Chapter Text
The sound of their arrival was a loud puff. The gentle chime that followed guided their way. Lefty was still dazed by light smoke, even in the fading clouds.
Mumford certainly didn't lie about the cafe he said he they were going to—it was as strange as it was tranquil.
Daylight shone through the window, giving the floorboards a faint, almost soft golden glow. Opalescent stonework surrounded the lower half of the pale green walls, catching it as well. Lefty could have sworn that the windowsill behind them was blooming, following behind Mumford.
"So, what do you think of this place so far?" Asked Mumford, looking aside at the distant flower buds.
Lefty’s frown pinched itself inwards. Although he was usually the first to jump at the opportunity for an idle chat, it was difficult to do that when one can't let out anything more than a croak.
"I suppose you're right," Mumford stifled a chuckle. "I I can't just make such amazing promises and have the place itself reassure me of it.”
Lefty stuffed his hands into the outer pockets of his coat, unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes. The only thing reassuring was the atmosphere, which he could tell the café had purposefully created.
"If it makes you feel better, we're about thirty minutes away from Sesame Street," Mumford added, "so if you need to return there after this, it shouldn't be much of a hassle."
The knowledge was certainly helpful, but it was just as likely that they both would need to check Finders Keepers later. For the most part, however, it seemed like Mumford was trying to sell him on a date; or what might as well would be one.
For as magical as the café seemed, it made no promises so far that it could cure him, and even if it did...so what? Would they even need to head back to Sesame Street afterwards? He wouldn't have to go back there after the fact, even if the drink worked. He could just sell his goods in a district that's closer to where he was now.
Mumford walked towards the counter with quiet grace. Lefty trailed closely behind and, as he arrived at Mumford's right, stopped. Two fairies and an elf were stationed at the opposite end, dressed in crisp, muted uniforms and spotless ivory aprons. All three had a similar stature and a weary yet serene expression in their eyes. Ignoring the tired, shameful heat in his cheeks, Lefty was perplexed as he tried to maintain eye contact with the staff.
One of the fae was typing away at the register, her fingers tapping the keys as if she were playing a prepared tune. A lighter blue-hued fairy stood behind her, making drinks with great care and creating spells with every exact movement while the elf observed them both from afar. More perplexing than that, however, was the menu itself, where parts of it either wrote themselves or vanished just as quickly. The options appeared both limitless and infinite, a trick that, if it hadn't already, was sure to mess with someone there eventually.
Mumford, of course, already knew what they sold. Lefty said nothing, listening to what seemed like two snap decisions, each with a fancy name and each ending with the fairy up front nodding. With a frown that almost pulled the rest of his head down with it, he tightened his coat around himself. It was humiliating. He couldn't even remember the last time he had someone else order for him. He used to do it on his own. Even hearing Mumford guess what he might have wanted was completely emasculating.
That wasn't to say he wasn't thankful. He was. Even with his voice, he still wouldn't have figured out the menu. He couldn't turn down a free drink from someone he knew was genuinely trying to help him either. Drinks were only the least of his problems with the curse. He followed Mumford to the other end of the counter, where they were greeted by mugs with steam swirling out of them.
"One Lavender Earl Gray for you," The blue fairy removed her hands from the drinks and glanced up at Mumford. "And one Tale-Teller's Tonic for your friend too."
The grin on Mumford's face grew with delight. Even from a few feet away, the smell of black tea and sweetened lavender mixing together was already pleasant to them both. Lefty, however, looked down at his own drink and observed it. It bubbled and hissed from beneath it’s top layer of whimsical-looking fruit on top — another sign that this wasn't his day.
"Let's sit and chat for while," Mumford lead Lefty over to the dining area. "It might take some time for the magic to take affect."
Lefty’s eyes peered around, observing the other beings that would come to such a fantastical place. Some were cheerful, but others seemed lonely or hurt. Everyone had drinks that swam, swirled, or even exploded close to them, and he wasn't persuaded that they were doing any good by the way the others stared down at them.
Yet, like Mumford said, "it could still work"; or at least, there was a chance it could do just that. The drinks were alive with their own magic. Who was to say they weren't alive with their own desire to help either? The other patrons might have simply not gotten around to drinking them.
Mumford slid into one half of a booth, and Lefty watched. Then he followed suit, settling himself comfortably and sliding his drink onto the table. Mumford was already smiling back at him, lowering his mug to his mouth.
"Don't worry about me,” the magic seemed to have no effect on Mumford’s already jovial mood. “There are standard drinks on their menu, like the one I have here."
Lefty glanced down at the tea, its faint hues barely visible against the pale teacup. Tiny bits of lavender swirled around as a small, thin curl of wispy steam rose from it. He didn't doubt that the cafe sold normal drinks; he was worried that's all they sold. A scam, possibly. A scam like the ones he's pulled off many times before.
His shoulders sunk, his attention returning to his own drink. The first sip was true to its appearance—the fizz was present, as was the flavor of the various fruits. The tightness in his throat was easing, the soreness from the sounds it wasn't intended to make fading further. Yet, deep down, he still wasn't sure it worked.
It was supposed to work against illness. At best, whatever magic it was using had to work linearly, not exponentially. Lefty did not consider himself a quitter, but he needed time to see that it was capable of breaking a curse on its own. Even at the bottom of the cup, where not even a seed of spare fruit remained, the truth of the magic itself remained unclear to him.
Lefty fought against his sinking gaze, raising it to Mumford's level. His attention was on the cup instead, leaning forward towards the salesman’s end of the table. Lefty fixed his gaze intently, a bitter 'ribbit' escaping from his throat – one that he knew would have been incomprehensible to Mumford had it not been for their prior conversations.
"Okay," Mumford reclined back into his seat and tugged on the chain of his cape, "so perhaps you're not sick after all..."
Lefty panicked, his gaze flitting between them in a hurry until it landed on the inside of his coat. Rummaging through it, he withdrew a notepad and pen from and swiped them onto the table with a slight thud. He jotted down all of the events that had led him to his encounter with Mumford. All it took was a past incident with Ernie to form that habit—not keeping it on hand was a very good way to lose that day's profit.
For once, the usual tactics he employed had failed. His mind was consumed by the desire to vent his frustrations, to shout them from the tallest rooftop, or to ensure that everyone in the cafe knew about his curse. It was one of the few times he found himself in a situation where he was at a loss for what to do and where every method he had previously tried crumbled in front of his eyes. The ones Mumford suggested weren't faring too well either, which made him almost certain that the magician finally knew what was wrong.
Lefty extended his arm, trembling as his hand offered the notepad to Mumford. The pages were filled with rushed lines of words, detailing the events that remained on his mind: a lengthy account of his struggles, thoughts so numerous and overwhelming that he had to suppress a distressed ribbit that threatened to escape him. Whatever remained of the carefree joy on Mumford's face faded away as he read it, a concerned scowl taking it's place as he mumbled Lefty's words back to him, no longer written, and barely spoken aloud.
"Oh, Lefty," Mumford lowered his head, "what did you get yourself into?"
Lefty's shoulders jumped. He still hadn't braced himself to hear what he'd been dreading, even though he had been expecting the worst.
Especially from Mumford. "Is all of that really what happened?"
As though the gesture alone would shield him from Mumford's words, Lefty croaked and then made an awkward gesture with his arm. "Okay, so maybe I took something that wasn't mine. That kind of stuff just happens sometimes. I didn't know it actually belonged to that witch!"
"It's not that I don't believe you—I mean, I do..." Mumford let out a tense sigh. "But all I can say is I hope you learned something from that entire ordeal. It would pain me to see you end up this way again right after this."
Lefty slumped in dejection as he tapped his fingers against the table. His agitation and restlessness had reached a peak, and he was desperate to bring an end to the drawn-out situation. Drawn-out just like the prolonged of a story, where Mumford had been with him for longer than that, further than that. There was no way Mumford didn't know how he truly felt. If he weren't so exhausted before even crossing paths with him, if he didn't see himself as in the wrong, he never would have wanted Mumford's help in the first place.
But he did. He stuck around, not knowing where to even start; neither did Mumford. Now both of them were on the same, literal page, where one knew what happened and the other knew how to solve it. He hoped he didn't burn that solution away completely.
"Now that I know what you’ve been afflicted with, I should warn you beforehand that curses are a stubborn kind of magic," Mumford returned the notepad. "Most of us can't simply reverse a curse a different magician put on someone..."
Lefty flipped the notepad to it’s next blank page, preparing to jot down his reply.
"Not even the drinks they serve here are that powerful," continued Mumford, "and those things can solve nearly anything else. Curses happen to be really specific, and there simply isn't one cure that can work against all of them."
Instinctively, Lefty brought his hand to the side of his face and groaned in pain. He saw Mumford’s eyebrows go up in alarm as he leaned closer to him. Writing as fast as he could with his other hand, he asked "Isn't there ANY way we can solve it?"
Mumford, in turn, wrote back to him. "Did you try apologizing to her?"
"I did," Lefty added below Mumford's response. "That still didn't stop her from casting it."
Lefty passed the notepad back to Mumford one more time. Mumford’s jaw remained motionless while he raised his hand to his face. "Well, there was this story once where a princess found a frog at the bottom of a well. She took it home and treated it well, and took it everywhere else..."
Lefty felt an odd sense of deja vu. The image of a princess faded from his mind, replaced instead by the mental picture of Mumford dragging him around, not unlike their current predicament, but instead with a crown and a cape of gold lacquer.
"...And before she knew it, she was staring face to face with the most handsome prince she had ever seen. The curse that made him a frog was broken, and then they lived happily ever after. Or at least, it might be a given with how these things typically go."
The parallels sent a chill down Lefty’s spine, as if the universe itself was playing a cruel joke on him.
On Sesame Street, fairy tales held a strange reality. Whether in its more abstract forms, such as Goldilocks living in the same neighborhood as Cinderella's fairy godmother and the three bears, or in its more literal form, magic weaved through the fabric of that street. Most of the time, it was in a random order with no discernible pattern or meaning, aside from perhaps some abstract lesson that had little to do with the stories themselves. He wasn't where he'd begin to describe how "concerning" that was. Typically, it was never his problem as he knew to be wary of unpredictable circumstances. If it weren't for the witch, he wouldn't have ran into any.
Mumford slowly sipped the last of his tea, setting his cup down on the table. "To sum up the matter, I think the curse would have to be broken by a kiss."
Lefty turned his eyes up to Mumford, pointing at the next thing he wrote down on the notepad. "Is this kissing some sort of clause? With the magic itself?"
"Maybe," answered Mumford. "In all fairness, the frog didn’t need to kiss the person who cursed him, just someone who truly cared about him just as much. That, or another magician, from what I've read about them. One of them would probably work."
Lefty let out a weary sigh, his thoughts echoing the exhaustion he felt. If it was her, we'd never be getting anywhere.
Lefty glanced toward Mumford, a twinge of unease in his gut. The thought of relying on that method, especially with Mumford, left him unsure. "Do I even like him that way?" he questioned himself in his thoughts, his fingers tracing the edge of the notepad.
He found it hard to believe that a simple kiss could magically solve major problems or grant wishes. It being magic seemed a lot more plausible—though anyone could weave a verse about how the magic did it rather than the kiss. Magic itself was messy and he certainly didn't know magic. Not that Mumford seemed much better at it either.
And if it were true love? Forget it.
Lefty set down his pen and slowly stood up, avoiding Mumford's gaze. The concept of love hung in the air, and he couldn't help but feel the weight of the situation. He could barely bring himself to look at Mumford as the words echoed in his mind: So it had come to this...
"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," Mumford reminded him kindly.
Lefty turned to look over his shoulder at Mumford, surprise etched on his face. He had expected some sort of resistance or protest, but it seemed that Mumford was unexpectedly accepting of his decision.
"I know your voice is important to...pretty much everything you do, but its not the end of the world if you don't want to go through with the kiss either. I mean, if we still can't get your voice back, I'd offer you a position to be my assistant," Mumford's frown reappeared, a shrug following after it. "You wouldn't have to say anything there, and-- and one of my spells could even backfire hard enough that it might end up returning."
Lefty let out a small, nervous croak, followed by a quick but timid side-to-side shake of his head.
"Is that for the kiss, or--"
Lefty quickly walked up to Mumford and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him aside away from the booth. Mumford nearly slid beneath him, only to steady himself by gripping the edge of the table with one hand. He watched Mumford's face light up, his mouth slightly agape. Lefty leaned in, allowing themselves to meet in an unexpected but longed-for kiss. It seemed almost unbelievable that this moment had come to pass thanks to Mumford's own desire to help him.
Lefty rushed back from the kiss, breaking the contact of their lips. He raised his hand to his throat, feeling the difference beneath his touch. The swelling and pain had noticeably decreased. He felt like he could speak again. The curse might have finally been broken. His hand instinctively moved to his coat, fiddling with the fabric as he tried to ease his own awkwardness that had suddenly appeared after the kiss.
"I-- I don't think I could have done it without ya…" Lefty fidgeted with the buttons and adjusted the collar, distracting himself from the mixed feelings that were now coursing through him.
Still not quite ready to thank Mumford directly, he covered his mouth with his hand out of habit after speaking. The fact that he could now speak meant the curse was gone, but at the same time, it didn't stop the rush of heat that washed over his face. His body was still catching up with the reality of the situation.
Mumford took a breath, only for it to snap away just as suddenly. "You're welco--, Wait, you're speaking again! That kiss worked after all!"
Lefty blinked, aware of the way his mouth felt as he inhaled and exhaled. He noticed that the vibrations in his vocal cords were no longer hindered, yet he still remained as a loss for words. He was almost convinced it couldn't have been fixed. Nor if they would have gone that far to fix it either. Although he was confident in persuading for a lot of things, even he had to admit a kiss from Mumford would have been a bit more than he could ask for.
Mumford relaxed his grin. "Are you still okay, Lefty?"
"Y-Yeah,' Lefty curled his hand away from the collar of his coat. "Certainly. Not gonna lie, havin' to speak up that other way isn't something I'm used to. You get so excited, you just rush, you know..."
"Don't worry about it too much," Mumford nodded at him. "We would have gotten to that point on our own eventually."
"I-- I guess," Lefty chuckled, relieved since it had been forever since he done so. "Just don't cast one of those things on me, will you? I'd hate to go through that again."
Mumford's eyebrows shot up, his expression turning doubtful. Lefty could almost read the thoughts running through his mind. He knew that Mumford was always self-conscious about the mishaps caused by his own magic. He always liked to try his best, and regularly owned up to his mistakes when it didn't. His efforts today were one such example. Despite the frequent and initial shock that came with each attempt, Lefty acknowledged that he had more than made up for it. All it took was some guiding in the right direction, and Mumford had worked his magic from there.
As another thanks, Lefty gave him a playful smirk. "That said, if it were your spell, you'd certainly have an easier time fixing it."
...Although, now that he thought about it, maybe Mumford needs his help more than he desperately needed Mumford's? After all, he still had quite a lot to give back.