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This is bad.
Well, alright, maybe it’s not bad. It’s not good either. Traffic is hell with the rain, forcing him to be a little late. The aforementioned rain is pounding against his umbrella, and it’s so cold that it hurts. Kro better have a miracle in his back pocket, he thinks as he steps into the ice cream shop.
‘Happy Valentines,’ is what he was going to say into the shop, which he expected to be empty.
It is definitely not empty. The booth closest to the door is packed with one Kro donning a medical mask, looking not so hot, which really is an accomplishment for someone so attractive, one very bored-looking Ivohn to his right and across from him, and one Jeb that looks like he’s choking on his own spit.
Considering how he normally looks when he’s frazzled, it’s a major improvement. He usually looks like his eyes are bulging out of his head and his jaw is on the floor with his eyebrows stuck fast to the roof. So, basically, the jig might not be up just yet.
The real problem is sitting across from Kro and lending himself to the task of occupying the four-person table, a man who would be in his sixties if he was human, but is probably in his second century since he’s probably Kro’s dad. His eyes are cold, and a woman who is probably his wife is sitting directly to his right and is also turned around to watch him as he steps in from the rain, letting the door slam with an awkward thud and a gust of cold spray.
“Happy Va-” is all he manages to get out before the scene hits him. To say it hits him like a truck is a bit of an understatement. It would be more accurate to say it carries the same emotional punch as walking into an engineering lecture and finding out you have an exam you didn’t prepare for, where you must juggle loons and flaming bricks over a chasm. And then getting shot in the foot.
He clears his throat so suspiciously it’s a wonder they don’t immediately realise what he’s here for.
“Apologies,” He manages. “I was expecting someone else.”
They don’t say anything, prompting him to fumble through a more thorough explanation.
“I’m a little behind schedule, so I thought my date would be here by now,” He concludes, apologetic as all hell. To their credit, Ivohn and Jeb say nothing.
“No, no, it’s us who should be apologising,” Kro’s mother(?), says, before gesturing to the empty spot in front of her.
“Please, have a seat. Once our food arrives we’ll excuse ourselves.”
It’s an olive branch. She allows him to sit instead of awkwardly standing, and he politely doesn’t point out that ice cream is served as you order.
He sits down, carefully keeping his grip on the flower he brought, drumming the table as he inspects the back of the store, a perfectly reasonable place to direct his attention. Callias has never been more grateful that people can’t literally shoot daggers with their stares. The attention pointed at him isn’t vengeful as they don’t know what he really is, but more of a burning curiosity. An idea shoots through him like a lightning bolt and he all but jumps right out of his chair.
Restraining himself from snapping his neck towards the flower in his hands is way out of his sphere of self-control, which is admittedly rather small. A little hastily, he gives the plant a once-over for any major water damage before digging his phone out of his pocket and turning on the flashlight.
A stark difference from the dingy lighting of the ice cream shop and the gloomy atmosphere of the storm outside, the light sensors on the closed ringlet of petals whir to life, and the small piece of metal blossoms, revealing the multi-metalled bloom on the interior. He breathes a full-body sigh of relief before turning off the light and returning it to his pocket.
As the flower closes again, he realises a little belatedly that he is right across from Kro’s mother, and that his father is now staring at him.
“What is that?” He asks, gruff voice piqued with interest.
It takes all of his self-control to keep him from stuttering pathetically.
“It’s a flower I made. My date’s allergic to pollen, but I figured it couldn’t be fun to be left out of the holiday every year.” He’s not stuttering, but he’s definitely ranting, but he can’t stop himself.
“And I did think that if it were just a stationary piece of metal, it wouldn’t feel as close to the real thing, so I rigged it with some light sensors and magnets. It’ll last a little longer than a living plant too.”
“You were worried it would be damaged from the rain.”
“It was pretty harebrained of me to not think of that,” He admits, a bit glum.
“I wouldn’t go that far. Maybe a little unwise. Everyone makes a mistake now and again.” He shifts in his chair a little sadly. “It’s a fine piece of craftsmanship you’ve got there. I’d like to take a closer look, but-”
He looks down at his hands, which seem to have a perpetual tremor running through them.
“Growing pains, you understand. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be, so I’d hate to bring it up to my face and destroy the thing.” Looking up, an idea hits him as he glances at Kro. “Unless you and your date wouldn’t mind if Kro held it up for me. And you as well, son.”
“‘S not a problem, father.” He sniffles, voice slightly nasal.
It takes a lot for him to restrain his smile at Kro’s agreeability. He’d known from the first time they’d met he had an undying loyalty to family, but seeing it so casually was something else.
“I don’t mind. And oddly enough, I feel as though my date wouldn’t mind either.”
He hears something that sounds suspiciously like Jeb snorting and Ivohn kicking him under the table. Their mother shoots them a warning glance. As soon as the expression passes, another flits across her face. She’s getting dangerously close to figuring something out. Which makes sense. Kro’s pollen allergy probably doesn’t come up often in the frozen and barren wastelands of Russian mountain country, but it’s probably come up once or twice.
Kro takes the flower from him gently, holding it up for his father and turning redder in a steady fashion as he asks for him to turn it in certain directions. His English becomes increasingly more broken as he attempts to direct Kro, and he recalls something Kro said once about commands of movement being a particularly difficult concept to learn across languages. Between his thick Gargoyllian accent and Kro’s sickness-induced distinct lapse in speed, the communication is slow-going.
After maybe the third time he’s unsuccessfully attempted to show his father the ‘photo-junction connector,’ he stands up, unable to bear the frustration.
“Let me.” He insists. He’s expecting Kro to hand the flower over to him, but in a startlingly dimwitted attempt at unspoken miscommunication, his hands are placed over Kro’s, and Kro begins to resemble a tomato. He thoroughly attempts to put that out of his mind, along with any thoughts of how he’ll be quick to follow if the blood in his cheeks is any indication. Rather unhelpfully, he’s also forced to push down a horribly inappropriate laugh.
Kro’s family is the furthest thing from religious, but their traditions probably abhor things as scandalous as hand-holding. Kro might be the odd one out in their family when it comes to traditions such as these, but it doesn’t mean their parents are. And he can only really guess what Gargoyllian traditions are, as he can be certain Catholicism doesn’t really smile upon the act either.
How does he know this? No amount of time or distance can erase how he was raised, and he feels an instinctual type of embarrassment welling up in him, and vacantly, feels Kro’s mother’s gaze on him grow closed-off and shrewd.
Let’s not linger on that. At his father’s discretion, he turns the flower several more ways, allowing him to inspect it.
Now rather jovial, he ribs Kro for not being able to understand mechanical lingo.
“I s’pose I’m just not up to date on the lingo,” he offers, sounding very tired but attempting to stay upbeat nonetheless. It’s not a particularly good attempt, falling flat as it comes out a bit bitter. For maybe the fifth time in a few minutes, he jumps in again, trying to salvage the situation.
“Sometimes it feels like Latin to me,” He says, reassuring. “And I’m Greek.”
It reaps a brief laugh out of his mother, and it isn’t Ibsen, but it’s a swing and a hit nonetheless. Kro catches his gaze, and this unspoken conversation is slightly more successful than the last, the gargoyle's eyes a hazy mix of betrayed and spazzed out, with a hint of gratitude and a plea for comfort.
As subtly as he can, he disguises a small kick against Kro’s foot as him shifting his foot. Kro angles the foot towards him, relaxing slightly. Maybe he’s pushing his luck, but he can’t help himself.
Something about watching him grow red as he holds his hands in his, a light sweat beading across his forehead, in part from sickness and in part from the flush that’s sprawled out across his face, the way his throat bobs on a tight swallow- he can’t help but tease him.
“You feeling okay?” He says, going for brusque and casual, and not needy and terrified out of his mind.
“Just swell,” He retorts between gritted teeth. “Peachy. Just a tad feverish.”
His mother’s eyes grow steely at the perceived slight if his expression is anything.
“Shame. Hope you come out of it,” He says.
Kro’s eyes linger on him a second too long before he looks away.
“Appreciate it.” He tells him.
“Don’t mention it.” He responds, wrenching his gaze away.
Going and catching the common mould, more feckless than an ape, Ivohn mutters, so silently he only just hears it, but more than loud enough for his father to hear it.
There’s an almost cartoonish thump and an oof as Jeb kicks him under the table, happily getting him back for earlier. Their father fixes them both with a nail-bitingly ferocious glare before turning back towards them, definitely gauging the reaction that the person they think is a human will have. If there was just a hint of the scent of ozone in the air, he’d think lightning was about to strike with the force of five gargoyles pretending to be humans staring him down.
He plays it off as if he didn’t hear him right.
“Mould really is a sucker to get rid of,” he hums in agreement, pretending to be half-listening to the conversation. It’s a significant help to the atmosphere, but this exchange has gone on for far too long as it is. He clears his throat to excuse himself with some half-true excuse about how at this point the date’s probably unsalvageable, and that he’d just have to raincheck it just as Kro’s father begins to speak.
“I know it might be too late for you to take any addendums into mind, but I hope you don’t mind that I give you a few pointers on this creation. From a stubborn man with a passion for engineering, that is.” For a fleeting second, his gaze connects with his wife, and he gets the most peculiar feeling that this interaction is going to go sideways fast.
Accepting his fate, he sits back down, more than happy to accept this is his final stand.
“I don’t mind.”
He looks almost apologetic as he begins to talk.
“Obviously it’s impressive, but the lack of faith in your creation and consequently this relationship puts a bit of a damper across it.”
That hits him like a slap, and he makes quick work out of hiding his expression and doing his very best not to look at Kro. From the choking sounds he’s hearing that he’s trying to play off as a weak bout of coughing, he’s probably a little startled as well.
“Now hang on just a second-”
“I understand that might be a little jarring to hear, but I do hope you’ll let me finish without interrupting.”
He closes his mouth.
“You’ve clearly put some thought into this design, and I hope for your sake and for the man who you’re seeing that you’re going to some lengths to be careful whilst you’re hotwiring components that are in equal parts elegant and temperamental. The fact you managed to create something so delicate speaks to your strengths and competence as a mechanic, but a lack of safety when creating undoes all that as it attests to a stark incompetence. I don’t want to haggle in hypotheticals, so I’ll allow you to ponder that as I explain what this tells me. The absence of a clear-cut method to get into the internal components either means you want this man to be dependent on you to repair it or that you have such little faith in this relationship that you don’t think it will last long enough for it to matter. You don’t strike me as the controlling type, so I’m going to go with the latter. Take it from me, your works will be a lot stronger conceptually if you put your full faith in them. Maybe the relationship will end, but you can have a hand in delaying that if you try your best. I might be loony, but that’s only because I’m old, and I’ve managed to grow old with a lovely lady by my side, so I know a thing or two.”
He shares a syrupy sweet look with his wife, and yeah, that moves him a little, and convinces him to listen to this guy a little more closely. What? He’s not made of stone like his boyfriend is. Even if it is only literally. Kro is a total softie. His mother bristles slightly, but before she can do anything, his father continues, and he gets the eerie feeling that ripping him a new one in front of the son whom he is dating is not incidental, even if it does happen to be off script.
“Of course, you could have intentionally omitted a maintenance hatch to prioritise beauty, but once again, you don’t strike me as the vain type. The omittance of solutions other errors that would have been discovered in the addition of other features, namely, the wires that poke out of certain places, says that you’re trying not to try to hard so you don’t scare this guy off with the idea you obsessed over a gift, but I think it undermines the nature of your gift. That’s my advice.”
His throat feels dry as he goes to respond. So they’re totally onto them, and to think they don’t know he’s on a date with Kro is to think them clinically stupid. Which they are definitely not. It also doesn’t help that he’s totally exposed his major insecurity in his relationship with his eldest son in front of the entire immediate family of said eldest son.
Callias licks his lips uncertainly, knowing that here, there’s nowhere to go but down.
“That’s pretty good advice. I’ll have to keep that in mind. I can’t agree more with the bit about safety, since the first prototype technically exploded.”
What.
“It exploded?” Jeb gawks, sounding a bit like an echo.
“Only technically!” He protests, realising how incompetent he’s revealed himself to be, and how hard he leans on the suck-up guise under pressure. That’s just pathetic. “The resistors I used provided more resistance than I’d compensated for, which melted the insulation measure and reacted with the original version of metal I’d used and caused a small fire.” He turns to Kro’s father as he continues. “Which is why I think your entire point gives credit. Now if you’ll excuse me-”
Kro’s mother has been dying to say something for a good few minutes, but Kro beats her to the punch.
“Is anyone really worth this effort?”
Before anyone can even reprimand him, he’s looking into his eyes.
God, his eyes are pretty. Unfortunately, this is not the first time he’s noticed, which means he is almost all too familiar with the way his knees just about turn to jelly as he stares into the oceans of dark teal, ridiculously beautiful pools of saltwater. It reminds him of the way Kro’d described his eyes as pools of chocolate, going into a ridiculous rant about Augustus Gloop that had him snickering embarrassingly. His response is quicker than it feels, as he feels like he’s practically throwing himself at the guy, stumbling over himself as he confronts how bashful and vulnerable the gargoyle is, asking the question.
“Without question.” Good grief, he did not know he could be that cheesy, but he realises with a sort of delayed sense of confidence in his answer that he whole-heartedly means it.
“Well, I am questioning,” Kro goes, a flash of that argumentative spirit showing, the one he thinks is unreasonably endearing. “Why would you go to the effort for anyone?”
“If you knew him the way I knew him, you wouldn’t need to ask.”
Something’s wrong. He can feel it. It doesn’t bear much empirical truth to it, but something is just- off.
“Young love,” Ivohn comments offhandedly. “Almost magical.”
The response is a knee-jerk reaction, residing just under the surface.
“If you consider magic to exist in science and art, I’m inclined to agree.”
His father’s eyes narrow.
“Waitaminute,” Jeb says, in one breath.
He should excuse himself, gracefully and normally.
“I’m going to excuse myself.”
“Not so fast!”
In one fluid moment, Kro’s mother stands up, the chair falling to the ground with a clatter, the windows blot out and the lights brighten, if his creation in Kro’s hands mean anything, and perhaps most unfortunately of all, he turns into a harpy with a cloud of orange.
He’d laugh at the way their expressions change if he weren’t terrified.
Kro’s mother’s voice rings with rage as she calls out.
“You better-”
“Get out!” He yells, the pieces finally connecting in his mind. He places one foot on the table and vaults over someone’s head before skittering to the door, just about grabbing people and shoving them out the door. He successfully pushes out Jeb, Kro, and his father, only running into a problem when faced with Kro’s mother.
“You might have gotten the others into your trap, Harpy, but I won’t be fooled as easily. I’m staying right here.”
Ivohn appears as impassive as ever, seeming as cool as a cucumber even under duress.
“If you don’t leave right now, we’ll all-”
It’s too late. There’s a gulp, a scream, and then there’s only darkness.