original shit

[beech]

dis all my original shit
click the ☆ for character info + pictures

amalthesia, the flying ship ► ☆
► friech & berette

feytalis ► ☆
► chesh & usartas

land of four seasons ► ☆
► aisuma & gable
► engel & gable
► aisuma & gable & nilak
► aisuma & nilak + gable
► aisuma & gable & nilak 2

magaug club, the ► ☆
► the whole magaug club

paradise island ► ☆
► lial & luceme 2 (chronologically first)
► lial & luceme

yozellin ► ☆
► palmer & asuen & lewin

Comments

→ usartas • chesh

[beech]

Relgr’rem had disappeared somewhere into the crowds, leaving Chesh feeling alone, vulnerable, and very out-of-place. Putting aside the fact that formal gatherings weren’t his forte, there was also the fact that this was an unusual event, to say the least. It was the first time in many, many years that the outlying demon tribes had come into the capital to participate.

He couldn’t make Usartas or his second-in-command out in the crowds, so he surrendered internally to a night hiding in the corner.

Chesh found one, nudging his back against the wall, tucking him into a spot that he was certain would let him escape mostly unnoticed. His formalwear felt suffocating. Chesh was hardly used to suits and ties, and the loose collar of his usual clothing was much at odds with a suit. His tail lashed behind him a bit and he fumbled at it with his hands and claws before the light of the grand ballroom was blocked out.

Timidly, he raised his gaze—and blinked in surprise.

It was Usartas, as large, looming and intimidating as always but he was a welcome face in a sea of strangers.

Actually, he looked just as uncomfortable as Chesh. His tie was around his neck, certainly, but it was clumsily tied. His eyebrow were drawn down in discomfort and his long, spike-ridden tail was twitching behind him.

“Are you hiding?” Usartas asked him after a moment. “…Not that I could blame you.”

Chesh fought to keep his mouth from twitching into a smile. It was an old habit that he still had yet to solve, not even with time and Relgr’rem’s help—it wouldn’t do to enjoy himself too much, to show too much. “What about you, chief?”

“You should know full well by now that I do not enjoy these frivolities.” Usartas sighed, scuffing the heel of his foot against the floor. “I do not like leaving my clan alone.”

They fell into a silence—Usartas still loomed in front of him as opposed to taking up space next to him, and Chesh wondered what he should do. “…but. Since we’re both stuck here, come.” He didn’t know what to do when a hand was offered to him—purple-skinned, weathered palms and long, black nails.

“E-er… come… where?”

“To dance.”

Chesh balked and nearly smashed his head right back into the wall. “I— no, I can’t, I’m just a servant, that I’m here at all is due to the good grace of my young master’s father—”

Usartas seized his hand. “I do not care about the conventions you do, either,” he told him in a low voice that rumbled, like the thunderstorm that had struck the steppes on their voyage to the capital. Chesh shrunk back instinctively, but the grip wasn’t too tight. It was firm and unyielding, as to be expected of Usartas, but Chesh guessed if he actually resisted that Usartas would let him go. “You can dance, can’t you?”

Chesh worked his tongue inside of his mouth, fighting with himself.

“Yes,” he said at last, like someone had to force it from him. “You can, chief…?”

“Perhaps not in the way that you’re used to.” Usartas’s eyes seemed to glint. “But yes.” He pulled Chesh’s hand and his hooved feet clopped a little too loudly before he caught himself. Usartas drew him with him—blessedly, not to the center of the dance floor. Instead, he drew him to an empty space set off to the side with enough space they could move comfortably.

Usartas’s arm crept around his waist and Chesh felt a hot flush go through his body, his tail twitching and straightening out behind him. That arm pressed firmly, urging him to straighten his posture, as Usartas’s hand corrected itself, holding his own in it. Usartas was always tall and large and, even though Chesh was used to his large, clawed hands dwarfing others, Usartas could grip it easily in his own in such a way that he felt small.

“A, um. Waltz?” Chesh stammered.

Usartas merely looked at him. His smile was there, subtle. “For now.”

And they began to dance. It was steps that Chesh knew well enough—he’d trained himself extensively in etiquette, anything he might need to know as the attendant of the prince Relgr’rem. Usartas could carry the dance easily, moving with surprising grace for a demon of his size and bulk, his tail keeping well out of the way of their feet. Chesh felt clumsy, even if he himself knew he could dance well enough.

Along the way, it began to change—

These steps Chesh didn’t recognise. He didn’t even know what to call them. If he had to equate it to anything, it was like the folk dances that sometimes the lower-class demons had, trying to escape their rough reality. Usartas carried him effortlessly, tightening his arm at his waist when Chesh felt like he was going to trip up, even lifting him off of the floor completely.

He barely heard the music in the background. Not until the end, when Usartas lifted him up completely, bending him in a dip that brought their faces close, the large horn that protruded from the right side of Usartas’s head just above his face, those eyes fixed on him… and then he straightened, setting Chesh back on his feet.

“Thank you for the dance,” he said, formally, and dipped over the hand of Chesh’s that he was still holding. He didn’t kiss it, but he came awfully close, to the point where Chesh felt the brush of some of his short hair.

Weak-kneed, Chesh could only nod. He stumbled along with him when Usartas lifted his hand to rest in the crook of his elbow and lead them away to a quieter place.