Just as they would any other day, the people mill about the streets. Nemesis stands by the window of Beaumort’s looking out, watching their uniformly boring forms pass by. No one here is worth a second glance, and any other day they wouldn’t be getting it.

“Something is on your mind,” Theory says. It’s not a question, it’s a statement, though one with a curious undertone to it.

“Maybe,” he agrees, with just a hint of irritation.

“You sound angry.”

“I might be angry.”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He scoffs. “It’s not like you actually care - you’re just curious about me in the same distant sense you would be about a character in one of those ancient novels you’re always reading.”

“Maybe. But you must admit, normally you’re a lot more tolerant of it than this.”

He sighs. “Maybe I am.”

“You two look awfully somber.”

Callie has seemingly awoken and is standing behind them, eyes wide with curiosity as ever.

“I might be,” Nemesis admits.

“I’m not,” Theory says neutrally, “but he certainly is. I can’t imagine why, and he won’t talk to me about it.”

“Forgive me,” Nemesis says, with no intention of seeking or receiving the barest shred of forgiveness.

“Today means something to you, doesn’t it?” Callie asks the question clearly and with even tone.

He stares at the ground, awkwardly sorting through the many potential responses, none of them suitable, before finally choosing the one he finds least immediately offensive. “You think?”

“I think you were staring at the newspaper on the table a bit too long for someone who showed no interest in actually reading it. Beside that, there’s no reason for you to be in such a sour mood.”

He lets out a strained chuckle despite himself. “You really might be a fantastic private eye, you know? I can’t believe you noticed that.”

“You taught me well.” He knows that’s not true, and hearing the words makes him angry in a way he can’t quite describe. His knuckles curl on the dark brown oak windowsill. A bit of the paint chips off.

When he doesn’t say anything, she continues, with an undercurrent of nerves in her voice which certainly wasn’t there before. “Is it something I can help you with?”

“Afraid not,” he responds. “Afraid I’ve somewhere to be, anyway. Chase and I said we’d meet at the Bitter End.”

The meeting isn’t for an hour and a half, but these two don’t need to know that. He puts on his shoes with more urgency than he might normally, slinging his coat over his shoulder and rushing out the door.

Callie is there as it closes behind him. How could she possibly have gotten there so fast? “Won’t you at least tell me? I figured it out, after all.”

He rolls his eyes, though it’s out of her view. “Sure, sure. Today is a birthday I’ve never had cause to celebrate. Does that satisfy you?”

“Very much so.” She raises an eyebrow quizzically. “It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

“It might be.”

“I read a lot about birthdays. I don’t have one.”

Nemesis sighs. “...might sound insensitive, but I wish I didn’t have a birthday.”

“I’m not going to question that. I’ll let you go to your meeting, and I’m sorry.”

Nemesis shakes his head. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, my dear. Water the houseplants while I’m gone, because Theory surely won’t do it.”

It isn’t until he’s fully left Beaumort’s behind, turned the corner of Scroll Street, and become just another of the throngs of ordinary people on an ordinary day that he realizes just how reminiscent the conversation is of the ones he used to have with a certain man. How times have changed. The thought makes him sick to his stomach.

It’s a beautiful early summer day. Outside, it’s the perfect warm-but-not-hot temperature, with a light breeze making it the perfect environment. Nemesis is wearing far less layers than usual, feeling the wind run through his hair and remembering how different it had felt when his hair was long, and the air had been hot and sticky and Llygredish and smelling of smoke and rot and misery. The air here is cool and clear, though the smell of smoke remains, brushing lightly over his nose.

He stops by the wharf. The sea air is something he never got to experience in Citrea Viridia. The way it had been described to him, it sounded so idyllic and beautiful, but in person it’s even better. Nemesis can’t imagine ever living away from the sea again.

A wave crests and breaks. Spray hits his face. He doesn’t even try to dodge it.

Leviathan Bridge is a gorgeous beige-stone structure, and Nemesis pauses in the middle of the crowded footpath to look over the River Lethe where it runs into Drowned Man’s Bay. The dark and turbulent waves in the distance have softened into ripples, understated and harmless, flanking the central current. He watches a leaf fall from one of the oaks which flank each side of the river, carried away immediately by the river and fed to the mouth of the bay.

There’s an indescribable, hazy feeling that comes with having a bad day. Something so detached and ethereal, wretchedness cloaked in the fog of ephemeral beauty. He can’t let himself indulge these thoughts any longer, for his own sake.

The Bitter End smells of ground coffee and pancake syrup from meters away. The smell always puts a smile on Nemesis’s face, however faint.

Percy is waiting for him at the booth farthest from the door, grinning smugly when Nemesis arrives. He wonders if he hasn’t stumbled upon an especially good topic for an article. It occurs to him that he doesn’t know Percy well enough yet to concoct any alternate hypotheses, anyway - there are surely many things which would put him in a good mood of this nature, but Nemesis can’t imagine what they are.

“Afternoon,” he says, sliding into the seat across from Percy. Through the window, he can see the passerby rushing. He was just another one of them, mere minutes ago.

“It sure is,” Percy agrees. “You’re here early.”

“You are too,” Nemesis points out.

“Well, I like to sit here, reflect and such. It’s near enough to the office that it’s convenient. Nicer than spending all my time inside, isn’t it?”

“You’re still inside.”

“Well, at least I can get coffee here.” Percy looks at Nemesis, smiling. “Anyway, I have a lot to talk to you about. It’s probably for the best that you got here early.”

He certainly isn’t lying. Their conversation - a discussion of a series of thefts in the southeast Omen district known as the Bones, home to primarily impoverished fishermen and dock-workers and almost nothing whatsoever worth stealing - spans three cups of slightly oversteeped tea and two and a half plates of scones. The sky outside goes from its pleasant early-afternoon light gray to a far murkier color, though not dark enough to necessitate the switching-on of the streetlamps. Nemesis feels his attention occasionally straying, though not to anything important. Things like the patterns of the dust on the floor, or the way Percy drums his fingers against the handle of his cup when he’s trying to collect his thoughts, sharp and quick. But all conversations have their end, and eventually this one runs its natural course, and the two are left in silence, finishing their drinks with plenty still to think about.

“Nemesis?” Percy asks.

“That’s my name,” Nemesis answers.

“You’re upset about something.”

Nemesis blinks at him, hoping he’s successfully conveyed his confusion. “What makes you think that?”

Percy chuckles lowly, wagging a winger. “Nemesis, Nemesis...lying by omission works fine on people who don’t know you very well, when you only need to fool them once, but it doesn’t work nearly as well on your co-workers. The fact that you didn’t tell me ‘no, I’m not’ outright speaks volumes.”

“Okay.”

Percy’s grin falls. “Okay, bastard.”

“That’s me.”

“Yeah, it is.” But then Percy’s voice softens, as does his tone. “I don’t mean to pry into your personal business, but, you know - as your friend, seeing you this upset is a little upsetting to me, too. So if you want to talk about it-”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.” Percy takes a sip of his tea, seemingly unbothered, leaving Nemesis to consider his words a moment longer.

Finally, he sighs. “Er, Chase-”

Percy’s grin returns. “That’s my name.”

“You can’t tell what I’m about to tell you to anyone else, alright?” Nemesis has his compass ready, watching under the table as it indicates Percy’s utter sincerity, as it reliably does.

“I promise,” Percy agrees. As usual, to an almost irritating degree, he’s truthful.

“It’s my birthday today,” Nemesis admits.

Percy’s eyes widen barely. “Is that why you’re upset?”

“Sort of. I’m not upset so much as mildly...upset.”

“Why would you be upset that it’s your birthday?”

“A lot of reasons. You can’t tell this to anyone else, okay?” Though the risk is minimal, it’s the sort of personal information which could be used to connect Nemesis to his past. Better to avoid having it known entirely, just in case.

Percy stands up, having emptied his coffee. “Okay. And I won’t press you about it more, because clearly this is something personal, but I will be getting you a gift tomorrow.”

“You don’t need to. I can afford anything you possibly can.”

“That isn’t the point, Nemesis.” He pats him on the shoulder briskly as he leaves.

Percy wasn’t Nemesis’s only scheduled rendezvous on this most introspective of days. After he’s sure his companion has left, he makes his way to the scheduled meeting-place, east, to the harbor and the botanical gardens. He crosses back over the bridge, feels the wind in his hair again, and listens to his shoes thudding against the cobblestones as he walks.

It’s twilight, or at least Omen’s nearest equivalent, by the time he makes it to the public gardens. A soft breeze ruffles the foliage. On a small bench, sitting beneath a large carnivorous plant locked behind spectacular wrought-iron bars, Elias’s back is turned to him.

“Careful,” he says, teasingly. “I hear that thing’s eaten tourists before.”

“Would it really be able to do that without being taken somewhere more secure?” Elias moves over so that Nemesis can sit beside him, and he does. The black iron of the bench may as well be ice.

“I don’t know. It’s just a rumour. An urban legend.”

The two stare at the plant, which twists its vines around the bars of its cell. The vines aren’t prehensile - at least, they don’t look it - merely growing in whimsical configurations, like ivy, upwards towards the unreachable sun. Does a pitcher-plant experience want, Nemesis wonders? Does it have some instinctual knowledge of what must lie beyond the Umbra?

“It’s a strange-looking plant,” Elias observes flatly.

“I think it’s charming.”

Elias looks at him strangely. “It’s carnivorous, is what it is.”

“Nothing wrong with needing to survive.”

Elias chuckles lightly. “I guess not. I just hate the idea. I think all plants should photosynthesize. Ideally, all creatures.”

Nemesis gestures to the dark gray sky above them. “If we photosynthesized we would be dead by now.”

“That doesn’t-” Elias looks Nemesis in the eye and cuts himself off.

“You were about to say something depressing and concerning, weren’t you?”

“Possibly.”

“Elias…”

“I’m not going to,” Elias resolves. “Not on your birthday.”

“Elias,” Nemesis says more seriously. “If you were dead that would be terrible, okay? No redeeming features to that.”

“If you say so.”

“You can’t just keep saying that all the time, Elias. It’s a conversation-ender. It’s rude. It makes me wonder if you might not care that I worry about you.”

“I just don’t know what else to say,” he acquiesces. “Sorry. Happy birthday.”

“It’s alright. I didn’t think you were going to remember,” Nemesis admits. “I’m glad you did.”

“How could I possibly forget? It took years to get you to admit you have a birthday. Once I have that information, I’m not about to forget it.” He punches Nemesis in the arm, lighter than usual.

“You know I wouldn’t be offended if you did.”

“I’d be offended on your behalf, then!” The fist grabs onto his shoulders, shakes him lightly. “Idiot. Stop acting ungrateful. I wrote a poem for you.”

“You did what?”

Elias looks sheepishly away. “I wrote a poem. I thought...you like poetry, so I may as well. But I remembered too late that I hate writing, and that I’m also not very good at it. Sorry. I think I’m going to chicken out and buy you something a couple days late.”

“Elias,” Nemesis says seriously. “You know I want to hear what you’ve written, even if it’s completely rubbish.”

Elias doesn’t seem convinced beyond reasonable doubt, but he nods. “If you insist. I...I’m sorry it’s not better, though. I tried, but…”

“It’s alright. I appreciate that you tried. Anything you could have written for me would mean more than you can imagine, you know."

“If you insist,” Elias repeats. He brings out from his waistcoat pocket a folded piece of paper, which he unfolds with a tentative and trembling hand, clearing his throat. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Er- ‘When we first met in sunlight/For you a desolate place/You and I at once resolved/To leave without a trace/And though we suffer tribulations/Whether there or here/I thank each star in the cold sky/That you’ve lived another year.”

Nemesis applauds, muffled by his gloves. Elias flinches. “I’m sorry it was so short. I...I wanted to imitate your writing style, because you’re the only poet I ever read, really…”

“Calling me a poet is far too kind,” Nemesis says. “I loved it, though. Not at all that bad, for a first try.”

“Well...it’s like writing music with words, isn’t it?”

“I reckon you could say that.” Nemesis smiles at him, and is thrilled to see Elias smile back, in that subdued, Elias-y way.

And there’s a moment of silence, in which Nemesis leans his hand on the bench, and Elias casually places his own hand over it. The shadows around them twist like vines. The sky darkens.

“Thank you for coming out here today. And remembering my birthday. And...everything, really,” Nemesis says at last.

Elias nods. “You never need to thank me for anything like that. I’ll be here for your birthday every year I physically can. But it’s getting late, and Fitzroy will start to notice I’m missing.”

“And I...have things to do, as well.”

The two embrace and part ways. Nemesis mutters the words of Elias’s poem under his breath as he walks home. No masterpiece, certainly, but he can’t get it out of his mind.

As he lies in his bed, trying to let sleep take him, Nemesis thinks that, just perhaps, he’s begun to tolerate his birthday.

To the entire cast: do any of you sing well? Who sings frequently, if anyone, ability not withstanding?

ELIAS: I'm a musician, but I can't sing at all, and I wouldn't if I could. It's a little...attention-grabbing for my taste.

JING: Well, I like singing. It's relaxing.

ELIAS: It's part of your job, so I hope you like it.

ELIAS: Nemesis doesn't sing much, but he's actually pretty alright at it.

ELIAS: I used to have him accompany me, when I had sheet music which had both a vocal and piano part. He was acceptable at it.

NEMESIS: Acceptable?

ELIAS: Yes, acceptable.

PERCY: Well, Evie is also an amazing singer!

EVIE: I wouldn't say I'm amazing.

THEORY: You are, though.

EVIE: I do an okay enough job. I need to, sometimes, now that I'm trying to be an actress.

PERCY: Don't be modest, Eves, you're a triple threat! I like to sing, too.

NEMESIS: No offense, but you're not very good at it.

PERCY: None taken! It's fine, it doesn't stop me.

THEORY: I refuse to sing on principle.

PERCY: Really? Never?

THEORY: Never.

EVIE: I'm sure you would be alright at it. Come on, try it.

THEORY: ...

THEORY: Fine. [clears her throat] My mother used to sing this song back in the day...

THEORY: [singing, badly] ~White on white translucent black capes/Back on the rack/Bela Lugosi's dead/The bats have left the bell-tower/The victims have been bled/Red velvet lines the black box~

EVIE: Well, your voice sounds very strained, but there's potential.

THEORY: Do you think so?

CALLIE: I like to sing. Art used to say I had a really nice singing voice.

NEMESIS: I've never heard you sing.

CALLIE: Well, there's no point if there's no one around, is there?

To Percy: Thoughts on thoughts?

PERCY: ...

PERCY: They're good?

To Dorian: You are my dad.

DORIAN: Ah, am I?

DORIAN: ...

DORIAN: Don't joke about that, please. That's a serious accusation.

DORIAN: Also, it's not a question.

Nemesis: what's the strangest thing you've ever eaten?

NEMESIS: One time, when I was a little bit younger, I was at a summer party where fruit and a blender were provided for making refreshments to one's own taste.

NEMESIS: I don't know what came over me. A desire to spit in the face of this establishment? Simple stupidity?

NEMESIS: I picked up a single lime, put it in the blender, and watched the blades spin until it was quite thoroughly liquefied, peel and all.

NEMESIS: And then, out of spite, refusing to admit my mistake, I drank it. It was miserable.

NEMESIS: The worst part is that Elias was right there. He saw everything. What must he have thought of me? That our friendship did not end in that moment is a blessing, one which I do not deserve.

Theory: What are your hobbies?

THEORY: Reading. Organizing the bookstore. More reading.

THEORY: I don't read much for pleasure. It's generally research. I'm always seeking knowledge. Organizing the bookstore serves the same end. I'm not sure either of those count as hobbies, upon reflection. They're sort of my job.

THEORY: An actual hobby? Don't tell anyone, but sometimes I like to look at fashion magazines. They're delivered to me by mistake, so I might as well not let them go to waste. They're...an adequate distraction.

Theory: do you have a favorite book?

THEORY: Asking me to choose that is like asking me to choose my favorite neuron. All of them are essential, except for the ones that deal in trivialities, and all are equally valuable to my state of existence.

THEORY: You might say my favorite book is whichever I'm reading at the time. Or, perhaps...there are a few of my parents' research journals which couldn't possibly be replicated. Those are quite important.

Nemesis: thoughts on Elias?

NEMESIS: He's my best mate, isn't he? I don't know what you expect me to say about him. I wouldn't be friends with someone who I disliked, would I?

Percy: thoughts on Elias?

PERCY: He's, uh...

PERCY: I don't want to upset Nemesis but he's a little bit intimidating? I mean, he's so quiet, and he doesn't seem like he likes to talk to people at all...I always feel like I'm bothering him when we're in the same room.

PERCY: I'm sure he's nice deep down, though! I trust Nemesis's taste in people.

Theory: thoughts on thots?

THEORY: It is important to think, yes.

Callie: thoughts?

CALLIE: What?

CALLIE: ....

CALLIE: ...sorry?