Author's Note:
I felt like the first chapter was too short, so I'm posting the second one early. Heads up, there are words here and there from three other languages; German, Icelandic, and Japanese in this chapter. The context should be easy enough to understand.
Chapter Two: Breakfast with Squidward.
Something I couldn't quite place woke me.
Bleary-eyed and groggy, I stared at the ceiling of my bedroom in the dark, listening for any hint of whatever had brought me out of my dream. It was a good dream, too. The type that's not mentioned in polite company.
Tucked against my back in his usual spot, Arashi laid, purring away in his sleep. Whatever disturbed me hadn't bothered him in the least. Then again, if anyone embodied the definition of Sloth, it would be Arashi. My absolute puddle of a cat.
Pulled from my musings about the furry lump at my back, I sit up at the soft sound of pressure on the beams above my ceiling, my eyes flying upwards.
Someone was on my roof!
Throwing back my duvet, I rush out of bed and head towards the door, grabbing my metal baseball bat from behind it. Arashi huffed from his position on the bed, no doubt annoyed that I woke him, but made no move to follow me down the hall. That's fine; I prefer he be safe inside, where he likes to be.
Quietly, I slunk my way through the house, avoiding any known creaky boards and out the front door. Rounding the sides until I saw my ladder, set up instead of lying along the fence line where I put it last night, I one-handed my way up the rungs as silently as I could manage. Peeking over the edge, I spied a familiar figure in the early dawn light.
"The hell are you doing?" I whisper-yelled at Siebold, pulling myself onto the roof, bat in hand.
Apparently, I didn't surprise him, as he didn't even look over his shoulder at me from his crouch. "What's it look like, Ketta? I'm fixing your damned roof."
I scoff. "At..." I pause to look at my wrist, which held no watch. Then I grope around my body for my phone, which I hadn't brought either. I look at the lightening sky. "The ass crack of dawn!" I say finally. He is watching me now, his gaze roaming from head to toe, landing firmly on the aluminum bat with a cocked eyebrow.
"What were you planning on doing after bludgeoning me to death with that?"
"Uh, bury you in my garden?" I said. "I hear the phosphate from bones does wonders, especially for roses. And I have a lovely climbing rose -you remember, the white ones you complained were growing through my fence onto your side - they could use the magical kick your fae carcass would provide. I'd even name them after you, seeing as how you're just as thorny." Was I a bit snappy when woken up? Absolutely. Was I going to apologise? Hells no.
He stared for a long moment, then snorted, turning into a full belly laugh, which startled me because it was not something I've ever heard from him before. "You want a haunted garden? Because that's how you get a haunted garden, meine liebe. And that bat is a feeble weapon."
"it's what I have, and it's how you use it, is what counts. Besides, it's light weight, a good conductor, and easily replaced if damaged. Unlike your skull." Aside my kanabō - which would be overkill - and from a few older swords no longer in working order, I had my rapier which wasn't in much better shape as I hadn't any use for it in decades. Plus, I hadn't oiled it in nearly as long. I have a nasty habit of breaking weaponry, so I kept few for actual use. I did have an extensive collection in my hoard, purely for decoration at this point. "It does the job. If anything, you would have had a good-sized goose-egg from it, and it would have made you think twice about sneaking onto your neighbour's roof at ungodly hours. However, I could go get my kanabō if you prefer. But there'd be nothing left to bury, and Tad would be quite unhappy with me."
Huffing with a glint of amusement in his grey eyes, he turns back to his work. "Not hardly. Though a kanabō is far more formidable than that bat. And this is payback."
"For what?!"
Over his shoulder, he throws me a "You know for what" scowl.
"I have never once started working on my house before ten in the fucking morning. And who plays construction worker as payback?!" the only reason being I never started early was I wasn't a morning person in the least but I needed to get shit done during daylight hours. "If you're so determined, then why don't you come back later and I'll make you some lunch, hmm?"
He shrugged and turned away. "I'm busy later."
"Has anyone ever told you that you're a stubborn, sassy old man?"
"Ja. Has anyone told you you're kratzbürste?"
I snort. "We've established you are the prickly one here."
"Nein. We've established I'm 'thorny'."
"Semantics!"
"Launisch, then." He said as a matter of fact.
Looking up at the sky, arms spread wide with bat in hand, I mouth "Why me?" To whatever higher power may be listening. I don't mind help. I just rather it be at a more reasonable hour with a more reasonable person, which I say aloud only to earn a masculine grunt. Taking a deep breath, I rest my bat over my shoulder. "Have you at least had breakfast?"
Again, one of his silent looks.
With a put-upon sigh I start my descend down the ladder awkwardly with my makeshift weapon, telling him "I'll call you when breakfast is ready."
Back inside, now with fuzzy socks on and my fluffy dragon house coat over top of my sleep shirt and boxers, I rummage through my fully stocked kitchen, throwing together breakfast for a German fae.. or was he actually German? He keeps calling me Ketta, which is íslenska -Icelandic- for a female cat, and it isn't exactly an endearment, though it felt like it when he said it. Maybe he's Scandinavian rather than the Germani I took him for? That or he just knows íslenska, which is entirely possible, especially since they share the same roots. I did notice soon after our first meeting when I moved in that he trilled the letter R often and beautifully when he spoke in German and when he said my name. The Romans called it the littera carnina, the dog's letter as it sounded like a rolling growl when pronounced, and it was not something common in modern German these days. He is old, after all, I can tell that well enough through the feel of his magic, as subtle as he uses it. Old things tend to travel and accumulate all manner of other things; habits, traditions, skills, language, knowledge... dust, crochety-ness. I hadn't bothered to try looking much beyond the surface of that man or anyone else, really. But, maybe I should?
Keeping that in mind for later, I throw together some smoked salmon on a slice of rye - the closest I could find to rúgbrauð here without finding the nearest hotspring and making it from scratch - topped with a poached egg and homemade skyr. As an afterthought, I fried up some sausage and tomatoes to put on the side before I called Siebold in through the window without raising my voice because I knew he was certainly not going deaf. He was preternatural, I was sure his hearing was as sharp as mine since he complained all the time about the racket I make with my home improvement projects
Heavy boots move across the roof and down the ladder. I guess now that he is aware I'm awake, being quiet was no longer a concern, I mused. After tapping on my front door, he let himself in.
"wipe your feet." I say, though I rather his shoes not be on inside my house at all, dirtying my nice clean floors. Setting out a plate of food and a glass for him on the island. I was pouring some orange juice for myself by the time he entered my kitchen, eyes dancing around the room as he took it in. That's right, I'd forgotten. While Tad was over here often, his father had never been in my home.
I'd designed and decorated the interior myself, as I had a creative streak with the skills and funds to back it. I went with an art nouveau meets dark academia throughout the main part of the house while keeping reminiscent of the original Queen Anne style it once was. The kitchen was more cottagecore with earthy greens and natural dark woods with a great big pathos I've been growing for years, snaking its vines along the ceiling, as well as some potted herbs on the window sill over the deep farmhouse style sink.
Home and hearth are deeply rooted in my blood, and it shows.
"Eat." I say, pointing towards the plate I set out. "If you want coffee, your S.O.L. I don't drink dirty-bean-water. But I can make tea, otherwise known as dirty-leaf-water. I've also got orange juice, milk, pop..."
"Orange juice," he said, pausing for a beat before adding "please." He slides onto the bar chair while I fill a glass for him. I watch with satisfaction as he inhales the first slice of bread while I pick at mine from my standing position, leaning against the counter with my plate, smiling like an idiot as he seemed to be enjoying what I made.
"Good, right?" I say between bites. "Coho salmon, I caught a few weeks ago. Fifteen pounds and put up a hell of a fight, but I bagged that bastard!" I take another bite. "Tastes like sweet, sweet victory. Mmm!"
I am an absolute foodie of the highest order and unapologetic.
"Ja, I recall." Siebold said around a mouthful. "Tad was proud of his own catch when he brought it home."
I took Tad fishing a few times before. I like foraging and fishing, and Tad needed a distraction when his father was stuck at the fae rez. We've been going now and again ever since. And at this moment, I wondered briefly if Siebold would want to go one of these days. Tad did mention they used to go once in a while until he left for college.
"Did he tell you what he did with it?" Not that I asked.
"Fillet and pan fried, It was good. Half is in the freezer."
"Ah, good. It almost got away. He went chest deep in the Columbia to retrieve it. Did he tell you?" I chuckled lightly, remembering the German spewing Tad, stumbling and sliding into the water from our spot on the bank while reeling like a madman.
"Ja." And for the first time, at least in my presence, Siebold smiled warmly, and suddenly, he no longer looked like the cantankerous old fae I've known him to be.
"Did he also tell you he used his shirt as a makeshift net for that fish and lost both his Wellies in the process? We only recovered one." I did have a net, but by the time I grabbed it and got halfway, he'd managed on his own. The net ended up being used to retrieve the boot.
Smiling wider, he shook his head. "Nein, he did not. Perhaps because those were my boots he borrowed. I been wondering where they went..."
"As children do." I chuckled. "I had a similar experience with my own father once. I wore his sealskin boots, long ago, and lost one to Hvitá - the White River. Funny though, nearly a year later, I pulled that same boot out - well, what was left of it - while fishing for salmon then, too. My father laughed and laughed before he presented me with a pair of my own sealskin stýfill with salmon embroidered on them." I no longer had the original pair, but I had several similar made since. I sighed. "I loved those old things."
Siebold watched me silently, thoughtfully, making me think over what I said but couldn't see anything wrong...aside from the fact his plate was pretty much empty, so I slid it away to assemble a couple more slices.
"you and Tad spend a lot of time together..." he began.
Uh oh, here we go. My shoulders stiffened until I forced them to relax while I braced for the inevitable question. When I didn't reply, he continued, "Are you seeing my son?"
While it was expected, the question annoyed me. I mean, Tad is a boy, I'm a girl, we're friends. That's enough for people to assume things that are very much none of their business, as if people of the opposite sex couldn't possibly have a platonic relationship. Before Tad could even entertain the possibility of anything more, I made myself very clear that I wasn't interested and he respected that. He was too young and inexperienced for my tastes, not that he wasn't mature. One day, I had no doubt he'd make a wonderful partner, but for someone else.
Though Siebold, as Tad's parent, it was his prerogative to ask such questions. Honestly, I expected it months ago. "Blunt. Good, I hate when people pussyfoot around," I comment. "And what did Tad say when you asked him?" I questioned, wondering if he had talked to his son at all.
Silence fell between us for a few moments before he finally said, "No."
"Then why are you asking me? You have your answer. Besides, isn't he dating a girl named Izzy? So, we're friends. Bosom buddies. Kindred souls. He's the Patrick to my SpongeBob." I grin as I return his once again full plate with a muffled clunk as the stoneware touched against the butcherblock countertop. "And you, my miesepeter kumpel, would be Squidward." The scowl returned to his features.
"I have my reasons, and I'm his father." He replied vaguely, picking up a slice of rye. "And I don't play the clarinet." With that, he took a hefty bite while I grinned, mentally noting the fact he knew the character of a children's show well enough to mention that little detail.
He's old but not far removed from the times. Good to know.
"Pity." I teased.
Siebold huffed a half laugh. "Quite the opposite. My skills do not lie in musical instruments. Tad would have gone deaf long ago if I had played. "
"Oh, now that is a real pity." I say with some seriousness. "I love music."
"I've noticed." He said dryly.
Pursing my lips, I mentally run through my rolodex of memories, certain I hadn't played any of my tunes too loudly. But, I do tend to zone out while I have it playing, so it's possible. Siebold read my face clearly and helpfully provided me with an answer. "Yes," he said simply.
"Ah." I say, tilting my head to the side sheepishly. "I think for the first time in my life, I might actually be the noisy neighbour."
"It's not all bad." He says. "You have decent taste in music." I would have never known he enjoyed any of it from the way he went on about how it was making him deaf.
Snorting, I shrugged off any discomfort I might have had, imagined or real, about my music or its volume. "And you know what they say about music."
"That music is not in the notes, but in the silence between?"
That had me pausing for a beat. "No. That music soothes the savage beast." I say. "You know Motzart didn't actually say that, right?"
"Perhaps not in those exact words, and certainly not intended to be profound. A musical prodigy may have been, he was also a social twat-waffle," he said it so matter-of-factly that I could very well believe he may have met the musician long ago. And the term I used just yesterday also hadn't escaped my notice.
"I can believe it. I mean, the man did compose Leck mich im Arsch, among others. His social reputation was not a priority for him. "
Tilting his head in agreement, Siebold returned to his food just as my front door opened by the only person I would let into my lair so freely. Well, apparently him and his father now. I'm even wary about letting my brothers in. I love them, but they had a tendency to get rowdy and break things.
"Thora?" called Tad, sounding a little harried.
"In the kitchen." I say calmly as I turn to prepare him a plate, though I'd have to cook up some more sausage and slice more salmon. I hadn't expected him quite yet.
Soft footsteps of cushioned soles made a beeline down the main hallway until he reached the kitchen. Even in his rush, he took the time to swap his footwear at the door for the slippers I bought him for indoor use.
"Dad?"
"Tad." Siebold said as a greeting. "You called my son?" Clearly, that part was directed at me.
"Called? No." I say over my shoulder coolly.
"No." Said Tad at the same moment. "She sent me a text saying there was a creeper banging about on her roof that looked like Till Lindemann dressed as a lumberjack." That old red plaid of his.
"...Till...Lindemann?"
I snickered, rolling the sausages around in the pan as they sizzled and popped."The lead vocalist of a German metal band, Rammstein. You could be his brother."
"Huh. I never saw it before... until now." Muttered Tad, his fingers tapping away on his phone screen, no doubt to show his father.
"I don't look like that." Siebold grumbles.
Dishing up Tad's food, I slide it to the island in front of where he now sits beside his father. "I think you do. Kind of sound like him, too. Though you may be an octave lower. I have an ear for such things. Quick, say, 'Du, du hast. Du hast mich'!" I lazily sing in my best big-boy German voice, earning a chuckle from Tad and a scowl from his old man.
"Nein, I think not. You seem to be doing fine enough yourself." He grumbled.
My response was simply to smile and hum the rest of the tune while I took his empty plate.
"Hey, dad... what the hell were you doing on her roof at six in the morning?"
"Fixing my roof after his buddy tried to kill me yesterday." I answer for him.
"Wha-"
Siebold scoffs "No buddy of mine, Ketta. And he would have let you be if you didn't fire a nail at him. Leichtsinnig Mädchen!" He spat at the end.
"Dad..."
I sighed as Oscar the Grouch had returned. "Not a friend then." Which was obvious from the tension in their body language when I saw them yesterday. "And it wasn't 'a' nail. It was three. And I totally didn't fire them on purpose." The last word dripped with sarcasm. "And whom might I ask, was he?" Since he hadn't told me a damn thing the first time I asked.
"All you need to know is he's not to be trifled with, especially by a noisy little Ketta. If you see him again, you walk dein hintern of yours right back inside, ja?"
"Nein. If I see that arschlock again, I certainly will not be walking my ass back inside."
"Oh ja, das werden Sie! That feeble bat of yours will be about as effective on him as it would have been on me. Which is to say, not at all."
"I think it'd be pretty effective if I shoved it up his-"
"Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on? I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone. Dad was on your roof because he was fixing it after someone tried to kill you? Why didn't you tell me?!" He sounded a little hurt by the end of that.
"Because I didn't see you after you left yesterday." I pointed out the very obvious reason why I hadn't said anything.
In response, Tad waved his phone at me.
"Right. Well, I was distracted. I needed to get some more lumber, so I was busy robbing all the local hardware shops. Now eat."
"Fine. But how exactly did this all come about?"
So I told him while Siebold sat looking thoughtful, something he was doing a lot of this morning, with his arms crossed.
"Yup. That was a stupid thing to do." He finally said, agreeing with his father, who had said the exact same thing a moment before.
"Hey, don't agree with him. You're supposed to be my friend."
"I am. But I'm also his son. And he was right."
" 'Inconceivable!' I point at him and then the plate. 'I've bought your loyalty with my delicious food. You're team Thora now! '" My cheeks were starting to ache from all the smiling I was doing.
He snorted while his father sat quietly, looking quite amused. "Really though, I'm surprised that's all you did," said Tad.
"Oh no, that's not all. She tried to chase him down like the little wild ketta she is." So much for Siebold being quiet.
"Ketta?" he asked.
"she-cat." I supplied.
"Ah. Fitting."
"Thanks..." I say flatly.
"Your welcome." Tad grinned, returning his attention to his plate.
I continued. "And I would have gotten him too - " definitely not since he was driving off in a car. " - If it weren't for your meddling father." I said, trying my best Scooby-Doo villain impression.
They both huffed while I chuckled into my orange juice at my own silliness, as I often do. I'm one of those weenies who laugh at their own jokes.
Turning to his son, Siebold asked, "Is she always like this?"
Chewing a piece of rye, Tad nods. "A couple of months ago," he began, and I groaned as he told his father about the jerk in the theatre who kept pestering a couple of teen girls that clearly had enough fae blood to show it but not enough power to hide it.
"And then she 'accidentally' tripped, threw herself and her drink on him, knocked him to the ground, with her knee 'accidentally' finding its way to his crotch." He said with a great big smirk. "Oh, and the real kicker was that he replaced her drink and apologised to her and the girls."
I snickered into my drink at the last bit. "Yeah. That was good."
"And this other time, someone cut in front of us at the grocery store-"
"Yes, thank you, Tad. I think he gets the picture." I cut him off.
"Fine, fine." He sighs dramatically and then grins. "At least let me tell him about the guy you smashed with a door."
"It was an accident!" No, it wasn't. He was particularly nasty to the young lady behind the counter while at the same small bakery Tad and I were in. She'd had gotten his order wrong, and the poor girl was nearly in tears.
"And the guy who got handsy while we waited in line for the release of Codpieces and Golden Corsets: The Dread Pirate's Booty. I'm sure pulling his shirt over his head and punching him repeatedly in the gut was also an accident."
"Oh, no, no. That asshole had it coming. Any further, and he would have taken my temperature!" I say, wiggling my finger upwards in reference to the guy who couldn't keep his hands to himself until I broke it.
"And the time when that a Karen tried yelling at us for parking-"
"Jaysus Tad, shtawp!"
He laughed, returning to his food, while to his left, his father eyed me curiously. "How have you avoided Gefängnis, Ketta?" Jail, he was asking with amusement evident in his voice. "Or have you?"
The short answer was no, I havent. But that was a story for another time. "I'm tiny, I'm cute as a button, and I have no shame. I will absolutely use it to my advantage." I state bluntly, causing Siebold's shoulders to shake as he laughed silently.
While that is well and true, I also have magical safety measures in place. One that was veiling me even now. If someone were to try and describe me without looking at me, let's say, to a policeman or sketch artist, they couldn't. Their minds would draw blanks. Even Tad or Zee would have difficulty, though since we were more than simple strangers now, they may have an easier time. A ring on my middle finger carries a charm that casts a spell that changes how people perceived my appearance to nothing but ordinary, average, and plain. They wouldn't even be able to tell me the colour of my hair. Only that it was a lighter shade. Nor are they any the wiser for it unless specifically brought to their attention, and if that happened, the charm wouldn't break, but it'd be thinner. Otherwise, it doesn't really register.
"Ya, cute like the Rabbit of Caerbannog." Tad says, cheerily referring to the rabbit from Monty Python's the Holy Grail, using the same finger gesture the enchanter used to make "big pointy teeth," which had me laughing too.
"Thanks for that." I huff sarcastically.
Thud!
Above us, the floor creaked slightly as we all looked up. "It's awake." I whispered melodramatically.
"What..." Siebold began to ask as the sounds of something heavy migrated from one side of the upper floor, to the other until it reached the stairs.
"Arashi?" whispers Tad.
"Yup. And I fed you guys before him. He's going to be pissed." I warn, giving Tad's mostly finished plate a glance. He got the silent message and started to squirrel away the rest of his food as we listened to my beast make his way down each step.
"An Arashi is what, exactly?" Siebold asks in a hushed tone.
"it means storm or tempest, in Japanese." I inform him.
From the hall, a yowl sounded before Arashi finally made his appearance in all his fat, fluffy, grey-blue, and black merle glory. Certainly not a coat you'd find on any normal cat. But then again, a normal cat wouldn't sound like a baby elephant stomping around or be nearly the size of a medium dog. "Ohayo Arashi-chan." I greet. "Are you hungies?" Like anyone else, my speech had a habit of devolving into cutesy-talk when animals were involved.
He yowled again, turning his liquid blue eyes to Tad, who was chewing the last of his food quickly. "Leave him be. I'll get you something." I say, digging in the icebox for what I set aside for him before he could maul poor Tad, trying to get his food... again.
"That's not a cat," mutters his father.
"Oh? Are you sure?" I teased the old fae. "He looks like one to me." Yeah, no. He definitely wasn't a true cat. "Don't you, Nyoa-chan." I cooed at him.
"Never seen a cat that f-" his words were cut short as Tad slapped a hand over his father's mouth.
"Don't." Tad warned. "He's sensitive." Having made that mistake once before, he should know. Arashi nearly suffocated the boy.
Another deep yowl, more upset this time, had me setting down the bowl of minced fish in broth, to pick up my beastie. "He's pleasantly plump." I heaved his furry butt up to rest on my hip so I could bump my forehead to his. "Aren't you, minn kæri."
"I hadn't realised you had a... cat."
"No surprise there. He doesn't leave the house without me, and Tad knows I like my privacy." Wiggling in my grasp, Arashi leans towards his breakfast. Rolling my eyes, I set both him and his dish on his mat on the floor to eat.
"Speaking of privacy, Dad, we should go and let Thora get back to it. Mercy is expecting us early. It's my last day in the shop, and I don't plan on being late."
"Ah." I say. Siebold did mention he was busy later. "Hold on a tick." Both men halt in their motions of getting up as I rummage in the fridge once more to pull out one of two containers of onigiri I made and hand it to Tad.
"Shiro sake and tuna mayo, as promised." I pointed before snapping my fingers and snagged another container from my magical food box. "Chicken and beef musubi." Normally done with spam since it's from Hawaii, but I detest the stuff.
"What's all this?" Asks Siebold.
"Snackies." I say.
"Rice balls she promised me a couple of days ago," Tad answers happily. "She lived in Japan as an English teacher a few years back." A few years was more closer to thirty years now. I was far, far older than the twenty-something my ID stated. "Lucky..." He added as he accepted the food as Siebold hummed in interest. Not at me, but at the onigiri.
"Enough for you too, Squidward." I gesture towards Siebold.
"Squidward?" asked Tad, eyeing his father with a bemused expression as we made our way down the hall to the foyer.
"Zee." Said Siebold, ignoring his son's question as he threw an unamused glance my way, but I swear I could see a glint of humour in those grey peepers of his.
"Eh?"
"Call me Zee, please, and spare me from being referred to as Squidward."
"Squidward?" Tad asked again. So I pointed to each of us in order. "SpongeBob, me, the goofy-goober. Patrick, you, the bestie, and also a goofy-goober. Squidward." I pointed to Siebold-Zee. "Curmudgeon."