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It was almost sunrise by the time Circe made it back to the shop. She let herself in through the back way, stubbing out her cigarette on the door frame and letting it drop among many others; if White bitched at her later, so be it. It's as if anyone of importance would survey the burn marks. And anyone business-related, she doubted would care.
The creaky door announced her arrival, and she pulled it shut gently to avoid anymore loud noises. It had a habit of being slamming itself shut on windy days like this, and looked one or two more hard knocks away from collapse.
This room didn't have heating, but it was noticeably warmer in here than outdoors. She stood, blinking a few times to get her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, familiarity settling in her bones, greeting her in quiet recall of safety and rest. The promise made her feel all the more drowsy.
Eventually, she could see well enough to move deeper in, following the guide of the shoddy lamp glow and tinkering noises. She was long worn from the previous night's work, unceremoniously collapsing on a free spin-chair and twirling languidly.
"Welcome home, mija." Caesar's voice drifted over to her through the dimness. Though the number work of his hands were in full yellow view, she could only catch edges of his face highlighted by the lamp he was poured over. "Wait up a while before you turn in. We're expecting someone."
Circe lolled her head back against the chair with a frown as she peered at him. Small chats with the whole crew were basically standard, how they would linger in this room a few spare moments out of the day, when their existences coincided. But she wasn't keen on sticking around if it meant having to be on special behavior for some new client.
"It's been a long shift, Cae…. Are they some kind of royalty?"
The corners of Caesar's mouth twitched upward. "My little brother."
He sounded pleased. It might have been one of the only times he's ever sounded as such while not talking about science. And it got her maybe a little bit interested, if only because Caesar was.
The scientist was an odd egg, sure, but there were a few in this basket.
"The runaway?" Circe said, and it was odd using that term to describe someone else. It had been her nickname for the better part of the year. But then, it wasn't as if it were uncommon outside their established clique. And she had heard vague retells of events from Caesar, of the family separation. They were vague enough that really, all Circe knew was that there was a separation. And that a little Caesar somewhere out there.
Still, the thought never crossed her that he might end up here eventually. Her more cynical tendency was to believe him dead. Or some kind of asshole, to have kept distance from Caesar from so long. It was true that that she didn't know the full story, but she knew Caesar, and she knew him to be a decent guy. Someone she could trust with her life if it came down to it, and it has on several occasions. The trustworthy were sparse in these times. People were usually either overcome by this twisted world, or they became twisted themselves to survive. Ergo, Caesar's little brother? Most likely dead or an asshole.
And yet, there was Caesar, speaking rather blithely, "He's around your age, so you two should get along great."
Circe rolled her eyes at the assumption, pulling her jacket tighter around herself as a cold draft from outside wafted in from under the door. "Most people around my age are idiots." It was kinder, in her opinion, than the other two adjectives in reserve.
"Well, nothing's a hundred percent." There was a chuckle in Caesar's voice, but Circe's attention was on the door as the knob was jiggled and turned. Over the creak of hinges, Caesar was still speaking. "Anyway, Gatlocke will be seeing most of him."
"Oi, now, who am I to be seeing most of?" The aforementioned man proceeded to stub out his own cigarette in the exact place Circe had done hers, looking just as weary. He let the door slam shut behind him from the outdoor winds, and small pockets of dust shifted and fell from the rafters and wall shelves. A board that had been propped near by slumped a bit, not that Gatlocke paid any heed. "Chump best not expect dinner first."
His eyes went to Circe, and she tried not to smile too big as he rounded on her with enthusiasm.
"And how's this little hellion?" he greeted loudly, grabbing the chair arm and swinging roughly so that Circe was sent spinning across the room in fast circles.
The rear of the chair hit the table, scrambling up all of Caesar's projects.
"I've brought on a new hand to help with the night hustle, and White's already approved," Caesar elaborated.
At the sight of the scientist's pointed look at Gatlocke, Circe couldn't help but burst out laughing.
Gatlocke had a soft spot in her heart; one where she couldn't exactly tell whether she had a legitimate crush on him, or if she admired him in an adult role-model sort of way. They flirted lightly, but it never went anywhere, and neither pushed for it to. She was happy like this, either way. Though, secretly she hoped he would never find a steady girlfriend.
"If that door falls off-frame," and the three turned to White stepping in from the front room, eye-bags indicative that the mug of coffee in his hand hadn't kicked in yet, "which it will, after the numerous warnings I gave you three muttonheads not to let it slam, the repair fees are coming out of someone's lot."
Despite his words, his voice came out somewhat muzzled, lacking the usual air of pressing acrimony. Gatlocke and Circe's turn-in time was his waking hour, and it was when he was, for the most part, most tolerable. But then, one thing Circe had learned was that although White could be difficult to work with, he was far from impossible. And the adversarial rapport he struck with the rest of them was still rapport, nonetheless.
His arrival marked completion of their ragtag unit. Really, anytime they came together like this was like a completed circuit coming to a close. It may have been just her past still yanking chains and reminding her of her baggage, but these moments grounded her, made her feel secure, and special; this was her place in the world, where she fit, and she wasn't a hundred percent for the idea of a someone else being added to the mix and throwing off the careful dynamic.
Unfortunately, it wasn't up to her.
"Easy solution: blame it on the newcomer. Right?" Gatlocke nudged Circe with a wink as he grinned impishly. "Not as if he'll be wise to the short."
White allowed himself a snort. "If he even shows up."
"Why wouldn't he?" Circe asked, following White's directive gaze back to Caesar.
"I gave him the option." Caesar shrugged, not appearing too concerned. "It's been years, but in the end, he's the one who sought me out. I'm sure he'll take me up on the offer. He's just a few minutes late."
"Street rat living off dumpster scraps'd be silly not to show," Gatlocke surmised, after barking out a laugh.
Circe beamed at him. "Well, like I told Cae, people my age are usually idiots."
She hadn't registered the creaky door being pushed open again until a new voice spoke up, completely alien among their known registry of vocal output:
"Am I interrupting?"
Enter the little brother.
At least, his identity was as much as Circe could deduct after turning the chair so she could gander. He looked essentially like a younger Caesar; the resemblance was unmistakable. Though, strangely, it was with all the bravado that Gatlocke saturated himself in. The combination was ironic, and jarring to see fleshed out.
The kid put up his hands, laughing a little, but not particularly uncomfortable with the attention. "I mean, hey, don't feel like you gotta stop. I like hearing about myself."
"Mijo," Caesar greeted, coming forward to give him a quick, happy embrace. Circe was the only one outside the hug close enough to hear him mutter under his breath, "Llegas tarde."
"Your directions were all screwy," the little brother retorted.
Caesar let it fall on deaf ears, turning back to the rest of them with a salesman smile. "So, what do you think?"
The open door behind the brothers had been rattling unsuspiciously until this point when, quite suddenly, it slammed shut from the rapid winds outside, startling all of them as the hinges tore from the frame, and the door itself cartwheeled once before sputtering to the floor with an outstanding clatter, at Circe's feet. A bewildered lack of speech followed.
"Um, also…I speak Spanish!" the brother provided, bravely breaking the silence. He possessed the courtesy to be sheepish all of a sudden.
A few dry leaves and a puff of dirt tufted into the room.
"I can't stand him already," White finally sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, and then turned heel to leave. It was still too early in the day for him, Circe recalled, amused. And that was the best they'd be getting out of him for a while.
In contrast, Gatlocke sprung forward with clasped hands. "He's only adorable! What shall we call him?"
"The name's Rex," said little brother, before Caesar could answer for him. He looked a bit taken aback by Gatlocke's forwardness, but receptive.
Gatlocke practically squealed. "This is for keeps, right? Don't tease me, Salazar— tell me this one's for keeps!" He kept looking back and forth between the two brothers, like Caesar might as well have bought him a puppy. He already had a paw on the teenager, as if to claim dibs. He always had a thing for the novel.
"Circe?" Caesar said.
She winced, halted in her tracks— so much for slinking away without notice. She wasn't one for awkward introduction, especially not after he may or may not have heard her imply idiocy of him, but she humored Caesar, sizing up the new guy just to show him she had as much of a say in his acceptability as the others. He wasyoung, somewhere near if not exactly her age, and it was all the more reason for her to establish the pecking order around here.
He looked healthy enough to handle work, and hardy enough to take up their trade. Under her attention, he shifted his weight slightly, tilting his chin upwards to show off his strong jawline, and winked.
She resisted rolling her eyes.
It was really too soon to make any legitimate judgments, though, so she merely shrugged, feeling she had earned herself a cool exit up the stairs. "It's whatever. See if he can keep up, first."
But then, "And what if it turns out I pass you?"
Circe stopped with her hand on the railing, now realizing exactly how good of company the new kid would make for Gat. Both had the habit of being mouthy. She considered that he might be cut out for the job, after all. Even now, he had a confident smile on his face with his eyes locked on her in a dare for a challenge, while Caesar and Gatlocke provided quiet audience.
She just tipped him her own smile in return, continuing on her way. "It takes a certain type to want to."
From the corner of her eye, she noted that Rex's grin had become toothy.
He was cute; she could concede to that.
But that was all.
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