POOR YOU TOGGLE DARK MODE BACK TO NEXUS Jane found her uncle in a sitting room two hours after she was meant to go to sleep. The one with the fireplace and the two overstuffed sitting chairs, the one which had a portrait of some old Falwell hanging next to the window. A simple rug on the floor, muted reds and oranges. She didn’t like the house. The old, ancestral Falwell family home. It was too large for the two people haunting it, too unfamiliar to be anything but frightening to the two visiting. The hallways were cold, the sensible decorations impersonal. Jane ran a paw along wallpaper-green walls as she walked through them, as fast as she could go while still being polite, and followed the hints of life she could pick up on. A whiff of smoke, the faintest flicker of light just one more turn away. The suggestion of sounds, the possibility of another living soul awake in the night. The fireplace was lit when she made it to the sitting room. Cast half of it in a cheery, dancing light, the other tucked away in warm shadow. Her uncle was sat in the chair closest to it, the butler curled up on the carpet right at his side, just like a little lap-lizard. Feet and tail tucked close, eyes fixed in an incessant stare. On the side table, a bottle. In her uncle’s hand, a glass. Neither acknowledged her hover at the doorway. “Uncle Cassie?” The man didn’t startle like she had half-expected him to. Just let out a little huff of breath, blinked hard, and looked up at her. Beside him, Perkings slowly sat up. Jane didn’t know either of these people. Didn’t know how to read the look Perkings was giving her uncle, the moment of silence before any reply. Her uncle made a point of setting down his glass before answering. “Just Cassius. Or Cass.” His voice was rough, the tight-lipped smile shot her way unpracticed. “Can’t stand the sound of Cassie anymore.” The soft squeak of a cap unscrewed. Cassius kept half an eye on her, now that he knew she was there, as he poured himself another drink. “Okay. Sorry, uncle Cassius.” “Don’t apologize for that. No way you could’ve known.” Quiet. Jane dug her claws into the doorframe. “Come on and sit down, Jane. Is everything alright?” Perkings’ smile was prettier, at least. More welcoming, paired with the little wave towards the free chair. No escape. Jane slowly stepped into the room, walked on the balls of her feet over to the offered chair. Took up the decorative pillow on it (square, same colors as the rug, a tassel at each corner) and hugged it close to her chest as she sat down. “I couldn’t sleep.” (Cassius took a drink from his glass as she spoke. Made a face, bent over just a bit, and had to force himself to swallow it. Shuddered as it went down. Didn’t pay even a bit of attention to her, now that Perkings had taken over.) “Oh, that’s terrible.” She didn’t like the sympathy in the drake’s big eyes. “This house is a bit… Imposing, I suppose, if you aren’t used to it. You can sit with us if it would make you feel better.” “This house is a bit fucked.” Cassius spoke up, soft enough behind the hand he held to his mouth that Jane hardly understood him. A suppressed cough, then he pressed on. Eyes only for Perkings. “Real- real fucked , maybe. Real-” “Cassius.” The quiet admonishment was enough to get him to quiet down. Cassius stared at Perkings for a moment (in challenge? His lips twitched and his snout wrinkled, just like he was about to snarl, but nothing came of it), then slumped his shoulders and turned back to his drink. Not a single bit of fighting spirit. That’s just what Jane’s father had said to her when they set off for Kolvetch. Your uncle Cassie is a nice guy, real- real sweet, if you get past his layers, but he’s got no spine. I bet you could bully him into doing whatever you wanted, if you really tried. She’d been excited to meet Cassius. She really had been- the mystery relative which her father hardly ever spoke of, the brother which had ended up with all the family-name responsibility. The bastard (though her father told her not to call him that, after he’d explained what it meant). Uncle Baxter was fun, with his stories and his odd little gifts that came with every visit- stamps and pressed flowers, preserved bugs stuck pretty in little black frames- but Jane was still curious. Those visits, and two birthdays she was sent away to the cozy summer-house turned all-time home of her grandparents were all she had of her father’s side of the family. Uncle Cassius, it turned out, didn’t look like the rest of the family at all. Curly fur and old fashioned clothing, a plain eyepatch and an air of resigned misery about him. He looked like the sort of man someone would write a sad book about. Apparently, according to her father, Cassius had not been missing an eye the last time he’d seen him. He stalked through the uninviting halls of the home as if he were just another shadow, another little suggestion which could only exist in those walls, and his smiles hardly ever looked right. It had looked like he had to fight back something- tears or vomit, Jane couldn’t tell, couldn’t read him well enough- when he’d first laid eyes on her. He had not been happy to meet her. Her father had told her that uncle Cassius liked to write. Research papers and little compilations of other people’s work, tidied up and viewed through a more modern lens, rather than uncle Baxter’s own storybooks. Commentaries on the past. “Uncle Cassius?” He broke away from his absent stare into the fire, blinked at the sight of Jane like he hadn’t expected her to stick around. “Hm?” “What do you do here?” She wanted to be able to picture him doing something more than moping. What did his day-to-day in the Falwell home consist of? How did he pass the time, what did he do for fun? It would be easier to understand him, if she knew those things. Understanding him would mean she could try to get a little closer. He might’ve not been happy to see her, might look at her like he didn’t quite know how to act around her, but he was still family. Jane couldn’t help her curiosity. “Well, I-” Cassius shut his mouth with a little click. Spared a moment to think the question over “Huh. That’s a good question. I wrote some, at the start. Read a few old books. That was nice. Spent most of the rest thinking about killing myself.” Perkings half-stood the moment the words were out of his mouth, a deep growl preceding his snap. “Cassius!” As if he could physically pull that statement back into the little bubble of misery the two were sat in. “Don’t speak-” “Oh, fuck off. ” Cassius rolled his eye, gave a dramatic huff. Braced his feet against the grown so he could force himself out of his slump and match Perkings’ glare. One hand still full with his glass, the other clawed into an armrest, an ugly sneer that made him look like a completely different person. “She’s a Falwell, she’s old enough for big boy talk. I was just answering honestly.” (Jane was not a Falwell. She was a Rothfield. She liked her name, thought it was pretty.) “That doesn’t mean you speak to a- a child like that! You do not get to unload that-” Perkings cut himself off with a snort when Cassius waved his glass at him. Pure dismissal if Jane had ever seen it. “Fuck off,” His face twisted up worse with that repeat. Lips peeled back to show off pretty teeth and black gums, eye narrowed to an angry little slit. “And let me talk to my niece. Let us have a- a nice little conversation. Alright?” No reply. Perkings shifted his weight back into a reluctant seat, tail slowly sliding back and forth upon the carpet. He didn’t drop his own glare, not even when Cassius broke away to take a sip and then smile at Jane. “I did quite a lot of that,” And his voice sounded exactly the same as it had before the interruption, a mellow, pleasant blankness, “And I also ate apricots. Too many, maybe. They don’t taste that good anymore.” Jane’s paws buried deep into the throw pillow. Her shoulders hurt from the hunching. She didn’t want the stranger opposite of her staring at her. Uncle Cassius but worse, not the same man she’d spent the past two days quietly watching and tailing after. Words eventually came to her, more effort put into moving her mouth than running them through any sort of filter in her brain. “That isn’t good.” “No, it isn’t.” Cassius’ voice was light. Another smile. “They used to be my favorite fruit.” “Oh.” She hadn’t meant the apricots. Obviously, she hadn’t- but she knew, very clearly, that trying to correct her uncle would make everything worse. If he wouldn’t touch it then she wouldn’t either, and then Perkings wouldn’t rile himself up again. Just had to step around it like a stone in the middle of a trail. Nothing to bother thinking about. “My favorite fruit are apples.” Cassius didn’t respond right away. He tilted his head, then turned almost entirely away from her to pour himself another cup. Looked like he took longer than he should’ve- a hand straying on the cap, a hesitation when the proper amount was poured out. He took a drink, shivered through the taste, then smiled. It looked different. Less forced, more teeth than the polite little things he had been offering up before. “Really?” His voice changed too. Softer. His free paw worked away from the death grip upon the armrest to settle down in his lap. “Which type do you think is best?” A more familiar stranger shuffled back into the chair. Jane didn’t like how easy the transition was for him. Didn’t think she should trust someone like that. She kneaded at the pillow in her lap for a moment, though, and gave the question the proper thought it deserved. He was still family. Strange, a bit frightening, but family. Her coward-uncle. “I like the green ones. The ones that are more sour than sweet.” An over-exaggerated, approving nod. “Me too. I can’t- I can’t stand the texture of the other types. Too mealy.” “Yes. Mushy.” Quiet again. Jane shifted a paw to play with a tassel- threaded the cords through her fingers and gently tugged at the ends- and started to swing one foot out in front of her. The gentle thud-thud of her heel hitting the chair, undercut by the crackle of the fire. The dying shift of Perkings’ cautionary tail wagging. The creak of some distant board, deep in the belly of the home. “I believe there might be some green apples in the pantry still, Jane.” Perkings’ voice was the same gentle, too-friendly tone that he’d used with her from the moment she stepped into the home and he’d gotten over his surprise. Same sweet smile. “You could have some with your breakfast tomorrow if you wanted. Perhaps in some oatmeal?” Jane hated oatmeal. She still nodded. “Okay.” (Beside the drake, Jane saw Cassius wrinkle up his face into a look of disgust.) “You should run off to bed now, though. It’s getting late.” A hundred little protests from the old flooring as Perkings shifted up to his full height, the sudden darkness as he blocked out quite a bit of the fireplace’s light. He looked like a very big, very kindly beast, shadowed by his miserable charge which stole the opportunity to get another drink, now that the spotlight was not on him. “I can walk you back to your room, if you wish.” She wasn’t tired, and she didn’t want to go back to her room. Didn’t want to lay in that dusty bed and resume her staring contest with the portrait hanging upon the opposite wall again- a venette with brown paint-splatter spots and neatly combed hair, a paw up to his chin and a humorous smile that squinted his eyes. It was too quiet, too closed away within the endless folds of the rest of the house. No outside windows, no reminder that there was more to existence than dull wallpaper and the stink of mothballs. Jane hated that room, just after two days, but she knew she wouldn’t ask for another. So she quietly nodded, slid off the chair, and set the throw pillow back in its proper place. Obediently followed after Perkings when he set off, making sure to step only where his own feet had left impressions in the carpet. At the door, she paused. Set a paw upon the doorframe, absently wondered if she had scratched little scars into the wood from before. Glanced over her shoulder at the sad form of her uncle in his chair, eyes back on the fire and glass back to his mouth. Speaking was a bit easier than before. “Goodnight, uncle Cassius. Sleep well.” A glance up at her, a moment of eye contact. Cassius raised his free hand to wave. “Goodnight, Jane. I hope you sleep well, too.” A stranger had said it, a stranger who was not her uncle, but Jane couldn’t force her feet to move until she spoke again. “See you tomorrow?” Jane had to clutch at the door frame to keep herself from sticking her hand out, pinky-finger first, and asking him to promise. That rougher smile came back to his face. “See you tomorrow. For oatmeal.”