Chapter Text
“You gotta be kidding.”
“I wish I was,” Jade rasps, voice straining and cracking. “I must say, the low air pressure makes congestion much worse.”
“What if I just wring the snot outta you?” Floyd suggests. He's not serious when he says it, but as he considers the possibility, he realizes it’d actually be pretty fair for what Azul and Jade did to him before orientation.
Through another sniffle, Jade fixes him with his usual glare, but it lacks the usual intensity. He must be feeling even worse than he looks.
“Just trying to get ya to lighten up a bit,” he relents. He debates just calling the whole thing off. This was really more Jade’s idea, anyway—he was the reason their mom even called in the first place, the one always watching weddings on the shore with a glint of curiosity in his eyes that only grew brighter on the rare occasion there was an oceandweller involved.
He’s one step ahead of him, though, chiding, “Mother will fret ceaselessly if neither of us show. If you’d like to face the consequences on our next trip home, be my guest.”
Floyd knows he’s taking him for a ride, but he's not lying. A handwringing spiel from their mom sounds even more boring than any ceremony, especially considering just how long she can go on, and there’s also just the fact that he doesn't like the idea of making her worry more than she already does.
“It’s gonna be real lame without you.”
Even through his sickness, Jade still manages a narrow-eyed smile. “Oh, Floyd. Whoever said you had to go alone?”
“I dunno, Deucey,” Cater says, smiling ruefully as he fiddles with a strand of his hair. “I think you might be cooked.”
“The Housewarden’s gonna have my head if don't pass the real deal,” he sighs, keeping in step with Cater as they walk down the hallway. For weeks, he's been in remedials with Crewel, hitting the books with the other first years, and even bothering Riddle himself for help with assignments, but the low number circled in red is all he has to show for it.
“Yikes,” a new voice says, so close to his ear that Deuce nearly jumps out of his skin. On instinct, he whirls around ready for a fight, but Floyd just stands there with an easy smile on his face. “Hey Macky. Seabream.”
“Heya, Floyd. What’d I tell you about scaring our freshies?” Cater reprimands with all his usual friendliness, but there's a clear pinch of irritation between his eyebrows.
“Yeah, yeah. Don't need the reminder,” he says. “‘Sides, I think that score’s probably scaring him more. Looks pret-ty bad.”
“It's one of Crewel’s lookalike primers,” Deuce explains. For such a brief chapter, though, it’s pretty intense. He can barely tell the difference between seagrass and sargassum, much less watermeal and duckweed.
“Oof. Sounds like you're in a bind.” Floyd closes the distance between them more, bending over to read the paper. “Aquatic plants, huh? I’m kinda an expert on those. Want some help?”
Ah. That's his angle. Deuce knows he’s not the most critical thinker by any means, but he does know firsthand that any help from Octavinelle is an open trap—he can still feel the twins pulling the anemone on his head in his nightmares—and he has no intention of falling for that again.
“No thanks,” he says.
Floyd frowns. Pouts, really. His eyes droop almost like a puppy’s. “You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I think I’ve had enough indentured servitude for a lifetime.”
“Never said anything about that,” he huffs. “I’m just offerin’ to help.”
“No way you're just offering to help,” Cater says.
“Obviously not. That’s charity. I don’t really do charity.”
“Okay,” Deuce says, interrupting the spat. “You’re offering to help. What’s the catch?”
Floyd seems to light up as he turns his attention back to him. “Going to a wedding this weekend. There's a ceremony where friends of the couple haze ‘em a little bit. Jade and I were supposed to do it, but he's two seconds away from puking his guts up, so I need stand-ins.”
The mental image of Jade of all people bedridden is hard to reconcile. “Sorry to hear your brother’s not feeling well.”
“Eh. He’ll live. I might not if ya don't do me a solid. So…” he trails off. “How ‘bout it? You help out, and I’ll teach you what’s what in the water.”
Deuce turns to Cater for advice, but he shrugs, smiles, and sighs, “I think you’re probably going to say yes no matter what, but don’t say Cay-Cay didn’t warn you.”
“Butt out,” Floyd grumbles. After a few seconds, Cater actually does; he salutes with a wink and walks off, and Floyd smiles at Deuce once they’re alone as he half-sings, “The weather’s real nice this time of year, too.”
He weighs his options. There’s less than three weeks left until midterms, less than two until the test on this unit. Even if he were to spend every moment not in class or at track practice studying, he knows he probably doesn’t have it in him to pass alone. He’s exhausted almost every avenue at this point, and a wedding doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world. If that’s the only condition—and it seems like it is—then…
“Alright,” Deuce says solemnly, holding out his hand to shake on it. “You’ve got a deal.”
Even through his glove, Floyd’s firm grasp is warmer than expected.
“Absolutely not,” Jamil tells Floyd after practice. “We have a game this weekend.”
Normally, getting shot down that quickly would put him in a dour mood, but he’s still riding the momentum of Deuce’s earlier yes enough to keep pushing. “C’mon, it's not like we’re gonna win anyway.”
“That’s the exact kind of defeatist—ugh. Never mind.”
“Yeah, whatever. Crabby?”
“Can't. Coach might actually put me on the starting lineup since you're out.”
“That's optimistic,” Jamil teases, only for Ace to throw a glare in his direction. He pauses for a moment, eyes closed in thought. “Have you asked Rook?”
“Seagull? No way. He’d just spend the whole time starin’ at me.”
“Hm. Trey, then?”
“I don't think I’m gonna get any more of Goldfishie’s goons.”
“I’m standing right here,” Ace grumbles.
Their conversation is interrupted when the gym door opens and Kalim yells, “Hi, Jamil!”
A guy who can summon vast amounts of water without getting exhausted and loves parties. Oh, he’d be perfect for this. He walks in flanked by Cater and Lilia, but before Floyd can say anything, Jamil grits out, “Don't even think about it.”
“But—”
“No,” Jamil cuts in again. Raising his voice, he greets the group, “Sorry. I’m guessing we ran over time.”
“It's fine!” Cater responds. “We’re just setting up some sound equipment for a dress rehearsal tomorrow.” Green eyes drift to Floyd, and he says with a smug, tight smile, “Don't tell me you're still trying to talk people into your vacay.”
“Vacay?” Lilia asks, interest piqued.
“It's not a vacation. He’s going to a wedding this weekend,” Jamil clarifies. “And he's trying to rope people into coming with him to help with a ceremony.”
“You game, Devilfishie?” Floyd asks. Lilia’s as good a pick as any—he’s always up to something interesting, and skilled to boot.
He seems to consider it for a moment, then says with a bright, fanged smile, “I don't see why not!”
“For the record, I did warn him,” Cater says that night in the common room as Deuce explains that he’ll be gone for the weekend.
“Dude, you are so fucked,” Ace chuckles, spinning his pen between his fingers.
“Ace,” Riddle warns.
“Dude, you are so dead,” he amends, just as gleeful.
“Knock it off, Ace. It's not funny,” Trey says. To Deuce’s chagrin, it's obvious he's fighting a smile—albeit better than Cater—as he says it. “You would think he would've learned his lesson last time, though.”
“Let's hope he learns it this time, then,” Riddle sighs.
All the dogpiling feels a bit unfair. While Deuce wouldn’t go so far as to say Floyd is a nice guy based on their past interactions, he wouldn’t say he’s that much worse than present company. “I’m just helping him out of a tight spot,” he insists. “You guys are making it sound like I’m being sent off to slaughter!”
All of them, all at once, respond with some iteration of, “You kind of are.”
“At least you’ll have Lils,” Cater offers, like it’s a consolation. It’s not a very good one.
Riddle takes a prim, if not slightly irritated, sip of his tea and says, “Since you’ve already committed to going, I will say this: be careful, and keep your wits about you. Floyd Leech is nothing but trouble. I don't envy you in the slightest.” A verdict—guilty of stupid decisions—and the sentence—natural consequences—delivered swiftly with a gracefully raised pinky.
The subject changes in favor of Riddle and Ace’s obvious interest in Trey’s latest kitchen endeavors, but the words of caution pang around in Deuce’s head for longer than he’d care to admit.
“Azul!” Floyd calls when he finishes cleaning the kitchen for the night and bursts into the VIP room. He’s saved the best for last, mostly because Azul gets pissy when someone bothers him about his personal business during operating hours.
“No need to yell. I’m right here.” Azul’s got one leg over the arm of the chair he’s in. It must be bothering him again. “What is it?” he asks, resting the newspaper he was reading in his lap.
“Wanna come with me to Ultramarine City this weekend?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Wasn't Jade—? Ah, that's right. He's sick. Well, as much as I’d like to, we’d have no management coverage at the Lounge.”
“Just close for the weekend, then. ‘Sides, you haven’t gone home since—”
“Are you insane?” Azul gawks, mouth snapping shut after he adds, “Don't answer that. It was rhetorical. Weekends are our best margins. You know this; I’ve explained it to you several times.”
Floyd knows that’s not Azul’s actual primary concern, but if he wants to verbally trap himself, that’s fine, too. “Couldn't you make more money at a wedding, though?”
“Wouldn't they already have caterers?” Azul sits up, leg swinging off the chair. Perfect. He's in business mode, and when he is, he gets greedy, and when he gets greedy, he gets more prone to forget some of the risk mitigation he usually goes on about.
“I ain't talkin’ food. I’m talkin’ about the fact that I’m helping with the Forever Float.”
He doesn't need to explain further. Azul’s eyes go so wide Floyd can practically hear the cha-ching sounding in his head. A Forever Float garners more attention than most small ceremonies. They’re interesting enough that even a few uninvolved locals will gather to watch and place bets, as long as there’s someone to take them.
In short, it's the exact kind of market Azul’d want to monopolize.
He chews the inside of his lip and says, “It's a good opportunity, certainly. But with Jade out of commission and you already committed to the ceremony itself, I don't know if I’d have the manpower necessary to set up operations.” He's clearly not talking to Floyd anymore, instead muttering to himself about possibly bringing on Ruggie or some other front-of-house staff, but he ceases when his eyes land back on his paper.
Floyd squints a bit to see what's suddenly got him grinning like a shark, and he realizes exactly what has his attention when he realizes that it's a copy of the school newspaper.
“Floyd?” he finally responds, voice clear.
“What's up?”
“I think I’ll be joining you after all.” He looks up, a smirk still on his face. “You don't mind if I extend a couple of extra invites, do you?”