Sleep
Sleep seemed to be all that Lucian's mind could think about. How long had it been? How long since he was infected? He couldn't tell. All he could think of was how great it would feel to just–
"Lucian!"
Lucian blinked awake, his eyes heavy and unwilling. He lifted his gaze to the man sitting across the worn oak table, its surface marred by decades of use and rubbed to a dull shine.
Algernon Blackwood didn't look like a man who belonged in the poor district of the NQSC. He was a small, portly old man dressed in his usual off-white knitted cardigan pulled over a light blue button-up and a perfectly knotted red silk tie. His skin was sallow, almost translucent, revealing the delicate veins underneath; his blue-green eyes shone with mischief, like he knew the punchline to a joke the rest of the world hadn't heard yet.
They sat in the Director's office, the heart of Blackwood Children's Home. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, sagging under the weight of ancient histories and leather-bound classics, the Director's personal hoard.
On the table sat a single ceramic coaster, holding a steaming mug of black coffee - the Director's addiction of choice. Beside it lay a sizable stack of documents; the administrative burden of keeping the orphanage afloat.
"I'm awake," Lucian groaned, his earlier drowsiness subsiding.
"Are you? Splendid. Because we still have to make the trip to the station, my boy."
Blackwood reached for his chipped mug. He took a slow sip, then leaned closer, carrying with him the scent of old parchment. "Do you remember what to tell the children?"
"Yeah," Lucian averted his gaze, "that I'm going to deliver a package to one of your old friends, and that I'll be gone for a while."
A sombre silence settled over the room, broken only when Blackwood took another slow, measured sip of his hellish brew and set the mug back onto its coaster with a sharp click.
"Very well," he said, his voice regaining its crisp, scholarly edge. "Up with you, then. Go and dress yourself properly, and do try to find a freshly ironed shirt. Come back when you're presentable; we'll say our goodbyes and make for the station."
He paused, his eyes twinkling with familiar playfulness as he adjusted his own tie.
"After all, it simply won't do to face your doom looking so… dishevelled."
When Lucian came back down the narrow staircase from the dormitories, he stepped into the office once more.
While the orphanage didn't have fine silk or wool, each child was expected to look their best. Lucian's clothes were nothing special: a plain collared shirt, faded from its original white by years of washing, paired with a set of dark trousers that had been handed down countless times. The fabric at the knees had thinned, and the cuffs were neatly mended. It wasn't much, but it was the closest thing the Home had to a uniform, and every one of the Director's children wore something similar whenever there was a visitor or a trip beyond the gate.
Blackwood regarded him for a long moment, his gaze travelling from Lucian's polished shoes to the tight collar of his shirt. Then, with a small huff through his nose, he pushed back his chair and walked over to open the wardrobe in the corner. When he turned back, he carried a black blazer draped carefully over one arm.
"This one is new," Blackwood said, giving it a brisk shake. "Bought with the highly irresponsible intention of wasting it on you." The corner of his mouth twitched, as if fighting a smile. "Try not to spill anything on it until after you've left my sight."
He helped Lucian into the blazer with practised ease, fingers brushing away invisible specks of dust on the lapels. Blackwood's gaze softened as he stepped back and took in the outfit. "Not bad," he murmured. "Almost respectable."
He hesitated, then slowly reached towards his own collar, loosening the knot of his own tie and slipping it free.
"You'll need one of these, too."
He stepped closer and looped the tie around Lucian's collar with practised efficiency. Up close, Blackwood had gone quiet, his lips pressed together tightly, the usual playfulness missing from his eyes.
"I thought you only had one," Lucian said, breaking the silence.
"I do." Blackwood's face gave nothing away. "Chin up."
Lucian obeyed. As the Director drew the knot snug, it cinched tight against his throat, and for a moment, he couldn't tell if it was the silk or his own throat that had gone tight.
"This tie," he continued, "has seen me through more tribulations than I care to count. Consider it on loan, for good luck. You are to return it, mind you. Preferably with yourself still attached."
"There," Blackwood said at last, straightening the knot with a sharp tug. "Now you almost look like a normal, functioning member of society."
"Yeah, yeah," Lucian grumbled, looking at the Director with a deadpan expression.
Meanwhile, Blackwood hummed under his breath, apparently satisfied, and turned back towards the wardrobe to fish out another tie for himself.
Left alone for a moment, Lucian walked over to the narrow mirror hanging beside the door. The blazer sat a little stiff on his shoulders, a better fit than what he was used to. Dark brown hair fell in loose curls around his ears and the back of his neck, the messy cut he had insisted on the last time Blackwood had tried to march him to the barber. The Director had protested, of course, something about "proper grooming" and "disrespectful youth," but he had relented all the same, muttering that Lucian would do whatever he pleased anyway.
His skin held its familiar olive tone, and his eyes were chocolate brown, ringed by dark circles which came with being infected with the spell. He dragged a hand through his hair, attempting to flatten a stray curl that sprang right back up and huffed. "Almost presentable," he muttered to his reflection, "That'll be the day."
Blackwood's reflection appeared in the mirror as the man approached behind him, fastening the navy tie at his own throat, the playfulness returning to his demeanour. He reached for his coat, then rested a hand briefly on Lucian's shoulder.
"Come along, my boy," he said softly. "Best not delay it any further."