Cross-posted on FanFiction, AO3, and Spacebattles
Chapter 13
Sneaking Suspicions
Slap.
A splay of cards was flung onto the tabletop.
"Eat shit. It's my win, fuckers."
The smokey room erupted in a chorus of curses.
Gabe took a swig of his beer and wiped away the droplet that dribbled down his double chin. With a satisfied grin, he raked in the stack of chips to his corner. "You're all fucking ass at this game."
"Shut the fuuuck up! It's your first and only fucking win of the day."
"Yeah, what the fuck are you on about?"
"Bitch, I bet you'll lose it all in two games."
"Whatever," Gabe waved them all away. "Get pissed on, losers. I'm calling it today."
That spurred another round of slurs.
"Oh, shut up fuck up." Gabe slammed his bottle. Getting up from his armchair, he trudged around the coffee table, rattling the chips as he bumped into the corner. "I'm grabbing food, which of you fucks are coming?"
"The fuck?" One of his friends twisted around from the couch while the rest grumbled and picked up the fallen items. "This is the third time this week. Where the fuck is Sally? You don't slave her around anymore?"
Gabe snickered. "She's working extra time."
"The hell? Who's gonna feed your fat ass then?"
Grunting, Gabe grabbed his keychains from the plate on the cupboards. "Why the fuck do you think we're heading out?"
"Hey guys!" The friend turned to the two others who were sauntering over from the couches. "You gotta see this, Gabe isn't denying he's a fat fuck!"
"Serious? Gabe, you good? Banged your head recently?"
"Woah. You shouldn't drive then," the third friend chimed in, stretching as he trailed after the gang. "Gimme the keys, I'll take care of this baby after dropping your dumbass off at the hospital. Shit. She'll become used goods when you return, but I'll make sure she stays squeaky clean—not a scratch on her pretty little paint."
Shoving the front door open, Gabe flipped him off. "You'll be riding my dick before you ever get to ride my car."
The three friends shared a look.
"C'mon," Gabe called from the stairwell, his figure already absent from the empty doorframe. "I ain't got all night, faggots!"
"The fuck?" One friend raised his eyebrow but exited the apartment regardless. "What's gotten him in such a good mood?"
The second friend followed along. "Probably the whiskey and cigar," he gestured at the empty glasses on their coffee table.
"Where the hell is he getting those?"
"Sally got it for him."
"…How the hell did she afford those?" The third friend shut the door behind him with a bang.
"Who knows, maybe caught the eyes of some rich fuck."
"You think so?"
"Oh, I don't fucking know. Maybe the tooth fairy left it under Gabe's pillow. Look, if you're a woman, would you stay with Gabe?"
The friend gagged. "…Point. Not saying I like dicks, but I'd rather whore myself out."
"Will you two shut the fuck up? He's gonna hear."
"Eh. Who cares? He's in a good mood."
"And you wanna ruin it? Fuck, you may not give two shits, but I still want my dinner paid. That's more than two packs of cigs right there."
They arrived at the ground floor and halted just before the windowed entrance that led to the sidewalks. Peeking through the cloudy glass, they spotted Gabe climbing into his prized car.
"Should we tell him?"
"What?"
"That Sally's out there taking it from some rich motherfucker?"
"That's just a guess, dipshit."
"Yeah, but his reaction will be great."
"And I want my food paid out of his pockets. Will you fucking pipe down, will you?"
"So, another time?"
"Whatever man," the annoyed friend clicked his tongue and pushed open the door. The bell rang, and the cold air of late October gushed past him.
The two other friends shivered, hunching their shoulders as they stepped out.
Ambling his way towards Gabe and his car, the same guy continued, "I don't give a fuck, just don't ruin my dinner."
Sally stepped out of the glassy, skyscraper of an office building with her tote bag one fully packed envelope lighter than when she had walked in. All that remained was the empty glass container from lunch.
She breathed deeply, then out.
Then again.
The saturated burn of exhaust hung in the air. The honks of traffic blared in the background. And the congested stream of red and yellow lights glowed soft and piercing as they hummed in agitation. But this time, she didn't mind it one bit.
They had collected enough evidence. Her lawyer had confirmed that there was enough documentation against Gabe and his crimes. That kraft envelope she had submitted to her lawyer for safekeeping contained the most recent and final batch of photographs needed to present a solid case for her abuse. Now, all that's left is the petition. Once that was filed, she and Percy could hightail to the Dare residence to wait out the storm.
Wait.
Wouldn't that mean… she'd get to eat dinner there every day?
Dinner served by Emiya?
…Wow.
Sally swallowed.
A deep, agitated blast of the horn echoed from a nearby car, the driver clearly fed up with the traffic.
Sally jumped. Pinching herself, she hurried off towards the subway. Seriously, ever since their conversation earlier in the month, she's been adapting too quickly to the idea of being looked after. Was this all her strength and conviction amounted to? Last she checked, she'd spent almost her entire life taking care of herself. And she had marched through perfectly fine.
She didn't need babying!
Even… even if it felt just a tad novel…
And a teeny-tiny bit addicting…
But still!
With light steps, she hurried down a flight of stairs, sliding between the onflow of commuters. The rush of stale air poured past her, pumped out of the underground systems as metros pulled into the station. Tapping her card against the sensor, Sally nudged past the rotating arms of a turnstile. She placed herself behind one of the lines, waiting, almost giddily, for the next train as the present one rolled out of the platform.
Hmm…
What's for dinner today?
Sally Jackson! She pinched herself again. Quit it!
Flash.
Flash. Flash.
Cameras flared like fireworks in the dark among the shadowed masses. Atop the catwalk, the model released her pose and turned around, strutting towards the backstage. The figure of another model, confident and golden, marched boldly onto the runway.
The crowd faltered. Several photographers lowered their massive lenses, and the dazzling bursts of light ceased like seafoam on sand. The audience looked among themselves, confused as to why a seemingly male frame found its way onto the womenswear segment.
Unperturbed, the model strode forward with a swaggered gait. Upon reaching the apex of the narrow platform, they stopped, a hand resting on their hip as their boots clicked sharply over the hushed murmurs of the room.
The crowd held their breath.
Slowly, the model's mouth pulled into a smirk. They were smiling at someone in the front row.
The crowd craned their necks.
With a snap of their heels, the model struck a pose. "Behold!"
The whispers fizzled out.
"I grace this mortal runway wide, golden locks flowing like the tide!"
Not a single person spoke. Not a single person breathed.
The stage was silent. And it stayed silent for the longest, most agonizing seconds. Finally, someone decided to break the spell. A camera barrel lifted, inch by inch until its rounded glass reflected the figure on the runway, dead center in its matte-black rim.
…Flash.
And then the stage was loud.
Flash.
Flash. Flash. Flash.
The darkened mass of the audience flashed like a sea of sparkling fireworks as shutters clicked tirelessly. Some stood, seeking a better angle at the spectacle. Others clapped, impressed by this artistic expression.
It was different.
It was revolutionary.
It was absolutely abhorrent. Sitting face to face against the demented smirk of the model, Aphrodite stood so fast that it seemed like she had sprung from her seat. She snapped her fingers and something intangible washed over the venue. "Get down here, this instance, Phoebus Apollo…!"
The model struck another pose.
"Now," Aphrodite almost growled.
The model swept his hair back, tugged at his collar, and pulled down his shades to reveal half lidded eyes.
Aphrodite reached up, grabbed him by the shirt, and yanked.
"Wow!" Apollo flailed, toppling over the runway. He landed with another pose. "I missed you too, Dite. But no need to be so hasty and…"
Aphrodite glared.
"…crass!" Apollo dusted himself, adjusted his wrinkled clothes, and grinned widely at her. "Composure, Dite. Composure!"
Aphrodite breathed deeply.
Around them and seemingly unaware of the ruckus, the cameras continued to flash at the empty space where the god had stood.
"What," the goddess enunciated with great strain, "are you doing here?"
"Why, to visit my dear friend that is you, of course," he walked over to the mortal sitting adjacent to her empty seat. "Hey man, would you mind scootching to… I dunno, somewhere? Just not here. That's my spot."
The stranger frowned. "What are you talking about? This is my seat. I'm calling security if you… don't leave… now…" His eyes clouded over. And then they returned to normal. An embarrassed smile plastered the man's face as he stood and offered a small bow. "Right, apologies. I must've mistaken my seating arrangements. Please, have a seat. Now, if you'll excuse me."
With a satisfied nod, Apollo plopped himself into the chair. "Ugh," the god grimaced and wriggled his rear. "It's still warm."
"Apollo," Aphrodite grounded out.
"Yes, Dite? I'm all ears. Or did you want me to recite a poem? Great idea, actually. Wouldn't be much of a show if there wasn't a little dash of artistry, would it?" Apollo began to rise from his seat.
"You—" Aphrodite moved forward in a swift stride. With one palm, she met the top of his head and clutched it like a volleyball.
Apollo grunted, his back frozen, bent in the process of standing.
"—will do no such thing." She pressed him back into his seat. "Sit. And remain silent. My evening has been ruined enough, as is. And my patience is thin."
"It's not like the audiences will notice."
"No, the audiences wouldn't," smoothing out her skirt, Aphrodite settled into her chair, releasing a deep, long breath as her temples pulsed uncontrollably, "but I would."
"Okay? I still fail to see the issue."
"…Quiet."
Apollo shifted in his seat.
Blowing out a slow breath, Aphrodite allowed the tension in her jaws to ease. There went her beautiful afternoon. In shambles. Her was mood unsalvageable. One thing she'll agree with that cavewoman of a little huntress—and nothing else, ever—was that her brother was a real piece of work. The kind of work she wouldn't mind setting ablaze and watching it crumple to ashes—
Aphrodite frowned. Peace. Don't fall for his tricks. She was beginning to sound like Ares. That wasn't good. And it was all owing to this blonde fool lazing beside her.
"…You know—" Her musing was interrupted again.
Aphrodite felt the dropping pressure in her temples slingshot to new highs. Hadn't she ordered him to cease his blabbering? Perhaps, she should whack him to death in this instance.
"—regarding the boy you asked me to find…"
It's fine.
Deep breaths.
At least he had the decency to investigate this matter. She could overlook his behaviors once more—on account of this favor, of course.
"…well, I couldn't find anything."
Or not.
"Nothing. Zilch. Nada."
Aphrodite closed her eyes, her lips pulled thin. It seemed like moon brat and her little cave minions would have a tough time cleaning the stains of her brother off these walls. "Then what. Exactly. Are you doing here?"
"Eh," Apollo shrugged, "Don't wanna dangle your hopes on a string, you know? Lead you on and stuff."
"…After nearly five months? Why—" The bubbling annoyance escaped her chest in a mirthless chuckle. Through clenched jaws, she squeezed out one last question before she would finally wipe this little stain of a god beside her off the face of the planet, for good. "—How courteous. I should be oh so grateful, shouldn't I, Phoebus Apollo?"
"Now now," the god waved, almost meekly, as if brushing away a compliment he was too humble to accept, "no need for that. I know I'm awesome. But that's what friends are for—"
Aphrodite glanced between her manicures and his animated face. No. That wouldn't do. He's too thick-skinned.
"—right?" Apollo finished with a grin.
This time, she couldn't even bother herself to glance at him. Not a side-eye. Nor a shift in her posture. Instead, she let her focus fall on the models strutting up and down the runway as she spoke. "Leave."
The air vibrated unnaturally. Apollo's movements slowed as if wading through water before it came to a complete halt.
"Dispose yourself through the service doors," her words continued its unnatural hum, "then proceed with whatever you had planned for the evening."
Apollo stood, almost crankily, as if he was resisting the order. The struggle seemed to reach a stalemate as he remained rooted beside his chair, neither striding for the exits nor sitting back down.
Aphrodite frowned. "At once."
And the stalemate was broken. Stirring from his catatonic state, Apollo moved with fluidity as he waded behind the endless rows of seats. Before long, his figure vanished completely from sight.
Sighing, Aphrodite snapped her fingers, and the silent bubble that encapsulated them vanished. The sea of murmurs and clicking shutters returned, drowning out the silence. She settled into the backrest of her chair and gazed at the catwalk that ended before her.
The model struck a pose, but the goddess could no longer find the patience within herself for such an event.
Shutting her eyes, a torrent of endless petals poured over her. Little by little, her form disappeared behind the waterfall of flowers. A flash of radiance illuminated the torrent in a cherry pink. Slowly, the current of petals ceased like a gradually shut tap. When all had subsided, only two empty chairs sat among the rows of people as several flowers rolled on the floor.
The wind whistled.
It was past dusk.
Beneath her, the city of New York glowed like a dense, massive web. Cars were mere specs glittering in a system of rivers, and boats glided like fireflies on honey-filled channels. They were all slow, slowed to a crawl compared to the speed at which she was moving.
Aphrodite took consolation in her state of flow—free and unrestricted.
The form of teleportation by gods had always been a method of air travel, one regularly employed by wind spirits. It was most aptly described as a type of dispersal and reformation. While most gods didn't appreciate the lack of definition and focus in this condition, it certainly alleviated the sense of twisting and burning annoyance in Aphrodite's chest. Mostly because she had no chest, being a mist of high-speed air particles.
The clouds swallowed the city in her peripherals. Rushing past, were stories upon stories of water vapor, dull and deep grey. She paid them no heed. Then, just as quickly as they had engulfed her surroundings, they were gone. Beneath her, a new city emerged—the city of Olympus, resting atop the Manhattan clouds.
In a flash of sparsely shielded flora, she coalesced in front of her temple. Aphrodite exhaled, her shoulders easing slightly. It was clean here. No foul miasma of people. No burning tang of gasoline and smoke. And most importantly, no flamboyant god that she had most mistakenly befriended a few millenniums ago.
Look how that had come back to bite her in the behind.
Yet, before she could raise her foot onto the grand, marbled steps of her lovely abode, a fly—the same one that she had so recently dismissed—spoke in its annoying voice from her back.
"Sup Dite. What a coincidence," Apollo buzzed like an insect, "am I right?"
"This is Captain Percy to, uh, mission control. Over," Percy whispered into her device. When an immediate response failed to arrive, she carefully brought an ear against the walkie-talkie.
"Mission Control here!" A voice exploded from the other side.
Percy fumbled to catch her walkie-talkie.
"Loud and clear," the voice continued, "Captain Percy! What's your status? Over."
Cupping her ear with a wince, Percy brought the device to her mouth and whispered again. "Don't shout, Rachel…! Don't we need to be quiet?"
"Oops, sorry. I got too excited. Also, you forgot to say 'over.' Over."
Percy sighed, scurrying along the walls of the hallway. "I'll remember to say 'over'. Over."
"Okay," the device vibrated. "So, what's your status, Captain Percy? Over."
"I've reached the kitchen," the tomboy knelt by the entrance, the cool stone digging into her knee as she hid in the shadows outside the shine of the cookery's rail lamps. "It's quiet… too quiet. Over."
"Target isn't in the kitchen? Over."
Poking her forehead around the corner, Percy scanned the counters for signs of the redheaded boy. She found herself relieved and disappointed by the empty islands. The girl scratched her hair as she squinted at the spot where she had been ambushed by an army of pudding pieces. "…Nope. Kitchen is empty. Over."
"Okay, move out. Let's search the next location, Captain Percy. Over."
Percy nodded, "Roger that, mission control. Over." She looked over her shoulders one last time and tiptoed away.
Ever since wearing the pendant that Emmie gifted her, and instructed to always keep with her by her mom—not that Percy would ever part with this present, even for a second—the "no electronics" ban that had been very strictly and repeatedly reinforced throughout, well, as early as she could remember, had been lifted by her mom.
Somehow, it was okay now. Since then, Percy had taken any chance she had, whether it was answering the landlines, the phones, or the walkie-talkies that she and Rachel had found unopened and brand-new in the
Reaching into her collar, Percy fished out the ocean-blue locket and clicked open its latch. A dumb smile took over her face as she stared at empty frames on each half of the casing. Apparently, they were meant to hold pictures—pictures that meant a lot to the owner, one that captured a precious moment of her life, of someone precious to her.
Percy giggled to herself. Slipping the charm back into her shirt, she hurried down the corridor.
"But seriously, I've got seriously serious matters to discuss seriously."
Exhaling deeply, Aphrodite poured herself a cup of tea. "Speak. Properly."
They were in one of the many corners of her temple after the sun god had pestered her about the importance of the freedom of speech and her due diligence to engage in discourse with her fellow "immortal bros and sis." And especially to "help out" her "super dope and awesome immortal buddy," who seeks "important knowledge from an elderly goddess" like her.
Facing her from across from the bistro table, Apollo adjusted the wrinkles on his shirt and removed the cuts and scratches with a swipe of his hand. He sat a little straighter like an obedient student to a strict teacher.
"Apollo," Aphrodite tapped her fingers impatiently. She had considered dismissing him with charm speak again, but considering that he had returned prior, it wasn't impossible that he approached her with a sensible matter for once.
Apollo grinned with twinkling eyes that begged her to throw her tea at his face. This time, however, the god spoke promptly before she could make the decision. "I was just wondering about something, actually. It's been on my mind for a while."
"Huh," with a blank expression, Aphrodite chose to raise the cup to her lips instead of splashing the liquid across the table, "I'm surprised you hold anything up there."
"Ouch, rude much? Some of the greatest ideas known to civilization came from— This. Precious. Skull," he punctuated each word with a tap against his temple. "Where do you think I produce all my brilliant poetry?"
Aphrodite furrowed her brows in distaste. "…Had I been crasser of an individual, I might have, hm… yes, gagged at those words alone."
"Oh, you know you love them."
Aphrodite took another sip. There was no need to waste her words on this man.
"Okay, okay. Look, you know how Lightning Beard has been acting all pissy several weeks ago?"
"…Yes, and I won't deny that he might have a legitimate reason… for once"
"Well yes. Maybe. Who cares. But I've been tasked to investigate the source of those divinities, yet the old man has failed to provide me with any useful leads. Can you believe that? Ridiculous. Makes my life super difficult, you know?" Apollo whined, opening his palms to the ceiling in exasperation.
"And you've… sought me to help you with this dilemma? How?" Aphrodite huffed. "What made you believe that I was an appropriate candidate for such complications? What about Bratemis and bookworm?"
"Well, you're old—"
She leveled a glare that would've murdered any lesser man.
"—er than lightning beard," he finished with a grin. "Anyway, for all the thousand years of age he claims—ten millenniums, was it?—he seemed pretty clueless as to what we're facing. Therefore, I thought I should, ahem, seek out the most… experienced Olympian I know."
"…Experienced, is it," Aphrodite smiled at him. "Treading on thin ice here, aren't we, Apollo?"
"Yes, yes, most experienced, as in most knowledgeable."
"Don't. I am not remotely similar to that bookworm," Aphrodite clicked her tongue, her gaze scrutinizing. "…And you are misinformed. Your father is not as old as he claims to be. He is boastful. And he is not ten thousand years old. And I am not over ten thousand years old."
"You aren't?"
"I'm not."
"Huh, I thought you were for sure. Especially with how bitter you are," he muttered to himself, ignoring the daggers she was sending him. "Hm… So, how old are you?"
"…Older than that spark plug but less than ten thousand years old, Apollo."
"I see, I see," he rubbed his chin knowingly. "So, have you ever encountered something similar?"
"This," she placed her cup into the dish, "is why you've ruined my evening? For your little wild goose chase?" Aphrodite narrowed her eyes. It was a straightforward question that could be answered with a straightforward response, and it took him crashing her fashion show before he bothered to get to the point? Perhaps she's been too forgiving lately that any god believed they could walk all over her. "You couldn't have asked this sooner?"
"Well, I'm sort of in a pickle here. So? Any thoughts? Advice? Enlightenments?"
"None," Aphrodite gestured dismissively. "I came about during the end of the second generation, but even among the titans, I had not met any that individually mirrors such a nature. Partly, yes. Some might share similarities in their essence, but they only align to a limited portion of the collectivity of that divinity."
Cradling the back of his head, Apollo leaned back languidly. "Well, that doesn't help me at all. I guess you really aren't the bookworm."
Aphrodite breathed deeply. "The exit is the same as the entrance. You may see yourself out."
Apollo shrugged and stood up with a stretch, the furniture dragging too noisily for her taste. The god yawned before refocusing on her. "You sure it doesn't ring any bells?"
"No."
Apollo stuffed his hands into his pocket, humming as he strolled away.
Aphrodite lifted her cup but paused before it met her lips. "Follow your intuition," her voice echoed through the chamber.
The footfalls halted.
"You never miss, don't you?" She sipped the tea and resumed after a timely lull. "So, what do your intuitions tell you now?"
The god resumed his steps. Eventually, his echoing voice bounced off the pillars and walls. "…It's unnatural."
Aphrodite hummed, setting her cup down. "Artificial," she corrected.
"A bit conclusive," his fading voice drawled
"You'd believe otherwise?" She arched an eyebrow.
"No… No," Apollo chuckled from far ahead. The chamber briefly flashed white, and his mirthful words reached her in an almost whisper. "… In this regard, we share the same opinion."
Happy seventh birthday, Emiya.
We hope you enjoy your gift. As per usual, there is a deposit of 50K in your account. Spend it at your own discretion.
-Jennifer and Ben
October 20th, 2003
Emiya's focus drifted away from the card to the ribbon-wrapped present on his desk. The box was narrow and long, almost reaching his height if they laid down side by side.
It was past dinner, and his room was dark, the contours of the furnishings were dimly traced by the glamor of the city through the walled glass. Beyond the closed door, whispers of Percy's clothes grew more pronounced as the girl tiptoed near his room. He had caught the sound of her movements well before she had sneaked her way here. In fact, he had long overheard the entire walkie-talkie conversation between Percy and Rachel while the former was busily scouring the floor below.
He glanced down.
The locket he had given to Percy nestled in his palm. Its cool chains spilled through his fingers. But it wasn't new anymore. Instead, it was used. Scratch marks, faint from gentle polishing, blemished its surface. The casing splayed open, revealing the photo of a trio standing beneath a large, snow-powdered Christmas tree. The children were young, he could tell, as the top of their heads barely reached just the woman's chin.
He knew it couldn't be that far away. The moment was getting closer…
The shuffling in the hallway ceased, replaced by soft, shallow breaths.
Emiya shook his head. In a cascade of blue molts that illuminated the underside of his face, he dismissed the locket. A rubber ball appeared in its place. Then, without pause, he flung the orb at his door.
Thud.
A muffled squeak escaped.
The ball returned after a double bounce. He caught it and waited patiently as urgent whispers of Percy speaking into her walkie-talkie stirred from beyond his room. A moment later, the tomboy's reinforcement arrived in not-so-inconspicuous steps, excitement barely contained in their rushed stomps. This was followed by another exchange of frantic whispers as Percy tried to reason to a bullheaded Rachel on the importance of stealth and why stomping down the hallways wasn't helpful.
The not-so-hushed conversation bounced around for a few more seconds before subsiding. Naturally, Percy's opinions had little effect on a willful Rachel.
Bang!
The door swung open.
Within the rectangular cutout of the frame, lights spilling in from the corridor, stood the childish figures of Rachel and a hesitant Percy, arms outstretched, as if amidst the action of stopping her friend. Rachel, with her legs spread past her shoulder width and one arm propped on her waist—walkie-talkie in hand—pointed at him with a proud smirk.
"You're under arrest, Emmie!" The frizzy-haired girl chirped all too happily.
Emiya watched as Percy cringed and tried to shrink her head between her shoulders.
"Oh?" He dragged his chair across the floor and sat down, kicking one leg over the other as he settled against the backrest. "What for?"
"For, uh…" Rachel faltered, her face scrunching as she stewed for an excuse.
Percy poked her head out from behind Rachel, a lick of obsidian hair crossing her big green eyes as she scoured the shadows of the room curiously. Then, as Rachel continued to fumble for words, Emiya watched as Percy's focus landed on the rectangular box on his desk. Her eyes slowly grew to the size of saucers. The tomboy poked her friend in the side.
"Uwah!" Rachel jolted, clutching her waist defensively. She swiveled onto Percy and hissed. "Perce…! Least you can help me out…! You're making us look uncool in front of Emmie…! Like, super not cool…!"
Emiya raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, uh," Percy leaned slightly away from the overbearing redhead, "I think he's got a, uh, present." She followed by pointing at his desk. "Like a birthday present."
Rachel blinked, then panned around to squint in his direction. The reflection of the box was anchored unwaveringly and dead center in her emerald irises. Emiya waited for the realization to dawn upon her little head. Seconds passed, and gradually, her eyes widened just as Percy's had.
"…So?" the tomboy nudged the redhead, awakening the latter from her trance.
"Aha!" Rachel marched up to him with Percy following two steps behind and a lot less confidently. "You are arrested for lying!"
"Lying?" Emiya leaned into his seat as the older redhead investigated the present. "And how, exactly, have I been untruthful?"
"This!" Rachel turned around to face him, not forgetting to give the box beside him an angry poke. "Is a birthday gift. And it's proof that you grow faster than us! I knew I wasn't crazy. You've been keeping secrets! Right Perce?"
Percy nodded in agreement. "Yeah, uh, Rachel said your birthday's in April."
"Which means you're lying!" Rachel concluded, crossing her arms as she leaned over him.
"Am I," he drawled, tilting his head as he studied the girl above him.
"Of course, it's October! It's…" Rachel counted her fingers quickly, "six months away!" She huffed and angled her nose at the ceiling, clearly pleased with her deduction.
"Yeah…" Piping up from the side, Percy continued with visibly less self-assurance. "So uh, we won't tell anyone else your secret. But you can't minus our desserts like you always do. And, uh, no more spelling quiz and sentence quiz for me…"
He shifted his gaze and studied the tomboy.
"…Okay," Percy's eyes flickered away, and she began to twist the hem of her shirt, "…maybe just the second part."
"Perce!"
"I don't wanna write five sentences every day, Rachel…!" Percy whined.
"What!" Rachel clutched the tomboy's shoulders and shook. "And you're okay with him taking away the desserts? All the time? Whenever he wants? We went three days without them last time! I almost died!"
"Ughh," Percy scrunched her eyes and struggled to reply.
"C'mon, stick to the plan, Perce!" Rachel shook her even more vigorously. "Stay strong!"
The tomboy's groans turned jittery and her face a little pale as her head jerked back and forth.
"Huh," Emiya decided to intervene before Rachel emptied Percy's stomach on his floor. "The two of you certainly have quite a vivid imagination. Rampant, even," he added, knowing that neither would be able to comprehend the word.
Just as he had anticipated, Rachel rounded on him with a suspicious stare, releasing her queasy friend in the process. Percy dropped her hands to her knees in support and groaned.
"What made the two of you believe that this was" he gestured with one hand, "some type of birthday present?"
"It looks like one!" Rachel waved her arms. "And it's all wrapped up. Somebody gave it to you!"
On the side, Percy patted her chest and eased into an upright stance. With a pale face, she released a slow and controlled breath, before glancing at the present on the table and offering her two cents. "…And it has a ribbon."
"So?" Emiya studied the girls.
Rachel nodded. "Yeah! It's wrapped, it's got a ribbon! What else could it be?"
Percy, standing a little behind, gave a hesitant nod. "It really looks like one," she mumbled.
"Ah, I see what the problem is," Emiya hummed.
The girls exchanged a cautious look.
Emiya let the silence hang, just long enough to see Rachel sneak a glance at him and Percy start to squirm. Then, with a casual shrug, he said, "You're mistaken. Though, I'm not surprised. Not at all, in fact… It's not a birthday present. It's a reward."
Rachel blinked. "A reward?"
"Yes," Emiya continued, leaning forward a bit, his voice taking on a matter-of-fact tone. "For being number one in class. You know, perfect scores," he lulled for effect, and then appended, "in every subject."
Rachel's jaw dropped for a moment before she snapped it shut. "I get good scores too!" she shot back, puffing up. "I'm always in the top three!"
Emiya raised an eyebrow, letting the words sink in before replying, "Top three, huh? So not number one all the time."
Rachel's face flushed. "I'm first sometimes! Sometimes second or third… but still! Why don't I get—" she gestured furiously behind her. The present sat neatly on his desk, its wrapping pristine, ribbon curled just right. "Why don't I get something like this!?"
Emiya sighed, making sure it was audible to his small audience. "Because, Rachel, I'm first every time. Every year. Every class. Every subject. Every test." He counted, savoring the widening of the duo's eyes as he listed one by one.
Rachel stammered. "…Th-That's not fair! …I work hard too! And top three is really good too!"
From the side, Percy shifted awkwardly. "I'm… uh, not in the top three…" she muttered quietly.
Rachel shot her a confused glance, as if suddenly reminded of Percy's presence. "Huh?"
Percy gave an awkward shrug. "I'm, uh, not even close…"
There was a brief silence. Emiya stood up from his seat, walking up to the tomboy who was staring at her feet. "Percy," he called.
The pixie-haired girl made a noise through her nose.
He reached up and brushed a few curls out of her forehead. "Hard work pays off," he took this chance and gave her plump cheeks a gentle squeeze, eliciting a hum of protest. "You'll get there eventually. Plus…" Emiya trailed off, releasing her as he made his way over to Rachel.
The older, frizzy-haired girl blinked owlishly at him.
He clasped his hand onto her shoulders and sized her up. "…not everyone is perfect." He nodded in understanding. "Like Rachel here. But it's alright."
For several seconds the room was dark and quiet. Then, Rachel's nostrils flared. "I'm awesome too! And cool! And I'm always near the top in class!"
"No, no. I get where you're coming from, Rachel" Emiya sighed and looked at Percy. "Rachel here didn't have any friends before you, Percy. So don't worry, because you're not the only idiot in this room."
"Arggghhh…! That's it!" Rachel launched herself at him, fully airborne, limbs spread wide and ready to latch onto him.
Emiya retreated a half step, steadying himself and his extra addition of a strawberry-shampoo-scented baggage. It wasn't long before he felt something warm and wet soak the root of his hair.
"Chake jish!" Rachel's muffled cry exploded from atop his head as she chewed vigorously.
Emiya pivoted with the red mop of an octopus clinging onto him. He met a pair of crinkly eyes that swiftly stifled their amusement. "Anything to add?"
"Err, no," Percy dipped her head.
"Oh? Because I'm quite certain you had some… disagreements regarding your current workload."
The tomboy chuckled dryly.
Then, before neither could continue, the soft tones of the intercom chimed from the foyer below.
A flash of relief and excitement crossed Percy's expression as she perked up. "It's mom! I'll go answer the phone!" She dashed out of the room, and called over her shoulder, "Be right back!"
Not a moment later, Emiya felt the limbs wrapped around him slacken as Rachel hopped off him, vanishing from the doorframe and chasing after Percy. The warm patch of his scalp cooled. Emiya snorted, strolling over to his desk. He picked up the long and narrow box, hooking it under his arms and against his side as he made for the exit. Honestly, he wasn't sure what prompted Jennifer and Ben to select this gift. They probably just purchased the hottest item on the market for children. Maybe it wasn't even their decision, but a recommendation from Ben's secretary.
Emiya released his structural analysis.
Regardless, it was almost perfect how they had come in a pair of red and blue. Rachel and Percy were going to have a field day playing with them. After all, they had been adamant about dressing up as these characters for Halloween.
The door slid shut behind him, and in the company of the two sets of thudding steps muffled by the twists and turns of the corridors, Emiya followed the girls with his present in tow. He made his way down the spiraling stairs, the chandeliers unveiling the floor beneath, and he was greeted by the scene of the girls eagerly tugging Sally into the foyer.
As Rachel and Percy bounced and chirped around the chuckling woman, Emiya couldn't help but notice that they could already reach her chin.
He stilled on the steps. He thought back to the picture within those frames.
"Emiya?" Sally was the first to spot him. Her eyes drifted towards the box under his arm, though she didn't comment on it. The woman smiled at him from the sofas beneath. "Is something the matter?"
His gaze landed on her. "No," he shook his head, adjusting the gift in his hold. "It's nothing."
Sally nodded and returned her attention to the children. The little world that was the penthouse was once again filled with laughter.
Emiya continued his strides down the stairs. That tug in the back of his mind—ever since that day he had placed rule breaker into a locket and gifted it to the young girl—had ceased to pulse in his unconsciousness. He had discovered what it was, seized it amidst the broken disarray of his inner world, and manifested it into reality. And the truth of that strange twinge of familiarity had laid in his palm—an aged twin of the locket the tomboy now possessed.