Miss Pettigrew exclaimed, "Well, and I never!"
Her plump cheeks were flushed, and her brown eyes burned with an inner anger. "He did that?"
"Oh, yes, I regret to say," a woman said, shaking her head. "Killed her, right on the spot."
Miss Pettigrew gasped, and ran her hand over her white hair. "The nerve of that young man, I say," she stammered. The other woman shook her head silently.
"He is a child! A malicious little animal without the control of a grown man."
They stood from their chairs, the eldest of them (being Miss Pettigrew) running her hands over her green, buttoned coat.
"Oh, my dear Adrienne; how much that man grinds me up. I promise to you that Francine will be avenged." To that, Miss Pettigrew shook her finger in the air. The nerve! Oh, the nerve it took to treat such a lovely lady like Adrienne so poorly. And then, to end it all with killing her poor, sweet cat. Well, this would be the end of it, that was for sure.
"No longer will you have worry about Michael," she said to the younger lady, guiding her gently to the door of her warm office with her hands on Adrienne's shoulders. "I promise you that."
"Thank you," Adrienne replied gingerly. She nodded her head to make a point. "It will be a good cause for the whole estate."
Miss Pettigrew nodded her head and closed the door behind Adrienne. Now, where had that weasel gotten to.
Michael strode down the wooden sidewalk of the quiet town of Hapleston. The loose floorboards bounced and creaked under his feet, but it was always better than walking over the dirt roads, which were muddy from the light sprinkle that had just subsided. The smell of rain and dirt mixed together, and a light morning fog filled the street. It was about midmorning, eight or so, and the sky was the most solid gray he had seen. Despite the chilly nip in the air, he was warm and cozy, much thanks to the wool-and-cotton coat Old Marthe had given him. The shawled neck hugged his own, and he smiled at the comfort.
He turned to his left, minding the wooden buildings that continued in a solid row down the street, their second floors sometimes sporting balconies made of the same drab timber.
He was making his way to the edge of town; that was where he'd usually met with Puck, during the last couple days. Though having only met a week prior, they'd become friends fast, and being the travellar's only link to the town, they spent much of their time together.
Michael exhaled, a cloud of mist bellowing out from his mouth, and he shivered. He pulled his arms out from their cross st his chest and ran a hand through his trimmed, charcoal hair.
Ahead, at last, was the slight timber gate—well, more of a sign—that hailed the edge of the town. He slightened his pace as he walked under, and looked about for his friend.
Puck giggled to himself as he saw Michael approaching. He noticed the human was cold- that was why his breath fogged the air, right?- and a wicked, teasing glint stole into his eyes.
In a blink he changed shape, becoming a small, easily overlooked gray mouse. He scurried around the young man to pop up behind him in human form, puffing his cheeks to blow a wintery breath across his neck.
"Hi there," he said brightly, then he folded his arms and pouted. "I was waiting. What took you so long?"
Michael jumped, his arms shooting out and his face contorting into a startled gape. "Whooooooaaaaaa my gods," he gasped, and his head sunk to his shoulders. He regained his balance and spun around, and glared at Puck.
"Why must you why must you always do that?" He stammered. Trying to keep a straight face, he continued, "Every single time!"
Biting his lip to supress a grin, be gave up and laughed. He rolled his eyes and groaned to make up for his lack of seriousness. He pursed his lips and stared daggers at Puck, whilst smiling all the while, and walked past him.
"Come on, then," he said as he waved his hand forward, walking away. "Let's go buy you some fruits."
He turned his torso, then flipped around and walked backwards under the gate, grinning at Puck.
Puck chuckled delightedly. Always a different reaction, even though he'd been pulling the same trick for days! Still laughing to himself, he followed Michael back under the gate.
"I still don't understand why you insist on paying for things," he said, rolling his eyes. "It'd be so much easier for me to just..." He waved his hand around to indicate magic and smirked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, but I don't steeeeal. I'm good." He waved his arms to emphasize. "And, I mean, even if I did; never from Old Marthe, bless her old soul. Oh, did you see what she made me?"
He tugged on his new sweater. "You wouldn't believe how warm I am right now."
Puck reached out to feel the material. His lips curved up at the corners. "You sure are industrious little creatures, you humans," he said happily.
Then he tilted his head. Warmth and cold meant little to him- he felt them, but they didn't really effect him. Still, Michael seemed happy about it.
"Let me see," he said, glancing around to make sure no one was watching before he shifted again, becoming a small pine martin and wrapping himself around the young man's neck, burrowing into the collar of the sweater.
Michael froze, his arms stiff at his side and his body rigid. He stared into nowhere as Puck's now tiny clawed paws scratched along his neck.
"I truly have no idea how to feel about this," he said, unflinchingly. He shrugged it off and continued down the street, jumping up onto the wooden sidewalk once more.
"I never could've imagined myself saying this, but you are very warm," he said to Puck as he rounded a corner to another street. There weren't many people out yet; the perfect time to buy.
"Can I call you weasel? Or, better yet, I wouldn't doubt this makes me look like I'm wearing one of those fancy fur coats the nobles up on the hill wear. I ought to stitch you right onto this sweater."
Though he provided warmth, Michael stole into an alleyway for the shapeshifter to shift his shape back. He'd rather be standing next to him at the market than having him paw at his neck, thank you very much.
Buy maybe later, when it became chillier. Puck was surprisingly quite warm, indeed.
Puck chittered at him and jumped to the ground, taking human form in mid air. "If you really want to look fancy-like, I can turn into one of those big, spotted cats stupid nobles pretend to keep as pets until they turn around and maul them," he said, smiling brightly.
He bumped Michael's shoulder and added, arching one eyebrow, "But if you start calling me weasel, I will spell your nose blue." He sniffed primly. "That was a pine martin, by the way."
Still, he didn't exactly mind being a scarf. It was kinda nice not to have to walk.
"I think I'm fine without a big cat, thank you very much."Michael turned back into the road, clasping his hands behind his back. A speck of such light lit through the clouds, lighting the wooded mountain ridge that rose high into the air in the distance. A few people, bundled in warm clothing and shawls, emerged from the storefronts with baskets in hand. The market was just ahead, at the heart of town.
A wooden-and-stone statue of a man on a horse, which had grown green and brown with moss and mold, rose in the center of the town square, which was lined with larger, three storied buildings that sported elegent stained glass windows. The five or six stalls ran in a ring around the square. Luckily, the square had cobblestone roads, unlike the rest of the town. And thank the gods for that. The crimes mud would do to Michael's leather shoes, which had cost nearly a whole silver coin, would be irreversable.
"Well," he said. He trailed to a stop and twisted his torso around to face Puck.
"What to buy first..."
"Apples," the fae creature said immediately. His forests didn't actually have a lot of apple trees, and those that grew bore only small, sour fruits. He found he was becoming quite fond of the ones Michael bought.
"And, you know..." He waved a hand airily, smirking. "Whatever you want, I suppose."
"You and your apples," Michael said, shaking his head with an idle grin. He turned back around and wandered into the square.
He gestured to the open market and said, "You can do whatever, I suppose. I'm going to go see Marthe."
He shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled out a coin purse, which jingled from the handful of copper inside.
"Here," he said, as he tossed the bag gingerley, awaiting for it to land in Puck's hand. "Buy some apples. Get maybe.... four? Meet me over there when you're done because I want to get something else, too."
Puck raised an eyebrow as he caught the purse. Michael normally didn't leave him alone with money. Something about how he need supervision.
He shrugged. "Okay, then." Whistling and twirling the purse around his finger by the string, he approached the apple seller with a winning smile. He didn't quite understand human money, so he plopped a few coins into the vender's hand in exchange for four apples as he'd seen Michael do.
He supposed he'd done it right, because the apple seller didn't say anything, just stared wide-eyed at the coins. He shrugged again and tripped lightly over to where Michael had told him to meet him.
Michael ducked under some hanging pendents and into the shelter of Marthe's small stand. It was more of a tent, really, supporter by two five stakes and covered by a burgandy and brown leather tarp.
"Hello," he said softly. His eyes darted around the small vending post until he spotted Marthe slouched on her rocking chair, a bottle of ale tipped over by her hand, which dangled over the cobble. A few sweaters, coats, hoods, or anything akin where folding neatly on her table. She snored softly. Michael knew not to wake her, for she had quite angry hangovers, and closed up her stall before leaving. He'd have to say thank you another time. He ducked back under the pendents in time to see Puck bounce across the square over to him with a giddy grin on his face. Michael immediately smiled and surpressed a laugh from the expression he made.
"You got the apples, yes?" He called. With a couple strides he met Puck by the statue.
"Yep!" Puck grinned and took a bite from one piece of fruit, tossing another to Michael. "Oh, and here's your shiny bits of metal back." He tossed the coin purse over as well.
He knew what coins were, what money was called. He just liked playing dumb to annoy the human.
Michael rolled his eyes.
"Well, what else do you need? Today's the last day the markets going to be open for the next week, what with Hansweighn. You'd be best off buying everything now.
"I am going to go buy a hood. Can I have my money?"
He held out his open palm, awaiting the similar feel of the small pouch.
Puck shrugged and handed the money over. "What's this Hansweighn thing again?" he asked, tilting his head curiously.
Michael shrugged. "Just some holiday everyone goes crazy over for a good week or so every winter. I mean, I'm fond of it, but that's about it. Who knows though; maybe you'll love it."
Michael shook the money in his hand and wandered to Reginald's storefrontx which was in one of the buildings opposite. He beckoned for Puck to follow.
Unhurried, Puck meandered after him. Experimentally, he blew a breath into the cold air.
Nothing.
He frowned briefly, then shrugged it off. Human thing. "So is this where you're buying your hood?" he asked curiously. "We haven't been to this store before. Who runs it? Is it always here? Why do you have to pay for everything?"
"Puuuuuck," Michael whined, pleading with his arms. He could swear Puck did half of these just to get him.
"Yes. And it's owned by Reginald, the old guy with balding hair. You know, you should buy yourself some earmuffs so you can retain everything I tell you, instead of it all going in one ear and out the other."
Puck stuck his tongue out at him, then turned and folded his arms over his chest, pretending to pout. "No need to be sarcastic," he said, but he was smirking.
Wrinkling his nose, he ducked behind him companion on a whim. "I don't want to talk to him. Can't I be a martin again?"
As Michael lept up onto the stone sidewalk,he muttered "Fine," and quickly slid into another alley.
Puck raised his eyebrows in momentary surprise, then grinned. He hadn't expected Michael to cave. Following him into the alley, he wrapped an arm around the young man from behind and shifted shape, settling himself around his neck comfortably.
Feeling playful, he tilted his head up and twitched his whiskers under Michael's ear, trying to provoke a reaction.
Michael reemerged into the street, brushing off his coat before slipping into the store. The door opened with a ring.
"Oh hello, Michael!" An old man called from behind a wooden counter.
"'Morning!" Michael said as he curtly descended a step into the store. Shelves and racks held different types of clothing, ranging from breetches to coats to dresses and more.
Reginald stood, straightening his spectacles, and waddled over to greet Michael.
"How may I help you today?"
"I'm just looking around for a hood. Maybe a whole cape, if you have one."
"Oh, son, I've stopped making capes after the tragedy that happened to the poor Gensterblum girl last summer, don't you know that. Bad luck, capes are. But a hood, I'd be glad to sell you! Did you have anything in mind?"
"Eh, whatever you have, really."
Reginald smiled brightly and gestured for Michael to follow. He began to show him his selection when a door slammed open at the back of the store, causing both their heads to jerk up.
A woman with wild red hair burst out of the doorwahx dramatically exploding into the room. She stopped, pressed her lips together, and frowned as she stared into nothingness. A second later her gaze looked up at them.
"Good Afternoon!" She said, and scurried over to Reginald, planting a kiss on his cheek. She waved at Michael, and then seperstely to the weasel—Puck—that he wore on his shoulder."
"Ohhh!!" She cried out. "I love that guinea pig skin on your shoulders! It is quite the fashionable!"
Puck jerked his head up, chittering indignantly. Guinea pig? Skin? He uncurled himself from Michael's neck to perch on his shoulder, rising up onto his hind legs and shouting obscenities at this strange new comer.
If she had been able to speak Pine Martin, she would have been very offended.
Reginald recoiled with a shout from the now-animated fur scarf Michael was wearing. Michael cringed, but the woman, a young girl who lived in fhd town named Leslie, did not flinch. If anything, she leaned in closer.
"Your scarf is alive!" She shouted. Reginald, who always had been kind to Michael, still was offput by furry creeping things. He wailed anxiously as he ran into the back room.
Michael sighed exhasperstedly, baring his teeth in hidden notion at Leslie, but the girl simply smiled sweetly, looking up innocently and bouncing on one foot.
"Leslie," Michael whined.
"What, and that's not Puck, is it?"
Puck stopped his tirade, glancing back and forth between the two humans. Then he gave a slinky sort of shrugged and jumped to the ground, becoming human the instant before his feet touched the floor.
"Guilty," he said with a lopsided smile, crossing his arms and rocking back onto his heels.
Michael groaned.
"What?" Leslie asked. "I can recognize that ferret from ten gallons away."
She turned on her heel and faced Puck, her arm shooting forward.
"I've seen you around but I haven't introduced myself properly!"
She grabbed hand and shook it vigorously. "I'm called Leslie! What do you call yourself?"
(OOC: you can control Leslie, too, if you want! Just make sure she's incredibly odd and random and that should do the trick!)
"Just Puck, usually," the fae creature said with a bemused smile. "Though I suppose you could call me Tarren, if you must." He extracted his hand and eye the girl curiously.
"She doesn't seem quite...normal," he said to Michael bluntly, though he was still smiling at her.
In his book, not normal meant not boring. And not boring was a very good thing.
"Well! I never!" Leslie gasped, and folded her arms. A moment later, she looked pack at Puck.
"Charmed," she said with a wry smirk. It was enough to unsettle even the toughest man. She popped her eyebrow and slunk down to a crouch, keeping a constant glare on Puck as she fell backward and under a tablecloth.
Michael chuckled nervously, mouthing words of apologizes to Puck as he bent over and looked under the table. As he'd expected, it was empty.
He sighed in exhasperation. "She'll show up soon enough," he said, standing back up.
"She was fun," Puck said, boosting himself up onto the table and kicking his feet absently. "I liked her."
He looked around innocently. "Seems the old man has disappeared. Why don't we just take a hood and leave?" He knew Michael would never steal, but it was awfully fun to tease him about it.
Michael pressed his lips together glared at Puck, the edges of mouth curling upward.
"No, but I wish I could," he said. He sighed and walked out the door, waiting for Puck to follow.
Outside, the fog had loosened a little; the faint smell of smoke began to waft around the air from chimneys being lit as the morning rolled on.
Michael slowly swaggered down the sidewalk, his hands clasped behind his back. He whistled a quick tune, before spotting the familiar, old, and plump woman who briskly waltzed down the sidewalk opposite. She spotted him and hastened her stride. He could amost hear her struggled 'Ooff!'s as she excitened. Her face flushed.
Michael cringed, biting his lip as he peeled away and back into the store. He kept his gaze in her direction, keeping an eye to see if she'd follow him.
Suddenly, he crashed into something solid. He gasped SBD fumbled backwards, and realized he'd slammed right into Leslie. He jabbed his finger in front of his lips, and then reached out the door hastily and grabbed a fistfull of Puck's tunic, yanking him inside. The door closed with a ding
"Why are we hiding?" Puck asked quietly. He arched an eyebrow. "Is it the old lady? Hello again, by the way," he said to Leslie, nodding and giving her a charming grin.
"Should I scare her off?" he offered. He hadn't properly scared anyone in ages, that should be fun.
"Oh, hello!" Leslie said, waving and grinning widely. "Shhh!" Michael barked.
"What?" Leslie asked, covering her heart. "Not talking won't do anything. We'd better hide, so she doesn't see us."
Michael groaned but gave in, and Leslie led them to the corner, behind a rack of blue stained shirts.
"No," Michael said to Puck. "She's probably mad at me for what I did last night. I scared one of the neighbor's cats, and it barreled into the building. Probably broke something."
He strained his neck above the clothing rack. There was no sign of Miss Pettigrew, thank the gods. But that didn't mean there wouldn't be.
"A cat?" Puck repeated incredulously. "She looks mad as hellfire over a cat's broken nose?"
He glanced over at Leslie and frowned. "How did you get here, by the way? I usually make a point to be the only one who can just appear and disappear like that in any given group of people."
Leslie hooted mischeviously. She chortled and poked Puck's lips with her finger. "Secret tunnels," she purred with a wink. Michael groaned and stiffled a snort. Leslie recoiled and suddenly became fascinated with the seamwork of a shirt.
"Eh," Michael said to Puck. "She and half of the ladies in the estate depend on them for basic function. She'll probably have another fit, and then storm off muttering fancy insults like always."
He chuckled.
Puck's eyes widened slightly at Leslie's actions, then he smirked. She was quite pretty, he supposed, despite her oddness. Funny he hadn't noticed before.
He gave a soft snort of laughter at Michael's assessment of the situation. "So how long do you think we'll have to hide then?" he asked quietly.
"Who knows, really. She's like a hawk,"
In the background, Leslie said, "Sometimes its a doggy dog world out there" to what Michael could only assume was a spider.
He bit his lip and twirxhed his mouth like a mouse. He'd just tell her he'd be careful next time. 'It'll never happen again' he could already hearing himself say. He pictured her popmtuous snort vividly.
"She'll find me anyways, tonight," he muttered. He stood and swiveled his torso, cracking his back. "Might as well get it done now!"
"I'm right behind you," Puck told him cheerfully, clapping him on the shoulder. "Well, you know...not right behind you, but I've got your back." He grinned. "From slightly further away. So she can't yell at me."
Michael laughed and hesitantly made his way to the door. He paused a moment, his hand resting on the handle. He peered out the glass window. Miss Pettigrew, adorned in her fur finery and hair coiled around her head in a tight bun, stomped down the sidewalk. She stopped in the square and slowly scanned around her for signs of the young man, her hands on her hips. Michael snorted at her posture, which reminded him of a buzzard.
With a jump and awful smile, her eyes met his through the window and she immediately began her march to the building. Michael opened the door for her, and gave a quaint, shallow bow.
"Good morning," he said, and smiled sweetly.
"Good morning," Miss Pettigrew hissed in return. She glared at him. "I'm surprised at your pleasantries, Camps. Such a child usuay never has manners like that."
"Goodness!" Leslie cried in the background.
Michael raised his eyebrow.
"I'll make it quick," the old woman said. Her eyes beamed maleficently from behind her upturned nose, and the view of her chin was marvelously nauseating.
"You—"
"I'm sorry for harming the cat," Michael inturrupted. Miss Pettigrew gasped. "It will never happen again, I'll be more careful. And the rent will be on your doorstep in two days, I guarantee."
"I'm afraid that won't be necessary," the old woman purred. Her voice squawkedas she spoke.
"Mr. Camps, you are no longer welcome in Pettigrew's Public House. Your shennanigans have lasted too long. Please have your things packed today; I expect you to be gone by tonight. Leave your key under the doormat when you leave."
With that, Miss Pettigrew spun on a coin and waltzed out the door. It closed with the bright ring of a bell.
Michael gaped at the door, and found himself speechless. He tried to speak but his throat gagged itself, rendering him silent.
Puck watched the exchange from a safe distance, eyebrows rising higher and higher as the vulture-woman continued to talk.
He let out a low whistle as she swept away, stepping to Michael's side. "Hey." He put his hand on his shoulder, a little hesitantly. His only real method of comforting people was making them laugh, and he wasn't quite sure how to do that in this situation.
"You, uh...you okay?" he asked awkwardly. He glanced over at Leslie, shrugging helplessly. Crazy she may be, but she was more human than he was- she'd probably be better at this than him.
Michael blinked a couple times, mouth hung open so a fly could've landed in it.
He turned to Puck and snorted.
"Old bastard," he muttered with a humored sigh. It sounded more flustered than mocking, but he cleared this throat.
"Well," he declared, and looked at Puck with his hands on his hips. "Goodness."
Leslie laughed, saying "That's what I say, ha!" and then sat on a wooden table and piled coats and shirts on her lap.
Michael took a deep breath and hummed to himself, thinking.
"Well," he said again. "I guess I don't have a place to stay, then. Can I stay with you for a while?" He asked Puck.
Puck tilted his head. "Stay...with me?" He considered it.
Shrugging, he replied, "I certainly don't mind. But I don't have cozy rooms like you're probably used to." The trees were his home, and he would be happy to let Michael share it, but he wasn't quite sure what the human was expecting.
"That's fine!" Michael said. "I'll be just staying for a little while, I promise. Till I find a spot again, thanks to that old fat ass," Michael groaned, and glared out the window. He snorted, though, and a grin broke onto his face. He began to laugh.
"She really got angry that time," He said, and sighed, muttering "Oh well".
He rocked on his heels before shrugging his mouth and looked at Leslie, then Puck.
"I should probably go and move all my stuff then. Nothing else to do."
"I'll come with you," Puck offered. With a nod to Leslie and a charming smile he said, "Nice meeting you, strange girl."
Leslie tilted her head at him and smirked slyly; "Charmed," she said.
Michael opened the door and led the way out the door.
Just one step into the cold air and he already began to shiver; a gift of wind blew through his woolen sweater, and he clutched himself until if past by. The cold air tingled in his nose, and the heat within his core was extinguished a little more with every breath of icy air.
Though he tried to aim his thoughts elsewhere, he kept looking around to his current situation. But it wasnt all that bad; he had been wanting to leave there; it was barely an excuse of a home, and he deserved something at least a little decent. He did have a little bit of money left, what Mother had left him before heading off that winter. And all he was using it for currently was coats and trousers and hats. He suddenly stopped and spun on a coin, facing Puck.
"Where in the world would I bring all my furniture and stuff?" He asked.
"Why even are we going to move out my stuff? I should probably find a new place to move to first." He laughed and slapped his hips with his hands. Without delay, he set off down the road. "A good place around here's got to cost about five or so gold coins for the first two weeks. I'll have to pay for it completely when my mother gets back by then, and gives me more. But I've got 5 gold in my purse right here," he said, lowering his voice, and pat his pocket.
Puck shrugged. He wasn't very good with this whole "money" concept. "Whatever you need me to do," he said easily, falling into step beside him. "Except too much heavy lifting. Then you're on your own." He gave him a lopsided grin.
Michael chuckled. "I'd figured that'd be the case," he said, and he spun off down the road.
They'd been heading through the village for a good fifteen minutes when he decided he was hungry instead.
He stopped, putting a hand in Puck's chest to slow him as well, and said, "You know, maybe we should eat something instead. I haven't eaten any breakfast today other than an apple, and what could keep us from eating and enjoying ourselves. I doubt anyone else will be buying themselves a house today. We can take as long as we want. So what do you hink?" He asked, and for a reason he wasn't sure about, he found himself staring deep into Puck's eyes. Probably to search for any sign of an answer.
Puck smiled, holding his gaze easily. "I could eat," he said with a shrug, tilting his head to the side as he nodded.