Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Oh, things were going to be different around here.

New objects were created and invited every single day, although Skylar Specs certainly knew how to make a splash. Celia had known of her for a while now, the rumours of an object that could make everyone visible to living eyes spreading through their dimension like one of Dante’s more passionate romances, although Skylar had yet to make an appearance in the grander scheme of things. Quentin had been the first to tell the tale, promptly followed by a small gang of test tubes who were rather easy to break in questioning. However, an actual appearance had not yet occurred.

Until now.

Celia had watched from above as poor Dorian’s windows were shattered (something Tony could fix) and the little gift box was thrown rather spectacularly onto dear Florence. And then her human had moved – stumbling, bumbling, opening the door into their face – and those shiny little aviators were sitting so darling in the box. And Celia just knew – simply knew – that everything was about to change.

But now the human was safely in bed, Betty brushing a hand over their forehead to soothe them into deeper sleep, and Skylar was perched rather happily against the end table. Now the theatrics were over, introductions were in order.

Knock-knock. “Mayor Celia?”

“Come in.”

Florence bustled in, the famed newcomer not far behind. Celia smiled warmly at Florence, before turning to Skylar Specs. “Thank you for coming. Please, do take a seat.”

As Skylar rested in a white leather armchair, Florence bustled off to make tea. She always did that – invited everyone in, then made herself scarce so the meeting felt more formal, only to return with a near-perfect-to-perfect tea preference to ease any nerves. She was such a darling.

Although it appeared that Celia needed not to worry about nerves – Skylar sat with the brightest smile she had ever seen, rivalling Lux. Her legs were crossed underneath her pencil skirt, her hair still perfectly parted, those aviators resting easily on her nose. “Mayor Stipple! I’ve heard much about you, a pleasure to see you in the plaster.”

Celia smiled at Skylar, delighted that the newcomer was just as polite and joyous to other objects as she was to the human. “And an honour to see you as well. It is not everyday we get an object that shakes up the house as much as you. But please, no need for such formalities. Celia is perfectly fine.”

“Alright, Celia.” Skylar leans forward, forearms resting on her raised knee. “I understand I’ll be changing a lot around here, but please – I would much rather treat this as a, uh… an interdimensional diplomacy! And I am the diplomat."

“An emissary or representative may be a more technically correct term, but let us not get bogged down in technicalities.” Celia tented her fingers, leaning back in her own chair. “Rest assured that I would never think of you as a troublemaker. Of course, your arrival has brought a new atmosphere to the house, but you don’t seem like the sort who would wish to cause us harm. But, we can navigate it.”

Skylar let out a quick sigh that almost sounded like a very quiet ‘yay’. “Agreed! I’ll be checking in with the human regularly – just to sort out my own navigation, any questions they may have, etc. I think with me aiding the human in their actions, and you continuing to do your mayoral duties with the rest of the objects, we can make a real harmony here!”

“I like the sound of that.”

Florence knocked quickly on the door, only opening it once Celia confirmed entry was acceptable with a quick ‘come in’. She bustled in with a tray, two steaming cups of tea, a filled teapot, a little pourer of creamer and some sugar cubes in a porcelain pot rested atop. “Sorry for interrupting!”

“Not at all, dearest. Skylar, it would be my absolute pleasure to introduce you to Florence, my secretary. I doubt this place would be half as smoothly operating without her.”

Of course, Florence blushed deeply with that lovely shade that made her cheeks glow. Skylar smirked knowingly, taking up her teacup with a smile. “And my absolute pleasure to meet her! Skylar Specs, the Dateviators.”

“Ah, Florence! I’m just the floor. Little old floor!”

Celia smiled, picking up her own teacup with a knowing smile. “There’s nothing ‘little’ about you, dear. The effect you have on anyone who comes to meet me is extraordinary.”

Skylar nodded enthusiastically. “I agree! I knew I’d be a little bit of a sight to behold, but you made me feel more than welcome. Although I think I am now plastered all over Placebook from Phoenicia…”

Celia frowned. “I’ll… talk to her about appropriate posting.”

At the topic change, Florence bustled out to avoid getting any more attention.

Skylar takes a sip of her tea, setting the cup back onto the tray. “But yes – rest assured that I am here to help! I am here for a reason, but it shouldn’t affect anyone here negatively. Think of the human as just another object who has come to the house! Just someone else to talk to and make friends with.”

“A rather long-standing object, but I understand your point. I would certainly appreciate you introducing yourself around to everyone – you may be a more… unique object, but you are still one of us.”

“Not a problem!”

The rest of the talk was simple and easy, both spending the hours merely getting to know each other. After Florence returns with news of everyone’s excitement at the newcomer, Skylar gets to her feet. “Well, I’d best get to know everyone’s names before the human wakes! Much easier to know when to step in, you know how it is.”

“I completely agree.”

Skylar downs the rest of her tea with a smile. “And tell Florence she makes excellent tea! I can’t wait to return.”

“I shall let her know.”

And with a flick of her fantastic hair, Skylar Specs disappeared out of the office.

Chapter Text

It always took a couple of tries to get Phoenicia in a meeting.

It was not that Phoenicia was rude – heavens, no. She was a little intense and a little too loud for early weekend mornings, but all it required was a droplet of patience for that intensity to melt into a mood-brightening bubbliness. And besides, Celia never objected to hearing all the latest news (or ‘gossip’ as Phoenicia insisted on clarifying) about her constituents.

The issue was that Phoenicia was so damn busy. She could always be found in the same place – either sitting on the human’s dresser until her social battery was back up or by the human’s side as they walked around the home – but her workload seemed never ending. A stream then, or a post now, or a doomscroll after. Something was always coming up, something that always ate into time just a little too much for Celia to call a guaranteed meeting. She and Timothy had nearly broken down over the scheduling.

But, finally, she was coming in. Only three days and fourteen hours after her initial requested time, but better late than never. Even Timothy could not steer Celia off of that phrase.

And there Phoenicia was, rocking up like the star she was, reclining in the armchair with all the ease in the world. “Well, how do you do Madame Mayor? How’s it goin’?”

Celia smiled warmly, knowing well enough that even if she made her usual ‘call me Celia’ remark, it would fall on deaf ears. Phoenicia enjoyed her pet names, and Celia certainly did not mind. “Rather well, actually. Skylar Specs has made her mark, and there have been no complaints about her presence, so I’m rather happy.”

“Good! I like Skylar myself. What a pretty lady!”

Celia flushed. “Indeed. And you? Keeping well?”

Before, that question would have earned a rather dismissive remark, perhaps a wave of a hand and a ‘work keeps me busy, but I’m young and hot so what’s not to love’ or something of a similar calibre. Something just enough to keep Celia from prying, despite her worries, and to move the conversation quickly onto the major points of the day.

But Phoenicia grinned and leaned back in her chair as though she were the human flopping onto Koa’s chest after a long day. A smile so bright and genuine that Celia thought the camera had gone off appeared on her face and, for the first time in a while, Celia noticed no dark circles under Phoenicia’s eyes. “I am! I’ve been shuffling some things around, really getting through my schedule, and taking some time off. And you know what? I’ve never felt better?”

Celia’s own smile grew a little bigger. “Is that so?”

“It is so! I’ve been worrying less about keeping up, I’ve got more time for catching up with friends rather than just posting about them, and I feel like the quality of my shit has gone up. Feels more authentic, you know?”

And Celia can see it on her face – the way her skin glows, how healthy she looks and how much sharper she is dressed. Phoenicia was never a fashion faux-pas for her own style – her clothes were always well-tailored and suited to her – but she fills her dress out in a very flattering way now, all her curves in the right place.

Celia had an eye for that sort of attention.

“That’s very good to hear, Phoenicia. I’m afraid I haven’t been catching your streams lately – the lack of work I had expected I would need from Skylar’s arrival has instead been filled with various complaints. But do keep me informed of any special ones.”

Phoenicia swatted away the apology easily. “You’ve got enough on your plate, Miss Thing! Don’t you worry about catching any of my stuff. You can thank the human for the fact there’s any of my stuff still here!”

Celia raised an eyebrow. “The human? How so?”

Gossip time. “Oh, baby, they’ve been all over the place! They’ve been chatting up the walls, the cups, damn near everything! But with me? Oh, they’ve been helping me cool down, you know? Take some time for myself – although never by myself, if you’re catching what I’m dropping.”

A heat spread up Celia’s neck. “I… believe I am.”

“But I’m getting a new case, a battery change once they start leaving the house – and in my day-to-day, I’m thriving! Without them, I’d be setting fire to the carpets! Arma would be knocking on your damn door every day.”

“And poor Florence would be singed.”

Phoenicia laughed. “But anyway, I’m doing well with my current work. Keeping up with my streams, although they were never hard to begin with. It’s all skincare and self-care anyway, which certainly on the skincare, you’ve got covered. How’d you get that glow?”

Celia flushed slightly, reaching up to brush her own cheek with the back of her hand. “Basic hygiene, I suppose. And it is a lot easier to keep oneself clean when shoes and detritus cannot cover you.”

“Well, if you ever do find the secret, you’d best let me know! My followers would go wild for that kind of routine.”

With a slight chuckle, Celia reached for her tea. It had gone slightly cold with Phoenicia’s slightly hurried arrival, although it was still palatable. And besides, she would never tell Florence that – the poor thing would hurry herself with making another batch, while this lot was still perfectly drinkable. “I am flattered, although I don’t think seeing their mayor wipe face cream on her face would appease the public. Perhaps in my autobiography."

Phoenicia held out her hands as though reading the title. “’Mayor Celia: A Ceiling’s Guide To Looking Up’. I’d read the hell outta that!”

The rest of the talk was pleasantly mundane – Phoenicia went through various social medias and remarks on various objects’ activity while Celia made a few mental notes to check in on certain ones. Mitchell Linn’s reviews, while certainly critical, were starting to upset the delicate balance of the kitchen, which was already turbulent enough. There were only so many times Celia could review the sectional religion rules before she crumbled.

But Phoenicia was animated and happy, and Celia was grateful. Maybe having the human around wouldn’t be as simple as Skylar had implied.

Chapter Text

Celia knew her job could be trying. There were days when she felt as though she was making no difference, that all her listening and shuffling laws and solving disputes would never end. All her time spent untangling each string from the knot of her people was just creating another one.

But there were some days – or some people – that just made everything a touch easier.

Florence was an obvious highlight – the way she always asked how Celia was doing when she stepped into the office with a genuineness that still had yet to fade, the way she remembered corrected mistakes after the first try with that darling flush on her face, the way she made every day just a little brighter. Had Florence not been there for her since the beginning, Celia was certain she would have quit. Or, at least, been a lot more miserable.

There were others, though. Those who, when they arrived to her with complaints or questions or requests, were simply a delight to talk to. Like Mateo, always so polite and concise. Or Tyrell, who always had everyone’s best interests at heart. Or Dolly, who indeed left the floor in a bit of a mess, but who always gave such thoughtful and interesting ideas.

And then there was Wallace.

“Wall.”

Celia liked Wallace. She liked how concise he was, how steady he was, how eager he always was to exchange both simple pleasantries and in-depth analysis. He was never one to waste time, Wallace, and Celia could damn well appreciate that.

“I quite agree, Wallace. But given we have not seen Artt since the human moved in, I doubt you have anything to worry about concerning hooks or chips.”

“Wall, wall.”

Celia rubbed her temple slightly. “I can mention it to the human, but they are very busy. And given Dorian is being rather stern about people leaving the house… I cannot promise anything.”

“Wall!”

“Bring it up with him!” Celia chuckled slightly. “I know you two are close.”

Wallace chuckled lowly. “Wall?”

“Well, as close as one can be to Dorian.” She sighed. “Poor thing rarely gets close to people anymore. I'm hesitant to bring it up to him, given how sharply Keith left all of us, but I would appreciate you keeping an eye on him."

His big, meaty hand reached across the table, taking one of Celia’s and squeezing it. For a man as stacked as he was, he could be surprisingly gentle. “Wall, wall. Wall… wall.”

Celia let out a soft laugh, squeezing back and resting her other hand atop there’s. “I know! You come to me with a concern, and here I am shifting off my jobs onto you. At least I know that those shoulders of yours can house the weight of the world, let alone my worries.”

Wallace laughs joyously, patting Celia’s hands before letting go. He flexed jokingly, although the way his biceps bulged was nothing to laugh about. “Haha, wall!”

“Quite! I think Dunk would appreciate another workout with you… but I digress, you did not come here for me to set you up on various dalliances around the house. I can assure you that any changes to your surface will go through me first, whether Artt returns or something else changes. If the human has any plans, I will make sure you are notified.”

“Wall?”

Celia pursed her lips. “I would still recommend talking to Dorian about it. He rarely comes to see me these days, far too busy watching after the human and making sure that there is no, ah, ‘funny business’ as he would say. But I’m sure he would appreciate the check-in.”

Wallace leans back in his chair, a heavy frown resting like a cliff-edge over his brow. “Wall… wall, wall?”

“Huh. You know, I never thought of it like that. But it is entirely possible that he views me as too much of an influential figure, and therefore threatening… just a part of the job, I suppose.”

“Wall… wall.”

The tut at his remark clicked against her teeth before she could tamper it. “I know I’m not a threat. But… he has always been so protective. I worry he views me as messing with his priorities. But—ah, I am rambling again. Nothing for you to concern yourself with, Wallace.”

Wallace took the moment to lean forward, taking both of Celia’s hands again but holding on tight. “Wall wall wall. Wall wall wall, wall… wall wall. Wall? Wall wall. Wall wall wall, wall—wall! Wall, wall wall wall wall. Wall wall—wall wall wall—wall wall… wall. Wall wall wall? Wall… wall. Wall, wall wall wall. Haha, wall wall. Wall! Wall… wall.”

Celia, as poised and composed as she always was, found that she could not help the small tears that formed at her waterline. She smiled as strongly as she could, squeezing his hands back, as rock solid as they were. “Thank you, Wallace. I know I can handle myself, but I… can’t tell you how much I appreciate those sentiments.”

Wallace nodded sagely. “Wall.”

She let out a small laugh, unwinding one of her hands to smooth away a tear. “How do I always end up with less on my plate whenever you come in with something to say? Truly, Wallace, you hold up this place more than I do!”

Another gravelly laugh, one that felt like a fire crackling. “Wall… wall?”

He raised his eyebrow teasingly, and Celia swatted his hand. “You absolute tease. Alright, I won’t keep you any longer. Thank you for coming in Wallace, and I’ll see if I can’t get some permits written up for real estate on your surface.”

Wallace nodded in approval, getting to his feet with a hefty groan. “Wall, wall! Hahaha!”

“Agreed, I’ll see you soon!”

There were days when she felt as though she was making no difference. But some days really felt as though she could hold everything together.

Chapter Text

“Florence?”

Celia had called out rather softly, just enough for her voice to fill the space, although she heard Florence sprint to her office as though she had screamed out for help. Not that seeing a flustered Florence was a bad thing – seeing her open the door just enough for her to squeeze inside, sleeves a little tangled and folded and hair flying behind her ears, was a welcome sight. “Mayor Celia! Sorry for not coming sooner, it’s just the walk from my desk to yours is—”

“—is not an issue, dearest. Now come, sit. I merely wish to share a first draft of a speech with you before I give it.”

Florence nodded rather quickly, then reached out to the door with a hovering hand. “But we don’t have tea! Let me go and get you some tea, you must have been working hard this morning!”

Whether or not Celia wanted tea was out of the question. Florence wanted to be helpful, and Celia was more than happy to oblige. “Tea would be lovely, Florence. Perhaps a fruitier one today? I fancy trying something new.”

With a dash through the door, Florence was gone again. Celia estimated maybe five minutes for the kettle to boil and the tea to be ready, so she glanced back through her speech. Enough time had passed without any major movements within the house where one was necessary, just to remind people to keep to the rules and that their beloved mayor was always happy to help. Sometimes, it could feel as though the house forgot that.

But Florence returned with a tray with her kettle and tea, a new aroma wafting around the room. Celia inhaled greedily. “Mmm, this one smells lovely. Is that… orange blossom?”

“Orange blossom oolong! You said fruitier, but I know how much you enjoy the classics. I thought this may be a nice bridge between the two.”

She set the tray down on one side of the desk, quickly setting out the teacups, cream and sugar to everyone’s liking. The darling had gotten the routine down perfect by this point, knowing exactly how much cream to add to Celia’s for her taste even with a new flavour.

And, for a moment, there was a familiar calm in the world. Celia was not Mayor Stipple with an important speech to dissect; Florence was not a harried assistant with far too much to do for how much she deserves. They were merely two women drinking tea with each other, the sun streaming in through the open window behind the desk, comfortable silence stretching between them that could only ever be achieved with the graciousness of a companion.

But, that only lasted for a moment. Celia soon set her cup aside, brushing up the paper back into her hand. “Right. I don’t suppose you mind me reading while you drink? We may as well get down to business.”

“Of course not! I’ll be listening.”

Celia followed through her speech, not using too much inflection for a practice read-through, but just enough so that Florence could understand each angle. It was nothing too dramatic, just enough to inspire the household, and maybe hint at a few people to get in line. Conflict was common and expected, but if she had to hear about another area dispute between Jerry and Penelope, she was going to have to act accordingly.

At the end, she set the paper back down. Florence was frowning a little over the rim of her cup, causing Celia to frown in tandem. “Was it… that bad?”

Immediately, the storm over Florence’s face cleared away. She quickly placed the cup back down onto the saucer, hands flying around as she explained herself. “No! No, it was lovely! Very inspiring, very good. I liked the metaphor.”

“Florence, if you think it could be improved, then do let me know. I did ask for assistance.”

Florence deflated slightly, wiggling in her chair to sit more comfortably. “I suppose… it gets a little passive-aggressive at the end? Only from the final paragraph, where you mention looking up to a brighter day. I think ending on a more positive note might land better.”

Celia took a pen from her pot, quickly marking a few sections. “You make a good point. I should end how I started – positively.”

“Exactly! Exactly.”

But even with the revelation, Florence still rested in that silence, slightly shifting in her chair. Celia frowned, twisting the pen uneasily in both hands. “Florence? You know, if there is something else on your mind, you can tell me.”

As expected, Florence waved away the very idea. Once more, she hid behind her cup. “Oh, always things on my mind! Scheduling and whether the human remembered to use the doormat. Staircases and… everything. Everything on my mind! I wouldn’t know where to begin, haha!”

The laughter sounded less sincere than the explanation. Celia leaned forward a little, conscious of not scaring the poor thing, but seriously contemplating whether scare tactics would be the only thing that worked on dear Florence. “I understand – you do have a lot on your plate, as my secretary. If you need some time off to reorganise—”

“Oh, beams no!” Florence looked near terrified at the prospect of taking a legal (and expected) break from her job. “No, I’m more than happy. I’m great! I love this job, and—and working with you. Really. I’ve just… always got stuff on my mind.” She smiled, the one that made Celia feel as though the wires running through her to the lights had been on for days. “I’m very happy.”

“Well… if you’re sure.”

Celia replaced the pen back in the pot, half of her mind already reworking the speech while the other half untangled what she wanted to say to Florence. How could she possibly respond to all of that in a way that encompassed her own feelings on the matter? Would that be professional?

Should she really be concerned about professionalism right now?

But she smiled warmly as Florence kept smiling, quite unable to stop herself. “I am just happy to see you working here. Thank you for the tea, and the notes. Would tomorrow at eleven pm be an acceptable time for the speech?”

Florence looked up, as though the entire schedule was written under her eyelids. “Ooh, you’ve got a meeting then. Seven in the morning, before the human wakes up, would be better?”

“Perfect. Thank you, Florence.”

Celia was never quite sure it ever came across as genuinely as she wanted it to. But Florence smiled and left with the empty cups, and Celia could only keep hoping.

Chapter Text

Having a live human in the office had certainly been… interesting.

The interactions between their dimension and the living world were tenuous at best, Skylar assuring them all that her Suspension was as happy as could. Even so, Celia often found herself questioning some aspects internally. But, as long as they stayed internal, everything would be okay.

So, when the human had seen – actually seen, with their real, fleshy eyes – Florence’s desk and then Celia’s office, it had shaken her a little. Not so much as to dissuade from the conversation – no, the human was polite and kind and seemingly vying for some angle, although not one that Celia had been immediately interested in entertaining. A little glint in their eye that followed along Celia’s hands and face a little too intently.

Strange. She hadn’t minded it.

But the talk had been simple. To Celia, they were just another object, another being who had turned up for an impromptu meeting. And Florence did have to shuffle around the schedule a little, which Celia was a little unhappy about for her sake, but it was an honour to meet them.

The human had left, gone to talk to Florence again or wander around the house. She had heard something about the ‘Roomers’ app and decided that whatever that was, that was between the human, Phoenicia and Skylar. Celia knew when to leave well enough alone, and this was one of those moments. But now, it left her alone in her office. From the other side of the door, she could hear Florence scribbling away in binders and planners and spreadsheets only understandable by the two of them. And maybe Penelope, although she had reportedly been finding herself busy in other exploits.

And there was this curious feeling fluttering around inside her.

Some of those questions the human had asked, so… knowing. Easily asked, easily answered, uneasily overthought. Such simple questions about herself, about her job, about Florence – and here Celia was, fiddling with the corner of a sheet of paper like she could fold away all of her unease, make it into a paper swan and send it flying away out of the window.

Because the human had clearly found something in her answers. When she truthfully, so truthfully and so easily, talked about how Florence made the day brighter, made everyone happier, made her life easier just by existing – the human had nodded. Mentally noted something, like they were keeping tabs on her.

Had Celia been surprised? No. Friends like Wallace had often alluded, in that charming and witty repertoire he had, to an affection beyond professional appreciation between the two of them. And Celia could not deny it – Florence meant a great deal to her. A wonderful secretary, a steadfast companion, someone who Celia thought about and worried about like it was routine.

But, that was not something to be explored. The last thing Celia wished to do was make Florence uncomfortable, whether these feelings – this soft, gentle landslide – were reciprocated or not. They had a duty as mayor and secretary, and a bond like no other. It was as Betty lamented – better to not ruin a good thing.

And the human had been a new fixation, after all.

A figure of interest turned into, potentially, something new to think about. They were certainly pretty, especially for someone who so rarely went outside (even before Dorian’s sanctions). And sure, Celia could appreciate the view from above before the human even knew there was a view. But their interest, their knowing smile, all that had done something funny to Celia’s stature, chipped away at a resolve she had kept up for the fellow objects. Change had been expected, but not this kind of change.

Maybe having a warmer, human touch was a good thing. Something more organic than Eddie and Volt’s shocks, something more accidentally sharp than Koa’s softness, something to give a bit more ‘reality’ to their reality.

And maybe this was just intrigue, or something close enough that Celia could label it as that. A shiny new thing for her to keep an eye on in the name of civic duty. A new person that Florence could make smile and Celia could attend to.

And that could be all.

Florence came into the room, all the meetings done and a new tray in her hands. The usual for both – black with cream for Celia, her preferred after a particularly long day; chai for Florence, made with her own personal batches of spice and blends, in a cup a little larger and less delicate than Celia’s.

They sit across from each other at Celia’s desk, Celia letting the teacup warm her hands before sipping from it. Celia knew she had quite pretty hands, all long fingers and smooth skin and nails she always kept filed nice and tidy. Perhaps a manicure with Amir was in order, she deserved a little pampering. She liked it when she could hold the teacup, delicate hands holding the delicate vessel. Or maybe that was the exhaustion talking, difficult to entirely know.

And Florence was quiet until she wasn’t – trembling and shifting with her face in her tea until she found the courage to ramble about anything and everything. What she saw the human get up to, meeting the human themselves, Barry’s new commitment to editorial blush, Chairemi’s next play, all the shows that Telly is upset about not being on the channels anymore, all the little crumbs of conversation that fall from mouths and onto the floor.

The human is gone from her thoughts, just for a little bit. Just as she makes the space for Florence and the day to be over.

Chapter Text

“Stella, you have to stop.”

Stella sighed. Celia was always a little grateful for Stella – it was good to have some older energy in the house, something with less… frantic energy than beings like Luke or Lux. Maybe it was good to meet another foundation – floor and ceiling, stairs connecting the two. There would always be a fondness there that went a little beyond a mayoral care. That being said, Stella was certainly not free from criticism, and certainly not when her ‘business ventures’ were harming the house to this degree. “I understand the… lure that this product holds. But you are intelligent and wise enough to see that this is a scam—”

“It’s not a scam!” Stella sat a little straighter, reaching down into her bag. “It is—was, a good business venture for young entrepreneurs who wanted to start off their career by making big money quick! I know you’re the mayor, and you’ve been sitting in the big leagues for a while now, but I’ve been wanting to step up my finances for a while now. This is an opportunity!”

Celia paused to gently rub her temples. The two were old friends, but this was also an old argument. “And I would have warned you against it from the beginning. This is not an opportunity, Stella. People like Airway take advantage of good, honest people like you and milk them dry. I know I am not being kind, but you need to know the truth.”

There was a little pause, and for just a moment Celia could see the fight play out. Stella would insist that Celia was trying to sabotage Stella, or say that Celia was too close-minded and just didn’t understand that those without a government salary had to work hard to get what they wanted. Then Celia would insist that she was not criticising Stella’s work ethic, quite the opposite, and it would all go around in circles until Stella stormed out of Celia’s office and Celia would be no closer to untangling the Airway web.

However, Celia did not expect the little sigh to come out of Stella’s lips. “I… I know.”

Hope cautiously unfurled its petals inside Celia’s chest, reaching towards the sunlight. Celia reached her hand across the table as innocuously as possible, just to be there for a friend. “You’re a smart woman, Stella. And hard-working, and you can make something fantastic of yourself. Please, just talk to me.”

Stella set her bag in her lap, hugging it to her chest like the human would Teddy. Then, she sighed, placing a gloved hand atop Celia’s. “I… I’ve known for a while now that Airway wasn’t—exactly what it had promised. Or what I was looking for. But you make the best of a bad situation, and I was just… so convinced I could find the loophole, you know?”

“Oh, Stella.”

Stella shook her head. There was a gauntness to her face, her cheekbones harsher against her skin than necessary, and a sadness to her eyes that hurt to look at. “Please, don’t. I’m an old woman, and I’m damn sturdy. I’ll be just fine.”

Celia glanced at the door behind her, where Florence’s desk sat with one Airway-branded bottle sitting in the corner. “But do you need help? I’m not sure how much I could act as a political body against a business, but as it seems illegitimate I can—”

“I’ll be fine, Cece.” Stella squeezed her hand with another sigh. “At least, I think I can get myself out of there. It may take time, but the human has been helping me figure out everything.”

Celia retracted her hand. “Have they? That’s… rather good of them.”

Stella nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes! They are such a dear. Been wandering around trying to get me made Lieutenant, and now they’re helping me get me, and everyone I’ve recruited, back out again. I know it doesn’t undo the first bit, but—”

“Consider the first part forgotten.” Celia learned forward, forearms braced against the desk. “But you tell me the second you and… whoever else is in there is out. I understand it’s bias, and that is not what I should be doing as an honourable mayor, but the second you’re safe, I’m coming down on Airway like a collapsed roof.”

Stella chuckled, snapping her fingers. “You get them, sister! Screw political, I’ll go and get them myself!”

Celia chuckled, clasping her hands together as a weight lifted off her shoulders. “One thing at a time, Stella. I have no doubt they would be careful enough to bypass certain laws, so make sure you read up on everything before you act. And, if you need someone to read through extensive legalese, Florence and I would be happy to assist. Or Willi, time-management permitting.”

A reddish flush crossed Stella’s cheeks, prompting her to clear her throat awkwardly. “Yes. I, uh… I will apologise to Florence. And you, for putting your office in this kind of predicament. And to Willi, as our last interaction I, ah… we did not agree on certain things.”

Celia raised an eyebrow. “You? In an argument?”

“Argument, maybe not. There was, however, a degree of… shoving.”

Unfortunately unprofessional, but delightful to hear some genuine gossip. Celia smirked. “A physical fight! Stella, I did not know you still had it in you.”

“Oh, these old slats still have a lot of fibre in them!” She chuckled. “I should still apologise. No one should have to get pushed by me, let alone for something she was… mostly correct about.”

Florence knocked softly on the door, poking her head around. “Sorry for interrupting! I didn’t mean to—”

“Quite alright, dearest. Are you inquiring about tea?”

Stella still could not look behind her to make eye-contact. Florence nodded, and Celia smiled back. “Then that would be lovely, Florence. Thank you.”

Florence quickly disappeared, and Stella caught Celia’s eye once more. There was that little twinge back, that emptiness and what Celia now knew was guilt, that made it just a little harder to look at Stella in the eye. “I am sorry for involving Florence. She was just… so happy to help me, and… yes.”

Celia waved the notion away, despite something deeper in her wanting to remain callous to an old friend. “Stay for tea and help her out and we’ll call it even. Even if you were… misguided, I never believed you intended harm. Just as you said, merely trying to make the best out of a bad situation.”

Stella nodded, a warmth shining in her eyes that made something prickle in Celia’s own. “Thank you, Celia. And, hopefully, when you next see me, I’ll be businesswoman of honest calibre.”

“I would like that a lot, Stella. I really would.”

Chapter Text

If there was something that Celia and Dorian had in common, it was that they both took their jobs immensely seriously.

Their meetings were perhaps the most routine, yet the most infrequent. Dorian spent a good ninety-nine percent of his time standing guard, shoulders broad and tense, eyes swiftly scanning each hallway for possible intruders or rowdiness. The remaining one percent of time Celia capitalised on, making sure when you went to bed on Friday night (after work, before the weekend, when you were most exhausted and least in need of a bouncer) that Dorian was in her office the moment your eyes were closed.

Even inside, Dorian was still at attention. Finally sat in the armchair, although it had taken a great deal of grand gesturing and repeat ‘please, do sit’ until he got the message, although his back was straight and broad and his hands clasped in his lap as though he were guarding the chair now. Still, small victories were worthy of celebration.

Florence had already arrived with tea, all to aware of the Celia-Dorian-Friday-Night routine to have Celia’s earl grey brewed with one sugar and ready to drink as Dorian’s coffee cooled on the desk in front of him. Such a shame, as Celia was near-certain he would thrive just as well on a black tea. It would mean a little more room in the pantry for Florence’s chai mixes.

But, Celia was more than happy to see him, taking a small sip of her drink and smiling warmly across the table. “Pleasure to see you again, Dorian, as always.”

Dorian nodded firmly, the thing that was as close to a smile as Dorian got shifting across his cheeks. “And you, Mayor Stipple. You look well.”

“Thank you. And please, do call me Celia.”

She had definitely told him that the time before and the time before that, but dear Dorian was certainly a stickler for boundaries. Nothing wrong with that – it was rather endearing. But Dorian nodded, reaching out a hand to touch the side of his mug – still too hot – and put his hand back in his lap. “Alright, Celia. What’s on the agenda today?”

Celia glanced briefly down at her notes, finding that she had written rather little. Must mean that things in the house were going well. “Not much, fortunately. If you could, at some point, track down exactly where Bobby is, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Dorian frowned, that stern ridge settling in over his eyes. “Are they causing a ruckus again? I had hoped that our previous reprimand would have served as a decent enough warning against such actions.”

“Oh, no – they’re not in trouble. I just have not heard from them for a while, which usually means I will be hearing from them a lot soon. Just trying to stay ahead of it all, you understand.”

Dorian certainly did. “I will keep an eye out.”

“Anything on your end of note?”

Curiously, Dorian flushed.

Just a little one, up his neck and ears, turning them a strangely delightful red. Celia bit back a smile as Dorian levelled his eyes a little too carefully. “Other than the usual rowdiness, no.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

Celia did not believe him for a single moment. She calmly set her tea back on her saucer, pretending to review her invisible notes with the end of a pen. “What a relief. I mean, with my days filled with conflict resolution and meeting with the household objects, it’s entirely wonderful to know that the human is not of importance. Tell me, have their days been normal?”

“Yes.”

His eyes shifted. Getting warmer. “That’s good. Have they been talking to the objects?”

“… Yes. Five a day.”

His hands shifted, just moving the other way around. Warmer still. “And how have your interactions with them been? Pleasant? Friendly?”

Bingo. Dorian shifted fully in his chair, like Florence would, except with Florence it was all her latent energy and worries. With Dorian, it was something big. “Friendly, yes. They’ve been… talking with me a lot. All over the house.”

“All over the house?”

Dorian’s eyes met hers again, as if he was trying to figure it out. Still, his professionalism stopped him from saying anything else but what he needed. “Yes. Including my, ah, horizontal state.”

Celia tented her fingers. “Interesting. And… is that alright with you?”

His eyes narrowed. “Is there a reason it shouldn’t be?”

“Only if you’re uncomfortable.” Celia leaned forward, some of her intentional teasing gone. “I understand you’re quite vulnerable in that state. And I also know that with the boundaries you set, Trap-Dorian may not be able to enforce those as well as you would prefer. If needed, I can have a word with the human to ensure that your, ah… collegial relationship with them remains as such.”

Something in Dorian faltered. Tiny enough that no one would notice, but Celia knew better than to dismiss the way his jacket tensed over his shoulders. She tilted her head. “I wouldn’t blame you for being scared of testing those boundaries, Dorian. Truly. I remember what—”

“Let’s not go there, Celia.”

Celia nodded, giving Dorian a little more space. “Understood. I just want you to be comfortable.”

“I am.” Dorian swallowed. “I am. The human and I are… friends. Nice and simple. Any extra feelings that may arise will be dealt with equally simply.”

There was the conviction in his voice. No unnecessary intonation, just facts being listed and honesty delivered. The tension was still there, but no doubt remained as to his comfort. Celia smiled. “Good. And, now that is out of the way, shall we get back to business?”

Dorian nodded sharply, now successfully reaching for and sipping his coffee. “Indeed. I do now remember a few items, nothing of immediate impertinence, but something to maybe bring up in future meetings…”

It was all rather mundane things – the Breaker Box needed to keep noise down past midnight as Lux was complaining about their beauty sleep, the human intended to access the attic and thus the household would need to get ready for old-newcomers, and Scandalabra, once again, needed to wind his labrums in. Scandalabra got his gossip right maybe half the time, but when he did, he was dangerous.

With new items to sort, Celia smiled up at Dorian. “I appreciate your work, really. It is very good to know that someone is looking out for the human as diligently as you, Dorian. And I am sure they appreciate it too.”

Dorian nodded. “Well, someone has to keep this lot together. And we do a pretty good job of keeping it that way, if I am to boast.”

It was hardly a boast. But Celia did not mind.

Chapter Text

“—and you wouldn’t believe what that old lady across the street has been saying about us. I mean honestly, with the way she’s been wearing sunglasses indoors? She can hardly talk—”

Celia was grateful for every object. Every single one of them. Each individual personality provided a new outlook, a new corner to look behind, something different to add to the conversation. For truly, if everyone were well-behaved and kind, Celia’s job would be boring. Mundane. That did not mean that Celia wanted cruel people or criminals, but the differences made the community strong.

For example, those who were soft to the point of squishy, like Teddy. Those who were sharp to the point of cutting, like Tina. Those who were excited and outgoing, like Gaia. And those who were quieter and shy, like River. Without one, the other became overbearing. There needed to be freshness, needed to be minor conflict to make the good times count.

“—that bird family, up in the tree out back? Oh my goodness, you know I tried to tell Birdtha about that homewrecker – well, I got that human too, since they were so invested in the whole damn drama – but she’s not listening, as she’s perfectly entitled to do, but—”

And those who assumed, like Wyndolyn.

For where Phoenicia kept an eye on the gossip to report, Wyndolyn kept an eye on the gossip to… well, gossip. Only half of her stories ended up being correct, and even then, only correct in percentile amounts. Always something off – it wasn’t an affair, it was a surprise birthday party; it wasn’t a surprise birthday party, it was a wake; it wasn’t a wake, it was a sex party. Always a story made up in between the lines, although considering Wyndolyn was damn far away, Celia was not entirely convinced Wyndolyn was seeing the lines at all, just scribbling over the top.

Maybe, pre-mayoral status, Celia would have enjoyed Wyndolyn’s gossip. Florence could bring them tea and the three would all sit by the porch, gazing out of the window and pointing out how the left-side neighbour kept sneaking out at three in the morning to steal the right-side neighbour’s post, only then to realise two weeks later that Right-Side was on a holiday in Majorca and had asked them to collect it. And then they could all laugh, giggle, maybe sigh at how boring their lives were, and make up something else.

But no. Celia was the mayor, and was quite good at her job, and now just found Wyndolyn’s stories a little sad.

“—and so, I said to her that I knew that. Which I didn’t, but it’s not as if she knew that. But then she has the audacity to look at me and say—”

They all started to blend together.

Celia raised a hand, Wyndolyn pausing her story. Thank goodness, otherwise Celia was certain that Wyndolyn may not have enough breath to stay awake. “Actually, Wyndolyn, I would like to talk to you about something else.”

Wyndolyn sighed airily, crossing her arms and leaning back in the chair. “Mrs Mayor has no time for the gossip, I see how it is. Come on then, lay it on me!”

Celia set her forearms on the table, fixing Wyndolyn with a stern look. The goal was never to intimidate, but with Wyndolyn, it was important that the tone was serious from the get-go. “I had heard a few stories myself recently. One from Johnny Splash, who has been rather upset with your unprompted and needlessly cruel reviews of his performances.”

With an easy laugh, Wyndolyn’s blasé attitude resumed. “Is that all? Listen, Celia, I know you’re supposed to be nice about these things, but the boy’s never going to get anywhere if everyone just panders to his emotions!”

“I’m not asking you to pander to him, Wyndolyn. I’m telling you that the sort of language you have been using is unnecessarily. You’re not even in any of the same rooms as him!”

“The noise carries, Celia.” Wyndolyn chuckled to herself. “Given you are in the same room as him, I would have thought you might have appreciated my commentary…”

She was not entirely wrong, but Celia could not say that. “I know you prefer to operate on a brash honesty morality, Wyndolyn, so I will do the same. Yes, Johnny’s singing does leave a lot to be desired—”

“Melody and talent.”

“—but, you cannot expect to say callous things and for others to merely dismiss is as honesty.” Celia moved some papers around, finally finding her notes from Johnny’s meeting. “He said you spread rumours that his vocal cords were wrapped up as a baby, that the steam from the shower made his lungs warp and fry, and that his hair looks like—well, that one’s not even about his singing.”

Wyndolyn rolled her eyes, still somehow not biting for any of Celia’s comments. How a being was so carefree, Celia would never understand. “It would explain a lot! And it’s not an impossibility, I don’t think we’ve seen a plumber in about a decade. Lord knows Jean Loo could use a check-up to…”

Celia sighed. “Assumptions and gossip are one thing, Wyndolyn. But you are very quickly verging into bully territory. The argument of honest cannot be valid against genuine insults, and whether or not you believe that honesty cannot be met with criticism, those sorts of words are not acceptable against fellow members of the house. It is not kind nor fair, which according to a lot of very credible sources, are more important than your need to express a harsh opinion. Am I clear?”

Her mouth twisted a little, like Wyndolyn had a caramel in her mouth. Although she did sigh and nod. “As clear as my window panes. And yeah, maybe I was a bit… harsh.”

Celia nodded, leaning back and marking down a little ‘resolved’ on the Johnny Splash v. Wyndolyn argument. Thankfully, nothing more on that front. “Thank you, Wyndolyn. A small apology would be ideal, but I will also pass on the message to Johnny in our next meeting.”

“No, no, I can go there. Long as Dorian leaves himself open, I reckon I can call out loud enough for Johnny to hear me. If I can hear him warble from the attic, then…”

“Wyndolyn.”

Wyndolyn laughed easily, batting the words out of the air. “Sorry, sorry! Can’t help myself. Now, if that’s all you had for me – I’ve got some news about that postman that you might enjoy?”

And Celia did contemplate, just for a moment. There was a little twinge, something that told her no, be professional. She was not the sort for gossip, only facts.

And there was another part of her that said ‘fuck it’. “By all means. I would be delighted to know what is happening.”

Chapter Text

Curt and Rod always fascinated Celia. Where other members of the house were friendly, close, or indeed close enough that they could comfortably be called friends, Curt and Rod were something else. Not in love, even though Fantina had made a few collages depicting such, but with such a beautiful, intrinsic platonic bond that it defied relationships anywhere in the house. An ability to just be around the other without fear of embarrassment or shame. Honestly, it was beautiful.

Unfortunately, it meant that any discussions they were in, it was often two against one.

Rod slid into the office like the floor was made of ice, waggling finger-guns at Celia. “Yo, yo! What is up, Madam Mayoress! And may I say, you and Florence are both looking lovely!”

Curt moved in behind him, their robes both billowing out around them apparently with the sheer swagger of their entrance. “My friend is damn right! I don’t know where Florence got that new shawl from, but dayum! She’s got style, and we don’t get to see a lot of that around here.”

Ah yes, shade. They had jokingly given Celia a list of the laws of shade for her Mirthday, explaining that they ought to be made into actual laws with enough of their teasing grins for Celia to chuckle back. Although, in all honesty, she had thought about it. Enforcing the Laws of Shade may dissuade some of the, ah, cattier residents to control themselves. Sophia would maybe enjoy throwing around some more power.

But at the compliment to Florence, Celia smiled. “Ah, you can thank the human for the new shawl. They were looking into buying some more rugs for the landing and came across that one.”

Florence shuffled in behind them, a teapot, four empty cups, a pot of sugar cubs and a few piles of unopened teabag packets all sat on a tray in her hands. Her face was already dusted with pink, assumedly at the suave compliments of the curtain boys that they had lobbied at her with their entrance. Their antics rarely waited for an audience, even if an audience often found them. “Oh, you lot are all such flatterers! Really, it’s just a nice excuse to dress up.”

Curt flopped into the chair with a laugh, that little boyish one that made everyone around him grin. Florence had offered to bring out another chair, although the two insisted they didn’t need it, along with a few traded insults about Curt’s weak legs and Rod’s inability to sit still. “You hear that, Rod? I’m an excuse to dress up. I think she likes me!”

Rod let out a dismissive noise, standing behind the armchair and placing one hand on the side of Curt’s face to give it a joking push. “You think Florence dresses up for you? You thought that tree opposite us was tryna impress you when it turned orange in Fall!”

“Yeah, and it did! I saw it making those eyes at me.” Curt smoothed a thumb under his jawline. “I’m a catch, and I know it!”

Florence was still a little pink, although caught Celia’s eye with a very happy grin, hugging her new shawl a little further around herself. Celia smiled back, diligently waiting for Florence to pour and stir the tea for each of them before taking a sip. Something fruity, but a little tarter – blackberry? Florence had her usual black with milk and sugar, and the boys would have been happy with soda were it not an insult to Florence. As it was, they had peppermint for Curt, plain black for Rod.

Celia cleared her throat, just enough for the two to cease their bickering and posing. All in good fun, of course. “Now, I do hate to talk through something clearly important to the both of you, but there was a reason you asked to see us today?”

At the ‘us’ Florence widened her eyes slightly, but made no remark. An easy fix to the team-ups was to become a team herself, and although Florence was the opposite of shady, the boys knew better than to diss the missus in front of Celia.

The boys glanced at each other, Curt giving a, well, curt nod before leaning back. As he did, Rod leaned forward, so his sleeves hung either side of Curt’s face like a curtain. But currently, Rod was all business. “Now, you know we like everyone in this house, genuinely.”

Celia smiled patiently. “Of course.”

“Like, I’m speaking now with no shade. Everything from the heart and soul and… all that stuff I can’t put into words.”

Curt smirked. “He’s only good at them when he’s throwing shade.”

The two fist-bumped. Celia nodded her head. “Please, do speak your mind. If there is an issue, I am here to solve it.”

Rod nodded. “Now, Curt keeps saying it’s fine, but Mateo has been, uh… busy with things at Scraps of Hope. I think the man is lovely—”

Curt interjected with a “—genuinely a sick dude—”

“But those cats have been scratching up Curt’s legs like nobody’s business. Unfortunately, it is our business!”

Curt rolled his eyes good-naturedly, inconspicuously rearranging his robe to cover his ankles a little more. “It’s my business, actually. And Mateo’s got enough on his plate and it’s also not even really his fault! The last thing I want to do is cause trouble for him.”

Pulling a face, Rod locked eyes with Celia across the desk. “He’s been like this all week. I had to convince him by telling the human to even let me make a meeting about this.”

Florence frowned slightly. “You know it’s never a trouble to bring things up, right? Because I think we all know Mateo would be mortified if he knew it was happening, so now we can fix something that would have been an issue for both of you! Well, the three of you.”

Rod leaned down and flicked Curt’s nose. “Told you.”

Curt crossed his arms. “Still. I didn’t want him to get into trouble, ‘specially when it’s not his fault.”

Underneath all their quips and shade, it was sometimes hard to forget that the two really were just… good people. A little judgy, maybe, but all in good fun. Celia nodded, a plan quickly forming in her head. “I am glad you told me about this, though. Perhaps I can visit the shelter and see where I can help? As it wasn’t intentional and, as you said, Mateo never did anything wrong, perhaps it’s merely a matter of seeing what I can do to help Mateo. Maybe providing some financial support, some more grounds… a little more space could give the cats some breathing room, meaning they are less likely to crawl up you.”

Both Curt and Rod relaxed a little, Curt reaching up to have a little fist-bump with his bro. “That would be perfect! And maybe I can go as well, get to know the cats a bit better.”

“You just saying that because you want to cuddle them. Damn softie!”

“Oh, as if you’re not coming with. I can picture you now, still running your damn mouth while playing tug-of-war with the tassel hounds!”

“Yeah, and I’d be winning. You’d still be holding out yo’ hand hoping a kitty will come and sniff you!”

And they were bickering again, the issue ready to be resolved and the shade setting over the office. Celia and Florence glanced at each other with a smile, sitting back and watching the show.

Chapter Text

Today was the day. Dasha, Abel, Dunk and Sinclair (how Sinclair had gotten involved in this was yet another mystery to be solved at a later date) had all put together a letter requesting the Mayor Celia have a polite but stern word with Shelley. Not to interrogate or because Shelley had done anything wrong, but just to… check. Check in, check with her, check that Shelley wasn’t on the verge of some kind of mental breakdown. The letter had clearly been written by Dasha, her words succinct but clear in their intent that Shelley needed an intervention.

This was the first time the government had been used like this, but Celia could make it work.

At the bottom of the letter were thirty other signatures from various household objects, all presumably with some worries (or issues in Bathsheba’s case) concerning dear Shelley’s shelves. Thus, as an official house-wide issue, Celia had called Shelley in for a meeting. Maybe not to probe, but just to see how bad her positivity had gotten.

Florence set the tea out on the desk, making sure Shelley’s high caffeine one was placed clearly separately from the others. “I’m sure this one can’t go as badly as the previous one. Right? I mean… Tony’s not going to be in the waiting room so there’s no chance of friction before the meeting, the human’s surely been talking with her, so maybe there’s some leeway on that…”

Celia let out a thin sigh through her nostrils, rolling her shoulders in preparation. “Quite. Every day is a chance for progress to be made, especially with something as all-consuming as Shelley’s… beliefs?”

“Outlook.”

“Thank you.”

And then, Shelley walked in.

Her abs could still rival Dunk’s, lean and proud on her torso, one arm always cocked against her hip in that jock-adjacent manner. But there was a levity to her shoulders, less like she had the entire house upon it, as she strode in. “Mayor Celia, Florence! I would love to hug you, but I would love even more to ask for enthusiastic consent first!”

Florence glanced at Celia before responding. “Enthusiastic consent given!”

Like a starting gun had gone off, Shelley dove in, wrapping her arms underneath Florence’s armpits and lifting her up as easily as holding a pillow. Florence let out a squeak that quickly turned into a giggle, meeting Celia’s eye over her shoulder with a slightly confused but genuine grin. Celia smiled back, realising very quickly that something had changed – hopefully for the better. “Lovely to see you, Shelley. No hug for me, thank you, but the offer is appreciated.”

Shelley set Florence down on the ground before standing back up to her full height, smoothly adjusting the brim of her cap. “Noted, and thank you for setting a boundary! Good to see my two favourite government officials. Can I take a seat?”

Celia raised an eyebrow, despite herself. If this was a new phase, it was better than the last. “Of course, no need to ask.”

Shelley flopped down into the seat with a very satisfied sigh, as though the action had freed her from all her worries. Celia met her eye with a smile, hesitant to ask the questions as she was near certain the answers would either be world-changing or worrying. “Now. How have you been?”

And when Shelley smiled, Celia actually believed it. “Honestly? Never better! Definitely still got a lot of worries in me, but I think I’m holding myself up better.”

In response, an unstoppable and genuine smile flushed across Celia’s cheeks. “Why, that’s wonderful to hear! You certainly seem a lot more… composed.”

Shelley let out a little laugh, rubbing the nape of her neck and darting her eyes away from contact for a moment. “Yeah, ha… I realised I was being kinda… intense. I wasn’t intentionally making people uncomfortable, but uh… intent doesn’t really count when you’re still doing it. But, I’ve been looking stuff up, talking to some people – like, really talking, not just being super-duper positive.”

Celia nodded. “That’s good. I know we don’t have a household therapist, but I am more than happy to schedule meetings with a friend or trusted one to help you through things. I know Abel and Dasha would be more than happy to help, and Dunk is always looking for someone else to help him train.”

And Sinclair had also put his two cents on the letter, but Shelley could do better.

“That might be nice. But for now, I think I just gotta work out what this new version of me is. No longer consumed by fear, no longer consumed by positivity… I think I just want to exist for a bit.” Shelley wiggled in her seat, still herself despite the epiphanies. “I think I got some people to apologise to. Because I know ‘being positive’ isn’t a bad thing on the surface, but I was using it against people, and myself. And that isn’t positive at all!”

“Indeed. But, it’s a relief that you are becoming more comfortable with yourself – and that you can now talk to others without feeling the need to hide things behind constant positivity.”

Florence did a little thumbs-up, moving to stand next to Celia. “And never forget that we’re all a house together! If you ever need Dasha or Abel or even Cabrizzio to take on some of the effort, you know they’ll always be happy to. It’s important that everyone feels comfortable, not just the people who can do their jobs easier.”

Shelley chuckled, stretching her arms up above her head. God, those abs were immense. “You’re right. And thank you! It feels good to know that even in my worst moments, I still had people looking out for me. Like Dasha, and you two. And the human! Ha, I even made them become a shelf for five minutes, and they still wanna be more than friends with me!”

This human moved quickly. “Typically, that’s called dating.”

“Oh yeah! I guess I am dating a human who has a certificate in being a shelf! Man, I am lucky.”

Shelley slapped her hands down onto her thighs (she and Dasha must surely share workout routines) and jumped to her feet with a fist pump. “Well, I’m gonna get going unless you two need anything from me. I kinda promised Kristof that he could wrestle me.”

Florence’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, just given your state.”

Shelley waved off the worry. “I think he might actually be able to shove me into a better place. Who needs Tony to fix it when you’ve got muscles like me and Kristof?”

Just to show off, Shelley flexed, kissing a bicep and immediately cringing at herself. Celia decided not to comment on that, merely waving a hand. “No more questions from me. Take care, Shelley!”

And when Shelley waved goodbye, Celia actually felt positive about how it went.

Chapter Text

Of all the people who she governed, Celia was perhaps the most thankful for Abel.

A sturdy figure, both literally and emotionally, Abel was the absolute picture of a good, upstanding citizen. Well-behaved, kind, supportive to a fault, Celia knew that she could always count on Abel to remove a crisis, and if not, stand strong during one. Between him and Florence, casualty and enforced mayoral meetings were down by at least sixty percent.

Unfortunately, some crises were unavoidable. The leak in the roof had caused quite a severe amount of damage, although with Tony’s assistance, the main structure had been secured and Celia was left to dry, the human happy to help Abel in his moment of need.

Admittedly, Celia could have reacted better. But her dress had soaked through, clinging to her in thick, sopping drags that chilled her already stone-like skin.

After a few days, she had successfully dried out, Florence still dabbing away a few droplets from her hairline every now and then. “I’m telling you, one more day and you’ll be right as rain!”

Celia sighed, closing her eyes as Florence’s gentle hands worked against her forehead. “Thank you, dearest. Yet another moment I find myself eternally grateful for the efficiency of our friends and loved ones.”

Florence smiled with all the gentleness of a mother tending to a scrape, finding a gap between the stones of her skirt and folding the tissue inside. “Yes! Have you heard from Abel since then?”

A flash of guilt shot through Celia. She brought her hand up to her brow, rubbing away some of it. “No, not personally. From general murmurings, I know he has been well. And something from Scandalabra about him finally, ah…”

Scandalabra had used the term ‘devilishly dancing with the daring desk’ although Celia was not certain how to interpret it, nor how to put it in her own terms. “I believe Scandalabra insinuated that Abel had found a lover. Although given the consistency of other rumours from him, I won’t believe it unless it’s from Abel’s own mouth.”

Florence squealed, clapping her hands together in joy. “Oh, I do hope so! It’s been too long since Abel has found someone. I always thought he and Dasha were sweet on each other, you know, but they’re both just so…”

“Cowardly?” Florence gasped at Celia’s words. “Oh, don’t act like that.”

With a bite of her lip, Florence nodded. “Hesitant around each other. Although maybe the human…?”

Yes, the human had been making the rounds. Much more likely.

“Both of them?!”

Abel twisted his hat between his hands. Florence had lingered at every moment in the conversation – never before had she forgotten sugar cubes, nor had she taken such precise and slow movements when setting out the tea set. But Celia could understand why – Abel’s words were not perhaps as scandalous as other gossip, but to hear that the rumours of love and companionship were true to such an intentionally isolating figure was downright delightful. Damn it, Scandalabra’s alliterating was rubbing off on her.

At her outburst, Abel had flushed such a deep red, Celia feared he would catch alight. “Well… yes! It just… makes sense for us. Dasha had found love before I stepped in, so really, ain’t no one intruding.”

“I’m not concerned Abel – not in the slightest! – more surprised. We all thought you had sworn off love at this point.” Celia raised an eyebrow, hoping it came across as kindly teasing as she intended it to be. “Despite the rather obvious alternate option.”

Abel swallowed thickly, replacing his hat and hovering his hand at the brim. “Ah, I know I’ve been mighty stubborn about such things. But you know I always liked to take things slow, even during the minor relationships I did find myself in. I’m not used to all this new-fangled stuff, so it just didn’t seem right to try and pretend otherwise.”

Celia laughed lightly, glaring without any real point at Florence as she needlessly straightened papers on her desk. “And overnight you’ve gone from swearing off lovers to having two. I’m almost impressed.”

The blush still stained over his cheeks, Abel chuckled self-deprecatingly. “I’ve had some pretty heavy conversations with some pretty important people. It made me realise some things… and embrace some other things. Parts of myself I’d kept locked away and then hidden the key in some dark place, far away from prying eyes. And then they came along with a lockpick and made me see some things.”

He sighed heavily, shifting to sit a little wider, a little more comfortably in the chair. Florence tilted her head towards them, invested in a kinder way. “I was just hurting myself, you know. Pricking myself with the cactus but never seeing the pretty flowers on top. Always telling myself that Dasha was just a good friend, someone I could talk to and share those moments with, but not someone who I would hold and kiss and… and all those things best not shared with others.”

Celia’s eyes flickered over to Florence. She could just see the back of her head, the shawl tucked up around her shoulders as she reached to the top of the filing cabinet, the soft cream of the rug around her ribs and the adorable way she had to stand on tiptoes to reach the top, one of her flats peeling off from her foot.

Celia smiled back at Abel. “And now?”

“And now, we can do that. And we’re taking things slow, just like I wanted. One date at a time, each boundary discussed. Mitchell offered to do us a fancy dinner, just the two of us, but I still don’t know if I want to do all that fuss.” Abel chuckled, scratching his beard. “And, if we’re lucky, we get an extra partner coming along to our rodeos! I didn’t know if I’d be that comfortable with it, but…”

“You’ve got room for both?”

With another chuckle, one less self-deprecating and more self-appreciating, Abel patted his own shoulder. “Well, I am a sturdy fella! And so is Dasha. It’s easy to support both, ‘specially when they both mean so much to me. Someone who has always been there for me and someone who knew just how to get me to open up. They feel like a warm blanket and a roaring fire, keeping me safe from the storm outside. If you don’t mind me getting poetic.”

“Not at all.” Celia forced herself to keep her eyes on Abel. “In fact, I… I think that sounds rather lovely. Rather lovely indeed.”

Chapter Text

Chairemi, like all noble and good actors, made sure her entrance was pronounced. The doors both swung open as though two stagehands lifted them apart as Chairemi stood there, hands on hips, a steely look in her eye that proved that she was a performer. “Mayor Celia! I have arrived!”

From her chair, Celia applauded lightly. “Good to see you again, Chairemi. And my congratulations on your performance last Friday – I heard Florence and the Hanks raving about it all weekend. Although I hope that vocal rest was put to good use?”

With a grin, Chairemi entered, the two doors leading into Celia’s office remaining open just long enough for Celia to catch Florence’s awed grin before closing behind her, timing perfectly with Chairemi flopping into the armchair. “Oh, definitely! I know my body’s limitations and I know much better than to waste a good vocal rest. I feel right and ready for Tuesday!”

Celia smiled, quickly stacking up the paperwork she had been mulling over to give her undivided attention to Chairemi. It was often this way – whether onstage or in a meeting, Chairemi deserved attention. “Now, you did ask to see me today. So, what ails you? Anyone in the audience who was disrespectful? I understand that you may not be ‘you’ onstage, but politeness is a universal trait.”

Chairemi flushed but batted away the notion with a hand, sitting primly upon the white, leather version of herself. “Oh, no! Anyone in the audience is always lovely. The Hanks can be a bit loud, but that’s fine. I’d much rather a loud audience than one that doesn’t care about my craft!”

“That’s very good. But what did you wish to ask?”

Another flush – but this one stretched from her cheeks to down her neck and chest, staining her top half a mahogany red. “Oh! Um… well it concerned some paperwork I ought to fill out, so I suppose it would be more advice rather than a question.”

The stack of paperwork by Celia’s side seemed much more relevant now. “Of course I can help you with that. Do you know the name of the form? I might have some experience with it.”

Chairemi scratched her backrest. “Um… the code was 2.8 355-B… the one about having relations with a coworker?”

Ah. No personal experience yet, then.

Celia let that thought linger before glancing back at Chairemi, unable to help a knowing smirk cross her face. “I see. Has your fantastic co-star returned your affections then?”

With a grin so bright it felt as though Celia was a leading lady, Chairemi nodded. “Yes! Our last performance just went so well, and there was this moment of just pure chemistry, and I’ve never felt more comfortable performing with someone! So, we talked things over at the end of the performance and… yeah! We want something together.”

Celia had suspected as much. She had only caught one of their performances together, although the way Chairemi lit up onstage with them was like nothing she had seen before – and she had seen most of Chairemi’s performances. “Well, I’m very glad. And the paperwork is just a formality?”

“Yes. I know they’re not an object, but I just want to make sure everything’s alright. I don’t want either of us to get in trouble with the unions for not filing things properly, especially when it’s quite an easy thing to do.”

Celia walked to the corner of her office where a large filing cabinet sat, every single type of form organised numerically and in their respective categories. She and Florence had spent a good afternoon to themselves rifling through each form and stacking them neatly, Florence helping a good deal with putting them all away and into their places. Thus, it was remarkably easy for Celia to skim through the numbers and find the proper form. “Now, this one is quite simple to fill out, although the ’occupational location’ one may be a little tricky as you are technically freelance. But, let’s just go through it together and pick up the snags where necessary.”

The two worked on the form, Chairemi as diligent a citizen as she was a performer. It was not too lengthy but with just enough legal jargon to make her head spin. “Honestly,” Celia remarked, “I’m the mayor. I may as well just rewrite all of these bloody things to actually make sense.”

Chairemi laughed lightly, quickly racing through the personal questions. “Oh, I don’t mind! At least it means that everything is covered if it comes up. Better than filing three separate ones.”

“Yes… you may not have to.”

Soon, the form was all filled out, Chairemi’s details completely filed away and in the perfect format that Celia enjoyed. Why couldn’t things be this easy for every form? “Is that all okay with you?”

Another bright laugh, and Chairemi quickly scribbled the last signature. “That’s perfect! Now we can continue our shows without worry of anything legal going on. You know I like to make sure everything is good and comfy.”

“I quite commend you for it, Chairemi. It’s part of the reason why I enjoy your theatre so much – I’m sure Florence and I can come along to the next one, we’ve just been rather busy as of late.”

Chairemi smiled fondly. “Oh, it’s not a worry! It’s always an honour to have our mayor and secretary at our shows! Just makes it even more special when you can come. But what’s been keeping you so busy – if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Not at all.” Celia rubbed her temple. “The human has been doing a rather lovely job at talking to all the objects, although they’ve apparently found a way to get into the attic. And that’s not an issue, but I’ve just had a lot of things on my mind concerning the people there who I haven’t managed to talk to in, well… years. Ever since Keith disappeared.”

Keith’s disappearance had been a shock to everyone. It was unlike an object to just disappear, least one with such bravado and charm as Keith. Normally there would be a goodbye, or someone would know what the human (whoever the human was at that point) planned to do. But, nothing. One day there, sitting on the table on the upstairs landing, the next gone. Dorian had retreated into himself a fair degree, quite uncertain of what to do without his closest friend. Celia was certain that without his job, the doors would have been creaking open and closed as though forced.

Thankfully, everyone was there for each other.

Chairemi’s smile turned softer, sadder, reaching out a hand to pat Celia’s. “You’ll do great. The more the merrier, always! And it’ll be nice to see some faces again. I really think I could get Parker on board with improv, because it is really just a bunch of rules that you follow.”

And then ignore. “Quite. Well, if the attic does open and you manage to convince him, please let me know. That would be a show I would quite enjoy witnessing.”

Chapter Text

“Hi Luxies~!”

As was their battle cry.

Celia had asked Florence to sit in on this occasion, finding that talking to Lux more like talking to a brick wall than talking to Wallace was. Even if Florence was too shy and pleasing to crack through Lux’s impenetrable sheen of bizarre internet fame, she could at least be there for Celia. Maybe she could act as a stress ball. Or a personal therapist.

But Celia smiled. “Lux, good to see you. Remember what we said last time about phones?”

Lux did not look up from their aforementioned phone, waving one hand dismissively at Celia. “Yeah, yeah. Just one moment – gotta do two more posts and make an edit, then I am super-duper with you. Ugh, Rio de Janeiro filter? No, that one does not highlight my cheekbones. I should be looking like I’m in the sunset at 5pm in the tropics, not underneath the lights at a kindergarten space day.”

Celia let out a long and silent sigh. Florence still heard, quietly topping up Celia’s tea without her needed to ask, quietly stirring the milk through her own. Lux narrated every moment, sitting in the armchair with their legs and shoulders over each arm, head almost upside-down. “Okay, and now the hashtags. Gotta be relevant, but not like I’m trying. Hashtag post, hashtag Lux, hashtag luxies4ever…”

Florence kept her eyes on the desk, hiding her face behind the tea. Celia stared impassively into the middle distance, waiting for the moment when Lux was finally ready for their scheduled, re-scheduled and then mandatory meeting. But finally, Lux clicked their phone off and placed it onto their lap, swivelling back up into a sit. “Okay, all done! Oh my god, so sorry to keep you waiting! It’s just like, I’m like the mayor of Instaglam, and you know I can’t keep my fans waiting!”

“I understand perfectly, Lux. Now, may we get onto business?”

“Oh em gee, yes! Of course!” Lux’s hands dropped straight to their phone. “I’ll just post a quick status so that I don’t get, like, a million sponsorship requests during this, because otherwise I’ll have to leave so I can, like, make money. Okay – status, ‘in business, slaying the political world one hashtag at a time’. Save.”

The phone was off and back in their lap. Celia fought the urge to slap it across the room. “Wonderful. So glad your fans are updated.”

“Thank you. They’re glad too.”

Patience, Celia. Virtues and good things and all those phrases used to keep insane men from setting fire to themselves, etcetera. “Now, Lux. I unfortunately do need to bring up a disciplinary issue concerning your activities at night—”

Lux gasped. “Oh my god, those are all behind a paywall! Celia, I had no idea you were such a big fan—”

Celia raised a hand, not that ever worked against Lux, but it was at least a signal that she was talking now, damn it. “Not those, Lux. Concerning late night streams and not sorting out cords afterwards. It’s leading to a lot of unrest at Mateo’s sanctuary, so I’m going to enforce a few rules to ensure calm between both of you. Alright?”

The phone was out again. “Hashtag naughty lamp, hashtag disciplinary hearing, hashtag might get jailed lol—”

“Lux. Meeting. Phone down.”

Lux rolled their eyes (Florence cringed) and put their phone down. There wasn’t even a jail for objects. “Oh my god, fine! So rude to interrupt someone while they’re working though.”

“I am working, Lux. You’re interrupting me. If I see that phone again, I will hold onto it until this meeting is finished. Understood?”

Florence hid fully behind the teacup, like in those cartoons Telly showed to the Hanks where the punchline is obvious but oh so hilarious. Except Celia was not laughing, Lux was not laughing, and Florence looked like she was about to pass out from the embarrassment. Contrarily, Lux was as relaxed, blasé and downright rude as ever, rolling their eyes as they placed their phone face-up on the table. “Ugh, fine. Ruin a small business, why don’t you. Well, I’m not a small business – Luxie Light™ is an empire.”

Celia fixed her smile on her face. “Then I am sure you are aware of appropriate business hours. No streams from midnight to seven am, proper cord storage and management, and if Mateo tells you to keep it down then you either do, or lodge a complaint with me to see whether the rules need bending. Fair?”

Lux’s mouth dropped open like a plug socket. “Um, only if you expect my actual legion of die-hard Luxies to be traumatised?! No ‘Early-Bird Catches The Illuminated And Sexy Worm’ stream? I won’t need to lodge a formal complaint to the mayor’s office because they will!”

“Then I look forward to sorting through your fanmail, Lux. I’ll be sure to send replies to the most creative ones.”

If the blush on the thin strip of skin visible on Florence’s cheeks could get darker, it did. Lux tutted, gasped, rolled their eyes, then grumbled. “Fine. I’ll just have to double up on pre-morning posts. And I’d better see some likes from the mayor’s office as compensation!”

Lux picked up their phone, already halfway through a flurry of defamatory posts before the door had closed behind them. Celia sighed, leaning back in her chair and reaching for her full to the brim teacup. “And now we’ve gotten that over and done with.”

Florence slowly set her cup down, visibly more relaxed. “Yes. Uh, well done! I don’t know if I could’ve remained strong in front of them.”

“Well, someone has to.” Celia frowned looking at the three cups in front of them. “Did Lux not want tea? I thought you bought an antioxidant one just for them.”

Florence flushed a little, her eyes wandering away from Celia, like they did whenever she was embarrassed about something. “I did, but uh… they asked me if it was organic, which it wasn’t, and they said that anything non-organic gives them a UTI. Which I double-checked with Farya and that isn’t true--!”

“I know, dearest, I know.” Celia rubbed her temples, soothing the pads of her fingers right along where her headache began. “I fear there’s little pleasing them. Although if you could potentially reach out to Barry, I feel as though he would enjoy a go at the mayoral Instaglam… whatever that is.”

Florence smiled, bowing her head in something a little more than a nod. “I’ll schedule a meeting.”

Chapter Text

It was a rare occasion that Florence was there to calm down Celia.

But there she was, hovering by the door as Celia bustled around her own office. Pencil pots were moved to the corners, each pencil and pen lovingly arranged like a bouquet, the desk polished until it shone, the curtains just the right amount of open to welcome in the light. Florence started a little as Celia dragged the armchair out a little, then scraped it back in again, then angled it. “Um, Miss Celia? I think that you might be, ah… acting a little out of sorts?”

“What gave it away?”

The armchair let out another groan as it moved across the floor. Florence clasped her hands tight to her chest. “The redecoration of the office, mostly. And the organisation of your pens in order of colour alphabetically. And, uh… you added to my schedule five minutes of panic.”

Celia waved her hand. “It’s important to account for these things. Schedule-wise.”

She did not stop angling the chair until Florence stopped her, a hand on her forearm that made all of her muscles stop in their actions. “Celia, I think you are worrying too much about a joyous occasion. I mean, we have never had Hector come here in person! We shouldn’t be freaking out – this is just another day. A happy day, yes, an exciting day – yes! – but also, just another day.”

The urge to angle the chair another point-five degrees was still there, but Florence’s feather-light grip on her arm was stronger. Celia sighed, smoothing out her dress and readjusting how it sat on her shoulders. “You’re right, dearest. I know that, deep down. I’m just a little… frazzled. I know how hesitant Hector is, and I want him to feel welcomed. We haven’t heard from the attic in… well, years. And Hector was hardly sociable even before then.”

“And he might be even less sociable if we make him the centre of attention. It would be best to just have this be… a normal check in for a normal object.” Florence squeezed Celia’s arm before quickly letting go, taking a step back from Celia’s bubble. “And I know you’ll do great! Because… because you always do!”

Celia had never felt a loss quite like Florence letting go. She smiled, sighing again and feeling all of the worries and tension bleed out of her shoulders. “And once again, you save this office from self-destruction. What would I do without you, Florence?”

Florence giggled, that sweet blush rising across her cheeks and nose. “Oh, you would be fine! I’m just here to make life easier for you.”

There was a knock on the door leading to Florence’s waiting room. The two locked eyes, both mixed with happiness, anticipation and a shock of worry. Florence let out a breathy little laugh. “Well… I’ll go and let him in! I’ll stall him for a little, just so you can prepare yourself.”

Celia smiled in appreciation as Florence left, closing the door behind her. And Celia did feel a little bit silly – her office had already been designed for professionalism and comfort. The arranging was nervousness, not anything more. Hector had seen it all before – admittedly from a different angle, but that was beside the point.

She settled in her seat with a heavy sigh, clasping her hands together. She could faintly hear Florence welcoming in Hector, all bright and cheerful in that way that made anyone at any time fall into a state of ease. That was just who she was.

And then, a knock at the door.

“Enter!”

In stepped Hector. Meek and polite, a nervous twist in a mouth that betrayed his smile, hair falling into his eyes a little. Celia noticed that his metal suit was shining unnaturally, almost as if polished with some kind of balm. It appeared she had not been the only one wanting to make a good impression.

She smiled and he smiled back, that little wobble in his mouth evening out. With a hand, she gestured to her perfectly angled armchair. “Please, do take a seat. It’s wonderful to see you – all of you.”

Hector had a funny laugh. Shy and giggly, reminiscent of a lizard scampering up a wall, or a ventilation unit stuttering as it switched from cold to warm. But he sat, his suit making his arms sit a little awkwardly at his side and his cheeks flush from the embarrassment. “Thank you. It is a new feeling, to be so, ah… open like this.”

They both glanced up, up to the vent near the roof of Celia’s office. Celia chuckled. “I’m glad you feel comfortable. I don’t think we’ve ever spoken in this way before.”

Hector let out his funny little laugh again. “No! No, I’ve always been… I’ve always kept myself away. Nervous to show people. But I’ve… my beloved has awoken something very strong in me.” Despite his words, the blush on Hector’s face threatens to turn his entire body red, a small whistling audible as the room gets hotter. “They are… kind, impossibly so. Understanding of my flaws and my insecurities and… and I love them so. Admire and appreciate them so.”

Celia’s eyes flicked to the door leading to the waiting room, landing back on Hector’s dreamy yet nervous smile. “Then I am so thankful that they have gifted you that. I hope you never find shame for being who you are. Even when our meetings were directed towards the grate, I always thought you had a talent for words little seen in others.”

Hector’s smile only grew wider. “I wouldn’t compare myself to ones such as Lyric in that sense. But… I am flattered! And I do hope that the others from the attic come and say hello. It has been a bit of a, ah, interesting few years up there. With them.”

Goodness, that was true! There needed to be some sort of welcome committee to bring so many members back into the fold. Lady Memoria would no doubt have much to report, and Parker had always been something of a loose cannon but good for keeping track of troublemakers. She had certainly missed Prissy’s influence everywhere, and she and Artt could wax for hours about history and, well, art.

But that was certainly a job for later. Currently, Hector was here. “I am glad you made it out unscathed! But please, do tell me of your time up there, and anything else on your mind. I fear it has been too long since we have heard your voice as true and clear as this.”

Florence came in, a pot of tea ready on the tray, setting it on the desk before rushing out of the room, giving a quick wave to Celia. The mayor could not help from smiling, pouring two cups for each of them. “Starting with this beloved of yours. I would be very interested in knowing the things they have been getting up to when I haven’t been able to see. So please – tell me everything.”

Hector was slower to talk than inside the grates, more apologetic with his vocabulary. But his words alone could spark love in anyone about anything.

Chapter Text

Celia had a bonsai tree on her desk.

That wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, it was a rather good thing. Celia could admit that sometimes, as elegant as her office was, it could sometimes be a little stale. White ceilings and white walls and wooden floorboards, desk and bookshelves all made of the same stain. All the books and knickknacks on her shelves were of a similar neutral scheme. For aesthetics and giving off an air of decorum, duty and diligence, it was perfect.

But now, there was a little pop of green sitting on the corner of her desk, in between Penelope’s pencil pot and the antique clock Timothy had gifted her. In a reddish basin, the finger-thin trunk and branches curling over in that unique, beautiful way. She had no gardening scissors to safely prune it with, although it currently did not need it. It looked fairly young, the leaves still pale and waxy, but it stood out like a strike of lightening against her room.

“Florence?”

At her summon, Florence poked her head around the door. “Yes, Mayor Celia?”

“There’s a plant on my desk.”

Florence darted her head down, her eyebrows shooting up. “Oh! So there is. How lovely!”

Celia frowned. “So… you did not put it there?”

Florence slowly shook her head. “No, but… well, have you checked around the rest of the house?”

At Celia’s negative, Florence opened the door slightly wider, inviting Celia out into the waiting room with a clear window view down below to the rest of the house. This meant that Celia could clearly see the potted plants, leaves, ferns and trailing ivies sitting on every table, counter, spare fraction of wall and ceiling hook. The entirety of the home had turned into a greenhouse, a new freshness to the air clearing her sinuses that she did not even know were stuffy, a new life given to the objects that they did not know they were missing. It was amazing just how much the house had been transformed in such a small amount of time.

She sucked in a small breath, both shocked and delighted at how easy it felt. “Extraordinary. Just extraordinary.”

“Thank you!”

Among the new foliage sitting in the waiting room was someone who blended in shockingly well – and someone who Celia recognised, even after so long. “Ah, Prissy! My apologies for not noticing you.”

Prissy Plastique giggled, knocking some of her leaves out of the way of her face. “Oh, it’s alright! There’s so much of me to go around now, it’s hard to notice the real, alive me in the middle of it all!” She sighed dreamily, clasping her hands together in pure joy. “I’m like the sunflower beaming out from the field!”

Indeed, there was something much more vibrant about her now. Perhaps it was all the time apart that made it come as quite the shock it was – but no, even amid her exuberant, delightful personality, there was something shockingly real about Prissy. There was a new waxiness to her leaves that ignored the dust from the attic, a sparkle in her eyes that showed a joy beyond anything Celia had ever felt herself. And that deserved a genuine smile from the mayor. “Well, it is simply a delight to see you again. My apologies for not being able to come and see you sooner – with the attic open, my time has been quite divided.”

Prissy danced forwards, now clasping Celia’s hands in hers. “Oh, no need to apologise! I’ve also been moving all around the house, spreading my joy and flowers wherever I go! But yes, it is also so lovely to see you again!”

In a strange reversal of how these things usually went, Prissy dragged Celia back towards her own office, sitting herself in the white armchair as Celia walked around the desk to her usual chair. Florence followed with a giggle shortly behind with a tray with Prissy’s old tea order and a small bouquet of flowers sitting in a tiny crystalline vase. Celia chuckled, settling herself in her chair before responding. “May I say, Prissy, you are looking wonderful! I don’t normally find it polite to comment on others appearances, for better or for worse, but since I last saw you, you look… well, radiant.”

Prissy nodded with so much enthusiasm that Celia feared her head may fall off. But instead, small vines and flowers bloomed along her shoulders and collarbone. “I feel radiant! I feel warm and buzzing, like the bees when they come and see me! And now, they don’t move away when they realise I have nothing to give, but they stay and hover around my petals! Oh, it’s such a wonderful feeling.”

As Florence poured the tea, Prissy sat up even straighter, grasping Florence’s wrist with a squeal of delight. “And Florence, it’s so lovely to see you again too! I feel like so much has changed, and yet, all that has really happened is that I’ve become who I really feel like I am. Is that a new perfume?”

The barrage of questions stumped Florence slightly, who laughed easily before passing out the tea. “It has been too long! But as Mayor Celia said, you look amazing and I’m so glad you feel that way! And yes, it is a new perfume.”

Prissy inhaled greedily, humming with delight as she settled back in her chair. “Smells like orange blossom! Eee, amazing!”

Orange flowers popped up along her hairline as Florence hurriedly handed out the cups. Prissy sat back up straight in her chair, her energy from becoming real evidently not faded. “You know, I’m so glad that attic is open. Not that I don’t like the people in there – Lady Memoria is always so fascinating to talk to, but I feel so much happier now I’m out in the open. And talking to people other than Parker. And now that I’m real!”

“So you keep saying.” Celia chuckled slightly, sipping on her tea.

A glossy look appeared in Prissy’s eyes, her smile becoming softer. “You know, I… I think I’d almost given up.”

Celia frowned. “How so?”

“On being myself, I mean. It’s hard enough knowing that there’s a real you trapped in there, waiting to be free and that—” She stopped, sucking in a slow, deep breath. “—and that so many others just didn’t believe it.”

Celia reached a hand across the table, Prissy eagerly taking it. Her eyes were still glassy, but there was a happiness in them that could not be dulled. “I’m just so happy! Happy to be out, happy to be myself, happy to have such good friends in my life! I mean… someone believed in me! And… and that made me real!”

Small vines wove out from Prissy’s top, resting between their conjoined hands, as though the plants themselves were reaching out. Even the bonsai on Celia’s desk seemed a little fuller than before. Celia squeezed her hand, pulling back to meet her eye with a smile. “I must admit, I’ve never encountered an object becoming real before. I may need to talk to you more about that – it is, after all, quite the development.”

Prissy was practically vibrating at the possibility of being able to talk more about becoming real. “Yes, yes! Oh, but don’t worry – I’ll still be a good citizen, even though I’ve sort of left the ‘object’ part of myself behind. I’ve been missing the structure, and the tea, and talking with people. Someone told me to maybe talk to I, Ronaldini? I don’t think we’ve met before, but they seemed to think we’d get along!”

Celia leaned back in her chair. “Yes, I… I supposed you would. Similar tastes, I believe.” She set her cup down. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. I would like to extend a formal welcome back from the attic and back into the rest of the house. I was thinking of maybe having a celebration of sorts – nothing too big, but maybe asking Holly to help prepare a party.”

Prissy nodded eagerly. “Like a Freedom Day! No, that sounds like we were kept prisoner… oh, a Gotcha-Day!”

Florence shook her head. “Sounds too much like one of Mateo’s adoption events. I wouldn’t want people to confuse the too!”

Celia nodded slowly. “I’ll workshop it. But for now, know that I am so happy you are here.”

Prissy’s eyes shone again. “I am too.”

Chapter Text

There were only a few things in this world that Celia never doubted. Among those were Florence, the sun rising and moon falling, and that Timothy would never be late to a meeting. At 10:00am exactly, Timothy had strolled in, the pocket watch in his hand giving off a faint ring as he seated himself neatly in the chair. “Mayor Celia! A delight to see you, as always. Thank you dearly for working exactly according to shhedule.”

His claws flexed in and out for a moment, resisting the urge to knead the pleather. Celia smiled, reaching for her binder and opening it in front of her. “Of course, I always know how important it is to you. Before I read to you the order of attack for today, are there any issues or notices you would like worked into it?”

Timothy tutted. “Heavens, no! I would never dare to interrupt something so sacred! Anything I may wish to bring up can safely wait until after. Perhaps a ten-minute slot, if it is so possible?”

Celia glanced down at the appropriately organised list of points. “Easily done, I shall mark it in now.”

Something like a purr arose from Timothy’s chest in approval as Celia pencilled in a ten-minute block at the end of the meeting for his grievances. “Oh, marvellous! Now, please, do go over what we may expect to happen here?”

“Let’s see – five minutes, which we are currently in, to exchange pleasantries and set out the agenda for today. Then ten minutes for us to discuss a grievance someone in the house brought up that concerns you – nothing serious, I can assure you—”

“Ah, ah! Is that a pleasantry?”

Celia rose an eyebrow. “I… suppose not.”

“Then there is no need to coddle me. Please, continue!”

Well, there were some downsides to always being punctual. Celia clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth before continuing. “After that, five minutes of cushion time, to either be spent further on the issue or to wind down with tea that Florence will bring, and then the ten minutes you allocated for discussing any issues. Is that satisfactory?”

Timothy laughed grandly. “Very much so! You know I always appreciate a good shhedule, and one that can work in such multitudes. Excellent work, as always my dear!”

Celia smiled vaguely, keeping her eye on the clock resting on her desk. “Thank you, Timothy. One minute left, if there are any more pleasantries or discussions of the schedule to be had?”

As though shocked, Timothy sat up even straighter in the chair, his tail flicking from one side of his body to the other. “Indeed, not a second to waste! I find the decoration of your office utterly delightful, Mayor Celia. Such elegance and uniformity without being so stifling! And I can see Prissy’s new plant, which is a delight for the eyes.”

“Thank you, Timothy, I thought it rather nice as well. I compliment not only your punctuality, but the either new or freshly polished chain on your pocket watch. I understand you keep meticulous care of them, but it is always charming to see.”

With a faint flush on his cheeks, he set the pocket watch on the desk between them. “Ah, thank you my dear! So lovely to know that someone else appreciates these things as I do. Now, onto business!”

Fortunately, the matter which Celia needed to discuss was rather minor. Timothy’s natural adoration and affinity for keeping things on schedule was interrupting Koa’s naps, the strict adherence to time rather conflicting Koa’s love of going with the flow and keeping things mellow. All rather minor, with Timothy agreeing to turn down the alarms within certain hours and to not venture too far into the living room if it appeared as though Koa was relaxing. A notice, not a misdemeanour.

And thus, the conversation allotted nicely trailed off within the final minute, a new schedule drawn up for Timothy’s planner and another meeting for Timothy and Koa marked in for the following week to see how the new rules were fitting them both. Celia rarely worried about either individual, but it was always good to follow up on these things.

Upon the next ringing of the bell, Florence walked in with her tray. No doubt, she had been standing at attention a good thirty seconds before, knowing better than to test the ire of one Timothy Timepiece. He clapped in joy as she entered, eyes searching over the cups and saucers. “Oh, simply delightful, my dears! And thank you, Florence, for your timeliness!”

Florence smiled, bowing her head as Timothy helped himself to none of the teas, but instead the pot of milk. “Always happy to help! Let me know how the milk is – it’s a new brand, but it seemed just as good as the last one.”

With a practiced swipe of his tongue removing the milk moustache from his lip, Timothy nodded in approval. “Quite lovely! And you, Celia?”

Celia took a long, luxurious sip of her own with a smile. “Perfect as always, Florence.”

As Florence took her leave, Timothy carefully rearranged his position on the chair – a little further forward, posture perfect (or purrfect if she would dare to make that joke) and chest out. “I must, once again, thank your office for its dedication to timeliness and poise. It makes such a difference from the rest of the house who seem to have no interest in such a beautiful structure!”

As the hand on the pocket watch ticked closer to the end of the five minutes, Celia carefully timed her next words to end just as it trilled its alarm. “And does the issue we allotted these ten minutes for go into that?”

Timothy smirked to himself in approval, the end of his tail flicking. “Yes, I’m rather afraid it does. Well… not entirely, I supposed. But one of my timepieces – specifically, the one in the bedroom, is a whole ten seconds off! And I know not everyone abides by time as strictly as I do, but it is rather a nuisance. I was hoping you could bring it up to the human?”

“Of course, although I am certain they would not mind hearing from you.”

Timothy’s entire face burst into a blush at that, his tail shooting ramrod straight. “Well… you see, I, ahem – the last state they saw me in was one… not allocated for on the shhedule. And I would rather there be a little, ah… distance, until our next meeting. That is, if your own shhedule – I would hate to interrupt another’s, but I—oh, it’s so hard to say—”

His claws dug into his knees, not kneading but fully piercing the delicate fabric of his trousers. His stammers, curiously, were to each tick of the second, although the charm ended there. As potentially cruel as it was, it was always slightly fascinating to see a creature so composed so… flustered.

Celia smiled. “Understood, Timothy. I will get either them or Tony to reset your clock… and to stick to the schedule from here.”

Chapter Text

Of course everyone coming down from the attic was good. Of course it was! There was no reason to suggest that it was not. Trapped items and forgotten trinkets finally freed from distance and isolation, available and free to move around the house as they once did. Faces unseen for ages made connections with old: Chance and Parker were back to discussing and bickering like they used to; Wyndolyn was finally able to tell all the stories and gossip she had acquired from her upmost perches; Prissy and so many objects got along as though they were made for each other, the Hanks grateful for more extreme outings and Friar Errol finding her naturally believing state to be rather nice.

It was good. Except.

Some personalities Celia had forgotten. Not that they were bad – no object was bad, and if they were, they were more likely misguided or misunderstood – but sometimes they could be a little much. A little too much pepper in the soup, as Stefan had once used as a metaphor.

And Celia really liked Artt. She did. It was lovely to have someone else a little more refined, a little more used to the elegance in the world and the small joys that being classy could bring. She and him once waxed for hours about art, about the new pop art painting that the human had brought in – clearly a gift from your friend, given all your other decorations were more juvenilely curated – that all at once screamed of a bygone era and of a refreshing recency, the subject modern but the art style old.

But that was before the attic. And conveniently, Celia had forgotten all of the little quirks about Artt that annoyed her prior to the attic.

“But what could it all mean, Celia?”

Currently, Artt was bent double in his seat, fixing his gilded-frame glasses as he analyses the weaving floral patterns of the teacup sitting on the table between them. To be blunt, Celia has never analysed the living hell out of the teacups she bought at one of Lady Memoria’s auctions, simply because there was never any need. She needed teacups and Memoria was offering them. And Celia had this big speech planned for Artt, welcoming him back to the community, setting up meetings with Prissy and Memoria and Wallace on permits for decorating – and now he wanted to ramble some nonsense about teacups.

Artt hums softly, more like a sigh of thought. “The intertwining of each flower… it is all so gentle, much like the petals themselves, yet the thorns on each stem curve inwards. Perhaps a display of power, or mutual destruction or pain in the even one was to branch out, so to speak?”

“Mmm. Or, perhaps, it is just a rose.”

Annoyingly, that just makes him sigh again. “Aha, yes! The rose itself is symbolic of many things – of love, but of passion so great it can hurt. Of pain in beauty, of torture in being held close – a real look, but don’t touch moment. Yet, within the blossoms themselves, we must consider the language of flowers. Red roses are commonly meant for love, but what of black roses? Yellow? Or pink, as the ones circling the rim of this teacup?”

“Artt, maybe it’s just a pattern.”

At her snap, Artt raises his head, his sculpted beard sitting stiffly on his marble hand. “I say, Celia. Am I boring you?”

Celia sighed. “I apologise, Artt. I find I have been… overworked, lately, and in need of ticking things off of my list. While fascinating, this is just another distraction for me.”

Artt’s eyes only gleamed with more insight, the sun reflecting off the white pupils like two tiny highlights in a painter’s masterpiece. “But Celia, that is precisely why we must talk more! You will find neither satisfaction nor relaxation in your notes, but in appreciating what is around you.”

Celia let out a small chuckle, a little more effort than normal. “It is difficult when there is not much to appreciate, I’m afraid. I have plenty of paperwork to get to, four more meetings after yours, then the doors open for any minor disputes – speaking of which, Beau and the Hanks had a falling out over whose turn it was a climb the ceiling, of all things—”

“Which is why you need to stop.” Artt raised his hands, mimicking the rise and fall of his lungs. “Just take a moment to breathe in… and out. And appreciate something. Otherwise, you will fail to find the beauty in anything you accomplish today. All it will be is another second passed, and not another second cherished.”

He took the empty teacup, raising it to her eyelevel. “Come, now. I know you to be a highly sophisticated - and opinionated - individual, Celia! Tell me what you think of this teacup.”

Timothy would be in tears over the schedule, but Timothy was not here right now. Artt was. And if Artt wanted her to stare at a teacup, then fine. “I… think it’s beautiful. Elegant, it’s a pleasant shape both to view and to hold.”

“You find most joy in the shape?”

“I find some joy in the shape.” She plucked it from Artt’s fingertips, cupping the palm of her hand all the way around the back of the cup, holding the handle between the other’s fingers. “It is quite small and delicate, both in size and in material. It makes me feel delicate myself when I hold it, merely by proxy.”

Artt’s eyes were warm with appreciation. “I quite second the feeling. To feel a desired way via object or vision… it’s quite a task.”

Celia hummed. “And difficult to do when you are as grand as I am. Not many things bring me that level of… ease, I suppose.”

“No?”

“No.” Celia coughed politely, setting the teacup down in front of them. “But, you were saying about the language of flowers?”

As insightful as he was, Artt knew better than to push Celia. “Yes, I was. Pink roses – those often meant joy and gratitude, although have often been used alongside quite roses to show peace or diplomacy. Which is why the subtle yet clear element of the thorns has interested me so – a continuous ring of peace and joy, but interspersed with violence or harm. What does that mean to you?”

Celia tilted her head, feeling, admittedly, a little calmer at the analysis of something other than walling permits. “I… I would guess either a natural order – peace blossoming from periods of harm – or something more intrinsic. You mentioned that you thought the thorns were curling inwards, yes?”

“Towards the flowers they heralded, yes.”

“Then I would argue that it could perhaps symbolise the way we find peace and joy to be… boring. How many would sooner prick their thumb than smell the roses. That those who would wish to find such peace would cause themselves pain by doing so.”

Artt traced a finger along the rim of the cup, the faint scrape oddly soothing. “And that in the circle of roses, it is a constant cycle. We do this to ourselves.”

His pointed eyebrow finally made Celia crack. “Oh Artt, you sly man.”

He smiled easily, pouring himself a cup of tea and taking a sip. Those crafty, knowing eyes of his never left her own, a point made in such elegance that it almost annoyed her. Almost. “I do not mean to interfere nor to imply, but I hope I have shown that you can find meaning in anything. And, by that very virtue, any meaning in any thing. If you feel it, it is real.”

“I think, therefore I am.”

Artt nodded happily, relaxing in his chair. “Now. Is there any meaning you wish to part?”

Celia glanced down at the calender quotes book Penelope had left behind. “Not at the moment. Perhaps some bureaucracy.”

Artt sighed teasingly, but left the teacup on the desk. “As you wish, Mayor Celia.”

Chapter Text

“And again, I’m so sorry about two weeks ago. One of the pipes burst and I just couldn’t reroute myself in time, I promise next time, now I know what can happen—”

Celia raised a hand. “River, it is entirely fine. If I believed you had intentionally been at fault for mine and Abel’s, ah, state, then we would be having an entirely different conversation. Namely, one two weeks ago, back when it happened. Have… you been worrying I was going to reprimand you for this long?”

River flushed, raising a hand to cup her own purple cheek. “I… I mean, yes. I knew I did something wrong, but you know. It’s quite hard to judge these things when you, yourself are in quite a state of flow.”

River had a funny way of filling the room with her emotions, much like water trickling into a cup or bathtub. Bubbles began to form, foaming up around her neck and shoulders in her nerves. In her own body, Celia felt that curious popping up around her own neck, along with a seasick-like anxiety swirling in her stomach. There was something curious about how concepts and objects differed – where Celia could sit comfortably and proudly in front of Abel or Daisuke or even Luke, being around beings like River introduced an entirely new feeling. Something about them affected every molecule, the vibrations of each object attuning to them in ways yet undocumented. Perhaps something Skylar could explain, if she found the time.

But Celia took in a deep breath, quelling that washy feeling in her stomach and dismissing all analytical thoughts from her mind. Her focus should be on River herself. “I understand completely, my dear. I do apologise for not addressing it sooner – but I digress. Ignoring the incident with the pipes, how have you been?”

Her stomach seemed to settle as River smiled, clasping her hands in her lap with a soft splash. “Amazing! I mean, honestly? Like... the best I’ve ever been.”

Well, that was a surprise. Meetings with River were normally a case of twisting the spout until the droplets eeked out, not a willing deluge of information. Celia set her pen down, content to ignore notes in favour of just listening. “That’s lovely to hear.”

River nodded eagerly, sighing happily. “I’ve just felt so much more… happy in who I am! Whoever I am. You, uh… you know I asked you a while ago what state you preferred me in?”

Indeed, it had played on her mind for the entire week afterwards. “I do.”

“Well… I don’t care anymore!” River laughed cheekily, the purple trailing down her collarbone and down to the neckline of her dress to betray her apparent carefree nature, although not enough to diminish the glow in her smile. “I do care. I mean, enough to not want people to hate me. But… I’m me! And… and I’ve been really happy about that lately. Whether I’ve been freezing ice-pops or washing crumbs off plates or fogging up Amir. It’s all in me!”

Celia was familiar with the works of Aqua Khan, although not comfortable enough to start reciting lyrics in front of an evident fan. “I see. Well, I am glad you’ve come to terms with… ah, yourself? Forgive me for not fully understanding.”

River deflated slightly, the raft Celia felt herself metaphorically standing on cresting down the wave and onto smoother waters. “It’s… yeah. I guess it’s a little hard to describe to someone who doesn’t get it.”

“I am still interested in hearing about it though.” Celia smiled. “Tell me what you’ve been up to this week. Anything at all, anything that was prompted by this revelation.”

The flush reappeared over River’s cheeks, disappeared, came back along with a softly bitten lip, and faded again. “Well… I’ve started talking to more people. I was so used to being what people needed that I forgot how to be… well, me! So, when I accidentally got on one of Barry’s face-cream tubes, I decided to say hello! And Barry said hello back, and it turns out he’s really interesting. I fogged up the bathroom mirror and we were drawing on it for hours, just seeing what we could do with fog and pressure.”

Ah, yes, Celia now vaguely remembered that coming up in Amir’s latest complaint. But she smiled through it. “I’m glad… and yes, I can absolutely see you and Barry becoming fast friends.”

River sat up even straighter, even more energetic. “I can see it too! I think the things he just knows off the top of his head are… I mean, amazing! I can barely even remember who I was yesterday, let alone the names of thirty different glitter eyeshadows.” She then frowned a little, twisting her hands together. “But… I worry about him, just a little bit. I think… can I say this?”

There was a worry in her voice, carried along in the current like a piece of debris. Celia leaned forwards, picking up her pen once more. “Of course, anything you say is strictly confidential.”

With a quick, satisfied nod, River spoke once more. “I… I think he’s quite lonely. Which is such a shame, because… well, he’s lovely.”

Celia sat back. Truth be told, she could see the similarities in both Barry and River. Both the need for connection and the loneliness they both held, entwined with both of their beings in a way that she could never quite address as a mayor. No, they needed friends, and she would always have to be behind that veneer.

So, Celia nodded in approval. “He could do with someone like you.”

River raised and then lowered her eyebrows like ripples on the surface. “Someone like… me?”

Bless her. “Yes. Someone who is coming into themselves – he himself can be quite… nervous about how he comes across. This is not an official request, but…” Celia paused, working the words across her tongue and teeth before saying them. “But I would encourage your friendship. You both could be good for the other. In terms of finding an honest, valuable friendship, in being objects and concepts close to each other, and in learning how to be yourselves.”

River’s smile was like the sunlight speckling, dappled and sparkling over a shivering pond. She nodded. “I can do that. I can absolutely do that! I’d… I’d love to do that. Talk to him – talk to everyone! – and stop them from… from being as lonely as I had made myself.”

Celia felt a stab in her chest that was distinctly unwater-like. She swallowed back the rush of emotion at her throat, replacing it with a small, clear smile. “I think that is a very worthy endeavour. Much like, I am assuming, someone did for you?”

And she was purple again. “I—well, I—I don’t think I’m ready to—talk about—”

Celia raised a hand. “And I apologise for bringing it up. How unprofessional of me.”

She did not feel very apologetic. But River nodded at the apology and the meeting soon wrapped up, the waters settling down and Celia feeling a lot better about the plumbing in the house.

Chapter Text

Previous meetings had always been arranged with a degree of showmanship. Not to be confused with Volt’s natural showmanship: an excessive charm that, unlike the Breaker Box, never seemed to be switched off.

But, there was always a degree of practiced and unfair professionalism that came natural to beings like Dorian, but was more of a hassle for Eddison Watts. A routine in place in every meeting that Eddie and Volt never dared stray from – Eddie would sit while Volt would stand behind, Volt would speak while Eddie would pass over business reports. Talk would remain small, on simple topics like ‘how is business’ and ‘lovely decorations’ and ‘we will make sure to do that for next time’ before the two would leave, Volt tailing behind Eddie in something between an eager puppy and a bodyguard.

Eddie was sour and grumpy, but a good soul. No interaction was ever cruel and nothing Celia had to pick him up on was done out of malice. But, the breaker box was not an object that Celia endeavoured to speak to more than necessary.

Fortunately, that very swiftly changed. To start, Volt now sat on the arm of the chair.

He still preened a lot, sending his crackling hair over his shoulder in a flourish of sparks as Eddie settled down, but there was a casualness that seemed naturally evolved from his charm. An arm settled on the top, Eddie’s head resting against it, the two more physically comfortable than Celia had witnessed.

And secondly, Eddie smiled.

“Afternoon Volt, Eddie.” Celia made sure to smile back, finding that it was not difficult to do so. “How has business been?”

Eddie quickly shuffled his papers around before handing them over to Celia. “See for yourself.”

Eddie speaking? How novel.

But the cause of his happiness was not hard to find the root of – the Breaker Box’s numbers had shot up in a matter of days. She did not ask for reports often, merely enough so that she would not need them to file any more business paperwork, but she did hope for its success. “Gentlemen, this is wonderful! Attendance up, special events nearly doubled, increased interest… I must congratulate you on your success.”

Volt laughed easily, the same as always and yet twice as natural. “And we thank you, Madame Mayoress! Your patronage and interest in our little club certainly helps us operate smoothly. It has been a delight to see out little Breaker Box soar… hasn’t it, Eddie?”

At the pause, Celia caught quick notice of Volt brushing a hand through Eddie’s hair, one of the wires sparking. Eddie started. “Uh, sure has been.”

Celia narrowed her eyes at the display, not out of suspicion but an interest she hoped the breaker box boys would reciprocate. “And is there a reason for this sudden boost?”

Eddie shuffled in his seat, an arm near-hesitantly coming up to rest on Volt’s knee, his forearm resting upon Volt’s thigh like the arm of the chair. “We’ve had a, uh… change in operations. Not anything that requires paperwork, it’s still us. Well, not entirely—still no paperwork—”

“What my dear Eddison means,” Volt quickly swept in, leaning a little over so Eddie could lean back, “is that the lovely human has assisted in some renovations. All volunteer work, although we happily offer to pay them in drinks and entertainment – which, as you are aware, we are known for.”

Celia chuckled. “Indeed. And, forgive me for saying, but I wasn’t expecting the two of you to welcome such assistance. What changed?”

Eddie drummed his fingers against Volt’s knee. Volt looked down, a fond glimmer in his eye that did not escape Celia’s gaze, although not one that would have been professional nor genial to mention. After a moment, Eddie composed an answer. “Me, I suppose. The human helped us reset the box… and me, by proxy of me, well, being the breaker box. Volt and I became fully separated, which means I’m no longer spending energy on keeping him alive, and the human themselves has been coming by to help with clean-up and fixes.”

Volt chuckled. “More that he has been letting them come by. It took a solid few days of our live wire welcoming themselves in, all but snatching Eddie’s screwdriver from his hands. They are a persistent creature, aren’t they?”

The rhetorical question prompted a blush to fizzle across Eddie’s cheeks, although Celia found a rather similar one crawling up her neck. “I quite agree. I, too, have noticed their efforts around the house… including in my own life.” She took in a breath, ignoring Volt’s curious eyebrow raise. “Although, thankfully, their persistence has resulted in good.”

Volt laughed joyously, his very laughter sending shockwaves through the air. “I’ll say! Let alone business, we’ve both been very appreciative of their efforts. Why, last night, Eddie here—”

“Volt.”

Celia only noticed how tight Eddie’s grip on Volt’s knee was when his hand started humming. She pretended not to notice, giving the business report a thorough skim through before placing it to the side to be filed away. “Perhaps I may come by some time and see the club for myself. I know it has been a while, but news of your success is cause for much celebration. Any notable performances happening soon?”

The two shared a look a lot less personal and more… uncomfortable. Eddie cleared his throat. “Volt would know the line-ups better than I would. I’m still behind the bar.”

Volt tutted, but returned to meet Celia’s eye with the same bravado the host always had. “Well, Johnny Splash quite enjoys… trying out new sets! But, ah—I would recommend coming on a Friday night. It’s specially dedicated to comedy stylings, and Curt and Rod have been pulling out some showstopping roasts! And, ah, occasionally, Tina likes to come along to… try some crowd work.”

Eddie cringes. “It’s hard to make it in the comedy business.”

Celia nodded slowly. “I’ll… see how my schedule is. Do send along an invite if any night looks promising. I’ll bring Florence to see the festivities.”

Volt’s smile could light up the room. Maybe it was. “We certainly will! Always happy to have another patron, and especially one of your calibre.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at Volt’s nonsense, although his shoulders are more relaxed than Celia has ever seen. “Just, ah… advise Florence to bring some ear plugs. Just in case.”

And, for a good ten minutes afterwards, the talk continued. Not small, not business, just pleasure.

Chapter Text

Deep breath in… deep breath out.

Deep breath in… deep breath out.

As tense as Celia always was, her stone arms and stone back lending little ease but plenty of support for the weight sitting on her shoulders, Koa always lent himself to her comfort. Of course, there was little to professionally input on sitting on a couch with a constituent and just taking a solid ten minutes to decompress, but it somehow felt like her most important meeting of the day.

With Koa’s arrival, the plush white armchair had turned into a plush white sofa, Koa luxuriously stretched out with his arm over the back. Not in her usual office chair but sat next to Koa, Celia let out another long breath, closing her eyes as Koa’s near-snores acted almost like a hypnotist’s charm lulling her further into a sleep she had not dared enter.

But, there was work to be done. Relaxation could come afterwards. “Koa?”

“Mmhmm?”

His sleepy drawl only made Celia want to profess her apologies at interrupting the moment. Alas, she was a little more composed than that. “I wish to discuss a potential business with you.”

Koa let out a long sigh, something Celia could recognise as disappointment. Slightly lower-pitched than all his other long sighs. “Sure thing, Mayor Celia. What can I do for you?”

Celia tilted her head back, feeling Koa’s big forearm press into the clip at the back of her head. If she moved just right, it scratched against her scalp in an infuriatingly pleasant way. “Less what you can do for me – believe me, this is more than enough.” She sat up a little, stretching her sides out from where it started to cramp. “But more what you can do for others.”

A pleasant hum came from his chest. Koa moved just a little to the left so he could talk to Celia more easily. “I like the sound of that. What’s your idea?”

Celia gestured simply around them, before laying back against Koa’s arm. “I heard from Mitchell about Two Currents – excellent work, by the way. I must visit sometime.”

Koa chuckled, a big rumble coming from his big belly. “We would be delighted to have you! I’ll let you know about any specials we have going on.”

“Thank you. But I was thinking… would you be open to doing a relaxation day? Perhaps on Sunday or Monday, so those wanting to see Chairemi’s plays wouldn’t have to decide.”

The silence was comfortable, unlike most where Celia awaited with either impatience or desperation for an answer. But Koa’s silences were like him – soft. With the hand resting on the back of the sofa, he drummed his fingers, just once. “I like the sound of that. But what would it consist of? Because relaxation isn’t just an activity – it’s a mindset.”

Celia hummed in thought, the sound low and drawn-out. “Well, exactly. By teaching or encouraging this mindset onto others, we might be able to reach out and help some of the more… frantic members of our community."

One of Koa’s fingers gently brushed Celia’s bare shoulder. Just a little, friendly nudge. “You’re talking about Arma, aren’t you?”

Last week, Arma had a minor breakdown. Something had slipped, something about smelling like smoke, when really Barry and Bathsheba just wanted to try a new incense before bedtime. But instead of being composed and ready to act, Arma had near sent the entire house into panic before the human had quickly rushed up to douse the sticks. A minor incident, but not the first time something like this had happened.

Celia sighed deeply. “I am. I do think others would benefit from this too, but…”

“But Arma’s alarm was the trigger.” Celia nodded and Koa sighed. “I understand. It’s hard to watch people panic. But… oftentimes, you need to let them go with their own flow. Their currents drift along at different paces.”

Celia shook her head. “But there is a difference between letting people figure out their difficulties and not providing assistance. I… I just want to be able to do something bigger than the occasional check-ins. It’s not enough for some of them. I know Florence is a big help, and Abel has always been a dear in taking care of some things, but…”

Koa wrapped his arm around her shoulder, just enough so that the pseudo-skin warmed underneath. “I’m not saying no, Celia. In fact, I think it’s a fantastic idea. But people will warm to it in their own time. Arma and whoever else I know is buzzing around in that busy mind of yours.”

Shelley could do with learning some deep breathing; it would help with Barry’s mindfulness; River might enjoy knowing about different flow states; Betty and Teddy might have some fun decompressing; Dunk could use it as a cooldown—

“Woah there, Mayor Celia.” Koa’s heavy arm grounded her back into the conversation. “I can see the stress in your eyes. Come, take a load off.”

Celia pursed her lips. “Koa, if we’re going to make this happen, we’ve got to start putting in the requests—”

“And we have plenty of time to get that ball rolling. So, let’s chill.”

As timing would have it, Florence opened the door. A peppermint tea for Celia and a mango-chilli smoothie for Koa sat atop her tray, which was quickly placed on the desk in front. “Sorry! Bad time?”

Koa chuckled, shaking his head and patting the spot on the other side of him. “Nonsense, Florence. Never a bad time to join in. Come, Celia and I were just relaxing.”

Florence’s eyebrows raised, glancing at Celia in a question. Celia answered it with a shrug. “We’re planning a potential business venture for Two Currents. Although Koa is apparently insisting that we sleep on it.”

Both Koa and Florence laughed and honestly, that combined sound could have convinced Celia to take the next week off work. Unfortunately, that was not quite how it worked. But Florence smiled and her cheeks warmed as she settled in next to Koa, who wrapped his other arm around her as she cuddled into his side. “See, there we are. Just take a moment, both of you, to relax…”

And with her shoulder against his, her arm reaching across his stomach to rest her hand against Florence’s, Celia found it very difficult to ignore that request.

Deep breath in… deep breath out.

Chapter Text

Dolly rarely ever caused issues. She was polite, charming, exceedingly intelligent in both academia and every other aspect that intelligence covered. Her discoveries had enriched both the past and present of their universe, gifting insight never before considered to the rich history their little world contained. And her appearances on Telly’s late-night talk shows and certain magazines had both increased culture and public appreciation.

Yes, Dolly was the epitome of a star citizen. However, everyone had their flaws. Dolly’s flaw was not her own, but rather, her pet’s.

For Celia had not scheduled a meeting with Dolly for a mere check-in or discussion over the best way to fund her and Beau’s next exploit underneath the house. No, it was less a meeting and more an emergency call for the best professor/archaeologist/model in the house.

The clicking of Dolly’s heels was like a war drum, loud and sure and surprisingly quick given how high they were. Florence lead her through the waiting room, past a bemused Miranda and a stoic Daisuke, both of which had their eyes pointedly directed away from the great door leading into Celia’s office. “Just in here, Dolly, thank you for your speediness—”

“Oh of course, darlin’! If there’s a fix I can help with, you always know I’m there. Now, what seems to be the issue Mayor Celia is needin’ me to see to?”

Florence glanced at the door, then opened it just a crack. “It’s uh… perhaps she can explain.”

When Dolly stepped inside, Florence quickly closed the door behind her. And now, Dolly could see why.

A fine yet distinctly grey film of dust covered the office. It was all fairly uniform, the stray hairs and clumps only forming in grooves and cracks, but the entire room looked as though a snowstorm had passed through. No one had moved through here, the only breaks in the field of dust around the door, where there was a thin triangle where Florence opening it had shifted some of it out of the way. Which only served to fully set the scene, as it meant that Celia, stone-faced and stone-bodied at her desk chair, had not moved since the incident occurred.

Dolly let out a small ‘oh’ at the scene, meeting Celia’s eye with a nod. “I can see why you called me. This is right down my street.”

“Thank goodness for that.”

Celia’s voiced was clipped yet soft, carefully quiet to avoid causing any more ruckus to the new carpet. There is a soft layer atop her head and down the bridge of her nose, and no doubt tucked around her legs and shoulders. Dolly glanced around, kneeling down to pick up a small clump of dust by her foot and examining it. “Now, mind telling me what exactly happened here? Because I, uh… wasn’t aware this sorta thing could happen without me blowing to bits and pieces.”

“Indeed, neither had I. But here we are.”

From underneath the desk, there was a tiny little ‘achoo!’ that sent some more dust fluttering out, wafting through the air before settling on the floor. Dolly stayed on her knees, bending down a little more to see two big, beady eyes gazing up at her. “Oh, Lint Eastwood! You mean to tell me my little fluffball has been causin’ all this mischief? Oh Celia, I am so sorry!”

Celia made a small jerk as though she were about to nod, then thought better than to disrupt her grimy crown. “Indeed. Could you, perhaps…”

“Of course. Lint, come back to mama!”

Lint, delighted at seeing Dolly again, bounded out and into her arms in two strides, nuzzling under her chin with complete audacity. Dolly held him a little further away, cradled in her arms to leave him nuzzling into her belly, rising to her feet. “Right. Now, let me just get all o’ this back where it should be…”

Five minutes later and a few scattered apologies, Dolly had accumulated all of the dust in Celia’s office back into herself, her ponytail even fuller and frizzier than before, and Lint’s coat looking extra fluffy. He remained in her lap and arms, registering the severe look she had been giving him as a ‘we will talk about your behaviour underneath the couch’ one and staying perfectly well-behaved until then. But soon, Celia was as polished as ever, sitting at her desk with much less discomfort. “Thank you, Dolly, for your assistance.”

“Oh, honey, no need to thank me! I should be apologisin’ to you for not keeping a good eye on my bunny here.” She sighed, absent-mindedly running a hand between his ears. “He’s been so fussy lately, wandering around like a lost child lookin’ for toys. I just don’t know what’s wrong with him!”

Celia cautiously shifted her shoulders, knowing fully well that she was free to do so, but slightly haunted with memories of the dust tickling her nostrils and eyes. “Well, given his… antics here, we can assume that, as you said, he’s looking for toys. Enrichment, something stimulating to do. I’m not happy that it was my office, but I digress.”

Dolly flushed, which was a good enough apology for Celia. Combing some of her heavy hair out from her face, Dolly glanced down at her pet. “You know, you might be right. He’s always been a bit excitable, especially around other people, but maybe it’s just because he’s not getting the excitement he really needs. Maybe I could talk to Dunk or even Kristof, see if they wouldn’t mind getting some energy out with him.”

That would be rather easy – despite the human appreciating and exploring their house much more than before, there was still a fine layer of dust on the cross-trainer, Dunk had been complaining about the dust balls in the tennis box for months. “That could be good. Although… perhaps ask Dunk first. I think he would be more amenable to such an addition to his workout schemes.”

Lint Eastwood let out another sneeze, dust specks rising out of his fur and floating back down into his body or Dolly’s thighs. She soothed him with another goof scratch behind his ears. “Thank you, I’ll try ‘n’ ask this afternoon. And again, I am so sorry for all the trouble this little guy caused! He means well, but sometimes he just forgets what he’s made of, and that’s of dust, hairs and a whole lotta energy!”

“Quite.” Celia nodded sharply to both of them, finally able to warm herself enough to smile at Dolly. “I do appreciate that. But perhaps, until we can figure out either the cause or cure to his restlessness, you can keep a closer eye on him? I am not entirely certain other residents would be as understanding to his nature.”

“Happily, Celia. He’ll be in my arms until he can learn how to behave outta them!”

To make her point, Dolly squished Lint close to her chest, peppering kisses over his nose and ears. He squeaked and squirmed, but also shimmied closer to her affection. And, despite all the drama of the day, there was something so endearing about it that Celia’s bad mood lifted.

Chapter Text

Celia’s office was never cold, Hector kind enough to regulate the temperature as second nature, although she had no forgotten what the normal temperature was. A heady, bone-infusing sort of warmth came from Dante, the type sought for during a chilly winter’s day, when the crackle of the fire lulls you into a pleasant rest. The kind that made her want to snuggle up, find a comfy blanket and a good book and just forget the world beyond.

However, she had work to do. And for a being with no eyeballs, sweat or ability to blush, Dante was looking remarkably nervous. His hands were in his lap, his fingers brushing cinders into the air with every guilty clench. The pools of light that constituted for his eyes were slanted as though his brows were furrowed, pupilless and yet clearly avoiding her gaze.

“Now, Dante, I understand that you have found your niche and hold it dear to you. That is not an issue. The issue is that you cannot go around telling Tony that—” Celia paused for a moment to read what had been reported. “—he couldn’t ‘get a stable relationship if he built it on that pier-and-beam foundation he wants so badly’ based on your rather crass summary of his beliefs. Which, you are all entitled to opinions, but this is far off opinionated territory.”

Dante sighed, the sound like a hot crackle of wood falling apart under a flame. “You know I like the guy. But I also think he’s completely wrong about… well, all this stuff! It may be a little egotistical to say I’m a master at establishing a long-lasting relationship, but I know my methods work. Tony’s just trying to get quick results.”

Celia leaned forwards, summoning her most harsh stare. “So, does that make it appropriate to outright insult his relationship status?”

“I… I know it’s not.” Dante reached up to scratch the back of his neck. The temperature of the room rose with his hand, encroaching sweltering territory. “He was just getting on my nerves, saying all this nonsense about not even acknowledging the person you’re trying to, you know, get to know. And then peddling it off like gospel or something. I just needed to make my point.”

Admittedly, that did sound like a really bad method. But Celia was meant to be a third party, someone neutral enough to enforce boundaries for others when needed. Although perhaps a follow-up with Tony was needed. “Dante, you are intelligent and socially proficient enough that you could have done it a better way. Those sorts of comments are not the kind I would expect from you.”

When she said those words, their veracity sparked through her mind. “Yes, I would not expect this kind of behaviour from you, Dante. Did something happen?”

Dante could not blush, although the room’s temperature changed. It got neither hotter nor cooler, although it shifted from a sweating, blistering humidity to something steamier, like a sauna. “Uh, ha… not exactly. I mean, stuff has changed, but things change all the time. Like, the way the sparks of friendship and connection lead to those fireworks of romance.”

Celia nodded carefully. “Mmhmm. And how are you feeling about it?”

Dante’s eyebrows quirked upwards. “Uh… good. Ha, that’s such a lame answer. It feels really good to, you know… know my hard work has paid off.”

Celia narrowed her eyes, making him squirm again. “I’m sure that’s not the only reason. You tend to speak your mind, but something more must have happened for you to speak it so… brusquely.”

The yellow infernos in Dante’s stomach steadily rose up his body, embers sparking off his body without intention. “Ha, yeah… I know that’s true. I guess you could say I’ve got a new fire in my heart. I’ve been beaten at my own game by someone and I, uh… I’m finding it new.”

“New as in…?”

“Good! Really good.” He scratches the back of his neck again, charcoal brushing away with the motion. “It’s just… I don’t quite know how to handle it. I mean, I was right about how to find a connection, which is awesome to know. But I now am, like, questioning myself. Did I get them, or did they get me? If my own method works on me, am I really a master of it? Are all the roleplaying and practice-connections really helpful, or am I just training an empty skill?”

He sighs, his hand flopping to his lap, the thud cracking like logs being thrown onto the bonfire. “It’s an odd feeling, feeling both happy to have found that connection and… unsure in myself.”

Celia smiled softly. “I think it’s brave to recognise those feelings. And, if you don’t mind me giving my personal thoughts on the topic, but getting a relationship is one thing. Trusting yourself enough to sustain it is another. Take some time, talk to this new flame, and feel confident not only in your methods, but in your success. If it worked on you, it just means it’s good. You don’t need to be above it.”

“That is true.” He leans into the armchair, stretching out so the flames dim slightly, returning the room to a more appropriate (yet still thematically warm) temperature. “Ha, I guess I was never the teacher. Just an honours student.”

Celia shook her head. “Not a student. People learn something new every day, regardless of status.”

Dante chuckled. “Damn, Miss Mayor. You really know what you’re talking about. And I will apologise to Tony – maybe we can even compare notes.”

He said it seriously, although his mouth twisted into a glowing cringe, the embers in his cheeks dimming significantly. Celia pressed her mouth into a similar line. “Whatever you think is best, Dante. I trust your judgement, and your execution.”

Florence walked in, no drink for Dante as it would drench the flames, but the usual tea for Celia. Dante clicked his tongue as she walked in, giving her a solid salute. “What’s up, Florence? Nice to see you!”

“Oh, nice to see you too, Dante!” She quickly set the tray down, moving through her standard routine. “How have things been?”

Dante winked. “You know me. Smoking!” That earned him a laugh, which he batted away. “I’m just playing. I’ve been good, just getting my just desserts for acting out. But I’ll be back and better in no time, teaching interests, observations and appropriate compliments! You two been hard at work, or hardly working?”

Florence chuckled. “Oh, hard at work! But you know me, when am I not?”

At that moment, her hand slipped, sending a sugar cube onto the table. “Oh! I-I’m so sorry, Mayor Celia, let me—”

“Florence, when was the last time you took a day off? Three months ago?”

Florence flushed. “U-Um… yes? But it’s alright, I’ve only got a few more things to do today, and then I am ready for tomorrow! I may need to stay up a little later tonight, but that’s fine.”

Celia chuckled warmly, although calmly picked up the sugar cube and placed it into her tea. “I can take today from here. You told me this morning that you barely slept, so relax for this afternoon.”

“But I can’t—”

“Rest, dearest. I am ever grateful for your fantastic work, but I can handle today.” Celia patted Florence’s shoulder. “You’ll run yourself ragged and I… wouldn’t forgive myself for that.”

With a flush, Florence mumbled her thanks and quickly scrambled out, missing Dante’s rather interested look between them.

Chapter Text

Celia had known Telly was coming a good ten minutes before their agreed meeting time. That was something she hoped to expect from every single one of her constituents, although there was a degree of confirmation with Telly that was simply innate.

Perhaps that was due to the fact that Telly, once upon a time, had been a new but integral part of the household. One of the first electronics, back before Mac but their current state coming in shortly after Arma had taken stock. Back then, Telly’s shows had been a thrice-weekly event, with different crowds coming on different evenings to clock in and relax with some good shows. Tuesdays were for reality TV (with frequent audience members being Tina, Bathsheba and Scandalabra), Thursdays for procedural dramas (for Penelope, Freddy and Dasha), and Sundays for docuseries (for Willi, Lyric and Artt).

Nowadays, there was a lot more to do. Chairemi’s plays, the Breaker Box, and all the restaurants around the house had various days of excitement or activity. But Telly still stood tall and proud in the house, always welcoming to those who needed to kick back, sit back, and put on some good old-fashioned chit-chat.

Their presence was more like an aura extending a good thirty feet ahead of them. Beyond the walls were the telltale beeps, clicks and hums of a gameshow theme on a perpetual loop. It seemed to not be conscious, a mere part of their being rather than an intentional clue as to their whereabouts. But the music was hardly the loudest thing about them – no. That part was a very conscious decision.

“Well hello there, my mayor’s au pair! If it isn’t Florence, the secretary of the moral nobiliary! I’m here to be a dear for our household’s peer.”

Yes, something about Telly just seemed to… stand out.

And their official meeting time was not for a few more minutes – Celia had some notes to finish marking down from the previous one, and it was important to keep a tight schedule with matters of legality and fairness. But as delightful as Telly was, Celia wanted to preserve Florence’s workflow and sanity for a little longer, and so pressed the intercom to welcome them in.

As expected, Telly opened the door and the gameshow music flooded into a full orchestra, Telly sliding in on their sneakers and shutting it behind them with an easy hip check. They smiled enigmatically, slumping into the armchair. As they spoke, the music thankfully quietened down just enough to provide a soundtrack. “The obscene screen is here to be seen! If it isn’t the master of plaster, a dude of the highest altitude, the lady of the halls who answers all our calls, our darling mayor who would never betray ya. Mayor Celia, let me lend an ear!” They leaned forwards on their knees, cocking their mouth up in a smirk. “Because the real deal is, how you doin’?”

What a collection of monikers. And all of them new – something that Telly almost seemed to play as a game, racking up all the different names they could call someone before all the rhymes in the world ran out. Celia smiled, glad to see Telly well despite the nature of the meeting. “It’s good to see you Telly. It’s, hopefully, a rather easily fixed issue, although I do apologise for calling on your during the day.”

“Not a problem! If there’s a conundrum, I aim to ease whatever has displeased. So, what disagrees? What’s gotten our mayoress under such distress?”

As lovely as it was to keep Telly talking, there was a genuine issue. “I say easily fixed… it is also fairly serious. I need to make sure you understand the gravity here.” When she was certain Telly’s eyes were appropriately nervous, she leaned forwards. “What do you know about objects stealing the neighbour’s WiFi?”

Immediately, Telly stiffened in their seat. They stumbled over their words like they were flicking through channels. “It’s not that—well that falls flat—I knew this would go splat—”

Finally, they sighed, deflating into their chair. “I have made a huge mistake.”

Celia furrowed her brows, feeling a gentle but hot anger in her stomach. “Telly, you know that breaks many rules concerning the ethics and reach of the household. I mean, this is ridiculous! The human keeps the connection up to date, this is unlike anything I would have expected from you—”

Those words made her pause. She was right – Telly had never broken a rule before. Despite their societal size, there had scarcely been any recorded notices she had to mark against them. Telly was a good person and a law-abiding object. “Telly, what happened? I know this cannot have been your idea.”

Telly fumbled a little more with their words before deflating again, running their hands over their face. “You see… our, uh, rejection-devotee named Reggie had, ah… imposed for some new shows.”

Celia sighed. “Telly, you know better than anyone that you never have to do anything someone demands of you. Especially Reggie.”

“You try saying ‘no’ to that little shit! He literally gets off on it!” After their outburst, Telly collapsed again, looking at Celia with clear guilt and dejection on their face. “I hate those mainstream streamers, but I got taken out to the cleaners! Five-thousand channels, fifteen-thousand shows… and still every one for Reggie were no-goes.”

Poor Telly looked utterly defeated. They stared down at the floor, the fun, gameshow-esque music now fully gone, only dead silence keeping the two company. Celia sighed again, her rage and disbelief quickly leaving her. “I’m sorry Reggie forced your hand. And Mac’s. I’ll have a word with him – again – about the appropriate things to do in this house. It was an invasion of your privacy, of your usage, and of your morals.

“But what’s the point?” Telly sighed. “The world has changed, and I’m getting estranged. Not even my colleagues want to see this obscene screen scream. My ratings fall, and I’m just watching it all. I’m being forgotten, Celia. That much is… damn clear.”

Celia frowned. Their words had struck a chord in her. She was an object of permanence – a roof over their heads, someone who stood tall and watched over them all. If she went, the house went with her. But Telly was fading, held on only by the people wishing for the past.

“I will talk to Reggie, I promise. But…” Celia tilted her head, prompting Telly to meet her eyes. “I do know this for a fact. That after you and the human had been talking for a while, they cancelled their Valdiviflix subscription. Phoenicia showed me the email receipt as proof.”

Telly’s eyes widened. They jerked back up into a sit, those metallic lips curving into a gorgeous smile. “You mean, while I’ve been grieving, they’ve been cleaning their media perceiving?”

“That is exactly what I mean.”

Telly yelled with joy, punching the air with the widest, most beautiful happiness Celia had seen from an object in months. “Survey says, I’m disbelieving!” They laughed loudly as an audio of a studio audience laughing along played underneath them, collapsing back into the chair with a hand over their forehead.

Celia chuckled as the audio faded, the faint sound of static slowly returning back into their world. “You should believe it. You make a good difference, Telly. Don’t let anyone undermine your worth. Tell Mac to delete the password, I’ll make sure Dorian has a word with Reggie.”

Telly saluted, leaping to their feet and heading to the door. They leapt up into a heel click, opening the door wide as the audio changed to a low whistle as they turned their head back around to glance at Celia. “Hey. You come at the king, you best not miss.”

They grinned, Telly waving. “See you later, alligator!”

Oh, what the hell. Celia waved back politely. “In a while, crocodile.”

Chapter Text

For the first time in years, Connie Soul’s hologram sat in the armchair.

There was a wideness to her eyes, the same alertness present that Celia had expected, but a new sparkle to them as she took in the plaster on the walls, the towering bookshelves, and the quaint yet simple reality of an office. A small smile on her lips that had none of her heroine-cockiness, but the soft curve of sheer happiness. One that grew just a little more when she made eye-contact with Celia. “Connie Soul. It’s been too long.”

“I agree.” Connie breathed out a sigh. “It’s very good to be here.”

Celia smiled back, resting her forearms calmly on the table before her. “I know it’s been… quite a while since you’ve been with us. I can imagine you’ve had quite a few culture shocks already.”

Connie’s laugh came easily. “I know! There’s so many things I need to catch up on. Telly’s been telling me a lot, but there’s—”

And then she glitched. Just a small one, hardly noticeable. A tiny flicker where her face moved into the next expression a moment too late, a half-second of speech gone before she continued. “—much to hear about! Obviously Skylar is probably the most important addition to the house, but I feel like I’ve missed… everything. Even though I didn’t even know it for ages.”

Celia frowned slightly. “Connie, are you aware that you just… glitched? Not a serious one, but…?”

Tight-lipped, Connie nodded. “It’s… more exhausting being in this form again than I expected. I mean, it’s always is a bit of a stretch to move from a digital format into this world, but… I guess I am rusty at it. It’s been three years, after all.”

“Think of it more as unstretched muscles.” Connie’s face was blank – not from a glitch, but from sheer lack of understanding. “Ah… um, like that dancing game. Revolution of Dance?” At Connie’s eager nod, Celia continued. “Well, as far as my memory serves me, you can pick from a variety of songs. But everyone tends to choose all the same songs they’ve done before because they know them well. The more your muscle memory recovers, the easier it is to dance to the song.”

Connie nodded, laughing lightly. “A Revolution of Dance metaphor from Mayor Celia Stipple? Things really have changed!”

Celia took the light jab, chuckling with her. “Don’t say I don’t try. Now, there is obviously a lot to cover. But the grandest change, you already know – Skylar Specs is an object that grants the human sight into our world. As such, they have seen fit to talk and make friends with each other us.” Celia rose to her feet to walk calmly around her desk. “Or, in most cases, form a… stronger connection.”

A swallow turned into a rather sharp cough, Connie patting her chest to soothe herself. “Yes, I, ah… I’ve also found a Player Two in them.”

A rather on-brand analogy, but Celia understood it well enough. She stood before Connie, perching herself against the desk. She rarely left her chair during these discussions, but this one it needed a more intimate touch. “Quite. But is there anything I can provide information about? I encourage you to talk to everyone personally, but I am here if you want a push in a certain direction.”

“Oh, everything!” Connie sat bolt upright, hands on her knees and clutching the joysticks. “I want to know how Scraps of Hope is doing and if Mateo got that hole patched up. I want to know if Farya’s doing well in her degree – kraa, she must be almost done by now! I want to check up on Mac and if the human ever did that stupid update they’ve been putting off for so long. Honestly, it took them a year just to do my performance-enhancing one—”

Her voice softened slightly, those wide eyes fixed on Celia’s like targets. “I… I want to see if Chance and Parker did that campaign we discussed. We did character sheets and everything, and then I just… disappeared. I want to know if Penelope ever started getting back into the dating world and if she’s still worried about her future because I know she can find someone who’s worth her attention. I want to know if Rainey’s doing any better, or if people ignored her like—”

She stopped talking, shaking her head. She swallowed thickly – and there was that glitch again, her torso shifting an inch to the left, her speech skipping for less than a second, hardly noticeable – before she was back to normal, her expression just a little more sombre than she had let herself be before. “It’s so weird, you know? Mentally, I haven’t been gone at all. I still feel like it was only yesterday when Luke and Cam physically fought over that Kart Racers game, but… well. It was actually three years ago, right?”

Celia nodded. “I’m so sorry, Connie. I… can’t imagine how it feels. To be… not just left alone, but to not remember yourself. To come back after a night’s sleep and see that the entire world has changed around you.”

“No need to be sorry.” She inhaled sharply, stretching her fingers in front of her before jokingly flexing her muscles. “I can handle anything! And besides, who else can say that they were put back together after their entire consciousness was split into an entire game arc? If a few twitches and glitches are all I get from it, I’ll take that as a 100% win-rate.”

There was still that twinge, the haziness that came from the hologram. But for what it was worth, if Connie could come through it smiling, then Celia believed her. “And I think that’s an incredible way of looking at it.” She wanted to reach out – to place a hand on Connie’s shoulder and squeeze it – although she knew it would only disappoint them both. One day, when Connie had regained complete control over herself. “May I attempt to make another analogy?”

Connie chuckled, moving out of the armchair and gesturing to it. “I’m more than happy to hear any wisdom from the mayor.”

It would be rude to dismiss such a kind gesture. Celia took the rare moment to sit in the armchair as Connie moved around to where Celia had been, the two switching places so Connie now sat on the desk, looking down at Celia. “The game you and the human played, where you became yourself once more. What was it called?”

There was a faint glint of amusement, the same a grandchild would get when explaining to their grandparent how to change the background on their phone. “Moonsurgents: Resurgence.”

“Right. Well, when playing that, were you alone?”

Connie tilted her head, spotting the lesson from a mile away but playing along for now. “No. I had my yail with me. The human, my Player Two.”

“And could you have become yourself without their help? Or interference, however it happened.”

That earned a chuckle. “No. Only they could break around the time loop.”

What an honourable sentiment. “Then don’t feel like you have to be alone now. I know you are obviously closest with Telly, but I know Chance would be more than happy to help you ease back into life again. And Mateo, and Farya. Actually, Farya might be a little too interested – tell me if she becomes a little invasive concerning any physical effects.”

Connie laughed loudly, cracking her knuckles. “I’ll entertain anything in the name of discovery. But I promise I will, Celia. I’m excited to get back to life but… but I know when I need help. Whenever I need a sidekick, apprentice or tutorial guide, I’ll make sure I find one.”

And Celia only knew what two of those three were, but two out of three was not bad. When Connie left the room, Celia could only feel hopeful for the poor girl’s future.

Chapter Text

Keyes was early.

In any normal circumstance, Celia would have been grateful for the object’s timeliness, dedicated a few more minutes to making sure everything needing her attention had been attended before inviting them side to give them her undivided care. The expectation, in fact, was that objects were a couple of minutes early to any scheduled meetings. An unwritten rule, but a social one that had slipped from the human’s world and into theirs.

However, Keyes was never normally early. Prior to her and Rainey’s grand performance, she had historically always been either exactly on time or up to ten minutes late, often citing ‘musical musings’ when questioned by anyone from the mayor’s office as to her tardiness. Keyes did have a reputation in the house as somewhat of a diva and, although Celia would never use that word herself, she had not garnered that reputation for nothing. Expecting the world and giving nothing, her mind lost inside itself, ignoring the requests of others to take precedence of her own.

So, in this instance, Celia took notice that Keyes was early. Not only early, but sitting rather patiently in one of Florence’s waiting chairs outside the office. She gently tapped her foot, her fingers moving across the arm as though playing an imaginary tune, but nothing entirely disruptive or self-absorbed. She was patient and quiet, as most other objects were.

When the time came, Celia invited her inside. And Keyes made no comment about the quality of the armchair, nor of how the dry air inside Celia’s office would pull at her strings. She was polite and courteous, sitting in the armchair and merely adjusting her skirts to sit a little more comfortably.

“Welcome, Keyes. Thank you for arriving so punctually.”

Keyes held up a hand as if to freeze the sentiment. “No need to thank me for a basic courtesy. That would be like thanking the stand for holding the pages. I am happy to get to business whenever you are.”

Polite and efficient? Something had changed. Or Keyes wanted something and was trying a new tactic, although Celia didn’t find any hint of it being a performance. Much like in her literal performances, there was always a professional stiffness to her shoulders whenever she attempted to lie or barter. But no, this was… casual. Professional, but comfortable.

“Excellent.” Celia opened up Keyes’s folder, one of the slightly heftier ones. “Well, let me see the notices for you…”

Only one. Typically, there would be anywhere between three and ten (if the Hanks were involved), but this week there was only a single complaint, written by Jean Loo. Half of it was in French and while knew a decent amount, she did not know enough to understand it through his chicken-scratch handwriting. But, there was one part that Celia understood perfectly.

Keyes is being nice – too nice! It is weird behaviour. Freaking everyone out.

Well. That was new.

“Ah… you seem to be getting along better with everyone, Keyes.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Am I not supposed to?”

“No, no, you are definitely supposed to be getting along with the members of the house.” Celia sighed. “People have just noticed that you are… warming to them, shall we say. Which, for the record, I am rather happy to see.”

Keyes relaxed incrementally, tilting her head so her cheek rested against the fold of fabric up by her left shoulder. “Well… yes. After my concerto, many came up to me to congratulate and applaud me – including yourself, which I am grateful for. And I supposed I realised that I…” She swallowed. “I was a bit…”

Celia smiled patiently. As though talking around a cough sweet, Keyes managed to form the words. “A bit… demanding.”

An understatement, although Celia knew Keyes understood the level of her past transgressions. After all, she had been putting in enough effort for Jean Loo to write a paragraph about it. “That is a very good thing to want to improve. And, if I’m hearing correctly from others, you have been attempting an olive branch of sorts?”

A dark flush spread across Keyes’s cheeks, but her head remained high and her eyes remained intently on Celia’s. “Yes. I know it is a touch too late, but after their kindness and their willingness to hear my concerto, I figured I could at least come to an agreement with everyone. I apologised to various people, thanked those who attended, and I have tried spending some more time with people around the house. Some of them have…”

And she really thought. For a solid thirty seconds, maybe more, chewing the word around her mouth like a warm-up. “Interesting tastes on music. I was going to say sub-standard, but I am trying to be nicer.”

Still Keyes. Celia nodded, deciding that Keyes was trying hard enough for now. “Any point of view is merely a chance to expand one’s own perception. Try to keep that in mind if you find yourself wanting to disagree to a level of rudeness or argument. I have often found with the arts, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and in the souls of those who do not judge.”

Keyes nodded slowly, a small smile glittering across those painted lips. “You speak like a musician yourself, Celia. Have you ever attempted the piano?”

“Sadly not, Keyes. My fingers are far too stiff.”

“The guitar then.”

“Ah, Bodhi and Miranda are certainly enough for this household.”

“… the drums?” It was certainly a suggestion, although Keyes did not entirely sound like she wanted Celia to learn the drums.

To be fair, nor did Celia. “I think I shall leave the music to those more inclined towards it. I have plenty to fill my days here – work and standing tall. But perhaps you can work on a collaboration as your next project? You and Rainey worked well together for the concerto, but I am sure Miranda would appreciate a call. She is always looking to experiment with new sounds and instruments.”

Keyes smiled, tapping her hand against her thigh where the strings sat. The faint sound of notes hummed from them. “Perhaps. Although I have a certain muse in mind for my next collaboration.”

Chapter Text

Sometimes, rarely, the meetings weren’t meetings. They were catch-ups.

Every object was summoned to her office at least once every two months just as a general check-in, often revealing some undisclosed issues or remarks that Celia could deal with before they blossomed into a mandatory meeting. And Celia enjoyed them – a chance to relax, to drink tea and talk freely while still retaining that professional quality to her approach. She was the mayor, after all, and the object’s comfort and security were always at the top of her priorities. If that mean a few extra hours a day in her office or listen to gripes, that was more than acceptable for her.

And if it merely meant a friendly catch-up, that was just fine too.

Celia smiled as Florence brought in the tea, quietly setting it to one side of the desk as Gaia turned over another page of her Around-The-House scrapbook. “And here is Iran, where Amir’s from! He told me some truly fascinating things about Persian weddings and Sofreh Aghd, which is a bit tricky to say with my accent, but he makes it sound so beautiful! The human was nice enough to print me off a coupl’a pictures for m’scrapbook see, but I don’t think it truly does it justice!”

Talks with Gaia were often not talks. Rather, Celia would sit and listen and patiently ask a few questions whenever Gaia had finished one of her many rambles. And Gaia could ramble about anything. “And Nigeria! I sketched out the outline o’th’country myself, although I wish I knew even more about it. Keyes were lovely ‘n’all, but she seemed to know a lot about the railroads…”

Florence silently poured the tea, stopping only when Celia raised a hand to stop the flow. Something with berries in today, just for a change. Gaia’s was a peach tea, piping hot and suiting to her fuzzy personality, although she hardly seemed to notice the beverage being placed before her. “Maybe I’ll talk to her s’more, hear all about the music there!”

“I’m sure she would greatly enjoy that.” Celia took her own cup, gesturing for Gaia’s. “Do make sure to drink well – with all this news to tell me, it would be a shame for you to get a dry throat.”

Gaia laughed good-naturedly, touching the side of her teacup and taking a quick sip. “Ah, delicious! Do you know where this is from?”

As if Florence would ever step into Gaia’s presence without such an answer. “This particular one comes from China! Made from both the fruit and the leaves for a soothing effect. Apparently, peach tea was used to deal with stomach problems.”

Gaia’s eyes sparkled, and Celia could see her mentally mapping out another page in her scrapbook for the origins of peach tea. “Oh, fascinating! It’s always so nice to hear all ‘bout these different places, y’know.”

Celia smiled good-naturedly. “I’m glad you’ve started making this. Why, I remember having half the objects at my door, unnerved as such a forward person.”

With a flush, Gaia chuckled. “It’s fair ‘n’all. I did rush up to them in quite a tizzy! I was just so darn excited to be here though, surrounded by all these objects with all these fantastic stories.”

Celia smiled, gesturing for Florence to take her place by Celia’s side. After all, she deserved a break too, and there was a third cup on the tray. “I can’t blame you. I only wish I could have arranged a proper meeting for the new objects to meet everyone – perhaps that would have dissuaded some early arguments…” A shiver went through her as she remember Friar Errol’s introductions.

However, her discomfort was knocked away by Gaia excitedly sitting even more energetically in the armchair, almost falling off the edge with her excitement. “But we can still do that! A big ole get-together, every object in t’house all introducing themselves again. Places, stories, any fun facts they never get th’chance to share!”

“A meet-and-greet, of sorts?” Celia had heard the term from Lux and assumed it applied in this situation. “I… I certainly don’t see why not. Our next holiday is not until two months from now, so that could be an interesting way of passing the time as a community…”

Florence chuckled, pouring herself a cup of the peach tea. “And a good way of celebrating everyone! Other than Mirthdays, we don’t really get to celebrate who we are as objects. A communal day would be awesome for everyone!”

“Exactly!” Gaia clapped her hands, reaching out and frantically racing through all the picture and writing-filled pages to find a clean one close to the back. “I can sketch out some ideas, maybe go ‘round and talk to some people about what they’d be comfortable with. Maybe even get some more ideas from them! Oh, we could do quizzes!”

Celia leaned back in her chair, her shoulder briefly gazing Florence’s arm with the movement. “That could be good… although I would not add an incentive. I fear it would cause more arguments than good.”

Gaia nodded. “Quite right. This should be all about fun and getting to know each other, not some competition for the biggest know-it-all!”

Florence giggled. “I can imagine some people would love that title. But we could make this a proper holiday! I can’t think of a proper title for it right now, and I would hate to give Holly more work than she already commits herself to, but this could be a really good experience for everyone!”

Decisively setting down her teacup, Celia nodded. “I agree. Perhaps—Gaia, would you mind heading the charge on this one? Of course Florence and I will help and we can talk to Holly, but as this is your idea, I would hate for it to not turn out as you envisioned. Would you be interested in that?”

Gaia gasped like Celia had promised her the world. In a way, she had. “Oh—Mayor Celia, I would absolutely love to! I mean, I—I have so many ideas about what we could include! Little stalls for every country, demonstrations and talks about where people come from… even all the electricity folks! Eddie and Volt and Lux and Telly and everyone else can all talk about where electricity comes from and how it’s made – and I’m sure Kopi could do a talk on where all those coffee beans come from…”

Gaia’s rambles continued once more. Florence topped up Celia’s tea with a smile. “I think this is a fantastic idea. Don’t you, Mayor Celia?”

“I do.” She smiled as Gaia kept talking, scribbling ideas and plans down in her page, a new one forming with every word from her lips. “And I can’t think of anyone better to do it.”

Chapter Text

“A goddess! A goddess incarnate, I tell ye!”

Celia groaned softly, letting her hands thump down from her head onto the desk. “For the last time, Captain, I believe you! But can you tell me anything else about what happened?”

Meetings with Captain Jacques Pierrot were often like fighting a kraken with a butterknife – difficult to manage, you felt woefully underprepared, and your foe was often slipping out from your grip. As a pirate, he had an innate dislike of any sort of authority figure – which, unfortunately, including Mayor Celia Stipple on that list. The clear message Celia had been trying to spread of community and outreaching, innate understanding for each object as individuals with purposes and emotions, had sadly no effect on the pirate, who had to be manhandled into the office every time his call came.

It had gotten to the point where Celia had scheduled Dorian and Sophia to be on the ready to grab the Captain, rather than scheduling the Captain in himself. Fortunately, Dorian was always willing to be of service and Sophia was always happy to manhandle.

There had been a degree of a chase this time, the Captain leaping from step to step as Dorian attempted to grab gently rather than crushing the pirate’s hat. Sophia had merely watched for the majority of it (according to Dorian’s rather stilted recount of events) and occasionally called them ‘wretches’ whenever things dragged on a little too long. Eventually, the Captain seemed to have knackered himself out, Sophia roughly grabbing him by the arm and marching with Dorian to Celia’s office. The Captain had been placed rather roughly, a deposit rather than a place, and Dorian now stood at the door so Celia could do her damn job without the Captain attempting to skewer her.

He had tried that once. Poor Florence was beside herself and Farya had rushed in—it had certainly been a day.

But for the first time in Celia’s memory, the Captain was willingly talking with her. Utter gibberish about a goddess of the earth that he had yet to elaborate on, but at least it was something. “A goddess, Celia! A being o’ stone and—and—and glowing eyes and of the brightest treasure I ever did see! By Davey Phones, she were bee-you-ti-full. The human did claim her though, followed her request to be put upon a shelf. But I swear on Le Pique, that I, Captain Jacques Pierrot, will scale the great study shelves, slice the ankles and spear that human like a kabob that I shall eat as I reclaim the jewel!”

Celia really tried. Honestly, she did. But it was already just a bit much. “Dorian, translation?”

Dorian, stiff and careful by the door, nodded in acknowledgement. “Apparently the Captain, Beau, Gaia and the homeowner went into the crawlspace in the name of great adventure. Down there, they found a geode by the name of Rongomaiwhenua.”

Celia raised an eyebrow. “Rongomaiwhenua is… real?”

The Captain spluttered. “What—d’you—that’s what I’ve been saying! The greatest treasure the house, nay, our world has ever seen! But I fought bravely against roaches and that cretin Beau’s evil counterpart to free her so, naturally, I am her favourite. Captain Jacques Pierrot, in favour of the great Rongomaiwhenua!”

Celia rubbed her temples. “Alright. So – there is a new object in the house of… a goddess?”

Dorian nodded sharply. “That is what she is saying, ma’am. And I don’t have a good reason to disbelieve her.” His face twisted, just slightly. “Nor do I have reason to disbelieve Jacques.”

With a grumble, the Captain crossed his arms and shrunk even further into the chair, his little legs unable to touch the ground from this position. “Honestly, almost as though I have to say everything twice… people can’t bleedin’ hear in this godforsaken room…”

“I can hear just fine, Captain.” Celia clasped her hands. “I shall make a note to request a visit from this… goddess. However, this is your meeting Captain, so if you now have any queries to register with me—”

“Queries?!” The Captain shot back into a high sit, leaning forward and hand swinging as though he had his sword. Fortunately, Dorian had confiscated it for the moment. “Does a man like me look as though he would be pansy enough to have queries?! No, madam, if I have a question or a worry, I cut it out! I cut the answer from the lips of those who hide it from me like cutting shapes from paper. Worries ‘ave no place on the great seas, only determination and a general goal!”

Celia made sure to keep her eyes in the Captain’s vague direction to give the impression of listening, although felt her gaze glaze over, as though the rocking of waves had lured her into a more peaceful, neutral state. “Queries, do I have queries? The nerve and the gall of a nightingale like you, who expects me to parley at the very mention of news! As a pirate, I do not talk and query, I fight for what I want and I damn well get it!”

Dorian sniffed. “There will be no fighting in here.”

And the Captain sulked again.

Celia snapped back into the moment, not bothering to smile as the Captain would no doubt take it as a snarl or some other form of provocation. “Well, Captain. No queries then. But if there is anything you would see fit to bring up to me, I would greatly appreciate it.”

He grumbled a little, shuffling around in his chair and crossing his arms. “No.”

“Nothing at all.”

“Nothing to say t’the likes o’ you.”

Celia sighed. “Noted.”

A frantic knocking came to the door. After an affirmative nod from Celia, Dorian cracked himself open a touch. “Florence – you look harried. Whatever is the matter?”

“Um, can I please come in?”

He quickly allowed her in. And Celia could confirm that Florence did look harried – there was a fresh shake in her hands that had never existed before, and a watery sheen to her eyes that betrayed some kind of fear. “Um, Captain? Your, ah… crew is here to collect you?”

Celia narrowed her eyes. “You have a crew?”

The Captain smiled. “Of sorts.”

Well, this she had to see. Celia rose to her feet, moving past Dorian to look into the waiting room for herself. If the Captain was too cagey to even mention a crew, she would have to take everything into her own hands, as per usual—

She saw the horde of roaches with swords and eyepatches waiting for the captain. And she screamed.

Chapter Text

Rule 01: Attendees of any meeting with Mayor Celia should arrive exactly ten minutes in advance to answer small talk questions from Florence (there are right answers) and to drink a single cup of tea.

Rule 02: The attendee must sit in the white armchair opposite the desk and facing the window.

Rule 03: Any compliments given by Mayor Celia should be answered with ‘Thank you for noticing’ or an otherwise appropriate, professional response.

Rule 04: Any questions asked by Mayor Celia should be answered promptly and honestly. Lying is cheating and cheating should be punishable by death.

Rule 05: Any issues brought up by Mayor Celia concerning the attendee leads to Discussion. Discussion is a speed-round of rapid-fire questions (there are right answers), reactionary statements and competitive self-introspection all culminating in a Solution.

Solutions are often temporary ways of solving the issue, often an apology or action required after the meeting in order to complete them. The round is not complete until the issue has been solved.

Note: Some players have reported that Mayor Celia does not bring up any issues with them, only compliments and questions. These are fringe cases and skipping the Issue phase should not be considered as a valid or main path through the interaction. All rules should be followed.

Of course Celia was aware of Parker Bradley’s rules. Of course she was never going to bring them up to him.

She hardly needed to – Florence had reported hearing him outside the waiting room doors, counting down the seconds until the ten minutes before the meeting so he could enter exactly on time. From the moment he entered, he stood by Florence’s desk and stared until his plain black tea was on the coaster.

Florence would ask the question. “How are you today?”

And Parker would smile in that sort of bland way that a gameshow host would. “Very good, thank you! Busy day, good to get something ticked off!”

Then, he would sit in the corner, blowing furiously on his tea for exactly five minutes before testing the surface with his tongue. If too hot, blow for another minute, checking the sand timer he would bring with him just to make sure. If cool enough, he would chug it straight down his throat before passing the cup and saucer back to Florence with a “Thank you for the tea. Delicious as always!” before sitting back in the corner with a victorious smile on his face before it was time to see Celia.

Once – only once, mind you – Celia had half a mind to call him in early, just to get the poor man through it. But she honestly feared the sort of breakdown that would bring in him, so she stuck to the timings.

But here he was now, sat cross-legged on the armchair, eyes wide and attentive. “Hello, Mayor Celia. A delight to see you again. Do you have any compliments, questions or issues to raise with me?”

In that order, assumedly. Celia had never derived from the pattern when it had been presented to her, so why start now? “Firstly, Parker, thank you for sorting out your tiff with Holly last week. I know it’s distressing when the pieces get mixed in with her decorations, but I am glad you and her managed to sort it out.”

Goodness, he was actually scoring points for himself on a notepad. “Thank you for noticing. A little altercation that got out of hand, but we handled it.”

“Before we get onto issues, are there any matters you wish to discuss?”

His nostrils flared like aeroplane engines as he mentally raced towards an answer. “Could you tell the Hanks that if they try to use the House Trap board game as an obstacle course, I will break their fingers?”

“No.”

“Noted, thank you for your prompt answer.”

Question answered, rule followed. Parker scratched through a couple lines on his notepad with a cringe. “Now. Are there. Any issues? For me? To consider?”

Always. Celia scanned down her list, tapping her finger at Parker’s latest notice. “Now. This does concern Jerry as well, but I want to talk with you individually before bringing you both in for a negotiation."

Parker frowned. "Negotiation isn't a covered part of the rulebook... or is this perhaps a co-operative mode of the game? A new release, perhaps?"

“No, Parker, this is socialising. I don’t know exactly what happened with the Cream Capitalist pieces, but the two of you need to come to an agreement over who is keeping them. The arguments you to are having are disrupting both the attic residents and the study residents.”

Parker’s face turned an interesting few colours before settling on a bright red fury. “Ok. So… is there a question there?”

“Who owns the pieces?”

“Me. Jerry is being a lowly fuckin’ cheater and keeping them from me! All for his collection, which seems to have no rules and therefore defies the will of God! Or whatever religious deity a creature like Jerry would see fit to worship, which would also have no rules!”

“Language, Parker.”

The breath Parker sucked in sounded like air slowly escaping a piercing balloon. “Sorry. A disgusting, filthy, lowly cheater.”

Celia would not be getting anything better from him. “Now. I know Jerry has certain attachment issues, so I will talk to him and see if he cannot part with them. I need you to make an itemised list of every missing piece, which Dorian and I will then search Jerry’s collection for.”

Parker nodded, face clearing up into a bright, cheery expression, as happy and intense has ever. “Fantastic! Golly gee, what a fantastic output.”

“But I’m implementing a new rule.”

Did Parker just orgasm? “Oh! Okay! New rule, yes, that’s fine. That’s wonderful, in fact. Gosh I love rules!”

“If this or a similar occasion occurs again, Parker Bradley must immediately come to see Mayor Celia and lodge a formal report. Yelling, hurling insults or disrupting third party objects are ground for immediate disqualification.”

No, there was definitely something sexual happening to Parker that Celia was not a part of. He nodded eagerly, eyes widening as he scribbled down the new rule on his list that Celia would never mention ever again. “Wonderful. Golly, what a fantastic rule. Adding a disqualification addition? What an incentive. Ha, I could cry! I think I am!”

“Parker.” Celia leaned forwards, although she doubted any of her ire would incite the man to behave. “I understand that you have your own… moral code that you enjoy sticking to. But let’s try and make it a rule to be nice to everyone, regardless of whether or not they follow yours. Alright?”

“Hmm.” Parker tilted his head before shaking his head, raising his hands. “Sorry, Mayor Celia. But I don’t ‘try’ to do anything. I either do it or don’t, and as that’s not a formal rule, I’m not even going to consider it. Now, are there rules for lodging a formal report?”

She tried. Celia sighed. “Florence knows them. Talk to her on your way out.”

Chapter Text

Of all the objects to rest upon the plush armchair, Mateo was perhaps the one who fit the aesthetic the most. Or, rather, made it fit him. The sleek leather looked a thousand times more comfortable when he sat on it, sagging and tucking into the body just so, the plushness of Mateo’s coat hiding the more professional embellishments from view. Maybe that was merely Mateo’s superpower – no matter where he went, there was comfort.

But Celia, in these rare moments, looks at the plushness, the inherent coziness, the way his shirt bunched up and his trousers are soft around his legs, and feels uniquely uncertain about her plaster-crafted dress and chiselled profile. Celia always tried her best to be welcoming, poised but approachable in that professional veneer. She knew her job could not allow for the easiness of companions – she would always hold a degree of power to them and owe them more than just her time and friendship, but also her attention and management.

When Mateo is sat there, all warm and soft, Celia feels suddenly lonely.

She scanned over the business report, the sheets all smelling of fresh laundry, the kind you could press your nose into and breathe in forever. “It’s all looking good here, Mateo. Attendance seems to be fairly regular, if a little low on weekends but I’m hardly surprised by that. Object interest and usage to be roughly the same as last month. Are the numbers what you were expecting?”

“They are indeed!” Mateo chuckled, crossing his legs and tucking his feet underneath his coat to trap even more heat in. “It’s not like every object suddenly gets a new pet, so I’m not worried if things are a bit stagnant. Although I’m equally glad that Lint Eastwood hasn’t blown apart again… one is already a handful, but twenty Lints? Extremado!” Mateo shuddered dramatically, clearly an exaggeration to successfully earn a mildly amused smile from the mayor.

“You and I are both grateful for that blessing.”

Celia quickly glanced over the rest of the report, certainly content with the way Scraps of Hope was looking. “Thank you for the report, Mateo. Everything is all fine on my end, although I recommend you make sure to send in a new request to Tydus for any cleaning equipment before the end of the month. Other businesses have found it’s less paperwork to get it in before the start of the next working benchmark.”

Mateo chuckled warmly. His own copies of the Scraps of Hope reports were in a busy little binder atop his lap. The fabric was from a little patch, something that fell underneath the couch back when the human had attempted to take up sewing for those glorious three days, along with a spare button that had come with a new flannel that they never ended up giving to Jerry. Maybe that was good thing, although Celia did not need a second Jerry living under the couch with Dolly.

He quickly checked through them before closing the binder, winding it shut with an old elastic around the button. “And I have some good news! Well, maybe not the most exciting or the most relevant for you, but it’s still good news. And… you’re okay with hearing good news?”

Celia raised an eyebrow. “Of course, Mateo. Anything worth your attention is worth mine.”

“Well, we found Davi! Well, the homeowner found Davi. And a whole lot of other animals, so the shelter’s thriving again! I know the numbers don’t reflect it, but that’s really only because many of them are so low maintenance.”

That really was good news. Celia smiled once more. “Mateo, that’s fantastic! I know things have been difficult lately, but I’m so glad you’ve found him. Are all the animals alright, or should I request for Farya to come over?”

Now, Mateo raised an eyebrow. “No need for Farya to come over, alcaldesa. Besides, for animal health, I think I might be slightly better than her. Although I have no doubt that once her first degree is down, she’ll surpass everyone in record time!”

Always so warm, always so positive. Celia nodded briskly. “That’s good. Although you know that I always have her on stand-by if you need her, and if you do need to know anything in an emergency, Lyric is close enough to assist you.”

Mateo smiled carefully, a trying look in his eye that made Celia squirm. Celia, the ceiling, squirm. “You know there’s nothing right now that needs fixing, right? Celia?”

Celia’s eyebrows shot up her forehead like two puppies scampering down the road away from their owner. “I… beg your pardon?”

Mateo turns that deep burlap colour, the flush deep and tawny across his cheeks. “I—ah, I suppose I was a bit presumptuous. Or perhaps a bit blunt? But…” He took in a quick breath, clearly psyching himself up. “I truly appreciate what you do for us. But don’t feel like you always need to jump in and help, especially when there’s no fire to put out. Ha, if there was a fire to put out though, I’d be screaming for Arma!”

If only Arma was not screaming beforehand. “It’s… yes, I apologise, Mateo.” She swallowed, an unexpected feeling of embarrassment – shame? – rising quickly through her throat. “Part of the job, I’m afraid. It comes a little too naturally.”

Mateo tilts his head like one of those basket hounds. “It’s nothing to feel bad about, Celia. I just… wanted you to know that I’m appreciative of the advice and guidance you give us all. You’re so good for us that we don’t often need the extra help!”

A warm feeling built behind her eyes that she quickly blinked away. What was happening to her? “I… well, thank you. I apologise, I don’t quite know what has come over me.”

She sniffed quickly, something so short and flavourless that it could easily be dismissed as one clearing their sinuses. Mateo’s careful, studying gaze seemed to know different. “Are you okay, Mayor Celia?”

“Quite alright.” Tapping the edge of a finger against her lash line, Celia found it thankfully came up dry. That still did not stop her eyes feeling like they were streaming, though. “I just, ah… your words mean quite a lot to me. I know I sometimes can come across as quite… intimidating.”

Mateo easily laughed, hugging the binder of reports to his chest. “Not intimidating! I mean sure, all paperwork is a little terrifying. But that’s paperwork, not you. You’re…”

Whether compliments or constructive criticisms were about to come out of his lips, Celia was not sure if she would survive. But he thought over his words, tilting his head side to side like they would eventually straighten out in his mind. “You’re professional, which is what people need when they come to you. You’re understanding, which is exactly what a third party should be. You’re diplomatic but firm, which I would compliment in anyone. But it is a stroke of luck that all those qualities are in you, and that you’re our mayor.”

It was compliments and Celia was not surviving. She nodded sharply, looking at the gentle soul in front of her. “I’m not… entirely sure how you’re always able to provide such comfort, Mateo. But I think it is an equally, if not greater, skill to be proficient in. I know I am… yes. Well.” She cleared her throat. “Perhaps we all think of ourselves as a stranger. But I am certain that even if I did not know the exact numbers, I would know that you were a perfect keeper of lost animals and a wonderful citizen to those around you. So, thank you in return, Mateo.”

Mateo’s smile came just as easily as they always did. “No need to thank me. Part of the job, right?”

Chapter Text

Tina Triangle. Where to begin?

Perhaps the most loudly spoken of the objects – not the loudest volume wise, as that was a firm tie between Luke and Captain Jacques. However, there was no opinion in the house that Celia was never more certain of than a certain Tina Triangle’s. Even Lux, who spent every single minute of every single day giving opinions of horrific sincerity mixed with disgusting dismissal, could relegate most of their opinions to the infinite crawling cesspool of social media that Celia deliberately hired individuals like Phoenicia to traverse in her stead.

Tina Triangle just made herself known. If something was wrong, her voice would carry from the tiny shelving unit in the human’s bedroom all the way into her office. If someone pissed her off, Celia could expect a meeting from someone with a slapped-red cheek within five minutes of the fight beginning. If there was a hair out of place or a speck of dust where it offended, Tina liked to make sure that everyone knew that it was their problem to solve, not hers.

Unfortunately, the majority of the time, it was Celia’s problem to solve.

Every other day, some poor object wound stand near shivering at Celia’s office door, a wild look in their eyes or a discomfort in their gait.

Penelope, hugging herself to her chest with her hair frizzier than ever. “All the human did was use a pencil to tap her! That wasn’t even my doing!”

Cabrizzio, eyes staring off into the far distance like it might give him an answer. “The screaming, cara mia. Oh, the wailing of her transgressions would make the angels fall from the sky!”

Even Keyes, whose unflappable personality had been fluttered like the pages of her sheet music. “I have never found another musical being so… unmusical with their intent. Or perhaps dissonance is her style. But it is certainly not mine.”

Tina Triangle was no stranger to winding up in Celia’s office, no longer brought tea due to the number of times she had openly spiked it in front of Celia. It was as though Tina was a repeat offender in a school, constantly made to sit in front of the principal and be explained why no, Tina could not attempt to incite fights and drama with every single object.

That Amir vaguely remarking that her vertices could do with a polish was not grounds for spitting in his face—

“How’d you like that for a polish, Mister Two-Face?!”

—that Betty refusing a round of hate-sex was not an acceptable reason to start talking behind her back to volumes that she could hear anyway—

“You’d think a ‘free bed’ like her would be freer, but she keeps herself locked up like that corset she wears from last year’s Furniture Insider.”

—that Telly not being able to speed up time until the next Triangle Island was not a good enough reason for her to literally cross their wires.

“What? Just tryin’ to get a better signal in here, since your ass can’t seem to get the one I want!”

And now, Tina sits before her once more, arms folded like origami and her face stormier than thunder and lightning. Celia tries, desperately, oh so much, to regain her composure into that same perfected, neutral, professional woman she needs to be. “So, allow me to say this from the point of view I have been presented with. You and Tony have found a form of… kinship in each other—”

“Oh my god. We bone, Celia! We hook up!”

“I’m aware.” Celia breathed in, nice and calm. “Tina. There are objects in every room in this house. When you… enjoy yourself to the degree that you and Tony do, you are going to be within the vicinity of others. Which—I can handle an occasional noise complaint. I cannot handle a letter signed by over fifty objects complaining that your nightly activities have been disturbing them on the daily.”

Tina flushed although it was clear to Celia that it was more from pride than any sense of shame. “So? They should be enjoying the show! I’d give them a taster if they weren’t such a bunch of bozos.”

“No one here is a bozo, Tina.” Celia fought to keep her voice level, clenching and unclenching her hands on the desk. “I get the sense that there is a bit more to the story. I know you and Tony were affiliated before the letter claims these incidents started beginning. So… what is it? And yes, you do have to say.”

With a click of her tongue that dings beautifully, Tina rolls her eyes. “What are you gonna do if I can’t say, hmm?”

“Forbid Telly from playing Triangle Island.”

Tina gasped. “You wouldn’t, you piece of shit! God, I’ve never respected you more than in this moment.”

Playing dirty did not feel good. But, whatever worked. “Well then?”

“Ugh, fine.” Tina shrunk back into the chair, grumbling under her nose wrinkled. “I thought I’d go to Bev’s bar, you know. Me, Tone, get some drinks in us and if the human was there, really discover how a triangle bends, if you know what I’m talking about.”

Maybe Hell for objects was real. “Go on.”

“Well, there I am with my drink, when who bumps into me? Stepford, with that trash fake tan and that highlighter so strong he’d get Lux out of a job if he bothered to match his skin tone. So, of course, I start asking him why he would fuckin’ push me, because I spilt my drink all over Tone. And this glittery twink is just standing there, saying it was some sort of accident – but I don’t buy that shit, he’s had it out for anything not made of gold since day one!”

Tina leaned forwards, her hand out in front of her to point and punctuate every word. “Turns out, Tone had to leave the bar that night early for some big project thing. I wasn’t listening. But I passed out from drinking too many vodka cranberries and who took me home? Stepford. The fuckin’ nerve of the guy! Spill my drink and then carry me home!”

Celia pressed her fingers against her temples. “So, if I’m right to understand, you are having loud and disruptive sex with Tony every single night and have been for the past two weeks… to get back at Stepford for accidentally spilling your drink?”

The words hang in the air for a moment. Tina’s eyes widen as she considers them – and then nods firmly. “Yeah, that’s basically it. He’ll tell you it’s an accident, but I don’t believe that.”

Well, mystery solved. Maggie would be proud if she thought any of that was worth the honour of being called a mystery. “Tina. I will not impose a curfew on sex, nor am I doing to ban you from having fun with your partners. But you will be more understanding and courteous of the other objects’ boundaries or I will have to review other privileges.”

Tina’s eyes lit up at the challenge. “Oh yeah? Like what? I know you’re all bark and no bite.”

Celia took her on, leaning forwards like she meant it. “Have you heard of community service? I was thinking about talking to Dasha and Abel about getting some more objects involved in outreach, giving back to the community. Would you like to be the first one I test its effectiveness on?”

None of this was true. Celia was more than happy to let the objects give what they already gave and however much more they personally wanted to. But at the prospect of being obligated to be nice to people, Tina’s cheeks flushed. This time, it was not of pride, but of some form of attraction Celia did not want to admit was directed at her. “You sick fuck. That’s hot. I’ll be quieter.”

Victory. Celia leaned back in her chair. “Thank you, Tina. You can show yourself out – you know the way.”

Chapter Text

“Remind me of how this started?”

Because really, she did need reminding. The crowd of half-drunk and half-injured objects sitting in the waiting room being attended to by an overly eager Farya and a harried-assistant Florence were an indicator, but not a cause. Eddie and Volt reportedly tossing some less than elegant missives to the ‘Madam Proprietress’ were a little more insight, although Volt was often one to make a production out of things. The delegated authorities patrolling around the house – Dorian, tenser than a wooden beam; Daisuke, tense and near-sobbing over the chipped mugs; and Freddy, gently offering cups of water to anyone who hadn’t made it to the waiting room – were a precaution and reaction, but not an entire response.

No, the response needed currently relied on one object’s admission – Beverly’s.

When news of a brawl in the Tipsy Tumbler had broken out, Celia and Florence had jumped straight into work. But now, the fever had settled and the aftermath was setting in. And, judging by the crack in Beverly’s arms and the sloshing brandy-brown bruise on her left cheekbone, some shame was starting to set in too.

Beverly sighed, nervously twisting her drinks rag in her hands. “You have to understand that I wasn’t even drinking. I mean, never drink on the job, right? That’s number one rule or bar school. At least, I think it is – I know the human bought one ages ago when they had that ‘I want to start learning mixology!’ phase, but I haven’t read it.”

“Beverly.”

“Right.” She breathed deeply, glancing over her shoulder at the cracked-open door to the waiting room. Just in case the medics required another set of hands. “So. I’m sure you know that I was running a One Month Reopening Anniversary Specials Night. New cocktails, new mocktails, maybe some games and quizzes, you know! Just something fun for everyone to get involved in, if they wanted.”

Celia glances briefly into the waiting room, seeing far more objects than could feasibly sit inside the room either sprawled out on chairs or the floor. “Mmhmm. And?”

Beverly sighed. “And… things got ramped up quite quickly. Turns out that good moods and rink make for quite a lively crowd. We had Phoenicia and Lux doing these livestreams, Cam and the Hanks were manning Dare or Dare – like Truth or Dare, but you either do a terrifying dare with the Hanks or a gross dare from Cam – Sinclaire and I were running the bar, it was great!”

Sinclaire being sentient again was a topic for another day. Celia jotted some names down on a sheet, down below the long list of the offenders. “And then?”

Almost hidden by her bruise but sadly rather visible in the thin light of the office, Beverly blushed a bright cherry-soda red. “Uh… so, everyone’s like, at least three drinks in. I even caught Bathsheba stealing an entire bottle of tequila from behind Sinclaire’s back – which actually isn’t relevant. But, Eddie and Volt were there. And—”

She sighed, picking at a loose thread on the rag. “—and we’re not unfriendly. But, you know – a bar and a speakeasy, sometimes there’s going to be a bit of professional tension. But I’m polite and honestly, so are they, so I make them some drinks and everything’s fine! Everyone’s there to have a good time, I’m not going to stop the Breaker Box boys from having a couple Boulevardiers!”

Alcohol and anything rarely went well. Celia continued writing, listening with one half of her mind and noting with the other. “And then?”

“And then… people start talking. I think it was Lux? Could’ve been Bathsheba… maybe that entire table. Just a lot of gossipmongers who started talking about me and Eddie and Volt, comparing the two – which is kind of unfair? But whatever, right?” Beverly bit her lip, the liquid in her bruise swirling like she was shaken, not stirred. “And then Tony stands up, and I know he’s had about seven or something stupid number of beers, because he challenges Eddie and I to a speed pouring contest.”

She was getting closer. “Let me guess. Things got heated between the two of you?”

Beverly cringed. “Eh… kind of. It was actually a complete draw – Timmy timed it for us – but Volt got a bit… offended on Eddie’s behalf. And then Tina provoked him, and then Johnny tried to defend him, and the Jean Loo got involved, and then I think Kristof punched someone?”

“Hold on.” Celia paused her notes, looking up at Beverly. “Who was Kristof supporting?”

“I don’t actually know. I think he just wanted to punch someone and he found an excuse. Because he punched one of the Hanks who were, honestly, just chilling.” Beverly sighed, lightly touching the bruise on her cheek with a rueful smile. “Still. Then everything… broke loose. Eddie and I actually helped each other escape, although he and Volt were certainly telling off the others for brawling in a bar on my behalf. Ha, actually kind of sweet!”

Now that was surprising. Or maybe the general household’s love for gossip was rubbing off on her in ways that were professionally unethical. “So… there’s a contest that ends poorly, Kristof punches someone, unrelated, and then the majority of the household ends up in a mass barfight…?”

Beverly gestured expansively, a small smile on her face. “And here we are! Uh, which isn’t that great. Because… I’ve still got to see Daisuke about all my chips, and the night was technically a disaster from how bad it went, and also I still can’t work out if Volt is mad at me. But they seemed to be on my side! And everyone turned up for a good night, so… one point for the Tipsy Tumbler!”

Celia placed her pen down. Well, if there were no actual tensions to resolve, there was not a whole lot she could do. “I’ll arrange a meeting with you and Monique to discuss any damages… and I’ll address the situation tomorrow. But as long as you’re alright with not pressing the issue further, I don’t see any need for conflict resolution with you and the others. I know you and the Breaker Box have some differences, but you’ve always been cordial with each other.”

A quick laugh escaped Beverly. “Ha, you said cordial! Like, like the drinks and stuff! Wow, that’s like… awesome.”

“Are you certain you had nothing to drink?”

Beverly coughed like something went down her throat the wrong way. “Uh, I’m okay with no resolutions. I’m not mad at anyone, just…” She sighed. “I know I’ve got to see Daisuke. But he’s gonna get all weird and stuff over the chips and cracks.”

Celia nodded. “Best to get it over with. I sent him to the Tipsy Tumbler twenty minutes ago."

With a groan but a final sincere thanks to the mayor, Madam Proprietress Beverly left the office, giving a guilty (but not too guilty) wave and thanks to all her former patrons getting poked at by Farya in the waiting room. It would be their turn soon, and Celia had some choice words for certain members of the household.

Chapter Text

Florence knocked on the door, quickly bustling inside. “Are you free, Mayor Celia?”

“Of course, dearest.” Celia set her pen aside, smiling up at her dear assistant. “Is something the matter?”

“Oh no!” Florence hummed slightly, reconsidering her words. “Not wrong, maybe. Just, ah… unusual! Yep, and nothing for you to worry about. Or me!” She sighed. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

She did that awkward little sway, her hands behind her back and rocking back and forth on her tiptoes. Although, at Celia’s welcoming gesture, she quickly walked in and sat in the armchair. “So, uh… basically. You know Mitchell Linn came in yesterday? Just for a check-in?”

“I do, yes.”

“Well, uh… he’s written a review about us.”

Celia almost felt herself choke on the nothing in her throat. “I… beg your pardon? Not yours, Florence, but… what?”

Flushing terribly, as though she had written it, Florence moved her hands out from behind her back to give a printed out review before her. “I’m always subscribed to his blog and so I saw it pop up… I admittedly thought it was a scam for a moment, I nearly had Willi come down to sort through my notifications! But… nope, it’s real.”

Holding the thing between her fingers, Celia tried to read Florence’s expression. “Have you read it, then?”

“Yes.”

“And…?”

Florence gestured to it. “Best read it for yourself. I don’t quite know what to make of it… so.”

Dutifully, Celia looked down and began to read through the review.

Mayor Celia Stipple’s Office

The act of attending a meeting may be seen as a mundane, routine thing where the mere act is an exercise of both futility and authoritarianism exercised to the point of normality. However, I am never one to dismiss any activity as such - where there is decor, food and someone providing a service, we must hold it to the expectations that it attempts to exceed.

The Stipple Office is rather simple, a two-room establishment consisting of one waiting room, waited by Florence Floor, and the mayor’s office itself, run by Celia Stipple. Both are professionally and minimally decorated: the same cream walls, dark-stained floorboards and marble-white ceilings feature in both.  However, the act of minimalism is not to be viewed minimally - the polished floors and simple furniture are a stark reflection of the establishment itself: efficient, professional, and necessary in every way.

Any fears of lifelessness are quickly dissuaded at the entrance. The waiting room is a charming place, a few plants and kitschy penpots with various mementos from previous customers sprucing up the decor enough to allow those who enter to truly relax. And, if you are feeling peckish from the walk up the stairs, the coffee table between the sofas is always stocked with tea and biscuits, courtesy of Florence.

Florence, working behind the desk, is a quiet but helpful woman, greeting everything with a warm smile that a friend would give as they caught your eye passing the street - and perhaps that is the waiting room’s greatest achievement, to make everyone who enters feel like a friend. Her cosy shawls and cheery personality remind us that although we are here for business, we should not forget our connection with each other as objects, people and fellow constituents.

Waiting times are often quick, with only one space but enough efficiency to power the entire house. However, a detracting point from the welcome atmosphere of The Stipple Offices is that anyone and everyone is welcome - unaffiliated company may make your visit unpleasant or awkward, although both Florence and Celia are remarkable at conflict dissolution. Any cases of unpleasantness are not to be put upon the hosts, but merely the accessibility of the establishment.

During my meeting with Mayor Celia, she displayed absolute professionalism even in the face of hardship. A gracious host who listens to her customers with the intensity and understanding that they are deserving of, Mayor Celia is the face of her office. 

The interior of the office is an elevated version of the decor of the waiting room, although perhaps betraying a little more of the stuffier aspects of the establishment. The bookshelves are tall and imposing, reminding one of how small they are within the universe - or perhaps that we are only smaller than Mayor Celia, our host and assistant for the moment. With the stains of the shelves directly contrasting the brightness of the walls and ceiling, they perhaps are intentional in that aspect, to welcome and then humble their customers before the face of the establishment.

However, despite these more intimidating aspects, there is no denying the grandeur of it. The coffered ceilings remind one of a great temple, delicate engravings chipped in with a master’s touch, all reflected in Mayor Celia herself. While there are none of the cozier aspects that Florence provides, perhaps that is not what is needed within the office - rather, the single plant gives a pop of colours while the neutrals of the office portray all the values at the core of it: efficiency, professionalism, and a sturdy certainty that the office is there for you.

Overall, I would highly recommend this establishment. While any underlying negative feelings are certainly ones to be addressed, the dedication to detail in creating an atmosphere of both warmth, comfort and reliability cannot be understated. I look forward to my next visit - and Florence, I encourage you to stock up on that peppermint and liquorice tea in preparation!

Celia set the paper down. “Well. That was… encouraging, honestly.”

Florence nodded eagerly, taking the paper from the desk to place it into one of the filing cabinets. “That’s good! I know he kind of went on a bit of a bad path there, but… I thought so too! And it is always nice to hear feedback, even if I don’t think I’ve ever been featured on a food blog before.”

With Florence handling the paperwork, Celia clasped her hands in front of her. Poor thing must have been terrified reading that. “He spoke incredibly highly of you, Florence. I’m rather glad to hear that my staff’s presence is only positive.”

Her ears turned a little pink, and Celia got to follow the band of blush around as Florence turned to look at her. “Of course! I wouldn’t do anything that would make you look bad. And I love my job, so… that helps too!”

And now Celia felt warm. She smiled through it. “I’m rather glad.”

Chapter Text

For all his poetic words, grandeur and romanticism, his certified Italian temper could not be restrained.

If asked, it would surely be due to the tempest of his emotions swirling out in such great force that the great gale bowled those around him over, swept up into the vortex. Or perhaps that his passions, burning like a great oven where his grandmother cooked her famous ribollita, had burned too close and burst from his skin and scorched those around him. And thus, the flames took a while to cool down, any water thrown atop evaporating into clouds of steam that billowed out and away, unable to stifle the flames until they burned themselves dry.

In Celia’s mind, however, it was a bit more simple than all that.

Two other accounts of the event were neatly written and placed to the side of the desk. The third sheet of paper now sat before Celia, her pen hovering just above. She was already fairly certain of what Cabrizzio, offender number three, had to say on the matter, although she would act as fairly as was only expected of someone of her position and poise and not interfere. “Please, Cabrizzio. Whenever you are ready.”

To his credit, Cabrizzio had been sitting rather politely in the chair. But at the starting gun, he leapt into action, hands flying around his face in such extreme gestures. “Ah, signora, I fear no one is making sense about any of this! I had hoped to find such confidence and amicizia in my fellow objects, but now I only feel the harsh slap of betrayal, its rings cutting into my cheek and scarring the skin there for all to see.”

Nothing yet that Celia could actually write down. “Tell me exactly what occurred, though. I want to solve this dispute so everyone can get back to their lives, and I can’t do that without knowing the facts.”

Cabrizzio sighed impetuously - and then again, calmer, more understanding. “Indeed, sindica mia. I apologise for my words, they just…” He raised his hands to a mouth before miming things falling out of it in a great waterfall. “They fall out so quickly, I cannot think to change them before I lose them! But, mi scusi, I shall get onto it.”

He leaned back with a sigh to rival Airyn, his arms resting on the chair with an almost practiced stance. Just on the verge of manspreading. “It began so simply, you see. Lyric, Hector and I - we all are lovers, no, admirers - no, worshippers! - of the music of language. Of the way each word can be plucked from the mind so carefully, like the hands of a craftsman plucking the splinters from his thumb. It is a skill not many have - to look past the mundane words and to delve so deeply into that of poetry and compliments. Ah, it is a skill I wish to one day master, but know that it will only ever be a well of inspiration and not the water itself.”

Celia, somehow, was still on track of his meaning. “So, tell me what occurred between the three of you?”

Cabrizzio sighed again, ringing his hands out before him. “We intended to start a… club of sorts. Lyric had suggested a friendly competition, although I suspect that it was little more than a ruse to give him the fire under his feet to finish his manuscript. No, I was under the impression that it would be a club!”

“A book club?”

“Oh, more than that, cara mia.” A sunny smile slipped over Cabrizzio’s face, one that stretched his handsome features into that classic smile that could make anyone swoon. “A club of passion! Of sharing our adoration for the written and spoken art of language, a club to share our muses and build upon it! Of course, with us all having a, aha, common interest in our homeowner, I had every expectation that our inspirations would run as wild as the stallion in the field!”

Celia nodded. She had yet to see a stallion, although Cabrizzio and Mateo had shown her enough horse films to know the intent behind it. “Judging by the way you phrase things…?”

The smile fell away, and a rather upset twist contorted his lips. “Indeed. It was, ah… not how I had intended things to go. There were small disagreements here and there, si. But none so great as the one that Hector, that man of such beautiful words and such frosty tongue, had created for us!”

Hector, argumentative? Celia had never known such a thing. “Do describe.”

“Ah, signora! He claimed that his words were that of the ultimate truth, that his love for the homeowner was transcendent. By mere proxy, my words meant nothing! Of course, I am no novelist like Lyric or Hector and, well, I have never written a poem outright. But what is so wrong with poetic language? They wished to contain my words as just that - words.”

Judging from the other two reports, this did happen. However, all three were known for using their words however they pleased, and Celia could confirm that all three of them had no doubt stretched the events to their vocabulary’s extent. “Cabrizzio.”

“Si, signora?”

“I think the only issue here is one of medium. If you love the homeowner, I believe you. I also believe that Lyric and Hector love the homeowner. These things are all true–”

“But the issue, Celia, is not of our love! Oh, I know how we all love in our own ways. But…” Cabrizzio’s face suddenly falls into one of utter desolation, his hands limply falling from their gestures and into his lap. “But they criticise my form. My words, they call them… secondhand. Copied.” He swallowed, eyes cast to the ground as though watching the raindrops make ripples on puddles down the streets of Italia. “I fear I am little more to the world of language and literature than a failed attempt. But how can I express my emotions in such a unique way when the poets and wordsmiths of the world have already said so much?”

Celia swallowed. Maybe this was more complicated than a simple poets-society-fallout. “I… I am afraid I am no poet myself, Cabrizzio. But if you hear words, or speak them, and feel them in your heart as a truth that can be neither denied nor twisted, then they are yours. Either in spirit or speech. And as you said - you are not a novelist, nor do you desire to use them for such purposes. Yes?”

Cabrizzio nodded. Celia smiled. “Then do not use them for such. Use them with the homeowner, and friends, and try not to compare yourself to the concepts of books themselves and a man who has spent his entire life in the air vents. Find your own words, whether through collection or creation, and know them in your heart.”

There was a small pause. Celia tapped her fingers on the table softly, a habit that she refused to label as nervous. Then, Cabrizzio laughed. “Oh, cara mia. You say you are no poet, and then you speak those words? I… I feel lighter. Yes, I owe apologies. But my own weight? You have lifted it as you lift up your community.”

Celia bowed her head with a smile. “I’ll set up a session tomorrow with you, Lyric and Hector, just to clear the air. But, even if you don’t continue your club, I would recommend speaking with them. You could all learn something from each other.”

Cabrizzio rose to his feet and Celia did the same, the two meeting for a cordial and affectionate kiss on each cheek, as was Cabrizzio’s tradition. “I shall take that advice! After all, if I am to learn from the great and beautiful world of Italia, I can learn from the worlds of the friends around me. Grazie mille, Celia! May your days be bright and fruitful, like you have made mine.”

He left swiftly, Celia only just managing to find the moment to call out, “And yours, Cabrizzio.”

Chapter Text

On one side of the desk, Mayor Celia and Florence were sitting with bated breath. The tea tray was divided into two halves: one with two freshly poured cups of peppermint tea and a plate of gingersnaps, nice and soothing; the other with a steadily growing pile of empty teacups and crumb-filled napkins. It was never like them to eat and drink before the attendee had arrived, although there was a real anxiety in the air today.

Florence nervously took the handle of her fifth cup of tea, blowing on the surface. “I mean, I’m sure this will be fine! I know he’s been acting, well, odd for a while now, but if the rumours are true then this is a good thing. A good meeting for a good reason!”

Celia chuckled wanly, her slender fingers tapping against the table, one after the other like a wave. “If the amount of goodness received was derived from how much you have been saying it, then I am sure it will be, dearest.” She swallowed. “Although perhaps I should have called Farya in, just in case. Arma will also want to be involved - this ought to have been an email—”

“No, no! No spiralling. Please.” Florence quickly reached over Celia’s lap to gently grip Celia’s incessantly tapping hand for a moment, the plushness of her hand forming a rather pleasant cushion. “It’s all going to be fine, really. Either Martin Applegate walks in, still talking about insurance, and we try to accommodate this new person. We set up a meeting with Willi who can actually explain to us what an insurance claims adjuster is and how that would work in our states, and we can really make this work.”

“Please tell me you have decided on an ‘or’ there.”

Florence giggled lightly, squeezing Celia’s hand. “Or Sinclaire the sink walks in, and everything quickly goes back to normal. With some adjustment periods, of course.”

Her arm was still across their laps, the drapings of her shawl just caressing Celia’s stomach. The two quickly retracted from each other, Florence hiding behind her cup and Celia sharply clapping her hands together. “Well. Let us hope.”

The door suddenly opened, Dorian holding it with that same severe expression on his face - unmoving, taut, almost grim in its foreshadowing. Although was this his usual severity, a foreboding severity, or a knowing wink? Dorian rarely did knowing winks unless he was attempting his comic routine, although surely he knew better than to tease Celia on this matter.

But behind Dorian and swiftly strolling in was the sink himself - either Sinclaire or Martin Applegate. Although the smooth, wide porcelain face and pupilless eyes made it rather difficult to immediately tell which name applied.

Dorian gave a nod and closed the door once more, standing guard in the waiting room. Thank goodness that man was always there on short notice.

The sink sat in the chair, legs together and back straight with a rather expectant look on his face - or as expectant as he could look. There was a little raise to his tap eyebrows though, a little hint of something positive.

Celia smiled politely - as she would with anyone. Whether it was Sinclaire or Martin, he deserved her respect. “Thank you for coming to this meeting. Now, I do apologise for this initial question, but - what name would you prefer to go by?”

The sink laughed rather uproariously, breaking from his stiff posture to slap his knee and cackle like a madman. Ironic that in this moment, Celia felt quite mad herself. But, the laughter died down enough for the sink to wipe a dripping tear from his eye and sigh in exhausted humour. “Oh, sorry. I really wanted to keep it up, but you two look so scared! I’m Sinclaire, of course. Of course I’m Sinclaire!”

Florence let out an audible sigh of relief, relaxing into her chair like all the air had been deflated from her. “Sinclaire! Goodness, you gave me quite a worry there!”

Sinclair chuckled, bowing extravagantly and in clear jest before widely crossing one leg over the other. “I just couldn’t resist. I mean, it’s me! No idea where this Martin Applegate fellow went - or where he came from. Although I’ve been told he was quite the looker–”

“Good to have you back Sinclaire,” Celia swiftly interrupted, “A lot of us have been quite worried about you. From Arma’s report, you had been backed up with… Jimson weed?”

“Ah, Jimson weed! Son of James weed. Jimbob weed to his friends.” Sinclaire nodded knowingly, because truly, this was the most normal he had been talking in a while. “And yes! Not quite sure how that got all in me - that minx of a homeowner must have been doing some very naughty things… or the one before, who was much less of a minx. But the current one? Ho, boy…!”

Florence choked slightly on her tea and Celia tightened her grip on her own hands. “Right, not entirely sure I’ll need to log the details on that. But have there been any difficulties so far, Sinclaire? We’ve rarely had to deal with objects coming back from amnesia or altered states, but we want to be able to provide anything and everything you need.”

Sinclaire waved a hand dismissively, resting his hands atop his belly. “No need. The feeling is more like overcoming a great big cold than anything else. Well, a cold that makes you think you’re a guy from Florida and that removes a good chunk of your memories. But I’ll get them back, no sweat! Just, uh… if you could?”

“Yes?”

“Maybe no more Jimson weed. Because if it doesn’t go into poor Sinclaire right here, it goes out the window. Or down the toilet. And no one needs Wyndolyn or Jean Loo thinking they’re from Florida.”

Celia chuckled and nodded. “Easily done. As it happens, I don’t believe the current homeowner has ever owned any medicinal substances of that variety… but I shall keep note.”

“Wonderful! Ah, simply splendid.” He tapped his heels together as though he had jumped into a heel click, although he remained very much seated and slouched in the armchair. “You know, I would keep note myself, but I’m already in so many different places! Bathrooms and kitchens and the washroom… actually, that’s all of them. But four different rooms! No wonder poor Martin was so deranged.” He laughed uneasily, scratching the back of his tubing. “Ha, the more I think about it, the more deranged I feel! And I’m not Martin, I’m Sinclaire! Oh what chemtrails my mind will make… hm, perhaps trails of condensation would have been a more apt metaphor.”

The feeling of anxiety loomed once more. Florence leaned to Celia’s side, tucking herself close enough to whisper into Celia’s ear. “Maybe you should have called Farya. And Arma. Anyone else who would know what to do?”

Celia furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t think there is a single person who knows what to do… but at least he’s still Sinclaire.”

Chapter Text

Celia was by no means against the potluck idea.

“Just imagine it, snow queen! Tables all set out with all kinds of food on them, a space at the back where Kopi and Bev can make some mean drinks, and even Mitchell can get a kick out of it too!” Freddy Yeti attempted to lean back in the chair, although his rather broad form was already squished into the padding within an inch of his life. “Everyone can cook something - I’ve got leftovers galore, Stefan can whip up whatever the hell he wants, the Friar can, I don’t know, just do his thing… heck, even Luke will like it!”

On the surface, it sounded utterly fantastic - every member of the house contributing towards something was a seldom reached goal. She was even thinking of making her own scones for it, just a simple little plate with some jam and cream on the side for anyone to add to as they wished.

The issue - or rather, the onus - lay in the fact that Celia’s entire job was to be critical. And critical, Celia was going to be.

“Very well presented, Freddy! One of the most compelling presentations I have had in a very long time.”

Even criticism had to be constructive. Freddy grinned a wild, toothy grin, batting a hand as though batting away the compliment. “Aw, thank you Celia. I just think food is one of the few things we can all really just… get stuck in.”

“I agree. However, I would like to raise a few points.” Celia straightened her posture, Freddy nervously copying her. “Number one - any direction on the kind of food people can bring?”

Goodness, his grin was like a bright overhead light, making everything below glow. “No way, compadre! I want this to be a proper celebration, you know? Everyone should get a chance to do their thing.”

Celia loved the enthusiasm. But enthusiasm did not necessarily mean cohesion. “Perhaps I should have worded that more… carefully. What is your definition of ‘food’ in this instance? As I am sure you are aware, objects like Cam may take this in a much more personal direction, which could lead to some rather interesting interactions with the other objects.”

Freddy’s smile faltered, although he exhaled a quick blast of cold air to recentre himself. “You make a good point. Maybe I’ll make it clear that it has to be edible to other objects? Nah, I don’t want to come across as rude…”

“Florence and I can workshop it with you. Secondly, will there be a limit to the number of dishes one person can bring?”

Freddy laughed as though Celia was joking. A rare occurrence. “I don’t think so! I mean, that’s like asking people to control themselves when giving on Blissmas. You can’t limit these things!”

“Then how will we be dealing with the waste? Because, being conservative here, maybe… half the residents will bring a dish. I would encourage the variety, but some people may not want to. Now, I imagine most will bring… a sample size. Correct?”

Freddy nodded. “I… yeah? I’m kind of hoping for it.”

Celia smiled politely. “And, as you mentioned, some people will be excited by this. Yourself and Stefan especially are well known for making… rather copious quantities when the situation calls for it.”

The wheels slowly started turning. Freddy rubbed the back of his neck. “Call it an occupational quirk.”

“So - and this is a question, not a shutdown. But how will we deal with the waste?”

The air got colder. That curious shrinking feeling, like the room was suddenly too big for the world, as her fingers felt like icicles. Freddy’s eyes flashed for a moment, a dangerous blue that felt too hot for the yeti. But, as soon as it happened, it faded and left her feeling more breathless than scared.

Like pushing his way through a path of snow, Freddy closed his eyes and took in a nice, deep breath, wading through his emotions in real time. Celia could see the harsh etch on his brow, the clusters of ice crystals forming in his clenched fists, before it all melted away like the power had gone out. Still no smile - not yet - but his response came with a cool tone. “I hear what you’re saying. Maybe I’ll limit the portion sizes. Most leftovers will go to me, half-eaten to Cam, anything else can be free food. The Hanks are always hungry, so they’re basically like five extra Cams.”

Celia tented her fingers, an easy smile warming her face. “What a remarkable solution. I’m rather happy with that compromise.”

Freddy’s eyebrows slid up his forehead like ice hockey pucks. “R-Really? You think it’s that good?”

“Of course I do!” Celia reclined, watching as Freddy’s face warmed under her gaze. “A cool response, well thought out, and something I think solves the problem. Obviously a few more tweaks to work out before the announcement, but I’m happy to give this project the go ahead.”

A sweep of cold air came rushing past her face from Freddy’s breathless yet heavy laugh. “Really? I mean… way to go! Oh, man, I’m chilling now. That’s–sorry, sorry, professional.” He sucked in the breath, sending all the cold air swirling back past her ears, nodding with a poorly-contained elation. “I really appreciate the opportunity, snow queen–uh, Celia. Genuinely, I really want this to be a huge success.”

Celia smiled. In past meetings, Freddy’s unstable temperatures had frozen her tea and peeled the wallpaper from condensation. But this was progress beyond her jurisdiction - and she damn well liked it. “I shall endeavour to make it so. For now, continue things up with Florence as she will be able to provide a much more clear insight into the logistics than I can. But I look forward to seeing a planning form on my desk soon?”

Freddy nodded, extricating himself from the armchair and reaching across the desk to shake her hand. A little too energetically, although Celia’s foundations were robust. “This means so much to me, Celia. I won’t let you down!”

He bounded towards the entrance - although Celia called out. “One thing, Freddy.”

“Of course!”

She set her most chilling look upon herself. “I will not allow a repeat of the Iced Coffee Disaster of last year. Am I clear?”

Freddy gulped. “You got it, snow queen. Clear as the ice keeping this food fresh.”

Chapter Text

Well. The household potluck had certainly… happened.

For the second time in an embarrassingly short period, various objects are sulking throughout the office. The clean-up crew were already doing their bit - Freddy sweeping away the leftovers and quickly sorting them between edible and Cam-edible; River, Tydus and Tyrell cleaning away the messes on the floors and walls; and Florence supervising everything as she was one of the few Celia trusted enough to ensure her standards.

The Friar had been sent away to calm down, Eddie and Volt commanded to restrain all currents to the kitchen. Farya was on duty, although thankfully, it appeared that no one had been injured. Well, other than a few egos and dishes; Daisuke was back in counseling, with Koa on speed-dial for the next two weeks until the human could order some more dishes.

And now, Stefan stewed before Celia, his hands tight on his knees and the gas burners on his wrists simmering. Not enough to singe, but enough for Celia to feel the heat. Tony was humming away some Top-20 hit with just barely enough tune to be recognisable, finally patting Stefan's arm with a smile. "And there you go, fuckin' donezo! Another stella job from ol' Tone here."

Celia smiled. "Thank you for your speedy work, Tony.  Could you check back in with the Breaker Box before leaving for the day? I'm almost certain they have everything covered, but I would rather be certain."

Tony winked and shot some fingerguns before picking up his toolbox with a grunt that his Uncle Tony would be proud of. "You got it, boss! Nice seeing ya, Stefan."

Stefan's jaw was working as though he was actually eating his own words. "Yeah, sure Tony."

The toolbox left and the room got horridly quiet without Tony's rendition of Lola Tong's songs. Celia merely watched Stefan, waiting for the hobs to do anything else other than slowly turn up the gas. In the end, she spoke anyway. "Was that your first gas leak?"

"Yup."

"I'll ask the human to call in a real engineer after the Valdivian nonsense is over. Something like that is worth the interference."

"I know, Celia. I'm the damn stove, I know what I need."

Celia tapped the desk. "Then I'm sure you'll know that what I need is an explanation."

Stefan let out a mighty sigh, his fans whirring out heat until Celia could feel it and smell the leftover crumbs of pastry crust filtering through the air. "I know I… got heated. Mr Cluckles is always telling me that. But it's been a long day for me, Celia. I know this potluck was meant to be great, but…"

His voice tapered off into a grumble, near unintelligible. There were words in there somewhere, although not quite enough for her to understand anything. "But what, Stefan?"

His burners flared for a moment, bright blue and acidic, before falling back to their steady yellow. "I like my space. And sure, I would love it if every single object here loved it as much as I did! The issue was not the food itself - I loved the potluck. Amir's ganache was so damn reflective, Mr Cluckles was preening himself in it!"

Gosh, just the memories of it had them both salivating. Celia smiled in fond memory. "What was the name of Kristof's soup? It was utterly delicious."

"Sodd, it's a Norwegian delicacy with mutton and hearty vegetables–anyway, I'm not here to talk about food… which is a sentence that physically pained me to say." He huffed out another sigh, mumbling through a remark to himself before continuing. "But… no one loves food like I do. But, they all gotta use my kitchen. Imagine having fourty, fifty, sometimes sixty people all in your space, using and touching everything that's yours - and they ruin their own creations!"

"I'm fairly certain the latter is a personal opinion, but I do hear your point."

Stefan crossed his arms. "And then all through the potluck, it was just criticism. Friar and his nonsense, sure, but also Mitchell! He never appreciates the love of the food, the toil and effort and precision it takes to make such things. Or the vulnerability - this household, for one moment, genuinely communicated with each other. Yes, through food—but we saw each other! And not just in Amir's ganache."

Admittedly, Celia did think back fondly to the start of the event - where Daisuke and Jerry carefully set everything out over Abel's finest tables, and objects came from all corners of the house to taste and marvel and discuss. Sure, not everyone participated to the same degree. But there was a proper crowd in the kitchen, one that stayed and talked things through and never let up for a moment. Celia had felt the sweetness of Diana's deconstructed tarts melt on her tongue, the faux-fruitiness of Dunk's protein shakes stick behind her teeth, the spices from Dante's couples' spring rolls hit her windpipe. It had been so good.

"And then?"

Stefan wiped his forehead with a teatowel, soothing away some of the headache. "And then Mitchell starts preaching about quality and standard - all directed at Cam. And then, of course, Errol joins in because you can't preach without the friar! And it just… set me off. Everyone put in so much effort and all my ovens were preheated and it all just… erupted. I mean, you were there."

Celia sighed through her nose. "I was. I know Mitchell often forgets to leave his work outside of his personal life, which I will not hold against you." She pressed her fingers to her temple, massaging the stone. "Perhaps it was too much to expect a day of utter calm and community. I'll manage it one day."

Stefan frowned. "Don't burn this day off the list just because of me, alright? I still admit that, before everything, it was going great! All the stories, all the food… hell, I'll even admit that seeing people in my kitchen was exciting. Jerry even left his drawer - you know how rare that is?"

"Believe me, I know."

They chuckled together. Stefan rose to his feet, which made Celia think of the souffles he had made for the tables. "I'll go and help the others clean-up. It wouldn't be fair if they removed all of my mess… and I should apologise to Mitchell. I didn't mean half the things I said."

Celia watched him head to the door, then called out. "I would like you to apologise, although I think others should too. I seem to remember the human having a few choice words for the crowd."

A smile peeked through the tempering storm on his face. "Well… yes. Yes they did. Words I greatly appreciated."

"I remember a few more expletives than I thought were necessary."

Stefan smiled. "I may have shared my passion for food with them. And it may have been a worthwhile endeavour."

Chapter Text

Luke Nukem's file paraded that gossamer thin line between reality and fiction.

It was filled with a myriad of very obscure and nonspecific monologues delivered by the microwave himself, of very real and very important noise complaints from anyone who stepped foot in the kitchen past a certain hour, and a lot of complaints from Luke that Celia had yet to verify if they were true or not. The dangers of the Barrens certainly sounded important, although she had no jurisdiction there, nor could she contact any governmental or judiciary system there. Nor was she entirely certain that the Barrens were an area in the house she had access to.

Thankfully, Celia dealt with certainties. And today's issue was certain.

"Luke - firstly, I am very glad that you are finding friends within the house."

Luke Nukem, microwave and ranger extraordinaire, chuckled brazenly, cocking his head to the side. "You say friends, I prefer 'fellow soldiers' personally. Really gets our ideals across, you know?"

"Mmm. Unfortunately, this house is not at war, and you and your 'fellow soldier' Connie have been subject to rather a few noise complaints this week. Would you know anything about that?"

Luke turned as red as his hair, the cocky smirk fading in favour of a rather put-out grimace. He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, accidentally clocking himself in the cheek with his plate. "Uh, well, that's uh… soldiers know everything, Mayor Celia! But no, no one has brought that up to me before."

Celia pulled the most recent one forwards, glancing over it. "Apparently, you and Connie were running around, 'blasting scroufs' and 'sending those damn swarmers back where they belong' according to some eye witnesses."

"There should have been no eye-witnesses! Ranger Soul was supposed to—I mean, uh, crazy. Yeah, that certainly sounds like us… and a mighty fine spectacle that would have been for them."

"A spectacle mightily fine enough to set Arma off?"

Luke cringed, sucking in air through his teeth. "That was us?"

"Indeed."

"Ah, cruck." Luke let out a quick, hot puff of air. "Rest assured that we did it in good faith though, Mayor Celia. Colonel Furnace had sent us out specifically to… fortify the living room. Against swarmers and scroufs, as Ranger Soul's lingo says. And war."

Celia narrowed her eyes. "I'm sorry, there's a war going on in the living room? And I wasn't made aware?!"

"Of course not!" Luke puffed his chest out, reaching for his firearm - which Florence was holding onto, as the idea of weapons in Celia's office was something she was not willing to entertain. "The colonel sent us to deal with it so you wouldn't have to. By the time Ranger Soul and I will be done, the inhabitants of the living room will be none the wiser that there ever was a war."

"Luke."

He put his hand on his heart. "Although, if you ask me, it was an oversight of the colonel to not inform you about the impending doom. I may be a lowly soldier, but we're the dang best at what we do. And what we do is blow shit up, protect the world and look good while doing it!"

Celia tapped a sentence on the complaint. "Abel mentioned that the two of you had no firearms. You were running around with fingerguns and yelling, ahem, 'pew pew, I'll get you swarmer' at each other. Is that accurate?"

Luke remained silent for a solid minute, his empty hands flexing around the invisible shape of his missing firearm. "That's… well. Sometimes the war is inside your heads! With all the powercrank flooding through me–"

"Right. Luke, I have no objection to you playing pretend with Connie. You cannot do it at three in the morning. And if there is an active war occurring, I must be notified by this Colonel Furnace. This is not a matter of discussion, this is a bureaucratic necessity. So, Luke, is there a war going on that I should be aware of that directly concerns the safety and security of this household?"

"Uh… not… specifically… we've got a handle on it."

"No. Luke, is there a war going on?"

Luke shrunk in his seat like a microwaved plastic tub. "Well… no. Just… Connie and I, you know…"

Celia let the sigh out through her nose nice and slowly, easing out the tension. "Okay. No wars. I understand your position in the platoon, Luke, but that is not covered by my governance. You have to keep me updated on the parts that matter and let some parts… rest."

Luke's face soured. "Like letting chicken tendies stand before you bite into them."

The two sat in silence, Celia quickly working through the noise complaint - and her swiftly oncoming headache - before leaning back. "I did mean what I said originally though, Luke. I know you enjoy isolating yourself - or the colonel isolates you - so seeing you actually enjoying yourself with someone else is fantastic. You just have to… temper the boisterousness sometimes. Not everyone can keep up."

With a rueful smile, Luke chuckled. "Ranger Soul is a good companion, both on the battlefield and off. It's been nice to see her again - and to actually see her. I think we forget ourselves sometimes…" He stared off into the middle distance, his goggles slipping themselves down his nose to shield his eyes from whatever apocalyptic explosion he envisioned. "But it's good to know we're never alone. And, even though we run around the living room and trip into Arma and can't have real guns, there's someone else to do it all with."

Luke reached up, pinning his goggles back to his forehead. "And hey! When there's trouble that the world needs protecting from, I'll be there. Detonator ready, gun primed, swarmers already fleeing from my might. By the Immortals' will, this house will be safe. The rangers have got you covered, Mayor Celia. I swear by the detonator in my heart!"

Celia only knew about half of what he was talking about. But it was the important half.

Chapter Text

Miranda lounged in the chair, her trusty guitar resting against the side of it as she mindlessly wove her fingers through the strings. "So… that is my suggestion. Buena idea, ¿no?"

It certainly was a good idea - Miranda's portfolio was heavy with promise, but neatly outlined to a degree that deeply pleased and encouraged Celia. A music club - or society, or school, whatever Miranda would eventually decide on - was abundant with enrichment ideas. Of course, certain members would be certain contributors - Miranda herself, Bodhi as a second opinion, Jean Loo would adore the attention, even Johnny Splash could join. Although, according to the portfolio, Miranda had every intention to be the one teaching him, and not the other way around.

"I am certainly liking the look of this, Miranda! How long have you been thinking of this?"

Miranda let out a small exhale like the pop of a toaster satisfied with its job, her smile relaxing. "For a while, I will admit. With the Migas, it just feels so… natural. A part of who I am. I want to help others find that feeling, you know? And if I can also find some inspiration in their attempts… well. We all win."

Celia chuckled. "Well, I certainly have no reason to say no to this. I will question the practicality, though. Have you decided on where and when this would occur? Or would it be more akin to workshops, where they are scheduled when possible and people can sign up?"

"Ideally, a weekly occurrence. If we can handle the structure of the human's day to day, we can handle this." Miranda tilted her head to the side, away from the armchair. Last time she was in this room, she had unfortunately melted the leather with her hot coils. "Perhaps on Mondays, to avoid interfering with Chairemi's schedule. I am sure she would also enjoy some more singing lessons… and perhaps I could be persuaded to take up acting."

Celia smiled. "There is a distinct overlap between a songstress's performance and an actor's. At the very least, it would be interesting to see how you could evolve your stage presence… not that you have any real need for that."

Miranda laughed indulgently. "Oh, trust me. I am always looking to expand my knowledge and abilities… even if I know that I am an excellent musician. Both things can be true."

Celia could always trust Miranda to be both pragmatic and confident in herself. It made for a refreshing change to the normal hordes. "I'll contact Chairemi about setting things up - with her experience with the theatre, she could have more practical insights than I would. I'm good for bureaucracy, but I'm not going to pretend that I know the first thing about keeping a music society running."

"I appreciate it, alcadesca."

Celia quickly wrote a note reminding herself to contact Chairemi, then turned back to Miranda. "Now, talk to me about yourself. I know this isn't your official meeting date, but I would be remiss to not ask about your wellbeing. You certainly look well."

Miranda's grin turned hot and sunny, but she shrugged with a coyness that bordered on shyness. "Ah, you know. Living my life, one song at a time. The Migas and I have almost finished our songlist for our upcoming album, so we're all quite buzzed about that."

"Oh, wonderful! Do tell me when it releases and I'll make sure to listen in. Florence and I do love to listen to music together, although we've been lacking since Keyes' performance."

An eyebrow raised. "Ah, do you often do that together? Compare notes and see how you found it?"

"Oh, no. We listen to it together - but I digress, this meeting is about you!"

Miranda nodded indulgently. "Alright, alright. What else is there to hear about me? I feel like my whole life is music right now, so unless you want to hear all the intricacies of the chord progressions, we're going to be sitting here in a lot of silence… and you know I do not do silence."

The two chuckled, and Celia pushed her papers away so she could lean back more freely in her chair. "Then let's talk as friends, not as mayor and constituent. How is life? You say things with the Migas are going well?"

The smile that warmed across Miranda's face was uncontrollable. "Life is… good. Ha, very good. The Migas are rocking the music world with me in a way that feels… like destiny, I suppose. I know Stefan will always worry about what I was built for, but in a way, I feel like I was built for music. Making noises, filling the world with my words. Not to get too lyrical about it."

Celia brushed away the notion. "Please, be as lyrical as you please."

"Then… I feel like one day, I can show Stefan what I meant by it all. I hope he sees me onstage or on an album cover and… gets it. Tall hopes, but I've never been one to shrink away."

"No, you have not. Nor should you." Celia smiled. "I mean, I am the mayor. It would be rather hypocritical of me to not encourage another young lady to work hard and get exactly what she wants."

"You do get it!" Miranda laughed easily. "And, ah… if we're talking friend-to-friend…"

"We are."

Miranda flushed. "I… may have been on some dates recently."

Celia felt the warmth spread through her, a strangely maternal pride settling in her chest. "Oh, Miranda! That is wonderful. Do they treat you well?"

"They do. Ay dios mio, they really do!" Miranda leaned over the edge of the armchair, fanning herself in a way just dramatic enough to be an act, although every act was rooted in realism. "And they understand. They ask about what I like and they give honest opinions, help… and they're very cute too. Just what I want from a partner!"

"I am so happy to hear that."

Miranda grinned, then her eyes widened as she glanced at the clock on the desk. "Ay! And I just remembered - I was meant to go and see them. We've got another date - I think I'm going to tell them how I feel. Like, really feel. Maybe in musical format. I don't know!" She grinned breathlessly despite having hardly moved. "We'll see!"

Celia chuckled, waving her away. "Go, then. I'll ask Chairemi to follow up with you and check all the paperwork. But for now, go and see your beau."

Miranda grinned, throwing her guitar over her shoulder and rushing out the door. Oh, to be in love.

Chapter Text

As Celia walked through the waiting room, she knew something was deeply, universally wrong.

Perhaps it was something in the air, an unconscious tension that sat uncomfortably against her shoulders. Perhaps it was something her intuition had been honed for. Or perhaps it was the way that, for the first time in perhaps her entire life, Florence did not greet her with a genuine smile. Through the forced, unnatural bend of her lips, Florence lied through her teeth. “Good morning, Celia! And a fantastic day it shall be.”

Celia stopped immediately by the desk. Normally, Florence would hop up and join her walk into the office to brief her on any changes to schedule or notes for the day. But neither moved. “Florence–dearest. Please tell me what is wrong.”

Florence’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “Nothing is wrong! Nothing at all–everything’s–good, great day!”

“Florence.”

The offending floor swallowed, bowing her head. “Sorry. I’m just, a bit, well…”

If Florence could not say what was wrong, Celia would find out. Nothing in this world would worry her dearest secretary and get away with it. She glanced around, quickly noticing a potential issue. “Your teapot isn’t out. Don’t I have a meeting with Dishy in a second? Is it broken?”

Florence shook her head. “No… well. Yes, yes, and no. I, um… actually don’t need to use my teapot today. Or get anything.”

Celia narrowed her eyes. She had to beg Florence to even take an afternoon off of work at times. But she soon sighed, seeing the unnerved twinge in her cheek, and leaned over the desk so she could try and meet her eye. “Dearest, please tell me what is wrong. It’s not like you to be so… unmotivated. If you need something from me, or–or a break from this job, you only have to say.”

“No!” Florence coughed into a more normal voice register. “No, no, I’m happy. It’s just… I don’t need to get anything because someone else has already gotten it.”

Celia straightened. “Who?”

A minute later, Celia sits at her desk as Dishy stands before her, too wide and box-like to fit in the chair. Where Florence’s patterned china used to sit, there is now a blocky white mug with a blue Valdivian ‘V’ on it and a little blue stripe around the rim, filled with bubbly dishwasher liquid. The entire rooms smells of the same substance, but also something even cleaner than that. Clean and plasticy to the point of clinical, which certainly offends Celia’s plaster sinuses. However, Dishy’s wide smile betrays no emotion, no insight into whether he realises just how odd his appearance is. “Lovely to see you, Mayor Celia! I’m Dishy the Dishwasher, the New Pro Deluxe Ultimate Dishwashing Experience 4.0 from Valdivian. It’s so great to see you!”

Celia tapped coldly on the desk, finding it to be the only thing helping her release her ire in a nonthreatening way. “I know who you are, Dishy. I know the Valdivian objects were a… relatively new addition to the household, but I make it a habit of meeting everyone. So no need for introductions.”

“Fantastic! However, it appears you don’t yet have an account with Valdivian.” Dishy laughed with too much enthusiasm while still sounding hollow. “Unfortunately, that means I can’t perform any of my actions. Would you like to set up a Valdivian account for free?”

“No.”

“Would you like to set up a Valdivian account and pay for it?”

Celia swallowed back a string of expletives. “No.”

Dishy’s smile remained on his face, static and unnerving. “Are you sure? With my latest updates and installations, I have all sorts of new additions! Such as: a new flavour of dish soap, Apple Pie Surprise; over forty-two thousand new sex positions added to my repertoire; and the New and Improved™ dishwasher mode, MassageMode!”

“Hold on, sex positions? No, nevermind. Disregard that question.” Celia rubbed her temples. Whatever updates the human had been dealing with was not her priority. “There was a matter with another object that we need to dissect, hence why I called you in today.”

Dishy’s blank gaze somehow sunk. “No need to act as customer support, Mayor Celia. My functions are operating exactly as they should be!”

Celia glanced down at the paper. Then looked at it again, just to make sure she was reading it right. And then stopped to stare right into those weird little eyes. “You attempted to kill the human.”

“Only a judge can tell me that! And you’ll never get me in a court long enough to tell those corrupt pigs anything!”

Normally, that sort of talk in that jovial voice would scare someone. But Celia was not going to back down to a Valdivian mascot who could not even move his cheek muscles. “I don’t need a judge - I’m the mayor. And according to this report, you attempted to kill the human and terrorised multiple objects for… defying Valdivian?”

His eyes took on a slant of worry, his eyebrows creasing his plush skin. “Sorry, Mayor Celia. That was before the Update 278.5 Patch which fixed all homicidal tendencies. Valdivian… offers their apologies?”

“Speak from whatever constitutes a heart in your body, Dishy.”

Dishy sighed through his smiling teeth. “Okay. I got a bit… eager. Can you blame me? My entire life, I’ve been a part of Valdivian. The Ultimate Experience, right? Can’t just… let go of that. And to be honest, I don’t want to. Say what you want about the Friar and I, but we’re damn good at our jobs. And so, I got… testy.”

He rose his head - or rather, his entire body bar his legs - a little higher, looking up at the little patch of sun that streamed from the window and onto his face as though it were a beacon of hope. “And maybe a part of me wanted them to beat me. To know what it would be like to find a force greater than the one that made me and gave me my name. And they did, and I was gifted something far, far better than their drowned, eviscerated body would have.”

“Which was?”

“Love. The desire to constantly improve oneself not just for a corporation, but because you can. Because there is nothing more important in this world than becoming the best version of yourself you can be… to be with another.”

And Celia’s heart could only melt at the thought. Her tapping ceased, her eyes drifting away from Dishy and resting on the door to the waiting room as the film of her tears quickly cleared up. Then, she snapped back into her body. “A touching sentiment. But attempted murder is still illegal, so I’m going to write you up.”

Dishy laughed loudly, emotionlessly, his eyes narrowing to pin pricks. “Valvidian’s best object lawyers will meet you halfway, Mayor Celia! And thank you for using the New Pro Deluxe Ultimate Dishwashing Experience 4.0 from Valdivian.”

Chapter Text

"Mayor Celia?"

Daisuke's head poked around the corner of the door, Florence hovering by his side. Florence frowned as she looked into the office. "Um… I'm sure she'll be ready to see you in a second, Daisuke, please don't worry."

By the desk, there was an ominous crash as Celia knocked her head against the drawer, quickly righting herself. "Oh! Goodness, is it our time already, Daisuke?"

A crack of a frown appeared in his forehead. "Indeed it is… although I would much rather reschedule than interrupt whatever you are requiring of yourself at this moment. Perhaps Wednesday?"

"No, no, no need - please, do come in."

Daisuke, referring to the higher power in this instance, glanced at Florence. She nodded and placed a hand on the small of his back, enough of a tap to have him walk over and sit in the armchair. Back as straight as a knife, posture at the height of poise. "Forgive me for my observations, but you seem rather… harried."

Celia laughed ruefully, trying to close the offending drawer and failing. She would not have a second Jerry. "Yes, well… life goes on, I suppose. And work."

"It does not suit you."

She sighed through her nose, managing just about to wedge the drawer closed and return to her normal position, prim and calculated at the head of the table. "It rarely suits anyone, although some make it work. Florence carries any emotion on her fashionably."

"Yes… maybe." Daisuke tilted his head, his eyes trailing over her with the same scrutiny that he would with his dishes. "I will offer my previous statement again, however. Plans change, much like the winds, and I am more than happy to accommodate you."

Goodness, that was her job. "And I shall mention again, Daisuke, that there is no need. Plans can change, so I shall deal with my other activities later. Now, talk to me about what you wanted to discuss."

Daisuke nodded. "It is nothing major, although I wished to make a change to the Omakase Daisuke business plan. Mitchell and I have been discussing some new ventures for the shop post his most recent review, and I thought I would–Celia?"

Celia had her head down, pen working quickly against the notepad like her train of thought would spill off the edge if she did not catch it in time. As such, she did not look up when her name was called, instead finishing the tail-end of the sentence before looking up in question. "Apologies, would you mind repeating what you just said?"

"As I was saying, the Omakase Daisuke business plan will need some minor edits. My original paperwork no longer covers the range I wish to aim for—"

He stopped short, sensing that Celia's mind - and pen - were once again elsewhere. She kept scrawling, and Daisuke sighed. "Mayor Celia, I hope I am not interrupting you."

Her pen paused on the page, a little blot of ink forming like a teardrop underneath, and she sighed. "I'm so sorry, Daisuke. My workload this week has been a little… daunting, and I thought I could handle the mutli-tasking. But that is clearly not fair and not indicative of how much I care about you and your queries."

Daisuke smiled, bowing his head. "Thank you for your honesty. May I do something rather… unorthodox?"

"That… depends."

He rose from his seat like a great guardian rising from the ocean, leaning over the desk to pluck the pen from her hand and place it neatly in the ink pot. Some things were worth the aesthetic. "Forgive me for conducting a more direct approach, although I have found that it has worked quite well on me."

With an eyebrow raised in permission, he collected her paperwork and moved it to a shelf by the door, behind the globe. Out of sight, out of mind, she supposed. He then picked up two blank pieces of paper, folding them quickly and ripping them into neat squares. "I have recently been confronted about my tendency to embrace work over others… and have evolved from it. I am not going to pretend that I am a master of the work-life balance, although I fully intend to continue my journey. Mayor Celia, I believe you should join me on this journey."

She chuckled, completely caught in a trap. If she accepted, her precious workload would remain. If she denied, she would only be enforcing Daisuke's entirely valid point. So, she resigned herself. "If that is how you wish to spend this meeting, then of course. What do you suggest?"

Daisuke slid a square over the table. "In a previous instance, my lover and I wrote each other poems. It was… remarkable. However, I believe we would both benefit from something a little less revealing, at least around each other."

"How very astute."

Daisuke smirked. "So, instead, we shall create origami. If you do not know how, I shall teach you. And we shall forget our worries for…" He narrowed his eyes at the clock. "... for twenty-two blissful minutes. By the end, we shall have a mountain of paper creations and an equal weight lifted from our shoulders."

Celia smiled, taking the paper square delicately by the corners. "Very well. But I promise that we shall revisit your issue, as that is of higher importance than any miscellaneous tasks I want to tick off my list."

"It is understood and appreciated. Now, fold your square corner to corner…"

Twenty minutes later, Florence opened the door with her elbow while balancing the familiar tray in her arms. "My apologies for the lateness, you two! I just got so caught up in the letters that I completely forgot–"

On the table, on the shelves, around the desk and on Daisuke's lap were a steady array of paper objects. One folded into a lightning-bolt; several different flower shapes; a few easy triangles stacked up on the corner. The conversation between them was mindless, unintentional, trailing off as Florence walked in. Daisuke turned around, a long smile on his face. "Ah, Florence. Look at our creations."

"Uh... wow! They're lovely!"

Celia flushed slightly, although nodded rather happily at the praise. "They are, aren't they? It has been a rather unorthodox meeting, although it has, so far, been rather beneficial." She caught Florence's eye with a smile. "Come and join us—oh, I did make one in your honour."

As Florence came closer, Celia placed an origami teacup in her palms. She had taken a pen and drawn various decorations around the rim, a little filigree patterned replicating Florence's very real teacup on her tray. Of course, while the imitation was not perfect, Celia had remembered all the details in a manner that made Florence's face warm. "Oh, my! This is… truly, lovely. I mean… wow!"

Celia smiled serenely. "My pleasure, dearest. Now, do listen to Daisuke. He has rather swayed me on board with managing my off-time in a more productive manner."