It's the Midwinter morning. Flakey snow gently drifts down through crisp, cold air to the unusually sleepy town of Darkon. Peaceful holiday bliss.
At the slime ranch, however, things are not so quiet.
❄❄❄
Flossie chops vegetables in the kitchen, still in her housecoat. There is a knock at the door and she opens it to greet her siblings Elanor and Thomas.
"I've prepped all of the vegetables and found a spit for the duck you brought. In fact, I was just about to start cooking--"
"NO. No, you are not going to be cooking anything while I am here," Elanor interrupts.
"Why not? I'm a cook!" Flossie exclaims.
"You were a cook. Ever since you came back with no taste you've slowly started to season things more and more heavily. It was good at first, but the last time you cooked that stew was so salty only your husband could eat it, and that doesn't count. I'm not going to let you poison your guests and family with a sodium overdose," Elanor says.
"But—"
"Florence, I'll take care of the cooking. Besides, you're still in your pajamas. Go get ready."
Flossie sighs in defeat and makes her way out of the room. Thomas calls out as she leaves: "And I'll make cookies! Hey, Vasilka, do you want chocolate chip or peanut butter?"
Vasilka peaks her head through the doorway connecting the kitchen to the living and dining room. "Oh, hello Aunt Elanor and Uncle Thomas... What if you put the chocolate chips into the peanut butter cookies?"
"Vasilka, you are a genius. And, seriously, don't call me uncle. It makes me feel old like Elanor." Elanor huffs as she slams the oven door shut, glaring at her youngest sibling.
"But you are my uncle," Vasilka says.
"I'm also Elanor's brother but she doesn't call me 'Brother Thomas,'" he says.
"That's because I usually call you a brat," Elanor teases.
Vasilka giggles as she returns to the dining room where she is helping Quintin set the table. She goes to the last setting Q has finished and switches the two forks. "Like this, Dad. I thought you grew up in the castle?"
"...Yes, and in the castle the servants set the table," he says. "But now I have you to teach me how, if you'd like." He pats her back and Vasilka shows him the correct fork order again.
As the two finish setting the table, Flossie comes in now properly dressed.
"You two look lovely this morning," she says, wrapping them each in a warm embrace. Then there comes a knock at the door.
"I'll get it!" Thomas calls, and the sounds of guests filing in can be heard through the house.
❄❄❄
Pleasantries are exchanged and lunch is cooked. Gentle laughter fills the space as everyone goes to sit at the table. While walking past the window, Elanore stops and squints out the window.
"Why is there a hot angel outside?" She asks in confusion.
"An angel? Are you sure?" Flossie spins around with fear engrained on her face.
"He has wings, is pretty tall, giant sword, kind of glowing… seems like an angel to me," she says, now staring out the window in intrigue.
"Azael," Flossie whispers under her breath. "I… I'll go take care of it. Vasilka, stay near your father, ok?" she calls back as she hurries out the door. The remaining guests look at each other, unsure of what happened. Q places a comforting hand on Vasilka's nervous shoulder before taking a seat. Lunch is served and small talk fills the air.
"So, Thomas, how's the apprenticeship with the peace guard going?" Quintin asks.
Thomas slams down his utensils in lament. "I'm bored out of my mind! Nothing ever happens. Half the time we just fill out paperwork," he cries out.
"You should be thankful things are quiet, Tommy. Would you rather the streets be full of crime? And a job with a bit of downtime is better than being overworked to death. Have you heard how they treat their employees at Bamazon?" Elanore scolds.
Wagner clears her throat. "Bamazon has provided much needed jobs in the return of Barovia--"
"You'd also be busier if your superiors didn't turn a blind eye to crime. There's a reason I stayed in the private sector," Quintin interjects. Wagner's face sours at being cut off as she returns to eating the mound of mashed potatoes on her plate.
Vasili sets down his glass. "Well, if the crime rate in Darkon is so appalling to you, why don't you aim to become sheriff? Change the whole department. With your experience and connections it would be an easy position to obtain," he says smoothly.
"You make it sound like I do nothing for Darkon out here. I still do private investigations, remember?" Quintin says.
"Private investigations into lost puppies and insubstantial puzzles the peace guard tosses you to keep you out of their hair, little brother. Your talent is wasted out here," Vasili responds.
Quintin's eye narrows. "And yours isn't?" he says.
"I suppose if the peace guard doesn't take care of crime, the people will eventually take care of it themselves," Sylas comments.
"That's not exactly a good outcome. We have law agencies for a reason," Vasili responds.
"If justice is served, what does it matter if the arbiter is official or not?" Sylas prods.
Soon, strings of Sylic stream across the table as the three hotly debate. Iris puts her hands to her face and Wagner watches as she continues to eat the food on her plate. Vasilka shifts in her seat uncomfortably.
"Are they always this bad?" Elanore asks. Iris and Wagner exchange a knowing look.
"Yes," they say in unison.
❄❄❄
Meanwhile, Flossie extends her cane before opening the door and exiting her home.
"Why are you here on Midwinter, Azael? And where have you been anyways? Well, not that I mind…" she trails off, not seeing the distinct smile and sword of the solar she was expecting. Instead, before her looms a seven and a half foot tall deva, dark skin and silver hair glowing with a celestial fire and a not quite familiar sword at his side.
"Azael… the Abbot? Oh, no," he says with a chuckle. "I'm Aequinnas."
"The Abbot sent you, then? You're a friend of his?" Flossie accuses, unconvinced.
"No, I came on my own. I haven't seen the Abbot since Bahamut polymorphed him into a blue butterfly around two years ago," Aequinnas explains with some confusion.
Flossie points her cane at him. "How can that be? The Abbot followed the Morninglord, not Bahamut. This is some kind of trick! Well, if you want something of me, just say it, but tell the Abbot he can't have Vasilka! We made a deal."
"What the— I'm not with the Abbot, ok? Wait… short, robotic, quick temper… are you Florence Maddock?"
"HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?"
It is at this time the final guest makes her way through the gate and up to the house.
"Hey, Floss. Aeq is that you? Didn't know you were coming!" Castaway cheerfully greets the two.
"Hey, Castaway. I've come to ask a few questions about a certain late dragonborn named Ketra, and this lady named Opal sent me here to ask a Florence Maddock."
"Wait, you two know each other?" Flossie lowers her cane, calming down slightly.
"Yeah, this is Aequinnas, from our Barovia. Chill out, he's a friend."
"...Fine. You said Opal sent you? And you want to know about Ketra? Well, I'm sure we can fit another chair at the table," Flossie says. With that, she waves the two guests inside.
❄❄❄
Later that day, a hawk can be seen drifting through the thermals. Her sharp eyes spot the slime ranch, and she screeches as she descends. There is a rolled up letter in a small shash carefully designed to not impede her flight patterns.
When she reaches the slime ranch, the hawk perches herself on the porch letting out another screech. A moment passes, and no one answers her call. With a bird-like sigh, she hops to the door and begins pecking on it. Finally, Flossie opens the door, looking around for the new visitor before looking down and seeing the hawk.
"Oh, hello?" Flossie squats down to the hawks level. The bird chirps and uses its beak to remove the letter from her sash. Flossie takes it. "Thank you," she says as she looks over the envelope. The hawk screeches again then hops to the edge of the porch before taking flight once more.
Flossie notes the letter is from Percy. When she opens it, the first thing she notices is the included picture: the Clockwork Institute's exploded alchemy ward in stasis. A slight ping of panic courses through her chest as she begins to read:
Sup, so like. You aren't going to like this but apparently the Clocktower is on the other side of the planescape now after something went wrong over there. MK asked me to come in and fill a slot since like half of the staff was vaporized or something. Don't know, don't really care, but I'm a professor now so that's pretty cool. I saw Jeremy there doing his thing which is what made me think I should probably let you know he's still fine. Just, don't freak out, you feel me? It's all good in the hood"
-Percy
Her panic continues to grow as her hands tremble holding the letter. She closes her eyes and tries to still her mind for a moment. Jeremy is fine. Percy and MK are there, that's a comfort. It's… all good in the hood, whatever that was supposed to mean. She turns to go back inside.
In the living room, Quintin and Vasilka sit near the fireplace. Quintin is lighting a cigar and Vasilka is sewing. Flossie walks in and stands by them, holding up the letter.
"Um, Percy set this," she says with a shaky voice. "Something happened to the Clockwork Institute…"
At this, Vasilka pricks her finger while sewing and shakes her hand before putting the injured finger to her lips. Q puffs on his cigar looking straight ahead.
"Are you two not worried about Jeremy? Look at this picture! A whole department is magically preserved mid explosion!" She begins to pace in front of the fireplace, a hand to her head in worry. The father and daughter exchange a glance.
"Well, Floss…" Quintin scratches the back of his head.
"Mom…" Vasilka leans over and opens the drawer of a side table, revealing a stack of hidden newspaper pages covering the disappearance of the Clockwork Institute.
"You both knew?" Flossie looks at the two, appalled, before facepalming. "Gah, I should have known something was up."
"Well, everyone knew, really… except you," Vasilka explains.
"Why did no one tell me?" She resumes her pacing as her hands still tremble.
"Floss, look at yourself. We didn't tell you because we knew you'd be worried sick." Q says, pointing out her rapidly deteriorating state. "Come sit down."
Flossie remains standing for a moment before sitting down beside her husband. She rests her face in her hands with her elbows on her knees.
"I am worried, but I was bound to find out sooner or later. So why hide it?" She says, hurt by the secrets.
"We hoped you wouldn't find out until after they had resolved the issue but as you can see…" Q pulls the crumpled letter out of her hands. "Well, maybe it'll be longer than we thought."
"I'm sorry, Mom, but everytime something bad happens you freak out."
Q places a hand on her lower back as he continues to puff on his cigar. "We'll get through this, Floss. Jeremy will be fine. MK and Percy are there… Even in his letters he says he has a friend now."
"Yeah, but I'm still worried for him," she says before burying herself in his arms.