#oc malon

For the past three days, her magic had felt blocked. The result was a headache that wouldn’t go away. She had been down this road before. All she needed to do was “loosen the valve” as she liked to call it.

So Kipling stood on a rock at the edge of a large pool somewhere off in the forest. After spending a few moments stretching and shaking out her limbs, she positioned her arms to form loose right angles at her elbows. Then she turned her palms downward and called upon her magic.

There was nothing to be seen in the seconds that followed, but Kipling could feel evidence of an ancient control pad materializing under her fingertips. Her eyes fluttered shut as she became reacclimated with the crude instruments across its surface. Once she was comfortable enough to move on, she fitted her palms in the two hand-shaped depressions. They were much too big, but she didn’t have any other choice. This was the only way to loosen the valve and give her magic room to breathe.

Kipling’s muscles strained as she rotated the invisible wheels. Only she could feel the instruments groan as the pressure of her magic kept stacking. She stifled a groan of her own because gods, she really didn’t know if she was doing this right. Opening portals always felt like trying to wrench open a jammed door.

Kipling took a steadying breath, preparing to go for one last push when she was suddenly interrupted by a light tap on her shoulder.

She didn’t scream, but she jolted so hard that she lost her balance and slid off of the rock. Luckily, it wasn’t much of a fall and the water was shallow where she landed. Ankle-deep in the pool, Kipling collected her bearings and faced the rock.

Crouching with their head cocked to the side was a familiar albeit feral individual. Kipling recognized their sparse, but functional wardrobe, the colony of freckles, and that teasing expression.

“Malon?”

As if pleasantly surprised that she had remembered, Mal’s yellow aura stretched and mingled with Kip’s in what she assumed was a hug. Outwardly, however, Mal gave no indication that she was pleased to see Kipling other than her broadening smirk.

“Hello again.” Her mossy green eyes flitted across the surface of the water. “What are you doing here?”

Kipling lied. “I was . . . fishing.” 

Mal promptly hopped off the rock and joined Kipling in the shallows, dragging something dark and knotted along with her.

“Oh yeah? With what?”

Kipling made sure to avoid Mal’s inquisitive gaze. It took her a moment to register that the dark clump tucked under Mal’s arm was in fact a fishing net.

Kip pointed to it. “Can I borrow that?”

When Mal arched an eyebrow, Kipling added, “I accidentally left mine at home.”

Wordlessly, she handed the net over. Then she leaned back on the rock as if she was about to watch a performance. “Do you know how to use it?”

Kipling wasn’t sure what possessed her to carry on with this bluff, but she ungracefully fanned out the net anyway and said, “How hard can it be? You just dip, wait for the fish, and scoop. Right?”

She turned her back to Mal without waiting for an answer. As she struggled to guide the net, she could feel Mal’s watchful gaze and even picked up on her breathy chuckles whenever Kipling faltered.

Finally Mal appeared beside her. “Kip?”

Kipling ignored the flaming sensation in her neck. “What?”

She paused for a moment before saying, “Do you want me to show you how it goes?”

Relieved that she didn’t have to admit to the lie, Kipling relaxed a little as she handed over the net. But when Mal didn’t take it right away, Kip looked up at her expectantly. Those energetic eyes were on the move again. Mal’s hand wandered self-consciously to the back of her neck where she scratched.

“Come to think of it, I’ve never actually taught anyone this. So I think it’d only work if I showed you like –”

Kipling drew in her arms protectively as Mal closed in from behind. If it wasn’t for the calming scent of frankincense and myrrh hanging about her frame, Kipling might have hesitated more. But she held still and looked on as Mal loosely draped her arms over hers. Kip became aware of the proximity of Mal’s chest at her back and noticed her jaw peeking at the top of her periphery. Kip’s curiosity fluttered as she studied the tooth-like scar along her bottom lip.

“Like this, Kip.” Mal’s voice reminded Kipling where her attention should be. She refocused on the net, paying close attention to the finer muscles in the fisher’s forearms. Kipling didn’t miss how they flexed when she demonstrated how to properly cast the net.

After some time and several catches later, Kipling whispered, “Mal, where did you learn how to do this?”

Though there was nothing remarkable about catching fish, the gravity of the stillness and concentration that came over Mal could have easily belonged to some mountain monk anchored deep in meditation. Kipling could hardly believe the weight of each of their catches. The pool was only so big, so where the hell did all of these fish come from?

“I learned it in Nevivon.”

Based on the level of reverence in Mal’s voice, Kipling guessed that she was speaking of home.

After they emptied the latest catch onto the rock, Kipling asked if she could try on her own. Mal exchanged her teasing smirk for something more eager and hopeful as she gave Kipling some space. A part of Kip immediately longed for the return of Mal’s warmth and her cozy scent.

Taking up the net, Kipling did her best to mirror what she had seen Mal do. It only took a couple of tries before the net caught. She dragged it back and celebrated when she found a triangular fish twitching under the layers. Kipling proudly showed it off and was not prepared for the reaction.

Mal flicked the fish with the edge of her finger. “It’s so teeny.”

Kipling’s confidence evaporated. She bit back her tongue, chucked the net at Mal’s chest, and turned on her heel without waiting to see if she had caught it.

“Kip? Wait.”

She was somewhat pleased to hear the regret in Mal’s voice, but that didn’t stop her. She kept walking.

“Hold on!” A pair of arms locked around her waist. “Let me show you where the bigger fish live.”

Realizing what was about to happen, Kipling shrieked, “Mal – no! Don’t you dare!”

Moments later, Mal was laughing and Kipling, though completely drenched, was steaming. She swam back to the shallows and threw back the heavy curtain of hair out of her eyes. It only pissed her off more to see Malon treading water and cackling like a bog witch.

The image was just enough to fire up Kipling’s magic. She easily called upon it, slammed her hands into that invisible control pad, and wrestled those crude gears into submission.

With a frustrated grunt, Kipling opened a portal beneath Mal. Doing so created a swiftly-growing tidal pool. Kipling followed the course of the wheel, waxing on and off until the whirlpool spun fast and fierce. Malon spun with it, spewing laughter and flinging her arms into the air as she spiralled dangerously towards its center. Then she disappeared inside the vortex.

Kipling only had a moment to catch her breath before the spell demanded that she create an exit point. She opened the jump off as high as she could over the pool. A circular sky of ocean water formed and spat Mal out. She whistled in appreciation as she plummeted several feet and hit the surface with a hard slap.

Kipling flinched. Had she taken things too far? What if Mal was hurt? When the wild Vesuvian didn’t come up for air, Kipling swore under her breath and dove in. She found Mal hovering near the muddy bottom over a small forest of freshwater kelp. She didn’t appear bruised or even disoriented. 

In fact, when Mal spotted Kip, she grinned and beckoned her to swim closer. Kipling joined her and once again, Mal floated until she was behind her. This time she pressed her hands along the backs of Kipling’s and moved them like they were about to catch a ball.

Kipling felt a strange vibration thrumming across her knuckles. Within seconds, a fish, proud and enormous wandered languidly out from the kelp brush and straight into her grasp.

Later, when the two of them were grilling and eating their catch by a small fire, Kip said, “You had so much more control this time than with the bats the other day.”

Mal shrugged. “It hasn’t been that long, but I’ve been trying to practice. Plus,” she shot Kipling a thoughtful look, “after I fell through your portal, I felt different. Like I could handle it better.”

Kipling bit her lip. She shouldn’t have shown off her powers like that. What if Mal couldn’t be trusted? 

Wistfully, Mal looked away and chuckled, “Doesn’t matter now. The feeling is gone.”

Glad that she had let the topic drop, Kipling sidled a bit closer to her. She just wanted to smell something other than the fire and the fish. The frankincense was deeper, more intense than she expected, but it belonged to Mal.