Fowl Machines

All around the buzz of machinery harmonized with the hum of Allagan nodes. Vardan was drowning in his work in the best possible way. Plenty to do, so much to work on. A wealth of options and opportunities.

The project currently captivating all of his attention was the cold storage chest he intended to gift to Celestin. The frame was more or less done, as well as the shelves; meticulously measured and cut to house as many potions and herbs as possible without anything being overcrowded. Now it was just a matter of getting the actual cooling unit put together and properly working. 

Vardan had it all planned out. Every tube, bracket, fan, and crystal, in just the right locations for ideal circulation of cold air. He just had to get the ice shards in place. He had managed to get two where they needed to be already, and had three more to go, a hand reaching into the case housing so many shards of so many flavors in search of the next. It was in his impatient haste that bare fingers grazed over a levin crystal, drawing out an electric shock that coaxed his hand to recoil. 

What an enticing shiver that little spark sent racing up his spine. Oh. Oh no. Oh why. Not now. Not here. Not like this. He had work to do, things to finish! He couldn’t afford to be distracted. And yet.

An animalistic curiosity grabbed and pulled at every shred of poor judgement he had, coaxing his hand up to his mouth and his tongue out to draw a wet line along his middle finger. Without hesitation he reached out to touch that levin aspected shard so eager to conduct against that saliva slicked digit.

That rich second jolt of electric contact drew out a delighted whimper and sent him buckling over the table. No. No no no no no. This was not okay. This was the exact opposite of okay. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he stop?

Oh the privileges of owning this room around him. Of being able to lock and bar the door. Of knowing just how thick that solid barrier of metal was around him to ensure not a sound would escape. 

Little time was wasted; he had work to get back to after all! Gloves removed, shirt lost somewhere on the stairs, pants haphazardly undone and barely hanging off his hips as he crashed down onto his bed. That tantalizing crystal had not been left behind, now grasped tightly in Vardan’s left hand while his right gripped at something demanding much more attention. What was wrong with him? 

Such a desperate fit this was; hand pumping away at unyielding, aching flesh; lips parted and panting; voice a pleading outcry mingling amongst strained whimpers. His mind was in such a haze, growing nearly dizzy from the periodic static pulses that gem offered. Gods he wanted more. 

With lips parting for a greater purpose than moaning, the tip of his tongue ventured out, pressing to that levin shard. The spark that danced through his throat ushered out a rattled, frantic groan as so much of him seized up in that exhilarating moment of release. The crystal was dropped during the fleeting spasms of so much breaking tension, tumbling to the floor to be forgotten while his mind reeled from the whole ordeal. 

Almost as soon as that rush of ecstasy hit it was washed out by a heavy wave of shame. It wrapped around him in guilty layers thicker than the mess trailing along his stomach and chest, all the way up to his face. Fury help him, why was he like this? 

Vardan could still hear those footfalls chasing his own, every ounce of poor judgment coaxing him to dare a glance back. Not a single one of them he recognized. Why were they after him? What did he do to deserve this? There was no time to think about that, the alleyway ahead of him demanded attention.

A misplaced crate proved to be an unwelcome obstacle, clipped and tumbled over in a painful display of gracelessly flailing limbs. Vardan scrambled to his feet, giving a brief reenactment of a baby dhamel trying to stand for the first time as his hands and feet slid about on the icy stone below him. 

Those strangers had closed in, cackling in his wake as the young engineer finally got stable on his feet and bolted with a panicked outcry. He had to get away. He had to escape what was coming for him. 

They just looked like people. They sounded like normal Ishgardian citizens. Yet everything in him screamed that these were demons. These were monsters out for his blood; horrid fiends masquerading as his countrymen. He could feel it crawling over his skin with a chill that put the ice of Coerthas to shame. 

“Come back, we only want to talk!” One of the trio called out, voice dancing with the line of humor. It was a lie. Vardan could feel it in his soul; in the heat swelling in his chest. It was a lie; it was poison in the form of words. It was death coming for him, and he was running out of places to run.

The alleyway that was supposed to lead him to freedom instead led him to a dead end, the distress thundering in his chest only increasing. He slapped his hands against the stone wall barring his way, as if hoping to convince it to move, to crumble and let him through. He had to get out of here. He had to get away. 

Scrambling for some crates to climb, Vardan quickly found himself grabbed up and tossed, landing with a startled wail in unkind arms. What a woeful song and dance, and he already knew so many of the steps. By some blessing from the Fury he managed to stay on his feet as he was shoved about, his arms wrapping up around his head to take what shelter he could from the impact of fists. 

What felt like hours spanned only a minute before the shouting of knights rang down the alleyway. That was all that was needed. That heartbeat of a pause, that pristine window of opportunity. 

Vardan bolted, with all the feral haste he could manage he fled, vaulting up onto the stack of crates he failed to reach before, provoking several of the boxes to tumble down in his wake. It was just enough, to give him space, to give him freedom, to give him the lash rush of adrenaline to make it to an aetheryte shard. 

The moment his hand slapped onto the stone he was gone, rippling out the frigid realm of Ishgard and into the warm embrace of the Mists. Sanctuary. Salvation. Home… This place was none of those things, but in his rush, it was where he ended up, tired legs dragging him onto the lawn with one sore step after the next.