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Chasca blinks in confusion. It's always more difficult when the body and the words don't match.
“You can confide in me, you know. I'm your sister, and that's what sisters do,” Chuychu announces out of the blue. Hands on her hips, she leans in real close to Chasca and squints, like she's trying to decipher the thread colors on a scroll left out too long under the bleaching rays of the sun. “So if there's someone you like, you have to tell me. Okay?”
Chasca has made a lot of improvement when it comes to forming words with her tongue, thanks to Elder Allpa's speech lessons and enduring patience. No matter how much she learns, though, there are still so many nonsensical rules about human communication that make it more complicated than that of Qucusaurs. Qucusaurs are easy.
If she were a Qucusaur, Chasca would insist that Chuychu invading her space and making direct eye contact means she wants to challenge Chasca to a fight. But Chuychu hates nothing more than when Chasca enforces her dominance with her fists, so that can't be right. She must be missing something.
As usual.
“Sister. Yes,” Chasca croaks. She remains cautiously still, maintaining a neutral stance in the face of an aggressor. “Like, no. I don't like any people. Except family.”
Chuychu huffs, a sign of annoyance.
Chasca frowns. She knows her voice is hoarse from disuse, and her sharp face is too mean, and her flat tone is threatening, as Chuychu tells her, but at least her pronunciation should be correct. Somehow she still chose the wrong answer.
“I don't think you get what I mean,” Chuychu complains. “Not like as in 'be friends with', but... like like. If you like someone.”
Ah. When the tone is different, the meaning can be different. Chasca's not very good at picking up on subtle details when it requires so much concentration just to hold all these jumbled-up mouth sounds in her head in the first place. Surely humans don't need this many words to go about their daily lives.
Chasca shakes her head from side to side, which is a shortcut for admitting she doesn't know something.
“Well, I just mean...” Chuychu trails off, her cheeks coloring pink. Chasca watches the transformation with rapt fascination. Chuychu shrinks back and blushes even harder under the intense scrutiny. “I might, um, like someone. I wanted to make sure you didn't like the same person! Sisters shouldn't have to compete with each other. It wouldn't be fair.”
Chasca bobs her head up and down, which is a useful gesture whenever Chuychu is lecturing her about things she doesn't understand. It seems to please Chuychu, and most adults for that matter, whenever Chasca smiles and nods instead of asking questions.
“Good! I'm glad you agree with me,” Chuychu says with a smile of relief. Then she pauses. “Actually, I don't even know if you like boys or girls more. Have you ever had a crush on anyone at all?”
Chasca brightens. Finally, a word she knows.
“I crush everyone,” Chasca boasts, flapping her elbows in place of wings. “Boys. Girls. Don't care. Crush!”
“Ugh.” Chuychu rolls her eyes and stomps off, muttering, “I don't know why I bother. You only like Qucusaurs.”
The first time it happens, Chasca promptly dismisses the sweaty palms, crystalflies in her stomach, and feverish heat burning her cheeks, as a weird one-time reaction. Perhaps she's developing some type of allergy. Not much she can do about that.
Chasca was lurking near the bridge to keep a watchful eye on Coyllur, one of the many hopeful Qucusaur rider candidates that miserably failed the day's flying test. Countless hours of training and building confidence, only to be deemed not good enough in the end? That kind of blow to a warrior's pride can be devastating. Chasca can hardly judge her junior for having that volatile a reaction. It's taken Chasca her entire adult life to learn how to regulate her own emotions, and she still has the occasional violent meltdown.
Coyllur has every right to cry and rage until the poison of rejection finishes working its way through her system, but it's important for the young to learn how to dry their tears and pick themselves up again. It's like when a fledgling falls out of the nest: a necessary struggle to overcome.
Chasca was just thinking of sending her a little encouragement in the form of Momma Bird, when along comes Lumine with the same idea.
Chasca almost thinks the Qucusaurus that answers Coyllur's whistle and rekindles the fire in her heart isn't real at first, like the illusions conjured by the Masters of the Night-Wind. It's the same kind of mismatch that always tripped her up as a kid. There's an inconsistency in the saurian's stiff, awkward body language that immediately pings Chasca as unmistakably human.
And not just any human. Her instincts are screaming that this is, impossibly, Lumine.
Chasca's heart skips a beat.
It's a lot harder to deny her symptoms the second time. When Chasca answers the invitation to participate in the Bloomflower Trials and pay her respects to the sick little Tepetlisaur they're working to cure, she chances upon the mystery Qucusaur once more.
Standing side-by-side with wild Qucusaurs only makes the differences in those jerky, unnatural movements blatantly obvious. Qucu-Lumine – there's no doubt it's Lumine, when Paimon is right over there with her – is questioning them about the whereabouts of some other saurian. Her squawks and gestures are so hopelessly clumsy that Chasca finds herself hiding a smile. It's rather endearing. Lumine is normally so calm and composed, so watching her practically trip over her own gawky Qucusaur legs is...
Wait. Is this some form of hypnosis, controlling saurians to do Lumine's bidding like a puppet? Chasca shudders at the sinister thought. But if that were the case... wouldn't Lumine's body be left behind nearby, like when Citlali and Ororon meditate to do their spirit-walking? Qucu-Lumine and Paimon are standing in that field, happily stuffing their faces with berries, with nary a person in sight.
Chasca's intuition is telling her this is no trick. It's actually, physically, her.
Chasca's not the type to pry into other people's history, given her own, but her curiosity is only growing stronger by the minute. As are other unwanted, unnecessary, and thoroughly inconvenient feelings. The bittersweet memory of that long-forgotten conversation from Chasca's childhood resurfaces. She might finally understand what Chuychu was trying to ask her all those years ago.
She would give anything if she could have that sisterly talk now.
Chasca brushes off the intrusive flashback, turning her focus to the conundrum at hand. Suddenly it's much too hot out here. She's sweating right through her clothes. She takes off her wide-brim hat to fan herself with, inwardly blaming the scorching Natlanese sun for her unusually flushed cheeks and parched tongue.
Surely there's no other explanation.
At the peak of the Quahuacan cliffs, perched fearlessly on the railing guarding one of the Flower-Feather Clan's walkways, Chasca finds herself staring hard at a distant silhouette of a Qucusaur riding the current from a phlogiston vent. She knows it's Qucu-Lumine even before the Qucusaur dives onto a jutting ledge and reemerges with a treasure chest gripped in her triumphant claws. Could that speck of white be a tiny Paimon clinging to her back? Cute.
And why is that cute, exactly? Chasca frowns, drumming her long nails against the wooden railing in thought.
“No way, bro,” Cacucu cheeps from somewhere nearby. “No way, bro!”
Chasca turns her back on the sky to nod at Ifa, who tips his hat in greeting. Cacucu clacks his beak and flutters in circles, parroting the phrase. The little Qucusaurus can't use his ungainly body to communicate in the way other saurians do, so he learned to mimic a limited amount of human words instead. Chasca can empathize with that struggle more than most.
“...Hey, Ifa. Have you ever met a human that could turn into a saurian?”
“I thought you would have figured that out by now. You've pissed off so many human doctors you might have to start seeing a vet,” Ifa jokes. At Chasca's unimpressed glare, his wry smile drops. “Wait... you were serious. Huh. That's the sort of thing you hear about in dragonborn legends, but I've never met one personally. Just those Abyssal shapeshifters, the 'mimiflora' or whatever.”
“If I told you I met someone like that, with a 'unique constitution', would you think I'm crazy?”
Ifa just laughs. “Nah, dude. Not compared to Ororon. Nothing surprises me anymore.”
“No way, bro!”
Chasca slides off the railing to move closer to Ifa, lowering her voice so as not to be overheard. Ifa raises an eyebrow.
“What if I... had certain, confusing reactions around someone like that. Because of that constitution. Is that kind of awakening normal for adults? How would you, uhh... advise I approach that...?”
Ifa stares slack-jawed at Chasca. Cacucu lands with a thud on top of Ifa's hat, peering down at Chasca to stare as well.
Chasca struggles to keep her expression neutral, even as her cheeks begin to warm. Relationship advice is certainly outside of their typical range of conversation. The avian urge to jump off the ledge and fly to safety is a difficult one to resist, but she must remain strong.
“Mm, it's... normal enough, when you find what floats your boat, yeah.” Ifa clears his throat, shifting into professional mode. “Do you know what 'filial imprinting' is? It's the natural instinct that bonds a newly hatched bird, or saurian, with their caretaker. In the wild, that would be their mother. But when an animal like that is raised by a human, it forms a stronger social bond with humans than its own kind, which means it can't go back in the wild... With me so far?”
“Huh? The heck are you on about?” Cacucu chimes in.
“It's the inverse of what happened to me,” Chasca replies. “A human raised by saurians, who can't bond with humans as a result... Is that what you're getting at?”
“Well, both human and saurian psychology is loads more complex than that, but in a nutshell, kinda,” Ifa says sheepishly. He rubs the sunburnt back of his neck. “I've met some hand-reared saurians that bonded so completely to their human that they flat-out refuse to accept a saurian mate. It's not even that uncommon. Their brain gets rewired during early development into believing humans are what's attractive, and that's that. It may be none of my business, bro, but, uhh... I'm guessing the opposite might apply to you...?”
Chasca's already sulky mood becomes downright acidic. Whatever grimace her face is currently contorted into, it's fierce enough to make Cacucu screech in alarm and flap behind Ifa's shoulders for cover.
“That settles it. I need a drink,” Chasca decides. “You coming along? I'm buying.”
Ifa turns his back on Chasca to soothe the little Qucusaur by drawing him into his chest. He scratches Cacucu under the chin until the saurian's puffed feathers flatten out, and only then glances up, belatedly remembering to answer.
“Bro. You keep your secrets, and I'll keep my body bullet hole-free, thanks,” Ifa says with a lopsided grin. “I don't know what you're getting yourself into, and I'm not sure I want to know, but, uhh... Good luck figuring out romantic attraction for the first time, I guess. It can be a little... weird.”
“...Thanks. I hate it.”
Three hands reach out with empty glasses. A short walk to the Xocolatl Beverages counter later, and Chasca slams a pitcher decisively on their table. Sweet honey-gold xtabentún sloshes over the sides. Chasca promptly fills everyone's cups in exchange for meeting her at the noisy, crowded Stadium. Fair's fair.
“Ladies. Give me your wisdom,” Chasca then demands, taking her seat before pouring her own drink. “What do you do if you think you might be into a girl who is also a friend...?”
And sometimes also a saurian, she adds silently.
Mavuika, Xilonen, and Citlali raise their drinks in a toast before downing them. Chasca awaits each of her companions' reactions with mounting anxiety. She can't stop her leg jiggling under the table. It's rare for Chasca to volunteer any personal information at all. Even this much vulnerability is already chafing at her. It's hardly an advantageous position for a negotiator to give up all their leverage at the start.
She'd rather be flying free in the sky, unburdened by these troublesome emotions, but here she is. Grounded and uncomfortably, achingly, human.
“You're the peacemaker. Just tell her you want her and see what happens.” Xilonen says, scratching idly behind her furry ear. “Be blunt, though. Anything else is a waste of your time and hers.”
“Boring. Take her for a sick ride on your flying gun,” Mavuika says, and slides on her sunglasses with a cocky grin. “Do it at sunset, too. If she wasn't into you before, she will be after! Problem solved!”
“Just numb your stupid feelings with alcohol until they go away.” Citlali hiccups with one cheek smooshed flat against the table. From the looks of her reddening complexion and assortment of empty bottles, she got here a bit earlier than the rest of the group did. “If you don't make any mistakes, you won't have any regrets, am I right?”
“...Barbecue is also nice,” Xilonen adds drily, patting Citlali on the back. “If she doesn't like my favorite barbecue place, that's a red flag. Even if she dumps you, though, you still get to eat your fill of meat. Win-win.”
A Qucusaur would probably go for barbecue, but that's not especially useful right now.
Chasca takes a deep swig to spare herself the humiliation of explaining that it's someone they all know quite intimately. A famous hero like Lumine probably has admirers in every nation – and for better reasons than hers. Chasca doesn't need anyone to tell her to get in the back of the line.
Mavuika claps a hand on her shoulder, making Chasca sputter and choke on her drink.
“You want to borrow the Flamestrider? It flies even faster than your gun! At least, I think it does. We can find out, if you're up for it. Wanna race?”
“Nooope. Not allowed.” Xilonen's tail frizzes out and begins lashing from side to side. “That voids both of your warranties. I am so not responsible for repairs if you two hotheads crash into each other.”
As Mavuika and Xilonen dissolve into bickering over the specifics written in the bike's safety manual, Citlali buries her face in her arms and groans.
Chasca shakes her head, amusement and fizzy-bright tipsiness replacing her earlier circumspection. None of this really fits her. The human dating scene is a baffling collection of unspoken rules that she's never been interested in, anyway. At least this way she can take her mind off of worrying. The humans Chasca forged bonds with are always good company – but only a saurian can advise her about courting a saurian.
Chasca's sharp whistle is carried far and wide on the harsh winds that carve mesas out of solid outcrops of stone. This far outside of civilization, surrounded on all sides by the reddest rocks and the bluest sky, Chasca feels some of the tension dropping from her shoulders. This feels better. More right. The last echoes of her whistle are just fading from earshot when a large, scarred Qucusaur swoops down from the clear skies to land imposingly in front of Chasca.
Coya.
Coya cocks her head to study Chasca with one brilliant, beady eye. The feathers around her neck fan out in a display of dominance. She scratches lines in the dirt, all stiff legs and spread wings and clacking beak. She's such a show-off.
“Hello, Coya,” Chasca says, stubbornly not budging an inch. “Good to see you, too.”
Switching from human back to saurian always takes a conscious reversing of gears in Chasca's mind. Becoming bilingual has meant forgetting a frustrating amount of her native language, rather than having absolute mastery over both.
It doesn't take long to sink back into the familiar guesswork of interpreting movements as simple words, though. Some of the elder tribesfolk, whose hearing has faded over time, have learned to speak with their hands and gestures instead of their mouths. Chasca borrows from that method as a bridge between the species, although she's also found that Coya and their mother know her well enough to follow a lot of what she says out loud, through tone and intention rather than diction, which helps.
Coya clucks at the back of her throat, an expression of amusement. Then she fluffs her wings and settles into a more relaxed pose.
Strong? Stronger than Chasca?
“Of course that's the first thing you want to know about her.” Chasca rolls her eyes, which she knows is a human habit, but can't help herself. There's not a good equivalent for saurians. “Yeah, she's... really strong. Stronger than you, too. Maybe as strong as the Archon.”
Coya cackles gleefully at Chasca. Chasca glares at her saurian sister, which doesn't dissuade her in the slightest.
You lose? You lose? Chasca find perfect mate! Crush you!
“Not the kind of crush you're thinking of. Well... Maybe it's a little of both,” Chasca mutters. She bobs her head, letting the pointed brim of her hat imitate quick movements of a beak. “You started a family during the time we lived apart. How did you choose your mate?”
Coya smugly puffs out her chest, feathers standing on end to make her look larger and plumper. She takes the time to preen herself, too, skimming her beak through her plumage like a comb. Chasca snorts. Her sister is so prideful.
You want. Beautiful Chime! Jealous Chasca! Egg-fever!
“I do not have egg fever. You sound just like Mom,” Chasca gripes. “I just want to know how you win a mate. You didn't exactly teach me when I was little.”
Coya arches her neck to look down on Chasca. Then she drops low to the ground, fanning her wings and tail wide, and rattling all her feathers in a swift, rhythmic beat. A mating dance, Chasca presumes. Coya makes a guttural noise and begins stomping her feet for good measure.
Egg season! Dance! Fight! Dance-fight! Egg!
“I'm not sure humans work that way. Although I suppose dancing and fighting are both important parts of human culture, too,” Chasca acknowledges with a shrug. “Qucusaurs don't live with their mates, do they? Both you and Mom raised chicks by yourselves...”
Coya preens herself again. Vain. Chasca smiles in spite of herself.
Freedom, freedom! Mate is good. Happy! Egg-chick is strong. Happy! Mate, all the time? Not happy! Not happy!
This gives Chasca pause. Just like Coya once had to accept that Chasca's world was bigger than her own, so too has Chasca accepted the truth that Lumine's world is larger than any of them. She won't always be around.
“...You're right, you know. I don't want to nest with anyone. She's a traveler. So am I. We both have to be free to do our own thing,” Chasca confirms aloud, mostly for her own benefit.
Coya peers at Chasca, then pecks her hand. Chasca smacks her in return, leading to a brief sibling scuffle between hands and beak. It ends with Chasca leaning her weight affectionately against Coya's chest, and Coya wrapping her long neck around Chasca in a saurian version of a hug. Coya chirrups near her ear and begins preening Chasca's braids.
Silly Chasca. Mate? Not mate? Not care. Be strong. Be happy.
Coya's throat rumbles as she coos. It's a familial noise to Chasca, one she remembers from roosting with Momma Bird. It's still strange to think of Coya as a mother now, but she's taken to it so well, and Chime is a delightful niece. Coya's gotten gentler in her maturity, compared to when they were young and wild together.
“You too. Stay strong and happy,” Chasca huffs. She clucks her tongue in imitation of Coya's earlier vocalization. “And when it's your turn to have a problem, talk to me, okay? Chuychu told me that's what sisters are supposed to do. It's... high time I started listening.”
The rocky canyon zips beneath her like a yawning mouth as Chasca soars overhead at cruising speed. She stands fearlessly on the barrel of her rifle with Anemo reins gripped in one hand and her hat in the other, leaning to pitch her weight into each turn. The buffeting winds are cold at this altitude, and fierce enough to whip her hair and sting her bare arms and legs with red dust, though she pays it no mind.
Chasca may have been born without wings, but flying is when she feels most like herself.
That, and she got a recent tip that the Inca and Yaxha gangs were at each others' throats again. Maintaining peace between rival factions usually requires loosing a few bullets and giving them a common enemy to unite against. Chasca's never had a problem playing the heel. It's easier than convincing people to like her.
Abruptly, Chasca yanks the reins and draws up short. The gun hovers obediently in midair as Chasca's sharp eyes sweep the scene below her. A small herd of wild Tepetlisaurs are bellowing and rattling their spikes in an aggressive display toward a lone Qucusaur. They seem quite spooked by the intruder, with the whites of their eyes visible and their tusks bared. Rather than flying away or responding in kind, the Qucusaur deliberately ignores them, walking around the herd in order to follow a Monetoo spirit.
Chasca stares for a long moment, deliberating whether or not she should intervene. Eventually her peacemaking instincts win out. She kicks the rifle into gear and fires off a warning shot, pulverizing a pile of rocks into powder. The frightened Tepetlisaurs burrow underground and vanish, as does the Monetoo.
As Chasca glides down to earth, Qucu-Lumine freezes in place.
“Act natural,” Paimon stage whispers from behind a nearby bush.
Chasca purses her lips. The time for subtlety has passed.
“...If you're wondering why all the saurians react that way, it's because of how obviously un-natural you are. The body and the words don't match. You can communicate with them, but it's uncanny to watch."
Qucu-Lumine cocks her head in consideration.
"For one thing, you shouldn't lock your knees like that. They're not sticks. Keep some bend so that you can hop around and kick stuff," Chasca remarks, inspecting her fingernails. "You also move your eyes to look first, while your head is still facing forward. Qucusaurs turn their whole head towards whatever holds their focus. There needs to be more motion."
Qucu-Lumine takes a few springy steps forward - using Chasca's advice - then extends her neck to headbutt Chasca's shoulder in thanks.
It's stupid. It isn't cute, and Chasca definitely doesn't feel a rush of stupid crystalflies fluttering in her stomach, or anything.
"I can, uh... give you some language lessons sometime, if you want. It's a steep learning curve without a teacher," Chasca ventures, heat rising unbidden to her cheeks. "I have somewhere to be right now. You probably do too. Just hit me up if you're free. Think about it."
She hesitates, then reaches out and scratches underneath Qucu-Lumine's chin, silently praying this interaction doesn't make things weird the next time she meets Human-Lumine. She's pretty sure she just heard Paimon snickering. As Chasca fires up her rifle and begins to rise skyward once more, she pulls her hat over her face to cover her furious blush.
She can't say she's a fan of this attraction thing, but Chasca already feels lighter having accepted it. Nothing ever has to come of this. That would be fine, too. She just has to stay true to herself, and whatever that means to her: human, saurian, or both.