Archsatyr

This was not Boranehn's scene and he was pretty sure it never would be. However, this place was Hyrsam's playground. As much as he would have loved to sit around back at the court and pretend he didn't want to be here, he actually did want to be. Most people were sure to wonder why the revenant would be smitten with someone as intolerable as the archsatyr. Nyloth had spoke her piece aloud on the matter as well and he could only give a neutral response that did not have any real meaning behind it. How he felt about the aspect was for his mind and his alone. If Hyrsam wanted to go up there and perform a musical every time something big happened in Rome, then the spirit would be there every single time. After all, he had to get as much time as possible with the archsatyr to himself before the spring equinox rolled around.

There has been a high ever since Midsommar; so many gods, goddesses, and other cantankerous, self-righteous individuals who thought so highly of themselves were reduced to meager entertainment. It was true, the archsatyr was not nearly as powerful as he had been then, but his gifts of deception still knew no bounds, as did his appetite for anarchy. The trials of the Seldarine were laughable, their legacy echoed through the echelons of society, elven, drow, even these mortals climbed over one another to become stronger. In this world you either devoured or you were devoured, Hyrsam was the subversion of this because the more others feasted, the greater his longevity. His birthday would be upon them soon, and it would be a feast like no other; Rome had become overpopulated, it was time to cull the herd.

"I knew it, I knew she was smitten with you." Hyrsam thought Nyloth would have learned her lesson about marrying Gods, but the heart wanted what the heart wanted. How else would Boranehn have landed a catch like Hyrsam? "Not since Barbra and Neil has there been a better match." He wondered if the rest of the Court knew that Nyloth was fortunate that people rarely believed his words. "Do you think Lloth needs a spokesperson or something? Maybe someone for hair and makeup, I know a very talented homosexual currently in between jobs." It was him, well, it was Raul, but that was just Hyrsam again. "He painted Cher."

If someone would have told Boranehn thousands and thousands of years ago that he would end up loving someone like Hyrsam, he'd probably have called them stupid. Amongst a slew of other words, but that one would have been at the forefront. On paper, the two of them were complete opposites. The revenant was stoic most of the time with a personality that shifted dependent upon who held onto his statue. He'd been so ingrained into drow culture for so long that it felt like all he knew now. Nevertheless, Hyrsam was more extroverted than Boranehn could ever be. The archsatyr was always somewhere doing something or another. Yet, regardless of the kind of people that they were, the wyvern could not have pictured his life without the aspect. He'd never say such words aloud, but he was sure the sentiment was shown through his actions all the same.

Boranehn turned Hyrsam onto his back, and the aspect smiled in exchange as he craned his neck to press their lips together. His hands slid along the muscular plains of the wyvern's back before they took a firm handle on the other's backside. Boranehn hadn't given Hyrsam the chance to speak, smart, but also bold because idle hands were the satyr's playthings. Hyrsam was hedonism defined as raw and unbridled chaotic mischief. The Gods loathed everything they could not control, and he was the sort of creature just radical enough to make anything possible. Where the two might have stood in stark opposition to one another was the steady blend of what Hyrsam understood fully: Boranehn was far more than what he'd been created to be.

✿*° ‘° ･

They hoisted Dimetor to his feet as they took to fanning him after that terrible fainting spell he'd just suffered. The archsatyr was practically beside himself; if the chancellor of Dimetor's Court hated him this much, what must the rest of the archsatyr's subjects think of him? Oh, right, he seemed human right now; that was fine, though he'd win this one's heart the best way he knew how, by force. Dimetor clipped and clopped until he was just a few inches away from Zahrya's face. "Spring Equinox: I challenge you to a performance-off." It coincided fabulously with Dimetor's birthday, "It's my time of the year, you'll have no choice but to be dazzled by my superiors dance moves and vocal talents. The loser has to call the winner Sir for the rest of their life."

This new assistant really was a life saver, Marzia didn't know what she'd had, truly. A successful acquisition, "Find yourself something nice for the holidays, on me." Hopefully it'd be him at the store when she went there, he did love shiny things. "Honestly though, why can't people just let the classics be the classics. You're the best, Elmas." Dimetor said with a wink as he stripped down to prepare for his morning bake in the tanning bed, he liked to feel crisp. "Oh- if Boranehn comes looking for me, send him up." Dimetor settled a pair of bay leaves on his eyes as some of his team sprayed him with authentic brazilian olive oil, pinch of salt: he didn't need much to be a snack. "That's all."

When all of this was said and done for the day, she would have to call her guy who knew a guy who knew someone who could get archival Tiffany & Co. Closing her planner and clutching it to her chest, Elmas offered a nod. The satyr's are not Marzia, they are not part of what had seemed like her never-ending entourage. But they're certainly competent and that is what she cares about, she can admit begrudgingly that they do often make her job easier. "Thank you sir, I will see you in an hour at your spin class." It was just a class full of Hyrsam and then one bike was for her. It'd been a welcome adjustment, Marzia had always been really into aerobics.

"You must be referring to my antics, don't worry don't worry, why yes I'll be in NYC hosting the ball drop I will be returning to Rome come the New Year. Say, do you like football? They gave me season tickets last month after I resuscitated one of their players from the absolute brink of death, the whole team owes me a life debt. I have a whole box if you'd like to join me, naturally you should bring Boranehn too." He knew how much the wyvern liked balls. "Yidhra's dead Nyloth, the only place where she's laying is in the dirty." Hyrsam knew full well that it was just a playful turn of phrase but more than anything the drow were fun to contend with. "I heard a rumour about you, Nyloth." Most weren't true but this one was especially interesting, "While the world was ending you took to the Abyss: did you meet her? Your Goddess."

When Hyrsam spoke, Boranehn often just listened. It was common for the archsatyr to just go on and on constantly about the most random topics. Most of the time, it had to do with something he hadn't been credited for and then the revenant would end up hearing about it for more than an hour. They could've been doing so much more in those few hours than talking about William fucking Shakespeare. Boranehn didn't care about a damn author that wasn't even alive anymore. What was the point of it anyway? He'd never ask such a question aloud though. Again, Hyrsam would go on for hours about it and then a bunch of other topics that he would have to listen to because, unfortunately, he loved this annoying archsatyr.

At least Boranehn listened most of the time, though he couldn't quite fault the creature for being distracted, the archsatyr certainly was something to look at. They said that love was the measure of how much of yourself you were willing to give up for another, given that the normally stoic wyvern would let Hyrsam talk endlessly, he could only assume that the other loved him a great deal. Concurrently, that Hyrsam ceased his long tales at all to instead shove his tongue down Boranehn's throat was another statement of love entirely. Someone as hooved as him clearly knew a great deal about lust and passion, but love had been a new frontier, how peculiar that he'd have found it in the Underdark of all things.

✿*° ‘° ･

The insult that came from his own subject? His own court? Did the child not know that he should be polishing Dimetor's hooves, not insulting them? The sudden slight caught the archsatyr off guard as he suddenly went faint, "No more, please," he fell backwards dramatically but his troupe of satyrs were there to catch him as he fell. Though all satyrs were physically weaker than humans, so they stood there with struggling, shaking limbs as they quaked under Dimetor's weight. Still, he didn't stand, instead their little hooves shook beneath them as they held him there. "it's not-" he trembled, "I don't have my lucky microphone! I can't perform under these conditions!"

Less of a walk, and more of a light trot, Hyrsam made his way towards the formerly blushing bride. Naturally he'd been to the Underdark, that was how he'd fucked met Boranehn. Though the drow were especially unfun, they did know how to cut loose when the proper incentives were provided. "It's true, I never care anything spare on me." Especially not spare change, he slipped a pair of sunglasses from around his horns, over his eyes. "Killer party, don't you think?" Even as he said this though he was admiring a pair as they fornicated on the dance floor, gorgeous gorgeous work. "I heard about the divorce, if it's any consolation Yidhra was having an affair for years, Kthanid once found her in bed with a gargoyle of all things. Can you imagine? I told her, I told her, I said: if you're going to steal another woman's husband, you should at least cheat on him with something that won't turn your pussy gray. Did she listen though? Of course not, of course not." Hyrsam sighed, it was quite the tale. "Anyways, did you see the gargoyles on the parapets? I think they might be real."

Elmas catches the hooves in both arms and tucked them against her side before penciling in to remember to check what Paris was doing now aside from that delightful Walmart kitchenware. But her brow furrows at the mention of 'the thing' and she carefully flips through a few more pages. Because there were always a few things and she simply looks directly at the list of them. "I got the Embassy to sponsor your holiday party. I got the red paint out of your coat after the last PETA incident," It was lycan wool, it wasn't even fur. Some people had nothing better to do. "And I once again kept Glee from getting remade." It was a yearly thing, someone had to slash hole in Matthew Morrison's tires every so often, smash his modem every now and then. It was a hard job, but she felt like she was doing everyone a public service.

This new assistant really was a life saver, Marzia didn't know what she'd had, truly. A successful acquisition, "Find yourself something nice for the holidays, on me." Hopefully it'd be him at the store when she went there, he did love shiny things. "Honestly though, why can't people just let the classics be the classics. You're the best, Elmas." Dimetor said with a wink as he stripped down to prepare for his morning bake in the tanning bed, he liked to feel crisp. "Oh- if Boranehn comes looking for me, send him up." Dimetor settled a pair of bay leaves on his eyes as some of his team sprayed him with authentic brazilian olive oil, pinch of salt: he didn't need much to be a snack. "That's all."

Elmas nods along to everything the mayor is saying, pink sparkly pen moving across the page of her planner quickly. The chicken thing is going to be a problem, she'll have to look into her sources. She'd once gotten several peacocks for Marzia who had felt like putting on a Katy Perry number one day, how hard could finding Venezuelan chickens be? Tucking her pen behind her ear, she flipped the page on her planner and begins at the first line of her notes. "Elon called twice and was told you were too busy to be a part of 'Rocketgate', Kris Jenner's Christmas present came for you this morning and it's in the living room on the coffee table. Taylor sent over a reel of The Eras Tour and we've finally got the projector working." She nods along as she reads each sentence. "I have honey from the bees on Via del Corso on standby, the horse will be found." The ones from the actual Beyhive, supposedly those bees were drinking watermelon. Whatever that meant for bees, she didn't know, but it was rather whimsical.

Giddy, Dimetor clipped and clopped his way into the living room to see the large wrapped box. "She does give the best gifts but tell Taylor that for the last time I won't be joining her on stage, I'm booked." These pop stars couldn't get enough of him, he was the mayor now, didn't anyone understand how much responsibility he had... Or Something. Dimetor tore into the wrapped box and gasped audibly as he pulled out a pair of hooves that were encrusted in pink diamonds. They must have cost a fortune. "Oh Elmas look," he slipped them on and did a little pose, much to the applause of some of his staff before he pulled them off. "they'll make wonderful regifts," he tossed them towards her, "give these to Paris, Nicholai married a Rothschild so she's the poor sister now." As he turned Dimetor suddenly remembered something, he looked back to Elmas and asked, "Where are we on the thing?'

How they had lasted as long as they had was a wonder to Boranehn. Then again, there were plenty of times where they were separated for extended periods of time so maybe that was what it was that kept the revenant sane. He really wasn't sure what their relationship would be like otherwise. That was just something that always went through his head, but the truth was always the same. Boranehn didn't much mind Hyrsam's company. He was far too used to the shenanigans that came with the archsatyr to the point where it became endearing sometimes. The wyvern had been alive long enough to deal with a plethora of people so that just meant he was familiar with many different personalities. Did that make Hyrsam seem any more normal? Absolutely not. The archsatyr was still the most unique of the bunch. Perhaps that was why Boranehn liked him so much. Of course he wouldn't spend his time with someone who was just mediocre.

It was a nice photo, at least Hyrsam thought so, he'd be revisiting it again later after Boranehn was gone, then again a few more times after that. The revenant had always come as much as he pleased, he also left too whenever he wanted. Hyrsam and him had that in common but whatever the satyr's antics he returned to the wyvern time and time again. That beautiful stoicism was so entertaining when it was broken, when the wyvern's back was arched and he was little more than a blithering mess between the sheets. The riddles did stop eventually, usually when Boranehn's mouth was full though the same could have been said for Hyrsam.