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In retrospect, the sheer amount of alcohol all lined up on Chilchak’s coffee table should’ve been a dead giveaway, or at least some kind of warning sign, but Chilchak and the brown-green of wine bottles are such a consolidated duo in his head that Kabru thought nothing of it at first. Now, with a fuzz in his head like cotton and Farlyn’s angelic smile (fake, so fake, he’s not believing her for one second) swimming in front of him like fairy lights as he tries to blink her into focus, he realizes he might have made a bit of a miscalculation.
That is to say, he might have fallen right into the lion’s den.
“Like I was saying.” Farlyn’s voice is as sweet as the rest of her; it would sound almost innocuous if it weren’t for the way Chilchak’s little giggles punctuate it. Kabru feels the hair on his nape rise through his drunk haze.
“Like I was saying, Chil, don’t be mean— it’s going to be Laius’ birthday soon and we were thinking… We were thinking you two could go on a trip together?” As she says trip Chilchak has to hide his face behind a curled fist, faking a coughing fit or effectively having one Kabru couldn’t tell, and that’s the moment the gravity of his situation dawns on him in all its weight, inescapable and in plain sight.
He clears his throat like someone who’s being cornered and knows it, but still tries to buy some time. “I don’t really—” His voice falters. “I don’t really have a saying in this, right.”
“I see you understand,” comes Chilchak’s sing-songing, sweet and syrupy, as he leans into Farlyn’s side and swings his bottle around with the air of a cat who ate the cream. In any other moment Kabru would bring out his most polite face, the one he usually reserves for his most tiring interactions with Laius, and suggest they just buy the guy some blu-ray of the latest paranormal series he’s obsessing over, then bid his goodbye to Chilchak and Farlyn without missing a beat.
He doesn’t do any of that, and the alcohol sloshes happily in his stomach as he says, “you’re such awful people, you lot,” with the same intonation he would use to tell Farlyn her new sweater looks lovely on her. “I don’t know why I tolerate your company.”
“Lyn warned me about this,” Farlyn murmurs, eyes crinkled in a somewhat troubled expression, like she’s genuinely sad Kabru doesn’t have that high of an opinion of her. She seems to have more common sense than her brother so that might be true in her the case.
On the other hand Chilchak still looks like he’s having the time of his life roping Kabru into whatever twisted plan the two of them have come up with, so Kabru takes the only sensible escape route left: he lets himself fall face-first on the couch.
“Whatever,” comes out less dignified than he would like it, deflated like the pillow suffocating him with its dusty smell. “This conversation is over.”
***
The rhythmic sound of the train on the rails has something soothing about it. Together with the low, flickering lights and the soft leather of his seat Kabru could almost doze off if it weren’t for Laius’ incessant chattering. He’s been going on about the wisps they’re supposed to see on their birthday trip (Kabru can at least be thankful no one’s calling it what it is, a date; count on a Thorden to keep the appearances intact) and how the rickety train they’re on at the moment is supposed to be a recommended sighting spot, but Kabru’s long tuned him out.
Or at least that’s what he’s trying to do.
Laius is the kind of person who gesticulates when fired up about something, just like he’s the kind of person who will sit right next to someone even when there’s plenty of vacant seats, so his arm keeps brushing against Kabru’s as he explains in great detail how wisps follow the phases of the moon— or something like that. The pale brown coat he’s wearing and the soft, woolen scarf made of whites and blues and reds that reaches up to his chin complement the pink on his cheeks in a way that makes Kabru in equal parts annoyed and glad about the heating in their carriage being so low.
“So, where are we staying anyway?”
Laius turns his undivided attention to him with scary speed. “Marcille booked the place for us! It shouldn’t be too far from the station.”
“... Marcille did.”
Laius, without skipping a beat, nods. A voice that sounds a whole lot like Lyn’s starts whispering in Kabru’s head about the impending menace of simil-Bauhaus decor and sugar-free mini croissants for breakfast; it makes him feel like crying.
Because he feels like crying, he says, “that sounds terrific.”
“Doesn’t it!”
It doesn’t, grouses his Lyn conscience.
“Can’t wait to get there,” lies his Kabru voice.
He’s expecting Laius’ enthusiasm to spike at that but he’s met with an odd silence instead. There’s blue light dancing on Laius’ face, he would look almost frozen in it weren’t it for the sharp breath he sucks in, and when Kabru follows his stare he sees them: a handful of translucent globs floating towards them.
“They’re harmless, you know.” Laius sounds soft, in that particular way that grates on Kabru’s nerves, but Laius also knows how Kabru’s parents died and the blood and howls in the dark that seemed to go on forever, much further than he could ever reach and— Kabru wills his shoulders to relax.
“Hate it when you make sense,” he tosses, because Laius has earned at least the crumbs of his honesty from him. He gets quiet, deep laughter that makes the tips of his ears flush in response.
One of the wisps has drifted its way to them and has currently taken a liking to orbiting around their heads. Its flames don’t burn and the air smells of moss and incense in its wake, like the shimmering tail of a comet. When Kabru risks tickling it with a finger it sprinkles sparks all over his skin and it sounds just a little bit like a giggle.
For a while it’s quiet, except for the small sounds the wisps make from time to time and the still present tumbling of the train, so quiet Laius sounds like he’s made of the same otherworldly fabric of the wisps when he says, “oh, they’re the colour of your eyes.” He grins as if he’s cracked some kind of code, face mere inches from his now that he’s gotten closer, and Kabru doesn’t quite know how to reply to that. So he doesn’t.
Unfortunately Laius takes that as his cue to continue with the cliché parade of horrors, because life’s set on being the worst at the moment.
“Thanks. For, uh, coming with me. It means a lot.”
His northern inflection comes off stronger when he’s embarrassed and Kabru allows himself to bask in that for a moment, then, “that’s what birthdays are for.”
If it comes out a little strained, a little like he’s not telling the full story (that Chilchak and Farlyn fooled him into doing this, fully knowing getting him smashed was the only way he would have ever agreed to it), Laius either doesn’t notice or decides not to comment. Kabru would bet his money on the former but, well, it’s Laius’ birthday and he’s one year wiser, so. Maybe there’s hope for him, and for the thing rasping at Kabru’s throat like an incoming cold whenever he lets Laius get too close.
Such as now.
Kabru swallows around it and fishes for some cough drops.
***
Both the hotel and breakfast turn out to be exactly what Kabru thought they would be (he needs to have a talk with Lyn about the accuracy of her guesses, together with her right to whisper them into his mind when he’s trying to avoid reality) but the owner’s black cat lets him pet her with a cascade of purring. The warm glaze of sleep clinging to Laius’ hair and the droop of his eyes the morning after isn’t such a bad sight either.
When he asks, “ready for a hike in the woods to see some dryads?” Kabru can’t quite muster up any anger.
He does stock up on mini croissants to throw at them though, just in case.