25/5/919
Near the Greenhouse of Endergaln after the sharing of memories
Bax
Bax followed behind Sav as they walked through the city streets after the pair had left the Greenhouse. They had completed that strange communion once again, in the hopes of finding some clue or lead to Danica’s location, but instead they only shared memories that could kindly be described as ‘unpleasant’. The last time this had happened, they had summoned an Angel to locate them; hopefully they did not summon another. As a precaution, Sav wanted to stay away from the party and have a walkabout to determine if the Angels would be pulled to them again.
Sav had her eyes forward and sharp, looking to alleys, passersby, and rooftops for any inconsistencies. Bax followed suit, his eyes scanning as he looked from civilians to doorways, careful to make sure no one stayed on their tail for too long. Sav would direct the two down some alleys, off the main roads, to keep any potential trouble away from as many civilians as possible. Despite the group not having spent much time in the city, and Sav admitting as much, they still seemed to understand, certainly better than Bax ever could, how to navigate it.
After an hour of cautiously walking around, the pair came to a halt, standing at the entrance of a thin alleyway that only children could fit through. “How long do you think we’ll need to stay away for? Last time, didn’t that Angel find us hours after we had walked through that ancient dwarven city?” Bax inquired
Nearby, a group of street urchins huddled behind some abandoned crates, looking at the two figures attempting to outmaneuver the gods of this world. Noticing this, Bax dug into his bag, pulling out the remaining jerky from his personal rations - he learned long ago that he should never leave home without emergency food, you never know when you could find yourself lost in the wilderness. He approached the small group, offering all he had, which they greedily accepted. One of the children faltered somewhat, entranced by the peculiarity of Bax’s night eye; he winked with it, causing the child to giggle and run off to join the others.
He returned to Sav’s side and, as though he hadn’t stepped away at all, continued the conversation, “You think we’ll need to stay out for a full day? If that’s the case, we’ll need to find as empty a pub or inn as we can to reduce danger to anyone else.”
Sav
It’s a salient point, one that Sav had thought of briefly; walking around in the city serves at least one other purpose, though, that of getting to know the city a bit better. Unfortunately, this is hampered by the fact that they can’t stop at every corner and map the junctures and streets—not without slowing things down immensely and looking suspicious to all and sundry—not to mention the need to stay off the busiest main routes that formed the main arteries of the city. So they just do their best to remember the twists and turns they’d taken through pure will alone, using the landmarks on street level and high up.
But even Sav’s memory, while good by any measure, is not perfect. And the circuitous way they’d wound, meant to take them down narrow, unpopulated side streets, made it even more difficult.
After an hour, she has to admit, to herself if not aloud: she’s lost.
Head tilted back, squinting at the sky and the buildings rising steep around them and starting to feel a tiny pinch brewing in the center of her forehead, she tries to figure out if she’s seen that spire with the blue glass windows to their left five or six turns ago. Or is it a different one that happens to look the same? Were the windows actually indigo? Did they have copper or iron frames? Battling a memory that wants to keep falling back to those just refreshed and the awful ones just experienced, she doesn’t notice Bax stepping away until the wind rushing in to fill his absence stirs the hair feathering over her cheeks. Her gaze drops, finding him handing over his lunch to the ragged youths, and her lips purse for a moment.
She doesn’t say anything about it as he returns, though one thick brow quirks momentarily. Instead, she says, “Who can say? Could well be they’ve been able tae track us all this time an’ just have naught mair to say to us, an’ this precaution is a useless one. Could be our wee venture did no send up enough of a ripple to draw their attention in the first place. Could be this is necessary an’ we’ll get another visitor in a few hours. But if what this Zephyrus said was true, that they could no touch us this far intae the Twilight, I’d guess it still remains true—an’ so the real precaution is in where we are specifically, e’en if it be obvious that we’re in this city. So aye—at best guess I’d gie us at least a few mair hours, for caution’s sake.”
Their stomach screels, reminding them that they’d skipped lunch and it had been a long day since breakfast. “An’ a pub or an inn sounds brilliant. I could use a wee scran. ‘Sides, an empty one is mair like to let us cut aboot for longer.” They nodd at one across the way and down the street a bit, with a sign out that reads The Captain’s Rest, with an illustrative military captain’s head with a fine hat. “That one?”
With Bax’s assent, they lead the way toward the Captain’s Rest and poke their head inside, then enter fully as they find it suits their stated needs quite well—mostly empty at this hour save for a server and a couple of old folks who are likely permanently affixed to stools at the counter. This is not the kind of place fancy enough to have a menu or, indeed, any choice in what is served, so Sav simply puts in an order for one meal for themself (with a raised brow at Bax to query whether he wants one as well) and a pot of the coffee so popular in this land, which they still found terrible but oddly quite mouth-cleansing.
They slide into a booth furthest from the door (and not incidentally, the sunlight), with an angle that meant one of them could see the front door and single window and the other could see the door that led into the kitchen. The benches are creaky wood, not ergonomic in the slightest and smooth with the passage of hundreds of bottoms over the years, and the smells around a curious mixture of the engine oil and machine smoke that seems to be ever-present in Endergaln and the smell of cooking oil, slightly-charred meat, and earth. They slump into the seat with a sigh as though it were the finest upholstered palace settee in the land (though they’d only ever experienced that once, in the Cathedral after Tyr had been defeated; the whole thing was so discomfiting they’d ended up sleeping on the floor). With nothing urgent to address at hand, only waiting to see if a smug angelic bastard shows up, they realize, with a dawning sense of chagrin, they have no idea what to say.
The silence stretches out, broken only by the susurrus of the old-timers mumbling to each other and the server, who is listening and responding only with affirmative grunts and the occasional hmm. Until suddenly, “Did I tell ye that Kelwin was commander of a siege I was in? Pullt the same trick, booby-trappin’ an’ sacrificin’ folk so as to gie himself an advantage.”
Sav immediately winces. Sure that he’ll be wantin tae chatter on about that cunt, right after rememberin’ bein tortured by him. Nice bit o’ work there, me.
Bax
Entering the dingy pub, Bax was struck by the realization that he had not actually been inside of a place that served food in years. Though the whole group was staying at an inn in which food was served regularly, he still found the luxury of having easy access and buying food prepared by someone else vexxing; why spend money you don’t have when you can hunt and burn all your food yourself? Sav did not share in his own reservation, knowing exactly what to say and ask for to the server at the bar. Bax watched her place an order and copied, asking only for water instead.
As they situated themselves within a booth, the cramped space became nearly too oppressive. He could watch the entrance, yes, but what was to stop the Angels from overwhelming them with force? If enough people crowd around within the space he would be unable to fight back. What if one of the folks at the bar were working with the Angels and were reporting everything he and Sav were doing? They could be summoning a small squadron of fighters to come and steal the two away, capture them for interrogations. Bax could run; with Sav by his side, they could escape nearly anything. Run across the city, hop the walls, lay low within the wilderness until things settle down more. The faintest wisp of celestial mist escapes from Bax’s eye before Sav pulls him back to reality, breaking a silence that he didn’t realize he was festering in.
Those resurfaced memories were forcing out his fight-or-flight instincts and he nearly caved to them. He released a tense sigh of relief, wiping the sweat that was just beginning to form across his forehead.
“Well at least he knew what he was good at,” Bax responded dryly, a small chuckle barely escaping his throat.
“Sorry, that was disrespectful. He just - he was just really kind of the worst person I think,” Bax determines. He can feel his cheeks flushing; he wants to ask more questions but finds himself stunted by just how much he actually wants to talk about but is worried about crossing any boundaries. Seeing any of Sav’s memories already felt like a step too far yet here he was, selfishly looking to ask for more.
“Is it, um, I mean, if it’s alright, could I ask what happened with your siege? Or wait, did you know Kelwin from before then? Is he how you got conscripted?”
Sav
Rather than taking offense, the jest pulls a surprised snort from Sav, and their expression of wincing self-recrimination relaxes into something more at ease. “Bit of a one-trick pony, aye. Made the same observation after the second time he set an explosive in some cannons we were meant tae take over an’ use against him, whilst we were gaun after a fallen star. The wonder is that it kept workin’, honestly, but I suppose that’s why he kept daein it.”
She quiets for a span of time as the server trundles over and plops two plates before them, two cups, the pitcher of water and the tin pot of coffee. Sav pours herself a cup of coffee and makes a horrible face after tasting it—metal and ash and ground bits still floating in there to be strained between their teeth. But it does seem to clear up their mind considerably, in much the same way smelling salts might. Another brief pause as they go to fetch some molasses and liberally fill their cup with it, before they start in on the plate—sausages of unknown origin and eggs over diced potatoes with a roll of dark bread, heavy fare but surprisingly good for the look of the place.
“Nay, I knew naught of him before my unit was sent tae aid in that siege. I didnae even really know him then—don’t think I e’en traded a word wi’ him, I wis too low in the ranks. Merely saw him from far away when he’d come t’ gie orders tae the commanders.
“My conscription was just a matter o’ cleaning up the streets, far as the Swans were concerned, like sweepin’ up rubbish an’ takin’ it out tae the bins. Which doesnae say much about their opinion of themselves, I suppose.” Sav chuckles at their own joke around a mouthful of potatoes. “I wis too young t’ be much use as a soldier, though, so got assigned as a runner an’ errand-kid around the camps, ‘til Arjuvh realized I had a heid for numbers an’ got me on tae the siege unit he led. Then that unit got sent tae siege a tricky high fort from a baric rebellin’ ‘gainst the Baroness, an’ we were left purposefully undefended t’ draw the defenders outwith their walls t’ destroy our siege weapons, on’y those siege weapons were also rigged t’ explode that day, except that we werenae warned o’ that, nor that we’d be left high an’ dry for real.”
She quiets again, seeming to focus on the plate before her, but as much to steel herself against the images called up. Surprisingly, they don’t cut as much as she’d expected. Oh, they hurt, of course—less the memory of the explosion or the waking, as she’d barely been aware of what was happening with all the pain and confusion. More the memory of some of the first people she’d called friends, or at the least colleagues, twisted into unnatural poses or lying spread twenty feet apart from themselves, faces slack and eyes unseeing when they were even recognizable. They hurt, and some part of her hopes it would never not hurt—what kind of person would she be, otherwise?—but it hurt more like a sore tooth when prodded, and less like an open vein.
“In some way, through some stroke o’ luck, I didnae die—though I looked deid, I’m sure—an’ came to when naebdy was near, the fightin’ had moved elsewhere. That let me stagger off unbothered tae hide an’ escape.” They shrug, affecting nonchalance. “I saw him just once more before Northgate, travelin’ wi’ a crew o’ other Swans whilst I hid in a ditch by the road. And then every other time after that was facin’ him wi’ others on ma side, and then he was killt by Danica, an’ now he’s powerless an’ deid.” Unconsciously, perhaps spurred by the memories of Lenn, she flicks one hand in a scathing phrase: worthless cunt.
Bax
With a snort from Sav, Bax’s shoulders became less tense and he feels the burdens of history lessened some. He nods, listening to her retelling of encounters with the bastard, absorbing her stories, discovering how their tales are not too different. His eye catches the small hand gesture from Sav and on a whim completes a series of hand gestures in kind:
Couldn’t agree with you more.
He smiles brightly and continues to gesture toward Sav.
I didn’t know you could use hand language! I picked it up from some of the orphans in Northgate and tribesmen within the mountains.
Relaxing his hands, he takes a sip of water and continues the conversation aloud, “Y’know, if you plan to keep trying to get us to find Danica through this mind space thing, it could help or be less surprising at least if we talk a bit more about ourselves.”
He thinks for a moment and decides to try and lighten the mood somewhat given the severity of recent topics. “How bout a game of questions? I remember your favorite color is orange so lemme hit ya with a real stinger. What’s your second favorite color?” he asks with a sly smirk, as though he had just outplayed a master at their own game.
Sav
It takes a moment for the realization to filter into Sav’s brain, focused as they are on a) food, and b) memories of the past. When the realization hits that the meaning had come through hand gestures rather than words, their eyes go round, looking—for perhaps the first time that day—excited, or at least something brighter than dour.
What! I’ve encountered very few people who know it! In a stroke of irony, her signing is probably clearer than her speech; the “accent” of her hands is a bit different from the one Bax has learned, but not as far as her spoken accent is from his. I learned it from— Her signing slows momentarily, —one of the other Two Shoes, the unit I was in. They couldn’t speak nor write, but they knew sign, but nobody else did until they taught it to me. I’m rusty though, it’s been a while.
“As far as that goes,” continuing the spoken thread of conversation with speech, “I’m no sure it’ll be… incredibly helpful. Two people doesnae seem to have resulted in much. Mayhap three or four would do mair, ‘tis true. But I think ‘twill be a time before I’m minded t’ try again, gi’en the lack of result here an’ the risks run.” They deflate a little, hands cradling around the warm tin cup. Somehow, amazingly, they’ve already cleared their plate.
At the cunning question, they peer at Bax, unsure if he’s making a joke. “Aqua, most like,” they say, opting to answer seriously. Less seriously, “But ye’ve no told me either your favorite or your second, an’ that seems uneven—ye’ve an advantage o’er me.”
Bax
“I’ll be honest, I don’t think I’ve much considered my favorite color since I was a kid. I dunno - I like red and yellow. I know, or at least I understand now, that you’re supposed to wear colors to “match” your skin tone, whatever that means; one of the few lessons that Sylas left me with. So I guess whatever matches my skin is one of my favorite colors?” He peers down to his over shirt, and in a playful gesture, places a hand over his chest, announcing, “We’ll say my favorite color is green!”
Settling down, he changes the topic back to related events, as he leans forward onto the table with crossed arms. “Have you ever talked with anyone about your past? Beyond general facts I mean. Like, we all know we got screwed over by the Swans but have you ever talked in detail about it?
“…I could feel the isolation you endured. For a long time you didn’t have anyone ‘cept for Aloysius. I’m just wondering if you could’ve met or spoken with anyone before meeting us.”
Sav
The arcane phrases Bax speaks of “matching skin tones” nets him a look of pure bafflement. Of all the many things Sav has thought of, this clearly does not number among them. “Are… there any colors that don’t match your skin?” they ask, brows knit, squinting at him with head cocked as though trying to imagine other colors set against his face.
Her gaze flicks down to the worn tabletop, frown returning in full force. “Nae much. I’d told Astarael the outlines of it, once. A little more t’ Ethan, with aw the stuff around the theater an’ when he needed stories of a soldier for some fake identity or ‘nother.” She laughs once, dryly, more ironic observation than amusement: “Don’t think those ever even ended up bein’ used, t’ be honest. ‘Twas no a waste anyway. Those stories needed tellin’, those folk rememberin’. But it wasnae much about me as such—didnae needty be.” That it had said much about her—the stories she chose to share, the ones she didn’t, the ways she talked about the people involved—she remains blissfully unaware of.
Their fingers curl a little tighter around the scarred tin mug, remembering the isolation, the loneliness of those years after desertion, and the returning echo of it later, waking up here in Ixadal. Even odds which one had been worse—in Northgate they’d been a terrified child surviving by the slivers of a fingernail’s grip, but here they’d been hundreds of years and thousands of miles away from everything they’d ever known, though possessed of greater capability and confidence than before. “Nae much,” they say again, “not as such, really. Though I did meet Emma Spinsugar before any o’ the rest of ye—dae ye recall me sayin’ such, when I ambushed ye in the catacombs, that first night of the Autumn’s Turn Festival? She told me stories of ye all as weans in Aelorean’s Crossing—naught incriminatin’, naught that could have led me tae finger ye as witches, but tales of growin’ an’ playin’ an’ mishaps. I suspected, at the time, that perhaps she knew aught of things she shouldnae ‘neath the light of the Torch, gi’en how carefully she stayed away from the reasons ye left the village or how ye came up to Northgate, an’ her overwhelming keenness for the stars, but—I was so desperate for kindness an’ kinship I never pushed lest I scare her off, and neither did she t’ me, perhaps for the same.”
They sigh. “Perhaps I should ha’. Maybe if we’d both known what t’other was capable of and joined forces, she’d not ha’ been taken by the Swans, and I not chased out of my bit.” They wrinkle their nose and shake their head slightly, just a thinking gesture. “Though on t’other hand, had that no happened, I may not ha’ ever joined that wee conspiracy an’ met my first real mates.”
Impossible to second-guess the twists and turns of a life. They can feel the threatening tension behind their eyes throb a little as they think back, and they desist rather than aggravate it.
Instead, she raises her gaze, looking back up at Bax. “It doesnae rate, anyway. What’s a wee bit o’ lonesomeness in comparison t’ pure torment?” Despite what she’d said about enough apologies earlier, she reaches out and lays a hand on his forearm—it’s far warmer than it ought to be, a skin of borrowed heat absorbed from the coffee mug—and continues, “I’m sorry I pushed so hard for ye to confront what ye’d gone through—I like t’ think if I’d known I’d not ha’ insisted so.” She hesitates, not entirely sure if that would have been the case—but the face of the statement is true, she’d like to think she wouldn’t have insisted. “I knew, obviously, your hame had burnt, an’ folk had been killt, but—” She snorts again. “—sad t’ say, that feels almost just what ye’d expect, among folk like us. But I didnae intend to make ye remember near dyin’ again.” Or reliving the feeling of utter powerlessness and worthlessness. Her hand tightens on his forearm and she swallows, the memory now fresh for her, too.
Bax
The warmth of Sav’s hand radiates across his forearm. He could feel the scar of the bite mark from Kelwin’s dog, hidden below the tattoo that covered his arm, just under her palm, the sensation of the assault fresh in his mind. His instinct is to pull his arm away but he resists - her hand helps to soothe that memory, if only temporarily. It’s rare for him to experience physical contact in a non-combat scenario; the only times are seemingly when he is reunited with or the group survives said encounters. Bax closes his eyes and lets the comfort overtake him, exhaustion washing over in a way he couldn’t explain. He felt Sav’s hand, its delicate weight balanced against numerous small scars; their long fingers, rough and calloused yet gentle and elegant, softly pressing into his skin as the heat was beginning to dissipate.
In a moment that felt comfortable enough to have lasted a lifetime, Bax forced his eyes open, heavy as they were. He was surprised to see he had moved his other hand unconsciously, his fingertips just barely caressing the top of Sav’s hand. The sight caused him to flinch and he pulled both arms away suddenly. He cleared his throat, trying to navigate the fog of his mind that had infiltrated in that moment of bliss. The solace of the touch was something he hadn’t experienced before and the new sensation had him feeling unsure of himself.
“I uh, I thought we were done saying ‘sorry’?” he asked in a half joking manner, an eyebrow cocked slightly.
“It’s uh, well I was gonna say it’s fine but it never was huh? But it happened, nothin’ to be done about it now,” he says, scratching at his scarred neck. “You don’t need to apologize about what we did, you didn’t force me to do anything, I agreed. So don’t let that kinda guilt weigh ya down.
“And there’s no comparing pain either. I understand loneliness as well - not to the degree you do, but well enough that I know it hurts in another kinda way that physical pain can’t compare.” He lifts his gaze to meet Sav, and he slows his cadence, picking his words carefully, wanting to express his thoughts aloud. “For the longest time I didn’t ever try to think about what happened…just kinda accept it happened and try to move past it quickly. This is actually the first time I think I’ve ever talked about what Kelwin did in any detail. Ethan, Talith, everyone from home knows what happened - we all suffered at his hands, in different ways. And maybe that’s why we never really talked about it? I mean, what can you say when you’re all hurting, constantly on the run, trying to hide yourselves as much as possible?”
He came to a pause, unsure how to convey his thoughts further. Speaking had always been difficult for Bax, there was too much thought that went into words; he figured it was far easier to communicate yourself through your actions. Thinking for a moment, he lifted his hands and began gesturing, continuing where he had left off.
But this feels different, somehow. Not just talking about it but having it understood, like really understood. Maybe it’s just because everything is so vivid and fresh…I could never think back to these memories without feeling paralyzed, like I’m dancing on the edge of falling back into my old mindset, the mindset of being as worthless as bait. But here I am, talking, remembering, and I don’t feel like I’m immediately teetering. Can…do you…
He paused again, dropping his hands back to the table. “D’you know what I mean?”
Sav
Sav startles at the flinch, and immediately pulls back themself, shoving their hands underneath their elbows, tucked over their ribs. They’d thought to extend a little of the comfort of touch that they’ve come to appreciate, even miss, with how generously Astarael and later Talith shared it—but it’s all right. Not everyone wants the same thing, after all, even if it had seemed for a moment like he—well, good to know for the future, at any rate.
Moving as quickly past the awkward misread as she can, she unfolds a little and rubs her fist against her chest: Sorry for the sorry, and cocking a brow ironically, making a joke of it.
Her hands fall to rest back upon the table and she’s silent for several breaths, thinking. “They say a pain shared is a pain halved,” she says slowly. “Yet it could be difficult, mayhaps, t’ speak on’t wi’ those who were there as well, who didnae come fast enough t’ prevent it, e’en should ye no blame them. They may well feel the extra weight still for their part, no matter what ye say. An’ that’s wi’out e’en gettin’ intae the issue of generally bein’ too busy runnin’ from one fire t’ another t’ have a breather an’ a palaver about feelins.
“But for all that this method o’ sharin’ hurts like the Torch an’ strikes random as a lightnin’ bolt, it does carry the advantage in that—well, certain sure that anyone else who sees somethin’ really understauns it.” One hand lifts unconsciously to touch their unscarred throat, feeling the burn of the rope, the collapsing windpipe. The hand continues onward to sign, And how can it not feel good, that someone knows exactly what you went through, without having to explain it? You saw that knowing-moment I had—that connection is one of the basic truths of reality. I can’t imagine a stronger connection of experience than literally having the same memory. And when you’re approaching an edge, that line to someone else can stop you from going over.
“Or mayhap the answer be as simple as time—time an’ distance.” Sav shrugs. “Another of those hings ‘they’ say, that ‘time heals all wounds.’ Though I’ve found that one tae be less true,” they say, from their vast sum of 20 years.
Bax
Bax tilts his head in thought - maybe it would be worth talking to both Ethan and Talith about home. If he was suffering under the weight of his trauma and guilt so much, he could only imagine they would feel similarly. It wouldn’t be the same as experiencing the pain in a shared sense as he and Sav had today, and maybe they would want to try for that, but trying to broach and choosing to not speak about the topic couldn’t hurt any worse than sidelining it for all this time.
As Sav communicated through complicated hand movements, watching and ‘reading’ what they had to say, a part of his mind remains distracted. He wanted to feel that sensation again, that acceptance. He shakes his head slightly, expelling the selfish thought from his mind so as to remain focused on Sav. Responding in kind, he signs back with a soft grin.
I’ll be your tether if you’ll be mine?
Continuing aloud, he adds, “Eh, I think some folks just like to try to talk smart. Makes ‘em feel some kinda important I guess. So anyone that says time heals wounds is probably just an ass looking to win over gullible people. But maybe balance heals wounds or at least helps them. Have any good memories ya wanna share? Something that helps to remind you it wasn’t always awful?”
Sav
They hesitate for a long moment at the signed question, studying his hands before their gaze travels up his arms to stare him searchingly in the eyes, gray-green to brown-celestial. It feels like an important question, somehow, even if he might not have intended it in that way, and not one they wish to answer thoughtlessly.
Of the three others from Aelorean’s Crossing that Sav had known before arriving here, Bax was probably the least-known to her. None of them had interacted much in Northgate, for fear of being discovered, and even then he’d been mostly out of the city at that time; and then the trek to Rog Hodun had left little time for aught but travel; then he’d been gone, trading himself for Roux’s life. The thought of that brings up the memory fresh from his past, the way he’d counted the cost miniscule—not just from valuing his village-brother so highly, but from valuing himself so little. Just bait. Only good for what he could do for others.
A valuation assigned by a man whose opinions were suspect, but one that had stuck, nevertheless.
A valuation whose fear they could empathize with deeply. Permitted to stay at the Spindlemark Theater because they made themselves of use, cleaning and building sets. Taken in by Arjuvh because their mind was good, their calculations better than the rest. Allowed to stay even after crashing a jumpy conspiracy of witches because they’d proven their strength with the Stuff, that what they could do was invaluable, incredible.
But what if neither of them had developed gifts? Other strengths? If they really were just—just bait, just fragile beings? Dead weight?
A memory—her own, this time—bubbles up, this one fresh as the inn’s coffee was not: standing at the mouth of a freezing, narrow alleyway, while handspans of feet away Bax opens his pouch to give the last of his rations to dirty, uncared-for children who had neither asked for it nor thanked him before running away (and why would they? She knew, from experience, that such gifts often came with strings, and it was better to run before they could be tied). Then his return, neither mentioning it nor looking to see if she had noticed.
Just moments before Bax might falter, might withdraw the question: Deal, she signs with a tap of her fists together, before spitting on her palm and extending her hand to shake on it.
Wiping off their hand, they smile down at the tabletop, perhaps just the memory bringing it, perhaps amused by the thought of his relation to it. “Aye, I’ve some,” they allow. “Ye might e’en be able to relate to it too, though I’ve nae clue how ye feel about turnin’ after havin gaint control o’er the Beast. The first time I figured out how t’ transfigure masel’ intae a bird was a pure delight—one I, queerly, have ye t’ thank for at least in part—both the delight o’ havin’ worked out a problem that had bediviled me for o’er a year, an’ the delight o’ bein’ a snow owl huntin’ with a nestkin, as Aloysius was an owl at that time…” Stroking Aloysius with a finger, still cuddled up asleep against their neck, they continue describing the elemental joy of being a predator hunting in its natural habitat, perfectly suited for its environment and working in concert with a well-known friend, the pleasure of mastery without the worries and ever-present thoughts that always filled their head as a human. The knot of tension behind their eyes begins to unwind, loosening fractionally with each gesture with the tin cup, each word spilled to their unexpectedly-attentive audience.
Bax
Mimicking the gesture, Bax spit into his hand and happily gripped Sav’s. His smile widened as Sav started off by spinning a tale of how they had learned to transfigure their shape to that of an owl through magic. He nodded at tangents he could relate to when hunting, laughed at Sav’s retelling of fumbles when first starting, asked with great enthusiasm if he could be transformed to experience the sensation of flight as a beast - he wanted to compare the sensation of how the transformation would feel any different, if at all! As Sav continued on, going into greater detail on the experience, he found himself speaking up less throughout and instead watched how Sav came alive in a way he didn’t fully recognize. They smiled and gesticulated in a way he had rarely seen before; he watched their eyes light up, their cheeks becoming flushed between longer breaths, the way they would look to Aloysius when remembering certain facts.
At a point in the conversation Sav prompts him to share a nice memory from his younger years. He stumbles over his words, panicking to think of his own memory. He had been so caught up listening to Sav that he had forgotten he needed to share as well. “D’oh yeah, um, yeah for sure. I got something, lemme just think where to start…”
He did, in fact, not have something.
His childhood was still too red-colored, still too tainted, to look back to for memories to share right now. Another time maybe, after he could speak about his past with Sav more; the thought alone sent a jolt of excitement through his heart.
“Oh!” he yells with a snap of his fingers. “I don’t think you got to meet many of the tribes in the mountains of Jorung! One of the first I met was the Skejagrr tribe - they were located just north of Thorsbarrd. I met them after freeing some of their tribesmen from Swans.” He traced the scar under his eye, leading to a piece of missing ear.
“That’s where I got this. I was beat to shit before the assault and barely survived helping them. But they showed me kindness by bringing me back to their tribe to heal. I spent a few days with them before I was able to move. Once up, their leader, Veskrr, introduced me to many of the tribesmen, including the families of those that I’d helped before. They insisted on throwing a feast and I was fed some of the best food that day. And then they have races, either obstacle courses that you ride a pot lid or shield down or dog sled courses and I was terrible at both! Oh and they also had a wrestling competition!”
Bax becomes light headed in his retelling of events. He could remember the hard times, the bad memories, on the fringes of this good one. But that’s not what he was choosing to remember. Right now, he was laughing at Sav who was laughing at him, at the details he keeps leaving out and they pester him for clarification, at his own stupidity for drawing attention from the few others in the bar. Nothing mattered to him more in this moment than the feeling of elation he felt with Sav though, at being able to share more than just pain.
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