Chapter Text
When Scar was a child, seeing the strings had felt like a blessing.
He’d still been full of wonder, young and not yet burdened by the heartbreak of the world. It’d been marvellous to grow up like that, surrounded by dazzling bursts of colour. He’d been an easily amused baby, and Scar can only assume that he saw the colours even then, entertained by their shifting nature. Shades of purple, orange, yellow, blue, green, black, brown, and red everywhere he looked. The red has always been the most common, but Scar himself has a string tied around his wrist that’s a bright vivid orange, the other end circling Bdubs’ wrist. Brothers ‘til the end.
The only one Scar told about the strings was Bdubs for a very long time. Not out of any pressing need to keep it a secret; Bdubs was simply his best friend, and the only one Scar wanted to tell. Of course, right up until he came home one day to see a new vividly red string around his mother’s ring finger, so unlike the one present around her neck that connected to his and Bdubs’ father.
The positioning should’ve been the first sign that something was wrong.
Scar still gets his guard up when he sees a string around a neck in public today.
But he’d been young, fresh off a field trip, and the question had tumbled from his lips before he could think about it⎯
“Mama? What’s that?”
“What, Scar?”
She’d sounded tired. In the moment, Scar hadn’t noticed, but it’s something that catches his attention every time he replays the memory now. He’d explained himself, stammering and halting because of how afraid his mother looked the longer he spoke. As soon as the last word left his mouth, she’d grabbed him tight, long nails digging into his arms. Scar remembers flinching back, more startled than truly scared.
“Don’t you ever say that again, you hear me, Scar? You don’t see anything, okay? It’s only your imagination. And never, never say any of this to your father. Do you understand me, Scar?”
Scar had nodded, too shaken to speak. The look on his mother’s face had softened, her grip becoming gentler.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Scar had kept his promise, for what it was worth. All the way up until he and Bdubs were out of that house, to the point that he could finally encourage her to leave that vile man. She’s doing well now, set up in a little cottage with a lovely woman named Eva, the other half of the string tied around her finger. Scar likes Eva, he supposes, and he’s glad to see his mother finally happy, no longer afraid, even if it’s happened far too late for his liking.
But Scar will never forget that memory, or making that promise.
Seeing the strings isn’t something taboo, exactly, but it is intimate, far more intimate than most people like to be with a stranger on the street. Scar is lucky to have been born in a time where the laws have gotten a lot more favourable; previously, those who admitted to his kind of ability had to be registered in the government, forced to wear a blindfold or some other vision-obscuring garment in public.
Scar’s at a point where he can profit off of it.
After all, just because someone has a string doesn’t mean they want it.
He knows better than most that they’re never a guarantee.
⎯⎯⎯
Scar knows the type that they are even long before they get out of the car.
He’s not sure what tips him off; the smiles he can see through the windshield, or the annoying pop music blasting so loud that it reached him down the road before the car even made it to his little place. Maybe it’s simply the aura of giddy happiness that surrounds them both. It doesn’t matter, really. They’ll get what they came for. Scar isn’t the type to cheat out paying customers.
He fixes a wide customer-service smile on his face, continuing to lounge back behind the little receptionist desk that he fixed up ages ago. The waiting room of his shop is fairly cosy, done in warm woods and dusty reds and yellows, several chairs with cushions strewn about for optimal comfort. There’s a few magazines that are shockingly in-date, too, but only because Bdubs insists on it. The art decorating the walls is fairly sparse, but beautiful, if Scar does say so himself. Most of them are landscapes that he painted of the bayou outside, with a couple of abstract pieces thrown in here and there.
It’s not really what most people expect, when going to a string-reader.
Scar keeps all of the good stuff behind the curtain; he has to make his money somehow.
“Welcome to Scar’s Stringful Emporium,” He rattles off pleasantly as the bell above the door chimes. Two smiling, rosy-cheeked blond men enter, one significantly shorter than the other. He’s dressed in a dark leather vest over a red t-shirt and a pair of jeans, while his taller counterpart has on a white shirt underneath a blue overshirt along with similar jeans. “And, as you might’ve guessed, I am Scar. What brings you in today?”
“Ah, oh! Er, I’m Jimmy, and this is Tango,” The tall one, Jimmy, introduces, somewhat awkwardly. He pulls Tango up closer to the receptionist desk by the hand, and Scar’s attention can’t help but be drawn there. A multitude of colours greets him, making Scar’s stomach sink even as he turns up the charm.
“Delighted to meet you both!” Scar tilts his head, allowing a bit of mischief to slip into his expression. “Oh, don’t tell me… You’re here for a string reading?”
“Gosh, how’d you know?” Jimmy seems genuinely surprised, brown eyes widening. Tango scoffs lightly, rolling his own.
“Oh, come off it, Jim, I doubt anyone comes in here for anything else. It’s not a lucky guess when it’s 100% of your business.” He glances, derisive, towards Scar. The level of hostility isn’t surprising; Scar imagines it’ll be a cold day in Hell before there’s no prejudice towards string-readers in the world.
“You’d be surprised,” He replies mildly. Tango’s face twists, but Scar doesn’t give either of them time to dwell on it. “I assume I was correct then? You’re both in for a string-reading?”
“Yes!” Jimmy answers eagerly, nodding. “We, er, we just found out we’re soulmates, you know, um, the string appeared to us, and we just wanted to know what colour it is. It feels, er, romantic, but we wanted to be sure, and maybe check for other strings while we’re at it?”
“Of course,” Scar answers warmly. “Are you aware of the price?”
“Yeah,” Tango says, surly. “A rip-off, if you ask me.”
“It’s quite reasonable, actually,” Scar says, trying not to let annoyance bleed into his tone. “If you’ve looked around for proper string-readers, my prices are very similar, not to mention that I’m the closest string-reader around this general area. We aren’t very common, I’m afraid.”
“And how do we know you’re telling the truth, huh?” Tango jerks his chin up stubbornly. Jimmy looks a bit dismayed at the turn that the conversation has taken, all joy seeping from his expression. “Pa says all of you are scammers. Lying and cheating your way to money instead of working hard like the rest of us.”
“If you pay the fee, you’ll have all the proof you need of my capabilities,” Scar answers serenely. He’s not bothered by these kinds of customers; he wouldn’t last a day in this job if he allowed himself to get up in airs about every offensive thing that he’s told. Luckily, Scar knows that people can feel it when their strings are touched, even the ones that haven’t yet been revealed to them.
“Come on, Jim, let’s get out of here,” Tango says, sounding annoyed.
“But Tangs… I want to know.” Jimmy meets Tango’s gaze, looking terribly upset. Scar hopes that he’s not going to cry, but he has strategic tissues on the desk for this very reason. “Don’t you? I’m sick of living in the unknown, of not being able to prove it to your dad or, or to my friends that we’re meant to be together.”
Tango is visibly torn, but eventually he sighs, giving in.
“Yeah, alright.”
“I’m glad you worked that out!” Scar smiles brightly at the both of them. Predictably, Jimmy returns his smile, while Tango only scowls. He’s not going to be happy to find out about the riot of colours surrounding them both, Scar suspects. Then again, no one ever is. “Now, I’ll need my payment before we do anything, as well as you both to sign these waivers to say that I and Scar’s Stringful Emporium are not responsible for any emotional harm that may come to you as a result of your reading.”
“That’s a bit serious, innit?” Jimmy laughs sheepishly, though his face has gone worryingly pale. Scar pulls out two clipboards with the waivers from under the desk, handing them to the other two. “It’s just you havin’ a look at our string.”
“You’d be surprised at how upset people can get,” Scar replies calmly. “Pens are in this neat little holder right here. A string-reading for both of you will be a hundred, thank you.”
“Jeez,” Tango hisses under his breath, although he doesn’t hesitate before rummaging around in his pocket. Soon enough, a crisp fifty dollar bill is being presented to him from each of the men, which Scar takes happily. He was tempted to upcharge due to Tango’s sour attitude, but he knows that this reading won’t end happily for either him or Jimmy, and Scar isn’t heartless.
“Alrighty, waiver’s all signed!” Jimmy says cheerfully, scribbling his signature at the bottom of the paper before handing the clipboard back to Scar. He glances over it, making sure everything has been properly taken care of.
“Looks to be in order. Tango, yours?”
“Yeah, yeah, here you go.” Tango passes over his waiver, which Scar takes another second to look at before deeming it good. He’s learned his lesson about these things; too many people have threatened to sue him for emotional distress, and Scar isn’t exactly rich. He can’t afford that!
“Okay, thank you very much, if you two will just follow me to the back of the shop,” Scar instructs, leaving the clipboards behind on the desk as he goes to unlatch the breaks for his wheelchair. He wheels himself down the little ramp up to the platform the desk is on and then towards the back, moving through the beaded curtain with ease. Another ramp descends into the back of the shop, given that it’s sunken down a level compared to the rest of the building.
This room looks significantly more like one would expect, from a string-reader.
There’s life and light everywhere, with the walls being painted a dark green and huge windows letting in plenty of natural light. The floors are hardwood, of course, because Scar’s wheelchair has bad traction on carpet, and there are plenty of houseplants put into every crevice imaginable. Several baskets of vines, glowberries, and even some pale oak moss that he managed to import a couple of weeks ago hang from the ceiling. In addition to all of the plants, there’s crystals tied with invisible string to the ceiling as well, creating a nice magical atmosphere. Further back against the wall is the door that leads to the rest of his house, but it remains firmly shut to protect his privacy.
A few bookshelves are in the back right corner, knickknacks instead of books decorating the higher shelves that he can’t reach as easily. The table in the middle of the room is covered by a soft black tablecloth, appropriately dark and mysterious. There are cushions on one side for individuals to kneel on while he reads their strings, easily moved away if someone requires different accommodations.
Some string-readers prefer a white background to look at strings, but Scar’s found that black works best for him. Something about the white and the way the strings overlap and interact with each other leaves them fuzzing out, a little too indistinct for his tastes. He’s perfected his craft over the decade that he’s been making money off of it, and even though his set-up is relatively small and cosy, it works. Scar doesn’t need anything else.
“If you could just kneel on those cushions for me, Jimmy, Tango, and then put your hands on the table, palms facing upwards,” Scar tells them, wheeling himself over to the other side of the table. Jimmy and Tango follow his directions without question, quickly adjusting themselves and putting their arms on the table. “Perfect, thank you so much. Now, one last time, you want to know what colour your string is, and if you have any others?”
“Yes, please,” Jimmy answers, sure and fast. Scar directs his gaze towards Tango, who seems surprised to be addressed. He sighs, long-suffering, and Scar can tell that he wants to nervously fidget from the way his fingers flex. It’s plainly evident that this entire excursion wasn’t Tango’s idea, nor his preference.
Still, it’s a marvel what people will do for those they believe to be their soulmates.
“Yeah. What Jimmy wants.”
“Very well. Take care to remember the waivers that you signed, gentleman, and that I am protected legally and have proof of your involvement, should you get violent in the face of results that you don’t like,” Scar warns firmly, frowning at both of them. Jimmy titters.
“Violent? Jeez, Scar, do you really have that stuff happen?”
“Yes. More often than you’d think.”
“We’re not going to take it out on you,” Tango says, disgruntled. “Even if I don’t like you all that much, we’re not those kinds of people. Now are you gonna get on with the readificatin’ or not?”
“Yes, yes, of course, my bad.” Scar laughs lightly. He takes a deep breath, centering himself in the room, and gives one last searching look at both Jimmy and Tango’s faces. Scar is…not looking forward to this one. Finally, he allows his gaze to travel downwards, where a bundle of glowing colours greets him. “Do I have your permission to touch your hands to move them? As well as your strings?”
“Yeah,” Tango answers.
“Er, yeah, of course.” Jimmy sounds hesitant; Scar figures that he caught the strings part of that, and is finally cottoning on to the fact that he might have more than one.
“Thank you.” Scar adjusts Jimmy’s hands, pulling them closer to him and further away from Tango’s. There’s no doubt that they’re connected; the string that binds them together is wrapped around both of their ring fingers, a startlingly bright red shade.
Passion, love, romance…
It’s the only good thing about this, as far as Scar can tell.
“I’m going to tug gently on the string that binds you together now.” He gently twines the red string around his pointer finger, giving it a slight tug. Jimmy and Tango gasp in unison, and Scar barely manages to keep the smug smirk off of his face. He’s not a scammer. At least…not about this. “Your string is wrapped around your ring fingers, as I’m sure you’re aware of already. It is, as you might’ve suspected, a bright, vivid red. This colour typically means your bond is one of passion and romance.”
“I told you!” Jimmy says excitedly. The string pulses against Scar’s finger, and his smile gets softer. He can’t help it. Despite everything, he’ll always love this, his ability granted to him by gods unknown.
“I’m sensing a but,” Tango says, unconvinced. Scar sighs.
“That’s because, unfortunately, there is one.”
“What?” Jimmy’s voice is quiet, concerned already. “What do you mean, Scar?”
“The string tying you and Tango together is not the only one that either of you have. As this is a string-reading, I will be going through the rest of each of yours now, and telling you the colour. Please feel free to ask me for a break if you need it at any time. This can be…a bit rough to process.” Scar doesn’t intend to sound so rueful, but it slips out nonetheless. Carefully, he untangles his finger from their red string.
“I told you,” Tango murmurs, voice low but audible nonetheless. Scar keeps his eyes firmly on the mess of strings; looking up at either of them will only make him feel worse right now. “I told you we shouldn’t bother with this. We were better off not knowing, Jimmy.”
“There are other strings than romantic, Tangs,” Jimmy responds, pleading. “I know everybody says that, but it’s not true, there’s more research comin’ out every day about platonic strings ‘n whatnot. They’re not all red, right, Scar?’
“No,” Scar answers truthfully. “But I’m afraid that you do have another red string, Jimmy. It’s wrapped around your ring finger next to Tango’s string, and while I don’t know where it leads, I suspect that you’ll meet them soon. It’s not very max, mall, mallex⎯ flexible. It’s not very flexible.”
The string is, in fact, rather taunt. Most strings are fairly lax, especially between bonded pairs like Tango and Jimmy. There’s a bit of excess string, pooling loosely against the table, but not with Jimmy’s other red one. That one extends behind them, through the beaded curtain and out the door of Scar’s shop, leading to places unknown. Somewhere nearby, though, if it’s this tension-wound.
“We shouldn’t have come here,” Tango says, sounding stricken.
“No, no, it doesn’t have to mean anything, Tangs, not when I’ve got you. Besides, I’m sure that you have something like that too! And, and we’d pick each other over anyone, wouldn’t we? We’re not just soulmates because of some silly string, right? It’s because we love each other.”
Scar can’t tell who Jimmy is trying to convince more; himself, or his soulmate.
“I just… Let’s find out the rest of the strings, Jimmy. Then we can… We can talk about this later, at home.” Tango is quiet, subdued, and Scar knows that if he looked now, he’d be able to see the heartbreak written all over his face. He’s more strong-willed than that, though, and turns his attention to the next string on Jimmy’s hand.
“Moving along. You have an orange string that branches off into two⎯ I’m assuming you have some very close siblings in your life, Jimmy?” These strings are the easiest to deal with, in Scar’s opinion. He has one of these, after all, and nobody is ever very shocked about a sibling string.
“Um, yeah, I’ve got two. My older sister and brother, Lizzie and Martyn. I have strings for them?”
“You do,” Scar confirms, reaching out to give a gentle tap to both. “Clearly healthy and strong. One of the strings has a bit of green to it, so maybe a bit of jealousy or envy? The other has purple⎯ Respect, admiration.”
“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” Jimmy says with a soft chuckle. “Lizzie is…she’s amazing, you know? But I’ve always been a bit jealous of Martyn. He doesn’t live in town anymore, I miss him like crazy. Why can’t I see the strings myself, though? I saw the one with Tangs as soon as I started having feelings for him, and he saw it for me the same way.”
“A lot of people who are raised with the notion of soulmates only perceive their romantic strings; it’s the brain’s way of dealing with this kind of magic, unfortunately. Now that I’ve told you and proved that it exists, you should be able to see the string within the next few days, if not by tonight.”
The explanation comes easy after so many times of saying it.
“Oh, that’s…weird.”
“It really is,” Scar admits freely. “After that, you only have one more string, wrapped around your pinkie finger. It’s a mix of quite a few colours, actually. Most predominantly yellow, which is friendship, but there’s purple, blue, and a little bit of red, too. Purple is more of the same; respect, admiration. You hold this person in high standing. Blue can signify a number of things, but with the pinch of red, I’m assuming that this person’s string once was mostly red and yellow, and thus is someone you no longer hold romantic feelings for.”
“Oh,” Jimmy says quietly.
“Who is it, Jimmy?” Tango asks, sounding pained.
“I think it’s… I think it’s Joel.”
“Joel?”
“I don’t feel anything like that for him anymore, obviously!” Jimmy yelps defensively, his and Tango’s string twitching slightly. “He’s not, he’s just a good friend now, but I⎯ I used to have this massive crush on him, before I realised he was in love with Lizzie, and that they were soulmates. After that, I didn’t… I put it out of my mind as a possibility.”
“Void,” Tango says. “I feel sick.”
“Do we need a breather?” Scar asks mildly, still not lifting his gaze. “I have an area outside, the back porch. I find it quite lovely to sit with my thoughts so close to nature sometimes, not to mention that the bayou is always a riot of entertaining sounds, sights, and colours. You can take as long of a break as you need to collect yourselves, I’m in no hurry.”
“No, no, just⎯” Tango cuts himself off forcefully. He takes an audible deep breath. “No. Tell me what mine look like and then we’ll be out of here, okay? I don’t want to drag this out any longer.”
“If that’s what you want.”
Tango has less strings than Jimmy, and they’re considerably more uniform. Scar releases Jimmy’s hands and strings, moving over slightly to take Tango’s hands in his own. There’s not an additional red string anywhere near him, unfortunately. Scar was really holding out hope for this to be one of those situations where both partners had an additional romantic string, leading to possibly the same person. It’d still be a lot of work to be together and have the hard conversations, but perhaps less than it will be now, with Jimmy having a red string and Tango not.
Tango, instead, has one red string, leading to Jimmy, and three other yellow strings. They’re tied on every other finger aside from his ring finger and thumb, all three streaked through with a couple of other colours. Scar suspects that Tango has a very tightly knit friend group. He doesn’t often see this many platonic strings without a hint of red in any of them.
“You have three other strings, Tango. They’re all predominantly yellow, which is the colour of friendship. A very deep friendship, judging by the shade. You’ve also met all of them, given that your strings are slack. The first one, tied around your pointer finger, is streaked with purple for respect or admiration, blue for knowledge or intellect in this context, and finally, a smidge of green.”
“I have a close group of buddies,” Tango admits quietly. “That sounds like you’re describing Impulse. I mean, I guess, y’know, with the intelligence or knowledge or whatever⎯ We’re coworkers, and he’s so much smarter than me, I swear. Jealousy, too, that makes sense. What do the others look like?”
“Next, on your middle finger. It’s still yellow, of course, with a good amount of orange and purple intermixed. A bit of red, but I suspect that’s to represent passion, not romantic love, with the context of the orange.” Scar taps on each string as he describes them, sending gentle reverberations down the length of them. Tango huffs a laugh. At least, that’s what Scar thinks it is⎯ He can’t tell if Tango is amused or simply making noises.
“No, yeah, I know who that is. Skizz. He’s Impulse’s, well, like, everything, and he’s the most passionate, wild dude I know. I love him to bits, but not like that. He’s definitely more like a brother to me than anything.”
“Oh, was he the one I met at the dinner party?” Jimmy pipes up, clearly hesitant but trying. Scar doesn’t have to look at them to know that Tango’s looking some kind of way, with the way the tension in the room grows exponentially.
“Yeah, that’s him. Whatever. Scar, the last one?”
“Yep, I’m on it. This one is, you guessed it, yellow again! This time, we’ve got a considerable amount of blue, some purple, and then a little bit of green for jealousy. More love of knowledge or intellect here than there was with Impulse, but about the same amount of respect and jealousy.”
“Oh, that’d be Zed. He’s my best friend, we’ve been together practically since the womb, and he’s crazy smart. I mean, Impulse is great at the practical application of the stuff, but Zed is just…he’s something else, you know?” Tango pauses for a moment. “Now that you’ve told me they’re there, will I be able to see the strings connecting us?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Scar answers, lifting his head and ignoring the twinge of pain his neck gives. He closes his eyes, allowing the burning colours to slowly dissipate against the back of his eyelids. Eventually, he blinks himself back to seeing Tango and Jimmy’s faces. “If you tell them about the strings, they’ll likely be able to see them as well, which is handy.”
As he could’ve predicted, neither Jimmy or Tango look anywhere near as happy as they did when they came in for their appointment.
“Thanks, Scar,” Tango says. The hostility that was once present is now gone, but in its place is a little bit of devastation and heartbreak, all wrapped up in one. Scar wishes he could do something to help, but that’s unfortunately far beyond his capabilities. He simply tells the world as it is; he can’t change it, not like this. “We’re good to go?”
“You’re good to go,” Scar confirms.
“Yeah, thank you, Scar.” Jimmy flashes a wobbly smile. “I’d say it’s been nice, but…”
“I know,” Scar says, and he does, truly. “Don’t worry about it. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
Instead of responding, Tango and Jimmy simply pick themselves up from the cushions, rising to their full heights. There’s none of the closeness that was present at the beginning of their appointment; indeed, Tango seems almost to shy away from any contact with his supposed soulmate. Scar watches them go, heart twisting in his chest.
They never really want to know.
Scar’s been through this enough times to be sure of that.
⎯⎯⎯