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“Babe, have you been feeding Soot more than usual?”
Laku approaches with said spriggan in his arms. From even a quick glance, Zenos can tell his partner’s pet has become quite a lot rounder. He is not the culprit, however; the development has snuck upon him just as it has his beloved.
“Quite a plump little thing,” he comments, amused by the sight. His eyes gleam in accusation when their path rises from pet to owner. “Perhaps someone has been overindulging in his favorite treats?”
“By himself?” Laku shoots him a look that barries the blame.
Soot simply wiggles his little legs and screeches “FRIEND” at Zenos, who remains equally unconcerned by the glare that sinks into his skin. He all but ignores it as he extends a hand to lightly rub the fluffy little head to the tune of happy chirps.
“You dare insinuate that I’ve secretly stuffed this creature in your absence?”
“Well, it wasn’t me, so not many other options left.”
“Ah, the old process of elimination,” Zenos muses, still blessing the bulbous spriggan with scratches behind the ear. “So, if we account for your and my innocence, who else could have humored Soot’s cravings?”
Laku’s sigh is long-suffering. “I checked the warehouse. Door’s safely locked and nothing’s missing inside,” he reveals his detective work thus far, then shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe some fruit on the island’s really fattening. Honestly, I’m this close to calling Erenville.”
What an increasingly desperate investigation. “I see. You would rather assume some mystical fattening flora exists on our plot of land than admit your own culpability.” Zenos cannot help but smile in fondness imagining his fiancé’s frantic bouncing around in search for a scapegoat. “Very well. But know this: should you summon the gleaner, he will simply tell you the obvious. You are the one with crumbs still clinging to your fingers.”
Soot, sensing the tension, squeaks and stretches his noodly arms toward Zenos again, as if pleading for snacks right now.
Laku gives a scandalized gasp. “I just said it wasn’t me!”
Zenos leans in with mischief. “Denial, the last refuge of the guilty.” He plucks Soot from Laku’s cradling arms, balancing the fluffball in one hand. “Observe.” He lifts him up to Laku’s face. “Witness how his tiny claws still clutch traces of your favorite pastries.”
Soot screeches in agreement, “FOOD!”, and wiggles excitedly, clearly pleased with himself.
“Such a pity.” Zenos shakes his head. “The mighty Warrior of Light, felled by a snack peddler accusation.”
Alright, that’s it. Laku pokes his finger right at Zenos’s chest, his foot starting to thump. “And who baked them, huh? You must’ve left the tray out for him to reach! I keep telling you he can jump on tables!”
Zenos looks utterly unruffled by Laku’s accusatory finger and the furious speed of his foot. In fact, he’s rather pleased by his lover’s frustration and welcomes its misdirected fire. He responds with an air of nonchalance, “Ah, so the fault falls on me for not predicting your pet’s acrobatics? Shall I perhaps construct a spriggan-proof vault to store my baking experiments in?”
“Yes!” Laku pokes him harder. “If it means you won’t turn my baby into a chonker!”
Zenos lets out a low, delighted laugh at Laku’s outrage. “Very well, my dear. I shall build Soot a fortress—complete with moats, spikes, and no pastries.” A grand declaration complete with gesturing blueprints in the air. Then, with exaggerated solemnity, he adds, “But know this: if he outsmarts that, I shall have no choice but to declare him the superior strategist and surrender all future baking to his tiny, chubby paws.”
Soot, blissfully unaware of his impending siege-proof snack embargo, happily screeches, “FRIEND!!” and flops onto Zenos’s shoulder like a triumphant potato sack.
The mental image is silly enough that Laku’s irritation melts into a snort of hilarity. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, tugging on Zenos’s shirt and rising on his tiptoes.
Zenos allows himself to be pulled closer without resistance; his smirk only grows wider. “Ridiculous? Perhaps,” he murmurs, leaning in until their foreheads nearly touch. “But tell me, do you truly wish for me to be anything else?”
The creature still perched on Zenos’s shoulder lets out a tiny squeak as he wobbles from the movement. He blinks up at both his parents before attempting to also nuzzle into Laku’s neck—effectively sandwiched between the pair.
A soft chuckle escapes Zenos. “Hmph. It seems your chonker has claimed us both now.”
Laku grins as he gives both his fiancé and his gluttonous pet a shower of kisses each.
“Think I’ll invite Erenville to look him over anyway,” he decides when he releases Zenos from his affectionate hold. “Maybe he can share diet tips.”
Zenos hums, watching as Soot attempts to wiggle his way back into Laku’s arms—only to get stuck halfway due to his newfound rotundness. “At this rate,” he muses, “Erenville will merely suggest we roll him into the ocean and let the tides sculpt him back into shape.”
Soot pauses mid-struggle, tiny eyes narrowing as if personally offended. “FRIEND?!”
Laku scoops him up despite the extra effort, kissing him once more. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll find you a gentler solution.”
Zenos adds, “Or a treadmill.”
Soot shrieks in betrayal.
Erenville arrives faster than Laku anticipated. Then again, he had no frame of reference; after his cousin chose to roam the star again, his whereabouts could have ranged anywhere from across the great salts to the island next door. He follows Laku into the house with his usual unflappable demeanor—though his eyebrows do lift at the sight of Soot’s spherical form lounging in a pile of his favorite blankets and crystals.
“… I see,” he says after a long pause, kneeling to gently offer a finger for Soot to sniff, ready to withdraw should he instead choose to bite. “Hm. Impressive for a creature that primarily consumes rocks.”
Zenos crosses his arms, standing across the room. “And pastries. Allegedly.”
Laku shoots his partner a dirty glare. “Anyway—can you help?”
Erenville shrugs. As Soot accepts his presence, he moves in to pet his round stomach in quiet contemplation. “Has he been in contact with others of his kind?” he finally asks.
Zenos and Laku glance at each other, then back at Erenville.
“Of course,” Zenos answers. “The forest teems with them. Soot is… quite popular among his kin.”
Laku beams with pride. “He’s their little star.”
Soot, hearing his name, lets out a screech and attempts to rub against Erenville’s leg. It takes considerably more effort than before his roundening.
Erenville nods slowly. With some effort, he then lifts Soot to inspect him closer. The spriggan lets out a pleased little squee, legs dangling like an overstuffed dumpling.
“Ah. That explains the nesting,” Erenville says at last, his tone dry as desert parchment. “This isn’t fat.” He taps Soot’s belly lightly. “He’s gravid.”
Silence.
Then—
Zenos blinks. “Pregnant?”
Laku chokes. “WHAT?”
Soot happily wiggles.
Ever the professional, Erenville continues his examination with a serene expression as if he hasn’t just dropped the equivalent of a meteor on their heads. “Yes, gravid,” he repeats, turning Soot slightly to inspect his sides. “Spriggans do not gestate as mammals do—more akin to crystal clusters forming within. Likely fertilized during his social visits.”
Meanwhile, Laku has gone very still, processing this unbelievable information. “But… he’s…” He shakes himself out of it. “Sure. Whatever. But how long is… that…gonna take exactly?”
Soot, having zero awareness of the gravity of the conversation, is more concerned with trying to fit Erenville’s fingers in his mouth.
Erenville gently extracts his fingers from Soot’s maw, unfazed. “Difficult to say; could be weeks, could be moons. Depends on how quickly the crystals mature.” He pauses, then adds, “Though given his current girth, I’d wager sooner rather than later.”
Zenos regains his voice, which rings out oddly delighted by this development. “So. Not only did you overfeed him—”
“I DIDN’T—”
“—you also failed to notice he was with child,” Zenos taunts with vicious glee. “Truly, Laku, your observational skills are legendary.”
Soot chooses this moment to let out a loud, contented warble and flop onto his back, belly proudly on display.
Laku buries his face in his hands.
Erenville cannot conceal a smile of his own as he rises to give Laku a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “To be fair, spriggan gestation is remarkably subtle.”
Zenos steps closer, gaze fixated on Soot. Something about the little creature swollen with new life is simply fascinating to him. He kneels, slowly extending a hand to run a finger along the taut stomach. The critter wiggles in response, squeaking.
Laku watches, torn between irritation and bafflement. The sight of his spriggan, his little baby, now an expecting parent is hard to digest as is, but Zenos’s reaction is somehow even more confounding. Laku can’t recall the last time he saw him so captivated.
Zenos gives Soot a little poke, eliciting another squee from the spriggan. Then, with a slight frown, he glances up at Erenville. “I have a question.”
Erenville raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Yes?” He’s already mentally bracing himself for the inevitable insane inquiry.
Zenos continues to run a finger along Soot’s fur, his touch tender. “Given Soot’s state…” he starts, then pauses to gather his thoughts.
Laku can’t help a small, endeared smile. Zenos, for all his stoic indifference, is clearly smitten with the round little spriggan. It's a funny contrast, all things considered.
Zenos suddenly looks up with unnerving intensity. “Will he birth multiple offspring?”
Erenville nods. “Yes. Typically a cluster of three to five spriglings.”
Zenos’s eyes glow with something perilous.
Laku immediately stiffens and his smile shatters. “No.”
“I said nothing.”
“You were thinking about training them into a battalion.”
No repentance can be found on Zenos’s face. “You spoil your battle-bred beast to boredom. I am merely taking the reins of his lineage’s destiny back where it was always meant to lead.”
Soot screeches in protest, rolling onto his belly protectively—immediately stuck in the process.
It does not deter Zenos from his monologue. “You have dulled his claws with your coddling. Will you next dull my swords, or choke on your hypocrisy? This caged creature’s true calling is in bloodshed as much as mine or yours, and we both know it.”
Erenville tunes the argument down and begins jotting down dietary recommendations. This is why he charges extra for house calls.
Laku grabs Zenos by the collar, dragging him down to eye level, though his fiancé remains irritatingly irreverent. “If you want to play Verminion so bad, get your own critters,” he hisses. “You are not militarizing my baby’s babies.”
Zenos gives him a look that could pass for pleading. “Not one?”
“Zenos.”
Soot, having corrected his position, decides now is the perfect time to waddle between them and flop onto Zenos’s boots, squeaking pleas of a truce to his arguing parents.
Erenville clears his throat, handing Laku a list with the air of a man who has long since accepted the absurdity of his side hustle. “Increased aether-rich minerals. No pastries.”
Laku wastes no time shoving the list into Zenos’s chest. “You handle the shopping.”
Zenos glances at the list, then at Soot’s loving eyes, and—after a long, dramatic pause—tucks the parchment away. “Future warlords do need proper nutrition.”
Laku thwacks him.
Soot squeals.
Erenville pockets his gil and leaves unceremoniously.
In the following days, Zenos finds himself uncharacteristically dedicated to feeding Soot the finest mineral deposits, even venturing out to the wilds himself to collect the highest quality stones. Soot, for his part, basks in his attention and offerings both. His impending parenthood doesn’t seem to bother him; he remains more concerned with demanding belly rubs, extra scritches, and the occasional apple slice.
Zenos kneels before his nest—an absurdly plush arrangement of stolen silks—holding out a freshly polished chunk of Dravanian crystal between two fingers like a noble presenting a ring. The pet sniffs it with an air of regal consideration before emitting an approving sound and chomping down with enough vigor to make Zenos’s mouth corners twitch.
Lounging in the sidelines with an ironic pastry, Laku observes this ritual. His fiancé’s unusual devotion to the cause gives him the flutters like little else. “Never thought I’d see the day Zenos Galvus played nursemaid to a pregnant rock gremlin.”
Zenos doesn’t dignify that with a response beyond a haughty huff. His fingers remain gentle as he adjusts the silks beneath Soot’s ever-expanding bulk. Soot, sensing weakness, immediately rolls onto his back for his requisite rubs with a pitiful squeak.
Laku cackles into his snack as Zenos obeys. But when the dutiful caretaker can spare him a glance from his task, he sees his eyes brimming with obvious adoration.
With Soot finally sated and dozing off in a food-coma, Zenos rises to his feet and finds Laku gleaming at him across the room with fond mockery. He lets out a snort of mild irritation. “Enjoying the show?”
Laku takes a leisurely bite. “So much, you have no idea. Come here, you.”
Zenos obliges with the same attentive aura Soot saw. He halts mere ilms from Laku, eyes boring into his in silent challenge.
Laku reaches up to hook two fingers between buttons on his shirt and—with a sharp tug—drags him down for a pastry-flavored kiss. Zenos, in true Zenos fashion, responds with far more passion than any chaste exchange warrants. He bites, Laku gasps, and the pastry crumbles between his fingers from the force.
When they finally part, panting, Zenos glances down at the jam smeared against Laku’s fingers, then meets his lover’s gaze with deliberate languor. “A shame,” he murmurs, voice thick with lust. “I believe someone remains hungry.”
Before Laku can retort, he steals another kiss—this one slower, savoring the lingering sweetness. Soot snoring loudly provides background ambience.
Laku lets out a breathless, half-hearted protest, still held willfully captive in the cage of Zenos’s arms. “I was eating—”
“Eating,” Zenos repeats, letting the word roll off his tongue with a low, suggestive note that sends a shiver up Laku’s spine. “Yes. This poor pastry you’ve pulverized in your grasp.” He slowly lifts Laku’s sticky fingers to his mouth, maintaining eye contact the entire time as he sucks each digit clean.
Whatever further argument Laku thought to present dies in his throat, its only remnant a strangled noise. “… I could eat something meatier.”
Zenos’s eyes gleam with predatory interest as he leans in. “Then name your cut,” he murmurs, breath hot against Laku’s lips, teeth scraping skin. “I shall carve it fresh.”
Laku’s pulse jumps against Zenos’s fingertips where they rest against his throat. He tilts his head back in provocation, exposing the line of his neck. “Start with the tenderest part,” he purrs, watching Zenos’s pupils dilate.
A chuckle dark and pleased rushes against his skin before a fang grazes over his vein. Not a bite, but a promise.
Soot, still snoozing in his nest, abruptly sneezes a tiny puff of crystal dust.
Zenos pauses mid-tease to glance at the spriggan with an expression of utmost vexation.
Laku wheezes with laughter.
The moment dissolves into chaos, as it always does, with Zenos chasing Laku’s mirth between kisses while Soot slumbers without a care in the world.