TheAmishPirate

Return to Thellamie

Later, he’ll marvel at the magic of Thellamie that kept him from crashing into every person, cart, and fragile object along their escape route. Because it has to be magic. There’s no other explanation. In his short time here, he’d gotten a whirlwind crash course (oh no!!!) in how the world works here. He’d walked through the Hubs. He’d drawn a Heartblade. He’d (safely) caught a glimpse of the dancing stars. He’d also grown antlers, and it was taking him some time to remember to duck through some doorways. But his legs?

They weren’t his legs. Subtly, not in ways he could really articulate, beyond looking in a mirror and having to pull a double-take. But they worked just fine, and he moved just fine, like he’d had these legs his whole life, and so he hadn’t thought anything of it. Later, he’ll think about the running, the leaping, the bounding, the climbing, and he’ll wonder how the legs of a stranger knew to carry him like that, and no matter how he looks at it the only thing it could be is magic.

That is later. This is now.

Keli and Seli scamper ahead of him, twin comets, guiding stars for him to follow. They speak no words to each other (but plenty of words to him) and take the road like it’s another stage, one they’ve spent their whole life rehearsing. They trade off leading and pulling, one of them surging ahead and around and over and under, the other clutching his hand and guiding him along the path. Around this crowd. Over that cart. Down this alley. Turn, climb, run! Run! Run!

And Hazel runs. With a bounding, leaping gait, he runs as fast as he dares. He can’t manage the sliding dives, or the steps that carry them along a wall, or the hi-five they give each other as they cross paths, but there’s just no time to think about what he can’t do. Because he can scramble over that cart with just two steps and a leap. He can vault that roadblock if he steps one-two-three-hup! He can squeeze himself sideways, and let his momentum carry him with a lunge-step and scrabble. He can follow them. He can keep running, even though by all rights they should’ve had to slow down six times now. He can hear the angry shouting behind him, as the terrific speed of the Nagi fights with their muscle and bulk to unsuccessfully push through the crowds.

He can leap off a building with Keli, and if you’d asked him before he would’ve said absolutely not, and you can’t ask him now because a helpless giggle is blooming into a wild yelp of adrenaline and joy and-

”Mmmphh!!”

Abwuh? Huh? Running? Warm? Dark? No? No running? Oh. Oh. Hiding. Hiding now. Being quiet. Okay. Okay. He can be quiet.

Um. Was she going to stop…? No? No. Okay. Nose breathing it is. Right. In, and out. Deep breaths. Slow breaths. Quiet breaths. Wait for that heartbeat to slow down. Try to find his heartbeat; one beating in his chest, and one beating against him, all tangled up in. Here. Very tightly.

Um. Oh dear.

That’s okay! This is okay. When next she looks at him, he looks at her, and wrinkles his eyes in what he hopes is a reassuring, friendly sort of way. (Can she feel his lips smile under her palm?) Slowly, deliberately, and above all silently, he wiggles his hands until they’re safely pressed between his body and the wall. See? No funny business. He will sit here, perfectly still, and perfectly quiet, until they get out here. No worries.

…it’s a bit difficult to see if she got the message, on account of the veil and all. And the look in her eyes - Bright. Sharp. Alive. - hardly changes. Nor does it change when a sudden angry shout jolts him against her. She raises one finger to her veil in the universal sign for silence.

And winks.

Okay! That’s okay! She’s fine! Winking means she’s fine! And he can keep being quiet and still! No problem! No problem. Just. Keep standing here. A little squished. Don’t think about the slight pressure against his chest every time she breaths in. Don’t think about the trembling of her body. Don’t think about how sweaty and gross you might be from the run. Don’t think about a snakegirl bursting through that thin, thin curtain at any moment…

He always hated this part of hide-and-seek. The waiting. Hearing footsteps nearby, and all you can do is wait. Hope they don’t get closer. Hope they don’t spot you. Sit, and dread, and worry, and implode, with no end in sight, repeat forever. Except. Well, yes, the worry was still there, somewhere. But there was also the comforting warmth of another person, standing close beside him, and how often did that happen? Somewhere along the way, one of Keli’s fingers had started idly stroking his cheek, probably without her realizing, and he couldn’t forget that. There’d just been a chase too, and if that memory could ever fade he would see it echoing through her glittering eyes. All that time dancing, and she’d never quite looked like that, huh? And with every deep breath, there was a rush of her sweetly spiced perfume, tinged with a smell he’d later realize was her skin, holding back the musty, dusty air of the alley, and, and, and-!

“Wa-chew!”

...and he may have forgotten not to sneeze.

Oops.

Well.

Maybe it was so quiet she didn’t hear it?

Breathless Dead

You know, maybe this is why Artemis chose to have this conversation sitting down. Was that how it always happened, when learning from the gods? The stories, well, now that he thinks about it, they leave details like that to the listener. What does it matter whether the Knight and the god were conversing on a leisurely stroll, sitting in a grove, or lying back and gazing at the distant stars? The Knight spoke with a god, divine wisdom was granted, and that was that. Sitting felt a lot more convenient, in hindsight. Less limbs to lose track of in a critical moment.

The Lethe…it makes sense. Even as it sounds impossible. Him? The little chef from Beri? Take on a quest from Hades, pledge his allegiance to royalty, cross the great river of death? This is a joke, right? You’ve gone and picked one the least suitable souls on all of Beri for the most dangerous quest imaginable. Except. Bits and pieces of the past gone missing. Misplacing the unforgettable. Two goddesses to vouch for it.

“I do not suppose…no, there is no reason to expect I would get it all back now, is there? ‘What one god has done, no other may undo’ and all that.” And think about that for a moment. A god saw fit to carve up the memories of Dolce of Beri. He wraps a shudder in his wool and refuses to let it go. Stillness. He is stillness.

Around them, Demeter goes about her work. The grove is undisturbed.

Folded arms unfurl to folded hands. “First and Greatest of Huntresses. I have left all I had behind in Beri, though I did not know I was doing so at the time. My house is no more. I am barred by forces far stronger than me from returning to my family. I am in hostile territory that seeks to swallow me whole.” His nose wrinkles. Words are weighed, carefully. “It is the second time I have left home behind. I set out the second time as I did in the first; in pursuit. If all obstacles disappeared tomorrow, and I could return to my cafe with no trouble at all, I would be returning empty-handed.” Of what, he couldn’t say exactly. Thank goodness she didn’t ask him to put that part into words. “I do not know if it is something I long for within my heart, or that building a home without it is impossible. But I suspect that if I were to return, I would leave a third time before long.”

Dolce, from somewhere, bows his head to Artemis.

“Which is all to say: It is also necessary for me to finish what I have started.”

Return to Thellamie

His tail flick-flick-flicks with the rhythm of a curiously low, rumbly laugh. Butterflies in his tummy flutter and alight on the fascinating words “my dear.” His cheek still tingles.

Yeah. Yeah, he’s still thinking about the end of that conversation.

Didn’t turn out half bad, huh? That was, whoof, that was really dicey there for a second, and before there’s a next time he’ll ask Yuki about proper protocol when talking to very tall girls who are snakes with dangerous eyes. It was messy. No two ways about it, but she laughed! She did very much laugh! Never underestimate the power of a floofagoof! When all else fails, it never hurts to be a little silly. Like the little smile he’s wearing as he takes in the sights of Crevas at dusk.

The crowds around the plaza look like the crowds on TV for the Thanksgiving parade, only the giant mass of people was constantly broken up by swaying Nagi and towering Seligamaru, by clothes and fur and scales of every color imaginable. Against the riotous splash of the crowds, the city around them stretches out, weaves of color swirling from street to wall to roof and back again. Districts, neighborhoods, families, he can spot them all by the colors they share. Where some giant must have delicately painted the sands, and here and there people called out, asking to share a brushstroke with their neighbors. As the lights from above fade, lights from below flicker on; some in lanterns, many more in glittering orbs of magical light, rising above the streets and setting the sand to sparkling.

Crevas. The real Crevas. At the Festival of Lights. Being shaken down by Keli and Seli.

It was all really happening.

************************************************

It was all really happening.

“So which is it? Kidnapping or not?!” He pants as they all but fly down the streets. “I’ve been getting some very mixed messages lately!” Behind them, the sound of the guards grew…closer? Farther? More angrier? Look, it’s very hard to tell under the circumstances, and he really didn’t feel like taking his eyes off the street to check!

And Keli gave Seli a look, and Seli gave Keli a look right back, and, oh beans.

He’s in a Spot. With Keli and Seli.

If you’d asked him before, he would’ve told you that being chased by rather large Nagi for no reason at all alongside two foxgirls who might be considering if there was a reward for turning him in must be a rather stressful experience. Ask him now, and he wouldn’t say a thing, because he needed all that breath for running. Ask him later, and he might remember not thinking very much at all, in the moment. Just a few wishes, wished so loudly that there wasn’t room for anything else.

Please don’t catch me.

Please don’t rob me.

Please don’t ruin this day.

[Spending my final question on Keli: How could I get Keli to help me without making me sacrifice my precious treasures? (His special festival day, the purse itself and at least a few of the coins Yuki gave him)]

Return to Thellamie

Does he have experience with girls like this?

No, not really. Well, sort of? Kind of? It’s, hrm. He has experience with different sorts of girls, who are a bit like these girls, if that makes sense? He’s never really been bullied properly, if there’s a proper way to be bullied, that is. Nobody’s ever been deliberately mean to him, not really. Hazel Valentine Fletcher is a friendly guy, and gets along well with just about everybody, even across cliques and social barriers. (And hasn’t he been lucky in that regard?) He’s got a good sense of humor, smiles easily, loves to hear about what’s going on in your life, and never has a mean word to say about anybody.

But. There have been girls who freely give out kisses in the group chat to all their friends. And the first time it happened to him, he was so startled and flustered that all he could do was transcribe the noise he made. And maybe from that point onward, girls like that take special care to kiss him in the chat because everyone likes to see him flustered. Or fumble a train of thought. Or curse the name of his tormentor in allcaps, to a chorus of little kitty faces.

He’s got a good sense of humor. Sometimes a joke needs a goofball to say something silly. Sometimes a joke needs a straight man to step on the big red X. It’s good to be able to laugh at yourself. He doesn’t mind it if everyone’s laughing together. Though he’d mind a bit more if the aforementioned girls also took his wallet. Especially today, on his first Festival of Lights, at the start of his Thellamie adventure. And he didn’t have anything he could bargain for, not like Yuki might’ve. If he took his shirt off, they’d probably charge him extra.

…they’ve been dancing for like, four songs? Five songs? More? Are they ever going to - oh! Oh! That sounds like a big finish! Keli maneuvers them into a final pose, with an arm around the small of each other’s back, and in one motion they bow low until she whispers that’s low enough. She starts to say something else, maybe “good job?” But it’s drowned out by all the applause.

The applause. Somehow, he forgot that there were people watching? Except, he didn’t, because now that it’s over, he feels fit to burst with nervous energy. Despite all that dancing, he could run for miles and still have energy to spare. But they liked it. They liked it! They liked it a lot!

He grins until his nose scrunches with joy, and he shakes every hand offered, and oh, thank you, thank you so much. No, he’s just helping them out today. Aw, shucks, no worries, he’s glad you liked it so much! His head whirls, and maybe he shakes some hands more than once, but it’s better than missing someone, right? He makes a mental note to add a real note to his tablet later, he can’t forget to message that nice girl back. (He can’t forget.) Oh, goodness, for him? Thank you! That’s so kind of you! And may the light of the stars illuminate your path too!

Now, uh, how do you hug back a kid who’s hugging your leg? Are headpats appropriate, or…? Oh! No, no, ma’am, it’s no trouble. It’s okay. Glad she enjoyed the performance, take care! And of course he waves back, like a big goober, and his heart soars to see the tiny Nagi smile-

oh.

A shiver visibly runs down the length of his spine. All the stress and effort of dancing just. It doesn’t go away. Not really. He knows that his body is tired, he knows that he’s worn out. But he doesn’t feel it so strongly. It’s there, but wrapped up and kept away in a thick blanket, and in its place there’s. Stillness. Relief. Peace.

Her voice.

His legs tremble. He can’t stop them from shaking. His stomach performs complex acrobatics, tying itself in a knot of acidic panic. He smells and hears and feels Seli steal up on his right, and some dutiful part of his brain registers the fact but the rest of him isn’t listening anymore. There are more urgent matters to attend to.

Where does he look. Where does he look?! She is. Wow. She is. She is really pretty. Which is fine and he is not going to do a thing more with that thought. He is going to stand here and. His mouth is hanging open, but he’s not saying anything, but everybody else is talking so that’s maybe okay for a little bit longer. He’snnghhghhhhuuhhhhhhhhh. Gold. Shiny. Really, really shiny. Bad. Can’t. Shouldn’t. Can’t. Can’t. Look at…hair? Face? Face is safe. Face is moving. Hair is swaayyyyyyyyynnghhhh hair bad hair bad. Nose? Lips? Lips. Um. Lips. Um. Um. W…wow. Shiny too. Pretty, and, that’s all. Do not. She is pretty. She is so pretty. And that is okay but that is it. This is just a conversation. You’ve just met. She’s just being nice. She doesn’t know you. You don’t know her. Stop it. Don’t be a creep. She is pretty. Leave it at that. You’re just talking. Keep talking. And look away.

He tears his gaze down to the elegant hand squeezing his shoulder. She whips it back to her face with a soft, sultry hiss.

“I.” Ear. Look at her ear. “That’s really nice of you to say. Miss. Anat? Anat.” His curls tremble with the effort to hold his neck still. “But, I, really, I don’t know a thing about dancing. I wouldn’t have stepped up if it weren’t for Keli, and I only knew what to do because she was leading.” Gold sparkles in the periphery. He should look away. Look away. Come on Hazel. Look away. “I just. Hung on for the ride, and, I’m glad it turned out so good.”

He’s so tired. His heart’s racing so loud. Just keep talking…

“Anyway, it’d be a really risky start to a life of crime, and I don’t think you should kidnap me off the street.”

…okay, maybe stop talking.

Breathless Dead

Dolce sits down.

He chooses his spot with care. Not so close to the goddess to imply improper closeness. Close enough to hear her every word, and reply without raising his voice. The correct distance of teacher, to student, of divine, to adherent, of huntress, to maiden. Crosses legs, crosses arms, as she does. All around them, the garden of Demeter grows, and he is always aware of it. Do not take his focus for blindness. But when the hunter has discerned a place of safety, they will only harm their chances with panicked second-guessing. As the garden parts around them, as a tranquil grove manifests where it should, he does not take his eyes off of her.

“In my rather limited view.” His voice is steady. His voice is professional. The huntress cannot allow emotion to overcome them. “I see a difference, between then and now. In the past, I see the necessity of the hunter, the need to survive on a harsh and unforgiving land. The hunter lives or dies by proper respect, discipline, and technique. Today, I see a powerful man, secure in his position and wanting for nothing, decide that there is a need to test his colleague’s security, as a joke. He grows a new person, makes this need their need, burdens them with curses that will destroy them in the end, but will also give them the means to see their job through before they are shattered.”

He says nothing more, because what more is there to say? What could a mortal do for the pain of a goddess? Let this sliver of understanding, and this respectful silence, be his offering. May it bring you some delight, Huntress. Even a little bit.

“There are many things that are necessary for me to do. It is necessary for me to act as a member of the Service, or else I will be dropped on a remote planet and it will take me ages to catch up with my wife and my loved ones. If they are not all killed first. It is necessary for me to find a way to stall Liquid Bronze and the Summerkind for at least a day. Something that 20022 can’t undo, so that Vesper can find a way to save us all. It is necessary for me to hide what I am doing from 20022, or else he will lock me in my room until his task is finished. It is necessary for me to find a refuge for the Royal Architect, or else either he or the other Sanalessa will die. And.” His ear flicks. The work continues behind them. “It is necessary for me to give Sanalessa a life. One not bound by curses. I know that, in the strictest definitions of necessity, my life would continue if I abandoned these final two tasks. But I think the sheep who survives by discarding her would not be me anymore.”

The ground here is unsteady. The student speaks his answer boldly.

“That is to say, it is necessary for Dolce to return to Vasilia.”

Return to Thellamie

You know, he’s never danced before?

There was some small part of him, a part that didn’t bother to speak with words very often, that always wanted to. Hit enough buttons in time to the music, flail about on enough dance pads, you start to wonder what the real thing’s like. If you’d be any good at it. If you’d like it. But the longing never grew into a proper wish while he still had a dance club he could join. Now it’s too late. Maybe there’s a seniors’ ballroom dance society in town somewhere that wouldn’t mind a younger face.

There’s too many eyes on him. If it wasn’t for the insistent tug on his hand, he’d be standing stock-still. If his body didn’t know how to follow a beat, he’d be stumbling to the ground. Every moment he’s surprised he hasn’t made a fool of himself yet. But it’ll happen. He knows it’s going to happen. He’s going to miss a step. He’s going to go right when he should’ve gone left. They’ll know. They’ll know.

And for a moment, he doesn’t have to move. He hangs, perfectly still, perfectly balanced in Keli’s grip. All he can see is glitter and silk. Purple and golden brown. Whispering heat on his lips.

“Eyes on me.~”

In the rushing, whirling panic of his thoughts, he scrambles for this patch of solid ground like his life depends on it. When the world stops spinning, he finds her eyes. She steps him forward. She steps him backwards. His gaze doesn’t leave hers, except when he has to blink, which presumably he was still doing, because his eyes weren’t getting itchy. Follow her. Eyes on her.

Bit by bit, his body relaxes into the rhythm. Somewhere, he stops counting the one, two, three, four. And-

It’s tricky, playing games about rhythm, because when the music is pumping, and your heart is racing, and your thoughts vanish into a flow of focus and reaction, you want to dance, right? It’s not optimal. You might forget to actually hit the buttons when you’re supposed to. A lot of people don’t do it, and he always wonders if anyone’s watching and thinking he’s trying to showoff. But it’s more fun to sway as you slide your fingers across the touchscreen. Bounce, bounce, bounce between the notes. Give a little flourish, because he can, and because he loves this song.

A pop of the foot. A sway and a swish to his step. Spin him out, and he stretches his arm out, and hold, and hold, and let his fingertips play with the light as it passes. His body knows what it wants to do. His body knows when to do it.

His mind is free to float.

The song is lovely. The music is wonderful. He could listen to them perform for hours. He could dance like this for hours. He’ll be sad when the song ends. The silk on her hip is so soft. It’s like no clothing he’s ever worn before. He rests his hand on her with no extra pressure. He would be a gentleman about this. He remembers the dip. He remembers the dip. What did he think was going to happen? She wasn’t. She wouldn’t. Even if she dipped him again she. She wouldn’t. It was just a dance.

The purple looks so pretty, around her brown eyes. She looks so pretty…

This is all part of a fox scheme. Don’t forget. They’re up to something. That’s why she wanted to show you around. That’s why she wanted to dance with you. Don’t get lost in the music. Don’t forget to hit the buttons. Don’t think about her dipping you again.

Don’t forget.

[Hazle gets 1 XP for dancing like a good boy. Rolling to Figure Out A Person, +1 for rhythm games: 6 + 4 + 1 = 11.

-What do you hope to get from kidnapping guiding me around the festival?

Banking one question.]

Breathless Dead

“I thank you for your grace and generosity. Allow me a few minutes to consider; your blessing is great, and I would not waste it on an unwise answer.”

It is only by her leave that he has time to fill in the proper paperwork for a query. A few minutes was not unreasonable. If a goddess decided it was a time to be reasonable. If. In the rampant growth, he is careful not to let even a drop of blood land outside its appointed box.

“She of the Hunt, Sharpest Pen, Cleanest Letter. I have here one who is sworn to you in body, and now will be sworn to you in bone. Since leaving home, all I have learned is how much I don’t know. The tales do not convey the half of it. But as I consider it, the tales never say what to do if one should find themselves with an Assassin under their command either. They always start after that bit has already been decided on. Arrows nocked, destined to shatter to pieces when they inevitably strike their target.”

“Is that all an Assassin is? Is this what they are meant for, what they must always be?”

Return to Thellamie

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa???!!????!!??

How?! How do they know the most devastating things to say? That is! Not fair! Not fair at all! He can’t look either of them in the face, because if he does, he will surely perish, and so he’s got to stare a hole straight through the ground in front of him. He probably meant to fold his hands in his lap, but instead his arms have gone folded around his middle, and the twin pressures of foxgirl whispers and Nagi lore(?) are squishing him into a tight little ball. They mercilessly assault him from both sides, no warning to when one or the other or both will strike. And every time he tries to take a deep breath to compose himself-

It is. Distracting. The perfume counter at the mall always smelled so, so sharp and weird and pungent, he usually just held his breath and power-walked past, never making eye contact with the salespeople lest he invite further stink. This is completely different. This smells warm and soft, which shouldn’t be smells? Those aren’t real smells. But that’s what it smells like, two scents fighting (yet complimenting each other?) to envelop him, and deep breaths - his oldest and trustiest friend - only leave him feeling fuzzy-headed. Which, I suppose he is usually fuzzy-headed, but-

Buried alive?! Seli!!! What does that even meannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

No choice now. No other option. He buries his blushing face in his hands, to the giggles of foxgirls. It’s the only thing to do in a situation like-

PrINceSS? Keli?! What does that meannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

Well. Haven’t heard that one before. Goodness.

Okay, so. They’re up to something. One hundred percent. There’s no such thing as the Market Wars, or Yuki would’ve told him about it. This is a foxgirl scheme, and Yuki did tell him about those. That’s why they’re messing with him like this. To what end? No idea. Probably trouble. Definitely trouble. Oh dear.

But they were being pretty nice about it, all things considered. The arms holding his were careful. And soft. They weren’t being mean, not really. And. Well. They hadn’t pushed too hard either. As much as Yuki had said to be careful, they were her friends, right? Of a sort. Kind of. It was a complicated relationship. (And they did play a big part in beating Azaza. (Real people. From Yuki’s stories. Wow.))

Maybe seeing some of the festival with them wouldn’t be such a bad idea. They probably weren’t going to haul him away down the first alley they passed. Probably. And maybe he could figure out what they were planning, or get a message to Yuki, or, something. There wasn’t really a polite way to escape a kidnapping, was there? That would take some figuring out.

But first.

“I-I think there might be a lot of people in line before me for Princess…hood.” He nods several more times than is strictly necessary. Tries to resist as they drag him off, but just can’t get his silly feet under him. Darn. “A-and! It’d, be very rude to cut in line?”

He sees them share a Look. He feels a fond squeeze on each arm. He hears the swish-swish-swish of delighted, fluffy tails. And his heart swells with joy.

Well done, Hazel. Well done.

Breathless Dead

It wouldn’t.

Not “she” wouldn’t. It wouldn’t. His and Vasilia’s story wouldn’t end there. Water is wet. The void is dangerous. The gods are immanent. He only takes notice of the thought because a goddess has contradicted it, and only then to wonder how he knows it to be true. Never to think it could be false.

He might say that is what separates it from setting a broken bone. The crucial difference.

He might.

“Thank you. I shall give your advice all due consideration.” he bows his head in shame. “Though much of your wisdom may be too lofty for me. Your servant has been striving to fill the gaps in my education, and I do so appreciate our talks, he’s really quite wonderful at it. But I am just a chef. As far as we’ve come, we still have quite a ways to go.”

See the humble wrinkles in his forehead. See the sincere effort in the scrunch of his nose. Could any such student be accused of lacking honest effort?

His wife’s not a horse. Hrm. That could also be crucial.

Return to Thellamie

No! He didn’t! That wasn’t! No no no no no, and also, no!

Okay, so, yes, he did look down. But! He didn’t look down her top! If you’ll rewind the tape, just a little further, just a little further, aaaaaaaand stop! See? See? If you zoom in, you can clearly see a veil between her eyes and. Um. The accused zone. You don’t see too many veils back home. You don’t see many veils in a lot of places, when you think about it. And it’s, the design is, there’s a lot to see from that close up. But, the point is, he didn’t look.

Not directly. There’s peripheral vision, and so, he’s. A w a r e. Of both of them. And he’s really, really sorry about that. But he didn’t look. Not once. Every time his attention ping-ponged back and forth, his eyes were on their faces. Got it? Got it. Okay. Just wanted to set the record straight.

Right. So.

Cute? Him? What? Cute? What? Treat? Him? Little? What? What? What?!

Keli and Seli. “What about the bounty she paid you” themselves. Of course. It all made sense. Some of it made sense. A bit here and there made sense. The important bits made sense, and the important bit was that they were up to something. Which is why they were so interested in his personal space, why they were saying all those things, why they were looking at him so, so…foxily. Oh yes. He was in trouble. What sort of trouble? Troublesome trouble, that’s what. Quietly, he shifted his purse until it was resting safely against his tummy, which required a bit of wiggling on account of two foxgirls intent on squishing him between them.

“Oh. Um. Th-thanks.” Come on voice. We can’t be cracking under pressure. We need you! He gave a tiny nod to Keli for her daring ice cream rescue and inexplicable noises. “Yeah, yeah, it is a bit cold. That is. Um, y-yes, I just got here today, actually. Here, in Crevas, that is, I’ve been here for…longer, than a day.” So have most people here! Excellent observation!!! “I-I haven’t seen much yet, that is, I came here with my friend, and, she was busy so I was just, you know, bumbling around, seeing the sights, and such, yeah.” He glanced to sea green spice. “Appreciate the concern, but I don’t, um, I don’t think I’m gonna get kidnapped off the streets? There’s a lot of people, and, I don’t, um.” Why was she looking at him like that. Why did he know she was smiling if he couldn’t see her mouth. Why was his face burning so much. “I don’t think Nagi typically just. Scoop people up. Randomly. In the crowd. And carry them. Away?”

Seli looked at him. Unblinking.

He gulped, mouth dry, and turned to Keli.

Keli looked at him. Identically.

“Ummmmmmmmmm.”

He turned back. And forth. And back. And forth again.

“That is, to say, I only really just…started seeing stuff, and…”

Were they always this close to him? When he looked at them, all he could see were rich eyeshadow and long, long lashes framing big, glittering eyes, and silky veils woven in dizzying patterns fluttering against the contours of their faces, and his throat tightened and, words, difficult, so, he turned around and oh no why are there two of them? Why are there two of them pointed at him?!?!

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhh…!”

In one swift motion, he pulled his gaze down, chomped the last bit of his ice cream cone, and stared dutifully at his hands balled up in his lap. He chewed. Slowly. Really appreciating the flavors. Nodding, and making several affirmative mmm-hmmms at the assembled company, which was a totally suitable contribution to the conversation. All while his brain overheated with the effort of untangling a myriad of foxgirl problems.