Author's Note: More of a filler chapter than anything, I suppose. Either way, enjoy. :)
It's not as if she hates this Matthias guy. She only reserves her hate for a select few people. But there is something about him that makes her skeptical about everything he's said to her.
It's been several days since they first met in the desolate alleyway. The guy was too dumb to realize the guards were coming after her. He didn't even take much. No one noticed, she bets. He was paranoid.
She has to admit, though, he is a pretty quick learner.
Alexis is somewhat proud of herself more than she is of him. She is, after all, the one who taught him everything he knows. Which isn't even much at this point – he's got the rudimentary basics of "being able to distract a vendor long enough for her to take something" down. But it's enough, for now, to be able to keep them from starving.
The mood outside is gloomy overall; the skies are dark and grey, foretelling a torrential downpour will be imminent. They're inside Alexis's home; Matthias sitting at the table, staring at a corner in the wall, and Alexis using the loom.
"Why don't you ever steal things that aren't food?"
His question is one that, she supposes, is legitimate. However, she likes to mess with him a bit; pretending to ponder for an obscenely long time, then giving vague, most likely false answers. It's amusing to see him try and conceal his irritation towards her. She knows he won't try and lash out at her; after all, she's the only one who'll take him in, it seems, and she's betting that he doesn't want to lose shelter.
She doesn't look towards the redhead, instead focusing on what she's creating using the loom. "Because."
There are a lot of reasons, really. For one, not even her mum ever tried to steal things that weren't food (at least, not that she knew of, anyways). Back when she was young and her family was still around, she can recall that they made a paltry amount of money by selling homemade clothes (and, looking back on it, probably mum's body, too). They could at least afford buying materials to make clothes and furniture. Second, what would she steal? A spool of thread here, some buttons there? It'd be more clutter, and Alexis doesn't want to deal with that.
She can hear Matthias sigh in irritation, and bets he's probably running his fingers through his hair. "Because why?"
"Because I don't see why I should." Alexis replies.
"You could steal thread, or buttons, or perhaps even items to start a trade with, like blacksmithing objects or furniture—"
She turns to him now, her eyes narrowed and her lips curled into a scowl. "I risk enough by stealing food. I can't fit blacksmithing stuff in my goddamn coat, I'm not going to make furniture, and everyone can make clothes."
"Not for a job," Matthias clarifies, "I mean…just for you. You need more things."
"Once you start stealin' stuff like that," Alexis says, "You want more and more, bigger and bigger. I could have a million things and I'd never be happy with myself."
He pauses, reflecting on her words. Then, slowly, he asks, "Why aren't you happy?"
"Only the rich are happy. Rich in money, or in food, or in family, or whatever." That's something that the blonde learned forever ago. It always seems like the more you have in your life, the happier you are. When you have to steal to scrape by, happiness is just as scarce as the food you have.
"What happened to your family? Why do you live all alone?"
That question is one she had hoped Matthias would never ask of her. She decides to reflect the question onto him instead. "What happened to yours?"
There's a pregnant pause between the two of them now; the only thing that permeates the silence are the noises outside, of the bugs and the now gentle pitter-patter of rain on the house. Alexis sees in his eyes that ages about a thousand years when she asks him that; he looks melancholy, damaged, forlorn. "I didn't belong there." He says quietly, the only response Alexis suspects she'll get from him on that subject.
Deciding to change the subject (before he darts back to her own situation), Alexis stares at him and says, "Y'know, you don't look like a Matthias."
And he doesn't, really. She doesn't know what name would suit him, though. There's something about him that just seems…off. She can't quite place her finger on it, but she suspects he's hiding something. Then again, most of Abaddon's residents have skeletons in their closets.
"Oh, really, now? And what do you suppose I look like?" There's a playing tone in his voice, though Alexis can tell he's just as relieved as she is to change the topic.
She twines her hands together, fingers clasped together. "That's the thing. I dunno. I've tried to figure it out, but I can't."
"Well," Matthias says, "You don't look like an Alexis, either."
And really, she isn't an Alexis. Not even close. She suspects he's always known that, even if subconsciously, but she knew she blew it when she had to pause to give her goddamn name. It was her mothers' name, in all actuality.
Nonchalantly, she responds, "Everyone tells me that."
"I'm sure they do," he chuckles. She shrugs as a half-hearted reply.
There is nothing else to say after this. They go back to their own little worlds, the soundtrack to their evening the constant rain.
Hans wonders how much Alexis knows. The charade, it seems, has been on thin ice the entire time he's stayed in her home.
Then again, she's playing along with him – it's as if she has her own game going on, and they're constantly trying to see who will crack first.
The rain has stopped now, finally; it's been three days since the thunderstorms began, and only now has Hans began to see brief glimpses of the suns' rays.
Alexis likes the sun, apparently; when he commented that he saw it when he went outside earlier this morning, she opened up the shutters of the window. She seems to be in a much better mood, now that the sun is out. She hasn't come up with nearly as many sarcastic remarks as usual.
She's humming some tune that Hans can't recognize once noon strikes. He's outside, having been dying to get out of the drab, cramped home. He's several meters away from the house, but he can hear her, clear as day.
Eventually, she goes to full-on words. It's not as if her voice is grating; he just didn't realize she actually sang. Or, really, said anything other than insults and ridicule.
"I feel the soft passion pervade every part, and pleasures unusual play 'round my fond heart..." Her voice is high-pitched, a serene soprano. Hans remembers when he sang with Anna, when his plans seemed to be working perfectly, and there's a feeling like ice in his gut. All of a sudden, he wishes he had never let his mind go astray.
Trying to rid himself of his memories, he walks over to the window, leaning in just a tiny bit. "For a thief, you've got a nice voice."
Alexis turns around, and her cheeks are pinker than Hans has ever seen them. "Did I say you could listen?" She asks sharply. He notices a large bucket filled with water behind her.
He laughs. "I can't help it; you're the only one talking for miles." That's another thing about the house he finds peculiar; she doesn't live near anyone. It's the outskirts of the town, he supposes, but still. Maybe the land is cursed or something.
"I'm used to being alone, awright? I don't remember you when you're outta my sight." She's pouting just a little, but Hans suspects she doesn't realize it.
He smirks at her, and her pout turns into another worn out scowl."I never said your singing was bad, you know."
"I bet it's angelic compared to yours," She teases, "What do ya sound like? A dying cat?"
"I'm decent. But I don't sing anymore." Hans says tersely.
"Whatever, ya nosy little…" Alexis grumbles under her breath, then turns away from him. "Can ya leave me alone now? I have to bathe."
"You mean I can't watch?" He teases, the mock disappointment apparent in his voice.
She twirls around in a huff, her cheeks pink again. "I beg your pardon?"
"I was kidding. I don't want to watch." Well, deep down, he supposes he would, in a twisted sort of way. He is a man, after all, and she's at least a somewhat attractive person. He gives her a cheeky grin, however, and says, "Unless you want me to."
"You're skating on very thin ice right now," she huffs.
He grins wider. "You didn't deny it."
"Shut up!" She says. "Lemme bathe in peace."
He laughs again, and holds up his hands. "Alright, alright. I surrender." With that, he backs away, turning around so he doesn't see anything he shouldn't.
It's on a Friday when they start to steal again.
They're in one of the marketplaces, somewhere near the town square's location. The skies are grey once more, though not nearly as dark as they were a while back, despite it being the evening. People are walking, shoulder-to-shoulder, the area dense with men, women, and children.
Hans believes they must look like quite the odd duo: a man with bright red hair and a girl who resembles a child when she puts on that hood of hers'. It's not like they have any particular agenda either today; they're aimlessly ambling on in the market, looking for someone who seems gullible enough to steal from.
"Are you lost in yer thoughts again?" Alexis asks, tilting her head to look up at him.
He shrugs loosely, taking long strides down the market that Alexis has to struggle to catch up with. "Sort of."
She jabs him with a bony arm playfully. "Well, get outta 'em, because I found someone to screw over."
Hans stands up straight. "Where?" He asks.
"In a few meters. The bread and fruit stand. You distract, I'll steal." Her words are concise, but they hold so much. They both know what will happen if they don't pull this off perfectly. He nods in response.
The stand is ran by a man with thinning, snow white hair. His eyes are almost devoid of color, and his skin is nearly as pale as his hair. Hans makes eye contact with him, and the thrill of what's to come sends a shiver down his spine. "Excuse me, sir?"
The man is obviously not used to those as young as Hans coming to visit him; his eyes glimmer with the prospect of a sale. He draws his full attention to the redheaded exile. "What is it, m'boy?"
"I'd, um, like to know your prices, if you're willing to tell me," he ad-libs, throwing in a wicked smile for good measure. "I hear you've got better bargains than the others, is that correct?"
"Helluva lot better than what everyone else'll offer you. They expect too much for only a half a loaf of bread." They got lucky this time around; this man is a rambler. "Not to mention, their loaves are burnt and unfulfilling. They'd be better off going in the slop pile for a pig. I promise you, these are the same fare that the king and queen would eat…"
He goes off on the types of bread he has, what sorts of fruit he sells, and tries to convince Hans to buy now. It's a long spiel, and Hans suspects the baker doesn't have many people to talk to. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Alexis carefully snatching up what she can; a loaf of bread here, an apple or an orange there. She quickly places them inside a basket they had found when Hans had first started his thievery lessons; it was on the side of a road, and, hey, it may have been worn out, but it was usable, and it was valuable to them, and it helped an awful lot.
Eventually, several minutes later, Alexis tugs on Hans' hand sharply. "Oh, honey," she says in a sickening honey-sweet voice, "We have to get home soon; you know how my sister will be if we keep her watching the kids for long…" It's all a part of the routine; make it seem like they're a couple, or a pair of friends, or brother and sister, so it won't seem too suspicious when they scurry off. "C'mon, we can buy food tomorrow; I just needed some spools of thread."
Hans notices that she has carefully positioned the basket out of the old man's sight. He nods, then says, "I'm sorry for the interruption, sir. My wife's quite impatient, as you can see." He makes a pointed glance towards the blonde.
With a cheerful wave of his hand, the old man replies, "Bah, nothing to apologize for. Women are always impatient; Gods know my wife sure as hell is."
"I'll come back tomorrow, and we can arrange a deal then," Hans lies.
"Sure thing, m'boy. Have a nice day."
With that, the two swiftly walk away from the vendor. When they're out of his eyesight and out of earshot, Hans snickers. "'Honey'?"
"Oh, shut yer gob. Couples always say that sort of bull." Alexis nearly has a spring in her step now. "Had to make it believable, didn't I?"
"Or maybe you're secretly desiring me," Hans teases, a crooked grin on his face. "Do I need to propose to you, honey?"
"Like you could afford a damn ring."
Hans laughs. "You'd probably sell it the first chance you got."
"'Course I would. D'you know how much food we could get with a ring? Maybe even some more clothes, or candles, or an actual bed…" Alexis seems almost giddy with the thought.
He cocks his head at her as they traverse down the marketplace. "You've never had a real bed, have you?"
"Not that I can remember." She replies. "You know how much I got from that ol' geezer?"
"I was more preoccupied with distracting him, so no," Hans says.
"We'll be eatin' like royalty for the next two days. Bread and fruit and I snitched a bottle of whiskey from a stall nearby." Alexis gives him a cocky grin. "You ever drink, pretty boy?"
They finally leave the market, heading towards the outskirts of the town. The roads become more dirt than cobblestone at this point, and the crowds begin to become only a person or two here or there. "Once or twice. Never whiskey, however; it was always fine wine for me." Hans says breezily.
"Whiskey's the good shit. It makes you forget."
Hans doesn't know what to say to that.
The rest of the trip is in relative silence afterwards. Hans opens the curtains for Alexis, who quickly ducks into the home. She puts the basket on the table, taking out the contents; two loaves of bread, several fruits, the purported bottle of whiskey.
"Like royalty, eh?" Hans says, smirking as he sits down on a chair.
"Hell yeah," Alexis responds cheerfully. "Next thing you know, they'll be givin' us crowns and we'll be livin' in the damn castle."
Hans smiles, not wanting to remember growing up in a castle of his own. He rips off a small hunk of bread from one of the loaves. It's fluffy and thick, with a crisp golden crust, nothing like what he's eaten since he ran out of money.
"Don't you wanna eat?" He asks, taking a bite.
She shakes her head. "Nah, not right now. I will take the whiskey though," she says, scooping it up, opening it, and taking a large swig.
"Careful, now. You don't want to get drunk." Hans advises.
Alexis eyes him warily. "Maybe I do."
"Why?" He asks, cocking an eyebrow.
"I have a lot of reasons," Alexis replies, sitting down with her legs crossed on her makeshift bed of straw. "None of which are any of yer business."
There's not enough whiskey to get shitfaced drunk, Hans finds out, but she certainly is a bit tipsy. She's in the corner, where her straw bed is, and her hood is down as she says seemingly out of the blue remarks and words.
"Y'know," Alexis hiccups, not really looking at Hans, "I had this brother, once."
"Really, now?" Hans says, only half paying attention.
"Mhm. His name as Alfonse. He was…he looked like me, y'know? Like, with, like…th' hair…and th' eyes…" She rambles on, seeming not to care whether or not he's actually listening. "Ma always liked him best, of course…he could farm, and he was nice-lookin', and all that bullshit. She got so sad when he died. I mean, she wouldn't give a damn if I croaked, but it goes t'show you, I guess…"
"That's rather sad, don't you think?" He says half-heartedly.
"My whole life is sad. Fuck, I wish I was born a royal, or somethin'. Y'think I'd make a pretty princess?" She sighs, closing her eyes and stretching her legs. "I'm tired."
Hans looks over at her. "Go to sleep, then."
"But it's cold." The way she says it, Hans thinks, you'd think we were in the middle of a blizzard.
"That's a shame, then, isn't it?" He says. "Pull your hood over your head. It helps you generate body heat when you cover your head."
"Come over here and keep me warm. Jus' for tonight. Please?" Alexis draws out the 'please' so that it sounds more like a toddler whining than an actual word. "If ya do, I won't call y'shithead for, like, another week."
Hans sighs and gets up. "You're so generous." It's getting late, after all, and despite her complaints, it really is rather drafty in here. With a slight twinge of amusement, he wonders if Elsa caused another winter disaster somewhere in Abaddon. However, the thought of her, of anything Arendelle-related, immediately leaves a chunk of ice (ironically) in his stomach. He makes his way towards the drunken grey-eyed girl, sitting down beside her.
She immediately leans her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. "Thanks."
"Yeah, sure," Hans says nonchalantly.
"Body heat is warmth. Don't think I'm gettin' all soft on ya." She says drowsily.
Hans smiles. "If you say so, Alexis."
"Shuddup, shi –Matthias." The blonde yawns, rubs her eyes, and then promptly seems to fall asleep.
Reluctantly, Hans closes his eyes, drawing his knees up to his chest and draping his arms across them. Though the lingering thought of Arendelle still freely roams about in his head, he dreams not of Elsa, but of Anna and Alexis.
He and Alexis are in a marketplace. The outer edges of his vision are blurred, he notes dully. Anna is running some sort of ice stall, and when she's looking away, Alexis somehow manages to shove five ice blocks in their basket. When he looks down at the basket, he sees a box of some sort. Alexis hands it to him, and when he opens it, he sees a beating heart.
Gasping, he drops the box, looking up at Anna and her stall. Her chest is ripped open where her heart would be.
"Why?" Is all Anna says before falling to the ground with a dull thump. Alexis seems not to notice, but instead keeps trying to pile ice inside the basket.
The marketplace turns from a dreary grey to a pristine snow-covered landscape. Hans is panicking now; he tries to find someone to help Anna, but it seems like the quicker he moves, the farther away other people get. Eventually, he falls to the ground as well, and this is when he wakes up, a cold sweat coating his skin and his heart beating as if he ran for miles.
Needless to say, Hans does not get much sleep that night.