Scenarios ✘ D. Gray Man

When You Meet Again; II

Hello, once again, I'm starting the chapter off with a trigger warning! There are detailed descriptions of vomiting, implied torture, and implied dehumanization. Please read at your own risk!

Crowley

As you opened the door to the inn you called home, you were instantly hit with the scent of sugar cookies and melted chocolate, mouthwatering at the delectable smell that instantly mingled with the jars of nutmeg and salt that you held in your bag and body warming from the ongoing fireplace housed in the lobby of the building.

Scrambling over to the counter, you instantly started to tug off all your extra layers, tucking your products randomly on the shelf beside you before rapidly reaching and grabbing one of the treats, just barely missing your mother's hand as she reached out to smack it.

"You goblin," she hissed, narrowing her eyes at you as you stuffed the pastry into your mouth, smugly grinning at her, "you didn't even take off your boots."

"I was in a rush to bring the spices in," you responded, licking crumbs off your lips, "it's freezing out there."

"Yeah, the spices," she rolled her eyes, grabbing the plate of cookies and dragging them over to her side of the counter when she noticed you eyeing them with greed in your gaze, "make sure to mop up any dirt."

Nodding your head absentmindedly, you turned to store your boots into the cabinet for wet items, sliding on a pair of slippers and heading around to get a mop out of the closet, quickly getting to work as she sorted through your gains.

"Ooh," she cooed abruptly, causing you to jolt your head up to catch sight of the small slip of paper that you had meant to hide away from her gaze, "another note from Little Ashlen?" You couldn't stop the grimace from growing on your face.

"Little Ashlen is nearly double my age," your scowl grew, "and I'm not interested in him."

"But he's interested in you!" You resisted the urge to scoff; she was absolutely ready to go on this rant again. "And he's such a nice man! Perfect for a marriage, perfect for a family!"

That, you couldn't resist scoffing at. "You're only saying that because he's wealthy! Him being old enough to be my father should be the main focus of this discussion!" Your mother hmphed, harshly putting away the jars of spices as you turned to her. "Plus, I'm not your only child! You can ask the married Esme for children as well!"

"That's not fair!" Your mother returned just as hotly as you, suddenly turning towards you with a glimmer in her eye, "You know Esme hates children!"

"And I hate you encouraging old geezers to constantly try to court me!"

"Excuse me," a voice piped up, cutting through your argument timidly, "we'd like to get a room."

Now, you were truly used to seeing all kinds of different people – married people bringing along younger partners for a quick weekend, traveling doctors that held many stories of miraculous recoveries, teens that were attempting to make a life for themselves away from their parents, etc. One thing you had never expected to see, though, were exorcists, more specifically Black Order exorcists, known widely by the silver brooch on their chests, right over their hearts.

Men like your father, like the men before you.

Clearing her throat, your mother soothed her hair down with a single hand, trying to calm the tension in her form before she turned and sent you a look, gesturing over towards them with a clear message on her face: handle it.