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After cramming Theory of Dissolution for two hours since waking, the letters begin to swim on the page, Sylvester’s lids drooping. Groaning, he leans back in his chair, pushing his laced fingers towards the ceiling. His joints crack; his longing, upside-down gaze falling on the soft, comfortable bed.
The droning of these scientists would put anyone to sleep.
A quick nap should be fine. Just a brief rest of the eyes.
Sylvester is about to put plan to action when there is a sharp, heavy rap on the door.
“Open up, kiddo.”
The low voice that comes through the door is recognizable as Pontos’, sounding extra grumpy, which doesn’t particularly make Sylvester want to respond. He is a bit curious why Pontos is using the door though, instead of breaking in through the window as per his usual.
Sylvester should probably encourage this good behavior…
The other party is evidently short of patience. “I’ve got one of yours,” the rough voice says, muted through the wood. “If you don’t want him, I’m throwing him in the yard.”
Wood screeches as Sylvester pushes his chair back. He hurries over, wondering who it could be that Pontos has with him. On opening the door, he is met with Pontos’ forbidding expression, dark as a storm cloud, and, floating behind him—
“Tulu??”
The young king is curled up in a nest of fluffy green tentacles, breathing softly. He appears soundly asleep, features relaxed and peaceful with one of his cloud pillows tucked under his head.
To be able to sleep like that with the storm brewing right next to him, Tulu must be exhausted.
Pontos brushes past Sylvester, grumbling under his breath, and Tulu floats along as if tethered to him by some invisible line. Going straight for the bed, Pontos waits for the green mass to get close and then pushes it onto the mattress, none too gently. The nest of tentacles deftly absorbs the force and drifts softly down, landing on the covers, as light as a cottony cloud.
Sylvester stares. He cannot, for the life of him, imagine how this situation came to be. Pontos has made it clear he doesn’t think much of Tulu, expressing disdain, and Tulu doesn’t bother with, well, anyone really, aside from a few select individuals, much less those he doesn’t get along with.
Sylvester drifts over curiously. “What happened?”
Thunder rolls in a guttural growl. “That foul witch. The next we meet I’ll have her begging for death.”
A few pieces of the puzzle fall into place. “Miryam?”
Pontos’ lips twist into a sneer, confirming Sylvester’s guess.
Tulu must have been evading Miryam. In that case, Pontos is, technically speaking, a good choice. The hostility between him and the former High Priestess is known to all, kindled by an overheard insult to the lord Miryam worships. The resulting property damage from their explosive altercations caused Mythag to issue a mandated mutual restraining order—the two aren’t allowed to be near each other unsupervised.
Though how Tulu convinced Pontos is a mystery. Was he that desperate…?
While Sylvester is lost in thought, Pontos has circled to the other side of the bed, his cold glare fixed on the sleeping king. “And this little monster,” he mutters darkly. “I’ll teach him a lesson when he wakes.” Toeing off his shoes he… climbs onto the bed?
Sylvester watches with increasing bemusement.
In keeping with Pontos’ god complex, he doesn’t often sleep, considering it the weakness of the mortal shell.
The punch Pontos delivers to Sylvester’s poor, innocent pillow gives the impression of venting anger. With a “hmph”, Pontos puts his head down on the fluffed pillow and closes his eyes.
“…”
Sylvester stares blankly at the peaceful tableau, his bed fully occupied by a sea king and an abyssal god.
Uh, guys? That’s my bed?? You’re welcome??
With a sigh of defeat, Sylvester trudges back to his desk. Hand on the back of the chair, his gaze is drawn again to the other two.
Will they wake for lunch? If not, maybe an afternoon snack. Either way, it would be nice to have the company.
Cheered by the thought, Sylvester turns back to his studies.