Work Text:
Far off, past tiled roofs and intricately carved pillars, the church bell rings in deafening volumes. An orb of pure heavy metal is surrounded by thin walls in all directions, striking the bells' sides. Swinging from side to side, it rattles. It rings one, two, three, five times. The sun is beginning to set on the edges of Razmir skies.
Creaky wooden doors open and out bursts individuals of every kind and every species, robed in purple and masked in all kinds of ornate decoration. Elves to humans, the tall to the short, wings to tails… Students carry their bags, ready to head home after their schooling. Some leave, some linger. Though most of those who linger already live here. Some just want to hang out.
And… I guess… Janus is both?
Their pawed feet swings back and forth on a bench. The sun still dapples through emerald foliage, even as it fizzles away and lets the stars outshine it. A breeze that carries the smell of dust, candle wax. They have nothing to do in particular. Their ear twitches in the pockets which they'd sewn into their robe. They sway according to whatever it is they hear. Wine decanting in offering, it trickles close by and their body shivers like cold water was being poured over them… Brisk knocking on a door interrupts that sound, and their feet tap tap taps the ground in rhythm… And elsewhere, they catch the scratching noise of streets being swept of dirt.
Sometimes, the sounds can get a bit much. The robe always sitting atop their head protects them from all those noises.
She leans back, staring up the tree which she sits under. The branches are gnarled in swirls, reaching to heaven, the underside of each leaf dried out and tinged with a bit of yellow. Though there are brighter pops of colors amongst the greenery. She squints, squints really hard because sometimes it's hard to see the right details with this mask on, especially with the moth’s wings right in front of her eyes.
Ah. Ripe, heavy enough to drag down the wooden stems where they perch, fresh orange mangoes. Right? Those are mangoes?
Eyes still trained on its target, they put their legs up and begin to stand atop the bench. At a closer distance, those are definitely mangoes. Much farther up upon the treetop, away from prying hands of other students who’d already snagged the lowest hanging fruit for themselves. Stretching their little back legs as far as they can, Janus begins to latch their claws to the first branch they saw. They were never the athletic kind… but for the sake of it…
He begins to pull himself up by nothing but the arms, feet losing purchase on the bench. His body bends, pulling forward and pushing back like a swing set, gaining just enough momentum to throw his legs another, lower branch. Which he’s only managing because his feet’s claws are anchoring him there.
“I should’ve chosen to climb that branch with my hands first,” she whispers, grunting with the effort of keeping herself secure, keeping her breath, and keeping the progress which she’s already gotten.
It’s an awkward position to be in, looking not too differently from a piece of laundry left to dry between two wires (branches, in this case), using all of their remaining strength to twist their body and drag themselves onto whatever branch it was that felt the sturdiest. Whatever works. At least they’re sitting upright on the branch now.
A shiver passes up her spine. The wind is stronger up here, but so is the sour scent of what she chased.
He continues up, and up, from branch to branch, slip to stumble, yowls of alarm to sighs of feline relief. But like… he’s doing well enough. He takes another step upwards, paws trying the next branch’s ability to hold his weight. Only for his tread forward to be abruptly stopped by something tugging him back. The shock of this teeny tiny misfortune is enough to throw him off guard and have to scramble for purchase around the tree trunk.
They look back. A part of their robe has been caught on a branch.
“Oh- No, no no-” They try to wiggle themselves forward, hoping to free the shred out through sheer strength. They only managed to get it out halfway before the fabric pulled and threatened to tear.
“Shit!”
Even if the branch which their robe had been caught was only an arms length away if they crouched, they could barely figure out how to free it without snapping a few other stitches, and they can’t remember which path they’d used to climb here. Should they just jump down? Cats always land on their feet, right?
…on second thought, as she’s hunched in on herself and hugging her knees, staring straight downwards, maybe the ground is too far. Her tail flicks and she leans her head on the tree trunk, arms loosening their grip.
The mangoes are still waiting. What was he supposed to do now?
Or maybe…
They slowly rise from their position, sucking in a breath. If they could do it just right, just close enough, then maybe they won't have to climb up there at all. They snap their fingers. Then snap it a couple more times because it wasn't working. Magic flows through their arm, just enough for small sparks to come flying out of their fingertips at the last snap. They point up where the mango's stem is…
It takes a minute for the wood to begin to smolder, for a tiny ring of glowing embers to form. Smoke billows away into the skies and the crackle of wood tells them she's got it just right. The branch rises slowly, carrying less and less weight. So too does the fruit, tilting to the side where there remains a single bit of wood left to burn through.
The fruit falls, and by reflex and pure luck they are just barely able to catch it before it splats to mush on the ground. Some mango goop found itself into his fur and his padded palms, along with what is probably tree sap dripping along its spotted surface.
It'll be hell to wash out later on, but for now, Janus is happy to lift up their mask just over their mouth, bare their fangs and bite straight into the mango, skin and all, deep enough to feel brief stringy textures of the fruit's seed. The flesh is soft and cool between each chew. Sour filled their senses as they struggled to lap up all the juice pouring from each wound they gnawed through.
By the time she's finished brutalizing the fruit, her sleeves are drenched and rolled up in vain, her mask dyed a tiny bit of orange at the bottom. Her ass is sat as comfortable as can be and a satisfied smile is on her lips. Living like this, she thinks, has to be a sin.
… now how was she supposed to get down again?