RP:Hell Is Empty

Part of the Through A Glass, Darkly Arc

Summary: Mysterious Forces are at Work outside The Landon Household.

The Landon Estate

After the first few days of having a night nurse, the Landon’s settle into a better rhythm. Marge still picks the girls up from school. While Alvina’s on maternity leave, she’s there to greet them. She puts effort into creating little activities for them to do, specifically for each of her daughters so they can feel equally special. It takes her mind off the nagging inferiority of having a nurse anyway. Hudson’s reassurance that it’s a blessing doesn’t soothe her on its own. They are lucky to be in this situation, they should be grateful. They have it better than most. She tries to remember that while she cuts little carrots and grapes into funny faces for Harper and Luna’s afternoon snack. Carrot sticks for baseball stitching, delicately carved cucumbers for rabbit ears. Raisin eyes, and a cookie for mom just because. There’s still almost an hour before they get home, and the doorbell rings. Alone in the house, it’s unusual, so Alvina waits pacing on the other side of the door trying to look before she opens it a crack with the chain still on the door.

When Marge gets home, Alvina’s standing in the foyer looking shaken. She urges the girls inside and moves them into the living room; Alvina directs them to the kitchen for their snacks before the two women converse in rushed, hushed tones. Hudson isn’t home yet and it only makes Alvina more anxious the longer it takes for him to arrive. When he arrives Alvina is waiting for him. She’s visibly disheveled and the girl’s aren’t in the common area. Marge is juggling their children (To be fair, Bryce is just sleeping). His wife is staring at them through the glass, the little group is out on the patio while she’s wrapped in her arms in the living room. “Where have you been?” She hisses as soon as he’s come in, fingers laced into the collar of his shirt anxiously. It’s not the way you want your wife to pounce on you.

Hudson doesn’t think he’s particularly late getting in today but he is by his wife’s standards apparently. She’s all over him, but he can feel a tremor in her, and she doesn’t look right. He feels a pulse of territorial, lupine energy, and he looks past his wife to the patio, where all the children are visible. Playing quietly. With glass between them and him. An intentional partition, he thinks, taking in the harried element to his wife’s appearance. He sets his briefcase down by his feet and puts his hands on her waist, as if to steady her so he can look at her. “Hey,” he greets her, peering into her face. “I was at work, I don’t think I’m really... what’s going on?” He feels the forceful urge to stomp the lights out of whatever had spooked his wife. “Whatever it was, you should have sent someone for me,” he says gently, his arm sliding around her to press her against him. “...Alvina?”

Alvina’d followed his gaze to their children outside. He says her name and she snaps her back to face him. Suddenly, she’s at a loss for words. All the time before he’d been home, she’d been chomping at the bit! Now she stammers and looks at the closed door. “Someone came by today…and gave me this.” There’s a manila envelope on the counter, it’s exterior is shredded, papers visible inside. Also on the counter is a fresh set of flowers. “We’ve been delivered papers.” The very thought steals her breath. Papers. When Hudson pulls them out, he’ll see a seal dwarfed by the blocky name of the Cenril Child Custody Investigation Services. Alvina’s knees nearly give out to see it again. She clings to him before collapsing onto the couch and burying her face in her hands. “They are investigating all the children who were born during the Curse for maltreatment.” A ridiculous sentiment, considering Hudson runs the city. Alvina doesn’t know what’s more alarming; The fact that Hudson didn’t know this would happen or the fact it could be entirely out of his control. That hadn’t occurred to her in quite some time. Not since Desparrow’s stalking days. The letter itself is fairly cut and dry, they are requested to comply with a mandatory health inspection to determine any lingering curse effects…but the thing is? They weren’t there? Where it’s come from, Alvina doesn’t know. A Larketian Mob? Someone under Josleen’s thumb? “Did Jos send them? Do you think she knows?!”

Hudson takes the envelope from Alvina and begins to peruse its contents, his brow furrowing in concentration as he processes the official seeming correspondence therein. He is listening to his wife but reading quickly and forming a game plan. He doesn’t need to read everything - a lot seems like boilerplate - to know that whoever sent this to him is going to need to make it go away, and fast. He slides the papers back into the envelope and sets it on a nearby counter. “I doubt she knows,” Hudson addresses his wife. He feels a preternatural calmness settle over him. “I’m going to make it go away,” he tells her. “First of all, we live outside of Larket’s jurisdiction which means they can go screw themselves. Nobody can force our kids anywhere for any health inspection except Cenril, and I control Cenril, OK? Second of all, there’s no way she knows. Larket is very large and Macon and Josleen can’t literally supervise every single royal agency, some things are delegated, it’s the same in Cenril. Evidently they’re not all singing from the same hymn sheet because Macon and Josleen believe there was a different cause to the curse on the children.” He reaches out to stroke Alvina’s back. There’s a possibility this didn’t come from the crown but he won’t say that. It would unsettle her. “I’m going to look into it and it will go away,” he speaks gently to her. “What did the guy who dropped it off look like?”

Alvina’s looking back at their daughters when Hudson speaks. “I don’t know. I opened the door with the chain on it to ask what he wanted, he shoved the flowers and envelope through - mentioned the curse quickly then turned to walk away. Bulky build, blonde ish hair, sunglasses?” It wasn’t important in the moment. “I just thought you sent me flowers for no reason and…” A beat. “Brennia and I talked about the curse, that it was the cause of all this. I thought it was common knowledge by now.” Surely Josleen wasn’t denying crucial evidence that the children were in danger because of the Bard’s college. It doesn’t make her feel –better- to know she’s linked to an organization that has actually killed people but it wasn’t intentional. Only a mad men would want to murder people on purpose. Luna’s stomping her foot on the concrete, gesturing dramatically to Harper, who is pointing and laughing at her. Marge steps in and pulls a piece of chalk out of Luna’s hair. When Marge’s back is turned, Harper sticks her tongue out at her sister, which proves to enrage her. Luna’s little face goes red and she plops down hard on her butt to scribble furiously with the retrieved chalk. “We were registered as Larketian citizens at the time, are you sure they can’t do anything?” Now she’s turned back into him, urging him down on the couch with her. Her eyes are misty, on the very edge of crying. All she wants is for him to be right. Bryce wriggles in his bassinet and Marge rocks it gently while the girls continue to chat. Or rather, Harper keeps chatting at Marge and Luna but Luna ignores her with endless toddler rage. “I heard about those witches…” She whispered. The witches that naga had locked Larket. Pilar’d told her how gruesome it was. “What if it was a naga? There’d be no way to tell!” She shouts, covering her mouth. “What if they’ve moved on from experimenting on witches to children they think were effected by witch magic?!” Is it possible? Could Hudson fight a naga? For once, she isn't sure.

Hudson’s attention pivots to the flowers, which he’d discounted as being Random Flowers his wife had purchased. It happens, sometimes. His theory of this having nothing to do with the Larket monarchy becomes cemented, and he feels a chill descend his spine. He is quick to pick them up as Alvina is talking. He is hardly listening to her now. He is rushing with the flowers to the door and throws it open and leaves without having answered any of the things she’s said. Once outside, he hurls the flowers and vase across their lawn. They go flying, and as if in slow motion the flowers slide out of and separate from the vase, which eventually connects with their mailbox and explodes extremely dramatically. It makes a loud noise, attracting the rest of their family out back. Luna knows to stay put, but Harper comes running. Hudson has sank to his knees by the time she reaches him. “Daddy, daddy, the mail is on fire,” she exclaims, patting his back with her hands.

Alvina's talking but she can tell Hudson's tuned out now. She stands, spinning towards the kitchen and leans into the doorway just as the flowers are connecting with the mailbox in maelstrom of fire and singed Cosmo pages. The explosion brings her to the floor, sliding down the front door’s wooden trim. What… is happening… Luna’s stayed with Marge, clinging to her skirt on the back patio while Bryce wails. Not even their lazy (baby) son could sleep through a literal explosion. Marge urges Luna inside through the glass doors and screams after Harper, who is long gone. “Harper, come here.” Alvina hisses, her daughter's voice the only thing that could make her stumble back upright. She grabs Harper’s chunky wrist, daring a look at Hudson where he’s crumpled in the yard inbetween. It all happens quickly, and yet...it feels painfully slow. The smoke rising off their lawn in darkening plumes, the dusting of ashy parchment. The panic hasn’t set in yet; That it could have just as easily gone off in the house. That they’d been in danger. Right now, Kanze and Kam are shuffling out in their evening robes to see what the fuss is about. Kam’s hair is up in rollers and she’s wearing some green skin mask. It’s horrifying. Alvina scoots Harper back inside where Marge grabs her. The front door slams shut behind her while Alvina moves back onto the lawn to collect Hudson just as Kam and Kanze reach them.

Hudson's arm comes out reflexively to catch Harper and corral her against him. "Monkey, go inside," he tells her, and then Alvina is escorting her. Hudson gets to his feet, waves at Kanze and a woman who must presumably be Kam but is presently unrecognizable. "Sorry for the disturbance, guys," he calls out amiably, approaching the bomb site and holding a hand behind him to signal Alvina to wait. "Everything OK?" asks Kam, who is looking at Alvina because men cannot be trusted to accurately report on spontaneous explosions in the yard. Hudson, for his part, engages his vintage self and speaks the alchemical name of water to engage in some spontaneous firefighting. "Everything's fine," says Hudson. The fire from the blast is fairly contained because there's not much to spread it. It had rained earlier, and the grass is damp. "He's got it," Kanze tells his wife, touching her on the arm to urge her back inside. She looks meaningfully at Alvina as she follows him. It doesn't take Hudson very long to put out the fire on their mailbox, and once it's safe he squats beside the crushed glass vase. Sure enough, there's a crude mechanism that he picks up in his hands and presents to Alvina on his open palm. "Whoever did this is gonna die," he tells her, in what constitutes a failure in the usual process of filtering himself into the nice family man with a legitimate front business.

Alvina hangs back, arms wrapped anxiously across her chest. It’s fine. Everything’s fine...this time. Her frown is stretched in Kam’s direction, their neighbor can read the concern etched in her features but she goes with Kanze while mirroring Alvina’s expression. She’d like to say this retro Hudson activity is charming. In a different light it would be. When was the last time he’d even used alchemy for anything besides lighting candles? The lady of the house waits until Hudson crosses the damp grass to meet her, eyes doeish and fingers flexed around her forearms. She reads his face before he speaks, leaning over to look at the device. Maybe she needs to hear him say it so venomously because she doesn’t shy away with his unusual gangster force. This was no crazy random happenstance. This was the nascent of some wicked thing, she could just feel it in her bones. “What do we do now?” Her voice, a dying sparrow’s call while her eyes drag across his palm for clues on the device’s construction. It was too crude to trace to anything. If he storms off now, she’ll feel too raw. Her hands find life and flesh digs into his shirt sleeve. “Don’t go…”

Hudson lets Alvina have the device. She knows about the bomb and now he sees no reason why she shouldn’t study its charred remains if she wants to. Just as he’s still an alchemist, she’s still an engineer. She seems to take his handing it over as a sign that he’ll be leaving them, and he’s quick to sweep her into the circle of his arms. “I’m just going to send a bird to some guys to watch the house and I want to check the property,” he tells her. He’s certain that there won’t be anyone because whoever had planted this bomb had clearly done so while it had just been his wife at home, to avoid him in all likelihood. Well, that won’t be an option soon because there’ll be plenty of household ‘staff’ - his guys - after this to keep an eye on her too. He holds her tightly against him and glances at the charred remains of the mailbox. There’ll need to be someone to clean that up too, and he’ll need to talk with Kanze to assure discretion. Because, while for most people when there’s something like this, it gets in the papers, that’s not the case for the Landon family. He feels an angry itch, which is the wolf straining to assert himself, and presses his lips to his wife’s forehead. “I’ll be back soon,” he promises her.

What remains of the bomb falls from her hands when he pulls her against him. She buries her head beneath his chin and stares blindly at this horrible dad polo he’s bought himself. Just as bad as his pink horse or lime drink umbrella ties. She nods against his chest with little reassurance, keeping hidden in the curtain of her hair a beat longer. Alvina pulls back to speak when his lips connect with her forehead and she feels the disquiet of this attack temporarily quell. There was a time when his anger would get the better of him, she prayed this wasn’t one of those times. Wolf rage could help, but too much would leave them open. Whoever did this was patient. And nothing was more terrifying or lethal than a notched arrow and a hunter’s patience. She liked to think he was better now. That time and experience had made him more cautious and in control. She tried not to think of what he told her, about nearly ripping Astrid to shreds on Cenril’s shoreline. “Okay.” But she didn’t want to let him go. He’ll burst into grains of sand and slip through her fingers. She buries her face into his cheek and kisses his stubbled cheek. “I’m going to go check on Marge and the girls…” A beat. “I love you. Hurry back to me.” Alvina unweaves herself from his arms, for fear she might not be able to if she hesitates. She gives him a weak smile and gathers the bomb’s remains back in her hands to take inside. Bryce is still shrieking, she can hear from the foyer. Her days of fighting weren’t behind her but her children made her more cautious. Hell, she was never much of a warrior to begin with. The blood on her hands was old or well earned. Could she fight beside Hudson if she had to? He’d never let her so close to the wolf in him.

Hudson had pulled his wife into his arms because it’s what you do in the circumstances but his mind is now suffused with the need to do more than just console her. He needs to make sure his family is safe. However thirsty for more reassurance she is, she also understands that he needs to do this and that it takes precedence. To say nothing of her understanding that the wolf needs to do this. “OK. I love you too, I will,” he tells her, just before she untangles herself from him. He watches her turn toward the siren-like noise that no doubt emanates from their son and heads off in the direction of where the birds for sending messages are kept. He sends word to his men to keep watch on the house and then gives himself over to the wolf. As predicted there’s not much to see, and very little to smell. Still, he makes a thorough circuit around his property until he’s satisfied that there’s nobody there who shouldn’t be. He returns home to find everyone sitting down to eat, including Marge, who is staying late today out of an abundance of caution. It is understood that he’ll have one of his men escort her home. The girls have picked up on the strange mood and commence an excitable chatter about the exploded mailbox. There are several failed attempts to steer the conversation back to what they’re learning in school.

Alvina seems taut like a spring but keeps it together, uses her mom voice and characterizes the mailbox’s sudden demise as a spontaneous fire seemingly caused by someone littering a cigarette, so the whole thing is now a teachable moment. After dinner, the night nurse shows up for Bryce, Marge gets sent home, and Hudson and Alvina put their daughters to bed. Hudson finds Alvina drinking a glass of wine in the living room. He gets a beer and sits next to her. “My guys are watching the house,” he tells her. “I wish I could tell you I knew what’s going on. We’ll look into it tomorrow, you’ll need to remember everything you can about the guy who was here.”

Alvina blinks when she feels the couch sink beside her. She’s still staring in the direction of the coffee table, the haze of thoughtful reflection dimming her eyes. The wine glass in her hand isn’t level, the ruby liquid pools against the curve of the glass as it leans between her fingers. “What should I have done?” She asks him. If they don’t know what’s happening, if this isn’t an obvious statement that Hudson understands...What does that mean overall? That whoever is behind this has the upper hand? The element of surprise? It was a message, but who was it from? A sigh of disappointment breaks her concentration. “I didn't get a good look at him, his face was mostly obscured by the flowers. I don’t even know if I’d recognize his voice if I heard it again. Blonde, I don’t know.” The self condemnation thickens in each new repetition. As the mother of three children, isn’t it her responsibility to do all she can to keep them safe? Why, then, can she not remember what one person looks like?! Her metal digits lightly trail half of her face. Their sense of security and protection were disquieted by this affair.

Hudson slides close to his wife and slings an arm around the back of the sofa. “Nothing, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he tells her. He is thinking about how the bouquet of flowers had sat in their kitchen. He wonders when it would have exploded, and who might have been there. It’s a dark fantasy, and he dwells on it, reveling in how painful it is. Only by thinking about the worst possible scenario can you appreciate how lucky you are. He knows Alvina has no more information to tell him but he wishes that she did. He’s been thinking off and on about who this might have been and drawing blanks. He’ll reach out to the usual suspects but this has caught him flat footed. Had he missed something? He must have. What devastating consequences. He hears the edge of self-loathing in Alvina’s voice, too. “Don’t - don’t be hard on yourself. I send you flowers sometimes,” he tells her. “There’s no way you could have known.” He drinks from his beer. “The important thing is you told me about everything,” he tells her. “And my guys are here and looking into it.” His gaze moves to the glass doors that lead to the patio, where he can see the outline of one of his men, looking away from the house, out toward the yard. “We’ll know a lot more tomorrow. I’m sorry this is happening. I’m going to fix it.”

Alvina leans forward to set the wine glass on the coffee table. No lipstick mars the rim. “I feel like I should have known. Like some paternal sixth sense should have kicked in and I could have reached out, grabbed him by the throat and body slammed that thug like a bag of wet noodles.” She could have said anything, why wet noodles? What are they doing in a bag to begin with? Her head finds his shoulder in the circle of his arm draped over the couch and sighs again. The men roaming the yard were distracting, made the hair on the back of her neck rise. A physical representation of their danger. “You do send me flowers sometimes.” She agrees in a tired tone, notes of affection hidden therein. The nagging thought of Hudson’s guys stays with her. What if one of them was less than loyal? Had a blade pressed against his throat? Would throw them under the carriage in less than a heartbeat. She wants to believe her husband’s truth instead. That he’ll find answers, resecure their safety, and break each individual bone in the bodies of those who put his family in danger. “I know.” comes the specious whisper through her curtain of crimson curls as she drinks in the wooded smell of him. It’s a beautiful sentiment she hopes will prove true.