Osiris City Streets

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Simultaneously, most of the boys burst into dazed, drunken laughter, sipping their drinks and carefully not looking at Dorian. “Isn’t there a fairytale like that?” Pierce asked, his chin in his palm, making dancing gestures with his fingers in the air, “Some old queen dancing in hot iron shoes as her feet burn off?”
Courtland snickered, murmuring, “Ask Belle, she’ll know.” The others laughed again, less conspiratorially this time. “It sounds like one of Antha’s punishments,” he continued, setting his glass down and pantomiming puppet strings in his hands, “Dance, my puppets, dance!”
It was the next round of laughter---or more specifically, Armand falling on him---which made Cyrus stir, weakly pushing at his younger brother and murmuring, “Vicki, please, daddy’s sleeping…” They laughed all over again, louder still, Armand shoving his brother until he startled back into consciousness, blinking and staring around like he’d forgotten where he was. “Are we not home yet?”
“Settle down,” Armand said, smirking as he patted his back, “Victoria’s at the house, probably asleep.”
“Maybe,” Jack amended with a grin, “We left her mostly with Malakai and Liesse. Do you really think they’ll have the heart to put her to bed when she gives them those big, sad eyes? I bet they caved like wet paper.”
But Cyrus shook his head, reaching for a glass of melted ice and taking a few cautious sips. “No, Vicki’s a good girl, she’ll do what they tell her.”
Pursing his lips, Courtland leaned forward, his hands folded on the table, and asked quietly, “What’s it like?”
With one eye open, tiredly scratching his head, Cyrus asked, “What, having a kid?” He smiled, affectionately, slumping back in his seat. “Sometimes I’m still startled that she can do things for herself, I feel like she was just a baby yesterday. But there’s nothing in this universe that’s half as important as her. And even on our very best days, I didn’t love her mother a fraction as much as I love her.”
“Does she ever ask about her mother?” Courtland persisted, still quietly.
Cyrus thought for a moment, and gently nodded his head. “Sometimes. She wants to know things about her, and why I took down all the pictures of her. She doesn’t completely seem to understand why Belle and her classmates all have mothers and she doesn’t, and I don’t have the heart to say it outright. But…her aunts pick up a lot of the slack.”
“What’s the matter, Court?” Armand questioned, “Is Sera being difficult again?”
The boy groaned, covering his face with his hands and then running them back through his hair. He gave a very loud sigh, seeming to consider if he wanted to tell them, but broke relatively quickly. “I want to kill her sometimes. Most of the time, actually. And as much as I’d like my son to have his mother, I hope she hands him over and then vanishes off the face of the earth.”
“She’ll never be able to handle a witch son,” Cyrus promised him quietly, “She can barely handle Millie’s occasional moments of insight. If your son has half of your power---” He shook his head. “Margaret ran as soon as Victoria started smiling at ghosts around her crib. I came home from work one day and she had just taken her things and left the baby by herself. She didn’t even show up in the divorce hearing.”
“It was very rude,” Lawrence muttered irritably, “It was my very first case, and she didn’t even show up.”
“Yes, Laurie, I’m sure you’re the victim here,” Pierce agreed mockingly, though it was lost on drunk ears.
Instead, Lawrence was still hanging onto Cian, bobbing his head and murmuring, “You are a good man. Better than this lot.”
“Congratulations, Cian,” Courtland called with a smirk, raising his glass to him, “You’re better than the devil. Cheers.”
The boys chuckled for another moment before, predictably, they began checking their watches and phones, craning their heads around to see that the bar had mostly emptied out. “Court,” Pierce sighed, reaching over to clap a hand on his shoulder, “This has indeed been legendary…but I think it’s time we all went home and got a little sleep before tomorrow.”
Courtland lifted one finger, mouth open as if he was ready with a protest, but then quickly shut it again and shook his head, grinning. “Okay…okay, Pierce, you’re right. We are very, very drunk and we should go home before we get into large amounts of trouble. You guys---” He pointed at Lawrence and Armand, swaying just slightly, trying very hard to be authoritative and failing, though he didn’t know that last part. “---get a taxi and take Cy home and go to your own houses. Or not. I don’t care. And the rest of you---” He made a sweeping gesture around the table. “---get another taxi and take Tori and go home. Take Jackie with you, I can’t see him again until the ceremony.”
The boy in question’s eyes went wide, turning to Courtland and demanding, “You mean I have to go home and not have sex tonight?”
Courtland, unconcerned, turned and pressed a finger to his lips. “Shush. Cian, I’m trusting you with me, and my not getting lost or dying.” With some difficulty, he managed to climb over Jack and out of the booth, fumbling with his coat and pointing emphatically at the door. “C’mon, we’re gonna’ take the trolley. ‘Cause I like the trolley.”
With much effort, the rest of the boys managed to slide out of the booth and shrug on their jackets, bidding their farewells to whomever was going elsewhere and promising to see them tomorrow. “Cian,” Armand said, pulling an arm around his shoulder, “Watch him very carefully. He’s tricky when he’s drunk.” And then to Courtland, ruffling his hair, he said seriously, “No shenanigans, Court. Go home.”
“Yeah, yeah…” the boy grumbled, swatting his hand away and stumbling in the process.
When they were gone and Courtland and Cian stood on the sidewalk, scouting out the nearest trolley stop, Courtland sighed and put his hands into his pocket, turning to look at his companion with a cheerful smile. “Feel like another trip to Ah Sing’s?”
“Courtland!” The cab passing by slowed and Armand poked his head out of the window, repeating emphatically, “Go home.”
“Fine!” he called back impetuously, clasping his hands behind his head and turning, ambling towards the trolley stop, “Spoil sport…”  

[Okimiyage]

Cian managed to mostly conceal his surprise, as he was unexpectedly being volunteered for the hideous responsibility of guaranteeing Courtland’s safety for the remainder of the night.
“I’m not entirely sure that I’m up for this,” he muttered, only staggering a little as he slid out of the booth.
‘Tricky when drunk’, huh? Hell. Courtland was already enough of a handful when he was sober.
Still, Cian didn’t complain. It’d been ages since he’d been on the trolley this late. Honestly, it would feel good to see the city through something other than the tinted windows that lined so many of the Mayfair’s fleet of cars.
The men said good night, some of them a bit more tearfully than others—Dorian had to be all but pried apart from his stripper—and Cian stepped out into the street, turning the collar of his coat up and taking a deep gulp of the flask which he had secreted inside his breast pocket. Even through the glow of alcohol, he could still feel the night chill beginning to press in through his coat.
They’d been out partying almost until morning. If he listened closely, Cian could hear the chirping of early-rising birds, now.
As Courtland stumbled out, and started to wander in the direction of the trolley stop, Cian followed behind at a close distance. A few times, he had to reach out quickly and grab hold of Courtland’s jacket in order to keep him from face-planting into the cobblestones. Couldn’t have one of the grooms showing up on his wedding day with a busted face.
“Come on, boy-o,” Cian clapped him on the shoulder, as soon as he was sure that Courtland’s equilibrium had been regained. “Hardly anyone even noticed you were drunk. Can’t let the act fall apart, now.” He paused. Well, that wasn’t strictly true, but sometimes the truth was demoralizing.
Prodding the other man slowly along the sidewalk, Cian steered him away from uneven patches of footing, street lamps, and other urban hazards. Fortunately, Courtland seemed to be approaching the ‘placidly inebriated’ stage. Still, he was due a warning. As they meandered towards the trolley stop, where a lone headlight was steadily approaching, Cian gave him the rundown. “Now, no reenactments from musicals while we’re on here. Those don’t work. Nobody joins in. The number from ‘Meet Me in St. Louis’ is strictly off-limits, ok? And they’ll stop the trolley if you try to hang off the outside. The drivers on these things are basically the fun police.”
As the screeching brakes engaged, and the trolley’s rusted doors parted, Cian hid his flask hastily away and fumbled for his wallet. Now, where had he put that thing?
“This jacket has far too many pockets…”  

[Okimiyage]

Cian gave her a funny look, although he knew she couldn’t see it, and let his head tilt quizzically. He’d felt Antha stiffen against him, and wondered if, had she been facing him, he would have been able to watch the reflection of her memories, flashing before her eyes.
When her hand dropped away, his remained. He’d have a spectacular set of bruises flourishing along his knuckles by morning, doubtless. He tried to ignore the throbbing in his fingers.
“I won’t ask.” he said, quietly, and his mellow tone would have been almost inaudible against the sharp hiss of the shower, had he not been so close that she could feel the rumble of his voice against her back. “I agreed to that. But I want you to understand something, Antha— I don’t want to be protected. I knew, coming into this, that our marriage was never going to be traditional, but…at its most fundamental level…it still means being partners, not just lovers. I’m here for the good times and the bad, whatever you need. And I mean—“ here he laughed, trying to lift the tense atmosphere up a notch. “—I know I’ll never be half the witch that you are, but I can be strong in other ways.” He almost added, Just give me a chance to prove it, but decided Antha might take that as criticism. And that was not what he wanted to do, here. Instead, he chose, “I want to have your back in any situation. I know that full disclosure isn’t your style—I knew that when we got hitched, so nobody can say I didn’t ask for this. But I said ‘whatever you need’, and I meant it. If that means you need me to shut up and—and give you space, well, I can do that, too. You don’t need to ask for forgiveness—if anything, I’m sorry—sorry that I wasn’t…” he trailed off. Sorry that he wasn’t enough. Sorry that he hadn’t shown her that he could be strong, that he hadn’t given her enough reason to trust him. “…there.” Cian said, finally, trusting that she would understand.
With that, he finally let his hand drop. His fingers felt like someone was playing a xylophone on his joints, and he tried not to hiss through his teeth as the movement made them jangle with pain. “For what it’s worth—“ he added, “Rynn is just worried about you. Everyone is, I think. Don’t be too upset with him. Pass the soap?”
And that was the brilliant thing about Cian. Just like that, he could let it drop. Rynn worried issues like a terrier with a rat, passionate to a fault, but Cian had a gift for dismissing a tense consversation as easily as one might discard a coat.

Rynn stopped in the doorway, reading Airi’s sign apprehensively. The last line made him snort with a laugh that he could not quite stifle. Trust Alistair to have a candy stash, just like a little kid.
Then again, you could say that Alistair’s childhood had been more deprived than most. Maybe it was his due.

“You are not—“ he tried, at the top of his lungs, then sighed. Crossing over to the stereo, he hit the power button and continued. “You are clearly not studying.” he pointed out. “You’re using that poor book as a sleep mask.”
Cocking his head to the side, he read the spine and grimaced. Aedan had liked Dostoevsky, too. “I don’t even think that one’s on our reading list.” It wasn’t. Parents had complained that it was too depressing and the characters were of questionable morality, besides, wasn't it a little 'difficult' for high schoolers?
Rynn had been betting that turning off the stereo would provoke some kind of reaction, and was fully expecting to defend himself from any projectiles—such as, for example, the book over Alistair’s face. When none seemed to be forthcoming, though, he cautiously inched towards the edge of the bed, and perched on the corner.
“I told Cian.” He wasn’t sure if he was saying it simply to brag, or because he needed to get it off his chest. Saying it to someone else made the act feel more real, now. Cian hadn’t shouted or gotten upset, only sighed, patted Rynn on the shoulder, and gone back inside. “I don’t suppose you’ll hide me when the angry mob comes?—no, I didn’t think so.”
Rynn sighed. “Look, I expect that you’re annoyed with me right now. I’ll be here for a while, you know?” A tragic attempt at a smile was made. “Liesse would never let me hear the end of it if I failed to graduate alongside the rest of y’all. Besides, I…” His voice trailed off, then got very small and came out all in one word. “…needtoaskyouforhelp.” Rynn waited, apprehensively, then risked a sideways glance. “Are you even listening?” he demanded, climbing forward from the foot of the bed and snatching the book impetuously from Alistair’s stupidly pretty mug.