out my own repossession on quite a bit of his person.” Luigi grimaced, and there was no mistaking the glint in his wide eyes.

Elsewhere, in the slums of the city (commonly referred to merely as “The Downs”), Eimear Hammond heard this press release from the little antique television sitting on the vanity in the family room. She looked up from putting the finishing touches on a new porcelain mask in time to catch Luigi’s final words. The artist shook her head and huffed.

“Graves, tell me you’re not the one responsible for the attack on Amber Sweet?” Eimear asked her Zydrate-dealing friend who sat on the sofa with his feet propped up on the table. “And for God’s sake, put your feet down!”

Graverobber obliged, looking stricken. “You wound me, Eimear,” he exaggerated. “Why would I harm my best customer? That’s not a good way to promote my business.”

“He doesn’t have the surgical training, either,” Euriel pointed out from the mirror by the front door, where she was fixing her lab coat and her long pink hair. “Nor do any of the Shadow Doctors. It must have been a RepoMan; nobody else could do the job and leave Amber - Carmela, I mean - intact.”

The door to Fortunato's bedroom opened and the boy emerged, asking “Mama, should I wear a hat today? It looks like it snowed a lot last night.”

Eimear peered out the window as her son skipped to her side. “I think a hat would be wise,” she agreed, running her hands over her son’s head and kissing it. “My boy, my Fortunato... how are you already so grown up?”

Fortunato smiled and hugged his mother. After a moment his smile faded and he pulled her to the couch where his Uncle Graves sat. “Mama... I know you don’t want to talk about this...”

Eimear sighed and began tying up her blood-red hair to calm herself. “I’ve told you before, Fortunato; we can’t afford any surgery. I wish we could, I know how much you want it, but it’s too expensive for people like us.”

The boy touched his ears momentarily before shaking his head. “You taught me not to be ashamed of myself unless I’ve done something shameful,” he said, touching his mother’s elbow lovingly. “You taught me well. I was wondering about you.” he reached up and put his small hand on his mother’s more severely disfigured cheek. “You always wear a mask when you leave The Downs, sometimes even just when you leave the house. What if you could get a new face instead of hiding one from the world?”

Euriel came and sat on the arm of the couch beside her family, watching and feeling her heart break. Graverobber pointed at Fortunato and mouthed smart kid at Eimear, who put her own hand on top of her son’s and looked at him sadly. “I raised you to be better than me, Fortunato. I hide because try as I might, I’m still ashamed of my face. But when I say it’s too expensive, I mean it. Especially now, with the attack on Amber Sweet - Carmela Largo. It’s riskier and riskier these days. Even if I hide my face behind a mask, I prefer the safety of it to a face with a barcode on the underside.”

An old German cuckoo clock struck eight on the wall, and the sisters started. “We had better get going,” Euriel tapped her sister’s shoulder. “We need to shovel the snow in the uptown graveyards before we start today’s work. Weren’t you commissioned recently?”

Eimear nodded. “Believe it or not, I’ve actually been commissioned by the Largo family,” she shook her head and chuckled. “They want me to paint murals in all the rooms in the GeneCo. building, even the warehouses. I expect they’re trying to make it their own now that Rotti’s gone.” she fastened one of her many intricately-painted masks to her face and continued, almost mournfully; “I hope they run GeneCo. better than he did. I hope they can be better than he was.”

As the sisters were nearly out the door, donning their coats and scarves, Eimear turned to Graverobber. “Will you please keep my son out of trouble? Just until his aunt is in her office.”

The dealer smiled and hugged his adoptive nephew. “Fortunato and I will have a grand, rebellious time, won’t we, kid?”

Eimear huffed and yanked her mask off. “Please don’t take him to any of your business meetings, for God’s sake? He’s only eleven!” When Graverobber raised both hands in mock protest, she shook her head and uttered an exasperated “Thank you, Graves,” before kissing her friend’s cheek and kneeling down to kiss her son’s head again. “We’re all going to prepare for the panto tonight at supper again; don’t forget!”

The boy shook his head and smiled. “I love you,” he told his mother and aunt as they walked out the door and into the snow.

“We love you too.”

~*~

The trolley ride uptown from The Downs was long and cramped but not otherwise

unpleasant, and despite the cold the two sisters were in relatively fine spirits when they arrived at the more posh graveyard. Mere miles away, Luigi argued with Pavi for his irresponsibility.

“Dad is gone, Pavi, and now especially with what happened to Amber - Carmela, we have to grow up!” he yelled at his brother, who was busy applying red lipstick to the face he was wearing that day. “Why can’t you understand that?”

“Oh yes, you’re a-very grown-up, fratello,” Pavi retorted, smacking his fake lips. “I just saw you stab another Gentern this-a morning before the press release.”

Luigi rolled his eyes and balled his fists. “I have a short temper and I’m trying to fix it,” he snapped. “If you knew how many people I’ve considered stabbing this morning besides that one Gentern-”

“Let me a-know how that goes for you,” Pavi flipped his hair and strutted past his brother. “I have-a places to be.”

“Where?” Luigi called, but Pavi didn’t answer.

Pavi’s stroll through the city, secretly on the hunt for a new face, brought him along the same path that would eventually lead him to the same graveyard where his father, as well as Nathan Wallace, were buried.

Eimear and Euriel shoveled the snow from the walkways in the cemetery, singing as they worked. They smiled at each other through their toil, glad to be singing folk songs from their childhood in harmony:

It’s cold and raw, the north winds blow

Black in the morning early

When all the hills were covered with snow

Oh, then it was winter fairly

As I was riding o’er the moor

I met a farmer’s daughter

Her cherry cheeks and sloe-black hair

They caused my heart to falter....

“Should we sing this song in the panto?” Euriel interrupted to ask. Her sister shook her head.

“I don’t think so. I’ve got some other ideas for what to sing then.”

I bowed my bonnet very low

To let her know my meaning

She answered with a courteous smile

Her looks they were engaging

“Where are you bound, my pretty maid?

It’s now in the morning early,”

The answer that she made to me;

“Kind sir, to sell me barley”

The sisters hummed the next part of the song, shoveling in perfect synchronization, when they heard a gasp followed by a heavy Italian accent.

“Dolcezza! Tesoro!” Pavi Largo emerged from behind one of the pillars of the graveyard gate, where he had been listening. “I had been admiring you for-a your face” he reached out to touch Euriel’s cheek, but she ducked away. “But I’ve stumbled upon pure, angelic-a vocal brilliance!”

He reached out and snatched both of the sisters’ hands quicker than they could blink, repeating “Doclezza, tesoro! Sweetness and treasure,” he kissed each hand in turn. “Please, won’t you-a come sing for GeneCo.?”

Eimear ripped her hand away in fear. “I cannot speak for my sister,” she said, careful to keep her voice from trembling. “But I will not be indebted to GeneCo., for anything.”

“I agree with my sister,” Euriel asserted, her voice much more level. “Besides which, we have enough to do with our current jobs; I doubt we would be able to add another to our list.”

“I can’t-a take no for an answer, my glories,” Pavi insisted. “Name your price!”

But the sisters shook their heads. “We can’t do what you ask, Mr. Largo,” Eimear said, more firmly this time. “If you’ll excuse us, we have work to finish here and then our other jobs to get to.”

Pavi regarded Eimear carefully. “Pray tell me, tesoro,” he reached for her face. “What lies-a beneath that mask?”

Eimear put both of her hands to her face, protecting her mask from removal. Her sister stepped in front of her as well. “Nobody will ever know that.”

“An injury? A blemish?” Pavi guessed. “Surely you a-know GeneCo. could fix-a whatever it is?”

“Forget it,” Euriel barked, finally getting Pavi to back off. He sauntered out of the graveyard, waving over his shoulder.

“The Pavi always gets-a what he wants!” he called out to them as he left, and though his voice was sing-song, there was a thinly-veiled threat in his words.

*note: listen to “The Maid Who Sold Her Barley” by Deanta for this chapter

#fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #write #writer #repo! the genetic opera #luigi largo #luigi largo x oc #pavi largo #amber sweet #carmela largo #eimear hammond #euriel hammond #graverobber #fortunato hammond #zydrate #geneco

[brohood-assassins-imagines]

So We Endure - Chapter 3: Times of Change

A/N: Yet another chapter of heartache. I’m going through a bit of a writer’s block for it, so next post I make will probably be a Connor smut I’ve been cooking up for a while! As always, this fic has a playlist (made by me) here

Word Count: 4k+

“What do you mean I’m out?!,” you screeched, eyes watering as a painfully cold grip took hold of your heart.

Mr. Jackson — Jack, as he liked to be addressed to — sighed wearily, cleaning one of the various pints of beer behind the counter. “It is what I said,” he shrugged, not looking you in the eyes. “Your out.”

“Jack, you can’t do that!,” you pleaded, pointedly ignoring the looks some of the early in customers shot you.

“Already did,” the man put the pint down, picking up another one. “Don’t need myself a singer who’s gonna whore herself out to my customers and have them never come back,” he stared you down, expression bitter and anger barely contained. “Shoulda said so before, that your a whore. Woulda treated you likewise.”

You felt the world stop around you, a shiver of fear running down your spine. The squeezing of your heart tightened and you leaned in towards the man. “Jack, I have a son. I need this job, I have to keep him fed and—“

“And on your way to a new one, I see,” he spit the venom casually, not minding the tears gathering at the corner of your eyes. “Shoulda thought ‘bout him before, eh?”

“Nothing happened, Jack! For fucks sake!”

“Yeah, right,” he cackled at his own inside joke. “Outta here with ya. Already hired a new girl, don’t need ya makin’ a scene now.” The man picked another glass up, polishing it without really watching he was doing, “and to think one day I hoped to get it on with ya…”

Humiliated and wrecked, both emotionally and physically, you hunched your shoulders and allowed yourself to cry quietly before being shunned out of the pub. As much as you hated the job, it was what had kept you and Charlie relatively warm at night; with a roof over your heads. You risked a look at one of the clocks on your way home — a quarter after 6 — and tried to think positively. The rent was paid. You had money for the next one, it was okay, if you tightened the belts. There was food at home, you’d get to spend some time with Charlie—

It all felt like a bad joke on you.

The door whined and creaked as Mrs. Dolloway opened it, letting a small gasp of surprise get past her thin lips. “Oh dear!,” she put a chubby hand against her cheek, “ya certainly dropped by early today! I wasn’t expecting ya around ‘til half past nine or so, girl.”

You forced a smile, fidgeting with the tattered cloth-bag in your hands. “Yes, I… got out early.”

Mrs. Dolloway frowned at you, closing the door a bit as she leaned closer to you so the kids wouldn’t eavesdrop. “What happened?”

Closing your eyes, you sighed and twisted your lips as if tasting bitter medicine. You never managed to lie or cover things from your neighbor — and possibly best friend —, as much as you wanted to. She didn’t need to worry more than she already did. “Dolls, really…”

“Dontcha ‘Dolls’ me, girl!,” she pouted, a slight rise of color coming to her complexion. “Come on, out with it. Ya can tell me things, ‘m not made of glass!”

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. “Jack fired me today.”

As expected, the woman gasped indignantly. “Whatever for?!”

“It doesn’t matter, really,” you cut in quickly, eager to change the subject. “I’m already looking for a new job.”

“This close to winter? Best thing ya gonna find will be laundry work, probably worse,” she stressed, brows knitting together in worry. “Want me to ask aroun’?”

It wasn’t entirely fair, you knew. You already felt like a parasite with all the help people offered so freely — the guilty pang of Mr. Fry—Jacob’skindness still all too recent in your mind. Drawing your lower lip into your mouth, you bit nervously on it. “If that isn’t a bother, Dolls—“

“Silly girl,” she stopped you before you could finish. “Silly, silly girl.” The plump woman closed the door behind her, pulling you into a tight motherly hug; her soft hands smoothing your shoulders lovingly. “Already taken care of, I tell ya. Stop worryin’, eh?,” she whispered as you awkwardly wrapped your arms around her.

“Thank you,” you offered meekly, allowing the tears to well in your eyes, “thank you so much, Dolls. I just—“

“Hush now,” she pulled away, patting your face gently. “Don’t ya dare go all soft on me now, we still have to talk, eh?,” she smiled. “I asked Tommy what happened that day n’ I think ya should talk to Charlie too.”

“I tried, at the park,” you confessed, leaning against the railing of the stairs, “but it didn’t feel right, at the moment. Didn’t want to make him get antsy on me while we’re out, you know?”

Mrs. Dolloway nodded sagely, but it didn’t seem to smooth her ruffled feathers. “When you can, then. Sooner than later, is my advice.”

You frowned. “What did Tommy tell him?”

“Charlie?,” you called softly, drying the boy’s hair with a towel. He answered by turning around and looking you in the eye. “Mummy loves you very much. You know that, right?,” and upon his nod, you took a breath in before continuing. “Remember last time I fetched you at Auntie Doll, you and Tommy had a fight?”

Your son’s face scrunched up and he cast his gaze down with a slight pout. “It wasn’t my fault,” he offered, although hesitantly.

“Mummy knows,” you said, sitting beside him at the bed, back resting against the wall as you appraised the boy. “I just want to make sure you’re not holding things back from me.”

Charlie’s lips twisted a bit, as he seemed to fight an internal monologue with himself. “I just…,” he fidgeted with the edges of the shirt you had finished fixing. “Tommy said our family is daft.”

“Daft?,” you prompted him on, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” the boy agreed, picking at his nails. “Because I don’t have a dad.”

You had been preparing yourself for this talk, but that didn’t stop the cold drop in the pit of your stomach. “And what do you think about that?”

Charlie frowned, looking at you as if he hadn’t fully grasped what you had asked. “Tommy asked me if I had a daddy…,” he started, although hesitantly, “I said no, because that’s what you told me,” Charlie cast his eyes down once more before talking again. “He said that’s dumb, that everyone has a daddy, but I said I didn’t n’ he told me our family is daft,” he started crying, shaking slightly, “’das why I hit ‘im. ‘M sorry, mummy.”

“Hey, now,” you called in, opening your arms for a hug, “our family is not daft. We love each other a lot, don’t we? Isn’t that what matters?”

The boy sniffled, moving closer as you allowed him to rest upon your chest. “But he’s right,” he mumbled quietly, “it’s true.”

You pressed your lips together, smoothing his hair and trying to hold back your own tears. “Don’t you like mummy, baby?”

“It’s not that,” he said, voice brittle with emotion, “I just…,” a quiet sob, “I wanted to have a daddy too.”

Silence grew heavy, broken only by the sniffling and sobbing from your son; and all you could do was hug him tighter.

Thursday morning came slowly, daylight barely making its way through the fraying edges of the ruined curtains. Days were growing colder with the approach of winter; you registered distantly and stretched, burying your face into the thin pillow as the tell-tale sounds of town started rumbling around you. Job hunting hadn’t been going the way you wanted — after walking around for 3 days straight, until your feet ached and chaffed in your boots, you came to the grim conclusion that Mrs. Dolloway had been right to some degree, because even the laundry houses and the few factories that offered jobs year-round were overstaffed.

At some point, you started doubting if there really had been such a sudden shortage of jobs around the slums or if people were simply avoiding you. Everyone loved to gossip around here, even if most tended to show you their kinder side; there were still the ones with venomous tongues and ill spirits, who’d pounce at the opportunity of pointing their fingers at you in a heartbeat.

You wondered if Mr. Jackson was to blame or if your poorly-thought-through display with Jacob earlier on Sunday to the bus stop had had anything to do with it.

Universe definitely wasn’t kind.

Charlie stirred against you, sleepy murmurs stopping as soon as you rubbed his shoulder. The boy was a blessing, truly, and you didn’t regret it; not him. He wasn’t to blame for anything. You closed your eyes again, opting for sleeping in for a bit more today. It wasn’t like you were to change anything and magically find a job today after leaving no rock unturned last few days. Sleep crept slowly, its pull gentle and sweet and—

A knock.

A knock?

Frowning, you sighed; halfway hoping it was your imagination or for another floor. You opened your eyes, resting a tired gaze upon the weathered wooden door. Someone — a male voice, you recognized — called your name through it, now knocking more insistently which made Charlie groan and turn to bury his face into the mattress.

“Heavens…,” you whispered, slipping out of bed, careful not to wake your slumbering son, to answer the door. It couldn’t be Mr. Ross, you had paid the rent on time yesterday and Mrs. Dolloway usually wasn’t up this early. “Who’s it?,” you inquired quietly, hugging yourself to retain the warmth from the bed.

“Jacob,” the voice answered, sounding far to anxious to belong to the same calm and confident man you who’s had tea with you in the kitchen last Sunday. It was early, you frowned, much too early than what proper education demanded to a breakfast visit, and it made you feel uneasy. What on earth did he want? Then he called your name again, “will you open up?”

Pressing your lips together and sighing resentfully, you unlocked the door and Jacob wasted no time at slipping in and closing it behind himself. “I— Jacob, I have never—“

“I know, etiquette be damned,” he spoke hastily, taking off roughened up cap that matched his outfit. No top hat today?, you thought to yourself. “But— I swear, as soon as I heard about it— Wha— How— Uh… you… you were fired?,” the words tumbled out of his mouth, tripping on each other as he cast a worried gaze at you; a wild look in his eyes that made you wonder distantly if he had slept at all.

“Jacob.”

“Are you okay?,” he continued, “do you want me to talk to Jack?,” the man asked now, pacing around the flat, trying to school his voice into something less anxious. “We can see to it, you’ll have your old job in the blink of an eye, I swear—“

“Jacob.”

He stopped, frowning and fixing you with a puzzled look. “What?”

“It’s fine,” you offered lightly, trying to force a smile into your lips. “I hated it there, either way. I’m a singer to some degree, it kept a roof over our heads for a while, and it’s okay.”

Jacob swallowed thickly, staring at you with a dumbfounded look. “You… Ah, you’re not mad?”

“Whyever for?,” your voice came out like a tired sigh. “It wasn’t your fault. If I am to blame anyone, I’d point fingers at myself for doing something so reckless and stupid—“

“You were desperate, there is a difference,” he quipped in, grimacing at the thought. “I’d have come sooner had you told me— why— why didn’t you tell me?”

You huffed out a laugh, crossing your arms in front of him. “Because I don’t know where you live, Jacob Frye. Much less how to contact you.”

Something seemed to click in his mind and Jacob scowled. “I’m sorry,” he offered, the high of his cheeks adopting an embarrassed shade of pink. “I feel like— I thought you’d have my head if I showed up here.”

Frowning as you moved closer to the kettle, you gave him a confused look. “Whatever for?”

“Because— well, because…,” he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “I just...,” Jacob coughed, looking away with a somewhat relieved face and his shoulders stopped tensing up. Well, that went off terribly. “I thought you would be mad at me for making you lose your job that day—“

“You didn’t,” you said casually.

“—and I wanted to make sure you and Charlie were okay, so I just came flying here as soon as I could.” As you put the water to boil, he shoot a look at you that pleaded for something, even though you weren’t entirely sure what. “Are you sure you don’t want me to explain the situation to Jack?”

You splashed some water into the teapot. “I don’t want to have anything to do with Jack any longer, Jacob,” your voice came out colder than you intended and you tried to soften it a bit. “We had our divergences and he wouldn’t take me for my word,” you explained, opening the cabinet and pulling the tea box. You weren’t going to lie, seeing the kitchen cabinet filled with food like that eased the anxiety in your heart. “Besides, he’s a bloody penny-pincher and a pig.” At that, Jacob laughed and you turned around to catch his mischievous smirk at you. “Believe me, I’m better off out of there.”

“’Suppose I’ll have to find a new pub to drink at, then,” Jacob started, putting his cap back on, “because that new girl can’t sing for shit, I’m telling you.”

It didn’t surprise you, honestly.

“It’s not difficult to please the drunkards,” you shrugged, “a pretty face is all they need at some point,” after your jesting, noticing what you had said, you clapped a hand over your mouth and turned to give him a horrified look. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s fine,” Jacob waved a hand dismissively, smirking as he walked closer to the stove and it occurred to you that he might be cold, without a thick coat on, “you can speak your mind around me,” he threw a few coals into the stove, proceeding to rub his hands together for warmth. “Besides, it was funny, and I believe I did tell you etiquette is not my best trait.”

You fidgeted with the kitchen rag in your hands, scoffing at his commentary. “Yes, I’ve been told.” As much as you hated to admit, you wanted to have someone’s company— needed it, really; someone who wouldn’t fuss and ask questions you didn’t want to answer, and last time had proven that Jacob wasn’t unpleasant at all to talk to. You shoot him a glance, trying to sound nonchalant. “Would you like to have breakfast with us? I was just about to start cooking.”

Jacob tensed, looking at you as if you had just told him to leave the flat, giving you a piercing gaze that deeply unsettled you; as if he could see through your lie. “That’d be lovely,” he blew into his hands, a smile already plastered upon his face, “thank you.”

Nodding, you turned around to cut up the cheese and bread — it was still so soft it made you wonder if Jacob bought it the same day it had been baked. Walking around, he got rid of his cap, putting it over the table, and asked “are you still looking for a new job?”

It was bound to happen, sooner or later. “Yes, although not with much luck, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?,” Jacob prompted, coming up next to you and pulling the same two mugs you had used to drink tea last time from the cabinet. It made you itch uncomfortably, for some reason.

“No one would hire me,” you explained, giving him an exasperated look that suggested you weren’t overly fond of the topic. “Not even the washhouses or the coal factory.”

Jacob hesitated for a second, looking mildly guilty. “I can help you, with anything you’d like.”

Just as he never ceased to surprise you, the annoyance seemed to come along in equal measures. You started to regret the invitation.

Turning around for a second, you offered him a disinterested “oh?”

The man shuffled awkwardly, giving you a pained look. “What I mean is… I can… help. More, is what I’m trying to say.”

Not knowing what to do with the silence, you allowed it to stretch a bit. “That’d be nice of you, but what I really am looking for is a job, Jacob.”

Jacob nodded, looking away with furrowed brows and as if he wanted to say something else; but ultimately stayed silent. You were somewhat thankful for it, but wouldn’t settle for having someone else paying your bills; you’ve been able to make things right up until now. The quiet that grew in the room evoked a heavy cloud of uneasiness and you wondered just when Charlie would wake up.

As if on careful coordination, a sleepy “mummy?,” called from the bedroom and you sighed in relief.

Offering Jacob a somewhat apologetic look, you hurried to the bedroom — which wasn’t really that far away, “hey, baby…,” you whispered, bending slightly in order to caress his head, “are you hungry? Mummy’s making breakfast now.”

Charlie yawned, turning to press his face into the mattress again and stretching out his arms for you to pick him up. “Are you going out today?,” he asked when you fixed him against your hip, resting his face against your collarbone.

“I don’t know yet,” you answered truthfully. “Let’s eat first, yes? We have a visit over today.”

“We do?”

You nodded, rubbing his back a bit. “Do you remember Jacob?”

The boy stayed silent for a moment, mind still hazy as he tried to recall where he had heard the name before. “Jake?,” he asked, looking at you with a confused look, “the magician?”

“Jake the magi—,“ you cut yourself, laughing softly, “yes, the magician.” Charlie’s eyes widened a bit, letting go of the heavy lidded look he was giving you. “Why don’t we go talk to him, mhm?”

He shifted a bit in your arms, as if embarrassed, until ultimately agreeing; although hesitantly. “’kay…”

Turning around to leave the bedroom, you caught sight of Jacob watching you with an expression you couldn’t exactly pinpoint; but it didn’t look bad on his face, you decided ultimately. The softness in his eyes made the hazel stand out against the olive skin and you wondered what he must’ve been thinking.

“Hey, sport!,” he called cheerfully, waving a hand at Charlie as the other took a hold of the backrest of a chair, “thought you’d sleep in forever.”

Charlie got flustered, resting his head against your chest in a gesture of comfort. “Hey,” he answered timidly, fiddling with the frilly neckline of your dress.

“Now,” Jacob started, approaching you both with a disarming smile, “I have a little something for you today,” the smile broadened when he saw that it had caught Charlie’s attention, “I wonder if you’re gonna like it.”

Your son looked at Jacob curiously, weighing his next words carefully. Charlie had never been very talkative strangers, but seemed to be growing out of it at times; with moments where he oscillated between both before ultimately making up his mind about the person. “What is it?,” he inquired, starting to develop a mild interest at the promise of a gift.

“Oh, I’m not really sure,” Jacob frowned, crossing his arms rather hilariously. “A little bird brought it to me and said it was your favorite.”

“Don’t be daft,” Charlie spoke in a half amused and surprised voice, “birds can’t talk.”

Jacob smiled at him, looking at you briefly. What Jacob lacked in etiquette and good sense, he made up with the way he got along with children — Charlie, in particular. You still weren’t entirely sure about him, but allowed yourself to be swayed over the attachment your son seemed to have developed over him.

“Well, you got me there,” he said, touching his chest lightly, “but you forget I’m a magician. I read it in the bird’s mind, actually.”

“No way!,” Charlie exclaimed, pushing away from your body and getting rid of whatever traces of sleepiness remained in his face, “really?!”

“Really!,” Jacob assured

He seemed to think on that for a few seconds as you shared a knowing look with Jacob. “Can you read my mind?”

“Oh, I can only read bird’s minds,” the man answered simply, “but I bet you’re still thinking about what the bird told me to give you.”

“Wrong,” Charlie giggled childishly, “I was thinking about what color your talking bird is.”

“See?,” Jacob gestured towards himself, as if resigned, “only bird-thoughts for me.”

“I want to know its color!,” Charlie protested and you giggled at the demand.

“Didn’t you tell me it was a blue one?,” you asked Jacob with a fake confused voice.

Jacob looked up at you, surprised at your input, but played along, “ah, yes,” he agreed, “a little blue bird asked me to give you this as a gift.” At that, the man pulled out the thin package from the insides of his coat.

“What is it?,” your son asked suddenly, twisting out of your arms as he leaned over and you were forced to put him down.

You looked at what Jacob had in hand — a bar of chocolate, of all things, and you were surprised the man even kept such a thing in mind. Smiling, you settled your gaze upon his face, at the pleased expression that spoke volumes of his character without the need for words.

“Chocolate,” Jacob explained, raising a finger before the boy could freak out, “but you gotta eat breakfast first, okay?”

Charlie pouted a bit, looking mildly disappointed even as Jacob offered him the candy. “Not even a piece?”

You supposed you owed him that much. Pretending not to pay attention at the exchange, you moved towards the stove and took the kettle out of the fire, pouring the fervent water into the teapot at the well-known ritual of making tea.

Looking over his shoulder — as you saw from the corner of your eye —, Jacob leaned down and whispered something to Charlie, who nodded eagerly, and gave him the candy back. You pretended you didn’t hear the clear sound of paper being unwrapped and the pleased giggle of your son as he rushed towards the bedroom with what you hoped wasn’t the entire bar right before breakfast.

“You shouldn’t have,” you whispered, voice softer than before, “you’re spoiling him.”

“It’s fine,” Jacob interjected, “he’s a kid.”

“Kids need to eat proper meals,” you huffed a laugh, looking at him as he leaned back against the counter beside you. “Thank you, though.”

He broke a piece of the chocolate and offered it to you. “You don’t have to thank me,” Jacob smiled when you took it, the candy melting a bit at where he had touched. “I’m glad you appreciate it, but you know that’s not what I’m looking for.”

You nibbled at it, reveling in its sweetness. It had been ages since you had had any chocolate and it was equal measures refreshing and heartwarming. “I hope you didn’t go out of your way for that,” you pointed out, fixing him with an amused look.

Jacob scoffed, breaking a small piece for himself, “no, I just happen to be a fan of chocolate myself,” he confessed, waving the still-considerable-bar in the air. “This is from my personal stash, actually.”

A stash. Again, the question about just who this man was nagged at the back of your mind. Chocolate was no cheap treat. “Don’t spoil him,” you looked at Jacob, stirring the infuser inside the teapot, “he’s too young and impressionable. Reality isn’t…,” you trailed off, lowering your head and staring at the chocolate in your hands.

“Reality isn’t what?,” Jacob called out, goading you on.

Sighing, you let go of the candy. “Reality isn’t this; random strange benefactors showing up at your flat,” you picked up the teapot, setting it over the table and moved towards the counter again, “with chocolate and food and offering to pay off your rent,” grabbing the piece of ham, you set it on the cutting board, “and wanting to give you money for whatever the reason!”

Jacob weighed your words, unmoving, and it both astounded and annoyed you in equal measures how he didn’t even flinch. “What is reality, then?”

You put the knife down, feeling the wet hot tears of anger welling up in your eyes. “It’s struggling,” you answered in a cold, matter-of-fact voice. “You work hard to gain your money, see that it’s not enough and you worry. You pay rent on your own, you buy food on your own, you teach your kids why’s that they can’t have a new toy or a pair of shoes on your own,” wiping the tears away, you fixed the man with a harsh stare, “that’s what reality is, and it’s not kind.”

He stayed silent for a short while, seeming to be mulling over what you had said and you were thankful for it in order to recollect yourself. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be that way,” Jacob whispered above the crackling of the fire and the distant chatter of the streets, “maybe fate has a kinder outlook on life than what you might be used to.”

Hesitating as you steadied yourself against the counter, you thought on what he had said. “It’s…,” stopping, you fixed a strand of hair behind your ear, “…a nice fantasy,” you decided ultimately, setting the plate of sliced ham on the table. The flat felt eerily quiet now, the tension in the air drowning out the sounds of the outer world. “But I won’t wait for it.”

It was a while since Jacob had been around.

Deep down, you feared you had been too harsh on your words; but in your defense, you were on the edge for days on end, looking for jobs that didn’t exist with people whispering behind your back in accusing tones; not to mention the whole situation with your son, now that he didn’t want go to Mrs. Dolloway’s. It wasn’t one of your best moments, you knew, but you couldn’t help but to lash out at anyone who pushed your buttons.

Sighing, you shook your head slightly, stitching a button into one of your worn out shirts. You wouldn’t be surprised if the man never showed up again; it had been almost a week, after all. You had paid rent with whatever was left of the money he had given you so freely before — under the doubtful gaze of Mr. Ross, who didn’t ask where you were getting those shiny new coppers — and feared what might come to happen if Tuesday came to be with you penniless.

Maybe you could sell one of your things, but what? You didn’t own anything but the necessary. It had been that way since father passed away, and—

No.

It wouldn’t do you any good to dive into painful memories and replay things over and over — you had to push forwards, no matter what.

With your mind set, you decided to get rid of the armchair if things didn’t improve soon. Nodding at your own decision, you looked over at the bedroom where Charlie slept soundly; lulled into sleep by the yellowish glow the fire from the stove cast into the walls of the flat. You couldn’t help but feel your heart squeeze tightly for him, as if someone had taken hold of it.

And that’s when frantic knock came down on the front door.

Startled, you hurriedly got up on your feet in order to stop the hellish noise before it woke your boy up. Muttering low curses, you went for the door and yanked it open with furrowed brows, only to be face to face with Jacob — a sweaty, red from exertion, with a manic smile Jacob.

“You won’t believe this!,” he started, letting himself in as he pushed the hood down from his face.

You were dumbstruck. He couldn’t be serious. “Jacob, you better have a good reason—“

“To come here in the middle of the night?,” he cut you, stepping closer and taking hold of your forearms with bare hands. “Believe me, I do!”

Curiosity spoke louder than the annoyance in your mind. “Out with it, then,” you spoke quietly, expertly shutting his mouth the moment he tried to speak again, “and try to be quieter, yes? Charlie’s asleep.”

Smiling wildly, Jacob leaned forwards — perhaps a bit too close than what you’d like — and whispered, “I got you a job.”

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