Chapter Text
9th Fessuran, Late Evening, Tolman House
Kismet
Kismet carries a blanket over one arm, and a plate of food in the other, and shoulders through the small door. Florian is already set up in the corner, sketchbook out, and Kismet throws him a small smile before settling next to them.
"I was right, Agatha had cooked far too much again."
He places the plate between them, easing himself to a sitting position, propped up by pillows. The house is quiet, most everyone else gone to bed. He pulls out his embroidery and loses himself to the repetitive movements.
Florian
Florian happily took some of the food on the plate, which was mostly fish and vegetables. "Bless Aggie's heart honestly." They mumbled to Kismet, munching happily on the fish.
They already had their sketchbook open, having begun loosely scratching out some scenes while Kismet went for food.
Florian wasn't drawing anything specific - just whatever came to mind. First some sunflowers, then a few distinctive landmarks along the coast that they could remember. From there, the half-elf quickly swapped to a new page. They began draw little frogs - initially quite rough ones as he tried to remember what one looked like, before moving into some more confident sketches.
Every so often, Florian lifted their book up to Kismet - not unlike a child trying to show off their work. It was nerve-wracking, their drawings came under performing in Florian's mind - and that itself just brought more anxiety.
They glanced at Kismet's embroidery as well. Admiring the little stitches and the motions the elf took to create them.
Kismet
Kismet lets his mind wander, every now and then stirring to examine the sketches Florian was making. Each time he's more and more impressed -- nothing he's tried to sketch has come out nearly as wonderful. He supposes Florian has had quite a bit of practice.
The silence is comfortable, the room warm and safe. Being in a family home like this feels unfamiliar, cozy. It's been a while since he's allowed himself to truly relax. The minutes and hours slip by, and with the plate empty he moves it to the side and shuffles closer to Florian's side. Eventually he pulls the final stitch through, and snips the thread.
"Ah! Done." He holds the coinpurse up, examining each row. It'll do.
Valac
It had already been several hours since sunset, although after his conversation with the twins he lost track of time. The ease with which he was able to bury himself in books when the subject mattered to him was a pleasant surprise, especially since he never used to be an avid reader.
With no idea of the time, he had no choice but to hope everyone would be asleep by the time he came back - after all, the streets were mostly empty of people, and lots of the residential houses had gone dark. The Tolman estate, however, had a window lit up, and it was just for a room Valac had to go through in order to reach any bedroom.
There was practically no good scenario here unless that was just Arabella, he contemplated as he climbed the stairs. And he was met with mild disappointment when he pushed the door open and found not her, but Kismet and Florian inside - certainly not asleep, in fact very actively occupied with... embroidery? Drawing? He narrowed his eyes at them wordlessly. It was ridiculously late for sure, at least for this.
"Ah. Good evening."
Kismet
Kismet startles as though being caught with something he isn't supposed to have. Valac stands in the doorway, and Kismet is entirely unprepared. He throws a glance to Florian, to the journal with frogs scrawled through it. The empty plate between them, two mugs balanced carefully. The blankets over their laps, embroidery scraps in a neat pile next to him.
"Oh. It's late," is all he says, any semblance of normal conversation dashed from his mind. He gestures at the plate. "Agatha made fish."
He blinks rapidly, ears burning. What kind of sentence was that? There's fish. And to an empty plate? In the end it makes him laugh, how ridiculous it must all look, and he shakes the tension from his shoulders.
"Did you...have a nice evening?"
Florian
Florian looks up suddenly at the noise, and smiles brightly as they see Valac.
"Oh hey Valac!" The half-elf waves, "come on in! Join us!"
They look at the plate Kismet points to. "We ate the fish."
Florian looks at Valac, and then at Kismet. And then at Valac again, and hold up their sketchbook - which was filled with drawings of little frogs.
Valac
He cocks an eyebrow at Kismet when he points to the completely empty plate between them and hesitantly steps into the room.
"Jury's still out. The evening's not over."
There's two whole empty couches, one of them left of Kismet, the other across the two. He goes for the one near Kismet, stops mid stride, not sure why he's even considering if that's appropriate, then goes for the other one. Stops again, this time in front if it, mind still catching up to the apparent dilemma that was choosing a seat. This was getting annoying. He's been basically inseparable from these two for the last month, what the fuck was his problem now?
There was a certain aura that carried in the air that he couldn't quite place his finger on, but then again, he was never particularly good at picking up on those things before the spells. And that, that for sure seemed vastly inappropriate now, especially since he definitely didn't want the mirror turned on him instead.
"Are you two not tired? What time is it?"
Kismet
Kismet watches bemusedly as Valac walks with purpose to the couch near him, then appears to change his mind mid-stride. Leaning back, he tweaks open the curtains, looking out at the night sky. It's clear enough to see the stars, and there's no sign of dawn, thank goodness.
"Must be past midnight." He lets the curtain fall back, cocking his head at Valac. "I don't really need to sleep long. And Florian has been sleeping just about all day." He holds up his embroidery unnecessarily. "Just working on something."
With a start, he looks down at his work, a number of samples of tiny embroidered frogs he's been practicing. He folds it up, setting it to his side, out of sight.
"Um." He can't fathom why he's stuttering over his words. Normally when Valac flusters him at least he can form a coherent sentence, but something about the conversation with Florian combined with all that had happened that day, his mind is simply a vast fog.
"Are you tired?"
Florian
"Mmmm I slept too much and now I can't sleep." Florian contributed. They sketched up another frog which was held up to Kismet, and then Valac.
Valac
He smiles at Florian's drawing, a bit taken aback. He wasn't half-bad with the pencil himself, but Florian's sketch was something else.
"Well, that explains why the streets were empty. And no, not quite tired, mind is still-" he taps a finger to his temple, trying to find the right words. "Mind still racing."
His eyes dart between the two of them, clearly looking back at him with some sort of expectation. Is he missing something major here? Because it did look just like an evening of arts and crafts. He catches the detail of Kismet's coin purse then, a bright red thread cutting through the rest of the imagery.
"Ah, trying to tie in that name we came up with, I see," he leans in a little and nods in its direction. I went back to the Soul. For research. He's not even sure why he tells him, but he settles on the comfort of knowing he can.
Kismet
Kismet picks up the coinpurse and runs his thumb across the embroidery, happy to send his thoughts elsewhere. "Just something to do. There are symbols for each of us." His thumb pauses on the green apples. "You can probably guess yours."
Valac's voice resonates in his head, and looks up with more clarity than he's felt since the tiefling entered the room.
Everything all right? he sends back. With the racing mind, I mean.
He hesitates a moment. Perhaps this morning he might not have said more, but with a glance at Florian he feels reassured. They're friends now, and that means offering help when it's needed. And even if he messes up royally, at least he'll have Florian to offer their consolations.
If you need to clear your mind, I'm here.
Florian
Florian flips over to the next page in their sketchbook, having run out of room again.
They move their pencil slightly, unsure of what to draw now. Glancing around did nothing much to spark inspiration until they looked at Valac again, and then Kismet once more.
Ah.
The half-elf began to draw quietly.
Valac
Well. Once again, early to say. I think I just need something to take my mind off everything. Or just sleep but-
The thought fizzles out as he glances at Florian, nose deep in his notebook again. They used to room before the road, before Nicodranas. Before he had to figure out how to stop. Right now, it seemed like he wouldn't be getting a good night's rest anyway, not unless the Tolman also had a cat around the house.
With a sigh, he gets up and steps over the coffee table until he's right in front of Kismet, then squats down in front of him until he's just at eye level with the coin purse. Yes, he can see it now, the green apples. That must have been his detail. Scattered are also various flowers, stars, wolves. He chuckles at the loaf of bread - surely for Agatha. And the raven feathers at the bottom.
"You should've added crescent moons as well, for you," he looks up at Kismet from his spot. "Although I guess they would work for Arabella, too, that could get confusing."
Kismet
Kismet keeps his eye on Valac as he steps across the space, and when he crouches down it takes every nerve in him to stay still. He holds the coinpurse still as Valac examines it, suddenly nervous. He's never given much thought to what others might think of his embroidery or sewing, but in this moment he's hanging on each moment that passes, waiting for some sign of approval.
Valac mentions the crescent moons, and Kismet meets his gaze, fingers tightening against the blanket.
Without thinking he sends, This moon isn't mine. He blinks, shaking his head slightly. Shaken. He's still shaken from earlier, and it's slipping into his speech.
Midnight walks have helped before. Unfamiliar city, unfamiliar streets. Could be...distracting. He swallows, taken aback by his own forwardness.
Florian
Disturbed by the movement between all the silence, Flori looked up from their drawing. It was a small thing, two cartoon figures of Kimset and Valac smiling.
They regarded Valac, who had placed himself in front of Kismet. That couldn't be completely comfortable.
Florian moved the cup and empty plate away, placing them on the table in front. They then shifted themselves slightly over to make room.
"Valac?" They started, patting the newly made space between them and Kismet. "Do you want to sit down?"
Valac
Valac mirrors his blinks, the sudden response a bit too unexpected, too sharp. Even if it's not, you seem to care about it a lot.
He's sure he's seen the elf grasp his earring one too many times for it to be insignificant. But his mind quickly wanders at the prospect of a walk. It would help. It would help figure out a lot. He'd just have to be careful.
Is this one a date then? Since our last night walk wasn't. He sends to Kismet, the seeds of a wicked smile on his face.
"Apologies, Florian," he turns to the half elf as he gets up. "But Kismet's just asked me out, so how about later?"
Florian
Florian tilts their head to one side. They were sure they hadn't heard Kismet say anything. Besides, it didn't really sound the elf to suddenly ask someone out like that.
But they did see the smile Valac sent to the elf. And then their brain caught up enough to remember the Tiefling's mind talky thingy.
They must have been talking through that. That makes so much more sense, Florian just thought it was time to sit in silence.
"Ah well, another time then." Florian replied with a sly smile, happy about actually catching onto a joke for once. "Go on then, have fun~ Stay safe, don't make poor choices, etc etc etc, y'know?" they sang, using a light-hearted tone - one Flori normally reserved for Elias, whenever he was trying to sneak out of the house to spend time with Seldros.
Kismet
At Valac's jab, Kismet jumps, waving his hands between the two. "It's not like that, Florian, really--"
Florian seems to catch that it's a joke, but his jibe brings Kismet to cover his face in his hands. He sighs, resigned, and speaks into his palms. "Don't wait up, alright? The hours are going to catch up with you before you can think."
Rubbing his face, he steals a quick glance at Valac while he's turned away. He isn't normally one to admit that his mind is running too fast to keep up. Kismet wonders if anything happened in the time he was in the Cobalt Reserve, just him and Arabella. Or the hours since. Kismet is still unbalanced, the slow revelations working their way through his mind.
He pushes aside the blanket, putting his things away neatly. He leaves the party's coinpurse with Florian, bringing just his and his small satchel. Getting to his feet, he fetches his cloak from where he left it by the door, and his hand hovers by the hat. No, not for the night.
Clasping the cloak shut over his shoulders, he looks behind him to eye Valac's thin scarf. "Will you be warm enough?"
Valac
He can't help but laugh at the question, but it's really almost charming. He decides he'll feel bad to continue the jab, especially since Kismet sounds so genuine, the worry in his features too apparent.
It's so, so hard to not twist it against him. He waves a dismissive hand and hold out the door open.
"I'll be fine, we're on the coast. Nights out aren't as cold as Rexxentrum."
And indeed, a soft breeze hits them outside, and for a moment Valac imagines Kismet's hat flying out in the wind. That is, if he had taken it with. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches the elf trail by him, and wonders if he's ever seen him deliberately leave the hat behind.
"Where are we even going?" he slows down a little. "I suppose we can just pick a direction. You travelled east before, while I travelled west, so let's switch it up - north or south?"
Kismet
Kismet takes a deep breath as they step out of the threshold. The stones of the Prism Path are smooth against his boots, the streets around him quiet. The clear night stretches over them, and he turns in a slow circle, taking in the surroundings. The city rises in tiers above, gradually reaching its zenith where he can just make out the silhouette of one of the huge crescent moon statues. Below, the Tumbledowns and the port, then on to the white sand and calm ocean.
It's familiar and strange all at once. In new towns on his travels he would take walks like this, just him and the stars. It's a little off, but he can still pick out some familiar constellations, just on the horizon. He pauses his slow circle, landing back at Valac. Not alone, this time.
"How about south? We'll either reach the ocean or one of those moon statues. Which admittedly, I am curious about." He starts to walk, a strange tightness in his chest. He decides it's nerves, for being almost alone in an unfamiliar city.
Valac
The moon statues. There it is again. Valac bites his tongue for the second time.
"The south it is! Hopefully we manage to find our way back. Not many people to ask for directions if we get lost."
He pauses to take in their surroundings. South and up the hill, to the area littered with moon statues, and then down to the other side, where the docks were. Quite the walk.
"I went to the market today, it's on the other side of this," he waves his hand in circles in front of them. "Fancy rich people area. I did forget to get one thing though, so I'm hoping if we reach the beach I can search for it."
He turns to Kismet with a curious glance. They haven't really talked much since... well.
"Anything interesting you did or saw? You know, besides the giant plant monster from the morn."
Kismet
Kismet laughs softly through his nose. "Fancy rich people, hm?" He plucks at his well-worn cloak. "I'm afraid I'd stand out a little. As amusing as it would be to wander the streets like some kind of ghost and scare them all out of their wits, perhaps we should avoid the Zhelezo being called down on us this night."
He starts off, heading in the vague direction of the beach. "I ah...I picked up some supplies from a small market off the other way. Closer to the farms."
He reaches for his hat nervously, and remembers it's not there. Normally he'd not leave it anywhere out of reach, but with Florian to keep an eye on it he's not too concerned. He frowns at the realisation that he trusts Florian at least so much as to not let anyone take it.
He walks on in silence a little longer, the awkwardness pressing over like a thick blanket. For the life of him, he can't pin why it feels awkward. With a huff, he pushes the cloak back over his shoulders. Valac was right--the night air isn't so chill here. His forearms are bare, his bracers and gloves left behind.
"Hm. Warm." A flush of embarrassment colours his face. "I mean, you did say it would be. This time of year the morning frosts are already starting up north." He shakes his head, frustrated with his poor attempt at small talk. If he didn't think he could bore Valac more, he just had to outdo himself by talking about the weather.
Valac
"That would be funny, I'll admit," he smiles at the mental image of someone Kismet's size absolutely terrifying the citizens of this place. "Although it's probably for the better we stay clear of any Zhelezo."
If they got into enough trouble to get thrown into a cell for the night, it would be just another Folsen for Valac. Kismet, however...
He stops his train of thought at the mention of the weather, glad for the distraction before curiosity got the better of him. Then the elf also pushes his cloak back, and his eye catches on the tattoo detail that peeks through. That is... a very unfortunate circumstance for him. He worries at his lip, almost wishes there was a ring there to catch on. Maybe he should seek out a piercer here.
"Ah, the Empire north. Can't say I've enjoyed it much. And is it Fessuran already?"
He pushes his scarf back as well, catches it's two ends so that it flails in the wind behind him, like an oversized kite. "I haven't had a warm birthday in years. Well, since the empire, really. Maybe I'll ask Sarven for a ride to the coast this year."
Kismet
"Your birthday isn't far away then?" He tilts his head, looking up at Valac. "Mine's a little more than a month off. The twentieth of Quen'Pillar." He rubs at his face. "I haven't really celebrated it in a long time. Not much reason to."
He folds his arms, lost to thought for a moment. "It lies very close to Civilisation's Dawn, and more often than not, the feasts were more important." His grip on his forearms is hard. "I...is it foolish to think it might be different this year? I know so many people now, I wonder that you might want to celebrate with me. All of us, I mean."
He frowns, his eyes on the colourful stones of the street. It can't be fashionable to invite other people to celebrate your birthday for you. Or perhaps it's fine. He's not sure how it's supposed to be done out here.
Valac
"No, mine's not that close. Winter's Crest."
The question of celebration makes him consider how mundane such a small event is. To be able to afford that, to have a group of people - and judging by Kismet's words, the idea is novel to him as well.
"But a month from now, assuming we haven't gotten ourselves killed, or worse... I can see Florian insisting on a celebration for you, whether you want to or not", he chuckles. "Agatha would cook enough food for a group three times our size. Oh! I can do your makeup. And get you a nice party outfit. How do you feel about corsets?"
He turns to Kismet just to catch the blush that by now he's certain is forming - just in time to instead spot a group of Zhelezo passing by in the distance, the clanking of their boots rhythmically bouncing off buildings. Seems like they've reached the rich part of town already.
He points in the direction. "Ah, we should probably start being more careful. That patrol's too far to notice us, but just a heads up. Here," he places a hand on Kismet's elbow and drags him along to the nearest alleyway. "Catha's going to be working against us with the full moon, but if we keep to the shadows we should be good."
Unlike the Tri-Spire of Zadash, Port Damali's fancy neighborhood wasn't fully guarded during the day, but he wasn't ready to take chances during the night. The day had been stressful enough as it were, and he was mostly tapped as well.
Kismet
Winter’s Crest.
His feet stutter on the uneven cobble, but he catches himself, his mind ringing. Valac is looking ahead, lit by moonlight, talking softly. Kismet is taken back, and his eyes widen. Every Winter’s Crest, alone, his thin hands lighting incense and placing it at his shrine. He doesn’t think of celebrations and feasts and gift-giving. He thinks of the height of winter, of ice and death and the still grave, of one of the Matron’s holy days. He would sit at his shrine, the raven feather standing amongst the ash, and pray for an end, or a direction, or a beginning.
Something hums within him, a delicate nail plucking a thread, a tether.
He opens his mouth to say something, anything, to respond to a single word Valac said, and then a hand is at his elbow, pulling him into the shadow. He only hears the sharp clatter of armour at that moment, and shakes himself, pulling his thoughts together just enough to berate himself. The darkness of the alley swallows them up, and it’s all he can do to let himself be led along, Valac’s fingers like fire upon his skin.
“Lead the way,” he breathes, barely enough air left in him to make sound.
Valac
They walk in silence, the narrow alleyway forcing them to fall in line, Valac leading the way. He can't help but feel that something is off, has been for a while now, with the feeling has only increasing. This walk was supposed to take his mind off everything but unbidden, it wanders back to their morning. Keldrym's condition, Arabella's family, how Agatha's smile made him feel. No wonder he nearly had a breakdown in front of the twins.
And now, this? He briefly wonders just how much he's let his guard down, to hand over the poison and lose the antidote like that. If he's been enjoying a false sense of security, maybe he's subconsciously trying to see the truth now. After all, the protections... But with his emotions running amok, he could also just be getting too paranoid. He throws a glance behind his shoulder to Kismet in search of any detail that he might have missed.
He's already looking at him and Valac almost stumbles.
It's not a look of malice, mistrust, or even fear, that much is evident. But it's also not a look Valac can safely say he's seen before, on anyone, and instead helping him paint a clearer picture it only confuses him more.
"Ah," he has to turn back away, feeling his face warm for some reason. "We'll be out in the open soon so. Be vigilant."
The alleyway exit leads them straight to a small square, a moon statue right in the middle of it. Regretfully, there's also a Watchtower to their immediate right. He extends an arm back to stop Kismet, then beckons him to switch places. Easier to keep track of him and focus without the feeling of eyes on his back.
They keep as close to the buildings as possible, and thankfully, the square appears fully empty. It's not until they approach a vent that everything almost goes to shit, as Kismet steps directly on it and the metal lid screeches. Perhaps something easily ignored when the place is bustling, now the sound reverberates. In immediate panic, without even thinking, he grasps at Kismet's elbow again and pulls him to the side, instinctually covering the elf's mouth as well. They find themselves behind a cart, and he immediately lets him go.
"Fuck, sorry. I- I, that was stupid of me," he whispers, barely audible enough. He's frozen.
Kismet
Kismet is half-present. Everything in his being is screaming at him to pay attention, to concentrate on his footfalls, anything, but he can’t. Everything else is a strange blur, and all he can do is stare at Valac’s back, his figure the only thing in focus. So he doesn’t see the grate, has no time to adjust his footfall, and the screech that echoes through the empty plaza sends his heart to his mouth.
He grabs for his amulet out of instinct, but before he can whisper any kind of component to help them escape, Valac’s hand is on his elbow again. He lets himself be pulled, putting an arm out to catch himself against the wall. Valac’s hand covers his mouth, his back pressed against the brick, heart hammering so hard he’s sure Valac can feel it.
The moment only lasts for a few seconds before Valac pulls away, apologising. Kismet’s palms are flat against the brick behind him, and he fears if it weren’t for that he might have dropped to the ground. Despite both of them crouching out of sight, he still has to look up at the tiefling. So it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts, scattered as they’ve been for the past few minutes.
“It’s fine, you’re fine.” His voice is hushed, listening now for any sign of movement beyond their hiding place. “I should be the one apologising—if you hadn’t moved so quickly…”
He shakes his head, eyes never leaving Valac’s, all too aware of the space between them. How it feels so vast, yet too close, all at once.
Valac
"I assume you're not used to sneaking around in towns. Just watch your feet," he straightens up a little to scan the area beyond the cart. From what he can see, thankfully no movement.
Slowly rising up, he extends a hand for Kismet to take. He just about freaked out there, for having crossed a boundary he wasn't aware of. It only makes him realize how silly it has been to not say anything about his. He keeps his eyes ahead of them, falling in step with the elf when they slowly creep away from the cart, and hopes that his instincts won't betray him now, even if he can't rely on vision alone.
If there's anything I should know… where you don't like to be touched, what I shouldn't do. Tell me now. I get handsy with people I like so. Better safe than sorry.
He laughs to himself before a response comes through. It's not like we have a great track record in this group, he adds.
Kismet
Valac extends his hand, and Kismet takes it without question. His heart is thudding almost painfully, loud enough he's sure the Zhelezo would be able to track him down without difficulty. He treads with more care as they continue onward, his ears burning. He can't believe he was so floored by such a revelation that he couldn't pay attention to anything else.
Valac's voice slides into his mind and he almost jumps with shock. But the words make him smile.
I'm surprised we haven't spoken about it sooner, myself. Although, I suppose I hadn't expected to be so close...
He trails off in Valac's mind, considering his response. I get overwhelmed easily with too much touch, I think. I've only found that since leaving home. It feels...claustrophobic. Too many people, piling on at once-
He shudders involuntarily. It calls back to a faded memory, one he's not examined. Not lately.
One person, though? That's fine. What you've been doing has been - it's the right amount.
He looks away, into the dark windows as they pass by sleepy homes. He wouldn't mind more, he thinks, but just to himself.
And you? Tell me, please. I'm afraid I may have already overstepped boundaries I hadn't known about.
He turns to watch Valac, bright to Kismet's eyes despite the deep shadow of the alley.
Valac
Nothing that wasn’t my fault. I should have said as much.
He hesitates, feels the tiny pinpricks of fear start to creep up his spine. It’s almost like the words don’t want to leave him. He’s certain they wouldn’t, for the second time today, if he had to speak them out.
It’s not always. Just the wrists. Usually a heads up is enough to… not mind it.
He wraps the scarf tighter around himself, the ocean breeze a bit too cold for a second. Surely, he can trust Kismet with this alone, yet it feels different than with Agatha. He risks a glance at the elf.
Why can’t he figure him out?
Before he can ponder on it more, the unmistakable sound of guard armour rings ahead. They’re near another clearing, and apparently their luck is running out.
Another patrol. We either go around or figure out how to get him to move away. Any ideas?
Kismet
Alright. And let me know if anything changes, and I’ll do the same.
Kismet flinches as he remembers with vivid clarity that morning at Acis’ estate. He had grabbed Valac by the wrist, had dragged him. Although Valac said it was through no fault of his own, Kismet can’t help but feel like he had breached some kind of trust with Valac that day. It doesn’t make sense, to think of it that way, but the sinking feeling in his heart is the only emotion he can attribute it to.
Valac wraps the scarf tighter around him, and Kismet almost sends him a told you so, when the sound of a nearby patrol sounds. He bites his lip, slowing his footfalls even further. He leads on a short way, peeking out of the mouth of the alley just enough to get an idea of what they are facing. There’s another plaza, though this one does not have a statue. Just an elaborate fountain, wires stretching from nearby buildings, strung with bright lanterns. A patrol of two Zhelezo is crossing the space. There’s almost nothing between them and the other side of the plaza, only a few narrow alleyways.
He tucks back into the shadow, and almost beckons Valac to lean down so he can whisper before he remembers their mental connection is still in place. I have a bit of a stupid idea. Worst case scenario, the Zhelezo chase us, and we try and outrun them. Best case, we make a fool of them and walk straight past.
With careful movements, he leans down and plucks a bright stone from the alley floor, hefting it in his palm. Unhooking the sling from his belt, he sets the rock within it.
First, let me give us a little help. He touches his amulet with the hand still gripping his sling, then beckons with a finger for Valac to lean down. He’ll need to make contact, and whether it’s their silent conversation or the newfound trust, his fingers shake where he reaches toward Valac’s face.
With a quick glance to the plaza to make sure they’re alone, he whispers the verbal component to the spell. Then he swallows, reaching up, the somatic movement brushing aside Valac’s fringe. It’s a feather-light touch, right to his forehead, and he feels the spell take hold. He leaves his two forefingers there for a moment longer than strictly necessary, then pulls away.
Cat’s grace. It will make both of us lighter on our feet, for another hour.
He takes in a large breath, then whispers, “Will you follow where I lead?”
Valac
He watches the two Zhelezo approach, still unaware of their presence. If it were a patrol of one, he would’ve taken care of it, but he’s too tapped for both. When the words reach him he smiles, bemused. I’m not running in those heels, Kismet. You better have something good.
Then Kismet picks a stone from the ground and sends it in the opposite direction as Valac watches with mild fascination. He leans down when asked, perhaps a little too quick, only halfway though the motion realizing that the prospect of whatever’s going to happen next excites him to no end.
The touch lingers, and he doesn’t think, for a while. Not until it’s gone and he blinks away, the side of his mouth curling up. He has to say it. He has to. He’s been holding back on being horrible for so long.
“You? Yes”, immediately, it feels too honest, and he knows he can’t leave it at that. “I’ve always imagined leading myself, but I could be convinced to let you come out on top.”
As much as he wants to stay in the moment, they only have a brief window while the Zhelezo are distracted - which thankfully, they are, as they immediately head in the direction of the stone.
Kismet
”You? Yes.”
The response is so quick, and it sends a thrill through Kismet. Only to be stoked once more by the next statement. He opens his mouth to retort, a blush threatening to crawl from his chin to his hairline, but there’s no time for that. Instead, he beckons once more, and slips into the open plaza on quiet feet. Divine magic guides his footfalls, leading him around debris and the occasional loose stone. He can’t hear Valac behind him, and he looks back, but the tiefling is following. Just as he’s said. Kismet can’t stop himself smiling, the thrill of sneaking around guards equal parts terrifying and liberating. The Zhelezo stalk further away, their wicked blades drawn and violent mutters on their lips.
Valac and Kismet stick to the shadows, skirting around the fountain in the centre, then disappearing like ghosts into another alley. Kismet’s heart is in his throat, and it’s only after walking another block that it catches up to him. What is he doing, slinking down back alleys in a wealthy district halfway across the continent? And not even alone! He has to hold his hand to his mouth to stop himself laughing.
He slows to a stop, resting his back against the alley wall for a moment. His pulse is loud in his ears, and he holds his palm to his chest. “Matron, I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared. I don’t know what possessed me.” But the grin remains on his face.
Valac
And he follows, eyes trained on the frame in front of him. He tells himself it's to prevent another slip-up. When they're finally out of the shadows and Kismet is barely containing himself, he feels some tension roll off his shoulders. He was on edge, he now realizes, but the laughter is infectious.
"Scared? You seem to be enjoying yourself," he breathes out, wary.
His lungs are finally able to expand, as if he's just ran a mile, and his legs are shaking. Was he really worrying that much over Kismet? That can't be it. He slouches on the wall next to him for a moment's pause.
"You know, when we return, I think we should probably take the long way back and just go around. I barely have any spe-"
"You! Show yourselves!"
His blood runs cold. He got distracted, both of them did, as careless as children. Fuck. Well, this can either go swimmingly or terribly bad.
He pushes himself off the wall and steps towards the approaching figure, a single patrol. So far so good. His back, where his component pouch is, is thankfully turned to Kismet, and he can stealthily sneak out a small vial without the Zhelezo noticing. When he starts spewing threats and questions at them, Valac just smiles, although his heart is pounding.
"I have a suggestion for you instead. Show us the shortest way out of here and make sure no one else bothers us."
His grip on the vial relaxes when he feels the spell take hold. Malleable and and timid, the Zhelezo nods and doesn't speak another word, instead just turning around and leading them out of the alleyway. Valac simply nods, entirely to himself, and extends a hand for Kismet to take.
He won't hear us like this. He won't say anything if we speak as well, but he'll remember it.
Kismet
Kismet jumps at the Zhelezo’s voice, pressing himself into the wall, ready to bolt. The only thing that stops him dashing at a full sprint back the way they came is the knowledge he would run straight into the patrol they just avoided, and the fact that Valac has started walking towards the guard. So he waits, heart pounding, eyes wide, the sound of chains and locking key rattling in his mind.
You could disappear, he thinks to himself. Fold sideways into shadow. Run.
But he doesn’t, because Valac is stepping closer to the approaching Zhelezo, and he’s not going to leave him alone.
When Valac speaks, his voice is layered with mesmer, honeyed tones that drip with icy sweetness. A spell of some kind. Whatever it is, the guard relaxes, complacent, and sheathes his weapon. Kismet breathes long and deep, hand still clutching so tight to his amulet he’s probably scratched it with his ring.
Then Valac holds out his hand.
He stares at it for a beat, for two. Then extends his own, still shaking with adrenaline, and rests it on Valac’s palm. He tries not to think about how soft his skin is. He tries not to think about how it feels like a tether, how if the ground were to drop from beneath their feet, he’d be held still. He tries not to examine how his heart slows, his breathing calm.
He tries not to, and fails miserably.
A pretty trick, he sends, wondering if his wavering tone translates through the connection.
Valac
Could've been real useful several years ago. The answer comes too quick, once again, and curses himself for it internally. But he simply leads Kismet behind him, as if he'll drift away with the tide. There's a heavy weight on his chest, one that he does not wish to confront - underneath it lies the fear that he will actually go, simply disappear if he drops his hand.
Two blocks down, he wonders why he questions Kismet's every motive when he's away from him. Why he questions everything about him if he can't see him.
Three blocks down, he wonders why he just wants him here now. So what if he's lying about everything he's ever said. Weren't friends supposed to be there for each other anyway? Isn't that how it works?
Four blocks down, he wonders if they're friends.
By the time they're almost out of the neighborhood, he realizes that Kismet called the spell "pretty".
Did you just call my spell pretty? He whips back to him for it, completely incredulous. Absolutely no one's ever referred to his magic in a positive way whatsoever.
The sound of armor ahead of them stops then, as the Zhelezo, now their silent, loyal escort, points in the direction of red roofs to the south.
"We'll be alright from here, thanks", he says, and finally releases Kismet's hand to bow down, theatrically and entirely too sarcastic, before heading to the safety of a normal neighborhood. "Now, where were we going?"
Kismet
Valac doesn’t let go, not for a long while. They walk in silence, and Kismet’s mind is buzzing so loud he’s worried a part of it will leak into Valac’s mind. Is he holding too tightly? Too loose? Valac might think his calluses are too rough. What if it’s unpleasant? Why does Kismet care about that?
By the time the Zhelezo leaves them, he’s no more sure of the emotions coursing through him than ten minutes ago. Valac drops his hand, and the air is cold against his palm. He stretches out his fingers, watching the Zhelezo until he’s out of sight. Only then does he relax fully, his thoughts catching up with him.
“I think it’s this way. At least, I can smell the ocean on the air here.” He starts walking, keeping in step beside Valac. Pressing his lips together, he considers the couple of thoughts sent his way. “Well, considering my own magic…things that are dark or unusual, scorned by most people, those are the things I find pretty, I suppose. Or comfortable. Familiar.”
He realises his words aren’t making a lot of sense, as they wind down a narrow stone staircase between two buildings. It’s how most people react to his divine magic. They see his amulet, and the black void, and see fear instead of warmth.
With a soft chuckle, he tries to set his thoughts in order. “I suppose…things that look frightening or carry superstitious connotations don’t necessarily scare me. I always feel like if I can just look closer, peer beneath the veil, I’d be able to find something comforting, or…pretty. And I don’t mean like a diamond or some kind of shining light. I mean a darkness that knows itself, a polished stone the reflects all the horrors of the world, and the good with it. I see things like that, and I see myself.”
He cuts off his rambling as they reach the bottom of the staircase. In the distance, he can make out the masts of docked ships, and the white sands of the beach not too far beyond that.
He thinks he ought to be embarrassed about his words, but he isn't. Even if they don’t make sense, or are too flowery, he doesn’t think Valac would judge him for it.
Valac
They pause at the bottom of the staircase. "What if it's not pretty. What lies beneath the surface. Then what do you do?"
Docked ships sway gently in the distance. It's a peaceful night, considering their escapades. Catha, in its full glory, illuminates the ocean as if it were mercury — at least that way, it doesn't seem so black.
He swallows, looks back down to Kismet with a nervous smile and tries to soften the edge.
"Apologies. I might be getting a bit too philosophical, and we were supposed to… ease off? In any case, that's a good outlook, and one not many people share."
The red roofed neighborhood sits asleep before them, much more welcoming and familiar. He explored all the small alleyways and streets around the market in search of interesting trinkets and goods, although he bought none of them. There was just the charm in finding what a place like this had tucked away, hidden from plain view. He recognizes one of the stores they pass by, the lavender curtains now drawn closed. The shopkeep tried their hardest to get him to buy a small music box that played a soft, gentle melody. It plucked a string within him, a stark contrast to the cacophony of whispers he now knew he could conjure.
"If I find my component," he begins, then laughs. Kismet didn't know what he was talking about. "There's a spell that I didn't buy the component for, today. I can probably find it on the beach. But if I do… you might not find it pretty. The extent of what I can-"
The words die on his tongue as he silently chips away a piece of nail polish.
Kismet
Kismet cocks his head, peering up into Valac's face. The streets are silent, the only sound the gentle lapping of waves, the creaking of wood from the boats, and the sharp click of Valac's nails. He smiles, soft, and catches Valac's hands for just a moment, halting his nervous habit.
"I worked hard on those nails, didn't I?" He pats Valac's hands, then lets his arms drop, starting to head toward the direction of the beach. "Ask Agatha and she'd tell you I enjoy philosophical debates to a fault. I won't push it. However..."
He pulls his cloak tighter around him, the wind off the coast a little stronger here. "If I were to face that hypothetical darkness, and it weren't pretty? Well. I suppose I'd treat it with the awe it's asking. Perhaps I'd stare defiantly into the void, let fear freeze my limbs where I stand."
They pause in another alley between the red tiled roofs, not far from the dockhousess, and Kismet steps close, almost toe to toe. "But if it's you? Why should I feel anything but warmth, and safety? I trust you," he says, and the words cause his throat to catch for a moment, "and I place little stock in the appearance of things. Beautiful or frightening, it is the intent and purpose behind that thing that matters."
Valac
It scares him, more than anything, that the words sound so sincere. He must have finally lost his marbles, because how can that not be a lie? When Kismet doesn’t know, anything. His breaths are uneven and he tries to conceal it, working against the tightness in his chest.
“If you’re lying. I can read your mind and tell,” He steps in, even closer than Kismet dared, until they’re almost sharing the same breath. “So don’t be, and I won’t.”
He doesn’t want to move, not yet, but the memory of being pushed away still grips him. It’s not what he wants. Leave him be.
With a sigh, he closes his eyes and separates. They’re almost to the beach now, and he can smell it.
“As for those,” he waves the hand in front of him. “Work again, then. You've got a steady hand, unless I'm interfering with it."
Kismet
He can't help lean back, his fingers splaying against the brick behind him. He stares up at Valac, blue eyes meeting grey, and reads the truth in his words. It takes an enormous effort to steady his breathing, to keep his gaze high. Valac pulls back after a moment, a breath that is both too long and not long enough.
Kismet regains what composure he can muster, but all he settles on is that he was telling the truth, and that frightens him more than anything. Can trust work only one way? He's done little to earn anyone's trust, here. While Valac moves off, he stands in the comforting shadow of the alley for a few seconds before following.
"I can have very steady hands," he mutters, almost petulantly, as they finally break through to the shoreline. The sand is bright, peppered with the colourful stones that give the Prisma Path its name. Some way in the distance, there's a rock shelf, shattered black stone piercing from the earth.
As they make their way to the sand, he tries not to think about whether Valac has read his mind before, and what he could have found. If he had, he's sure Valac would have held him by the throat in that alley.
Valac
He snorts, walking ahead while the elf catches up.
“Kismet, you’re worse than I am, aren’t you,” he turns to him with a smirk, the subtle jab not lost to him, although he briefly wonders why there’s images playing in his mind now.
When they finally reach it, the beach is quiet, barely any waves. He breathes in, deep, as salty air fills his nostrils. If he could take it all the way inside, have it cleanse the events of the day, he would, even if it stings like on an open wound.
“So,” he bends down and unclasps his boots, takes them off and leaves them to the side. The sand is has already lost almost all the warmth it must have had, and he moves his toes around, burying them deeper. It only gets colder the further down they sink. “Did you have anything you needed? Or did you actually just want to take me out?”
Kismet
In truth, he hadn't meant the quip to be taken that way at all, and he feels a flush crawl up his neck. His mind is still aflame, buzzing with questions he wishes to ply Valac with. He doesn't start, though. Not yet. From all he's said, it sounds like Valac has had an eventful day.
He sits himself on one of the haphazard boulders leading down to the sand and begins untying his boots. At Valac's question, his fingers stall on the laces. He'd wanted only to help clear Valac's head, but now that they've arrived he suddenly remembers the other reason for wanting to visit the beach.
"Arabella told me the beaches here are littered with colourful stones and sea glass. I wanted to find some, see if I can sand it back and make something of it." He resumes taking off his boots and knitted socks, then rests his feet in the sand. Breathes in the salt and brine. "But...yes. Mostly I wanted to help take your mind off things. Whatever those things were."
He looks away, a soft blush colouring his cheekbones. He should deny that he was asking to take him out. Because he wasn't. He's just trying to be helpful. Yet he keeps his mouth shut.
He gets to his feet, hovers his fingers on the clasp of his cloak. The breeze isn't too bad, and he's used to much colder days up north. He unclasps it and folds it neatly, setting it on top of his boots.
"Night-time walks are just one way I clear my mind." He pats the satchel at his side. "I brought along my writing things for that reason, in case you needed something more...cathartic."
Valac
His ears twitch at the mention of sea glass. That must have been what he found, back in Nicodranas. The stone appeared solid black until placed under direct sunlight, which fractured among the hidden trenches of its core. Cracked inside, smooth on the outside. Pretty.
He glances at Kismet.
His hand instinctually goes to his pouch - he has no use of the pebble, while the elf might. Yet he aches at the thought of parting with it.
“I used to keep a journal. It helped,” he dusts off the sand off his feet and turns to leave his scarf behind. “I’m not sure why I stopped, maybe just… being around people started being enough.”
A small wave crashes behind him, and he looks back at it where it dissipates. It’s black, but it's moving, as if alive, and it’s comforting. Before he has a chance to overthink it, he takes off his shirt, unclasps his belt, leaves everything in a pile not even bothering to look twice at it, until it’s just his underpants left. Three long strides, and his feet touch the water.
It’s… warm. Surprisingly so. He watches as the shallow lines of his scar blur below the surface, and steps further in.
“You know, actually I’m glad we came,” he stops when he’s midway in and turns to wave Kismet over. “Are you scared of the deep?”
Kismet
“I’m not sure why I stopped, maybe just… being around people started being enough."
Kismet smiles to himself at that. Conversely, he's written more this past month than in the last few years back home. He sets aside his satchel, resting his hand on the clasp, considering. Perhaps before they start combing the beach, he could write something. He turns to suggest this to Valac, and freezes.
He can't say why it's different than at the bath house. He grips the satchel, eyes wide, his head filled with a dull buzz. By the time his muscles catch up to his brain and he averts his gaze, Valac is already beckoning him into the water.
His heart is hammering. Why is it different? There's no difference, he tells himself. It's just a dip in the ocean.
Swallowing hard, he braves another look, just to see if the waves are as wild as the surf at Nicodranas. It's calm, relatively. The stars wreath the horizon, Catha painting its reflection on the water. And Valac, lit softly by it all.
His mind stops working again, but his body does not. With quick but deliberate movements he mimics Valac, but leaves everything neatly folded away from the sand. He's acutely aware of his scars, of his tattoos. He keeps moving, unsure if he's more scared that he'd change his mind or that he's going to go through with it. Stepping quickly across the beach, the stones hard against his feet, he wades cautiously into the surf.
It's warmer than he expected. Not quite the same as Nicodranas, but certainly not cold. Hugging his arms around him, he keeps his chin down. If he looks at Valac one more time he might chicken out. Whem the water reaches his waist, he stops. A moment later his mind finally clears, and he properly grasps the situation.
He presses his lips together, a frown working its way over his face, along with the expected blush. "I ah...I still can't swim very well." Tentatively, he holds his hands out, moving them back and forth through the water. The reflections of the stars scatter as he makes small eddies. It's calming.
He still can't bring himself to look directly at Valac. It would be like looking into a bright flame, and he'd imprint upon the inside of Kismet's eyelids, a permanent afterimage. So he addresses the surface of the water, watching his hands move.
"When I can't keep everything in my head, when it all starts to weigh me down, I write about it on paper. Sometimes it's in the form of letters, or just a stream of consciousness. And then I burn it, watch the ash float away." He walks forward a couple of steps, the water reaching his scar. "Some I keep. There are some things I can't afford to forget."