posting them together (again) because Cyno looks so small next to anyone wearing his jackal ears lol
I was still working on my Cyno&Razor edit when Sethos was first released, and then I procrastinated on doing the Sethos&Cyno edit until now. I finished Cyno and had initially wanted to keep editing Sethos but then I gave up :) so if you see any weird spots then ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Sethos looks super good in Cyno's clothes, but Cyno just doesn't look right without his jackal ears lol
Come on, won't you tell me more? (Sethoscara) | dividers by cafekitsune
Word count- 3040 words | not proofread, pls tell me if there's any mistakes (if you actually read all this lol)
Sethos has feelings for Wanderer but hasn't realized it yet. This fic is kinda about how his curiosity for the eccentric turns into a meeting and then to infatuation something something etc. Lowkey im just talking & its disguised as a character study disguised as a fic. Wanderer knows Sethos likes him, he doesn't do anything about it (ALSO hasn't realized he likes Sethos) | Also very very brief suggestion of sethos fantazising ab wanderer innapropriately
Sethos is naturally curious. He wants to see, to know and live and experience anything and everything, to touch everything he can afford to have in his grasp.
That is, perhaps, a reason why he is so insistent on knowing more of The Wanderer. Perhaps it is simply his nature to want to come closer to the unknown.
And unknown he is, that man, practically a walking enigma.
Wanderer, Sethos has come to realize, is everything but clear.
His attire is Inazuman, customs and features reminiscent of the nation, as well, even if he does not acknowledge it in a way that is substantial. He speaks of it as if it will burn his tongue, layer of hatred overlayed through his words so thin you can barely notice. For all anyone knows, Sumeru is his home, as always has been, though his ways of speaking betray him. The Snezhnayan accent he has adapted over the years as thick as the snow upon its land, as the walls of the Temple of Silence.
Ah, and his attitude, of course. Sethos tries only to be honest when he says he is unique, and not in a good way, precisely. Though, he has seen the way the other treats children and elders, those young and weak and in need, how he is so kind it shocks even himself.
Wanderer pretends he does not show kindness. That he is not soft, as humans are.
Perhaps, is his final thought, that is why he is so curious, why he finds himself looking and trying over and over. Again and again, he searches until he is exhausted and spent and sore, in search of a glance, a conversation, anything he can get.
Sethos looks and looks, finds himself looking up, up to the now-familiar voice he has filed in his head as “Hat Guy” (Quite silly, isn’t it? That such a serious man, someone of such mystery has such a ‘name’? That the idea he finds himself besotted with has such an unserious title?)
There is a flash of white and blue and the movement of every article of clothing, shadow cast from the ornate and intricate hat the Wanderer wears, and Sethos looks, the giddy smile he is sure is on his face contrasting the Wanderer’s own.
The anemo user tells him something, some teasing comment that the other is meant to react to, meant to hate or like or answer to (It is masked as mocking, though Sethos knows better by now). There is, however, a small truth in his words (“I’d say you are no errand boy at all,”)
He does not, only offering to spend time together with a small truth of his own, (“I’d say you are no student either,”) and the Wanderer is gone, flash of white and blue and no longer a shadow to be noticed.
The Wanderer always finds himself leaving, vanishing from these encounters without a trace (he is exceptionally skilled in being gone, of not being seen when he wishes not to). Sethos, he finds, is honest with him. Too vulnerable, is his first conclusion, though he soon notices the electro user is simply emotional in what he chooses to share. He will not bare open his heart for the Wanderer to see, not at first glance, and it makes the Wanderer curious. Because, of course, the forbidden makes one want.
During their first meetings, the puppet thought Sethos to be nothing more than a pesky bug, a fly he must swat away before it is attached to him. He could not bear to think of the idea of companionship, not with a human. Not with someone he will have to face the thought of losing.
He has found companionship. In Buer, the Traveller (and their annoying pest of a travel companion)
Two of those three he is certain are not mortal, that they will not die unless killed, like he. This, he can manage, this he lets himself, because even though he is not as he once was, he is still as scared and weak for those he finds himself close to.
Loss is not a thing he could handle, and yet.
And yet he finds himself looking, as well, searching out of the corner of his eye for Sethos, finds himself waiting for a voice that never comes at the slightest flash of yellow clothing. He finds he does not run anymore, be it by his own curiosity, or by, Archons forbid, affection.
He holds conversations with the boy (An adult, technically, though he is so young Wanderer cringes at the thought of calling him a man), a back-and-forth fuelled by mutual curiosity that neither Sethos nor he can help but fall for, even if they know every question is a careful ruse.
The Wanderer, Sethos quickly realises, knows how to make himself interesting, how to be alluring. He knows and understands the inner wonders of every mind but his own, uses them in his favour to gain an advantage, to have an upper hand that Sethos is exceptionally weak to.
It is natural, then, that the green-eyed boy takes Wanderer to see things, to watch and experience and know, things Sethos would have liked to be shown by someone he likes (Selfishly, foolishly, Sethos hopes the Wanderer likes him. He reasons that the eccentric does, enough for him to accompany Sethos in these outings, enough for him to appreciate these moments. Right? He dares not ask)
These things, of course, Wanderer has seen before Sethos was even conceived, before he was but an idea in his mother’s dreams and a hope in his father’s mind (before even that, still, though he wishes not to think too much. The idea makes his stomach churn, like he is doing something he should not by entertaining Sethos), and he is so amused by the idea that he cannot help but laugh. A human, trying to teach him things he has all but memorized centuries ago. His voice is an honest, quiet thing. The most sincerity he has let himself show this far, the most he has let himself show that he cares.
“You humans are impressed by anything” He mutters, and even though the sentence alone would sound condescending, the tone in which the Wanderer speaks seems far too vulnerable to be true. (In truth, the puppet is envious of this, the ease in which Sethos is content with nothing and impressed by everything. He, too, was as young and excitable and easy to please as he claims Sethos to be. The memory is bitter, tainted by time and change and knowledge, though he wonders if he will ever be as happy as he was then.)
Sethos, in turn, does not question why the other uses the word ‘Human’ (he is one too, is he not?), offering a grin and an oddly cheeky comment about appreciating beauty. The electro user shoots Wanderer a glare when saying this, and the aforementioned man simply laughs.
He understands what that means. He notices what Sethos’ curiosity has blossomed into, what his lingering stares mean. He knows.
How could he not? The eccentric has lived and seen, experienced far too much not to.
Wanderer thinks, briefly, that he should not let it happen. He should tell Sethos off, crush his hope before it takes root and blooms, before he thinks he may have a chance. He should stop himself before he lets himself hope too much, as well.
He does not.
The puppet realises, then, that he has become incredibly soft. He had once called this behaviour weak, though he now knows it is not (Buer has become horribly insistent on changing his view on emotion, since taking him under his wing). The anemo user does not answer.
He cannot bring himself to, and Sethos notices. He notices, and yet, he says nothing more until it is his hour to part.
The boy says something, then, and though Wanderer’s first reflex is to pull away, he does not. He offers Sethos company during the walk, because the night is dangerous even in the city, and pretends not to notice the flush in Sethos’ face when he agrees.
He is being disgustingly honest.
Why?
He wonders if this is because how he has changed over his time in Sumeru, or because of Sethos. Is someone’s mere presence enough to do such a thing?
Sethos is surprisingly quiet during the walk back, so unlike himself that the Wanderer considers asking. He does not ask, of course, because that is something he cannot let himself, and so he thinks about it for himself instead.
He thinks, for a long time, watching the road. He comes to a conclusion, eventually, that now that the other’s curiosity has been sated, he wants nothing more out of this. That the errand boy will not bother him anymore, as he now knows what is behind the idea of the Vahumana student everyone seems to know the puppet as.
He does not know why the thought makes him slightly bitter, why the idea is difficult to accept.
Quickly the thought vanishes from his mind, perhaps as quickly as it came. He stares as discreetly as he has learnt how to and notices something, finds traces of emotion in the boy’s face that he recognises.
Sethos is quiet because of hesitance. It is the same look the puppet once wore, sitting between bladesmiths and drinking tea because he did not know how to do anything else, cup after cup after cup. Perhaps the boy cannot bring himself to speak, as he once did, or perhaps he cannot find the words.
Regardless, the eccentric lets it happen, lets Sethos squirm and twiddle his thumbs until he finds the courage to speak, while walking beside him, when the Wanderer stands at his doorstep (Cyno’s, though Sethos is staying for now) “I’ve been wondering, what’s your name?” The boy asks, tone as cheerful as it is hesitant (Wanderer has always questioned how Sethos can be so happy every single time they speak. Maybe it is only because of who he is speaking to)
At that, Wanderer laughs. It is not mocking, because the question is so absurd to him that he cannot help but laugh. The amusement rolls off his tone in a way that is almost contagious, and Sethos finds it that he, too, finds the question absurd. Because why wouldn’t it be? This is what made him anxious? It is ridiculous, in a sense “I have no name. Call me what you wish”
Sethos looks unamused, at best. Wanderer finds his expression horribly amusing, brows furrowed and lips pouty (Like a child throwing a tantrum, like an animal searching for mercy. If the eccentric did not know better, he would think that Sethos’ eyes are wet with unshed tears. That is not the case, he thinks, because how could the boy be so affected by Wanderer’s words?)
“That’s… Not what I’m searching for,” the boy says, tone and words and everything about him so honest, so straightforward. It is overwhelming, being able to know so much about another, someone else letting him see so much. He will ruin this boy’s good will, if not for his personality but for his nature. Everything he is allowed to touch is doomed to rot, and it is fear that almost keeps him from hearing what the other man says to him “everyone seems to call you by some sort of nickname, what exactly is your name?”
The electro wielder speaks as if that will change the answer he is given. It is somewhat pathetic, like watching a deer try to get up. It sparks an emotion in the eccentric’s mind that he cannot place, this specific sort of pity that he feels when watching this display.
The Wanderer, in turn, decides to offer Sethos mercy. A promise for information, knowledge presented right within arms’ reach.
Of course, Wanderer dares not present the name that the boy so deeply yearns for, will not lay bare his ‘heart’ for the other to see so quickly, not without push and pull and struggle and teeth.
“You can ask the Traveller for the name they call me by, I care not for what name I am called. Do not ask me this again next time.” Is the answer he finds himself giving, words carefully calculated in its cadence and tone. (As always, are they not? Wanderer never finds himself being truly honest, even when he claims to.)
The conversation fizzles out eventually, words becoming fewer and fewer and more spread out inbetween the silence of Sumeru’s night, until there is nothing left of it but a memory of each other's voice and a wish to hear it again, rekindle the conversation.
Eventually, Sethos gives off a polite goodbye, and though Wanderer scowls at the affection in the boy’s eyes, he gives a goodbye of his own. The boy is not at fault for his feelings, Wanderer reminds himself. Sethos has no choice but to be human, with all the horrible consequences being one takes.
The puppet pretends, then, as he reaches the Sanctuary of Surasthana, that he does not hear Buer’s incessant questions. (“Aw, you made a new friend, Hat Guy! What’s he like? When did you meet him? Where?”) She looks out for him, though he cannot convince himself to enjoy the treatment. He feels like a child, being coddled in such a manner. It makes him overwhelmed from the affection, the thought that anyone could ever wish to treat him in the manner Buer does without having an ulterior motive. The fact that she does not, then, is one of the reasons why he is so confused over these actions. He wishes not to, and will not, dwell over his emotions any more than he already has for today.
Sethos does ignore his company, as well, though it is easier for him to avoid Cyno. Smart and good at interrogating as the General Mahamatra may be, he cannot read someone’s mind, does not possess the power the Lesser Lord does.
It is easier to ignore questioning when the one being questioned cannot be bothered to think about who is speaking to them. Sethos’ mind loops over and over and over again over the promise of a next time, the thought as appealing as it makes him dizzy. Wanderer’s mere presence makes him horribly tense, and still, he reaches for the feeling anyway. He wonders how much more he can take before falling apart at the seams.
Sleep does not come easy to him, then, anticipation building in his being until it threatens to burst out of him as if he were a rope stretched far too wide. Sethos has to get up a lot, he finds, to calm his overactive head and beating heart, doing and organizing and making in the guest room Cyno has so very kindly let him use during the times he wishes to stay in Sumeru City.
And so, the next morning he is off before sunrise, a flash in Cyno’s peripheral vision and the sound of keys rustling so familiar that the General does not question it until the boy is outside, running as if he was being chased. Cyno can see it, the flash of yellow and a quick spark of electro right at the corner of the window, just barely enough for the General to notice it (he was planning to play Genius Invokation TCG with Sethos during his idle time... Oh well, he’ll just have to ask later.)
Sethos searches like a man starved, as if the knowledge of a name he will barely bring himself to use will be his salvation. If he was anyone else, Sethos would have thought himself to look silly, searching like that. The Traveller is that, a traveller. What chance is there that he will find them in Sumeru at all, let alone in the city?
He eats outside, while he walks (even if the elders in the streets tell him that he should not), because the fear of missing out on meeting who he is in search for when he is indoors makes Sethos’ stomach churn, bargaining with street vendors and eating while he searches, looking and looking and looking over and over again.
He finally finds what he is looking for as the sun sets, watching the Traveller speak to their travel companion with some type of bittersweet joy in their expression. (The Traveller always looks like that, like they are never truly happy. It makes Sethos as curious as it makes him sad. They do not deserve to be as bitter as they are, Sethos believes. Not when they have done so much good)
He makes polite conversation with them, then (even if he feels guilty for interrupting), until finally he gets what he desires, the knowledge he has been in search for the entirety of the day. He hears the Traveller pronounce it in such a robotically mastered Inazuman that it makes Sethos surprised, and he tries it over and over on his own lips until it stops having meaning.
He always does that, exhaust any new incentive as soon as he lays hand on it. Perhaps it is because of his previously sheltered life, that every new thing he acquires is something he wishes to try and learn as soon as he can. Perhaps, though this new knowledge does not tire him. It does not become bland and tasteless after he repeats it, does not lose its appeal.
Sethos would wager it becomes more enchanting, with how even the mere vision of blue makes him flush and stammer, stop in his tracks and look until he sees nothing, until he finds that what he is searching for never comes.
He feels ashamed for what he thinks, then, the thoughts that swirl in his head as he tries to fall into slumber. Sethos has always thought these things to be normal, these desires, though he has thought of his feelings towards the Wanderer to be nothing more than curiosity up until now.
Perhaps it is, then, that this curiosity is giving him more than he bargained for.
