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“Be wary of the White Whistle Ozen.”

What's the first thing your muse noticed about mine? | ACCEPTING

Oh Bondrewd certainly WAS having fun. His easy smile as he spoke of this and that wonder of the relics and the Abyss wasn’t just for show. The wide eyes and smattering of covered mouths positively tickled him, though he had just enough grace to keep this to himself (even through the sound of someone retching off to one side). None of these people knew just how the Abyss could warp an individual in body and mind, and the Lord of Dawn’s appearance was a mild taste in comparison to the results of his experiments. 

As tempted as he was to wax poetic just to drag this out and make them squirm, he brough his few words to a close with a gracious bow before descending the stage again. The patrons who hadn’t already left the room gave him a wider berth than before as he returned to the shadowed corner where Ozen was watching. He gave the assistant who’d first spoken to them room to pass as he scurried back to the director, looking pale as could be. The only regrettable thing would be if that one got in trouble for Dawn’s antics. Ah well.

“Well, that seems to have brightened the mood,” he smiled as he looked up at Ozen. “But I suspect you’d like to be out of that helmet already. Lean down and I’ll have it loosened in a moment.”

Ozen was glad the guild at least had the foresight to invite someone who excelled at public speaking. She wasn’t shy nor timid, but she simply couldn’t be bothered to conjure up a rousing speech out of her old, weary bones. Bondrewd had a natural charisma and way with words that made him the perfect candidate for giving speeches. Too bad the audience couldn’t seem to handle the disfigurement left by years spent in the Abyss.

“It certainly brightened my mood.” The Unmovable Lord chuckled as she waited for Bondrewd to return to her side. “Oh I don’t know. I think I’m starting to get used to it.” She spoke in jest, a crooked but genuine smile on her hidden features as she bowed forward, hunching to lower her head so that it was easier to reach.

While this wasn’t exactly a dire situation, it was at least a humorous inconvenience that needed solving as soon as they were able. What was the phrase? Curiosity killed the cat? Or in this case got her head stuck in another person’s helmet. He laughed softly himself at her impression of him, humoring her with a brief stint of applause.

But of course they were called upon in the middle of all this, before Bondrewd could retrieve his helmet. And before he could ask for a moment more, the announcement came from up on stage, proclaiming that the gathered dignitaries would be hearing a word from one of Orth’s heroic White Whistles. He gave a sigh.

“Best not keep them waiting, then. I’ll help get the helmet off after the speech,” he said with a smile, striding for the stage despite the HQ representative sputtering hesitant pleas to wait. 

While it wasn’t exactly malicious compliance, it was close enough to amuse him (and probably Ozen). As predicted, his appearance startled those gathered for the gala, causing a swell of shocked murmurs to spread through the crowd like ripples. Bondrewd carried on regardless, even raising a hand to silence the director who tried to cut him short and usher him off the stage. They wanted this, and they would get the full extent of it.

At least the both of them could find humour in their current situation. While it was far from ideal, Ozen was pleased she was no longer afflicted with dreary boredom. That was her one sure killer if the Abyss didn’t eventually do her in. Her agelessness definitely did not dull the effect of the passage of her years. She really couldn’t be bothered to care about diplomatic pleasantries at this point.

“That fat-headed bureaucrat doesn’t waste any time to show off his shiny celebrities.” She commented idly, watching the director as he dug his own grave. Perhaps calling someone else fat-headed while she was stuck in Bondrewd’s helmet was in poor taste, but that thought didn’t stop her from giving a long, low chuckle when Bondrewd decided to go on stage as he was.

“Have fun.” She certainly did. Ozen watched as her colleague ascended the podium, much to the dismay of the director and all those soft-stomached foreign envoys. One fellow with a weak constitution even appeared on the verge of sick. She hoped he threw up all over the floor. That would surely make a quick end of the night’s festivities.

Bondrewd paused, then gave an amused shake of his head. The face remark could have been more clearly worded on his end, of course he washes his face. He just didn’t spend more time in front of the mirror than it took to shave when it was needed. (He’d admit he hadn’t thought the comment through.)

He brushed the thoughts away in exchange for watching Ozen explore the helmet. One might ask how he could see where he was going when the helmet was mostly solid metal. The answer? A relic built into the inside. He could see out, but no one else could see in. A faint smile tugged at his features at the urn remark; it did take some getting used to. Unfortunately any amusement he found was tempered by what she said next, and his eyebrows lifted in a trace of surprise.

“It’s stuck?” Well, given how she’d had to push on it to even get it on… of course by then it had been too late. Fortunately, given the varying head sizes of those he shared his consciousness with, it was a bit adjustable. “Yes, there is. Lean down and I’ll get it loose–”

“White Whistles Ozen, Bondrewd. We were hoping one of you could–” the new voice paused as the speaker saw the situation they were in. Of course they would be approached by one of the organizers now. “… Do you two need some assistance??”

Ozen would’ve enjoyed seeing that hint of surprise on Bondrewd’s face if it weren’t for the helmet on her head. She felt like a cat stuck in a jar, a comparison that rapidly fouled her mood even further. However, she also recognized the humour in her situation, in their situation, and she couldn’t help but let out a sardonic chuckle.

“My, my, it appears I have become the Lord of Dawn.” She said, raising her palms to emulate his mannerism. “I suppose this means I have a daughter now, and I have no choice but to continue my morally corrupt experiments.”

Thankfully, he seemed to have foreseen that something like this might happen, and concocted countermeasures to remedy the issue. Just as she was starting to lean down, however, one of those pencil nibblers at HQ approached them.

The man’s inhuman eyes were unblinking, watching the Unmovable Sovereign just as she was watching him. For someone who characteristically almost ALWAYS had his face hidden, there was no shyness, panic, or move to snatch the helmet back. It wasn’t something to hide behind; the metal and glass in her hands was, as he’d said, more a symbol than anything.

“The damage here is just a side effect of some of my experiments. Though it has been a while since I have seen myself unmasked. Honestly such appearances mean little to me, if they ever did.”

When the two relics embedded in his eye sockets were the payoff, what was a bit of surgical scarring? He waited as she inspected his helmet to her satisfaction, but he hadn’t expected her to go to put it on. Part of the helmet itself was a relic, and a dangerous one at that. But still he waited, only giving her a warning to “please do be careful with it.”

As White Whistles who have given body and soul to the Abyss - willing sacrifices for its miracles and treasures, Ozen wasn’t surprised to see Bondrewd’s disfigurement. However, she rarely got to see the Dawn’s face, though she supposed it didn’t matter, given Bondrewd’s proclivity for changing bodies. Nonetheless, it wasn’t everyday that someone got their hands on the helmet, and, despite her overall bitterness honed through age, Ozen still had a healthy amount of curiosity in her.

“It’s been a while, huh? Don’t you wash your face?” An idle comment of little thought. She didn’t really care about Bondrewd’s personal hygiene, far more interested in putting the helmet on. It took some jostling, but with a terse push, the helmet popped into place.

“Ah. So this is how you see the world.” She looked around, turning her head slowly to get used to the sensation. “It’s like wearing an urn.” She chuckled, the sound low and hollow. “I think I’d rather keep my face free.” She reached to tug it off, and realized after a few tries that, well...

The Sovereign chuckled again at her refusal to give a few words. Bondrewd suspected they’d come to him first either way; making a point to be approachable did have its downsides, even if he didn’t mind in the long run. He caught movement from her out of the corner of his eye, but he certainly wasn’t prepared for her to start petting him on the head. It wasn’t until she questioned the handlebar in particular that it clicked what she might do.

Before he could lift one of his own to nudge her hand away… there was a sharp pull and the helmet lifted completely off of his head, the trademark bar of violet light dying as it did. Now-visible multi-layered eyes stared at the other White Whistle before a soft sigh escaped his heavily scarred features. His tail gave an unconscious twitch as he smoothed back the tufts of white at his temples.

“It’s for ease of removal, just like that. It lets another Umbral Hand assume the identity of Bondrewd the Novel more easily, should something unfortunate happen to this body.”

Oops. She hadn’t meant to yank it completely off, maybe just pull him along a little. Too late now. She’d gone and unmasked him. The helmet dangled from her digit like an oversized ornament. She stared at his face with her usual dead, empty eyes, but there was no denying the slight surprise in the silence that followed the unintended result of her action.

“I don’t mind delving as a team, or alone. But together with you is just the right balance. Someone I trust is watching my back, but I’m still free to move as I like. It’s… liberating. We’ve done it for so long I don’t need to say anything, I just know you’ll be at my side.”  “I certainly don’t mind cooking for you, but I think I’ll pass on trying to fatten you up, or I’ll be the one to get too heavy to climb first. And that’ll just make both of us cranky, no matter how soft and huggable or starvation-proof I get.”

“Ohhh, I’ve got the perfect physique already, do I? Do tell me more how much you like my body, love~” Lyza teases with a laugh as she strikes a swimsuit model pose to flirtaciously show off her curvy but muscular figure well honed by varied athleticism and motherhood alike, shooting a coquettish look at Ozen as she flips her hair back over her shoulder. She was still something of a squat woman with a sort of boxer’s weight to her muscle untrimmed for vanity, but she’d remained rather youthfully feminine over the years if she had to say so herself. “I don’t mind that compliment one bit~” Lyza’s attempt at humorous deflections don’t do much to lighten the mood however, as the heavy conversation of the future of their romantic entanglement weighs it down. Even as she’d made plans for it in private, and talked around it in hushed words, the reality that marriage was actually something they were capable of going through with still struck her like an Splitjaw’s charge. She takes a deep breath and mumbles through her own pounding, fluttering heart as she tries not to freak out with either panic or giddiness.

“If you.. really mean it. I mean… I really do want that, Ozen… I do want to marry you.. I always have. It’s what I came back for.” She wrings her hands together, fidgeting nervously as she blushes deep red, her thoughts running faster than her words as her heartbeat accelerates. “I have rings, I showed you once before. They’re almost ready… and… I really want to wear a dress, and have a ceremony. Even just a small one…” “But mostly I just want to be able to call you my wife without hesitation or shame… To be able to tell everyone that I love you…. and that you love me, to be my friend and partner… forever and always… ”  She can’t bring herself to ask the question directly. Not without the rings. She needs… she needs the physical reassurance, the grounding factor. But she wants to, so very badly that it hurts. It aches in her bones and in her heart as she covers her eyes with her face so Ozen can’t see her tear up, and leans into her.

“That’s what I want, Ozen…” 

Something Ozen hasn’t felt in years stirred within her, something she only ever felt around Lyza - the one person that came into her life and changed her irreversibly. She’d once harboured doubt whether it was a change to treasure, especially on lonely nights where the memory of golden hair stung with loss. However, now, with Lyza in her arms, that doubt was easily cast aside because of how right, how complete this felt.

“Having you by my side as an equal used to surprise me with how intuitive it was. You always seem to know what to do. A look alone is enough.” Ozen murmured, tone entirely unlike her usual hollow, lazy drawl. She spoke gently now, and slowly stroked Lyza’s hair - silken strands she’s always adored.

Lyza’s coy antics from before helped lighten the mood of an otherwise emotionally charged conversation. The aged White Whistle has grown tired of arguments and words carelessly spat like molten fire on raw wounds. She wanted to see Lyza smile, to watch those clear, bright eyes radiate with joy.

“You know exactly how beautiful you are. You don’t need me to point out the obvious.” She teased a little if only to soothe the blonde, a small moment of humour before tackling the main subject at hand. “We’ll have the ceremony you’ve always dreamed of. I’m fine with festive affairs if they make you happy.” Because if they did what Ozen preferred, there wouldn’t be a ceremony, and even an old, jaded grump like herself recognized that was a terrible idea.

Ah, of course her mood would be rather sour. He wouldn’t expect anything less. Being up here among dignitaries was hardly her preferred environment, and there was only so much good the free food and drink did. Granted, it wasn’t his first choice either, but at least the Sovereign of Dawn made an effort to be approachable while among all this company.

“Ah yes, there have been one or two slips, but she is a fast learner.” Fortunately Bondrewd had no interest in Ozen’s assistants. Unless they somehow strayed down to Idofront, they would be left alone. His helmet glinted in the dim light as he looked out over the gala’s proceedings.

“As per usual,” he agreed, clasping his hands behind his back. “I believe I heard the guildmaster say something about a speech. What are the odds they’ll try to get one of us to say a few words?”

“One or two slips is to be expected from a curious child growing up in the Fifth. In fact, I’m surprised she hasn’t died or gotten permanently maimed. I don’t know if that says more about her training as much as your surgical skills, however.” Ozen didn’t make a point out of questioning Bondrewd on his parenting. She was pretty sure he had nefarious purposes for keeping a child fed and alive, but as a fellow White Whistle, she didn’t feel inclined to inquire.

Ozen’s face soured further at the idea of a speech. “I’m going to volunteer you if any of those idiots decides it’s a good idea to ask me for a speech.” She grumbled, quite content to stay rooted to her spot, being a perfect representation of her epitaph. She wasn’t entirely devoid of movement, however. Finding herself bored with the festivities, she slowly raised one of her hands, and started to pet Bondrewd on the head, gloved fingers stroking his helmet as one would a dog.

“And that suits me just fine, so long as now and then you let me be alone together with you.” Alone together, such a perfect phrase, Lyza thought. Nothing better to exemplify the calm and peace of existing comfortably close to someone you love while relaxing, without the pressure to talk or do anything else but be nearby.

“You already eat enough to make a bodybuilder blush just staying that skinny, so if you wanted to be plump again you’d probably have to make it a full time job. Or I would, cooking for you. One way to be a housewife, I suppose. Meanwhile I never really shook off all my baby weight… But at least I’ve got the muscle still.”

“I wouldn’t mind so much, either…” Lyza realizes for a moment that while the idea had been broached before, they’d never been able to discuss it so… candidly. Not since they’d affirmed their affections and became a couple. Making it more official was always an unspoken potential. Lyza thinks about the rings she’d been preparing, and resolves to get them finished up quickly. “Of course I want that, Ozen, you big dummy… why else would I… do any of this.”

A small smile warmed Ozen’s otherwise stern features. “Being alone together defines our relationship, doesn’t it? We’ve spent much of our time delving with just the two of us, and I enjoy that. A lot.” Lyza was perhaps the only person she could stand being constantly around for weeks, if not months at a time.

“Hm, I’d rather have delving be my full time job.” A minute hint of humour coloured her tone. “I suppose I could let you cook for me. I’m an old lady, after all, so you’ll have to take care of me.” Never mind that she hasn’t aged since the first Pin went into her heart. “You have the perfect physique for thriving in the Abyss. Brawn alone is not enough. One requires reserves in case of a lengthy delve with little sustenance.” A sincere observation and compliment - Ozen was proud of her first apprentice.

“There must at least be a few, though. I can’t imagine not at least appreciating a mature, capable woman. Besides, I’m not that young myself anymore either, Ozen!! In fact, some of the younger folks around town might might be inclined to call me a MI-… an attractive mother.”

“Then it’ll be fun for you! Who else could stand a chance to do it, hehe!” Lyza flexes proudly. “But I get it. Having some Bulk is great in a fight or long dive, and some softness and strength is nice for cuddling. I really don’t get what’s so great about being so slim.”

“I suppose you would be… But it’s real nice to think about~”

“I think most people would enjoy your company far more than they’d enjoy mine, and I prefer it that way. On most days, I just want to be left alone.” Though at this point, it was as much a habit as it was a preference. Entertaining the company of others was exhausting.

“It’s better for survival to have a solid layer of fat on one’s body. If it weren’t for the Thousand-Human Pins, I imagine I wouldn’t be so gangly.”