- The air was laden with animosity.
Court was always beautiful, because it belonged to the Spinel Lady and she was the epitome of beauty, the foundation of it, a concept brought into reality. The tile gleamed, the pillars stood tall and imposing, the walls washed white-yellow ivory, the doors matched, the symmetry to this expanse was beyond perfect. It narrowed on uncanny, it was almost creepy in that off sort of way that everything in the Otherworld was. Oliver didn’t like the sounds his shoes made on the tile, or how they echoed on and on and on and on and endlessly. True solitary was what he felt, but it wasn’t peaceful, not with the way his skin pricked and crawled and burned.
“Meet me in Court.” Shiloh had said.
An enormous mirror greeted him, and for a moment Oliver was captivated by the surface. It wasn’t a lovestruck look; it was the look one gave a car when they realized they were inbound for a collision, when there was nothing left to do but watch. Locked, he felt utterly locked, and somewhat powerless. A figure approached him solemnly, their skin covered from head to toe in fabric, everything human save for the flatness of their face. There was no nose—no bump in the fabric—only a heavily laced veil and a blackened medical mask over their mouth.
“Oliver,” They said, “Beaumont.”
“I’m here to see my brother.” Oliver replied. His hands picked at the hem of his shirt, “That’s all.”
“I’m aware.” Their head dipped quietly, “I’ve been asked to fetch you. Shiloh’s domain lays to the eastern wing.” The figured paused, briefly, “You may call me Beel.”
“Beel?”
“Beel, the fetch. There’s no need for in depth introductions—I’m quite familiar with you. Now, if we may…”
---
Shiloh’s domain was beautiful, because Shiloh had been tithed by the Spinel Lady and he had to live up to her epitome of beauty. There wasn’t any way he could, not humanly. He wasn’t inspiring enough to represent concepts in motion, his face wasn’t perfect and symmetrical and his Court wasn’t either. The path was long and winding, every stone in the flowerbeds were different and the flowers grew to their own natural rhythm. There wasn’t absolute control here. There wasn’t absolute obedience. This was a space full of gentle neutrality.
“It’s sad and I’m sorry.” Shiloh was sitting by himself, his chair overgrown and thick with foliage, “That the only way I can get you to speak to me is like this.”
“I’m doing it as a favor to a friend.” Oliver shot back immediately. Beel was still like a statue and equally silent. “There’s really no point in talking about anything with you.”
Shiloh said nothing. Instead he rose up very slowly—like there were strings or chains weighing him to the chair—until finally he was standing evenly with Oliver, shoulder to shoulder, eye to eye. He was garbed in deep violets and blacks, silks and satins and luxurious things. Oliver was wearing a t-shirt and some jeans. It was jarring. “So you’re just going to avoid me until the end of time? Ignore me?” His head tilted to the side like he was trying to get a better look at Oliver’s face, “I didn’t think you were the type who ran away from his problems.”
“Like you have any room to talk.”
“I’m a hypocrite, it’s true.” Shiloh sucked in a deep breath, “You were on my end before. You know how much it hurts to be pushed away and rejected over and over again. You didn’t even give me the chance to explain myself.”
In the silence, you could hear a pin drop.
“I’m here to learn about the medically inclined visitors.” Oliver said suddenly, ignoring the subject, “The ones you said you knew about. Or was that a lie too?”
“It wasn’t, no.”
“So tell me so I can leave already?”
“Not until we talk.”
So that’s what this was, a catch-22 of things Oliver really didn’t want to involve himself with. ‘I told you I don’t want to talk about that. That’s not why I’m here.” He stiffened, “And why are we here anyway?” He threw his arms open and motioned to the expanse of the Court.
“I’m sorry.” Was all Shiloh said.
“Why are we here?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Is that all you’re going to say?”
“Until you agree to talk, yeah.”
Oliver didn’t fight with his hands. He had no desire to injure the things he considered most precious; to that end, Oliver really didn’t fight that often in the first place. He avoided it. That being said, it surprised even him when his fist connected with Shiloh’s cheek. His twin stumbled, leg bent to the side as he kept himself upright despite the force of the blow. When he lifted his head the left side of his face was marred with forget-me-nots.
“Sorry.” Shiloh said disdainfully.
“W-What, you’re not going to hit me back?” Oliver’s knuckles stung with pain and his face burned with shame. “You’re not supposed to be the better person,” He was speaking hastily, purely on instinct, “You’re not supposed to just take it. Why the hell aren’t you getting angry? You’re always angry. The you I knew was always angry and sad and ******** up.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be angry and sad and ******** up anymore?” Shiloh seemed affronted, offended.
“Maybe I don’t want to be kept in the ******** dark about God and everything.” Oliver was seething, “You just—you just left me behind and did all this pretentious a** growing up bullshit on your own! Don’t even give me that s**t about trying to protect me.”
“You weren’t magic!” Shiloh was raising his voice now, “You wouldn’t have ******** understood!”
“Is that how you thought of me? Is that how you think of me?” Oliver shot right back, “Oh, he just can’t understand. Oh, he just won’t care. You don’t think I would’ve given you the ******** time of day? Aren’t we twins? Didn’t we trust each other once?”
Shiloh was silent.
“Why the hell aren’t you saying anything?” His expression fell. “Everything I said was true, wasn’t it? You really don’t trust me anymore.”
“It was never a question of trust Ollie… Like, I knew I shouldn’t have hidden that s**t from you. I’m sorry, you know? That’s why I keep reaching out, you know? I’m not trying to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”
“But you knew it was wrong. Lesser of two evils, right? Do you know how pissed—how ******** enraged—you would be right now if I had done this to you? How miserable you would feel about it?”
“Yeah.” Shiloh said, “I could ********’ imagine.” His hand touched his slowly bruising cheek.
“I just feel like I’m trapped in your shadow.” Oliver confessed as he simmered down, “Like I’m five steps behind you at any given time.” He missed the way Shiloh slowly lifted his head, the predatory intent there, the hawkish eyes sharp and pointed underneath his veil, “Like you keep moving on without me and you’re going to keep moving on.”
“You’re jealous.” Shiloh said, amazed, “You’re jealous of me?”
Oliver’s brow scrunched up.
“That’s why you avoided me like that? You were jealous of me?” Shiloh looked like he wanted to laugh, “I grew up in your shadow my entire ******** life.”
“Excuse me?!” Oliver looked incredulous.
“You were always better than me in school, with everything ******** else. You caught on quickly. Everyone constantly compared me to you.” He huffed, “What the ******** do I have that you don’t? What, is it my magic? I never ******** asked for this you know.” The Court seemed to groan around him, “I never asked to be a Noble. I never asked to be a principal either. What, is it because I talk to more people now? Are you mad I have friends?”
They were both silent for a beat as Shiloh's face twisted into something horrified.
"Are you mad I'm healing?"
This time it was Shiloh's fist that connected with Oliver's face, his punch much more heavy, more forceful, more practiced. Ollie stumbled under the force of the hit, went up to cradle his mouth, tasted the metallic sting on his tongue. "You struck me." He said, wild-eyed, "You struck me."
"You act like we've never ******** fought." Shiloh spat at the ground.
Had it not been for that—the disrespectful spit—Oliver might had let it go. He might have taken a deep breath, reassessed the situation, considered his pain carefully, and decided that yeah, talking seemed to be the best way to go about this. Instead his brother spat on his shoes, and it made his blood boil. "You really want to fight me?" If looks could kill.
There was a flurry of movement as Oliver's features changed; his ears became fluffy, his nails elongated into claws, his shirt lifted in the back as a tail unfurled itself from nothing. Shiloh didn't back down; of course he didn't back down, were you kidding? Who did you take him for? The air—the magic—everything around him was shimmering and winter-mint green, it smelled cold and it tasted like spring.
There was a chair and it clattered to the ground with an ugly sound, the twins meeting in a flash of fists and limbs and nails, teeth bared like animals and skin itching to be ripped. The entire study had erupted into a cacophonous symphony of noise, things falling, boots clicking, idiots tripping over one another, Oliver pinning his brother to the floor while Shiloh's hands were tearing at his twin's hair.
A sharp boot connected with Oliver's rib cage, the sound sickening and crackling as the moonwalker was thrown against the wall with an inhuman force. The same boot slammed down on top of Shiloh's chest, the sound similar, but more dulled. Beel stood there like a monolith, "That's quite enough." He said, his voice heavy and dense and pissed. "Did you not want to talk, Lord Shiloh? Did you not come seeking an audience with your brother, Oliver Beaumont? Why, it almost seems you could have a beneficial understanding with one another for the sake of your goals."
The fetch's heel ground down against Shiloh's ribs before he let off, his Noble patron wheezing from the force of the stomp, his body blossoming with flowers. "I-I can't...?"
"Can't what? Believe me? Dear, Shiloh, I cannot believe you either. Seems we've agreed to some degree." Beel huffed. "You there, Moonwalker."
Oliver was curled into a fetal position, his arms wrapped around his chest as he sputtered and dry heaved against the floor.
"Oh please." Beel rolled his eyes, "Nothing should have broke." He stepped over Shiloh, "Speak your part. I was hoping I wouldn't have to play facilitator, but I can see that's wishful thinking. What was it you wanted?"
Oliver hissed out a weak sound.
"Quite charming. Shiloh, this is about our Lady's fate, is it not? The well being of her health and the removal of the sigil?" He turned to the Noble who was nodding slowly from the floor. "Will you give your brother the information he desires, or make your demands first?"
"I-I want to talk." Shiloh huffed as he sat up.
"Then talk." Beel waved his hand, the falling chair shifting back to a sitting position under his magic. He took a seat, crossed his legs delicately, folded his hands with his fingers laced together. "We've already decided that you're both inept when it comes to proper communication with one another. You both have sour feelings towards one another, do you not?"
"And what do you know?" Oliver wheezed.
"Well," Beel straightened himself up, "Considering I was your brother for three months and knew the entirety of his life, I know a fair amount about the both of you. Oh yes, you both have quite the penchant for self inflicted misery, I think we can agree on that. What Shiloh said was true—" He ignored the protesting look from his Noble, "You excelled in so many fields where he did not, but is jealously not an ordinary emotion for any human to entertain? I have no doubts of his love for you. Siblings are close, twins are supposed to be closer, are they not?"
Oliver was gawking.
"Will you not give your brother another chance?" Beel pressed, "And Shiloh, will you not promise to keep from making this mistake in the future? Do you realize now that sometimes you need to put someones thoughts and feelings before your self-vigilante sense of duty?"
Shiloh was not happy, but he seemed willing enough. "I... Court was hard for me, okay?" Beel nodded as Shiloh turned to Oliver, "I forgot a lot of things... I never meant for you to be left out."
"I thought we were supposed to stand together on everything." Oliver slowly unfurled, the movement stiff and awkward. "I dunno what happened..."
They were both silent as they caught their breath.
"...Are you serious?" Beel looked between the two of them before sighing, utterly exasperated, "What do you say to each ******** I don't know?"
"You're not my mom Beel."
"And thank god for that." Beel was kneading his brow, "Apologize, maybe? Both of you?"
"..."
"Before I really break both of your ribs?"
"...Sorry Oliver."
"...No, no." Ollie sighed, "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have hit you like that. I shouldn't... have said those things, or avoided you."
"And I shouldn't be keeping important secrets, right?" Shiloh smiled just a little.
"Just don't do it again, idiot."
"Good, good." Beel yawned, "Your end of the bargain, Shiloh?"
Shiloh nodded slowly, "Temperance Clark can use healing magic," He said quietly, "But she's undergoing her tithe trials right now. She might... know some other people. I'll talk to her, okay? I don't know how practiced of a surgeon she is though..." Shiloh rubbed at his cheek.
"Thank you."
"Oh uh, Ollie?"
His twin looked up.
"Don't... do anything I wouldn't do, yeah?"
"That leaves a whole lot of possibilities open for me, Shiloh." Oliver finally managed a small smile back as his animalistic features melted away. "I'm working with Elliot and Horace. It'll be fine."
Shiloh seemed relieved at that, though... "Elliot? Your roommate guy? He's magic too?"
"Apparently..."
"Hm."
"Get in contact with him sometime, would you?" Oliver asked politely, quietly, "You're supposed to do the Noble thingy, right?"
Beel scoffed, but Shiloh nodded, "I'll do that yeah. Don't... hesitate, you know. You can all come to me for help, it's alright."
Oliver nodded.
"Well then." Beel clapped his hands together and stood, "This went swimmingly, didn't it? I'll see you out then, Oliver. Shiloh, you're staying until your flowers finish healing."
"Whatever mom."