Chapter Text
Saint’s morning was a calm, lighthearted one. Unusually so. If he believed in the age-old superstition among college students, he would’ve feared the day would quickly tumble downhill the moment he left his dorm. A good morning is a terrible afternoon in waiting. But Saint wasn’t really one for superstition. Not negative ones.
He finished his breakfast apple and dropped the core into the trash bin as he left the kitchen. Still in his pajamas, the slugcat itched behind his fluffy ear as he entered his bedroom and opened the closet, idly swishing his tail.
Business casual? No, not needed. Something comfy would be nice today. He picked out a solid color leafy green shirt with long sleeves, and a pair of warm sweatpants dotted with flowers. A glance out the window revealed it was, in fact, snowing, so he grabbed a shadowy zip-up and threw it over his shoulder.
Cold but cozy winter mornings, his favorite. Some light snowfall on his way to practice, dusting him as he trotted through the campus of Five Moons University. No classes to worry about. Ah, what a day. The slugcat hummed a merry tune as he put in some simple gold earrings, clasped a Karmic pendant around his neck, and slipped on a few of his favorite black-gold bracelets.
Saint heard a small commotion as he grabbed his violin case and room keys, but it was of no concern. He walked out the door with a pep in his step, threading his left arm though his jacket sleeve while holding the case with his right.
My, those footsteps were loud. Was someone-?
An unkempt, imbalanced force crashed into him like he’d been struck by an oncoming wave at the beach. He tumbled across the dorm hallways with a yelp, a sharp pain bouncing off his elbow as he banged it on a doorstop. A snap and discordant twang alerted him to the instrument’s case opening.
Saint groaned, moving a hand to the side of his head and looking up to see what had struck him.
Looming over the small, fuzzy musician was a terribly intimidating slugcat, looking somewhere between disoriented and worried. She had to be much larger and heavier than him, as what felt to Saint Luke a train crash had not even knocked her off her feet. She was wearing black cargo pants with a few handmade patches, the length of them partially obscuring worn combat boots, and a reddish T-shirt that read, quote, “I go by Bitch/Bastard” in a bold, angry font. Her fur was unkempt, coarse, and thin. A large, ugly scar ran from across her right eye like a canyon.
Ohhhhhh… Artificer.
She wasn’t exactly famous, but she was anything but forgettable. A hunter at heart, she had a gruff demeanor, a killer workout routine, and a presence that left most a little intimidated. She didn’t lack friends, but she did lack good ones. Nobody smart would mess with her.
Nobody smart. Unfortunately for college students…
“HAH! Dumb broad!” A voice Saint didn’t care to recognize called from down the hall. “Have fun with another court date, two-face!”
The Artificer’s expression, which had been fixed on Saint in a mixture of confusion and concern, snapped instantly to fury as she turned to the source of the noise.
“CAN IT, YOU BITCHLESS FUCKWAD!” She shouted. Her voice seemed to shake the earth at this range.
“Shove it up your brain-damaged ass!”
With a snarl through gritted teeth and a quick glance around the hall, the Artificer’s eyes locked on Saint. No, wait, on a spot above him. She grabbed ahold of his room’s doorknob and twisted it off it’s bolt.
She threw the knob with an angry grunt. A whoosh, a thunk, a pained yell.
The Artificer thundered down the hall like a stampeding bull, and vanished from his view.
Saint was left on the ground with an aching arm and a frazzled mind.
And a snapped string on his violin.
Void, damn it.
It was eleven-something pm when he heard the knock at the door.
Saint was exhausted. It’d been two days since the run-in. He’d barely gotten any sleep; the campus staff assigned to fix his door had somehow spent two early-morning hours muddling loudly with his things, and managed to leave without actually fixing his doorknob. Then he had three classes, a grocery run, and had spent the last hour trying to find a single music store that both stocked violin strings and wasn’t outrageously expensive or far away.
Saint sighed and walked to the door, rubbing his eyes. He placed his hand on the knob, then bumped into the mahogany wall. Muscle memory; the door was still locked with a shoddy metal slider that’d been haphazardly screwed into the wall. Like the one you’d find in public bathrooms. He grumbled and unlocked it, gently pulling it open by the corner.
“Who is it?” He asked tiredly, opening the door.
His eyes widened as he got his answer, albeit without a word.
The Artificer was standing there, barely shorter than his actual doorframe, hands in the pockets of a black hoodie with text he couldn’t make out. Her scar was less concealed now, whether by angle, lighting, or perhaps even a lack of makeup. The paralyzed, greyed tissue ran down to the corner of her mouth, leaving her with an uncanny mix of a constant grin and scowl. She raised her functioning eyebrow at him as he stared at her.
“I- uhm.” Saint stammered. “Hello.”
“Sup.” She greeted. “… Name’s Arti.”
“I believe I’ve heard of you.” Saint replied, leaning against his doorframe. “What brings you to my room?”
She gave a grumpy sigh, scratching behind her left ear.
“The doorknob I threw at Outlaw…” She muttered, looking down the hallway. “I’d still have it if he wasn’t such a bitch.”
Saint remained confused, almost wary. “Is this an apology?”
She hesitated.
“If it’s board-mandated, we can just call it here. I don’t hold grudges.” He dismissed, crossing his arms.
“N- no, no it’s…” She groaned. “Look, man, I am sorry I ripped your doorknob off. And clearly those fuckers don’t know how to fix it, so…” After gesturing vaguely, she reached her hand into her pocket and produced, what else, a doorknob.
“… What?”
“I can fix it.”
“I- you’re offering?” Saint questioned, thoroughly perplexed.
“Yes.” She stated bluntly.
“… I hadn’t anticipated that.”
“Dude, you talk like the characters in those stupid books we read in English. Do you want me to fix it or not?”
Partially in spite of himself, Saint chuckled a little.
“… Well, I’m not opposed.” He stepped aside. “Come in.”
Arti gave him an affirming grunt and moved inside, Saint shifting to give her space. She revealed in the pockets of her cargo pants, the same pair from the day they’d collided, a small screwdriver and some screws, which she set on the ground. She knelt in front of the door and began fiddling with the busted bits, curling her tail inward.
Saint idly sat on the nearby kitchen counter and watched her work, stumbling slightly over the precise movements due to her untrimmed claws and calloused hands. Despite the complications, she did seem to know what she was doing.
“Where did you learn to do this, may I ask?” Saint questioned, swishing his tail across the countertop. “I never took you for a carpenter.”
“Mom was one.” She muttered simply. “Had to fix a lotta stuff around the house while dad was out.”
“Out doing what?”
”None of your business.”
Saint nodded in understanding. Fair enough.
“Ahem. Sorry.” He apologized. “I didn’t mean to press.”
She didn’t spare him a glance for another couple seconds. Then she sighed.
”He was a hunter. Simple as.” She explained. “Got into some shady stuff sometimes. Bounced us around.”
Saint tilted his head. “You didn’t have to tell me that.”
Artificer huffed. “I wouldn’t tell you if it was a secret.” She muttered. “Just kinda caught me off guard.”
He nodded. “I see.”
A minute or so passed, enough time for her to have cleared away the debris left from the staff’s attempts and begin screwing in the replacement.
”… How’s the… arm treatin you?” She asked quietly.
Saint tilted his head again. “Perfectly well. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I’m 189 pounds and you’re like…” She glanced at him as if to assess, and promptly lost her grip on the screwdriver. “Ugh. Less than that.” She refocused. “Figured you’d have some kinda mark to show for it…”
“… Oh. It’s well, thank you. I was fine, just a few bruises.” He answered. “I appreciate you asking.”
She grunted again and continued working. Saint found himself smiling as he watched. The most towering, intimidating, short-tempered slugcat he knew of on campus was fixing his doorknob as a random act of kindness. It warmed his heart in an odd little way.
After about five minutes, she stood up, turned the knob a few times, then shut the door. She stepped back, looking satisfied.
“What about the makeshift lock?” Saint asked, hopping down from the counter.
Arti thumped her tail twice, seemingly as some sort of tic. “That’s what the secret ingredient is for.”
The secret ingredient, apparently, was a hammer in her back pocket.
After patching up the small holes in his drywall with some tape she also had in her pockets, and pocketing the scrapped lock, the Artificer collected her tools and did a final inspection. Saint smiled and stood beside her as she looked the mahogany construction up and down. Considering he had a working door and could sleep easy tomorrow morning, a small dent in his wall was a worthy price.
“Thank you, Artificer.” He said gratefully, looking up at her. “It means a lot.”
She grunted and gave him a light push on the shoulder. “No, it doesn’t. It’s a doorknob.”
Saint chuckled again. He definitely knew better, but he could’ve sworn a smile tugged at the side of Arti’s mouth as he did.
“… Really though, I’m grateful. I think another morning of those staff workers at my door would be awful for my grades.” He thanked.
“Mmph. No problem.” She repeated.
Saint’s instincts from a childhood of strict politeness flared quietly in his mind, and an idea formed on his lips. He wouldn’t mind spending a little more time with Arti.
”Say, would you like to stay for tea?”
She gave him an odd side glance. “What?”
“Stay for tea.” He repeated.
“What is this, the fucking 18th century?”
Saint looked displeased. “Well, I suppose we could stay for alcohol, if we have to be all modern.” He suggested, walking to his fridge and opening it. “I’m offering you company and a drink.”
“Because I fixed your doorknob?”
”Because it’s polite. And yes.”
The slugcat turned around with a bottle of untouched wine and some tea bags. The Artificer looked at him, then the door, then her watch, which Saint only now noticed she had.
Something like indecision seemed to wrack her.
“… Eh. Whatever.” She said with a shrug. “I got nowhere to be.”
“This shit tastes horrible.”
“… It’s not cool yet.”
“It’s not even hot!”
“Artificer, it is actively steaming.”
She gave him an appalled look and examined the cup closer with her good eye.
“… Ah, shit. You right.” She muttered.
Saint gave a thoroughly puzzled look as she set the cup down.
The two of them were sat on the stools by his kitchen counter, mainly because the dorm’s excuse for a dining room only had one chair. He’d made some simple herbal teas for the both of them, and managed to explain to Arti how teabags worked before she drank hot water with a bag of leaves in it. He had unfortunately neglected to tell her the cups would take time to cool. Maybe she’d zoned out until he gave them, or didn’t know how a kettle worked.
“How did you not notice that?” He asked her, stirring the bag in his own teacup. “It would’ve burned the roof of your mouth, I’m sure.”
“I don’t do good with hot stuff.” She muttered, crossing her arms on the table. “Heat resistant taste buds.”
Saint looked appalled. “Heat-resistant what??”
She gave him an unhappy look that quickly dissolved. It appeared that she forgot Saint knew just short of nothing about her.
“I, uh- s’complicated. Basically, I burned the hell out of my mouth as a kid.” She explained, tapping her claws against the countertop. “Taste buds are kinda dulled; heat doesn’t do much.”
He looked a little sad. “Oh dear. I’m sorry, that sounds quite unpleasant.”
She snorted and waved a hand in dismissal. “S’whatever. I’m alive.”
Saint studied her causal demeanor and wondered how she lived with a muted sense of taste. He was a lover of foods, if vegetarian; suddenly lacking in ability to taste sounded dreadful.
“… Well, I suppose if it tastes terrible to you now, it won’t get much better.” Saint said, a little solemn. “Maybe tea isn’t for you.”
She shrugged and pushed the cup towards him. “More for you.”
“Perhaps you’d like some of the wine?” Saint asked. He finally took a sip from his own teacup, savoring the herbal taste.
“I told you, I don’t drink wine. I drink whiskey.”
Saint gave her an odd look. He was certain she was joking when she’d said that.
”… It’s not expensive, if you’re wondering.” He noted, confused.
“Really, I don’t drink at all. Bad shit happens when I do.” She muttered.
Saint nodded. He understood, being drunk was a mixed experience on his part as well. He glanced at his cabinets.
“… Well, there must be something I can fix you.” He stated, hopping down from the stool. He crossed around the countertop and opened the fridge. “Suggestions?”
Artificer sighed, leaning on her fist. “Not really.”
“I have Pebsi.” He offered. “… Expired. Nevermind.”
“Pebsi expires?”
“I wouldn’t know. It was a holdover from a party I did not enjoy.” He answered, tossing it into the trash. “… Spiked juice? Spiked with what?”
He turned the bottle around, talking mostly to himself. “Ah. Apple cider vinegar. I need to get more descriptive with my sticky notes.”
“Ooh, I’ll take that.” Artificer said.
Saint looked up. “The cider?”
“Yeah.”
He paused, then picked up the bottle and removed the “spiked juice” sticky note. He grabbed a small mug and poured some out.
“I don’t remember why I have this, actually.” He noted, capping the bottle and putting it back. “As evident, I didn’t like it when I tried it.”
Unhampered, the Artificer took a swig of the mug and gave a refreshed sigh. “Couldn’t relate. Love this stuff.” She snorted. “Maybe it was for when someone scary stopped by your apartment.”
“Oh, don’t be like that.” Saint dismissed. “You’ve been a great guest.”
The compliment seemed to stun her. Saint didn’t notice, as he was preoccupied sipping his tea.
The two of them quietly enjoyed their drinks for a moment, Saint gently sipping from his teacup and Artificer almost immediately finishing her mug before grabbing the bottle and drinking from that. She licked her lips as Saint set down his teacup.
“… Do you do this often?” She asked, glancing at Saint. “Like, invite people over for drinks?”
“Not often, I suppose, but it’s more so that I rarely have company.” He answered.
“What, you don’t have any friends?” She questioned. She started to say something immediately after, but Saint was already replying.
“No, we just talk outside my dorm. It’s not exactly a prime meeting spot.” He smiled.
“… Hm.” She grunted. “… that was kinda rude. You obviously have friends. My bad.”
“Oh, no, not at all. I took no offense.” He responded, a little off balanced by the apology.
She looked uncertain and dissatisfied. Saint glanced around the room.
An awkward silence came over the room. Ah, the wonders of socializing with fellow young adults.
“… Ahem. Anyways, yeah. Really, tea is reserved for the occasional stranger who I find at my door.” He continued. “And who I don’t dislike.”
“You dislike people?” She asked with an unclear level of sarcasm.
He chortled. “I’m glad you think of me as that peaceful.”
“Man, you drink tea and talk to me like I’m not scary as all hell.” She answered, gesturing at him with her claws. “You’re either on your way to ascension or messing with me.”
He chuckled, though the humor faded as he noticed she didn’t laugh with him. Underneath the joke seemed to be a form of genuine surprise that he… spoke to her like she was a person. With feelings.
“… Well, no. There are, in fact, people I don’t care for.” He continued. “Rest easy knowing you are not among them. You did fix my door.”
“S’alot of gratitude for a door. Did you forget who broke it?” She reminded him.
“The door’s just an object. An act of kindness is much more permanent.” He stated. “Besides. I don’t know much about who you were chasing, but he seemed more deserving of a doorknob to the head than most.”
She almost chuckled, or perhaps it was another grunt? It was too scratchy to tell.
Saint finished his tea as the Artificer went quiet, and she finished her cider as he put the cup in the sink. He raised an open hand as a symbol to toss the bottle and managed to fumble into catching it after she did so. He put it in the recycling as she awkwardly got up from the countertop.
“So, uh… do I just leave now?” She asked.
“If you’d like to. I’ll be going to bed soon anyways.” He answered. “I enjoyed your company, though. Feel free to stop by again if you need anything.”
She gave him that semi-confused look again, something like gratitude swirling in her malformed expression. The scar made it difficult to tell. Then, suddenly, it dissolved into a grumpy resting position, as if she’d briefly forgotten herself and now regained awareness.
“Don’t go thinking we’re buddy-buddy now. I just fixed something I broke.” She warned, putting her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. “I’ll see you around.”
Saint shrugged and gestured to the door. She walked to it, then hesitated for a mere moment, gazing at the knob. She opened the door and stood still for a moment, halfway out of the room.
“… thanks, though.” She mumbled quietly, glancing at him. “… G’night.”
Click. The door locked behind her.
“… Hm.” Saint said to himself. “Odd.”