#kieran.

The local music scene in Wicked’s Rest was incredibly refreshing. Though Cleo had plenty to critique about the few local bands and artists she’d gotten to witness, the one thing she could not deny was that she was delightfully entertained and surprised by every one of them. And renewal was what she yearned for most, when she went out to find new music. The very same singer-songwriters with their guitar, cursive singing twangs and depressing metaphors that she’d encountered in larger cities had almost driven her to madness.

Tonight she was watching The Velvet Rack (a rock band with a moose theme) perform in a small bar. They were lacking in technical skill and clumsy on the stage, but she could forgive that due to the newness that was imbued in their sound. Somehow, they had managed to make moose screams part of their sound — a very local quirk, but Cleo appreciated it all the same.

She was watching from the sides as she often did, not getting too close to the epicenter of creativity. In the pit in front of the stage there was too much enticement. As she watched the guitar play his riffs, she knew that it would be a mistake to get close. The way his fingers flew over the guitar reminded her of Harley and she knew that she could make him better. That she could take yet another guitarist under her wing and inspire him to higher levels of talent. She already knew what chord progressions she would suggest (without any use of magic) and felt itchy with the potential in the room. She drank from her cup. The beer was bitter, much like her spirit.

Her eyes moved from the guitarist to that place in the pit, where part of her yearned to be. Cleo had been pulled towards that place a few times now. There was someone in the middle of it, the very epicenter of the room if you were to ignore the band. She had felt the presence of another fae upon entering and had her suspicions that it was the man in the middle who was like her. Dancing in a way that told her he danced often. Everyone around him dancing in tandem with him, inching closer around him. She found that looking at this display of a faun feeding (at least, that was what she suspected) was as bad as looking at the guitarist. As a moose scream harmonized with the background singers, she finished her drink. Her fingers flexed beneath her gloves. It had been so long since she’d feasted like that.

—--

Music had been one of the things to blow Kieran away upon his eventual integration into the human world, the knowledge of which had previously consisted of maybe some humming and the fiddling with a guitar brought along by one unlucky traveler who had gotten too close to the aos sí. Kieran liked how music could also do what he did (not as skillfully or as deliberately, obviously), how it inspired euphoria and even abandon - with the right kind of music of course. All of it had the potential to bring joy to a certain group but Kieran wasn’t exactly rushing to mingle with those who got off on opera or an orchestra. Unsurprisingly, the faun liked a bit more vigor in his music, wanted the sort of sounds that, like him, could have people behaving a bit more recklessly than they normally would. 

Though not particularly punk rock himself, Kieran enjoyed the chaos of it, how loud it got and how people tended to let loose to the strong bass line, the enticing guitar and the singing that ranged from melodic to screeching. Kieran also enjoyed everyone else’s pleasure at the music, as well as the attention received from being the most eye-catching creature in here, even before placing himself center-audience. He had even donned a leather jacket for the occasion but that had long since been tossed aside for the less constricting fishnet shirt - all designer, of course. The music washed over the crowd much like Kieran’s hypnosis, tendrils picking up the various flavors of euphoria, colored with release or joy, relief or anger, each one responding to the songs in their own way. 

It would have been very easy for the faun’s focus to not even leave the stage and the small bubble of appreciation he’d created for himself but on the flip side, Kieran was always making sure not to miss out on anything. So his gaze had traveled, catching on a pair of eyes staring back at him with an expression Kieran was very familiar with but this one was different - a sense of hunger, of longing. Just not for him. Her loss, not knowing a good thing and joining the mecca of fun on the dance floor. Kieran huffed, attention returning to the closest warm body. It didn’t matter. And it definitely didn’t matter when his influence stretched itself further, all the way to the walls of the venue yet a glance back confirmed that this particular stranger remained entirely unphased. Maybe the feeling of discomfort earlier had been the presence of another fae and not just him feeling too hot from the leather jacket. 

—

Back at chor-gleów, there would be feasts. Events organized by members of the community, inviting local artists for open mics or jam sessions, dedicating an evening for pure creation and inspiration. The humans would flock to it, wanting nothing more than to show off their skills. To be heard and seen and to leave with a sense of satisfaction. They were all starving in a way, much like the fae — artists that honed their skill on top of forty hour work weeks in minimum wage jobs and clawed at every opportunity. They’d come, and the muses would feed. The artists would leave tired and drained, but with new ideas and inspiration that might liven them down the line.

Indulgence. It was one of the core pillars of the aos sí she’d abandoned some four decades ago. There was no such thing as gluttony and if there was, there was no shame in it. And now Cleo had become this. A flayer of the self. Going to places where art was made and witnessed, where similar starving artists put themselves on display in the hopes of fulfilling something within them. Where she witnessed, but did not indulge. Where her mind always hit the same corner. Harley. Harley with a guitar on stage. Harley with a guitar in bed, brushing the sleep from her eyes with sweet strokes on the strings. Harley with ink-stained hands from writing lyrics. Harley, kissing her right before the encore, sweat in his hair and aliveness in his eyes.

She watched the faun with jealousy. She did not feel for the humans enthralled by him, did not condemn him for being able to feed when she was not. She blinked thrice, then looked away and went to the bar, exchanging her empty cup for another. This was what she indulged in now. It did not make her feel particularly better either. Cleo took a few sips from her drink – a mix of sweet soda and some liquor – and moved into the crowds, forward towards the stage. Her skin brushed others but her fingers did not. She looked at the guitarist and then the faun again, offering him some kind of an expression. She hoped it looked like a smile.

—-

Most of the time, Kieran’s distractibility was a quality and not something that worked to his detriment. In cases like this one, where it would have been easy for him to obsess over the other fae, wonder where she was and what she was doing, the faun instead allowed his mind to wander elsewhere with the first set of wandering hands to reach for his body. Mostly - he still did find his gaze shifting once or twice back to where the woman had stood, expression entirely out of place amongst everyone enjoying themselves and the music, only to find her gone. Great, good riddance. One fae was usually plenty, especially if that fae was Kieran. 

Annoyingly, she did cross his mind again even after disappearing from his field of vision. There were the fae who thought themselves superior to Kieran and his kind, for their interest in humans, for their need to feed off them. That hadn’t been what shone from the woman’s eyes and, well… hadn’t he once been a fae lost to his true purpose, unaware of what would actually give a life spent in eternity meaning? As if sensing that she occupied his thoughts, the woman reappeared, still looking out of place as she… smiled? Oh, the poor thing. 

Kieran raked back sweaty locks with one hand and offered the other to the woman, undoubtedly curious. Maybe she was, too. It wasn’t like Kieran to turn down a chance to show off, or show someone how to have fun. If she turned out to be a dud, it would be easy to banish her once again. “I’m Kieran,” he called over the music, offering a smile much more charming than whatever she’d been trying to make her face do. “Are you enjoying the music? Because it doesn’t really look like it.”

—-

The faun saw her smile and took it as the invitation she had meant it to be, for which Cleo was glad. She had been good at this once, starting conversations in spaces this loud and spontaneous, but it had been like a fog had rolled in over her mind, keeping her dulled. Her appreciation for music was not gone, nor was her sense of rhythm. She could dance, she could pick apart riffs and chord progressions but she could not push her body against those around her and feel like a true part of the crowd.

She took a sip from her cup, “I’m Cleo,” she offered in response, shaking his naked hand with her own gloved one. She pushed away the worries about being thought of as odd, her hand retreating. She had been gloved up for quite some time, and evenings like these demanded she keep her bare hands from grazing someone’s bare skin. She was starving. The air was filled with potential. Her gaze traveled to the guitar player again.

Kieran was forward, which she usually appreciated. Not so much when someone was pointing out her flaws. “I am. They are very young which makes their stage presence exquisitely authentic and endearing, and though their technical skill can be improved upon, I love their lyricism and creativity —” She cut herself off, frowning. “I enjoy it! I am – I enjoy live music. Perhaps not as much as those around you …” She frowned deeper. She did not mean to sound judgemental, because she wasn’t. She was envious. She thought of all the faun she’d known that had fed alongside her. Cleo stared at the bassist, watching his fingers on the instrument move. “You seem to enjoy yourself more visibly.”

—-

The glove was a choice. At least it was of decent quality but even Kieran had shed his very nice jacket under the heat of a small place packed with people, all sharing the same air, bodies warming up the place. If it was a fashion choice, Kieran kind of admired her dedication to it. If it wasn’t… well, most fae were strange creature in a way that seemed interesting on the surface and then eventually turned out to be anything but. “Cleo,” Kieran repeated, as if it would provide any more information on his fellow fae. Interested in the music but lacking anything that might otherwise make her stand out as a fellow faun (not that Kieran hadn’t ran into his fair share of duds). A muse, perhaps? Kieran matched this woman up with the image he had of Isidore, contemplating. Was she looking at the stage in awe, lust or hunger? 

At the very least, Cleo wasn’t immediately put off by Kieran’s blunt comment, but defensive enough to bring a faint smirk to the faun’s face. “Aww, relax. You’ll get frown lines,” he teased, even if she wouldn’t, wiggling a finger in front of her face for a moment. Testing her limits just as she carefully poked at the edges of his. Hinting, curious to his real nature just as Kieran was to hers. Or perhaps she had already made her decision on what Kieran was. He never minded when other fae jumped to conclusion - Kieran liked to stand out, make himself noticeable. This was just part of it, at least to those that could single him out in a way different to the humans. 

“Why shouldn’t I?” Kieran hummed, still swaying subconsciously to the music as the band had moved on to a slightly slower song. The bodies surrounding him did the same, moving almost as one organism. It wouldn’t be long until this conversation lost his interest in lieu of slipping back into the sway of those enjoying themselves and the music in a more visible way than Cleo. “I enjoy myself, everyone else enjoys themselves more…” A rather obvious hint, just to see what might flash across Cleo’s face at the admission, before he added, “the music starts to feel transcendent to them, I feed. Win-win.” 

—-

There was a brief flash of jealousy. Not of Kieran’s ability to feed, no — that jealousy wasn’t brief nor subtle, that one had been present from the moment she had witnessed him. Cleo felt another kind. She was jealous of those that were apart of his enthrallment, the humans that so easily folded under a fae’s influence. Bliss, ignorant and easy, was something so hard to come by these days. If only she was not immune from whatever Kieran was putting in the air, in the strings he’d tied around the people around him. If only she could be swept up so easily. Alcohol no longer did that for her, not well enough. It was too often like flipping a coin, like hoping she could end up in a floating mood rather than the depressive one that so often came with alcohol. There were some drugs that worked, sure, but that was different. These people were swept up. When she took a pill or sniffed something, she had to sweep herself up.

She shook the thought away, pushing it off. She wanted control after all, didn’t she? She could not trust a faun with her mood (though she could a tablet, a powder, a drink). Her eyes followed the wiggling finger in front of her face and Cleo wanted the laugh at the silliness, at the stupidity of the statement. Frown lines would not come for at least a hundred more years, she was too young for that — but maybe she wasn’t. “I am relaxed,” she proclaimed, but the pained expression on her face that followed the proclamation revealed her dishonesty.

As the bodies around her moved in tandem, like a hive mind or a shoal of fish, Cleo felt like an intruder. She moved too, of course – she had great sense of rhythm and barely ever stood still when there was music playing – but she was not part of them. “I wasn’t saying you shouldn’t,” she said, her voice a little too soft. She repeated herself, louder, “I wasn’t saying you shouldn’t enjoy yourself! I think you are well within your right — I do not mind, I was simply applauding your enjoyment, the way you feed. It’s …” She pretended to be distracted by the music as her sentence died, her proclamation of being relaxed losing more and more believability. 

—-

She really was wound tight, face barely registering Kieran’s corny but still cute joke. No, whatever form of fae she was, frown lines were of no concern to her. Humans tended to be so proud of those, as if that were the only measurement of a life lived. As if Kieran’s fast approaching century of life was worth less just because he got to enjoy looking young and handsome through all of it. He’d argue it was worth more, really. Cleo broke the fluttering thought process, his mind everywhere and nowhere as it tugged between the bliss of feeding and dancing, drinking and touching. “I am an expert in relaxed, darling. You’re not it.” 

For a moment, it seemed Cleo might lose him entirely, music swelling again and wrapping all of them - almost all of them - up into the beauty of not thinking, only hearing and sensing. Fingers brushed against the back of Kieran’s neck and he was only tugged back by his fellow fae’s insistence that she was perfectly fine with all of this. “It’s transcendent,” Kieran finished for her, grinning lazily and, without waiting or asking for permission, grabbed for Cleo’s wrist and pulled her deeper into the throng of people. “It’s natural and hypnotizing and sinful.” He wasn’t mocking her, not really, even if part of him almost pitied Cleo for never knowing these feelings Kieran could feel. The surrounding dancers welcomed Cleo into their midst with ease because everything was easy, nothing troubled them here and now under the influence of Kieran’s generous influence. 

“Any of those the word you were looking for?” Kieran didn’t bother waiting for an answer, attention shifting curiously to her gloves, which he plucked at. “Relax. Enjoy yourself. Enjoy them. What’s the worst that could happen?” 

—

She wanted to bring up all her arguments that proved that she was capable of this. Her years on Sunset Boulevard, in discos and clubs, where she had fed with frenzy and dedication. That she had seen clubs wilder and better than this, that she had once moved in tandem with faun the way she failed to now. But to bring up all that evidence was to confess that it was a thing of the past, a pathetic attempt to try and get to a level she had not been on for a long time. Cleo felt herself thinking of her aos sí, of her community members reminding her repeatedly of the person she once was and what she had become now. Wielding the same evidence she was swallowing now.

She tried to get caught up with the dancing humans around them, all of them inching closer to the center. Kieran knew what he was doing. “Not sinful,” she objected, almost offended, “I don’t care about such silly human things. I am —” She groaned, knowing she might come off like some conservative old lady. But how could she explain that she was envious without using the word? “Transcendent, that is an apt term.” Natural was a fitting one too, because Cleo knew she was continually acting against her own nature. But feeding felt wrong too, so she was caught at an endless crossroads.

Kieran plucked at her gloves. She pulled back her hands and considered what he said. It would be so easy to let herself get lost here. To dance with one of the humans, let her hands move over their bared skin and leech something off them. It wasn’t the humans she was worried about. It was Harley, whose ghost was on that stage. It was her fear of being struck down with grief and having to exit. Ending up at the bar, drowning herself in forgetfulness. The worst that could happen was reality. But Cleo was hungry. Cleo was prideful.

“I am relaxed,” she muttered, attempting to prove it by pulling off her gloves. It was done with great care, the velvet gloves plucked from her fingers one by one. She looked at Kieran, but moved herself to one of the dancing humans. She did not need to coax them to dance together. That was the faun’s impact, she figured. Cleo’s bare hand reached for their hot skin, sweat meeting her own dry skin. She offered inspiration, intending to make them move with new technique and raised skill, as she started to move in tandem herself.

—-

Although he’d been unsure whether Cleo’s gaze before had been hungry or longing, at least she wasn’t a prude. Or she didn’t set out to present herself as one, quick to make sure that Kieran knew just how little offense she took from his antics. Of course, she hadn’t seen anything yet but it was a start. Kieran raised an eyebrow as words failed the other fae once again, as if she hadn’t had an honest conversation with anyone who actually pushed her in a while. Finally, she landed on what was objectively the correct call - agreeing with Kieran. “I’m usually right,” he sighed, waiting curiously to see if Cleo would agree with the rest of his sentiment, too. It wasn’t seeming likely as she snatched back her hand. Kieran was fully prepared to turn back to his warm mass of humans and forget about this encounter when Cleo finally acted instead of excusing herself incessantly. 

Interest renewed, Kieran watched the delicate process of the gloves being removed - there was almost something transcendent surrounding that, too. She might as well have been removing most of her clothing with the way she seemed to fight herself on it. Holding Cleo’s gaze, dark eyes did shift when her hand found the skin of one of the humans blissfully under Kieran’s spell. They settled into moving against their new partner with ease and something proud, something from the past, swelled in Kieran as Cleo seemed to finally find her element. Without his hypnosis, just his impact, on another fae nonetheless. Just another person allowing themselves to enjoy because of Kieran’s influence. He almost thought he should have felt it, too, whatever Cleo’s impact on this single human was, and maybe he did. Or more likely, Kieran’s own euphoria was simply rising, along with the human’s, who was moving much more deftly now than before. It didn’t matter that Kieran was long since satiated, the feat of getting Cleo to join them deserved another taste of pure euphoria. 

“Look at that,” Kieran encouraged once he’d circled back to where Cleo was, having detoured for a taste of something different, too - a drink, a tongue, something that was dissolving nicely under his tongue. His hands found her shoulders as he murmured into her ears, genuinely enjoying the effect she’d had on the dancing human. “How do you feel?” His voice was heady, much more so now than before, even if the drugs he had just accepted hadn’t kicked in yet. The current high was still all natural - well, magical. 

—

Dance was something so ancient and everlasting that she lost herself in the movements easily. Gifted with great rhythm from early youth and days upon days of dancing together with those in her community, Cleo gave over to it swiftly. The human under both her and Kieran’s spell moved along with her, dancing in a way it never had before and probably never would again. She did not intend to feed from this person again, not going back for seconds barely ever. Not because she was afraid to take too much, but because she could not begin to get invested. Other people did that so easily — get burrowed under her skin, find a corner of her mind to reside in. Feeding on them repeatedly only served to make it worse.

As she fed, she felt herself grow stronger again. Brighter, as if something was lit inside of her again rather than sputtering like a dying flame. She never quite knew if feeding off a human under the influence of a faun gave her some of their magic, but she long ago figured that if someone was ecstatic, their life force was something along the same lines. Euphoria was contagious anyway, without all the magic and siphoning at play. Cleo felt like something else entirely when Kieran made his way back to her. 

There was a shine to her eyes, even with her glamour tightly in place now that she was fed. “Lighter,” she answered, smiling despite herself. She let go of the human, who looked around for a moment before stumbling out of the crowd as if he’d had a few drinks too many. Cleo barely paid him any mind. “Easier.” Now that she did not have to cling so consciously to her glamour, now that her strength was returned to her, it was easier to move. For a moment, she wondered what the issue was with all of this, why she always made such a fuss. Her gaze moved to the guitarist and she found her answer, fingers flexing at her side. “Thank you.” Those last two words lacked the conviction that she’d held before, but she figured the sentiment still stood.

—-

The question might as well have been left unasked - Cleo was the picture of ecstasy, well fed and content from her human, who looked nonetheless euphoric. The muse’s eyes shone with the satisfaction of the meal and Kieran felt all the more satiated himself for it. Even if the question hadn’t been necessary, hearing Cleo’s answer was rewarding on its own, a verbalised appreciation of what Kieran could do even without his abilities as a faun - those hadn’t come into play in convincing Cleo to let loose. Kieran had inspired light and easy all on his own. “Sure looks like it,” Kieran chuckled, stepping away from Cleo to merge into the throng of bodies once again. The music continued playing and would continue to do so late into the night. If the band had any ideas about leaving early, Kieran would gently persuade them into staying longer.