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Midnight had long passed, the folk of Rondon resting soundly in their aboded beds, crickets chirping and whistling away within bushes —alongside an occasional Secada who joined. The snow, however, poured down into the wasteland of supposed meadows; pitiful reasons to call them bogs. It whisked through what it shouldn't, by God does Dell know this.
Of whom; he'd glimpse past a shallow curtain to see the White Death falling to the ground, all peddled with a single emotion coursing through his mind. He couldn't quite make sense of it. It wasn't pleasant, on one end, but on the other he was warm… seen. Love didn't fit the mold either.
Self-imposed confusion, cynics might think. One can even see Lace as that person, yet Dell couldn't care less. He wanted to rest, just like many other Rondon folk, no worries of emotional ignorance. All due respects, it's intriguing nonetheless. He'd turn opposite of the sheltered window, both hands nestled underneath his right cheek. Leaving him to look elsewhere, hopefully to ease himself… but… there lies one of her many blades.
Weaponry has always been an interest of Laces’. As Dell recalls, from the age of sixteen she studied everything related to blacksmithing or technological advances, even starting off well despite not knowing much back then. Not blacksmithing, granted, she'd focus her studies on code and mechanical skills instead.
Every waking moment he prayed and prayed she was OK. Wherever she is, she'll pull through it just like she did when they both lost mom and dad. They'd be so proud of her, surely… though what has he done? In comparison to Lace, Dell felt so small, like a mouse hiding in a hole in the wall… or is it just because he's younger?
“Dammit.” He'd curse, burying his face into his pillow, another left for Pocketcat when he arrives. The cat runs off to do something nearly everyday, coming back with a sack of god-knows what or a pregnancy test.
“No! No, stop,” Dell told himself, as if that can do anything, “Fuck!” Laughable.
Right at that moment– “Delly~!”
Pocketcat's melodic voice called through the opened doorway (what? Nobody ever comes around these hills, they've been fine), a sound of a paper bag rummaging against his tightly-fitted clothes.
Dell slowly sat up onto the bed's edge, sniffing and rubbing his eyes. “Amazing timing as ever, Pockets…” he grumbled, followed with a long yawn.
“Come now,” Pocketcat darted to his companion's level, “I was able to get my paws on another test! It's peculiar how scarce these tiny sticks have become, isn't it?”
“Just go take it, I ain't got any patience tonight.” Poor thing could barely hold his eyes open, he's so tired.
“I will, I will, don't rush me.” He patted the side of Dell's neck as if he were greeting a long-lost lover or family member. It practically forced him to lean into the embrace; cold, yet a whole galaxy of the Pilluc star dared not to deign.
“It's curious how the moon is considered the brightest orb in the system, isn't it? Minus the sun, I suppose~” Pocketcat cooed, thicker gloves adorned on his hands traced along the other's jugular.
“I think,” he'd stop around Dells’ clavicle, “even if your skin is dark, you're brighter than every star~”
The comment —or, ‘compliment’ —felt mirrored, in a strange sense. It might have been that Lace has said similar things to him before, or that the alignment of greater planets has been a curious statement of divine will. Alas, dust colliding to even create such things isn't the main topic.
Of course receiving compliments is nice, it'd be a lie if this one didn't clearly affect Dell's overall attitude, a grin and faint blush being also apparent. “I– I wanna say thanks, but…” he paused for a short moment, still holding a grin, “Did ya need to bring up my skin?”
“All for the better, my love. There's nothing better than a chocolate covered hunk like yourself to add flavor in a batch of delicacies!” The cat grimaced after a second, just as Dell did too.
Dell blinked, “Okay? W-What does any of that mean?”
“Don't worry about it.” Similarly Pocketcat wanted to turn elsewhere, brushing his thin finger through the mane amongst his exaggerated chest. Likely thinking of what to do, he looked down at the sack he'd brought back to yank out a recognizable white-and-blue box with unintelligible text printed on the back; a pregnancy test.
Instead, he absent-mindedly delved into his pockets, swishing around and looking for something unbeknownst to Dell. However, as he's known for a long time, it's best not to say a word when Pocketcat is searching for something, he'd get irritated —irritation is dangerous. The sound of thin wax paper began to shuffle alongside the lavender scented fabric of Pocketcat's blazer.
“There we are!” He pulled out a piece of candy, wrapped tightly in a mouse patterned wax paper as Dell's ears figured.
“Want some?” Pocketcat inclined, holding the monochromatic sweet for his partner's misguided intrigue.
Dell, begrudgingly, took it and observed. “What is it?”
“Catnip,” Pocketcat answered confidently, “You're stressed love, and it’s affecting your humble rest. This'll help you relax.”
Immediately disinterested, Dell placed the “catnip” back into the cat's palm with a sharp grimace. Perhaps a downfall in judgment had to be expected if he even took it in the first place, alas.
“No?” Pocketcat cocked his head towards the left, an ear limping along with his turn.
“I-I dunno if I want to get high right now.” Dell slumped back into the bed, hearing his partner unwrapping thin paper and popping the piece into his mouth.
“Fair enough, I suppose I could always bring you some opium and the likes — there are plenty of thugs around these parts.” Speaking in his usual smooth tone, yanking the aforementioned pregnancy test out from its white-and-blue covering.
“What's that s’posed to mean?” Dell tried to ask in retribution to particular wording he never sat well with, making him uncomfortable; assumptions aren't taken well in the Berkelner family anyway. A long, long history can say so.
“I'm simply stating the facts, my dear.” He'd state whilst humbling unintelligibly to himself, reading text printed onto the back of the box containing a brand new chapter to both Pocketcat and Dell's life.
“These things are so particular, aren't they? I don't remember them being so delicately worded.” Most people wouldn't suspect this to lead into a full discussion on text behind a box.
Yet, “Granted, I can't say I've ever been impregnated before, although it isn't the first time I've seen pregnancy tests in a different lifetime–”
“Pockets please, I don't have patience for your ramblings.” Dell interrupted. Furthermore beckoning for the other to go ahead and take the test, given it's still late.
“Ah, I see what you're doing~” Pocketcat's pointer finger swirled through the air and pinched Dell's cheek. Once his finger retreated, he'd already stood straight upon his heeled boots coated with thick fur around the hem.
“Ugh, just go take the test please.” Dell demanded despite his growing grin, the cat was comical at times really.
“As you wish, Delly~” He said as he scooted back into the bathroom and aptly slammed the door shut, sparking Dell fully awake.
A groan escaped Dell's throat, it's been long overdue for proper sleep in this entire household ever since Lace got that motel gig with Trinapee. Having a child, of all things, won't help that aspect, yet Dell has convinced himself to never, ever, see their child as a burden or handful. No matter the cost, he shall be a dedicated man, just as Lace was for him.
Dell smiled faintly, now eagerly awaiting for whatever announcement was to come. The rumbling of steel-supported pillars visible from the inside somehow became comforting through Dell thinking brightly. As did snowfall itself, looking behind him to see nothing more than white spots shuffling incoherently was more cathartic than ever.
Resting amongst a handful of weary pillows, not a single eye is to be turned to the upcoming Termina festival within less than two months. Supposedly, it can be justified: perhaps a child can revoke Dells’ ‘invite’, yet what will she do?
It's late… too late. The baby will be a new chapter if Pocketcat is pregnant, chances to start from the beginning… oh, they're a sight to behold. Dell can't help what he feels! Why should he feel bad? Why… why can't the Berkelners live normal lives?
He cleared his throat hastily, eyes gloom up to the plain gray ceiling; unchanging from days gone. Spots of Dell's poor sights during lackluster sleep danced like embers fly up and down a campsite; musk green, golden yellow, icy blue. How tiny spots in his fitments dart around has let him ignore time since he was a kid, for a child surrounded with endless acres of land needs it.
Alas, it could simply be dust messing with his vision. He'd try mending this by rubbing at his eyes. Just like that, every spot ceased.
Dell huffed, “Pockets?” He called out with a slight tilt of his head. “You almost done?”
“Almost~!” Pocketcat cooed back, seemingly to bring Dell back from spacing out for too long. Still, everything was a dark blue, tinted with a gray hue as the overcast refused to part.
“It's been months since we got any sun, it's so weird.” For once he wanted to make compensation with the chatterbox in a separate room, a measly ten-inch wide wall to actually do so.
“How long has it been since anything else showed up?” Dell added on, twiddling his fingers around nervously.
A moment passed of silence, then a sound of buckles snapping together. Pocketcat hummed loud enough for Dell to hear him, “Ugh, at least two months. I really don't care for the winter seasons as a whole, however.” Dell slowly sat up, mentally preparing himself for… anything, especially keeping the talk going.
“Really? Even with that poofy chest of yours?” His hands set beside him, he heard Pocketcat's heels click.
“Oh…” he sighed, “You'd be surprised how little this fur does, it's waaay too thin for a spring man like I am. Plus, I can barely refer to October as a ‘winter’ month.” A thin cling against the sink was heard from Dell's position; of whom constantly readjusted himself.
“Augh! Why do these things take so long?!” It even sounded like Pocketcat cursed as far as Dell could grasp, amusing he is at times.
“Did you get them from that one place?” Asking, hopefully to be met with a simple “yes” or “no”.
“No, actually,” The cat grumbled, “I got it from a humanitarian trade center. Quite good bargains they have over there~” Yet another mood switch too.
“You–”
“Yes, Delly, I stole it. I didn't have the patience.” You have to give him credit: he's honest.
“Thank you, sweetheart~!” Pocketcat said out loud, seemingly responding to an unsaid compliment. Can he still read minds in different rooms? “Delly don't underestimate my abilities, I may be old but I put these powers to good use whenever I can.”
“Sure you do…” Dell similarly grumbled and scratched the back of his head, “I guess you could've done worse, ain't the first time I would've stolen either.” It’s difficult to find folk truly innocent of petty things like stealing from a market specifically, having hundreds of the same, so what if they lose one of it?
Good lord what a mess this night is already, a mass of ideas thrown into one discussion lasting until dawn —how dreadful it sounds to Dell —basking over oversimplifications that arise through Rondon’s nearly three-century long ruling being unquestioned as of prior revolutions and strikes. Just like many other European countries now that Dell thinks about it.
Like any of that matters. As it sounds, the pregnancy test will give its answers very soon, Dell isn’t about to miss news that’ll change his and Pocketcat’s lives forever more. Scooting up from sitting —it hurts his ass anyway —one hand hung onto the correspondent arm, eagerly —impatiently; horrifyingly —waiting.
Pocketcat gasped from the bathroom; it’s time.
“Oh De-ell~!” The door swung open for Dell to be tackled to the ground, a yelp of surprise escaping him before wrapping his own arms around the cat.
“W-What’d it say?!” He needs to know! He couldn’t have been assaulted for nothing!
Giggling like mad; Pocketcat shuffled back up but refused to part from his newly-forever lover; at most, if one party is lucky in the aftermath of Termina. He shoved the test into Dell’s face: two pink lines, one darker than the other.
“I’m pregnant! Our consummation actually worked! Thousands of years I’ve waited for this very moment; to bear the fruits of mankind and the blood of a half-born~!” He began whispering and kissed at the skin of his companion until bruises formed tenfold; of whom was stuck in shock.
“Oh, the anticipation of this day is impeccable my love!” Stating through a single pause, continuing then on.
Dell, on the other hand, felt as if he were in the farthest galaxy. A spiral where the disk of stars have all brightened their glow to increase a sensation of pure hellfire, take this as you will, but as the pregnancy progresses they will need to prepare. Does Dell have those means? What about Pocketcat? ‘What do we do now?’
A hand was brought to Dells’ left cheek, bringing him forth from a doze off, being met with the familiar glow of Pocketcat’s golden eyes –a ring of sunny orange around his pupils and irises, his left eye however… always had a lesser hue than the other. “Come now, darling, don’t worry yourself of those responsibilities tonight, it is a blessing for us both. You’ll see~”
He wanted to believe that. So, so badly. “I…I know, it’s just…” Dell’s words were relatively ghastly, unaware his breathing has hitched, “What if we ain’t gonna be prepared? I don’t want our baby comin’ into this world knowing their parents can’t fend for em–”
“Sweetheart,” Pocketcat tightly clasped both sides of his dearests’ face, “It’ll be a lot for us to handle as time goes on, but I know you —specifically —will come out a stronger, and more beautiful man than I ever could wish for. Through everything that happens, I’ll be here for you and our baby; promise.” His thumb graced the hairs along Dells’ jawline, occasionally brushing his hair behind an ear whenever those bouncy locks decided to misbehave.
Perhaps true to heart; one still questions legitimacy over the shortcomings and upside occurrences leading to… pregnancy. A neutral cause, sure, it’s cold and dead outside. Over five feet of snow piling up over a few months and a mere two-time rest— a measly three weeks in comparison to Gaelia’s seven month break. Rondon isn’t the only country in Europa that’s been infected with this… this ice age. It’s not even within the north! Why are we being smited like this when they don't have the means to stock?! Maybe the Gods are getting sick of humankind.
“Sure,” Dell scrunched up his nose, “I’m just… a bit worried about it.” He attempted to scoot up from the unbearably cold floor back onto the bed, the lavender smelling furry swiftly followed next to his partner. One white-colored glove placed atop another harshly scarred, Pocketcat laid his head onto Dells’ shoulder.
“I guess we’ll figure it out. You’ll be able to lay low when that time comes, right?” He asked, desperately trying not to get distracted via a vibration scrambling his thoughts; purring.
Regardless, silence was all that met his pondering. Dell wanted to glance up to see if Pocketcat’s even awake, a strange occurrence if so, but God knows what he endured throughout the day, for all that matters he might’ve been plucked for the sole reason of crossing into the wrong territory. “Pockets?” Just out of curiosity.
“Hm?” The cat hummed, his hand going slightly limp, his head slipping down onto Dells’ right shoulder.
Considering his thin fur —curly depending on the season; give or take —has picked up more oil recently, it might be affecting him if his biology is similar to, well, an actual cat. Oil trades are rampant in Rondon during the winter months as well, it sounds like a stretch, but Dell is curious given past experience with strays.
“You doin’ ok?” Not in the mood for another mindless ramble.
“Tired…”
“For once you are, Jesus.” He couldn't help himself to a free eye-roll.
Pocketcat's lack of sleep is alarming at best, neglectful of oneself at worst. Sure, there's a proper argument that he —as a Godly creation —doesn't need sleep; most likely doesn't even need basic human necessities. Alas…
“Possessing a human half cancels out what I was naturally born with,” his voice being slightly slurred, “And the catnip…”
“I guess that makes sense, get some sleep then–”
“I need to spend time with my husband!” The cat protested, never mind an abrupt added alias for Dell.
“Husband?” Dell being baffled as to be expected, “Good God I didn't know you being high meant I have to deal with… this!” Whatever “this” was, nobody could be sure.
“How could I not~?” Pocketcat added, messily kissing Dell's cheek with a keen interest. Though right as he quits the coddling he goes to search for something deep in his pockets; groaning quietly whilst touching a particular spot.
“Pockets,” Dell went to grab the cat's hand, hoping his own could stop this thing from proceeding to more carnal activities.
“Not now, please.”
Grumbling, Pocketcat would in fact halt if not for Dell's personal space, being huddled back into masses of cloth and silk that came from the other's blouse, barely hanging onto Pocketcat's body —it's so loose in comparison to his prior attire. Disgruntled to playfully annoyed, not a single person could deny how this creature's actions reflect however he was treated for years upon years.
Eventually, albeit, both figures would be forced into contact with the bed's mattress (how it's holding both of their weights is a whole new bag of worms for… other nights). Dell yelped as Pocketcat laughed; a common response.
The latter made one climb atop him. “But Deeeell~” The cat cooed, “We should celebrate, no? Consummation; bringeth forth ravages of one's heart~” Must've been a line he read from a poetry book, a phrase like that wouldn't come out of him formally.
“Oh my–” at that moment he went to lay back down, in a similar position he was in before Pocketcat arrived, “Neither of us got that energy tonight, come to bed.”
“I am in bed! Don't you see?!” Curiously enough he seemed offended by the inquiry, darting from one end to the other where Dell lies.
“Go to sleep then!” Dell shoved his face deeper into his pillow, “You'll feel better in the morning, the baby in ya will also like it.”
“The baby isn't even there yet-”
“Posey! Shut the fuck up and lay down, pleeease!” Sounding merely annoyed rather than purely upset, he just wanted some sleep; nothing much else to it.
“What did you just call me?” Pocketcat inclined, tilting his head more-so out of newfound awe.
“I called you sleepy — sleep!” Mocking.
“No,” the cat finally laid down, his head upon his dearest companion's chest, though glowing yellow eyes agape, “You gave me a name.”
“Huh?” Too tired to even think twice now. “Oh, right,” He sniffled whilst scratching one of the cat's ears; hearing a loud purr vibrate into his core, “Posey, I dunno where I got that from though.”
Pocketcat, swiveling his feet around like a child infected with nightly anxiety, took awe at the brand new name, almost jaded. Yet, a euphoric tingle chiseled into a crook of his veins; bloated, luscious veins meant for sucking scarlet red blood from them. Draining his life, thereby his will.
Quite the curious endeavor. So much to do in such little time. Almost sickening how desperate Pocketcat is for desirability.
“I love it.” He whispered, wanting to look Dell in his eyes, both hands nestled between the other's neck.
The slight interest Dell has as to what the cat clearly implied, but, hopefully this isn't overbearing yet, he's tired and wants to rest. Aptly he tries to pull away, only to be roughly yanked back.
“Delly,” Pocketcat's voice awfully pitched —perhaps simply a moan, Dell didn't like it —”Do you think we can stay together? You and I, the world won't exist…”
His brows curled; baffled. “What do you mean?” Dell wanted to know.
One sat silently, itching closer as he rubbed against Dell's skin, “I've never been lucky with love, always one-sided, but I wasn't able to see it back then. I know better now,” he began to unbutton his gloves, “You love me as I do.”
“Are you feelin’ alright Posey? I know you took that catnip n’ stuff but I didn't know it'd make you so… lethargic.” Sincerely hoping this wouldn't be normality as the pregnancy test proved itself right.
Once again, Pocketcat froze, followed with a wrenching shiver that forced the cat to caress his chest. Quivering, sincerely by a nickname, it's almost depressing how one thing can decimate a man like Pocketcat.
Dell merely sighed, hoisting his companion abroad onto the pillows below whilst wanting this night to come to an end; to wake up and feel ready for new responsibilities in the near future. Evidently so much he ignored Pocketcat's beckon for more affection to slump beside him, making the latter hurdle to his side.
“Oh Dell,” he whispered through heavy inhales, “You'll never leave me, right? Y-you'll stay… stay…” Helpless; tonight that is.
It didn't make much sense, Dell felt guilty for some odd reason. Promptly he kissed the cat's faded lips (strange how he still has them, no?) waiting to be pulled away to get air. Lasting a hefty nine seconds, before doing just that. Yet, Pocketcat yearned for so much more.
“Nah,” Dell scratched the other's ears, enjoying the loud purr for once, “I'll try to stay–”
“No!” Being interrupted with a begging tone. “Please, sweetheart, my love, stay with me. I… I can't lose you.” Forcing Dell into another kiss, more needy; desperate. This one lasted longer, Dell wasn't sure how long, but more than ten seconds is what he could —in fact —guarantee; Curiously, a trail of saliva followed Pocketcat's yank, though prior sensation didn't detect any tongue. Or could simply be the sleep deprivation.
“I love you,” one more kiss, pulling away in a jiffy, “so much, Dell.”
Dell hadn't a clue what to say in response, except: “I love you too, Posey.” Clearly the name Pocketcat has grown a liking to.
As Dell readied himself for a long needed rest, he felt his companion's head slide underneath into the crevice of his chest; a common spot Pocketcat chose to sleep in. Or, ‘Posey’, need he remind himself.
Perhaps it was nostalgia, or that posy flowers have a peculiar spot in his heart, but Pocketcat drew to it like a moth to a midnight lantern. Gorgeous veneers akin to the rose bouquet he's seen on Valentines Day while strolling populated streets of Rondon or even Bremen. But that smell… oh, that smell.
Across its the likes of a Posy —roses or chrysanthemums —that smell of sweet, spiraling nectar infected both Dell and Pocketcat’s nostrils. Yet why is the latter given that name? He smells of lavender, of which is nowhere near a Posy.
Alas, both of their hearts are strung tightly to those veneers of sweetness; common-place for romance, albeit. For once, they agree. Posey fits nicely for Pocketcat.
So much so it drove them to their deserved slumber. Together, in arms reach and feeling their warmth transmit to one another.
It's everything they've ever wanted.