kingdom of gross

➷ character introduction snapshot: august & ceridwen [ canon, cw emeto ]

This crosses her mind for two reasons. First of all, she hadn’t accounted for the chance of running into any inebriated tavern-goers. There are not many, but there are certainly more stragglers than she’d bargained for. And secondly, she was wrong to be so naive as to think she could ever shake Reese’s incessant ass, because among the stragglers is him. He’s hobbling away and looking strangely guilty, with a rip in the side of his shirt and a trail of feathers following him. 

She considers turning the other way. In fact, she really wants to. But there’s a part of her that cannot be described as anything other than masochistic as it inclines her to go up to him. She deliberates on it a moment too long, because he spots her first. Reese waves to her, stumbling along in her direction with an expression somewhere between a smile and a grimace. “Maaaaallll!” 

“Oh my God,” she murmurs, shaking her head and trudging over to meet him if not just to get him to stop yelling, and calls back, “Yeah, I hear you! Yes.”

He just about falls into her arms once he reaches her, swaying dangerously. She resists the urge to reach out to him. “What the fuck happened to you?” 

Of everything Reese could possibly respond to her with, the last thing Mal expects is for it to come in the form of a hiccup and a mouthful of vomit directly at her feet. 

“Fuck! Oh, gross–” she takes a step back, looking heavenwards and taking a long, regrettable breath. The smell of alcohol assaults her senses and from the sheer potency of it, she realizes maybe the vomiting was not the least reasonable response for him to give. “Gods, Reese.” 

He reels back in return, turning to the side and bracing against his knee with one arm, hugging himself with the other. He groans and spits and burps again, bringing up more dark liquid. And then again. And again, like a fussy baby or a–a bird. Mal huffs. Fitting. 

Against all of her stronger instincts, Mal leans in and puts a hand on his back. Reese coughs and splutters, leaning some of his meager weight against her as he continues to throw up, an almost constant stream of little gags and hiccups spilling from him. A few other people, definitely no less sloshed than Reese is, peer over. They’re on the side of a path beneath a streetlight; it’s not like he chose a particularly discreet place to do this. 

One person in particular looks on with a level of judgment that is definitely not warranted given that they came from the same place. Mal glares at him and flips him off. 

“Hey, Reese.” 

Reese whimpers. “Dude. Reese. Stop puking for a minute–fucking swallow it or something.” 

Reese tries and nearly chokes. Mal swears under her breath. This guy is beyond pathetic. 

She rubs his back as he burps and coughs again, and then she gives up hope that it’ll end anytime soon and accepts the potential of getting puked on as she shoves him off the path. He stumbles, so she takes his wrist and opts to drag him along with her. “Come on. Let’s get behind a–a building or a bush or something. Anywhere but here. So you can stop fucking embarrassing me.” 

Reese gives her a thumbs up with the hand she’s guiding, other hand cupped over his mouth. A noise comes out of him and it sounds like he almost certainly throws up directly into that hand, but Mal chooses not to acknowledge it and carries forward. She’s almost gotten them situated between two shops, long shut down for the night, when she hears a noise from him she can’t choose not to acknowledge: a sniffle. 

“What–are you crying?” 

“N–hic-huuRRRPP!–no.” Reese sniffles again. 

Mal drags him into the alley and pulls the hand away from his face, predictably sullied with sick and snot. He really is crying. Given the fact that he still reeks of booze, she probably shouldn’t be surprised. And it’s not that she is surprised, really. But that doesn’t mean that she has a lick of a clue what to say. 

“Why are you crying now? You’re so fucking hammered.” 

Reese gags emptily, spitting at the ground and whimpering. He gulps a few times, burps. And then he takes a long, shuddering breath. “Dunno. M’sorry to…embarrass you.” 

Malika has spent the entirety of the time she’s known this guy berating him, insulting him, threatening him, and fully prepared to bite, and somehow that’s the comment that does it. Even worse, for some reason, hearing him actually seem hurt by her, seeing him cry like this, does something funny to her heart. Before she can come up with anything to say, he’s fully barrelling forward with an empty retch. It sounds painful, and she cringes, hand going back between his shoulderblades. “Alright. Shit, Reese.” 

“Sorry.”

“Shut up.”  

“O–hic!–okay.” 

Mal rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything further. They share the silence for a while, save for the sound of Reese’s hiccuping breaths. Malika searches around for something to say as this whole situation catches up to her and she finds herself wondering again if this is some twisted limbo fever-dream. Standing around and looking tenderly upon another person, especially by her own free will, isn’t necessarily in her nature. 

Reese’s breath hitches for a second and she thinks he might start getting sick again, but he makes a sad noise and slinks away from her, sliding down the wall like he’s deflating. He puts his head in his hands. Mal wishes she was half as drunk as he is now, even after all the puking. Maybe it would give her some ease of dealing with this situation or cajole her into some spur of kindness. Maybe it would push off the urge she has to walk off and leave the sad sack here, or even greater, the feeling of obligation she feels for him and all of his persistence in looking after her. She takes a deep breath to steel herself and sinks down beside him. 

“What’s going on?” 

Reese sniffs. “I–I–” he makes some incoherent noise of distress, “nothing. S’nothing.” 

“Bullshit. Tell me before I hurt you.” 

That gets a giggle out of him. “You’re being sooo nice to me.”

“Don’t push your luck. Now why’re you like this?”

“Well…don’t tell anyone, okay?” 

“Who the fuck am I telling?” 

“Yeah, okay.” Reese picks his head up out of his hands, crossing his arms around his knees and wrapping his wings inward and around himself like a blanket. “Well, I invited Vince out to the tavern with me tonight…for a few drinks.” 

“Ugh, don’t tell me you’re in love.”

“Well, no. I mean. I don’t know, but I should probably get over it or something now, ‘cuz I kinda started blurting stuff out about how he shouldn’t like me and then I tried to go home and he’s so nice, Mal, he’s so nice–”

“Get to the point.”

“--anyway, he’s so nice but I kind of stood him up at my own date by freaking out a bit and sneaking out the bathroom window and I ripped my shirt and I told him I’d be right back and I never came back, so…” 

Mal heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Sweet fuck, you’re an idiot. And dramatic.” 

“I am such an idiot, Mal! And now I’m gonna be so lonely.” Reese pouts, nose all pink from the crying and the cold, and wipes at the snot running across his upper lip. “It’s a good thing you’re my friend now.”

“I wouldn’t go that far–”

“Come oooonnn, Mal. We’re friends. Face it with your sad, sorry ass that you have a friend now, cuz you probably never have in your life with that attitude…” 

Mal whips around to look at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

Reese jumps, blinking at her. She pushes herself up to stand.

“You know, I could just fucking leave your sorry ass here for Vince to find you and fucking kick you–”

His eyes well up with tears all over again, and the anger starting to well up in her resolves just as fast. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Mal slaps a hand across her face and shakes her head, completely exasperated. She drags it down. Takes a good, long look at him, and it’s then that she notices he’s shivering. Even with those big bird wings wrapped around himself, he’s trembling like a leaf. “You’re cold.”

“I mean, a little…” 

She heaves a long breath out and reaches out her hand. “C’mon. Get up. Go home.” 

Reese makes a funny face, something akin to a pout but a little more sincere and a little more pathetic. “Are you gonna come with me?”

“No. I’m gonna leave you to fall flat on your face in the dirt and die. Now take my hand.” 

He smiles, reaching up for her and wrapping long, cold fingers around the back of her knuckles. She pulls him up to stand, and he wobbles a bit, but he manages to get upright now. It’s a slight improvement from his condition earlier, but it’s an improvement nonetheless. She doesn’t let go of him as they begin the trek to the guard barracks.

But Reese invited him, all eager smiles and dancing eyes. And for much of his life since coming to Haaywyn, and twice as much before, Vince has kept to himself. So he figured going out once couldn’t hurt and accepted Reese’s offer. The place is crowded, and although Vince has himself tucked up in a corner and out of the way, a few people have bumped into him on the way out. Whether it’s more a result of his stature or their state of inebriation, he hasn’t really been able to tell. 

Reese sways from side to side to the music, wearing an easy smile and an effortless comfort to him that Vince is still trying to figure out. There’s a handful of things Vince is still trying to decipher about Reese, and a good chunk of them find him coming to wonder why Reese chose him to cling to in the first place. Since shortly after Reese and Remi were stationed here in Haaywyn a handful of months ago, the two of them have hung around the barn near-daily. Remi seems to come by for the animals more than anything. He’s a quiet guy. Vince reckons Remi isn’t too keen on talking to people sometimes and finds more comfort in the unsaid, which is just fine by him. Animals can be leagues better than people. 

But Reese seems to come around for Vince, specifically. Reese invites him to things. He notices what he does and notices what he doesn’t, and he notices when there’s a shift in either one. Reese takes note of what he likes and what he doesn’t, and Reese seems to love being all up in his personal space, and Vince just can’t place why. It always seems like something is going on behind his eyes even when he acts like there’s nothing but air between his ears. 

“So Vince!” 

Vince almost jolts, broken out of his stupor by Reese’s voice cutting over the din surrounding them. He gives a hum of acknowledgement in turn. 

“I think I deserve a round of applause. Because!” Reese drums his fingertips against the table, grinning. “I finally got Mal to eat some soup.” 

“Wow,” Vince nods, taking a sip of his drink. “Congrats, birdy.”

“Thank you, thank you. I know, I’m amazing. It only took me like a week, a lot of persistence, plenty of pouty lips and eye-batting, and of course, my incredible charm to pull it off…” Reese pauses to hiccup, closed-mouthed. “But I did it.” 

“Atta boy.” Vince clears his throat, staring down at the table for a minute before committing to the thought of what he wants to say. “What’s your thing with that, anyway?”

“What thing?”

“With Mal and the soup or whatever. Why try?”

“Well, you see, sweet Vinny, when someone doesn’t want friendship or kindness – hic-urp! – I think…they need it more than anything, and who better to give it than I?” Reese laughs a little, waving his hand as if shooing off a thought or a pesky fly. 

Vince huffs a laugh back, though he doesn’t get what they’re laughing at. He takes a long swig of the ale and it pools warm in the pit of his gut, like he’s sucking up the heat of the fire. And then he wipes the back of his wrist against his mouth. 

Reese runs a fingertip around the rim of his cup, still half-full. Vince figures it’s probably for the best that Reese doesn’t finish it. Unlike himself, Reese is small and slender and always buzzing with energy. There’s no reason why he’d be any good at holding his liquor. And Vince also figures he should’ve considered that before accepting the offer to come out to a tavern of all places, but maybe it’s better off if Reese gets himself messed up in capable company rather than the alternative. 

“You wouldn’t get it. But I get it,” Reese continues. “I get it so much. But you wouldn’t.” 

“I wouldn’t?” Vince leans back in his seat, crossing his arms. “Why’d you reckon?” 

Reese gives a half-hearted shrug. Something contemplative comes over him, but a wave of mead washes over it, dismantling inhibition. “There’s nothing more inspiring to me than the word no. S’probablyyyy…why I like you so much, Vin.” 

Vince snorts. He’s almost taken aback. “What’s that s’posed to mean?” 

“Well, I’m sure you don’t want me around so much, but you don’t seem like you want anyone around so much so I’m jus’ thinkin’ maybe–hic!” 

Vince grunts, unsure of how to respond. 

“I’m just thinkin’ maybe–I mean. That just makes me wanna be around you sooo much more, c’z you’re all mean and tough n’big and why would you wanna be around me? Buuut like, you hang around me now, so m’have to be doin’ somethin’ right.” 

“Hell. You’re sloshed, bird.” 

“No,” Reese shakes his head, resolute. But a look crosses over his features like his brain has finally caught up with his mouth. “I’m good! I’m so good. So, so good. Um.” 

Reese stands abruptly, chair skidding back with a squeal. A couple of heads turn, but a lot don’t. Vince raises his brows. 

“This has been so, so fun, Vin. Thank you so sup’r much for comin’ out with me, but–y’know, it’s late, and I think maybe I should go back to the…to the grind.” He sways. Vince reaches out a hand to him, prepared in case Reese topples over. 

“Well, alright. I can walk you back, or–” 

“No!” Reese shakes his head again, firm, so firm it looks like he’s dizzy after. “No–hic!--no need, Vin. I got it…”

Vince is already standing. “You’re real messed up, Reese. Let me make sure you get back to the barracks safe.” 

Reese pushes Vince back down, and it’s not a hard push, but Vince isn’t expecting it and obeys before he processes he’s doing it. Reese surveys the room, eyes flitting about with a weird sort of franticness, though the alcohol has his gaze all hazy and slow. 

Just as Vince is about to get back up, Reese takes a few steps back and says, “M’gonna go to the bathroom, actually! Just the bathroom. I’ll be–right back! Be right back.” He turns and adds a “don’t follow me.” 

Vince opens his mouth to answer, but by the time he’s gathered himself to leave, Reese is already gone, swallowed up by the crowd. He sighs under his breath, resting his elbows on the table. Another thing to add to the list of all that Vince still needs to decipher about Reese: whatever the hell that was. 

“Say aaahh!~”

And not just any stranger. He’s special. He must be the most annoying stranger she’s ever had the displeasure of meeting in her entire life crammed into the shape of the biggest taunt she’ll ever have the misfortune of enduring. He’s insufferable, and he’s loud, and she’s learning that his sense of personal boundaries teeters on lacking on the best of days. But he’s so familiar in a way that hurts.

“I’ll bite your fucking hand off.” 

“Malllll.” 

“Don’t whine. You sound pathetic.”

The spoon is shoved in her face. She glowers at him. 

“Give it up, bird. I’m not eating your damn soup and I can’t emphasize enough how much I wish you’d go the fuck away.” 

Reese pouts at her. His wings droop. Those big green eyes bat at her in pleading. She hates that it’s almost effective, and she hates why even more. He reminds her all too much of her losses. He reminds her all too much of the reason she left Tarnovik to begin with. If she were anyone else, she might think that him being here, lingering around her with this devotion, is divine punishment and a lesson in the futility of running. 

But Mal refuses to think that maybe it’s just him all over again, coming back to meet her here, like some sort of childish dream come true. That thought turns her stomach more than the damn soup, close to dripping on the blanket over her lap. Again. Because this is the third day in a row Reese has shown up to her bedside with soup despite her insistence and threats. He’s almost worse than the fever itself; in fact, her fever broke two days ago. He’s proven himself harder to shake.

“You know,” Reese looks down at the cup of soup, stirring mindlessly. “You’re pretty rude. Especially for someone who was just laying out in the pasture like a lame horse a few days ago.” 

“You’re fucking annoying.” 

“Touché, I guess. But I think most people would appreciate having a body guard feeding them soup.” 

Malika scoffs. “Body guard my ass. I wish someone would guard me from you.” 

Reese goes quiet for a second, and for almost a moment, she thinks she broke him. And then he smirks at her. “I mean I could get some other guards in here for you if you’d rather.”

Malika buries her face in her hands with a groan. “I wish all of you people would stop being so far up my fucking ass!” 

“You chose this destiny when you wandered here.” 

“I’d like to go back in time and shove myself right back out.”

Reese stands up to put the soup cup on the windowsill, crossing his arms. “You don’t mean that. We saved you! You’re indebted to us forever! All I personally request is the small price of friendship.”  

Malika peers up at him, crossing her arms right back. “You make me want to puke. Should’ve just left me to fucking die.” 

Reese laughs. He really laughs, completely undeterred, and Malika thinks he’s got to be insane or something. “Consider me your punishment for being such a negative nancy. Fate brought you here to learn a little about positivity and fun!” 

Fate, Mal decides, is a sick and twisted beast. This is a fact she’s accepted since childhood in a kingdom wrought with the looming presence of it. Destiny is a myth, because life inevitably ends in death. Malika has never doubted that. The only hope she’s ever held out is that whatever comes after death is better than a lifetime of futile hope and abandonment. 

And yet somehow, Reese and this town and this fever-dream of an experience have made her wonder if life could be anything more. She hates it. She hates even more the way Reese is still standing there, twiddling his damn thumbs. He’s a nuisance, she tells herself, and so is the rest of this too-nice town, and as soon as she can get back on the road she’s leaving.  

“Don’t you have anything better to do? You’re a guard, for godssake.” 

Reese huffs, playing with the collar of the undershirt peeping out beneath his armor.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay, I’m going.” He adjusts the sword on his hip. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Eat shit.”

“Great idea! I’ll spoon feed you some.” Reese shuts the door behind him, laughing to himself.