UnfathomablyCute
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Chapter Forty-Three: For legal reasons this is not a bag of holding
🕑 Added 2023-09-22 16:54:40 +0000 UTCMy dream, one I can no longer remember, pops like a bubble as someone rapps their knuckle three times on my door. I drag my eyes open, rubbing the gunk out of them after finding myself unable to see the first time.
Opening them once again, I’m greeted by a second obstacle: my hair, which has plastered itself to my face in the night. I pull it away as I sit up groggily, several strands which found themselves in my mouth as I slept slipping uncomfortably through my lips.
“Eaugh,” I groan, looking around blurrily at the absurd room I slept in. “I think the more comfortable a bed is, the worse waking up in it is.”
Several of the walls surrounding me are at least eighty percent fish tank, huge coral structures inside them serving as homes for a plethora of marine creatures. A single, familiar barracuda stops its meandering to lock one of its eyes with mine. It did the same thing last night, which stole an additional hour from the time I should have been sleeping.
“I don’t even like sushi, but I would absolutely make an exception for you.”
It holds my gaze a moment longer before swimming away, hiding in between the coral where it can still see me. I huff, too exhausted for this early in the day. I guess asserting dominance over a fish is pretty intensive stuff.
My eyes flick to the door as I remember the knock that woke me up, leading me to notice the expensive-looking manilla note pushed beneath the door. Kicking my legs over the side of the bed, I do my best to stand up, though between my wobbly legs and the squishy mattress, it proves a near sisyphian task.
Picking up the letter, I find myself with something I was under the impression was long obsolete.
Cursive.
“Miss Vanguard Amalgam,
It is my regret to wake you this morning, though considering your schedule today, I thought it prudent to give you time enough to prepare.
I have fully charged your electronic device and provided spare clothes alongside your washed ones from yesterday. They are outside of your door.
Master Revision is eating breakfast in the lounge; you are welcome to partake if it suits you. I have prepared Raspberry Pain au Chocolat.
Speak with him when you are prepared to leave; he will be providing your transportation back to Barbaeu.
– Best of luck, Blair.”
I squint my eyes to make out the immaculate writing; my comprehension of cursive no longer what it was when I was forced to pointlessly learn it. Well, I guess there might be a point in this specific circumstance.
I do grasp the general gist of it though, which is that today is going to suck horribly.
The door is completely silent as I crack it open, peeking my head out to make sure no one sees me in these softer-than-silk pajamas I was loaned. Pink isn’t really my color, but Old Ones above, I’m still tempted to steal it.
I grab the neatly folded pile of clothes with my phone on top and bring them into my room, shutting the door behind me.
And then I stare at them.
Right now? These aren’t just a pair of my clothes. These are representations of a personal threshold. Once I change into those, I’m accepting that my day has started and that I’m going to do all the things I need to do. Which includes going back to the city. And Seeing my mom. And Standing in front of everyone I’ve ever known in a skintight suit.
Sigh.
“Nobody else to blame for this, Brooke. You said you’d do it, so there’s no backing out now.”
Properly guilt-motivated, I grab my clothes and move to a part of the room not visible from the main fish tank. I shouldn’t feel uncomfortable around a fish, but changing in front of that barracuda just feels… unsafe.
—————————————————————————————————————————
“Nervous?” Revision asks, eating what I think is his third eggs benedict.
I contemplate his question as I finish chewing the chocolate pastry in my mouth. I suppose I am, but mostly my brain feels kind of numb.
“Nnnyeah?”
Judging by the disbelief spreading on his face, that wasn’t what he was looking for, answer-wise. “I’m not sure how to interpret or respond to that, Amalgam.” He says, setting down his fork and sipping some pseudo-milk.
I think he wants me to elaborate, but I don’t owe a man who hasn’t changed out of his fluffy white bathrobe anything when we have to leave shortly. I bet he’s just going to use his ascendant form to skip the whole changing process and then release it when he gets home.
“You ready to head out?” I ask, narrowing my eyes as I dare him to prove me right.
He immediately grins, smug amusement rising up his cheeks to his eyes. “Yeah! Let me go change real quick.”
He’s gonna do it.
His chair makes a noise as he stands up and pushes it back in, and for just a second, I doubt myself as he takes a step away from me towards one of the deep brown doors. And then he poses.
Both arms out, his head back, and one foot to the heel of the other, I watch as he and his extravagant white bathrobe turn to solid stone. The process is instantaneous; one moment he’s flesh and blood, and the next he’s Medusa’s smugest victim. Even the bathrobe is stock still, like an old black-and-white picture.
Half a second later, his gray, grainy exterior rumbles, cracks spiraling down him as he bursts from the stone, paper-thin fragments rocketing in all directions before fading away like the ashy remnants from my own tendrils. His ascendant form, a form-fitting pair of what I previously believed to be workout clothes, hug his body in an exceptionally flattering way. I avert my eyes, slightly, unwilling to stare at his buttocks when I’m literally in his and his fiancé's castle.
“Having fun, Revvy?” I hear flatly from behind me.
Menagerie steps forward to stand next to me, her footsteps terrifyingly silent against the treated wooden floors. Neither I nor Revision respond, though he does slowly turn to face her, his large frame looking amusingly timid.
“Ah, well, not exactly?” He responds, the pitch of his voice raising uncertainty.
She scrutinizes him for a moment, using her silence as a weapon. “Go ahead and get Ophelia ready. We’ll be out shortly.”
With barely a glance my way, he walks out the front door, leaving me to whatever fate Menagerie has in store for me. The memory of Catherine mentioning her possessiveness flashes through my mind, and I worry that I’ve just destroyed any good will the last day or so has earned me in her eyes just by being here.
“My intentions are pure.” I say, sounding outrageously guilty despite my actual innocence in the matter.
Her lip twitches upward, and she glances my way knowingly. “I’m well aware. He did something to earn my ire this morning, and making him squirm like this is my little bit of payback.”
Curiosity piqued, but unsure whether we’re close enough for me to ask what he did, I settle for watching her unzip a small piece of the world and stick her hand inside. “It’s been four years since we announced a new Vanguard in Barbaeu.” She says, pulling out a matte black box with thin crimson ribbons on it.
“And that means the celebration is going to be days long, obnoxiously loud, and impossibly busy, especially for you. Which is why I’m giving this to you now, as I’m unsure if I’ll see you again before your mission.”
With a grace unnecessary for such a simple action, she places the box in my open palms. It’s surface is ice-cold like metal, but the entire thing can’t weigh more than half a pound. I want to know what it’s made of, but it's clear she wants me to open it right away, so I do.
The ribbon unravels smoothly, falling away from the box as I tug on it. Rather than having a liftable lid, the top of the box slides away, two pegs on it’s sides preventing it from separating from it’s bottom half.
Inside, resting on a gorgeous starry-colored cloth, is a small shoggoth plushie. It looks old, though well maintained, and nearly identical to one of Menagerie’s hellhounds. This isn’t something mildly sentimental like the ones Catherine or Duff gave me; this is something she actively cherished.
My urge to take it and add it to the ones I’d received previously is quickly smothered by my conscience. “I’m really super grateful, but there’s no way I can take this from you. Anyone could look at this and see how much you love it.”
I try to hand it back to her, but she crosses her arms, stubbornly preventing the action.
“If there is one thing I learned from my wretch of a mother, it’s that I despise being told what I can and cannot do. Take it; I’ve already made my choice.”
I stammer, unsatisfied with this result but unsure how to argue with that kind of sentiment.
“Take the cloth out, too. It’s your second gift. Do not attempt to give it back to me this time.”
A little giddy at receiving two gifts when I don’t even feel like there's anything to celebrate, I have to force myself to slow down as I reach into the box again. What appeared to just be a layer of cloth holding up the shoggoth is actually some kind of coin pouch; its shimmering silver clasp covered in ornate little eyes.
I trace my hand against its soft exterior, marveling at it. “It’s unbelievably beautiful; how did you get this on such short notice?”
She looks a bit embarrassed for a moment, but it’s hard to tell when her makeup covers any blushing she might have done.
“Well, it’s only technically on short notice. Revvy had the idea for a gift back when he first met you, and he and Blair put most of the parts together themselves. I was… not quite as endeared to you as I have grown to be, so my addition to it is a bit late. Open it up, if you would.”
Pressing my thumb and forefinger against the clatch, I click it open and spread it apart. The metal opening unexpectedly unfolds, which doesn’t make a lot of sense until I examine its insides.
I can’t see the bottom.
The whole thing, unfolded, could probably fit something the width of my forearm with a bit of wiggle room. Which I obviously test immediately. My fingers sink into the pouch as I reach far past what it’s exterior would allow.
“That’s so wack; how does it work?” I ask, elbow-deep in a fist-sized bag.
"The nuances are a bit too complex to explain without ascending your consciousness further. In essence, though, the opening is connected to a small patch of the space my summons reside in. It’s not much, but it should serve adequately.” She responds, looking almost amused as I stick my face up to it to look inside.
I, satisfied that I’m not going to find anything inside but blackness, pull it away from my face. “That doesn’t seem too complicated. Or did you give me the ‘dumbed down to the point of being basically inaccurate’ kind of description?”
“...The latter.”
I smile, feeling like I’ve seen through her facade just a little this morning. As I’m considering that, a spike of exhaustion hits my mind like a sledgehammer, and it takes a moment for me to realize it isn’t mine.
Roosevelt's voice, sounding dry and cracked, resounds in my head: “Good morning, Brooke. It seems we have some things to discuss.”
Comments
I dont want the pinkertons at my door so it is officially an unnamed eldritch coin purse. But thanks. :]
Kaywye
Okay badass. A bag of holding (I refuse to call it anything else) lol damn I love this story. That being said you really have to stop ending on cliffhangers. My heart rate is still up at the thought of what curveball is being thrown at her from Roosevelt.
