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Post by jarahamee on Nov 26, 2023 6:18:10 GMT -6
The fall air was crisp and pleasant as Malakhi handed Vincent the last box of Halloween decorations to put away.
Their little collection of vintage-style pumpkins and Halloween cats and bats were endearing, and he realized he would miss them.
As he packed away the last of the Halloween decorations, he realized that Cinnamon would probably want to celebrate the winter holidays as well. He would have to ask Vincent what he wanted to do. Did he like Christmas? Should they call his parents?
Their new craftsman home was looking more livable now; the run-down kitchen and living area had been restored by Vincent’s handiwork, and he had finished fixing the sink.
The front and back yard had become brown again, after all their hard work, but Vincent had told him it was normal for them to die in the fall and bloom again in spring. It gave him something to look forward to, he realized.
The renovations came with another benefit: they allowed him to invite guests over who weren’t Gia. While the ghost had never been bothered by the house’s state of disrepair, he knew that your average human would.
And Marceline was no average human.
She was a friend, and her visits usually meant she needed advice.
While he usually met her at work, or at her apartment, she had yet to see his new home, and had yet to meet Vincent.
He wondered, briefly, what she would say, but decided that it whatever it was could not bother him.
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Post by beastly on Nov 26, 2023 13:02:25 GMT -6
Vincent hefted the last box of Halloween decorations away to be put up in the closet for next year. Next year. A little smile tugged at his face as he made sure the stack was secure before shutting the door. Things had been going well since they'd moved in. It was starting to sink in that this was his life now, this was their home. He was a man that enjoyed fixing flooring, painting walls, cooking for his family, and gardening. The man that grimly tracked vampires through dark cities had been put away, but sometimes he still caught himself searching the shadows and watching faces in a crowd. Kail would always be a threat, and he made sure he was always armed, but otherwise... he was thoroughly domesticated.
He returned to the living room, scanning the space for any pumpkins that had escaped the purge. Finding none, he gave a nod at Malakhi.
"I think that's all of it."
Cinnamon was eagerly waiting for Marceline's arrival in his human shape. Since he'd heard she was coming to visit he'd dragged out a selection of his toys to show her and insisted on being a little boy. He had been a little sad to see Halloween go, but the promise of a guest had taken his mind off of things.
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Post by hadopelagic on Dec 20, 2023 0:05:15 GMT -6
As Marceline stepped off the bus at her stop, a gust of chilly wind blew a dry leaves down the sidewalk. She tugged her beanie lower and rearranged the hand-knitted maroon scarf around her neck. For the visit, Marceline wore a long black skirt, a dark gray cardigan, and silk gloves. Her vintage boots were lace-up and narrow, a style that'd been popular during the Victorian era and then revived in the fifties. As the bus rumbled away, she adjusted her book bag on her shoulder, checked the directions on her smartphone, and then started walking. Her boots clicking on the ground, Marceline dutifully stepped over the cracks, a ... habit ... she'd had since childhood.
Vincent's house was a couple blocks away, but the neighborhood was calm and welcoming enough that Marceline didn't mind the journey. She'd never visited the angel's home before; his invitation made her feel very adult, somehow. Grown-ups visit each other for dinner parties and hangouts. They talk about work and their families. Marceline's bookbag was filled with necessities, including caramels for Cinnamon, who--in her opinion--was a precious baby who must be spoiled.
Her steps quickened with enthusiasm ...
Until she saw Malakhi's house. It was a sweet little cottage, the perfect home to raise a Cinnamon and relax after work. Marceline shouldn't be worried.
But she felt a surge of anxiety anyway. What was she doing? She didn't know how to visit a friend's house. What if she ran out of things to talk about? Or--worse--said something profoundly uncool?
During moments like this, Marceline wished she had her brother's immense social confidence.
Sloooowly, she approached the front door, took a steadying breath, and then knocked.
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Post by jarahamee on Dec 20, 2023 0:54:39 GMT -6
The door opened with a soft rush of warm air after only a short pause; Dr. Dziban must have been expecting her.
The man smiling down at her seemed…healthier than the last time they had met. He looked less tired, his skin was more flushed with life, and his cheeks appeared less hollowed. He was wearing what she might suspect were the inner layers of his suit; a gray button-up shirt and suit pants with his beetle-back shoes.
“Oh, Miss Parker. Come in, please. We set up our table for you.”
The surgeon pushed the door the rest of the way open with his cat-headed cane, making a gesture for her to come in, then turned and walked through the kitchen/dining room and into the living room. He moved more steadily, and with less reliance on his cane. Whatever he was doing seemed to be good for his health.
The house was still under repair. She could see some areas which were certainly works-in-progress. Clearly patched areas of the dining-room’s roof that needed to be painted still, and fresh plaster on the wall which had likely had new electrical equipment installed.
He made no comment, leading her instead to the livingroom.
A couch, plush chairs and a television had been placed around this large room, and a table had been set up in the middle of it. Seated at the far end was of the table was a toddler with bright red hair, which Marceline’s second sense told her must be Cinnamon in human form. He clutched a handful of crayons. Piled next to him was a small assortment of toys. At the far end of the room, closing the closet, was the man who had to be Vincent.
Malakhi inclined his head and gestured at the room, as if inviting her to take a seat.
“Cinnamon, this is my friend Marceline Parker. Marceline, this is Cinnamon. Vincent….I…don’t suppose you have met, but this is Miss Parker.”
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Post by beastly on Dec 20, 2023 8:07:59 GMT -6
Cinnamon bounced in place and waved excitedly at Marceline. He very clearly wanted to run up to her, but he was weighed down by the carefully stacked toys in his lap. Keeping the toys from spilling all over the place seemed to win in the imp's mind. "I KNOW HER! HI! Hi, Marceline! Do you wanna see my toys? I got toys!" The little boy wiggled a well loved toy sheep at her from his spot at the table. The toy's fur wasn't dirty, but it had become flat where clearly once it had been fluffy. "And I'm a BOY now!" Cinnamon proclaimed proudly. Vincent walked over upon hearing introductions, any last second tidying was done. The scarred man tried to offer a smile, lifting the corner of his lip to show a some teeth. He wanted to make a good first impression on Malakhi's friend, but he didn't have a lot of experience with guests. His aunt was a ghost, and also family. He'd known the Odes for a while already, and that had started as a work thing. "Hello, Miss Parker. Can I, ah, get you anything to drink?" He'd read something about hosting guests, but it had been a while. He thought there was something about drinks there. Was it too early?
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Post by hadopelagic on Dec 22, 2023 17:25:03 GMT -6
At the door, Marceline said, "Thank you for inviting me to your home, Malakhi." And then she felt heat in her face. Blushing again! Her embarrassment just made the blush worse.
She quietly followed Malakhi into the house, which was being renovated, poor Doctor. It must be difficult to live among the disorder. She could barely stand it. Fortunately, the living room seemed exceptionally homey.
"Cinnamon!" Marceline dropped her bookbag in surprise. "You look wonderful. Just like a little boy!"
She crossed the room to kneel alongside Cinnamon and look at his toys. Marceline could see his bright aura superimposed over his new body. "Did you go trick-r-treating this year?" she asked.
When Vincent entered the room, Marceline glanced up quickly. Her large, dark eyes studied him intently, two wells of fathomless judgement. She did not smile; smiles weren't natural for Marceline. However, her eyebrows scrunched with confusion and then smoothed with understanding.
"Oh," she gasped. "You're the empress I foresaw! Did Dr. Malakhi tell you? I read his future in the cards. You. You are his future. And he is yours."
Marceline stood quickly.
"Congratulations, Vincent. May I have tea with honey?"
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Post by jarahamee on Dec 23, 2023 4:06:34 GMT -6
“You are very welcome. I only…wish I had bought it in a state of better repair, but… the location was good, and Vincent is a very good handyman.”
Malakhi reached out to pat Vincent’s shoulder appreciatively and smiled slightly. The larger man was looking at Marceline and likely didn’t notice, but Marceline had the distinct sense that it didn’t matter whether his appreciation was noted or not. As Vincent offered his guest a drink, the surgeon walked around the back of the child’s chair, eyeballing Cinnamon’s small hoard of toys.
“He is a little boy! Cinnamon, your sheep looks lovely. Is this your favorite toy?”
Malakhi knew that this was, in fact, a trick question, and the child’s favorite toy right now as actually his coloring book, but Marceline didn’t know that, and perhaps, today, Cinnamon would decide something else was his favorite. In Malakhi’s opinion, it always made this an excellent guessing game.
He was entirely taken off-guard by Marceline’s comment about the Empress, and felt his face become a little flushed. While he was happy to discuss a variety of topics, emotional intimacy was not something that came easily to him, and he found that he became flustered discussing it.
“…I…. mentioned something. When you saw the Angel.”
The surgeon himself had been calling it “the Entity” because that seemed more honest than calling that horrifying creature an angel, but he supposed the non-specificity was also just not helpful.
“He’s been a wonderful partner.”
He agreed, leaning his full weight against his cane as he gazed across the living room at his partner.
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Post by beastly on Dec 29, 2023 20:35:17 GMT -6
Cinnamon wiggled in place, barely containing his excitement as Marceline walked over to him. He hugged the sheep toy to his chest and nodded emphatically at her.
"YEAH! I went tricky treating with Penny and Vincent and Malakhi!"
The little boy looked up at Malakhi, gears turning. Then, suddenly, he held the sheep above his head, a sparkle in his eye. Favorite toy... CHANGED.
"She's my FAVORITE!"
There was a chuckle from Vincent, although he was swiftly and firmly caught off guard by Marceline's words. The scarred man blinked at the young woman, processing what had just been spoken, his face clearly displaying his surprise. Malakhi hadn't quite phrased things like that. He thought he remembered she used tarot cards, but the rest of that. Well.
Face a bit warm, congratulations to him indeed, Vincent shot a 'what do I do' type look in Malakhi's direction before deciding his best course of action was to get their guest her tea and recover.
"I. Yes. We're v-very happy. Tea then."
He tried to smile a little more, walking to the kitchen area and busying himself with putting a kettle on. The kitchen and the living room were connected, but he liked having something to do.
"Tea, Malakhi? Cinnamon?"
Cinnamon was getting restless at the table, and looked as if he was getting ready to escape his seat.
"Juiiiiiice?"
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Post by hadopelagic on Feb 19, 2024 1:12:35 GMT -6
"Who is Penny?" Marceline asked wiggly little Cinnamon. "Is that the name of your sheep? Or maybe a daycare friend?" Perhaps Penny was a neighbor's kid, a girl who didn't know that her best friend was an imp. It was like the plot of a children's book.
Initially, Marceline had been intimidated by Vincent's size and muscles. The man looked like a secret agent (or the villain in a Bond movie). How did he meet Malkhi? Physically, they seemed like polar opposites ...
But then, Vincent stuttered and blushed, which revealed the truth: he was shy. Gentle. Vincent probably couldn't hurt a fly. No wonder Malakhi loved him. Marceline should've known better, as a librarian. You don't judge a book by its cover. How many people judged *her* by her appearance? Too many. Cruelly.
"When you return," she called at Vincent, "I'll read your cards, too."
With a secretive almost-smile, Marceline drifted toward Malakhi. She brushed his elbow with her fingertips, pulling her hand back quickly, uncertain whether they were familiar enough for casual touches. If he even liked that sort of friendly interaction. "Your partner is very kind. Does he work with ..." She mouthed the letters "WDSA."
Then, unable to contain her curiosity, she asked, "And how did you meet?"
Perhaps Malakhi could give her tips. She'd considered joining a dating website. Perhaps Hinge or Bumble. There weren't many opportunities for Marceline to meet eligible bachelors face-to-face, considering her cloistered lifestyle.
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Post by jarahamee on Feb 19, 2024 2:13:20 GMT -6
“Penny is our friend’s daughter. She lives in a nearby suburb and they play together sometimes.”
Malakhi’s expression remained serious as he answered her question. It seemed that he was also someone who smiles didn’t come to naturally. His solemn dark eyes seemed faintly golden in the dimmer light of the house’s interior, and she could swear she saw a faint glow that seemed to emanate from behind his head. The opposite kind of aura, somehow, of Julean’s friends and Auntie Yuki.
As if to answer Vincent’s question, Malakhi simply inclined his head in the direction of the tea. Any honest answer from his partner would be an acceptable one, even silence.
“Black tea please, Vincent.”
His gaze followed Vincent, a small part of him wondering what she’d see in reading his tarot cards. Would she see a glorious future? Or death and disaster? Hadn’t they both had their share of death and disaster in this lifetime already?
The surgeon was brought back to reality by Marceline’s fingers on his sleeve, the touch soft as moth colliding with his body. He turned his head, bird-like, to look, first at her fingers, then at her face, before his expression softened slightly, fading into a faint smile.
“He works with me as a medical technician. We met… at work.”
The shadow of a frown passed over his features. He wasn’t proud of the fact that Vincent had been his patient. The uneven power dynamics made him feel a little sick, even if he had been reassured again and again that he had done nothing wrong.
“He helps treat sick Supers.”
The smile returned, tenuous, but full of real joy.
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Post by beastly on Feb 20, 2024 23:03:58 GMT -6
"Thank you."
A spike of anxiety made itself known. What would the cards say? He really had such a terrible past... The future, hopefully, would be brighter. He would work to make it that way, anyhow.
Vincent waited for the water to come to a boil, locating the tea bags and the honey in their cabinets. He was very, very pleased with how the cabinets had turned out. There was so much space, he could fit so many things. It was delightful.
As he waited, he listened in on their conversation and poured Cinnamon a glass of apple juice. Marceline struck him as a very nice young woman. Cinnamon liked her, which was always a positive, and Malakhi seemed to be enjoying her company as well.
Cinnamon finally couldn't sit still any longer, and slid out from his seat to do a little dance next to Marceline.
"Um! You should play with Penny and me and we can do the kitchen!"
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Post by hadopelagic on Mar 8, 2024 2:56:51 GMT -6
"I can read you a picture book, Cinnamon," Marceline offered, doing a slow spin like a ballerina. "You and Penny. And we can do art together. Otherwise, I'm not very playful. My brother says I barely played when I was a child."
Julean, on the other hand, was always up to something with his overblown imagination. He'd pull down the curtains, wear them like a toga or a cape, and scream about gladiators and superheroes. Bouncing off the sofa, knocking into shelves. When he caused a mess, they both got in trouble.
Suddenly, Marceline asked Malakhi aloud, "What kind of super is your Vincent?"
Malakhi raised an eyebrow, and glanced towards Vincent. Did she know about his past? She couldn't. There was no way.
Instead, he shook his head.
"He...he's just a human, though he seems to have visions of the future sometimes. I've called him a prophet."
"No!" she gasped. "A prophet? No wonder his radiance is similar to yours. How do his visions emerge? Within dreams? Or cards, like me?"
Vincent had the faintest haze of celestial light. At first, she didn't notice it. But when he stepped into the kitchen, a lightly perceptible glow outlined his body.
Suddenly, she had an idea.
"If your Vincent and I ... um ... hold hands," Marceline said softly, blushing at the thought of a man's bare hand within hers, warm and no-doubt calloused from work, "and attempt to see the future together, would our affinities combine? I need to--"
She stopped. She couldn't tell Malakhi about Yoshio and Julean's damnation. It might ruin everything.
"--there's something I must know. The cards do not answer my questions. But with your Vincent's power, perhaps I could compel a response."
Her blush deepened.
"With your help, too, Malakhi. We three could link hands together! While Cinnamon supervises, of course."
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Post by jarahamee on Mar 8, 2024 16:27:49 GMT -6
Malakhi nodded, seeing the logic in her words. He was not sure that Vincent’s power would work this way, after all, he usually had visions when he was asleep, but maybe Marceline’s talent combined with Vincent’s would change all of that. She had her own unique set of powers.
“Vincent, would you mind if we tried this? I cannot promise it will work, but I think there’s a chance.” He put a hand to his cheek, looking down at her with open curiosity. Was this truly just to try it? Or was she trying to see something? And if she was trying to see something, what was she trying to see? Marceline was a smart young woman, and the surgeon had the notion that she was after something. “Is.. there something in particular you are looking for? There are more reliable forms of fortune-telling.” The thin man frowned slightly, looking off into middle space as he rubbed his eye under his glasses. He wondered how Vincent was doing with his tea, off-handedly answering Marceline's question; “I may have magic now, but I have little control over it.”
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Post by beastly on Mar 10, 2024 20:27:56 GMT -6
Cinnamon's little face scrunched up as he considered the fact that Marceline 'wasn't very playful'. He nodded after a moment, and mimicked her spin, but faster. And several times. He giggled after stopping, then looked up at her with a very serious 'planning' face, one hand on his hip.
"I like books and coloring! We can do that! Malakhi will gotta tell you her house, okay? Can you drive cars?"
He spun again for good measure.
Vincent to the chatter behind him as he started to prepare the tea, pouring hot water over tea bags and then setting the mugs and juice cup on a little tray. There was a surprising amount of sugar in juice, he'd recently learned, but he wouldn't begrudge Cinnamon a glass. He wasn't sure what made imps 'healthy' or 'unhealthy', but he tried to follow Malakhi's judgement and his own best instincts.
He blinked over when he was addressed.
"Oh- We can try."
They wouldn't disappoint Marceline, would they? She was a very nice young lady. He had never tried to have a vision or predict anything before. There was a first time for everything, though. They'd just have to put their cards on the table, as it were.
Vincent gathered up the drinks and carefully brought them back to the table with the help of the nice little tray. He set Marceline's spot with her tea (He hoped he'd used the right amount of honey), then put Cinnamon's cup where he was meant to sit. Malakhi's cup was delivered, and Vincent stood beside him as he took stock of the situation, putting his hand lightly on Malakhi's shoulder. Fortune telling. Prophecy. Hm.
"Do you do this a lot, Miss Parker?"
Vincent tilted his head, realizing he'd forgotten his own drink. His brain was so used to getting three cups, he'd gotten three and stopped. Oh well.
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Post by hadopelagic on Mar 11, 2024 0:54:29 GMT -6
When Cinnamon asked whether Marceline drove cars, she shook her head slowly, almost regretfully. "I used to drive, Cinnamon, but not anymore. Your dad will need to play cheuffeur."
Then, she returned to the business of prophesy, and somehow, her expression became *more solemn.*
"This is an answer I must learn myself," Marceline explained to Malakhi. "The question cannot be spoken aloud, cannot be shared. Oh, thank you, Vincent."
She took the teacup and had a sip of warm tea. With a pleased, "Mmm," Marceline settled cross-legged on the ground.
"I read the cards often," she answered him. "They always have something to say."
But she couldn't direct the conversation. And that's where Vincent and Malakhi came into play. Marceline didn't know where her powers came from; they weren't celestial, that much was certain. However, combined with The Divine (Malakhi) and His Prophet (Vincent), she might be able to fine-tune her own abilities. Reign them in, direct them. Malakhi could lend her his authority. Vincent could lend her his strength.
"Sit beside me," she suggested, while withdrawing a worn deck of classic tarot cards from her book bag. She placed the stack on the floor in front of her. "One man to my right, one man to my left. And put your hands upon my shoulders."
What then? Should they concentrate on The Future? Should they try to enter a state of meditative calm?
"Close your eyes," she decided, "and focus on my voice."
Cinnamon might feel left out. Quickly, Marceline added, "And your job, Cinnamon, is the most important. Draw something very futuristic. Do you know that word? It means far, far in the future."
She took a final drink of delicious tea.
"I should warn you," Marceline said, her voice pained, "that the answer to my question might be frightening. But. But the future can be changed. Otherwise, what's the point of Seeing? What's the point of existing?"
It can be changed, she reassured herself. It can be changed. It can.
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