“...It was an annoying week, yeah, but it wasn’t, like, all bad. They let me name the boat.” Wick stops mid-story, squinting into the air. “Did I ever tell you I got to name a boat?” 

Priscylla’s eyes pop open as she realizes with a start she must have nodded off. Carefully, she sets her drink onto its coaster before something terrible happens, only then processing what her guest was saying. “What? No. Why would you want to name a boat?”

“For the prestige!” Wick punctuates his exclamation by gesturing with his own wine glass, raising his hands in the air. “Now when anyone sets foot on the Schooner or Later, I get a little bit of immortality.”

Priscylla pauses for a moment, her hazy brain untangling the implicit pun, before she falls back into her chair groaning.

Wick just grins at that. “Thank you! See, thank you! I swear, it flies over the head of nine-tenths of the people I tell the story to.”

“Miserable. Simply miserable.” Priscylla changes her mind and picks her glass back up, taking another swig of her cherry liqueur. “I have no idea why anyone lets you name anything, when you go in for that kind of nonsense.”

“Oh, so now you’re going to preach to me?” Warwick laughs, nudging her playfully with his shoulder. “We’re not all pompous enough to name ourselves after mythical beasts.”

“Better than naming yourself after a damn candle!” Priscylla nudges back, not letting up. She can feel his arm bobbing up and down from his quiet laughter, even through her pullover. “I’m serious! What’s even the point if you’re not going to pick something at least a little dignified?”

“Oh, it’s so sad.” Warwick returns the lean, locking the two of them against one another. “She doesn’t even get the quiet nobility of alliterative names. I always knew you were irredeemable.” His eyes fly open. “Shit, sorry, that’s too far.”

Instantly, Priscylla flinches back, mouth agape in fury. For a moment, she sputters, brain trying to form a cogent rebuttal. The four drinks swishing around in there make it more trouble than it’s worth, though, so she instead just settles on spitting, “Yeah, I would hope that’s too far.”

“I don’t mean it!” Wick jumps straight to his feet. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It was a stupid, stupid joke–”

“Oh, so it was a joke!” Priscylla hisses the words, frigid pressure building up behind her eyes. “So funny! What a great way to lighten the mood! I nearly get the damn Inquisition dropped on my head, and you get to crack wise about it!”

Warwick flinches. “I know, and I know– Wait.” Every word out of his mouth makes Priscylla just a little more pissed. “The Inquisition? I never got told anything about that, what happened?”

Priscylla is half a second from shouting her response, something real biting about how he never pays attention to anything but his own work, when someone starts pounding at the front door. Both Priscylla and Warwick pause for a moment, breathing heavily as they look in the direction of the entryway.

Mrs. Falk comes gliding out, holding up a piece of parchment with ITS THE ANGRY KID written on it in hasty scrawl. She jerks her head in the direction of the entryway, looking anxiously to Priscylla.

“Five fucking fiends, now Jasper’s here, too,” Priscylla moans. “It’s always something. Of course it’s always something. Just…” She waves a hand in Mrs. Falk’s direction. “Let’s just get this over with, already. Let him in, we’ll be right there to greet him.”

As soon as Mrs. Falk sets off, Warwick is there, holding a hover-hand over Priscylla’s shoulder. “Are you, y’know, sure about this? It’s solstice eve, and we’re both a little buzzed, and your parents…”

“Quiet and let me fix one of those.” Priscylla lifts a hand, reciting a quick protective charm. Immediately, she can feel her headache receding, her mind clearing rapidly as the alcohol in her system is suppressed. “There. That’ll buy us a bell or two of pretending to be rational adults. Might stop a hangover if we’re lucky, too.”

Warwick lifts a hand to his own forehead, eyes widening as he registers the spell’s effects. “If you’re sure. But everything else, though?”

“One problem at a time,” she grouses. “Now come on. I have another guest, and clearly I’ll need a chaperone to make sure I don’t accidentally threaten to peel his skin off.” Already she’s feeling more in her element. She may not be able to hold her liquor, but Priscylla can definitely hold a grudge.

Jasper is waiting there awkwardly, in a much-too-big coat. He has that kind of face that makes his age hard to place– back in town, all sneering and jeering, he easily could have passed for his early thirties, but now, clean-shaven, out of his element, he barely looks nineteen summers old. As soon as he sees Priscylla and Warwick step through the threshold, his expression darkens, as though he remembers all at once he’s supposed to be angry. “I figured I’d come early. Hope it’s not a problem.”

“Well, it is, but let’s get down to business.” Priscylla inclines her chin in Jasper’s direction. “I’d say good evening, but I can’t stand lying.” She sweeps a hand in Jasper’s direction, perfectly at home playing the role of the tyrant queen. So much easier than coming in without a script. “Now. Please state aloud why you’re here, so we’re on the same page.”

“I want to see what’s become of my mother,” Jasper replies, shoulders square. He might cut a heroic figure of his own someday, but for now his curly hair and ruddy cheeks from the snow rather ruin the effect. “Tell me where she is,” he stammers.

Priscylla gestures to the hallway, prompting Mrs. Falk to step out. Priscylla savors Jasper’s pained little gasp, before frowning at the memory of Warwick’s “joke”. Back to script. “Good evening, my favorite servant. Can you confirm that your name is Estrel Falk?”

Mrs. Falk nods, and Jasper’s face at once turns ashen.

Priscylla keeps going. “Let’s take a moment and prove your faculties are intact. First of all, can you tell me seven times three times four?”

Mrs. Falk takes a moment, before flashing eight fingers then four. Eighty-four.

“Good. Second, how many eggs did you put in my breakfast this morning?”

Mrs. Falk lifts two fingers this time.

“Perfect. Third– How many years has it been since your reanimation?”

Mrs. Falk rolls her eyes, but flashes four fingers dutifully.

“Great. And would you say that in that time you have been well taken care of?”

With gusto, Mrs. Falk nods her assent.

Priscylla can feel a wicked smile crossing her face at Jasper’s visible discomfort. “And would you say that your quality of living is higher now than you remember of your life?”

Again Mrs. Falk nods, and Jasper opens his mouth as if to say something.

“Perfect,” Priscylla cuts him off. Time to deliver the killing blow. “Speaking of your memory. Do you have any pre-resurrection memories of the young man in front of you?”

Mrs. Falk steps forward, squints at Jasper, and finally turns back to Priscylla, gently shaking her head.

“Just as I’ve been telling you for years now.” Priscylla’s cheeks are beginning to ache from smiling so widely. “Thank you, Mrs. Falk. That’ll be all for now, feel free to take the evening off.” As Mrs. Falk shrugs and shuffles off, Priscylla turns her attention back to the youth shivering in her entryway. “Now then. Do you have any further- oh.” She realizes with a start that tears are piling up in Jasper’s eyes.

Wick doesn’t waste a second doing the obvious thing. Immediately, he’s fawning over Jasper, holding out a spare tissue. “Here, are you okay? I’m sorry, that must have been hard for you to watch.”

“Get off me,” Jasper whispers.

“What?”

“Get OFF me!” Jasper shoves Warwick away, panic clearly rising in his eyes. “And stop staring! You’re all staring at me! I get it, okay?” Damn. Maybe Priscylla went a little too hard on twisting the knife. Jasper keeps backing away as he rambles. “I shouldn’t have come here, now you want to make me sweat so that I’m too scared to fight back. I am! I am scared! I just saw my mom’s face and I could tell she didn’t recognize me!”

“Please, just listen, we can talk this out,” Warwick tries lamely.

“No. No way, I get the picture. I don’t care what Pa says, I’m out of here.” Jasper turns, rummaging in his coat pockets for his hat. It felt so good in the moment to cow him, to finally see his family’s stupid bravado drain out of his face, but now he’s clearly panicking, and that terror in his voice, that idea that he’s thrown open a door he can’t close is too familiar, and he’s about to turn around into the snowstorm…

“Stay,” Priscylla booms, shocking everyone in the room.

“N-no, I can’t,” Jasper reflexively stammers. “I’m not supposed to.” Despite that, he stops looking for his hat, turning to look at her. “You can’t make me.”

“You’re right,” Priscylla muses, leaning against the wall. “I can’t. If you want to go straight home, be my guest. But it’s cold enough out there that I’d feel cruel if I let you leave without at least a few minutes by the fire.”

Jasper straightens up a little bit, though still tense. “You want something from me. Another servant, or something.”

Priscylla laughs openly at that. “No. What I want is for you to leave me alone and for people to stop treating me like a threat– not necessarily in that order.” With that, she pushes off the wall, making her way back to the living room.

Behind her, Jasper turns to Warwick instead. “Is she joking?”

Warwick clears his throat nervously. “No. She’s not a fan of jokes.”

Five minutes later, the three of them are happily nursing non-alcoholic drinks. Wick still is in the habit of carrying chocolate in his travel pack, so Mrs. Falk was able to whip up some rudimentary hot cocoa.

“It’s good. Thank you.” Jasper sets his cup back down. He seems to have cooled off, but that might just be because Wick is acting as a barrier between him and Priscylla. “I think I made a mistake.”

I think you made a couple, Priscylla stifles the urge to say. “Go on,” she says instead.

“I don’t know. That’s kind of all I had.” Jasper avoids eye contact scrupulously. “I just think I made a mistake, because–” He reaches for his hot cocoa, and fumbles it, spilling all over himself and the floor. “Ah! Ahh!” Mrs. Falk, spurred by the noise, comes out of the kitchen to see what happened, but that just makes Jasper panic more. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Mrs. Falk tilts her head a bit to the side, leaves and returns with a rag. Immediately, she sets about picking up the pieces of the shattered mug. Jasper simply hyperventilates through the whole affair, even as Mrs. Falk gently scoots his legs out of the way. Finally, she stands, pointing at Jasper and giving an inquisitive thumbs-up.

Jasper just stares as if he’d seen a ghost. “What…?”

“She’s asking if you’re okay,” Priscylla contributes.

“Oh, I… oh.” Jasper returns the thumbs-up and Mrs. Falk beams back at him. Immediately she leaves to trash the shattered cup, before returning with a fresh mug of cocoa and a towel to help absorb the mess the accident made of Jasper’s clothes. Jasper is dead silent through the whole affair, until Mrs. Falk has left the room. “...That wasn’t my mom,” he breathes.

Warwick blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

“My mom wouldn’t… She’d…” Jasper blinks back tears again. “Gods. Sorry. She just… never would have let us get away with that kind of mistake. There would have been consequences, y’know?”

Immediately, Warwick’s eyes are narrowed and focused. “She never hit you, did she?”

“No! Never. Basically never.” Jasper sighs deeply. “She just… yelled. Talked, mostly. If we ever screwed something up, then she’d never let us live it down, she’d keep bringing it up for years and years.” He stops, gauging the expressions on Priscylla and Wick’s faces. “...That’s not  normal, is it.”

“Not remotely,” Wick grumbles. “That’s the kind of thing that scars people for life.” At the mention of scarring for life, Jasper further blanches, shrinking back into his seat.

Priscylla should probably nip that in the bud before Jasper starts panicking again. “Wick. You’re not helping,” she says, shooing Warwick towards the door. “Go help Mrs. Falk clean up, I can talk this out myself.”

“What? But…” Wick turns to Jasper, realizing at last that his posturing about morality only put the kid more on edge. Gods, does she feel sorry for him? That’s disgusting. “Alright, fair,” Warwick sighs. “Call me if you need anything.” With that, he’s gone.

Priscylla affords herself an exasperated eye-roll at him, before returning her attention to Jasper and, more importantly, her cocoa. Jasper simply looks back at her like he expects her to hex his bloodline– thank the fiends she hasn’t lost all her edge.

“If you have something to say, then say it.” Priscylla simply takes another brisk sip of her drink. “If not, you’re free to go. I simply don’t want you collapsing on the way back and blaming it on me.”

Jasper grimaces, shrinking his posture. “I’m sorry.”

“Be more specific,” Priscylla replies, resisting the urge to rub it in.

“For going along with blaming– er, for blaming you. Saying that you wanted to hurt our family.” Jasper looks out the window at the falling snow rather than making eye contact. “I didn’t know… I thought…  Everyone said…”

“I’ve no need for excuses,” Priscylla murmurs, leaning over the edge of her chair as Rocannon plods over for scratches. “Take your time and get your thoughts together.”

“Right. Right. Okay.” Jasper fidgets with his mug for a minute or two, mulling it over. “It’s like I said earlier, right? Where my mom was just… mean a lot of the time. To everyone, not just us. But when she died, everyone just up and forgot about what she was like, my whole family was suddenly talking her up like a saint. We just kept… repeating to each other that we needed her, and you took her from us.”

“You’re sounding less like an apology and more like an excuse,” Priscylla notes. “But that’s fair. You didn’t actually miss your mother, you missed the idea of her, the image of her you were holding on to. Is that right?”

Jasper nods weakly.

“I can relate, then,” Priscylla concludes, working her fingers behind Rocannon’s frosty ears. “Coming here and seeing Mrs. Falk must have been a real shock, then.”

“I guess. Less of a shock and more… a realization?” Jasper shrugs. “Just… she’s gone, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. And I’m kind of ashamed that I’m relieved about that.”

“Definitely can relate to that one, too.” Priscylla looks up, making eye contact at last. “Here’s my two gold. The dead don’t care what we think of them. That said, we’re not wrong for caring what they’d think of us.”

“I don’t know about that,” Jasper laughs bitterly. “Accepting a witch’s offerings? Spilling my guts to- to you?” He shakes his head and downs his cocoa. “I think she’d disown me on the spot. Again.”

“Like I said,” Priscylla retorts, “You’re not heartless for realizing that she was cruel, and you’re not weak for missing her anyway.”

Jasper keeps fidgeting, quiet. “Alright,” he finally says. “Thanks. And I’m sorry. And I’m glad that my mom… Well, glad her body went to someone who deserves it.” Carefully, he rises to unsteady feet, his posture slouched. “I think I’m ready to go now. I don’t want to… to keep you all on the solstice.”

“Very well,” Priscylla says, standing up as well. “I’ll see you off. But if you meant it when you apologized, then–”

“I’m gonna try and get my family to lay off,” Jasper replies with a nod. “You don’t… you don’t need the trouble. You’re just… a person, with your own problems going on.”

“Perfect.” Priscylla’s grin returns with a vengeance. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Falk.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jasper grumbles wearily as he slips on his hat.

Priscylla blinks, taken aback. “As you wish.” She slips in front of him to the entryway, opening the door for Jasper. “If you ever need my services, or to ask anything of me, feel free to stop by,” she says, astounded that she finds sincerity in her voice.

“I will. Thanks, Priscylla.” Genly nudges at Jasper’s legs, and he offers a confused, tentative pet. “Um, sorry again. Happy Solstice.” With that, he sweeps out the door, tramping back into the cold dark with vigor where he once had panic.

“Thank the absolute gods,” Priscylla groans as she slumps back into her couch, feeling the tendrils of inebriation winding back into her brain as the charm wears off. “You can come out now, Wick,” she adds in a louder tone. “I could hear you eavesdropping the whole time.”

Wick steps out from behind the corner with the most insufferable smile on his face. “You know what I’m about to say, right?”

Priscylla rolls her eyes, fishing her glass of the hard stuff back out. “Say whatever you please, but if you drop the H-word I’m throwing this in your face.”

“Come on! I’m serious!” Wick sits back down beside her, eyes wide and sparkling. “He was an ass to you and you had every right to turn him away, but you talked to him and helped him feel better. If you ask me, that’s pretty textbook her–”

“Stop right there.”

“All I’m saying is that it doesn’t matter how prickly you get,” Warwick beams, clearly starting to feel his own buzz coming back on. “Deep down, I know that you’re a really goo–”

“That word too. Banned.” Priscylla leans back and throws her elbow over her eyes dramatically, trying to force down a smile. “I will soak you. I am so serious about this.”

“You wooooon’t,” Wick slurs. “And you know why? Because you’re an even bigger H-E-R-O than I am,” he spells out, evidently pleased with himself.

“Clearly I can’t change your mind on this,” Priscylla muses, draining her cup. “I suppose I’ve no other option but to humor your delusions.”

“Oh, I absolutely got you,” Warwick claps gently.

“I beg your pardon?”

“See, there it is again!” Warwick points a finger unobtrusively in Priscylla’s direction. “You get extra proper and elegant when you’re embarrassed. It’s cute!”

Priscylla can feel her cheeks burning. “I haven’t the foggiest– er, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sorry! Sorry! I don’t mean to be mean, just.” Warwick shrugs, settling down a bit. “I’m really proud of you, I am. You didn’t have to do that, and… it was nice. You’re nice. Thanks for letting me spend the holidays with you.” He offers a smile, unusually bashful.

“Alright, alright,” Priscylla hears herself saying, though her body feels as though it’s gone limp watching Wick’s eyes glint. “Thank you. For now, though, I don’t want to think about it. Can we just go back to talking about names before bedtime?”