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Mollymauk woke with blood on his tongue and panic around his heart. He flailed upright, sharp claws and tail thrown in his haste. The edge of a horn caught Yasha’s side as he rolled and tore her furs. She groaned awake, annoyed. She reached out a hand to grab at the back of Mollymauk’s neck. She squeezed reassuringly, and she spoke softly,
“Molly, what’s wrong?”
His hands were pawing at his sore tongue, confused. He wasn’t spitting up dirt. There was no soil under his nails. He was safe. He was in the circus with Yasha in their shared tent. The aasimir rolled to sit up, blinking sleep from her bleary eyes.
“Molly?”
The tiefling looked down at his blood-soaked fingers, perplexed. He hadn’t been dreaming at all, so why did he wake up choking? He turned to look at his best friend, she was watching him with concern. She reached a hand out to brush it against his face. Her fingers came back bloody. There was drying blood around his lips and chin. She made a face before reaching out to tilt his chin up,
“Open up for me, okay?”
Immediately, he opened his mouth, forked tongue lolling out. He had pierced it in his sleep with his fangs and the appendage was bleeding steadily. The red liquid dripped down his tongue onto his pants.
“Was’ goin’ on?”
She swiped her thumb over the cuts and he hissed at the salty pain.
“You bit yourself in your sleep. Here, let's get it taken care of.”
She made him gargle with salty water until the water ran clear when he'd spit to the dirt ground of their tent. He stuck his tongue back out and she hummed approvingly as the bite marks were deep but no longer bleeding. She tilted her head questioningly and asked softly,
“Do you not use fang guards?”
Mollymauk blinked at her in confusion. He didn't know what those were; had never heard of them before.
“No..? What are those?”
It was then that Yasha had remembered Mollymauk wouldn't know what those things were. He had no previous memories of growing up needing fang or horn guards to keep from injuring himself or others while he slept as a babe. The tear in her furs further proved it. She was honestly surprised that Gustav hadn't thought to get the tiefling some after he'd become a more permanent part of the circus. She patted his shoulder,
“Next town we stop in, we'll find somewhere that can make some for you.”
There were still so many things the tiefling had to learn. Like why the bottom of his tail was scarred with pock marks and healed jagged cuts or why the corners of the inside of his mouth were rough with scar tissue. He was curious about the aids Yasha spoke of, she seemed to think they'd help him. He trusted Yasha, she was his Love.
She'd made sure that they stopped in the next town first thing. She explained to Gustav quietly what they were leaving to do during morning prep and the elf nodded seriously, handing her a coin pouch. The elf himself felt stupid not thinking of it earlier but Mollymauk had never complained so it slipped his mind. Granted, Mollymauk didn't probably know to complain.
Wherever Yasha had taken him was as sketchy as the Carnival folk themselves. The physician asked little questions and Yasha gave little answers, only insisting that the guards needed to be done by the end of day. She'd handed the physician extra gold to ensure it.
The physician had sat Mollymauk down, taking measurements of his horns. After tilting his head this way and that, the Dwarven person, (Mollymauk honestly couldn't tell if they were man or woman, or neither) turned and pulled open a compartment on their shelving unit. They plucked out two clear soft jelly-like caps with thick round ends and turned towards the tiefling.
He met Yasha's eyes, uneasy but satisfied still when she didn't seem concerned. The physician slid the caps over the ends of his horns. They stopped roughly three inches up, and he barely felt them on the sharp bone.
“These should keep you from gouging anyone in yer sleep. Let's take care of yer teeth next.”
He hadn't been a fan of the moss-like material they'd forced into his mouth to get an impression of his teeth but Yasha had explained when they left the room that it was so the guards were exact to his fangs. He still held onto her hands extremely tight as the earthen taste brought up unwanted memories. The material hardened quickly at least and the physician came back in promptly to remove the molds.
They whistled at the indents left from his teeth in the moss,
“You got some impressively sharp fangs there buddy. I haven't made a set fer someone like you in a long time, this'll be a treat. Any color you want specifically? Consider it on the house for giving me a fun challenge.”
Molly ran his tongue carefully over his teeth, slight disgust from the taste of earth left in his mouth. He hummed,
“Purple? Oh, do you have glitter??”
The physician grinned, crows feet wrinkling at their eyes, “I like the way you think kid.”
_____
“What the fuck are those??
Mollymauk turned as he heard Beauregard yell incredulously from behind him. He was down to his leggings and undershirt, holding onto the small leather pouch that held his purple fang guards. His horns felt bare without his earrings and jewelry.
“Wha’?”
Beau pointed a rude finger in his face,
“Those! On your horns! What the fuck are those!”
A clawed hand reached up to a horn to feel around for anything strange. All he felt were his soft horn cap covers. He made a quizzical noise in his throat.
“What, these? These are just my horn guards, surely you've seen these before?”
Beau spluttered, “No! No I haven't! Horn guards, what're those?”
He shrugged, not quite sure what her deal was. Jester had just come back from the nearby creek with Nott and joined them, gasping loudly,
“Oh My Traveler!! Molly! I love your caps! Where did you get them, they're so glittery!!”
She pushed her way past Beauregard to cup Mollymauk's cheeks in her hands and twist his head this way and that to get a better look at the glittery purple covers he'd slipped onto his horns while he dressed down for the night. His voice was muffled as his face was squished,
“Uh, I don't remember. You'd have to ask Yasha, she'd know.”
Jester pouted, “Ugh! I am so jealous, Molly! I don't need them since my horns are too small but yours are literally just the cutest! Do you have matching fang guards??”
He nodded in between her hands and she pulled back to clap happily, tail swishing in excitement. She dug through a pouch tied to her hip to pull out her own bright pink ones. Mollymauk grinned, fangs glinting sharply in the firelight. Beau crossed her arms over her chest, impatient,
“Uh, Hello?” She snapped, “Anyone gonna fucking tell me what’s going on here?”
Jester turned towards her, her skirts fluttering around her as she did.
“Oh! A lot of us wear mouth guards or horn guards when we sleep or else we’ll hurt ourselves or others when we do ‘cause of how sharp our fangs and horns can be! I don’t need the horn ones ‘cause mine are too short which is a total bummer, because look at how cute Molly’s are! But I do need the fang ones ‘cause once when I was younger I bit the traveler out of my tongue and it hurt super bad!-”
Beauregard blinked as the cleric continued on with her story. The monk looked past her towards Mollymauk for confirmation. The carnie just shrugged, not quite sure what to say.
“It’s just something normal for folks like us, darling. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go to sleep now.”
The monk watched in open curiosity as the tiefling set up his bedroll near the fire. He settled down, stretching once to crack his back before tipping the open pouch into his waiting palm. Sure enough, two matching mouth pieces tumbled from the bag into his fingers. Mollymauk slid them into his mouth, shifting his jaw until they were comfortable. He scooted himself further down his bedroll to stretch out and lay down, arms behind his head, using them and his coat as a cushion.
Beauregard blinked dumbly at the mundane display. Mollymauk was… loud. Brash. Unapologetically bombastic in everything he did. Watching him do something this… mundane made her head hurt.
She walked up to where he was laying, fists on her hips. Her shadow fell over Mollymauk and his eyebrow twitched. The carnie sighed through his nose before opening an eye to look up at her.
“Can I help you darling?”
His words were slightly muffled, slurring against the soft chewy guards in his mouth.
“You aren't, like, embarrassed by having to use that shit?”
Mollymauk opened both eyes, tilting his head up to look at her fully. Beauregard felt uncomfortable with the sudden seriousness on his face. It didn't fit the picture she had of him.
“Does an old man feel embarrassed when he uses a cane? Or do you, when you wrap your hands every morning?”
Beau huffed, “That's different. I wrap my fingers so they don't get injured. Oh, I see your point now. Why purple though?”
The seriousness was gone from him in an instant, so quickly that it gave Beau whiplash.
“Because purple is the best color obviously.”
_____
Lucien was tired, Cree could tell from where she was trailing behind him. The tabaxi wasn’t sure if it was from his resurrection or just all the time being in the astral sea without a body catching up to him but she absolutely could tell that the tiefling, her nonagon, was close to dropping right where he was from exhaustion. He was staggering where he was stepping, feet catching on his tail and the dips in the road as he clumsily stepped forward. He had refused help, Her Lucien. Always stubborn, in life and in death.
After he’d tripped over his borrowed cloak for only the Matron knew how many times, Cree had decided enough was enough. He was covered in dried blood, dirt and barely able to stand. She cleared her throat and the others stopped moving, turning back to look at her curiously. Lucien was the only one to ignore her, insisting on making it to the nearest town as soon as possible. Her nose twitched in irritation.
“Lucien.”
She watched his ears twitch, the tiefling could hear her, he was just choosing not to listen. She growled,
“Lucien Tavelle, you stop right now.”
Lucien bristled, tail tensing as he stumbled to turn around. His solid red eyes were furious as he glared at her. He bared bloody fangs as he hissed,
“What?”
His cleric gave him an unimpressed stare. She was not going to be kowtowed by him. Not when he clearly was close to dropping and she was the only one that was going to be able to do anything about it. She placed her fists on her hips and cocked her head slightly, giving him a disappointed look. Cree could tell when it registered past his post-resurrection haze because the other hunched his shoulders as his tail hung low, brushing the hard ground below him. She clicked her tongue, he always had been too unrestrained with his tail. It was the reason why the underside was so scarred. He would tell everyone it was due to his abilities, but she knew better. The idiot just never paid attention to hold it high enough from it catching on thorns and bramble bushes when walking.
“What?” He whispered softly.
“We’re stopping here tonight.”
Lucien spluttered, “What? No. We’re almost to Nogvurot-”
“Lucien.”
His ears twitched downward as Cree scolded him. The rest of the tombtakers watched in tense silence. It had been two years since the Nonagon had been alive, since he’d been their leader. They weren’t quite sure who to follow, Cree or Lucien. They didn’t have to, because after a tense silence Lucien growled lowly in his throat before muttering,
“Fine.”
He wrapped the borrowed cloak around himself tighter as he fumed. As much as his body needed the time to recover, he felt like he was wasting it. He had been dead for two years, didn’t Cree understand that they needed to catch up? They needed to find his journal, find DeRogna to retrieve it and they couldn’t do that if they weren’t moving. His own needs were inconsequential. Sure, his skin itched where the dried blood was flaking and whatever clothes the fragment had him in were beyond repair but he could take care of that later! But Cree insisted, and he didn’t want to fight with her, not really.
The tombtakers made camp east of the dirt path they were walking, near a creek. Lucien twitched, a sense of deja vu hitting him as they settled. He’d been there before, but they were near the Run, of course he’d probably been there before. His reasoning did not make the unease leave from his bones.
Once Zoran and Tyffial had a fire going and Otis was divvying up rations did Cree drag Lucien off towards the creek. He hissed and spit at her the entire time but wasn’t able to pull his arm from her grasp. The others looked at each other before staring off at where she had dragged him through the trees in concern.
When the two had broken through the tree line towards the rushing water, did Lucien finally manage to pull himself from her hold. He yanked himself free, an impudent look on his narrow gaunt face.
“How dare you! Cree, What the hell are you thinking? I am not a child that needs coddling.”
Cree huffs, unimpressed.
“You could have fooled me, trying to carry on like that. Do you even know if you don’t need to sleep anymore? It’s been two years, Lucien. We don’t know if your body has recovered enough to use the Somnovem’s gifts.”
His silence was damning as he refused to meet her eyes. He stared at the underbrush in annoyed silence before huffing. She nodded knowingly.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. You are going to bathe and change, and then we’re going to eat and rest. Nogvurot will still be there in the morning.”
Lucien’s expression pinched as he was ordered. He had never done well with being told what to do but still, he slowly stripped, his stiff limbs arguing with the motions.
Mollymauk's bloody and torn clothes were dropped onto the ground as Lucien made his way into the creek. The babbling water moved around him and he shivered with the cold. He was already cold, he didn't need the water to freeze him further.
Cree settled near the shoreline and he grumbled as she essentially babysat him. She handed him a bar of lye soap from her pack wordlessly and he fumbled with it with rigid fingers.
It took Lucien too long to clean himself, mapping out new scars as he went, especially the large starburst in the center of his chest. He grimaced in disgust at it. It didn't belong to him. It belonged to the fragment.
“Here, you have blood on your back.”
Lucien startled, biting his tongue with sharp fangs. He cursed, spitting blood into the rushing water. He handed the soap over to Cree and she lathered the bar over his tense skin. He relaxed slowly as she massaged paw pads over his shoulders and spine in a soothing manner.
“I know you don't like it when I take charge Lucien, but we, I, just got you back. I'm not losing you again to something as silly as exhaustion.”
He sighed, slumping as she made her point. Her knuckles rubbed into the knots of his spine and he pressed against her. He nodded grumpily,
“I know. It doesn't mean I have to like it.”
His cleric smirked, “I'm well aware, my nonagon.”
He yawned as she continued massaging the knots from his muscles. She removed her hands once she had a purring mess of a tiefling sitting in front of her in near frigid water. She shifted to stand to grab the towel she'd brought with her.
Cree moved to help Lucien out from the creek, sighing when the shivering tiefling burrowed against her fur. She wrapped him in the towel before moving to pull warm clothes from his pack. They were Mollymauk's of course, but they were the only ones that would fit Lucien until they reached Nogvurot tomorrow.
Lucien dried himself quickly, fangs chattering in the cold. He hissed when a particularly strong shiver had him nicking his tongue against a fang. He wrinkled his nose at the clothes handed to him but pulled on the multi colored leggings and cotton shirt anyway. He guessed they were better than attempting to borrow something of Tyffial’s or putting on the crusty earth covered ones he’d awoken in. At least the dried blood had covered the horrendous pattern of the pants he'd been wearing previously.
He slipped the ridiculous thigh high leather boots back on and wrapped himself tightly in his cloak. Cree handed him his pack and he dug through it curiously. He hadn't done so earlier when he'd first been revived, too disoriented to focus on the leather satchel the tombtakers had dug up with him.
There were an assortment of trinkets and doodads that Lucien ignored. Paltry things that could be pawned in the next town for a few coppers, maybe some silver if they were lucky. But at the bottom of the bag was a smallish leather pouch that Lucien had semi-recognized. Despite clearly being a counterfeit, the shape of the container was unmistakable.
His motherfucking fragment has horn and fang guards.
That motherfucker had horn and fang guards!!
Oh, if he weren't already dead, Lucien would have killed him himself! Lucien, and by proxy, whoever the fuck had piloted his body while he was dead, wasn't not a child! Those petty expensive items were meant for children. Not adults like Lucien. They were for babes who hadn't learned how to not chew on themselves in their sleep! Not someone like Lucien, who was an adult, thank you, and could control himself.
He ignored the ache in his tongue and the scars on the insides of his cheeks as he stared at the small leather pouch in rage. Cree noticed he'd stopped his rummaging to glare impudently inside his bag. She leaned over his shoulder to look inside. She hummed in surprise,
“Looks like your copy had a pair of guards made. At least we won't have to find anyone in the next town to make any for you.”
Lucien choked, dropping the bag entirely. He sputtered on his words,
“You don't expect me to! Cree! I am not using these! I am not a little kid!”
He flushed dark purple as he argued with her. Absolutely not! What would the other takers think if they saw? It was absolutely ridiculous to think Lucien would ever consider using something as childish as fang guards! He would not be touching them or the horn guards at all. No way.
Cree grasped his chin tightly, halting his petty squabbling. She squished his cheeks with thick fingers and his mouth popped open with the strain. Lucien grunted as his jaw ached and weak hands pulled at her wrist as he tried to get her off. Spittle pooled in his mouth and he flicked his tongue back to swallow. Before Lucien's tongue could resettled, Cree pulled it out with her free hand.
“Cree!”
Lucien slurred as she twisted his forked tongue. She looked unhappy. Gold eyes left his tongue to meet his.
“Your tongue is chewed to hell, Lucien. You can't tell me it doesn't hurt.”
“You can just fix it, it's fine!”
He whined around her fingers. She let go and watched as he smacked his lips uncomfortably as his mouth felt dry.
Cree spoke dryly, “I'm not wasting a spell on that Lucien. You can just use the damn guards.”
Lucien growled incredulously, “No! I will not have the others see me in that ridiculous shit Cree!”
She rounded on him, equally as annoyed, “Then be the last to go to bed! But I refuse to heal your mouth when you've gnawed on it because you're stubborn!”
“Fine!”
He stormed off back towards their camp, snatching the satchel from the rocky ground as he did. Cree rolled her eyes, such a stupid stubborn man! She followed him back and watched as he strode past the others towards his tent angrily. Well. It would be a quiet night then at least.
She's the first one to rise early in the morning. When she goes to check on him while the others are still curled in their own tents, She bites back a laugh.
Lucien is passed out, body not yet strong enough to dream sleepless. He is using what Mollymauk left him, the gaudy coat curled under him as a pillow and sheepskin as a blanket. He has the sparkly purple horn guards secured tightly on the ends of his horns and is drooling around the matching fang guards.
His cleric huffs, amused and closes his tent, making sure to keep the flap closed against the elements and sight. Her nonagon needed his rest, it seemed.
____
“Hey.”
Lucien raised his eyes from the fire to stare, unblinkingly at Beauregard Lionett. While he wasn't quite back to full strength yet, he could pretend in front of these interlopers.
“What.”
His staring was making her uncomfortable, he could tell as she shifted on her booted feet in the snow on the other side of the campfire. Good. She'd been nothing but a pain in his ass since their group had joined his in Eiselcross.
He was sitting on the cold snow covered ground, wrapped in his furs and heavy cloak to keep the impending chill out. The rest of the takers were much the same, sitting around the fire to keep warm. Otis was stirring something in a cook pot on the other fire but Lucien honestly didn't care what they were doing. It wasn't going to taste good either way with their limited rations. The tea they'd handed out earlier had been bad enough. He was still holding onto the cup for warmth mainly.
The “Mighty Nein” as they called themselves, were sitting opposite his group on the other end of the fire. They all were watching each other tensely as if one wrong sneeze would set someone off and cause a fight. Well, knowing Tyffial it might, Lucien mused.
“Do you need guards?”
If Lucien hadn't been keeping up appearances, he would have blinked at the monk in confusion. He rasped, voice scratchy still with disuse.
“What?”
Beau sighed, as if she were speaking to a child. It made Lucien bristle in anger.
“We don't know what you still have of Molly's. Do you need horn and teeth guards to sleep? Caleb can conjure some if you do.”
There. She threw out the olive branch and now he could go fuck himself for all she cared.
Cree smirked slyly over her mug of tea as she tried to keep herself from snorting. He'd tried so so hard in the past few weeks to keep the other tombtakers from finding out about the sleep aids only for this little group that his fragment had bonded with to expose him so beautifully. She found the irony delightful.
“The fuck is that?”
Tyffial, bless her, Cree thought, piped up from her spot on the other side of Zoran. Beau looked at her confused, she waved a hand towards where Jester was with a hand vaguely. Lucien, himself, had paled considerably. His eyes had widened a fraction, and his mouth hung open in shock. Cree wasn’t even sure if he was breathing with how still he was sitting. Like if he didn’t move, no one would see him.
“Uh, teeth guards? They're like these things to keep people from biting themselves in their sleep? Molly used to tear the shit out of his tongue if he didn’t wear them. Ask Yasha.”
“He doesn’t need that kinda shit! He’s the Nonagon!”
Beau turned to Otis with a scowl on her face, “We don’t even know what that shit is, assho-!”
Beau yelped as she was tackled into the snow by the purple tiefling. She struggled underneath him as he cursed at her in infernal. His tail was lashing behind him dangerously close to the fire as he tried to choke her. His face is flushed all the way down his neck as he snaps his teeth at her. He reminds her more of someone throwing a tantrum than a threat. The monk flips him off of her, slamming him face first into the snow. The tombtakers moved to advance but Cree subtly waved them down. Lucien started this fight, she was going to make him finish it. He was pinned under her knee, his right arm pinned to his chest.
Beauregard shoved his head down into the snow as she pulled his free arm behind him to subdue him. She kneeled so that one knee was keeping his arm stuck against his lower back and her other boot was pressing painfully into his shoulder so he couldn’t yank it out from under her. He was hollering, screaming unintelligibly as he wriggled to free himself. Beau screamed at him,
“What the fuck is your problem?! All I did was ask if you needed something, fuck!”
Lucien lifted his head from the snow, blood dripping down his chin from his mouth. He spit angrily into the snow, and twisted around to hiss at her. His growling cut short as he let out a strangled snarl. Beau looked to where he was staring in abject horror.
In the confusion, Jester had snuck over to where Lucien’s pack laid on the ground. Cupped in her hands was a small leather pouch that she’d pulled from his satchel. Beau gasped as the tiefling under her renewed his struggle. He was yelling now, his face a dark shade of purple. The tombtakers stared in horror as they watched their leader lose his cool.
“Put that back! Leave my shit alone you fucking bitch, how dare you! It's none of your business!”
Jester frowned at him, not understanding what the big deal was.
“What's the problem? You have really sharp horns! And teeth! You are literally dripping blood right now from biting yourself!”
She pointed out. Lucien snarled at her, snapping his teeth further proving her point.
“The problem? The problem? The problem is, my dear, is that I'm not a fucking child! I am perfectly capable of resting without using that childish nonsense! Just because that little speck of yours wasn't smart enough to be able to act like an adult doesn't mean I have to do the same!”
One of the others, Fjord maybe, he wasn't sure snapped,
“Hey now, no need to be rude. Plenty of folks have much sharper fangs than yours, you ass, and use them. Just because you're embarrassed doesn't mean you need to take it out on Jessie.”
Sure enough, the blue tiefling was holding the leather bag with a clenched hand with tears in her eyes. She was frowning, her lower lip trembling as she tried not to cry. Lucien laughed mirthlessly as he snapped, a shot of pain lancing through his shoulder as he tried to lean back,
“Embarrassed? I'm not embarrassed, I'm pissed that your little cleric thinks she can go through my things without as-mmrph?”
Without anyone noticing, Cree stepped up to the other cleric. She had placed a paw on her shoulder in comfort and held out her other hand for the bag. Jester had sniffled but handed it over. Cree lifted a finger to her lips for Jester to remain silent and opened the little leather pouch. She tipped out the sparkly purple fang guards into her palm before tucking the pouch into her belt.
As Lucien ranted and raved at the members of the Nein, she rounded on him. Beau caught her eye as she neared, the monk still holding onto the blood hunter tightly. When Lucien opened his mouth on the last word, she shoved the top piece of his guards in his mouth effectively silencing him.
Red eyes widened in shocked surprise as he stilled. Cree took the few precious seconds of silence she had to stuff the bottom piece in his mouth as well before Lucien processed what had just happened. His tail, which had previously been swatting at Beau, fell lax into the snow and his ears dropped as he whined. He chewed on the soft material for a second before he blinked and realization swam in his eyes.
Lucien moved to spit the guards out into the snow but they were large and bulky due to the long nature of his fangs. He nearly choked when a tan hand wrapped around his face, covering his mouth. He tried to wiggle and buck Beau off to no avail.
“Oh no you don't. I think a teething toy would do you some good right now.”
Lucien grunted angrily as his eyes narrowed. His ears and neck prickled as he registered the sound of laughing around him. He snapped his head to the other side of the fire where his group was spread out. Tyffial and Otis both had tears in their eyes, the bastards, laughing! Zoran looked mildly confused, looking between Lucien and the little blue tiefling. Caduceus, who up until this point had been silent, remarked that he hadn’t seen a sibling fight like this since he’d been home. Amusement danced in his pink eyes and Lucien may not know him well but he was also now on the tiefling’s shit list. Jester, who had been standing next to Cree was giggling behind her hands, still teary-eyed from his earlier ridiculing.
Cree herself stood back, with her arms crossed against her chest. She was looking at him with a mix of disappointment and resignation. Like she'd been waiting for something like this to happen. This wasn't his fault! If the damn monk had just left him alone and Jester hadn't gone through his things then this never would have happened! This wasn't his fault!
He chewed on the guard angrily, still trying to spit it out around Beau's hand. This wasn't fair! How dare they muzzle him? He was the Nonagon! It didn't matter that he didn't have his journal back yet! That he hadn't heard from the Somnovem since his revival, or that his gifts were gone. He was still their chosen! It didn't matter that he had to eat and sleep again after coming back from the dead and that his gods abandoned him, he was still important! He was still special!
Tears pricked at his eyes in embarrassment. He was stuck. Beauregard was solidly on top of him, holding him down and his joints were beginning to ache from the strain. His tail thwap!’ed against the snow quickly as he became overwhelmed. He couldn't breathe, his friends were laughing at him, his sliver's friends were laughing at him too- it was all becoming just too much.
Beau notices immediately when Lucien goes slack underneath her. The tension in his muscles release as he loses consciousness momentarily. His face presses against her hand heavily as it drops.
“Oh shit!”
She lets go of him quickly, stepping back from him, hands raised high. For as quickly as he passed out, Lucien is quick to rise again. The tiefling is groaning, rolling onto his back smoothly. The action is much smoother than anything he's been able to achieve in the past few weeks post-resurrection and it immediately sets Cree on guard. The others are still laughing, talking and joking with the tense air from earlier broken between the two groups for the time being. No one quite spots the difference in behavior besides herself, Caleb and Beauregard.
Lucien raises a hand to pull the guards from his mouth, grunting when his jaw cracks. His other hand moves to rub the sore spot below his ear where Beau had been pressing in roughly. He moves to sit up and Beau steps back quickly,
The purple tiefling cracks his neck, moaning, sore,
“Oh, what the fuck Beau? That shit hurts.”
The monk eyes him warily as he tries to roll his shoulders. Cree is also watching him tensely. This isn't her Lucien. The cadence is all wrong; lighter, less angry. The group is quiet now, watching him curiously.
“Lucien?”
His ears twitch, but he looks over towards Caleb confused. The body hasn't changed, same skin and eyes, same sharp teeth and claws but the person wearing it has changed.
“What? No? It's me.”
Jester steps forward, hopeful, “Molly?”
His head swivels to where she's standing next to Cree. His eyes soften, but neither cleric can tell towards who.
“Of course. Mister high and mighty couldn't handle the teasing I guess so I'm in charge now.”
It's Zoran surprisingly that snorts and remarks bluntly,
“He never could, that one. Would always get so angry if anyone teased ‘im during training. Would get all prickly, like uh, like, what's those things that are mostly spikes?”
Tyffial slaps him in the back of the head with quick fingers, “You mean a porcupine?”
The Goliath moves to slap back at her, friendly despite his stature, “Yeah. One of them things.”
It brought a few laughs from the two groups with the comparison. Zoran wasn't wrong. Lucien was much like a grumpy cat or hedgehog most days anymore. The tombtakers would admit that they missed who he used to be before they traveled to Aeor.
It was Cree that spoke up next, moving to sit next to Mollymauk cautiously.
“Where is Lucien? Is he..?”
Mollymauk tilted his head to the side as his eyes unfocused. He frowned for a few seconds before cringing, inhaling sharply.
“Ah. He's still here alright. Just mighty pissed off and embarrassed. Oh yes you are, don't even try to deny it.”
Mollymauk shook his head, eyes regaining clarity. He tapped the side of a horn,
“I don't know how but I guess too much overstimulation caused him to retreat mentally and it shoved me forward. Not complaining though, if I'd have known that would happen I would have done something so much sooner.”
The tiefling winced as he said it, the groups assuming Lucien had his own words to say about that particularly.
“So Lucien has been hearing you this whole time as well? Assuming you can hear him right now.”
Mollymauk snapped his fingers jauntily towards Caleb. The warm expression on his face was not one the tombtakers were used to seeing.
“Right as always, magic man.”
He stretches himself out, groaning as his stiff joints crack. He looks towards Cree, annoyed with pain longsuffering in his eyes.
“Did he seriously not take care of our body since he got it back? I feel like shit.”
The tabaxi huffs equally as annoyed and moves to sit down next to him. She hands him the leather pouch from her belt and he takes it, sliding the saliva covered guards back into the bag.
“No. He insisted he was fine like he always does.”
Mollymauk can feel Lucien squirm in the back of his head, like an angry little worm stuck in his brain. Clearly he isn’t happy with how things have gone but Mollymauk is having too much fun dicking him off to care. As long as he’s in charge, he’s going to embarrass the shit out of his other half. He turns to Cree, curious.
“Say, you grew up with Lucien, right?”
She nods, “Yes. Why?”
A lavender tail curls up, flipping into her lap. Light scars trail up but underside in an uncontrolled pattern. It had been bothering Mollymauk for ages that he didn’t know how he got these particular scars. It was easy to parse out that the others were from his blood hunting and that made logical sense but these did not. There was no way that Lucien had been cutting his tail to use his powers. The tabaxi snorts out a loud laugh and Mollymauk is immediately invested. That and the feeling of Lucien scratching at the walls of their shared mind in incessant urgency gave him perfect reason to believe that whatever the reason, it would be deliciously unbearable to the other.
The others around the fire, two groups slowly converging into one as the mood lightened, leaned closer as well when Cree tapped clawed pawpads against the underside of Mollymauk’s tail. He ignores the screaming in his ears as Cree speaks,
“Lucien is not very restrained with his tail you see,” She smirks. She loves him, she does, but her tiefling has been very inconsiderate towards her lately and if this is how she gets her revenge then Cree will take it. “Especially when we were kids. It would drag through all sorts of thorns and bushes and then he’d complain or even worse he would trip over it because he wasn’t paying attention.”
Mollymauk felt his cheeks heat in embarrassment though it wasn’t his own. He cackled loudly as the other tombtakers joined in, Zoran slapping his hand on his knee. The giant goliath loudly exclaimed,
“Do you remember the time when we were in that swamp near the Orders and he got it stuck in the water between the rocks? Oh he was so mad!”
Tyffial was next, “Or the time that he set the camp on fire when he tried to make breakfast?”
Well at least he knew now that they were both bad at cooking. Mollymauk could feel the presence of Lucien in his subconscious shrivel as the takers shared story after story of him. He hadn’t realized just how many embarrassing things they knew about him. Mollymauk joined in with some of his own, like the one time his leggings snagged when he was practicing with the carnival’s aerial silks and they tore. He had been so startled by it that he’d twisted wrong and gotten stuck in the silks, and had to wait for Yasha to come and cut him down.
His love nodded, a small smile on her face, “You were nearly magenta from the blood rushing to your head and were speaking gibberish by the time I got you down.”
Jester wiggles on his other side, “Oh! Oh! Or the time you barfed in Mama’s flowers!”
Mollymauk snaps his fingers, pointing at her grinning. Otis is the one this time that chokes on their laughter, squawking.
“You what?? Why!”
Mollymauk turns to them, cheeks hurting from how much he’s been laughing.
“Well, Nicodranas is a port town right?” He waits for the others to nod. “Well, Jessie’s mom, Lovely lady by the way, had made us stay for dinner and it was good but it was some sort of Jambalaya and it turns out that I am allergic to shellfish and didn’t know.”
Beau is waving her hand frantically, pointing at Mollymauk and laughing,
“I remember that now! Oh man, that was so long ago I almost forgot. You talked with a lisp for days until the swelling went down!”
Everyone is grinning and laughing, sharing stories. They shift from solely about Mollymauk and Lucien to everybody and that’s when Mollymauk notices it. Lucien has gone quiet inside of him, his presence small and miserable. He’s hiding himself in a corner of their mindscape, door slammed shut. It isn’t locked though and that gives Mollymauk an idea. He reaches to the side and grasps at Cree’s hand. He likes Cree; She routinely puts Lucien in his place and Mollymauk can appreciate that. She makes a curious trilling sound in her throat and turns to look at him. As everyone talks, no one notices. He winks at her and squeezes their hands before closing both eyes and controls his breathing. His body stills completely for a moment before his spine goes rigid and tense. His tail, which had been in Cree’s lap, swings away from her and wraps tightly around one of his knees. He’s squeezing her hand in a weak death grip, strength significantly weaker than it had been a minute ago. His shoulders are taught before he all but curls in on himself. His skin flushes from the tips of his ears down his neck.
“Lucien?” She whispers, face leaning in close to the tiefling to not draw anyone’s attention.
He squints his eyes closed tighter, his expression pinching. He whimpers out an affirmative. Mentally he tries scratching at that door, to get Mollymauk to let him back inside. He doesn’t want to deal with this, can’t deal with this. It’s slammed firmly in his face as Mollymauk refuses him.
Cree firmly squeezes his hand and does not draw attention towards them, She sits and listens as they all share stories. She is content. Lucien however is not. He is curled as tightly inward as he can go, his ears are pinned to his head and his tail is wrapped in as close as he can probably get it without hurting himself. She has a small purple ball of tiefling hiding against her in embarrassment.
The peace doesn’t last. Eventually the group begins to notice that Mollymauk is no longer injecting with his own stories or comments. It draws their attention like wolves to blood. Caleb is the one to call out to him,
“Schatz?”
Cree feels Lucien trembling against her side as red eyes peek out from his furs. He hasn’t hid against her like this since they were just kids. She didn’t realize how much she missed it. How much she missed Lucien, not the Nonagon. His claws dig into his palms as he stays silent. Caleb frowns.
“Lucien?”
A quick jerky nod jostles her shoulder. Lucien refuses to speak as he turns his eyes towards the fire. The group quiets some as the tiefling refuses to acknowledge them. He stays curled into Cree’s side like a particularly knobby leech, his sharp edges cutting into her. He eyes them warily, even his own friends as they look at him. He is stewing in his own discontent until the night gets darker and they all start setting up for bed.
“No!”
He’s hissing, not realizing that he’s speaking aloud. Lucien’s nose is scrunched angrily as his eyes cross, staring into the fire blankly as if he can see something that’s not really there. He isn’t speaking to any of them so they deduce he must be speaking to Mollymauk.
“You can’t make me!”
The tiefling splutters, “Oh Yeah? How, you godsdamned copy-”
Lucien is unprepared for the hard mental shove he receives because he lets out a strangled yelp as he’s forcibly pushed out of the forefront of their body and Mollymauk takes over. The tiefling shivers from horn to tail as they transition from one to the other. He places fists on his hips as he sighs.
“Well, he lasted a good maybe four hours before becoming bitchy again.”
Beau snorts, “That’s what you consider not being bitchy?”
Mollymauk throws her a look huffing amusedly, “You should see inside his head. Him sulking in silence for a few hours? Not even close to bitchy.”
He walks over to his love and throws himself on her lap, grunting as his spine lands on a hard buckle. He burrows in to cuddle with her and she lets him without complaint. She’s missed him too much. He begins to toe off Lucien’s ankle boots, much shorter than his own and way less fashionable. He digs his way too cold toes into Yasha’s lap as he wraps their cloak around himself tightly. He looks like a purple and brown burrito cuddled in the angel-blood’s lap. A small purr begins to rumble out from his as he settles contently.
Tyffial shakes her head, the elf fully astounded.
“It’s so weird to see you two act so differently. It’s like you don’t feel any shame or anything.”
A chorus rings around her from the members of the Mighty Nein, including Molly himself,
“I don’t.”
“He doesn’t.”
Mollymauk elaborates, “I was raised in a Carnival. I literally do not have any shame whatsoever.”
“Even though sometimes we wished he did.”
He stuck his forked tongue out at Beau in retort, blowing a spitty raspberry at her. As he resettles, he begins to put on his sleep aids for the night fully unashamed. He has his horn guards on and the top mouth piece in when Cree speaks softly. She’s stoking the fire with a stick lightly,
“He used to be like you, y’know?”
Mollymauk feels a piece of him inside shrivel up in pain. He looks at Lucien’s cleric in confusion,
“Wha’?”
She jerks her head in a nod towards him and the Nein sees the rest of the tombtakers nod as well.
“Lucien. He used to… Well, he used to be a lot like you actually. Before we went to Aeor for the first time. Not as flashy or loud but he used to be more open with us. More willing to talk to us.”
Zoran, the other taker that has known Lucien the longest nods as well, “Yeah. He was always a snippy one, but he knew how to have fun before all this shit started with that book.”
“Now he acts like he can’t relax around us.”
Mollymauk feels a flash of initial anger and then horrified guilt that isn’t his as Lucien’s friends speak. He prods at the door separating him and Lucien and finds it firmly shut this time, no way of coaxing him out. The other’s feelings still manage to leak out through the cracks though. It’s a remorseful sorrow that threatens to choke Mollymauk. He swallows.
“Well, I can tell you he feels like shit about it at least.”
Against all his expectations, he feels a pulse of gratitude from the other. Lucien says nothing to him, but he doesn’t need to. Mollymauk puts in the bottom fang guard in his mouth and curls around Yasha to sleep. With this many people and with how cold it is, they have a myriad of tents to go around but he’s missed her. He knows he’s safe with her. He feels her hand move to his curls, longer now because Lucien doesn’t know how to cut their fucking hair it seems, and runs her fingers through them. She gently untangles knots as she goes and Mollymauk falls asleep purring.
Neither of them dream.
Lucien wakes around something warm and he nuzzles his face into it unthinkingly. It smells like incense and thunder. He feels safe. There’s whispering happening around him and a nagging feeling in the back of his head but he ignores it. It can wait until later.
“Hey.”
Or not. His ear twitches as he tries to ignore whoever is trying to wake him. The warmth underneath him shifts and he whines, claws digging in to keep it from moving. It wraps around him and he resettles. He’s being lifted, carried and once cold air hits him he whines louder and tries to curl himself into the furs he’s lying against.
“I can’t tell which one of them it is because Molly acts like this in the morning.”
“As does Lucien.”
“Wait, really? He’s always up before anyone else!”
The tiefling hears a snort come from somewhere to the left as Cree speaks softly as to not wake him,
“That’s because he doesn’t want any of you to see him act like this in the mornings.”
He huffs sleepily as he’s set down near a new source of warmth. He’s content to curl up on the ground near the fire, at least he assumes it's a fire and go back to sleep. He’s tired. He hasn’t been adjusting well to being reincarnated and the strength difference between him and Mollymauk is boundless as the other bounces back like a rubber band.
He groans tiredly as Mollymauk prods at him mentally. He swats at him but the other is insistent. Blearily, he blinks open his eyes and sees red as his first view is filled with the fire in front of him. There’s a hand in his hair, scratching at the space in between his horns and Lucien feels like an ooey gooey mess. His chest rumbles quietly and he huffs out another breath, content.
Lucien falls back into a light doze, not quite realizing that he’s chewing on his guards. Drool is pooling in his mouth trailing down the sides of his chin, but he doesn’t notice. He feels Mollymauk’s amusement in their shared mindscape.
He doesn’t know how long passes before the warm mass he’s laying against shifts him upwards to a sitting position and he groans in complaint. He mumbles around the guards, moving to rub a wrist against his eyes. Awareness comes to him slowly. A mug of warm coffee is shoved into his hands and he accepts it. He drinks around the rubber in his mouth with the talent that only someone who routinely wears them can have, and it shows.
It’s only when he’s handed a wooden bowl of porridge that he remembers where he is and who he is with. He spits out his guards and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. He’s annoyed that Mollymauk has used them but his mouth is blissfully free from blood and sharp cuts. He balances his breakfast on his knee as he pulls off the horn guards. Tucking the rubber into the small leather pouch, Lucien slides the bag into his belt. Maybe he’ll toss it into the fire when nobody is looking. His head throbs with a sharp pulse of pain as Mollymauk disapproves of his idea.
Lucien focuses on the bowl in front of him groggily. He looks up towards the group to see Jester pouring an inordinate amount of cinnamon sugar into her bowl. He doesn’t know where she got it but he wants it. He makes grabby hands towards the blue tiefling. The members of the groups that have not known Lucien long enough believe this to be an indication that Mollymauk is in charge. The ones who know Lucien well, know that it could still be either of them.
“Oh! Of course! Here you go, Molly!”
Lucien hums, taking the small pouch of sugar from her. The blood hunter pours his own insane portion into both his coffee and his breakfast before cinching the considerably lighter bag shut and tossing it back to the bubbly cleric. He doesn’t say a word to correct her though he sees Cree watching him from the corner of her eye.
As the groups eat breakfast, Caduceus is the one to stir the pot. The firbolg has been mostly silent about the entire situation but there is mischief in his eyes now. He’s staring at Lucien. The tiefling feels the hair stand on the back of his neck and he swallows uncomfortably around a mouthful of sweetened porridge.
“Ah, Can I help you, my friend?”
Lucien tries to lighten his tone to match Mollymauk’s the best he can. He’s not quite sure what’s stopping the other from taking control of the situation. Caduceus sips his tea, smiling at him.
“So who do we have the pleasure of speaking with this morning?”
The firbolg is giving him an out. Too bad, Lucien has never been smart enough to take it whenever it’s been presented to him. He bares his teeth in a grin,
“You can’t tell?”
Caduceus meets his eyes and Lucien swallows,
“I can. Can you?”
Lucien stares back at him, uneasy.
____
Lucien tries really hard to keep up with the bit, He really does. But he was grossly unprepared for how chaotic Mollymauk apparently was with this little group of his. Every time he stutters and tries to retreat, he is refused, hitting a mental wall he is too weak to break through. He either has to admit defeat and give up the game entirely or try to keep up the charade for as long as he can. He doesn’t know if he’s succeeding. It doesn’t feel like it.
The blood hunter doesn’t get any further in his goals of moving on either. Or finding DeRogna. He wasn’t sure how far they were from Palebank either to make it to Eiselcross. So many of his plans were stopped at the root because of his weak connection to the Somnovem and Mollymauk. He hadn’t felt his connection to Cognouza since his resurrection and Molly was infinitely more powerful in this shared body of theirs than he was. He felt disjointed, like he didn’t belong in his own skin and it showed.
“Molly!”
Lucien yelps as Jester leaps onto his back, arms locking around his front as she swings onto him. It knocks him off balance and he goes tumbling down with the cleric on his back. She giggles as they land and her knees dig into his lower spine. He grunts in pain.
“Please, Off.”
She rolls off of him, dusting off her skirts as she stands,
“Molly! What’s the plan? Lucien is still in there right? What do we do about that?”
Beau snorts, “Yeah, Molly, what do you plan on doing about him?
There’s no way she isn’t onto him. He stumbles over his words, not giving her a direct answer. What answer could he even give? Lucien had no idea what to do and it was clear that Mollymauk was content to watch him make a fool of himself.
Despite Caduceus giving him hell at breakfast, the Mighty Nein’s other cleric gives him a break in the form of an answer,
“I may have an answer to that. What if we were to separate the two?”
Lucien’s ears twitch and he’s immediately interested. He can tell that his other half is too. His tombtakers fall in close around him and for a split second he actually feels cornered by the group.
“How?”
Cree asks, she is equally as interested as the tiefling but equally as suspicious too. She always was his smarts. He was just the luck. Not that he'd had much of it in the last two years.
“We can attempt true resurrection given that both Lucien and Mollymauk are willing. The nature of the spell would create a second body for one of them to inhabit and there are three clerics here to work together on the spell.”
“Yes,” Lucien says without thinking. Cree shoots him a concerned look. She's known it's been him this whole time, he hasn't been able to hide his minute mannerisms from her. Like his left ear twitching when he gets nervous or the fact that he's been letting his tail drag in the snow since he woke up. Yes, Cree has known it was Lucien playing at Mollymauk since Yasha had brought him outside of their tent this morning, the purple tiefling curled up and chewing on his mouth guards like he had the first night of his resurrection weeks ago. He was stiff in a way that Mollymauk wasn't, struggling still with simple actions like pulling on his boots or fumbling with the ties above his tail. She felt bad for him, not quite sure why he was struggling so much with his body while his other half wasn't.
“Maybe we should look into this a little more first.”
“No, I want him out.” Mollymauk is inclined to agree. “I don't want to share a mind anymore.”
Caduceus is watching him with interested eyes, like he knows Lucien is the one in charge. He'd said as much earlier.
“But who will go into the new body? Cad, will it be an exact copy?”
Caduceus shakes his head and that makes Lucien hesitate for a fraction of a second.
“No. It will be like a blank slate, none of Molly's tattoos or Lucien's scars. It's a copy but consider it a fresh one if that makes sense.”
“I want it.” He didn't want Mollymauk's tattoos. His marks. He wanted to be free of them, of him. The moment he'd first seen the peacock feathers trailing up his skin in that creek bed, he'd wanted to play his skin off with his claws. That wasn't him. He didn't want to live with the reminder of someone else wearing his skin. Of someone else in his mind.
Jester gasps, concerned, “But Molly!”
Caduceus interrupts her, a smug smile on his face.
“I had a feeling you might, Lucien.”
Beauregard gasps, angry but triumphant.
“I fucking knew it!”
She goes to swing on him out of reflex and Lucien stumbles back, flinching. He raises his hands to cover his face, eyes clenching shut. When he doesn't get hit, he cracks his eyes open to see her fist inches from his face with Zoran holding her back. He squeaks reflexively and shuffles back to hide behind Cree. Her ear twitches and she looks down at him.
“I don't know why you're hiding behind me, I'm not going to stop her. You've been lying all morning”
Tyffial is standing there as well, watching with half interest,
“Honestly wasn't sure if it was you for a while there, but there's some things you just can't fake. But it's been cute watching you make a fool of yourself trying to be your other half.”
He splutters, face flushing as they all begin to tease him again. This time for his shitty acting and his behavior at breakfast.
“I am not cute!”
Lucien stammers as they talk about how he had been curled against Yasha's side. He is ignored in favor of talking about him rather than to him. He's starting to get that light headed feeling of disassociation when Caleb interrupts.
“I believe the best place to attempt this would probably be the tower. Caduceus, what will you need for this?”
Lucien begins to sweat as the talk moves from theoretical to practical. He wants this, he does. But he's been burned by wizards before and now they're talking avidly about performing a spell, on him mind you, like he isn't even there. They're talking about materials and cost and things that go over Lucien’s head. Cold water feels like it's dripping down his spine and he tries to shuffle back from the groups slowly. He'd just been revived mere weeks ago, he can't die again; can't trust another wizard not to harm him. Why isn't Cree against this? Why is she actively participating in his death? His head feels foggy and it's getting hard for him to breathe. He barely feels Mollymauk’s prodding concern in the back of his mind. He thinks he feels the other try to grasp for control but he mentally flails, shoving the other back without realizing.
His vision starts to blacken around the edges and he stumbles backwards. The tiefling trips over his own tail, boots catching as he tips backwards. The parties halting their conversation, now noticing the panicking blood hunter.
“Lucien!!”
He vaguely thinks he hears the tombtakers yell for him as he passes out from fear.
____
The spell goes off without a hitch.
Mollymauk is the first one to wake. It surprises no one as the younger of the two tieflings seems to bounce back the easiest for some reason.
He was up, happily chatting with the tombtakers and his own Nein as they waited for Lucien to wake. They are all trading stories and at this rate, the groups have converged enough that it's easy to consider them all one large entity. Mollymauk was dressed in his own gaudy attire, patterned pants and thigh high boots showing off long legs, white shirt open in the warmth of the tower. He is sitting catty-cornered on one of the recliners in the library, one leg hanging off the arm of the chair swinging idly. He has his coat draped over his lap and an embroidery needle in hand as he fixes the design torn on a sleeve. His mouth is running a mile a minute despite having thread clenched between his sharp teeth.
“Yeah so this one time maybe a few months after I'd learned to talk I accidentally called Gustav ‘mom’ and I hadn't realized. Orna was making fun of me so badly for it but Gustav, he just rolled with it y'know? I think I did that for, What Yasha, a solid week? Just kept slipping out and he never corrected me.”
Zoran guffawed, “Lucien did that to Karem once! Called him ‘father’ and when Karem asked him to repeat he yelled at him saying he called him a bother and to leave him alone!”
Of course this is what Lucien wakes to. The newborn tiefling groans as his head aches. He reaches a shaking hand up to fresh horns and strokes over the new bone. There are no holes drilled into them and they feel light without any of Mollymauk’s charms weighing them down. He squints as he opens his eyes, the soft lighting of the library still harsh to him. He blinks up to see Cree smiling and laughing above him as his head rests in her lap. He can feel a paw carding through his long hair.
She looks down at him when she feels him shifting. She’s smiling at him and it’s throwing him off kilter. Everything feels overwhelming to him right now. The tabaxi, His Cree, leans down and presses her muzzle against his forehead in a kiss. He breathes in sharply as tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He’s not sure why he feels so raw.
Her whiskers twitch when she sees the tears bead in his eyes. The paw not carding through his curls reaches up to brush them away. He nuzzles into her palm.
“Caduceus said you might feel sensitive for a while. Do not be surprised, everything went well.”
Lucien gives a low whine, “M’not sensitive.”
He shifts on his side, facing her and tucking his face into her stomach. She grunts as a sharp horn digs into her thigh. Cree shifts him so that it doesn’t cut into her. The bone is even sharper now than before, time and weathering not wearing down the edges yet. His boots smack into something as he moves and Lucien peeks an eye out from where he is hiding.
It is only Caduceus sitting on the other end of the couch. He lounges unbothered by the tiefling resting his feet on him. The firbolg tilts his head, regarding Lucien thoughtfully.
“How are you feeling? You panicked quite badly earlier.”
Lucien narrows the visible eye that Caduceus can see in suspicion. He doesn’t deign to answer the cleric turning his head to cuddle back into Cree’s stomach. He feels her sigh against him and the hand petting his hair returns. The tiefling is just starting to relax once more when he hears Mollymauk’s lilting tone thrown his way.
“Ah, is brother dearest finally awake?”
Lucien grumbles against Cree's stomach, the words muffled against her tunic. His claws clench into her side and she swats him when he accidentally draws blood. Mollymauk sings songs and Lucien feels his irritation rise.
“I can't hear you when you're hiding like that!”
Lucien's patience snaps and he whips around off the couch. Immediately he feels light headed but he bullies on ahead anyway. The blood hunter is growling as he throws himself over the coffee table towards the chair Mollymauk is reclining in.
“Oh shit-”
Mollymauk braces as the older tiefling throws himself at him. Lucien knocks the chair off balance and they both go tumbling backwards in a flailing pile of purple limbs and Mollymauk's maroon coat.
Otis is cackling at the display, calling out for where to hit next. The halfling was helping both parties, neutral on whoever won. They were in it purely for the chaos.
Fjord stepped in to separate the squabbling twins. He winced as horns and fangs and claws caught him as he grabbed both tieflings by their scruff and pulled them away from each other.
“Seriously, you guys?”
“He started it!”
Lucien squawked as he was blamed, “No the fuck I didn't you little shit! Come here!”
He tried reaching for the other with sharp claws as Fjord held them apart. Fjord sighed, looking towards the ceiling. Caduceus laughed,
“It's nice to see you two getting along.”
Fjord stared at him, incredulous,
“This is what you consider getting along, Caddy?”
The firbolg shrugged, not hiding his smirk as the paladin struggled to keep the two from biting at each other.
“I have several siblings, Fjord. This is normal.”
Fjord huffed, sparing a glance towards both tieflings. Without preamble he dropped both of them to the ground. Lucien fumbled, swearing as his knees gave out under him. He was quick to get to his feet, chasing after Mollymauk.
The other had skittered to the other side of the library, hoping to hide behind Yasha. She looked between them, confused.
“She can't save you, you little fucker. I'm going to get you eventually.”
Mollymauk spits out his forked tongue in a raspberry, blowing spittle towards him. Lucien flinches, hands coming to wipe his face off in disgust.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
His ears twitch as he hears Beauregard cackling from somewhere behind him. She is sitting in a small group with Zoran and Veth, comparing stories on the most obnoxious things their parties have accomplished,
“Do you want that list numerically or alphabetically?”
Mollymauk uses the distraction to side step Lucien, moving to the couch Cree and Caduceus were lounging on. Both look heavily amused. He decides to hide behind the couch, hands coming to rest on Cree's shoulders.
Lucien turns, shrugging off his surprise and scowls at Mollymauk. He stalks towards the couch and the other tenses as he gets closer. He turns to bolt and Lucien jumps forward to grab him. He catches him by the tail and Mollymauk moans obnoxiously.
Lucien stumbles back, quickly releasing his twin in disgust. He groans,
“Why are you like this?”
Mollymauk grins at him cheekily, tail raised and waving smugly.
“Because it's funny.”
_____
As the groups took the time for Mollymauk and Lucien to settle into their bodies, they couldn't decide if it was a good idea or not to separate them.
Chaos reigned in the tower as the two tieflings tormented each other and therefore everyone else. Pranks that honestly could be considered crimes against humanity (the traveler would be so proud) escalated and insults were traded constantly. No one was safe.
Lucien, surprisingly or maybe unsurprisingly according to the tombtakers, lost a lot of these fights with Mollymauk. Lucien was cunning, smart in ways his twin wasn't but he wasn't prepared for the sheer audacity of his now brother.
Mollymauk was in it for the game of embarrassing Lucien as much as physically possible and he wasn't going to hold back even if it was embarrassing for himself as well. Mollymauk didn't feel ashamed. He was proud of who he was and every bit of life experience he had. And well, it was just so easy to fluster the other one.
It was his own form of payback for Lucien not taking care of their body while he had it. It was Mollymauk's now, scars and all and he was not ashamed to use what made Lucien flush in embarrassment just because they looked a little silly. They were both prideful creatures, and Mollymauk is one hundred percent using all his power to absolutely destroy the ego Lucien has built over the years to protect his insecurities.
Now is one such time, as he watches Lucien clumsily stumble through a set of mobility exercises. His grin is shark-like as he rests his body weight on the other. The sudden weight pushes Lucien's slight frame forward and he squeaks in pain as it stretches his back uncomfortably.
“Look at you go!”
Lucien snarled between grit teeth, “I hate you.”
Mollymauk barks out a laugh as he pats one of Lucien’s cheeks condescendingly. He pulls back scarred fingers as the other attempts to snap at them with his fangs.
Mollymauk dances away from the other tiefling nimbly. He has a grin on his face that spells trouble for Lucien and everyone in the room is immediately invested. It's become a game for them to see how often Mollymauk can make him error code before he storms off to hide in the tombtakers large room in the tower. So far the count is up to thirteen and it hasn't been more than three days since they've gotten their own bodies.
Lucien watches warily as he sits up. He's never quite sure what will come out of his twins mouth and he dreads it every time.
Mollymauk merely stops near the doorway and turns towards Lucien,
“I'm going to eat all of the strawberries.”
Matching red eyes widened and Lucien trips as he tries to stand quickly. He chases after his brother, cursing at him. Mollymauk is already out the door down the hall, getting ready to fling himself over the railing to float down towards the mess area.
The others lounging in the salon look around each other as they heard Lucien yell,
“Get back here you fucking ass! Caleb made double today for a reason!”
Zoran sighs amused, throwing down his cards. He's lost yet another game against a cheating Otis.
“Well, that hasn't changed at least.”
Zoran would watch the tiefling hunt in the Oltu ruins with an almost feral rabidness for any and all fresh berries he could get his grubby little claws on. Strawberries were always his favorite though. The Goliath smiled.
Their Lucien was slowly coming back to them. The one from before the Somnovem corrupted him. Their friend. They'd missed him.
____
Caleb had offered Lucien to make him his own set of guards daily. Lucien had refused daily. The wizard had mostly offered offhandedly, not bringing attention to it, but he had asked during the day often during breakfast where everyone else was around. Lucien would flush and say he was fine, awkwardly stabbing at whatever was on his plate that morning.
A few of the others would tease him, ribbing at the tiefling until he turns a dark fuschia and visibly wilts. Mollymauk or Jester are always the ones that throw out their own embarrassing stories, hoping to help the oldest tiefling become more comfortable with his own insecurities. It usually doesn’t, just has Lucien slumping further in his seat hoping to disappear.
Today had been no different so when Caleb receives a small knock at his door close to midnight he is mildly surprised. He sets his spellbooks to the side of his bed and goes to answer the door.
Lucien is standing there, a hand holding onto a forearm as his left ear twitches nervously. Caleb notes that his tail is trailing on the floor despondently. The tiefling is looking at the flagstone, eyes not raising to meet the wizard’s when he opens the door.
“Ah, How can I help you Lucien? It is a bit late, ja?”
Lucien hums noncommittally. His tale sways a little, spade tapping on the stone in no particular rhythm. He mumbles something quietly that Caleb can barely hear, even with his spectacular hearing.
“What was that? I’m sorry I could not hear you.”
Lucien’s expression pinches, and his grip tightens on his arm. When he looks up at Caleb, he notes that there is smudged blood around the corners of his lips and drops of it on his night shirt.
“Can you make me those things tonight? I can’t sleep, keep waking up.”
He mutters, still embarrassed despite being the only one in the hall. Caleb nods, deigning not to acknowledge the blood on the other or the slight slur to his words from his swollen tongue. Merely moves to the side to allow Lucien entry to his room.
“Come inside. It will take a few moments.”
The tiefling follows inside, tail dragging limply over the door jam. He sits at Caleb’s table, fingers drumming on the wood in obvious anxiety.
“Is there a certain color you would like, mein freund?”
Lucien blinks up at him, “Huh?”
Caleb bites back a smile, He really is similar to Mollymauk in that regard. So easily distracted and near avoidant. The more the two twins interact with each other the easier it is to see their similarities.
“What color would you prefer?”
“Oh, uh red? Dark red if you don’t mind.”
“Nein, that is no problem.”
The wizard gathers the necessary components and Lucien watches intently as he casts. Caleb has noticed over the period of time that they have all been travelling together that Lucien has a complicated relationship with magic. He is utterly fascinated by it, consumes the books in the library about it as quickly as he does fresh fruits and cheeses, but he has a terribly bad history with magic users. Understandable, from what Mollymauk has mentioned.
He had been used by a witch, killed by a member of the Cereberus Assembly, and then possessed by nine insane wizards. No wonder Lucien didn’t trust Caleb in the beginning not to hurt him. Baby steps.
Lucien watches as the Zemnian sets the materials on the table. He mixes the sap into a small copper bowl with carmine powder and powdered things that Lucien doesn’t recognize offhand. Red eyes watch intrigued as he moves his hands in a somatic and pronounces words in a tongue the blood hunter has been trying to learn for weeks.
The components glow in the bowl as Caleb casts, and after a few moments the mixture burns away. Left behind are a set of blood dark fang guards in Caleb’s palm. He sets them down on the table but Lucien makes no move to take them.
Caleb goes about refilling the bowl for the horn guards next. He sits it back down on the table and looks at Lucien. The tiefling is looking curiously at the guards. Caleb clears his throat.
“Would you like to try next?”
Lucien’s hair whips about him, sleep mussed in its braid. He stares at Caleb in careful shock.
“What do you mean?”
Caleb sighs, “I know you are not as oblivious as Molly likes to tease you about. You’ve been devouring my library at an astonishing rate, mein freund. You like magic, ja?”
Lucien’s face turns dark as he’s caught, “Uh, yes. I do. What about it?”
Caleb rolls his eyes, wanting to pinch the bridge of his nose as Lucien intentionally acts obtuse.
“Do you want to learn how to cast? Clearly you are interested in it.”
Lucien scowls at him, “Don’t patronize me Magic Man. I know I'm not smart enough to be a wizard.”
Caleb makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, both confused and concerned,
“Lucien, who ever told you that you were not bright enough to learn magic? Whoever it was was lying.”
The blood hunter crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. He won’t look at Caleb now, glaring at the stained glass window in Caleb’s room. Caleb presses,
“Lucien, I am serious. No one has been able to do what you have done without actual understanding of basic magic theory.”
Lucien grumbles something unintelligibly, face and ears heating up. It was a regular occurrence now that he was getting tired of.
“So I ask again, would you like me to show you how to cast this one?
Caleb waits patiently as he waits for the tiefling to decide. He gives a jerky nod and Caleb genuinely smiles.
He takes a seat across from Lucin and reaches for the other's hands.
“Here, follow me.”
Lucien's fingers clumsily followed the motions at first, Caleb having him repeat it until he had no hesitation.
“And repeat after me.”
A giddy smile crosses Lucien's features as the components glow and disappear. A matching set of horn guards appear in his waiting palms. He stares at them in ecstatic wonder.
“I made these.”
“You did.”
He looks over to the wizard, “Can you show me more?”
Caleb wasn't surprised, actually he was quite excited to share his knowledge with the other.
“Maybe in the morning, ja? It is getting quite late actually.”
At this, Lucien yawns, remembering that yeah, he hasn't been sleeping well since he'd been split from Mollymauk. Not that he had been before either to be honest.
One of the conditions of true resurrection was removing any and all curses afflicting the person it was being cast on. It surprised no one that the eyes marking both Lucien and Mollymauk were cursed. Lucien had woken without the Somnovem’s influence over him, no eyes to be seen on his new body.
At first he had thrown a fit without having the powers they had granted him (that they had been working for him since his resurrection to begin with but still) but he was slowly coming back to himself, acting more like how he had before the trip to Aeor. Less malicious, less bloodthirsty, more open, more ridiculous. Lucien was more childish than the Nein had realized but it was something that his tombtakers were happy to see return to the tiefling.
“Yeah I guess you're right,” he yawned again, tongue curling. “Thanks.”
Caleb nodded as they stood. He walked him to his door and bid him a goodnight.
Lucien wandered back up to the room the tombtakers all shared. It was spacious, enough beds for all of them though they tended to share. He nudged open the door quietly and padded softly to where Cree was sleeping. He looked down at the guards in his hands and back at her. He wasn't only hurting himself while refusing to wear the sleep aids. Cree had refused to let him cuddle with her unless he had them on. He'd spent many nights getting kicked out of her bed because a sharp horn caught her.
He slid on the brand new guards over his horns and into his mouth. He chewed at the soft material, eyes heavy. That was another reason he'd hated the guards, they never failed to make him sleepy, like a child with a teething toy.
He laid down beside her, cuddling into her side. Nuzzling his face into her, he sighed through his nose as he felt her arm wrap around him to pull him closer.
In the morning he'd no doubt have to deal with Tyffial and Otis’ teasing and jokes but for right now he was tired, and content to sleep next to his own love.