A commotion from the offices suddenly pulled Theodore from his stupor, and instead dragged his attention over to the breakroom under the stairs just in time for those gathered there, to disperse. It was then that he found himself once again confronted with a rather domestic sight; this it being that of five people dressed for the day's work. Three of them were clearly employees as told by the ugly tweed suit jackets that they wore, with the store's logo impressed into the back of it. Brown suit jackets with matching vests and slim slacks adorned the three young working men, whilst various caps squatted on their heads.
Despite their rather dated uniforms (at least in the Garde's eyes), they were young—well, younger than the other two—and held themselves in such a way that Theodore was reminded of the high school kids who liked to hang around the bodega after school, smoking this & that whilst they twiddled away the afternoon hours. The other two however, were clearly older (not by much) & were seemingly married; if the glinting wedding bands around each finger were anything to go by. Theodore rightly assumed that these two, with their plaid shawls & brown loafers were the mysterious people who had taken him in. These people were the Gussmans; Elliot & Eleanor, respectively.
The woman, Eleanor, wore tight brown curls that were reminiscent of the era. With eyes of piercing green and soft features of porcelain, she was a rather pretty thing. Much like other women of the era, Eleanor wore a slim tartan skirt which brushed up against her ankles and lay hidden beneath a heavy overcoat. Unlike the three boys, she did not wear a hat in her own home, but that didn't seem to matter (however improper it may have of seemed) as she moved with delicate steps and sharps gestures that just commanded respect. Theodore wondered what had happened to her to make her like that, for surely it was not something that a housewife from the 10s would naturally do, at least according to those few history lessons that he could remember.
Whereas the man, Elliot (who appeared to be about a year or two older than his wife) wore his mousy brown locks slicked back, with only the occasional strand falling this way or that. His lapels were dotted with shiny badges bathed in varying shades of green—and although Theodore couldn't quite see just what message that they portrayed, he assumed that they were along the same lines as the other alien stuff upstairs; even if a couple of them looked very military-like. Whatever the case, those metallic buttons shared the same shade as that of his beady eyes and, much like the younger men, a tie choked at his neck like a polyester noose.
All of this ran through his head at a million miles an hours as Theodore froze at the sight of those old-timey people, blood running cold and eye(s) blowing wide as the world grew muffled. Absently he noted the surprised acknowledgement of the fleeing employees when they noticed him on the landing and the wriggling of the dog in his arms as he tried to get free. But it was only with the slip of control on his Legacies as he dropped Mr Pennycrumb to the ground, letting him fall from his suddenly slack grip like a sack of potatoes (thankfully chimaera were far more durable than Earthen canines and didn't need to be set down like they were the elderly) that the rest of the world knew he was there too. All eyes swung his way when a prettily manicured finger pointed him out and almost as if on cue, the lights all around them began to flicker dangerously as Theodore found himself frozen in place.
It wasn't necessarily the sight of the Gussmans and the employees (who had only come in to sort through all the paperwork for those who had missed a day of work thanks to the day's impromptu closure) that made Theodore freeze like that, the lights threatening to wink out above him, but the concerned expressions that they wore, reminded him very much of his late vera. He could see her in the way Elliot quickly & quietly shooed the unnamed employees out of the door whilst Eleanor tried to approach the boy, hands outstretched in a placating manner. She was there in the plaid patterns that they wore, there in the cautious smiles and soothing tones. And Theodore could have of sworn that if he listened close enough, he would hear the whining of a bow dancing across taut violin strings. But they weren't his vera, no matter how much of her he saw in them and she was never coming back, no matter how much he wished otherwise. It made him sick, those cocktail of feelings and spiralling thoughts.
Theodore couldn't deny his own feelings of helplessness as he gazed at this woman who was his vera-not-vera; helpless and guilt that swirled inside him when he thought of what he had done. Tears gathered in his eyes, pricking at the corners and swelling up inside empty sockets as he fought to keep them from falling. Here were two people who looked—who acted—so much like his vera that it physically hurt and they hadn't even opened their mouths; they didn't even know him, or he them. But still a part of him, a sad childish part, begged him to launch himself across the room and wrap himself up in the arms of that vera-not-vera. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he could pretend that her floral perfume was that of Vera's musky scent, of the polish that she used to clean her violin, of the rose in her shampoo (never cinnamon because it reminded her too much of choking down bowls of oatmeal as a child) or even the clogging fog of New York. But he couldn't because she wasn't and she would likely never be.
It saddened him to acknowledge that; to know that that one person who was his whole world, was gone and that the rest of the world ticked on like it didn't even care. Now that—that—made him angry. The frustrated growl almost escaped past his lips as rumbled in the back of his throat, echoing somewhere deep in his chest as Eleanor faltered in her steps, seemingly taken off-guard by the reaction. It didn't take long for the tears to spill over after that as the lights overhead flickered once, twice, thrice and then went black. Surprised squawks sounded from both of the Gussmans as Theodore took the opportunity to backpedal; stumbling back up the stairs from whence he had come.
He didn't stay to see if they were all right; didn't check to see if the startled yelps were nothing more exclaimations of surprise at the sudden change in lighting. No, instead he simply spun on his heel, mindless of the blue-tint covering his gaze or the concerned calls & confused expressions following after him as his heart rate picked up, thumping wildly in his chest as he all-but-crawled back up the steps. His little feet thundered against the linoleum floor as he skittered towards the squashed bathroom, slamming the door shut with far more force than was necessary.
The bang that reverberated through the penthouse almost seemed to thunder in his wake and it did little to block out the sight of Mr Pennycrumb & Elliot racing up the second set of stairs in the hopes to cut him off, or the sound of rushed heels gingerly clacking up the stairs behind him. It was only thanks to his panic (and the aid of his Legacies) that Theodore found himself locked up inside the little tiled room all on his lonesome. But it wasn't until the door had just barely grazed Mr Pennycrumb's outstretched muzzle which had shot forward in the hopes to stop the door from closing or the goosebump-raising scratch of nails on wood as Eleanor tried to catch the edge of the door only to find her nails dragging along the panels, he even knew how close they had been.
Admittedly, it did take him a few harried tries to get the lock to work as his fingers shook like china plates in an earthquake; but soon enough he heard the telltale click that told him of his relative safety. After tucking the stand alone towel rack under the doorknob to ensure that the Gussmans wouldn't be able to barge their way in, Theodore retreated to the relative safety of the bathtub. There, he sat tucked away behind the obnoxiously-patterned shower curtain with legs pulled up to his chest & fingers tightly interwoven with his curls, whilst their voices pleaded for him to open the door and Mr Pennycrumb scratched & whined to be let in. No, things definitely weren't the same anymore.
Nearly two hours later (as told by the sickly sweet clock stapled to the wall) Theodore was finally coaxed from the cramped bathroom like a frightened animal and herded back towards the couch. There he sat, buried amongst the saggy cushions with the woollen blanket wrapped securely around his shoulders and Mr Pennycrumb plopped in the space between his crossed legs, as the Gussmans tried to pry answers out of him. Although, that in of itself was like trying to pull blood from a stone because Theodore refused to give more than the basic answers, grunting here and there, whilst he tried to figure out what he could tell, what would make sense and what would get him sent away or worse.
"…Sweetheart—sweetie—please, we need you to answer some of our questions for us, okay?" Eleanor tried again, her tone as soft and gentle as the delicate hands the rested on the edges of his knees. Theodore peered up at her through the fringes of curled coils but did not answer as he met her gaze, crouched as she was before him as she was. "Can—can you at least tell us your name?"
"…" Again Theodore did not reply which seemed to irk Elliot, who huffed quietly in frustration.
"What about your family?" Elliot tried again, grinding his teeth together in frustration. Apparently he was not one to leave a puzzled unanswered and with so little clues being offered to him, it seemed to be really trying his gears. "Where are they? Do they know where you are?"
Theodore buried his face back into Mr Pennycrumb's scruff at that, unable to keep the tears at bay any longer. He couldn't help but feel the crushing weight of depressing grief of his vera's death and it shook his shoulders something fierce as he began to quietly sob (Thankfully, the chimaera in question seemed to have given up on any attempts to escape and just sort of slumped over in his grip like a ragdoll that occasionally rumbled with a quiet woof). Here were these kind people trying to help him—him, a monster who had ended the world and lost his vera, separated from the rest of his family all in one fell swoop—not that the Gussmans would know that, of course, all they saw was an upset & frightened child quietly weeping before them. It made his cheeks burn with embarrassment, but Theodore couldn't find it in him to stop, even as the manicured hand travelled up from his knee to his shoulder and drew him in for a soothing hug.
"Hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay" Eleanor soothed as she rocked the pair of them to & fro. In turn, Theodore found himself almost unwillingly sinking into Eleanor's embrace where he listened to her heart beat steadily in his ear, and hugged Mr Pennycrumb close as if he would defend him from the strange people around him. "It's okay, we're not gonna hurt you. My name's Eleanor—" She pointed to herself when she eventually pulled back from the hug (taking the warmth with her. Theodore was almost tempted to cling to her to make her stay where she was, so that he could linger in the hug just that little bit longer) and gestured to each of her self-made family in turn. "—And that's Elliot and this is Mr Pennycrumb"
"Hullo, son" Elliot smiled in kind, his lips pulled back to reveal a rather toothy grin.
"…" Theodore felt tears bead in the corners of his eyes again, at the familiar nickname. Of course, Elliot had no clue as to why that endearment would upset him so, but the last time anyone had called him 'son' had been when his doro had been able to talk to him—or more accurately, about/to him.
"Way to go, dumbass! You made him cry again!" Eleanor hissed, wanting very desperately to reach out and cuff her husband around the ears.
"I didn't mean to!" Elliot whined pitifully as he pouted like a petulant child still trying to figure out the puzzle which still seemed to allude him.
"If you can't calm down, then you can go wait downstairs!" She tossed over her shoulder before turning back to the young Garde, "Can you tell us your name, sweetie? Please?"
"…Theodore" Theodore eventually mumbled in reply, deigning to grant them that tiny piece of information as he raised his head from Mr Pennycrumb's scruff. It sounded pitiful, even to his own ears.
"Theodore?" Elliot reiterated, brows furrowed in puzzlement.
"Theodore? Is that right? Theodore?" Eleanor spared a glance over her shoulder at her husband to doublecheck that she had heard it right. "Hi, Theodore"
"…Hi" Theodore waved shyly in response, his voice no louder than it was a moment ago.
"Theodore, can you tell me what happened to you? How did you get here?"
"…I 'unno…it was wet & cold…and—and Fën—Fën said that we—we had to go" He replied as his hands wrapped the blanket in closer, hands wringing together in the edges of the blanket as he fought to rub at the tip of his nose (his telltale sign that he was lying through his teeth). Theodore just hoped that they took his actions for fearful nerves and not his attempt to mask his lies; he'd never been the best lair afterall.
"Fën?" Elliot pursued, brows furrowed in confusion as he latched onto that little piece of information offered.
"My don"
"Th-Theodore, sweetheart, what—what do you mean?" Eleanor stuttered, eyes wide and hands shaking slightly where they hovered above his shoulders. The only known 'don' that she knew of, was the well to-do gangster who ran the Carousel a few blocks down.
"Huh?" Theodore hummed, sparing a glance over towards her nervous form.
"Your…don? You don't mean…?"
"…My uncle" Theodore replied, blinking innocently up at the adults. "Yes"
"And—and where is your uncle now?" Elliot asked, sparing a cautious glance towards his equally nervous wife. If this boy's uncle was who they were thinking of, he was not someone you wanted to trifle with (although the way the boy said it, it sounded less Italian and more French, so maybe not).
"I 'unno" Theodore halfheartedly shrugged. "Not here"
"What—what about your parents?" Eleanor tried, "Your father? Your mother?"
"…Gone" Theodore whimpered, burying himself back into the scruff of the sluggish pug in his grasp.
By the time they had calmed down the boy and pried enough information from him (although even that had been like trying to pull blood from a stone), the Gussmans were just as tired as the boy—Theodore—curled up on their couch. He had been frustratingly tight-lipped about how he had ended up on their doorstep or what had happened to him. The most they did have was his name, his age (plus birthday, thanks to the soggy party hat he had been wearing when found) and what had happened to his parents. It wasn't much—barely anything at all—but they knew enough. Enough to know that when Elliot shared a silent look with Eleanor, that although Theodore was alone now, he would not be again. And that, as they say, was that.