Oh no, I've got a naming convention. Au-Uber, we're finally meeting Poppy!

The stars were as bright as the Grim preferred, and though the sky like the streets rushed him by, Ivan could tell he was close. If only for the loose flicker of Zillah’s shade ashes.

Ivan felt the tight overtired squeeze of his human passenger, and was embarrassed at the familiarity of it.

Lola wasn’t often tired when she’d held that tight to him, but the sensation was similar enough for discomfort.

The human was a stranger after all, and this was the longest he’d driven tandem sense they’d broken up.

Lola would’ve been jealous, but the human however old she was didn’t need to know that.

So he drove with excessive speed toward Poppy’s apartment, wanting to make time for his pillion rider as the girl was likely past her usual hours.

Zillah came to a stop when she found the building, and he followed after quickly enough. He’d never had the time to make good on any kind of invitation so the building only had the vaguest of familiarities. But he knew where he was so he wasn’t lost at least.

“We’re here.”

“Really?” she yawned, “I was beginning to fall asleep on you.” she said, failing to stretch the tiredness from her spine. Maybe he could’ve risked it, but Ivan wasn’t ready to willingly injure himself even under his enthrallment.

It was funny, what he’d been willing to do for Lola but not for himself.

“That’s a bad idea on a bike, but you should still wait a minute.” he said, before texting Poppy who greeted them at the door, her hair cut short from last he’d seen her. 

He’d’ve liked to say it was a sudden change, but really he hadn’t seen much of her since just after she argued his asylum. 

It was a stark realization, how long it had been.

It was inaccurate to call her home an apartment, it was fairer to describe it as a townhouse or multiplex, being as it had once been a proper house, but the basic structure wasn’t too dissimilar as far as Ivan could tell.

It was all group housing after all, she had in building neighbors and a roommate last he’d checked so the difference seemed a bit too human to matter.

She came out farther and asked the girl, “So you must be the civvy, right?”, ignoring him for the moment. Which was polite considering.

Really, anything she did or didn’t say to him would’ve come off as polite to Ivan but that wasn’t something he was ready to analyze yet. 

“Yeah.” The girl was much shyer with Poppy for whatever reason. Though some of it may’ve been the human status of the Grim’s Compatriot.

It wasn’t rare after all, even amongst the very accepting, for humans to believe in the steep line between the dead and the living. There was an assumed theurgy to the actions of Spirits on earth, wrongs that were only evil, and goodness from inhumanly kind places.

Ivan would’ve liked to believe that, but it was a bit too unreal for him.

The Mourner pointed to her doorway, “Good, I’ve got clean blankets and toiletries set out on the couch, you should get ready before you crash.”

“Yeah. thanks for letting me stay.”

“It’s nothing. My roommate is out so it’s good to get use out of the extra bed. Their room has the caution tape on it. I’ll be reading if you need anything.”

“Alright.”, she said before going to the door, where she paused for a moment, “um, Thanks Rider.”

“Welcome!” he said, while she closed the door, leaving him alone with the Grim’s Mourner.

They waited while the girl walked through Poppy’s apartment.

Ivan watched Poppy waiting for her to say something, he knew that she’d been wanting to talk to him but he’d never entered her home before, and he wasn’t ready to impose just yet.

Still, Poppy was smiling at her own door like she’d seen something brilliant, and said, “She’s finally in. I was worried she’d let every skeeter in too.” There wasn’t a hint of malice in the statement, but the words together seemed sour.

“Goodness, you’re mean when you’re tired.”

“I ain’t that tired. In fact, I was already making coffee.” she said, making an offer, “Do you plan on coming in?”

“No.”

“Why’s that?”

“You haven’t invited me.”

“Really, and I thought a master’s word was everything to a Thrall.” she said in reference to some strange off comment. Poppy was a mourner but she’d always known too much regarding things like him.

Ivan didn’t want to think about why.

“He didn’t say I had to,” he said thinking back to the actual conversation, the Grim told him outright that he could refuse, but Ivan knew better than to take it honestly. The Spirit held his life in his hands, but that didn’t mean he knew how to lean into it. “and besides, it wasn’t exactly an open invitation.” 

That was true enough, though the Mourner might not see it that easily.

“That’s fair. I’m glad he’s been on his best behavior though.”

“He is.” Ivan wouldn’t usually say anything like that, but he also didn’t grieve the boy, “Though it might just be to his spawn’s benefit.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. She was flying in from out of town, and really I thought he’d be angry with me if not for that.” There was something dour thinking about it, the Wanderer was someone the Grim made, and while he couldn’t fault him for trying to do well by her.

Ivan couldn’t help that bitter feeling. 

“Hum, well, I guess I’ll have to tell him off.” 

“Only if you want to, I’m really fine though.”

She looked at him for a minute trying to see what he meant, “How’ve you been otherwise?” she asked, wanting to talk him down, or maybe just to change the subject.

“Good Miss Mourner”

“Good, Ivan. My name is still Poppy, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Still, it seems disrespectful.” when he considered everything, it was, whatever forgiveness she had for him seemed premature.

Goodness, he still had the ring after all.

In his pocket.

Like it mattered any more.

“Alright, it’s best to put words to it.” she said, before offering again a bit stricter this time. “Do you mind coming in for coffee? I’d hate to drink it alone.”

“Alright,” he said, following her in.

She went over to her coffee maker, fetching a couple second or third hand mugs. Ivan stayed somewhat out of the way, looking through the main room and kitchenette. Her flat was a well managed space, from the tiny foldout loveseat she called a couch to the over-tall shelving unit she had set up in her front closet.

“Dang.”

“What, does the coffee smell that bad?” she asked, handing him what she’d decided was his cup, before taking a seat at the table.

“No, it’s your organization.” he looked into his mug, before taking a sip, “too sweet.”

“You say that no matter what.” she almost laughed at him.

“I’m a guy, that’s what we’re supposed to say.”

“Of course it is.” she said, stirring hers absently. She’d probably been researching with whatever time she had at home, and was trying to eke out another overburdened hour to her day. He knew that she was rarely distracted when they talked, but it seemed unfair in regards to her other responsibilities.

“You should try to be less guarded, with us.” she said, before sipping her coffee. Waiting for him to interrupt. “I mean, you're stuck with us for the next thirteen years. You may as well settle in.”

That was right, he had only so long to rely on their mercy. “I don’t know if I should do that. It’s not like I’ll die any time soon.” 

“Still, it would be nice if you were in a better place by then.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“I meant your mind, inside your head. Though, that might be a metaphor considering your anatomy.” she spoke with distance, but he knew better than to assume ignorance of her anymore.

“The Grim mentioned something about that, in his offer. Do you really not bite?”

“That’s utter nonsense if he said it,” there was a laugh there, in the crook of her smile, but it was old. Like, childhood memories. “Still, I’m glad he gave you space.”

“I suppose.” Ivan couldn’t say he agreed, folks tended to set traps whether they meant to or not. And for him, that was the feeling of an untested boundary.

There was a lack of depth, like covering an eye and expecting to aim straight.

Or walking on thin ice.

“It’s alright if you don’t feel that way. Though, it would be better if you said so outright.” 

“That doesn’t sound good for my health, Miss Mourner.” he smiled, remembering a tendency to lecture. She’d been young then, well younger. 

Lola needed a body.

Poppy wasn’t ugly. She still wasn’t.

“I still think you could open up more.” The Mourner meant it, as kindly as she could. She meant it. But really, Ivan didn’t want to trust it.

“As far as I know, I’m as open as I can afford to be.” Ivan set down his mug, he wasn’t doing well.

“Well, that’s what it means doesn’t it? To ask for your life from someone who has the right to take it away.” The Mourner said with a crackle of irony in her voice, like it wasn’t exactly how it worked.

“Yeah, it does.”

“I don’t agree, you know.”

“Can’t change what it is.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“Aren’t you?”

“If it had to be that you wouldn’t be struggling. Would you?” she asked, spotting a weak point he hadn’t noticed. Maybe a direction he’d not thought of.

He didn’t like that.

“I should go watch Zillah. She might be tearing something up, and I really can’t afford that either.” he said the words, half certain that she’d just be waiting outside rather than floundering in any kind of destructive boredom.

He could be too, but that would be useless.

It was too much for Ivan.

He knew it wasn’t fair. She was living, and that was kindness.

The mourner tried not to see the worst in him, and while he was certain nothing would’ve happened, being there wouldn’t have helped. He couldn’t name her worry, but she couldn’t name his either. And either way it was no use if he stopped hearing her.

So he stopped and set himself down on her stoop, while he tried to keep his thoughts in line.

“Zillah!” he called, contorting his feelings into something he could articulate.

She ran up, dust falling close behind, as she let the coil of her edges brush against his hand. He held firmly to her without a hiss of complaint, as she set her head down on his shoulder.

Recidivism. That was the worry. At least that was the closest word. He wasn’t really a prisoner. Still, he didn’t want to fall to impulse. How she felt, or wanted to feel about it wasn’t really his to think about.

Ivan knew something of his problems, in the time he’d had stuck in his head on the way to and fro.

No matter how close she was, no matter how full his day. He thought, ‘it’s nothing to bend to desire’ anyone’s desire, until now.

Now that he’d bent twice over and could barely think. 

He was scared. 

He was scared of being seen at his worst again. Of his weaknesses, his sullen nature trapped in this city. He’d accepted it time and again, the wills of those around him, whoever he’d chosen at the time.

Lola had a place for him, and he knew it, and he could live in it. For her.

And even before he’d run, he was ready for so much worse.

He was ready to pay for failing her.

He’d been ready to die.

In vengeance to an enemy.

Then Poppy- Miss Mourner.

The Grim.

Ivan knew he didn’t owe her anything anymore. Not truly, not under enthrallment to the Grim, not shepherded by his mourner. He couldn’t call to her even to beg, with who she was now, it would hold no purpose.

But he missed her.

He missed what his life had meant up to that point, when he lost everything she was, and everything they could’ve been to each other.

The Grim didn’t take that away. He fought for his home, and someone just as dear.

And Ivan still had the ring.

Burning away in his pocket, like that pitiful moment was worth holding as he bent in supplication to his master. He breathed, half useless against Zillah’s form as he felt the stars, and the ring.

And his new clarity.