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He watches the two grip the handle to the door, giving each other a look of uncertain yet assured confidence. The princess, each of her three faces sharing the same expression of anxiety, turn to face the door. The long quiet, however, turns back and looks at him.
For once, the Hero is able to look back.
The long quiet takes a moment, not seeming shocked, moreso.. Content. Perhaps an ounce of surprise was there, but the moment was too sincere to make a fuss, so instead, the long quiet just looks. Then he smiles. Then he waves.
The Hero doesn’t know how to respond. For once, he lifts up a limb that is his own, scaly like the long quiet’s, he can tell, yet covered almost entirely in a set of of armor,. He can feel padding underneath it. It’s warm. He waves back.
The long quiet smiles wider, and despite having no visible mouth to form words, the Hero knows what he says.
“Thank you. And good luck.”
Together, he and the princess open the door, the princess leaves first, and he leaves after, closing the door behind them with a soft click.
Ironic, the Hero thinks, how everything is so quiet once the long quiet himself is absent, before the Hero hears footsteps from behind him and turns, his own armor-clad claws scratching against the wooden part of the floor. He looks up, and there stands another person. Someone like him, yet not at all. Another voice within its own body.
“What d’you suppose we do now?” the Contrarian asks, fixing up the slightly messy collared shirt he wears, unbuttoned yet no less fitting. “I suppose we go and.. Find the others?”
The Hero stares, thinking his response, before remembering that he can’t project his thoughts out to his companions anymore and stutters, coughing into his fist. “I-.. Well, I didn’t expect you to be so straight-forward about this.” He adds a wonky smile to it, his beak attempting to curve up at the corners, before he realizes that his helmet, forged specifically to his shape, restricts outside view.
The Contrarian laughs, a sudden thing that is short lived yet no less genuine. “You heard what I said out there, prince charming. I think..” he pauses, for once considering his words in their own right rather than as contrast to someone else’s (a lot of 'for once's for the both of them, he figures). “..I think I’m done with that, for now. Feels a bit too late to be all- oooh let’s just burn down the cabin! To hell with it!- yeah? I mean, I’ll be back to it eventually,” he punctuates his words with a jab to the Hero's side, which he winces at in response, unused to the contact, “but for now I think I want to mellow out a bit, you know? Wouldn’t want to piss off the only other person left in this world, at the moment.”
The Hero snorts, nervous smile turning a bit more genuine at the banter. “Yeah, I suppose that would be a bad idea, wouldn’t it? Usually I’m pretty on top of things, but right now, I..”
The armor, metaphorical since forever but literal since three minutes ago, feels heavy now, and the Hero backs up, metal shoes clinking against the wood-turned-stone ground until his back hits wood once more and he slides down. He leans his head forward, moving his gloved hands up to remove his helmet, and he tugs it off with a grunt. “I.. think I want a moment. To breath.”
The Contrarian looks on, taken aback for a moment, a hint of color dusting his monotone cheeks, before he turns his head to the side and sighs. “Well, if the knight wants to take a break, who am I to disagree?” He walks up to the Hero and sits down beside him, his posture lazy, with one leg bent up and the other stretched out, arms holding himself up. He's a direct contrast with the Hero, sitting with both legs stiff in their armor and back straight against the wall. It's almost comical.
The Contrarian stares at him with a side-eye before fully turning his head. “Y’know, mate, that junk doesn’t look the most comfortable. Are you sure we should even go looking for the others while you’re weighing twice yourself?”
“Hm,” the Hero hums in response, looking down at his body. For the first time, it’s his own, but..
Well, he’s still the hero. The knight in shining armor. It always felt right before, but now? It felt like he needed to molt. Part of him wanted to get up, tug the bloody scraps right off of his body and stretch his wings, but the other part of him was so, so... tired.
He.. was exhausted. Now that he was sitting down, finally resting (no princesses to save or slay or be killed by or whatever), he never wanted to move again. His muscles felt fatigued and his head lolled slightly forward, his hands loosening their grip on his helmet as his eyes lidded.
The Contrarian must’ve noticed the change in demeanor because he, in his light, airy clothes and loose posture, chuckled knowingly and shuffled onto his knees, moving closer to the Hero.
“Don’t worry, prince. I’ve got you.”
The Hero nodded, allowing the Contrarian to gently peel his hands off of his helmet and move it to the side. He slowly closed his eyes, allowing his companion to rid him of his silver layer.
First went the boots, the clasps coming undone as the Contrarian carefully removed each shoe, placing them to the side as he does so. The legs went after, the Hero barely having to lift a muscle as the Contrarian lifted up each leg with one hand and unstrapped the leather from around his calves and thighs with the other, one at a time. Every touch felt like dancing on fire, the physical contact so familiar yet so, so different. It was almost overwhelming, if it weren't for how light every touch was, as if he were the most fragile thing in the world. He was almost offended for a moment, before thinking about it again. It almost made him feel like he was something special. Like he was something to be protected instead of something to protect. He relaxed in the Contrarian's grip.
The arms were next, his process the same as the legs, easier given the Hero's quickly melting posture, before finally moving to the chest. The Contrarian gently lifted the Hero’s back from the wall and raised his arms so he could remove the plate in full. He was gentle all the way, murmuring small praises to the Hero all throughout. The small nothings, added with the feather-light touches as if he were a masterpiece, made the Hero feel appreciated. Warm. Warmer than the padding underneath the armor, which the Contrarian had shifted to begin peeling off bit by bit, revealing messy, ungroomed feathers underneath.
The Contrarian hummed in dissatisfaction at that, doing his best to preen his feathers with his hands as he removed the last of the padding, which he discarded the same as the armor.
The Hero felt light, letting out a breathy sigh of relief. He slumped to the side, head being caught in scaly hands as the Contrarian sat next to him, guiding the Hero’s cheek to press against his shoulder. They both let out their own content sigh, and the Contrarian chuckled softly, feeling his own set of fatigue set in.
“You know, for someone who was made to save others, you sure seem shit at taking care of yourself.”
“Oh,” the Hero breathed out, “fuck off.”
The Contrarian let out another laugh, and the Hero joined in, never having felt lighter.
He felt a shift, and something warm moves to his hand. Poking open tired, beady eyes, the Hero looks down to see the Contrarian’s own hand pressing against his and, with a smile, the Hero meets it. Their fingers intertwine, and the Hero feels something soft swell up within him. Despite the layer of cloth, he could feel the Contrarian’s feathers bristle with slight embarrassment, and he coos, hoping to quiet his nerves. Slowly, but surely, the Contrarian’s feathers fall smooth again, and gives the Hero’s hand a quick squeeze.
“We’ll look for the others in a bit,” the Hero stated to nobody, really.
“Right,” the Contrarian responded, slotting himself in as somebody. “Just a few minutes.”
The Hero nodded, cheek comfortable in its place upon the Contrarian’s shoulder. His chest felt light. He squeezed the Contrarian’s hand back, and he breathed.
“Right,” he parroted back, for once, feeling warm. “Just a few minutes.”