Work Text:
Three cloaked figures slink through the shadows of run-down slums, followed closely by a crew of Eliksni of all shapes, ages, and sizes. As the walk, they whisper to one another. They trade gentle, teasing shoves. They are the leaders of a House.
“When Heartskel jump-moved out from under the fire-chain, and then--” The Baron lifts his primary arms and imitates the action of what City-Guardians have coined Chaos Reach while making a mock buzzing sound with his mouth. “Then,” he makes a small sound like an explosion as he lowers his arms, “no more Hangman; no more Fallen-dead. Freed Servitors. Extra Ether. Good reward.”
“Eia; I’m just glad she’s on our side,” comes the response, thick with a Reef-native accent. “You and I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“Nonsense,” the Kell purrs, reaching her hand around her partner to rest her palm at the base of her spine beneath a tattered grey cloak. “Nama. You were both instrumental.” She stops and turns to face her small but loyal House and spread her hands, the other two stopping beside her. “You all were.” Her House gives her rumbles of satisfaction and lighthearted growls in reply, and she smiles wide with all her teeth. She turns again to keep walking by her companions’ sides.
“Iwiisehk-variisis,” Trethriks growls, clicking his mandibles in pleasure as he leans forward to look at his Kell. “You are forever-unyielding, my Kell. It is an honor-gift to join this fight alongside you and Petra Kels’mahiit.”
The hooded Awoken woman between them dips her head and huffs out a low chuckle as they walk. “Personally, I can’t wait for the end of this. ‘Honor-gift’ or not, the only good Scorn is a dead Scorn.”
The Kell laughs, and her two fire-orange eyes glow bright against her dark complexion and the shadows that fall across her face. “I couldn’t agree more, mahiit.” She speaks with jest, and while the Baron rumbles lowly in his chest with pleasure as his Kell chooses to use his language, the Awoken woman rolls her eyes. Ikora takes her gloved hand and squeezes gently. “Hidaya,” she whispers; the word sounds sweet like honey. Petra squeezes back.
An ancient Baron, a displaced Wrath, and a Queen of Hearts now stride confidently through the Quitter’s Well, followed closely by a band of misfits and outlaws brought together under one name and banner. As they walk, they trade new words in different tongues. They learn from one another. They lean on one another. They are a family.