In Memory of Fox, Not Costello

One

The Artisan District

Costello was a hard man to keep up with. As he was albino, he blended in with the white sky of the Artisan District, plus he was fast. He took large, quick strides down the cobbled road, weaving in and out of crowds of passersby. No one took care to notice him, even though he'd have stood out to them, so long as they weren't facing the sun. It was as if no one saw him at all.

Me, however, I was a different story. I'd bumped into at least three people trying to catch up with Costello, and yet, despite the fact I had hurried away from them without apologizing or helping them gather their things, it was as if he was still miles away. I pushed myself faster, and I saw him. I got closer and closer, squeezing through crowds, until I finally made it into the Fountain Hall.

The Fountain Hall was outdoors, but it was hard to tell because it was surrounded by walls of plants and windows. The only thing that determined it to be an outdoor place was its lack of ceiling. Candy butterflies fluttered overhead. No doubt some sorry sap of a child didn't hold onto it tight enough when he was eating it. I plucked one out of the air and chewed it gingerly as I meandered around the Fountain Hall, searching for Costello. My bare feet felt sticky on the tiled floor as I wandered around. The sounds of the rushing water in the fountain flooded my ears.

"Hey, Hark." The familiar voice came from behind me and I froze, my left hand wrapped around my Digit and my right reached for my staff which was looped through my belt. "Don't."

I sighed and turned around, my hands up in surrender. "Caught me," I said.

"Hm." Costello smirked, stalking towards me. I hadn't seen the man since we were ten and yet here he is, taking my things and running off as if it hadn't been six years. I suppose that was his game. "And what's my prize for winning?"

I watched as he shed the form he had on. As his white hair grew black at the roots and his pale eyes turned their usual yellow. I had known him for ages and I still hadn't gotten used to his face changing. My stomach churned as I watched. I guess it would be hard for me to get used to this, what with him leaving and coming back every five or so years.

He looked different than before, when we were just young. His jawline was sharper, his eyes somehow yellower and more cat-like. More angry, stony, cautious. But I couldn't help but recognize him, especially when he'd nicked my pendant from around my throat at the train station in Nostan.

"Well, I'm not kissing you," I finally said, relieved to see the face I recognized the most. "Though you do look rather like a frog, my dear Costello."

"It's Fox, now," he said sharply, his usual frivolity suddenly gone. "You know that."

I flinched back. "I do."

And then he was back. Fox, not Costello. After his mother had left, he fell into despair. That was when he'd left the first time. Things had changed since then, and, seeing him now, I knew they couldn't go back to the way they were before.

"Fox," I said cautiously, the new name unfamiliar on my tongue. "Why have you come back? Why did you leave in the first place?"

"Oh, Harker, don't be silly," Fox sang, back to his silly self. "You know you'd get bored of little old me."

He vanished for a moment, reappearing behind me.

"Things are much better this way." He stroked my hair, vanishing again. "This way..."

He materialized in front of me again, kissing my hand.

"You remain interested," he said, with a wink, and again he was gone. But this time he wasn't back. And, in my hand, just where his lips had been, was my pendant, from when we were ten.

"Oh, Costello," I whispered, even though it wasn't allowed, not anymore. It was Fox, not Costello. Not Costello, Fox. But I couldn't help but remember, from better times, when my father wasn't dead, and his mother hadn't left, when it was Costello, not Fox, Costello. And Costello, always. "We really must meet again."

And, this time, hopefully, it wouldn't take six years.