Chapter Text
If Martin knew what agony felt, nothing will compare to this.
“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Martin asks, crouching to adjust the uniform’s collar and to smooth out the pelted skirt. “You have your mobile? Your stuffie, your -”
“Uncle Martin,” his niece, now adopted daughter, huffs. “I’m a big girl now.”
Martin sighs before shaking his head with mirth. “I suppose you are. I just can’t believe you're going to primary school. The Time Keeper must have sped up the summer so fast, I’ve lost track of time.”
She giggles before hugging him tightly. Martin sniffles softly. His precious Rosebee truly is grown up. He swears that he will find a way to appease a Time Keeper to preserve this moment forever, just a bit. But then Rosebee will pout with her large brown eyes with disappointment. So, the plans will have to wait.
“I’ll miss you,” she whispers. He pretends not to notice her own sniffling.
“I’ll miss you too,” Martin whispers back, equally holding her tight. “Don’t give me a heart attack and grow up too fast, okay? I still need to get those photos to show your mum and dad.”
His daughter frowns. “Are they...do you think they’re okay?” she murmurs. Her tiny fingers grip her new bookbag.
Martin brushes a tawny-brown curl off from her forehead, the same as Delia's, and a pang throbs in his chest at the thought. But he smiles softly at her worried and sweet face. “I think they are more than okay. And you know why? Because they love you so much, and they are so proud to know they have this wonderful, clever, and brilliant girl. And I’m equally lucky to have her as well.”
Beatrice giggles, and Martin’s smile widens a bit at her renewed happiness. They glance at the courtyard when the warning bell rings. Other kids rush to the doorway while their parents and family members watch with mixtures of love and sadness. Beatrice and Martin exchange one more hug before waving goodbye as Beatrice joins the rest of the children.
Whispering several protective Chants onto the school property and the students while enhancing the ones already on Rosebee’s locket, Martin sighs as his niece-adopted daughter disappears behind the double doors. He glances at the darkened sky. “Wish her luck, Delia, Bert.”
They answer through a crack of thunder and large raindrops. Martin smiles at the sign and opens his umbrella.
The walk back to Penbrook is a bit uneventful as patrons walk with purpose and umbrellas. Raindrops bounce against the plastic coverings and auto-hoods, creating an ambience noise among the harsh footfalls. Martin's fingers itch to start writing about the scene in his notebook. So many people to observe, so many strange and exciting colors unraveled by the rain...
The back of his neck suddenly tingles, and it isn't the humidity.
Glancing around, he catches a glimpse of white wisps before quickening his pace. If he is correct, it seems like he is being tailed by three - no, four Soul Seekers. He sneaks another look and internally curses.
Okay, so it’s not only Mabrè, but the Arachusca following him. He lets out a shake exhale as he hunches forward. Maybe they're not looking for him, though that's a bit of a no good thought. Just keep walking...
Martin's Senses go haywire as the Soul Seekers draw closer in his direction. Folding up his umbrella, Martin gives up in staying calm and sprints.
He ditches his umbrella, which fortunately hits the Arachusca, leading to its screeching. A chill runs down Martin’s spine, motivating him to go faster.
Unfortunately, the umbrella does nothing to the Mabrè's speed as they gain towards him. Loudly excusing himself, Martin shoves people out of the way and hurriedly tries to remember a Spell he could use to do...something.
Gwen sure didn't leave him much info to work with, but if he has to be a complainer, Martin would blame the whole Wiccan community for hiding all of the necessary paperwork and textbooks. But of course, they wouldn’t just hand it out to him since he is the epitome of what they strive to get rid of. Sometimes, Martin really hates who he is.
“Fuck!”
Martin steps back a bit and blinks at the man sprawled onto the wet concrete. His black umbrella and instrument case are in a similar state. Martin winces when he realizes the bloke’s posh-looking suit is going to be soaked through.
“So sorry there, mate, just - Again, I’m so sorry!” As he speaks, Martin quickly grasps the stranger’s hand and his dropped things. “There, um, so again, I’m so sorry about that and -”
He curses when he spots the Soul Seekers just around the corner of the street. He yells a goodbye before bolting off, not waiting for an answer from the bloke. His hands are shaking while he maneuvers through the thinning crowds and desperately tries to grasp upon the Energy.
“Come on, come on...” he mutters as he turns left.
He skids to a stop when he realizes he’s in a dead end street. Luckily, there’s no one there except some parked autos, so there’s no one who will get hurt. Martin closes his eyes, imagining his hands dipping into a well in the Aether, one filled to the brim of Energy to get his hands nice and charged up to fight. He swallows as his whole body feels significantly heavier yet energetic, the sign of the harassed Energy. Opening his eyes, he readies himself against the Soul Seekers spreading into the street.
The Mabrè seem to be on the smaller scale, so maybe a blast of pure Energy would do it. The large Arachusca would be a problem with his fear of spiders and aversion towards the hooked tentacles. That and how it seems to be on the larger scale of its kind.
Martin shivers. Definitely going to have nightmares later tonight.
His Senses suddenly tingle, and Martin abruptly dives to his right to avoid an outstretched arm aiming towards his back.
Okay, so there’s more Soul Seekers. Some Specters judging by the glazed looks on the men and women they’re inhabiting.
Martin backs against one of the housing walls, cursing his luck and his cousin as the Soul Seekers draw closer. When he had said he needed a sign, he certainly didn’t mean getting beaten up or killed today. Rosebee would be incredibly sad to see her uncle gone. And he is dreadfully late to open up his shop. Martin mourns all of his customers waiting for their orders and the cold pastries. Hopefully, some of his employees would realize his absence and open it up for him.
“Okay, so I’m guessing you’re here for me.” He tests out the Energy by eradicating a Mabrè by an Energy Pulse. “So sorry to disappoint you.”
The Soul Seekers snarl at the loss and attack.
Martin would later reflect on this and state that he is so glad to have taken dance as a teen. Combined with his light footwork and flexibility, some combat techniques Gwen had taught him, and his harnessed Energy, Martin was a force to reckon with.
Of course, that was after. Now, Martin curses every entity for allowing him to fight, skidding and ducking from every forsaken limb that comes his way. The Energy is a bit finicky to manipulate because he had to use the Earth Energy in an urban environment, which is sort of corrupted and hard to negotiate with Pulses and any other Energy moves Martin could think of. If he survives, he needs to ask Gwen for more Energy lessons.
Finally, there’s a moment of blissed pause. Panting but still feeling like he has drunk two four shot espressos, Martin wipes away the raindrops trickling down his face. He then notes what's left of his enemies. All of the Mabrè are gone, good for him, and the Specters are liberated as well. He winces. Going to be a hell of a headache for the victims afterwards. That is if their Soul Energy is still intact.
So all there is left is the Arachusca. Based on the remaining limbs, it’s almost spent. However, if Martin can remember from Gwen’s lessons, it can definitely grow back its limbs, similar to the mythical hydra. Though when Martin mentioned it to Gwen, he had learned the hard way to never offend her, the Serpent-something people, and mythical creatures who may-or-may-not actually exist. He still has the mark where she had hit him.
A hiss brings Martin back from his head, and he gulps when the Arachusca slithers closer with its four tentacles and two...spider legs. Shuddering at the sight, he steadies himself to create two more Energy Pulses. The glowing balls flicker and shrink, indicating it’s the last of the Energy. Well then, he might as well make them count.
“Oi!” a deep voice yells.
Martin blinks. Why is the bloke he had bumped into earlier here? Shouldn't he already be at work, like Martin should be at but can't because of these stupid yet terrifying Soul Seekers?
Shaking his head, Martin uses the distraction - a really needed one at that even when it’s a split second long - to toss the Pulses against the Arachusca.
They hit true, leading to the large Soul Seeker screeching from the pain before dissolving into white ash. Martin immediately crouches towards the ashes to scoop them up in his emergency phials. He does the same to the ones made from the Mabrè and the Specters. He is really lucky he was able to remember to grab the phials this morning.
“Oh God, are they dead?”
Martin blinks again and turns to see the bloke nudging the unconscious victims with the heel of his expensive looking shoes. The victims don't look gray yet, so they aren't in danger of becoming angry poltergeists. Hopefully what they will feel are the killer headaches and heart pains from the withdrawal of the Specters.
“Um, no,” Martin answers absently. “Well, I don’t think so.” He pockets the phials into his jacket while cocking his head at the stranger. “I’m sorry to ask you quite bluntly, but why are you here?”
“You just seem to be interesting,” the bloke simply answers, glancing at him.
A thought floats into Martin's head, hissing of wariness and betrayal. It oddly sounds like Gwen, so he's compelled to listen to it.
So, listening to it, Martin blinks - he needs to stop doing that - and nods stiffly. “Um, well, ta very much...I think." He clears his throat. "Well, then. If you can...” he waves a hand around the whole area, “forget what had just happened, I bid you good day." He purposely brushes against the bloke's arm, adding a tracker to the bloke's Aura in case he is a creep. "Excuse me."
A pale hand suddenly grips onto his jacket sleeve. Martin finds himself staring into piercing gray-blue eyes as they bore onto his face. He opens his mouth.
"The rain stopped."
And indeed, the rain has stopped. Martin still marvels over the contrast of the day transformed from mere water. The dripping of the raindrops on rooftops brings out an echo and stillness. The cobblestones glisten as if they were individually polished into mirrors. The fresh rain scent emits cleanliness, and the birds are gleefully celebrating with melodies and flights. If Martin had his notebook, he would have already had pages filled with sketches and poems of this beautiful scenery.
However, he doesn’t because he was attacked, late by two whole hours, and now trapped from his precious shop and notebook. This is the reason why Martial should have watered his lucky bamboo this morning. Luck is not on his side today.
Martin sighs and gazes at the clearing sky forlornly. So many words wasted in his head and not on paper.
Someone clears a throat. Oh. It’s the bloke. Martin has forgotten he’s here when he was wool-gathering. And somehow, the man is still holding onto Martin's sleeve.
“Um, do you mind?” Martin gestures at his sleeve.
The bloke blinks - ha, now it’s his turn now - and lets go with a slight blush on his face. “My apologies.” He clears his throat and steps back. “I just wanted to see if you were alright. You were fighting whatever those monsters were.”
Wait, he can see the Soul Seekers? That is a problem. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” Martin lies, internally wincing at the flimsy response. Mind Gwen is definitely shaking her head now, but this is exactly why he isn’t equipped for espionage! For Goddesses' sake, he is - was - a bookkeeper!
The man frowns but nods slowly, giving Martin some relief in his shoulders. “I apologize then. It must have been the trick of the light. Good day.” He tips his head a bit in dismissal.
“Good day,” Martin automatically replies back, and he keeps an eye on him in his peripheral vision as the man walks out of the dead-end street.
Shaking his head, Martin checks the victims for the last time before finally walking out. No one seems to have noticed the commotion of the fight (besides the weird posh bloke that is), so he believes he is in the clear. He sits on a nearby bench to enter the Aether and note the damage to the used ley line.
Martin winces at the echoing pain when he enters a world filled with glowing lines and bright lights. Following the pain, he spots the used line. It pulses with a sickly amber glow, indicating the damage. With a quick wave and a bit of his Soul Energy, Martin watches as the Energy seems to ‘stitch’ the damaged line. The line slowly brightens to a healthy white glow, indicating its healing as more Pure Energy enters into the line.
A dull pain emits from Martin’s Core, but he shoves it away. Gwen has always mentioned that there’s balance, and even though, yes, it may be unhealthy to actually use his own Energy to give back, it’s the least he can do to repay what he had used. She maybe would be proud of his sacrifice.
Checking the ley line one last time, Martin steps out of the Aether and leans his head back. Black dots dance in the sky to the beat of his pulsing heart. Stifling a groan, he cradles his head with regret and blearily stares at the ant crawling next to his shoes.
Bollocks. He might have overdone it.
Bzzz. Bzzz.
Martin automatically rummages for his comm and presses onto the screen without raising his head. “Hello?”
“Do you have any idea why your Signature is blinking?” a familiar voice demands rather loudly.
He smiles faintly through the pain. “Good day to you, Gwen.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I thought I told you not to overdo it, you self-sacrificing twit!”
“I had four Mabrè and an Arachusca with several Specters on my trail. I had to do something.”
“And drain your Energy right after the battle? Martin, I told you: you aren’t supposed to use any Energy right after using it until it’s been twenty minits! You were practically giving the ley lines your anam!”
“I hear you, I really do,” Martin mutters. His head is now pulsing than ever thanks to Gwen’s volume, “but could you please turn it down? I have a headache.”
“A headache you say? Well, let me shout some more, so you can truly get through your head how dangerous it was to Transfer right after using it!”
Martin groans and tolerates Gwen's lecture while tuning her out. Reciting the Old English grammar rules seems to do the trick.
"-and really, the rules concerning the...Martin, you aren't listening, are you?"
Martin blinks back reciting when to use effect in a sentence instead of affect. "If you mean not listening to how you are still angry at me, then yes."
Gwen's sigh of frustration cracks a smile through his pain. "Yes, yes, just... remember not to overdo it, okay? No one else is there to help you." Her unspoken 'because you don't have other friends and it's depressing' causes Martin to wince. It isn't really his fault for being so shy.
"I'll try," he finally relents and endures another twenty minutes contributing to some small talk with Gwen before hanging up.
Staring at the blank screen, Martin sighs and checks the time. Bloody hell is he late. If he is able to catch a HoVo cab or bus, he might actually be able to get there at the end of the first shift.
And that's if there's no traffic.
Sighing again, Martin wanders around the street, trying to catch sight of the autos.
"Oi, you need a lift?"
Martin slowly turns to see a tall bloke standing next to a sleek black cab with the door opened. Martin is slightly impressed at the bloke's skills at hailing HoVo cabs, considering how fast they are, but then again, maybe this is part of the bloke's plan to kidnap him and -
Oh God.
"I'd love to, but," Martin slowly states, backing away equally slowly. "I just remembered I have some shopping to do."
The man shrugs and gets inside. "Suit yourself then."
Martin watches the cab pull out and into the traffic space. Well, there goes his ride. It's possible he might be a bit... suspicious, but you can't actually blame him at the moment. Gwen and he are at an agreement to be more careful, especially after she had just lectured him on the very thing moments before.
"I'll catch the next one," he mutters and continues on his search. "Besides, I'm the boss. They can't possibly -"
Bzzz. Bzzz.
"Hello?"
"Oh, thank God. Doctor, where are you?" a shrill voice shouts, triggering another head pang.
Speak of the devil.
"I'm running late at the moment, but if you could hold on a little bit longer, Talia, that would be appreciated." Martin looks both ways before crossing the street. "I'll even add you a bonus."
"Recorded, but I'm practically drowning here with orders and drinks!” Talia shouts. Martin lowers the volume of his comm in case he gets a full migraine from her shrieks. “And Bryar can't shelve and bake at the same time! You know he's new!"
"Calm down, it'll be fine."
"Is it fine that Mrs. Peaburg walked out?"
Mrs. Peaburg, an elderly woman with maybe or maybe not mysterious connections, has been coming to Penbrook for a year, asking nothing but company and a plain scone with her ginger tea. A regular at heart who Martin will absolutely try to win back because she is one of the few customers he considers interesting enough to talk to. Maybe if he bribes her with free ginger tea he'll get her back coming over every Monday.
"Depends. Did she say anything?" Martin asks, passing what looks like a grocer's and auto wash. Hmmm. It looks like he's about ten minutes from his shop.
"Not really...It was more like going inside, looking around, and then going outside." Talia sighs. "Bryar almost burst into tears because of that."
The comm picks up an indignant, "I did not!" before there's an audible shuffling and yelling. Martin wonders why he keeps hiring young adults who really should be called children as half time employees.
"Sir, whatever she has told you, ignore it please," a breathless voice begs. "Mrs. Peaburg just had to get her purse. No worries!"
"Oh, that's good then. And I told you, Bryar, you don't need to call me 'sir.' I'm only four years older than you."
"Noted, sir, but ignored. Take your time, sir, we'll try to hold down the fort!"
"Agreed!" Talia yells over a sudden din of grinding coffee beans.
"Wait, Tails, isn't that-" Bryar hangs up before Martin could hear the rest of his sentence.
Pity. Martin wants to hear what is happening in his kitchens. He needs to know if he has to dig out his insurance papers if they have burned the shop down.
Continuing on his adventure through the unfamiliar roads, Martin idly wonders if he should have mentioned the posh bloke to Gwen. If the man had noticed the Seekers, then it’s possible he is an Aura Reader, Terrans who are able to see through and interpret the Auras Energy users have around them. Though, then again, he had described them as ‘monsters,’ so it must have been a stronger Connection to Energy if he was able to actually see them, which means it isn’t just Aura...
Bah, it doesn’t matter. What really matters is getting back to his shop. Surely, that will be something to think about later.
And so, Martin obliviously rushes back to his maybe burned down beloved Penbrook.