Chapter Text
The first few days after competitions tend to be quiet for Quinn business wise. Most merchants were tallying up profits from their stalls outside the arena and planning out their expenditures for the week in regards to hero expeditions or material costs. So Quinn would mainly fly around looking for stock or see what their orb offers up in visions lately.
Or take naps, like right now.
Quinn sleeps like the dead, stiff and unwakeable; it was perfect for them since they had to remain balanced on their broom mid air above the quieter parts of the market. Sure they could find some bench or a forest clearing but they figured if the day ever came where they do jolt in their sleep, they might as well scar some market goers for the rest of their lives by falling from the sky onto the worn cobblestone.
Not that Boxer would allow that to happen. The mimic always counterbalanced the cargo-broom that was their base of operations by swaying with the winds, keeping Quinn safe from waking or falling to their death. He was their little guardsman, protecting them from all that may harm them, big or small. The bestest boy in Rafta.
Though today, their nap is interrupted by the warning growl of their companion, low but urgent enough to wake them from their slumber. An eyelid is peeled open to glance below, just to spy a postwoman hanging on for dear life off the beam of the water tower Quinn had floating by. While clutching onto the beam, a single arm is outstretched to the brush of Quinn’s broom, letter in hand.
“Oh h-hello!” Eye’s dart below to make sure her footing is safe before looking up at the merchant. “Letter for you, from Skiffly.” Another nervous glance at her feet had her gulp and thrust the letter towards Quinn urgently. “Any, uh, any chance you can reach it from here?”
“Skiffly?!”
The origin had Quinn snap awake, lunging forward to snatch the letter from her hand with desperate urgency. Boxer swung haphazardly to accommodate from the sudden movement, toothy maw swinging close to the postwoman, making her yelp and loosen her grip. In a moment, the poor civil servant slid down the pole with a fading scream as Quinn ripped the envelope open.
Any fake concern for the woman they might have tossed her way for an easy sale was tossed to the wayside in favour for the flowing script of pristine cursive in front of them, their name in their father’s perfect handwriting
‘Dear Quinn, you have been a tough child to find.’
How the hell did they find them? Quinn had no presence, no address, no ties to anywhere. Rafta has been the first place where they have stayed more than a few months and that was because this place was so remote that it was the perfect place to settle. Who in their right mind would think their child, who had run away years ago with few skills as far as they were aware of, would go to what was a hot-spot for budding and veteran heroes?
Quinn had used everything at their disposal to build their business up from nothing, with absolutely no assistance from anyone bar their customers and recently enough, Sylvia. It was this bedrock beginning that enabled them to establish themself without any direct connection to anyone that might realise who they are in relation to their parents. This was the exact reason why they had not been found so far, so what changed?
Their eyes scan the paper, every word getting worse until the last line has their chest attempt to burst out of their ribcage.
‘Seeing as we have not had the pleasure of speaking to you in many years, your mother and I will visit you in Rafta on the fifteenth of this month to discuss your recent ‘business’ ventures and your responsibilities to your family that have been unattended to for so long.
The fifteenth? They glance at their calendar stapled to the side of their sign, remarking the one day gap between today and their visit. Knowing their parents, they delayed the letter so that Quinn would not have the chance to run without leaving absolutely everything behind, an incentive to stay for the visit.
‘We are set to arrive in the morning at the port, so be there when we arrive.’
There is no sign off, no hugs or kisses scribbled to the end. Just an order to be at the port for the end of their life.
Worried, Boxer clambered up the broom to their side, rumbling soothingly next to them. To no avail, they collapse against him.
“Boxer,” the name was mumbled into the wood of their mimic’s body. Their chest was tight and the air felt so far out of the reach of their lungs, that their best friend’s name may as well be the last exhale they take right now. “It’s over, we’re done. They’ve found me. ”
There is a whimper beneath their chin as the mimic tries to burrow closer to them, anything to make his friend feel better to no avail. Quinn could only close their eyes and rest their forehead against Boxer’s wooden form, trying their best to think and not cry.
They couldn’t cry, not over their parents; they couldn’t let them win in this regard after so many years of promising to never shed a tear over them.
By the time Quinn could steady their breath and peel their long-closed eyes, they were greeted by the mocking sight of a setting sun - valuable time that could have been used for forming a plan passing well into the evening. Boxer nudges their side as they bite their lip, looking out at the horizon beyond Rafta. The crashing waves on the coast carrying their parents closer and closer to Rafta with every passing minute.
They rested their hand on Boxer’s head, scared to take their eyes away from the coast in case a ship were to creep into view.
“What are we going to do buddy?”
Quinn should have run. It would have been their first rational thought if given the resources, but the letter had left them a husk for two days until they realised it was too late for any retreat. There are only so many places you can run through from Rafta, with a sparse few commercial ships operating on a regular schedule. Even if Quinn poured their savings into a privately hired ship, it would only be a matter of time before their parents would find them again now that they had a starting point.
Staying in Rafta was the closest thing they had to a hometown advantage; although now that they stood on the pier they found that it was no more familiar to them than the dozens they had sailed through over the years, as most of their time was spent in the sky or the forest. Somehow having their feet on the ground of the town they had made a living in made them feel even more uneasy.
So here they were, waiting on the ship they knew their parents were on to dock. Boxer lay by their feet, uncharacteristically silent as Quinn stared at the luxury boat. Maybe if they glared at it hard enough, it would sink. Or a baby kraken would emerge from the depths and swallow it whole.
Instead of its cataclysmic doom, the vessel slowly draws to the port and any dock workers that was lazing around jumps to action, throwing rope to the sailors on board and securing the ship.
Quinn watches as they scramble to set up the bridge and fetch the luggage of the well-to-do, rushing back and forth over the wooden bridge with dozens upon dozens of suitcases and bags. It feels like forever, with their eyes darting back and forth as the dock workers hurry to and fro before eventually a well-dressed captain approaches the bridge with a crowd of well dressed people.
Droves of wealthy merchants began to disembark the ship, noses high as they walked down the bridge. Quinn never hoped for a bridge to break more from the weight of heavy gold purses, especially when a few merchants leered at Quinn and Boxer as they passed by them.
As people pass, they half expect their parents have bypassed them completely given the depleting amount of passengers leaving the ship. There was always a chance that the two had forgotten what they looked like; they were barely a teenager when they ran away, with longer hair and a lot more tamer looking, for a lack of a better descriptor. But of course, as the last few passengers left, there stood their mother waiting on their father’s arm to escort her off the ship - the last to leave.
Quinn scoffs. “Fuckin’ showoffs…”
Their mother is pristine, probably as pristine as she was when she first sauntered onboard their ship, while their father waned next to her as pale as a ghost. Despite her insistence to hang off his arm like some young enamoured woman, he looks like he is barely hanging on to her as he sways left and right. Though Quinn could care less if he ended up veering off the side into the ocean.
Upsettingly, their wish does not come true and heels clack to a stop in front of them.
Their mother has to lift her head to look them in the eyes and it is the first time in their life that they look at their mother in her golden eyes, rather than past the tip of the nose that used to look down on them all their life.
“Quinn.”
“Caoimhe. Quentin.”
“Mother and father will do,” Caoimhe gestures at the dockworker waiting by their luggage, the last few cases amidst the line of staff waiting to get on with their day. He nods to her and then to the woman next to him, both of them picking up the cases and scurrying off towards the town. “I know it’s been some time since you last said those words but at least try for heaven’s sake.”
“Try, sure…” They roll their eyes. “So you’ll try to be parents and I’ll try to remember that you’re mine, cool.” Their mother scowls at the reaction but Quinn returns the most deadpan expression back; they know she is expecting a mumbled apology back but screw that and her. Glancing between the two, Quentin nervously steps between them, hand out to shake Quinn’s.
“Well, it’s uh, good to see you!”
Unfortunately for him, he steps a little too close, startling Boxer on his leash. He snaps forward, growling and barking at the stranger. Their father yelps and leaps behind his wife, growing even more pale from the shock. Quinn never knew people could be this white.
“Wuh-wuh-what’s that thing?!” With a gentle tug of his lead, Boxer grumbles and tucks himself back behind Quinn’s legs.
“Boxer’s not a thing .” Quinn snaps at the shaking man, leaning down to pat the mimic on his head. “He’s my best friend and business associate, he handles security. In fact he’s the best at it!” Boxer nudges himself against their leg, rumbling happily under their palm and warm praise.
“A mimic,” their mother’s sharp tone cuts in. “A wild one at that, you’ll leave that at home while we’re here. And when we all leave.” There’s a shake of her head. “Can’t have it eating the ferrets.”
“Wow.” Quinn’s eyebrows raised, they did not expect her to be so direct off the bat. “It’s insane you even think I’ll leave in the first place, let alone without Boxer.”
“I didn’t-” Caoimhe pushes Quentin’s death grip off her shoulders, leaving his hands up in the air in the presence of the mimic. “ We didn’t travel out here for nothing, it’s time you come home. This teenage rebellion has gone on long enough; you’re an adult now and it’s time to take responsibility.”
“Teenage rebellion, that’s what we’re calling it?” They gesture at the sprawling town behind them. “Breaking out of a literal cell in a tower and hiding at the edge of the world is a teenage rebellion to you?”
“Well, if we don’t call it that - you’ll find setting fire to the vineyard falls under arson and property damage rather than a family disagreement.” Quinn clicks their tongue and rubs at the back of their neck.
“I’d call it an equivalent exchange for the emotional abuse.”
“Abuse!” Now it was their mother’s turn to roll her eyes. “I would love to see you explain to an actual abused child that you had a roof, a bed, and the best of food the chefs in Skiffly could cook and see what they say.”
“Fuck me…” They mumbled under their breath. Of course she would say that, Quinn pinches the bridge of their nose. “Y’know what, whatever, I don’t even know why you’d bother coming- actually!” Their hand leaves their nose to point at the two. “How’d you even find me?”
“Rather easily, you didn’t do a very good job at running away dear.” Quinn takes actual offense to that statement, given that they did an excellent job at it. Several years of no contact and not a hint of being found out is an extremely excellent job! Caoimhe pulls out her phone without much care and with a few taps, she turns the phone out towards them.
The screen is held in front of them, and as their mother said, there they are in the corner of a picture that they did not know was taken. That petulant moth from the advertising agency downtown had taken a selfie in front of Sylvia’s shop, with Quinn in the background, poison cure in hand. The list of tags were long and it would be an arduous task to read all of them, but a quick scan showed that the sheer amount was bound to have hit one of their parent’s social medias eventually. With the barest glance at the high engagement the post had, it was obvious how this innocent post led to the demise of their entire life.
Quinn was going to kill that bug the next chance they got.
They suck in a deep breath through their nose. “What do you want from me?” Their mother waves them off, stepping towards the exit of the port.
“We can discuss that after we find a potion shop, you know how your father gets with boats.”
They wouldn’t actually, considering most of their conscious life was spent locked up. Quinn sticks their arm out to stop her.
“Health potion? Sure, Boxer-” The mimic does a flip before opening his maw, unhinging his chest-like form to let a health potion slide down his tongue to the ground. Slimy and warm, Quinn grabs it from the ground and passes it to their father. He grimaces when he takes it from them, but pops the cork nonetheless and begins to drink it. “There, now - speak.”
“Charming.” Caoimhe scoffs, glancing off at the town behind them. “Fine, if you’re in such a rush I’ll tell you.” Quinn glowers at the woman, hoping it will either make the woman talk or explode. “David Rathem’s Winery - you might remember their son, he was at your second birthday - they offered a merger, we would give them a very small cut of annual revenue and they would handle our exports to the north on their shipping route.”
“And, what does that have to do with me?”
“You’ll marry their son, in fact we’ve already set a date for two months from now.” Their father’s last gulp of liquid is loud in the second that their mother stops speaking. “It's non-negotiable and the contract’s been notarised, you have to comply.”
“So what, you’d say you’d fetch me and sell me off to them for some merchant ship? How do you even sign away my rights to marry when I wasn’t even fucking there?!”
“We didn’t sign them away.” The woman does not even bother to correct their language, preferring to glance down at her manicure. “We based the contract on the assumption that we both had single children.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“If your preference is for women, I think David’s youngest is unmarried - though she’s not much to look at.”
Quinn can only gawk at their mother, whose nonchalance at the entire thing was more surprising than they thought. They remember her nature when they were a child, but this was crazy. Could someone become this twisted after being left unchecked for so many years? Did the smoke from the vineyard gas out any last shreds of decency?
The silence between them is a void, swallowing up even the heartbeat in their chest as it slams against their bones in panic. Was this it, one candid photo of them and now suddenly their life is over? What do they do, run? Push them off the port and hope they’re too full of themselves to beg for help?
Their racing thoughts are stopped by their father, who chuckles to himself.
“I must say,” their father laughs as if he was not present to his wife telling them that their life here was over. “That is a fine potion - it’s like I was never sea sick at all!” He places the bottle back in Quinn’s still outstretched hand and wipes his own against his waistcoat, mimic slime gleaming against the expensive linen.
This was it, their life is over. Snatched away from them for the sake of some marriage-reliant merger for some shitty wine that rich people pretend to like because of the price tag. Years of scraping by and learning to barter through sheer effort alone, gone.
The saliva coated bottle sits in their hands, slimy against their skin. There was nothing significant about it, a standard health potion they had bought off Sylvia a while ago for when they needed a pick-me-up. Looking at it now, lifeless as they were, Quinn wondered how the girl sold any potions at all. The glass was basic in shape, the corks darkened from months of sitting in Oswald’s shop in the damp - even the labels were barely stuck on. Not that they had much in the line of health and food safety in their own shop, Sylvia took the medal on ‘barely legal for consumption.’
But it was the ink block design along the edges of the paper label that hooked onto them even in the depths of their mind where the letter had taken them, reeling them up from the darker thoughts into what may be the solution as their thumb slid across the text between the borders Sylvia had stamped onto the label.
Brewed by Sylvia.
An idea worms from the deepest parts of Quinn’s brain, almost slithering through the mass to propose an idea to their current predicament.
You can’t be sold off for marriage if you’re already married .
No, this is such a bad idea. A mountainous response to a molehill problem. Sure, their parents wanted to rip them from their new life and lock them back up in a tower, except this time the tower was a ring. All they needed to do was run away again, start over in a different but similarly desolate part of the world where this time - they would not be found. Just them and Boxer against the world.
But their mind wanders… Did they want to do all of this again, especially now that they could argue that they now have -somewhat- pleasant ties to Rafta that would keep them there? The wasteland that Maven left behind was ripe with ingredients for their business, now even more so that Sylvia has been pouring her heroes’ ingredient hauls from expeditions into them for Quinn to be able to find more. They have regular customers, people who say hello to them on the street, hell - Quinn even had people that they would call acquaintances. And they also had Sylvia, a valuable friend and business partner.
Or worse so, an object of minor affection as of late.
If running away takes away what was the closest thing to a life Quinn has ever had, this other option might be the trapdoor under the feet of the best relationship Quinn has cultivated with someone aside from Boxer.
But who else could they pretend to be married with? With Sylvia, they had something there. A clipping of a plant yet to bloom but could surely be framed as blossomed with the right preparation. If they were to pull this off, Quinn needed a partner that they actually liked . Even if Sylvia did not like them back, they were close enough where she may at least be willing to pretend…
Right?
…
“Yeah, I would loooove to get business-married for your wine stuff-” Quinn drawled, slamming the potion bottle onto the coffee table, rattling the delph on it. “But I’d doubt my wife will sign the divorce papers, she’s a little possessive like that. Toxic, I know but our therapist says it stems from her childhood. We’re working on it.”
There is a moment of silence between the three of them, with the two staring down their child. Quinn, however, does not falter; instead, they lean back in their chair with a smirk and wait patiently for them to respond as they relish in the subtle glint of surprise in their eyes.
“ You’re married? To whom?” There is a venom that swells in their throat at the surprise their mother has to the mere notion that Quinn is married. It was never in their life plan, but who did she think she was acting this shocked over the idea that someone may actually like her child.
“Her name is Sylvia, a potion brewer. One of the best, actually.” To the credit of Quinn’s well-practised sales tactics, their parents look halfway impressed. “She’s currently undefeated in the local potion competition, in fact that’s why she’s not here; perfecting her latest entry.”
“A potion competition… You don’t mean the one being presented by that boy Robin?”
“You’ve heard about it?”
“Of course; it’s rare for Robin to do a public event outside of his own brewing ventures. Aside from a few business ventures here and there, he’s a hard man to catch.” Their father sets his cups down, scratching at his patchy beard. “Does your um, wife, have many dealings with him?”
Quinn feels an insidious joy in the way he struggles out the word ‘wife.’
“He pops by the shop to speak to Sylvia pretty often, he’s probably due a visit soon.”
“She must be impressive then, to have such valued attention on her.”
“Oho and you’d be right sir,” their father barely reacts to being called sir by his own child. “In fact she is so impressive, any other woman pales in comparison - so I’m in it for the long haul y’know?”
The gushing starts to feel a bit stiff and Quinn can feel their cheeks burning a bit from the embarrassment. They needed to wrap this up and get them out of here. “So I feel really bad over you travelling all this way to give my arm in marriage or whatever to some person back in Skiffly, but I should really be getting home to cook dinner. Y’know, for my wife.”
“Mmhm,” the ever familiar dismissive hum of their mother knocked them off tempo, Quinn’s confidence faltering as they watched her fold her arms and glance at them down her nose. “Well, no need to cook tomorrow, we’ll all go out for dinner.”
“What?”
“Pardon, you mean-” their mother’s voice snaps. “I hope you don’t talk to your wife like that. Honestly, there is no reason for your manners to be tossed aside just because you’re living here.”
There are two other words Quinn would much rather tell her right now, but instead they grit their teeth and hiss out ‘ pardon’ in an attempt to hurry the woman up and clarify. Their mother preens at the compliance.
“We would love to meet Sylvia, if not to make sure she is a-” She clicks her tongue, as if looking for the right word. “Let’s say a viable candidate to be your partner. We can’t have you settling for some stranger, can we?” Their eyes meet. “I would hate to think you just shacked up with whoever would take you when we both know you are worth far more at home with us being taken care of than with some commoner in some remote island.”
If Quinn would allow themselves to compliment their mother, it would be to admit that the woman was a shrewd one. They knew their plan for a fake wife would be a stretch to pull off, but the years away from their mother showed that with their family - Quinn would need a miracle to get out of this.
Confidence coming from seemingly nowhere, Quinn replies without hesitation.
“Of course, we would love to have dinner with you tomorrow.”
They could only hope that Sylvia could be that miracle.
Quinn shouldered the door open, a crate of new ingredients in hand, immediately getting greeted by the waft of salt in the air and the agonizing sound of a customer trying to whittle down Sylvia’s soul from across the counter word-by-word.
“I mean, isn’t there an owl usually on your counter, is that even sanitary?”
Ah, the sweet sound of the affluent trying to health code their way to a discount.
They watch as Sylvia waits for her turn to speak, preparing a counter argument until she sees Quinn just over the customer’s shoulder and smiles widely. It blossoms a warmth in their chest, uncomfortably so. Sylvia waves a single digit at them, mouthing ‘one second’ before getting back to business.
The young woman adopts a deadpan expression when she returns her attention back to her customer, shoulders slouching as she speaks. An obvious impression of Quinn themself.
“Lady, you walked by the vending mimic to get in here, you can’t complain about cleanliness now.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying the owl should be the least of your worries when I tend to recycle stock from Vendy-” The look of horror on the woman’s face makes Quinn the happiest they’ve felt the past few days, stifling laughter as Sylvia plucks a minor health potion off her storage shelf and routes the counter.
“How about this, I’ll take three hundred and fifty - just seventy over asking considering the demand for sight tonics right now and I’ll throw in this health potion to help with the owl-induced nausea. Sound good?”
Quinn smirks at the sight of the customer dizzily lulling their head between Sylvia and the two potions, completely in shock. Before the customer even realises what has happened, the coins are on the counter and they are already out the door, two potions in hand. Once they are gone, Quinn flips the open sign to ‘closed’ and makes their way to the counter.
“Nice little offensive maneuver there,” Quinn nearly bumps their hip off a shelf that was not there the last time they had visited. “Not sure the free potions are good for our business model though.” In fact, the store appears to have had a little revamp. There is fresh wallpaper and flooring as well as a new cauldron in the corner, simmering away with a purple smoke flowing off the brim.
“Ah whatever, what’s the price of a potion when I can talk to you sooner, right?”
“That kind of thinking is going to get your shop foreclosed.” The shopkeep just stuck her tongue out.
“What’s the point of paying off this place if I can’t have a rager of a party with my friends afterwards?” Sylvia dramatically collapses on top of the countertop. “Whatever I guess, I suppose you’ve just come to mock me in my place of business rather than be my friend and amuse me during my lunch break.”
A smirk finds its way easily onto their face. “Here for something else,” they lift the crate off the empty shelf beside them and approach the counter. “I brought these-”
“Ohhh, free ingredients? Gimme!” Quinn pulls the crate just out of Sylvia’s grasp.
“ Not free, I need a favor.” Sylvia shrugs off the statement before smiling knowingly at the merchant, reaching back out for the box. Quinn’s chest warms at the sight, so they look away as they drop the ingredients in her hands. The weight was enough to tire their arms out considerably, their biceps feeling instant relief in its absence. Sylvia however takes it without much difficulty, the muscle in her arms flexing.
The merchant gulps and turns their attention to a hole in the floorboards. Simmer down, they think to themself.
“I know how we work, give me some credit. What do you need? More cures?”
Quinn is not sure how to deliver this sort of request. So they lean on their orb and examine their nails nonchalantly as Sylvia shelves her new goods, acting as casual as they possibly can before speaking. They wait until Sylvia is a good bit into sorting through the crate and presumably distracted by the task at hand before answering.
“Nothing much, we just need to be married, for like a week or so. Not a big deal or whatever.”
A classic shock factor approach, one they were well practised at. The usual result was some poor sap handing them cash before they even realise how much they’re paying; and the hope here was that Sylvia would say yes without even thinking. And to their credit, she was close to it when her eyes widened at the request, the ‘sure’ cut off as her head spun over her shoulder to stare at Quinn.
The potioneer blinks and then waits a moment - the worst possible response. They would have preferred a ‘yeah sure’ without her totally realising what they were actually asking for. Shaking her head, she goes to speak again but hesitates, settling to blink once more before finally she manages to form words.
“Say what now?”
“Where did I lose you?”
“Somewhere between the first word and the last,” Quinn rolls their eyes at the response. “Quinn, you know I’m down for most of your plans, but I have to draw the line at marriage fraud.”
“It’s not fraud , it’s more like acting illegally.” They wanted to say worse but they were trying to sell this. “It’s for a great cause, I swear.”
“You want to marry me and then kill me so you can get the shop?”
“Wha- no!”
“Good, you do not want this debt.” The relief on her face was almost comical to Quinn. “The mold in the corner then? You can just take it, I don’t think it’s covered by any sort of Raftan property law-”
“No!” They drag their hands down their face. “I just need to convince certain people that I am very married and would therefore be unavailable to be married to anyone else.” Sylvia just ends up looking even more bewildered. “I can’t go into specifics yet, but basically my parents found out where I am and want me to go home to get married to some rich schmuck..”
“ Found you? What does that mean?” Sylvia is nearly climbing over the counter to get close to them. “Quinn, if these people are dangerous, we can ask the guild for help.”
“The guild is not going to be able to help when all I have are allegations, so I have to deal with this.”
“But by pretending to be married Quinn? How is that going to convince them to leave you alone?”
“I don’t know!” The potioneer is too close, too concerned. More questions keep coming and Sylvia just keeps edging closer to them. It takes so much for Quinn to get the words out but they manage to yelp out a “Just, stop for a second!”
In an instant, Sylvia jumped away from them, hands in the air. Quinn takes a few heavy breaths from the now free space between them, nodding their head to an imaginary beat in their head as they regain their composure.
“I just-” They pull the brim of their hat over their face, not wanting the girl to see them so frustrated. With the cover over their face, the words come out a little easier. The veil creates a safe space between the two of them for Quinn to voice the best way to describe their thought process earlier.“I don’t want to leave Rafta, or my shop, or you behind.” There is no immediate response, which rattles them further. More words tumble out, not as eloquent but they shared the sentiment of honesty.
“And if I can just convince them I’m married here, it means they can’t promise me to someone else. But they have incredible bullshit detectors -” God there were just so many words falling out of their mouth. “And I didn’t know who else I could say I was married to that I could stand other than you . I need you to be the one I tell my parents I’m married to.”
There’s a beat after they finish rambling, where the air settles so gently on their skin that they can’t help but sigh deeply.
“I’m,” Quinn sucks in a breath through their nose. “I’m sorry for snapping, it’s been a very stressful day, as you can imagine.”
“It’s okay,” her voice is quiet and gentle. “I’m sorry for bombarding you. I’m just really worried about you right now but that’s no excuse.”
“I uh, I appreciate it. I know you’re just-” Thoughtful, kind - the words are too sweet to say and they will either make Quinn cry or gag saying them. “You’re thinking of me, so I’ll forgive you. This once.”
“Thank you Quinn.”
A hand lifts the brim of their hat and in moments, Quinn’s eyes meet Sylvia’s. Her face is flushed, embarrassingly so and if they had the wherewithal, they would comment on it for their own amusement. But her green eyes gleam softly in the candlelight, not with the pity they expected. It was nothing they had seen before and they definitely could not name the emotion, but it had their heart stop racing just at the sight.
“Well-” Sylvia sighs out, a wobbly smile on her face. “If it’s any consolation, I’m honoured to be the only one you can stand enough to be married to.”
Quinn averts their eyes. “You should be.”
“I really am!” Sylvia puffs out her chest. “I am going to be the best wife you’ll ever have!”
They want to be surprised, ask if she’s sure she wants to do this but a small part of them holds the words back. Would it be too honest to admit that this was an insane request? That leaping to their rescue this time would mean the world to them?
Instead, they yank their hat out of Sylvia’s grasp and pull it over their face again.
“Trying to ruin it for the next person, Sylvia?”
That takes the wind out of the shopkeep, a strange look flashing in her eyes for the briefest moment before recovering. “Think of it more as setting a high bar.” Her hands swing way above her head as she speaks, miming a bar way over their heads. “You deserve the best you can get, y’know?”
Quinn can only chuckle at her because if they did try to reply, the fear would be that they would say she was the best they’ll ever have - even for a week.
“You will need to explain everything to me about your parents properly, but there’s no way I’m going to let you get kidnapped for an arranged marriage in the meantime.” To add emphasis, Sylvia raps her knuckles against the crate next to them. “After all, who will I get my ingredients from?”
“I knew you were just using me.” Sylvia’s chuckle at Quinn’s joke comes out in a rumble that reminds them of the warmth of a crackling fire. “You parasite.”
“Learned from the best, didn’t I?”
“Yeah you did.” Quinn’s smile is slanted, trying to hide to morph what would be a too honest grin into a nonchalant smirk with little success. “And I will tell you more, but we better get going if we want to have everything we need for tomorrow.”
“Sure thi- Tomorrow?!”
Quinn had to say, Sylvia’s friends are a very reliable group of people.
They supposed that for much of Sylvia’s time in Rafta, she must not have asked much of the friends that relied so heavily upon her; mainly focusing on her shop and solving her problems herself. They offered advice and haggling tips while spending time with her, but she had not asked for any specific requests for free. Expeditions were paid for, gifts were given and time that she definitely did not have to spare was spent with the people in her life.
So when Quinn drafted up the list of things they would need to appear like a stable, successful married couple; Sylvia’s village of friends stepped up to do what they could, united in their want to help her.
Saffron upped the ante on her contracted repairs, with Muktuk in tow to help repair and completely renew the store. Shelves were installed, the roof repaired, and a back room added to move some of the useless crap that littered the shop. This endeavour was a definite sign of the dedication to their work and to their friend, but the couple of speed potions that Sylvia poured into the two definitely did cut their workload down for sure.
Luna, mostly apologetic and partly fearing for her life from accidentally causing this whole situation in the first place, rolled out some posters and advertising about Sylvia’s shop. While typically this would be to drum up business, it had the added benefit of making Sylvia look like a very talented and well-loved upstart to any newcomers -namely Quinn’s parents- coming into town. Not that either of those were untrue to Quinn’s perspective, but the added certainty helped quell their nerves.
(For now, Luna escaped their ire. Still, a bag of putrid slime would find her chimney for her lackadaisy photography getting them into this mess.)
Those of the Heroes Guild did what they could, with Baptiste offering a lot of aid in making everything seem official. He drummed up an official looking certificate of marriage, back dated to around the end of the first competition. There was not much of an official government in Rafta considering it was technically still in development, so the Heroes Guild was the spot to go for official certifications.
Initially they both doubted Baptiste would agree to such an illegal action as falsifying documents, but seemingly he waved Sylvia off and said he would handle everything. So who were they to look a gift horse in the mouth?
Mint, Corsac, and Xid went all in on expeditions also, sourcing ingredients for Quinn’s shop and in turn Sylvia’s potions to be delivered to them in the next couple of days. Roxanne will handle Quinn’s sales for the time being, the basement turned into a messy makeshift store for enchanting and potion ingredients. They do not know how well that will go, but in all fairness, their shop for once was the least of the worries since it will be left to the wayside should they get dragged back to Skiffly for some arranged marriage.
It was a ramshackle plan executed to a very high degree of quality and by the end of that very day, everything was tied up with a neat bow as Saffron dragged a very tired Muktuk out of the now finished renovated store - leaving Quinn and Sylvia alone for the first time that day.
Even in the midst of a life-ending scenario, Quinn could not help but stare at their fake marriage certificate on the counter of Sylvia’s shop in disbelief. They had walked in early this morning with an admittedly insane request and somehow by the evening, nearly all the boxes were ticked for the standards Quinn knew their parents would hold them to.
“It looks so real.”
“I mean…” Sylvia squints at the wax seal affixed on the corner. “Isn't it supposed to?”
“I don’t know, I just expected to see something off about it.” Their eyes ghost over Sylvia’s signature next to theirs, a pleasant wave of heat flowing through them at the sight. “But I can’t find anything wrong with it.”
“It’s just nerves, you’re looking for holes in the plan.” Sylvia gently lifts the certificate off the table, treating a fake courtesy document in the same way one would carry a treasured scroll. “Talk me through what we have left?”
Quinn sucks in a breath, glancing down at their notes as Sylvia places the certificate in a frame nearby. Their fingers play with the fray torn edge of the page. It was a page from the back of Sylvia’s notebook, ripped out without much care when Quinn said they needed to write down their thoughts. Everything they needed was on this piece of paper and despite the missing corner and uneven tear, it was the most important thing to Quinn right now.
“We hit a lot of major points that would convince most people, though who knows which parts of our story they’ll poke and prod at.” Quinn sighs, rubbing their tired eyes. The low lighting of the shop in the evening was pleasant but was hard on the eyes. “My mother in particular, she was always asking millions of questions, trying to figure out if I was lying or not. Can’t imagine she’s stopped being such a bloodhound.”
“Did you lie a lot growing up or something?”
“At the start no but since she kept assuming I was, I figured I might as well lie through my teeth.” They recall a time where they tried to pretend to be blind, as a way to avoid having to train their visions. “There’s just a matter of the, uh…”
‘Wedding rings’ stares back up at them, tauntingly. Their handwriting was scratchy and uneven at this point; they would like to blame it on the panic but chances were it was the embarrassment. How do you even pick a ring for your real wife, let alone your fake one.
“Let’s see…” Sylvia cranes herself over to peer at the page and Quinn can’t bear to meet her eyes when they hear a quiet ‘oh.’ Instead of speaking, Sylvia meekly slinks off to the end of the counter and reaches underneath. She returns, silent, standing in front of Quinn for a full minute before clearing her throat and holding her hand out over their notes.
“Will these work?” They could feel the tips of their ears warm up when they looked into Sylvia’s open palm to see two rings, simple little silver bands. “I’m sorry they’re a little plain.” Hesitantly, their hand closes in on hers to grab one, fingertips ghosting against her skin. It is in that moment where Quinn realises that this would be the first time they have seen the potioneer without her gloves on, let alone touched them at all.
“Y-yeah,they’re fine.” The tips of their fingers feel seared where their skin touched hers and they do their best to pretend that the feeling does not light their whole body aflame, like paper to a candle. “I’ll uh, pay you back. Only fair.”
“No need - Muktuk made them for free, for the ‘happy couple.’” Sylvia pumps up her arms, flexing her biceps in a very accurate impression of the smith. Although Sylvia lacked the same hulking form of him, the way that her muscles look in the candlelight has Quinn darting their eyes back to the rings in front of them.
“Bold of him to assume we’re happy.”
“Yeah, I didn’t have the heart to tell him we’ll be divorcing next week.”
“Such a shame too, we were having such a good run.”
“I know.” Sylvia drapes herself across the counter with a sigh. “And after all the work I put into my proposal, it was very hard to get all those roses on the kraken’s skull in such a short amount of time - expensive too. But anything for my partner-” Quinn flicks Sylvia square in the forehead, cheeks flushed.
“ I proposed over a delicious expensive meal and you cried when I did, you were very gross actually and I was embarrassed when you blew your nose into your serviette.”
“First of all, no idea what a serviette is-” Sylva cuts in. “And there’s no way you would propose to me, you’d have me sign the marriage papers pretending it was an invoice so you wouldn’t have to admit you like me.”
“It’s my fake marriage, I get to decide who proposes to who.” Sylvia snickers before placing her hand on Quinn’s with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.
“Oh honey, I think you mean our fake marriage! And if you want to stay fake-married, I proposed.” The warm hand on theirs has their head spinning and the bright smile that Sylvia has when she holds up one of the rings to them just makes the nausea worse. “Ooooh, let me put yours on?”
Their tongue is tied and all they can think is ‘hand, hand, hand’ when they nod dumbly to the request, letting the woman slide the ring onto their finger. Somehow, Sylvia’s smile gets even wider at the action - and it’s the only thing Quinn can focus on besides the comfortable feeling of the thin band on their ring finger. Sylvia’s eyes crease as she beams down at them and for a blissful moment, Quinn is not about to face the worst few days they have experienced in recent years. There is a moment of delusion where somewhere months or years down the line, this might be something they could really have.
A chipper voice cuts through the daydreaming, wrenching them back to reality.
“Do me next?”
This was going to be a rough week.