The Art Of Folding

"Rhys! Where are you, I need someone to rant to about the positively atrocious day that I've been having." Mary blew into the shop like an expensive whirlwind, silk skirts flying, perfectly-curled blonde hair swinging indignantly at the injustices of the world. Rhys looked up from behind the counter where she had been pouring over a battered old book, already smiling at her friend.

"Well, if its been atrocious, how could I refuse?" She let her book fall closed and stood, running absently at her neck, rolling the kinks out of it.

Mary huffed dramatically. "You have no idea," She pulled off her bonnet, patting at the crown of her head where a few flyaway strands of hair had puffed up like a halo. "Mother has been driving me up the wall." She pronounced the last few words with a great deal of relish, as if she were unused to the shape of them but enjoyed how they sounded nonetheless.

Rhys laughed, ushering her friend towards the back room, away from the prying eyes of the street outside.

"Her taste in potential husbands for you hasn't improved, then?"

"Urgh!" Mary collapsed into the nearest armchair, fingers rubbing at her temples. "They are all incredibly boring. Three callers came today. Three! And do you think that any of them had anything more interesting to talk about than the weather?"

Rhys hummed, pretending to rub her chin in thought. "No?" She guessed, ducking down to grab the cake tin out of the cupboard, pulling the lid off with a flourish to reveal the fancy chocolate squares that she had indulged herself in the other day. Mary made an appropriately enthusiastic noise at the sight but didn't move from her aggrieved sprawl.

"'No' is right." She tugged at her skirts, rubbing the fabric thoughtlessly between two fingers, the way she always did when she was distressed. "And don't even get me started on the nagging." Settling herself down in the opposite chair, Rhys stayed silent, but met Mary's irritated gaze and very deliberately raised her eyebrows.

"God, it was all 'sit up straight Mary! Be polite Mary! Maybe you should eat a little less Mary!'" Scowling fiercely, Mary snatched up a cake and took the most belligerent bite that Rhys had ever seen. "As if the only good thing about courtship in this town isn't the excellent food! Take that away and what am I left with, hmm? Not a lot, let me tell you!"

"Mary, I have no hope of stopping you from telling me," Rhys said good-naturedly. She took a square of her own. "It can't be all bad. You said you were looking forward to finding a husband." The first time Mary had told her that, hurt had lanced through her chest, but in the intervening months she had ruthlessly quashed the feeling. They couldn't both end up spinsters, no matter how much Rhys would have liked to not be the only unmarried woman her own age in town.

"Of course I am!" Mary said indignantly. "Getting out of that house, being allowed out in society unchaperoned, running a household of my own without someone stood behind me telling me all the ways in which I'm doing it wrong? That's been my dream since I was five years old." She shook her head. "But I would prefer to have a man with slightly more personality than a wilted lettuce leaf, if it's all the same to you."

"Good luck with that in this town," Rhys grinned, but it faded quickly when Mary didn't smile back like she normally did.

"Mother says that boring men make malleable husbands." She said quietly, staring down at her hands. "But do you really think that those are my only options? A tiresome plank of a man who will let me get away with things or an intellectual who keeps me trapped in the house all day?" Desperation leaked into her voice as she looked up at Rhys, and she opened her mouth, then closed it, unable to think of anything to say.

Husband hunting had never been something she had to worry about. Being born into a family of Folders had guaranteed her a lucrative trade for life, and being profoundly uninterested in every man she had ever met meant that seeking out a love match had never occurred to her, outside of meddling old women making unsubtle comments about the availability of their sons and grandsons when she was within earshot.

Mary laughed softly, sniffing a little. "Listen to me," She scoffed quietly. "Harping on about all my woes like it won't all work out in the end." She leaned forward for another cake, smiling down at it wistfully before reaching out to pat Rhys' hand. "I'll be fine, my dear. Especially with as good a friend as you to confide in." Rhys smiled back sadly.

"I have every faith in you," She told her. "No one as scheming as you could ever be kept down by something as plebeian as a husband." She wrinkled her nose in mock-disgust, and to her relief Mary's smile brightened into something genuine.

"Damn straight," She sniffed, and they both laughed. "How have you been, then? I haven't been by for a while, something interesting must have happened."

Rhys tensed slightly at the question, then forced her shoulders to relax into a shrug.

"Nothing much," She said lightly. "Had a few out of towners come by for clothes. Mr Haverstock wanted a Folded pocket in his work trousers so he could fit bigger tools in there." She wiggled her eyebrows and Mary let out a cackle.

"Oh, I hope you teased him the whole time he was here."

Rhys clutched at her chest in mock-offense.

"What sort of professional do you take me for?" She waited for a beat. "Of course I did!"

"That's my girl," Mary nodded approvingly. "Oh! I meant to ask, what happened to your window?"

Rhys' hand, stretching out towards the cake tin, froze. "My... window?" She winced inwardly at the obvious pause, forcing herself to keep her face open and unconcerned, but she could feel her shoulders tensing. Mary frowned at her, eyes flickering towards the front room of the shop, where a piece of wood sat neatly in the place of the pane of glass that should have been there.

"The broken one," she clarified, suspicion creeping into her tone. "The one I assumed met with some sort of accident, but that I am now sure did not. Rhys." Her voice hardened as Rhys stood, grabbing the half-empty tin and replacing the lid to have something to do with her hands, carefully avoiding Mary's eyes.

"Of course it was an accident, Mary. Why would anyone break my window on purpose?" To her horror, her voice cracked halfway through the last word, and Mary stood abruptly at the sound, eyes blazing with newly-awakened fury.

"Who?" She asked dangerously. "Rhys, tell me who, right now."

"No one," Rhys snapped, turning away and thumping the tin down on the sideboard. "It doesn't matter."

"The hell it doesn't!" Mary caught her shoulder and turned her around, hands gentle as they made contact but visibly shaking with the force of her rage. "Someone attacked your home, that matters! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why would I?" Rhys said angrily, jerking out of her grasp. "I am capable of taking care of my own problems, Mary, no matter how much you might think otherwise."

"I," Mary said softly, eyes dark, "am going to ignore that last part because we are both upset right now and I know you didn't mean it. As for the first, you might consider the fact that I am your friend, you silly cow, and I would have liked to be there for you in your hour of need, as you have been for me many times over."

They glared at each other for a long moment, until Rhys sighed, lifting a hand to scrub over her forehead, temper subsiding.

"I know." She murmured. "I'm sorry. I just didn't want to bother you. People around here already think of you as my rich friend who bails me out of trouble."

"What trouble?" Mary asked incredulously. "I've only known you for three years and I've never had to bail you out of anything, you're far too boring!"

"Tell them that, not me," Rhys said waspishly, then sighed again. It had been three days since her window had been broken and the creeping terror of it happening again had been weighing on her ever since. It was exhausting.

"I will if you tell me who did it." Mary had folded her arms, which looked incongruous with her elegant silk gown, but her eyebrows furrowed dangerously, her jaw set stubbornly, which only ever spelled trouble for whichever foolish mortal was standing between her and whatever it was she wanted.

"I don't know," Rhys said tiredly. At Mary's skeptically raised eyebrow, she snapped again. "I don't! Whoever it was threw a brick through my window with a death-threat attached to it, then buggered off." She slumped back into her chair, head in her hands. "It wasn't even a good death threat," She added morosely. "The handwriting was terrible."

"Some time soon, when we have less pressing concerns, you and I are going to have a long talk about your priorities," Mary said, strained. The fire had faded from her voice. "God, Rhys." She sank slowly into the opposite chair, concern etched into every line of her face.

Rhys took a deep breath and straightened, lowering her hands and twisting them together until her knuckles cracked, a nervous habit. Mary winced at the noise, but for once didn't complain about it.

"The Inspector told me that they had no way of knowing who it was, because no one saw it happen." She stated quietly. Mary opened her mouth, outraged, but Rhys cut her off. "They didn't. The noise woke me up, but by the time I got downstairs whoever it was had gone, and it was almost three in the morning. There was no one around."

Mary subsided, but her lips were pursed unhappily. "And the note didn't contain any clues?" She asked. Rhys shook her head.

"Only that whoever it was took issue with someone like me being in town."

"Someone like you?"

Rhys met Mary's uncomprehending gaze.

"A magic user, Mary," She said tiredly. "I know you take Folding for granted these days, but it does still count."

"That's..." Mary groped for words. "...Insane! You moved here years ago! And it's not like you're a witch!" Rhys sat upright, fists clenched in anger.

"Oh really?" She hissed. "So that would make it alright, then? Bricks through the windows of witches don't matter, of course not!" Mary blanched, apparently realizing that she'd said the wrong thing.

"That's not what I meant."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have said it!" Rhys shouted. "I could have been, you know. A hundred years ago? Two? Someone like me would have been apprenticed the second I turned thirteen and taught to do much more than just making pockets bigger on the inside." Tears were blurring her vision, the frustration and fear of the past few days catching up to her, the hot lump in her throat only making her angrier. "The only reason my family even survived the Purging is because we were weak and we were useful, and now the weak and useful all that's left, and if they decide that those reasons aren't good enough to keep us around, what hope do you think I'll have?"

Silence, broken only by the sounds of people on the street outside, followed her words. Mary was staring at her, stricken.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Rhys let out a shaky breath, wiping her tears away with a brutally impatient hand.

"I'm sorry too." She muttered finally. "It's not you I'm angry at. I just..." She smoothed back her hair, fiddling with the end of her plait, which was beginning to come loose.

"Hate feeling helpless?" Mary finished for her, smiling tentatively. Rhys nodded. "What a pair we are today," Mary murmured. "I'm going to make us some tea, alright? I think we need it."

Rhys let out a watery huff of assent, watching as Mary stood and gracefully made her way towards the curtained staircase, vanishing upwards and rattling around until she found the kettle. The familiar sounds of water heating and china clinking were soothing, and Rhys felt her breath ease, her shoulders loosening.

By the time Mary returned with freshly brewed tea, Rhys had almost completely calmed down. Smiling gratefully, she leaned forwards to take her cup, spooning an inadvisable amount of sugar into it. The first sip was warm and sweet, and the last remaining dregs of tension seeped away.

"Do you think it will happen again?" Mary asked, elegantly sculpted brows low over her worried eyes. "That whoever it was will come back?" Rhys glanced up at her and shook her head.

"I don't know. I suppose it depends on whether it was a drunken one-off, or someone with a real grudge who doesn't mind escalating things until they get what they want." Mary looked upset.

"You know that you can come to me?" She said earnestly. "I'll ruin anyone who so much as suggests that you don't belong here, and I'd smuggle you away from any rogue witch hunters, you just watch me."

"Oh, Mary," Rhys smiled. "Of course I know I can come to you. You're far scarier than any coward with a brick." A pleased smile curled at Mary's lips. "But I just..."

"You want to be independent," Mary sighed into her teacup. Rhys nodded at her and she smiled softly back before rolling her eyes theatrically. "I suppose that's a good enough reason, if you want to be boring about it."

"I definitely want to be boring," Rhys agreed. "Boring is the ideal that I strive for each and every day."

Mary laughed. "Good luck with that, darling. As long as you're friends with me, boring ought to be hard to come by."

Rhys let out a long-suffering sigh. "And that is my burden to carry."

"Oi!" Mary stretched out a foot to poke Rhys on the knee. They both giggled, relief heightening their amusement.

"We'll be alright," Rhys said softly, once they'd subsided. "You'll see. Oh!" The tea in her cup sloshed dangerously as she leaned forward. "I almost forgot to mention, Ben wrote to me!"

Mary fumbled with her own cup, eyes lighting up with excitement.

"Ben? The Ben, your mysterious childhood travelling merchant pen pal?"

"He isn't mysterious, and yes, he says that his family have finished their business early this year and that he has permission to come and see me."

Rhys braced herself for Mary's ear-splitting screech as she leapt to her feet, spinning in a gleeful circle before perching back on the edge of the seat, vibrating with excitement.

"What!? Tell me you mean it, tell me you aren't making things up right now, am I finally going to meet him?"

"If I don't murder you for asking too many questions before then, yes,"

Mary flapped her hand dismissively. "Please, you love me too much to ever kill me. I have been waiting for this moment for years! I need to see this boy and ask him about all of your youthful shenanigans!"

Rhys snorted. "I get the feeling that you are going to be wildly disappointed."

Mary brandished a finger at her. "Oh, no. No, you are not going to ruin this for me. You have denied me the joy of writing to Ben ever since you first told me of his existence, so I must seize this opportunity with both hands before it slips away forever."

"I still don't know why you care so much," Rhys said, bemused.

"Because!" Mary exclaimed. "He's the only friend you have ever mentioned. The only person who stood between you and a life of loneliness, before I came along, of course. Why on earth would I not be invested?"

"Hmm." Rhys squinted at her suspiciously, then realization struck and her eyes widened. "Oh, God, tell me you aren't planning to meddle with our relationship."

Mary froze for half a second before folding her hands demurely in her lap and plastering on the same innocent expression that got her through her parents society functions.

"I am appalled that you would even think me capable of such things," She said primly. Rhys threw her head back, groaning.

"Mary, don't you dare." She stared her down, torn between horror and amusement. "You are not to try and set me up with my own best friend." Mary's innocent expression dropped faster than a granite boulder.

"Oh, why not?!" She clasped her hands underneath her chin, staring pleadingly. "You clearly love him!"

"Mary." Rhys said seriously. "I mean this. Ben is very near and dear to my heart. He always has been. No!" She held up a hand when Mary looked like she was about to interrupt. "Let me finish. But I do not see him in a romantic light. All that an attempt at matchmaking would do is make the two of us uncomfortable and ruin the few weeks that we get to spend together. Please."

She fixed Mary with a firm look, refusing to break eye contact until the other woman wilted in acceptance. "Promise me that you will leave this alone."

"Fine," She sighed, disappointment etched into the lines of her face.

"Thank you." Rhys told her sincerely. "I know you mean well, but it really would end badly."

"I just... you deserve a decent romance, love. I want to see you happy.

"I am happy." Rhys said honestly. "I don't want a romance."

"You know people will talk," Mary said, glancing through the doorway to the front of the shop. "A strange young man staying with you? They'll think it scandalous no matter what you do."

Rhys pulled a face. "Yes because an obviously foreign Folder living alone isn't already considered scandalous in this town." She shook her head. "I'm used to being a favourite gossip subject around here. At least this time it will be for something relatively normal."

Mary hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose you have a point."

"Shocking, I know," Rhys said dryly, and Mary slapped her on the shoulder.

"Don't sass me, Missy." She paused, chewing on her lip. "I suppose you could frame it as extra protection against vandals. No one would question you wanting a familiar man around after such a worrying incident, especially if you say that he's your cousin or something."

Good mood fading, Rhys lifted a shoulder. "Maybe," She said noncommittally. A bell rang out as the shop door was opened.

"Mary! Say goodbye to Miss Smythe, we have errand to run!"

"Shhh!" Mary hissed. "If we stay quiet, maybe she'll go away."

"Mary!" Both women winced at the shrill shout, exchanging long-suffering glances.

"Coming!" Yelled Mary, standing with ill-grace. "I'll see you soon," she said to Rhys at a reasonable volume, and took her hand in both of her own. "Take care, alright? I mean it."

"I will," promised Rhys. "Don't stab anyone with a salad fork. No matter how dull they are."

"What if I stab myself?" Rhys gave her an unimpressed look.

"Don't do that either."

"Boring." They smiled at each other, hugged, and then Mary was through the door and away with a loud complaint of,

"I'm here, Mother, do stop fretting."

The door slammed shut behind her, and all at once, the shop was silent and lonely once more.