Chapter Text
Arriving at the grand manor, to dream of such undisclosed and esteeming prize. A prize that surprised him at how many wishes and dreams these participants wanted and would claw their way towards this grand reaching prize.
And Orpheus felt like a twitch in his nose whenever he heard or saw the participants' hopes and dreams and reason for being in the manor.
Some were like him, wanting more inspiration from the tough and frustrating block of flowing creative thoughts. It made Orpheus nod in understanding when he saw those people, since it was the exact same reason he came to the manor. It was a selfless reason that Orpheus could watch and ignore.
Others want the money, that reason was obvious. So obvious that Orpheus shouldn't be surprised whenever it was brought up. Money is what everyone wants. That prospector was too focused on the games for himself that he would leave or bleed out in such an amount of times. And that pinked-dressed dancer waltz in with a pep in her step and carefree infuriating chases, it's like she knows she would win these series of games without consequences! Honestly! Orpheus rolls his black eyes and shusheres Memory away from them. He never wants his daughter to become too invested with greed.
Others' reasons were so vague, it was to a point that Orpheus was close to drawing up some conclusions and theories on what happened. Like that Mercenary and Wilding, the boars and shielding them and keeping an eye on a missing person's room was suspicious and would raise a few eyebrows. That made Orpheus had his guard up if that Mercenary was ever near him; he would never trust someone that skeptical, not when he could kill Orpheus, or even worse, his precious and dearing Memory. The novelist was content in standing in the side, watching away from the crimes that man has committed. Orpheus already knew that the Magician was hot on the Mercenary’s tail upon seeing the two fight in the halls.
All these people, these people would always leave a bitter taste in his mouth.
Then Memory, oh Memory. His beautiful and darling Memory. His beloved daughter breathed new light and shined down the heavens upon him like some saving grace that Orpheus was always, always so grateful for.
A new light that glows and oozes colors, and wash him like a cold waterfall. The light would never ever fade or wash away like the shore lines on the beach. Memory’s whole being, her whole life depends on him like he depends on her. He was so sure that without his Memory in his life, he would’ve this dull and monotone husk of a man than he is now. Her colors dull down the suffocating leave of her own mother.
It was why making goodbyes and departures more difficult and heartbreaking to Orpheus.
Orpheus would always hug his dearest Memory, as the tightest he can and so her little body doesn’t break, and whisper to her as he kisses the golden locks of her hair, "I love you."
He leaves her, his eyes linger to her as she waves goodbye to him. His night eyes gaze upon the girl clutching the stuffed doll.
Her tiny frame almost makes the novelist want to drop everything and stay with her, stay with her forever and ever and ever. Just the two of them going the ins and outs of the foreboarding games together like partner detectives that Memory could always dream of.
But that's what they were. Dreams.
Dreams that were always childish and foolish to even think of like whatever clouds lay upon the Gardener 's brunette head. But the Baron punishes those who never played into one of his twisted games. Punishments that ones, survivors, like Orpheus feared and couldn’t even comprehend, like the punishment for not writing in such dairies. The one who received that punishment was, surprisingly, a hunter; Hell Ember. Hunters who were always undead killers and would be more like cats to the Baron.
And Orpheus knew damn well when he saw the hunter for the first time that they, the survivors, were merely like mice to these cats.
These brutal and sadistic hunters were the blaring cause of this. They have been taking apart these games like children playing hide and seek, and tag. Some would just mock others for trying to escape them before striking them with an agonizing blow as the survivor ran. Hell Ember deals two of those blows while staring at the inferior survivor like it was an insect, while the Disciple would become a jaguar in a clouded forest area hidden away by shrubs and bushes. Her long neck would twist in a way so inhumanly like a spiral, so condescending. Others would enjoy the taste of fear that each survivor radiates and play with them like they were playing with their own food, and would later leave them for the taste of new fear before getting back to the downed person. The Dream Witch was one of them, no one could see her but everyone could hear her laugh in the whispers of the flowing wind. She would toy with them like she would toy with her own follower, she did that when she couldn’t find the Mechanic who was hiding right next to her. Another one was the Ripper, who took delight to be ‘special’ upon any female. As charming gentlemen as he and the Photographer were, they were no better than to let each of them bleed until they lost interest and place them on the chair.
These were reasons why the novelist was scared seeing Memory going in a match by herself without him, her own father, being there for her.
His heart will always sink whenever he never sees his name with her name on the today’s list menu, and always make him pray for her safe return. The hunters were always cruel and hateful towards them, what’s to them about a defenseless child? Nothing. Nothing that’s for sure as Orpheus would have to shallow a bulge of discomfort down his throat like pure herbal medicine.
It shouldn’t surprise Orpheus, no he shouldn’t, because it’s the Baron. The Baron was the one who revived these supposed dead hunters and created these games for the sick intent for the participants to be hunted like some animal.
It’s not like he can trust the people in his faction either, they all prove to be distrustful.
They were like wolves under human skin, eyeing down any weak and unskillful survivor because they all know that said survivor would be dead and scarred and mostly likely to not live by tomorrow morning. Orpheus knows after seeing the afflicting curses released by the Enchantress ontowards the First Officer and Painter; it was an eye for an eye. If anything it just shows how ruthless people can be for vengeance. For all the novelist knows, someone in this damn manor has some sort of vendetta against him for whatever reason and could target his loving and beloved Memory for ramesome. Or even worse..
Held her and killed her, murder her, slaughtered her like some poor defenseless baby lamb.
No, Orpheus couldn’t take any chances.
But, overtime, that bitterness would slowly soothe over as a burst of water. Nothing. It tastes like nothing.
Over the coming days, that same bitterness would dry and dry and shriveled up like dried plants.
"Good," Orpheus would always think. "It means more time to protect Memory and more time to write for a new idea."
Always..
Always..
Always..
And always he thought of it.
Who could ever blame him? Being a single parent and the only income to ever come was writing stories, he had to drag his beloved daughter to the dreaded manor. Where everyday is the same damn schedule; Wake up, Eat, Go to a match, Head to his room, rinse and repeat.
Again and again and again.
It would’ve been some bland and blank everyday leaving him in a repetitive and grey husk of a loop without Memory. Oh, Memory. Orphy wouldn’t be the man he is now without you as the novelist purses his lips in thought.
Brought colors. Colors and colors that always breathes new life, keeping Orpheus alive and well.
And nothing can ever change that. Orpheus is damn well content with his position currently.
.
It was the early dew morning of yet another foggy and dark day in this forsaken manor. It was one of those days of slow matches. Apparently, everyone has a schedule on their own, including the hunters. "What in the world were they doing before?" Orpheus ponders. Not following his forever current schedule couldn't change his format of thinking.
He can't even fathom activities after the matches.
It was another late night match as Orpheus saw down the window full of purple and blues with white specs shimmer. The moonlight glows grace upon the novelist with everyone so dimmer light, lighting the hallways. The silence fills the empty halls as wind bristles through. Orpheus could only sigh.
"Another late match," he thinks to himself, turning away from the window. "I should apologize to Memory for that."
Sweetness of chocolate fills the air, ah yes, Orpheus remembers the very few days that Memory would bring to him to share. His sweet little Memory bringing him candy in way to show she loves him, it always fills Orpheus' heart with such undisclosed joy. He was never a fan of sweets, but for Memory, he'll allow it.
Chocolate.
He never had chocolate in a long time, if he could he would've given it to Memory just to see her smile.
Which is why Orpheus subconsciously headed to the kitchen, the scent of sweet and creamy chocolate brought back colors of Memory. Of course, he was drawn in hook and sink.
But the person in the kitchen with him was not what he expected, especially with people like the Barmaid -even though Orpheus was confident that she only knows how to make alcoholic drinks at best- and the Psychologist -with her mentally-ill patient partner.
It was the Lucky Guy.
The Lucky Guy was the most mysterious person in this estate if Orpheus had a say. No recollection of his previous life or even memories of said life, no memory of his own name, not to mention of the strangeness of his clothes! Right off the bat when he first saw the younger man staring at Orpheus at the top of the stairs, his in-character-investigation skills went off the charts. This feels too out of place for Orpheus.
The novelist did try to get information from the others, especially from the Doctor and Gardener- not he could ask the Lawyer and Thief, Orpheus didn't trust either of the two in the slightest-, but they all said he came before any of them. Which is… strange per say.
Orpheus would later brush this off, as Lucky Guy didn't interact with or got in the way in most cases. Which Orpheus would brush off and forget about him.
The Lucky Guy's back was facing towards him as his attention was somewhere and someplace towards the counter if the Lucky Guy had never heard Orpheus' footsteps entering the room. He was… doing something that's for sure. Orpheus narrowed his eyebrows.
The Lucky Guy wore his strange pale purple and white clothes as well as his tight and blue pants Orpheus would say. It honestly looked like he came from a match like Orpheus did early on.
Orpheus' stern and questions lips part as he was going to say something to the even quieter man. But what should he even say? Should he even say anything at all? Or should he just leave?
But none of that ever happened as a loud clang and bang startled the both of them. Damn rats. The tiny little rascals bang on some jars and pots with their mini grey and fat bodies. Honestly, the look of Lucky Guy, Orpheus thought Lucky Guy’s soul literally jumped out of his body more so than in the matches.
Flinching from the sudden noise, the Lucky Guy turns around to the door entrance and the kitchen's sole exit: to where Orpheus is standing.
Catching the sight of the novelist, Orpheus could see the drastic change from the gripping tension of the shoulders of the younger man. With the change in posture, the novelist could see what the unnamed man; the Lucky Guy was holding a mug as another mug was beside it. Almost seemingly untouched by the other.
"M-Mr. Orpheus?"
Not that the brunette will ever admit, Orpheus flinched when his name was uttered.
He regains posture quickly as soon as he blinks.
"Lucky Guy." Orpheus greets, with the same tone. Before he mutters and says any words -or did he really though?- as he straightens out his tie, the Lucky Guy was much quicker.
"Lucky. The full title is much of a hassle," the Lucky Guy states, he glances sideways as the man takes a sip from his drink. Then, the Lucky Guy focuses his attention towards him. "What are you doing here? Like this late?" Scratching his own cheek with his free hand.
"Oh," Orpheus stuttered, before confidently saying. "I smelled chocolate."
Simple and blunt, but also really embarrassing for him. The choking hold of heat rises from his back; What will this Lucky Guy think of him? Some sort of…?
"Oh, yeah," Lucky Guy nods, taking in another sip from the white mug. "I made hot chocolate tonight. Yep. Yep, I did."
Silence.
"Did you come from a match Mr. Orpheus? You look a bit battered at the mo."
That strange slang.
Was he that dirty and battered from before..?
"Was it another tough match?"
"All matches were tough, per say. But, if you insist, it was the Ripper."
The Lucky Guy moves from his place to get another and rather left out mug from the kitchen counter, putting it on the island table between the two.
"Oh, yeah him. Jack," Lucky Guy replies. It's a wonder that he was one of the many few to know the actual name of the hunters, so better than remembering his own name. "I remember him going tough at night and dark areas."
What useful information.
"I think it's because of what he did before coming here."
Ah, Orpheus could only nod along to this. He himself didn't know what the Ripper did before coming here in this manor, but he feels like that the Lucky Guy is holding more information from him. Orpheus swears he could feel his black eyes narrow from this revelation.
Should he even care about this intell? No, he shouldn't. It would make a good new novel though. Whatever, Orpheus shook his head.
"Who's the other mug for?" Orpheus asks, making little with this small talk. Even though he should be getting back to his beloved Memory.
The Lucky Guy looks down to the other mug, in a grim smile, "You can have it."
That startles Orpheus to the core.
" I don't know why I come here on some nights, to make these warm drinks. Maybe from muscle memory?" The younger man chuckles a bit as he clutches slightly on his forehead. Remembering hurts him.
Not taking any chances, Orpheus must remain cautious. "Are you sure?"
"Oh, yes of course," Lucky Guy smiles at him with such softness and content that Orpheus had ever seen in this forsaken manor. Orpheus widens at the idea. "Take it. I don't think I could handle another drink. Ha ha.. you can give it to your daughter.. sister..?"
"Daughter."
"Yeah, daughter. Sometimes, I can't tell any more…"
More chuckles arose from the younger before handing the older man the mug. Taking from the glasses boy, Orpheus was surprised that the mug was still warm as a fireplace flames in a snowy blizzard night. The chocolate was still brown as oak wood logs, as small white dots float on the liquid like ships on sea.
Sweet. The scent of Sweetness.
Orpheus didn't know if these white little dots are even edible for Memory. What if the Lucky Guy was giving him pills? Drugs?!
"The white stuffs are marshmallows," The jade eyed man said calmly, calming down Orpheus' fears that the novelist was fairly certain that he was at best concealing those fears. "I'm surprised the Baron kept them from my time."
Orpheus cups the mug with both of his hands, making sure the chocolate milk doesn't fall. He could see Memory's smile now, so sweet and soft and fuzzy like the beating of his own heart. With love and care.
"Thank you," Orpheus could only simply say to the unknown man before heading out.
As he was on the kitchen's exit, he turned to hear the Lucky Guy's last words to him, "It's no problem. Let me know if Memory likes it, I would gladly make more."
What a fellow.
.
A few or more weeks pass by and past by hard. That one single night.
That night made Memory happy, her smiling the whole time made Orpheus forget that he needed to freshen up before heading to bed. He was also given those snowy things 'marshmallows' by his blonde daughter. It was like eating up a ton of clouds, too soft for his taste but it made her smile.
And that all it matters.
It was early morning and a match was set into action. Inside the center dining room, the novelist scans through the area. Scooching the chair of Memory more nearer to him, Orpheus was glad enough that the Baron was not too keen on chair replacement and sees them as minor inconveniences.
No one knows how happy and joyous he was whenever he had a single, or if the Baron was super generous, matches with his beloved daughter. And he was glad that the Baron was so, so merciful to Orpheus to be with his Memory. Though there were some matches that he or her had to be apart from each other -none which would ease Orpheus' nerves together when he was left at the manor and Memory gone– gone like her mother– BUT Memory comes back, comes back into Orpheus' white suited arms, to wipe away the crystal tears dropping from her baby chestnut eyes.
He watches from the corner of his eyes - adjusting his monocle to buy time and keeping the eyes of others off of him- His Memory was playing with her big handmade doll, playing with the minimal and stuffed arms and fixing any brown strands that had fallen from the dull green hat.
"I wonder what story she has been thinking of right now," Orpheus thought to himself as he smiled. But that smile was small as he was brought back to reality as Orpheus heard the closing of the only door.
There was the Perfumer, with her intoxicating smells and overuse of flowery and bluebells. That French woman sprays that nasty and strong scent around the air to show off is practically nothing, it's just another way to pollute the pure clean air that his daughter is breathing. Orpheus made sure Memory was far away from that horrid woman as she pressed her fingers on the ends of the perfume.
The last participant finally sat down with them, it was the Lucky Guy. Doning in the usual bleak purple and white long sleeves as he matches with the curtains near the tall windows, strange as ever as Orpheus would merely look at him. "Good luck, everyone!" Is his final statement before finishing it off with a smile. What a wasteful taste of a good luck charm, but maybe that was it, a tacky use because it was from his name.
But Orpheus should've taken note of where his lovely daughter's eyes wander too.
.
The match was rearing at the edge of its ugly head around this forsaken match. Younger Orpheus would've scream to the top of his lungs- or rant about it in writing drafts of his newest novels- about this being one of the very worst matches he had the misfortune to be in with his daughter; however, Orpheus who would be older and wiser would have to disagree.
The damp eeriness of the beachside village, Lakeside Village to be precise. Orpheus couldn't care less about anything, but the early game was nice and went smoothly. Someone got hit, but they managed to escape and got healed and that all it matters. Until the end came.
The glowing and disturbing red like blood eyes pierce through the mist and fog of this dark environment like the flashlight of the Thief.
He was waiting at the exit gate, the sea salt smell evading his nostrils. His figure was out in the open, not a good start if the hunter was nearby, but he had a good reason to. His daughter. His Memory was nowhere to be found nor the words in his communicator made any vibrations of the signaling words of his Memory. His heartbeat was much, much louder than any chance encounters Orpheus had with any hunter, weak or strong. Orpheus made sure he kept his ears keen and sharp, but the only noise he heard was the punching code of buttons by the Perfumer. Not the sound of his beloved daughter.
Orpheus never wanted to assume for the worst, he always did but the words of his daughter echo through him.
"Why are you so down, Orphy? Why can't you look at the sky like the people in stories? You always write about those types of people?"
Memory was right that time, anything that she wanted. Orpheus was sure to give it to her one way or another.
Right there! His blackberry eyes catch glimpses of beautiful yellow golden hair locks. As pale white as snow sundress flutters in the wind, it made Orpheus' breath still and his shoulders ease with relief.
The sight of Memory sets into view. Maybe it wasn't bad to hope.
However, dread struck the fatal cords in Orpheus systems.
The kong of drums as he saw those glowing blood eyes of the hunter. The eyes match so coordinated with the equally bloody and velvet crimson dress as sliver bangs move to the sway of the wind. The shiny shimmer of the sharp but deadly glass shard was all Orpheus could see as he stares in upmost shock.
"Memory-!"
But it was too late, as the blow hit his dearest Memory fell down too.
This is why he never hopes, this is why he never dreams. Whenever he does, bad things always happen to him and his Memory.
Orpheus would've made it to his Memory, if it wasn't for being kept held by that damn Perfumer who grabbed a hold of his right forearm and dragged him to the now open exit gate.
"We don't have much time before the hunter comes today. We need to leave," the Perfumer explains so so annoyingly as her grip was much tighter pulling him closer to the grand escape. "Your child would come back to the manor but the rockets."
Orpheus doesn't care about that, you vixen. He cares about his daughter. His daughter who is hurt and wounded, who is crying from the bleeding injury. Who is crying in the dark where a tall and intimidating one is there standing opposingly as they smile sadistically at her big gloops of tears. Someone needs to be there to protect her, to shield her away from the scary and hurtful truth. And he is her father, he should've been there to be hurt and wounded as she gets dragged away to the safety comforts of the manor. His heart won't even allow him to be at peace if he didn't.
"Let me go!" He begs, as he tries to move away from the grip of the demented woman.
"We need to go!"
No… he doesn't want to leave… not without Memory. His Memory. It was something that he will truly regret, he couldn't bring himself to think about that, that was a problem for future Orpheus which was something that will come so soon. His heart is wailing. The confused screams as she was placed on the damned and too colorful chair, so nearby. Almost as the hunter was mocking him. Mocking him for not protecting his own daughter, someone that he cannot save because they were so out of reach. He feels so hopeless and so limpless, he feels so convinced.
Bang!
The loud and booming sound was like a bullet and thunder to its gun and trigger and storm. Orpheus could stand there in shock and stillness in time, time to himself that slows down and slows to stop and watch the scene.
There in front of him, was the golden and copper sheen of the metal flare gun in hand. Huh? Orpheus' nightlife eyes finally focus on his surroundings and see things much more clearer than colors of blur, only focus on the fearful and cries of Memory. Holding that ever loving flare gun was the Lucky Guy, who was standing to the side of the Bloody Queen in such confidence and security.
As the beheaded queen takes in the attack and recovering from the smokey damage, the Lucky Guy takes the chance to save Memory. Saving his daughter. His beloved daughter, Memory.
As Orpheus stares breathlessly, the Lucky Guy puts his pale hands around the shoulders of the small girl, making her lean on him. The foreign man quickly picks up the fallen stuffed doll into her arms as breaks for it to the exit gate with her.
Orpheus could see the green jade eyes that were now filled with joy and pride as the man held his Memory in front of him to leave first. The sweat sheen of his brown chestnut locks preens in the little light that appears wherever it can glow. The reflections of his burgundy glasses only reveal a closed eyed smile as they all leave to the rocky mine path to the manor. The rickety iron bars of the gate open itself by the wind allowing it to re welcome its residents again from another grueling match.
There was so much that had happened in so little time, it was like seeing something that happened in a moment of a second, blinking at each millisecond. Orpheus couldn't even think as he embraced his Memory, curling each golden and pristine lock. Her tiny hands and arms gathered around him like one of her many dolls and whimpers to him.
He didn't see the figure of that unpleasant and poisonous harpy, maybe she left to be content to eat and inhale those toxic flowery gas from the gardens by the Gardener herself.
"That was something, wasn't it?" The Lucky Guy said as he looked at them with the same smile as he leaned to the couching dou. "That was a close one too! I didn't know if I would be able to pull it off."
His laughs were akin to bluebells and shattering raindrops on a damn open window.
"Yes, it was indeed a surprise I would say," Orpheus replies, not sure of why he said anything to the younger man. His words steadies as he turns to face the Lucky Guy. "I honestly thought it was a loss."
The Lucky Guy could only respond with a light chuckle, not minding one bit of Orpheus' wording choice, "Yea."
From the corner of his eyes, Orpheus could see the pout and teary look on Memory. Oh, his poor Memory! Orphy will make sure you're extra safe and secure and protected after today! Orphy could read more of your favorite stories over and over again!
Getting up from his current position to dress in a more professional stance, Orpheus takes his eyes off his Memory. That's not long until a hand guides his long blonde child to lean against his legs. "I would like to thank you again."
"Oh! It was no problem! It's always ideal to have a four way win," The Lucky Guy responds. His forest-like eyes take upon the shy stance of Memory and focus his attention on her.
This change catches Orpheus' eyes and mind, now his eyes narrowed in a slight twitch.
"Here," the younger man kneels to meet Memory’s chocolate eyes, handing her something that Orpheus was unfamiliar with. They were pieces of candies that Orpheus didn't know the brand of. There was metallic plastic sheen as the roses red sign said 'Twix' in white letters as the other was a small packet of colorful treats that if Orpheus' eyes were any keener he would notice the bear imprints were the design.
"T-thank you," his sweet Memory nods and hesitatingly takes the candies, her amber eyes twinkle with interest. She looks at the wrapped sweets then at the Lucky Guy. "Can I eat it now?"
"Yeah, of course!" The brunette exclaims, getting up from his knees to give her a soft smile. A smile that Orpheus would always see somewhere far far in the past. "If you would want or if your dad would leg you, you can always ask me for sweets!"
Her eyes twinkle, Orpheus could practically see stars and planets, as they glisten in hope. Hope. That double edge sword.
"Really?"
The Lucky Guy could only nod in agreement as his oak wood locks bounced in sync.
Memory smiles, smiles so brightly like the sun came into the area- no the world - the radiant rays giving its warm glow, erasing the fog and dreaded aesthetic. It was the sun poking its head from boarded gray clouds filled with rain and water. So bright, so loving, and so dearing. Her amber eyes were the mini sun that Orpheus loves to see whenever he gets home.
That joyful expression is what Orpheus loves so so much. He wishes to see more of it if he could.
The novelist looks at the younger man, who was getting ready to leave, heading to his room Orpheus presumes. His heart swells from beating from such an eventful scenario. And it swells something and an unknown feeling that Orpheus brushes off.
"Thank you, Lucky."
"No problem, Orpheus."
The grin on that man's face was like the evening afternoon glow as the sun sets from wheat meadow. It was welcoming. And Orpheus felt inclined to enter into the open arms that man offers.