"You're going to get it," Nicholas encouraged the American immortal. The two men sat on the back picnic table, with a pile of pebbles between them. Next to the French immortal was a growing pile of precious stones.
Billy was frowning with concentration. His hand was stretched out over a single pebble, set amidst a complicated web of drawings. It glowed red as his aura lit up and the stone briefly lit up, before falling back on the table, completely unchanged. Billy picked up the pebble unhappily. "Not doing a very good job right now, am I?"
Nicholas took away the pebble and tossed it in the pile before them. "Alchemy is complex," he soothed. "I have no doubt that you will eventually pick it up."
"Maybe," Billy said glumly. They sat in silence for a moment before Billy seemed to make a decision. He straightened his shoulders and shook his head a bit. "So, tell me about your trip yesterday," he said, his voice injected with false enthusiasm. "Are you going to work there from now on?"
The Frenchman thought about it for a moment. He turned a pebble over in his hand, and with the sudden scent of mint, transformed it into an emerald. Billy gave a small moan of frustration and Nicholas looked up. "I might," the older immortal said cautiously. He leaned closer to Billy and the American immortal leaned in himself. "Actually, the owner and I got to talking. I told him how I've owned my own bookshops in the past. And he asked me if I'd consider buying the store."
Billy's forehead creased. "That's a bit more of a commitment than the ladies were going for."
"Exactly," Nicholas agreed, nodding slightly. He tugged on his ear lobe. "But still, I do miss my old bookshop," he said mournfully.
Billy grinned. "You're going to do it, aren't you? Good for you."
"Oh, Billy, I couldn't do it without discussing it with Perenelle first."
Billy nodded, but smiled nonetheless. He picked up another pebble and set it in the middle of the circle again. With an enthusiastic wave of his hand, the pebble glowed and settled back down, not significantly different but still glittering slightly.
Nicholas smiled. "See, that went better. Try again."
"What are you doing?"
Both men jumped slightly. The sudden question had startled both men, who were deeply engrossed in their alchemy. Nicholas moved over slightly to make room for Scatty, whose eyes were glittering with curiosity. "Alchemy?" she asked, picking up one of Nicholas's emeralds.
"Nicholas promised me he'd teach me some," Billy said happily. "Mac's going to teach me some things too, or at least he promised he would before all this happened." He paused. "Where's my guy, anyways?"
"He's playing a game of chess with Perry," Scatty said quietly. She looked around. "He seems a bit bummed out today," she said in an even quieter voice.
Billy accidentally burned a hole in the table. Nicholas hastily fixed it for him. "What do you think's up?" the American immortal asked, sounding very forlorn. He pushed the stones away from him.
The Shadow shrugged. "He's not exactly confiding in me at this moment. Who knows what I've done to upset him." She smiled humorlessly, showing her pointed canines. "Maybe he still resents me for the door incident."
Billy didn't laugh, just stared off in the distance.
She glanced over at Nicholas, who gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Billy, I think you just need to let these things play out. Machiavelli's going to make it through just fine."
Billy nodded, but didn't say anything. He looked down at the table and frowned slightly so that lines appeared between his eyes. "Didn't I burn the table?"
"I fixed it," Nicholas said. He glanced around at the ground, snagged a stick, and snapped it in half. Just as easily, he fixed it again.
"Can you show me how to do that?" Billy asked, tilting his head in curiosity.
~MB~
"Are you sad?" Billy asked Machiavelli quietly from the corner of his mouth. Lunch had just ended. Much of the conversation had centered on whether or not Nicholas and Perenelle should get the book shop, which left the American immortal plenty of time to contemplate his young charge. He thought the teenager seemed a bit pale, but it could have just been the low lighting. A storm appeared to be approaching their cabin, stretching out on the horizon.
Machiavelli looked a bit surprised. "No, not sad. Just thinking about some things."
"What things?" Billy prodded. But Machiavelli either didn't want to tell Billy or else couldn't. He just shook his head. "All right," Billy sighed. He caressed the back of teenager's head and let his head drop.
Perenelle had to switch on the lights in the living room as the evening progressed. What had been a few dark clouds hours earlier was now a full fledge rainstorm. The occupants of the cabin could hear rain plinking on the roof.
"Can we do something together?" Machiavelli asked suddenly.
"Sure," Perenelle allowed. "What?"
"Let's play a game," the Italian said, sounding suddenly happier. He scrambled over to the closet where the games were kept and dragged out a step stool. Billy kept a careful watch on him, flexing his hand a little when Machiavelli stretched high from his precarious position on the chair. "Found it!"
"Why Scrabble?" Billy asked distastefully, taking a tile holder nonetheless.
Machiavelli was busy flipping over the tiles in the lid of the box. "You don't like it?" he asked curiously, glancing up at the outlaw. A sly smile spread on his lips. "You can't spell, can you?"
"I got very little schooling," Billy grumbled, picking through the pieces.
"Are we limiting the game to English words only?" Scatty interrupted. She sat on Nicholas's left and looked to him for an answer. It was Perenelle who answered however, in the affirmative.
"It seems like the fairest thing to do since it's the language we all share," she said. "Although, we do all speak French in some form too..."
"Let's stick to English," Billy pleaded. "I don't even have a firm grasp on that language."
"Why don't you and the kid play together," Scatty suggested. "It's very unwieldy having five of us piled around the table. You two can take up one side of the table."
Billy looked up, his eyes shining bright blue. He looked over at the Italian hopefully. "You want to?"
The teenage immortal considered for a minute. On the one hand, he enjoyed the idea of being better than Billy after being treated as a child for the past couple of months. On the other hand, Billy looked so hopeful. "Sure," he said finally. "But you let me strategize."
"Of course," the American immortal agreed. He pulled his chair closer to the Italian's and leaned in over the boy's shoulder. "How about this word?" he moved the letters around on the stand.
"Do I have one of those?" Machiavelli asked archly.
"One, I think we have two of those," Billy laughed. "Okay, I'm done. Do your worst." He stood up.
"Leaving so soon?" Scatty asked. She covered her tiles with her hand.
"I'm just getting a glass of water," Billy told her. "Since I'm basically useless. Anybody else want something?" he asked, gesturing around the room at each of the immortals in turn. Most of the others shook their heads, so Billy shrugged.
Machiavelli felt slightly bad as he watched the outlaw head towards the back of the cabin. Billy obviously was not comfortable as an intellectual, which was really a shame since the young immortal had a proven knack for languages.
"It recommends we let our youngest player go first," Nicholas said, reading from the back of the boss. He smiled faintly.
"That's Billy," Machiavelli said without thinking.
"No, kid, that's you," Scatty said with a grin.
"Either way, it points to your team," Perenelle said, effectively cutting the conversation short before it could turn sour.
"Alright," Machiavelli agreed. He looked at his tiles for a minute and then carefully began to arrange them on the game board. He spelled out the word 'ensnare' and sat back. Perenelle totaled up his score and the game moved on.
"Hey," Billy said softly, sitting back down. He slung an arm around the Italian immortal, who unconsciously leaned in, soaking up Billy's affection. "How are we doing?"
"It always sucks being the first person to play in Scrabble," Machiavelli complained lightly.
"Ah well, we'll come back from it."