If you were a college dropout, and the sole guardian responsible for your vaguely magical

teenage sibling, what kind of things would you have in your wardrobe?

A lot, surprisingly.

Shirley stands in front of it, half listening to the chattering of Amulet and her house guest
through the shut door to her bedroom, hands on her hips.

Did she need as much clothing as she now owns? No. Should she spend as much money on
clothing as she did? Probably not. In fact arguably she could blindly get rid of half of her
collection and never notice. But the clothing was hers, and that meant more to her than the
actual articles themselves.

And besides, you never knew when you were going to have to clothe a faerie princess,
having a wide selection to choose from was beneficial!

“Yeah. Sure.” Shirley sighs, shaking her head. “That’s absolutely what I had in mind.”

Alright, so you find yourself housing a fae, inadvertently locked in an ancient contract of
guest and host, and she’s just gone and very surprisingly sworn herself into your service
until the debt you unintentionally led her to incur is paid off. What do you do?

Well firstly, you feed her. Check. Then comes the problem of finding her something to wear.

Shirley can't possibly let Florian wander around with nothing but a blanket. Absurd. She'll
most certainly catch a cold thanks to the spotty at best heating and the fact that it's still early
spring.

There is also the problem that comparatively to Shirley, Florian is a good amount more
muscular.

She begins rummaging through the overcrowded dresser, starting with the drawers. It's an
absolute mess, she should really take everything out and fold it.

Should being the key word there.

Halfway through getting done with the second drawer, she realises that she's stalling.

Scared isn't the right way to describe what she's feeling. Magic and being threatened with it
is nothing new to her by a long shot.

Amulet is safe for the most part, she is safe for the most part.

There's no reason for her hands to shake while she folds up a shirt for her guest.
It was an unseen agreement, as things involving fae usually are. She felt a tight, near
tangible cord of magic binding her and Florian together, now. A metaphysical show of her
debt to Shirley. Its grip was vice like and cold but still comfortable. Shirley is the one who
holds most of the power here.

She already knows everything about the rules of hospitality, knows they were made to be
vague and give fae the upper hand.

Shirley doesn't have many memories of her mother, but her knowledge stayed ingrained in
her mind even as a child.

You can't see everything the way it's supposed to be seen, Armine's strict yet soft tone rang
in Shirley's ears, be smart, be vigilant.

Shirley misses her. She misses both of them.

In all her effort to avoid trouble and avoid the supernatural, she's dragged trouble up four
flights of stairs and onto her couch.

That's always how it goes, doesn't it.

Does she regret it, is the real question. If Shirley could go back to that unremarkable rainy
morning, witness Florian's injured fall and walk on, let Florian bleed out like nothing
happened?

The giant medical kit would still be sitting in its place waiting to be used, she would have a
shower, cook lunch with her mostly sodden groceries, occupy herself until Amulet came
home to drag her into another misadventure of some sort.

She wouldn't know that pancakes didn't exist in Sidhe, or that fae find Amulet unnerving.

No faeries, no debt, no additional weight on her shoulders.

Shirley sighs deeply, letting the feeling of dread soak into her bones, before shaking her
head.

"Florian, do you think you can stand? I found something that should fit you."

Florian eyes wander from the door after it shuts behind Shirley to the plate she deposited in
her blanket clad lap. A stack of panned cakes.
"Don't worry! They don't bite back!" Amulet says, grinning brilliantly, but looking somewhere
behind Florian. They pick up the last one on their plate with their hands, and taking a large
bite out of the honey-drowned monstrosity. "See? I even checked for you, don't be shy!"

"I'm sorry, but you see I've never been served something like a cake made in a pan."

Amulet shakes their head, tight curls bouncing wildly at their every movement. "That's just
impossible," They take another bite: "What a sad, culinarily lacking place Sidhe must be."

Florian appears to take offense to that. "What do you know about fine cuisine? And
'culinarily' isn't a word."

"Shirley's an amazing cook! Which you'd clearly know if you actually ate."

"I've been cooking longer than you've been alive!"

Amulet slaps their forehead, then drags the hand down their face slowly.

"Just eat, if you starve Shirley will have to lug you down the stairs again," Amulet says, "Her
delicate grandma back won't handle it well."

In response, Florian rips off a bit of pancake and stuffs it into her mouth. A purple flush
colored the high points of her cheeks and traveled up to the tips of her ears.

She then begins scarfing the pancakes down in earnest. They really are sumptuous."Miss
Shirley seems very sturdy from what I see," Florian says, in between bites.

"Oh does she now? What do you think of her?" The thinly veiled malice contained in those
words would have made Florian startle if she hadn't been through years of shouldering it. So
much energy in such a tiny frame.

"Ah, that may have been presumptuous," Florian inclines her head towards Amulet lightly, "I
apologise, I did not mean to offend you."

Shirley's bedroom door opens.

"Florian, do you think you can stand? I found something that should fit you."

And out comes the adult of the household, holding a bundle of carefully folded articles.
Florian scrutinies them for a moment. A dark green wooly sweater, a pair of standard loose
grey pants she could feel the artificial fiber in, as well as a few smaller pieces.

"We'll give you some privacy, so call me when you're done or if you need help." Shirley says,
firm, direct, and to the point, "I'll help you change your bandages before it's time to sleep as
well."

With that, she retreats to where she came from, Amulet giving Florian a thumbs up before
doing the same.
The respect from her mortal host was somewhat unexpected. But now Florian has to figure
out how to dress herself sans her dominant arm.

Great. Amazing.

With a lot of fiddling, a few strategic tugs of her teeth, and the use of all five arms at their
disposal, Florian is presentable and comfortable.

Now she finds herself in a different predicament. Mainly that Shirley keeps stealing glances
at her ears.

In the intervals where she isn't, she's reading a book large enough to surely leave a sizable
dent in the floor if she dropped it, periodically scribbling something with a strange looking
writing utensil that left in its wake thick lines of bright, unnatural color. Florian is familiar
enough with the language to gather that the text has to do with amputation and prosthesis.

It's not awkward, per se. It's actually kind of relieving to see her show an emotion other than
standoffish indifference. Florian doesn't really know what to do with herself now that
everyone is occupied.

The strange, restless energy in the room is shattered by Amulet's comically large yawn.
They sit up and stretch in one dramatic, swooping movement, so much so that they almost
fall backwards.

Florian scrambles to reach out her hand and keep them steady. She grits her teeth at sharp
pain making itself known in her gut and the warm bloom of blood.

Amulet begins to giggle, and is about to offer a quip before they're interrupted by the
resounding crack of Shirley's tome snapping shut. "You should get some rest."

Amulet shrugs in response. "Alright!" They know better than to argue on the topic.

"And don't stay up too late, you have school tomorrow still."

"What!? But- what about Florian?"

"I'm choosing to have a measure of trust in her not to abuse our terms while I'm at work,"
She says, nor even glancing at the aforementioned fae. "I'm intimately familiar with the rules
of hospitality."

Seemingly satisfied with the answer, Amulet retires to their room.

"Now, I'll let you know right away that if you peddle any nonsense and try to pull something,"
Shirley says, moving to stand from her spot beside Florian: "I won't hesitate to make your
stay here as uncomfortable and painful as possible."

Florian watches her rummage through the first aid kit, pulled out from under the banged up
coffee table. She eyes a little bundle of purplish fabric that looks foreign among the
organised supplies.

"If I may ask, what's that?"

Shirley raises an eyebrow, before realising what Florian means. Wordlessly, she picked up
the little bundle and deposits it on the table.

Hesitantly, Florian reaches out to unfold the bundle.

"Sun and stars!"

If they weren't before, now both Shirley and Florian are positive that at least one of Florian's
sutures has ripped in her very suddenly burst of movement, frantically kicking the dagger tip
as far away from her as possible.

Shirley moves to stand, and eases Florian back down onto the couch with her hands on the
other's shoulder. "I don't think I have to tell you that you absolutely shouldn't have done that,
right?"

Florian shakes her head, letting out a slow breath.

"Where… Where did you find that?"

"I removed it from your side wound."

“If you hadn’t, I would be dead by now,” She informs gravely. “No wound would have healed
with that inside my flesh. Stars, it’s a miracle enough of my magic managed to close off this.”

They both glance down at the half empty left sleeve, and for a moment there is silence as
they both became acutely aware how close that injury had been to killing the princess.
Shirley shakes it off first.

“Why? Is it cursed or… something?”

“If only it were so benign. It’s iron.”

Apparently deciding to overlook that she’d just referred to curses as benign, Shirley frowns.

There's a lot to unpack there.

"I'll fix you up, then you can get some rest. It's been a long day."

Florian looks her in the eyes, then. Smiling lightly, eyes lit up in a hesitant, yet grateful dark
brown in the dim lamplight.

"That sounds perfect, Miss Shirley."