#kenna.note

Kuras

[ HOLD ]: while close to the receiver, the sender wordlessly takes a hold of their hand, for no other purpose than to be holding it.

The Amaryllis district was always packed at night. There was nary a noiseless corner to be found in between dusk and dawn, a constant din of drunken chatter and laughter rumbling beneath every thought one could have. If you didn't have to live here, you'd avoid these streets as if they were infested with the plague. You weren’t the only one with apparent distaste for these streets; in front of you, Kuras picked his way deftly through the crowd. Even though he seemed to repel everything around him, people swerving clear of his personal space before knocking shoulder directly with you, there was a certain distaste hidden in his sluggish steps. You almost worried that every loose pebble risked sullying his pristine white coat, despite the fact that you’d seen it emerge from dirtier alleys unstained.

Unable to dodge the constant jostling of drunken bodies, you took to hiding your hands in your cloak. The heavy wool, normally a welcome and needed barrier against the cold night, was uncomfortably warm while you were caged in by sweltering body heat on all sides. Your shoulders were beginning to cramp from holding your hands so closely to your chest. No matter how tightly you wrapped your bandages or pulled barriers across your hands, there was an undying terror settling deep in your stomach at the slightest hint you might touch someone.

Huffing, you tried to shake away the negative thoughts. When you looked up again, you came to a sudden halt, nearly colliding with Kuras’ back. The slight shower of pebbles you kicked up all bounced and scattered around Kuras’ feet, missing him by sizable inches. You watched as he pulled something from an inner pocket of his outfit, a flash of white over his shoulder all you could see before he brought it in front of him and blocked your view. This close to Kuras, the people who parted to make a path for him also figured you into the equation, giving your battered arm a rest.

You were busy marveling at this when Kuras held his hand in front of you. Though you could feel his eyes on you, you didn’t look up to try and decipher what was going on in his mind. Instead, you stared at his hand, now in a thin white glove. Slowly, in disbelief, you patted yourself as if pockets would appear and produce what he was gesturing for.

Kuras laughed, though it came out in a single breath. He turned to face you and slowly reached for your cloak, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. When you didn’t protest, he reached for one of your hands and closed his gloved fingers around it with a smile.

You tried to pull away, but Kuras didn’t let you go. His grip tightened just enough to keep you in place and loosened the moment you stopped resisting. Your heart was pounding wildly in your chest, panic seizing your brain as your eyes kept darting from your hand in Kuras’, up to his golden gaze, and back down again. Kuras wore that endearing, teasing smile of his, watching you process with rapt attention. There wasn’t any time for you to be embarrassed by the intensity of his gaze while you were busy searching for even the slightest hint of madness.

When you were sufficiently calmed down, Kuras began leading you down the street again, offering no explanation. You kept your eyes on your hands joined together, the off-white of your bandages looking dirty and disheveled against the fabric of his gloves. Absently, you tried to remember him ever wearing them before. When did he get them? Why would he spring for fabric gloves in his line of work, especially ones that felt so thin and cheaply made?

…Did he buy them specifically to assuage your fear?

Unable to sit with those implications, you lifted your head and tried to gain your bearings, only to realize that Kuras was leading you down the wrong road. “Um…isn’t the Wet Wick that way?” You asked, pointing feebly in the direction you were referencing. 

Kuras looked down at you and smiled. “You’ve been studying with me all day and we didn’t take a break for food. Surely you must be hungry.”

“Oh, uh…” You felt for your coin purse, which was even lighter than when you first arrived in the city. Most of the places around the tavern knew to count you under Leander’s tab, but it still felt wrong to ask for more or offer his money to somebody else in the form of a meal. “I’m…good…”

But your traitorous stomach answered more truthfully, and Kuras’ smile sharpened knowingly. “My treat, of course. Will you join me?”

Once again, you looked at your hand and experimentally wiggled your fingers. Your bandages didn’t budge, and Kuras gave your fingers a gentle squeeze. Your previously panicked heart lurched again - this time for entirely different reasons.

“Lead the way,” you finally agreed, struggling to breathe past the erratic beating in your chest. 

You spent the rest of your night hand-in-hand with Kuras, only reluctantly parting when the tavern lights illuminated the pavement in front of you and the toes of your shoes.

Leander

[ SCAR ]: noticing a scar on the receiver’s skin, the sender tentatively stops them from covering it up, and rests a gentle, soft kiss over it.

There was a lot you didn’t know about Leander. It wasn’t that he kept to himself, just that he often focused the conversation on you. In a city reigned by secrecy and information, it was no wonder how Leander became the leader of the pack; if not for his friendly, easygoing approach to people, his knack for getting people to let down their guard and open up to him would surely have cemented his place at the top. 

You should’ve been wary of how his earnestness was so thin you could see straight through to the silent threat beneath. Those that hid in the shadow needed the element of surprise to succeed, but a beast who bared his fangs could all too willingly tear you to shreds. Of this, you were painfully aware. But you had also spent your entire life shying away from others, hiding in the shadows yourself, never revealing a thing because it always resulted in fear and scorn. Wanting to be known by someone had gone to your head, dizzying and addicting once you finally got that hit.

Perhaps that was why you found yourself in this position so frequently: your lips hot on Leander's, your knees on either side of his hips as you straddled him, one hand beneath his shirt and pressing his abdomen to the bed as if to keep him in place. You could feel his legs shifting behind you, excess energy spent in an effort not to appear too eager. Still, that didn't stop him from leaning into your palm the moment you reached your free hand to cup his face. Your bandages hadn't even come off yet, but to be able to touch someone like this - no fear of the bandages shifting, no looming threat of insanity - was a luxury you needed to grab before it was taken away.

For a brief moment, you pulled away, watching with something akin to pride at Leander's red face, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. He half-opened one eye and whined once, short and sweet. You must look smug.

Before you could kean back down, Leander removed one of his hands from your waist, placing it above the one you used to cradle his face. Tenderly, he reluctantly moved your hand and began unraveling your bandages. The sick feeling twisted in your stomach again, years of torment conditioning you to lurch away. You might've, if it wasn't for the chaste, reassuring kisses Leander placed on every unwrapped knuckle as they came into view.

Shivering, you let him unwrap the layers on your other hand, too, careful not to let your now-exposed hand touch him. There was comfort in the certainty he tried to give you, but you couldn't let your walls fall down completely. The least you had to do was make sure he knew when you would be touching him. For absolute safety.

Noticing your reticence, Leander grinned at you and went to kiss your palm. He stopped, however, brow furrowing. A pit suddenly ripped open in your stomach, terror and regret and bile threatening to come out of your throat.

"What is this?" He asked, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Not cursed. Hesitantly, you pulled your hand away and inspected it with a scrutinizing squint. Although it took a moment, you finally saw what he was talking about: a faint scar, lighter than the rest of your skin, running from the base of your middle finger to the center of your palm. 

"I…don't know," you answered honestly. It could've been anything: when you tripped over an unruly pile of junk and caught yourself on the rough cobblestone, when you were inspecting a wildflower and were surprised by its thorns, or maybe you caught your skin on the unfinished headboard of your bed while you were asleep. You didn't remember having to replace torn bandages, but you were beginning to obsessively wrap them multiple times a day, now that you were in close contact with so many people.

Not liking your answer, Leander grabbed your hand and inspected it again. The tug was rough, much more forceful than he needed to be, and you winced in shock rather than pain. 

After he glared at your hand for a few more seconds, he finally softened. "Ah, forgive me for my intensity. A pretty thing like you shouldn't be brought to harm by anything."

"It's really not that bad," you tried to argue, but already you could feel the heady fog of desire clouding your brain.

"You don't have to protect anybody, you know?" He finally placed a gentle, lingering kiss on your palm like he originally planned, right in the center of the scar. "Let someone take care of you. Let me take care of you."

Ais

[ GUIDE ]: in the process of guiding the receiver through a crowded place, the sender’s hand protectively grazes against the small of their back

Taverns were hardly a place of discomfort for you, especially considering how you now lived in one. Even if they were loud and too crowded for your liking, you didn't despise them. What you did hate was being thrown into intimidating uncharted waters in the middle of an already taxing night.

The tavern before you wasn't anything like the open and well-lit Wet Wick. The solid wood door just looked heavy, fitting so snugly in its frame that next to no light filtered out through the bottom. All the windows were tinted - or so dirty that no light could get through - and the walls were accented in red splotches that could have been blood just as easily as they could've been paint. The sign hung by one side of its chain attachments, the words so weathered and faded they were illegible. If not for the occasional noise from inside that was more roar than laugh, you would've assumed the building had been abandoned for years.

"What is this place?" You asked uncertainly.

"Tavern," Ais answered, grinning. When you gave him a withering look, he added, "Go to the Wet Wick when you want a drink. Go here when you want to get drunk."

Without answering your question, Ais stepped up and opened the door for you. You muttered something spiteful about how gentlemanly he was, pulled up the hood of your cloak, and stepped into the tavern.

Your eyes took a while to adjust to the low light. You could hear Ais step in behind you and the door slamming shut, shutting you in like the mouth of a cave after a collapse. Vague shadows, big and hulking and some inhuman, turned their attention towards you, some of the raucous merrymaking dying down to a curious din. In the narrow entryway, Ais only had enough room to stand directly behind you, his warmth permeating to your back even through your heavy cloak. While you darted your eyes around warily, Ais laughed, deep and right next to your ear.

"The hood makes you even more suspicious, sparrow," he advised. When you immediately tensed, he laughed again and pulled your hood down for you. "Look around. They're not going to hurt you."

"What?" you hissed through your teeth. "How can you be so sure?"

Ais only responded with a sweeping gesture. Hesitantly, you followed the movement with your eyes and surveyed the room again. Most of the patrons had lost interest in your arrival, their eyes no longer on you. Still, nearly every pair you came across were bright red, almost glowing and exactly like Ais'. The few monsters in the tavern were less imposing than you thought: most were largely human like Ais and only had stray tails or extra eyes to mark their otherness. Out of the rest of the patrons, though, some had gaping injuries, clear displays of what had been so dreadful they found it worth trading their sanity for peace. 

"She's over there," Ais suddenly said, pointing to a booth in the corner. In your excitement, you had almost forgotten that you were here to follow a lead on a curse similar to yours. Still, you found yourself glued to your spot. Even if you weren't in danger, you could tell you weren't welcome, either.

Something warm pressed firmly against your lower back, prodding you forward. You gasped, twisting around to see Ais staring back at you flatly and his hand on your back. He guided you forward, expertly maneuvering you so that you avoided colliding with the aimlessly swaying bodies around you. You allowed him to push you forward, focusing your attention instead on suppressing the tingling-warm fluster climbing up your face.

Out of nowhere, a buff monster collided with you. You stumbled to the side, sucking in a breath through your teeth. They had stepped on your foot, much denser than the average human. Ais straightened you out carefully, glaring at the monster until they mumbled a meaningless apology and stalled away.

"You good?" He asked quietly, hands on your shoulders and breath tickling your ear. You nodded.

"I can take a little shove."

"Good, 'cause these folks would eat you alive if you couldn't." Then he resumed pushing you forward, careful not to let a single soul touch you or your clothes.

Mhin

[ HAIR ]: sender slowly reaches out to catch a loose strand of the receiver’s hair and tuck it gently and securely back behind their ear, letting their touch linger afterwards. (if the receiver has short hair, then the sender reaches out and gently runs their fingers through their hair to smooth it back.)

“Do you just walk around with your brain entirely shut off?”

Mhin was practically dragging you along the darkened streets of Lowtown, their grip firm on your upper arm. Trying to wrench your arm free, you wound up staggering behind them, tripping clumsily over the noisy and thick soles of your shoes.

“I’m sorry,” you responded, more exasperated than remorseful. In the dark, while preoccupied with Mhin's aggressive attitude, you couldn't pay much attention to the ground beneath your feet. The uneven cobblestone had yet to become familiar, the bottoms of your shoes catching on a raised stone or slipping on loose pebbles. 

Mhin veered to the side suddenly and wordlessly, leading to you tripping over a large pile of trash. You yelped, flailing out your arms with enough strength that they finally released you. Huffing all the while, you patted yourself down, brushing stray dirt off of your clothes and hoping nothing untoward had cakes itself on your boot.

"If you don't shut up, another soulless will come for you and I won't waste my energy doing anything about it," Their silhouette shifted in the dark as they crossed their arms. You suppressed a growl deep in your chest.

"Then why don't you just let it?" You asked, voice thin and serrated.

"Well- I wasn't helping you! I was just doing work. If anything, you were in my way."

Mhin didn't speak much, but sometimes, they had lots to say when they were chewing you out. You gritted your teeth, already worn out from this charade. "You don't wanna help me? Fine. I can find my way back without you. Go collect your pay or whatever and leave me alone."

A beat passed before Mhin spat back at you. "Fine."

They practically stomped away, footsteps much heavier and a bit slower than usual. Normally they could slip out of eyesight without you even noticing, but now they were lingering. Part of you wanted to stay angry with them, but another part was uninterested in potentially burning bridges over something inconsequential. With a curse beneath your breath, you followed after them.

"Mhin," you called, but they didn't turn around. They might've tensed, but it was difficult to see in the dark. You tried again. "Mhin!"

Still nothing. Sighing, you sped up your pursuit, nearly catching up to them beneath the light of one of the street lanterns. The lights were far too spread out to be of any use against monsters, but finding yourself in the focus of the yellow warmth was comforting enough for you to raise your voice again. "Hey, could you listen to me when I'm talking to you?"

"You-" Mhin whirled around, their temper so hot that, for a moment, the red in their eyes seemed to glow. Instinctively you flinched back, tugging your cloak around your shoulders as if it was a coat of armor. Their snarl melted away, leaving them to stare blankly at you for a moment. You wondered what was going through their mind when you couldn’t see a smart remark ready to tumble off their tongue. 

With their stone eyes on you, a warmth started climbing up your entire body and settling at your cheeks. Their gaze wavered slightly, no longer piercing and sharp. Instead, they watched as you shrunk back into your cloak like it could save you. Heaving a harsh, heavy sigh, they closed the distance between you, fully intending on shaking you by the shoulders. Their body had a mind of its own, though, and they found themselves reaching a hand up to carefully stroke your hairline, drawing a tender line from temple to chin. You gulped; their eyes narrowed. “Are you afraid of me?”

You laughed humorlessly. “I am not.”

Roughly, they grabbed your chin and forced you to bend so you’d be closer to eye level. They wanted to bite back, say something about your attitude around someone who killed a soulless that almost killed you, but it finally registered how warm your skin was beneath theirs. This wasn’t that usual warmth that made them shiver with a thrill - it was much more intense. It wasn’t until their own face began to heat up that they realized exactly what they were feeling.

Sputtering for a moment, they let go of your face and jumped backwards in the way of a startled cat. Mhin huffed as they straightened out non-existant wrinkles in their clothing, finishing by pulling their hood over their head. “You are far too reckless for your own good.”

Without waiting for you to gather your wits, they turned on their heel and hurriedly stalked away. Once in the shadows, they spared a final, passing glance at your frozen form, needing to fight the urge to reach out for you once more.

Vere

[ CLOSE ]: while standing remarkably close to one another, the sender is unable to stop themselves from running their gaze across the receiver’s body, lingering for a moment on their lips, before returning to initiate prolonged, intense eye contact.

You sometimes wondered what Vere was doing, hanging around the Wet Wick after spending cumulative hours complaining about the drinks, the ambience, the crowd, the presence of Leander… 

Usually, you could see him sitting beside Ais, able to use that singular presence as excuse enough to stay. But tonight he was alone when you walked into the crowded tavern, swirling a glass with a bored expression on his face. You weren’t exactly looking to spend the night with him, but before you even had time to decide if you’d spare a polite greeting or try to duck up to your room, one of Vere’s ears twitched and he easily turned his head your way. His expression barely changed - Vere didn't do the chasing unless he was looking to kill - until you started to make your way towards him. Then he grinned, fangs sharp and on display. 

Wordlessly, you followed his invitation, stopping just short of the stool beside him. Perched upon his own seat, Vere could look down his nose at you, tail swishing lazily behind him and nearly knocking a glass off the bar. The smug pull of his lips and draw of his brows made your own stomach twist with something warm and heavy.

"Come on, make yourself comfortable," Vere patted the empty stool lightly, as if you couldn't tell exactly what his invitation was. You shook your head.

"What do you want, Vere?" There was none of the intended malice or fatigue in your voice, and Vere seemed undeterred by your frosty demeanor. Instead, he twisted his arm behind himself and presented a glass of red wine, held between your bodies like a peace offering. 

"Don't tell me you're making me drink by myself. That's a little pathetic, don't you think?" 

"Are you telling me you were sitting here looking pathetic before I came along?" Tentatively, you took the glass and eyed it suspiciously. In the corners of your vision, you spotted bright green eyes glowering in your direction. Leander was staring at Vere and the drink in your hand as if it had personally offended him. When he realized you were watching him, he instantly brightened up and nodded, as if to say 'that one's okay.' Content that Vere hadn't slipped you anything, you sighed and took a sip.

Vere's gaze slid cooly in the direction you were staring, his smile crumbling into a grimace when he saw who was watching you. When Vere was happy, his fangs looked enticing, but seeing them when he was angry only reminded you that they were made to rip out throats, not just nibble. He jumped down from his stool then, guiding you to the opposite end of the room to put as many bodies between you and Leander as possible.

"Waiting for a friend and getting wasted on your own are two entirely different things," Vere muttered in your ear. His hand tightened on the fabric of your cloak, sharp fingernails like claws ghosting over your back. You couldn't quite tell what his intentions were with you; it seemed that he was bored, and you were merely his favorite plaything.

Trying to get a read on him, you studied Vere from the corner of your eye. His ears were relaxed, his eyes bright and alert, his tail languidly flicking side to side. Your eyes followed the line of his neck, the curl of his hair, down his slim torso and to his long stretch of leg. Your eyes stopped for a moment on that swath of exposed thigh, noticing the way all of his straps and garters pressed gently into his skin. Slowly, your eyes fell all the way to the ground and back up, lingering at his lips, his fangs, that damned grin. Somehow, your cursory glance turned into an ogling session.

When your eyes finally settled on his again, it was clear that Vere realized way before you.

Rather than pull away like your instincts screamed to do, you narrowed your eyes and held his gaze. Pleased, you briefly saw the corners of his lips quirk as he laughed. Two slender fingers trailed your jawline before the pads of them pressed into your chin, forcing your head to tilt back just a bit. He leaned in teasingly, tauntingly, testing the waters to see just how far you'd let him go. This wasn't what you wanted - was it? - but you refused to let your eyes leave his face for even a second, even though you should have known better.