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The Keepers Of Dreams

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“Fjord, we have a fucking problem.” Beau held her phone close to her ear, her grip tighter than it needed to be, and her stance filled with frustration. She was hunched against the cold bricks of a building 3 blocks from the bookstore she was going to buy Jester's birthday present from. She was planning to get a textbook as a gag-gift that hid her new painting set inside. But, because of unforetold circumstances, she grabbed the closest book she could find, which ended up being too small to hide the paints in.

“It'll be alright, Beau. I'll be down there in 5 minutes tops, and we can deal with it. Just take a second to breathe real slow.” A gruff southern drawl poured out the other end of the phone, setting Beauregard slightly at ease. Fjord had a way of making any situation feel perfectly okay, even when it was not, by any means, okay. “Just sit and wait.” she could hear him hold back a chuckle at her audible cringe. If there was one thing Beauregard did not do, it was ‘sit and wait.’ “On second thought, you might want to go in alone first and scope out the scene. Figure out who this guy is.” He had gone into plan mode now, and there was no stopping him. However, the idea of a super secret spy mission wasn’t too shabby.

“That reminds me, how much of the dreams do you remember?” Well shit. She hadn't thought to try and remember them. Without an active attempt at keeping the memories you gained when you first met your soulmate, you forget them rapidly, leaving you with just about as much of an idea of who they are as you have of the person who checks you out at the grocery store; their face, voice, hair colour, and maybe their name, or a story about them if you are extremely observant. Sadly for Beauregard, she was not particularly observant.

“umm… just about nothing. Except the fucker has seen some shit, but I don't really remember what. His name is a little bit screwed too. I can't really remember it.” As she spoke, Beauregard began to walk, - Or, less walk, more intricate parkour. - towards where the small shop had been.


“alrighty then. I'll be by soon. Jess is out shopping, so she might not check her phone for a bi-” it seemed to have taken a moment for Fjord to realize that Beau wasn’t listening, because there were still the distant sounds of his voice long after she tuned him out. By the time her feet hit the pavement in front of the bookstore, however, he had given up, as the phone held snugly in her hand had stopped emanating his drawling voice.

Now, for the hard part; pleasant social interaction. She prayed to whatever god was listening that this person was more socially adept than her. She pushes the door, the bell above it chiming. She curses quietly to herself when she realizes that it is far too late to turn around and walk away.

When she walks in the door Beauregard is surprised to see that the man across the room, in the approximately 20 minutes she has been gone, has not moved. It comes to her mind that she should probably like… say something. “Are you okay?” It comes out more gruff than she means it, but the sentiment is there. She hopes.

“Ja. I am fine.” His knees are pushed to his chest his hands over his ears. “I suppose you would like to talk.” He moves his hands slowly from his head, and slides up the wall. “It's nice to meet you. My name is Caleb Widoghast.” he pushes out a shaky hand, eyes looking slightly above Beau's head. She takes it reluctantly, squeezing it a bit harder than she thinks she should have. Apparently the gods were set on making this difficult for her.

“Yeah. I guess that would be a good plan. Fuck, I'm no good at this. Ummm… I'm Beau? Or do you like… already know that? Fuck, where's Fjord?” This was already not going well. She took a large breath, and began to speak again, “Hello. I'm Beauregard. I like, have two other soulmates or some shit already, so you fucking surprised me. I guess I'm… like… sorry for running off or some shit. How much of my fucking personal life did you retain?” She was slowly raising that she probably looked mad. She wasn't mad. Fuck. She has to smile.

Beauregard's face contorted in what was most likely a smile, but was probably just a snarl. Caleb seemed to understand. At least she thought he did. Luckily she didn't have to ask, because the beautiful, wonderful, awesome bell above the door rang, and in walked Fjord. She would never tell the motherfucker, but she was so fucking grateful in that moment that he was so fucking punctual.