This is the longest week of these guys' lives, huh?
[doc]
--
“How are you gonna get ‘im to help?” Archie finally asked as they trudged on. The cafe they’d set out for appearing in the distance, peppered among a string of other small businesses along the otherwise desolate road, must have shaken the thought loose.
And, truthfully, it was a simple and warranted question; one that he probably should have asked before setting out to random cafes with a guy that he should hate. This fact did not stop Cylion from being, on some level, annoyed. He’d been enjoying the peace and quiet that they spent so long walking in and the sound of Archie’s voice just reminded him of the drain his life was sent spiraling down. The yellow blood clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
“By asking him to help.” He said as he adjusted the hood and jacket that he wore to conceal his wings. They fluttered against the bondage in protest. “Like a normal person.”
That was when Archie stopped walking and Cylion did the same a few paces ahead, turning to look at him in the same movement. The purple blood had a look of confusion draped over his features, a grimace that didn’t fit quite right on his otherwise smooth face and his eyebrows arched high. The knife he’d been spinning in his hand went still.
“You’re going to treat Dorili Duxile like a normal person.”
“I am,” Cylion stated simply, decided that staying still was more uncomfortable for his anxious wings, and turned to continue walking. “Drives him crazy.”
Archie did not let the distance between them grow any larger, crossing it in a few short skips before he resumed keeping an easy pace. “Pissin’im off will make ‘im wanna help?”
“More or less. If not that, then the potential for pissing Persep off.”
A breathless laugh escaped Archie and Cylion felt that the man must have been walking closer to him than when they left his father’s territory for the likes of the lands governed by His Indomitable Rhetoric and His Unshakable Presence, because the laugh rang louder in his ear than expected. “You guys have a weird ass friendship.”
“Friends is a word.”
“Right, right,” he was twirling the knife around his fingers again. “You’re too good for friends, I forgot.”
Cylion did not bother concealing the eyeroll that comment earned him as they advanced on the cafe.
—
Maybe no one really knew what to expect when walking into an establishment that was not on the House of Restoration’s home turf. What could be expected of a place that might keep a descendant of Remora Ofidis gleefully employed? Or maybe, more likely, Cylion just needed to get out more, because what he wasn’t expecting was for the place to be so damn cute.
The walls were not the industrial dark grey that he’d come to associate with the architecture of greater Alternia, but a softer shade that almost offended the eye in its lightness, with splashes of pastel colors here and there that brought a taste of nostalgia to his mouth.
He had not entered Nymira’s room since the day she left. Tried very hard not to think about it, even. He cleared his throat to dispel the guilt that started to build up.
Incidentally, the sound drew the attention of the barista that’d been chatting with an, admittedly, intimidatingly large blue blood that was showing off way too much chest hair near where food gets served.
The barista moved back to the register and adjusted their glasses before speaking. “What can I get you—” Arsami glanced between them and stopped. After a few solid seconds, they sighed and their tail flicked behind them irritably. “Weasel sits at a booth in the back.”
“What if we were just on a date?” Archie asked, feigning insult and bumping a shoulder against Cylion for emphasis. Cylion only groaned.
“Are you?” They asked dismissively, with their attention already turned back to their hairy friend.
“Nah.”
“That’s what I thought. Weasel’s somewhere over there.” They pointed to the other side of the cafe and reabsorbed themself in their conversation.
Cylion let his gaze follow the direction they pointed in, allowing the task to pull his mind off of the uncomfortable proximity that he’d been sharing with Archie as of late. It took even more energy to will away the idea that the pair at the counter were now likely gossiping about them and their alleged coupledom. He tried to focus on whether or not he could see his quarry from where he stood instead.
“Y’believe that?” Archie bemoaned, “Won’t even take our date seriously.”
“Maybe it has something to do with me being out of your league.”
“Doubt that—” He’d started to protest, but Cyllion was already walking toward one of the larger corner booths at the back of the cafe. It was being rattled by some commotion that seemed to go ignored by the barista.
“C’mon, Magpie! Look at what you did to my danish!” Weasel’s whine could be heard above the sound of the scuffling. “I was really looking forward to it.”
Walking up to the table, Cylion was not surprised to see that the source of the noise violation was Weasel stretched across it, using one hand to pin a deranged looking violet blood to the wooden surface. With his other hand, he grasped at the man’s wrist. A knife thrashed wildly between them. There was also the flattened dessert in question, smeared across the table in a pinkish smudged mush.
Archie whistled at the sight. “Man, Cylion, why don’t we ever do knife play like that?”
The two struggled in the booth against each other for a moment longer and watching them like that made Cylion’s wings twitch uncomfortably in their restraints.
“Yeah, Cy, you gotta,” Weasel grunted, trying and failing to grab at the knife, the attempt resulted in his friend nearly wiggling free only to be slammed down again. “You gotta keep it sexy.”
“In public,” Cylion criticized, stomaching the uneasiness that the display of Weasel’s strength stirred within him. Something about it felt unnatural. “I’ll pass.”
“That’s part of the sexiness— Ah, shit! Fuck!”
A spurt of green shot out across his hand, Magpie having taken his distraction as an opportunity to squeeze out of his grip and sink his teeth right into him. Then, when Weasel retreated to nurse the wound, the violet blood swung the hand that held the knife and plunged it practically to the handle into his arm.
Weasel grunted and reeled, but on the whole seemed to regard it as little more than an inconvenience. He made a face, twisted the knife out with a sickening squelch, and with little ceremony drove it through his friend’s hand, effectively pinning him back to the table.
“You’ll scare our company away.” Weasel chided, giving his own wounds a look of indifference. “Magpie, this is Cylion and…” He finally paid full attention to who was standing before him. “His new boytoy, Archie Roatus?” He grinned.
“Yep!” Archie said at the same time that Cylion said, “God, no.”
Seemingly cured of the aggression that previously gripped him, Magpie waved with a chipper flourish and chirped, “Hello!” in polite greeting and pulled on the knife to free himself. “I am going to go replace Weasel’s danish now. Can I treat the two of you to anything?”
Cylion shook his head and slid past him to move into the booth just as he was getting out of it, severely uninterested in the sort of transactions these freaks have going on.
“All good, next time.” Archie declined and scooted in beside Cylion.
Magpie shrugged, “Okay. Do let me know if you change your mind!” And then he was gone in the direction of the front counter, a pep in his step.
“Are you two about to ask me to be your third?” Weasel asked when his friend disappeared from view, giving his new arm wound an inquisitive poke.
“God, what is it with everyone today? No.”
“Shame. I’d make a hell of a third.”
Cylion stared at his stupid grinning face long and hard, the temper he worked to swallow fighting its way to the surface in the form of a scowl he could not keep away. No one was taking him as seriously as he was used to and he could feel the frustration bubbling into a fist the longer he thought about it. “Find that satisfaction elsewhere.” He said so low it may as well have been a growl.
For whatever it was worth, Archie didn’t say anything to prod at the idea further, maybe sensing the irritation that was no doubt roiling off of him in waves.
Weasel got the idea soon after and raised both hands up with a smile, already drying blood made a steady trail down the side of the wounded one. “I’m just kidding. Lighten up, buddy.”
Cylion narrowed his eyes.
“Right, right. This is still about Persep, is it?” He glanced between the unlikely duo, no doubt doing his own mental math on the match up. “Abductions aren’t out of character for him. Nor is the disappearing act. He always turns up to gloat when he succeeds though.”
The unuseful exposition must have been for Archie’s sake, because he did not say anything that Cylion was not intimately aware of.
“I am not happy to wait around for him this time, Dorili. I need your help to track him down.”
“I’m honored, real touched, that you have so much faith in me. I already told you, though, I haven’t been able to sniff the guy out for some time now.” He plucked something imaginary from the air for added emphasis. “The thread is just gone. Poof.”
“Yes, but I’ve been thinking—”
“I bet you have. Let me stop you there; there’s nothing to exploit. No holes.”
Weasel’s smugness rubbed roughly against Cylion’s skin. He snapped his mouth shut and ground his teeth. There was a way to word his next thought, something to force the bastard’s hand.
Somewhere in his pride.
Of course there was something to exploit.
“I read somewhere,” he started again, suddenly levelling his own smug grin at the jade blood. “That the Gracious Provider—”
“Oh, don’t start on that man.
“—Once tracked down an abducted grub by following such impossible threads.”
“Dude, don’t.”
“It’s just what I heard, Dorili. Rather impressive. No one’d seen or heard of the thing for so long. Whatever they did to scrub the kid from the face of Alternia was potent. Maybe someone like Arkiro here might’ve been able to get to them,” He nodded his head in Archie’s direction. “But they didn’t have that. You know, in their desperation they finally asked the Provider for his help,”
A pang of satisfaction surged through the former prophet as he watched Weasel start to squirm in front of him. It had not been so long since he last used that silver tongue of his to bend the world around him to his will, but god he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss it. The powerlessness of the evening fell away as he shrugged into his old clothes.
Weasel mumbled something noncommittal under his breath, Cylion hardly registered it. He carried on his sermon.
“And the Provider provides, does he not? He may not have been able to get to the kid immediately—”
“But he was able to follow traces back to people that were recently in touch with it. Eventually forcing the information out of the parties involved.” Weasel finished the thought with a roll of the eyes. “This isn’t the same thing.”
Cylion paused, perked up in a way that made his wings flutter as best they could in their current conditions. Dorili Duxile was an easy one to get around the finger. “Because you’re not as good as Persep or because you’re not as good as Redivi?”
A sneer peeled Weasel’s lips back, baring his fangs in threat.
"Well you're alive, so you weren't any of her dates."
>They look you over, then over their shoulder where Weasel seems engrossed in whatever the hell he's reading. Did you know that Weasel spends almost his entire day at the cafe Arsami works at?
>Now you know that.
"You're not his type either. So I guess you're probably normal enough.
