Chapter Text
Throughout your life, you have worked as an assistant to many important people. Organising documents, interviewing new employees, all sorts of basic jobs expected from a secretary position. Your current employer was different, however. From what you gathered from the vague description, he was an old monster; the first monster you’d ever be working for. You recall working alongside monsters in office-like environments, but this job was nothing like your previous ones. Holding a single document, you walked down an unfamiliar street as you read. According to the page, you would be working for ‘Mr Boom’, assisting him with ‘general activities and tasks’. You were unsure of what exactly that included. The requirements to apply for this position were qualifications you already had, so you didn’t hesitate to take the spot before someone else could. Blinded by excitement, you forgot to properly read what the position would specifically entail. After taking the time to actually read over what was written down on the printed page, you realised the description was unusually rather vague. There didn’t seem to be a single paragraph on what exactly you would be asked to do, but you assumed it wasn't anything of a greatly difficult standard with how brief the advertisement was. The lack of information didn’t matter much now though, as you had already arrived at the address on the paper. The door to a large, mahogany home sat in front of you, eagerly awaiting a knock. Using the rusted, metal ring, you firmly knocked on the door.
A turtle-like monster greeted you with a handshake and a smile, inviting you inside whilst making idle conversation. You told him your name, and in return, he asked kindly that you call him, ‘Alvin’. He went on to tell you of his job as the church’s pastor while you looked past the many photos and paintings along the walls. You also couldn’t help but notice the many war collectibles showcased throughout the hallway. Various medals and weaponry hung proudly on the aged, stone walls. Before your mind could wander any further, you came to the end of the hallway.
Alvin turned the handle to another wide, mahogany door. He pushed the heavy door open steadily, only showing a little struggle.
-Now playing ‘Fireplace’ by Toby Fox
The study room you now found yourself in was…extroadinary. To think that such a spacious room was hidden in back of this old mansion! Bookcases lined up neatly against the back wall, filled to the brim with old stories and history. Numerous healthy plants that were laid out around the study brought a nice contrast in colour to the room’s shades of brown. Finally, in the middle of the room, there was an old man lost in thought at a large, oak desk, wielding a calligraphy pen. He mindlessly stared upward, presumably thinking about what to write next, before eventually looking over to where you and Alvin stood.
“Hmm? It seems I have company.”
Pushing himself away from the desk, the old monster arose from the cushioned chair he was sitting on. He pulled out a cane from what looked like thin air, and slowly shuffled his way over to the entrance of the room. Alvin then formally introduced you to his father, Gerson Boom – a teacher, author, and historian.
“A pleasure to meetcha, lass.” He said with a warm smile. His gruff voice was so low, it felt as if it shook the wooden boards beneath you. As you faced downward, it almost looked as if his eye was glowing whilst gazing upward at yours. Instinctively, you leaned down to shake his small, scaly hand. The texture of his skin was akin to regular reptiles: for the most part, the skin on his hand was soft and wrinkled, but the skin over his knuckles felt hardened, like the scutes on a crocodile’s back. Contrary to his slumped posture and gentle demeanour, his handshake was firm. It also lasted a little longer than it should’ve.
You proceeded to introduce yourself, followed by Alvin inviting you to make yourself comfortable while he prepared some refreshments. Mr Boom returned to his desk, continuing where he left off on the page in front of him. Your curiosity led you to ask what he was writing about. He looked over to you from across the room and beckoned you over with a single finger, donning a grin.
“Y’ever heard of that old tale? The one about the prophecy?”
You shook your head whilst sauntering towards the desk. He chuckled, inviting you to take a closer look at the documents messily thrown around his desk. Upon closer inspection, each page described a different ‘chapter’ of a book series the old man was presumably almost finished with. You were aware of the fact that he was a writer, but you didn’t expect his work to be of such a high degree. Your eyes lit up in awe, causing a smug grin to creep up over the author’s face. His prideful demeanor was somewhat…endearing. A soft smile gradually emerged over your lips. As you continued to examine the story slovenly laid out in front of you, he began to explain the mess of pages.
“Each page talks of a different chapter of my upcoming book, ‘Lord of the Hammer’, an’ each chapter is based on different sections of an old legend. I’ve got a book on it somewhere along those dusty shelves. Do me a favour and find it, will ya?” He asked, loosely waving his cane towards a lower section of one of the bookshelves behind him. Despite his age, he spoke with an audible show of power and pride. The story he was crafting was certainly something worth boasting about, yet the old man remained unconceited. Individuals with that level of modesty were very much worth respecting, in your eyes. You obliged his request without hesitation.
The intimidating size of the mahogany bookshelf only became apparent once you stood at the foot of it. Luckily for you, the book you were looking for was said to be on the lower shelves, so no need to risk your life climbing up a ten foot tall ladder. Resting your knees on the old, wooden floorboards, you bent down and began looking. Your fingers gently slid over the numerous novels and stories, picking up dust as you went along. In order to get a better look at the titles of each book, you leaned over just enough to be able to read the names on each cover. The room was fairly quiet as you searched for this ancient tomb; the silence only broken by the occasional rustling of pages. Maybe an old, chesty cough here and there too. No sound had really caught your attention until you heard the scrape of Gerson’s chair. However, when you looked over your shoulder, the room was completely motionless, him included. The papers on his desk no longer rustled, and the room grew uncomfortably silent without the senior’s benign humming. You couldn’t see him from where you knelt due to the recliner’s over-sized back, but you could tell that he had grown still based on the sudden decline in idle noise. Confused yet unbothered, you continued to search for the book you were tasked with finding.
Eventually, you came across a dusty book titled ‘The Prophecy’, which was undoubtedly the book Gerson wanted you to retrieve. Just to make sure however, you called out to ask whether the story you held in your hand was the correct one. Without turning around, he mumbled an unclear string of words as he gestured for you to return to his side. His hand barely stuck out from behind the back of his chair. Shrugging off your confusion, you got up and returned to the desk.
“L-Let’s see here…ah, yes-! That’s the one I had in mind, heh..” He stammered out. Strangely, his demeanor had almost entirely shifted: his body language no longer displayed dignity, but instead, anxiousness. He appeared to be fidgeting with his clawed fingers and slouching a little over his desk, with subtle shifts in his gaze to avoid his eyes meeting yours. As he resumed his explanation of the prophecy, he continued to display a nervous manner through his words, proceeding to stutter on certain numerous syllables as if describing a story he had never heard of, let alone written himself. It was almost as if he was…embarrased? Not of his work though, surely. His literature was no where near something to be embarrassed of, so then what was it that had caused this sudden show of unease? Oblivious to the cause of his awkwardness, you decided to inquire about his peculiar behavior, simply asking if he felt alright.
“Me-? Well…ya see, I-”
At that instant, a knock was heard from the other side of the study room’s door. Gerson suddenly glanced toward the source of the sound in an oddly panicked manner. He abruptly sat up, adjusting his posture and placing his hands on the desk as if to stand…but didn’t. For whatever reason, he stopped himself from doing so, followed by another request.
“Could you, er…b-be a dear and get that, please?” He muttered, continuing to uncharacteristically stumble over his words whilst plainly avoiding your gaze. Again, you followed out his request without question, but not without suspicion. There was definitely something up with this old man, but it would take a few more clues to figure out what. As you walked away from the desk, you heard him readjust himself on his recliner. It was faint, but you definitely heard a shift in his seat. Maybe he was…physically uncomfortable? Rather than just socially awkward? He didn’t seem anxious to talk to you when he first began telling you about his book. If it was in fact a case of bodily discomfort, what would be making him uncomfortable in his own home-? These questions drifted through your mind until you opened the heavy door, revealing Alvin to be on the other side. In both hands he carried a pristine, metal tray that held two teacups, a teapot, a sugar bowl and two silver spoons. You held open the door as Alvin ambled towards his father’s desk, carefully lowering the tray of refreshments atop the oak. Before leaving, he also brought in a small, wooden chair and placed it down just in front of Gerson’s desk. You kindly thanked Alvin, pouring tea into both cups as the younger monster left the room once again.
The sound of the door shutting was rather harsh, startling you a little. Neverminding the loud noise, you finished filling up both teacups without a spill. You also made sure to politely ask the author how many cubes of sugar he liked his tea with.
“Just two…thank you, miss.” The old man spoke with a low pitch and volume, sounding less agitated than before. The tea seemed to relax his nerves. You watched as he sunk back into his recliner, teacup and saucer in hand. Allowing yourself to loosen up as well, you held your cup and matching saucer with both hands as you rested your back against the smaller chair. Despite your upper-hand in height compared to Gerson, you only just reached eye-level with him now. The chair you were generously given was moderately sized, but tiny in comparison to the cushioned armchair he had now fully settled into. From this perspective, you could clearly see that his posture was rather hunched. He sat with slouched shoulders, almost portraying a look of guilt. At this point, it was best to just assume he was merely nervous to be around someone new. There were no other leads to why else he could be so tense, so assuming the former was all you could do. As casually as you could, you remarked that his work was nothing short of inspirational, insisting that there was nothing to be embarrassed of. The author’s eye suddenly lit up. You watched with concern as he sharply inhaled mid-sip, spluttering out tea over his chestnut colored vest.
“AGCK- t-that’s- not what it is at all, ahem-” Gerson’s unexpected surprise at your assumption resulted in him choking on his tea, spilling a regrettable amount onto his lap. Acting on instinct, you swiftly put down your teacup and saucer on the desk and grabbed a small pack of hand tissues from your pocket. You promptly made your way around the desk and began to softly pat the damp areas of his vest with tissue, leaning your other hand on the side of the recliner. The old man gripped the arms of his chair tightly; his claws faintly digging into the material. Instead of sinking into his chair out of relaxation, he had now sunk into his seat out of (what looked to be) uncomfortability. You could only just about see his eye from where you stood next to him: his pupil darted around the room, searching for something, anything to focus on other than you. More specifically, anything other than the feeling of your tender fingers wiping away the spilled tea over his chest. You also noted how his body language was similar to how he had been acting right before Alvin came in earlier. Speaking of which, you never did get an answer to your question. A knock on the study door had saved Gerson previously, but not this time. You reiterated your inquiry, asking if he was sure he was okay. A bead of sweat slid down the wrinkled skin of his forehead as he swallowed thickly.
“No need ta worry ‘bout me, geheh! Just startled m’self with this little mishap, ‘s all.” His speech was hesitant, and the gaze of his eye continuously failed to meet yours. Raising an elbow upward, he scratched the crook of his neck in an awkward manner. This time, you saw past his nervous laughter and continued your questioning. Desperately searching for an excuse, the only ‘words’ that spilled out of his snout were a string of “um”s and “uh”s. Without realising, your other hand had seamlessly slid down from the side of Gerson’s chair to his shoulder. Now resting your palm on him instead of the chair, you leaned down further in order to wipe the dampened spots over his stomach. You felt him shudder. It was subtle enough to be unnoticed visually, though you felt a shiver through your hand wiping the fabric of his vest. He tried yet again to form a coherent sentence, but to no avail. The elderly tortoise stuttered to an almost embarrassing degree.
“It’s nothin’ you did, I-I can assure you! It’s just…”
You waited for him to continue, however he grew silent as his cheeks began to flush a warm shade of green. You were intent on keeping your mutual gaze. However, in an attempt to avoid answering himself, he shifted his gaze downward, displaying a deeper expression of guilt.
You followed the path of his gaze.
As you looked down, you were taken aback with what your eyes were met with.
Right there, in his lap; a noticeable tent just below his stomach.