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Zoltan and Dudu sit side by side on the bank of the Pontar, with the latter holding a fishing rod.
“And then of course, Dudu, you remember the most important fact about finishing?”
“The catfish is the king of the Pontar.” The halfling, Dudu’s current form, says with an almost bored tone.
“Bloody right, Marmalade.”
Zoltan leans forward, trying to steal a look at Dudu’s eye. The halfling had been reluctant to come on this little trip today, but Zoltan would be damned if he was letting Dudu wallow another day in his bedroom.
Sunshine, a chance to talk, and an activity to focus on. Typical dwarven medicines for dark days.
“And I’m holding the rod right?” Dudu asks.
“Perfect.” Zoltan nods. “Just keep it in your hands like that, and yell when it twitches.”
Dudu looks at him out of the corner of his eye, earning a chuckle from the dwarf that is followed by a slap against the halfling’s back.
Zoltan looks over Dudu’s head. “Elihal.”
“Zoltan.” The Elf says, hands reaching under the cloak to hold up the edge of a dress over the wet ground. “Dandelion said I would find you here.”
“Elihal, have you met my friend Dudu Biberveldt? Halfling merchant.”
“ Halfling merchant.” Elihal winks at them both. “Dandelion has told me all about you, Master Biberveldt.”
Dudu huffs uncomfortably. “Hello.”
“Ah, relax Dudu. She can be trusted.”
“She certainly can.” Elihal smiles.
“Elihal has been tending to our tailoring for well over a year now, which I assume is why you’re looking for me.”
“Your trousers? You didn’t mention the colour in your order.”
“Ah, any fabric you have lying around, Elihal. But deep blue trumps if you have that.”
“I do.” Elihal nods. “Should have it ready for you soon.”
“Add it to my tab. Got a gwent card deal coming up that should pay your bill with a tip.”
“I look forward to the pig flying over my shop.” Elihal says dryly, before nodding at Dudu. “Master Biberveldt.”
“Elihal.” Dudu nods in return.
“Enjoy your fishing, gentlemen.” Elihal smiles, and walks on.
“You have a good day too, Elihal.” Zoltan says, before turning back to the river.
Dudu waits until Elihal is out of sight, then swallows. “She?”
“Huh…oh aye. Elihal was in costume. All part of the game, you know?” Zoltan shrugs. “Likes to become other people. Bit like you, Marmalade. But with costumes, rather than whatever that is you can do. I just go with what clothes I see. It makes him happy.”
“Him? So, outside of the costume…”
“As male as you and me.”
Dudu flinches, and nods. “And, you don’t think that’s odd?”
“Dudu!” Zoltan lightly slaps the back of his head. “Thought you were more open minded than that.”
“I am...I mean...I am...I just…” He swallows, looking back at the river. “I don’t think it’s odd either.”
“Good.” Zoltan gives him a curt nod.
The atmosphere forming between them couldn’t have been more tense if Whoreson Junior himself had taken a seat.
“It’s just like a game.” Dudu says.
“Not hurting anyone.” Zoltan says, tensely.
“Not hurting anyone.”
And things are quiet for a while, Dudu’s fingers fidgeting around the rod.
“What if...what if it wasn’t a game?”
“Hmmm?”
Dudu looks at him. “What if a man wanted to be treated like a girl sometimes, but it wasn’t a game? It was...real, to them? Because they felt like a girl at the time. An actual girl, not a costume like Elihal wears.”
“Well, that would be a bit different.”
“Yes...yes it would. Would...would that be odd?”
“Dudu?” Zoltan says after a moment. “Something you want to chat about, pal?”
“Nothing.” Dudu says, panic in his voice. “Ignore me. I’m just running with my thoughts as usual. Curiosity killing the cat.”
“Aye.” Zoltan’s voice is quiet now.
In the distance, they hear a bell chime.
“Look, Dudu.” Zoltan rests a hand against the back of his own head. “Worried I made things uncomfortable back there with snapping. Just...Elihal’s a friend. I get overprotective. I’m the same if anyone says something against you.”
“I understand.” Dudu says, quietly. “It’s alright.”
“You’re sure there’s nothing you want to talk through?” Zoltan says. “Fishing is a good time for chatting.”
Dudu’s eye focuses on the water.
“It’s not always a game.” He whispers.
Sometimes Dudu goes to the Passiflora with Zoltan and Dandelion. He goes as Dudu. He goes as he and is called he. And that is okay. He feels okay. The games with the ladies get more and more boisterous as the night goes on, as the wine flows and inhibitions drop. Dudu wakes the next day feeling sated and happy.
Most of the time.
Sometimes he feels like people are talking about someone else even as they look at him. Because he does not feel like the him they are talking about.
“She.” Dudu looks in the mirror, and squeezes his eye shut.
Sitting on the bank of the Pontar, Dudu reaches up to tug on one of his ears.
Recognising the nervous gesture for what it is, Zoltan gently takes the fishing rod from his friend’s loose one handed grip, settling it on a stand to one side before turning so that he is sat cross legged, facing the halfling.
“Ay, Marmalade. So, as you say, what if the costumes aren’t a game?”
Dudu flinches.
She has not told anyone, not even Mother Serenity, but sometimes she goes to the Passiflora as Rose. And Rose is middle class, well dressed, a slight Toussaint hint to her accent. She chooses female patrons, and always pays a generous tip. She goes as she and is called her. And that is okay. She feels okay. The games are calmer, giggling over strip gwent or laying in the garden making shapes in the stars. Rose wakes the next day feeling sated and happy.
Most of the time.
Sometimes she wakes, and all she can see in the mirror are the bits that should not be there.
“He.” Rose looks down, eye squeezed shut.
There is a series of gentle plops as a duck enters the water, followed by her ducklings.
“Sometimes I…” Dudu’s jaw trembles, so tense that Zoltan thinks it must be painful. “I…”
“ Just me here, Dudu.”
“ Sometimes I’m a girl.” He says the words quickly, before turning his head away.
“Not just looking like one, you mean?”
Dudu shivers. “It’s not a disguise...I don’t feel like I’m pretending. It…” He thinks of the words. “It’s the other way around. It feels like I’ve stopped pretending.”
Zoltan doesn’t respond, except to scoot closer, his hand resting on Dudu’s hand that is still tugging at his ear. “Gonna pull your ear off, pal.”
Dudu nods, lowering the tiny hand into Zoltan’s enveloping grip.
“Do you feel like you’re pretending right now, Dudu?”
“No. Yes.” He shakes his head. “Sometimes I put on a female form, and I feel the way you might feel wearing a dress. Uncomfortable. And sometimes...sometimes I look like this and hate that people see a man.”
He starts to pull his hand away, only for Zoltan to hush him.
“How often does it change?”
Dudu shrugs. “Depends.”
“And these blanket days of yours.” Zoltan leans closer. “Is this causing those?”
“Among other things.”
Dudu looks in the mirror.
“He.” She shakes her head. “She.” He shakes his head.
Neither is right today. No shape is right today. No word is right today.
Dudu hides under the blanket, and avoids the people who will say “him” or say “her” and both be wrong.
“When I was young, it was all about surviving. Picked the shape that kept me alive. I didn’t think too much about it. Then living as Biberveldt, I just focused on the business. Lost myself in the part, Irina might say. But now I can breathe. And I can think. And I found myself trying different forms, and…the first time I spent the day as Rose, I felt so free.”
“Shhh.” Zoltan turns, rubbing the Halfling’s back and smiling when Dudu leans into the touch.
Dudu sucks the air through his teeth, holding it for a moment before breathing out slowly, eye moving down to look at his hair covered feet just above the river water.
He tilts them, dipping his toes in and kicking slightly.
“What are you today?”
“Him, I guess. Earlier it was neither.” Dudu looks away. “Or both. It’s all...confused sometimes. That’s why I didn’t want to go out. I didn’t know what shape to wear. I only went with this one because...well, it’s how you know me.”
“Ay. Sorry. Thought the fresh air and activity would do you good. Always helps me when I’m feeling down. Here...” He opens his arms, smiling when Dudu leans readily into the embrace, face pressed against Zoltan’s coat.
The dwarf tightens the embrace when he feels moisture seeping through the thin fabric.
Zoltan doesn’t keep track of the time, but the air is a little cooler when Dudu sits back, wiping a hand across a tear streaked cheek. “Thanks.”
Zoltan pats his shoulder, and then looks out over the river.
“Well, doesn’t look like the fish are biting today.” He says, collecting together their supplies. “Let’s head back to the Chameleon. Need to get that Gwent deck sorted for my buyer. Wrap and box the cards. You can help if you want. Maybe have a game or two.”
“Really?” Dudu can’t help the hint of annoyance. “I tell you the biggest secret of my life, and your answer is to go home and play Gwent?”
“Would you rather I made a big fuss? Ran along the walls screaming.” Zoltan shrugs, before slapping the halfling on the back. “Let’s carry on our chat over some Mahakam Mead and a round of cards. We’ll stay in my room, and you can be in any shape you’re comfortable being. And…” He nods. “And I’ll treat you any way you're comfortable being treated. Like a lad, a lassie, or neither. Okay?”
“Okay.” Dudu as good as whispers.
Zoltan opens his pack, pulling out the thick cloak he’s made a point of carrying ever since Caesar Bilzen drank his own bodyweight in wine and tripped over his own rod into the Pontar. “Do you want to wear this home, Dudu?”
The halfling nods, standing still as Zoltan drapes the cloak over trembling shoulders, pulling up the hood before pulling the cloak closed under Dudu’s chin.
“There. Do have a question for you? Because no doubt we’ll bump into Dandelion when we get home.”
Zoltan’s hand rests on Dudu’s arm.
“When talking about you to others, I’m always saying he or him. Should it be something else? Something that works for both? Like they and them, maybe?”
“Them?”
“Aye.”
“Them.” Dudu tries the word, looks down at the reflection in the murky waters of the Pontar.
“Them.” Dudu says again, and they smile.
“Let’s go with that, then.” Zoltan lowers his voice. “And...uh...thanks for telling me, Dudu. Feeling a bit honoured, not going to lie.”
“Yes, well, thanks for not running along the walls screaming.”
“Would have hurt my back in the climb.”
Dudu laughs, a smile coming to their face.
“Them.” They mouth the word to themself as they follow Zoltan home.