Azkadellia's Okay! Part 2: Pink House Purchased; Introductions Ensue.

[luchia13]

AUTHORS: andrealyn and luchia13
TITLE: Azkadellia's Okay! (With Ambrose and the Cains' help), Part 2: Pink House Purchased; Introductions Ensue.
RATING: PG-ish.
EVENTUAL PAIRING: Ambrose/Cain (or Cain/Ambrose, depends on their moods), VERY FUTURE Az/OC, Jeb/OC/OC
DESCRIPTION: When the Witch picks another target, everything changes. Including switching out the Roboparents for Ambrose and the only Tin Man who knows what's going on (and his kid).
This Part: Azkadellia makes cunning political moves in middle school, Cain deals with his first armed robbery, Ambrose is overprotective, and Jeb is cute and little.

Part 1: Things Explode; Iceland Blamed.



Azkadellia's Okay!
(With Ambrose and the Cains' help)
Part 2: Pink House Purchased; Introductions Ensue.

The neighborhood Professor Walker had suggested really did have everything Ambrose was looking for. Good location, only a few blocks away from the school, and each house was decently sized, with a good yard in front and back. It had an unconnected garage that they called a ‘car hold’ or something, and that just made him think the idea was better than the standard attached garage. A car hold did what it sounded like, and Ambrose appreciated that.

“It can also be used as a separate home,” the realtor added with that same fake smile as he and Azkadellia looked at the front of the house with the big FOR SALE sign in front of it. “We have a lot of customers who rent out car ports for the college students, bring in a bit more money and make the purchase almost pay for itself!” The woman laughed, and started heading up the pathway and into the house, but Azkadellia and Ambrose stayed back, simply looking at the outside.

It was full of complex colors and designs on the front, in some Victorian style that someone had called ‘Painted Lady’. It had pinks and blues and greens around it, and had an almost spiraling design to it that resonated deeply with the both of them. The small porch even had a small gazebo-shaped bit to it, practically waiting for a swing to sit inside of it, lazily swinging in the mild breeze.

“Do you like it?” Ambrose asked cautiously, watching Azkadellia carefully as she took it all in, the curving rooftop, the small window in the roof, the way the windows could be carefully changed to stained glass. The way the house could be turned into a little slice of what their lives had been like.

Azkadellia nodded, taking Ambrose’s hand. “I had to think about it, but I do. I can’t be scared forever, and I refuse to let something as simple as memories get in the way of the future.”

Ambrose smiled at her, starting their walk up the path to where the realtor was waiting with keys. “You’re a very wise young lady, Azkadellia,” he said, squeezing her hand slightly, and getting a squeeze right back. “But just remember that you don’t always have to be, okay? You do happen to be a twelve-year-old girl, since you forget that sometimes.”

“Not with you around,” she said, smiling at him. “You act more like a child than I do sometimes and you’re what, thirty an-years?” They were both trying to stick to Otherside speech patterns, even when together. It was hard, especially around each other, but there were many things much more important than simple comforts. Relaxing wasn’t an option for them, hidden on the Otherside or not.

“I’m…um.” Ambrose paused, frowning slightly. “…twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?” He squinted, as if it would help him see the inside of his mind more clearly. “I have no idea. Somewhere around there though, I think. I’ve never really watched my age, after all. You’re as old as you feel and as mature as you decide is appropriate at the time.”

Azkadellia laughed a bit at that, making Ambrose smile right back at her, and then shifting to look at the realtor, who immediately put her fake smile back on, swinging the elegant door open for them and starting her advertisement for the place as they walked inside.

The entryway was nice and simple and tall, the second story looking straight down at it with nothing but a banister separating the floor from the atrium. The floor was hardwood practically everywhere, and while the realtor was still rambling on about the renovations the house had gone through and the “tender care that the previous owners had put into the house before they passed away, God bless them” while Azkadellia and Ambrose simply started going from room to room. Off to the left, there was a simple room that they both immediately labeled as the sitting room. It was inside the curved part of the house, the one that almost looked like a turret, and the room looked out on the near-gazebo on the same side.

While the Realtor finally caught up with them as they looked at the room, starting on its highlights, they were already moving again, out of the sitting room and back out through the atrium. After the sitting room, there was a simple powder room. Next were some stairs that led down.

“There’s a basement?” Ambrose asked, only to receive a pleased nod from the realtor.

“Covers almost the same area as the entire first floor, and is ready for a bathroom to be installed, along with lighting. The previous tenants never got around to finishing the basement, but it still-”

“Lab,” Azkadellia agreed, earning a brilliant smile from Ambrose, and they were moving on, into a bigger room with stairs to the left that obviously led to the second floor. It was a well-lit room, with one entire wall bare. Having no real clue what the purpose of a blank wall would be in a room that could have more windows and therefore generally nicer, they looked at the realtor expectantly.

“Ah, the family room,” she said, walking into it and nearly slipping on the bare hardwood, frowning at it. “Carpet’s easily installed, also. It’s a common practice nowadays-”

Azkadellia and Ambrose just gave her blank stares, and she coughed uncomfortably, moving on. “Yes. Well, it’s more commonly called the TV room in this day and age. You know how it is. But the lighting for it is perfect, never hits the screen and makes that awful glare you get all the time, at least I do in my house-”

They just moved along, intending to discuss whether or not they’d want a television later, rounding the corner to be pleasantly surprised by a side door to a small patio, a dining nook in the area leading to it. A small, modern-styled light already hung from the ceiling, one that could easily be replaced by something much more tasteful. The kitchen was to the right, and was fully equipped. They both made “Ooooh” noises at how cold the refrigerator was, opening and closing it a couple times. There was plenty of counter space, plenty of cupboards (which could also be turned into something a bit more tasteful instead of the bland plank-looking doors currently installed), and the pantry was a walk-in.

By now, the realtor had just realized that being quiet until prompted was the best idea, and was following them through the house as they went out through the other side of the kitchen and into the dining room, which also had a strange excuse for a chandelier hanging from the roof.

“First floor is quite acceptable,” Azkadellia said simply, and Ambrose smiled at her, almost smirking, and she rolled her eyes. “And so’s the basement, but I’m not going down there just so you can plan out the setup for all your gadgets and work areas.”

“I can accept that,” Ambrose grinned, and they headed for the stairs, which was where the off-white, almost beige carpet started. They were frowning at it all the way up. “I liked the wood better.”

“We can only get so much perfect, apparently,” Azkadellia agreed. There were four visible doors, all open. The first was to their immediate right, and they walked in. With a high roof and an octagonal design, Ambrose was fairly certain this was the top of the turret-like part of the house. While there were windows around the sides, there was also a window that must have looked like it poked out of the top of the roof, casting a beam of light onto the floor. Both of them made an impressed noise at that.

“I could easily fix the floor in here, maybe repaint the walls-”

“Custom bed, maybe?” Azkadellia asked, and Ambrose immediately nodded.

“There’s the arts building at the college, they have to be willing to make stuff for us if we actually pay, I know you can draw up a good sketch for them to work off of-”

“Maybe even the floor.”

Ambrose smiled at her. “Maybe even the floor.”

Azkadellia blushed slightly at that, but they were moving on, over the bridge-like area with the entry atrium on one side and the ‘TV room’ on the other, leading to the three doors. The door on the left was a fully equipped bathroom, which they agreed was nice enough. On the right was a simple, square bedroom, which they also agreed was nice enough. The door at the end was a much bigger bedroom, with a small closet and its own private bathroom.

Ambrose paused. “…Az, maybe you should-”

“I’d very much like the other bedroom, Ambrose,” Azkadellia said. The words sounded like an opinion, but the words were undeniably the equivalent of a royal decree, so Ambrose just sighed, and nodded.

“As you wish,” he said, wondering if he could find some way to install a private bathroom and closet without ruining the design on Azkadellia’s bedroom. He turned to the realtor. “How much?”

The woman cleared her throat slightly, laughing a little. “Mister Brown, I’m afraid that’s not how it usually works. We have to put a bid on the house, and the asking price is quite high-”

“Then we’ll pay the asking price,” Ambrose stated. “And considering it’s currently vacant, we’d like to move in as soon as possible.”

The realtor gaped at him. “…Mister Brown, that’s an awful lot of money we’re talking about. I understand you’re financially stable, but with only one income, keeping the house and living in the house might cause that stability to-”

“We want the house,” Azkadellia said, voice immediately turning her into the Princess who happened to be heir to the title of Queen of the entire O.Z. And that was not a voice anyone argued with. “What Ambrose says is true. If the money is needed, we will have the money. Ambrose also has the backing of my mother. Our financial stability is very, very stable.”

The woman looked absolutely miserable after that, and nodded, walking down the carpeted stairs, Ambrose and Azkadellia following quietly.

“Furniture?” Ambrose asked after a moment.

Azkadellia just smiled at him. “We’ll get there. I think maybe Baker could use a break from us.”

Ambrose grinned. “We can give them one, if you want. For now.”

--

Mornings had a ritual to them just like they had back in the O.Z. The Cain family tended to always abide by rituals, whether it was the way dinner was cooked, the way one went about asking Wyatt for a favor, or just the way they got ready in the morning. Things were a bit different on the Otherside. Rather than learning to shoot and fight and raise the household, Cain had been asked by too many a person about Jeb and school and when he was going to start. Apparently, he was ready to launch into the ‘first grade’ that people kept talking about.

The young girl who worked at the station - who wasn’t so young at twenty-four annuals - was named Annie and she suggested that Jeb be placed in the Elementary School as soon as possible, seeing as he was missing out on an education.

Cain had nearly informed her that he’d never had a proper education beyond what the Tin Man Academy had taught him and even then, informal had been the word of the day. There was all too often, he remembered, that all they would do was practice shooting targets before knocking off in Central City to tell stories of the women and men they were dating and have a carousing evening out. At least, that’s how it had been before explosions thinned their ranks, before rumors of darkness were cast all over the land. And on the Otherside, Cain was the only Tin Man there was.

School, then, had to be looked into. Cain had done his recon and found out that not only was there paperwork to be filed, but he had to get supplies, things like ‘backpacks’ (“You mean, like a satchel of goods, Father?”) and ‘crayons’ (“I don’t understand these things” “Me either, Jeb”) and strangest of all, the clothing kids were wearing (“Father, I don’t want to wear these words on my shirt! I want my vest and scarf!” “Sorry, son, we have to look normal.” “This doesn’t look normal.” “Yeah, well, we have to pretend it is”). But Cain had procured each and every one of those things and dressed Jeb in them one fine Monday morning.

Elections were coming up that Friday and try as he might to not care about the results, Cain knew that so much of what was happening affected his life in that little town of Baker and his winning was crucial to earning a good living. They were still living in a motel - a new one, after Jeb had complained about hating the way the old one looked and smelled - but steady income, an outlet for boredom, and the capacity to earn respect and power were important, and all that came with the Sheriff’s job. He vowed to himself not to worry about it for the moment, seeing as he had to get Jeb to school.

His son was sitting on the bed in his clothes and scarf, a hat atop his head, the backpack on his back, and the realm’s most petulant pout on his face. He had his arms crossed over his small torso and was sitting dead in the center of the bed, unwilling to move when Cain got out of the shower in fresh clothes for the day.

“Hey, come on, we’ll be late,” Cain said when he caught sight of Jeb, so unmoving he could be one of those weird statues that littered the college campus.

He slung his hat and coat on, expecting Jeb to move from off the bed, but a glance over his shoulder said that he hadn’t gone anywhere. Cain took a long moment to look at Jeb, to which his son just looked back and a staring contest was begun. It took four whole minutes for either of them to break and that only happened because Jeb had to sneeze. Cain took long strides forward and sat himself on the perfectly-made bed beside Jeb - there were two in the room, but without fail every night, Jeb climbed into bed with Cain and neither of them said a word about it. Cain still dreamt of explosions and flames licking the side of his face and he knew that if Jeb had those kinds of nightmares, he wanted him to have the protection Cain could afford; so every night, he would just pull Jeb close and he was grateful for what he had left.

Jeb didn’t move, still that little statue, despite Cain’s new proximity.

“Jeb?” Cain quietly asked, shifting so he could sit cross-legged in front of his boy, his boots still not on and unable to mess up the covers. “We have to go to school.” Jeb ducked his head to the side and Cain followed, leaning over and resting one hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” he exhaled gently, like talking to a spooked horse. “You’re going to learn all about this place and we’ll fit in...”

“I don’t want to,” Jeb sulked, finally speaking. “I want Mother,” he snapped.

These kinds of foul moods didn’t happen so much, but when they did, Cain was hard-pressed to know what to do. All he could do was slowly tug Jeb into his arms. At the slightest push towards him, Jeb nearly leapt right into Cain’s arms, embracing him tightly as he could. Adora was still a sore subject with both the men and despite their time on the Otherside, it was hard to mourn her when there’d been no time to do anything. Cain prayed the Queen had laid her to rest properly, but he still kept his badge out on the table and every morning, he pressed a kiss to it, as if it was Adora’s cheek. Jeb had taken to stroking it with his small fingers, and that was as much of a monument as the men could think of for her.

“I know you do,” Cain said quietly. “I want her, too, but she’s in a better place now.”

“I wanna go with her, then!” Jeb protested, not letting go of his hold on Cain. “I don’t wanna go to school and I don’t wanna be on the Otherside!”

“You know we’re here for a reason, Jeb,” Cain said sternly. “Because Azkadellia and Ambrose need protecting, so that nothing happens to them. It wouldn’t be right of us to just leave and put them in trouble, now would it?” Only five annuals old, Jeb was, and Cain was already playing on his duty and honor. It seemed to work, because Jeb’s mood relented some and he looked up at Cain past the brim of his baseball cap. “And if you go somewhere better,” Cain continued, voice sounding a bit thick and husky, “then what am I going to do without you, kid? I need you,” he admitted, staring up the ceiling when his vision clouded some and a tint of red began to rim his eyes.

Jeb stared back, the petulance faded now and turned to worry and the shouting turned to sniffles and he held on tighter, small arms wrapped around Cain’s neck. “Won’t go away,” he promised, as seriously as a boy could at his age.

Cain had already been making plans to start raising Jeb in the traditions of the O.Z. best he could, with lessons in geography, history, and some in weapons. They couldn’t do that just yet, not while they were living in a motel and had no span of grass and pond behind them to teach those sorts of lessons. Eventually, they’d need a house. That didn’t mean that Cain would stop dragging his feet when it came to making changes.

“So, how about school?” Cain suggested, checking the clock in the room. They’d be lucky at this point in time if they made it there before the bells rang.

“Do I really have to?” Jeb mumbled unsurely. “I just wanna stay here while you go to work.” And then he looked up at Cain with those wide eyes, fingers wrapped up in his red scarf and almost cuddling up with the thing. “Please, Father?” he asked, eyes as wide as ever. And then, the worst thing he could have done - and the most manipulative, which made Cain wonder just how much Jeb was absorbing from the Otherside - was that he then used some of the Otherside lexicon, one that made him look impossibly younger, one that made Cain break from his firm stance on the issue. “Please, Daddy?”

Cain sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Adora would have wanted Jeb to be happy and if schooling wasn’t going to do that, they would have had a long talk about how to raise Jeb instead. So Cain nodded the once, relenting, and vowed to teach Jeb about the components of a gun and a map of the O.Z. when he got home from work later.

He hugged Jeb one more time, pressing a too-firm kiss to his hair and heading to the door. As much as Jeb wanted to just avoid the world, Cain didn’t have the same luck with his job. “Remember,” he said sternly. “You keep this door locked and you know it’s me because I’ll give you the coded knock. Got it?”

“Got it,” Jeb agreed, slowly winding his way out of the baseball cap and the backpack until they were littered on the bed and Jeb was curling up with the scarf and holding the television remote in both of his hands, turning it on. Cain lingered in the doorway, watching his boy and wishing to all the gods that he could stay with him and promise to protect him, but Jeb had to become independent somehow and Cain had a job he needed to win.

He locked the door carefully behind him as he tucked his wallet into his back pocket. Already his thoughts were turning to things like the election that was coming and that refused to leave Cain’s mind. Right up there in his brain, the election was nestled in beside Adora’s memory and Jeb in the category of Things He Couldn’t Forget. Annie The Secretary had reassured Cain that his chances were more than good and that his public appearances had won over a good population of the town, not to mention the fact that he didn’t shake when he spoke to them or shout at them like the other two deputies. She’d called him a shoo-in for the job, whatever in hell that meant.

It was still a relief, seeing as Cain knew he’d be on the Otherside for some time and he was going to need to make a place for himself. And if that were the case, he’d rather it be doing something he enjoyed.

The biggest thing on his mind was wondering whether Ambrose and Azkadellia had seen him at an appearance or one of the flyers and he kept hoping that they didn’t know just who he was. After all, he was supposed to be on the Otherside covertly, not letting anyone know just what his mission was. In the event he needed to reveal himself, he would, but not t’il then.

He walked to work, seeing as while he might have had the funds for a motel - and it was strange to hear them referred to as dollars and cents and not platinums - he didn’t have anywhere near the resources for a car or a truck. Eventually, he thought he’d like one of the ones people called a pick-up, but there was plenty of time to look into that. When he arrived, he barely had time to take his hat off before Annie hustled up and presented him with a single call-pad’s worth of paper.

“What’s this?” he asked, glancing at the abbreviated words on the page. ‘Code 313 IP! Ken’s!’ which was gibberish to Cain. He flipped it over, in case there was a translation key on the back, but there wasn’t anything but a blank sheet, so he looked to Annie for translation.

“Armed robbery,” she informed him, exhaling the words with wide-eyes. “At Ken’s store just down the street!”

“I’m on it,” Cain assured, checking his gun and sliding it into the new work-sanctioned holster that came with the job - which really made Cain feel safer and better than he should and maybe all those teasing retorts about how Cain couldn’t live without his gun were a little bit true. The hat was fixed on his head and he was leaving on foot, seeing as Ken’s was nothing more than a two minute brisk run down the street. As he ran, he tipped his hat to constituents that would hopefully be putting him in that office for as long as Cain could last and he finally arrived at the small convenience store that Ken Allen ran.

One deep breath to get ready and Cain yanked open the front door, gun drawn on the only man in the entire store who was staring at the cashier. No hands were in the air and ‘man’ was really a glorified word for the kid who was clasping a pack of gum in one hand and a...stick in the other. It was an armed robbery over a pack of gum and using a stick to hold up the cashier. Cain sighed and tucked his gun away before wandering into the store, nodding to Ken behind the cashier’s desk. He looked over the kid, but he wasn’t looking back. His attention was purely on Cain’s gun, even though it was holstered now.

“You were gonna shoot me,” the kid swallowed and then spoke the squeaky words.

“Only if you jabbed me with the stick,” Cain promised in a deadpan, giving Ken a look. “Is he seriously holding you up for gum? Tell me he wants money or something.”

“Just gum,” both Ken and the kid echoed.

“Why didn’t you just steal it?” Cain demanded, trying to find sense and logic in the whole thing and just as he said those words, Cain could swear a lightbulb went off in the kid’s head, because he suddenly looked as if he realized what he should have done. “Don’t steal things either or I’ll still shoot,” he hedged his bets by warning sternly. Cain could have sworn he heard a defeated and mild groan from the kid at that, but Cain knew he had to be imagining that. Or at least, he hoped he was. “What’s your name?”

“Devon,” he answered, pointing the stick at Cain, as if it were something that could do a lot more damage.

“Devon, put the stick down before I shoot it down,” Cain said, completely serious on that matter, too. With a clatter, the stick fell to the ground and almost immediately, Cain found himself thinking once again that this was the world’s most ridiculous situation that he had found himself in and started cursing under his breath at the Queen of the O.Z. for putting him in a position like this.

Devon looked him up and down worriedly. “Am I under arrest?”

“For a pack of gum, no,” Cain said sternly. “But no more sticks and pay for your gum and get a job if you can’t.”

He shooed the kid out of the place while wandering up to the counter and to look up at Ken’s waiting face, bemused as anything else.

“What?” Cain asked tiredly, encouraging whatever it was he had to say.

“Wanted to see if you’d come,” Ken admitted as he gave a firm nod. “You’ve got my vote, Sheriff, seeing as now I know you’ll come in the event that anything’s happening, big or small. Stick or gun. Gum or slushy machine.”

Cain still had no clue what a ‘slushy’ was, but he dug out a couple of bills and put them on the counter. “What do little boys like to eat?” he asked curiously and was given a handful of ‘candy bars’ that he was told would be good for kids, but because of the sugar, had to be limited. Cain nodded as he pocketed them for later to give to Jeb in the hopes of maybe bribing him to at least give school a try. “I’ll see you around, Ken,” Cain promised while he left the store, bells announcing his departure and the warm goodbye that Cain received almost made him begin to think that he could get used to the town.

Cain checked the time on the clock tower and saw that it was around lunch hours on the college campus.

He’d put it off far too long, by now. It was time to meet Ambrose properly.

--

Ambrose was holding her hand all the way to middle school. The realtor hadn’t been lying when she’d said it was just a couple blocks. It was a big, boring-looking brick building with BAKER MIDDLE SCHOOL written loudly on the side, kids her age wandering around and making their way inside in a completely disorderly fashion, some pushing each other around. Chatter filled the air, their voices growing louder and louder as she approached. Instinctively, Azkadellia’s spine went straighter, her steps lighter, her entire bearing more regal - and then Ambrose squeezed on her hand.

“It’s not court, Az,” he said carefully. “It’s just children your age. You’ll make friends, learn things-”

“I know I have to do this, Ambrose, don’t worry,” Azkadellia said, trying to relax again, but the sound of a crowd was wired into that area of her mind that continued to tell her that these were the people she’d be ruling some day and that meant she had to gain their respect immediately. But this was Baker, Kansas, and a middle school, and she’d be fine. Just like Ambrose said. She paused for a moment, and looked around quickly. Making sure nobody was watching, Azkadellia got on her tiptoes and pulled Ambrose down just enough for a small peck on the cheek. “You have to get to the college anyway.”

“I’ll always make an exception for you,” he frowned, but Azkadellia shook her head, the elaborate curls and ringlets twirling through the air with the motion.

“Go to work,” she said again, and immediately turned, her sundress (red today with darker red swirls on it) flaring out as she started walking into the building, refusing to look back, staring straight ahead at the doors with her schedule in one hand and her other hand on the satchel at her side that was slung across her body and stayed at her hip. The children actually stopped to stare at her, and she walked just that small bit faster, regal bearing snapping into place once she was sure Ambrose couldn’t see her, practically gliding through the hallway as she read the plaques next to the doors, looking for her first class even if she had fifteen minutes until school technically started.

“Like oh my god, look at her hair,” a blonde girl to her side gasped, and Azkadellia blinked, head turning to the side to see four blonde girls, all wearing…unique clothing. If her mother or Ambrose had ever caught her in an ensemble like that, she’d have had a blanket thrown over her and they’d carry her inside.

Azkadellia smiled slightly, looking at the girl who’d spoken. Long blond hair that was waterfall-straight was kept in place by a strange-looking headband that looked like it had glitter on it. “I could say the same,” she said simply, eyes taking in the group. “Then again, I could also say ‘look at the sky’, and it would mean the same thing to me, really.”

They gaped at her. And almost in unison, they cringed, looking at each other in apparent over-disgust. “Gag me with a spoon, this girl is totally disturbed.” “And that dress? God, it’s like World War Two again.”

The girls were still talking with that absolutely bizarre accent when she walked away, finally finding her first room for the day. She smiled at the realization it was art. A few students were already jumbled around the room, all of them wearing smocks and looking completely bored, one girl already scribbling away at something. Curious, Azkadellia walked over, sitting next to the other brunette. “What are you doing?”

The girl let out a yelp, hiding whatever she’d been working on and blushing furiously. “N-nothing, I wasn’t doing anything, I’m just waiting for class to start.”

“So am I,” Azkadellia said, smoothly dropping the subject and smiling carefully at the girl. “I’m new. Did I miss much? I was under the impression we’re only two weeks into the semester or so.”

“We…we are,” the girl agreed, bright green eyes just staring at her. “Wow, you must be really new. Where’d you come from? I’ve…I’ve never seen anyone who…looks like you before.”

“Iceland,” she said, almost blandly although a small, true smile tugged at her lips at the memory of her rigorous briefing on Iceland. “I don’t like to talk about it, though. But I still don’t see why everyone is wearing the same things and acting the same. I’m glad you don’t.”

The girl blushed again. “Not many other people think that,” she said quietly, and Azkadellia noticed the sudden end of the nervous stutter. Purely a psychological response, then, probably to peer pressure of some sort. “I’m not exactly popular.”

Azkadellia just smiled at her, and slung off her satchel, arranging herself politely in her seat, both hands clasped together and back straight. “Popular and worthwhile tend to be very different things.” She paused. “Really, what were you doing when I came in?”

The girl blushed, and after a moment she pulled out a notebook full of sketches, all of them very strange-looking monsters. “…I like Bill Pete,” she said quietly.

Azkadellia grinned at her. “If Bill Pete does this sort of thing, I’m fairly certain I do too.” She held out a hand. “Azkadellia Brown.”

“…Karen DiNozzo,” Karen whispered back, and seemed to wilt. “People call me Dino because of how I walk.”

“Elegance is an acquired feat,” Azkadellia grinned. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Karen.”

And that was how the rest of the day went. Every class she went into, she usually came out of with one to three new friends, all a mismatched, ragtag bunch that ranged from preppy girls to boys with chain on their jackets to…well, Karen. She even ended up with two of those ‘valley girls’ as everyone continued to refer to them after meeting them in the lunch line.

“It’s just amazing,” one teacher commented to another at lunch. “In one day, she managed to tear down cliques and form a group that’s socially more powerful than any other in the entire school. She has connections to every other clique with that one table of friends right there.”

The other teacher just made a scoffing, snorting noise, drinking another swig of pepsi. “Doubt she knows that. They’re twelve, for God’s sake.”

But Azkadellia really, really did know, although she wasn’t about to let anyone know that. Karen was the only one she’d picked up without a plan, after she’d seen how a middle school worked during that first art class. Ambrose had said it wasn’t court, and he had been right. So she’d decided it would probably be best considered as her being ambassador to a new, strange country called Baker Middle School.

She wasn’t planning on telling Ambrose, since he tried so hard to make her a 'normal' little girl that it was cute, but she liked to think he’d be proud if he knew.

--

Another session of lecture in POS100. Ambrose was happy to see that there was only one more lecture, and then there would be the test, and then they moved on to the actual learning. The students had even started to ask questions and offer to answer his random point-and-ask questions by putting their hands in the air. A small part of him missed pointing at an unsuspecting student and shouting out "YOU!" He wasn't entirely fond of that sentiment, considering it meant he was slipping into the role of Professor Brown just a bit too much, acting a bit more like his Academy professors than he wanted.

One final slice of the chalk against the blackboard, and he smiled almost smugly when he saw the clock tick exactly to when his class officially ended. It had taken him a while, but he'd learned how to watch the time while wading through all the theoretical government information he had to. The class seemed surprised by him actually ending on time for once. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, so he moved over to the notes board, erasing a corner to scribble down what he'd nearly forgotten.

"Oh, and my office hours have changed for the week," he added while they were still busy waiting for the extra five minutes of class, scribbling down his office and the hours - right after this class, for two hours, and for two hours before his high-level engineering class on Tuesdays and Thursdays (which was always actual learning, much to his satisfaction). "The test is coming up, so if you need them, use them. I'm sorry to change them, but family things have come up."

He looked back at the class, and noticed that most were still in their seats, just looking at him. Ambrose looked down at himself, couldn't find anything different than usual (maybe it was the dark orange suit today or something?), so he cleared his throat. "...class dismissed."

They began packing up, and Ambrose just smiled, turning to the first of his three chalkboards. He grabbed the eraser and started working on the first chalkboard, knowing well that it'd take a lot more doing than he liked to get everything off of them today than usual. In his attempt to cram everything into his actual time slot, he'd also lost the elegant, orderly script normally found on the chalkboards for a spiraling, jumbled mess. It looked more like his notes back in the O.Z. from when he'd been working on a project than he liked, so he started scrubbing at it, glad the chalk didn't show up on the dark orange coat.

Cain hadn't been sitting in the class and watching that day but had rather stood in the doorway and remained a fixed point while floods of students passed him, some smiling, some greeting him, and others chattering on about '...Professor Brown's suit today, did you see?...' and so on. After a long time, Cain wasn't avoiding Ambrose and instead wandered right up to stand near the front of the room, clearing his throat to get his attention.

If nothing else, he could just pretend he was paying a friendly visit on behalf of his campaign for Sheriff, mobilizing the local college and all.

Then, when he started talking and informing Ambrose of his schedule, his hours, and so on, it would likely become evident that this was more than a normal visit and Ambrose was sort of a genius. He might just notice. "You've got something of a captive audience," Cain noted as the last student filtered out of the room.

Ambrose chuckled, finishing up the erasing of Board Number Three. "Oh, I'd say more shocked. I normally go at least five minutes over the class' official time. They were waiting for the rest of the lect...ure..."

He trailed off when he caught sight of the other man. Definitely not a student (definitely too old to be in a 100-level class like this one), and definitely not another professor. The man wasn't anyone he knew, since he'd have certainly remembered someone with eyes like that. Ambrose just smiled. "You're the temporary sheriff, aren't you. Wyatt Cain, isn't it? I've seen you on the flyers all over Baker," he explained, and held out a chalky hand. "Ambrose Brown. But just call me Ambrose, please."

He paused. "Then again, you probably already know who I am, what with sitting around my class." Fondness crept up into his voice at the mention of his class. They were managing things he'd honestly never thought they'd be capable of, and most of them were even excelling, at that.

At the mild stumble, Cain's lips curved upwards slightly, almost glad he could still have that effect on people. Cain leaned forward and shook his hand firmly. "Well, like you said, you already know me." His smile didn't go away, it just grew slightly and without becoming too cocksure. "The flyers aren't my idea, so you'll have to excuse well-meaning coworkers for shoving my face everywhere," he said with a shrug, watching Ambrose carefully.

"Always have the best of intentions, don't they?" Ambrose smiled, mind immediately twisting to Jane Walker and her repeated attempts to get him to guest-lecture on things he didn't have a clue about. Like life in Iceland. Sometimes he really regretted that decision. He could rattle off the capital and population and random landmarks on the island, but that was about it. "It just shows they care, I think. Besides, I certainly prefer knowing what the sheriff looks like if he happens to come barging into somewhere with a gun."

Because then he'd know it wasn't someone who'd slipped over from the O.Z. and wanted to kill Azkadellia, and he wouldn't have to attack them. He was much more of a thinker than a fighter, but either worked for him, really.

"I suppose so. Your lecture, though…wish I had a professor like you back in my day," Cain admitted carefully. "Might have actually paid attention to class." He didn't, however, give him a reasonable explanation or any explanation, in fact, as to why he was there.

Ambrose just shook his head, smiling, at the mention of 'a professor like you'. "I've only been working here for a month, at most. There's a long ways to go before I'll be a genuinely good professor to these kids. I do my best, but you need experience, you know?"

He moved over to his battered briefcase, slamming it shut and clicking the ancient buckles closed. "So what can I help you with?"

Cain's gaze had been sitting on the briefcase, only half paying attention to what the other man was saying. He hadn't been wearing his coat that day, a habit that he had been able to shake only half the time he went out in public and really, the hat never quite made it off his head. "Well, it looks to be good work for a month," he pointed out, all the while procrastinating when it came to answering the pertinent question.

He, instead, began to pace up and down the boards to study the figures and words. "You know," he said, brushing a thumb against a wayward chalk mark and cleaning it up. "Most places won't let you carry a gun in, but you're the Sheriff, or as close to it as you can get at the moment and not only do they let you in, but they give you a nod in the process." Cain had a heightened sense of things and so even with his back to Ambrose, he could tell if the other man was about to leave. "Wish it were like that back home," he admitted, mostly to himself, but he shook himself out of it, turning. "Just thought I'd establish a presence in the event you ever need help, here on the campus or elsewhere around town. What else is the sheriff's department for, otherwise, right?"

That statement brought Ambrose to a screeching halt in his steps. His hand was on the door. His hand was literally in the middle of opening the door when he stopped, freezing for a moment, before turning, smiling lightly at the man. Gun or no gun, he was suddenly a threat to Azkadellia.

"I'm fairly certain I can take care of myself," he said pleasantly, still smiling. "After all, Baker's not exactly a bustling metropolis with a high crime rate. I doubt you even need the gun. Why the attachment to it?" Need to try and kill someone?

But maybe he was just campaigning. Maybe he'd just picked the wrong words with the wrong man. That was why Ambrose kept his smile on.

Cain lifted a brow. Well, this wasn't going the way he'd planned it to go. Not that this day had any set plans attached to it. Cain just shook his head and hooked his thumbs casually in his trousers, not giving off any more than the air of a man with nothing else to do. "High or low crime rate, all it takes is one moment to change everything," he said, the subject bitter for Cain.

Central had been seeing its lowest crime rates ever when it happened and Ambrose wouldn't even know anything about that because he was already on the Otherside, setting up their little normal life. "Just because one annual's quiet doesn't mean the rest follow the same pattern," he bit out tersely, mood darkened by the cloud of thoughts that the explosion always brought about. "Things change."

Annual. The man was definitely from the O.Z. and even if Ambrose didn't know what he was doing in the same town as Azkadellia, talking to Ambrose, he wasn't about to take any chances. "All this time, it just seems to go on by and do nothing but take from us, doesn't it." He was walking back towards Cain, eyes making a sweep through the room. Luckily there wasn't another class in the hall next period, and he doubted anyone would be coming back in.

Still smiling, Ambrose shifted his grip on the briefcase, and swung it hard through the air, the hard metal slamming into the side of his face. He was glaring now, the briefcase flung across the floor and popping open. He ignored it, keeping his hands free as he faced the man. "Alright, start talking, Slipper. What the hell are you doing here and give me a good reason not to kill you."

Cain cursed under his breath when he realized that he'd gone and muttered the wrong thing. Of all things, the one thing that kept tripping him up was the years and annuals thing, something he was never going to get a hold of, at this rate. When the briefcase came swinging hard against his face, he set his jaw and drew the gun instantly, keeping it trained on Ambrose's chest as he took two steps backwards, out of his reach. "You really wanna play it like this?" he demanded, cocking the hammer back with an audible 'click'.

Gods damn it. That was going to bruise and he touched his face with his free hand, snarling mildly at Ambrose. Trouble, nothing but trouble.

"How about the fact that I'm working for the Queen?" he muttered, cool knuckles against the forming bruise. "Or that I'm here to keep an eye on you. You really wanna kill me, you're making a boy an orphan and taking away the only protection you've got on the Otherside who really know who she is and the danger you could both be in if anyone dangerous slips through."

Didn't mean he dropped the gun.

Ambrose circled him. Sure, the gun was still trained on him with every step he took, but it was better than just standing there like a dumb target. If the would-be Sheriff wanted to keep his distance, that was fine. Ambrose weighed his words, eyes on Cain's, practically ignoring the gun.

"Then let me ask you a question," Ambrose said. "What are we hiding from? I'll believe you if you can actually answer this one right, and you go home to live with your boy, since really, I do think I can take care of myself, although I'll admit another hand would be helpful with...some things." He wasn't about to say Azkadellia's name right out, just in case the man got the better of him.

He stopped circling, and just waited for the other man's answer, fully ready and willing to be shot in the side (in a hopefully non-vital area) and then bring the man down. If he gave the wrong answer, at least.

Cain sighed, lifting the gun to the ceiling for all of a minute before he trained it on Ambrose's heart again. He knew the answer, of course he did, but it sounded so incredibly stupid when said aloud. "Her sister," he said quietly. "Little girl of six annuals who, last I saw, was planting an explosive that killed about ninety-percent of Central's Tin Men," he snapped. "Which I assume you didn't know. That happened months after Princess Azkadellia supposedly died. The Queen sent me over after that, seeing as everyone else was dead," he snapped, 'and I'm the one man who was crowing on and on about evil little girls."

And he'd survived, just so he got to come to the Otherside and watch this man and the Princess. One of those two was irritating him at the moment.

Ambrose sighed, and immediately just sat down, right on the floor. "It's not DG," he said simply. "She's possessed. She was possessed while Azkadellia was trying to save her, she's been possessed for...ohhh, let's see." Ambrose thought for a moment. "Two months? Four? I don't have the exact details, and Azkadellia is understandably a bit tight-lipped about the whole thing."

"Has to be four," he gave his opinion. "Considering the time spent here getting used to things." And the general time it'd taken between Azkadellia's supposed death and the disaster.

He paused. "Sorry about your face, but you have to admit that if you were in my position, you'd have done something similar. I..." He sighed, eyes closing. Little DG, the sweetest, most adventurous, kind little girl, blowing up buildings and killing massive amounts of people, and probably doing it all with a happy smile on her face. "I thought she sent you."

It seemed a simple enough answer. Cain would understand it. After all, he had to if the Queen had sent him for protection.

Cain tucked the gun away and picked his way over to the ground to heavily drop himself down and sit a small distance away from Ambrose, forearms resting on his knees as he stared forward at the empty class before him. The red of his cheek was dying down, to be replaced with some black and blue later. Cain sighed again and glanced over to Ambrose beside him.

"Only reason I survived was that I went to bring a button back to her. Here I was, thinking I was doing such a good deed when I was just removing myself from the wrong place at the wrong time." Another long pause and he said something he never expected to share. "My wife. She was in the blast. With near-everyone I've ever worked with or respected." With a shrug, Cain pushed himself to his feet and glanced down at Ambrose. "My boy and I are both here though, if you ever need us."

"She still won't wear buttons," Ambrose found himself murmuring, only to pause at the fact DG's body had killed Cain's wife. "I'm..." He shook his head. "I know it probably doesn't mean much or help anything, but I am sorry for your loss." He sighed, voice barely audible. "Seems we've both lost loved ones to the Witch already."

"I'm glad to know there's someone else out there to watch over Azkadellia," he nodded, standing back up. "I'll be sure to tell her about you so that you don't end up...you know." He mimicked clapping his hands a bit abashedly, and picked his briefcase up, pulling a small card out of it. "Our address. We should probably keep in touch, and I'd like it if Azkadellia could meet you both some time."

Cain took the card and tucked it into the breast pocket of his vest while he gave a nod. "We'll find some time," he agreed while managing a somewhat sighed laugh at the clap, seeing as that was the very thing that got him into his current mess. "Jeb and I are still settling in, but we'll be in touch."

Ambrose nodded, shutting his briefcase. "It was nice to meet you, Cain. And it's nice to know someone's there to watch my back." He smiled softly. "If you need it, I'll be there to watch yours, too."

Never say never, Cain knew, and he nodded, not wanting to say no and then need to swallow his pride later. "I'll see you around, Ambrose," Cain promised, hand on the door as he left the room, glad that he'd done it.

And he was glad that they each knew now that they weren't alone.
--

It had not taken long for Azkadellia to sneak her way from the school to the motel in a town like Baker. People talked a lot about how varied and interesting it was and she did her best to always listen, because Ambrose told her to always learn, to keep learning, to learn, but it wasn’t exactly the O.Z. Baker was quaint in that Milltown way and Azkadellia was happy enough there. Ever since Ambrose had mentioned the Cains, though, she had wanted to meet them just to know someone else who remembered home. She wanted to talk about Central City and the Northern Island and the way the suns rose in summer and everything she could remember and Ambrose was more than she could ever ask for, but it wasn’t enough.

And she also thought it just wasn’t right about the motel thing, the one she had managed to locate with some curious questions at the sheriff’s department. After all, people needed homes and from everything she had learned, motels were for transients and people who had nowhere to go. That simply wasn’t suitable for the Cains.

Very politely, she knocked on the thick door, smoothing out both her hair - intricately piled up atop her head - and then her sunflower dress - which wafted lightly in the breeze - and folded her hands before her as she remained regal and stood tall as ever while waiting for the door to open.

She had exactly twenty minutes before lunch was over and classes begun again, but she was a very quick runner when she had to be and didn’t worry much about getting back.

No answer was coming, but that didn’t sway her in the least and she continued to knock and knock, a complacent smile upon her face as she did. “Mr. Cain?” she pitched her voice hopefully, hoping that he was home for lunch. With the election days away, he had lots of appearances to make and people said that he took all his spare time with his son, which meant they ought to both be there. “Mr. Cain, I have some questions,” she remarked, the edge of irritation hiding quite well, considering that of all people, he should know that she was Princess of the O.Z. and while that didn’t matter so much anymore…well, it still ought to matter, she thought.

It took many more knocks, but the door was pulled open and Mr. Cain stood there with water dripping from his hair, clearly having just found his way out of the shower - but obviously had dressed himself to be proper in her presence. She supposed it was the heat, after all, the days got very hot and Azkadellia could attest to that by the number of times she had caught sweat rolling down her neck.

He gaped at her for a long time, all while the little boy in the room poked his head out from behind one of Cain’s denim-clad legs. Azkadellia waved at him and smiled. “Hi,” she greeted, looking back up to Mr. Cain.

“Prin…kid,” Cain growled and Azkadellia knew she would probably be in trouble, but she had to see if Ambrose had been lying to her because it wasn’t smart or logical at all that anyone would choose to live in a place like this indefinitely. Especially not when there were options, like moving in with them. She had kept thinking it because it was simple enough in her young mind -- we have to stick together. “Just what in hell are you doing out here? And where’s Ambrose?”

“Most likely at work,” she said, inviting herself into the room. Jeb Cain followed her like a little duckling, not saying much of anything, but trailing after the pale yellow sundress as it bounced with her walk. “This is a very small room,” she said, judging it.

“But it has a television.” It was the first time Jeb had spoken up from behind her and he tugged on her wrist, bringing her over and pressing her palm to the strange box. “Isn’t it warm?”

Azkadellia couldn’t help but smile down at him, reminded of DG and then her thoughts immediately went cold and dark because she didn’t like to think about DG, because that meant thinking about her and what could be happening to her poor sister back home and she didn’t like to think about that. It translated, instead, to wanting to protect Jeb from the things she couldn’t protect DG from and that was all she focused on.

Behind them, Cain had closed and double-bolted the door and was giving her a very angry glare which meant that she was most certainly in trouble.

“What about a place to play?” Azkadellia suggested, mostly innocent but for the fact that she was acting somewhat manipulatively, at least with Jeb. Perhaps if they both insisted upon a proper home, Mr. Cain would take the thought into consideration. After all, it seemed as though he would have no trouble becoming the permanent Sheriff of Baker and then he would have an ample amount of funds with which to buy property! It worked perfectly and Azkadellia had already gotten to thinking of places they could go to. She had a small notebook with pictures pasted in from the papers and if things didn’t go over well, she could present it to Mr. Cain. After all, he had to listen to her. It was his job. “You need a place to play. Perhaps a large grassy area.”

“Yeah,” Jeb agreed, sounding wistful.

“And it’s always nice to eat well-cooked food,” Azkadellia reminisced, her voice as sweet as ever. “The kitchen we have has been so good for that.”

Jeb began looking around the room as if to locate their kitchen, but the motel wasn’t in possession of one and they had been living off of the kindness of some town-folk, but mostly processed food - at least, the stuff Cain would allow seeing as most of the greasier food didn’t even make it past the door without Cain having a word or two to say about it.

“We don’t have a kitchen,” he announced, as if that was a great offence. “Daddy, we have no kitchen.”

Cain sighed at that and while Azkadellia couldn’t have known, part of it was the fact that she was bringing Jeb onto her side and part of it was Jeb’s all-too-easy adopting of Otherside words and slang.

“I know, kiddo,” he sighed and wandered to pry Azkadellia’s hand from Jeb’s grip as gently as he could. “Princess,” he said, seriously. “Not that your visit isn’t appreciated, but again, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I had to see it for myself,” she admitted, hands on her hips and shaking her head. All of twelve annuals and she was making as many judgments as she could. “Mr. Cain?” she entreated, brown eyes wide. “I know this was meant as something helpful to help you adjust when you first arrived, but it’s long past time to move on, don’t you agree?”

Jeb watched them with wide eyes, standing shorter than anyone else and hopping onto one of the beds to try and regain some equal height.

“And where do you suggest?” Cain asked, very patiently.

“Somewhere more permanent. I know why you’re here,” she said, sounding guilty, “and I don’t want you to have to live like this for fifteen annuals, which will likely happen if you don’t change.” If they stayed too much longer, Azkadellia might have to resort to something as dastardly as breaking down into a heap and crying until Mr. Cain promised to find a new home. She wasn’t putting it past herself. Maybe if she nudged Jeb enough, he’d help.

For a long moment, Mr. Cain didn’t say anything at all and then he grasped her gently by the arm and led her back to the door. “Jeb, come on,” he encouraged, grasping his holster, gun, and hat in the process. “We’re walking Azkadellia back to school.”

Which only served to light another bulb in Azkadellia’s mind and though she went along with his light and encouraging pushes, she craned her swan-like neck up at him. “How come Jeb isn’t in school?” she asked.

“Don’t want to go,” Jeb said easily, taking hold of her hand without even asking and she held on right back as if that would somehow protect them both, even if Jeb Cain had no magic to help protect them and make them the most powerful beings in the O.Z. “So I don’t go.”

“We’re looking for another solution,” Cain said firmly. “Home-education is an option.”

“But you work all day,” Azkadellia pointed out. “At an incredibly taxing job that I’ve read much about. How can Jeb possibly be learning anything?”

“I know how to shoot a gun!” Jeb announced, almost smugly.

“How old are you?”

“Five annuals,” he said proudly. “Father says that I’m really good, too. Almost hit all the cans!” Azkadellia exchanged a look with Cain, but he wasn’t looking back and instead keeping an eye on the two children and keeping directly behind them so he could observe in all directions around them. Azkadellia felt worse than she did before and now made immediate plans to tell Ambrose all about the state of disarray that was happening. She thought disarray was the right word. She had just learned so many new things, like chaos and disarray and endless and endless words to add to her vocabulary. Silently, she walked the remainder of the way to school, stomach growling mildly as she had skipped lunch in order to make her trek to the motel.

When they arrived, Cain took Jeb’s other hand and Azkadellia only let go after carefully making sure that Cain had him and she looked up at Cain, then glanced to Jeb.

He was digging something out of his pocket and pressing it into her hand. She glanced down to find both paper bills (that totaled to five dollars) and a candy wrapped in plastic wrapping. She didn’t understand at first just why he had given her these things, but he just nodded toward the school and kept his gaze averted.

She realized, suddenly, that he was making up for the fact that students were filing back into the school and she’d yet to have lunch. She wanted to think him somehow, but didn’t know how, thinking that a hug would most certainly be improper and anything else wouldn’t be befitting either of their ranks.

“Thank you, Mr. Cain,” she said, almost shyly as she stared down at the contents of her hand. She gave Jeb a pleased smile before turning on her heel and making her way back to school with a settled smile on her face.

Cain picked Jeb up into his arms and went in the other direction - straight for Baker College.

---

As ever, super-crossposted, for we are happy fools. ♥