Chapter Text
The Corinthian yawns, stretches, and changes the television channel.
Yes, that Corinthian, the tall handsome one with the sunglasses and the cream-beige wardrobe. Yes, the one with the knives. Yes, he still has those knives, they’re sheathed and tucked into the harness he always wears, which is currently belted over his grey pyjama shirt. The snug, professional leather contrasts frighteningly against the sleepy pyjama look.
Yes, he’s in pyjamas. What’s wrong with that? He’s the Corinthian. He can wear anything he wants to and kill the look dead. And it’s a Friday. A lazy Friday morning. Yes, the Corinthian is channel surfing on a Friday morning, but that’s only because he’s off today. He’s been working hard. Yes, he has a human job. He has a human job by day and his nightmare’s job by night. He’s a respectable, hardworking nightmare now, for god’s sake, and isn’t that what Dream wanted?
That’s why he deserves this Friday.
The Corinthian yawns again, wiggles a little in the cushion nest he’d made for himself, and flips the channel one more time.
Above the TV, the wall clock he’d snagged from their local thrift store - it’s missing the second hand, but the Corinthian figured it would be easy enough to count seconds, why, he’s centuries old - chimes and shows the time - eleven in the morning.
Rather late, all told, for Dream to not be up and about by now. Of course, the Dream King is never fully predictable, and he had turned his haughty nose up at the Corinthian’s suggestion that he adopt a human-like morning routine for both their sakes - I’ll make you breakfaaast, the Corinthian had warbled, waggling his eyebrows indecently and wafting the scent of fried bacon over to his king; how was he to know that it would be coffee, rather than bacon, that would carry the argument? - but come on. Eleven, give or take some unanticipated crisis in the Dreaming, was rather late for the disciplined, orderly Endless.
Besides, he’d told Dream he’d be off work today. In fact, he’s a little miffed that he’s alone in the blanket nest on the sofa, which, granted, isn’t very comfortable as he’d dragged it off the street not two weeks ago. But there is The Armchair, the one that’s sitting at an angle to the sofa, all dark and regal and very reminiscent of someone’s throne, if cushiony. And that had not been dragged off the street, oh no. That had been made to order in one very upmarket furniture shop, with money he had personally stolen, which counted almost as much as personally earning it when the chair cost as much as the house itself. Yep, the Corinthian is the one paying the bills for their human cover, believe it or not - because Dream's job just doesn't afford him the time to take up a salaried human job too. So there’s no excuse for Dream not to be in the same part of the house, at least, on a lazy Friday morning when the Corinthian is, for the first time in several weeks, off human work.
It’s enough to make him push himself up a little on one forearm.
“My lord?” he calls. “Dream?”
He’s not actually going to show his indignance, of course. They’re not there yet.
And besides, it’s embarrassing. He’s still a nightmare, for goodness’ sake.
There’s a pause, and then, in a calm, deep voice that does not come from the second floor where the bedrooms are, Dream replies,
“Yes, nightmare.”
Ah, Dream is not in bed then, but in his workshop. The door had been shut when the Corinthian walked past it in the morning, but then, the door always was, whether Dream was in it or without. It’s one of the places in the house the Corinthian does not freely step into. He hadn’t been disallowed, but neither had he been explicitly permitted, and the Corinthian doesn’t want to push it. They may live together now, but they’re still master and subject. And the Corinthian actually likes it that way, wants it to stay that way. Besides, he doesn’t quite want to think about what it’ll be like for him to witness his master create other things. Other things like him.
“Wait, you’re still crafting? Haven’t you been in there since last evening?”
That’s right, the Corinthian remembers, Dream had still been in the workshop when the Corinthian had bid him goodnight. To the Corinthian’s surprise, he hears the door to the workshop open.
“It needs to be ready for the party tonight.”
Dream’s voice, unmistakably in the hallway now, makes the Corinthian blink in surprise. It’s rare for the king to allow his work to be interrupted. And then the Corinthian registers the content of Dream’s reply, and he swings upright.
“You’re making something for Halloween?” he blurts out.
“You did say that a guise was required. Is it not?”
“W-why yes, I -”
The Dream King steps into view, and the Corinthian falls abruptly silent, and stares.
“Then I shall go in the likeness of a cat. It is a noble creature, with which I have an affinity.”
Dream stands calmly in the doorway, looking like his regular, imperious self, but for a second pair of ears, triangular and satiny black, upon his head.
“I had thought to give myself a black fur hide,” Dream continues. “But the look was not quite acceptable. I went with this instead.”
The Corinthian marshals his wits with some difficulty, and redirects his gaze from the black ears, to see that Dream’s marble white forearms are covered from wrist up in a black fishnet pattern. The pattern fades off artistically at his wrists, and it’s quite … cool, actually, like a very nice arm sleeve. Even as he’s staring, the fishnet pattern fades and a honeycomb one takes over instead, Dream evidently reconsidering its design.
Dream looks back at the Corinthian. “Well? How does it look?” Dream asks. “And what about the ears? Those, I had to keep. I understand it’s something quite common in the guises made by humans, as well.”
He puts his hand down and peers steeply upwards like one trying to see his own fringe. As if sensing the move, his ears twitch.
The Corinthian feels an unseemly reaction springing to life within himself.
A pause, and then, calmly and confidently, the ears twitch, again, on their own.
The Corinthian clutches the arm of the sofa for support. His master looks entirely serious. As in, he stands in his usual upright, regal manner, his brows continue to make that ever-so-slight v-shape over his nose, and he stares the Corinthian down with that ever-so-slightly imperious glare. Even his ears look haughty, nestled as they are within his windswept raven hair, now pointing slightly forward as if inspecting the Corinthian themselves.
The Corinthian is starting to realize just how seriously his creator is taking this, which corresponds to just how much trouble he’s in. Dream could have just bought a pair of headband ears, but no, trust the perfectionistic Endless to grow a new, living, body part upon himself.
The thought is making him light headed. Plus, every time the ears twitch, which is a move entirely within Dream’s control, his mind short circuits a little.
J…jesus, mary and joseph.
“No,” the Corinthian barks at the king. It’s an odd, throttled sound, hardly more than a grunt.
“Hm?” Dream says idly. His ears flick again, moving from side to side, and the Corinthian spasms.
"Stop - help - that," the Corinthian snaps in a firm, sure, even voice.
Dream raises an eyebrow, arch and superior.
"What did you say to me, nightmare?"
The Corinthian, very firmly, keeps his mouth shut, since he was so very sure and firm and clear the first time and need neither repeat himself nor elaborate. Nevermind that something uncontrollable and forbidden is rising up in him, or several uncontrollable and forbidden somethings - there’s laughter, he feels it bubbling up in his chest, but no, there will be NO LAUGHTER, he tells himself sternly, at ALL COST. No matter how - cute - NO, it’s madness, he means it’s madness -
“Now, the tail,” Dream begins, and the Corinthian realizes with growing horror that he had been so transfixed upon the ears, he had not seen the tail, undulating quietly near the back of Dream’s head, as long as the Endless was tall and as thick again as his forearm. “The tail, I’m quite proud of -”
The tip of the tail jabs the air experimentally, then fluffs up,
and the Corinthian leaps for the garden while he still has breath.
Past the kitchen, through the long hallway that contains their staircase to the bedrooms he sprints, until he’s out the back door and under the shining sun in their backyard -
"Matthew," he heaves, sinking to his knees. "Matthew!!" He snaps his fingers twice in quick succession.
Because he's Dream's favorite, and favorites have the Privilege of summoning palace staff rudely. "You must come!" He wheezes direly, and snaps twice again.
There’s a rosebush directly in front of him that needs clipping, and he distractedly sticks it on his to-do list before grabbing at it. There are thorns in his palms, but it’s alright, the pain helps him to keep it together and struggle to his feet, nevermind that he’s bruising the rosebuds and nicking his own shirt. There’s the flutter of wings, and then a snide, familiar voice -
“Jeez, are you - choking? Is that what gets him off these days? Wait, I don’t wanna know - ”
“Matthew,” the Corinthian hisses, locating the raven upon a more welcoming shrub. “Matthew, be quiet, I must -”
The back door clicks.
"Ah, Matthew. What news from the palace?"
The raven flicks his head over, and for the first time in the history of stoic, sagacious ravens, freezes, beak agape and wings outstretched, helplessly cartoonish.
Still upon the rosebush for support, the Corinthian’s blood turns icy on this autumn day.
“Say nothing!” he hisses to Matthew. The raven could be Banished for all he cared, but he wouldn’t put it past Matthew to drag him, the Corinthian, down too.
The raven finally shuts his beak, folds his wings, and attempts some semblance of calm. “Uhm - not - ah, not much. Everything is going very well, my lord, Lucienne tells me everything is as it should be. I’m just here for an, ah, to drop in. To, er, see how things are going.”
“That is good. It was a good decision to leave Lucienne in charge of routine matters, then.”
“Speaking of seeing, you look different today, my lord,” Matthew continues. “Very, ah -” he glances over at the Corinthian signalling frantically at him to zip it, and deliberately says, “Very furmidable.”
“I’m glad you noticed.” Dream sounds pleased.
The Corinthian slides back off the rose bush, barely feeling the thorns as they gouge in a second time.
“You needn’t worry, Matthew. I know all about the animosity between your species and the one whose features I am borrowing. But I am not adopting any aspect of its personality at all. It’s just a guise for the Corinthian’s Halloween party tonight. You’re in no danger.”
Matthew flaps his wings once, as if about to implode, which is exactly how the Corinthian feels right now.
“Cat’s good, my lord.”
Dream waves a hand dismissively. “When you’re done with the roses, Corinthian, I should like a meal. The ears took me the whole morning, and the tail nearly the whole of last night.”
The Darkness, the Corinthian tells himself. Remember the Darkness. I will not be Banished. I must prevail. Speak normally!
“As soon as I’m done, my lord,” he manages to croak.
“Thank you. Matthew, you’re welcome to join us too.” The door clicks again as Dream retreats into the house. Silence, blessed silence. Then -
“You must have either been very good, or very bad, to deserve that. And really, don’t tell me, I don’t wanna know.”
It’s a mark of how distressed the Nightmare is that he's let two jibes slide past him so far. He clears his throat.
“Matthew, go back to the Dreaming at once. Tell Lucienne that the king must not stay in the human realm tonight. Cook up a crisis, destroy the Gates, set the palace on fire if she must - I don’t care what it is, as long as she gets him back there for -”
“Look, calm down, alright? I know you’re in panic, but really, it’s fine. It’s just a party, right, humans do it all the time. And yes Halloween parties tend to get a little bit out of hand, but surely it’s nothing he can’t handle. Let him have that experience.”
“It’s not a party party, Matthew, I only said that so he wouldn’t ask more questions, it’s the city’s annual gay Halloween rave.”
Annual gay Halloween rave pierces the morning air and echoes a few times, so high was the pitch at which it had been forced out between painfully gritted teeth.
The bird looks at the kneeling nightmare squarely in the eye.
“Oh.”
“Yes, that’s right Matthew, you heard me, now get back to Lucienne at once, and -”
“Oh, as in the city’s dirty, heaving, horny men will be smushing their moist, sweaty, sticky, selves against your darling king, which would have been bad enough, but now they’ll also be stroking his ears and patting his head and fondling his tail, and you won’t be in a position to do anything because you’re supposed to behave, and now you’re trying to - you really didn’t think this through, did you?”
The Corinthian lunges at him, apoplectic with rage, but the rosebush which had been growing stoutly under his care slows him down just enough for the raven to take to the air and flap up to one of the open bedroom windows.
“Terrible! That’s no way to ask for a favour! Caw! I’m telling on you! Hah, a window! I’m going in! The Corinthian’s done with the roses, my lord. He should be in any minute now! And I’m feeling that lunch! Hop to, nightmare! Caw!”