The Corpse Apple: Royalty 02
Description: The cursed laces were undone, and she moved. The cursed hairpin was pulled, and she thought. The cursed apple had been dislodged, and she lived. But this time, the Queen ensured she wouldn't come back right. Slash, het, mpreg, OCs. All characters in the deck. Renard-centric.
Takes place after The Sandman. Some canon divergences from Face-Off. Placing the events of 2.12 Season of the Hexenbiest through 2.15 The Sandman in November 2012.
Warning: Trigger warning alert! This fic contains an assortment of triggery content here and there. Nothing explicit though. There are also original characters not from the show. Also included are slash and het couples. And Renard mpreg. (Yes, you read that right.)
A/N: I make no claims of ownership of Grimm and its respective characters. This is not meant to impede anyone on the show their jobs. This is me just thinking about the show. A lot. And playing with the Grimm "action figures" and wishful thinking of stuff I'd like to see in fic form.
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~Chapter 02~
The trio of weary seelenguter stumbled out her apothecary into the chilly night, clutching their purchases in relief. Clear of all customers, she flips the signage to 'Close' and locks the door. The Black Friday weekend shopping madness wasn't over yet and Rosalee could do with something calming herself. Customers were coming in for herbal remedies to sooth their dispositions and topical salves for minor injuries resulting from participating in the shopping deals that kicked off the Christmas season. The shop regularly saw an increase in those sales during the winter shopping sprees and sports seasons. She'd been quite busy and helping Nick with the Jinnamuru Xunte last week had left her with some annoyed customers finding the shop closed during regular store hours and those with delayed orders.
Some of her customers were worried.
Worried that she wouldn't be able to take care of them like Freddy had. That if she couldn't managed the shop adequately right now, how could they expect to rely on her next year?
Reassurances given that she had the experience, and that she had closed due to emergency circumstances, she sent them on their way hopefully at ease enough that they would not seek out a new supplier. Or invite a new one. Who may have less scruples in dealing with the more inhumane aspects of the black market.
The truth that her Läufer brother had been involved in human organ harvesting had weighed on her. She loved her brother and had always admired his protectiveness; how he was willing to band with other Wesens to protect them all. It was something that helped her recover from her addiction. Though she understood why Freddy made those choices, she didn't like what he did as a Läufer to keep the shop's inventory well-stocked and how he helped aid the Resistance. But she's mostly made peace with it.
And she hopes she will never come to that.
Making up for the lost time, she's been pulling extra hours to keep up with the needs of the Wesen community. She needs their confidence in her abilities so she can do her part in keeping the Wesen community calm. And that meant connecting with as many of the city's resident Wesens as possible to find out what other needs they may have circumstantial to the coming year. With Portland quietly becoming known as a Wesen hotspot, she expected new arrivals looking for safety in numbers. Foresight would be critical. She'll also need to review the shop's purchases and orders from this year, collate it with the projected supplies needed next year- and double her stock. Maybe even triple. Verifying if her suppliers can fill the advance orders and sustained her requests- reach out for new ones just in case- was a job she was not looking forward to. Especially if word has finally gotten around that she's connected with a Grimm.
The undertaking suddenly feels overwhelming and Rosalee shuts her eyes. Calmly plunks her arms on the cashier table, interlocking her fingers, and lets her head fall on them. Taking a deep breath; she clears her mind and gives herself a moment of empty peace, before allowing the realization sink in again.
Next year was the Jahr der Strähnen. Next year also had the Zikade Bezahlung.
Those two train of thoughts were allowed to chase each other seven times before she put the brakes on them. This year had been tumultuous enough, but she has hope that twenty-thirteen wouldn't be as bad as she feared.
They had Nick. That had to count for something.
And she knew Nick's captain was a Royal. He had to be making plans himself.
It was possible that he'll want to tap the shop's resources, but working with Nick's captain filled her with trepidation. She thought of making the first move and initiating contact, but she didn't know him or how much control he had in Portland, and she wanted to speak to Nick and Hank first. Her first impression of the man wasn't exactly positive; at their first meeting he had already rubbed her fur the wrong way. And he was a Royal and had Hexenbiest blood. Neither of which she was willing to place much trust in, especially not when it came to Nick's well-being.
Never in her life she expected to be in this position of looking out for a Grimm from a Royal. She picked up her cell and dialed Nick's number. Nick and Hank needed to know about next year, the sooner the better. Preparations have to be made.
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Water samples had been taken, the photo crew did what they could thus far, and they were all waiting for the crime techs to drain and unseal the shower. Occasionally the new photographer interrupted the process to take new shots, in case the new water levels revealed anything. Renard appreciated the man's attention in gathering details. The pump directed the water into the oversized hot tub- already examined itself of course- with filters in place to catch any stray evidence.
Former Sergeant George Singer had retired comfortably and ran a dairy farm with his brother and sister-in-law, who went all out and splurged on the bathroom's interior design. It was quite luxurious and out of place from the rest of the premise. The mirror seemed excessive, he thought. Who kept two full-length mirrors in bathrooms? The optical illusion of repeated reflections created by the two mirrors was in poor taste considering the room's purpose. However they allowed Renard to discretely watch Nick finished his phone conversation to speak with Hank. Whoever the caller was, he suspected the topic was Wesen related based on Hank's reaction.
Credit where it's due. Nick and Hank weren't behaving that much differently and they kept up the appearance of nothing having changed. He could almost believe they decided to let matters drop and move on for the sake of working together to do good. When they were alone however, they were far too courteous to the point that politeness was obviously designed as the cold shoulder.
It was uncomfortable. He's used to the pretense of courtesy hiding daggers from dealing with elements in his Royal life. To be subjected to it by Nick and Hank was… disquieting. It bothered him more than he cared to admit.
Renard much prefer the sass and passive-aggressive wit that Wu inflicted on him whenever his Sergeant had reason to be displeased with him.
The silver lining to his exposure was more people to share the responsibility of covering up Wesen activity and he can openly assign Nick to cases with suspected Wesen involvement.
Nothing about this crime scene identified itself as a Wesen act and Sergeant Singer himself wasn't Wesen; possible the perpetrator was a normal, regular human.
Not that anyone who did this murder should be called a normal.
The murder of a former officer of his precinct definitely warranted his presence. Especially if the press got wind of it and showed up, but they were distracted with chasing this year's anecdotal mishaps and unruly shoppers committing assault and battery in the race to snap up the best deals. They had time without the press interfering for now. But he knew better than to count on that to continue- even if all the uniforms here understood the gravity of the situation- and he hoped to get as much ground covered before they did. He could do without the press breathing down their necks.
Wrung out and mentally battered, night terrors that he could never remember have become a regular occurrence since drinking the concoction the proprietor of the Exotic Spice Shop prepared for him and Juliette. He's doesn't trust her, but he hadn't a choice at the time, not with his tenuous alliance with Nick on the line. At the end of his rope, he kept his composure through sheer resignation and a leap of faith in Nick- he wasn't about to trust either Fuchsbau. Monroe appeared benign enough, if completely graceless. Rosalee Calvert he remembered reading about in Nick's case reports. The sister of Freddy Calvert who took over her brother's shop after his death. Though not his Resistance ties.
From what his sources could tell him, Freddy Calvert was a Fuchsbau affiliated with the Resistance as a black market smuggler and provided refugees with forged documents. One of the Resistance's Läufer members in his city that he was not informed about. That neglected disclosure was something he'll make them pay for in the future. And he hoped that the Resistance leaders weren't so foolish as to divert their members here in the coming year. Alliance or not, they knew Portland was on the Seven Families' radar. Seeking haven here was further inviting the presence of the Verrat.
… and he really didn't want to deal with the additional influx of Resistance members in his city or expend the effort in covering their tracks if they couldn't keep their heads down. Nor did he wanted to deal with the Resistance's internal factions, especially if there were truths in the rumors that the Raufer faction was being revived. Nick encountering them would be a given and he didn't want his Grimm to get comfortable with the idea of having the Resistance as part of Portland's community. Next year would be an ideal environment of forged battle-shared bonds. He could only assumed that was why Nick trusted those two. Very unfortunate in how all the revelations unfolded and that his identity as a Royal was known by two Wesens that he had no control over. He's sure pressing the need for secrecy only fostered mistrust, but he wasn't about to reveal more about himself.
Then there was the matter of Nick's Grimm abilities. Once it was explained what happened with the Jinnamuru Xunte, he knew Nick's blindness would be compensated by jumpstarting his abilities, and the Grimm's situational awareness would be temporarily in high gear before stabilizing. He had to be extra careful in evading Nick's ears for now and started keeping his office door closed more often. The situation was wearisome, keeping him on constant alert yet having to appear that he had some measure of trust in Nick, so he took care to note where Nick was at all times.
"Everything alright, sir?"
Dammit. He was startled and didn't noticed Wu coming up to him.
And judging by the look he was giving him, Wu noticed. Sloppy.
Renard did his best to curb his irritation and refrained from ordering Wu back to his job. He knows Wu has been dealing with more work than usual because of him and as a result he'd been more impatient these days. Alienating himself from his closest colleague who kept his precinct running smoothly was not something he could afford to do. Dealing with Nick and Hank was difficult enough. But he was exhausted and he couldn't help but start to bristle under Wu's scrutinizing gaze when his sergeant's mood changed.
"You've been off this past month and you look like crap," he commented in concern, pausing carefully before pressing on, "Is the cancer back?"
That was the last question he'd ever expect Wu to ask him. It had been the cover story he used so many years ago to explain his absence from the force that he had forgotten about it. Taken aback, Renard quickly thought of a suitable response to defuse Wu's concern. "No, no, it's nothing,"
Too quickly and almost a stutter. Not a suitable response
Taking a step back to fully face Wu and tried again. "I actually forgotten I ever had it," he said truthfully in a distant voice, before switching to a tone sounding curiously worried. "I didn't realized I looked that bad." He'll let Wu assume it was a question and drive the conversation to its end.
He got a slight raise in eyebrows in response.
Wu wasn't biting and was going to push for answers. Dammit. Keeping up appearances around Wu certainly honed his skills at maintaining constant deception when he had an idea of how good Renard was at lying. Sometimes, at the short end of his patience, he wonders if keeping Wu around was necessary anymore.
But coming to his senses he remembers how vital the sergeant is in running the precinct so it operated as a well-oiled machine, not phased by the oddities of some cases, allowing Renard to juggle his other responsibilities as a Royal. He was also the only person remaining he could still trust with his well-being, now that Nick and Hank knew what their captain really was. Though their friendship had long withered away, the ghost of their partnership and what Wu did for him still meant something. Burning that bridge was something he wanted to avoid.
Whatever else that might have been said was cut short by his best detective duo approaching. Hank quietly radiated a low fury and Renard understood; Hank and Singer used to ride together when they were officers at the 1st Precinct.
"Looks like a well-planned job." Hank informed them, his face stony. The assessment was directed more at the sergeant than himself. Renard cursed inwardly at himself. He'd forgotten that Wu had also been on good terms with the former sergeant. In his final year as detective, he had watched Singer, Wu, plus Franco, carried out some of the duties normally handled by a lieutenant. The position that remained empty for several years until he took it upon himself to appoint Franco, the highest ranking sergeant. Franco was currently on vacation, leaving the precinct lieutenant-less once again and he knows either Wu or Hank will be giving him the bad news.
Sergeant Wu pursed his lips and nodded his agreement. "Meaning chances of fingerprints or any evidence: Slim to none."
Shifting and straightening, Hank tucked his anger away. "You see the ear stud? George wasn't the type for that. He used to rib me over my hoops."
Renard looked at Hank. "A message?" he paused, "Hate crime?"
"Only if the killer thought being a self-avowed bachelor meant you weren't straight. Maybe a disturbed stalker?" Hank shook his head. "Studs are pretty common now for it to mean anything."
"He isn't wearing any in the photos outside," Nick interjected.
Renard tipped his head towards where the techs were reaching in to cut the chains and they moved in closer to watch, Nick leading the way. The snick of the sheared chains was too loud in the solemn quiet. They watched as Singer was carefully carried out.
"Singer was no lightweight," Renard observed. The guy was the same height as Nick but bigger, the bulky arms and beneath the white short-sleeved undershirt the impression of defined muscles clearly indicated he stayed in top shape even after retirement.
Nick picked up his train of thought. "Two man job?"
"Maybe." The photographer was done taking new shots and Renard slipped on lab gloves, stepping closer to where Singer had been laid on his side on top the bodybag. "No visible signs of struggle. Doesn't look like he attempted to break free. If he was conscious, he'd have tried to use the cinderblocks to crack the glass. He could have gotten out of these chains." He lifted the gray cuffs of both pants legs to examined Singer's bare feet, the skin only had the slight indentions left from the multiple loopings.
"So, drugged?" Nick stepped around him and squatted down from across. "The perp had to have waited for the shower to fill before leaving. His brother said the water lines were off and his wife went looking for George to ask why."
Renard nodded before moving on to Singer's hands. They had been restrained behind his back with a separate coil. His eyes narrowed as he spotted the familiar zipcord plastic around his wrists. "Hey, get those cutters here."
Wu beckoned for the lab tech with the bolt cutters, and the photographer who had been standing by neatly snapped off a shot at Singer's bound hands before quickly moving aside. Renard carefully unwound the coils.
"Looks like he didn't rely on Singer to stay unconscious." Renard stood up and Nick followed. "We're not going to know anymore until the tox screening. Let's get him to the morgue."
Wu nodded and turned to leave. "I'll let them know."
Hank turned to him once Wu was out of earshot. "Was George a Wesen," he asked quietly.
He didn't react to the blunt question. Hank obviously wanted to know if it was possible they'll be tracking a Wesen murderer. It was a fair question. Wesen victims tended to have Wesen perpetrators. "No. And I can't tell if a Wesen did this."
"What about the set up? Whoever did this went through a lot of trouble. It mean anything?" Nick whispered.
He shook his head slightly. "I can't think of anything."
Nick eyed him suspiciously. "You sure? Anything about this have Wesen meaning?"
"Not that I know of."
"What about rituals?" Nick pressed on.
Renard looked at Nick in wariness
"Does this mean anything to a Hexenbiest?" Nick asked pointedly. He saw what his Grimm was doing: trying to provoke him into revealing anything that he thought his Captain could be hiding.
He stomped on his urge to react to Nick's hostile fishing. "There's nothing more we can do here," he glared at Nick. "Go back to the precinct and see if there are any murders with the same M.O. Wu and I will wrap things up here. In case the press show up." Renard forced himself to remain impassive as he pulled rank. "And see if there's anyone Singer had arrested who'd carry a grudge."
Hank nudged his partner with his elbow and Renard watched them walk out.
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"You okay?"
"Me?" Nick glanced away at his monitor to look at him in concern. "I'm more worried about you."
The ride back to the precinct was done in silence. Hank was angry, and when word inevitably made its rounds about how George died, so would be a lot of his fellows in blue. George had been a good friend to Hank, and he was well-liked. His partner mourned his fellow officer, but Nick had never met George though he's heard about him. The decade-long empty lieutenant posting couldn't be explained without mentioning George, Wu, and Franco. George had also been the one to tell him that one of the 3rd Precinct's detectives was going for a lieutenancy and the precinct was feeling short on them. He'd just made detective at the 1st Precinct; and still hurting from his third divorce, he wanted to distract himself- so he had put in an early transfer request for the busier 3rd. It had been great to work in the same precinct as George again and they had two years together before he retired. So when their Sergeant walked in the Captain's office to tell them whose murder they would be investigating, he had gone completely still. Nick had noticed and wordlessly beckoned for his keys to the Mustang.
He's going have to break the terrible news to Franco when he got back. Christ. What a thing for Franco to come back to.
"I'll be fine," Hank logged in and typed in a few search terms. "I'll be even better once we catch this sonuvabitch. You were poking the Captain a little hard back there. How's your, you know… head?"
Nick accepted the change in topic. "I'm okay. Just, it was the scene of it." Nick aimlessly waved a hand at nothing. "Sometimes, I think I should just know." Nick typed a little bit harder.
"You could ask him if it works that way." Hank suggested. His partner had bouts of crabbiness trying to figure out the workings of his new hearing and what they termed Nick's Ninja Spidey Sense. Then came the Thanksgiving days' mayhem and all officers had to be on-duty. They all had been working overtime and the exhaustion had driven Nick's hearing nuts. It was wildly unreliable, overwhelming him with trivia background noise at random occasions, rarely when it would have been useful. Hank knows that Nick tried learning how to control his hearing by attempting to eavesdrop on the Captain. All attempts were failures. Hank and Monroe both had to hear how disappointedly useless his so called improved hearing had been so far and how his Ninja Spidey Sense weren't helping him evade stampeding shoppers.
They did thought it was amusingly ironic that it had been a fly-type Wesen that caused his Spiderman-esqu powers.
Nick grunted. "Last resort. Putting off asking him for anything."
Hank could understand that. He didn't want to ask the Captain for anything either. Truth be told, he sure as hell didn't trust Renard at all anymore. There was anger that he had set aside to be dealt with later. Once he processed everything… he was still getting the hang of living in this new world. At some point, he'll have to speak to the Captain. Questions that he needed to be ask, answers that were demanded.
But not now. There were more important things he needed to take care of.
"Got something on ViCAP."
Like hunting down George's killer. "What you got?"
"Bad news." Nick rubbed his face and looked apologetic. "Looks like we're going to hand this over to the FBI."
Scooting out his seat, he came over to Nick's desk, giving the data on his screen a quick once-over. There had been three other victims whose deaths matched George's, one in Florida, the other in Washington, another in California. "Want me to call the Captain?"
Nick reached for the phone. "I'll do it."
Hank went back to his desk and began organizing the case file and notes, angry that the case was out of their hands, and that the scumbag hadn't been caught sooner. Pulling out the necessary forms, he began writing. He expected to turn their evidence over to the FBI and he wanted them out there as quickly as possible before the trail went cold.
"Captain is almost back. Said he'll call them when he gets here." Nick looked at him and got his cellphone out. "I'll call Rosalee to let her know that we'll try to swing by the shop tomorrow if we get a break."
Whatever Rosalee needed to tell them, he knew he was going to be unhappy to hear it.
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The fax machine spat out advisory details on warnings and possible leads and the information on the team that would be here in the morning from New York. The Unit Chief in Quantico informed the Captain that these murders were currently one of their units' cases, that there will be two more victims and to be on alert for abductions.
Taking the sheets to the Captain, Wu looked over the information sent. The name of the agent in charge caught his eyes.
Wu stared.
Oh boy howdy crap, crap, crap. And crap.
He was just thinking about their past case with the FBI today and now he was coming back here. It must have been a subconscious warning. He must be psychic. Maybe he jinxed it all by dwelling on the past and the universe was punishing him. Or maybe he just had good timing.
He glanced up with a start and look around in surprise when he realized he had somehow unconsciously made his way from the fax machine into the Captain's office.
That office's captain was staring at him oddly. "Sergeant?"
Well, at least it was him giving the news and not Hank or Nick. "Details of Doom and Gloom from the FBI Unit Chief." He passed the paper over to Renard. "Both officially and personally. And when I mean personally, I mean personally. For you. Because guess who's coming in?"
Wu ignored the Captain's frown at his dramatic, quite out-of-line- insubordinate pronouncement. He didn't care because he totally earned this moment to sass at Renard. Besides, he's probably going to have to suspend his snarking rights at the Captain for the oncoming days.
Wu waited for Renard to react. There was a twitch in Renard's left hand and a barely noticeable stiffening that Wu knew to look for. He let Renard stare at the sheet of paper, waiting for him to break the silence. Slowly, Renard set the paper down and leaned back into his chair, interlocking his fingers on his lap. "It's been a long time since I've spoken to Agent Takemori." The quiet and emotionally flat statement betrayed the agitation that Renard kept behind a blank face.
The Captain looked up at Wu. "Tell Nick and Hank that this has become a joint case with the FBI." He paused, then shook his head before continuing. "We'll deal with any bumps in the road as they come."
Sergeant Wu walked out. Well, there's some good news. He was about to give maybe-good-news for Hank that they'll be working alongside the FBI to catch George's killer. Bad news was that there might be a turf war between Captain Renard and Agent Takemori.
More bad news was that a turf war would be the least of it.
Oh yeah. He knows what the forecast for the weather in their little group was going to be.
Complicated. And awkward.
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Renard stared at the screen of his laptop without seeing it, processing this unwelcome development and considering how to deal with Takemori when he arrived. Anticipating what problems Agent Takemori can cause against him professionally and what grievances he might still hold. He thinks he can handle that. The R-Stiltskins Case was solidly closed and all parties tied up the loose ends, mutually keeping each other's involvement a secret. There was little Takemori could do from that angle- not without damaging his own career.
What he's not prepared to handle was the threat Kenneth Takemori presented as a Royal.
Prince Kenneth had been building Portland as his territory. But Ken had made himself vulnerable when he participated in their cover-up. It created an opportunity that was too good for Renard to pass by and he ousted Ken in order to establish himself as the Royal of Portland- earning his official legitimacy. But his hold over Portland was far from absolute; in fact it seemed to be slipping and he would be in a difficult position of opposing Ken if he was planning to supplant him in return.
This was someone he couldn't dispatch without fatal consequences to himself. Not like he was able to eliminate Anton Krug for entering his canton and threatening him.
And unlike Anton, Ken's mere presence could jeopardize Renard's own status in the coming year when Wesens would be looking for someone who could provide them with protection.
Next year was the Year of Wisps, and if that wasn't bad enough, so was the Zikade Bezahlung. As a city with a sizable Wesen community, he would have little justification in attacking Takemori. Rejecting the presence of a Royal from the Soga-Abe Clan during the coming year would raise too many questions and unwanted curiosity among the Seven Families. Regardless if that Royal was whom he stole Portland from. And he absolutely did not want Eric to come to Portland to investigate himself.
It was too risky to have his family know that he forced Prince Kenneth to cede Portland and what the terms of cession were. Even though the feat was worthy of respect by their standards, he no longer had the necessary proof. Only his word against Ken's, and that he had been able to govern Portland without retaliation. Relinquishing the evidence and his memory of it had been part of their deal. The discovery of the truth would undermine his remaining hold over Ken. If the passage of time hadn't already.
And it's been eight years. He'll be operating blind. The FBI profession made keeping tabs on Ken's Royal activities and whereabout too risky and difficult. All those years ago, he could only trust that Ken kept to their terms of agreement long enough for Renard to increase his influence of power.
He clenches his teeth to force down his agitation. Ken's presence couldn't be a coincidence. He had to have engineered this somehow.
Forcing himself to remain visibly calm, he mentally runs through all the possibilities.
That Takemori was acting on the information that Nick guarded one of the Keys. That he was also looking to secure the Grimm's alliance. It would certainly help Ken retake control of Portland.
Doubtful that Ken would be following the trail of the Coins of Zakynthos, though Renard did half-expect someone from one of the Five Clans to investigate Kimura's death and deface his kokkuri-om. If not them then another member of the Dragon's Tongue. He was honestly quite surprised when no one did. He had been looking forward to making an exchange for Kimura's flayed back, but eventually burnt it when he began experiencing a sickening pull every time he entered his penthouse.
Those damn coins had an unnerving far reach.
Whatever the reason, he highly doubt Ken didn't have a vendetta and was here to help. His leather seat creaked as he shifted in frustration. How ironic. One hundred and nineteen years; the Zikade Bezahlung and the Year of Wisps have coincided. The year in which he expected to be most empowered by his Hexenbiest heritage was also the time his status as the governing Royal would be the most tenuous.
Renard almost wished they only had to deal with swarms of normal, non-magical cicadas emerging from hibernation instead of the surge of magical power that was coming.
A twinge in his jaw and he realized how hard he'd been clenching his teeth. Irritated at his loss of control, he folded his hands, forcing himself to focus. He turned his attention to the amethyst sitting on his desk and channeled his ire at it. The geode had been Ken's parting gift, mocking him more effectively than if he'd given a sword to hang. He would have thrown it out, but it had been part of their pact; a warning to be on guard against the dangers of accepting drinks and meals from anyone. Not that it wasn't good advice.
And it was useful as a discreet reminder of the threat other Royals posed to him; whether they be from the Families, Clans, or Dynasties.
He reached out and picked up the rock, running his thumb over the crystal edges thoughtfully. Funny how little he thought about Ken when he had his gift right in front of him. Perhaps it was just as well. Nostalgia wasn't going to be a hindrance.
This city was his and he was not going to let anyone take it without a fight.
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Notes: German is done by google translate. Sorry for any errors, accidental euphemisms or offenses. Läufer, Raufer, or Lauffeuer. I'm not sure which one the show was going for. So I'm using them all.
Zikade Bezahlung = Cicada Payment
Jahr der Strähnen = Year of Wisps
kokkuri-om = Kokkuri is Japanese ouija. 'Om' is a Sanskrit sound. If you see Buddhist monks chanting on tv, it's usually the starting syllable.
Trivia:
amethyst = ancient use as superstitious charm that protects against drunkenness or facilitates healing and staying level-headed in battle. There's one on Renard's work desk.
cicada swarm = There's a cicada species in the USA that emerges into adulthood every 17 years. This year in fact. Right now. (Or not. It's not May anymore.)
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