[Original] A Friend in Need
Feb. 3rd, 2022 08:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: My dear readers, I present to you my first ever Original Universe Commission. This is for withersake, who commissioned me to write in their universe, using their characters and I was absolutely thrilled to do so! I had so much fun with this fic, ya'll. Please enjoy!
Title: A Friend in Need
Rating: T
Genre: Urban Fantasy, Magical Circus
Summary: Mikayla’s soft for a stray, according to Luke, and maybe he’s not wrong. Because when she sees Marjorie getting bothered by the twins, Mikayla decides what Marjorie really needs is a friend -- or better yet, two.
Mikayla loves stew.
She does not, however, love tomatoes. Why does Cassidy insist on adding them to every dish? Granted, they’re a better cook than Georgio who oversalts everything, and at least Cassidy chops the tomatoes chunky enough Mikayla can avoid them.
Or.
She glances at Luke, who isn’t paying her one bit of attention, and tips another spoonful of tomatoes into his bowl. There. Problem solved.
Mikayla spears a hefty piece of potato and pops it into her mouth, letting the noise and bustle of lunch wash over her. Chatter rises and falls in a familiar, comforting rhythm. The aerialists are laughing in the corner again, Tober crouched on the bench as he re-enacts some elaborate twists he wants to incorporate into his routine. If he's not careful, he's going to --
And there he goes, tumbling ass over teakettle off the bench, to the rousing laughter of his compatriots. Honestly, an aerialist should not be so clumsy.
Mikayla shakes her head, shoves another bite of stew into her mouth, and leans in toward Luke, peering over his shoulder. He's got his phone out again, for all the good it will do him, as if he can will it into making a network connection.
A clatter rings above the dull noise of conversation. Mikayla jumps and whirls to follow the noise, immediately frowning. A commotion brews by the dish tubs.
Mikayla nudges Luke hard with her elbow. "Wha--"
"They're at it again," she sighs as she tilts her head toward the corner of the tent where Audra and Aubrey have once again set their sights on uninterested prey.
The Tumbler Twins are notorious for trying to coax anyone into their bed. They like variety, to hear them say it, and competition, too. To see which of them their prey actually picks.
Fair is fair, they’re both lovely enough to succeed. With their silky blond hair, ice-blue eyes, freckled noses and large, stunning smiles to hide the snakes they are beneath. Beautiful they are, but it’s not enough to hide that they're nasty pieces of work, and honestly, Mikayla isn't sure why they haven't been tossed on their asses yet.
Mikayla hadn’t realized Marjorie was their next target, though she should have guessed it. Marjorie’s gorgeous, too, but Mikayla bets it’s how untouchable she appears that really appeals to the twins.
"God, why don't they give it a fucking rest," Luke mutters around a mouthful of stew, some of it dribbling out like the mess he is. He scrubs the back of his arm over his lips. "No means no, dickheads."
Mikayla sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. "We should do something."
Marjorie twists away from Aubrey to flee, but draws up short as Audra intercepts her, all lipstick-bright smile and inviting posture. She's saying something, probably lewd, and a flush of anger darkens Marjorie's cheeks.
"No," she hisses, loud enough to carry this time, her indigo eyes flashing.
Aubrey presses closer, and Mikayla doesn't miss the way she reaches out to drag her fingers through the long, glossy length of Marjorie's hair. Marjorie jolts away from them both, shoulders hunched, eyes darting around, like she's on the verge of a panic attack.
Mikayla's stomach twists with sympathy.
"Pretty sure she wouldn't appreciate the help," Luke says around a slurp of stew as Audra leans in, all sultry and coaxing, threading her fingers through Marjorie's hair and bringing it to her nose as if scenting it.
"Anyone would appreciate help," Mikayla retorts, her spoon splashing down into her bowl. She slams her palms on the table, pushing herself to stand, and that's when Marjorie shoves Audra back with all her might.
"Hands off!" Marjorie snaps.
Conversation stutters to a halt, all eyes turning to the commotion.
Audra stumbles into her sister, and for the first time, the twins look startled, possibly a bit uneasy. So they do have brains.
Marjorie whirls toward the nearest table, snatching the first knife in reach, and her lips peel back over her teeth.
"You want it so much, you can have it!" Marjorie snarls, and Mikayla's not the only one who gasps as Marjorie takes a handful of her hair and hacks it off with the knife, throwing the cut strands at the twins.
She grabs two more handfuls, sawing through them with fire in her eyes, and throws them in Audra and Aubrey's direction. The brown strands flutter through the air like some kind of threatening confetti. Audra and Aubrey clutch at each other, eyes locked on the knife, but Marjorie only throws it on the ground in front of them, rather than at them like Mikayla would’ve.
"See? She doesn't need our help," Luke says with a shrug.
Marjorie, shaking in a place, spins on a heel and storms away, pushing through the gathered crowd. Loves a good show, the circus does, especially when they don't have to perform it.
"Yes, she absolutely does," Mikayla says, her palms still flat on the table. "Did you see what she did to her hair? That hurts me, Luke. Hurts me deeply. It's terrible."
"Drama queen." Luke rolls his eyes and dips his spoon into his bowl, only to furrow his brow at the overabundance of red chunks. "And stop giving me your tomatoes."
Mikayla's eyes don't wander from Marjorie who’s fleeing the meal tent as though hounds nip at her heels. "But I don't like them and you do," she says, trying to keep a playful tone, though her heart isn’t in it.
Her heart is focused on Marjorie right now.
"Did you see that? Crazy bitch," Audra mutters as she brushes hair off her shirt.
"Come on. Let's go," Aubrey says.
Mikayla tenses, but if they mean to go after Marjorie, they're going the wrong way. They're supposed to be on kitchen duty, she knows, and it seems they finally remembered it. Serves them right. Spending the next hour scrubbing dishes should cool them off.
Once they're gone, chatter starts to fill the tent, the other members of the circus going back to their meals, shaking their heads. No one's too bothered by the commotion apparently.
No one's gone after Marjorie either.
Mikayla frowns and dips her spoon into her bowl, idly twirling it around. Marjorie's been with them for two years now, but she hasn't really made any friends. She's bothered more than anyone else, too. There are always folk like Audra and Aubrey who get a kick out of poking at Marjorie.
It's not strange for the circus to poke and tease at newcomers. It's sort of a rite of passage. But Marjorie's been with them too long to be considered a newcomer. She obviously hadn't seen it as playful or welcome. She'd been angry. She'd been afraid.
Mikayla stands and swats Luke on the shoulder. "Come on. Let's go."
"Go where?"
She gathers up her dishes. "After Marjorie. Come on." She fists her free hand in his collar and tugs until he finally relents and rises from the table, desperately clutching his bowl.
"Do you want to get a knife thrown at you?" he grumbles as he frantically scoops stew into his mouth.
"She hasn't thrown a knife at anything but the floor." Mikayla dumps her dishes into the bin and snatches Luke's bowl from his hands to join them. "I want to help her. That bad hair is going to haunt me."
His look of betrayal has no business being so cute. "She's not going to accept our help, you know," he says as he looks mournfully backward.
"I want to at least give her the opportunity to reject me. We’re family here.” Mikayla heads out of the mess and realizes she has no idea where Marjorie went.
She stops mid-stride and rises on her tiptoes to look around. “I want her to feel like she belongs here. She’s been with us long enough for it.” She shields her eyes from the noonday sun, but of Marjorie, there’s no sign.
Luke slouches next to her. “Same old bleeding heart,” he says with a sigh.
Mikayla gives him a sharp look. “Yeah, and you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for it.”
A certain Life Debt comes to mind, and she’ll bring it up again if she has to. If Mikayla hadn’t stuck her neck out for Luke when he was caught sneaking into their camp, he would have been executed. As it is, he’s now bound to the Midnight Circus, working to both pay off the Life Debt he owes her and earn the trust of Management.
“Fine, fine.” He slings an arm over her shoulder, tucking her against his side, and tugs one of her fuzzy braids -- a vain attempt to tame her curly locks. “Lead the way, Mikki. But if she starts throwing things, I’m hiding behind you.”
Lead the way, he says, but Mikayla has no idea where she’s going. Where does Marjorie spend her time? Where even is her caravan parked?
Mikayla looks around. “Um.”
“What would you even do without me?” Luke says with another tug to her pigtail. He turns them both and shouts at one of the Strongmen lounging nearby. “Hey, Carlos. Did you see where Marjorie went?”
The older man grunts, his mustache quivering as he speaks, “Don’t want to be botherin’ that one, lad. She looks to be spittin’ fire.” He doesn’t look up from the block of wood in his hands, gnarled fingers turning it over and over.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. But Mikki here is worried, and you know how she is.”
“Hey!” Mikayla retorts, even if it is true.
Carlos chuckles and scrapes off a long line of pale wood before he says, “Lass went home, I ‘spect.” He draws the wood closer, peering at it before he adds, “She’s parked east, at the very end.”
Of course she is. It’s the most isolated section of camp.
“Thanks, Carlos,” Mikayla says, and lets Luke steer her away.
Carlos gives them a distracted wave.
“She went home. We shouldn’t bother her.” Luke extracts his arm to dig out his cell phone, lifting it up to the sky as if doing so will grant him a better signal.
“We’re not bothering. We’re helping,” Mikayla insists, not at all disappointed that the weight and warmth is gone from her shoulders. Nope. Not one bit.
She grabs his shirtsleeve and tugs him in the direction of her family’s caravan. She needs more than what she’s got on hand if she’s going to fix Marjorie’s hair, and it’s best to come prepared.
“Help me carry my stuff,” she says.
Luke sighs, but he tucks away his phone, and that’s as good as obeying to her. He likes to put on a front of being bothered, but he never actually refuses.
Mikayla grabs her easy-carry tote of various beautician tools, all carefully gathered and purchased and acquired over the years. She tips the heavier crate into Luke’s arms. He grunts at the weight, like he’s not strong enough to wrestle a bear. And he calls her the drama queen.
“Do we really need all of this?” he asks, tilting the crate back and forth, making everything inside rattle around.
“Yep.” Mikayla tucks the easy-carry under her arm, and off they go, heading to the more isolated corner of their camp. Folks tended to congregate together, though there are a few who want more privacy than most. Marjorie’s not the only one, but at least the others make an effort to be part of the family.
“The things I do for you,” Luke says with an easy grin, his grey-blue eyes sparkling with amusement. He hefts the crate onto his shoulder, holding it in place with one hand, and yes, all right. Mikayla is only human.
She ever so briefly admires the stretch of his shirt over his muscles and looks away before he can notice her appreciation. He’s got a big enough head as it is. He’s handsome, and enough folks have told him as much. He attracts his fair share of admirers, though as far as Mikayla can tell, it never goes any further than flirtations.
“What?” Luke says.
Mikayla blinks. “What?”
“You’re staring,” he says.
She’d been lost in thought, is what it was. “Was I?” Mikayla asks as they round the corner past Elara and Gabriel’s caravan -- they prefer their privacy and a healthy distance from the rest of the circus -- to where a lone caravan sits tucked against a little copse of trees. Mikayla can’t recall seeing this one before.
“Oh, I’ll bet that’s hers,” she says, and strides right up to the door before Luke can respond to her. She gives it three good raps and waits.
“I can’t believe she actually feels safer all alone out here,” Luke mutters as he glances around. It’s too quiet this far away from the main camp, and the silence is eerie.
Mikayla’s not used to quiet. She’s a legacy through and through.
“Well, we don’t really know much about her, do we?” Mikayla taps her foot and knocks again.
It’s quiet enough she can actually hear a rustle within the caravan before the door finally cracks open, and Marjorie peers through the narrow gap with wariness in her dark blue eyes. Uneven chunks of black hair frame her round face, and Mikayla itches to fix them.
“Can I help you?”
Mikayla puts on her most winning smile. “Actually, I want to help you!”
“Help… me?” Marjorie’s gaze darts from her, to Luke, and back again.
“With your hair,” Mikayla clarifies and pats her easy-carry tote pointedly, one of the brushes visible in a side pocket. “No offense, but you did a hack job on it, and I thought, well, that needs to be fixed, doesn’t it?”
Marjorie’s lips purse together before she says, “That was on purpose,” and leans back as if meaning to close the door. Rudely, if you ask Mikayla.
“Wait!” Mikayla says, or shouts rather.
Marjorie startles. Luke stares at her like she’s gone crazy, and well, maybe he’s not too off on that. Mikayla isn’t sure what came over her.
“I really do just want to help,” Mikayla says as Marjorie thankfully gives her a chance. “It might be a little bit selfish because that terrible haircut is going to haunt me. So please let me fix it for you. I can cut it, dye it, give you some barrettes. You know. Anything.”
She beams her most charming smile.
Marjorie doesn’t slam in the door in their face, which is progress. She looks at them both, and Mikayla nudges Luke to smile that beguiling smile of his. He obliges.
“You won’t leave me in peace until I agree, will you?” Marjorie asks with a resigned sigh.
Mikayla blinks and takes a step back, waving her hands. “No, no. I mean, if you don’t really want my help, we’ll just leave.” She nudges Luke again, since he hasn’t managed to speak a single useful word.
“No means no,” he says, and there’s a bit of a scowl twisting his lips. “A lesson those asshole twins could stand to learn if you ask me. One of these days, I think I’ll teach it to them.”
Mikayla rolls her eyes. “They’d slaughter you. I don’t care how tough you are.” She gestures toward Marjorie. “Besides, I don’t think she wants you fighting her battles.”
“She might,” Luke says as he shifts into that lazy slouch that makes him both smaller and less intimidating. “Fuck knows she fights too many of them.”
Now that’s just unfair.
“”You don’t offer to fight for me,” Mikayla points out with a playful pout.
Luke tugs on her nearest pigtail with a playful wink. “Yeah, well, I can’t have you getting lazy on me, Mikki.”
“Fine,” Marjorie says with a sigh of exasperation, cutting through their conversation. “You can fix my hair.”
“Great!” Mikayla beams.
The door creaks open as if Marjorie’s halfway set on changing her mind, but open it does, barely wide enough for the two of them to squeeze inside one at a time. “And after, you’ll leave me in peace.”
“If that’s what you want,” Mikayla promises.
The scent of candles tickles her nose as she steps inside and gets her first look at Marjorie’s caravan. It’s small, since Marjorie’s the only one who lives in it, but it’s pretty spartan, even for a single person. She’s been with them for two years, right? But there’s nothing on the walls, no decorations, no random throw pillows and blankets for comfort.
The single bed has the same linens that were given to Marjorie when she first arrived. There’s a small table covered in bits of fabric and sewing supplies. A nightstand plays host to a hairbrush and a handkerchief. Mikayla spies the lump of a bag tucked under Marjorie’s bed, but otherwise, there’s not much to see.
It’s like she plans to up and leave at any moment.
The door clicks shut behind them, echoing in the sparse caravan.
“I suppose you can put your things on the bed,” Marjorie says reluctantly, with a glance toward the clearly occupied tabletop. She hurries to clear away a few scattered papers from the bed, and Mikayla tries to peek, but all she manages is a glimpse of something that looks like a sketch before they’re tucked away.
“Thanks!” Mikayla puts down her tote and Luke drops the crate next to it.
Marjorie keeps a healthy distance between them.
No, Mikayla corrects herself. She’s keeping herself away from Luke, or ensuring Mikayla is always between them. To be fair, Luke’s pretty big, and if you didn’t know he’s just an overgrown puppy, it can be a little alarming. Marjorie’s taller than Mikayla, but still shorter than Luke.
“Do you think I should go?” Luke says, tilting his head down to whisper into Mikayla’s ear.
Ah, he’d noticed.
“Only if she asks you to,” Mikayla murmurs, patting his arm. “Just don’t make any sudden moves. If she throws a knife at anyone, it’ll be you.”
“Great,” Luke groans.
Mikayla turns and plants her hands on her hips, pulling out a bright smile. “So what kind of haircut do you want?”
Marjorie fingers the uneven strands, some still dusting her tense shoulders. “Something easy to take care of, I guess.”
“I think I have just the thing.” Mikayla winks and pulls the chair out from the table, giving herself enough room to work around it, before she pats the back. “Have a seat here, please.”
Those dark blue eyes scrutinize them for a handful of long seconds before Marjorie sits down, stiff as a board, her hands in her lap and fingers tangled tightly together. She stares hard at the far wall, jaw set.
“How short do you want it?” Mikayla asks, careful to keep her voice light, and herself in Marjorie’s peripheral vision. “I think you could pull off a pixie cut.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“I can fix that.” Luke opens the tote and digs inside until he produces one of her fashion magazines and flips quickly through the pages. “Ah. It’s this one.” He holds it out for her to see, still keeping a respectful distance.
“My lessons are getting through to you!” Mikayla’s thrilled. He likes to pretend he has no interest in what she does, but he’s obviously listening. “You’ll be a decent make-up assistant in no time flat.”
Luke rolls his eyes. “It’s my fondest wish,” he drawls.
Mikayla chuckles and shifts her attention back to Marjorie. “Hair grows back, so if you don’t like it, we can try something a bit later. What do you think?”
Marjorie audibly exhales. “It’ll do,” she says at length. Almost like she’s agreeing just to get this over with.
“Great! Luke, hand me a drape, please,” Mikayla says, trying to keep up the energy. She’s just gonna keep pretending this is all very, very normal and maybe that’ll soak into Marjorie, too. “This is going to go over your shoulders, and it buttons at the nape of your neck, so you don’t get too covered in hair, okay?”
“Fine.”
There’s not much enthusiasm in her, but it’s consent, so Mikayla takes it, gently draping the cover over Marjorie and fastening it at her nape, trying not to touch bare skin. She whips out her comb and eyes the canvas in front of her.
“I’m going to get started now,” she says. “I’m going to touch your hair, and I might brush your ears, or your hairline, or your nape, but I’m a professional, I promise.”
Marjorie huffs. “The sooner you are done, the sooner I can get back to work.”
“Fair enough,” Mikayla concedes with a glance at Luke who gives her the tiniest of shrugs. He’s lingering near the bed right now, as far as he can get from Marjorie and well within her line of sight.
No fool is he.
Mikayla draws in a heavy breath of her own and gets to work, falling into a steady, familiar rhythm that makes the tension in the air a bit easier to bear.
“So,” she says, to try and distract her customer. “What do you like to do for fun?”
Marjorie’s shoulders draw toward her ears. “What?”
“Fun,” Luke repeats as he leans against the bed, though he stands ready to play fetch. He’s gotten pretty good at it. “You know, the thing people do when they aren’t working?”
“I don’t have time for fun,” Marjorie says.
Sheesh.
“Nonsense,” Mikayla chimes in, careful as she snips and combs and doesn’t let any touch linger. “No one works all the time.”
She steals a careful glance around the caravan again. There isn’t much in the way of personal items at all, though the shelves do contain a handful of books on flowers and gardening.
“For example, I love to dance whenever I can,” Mikayla finishes.
“Not that she’s any good at it,” Luke says as he starts to wander just a bit, inching close enough to the shelves to get a good look at them.
“Hey! I do fine. It’s just a hobby.” She rolls her eyes and points at him with the stabby end of her scissors. “It’s not like you’re any better at sparring as many times as you end up on your back.”
Luke stops halfway to touching something on the shelf and scowls over his shoulder at her. “I’m learning,” he stresses as he takes his hand away from an embroidery kit, half-finished but well-loved with a lot of attention to detail, though it’s in obvious need of material to finish the job. “Sometimes, you gotta lose to learn.”
“Sure,” Mikayla chirps and directs her attention back to Marjorie. “What about you, Marge? Oh, wait. Can I call you Marge?”
“No,” Marjorie says, her tone thick with finality. She visibly shivers when Mikayla brushes the nape of her neck to trim up a stubborn tuft. “I don’t have time for frivolities either. If I am to stay here, I must contribute.”
Mikayla frowns. “Did someone say you weren’t?”
The silence says more than if Marjorie had spoken up. She shifts in the chair, her head dipping as she stares at the floor.
Mikayla nods on the inside of her cheek. Aubra and Audrey hadn’t been the only persistent suitors. What if…?
She draws in a heavy breath. “Has someone tried to… um… suggest other ways for you to earn your keep?”
Luke whirls toward both of them, his jaw dropping. “If they did, I hope you punched them. Hard enough to break their nose.” His cheeks flush with anger.
“If I have time to spare, I spend it studying magic or resting,” Marjorie says after a few beats have passed, completely ignoring Mikayla’s other questions.
Best not to pry then.
“Studying is a better use of your time than losing your pay in card games,” Mikayla says with forced cheer, giving Luke a pointed look. They’ve had this conversation frequently.
She sets into trimming, evening the ends, making sure the lines of the cut are absolutely perfect. Maybe she’s dragging it out a little, but this might be the most conversation anyone’s ever gotten out of Marjorie.
“Why do you keep picking on me?” Luke pouts, but it doesn’t last long because he taps the shelf next to the embroidery kit. “Hey, if you need more materials for this, I can get them for you.”
Marjorie turns to a block of stone in the chair. “No, thank you.”
Luke holds up his hands, waving them negatively. “For free, I mean. No charge. No debts. Just…” A shadow of something crosses his eyes, and he scrubs the pad of his thumb over the ring he always wears. “These things should be finished.”
The longing in his voice makes Mikayla’s heart ache, too. She knows him well enough by now to recognize that nostalgia and homesickness are to blame.
Marjorie exhales quietly and mutters something Mikayla doesn’t quite catch.
“What?” she prompts.
“I could use more purple,” Marjorie repeats, louder this time. “Violet preferably.”
Luke beams at her like he’s won the lottery or finally outwrestled Ursa. He snaps his fingers. “I know just the place.”
“Great,” Mikayla groans. “Now he’s going to drag me shopping.” She gives Marjorie an exaggerated wink, but the other woman only stares at her like she’s lost her mind.
Well. She and Luke can be a lot sometimes, Mikayla supposes.
“Anyway,” Mikayla says, sing-song. “Looks like I’m all done.” She tucks the scissors in her back pocket and dusts off her hands. “Luke, hand me a mirror, will you?”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Mikayla ignores his sass and hands the mirror over to Marjorie once he slaps it into her hand. “Well, what do you think?”
Marjorie holds up the mirror and scrutinizes her appearance, her hands rising from beneath the drape to touch her newly shorn locks. Her ears show now, but she’s got some bangs to frame her face. Mikayla had decided on a little swoop to the pixie cut, and it looks fantastic with her round features, but there’s not enough hair at any point for someone to get a grip on, and that was the point.
“It’s… nice,” Marjorie says finally, and she sounds surprised, but pleased. “Thank you.”
Mikayla beams. “You’re welcome!” She unclips the drape and gives it a shake, hair fluttering to the floor. “Now you can just let it grow, or I can touch it up for you every few weeks. Entirely up to you. I don’t mind one bit. At least someone is letting me indulge.” She gives Luke a pointed look.
He snorts as he re-packs all of her different combs and scissors. “If I let you anywhere near my head, next thing I know, my hair will be neon green or some shit.”
“I have better taste than that,” Mikayla retorts, indignant. “Then again, a green would look good on you. Goes with your eyes.”
He flips her off over his shoulder. “You’re never touching my hair.”
“I appreciate the help,” Marjorie says, loud enough to be heard over both of them, as she rises from the chair. “But I really do have a lot of work.” She gestures to the table and the colorful costumes in various stages of completion. “I’m sure you both do as well.”
“Of course, of course. We don’t want to overstay our welcome,” Mikayla says with a little bow and a smile. She helps Luke pack up the rest of her stuff. “We’ve got work, too, don’t we, Luke? Both of us.”
“Lots of work,” Luke echoes dryly. He smacks her hand away from messing up his careful arrangement of her combs and brushes and nudges the bag of barrettes in her direction, to throw over her shoulder.
He’s such a good assistant.
There’s hair all over the floor still, but given the way Marjorie is looking at them and withdrawing, it’s probably best they skedaddle.
“Tons of work,” Mikayla echoes, adjusting the strap on her shoulder as Luke hefts the crate into his arms. “But still, plenty of time for dinner with a friend, right?”
Marjorie blinks at her, a broom mysteriously appearing in her hands. “What?”
“You should sit with us at dinner tonight,” Mikayla suggests as she pushes Luke to the door, ignoring his grumbled ‘she asked us to leave, not act like our asses are on fire, sheesh’. “Luke’s face will scare everyone away, I promise.”
“Oy!”
Mikayla swears there’s a twitch of a smile on Marjorie’s face, though it doesn’t linger. “I’ll think about it.”
It wasn’t an outright refusal, so Mikayla’s marking that down as a victory.
Luke fumbles at the door with his free hand until Mikayla reaches around him and twists the knob. They stumble out of the caravan like two folks desperately escaping a haunted house, and Mikayla twists to walk backward, giving Marjorie a big smile.
“We’ll save a seat for you!”
Marjorie hovers in the doorway, her brow furrowed. “If you insist,” she says.
Mikayla spins back around, jogging a little to catch up to Luke. “Did you hear that? It was a yes.”
“I heard a maybe, Mikki.”
“I’m choosing to be optimistic,” Mikayla says as they finally slow to a more reasonable pace, though excitement still bubbles in her belly. “You know I was just teasing, right. There’s nothing wrong with your face.” It’s an unreasonably handsome face, truth be told.
She keeps that to herself.
Luke clucks his tongue and shoots her a finger-gun, which he knows she hates. “My face is perfect.”.
Mikayla rolls her eyes.
“But do you really think she’ll join us?” Luke asks.
Mikayla hums. “I think we have a better chance than anyone else.” She draws in a deep breath, excitement dimming as she starts to process the whole encounter. “Did you see how she’s living? It’s like she’s ready to run away any second.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Luke sighs.
“She needs friends, Luke. People who are willing to put in an effort, who want to look out for her, and treat her with some goddamn respect.” Not like those awful twins. Ugh.
Luke tosses the crate up on his shoulder again. “And you think that’s going to be us.”
Mikayla nods, her insides sparking with joy at the way Luke says ‘us’. He always says ‘us’ like it’s a given that they’re going to do everything together. “You disagree?”
“Nope.” He pops the word with a wink. “You know me. I follow your lead. If you say we’re the best ones for the job, then I believe you.”
His confidence in her makes that happy little swell in her chest rise again.
“Besides, I gotta admit, I’m damn curious,” Luke adds as he adjusts the crate and pulls out his phone, lifting it in vain to try and get a signal -- ever hopeful he is. “She’s got a story, that’s for sure.”
“And if we’re lucky, we might get to hear it,” Mikayla says.
“Yep.” Luke squints at his phone, and cheers when it lights up with a single bar. “Fuck, yeah. Show me where I stand, baby.”
Mikayla shakes her head. She doesn’t know why he keeps trying to participate in those gaming tournaments when he doesn’t have a consistent signal. She turns back toward her family’s caravan, Luke trailing in her wake, with a bounce to her step.
Marjorie had let them in, just a little, and Mikayla couldn’t be happier. That look of surprise and delight on her face when she saw her new haircut is something Mikayla is going to treasure for the rest of her life.
She really hopes Marjorie joins them for dinner. This could absolutely be the beginning of a beautiful something.
It really could.
***
a/n: I hope you all enjoyed! There's more coming because these amazing folks commissioned me again! \o/
Title: A Friend in Need
Rating: T
Genre: Urban Fantasy, Magical Circus
Summary: Mikayla’s soft for a stray, according to Luke, and maybe he’s not wrong. Because when she sees Marjorie getting bothered by the twins, Mikayla decides what Marjorie really needs is a friend -- or better yet, two.
Mikayla loves stew.
She does not, however, love tomatoes. Why does Cassidy insist on adding them to every dish? Granted, they’re a better cook than Georgio who oversalts everything, and at least Cassidy chops the tomatoes chunky enough Mikayla can avoid them.
Or.
She glances at Luke, who isn’t paying her one bit of attention, and tips another spoonful of tomatoes into his bowl. There. Problem solved.
Mikayla spears a hefty piece of potato and pops it into her mouth, letting the noise and bustle of lunch wash over her. Chatter rises and falls in a familiar, comforting rhythm. The aerialists are laughing in the corner again, Tober crouched on the bench as he re-enacts some elaborate twists he wants to incorporate into his routine. If he's not careful, he's going to --
And there he goes, tumbling ass over teakettle off the bench, to the rousing laughter of his compatriots. Honestly, an aerialist should not be so clumsy.
Mikayla shakes her head, shoves another bite of stew into her mouth, and leans in toward Luke, peering over his shoulder. He's got his phone out again, for all the good it will do him, as if he can will it into making a network connection.
A clatter rings above the dull noise of conversation. Mikayla jumps and whirls to follow the noise, immediately frowning. A commotion brews by the dish tubs.
Mikayla nudges Luke hard with her elbow. "Wha--"
"They're at it again," she sighs as she tilts her head toward the corner of the tent where Audra and Aubrey have once again set their sights on uninterested prey.
The Tumbler Twins are notorious for trying to coax anyone into their bed. They like variety, to hear them say it, and competition, too. To see which of them their prey actually picks.
Fair is fair, they’re both lovely enough to succeed. With their silky blond hair, ice-blue eyes, freckled noses and large, stunning smiles to hide the snakes they are beneath. Beautiful they are, but it’s not enough to hide that they're nasty pieces of work, and honestly, Mikayla isn't sure why they haven't been tossed on their asses yet.
Mikayla hadn’t realized Marjorie was their next target, though she should have guessed it. Marjorie’s gorgeous, too, but Mikayla bets it’s how untouchable she appears that really appeals to the twins.
"God, why don't they give it a fucking rest," Luke mutters around a mouthful of stew, some of it dribbling out like the mess he is. He scrubs the back of his arm over his lips. "No means no, dickheads."
Mikayla sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. "We should do something."
Marjorie twists away from Aubrey to flee, but draws up short as Audra intercepts her, all lipstick-bright smile and inviting posture. She's saying something, probably lewd, and a flush of anger darkens Marjorie's cheeks.
"No," she hisses, loud enough to carry this time, her indigo eyes flashing.
Aubrey presses closer, and Mikayla doesn't miss the way she reaches out to drag her fingers through the long, glossy length of Marjorie's hair. Marjorie jolts away from them both, shoulders hunched, eyes darting around, like she's on the verge of a panic attack.
Mikayla's stomach twists with sympathy.
"Pretty sure she wouldn't appreciate the help," Luke says around a slurp of stew as Audra leans in, all sultry and coaxing, threading her fingers through Marjorie's hair and bringing it to her nose as if scenting it.
"Anyone would appreciate help," Mikayla retorts, her spoon splashing down into her bowl. She slams her palms on the table, pushing herself to stand, and that's when Marjorie shoves Audra back with all her might.
"Hands off!" Marjorie snaps.
Conversation stutters to a halt, all eyes turning to the commotion.
Audra stumbles into her sister, and for the first time, the twins look startled, possibly a bit uneasy. So they do have brains.
Marjorie whirls toward the nearest table, snatching the first knife in reach, and her lips peel back over her teeth.
"You want it so much, you can have it!" Marjorie snarls, and Mikayla's not the only one who gasps as Marjorie takes a handful of her hair and hacks it off with the knife, throwing the cut strands at the twins.
She grabs two more handfuls, sawing through them with fire in her eyes, and throws them in Audra and Aubrey's direction. The brown strands flutter through the air like some kind of threatening confetti. Audra and Aubrey clutch at each other, eyes locked on the knife, but Marjorie only throws it on the ground in front of them, rather than at them like Mikayla would’ve.
"See? She doesn't need our help," Luke says with a shrug.
Marjorie, shaking in a place, spins on a heel and storms away, pushing through the gathered crowd. Loves a good show, the circus does, especially when they don't have to perform it.
"Yes, she absolutely does," Mikayla says, her palms still flat on the table. "Did you see what she did to her hair? That hurts me, Luke. Hurts me deeply. It's terrible."
"Drama queen." Luke rolls his eyes and dips his spoon into his bowl, only to furrow his brow at the overabundance of red chunks. "And stop giving me your tomatoes."
Mikayla's eyes don't wander from Marjorie who’s fleeing the meal tent as though hounds nip at her heels. "But I don't like them and you do," she says, trying to keep a playful tone, though her heart isn’t in it.
Her heart is focused on Marjorie right now.
"Did you see that? Crazy bitch," Audra mutters as she brushes hair off her shirt.
"Come on. Let's go," Aubrey says.
Mikayla tenses, but if they mean to go after Marjorie, they're going the wrong way. They're supposed to be on kitchen duty, she knows, and it seems they finally remembered it. Serves them right. Spending the next hour scrubbing dishes should cool them off.
Once they're gone, chatter starts to fill the tent, the other members of the circus going back to their meals, shaking their heads. No one's too bothered by the commotion apparently.
No one's gone after Marjorie either.
Mikayla frowns and dips her spoon into her bowl, idly twirling it around. Marjorie's been with them for two years now, but she hasn't really made any friends. She's bothered more than anyone else, too. There are always folk like Audra and Aubrey who get a kick out of poking at Marjorie.
It's not strange for the circus to poke and tease at newcomers. It's sort of a rite of passage. But Marjorie's been with them too long to be considered a newcomer. She obviously hadn't seen it as playful or welcome. She'd been angry. She'd been afraid.
Mikayla stands and swats Luke on the shoulder. "Come on. Let's go."
"Go where?"
She gathers up her dishes. "After Marjorie. Come on." She fists her free hand in his collar and tugs until he finally relents and rises from the table, desperately clutching his bowl.
"Do you want to get a knife thrown at you?" he grumbles as he frantically scoops stew into his mouth.
"She hasn't thrown a knife at anything but the floor." Mikayla dumps her dishes into the bin and snatches Luke's bowl from his hands to join them. "I want to help her. That bad hair is going to haunt me."
His look of betrayal has no business being so cute. "She's not going to accept our help, you know," he says as he looks mournfully backward.
"I want to at least give her the opportunity to reject me. We’re family here.” Mikayla heads out of the mess and realizes she has no idea where Marjorie went.
She stops mid-stride and rises on her tiptoes to look around. “I want her to feel like she belongs here. She’s been with us long enough for it.” She shields her eyes from the noonday sun, but of Marjorie, there’s no sign.
Luke slouches next to her. “Same old bleeding heart,” he says with a sigh.
Mikayla gives him a sharp look. “Yeah, and you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for it.”
A certain Life Debt comes to mind, and she’ll bring it up again if she has to. If Mikayla hadn’t stuck her neck out for Luke when he was caught sneaking into their camp, he would have been executed. As it is, he’s now bound to the Midnight Circus, working to both pay off the Life Debt he owes her and earn the trust of Management.
“Fine, fine.” He slings an arm over her shoulder, tucking her against his side, and tugs one of her fuzzy braids -- a vain attempt to tame her curly locks. “Lead the way, Mikki. But if she starts throwing things, I’m hiding behind you.”
Lead the way, he says, but Mikayla has no idea where she’s going. Where does Marjorie spend her time? Where even is her caravan parked?
Mikayla looks around. “Um.”
“What would you even do without me?” Luke says with another tug to her pigtail. He turns them both and shouts at one of the Strongmen lounging nearby. “Hey, Carlos. Did you see where Marjorie went?”
The older man grunts, his mustache quivering as he speaks, “Don’t want to be botherin’ that one, lad. She looks to be spittin’ fire.” He doesn’t look up from the block of wood in his hands, gnarled fingers turning it over and over.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. But Mikki here is worried, and you know how she is.”
“Hey!” Mikayla retorts, even if it is true.
Carlos chuckles and scrapes off a long line of pale wood before he says, “Lass went home, I ‘spect.” He draws the wood closer, peering at it before he adds, “She’s parked east, at the very end.”
Of course she is. It’s the most isolated section of camp.
“Thanks, Carlos,” Mikayla says, and lets Luke steer her away.
Carlos gives them a distracted wave.
“She went home. We shouldn’t bother her.” Luke extracts his arm to dig out his cell phone, lifting it up to the sky as if doing so will grant him a better signal.
“We’re not bothering. We’re helping,” Mikayla insists, not at all disappointed that the weight and warmth is gone from her shoulders. Nope. Not one bit.
She grabs his shirtsleeve and tugs him in the direction of her family’s caravan. She needs more than what she’s got on hand if she’s going to fix Marjorie’s hair, and it’s best to come prepared.
“Help me carry my stuff,” she says.
Luke sighs, but he tucks away his phone, and that’s as good as obeying to her. He likes to put on a front of being bothered, but he never actually refuses.
Mikayla grabs her easy-carry tote of various beautician tools, all carefully gathered and purchased and acquired over the years. She tips the heavier crate into Luke’s arms. He grunts at the weight, like he’s not strong enough to wrestle a bear. And he calls her the drama queen.
“Do we really need all of this?” he asks, tilting the crate back and forth, making everything inside rattle around.
“Yep.” Mikayla tucks the easy-carry under her arm, and off they go, heading to the more isolated corner of their camp. Folks tended to congregate together, though there are a few who want more privacy than most. Marjorie’s not the only one, but at least the others make an effort to be part of the family.
“The things I do for you,” Luke says with an easy grin, his grey-blue eyes sparkling with amusement. He hefts the crate onto his shoulder, holding it in place with one hand, and yes, all right. Mikayla is only human.
She ever so briefly admires the stretch of his shirt over his muscles and looks away before he can notice her appreciation. He’s got a big enough head as it is. He’s handsome, and enough folks have told him as much. He attracts his fair share of admirers, though as far as Mikayla can tell, it never goes any further than flirtations.
“What?” Luke says.
Mikayla blinks. “What?”
“You’re staring,” he says.
She’d been lost in thought, is what it was. “Was I?” Mikayla asks as they round the corner past Elara and Gabriel’s caravan -- they prefer their privacy and a healthy distance from the rest of the circus -- to where a lone caravan sits tucked against a little copse of trees. Mikayla can’t recall seeing this one before.
“Oh, I’ll bet that’s hers,” she says, and strides right up to the door before Luke can respond to her. She gives it three good raps and waits.
“I can’t believe she actually feels safer all alone out here,” Luke mutters as he glances around. It’s too quiet this far away from the main camp, and the silence is eerie.
Mikayla’s not used to quiet. She’s a legacy through and through.
“Well, we don’t really know much about her, do we?” Mikayla taps her foot and knocks again.
It’s quiet enough she can actually hear a rustle within the caravan before the door finally cracks open, and Marjorie peers through the narrow gap with wariness in her dark blue eyes. Uneven chunks of black hair frame her round face, and Mikayla itches to fix them.
“Can I help you?”
Mikayla puts on her most winning smile. “Actually, I want to help you!”
“Help… me?” Marjorie’s gaze darts from her, to Luke, and back again.
“With your hair,” Mikayla clarifies and pats her easy-carry tote pointedly, one of the brushes visible in a side pocket. “No offense, but you did a hack job on it, and I thought, well, that needs to be fixed, doesn’t it?”
Marjorie’s lips purse together before she says, “That was on purpose,” and leans back as if meaning to close the door. Rudely, if you ask Mikayla.
“Wait!” Mikayla says, or shouts rather.
Marjorie startles. Luke stares at her like she’s gone crazy, and well, maybe he’s not too off on that. Mikayla isn’t sure what came over her.
“I really do just want to help,” Mikayla says as Marjorie thankfully gives her a chance. “It might be a little bit selfish because that terrible haircut is going to haunt me. So please let me fix it for you. I can cut it, dye it, give you some barrettes. You know. Anything.”
She beams her most charming smile.
Marjorie doesn’t slam in the door in their face, which is progress. She looks at them both, and Mikayla nudges Luke to smile that beguiling smile of his. He obliges.
“You won’t leave me in peace until I agree, will you?” Marjorie asks with a resigned sigh.
Mikayla blinks and takes a step back, waving her hands. “No, no. I mean, if you don’t really want my help, we’ll just leave.” She nudges Luke again, since he hasn’t managed to speak a single useful word.
“No means no,” he says, and there’s a bit of a scowl twisting his lips. “A lesson those asshole twins could stand to learn if you ask me. One of these days, I think I’ll teach it to them.”
Mikayla rolls her eyes. “They’d slaughter you. I don’t care how tough you are.” She gestures toward Marjorie. “Besides, I don’t think she wants you fighting her battles.”
“She might,” Luke says as he shifts into that lazy slouch that makes him both smaller and less intimidating. “Fuck knows she fights too many of them.”
Now that’s just unfair.
“”You don’t offer to fight for me,” Mikayla points out with a playful pout.
Luke tugs on her nearest pigtail with a playful wink. “Yeah, well, I can’t have you getting lazy on me, Mikki.”
“Fine,” Marjorie says with a sigh of exasperation, cutting through their conversation. “You can fix my hair.”
“Great!” Mikayla beams.
The door creaks open as if Marjorie’s halfway set on changing her mind, but open it does, barely wide enough for the two of them to squeeze inside one at a time. “And after, you’ll leave me in peace.”
“If that’s what you want,” Mikayla promises.
The scent of candles tickles her nose as she steps inside and gets her first look at Marjorie’s caravan. It’s small, since Marjorie’s the only one who lives in it, but it’s pretty spartan, even for a single person. She’s been with them for two years, right? But there’s nothing on the walls, no decorations, no random throw pillows and blankets for comfort.
The single bed has the same linens that were given to Marjorie when she first arrived. There’s a small table covered in bits of fabric and sewing supplies. A nightstand plays host to a hairbrush and a handkerchief. Mikayla spies the lump of a bag tucked under Marjorie’s bed, but otherwise, there’s not much to see.
It’s like she plans to up and leave at any moment.
The door clicks shut behind them, echoing in the sparse caravan.
“I suppose you can put your things on the bed,” Marjorie says reluctantly, with a glance toward the clearly occupied tabletop. She hurries to clear away a few scattered papers from the bed, and Mikayla tries to peek, but all she manages is a glimpse of something that looks like a sketch before they’re tucked away.
“Thanks!” Mikayla puts down her tote and Luke drops the crate next to it.
Marjorie keeps a healthy distance between them.
No, Mikayla corrects herself. She’s keeping herself away from Luke, or ensuring Mikayla is always between them. To be fair, Luke’s pretty big, and if you didn’t know he’s just an overgrown puppy, it can be a little alarming. Marjorie’s taller than Mikayla, but still shorter than Luke.
“Do you think I should go?” Luke says, tilting his head down to whisper into Mikayla’s ear.
Ah, he’d noticed.
“Only if she asks you to,” Mikayla murmurs, patting his arm. “Just don’t make any sudden moves. If she throws a knife at anyone, it’ll be you.”
“Great,” Luke groans.
Mikayla turns and plants her hands on her hips, pulling out a bright smile. “So what kind of haircut do you want?”
Marjorie fingers the uneven strands, some still dusting her tense shoulders. “Something easy to take care of, I guess.”
“I think I have just the thing.” Mikayla winks and pulls the chair out from the table, giving herself enough room to work around it, before she pats the back. “Have a seat here, please.”
Those dark blue eyes scrutinize them for a handful of long seconds before Marjorie sits down, stiff as a board, her hands in her lap and fingers tangled tightly together. She stares hard at the far wall, jaw set.
“How short do you want it?” Mikayla asks, careful to keep her voice light, and herself in Marjorie’s peripheral vision. “I think you could pull off a pixie cut.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“I can fix that.” Luke opens the tote and digs inside until he produces one of her fashion magazines and flips quickly through the pages. “Ah. It’s this one.” He holds it out for her to see, still keeping a respectful distance.
“My lessons are getting through to you!” Mikayla’s thrilled. He likes to pretend he has no interest in what she does, but he’s obviously listening. “You’ll be a decent make-up assistant in no time flat.”
Luke rolls his eyes. “It’s my fondest wish,” he drawls.
Mikayla chuckles and shifts her attention back to Marjorie. “Hair grows back, so if you don’t like it, we can try something a bit later. What do you think?”
Marjorie audibly exhales. “It’ll do,” she says at length. Almost like she’s agreeing just to get this over with.
“Great! Luke, hand me a drape, please,” Mikayla says, trying to keep up the energy. She’s just gonna keep pretending this is all very, very normal and maybe that’ll soak into Marjorie, too. “This is going to go over your shoulders, and it buttons at the nape of your neck, so you don’t get too covered in hair, okay?”
“Fine.”
There’s not much enthusiasm in her, but it’s consent, so Mikayla takes it, gently draping the cover over Marjorie and fastening it at her nape, trying not to touch bare skin. She whips out her comb and eyes the canvas in front of her.
“I’m going to get started now,” she says. “I’m going to touch your hair, and I might brush your ears, or your hairline, or your nape, but I’m a professional, I promise.”
Marjorie huffs. “The sooner you are done, the sooner I can get back to work.”
“Fair enough,” Mikayla concedes with a glance at Luke who gives her the tiniest of shrugs. He’s lingering near the bed right now, as far as he can get from Marjorie and well within her line of sight.
No fool is he.
Mikayla draws in a heavy breath of her own and gets to work, falling into a steady, familiar rhythm that makes the tension in the air a bit easier to bear.
“So,” she says, to try and distract her customer. “What do you like to do for fun?”
Marjorie’s shoulders draw toward her ears. “What?”
“Fun,” Luke repeats as he leans against the bed, though he stands ready to play fetch. He’s gotten pretty good at it. “You know, the thing people do when they aren’t working?”
“I don’t have time for fun,” Marjorie says.
Sheesh.
“Nonsense,” Mikayla chimes in, careful as she snips and combs and doesn’t let any touch linger. “No one works all the time.”
She steals a careful glance around the caravan again. There isn’t much in the way of personal items at all, though the shelves do contain a handful of books on flowers and gardening.
“For example, I love to dance whenever I can,” Mikayla finishes.
“Not that she’s any good at it,” Luke says as he starts to wander just a bit, inching close enough to the shelves to get a good look at them.
“Hey! I do fine. It’s just a hobby.” She rolls her eyes and points at him with the stabby end of her scissors. “It’s not like you’re any better at sparring as many times as you end up on your back.”
Luke stops halfway to touching something on the shelf and scowls over his shoulder at her. “I’m learning,” he stresses as he takes his hand away from an embroidery kit, half-finished but well-loved with a lot of attention to detail, though it’s in obvious need of material to finish the job. “Sometimes, you gotta lose to learn.”
“Sure,” Mikayla chirps and directs her attention back to Marjorie. “What about you, Marge? Oh, wait. Can I call you Marge?”
“No,” Marjorie says, her tone thick with finality. She visibly shivers when Mikayla brushes the nape of her neck to trim up a stubborn tuft. “I don’t have time for frivolities either. If I am to stay here, I must contribute.”
Mikayla frowns. “Did someone say you weren’t?”
The silence says more than if Marjorie had spoken up. She shifts in the chair, her head dipping as she stares at the floor.
Mikayla nods on the inside of her cheek. Aubra and Audrey hadn’t been the only persistent suitors. What if…?
She draws in a heavy breath. “Has someone tried to… um… suggest other ways for you to earn your keep?”
Luke whirls toward both of them, his jaw dropping. “If they did, I hope you punched them. Hard enough to break their nose.” His cheeks flush with anger.
“If I have time to spare, I spend it studying magic or resting,” Marjorie says after a few beats have passed, completely ignoring Mikayla’s other questions.
Best not to pry then.
“Studying is a better use of your time than losing your pay in card games,” Mikayla says with forced cheer, giving Luke a pointed look. They’ve had this conversation frequently.
She sets into trimming, evening the ends, making sure the lines of the cut are absolutely perfect. Maybe she’s dragging it out a little, but this might be the most conversation anyone’s ever gotten out of Marjorie.
“Why do you keep picking on me?” Luke pouts, but it doesn’t last long because he taps the shelf next to the embroidery kit. “Hey, if you need more materials for this, I can get them for you.”
Marjorie turns to a block of stone in the chair. “No, thank you.”
Luke holds up his hands, waving them negatively. “For free, I mean. No charge. No debts. Just…” A shadow of something crosses his eyes, and he scrubs the pad of his thumb over the ring he always wears. “These things should be finished.”
The longing in his voice makes Mikayla’s heart ache, too. She knows him well enough by now to recognize that nostalgia and homesickness are to blame.
Marjorie exhales quietly and mutters something Mikayla doesn’t quite catch.
“What?” she prompts.
“I could use more purple,” Marjorie repeats, louder this time. “Violet preferably.”
Luke beams at her like he’s won the lottery or finally outwrestled Ursa. He snaps his fingers. “I know just the place.”
“Great,” Mikayla groans. “Now he’s going to drag me shopping.” She gives Marjorie an exaggerated wink, but the other woman only stares at her like she’s lost her mind.
Well. She and Luke can be a lot sometimes, Mikayla supposes.
“Anyway,” Mikayla says, sing-song. “Looks like I’m all done.” She tucks the scissors in her back pocket and dusts off her hands. “Luke, hand me a mirror, will you?”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Mikayla ignores his sass and hands the mirror over to Marjorie once he slaps it into her hand. “Well, what do you think?”
Marjorie holds up the mirror and scrutinizes her appearance, her hands rising from beneath the drape to touch her newly shorn locks. Her ears show now, but she’s got some bangs to frame her face. Mikayla had decided on a little swoop to the pixie cut, and it looks fantastic with her round features, but there’s not enough hair at any point for someone to get a grip on, and that was the point.
“It’s… nice,” Marjorie says finally, and she sounds surprised, but pleased. “Thank you.”
Mikayla beams. “You’re welcome!” She unclips the drape and gives it a shake, hair fluttering to the floor. “Now you can just let it grow, or I can touch it up for you every few weeks. Entirely up to you. I don’t mind one bit. At least someone is letting me indulge.” She gives Luke a pointed look.
He snorts as he re-packs all of her different combs and scissors. “If I let you anywhere near my head, next thing I know, my hair will be neon green or some shit.”
“I have better taste than that,” Mikayla retorts, indignant. “Then again, a green would look good on you. Goes with your eyes.”
He flips her off over his shoulder. “You’re never touching my hair.”
“I appreciate the help,” Marjorie says, loud enough to be heard over both of them, as she rises from the chair. “But I really do have a lot of work.” She gestures to the table and the colorful costumes in various stages of completion. “I’m sure you both do as well.”
“Of course, of course. We don’t want to overstay our welcome,” Mikayla says with a little bow and a smile. She helps Luke pack up the rest of her stuff. “We’ve got work, too, don’t we, Luke? Both of us.”
“Lots of work,” Luke echoes dryly. He smacks her hand away from messing up his careful arrangement of her combs and brushes and nudges the bag of barrettes in her direction, to throw over her shoulder.
He’s such a good assistant.
There’s hair all over the floor still, but given the way Marjorie is looking at them and withdrawing, it’s probably best they skedaddle.
“Tons of work,” Mikayla echoes, adjusting the strap on her shoulder as Luke hefts the crate into his arms. “But still, plenty of time for dinner with a friend, right?”
Marjorie blinks at her, a broom mysteriously appearing in her hands. “What?”
“You should sit with us at dinner tonight,” Mikayla suggests as she pushes Luke to the door, ignoring his grumbled ‘she asked us to leave, not act like our asses are on fire, sheesh’. “Luke’s face will scare everyone away, I promise.”
“Oy!”
Mikayla swears there’s a twitch of a smile on Marjorie’s face, though it doesn’t linger. “I’ll think about it.”
It wasn’t an outright refusal, so Mikayla’s marking that down as a victory.
Luke fumbles at the door with his free hand until Mikayla reaches around him and twists the knob. They stumble out of the caravan like two folks desperately escaping a haunted house, and Mikayla twists to walk backward, giving Marjorie a big smile.
“We’ll save a seat for you!”
Marjorie hovers in the doorway, her brow furrowed. “If you insist,” she says.
Mikayla spins back around, jogging a little to catch up to Luke. “Did you hear that? It was a yes.”
“I heard a maybe, Mikki.”
“I’m choosing to be optimistic,” Mikayla says as they finally slow to a more reasonable pace, though excitement still bubbles in her belly. “You know I was just teasing, right. There’s nothing wrong with your face.” It’s an unreasonably handsome face, truth be told.
She keeps that to herself.
Luke clucks his tongue and shoots her a finger-gun, which he knows she hates. “My face is perfect.”.
Mikayla rolls her eyes.
“But do you really think she’ll join us?” Luke asks.
Mikayla hums. “I think we have a better chance than anyone else.” She draws in a deep breath, excitement dimming as she starts to process the whole encounter. “Did you see how she’s living? It’s like she’s ready to run away any second.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Luke sighs.
“She needs friends, Luke. People who are willing to put in an effort, who want to look out for her, and treat her with some goddamn respect.” Not like those awful twins. Ugh.
Luke tosses the crate up on his shoulder again. “And you think that’s going to be us.”
Mikayla nods, her insides sparking with joy at the way Luke says ‘us’. He always says ‘us’ like it’s a given that they’re going to do everything together. “You disagree?”
“Nope.” He pops the word with a wink. “You know me. I follow your lead. If you say we’re the best ones for the job, then I believe you.”
His confidence in her makes that happy little swell in her chest rise again.
“Besides, I gotta admit, I’m damn curious,” Luke adds as he adjusts the crate and pulls out his phone, lifting it in vain to try and get a signal -- ever hopeful he is. “She’s got a story, that’s for sure.”
“And if we’re lucky, we might get to hear it,” Mikayla says.
“Yep.” Luke squints at his phone, and cheers when it lights up with a single bar. “Fuck, yeah. Show me where I stand, baby.”
Mikayla shakes her head. She doesn’t know why he keeps trying to participate in those gaming tournaments when he doesn’t have a consistent signal. She turns back toward her family’s caravan, Luke trailing in her wake, with a bounce to her step.
Marjorie had let them in, just a little, and Mikayla couldn’t be happier. That look of surprise and delight on her face when she saw her new haircut is something Mikayla is going to treasure for the rest of her life.
She really hopes Marjorie joins them for dinner. This could absolutely be the beginning of a beautiful something.
It really could.
a/n: I hope you all enjoyed! There's more coming because these amazing folks commissioned me again! \o/
