first owl house fic woop woop! this is kinda shit won't lie my characterisation is Not good. hope yall enjoy anyways!

There was an awkward, stilted stillness in the air of Bonesborough. Heavy, almost. Oppressive wasn't quite the word for it, because it wasn't violent. It was stifling, though, and Hunter found it hard to breathe beneath his mask.

There were plump clouds filling the sky, a deep grey hue, and Hunter wondered briefly for a moment if there was a storm approaching, if the sky would fill with boiling rain, but he quickly dismissed the thought. He wasn't leaving.

Even if there was, even if it was strong enough to melt the flesh off his bones, and to dissolve the fabric of his uniform (which was becoming increasingly harder to wear, like skin that didn't fit), he would still remain. He had to. He couldn't leave empty handed, without something to show from his visit.

Even if he came back with an echo of a promise, returning with a whisper of things to come, it would be better than failing. He couldn't fail again. He just-

He reached his hand to his face, half-expecting to feel skin, but instead touching shiny, well-polished metal. It was grounding, almost, the familiarity of the mask that made him near untouchable. It wasn't the mask he'd worn a few short days ago, the golden one, but it still made him stronger. Nobody would go near him whilst he wore it, lest they feel Belos' wrath. He could feel their eyes on him even now, even while he was alone, clutching his staff for protection.

Then again, normality, or what passed for it, seemed to have disappeared. Because now, he could apparently be one-upped by a human girl. A human! A human, using magic created from paper and pencils, from rough sketches on parchment. And he had almost, almost been beaten by the youngest Blight, which was an embarrassment in itself.

He pulled his hand back away from his face - no, mask, though the two seemed to blend into each other sometimes - almost harshly, trying to rid himself of those thoughts. He was trying to accomplish a mission. There was no point dwelling on past failures. There was only now, and the future, and the present. He'd learnt from what had happened in the past, he couldn't think about when he'd gone wrong.

(He preferred to forget about them. It was hard, though, when he had more physical reminders.)

(They're for your own good, Hunter. You just need to remember not to do that again-)

No. He wasn't thinking about that again.

The mission. It wasn't an official mission, not that he'd been given any since he'd returned with the broken key. He couldn't stand the waiting, not for much longer. It was the apprehension that was slowly killing him, he couldn't tell if he was waiting to be punished, or if the silence was punishment in itself.

Belos had barely spoken to him since he'd returned from Eclipse Lake, instead spending long hours locked up with the door, and the key Hunter had given to him. Whilst it had been almost drained of the Titan's Blood it had once contained, Belos was desperate to analyse what little blood remained.

He knew that the key hadn't worked, though. Knew that the passage between the Boiling Isle and the Human Realm hadn't been breached, at least, not yet.

(Sometimes, he wondered if it was better off staying shut.)

He didn't think that Belos would find his answers from the smeared remains of blood left on the key, though. He thought that the answers lay beyond that, were entwined with the wild magic he was forbidden to inquire about.

He also knew that he couldn't suggest such a thing, and kept his mouth shut. Wild magic was dangerous, or at least, that was what Belos said.

Sometimes, he couldn't help but wonder if that was entirely the truth.

Still, it didn't help to think about it too long. He knew he couldn't pursue his interest in wild magic, not if he wanted to remain as the Golden Guard. Not if he wanted to stay safe.

His grip around his staff tightened slightly as he readied himself to move forward. He couldn't just stand here all day, waiting for some Titan's Blood to flow towards him, or for a palisman to flutter right into his hand. He wasn't going to be that lucky again. He needed to work for it, needed to bleed for it.

He felt a slight twinge of guilt as he remembered the palisman that he still had, that he hadn't given to his uncle. He'd instead kept it in his room, or tucked into his pocket. He'd always been so pliant to his uncle's demands for more magic, but he couldn't stand to hand the little red palisman over. He didn't want to see it sapped of all life, cracked open like an egg and then discarded once the magic had been pried from it. He knew it was selfish, knew he needed to just give it to Belos, but…

He had an odd connection with it. He could do magic with it, proper magic, magic that almost seemed to flow through his veins. It felt as real as the magic most witches could do. Not like the stilted, jerky magic he had with his staff.

He'd give the palisman over eventually.

(He'd keep telling himself that.)

Heaving his cloak over his shoulders, he kept walking down the street, keeping close to the edge, to the shadows. He knew that he wasn't popular in Bonesborough, knew that anyone who was friends with the Owl Lady would know of his purpose in the town. He hoped to go undetected for as long as he could, but his uniform was almost garlish at times, and he could still feel eyes on him.

Reaching his hand up, he went to adjust the clasp that kept the cloak held steady. It had been weakened during his fight with the Blight girl - Amity, her name was - cracked down the middle, and easily detachable. He fiddled with it, scarred fingers flicking at the clasp, bringing it open, and closed, and open, and-

All of a sudden, the cloak came flying off his shoulders, and with a gasp, he spun around, magenta eyes narrowed under the mask. He prepared himself to fire off a spell or two, rapidly off his staff, but stopped short. The theft of his cloak seemed to be no more than a teenager, holding it with wide-eyed innocence.

Feigned innocence, Hunter realised quickly, as the teenager's expression split into a grin. "They're really kitting out the Golden Guard in this?" He asked, holding the cloak high in the air. "Jeez, I would have thought Belos would have a better budget."

"Give it back," Hunter threatened, lowering his voice to seem more threatening. (He'd done that more and more often, ever since people had started describing his voice as annoying.) "Or you'll regret it."

The teenager - a young witch, with dyed (he thought, he couldn't be too sure) green hair, and almost gold eyes - seemed unperturbed. "Nah." He replied, smirking. "You'll have to come get it."

He almost couldn't believe this. He was the Golden Guard! Belos' right hand man! He couldn't be taunted by some teenager, couldn't have his cloak stolen from right under him-

"Do you know who I am?" He stumbled slightly on his words, disliking the taste of them. He was important, he knew that, but he sounded obnoxious. Annoying.

The other boy blinked at him, looking him up and down. "Someone with that doesn't properly clasp their cloak?" He replied, in a soft drawl.

"Ha-ha, very funny-" Hunter darted forward, lunging for his cloak back, but he found himself falling straight through the teenager. "Huh?" He whispered, bewildered.

"Heyyyyyy!" The teenager called out, now standing a good few feet away. Hunter glanced behind him, rubbing his eyes with disbelief to see the boy… behind him? He looked forward again, stumbling backwards in confusion, before he realised what was going on.

Illusion magic. He hadn't ever attempted it himself, preferring to use telekinesis or teleportation when it came to combat, but he could see now how it would be useful. How you could trick an enemy into thinking you were directly besides them, when you were pulling the strings in safety.

It was something to think about when he wasn't trying to get his cloak back. He gripped his staff, and willed it into allowing him to teleport besides the boy. The artificial magic didn't always come naturally to him, not always. It wasn't connected to him, not in the way other witches' magic was. It wasn't something that had been ingrained with him from birth, he hadn't grown up bewitching tiny objects to float around his room, like his own personal baby mobile.

With a sudden jolt, the teleportation spell worked, and with a twist in his gut, he was beside the boy. "I'll be having that-" He jabbed a gloved hand out, reaching for his cloak back. His fingers just about caught on the soft ivory fabric, but the cloth slipped out of his grip, the boy holding it tightly, still smirking.

"Ah, no, this is mine, now." He remarked, almost cradling the cloak, fingers stroking the swirled metal of the clasp. "Besides, you look better without the extra layers."

Hunter took a few moments to process that last sentence, face quickly turning red beneath the mask. He was grateful for the metal covering, knowing how ridiculous he looked when he blushed - his entire face, down to the tips of his ears turned a violent shade of crimson, and it was often blotchy, too.

"Erm-" He hated this, and what the boy was saying, because for once, he was completely thrown. At a loss for words. He took a moment, paused for breath, trying to think of a worthy comeback. Something threatening enough for him to get his cloak back, because if he lost it, well…

He felt like Belos wouldn't be pleased. And he couldn't afford that. Not again.

Instead of coming out with an undisguised threat, or anything, he blustered. "What's your name?" He heard himself ask, and cringed. He didn't know why he'd asked. Whilst stealing would wind the boy up in the Conformatorium, he had a feeling that he would be hard to catch.

The boy seemed confused for a moment, before his smirk slipped away, a more natural grin replacing it.

(Hunter found he rather liked it, but quickly dismissed that thought. It was neither the time, nor the place for thoughts like that.)

"Edric," He replied. "But my friends call me Ed." Hunter processed that, gripping his staff slightly tighter, feeling the knots and divots in the wood. He didn't think he'd ever become this boy's 'friend.'"You want my number too?" He added, winking again.

"No." Hunter said, quickly this time. He didn't even know what that meant - he didn't really have much of a typical teenage upbringing - but he didn't think he wanted a number. It sounded almost like a threat. "I want you to give me my cloak back. Or else." He scowled under his mask, displeased with this Edric's insubordination.

Though, he supposed, he didn't look like the Golden Guard. He'd had his usual golden mask taken away. It had just disappeared one morning, with the normal mask resting in its place. He just looked like any other one of Belos' minions.

"Ooooo, or else? What are you going to do?" Edric asked, leaning forward. Hunter clasped his other hand, balling it up into a tight fist, thumb slotting against rough leather.

"I'll send you to the Conformatorium." Hunter bluffed, knowing he had no such authority to do so. "It's a crime to steal, you know that, right?"

"Aww, I'm not stealing. I'll give it back." Edric drawled, passing the cloth from one hand to another, running the sheer fabric between his fingers.

Hunter made another grab for the cloak. He didn't know why he was getting so worked up over this, a petty crime of all things, but it was frustrating him. Something was building within him, a hot flush that felt almost spiked. He wasn't angry, not really. Just… irritated, and something else.

Whatever it was, he didn't like it. The sooner he had his cloak back, and he could get out of here - empty handed, sure, but with his dignity still intact - the better.

He had to ignore that thought, though. He knew he couldn't leave without something. Anything.

"Give it back, then." He snapped. He was fed up of playing games, of dancing around something that should have been over the moment he'd had the cloak snatched from his hands. He missed the old authority his mask had given him, the way people would bend to his will like well-shaped putty. "Seriously, what are you thinking? You really want to steal from someone in the Emperor's Coven?"

Edric blinked at him, gaze flickering up and down, before something like a look of recognition lit his eyes. "Wait… you're… aww, Mittens wasn't lying about your voice!"

"I'm sorry?" Hunter looked at him, thoroughly confused.

Edric seemed much more… relaxed, for some reason. He seemed less tense, looked less likely to spring up and run away, cloak in tow, at any moment. "You're the Golden Guard, aren't you? Or you used to be… Mittens said that you were disgraced."

Hunter still didn't know who Mittens was - the strange creature that the Owl Lady had? - but this didn't seem good. If random strangers knew that he wasn't in favour with Belos anymore…

He gulped, turning away. "I'm not disgraced." He hissed. "Your Mittens is incorrect."

"She might be." Hunter turned around just in time to see Edric shrug. "I think her brain is like, 10% actual information, and 90% thinking about her girlfriendddd."

With that, Hunter finally worked out who 'Mittens' was. Amity Blight. Which meant that this had to be her older brother, and another Blight.

He couldn't afford to upset the Blights anymore. They were making the Emperor's Coven their Abominations, and whilst the older Blights were keen to uphold their ends of a deal, he didn't put the same trust into their offspring. They'd probably be delivered, spring out of their boxes, and immediately slink off to murder him.

"They're still together?" He asked, instead of voicing anything else. "I thought the human was dumping her, based off those messages."

"No?" Edric answered, shaking his head. "Nah, that was just gooey-mushy romantic stuff. No dumping anywhere."

"Oh." He could have sworn that the message contained a threat, concealed, but obvious to him. It was something he'd heard dozens of times in his life, he'd thought he'd become a mastermind of understanding those intricacies. "Wait, she told you I'd been disgraced? What else did she tell you?"

Edric shrugged. "Something about a key? Some blood? She told me she fought you." He narrowed his eyes. "Which, by the way, how do you almost lose to a fourteen year old?"

Hunter let out an undignified squark, furiously shaking his head, almost dislodging his mask. "I didn't almost lose to your sister. I could have easily won, I just took it easy on her."

"Mmm-hmmm… sure you did." Edric was smirking at him, again, and Hunter was beginning to despair at how he'd even gotten into this situation. "You know, there's no shame in losing. Every failure is just a learning opportunity-"

"Is it?" Hunter found himself saying. "Or is it just a failure? Not everything can be all perfect, and just fine like you and your friends. Not everything can just be some wacky adventure! Some people only get one chance, and if they fail, then…" He trailed off, miming an explosion with a gloved hand. "Then they fail."

Edric blinked at him, almost oddly slowly. "Are you okay?" He asked finally. "Mittens did say you'd gone a little… I mean, she said you were digging yourself a grave."

"I'm just peachy-keen." Hunter snapped. He didn't even know what that meant, or where he'd picked it up from. (Perhaps the human had said it at one point.) "And I wasn't. I don't need it anymore, I just need to…" His shoulders sagged slightly. "Not fail."

"Right, then." Edric took a slight step backwards, and with that movement, Hunter lunged forward, finally managing to tug the cloak free.

He swept it over his shoulders, and stumbled backwards, getting ready to make a quick escape. There was nothing left for him here in this part of town, he supposed he could head towards the forest, hunt for wild palismen wood.

"Thank you," He huffed, tightening the clasp, deciding to fix it when he returned back to the castle. He couldn't have this happening again. "Don't mess with me again. You'll find the Emperor isn't as forgiving as me."

"I won't take your cloak again," Edric replied, almost lazily. "But what do you count as 'messing'?"

"Something mischievous." Hunter said quickly, wanting to get out of here. His skin was itchy, his palms tingling.

Edric nodded, humming softly, as if in complemptation. "Got it, Goldie." He gave Hunter finger guns, and that was his sign to hop onto his staff.

"Nicknames count as messing with me!" He called out as he flew off, voice being whipped away by the rushing wind. The clouds still hadn't cleared from the sky. "Byeeee!"

Later, in the castle, after he'd returned home almost empty-handed, he started to take his too-heavy uniform off. His entire trip was a disaster, the only thing he had to give to Belos some vague directions to a place where palismen may-or-may-not be.

Belos hadn't been pleased, but he'd escaped untouched, fleeing to his bedroom as soon as he'd reported to his uncle. He'd barely had a moment to process his day, it had passed by rapidly, with no time to rest, no time to take anything in.

Now, he could take off his cloak at last. He stroked his ungloved hands over the soft fabric. His palisman fluttered to his shoulder, peaking over at the cloak. He chuckled softly, raising a hand to let the bird-looking creature settle.

He turned the cloak over with his free hand, and for some reason, his palisman fluttered from his hand, pecking at the cloak, and emerging with something clasped in their beak. They dropped it in front of him, looking utterly impressed with themself.

"What's this…?" Hunter wondered out loud, turning the object over. It looked like a slip of paper, with words scrawled onto it. The script used was untidy, almost illegible.

It was a Penstragram username. In even smaller handwriting besides it, a note said 'text me ;).'

Hunter's first reaction was to sigh. His second reaction was to find himself a scroll, and do what Edric had asked.