Thanks to Lusey for beta reading!
Otto Scarbaach let the water run till it steamed in the poised clawfoot tub, hanging his arm over the side and pressing his head back against the polished eggshell ceramic. Somewhere nearby, an aging vinyl record spun, low and mournful. Something about love - lovers - messy, sloppy, wet kisses under the sharp knife of pale moonlight.
The man's head rolled off to the side, eyes half lidded and hazed and eyebrows creased upwards as the remnants of the tap dripped slowly into the bath - rings traveling from one end of his feet and the faucet and towards his face. Glasses crooked, his let his blue eyes wander languidly around the lavatory, taking in rounded sink, blue tile and walls. A fake fern sat off behind him - plastic leaves gracing a shoulder tenderly, a phantom sensation tracing his spine.
The song was now about a man in Paris.
He flinched at a soft moment of turning his head back over to the other side, towards the window. Mouth creasing into a pained frown and a suppressed groan, Otto drew his arms close and sunk lower into the clawfoot, the water rising over his mouth, where an occasional bubble escaped from pressed, tight lips. Bruises and scrapes were visible now, exposed from underneath sleeves of button ups, trousers, and much too tight ties. He lifted an arm out of the steaming tap to stare at the flushed skin of his body - human, pink, and soft. He felt himself frown deeper at a purple bruise that traveled up his side - starting from his wide hip all the way up to rest underneath the topmost rib. The man watched his broad chest break the surface tension of the water with his uneven, semi-wheezing, breath - above, underneath, above, underneath.
He stared a moment more at the hairy, wide, blemished, pockmarked thing that was his human body - his integrated human form, despite his polymorph abilities.
Then, with a thumb and forefinger, he pulled the round, wire framed glasses away from his face, closing his eyes, before he slipped under the surface, bubbles erupting from his nose and lips.
He didn't mind opening his mouth to scream here - no one could hear him under the waves cascading over his head.
The turntable was stuck on the last note.
A few hours of sleep, closed eyes in a lonely breakroom, a momentary sit on a park bench, shooing away songbirds - but there was no rest for Otto Scarbaach.
The day after the fight in the Forge came and went - the world moving on, turning, unaware of his plight and anguish.
He, however, was painfully aware.
He fumed over the coffee machine, over his desk, over his lunch, and over his feet turned back towards his home on Oak Drive.
The briefcase he held at his side was heavy in his fingers, the small golden band digging into his hand. He switched hands and fiddled with the small thing, his fingers almost too big to fit it. He was a fan of gold - golden accents, golden rings, golden sun. Inside his mouth, his tongue graced his golden canine - a cap of a missing tooth. He was glad Draal wasn't able to knock it out in their scuffle. He bore all his teeth for a moment, scrunching and stretching his mouth as he paused in the middle of the bridge - looking over. He relaxed his face in his tired expression again, rubbing the 5 o'clock shadow forming under his scraggly facial hair. Looking over the empty canal at a few scattered cans, some broken branches and leaves, he pushed off, nose towards the emerging neighbourhood, feet heavy.
"Mr. Scarbaach! Hey! Mr. Scarbaach! Wait up!"
Scheisse! He'd forgotten!
Otto Scarbaach did not try to wait up, hoping the pair of boys approaching from behind didn't notice how he increased his steps to two at a time.
Two steps at a time, however, were no match for a set of two wheels.
They were upon him.
"Mr. Scarbaach!" Jim, the taller of the two, chirped, pulling up right beside the man and dismounting from his bike, "I didn't know you took this way home too!"
Note to self – Find New Route Home
"Ack!" Otto dismissed, continuing his walk and waving his hand in the air, "I always do."
They followed, the smaller boy still pedaling.
"Well, we usually don't see you!"
Otto raised an eyebrow at the two of them – blinking behind his round, black framed glasses.
"Don't you two have somewhere to be?"
"Nope!" Jim chirped again – the polymorph now noticing the strange strain to his voice – a crack – something more than puberty. Both of them, in fact – their smiles a bit too wide for their faces.
"Well, I do," Otto commented, giving a small, well manicured smirk, " Ciao boys – I'll see you two in cl-."
"Wait!" Tobias suddenly interjected, producing papers out of his back pocket, "I wanted to give you my essay earlier."
"Oh -! Oh yes!" The other cut in, young hands fumbling in his pockets for something, anything, "I-I do too! My essay."
Otto blinked – this was getting too strange too fast. He had to shut this down. Now.
"Boys -."
"Please!" Tobias injected, leaping from around his bike and shoving the paper in his hands. Otto instinctively pulled back at the sudden approach – but found his grip to be caught in the boys hands.
He felt his stomach churn, his mouth turn dry.
" Danke – This is hardly appro -."
He got closer, a hand gracing the top of the briefcase and the skin of his pockmarked, aging hand.
"Can you take it?"
" Tobias -."
The boy held firm, the papers fluttering, "Oh! Won't you at least -!"
"ENOUGH!" Otto finally snapped, forcefully pulling away from the grasp, out of the suffocating thing called human touch. He watched as the papers went flying and fluttering to the ground and, in a snap – the briefcase split open when he pulled away, sending vocabulary books, highlighters and red pens spilling to the ground. But nothing unique – nothing magical – besides the words of Shakespeare.
Otto stared in momentary shock before raising his eyes in a deep glare, blood boiling.
"What is wrong with you two?" He chided loudly, scooping to pick up the fallen papers with both of his small hands. The boys held an expression Otto couldn't quite place - shock? Surprise? What had they expected to -?
He stopped shuffling in the papers, hands freezing.
It hit him.
He resumed picking up his belongings, muttering in his foreign tongue, cursing. He stuffed the papers and books unceremoniously back into his case, snapping it shut.
The pair jumped a bit at the noise, as if coming out of a trance. Their expression switched immediately, a hand reaching out to touch a shoulder.
"Mr. Scarbaach, we -."
Otto rose back to his full height, stepping back from that hand and staring down at the teenagers.
"Bitte ." He spoke again, softer, tired, "That is enough."
"But we -."
"Enough." He finished, putting his foot down and in front of the other as he strode off, holding his belongings close to himself. Slowly, with dragging feet, he clambered up the front steps of his small, two story home and made his way inside - shutting the front door, twisting his half dozen deadlocks to close.
He rested his back against the wooden door - snorting, before hanging his hat on the rack, and reaching for the crease of his coat to peel it off his shoulders. Kicking off his shoes, unfurling his tie, halfway unbuttoning his shirt, he hefted himself onto the couch, flopping down on his back with an exaggerated huff of air. He laid there for a while, his blue eyes searching the crown molding and white ceiling before, subconsciously, he fingers drew out and object from his trouser pocket.
His vision was replaced with a glimpse of silver and blue, the Amulet ticking in time with him. His black rimmed glasses reflected the glow against his face, and he sighed, dropping his arm and muffling the light against his chest.
They knew something.
The can of sardines were muted, dull, unimpressive. Despite the flavor he tried to toss in, the garlic, pepper and salt, even basil leaves and thyme as garish - nothing satisfied Otto's hungry palate. He had changed his shirt - same but different - his tie was a bit darker this time, more pressed. He had his primary job with the Bridge tonight after all. He ate at the far end of his dinner table, alone, using a fork and knife to cut into the tightly packed fish.
The usual.
"Ugh -." was all he had to say to his meal, before scarfing it down whole and standing to grab another one, his nervous hunger winning him over. In his internal debate between feasting on salt water and olive oil - he took pause in the doorway.
Before hearing a pair of footsteps leaving the front porch!
It was here!
With his sock covered feet sliding across the floor, he made his way to the front of the house and threw open the door, staring down.
Nothing, as he watched the white truck pull off into the sunset. He frowned, looked around, poked on the porch. Still nothing. He cursed at his luck, opening the black mailbox and thumbing through - bills, bills, a Bed, Bath and Beyond coupon, bills. He snorted, put them under his arm, and began to ponder where where Strickler would be at this time. A late piece he would inform but, at least they had the rest to work with.
He didn't have to worry about it too terribly long.
"Hey! Hey! Mr. Scarbaach!"
The shout caused Otto to take a quick step of surprise to the side to turn, head snapping from its place in the threshold, blood running cold at the familiar voice.
The smaller yet rounder one, it seemed, decided to pay a visit. Tobias' tawny auburn hair stuck out from all ends and wide grin plastered onto his face. The teen struggled with something in his hands and Otto followed down till he spotted -.
"You opened it?" Otto exclaimed, back growing rigid in momentary shock at the expected box for him in the other beings' hands.
Indeed, the large hunk of stone that had been resting in the hay inside the crate at the boys' feet was in Toby's large hands. The teen held it close to his chest, the triangular stone oversized in his short, rounded arms.
"Sorry for opening it! We didn't see the address at first." He exclaimed as he gestured towards Jim's house with his shoulder. "We found it on the porch at our place."
Unlikely story. Otto shook his head. Stubborn, stupid boy. He hadn't even pointed towards the right house!
His look of annoyance, however, slowly into a look of silent, horrified, recognition.
The Eyestone, not the hefty chunk, weeks early in the mail.
A noise escaped his lips, the man raising a hand.
"Why don't you let me take that from you, Mien -."
"It's alright! It's not that heavy." The boy insisted, holding it closer, "What are you doing with this big piece of cobblestone, anyway?" Tobias face lit up in a sudden excited thought, "Wait! Do you collect stones too?"
"Didn't your mother teach you manners?" Otto spat roughly, "Because that is none of your business!"
The smile Toby held fell instantly, the boy backing up a few steps.
"Oh. Well, could at least help you carry it inside?"
"Nien!" Otto shouted, "I don't want anything to do with you or … Jimothy! John! The other one! Whoever he is to you! You caused enough trouble to me today!"
Toby took another tentative step back.
"O-Oh. I'm -."
"' Oh! Oh! Mr. Scarbaach!;" Otto retorted in a sing-song voice, "Save everything." Otto waved his hand, frown lines creasing his mouth, "In case you haven't noticed I'm a very busy man and I don't have the time to baby you or your -."
Another step and this time Toby cowed low. In his movements, neither party had noticed the boy making his way back towards the crickety front steps and startled, Toby gasped at his sudden unbalanced stance, a look of fear crossing his face as he started falling back. Otto, shouting a stray German curse, lunged forward, hands reaching for the precious stone. In the rush, his hands, however, found Toby's shirtfront instead, the lurch forward causing the boys hands to fly up and -
CRACK!
Wide-eyed, Otto looked over Toby's suspended form, to find parts of a once triangular stone strewn down the front steps in a stream of chunks and powder. The pair were deathly silent, staring at the mess before Otto, with a trembling hand, released Toby from his grip, sending him sprawling down towards the ground.
Landing at the bottom step, the boy tentatively picked up a large piece of the once together stone, looking back up at his expressionless neighbor with a tomato red-cheeked smile.
"You, uh, don't happen to have a receipt, do you?"