4.43 Criminality

Carlos has perfected his grandfather's french toast recipe and is very pleased with himself for doing so. Tonight's dinner will be very special.

It may look like they're saying grace or something, but that's just everyone clapping because they each get to eat their favorite food.

 Fish 'n chips for Acheron... extravagant potato and truffle torte for Dysen... key lime pie for Lela...

More fish 'n chips for Ceth, mushroom omelette for Carlos...

French toast for Orazia, Monte Vista style spaghetti for Milo, and yet more fish 'n chips for Fairuza.

When food is this perfect, all one can do is eat it in stunned silence and wonder what the occasion is. Orazia is graduating in a few days, so technically they could be celebrating that...

"We should get a dog!" Fairuza exclaims.

The household already has a snake, a snail, some fish, and now a cat. Milo would definitely break and allow his daughters to adopt a puppy, now that Carlos has broken and allowed a cat. Orazia isn't keen on the idea, though. She thinks dogs are too high-maintenance. That, and their father is a werewolf half the time, so it would be redundant...?

Unrelated: Dysen adopts another cat, this time from the shelter.

"Moby?" Acheron questions the name.

"Yeah," Dysen says. "Like Moby Dick."

"Like Moby Dick?" Orazia also questions the name.

Dysen shrugs. "I wanted an M name to go with Maggie, and it sounded better in my head I guess. It's like, an intellectual name."

"Maybe if he was like, a white cat," Fairuza chimes in on the criticism.

Dysen folds his arms. "Damn, tough crowd." 

Moby plays with the cat dancer toy, happy and oblivious.

Maggie mistakes Moby's brindled fur patterning for mankyness...

...and tries to groom him.

"You do realize we are werewolves, with two cats," Milo complains.

Carlos blinks. "What's wrong with cats?"

"I just think if other werewolves ever met us, they'd think we were weird."

Carlos rolls his eyes. "Really?"

"It could happen! I could find myself a hot werechick. Any day now."

"The cats stay. My wife thinks the cats are cute. And your daughters also have a pet."

"Nicholas is a snail, he barely even counts."

"Wow, rude?" Dysen interrupts. "Nicholas is an important member of this family."

"Do your homework," Carlos shoos his son.

"Whaaat are you doing in the garden?"

The answer is pretty obvious.

Maggie worries her skills will grow dull, if these humans keep preventing her from hunting!

The garden has expanded quite a bit over time.

Carlos keeps getting calls from travel agencies, asking him to go to France. Where are these fools even getting his number?

"You look stunning," Dysen greets Molly for their date at the arcade. He's been rolling romantic wishes about her all day, and the chance to finally act on them fills him with a nearly overwhelming sense of anticipation.

Molly accepts the flowers he presents her with. He's always trying to buy her love, and she must admit it's effective. "You dressed up for me, too," she observes. "You didn't have to."

"Do you like it? I tried to look for a badass motorcycle jacket, but this is all I could find."

"It suits you," she says, not bothering to define how she sees him, or what traits she thinks the jacket matches. "How is our cat?"

"Mags is doing well. She still hides under the furniture, but she's getting more friendly. And she's getting along with Moby. I sent you the pics."

"So cute," Molly gushes. "So, what should we do tonight? In this very colorful place?"

"This is where we first properly met," Dysen reminds her.

"Next to the gumball machine," she giggles, a light and happy noise uncharacteristic of her quietly judgmental demeanor. "Yes, I remember."

"We'd seen each other in school before then, but this is where I finally said hello. This is where the chase began," he dramatizes the tale.

"I never ran, Dysen."

"Let me glorify the hunt, would you?"

"I'm a lady. Not prey," she admonishes gently. "If your thrill is for the hunt, I fear you'll eventually tire of me, in favor of more elusive quarry."

"I didn't mean it like that, Molly." He frowns, still spinning her around in their little dance. 

It's an arcade date, so most of it is dedicated to childish pleasures, like games of whack-a-gnome.

They go upstairs to play foosball, and hope to sneak some bubbles from one of the bubble bars, but the proprietor is sitting up here specifically as a deterrent to kids trying stuff like that.

They try to get amusing pictures from the photo booth, but it's still broken in my game.

Molly almost wins a Scary Bears from the claw machine.

"Tough luck," Dysen tries to console her. "Those machines are rigged you know."

"They're still fun," Molly says.

"I'll buy you a Scary Bears from the retailer if you want."

"That's expensive."

"Don't worry about that! My family's in a good place. Might as well enjoy it." Of course, if Carlos retired, Dysen's available funds would dry up very fast. If Dysen wants to continue not worrying about money forever, he'll have to have a job someday, unlike Acheron.

"Sometimes I think you're too far out of my socioeconomic bracket," Molly says, touching their foreheads together and placing her hands heavily on his shoulders.

He nuzzles her cheek. "I'm yours. You know that."

"I... I have something to tell you..." She stares into his violet irises. They're so captivating. She's often imagined they glow. "But I'm losing my nerve."

"You can tell me anything," Dysen says quickly, though he's not sure he likes where this is going. A quick scan of the top of her thoughts shows she's thinking about her dad, a failed DJ who accrued so much gambling debt the family almost lost their house, and her mom, who's always fighting with her dad about finances.

"I've been forging documents for money." 

Dysen smiles blankly. "Go on..."

"It started when Lauren Foster-Savage heard about how I get out of school... and wanted the same. Through her, other people heard about me."

"What kind of other people?" Dysen asks. As the words leave his mouth, he sees flashes of memory from Molly—business fronts hiding the trafficking of drugs, stolen goods, and even people from other sectors moved around by their organization to evade the law. It's weird, it's scary, it's exciting...

"Shady kinds of people," she murmurs, before elaborating about how fake but official-looking notes of little consequence became false documentation of increasing difficulty and magnitude. Even a few art forgeries, to see if she could pull it off, each of her replicas passed off as the real thing to rich fools who believed they could squirrel away long lost cultural treasures in their private collections. One thing led to another. And just like that, Molly is part of an expansive criminal organization. It sounds too surreal to be true.

"You don't have to do this," Dysen says, his voice hushed and his smile unfaltering.

"I don't think this is something I'm allowed to just walk away from." Another memory. A pair of glowing red eyes, staring at her from the darkness.

Dysen gasps, "No, no, no. You're just a minor, you can go to the police..."

"Half of them might be in on it."

"My Mom would love to bust that case," Dysen snorts, not meaning to mock the situation.

"Are you ashamed of me?" she whispers.

"No, Molly..." He lowers his arms, releasing her from their embrace. "I'm just confused about why someone with a bright future as an artist would do this."

"It's harder to turn a profit with art than you'd think." Her gaze drops to the floor, and in that moment, he gets it. Something isn't right. She's been coerced, somehow... and he needs to get to the bottom of it.

Because this is not Molly. Molly would not give up like that.

"I don't think less of you, Molly," he says.

Dysen leans in to kiss Molly, trying to prove his sincerity. At first he intends to storm off then and there to confront Lauren, but on second thought, he remembers his training. He will confront Lauren, but he won't do it when he's this emotional. A werewolf must stay calm and in control. Instead he suggests he and Molly take a walk outside under the stars. They'll defy curfew, he adds, half-joking that it will add more criminality to her record.

Orazia, up late to read, gives Dysen a bit of a look as he brazenly walks in the front door.

"Acheron bunched up the covers so your mother thought you were already asleep," she says.

Dysen blinks, surprised. "Good to know he's got my back."

"Is that all you have to say?" Orazia demands.

"Piss off, 'Zia. I was taking a walk with Molly." Dysen plops down on the sofa next to his oldest cousin. "Something's going on with her."

Orazia's tone turns more sympathetic, "Oh."

Dysen takes a long bath, in desperate need of a tranquility moodlet.

Something is wrong. He can practically smell it, taste it in the night air drifting in through the poorly sealed window.

He feels compelled to look outside. He has the odd idea something is watching him. But there's nothing out there out of place.

The blankets on Dysen's bed were piled up convincingly. At least convincingly enough to fool Lela; Carlos would have sensed his son's absence, had he been the one to check up on him. As Dysen straightens out the sheets and blankets he glances at Acheron, who twitches and whines in his sleep. Dysen will have to remember to thank him in the morning.

Or now. "Acheron... hey... wake up..."

Acheron slams Dysen against the wall before the younger teen can even register the waking attempt succeeded. Defensive glyphs pop up around them, sparkling in the air as two fists press down on Dysen's chest.

"Who are you... where am I..." Acheron demands, in a low voice.

"Dude. It's me? Hi? What were you dreaming about?"

Acheron's glare softens. "...You're still alive..."

"You, uh, say that like I shouldn't be."

The glyphs fade as Acheron releases Dysen. He hides his face in his hand and turns to walk out of the room, not sure where in the house he's going to sit awake, but too ashamed to be in this room. "Don't wake me up like that. It's... it's hard to wake up. Sometimes I just forget who I am."

Dysen throws his hands up in frustration. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing."

"Talk to me!"

"I'm sorry."

"No. Don't be sorry. Tell me what's wrong. Ever since I started becoming more sensitive to the metaphysical I've sensed you're messed up. You're so upset about something, it's scaring me. Do you know how much it hurts my tough guy image to say this to you?" Dysen fakes a horrified expression. "Sometimes I just want to make sure you're not going to hurt yourself but I can't explain why."

"We're not having this conversation."

"YES, we ARE."

"Back off before I say something hurtful," Acheron warns.

"You know what? Fine. I'm too tired for this crap, I've got my own problems!"

Molly, Acheron remembers. The reason he had to hide Dysen's curfew violation.  It seems paradoxical, but the adults getting involved would make things even worse.





__________________________________________
Etc.: Gourmet is finally achieved, and with little time to spare!

If you'll recall, I upped the challenge of it by requiring Carlos to cook everyone perfect quality meals. Not the easiest task. Good job, Carlos... and special thanks to Milo for catching all those fish.