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“What do you think of Bryce?”
Mollymauk’s voice was muffled from mumbling into Caleb’s shirt. They were laying together in one of the overlarge beds of the Lavish Château, sharing a moment of comfort while they could. Caleb didn’t know how the practice had started, just that at some point after escaping Shadycreek Run with their lives many members of the group had started coming together for emotional support in their own ways. Fjord and Caduceus could often be heard late at night having quiet discussions about the gods and fate, and the girls were nigh-inseparable. Molly had slowly drawn closer to Caleb until they had ended up here, curled together for quiet comfort nearly every night. Caleb hadn’t thought he’d missed touch until he had received some, and now he couldn’t imagine living without it.
“Err, the Crownsguard in Alfield? I suppose they are a good person. Why do you ask?”
It had been weeks since they had passed through Alfield again, checking in on the reconstruction and meeting with Bryce over dinner at the one remaining inn. To be honest, Caleb did not understand why Molly would still be thinking of the Watchmaster all this time later. The tiefling did not exactly have a very long attention span most of the time.
Molly lifted his head from Caleb’s chest to look him in the eye, propping himself up on his arms. His face was still and serious, a rare state for him, and betrayed a touch of hesitance.
“That’s the one. But, you don’t think they’re… odd?” There was a tensing in Molly’s jaw that left Caleb confused. What about the subject could have Molly so on edge?
Caleb thought back to the few times they had interacted with the half-elf. They had been nothing but polite, even when the group had openly discussed doing illegal things in front of them. He could think of nothing that he would speak negatively of, let alone anything that would have Molly bracing for such an answer.
“I, ah, cannot think why you would ask that,” Caleb began, carefully. “Perhaps it is odd that a Crownsguard, and a captain at that, would turn a deaf ear to criminal conspiracies at the dinner table, but it is not as if we were conspiring to kill anyone.”
That elicited an amused huff from Molly, who shifted so that he was propped up on an elbow. “Yes, well, all Crownsguard are bastards, but at least a few of them aren’t total bastards,” Molly chuckled before becoming serious again. “But really, you didn’t find them strange?”
“No, did you?”
“No. Just different. It got me thinking.”
Caleb scooted up on his pillow so he could better face Molly, and brightened the oil lamp on the nightstand just a hair. The flame flickered as it grew, throwing shadows on Molly’s face from the long, loose curls that hung there. His hair had gotten long, nearly touching his chin, and he hadn’t expressed interest in getting it cut. The tiefling pushed a few of the curls up and back, tucking them behind a horn and out of his face. Without the kohl around his eyes he looked soft, almost vulnerable.
The twitch of Molly’s tail was a familiar one, a nervous habit that often preceded one of his tumbling streams of thought. It was a common thing they shared in these evenings alone, Molly letting out all the thoughts that had jumbled up in his head during the day in order to make better sense of them. It was cathartic for him to do it, and whenever he wasn’t able to the restlessness in him only built. Caleb waited for him to find his start, knowing that interjecting now would only interrupt his process.
Molly inspected his nails then splayed out his hand, picking a hair off the bedsheets and then smoothing them, releasing a bit of his nervous energy through the fidgeting movements. Caleb could relate to the action, often finding himself shredding bits of paper or pulling fibers from the edges of his linen bandages when he was anxious. He waited patiently for Molly to find his footing, gently rubbing circles into the taught muscle of his shoulder.
“What do you think of, when you think of a man?”
Immediately, an image of Leofric Ermendrud formed in Caleb’s mind, as clearly as if he’d seen the man yesterday. Though it had been more than fifteen years since he’d seen his father, Caleb could still picture the man’s short brown hair, his rusty beard and blue eyes, his wide shoulders and strong build that came from tilling fields and holding a spear both. Before he could dwell too long on the painful memories that surrounded his past, Molly forged ahead with his train of thought, wiping the image away and drawing Caleb back into the present.
“I think of Bo the Breaker, Desmond, Gustav. You, and Fjord. And even though in some ways we may look the same—” he gestured vaguely along his torso, much of which was revealed by the long opening of his unlaced shirt, “—I find it very hard to feel like I belong in the same group as you all a lot of the time.”
Caleb nodded, understanding what Molly meant. The tiefling was certainly not like most men, with his kohl and his jewelry and his clothing that accentuated his figure. Half of it had come from stores that sold women’s fashions, though once the clothes were on him they seemed more Mollymauk than anything else.
“And when I think of women, I think of Ornna and Jester and Marion and I just don’t fit there either.” His tail lashed a little. “Don’t get me wrong, when the girls have their girls’ nights I want to be there more than anything, but the rest of the time I don’t feel like I’m one of them, so to speak. And sometimes I feel like the man that people name me as, but only sometimes. The rest of the time it’s like I’m neither here nor there, and I don’t know what that means. It’s always left me feeling like the odd one out. And I had never met anyone else like me, so I didn’t know what to do about it. But in Alfield... Bryce just seems so normal, so accepted as they are. Not one thing or the other, just Bryce.”
“And you are… just Mollymauk?”
Molly tilted his head to look Caleb in the eyes, a bit of a pinch forming between his eyebrows. “Is that odd? It sounds odd. Everyone else is happy being one or the other, and I’m just a circus freak who woke up confused.”
The sudden change in tone had Caleb moving before he knew what he was doing, scooping Molly up in his arms and holding the tiefling beneath his chin. Hearing Molly speak ill of himself felt like a knife through Caleb’s heart. He was so young, so unmarred, and did not deserve the self-hatred that Caleb did. If anyone deserved happiness, it was this bright and vibrant soul, full of kindness and charity.
“Do not speak of yourself that way, Mollymauk. There is nothing wrong with you. It may be uncommon, but as you say, Bryce is a good and normal person who is accepted for who they are. Why not you?”
Molly took a deep breath and curled against Caleb’s chest, leaving a warm puff of air where he exhaled. His arms snaked around Caleb’s waist and clung for a moment, releasing his grip when he realized that he was jabbing the wizard with a horn. Both of them sat up, sitting now with their knees tangled together.
The spade of Molly’s tail swished around into his hands and the tiefling fiddled with the small decorative cuff that was there. It was a simple gold piece which glinted in the lamp light, catching Caleb’s eye and holding his gaze. Molly’s teeth worried at his bottom lip before he opened his mouth to speak again.
“So, you don’t think me strange?” His eyes met Caleb’s, hope swimming in their red depths. Caleb shook his head, perishing the thought.
“You have been a unique person from the moment I first met you, Mollymauk. This is hardly much stranger than the rest of you.”
Dropping his tail, Molly snickered. “I suppose you’re right about that,” he chuckled, “and I’m certainly not apologetic about any of the rest. Why should this be any different? Good thinking, Mister Caleb.” As quickly as the dark mood had struck Molly, it was gone. He bounded from the bed to the vanity, divesting himself of piercings in the polished mirror in preparation for sleep.
Caleb’s stomach flopped fondly at the nickname and he stared at Molly’s back, watching his tail swish contentedly from side to side.
“You are welcome, mis— ah, should I not call you ‘Mister Mollymauk?’ I do not know another term.”
Molly waved a hand over his shoulder, removing the last of his studs. “I’m sure you’ll invent something, smart man that you are. But it doesn’t bother me for now. If that changes, I’ll let you know.”
“Alright. And the other words? The, ah, Pronomen? Words like ‘he’ and ‘she?’” Caleb had noticed that since Molly had grown out his hair, the number of times that strangers mistook him for a woman had significantly increased. Molly never corrected them, but now Caleb wasn’t so sure what the tiefling preferred.
Molly shrugged, then slipped out of his loose shirt. “None of them feel wrong, per se. I don’t really mind which people use. Hells, I’ll answer to ‘hey, fucker.’ Feel free to mix it up.” He unbuttoned the fastening above his tail and began shimmying out of his trousers. Caleb turned away and extinguished the oil lamp, giving Molly the modesty he neither wanted nor needed. They had already seen everything. Still, the darkness helped hide the flush on Caleb’s cheeks.
Mix it up. The phrase rolled around in Caleb’s head as Molly’s weight plopped onto the bed beside him, pulling the covers over his nude form.
“Good night, Mister Caleb,” Molly mumbled from the blackness beside him.
“Good night… Mixter Mollymauk,” Caleb replied, testing out the invented honorific with careful enunciation. A small chuckle escaped from the covers on the other side of the bed.
“Smart man. I like that one.”
Though Caleb couldn’t see him, he heard Molly shift in the dark. A gentle kiss pressed to his temple, and his breath hitched. Molly settled back on his side of the bed, but his tail snaked under the covers to wrap around Caleb’s calf.
“Thank you, Caleb. Sleep well.”
“Sleep well,” Caleb echoed, and tried to still the frantic beating of his traitorous heart.