#reyby

HAPPY PRIDE!!! 🌈

Always happy to draw Reyna and Tabby!

Plapping of leather boots and bare feet echoed throughout chambers of the Abbey. No one was awake at this time. Even the resident of the local penance hall was deep in his slumber. The silver shine of the moon danced within the shadows, turning shades of red, yellow, green and blues into paintings of holy depictions right onto the tiled floor. 

The knight turned around, holding out his hand towards the creature of the night who not so surely accepted. Each palm was damaged, littered with scars from battles or calluses simply from hard work. Reynauld’s touch was warm, as if tickling his fingers from the inside, caressing his bones with odd and unfamiliar comfort, traveling through joints and ribs all the way to his insides. It was a sweet poison, forbidden from any studies or murmur. A cussword within the house of light. A plant with thorns, an invasive species stabbing through anything sacred that is to a normal person’s values. Even if its flower petals create a breathtaking view, its nectar is one of the sweetest kinds, it will always be burned to the ground as it’s nothing but an annoying and useless weed. 

“I’m alright. I’m pretty sure I’ll see better in the dark than you do.” the alchymist playfully noted, but not letting go. It was unusual and he shall cherish every moment of it as long as it stays, because the moment the light will come, he knew all of it would disappear once more. Flames of the sunrise being nothing but a burning ceremony at a stake, his fantasies not surviving to see the light of day, reminding him that dreams of creatures like him shall be drowned in empty starless nights in cold black brooks before being ever found again.

His mind cleared for a moment, a soft tug on his hand bringing him back to those aster blue eyes. “For someone with better eyesight, you are quite in the back.” With a gentle pull he brought him closer, their other hands meeting as well to establish where the other one was. “If you wish not to come, I will not be mad. You can always tell me. After all it’s just a silly story that I-”

“No, I want to hear it. It seemed very interesting and you looked excited about it.” Bigby interrupted him, mustering a smile that the other one would probably never see. 

“If it’s the fact that Damian is in the building…”

“No, let’s just go, please, or we will wake up the others.” and so, he took the lead. He helped him navigate through the darkest corners of the abbey as his eyes and ears adapted way quicker than his friend’s. The smell of old wood and feeling of splinters on his soles signalled to him a set of stairs snaked its way up ahead. “Watch your step, stairs ahe-” was the only warning he managed to let out before trying to catch the crusader mid-fall.

“I apologize, I usually have at least a candle for these kinds of expeditions." He quickly gathered himself while chuckling and tried to keep up the pace. Going up the stairs to the room was quite a challenge for the stronger man as memory was sometimes all he had, but they were in no rush. At the entrance he grabbed a small flint and steel, lighting up a candle by his door. The light shimmered as he brought it to the night stand, spreading the flame to the other ones. They were only half the size of the new one, drizzled on every side by the melted wax. Seems like the knight enjoyed late night reading. Who would blame him to be honest. The silence of the night can be refreshing from everyday loudness of life. 

Bigby slowly opened his eye, making sure strains of hair were still somewhat covering it as the candle light was too much of a bright change for him. His ears prickled with the sound of the bed being bapped, an unspoken invite. He accepted. The alchymist wasn’t used to this. Soft fabric on touch, clean, the only familiar thing was an overpowering smell of chamomile and sage from his nightstand poorly masking the scent of Reynauld that was all over the place. He never really was with anyone like this since his scholar days and even that was very restricted. He was a stranger to a situation like this.

“Would you like a blanket? I have one spare one for cold days if you’d like. Or a cup of water? there’s still plenty in the pitch on the table.” The crusader rumaged through his bookcases in the meantime, trying to find the one they talked about back in the garden. Its bourbon colour was easy to lose between brown covers of diaries, stories about the light and more.

“You’re very kind, but I’m fine, really. I’ll just use my one.” Bigby wrapped the dark green cloth around his shoulders while watching the man walk over, holding his long seeked out treasure. With some arrangements, Reynauld ended up half sitting on his bed, pillow behind his back to support him, knees bent to lend some space to Bigby who was just wrapped around his side, far enough to give him some space, but close enough to be able to read through the pages. His host melodically read each line, his chest rumbling with each word, calming down the creature’s mind. Bigby’s eyelids started to get heavy, lines of text became hieroglyphs, then dark inky patches of grass until he saw nothing but dark hills with a cloudy sky above. In the distance he still heard his voice, soothing his mind. Uneasiness unraveled its tight grip onto Bigby's lungs, finally letting him peacefully rest after a long time.