Chapter Text
Fazea is a beautiful thing as the night draws long.
Kyborg has never really considered himself much of a romantic type. Or at least not until the past handful of years. He had never been given a lot to have those warm and fuzzy feelings over- both metaphorically in the clutches of post traumatic stress disorder and rather literally because his home town was C O L D cold.
But , as he's aged, he's gotten a lot better at it and at appreciating the beauty and love that the world has to offer. He’d almost exclusively been a morning person for years but today he finds some much needed appreciation for the night. The stars in the far plum sky twinkle and intermingle with one another, like a long cocktail party on the bramble boat in the witherveins or an active combat watched from high above on the back of smarsh. There was something deeply magnetic about it, and something that had him lingering his gaze between the stars and the moon.
“Theres the Rustbucket!” He whips up his head on the side of the sidewalk and stares down no other than his dear friend bart. He chokes out a laugh.
“Dia alive, I thought you were on the brink.”
His Quarterdraconic friend gives a breathy laugh, leaning back on his boots, and adjusting his eyepatch. “Sorry. You seemed so lost in thought, I figured I'd mess with you.” Then, quickly after, he adds. “Are you alright?”
Kyborg nods. “Yeah. Just thinkin. So, are Mudd and Gumgum already waiting at the bar?”
Bart nods. “Yeah. Figured we’d pit the nondrinker with gumgum- he's only been of age for a little . Doesn't know his limits yet.”
Kyborg rubs his neck. “If I had known he was sixteen when we were all interns I would not have given him so many tavern drinks.”
Bart waves a dismissive hand. “He could get himself into worse trouble sober. Nothing to worry about. He's a strapping guy.” Bart steps into line right beside him on the smoothed pavement of Boulderay, walking with that slight bounce to his stance.
“So. Anything new with you Mr. handyman?” He nudges at Kyborg's upgraded prosthetic with raised intrigued brows. Kyborg laughs a little. “Most would argue that I am statistically less handy than most people.”
“Oh, come off. You know what I meant. Prosthetic making is a big deal though, ky, seriously.”
“Well I'm more about the training people thing. Meld and Sordo are doing a lot of the leg work.”
“Man,” Bart lets all the air escape his chest. “You know I wouldn't have expected it.”
“What?”
“You to be the one who stays. I mean- you weren't like. Mudd anti-social but you sure didn't seem like you wanted to stay friendly and I mean- look at you now. You're the only one still in boulderay.”
Kyborg hesitates for a beat, sitting with the uproar of tiny tumultuous feelings that raises in his skin. “I guess it was just the first place to feel like home.” It had the others there, after all. That's what home has always been to Kyborg.
“Yeah. But we should all get back together sometime, seriously.”
“Yeah.” He hesitates. “I think we’ll have a reason soon enough.”
Bart raises a brow , not quite skeptical but something close. “What does that mean?”
He waves his material hand. “Nothing, nothing.”
“Kyborg.”
“What?”
“Kydelious of evirwinter! Don't you play smart with me!”
“So what if I do? What are you going to do Pint size?”
Bart laughs. “Ugh, your still such a jerk-”
“Im getting married, Bart.”
The ginger's eyes blow extremely wide, straining. “What?! Seriously!”
Kyborg crams his metal hand against Bart's mouth. “Hey! Quiet. I'm trying to keep it- y'know. Low down.”
“You and Lynn are really tying the knot then?”
“Yep.” He gives the P a hard POP. Bart chuckles. “Suprising me twice, I guess. So you proposed?”
He nods. “Forged the ring myself. She is - one happy dragon lady.” He can't keep his tone from being bashful long.
“Well that's great. Why now, though?”
He pauses on the side of the road just as the scattering lights of the tavern come into view.
“I don't know. Something inside of me just… knew?”
~~~
“So you think your name is Ky?” Nattie tilts her head at the very happy oondarian in front of her, watching its four tails sway in the same arcing motion. He nods.
“Yep. something in me just knew.”
Gunther rubs his chin. “And you speak now?”
“Guess I snapped out of whatever had a grip on me. I'm so rude.” His accent is thick and almost undecipherable to Nattie.
“What sort of accent is that from anyway, Mr? I ain't never heard an Oondarian speak like you do.”
“Well i-” Ky’s mouth snaps closed and he grips his head. “A-ah!”
He whines and clutches his head. “Im- sorry. I guess I'm not exactly better. I don't know. Cant recall.” he taps his head. “Sorry gang. At any rate though I was fixing to- say how grateful I am. Your all hospitable and I needed it somethin fierce. I couldnt thank ya enough.”
Dug waves a bashful hand. “Oh, don't mind it. It's what any good soldier would do.”
“Yeah, well, most of ya wouldnt wanna help an oondarian.”
Nattie smiles and wraps an arm over his broad shoulders. “Well fella, get used to it because we're an awful kind sort.”
Tolv lets out a sheepish noise of laughter. “We try our best.”
The Oondarians eyes go sharp, black pupils constricting into narrow cat like lines, intensifying. A primal growl winges out from between his sharp black stained teeth, ricketting like an old lawn chair.
Nattie puts a defensive hand out in front of the Thaumatech.
“Hey now , Mr. AInt no good reason to get on with growling at our friend here.”
His eyes soften. “Sorry, Fella. I dunno what overcame me. Well - hey. As pay back, why don't I go ahead and- cook you all a fire top dinner, huh? “ He waves his hand and a smolder blooms in his fist.
“There. See? Good to go.”
Dug cheers. “Well we certainly won't say no to that!”
~~~
“I feel like im going to be sick” Dug says aloud to a room full of nobody and nothing, his vision swarming in endless ceaseless circles.
“Dug, Honey, you’ve been in that tent forever. Are you doing okay?” Nattie's voice is like a grating cough on his flayed and fried nerves.
“I- I- I don't feel so good, Nattie.” His voice is nearly a whine. He turns to face the southern woman as she parts the flap of the tent. She tuts softly. “You don't look good at all, sugar.” She coos. “Your face is running hot. Was it that dinner?”
He shakes his head.
“No. We all watched Ky cook it. It was fine.” He wipes his face with the back of his furry palm. It sticks down dark.
“Maybe we get you some water-”
Dugs head POUNDS. Swarming with a fierce angry energy and throbbing under his teeth. A sound like crashing waves comes over him in sickening anguish inducing throbs that are uncontrollably dense and harsh. Cold water spills down his back, endlessly puddling and drenching. His vision goes fuzzy, almost white, flashing and all his eyes can seem to focus on is Nattie's fancy autoharp, hanging by her hip.
He feels his body contort, lean forward. Get ill or faint, one of the two, he isn't sure. There isn't any way to be. There's only one feeling he's sure of.
He longs for music.