Chapter Text
It was no secret that the Corinthian had developed a peculiar routine of visiting Johanna Constantine. Sometimes for work, but more often than not, he visited simply to see her, both in her dreams and in the waking world.
He had returned to the Dreaming one evening with no flourish, just with a quiet shift in the air, arriving at Lucienne’s library. The scent of rain and wet asphalt, remnants of the waking world, still clung to his dark jeans and jacket, which were completely dry. He had come and gone enough times that this had become a quietly accepted norm, considered by the Dreaming. Even the new Dream Lord himself no longer took much notice. Dream trusted his creatures and, for all his foibles, the new Corinthian seemed trustworthy enough.
Lucienne, however, always noticed.
She was perched on a step ladder, a ledger nearly as tall as she was balanced on one arm. She didn’t even look up as he approached, but she would bet all the books in the library that he was looking smug or smiling at the very least with all his teeth (even the ones concealed behind his sunglasses).
“I’m busy, Corinthian,” she said, her voice a weary sigh. “Unless you’ve come to discuss the administrative duties of my new appointment, you’ll have to wait.”
“Busy, yes, of course,” he acknowledged, as if only just noticing. “My apologies, Prime Minister. It’s just that my query concerns something rather urgent-ish. A matter of… human dynamics, if you have a moment to spare from your, ah, significant responsibilities.”
Lucienne paused, slowly lowering the ledger. She peered at him over the top of her spectacles, a single, arched eyebrow conveying all the patience of an overworked librarian who also happened to be in charge of an entire realm.
She took him in: the way he casually leaned against a nearby shelf, and the way his clothes sat comfortably on his tall frame and how they made him look like a modern-day human male. However, as she was notably good at given her role, she also noticed the little details. Although the nightmare was trying to appear completely composed, there was this new kind of energy about him, a barely contained eagerness that hummed beneath his facade. It was the energy of a creature dealing with something terribly foreign, something that both fascinated and confused him in equal measure. He was undoubtedly out of his depth, and Lucienne found it was undeniably endearing to watch.
“I see,” she said, her tone utterly devoid of surprise. “Go on then. My duties as Prime Minister and as a librarian are both very time-sensitive.”
He cleared his throat, a human affectation he had picked up to hide his discomfort. “Hypothetically speaking, of course. If a creature of the Dreaming were to want to… formalize… a certain rapport with a human. You know, a rapport that goes beyond the usual professional courtesy of assisting said human from being harmed by various supernatural threats. What would be the proper procedure?”
Before Lucienne could respond, a thick puff of acrid smoke, smelling faintly of plaster dust and cheap tobacco, erupted from the shelves. Merv Pumpkinhead, the Dreaming's perpetually grumpy, gourd-headed foreman who oversaw its endless repairs and renovations, peered out from between two weighty tomes, a lit cigarette dangling precariously from his carved mouth.
“What’s all this? Some kinda human-on-Dreaming romance advice, huh?” he said in a gravelly voice. “Listen here, pal, you want to get a lady’s attention? You gotta build a foundation. You gotta put in the work. You don’t just slap a new coat of paint on a rotting wall and call it a day. Show ‘er you can fix a leaky pipe, or at least have a smoke with ‘er while she does it.”
The Corinthian raised an eyebrow at the pumpkin-head. “Are you suggesting that my curiosity, Merv, is confined to one gender? That’s quaint. I’m interested in the human element, not the specific details of their biology.”
“Quaint, shmaint,” Merv grumbled, waving his cigarette dismissively. “Look, it don't matter what plumbing they got, or what you call it. You're overthinkin' it. Romance ain't about biology or definitions. It’s about being a rock, a foundation. You just gotta get in there and —”
”Don’t listen to Merv!” Suddenly Matthew the Raven fluttered down from a high shelf, landing on a nearby chair. “That’s so old school, dude. This is all about communication! You gotta ask her, like, what this is to her. You know, the DTR talk.”
The Corinthian looked from Matthew to Merv and even to Lucienne, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “DTR?” He asked. “What’s that?”
“Defining the relationship!” Matthew stated with a flap of his wings. Merv snorted at the term. Meanwhile, Lucienne tilted her head as if the term were a new fascinating fact of the day. “And you need to do it, dude! That way she—I mean, they’ll know you’re really, seriously interested in them!”
“But what is there to define?” the Corinthian asked. “I mean ,say again, hypothetically speaking, we’ve been seeing each other often. And say we’ve already err…kissed? What I mean is, my interest is pretty damn clear. So why must we label it?”
“Because that’s what normal people do!” Matthew insisted.
The Corinthian blinked, not that anyone could tell given the sunglasses. Before he could say anything about that, Merv jumped in again.
“That’s what I’m sayin’,” He grumbled, a puff of smoke erupting from his carved mouth. “You’re a nightmare! You don’t do labels! You do, I dunno, dread? Yeah, you do spook stuff! You gotta get some of that back in ya!”
Lucienne silenced them with a single look. “Gentlemen, your counsel is… noted. And profoundly unhelpful.” She turned her attention back to the Corinthian, who was now a study in rigid awkwardness.
“I do believe this all has to do with your relationship with Johanna Constantine,” she said, cutting right to the heart of it.
He deflated, his shoulders slumping. “How did you…?”
“Corinthian, you are a nightmare conceived in a moment of great ambition and great folly. Your attempts at subtlety are about as effective as a fog horn in a library. And if you’re trying to impress a mortal, you have to remember that they are not as simple as we are. Their lives are short, and every moment is filled with a thousand small details.”
The Corinthian stood utterly still, almost like a statue with his hand over his lip and chin, absorbing Lucienne’s blunt words. It felt like the library held its breath then, the air thick with the scent of ancient paper with only the faint sound of a distant thump-thump-thump of one of Merv’s perpetual repairs somewhere in the deeper levels of the Dreaming breaking what would’ve been complete silence. Merv fidgeted, Matthew twitched with anticipation, but Lucienne simply watched, knowing the silence would soon break with the nightmare's next, crucial question.
“So I should…?”
Merv snorted, smoke again escaping him. Matthew shook his head and covered it with a wing, looking disappointed. Lucienne let out a weary sigh, a sound that shook the dust from the ledger. The three without saying a word all agreed the answer should be blindingly obvious by now even to the newly minted nightmare.
“You ask her.” Lucienne starts, before either of her cohorts could chime in. “You ask her directly, as a mortal would. You do not send her a note in the form of a waking nightmare. You do not leave a single, preserved memory of a childhood event on her pillow for her to scrutinize and wonder if it’s an omen of some sort. You simply — clearly and concisely — ask her out on a date.”
The Corinthian considered this, his thoughtful silence stretching out once more. The concept seemed almost too simple, too pedestrian for someone of his nature. Yet, Lucienne’s logic was, as always, unassailable. Slowly a satisfied smile crept up to his face.
“A date,” he said, the word tasting almost new and intriguing on his tongue. “That seems… surprisingly simple. But, I suppose, effective.”
“More than you could ever know,” Lucienne said, turning back to her ledger with a sense of finality.
A small hum of satisfaction came from the Corinthian. He gave the three a brief nod, his gaze lingering longest on Lucienne.
“Thanks for the advice, I’ll be off for now.” He grinned, a newfound certainty clear on his features. He turned round and just as simply as he walked into the Dreaming’s library did he walk out of it, gone once more, leaving only the scent of rain and coffee behind him.
Lucienne let out a genuine sigh of relief as she finally, truly turned back to her ledger, the quiet rustle of its old pages a far more welcome sound than the recent arguments. She even allowed herself a small, contented smile as she resumed her classifications.
Merv and Matthew, however, were left to bicker.
"See, I told him to be direct," Matthew said, puffing out his chest.
"Yeah, yeah, direct," Merv waved his hand at the raven. "Like that's gonna save him from all the messiness. I say, ya can't fix a busted pipe with a fancy conversation."