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original shit
dis all my original shit
click the ☆ for character info + pictures
amalthesia, the flying ship ► ☆
► friech & berette
feytalis ► ☆
► chesh & usartas
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
► 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
→ aisuma • gable
Aisuma looked up. Gable, sitting opposite him around the small fire he had built in order to cook them a meal, was gathering his hair into a tail at the back of his neck (though he didn’t tie it so it just slid loose). The elf’s eyes were open, curious, fixed on the heavy clothing Aisuma wore. It wasn’t as thick as if he were a native from the winter lands, but the Middling was in a perpetual state of cool, a mix of all of the seasons. It necessitated their clothing be always a certain density.
“I’m fine,” he told him firmly. Truthfully? He was hot. He wasn’t used to the heat of the summer lands, and his clothes were ill-suited. However, he didn’t want to undress in front of Gable, no matter how generously or kindly he had treated him, offering to show him the way through the summer lands, or how they would soon be sharing food.
Gable’s eyebrow lifted. “You think I don’t notice you sweating?” he asked, his tone lilting higher in what Aisuma guessed was amusement. He rose, dusting off the seat of his pants, and walked around to sit alongside him. Aisuma’s tail twitched, but Gable didn’t give it a glance, instead lifting a long finger to pull Aisuma’s hanging black hair off of his forehead. Aisuma tensed but didn’t do anything, feeling a small twinge of annoyance when he felt hair clinging to his skin. “See?”
“I’m really fine,” Aisuma mumbled, trying to seem as stern as before. Gable just snorted.
There was a click of a buckle and Aisuma’s clothes went slack around the neck. He slapped his hands (hidden under material) up quickly to grab at them and gave Gable an accusing look.
Gable, smiling, just cocked his head innocently. “I’m just helping you out. Here, don’t be self-conscious. You’re small, but it’s no big deal.”
“How small I am isn’t the issue…!”
Gable just laughed and Aisuma contemplated smacking him with the sharp edge of his tail when the fabric loosened that much more—the crafty elf had found the toggles and with them unfastened, his clothing fell around his waist. Before he thought about it, he’d lifted his hands, and that was his mistake.
So too, Aisuma thought, was telling Gable the only components of his curse were his tail and his horns.
Gable’s smile disappeared, his eyes fixing on the long, sharp black nails on Aisuma’s hand. His fingers up to the first knuckle were black and looked strange, because they had been covered with thin scales. Thin enough one could make out the colour of Aisuma’s skin underneath, but present and unavoidable. Aisuma, wincing, moved to bundle himself back up but Gable had moved further into his space, staying his hand with one of his.
Damn that Gable, he thought in an uncharacteristic moment of brutal self-consciousness. He was tall and lanky, and even though his hands were monstrous (or on the way to monstrous), Gable’s hands were still bigger than his. Hunkering his shoulders, he stared down at his lap and the bunched folds of his clothing where they fell, ignoring that he could see a few strands of Gable’s hair swaying at the corner of his vision.
“…It’s not just the tail and horns, huh?”
Gable’s fingertip, soft as the brush of a feather, grazed the scaly black skin of Aisuma’s finger.
“…”
He said nothing. Gable knew well enough. He heard the elf sigh over his head.
“How bad is it?” Finally, he sunk back, though he was still kneeling in front of Aisuma. Aisuma shrugged his clothing back up, but Gable gave him a look that seemed to say it’s a little late now and he stopped himself. Giving in, Aisuma pulled the heavy outer clothes off, setting them aside, leaving him in just the shirt cut to his elbows underneath.
Unsure what to do with his own hands, he curled his fingers together.
“I’ll eventually turn into a monster,” he told Gable, matter-of-fact, and the elf twitched. “It isn’t as bad as it sounds. My mother is a monster. We’ve had this curse in my family for a long, long time.” Aisuma paused. “Our ancestors became monsters in behavior and thoughts, but we’ve learned how to retain ourselves. Now it’s just our bodies that end up changing.”
“So this is…” Gable’s long forefinger touched the back of Aisuma’s awkwardly clenched hands again. To Aisuma’s great surprise, he lingered and kept touching. Looking through the dark fringe of his hair, he assessed Gable’s expression, but it was hardly disgusted. He seemed… well, Aisuma wasn’t certain, honestly. The smile that he had gotten used to seeing had disappeared as his forefinger followed down one of Aisuma’s blackened fingers. He could read the people who he had spent his entire life with, but he had a hard time with Gable.
At the very least, Gable didn’t look at him in the same way Adrien did—with the feeling he was being pitied. It was enough to make his shoulders bunch and for a urge to blurt out that he wasn’t pitiable. Or, at least, he didn’t want pity.
“Yes. The curse. It often starts from the feet, but it’s not unusual for it to start affecting the hands early.” Another matter-of-fact statement, but this was something Aisuma had known his entire life.
Gable laughed faintly, a laugh as though something struck him as unbelievable. “You can talk about this easily,” he said.
“My mother is a monster.” Aisuma paused and narrowed his dark eyes. “…Just so you know, she is beautiful as she is. She is very kind and gentle.” He had only ever known her as a monster. By the time he had been born, her transformation had been complete, so he had grown up with two sets of eyes looking down upon him, large scaly hands cradling him, had grasped the whip-thin tip of a tail and had fallen against it when he had walked. She had licked the scrapes on his knee with her tongue and they’d healed right away and he’d burrowed himself against her snout to his mother’s gentle snuffle.
Gable’s expression softened and he shook his head. “I didn’t say anything. You’ve seen the creatures that live in my land. You’ve noticed they’re unusual, haven’t you? I love them all the same.”
“…I apologise.”
Gable laughed, and now it was the carefree sound Aisuma had heard several times from him already, when they’d been making their way across the colourful landscape of his home. “Don’t worry about it. I suppose I’m one of the first ones outside of your tribe you’ve told this to, are I?” his voice was unusually bright, but Aisuma didn’t linger on why that was for long. Gable wasn’t giving him the chance, for he had taken Aisuma’s hand in his own.
“What is it?” he asked, frowning at that hand cupping his.
“You’ll be searching for a cure for this curse of yours before you change, right?” Gable asked without answering. “All by yourself?”
“That was my intention…”
My ancestors have always done that, he opened his mouth to continue, but Gable was opening his own.
“Then, I’ll come along with you and help. It’s more fun when you aren’t travelling on your own, isn’t it?” His eyes had narrowed, but it wasn’t an unfriendly expression, it was more like the narrowing of a playful cat, or like his mother when she was about to tease or scoop up his father. “Two heads are better than one, too.”
“What…?” Aisuma’s mouth had gone dry. Gable was… what?
“Really, is it that shocking? Don’t your tribe always do things for each other?”
“Yeah, but that… that’s different!” Aisuma didn’t know what to say. He felt his tongue suddenly heavy and awkward in his mouth, like the words he could form with it would be paltry. So he closed his teeth together and stared at Gable, trying to discern his intentions. But there was just softness in his greenish eyes, his smile widening.
“Don’t think too hard on it.” Aisuma jumped when Gable flicked his forehead with a forefinger. “If anything, you can just take it as my capriciousness! Okay?”
→ lial • luceme
Thin and gossamer, they looked as though they would tear under the softest touch, just a curl of his nail against them would rend them apart. They were stronger than they looked, of course, otherwise they wouldn’t be able to lift him off of the ground, but Lial still ended up staring at them. They caught the light, they shimmered in beautiful blues, lighter in places, lined with delicate veins that Lial was also able to see surrounding Luceme’s gem.
“… Hey. Lial, you listening to me?”
He snapped out of it. Blinking, he looked up to see Luceme’s face and found it scrunched up, his lips twisted in a frown that Lial could now recognise (now that he had had the time to learn) as confused.
“Sorry, I got distracted.” Lial reached out lazily, stroking the tips of his fingers against the edge of one of Luceme’s wings. He stiffened, straightened up, and that wing twitched underneath Lial’s fingertips. He was reminded of seeing butterflies in his youth, how they’d flit away from him quickly if he attempted to catch them. How young had he been back then? He couldn’t remember, but he knew there had been no butterflies in the city.
Resisting the urge to grip Luceme’s wing, he just stroked it delicately, tenderly, and Luceme hunched up his shoulders.
“Stoppit,” he grumbled, and he was blushing. Lial hid his smile. “I know you said there’s no-one back in your city like me, but are they really that weird?”
“Yeah.” Lial let a moment pass, watching for Luceme’s slightly stricken, flustered look. “I like them.” And there it was, that expression relaxing. How pure Luceme was never escaped Lial, and it made teasing him guilt-inducing. He did it anyway because, hell, how could he pass up that opportunity? “They’re beautiful.”
Self-esteem restored, Luceme huffed quietly. “You don’t tell me that much about your city,” he said, his wing flexing softly again. Lial stroked along one of the dark blue veins visible with his forefinger and Luceme twitched but he didn’t move away. “Do you plan on going back to visit it one of these days?”
Lial’s hand stopped moving. He looked up to Luceme’s face, saw raw curiosity in his eyes. “No, not really,” he said dismissively, shrugging his narrow shoulder. “This island suits me just fine.”
Luceme looked doubtful. Could he not wrap his mind around it? But for him and the other residents of this paradise, their island was as precious to them as their own selves. It was practically an extension of their selves.
“Eh, fine. If you change your mind, though, I’ll come with you,” Luceme announced.
Lial let his head hang down. Luceme? Go to that city?
… There was no way. Lial rested his hand against the back of Luceme’s wing, feeling how warm it was, and he could pick up the gentle pulse of his heartbeat. He closed his eyes and he shifted forward, shuffling himself across the warm island grass until their knees came into contact, curling his ankles with Luceme’s. He would never allow Luceme to go to the city. Since he cared about him, he couldn’t let him.
He could just imagine what would happen if those damn vultures on the mainland saw Luceme. He could imagine the traders, could imagine their greedy fingers grasping for, locking Luceme up. He could picture them selling him to some well-to-do puffed up bastard up in the Uptown, a life where he’d be no more than an exotic pet. He’d be too good, too rare, to put into the sex trade. Maybe his master would sell him in short visits to others, as he heard some did in the Uptown. The prideful Luceme would hate it, would resist every single thing, he might even manage to escape at one point. But eventually they’d force him to break…
And that was the best case scenario.
Worst case he could picture Luceme with pins in his wings, embedded to something like butterflies in a display case. They’d keep him alive, probably, because he wouldn’t be as much of a spectacle if he was dead. That was if some rich people got their hands on him. If it was the poorer folk, he’d be placed in a glorified freak show to fish what little scraps of money from the people that they could, forced to do other tasks. They’d likely break his wings to keep him from flying away.
Even worse—or was it? Was it worse to be alive and suffering or to be dead?—they’d cut off these beautiful wings, dig the warm, glowing gem from his chest and rip off the feathery fur-hair from his throat to sell for as much as they could. They could use him for experiments, they could do countless things to him if they saw him, if they managed to capture him or any of those non-human creatures who made Paradise Island their home.
When Lial curled in closer and shifted himself on top of bare thighs, Luceme stiffened. Lial put his cheek against his chest wordlessly, feeling the warmth of that gem in front of his nose, surrounded now by the smell of Luceme’s body. He felt some of Luceme’s long hair spilling over his back and nudged under that too, glad for it.
He put his arm around Luceme’s hips and shook his head against his chest.
“I won’t change my mind. ‘Sides, I don’t want to bring you there. There’s nothing you’d like.” He was too afraid to take him there. He wasn’t strong enough to protect Luceme. He couldn’t even protect himself, he thought as his burned leg twitched as though feeling some phantom pain. Phantom, because it wasn’t like he could feel anything from it otherwise anymore.
“Why’s what I like important,” Luceme grumbled underneath his breath. “That’s not what I was getting at…”
Lial opened his eyes a slit. He knew what Luceme was getting at. He would bet that he knew even more than Luceme himself and he was overwhelmed by fondness for him—this stupid, kind, innocent butterfly. He kissed the warm stone in his chest and Luceme jumped with a startled “huh?!” that Lial laughed at.
“Thank you anyway, darling,” he sang into Luceme’s chest. “I’m glad you’re looking out for me.”
→ engel • gable
Gable froze—it was not an unfamiliar voice, and certainly some annoyance in it wasn’t a surprise either. Admittedly, he’d rankle Engel on occasion, but he just made it so easy when it was clear he disliked Gable as much as he did. But this was the first time he had heard it practically frozen with anger. So too was this the first time he had that bow pointed in his direction.
Engel’s face was steep, his eyebrows drawn sharply down over his yellow eyes, his hands grasping his bow and there was surely deadly intent there.
Gable raised his hands. “Engel—”
“Leave.”
They were near the border between their lands, where lush grass and plant life melted into the cold, frozen earth of Engel’s land. Gable, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out what he had done. He had just been talking with him (or talking at him), stepping across the border, entering his lands which was a regular occurrence and no big deal. Then, abruptly, Engel had pulled his bow out, that magic bowstring had manifested and he cocked an arrow right at Gable.
“I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what you’re mad about,” Gable offered with a coaxing smile. Engel’s expression didn’t budge. Forcing himself to try and think about what could cause this reaction, only one thing came to mind. He glanced down.
There, crushed underneath his boot, were several distinctive white flowers.
Well, they had been flowers. Now they were effectively destroyed. Gable winced, a stab of guilt hitting him, and he looked at Engel in supplication, but Engel was unmoving. His bow was still held and Gable knew that arrow of his wouldn’t miss.
“I didn’t mean to… ahh, I’m sorry, Engel.”
The bow didn’t move. Engel glared at him.
For the winter land, things like flowers were precious. Plants, animals, all of them to Engel were more important than anything as a part of his home. Gable didn’t need to be super close to him to know this. He had heard a thing or two from Adrien, had watched Engel’s behavior and came to realise how importantly he held the land which he protected.
‘Still, this is a little unreasonable,’ he thought, taking a step or two back. He looked down at the flowers. How was he supposed to attempt to make it up to him when Engel was looking at him like that? Well, there was one thing he could try, but it might get him an arrow shot at him for his trouble.
Helplessly, Gable resigned himself to this and crouched. He brought one of his hands to the flower and heard Engel’s voice sound in a low grunt in his throat, the sound of a string drawing taut (yes, even a magical string made such a sound). A sweep of his hand roused the flowers he’d flattened and another coaxed them to turn their faces upward. Stems mended, leaves straightening to fullness, spreading happily to soak up both the warmth from the summer land and the cool sun from the winter one.
At least Engel didn’t shoot.
Glancing up, he saw Engel’s face had soured. Still, he hadn’t put an arrow through Gable’s knee, and that was something.
“There we go,” Gable said brightly, standing up and dusting his hands off. “The little ones are all right, see? I’ll watch my step next time.”
“…” Engel said nothing, letting the notched arrow fall to be gripped in his hand before sliding it back into the quiver on his back. His bow soon followed, his mouth set in a line. Gable was taking this as an indicator that he was safe again, yep. He’d take it. Engel didn’t look impressed by his magic usage, but that wasn’t a big surprise either. He watched the northern elf finish straightening himself, and then he turned away.
“Huh? You aren’t sticking around to chat?”
Engel’s backwards glance told him just what Engel thought of that, and Gable chuckled.
“Another time, then. See you, Engel.”
→ palmer • asuen • lewin
Palmer, squinting in the afternoon sunshine, stopped at the end of the dock. Overhead, wheeling, were seagulls calling loudly, making vague feinting motions as though they kept thinking about diving down but kept stopping themselves. A breeze ruffled Palmer’s hair, the collar of his shirt, and in the distance there were shouts of men who had just come back from fishing, the distant thuds as they transported things to the docks.
“Oh, Master, you’ve really come.”
There they were, in a peculiar position. Palmer rubbed his palm against his stubbly jaw and narrowed his eyes in confusion. Asuen, his first golem, was bent over a figure sprawled in a strange pose. He had caught his arms underneath the other’s, as if he had been trying to pull him up, to little success. The reason for his lack of success became apparent when Asuen got whapped in the face with a white and grey wing and those arms thrashed against his grip.
“You did send birds to get me,” Palmer said and continued his approach. The figure sprawled was his second golem, Lewin, staring balefully at Asuen, though this glare switched to his meister when Palmer got close enough. “They kept pecking at my head, y’know… Anyway, what’s going on here?”
“He’s injured,” Asuen said gravely, at the same time Lewin burst out, “none o’yer business, ol’ man!”
Palmer paused. Lewin’s voice had a strange slur to it. It couldn’t be…
“Is he drunk?”
“Yer drunk!” Lewin raged.
“Not yet.” Palmer scratched his jaw again and looked to his responsible, even-natured golem. “I didn’t know you guys could even get drunk.”
“I did not know either.” Asuen shook his head, but then he indicated downward with a nod of his head. “Master, please look at his foot.”
“Let’s see, let’s see…” Ignoring Lewin’s slurred ramblings (they sounded insulting but it was no worse than he heard from many people before), Palmer lowered into a crouch in front of him. He looked at one foot, found nothing off, and then the other. Somehow, Asuen had wrestled Lewin out of his boots in the time it took Palmer to get here. “Oh, boy.” He grimaced. There, parting the normally smooth skin was an ugly fissure, a crack that wasn’t supposed to be there. It was worrying, but nothing that he couldn’t fix.
Lewin had gone quiet, and his head had turned to the side. His face had an unusual flush to it—maybe because of whatever he’d been drinking. If he had been. Could golems really get drunk…?
“You should tell Master how you hurt yourself,” Asuen said, frowning down at Lewin’s head. He just made a sound, a stubborn huff through his nose. Usually he wasn’t this badly behaved, but if he were in pain and if he had gotten drunk, Palmer could hardly blame him.
“Eh, it’s fine. We just gotta take him back and fix him up.” Palmer shuffled closer and saw Lewin look back at him with confusion. Then, his expression morphed into horror, embarrassment and then fury when Palmer unceremoniously scooped him up into his arms, one arm underneath his knees and the other at his back. Palmer grunted. “I’m so glad I didn’t use all heavy materials to make you…”
“Put me down, old man!” Lewin spluttered, kicking his feet.
“Don’t do that, you want your foot to fall off? Asuen, grab his boots, would’ja?”
“Yes, Master.”
Lewin thrashed in Palmer’s hold despite the warning and the meister stared off into the distance, feeling like he was trying to wrangle an especially young child into obedience. Well, Lewin was no more than three months old, but he was a golem, so he was different. Palmer oof’d as the wings on Lewin’s head smacked him in the face, then again, until he arrested that movement by firmly tucking his chin over Lewin’s head and pulling to pin it against his collarbone.
An inarticulate noise was his reward. ‘I wonder if he’s gonna bite me.’ Even if he did, Palmer wouldn’t drop him.
—that crack of his ankle wasn’t some small thing, after all. Well, it was for now, but it could get worse if one gave it the chance. He wondered how the hell he had hurt it like that, and had a sneaking suspicion that Lewin had crept onto a ship that he wasn’t supposed to be on. Perhaps those people had something to do with it.
In which case, Palmer would find and beat the shit out of them, but that was for later. After he took care of Lewin’s foot and also had several drinks in order to bolster him. Palmer wasn’t a particular confrontational person, after all. And… he felt far, far too sober to be dealing with this right now.
Asuen followed along faithfully at his side and Palmer looked over at him fondly. He never made trouble. Sure, he was often silent and he took everything far too literally but he didn’t smack his meister with his wings and dig in his sharp chin like Lewin was right now.
“Ow,” Palmer sighed.
“Master, should I take him?” Asuen asked him. Palmer presumed that Asuen was looking at him through the feathers of the wings on his head. He didn’t often show off his eyes.
“Don’t worry about it. He’d be even worse with you,” Palmer replied dryly. He hadn’t the slightest why but oh well. Lewin, perhaps resigning himself to his fate, was thrashing less, though he’d still give Palmer smacks in the face with his little head-wingies. Palmer praised his past self for making certain that his house wasn’t too far from the docks at a time like this, because it meant he only had to pin Lewin to his body for a short amount of time. Asuen opened the door for him and he sighed as he brought Lewin to the large, squishy chair that was Palmer’s favourite but that he’d let Lewin have while he tended to his foot.
Lewin had gotten surprisingly quiet, so Palmer peered up at him.
“Did you sober up a bit?” the meister asked brightly. Lewin’s lips compressed. “Thought so. Asuen, go get me my tools.”
He went to do so, and Palmer wiped his hands, fetched glasses that he set on his nose, a scope equipped to one side so that he could adjust the magnification and look more closely. He brought Lewin’s foot into his lap and got to work, carefully working to scrape out any dirt or grime or spare bits that would not be able to be glued back together. He warmed the adhesive, working single-mindedly and with steady hands to use the adhesive, working his now-gloved thumbs to spread and assure it’d look like there hadn’t been a break to begin with.
When he paused to have a short drink of the water Asuen brought and look up, Lewin’s face was tight.
“How’s it feel?” he swatted his knee affectionately. “Hurt?”
Lewin sighed. He’d apparently sobered up more. While Palmer had been focusing, he had drained a glass of water that Asuen had brought for him. Maybe more than one. “It’s fine. It feels hot.” The golem shifted uncomfortably but he didn’t move his foot.
“That’s the adhesive,” Palmer said, looking back down as he wiped his brow. “Don’t worry, it’ll cool soon enough. Lemme know if you need a break.”
“Yeah.”
Lewin did not, however, and he remained quiet as Palmer continued his work. He reconstructed the ripped ‘skin’, rubbing and molding until the shape of his foot matched his other once again. Asuen brought a light for him (it had grown dimmer, somehow more than a few hours had passed) and when Palmer at last leaned backward with a groan, his back popped in several places and his neck ached.
“Master, perhaps you ought to see a doctor about your back,” Asuen offered mildly. He had stayed in the room the whole time, quiet but attentive as usual.
“Bah, don’t give me that. I’m only in my thirties, got it?” Palmer still stretched and grunted in the way an older man might. Then: “Heyyy, Lewin. Wake up, kid, it’s all finished.” He patted Lewin’s chest several times and the golem roused himself, blinking and rubbing his hand against his face.
“Old man, you took forever,” he commented, leaning forward to peer down. He whistled then, lifting up his mended foot. “Whoa, it doesn’t even look like it was cracked! Not bad.”
“I did make you,” Palmer said flatly. “If I couldn’t fix something this small, it’d be pathetic.”
Lewin just grinned and Palmer could just picture a saucy retort, so he raised up his hand to silence that before it happened.
“Now just stay there for a while. You can move it a bit, but no walking around until it’s completely solid.” Palmer pushed his palms against his knees and stood up, stretching some more. “Nngh, I need a drink. But before that, supper!”
Clapping his hands, it made Asuen lift his head.
“Master, supper is almost finished.”
“…” Palmer looked at him. “You’re too efficient.”
Asuen merely inclined his head, as though accepting a compliment.
It had been some time since the three of them had all ate together. Technically, the two golems didn’t need to eat, but Palmer insisted. It was like he was eating with his children… no, actually, if he was going to have kids he didn’t want to have any kids like Asuen or Lewin. One of them silent and taller than him (how did that happen, did he make a mistake in his construction?) and the other flighty and the type who acted completely on what he wanted to do.
‘I’d rather have a cute daughter,’ Palmer thought wistfully, which was a lie.
The truth of the matter was that he had been trying to make a golem, any golem since the days he first came to Yozellin. He had been younger then, fresh-faced and eager to learn and to excel. Each of his attempts ended in failure. Until Asuen, at least. When he first laid eyes on him, when he realised that he had done it he had been so moved that he thought he might cry.
(He did later, actually, over a glass of whiskey at the bar, sobbing about how everything had finally paid off but you wouldn’t be able to pry that from him even if you tortured him.)
Difficulties weren’t something that faded, though. People still didn’t accept golems.
“Lewin, where’d you get hurt?” Palmer asked him after dinner, sitting staring into a glass of booze without sipping from it. He had been alarmingly sober all day… he didn’t like it. But he still set aside his glass (receiving Asuen’s puzzled, cocked head).
“Ehh? Eh…” Lewin dragged out the word and shrugged his shoulders, his wings tucked against his back, the ones on his head folded up too. “It was no big deal. I just tripped on my way off of the ship.”
Palmer stared at him. “You have wings. At least come up with a better excuse.”
Lewin started to blush.
“If some sailors did something…” Palmer began and Lewin winced.
“It’s nothing, okay, old man? Don’t worry about it. Look, I’m all fixed.” He moved to stand, showing off that he could walk, placing his palm on his slightly cocked hip to show he was back to his usual.
Asuen turned his head, as though to look back and forth between them. “Lewin,” he said to him solemnly, “you should tell Master. You know that many humans don’t like us. After all, before—”
“Ahhhhhh.” Like a child, Lewin raised his voice loudly to drown out the words.
Palmer smirked bitterly and sipped from his glass.
“I will keep talking regardless of whether or not you do that, Lewin.”
“You’re always so persistent, jeez, I said it’s fine so it’s fine—”
“What happens when your crystal gets cracked?”
“You really think I’m that dumb, greenie?”
“I am experiencing some doubts.”
Palmer sipped more deeply, drinking a great gulp of booze that burned pleasantly on its way down. He considered going to bed and leaving them to their squabbling. ‘Just like me and my brother,’ he thought with something like fondness.
“Well, you’ll see! I’m going right back out tomorrow and when I get back you’ll see it was just a one-time thing,” Lewin puffed.
“Nn? You’re not going back out tomorrow.”
Both Lewin and Asuen stopped. Their heads turned in Palmer’s direction, astonished. Despite being their creator, it was a rare day that Palmer told them they couldn’t do anything. He was alarmingly lax and easy on them (which had likely lead to some of Lewin’s behaviour). But, he was looking at Lewin now, lightly swirling the ice around in his cup, his dark eyes unblinking.
“What’re you talking about, old man?” Lewin spluttered, recovering.
“Just what I said. You’re not going anywhere.” Palmer put down his glass with a solid thunk. He lifted one of his hands, pointing at Lewin with his forefinger. “Even if it’s fixed now,” his finger lowered to point at his ankle, “there’s no way’n hell you’re going right back out on the ocean until I’m sure it’s not gonna crack any more.”
So baffling was Palmer’s order that Lewin just sat down in the chair and frowned. “What’s gotten into you…?”
“You came back broken, stupid,” Palmer huffed (sulkily, Asuen thought) and sipped from his glass.
“It was just—”
“Lewin,” Asuen interjected, quietly, stretching his hand in Lewin’s direction to silence him. Both of them recognised the look on Palmer’s face, after a moment spent examining it. Palmer had had to save Lewin once before, and the look on his face then had been scary, dark, frightening. He had gripped Lewin with one of his arms about his shoulders and held his other hand with his fingers splayed apart in a peculiar way, like he was about to do something with them. At this moment, those fingers were flexing, tightening, opening.
Lewin dropped his head back against the chair, blinking up at the ceiling. It wasn’t a big deal… so he thought. It caused a weirdly ticklish sensation to see Palmer, so often lazy and noncommittal, concerned to this degree.
“Okay, okay. I won’t go, old man. There, you feel better, right?”
Palmer sniffed, wrinkling his nose and picking up his glass all over again. “Stop calling me old man. I’m only in my thirties.”
There it was, back to the usual.
→ aisuma • gable • nilak
“Looks like there was a fire in Jesen,” Gable said thoughtfully, his fingers tucking some of his hair behind one of his ears. Aisuma frowned at him and Nilak’s wings fluttered minutely before resettling against his back.
“Isn’t that bad?”
“It is, but Rogna’s got it contained. She’s used to dealing with fires over there.” The mention of the elf ranger made Aisuma relax slightly. “Jesen’s most susceptible to fires, ‘cause of all their dry brush and leaves.” Which Aisuma knew, so he just nodded.
“What about your land, ranger?” Nilak spoke up.
“Mine?” Gable brought his hand up to his chin, his fingertips stroking it. “It should be fine. Rogna’s got it taken care of for now, and Finley’s on his way to their border to make sure it’s not creeping over to his land.” At Nilak’s skeptical look, he grinned. “Don’t you worry, if anything happened to my Turja, I’d know right away.”
He looked into the distance, as though he could see his summer lands from where they were currently—deep within the spring depths of Faeu. Then, clapping his hands together, he turned back to Nilak and Aisuma with one of his usual smiles. “Anyway! Let’s go. The hollow Finley told us about shouldn’t be very far from here.” Bringing both of his arms around Nilak and Aisuma’s shoulders, he urged them along until Nilak growled at him and ducked out from underneath his arm.
Feeling strangely dizzy, Aisuma didn’t bother, letting that weight rest there, Gable’s hand dangling in front of his shoulder. After several minutes of walking in silence, he almost missed a step and tilted sideways, his weight falling into Gable’s side.
“Aisuma?” Nilak was before him at once, frowning at the same time Gable tightened his arm around his shoulders, holding him up with his sheer strength. Sometimes Aisuma forgot that Gable had that, slender that the elf was.
“I’m fine. Just missed a step.”
However, Nilak didn’t look convinced and, in fact, glanced up at Gable.
“You mustn’t have had much haze in the Middling, huh?” Gable murmured, his eyebrows knit. “Do you feel sick?”
“My throat is…” Aisuma stopped. He grimaced against the tightness in it, and he coughed before he had any more chances to assure both of them that he was all right. He heard Nilak sigh and then the sound of his wings flapping. “Nilak?” Feeling a strange jolt of anxiety to see him rising slowly into the haze with it wreathing around him, he lifted one of his monstrous hands free of his poncho.
Nilak’s gaze locked with his and softened minutely. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back. Gable. Take him to the hollow.”
“Aye aye,” Gable said with a smile. He moved and, abruptly, Aisuma found himself being scooped up and cradled in his arms as though he weighed nothing (he didn’t, his tail alone was heavy enough). Spluttering, he slammed one of his hands against Gable’s chest in protest, but the elf was hardly stopped. “Now, princess, let’s go. Your knight’s going to find a river.”
“River?” Aisuma stopped his struggling. Half because it made him dizzier and half because… it obviously wasn’t working.
“That’s right. Don’t worry about it, just hold on.”
He had to, because Gable started to run. He tangled his fingers in Gable’s shirt, lowering his head, each bounce that came with his steps not comfortable. In fact, he was desperately fighting another coughing fit. The elf moved faster and faster, ‘til the trees had blurred around them and then they were sliding down and Aisuma choked back a sound at the sudden drop in his stomach.
“Sorry,” Gable said in a gentle voice above his head. “But we’re here. Look.”
Aisuma did—the air was clearer here. They were in a dip, a basin of sorts in the landscape, with trees surrounding it. When he turned his head, he saw that they had slid down a steeper hill than he had thought. Gable hummed as he brought him into the hollow and, feeling tired, Aisuma shut his eyes and put his forehead against Gable’s shoulder once more.
He didn’t know when he passed out but he woke up to the sound of wingbeats. Nilak had come back, and he carried a small basin with him, one Aisuma recognised as the one he usually drank from. He folded his wings as he landed, glancing around with a frown.
“It’s not as good as Finley said that it was,” he huffed. He closed the distance between them—Gable had set up a rudimentary shelter while Aisuma was unconscious, and a cloth ceiling hung over his head, strung between tree branches.
Aisuma watched Nilak’s pale hair sway as he knelt, setting down the basin and fishing something from it. It was a soaking cloth that he wrung out before offering it to Aisuma.
“…What’s this?” he asked after a long moment. Nilak was looking at him like he expected Aisuma to know what to do with it. He had no idea. And he got to see Nilak frown at him, the usual are you stupid? expression that he thought had lessened lately.
“You—just hold still. I’ll do it.” Nilak’s voice had gotten impatient, but he moved closer and lifted the wet cloth. It touched Aisuma’s cheeks, face, and he finally understood when Nilak tied it behind his head. It covered his nose and mouth and he breathed in damp air. However, it felt a little easier, even more since they were in the hollow. “That’s better, isn’t it? I didn’t think your body would be weak to haze and smoke.”
Aisuma glared at him over the top of the makeshift bandanna (of sorts) and Nilak’s mouth twitched.
“Aw, don’t pick on him, Nilak,” Gable chirped. “You think you’d be nicer, since you’re so worried.”
Nilak stiffened and narrowed his eyes at him, his teeth gritting together. Pink had come into his cheeks and Aisuma felt a little satisfied seeing it, settling backward as he sucked in deep breaths through the cloth.
“Shut up, ranger,” he bit out the words and sat next to Aisuma. Despite his attitude and his words up until now, one of his wings opened and it slid behind Aisuma’s back, enveloping him, the feathers at the tip sweeping his scaled wrist. It was thick and warm, fluffy and feathery both and Aisuma shut his eyes again, putting aside his compunctions in order to give in and relax utterly.
→ the whole magaug club
Theatrically, Merolieg thrust his hands forward. His staff was gripped in them. A moment passed where nothing happened, and then there was a jingle as Mero shook his staff as if to encourage something to come out of it. All was silent in the club room for the span of several moments before.
“Jeez, Meromero! What are you doing?” Naquisae huffed. He fluttered himself up from the couch with his small wings until he alighted, light-footed, on the floor. He folded his arms over his chest and cocked his head at their club leader, who was currently frowning at his staff, looking like he was at a loss.
“I was trying to make fire,” he said morosely.
“In the clubroom?” Naquisae sighed, planting his hands on his hips.
“Yes, in the—oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” Spade Solitaire snorted from her own sprawled position on the other couch. She had taken the whole thing up, which was the reason Naquisae had been wedged onto the arm of the other one, where Sachi was currently napping. “What were you going to do if that actually worked and you lit our stuff on fire?”
“A water spell?” Mero said hopefully.
“Are you forgetting that your specialty is light and darkness?” Spade rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful and reluctantly pushed herself up on her elbows. Her thick, fluffy tail flicked in agitation, her whiskers drawn back.
“…I just wanted to try it.” Mero slumped his shoulders and Naquisae and Spade exchanged a look. Sachi slept on, his tail curled around himself, one of his arms wrapped around it as well.
“Why’s that, Meromero?” Naquisae moved over to him, gently ushering him toward his usual chair. Mero sat there, setting his staff carefully against the wall next to him.
“Well, you know,” Mero muttered, but there was something about him that was unusually evasive. For Mero, who often blurted out everything they did and didn’t want to know. Spade smirked, resting her chin on her knuckles as she rolled onto her stomach, her tail tossing back and forth.
“No, we don’t know, oh great leader,” she lilted. “Why don’t you tell us?”
Mero squirmed.
Naquisae began to grin, a devilish light in his eyes. “It’s Berydel isn’t it?” he crowed. “I bet you saw him casting his fire magic and you wanted to try it out, didn’t you? ‘Berydel is soooo cool,’ you thought something like that, didn’t you?” His wings fluttered in his amusement, lifting him right off of the floor. Mero went red. “How cute, Meromero!”
“T-to be able to wield the elements is…” Mero fumbled with his words, no doubt trying to come up with a good explanation.
“We’re gonna tell him,” Spade informed him, her smirk widening. “He should be here any minute.”
“Don’t,” Mero whispered, clasping his hands together in front of him, ducking his head pleadingly. “Don’t tell him, you two. Let’s keep it a secret. Between the four of us?”
Sachi snuffled in his sleep.
Naquisae and Spade exchanged looks again.
“I don’t know why you’re so embarrassed,” Naquisae sighed, shrugging as he floated lightly back down until his feet were on the floor. He brought himself close to Mero’s chair and hopped onto the arm, leaning against Mero’s shoulder with his arms folding over his chest. “If I had a boyfriend, I’d be happy to hear that he thought I was cool.”
One of Sachi’s ears twitched, turning in their direction. Oblivious, Naquisae continued, “You’re so weirdly shy with him.”
Spade laughed loudly. “And this is you! You’re never shy!”
Mero said nothing, but his cheeks puffed up and his ears lowered down against his head. He’d gone pinker and Naquisae made a cooing noise, slumping sideways and flinging his arms around Mero’s neck to hug the sulking out of him. “Don’t pout, Meromero! We’re not trying to make fun of you. It’s just super mysterious, you know?”
“It’s not mysterious,” Mero said, with dignity. “Berydel is… just…”
“Special?” Naquisae and Spade said dryly, in unison.
Sachi, on the couch, made a small sound. It was suspiciously close to laughter. Mero looked quickly over to him, but Sachi hadn’t turned or made any indication that he had woken up.
At that moment, the clubroom door opened, and three sets of eyes turned to the person standing in it. Berydel blinked at all of the focused attention, frowning with his eyebrows drawing down. “…What?” he asked. “Am I late for something?”
“Not at aaaall,” Naquisae lilted, giving Mero another squeeze around the neck for good measure. Then, he slipped off of the arm of his chair and walked to the couch Sachi was occupying. With remarkable dexterity, he squirmed himself until Sachi’s head was pillowed on his thighs and set to gently patting his hair, smiling brightly.
Berydel, shoving his hands into his pockets, nudged the door shut behind him with his foot before walking inside properly. Mero had looked off to the side, staring out of the window in the room. “—Mero? Hey, you coming? I thought we were going out.”
Mero shot to his feet so fast he nearly knocked his staff over. Gasping, he caught it quickly and fumbled with it before he gave Berydel his biggest, heartiest smile. “I’m coming. Let’s go.” With that, and a grand flick of his tail, he waved his free hand at the others left in the room. “See you later, everyone! Train hard while I’m gone!”
There were vague mutters of (fake) assent and then Berydel and Mero were gone.
“He works too hard,” Sachi murmured in a quiet voice, nosing into Naquisae’s hip. It prompted a sigh from Naquisae and Spade and they shook their heads as one.
→ usartas • chesh
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.
→ aisuma • nilak (+ gable)
Watch me. He had said something to that effect, now hadn’t he? Those others, they didn’t know anything. They criticized Nilak for his anger, his suspicion, his aggression, even when those were the things that kept him alive. You could not be naïve and vulnerable when you lived on a mountain teeming with wyrms, dragons, and other beasts that would like nothing more than to bite you and rip you into shreds.
His wariness had kept him alive. They lacked the same. Air-headed fools.
He would like to think much the same about Aisuma—he would, except Aisuma was as different from them as he was from Nilak.
He hadn’t known what to think of him. Here was a boy, a small boy, with serious eyes and hair that always cast a shadow over his face. Who bundled himself up completely to hide his curse away from the world. Yet, no matter how many things should make him angry, he reacted with a solidness that could be aggravating. Certainly, he quipped, he was sarcastic, he had no qualms with telling either of them when he believed they were being foolish. Nilak had seen him be annoyed, time and again.
However.
He didn’t get angry over what counted.
Nilak was nearly double in size, from how his wings had expanded, the feathers and fur on his body standing up. His eyes were narrowed into angry slits as he and Aisuma walked through one of the many small villages of the winter lands. He could hear them. Oh, whisper that they may, but his ears were sharp, more so when he was listening for things purposefully.
“Aisuma,” he growled, and Aisuma graced him with a brief sideways glance, “are you just going to keep walking?”
“We’re not going to get back to the inn any other way,” was his reply.
Strangely enough, it tempered some of his horrifically bad mood. Nilak’s feathers sunk down and his wings folded back to his body, at least, though his eyes were still narrow. “You know that isn’t what I’m referring to,” he said.
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
Nilak hesitated.
He looked around them again. A mother pulled her child closer as they passed—her eyes were fixed on the horns (branching, late into his transformation Aisuma was progressing) and to the hands that he could no longer hide underneath the expanse of his poncho. His reptilian feet with their long, clawed toes, and of course his enormous tail that ended in a sphere ringed with spikes.
Nilak bore his teeth and brought himself closer to Aisuma’s side.
“No matter how often this happens,” he said to him quietly, “why won’t you get angry? You ought to glare at some of them, at the very least. I know that you can’t not have heard them?”
Aisuma looked at him properly now, with his dark, dark eyes. His mouth tensed, pursing into the sort of disapproving look he often gave Gable. Nilak drew himself up slightly. “It doesn’t matter,” Aisuma said at last, with a shake of his head. Rage sparked again, but this time at Aisuma’s inaction. He was content to let them say whatever it was they pleased about him? When they didn’t know anything, no, nothing at all—
“If I saw me, I would be afraid too,” it was so soft as to be a whisper.
At once, Nilak knew that he hadn’t meant to say it. The way Aisuma went rigid and then picked up his pace said that much. Letting out a small tch, Nilak hurried after him, caught one of his arms, and dragged him into the nearest alley. His leg hit against something or another, but it hardly mattered so much as crushing Aisuma’s body up against his.
“What fool things are you saying?” Nilak asked him quietly.
Aisuma refused to look at him.
“Stop being understanding.” Nilak gave his chin a swat with two of his fingers, but Aisuma only clenched his jaw. He could be a damn stubborn thing, when he wanted to. He was stubborn in all the wrong places! “There’s no reason to sympathise with people who judge you just like that.”
“I am a monster,” Aisuma told him quietly, pointedly.
“As am I! What of it? Your family has been monsters as well, haven’t they? That damn word doesn’t mean anything anymore! It certainly doesn’t mean you deserve to have every old man and every brat whispering about you on street corners when you’re just minding your own business,” Nilak hissed, bringing his face close. Aisuma wouldn’t look at him? Fine. He would just make it impossible for him to see anything else. Though Aisuma’s changing body certainly made him strong, he hardly struggled, though he did jerk his head when he realised Nilak had pushed him back against the alley wall.
“They don’t matter, Nilak,” Aisuma muttered, turning his head so that he, reluctantly, was looking into Nilak’s eyes.
“Oh, no?” He snorted. “Don’t think you can fool me. You may not get angry, but that doesn’t mean you don’t feel anything else, do you—”
“What do you want me to say?”
Nilak stopped. He had pushed too far. Aisuma’s voice had tightened. It wasn’t anger, it was something deeper, more raw. Pain. It was a voice that he didn’t hear from Aisuma much, and for good reason. Gable was so often present in order to mediate, to make sure one of them didn’t say something stupid. Nilak did the same for him. But, here he was, with Gable back at the inn, no-one to mediate.
What did he want Aisuma to say?
“I wish you’d get angry,” Nilak sighed. He couldn’t do anything but become honest, in order to avoid a fight between the two of them. It wouldn’t be the first, of course, but he’d be damned if he redirected the anger he had at the villagers onto the person it was tormenting. “I wish, instead of you allowing yourself to sympathise, you would be angry instead.”
Aisuma’s expression changed, subtly, and he looked hesitantly up at Nilak, waiting for him to continue. Nilak was terrible with this, but he brought a hand to his face all the same, touching tentatively at the skin of his cheek.
“You haven’t done anything worth fear.” No, that wasn’t it. “…You’re not frightening. There’s nothing wrong with the way that you look. Anyone should be able to realise that.”
As if to show this… he touched Aisuma’s horn. The one, tracing it gently. He found nothing odd about it, nor his monstrous hands, or his clawed feet, or that deadly tail of his. His scales weren’t scary, nothing about him was scary, no matter what people or Aisuma himself thought.
Aisuma was quiet, but he dropped his head forward until it nestled underneath Nilak’s chin. He leaned it against his collarbone and he just breathed there, quiet and still otherwise. Nilak slid his hand down Aisuma’s horn gently before cupping the back of his head, sifting his hair through his fingers repeatedly. He felt almost compelled to hush him, though Aisuma wasn’t crying and likely wouldn’t. He wasn’t the type. So he cradled his head and stroked his hair, smoothing it again and again.
“And here I was wondering where you two had gotten off to.”
Nilak glared up. There, at the end of the alley, with his hands settled to either side of the opening, was Gable. He was smiling in at the two of them, his eyebrows lifted, his head cocked to one side. Aisuma didn’t move immediately, though made a near-inaudible sound of acknowledgement.
“Shame there’s not enough room in there for me,” Gable chuckled. “I’ll just be out here.”
Here Nilak had expected more obnoxiousness. But, Gable turned his back to them both, his body blocking out any would-be passers-by. Was he doing it on purpose? (Of course he was.) Nilak looked back down at the form leaning against him and tentatively pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.
“Sorry, for getting so angry,” he said to him, quietly. Only after meeting Aisuma could he think that his anger was no longer so necessary, so important for him to hold on to.
“It’s all right. It wasn’t at me.” Aisuma’s head shook back and forth against his chest before he pulled back. In a moment that left Nilak as rigid as a statue and feeling hot, he leaned up to kiss the corner of his mouth gently before stepping out of his arms and walking down the alley. A knock of his hand against Gable’s shoulder had the elf moving to allow him out and Nilak, eventually, followed.
→ lial • luceme
In a quick motion, he hides himself behind the broad trunk of a palm tree, pressing his back against it as his head tips backward. Bark grazes the crown of his head as he stares intently up at the fronds overhead, peers through the slats in the leaves until he’s practically glaring at the sky. Calm, calm. His heart is pounding a mile a minute.
Why?
Well.
Just behind him, encircled by palm trees, is a large pond. A modest waterfall disturbs its surface and it’s not uncommon for some to come here to drink or bathe, but he just thought—he’d never seen—
What are you getting bent out of shape for?! he demands of himself mentally, glowering upward. He takes a deep breath and dares to cock his head, peering through some of his hair, around the trunk. There’s a figure wading into the water slowly, carefully, as though it’s cooler than they were expecting.
Lial, of course. There’s no other human on this island. Besides, Luceme is all-too-aware of him now, can recognise that slightly messy dark hair anywhere. He chews a corner of his mouth and wonders if he just ought to greet him. It’s not like it’s strange for them to encounter each other here—they’re both men. It’s not a big deal.
It shouldn’t be.
However, that arrests him in place. Luceme has never seen Lial without his clothes before, never, so he’s never gotten to see it. Covering almost the entirety of his left leg, up over his hip and stopping just above, is what looks to be one enormous scar. The skin is darkened, a much darker brown than Luceme’s ever seen and, when he watches… Lial seems to move that leg almost gingerly.
As he watches, Lial occasionally drops one of his hands down to place on the dark, scarred flesh, curling behind his knee as though to help it move over stones at the bottom of the pond. Luceme frantically wracks his brain: has he ever moved like that before? He hadn’t paid enough attention. He’d have to watch from now on. Would he?
He doesn’t know what to make of it.
The first thing that comes to mind is where did you get that? because it’s not like the occasional nicks or scratches that leave pale scars that fade over time. No. That looks to be much less an accident.
However, Luceme has no idea where it might have come from.
It’s not like he really knows that much about where Lial came from. He palms some of his hair off of his forehead with a troubled frown, wrapping it around his fingers and giving it a tug, as though to punish himself. He knows it’s a city. He knows it’s larger than the island. He knows that there aren’t that many kind people…
In that case… a person? Can he assume that?
Luceme peeks again. Lial is stretching himself, unguarded, making his way slowly to the waterfall, until he can stick his head underneath its cascade. He almost disappears entirely, slight as he is. And he is slight, too slight, not filled out in the ways that someone should, with arms and legs too slim, a too-narrow waist, ribs faintly visible. Luceme raises his hand to his mouth, working his knuckles just under his lower lip, trying to pick Lial out from the spray.
I guess I’d have to ask him about it.
He knows that that is a difficult task in itself. How many times has he asked questions just for Lial to shrug them off with an easy smile or to change the subject around on him. At the time he hadn’t cared as much, but he finds that changing as the days go on. It can’t be helped. After all, Lial just wormed himself right into Luceme’s life, so Luceme should know these things.
They’re… friends, right? Right.
It’s not the same kind of friendship that he has with Balm. After all, Balm practically sleeps all of his days away and just patiently listens to whatever Luceme says with an untroubled smile. That guy wouldn’t know trouble if it came and kicked him right in his root feet. Hmmmph.
Lial, though. Lial.
Luceme pushes off of the tree carefully, mindful of the bushes nearby. He doesn’t know why he feels like he has to slip away from here without saying anything, but he does. Somehow, he feels as though he just helped himself to a secret that hadn’t been freely given.
It leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
Lial’s more important than that, he thinks as he scrubs the back of his hand against his mouth and stares down at the ground, picking his way carefully over earth and avoiding spots that will make unneeded noise.
Lial’s special.
→ lial • luceme • balm • scrow
Balm, who Lial thought was sleeping, murmured those words so suddenly that Lial stopped and looked over at him curiously to see what brought it on. In doing so, he saw it—something big headed their way with an even stride. Someone big headed their way, though it was definitely not a human, and not even the human-animal hybrids that Lial had grown more accustomed to.
He opened his eyes wider, curious, even as Luceme sighed something next to him. “What did you say?” he asked Luceme without looking at him, his attention on the figure.
“I said ugh, it’s Scrow,” Luceme repeated in no uncertain terms, his face contorting. ‘Scrow’? Hmm. Interesting.
‘Scrow’ got closer and closer and Lial realised that whatever this was, it was tall. He saw a huge, fluffy tail lifted behind it as it walked, small feet that he thought shouldn’t be able to support its weight, and perked up ears. A muzzle, eyes, and then ‘Scrow’ had joined them. Lial didn’t know how to describe them—or him, as he was guessing. The thing was, he wasn’t familiar with animals. He suppose he might say… a squirrel? But squirrels didn’t tower, nor did they have a set of predatory-looking eyes.
“Huh,” Scrow said, in a deep voice that rumbled, “I didn’t think it was true, but a human really did end up here. Man, you’re a pipsqueak.”
Despite the comment, despite the predatory eyes he had, there was absolutely no malice in his voice. It was as though he were remarking on the weather. Lial’s lips twitched into an automatic smile, bemused, even as Luceme made a low sound next to him and folded his arms over his chest.
“Yeah. Humans don’t get as tall as you,” he replied gamely and Scrow snuffled in thought, rubbing a large, clawed finger below his chin.
“S’that so? Well, not even other people on this island get as big as me.” He laughed, his hands planting on what were likely his hips. Lial had to really tilt his head back in order to look up at him but he couldn’t understand why Luceme and Balm had reacted the way that they had when they’d seen him coming.
“I’m Lial.”
“Nn. Scrow.” Scrow smiled, though it was more him baring his teeth. Then, he turned his head, one of his ears lightly twitching. “Oh, you’re here too, Luceme? Balm. Didn’t see you, you’re so quiet.”
Balm didn’t look particularly pleased. It was a strange face on him. Lial had only seen him when he was drowsy or when he was smiling. Usually, there wasn’t an in-between or an unpleasant face, just an overlap between the two. As expected, though, he was more than smiles and napping in the sun. Something occurred to Lial in this moment, though, the more that Scrow spoke. Are you two just bad at dealing with this kind of person?
For someone like Lial, it didn’t really matter. So long as they weren’t the violent types, he could cater to their personalities easily enough. It was a skill, carefully cultivated. And this Scrow seemed like the type who wasn’t necessarily unfriendly, but who lacked enough common sense not to just say every little thing that came into his head. That would just serve to make people dislike you.
…But, Scrow seemed to be unaware. He was chatting away, one of his huge hands swinging out to catch Balm about the shoulders.
He dug his root toes into the ground, resisting being pulled with a tense look on his face.
“…never visits my cave,” Scrow was complaining. “I heard about this from the birds, you know? The birds! Not even Arbor or Ombre, it was the l’il ones who aren’t walking around. There’s plenty of nice dirt on the mountain, y’know, you can come anytime you want.”
“That’s fine, thank you,” Balm gritted out through his teeth.
This was fascinating to watch. Lial cupped his hand at his chin, staring at the proceedings. Luceme, tilting his head, looked doubtfully at him. “What is it?” he muttered. “You probably want him to go away too, right? He’s always like this.”
“No, nothing like that.” Lial waved off the concern easily, smiling. “I’ve never seen Balm react like this.”
“Ah, yeah, he really doesn’t like Scrow.”
Balm was being jostled about, his expression still stiff, his eyebrows a sharp ‘v’ of displeasure. Scrow, heedless of this, continued to chat away. “You’re always sleeping on the dirt anyway, l’il difference will do you good,” he was saying now.
Lial had to admire that level of obliviousness.
Balm finally escaped from under that arm, though, stepping a few paces away. “No thanks. The mountain is inconvenient to try to climb,” he said, folding his arms over his chest, his fingertips drumming against his green skin.
Scrow raised one eyebrow. “It’s ‘cause you’ve got roots for legs,” he commented and laughed. “Well, if you change your mind, I’ll carry you.”
Oho. Lial smiled.
“Lial? What’s up?” Luceme murmured. Apparently, he was paying close attention to Lial’s reactions. That was something that deepened his smile too, but as it was…
“Nothing,” Lial said with a laugh. “Just thinking that there’s a lot of trouble ahead.”
Luceme opened his mouth, paused, and then frowned and rubbed his fingers against his temple. Nope, he didn’t have any idea of what Lial was referring to. That was fine, too. Lial gave his arm a fond pat and then looked up in time to meet Scrow’s eyes.
“Sorry, human,” Scrow said, “I forgot all ‘bout you for a second. How about it? You wanna come up to my mountain sometime?”
“A human’s even less likely than me to go,” Balm cut in sternly.
Scrow shrugged and spread his arms apart. “Lemme hear it from him. So? What d’you think? My cave’s up in the mountain, ‘bout half a day’s climb up.” He half-turned and he raised one of his hands to gesture. Though Lial had seen that mountain, rising up from the center of the island, he hadn’t considered going toward it. It looked to be mostly rock and dirt, what could be gained from trying to climb it? Besides…
Lial absently set one of his palms on his leg.
He wasn’t certain he could do it, without slipping or something. It was troublesome when he couldn’t get sensation from this leg. He wouldn’t be able to recognise if he got strained or injured, either. “Would you offer to carry me, too?” he proposed.
Luceme shifted next to him, at the same time Scrow’s eyes got bigger. Then he snorted and shrugged one of his shoulders carelessly. “Why not?” he said brightly. “Might as well, since I offered the same to Balm, yeah? You don’t weigh much either, do you.”
He approached. Lial had to tilt his head more.
Huge clawed hands with big fluffs of fur along the wrists were reaching for him—
And then Balm was there, deftly pushing Scrow’s hands up and away. It was a funny pose, and Scrow didn’t try to resist (as far as Lial could see), though he did look surprised. His ears cocked forward and he stared at Balm, who stared right back at him.
“Haha. What’re you doing?” Scrow grinned. “Weirdo.”
Balm blinked, and then he dropped his hands with a sigh. He put a hand briefly against his face and Lial thought he saw a thin, tired smile cross his lips. “I should be asking you that. What were you going to do? You can’t just pick him up.”
“Huh.” Scrow scratched under one of his arms. “Don’t see why not. It’s just like practice.”
“You just can’t.”
“Is this a human thing?” Scrow complained. “Ah, yeah, speaking of, hey. What’re you even doing on this island?”
It was a question without malice but Lial scrutinised him nevertheless. He was looking for anything. A flash of something in Scrow’s face that might give away suspicion or otherwise, but there was… nothing. Actually, his expression was so clear that it was almost mind-boggling. Lial thought that this guy here, he was about as pure as Luceme was. As he found many of those on this island to be. He was completely candid.
“Pua brought me here,” Lial replied vaguely. “I fell off of the docks back where I’m from and got swept out to sea.”
Scrow cocked his head. “Fell? Jeez, that was dumb.”
“Hey, watch it.” That was Luceme, huffing out the words.
“What? It is dumb, isn’t it?” Scrow looked to Lial for confirmation and, happy to talk about anything as long as it wasn’t too much about himself, he shrugged and nodded.
“Well, it was, basically.”
Scrow nodded, as if to say exactly. “See? The human knows.” The end of his big tail thumped against the ground. “Well, watch yourself around the water. If you fall into the ocean just at the beach, it’s gonna be really embarrassing if Pua has to go and bring you back.”
Balm, who had shifted out of the way, sighed as Scrow reached out, thumping Lial’s shoulder with an enormous hand. It was a surprisingly soft contact. Maybe he was being mindful after all? Lial might even just let him pick him up if he kept up that carefulness. But, given that neither Balm nor Luceme were happy at the moment, he could probably count on them keeping Scrow from unceremoniously scooping him up.
“I’ll be careful. Thank you.” Lial smiled and Scrow gave him a grin full of teeth.
“Did you come just to meet Lial?” Luceme asked him, frowning.
“Hmm? Ah, yeah, mostly. But I’m running out of food too. I’m gonna catch some fish and get some fruit.” Scrow dug his hand into the thick fur at the back of his neck, scratching and squinting up at the sun. Then, his attention shifted to Balm again. “You’re not busy, right? You should come with me.”
Balm pulled back his head as if Scrow had asked him to cut off his own legs. “Me? No, thank you. You can go on your own,” he said quickly.
Scrow rumbled disapproval, scrunching up his nose with his ears flicking backward like a displeased cat. “C’mon. You’re just gonna sleep anyway.” With that, he reached out, unceremoniously grabbed Balm by the arm, and began to tow him away.
“Scrow—let me go! Right now—”
How forceful, Lial thought and mentally applauded. On the outside, he smiled and waved them off as Luceme shifted from foot to foot next to him. “I’m gonna go help him,” he started, but was stayed by Lial’s hand.
“Don’t worry so much. It’ll be fine.”
Luceme looked at him doubtfully. “You don’t know what Scrow’s like… Hell, I’m impressed you could talk to him for that long.”
“I don’t think he’s so bad at all.”
In fact, Lial might even cheer him on from here on out.
→ friech • berette
“Hah… just a… huff… second…”
…and, it was spoiled by the figure behind him. Friech turned, bracing himself with the heels of his feet digging into the ground, and looked down. There, a few paces below, Berette had stopped and stooped over with his hands planted on the front of his legs, his back heaving. As if he sensed Friech was looking down at him, he lifted one hand, holding up one finger as a signal to wait.
“I thought you were a knight,” Friech murmured, a twinge of incredulousness bleeding into his tone.
In fact, he knew for a fact that Berette was. He had been there when he’d fought off sky pirates, he’d seen him swinging his great sword with a fearless, toothy grin on his face and a bright gleam in his eyes. He hadn’t had to stop for a break at all, such that Friech had marvelled at his strength.
The panting larvestri below was hardly the same. Friech shook his head at his past self.
“Just ‘cause—haa—I’m a knight doesn’t mean—phew—I like climbing hills.”
Friech looked skyward briefly, as if asking something up there to bestow upon him patience and clarity as to why he enjoyed the presence of this idiot so much, and glanced down when Berette recovered himself, clearing his throat. The larvestri picked up his pace to step up alongside Friech, his huge tail swinging behind him.
Perhaps that extra weight bogged him down, the absurd thought came to him, as quickly dismissed. That tail was all fluff. Friech had touched it himself. Mind, Berette could harden that fur into a ruthless weapon when he needed to, but when he didn’t it was like putting your hand on a cloud of somehow fluffy silk.
“Okay, I’m all good,” Berette declared brightly, like he had something to be proud of.
Friech found it easier just to resume their climb up than to needle him about why he sounded pleased with himself. The hill levelled out slowly, rounding as they came to the top, broad-branched trees here. It was the perfect spot for a couple to come and look out over the scenery.
Well, they were a couple, but the idea of a romantic afternoon spent gazing off hand-in-hand over the scenery wasn’t super realistic, because…
“I’m starving!” Berette took a few steps ahead, his tail swinging behind him before he plopped unceremoniously down and planted his hands on his knees, his eyes gleaming with eagerness. “C’mon, Friech, let’s eat.”
In Friech’s hand was a picnic basket. He carried it over to where Berette had just collapsed himself in the grass and dirt and thought of the picnic blanket he had brought and felt a little stupid for doing so. He should’ve known it wouldn’t see use. But, taking a seat next to him, he found the ground warm and pleasant and exhaled a sigh, the picnic basket set between his legs for now, even though Berette made a few grabbing motions for it with his hand.
His nose was twitching furiously, his upper body moving in short, restless wiggles.
“What did you bring? You brought some of your bread, right? I smelled it baking this morning.” He looked like he was going to start salivating all over himself too. Friech stared at him with exasperation, but he flipped open the top of the basket. Sure enough, he had made his bread. He knew just how much this idiot enjoyed it.
Their first meeting had been because of this bread. Berette had said something Friech had dismissed as ridiculous, an impassioned demand for Friech to marry him because damned if he wouldn’t want to wake up and eat this bread every day!
“Were you lurking around my kitchen again?”
Berette just grinned unapologetically, his ears twitching.
“I’ll tell Nyrikki and you can explain to him what you were doing while we were all supposed to be minding the ship’s descent,” Friech murmured, turning his head down to look into his basket. He idly picked through it as he felt Berette quiver in front of him.
“You wouldn’t do that to me! You’re madly in love with me, right?”
It was cute how he didn’t sound certain.
Friech wondered when he started thinking every little thing Berette did was cute. Sigh.
He saw red in his periphery and glanced up. There was Berette closer than he had been, with his vivid teal eyes, his red fur, an uncertain cock to his head and lift of his eyebrows. It was a pitiful expression on him and Friech had to really struggle against the smile dying to make itself known, but he kept his features as composed as possible and stared back.
“I suppose I won’t, this once. Here.”
He pulled one of his loaves of bread from his basket. It wasn’t necessary for him to have packed loaves along with the other things he had prepared (sandwiches, fruits, other assorted treats) but—he knew well Berette’s love for food and had no doubt he’d down it in a second. Nothing ever went to waste with Berette around.
Immediately, Berette’s face lit up and he closed his eyes, opening his mouth in expectancy.
Though considering leaving him hanging to see if his ears would droop like a woeful dog’s, Friech nevertheless brought the bread close enough for those teeth to bite down on it with a crunch of relish. Oh, good, the crust came out well.
Berette’s eyebrows drew together and his ears quivered, even the tip of his nose twitching as he chewed, and then leaned in to blindly eat the rest out of Friech’s hand.
It was kind of like feeding an animal.
…Especially when Berette licked his palm.
Frowning, Friech pinched his ear with his free hand in punishment, and Berette snorted a laugh into his fingers before pulling back. He shimmied closer, though, until they were pressed side-to-side, Berette’s tail sweeping to encircle him, and Friech’s thoughts from earlier came back. The mental image, of a couple sitting close cuddled up together, just gazing in wonder at the scenery.
Berette wasn’t romantic but, well—
Maybe he was affectionate enough that it could happen.