#write_c

The Athena took a pitstop at the next civilization they'd come across to restock on supplies since they were running low. The crew (minus Nyl and Zo) was supposed to head to the marketplace, get the needed supplies, and return to the ship. It was that simple.

However, there was some kind of festival going on in the town they visited, so naturally, the crew wanted to check it out—it was voted on; the members who were against it lost.

Which was what led the two to get separated from the rest of the group. Again.

“Why the fuck does this only happen to us?!” Piras raised both of his arms in the air in a display of his frustration as he walked through the crowded streets. His companion didn’t answer, only huffing out a sigh, as if wondering the same question.

The two former Nova citizens had gotten swept up in the crowd while sightseeing the festival with the others. Faen would’ve noticed the crew’s lack of presence immediately if it wasn’t for a certain redhead constantly distracting him.

Said redhead was looking around aimlessly trying to find the others, tiptoeing and doing small jumps to try to see over the ocean of people. Due to him not focusing on where he was going, he kept bumping into people. He ended up stepping on a guy's foot by accident while trying to look over people and Faen had to drag Piras away before a fight started.

Now both of them are taking refuge in an alley to get out of the crowd. Watching people pass by, Faen leans on the stone wall at the entrance of the alleyway while Piras kicks the ground lightly, disturbing the sand.

“They’re probably worried ‘bout us right now…” Piras mumbles under his breath, fiddling with his jacket—specifically where the inner pouch is; where his dagger is.

Without looking at the other, Faen replies “We should head back to the Athena, that’s our best option right now.”

“Do you know the way back? We did get swept up in the crowd…”

“Yes. Unlike you, I was paying attention to my surroundings.”

“Hey! It’s a festival, they have cool shit. How can I not get distracted?”

Faen lets out a sigh, exasperation imminent. “Just stay focused this time, brat. The last thing we need is you getting lost and making some grand mess.” He eyes Piras at the corner of his vision, daring him to say otherwise.

The brat rolls his eyes at the rude, but true, words. He gazes back outside the alley, watching as the crowd moved like the sea.

It’s still gonna be hard to navigate through all that though… Piras thought to himself. With how thick the crowd was, the two could easily get separated, they were lucky they hadn't while pushing through earlier.

Then an idea came to mind. He looks over at the dark-haired man, lifting his hand as if offering it.

“Well, since we have to go through all that again,” he jerked his head towards the crowd of people, “why don’t we hold hands?”

“What.” The speed in which Faen turned his head to look at him almost made Piras worry that he might’ve strained a neck muscle (or whatever those are called).

“Well, uh, y’know since we might get separated and shit in there, right? So we won’t, like, lose each other,” he explained lamely. He could feel the tips of his ears and cheeks turning warm, the realization of what he was implying finally settling in. The way Faen was staring at him with this look he couldn’t discern wasn’t helping.

The two lapsed into an awkward silence. Faen continued to stare intensely at Piras while the poor boy’s face turned into a deeper red than his own hair, refusing to look at the violet eyes judging him.

After some time, Piras stuffed the hand he offered into the kangaroo pocket of his jacket harshly, face still flushed. “Just say you don’t want to instead of staring damn it! It's weird.” He was no longer looking in the remote direction of the ex-lieutenant, not because he was embarrassed, just that he couldn’t stand the bastard’s staring.

“Don't blame me if I get lost,” and was about to walk back out into the streets. The only warning he gets is the ever-familiar sigh from behind him then the tug of his arm, dragging him out of the alley and into the busy crowd.

“Wha–?! Woah, Faen, slow down—!!”

He stumbles a bit on his feet, trying his best to dodge people as he is dragged by his arm. Faen doesn’t say anything nor does he look back at the slightly struggling redhead, focused on weaving through the crowd and returning to the Athena.

“Okay, dude, can you at least not death-grip my arm??” Piras exclaimed, now getting his bearings as he followed behind his dark-haired friend, keeping pace just behind him.

It seems that Faen isn’t completely cold-hearted, since the grip on his arm loosened, and was maneuvered into having both of their hands interlocked. Piras let out a sigh of relief now that he could feel his hand again.

Oh, his hand is warm…

He felt his face turn red once again when he realized what went through his head. Shaking his head, focusing on trying to get back to the ship and not the embarrassing position the two of them were in.

The whole walk there was kept in awkward silence as the pair weaved through the crowd and back to the Athena.

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“Uhm… abuela?” The elder in question looked up from her book, turning slightly to face her granddaughter. The young child wasn’t looking at her, instead, her gaze was directed to the floor. “Can I, uh, tell you something?”

The old woman tilted her head slightly. “But of course, mi hija. What is on your mind?” She asked, voice gentle as if trying to soothe the anxious child.

And it does, as Amare calmed down. There was still some lingering nervousness in the child, but less so now. What could be plaguing her mind this much? The elder thought to herself, closing the book in her hands and placing it on her lap, giving her nieta her full attention.

Amare didn’t reply immediately, instead, she played with the drawstring of her hoodie. “I was just, well, I was wondering if–that maybe I’m not… well, I don’t feel like a, uhh…” The younger stammered, gesturing her hands wildly in an attempt to make the older understand what she was trying to say. Unfortunately, her abuela isn’t a mindreader.

What the elder is, however, is patient, so she waits for her nieta to find the right words to say. Not telling her to hurry up, or snapping at her for wasting her time. Just letting the child say what she needs to say—even if it was stuttered.

It doesn’t take long till Amare gets her bearings. She takes a deep breath, exhales, and gets the words out: “I don’t–I don’t think I’m a girl.”

The old woman takes a couple of seconds to register what her nieta—well, what her little one said. She guessed that her silence was too long for the child as the little one continued, slightly more panicked. “I mean, I don’t feel like a girl. I know I’m born one, but it–it doesn’t feel right. Like it isn’t, well, me. That probably didn’t make any sense, but–I just, I don’t know. Is there something wrong with me? I probably shouldn’t feel this way, but I do and—”

“Slow down, slow down.” She raised her wrinkled hand to signal the younger to stop. It works, and the rambling stops. Her child still hasn’t looked at her.

Finally grasping the situation, the old woman started slowly: “So, you don’t feel comfortable being referred to as a girl?” The younger nods to that, not daring to say a word or even look at her.

“Would you feel more comfortable if you were referred to as a boy?” The younger pauses for a moment, then shakes their head. Ah, so like Azul.

The older woman smiles softly. “Then, would you like me to refer to you by they-and-them pronouns?” They looked up at her for the first time since the conversation started, their eyes filled with surprise. She can finally see the cogs turning in those bright red eyes of theirs.

Then, something seems to click in their head, because they smile at the question. “Yeah… yeah, that–I’d like that.” They said, airy at first but more sure with the next few words.

“That’s settled then,” she gets up from her chair—with the help of her grandchild, “we can go buy some new clothes for you if you don’t feel that any of the ones you own suit you.”

“Oh! You don’t have to, abuela. I can get by with the ones I have—”

“Nonsense, mi alma. We are buying new ones for you, ones that fit you.” She interrupted. “Besides, we can give away the ones you don’t like.”

They sighed at the old lady’s response, resigning to their fate. Well, it isn’t that bad. I get to have more comfortable clothes at least, they thought.

“Ah, I almost forgot,” she turns to her grandchild, “do you want to go by a different name? One that makes you feel more comfortable.” That was what happened with Azul, so they might want to change their name too.

They take a moment to think about it. “No,” they said, “I like my name. It feels very me.” Amare smiled to their abuela, pure honesty.

The old woman smiled back. “Then let us go, Amare. We have some shopping to do.”

Haru had gotten used to the multimillionaire’s staring, with how he does it almost all the time whenever he’s unpreoccupied. It got to the point where he could differentiate Kambe’s gaze and someone else’s.

But the bastard has been eyeing him since he got in the car—hell, Kambe’s been eyeing him the moment he got out of his apartment.

Usually, Haru would just ignore it (he tries to at least), but he’d appreciate it if his partner would keep his focus on the road. The man’s driving skills are dangerous enough.

“Oi, would you quit staring.” His tone was sharp, annoyance very evident. Kambe could end up hurting someone if he keeps getting distracted, especially with how he drives like a madman.

 “I wasn’t,” Kambe replied, an obvious lie.

“You were literally eyeing me every 10 seconds since I got in.” Haru gave the other a flat look, now turning his head to fully face Kambe. He can’t exactly look at the multimillionaire eye-to-eye since he’s the one driving, so Haru settles with Kambe’s side profile (why is he hot in every angle??).

Instead of commenting on him being caught, Kambe accelerates the car’s speed. Haru has to brace himself from the sudden increase.

“Stop breaking the speed limit every time you don’t want to admit something!” He berated the bastard. Seriously, he’s going to vomit in one of his highly expensive cars someday. It’s a miracle he hasn’t yet.

“As I said earlier, I wasn’t staring,” Kambe said, “I was simply admiring how you were able to make yourself look somewhat presentable.” He kept his eyes on the road, not bothering to look back at the taupe-haired man beside him.

Haru had forgone his usual attire—it was too dirty at this point—and decided on wearing his flannel, completely unbuttoned. He wore a white hoodie underneath it as the weather was getting cold, and paired it up with jeans cuffed to his ankles.

He’s not sure if he should take Kambe’s comment as a compliment or an insult.

Before he could decide, the car jerks to a halt, signaling they’ve arrived at their destination. Kambe gets out of the car immediately once it stops, almost as if he’s trying to escape this whole situation.

Haru shakes that thought away. Now’s not the time for that, they’ve got a job to do. With that, he follows suit with his partner.

The boy hunched over, his claws sharp and his eyes focused, the branches swayed as the wind blew. He was not gonna let his prey slip away from him again. This time he had the high ground. Literally.

The branches swayed the second time. He ignored it, he wasn’t gonna let this distract him. He composed his stance, not taking his eyes off of his prey as he readied to pounce.

If someone was dumb enough to go on a stroll in the middle of the woods tonight and somehow stumble upon the tree he was on, that would be quite the scare for the unlucky soul. To barely see some figure in the trees, with yellow eyes glowing in the dark, and who looks ready to attack; any weak-hearted soul would faint at the sight.

He waited, and waited, and waited…

Then he pounced.

Jumping off of the tree he was on, the predator dived in for the attack. I’m going to do it, I’m going to catch the damn annoying thing—

And before he even realized it, he landed face first, his prey nowhere to be seen. Successfully escaping his grasp.

“DAMN IT!! I almost had it!”

The boy lifted his head and yelled in a fit of rage and annoyance, pounding his fist into the soil beneath him. I must’ve jumped too soon, he thought as he sat up cross-legged, pouting at the fact he didn't catch his prey.

“Now, now, Leandro,” a man said, giving an air of calm and wisdom, “there is no need to yell.” He had seemed to appear out of nowhere, kneeling down to the boy’s height. Leandro isn't surprised, however. 

“I know, I know. Patience yields focus and what not,” he rolled his eyes at the quote. Leandro scrambled up onto his feet, dusting off the dirt from his clothes and then wiping off some of the dirt that was on his face.

He heard a deep chuckle come from his master, then he felt a hand rub the crown of his head, messing up his hair.

“Come on, let’s go home,” the older witch said. He turned around and started to walk back onto the old path of the woods. Leandro walked along with him.

“Next time, you will catch it.”

Humming a simple tune, Asra worked on bending the green stems one by one together, tying the roses onto each other. He was close to finishing the flower crown.

“You’ve taken care of the place rather well.” Asra paused his actions and tilted his head up to the owner of the voice. Kai wasn’t looking at him, instead, his gaze was towards the flowers in the small garden the two of them were in.

Asra replied with a shrug—as best as he could while lying down on someone’s lap. “Well, it’s a nice hobby to do,” he said, returning most of his focus to his current task.

“Plus, I always take from nature, I should at least return the favor. Give n’ receive, and whatnot,” he added thoughtlessly.

Tying the final rose stem, the white-haired man smiles at his creation. He turns the flower crown in his hands, inspecting his finished work. Once he deems it the greenlight, he sits upright from his laid down position, fixes himself to face Kai, and plops the flower crown on his head. All in one swift move.

Kai, the coolheaded man that’s known to be quick-witted and reserved, was stunned by the sudden action, blinking owlishly as if his brain short-circuited. Asra had to keep himself from laughing at the stupefied expression on his face.

After a few seconds, Kai returns to his senses and reaches for the newly adorned accessory on his head. “Uhm… why?” He questioned, looking straight at the other with a mildly confused expression.

Shrugging as a reply, Asra added. “I thought it would look nice on you. And it does.” He shuffled in his place, positioning himself to sit next to him, shoulder to shoulder.

He rested his head on his arm, observing how the pink roses make Kai’s long brown hair warmer, giving it a deeper color. How it makes his deep sea blue eyes pop, drawing your attention more to the contrasting cooler color.

He settles his gaze at the flower crown. The thought comes to his mind as he recalls what is associated with the flowers. “Pink roses mean appreciation and gratitude,” he says aloud.

Realizing he said it out loud, Asra flicks his eyes back at Kai, only to find him staring back. Crystal white meeting ocean blue.

He breaks the silence with a small smile. “Very fitting,” those few words spoke more than he let on, but the two always understood what the other truly meant, from what was said and unsaid.

Kai looked away, his face turning into a darker shade than the roses on his head. A light chuckle escaped Asra’s lips, white eyes turning into crescents.

The soft melody of two flutes being played by the two elves filled the room with a tranquil atmosphere. The two finish the song with a held note, ending their musical session.

The more skilled player puts down his flute beside him and looks toward his apprentice. “Impressive, Vy, you caught on to this quickly!” He smiles at Vy’rean, applauding them. “For someone who doesn’t know anything ‘bout playing the flute, you sure are good at it.”

Vy’rean smiles sheepishly at that, scratching the back of his head while holding the flute in his other hand. “Oh, I'm just a fast learner. Besides,” he puts down his hand, “I still have more to learn.”

“Well, Mr. Fast learner, if ya keep this up I won't have much to teach ya later on.”

“I doubt that, Tyrell. You’d probably find a way to teach me something.”

Tyrell snorts at that. “Well, ya ain’t wrong—”

“TYRELL!”

They both jump at the sudden yell, their eyes looking out at the window of the room. The one who was called gets up from his chair and looks out of the window, to see his lovely wife outside with an annoyed expression on her face.

“Tyrell, get your ass down here or so help me!” She continues to shout for him, hands planted on her waist. Oh right, I was supposed to help her today… oops.

“I’ll be down in a minute, dear!” Tyrell shouted back, then turns away from the window and faces Vy’rean—who’s stayed seated during the whole ordeal. He smiles at the (presumed to be) younger elf and tells them “I gotta go help Lia, you can stay here and continue practicing. I'll be back. They just nod in response, so Tyrell leaves the room to help his wife.

Leaving Vy’rean the room to himself, he lets his thoughts wander a bit.

Tyrell was the one who gave him a place to stay and work when he was taken in by the village after finding out he had amnesia. The elf taught him how to work at the inn, how to deal with customers, introduced him to the rest of the residents—he was practically his father figure at this point. Even Lia was like a mother to him, with how she taught him to cook and helped him deal with any unruly patrons.

Tyrell’s even helping him start his own business; his knack with alchemy should be put to use somewhere better, was what Tyrell said to him. The man has done a lot for him, both he and Lia have done a lot for him.

Walking in the streets alone at night is usually unsettling for a lot of people; almost no one to be seen wherever you looked, your only company being the street lights that flicker now and then, with the dark alleyways that could have muggers or gangsters lurking on them just waiting for their next victim.

Walking in the streets alone at night, especially in a dangerous neighborhood, would just raise your chances of meeting the Grim Reaper.

Unless you're Phoul, unfazed by this kind of atmosphere as he continues to stroll through the dead streets.

In a very literal sense. There are a plethora of ghosts drifting across the pavement, wandering souls that had died in his neighborhood. If you tried to look closer at their spectral forms, you’d somewhat be able to make out their features. They all wonder about the streets; moving along as if they were pedestrians out on a midnight walk like him, believing they were still alive.

As the saying goes: ignorance is bliss, Phoul thought. He recalled his past encounters with the dead, the ones that woke up from their bliss. How the realization that they were dead broke the ones that couldn’t handle it, turning them into wrathful shades. For the ones that could, they just became a little bit more lost but relatively sane. It’s better if the dead stayed ignorant, for the sake of their sanity.

He continued to stroll through the damp sidewalk, watching the ghosts glide past him as if they were on a normal day, on a normal stroll. He made sure to avoid hitting any of them as he walked, he didn’t want to deal with explaining how he was able to faze through a ‘person’.

Phoul ceased his walking, turning his head towards the alleyway beside him, and stared at the small spectral figure hunched over itself.

The spirit looked to be a young boy, somewhere around 7 years old, that was curling in on itself, crying. The ghost was murmuring something—it’s hard to tell what they’re saying at times since when a ghost speaks it sounds as if multiple, whispering voices are speaking all at once, but from what he could tell it had something to do with “mommy”.

Phoul sighs deeply, and walks over to the child specter, crouching down to get to its level. “Hey, kid.” He starts, observing how the child tenses at his tone. “Where are your parents?” He already knows the answer.

The specter lifts his head a bit from his fatal position, rubbing his eyes—which is unnecessary since ghosts can’t cry, but the kid doesn’t know that—and looks at Phoul hesitantly. “I-I don’t know… I was, I was just with them…’’ The specter’s voice was shaky, making it even harder to understand, but Phoul didn’t need to. This wasn’t the first time he encountered the ghost of a dead child.

“Well, I can try to help you find them,” Phoul said, standing back up. “Better than doing it alone, don’t you think?” The kid tilted his head up, suspicion readable across its incorporeal face.

“Mom said not to trust strangers…”

“Name’s Phoul. Now I'm not a stranger.”

The specter still looked unconvinced. Phoul sighed, turning his back to the kid, and began walking away. “Go ahead and be suspicious. You’re not my problem anyway. Good luck trying to find your mom, kid.”

He felt more than saw the kid move, getting up from its fatal position and gliding to his side at rapid speed. He snorted a bit at the action. “Now you’re willing to follow me?” he asked, glancing at the kid from the corner of his eye.

The presumed 7-year-old pouted, fiddling with his fingers. “I still don’t trust you, but…” he hesitated, “I don’t wanna be alone, so I guess you can help…” the kid trailed off.

He didn’t really care if the specter trusted him or not, and began walking the streets yet again, not bothered to say anything else. He didn’t need to look back to know that the kid was following him.

Phoul knows they won’t find the parents, they were most likely nowhere close to where the two were. The specter thinks that it was only separated from them for a few minutes when in reality it could’ve been weeks, months, or even years since then.