Summary: Gary is still shaken about the events of "Solo." A party couldn't cheer him up, but a conversation with Rosencrantz sparks an idea…

Characters: Gary, Sanderson, assorted pixies, Rosencrantz

Rating: K+

Prerequisites: "Solo"

A/N: The song mentioned in this piece is "Once a Day" by Connie Smith

Posted: August 19, 2017

42. Loyalty (Post-"School's Out! The Musical")

Friday June 26th, 2002

Year of Leaves; Summer of the Last Berry

As a general rule, the chairs in the cloudlands were way too small to fit the typical human butt. They creaked and sagged when the wood was soft, or snapped into glittering magical splinters when it was hard. Booth seats were out of the question with the way their backs rubbed beneath his shoulder blades. The thumping of the music rattled the sodaglass beside his hand and made the tassel of his battered graduation cap bounce against his cheek. And wands and wings, he wasn't ready for karaoke. Not without the proper accompanist, and not when he looked like he'd just caused a wreck between a couple of innocent trains. A scrap of his shirt had caught and torn against the back of his seat. Even floating, the sugar bar's tables were set low, and one was prone to jarring their knees against the underside of hard purple wood or glinting metal.

Despite this last revelation, Gary had rejected the sticky linoleum floor and squeezed his body into the suffocating space between the tabletop and one of the awkward chairs anyway, because he was already pretty far gone and, judging by the way his life had been as of late, he apparently didn't deserve nice things. Straighten the hem of the concert tee that Mr. Sanderson had insisted you wear when you all went out because it has a blue rabbit ironed onto it that would keep the anti-fairies away. Suck it up. Put on a happy face… Can't you pull off a happy face?

'Pull off'. Bad choice of words, perhaps. At this point, as he lay with his head on his crossed arms, staring at the cherubs and aluxo'ob twirling around on the colored blinking squares of the dance floor, the idea of ripping off his entire face didn't sound entirely bad.

"We're not dumping Gary off to be a plaything of the Fairies since the Flappy plan fell through, Springs," Mr. Sanderson scolded, clicking his spoon around the insides of his frozen yogurt cup. His face was still scratched up from taking one too many tumbles off the tandem bike, and as he scraped the dish, he kept perfectly in time with the beat of the bar's music. Not a trace was to be left- it was just the Pixie way. Not a single speck of memory.

Mr. Keight tightened his fingers around the packet of M&Ms in his hand. Over the rustling of candy wrappers, clattering of elves and brownies loading up dirty dishes, and muttered business deals in shady back corners, he said, "I'm telling you, I could use him in the warehouse. He's more of a beanstalk than our apartment, but he has the muscles for carting around some of the bigger boxes. It would save us so much wasted expenses to cut telekinetic manipulation from the bill."

"Hire an anti-fairy, K," offered Mr. Thane. "They work for cheap."

"Your opinion has been taken into consideration," was the stiff response, and Mr. Sanderson butted in with, "The results are here, and your opinion is total garbage. You're drunk on fizzy grape."

Mr. Springs pushed his shades closer to his eyes with one finger. The pink and yellow club lights glinted off the dark plastic. Why they were all wearing them when it was dim enough for the ultraviolet lights to turn Gary's sleeves light purple, no one had bothered to ask. This too was the Pixie way. He said, "Would you care to be the one to explain to H.P. about the contract violation with Anti-Cosmo that would occur if Keight did take in an Unseelie at a snap?"

"Whoa, he's in charge of hiring help in the warehouse." Mr. Thane pried open the tab of yet another tiny soda can and poured himself a shot. "I'm just a handyman. Don't pull me under if you're planning to drown, hic."

Gary said nothing as the four pixies argued, but he did turn his head so his other cheek could get its fair share of being pressed into the scratchy velcro watch on his wrist. This was the most he'd moved for twenty-five minutes, so it was really quite something.

"That was the most he'd moved for twenty-five minutes," noted Mr. Springs (Thank you, Mr. Springs).

"Chew on it," Mr. Keight said with a pat to Gary's shoulder. "You'll want to work for me in the end. I know the guy who serves breakfast on Muffin Mondays. I can get you in good standing. You'll find yourself quite satisfied in life."

"Thank you very kindly for the offer," he mumbled, tongue scraping the hem of his sleeve, "but if it's all rightadoodle with you guys, I would highly prefer not to have to make this decision right now. Besides, I'm returning to my edusensational high school again in the fall. Your work week starts with Friday afternoons and I can't live that way if I'm working full-time."

Mr. Sanderson clinked his spoon back in his dish. When Gary glanced over, he steepled his fingers and leaned in. "You don't seem to be doing hot, boy. There wasn't a rhyming word in that statement."

"I'unno. You'd be surprisi…fied by what I can do with 'with' and 'this'…"

Mr. Thane swiped Mr. Sanderson's spoon and clanged it hard against his glass. "Marris, fetch the boy another mint supreme."

As the others broke into bickering about how he'd hardly tasted the last one before Mr. Sanderson had taken it for himself, Gary forced a thin, rueful smile. "Whoa, ooh, hey, hey- there's no need to fight. I appreciate all you're trying to do to boost my spirits, even though you know I don't care much for sugar. Heh heh. I really-weally do. See? I can still rhyme with glee."

"As if we care about you," scoffed Mr. Thane. Leaning against Mr. Keight's shoulder, he spilled an entire packet of king-sized Reese's Peanut Butter Cups into his mouth. "I just want to leech off your human-sized bowl of ice cream."

"Aww, but you're going to black out!"

"A blackout every now and again is good for the soul. Hic! Gary, you're eighteen. What say we could swing by a place I know before we drop you off and do that boosting spirits thing with a dash of good ol' human spirits."

"Oooohh, yeeaaahhh, I don't really know about that. You have to be twenty-one in my country in order to enjoy anything like that. If I'm not horrendifically mistaken, I'm only seventeen."

"Wink. And the cloudlands is its own country. Hic."

Mr. Springs tilted his shades upward. "I sincerely hope you did not just say 'wink'."

"The sunglasses, brah."

"Your 'sunglasses' are in your root beer."

He squinted. "Huh. So they are." Then, lifting one hand against the glare of a sweeping spotlight, Mr. Thane stared across the dance floor. "Hey, aren't those Elliston and Marshfield?"

A pair of undersized pixies were indeed hunkering behind a bright orange barstool. Mr. Keight spat an unfamiliar curse word and catapulted over Mr. Thane's head. "You two are so busted. This is no place for two juveniles under twenty-five thousand years of age."

"Heh," Mr. Thane slurred, "maybe he should be called Mr. Springs."

One of the little pixies rolled aside, and the other flared his wings and kicked into the air. "Uh-oh. Scammell! Cortes! Hit the deck!"

"Oh, seriously?" A tablecloth flipped up. A third pixie poked out his head. "You're just going to snitch on us like that after we covered for you from Longwood?"

"All four of you are going to be stuffing boxes with packing peanuts once I catch you!"

"Amateur." Mr. Springs flipped open his phone and snapped a picture of several guilty faces mid-yelp before they dove behind the bar counter and scrambled away. "Texting H.P.… uploading evidence… And send."

With a snort, Mr. Sanderson stood and began loosening his tie. "It's not that this hasn't been a riot, but I have a truly memorable performance to put on. My public awaits me."

Gary raised his head just a tad without really moving his neck. "Whoa there, are you really- I thought dragging me out here to cheer me up was a spur of the moment decisi- You just… You wear that red jumpsuit costume under your… Okay, I'm choosing not to judge you over this."

"You're singing too, aren't you? Your voice borders on squeaky, but it will break up the deep monotony of mine. Fairies like that."

Gary hesitated over an old birthday memory before he sat up in full. "Thank you very much for the offer, but I'm not in the mood for karaoke tonight. I wouldn't recognize any Fairy songs that were mixed in there anyway, I don't want to make a fool of myself, or you."

"Because you look more of a fool when you're not wearing that cheerful pink sweater vest," snickered Mr. Thane.

Fair. The black and blue concert tee really didn't match his graduation cap.

"Whoa!" As the pixie turned to go, Gary grabbed Mr. Sanderson's elbow and spun him around. "Don't be a silly-willy! You can't simply waltz up there looking like that! Your hair is all mussed in the back. You're becoming grass. Here." Kneeling on the floor, a splash of water dabbed on his palms, a little swirl of his fingers sliding through ink-colored hair… For a moment there, it gave him a speck of purpose again.

"Oh," Mr. Sanderson said crisply, pleasantly, when Gary withdrew his hands. "Thank you."

"You are so very welcome, Mr. Sanderson, sir! I wish you the very best of luck out there. You are going to wow them."

"Luck is for Anti-Fairies." But Mr. Sanderson tossed him an expression that was almost a smile before he whirred his wings and skimmed away.

As Gary settled himself down again, this time in Mr. Keight's old seat so he might face the karaoke stage, a leprechaun lady clinked a glass bowl on the table between his cold unsalted fries and half-eaten cucumber sandwich. Oh, right. The mint supreme. She used both hands to lift it from her tray, and looked up at him with a sparkle of hope in her blue eyes. Flip on the charm, switch on the smile…

"My goodness! Now, that's a mint supreme indeed! And not simply that, but it looks fantastic. Marris, wasn't it? Wasn't it Marris? Dear Marris, I can personally guarantee that we don't have any dessert quite this stunning back where I'm from on Earth."

"Only the best for a sweet human drake like y'self, hon. Please take all you like, and you're allowed to leave the premises with whatever you can carry. The marshmallows are on me. Enjoy, sugar."

After prying his spoon out from under a cascade of warm cookies, chocolate syrup, and rainbow sprinkles (his favorite color), Gary popped a bite in his mouth, and winced. "Wow. They… go all out here with the sweet flavoring, don't they?"

Mr. Thane chuckled to himself on Gary's left. As he straightened, he pushed his hat up with his thumb. "Mmyep, they just adore you little angels up here. Good for business when someone buys in bulk and ain't at a risk for sugarloading. Hic."

"Heh heh. Do all pixies slip up in their grammar when they get drunk like this, or is that just a 'you' thing?" Mr. Thane did not answer, but Gary really hadn't been expecting to receive one. He replaced his spoon and began to stir. And after a moment of it, he tuned out Mr. Thane's chatter and brought his attention back to the karaoke stage. Mr. Sanderson was up there now, a fist planted to his hip and his eyes rolled so high, the shades on his nose didn't quite conceal them. Evidently, he recognized the song that had been handed off to him with the star-shaped microphone, and he'd been hoping for one that wasn't quite this slow.

"… until now, I'm down to hurtin' once a day. Once a day, all day long. And once a night, from dusk 'til dawn. The only time I wish you weren't gone. Is once a day, every day, all day long."

The whooping crowd drowned out half of the last sentence, but it rang in Gary's ears nonetheless. Just as he reached up to cover one of them, Mr. Keight made a reappearance, dragging one struggling pixie after him by the wrist. The other rode on his shoulders, already slumped over, square jaw digging into bristly hair. "I'm marching these two straight back home. Marshfield and Scammell scampered off. Springs, leave a copy of the receipt in my bin and I'll pay everyone back tomorrow."

"You're on."

One of the little pixies - it was Mr. Cortes by the askew hat - grinned up at Gary. They'd met once when Sanderson had been scrambling for tax deductibles, and he didn't look quite so intimidating now. Each of his limbs shivered, and he still had half a dozen empty wrappers clenched in his fists. "I ate an entire Kit-Kat all by myself. I can't fly in a straight line anymore."

"Yep, chocolate bars will do you in, little friend. You know… Wait." Gary pushed his tower of mint ice cream across the table to Mr. Thane, who accepted it with eager fingers. "I'll come with. That is, if it's okay by you, Mr. Keight, sir."

"You want to wrestle these miscreants to bed?" the pixie asked, arching both brows.

"Oh, it was fantabulously great of you guys to take me out, but I don't really wanna be here. Mr. Springs, tell Mr. Sanderson too that I'm going back with Mr. Keight."

Mr. Springs folded his arms. "Fair enough. Be sure you get someone to ping you home before the lack of breathable air in the cloudlands suffocates your human lungs. Don't forget the ruling of Tenderfir v. Redbrush."

"Trust me, I will most certainly not. Come here, you." Gary swung Mr. Elliston into his arms, and flicked a hand in good-bye to the two pixies still sitting at the table. Mr. Thane waved back. Mr. Keight shrugged. With a few button presses and a shake of his cell phone, they pinged off.

Gary had never enjoyed the melting sensation. It tasted like expired sour cream and burnt toast, all dry and crunchy under his tongue. Pine needles flashed down his skin until he split at the seams. A jump this long meant the fire ant sensation kept up for nearly ten seconds, but the beauty of Pixie World was, at least, that it floated above Mushroom Rock, smack in the center of Kansas. No matter where you were in the States or clouds above, it wasn't terribly far away.

Mr. Keight set them down halfway up the eastern of the two apartment buildings (Wait- western. Directions were flipped up here for dust knows why). He put the jittering Mr. Cortes to bed first as Gary stumbled in the stairwell and tried to catch his breath on air richer in dust motes and lacking a bit in oxygen. "Off by five floors," he said when he returned without him, "and I could taste Marlowe's imprint in the energy field as he passed us in the elevator. He'll be at the top. Walking will be much faster."

"I'm not complaining." Gary boosted Mr. Elliston against his shoulder and tagged behind him. "I hate small spaces, you remember."

"So, hotshot." Mr. Keight fell back and jammed his elbow between Gary's ribs. "You know, why don't you come by the warehouse with me when we're done here? We could even get you fitted in a uniform. You would look dashing in gray and white."

Gary felt his lower eyelid twitch. What he'd look like was what he felt like - gray and gloomy - and that kind of sort of wasn't exactly the way he wanted the rest of his life to go. With that thought in mind, he slid the worn graduation cap from his head and twisted one particular corner between his forefinger and thumb. "I just can't do that, sir. It isn't me."

His response? An eyeroll. "Humans. There's nothing angelic about them. C'est life. Okay. The warehouse option is still on the table, but I can't promise it'll be there the next time I bump into you."

"While it does sound fundelicious, I can't make this decision tonight, Mr. Keight."

The pixie huffed, and probably not because of the stairs. He was flying, after all. He sort of hovered around Gary's shoulder like a gnat while the human took the steps two at a time (Eases the burn on the lower leg muscles, soothes back pain, and increases speed!) "Then what, may I ask, are your plans for life now?"

"Easy peasy! I run the Learnatorium with Betty until I graduate high school and truant officer Shallowgrave gets off my back. She and I are soulmates. We've known that since the day we first met after our parents crashed their cars together. I want to be her best friend forever. Maybe we'll raise some kids together, or maybe we won't. I don't care either way. Although she's amazing and flawless in every possible way, I don't need to marry her to be happy. The kids we watch at the daycare can be our kids, even if we don't adopt them. That's my plan."

"You know, Robert - I mean, Flappy Bob - is gone. No one is paying you. That facility is enormous, and expensive. You won't last a month on your own."

"… Then Mr. Dimmadome mows the place down, I imagine. He's already shown up to torch most of our giant stuffed bears and destroy childhood dreams like mine, so I don't imagine he'll have a problem with it." Gary wiped his brow with the back of his wrist, and then his cheek, moving carefully around little Mr. Elliston. "And… I suppose we sell our souls to Mr. Leadly. As a hunter of the unusual and supernatural, he's been trying to buy us off Flappy for years because he can detect the Pixie magic around that place and on our skin."

"So that's it?" Mr. Keight's voice took on a sneer. Maybe it was the sugar, maybe it was his frustration, but either way, he started slipping out of his practiced monotone and granting emphasis to certain words. He zipped behind Gary's head to linger near his other shoulder. "Some rich guy turns the pair of you into his butler and maid just to keep you around in his twisted collection? You give up on wanting to make a difference in the world? You give up on trying to be useful? You want to end up as one of those humans who waits for somebody else to solve your problems? Newsflash: Sometimes, we magic-slingers don't want to make the world a better place for all of you. We want you to learn to look after yourselves. Otherwise, where does that leave us? Our powers abused, and you humans kicking back and treating us as your slaves."

Gary stopped to catch his breath as he reached the fifth floor up. When he bent over, he stared up his forehead at Mr. Keight. "Aww, being treated as a slave with no choice in your future. My goodness, that sounds horrid."

Mr. Keight whipped off his shades. Higher up in the stairwell, Gary heard a pixie or two scuffle back, wings brushing against the wall. Not wanting to get involved, and Gary didn't blame him. Mr. Elliston, who had been on the verge of crashing from his sugar intake for some time now, clenched his little fingers tighter into the white sleeves of Gary's t-shirt. Human and pixie stared at one another, until Gary blinked twice and dropped his gaze to the ground.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Keight. I didn't mean it. I was just thinking. Maybe when I'm fifty-four, H.P. will want our help in a new thirty-seven-year plan. That'll give us something to do."

"And in the meantime, what?" asked Mr. Keight as he slid his shades back into place. "You have no funds on Earth. What part of that are you not getting? I'm offering you an opportunity, and you're turning up your nose. This is your chance at a better life and futu-"

"Nothing will make my life better unless Betty gets her stupid memories back and everything goes back to being the way it's supposed to be! Our parents are dead- Kenny is stuck in Burger World- Flappy found his mom and dad again. But what about us? He made a wish to put the world right, and we weren't part of it. We didn't even belong with him! Not the human world, not with Fairies- You've never had a nice thing to say to me until you thought I'd come crawling to you on my knees because you think I- you think I- you- you think I'll work for cheap because I have no other… I…"

Mr. Elliston whimpered at his shoulder, and Mr. Keight did nothing more than curl his lower lip. Gary leaned over the stairway railing and squeezed his eyes shut until the sick, swimmy feeling faded away. "I'm sorry," he mumbled again without turning around. He wasn't. "I just don't know how things are 'supposed to be' anymore. I was born in Kansas. Maybe I don't belong in Dimmsdale. I've always had a foot in two worlds. You know who I am. But maybe I don't belong up here either."

"Don't blow up like that again. Not everyone is as patient with you as I am." Stiffly, in a very Pixie-like way, Mr. Keight pushed open the door that led from the cold gray stairwell and back into a warm purple hallway. Gary followed him in silence down the hall to the proper door. There, Mr. Keight pressed the fob attached to a cord at his hip against the lockpad. Despite the keyhole in the door, it popped right open. "I used to work in laundry once," he explained over his shoulder. "There are certain perks. H.P. never took back my master key."

"Ooh, dazzling." He said it with emotion.

The pixie nudged the door further with his hip. Gary adjusted his weight as Mr. Elliston clung to his neck, and held it open for Mr. Keight. He had to duck to follow himself. His cap bumped against the ceiling. As much as Gary hated feeling trapped, at least it wasn't as bad in the apartment as it would have been in the elevator. He focused on that. It really wasn't so bad once you got used to it.

Mr. Keight waved his hand around the clean living space. A bedroom branched off either side. "Just put Elliston down as-is; don't bother shoving him into his pajamas. That nymph was my own intern once, and he's always out like a soaked genie. You know what I mean."

Gary studied the apartment set-up before tiptoeing between the kitchen counter and a few random chairs. One toppled as he passed, but once he'd settled Mr. Elliston down in the room on the right (and apologized to a roommate who stirred blearily from sleep), he snuck out to set it on four legs again.

"There we go. All tucked in." Mr. Keight picked up the second chair that Gary had knocked over, and sighed. "When I texted H.P., he said their scolding would have to wait until morning, of course. And by that time, I think they might forget what it is they've done."

Gary stared at several stacks of paper lined on the counter beside the bananas and oatmeal boxes. "Do pixies forget things easily?"

"Sugarloaded ones do."

"It'll be a long time before they're grown up, won't it?"

"Oh, just another two hundred thousand years. But they'll have themselves under control long before then, I hope." He folded his arms behind his neck and stretched. "Well. Unless you've changed your mind about touring the warehouse, I suppose I'd better escort you home."

"Actually…"

"Yes?"

For nearly twenty seconds, Gary just gazed down at his scuffed pink and white sneakers. Mr. Keight waited in expectant silence until he said, "Do you mind if I stick around here for awhile, sir? I told Betty I was heading out to get her a present for her birthday, and she'll know something's up if I get back too early. I can clean some dishes. Gather up litter. File papers. Just tell me what needs to be done, and I'll make myself useful."

Mr. Keight considered this, then shrugged. "I don't see why not. It saves me the pinging costs anyway. Rosencrantz is doing laundry in solitude tonight. He'd appreciate company. I'll text Longwood to ping you down to Dimmsdale when he clocks out for the night. You have until eight. That's nine o'clock in the Rainbow time zone where you live."

"Thank you, sir."

The pixie swept off his hat with a flourish and waved it as he bowed. "No, thank you, good sir Garrett. I'll jump on any excuse to spend an evening at a sugar bar. And also on any excuse that lets me bail out while I'm still sober. Especially without the others taunting me for actually taking my job seriously. Unlike some people, I prefer to keep a clean head."

They walked down the stairs instead of pinging. In silence. At this time of summer, what little breeze could be found floating about the cloudlands always picked up in speed. As they stepped outside, Gary tipped his face upward and shut his eyes. It ruffled his ginger hair, stroked his cold cheeks, and flitted away again.

On that note, the two parted ways. Mr. Keight to the warehouse to check up on his colleagues, and Gary westward to the fringes of the evergreen woods that fenced the little city in. Eastward. He went along with his hands shoved deep, deep down in his pockets. He whistled. The purple cloudstone bricks faded into actual solid clouds. Ice crystals crunched like sand beneath his sneakers' soles.

It took only three minutes to cross a city built at Pixie scale. The laundromat consisted of a thick and ugly red rectangle detracting from the natural beauty of the surrounded trees. Were they magical trees? Imported from Earth and grown in natural dirt instead of dug-up vapor? Either way, they were green. Gary pushed open the door and called, "Goooood evening, Rosebud."

The little pixie jumped, scattering creased notecards in five directions. Gary dropped to a knee and scooped a batch up.

"Ooh, what's this? Hey, still studying? I thought H.P. said he wasn't planning to give you another placement test after what happened last time."

Rosencrantz bit his lower lip. With rapid jerks of eyes and hands, he rearranged a stack of pink notes in their numbered order. "H-he definitely won't if I don't study."

Inching his fingers out from beneath the nearest washing machine, Gary flipped the card over and wrinkled his nose. "'At what temperature will water kill a genie?'"

"Um. 100 degrees? Er… 200?"

"'Temperature is irrelevant. A wet genie cannot maintain his or her body temperature, loses all ability to perform magic, and is at risk for hypothermia.' 100 degrees Celsius, or 212 degrees Fahrenheit, is the highest temperature Anti-Fairy magic can reach."

"Oh."

Gary handed him the card, and Rosencrantz took it while avoiding eye contact. "I came to help you with the laundry."

"I-it's okay. You can tell Sanderson I'm doing fine. I know you need to get back home."

"Actually, I asked if I could stay!" He rubbed the pixie's hair and snatched a dirty pair of gray dress pants from a nearby bin. As he began to examine them for stains, he said, "Betty and I used to make our rounds through the city to check for any magic leakage at Mr. Crocker's and Ms. Doombringer's places around this time, but we don't do that so much anymore, and I have the evening free."

Silence.

"Oh. My. Goodness." Gary held one of the shirts in front of his chest. "I've never noticed it when you guys are wearing these, but look at how tiny they are!"

Rosencrantz hardly spared him a glance. "That's Powell's. Put it in the third machine."

"You can tell?" Gary asked, tossing it in as instructed.

"It's not a big deal. I-I've just been doing this for awhile. You get used to tasting all the unique imprints in the energy field." He brought the socks in his hands to his nose. "It's easier to recognize before they get washed. After they've been dried, it's harder. So, I try to sort them into the different machines in order, so I can at least get them to the right room, or the right floor. I'm not very good at it, though."

Gary reached into the bin again and drew out a piece of red cloth. "Huh. This looks like a skirt. I thought all of you pixies were boys."

"Almost," said Rosencrantz, taking it. He gave it a sharp flap. "This is Emery's. She stays in Pixie World for a week every summer before she goes back to working at Amity, assigning godparents to human kids and stuff. That white coat is Logan's. The gloves are Commelina's."

When Rosencrantz dropped the skirt into the nearest machine, Gary leaned over and fished it out again. "Hey, is it okay to wash this with whites?"

"Oh. I guess not. I do everything wrong."

"Hey, don't say that about yourself, friend." Coming down on one knee again, Gary placed a hand to each one of the pixie's thin shoulders. "You're special and you matter. Like Betty would say, 'Making mistakes makes better future takes'."

Rosencrantz's lower lip began to tremble. Gary pulled back, reaching one hand automatically for the candy stashed away in his pocket. But after removing his shades to wipe his eyes and nose, Rosencrantz simply swallowed and turned back to his work. "Betty really means a lot to you, doesn't she?"

"Smoof, that's the understatement of the century." Sitting back on his heels, Gary massaged his temples. "She's my entire world."

"Oh, okay. Maybe that's not creepy for humans."

Now his face was in his hands. "You don't understand. Don't tell Mr. Sanderson this, but I found out just today that he and H.P. locked up all our memories from the time before they took us in. I mean, it had to be them, right? And what's worse is, I don't know when it happened." Gary shut his eyes. "Was it when he first met me? Was it after what happened with Betty? Did they get me too? I just don't know, but I literally have no memories of my old human life- except that Mr. Sanderson mentioned once or twice that my parents were divorced. 'Cabrera' is my mom's name. I don't even remember my dad's. He was taking me back to her house when the car crash killed him."

Rosencrantz shifted uneasily. "Yeah, sometimes cars do that."

Gary grabbed another shirt and attacked it with the nearest spray bottle. "Betty and I used to do everything together. All our homework, all our shopping, all our cleaning, all our laundry, all our recitals, all our parties, all our meals. We never kept any secrets, except for birthdays. And bathrooms. We never had any awkwardness between us. She's helped me overcome my bullies and my claustrophobia and hemmed my pants so many times. I used to bring her chocolate when she felt sick and help her wash her clothes and be there for her to talk to when she thought you guys didn't care about us… and we've lost most of that closeness now."

"… Sorry. It's my fault. Everything is my fault. I shouldn't have messed up on my test when you guys were in the crocodile swamp."

"Alligators." Gary held the sprayed shirt out to him. "Whose is this, and where does it go?" Rosencrantz told him, and Gary dropped it in. Then he leaned back and blew at the dangling tassel of his graduation cap. "You didn't mean for this to happen. I don't want to make you feel bad. But I'm going through a hard time right now. I have been for three weeks. I love her. I love her with all my heart. She's my best friend. And I- and I cry sometimes, when I realize how close she and I almost came to dying when those gators were after us. But we didn't, and I will never stop being grateful for that. You got us out of there just in time, Rosebud."

"Should've been sooner," the pixie muttered, "and I wouldn't be s-stuck here either."

There wasn't a good way to respond to that. At least, not that Gary knew. He was fun and games. He was smiles and jokes. He was health and learning. Betty was the comforter, the healer. The one who saw the brightness in everyone, even if she only saw the darkness in herself. The one who didn't judge. He told as much to Rosencrantz.

"And I didn't just lose her when H.P. had her memory wiped. Now, I- I've been having to keep secrets from her." Gary's fingers went up to the little grassy spikes in his hair. "I've actually had to… to… lie to her. She can sense it, and she doesn't know what happened, and it makes her feel awful. Lying is wrong! A-and now I lie to my best friend five or six times a day, every single day, week upon week. Do you know how much that hurts both of us?"

Rosencrantz shut the lid of the washing machine and floated over to one of the dryers. It still had a minute left on its timer, so he settled himself on top. "Oh. Well. Um. You could try asking the Fairy Council if they'll wipe your memories too. You could do what she did. Quit and be upset. Maybe bribe Longwood or someone. They'll do it. The Fairy Council would be happy to do it. Then you wouldn't need to lie."

"I can't," Gary said, voice cracking down the center. "I can't quit any more than Kenny can. Neither of us has a family, or anywhere to live besides the little apartment Mr. Sanderson's been paying rent on for us ever since we were like, nine. We don't have any other source of income. We've lived our whole lives trying to do everything exactly right. Because if you guys lose interest in us, it's over. It's not like we could live up here in the cloudlands- there's not enough air for us to breathe for longer than a few hours in a row, and what are we supposed to do? Mr. Keight was right. Most of the pixies don't like us." He sighed. "No, we'll have to live on the streets. And I can't do that to Betty."

The dryer dinged. Rosencrantz hopped off. "Oh. Flappy won't help you?"

"Flappy's gone. He's sent us a few postcards and letters from Kansas and Vegas, but he has his parents now, and he's busy with the circus, and he doesn't need us anymore. Anyway, he's finally happy. We'd just drag him down. I just don't know what to do…"

"You could try to get her memories back from the Fairy Council," Rosencrantz said, folding up a white shirt and setting it in its own stack alongside a dozen others.

Gary did not move. And then he did, unfolding his legs and lifting his head. "You can do that?"

The little pixie shrugged. "Well, you can't. You're Gary Cabrera: one of three humans adopted by a pixie. The Robes don't know what to think about you- just that they hate you because Sanderson broke the rules for you when he first took you in."

"Did he?"

"Yeah, only like twenty magical beings have ever adopted human kids before, and he told me about it. He used to be my mentor, and he still tells me about lots of things." Rosencrantz leaned his chin down to pin a shirt collar to his chest as he pressed the sleeves together. "The Council doesn't allow Pixies to have godchildren except in very special circumstances, like if there are no Fairies at all anywhere who can. They were really mad when they found your adoption papers, because they thought one of you would wish for Fairy World to be ruled by Pixies or something. Your appendixes are still locked up so no one with a wand can intertwine their magic with yours and directly grant your wishes and stuff."

Gary smiled thinly. "No offense, but… I was raised by and still work for Pixies, and I don't want Fairy World to be ruled by Pixies."

"Yeah, no one really does," Rosencrantz agreed, drawing a pair of gray slacks from the dryer. As Gary came over, he handed a second pair up to him. "Not even we do, sometimes. Or sometimes we do. It just depends. Sometimes H.P. just gets annoyed that no one takes us as a serious threat and likes to remind everyone that he's important. Anyway, you'd probably have to steal Betty's memory capsule from the memory vault in the Fairy World Archives basement in Faeheim. But that place is so heavily guarded that you'd need some kind of way to teleport in there without using magic, and obviously you can't do that."

"Let me guess. The vault is lined with smoof and brownie spit?"

"Exactly. Since the Council don't like you, they might not listen if you try asking if you can have Betty's memories back, because they'd be happier if you forgot about magic. Still, they're not allowed to touch you at all because you're in our jurisdiction, like your little silver card says. I think. I can find out about that for sure, if you want."

"Silver card…" Gary pulled out his wallet and flipped through it for a moment. "You mean, this one?"

The dim laundromat lights reflected off the plastic - or whatever magical material it was made of - and cast a rainbow across Gary's shoe. Rosencrantz checked it over and nodded. "Yeah, your Pixie credit card. It's impossible for anyone to steal except in a really strong magic deadzone like Rio. And it has your ID chip in it that magical beings can taste in the air from like a whole building away. That means it says it's illegal for the Council to wipe your memories without the Head Pixie's permission, and says you're technically counted as godchildren. So, you're entitled to all the loopholes and conditions in Da Rules and everything that go along with that, except for the wishing thing. And, well, there's the part about how the Pixies are in charge of you instead of Jorgen and those other guys I don't know."

"Huh. I don't think Kenny ever got a Pixie credit card. He put it on his Gray Tuesday wishlist."

"Oh, that's because he's the guardian of the crossroads between the fourth and fifth planes of existence. Or fifth and sixth. I can never remember. But that gets him some really special stuff. Like, none of the Fairykind or any aliens in the entire universe are allowed to mess with him, except they might try if they don't want to follow the Quadrant Pact Rules that've been around since the Great Dawn times." Rosencrantz put his pointer finger against the roof of his mouth. "Shanderson shaid he put Kenny's chip in his retainer sho he would never put it down shomewhere and lose it, and it helps to shield hish body from shome magic."

Gary now had three pairs of pants and four shirts that Rosencrantz had handed to him dangling from his arms. Leaning an elbow against one of the dryers, he crossed his legs at the ankles and ran his fingers up and down the card. "Just to clarify, this thing lets me buy… whatever I want anywhere, right? Not just the grocery store and the clothing store I usually visit? This was never disabled after the plan with Flappy fell through?"

"I think so. It should work anywhere in this quadrant of the universe. Oh yeah, except for one place. You can't buy stuff with it on Anti-Pixie Isle, in Anti-Fairy World."

"Ah, because it's a deadzone."

"Yeah, and because they mostly don't have shops and don't use credit cards there. They only trade for stuff."

Gary tapped the piece of silver plastic against his knee. One of the clean socks fell from his elbow. "So if I wanted to, I could walk to the other side of the city where you guys have your grocery store, or your pixie-only sugar bar, and buy myself some candy right now."

"Sure can."

"And if I went to Burger World to hang out with Kenny, I could order some food there too."

"Yep."

"And if I really wanted to, I could go to another planet and buy myself some alien stuff. Video games. Snacks. Books. Clothes. Anything?"

"Well, you'd have to get there first, but yes."

"Huh, that's really-weally interesting! I'd forgotten it doesn't only work on Earth." The card went back into his wallet. The wallet then went into his pocket. Gary stood up and stretched his arms. This time, he was careful not to knock any of the laundry to the tiled floor. "Thanks for talking to me, Rosebud. It makes me feel a little better."

The pixie actually spared a wingbeat from his work to glance back at him. "Sure. Thanks for listening. I know a lot of things because whenever I'm not folding clothes I study this kind of stuff, but no one ever lets me prove it. They think I'm young and dumb, so they don't even listen. I study so hard. Maybe I'm not good with genie stuff, and I'm sorry about that, but I'm getting good at understanding how the company works. I think I know more than most pixies, actually, because they don't care what goes on in the other departments. I do. I know all of it, and I'm trying to learn how to do every job I can. One day I'll find something I'm good at. So… if you ever want to know things, come talk to me. I like to talk."

After he turned a pair of pants right-side out, Gary reached over and mussed the little pixie's hair. "Hey, I'm no expert, but Mr. Sanderson does let some things slip out. Hasn't there only been one pixie who never found a job he was good at?"

"… Me?"

"Other than you, silly-willy goosey-loosey."

Rosencrantz blinked behind his crooked shades. "Oh. You mean Longwood."

"Exactamundo! And he still became tip-top vice president, right? Maybe nothing else fits you because you're not looking in the right places. You could take over from him when he dies."

"I'll never be vice president. But…" The small pixie picked up a rumpled tie that had tangled itself around a shirt. "If wishes were for pixies, that would be my wish."

"Uh… That Mr. Longwood dies?"

Rosencrantz shrugged. "Well, maybe. I haven't worked out the details yet. I was thinking more like that Longwood and I would have to prove our skills in competition. I already know I'm smarter than he is, and Sanderson always said he was a big squeamish nymph when it comes to blood. I'm not a pacifist like him, so it doesn't matter if the competition is about brains or brawn, because I'd win either way."

Gary paused, the smile still plastered on his face. But it wasn't really in him to discourage anybody from achieving their goals. He swung his fist across his body like a scoop. "That's the spirit, friend! You'll just have to find the chance to show Mr. H.P. that you can do anything if you believe."

"I hope so," Rosencrantz said softly. He bundled two socks together. "I would do anything in the universe to prove I'm useful. Every pixie wants the Head to be proud of him."

They worked in silence for a few minutes more. Then heavy knuckles rapped against the window pane, nearly splintering the glass. "Hey, Cabrera! Longwood's coming this way, but I got here first. Let's roll, cadet."

"Absopositilutely! I'm right behind you, Mr. Faust. I know! I'll sing you the 'Sorry' song as we skim! Er, walk. Oh, isn't today fabulicious? It tastes like the beginning of a whole new story!" Without bothering to cast the little pixie another glance, Gary tossed the last pair of underwear in Rosencrantz's general direction and sprinted outside to join him.

END ARC 1