This is a story that some of the reviewers over at "My Nimlis headcanons" bade me continue. It is set in Nimrod's teenage years and will be mostly from his point of view. There will be a tiny bit of slash later on, but completely harmless, no sex or anything. Updates will happen, alas irregularly, as my main focus is still on "My Nimlis headcanons", this here being a kind of side thing. I'll try to do an update every other week.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. If I owned Iblis...oh dear god...let's say my sex life would be rather more satisfactory, and I'd also rule the world.
Please read and review, thanks! Flames will be quenched by the icy waters of utter ignorance!
Dear reader,
People generally don't seem to put much thought into the beginnings of the incessant cold war between Nimrod and Iblis. They widely assume that Nimrod and Iblis have just always been enemies, and their fathers before them, and their grandfathers before their fathers, and so on into the dawn of time. That is only partly right.
It is true that, as djinn go, some Godwin has always fought some Teer in the past, as these families never fail to bring forth powerful tribal leaders. However it appears that Nimrod and Iblis specially didn't start out as enemies. I had to ply my muse (who, as readers of my other stuff already know, is Iblis with two tiny useless wings on his back) with a lot of my good booze to coerce the story out of him (it's not something he likes to discuss, or think about for that matter) but eventually I got this tale of a year of secret, technically illegal friendship between two confused youths who tried and failed to be rebellious (as Iblis puts it: "He wasn't as good as he got yet, and I wasn't as evil, so we kinda met up in the middle") and a meeting at "Victoria fucking Station".
"Nimrod! Nimrod, your cab is here!"
"Coming, Layla!" Nimrod shouted down the stairs, dragging his luggage behind him.
Layla, who was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, right by the open front door, sighed with something slightly close to exasperation at her little brother.
"I don't understand why you have to take so much...stuff with you" she said. "Just your lamp would suffice, really. Or why you refuse to take a whirlwind. That's so much easier, really."
Nimrod was about to depart on his Taranushi journey, and what he hadn't told his sister was that he decided against a whirlwind and in favor of mundane means of travel because he simply had no idea where to go yet.
After all, he had had little to no leisure to prepare for the ritual journey. His mother had left the family home for Babylon a mere month ago, and the lives of both Godwin siblings had been turned upside down. Suddenly Layla, young as she still was, had become Marid leader and had to get accustomed to a whole new world of business and responsibilities. Nimrod had been pretty much left alone to harbor his hurt feelings, even though his demeanor betrayed nothing of that and Layla thought her little brother had gotten over it like a true adult. But Nimrod wasn't quite as mature as she thought, and telling her that he was entirely unprepared for the Taranushi ritual or asking her who had so much to do for help would only disappoint his sister and be another burden on her, so Nimrod didn't say anything to her.
They said their goodbyes and Nimrod entered the cab, telling the driver to take him to Victoria Station, one of the major train stations in London.
There, he found himself before a large message board, running his eyes over departures and time tables, wondering just what direction, which corner of the world it might be for him. He had to admit he was feeling a bit lost. And not only that. Somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Watched by another djinn, no less.
Could it be Layla? Or Mr. Rakshasas? Had one of them followed him here to see how he was doing? Or, he thought for a split second in a childish glimmer of hope, his mother? Had she come back? He could feel the presence of a djinn, and quite a powerful one at that. Powerful, but...unstable.
He pushed these silly thoughts away from him and glanced around the station. Soon he spotted someone, the silhouette entirely unfamiliar to him, leaning casually onto the wall in some dark corner, so as to observe without being seen.
"Hey! Over there!" Nimrod called out to the stranger who, upon being spotted, came into the light.
It was a young man barely past boyhood, of about the same age as Nimrod, give or take a year. Nimrod found himself scrutinized warily by a pair of quite particular light brown eyes that, when exposed to the sunlight like this, had an almost yellow-ish sheen to them. These eyes stared at him from underneath a mess of white-blond hair which, combined with a rather dark complexion, looked exotic enough to a Londoner. He was travelling much lighter than Nimrod; while the latter carried his big, cherry-red duffle and his lamp of course, the former had a messenger bag slung over his shoulder and that was it. His clothes had a hand-me-down look to them; all of this added up made a picture of strange, scruffy, careless elegance that wasn't so much about looks, but rather about the way the stranger moved as he stepped closer...an elegance that Nimrod with his fine suit and tidy appearance could have never achieved, no matter how hard he tried.
"Yes? Is there any problem, good sir?" the stranger asked in a quiet voice, with a careful, stilted way of phrasing that Nimrod took for foreigner English.
"I just...thought you were looking at me."
"Indeed I was" the stranger said, a smirk tugging at the right hand corner of his mouth. "Is it forbidden to look at you, good sir?"
The "good sir" sounded weird coming from a boy about his age, Nimrod thought. Like he had learned his English out of books. Maybe he was doing it in mockery? He looked the type.
"You're not from around here, are you?" Nimrod asked.
"Excuse me? I'm London born and bred, thank you very much." Written out, the words may look angry, but in fact, the stranger hadn't even raised his voice.
"Oh, so you...just don't get out much" Nimrod assumed.
For the first time, the other's cocksure behavior seemed to flicker. "That's right, I don't...get out much" he said. "You're a djinn too?" It was a question, although phrased as a statement.
"Right! I am" Nimrod said, somewhat relieved the other had asked first. "Nimrod Godwin. From the Marid tribe."
The other hesitated, then shrugged. "I'm Iblis Teer. Ifrit."
For a moment Nimrod was shocked. He hadn't had anything to do with the Ifrit yet; he just knew the nightmare-inducing stories the folks told about them. Of course he had heard of the son of the current Ifrit leader, enigma that he was. The boy had never been introduced to djinn society, Nimrod's mother had been of the opinion that this was simply because Iblis Teer senior was known to not care very much for djinn society. Or his son. Or anyone other than himself.
But there had always been the other stories, the kind you only whispered. About how Iblis senior kept his son locked up in absolute isolation at all times, training him to fight with brutal methods unknown to even the worst of djinn, making him become a merciless killer weapon absolutely devoid of empathy or any other emotion, brainwashed into hating every other djinn or human on the face of the earth. And, of course, about how he would release this fearsome monster in due time, when it became strong enough.
The guy in front of him didn't look brainwashed, or like he was about to kill Nimrod on the spot. Nimrod had to admit he was intrigued; the Ifrit had piqued his curiosity. Let's see about him, he thought and extended a hand.
"It's nice to meet you" he said.
"Umm...? Nice to meet you too?" Iblis answered carefully and looked at Nimrod's hand as if he was waiting for him to perform a magic trick.
"You shake it" Nimrod helped out.
Iblis nodded and took Nimrod's hand. He had a nice, firm handshake. Trustworthy.
Then they let go and eyed each other, both still not letting their guard down, the tension fading only slowly.
"So, where are you off to?" Iblis asked eventually, gesturing around the train station.
"Isn't that obvious? I'm on my Taranushi, of course."
"It's not obvious. What is a Taranushi?" Iblis asked politely.
"Oh, you wouldn't know that, right? What with you being evil. The Ifrit don't have that ritual, do they?"
"Well, no, the Ifrit don't have that, as far as I know. What's it all about?" Nimrod noticed with interest how Iblis's voice had a sharp edge to it for the first time. Doesn't like being called evil, huh? And the way he speaks of 'the Ifrit', so detached, like he isn't one...
He didn't ask. Instead, he explained all about the Taranushi journey as best as he could.
"Interesting. So you just have to find some mundane and grant him three wishes?"
"Basically, yes."
"I've never done that. Granted wishes, that is. I would just pick anyone, get it over with, and then have a good time."
"Yes, that's a very...Ifrit approach to the matter" Nimrod said, jokingly scolding. "There's more to it. I'll have to find a very special mundane, one who deserves good luck. They can fail you if you do it wrong, and then you lose djinn powers for a year."
Iblis looked impressed for about a half second, then he smirked again. "Well, not me. You. Good luck searching" he teased. For the first time, he appeared like the stereotypical mean, bullying Ifrit. But only for a moment. Then his curiosity seemed to get the better of him, and he asked: "Where are you going to look anyway?"
"I, um, I don't know yet. What about you, where are you going?"
"I'm running away from home."
"What, really? Why?"
Iblis sighed and raked a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. "That's not important right now. Let's just say...I'm sick and tired of my old man and his evil Ifrit stuff. He can kill people by himself if that's what he wants. I'm not following his stupid legacy. I'm out of here."
Nimrod remembered the stories again. If his father was really that bad...no wonder Iblis ran away. Anyone would.
"But where are you going?"
"I don't know. Just...away from here. I'll just take the next train out of town...who knows what happens then."
"So, why don't you take a whirlwind? That's much easier, really" Nimrod said, smiling as he remembered Layla.
"Umm, I don't want my father to notice me go."
"Would he come after you?"
Iblis sighed again. "I guess he won't. Not like he cares. The truth is...I haven't made a whirlwind yet. Ever."
Nimrod looked at him in surprise. Creating a whirlwind was one of the first things Marid kids learned. Maybe the stories where not all true...
"Anyway, about your Taranushi thing" Iblis said quickly as he saw how Nimrod was looking at him. "I wouldn't waste my time around here, if I were you. I'd go to the really poor countries, practically everyone could use a good djinn there. Africa, south Asia, you know. Plus, it's warm there."
Nimrod nodded slowly. That had been a solid piece of advice...the young Ifrit was clearly warming up for the idea. He was so...mysteriously interesting. Nimrod wondered what he had been through.
He wanted to find out. He didn't want to part ways with him just yet. He looked Iblis in the eyes, and saw his own lost feeling mirrored there.
"Do you want to come?" he asked spontaneously.
"What, with you? On your...journey thing?"
"I know you'd like to. Come on."
The Ifrit bit his lip. "Right, if you don't mind..."
And that's how Nimrod first met Iblis.
This was weird, wasn't it? Yeeeah. Wherever is this weird friendship going to go? Can two wrongs possibly make a right? If that question even remotely interests you, stay tuned for later chapters!